By
Debbie B
Joe
opened his eyes. His head throbbed. He blinked several times trying to bring the
ceiling into focus. Joe tried to raise
his arm to rub at the soreness in the back of his head but his arm refused to
obey his silent commands. When his head
refused to turn so that he could look at his arm, fear began seeping into every
pore of his body. Suddenly he shivered,
he was cold, though he was sure that the sun was still shining, his room seemed
to have taken on a chill and Joe wondered if it was his fear that had caused
him to shiver instead. He tried moving
his other arm, but it too refused. Joe’s
fear was growing fast, and he heard himself scream.
“PA!
PA!”
Joe
struggled mentally to command all parts of his body to move but nothing seemed
to be working. He tried cutting his eyes
to look at his arms, which were stretched over his head and then downward at
his legs, which were spread apart as far as they could go. His heart thumped wildly, he had been
stripped of his clothes!
“Dear
God,” Joe cried aloud. “What’s happening
to me!” he screamed, fear ripping away every ounce of courage that he had.
Joe
felt the tears as they slipped slowly down the sides of his face. He wondered why he could feel their dampness,
yet could not move a muscle in his body.
How had he hit his head? Who had
carried him upstairs and placed him on his own bed? When had this happened? And more so, who had removed his clothing and
left him naked and so vulnerable?
Joe
lay for several minutes, dragging in large gulps of air to fill his lungs and
to steady his breathing. Pa, Adam and
Hoss had left early that morning for the spring-round up. Hop Sing had gone along to cook for the men,
as usual. Joe had not been allowed to go
this time for he had been sick for days and his father had refused to allow him
to accompany them. He had only been out
of bed a few days when it was time for Ben and his brothers to leave, therefore
Ben had been adamant that Joe stay at home and rest. At first Joe had been disappointed but after
giving it some thought, decided that staying home would be a nice change.
He
had gone to the barn to care for the animals; that was the last thing that he
could remember. How he had came to be
naked on his bed, why his head throbbed as it did, and why he could not move
his body was still a mystery to him.
Suddenly
the door opened. A faint aroma filtered
through the air. Joe tried to turn his
head to see who had entered his room, but the person stayed just outside of his
line of vision. Joe sniffed the air; he
could not recall where he had smelled the scent before. He shut his eyes tightly as fear tightened
its fingers around the walls of his heart.
Suddenly his senses told his mind where he had smelled the offending
odor. His eyes popped opened as terror
washed over his nude body, and Joe began trembling uncontrollably.
“NO!”
he screamed. “You’re supposed to be
DEAD!”
What
followed that discovery, became a living nightmare for the twenty-one year old
Joe Cartwright. His pain, his suffering,
his abuse lies beyond words, for no interpretation could possibly describe the
horror that shook the walls of the once serene home of Ben Cartwright.
Joe’s
body was filled with more pain than he had ever imagined possible. Joe’s mouth ached from having been forced so
widely opened for such a long period of time.
His lower body was raw from all the misuse that these giant men, who
were subjects of Lin Wong’s and obeyed his every command, had done.
Joe
felt his body and the will to live dying slowly and painfully. His body was bleeding, both inside and out
and common sense told the boy that he wasn’t long for this world.
He
was totally unaware when two days later the four men had gone. His eyes had fixed themselves on the ceiling
and had remained thus for several hours.
His skin was sticky from hours of constant sweating and beneath the
thick layer of glistening beads Joe’s flesh was on fire with fever. His hands were knotted in tight balls where he
had formed fists early on and had never released his fingers. His chest heaved with the effort that it took
to breathe, and from his nose, blood and mucus mixed and dripped from his
face. His lips had been torn opened, the
corners of his mouth were split as well and both sides had bled. The blood had dried and caked on the sides of
the boy’s face leaving areas of crusty yuck on his once handsome features.
The
boy made no sound as Wong stood over his dying treasure and gazed into the
dulled and sightless eyes. The spark had
at last been extinguished; the twinkle had faded, the will broken.
Wong
sat on the edge of the bed and tenderly fingered the damp curls for the last
time. He felt a sudden rush of sadness
for the dying boy. The Little One had
fought long and hard, practically half a lifetime, and still, Wong had known
from that very first day, in a remote wilderness schoolhouse, that the life of
this golden child of his desires would one day belong to him to control and do
with as he pleased.
Wong
leaned down, kissed the boy’s brow and then rose slowly to his feet. “It is almost finished Little One. I have but one thing left that you must do,”
whispered Wong.
With
that, Wong withdrew from Ben’s night-stand a sliver plated handgun. Wong stood over Joe and pointed the pistol at
the boy. Slowly the hazel eyes seemed to
focus and follow his tormentor’s movements.
Wong
lowered the gun, laughing softly and then checked the chamber, shook part of
the bullets into his hand and then spun the cylinder around.
He
pried apart the fingers of Joe’s left hand and placed the pistol into Joe’s
palm. Slowly, he moved both hand and gun
until the barrel rested on the inside of Joe’s mouth. Wong smiled.
When the boy pulled the trigger and the gun went off…no one could accuse
him of having murdered the boy. His
hands would be washed clean. All anyone
would ever know was that the four dead men downstairs had raped the boy, and
the boy, first having killed them, had hidden in his father’s room. Fear and total disgrace for what he had
committed had overwhelmed the boy so much that he had taken his own life.
“Pull
the trigger Little One, and end your misery now. It is finished.”
The
trigger clicked, one time, then two and nothing happened. Wong’s eyes turned dark with anger, he had
removed only part of the bullets, why had the gun not fired?
He
held out his hand to the boy. “Give it
to me!” he ordered.
Joe
slowly removed the pistol barrel from his mouth and turned the gun around and
pointed it at Lin Wong.
“I
said give it to me!” Wong shouted.
He
made a grab for the gun, but Joe’s twisted finger pulled back on the trigger
and three times the gun fired, leaving in their wakes, three large holes in the
middle of Wong’s chest. The Chinaman’s
body slammed against the wall behind him.
