Trial By Fire

Part 6

By Kathleen T. Berney

“Adam’s comin’, Li’l Brother,” Ben overheard Hoss telling Joe, as he quietly let himself into the room. “Day after t’morrow, four o’clock stage.”

“You sent for Adam?!”

Ben paused at the door, frowning. There was a definite edge to his youngest son’s tone of voice just now.

“I had to, Li’l Brother!” Hoss said defensively. “With Stacy bein’ bad hurt as she was . . . an’ still IS . . . Pa and me out scourin’ the country side lookin’ for YOU . . . ‘n Hop Sing doin’ HIS darndest t’ look after Stacy AND Pa . . . . ”

“Not to mention rounding up the calves and branding them, then getting our stock moved up to the summer pastures,” Ben added, as he stepped over to the examination table on which Joe still lay.

“With all THAT goin’ on, there ain’t much o’ any work gettin’ done on the house,” Hoss continued.

“I, uuhhh . . . guess I kinda forgot about all that,” Joe murmured thoughtfully, then smiled. “But, I’m back now.”

“ . . . an’ from the looks o’ things, Li’l Brother, you’re gonna be laid up f’r awhile, right along with Li’l Sister,” Hoss hastened to point out. “With Pa ‘n Hop Sing fussin’ over the pair o’ YOU, ‘n ME seein’ to the rest o’ the Ponderosa, there STILL ain’t gonna be any work gettin’ done on the house.”

“Come on, I feel FINE,” Joe argued.

“Well you’re NOT fine, Young Man,” Ben said sternly. “Not yet.”

“Ok, so the doc wants me to kick back and rest a couple o’ days,” Joe said with a shrug. “It wasn’t necessary drag Adam clear out here from Sacramento.”

“Does that upset you, Son?” Ben asked.

“Does WHAT upset me?”

“Adam coming to give us a hand with the house.”

“No, THAT doesn’t upset me,” Joe said with a touch of exasperation. “It’s the fact of Big Brother here sending for him, like it was some big emergency.”

“At the time I sent for Adam, I— ”

“It’s all right, Hoss,” Ben said quickly, hoping to forestall a potential argument between his younger sons.

“Sorry, Hoss, I didn’t mean to climb all over ya like that,” Joe immediately apologized. “I mean . . . if Adam WANTS to come and work on building our new house, well . . . I guess it’s only right, since he designed a lot of the old one. And Pa?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“You just give me a few days to rest up, and I’ll be good as new, ready, willing, and able to pitch in and give Adam a hand.”

“Not until you’re able to keep a decent meal in ya, Young Man,” Ben said in a tone more stern than he had intended.

“O-Ok, Pa.”

The hurt and bewilderment he saw reflected in his youngest son’s big, round gray-green eyes, cut Ben to the heart. “Sorry, Son.”

“ ‘S ok, Pa. Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Joe,” Ben said ruefully.

“Why shouldn’t I be able to keep a decent meal in me?” Joe asked. “My stomach feels a little rocky, but I’m hungry as a bear.”

“How much has Doc Martin already told you?” Ben asked.

“He told me that he was pretty sure that last meal Lady Chadwick gave me was poisoned,” Joe replied. “I kinda thought so, sick as it made me. Is THAT why I might have trouble keeping a decent meal in me?”

“That maybe part of the reason,” Ben replied. “The other part is that you haven’t had any food at all since she kidnapped you . . . except for that poisoned meal.”

“Oh.”

“Joseph, I’m going to be right up front with ya,” Ben said soberly. “You’re going to be on a very strict diet for awhile, until you reach that place where we know you CAN keep down a decent meal. Until then, you’re not going to have the strength to help Adam with the house, or do much of anything else.”

Joe frowned, as he digested all that his father had just told him. “Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“Exactly how long is this gonna take? Getting me to a place where I can sink my teeth into a decent meal again?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said very quietly. “All I DO know is . . . this isn’t something we can rush. It’s going to take time. Time and a lot of patience.”

“But, I don’t feel the least bit tired, Pa,” Joe argued. “Apart from a stomach that’s a little rocky and a few aches and pains . . . I feel fine.”

“THAT’S because you’re not doing anything more taxing than lying on Doc Martin’s examination table,” Ben quickly pointed out.

“Hey, Grandpa, at least we get out of doing our chores for a little while,” Stacy said.

Joe looked over at her, and smiled. “Hey! You’re right! I didn’t even THINK of that!” He turned back again to his father, his good humor, for the moment restored. “Ok, Pa, I’m ready to be a good boy.”

“Joseph, I’m gonna tell YOU the same thing I told your sister!” Ben said, glad to see that smile back on his son’s face. “If I see you . . . either one of you . . . so much as looking cross-eyed at Cochise, Blaze Face, or any other horse, OR attempting to do ANYTHING before Doctor Martin says you can, I’m gonna personally hog-tie ya, until you come to your senses.”

“He MEANS it, too, Grandpa,” Stacy said.

“Dadburn right Papa mean it! . . . and if Hop Sing around . . . Hop Sing help . . . give him hand tie up Little Joe and Miss Stacy,” Hop Sing declared with a ferocious scowl leveled at Joe first, then at Stacy, with a curt nod of his head for emphasis.

“The TWO of you are going to get plenty of rest, take your medicine, follow doctor’s orders, and allow yourselves the time you need to heal,” Ben continued. “You got that?”

“Got it, Pa,” Joe said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward to form an amused smile. “I can’t fight you AND Hop Sing.”



The following morning, Ben dispatched Hoss back to the Ponderosa, all the while heartily assuring the biggest of his three sons that, with the able assistance of Hop Sing, he was well able to get Stacy moved over to the Fletchers’ house, and Joe, too, if the doctor decided to allow it. Hoss also carried a long list, given him by Hop Sing, of all the ‘essentials’ he would need from what had been salvaged from the kitchen. Hop Sing, himself, had left not long after Hoss, to lay in a supply of groceries, and buy more clothing for the family.

“I’m off to the bank first, to have a draft made up for the first couple of months rent,” Ben told his two younger children, as he slipped on his shearling jacket, “then I’m going to Mister Milburn’s office to sign the rental agreements and PAY the rent.”

Joe was seated on the divan, clad in a clean white nightshirt, that he had borrowed from Doctor Martin. Ben’s new robe, “in case you get chilly,” lay neatly folded on the coffee table. His sprained ankle, tightly bandaged, shared the ottoman with Stacy’s broken leg. She was fully dressed in a goldenrod yellow shirt and dark brown riding skirt, that reached just past the top of the single fringed boot moccasin she wore on her left foot.

“Now I expect the two of you to behave yourselves,” Ben continued, favoring both with a meaningful glare. “Doctor’s orders are for you to get plenty of rest, and that’s EXACTLY what you’re going to do.”

“Yes, Pa,” Joe replied, with a face too solemn and innocent.

Stacy nodded.

“I’ll be back in an hour, two at the outside,” Ben said. “Do either of you need anything before I go?”

“I’m fine, Pa,” Stacy said.

“Me, too.”

“Ben, you go ahead and do what you need to do,” Lily Martin said firmly, as she entered the upstairs living room. She carried a large mug filled nearly to the brim with steaming hot peppermint tea. “I’ll make sure they behave themselves.”

“I KNOW you will, Lily. I’ll be back soon.” With that, Ben turned and left, with much reluctance.

“I brought you some more tea, Joe,” Lily said briskly, as she set the tray on Joe’s lap.

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin,” Joe said gratefully.

“How’s your stomach?”

“Empty,” Joe said mournfully. “It’s been nearly an hour and a half since I had breakfast . . . such as it was . . . and I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.”

“Any nausea?”

“Nope,” Joe replied. “Everything I’ve DRUNK so far is staying down.”

“You drink that tea slowly,” Lily said in a very firm tone of voice. “If that stays down alright, I’ll bring you some more tea and some of that chicken broth, Hop Sing made up last night.”

“Mrs. Martin?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into fixing me a scrambled egg . . . could I?”

She wanted so badly to say yes to that forlorn face and those big, round, childlike eyes, glowing a near emerald green in the morning light. “I’m sorry, Joe,” Lily reluctantly shook her head. “The doctor’s orders are very strict, I’m afraid.”

“How about an eggnog?”

Lily sighed. “Tell you what. If you can keep down everything you take in today, I’ll ASK the doctor about eggnog, but I make you no promises as to what he’s going to say.”

“That would be great, Mrs. Martin.”

“Stacy?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Is there anything YOU need?”

“Mrs. Martin, do you happen to have a checker board?” Stacy asked.

Lily smiled. “Yes, we do. I’ll have Hilda Mae fetch it from the parlor and bring it up.” She, then walked over to the small settee, placed over next to the fireplace. She removed the hand crocheted afghan draped over the back and carried it over to Stacy. “I’ll just leave this on the coffee table, Stacy, in case YOU get chilly.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“I’ll be downstairs helping the doctor clean up in the examination room. If you need anything, just call Hilda Mae.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Joe replied.

Stacy nodded.

“Y’ know, Kid, I wouldda never, not in a million years have believed such a thing possible,” Joe said in a low voice, his eyes glued to Lily Martin’s retreating back, “but SHE actually hovers more than PA.”



“ ‘Mornin’, Ben.”

“Good morning, Roy,” Ben Cartwright greeted his old friend with a warm smile as he stepped from the bank onto the board sidewalk.

“How’s Joe doin’?”

“He’s pretty stiff and sore this morning, and he seems to be doing very well on his diet of clear liquids . . . PHYSICALLY at any rate . . . . ” Ben replied, his smile quickly fading. “How he’s doing mentally and emotionally . . . at this point, we have no way of knowing. To be frank, that scares me even more than this business of getting him back to the place where his stomach can handle solid food again.”

“He’ll come through this, Ben, you’ll see,” Roy said quietly. “That youngest boy o’ yours has got enough cussed, stubborn will t’ see a dozen folks through somethin’ like this. ‘Course he does take after his old man, after all . . . . ”

“Thanks a lot, Roy,” Ben chuckled, as he fell in step alongside the sheriff. The pair walked for awhile in companionable silence.

“Where y’ headed?” Roy asked, finally, at length.

“I’m on my way to Lucas Milburn’s office,” Ben replied. “We’ll be staying here in town until our house is rebuilt. Did I tell you? Adam’s coming to help up out with that. HOSS sent for him.”

“No, you didn’t. When does he arrive?”

“Next Tuesday afternoon on the four o’clock stage,” Ben replied. “We’ll be renting the Fletchers’ house in the meantime. I hope to get us moved in today.”

“Ben?”

“Yes, Roy?”

“I’m gonna need a statement from Joe . . . the sooner, the better.”

