Summary: When a widow moves to a small spread near Virginia City, Adam tries to be neighbourly.  Meanwhile, Doctor Martin is trying to solve a medical problem.

PROLOGUE

No-one minded too much when old Ira Leavy upped and died in the hovel that passed for his home at the back of the livery stables in Virginia City.  He earned his keep helping out in the stables themselves, but when he was already two hours late and not hard at it, mucking out and changing straw by nine o’clock one June morning, his boss was hammering on his door and shouting at him to move his “drunken butt” if he still expected to have a job come noon. 

There was a limit to what Wade Thacker would put up with and Leavy had been pushing at those limits just once too often.  Fond of the whiskey of a night-time in the nearest saloon, he had often reneged on his responsibility to be up at dawn or shortly after, in order to care for any horses that were currently being stabled there.  Thacker was fast drawing the conclusion that he had been seen as a soft touch when he agreed to take on the old man for whom he had felt a certain sympathy when he could no longer find any other form of employment.  With no family, no roof over his head, few belongings and even less money to show for a lifetime of hard graft on a number of spreads throughout the region, Leavy had been happy to settle for anything.  So, in a moment of weakness that he was rapidly coming to regret, Thacker offered him the shack out back of the stables and a few dollars to eke out his seemingly miserable existence just that little bit longer.

Personal hygiene was not high on his agenda and he appeared to have only one change of clothes, when he deigned to change them, and Thacker had often found himself preferring the odour of horses than to stand down wind of Leavy on a hot day.  Still, it could not be denied that, when sober, he did his job well, but of late, those periods of sobriety had been less, and several times in recent days, Leavy had stayed in his bunk, sick to his stomach and blaming bad beer.

Another hour passed and there was still no sign or sound of Leavy. Thacker had had enough.  Throwing down the tool that he had been using to fork fresh straw into a stall, he strode over to the small, one-roomed building that had been home to Ira Leavy for eighteen months.  Ignoring the niceties of knocking and waiting until being invited to enter, Thacker threw open the door and stepped inside. His senses were immediately assaulted by a rank stench that had him gagging before he knew what had hit him.

Stumbling back  into the open, he gulped deep breaths of fresh air before pulling the bandana from around his neck.  Holding it over his nose and mouth, he stood on the threshold, trying to let his eyes adjust from the bright sunlight of the outside to the dimness within the shack.  Eventually, he could make out the still form of Leavy on the low bunk and he knew immediately that the man was dead.  Still, he crossed the room to make sure.  Flies rose from the corpse, buzzing and circling round Thacker so that he was forced to swat them away in revulsion. 

Leavy had been alive and well early the previous evening, because Thacker had seen him in the saloon, downing a beer and loudly announcing that he had unexpected plans for the evening.  He had even made an attempt to smarten himself up a little, damp hair indicating that he might have introduced himself to some water.  What his plans were, he refused to say, but it had given a few minutes of amusement and bawdy comment to a group of cowhands from one of the outlying ranches who were making the most of an early start to the evening’s relaxation.

Now Leavy was dead.  To all appearances, he had had a skinful of alcohol and, in a drunken stupor, had choked on his own vomit.  From the smell, he had also fouled himself with excreta.  There was nothing for Thacker to do except head for Doc Martin’s office and get him to confirm death before the undertaker was called. 

The city had a charity that paid for the burial of paupers and strangers within its limits but, in a moment of sadness at the passing of an apparently pointless and fruitless life, Thacker made the decision to pay for the arrangements himself.  He hoped that he never hit rock bottom like Leavy had done.  Few had taken any notice of him in life, except to throw him an extra coin for a well-groomed horse, and even fewer would mark his passing.  Thacker sighed with regret and left the shack, shutting the door on its grim contents.

CHAPTER ONE

Down the dry and dusty street one week later, a decrepit buckboard was stationary outside the main store, its owner within, purchasing much needed supplies.  The door to the store stood partially open to allow some ventilation as the heat of the day steadily climbed, but it was not so wide that the gritty dust could be blown inside by the occasional gusts of wind.  It was bad enough that so much was walked in anyway by the store’s customers and, at closing time, its proprietor spent ages sweeping out what seemed like a mini desert.

The door flew open as a woman backed out, dragging a sack of flour in her wake; the store’s owner clucking behind her, concerned that she was trying to move the weight all on her own.

“Stop fussing and bring the next one,” she said tersely.  “I can manage this just fine.”  She pulled the sack to the buckboard and propped it against the wheel, straightening up and taking a deep breath as she readied herself for the next stage of the proceedings.  She bent her knees and put both arms round the sack, preparing to lift.

“Let me get that for you, Ma’am,” offered a rich baritone by her side.

“I can get it,” she reiterated.

“I don’t doubt that, Ma’am, but my pa would be none too impressed if I just stood by and let a lady handle such weights.  You don’t really want me to get into trouble with him now, do you?  He’s always kinda prided himself in bringing up his boys right.” 

She looked across the sack at the man who bent opposite her, his own hands clutching the top of the sack, letting her know that he would not take no for an answer.  Nodding affirmatively, she stepped back and let him do the work, silently relieved that she would not have to struggle.

She cast a quick eye over her helper: about thirty years old and over six feet tall even without his heeled boots. He was clad entirely in black, a sombre colour that added an intriguing air of mystery to him.  She watched as he easily lifted the sack and tossed it over the side of the buckboard, positioning it so that it left room for more merchandise.  He was slim but broad-shouldered, the muscles straining against the cloth.

“Thank you,” she said briefly.

“It‘s no trouble, Ma’am,” he turned to face her, a finger touching the brim of his black stetson in deference.  “Adam Cartwright.”  That was all he said by way of introduction, courtesy dictating that he announce himself and inviting her to do the same.

“Eliza Rawlins,” she responded. 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.  You got some more stuff to load?” Adam asked, tilting his head towards the store.  At that moment, the door opened again and Ike Morrison, the store’s owner, appeared, breathing hard and making heavy work of pulling another sack out into the open.  Adam grinned to himself.  Mrs Rawlins, whoever she was, had managed a lot better than the proprietor.  He stepped forward and silently took the new sack, throwing it in by its mate.

“Why thank you, Adam,” Morrison smiled.

“Why don’t you concentrate on the serving and I’ll do the loading,” Adam suggested and the little balding man who barely reached Adam’s shoulder needed no further encouragement.

“I don’t want to be taking you out of your way or from your business,” Eliza Rawlins said, little warmth in her voice or in her eyes as she scrutinised him warily.  Adam noted her distrust and wondered at what had made her so careful and unfriendly.

“Like I said, it’s no trouble.  I was headed to the store myself anyways.  I’ve got a long list for Ike that he can start filling whilst I help you,” and he held the door open for her, gesturing her in with a sweep of his arm.

She stood to one side, ever watchful as he handed Morrison his list.  Her only movement was to indicate the pile of goods that she had just purchased.

“Cartwright; I’ve heard the name.  Big landowner to the south.  That you?” she asked as he picked up the last box and she followed him out to the buckboard.

“That’s right,” Adam stowed the box.  “Well, my pa, Ben Cartwright, does the owning.  Then there’s me and my two younger brothers, Hoss and Little Joe.  What about you, Mrs Rawlins, I don’t recall seeing you in town before.  You new around here?”

“I bought the Bates place to the east about two months ago.”

Adam suddenly remembered that he had heard something about the purchase weeks ago; he also noted that she said ‘I’ instead of ‘we’.  He decided to push it a little further.

“Will Mr Rawlins be around to help unload this lot when you get back?”

“There is no Mr Rawlins,” she said curtly.  “He died six months back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“There’s no need; you didn’t know him.”