The force of the bullets held the bloody body for several seconds
against the wall before allowing it to crumble to the floor in a heap. The blood had smeared along the wall, the
Chinaman’s guts had splattered about the surface behind him and dripped slowly
to the floor.
It
was finished, after years of torment the golden child of Lin Wong’s desire had
been the victor after all. But there was
no glory in Joe’s victory, only shame, sorrow, disgrace, abomination and
self-hatred. Joe turned the gun around
and placed the barrel back into his mouth.
His tearless eyes closed as his finger pinched the trigger. It was time to end it all; it was time to
die.
“JOSEPH!
NO!”
“Ya
reckon, he’ll ever get over this?” Hoss asked sadly as he and his father stood
at the doorway of Joe’s padded room and watched from the window.
“No,
I reckon not, son. Joe’s alive, that’s
about all,” Ben said sadly. “He’s just
the same as dead, to us, to himself, to anyone.”
Ben
wiped the tears from his dark eyes. It
had been two years since finding the carnage that had been strewn throughout
his house that fateful day he returned home.
He had been terrified of what he had found when he had opened the front
door and nearly tripped over the four half-nude men, the blood that had ruined
the carpets and the furniture, even the woodwork and the walls had been
stained.
Ben’s
first thoughts had been of his youngest son and the horror that the boy surely
had suffered. When the three shots had
rang out from his upstairs bedroom, he had had no idea what he might have found
when he had rushed to his room.
The
sight of Joseph holding the pistol in his mouth, the dead Chinaman, the blood
splatter walls and furniture…it all still haunted his dreams.
It
was only by the grace of God that the pistol had already been emptied when Joe
had pulled the trigger. Ben’s heart had
stopped beating, the bile had risen in to his mouth, and when he saw first hand
what had been done to his baby, Ben had been sick, had vomited all about the
room, adding to the chaos, and the stench of death and destruction.
It
had taken the help of many of their closest friends who had loved Little Joe,
as his family had to get the boy the medical help he had needed. Many surgeries and hundreds of hours of care
had repaired the broken and abused body to near normal with very little
problems. The body had healed in time,
but the mind…that was another story.
Ben
watched as Joe sat in the middle of the bed with his legs folded in Indian
fashion while he rocked back and forth.
The boy clung to his favorite childhood toy, Scruffy. The ragged old stuffed dog had been a
Christmas gift from his brother Adam, many years ago. That had been another time, a happier time
for the family, so unlike this day.
The
pressure of his oldest son’s hand pressing into his shoulder interrupted Ben’s
thoughts. “It’s time to go, Pa,” Adam
said softly.
He followed
his father’s gaze and looked through the window. Joe was smiling at them from the opposite
side and waving his hand in the air. His
lips moved, but no words came forth. But
each one of them, Adam, Hoss and his father, knew what Joe had mouthed.
“Bye-bye!” It was the only thing that he could say,
speechless as he was.
Adam
felt the tremors that caused his father’s shoulders to begin trembling. It was like this, each and every time that
they visited the boy. Ben would break
down and it would take days for him to come to terms once more that Little Joe,
as he had been before, would in all probability, never be again. For them, Little Joe was just that, Little
Joe, third and most enduring son of Ben Cartwright.
“Pa?”
“I’m
coming Adam. You and Hoss go on…I’ll be
along in a minute. I just want to say
good-bye to him, one more time.
“Pa…you
know what the doctors said. Joe needs a safe and secure environment, he needs
watching constantly and he needs special care.
Those are things that we can’t give him, things that he can only get
here, in the hospital.”
“I
know that son, but what about love, and compassion. What about being at home…where…”
“Where
he can relive his nightmare, daily? Come
on, Pa…even you wouldn’t want that for Joe.
Look at him, he’s happy here, and he feels safe and he’s…”
“All
alone, Adam. He has no one to tell him
that he’s loved, or no one to hold him, no one to…play with him. He’s like a little boy, all over again. And I want…I need to do those things for
him…before it’s too late!”
The
tears had formed in his dark eyes once more and as he wept, Adam and Hoss could
only watch. There were no words to
comfort their father for what he had lost and for what he had been denied in
having his youngest son at home with them.
And there were no words to make Joe into the man he had once been, no
medicine that could wipe from his mind the horror that he had suffered. He had locked himself away behind a wall so
thick and so high that no one could reach him.
Little Joe had left them, he had gone on a journey, a one way journey
and he’d likely never return. The only
consolation that his family had was that he was alive, physically, and that
periodically they could come by and visit the man-child and watch him at his
childlike antics for as long as they wished.
“Pa,
we’re going to miss our train,” Adam said.
“Alright
son, I’m ready.” Ben smiled suddenly and
waved his hand at the boy on the opposite side of the window who was smiling
and waving back at him.
Ben
blew a kiss and turned from the window.
He vowed to return. He would find
a way to have his son with him, even if it meant selling the Ponderosa and
moving to
A
year later, Ben would realize his dream.
“ADAM,
HOSS! GET IN HERE, QUICKLY!” shouted Ben
from the front door of his massive log home.
He
scanned the letter once more, his mind not fully comprehending the words neatly
written on the fine stationary. His face
was aglow by the time that Hoss and Adam reached their father, who by this
time, had stepped out onto the boarded porch.
“What’s
wrong, Pa?” declared Adam as he gasped for breath.
“Is
the house on fire?” Hoss said huffing.
Both
young men had come from different sections of the yard where they had both been
working. Adam took a deep breath and
watched the mixed emotions that played across his father’s face. He glanced quickly at Hoss to see whether or
not his brother had noticed the strange glow in Ben’s dark eyes. Adam noticed the sudden accumulation of tears
that sprung unannounced into the depths of the chocolate eyes that looked at
him so oddly.
