The Palace  
by
Helen Adams
 
 
Chapter 1

The early autumn sky was dark over the city of Sacramento.  It had a rather dank, depressed look about it, as if the entire city was wrapped up in the same sort of cheerless funk that had taken over the weather patterns for weeks.  The steady drip of rain and occasional rattle of a cart or carriage as it traveled down the muddy streets were the only sounds to be heard in the chilled mid afternoon air.  The shops and stores were mostly empty and even the birds did not seem to feel it worth the bother of chirping.  This was the atmosphere a dozen weary cowboys found themselves entering as they pushed a long steady stream of disgruntled cattle to their final destination; the livestock markets. 

“Real lively town,” one of the men commented sourly, his breath blowing out in a frosty plume as he sighed.  “Looks like somebody should be holding funeral services for the whole danged place.”

The man next to him grinned.  “Guess nobody wired we was comin’ and now that they know, they’re out rushing to find their brass instruments so they can welcome us proper.”

The first cowboy chuckled.  “You suppose they’ll play us a nice classical piece or something written special for the occasion?” 

The other man spat and cast the dripping sky and bawling cattle a disgusted glare.  “Hell, they can play me any damn thing they like, so long as it don’t sound like mooin’!  I ain’t never been on one of these blamed drives before and I ain’t planning on workin’ any more of ‘em.”

“Aw, it’s usually not like this,” the first cowboy protested.  “Who knew the weather was gonna turn to shit and stay that way for the whole trip?  Old man Cartwright was optimistic that it’d all blow over by the time we hit the mountains, and so was I.”

The younger man scowled.  “Yeah, well, that’s another thing I don’t want to hear again any time soon.  The name Cartwright!  We was given two weeks to get this herd to market and that bastard Cartwright was gonna get us here under the deadline if he died tryin’.  Never seen such a determined cuss in all my life.  I don’t think the son of a bitch even sleeps!  Ever’ time I so much as turned around to scratch my ass, there he was, chewin’ on it to get movin’.”

His friend laughed.  “Yep.  He may be a young’un, but that boy sure as hell is a nail spittin’, iron balled, through and through Cartwright, all right!  I thought sure he’d fall apart without his daddy or his brothers here to tell him what to do, but he sure came through in fine style.”

The complaining cowboy looked incredulous.  “You sound like you admire him.”

The first cowboy took a drag off the cigarette clenched between his teeth and nodded.  “I do.  Like you said, you’ve never been on a drive before, but I’ve been on plenty.  There’s a lot of men who would’ve turned tail and cut their losses when they figured out what a tough trip this was gonna be.  Young Joe just got a few of us older, more experience hands and put our heads together.  Sketched out a plan to get us up over the mountain trails when the regular flatland route got washed out and offered to let any man go who didn’t think it was worth the risk.  You heard the offer, same as I did.”

The second man nodded reluctantly.  “Yeah, that was pretty decent of him.”

 “And, he took over without complainin’ when he had to fire that sorry excuse for a ramrod after he caught him drinkin’ on the job.  That worthless son thought he had a right cozy position for himself.  Figured the boy wouldn’t have the sand to enforce his family’s no-boozing policy when he was so short-handed.”  He chuckled.  “Whenever I needed a good laugh over the last week, I just conjured up the image of that look on Briggs face when Cartwright counted out his wages and told him to get packing.  Yes sir, I sure was surprised when Joe started takin’ all the worst jobs on himself and kept movin’ us through.  And now, here we are, two days earlier than expected and with nary a lost piece of beef.  Damn straight, I admire him!  I’d work for Joe Cartwright any time, any place, and any job.  Come Spring, I’m makin’ my way back to the Ponderosa to see if they’ll hire me full time.”

The expression on the second man’s face had become very thoughtful.  “Could be you’re right, Hayes.  I gotta admit, given his reputation around Virginia City, I was expecting a lot more fits of temper than he showed and he had some good cause to lose it more than a few times.  Reckon’ he just wanted to get us here and out of the rain as quick as he could?”

 “I reckon,” Hayes agreed, eyes amused as he watched his friend’s face.  “It sure as hell is what I wanted.”

 “Yeah, me too.  Reckon I’d be glad to work for him again too, soon as I get a chance to kick back and recover from this trip,” the young man admitted with a lop-sided grin.  “I guess I just wanted a good target to take my temper out on for a minute.  Cartwright’s not so bad.”

 “Glad to hear you say that.”  Both men whipped around in their saddles, surprised to see the amused grin on the muddy face of their young boss.  Neither had even been aware that he had ridden up behind them and listened to their whole conversation.  “You’re a good man, Dutch.  I’d hate to think you were never coming to work for the Ponderosa again just cause you think I’m a bastard.”

The young cowboy flushed.  “You heard that?  I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, boss, really.”

Joe made a sweeping gesture with his left hand as they rode into sight of the stockyard.  “Gentleman, since we have reached the Promised Land, I am prepared to be magnanimous and forgive all,” he said grandly.  Then he chuckled and winked.  “Besides, once you get a load of the bonus I’m giving you boys for putting up with me and getting us here with time to spare, you’ll think I’m the best damned boss in the whole damned country!”

A few hours later, the men had proof that Joe had not merely been making idle promises, and had gone off to find lodgings, booze, women and whatever else struck their fancy in the city.  Joe had shaken their hands and wished all of them well, pleased when several of the men expressed their intentions to head back to the Ponderosa some day soon.  They’d been a good crew, good as he could have asked for and he was thankful for every last one of them.

Raising his arms above his head, Joe slowly arched his back, trying to stretch out the numerous kinks that had imbedded themselves all along his spine and into every joint during this endless journey to Sacramento.  Two weeks of rough ground, cold rations and rainstorm after cold rainstorm, never leaving his saddle for more than the few hours required to get a bare minimum of sleep, had certainly left their mark.  He grinned as he thought again about the conversation he had eavesdropped on between Hayes and Dutch.  Nail spittin’ and iron balled, huh?  Well that was definitely the impression he had tried to give of himself but he was surprised to find out how well it had worked.  There was no way the men could have know how many times I was scared spitless out there or how many times I prayed that we’d make it through okay.  How many times I felt like a little kid playing grown-up.  The hard trek had been worthwhile though. Joe and his wranglers had been among the first cattlemen to arrive with their herd and the demand was so high for prime beef right now that the price had been quite handsome.  Nearly five dollars per head higher than anyone back at the Ponderosa had been optimistic enough to expect, in fact. Thankful to have the task over with, Joe had paid off the men, deposited the money from the cattle sale into his father’s bank account, and found his horse a good warm stable to relax and refresh in for a day or two. Now, damp, shivering with cold in the frosty late afternoon air and fighting off the beginnings of a nasty head cold, Joe intended to do the same for himself. 

Traditionally, the Cartwrights stayed at the Empire hotel, more because it was owned by an old friend of Ben’s and was therefore his personal favorite than for any other reason.  Over the years, his sons had gotten into the habit of going there as well, but the Empire was clear across town and the rain was starting again.  Here I am, a couple days earlier than expected for my reservation at the Empire, surrounded by perfectly good hotels that I won’t have to get drenched again to stay at, he thought to himself. Aw, what the heck. There’s no law that says I have to stay in the same place all the time.

As Joe stood in the doorway of the hostelry where he’d placed Cochise, he peered out into the increasingly heavy downpour, trying to spot someplace promising. 

“Quite a whopper of storm, isn’t it?”  Joe turned around to find the stable owner right behind him, gazing at the rain with a somewhat admiring expression.  “Sure wouldn’t want to be caught out in it, though.”

“Neither would I,” Joe told him sincerely.  “In fact, I’ve been standing here trying to decide where I might find a place to stay without getting drowned on the way.  You wouldn’t happen to have any suggestions, would you?  I also need to send a telegram home to my pa, if there’s an office nearby.”

The hostler scratched his head beneath his beat up brown hat and closed one eye in thought.  “Well, let me see.  If you want a cheap place, there’s the Harbor Light, just west of here about two blocks or the Cracked Jug down east about the same distance.  They ain’t much more than a couple of low down taverns, but they rent rooms above the bar.”  Joe made a face.  Much as he liked a good saloon, those didn’t exactly sound appealing.  The man saw his expression and chuckled, showing the space left by two missing teeth on his upper gum.  “Then again, if you’ve a mind to try the spendier places, there’s a real high end deal down about four streets north of here.  New joint called the Palace.  It’s supposed to be real swanky with just about anything a man could ask for.  I reckon they’d probably have their own telegraph too.  Most of the fancier places do these days.”

“Well, I guess I could have a look at it,” Joe decided.  “If it’s too much, I can at least ask if they’ll let me send my wire home before I go look for something cheaper.  Where is it exactly?”

“Let’s see, now.”  The hostler closed his eyes and appeared to be mentally mapping the route, as his hands drew it in the air.  “Go outside and left two blocks, then turn north and head up four.  It’s on 12th street.  Biggest danged building you ever saw!  Can’t miss it!”

“Thanks, mister,” Joe told him.  Grabbing his bulging saddlebags and settling his hat and jacket into as protective a position from the elements as possible, Joe headed out into the storm. The short journey was sufficient to soak him clear to the skin and the muddy streets soon added yet another layer of grime to his already saturated clothing.  His hat managed to blow clean off twice when he ran out of hands to keep everything in place as giant wind gusts tore through the air.  Fortunately, he was able to grab the hat both times before it could get away, but those few seconds were all that were needed to soak his face and hair as wet as the rest of him.  Sure, Hoss, he thought, grumbling obscenities under his breath.  You just had to sprain your ankle right before the cattle drive so I had to make this trip without you.  I wasn’t even supposed to be here, except Adam had to take care of that logging camp emergency so I just had to up and volunteer to go with you!  Stupid, Joe, stupid! You volunteer to help out and wind up doing everything yourself.  Just my luck we had to be short handed right now, but we didn’t lose a single cow because of it.  Guess that’ll make Pa happy, eh, Hoss? I’ll bet you’re sitting warm and dry by the fireplace drinking coffee right about now, too.  Well, I hope you’re happy cause next time out you’re on your own!

The huge building looming ahead of him, exactly where the hostler had promised it would be, was a most welcome sight to the bedraggled young cowboy.  It was the biggest hotel Joe had ever seen and as he drew closer he could see a placard, which below its name read, ‘Finest rooms and amenities on the West Coast.’  Drawing near to take a closer look at it, Joe’s eyes read no further than the smaller print promising soft beds, hot baths and 24 hour kitchen service before he headed inside and made for the front desk.  He was about ready to sell his soul for those things by this time.

The lobby was huge and decorated in fancy green filigreed wallpaper and ornate furnishings, with matching carpets and gold accented curios at every turn.  Joe was mildly surprised to find a woman behind the front desk when he got there, and he removed his hat and shifted the muddy saddlebags on his right shoulder self-consciously when he noticed her eyeing him with mingled curiosity and sympathy.  He shifted uncomfortably; well aware that he was dripping water on the fancy carpet and that additional droplets were dripping off of his nose and hair, spattering the oaken desk. The woman waited patiently, seemingly unperturbed by his disheveled state and Joe smiled winningly at her.  Even thin and hollow eyed with exhaustion, wet, mud spattered and bearing two weeks worth of scraggly stubble on his face, Joe Cartwright had a magnificent smile and the woman could not help responding in kind.  “How can I help you, sir?” she asked in a pleasant voice.