Adam was taken aback by her brusqueness, but he was busily thinking about the Bates place.  It had gone on the market several months before following the death of Jeremiah Bates, the last of his family and in such poor health in his final years that the spread had fallen into serious disrepair.  Now this strange, aloof woman, widowed and apparently alone, had moved in.  Diminutive in size and big in attitude, she still had her work cut out for her and he could not help wondering how she was going to manage.

“Adam!” the voice cut through the bustle of main street and both Adam and the Widow Rawlins turned to see who had called.  She shielded her eyes against the sun’s glare with a hand whilst Adam merely pulled down the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his dark eyes.

A large man ran towards them across the street, his speed belying his size.  He breathed deeply as he shared his important news.

“Hey, Adam, you’ll never guess,” he began.

“Ma’am, this is my younger brother, Hoss,” Adam cut in.  “Hoss, this is Mrs Rawlins. She’s bought the Bates place.”

“Ma’am,” Hoss puffed, extending a giant hand and shaking hers with an unexpected gentleness.  He stood an easy two inches taller than his older brother, a height that was exacerbated by the ten gallon hat that he favoured. He gave a broad, toothy grin and, on releasing her hand, removed his hat with one hand and scratched at his forehead.  He revealed a shock of fine, receding, sandy-coloured hair and looked nothing like the dark, tanned, older Cartwright.  She found it hard to believe that they were related, even remotely.  “Please excuse my manners.”  He turned again to Adam.  “You’re never gonna believe this, but ol’ Ira Leavy’s gone and died.”

“So that’s why he’s not been out to do his chores,” Mrs Rawlins muttered.

“He was doing some work for you?” Adam asked.

“Some.   He was fixing some fencing and repairing the barn. Goodness knows when the job’ll get done now.”

“Well there’ll be plenty round here who’ll be more than happy to help,” Adam explained.

“I pay my way.  I’m prepared to hire work out to those who want to earn some extra money. I may be widowed, but I’m no charity case, Mr Cartwright.”

“Nobody was thinking that you were, Ma’am.  All the same, you need something heavy doing, you let me know and if I can’t get there myself, I’ll make sure there’s someone who can,” Adam offered.

“I’ll bear it in mind.  Good day, Mr Cartwright,” and climbing up into the buckboard, reluctantly allowing Hoss to take her elbow and assist, she took the reins and clucked the horses into motion.  Adam and Hoss watched her go.

“Well ain’t she the prickly one?” Hoss observed.

“You’re not kidding,” Adam grinned.  “Even the Cartwright charm couldn’t get a smile out of that one.”

Hoss looked at his older brother in horror.  “Don’t tell me you were trying to charm her!”

Adam suddenly realised that Hoss had misunderstood his well-meaning intentions for romantic ideas.  He thought briefly of the woman in her rough grey woollen skirt and grey checked shirt; the straight mousy brown hair tinged with grey and drawn back into an austere bun.  No, he definitely had no romantic inclinations in that direction.  The woman must have been a good twenty years older than him anyway!  He watched the trail of dust behind the disappearing buckboard.

“No, I wasn’t charming her like that.  I just feel a bit sorry for her that’s all.  She’s not long lost her husband and now she’s moved here, buying up the Bates place which is going to take an awful lot of hard work if she’s going to make it pay.  I’m just wondering if she’s bitten off a mite more that she can chew.  C’mon, let’s see how Mr Morrison is getting on with that order and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll buy you a drink,” and he slapped Hoss on the back as the two brothers entered the store together.

CHAPTER TWO

It was later that evening, as the Cartwright men sat around the dining table in their ranch house on the Ponderosa, that Hoss returned to the subject of Ira Leavy.

“Seems like Doc Martin says he had too much to drink and died as a result.  Thacker found him, right mess he says,” Hoss announced reaching across for another freshly baked biscuit and dipping it in the gravy that drowned his beef.

“When did they bury him?” Ben Cartwright enquired.  A man in his late fifties and with a shock of greying hair, he was a handsome, imposing figure.

“Same day, so Roy says,” Hoss replied, referring to the local sheriff and long-standing friend of the family, especially their father.

They didn’t waste much time,” Joe, the youngest of the three brothers, commented as he forked up a mouthful of mashed potato.

“Didn’t want him hanging around, not in this heat. Anyways, there was no one really to miss him and it was death by natural causes, so they say, so why wait?” Hoss said matter-of-factly.

“Did you know the Bates place had been sold?” Adam asked his father, changing the subject as he laid his fork on his empty plate, wiped his mouth on the napkin and set it on the table.

Ben thought for a moment.  “I think I recall Roy mentioning it some time ago.  Why?”

“This Widow Rawlins has bought it up.  I get the feeling that she’s trying to work it on her own and I’m wondering how she’ll manage,” Adam said casually.

“Well, if she’s the money, she’ll take on a limited crew,” Ben observed.

“What’s this widow woman like?” Joe wanted to know, a smirk on his face.

“Don’t you be getting any ideas!” Hoss exclaimed.  “Adam must be plum loco if he’s thoughts in that direction.  She’s old, short and ugly.”

“Hoss, that’s not very polite,” Ben reprimanded gently.

“That’s as mebbe, Pa, but it’s the truth.  Adam was his usual perlite self and she near enough chewed his head off,” Hoss was on the defensive.

Ben dabbed his napkin to his lips and looked at Adam who had not risen to the bait set by his younger brothers.  “You thinking of offering your services?”  He knew what Adam was like.

“Perhaps,” Adam answered.  “It depends on what needs doing and how much.  At the moment, by the time I’ve finished with work here, there’s not much daylight left for anything extra.”

“Well, just don’t rush into things,” Ben advised. “You’ve already got a heavy workload here at the moment; you don’t want to be overdoing it.”

“Why, Pa, you’re making Adam sound like an old man that needs taking care of,” Joe laughed. 

“That’s not what I meant and your brother knows that,” Ben objected.  “We’ve got that timber contract deadline coming up at the end of next week and Adam‘s working flat out; I don’t want him taking on anything unnecessary.”

“I wish folks wouldn’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Adam interjected, with a mock scowl.  Whilst he did not want Joe to ‘score’ points at his expense, he appreciated his father’s concern.  Already the day’s work was taking considerably longer; he was up before dawn to ride out to the logging camp to supervise the cutting.  He would often set a good example to his workforce by doffing his jacket and dirtying his hands, working alongside the men.  Problems had arisen when a couple of them had proved a little work shy and had subsequently left before he had to sack them, but it did leave him with a time-costly journey to Virginia City to seek replacements.  Returning to the Ponderosa each evening, he would then work for several more hours to keep the paperwork up to date.  Despite his father’s protestations, he would only leave the figures long enough to join his family at the dinner table. 

Hoss was still thinking about the Widow Rawlins.  “My, she was an ‘ornery character.  I don’t imagine her being mightily grateful for any help she might get.”

"She’s new in the area, probably hasn’t made too many friends yet,” Adam defended her.

"That’s not surprisin’, given her friendly nature,” Hoss laughed.  Joe joined in and they launched into some gentle, ribald teasing of their older brother.  Ben listened to the banter between his three sons, enjoying the moment as he sipped at his coffee.  If he knew Adam, he would find a way to help the community’s newest neighbour.

CHAPTER THREE  

It was the turn of Joe and Hoss to head into town for supplies and the mail on the Thursday of the following week.  The intervening days on the Ponderosa had been exceedingly busy and this was their first opportunity to leave the ranch.  Adam had spent several days and nights up at the logging camp to ensure that the men were on schedule.  He had only returned that afternoon and, after a long soak in a hot bath prepared by Hop Sing, he was pouring over timber figures with his father when the two youngest Cartwrights returned, lively, noisy and full of gossip.  Ben managed to persuade them to save the news until they had washed up for the evening meal that the little Chinese cook was about to set out on the dinner table. Meanwhile, Ben and Adam sorted through the pile of letters that had been awaiting them.