“No,
silly…the house is not on fire,” laughed Ben, making a sniffing sound with his
nose.
“Read
this,” he smiled as he handed the letter to his oldest son.
Adam
took the paper from his father’s hand, realizing for the first time how the
work callused hand trembled. He eyed his
father carefully.
“Are
you all right, Pa?” he asked before continuing with the letter.
“I
am now,” he laughed lightly and then brushed away the dampness that shone on
his face. “Go ahead, read it.” Ben pointed to the paper.
Adam
cleared his throat and began reading aloud.
Dear Mr. Cartwright,
It is with great pleasure that I write this
letter to you. I know that this particular
letter is one that you have been waiting a very long time to receive. It brings great joy to my heart to inform you
that we here at Boston Clinic have deemed Joseph well enough at last to return
home.
After giving great thought to and considering
the progress that your son has made since your last visit, a panel of
physicians, both medical and psychological, have determined that Joseph has
reached a point where he no longer benefits from the care that we provide here
at the institution.
What I am trying to say, Sir is that we feel
that Joseph has progressed as far as his limited ability will permit, Joseph
has reached his potential. We feel it
would be in your son’s best interest now to return to you and be reunited with
his family and loved ones.
There are certain factors that I feel I must
advise you on should you and your family decides to reacquaint Joseph with his
family. I will be blunt…the house that
you call home, we feel, must not be the house in which you bring Joseph home
to.
It is
my opinion, and I do believe, that just to have your son enter that house where
he has suffered such horrible abuse would set your son back to where he was
nearly two years ago when Joseph first arrived.
The memories that might surface in regard to the boy’s assault could
evoke adverse affects on an already unsteady and unhealthy mind.
My suggestion would be to consider relocating
to a different area of your ranch, rebuilding, or give consideration to move
here, to
Give it some thought, do what you think best
for your son and then let me know what you have decided. Should this be more than you feel you are
capable of handling, there are several good homes in the
I know you have always stated that someday,
God willing you would find a way to have your son home with you. Mr. Cartwright, I believe that now is that
time. He most likely will never be the
man that you remembered from by gone years, but you will have your little boy
again.
I await your reply.
Your humble servant,
Dr. Stephen Harman
There
was silence on the porch of the Cartwright home. No man uttered a word, for each man seemed
lost to the emotions that thickened their throats and the water that filled
their eyes, clouding their vision.
Hoss
made a sniffling sound. Adam coughed to
clear his throat. Ben dabbed at his
eyes, and then laughed lightly, breaking the tension.
“Well
boys, what you think? Do we bring Joseph
home?” Ben said softly.
“Course
we do…ain’t this what we been awaitin’ for, all these years?” stammered
Hoss.
He
held no doubts in his mind; he’d been willing to bring his baby brother home
three years ago, had they let him. No
matter to him that his little brother’s mind was now that of a small
child. Or that without a miracle always
would be, but Little Joe was still his brother, still a part of this family and
in Hoss’ way of thinking, this was where the boy belonged, at home on the
Ponderosa.
“Yes,”
Ben muttered softly.
“The
doctor says he should not be in this house…what about that?” Adam, always the
one to think everything through to the end and then make a decision, considered
an alternative. “We could sell out; go
back to
Ben
studied both faces and then smiled as he placed a hand on each shoulder. “Let’s go inside, I think we have a lot to
talk about before we make a final decision.”
An
hour later, father and sons were still trying to come up with a way that would
allow them to bring the youngest family member back home.
“Well,
there’s no doubt in my mind, Hoss, it’s clear that you don’t want to sell the
ranch, let alone move all the way to Boston,” Ben said as he sipped his brandy.
Hoss
gulped and scrunched up his face.
“Nosir, I ain’t no city boy, that’s fur sure. And I sure ‘nough don’t wanna sell this
place.” Hoss stood to his feet and moved
slowly across the room, his large beefy hands stuffed into the pockets of his
trousers. Suddenly he stopped in front
of the fireplace and turned, facing his father.
“Pa,
ya know I’d do anythin’ for Little Joe…anythin’.” He swallowed, his eyes filled with
tears. “But, somehow…I just don’t think
sellin’ out is what Joe would want us to do…if’n he were thinkin’ right.”
Hoss
plopped down on the massive stone hearth.
“There’s gotta be another way.”
There
was another lull in the conversation as the three sat, deep in thought. Adam was the first to break the silence.
“I
wouldn’t mind
“I
started to say himself…but that’s not to be, is it? At least the way we knew him, before…before…”
Adam’s
long sigh could be heard across the room where Ben sat in his brown leather
chair. He watched his eldest son, recognizing the inner turmoil that Adam was
suffering. His eldest son had been so
overwhelmed with guilt, once he had returned home to find his younger brother’s
life in ruins. Adam, steadfast and
strong, had crumbled to his knees when he had seen the damage done to his
brother’s body. The blood, the bruises,
the broken flesh, Joe’s face blackened by the beatings, his broken body that
had been abused and injected with a paralyzing and sexual enhancing drug repeatedly
by Lin Wong and his evil cohorts, had almost driven the ever protecting Adam
over the edge. The vow he had made years
before to Joe’s mother that he would always look after and protect her son from
life’s adversaries, broken, and shattered, just like her son. The enormity of it all had nearly destroyed,
not only Joe’s life, but also Adam’s as well.
“I
think I know what you were trying to say, son.
Your brother belongs at home…here, this ranch is his home, and this is
where Joseph needs to be. He needs to be
here in the wide opened spaces, the endless prairies, the mountain tops, to
feel free, to ride, to fish, to…to…live in peace?” Ben’s voice faltered.
“Peace,
security, comfort, to live unafraid…but how, in this house?” Adam stood to his feet. His face was a mixture of troubling emotions
as he walked to the foot of the steps and then back, where he stood facing both
his father and brother.
“I
say burn it!”
“Burn
it? Burn what, son?” Ben said anxiously
as he got up and moved around the table in the middle of the great room.
