The driving force of the Tahoe Ladies, one of the founding members and still our most prolific idea-woman, Irish is a perfect combination of loving heart, helping hand and boot in the ass. You'll notice her glaring out from the wimple of Mother Superior Ruth but it is really in Ben Cartwright that you discover her spirit. Ever seen a mother hen with a cattle prod under one wing? Well, Joe Cartwright and the Tahoe Ladies both have. It is truly an awesome thing. ~CTL
 

Authors' note: This story is the second in a trilogy that began with Phoenix Chained. If you have not read Phoenix Chained, some of the references may be confusing to you and we suggest that you read it first. It isn't necessary but we would suggest it.
As before, we dedicate this story to the one amongst us who has felt these flames most keenly and still struggles to escape them.

    T he little white-faced calf bawled once for his mother then, tail high, ran back towards the rest of the herd. As he ran, he shook his right rear leg, the new brand there giving him cause to wonder about the reason the humans did such things. Once he found his mother, he nuzzled her udder, hoping for liquid solace. His mother, aware that her offspring had returned, nudged him, smelling the familiar scent of man, burnt hair and hide. Like her, he now wore the simplistic pine tree symbol of the Ponderosa.

    With a grunt, Hoss Cartwright dropped the next calf onto its side, readying it for the branding iron his brother Adam wielded. With a hiss, the brand burned and the little calf bawled piteously.

    "Cow? Or bull?" Adam asked, looking to his tally book. He had dropped the iron back into the fire behind him.

    "Cow," Hoss replied and loosened the rope around the little calf's neck, turning her loose to run back to the herd.

    "Good! That means we are getting more breeding stock than sale stock," Adam smiled lazily, then spotting a familiar buckskin horse headed their way, turned his attention back to the job at hand.

    Ben swung down off his horse and handed the reins to a young wrangler before walking over to where he saw Hoss and Adam working. They had just branded another whiteface.

    "How is it going? This herd any better than the ones up on the North range?" he asked.

    "Well, all the little lady calves seem to be down here," Adam chuckled shortly, handing the tally book to his father

    "Take a break, boys!" Hoss shouted and waved off the advancing cowboy dragging up another calf to the pits.

    Adam twisted his back for the hundredth time that warm afternoon and following his father and brother to the coffeepot, rubbed at the small of his back once more.

    "You didn't answer my question. Are they in any better shape than the North herd?" Ben asked again, pouring himself a cup of coffee and handing it over to Adam.

    "They seem to be in better shape but the numbers just aren't there, Pa," Adam explained, blowing on the bitter brew, wishing it were cold beer instead.

    Ben sighed once then turned to look over the herd of white-faced cattle that were quickly becoming his pride and joy. Adam was right. The herd did seem to be in good physical shape but there weren't more than two hundred out there and there should have been closer to three hundred.

    "How many men you got out poppin' the bushes for more?" Ben asked. Sometimes, the herd, once gathered, would tend to stay together. Other times, they would drift back into the bushes and no amount of surveillance would keep them from it. So men were always out meandering in the bushes, "popping" or flushing the wanders back to the main herd.

    "You mean how many riders or how many out there working?" Adam drawled then immediately wished he could take the words back. He wondered if his father would pick up on it but Ben apparently didn't.

    "Where is Joe? He out in the bush?"

    Hoss and Adam exchanged long looks behind their father's back before Adam answered him. "Yeah, Joe is out there somewhere."

    Ben shook his head, distracted by a thought he wouldn't share with his elder sons. For the past few weeks, he had become increasing disturbed about his youngest son and his behavior. There had been more nights of late that Joe didn't come in until well after dark. Add to that was the fact that Joe looked continually tired, as though he wasn’t sleeping well.

    "Well, tell him to get home in time for supper tonight. I want to talk to him." With that said, Ben turned and gestured for his horse. Without a glance back at Hoss and Adam, he swung into the saddle and rode away.

    "I think I'll go to town tonight. How 'bout you, Hoss?" Adam rubbed the back of his hand across his chin, wiping away a trickle of sweat.

    "Yeah, good idea. Any place but home tonight."

    Not far from where his brothers were making their own plans, Joe Cartwright sat his pinto, rubbing one hand down his thigh and gently massaging his knee. It was something he had caught himself doing more and more recently. But not out of habit. No matter how he rode or the horse he rode, by early afternoon, his knee ached. It was the same knee that just a few months before had taken a beating when Joe had returned home with Hop Sing to find the house being torn apart by a group of teen age boys. It hadn't been just his knee that had been hurt but the bruises and cracked ribs had healed, as had one hand that had been broken in the melee. The other hand, his left, he still wondered if it would ever return to normal. Still, it remained weak and continually cramped and spasmed at the oddest times.  Joe had for once done everything the doctor told him to do but he still remained in constant pain, whether from the damaged knee or his hand. Like now as he sat his horse.

    A brief flurry of motion off to his left caught Joe's attention and he turned the horse's head in that direction thinking it was a calf. It wasn't. Instead he caught just a glimpse of his father's horse moving through the high brush. Quickly he swung Cochise's head and gave a kick to the horse's sides that sent the black and white further into the brushes and away from his father. As luck would have it, there a little calf stood, drinking from the small stream. Joe checked it and found no brand. He sighed and nudged his horse over to the calf, intent on moving it back to the herd.

    Ben thought he saw the flash of a horse's white tail dive into the deep brush and decided to follow it. He caught up with Joe just as his son was pulling the calf back out of the brush and towards the branding pits.

    "Did you have to pull him out or is the mud that deep back there?" Ben's eyes were alight with his teasing.

"Huh?" Joe asked and gave the roped calf another tug.

"You have enough mud on your boots to fill Tahoe," Ben teased again and gestured to Joe's muddy boots.

Giving the rope another tug, Joe gave his father a half smile as he rode by him. There was no sense in admitting to his father that more than once, unable to use his hand properly to lasso a calf, Joe had simply walked over to it and dropped the rope over the youngster's head. Let Pa think whatever it is he needs to think. I ain't gonna tell him the truth. He's worried enough about me this year. Let him worry 'bout somethin' else.

Without another word passing between them, Joe rode on, leaving his father more concerned than ever. As he watched the green-jacketed back disappear through the brush, Ben again felt something was wrong but he couldn't put a finger on it. Joseph was working. Everyday up before dawn and home late. Totally unlike the son of just six months before who'd had to be dragged, sometimes physically, from his bed. And if he were home late to supper, it was usually because he had dawdled in town. With almost a jolt, Ben realized that Joe hadn't been to town that he knew of for nearly a month. For all intents and purposes, Joseph was behaving himself apparently and that was enough to worry Ben no end. Well, tonight, I will get to the bottom of this, young man, he thought and turned Buck's head towards home.
 

As Ben sat on the porch that evening in the thinning light, he watched the dip and dance of the barn swallows. He thought of how they seemed to be able to fly in the most remarkable of patterns, never clashing with one another, always aware of things and others around them. It was too bad that men aren't more like barn swallows , he thought. The world would be a more peaceful place. And peace was in short supply in his world that night. He had done as he had promised himself and tried to speak to Joe when the young man returned home from the day's work. But he gotten absolutely nowhere.

"I sure wish you would decide what you want out of me, Pa. Here I am trying to be the 'good son' you have always wanted me to be and you're lecturing me! Back in the spring, you were mad because I wasn't working long hours. Now you're upset that I am!"  Joe's hands thrown into the air demonstrated his exasperation.

"I am simply concerned that all these hours may be too much for you right now." The placating tone in Ben's voice was evident but it sounded more to Joe like his father was being condescending.

"What do you mean by that? You heard Doc Martin three weeks ago saying I could go back to work!"

"Yes, I did but I am concerned -" Ben started but Joe quickly interrupted.

"Pa, my side is healed. So's my shoulder. This hand," and Joe held up his right one, "is just about back to normal. So if I say it and Doc Martin says it, don't you think you can believe at least one of us?"

Brows furrowing, Ben jammed his hands into his pockets before he completed the sentence Joe had cut into "- that you are pushing yourself just a little too hard, son."

"Here we go back to making up your mind, Pa. Now tell me the truth! If I had been working like this last spring, would we have been having this discussion?"

"Last spring, I didn't have a son who had been nearly beaten to death either," Ben pointed out with more heat in his voice than he wanted.

Joe exploded, unable to contain his temper any longer. "Last spring," he nearly shouted into his father's face, "Let's face it, Pa. And let's say it. Last spring you had a son who was whole and now you don't. That's what's behind all this new-found concern, isn't it?"

"That was totally uncalled for, young man and you know it." Ben erupted as well, towering over his son now as they stood in the great room of the house. In his mind's eye, Ben still saw places where the house had been ravaged although Adam and Hoss had been most meticulous in their repairs. His memories still shot back to the blood that had been found on the floors, the walls and even the furniture, all mute testimony of the price his son, the one before him now, had paid trying to protect their home.

"But it is true and you know it," Joe seethed, flinging his father's own words back at him.

"Is that why you're pushing yourself day in and day out? This feeling like you aren't whole?" Another track, Ben thought, try another way to reach him.

"No! It's trying to convince you and the rest of the damn world to let me work this out myself! So what if I'm not whole and I never will be again? What difference does it make? So what if I can't write my own name? I still know it. So what if I can't use my gun? I'm still pretty damn good with a rifle. So what-" and Joe never finished his words, seeing the stunned look on his father's face. Unwittingly, he had been wildly gesturing with his left hand, the one still weakly curled and nearly useless to him. Ben had reached out and grabbed it, holding it trapped in his own massive fist between them and in front of Joe's face.

That was it. The fact that he isn't "perfect" any more that has him bothered. He's hiding. In plain sight, he is hiding. Cover over the feeling of inadequacy with long hours of work. Don't go into town where people look at you and express their pity at what has happened, Ben thought to himself but then aloud asked, "Yes son, what difference does make? You are still my son. And it doesn't matter to me what you can or can't do. What matters to me is that you are alive. Anything else is of absolutely no consequence." And with that said, Ben let go of Joe's hand.

"Maybe to you, that's enough, but it isn't enough for me, Pa," Joe said, the fight now gone from him.  Slowly, weary not only from the long day in the saddle but now this argument with his father, Joe pulled his hand from his father's grasp, then turned and headed for the stairs.

"Maybe it needs to be, Joseph. For now at least?" Ben said to his son's back and saw Joe pause at the landing. Joe shook his head once, never looking back at his father, and just continued on up the stairs.