Inwardly, Ben cringed. He had been dreading this ever since Crippensworth had been placed under arrest.

“Ben, I can’t keep the man locked up in jail forever,” Roy pressed. “I hafta charge him with somethin’, and I can’t do that without JOE givin’ me a statement.”

“I know, Roy . . . I know.”

“If Joe ain’t up f’r it right now, I CAN give him a few days . . . . ”

“Let me speak to Paul about that . . . see what HE says. I’ll let you know, if not today, then definitely tomorrow morning.”

“Alright, Ben. Talk to ya later.”



“Hey!” Stacy cried, indignant and outraged.

“What’s the matter with YOU?” Joe demanded, his eyes not quite meeting his sister’s.

Stacy studied the layout of the pieces through eyes narrowed with suspicion. “This checkerboard looks DIFFERENT, Grandpa!”

“Stacy Rose Cartwright . . . are you accusing ME . . . ME?!! . . . your loving brother, who is as honest as the day is long, and maybe even honest-er than THAT . . . of cheating?” Joe demanded in melodramatic tones of mock outrage.

“ARE you?”

“Have you EVER known me to cheat at poker?”

“Of course not! Cheating at poker can get you drilled full of lead!”

“Alright then,” Joe said, smiling. “It’s YOUR move, Little Sister.”

Stacy studied the board for a minute, then moved her piece.

“You SURE you wanna do that, Kid?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re absolutely, positively sure?”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely, positively sure.”

A triumphant smile spread across Joe’s face as he moved one of his kings, jumping over every last checker Stacy had left on the board. “I win AGAIN, Little Sister. That’s five games out of five.”

“DON’T remind me,” Stacy said, favoring her brother with a dark, angry glare.

Joe glared back at her for a moment, then burst into a fit of giggling. Stacy very quickly found herself laughing, too, in spite of her best intentions.

“You wanna try for one out of six?” Joe asked, as their laughter began to fade.

“Maybe later,” Stacy replied with a big yawn.

“I wonder if I can get me some more tea and some more of that chicken broth,” Joe wondered aloud. “It’s actually pretty good.”

“Joe? Stacy? I’m back,” Ben announced. “I brought you both a little something.”

“I hope it’s clothes,” Joe said. “I’m getting a little tired of sitting around in Doc Martin’s nightshirt. I wanna get dressed.”

“Hop Sing’s taking care of THAT detail,” Ben replied.

“What DID you bring us, Pa?” Stacy asked.

“I stopped in at the C Street Café and got the two of you a couple of gingerales,” Ben replied. “Joe, Lily and Hop Sing both told me earlier that gingerale often helps settle the stomach.”

“Thanks, Pa,” Joe said gratefully, favoring his father with that cocky, boyish smile, his sister had once dubbed his lethal lady-killer smile. “I can’t wait until I can down a couple o’ mugs of beer at the Silver Dollar again.”

“All in good time, Young Man,” Ben said, favoring his youngest son with a stern glare.

“Did you get everything taken care of, Pa?” Stacy asked, as she unscrewed the cap on her gingerale bottle.

“Yes, I did,” Ben replied, holding up the keys.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“Since the Fletchers’ house is right across the street ‘n all . . . couldn’t I move in today with the REST of you? Please? PRETTY please?!” Joe begged. “If anything happened, Doc Martin would still be real close.”

“We’ll have to see what the doctor says, Joseph,” Ben said, wanting that even more than Joe did. “In the meantime, Stacy, we need to get your things packed . . . . ”

“You stay still, Stacy,” Lily Martin said, as she entered the room. “I’ll have Hilda Mae see to it. Ben . . . . ”

“Yes, Lily?”

“You don’t HAVE to leave,” she said quietly.

“Lily, I’m grateful beyond words for your hospitality, for everything you and Paul have done, but we can’t go on imposing on your good grace until our house is built,” Ben said in a gentle yet firm tone.

“You’re HARDLY imposing.”

“We WOULD be.”

“No, Ben, not you!” Lily declared with an emphatic nod of her head, then smiled. “Sure, Paul and I have had our share of house guests who ended up taking shameless advantage of our hospitality . . . who hasn’t? But, none of YOU are like that. Circumstances aside, I’ve enjoyed having you around.”

Ben returned her smile with a warm one of his own. “Paul tells me that you’ve especially enjoyed having HOP SING around.”

“Paul’s got a big mouth,” Lily retorted good naturedly, “but, I’ll not deny it. I’m going to miss having him puttering around in my kitchen.”

“Tell you what, Lily. As soon as we get ourselves settled in our temporary home, I’ll have the both of ya over for dinner,” Ben promised. “It’s the LEAST we can do, after— ”

“I’ll accept that dinner invitation on ONE condition, Ben.”

“What’s that?”

“That you invite Paul and me because we’re friends, and you want to spend time with us,” Lily said firmly. “I won’t come if you’re doing this because you feel obligated.”

Ben opened his mouth to protest.

“No, Ben, I mean it,” Lily said before the Cartwright clan patriarch could get in one word edgewise. “You know as well as I do that had our situations been reversed, you’d have done the same for Paul and me in less than a heartbeat.”

“Well . . . of course I would. That’s what real friends do, but . . . I can’t just— ”

“Ben, I think you’re going to have a very hard lesson ahead of you in days to come,” Lily Martin observed, with a sharp, knowing look in her bright blue eyes.

“Oh?”

“In all the years you and your family have lived here, you’ve been very generous,” Lily said, “and I’m NOT talking about just money. I’m talking about the way you helped Leta Malvet find her place as a valued member of this community . . . putting your own life on the line to take down the likes of Sam Bryant . . . taking in Mariette and practically raising her as your own after her pa died . . . all the help you gave to Albert Michaelson and Johnny Lightly, when THEY needed a hand, not to mention Mase and Ruth Sindell . . . and they’re only a few.

“You’ve done a lot for Paul and me, too,” Lily continued. “For instance . . . we couldn’t have gone to our daughter, Malinda, when she had her baby, if you didn’t happen to find yourself with a pair of stage coach tickets, and the best accommodations at a hotel . . . that by some odd coincidence lay within walking distance of where Malinda and her husband live . . . all arranged and paid for, that you all of a sudden couldn’t use because an ALLEGED business trip you and Adam planned to take to San Francisco had been canceled.”

“Lily, Adam and I WERE planning a business trip to San Francisco—,” Ben started to protest.

“Sure. The following year,” Lily retorted.

“Your POINT, Lily?” Ben demanded, as two bright spots of red suddenly appeared on his cheeks.

“My point, Ben Cartwright, is . . . with the fire, with Joe and Stacy recuperating, with everything else you have on your plate, it’s finally YOUR turn to be on the receiving end,” Lily said very firmly. “You’ve been a real friend to a lot of people. It’s time for us to be real friends for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get Hilda Mae to work gathering Stacy’s things together.”

Ben stared after Lily Martin’s retreating back, his mouth hanging slightly open, too overcome to speak.

Hoss wearily rode into town on the family’s buckboard, just as the sun was setting. The back was loaded mostly with kitchen items, plus a small satchel packed with bare essentials from among Hop Sing’s belongings, all of which had survived the fire. Upon reaching the Fletchers’ town house, their temporary home, until they could rebuild on the Ponderosa, he unhitched the horses and stabled them in the small stable out back. He, then, removed Hop Sing’s satchel from its place in the driver’s seat and covered the kitchen utensils in the back of the wagon with a tarp, before going inside.

“Hey, Big Brother, you’re just in time to wash up,” Joe greeted Hoss with a jovial smile as the biggest of the Cartwright sons trudged wearily through the door. “Hop Sing says supper’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“I don’t want ya t’ take this the wrong way, Li’l Brother, but . . . what’re ya doin’ HERE? I thought Doc Martin was gonna keep ya over at his house for a couple o’ days,” Hoss said as he removed his hat, jacket, and gun belt.

“Actually, he hadn’t quite made up his mind,” Joe said.

“Oh,” Hoss said, then grinned. “So the doc decided it’d be ok for ya t’ move in today with the rest of us.”

“Doc Martin didn’t exactly decide,” Stacy said, all wide eyed and too innocent.

“He didn’t?”

“Well . . . you know how it is . . . sometimes the doc just plain ‘n simply can’t make up his mind,” Joe said smoothly. “But not to worry. Mrs. Martin convinced him I’d be just fine right here. Her exact words were . . . ‘Paul, you KNOW he’ll get better quicker if he has his family around him.’ ”

“THAT was after Mrs. Martin said she couldn’t stand to see ol’ Grandpa here cry,” Stacy said.

“I didn’t REALLY cry, Hoss,” Joe said smugly.

“But, he sure looked like he was going to . . . any minute,” Stacy said. “Almost had ME crying.”

Hoss chuckled softly, and shook his head. “Gotta hand it to ya, Li’l Brother . . . you sure know how t’ git WHAT ya want . . . WHEN ya want it.”

“Unfortunately, it stops ‘way short of getting a decent meal.” Joe exhaled a long, melodramatic sigh. “Everyone ELSE gets chicken and dumplings, all I get for supper is MORE clear chicken broth, MORE tea, and lots MORE water.”

“You just hang in there, Li’l Brother. It won’t be too long ‘fore you’re right back t’ pickin’ at your food right along with Li’l SISTER.”

“I’m so hungry now . . . I think I could eat a whole herd of horses,” Joe complained. “When all this is over? I don’t think I’m EVER going to pick at my food ever, ever again.”

“How’re things back at the ranch, Hoss?” Ben asked, hoping to steer the topic of conversation in another direction.

“Hank ‘n the men have got all the calves rounded up— ”

“How many?” Joe asked.

“Two hundred ‘n ninety seven,” Hoss replied.

“Wow! That’s nearly a hundred more than we had LAST year,” Joe declared with a broad grin. “You think maybe Hank use a hand with the branding?”

Ben sighed and rolled his eyes. “Joseph . . . . ” Though his tone was quiet, there was a subtle edge of exasperation.

“Awww, come on, Pa. How much strength does it take to move a li’l ol’ branding iron from the fire to a calf’s rump, and back to the fire again?” Joe argued.

“No,” Ben said in that quiet, stern tone he used when a decision had been made, and the matter was no longer up for discussion.

“I wouldn’t even have to sit a horse,” Joe blithely rambled on. “I could ride out in the buckboard with Hoss, and— ”

“Joseph, I said NO,” Ben angrily, impatiently cut off the remainder of Joe’s argument.

Scowling, Joe exhaled an explosive sigh borne of his growing angry frustration, then lapsed into sullen silence.