“Well, I’ve been told that you have a telegraph here and I need to send a message.  After that, I just might be needing a room for the night.”

“Of course, sir.”  She produced a pad from behind the desk and handed it to him along with a pencil.  “Just write out your message and I’ll be happy to send it right away.”  Joe thought for a moment, tapping his lower lip with the pencil then hunkered down and wrote out his message.  She scanned it and read it back to him.  “To Ben Cartwright – Virginia City.  Cattle delivered, no losses.  Price better than expected, money in bank.  Men paid with bonus.  Weather awful; will wait it out here with your permission.  --- Joe.”

He nodded.  “That’ll do.”  He paid for the message and waited a few minutes after she sent it out, hoping there might possibly be a quick answer.  He grinned when the telegraph key sprang back into action almost immediately.  Pa or one of the others must have been right in town.  Maybe my luck is changing for the better.

“You got an answer right back, sir,” the clerk told him cheerfully.  She handed him the message. 

‘To Joe Cartwright – Palace Hotel.  Good job. The trail boss deserves a double bonus for extra work.  Hoss back to work. Take a week and enjoy.  Pa.’ Joe’s eyebrows rose as he read his father’s message.  Extra pay and a whole week in Sacramento!  Hoss must’ve been wearing him down feeling guilty over leaving me to do the job alone.  Well, it’s a tempting offer and I’m going to take it!  “Well, ma’am, it looks like I’ll be needing that room,” he told the clerk with a grin. “And if you’ve really got everything that sign outside promises, then I’ll be staying for a few days.”

She turned the registry book around for him to sign.  “We have both regular rooms and suites available, sir.  Which would you prefer?”

Joe could see the prices posted on the wall behind her.  The suites were about three times as expensive as the rooms, quite exorbitant in fact. He wondered what could possibly be worth that kind of money. Joe opened his mouth to say that he wanted just a regular room, then paused.  He had the next few days free to spend however he wished, so he had the time to enjoy something better and thanks to Pa’s directive, he certainly had the money. What the Hell, he thought.  “I’ll take a suite,” he told the clerk.  “I’d also like to have hot bath water and something to eat sent up right away.”

The clerk smiled brightly, made a notation on the book and handed Joe a pen, which he used to sign his name.  “That will be number 28 at the top of stairs and down at the end of the hall to your left.  Is there anything else I can get you sir?”

Joe grinned tiredly and grabbed the key she offered. “I don’t know what exactly that sign outside means by ‘amenities’, but right now I think I’d be perfectly happy with just the food and bath water.”

The girl leaned forward a bit.  “I’ll be right here all night if you change your mind.”

Though sure she had not meant to convey anything more than simple courtesy by the words, Joe smiled slowly.  The clerk was quite pretty, blonde and green eyed with thick lashes and a petite figure.  He was about to give her one of his patented charming lines when his train of thought was interrupted by the first in what turned out to be a long series of sneezes, followed by a heavy cough.  He flashed the woman an apologetic glance and snuffled.  “I don’t suppose you have a handkerchief?”

She smiled sympathetically and handed over a lace trimmed ladies hanky.  He nodded gratefully and turned his back to blow his dripping nose into the small cloth.  “You can hang onto that,” she offered.  “Consider it compliments of the management.”  He nodded his thanks.  She looked a little worried as he coughed again.  “Are you sure you don’t need anything else, Mr. Cartwright?  I could send for a doctor if you like.”

Joe waved away the suggestion.  “I’ll be fine, thanks.”  As he pushed away from the desk and moved toward the stairs, he called back over his shoulder, “But if you happen to think of anything else I might want tonight, just sent it on up, okay?”  He thought he heard her laugh behind him, but he could not be sure.     

As he reached his room and unlocked the door, Joe released a low whistle, now understanding the higher rate.  The interior of his new room was enormous, nearly as big as the whole downstairs of the ranch house back home.  It was also incredibly plush, with thick carpeting on the floor and heavy curtains on both windows and surrounding a huge canopied bed.  The decoration was much like the lobby downstairs, only done up in a blue and gold motif.  There was a fireplace taking up the center of one wall, a desk, several chairs, a small table and a couple of pieces of furniture he could not readily identify.  Joe stood stopped in the doorway, wondering if he should have gotten the regular room after all.  He felt a great reluctance to take his wet muddy self into that rich interior but then chided himself for being silly.  It was just a room and he had every right to make full use of it.  But, just the same, Joe decided to obey his impulse not to track mud on that nice carpet.  Too many years with Hop Sing, I guess, he thought ruefully. 

Closing the door behind him, Joe carefully laid his saddlebags on the floor, wet side up, and using his hand to balance against the door, took off his boots and wet socks and carried them in his hand as he moved into the room to have a better look around.  Ohhh, yeah, was that ever the right thing to do, he thought, flexing his bare toes into the thick carpeting.  Luxurious did not even begin to cover the sensation of that warm and blessedly dry cushion releasing just a bit of the accumulated soreness from his feet.  Joe set his boots down on the hearth, noting that the fireplace was already laid read for a fire.  All he would have to do was strike one of the matches provided in a tiny carved niche in the mantle and he would soon have a crackling blaze.  He considered it, but opted to wait until later.  He was curious to see what was behind the blue damask bed curtains first.  There was a silken rope attached to the curtains at the head of the bed and Joe pulled them all the way back, revealing the biggest, softest looking, most inviting bed he had ever seen in his life.  He heard the rapturous sigh that escaped his lips at the sight of it and laughed, glad there had been nobody else around to hear him.  The temptation to just flop down on that big mattress and sleep for a few hours, or a few days, was nearly overwhelming, but Joe knew he would not be able to rest comfortably as dirty as he was. Better to get that bath and food first. 

Thoughts of the bath led Joe to a second door, which he had assumed, correctly as it turned out, would house a bathtub.  His eyes widened when he saw that in addition to the deep, extra large copper tub, which had its own drain leading to a pipe that disappeared into the floor, there was an actual water closet!  He had heard of them, but had never seen one before and he could not help being impressed.  The bathroom was also fully stocked with plenty of soap, including shaving soap, lots of nice thick towels and a bathrobe.  For a moment, Joe wondered if somebody had left it behind, but a closer inspection revealed the garment to house a note, which read, ‘Compliments of the Palace Hotel’.  The robe was made of the same material as the towels, and test fingering proved it to be just as thick and fluffy. Though normally not much for wearing robes, Joe could not resist the urge to try it on.  Gladly shucking his wet dirty clothes, he donned the robe and sighed in satisfaction.  It felt warm and dry and extremely soft against his skin. Oh, boy, if the rest of my stay here is as good as the first ten minutes I’m never gonna make it home. He picked up a towel and took it back out to the bedroom, squeezing his still drippy hair and sat down on the bed.  The mattress gave beneath his weight and Joe flopped back into the inviting softness with a groan, his knees still hooked over the side of the bed.  A wave of drowsiness hit him and he suddenly found himself fighting to keep his eyes open. I don’t want to fall asleep yet, but I’m so tired and this bed feels sooooo good, was his last thought before the world blinked out.

A sharp knock on the outer door startled him about 15 minutes later and he scrambled off the bed as fast as his aching muscles would allow, wondering what had awakened him.  He felt a little muddled and was trying to rub the bleariness out of his eyes, when the knock sounded again. “Just a second.”  Feeling a little awkward about answering the door dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, Joe opened it and allowed a bellhop bearing a covered tray to enter.

The man spread a small cloth over the table, then laid a plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, steamed carrots and hot buttered rolls upon it.  Even with a stuffy nose, the aroma was enough to set Joe’s mouth watering and all thoughts of sleep vanished as he felt the eager tightening of his empty stomach.  “Your hot water will be up in just a few moments, sir,” the bellboy said, pouring a cup of aromatic coffee into the cup he had brought.  “Will you be needing anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Joe told him.  “Just fill the tub, then I’ll be fine for tonight.”  The man nodded and left, returning a few moments later with two other young bellhops bearing two large buckets of steaming water each. They made several trips, filling up the tub with an efficiency Joe admired, while he stood back and occupied himself with sneaking samples of all the items on his dinner plate and waited for them to leave.  Not one of the bellmen so much as batted an eye at his appearance as they hurried back and forth. Joe supposed they must have seen a lot of guests dressed as he was, if the hotel provided those robes to every suite.

Finally alone at last, Joe gave up his polite picking and attacked his dinner with a level of enthusiasm his brother Hoss would have envied, not stopping until the last scrap of food was gone.  “Ahhh,” he sighed, standing and rubbing at the pleasant fullness in his stomach. “A few more meals like that and you’ll feel almost human again, Joseph.”  He grinned, wondering absently if he was the only one of his family who liked to talk to himself when there was nobody around to know about it. 

The water in the bathtub was still hot enough to sting his hand when Joe reached in and checked it, so he spent a few minutes in front of the bathroom’s large oval mirror, getting rid of the itchy whiskers that two weeks on the trail had provided him with.  He smiled at his reflection, noting that while he still looked pretty rough, his condition was improving rapidly.  A second check of the tub revealed that the water had cooled just enough to be perfect and Joe happily removed his robe, draping it across the washstand, and stepped into the tub.  He lowered himself into the steaming water with a long groan of pure pleasure.  “Ohhh, yes,” he breathed, stretching out in the long tub and feeling his body relaxing by degrees. He was so sore and the hot water felt so good!  It did not take long for the nice soothing bath to work its magic and soon Joe was fighting off waves of drowsiness again, but he felt reluctant to leave the water’s warm embrace.  He held out and soaked for another ten minutes, giving the water time to begin to grow a bit tepid, then picked up soap and a wash cloth, eager to get the last of the trail grime off his body and out of his hair.  He smiled faintly as he ran the cloth up his arms and into his armpits, skimming soapy water across his smooth chest, down his abdomen and lower, not missing a single inch of skin in his pursuit of cleanliness.  God, even the soap felt extra luxurious in this place!  It was not the usual homemade lye soap he was used to using at home, with its rough texture and slightly slimy feel. It was something else, very silky to the touch, which produced lots of lather and a nice lemony smell that made his nose twitch.  If we had this stuff at home, I’d be in that bathhouse as often as Adam is!   He chuckled at the thought as he lathered up his wet hair and ducked under the water for a good rinse. When at last he could lightly pull at his locks and hear their squeaky clean sound, Joe decided it was time to go and pulled the tub drain, watching the water spiral down with more interest than the sight probably deserved.

Getting out of the tub proved to be far more difficult than getting in had been, as Joe’s lethargic muscles protested his demand that they lift him back into a standing position, but finally he hauled himself out and toweled off.  Bending over to dry his legs, Joe suddenly felt so light headed that he nearly fell and quickly knelt down, placing his fingertips against the floor to steady himself and resting his forehead upon his upraised knee. A roaring sound filled his head and Joe could hear his heartbeat pounding loud in his ears.  He wondered if he were about to faint, but then the feeling passed and he was left with just the familiar sensation of crashing fatigue.  Using the tub to push himself back up, Joe threw his towel to the side and stumbled into the bedroom.  The air felt cold after the steamy confines of the bathroom, causing him to shiver as he moved through the room dousing the lamps.  Deep yawns overtook him again and again throughout the procedure and Joe was more than happy to extinguish the last lamp and crawl between the cool sheets of that wonderfully inviting bed.  He cuddled into the welcoming embrace of the soft mattress face down, letting the pillow absorb a small moan as he hitched the blankets a little higher over his shoulders.  Within seconds, Joe was fast asleep.