Now as Ben sat on the porch watching the stars pop out onto the dark velvety sky, he wondered just what he could do to convince Joe. Nothing, he mused, could convince a man of his own worth. Nothing but time.

    The entire trip into town had been made in absolute, stony, cold-edged silence. Not that it bothered Adam Cartwright. What made it so hard to take was the fact that Joe rode beside him on the buckboard seat. They weren't fighting so Adam had decided early on that the silence wasn't a hostile one. At least not towards him. Several times he had tried to start a conversation with his normally ebullient brother only to have Joe merely grunt in reply. So finally he had quit trying and they rode on, the sun warming their backs that fall morning.

    Hop Sing had supplied them with a list of items to stock up the home pantry reserves. Winter was around the corner and everywhere one looked, the signs were there that it would be a hard one. And Hop Sing, ever diligent, had wanted to make sure there was plenty of everything on hand before the first flakes of snow started to fly. Adam had chuckled as he had taken down Hop Sing's list the day before, noting how many times the little oriental had upped the amounts previously requested. He had nearly made mention of it then decided that a happy Hop Sing meant better things on the table for meals. And although Adam Cartwright didn't have Hoss' legendary appetite, he did have a healthy one.

    So the two brothers had been dispatched to town with instructions to not forget anything. From the looks again at the long list in his hand as he stood in the mercantile, Adam couldn't for the life of himself imagine that there was anything to forget! Finally, he turned the list over to Laf Johnson who ran the store, telling him to get the stuff to the walkway and they would load it into the wagon.

    The wagon was nearly overflowing by the time the brothers finished and once again, Adam marveled at what it took to keep Hop Sing happy.

    "Well, little brother, I've got some banking to take care of for Pa before we head back. You want to tag along or what?" Adam said, wiping his forearm across his chin, where a tiny rivulet of sweat ran.

    Joe leaned back against the side of the wagon and glanced to the sky. "Tell you what, I got some things I need to see about. Should take me about as long as it'll take you at the bank. I'll meet you at the Bucket of Blood and let you buy me a beer before we head home. How's that?"

    Adam's smile was hidden behind the stalled motion of his arm. When Joe said "some things" it usually meant there was female involved. The fact that his brother was considering such things again gave lift to his older brother's heart. It had been a long time since Joe had even mentioned a girl's name.

    "Sure. Okay, Bucket of Blood, say in forty five minutes?" Adam half asked, noting that Joe was looking across the street. What Adam saw across the street were two very pretty young ladies sauntering passed windows, shopping.

    "Make it an hour," Joe said and, without looking at the bemused expression on Adam's face, headed across the street.

    Pulling his hat down over his forehead, Adam turned and headed the opposite direction. "And Pa is worried about him?" he asked himself and chuckled. He had taken maybe a dozen steps when it dawned on him that they would miss lunch so perhaps they should change their meeting place to the Cattleman's where he would treat Joe to a steak. Adam turned back to holler out to Joe, but Joe was nowhere in sight.  The two young ladies were still on the street but where was Joe?

    Curious, Adam walked back along the broad walkway, searching for a glimpse of his brother. He found it finally in the one place he never thought he would see his brother willingly go. There, through the large plate glass window of Paul Martin's office, Adam could see Joe's back. And he was talking to the doctor.

    Adam's first thought was to head across the street and confront his brother there in Paul's office. He would wrestle the truth out of Joe then and there. But I wouldn't want him to do that to me. No, don't do that. Whatever is bothering him, if it is enough that he is going to seek Paul's help, it has to be serious. But he has a right to his privacy. Adam leaned against the upright, his hand closing over his mouth as he thought. How serious is it? He wondered then got his answer when the two figures disappeared through the door leading into the doctor's examining room. Serious enough.

    Exactly one hour later, Adam Cartwright had his bootheel perched on the lower rung of the bar railing at the Bucket of Blood. He had been nursing the same beer for a good half-hour when Joe strolled through the swinging doors, the nonchalance rolling off him.

    "Hey, Older Brother. You're starting without me? Bruno! Gimme a beer and take Adam's money for it," Joe called and Adam hunted for some sign of discomfort from his brother.

    Beer in hand, Joe leaned with his back against the bar and surveyed the scene in the saloon. A couple of hands from a neighboring ranch were playing poker at one of the back tables. There was a barmaid, Joe thought her name was Kelly, or something like that, over by them, trying to get them to buy her a drink. When he finally caught her eye, he winked at her and saw her head in his direction.

    From the reflection in the mirror over the back of the bar, Adam had watched as the girl detached herself from the poker table and surmised correctly that she was headed in their direction and at whose behest. Languidly, he rolled around and leaned against the bar the same way Joe was, intent on heading her off.

    "My, my, my!" she drawled softly and stood between the two. "What do we have here but the Cartwright boys! The handsomest pair of 'em a girl could see. Goodness! Just makes my heart pound." She let her brown eyes rove over them, not missing a thing. Both were well known among the girls in all the saloons. And fought over upon occasion as well so to have no competition in sight and the two of them all to herself was indeed a rarity.

    "Hello, Kelly," Joe crooned easily and she leaned in his direction just a hair.

    I can see I was worried about absolutely nothing! Looks like the little charmer - Adam was thinking then abruptly changed his train of thought. Before Joe had turned to face the saloon, Adam had seen him use his good hand to carefully position his left one so that the thumb caught in his belt. Then Joe had turned to face the rest of the saloon, looking the lazy relaxed cowboy. But Kelly, playing the coquette, had reached out and had started to stroke his brother's left arm. In just that short a time span, Adam watched as Joe went from self-assured, cocky young man to something considerably less.

    "Kelly, is it?" Adam reached over to remove her hand from his brother's arm, drawing her attention to himself instead. "Kelly, sweetheart, we really would like to stay and - what?- discuss the weather with you, but we need to be getting home." Adam cajoled and with his own disarming charm and smile, pulled her away from between them. Under his breath, he hissed, "Let's go, little brother. Now."

    Joe took another swallow of beer then set the mug back onto the bar, next to Adam's empty one. He had just for a few moments there felt like himself again while he had considered the woman and her obvious endowments and eagerness to please. Then she had touched his arm and recent events flooded back into his reality. He tried to smile at her as he tugged his hat brim down but the smile failed to reach his eyes.

    "Later, okay?" Joe suggested half-heartedly and headed out the doorway.

    Adam gave the girl a meaningful smile and a little nod then followed his brother.

    "Damn!" she swore under her breath once the two were gone. "What did I do wrong?"

    The ride home was going just like the ride into town had been: silent. Joe had withdrawn into himself and Adam's mind whirled about with all he had witnessed. Finally he decided that he had to know and pulled the team to a halt. Joe immediately came uncoiled and looked at Adam, wondering why they had stopped in the middle of the road.

    "I saw you, Joe," was all Adam said, keeping his eyes straight ahead even though he longed to see the effect the words would have on Joe.

    "Saw me what?" Joe asked defensively, trying for a bluff.

    Adam carefully considered his next words before he spoke them. "I saw you in Paul Martin's office."

    "So? What of it?" Joe asked heatedly, but also considerably more wary.

    Turning to face his brother square on, Adam saw the fleeting expression of fear on Joe's face. Just for that split second, Joe looked so much younger than his twenty plus years that it made Adam want to kick himself for the mere knowledge he had. "In all your life, you have fought like a wild cat to keep from going into that office. You have denied busted ribs, pounding headaches and God only knows what else just so you wouldn't have to go in there. Now today, you go willingly. I want to know why."

    Joe swallowed hard, trying to decide how to handle this situation. "You followed me?" he stated more than asked.

    "Not exactly. I had the thought that maybe we should have lunch together instead of the beer. I turned around to tell you but you were already gone. I thought I would see you further down the street so I walked back that way. That's when I saw you there. Come on, Joe. What is it? Tell me. Please?" Adam explained then pleaded.

    Joe crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into the wagon's hard seat, his feet propped up on the edge in front of him. "You're Mister Know-it-all. You tell me."

    "I'll tell you what I do know. I know you are keeping something from everyone. Or at least trying to but you need to polish up on your style, Joe. I saw you in the saloon. When that girl just touched your arm, you stiffened up like she was going to bite you. The other day when we were out working the round up and branding, I saw you when you got down off your horse at lunchtime. You could barely walk, Joe. And how long have you been just stepping into the stirrups and swinging onto your horse? The brother I know rarely put his boots in the stirrups before he hits saddle leather and his horse is off. Nowadays, I bet Cochise doesn't even get beyond a trot before you are reining him in. You want me to go on? I've got a list longer than Hop Sing's!"

Joe sat fuming. All his hard work to hide his problems had been useless. He couldn't find his voice to answer Adam.

Adam continued. "I also know you can't use your left hand for anything besides a prop. You don't even wear your revolver anymore. You haven't lassoed anything. And when I tried to give you the easy job of using the branding iron, you acted like I was giving you the worst one in the world. I know that you have tried writing with your right hand and you can't get beyond a crooked scrawl. For God's sake, Joe!  I can help you but I need to know how to help you and to do that, I need to know what is wrong!"

For the long, long moments that followed Adam's final plea, all that could be heard was the gentle movements of the team as they stood in their traces, waiting to go on and the breeze that whispered through the pines beside the road. Finally Joe reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope. He held it in his hand for a moment, considering its importance in his life, then gave it to Adam.

It was addressed to Doctor Paul Martin from a doctor in San Francisco, California. As Adam pulled the one thin sheet of paper from within, he looked at Joe's grim expression. Joe's eyes were closed, his lips tight together, his head down, as he fought for control. Adam skimmed the letter quickly. Obviously, at some point in time, Paul had written to this doctor about Joe's mangled left hand, asking for advice on how to right the damage done when the hand had been crushed by the teenage boys who had ransacked the Ponderosa, tormented Hop Sing and nearly killed Joe, all in the name of "having some fun". The hand had not healed well enough for Joe to regain much, if any, movement or use whatsoever. It was the next to the last lines that snagged Adam's eye as he read them. "I suggest that you simply tell the young man to live with this disability because, barring a miracle, he is stuck with it. To my knowledge, there is nothing that can be done." Slowly and sadly, Adam refolded the letter and handed it back to Joe.

"Have you told Pa?" Adam whispered and saw Joe give his head a little shake, his lips not able to form the word "no."