“Hank, uuhhh . . . told me they were able t’ git started with the, ummmm, branding late this afternoon,” Hoss ventured hesitantly, all the while casting quick, furtive glances over at his younger brother, seated on the settee with arms folded tightly across his chest, staring pointedly into the fireplace. “He figures about . . . three days, four at the most, ‘til they’re, uuuhhh, ready t’ move up t’ the . . . summer pasture?!”

“How about the lumber camp and the mill?” Ben asked, in a voice barely audible, as wave upon wave of guilt washed over him, for the sharp tone he had taken with Joe just now. “That last shipment for the railroad is due soon.”

“Things’re movin’ right on schedule, Pa,” Hoss replied. “I was plannin’ on ridin’ out t’ both places first thing in the mornin’.”

Ben nodded. “What about that string of horses for the Army?”

“Candy told me today that they’re all saddle broke,” Hoss replied. “I . . . think we’re lookin’ at taking a loss, ‘cause we agreed t’ train ‘em ‘n . . . well, we just plain ‘n simple ain’t gonna be able t’ do it.”

Upon hearing the apologetic note in Hoss’ voice, Ben looked over at him, and favored him with an encouraging smile. “Hoss, in the week since the fire, you’ve done very well running the ranch . . . and our lumber operations single handed. I’m not only appreciative and grateful, but I’m also very proud of you. I’m not sure I could’ve done half so well as you have . . . even when I was much younger.”

“I, uhhh . . . I dunno ‘bout THAT, Pa,” Hoss murmured as two bright spots of red appeared on his cheeks.

Ben reached over squeezed his biggest son’s shoulder gently, with affection. “How’s that new man working out?”

Joe glanced up sharply upon hearing his father’s question.

“That young fella Candy and me asked ya t’ hire?”

Ben nodded.

“Wesley’s workin’ out just fine, Pa,” Hoss replied, grinning from ear-to-ear. “One o’ the best horse breakers around!”

“Hey! I’m not so sure I like the sound of THAT,” Joe declared, half joking, half in earnest.

“Li’l Brother, you ain’t got a blessed thing t’ worry about. Wesley’s got a ways t’ go ‘fore he gits t’ be anywhere near as good as YOU.”

Joe smiled. “Now THAT’S what I like to hear!”

“I got Dick Hayes lookin’ after our saddle horses,” Hoss continued. “Hank’s Aunt Jenny’s feeding Hop Sing’s chickens, ‘n Ellen Cromwell’s takin’ care o’ the two milk cows. I told her she could keep half the milk for herself.”

“Good . . . very good,” Ben murmured approvingly.

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Li’l Sister?”

“How’s Blaze Face doing? I miss him something dreadful.”

“I think HE misses YOU somethin’ dreadful, too,” Hoss replied, “but, don’t you worry none. Dick’s takin’ real good care o’ Blaze Face . . . ‘n Cochise, too.”

“Mister Hoss, you back!” Hop Sing exclaimed with a delighted smile, as he trotted in from the kitchen. “You bring back what Hop Sing need in kitchen?”

“It’s all in the buckboard out back,” Hoss said wearily. “Most of it’s gonna need a powerful lot o’ scrubbin’ with all the smoke ‘n soot all over it. I’ll help ya bring it inside ‘n clean it, too, after I git some supper in me. Where do I go t’ wash up?”

“This way. Wash up in kitchen.”

“Hoss . . . Stacy . . . why don’t YOU g’won ahead,” Ben said quietly. “Joe and I’ll be along in a minute.”

“Sure, Pa,” Hoss said, then turned to Stacy. “I got your crutches, Li’l Sister. Ya need a hand up?”

“Thanks, but I can manage,” Stacy replied. Placing one hand on the arm of the settee next to her, and the other beside her, on the cushion, she easily pushed herself up from sitting to standing.

“Hey! You just about got this business o’ getting around on one leg down pat,” Hoss declared with a proud smile.

“Thanks,” Stacy replied as they turned and headed out toward the kitchen. “Of course I have plenty of time to practice these days.”

Ben waited until Hoss and Stacy had left the room, then turned to his youngest son, still seated on the settee. “You all right?” he asked gently, as he sat down on the ottoman facing Joe.

His question was met by angry, sullen silence.

“Joe . . . . ”

“What?” he snapped, exasperated.

“Talk to me, Son. Please?”

The sharp, angry retort sitting right at the tip of his tongue died an immediate, sudden death, upon getting a good, hard look at the worry, and concern etched into the lines, muscles, and planes of his father’s face. “Pa, I’m going crazy just . . . well, just sitting around here, twiddling my thumbs when there’s all this work to do,” Joe said curtly. “Except for feeling hungry all the time, I feel fine.”

“You’re NOT fine, Son.”

“So you keep telling me,” Joe sighed, punctuating his words with a sarcastic roll of the eyes.

“You’re limping worse today than you did last night on that sprained ankle of yours. You’re still favoring your injured arm, your entire body’s covered with cuts and bruises— ”

“Ok, Pa, I get the picture,” Joe said in a sullen tone.

“I haven’t touched on the worst yet, Son,” Ben continued, his tone gentle. “I had asked Doc Martin not to tell you because I— ” He sighed. “Forgive me, Joe. I . . . I wanted to protect you . . . old habits die very hard.”

“What . . . did you ask Doc M-Martin . . . NOT to tell me?” Joe asked, noting his father’s pale complexion, the black-brown eyes round with fear. Normally, he would have been very resentful of Pa’s overly protectiveness, but now, he plain and simply didn’t have the heart. Not when his father looked at him like that.

“First of all . . . as I told you yesterday . . . Lady Chadwick . . . tried to poison you.” It took every ounce of will Ben possessed to speak those words.

“I know,” Joe said, “when she gave me that big steak dinner. Pa, I’ve never in my whole life been as sick as I was after eating that meal. The only time I can remember anybody else being sick like that was the puppy, Hoss and I had . . . you remember Rowdy, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That’s how I figured out that maybe I’D been poisoned. I asked Doc Martin about it. He told me . . . from the sound of things, that I’d figured right. But, I don’t think Lady Chadwick was trying to poison me . . . personally.”

Ben frowned. “What do you mean she wasn’t trying to poison you?”

“I think she was trying to poison YOU, Pa,” Joe said soberly. “She . . . didn’t have a real good, firm grip on reality. Half the time she called Crippensworth by YOUR name. When she finally served me that great big steak dinner, she was calling ME by your name.”

“Thank the Good Lord she turned me down all those years ago, when I asked her to marry me,” Ben murmured, visibly shaken by his youngest son’s revelation.

“Amen to THAT!” Joe agreed with sincere, heartfelt thanks. “Pa?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“Please . . . don’t take this question the wrong way, but . . . how is it that I’m . . . still . . . alive?! As sick as I was, there had to have been enough in that meal to kill ten men.”

“Doctor Martin thinks your stomach rejected the meal . . . and the poison . . . because, after nearly a week of no solid food, your stomach had gotten so that it couldn’t accept it,” Ben explained.

Joe silently mulled over what his father had just told him. “Pa?”

“Yes?”

“Is . . . THAT why I’m on this clear liquid diet? Because my stomach can’t take solid food?”

“Yes,” Ben replied.

“Will I . . . ever . . . be able to eat solid food again? Or am I doomed to a clear liquid diet for the rest of my life?”

“The doctor’s confident that you’ll eventually be able to eat solid food again, but it’s going to take time to get your stomach used to it again,” Ben said. “We have to go slowly, starting with clear liquids, then moving to things like soups, watered down stews, then to soft foods.”

“Kinda like a baby.”

Ben nodded. “Yes. Kinda like a baby. Joe?”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“The doctor said the next couple of weeks are going to be kind of tricky.”

“What do you mean by kind of tricky?”

“Your body’s become severely dehydrated, Son,” Ben explained, “due to all the throwing up you did after Linda fed you that poisoned meal . . . . ” His jaw and mouth tightened with anger when he said Lady Chadwick’s name, “ . . . and you not getting enough water the entire time she held you prisoner. If you eat too much at a time or eat it too fast, your stomach might reject it.”

“ . . . and I could become even more dehydrated,” Joe said slowly. “I guess working up a good sweat branding calves would do the same thing as eating too much or too fast.”

“Yes.”

Joe sighed, and shook his head. “Damn!” he muttered under his breath. “Pa, you remember . . . oh, I don’t know how many years its been now . . . but, that time we found Adam out in the desert dragging a dead guy named Peter Kane on a stretcher?”

“I remember.”

“He never talked about it, at least . . . not while I was around,” Joe continued. “But, I knew he’d been through some kinda hell. I think we ALL did! When he got home, he worked, from sun-up to sundown until he was so exhausted, he was sleep walking through the front door. I . . . I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on a private conversation, but I remember Adam telling you it was the only way he could begin to forget about what happened, and move on.”

Ben remembered that long march of uncertain days when he actually feared for his oldest son’s sanity. He had done all he could to try and encourage Adam to talk about what had happened between him and Kane, but Adam had stubbornly refused.

“Pa, I want to put it behind me and forget about it.”

Ben heard Adam’s words again, spoken in the same angry tone of voice, the terse, clipped syllables: “I don’t want to talk about it. Please. Don’t keep asking.”

Ben did as his oldest son had asked. It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do as a father. He watched Adam push himself to the point of utter exhaustion, day after day after endless day. By night, he spent hours, pacing the floor, praying hard that his first born be delivered of the demons that so relentlessly pursued him.

Then, suddenly almost, Adam once again became the calm, stoic man he had always been, but there remained a strange, haunted look in his eyes. The passage of time, his marriage to Teresa and subsequent births of their two children had finally erased the torment.

For the most part.

Though largely hidden during the busy times, during times of crisis and trouble, it returned in the peaceful, quiet times, when all was supposed to be well, even more clear and pronounced than it had been all those years ago.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“I was hoping I could do what ADAM did,” Joe said. The melancholy and the hopeless despair he heard in his youngest son’s voice was as a knife plunged deep into his own heart. “You know . . . g’won back to the ranch, brand calves, round up cattle, and break horses until I was so tired, I couldn’t see straight. Then I could get Lady Chadwick and Crippensworth out of my mind, at least for a little while . . . and I could forget how dadblamed hungry I am.”

“Perhaps Adam’s way of dealing with what happened with Kane, ISN’T the right way for you to deal with everything Lady Chadwick put you through,” Ben suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“For one thing, Adam’s always been more of a reserved, stoic man, while you tend to wear your feelings on your sleeve,” Ben replied. “Last night, you started to talk about some of the things that happened while Lady Chadwick held you prisoner. I saw that you were very upset, and growing more so with every word you uttered. I wanted to spare you. That’s why I told you that you didn’t have to talk about it.”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember what YOU told ME?”

“Yeah. I told you that I HAD to talk about it . . . that I’d go crazy if I didn’t.”