“This
house…I say, bu…”
“Burn
the house?” shouted Hoss as he jumped to his feet. His sky blue eyes were wide and he glanced
nervously at his father. “What in blazes
is he talkin’ about?”
“I’m
not sure,” commented Ben as he turned his attention back to Adam. “Son, what do you mean by ‘burn this house’?”
“Don’t
you get it Pa? The doctor said that Joe
shouldn’t be in this house because it could cause a relapse. So, since we’ve all basically said that none
of us want to actually live out our lives in
Adam
began pacing the floor once more. “I
know Pa…” he said in a quiet calm voice filled with compassion, “that this
house has a million good memories for you and for Hoss and I. But that’s all they are, memories, and with
or without these four walls, we will still have our memories. They’re up here and in here.” Adam tapped his head with the tip of one
finger and then moved to his heart.
Ben
ran his hand over his face and then glanced first at Hoss and then up at
Adam. “What do you suggest, then?”
“We
take only what we really want to keep, our treasures, pictures, clothing, whatever
furniture you want to keep. You’ve
already destroyed your red chair and your bed and replaced them with new
ones. Why not replace the things that
are still in this house that could cause Joe to relapse…why not replace…this
house?”
Adam
turned back to his chair and sat down.
He smiled slightly at his father, “I never did think this blue velvet
chair matched all this red leather and red satin.”
Ben
snickered and nodded his head. “It
wasn’t my idea, it was…Marie’s…” stammered Ben.
“She took a liking to that chair one day when we were in
When
he glanced up, there were tears in his eyes.
“I think I’d like to keep it…if you wouldn’t mind?” he said softly.
Adam
shook his head and grinned. “I wouldn’t
mind,
“So,
does that mean we’re gonna burn her down?” Hoss said. He was still a bit confused at what his
brother was suggesting. “Where are we
gonna live if’n we do?”
“The
barn…at least for a while,” Adam suggested.
“WHAT!”
yelled Hoss.
“We’ll
build another house. We have the lumber,
the manpower, all we need is a design,” Adam laughed lightly. “And you know I can take care of that.”
“Your
brother’s absolutely correct, Hoss. Joe
has no memory of…any of this,” Ben opened wide his arms and swept them through
the air. “So he’s not losing a
thing. His memories start the day he
walks through the door…of our new home!”
Ben smiled. “I’m getting too old
to climb those stairs anyway,” he laughed and turned to Adam. The excitement of it all began building in
momentum as he smiled at Adam. “You
design whatever you fancy, son, just make my bedroom on the ground floor!”
Hoss
and Adam joined in on the light laughter.
“How about if I put Little Joe’s room right next to yours? That way, when he needs you, you’ll be close
by…Hoss and I can take the upstairs and I’ll put a couple extra rooms up there,
for guests?”
“And
you make Hop Sing bigger kitchen…need more room for me too!” muttered Hop Sing
as he carried in large slices of fresh baked apple pie and sat it down on the
table.
He
turned to his family, wiping away at the tears that had suddenly filled his
dark, almond shaped eyes.
“It
be good, to have little boy child back with family. House no matter, only wood and glass…little
boy matter, him made of heart and soul…much in need of love and many hugs. Hop Sing will help care for man-child same as
when little boy always under Hop Sing feet.”
Hop Sing smiled broadly and then bowed.
“Hop
Sing much love number three son, same if were own son…no matter that thoughts
locked behind wall in head. Family break
through wall, but first, must reach into heart…that where life begin…in
heart…not head!”
Another
bow to the family he claimed as his, and Hop Sing disappeared into his
kitchen. Ben stood to slip an arm around
each of his sons and drew them close.
“In
the morning, we’ll decide what stays and what goes. Choose carefully, keep only what means the
most to each of you. There was no
evidence that Joe’s attacker came anywhere near your rooms, so your furniture
will most likely be spared. As for Joe’s
room, and especially mine, everything but personal items, whatnots and clothing
will have to go. If he should ever start
to remember, I don’t want anything around to cause him an ounce of pain or
suffering, understood?”
“Yessir.”
“Absolutely.”
It
was agreed among them, they’d save only those items and pieces of furniture
that meant the most to them, and anything that might cause a reoccurrence of
anything unpleasant for their loved one, would be put to the torch.
Ben
shuffled through all of his papers, making stacks to be boxed and labeled and
then stored in the root cellar. His clothes,
photographs and keepsakes were removed and the breakables wrapped carefully in
newspaper and packed into wooden barrels along with items from Adam and Hoss’
rooms as well.
Going
through Joe’s room was the hardest for Ben.
He stood in the center of the room and glanced around. His heart beat wildly at the rush of memories
that came tumbling down upon him. In his
mind’s eye he saw first the tiny crib where Joe had slept as an infant and then
the little bed that Joe had dubbed his ‘big boy’ bed. Ben felt the sting of tears as his eyes
stared at the small table that still stood in the corner next to where the bed
had once filled the major part of the room.
The cameo portrait of Marie still lay face up on the crochet doily that
she had made, many years ago. The bed,
where Joe had slept, as a young boy and then as a young adult where he had been
savagely abused, was gone now.
Ben
closed his eyes; flashes of blood mixed with semen forced his eyes tighter
shut. He muffled the groan that
threatened to surface. Images of chains,
where Joe had been held against his will, the dirtied linens, the smell of
death…it was all there, years after actually having taken place and suddenly
Ben felt no remorse for the decision that he had made. The house would be burned to the ground. It stood no longer as a tribute to his
accomplishments, it was no longer his castle, no longer his home where he could
rest his weary spirit, but more a prison than a place of sanctity and peace.
Ben
ran his hand through his silver hair.
Why had he not realized that before now?