"Maybe another doctor-" Adam started but Joe cut him off.

"Doc already tried. That was why I was in his office today. He wrote to some fancy hospital back east. I was there to get their answer. Doctors there said basically the same thing." Joe's voice quivered as he spoke.

At a complete loss for words, Adam put a long arm across Joe's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Joe," he whispered, feeling his own heart cry. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I'm sorry."

    "No, it's okay, Adam."

    Sighing, Adam pulled his brother a little closer to him. "No, it ain't okay. Is there anything you think we can do?"

    Joe looked across to see Adam's face, trying to gauge his reaction to what he was about to ask. "Just one thing. Don't say anything to Pa about this. Let me," and gestured with the letter before he tucked it back into its hiding place.

    For a brief moment, Adam thought about arguing it out with Joe. But if there was one thing that Adam understood, it was a craving for privacy. He nodded briefly then pulled his arm from his brother's shoulders, only to find himself patting Joe's leg. "On one condition. That you tell Pa everything you just told me."

    A quick smile crossed Joe's features and Adam thought he had won a round.

    Everything I just told you, Joe repeated to himself, but when is up to me and I don't think I can do that just yet.
 

    The big Rhode Island Red rooster walked the narrow top railing of the corral, placing his feet carefully in the predawn mist. He stopped when he got to a post and hopped onto it, fluffing his wings and stretching his neck as he surveyed the barnyard.

Blinking in satisfaction, he told the world that the sun was about to rise on his kingdom and wanted all to greet the sight with him.

    Inside the house, Hop Sing cheerfully puttered about the kitchen, getting breakfast going. This morning was the first truly chilly one they had had this fall so he decided that fresh hot biscuits would be a good idea to go with the meal. That and it would warm the kitchen! He hummed softly to himself as he prepared the dough, rolling it out then cutting it into large circles. Just as he slid them into the oven, he heard the first footfalls on the stairs. Ah, Mista Ben up, he thought and pulled the coffeepot from its perking spot on the back of the stove.

    Just as Ben was seating himself at the head of the table and Hop Sing was pouring him a cup of coffee, Adam came down the stairs stretching.

    "Mornin' Pa," Adam greeted then sat down himself, yawning and trying to resist the urge to head back to bed. There was a definite chill in the air that morning, making a warm bed far more appealing than chores.

    "Good morning, Adam. Sleep well?" Ben asked as always.

    Before Adam could respond at all, Ben addressed a set of heavier footsteps coming down. "Hoss, please go back and see if Joseph is up yet." And the heavy tread returned to overhead, followed by Hoss' bellow for Joe to "Rise and shine, short shanks!"

    "Little Joe up and out all ready this morning," Hop Sing exclaimed while he poured Adam's first cup of coffee. Ben smiled at the cook's choice of words.

    "Well, holler out the door, Adam, and tell him breakfast is on," Ben directed and snapped his napkin open.

    Adam started to rise to do his father's bidding when Hop Sing stopped him. "Little Joe all ready eat breakfast this morning. He eat in kitchen vely early. Say he need to go to town."

    Ben smirked while ladling eggs onto his own plate. "He was just in town yesterday with you, Adam. I swear I don't understand that boy. For the better part of a month, he doesn't go near town. Now he goes two days running."

    Adam settled back into his seat and kept his eyes on his plate.

    Hoss returned down the stairs and crossed to his place at the table. "Joe ain't there, Pa," he explained then proceeded to dive into the platters on the table before him, hopefully forestalling any grilling from his father as to the whereabouts of his brother. Hoss thought he had heard Joe the night before, moving around his room quite late. The last thing he had wanted to find that morning was his brother's empty bed.

    "We figured that out when Hop Sing said Joe got out early," Adam mumbled around his biscuit.

    "Did he say anything to you yesterday about forgetting something in town?" Ben asked Adam, his brows knitting together.

    Trying to look as though he were thinking on his father's question, Adam studied his plate. He could easily just go ahead and tell their father about the letter but that would have betrayed a confidence. Sure, he hadn't promised Joe anything but still Joe had trusted him enough so he, in return, had to trust that his brother would do the right thing.

    "No, not a thing. Fact is yesterday he was pretty quiet both on the way into town and on the way home." Adam quickly picked up his coffee and took a long pull on it, trying to finish his meal and be gone before his father caught wind that he wasn't being completely forthcoming with all that he knew.

"Well, he does have some time coming to him, I guess. Just wish he-" Ben started to say something else but stopped himself. There was an odd expression on Adam's face. "Is something wrong, son?" he asked, directed to Adam's end of the table.

Adam thought the best way to answer his father was with the truth. "No, Pa, I'm fine. Come on Hoss, knowing our dearly beloved little scamp of a brother, he left chores undone. I'll take the barn chores. You get the others." And rising, he hurried from the table.

Not about to be rushed through one of his favorite times of the day, Hoss simply ignored Adam's words. There were more important things than chores to concern him at that moment. Namely the crisp bacon and fluffy eggs on his plate. And the basket of biscuits was right in front of him, wafting their mouth-watering perfume towards him. He smiled, reaching for one.

Ben was able to grasp the big hand just as it closed over its target but before it made its way back to the side of the table. "What do you know about your brother's behavior of late?" he asked.

Hoss screwed his face into a wounded expression. His father's vice-like grip held him fast. "Aw Pa, Adam is just kind of-" he began.

"Wrong brother. Try the other one. What is going on, Hoss?" Ben continued to restrain Hoss.

Hoss pulled at his arm just once and when his father refused to let go, didn't try again. "I just don't know, Pa. He's always been moody and such."

"Tell me something I don't know! Has he said anything to you about what is bothering him?" persisted Ben.

"No sir, he ain't said nuthin' at all. But I will tell you something I do know. It ain't got nuthin' to do with a girl."

Exasperated, Ben let go of Hoss' hand. "For once, I wish it did."

"Me too," Hoss confessed and snagged another biscuit before his father could give a repeat performance, "Then he would be over it in a week." Hoss took his biscuit and left his father staring at the now-empty table.

"That has to be the shortest meal we have ever had," Ben muttered to himself.
 
 

Out in the barn, Adam had just finished saddling Sport when Hoss ambled in, the last of a biscuit still in hand.

"Pa on you too?" he asked, backing his horse out his stall.

"Sure was. Adam, what gives?"

Adam shook his head and led his horse passed his brother, snagging the last of the biscuit from his brother and swallowing it quickly.

"I got an idea but I ain't exactly sure," Hoss confessed, looking at his empty hand.

"Okay," Adam drawled and stopped in his tracks, "Let's hear it." He wanted to know just how much Hoss had surmised. Not the most brilliant of the Cartwright sons, Hoss was the more intuitive of the three and often saw things the other two missed. Especially when it came to people.

"Well, I been watching Joe the past couple of days. He ain't as healed up as he lets on he is."

Adam shrugged. "That's typical Joe."

"No," Hoss insisted, "It's more than that. You seen him riding lately?"

"So?" was Adam's noncommittal response.

"Joe always flowed with the horse. Now it's like he can't wait to get off. And more than once I seen him when he thinks no body is watchin' him, lean down and rub his left knee. Like it is still sore."

"It just might be. After all, you saw the kind of shape it was before." But it isn't his knee, it's his hand.

"But it is deeper than that I think. I can't put my finger on it though." Hoss moved to his horse's side and picked up the big currycomb.

Blowing his breath out in a long sigh, Adam considered sharing with Hoss what he knew but he couldn't. He just couldn't. "Maybe, just maybe, Joe has decided to grow up some? I mean, look at the way he handled those boys when they came here to kill him, for God's sake! Pa said it scared him bad to hear Joe eggin' them on, his voice all cold." When he said those words, Adam felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach by a bronc. With a certainty he had not had before, Adam felt he knew what had bothered his brother for so long. Between the travesty of a trial for the three boys, his father's reaction to him in the judge's chambers and then the boys' admission of guilt, Joe had lost something of himself. Faith in the way the law had dealt with the whole desperate situation? Faith lost in how his family cared for him? And finally, and worst of all, faith in himself? Suddenly the scene his father had described to him when the boys had come to kill Joe took on a whole different aspect. Adam had to hang onto to Sport as the impact of it hit him. Could Joe have truly wanted the boys to kill him?

"Hey, you okay, Adam?"

He felt Hoss beside him, supporting him briefly."Yeah, yeah. Just a little dizzy there for a moment. Tell you what. Get that old nag of yours saddled up and let's go find that brother of ours." Before he does something we can't fix.
 

    The ride into town brought them nothing. Hoss and Adam had searched high and low for their wayward brother and come up empty-handed repeatedly.

Standing in the nearly empty Bucket of Blood, Hoss turned to his brother. "What now?" he asked then ordered a beer from Bruno even though it was still morning.

Adam turned slowly on his heels and called for a whisky. "I am open to suggestions."

"Go home without him?" Hoss suggested, sipping his beer.

"Not on your life. I have the very distinct feeling that we would regret doing that for a long, long time. We know he didn't leave on the stage 'cause there hasn't been one. We checked all the stables and Cochise isn't there. And it ain't like you can hide a horse that flashy down a side street or alley. We've checked all of his favorite haunts and hideouts and he just isn't there. And here we are in his favorite watering hole."

"Well, how about the jail?"

"Checked it and Roy hasn't seen him either."

"The bank?"

Adam gave Hoss a look that spoke volumes. "What would he be doing in the bank? He never puts any of his pay in the bank. How about that girl's place that he was seeing last winter. What was her name? Winthrop? Was that it? Did you check her place?"

"She moved, Adam. That was why Joe quit seeing her. How about them other places? You know the ones I mean."

A slow sad smile spread over Adam's dark features. The 'other places' Hoss referred to where the houses of ill repute that had sprung up over the years down the side streets of Virginia City. Hoss didn't venture there and was embarrassed that his two brothers did. But he would have never mentioned it to their father, knowing how Ben felt about such places and the men who entered them.

"No, I looked there first but I do believe I missed one possibility. Bruno," he called out to the barkeep. "Where is that little gal that was so intent on us yesterday? Kelly, I think I heard Joe call her?"

With his rag, Bruno gestured up the stairs. "Third door on the right. But Joe ain't with her if that's what you're thinking."

Smiling without mirth, Adam headed up the stairs, praying Bruno was wrong.

He wasn't.