Chapter 2

The first early rays of dull sunlight filtered in from the east window, drawing a series of soft protesting noises and a great deal of squirming from the sleeping figure on the bed as he tried to move out of their reach.  Finding himself unable to shift his left arm or move his legs, Joe struggled up through the last foggy layer of sleep and squinted in the brightening glare, trying to see what held him.  His covers were pulled out on all sides and twisted around his body, trapping him in a tight blanket cocoon.  I must’ve been cold last night, he thought, pulling and kicking at the covers until at last he obtained his freedom.  That small bit of exertion left him panting, completely unable to draw any air through his nose and he shuddered suddenly as a chill passed through him.  Joe groaned out loud.  Oh, come on, he thought disconsolately.  I thought I just had the sniffles from all that rain and that I’d feel okay today. I can’t be getting sick now!  Not when Pa just gave me a whole week off to do whatever I want to! 

A determined set hardened Joe’s jaw, a set his family and most of his friends would have recognized as the warning sign of a fit of extreme stubbornness.  He was not going to waste this vacation being sick and that’s all there was to it!  Willing himself to feel more energetic, Joe flipped back the blankets and jumped out of bed, surprised when his legs nearly refused to hold him upright.  The sudden motion left him feeling a little dizzy and he braced his right hand against the wall, his left clutching his pounding head. Suddenly Joe was no longer so sure that being up and moving was such a hot idea. “Maybe I just need some fresh air,” he muttered.  Slowly groping his way over to the window, Joe was pleased to see that the brightening sky held only a few puffy clouds, no rain clouds at all.  The warm sun felt good against his skin as he rolled his shoulders and neck, trying to loosen his still achy muscles, and his head finally began to clear. Then, movement from a window in the building across the street caught his eye and Joe froze in place, realizing that he was standing before an open window stark naked where anyone with an opposing view might see him.  In fact, the revelation continued; he had probably been fully visible to anyone watching as he got ready for bed last night! 

Though not an overly modest person by nature, Joe’s realization was enough to send him scurrying into his bathroom to grab the robe he had discarded the night before.  As he threw it on and belted it, he caught a glimpse of his reflection, puffy eyed and red nosed, pale except for the bright flush on his cheeks, his face caught in an expression of blind panic and Joe began to laugh.  The sound was slightly hysterical and a peculiar honking inspired by his blocked sinuses only made him laugh harder, finally dissolving into a fit of helpless giggling egged on by his repeated snorts as he tried to catch his breath.  He was forced to sit down on a high stool he found next to the washstand as he began to cough. What were you thinking , he asked himself, dashing away tears as he struggled to breathe between snickers and increasingly strident coughing.  You might have given some poor old lady a fit of apoplexy when she looked out her window this morning!  Or maybe a thrill…  A vision of some white haired old woman peeking out, then rushing to grab a pair of opera glasses for a better look suddenly popped into his head and the laughter overtook him again, nearly turning him blue as he gasped for air. 

Thirty minutes later, the hint of a smile still visible on his face, Joe trudged down the short flight of steps toward the hotel’s main lobby, feeling somehow better for his fit of mirth.  He had dressed in his only remaining clean clothes, a pair of brown pants and an old faded blue shirt that had once been his very favorite. He had discovered them tucked into the bottom of one saddlebag.  Hop Sing had packed for him, knowing that Little Joe’s idea of luggage was an extra pair of pants and two or three shirts stuffed into a bag.  Hop Sing had an absolute gift for neatly packing toiletries and an impossible number of clothes into the bags with plenty of room left over for extra supplies.  It was a gift the entire family had learned to appreciate over the years and in this case, Joe had made up his mind to find his friend some sort of present while he was in town, as a special thank you.  There had been no way he was going to wear yesterday’s outfit again.  Those clothes were so filthy they could have virtually stood alone and most of the rest of his belongings were nearly as bad.  He had been sure there was nothing left, but after upending the saddlebags on his bed, he had found his current outfit, complete with a pair of clean socks rolled into the shirt and had offered up a silent petition of thanks to Hop Sing.

Joe was pleased to see the same girl behind the front desk who had been working when he had checked in the prior afternoon.  “Good morning,” he said, approaching her with a smile.  “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”

She looked up and returned his smile and greeting.  “Connie Bryant.  What can I do for you, Mr. Cartwright?”

He leaned his arms on the desk and told her, “I wanted to thank you again for the loan of your handkerchief yesterday and ask you a couple of questions, if that’s all right.” 

“Of course, Mr. Cartwright.  That’s what I’m here for.” 

“Okay, first off, unless it’s against hotel policy or something, please call me Joe.  And actually, I have three questions,” he said.  Connie’s smile widened and she nodded for him to proceed. “One, I was hoping to get some breakfast, so where do I find your dining room?”

She pointed toward the staircase he had just descended.  “Right past those steps on the left side.  You’ll find just about any kind of breakfast you like.  We also serve a full lunch menu beginning at noon and supper starting at five o’clock.”

“Perfect,” he declared.  “Two, once I finish eating I really need to find someplace that does laundry cause I’m pretty much scraping the bottom of the barrel right now.”  He flicked the collar of his shirt, which was a little frayed and had not faded quite as much as the rest of the garment.  Normally he liked to look a bit sharper around a pretty woman and would not have drawn extra attention to any flaws in his appearance, but Joe figured it really didn’t matter in this case.  Connie had already seen him looking like a drowned rat and sneezing his head off, so he figured he could only go up from there.

“The Palace has a very good laundry service, Mr., excuse me, Joe,” she told him.  “We send it out to one of the local Chinese laundries and they usually get everything back to us within 24 hours, less if you have something of high priority.  And your third question?”

Joe could tell by the way her breathing had quickened in response to his proximity, and her body language as she leaned toward him, that she found him attractive.  The feeling was definitely mutual and Joe had intended to find out what time she got off duty and to invite her out somewhere, but he was fighting off the urge to begin coughing and that unpleasant detached feeling was beginning to come over him again.  This was definitely not the time to be making a date, knowing he would be miserable company for her. Besides, what girl would want to kiss a guy knowing all she would get out of it would be to share his cold? 

As if provoked by the thought, Joe suddenly turned away and gave an explosive sneeze; then offered Connie an apologetic smile.  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave my third question until I’m feeling a little better.”  He was pleased to see the rosy blush and tiny smile that indicated she understood the nature of that third question perfectly. 

“Anytime, Joe,” she said sweetly.  “I was here last night because I was filling in, but usually I’m here from six in the morning to six in the evening, everyday but Sunday.”

He grinned and tipped an imaginary hat as he pushed away from the desk.  “I’ll remember that.”

The dining room was not even half full when Joe wandered in.  Most of those having breakfast seemed to be businessmen, though there was the odd couple here and there and one family consisting of a middle aged woman with three children quietly saying grace at a corner table.  All the men seemed to be dressed a good deal more formally than Joe was, in either suits or crisp looking shirts and ties. He self-consciously rolled his sleeves down and buttoned his cuffs as he entered and selected a table next to the family of four.  Several minutes passed before a waiter appeared with a menu and a glass of fresh cold water, which Joe immediately took a grateful swallow of.  His throat was quickly beginning to move past the annoying tickle of the last hour and into terrible soreness. “My apologies for the wait,” the server said.  “Both of our usual morning waiters are out sick today and I’m the only one here.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Joe told him.  “I wasn’t in a hurry.”  He picked up the menu and looked it over.  Though he had been hungry when he came down, Joe now found that the more he studied the menu, the less appealing breakfast began to seem.  “Do you have any suggestions?” he asked the waiter hopefully.  “I can’t seem to make up my mind.”

The waiter was an older man, thin and crowned with neat, though rather sparse, gray hair and a small moustache.  Physically, he could not have possibly been less like Joe’s father, but the sharp hawks’ gaze with which he speared his young customer reminded Joe instantly of Ben.  It was the expression his father gave him when he had detected an illness or injury that Joe was trying to cover up behind a shield of bravado.  Joe straightened his spine and endeavored to look healthy, then realized what he was doing and stifled a grin. The waiter thought for a moment.  “I think you might do well to order hard boiled eggs and toast,” he suggested.  “They taste about the same with or without a head cold and perhaps some lemon tea with honey for your sore throat.”

Equally surprised by having the man so boldly acknowledge his illness, and by the friendly way he spoke, not at all stuffy and what Joe had come to think of as ‘waiter-ish’, he smiled.  “How did you know I have a sore throat?”

The man returned his smile.  “Call it an educated guess.  You sound as if you’ve been coughing, or will be before long, and you’ve swallowed and winced about a dozen times since you sat down.”

Joe’s smile widened.  He liked the matter of fact way the man spoke.  Concerned but not condescending.  “You have kids, don’t you?”

The waiter chuckled.  “Two sons and four daughters.  With that many youngsters, I’ve done more than my share of nursing, so you’ll have to forgive me if I sounded a little too familiar.  My oldest girl always tells me I’m a busybody and I suppose she’s right.”

Joe chuckled a bit, then winced again.  “I figured.  You reminded me of my pa just now.  So, is that lemon tea pretty good?”

“It’s good and I think you’ll find it very soothing.”  The man made a questioning gesture with his pad and pencil.

“All right, I’ll try it,” Joe decided.  “The eggs and toast sound pretty good too.”

“I’ll be back with your order in just a few moments, young sir,” the waiter promised.

“Thanks, and call me Joe.”

The man nodded and offered, “Matthew.”

Joe picked up a folded newspaper he found tucked in next to his plate and absent-mindedly looked it over.  There was nothing of interest in the articles on the front page and before long he gave up, unable to keep his mind focused on the print.  Bored and looking for something to distract him from the misery of his body, he began to play with everything on the table, spinning the napkin ring, tapping his spoon, twirling the butter knife and drawing lines in the condensation on his water glass.  He was in the process of carving a pat of butter into tiny triangles with the knife when he heard a giggle and glanced over to the table with the children.  A little girl about six years old was watching him with interested blue eyes and Joe smiled at her.  Casting a glance around to make sure he was unobserved by all but the child, Joe stealthily ripped a corner off the newspaper and rolled it into a little ball.  Edging his water glass over to the other side of the table, he balanced the paper ball on the tip of his spoon and flicked it.  The paper sailed into the air and landed with a shallow plop into the glass.  The child’s face lit up with delight, so he ripped another shred of paper off and repeated the process, making another perfect shot.  All three of the children were watching by this time and Joe made a perfect six shots out of six tries before he saw the children’s mother shooting him a disapproving look.  Joe immediately put the spoon down and folded his hands together, looking so guilty that the woman’s stern expression immediately softened.  Joe smiled sheepishly.  His father would have almost certainly grabbed the utensil out of his hand and smacked his knuckles with it by this time, cautioning him to behave himself at the table and please remember that he was 19, not 9.  Joe could all but hear the words and he blushed, embarrassed to have been caught doing something so childish. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said contritely.  “I saw the kids watching me and thought I’d try to amuse them a little.”