“Did it help you to talk about it yesterday evening, when we were together in the doc’s examination room?”

Joe silently thought the matter over. “I . . . didn’t really think about it then, but since you ask NOW . . . I’d have to say yes. It DID help me.”

“Then, maybe, THAT’S the way for YOU to best deal with and come to terms with what’s happened,” Ben suggested. “Hoss will be away at the ranch most of the time, but I’m always ready and willing to listen anytime you need an ear to bend. I think you might find Hop Sing and your sister willing listeners, too.”

“Pa, I . . . I don’t know about Stace,” Joe said, his eyes round with horror at the thought. “She’s just a KID! I can’t burden HER with . . . with what’s happened.”

“ ‘She’s just a kid?!’ ” Ben echoed, incredulous. “THIS from the young man who’s forever reminding ME that his little sister is now ‘of age,’ and therefore no longer just a kid?!”

“I . . . guess I AM being a little silly, hunh.”

“No, you’re just being an overly protective older brother. But, don’t sell Stacy short. She went through a lot before she finally came to live with us.”

“You’re right, Pa. Seeing her now, it’s . . . well, it’s easy to forget all that happened to her before.”

“There’s another option, too, Joe. If you DON’T feel comfortable about talking with US . . . your brother and sister, Hop Sing, or me, Doc Martin told me there are doctors who specialize in this kind of thing . . . helping people talk about whatever’s befallen them and helping them to come to terms with it, and move on,” Ben said. “He knows a couple of very fine doctors, who specialize in this.”

“I’ll . . . keep that in mind,” Joe said slowly, thoughtfully, “and, Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“Sorry I was so moody just now,” Joe apologized contritely. “I was feeling hungry, miserable, sorry for myself, and like I was just about the most useless person walking around on the face of the earth.”

“You still feeling all those things?”

“Only the hungry and kinda miserable with my aching shoulder and ankle,” Joe replied with a grin. “The other two . . . no. I know why I’ve gotta stay on a strict diet, and why I can’t help Adam with the house, or Hank with the branding. I’ll try to be a better patient. I promise.”

“Apology accepted, Son, though as Doc Martin has said time, and time again, none of us Cartwrights are good patients.”

“He says YOU’RE the worst of the lot,” Joe teased.

“I should be, Young Man, I have a few years up on the lot of ya,” Ben retorted with a smile. “Now, come on . . . let’s go wash up for supper.”

“Joseph Francis Cartwright, this board looks different!” Ben declared with a scowl. “So help me, if you changed anything while I was seeing your sister upstairs, I’ll— ”

“I told ya, Pa. You gotta watch Li’l Brother here like a hawk,” Hoss said as he moved through the dining room, into the small living room, where his father and younger brother sat playing checkers near the fireplace. After the family had finished eating their supper, he had unloaded Hop Sing’s essential kitchenware from the back of the buckboard, then helped set it all in a big washtub, filled nearly to the brim with boiling hot, soapy water, to soak

“Hoss, you wound me!” Joe declared with the sad, innocent face of a cherub.

“Not ME, Joe, but PA might if y’ keep movin’ those pieces around when he ain’t lookin’.”

“Don’t listen to him, Pa. He’s just a sore loser . . . not that I can BLAME him.”

“I might be a happy winner more often if you played fair,” Hoss retorted.

Joe grinned and stuck out his tongue.

Hoss responded by thumbing up his nose.

“Your move, Joseph,” Ben said quietly.

Joe returned his attention back to the checkerboard. “Hey! This looks board different!” he declared with a frown.

“Surely you’re not accusing your own wise and loving father of cheating!?” Ben responded in mock tones of outrage.

“Well, when you put it THAT way, Pa . . . . ” Joe studied the layout of the board, then cautiously made his move.

“You sure you want to do that, Son?”

“Yeah . . . . ”

“Alright,” Ben murmured with an indifferent shrug. He, then, placed his hand on his sole remaining checker and moved, jumping over every last piece Joe had on the board.

“Hey! H-How—?! Pa, you SURE you didn’t change something while I wasn’t lookin’?” Joe queried, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“NOW who’s the sore loser?” Ben teased.

“How ‘bout another game, Pa?”

“So I can beat you SEVEN games out of seven?”

“I’LL play with ya, Joe,” Hoss said, “but, I’m warnin’ ya . . . I’m gonna watch you ‘n this dadburn board like a hawk.”

“I’m beginning to think I need to watch PA like a hawk, too,” Joe said, as he and his big brother set up the board for another game.

“Pa? C’mon, Joe, Pa don’t do things like cheat at checkers. He’s too OLD fer them kinda shenanigans.”

“Fat lot YOU know, Hoss,” Ben responded silently, as a smug triumphant smile spread slowly across his lips. He picked up the newspaper, this week’s copy of the Territorial Enterprise, from the coffee table and moved to the other end of the settee.

“Hop Sing have special treat,” the Chinese member of the Cartwright family blithely announced upon entering the room with a serving tray in hand, set with four ice cold glasses of lemonade. “Get lemons from tree venerable uncle keep in green house. Make lemonade special for Little Joe.”

“Hop Sing, I could kiss you!” Joe declared with a grin, as he helped himself to the first glass.

“Simple thank you plenty good enough,” Hop Sing chided him with a broad grin. “Glad to see boy back home with family, all safe and sound.” He handed Hoss a glass, then walked over toward Ben. “Where Miss Stacy?”

“The Kid turned in right after we got through with supper,” Joe replied, then shook his head. “The way Stacy kept nodding off at the table, I was half afraid she was gonna drown in her chicken and dumpling stew.”

“Hopping along on one leg and a pair of crutches can be very tiring at first,” Ben observed sympathetically.

“Say, Hop Sing . . . alright if I have Stacy’s glass?”

“Have little more chicken broth first, maybe tea,” Hop Sing advised. “See how settle in stomach. If good, Hop Sing make more tomorrow. Have lots of lemons from venerable uncle.”

“Hop Sing’s right, Joe,” Ben said, in complete agreement. “Remember? Doc Martin said you have to take things easy.”

“I know, Pa, and believe me, I’m trying very hard to be patient,” Joe sighed, “but it sure as shootin’ ain’t easy! Right now, I want a nice, big fat juicy sirloin so bad, I can taste it.”

“Hop Sing hope Little Joe keep appetite, even when he go back to eating real food,” the Chinese man said, as he gathered the empty glasses.

“I hope so, too, Hop Sing,” Ben replied as he folded the newspaper in hand and placed it on the coffee table. He, then, rose, and stretched. “I’m going to turn in, Boys. It’s been a real long day.”

“I’m right behind ya, Pa,” Hoss said. “I gotta get up extra early now, so I’ll be out at the Ponderosa when Hank, Candy, ‘n the other men are ready t’ start work.”

“Good night, Pa . . . good night, Big Brother,” Joe said. “I think I’ll come on up, myself, and read the newspaper in my room.”



Clad in a pair of brand new pajamas, white with thin red stripes, wearing a dark port wine robe, also new, Ben knelt down beside the bed in the room he had claimed as his own for the duration, and lifted his face toward the window, where he could see the stars and the moon. Though much smaller than the master bedroom at the front of the house, he had chosen this one because it looked out away from the town, toward the distant mountains and the wide expanse of sky . . . toward the Ponderosa . . . and home. For a time, he remained thus, gazing up at the moon, waned now to the old crescent, and into the velvety indigo black sky beyond, studded with stars, countless in number, glittering like diamonds when they catch and hold the sunlight just right.

“ ‘ . . . God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of heaven to divide the day from the night . . . ’ ”

Words from the Genesis Creation Story filtered through Ben’s mind, his thoughts, and his heart, as he continued to gaze up at the heavens spread out before him. Softly, barely above the decibel of a whisper, and reverently, he began to give them voice . . . .

“ ‘ . . . and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years: and let them be for lights in the firmament of heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was so. And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also.”

A measure of peace stole over his anxious, troubled spirit. The same peace he had found many, many years ago, gazing up at the star studded sky from the deck of a clipper, moving swiftly through the sea under the impetus of wind and current. Closing his eyes, he saw again the night sky at sea, and felt the wind at his back.

“ ‘O God, how excellent is Your Name in all the Earth . . . .’ ”

Ben turned and, much to his surprise, found his daughter, Stacy, standing framed in the doorway, leaning heavily on her crutches. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was . . . for a little while.”

“Do you remember the rest of it?”

“ ‘O God, how excellent is Your Name in all the Earth,’ ” Stacy began again as her eyes moved to the window, “ ‘when I consider Your Heavens, the work of Your Fingers, the Moon and Stars which You have ordained, what is man . . . or woman . . . that You are mindful of them, or their sons and daughters that You visit them?’ You had that look on your face, Pa.”

“Oh?” Ben rose to his feet and extended his hand. “ . . . and what look is that, Young Woman?” he asked, bemused.

“That look you get when we ride out to someplace like Ponderosa Plunge, and you just stop and look out over the whole country side,” Stacy said as she slowly moved into the room, “and I know you’re thinking about how vast and beautiful this land is, and about God, who made it all.”

“Tonight, I needed to put things into perspective,” Ben said. “Looking up at the stars has always helped me do that.”

“Is . . . everything ok, Pa?” she ventured hesitantly. “With YOU, I mean.”

“I was feeling a mite overwhelmed by what’s happened, and by everything we have ahead of us, but I’m feeling better now.”

Stacy knew that he spoke true by the peace she saw reflected in her father’s dark brown eyes. “Would it be alright if I stay and listen while you pray?”

Ben smiled. “I’d like nothing better,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you sit down here?” He steered her over toward the edge of the bed. “Do you want something to prop up your leg?”

Stacy shook her head. “No thank you, Pa. I’ll be ok.”

After seeing that his daughter was seated comfortably on the edge of the bed, Ben took his place beside her, gently taking her hand in both of his own. With his eyes open and face lifted upward toward the heavens, he began to pray softly, in manner appropriate for intimate conversation with One, much loved, his heart filled with a quiet, yet very deep, very profound spirit of gratitude:

“OUR Father . . . who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

Stacy knew those words to be the start of the prayer, her father and brothers knew as “The Lord’s Prayer,” and her friends, Molly O’Hanlan and Susannah O’Brien knew simply as the “Our Father.”

OUR Father . . . who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

Stacy turned those words over once again in her mind. She sensed the awe and majesty of God, that same sense of awe and majesty, she, herself felt when contemplating the verses of Psalm Eight, long ago committed to memory, or looking out on the mountains and sky, that surrounded her home. Yet, there was also a strong sense of closeness and intimacy, especially when her father uttered those words.

OUR Father . . . who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name . . . .