As much as he hated to admit it, Adam had to consider that Joe had indeed given them the slip. Once again sipping a whiskey, he thought of the ramifications inherent in what had happened. He doubted that Joe would actually commit suicide but then again, why not? The brother who had set next to him on the wagon seat the day before had not been the life-loving brother of just a few months before. Looking back, Adam was coming more and more to the realization that Joe was deeply depressed. And as such, would, and could, do just about anything. But did that included taking his own life?

The sound of a throat being cleared pulled Adam from his dark thoughts. Not just any throat, either. For standing next to him, feet shoulder width apart and gloved hands planted firmly on his hips stood Ben Cartwright. The look on his face would have curdled milk.

"I am going to assume that there is a good reason I find my two oldest sons in town, in a saloon, drinking, before noon. On a workday." Adam inwardly cringed, hearing that quiet tone of voice his father used. "I'm waiting for that explanation."

"Pa, you see, we thought that maybe we should find Joe and drag him home before he got into any sort of trouble here in town. I mean after all, you were concerned about him this morning." Adam rationalized quickly and tried to sell his father on the idea. But one look at his father's dark brows told him that Ben wasn't buying.

"Well, if you are looking for your brother, you might start down at the branding pits on the Ponderosa. That's where I found him about three hours ago. Working. Which, I might add, is what I thought I would find the two of you doing as well!" Ben's voice had continued to rise in volume until, with the last words, he was fairly shouting.

"Yes sir, we're headed there right now," and as he spoke, Hoss grabbed Adam's arm, dragging him away, muttering under his breath about Adam's most recent use of the word "we".

Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Ben sighed as Adam and Hoss disappeared out of the saloon. He had no idea what to make of recent events.

"Bruno, give me a beer," he ordered.

"Before noon, Mr. Cartwright?" the saloonkeeper teased but then wished he hadn't when Ben gave him a withering look.

"Yes, before noon!"
 

"I swear, Adam. I'm gonna pound that boy into the dirt up to his eyeballs!" Hoss seethed as he swung down off Chubb. Across the black's back, both brothers could see Joe working over in the branding pit. And obviously hard at it.

Adam checked the cinch on his saddle and patted the big stallion. "Better not try it. Way he's been acting, he could very well bite your head off before you got within arm's reach of him," he warned, with a nod of his head to the pit.

"I'm still gonna have somethin' to say to him! Make us look like fools!"

Taking a deep breath, Adam reseated his hat and grimacing, he slapped Hoss' shoulder beside him. "No, little brother. We did that all on our own. We made an assumption that's been proven wrong."

Hoss shrugged off Adam's hand and started with long strides towards Joe. Adam could only follow and hope that Hoss' better instincts caught up to him before they reached Joe.

The disarming grin Joe gave his two brothers threw Hoss' intentions of a pounding completely to the four winds. With a flip of the wrist, he unlooped the lariat from the calf's head at his feet and set the little fellow free. He tossed the rope back to the wrangler before he turned to face his brothers, the grin still in place.

"Wondered when you two were goin' to show up for work! It's almost noon! What took you so long at breakfast?" he teased.

"Well, there was a little detour to town we felt we had to take," Adam explained as he pulled his gloves out of his hip pocket and put them on. Expertly, he dropped the next calf drug into the branding pit, resting his knee on the calf's side to hold it down while Joe laid the hot branding iron to the animal.

Joe snorted just once. He turned to drop the cooling iron back into the fire only to run into Hoss' broad chest. It rocked him back a step but Hoss grabbed his upper arm in a firm grip and kept him on his feet.

"Come on, Joe, we gonna go have us a talk!" Hoss proceeded to easily manhandle his slighter brother towards where the horses were tethered. Joe, of course, balked but when Adam gripped the other arm, Joe gave in. As he allowed his brothers to escort him to the shaded grove and the horses, he prepared himself mentally for the coming onslaught.

Roughly, Hoss propelled Joe towards his horse and told him to mount up. Every nuance and fiber of his being told Joe to bolt into the saddle and ride like the Devil was chasing him. The way Hoss and Adam were acting, he wasn't sure but what the Devil wasn't already there and wearing their faces that morning. But instinct won out and Joe simply stepped into the stirrup and swung aboard the waiting pinto, gathering the reins into his hand. Wisely, he waited for his brothers to mount as well before he nudged the horse from the sheltering shade and into the bright sunlight.

    Atypically, Adam wasn't sure of where they wanted to be when they had their discussion with Joe. He did know that they wanted it far from the prying eyes and ears of the ranch hands. Since it could get ugly real fast, he also wanted it in as private a location as they could easily find. He led out at a swift lope, letting his mind shift quickly through the possibilities. Not back to the house, Pa could get home at any time. Too far to the lake. Where?

    "This is far enough!" Joe shouted and pulled his horse to a stop even though they sat in the middle of the road. Quickly, Adam circled back. Hoss had reined in then pulled his horse around to the side of Cochise so he could look into his brother's eyes. Adam took up the same position on the opposite side.

"What the Hell is this all about?"

    "For starters, you watch your language, Joseph!" Adam shouted, a long index finger right under Joe's nose.

    Joe batted the hand away with an angry flick. Hoss grabbed Joe's right hand and held it, afraid that Joe would curl it into a fist and his two warring siblings would be at it again. With a venomous glare, Joe tried to pull the hand back but Hoss refused to let go.

    "Both of you settle down!" shouted Hoss, surprising himself as he did since not five minutes before, he was the one ready to pound the youngster into the ground. Now just the looks that Joe and Adam were trading were enough that his anger looked pale in comparison.

    His eyes darted from one to the other as once again Joe took an assessment of his situation. He kept his jaw clenched even though every part of him wanted to shout angry words at these two. For long moments, each of them struggled within themselves to gain composure. Adam regained his equilibrium first. Leaning down from the taller horse, he laid a hand on Joe's knee and felt the muscles and sinew there quickly tense and pull from the touch.

    "What I wouldn't give," Adam started softly, "to get inside that head of yours, Joe, for just a few minutes. Find out what is really in there."

    "Why? You're always claiming that there's nothing there!" replied Joe hotly, and just the sound of his voice made Cochise dance within the confinement of the other two horses. But Hoss held fast to the one hand and Adam kept his restraining hand on Joe's leg. It told Joe one thing: there would be no escape from these two.

    "Oh, there's a whole lot there. It's just that right now it isn't making any sense. Like I told you a while back, I want to help you! But I have to know what's bothering you before I can! Hoss too!" Adam tried his best to keep his voice from rising in anger but one look at Joe's face showed him he had not succeeded.

    "Maybe I don't want your help!" Joe shouted and finally pulled back his hand from Hoss. "Maybe this time, all the well-meaning help in the world isn't going to do anything! Did that ever occur to you, Adam? That maybe, just maybe, this is something that you can’t fix? That you can't help?"

    "Don't say that, Joe. You just have to-" but Joe cut Hoss' words off with a laugh so full of sarcasm that it wounded the big man.

    "I just have to what, Hoss? Be a good boy and do what I'm told? I did that! And look what it got me!"

    Joe froze in the horror of what he had just shouted and what was on his lips to say further. His breathing grew ragged and loud in the following silence he forced on himself. He could feel the compassion rolling in waves from his brothers as they sat there, watching him, and he hated it. He was sick and tired of being pitied and babied and coddled. If he could have had his way, he would have kicked Cochise into a flat out run and left them sitting in his dust. But they had him hemmed in and there was no escape.

    Hoss and Adam spared just once glance between themselves. They could sense the flood building behind the dam in Joe and both wanted its release and feared it all the same. For the flood could very well completely destroy what it touched, it seemed so overpowering in its intensity.

    Finally Joe regained control but only by making himself go cold within. He had done the same thing while held at gunpoint by three of the boys who had made him what he saw himself as right at that moment: a pitied cripple. And his loving family had simply gone on and compounded that vision. Their care and concerns about his well- being had merely reinforced what his body told him day in and day out. He was a cripple. Even though just the evening before he had claimed to his father that he was capable, his body took every opportunity to tell him differently. He longed for a release from the constant pain and discomfort. Where was there freedom from the pitying looks and words of consolation his family would heap upon him if they knew of it? His thoughts flew back to just the day before when he had told Adam and allowed him to read the letter. And what had been Adam's response? To reach out and touch him even though Adam disdained that sort of physical display of emotion. Adam had showed him clearly just how much he pitied him. And that was not what Joe wanted. Ever.

    Responding to the quick jerk of the reins, Cochise shoved Sport aside and put distance between them. As Hoss watched, a small part of him longed to shout out but he didn't. His brothers were now openly glaring at one another, one with hostility, the other with sympathy. Joe looked back over his shoulder and Hoss did his best to let his face show his love and concern for his baby brother. He didn't realize it but that was the last straw for Joe. It was as though a door had slammed closed, shutting he and Adam out. Joe pulled back hard on the reins and Cochise half reared before feeling Joe's heels ram into his sides and he leapt forward to freedom.

    "I think we just made a huge mistake, Adam," Hoss allowed, watching Joe disappear into the tall pines.

    "You're right, but for the life of me I have no idea what it was."
 

    The strain at supper that night was so evident that Adam thought they should have set a place at the table for it. Beyond the perfunctory asking for the bread or the vegetables, there was no talk. Each kept his eyes to his plate and once the meal was over, arose and went to find solitary diversions. Ben, angry with all of his sons for what he considered a missed day's work, returned to his ledgers. Adam did his best to concentrate on the book he held in his hands as he sat by the fire. Hoss had brought in an axe head and was busy fitting a new handle to it. Joe sat at the table at the foot of the stairs, his back to the rest of the family, cleaning his rifle. The house was so quiet that all could hear Hop Sing in the kitchen cleaning up the dinner dishes.

    Just about when Adam thought the room was going to cave in from the weight of the silence, Joe dropped his bombshell. In five short words, spoken calmly to no one in particular, they exploded.

    "I'm leaving in the morning."

    “Where you headed? Going huntin’?” Hoss asked innocently

    “No. I’m just leaving.”

    Suddenly the room was alive. Ben shot to his feet and with a few long strides was standing beside Joe who had remained where he was and still continued to work on the rifle. At his back, Adam and Hoss had also instinctively risen but only Adam had moved.

    "What?" Ben demanded, exploding himself.

    "You heard me, Pa. I'm leaving in the morning." Joe repeated.

    "You listen to me, young man! Just what do you mean, you're leaving?"