What had kept him from saying to himself, that nothing mattered…nothing
that is, except his sons? He had
subconsciously, without being aware, grown to hate this house, for all the
heartache, the chagrin, the mental-anguish and the sorrow and despair that had
taken place in the rooms upstairs. Had
that been the reasons he had thrown out his own bed, because in it, Joe had
been made to suffer such indignities and humiliation? His favorite leather chair, where Lin Wong
had sat and watched and possibly had even cheered on Joe’s rapists, had long
since been tossed out as well. The
walls, where Wong’s blood and guts smeared and ran, had all been washed clean,
along with the carpets, but still, Ben had never been able to allow himself to
spend one night in the room. He had
instead, had his personal things moved to another room, further down the hall,
for his room had been desecrated. And
the price had been his son’s adulterated body and spirit, the shattering of a
young life and the end of what might have been.
By
the end of the first week, everything that the Cartwrights held sacred had been
removed from the house. Adam and Hoss
went from room to room with kerosene cans dousing everything with the flammable
liquid.
Outside,
a gathering of ranch hands and friends, including Roy Coffee, Paul Martin, the
Devlins and several more stood with Ben, waiting for Hoss and Adam to emerge
from the house. They were silent,
respectful; their hearts heavy with compassion for they were all aware of what
the Cartwrights were willing to sacrifice for the boy whom they all loved.
“Today,”
said Ben when Adam and Hoss had joined them, “is the beginning of a new life,
not just for Adam, Hoss and myself, but for Joseph, who will be coming home
soon.”
Ben
turned to face his friends. “We thank
you for your love and your support.
Without your silent strength, your willingness to help, and your gentle
compassion, we could not have gotten to this point. It is with a humble heart that today, we end
a dream…my dream, made many long years ago.
In a way, it’s sad, but I know that this is something I have to do …for
my son. Today, I have a new dream…and that
is, to bring my son home and with God’s help, the help of my family and our
friends, I have hopes that one day, my son Joseph, will be the man that God had
once destined him to become.”
Ben
lowered the torch that he held in his hand and allowed Adam to put a match to
the oil soaked cloth that was bound around one end. Slowly, Ben stepped up to his home of which
he had been so proud, and gazed with tear filled eyes at what had once been his
castle. For several long moments he
stood, speechless and then gradually lowered his arm, setting the blaze that
would bring to the ground, the house that he had for many years, called home.
Behind
him, Adam and Hoss stood side by side.
Hoss’ eyes dripped tears as he watched the flame ignite and quickly
begin to burn.
Adam
stilled himself against the anger and the hatred that only he knew still
flickered deep within himself for the one man who had brought his family down,
into the pits of hell and who had singularly all but destroyed his family. Adam’s face was void of all emotion as he
stepped up to his father’s side and laid his arm about the older man’s
trembling shoulders. Seconds later Hoss’
arm lay atop Adam’s as together the Cartwrights gathered strength from one
another.
The
fire lit the night and the glowing flames could be seen for miles around in all
directions. The wind was but a gentle
breeze as the fire raged and then, hours later burned itself out. Nothing remained of the beautiful log house
except the memories made there and the embers that still flickered softly far
into the second night. By the morning of
the third day, a soft steady rain fell from the heavens above, quickly dousing
the smoking remnants buried deeply beneath the rubble.
Ben
stood within the framework of the barn door and gazed across the yard where the
house once stood. He sipped slowly at
his coffee. The gray mist of morning
began to slowly fade away and the brilliant rays of the rising sun, filtered
through the branches of the tall Ponderosa pines. Ben was wrapped in his private thoughts and
was unaware when Adam joined him, his own mug of hot coffee with steam gently
rising and held firmly between both hands.
“Well,
today’s the day,” he said softly as Ben turned.
“Yes…I’m
anxious to be on my way. I’m overjoyed
at the prospect of seeing Joe again,” smiled Ben.
“I can
tell,” teased Adam with a slight grin.
“I’m just as excited for you, and I can’t wait for you to bring him
home. It will be good to have the kid
back in the house…the new house, which by the way, should be just about ready
by the time you get to
“We’ve
got some of the men that volunteered to clear away the rubbish from the fire
and others that volunteered to haul the logs down from the timber camp,” Hoss
explained as he joined his father and brother.
“Almost all of the hands here and the ones at the lumber camp have asked
it they could help with the buildin’…there’s about fifty men,” smiled
Hoss. “I told’em to come ahead, the more
the merrier and the quicker we’ll have things ready for Little Joe,” Hoss said,
and Ben could detect the excitement in the large man’s soft voice.
They
had moved outside of the barn and sat on stools in the warm morning
sunshine. “Sounds as if you boys have
everything under control,” smiled Ben.
Ben
stood to his feet and headed for the barn where they had made temporary living
quarters. He paused when he neared his
sons and smiled. “Guess I’d better get
going, I sure don’t want to miss that
“I’ll
hitch the team for ya,” Hoss said as he started to the corral.
Adam
watched his father’s face and the expressions that he made, unaware. The hard lines that had, over time, creased
his father’s brow and had aged the senior Cartwright seemed to have softened. Ben’s eyes glowed with a natural happiness
that had long since vanished and the constant smile that graced his handsome
face was genuine rather than forced.
It
pleased Adam to see his father looking so content, it had been too many months,
two long years really since Joe had had to be taken so far from home. Adam had known how hard making that decision
had been for Ben and how for weeks afterward, Ben had moped around the house,
refusing to eat, not sleeping and had even begun drinking in excess. It had only been after their first trip to
Adam
crossed the yard to the buggy and climbed in next to his father. When he turned and looked into the chocolate
eyes, all doubts he might have had as to Ben reaching his goal dissipated. Ben would accomplish what he set out to
do…and that was to see his youngest son make a full recovery.
‘Love
conquers all’. Ben had preached that all
of his life, he believed in it, he lived by it, and he would prove it, to the
world if need be.