Hop Sing was serving the steaming stew when Hoss recounted the news that Wes Farrell, porter at the town’s main hotel, had suddenly died two days beforehand.  Stricken by a seriously upset stomach and cramps, he had eventually summoned the Doctor who had been helpless to alleviate the severe symptoms.  Within three more hours, Farrell was dead.  Paul Martin, the town’s doctor, had begun enquiries about what Farrell had eaten during the day, fearing that there might be some imminent outbreak of food poisoning, but he had not eaten anything out of the ordinary and there were no other reported incidents.  Death was eventually attributed to food poisoning, but whatever had caused it had  been eaten and no evidence remained.

“I check food with care,” Hop Sing announced, listening to the account and fearing that some of the produce brought home to refill his shelves might be contaminated in some way.

“Hop Sing, I doubt if the salt is gonna have a little sign that says ‘don’t eat me, I’m bad’,” Joe teased.

“Yeah, how’re you gonna tell?” Hoss added.  Suddenly, his eyes bulged and he gripped at his throat, making horrendous choking noises as he slid from his chair under the table.

Pandemonium broke out as he landed with a thud, Joe roared with laughter and the little Chinaman shrieked in alarm.  Ben’s voice rose above it all.

“Stop it, boys!  Joseph, quieten down; Hoss, get back in your seat and stop messing about. Hop Sing, calm down.  Hoss is perfectly okay.” 

Aggrieved, the little cook shot a withering look in Hoss’s direction and then returned to his kitchen to put away the food, muttering all the time in a stream of unintelligible Chinese.

Joe and Hoss succeeded in stifling their laughter until he had left the room and then they clutched each other, almost weeping in merriment.

“You know, Hoss, you keep teasing him like that and he’ll up and leave one day,” Adam warned nonchalantly as he broke off a chunk of bread from a freshly baked loaf.

“And I won’t be hiring a replacement,” Ben added.  “The kitchen chores will fall to you.”

Hoss and Joe gave themselves the luxury of one more shared glance and then they concentrated on the task in hand - eating.  Ben smiled to himself as he watched Hoss tucking in, savouring every mouthful, and guessed that the prospect of food poisoning would never cross his big son’s mind.

“Pa, now that the timber contract is all but filled and we’re inside the deadline,  I was thinking that maybe I’d head out to Mrs Rawlins’ place  tomorrow.  I want to go and see what needs doing, check if she’s got any help and perhaps give her some advice on getting a hired hand,” Adam said, taking the cup of coffee his father had poured out for him.

“Good idea, son.  It’s the neighbourly thing to do and it’ll show her that folks round here haven’t forgotten about her. It must be pretty difficult moving to a new place entirely on your own.”  Ben raised his own cup to his lips and took a sip, watching his eldest son all the while before smiling.  “At least I never had that problem.”

When Ben had left Boston and struck out west after the death of his first wife, Elizabeth, he had had for company a baby boy who had gone on to grow into the intense, committed man on his right whom he loved dearly.  No, Ben had never been totally on his own.  He may have been left alone three times following the deaths of his wives, but Adam had always been there, joined first by Hoss and then by Joe.  When Adam had gone east to college, they were dark days for Ben.  He had known his son would come back home eventually, but he had still missed him desperately and the years had seemed interminably long. 

He was suddenly aware that Adam was watching him, one eyebrow raised quizzically, his head slightly tilted and a half smile playing on his lips as if he were reading his father’s thoughts.  Ben’s heart missed a beat.  All those little mannerisms!  They were what he had loved in Elizabeth, Adam’s mother, and here they were, replicated in her son - their son. 

“No, you never had that problem, Pa,” Adam agreed softly, “though I bet with these two around. you’d welcome the peace and quiet on occasions.” 

“Oh I don’t know; after five minutes, I’d probably be screaming at the silence.  Anyway, we can’t blame it just on your brothers, you’re more than capable of raising a noise when you want,” Ben reminded him.

“Yeah, usually when you’re playin’ that darned guitar and singin’,” Joe cut in and then ducked to miss his oldest brother’s swipe across the table.  The men laughed, the atmosphere relaxed and content. Then Adam yawned.

“I hate to break up the party, but if no-one has any objections, I’m going to take my coffee upstairs with me.  I’ve a mighty tired body that knows there’s a bed up there somewhere.”

“You go ahead, son, and sleep well; you’ve deserved it,” Ben said. He waited until Adam had bid his brothers goodnight and had reached the bottom of the stairs before stopping him.

“Adam?”  His son paused, hand on the banisters.  “Well done on the timber contract.  You’ve done a great job ... again.”  Ben was rewarded by a slight smile and a glint of dark eyes before Adam’s head dipped and he made his way wearily up the stairs.  Ben knew that open praise embarrassed his eldest, but held to the belief that praise should be given where praise was due.  Besides, he always wanted to let Adam know that he was appreciated, that nothing was taken for granted where the family and the Ponderosa were concerned.

CHAPTER FOUR

Adam rode up to the Rawlins’ place late on the Friday afternoon.  He reined in Sport in front of the ranch house and studied the small building.  It was a little pretentious to refer to it as a ranch house as, from the outside, it looked little more than a two-roomed cabin, smaller than the first cabin Adam and his father had erected when they first arrived on the Ponderosa.  Sport snorted and tossed his head, the reins jangling softly in the hot silence.  The horse stamped his foot impatiently; he wanted a drink after the long run.

“Easy, boy,” Adam patted his neck to sooth him.  “You can have some water in a minute.”  He stood in the stirrups and twisted his head round, surveying the place as he looked for signs of life and called out,  “Mrs Rawlins?  Mrs Rawlins, are you there?”  He sat back in the saddle and waited.

Eventually, the door to the cabin opened slowly and the widow Rawlins emerged from the darkness within, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron.  Shielding her eyes with a hand from the sun’s glare, she looked up at the dark-clad rider.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Rawlins.  Remember me?”  Adam touched the brim of his stetson in greeting.

She paused, no flicker of welcome in her eyes at all. Adam fleetingly wondered why he had come and then chided himself.  For a woman living alone, she had every right to be wary.

“I remember you, Mr Cartwright.  What can I do for you?” Still there was the sharp edge to her voice.

“Just doing what I said, Mrs Rawlins.  I’ve come to offer my help, if you’re still needing it, and to see what needs doing.”  He remained in the saddle, leaning easily on the pommel and waiting, as custom required, until he was invited to dismount. 

Eliza Rawlins considered the offer.  “I’ve a list of my own but you can take a look around here and then come on inside.  We’ll compare lists.  I’ve coffee on the stove or I’ve made fresh lemonade; whichever you’re wantin’.”

Adam felt his shirt sticking to his back and wiped away a bead of sweat as it trickled down the side of his face.  “The lemonade sounds good, but I‘d like to water my horse before I get started.” 

“Fine.  You come on in when you’re ready,“ she ordered, her eyes holding his, almost in a challenge.  Then she turned and was gone, back into the cool darkness of the cabin.  Adam took that as his cue to get down from Sport and led the large sorrel over to the watering trough.  He watched as the animal drank his fill and then looped his reins over a bar of the corral fence. He retrieved a small pad of paper and a pencil from his chest pocket - something he always carried in readiness - and decided to begin over at the barn.

It was half an hour later that he paused briefly to dry his freshly washed hands on the seat of his black pants and tentatively tapped at the door of the cabin.

“Come on in, it’s open,” came the short reply.