She glanced down into the faces of the three happy looking youngsters and favored Joe with a tired but genuine smile.  “I suppose I should thank you for distracting them.  Raising three young children can be something of a challenge.  I’m afraid they don’t get quite as much amusement as they should.”

One of the children, a boy of about four or so, piped up, “Do you gots any kids, mister?”

“Joey!” The woman immediately scolded.  “Don’t be impertinent to the gentleman. And it’s ‘do you have any children’ not ‘do you gots’.” 

Joe grinned.  “That’s all right, ma’am.  I don’t mind answering.”  He looked at the boy and said, “No, I don’t have any kids.  I’m not even married.  I live with my pa and brothers on a big ranch back in Nevada.”

“Can I ask another question, Grandma?” the boy asked. “I promise I won’t be ‘pertinent.”

She cast Joe an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry.  With these three, one question usually opens up the floodgates.”  She turned to the boy.  “Why don’t we let the gentleman get back to his breakfast, dear.”

Disappointed, the children turned back to their plates.  Equally disappointed, but figuring he had been dismissed, Joe heaved a quiet sigh and returned to staring at the white linen tablecloth.  He could hear animated whispering behind him and was surprised at the sound of a woman gently clearing her throat to get his attention.  Curious, he turned back to find the lady at the table smiling at him. The thought instantly flitted through his mind that she had a very lovely smile.  In fact, she was quite beautiful for a middle-aged woman. He had been surprised to hear she was the children’s grandmother rather than their mother, and while he had no particular masculine interest in her, noticing women was as much a part of Joe’s mindset as noticing whether it was day or night.  He simply could not help it.  “Yes, ma’am?”

“I was going to add, unless you’d care to join us, young man,” she said kindly.  Joe dropped his gaze, realizing his feelings must have been written all over his face.  “The children and I agree that we’d be glad to have you.”

“I’d really like to, ma’am,” he said sincerely.  “Only I’ve got a pretty bad cold and you probably wouldn’t want me getting too close to the kids.”

She smiled again, his concern for the children’s welfare making her warm to him even further.  “My little granddaughter here,” she indicated the girl Joe had first noticed, “has a cold as well.  I’m certain the rest of us are no more likely to catch anything from you than we are from Amanda.  Please do join us.”

A grin spread over Joe’s face, lighting his eyes.  He moved his chair over into the space two of the little ones eagerly scooted over to provide him with.   “Thank you for asking me over, ma’am, it was really nice of you.  By the way, my name is Joe Cartwright, but please, just call me Joe.”

He held out his hand, which the woman shook with a surprisingly firm grip.  “Pleased to meet you, Joe.  My name is Clara Hill and these are my grandchildren, Joey, whom you’ve met already; Amanda…” the blue eyed little girl grinned at him and stuck out a tiny hand, which Joe politely shook, ignoring the stickiness on it.  “And, this is Jane.”  The third child, a pretty brunette girl of about nine years, nodded and offered a shy smile. 

The little boy tugged at his grandmother’s sleeve and whispered loudly, “Now can I ask a question?”

Joe and Clara exchanged an amused look over his head.  He nodded and she told the child, “Yes, you may.”

He looked up at Joe, his brown eyes wide and eager.  “Is your name Joseph?  My pa’s name was Joseph and so’s mine!”

Joe nodded.  “Yep, I was named after my pa’s father.”  He had not missed the past tense the child used when referring to his father. 

“Did you used to get called Joey, too?” The boy continued.

“No, I never did,” he answered.  The child looked a bit disappointed in his answer, so he added, “Everybody called me Little Joe.  Matter of fact, most of them still do.”

“I like that name,” Amanda burst in.  “Can we call you Little Joe, too?”

He shrugged.  “Sure, if you want to.”

The two small children continued to pelt him with questions, completely undisturbed by their grandmother's occasional reprimands about nosiness.  Between them, they nearly managed to worm his entire life’s story out of him in less than five minutes.  The news that he had lost his mother to an accident at the age of four elicited great sympathy from the entire family, and Joe learned that the children’s parents, Clara’s son Joseph and his wife Ruth, had died earlier in the year in a carriage accident.  There was a momentary lull in the conversation as the losses were mourned anew, then the children were off and running again, demanding to know all about Joe's life on the Ponderosa. The oldest girl did not speak, but sat quietly sipping her milk and watching Joe with rapt, decidedly starry-eyed attention.  Just as Joe was beginning to feel truly overwhelmed, he was saved by the return of Matthew.

The waiter’s mouth twitched as he beheld the slightly desperate expression on Joe’s face and the eager delighted faces of the children.  The two smaller ones were clinging to the young man’s sleeves by now, the small boy practically in Joe’s lap.  “For a moment, I thought you’d left, young Joe,” Matthew said, laying down his burden of plate, teacup and silver tea service before Joe.  He added a small pot of honey and more butter on a small plate.  “This should fix you right up.  Is there anything else I can get any of you?”  Everyone declined and Matthew left them to their meal, giving Joe a wink as he left.

Joe’s voice was about to give out and his throat was on fire from all the talking he had done.  He stirred some of the honey into the steaming tea he poured into the delicate china cup and took a careful sip.  It felt wonderful going down and tasted good too, but Joe was finding it difficult to force his burning throat to swallow the liquid.  Pressing his Adam’s apple for support, he took another shallow sip.

“You poor dear,” Clara said, watching him wince as he drank his tea.  “You told us you weren’t feeling well and here we’ve all been, bombarding you with questions.  You mustn’t aggravate your poor throat anymore.  Children, Joe has told us quite enough about his life for one morning, now I want you to be still.”

There was no mistaking the iron in her tone and the children responded to it instantly.  The little ones moved back to sit straight in their own chairs.  They sat quietly and watched their new friend prepare his eggs and toast and eat it in tiny bites, soaking the toast in his tea to soften it so it would go down easier.  He began to feel a little uncomfortable under their watchful eyes.  He looked at Clara and said softly, “You know all about me now. Tell me about you.”

With occasional helpful asides from her grandchildren, Clara complied.  She was the widow of a banker, the only living relative of the three children, as her son had been her only child.  Raised in Concord, she had come out west with her late husband and son twenty years before and now resided permanently in Sacramento.  Though she did not say it, Joe guessed that she was rather well to do.

As he finished breakfast, Joe reached for his wallet and was surprised when Clara reached out and laid a hand on his arm to stop him.  “Please, allow me.”  Joe opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a finger and continued,  “Don’t argue with me, young man.  You’ve given all of us a livelier, more entertaining meal than we’ve enjoyed in I don’t know how long, and brought the spirit of my son Joseph back to me for a little while.  This is just my way of saying thank you.”

Touched, Joe clasped her hand and nodded.  “Thank you, ma’am.”  He grimaced, hearing that his voice was almost completely gone. 

Clara pulled out a couple of notes to pay for the meal, leaving a generous tip for Matthew, then reached into her purse for a piece of paper and pencil.  She quickly wrote down something and handed it across to Joe.  He accepted it curiously and she said, “It’s an old family recipe for the soothing of sore throats and congestion.  It’s not hard to make and it may help you.”

“Thanks again,” he rasped.  Joe stood and smiled down at the little family.  “I hope I’ll see you again later.”

“You take care of yourself, Joe,” Clara admonished. 

“Bye Little Joe,” the children chorused.  He waved back to them as he left the dining room.



Chapter 3

Joe walked back up to his suite, fishing for his key and was surprised to find the door already wide open when he arrived.  Figuring anyplace as lavish as this hotel was would probably attract thieves; Joe automatically reached down to pull his gun and frowned as he remembered he was not wearing it.  He had decided to leave it in the room while he had breakfast and he scolded himself silently for being so careless. Tensing in case he had to move fast, he approached the entry cautiously and peeked in.  Joe breathed a sigh of relief and felt instantly foolish at seeing only a small mobile cart full of sheets and cleaning supplies and a young chambermaid engaged in wrestling his tangled bedding apart.  (Boy, you are getting paranoid!) He attempted to say hello, but it emerged as little more than a strangled croak.  The girl jumped with a squeak of surprise, clutching the quilt she was folding to her chest. Joe fell back a step, holding up both hands.  He tried twice to speak and explain who he was, but his voice refused to emerge.  Frustrated, Joe made a room encompassing gesture with his hands then pointed back to himself.  He was rewarded by seeing the chambermaid relax, and even offer him a chagrined smile.

“I’m sorry, sir.  I wasn’t expecting anyone and you startled me,” she explained.  There was a faint lilt to her voice, which combined with her dark auburn hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks instantly identified her as Irish. “I’ll be just a few moments and then I’ll be out of your way.”

“No hurry,” Joe whispered, pleased that he had managed to be audible.  “I just came back to get something. Do you happen to know where I’m supposed to take laundry?”

“Oh, I can take it for, sir,” she said brightly.  “Just let me get something to carry it down in.”  She whipped the rumpled sheet off Joe’s large bed and folded it in two, then spread it across the foot of the mattress.  “I’ll just wrap whatever you have in this and make sure it’s marked to be returned to you.”

Joe gestured for her to wait right there, then went to retrieve the filthy clothes he had dumped on the floor of his bathroom the night before, glad suddenly that Hop Sing was not around to see them and go into a tirade.  He rummaged the pockets to ensure they were empty and placed the clothes on the waiting sheet, then grabbed his saddlebag and upended it onto the pile.  Joe stabbed a hand out and flipped a few of the items over into a different order as a set of drawers tumbled out to top the stack.  He felt a little embarrassed to have this strange girl seeing his personal items, but there was no help for it if he wanted everything back clean.  Quickly scanning the area to make sure there was nothing more, he nodded to the girl and she efficiently tied the ends of the sheet into a neat compact bundle.  Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out a pencil, a straight pin and a scrap of paper.  Then she wrote ‘28’ on the paper and pinned it to the sheet.   “There you are.  Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” 

(Funny how every person I’ve met so far in this place has said that to me.  It must be part of the job training.)  He started to shake his head, then remembered the recipe Mrs. Hill had given him downstairs.  He held it out to the girl.  “Know where I can get some of these ingredients?”  The sentence caught in his throat and Joe began to cough, turning away and hacking uncontrollably.  His chest tightened painfully and his throat became a well of pure agony as the fit went on and on.  He could not seem to catch his breath and he saw the panic he felt reflected in the chambermaid’s eyes as she helpfully pounded his back and drew him over to sit down on the bed.   Finally the spasm eased and Joe gasped, dragging in a few desperate gulps of air.  He was unable to hold back a small whimper, his face pinched tight against the pain in his throat. 

“We have a hotel doctor, sir,” the girl said urgently.  “You just wait right here and I’ll go get him for you.”  She patted his arm in a comforting way and Joe caught her hand in his.  He shook his head gently, then more vehemently when she pressed his need to see the physician.

 “No,” he croaked.  “Don’t want Doctor.  Please…water?”  She dashed into the bathroom to get his half full water pitcher and poured him a glassful.”  Joe took a deep swallow, waited a few moments as he concentrated on breathing normally, then drained the rest of the glass.  He nodded his thanks to the girl.