When
the coach pulled up to the gate of the Boston Clinic, a light but steady rain
had begun to fall. Fog had rolled in
from the sea shrouding the hospital in a gray cloak of dampness. As the driver pulled to a stop at the main
gate in order to speak with the gatekeeper, Ben leaned his head out the window
to gaze up the long cobblestone drive that would ultimately lead him to his
son. He frowned slightly, for in the
bleakness of the fog the large stone building looked somewhat despairing. The coach lurched forward and Ben pulled his
head back inside, leaning back against the cushion of the seat. He could feel his heart pounding with
excitement, for soon, he would see the boy whom he loved more than life
itself. It mattered little to him, that
Joe would not recognize him. Time,
prayed Ben, would remedy that…time, and lots of love…lots of hugs and cuddling,
patience and understanding, all of which Ben was ready to shower on his son,
for he would accept his son in any condition, without doubts, and without
regrets. His heart yearned to love his
son again; his arms had been empty for much too long and now they ached as well
with the need to hold the boy.
What
was it that Hop Sing had said…that a house was just walls and windows, but a
boy was made of heart and soul…and like the walls of a house crumble over time,
so shall the walls that Joseph had built around his heart. Ben smiled, confident that he could help pull
down those boundaries around Joe’s heart and that once down, his son would be
free to live and love as he had once been.
Ben
paid the driver and picked up his carpetbag.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Ben rapped gently on the
door. Ben waited several moments before
knocking again, thinking that perhaps he had not been heard. He stepped back, glancing up at the window,
not really expecting to see anyone, but wondering just the same what might be
taking the doorman so long to respond.
The
door opened suddenly, catching Ben by surprise.
The aged old doorman smiled a warm greeting.
“Oh…hello,”
Ben said, returning the smile. “My name
is Ben Cartwright; I believe Dr. Harman is expecting me.”
“Yes,
please, come in. The doctor is in his
office, this way.”
Ben
followed the man down a long narrow hall until they had reached the doctor’s
office. The manservant tapped lightly on
the door and then pushed it opened. The
doctor sat behind his desk, seemingly going over some papers that he held in
front of him.
When
he glanced up, to see who had entered, he quickly set aside the papers and
stood to his feet. The doorman backed
slowly out of the room as Dr. Harman rounded the corner of his desk, smiling
broadly as he clasped Ben’s extended hand.
“Ben! How nice to see you again,” greeted Stephen.
“It’s
good to see you, Stephen,” said Ben.
“Here,
let me take your things,” Stephen said as he took Ben’s hat and coat and neatly
laid them on a chair. “Please, have a
seat.” Stephen pointed to a comfortable
chair in front of his desk. “I hope your
trip was not too tiring?”
“Yes,
it was long, but everything went quite well,” explained Ben as he made himself
comfortable.
“Good,
I’m glad.” Stephen had returned to his
own chair and sat down, folding his hands in front of him. “I suppose you’re anxious to hear all about
Joseph…and no doubt to see your son?” he smiled.
“Yes…most
anxious!” replied Ben as he grinned from ear to ear. “I hope he’s well?”
“Oh
yes, he’s just fine. You’ll be
surprised, Ben, he’s finally been able to let us take him outside, in the
yard. He seemed very frightened at
first, but as the days went by, he finally got to where he enjoyed being
outside more than in.” The doctor
laughed, “in fact, most days we have to fight with him just to get him back
inside…he can be quite stubborn when he sets his mind to it!”
Ben
laughed, nodding his head in agreement.
“Yes, I’m well aware of his stubborn streak.”
“I
have to be honest, Ben, I was beginning to get worried about Joseph. After your last visit, he seemed to withdraw
further into himself. There were times
when I stood at his door and watched him, he had started to mumble…no…there
were no words.”
Stephen
corrected himself when he saw the spark of hope ignite Ben’s wishful eyes.
“But
it did appear that he was talking to himself…and Ben…sometimes he would
cry. Oh, there were no tears…there never
has been since he’s been here, but the expressions on his face made him look as
if he were crying. I don’t know what
brought on the peculiar behavior. I
started noticing that he would stand for hours at his window, just gazing out
and waving as if he were waving good-bye to someone. I often wondered if it was you that he was
waving at. It was shortly after you left
that I decided to try taking him outside.
It took several attempts to get him over the fear of leaving his room
and weeks before I was able to coax him out into the yard.”
The
doctor laughed lightly. “Now I have to
coax him back inside…he really does like being out…the fresh air and warm
sunshine have done wonders for his physical appearance, and his attitude. Why, just looking at him, one cannot tell
that he isn’t…well…anything other than the handsome young man they’re seeing.
Just wait…I’ll show you when it stops raining.”
“Where
is he now?” Ben asked.
He
didn’t bother to hide his excitement from the good doctor; he wouldn’t have
been able to anyway because his hands literally shook.
Stephen
pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.
“Joe’s
in his room. Most all the other patients
are in the activity room, but Joe prefers to keep to himself. He never has gotten accustomed to being
around a crowd. It tends to upset him. So, on days like this, I let him stay in his
room. He spends most of his time gazing
out the window…and always, Ben, he looks to the west…never the east.”
“That’s
where home’s at…to the west…Stephen, you don’t suppose…” began Ben.
“Anything
is possible Ben. The boy’s not a
half-wit like some of our patients…he’s not stupid either. He’s just hidden his true self away somewhere
in the furthermost corner on his brain…where he feels safe. And where he doesn’t have to deal with his
memories, or the pain, or the horror of what happened to him. Joe is in there…somewhere…and honestly Ben…I
believe someday, something will happen to trigger his mind and snap him out of
his stupor. There are days that I see
something in him…something of an inner struggle and I know that all it will
take is one simple…something…and he’ll be back.
He’s locked himself in a shell…he knows that he’s safe there…and
unreachable…for now. All we need is the
combination.”
Stephen
smiled and rested his hand on Ben’s arm.
Beneath his opened palm, he could feel the tremors that surged through
his friend’s body and he gently tightened his grip.