Pushing open the door, he crossed the threshold, pulling off his hat and holding it before him.  He let his eyes grow accustomed to the gloom of the interior after the brilliant sunshine of outside. It was a deceptively large room, the large oak table taking precedence in the centre.  Eliza Rawlins was aggressively rolling out pastry but nodded towards the unused far end of the table and a chair that stood beside it.

“You can set yourself there,” she instructed.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Adam said politely, laying his hat on a shelf inside the door and sitting where he was told. Thirty years old yet this woman had the ability to make him feel like an awkward teenager again!  Why did he find her so intimidating? There had to be a crack somewhere in that hard veneer.  As she disappeared to the far side of the room to pour out the lemonade, he let his eyes wander round the room.  Sparsely furnished with plain, serviceable furniture, he saw none of the trappings he expected of a woman making a home. 

The room seemed cold, like its owner.  There were no pictures on the walls, cushions on the chairs, no quilt thrown casually over a seat, no little ornaments to remind her of times past and none of the fripperies like lace at the windows.  In fact, the curtains were dull coloured and mismatched.  He thought of the ranch house on the Ponderosa and immediately appreciated its size and comforts.  Even though it was housed by men, it had warmth and it was home.  This was no home; this was somewhere Eliza Rawlins laid her head of a night.

“Are you settling in here okay?” he asked by way of making polite conversation.

“It’ll do for now,” she replied, standing in front of him, glass of lemonade in her hand. “I had to spend a lot of time doing repairs, make it liveable.  That’s why I’ve not done much to the other buildings.”

“I can understand that,” Adam smiled encouragingly.  Perhaps she had not got round to unpacking fully yet.  She had had to prioritise her tasks and setting out a few ornaments were not a necessity to her.  “There’s a fair bit that needs doing.  Old Bates really let the place run down in his last years.  I’ve got a bit more time on my hands now but I can’t do everything, not if you’re going to get the place really working before the fall.  If you want me to, I could put out some feelers in town for hired help.”

“We’ll see,” she said, placing the drink in front of him and sitting round the table to his left. “What do you see as needing to be done first?”  She watched as he raised the glass to his lips and drank.  He gave a sharp intake of breath.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?  Is it not to your liking?” she suddenly demanded.

“No, it’s fine.  Honestly,” he reassured her.  “It’s sharp, that’s all, but it’s how I like it.  Some folks put too much sugar in.  This is good,” and he drank deeply.  She waited silently until he had drained the glass and set it back on the table. So she was not one for the pleasantries, he noted.  He laid his notebook out and perused the page.

“There are some rotten poles in the corral fence that need replacing and some of the posts aren’t secure in the ground.  You keep the horses in there much longer without that work being done and they’ve only got to lean on it and they’ll be away.  Timbers need replacing in the walls and roof of the barn and the flooring up in the hayloft isn’t very safe.  I wouldn’t go up there if I were you until that work’s done ...”

“You thinkin’ I can’t cope with a rotten floor on my own?” she interrupted, immediately on the defensive.

“No. It’s just that if anything happens to me while I’m up there, you’re here to help.  You go up there when you’re on your own and fall through, it could be a while before anyone finds you.”

She reflected on his concern and nodded in reluctant acceptance.  What he had said made sense.

“The flooring needs to be done before you can store any hay up there for winter feed.  The stalls aren’t good either and you need a new barn door hanging.  Your wood pile’s nearly all gone so it’s time to lay that in. I see you’ve got a goat and a couple of pigs tethered out there. They’ll need a permanent shelter before the weather turns and it might be a good idea to think of where you want to fence them in.  They break free and they’ll be straight in your vegetable patch.  You might want to section that off too as there’re enough things running wild that could be tempted by fresh growing stuff.  I can see where you’ve done work on the cabin but all the shutters are going to need replacing if you’re to keep out the winter chills.”

“There’s a little more than I figured but I’m not surprised,” Mrs Rawlins sighed.

“Of course, that’s just round here.  When that’s sorted, we’ll have to think further afield about the rest of the place. Have you made your plans for what you’re intending to do with the spread?” Adam asked.

“Some, but I want to think it through a little more,” her answer was guarded.  It was as if she was not prepared to share anything with him yet, as if she did not trust him.  He checked himself.  Here he was, infuriated by this woman’s refusal to confide in him about her plans for her own land when his own family were forever walking on eggshells or chiding him when he was unprepared to open up.  He smiled to himself.

“Something funny?” she demanded.

“What?  Oh no, sorry.  I was just thinking about my Pa and my brothers.”

“You’re all pretty close then?”

“Yeah, we are.  We may not always see eye to eye; leastways my youngest brother, Joe, and I may clash from time to time, but we’re there for each other. As a family, we’ve been through a lot but we’re proud of what we’ve achieved in the Ponderosa and we’re proud of each other.”

“What about your ma?” Mrs Rawlins asked abruptly. 

Adam’s face clouded over.  “My ma died when I was born.  Then Pa remarried; Inger, her name was.  Hoss was just a few months old when Indians killed her.  A few years later, Pa married Marie, Joe’s ma, but she was killed in a horse riding accident.”

“I was wondering why you and Hoss don’t look like each other,” she remarked.  “Your pa’s been through it, losing three wives like that.”

“He sure has, but that’s what’s made us all the closer, more supportive of each other.”

“What about you?” her question surprised him.

“What about me?”

“You’ve been through it too; you lost three ma’s.” 

Her forthrightness made him uncomfortable and he avoided her watchful gaze.  “Like you said, I‘ve been through it but I made it out the other side. I had to, for Pa’s sake.  He was hurting so bad; he needed time.  Now we’re all okay, we’ve got each other.”  He realised that, without even trying, she had forced him onto the defensive and he wanted to escape.

“Yes, you’ve got each other,” there was a strange, far away look in her eyes as she spoke and he felt an inexplicable cold chill run down his spine.

“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon and I’ll make a start on the corral fencing.  I’d best go now.”  He rose to his feet and moved towards the door.

Thank you ... Adam,” she said hesitantly.

He picked up his hat, nodded in her direction, slid the stetson on his head and left.

She stood in the doorway and watched in silence as he untethered Sport, mounted and swung the horse round to face home. He raised a hand in farewell and spurred the horse into a gallop.  She continued to look until he had passed from sight and went back into the cabin.  There was a little lemonade left in the pitcher and she picked it up.  It felt warm to the touch.  Tutting to herself at the waste, she went to the open doorway again and threw the remains of the drink out into the dust before shutting the door on Adam Cartwright and the rest of the world.

CHAPTER FIVE

Ben was in town that same day for a bank visit; payday was looming and the Ponderosa crew would be looking for their money. The month had been good with a new timber contract and prompt payment from the army for a string of horses.  Content with life, Ben was even toying with the idea of giving out some bonuses.

Throwing his horse’s reins around the hitching rail, he was about to set off along the covered boardwalk when a carriage pulled up level with him.

“Ben, haven’t see you in a while,” greeted the Doctor.

“Good to see you too, Paul.  Got time for a coffee?” Ben asked,  It had been weeks since the two men, friends for years, had had the chance to pause in their hectic lives and swap news.

“’Fraid not.  Got a message to swing by Ty Norris’s place.  Seems he took sick all of a sudden.”

“Sorry to hear that.  Give him my regards when you see him, will you?  I hope he’s back on his feet soon.”

“Will do.  How about a rain-check on that coffee?” Martin asked.

“I can do better than that.  If you’ve nothing else planned, how about coming out to the Ponderosa tomorrow for supper?”

“The next couple of days are a bit difficult.  How about next Saturday?”

“Sounds good to me,” Ben said, “See you around seven.”

Paul Martin nodded and twitched the reins to encourage the horse to walk on.