    "It's real simple, Pa. There's something I've got to do. And I can't do it here." Joe fought to keep his emotions cold and in check.

    Again Ben charged back angrily with a sharp request of "What?"

    Joe bit down hard on his lip and remained silent except to reiterate that he was leaving in the morning.

    Pushing past his father, Adam reached down and grabbed Joe's arm and hauled him roughly to his feet. He had lost all semblance of control but didn't care. All that he knew and most of what he suspected was going on with his brother was having one affect he wanted to see stopped. Even if he had to physically beat it out of the boy, Adam was going to have his answer that night.

    "You listen to me you sanctimonious little brat!" Adam began and heard his father's sharp rebuke but he plunged on. "I have decided I don't give a rat's ass about what it is you are feeling or thinking, you self-centered miscreant! There is only one thing I care about where you are concerned right now and you are going to hear me out even if it is the last thing you hear in this house! I don't care if tomorrow morning you pack your bags and head out of here with your tail tucked between your legs! I don't! What I do care about is that you are hurting other people! Namely Pa! Do you understand me? You will not hurt our father! And if you up and leave like this, you hurt him!"

    "What do you want out of me, Adam?" Joe shouted, ignoring and shrugging away his father's hand that would have kept him from being where he was: right in Adam's face.

    "A simple confession would do wonders. Like what is so wrong with you? And I don't mean about your hand!" Adam shouted back, deciding to meet anger with anger.

    That did it. Joe rocked back on his heels and his father was able to separate he and Adam. Ben wisely interposed himself between the two, knowing that they would not reach over him to strike the other.

    "What about it, Joseph?" Ben asked, his eyes searching for a signal from his youngest that he was regaining control as well. What he saw instead was a chilling green fire in his son's eyes.

    "You mean to tell me that old high and mighty Adam didn't come running and tell you already? I knew I shouldn't have told you!"

    Ben took a deep breath and held it, willing himself to remain calm in the face of the again rising storm. "Adam has told me nothing but it sounds like he should have! One of you, and at this point I don't care which one of you it is, tell me what this is all about."

    "Tell him, Joe. Tell him about the letter from that doctor in San Francisco," Hoss said softly and felt them all turn to look at him. "I talked with Doc Martin this morning, Joe. Had to trick it out of him but he told me any way. Seems Doc had written to this fancy surgeon fella wanting to know if there was anything that could be done to help Joe's hand get better."

    Ben turned back and let his gaze fall on Joe's face. There, he read the answer to what the doctor's reply had been.

    "Why didn't you say anything about this, son?" Ben asked, pleading gently, hoping for a softening in Joe's countenance. There was none.

    "Because it's only half of the whole story, Pa. Why don't you go and finish it Hoss, since you know so much," Joe hissed, the words like hot stones falling into cold water.

    "'Cause that's all I know, Joe. Except that somethin' else is botherin' you somethin' awful. Somethin' that you don't think you can share with us. Somethin' that makes you want to leave home."

    "You don't want to know," Joe whispered and brushing by his father, took the stairs two at a time.

    Ben stood in the pool of silence, the only ripple, the sound of a door upstairs closing. He let his gaze slip from Hoss to Adam then to the floor. Adam started to head up the stairs but Ben stopped him abruptly with a single soft "No."

    "You knew about this letter?" he whispered and saw Adam's eyes dip in regret and assent. "And you said nothing about it to me? Why?"

    "Because Joe told me he would tell you about it. He just never said when he would, is all. I guess I should have said something to you. But I understood-"

    "It doesn't matter what you thought you understood, Adam. What about you, Hoss? You have anything to add to this?" Their father's voice had taken on an accusing tone that made both men look to the floor. "Either of you want to say anything on this issue before I go upstairs and see if he will talk to me?"

    "We've tried talking with him, Pa. He's stonewalled us every time," Adam admitted.

    "I see," Ben said simply. "Rather than come to me with your concerns about your brother's welfare, the two of you try your hand at parenting. I know just what happened too. Joseph got mad, didn't he? I know he did because he felt you were meddling where you didn't belong!"

    "But Pa, we could see he was hurtin' and we were just tryin' to help him," Hoss moaned, his hands now tucked into his pockets.

    As much as Ben longed to reach out and console his middle child, he knew it would be wrong to do so and held back. "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Anything else the two of you want to fill me in on?"

    Neither son looked up to meet their father's stare nor give an answer to his question.

    Ben knocked once on the bedroom door then pushed it open. What he saw was just as he suspected. Joe was sorting through things and had his saddlebags open on the bed. Ben's heart stammered in his chest. Joe was packing. He was making good on his decision to leave the next morning.

    "You are not going to talk me out of it, Pa, so don't even try."

    "I wasn't going to, son, but Adam is right. I want to know why."

    Joe paused before he slid another shirt into his saddlebags. "I told you that you didn't want to know why."

    Ben fought a battle within himself at that moment. It would have been so easy to slip over to Joseph's side and lay a loving hand on those slim shoulders. But the set of those same shoulders spoke of anger and, rather than be rebuked, Ben leaned against the closed door at his back, pinning his hands behind him with the motion.

    "Why not let me be the judge of that?" he asked. "I think I deserve an answer before I let you walk out of my life, Joseph."

    "It's complicated. I don't know where to start." Another shirt found it's way into the bulging saddlebags.

    "Try the beginning," Ben encouraged and found his body moving towards his son as though propelled by some hidden force. Joe forestalled any contact by moving to the bureau for more of his things. Ben took a seat on the side of the bed, trying to give his son space.

    Joe snorted derisively. "I do that and older brother Adam will take a piece of my hide. He as much as said he would downstairs."

    "I didn't hear him say anything like that."

    "He said he wouldn't let me hurt you, Pa. To do that, to not hurt you, I can't-" Joe paused then slammed the drawer closed sharply. When he turned, Ben had expected to see his most open of sons beginning to give freedom to the strong emotions he knew were there. Instead he saw a face controlled by anger.

    "I deserve to know, Joseph. Tell me."

    There was something in his father's face that made the walls Joe had built around himself begin to give way. Was it the love he saw there that loosened the first timber of rage? Was it the open concern and caring that scraped at the mortar of self-loathing?  Or maybe it was the look that spoke of true understanding that pried at that brick of self-pity. It didn't matter. Yes, he deserves to know the truth but can I tell him the truth? I have to, Joe thought then dropped onto the bed beside his father.

    "You may not like what you hear," Joe whispered softly.

    "Let me decide that, okay?" Ben gave in to the impulse, letting his hand reach out to touch the hard shoulder next to him.

    Joe looked to ceiling then the floor. Then in a voice tightly controlled, he began. "Since the first day you let me work the ranch full time, I've done what I could to pull my own weight. Because I was the boss' son, sometimes that meant going beyond what other hands were asked to do. I've worked harder and longer than most of the men on our payroll because I thought I had to in order to be considered an equal. Because I wasn't as big and strong as Hoss or as smart as Adam, I've struggled and fought harder. Then I got to the point where I was holding my own, so to speak. I was fast with a gun and good with a horse. I could hold my liquor and stay in a fight until the other man was out cold. I guess you could say I was accepted and not just tolerated because I was the boss' son. But all that changed when Brian Fair and his little friends decided to take me apart. All of a sudden, I was back to square one: I couldn't even saddle my own horse and a fistfight was out of the question. And handle a gun? No way. So I guess you could say I was back to before square one. Not only that, everyone who knew me before, well, they all looked at me with pity in their eye. I can’t handle that any more, Pa. That pity on their faces. But all the same, I've got to admit what I've become, Pa. I’m a cripple. I can't work the ranch like I did before. I can't throw a lasso. I can't handle a branding iron for long. Fix a fence? How? With only one hand that works and that's the wrong one? I don't even trust myself to chop wood. Then you add a leg that won't work like its suppose to half the time. Why, that's real fun at the end of the day when you ride home and go to dismount and your leg gives out under you and you wind up on your butt in the middle of the yard! Guaranteed to make people respect you! Good for a laugh from everyone but what about when you know it will happen again and again?"

    "But why leave, Joseph? Maybe-" Ben started but Joe's contemptuous snort silenced him.

    "Go ahead Pa and you will finish out why I have to! You were about to say something like 'We'll help you' or whatever. That's the thing that hurts more than my leg and more than the realization that my hand will never work again. It's the pity I want to leave behind here. The sympathy that smothers me. How will I ever know what I can do with what I have left if I don't go? I need to go some where that no one knew me before this happened. Maybe there I can sort out what’s left of me."

    "And what happens then? After you have found a new way of looking at yourself? Do you come home?" Ben asked, his voice struggling.

    "I won't know until then. But before then I have something else I need to do. And that's why I said it was only half of the whole reason why I want to leave tomorrow. Doc Martin wrote to a doctor in Saint Louis about my knee. That doctor was a little more conservative in his answer than the doctor in San Francisco. He said "maybe." He wouldn't say he could fix it but then again he didn't say he couldn't. He wants to see it first then make his decision. Doc Martin said at best, it's an outside chance. And it's my last chance, Pa. I rode into town this morning and bought a ticket on tomorrow's stage east."

    "I'll go with you," Ben offered simply but Joe shook his head no.

    "No, Pa, please," he pleaded and beneath his hand, his father felt the shoulder begin to soften and for just a brief moment, Joe leaned into his father's touch.

    "Why not? You are my son and I love you."

    "Because I don't want-" but his words caught in Joe’s throat.

    "Don't want what?  My help? I can't believe that. And I can't help you, Joseph if you are a thousand miles away."

    "No!" Joe shot to his feet and away from his father. "I don't want anyone to see me like that. Can't you understand that?"

    Ben sent a quick prayer heavenward as he stood and took the single step that put him at Joe's back. "See you like what, son? I was there when you were born and I understood what you needed then. Help. For there is nothing more helpless than a new-born child, cold, naked, unable to take care of itself. I was there when you took your first faltering steps and stood but for an instant before you fell back down. And I recall clearly leaning down and picking you up so that you could try it again. I have nursed you through fevers and broken bones and more than one broken heart. Tell me, Joseph, when have I ever not helped you and understood what you needed? When have I never not leaned down and picked you up so that you could try again?"

    "Never," Joe whispered but after taking a deep breath, he plunged on. "What if this doctor can't help it? What if this leg stays weak the same way my hand is? That's what I meant by I didn't want anyone to see me that way. Can't you understand that, Pa?"