“We
here at the clinic have done all we can at this point to help your son,
Ben. It’s time now for you to take him
home…to love him…to share yourself with him.
He needs you, and I honestly believe that if anyone can find the
combination, you’re the one to do it.”
While
the two men had been talking, Stephen had maneuvered Ben out of his office and
down the hall. After a short walk,
Stephen paused, for they had reached Joe’s room.
“Look
at him Ben…watch his face when he sees you.
I’d like to think that he recognizes you or that at least there is
something about you that he connects with.”
Ben
peered through the window in the door and watched his son. The very sight of his son forced tears into
the chocolate eyes and though his vision was temporarily blinded, Ben
smiled. Joe sat, with legs folded
beneath him, in an oversized but comfortable chair. In his hand he held a picture book and
instantly Ben recognized it as the one that Adam had brought to give to his
brother on their last visit. Clutched
tightly under his arm was Scruffy. Joe
was slowly turning the pages of his book and pointing to the pictures; his lips
moved but no words were coming forth, for Joe had not spoken one word since
that fateful day that his father had found him.
“We
moved him to a regular room some time ago, Ben.
I didn’t feel as if he needed to remain in the padded room, Joe never
attempted to harm himself since being here, though we did take some precautions
when we moved him into his own room.
Would you like to go in and say hello?” Stephen smiled knowing that Ben
would not refuse the offer.
“Need
you ask?” Ben said in a shaky voice.
Stephen
opened the door and allowed Ben to enter.
Joe was absorbed in his picture book and was unaware that he had a visitor,
until Ben spoke softly. Stephen had
backed out of the room giving Ben time alone with his son, for which Ben was
grateful.
“Hello,
Joseph,” Ben said in a gentle voice.
He
eased his way slowly over to the bed and sat down on the edge. Joe’s hazel eyes had widened in surprise at
the man who had entered his room and he watched him cautiously as Ben sat
down. He sat silently in his chair,
clutching Scruffy; the picture book still opened across his lap.
“What
are looking at?” Ben asked, careful not to move too swiftly. He was afraid that he might startle the young
man who was more childlike than he cared to admit.
Joe
glanced quickly down at his book and then back at his father. The reaction told Ben that Joe knew what he
was talking about and the small gesture gave him hope. Ben smiled warmly at his son, his heart
aching to take the boy into his arms and press him tightly to his breast, but
Ben fought against the urge. Not yet,
his brain warned his heart…not yet.
“May
I see the book?”
Joe’s
brows drew together, forcing his handsome face into a frown. When he snapped shut his book and pressed it
protectively to his chest, Ben jumped, caught off guard by the sudden movement. He fought to hide his disappointment by
smiling warmly at the young man, not wanting to frighten him.
“Well,
maybe next time,” he cooed softly.
He
watched in silence for several moments until he noticed Joe begin to fidget and
then quickly tried to think of something to say that would not cause any alarm.
“Joseph,
is that Scruffy you have hidden under you arm?” Ben gazed warmly at his son.
Joe
took a quick glance down at the stuffed toy that was exactly where Ben had said
it was, and then turned surprised eyes up at his father. His man-child son surprised Ben by smiling at
him and then pressing the little toy to his breast. Ben nodded his head slowly; some things never
change, he thought as he gazed into the cherubic face of his youngest son.
“Scruffy
sure does look like a nice puppy. He
looks sort of scruffy too, doesn’t he? I
think you picked a perfect name for that little doggie. Why, I remember the Christmas that…” Ben
continued smiling, but inside his stomach was churning…he had forgotten how it
felt to talk to a little boy, and though he tried, he still could not bring
himself to accept the fact that here before him was a child of
twenty-three. Without warning, Ben felt
the rush of tears cloud his eyes and he quickly dabbed at the tiny beads of
water before they rolled down his face.
He’d momentarily forgotten that Joe wasn’t who he was supposed to
be. Ben gulped and then swallowed to
relieve the thickness in his throat.
Joe
laid the book aside, got out of his chair and crossed over to where he was
standing over his father. He surprised
Ben when he held the little stuffed dog out and allowed Ben to take Scruffy
from his hands. Ben held the toy tightly
as a rush of memories crashed down upon him.
When he lowered his head, a tiny teardrop slipped from the corner of his
eye and ran slowly down the side of his face.
Joe
watched the man for just a few short minutes and then snatched the toy from
Ben’s hands and then returned to his chair.
Confused, Ben stood quickly to his feet, which caused Joe to cram the
toy behind his back. Realizing that his
son must have thought that he was going to take the toy away from him, Ben
smiled.
“It’s
okay son, I’m not going to keep your toy.
Say, it’s stopped raining, would you like to go outside for a little
while?” Ben asked softly.
Joe’s
face broke apart with the happy smile that covered his face. He shook his head up and down as he stood up.
“You
wait right here, and I’ll ask Doctor Harman if it’s alright.”
Ben
started toward the door but stopped as Joe began making strange sounds deep in
his throat. Ben spun around fearing
perhaps that Joe might be strangling.
“Joseph,
what’s wrong, son?” Ben hurried to inquire.
He was taken back by the unhappy frown that had replaced the happy smile
from moments ago.
Joe
had a strange look on his face. Ben
could see that nothing was physically wrong with his son but that Joe seemed
upset.
“Don’t
you want to go outside?”
Joe
nodded his head yes.
“Then
I have to find Stephen and go ask him.
I’ll be right back, son,” Ben explained.
Ben’s
hand was on the door handle and when he turned it and began to pull the door
opened, Joe grunted again. This time
when Ben turned around to look, Joe stomped his foot angrily and then turned
his back to his father.
Ben
almost burst out in laughter, for he had not seen his youngest son perform that
little bit of defiance in many years.
“Joseph…Joseph,
look at me,” Ben said with a touch of authority in his voice.
Joe
slowly turned his head and looked over his shoulder to peer at his father.
“Turn
around, please,” ordered Ben.