“Oh, mister, are you sure you don’t want to see the doctor?” she begged.  “That cough sounded just awful and you look so pale!  You really scared me just now.  Won’t you please let me go get Dr. Rogers?” 

Her brown eyes brimmed with tears and Joe could hear the sincere concern in her voice. He very nearly gave in to her out of sheer pity for her distress but his own dislike of doctors won out and he shook his head again.  “Don’t need him,” he whispered.  “Want some air.  Feel better.” 

The girl still looked extremely doubtful, her compassionate eyes revealing her concern at seeing him feeling and looking so utterly miserable.  Hoping to ease her mind, Joe tried to smile.  He mouthed the words, I’ll be okay, and she slowly nodded, obviously not liking it, but understanding that she could not force him to seek medical attention.

Twenty minutes later, Joe was no longer quite as confident that he would, in fact, be okay. The sunshine and crisp cool air had been refreshing at first and he had been sure he had made the right choice. But after only a short period of walking he had begun to perspire and had actually needed to stop and rest for a few seconds as his energy drained out of him a bit more with every step. Now he was shivering in the cool mid-morning air and his legs felt like lead as he trudged through streets filled with increasingly watery sunshine, toward the stable where he had housed his horse.  Chafing his arms in an attempt to warm up, Joe wished he had brought along another jacket besides his favorite green one.  That jacket was one of the filthiest items in his dirty wardrobe and Joe had thrown it in with the rest of his laundry.  Now, though, he wished he had kept it out, dried mud and all, as a light breeze chilled him enough to make his teeth chatter. 

He suppressed another raspy cough, wiped the sweat off of his brow for the third time and eyed the dampness on his hand with disgust, berating himself for his stubbornness. (Would it really have killed you to at least see this hotel doctor?  Pa would’ve made you see him the moment he knew you weren’t feeling well. For that matter, so would Adam and Hoss.  Hell, even if he’s not much of a doctor, the man could’ve at least given you some cough syrup!  But, no, you had to have your own way, as usual and now who’s paying for it?)   Joe could see the hostelry ahead and was grateful.  It had taken his sick tired body nearly twice as long to walk there as it normally would have, and he had made up his mind to restable Cochise closer to his hotel.  Surely a place like the Palace would have its own stable.  I’ll just find out after I take care of a few errands.  Might as well get everything done today cause I don’t think I’m gonna feel much like going out again for a while. 

There was no sign of the hostler when Joe entered the snug stable.  In fact the only live bodies he saw at all belonged to the half dozen horses taking shelter there.  Cochise spotted him instantly and whinnied in greeting.  Joe walked over to the animal, stroking his soft nose.  “That old fella been taking good care of you, boy?” he whispered.  The horse blinked placidly and tossed his head.  Joe felt comforted by the familiar presence of his pinto.  His head was starting to hammer again and Joe draped his arms over Cochise’s back and rested his forehead against the black and white coat.  The horse felt warm and strong, like a familiar piece of home.  Joe smiled at the thought. Funny, I didn’t even realize I missed home until right now, he mused.  Guess I just want Pa here to pet my head and tell me I’ll be okay, like he always does when I’m sick.  Well, Pa’s not here, so I guess you’ll have to do, Cooch.  Joe just stood there for a long time, hugging his horse and feeling uninspired to move.

A gravelly chuckle from the doorway made Joe open his eyes and turn.  The hostler was watching him with a friendly grin.  “The beds at the Palace not turn out to your liking, son?” he asked, removing a pipe from between his lips.  Joe must have looked confused, for he added, “Using your horse for a pillow just seems like an unusual use for a nice riding animal like that.”

Joe smiled and patted Cochise on the neck. “I’ll be taking him out today, mister.  Not that I’m complaining about the service, but six blocks seems a long way to travel every time I need to get a ride.”  Joe’s voice had recovered somewhat, but it still cracked and faded in and out as he spoke and the effort was causing more pain than it was worth. 

The hostler frowned and took a step closer as his young customer moved into the light.  “Good gravy, boy, you look terrible!  You all right?” 

Finding himself unaccountably irritated by the question; Joe shrugged off the man’s concern.  Wasn’t anybody around here polite enough to pretend they hadn’t noticed he looked as bad as last week’s leftovers? Wanting to get away from the hostler’s pitying gaze, Joe dug into his pocket and fished out two dollars.  “That enough?” 

“More than,” the man said.  “Would you like me to saddle him up for you?”

Joe nodded and moved out of the way toward the support of the doorway, fighting off the same strange light-headedness he had experienced after his bath the night before.  The hostler made quick work of readying Cochise and when he led the pony up to Joe, admonishing him to ‘take care’; Joe gave him a tight smile and tugged his hat brim in acknowledgement.  It took all his effort to not look as weak as he felt as he swung up into the saddle and headed back outside. 

It felt much more natural to be riding Cochise through the streets than walking and as long as he kept the horse to a sedate pace, it did not aggravate his headache.  Joe rode north for a while, checking the street signs carefully until he found a couple he recognized as being in the area of the Empire hotel.  He made a short stop inside to cancel the reservation he had made before setting out on the cattle drive, and emerged, glad he had not run into anyone he knew.  While Joe knew he had a perfect right to stay at any place he chose, he had not looked forward to letting his father’s old friend, Mr. Tyler, know that any of the Cartwrights were shifting their business to another hotel.   Joe had taken a genuine liking to the staff of the Palace and suspected he would be staying there again on any future trips to Sacramento.

Okay, I’ve got my horse and cancelled my other reservation.  What else do I need to do? Joe asked himself.  He looked around the surrounding streets as he slowly retraced his path back to his hotel.  A small herbalist shop suggested itself as a place to find the contents of Clara Hill’s cold remedy, and Joe decided to go in and look around.  He tied Cochise up outside and walked in, wrinkling his nose as a sharp acrid odor penetrated his clogged nasal passages.  Joe desperately stifled a cough; afraid he might not be able to stop again if he got started.  He spotted a small Chinese woman behind a counter and approached her with a polite bow of his head.  She smiled and returned the courtesy.  Joe held out his paper with the recipe on it and looked at her hopefully, praying she knew how to read English.  The lady scanned the paper and nodded.  For the next few minutes, Joe watched dully as she moved from shelf to shelf, measuring herbs into small cloth bags.  Finally, she tied the bundles together into a larger bag and gave it and the paper back to him.  She wrote down a price and Joe paid her without a word, only offering a grateful smile and a second small bow.

Joe’s nose slammed shut again as he emerged back into the daylight, but he had just enough time to catch the scent of rain before it did.  The sky had been growing steadily darker for the last hour, and now there was a heavily charged feeling to the air that made it impossible to tell whether the rain would come in five minutes or an hour.  There was only one more stop to make, so Joe opted to take his chances.  He was feeling increasingly lousy with every minute that passed, but his last stop was an important one.  If the laundry service did not deliver as planned, he would need something to wear on the morrow and if the rain began again, Joe was not going to be caught out in it without some kind of protection.  He knew from past trips to the city where to find shops that sold pre-made garments in every size and price range.  He found one that looked promising and shopped quickly, coming out with two well-wrapped packages tucked under the arms of the brown leather duster he now wore.

No sooner had Joe’s seat planted itself back in his saddle when the clouds let loose.  He saw people running for shelter everywhere, but for him there was no shelter he wanted more than the one offered by the canopy of the big bed in room 28 of the Palace hotel.  So, hunkering deep inside his new coat, Joe walked Cochise slowly through the streets of the city.  Part of him wanted to go faster, to get there that much sooner and he could feel that his horse wanted that too, but dizziness and agonizing flashes of hot and cold were washing over his body now.  Joe was afraid that if he allowed Cochise to go any faster, he would tumble right out of the saddle.

All about Joe, the storm raged, thunder and lightning adding their spectacular presence to the wind propelled rain, as if Mother Nature were doing everything in her power to add to the misery of the young man on the pinto horse.  It seemed as though he had been riding for hours before Joe saw the Palace looming ahead of him.  Luckily, he spotted a carriage pulling into a small enclosure on the west side of the hotel and in that way discovered the stable he had known must be there.  Following the vehicle, Joe went inside and dismounted, practically falling off Cochise’s back.  He immediately met a young stable hand who looked him up and down and said in slightly patronizing tone, “I’m sorry sir, but this livery is reserved for guests of the Palace.” When Joe did not answer other than to shoot him a hard look, his tone grew even more insulting, almost mocking as he asked, “Well, are you a guest of the hotel?” 

Joe stood with one hand holding onto his saddle horn for balance, nearly out on his feet.  His head was throbbing, his throat felt like it was being stabbed with red-hot needles, and he was shaking with chills and so tired and achy than he almost wanted to cry.  He had no patience left for dealing with some snot-nosed stable boy that was too puffed up by his fancy uniform to be polite.  With a withering glance, Joe flashed his numbered room key right in front of the eyes of the startled boy, causing him to step back to avoid the swiftness of the motion.  Then, Joe shouldered past him and ignored the discomfort of his body long enough to unsaddle and curry Cochise himself, pointedly showing the boy that he did not trust him to care for the horse.  He did not even look back as he grabbed his packages and took the short interior passage from the stable to the lobby.

Someone had lit the huge elegant looking stone fireplace in the lobby to ward off the day’s growing chill and every light, including the ornate crystal chandelier overhead, was burning brightly when Joe staggered into the hotel.  He took a half dozen steps and stopped, overwhelmed by the brightness and the sudden rush of warmth that made him shiver even harder than before.  The soft hum of conversation around him seemed to meld together into a loud confusing babble of voices and Joe grabbed his head and squeezed his eyes shut as the world began to spin out of focus.  From a great distance away, he heard someone calling his name and felt hands touching his shoulders and giving him a mild shake.  Joe forced his eyes to reopen and saw a woman’s concerned face looming only inches away from his own.  A face he recognized. A source of help, perhaps.  He clutched at her, fighting to force his mind and mouth into enough coherency to ask.  “Mrs.…Hill…I…please...” He got no further.  His eyes blinked rapidly and his mouth silently worked as an expression of utter confusion came over his blanched face. The rushing sound in his head grew louder and a ripple of intense heat washed over him, then blackness descended and Joe Cartwright tumbled to the floor as he fainted dead away.



Chapter 4

Joe would have been surprised to see the flurry of activity he caused as he became the center of attention of nearly a dozen employees and guests of the hotel.  He lay still and unresponsive to all attempts at reviving him, not feeling it when Clara Hill took off his hat and rested his head in her lap or when the hands of strangers pressed against his hot face and neck and cracked open his eyelids to look beneath.  He was equally unaware of four sets of arms carefully lifting him and carrying him up the stairs to his suite, removing his dripping coat, muddy boots and gunbelt before laying him down upon the bed.  The first thing he was aware of was a low murmuring of conversation.  Words he could not entirely make out or understand.

“…just fainted…knew he was sick…didn’t…so bad…be all right?”  A woman’s voice.

“How long…unconscious?”  A deep masculine baritone.

“Around twenty minutes.  Nobody…take care…alone…poor boy.”  The woman again, sounding distressed now.