    "I understand, son. I understand pride. And stubbornness. And I know that you have both of those characteristics in abundance. They are what has carried you this far. But they can only take you so far and you have reached that limit. All you can think of is that you are going to fall. So now you want to hide. Before you have even fallen, you want to hide! I can’t let you do that, Joseph. Despite what you see as physical limitations, there is still more of you than a mangled hand and a crippled leg. There is a keen mind and a sharp wit. There is a strength of character within you that will not let you just accept these limitations and let them rule your life. Give that strength half a chance and it will overcome your self-pity and make you more of a man than you were before. But not if you hide."

    "I'm not hiding, Pa! I'm trying to face reality."

    "I know you are but you are ignoring one part of that reality. That you can't do this alone, Joseph."

    "I have to!" Joe shouted, then stepping away, leaned and looked out the window at the rising moon.

    "No, that's just it. You don't have to, but you want to. Just like that little boy years ago that tried so hard to walk on his own before his strength would let him! Just like that young man who fought for acceptance by throwing himself into life. You don't have to take this trip on your own but you want to. And I know why. You don't want anyone to see you if you should fail. I don't want to see you fail, Joseph, any more than you do. But if you try to do this on your own, and you do fail, you will never know if having help might have made the difference. Let me go with you, son. It might make the difference. And I can promise you the same support I gave that little boy trying to walk. I will set you back on your feet so you can try again," the father urged and when Ben felt the shoulders beneath his hands both slump forward, he prayed he had won the battle.

    “It’s a long trip Pa. Three weeks minimum. You can’t be away from the ranch that long,” Joe tried again to dissuade his father.

    “You seem to have forgotten that I came across that section of country in a wagon with two little boys a number of years ago. And it took considerably longer then. I think I can manage a ride in a stagecoach for that long. As for me being away from the ranch that long, it seems to me that your two brothers can take care of things for a while.”

    Joe snorted and subconsciously, leaned back into his father’s touch. “Well now that’s a sure guarantee to tick them off. Not only do I leave them my chores to do, but you tell them they have to run the ranch while you’re gone? That’s gonna go over real well!”

    “I have left things for you boys to run before. I have faith in two things concerning when we come back. First, that Adam and Hoss will be glad to see us, if only to take a part of the load back. And secondly, no matter what, the Ponderosa will still be here. So what do you say? Can I come with you to Saint Louis?”

    “Don’t think I could stop you at this point,” Joe moaned, the truth he spoke like a bitter draught of medicine. I should have just ridden out and disappeared. Left a note, maybe, he thought. Now, if Pa goes with me and things fall through, how do I just keep on going? How do I convince Pa that’s what I need to do? But is he right in saying what he did about my failing- that if I fail alone, will I question whether he would have made the difference? This was easier to do when it was just me knowing about it.

    Ben gave the neck under his hand a gentle shake. “No, if you want me to stay here, I will but I would rather come with you.” And if you say you want me to stay, it will break my heart because I know you won’t come back if it doesn’t work out. Please God, let him—help him—help me to help him.

    “On one condition,” Joe whispered, afraid that speaking aloud would shatter what remained of his control.

    “Why do I find it hard to take ‘conditions’ off my youngest son?” Ben challenged then seeing the grim look on his son’s face reflected in the window, plunged on and conceded. “Okay, but what's the condition?”

    “That is if things don’t work out, I can go somewhere else for a while. Alone.”

    Exasperation escaping with his sigh, Ben threw his hands into the air. “I don’t understand this need you have to run away from this!”

    Chewing on his lip, Joe turned to face his father fully for the first time. “You don’t understand because you have never ever been like I am now. It’s like the old Indian adage: once you’ve walked a mile in my moccasins, you know what I feel like.”

    “Explain it to me then.”

    When the slight smile came to Joe’s face, Ben thought he had won. When Joe shook his head slowly and said, “Why don’t we save that conversation for the stage?” Ben knew he had won.
 

    The two elder brothers watched as their father slowly descended the stairs. They traded glances between themselves that spoke hugely of confusion.

    “You gonna let him go off?” Adam finally drawled once his father had taken up his place behind his desk.

    Ben picked up his pen and made a few marks on the page before him. Then he took a deep cleansing breath and let his eyes meet the ones across the room from him. “I’m going with him,” he announced and saw those same eyes go wide in astonishment.

    “What?” Adam nearly shouted and came to stand before his father’s desk in what appeared to be one single movement. For a brief moment he considered that perhaps his father had completely lost his mind.

    Calmly, Ben laid aside his pen and addressed the concerned son across from him. “You heard me. I am going with Joseph in the morning. Seems there is a doctor in Saint Louis that may be able to help him.”

    “Whew! I thought there for a minute-“ Hoss started but looking at his father’s face he halted his words. “There’s somethin’ more, ain’t there?”

    “Yes, Hoss, there is a whole lot more. And I have to agree with Joe about some of it. He says he’s being smothered by the pity and sympathy. He’s right. How many times in the past few weeks have we let him even try to do something he used to do without making a big fuss over it? Or worse yet, stepping in and doing it for him?” The hung heads answered Ben so he continued. “And something else struck me. We have dealt with Joseph like he is a cripple-“

    “Because he is, for God’s sake, Pa! He can’t do-“ Adam smacked the desk to emphasize his point only for his father to cut into his words the same way he had his father’s.

    “He can’t do a lot of things the way he used to, Adam. You are absolutely correct. But maybe, just maybe, if we had stopped looking at him and dealing with him like that, he would have found another way to do those same things. As it is, he has come to look at himself as just that: a cripple who has to rely on other people to do things for him. Tell me something, Adam, how long would you want someone else to button your shirt? To pull on your boots? Hoss, how many times would you tolerate someone cutting your meat for you?” Ben leaned well back in his chair as he spoke then waited for their reply.

    Hands planted palm down on the mahogany surface, Adam straight-armed himself away from the desk, and then looked back over his shoulder at Hoss. “I’ve tried to help him, Pa, but he just keeps pushing away.”

    “Tried to help? Or tried to do for him? There’s a world of difference, son. If this had been just a short-term problem, then I doubt that we would have been having any of these discussions. It is the mere fact that Joseph thinks that it is going to be a way of life for him now that makes him want to lash out. He thinks this pity, this sympathy, is going to go on forever. That we are always going to do for him what he once could do for himself.” Ben gave a soft chuckle. “I might rebel too, if it were me. But to get back to what started this, I am leaving with Joseph in the morning. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone but until I come back, you two will run the ranch.”

    Hoss screwed his face around. It didn’t matter to him who ran the ranch. One thing did. “Pa, when you come back from Saint Louis, will you bring somethin’ back fer me and Adam?”

    Ben leaned back further in his chair, a bit surprised. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

    “No sir,” the big man explained, finally stepping closer.

    “What would you two like your pa to bring you back when he comes home?” Ben teased, relieved now that the mood had changed in the room. He didn’t think he could have tolerated the heaviness another moment.

    “Just one thing. Bring us back a little brother. Bring Joe back with ya.”

    “I’ll do what I can, boys.”
 

Saint Louis Missouri
Three weeks later
 

    Weary beyond belief, Joe blew out a long breath as he dropped full length onto the hotel bed beside his carpetbag. He laid looking up at the ornate ceiling as the mid-afternoon sun streaked across it. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds outside the window of cursing draymen, rumbling wagons and the general noise of a sea of humanity. The long stagecoach ride was over. Totally uneventful, Joe and his father had had the coach to themselves most of the time as it had swung down the California coast to just above the Mexican border then crossed the southern route for the Butterfield Line through the Arizona and New Mexico Territories. Once they had crossed into southern Kansas then into southern Missouri, the terrain had lifted from the oppressive desert vista to that of the grass plains dotted by small homesteads. As they had neared Saint Louis, the land became greener although it still stayed depressingly flat. Joe wondered any number of times how folks traveled out there without the mountains and trees to guide them. His father had laughed and reminded him of the lessons he had been taught as a child about navigating by the stars. But Joe still wondered how they gave directions to strangers since back home every time he gave directions, they would include a certain tree or rock formation as a landmark. And how in the world could a tuft of grass be a landmark? Now lying on the soft bed, he decided it didn’t matter.

“Now who’s the better traveler?” Ben teased, smacking the sole of a boot threatening the white coverlet.

    “Okay, okay. I give,” Joe groaned and rolled over to bury his face in the softness. “Like I told you in Monterrey then Tucson then Santa Fe then even in that horrible little place in Kansas: You are the better traveler and I should have never doubted your ability to withstand the rigors of a long trip, Pa.”

The bed sagged then the springs groaned as Ben sat down next to his son. The softness there did seem rather inviting and he finally gave in to impulse and laid on down beside Joe. It certainly was a welcome change from the stiff seats on the constantly moving and jouncing stage. He closed his eyes.

“What’s the matter with your bed?” Joe’s voice taunted him with just a hint of a laugh. “Not hard enough? Or not enough varmints in it like that way station at Chico Wells? Ouch!” He yelped as his father’s hand found its mark on his upturned posterior.

“Nothing is wrong with my bed. I just came in here to tell you that I sent a message around to that Doctor Gallagher that we had arrived and would appreciate seeing him at his earliest convenience. That’s all.”

Never lose track of the goal, do you, Pa? You want this over and done with as soon as possible. Well, so do I but don’t you think we could just take a day or two to get used to the area?

“How ‘bout we have an early dinner? Pa? Pa?” but all the answer Joe got was a soft gentle snore beside him. He smiled and gave himself over to sleep as well, wishing there was some way he could use this last little turn of events to his benefit. Better traveler, huh?

Ben was enjoying the breakfast he had ordered from the hotel’s restaurant. The eggs were done to perfection and the bacon was crisp but not overly hard. The coffee, and he was well on his way to drinking the whole pot, was also perfect. The only thing that wasn’t perfect was the fact that Ben found himself eating alone. Even though he had called him twice, Joe still remained in bed and from the soft snores coming from behind the door, was still asleep as well. Wiping his hands on the white linen napkin, Ben arose from his place at the parlor table and, carrying a cup of coffee, pushed open the door to Joe’s room with his foot. The sight that greeted his eyes was one he would have liked to carry in his heart forever. There Joseph laid, sprawled at a diagonal across the full width of the bed. One foot hung over the side and out from under the blankets but everything else was covered. Except of course for the mass of curls peeking out. Ben wondered for the hundredth time that morning how to awaken his slumbering little boy and turn him into an adult without the benefits he had at home: a great deal of open space that would swallow up the shouting and two other sons to do his bidding. But beneath it all, Ben knew the reason why Joe still slept and it had nothing to do with being worn out from traveling. It had everything to do with the uncertainty both felt in regards to the upcoming meeting with the doctor.