His business concluded at the bank and other errands completed, Ben returned to the ranch in time for dinner.  He found Hoss and Joe caring for their mounts in the stable and, for a while, the three men worked in companionable silence, unsaddling, grooming, feeding and watering their horses.

“How did you get on today?” Ben asked casually.

“We cleared round that waterhole out in the far north pasture; took us near on three hours, and then we checked on the rest between there and here,” Joe explained.

“There’d been a rock-fall out at the stream coming through Leaning Tree ravine so we set about clearing as much of the blockage as possible but it’s going to take best part of tomorrow morning as well,” Hoss added.

“Okay, we’ll make that your agenda. Is Adam around?” Ben enquired.

“Not yet.  He passed us over an hour ago.  Said he’d done the timber orders and was going to see how that Widow Rawlins was makin’ out. He figured he might not be back in time for dinner,” Hoss explained.

“I’ll get Hop Sing to set aside something cold.  He’s going to be hungry after that ride,” Ben noted as they headed to the house.

CHAPTER SIX

Hoss was savouring the cool evening air as he sat on the veranda, drink in hand and  looking up at the clear night sky.  He listened to the crickets gently calling to each other.  The cooler the evening, the slower the sound of their legs rubbing together and he somehow found tonight’s noise very relaxing.  He was reflecting quietly on the day’s work and the tasks ahead when his elder brother rode into view and, not noticing him, headed into the barn with his mount.

Deciding that he would find out the latest developments at the Rawlins’ place, Hoss languidly pulled himself to his feet and headed off in the direction of the barn to gossip with Adam as he tended to Sport.  He was a little surprised to see Adam standing, hands on front and back of the saddle, his forehead resting against the warm leather.

“Hey, Adam, how’re things?” Hoss greeted warmly. Adam did not immediately answer but turned slowly. Hoss could see immediately that all was not well.  Adam was pale, his features drawn; whether in pain or something else, Hoss could not quite determine.  His broad grin instantly transformed itself into an anxious frown.  “Adam, you okay?”

“I’ve felt better,” Adam muttered and turned back to remove the saddle but his strength seemed to have left him and instead he groaned and leaned in against the horse again.

“Let me get that,” Hoss offered, seeing the struggle.  He made light of the task, removing the saddle and slinging it across a wooden bar dividing the stalls.  He looked across at Adam who stood, seemingly distracted and breathing hard as he ran a hand wearily over his face.

“What’s wrong?” Hoss persisted.

“I don’t know; must be something I ate. I was fine when I was out at the Rawlins’ place but as I rode back here, I started feeling really bad.  Then I got sick to the stomach,” Adam explained.

“That’s not like you,” Hoss commented, trying to think of any time when Adam had been ill.  Despite whatever hit the rest of the family, he always managed to escape and was the quiet, reassuring carer; rarely the patient.  Hoss could barely remember the few times when Adam had succumbed to the usual childhood ailments.  The small school that they had attended would be decimated and Hoss himself would have taken to his bed, but rarely Adam.  Over the years, Adam had had accidents for the work was hard and the weather extremes uncooperative ; he had also had his fair share of injuries in occasional fights, as well as collecting the odd bullet, but Hoss could count on the fingers of one hand those times when Adam had actually been ill.  When he had, it was usually serious.  Hoss tried to shrug off the bad feeling that he had.  Maybe Adam was right; he had just eaten something that did not agree with him.

“You get on inside the house and I’ll look after Sport.  I guess you’ll not be wanting the supper Hop Sing kept for you.”

Adam grimaced.  “No, I won’t.  I just want to crawl into bed and sleep this off.  Do me a favour, don’t say anything to Pa.”

“Can’t promise you that one,” Hoss grinned.  They both knew that their father missed nothing; it seemed impossible to keep much from him.

“Thanks for taking care of Sport, Hoss.”

“You bet,” and Hoss watched, concerned, as Adam patted Sport’s neck and  headed on into the house, his whole gait slow and tired.

It was a good half hour later when Hoss had finished giving the horse a rough grooming, ridding the animal’s coat of the worst of the trail dust.  He would get his usual thorough grooming from his owner the next day, always supposing he was in a fit enough state.  Hoss had also fed and watered the large animal.  As he entered the house, Joe was sprawled in a chair reading a catalogue and his father was coming from the kitchen; he had probably been seeing Hop Sing on a household matter.

Hoss locked the door for the night and eased his huge frame down onto the sofa.  His father glanced across at him from his own chair by the fire.

“Adam not come in with you?” Ben asked.

“He’s already in,” Joe quipped, not even looking up from the page.

“Oh, he must be washing up then; I’ll tell Hop Sing to lay out his food,” and Ben made to rise.

“No need, he said he was going straight to bed,” Joe added, eyes still firmly fixed on the text.

“What? But he must be hungry,” Ben objected.  Joe just shrugged.  Ben refused to be deterred.  “Did he seem all right?”  When Joe didn’t answer, Ben turned his attention on Hoss who realised, with a sinking heart, that he would have to tell all.

“He was tired, Pa, and he got sick on the way back home,” Hoss explained.

“Sick?  What do you mean sick?”  Ben knew as well as Hoss had done that Adam rarely ‘got sick’.

“He’s thinking maybe he ate something bad,” Hoss added.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ben demanded, his eyes narrowing at his middle son’s oversight.

“But, Pa, I only jest came in and I’ve told you,” Hoss objected, trying to defend himself against his father’s wrath.

Ben turned on his youngest, “Joseph?”

“He never said to me he was sick; just that he was goin’ on up to bed,” Joe said.

“I’m going to check in on him,” Ben announced, heading up the stairs even as he spoke.  He tapped gently on the door to Adam’s room but, hearing nothing, opened it carefully, pausing only to pick up the lighted lamp from the table in the hallway before he crept in silently.

Adam was already asleep,.  Lying on his back, his left arm was crossed lightly over his stomach, his right arm bent upwards on the pillow, framing his head.  Long, black lashes brushed the defined cheekbones.  He looked peaceful, his chest rising and falling in deep, regular breaths and all would have seemed well, had it not been for the clammy pallor of his skin and the fact that he had taken the precaution to put his wash bowl on the floor by the bed before he had retired.  He still felt nauseous then.

Ben stole closer and took the opportunity to look down on his sleeping eldest son.  Adam had  been his strength for so many years.  When his mother, Elizabeth, had died at his birth, it was his very existence that finally spurred his father to go on living after days of inconsolable grief. The tiny dark-haired scrap with the loud, demanding cry had clung to his father’s finger, awakening in him the deep love that he had believed buried in the coffin with his dead Elizabeth.  This boy was her legacy; her passion for music and books lived on in him, and so Ben had taken the child and headed west.

At seven years old, the child had become a man.  With the harshness and danger of life on the trail, there had come the added responsibility of another child, Eric - later to be known as Hoss by the family.  In another tragedy, Ben’s second wife, Inger, had been cut down by an Indian arrow, months after giving birth.  Drowning in grief again, Ben had left the primary care of the young infant to a small boy who had now lost a second mother.  In his late-teens, Adam was subjected to the devastating heartache of losing mother number three, Maria, but he had suppressed his own pain, once again shouldering the responsibility of a distraught father and  the running of the Ponderosa in its early days, whilst looking after Hoss and the even younger Little Joe, both reeling with shock and grief.

Ben often felt pangs of guilt at what he had taken for granted from Adam and that his son had never had a real childhood, but the boy had rarely complained.  Instead, the experiences had fashioned a man who was strong both physically and emotionally, trustworthy, a devoted brother and son, and a man who was known in the community for his integrity.  There were those who did not like him for it, but the greater majority admired and respected him as a result.