The man’s voice began to speak again, but this time Joe missed what he was saying.  He had tried to swallow and released a helpless whimper at the pain it caused.  Footsteps quickly approached him at the noise and he felt somebody sit next to him on the bed.  “Are you awake, son?”  It was the deep voice, and Joe opened his eyes to see a large white haired man with striking blue eyes and a full white beard leaning over him.  The man bore an amazing resemblance to drawings he had seen of Santa Claus and Joe’s brow wrinkled in confusion, wondering if he was imagining the sight.  His eyes traveled down to a black coat and gold pocket watch and settled on a stethoscope resting atop the man’s ample middle.  The man followed his gaze and smiled kindly.  “That’s right, young man, I’m a doctor.  My name is Dr. Rogers and I’m the hotel physician.  Do you remember what happened just now?”  Joe opened his mouth to try and say something, but the doctor laid a hand on his chest and said, “No, I don’t want you to talk”

Joe made a face.  If he wasn’t supposed to talk, why had the doctor asked him a question?  Slowly, he raised a hand and bobbed it in a so-so motion.  He did remember coming in and the weird overwhelming feelings he had had, but the rest was pretty hazy.  He did not know how he had come to be in his room, but in truth he did not really care.  The only thing that mattered was that he felt marginally more comfortable at this moment than he had in several hours.  Though, given how altogether rotten he felt, that wasn’t saying much.  He tried again to swallow, unable to prevent himself, and another tiny sound of distress escaped him as his face contorted and his hand flew to his throat.  He tried to roll away in a futile effort to escape the discomfort but two sets of hands prevented him.

“Take it easy, Joe.”  Mrs. Hill had come to sit next to him on the opposite side from which the doctor sat and she placed a gentle hand against his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb.  She saw his expression of dull surprise at finding her there and smiled at him.  “You probably don’t remember, but you passed out right into my arms down in the lobby.  Your room key was in your hand, so we brought you up here and I sent for Dr. Rogers.  He’s going to get you feeling better in no time at all, so don’t you worry, all right?”

Joe managed to relax a little, instinctively responding to the motherly tone of her voice and her continuing soft caresses of his face.  He looked from Mrs. Hill to the doctor and back, nodding just a little, afraid that anything more would make his pounding headache worsen.

The doctor saw the wary trust in his young patient’s eyes as they returned to watching him and said, "Thank you,” to the woman.  “Now then, young man, do you think you can sit up for me?”  Joe nodded again and gritted his teeth at the pain in his back and limbs as the others helped him straighten up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.  He clutched the edges of the mattress and hung his head, gasping a little when it immediately started to swim. Dr. Rogers steadied him and helped him scoot back until his back and shoulders rested against the headboard.  The physician continued. “All right, Joe, I’m going to examine you now and if I ask you a question, you just indicate your answer with your head or hands.  Don’t try to speak.  First, though, I want you take a sip of this medicine.”  He pulled a small brown bottle and a spoon out of a black doctor’s bag and poured out a spoonful of light brown liquid. 

Joe thought it vaguely peculiar that the doctor should be giving him medicine before he had done his examination, but he nodded anyway.  Joe was normally as bad about taking medicine as any child, but this time he eagerly accepted the dose, willing to do anything at this point to gain some relief.   To his surprise, the liquid didn’t taste half-bad. It was sort of bitter sweet, but not half as repulsive as most of the potions Dr. Martin back home usually gave out.  Getting it down proved to be a bit difficult, but with some effort, he managed to swallow it.  At first he felt no change, but after a few minutes, during which the doctor gently pressed and probed along his neck and under his jaw, eventually peeping into his mouth to look down his throat, Joe began to detect an easing of the pain.  A wonderful feeling of numbness spread through his throat, not banishing the discomfort entirely, but certainly making it more bearable. 

The doctor immediately noticed the lessening tension in his patient and smiled.  “I take it that medicine is helping.”  Joe nodded gratefully.  “Good.  Now, I can check you over a little better and see if we can get you back on your feet. I’ve been informed that you’ve been doing a lot of coughing and sneezing since you arrived.” 

He did not really seem to expect an answer, but Joe was not sure, so he nodded.  Putting up with having medical instruments poked into his ears and nose and stuck beneath his tongue to check his temperature was not easy for Joe to do, but he forced himself to sit still.  The doctor then made him open his mouth for a more thorough appraisal of his sore throat.  As usual the tongue depressor made him want to gag, but Joe held his peace hoping all of it would be over quickly.

Placing the tips of his stethoscope into his ears, Dr. Rogers told Joe to open his shirt.  It was already undone about halfway, so Joe only had to undo three buttons and pull the hem out of his waistband, but even that seemed to take an absurd amount of effort.  Following orders to take several deep breaths proved harder still as he was unable to completely stop his urge to cough.  The doctor made several grunts and ‘hmmm’ noises, then he allowed his patient to lay back down while he pressed his hands into the area below Joe’s ribs and even into his armpits to check for unusual swelling or tenderness.  Occasionally he would ask a question.  How long ago had Joe first noticed his symptoms?  Joe held up two fingers to indicate two days ago.  Was it only today that he had really started to feel ill?  Joe nodded.  Mostly, though, he just waited while the doctor did his job.

A soft knock sounded at the door and the doctor paused in his examination while Mrs. Hill went to answer.  Matthew from the dining room stood in the doorway holding the packages Joe had brought in with him.  He craned his neck toward the bed and favored the young man with a smile when he saw that Joe was awake.  “I was on my way out when I saw these still sitting on the front desk and thought I’d bring them up,” he explained, holding up the bundles.  “I confess, that was just an excuse to find out how young Joe is doing.”

As before, the old man’s forthrightness made Joe smile.  He had taken a tremendous liking to the waiter in the short time they’d spent together and was glad that the feeling seemed to be mutual. 

“We’re trying to determine how he is right now,” the doctor told him.  “As for going out, I’d like you to stay inside the hotel and spread the word that everyone else is to stay inside as well for the moment, if you would.”

Matthew and Clara Hill exchanged a startled look.  “Why, Doctor?” Clara asked.  “Does he have something contagious?”

The doctor caught Joe’s alarmed gaze and patted his shoulder.  “Take it easy now.  I’m not trying to panic anyone, but all the signs would seem to indicate that you’ve contracted influenza.  You have all the symptoms; muscle aches, high fever and chills, respiratory distress, extreme fatigue and headache. The virus has also given you a secondary glandular infection, which is causing the pain and swelling in your throat.” He turned back to Matthew.  “I would prefer to keep everyone he’s been in contact with in one place until I can be sure they haven’t become sick as well.  It may be too late to prevent spreading the infection entirely, but I’d rather not have to face an epidemic if we can help it.”

Joe moaned softly and fixed stricken eyes on his two new friends.  He remembered his breakfast earlier with Mrs. Hill and her family and reached out to her, snagging her sleeve with his fingers.  He was frightened by the grim possibilities inherent in the doctor’s diagnosis, not only for himself but also for everyone he had been close to that day. “’M so sorry,” he croaked.  “My fault.  You get sick…kids get sick…my fault.”

Mrs. Hill sat back down on the bed.  “Don’t you talk that way now, child.  It’s not your fault you got sick, yours nor anybody else’s.  These things happen and if any of the rest of us gets sick, and I pray that we won’t, that’s not your fault either.  You didn’t know you had anything catching and I’m the one who insisted you eat with us.” She smiled then and stroked back his hair, adding, “Now, you need to stop worrying about us and start taking care of yourself.”

“That goes for me too, son,” Matthew told him.  He laid Joe’s packages down on a chair and reached over to pat him firmly on the lower leg.  “You get to feeling better and I’ll be back to see you in a while, once I go spread the word from Dr. Rogers, here.”  He held Joe’s gaze until Joe smiled acceptance of his words, then departed with a nod to the doctor and Mrs. Hill.

Dr. Rogers began speaking again, and Joe exercised what felt like tremendous effort to tear his eyes away from the door and turn his head back toward the physician.  He could not seem to figure out what it was the man was saying to him as the distress in his body overrode his brain.  The room felt extraordinarily cold, and he wondered why someone didn’t take a moment to light the fireplace.  Though he could not see it since the doctor’s body was blocking his view, the fireplace in his suite had been lighted and the room was actually beginning to feel quite warm to the others.  Joe clutched the two open halves of his shirt together, hunching his shoulders and burying his icy fingers in his armpits as he began to shiver violently.  His teeth were clenched tightly together and he felt as though he would shake apart if he did not get warm soon. 

“W-w-what?” he said, realizing that Dr. Rogers had asked him something.  The man had taken hold of his chin and was shaking it gently to help him focus.

“I said we need to get you undressed and into bed, son,” Rogers told him.  “I asked if you had a nightshirt around here someplace.”

Joe thought a second then pointed a shaking hand to the wrapped packages in the chair.  Mrs. Hill looked surprised, but opened the bundles and looked inside.  The first package held only two shirts and a pair of jeans, but the second yielded two flannel nightshirts in addition to some underwear.  Though his exhaustion had prevented it from bothering him the night before, Joe did not normally like to sleep in the buff and had grabbed the nightshirts while doing his other shopping.  Now he was glad he had. 

“Oh, yes, you’ll be much more comfortable in this,” Mrs. Hill said cheerfully, shaking out one of the garments. 

She and the doctor sat Joe up again and slid his shirt off his shoulders, but when she reached for his belt Joe stopped her, clutching the buckle with wild eyes and a firm shake of his head.  She tried to push his hands away but Joe held on tight.  He might be weak and he might be sick, but there was no way Joe was going to allow a woman he barely knew to undress him like a baby and put him to bed, particularly since he had not had any underwear left and had therefore gone without today.  Keeping one hand firmly on his belt, Joe reached out for the nightshirt and pulled it over his head.  He worked one arm into a sleeve with an assist from the doctor, then switched hands and put his other arm through.  Only when the hem dropped down far enough to allow for modesty did he reach under and unfasten his belt and pants.  Mrs. Hill turned away from the sight of his ‘I dare you’ glare as Joe lay back down and worked his trousers off, tugging the nightshirt down as he went, and he did not realize that she was hiding an amused smile from him.  He did allow her to help him stand up, fearing he would not be able to stay up on his own long enough to pull back the covers. 

Soon enough, he was tucked snugly between the sheets and while the bed and the nightshirt were certainly more comfortable, they did not seem to be doing much to warm him up. He accepted another dose of the strange tasting syrup and a bitter swallow of quinine for his fever from the doctor.  Then he drank gratefully from the glass of cool water Clara brought him a moment later.  “I’m afraid that’s all I can give you for the moment, Joe,” Dr. Rogers told him.  “I’m going to go find out if anyone else has the same symptoms you have.  Mrs. Hill has volunteered to stay with you for now and someone will be here at all times if you need anything. I want you to try and sleep now.”

Joe nodded into the pillow and closed his eyes.  He vaguely heard the door open and close behind him and then someone was moving around the room, rustling as they went.  He supposed it was Mrs. Hill, but was frankly too sick and tired to care what she was doing until he felt a warm weight drop down on top of him.  Joe pulled his heavy eyelids open and watched as the woman settled a thick quilt around his hunched body and tucked it down into the sides of the bed.  He could feel the lovely sensation of heat coming through the quilt as it rested against his cheek and he burrowed further under the covers, wanting to cover as much of himself with the warm blanket as possible. 