Ben had tried very, very hard all during the trip to not show any special attention to Joe. But it had been difficult to stand by and patiently wait as Joe tried to do for himself without wanting to interfere. It seemed to be the simplest things that gave him the most trouble: buttoning his shirt or his jacket; pulling on his boots; buckling closed his carpetbag; cutting up his food; pulling the stopper from a canteen.  He had never paid attention back home to the difficulties Joe seemed to be having but as he had watched during the trip, it had become painfully apparent. Joe’s assessment of his own situation had been more on the money than Ben had wanted to admit. Joe’s left hand, his dominant one, crippled him severely. When his weakened knee was added into the picture, it became even more obvious. And more than once during the long trip Ben had wondered why he hadn’t seen this before and done something about it. But he had finally come to the conclusion that he had done just what Joe said he had: done for him at the least sign of difficulty then turned away and expect everything to be all right. That Joe would pull through like he always did. This time though, he hadn’t.

Now they were both on the edge of something far more difficult to handle. In the next few days, they would meet with this Doctor Gallagher and his words and diagnosis could either raise their hopes or dash them completely. With Joe’s frame of mind being dark and foreboding, Ben was hard pressed to maintain a more positive outlook, especially after watching Joe more closely over the last few weeks. Slowly, Ben had felt himself being pulled down emotionally until that morning as he sat down on the side of Joe’s bed and called to him once again.

This time, his father’s gentle voice as well as the smell of coffee close at hand, roused Joe. Slowly, the covers came down and a hand went to brush the cobwebs of sleep away. He groaned just once and thought about rolling away and going back to sleep, but his father’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. Ben shook his shoulder gently and called to him again.

“Come on, sleepyhead. There’s breakfast out there waiting for you.”

Joe yawned and rolled onto his back and finally opened his eyes to the morning sun. “Don’t want breakfast. Just coffee,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair to push it back from his face.

“Okay, then sit up.”

Getting his legs untwisted from the sheets and blankets took a few moments but finally Joe got himself pulled upright and with a smile, greeted his father. “Good morning Pa.”

Ben chuckled. Gone was the sight that he had captured of his slumbering youngest son. Now, hair awry and still brushing sleep from his face, the boy was transforming before his father’s eyes into a man, well muscled and tan, reaching for a cup of coffee. “Good morning, son. You obviously slept well since this is about the third time I have tried to get you up!”

Sipping his coffee, Joe first wished his father remembered that he took cream and sugar in his coffee. He’d drink it any way it came to him but preferred it other than black. “How come I gotta get up? You ain’t heard from that doctor, have you?”

“No,” Ben sighed, “but that doesn’t mean you can stay in bed all day today, young man. Thought we would see the sites while we still could.”

Joe smiled lazily and thought back over the various saloons and gaming parlors he had seen from the stage on the way into town. It was as if his father could read his mind though.

“That isn’t what I had in mind!” chastised Ben and to further emphasize his remark, slapped playfully at the blanketed leg closest to him. Unfortunately for Joe, it was the wrong one and unbeknownst to his father, Joe had gone to bed the night before with it swollen. When Ben’s hand connected with the engorged tissue, Joe’s first reaction was to pull it away. But it was held down by his father’s weight on the blankets, trapping it in place. The hot coffee cup Joe had been trying to hold in his left hand went flying as did Joe’s temper. The word he used to express his discomfort was one that would have normally gotten him reprimanded but his father was too busy being shocked and instantly remorseful.

“I’m sorry Joseph! I forgot! I’m sorry. Here, let me help you!” Ben stood up but he was at a complete loss as to what he could do to help.

Joe clung to his painful knee, unmindful of the scalding coffee now soaking into the coverlet and blankets. He clenched his jaws together to avoid saying anything that he knew would only aggravate his father’s sense of proper speech.

Finally Ben was able to raise the blanket covering the knee Joe now held with both hands as he leaned over it. Ben’s first thought was that he was seeing things. The knee was swollen to half again its normal size and the mottling of bruising showed that the flesh had been repeatedly stretched then relaxed. The purpling extended halfway up Joe’s thigh then down to almost the ankle.

“How long has it been this bad, son?” he asked sharply and got first a glare then a look of remorse from his son in reply. “How long?” Ben asked again.

His head shaking and his eyes closed, Joe tried to massage the painful joint. If he could just find that one little place, he knew he could make the immediate pain stop but finding that spot this morning was close to impossible.

Again Ben asked, this time placing his large hands over Joe’s smaller ones and stopping the frantic rubbing he saw happening, “How long, I asked?”

“Off and on since those damn brats beat me and Hop Sing. But most recently,” Joe stated vehemently then his voice dropped to just above a whisper, “since I missed the step outside the hotel in Tucson.”

Ben inhaled sharply. Almost two weeks? And I haven’t noticed- wait I did see him start to limp just a little but I thought it was from- what? But I was there! He didn’t fall on it! Didn’t even twist it I don’t think, he thought then considered that however it happened, it didn’t matter. “And it’s been like this ever since?”

Joe just nodded, moving his hands out of the way of his father’s questioning touch.

“Why didn’t you say something, son?” Ben rose and went to the shaving stand there in the room where a pitcher of cold water waited next to a basin.

“Because this is pretty much normal any more, Pa. End of a long day, it’ll swell up and get hot and cranky. Actually some times it feels better like this. Feels like nothing is gonna move when I walk on it. Usually after an hour or so with a cold compress and lying down, it’ll start to go down in size. Haven’t been able to do that on the trip so I guess it looks worse.”

“Why did I have to travel eighteen hundred miles to find this out?” Ben queried softly as he dipped a cloth in the cold water he had poured into the basin. He twisted it enough to get most of the excess water out then returned to the bed and laid it gently across Joe’s exposed knee.

With an elegant shrug of his shoulders, Joe said that he thought it didn’t matter.

As gently as he could, Ben tried to tuck the cloth around the swollen joint but it wasn’t large enough so he draped across the top. “What made you think that, Joseph? That it didn’t matter?”

“Pa,” Joe sighed and leaned back onto the ornate headboard, “it’s like this: I have had this same problem now for the better part of five, six months. After that long, it’s just old news. Like when your arthritis kicks up. It’s just something I have come to live with.”

“But you want it to stop, don’t you?”

“That’s what this trip was all about from the get-go, Pa. I want it to stop.” The sorrow remained heavy in the words Joe spoke.

“But what if this doctor can’t make it stop? What then, son?”

With nervous fingers, Joe picked at the coverlet, now spotted with spilled coffee. “I keep thinking about that, Pa. I ain’t come up with an answer yet. I try to tell myself that this man is gonna make it all right again but then if he could, why couldn’t Doc Martin? Doc’s a smart man and he stays up on new medical stuff. But he told me months ago that he couldn’t fix it ‘cause he didn’t know what was wrong. I’ve told myself every night while we been travelin’ that this Doctor Gallagher is gonna take one look at my knee and say ‘That’s what’s wrong!’ and then fix it! But every morning I wake up and think that maybe no one can fix it.”

“I understand, Joseph. Let’s get you something to eat then I think we are going to go find this Doctor Gallagher.”

“Thought you wrote him a note?” Joe asked, pushing the blankets aside to get up.

“I did, but I think we need to step up the pace a bit. Maybe if he saw your knee in this shape, he might have a better idea of how to help us with it. So come on, get up and get dressed.”

Running his fingers back through his hair, Joe took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the coming day. The fact that his father had used the words ‘help us with it’ hadn’t escaped Joe’s attention either. But he waited until his father’s back was turned before he reached out with both hands to move his leg.
 

Joe was just finishing his last cup of coffee when there came a knock to the room door. Out of habit, he started to rise and answer it only to be scowled at by his father. “You will not get on that leg any more than you have to, young man. Do I make myself clear?”

The younger Cartwright said nothing but thought plenty. Here his father was getting ready to smother him again, he just knew it. The rebellion, ever close to the surface, rose in Joe but so did years of training growing up in a household dominated by the man who was answering the door. He beat down the rebellion.

At the door stood a small man, his tall hat held in incredibly small, white hands. His clothing, although clean and pressed, was nothing remarkable: a simple black broadcloth coat and striped gray trousers. His white shirt was closed at the neck with a cravat of burgundy. His round head reminded Ben instantly of Father Christmas with its fringe of white hair just above the ears. But what held Ben for that moment were the other man’s eyes: large brown eyes that had such a look of sadness to them that it seemed to overflow onto the man’s face. Ben had to pull himself back or he felt he would have drowned in those sorrowful eyes.

“Yes? Can I help you?” Ben asked when he found his voice again.

The little man gave Ben a slight smile and stuck out his hand. “Mr. Cartwright, I presume? I am Doctor James Gallagher and I am most eager to make your acquaintance! It seems that Paul Martin didn’t tell me everything I needed to know about you! But no matter! I got your message that you had arrived and was so anxious to get started on this interesting case that I wasn’t going to wait for you to come to me. No sir, and I can see now that was a wise decision. A gentleman of your bearing, out on the streets of Saint Louis in this weather, with a bad knee! Very dangerous, very dangerous indeed! One slip and you could do far more damage! Maybe break a hip and that would be very bad. Very bad indeed!” The man rattled off his words like a rushing stream, not allowing Ben to get a word in edgewise until the man stopped to take a breath.

“I am pleased to meet you as well, Doctor Gallagher,” Ben started and finally got his hand back from the furious shake it had gotten. “but I am not your patient!”

The little man stood there in the hallway blinking rapidly. He suddenly blushed a deep crimson and made a little surprised noise, his hand to his lips. “I am sorry, sir. I must have misunderstood the clerk downstairs. I thought he said Mr. Cartwright was in room 111. My apologies, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. Please excuse me.”

Ben laughed and behind him, he could hear Joe’s chuckling as well. “No, Doctor Gallagher.  You have the right room, just the wrong Cartwright. Come in, please,” Ben invited the now confused little doctor into the room with a sweep of his hand.

Joe had stood when the doctor entered the room and knew just when the doctor spied him. The man’s face immediately cleared of any confusion.