“ . . . Thank you,” Ben prayed. “Thank you for being fortress and strength to me and to my family in our trial by fire, both now and in the days to come. I can’t begin to find words enough to express my gratitude for sparing our lives when our house burned; f-for giving my daughter, Stacy, b-back to me; f-for bringing my son, Joe, through all his suffering, for bringing him back home— ”

Ben stopped for a time, unable to speak, as rivulets of tears squeezed out between his closed eyelids, and freely cascaded down his cheeks. “Dear God, My Heavenly Father,” he prayed silently. “I love them all so much . . . I don’t know WHAT I’d do if . . . if— ”

If any of them were ever lost to him.

Those were the words he could not bring himself to voice, even within the silence of his thoughts. He felt Stacy’s left hand coming to rest overtop his right, and gently squeezing. Then, much to his surprise, he felt another hand on his shoulder, gentle, yet firm. He turned, at the same moment Stacy looked up, and found Joe standing beside him, balanced between his good foot and a cane.

“I’m here, too, Pa,” Joe whispered, his eyes a deep emerald green in the subdued light of waning moon and bright stars. He sat down on the bed, on his father’s other side.

Ben placed an arm around his son’s shoulders and the other around his daughter’s and hugged both of them very close. He took a shallow breath, then another, followed by yet another, and another . . . until the urge to cry finally lessened. He swallowed, and dabbed his still wet cheeks with the sleeve of his robe.

“I am also grateful beyond words for Hoss and for Hop Sing,” Ben continued his prayer, taking Joe’s and Stacy’s hands in his own, “ . . . for the pillars of strength THEY’VE been. I thank you for friends like the Martins . . . and also for love and c-caring . . . the support, and for the prayers f-from the men who . . . who have c-come to work for me and their f-families . . . all of whom, who have . . . who have shown themselves as friends. Thank you so much for the blessings you’ve bestowed on me and my family, and . . . Dear Lord . . . MY Father in Heaven . . . help me now to forgive where I need to forgive, as I myself have been forgiven. Amen.”

“Amen,” Joe and Stacy murmured together, softly, in unison.

“Amen,” another voice softly echoed from the door directly behind him.

“Me, too. Amen.”

Ben turned and saw his son, Hoss standing framed in the doorway, clad in a brand new night shirt the same color blue as his eyes, with Hop Sing standing beside him, wearing a white nightshirt underneath a dark brown cotton robe.

“I hope ya didn’t mind me listenin’ in,” Hoss said apologetically, “but . . . I’ve always liked hearin’ you pray, an’ I especially like hearin’ ya pray now.”

“I don’t mind in the least,” Ben said quietly.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Hoss?”

“We DO have a whole lot t’ be thankful for . . . don’t we?” Hoss said, as he and Hop Sing entered the room.

Ben nodded. “Yes, we do, Son. I . . . had almost forgotten myself . . . until I started to pray,” he said, his voice still tremulous.

“You alright, Pa?” Joe asked, as an anxious frown creased his smooth brow.

“I will be,” Ben hastened to assure his youngest son. “Now, let’s get the lot of you off to bed.



Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . . .

Joe lay on his bed, with eyes wide open, glued to the ceiling, seeing absolutely nothing. The rhythmic tick-tock of the regulator clock hanging on the wall facing his bed filled his ears, echoing and re-echoing throughout even the deepest places of mind and thought.

Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . . .

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

Footsteps, tapping out a slow, even cadence against the bare hard wood floor, one foot following the other, and the other, and the other, again and again, keeping a steady pace, neither speeding up nor slowing down . . . .

He stirred, tried to move . . . found himself paralyzed . . . .

Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . .

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

He heard again, the faint, unmistakable sound of a woman’s hard soled shoe, with heel slightly elevated, pacing the floor in front of his bed.

Slap . . . slap . . . slap . . . slap . . . .

She slapped her riding crop against the open palm of her free hand, keeping time with every step she took.

“Tell me . . . .

Tell me, Little Joe.

Tell me what REALLY happened the night of the fire.”

Gasping, Joe bolted from prone to sitting. He glanced around the darkened room, through eyes round with fear, terror, and an almost mind numbing dread, desperately searching among the Fletchers’ furnishings for something . . . anything . . . reassuring and familiar.

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

“Tell me . . . . ”

Slap . . . slap . . . slap . . . slap . . . .

“Tell me, Little Joe.”

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

“Tell me what happened . . . . ”

Slap . . . slap . . . slap . . . slap . . . .

“Tell me what REALLY happened the night of the fire.”

“N-No,” Joe whimpered, his eyes darting fearfully among the strange, and deep shadows, veiling the room.

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

Clasping his hands tightly together, holding them and his arms up flush against his chest, he began to inch backward, toward the headboard of the bed on which he sat.

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

Slap . . . slap . . . slap . . . slap . . . .

He saw her blackened silhouette moving against the dimmed lights of the city and moon shining in through the window in his room, with its lacy, white, translucent curtains.

“No . . . oh God . . . NO!” Sobbing, Joe kept inching further and further back along his bead until he felt his back touch the hard wood of the head board. He drew his legs up as close to his body as he possibly could.

“Joe?!”

She passed the window, passed the foot of his bed, and turned. Now, she was moving through the veil of thick shadow and darkness toward him.

“N-No,” Joe sobbed, burying his face in his hands. “No. No, no, no, NO! Oh, G-God, please . . . please . . . . ”

With heart in mouth, Ben immediately flew over to the small table next to his youngest son’s bed, and turned up the lamp. “Joe?” He, then, turned his anxious attention to his youngest son.

“Oh, G-God, no. Please, please . . . . No, no . . . no . . . . ” Joe whimpered, shaking his head back and forth, in time with the cadence of his agonized moaning.

Alarmed, Ben sat down on the edge of the bed. “Joe? Son, it’s PA!” he said, as he gently placed his hands on Joe’s wrists.

“No . . . I told you . . . I told you wha’ happened the night of the fire . . . I already told you . . . . ”

“Joe, wake up!” Ben pulled his son’s tightly balled fists down away from his eyes. “Please, PLEASE . . . wake up!”

Joe shuddered, and gasped. “P-Pa?!” he murmured as his gray-green eyes, still round with terror, focused intently on his father’s anxious face. “Pa . . . that r-really you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Ben said. “I heard you cry out.”

Joe reached out and seized his father’s robe by its lapels. “P-Pa, wh-where AM I?” he whimpered, his voice, his entire body trembling. “You gotta tell me where I am. Please!”

Ben reached out and took Joe firmly by the shoulders. “We’re in the Fletchers’ house,” he said slowly, gazing earnestly into his son’s terror filled face.

“Fuh-fuh-Fletchers?!”

“Yes, Joe, the Fletchers’ house. In town.” It took every ounce of will Ben possessed to keep his tone calm and even in the face of his own escalating fear and dread.

“Why? What’re we d-doing here?”

“Our house on the Ponderosa burned down,” Ben explained. “Do you remember?”

Joe immediately buried his face in his hands once again. “I already told you what happened,” he sobbed. “I already told you.”

Ben took his frightened son in his arms and held him close. “I know, Son. I know. You already told me what happened,” he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut against the acrid stinging of his own tears. He could feel Joe’s arms reaching under his, to encircle his chest, his fingers grasping the material of his bathrobe. “I’m here, Joe,” he whispered, hugging his distraught son closer. “Your pa’s right here.”

For a time, Joe clung desperately to his father, sobbing.

Ben held him tight, as he had when this young man was a small child, rocking back and forth, gently stroking his tangled mop of curls. “I-I’m here,” he sobbed softly, his own heart broken by his youngest son’s terrible anguish. “Your . . . your pa’s right h-here.”

At length, Joe’s agonized weeping began to lessen, dying away to an occasional hiccup, faint, barely audible. He raised his head slowly, and gazed intently into his father’s tear stained face. “P-Pa?”

“I’m here, Son.”

“Are y-you . . . are you really here?”

“Yes, I’m really here. I’m right here . . . with you.”

“Where’s everyone else?” Joe demanded, his eyes once more frantically searching the room. “Where’s Hoss? And . . . . ” He gasped again. Ben could feel his son’s entire body trembling. “Pa . . . where’s Stacy? Please, you gotta tell me! Where’s Stacy?!”

“I’m right here, Grandpa.” It was Stacy. She stood framed in the open doorway, clad in her nightshirt, leaning heavily on her crutches.

“Come on in, Stacy,” Ben invited.

“Oh God, where’s Stacy?” Joe moaned. “Please, Pa, please! You g-gotta tell me.”

Stacy, with heart in mouth, made her way across the room with surprising ease and quickness. “I’m here, Grandpa,” she said, sitting down on the other side of the bed.

Joe lifted his head from his father’s chest and stared over at his sister in complete and utter disbelief. “Stacy?! Is . . . . Are y-you . . . . ?!”

“Yes, it’s me,” she said quietly, placing her hand over his, still clutching tight to his father’s robe. “I’m really here, Joe, and so are you.”

“I . . . I h-had this dream . . . this horrible dream that . . . that you were d-dead,” Joe began to sob anew.

“I’m NOT dead . . . I’m very much alive,” Stacy said, as she slipped her arms in between Joe and her father, and wrapped them around her brother’s waist, “and I’m going to STAY alive . . . for a very, very long time.”

“Thank G-God,” Joe sobbed, as his head dropped down onto his father’s shoulder. “Thank G-God.”

“Mister Cartwright?”

Ben glanced up, in time to see Hop Sing enter the room, carrying a large mug of hot tea. Hoss, clad only in his night shirt, followed behind, yawning.

“Hop Sing make Little Joe tea. Peppermint, mix with fennel and dill seed, make sweet with honey,” Hop Sing said softly. “Peppermint help Little Joe tummy. Fennel and dill seed help Little Joe sleep.”

“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Ben said, as he reached out to take the mug of tea. He, then, turned his attention back to his son. “Joe?”

“Y-Yeah, Pa?”

“I’d like you to drink a little of this . . . . ”

“What is it?”

“Tea,” Ben replied. “Hop Sing just made it up special. It’ll help your stomach, AND help to calm you a little.”

“Y-You won’t go anywhere?” Joe asked looking from his father, to his sister, then back again.

“Stacy and I’ll be right here, Son. Would you take a little?”

Joe slowly, reluctantly moved one arm out from around his father, to take the mug. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. “Smells like peppermint and licorice.”

“Have peppermint leaf and fennel seed,” Hop Sing said quietly. “Little Joe drink. Good for what ail him.”

Joe looked over at Hop Sing, and favored him with a wan smile. “Thanks, Hop Sing,” he murmured, then lifted the mug to his lips. He took a wary sip, then another. “Hey . . . this ain’t half bad.”

“Have two Little Joe favorite candy flavor,” Hop Sing said. “Peppermint and licorice.”