Clara had retaken her place on Joe’s bed and she stroked his soft hair comfortingly as the quilt she had warmed by the fireplace began to do its work and he finally began to relax.  After a time, she stopped, thinking him asleep and was surprised to see Joe open his eyes.  He blinked up at her sleepily and smiled.  “Thanks,” he whispered. 

She smiled back.  “You’re welcome, child.  Are you warming up a little now?”

He nodded shallowly and his eyelids began to droop again, when he suddenly dragged them open.  “’M sorry ‘bout the shirt.”

Clara frowned a bit, unsure of his meaning, then she figure out that he was talking about his fight over her helping him into the nightshirt and chuckled.  “I should have realized that would happen, especially since you told me your family is made up of all men.  Don’t you think another thing about it.  Just go to sleep like the doctor told you.  I’ll be right here.”

He nodded and settled back down, then his soft voice murmured. “Would you please do that again?”

“Do what, honey?” she asked, adjusting his covers.

Joe coughed a little and shifted.  “Pet my head again.  Felt nice.” His voice was fading as sleep came to overtake him and Clara had to lean closer to catch the rest.  “Pa does it.  Wish he was here.”

As she resumed her gentle stroking of his head, lulling him the rest of the way into sleep, Clara Hill had a very thoughtful expression on her face.



Chapter 5

Joe slept solidly for hours, insensate to the increasingly heavy winds buffeting his windows with rain, as his exhausted body demanded that he rest.  At a quarter past ten, he stirred, disturbed by a flash of light and a deafening crash of thunder.  It filled the room and seemed to go on and on as even more bright fingers of lightning filled the sky.  Joe’s curtains were closed so he could not see the bolts for himself, but he could picture the storm in his mind.  He had been afraid of thunder and lightning storms in his young childhood; always feeling so small and vulnerable when confronted by such an intense display of nature’s power.  He could still remember Pa coming into his bedroom, hearing Pa’s expression of alarm at not finding his small son in bed where he belonged.  He remembered hiding under his bed, trying to find a place where the scary things could not find him and wanting so badly to call out to Pa, but feeling too frightened to speak and give away his position.  It had been a horrible experience, waiting in the dark for the storm to find him, with help so close by yet so far away. 

Another loud rumble crashed through the night and Joe gasped and cringed, pulling the blankets up over his head.  He felt so strange; as if that frightened child in his soul had been awakened by the storm and was taking over his body.  His head seemed to be floating and ripples of fire and ice were washing through his veins, making him sweat and shiver with their continuous assault.  It was so confusing.  Why could he not think straight?  Was it the storm monsters?  Were they really real after all?  Pa had said they were not, that it was just clumsy clouds bumping into each other in the dark and trying to get their lanterns lit to see where they were going. Pa had promised there was nothing to fear.  Joe remembered…

Once he heard the terrified whimpering under the bed and got down upon his hands and knees to see his small son huddled into a tight ball, too afraid to answer his soft calls, Pa stood and moved the bed to one side, far enough to reach Little Joe.  Little Joe resisted being pulled out and screamed once, fearing that the monsters had found him, then burst into tears of mingled fear and relief when Pa pulled him down upon his lap and held him close.  He felt secure in Pa’s arms, knowing in his heart that not even the nastiest of monsters would dare to come near him if Pa were there to keep him safe. 

Pa picked him up after a while and carried him across the hall to sleep in the big soft bed that still smelled faintly of Mama’s rose water perfume.  As Joe’s sobs quieted, he cuddled close, one hand tightly clutching Pa’s nightshirt and the other pressing a thumb into his mouth.  Pa’s strong safe arms held Little Joe close, one hand gently patting his back to help him over the hiccups his sobs had caused.  His cheek resting against the boy’s tousled curls, Pa then told him all about the nice friendly fluffy cloud people.  He told Joe that the clouds liked to play games during the day, forming themselves into shapes like dragons and boats just for the fun of it, but that sometimes they liked to sneak out on dark nights to play when they were supposed to be in bed.  When that happened, they sometimes got lost and bumped into each other, knocking things over every which way they went. 

“There’s no reason to be afraid, baby,” Pa whispered.  “When you hear the thunder crash and see the lightning flash across the sky, I want you to try and picture those silly little clouds having fun up there.”

“Why does it rain when they play, Papa?” Little Joe whispered; wanting to know more as his usual curiosity began to get the better of his fear.  “Why does the wind get so mad sometimes?”

“The rain is the silly little clouds trying to mop up their mess before Mother Nature catches them doing things they’re not supposed to,” Pa said, a chuckle in his voice that comforted Joe even further.  “And I suppose the wind might be the lecture they get when they do get caught.”

“Silly clouds,” Little Joe mumbled, snuggling deep into Pa’s chest as he drifted off to sleep.

Joe smiled in the darkness, bringing his head back out into the open.  Pa’s little fiction had worked perfectly.  He had never again had the same dread and fear of thunderstorms, though to this day they gave him a strange little thrill in his spine.  His momentary fear had eased as he recalled that lost moment of childhood and Joe settled back down, going back to sleep with the image of frolicking clouds filling his mind.  Thanks again, Pa. 

Nearly four hours later, Joe woke again, his chest heaving with dry coughs that he tried to muffle into his pillow.  Don’t want anybody waking up because of me.  Pa might send for Doc Martin if he thinks I’m sick.  The coughing fit eased and Joe rolled partway onto his back, breathing hard.  He caught sight of the canopy overhead and frowned, confused.  His bed didn’t have a canopy.  Where was he?   God, why can’t I remember?  Pa?  He tried to call, but his voice was no more than a painful squeak and Joe began to feel a bubble of panic swelling through his chest.  His eyes roved wildly around the room and at last he spotted the dark shape of a man, his slumped form silhouetted by the light of the fireplace as he slept in one of the suite’s wingback chairs. Joe could see a glint of silver hair reflected in the firelight and calmed some. The figure in the chair…Pa?…was snoring softly and Joe felt reluctant to disturb his rest, but he felt so lightheaded and hot and he wanted so badly to find out what was going on.  His voice would not work to call to the man in the chair, so Joe decided the only thing to do was go to him physically. 

Joe pushed on the mattress, trying to force himself up on arms that felt weaker than wire pipe cleaners.  He felt heavy somehow, as if each and every one of his joints had been fitted with weights that made even the simplest of movements tiring.  He ached everywhere too, reducing his desire to move still further.  As he struggled, Joe began to feel terribly thirsty, his throat dry and sore and his body so hot it seemed as if he might spontaneously combust.  The heavy blankets, which had been so welcome and comforting when they had been piled over him earlier, now seemed likely to crush him beneath their weight.  He tried to push them off, but it just seemed to take so much effort to move.  Just when he began to feel sure that he would suffocate if he did not escape from under the covers soon, he felt the weight disappear and his body flopped back down to the mattress, weak with relief as much as effort.  Joe felt strong hands rolling him onto his back and looked up, expecting to see his father, but it was somebody else.

“You just hang on now, and I’ll get you settled a little better.”  The voice was as friendly as the face Joe saw smiling down at him, and after a long confused moment, some of the fog fell away from his brain and he recognized his savior.  Matthew.  The waiter smiled and patted his arm, evidently catching the light of recognition in Joe’s eyes.  “Good thing I heard you shifting around and woke up.  You looked like you were having a tough go of it there.”

Joe nodded.  He still felt a little confused but it was getting better.  He was in Sacramento, at the Palace hotel, and that doctor who looked like Santa Claus had promised that somebody would staying with him to help him when he needed something. “H…hot,” he rasped quietly. 

Compassion filled the older man’s eyes.  “I’m not surprised.  You’ve got yourself a real doozy of a fever.  The doctor gave me some medicine for you though and I’ll go get it in just a minute.”  He carefully slid an arm beneath Joe’s shoulders and lifted him up, efficiently piling pillows behind his head and back, then laying him down against the softness.  He had removed all the covers except a sheet and two thin blankets and Matthew knew without being asked what he needed to do next.  He filled a glass from the pitcher of cool water sitting on the tray by Joe’s bed and held the liquid to the feverish boy’s lips.  Joe grasped at the glass, drinking so fast in his eagerness for water that he nearly choked.  Probably would have choked, in fact, if Matthew hadn’t pulled the glass back a little, returning it when Joe’s breathing normalized a bit.  As the glass was emptied and removed, Joe licked his lips and gave the old man a grateful nod.  “You feeling a little better now?” 

Joe’s breathing was harsh and heavy and words were nearly impossible, but he managed to say, “Thanks.”

Matthew smiled.  “You’re welcome.  You want anything?  Soup maybe or some tea?  Kitchen’s open 24 hours around this place, so I can get you anything you like.”

Joe considered the question.  He was not hungry in the least but the thought of having some more of that nice soothing lemon tea was very appealing.  He nodded and mouthed ‘tea’. 

Matthew started to move away to go get it, but the weak grasp of Joe’s hand on his arm stopped him.  “You need something else, son?”

Joe hesitated, not quite sure how to ask for what he needed.  Matthew was a relative stranger and it was a little embarrassing, but Joe had just realized that he really needed to visit the water closet.  His strongly independent nature chafed at needing help to make it there but he felt horrible and knew that if he had been too weak to even move a pile of blankets away by himself, that he’d never make it clear across the room on his own.  Getting help from Matthew would be far less humiliating than trying to get out of bed and falling flat on his face.  Besides, it would be far worse if Mrs. Hill or some other woman was still here looking after him.   Exercising great effort, Joe tightened his grip on Matthew’s arm and pulled until he was sitting upright on the side of the bed.  He pointed toward the bathroom with a shyly pleading look.

Understanding dawned.  “Oh, of course.”  Matthew smiled and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.  “You haven’t been out of that bed in half a day.  You must be about ready to bust a seam by now.  Come on then.”  The waiter looped an arm around Joe’s waist and pulled the boy’s left arm over his own shoulders, then walked him carefully across the floor.  At the threshold, Joe gently pushed him away with a weak smile.  He could manage the more personal aspects on his own.  There were several solid objects to balance against if he began to feel dizzy again.  “Okay.  Just tap on the door when you’re ready to come out.”

Soon enough, Joe was settled back into bed, feeling a lot more comfortable but still terribly hot.  His short journey had been sufficient to leave him completely exhausted but far from being able to sleep again.

Matthew had lighted a couple of lamps to brighten the room and pulled the room service rope by the door.  A knock sounded and he spoke quietly to someone on the other side for a few seconds, then closed the door and returned to take his place in the chair by Joe’s bedside.  “I ordered up some of that tea you had yesterday and a couple of bowls of soup.  You’ll need to keep your strength up if you want to get well.”  Joe opened his mouth to try and protest that he was not hungry, but Matthew stopped him with a warning finger in the air.  “Ah.  No you don’t.  Don’t try arguing with me now, son.  You haven’t had anything to eat since that little bit of eggs and toast almost a full day ago and you need something in your stomach.”