Ben had let him go back east to his grandfather and college and the education had been an asset as the Ponderosa had grown and prospered, but Adam had undergone a change.  He had returned more serious, more fiercely independent than before and very protective of his privacy.  Intense and quiet, he guarded his feelings and Ben sometimes wondered if the seeds of damage had been planted in childhood; that he had suppressed emotions to be strong for his father and he had just got used to it. Both Hoss and Joe were much more open, easily sharing their emotions, and Ben worried that he could not readily reach Adam.  He cherished those evenings when the other two would retire and he and Adam would share precious time, drinking a last brandy each and talking about a wide variety of topics, nothing to do with the ranch.

Ben perched on the side of the bed and watched his sleeping son, wondering why such thoughts had flooded back.  Perhaps it was because he looked so vulnerable whilst asleep, so like his mother.  He had inherited her colouring in his skin tone and black hair.  He had her eyes, so dark and penetrating, seeing all and understanding all.  He was handsome as she had been beautiful and, in sleep, he had her delicacy.  Apparently too hot when he climbed into bed, he had not bothered with his nightshirt and now, without waking, he shivered involuntarily.  Ben pulled the bedding up around his bare shoulders and tenderly brushed a stray tendril of black hair from Adam’s forehead.  His skin was hot to the touch and waxen in the early stages of a fever.  Ben frowned, hoping that it would not worsen and decided that he would sit with him a while  longer.

It was some time later that the door behind him opened quietly and Ben turned to find Hoss standing, framed by the lintel, a cup of coffee in his hand.  The senior Cartwright held him back with a raised hand and, glancing once more at the sleeping form, rose and moved to the door.  Pulling it closed behind him, he met Hoss in the hallway and relieved him of the coffee.

“Wasn’t sure if you hadn’t turned in,” Hoss whispered loudly.  “You were gone so long.”

“I just thought I’d sit with Adam for a while,” Ben explained, sipping at the strong black liquid.  “Mmm, that’s good; thanks.”

“How’s he doin?” Hoss inquired, indicating the closed door with his head.

“Oh he’s sound asleep.  He had the makings of a fever; I wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t get worse, but he seems okay now.  We’ll have to see how he is in the morning.  For now, I’m going to bed; good night.”

“Night, Pa.  Sleep well.”

The next morning, when Ben went down to breakfast, Adam was already sitting at the table, refilling his cup with scalding coffee from the pot.

“Morning, Pa.”

“Morning, son.  How are you feeling today?”  Ben took his seat and spread a chequered napkin across his lap as Hop Sing materialised from the kitchen with a plate of ham and eggs and set it before him.  “Thanks, Hop Sing.”

Adam paused, the coffee cup to his lips as he watched his father over the rim.  “Hoss told you,” he said simply.

“Of course he did, but don’t worry, once inside the house, he held out for all of two minutes,” Ben stated matter-of-factly, reaching for a freshly made biscuit.

Adam grinned suddenly, “And I’ll bet you gave him a hard time for all of those two minutes.”  Ben merely shrugged and broke into a brief smile.

“You are feeling better today?” he pressed.

“Much, thanks.  I slept really well.”

“So I noticed,” Ben said.  Adam raised an eyebrow quizzically.  “You had no idea I sat with you for over an hour last night?”

“No,” Adam was genuinely surprised.  The two men concentrated on their food; Ben with his eggs and ham, Adam with fresh bread and butter.

“That all you’re eating?” Ben inquired eventually.

“For now.  Things are still a little delicate.”  They ate again.  “Pa?”

“Yes, son.”

“Thanks.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Late Saturday afternoon still retained enough heat for the sweat to trickle down Adam’s back, causing the dark red shirt to stick uncomfortably to him.  He relished the thought of soaking in a hot bath before dinner.  He had put in a lot of hours recently besides taking on the responsibility of helping the Widow Rawlins.  He smiled at the memory of his conversation with the woman earlier that afternoon; she did, at last, appear to be thawing.  As he spent time working for her, her more human side began to emerge.  Give her time and she would be a welcome member of the community around Virginia City.  Thirsty, he reached for the canteen and undid the stopper.  He drank long of the cool water and smiled again.  She had filled it for him before he left.  Eliza Rawlins wasn’t so bad after all.  He returned the canteen to its hook from the saddle and spurred Sport into a gallop, hoping that he could shave off some of the time left for the ride home.

He had ridden for a little less than half an hour when he began to feel uncomfortable.  His stomach rumbled and it was not with hunger; twinges of pain stabbed at him but he tried to shake off the feeling, along with the waves of dizziness. The queasy sensation was worsening by the minute and he broke out in a sweat that had nothing to do with the dying heat of the day.  With a growing sense of unease, he recognised similar symptoms to the previous day.  It could not be happening again, surely!  Why was this happening to him? 

He reined in his horse and sat for a moment on the trail, head bowed as he breathed hard and fought to control the turmoil of his insides.  Groaning, he gave up the struggle and slipped from the saddle.  Collapsing to his knees, he lost his limited stomach contents, the lot spilling into the dust.  He continued to dry retch for several minutes, shaking with the effort.  Eventually, he hauled himself to his feet and reached for his canteen again, rinsing his mouth and spitting the stream of water onto the ground.  Suddenly exhausted and limp from the bilious attack, he hauled himself into the saddle and encouraged Sport to walk on, believing that his stomach could not cope with anything faster.

Hoss was tidying up his tools at the entrance to the barn after an afternoon of shoeing horses when Sport came into view.  He watched as Adam slowly dismounted and looped the reins over Sport’s head, ready to lead him into his stall.  Everything about Adam was sluggish, weary, and Hoss studied his face carefully.  At the back of his mind, something was telling him that they had been here before.

“Howdy,” he tried, cheerfully, but Adam merely raised a hand in mute greeting as he led his mount past Hoss and into the barn.  Hoss frowned and followed.

“You sick again?” he asked, as Adam unbuckled Sport’s saddle and pulled it towards him.  It was a struggle and Hoss moved forward to help as he had done the previous evening, but this time, Adam shrugged off his assistance and walked off to stow the saddle.

“I’ll be okay,” he announced, sounding as if he were talking through gritted teeth.  He picked up an empty bucket and went out to fill it from the trough.  Hoss watched as he brought it back as far as the entrance to the barn and then set it down abruptly, breathing hard.  It was a weight he had never had problems with before.  Sighing, Hoss moved with surprising swiftness and snatched up the bucket.

“But you are sick again,” he repeated, this time making it a statement rather than a question.  He did not look back at his brother as he set the bucket down for Sport and patted the animal’s neck.  There was a long pause, the silence broken only by Sport snorting into the bucket as he drank.

“Yeah, I’m sick again,” Adam conceded quietly, picking up a brush and starting to groom his mount.  Hoss could see it was an effort.

“Give that to me,” he insisted.

“Nope, you did it yesterday.  You can’t keep doing my chores.”

“And neither can you when you’re sick,” Hoss challenged.  Adam ignored him and continued to brush the flank of the large animal but it was clear that his heart was not in his task. 

“When do you git over being so mule-headed?  Give it to me,” Hoss ordered, snatching the brush from his older brother’s hand and pushing him gently aside.  “After all the hard work you make this poor animal do, least he can get at the end of the day is a decent rub down and his food at a reasonable time. Way you’re goin’ at it, the poor ol’ fella will get fed at midnight.”  He watched out of the corner of his eye as Adam sank thankfully onto a couple of bales of hay and leaned back against a wooden upright, his eyes closed.  He took slow, deep breaths.

“Pa said this mornin’ that you was feelin’ better,” Hoss began, conversationally.