Joe took another sip from the mug, waited, then took another. “I . . . thought . . . or maybe dreamed I was back THERE again,” he said slowly, with a shudder. “I can’t remember falling asleep. I was just . . . there, and all this . . . me b-being here with you . . . THAT was the dream.”

“Do you still feel like you’re dreaming?”

“I don’t know, Pa, I . . . just plain . . . don’t know.”

“The reality is you’re here . . . at the Fletchers’ house, with me, Stacy, Hoss, and Hop Sing,” Ben said. “We’re going to be staying here . . . in the Fletchers’ house, until OUR house can be rebuilt.”

“Because of the fire,” Joe said, before taking a big gulp of the tea.

“Take it easy, Joe,” Ben admonished his son in a quiet, gentle tone. “You need to sip your tea slowly, so not to upset your stomach.”

“Sorry, Pa,” Joe murmured contritely.

“It’s all right. No real harm done.”

Joe took another sip. “I’m here at the Fletchers’ with you, Little Sister here . . . ” he looked over at Stacy and smiled, “ . . . Hop Sing, and Big Brother.”

“That’s right.”

“We’re here because our house burned down.”

“Yes.”

“ . . . and THIS is real. I’m NOT dreaming.”

“No,” Ben shook his head. “THIS is real.”

“ . . . and my being . . . back there . . . with HER?”

“THAT was the dream,” Ben said firmly. “Furthermore, she’s dead. She can’t hurt you any more. You’re safe now. You’re safe with your family.”

“Sh-she’s . . . she’s dead, Pa? Lady Chadwick’s d-dead?”

“Yes, Joe . . . she’s dead. She can’t hurt you . . . or any other member of this family anymore. You’re safe now.”

Joe sipped a little more of the tea, as he silently mulled over what his father had just told him. “She’s dead. She’s . . . really dead.”

“Yes, Son. She’s dead.”

Joe yawned. “Better take this, Pa. I . . . I think I’ve had enough,” he murmured softly, as he passed the mug, now half empty, back to Ben. Ben placed the mug down on the table beside the bed, and took Joe back into his arms. Joe closed his eyes and focused his attention on his father . . . his broad chest and shoulders . . . the strong arms wrapped protectively, lovingly around his still trembling body . . . his larger-than-life presence of both spirit and body that dominated, even swallowed up the entire room . . . . Within a few moments, he had dropped off into an easy, light slumber.

“Pa?” Hoss spoke up for the first time since entering the room with Hop Sing. “I can sit with him a li’l while if ya want.”

“YOU have to get up early, Young Man,” Ben gently reminded his biggest son, “and you have a long day ahead of you besides. No, you g’won back to bed. I’LL stay with him awhile.”

“Little Joe sleep now, sleep all rest of night,” Hop Sing said. “Mister Cartwright, Mister Hoss, Miss Stacy, all go to bed. Need rest. Hop Sing sit with Little Joe, make sure he stay sleeping.”

“Alright,” Ben agreed with much reluctance. “You’ll let me know if he wakes up?”

“Hop Sing promise, Hop Sing tell Mister Cartwright.”

“Come on, Pa,” Hoss said quietly. “Let’s get Li’l Sister here back to bed, then us. You’re gonna have all day long t’morrow t’ look after Joe . . . ‘n Stacy, too. With havin’ t’ keep tabs on both of ‘em . . . I think YOU’RE gonna need a good night’s rest more ‘n me.”

Ben nodded, and rose. He stood for a moment, to watch the even rise and fall of Joe’s chest. Satisfied that his son was, for the moment, safely asleep, he whispered good night, before turning and silently leaving the room, with Hoss and Stacy.

“Good morning, Hop Sing.”

“Good morning, Mister Cartwright. Mister Hoss up and go very early, almost before sun-up,” Hop Sing said, by way of returning the greeting. “Sit down. Breakfast ready. Where Little Joe and Miss Stacy?”

“I left both of them sleeping,” Ben replied, as he seated himself at the head of the small table in the alcove that served as dining room. “Hop Sing, do you think you could manage the pair of ‘em for a couple of hours?”

“Hop Sing can manage, Mister Cartwright. Easy as cake.”

Ben smiled. “I think the expression is ‘easy as PIE,’ ”

“Pie . . . cake . . . all same to Hop Sing,” the Chinese man declared with a shrug. “Where YOU go?”

“I have some errands to take care of this morning,” Ben replied, his smile fading.

“Pa?”

Startled, Ben glanced up sharply. He was surprised to find Joe standing at his elbow, still clad in his nightshirt. His son’s gaunt, haggard appearance, as revealed in the harsh light of morning, shocked and dismayed him. “Good morning, Joe,” he managed. “I was going to let you sleep in this morning.”

“Pa, do any of your errands this morning involve Lady Chadwick?” Joe demanded, coming straight to the point.

Joe’s question immediately drew a sharp glare from Ben.

“Well? Do they?” Joe pressed.

“Yes,” Ben reluctantly replied. “I wanted to stop by the sheriff’s office and ask Roy to send two wires . . . one to Scotland Yard’s London office, and the other to the police department in New Orleans, asking them to locate Lady Chadwick’s . . . and her son’s next of kin and inform them of their deaths.”

“Are you going to the undertaker?”

“Yes. I want to arrange to have the bodies of Lady Chadwick and her son taken to Carson City for burial.” Ben had adamantly vowed to himself not to bury them in a place where there was even the slightest chance he or any other member of his family might see their grave markers. Carson City, he had reasoned, was far enough away to preclude such a possibility, and Linda, at least, had lived there off and on for many years.

“I have to go with you,” Joe insisted, his mouth thinning to a near straight, lipless line of angry determination.

“Now, Joe— ”

“I have to see her, Pa. I have to see her, so that I’ll know beyond ANY shadow of doubt that the bitch is dead.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Son.”

“Pa, PLEASE! I have to know,” Joe pressed, as he sat down in the chair, to his father’s right. “That dream I had last night . . . . ”

“What about it?”

“I didn’t even remember falling asleep,” Joe said, his voice, his hands shaking. “One minute, I was staring up at the ceiling, the next I was back there, again . . . with HER. Then YOU came in, and . . . for a time there, I had no idea what was real and what was dream. I thought I was going crazy, Pa, and . . . it scared me. It still scares me.”

“Did you stop to consider that waking up from a vivid nightmare in a strange house might have left you feeling disoriented?” Ben asked.

“Pa, it’s not the same,” Joe insisted. “I honestly didn’t know what WAS real and what WASN’T last night. I have to see Lady Chadwick. I have to know that she’s dead.”

“But, I told you last night that she’s dead,” Ben said, with a bewildered frown.

“I know you TOLD me, but I have to SEE her myself, with my own two eyes. If you don’t take me with you, I’ll get myself over there, if I have to crawl the entire way on my hands and knees.”

Ben knew by the steely glint in those gray-green eyes, the rigid set of his jaw, and mouth thinned to a near straight line, that Joe fully intended to do as he had said.

“I have to see her dead, Pa . . . I have to!” Joe argued. “If I DON’T? There’s always gonna be this one little part inside me that’s never, ever gonna know for sure. After the hell that woman put me through, and . . . especially after that horrible nightmare last night . . . I can’t go around harboring even the slightest of doubts.”

“You want me to come along, too, Grandpa?”

Ben was surprised to find that Stacy had made her way down the stairs, and now stood at the foot of the table, clad in nightshirt and bathrobe, carefully balanced between her good leg and her crutches.

“I appreciate your offer, Kid, more than I can say,” Joe said with genuine, heartfelt gratitude, “but, this is something I think I have to do MYSELF.” He said this last with a long, hard, very meaningful look over at his father.

“Alright,” Ben agreed reluctantly. Though he was extremely loath to admit it, Joe DID have a valid point. “HOP SING?!”

“Mister Cartwright call?” Hop Sing responded as he ambled into the living room.

“Yes. Would you mind helping me hitch up the buggy? Joe will be going with me this morning,” Ben explained. “He’s got something to take care of himself.”

“Yes, Sir, Mister Cartwright. Hop Sing help hitch up horse to buggy.”

“While we’re doing that, Young Man, you g’won upstairs and get yourself ready,” Ben said, then turned to his daughter after his son had nodded, and moved off toward the stairs. “We shouldn’t be gone for any more than a couple of hours, Stacy. Do you need or want anything before we leave?”

“No, I’ll be ok, Pa.”

“YOU don’t feel the need to see Lady Chadwick . . . do you?” Ben asked, remembering how badly Stacy had been hurt, how close she had come to dying all because of the fire set by the orders Lady Chadwick.

“No,” Stacy adamantly shook her head. “I would’ve gone if . . . if Grandpa here NEEDED me, but otherwise . . . I’ve never had the pleasure . . . ” this last was accompanied by a sarcastic roll of the eyes, “ . . . of meeting the lady, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather KEEP it that way.”



“Good morning, Mister Cartwright and . . . Mister . . . Cartwright,” Tobias Chaney, the undertaker greeted Ben first, then Joe. He turned to the man standing behind him, a younger, slightly taller, rail thin version of himself. “This is my oldest son, Tobias Chaney, JUNIOR.” A proud smile tugged hard against the corner of his mouth, despite his intentions to maintain and project what he felt to be a straight, decorous, even dignified demeanor. “He joined the business in the fall of last year.”

“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Gentlemen,” the younger Tobias Chaney acknowledged the introduction, then turned to offer Ben his hand first, Joe second.

“Joseph would like to see Mrs. Lawrence, if that’s alright, Mister Chaney,” Ben addressed himself to the elder, after shaking hands with Tobias Junior. He grimaced slightly, as he spoke her name, unable to help himself.

“Certainly, Mister Cartwright.” The undertaker turned to his son. “Would you please show the younger Mister Cartwright to the chapel where we have the late Mrs. Lawrence laid out?”

“Yes, Sir,” the younger man replied, then turn to Joe. “If you would come with me, Mister Cartwright?”

“In the meantime, Mister Chaney, if you and I could take care of the remaining paperwork?” Ben asked, turning his attention back to the undertaker.

“Certainly, Mister Cartwright. My office is THIS way.”



Joe stood alone in the small chapel room, staring down at the empty mortal remains of one Linda de Salle Lawrence, dowager Countess of Chadwick, lying in the open casket before him. She looked at peace lying there, with eyes closed, her forehead and face virtually unlined. Though she hardly deserved to rest in peace, not in Joe’s mind, especially after the hurt she had inflicted upon himself . . . and not after killing her own son in a desperate bid to inflict even more pain and grief on his brother and sister, Hop Sing, and most especially on his father.

“How could you DO that?” Joe demanded in a soft voice, barely aware that he had spoken aloud. “How could you order your man to kill your son, screaming . . . going out of your mind because . . . because Crippensworth wasn’t moving fast enough to suit you?