Joe
hung his head, bringing to Ben’s thoughts visions of by gone days when a very
young Little Joe had stood before him in much the same way.
Ben
stretched out his arm, and feeling a bit unsure of himself, gently cupped the
quivering chin with the tip of his fingers.
Ben felt an overwhelming sensation flow through his body at the feel of
his fingertips brushing Joe’s flesh. It
had been the first time in nearly two years that the father had had physical
contact with his son.
Ben
half-expected Joe to wrench free, or pull away from him, but when Joe’s eyes
met his, Ben saw something flicker. He
saw confusion mixed with trust, a small amount of uncertainty mingled with a
measure of fear. Quickly Ben rushed to
reassure the boy.
“Joseph,
I will be right back, I have to ask the doctor if it’s all right to take you
outside. Do you understand, son?” Ben
said in a voice full of tenderness and understanding.
Joe
bobbed his head up and down, but refused to return his father’s smile.
“Good,
now you be a good boy, and I’ll be right back.”
As
Ben turned to leave, Joe grunted again.
Ben was at a loss for words; the hazel eyes had taken on a look so
doubtful and so full of misery that Ben froze.
“What
is it, Joe?”
Joe
used his fingers and moved them in a way that crossed his heart. Ben gulped, his knees suddenly felt weak and
for a second he feared he might have to sit down. He knew what his son was asking, and that
knowledge nearly knocked Ben off his feet.
Ben
dropped his hand from the door handle and moved to within inches of his
son. He yearned to touch the boy, to
take him into his arms and hold him, but he was more afraid of scaring the boy
than he was of satisfying his personal need.
“I
promise…I cross my heart, I will be right back,” Ben almost sobbed.
God,
he thought, how many times as a child had Joe requested from him, that same
promise…for the same reason…because he was leaving. Had his leaving been the reason for his son
spending endless hours standing at the window?
Was he waiting and watching for his father’s return? Was there something deep within his son’s
heart and soul that refused to forget completely, the one person in his life
that he had always trusted and believed in?
‘Oh
God, Joseph,’ murmured Ben silently, ‘my precious son, have I failed you by
leaving you here all alone when you needed me more than at any other time in
your life?’
Ben
closed the door softly behind him as he stepped out into the hall. Lost in his thoughts, he practically knocked
the doctor down.
“Ben,
you seem upset…what’s wrong?” Stephen asked.
“I’m
not sure…but for some strange reason, I get the feeling that Joe knows me…or at
least feels something akin to recognition. He just asked me to promise him that
I would come back…he’s always made me promise.
I’d have to go away on business and he’d get so upset and beg me to
promise him that I’d come home. You see,
his mother died when he was very small and my leaving always scared him…just
like now,” stammered Ben.
The
physician rested his hand on Ben’s shoulder and grinned at him. “I told you Ben, Joe has made
progress…whether or not he can or will allow himself to go any further, I can’t
say for sure. But he responds well to
kindness, he’s frightened when he sees some of the other patients become
distraught and a few times when we’ve had to restrain a patient, Joe went crazy
on us as well. I did not put restraints
on him, since you had told us that that had been part of his abuse, but we did
have to sedate him in order to get him to calm down.”
“I’ve
been watching from the window…and I like what I see already. I think Joe has done remarkably well for a
first visit. Now, I suppose you’re going
to ask me if you may take him out into the yard, am I right?” smiled Stephen.
“Absolutely,”
Ben snickered.
“Then
feel free to take him where ever you like, as long as you stay on the hospital
grounds…just in case. Our goal for him
is to become completely comfortable with being with you and to do so we must
gently coax his dependency on me over to you so that the transition from
hospital life to home life will be as stress free as possible,” Stephen
explained. “Go on, take him outside.”
“Thank
you, doctor.” Ben hurried back to the
room and when he opened the door, Joe had been standing at the window gazing
down at the walkway beneath his room.
The boy spun around, seeing that his father had returned. A smile spread across his face. Ben crossed the room in three giant steps,
stopping directly in front of the grinning boy.
“See,
I told you, I’d be back…haven’t I always kept my promises to you, young man?”
Joe,
still smiling and clutching Scruffy tightly under one arm, only shrugged his
shoulders.
“Well
young man, I always have and you, my dear son, will learn all over again that
you can trust me, I am a man of my word.”
Ben pointed to the door.
“Now
let’s go,” Ben held out his hand, hoping that Joe would feel safe enough to
place his smaller hand into Ben's waiting one.
Joe
glanced down at Ben’s hand and then up into the dark loving eyes. The smile was gone, but his eyes shone
with…with…what, Ben wasn’t sure. The boy
refused the proffered hand but grinned at his father as he bounced from the
room, casting anxious glances over his shoulders to be sure that Ben was
following him.
Time
seemed to be passing quickly for Ben as the days withered away into weeks. He watched daily the antics of his younger
son and though Joe was no longer a little boy in body, he certainly seemed so
in mind and spirit. There were moments
when Ben felt the frustration almost over powering when Joe refused to do as he
was asked, or when he became so over wrought that he pitched a tantrum. Then, there were the quiet times when Joe
would sit next to Ben under the shade of a tree and listen while Ben told him
stories of his home and his two older brothers, and of his pinto, Cochise. Joe never got bored with the stories, and his
attention was endless as Ben rattled on and on.
Joe often smiled, and once or twice had giggled though the sound was
inaudible. The hours spent in the
company of his son were precious hours for Ben, he had come to love deeply the
man-child. His unconditional love for
the boy had always been in his heart, but Ben was learning to love in a
different way, the son whom he had almost lost so tragically.
The way that Joe looked at him and even watched him when the boy thought his father was not aware tugged at Ben’s heart, for deep within the hazel depths of his son’s eyes a tiny spark had appeared. Ben lived minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day with the fervent prayer that somehow, some way, Joseph as he had once been, would find his way back to his father…to his family…and to himself.