“That was this morning,” Adam agreed softly, “and most of the day. I was fine all the time I was at the Rawlins place. I finished repairing the corral fencing, even dug a couple of fresh post holes and you know as well as I do that that’s no job when you’re feeling lousy.”

“So what happened?”

“ She actually seemed pleased with the work I’d done today.  She smiled...”

“She what?” Hoss interrupted.

“I tell you, she smiled and thanked me.  I was feeling quite good about things as I headed for home.  I was thinking that maybe she was beginning to thaw out a little.  You, know, when she smiles, she doesn’t look quite the ogre she does the rest of the time.  Anyway, one minute I’m riding along quite happily and the next, I can hardly get off Sport fast enough.  All I know is I’m on my hands and knees in the dirt, throwing up.”

“So how do you feel now?”

“I’ll survive.”

“You’d best go in and get cleaned up.  Hop Sing’ll have dinner ready soon,” Hoss reminded him.

Adam groaned and pushed himself up from his makeshift seat, “Food’s the last thing on my mind right now but I suppose I‘d better make an effort.”

“You better had.  You know Pa’ll be watching you like a hawk.”

Adam headed for the doorway.  “Thanks, brother.”  He paused.  “You won’t mention my being ill to Pa, will you?  I‘m sure it‘s nothing, it‘ll pass.”

Hoss straightened from brushing Sport’s belly.  “I tried not mentioning it yesterday and it didn’t work.  You know what Pa’s like.  Tell you what, you manage to get through the evening without arousin’ his suspicions an’ I’ll try not to mention anything.”  Adam smiled and disappeared in the direction of the house.

Ben, Joe and Hoss were already seated at the table when Adam, washed and changed, slipped into his seat.  Hop Sing appeared carrying a plate.

“I serve yours.  No eat yesterday, not much today.  You need food; I give you food,” and he set the plate before Adam, piled high with enough food that even Hoss, with his infamous appetite, would have been hard pressed  to clear.  Hop Sing hummed to himself as he disappeared back into the kitchen, pleased that he had taken care of number one son.  Adam did not have much colour when he sat down at the table and Hoss saw him blanch at the mountain of food.

“Hop Sing must think you’re starving,” Ben chuckled.

“Either that or he’s mistaken one big brother for the other big brother,” put in Joe.  Adam gave a weak smile.

“Want some help there?” Hoss asked, for once not joking about food but seeing that Adam was genuinely uncomfortable with what sat before him. He nodded.  Hoss reached across and picked up the plate, scraping a good portion of it onto his own.

“Hey, leave some for your brother,” Ben warned.

“It’s okay, Pa.  That’s more than enough for me,” Adam hastily said.  He forked up some beans and chewed slowly, listening as the others round the table recounted the events of the day.

They had finished their meal and adjourned to easier chairs where they were drinking coffee when Adam rose quietly and headed for the front door, the disquieting, familiar feelings of nausea having returned.

“Adam?” his father queried, looking over the top of his book.

“Just checking on Sport,” he said over his shoulder and quickly went out.

Hoss’s eyes narrowed and he stood up.

“Hoss?”

“I’m just checking on Sport too, Pa,” and he walked out as well.  Curious, Joe went to rise.

“And where do you think you’re going?” his father demanded, eyes still focused on his book.

“I thought I’d check on Sport as well,” Joe tried.

“You stay where you are,” Ben ordered.  Joe sat.

“You think they’re up to something, Pa?”

“Without a doubt,” Ben answered, “but what we don’t get out of Adam, Hoss will explain.”  He tried to sound unconcerned but he had seen his eldest son’s pallor since he returned home. Adam had been quiet all evening and had only eaten a fraction of the food served.  Ben was worried that Adam, never one to complain, was not as well as he tried to make out but there was some comfort in the knowledge that Hoss was with him and would call if needed.

Outside, Hoss heard Adam before he saw him. He went to the water pump and filled a metal cup before he followed his big brother round the side of the barn.  Adam was doubled over, retching repeatedly.  Hoss waited patiently, a big hand rubbing his brother’s back, until the spasm of sickness passed and then he handed him the water to rinse his mouth.  Turning to lean against the side of the barn, Adam slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, head bowed.  Hoss waited a moment and then sat beside him.

“So, yesterday you ate something bad.  How’re you gonna explain it now?”

Adam raised his head to look at Hoss, “Don’t tell Hop Sing; he’ll take it personally.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”  He glanced sideways at Adam sipping carefully at the cool, refreshing water.  “I mean it, Adam.  You can’t have eaten something bad today as well.”

Adam rested his wrists on his drawn-up knees and revolved the cup in his hands.  “I know.  Maybe I picked up some kind of infection.”

“Where from?  You ain’t been into town recently.  Joe and I have but there‘s no talk of any infection, ‘cepting Wes Farrell and Ty Norris. We’re fine.  Only place you’ve been is up at the logging camp four days back.  Anyone sick there?”

“No.”

“So what have you been eating?”

“The usual. I ate exactly the same as you at lunch and it was prepared by Hop Sing.”

“Did you eat anything at the Widow’s place?” Hoss asked.

“No, I had nothing to eat there yesterday or today,” Adam insisted.

“What about drink?”

“Yesterday she’d made some fresh lemonade; it was good.”

“You have any today?”

“Again, no.  It was hot work, I just had water.”

“That’s it then,” Hoss slapped his thigh having solved the problem.  “You drank some bad water.”

“Hoss, I finished up what was in my canteen which I’d filled here.  Then she refilled it, from her own well. That’s her main water supply and there’s nothing wrong with her.  Whatever old man Bates died from months back, it sure wasn’t the water,” Adam reasoned.

Hoss frowned, disappointed that his theory would not be correct.  “Well I don’t know what to think then.”

"Neither do I.  C’mon, we’d better head back indoors else Pa’ll be wondering what’s up.  Hopefully whatever this is will be gone by tomorrow,” and Adam started to walk towards the house.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Hoss mumbled quietly to himself.  He shook his head and followed his older brother.

Adam had already said goodnight and gone upstairs to bed when Hoss finished pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee and sank into an armchair.  He suddenly was aware that his father was watching him closely.

“Well?” Ben asked.

“Well what?” Hoss asked, feigning innocence.

“What’s with the interest in Sport all of a sudden?” Joe inquired.

His father ignored him.  “Is Adam all right?”

Hoss squirmed under his father’s scrutiny.  He was torn: Adam did not want to worry his father, but his father was already worried and, if the truth be told, so was Hoss. He rapidly weighed up the alternatives.  He could deal with Adam’s moods but could not face his father’s wrath.  He took a deep breath.

“No, Pa,  he ain’t.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sunday night, Ben stirred in the darkness. wondering what had disturbed his slumber.  He lay awake, listening carefully for any adverse noises. Perhaps it was Hoss going down for one of his nocturnal snacks or maybe there was an intruder.  Ben dismissed that idea, the Ponderosa ranch house having been built like a fortress.  It would take considerably more noise than what had evidently disturbed him for someone to break into the house. No, it had to have been something else.

Then he heard it again, the unmistakable sound of someone somewhere being very sick and he did not have to make many guesses as to the identity of the sufferer.  Rising quickly, he drew on slippers and a dressing gown and headed along the hallway to Adam’s room next door.

Slipping into his son’s room, he discovered Adam sitting on the side of his bed, retching miserably into the basin he had seized from his wash stand.  Sitting beside him, Ben rubbed his back, feeling the heat dampening the cotton nightshirt that clung to his shuddering frame.

The sickness passed, and Adam stared in mute embarrassment into the bowl, breathing hard to control his body’s violent reaction.

“Okay now?” Ben asked quietly.  Adam merely nodded.  “I’ll get rid of this.  You okay till I come back?”  Again Adam nodded.