“Why did you hate my pa so much? YOU’RE the one who turned HIM down when he asked you to marry him,” Joe continued, his voice rising. “Then . . . when you came to visit us . . . you tried to ruin Pa . . . to ruin all of us. You tried to take away everything . . . his dreams everything h-he’s worked so hard for . . . . ”

Hot, scalding, angry tears poured from Joe’s eyes, and his body trembled with rage. “You had no reason to . . . to hate him,” he continued. “No reason at all! If anything, P-PA’S the one who . . . who h-had every reason in the world to hate YOU!”

“Joe?!”

He turned, nearly jumping out of his skin, to find his father standing behind him.

“I’m sorry I startled you, Son,” Ben said in a quiet, gentle tone, his face a mask of worry and concern. He started across the short span of distance between the door and the place where Joe stood.

“I . . . I c-can’t understand it, Pa,” Joe sobbed, as Ben gently placed his hands on his son’s heaving shoulders, and turned him away from Linda Lawrence’s dead body. “I c-can’t understand h-how she . . . how she c-could’ve hated YOU s-so much m-more . . . than she ever l-loved her own son.”

As Ben gathered his distraught, agitated son into his arms, his eyes slowly drifted past his son, and briefly came to rest on the body of the woman, who had brought such profound misery to himself, to the son he now held so tightly, and to the rest of his family. He thought again of the house she had owned in Carson City for so many years, a discreet distance from the Ponderosa, yet so frighteningly near. He remembered the paintings . . . the one she had given him when she came to visit as well as the two life sized portraits . . . his own face, its details, painted from memory, so accurate, so complete . . . he shuddered now just thinking about it.

“Joe . . . . ”

“Y-Yeah, Pa?” Joe queried, as his tears subsided.

“You ready to go?”

Joe nodded. Together father and son crossed the room in silence, Ben with an arm still wrapped tight about his son’s shoulders, Joe, with his arm around his father’s waist.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“Why?” Joe paused at the door and gazed earnestly into his father’s face, and eyes, perplexed, begging for an answer.

“I . . . don’t think we’re ever going to know the answer to that question, Joe,” Ben said. “I kind of doubt even SHE knew the answer.”



Joe rode in the buggy next to his father in sullen, angry silence, their next stop the sheriff’s office, then back to the Fletcher’ house. As they rode, the streets and buildings; the people, with their horses, buckboards, and buggies; the noise, even the distant mountains and the blue skies overhead, all faded into the vision of Lady Chadwick lying dead in the simple pine box that was to be her coffin, in the silent, dimly lit chapel in the undertaker’s establishment. He remembered, with grim satisfaction, that she had been laid out with hair was still mussed, and her cosmetics smeared into streaks across her forehead, down her cheeks, and over her nose.

The two deep, gaping holes in her chest remained, courtesy of bullets fired from a derringer found in the possession of her man, Gerald Crippensworth. No efforts had been made on the part of the undertaker to hide or conceal them. The front of the white nightgown she still wore, was stained by the enormous amount of dried blood that must have bubbled up like a spring or geyser until her heart had finally stopped beating. There was also a thin line of purple-black bruising across her neck, standing in lurid contrast against the deathly pallor of her skin. Pa had told him that someone, most likely Crippensworth, had strangled her first using a string tie.

Joe had expected to find a measure of relief in seeing her dead body lying in its coffin at the undertaker’s establishment. But, there was none. If anything, the burden, that had weighed so heavily on his heart since his homecoming, increased many, many times.

“Damn you, Crippensworth,” he muttered softly under his breath. “Damn you, damn you, DAMN you!”

“Did you say something, Joe?” Ben asked, his brows coming together to form an anxious frown.

“No,” Joe snapped. Upon seeing the worried, hurt look on his father’s face, he immediately regretted the harsh sharpness of his tone. “Sorry, Pa,” he murmured, this time his voice filled with regret. “I . . . I was just thinking out loud was all.”

“If you’d like, we can just g’won back to the Fletchers,” Ben offered. “I can see Roy another time.”

“No, please . . . I’ll be ok,” Joe said, offering his father a wan smile.

Ben returned his son’s smile with a look of apprehension and doubt.

“Honest, Pa, I’ll be ok,” Joe said. There was a subtle pleading note in his voice. “The sooner you can see Sheriff Coffee and get him to send those wires . . . the sooner we can finally wash our hands of that spiteful, scheming bitch.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, and besides . . . it might do me good to see that sadistic brute caged behind bars, like . . . like the vicious, rabid animal he is.”

Ben nodded mutely, in spite of the many doubts assailing him.



“Ben, I’m ‘way ahead of ya,” Roy Coffee said in response to Ben’s request that he send wires to Scotland Yard and to the New Orleans Police Department. “I wired ‘em the mornin’ after we found YOU, Joe.”

“Any word?” Ben asked.

“Plenty . . . just come in this mornin’,” Roy said, as he escorted the Cartwrights over to his desk, “leastwise from Scotland Yard ‘n from a Sir Arthur Witherspoon. He’s the present Lord Chadwick’s lawyer.”

“What did Scotland Yard and Sir Witherspoon have to say?”

“Scotland Yard wants t’ have Mister Crippensworth extradited t’ England t’ stand trial for about a half dozen murders he’s s’posed t’ have committed THERE,” Roy said grimly. “They . . . Scotland Yard, that is, seem t’ have all their ducks in a row, leastwise as far as I can see. The matter’s before Judge Faraday now, but I expect him to rule in favor o’ havin’ him sent back t’ England.”

Relief surged through Ben like a strong tidal wave. “Then . . . you won’t need Joe to—, ”

“Not right away, Ben, but I’m STILL gonna need a deposition from Joe t’ keep on file, just in case he ain’t found guilty in England.”

“Can we take care of that now, Sheriff Coffee?” Joe asked.

“Sure . . . if you’re up f’r it,” Roy replied, doing his best to ignore the dark, angry glare Ben leveled in his direction.

“Son, there’s no hurry to do this,” Ben said, as his angry scowl melted into a mask of worry and grave concern.

“I know,” Joe said, his syllables terse and clipped. “I just want to get it over with. Then . . . . ” he turned his attention back to the sheriff, “I want you to take me back there so I can see Crippensworth.”

“Joe, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Ben immediately protested, his own worries and frustration now getting the better of him.

“I have to see him, Pa. I have to see that . . . that animal caged,” Joe said, as a murderous scowl creased and lined his forehead. “I have to see him myself, with my own two eyes . . . just like I had to see Lady Chadwick.”



For the better part of the next hour, Joe gave Sheriff Coffee all of the details of his abduction by Lady Chadwick, her man, Crippensworth, and her son, the man the Cartwrights had known as Jack Murphy. He related everything in a calm, detached tone of voice, that frankly shocked and surprised him, given that he was all too aware of the anger, the fear, even grief seething within him, just under the surface. He also gave Roy the details pertaining to the murder of “Jack Murphy.”

“ . . . and that happened around the back o’ the house?” Roy asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Joe replied, “out behind where the kitchen and Hop Sing’s room were. Lady Chadwick gave the order, and Crippensworth shot him down in cold blood as he ran, trying to save himself. Lady Chadwick told me later that Jack was her son . . . that she had Crippensworth kill him because he looked a little like me. She told Crippensworth to burn Jack’s body and place it in what was left of the house to make Pa think I had died in the fire.”

“You have any idea WHY she went t’ all that trouble?”

“She kept blathering on and on about some great, grand and glorious plan of revenge against Pa, but other than that . . . . ” Joe shrugged. “Very little of what she said or did made any kind of logical good sense, especially when she started to act like she was married to Pa and . . . like . . . I was their son.”

For Ben, having to sit quietly by, listening to a detailed account of the torture his youngest son had been forced to endure at the hands of Lady Chadwick and the monster of a man, safely locked away behind bars in the room beyond, was like having a very dull knife thrust into his heart, again and again. He would have given anything to be able to trade places with Joe, to take from him all the pain and agony he had suffered.

“ . . . and Joe’s only spoken about the PHYSICAL pain,” Ben realized in miserable silence, desperate to somehow help his son, and utterly helpless in that he hadn’t even the slightest idea where to even begin. “He’s hardly said anything about the suffering he was forced to endure mentally and emotionally . . . . ”

“Joe, I . . . I hate more ‘n just about anything havin’ t’ ask ya t’ do this,” Roy Coffee said, after the young man had finished giving his deposition, “but I gotta.” He directed a hard meaningful look over at the elder Cartwright, seated next to his son, with his face pale, his hands trembling. “I need ya to read this over, make sure everything’s down right, just as ya told me,” the sheriff continued, returning his attention to Joe. “If ya got anything t’ add, ya can write it down at the bottom o’ the last page. I also need ya t’ correct any mistakes, then sign it right here at the top o’ the first page.”

Joe took the deposition from Roy, numbering four and a half pages total. He read over the testimony in silence, then signed his name at the top of the first page, as he had been instructed. “Now I’d like to see the animal you have caged in the back, Sheriff Coffee,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Joseph, I don’t think— ” Ben, his voice shaking, started to protest.

“I told you, Pa, I have to see him,” Joe said tersely.

Ben knew when Joe, when any of his other children got that steely, determined look in their eyes, there was no arguing the matter. He sighed with reluctant resignation, as started to rise.

“You don’t have to get up,” Joe protested. “I CAN do this myself.”

“I know you can, Son,” Ben said wearily, “but this time . . . I HAVE to go with you. This is something I need to do . . . as your father.”

Joe opened his mouth to counter, only to have the words die in his throat upon getting a good hard look at his father’s pale, grief-stricken face. “O-Ok, Pa,” he said in a kindlier, more gentle tone. “We’re in this together.” He held out his hand. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Ben said softly as he reached out and took his son’s extended hand.



“Well, well, well . . . look who’s deigned to pay me a visit,” Crippensworth sneered as Joe entered the room, where the jail cells were located, following behind Roy Coffee in silence, with Ben bringing up the rear. Though Joe’s complexion remained pale, and ashen, the sound of Crippensworth’s voice brought a dark, murderous glare to his face.

“I’m not here to visit you, Crippensworth,” Joe returned in a harsh, cold, angry tone that dripped icicles. “I’m here to see you where you should be, where I hope you’ll be for the rest of your natural life . . . locked away in a cage, behind bars.”

“Milady was right. You ARE an ungrateful whelp. After ALL we’ve done for you . . . taken you in where you were so badly injured, binding your wounds— ”

“Horse shit!” Joe snapped. “This time, I’M gonna tell YOU what REALLY happened after that fire. You and Lady Chadwick kidnapped me, you held me prisoner against my will, you beat me, tried to starve and poison me, and in the very end, YOU tried to kill me,” Joe said. Though his anger came through loud and clear, his voice again was surprisingly calm. “You WOULD have killed me, too, if my pa, my brother, and my friends hadn’t shown up in the nick of time.”