“I’m Joseph Cartwright, Doctor Gallagher. That is my father, Ben Cartwright,” Joe explained and held out his hand to the physician. There was something about the little doctor that appealed to Joe and he decided instantly that he liked the man. Trust him? Joe would hold out for longer on that issue before he made up his mind.

“This is looking much better all the time!” the doctor exclaimed, sizing Joe up and down. “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Cartwright,” he quickly went on, looking back over his shoulder at Ben, “it’s just that a younger patient invariably does better than an older one! Oh my! That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to!” His eyes went wide and his hand danced again to his lips to cover them. To his surprise, both men laughed at what he perceived as a major gaff on his part.

“I seem to be putting my foot in my mouth time and time again this morning. Thankfully I am a doctor who specializes in orthopedics so I can safely remove said foot from said orifice!” Again, his words tumbled out almost faster than they could be heard.

Joe, his hand still in the doctor’s grip, could only utter a confused “huh?”

“Orthopedics, young man! That is the branch of medicine that deals with the bones, muscles, joints, ligaments of the human body! Don’t they teach you anything in the wild west? I mean, besides how to rope cows?” the doctor asked, peering up into the face before him. Then, just like a streak of lightning, he was off again. “Well now, let’s get a good look at the problem, shall we? Paul Martin’s letter said you had problems with a knee. That right? Which knee? Let’s take a gander at it, shall we?” He tugged on Joe’s hand towards the open bedroom door and Joe, taken off-guard, allowed himself to be pulled along, closely resembling that ‘roped cow.’ Ben started to follow, only to have the door closed in his face.

For the better part of an hour, Ben paced the floor of the small parlor. Several times, he stopped at the closed door and tried to hear what was being said just beyond it.  But each time, he heard nothing, so his pacing would continue. Finally, the door sprung open and the doctor bustled out, smiling broadly. Behind him, Ben could see Joe sitting on the side of the bed.

“Like I said, young man, make up your mind then send me a note!” the doctor called back over his shoulder and then clapping his hat onto his head, scurried out the door without a backwards glance.

Ben stood there, looking from the door to Joe and back again, searching for a clue as to what had occurred. Finally he decided to take the bull by the horns.

“Well?”

Folding his hands together, Joe leaned his elbows onto his thighs and buried his chin in his hands. As Joe chewed on his lower lip nervously, Ben entered the room and sat down beside his son, his hand instinctively going to the rounded shoulder beside him. It took Joe a long time to find his voice, preferring to seek consolation in not only silence but also his father’s touch.

“He thinks,” and Joe put heavy emphasis on the word, “that he knows what’s wrong. He wants to operate on it, Pa. He wants to cut into it to see.”

“And you don’t want him to? Is that it, son?” Ben asked softly, feeling the shoulder beside him start to quiver.

“It’s not that I don’t want him to cut into it. He said,” Joe's words stumbled and halted but then he took a shaky breath and went on. “He said that there was no guarantee he could fix whatever it is. He said that it might be so torn up that he can’t do anything to help it and that the surgery could mess it up even more. I’m not so sure what to do any more, Pa.”

“But there is the chance he can fix it, isn’t there?”

All Joe could do was nod his head to answer his father.

“Then I think you owe it to yourself to take that chance, Joseph,” Ben encouraged, his hand slowly smoothing over Joe’s back and shoulders. He could feel the shaking intensify beneath his touch and longed to still it completely. “That’s why you came here, wasn’t it? To give yourself that chance?”

The green eyes that looked into his face showed the trace of fear Ben knew was there in Joseph. It was the same fear he held in his heart but for the sake of his child, he would not let it show. So as the silence stretched out in the room, all Ben knew to do was give his son comfort. The ultimate decision would have to be Joe’s and Joe’s alone. As the parent, all Ben could do was pray that the decision was the right one. Either way.

“If I go ahead with letting him do this, this surgery, you’ll stay, right?” Joe pleaded, and Ben heard the small child within the man.

“I told you I would when we first talked about coming here together. I meant it then and I mean it now: I will be here to help you any way you need me to, son.”

Joe nodded and Ben felt the trembling under his hand stop.
 

From the time Joe made his decision to allow the doctor to do what he wanted to do until the time came for the actual surgery, Ben watched his son struggle with the possible ramifications of that decision. Throughout the two days it took for Doctor Gallagher to arrange things, Ben held back his own fears. Joe obviously had enough of his own and more than once, Ben wondered if he hadn’t come, would Joe still have made the decision he had? Ben doubted it.

Together father and son tried their best to take their minds off the impending surgery. They spent a cold afternoon at the Fountain Park there in Saint Louis, enjoying the outdoors as only those who live in the outdoors can. The next morning found the two of them down by the docks, watching the paddle wheelers gliding gracefully up and down the broad river. While they had watched, Ben had told his son about the trip he had taken with Joe’s mother right after they were married. Both chuckled at the way Ben had described Marie’s fear of the dreaded boat but it was only Ben who realized that he was allaying the fears of the son the same way he had the fears of the mother: with an arm about slender shoulders and a distracting story.

The night before Joe was to report to Doctor Gallagher’s clinic, they made an early night of it, going to bed right after supper. It was of absolutely no surprise to Ben that just before midnight, he heard Joe’s bedroom door open and the tiny squeaks that said Joe was leaving the hotel room. He quickly dressed and decided to follow at a distance to monitor his son’s behavior. He was surprised by where Joe went. Not to any one of the many saloons and gaming parlors they had seen over the past days. Instead, Joe made his way to the church just down the street from their hotel. Ben hung back, not wishing to interfere, hiding in the shadows as he watched Joe limp into the candlelit sanctuary. As he watched, Joe slid into a pew and rested his head on the back of the one before him.

It wasn’t long before Ben was joined by a priest and with a start, he realized that Joe had, however subconsciously, chosen a Catholic church. It was faith of his mother, not that which he had been raised in. Ben decided it didn’t matter as long as it gave some peace to his son. God was God, no matter how and where you addressed Him.

“Can I help you?” the priest asked Ben softly and when Ben shook his head ‘no’, he gestured towards the bowed form of his son.

“Yes, he’s with me. He’s my son and tomorrow-“ but the priest held up his hand to silence the whisper. His dark robe making him a shadow within a shadow, the priest glided down the side aisle and slid into the pew next to the other man. It wasn’t long before Ben heard soft muffled voices talking and decided to leave. He had the feeling that come tomorrow morning, things would be different for Joe. That Joe would be able to face the surgery without fear but Ben knew he wouldn’t have the same ability.
 

The sun was slipping passed the halfway point in the gray winter sky before Doctor Gallagher entered the room and found the elder Cartwright, hands shoved into his pockets, staring out the window into the courtyard beyond. But the man instantly turned his attention to the doctor when he heard the door open behind him. At first his face was bright with anticipation but Doctor Gallagher knew his own expression gave the father the news he dreaded and he watched the father’s face slip.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright. There wasn’t much I could do to help your son. I wanted to in the worst way. Maybe if he had come here months ago, I could have done something but it just got too far out of hand.”

Ben found himself reaching for the back of the chair before him. His own knees began to give way and he quickly sank into the chair instead. “What—what did you find? I mean-“ but then his voice gave out all together.

“Your son’s knee had been broken. The little sack of tissue that holds the kneecap out away from the joint, that’s called the bursa. It’s ruptured. And because it is ruptured, the kneecap keeps grating on the ends of leg bones. That’s why he has trouble going up and down steps and the like. Without that cushioning, he is literally eating the bone away with every step he takes. I did what I could but I doubt if it’s going to help him very much in the long run. I took out the little shards of bone I found there but beyond that, I couldn’t do much,” the physician explained and the sorrow in the eyes Ben had noted just a few days before took on new meaning.

“How long?” Ben stammered.

“Joe should be back here in the room in about another forty-five minutes. He will be in and out of consciousness for probably the remainder of the day.”

Ben rubbed his hand over his face. “No I mean how long before Joe can walk on that leg again?” In his heart he heard the words ‘before he decides to leave forever?’

“About a week. Like I said, I really couldn’t do that much so it is just a matter of the incision healing enough so I can remove the stitches,” Doctor Gallagher went on but as he did so, he realized the effect of his words on the man before him and laid a gentle touch on the father’s arm. “I am sorry, Mr. Cartwright. There has never been anyone I wanted to help any more than your son. I don’t know why I feel that way, but I do. And it pains me greatly that I have not been able to perform a miracle for him. And you. Do you need anything? I’ll have one of my staff-“ he offered.

Ben quickly shook his head ‘no’. What he needed was time to pull himself together before he saw Joseph again. He needed time to figure out how to tell his son the awful truth. He needed time to face the possibility that his son would now leave him and seek out a different life from what he’d had before. He needed time to face reality and cope with it. He wasn't sure he would ever have enough time.
 

Joe had been back in the room only a short time when he stirred, his head and shoulders pressing into the pillows. He didn't even open his eyes but called for his father weakly. Ben shushed him and told him to rest as he gathered his son's good hand in his own, letting Joe feel his presence as well as hear his voice. For the longest time that afternoon, Ben sat just like that; holding his sleeping son's hand in his own and lost himself in memories of far better times. But for every pleasant memory, there was one far more ominous and threatening. Ben fought against them but he kept reliving the events of the months before: how he and Hoss and Adam had returned home to find that home nearly destroyed by vandals; the sight of Hoss standing in the doorway with Joseph's beaten and bloody body lifeless in his arms; of Joe, one hand still casted as he lashed out in the courtroom at the three young men who had caused all the harm and hurt. And lastly, the vision that clung most voraciously was the one that Ben had seen when he had heard voices raised behind the barn and gone to find Joe standing, arms outstretched before the three boys who held guns on him, ready to gun him down in cold blood. He had listened how his son coldly urged them to pull the triggers. Then a gun had discharged and Joe had crumbled to the ground. Joe had been unhurt, the bullet plowing into the ground off to one side but it had terrified Ben with the realization of just how close Joe had come to be killed by three teenage boys.

"Excuse me," the whispery voice said at his shoulder and Ben jumped, startled. He'd not heard anyone enter the room but beside him was the priest from the night before.

"Oh, Father, you caught me off-guard! Surprised me, I guess you could say!" Ben quickly pulled his wavering thoughts together as he spoke.

The priest, an older man with steel gray hair and a narrow face, simply smiled and asked "Do you often do that?"

" Get caught off-guard, honestly, no