“I’m sorry for waking you, Pa,” he whispered.

“Don’t apologise. You should have wakened me,” Ben insisted.  Standing,  he took the offending bowl from Adam’s hands and left the room. 

His way was suddenly barred by the looming figure of Hoss.  “Pa, is Adam okay?”

“Not really, son.”  He glanced towards the bowl he carried.

“Let me take care of that,” Hoss offered.  “You get back to Adam. Anything else you’re needin’?”

“Yeah, some fresh water.  I want him to drink a little; he can’t afford to get dehydrated.  Bring some other water and cloths too, I want to freshen him up, make him feel a little more comfortable so maybe he’ll settle and get some sleep.”

“Sure thing, Pa.  I’ll clean this out and bring it back.”

Ben watched Hoss head for the stairs and then turned back to enter the sick room.

Adam was still sitting where he had been left, shivering now in the cool night air in the aftermath of his sickness.

“You think you could lay down now?” Ben suggested.  Still Adam could not bring himself to speak but just shook his head affirmatively.  Ben took his shoulders and eased him back down onto the pillows before swinging his legs up onto the bed.  Pulling up the blankets around Adam to still his shaking, he stroked back the damp, black hair.

Uncharacteristically, Adam turned his head away from his father and would not meet the concerned, paternal gaze.  Instead, he shielded his eyes from further scrutiny with his forearm and it was a couple of moments before Ben realised the shaking was not from the current chill but from suppressed tears. If he had not been worried before, this sudden turn of events caused him to be; Adam was usually very controlled and had, from early teens into adulthood, become very adept at concealing his emotions, even after the most traumatic situations.

Ben decided to take charge.  “First thing in the morning, I’m sending for the doctor.  That is if you don’t want me to send for him now.”  He spoke softly and awaited an answer.

Adam shook his head and sought to get his voice in check.  “Tomorrow’s fine if I‘m not feeling any better,” he said. There was another pause and then, barely audibly so that Ben had to strain to hear him, Adam confessed, “I’m scared, Pa. What’s wrong with me? I can’t recall ever feeling this bad for so long.” 

Ben did not know how to reassure him and was alarmed, as Adam lowered his arm, to see the expression of raw fear in his son’s eyes. “Talk to me, son. Besides the sickness, tell me how you’re feeling, really feeling.  What other symptoms do you have?”

Adam collected his thoughts.  “I’m so tired; I have no energy.  All I want to do is sleep.”

“Maybe this is your body telling you that you’ve been overdoing things. You had that big lumber contract and now you’re working out at the Widow Rawlins’ place.  It was gone nine this evening when you got back; I hope she fed you.  You‘ve not exactly been eating normally these past few days.”

“I had some stew she’d made, but that didn’t stay down, did it?”

“Never mind, son.  Are you feeling any better now?”

“A bit, but my hands hurt, and my feet.”  Adam winced and shifted his position, desperate to be more comfortable.

“How do you mean they hurt?” Ben was puzzled.  As they spoke, the door opened slowly and Hoss struggled in, his arms full.

“It’s like pins and needles, only much worse.  Sometimes it’s in my face too.”

“Do you have it all the time?” Ben asked as he began to sponge Adam down.

“It comes and goes.” Adam lay there quietly, passively, as his father worked and then towelled him dry.  Hoss raised him a little and put a glass of water to his lips.

“Just take a sip,” he advised.  Adam complied and sighed in relief as Hoss lay him down again.  The effort to drink was too much and his eyes closed as a wave of weariness washed over him.  He was almost asleep before his brother and father had even left the room.  Ben watched him briefly, before extinguishing the lantern he carried and shutting the door; he sighed heavily.

“This ain’t natural, Pa,” Hoss whispered as they stood outside their respective bedroom doors.

“You’re right there, son,” Ben answered, his tone sombre.

CHAPTER NINE

Ben and Hoss were already at breakfast early on the Monday morning when Adam joined them.

“Morning, Pa,” he greeted, pouring himself a coffee and reaching for the bread basket.

“Morning, son.  How are you feeling?” Ben kept his voice light but his keen eyes were studying his eldest son carefully.  He had already spotted the paleness, the dark-ringed eyes, the apparent tiredness.

“Better,” Adam bit into the fresh bread roll he had just buttered. Although he did not relish the thought of food, he could not deny the fact that he was hungry, but when Hop Sing appeared, carrying two plates filled with eggs, ham, beans and pancakes for Hoss and Ben, Adam shook his head. “Just a couple of pancakes for me,” he requested.

“Hoss, I want you and Joseph to go up to the summer pasture and repair the corral up there.  We’re going to be rounding up those horses for the army’s next order before too long and we’ll need to hold them there.”

“Fine, I’ll get on it.”  He opened his mouth to a huge forkful of ham and eggs, and Adam had to still his rebellious stomach at the sight.

“What about me, Pa?” he asked, forcing himself to concentrate on something else.

“I want you to stay here with me today.  We need to think about the next round of tree planting and putting a bid together for the Robinson mines’ timber contract.”

Adam frowned as neither task was pressing and did not have to be done immediately.  He knew exactly what his father was doing when he was so determined to keep Adam close to home. 

“I’m okay, Pa.  Let me go out with Hoss,” he insisted.

“I don’t think you ought to, Adam.  I want you to stay around here and take things a little easy today.  It won’t hurt you.  Anyway, I‘d said that you ought to see Paul Martin today.”

“Pa, there’s no need to bother Paul. I feel much better but I could do with the fresh air.  I won’t be on my own, Hoss’ll be there,” Adam’s stubborn streak was emerging.

“I’ll think about it over breakfast,” Ben replied and Adam knew that his father would be watching to see if he ate anything and how much.  It was  not too much of a problem; his hunger won and, when Hop Sing produced a plate of pancakes, he readily tucked into them.

Although Adam did not clear his plate, his father was satisfied that he had eaten enough and, as he pushed his own empty plate from him and sipped at a cup of scalding black coffee, Ben made his decision.  “Okay, Adam; you go with Hoss and work on the repairs.”  Adam smiled, satisfied.

A clatter of footsteps on the stairs heralded the arrival of Joe, tousled, late, breathless and starving.  He slid into his place with a mumbled apology; it had been just that bit too hard to drag himself from the comfort of his bed.

“Joseph,  I have an interesting list of chores for you today that should keep you out of trouble.  You have five minutes for your breakfast,” Ben announced quietly, rising from the table with his other two sons.  Joe groaned and attacked the plate of food the second Hop Sing put it before him.

CHAPTER TEN

Ben had been out checking on a section of the herd during the early afternoon and was in the barn stabling his mount when he heard horses’ hooves.  He was not expecting any visitors, and the boys and the hands were all out working, so he was curious.  Emerging from the barn, he did not anticipate seeing Sport and Chubb at the hitching rail outside the house; something had to be wrong.  Adam and Hoss had had more than enough work to keep them occupied until late afternoon.

Concerned, he strode towards the house and entered in time to see Adam disappear at the top of the stairs whilst Hoss stood, foot on the bottom tread and calling up, “Adam!  Adam, you’ve got it all wrong. Adam, that’s not what I meant. Adam!”  Out of sight, a door slammed shut in anger.

“What’s the matter, Hoss?  What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Ben demanded, coming up behind his middle son.

Hoss turned to face him and sighed loudly, running a hand through his sandy-coloured hair.  “Have we ever thought of Adam as not pulling his weight?”

“What?  What are you talking about?” Ben did not follow his line of reasoning.

“Adam.  Has there ever been a time when we thought he wasn’t doing his fair share of the work?”

It was such a preposterous notion that Ben was speechless. Adam was always a hard worker; there was never any question that he was committed to the Ponderosa and his family, often put