“Get out!” Crippensworth growled.

“I will, but I have one more thing to say first,” Joe said. “If they don’t find you guilty in England, and you’re set free, so help me, as God is my witness . . . I WILL see that you hang here.”

“For what? Kidnapping’s hardly a hanging offense.”

“No, but MURDER is. I saw you shoot down Lady Chadwick’s son. If by chance you ARE returned here to stand trial, I’ll testify to that in court,” Joe said. “I’m not happy with the part Jack played in his mother’s plans to kidnap me so she could strike out at my pa for no damn’ good reason, but I can’t fault him for being loyal to her. She WAS his mother, after all.”

“A piss poor one.”

“I agree with you there one hundred percent, Crippensworth,” Joe returned. “Still, he didn’t deserve to be shot down in cold blood. He deserves justice for that, and so help me if you ARE returned here for trial, I’ll do everything in MY power to see that he gets justice . . . and that YOU get justice, too . . . at the end of a rope.” He, then turned to Ben, and placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Ok, Pa, I’m ready to go . . . . ”






Epilogue



After reading the same sentence for what had to be the dozenth time, Ben exhaled a long suffering sigh of utter frustration and disgust, as he folded the latest issue of the Territorial Enterprise, and threw it onto the seat of the chair nearest the bed. He had retired hours ago, right after supper, in fact, feeling more weary than he could recall having felt in a very long time. He had fully expected to be sound asleep before his head had a chance to touch the pillow. Instead, much to his amazement and chagrin, he suddenly found himself wide awake.

He listened as the wall clock in the room he had chosen as his temporary quarters, struck the hour of two in the morning, then the quarter hour, followed by the half hour. “Maybe a glass of brandy’ll help me sleep,” Ben muttered under his breath, as he threw off the bedcovers, and rose.

Ben slipped on his new bathrobe and stepped into his slippers, before quietly moving from the bedroom he occupied, out into the hall. He took great care to move quietly, so not to wake his sons, his daughter, or Hop Sing. Upon reaching the living room on the first floor, he was surprised to find his youngest son seated on the settee, staring into the dying, deep red embers, of the fire they had all enjoyed earlier that evening.

Ben coughed discreetly, as he approached, so not to unduly startle his son. “You still up, Joe?” he asked. noting that Joe still wore the same clothes he had put on that morning.

“Yeah,” Joe murmured in a voice barely audible. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Mind if I keep you company for a little while?” Ben asked. “I seem to be having trouble getting to sleep myself.”

“Sure, why not?” Joe replied.

Ben quietly crossed the room and took a seat on the settee beside his son.

“Sorry I got you so upset today,” Joe said, his eyes still fixed on the fireplace.

“Apology accepted, Son. I . . . know seeing Lady Chadwick, giving Roy your deposition, and confronting Crippensworth were all things you had to do, as for my being upset . . . just consider that the prerogative of an overly protective father,” Ben said very quietly. “I’m very proud of you, Joe.”

“You are?” Joe queried, with a bewildered frown. “What for?”

“It took a lot of courage to do what you did today.”

“You mean . . . going to see Lady Chadwick and Crippensworth?”

Ben nodded. “ . . . AND giving Roy your deposition.”

“Thanks, Pa.” Joe turned and favored his father with a wan smile. “Alright if I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Remember that time you were kidnapped and held for a hundred thousand dollars ransom?”

“Yes . . . . ” Ben replied, feeling a little uneasy. An anxious frown knotted and deepened the lines already present in his brow.

“What did YOU do . . . during the time they held you prisoner?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at,” Ben hedged.

“What did you DO, Pa? Did you try to escape? Did you talk to ‘em? What happened?”

“Well . . . I couldn’t help BUT notice all the squabbling they did among themselves,” Ben said. “An older man with a wife, much younger, leading a trio of young bucks, who thought they knew more than he did . . . and one of those young bucks had an eye for the wife.”

“I remember you saying they were greedy, too.”

“Yes,” Ben nodded his head. “They were very greedy.”

“So . . . what did you do about it?”

“I played ‘em one against the other.”

“You did? Really?”

Ben nodded warily.

“How did you do THAT?” Joe snapped out the next question.

“I pointed out the obvious,” Ben replied. “For instance . . . I told the gang leader to watch his back at all times, especially around those three young ones. Though he pretty well knew how they were, he felt confident he could keep ‘em under control. I think it unnerved him when I let it be known that I knew how things were, too. I also let him know I had a basic knowledge of arithmetic.”

Joe looked over at his father with a bewildered frown.

“I pointed out how much more of that hundred thousand dollar ransom everyone would get if it were divided FOUR ways instead of FIVE.”

“Were you scared doing that, Pa? I mean . . . suppose they all sat down together and compared notes?”

“When I met ‘em, I knew they were too quarrelsome a bunch for that.”

“How about the husband and wife?”

“The husband knew that one young man had been eyeing his wife, and he strongly suspected HER of offering that young buck encouragement,” Ben replied. “But, there was always that possibility of one of ‘em telling the others something I said, especially in the heat of argument.”

“Did that scare ya?” Joe pressed.

“Sure. I would’ve been a fool had I NOT been scared. But, I also knew they intended to kill me and leave my body for you boys to find, after they had collected on the ransom . . . so I knew I had nothing much to lose.”

Joe shuddered at the prospect of those four men and one woman actually killing his father. At the time, he had no idea. No idea in the world his pa’s kidnappers had intended to kill him after they had collected the ransom.

“The important thing to remember, Joseph, is . . . they DIDN’T kill me,” Ben said quietly, upon noting the troubled look on his son’s face. “The leader and his wife actually affected a reconciliation of sorts, and I think he decided at the last minute he didn’t want a hanging offense following the pair of ‘em around. So, after they got the money, he sent his wife and the others off to a previously arranged rendezvous place, then fired his gun, so they would believe that he had killed me.”

“We must have shown up right after that,” Joe said slowly.

“Yes, you did.”

“If I remember correctly, the leader of that gang ended up getting killed, and the others ended up going to prison. I wonder what became of them?”

“I have no idea,” Ben shook his head. “Joe?”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“Did YOU play Lady Chadwick and Mister Crippensworth against each other?” Ben asked carefully.

“Yeah. I tried anyway, after remembering that time Adam and I were taken hostage by those bank robbers,” Joe replied. His hand unconsciously reached over to take his father’s. “Adam did the same thing.”

“I remember.”

“One night, I overheard Lady Chadwick and Crippensworth really goin’ at it, fast and furious,” Joe said, turning his face again toward the fireplace. “I didn’t really need to eavesdrop, ‘cause they were screaming their heads off at each other.”

“What was their argument about?”

“Montague. They . . . Lady Chadwick, anyway, killed Montague, and buried him in the flowerbeds of a house somewhere . . . . ”

“Hoss and I found out she owned a house in Carson City,” Ben said with a shudder.

“I think maybe the place where she buried Montague WAS over in Carson City,” Joe said slowly. “At any rate, someone found Montague’s body. Crippensworth was fit to be tied, Pa, while she kept insisting over and over that she had no choice, that he . . . Montague . . . was going to go to the sheriff about something.

“While I was listening to the pair of ‘em fighting like cats and dogs, I remembered Adam sewing seeds of discord among those bank robbers, and I thought maybe, just maybe I could do the same thing with Lady Chadwick and Mister Crippensworth to drive the wedge in deeper,” Joe continued. “I was scared to death, Pa, but I did it anyway. I told both of ‘em they oughtta watch their backs, in case the other got ideas of going to the sheriff about Montague.

“I knew I’d upset ‘em. One time ol’ Crippensworth got all huffy and said something like, ‘If Milady thinks she can do away with ME as easily as she did Montague, she’s in for a very rude surprise.’ ” Joe’s sardonic rendering of Crippensworth’s accent brought an amused smile to Ben’s face. “Lady Chadwick swore up and down that Crippensworth wouldn’t betray her, but I knew by the look on her face, that I’d hit home. I . . . Pa, I . . . I hope you can forgive me for this one . . . . ”

“Joe, I can forgive you of anything . . . especially anything you had to do in that situation to save yourself,” Ben said earnestly.

“I . . . I told Crippensworth you’d be willing to pay a lot of money to get me back. I even suggested that he demand ransom without telling Lady Chadwick,” Joe said. “I think, looking back, the thought had probably crossed his mind more than once before I had said anything. Lady Chadwick’s mental state was pretty unstable, by then. Half the time, she actually thought HE was YOU.”

“You did good, Son,” Ben said, slipping his arm around Joe’s shoulders. “Looking back on that time I was kidnapped, I think I might have helped save my own life by planting those seeds of doubt. I think you doing the same with Lady Chadwick and Crippensworth kept YOU alive, too, long enough for us to finally find you.”

“Really, Pa?” Joe asked, as he turned and gazed hopefully into his father’s face. “You really think so?”

“Yes, Son, I really think so.”

“I’m . . . sorry I suggested that Crippensworth ask you for ransom.”

“Don’t be,” Ben said quietly. “If he HAD demanded ransom, we would have taken it and left it where he had asked, with someone like Candy posted there in advance to see who comes, then follow. We . . . we might have found you a lot sooner than we did, if . . . if Crippensworth had . . . taken y-you up on your suggestion.”

Joe slipped his arms around his father, and hugged him close. “I want you to know something, Pa. I KNOW you, Hoss, Candy, and Sheriff Coffee were doing everything you could to find me. I know Stacy would have been helping you out, too, if she hadn’t broken her leg.” He smiled. “I feel kinda sorry for HER, I think, ‘cause I know how frustrated she must have been because she couldn’t help out.”

“Even . . . even when she was running a high fever, facing the prospect of actually losing her leg, she kept asking Hoss and me . . . did we find YOU. Had we found YOU yet,” Ben said, taking comfort in his youngest son’s closeness, the feel of his arms clasped tight around him. “I also want YOU to know something.”

“What’s THAT?”

“That I would have given Crippensworth everything we had . . . all the money in our accounts, our cattle and horses, our lumber operations, all our interests, even the Ponderosa itself to get you back,” Ben said. “I made my fortune once, I can do it again. My REAL treasures are you, Adam, Hoss, Stacy, and Hop Sing.”

“Thanks, Pa . . . . ” Joe said, his voice catching. With his arms still firmly clasped around Ben, he buried his face against his father’s shoulder and wept hot, scalding tears, bringing in their wake the first balm of healing for his tortured soul.




The End

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