A smile twitched at Joe’s mouth and for once he decided to give up without a fight.  He sounds like Pa again.  Ignore what I say I want in favor of what he thinks I need.  But, two bowls?  He raised two fingers and an incredulous eyebrow.

“One is for me,” Matthew explained, eyes twinkling. “This nursing duty is hard work.  It makes a man hungry and this hotel serves the best beef soup this side of Texas.”

Curiosity stirred at that last statement.  He had heard the soft twang in Matthew’s voice earlier and had wondered where he was from.  He decided to risk trying to speak again. “You a Texan?”

The old man grinned.  “Born and raised.  I decided I’d had enough of tossing steers for next to nothing and came out here a good 30 years ago with the foolish notion of finding gold and becoming a millionaire.  There was hardly a white man in the whole territory back then, but I just knew this was the place to find my fortune. Who knew it would take another two decades for anyone to find the big strike?”

All the while Matthew spoke, he was taking care of his young charge, straightening his pillows and blankets, giving him another drink of water and another two doses of medicine for his coughing and fever, and sponging off his hot face with a cloth dipped in water.  Joe accepted it all, just sick enough to enjoy being fussed over.  “Why’d you stay?”

“I found a fortune of another kind,” the man told him, his smile growing tender.  “Her name was Anna and she had come West with her pa.  He was a trapper and she used to work right along side him, proud of her work as any man and prettier than any woman I’d ever seen in my life.”

Joe smiled.  He could appreciate that kind of reason.  He pointed to the third finger of his left hand and gave Matthew a questioning look.

“Did I marry her?”  Joe nodded.  “Sure did.  Anna was the most beautiful little bride you ever saw and she just got prettier every year.  We were married for twelve years and as I think I told you, had six children together before she died delivering the last one.” 

Joe deflated, feeling depressed suddenly.  He liked Matthew and had been sure he would say that he and Anna had lived happily ever after or something. 

Matthew saw the look on his face and said, “Don’t feel bad, Joe.  Those dozen years were some of the best of my whole life and I had wonderful kids to keep me going after Anna passed on.  They all married well and I took this job to keep myself busy after the last one moved out.  Turned out to be a good choice, too. I meet some really great folks with this job and occasionally I even get a captive audience whose ear I can bend from here to sundown!”  He nudged Joe’s arm and winked and Joe could not help smiling.

A puzzled look creased Joe’s brow as he thought of something else.  “Why…you here?”

Matthew did not understand.  “Here at the Palace?”  Joe shook his head and pointed to himself.  “Oh, why am I here looking after you!  Well, Mrs. Hill and I talked it over with Dr. Rogers.  We’d already been exposed to you, so we can’t leave the hotel anyway until he’s sure we haven’t caught anything.  Truth is, though, that we’d both taken a liking to you and neither of us wanted to see you left all alone as sick as you are.  So, here I am.  By the way, you’ve got a third shift too who’ll be taking over for me in a couple of hours.  Be nice to her, okay?”

Joe’s eyebrows rose.  “Her?”

The older man’s eyes sparkled.  “You remember young Connie, the front desk girl?”  Surprised, Joe nodded.  “She can’t work the desk for the same reason I can’t work the dining room; too much chance of spreading influenza, so she asked if she could take a turn looking after you instead.  Seems you managed to make quite a favorable impression on the girl, even if she did tell me you sneezed all over her the first time you met.”

Joe looked away, feeling guilty.  “She sick?”

“No,” Matthew reassured him.  “So far, so good.  We tracked down everybody you’ve had any real contact with and Doc has them all quarantined.  Connie and Susan are staying with Mrs. Hill in her suite to help take care of her grandkids.  I’m afraid the two little ones have already shown signs of being sick, not surprising given how they were climbing all over you at breakfast yesterday.  Doc put them right to bed though.  Gave them plenty of medicine and fluids and he thinks they’ll get off a lot lighter than you have.”

“Good,” Joe whispered.  He felt awful about getting those kids sick, but was glad to hear they’d be all right.  It probably hadn’t hurt that none of them had been out in all the foul weather for days on end as he had.  “Who…Susan?”

“The Chamber Maid who works this floor,” Matthew explained  “Told us you had a coughing fit and wouldn’t go see the doctor.  That true?” 

Joe was saved by a knock at the door, signaling the arrival of the food.  Matthew placed a tray on the bedside table and prepared a cup of coffee for himself and honeyed tea for Joe.  He handed the cup over, but one look at the young man’s shaking hands and his efforts to sip the tea without slopping it all over his front convinced Matthew to handle the soup himself.  He tucked a large linen napkin into the neck of Joe’s nightshirt and sat next to him on the bed, spooning the soup into him a mouthful at a time.

For his part, Joe was surprised to find that he actually had some appetite.  It only held up through half the bowl, but his temperature had done another abrupt about face minutes earlier and he was now freezing again.  The hot broth helped, so he stolidly kept eating as long as there was anything left.   His friend saw him shivering and noted the heavy dark circles under Joe’s eyes and promptly laid him back down, removing a couple of the supporting pillows and covering him with one of the quilts.  “Get some sleep now, Joe.”  Joe never even heard the words.



Chapter 6
   
That conversation with Matthew would be the last one Joe would have for some time.  His fever grew higher through the night, and by the time Connie Bryant came by to relieve Matthew, Joe was burning hot to the touch.  His eyelids fluttered half way open from time to time and there seemed to be a plea for help in his glazed green eyes, but he never produced any noise beyond panting breath and an occasional moan.   The doctor arrived again at dawn and dosed him again with medicine but the fever continued to rage. 

“We’ve got to get him cooled down,” Dr. Rogers said grimly, shaking his head at the latest reading from his thermometer.  “He’s going to burn himself out from the inside if we don’t.”

“I just sent down for a couple buckets of ice from the kitchen,” Matthew offered.  He had never left after Connie arrived, unwilling to leave Joe while he was suffering so. 

“Good,” the doctor said.  “Let’s refill the basin with cool water and we’ll add some ice when it gets here.  I’ll need as many towels as you can scare up to make cold compresses with.”

Joe listened, hearing every word spoken around him with an odd level of clarity, but was unable to quite focus on their meaning.  He was so hot!  He could feel the tickling rivulets of sweat as they ran down his face and itched at his scalp and the sticky unpleasantness of wet flannel that stuck to his skin.  He longed to peel it off and get rid of that awful feeling, but his limbs felt so heavy and painful.  “Gotta get out.  Oh, please, I’m so hot.”  He was unaware that he’d spoken aloud or that he was tugging feebly at the heavy nightshirt, his head thrashing on the pillow. 

“All right, help me get this shirt off him,” the doctor was saying, though Joe could no longer focus on the words past his suffering.  “Miss Bryant, if you'd just step outside.”

Connie hesitated, her cheeks flushing as she realized what the man was saying. “No, Doc, I said I wanted to help and I will.  Joe’s going to suffer a lot worse than bruised modesty if we don’t help him.  Just tell me what to do.”

The doctor nodded, smiling his approval of her determination.  “Soak these towels in the ice water, then help Matthew and I place them at wrists, ankles, knees, elbow, armpits, groin, head and neck.  That should even his temperature out while we sponge him off with more cold water."

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to fill the bathtub with cold water and put him in that, Doc?”  Matthew asked, helping Connie draw the rest of the blankets and sheet down over the foot of the bed.

“No,” Rogers said immediately.  “If this doesn’t help that might become an option later, but right now I think the shock of sudden immersion would outweigh the benefit.  Slower is better for now.” 

Together, the two men worked Joe’s nightshirt off, exchanging a worried glance at the heat they could feel radiating off of him.  Connie did her best not to stare, and to concentrate only on the fact that the young man on the bed was suffering and needed her help, but it was very difficult with him lying there, displayed in all his glory.  His entire skin was flushed with fever and slick with sweat and his muscles were flexed tightly in pain, throwing them into sharply delineated definition. The girl was finding it hard to breathe as she looked at him, but then she sternly forced her eyes away and concentrated instead on his contorted face and the sound of his breathing, which was very rapid and shallow.  A series of pitiful whimpers rose from his throat and Connie was able to focus once more on the situation at hand.  She grabbed several towels and soaked them in the icy water from the basin and passed them out, packing some against Joe’s underarms and around his neck and throat. She resolutely kept her eyes diverted from his lower body, but breathed a sigh of relief when the doctor covered him to the waist with the sheet.  Then, she and Matthew carefully wiped away the perspiration from Joe’s face and chest.

Joe stirred a bit when Connie began to stroke his cheek and trickled a little water through his parched lips.  He opened his eyes and she smiled at him.  She said something to him that he did not understand and Joe drifted away once more.  He was caught somewhere between awake and asleep where vision skewed and dreams became reality. 

The room was gone, and so were the people he had sensed around him.  He still lay prone upon the bed, but the walls around him had disappeared, replaced by walls of flame.  He was frightened as the fires grew closer, but he could not move to escape them.  ' Help me', he called.  'Is anyone there?'  The flames were almost upon him, Joe coughed roughly as the smoke and heat began to choke him with their intensity and he could feel his skin blistering in the inferno.  'Please, somebody help me!'  Then, like a miracle, the flames receded a bit, then a bit more and he was hot but no longer burning.  Joe looked around, hoping for escape before the flames could reverse and come for him again.  There was no escape, but then suddenly he caught sight of a girl.  Can you help me?'  She smiled and leaned close to his face and Joe could feel cooling moisture drift over his lips.

The dream shifted.  The only real things in the universe became the heat and the sweat and the girl with the tender cooling hands that were slowly drifting over his bare skin, stroking his chest and making him shiver deep inside…

He had snuck out his window and made his way to their favorite place.  The little strip of land on the Truckee River dividing their fathers’ properties.  He had suggested this midnight rendezvous, knowing it was not proper but needing to see her again.  He tethered Cochise and waited, nervously pacing under the bright light of a full moon, wondering if she would lose her nerve and stand him up.  A soft voice called, 'Joe?'  She had come!  His Amy, his bride to be.  He held her close, feeling her shiver.  It was a warm night, so he knew she was not cold, but caught up in anticipation and the thrill of the forbidden, as he was himself. He kissed her hair and her eyes and her lips, unable to believe how much he had missed her in the few short hours since their last meeting.  Amy wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing tight as though she would never let him go and he felt so right, so complete in her arms.  They spoke in hushed tones, fearful of being somehow detected, speaking of love and their future.  Of their wedding, the home they would build, the many beautiful children they would have together, and of finding a way to end their fathers’ bitter feud so they might all be happy.  They stayed for hours, sometimes talking, sometimes just holding each other close and wishing the morning need never come.  Near dawn, they stood from the little clearing in which they had sat, huddled together all night long.  They both knew it would not be safe to stay much longer, someone would surely detect their absences if they did, but neither could bear to leave.  Tears welled up in Amy’s eyes and Joe hurried to kiss her, to comfort them away.  She returned his kiss almost desperately and passion ignited in them both. Their hands began to move almost without will, touching and exploring in ways they had not dared to before.  'We shouldn’t', Amy whispered, snaking her hands inside his shirt to feel his hot skin and pounding heart.  'We can’t', Joe agreed, unable to stop kissing her face and throat and the soft swell of breasts visible above her exposed camisole.  The fire raged through them, consuming them in a blaze more demanding than moral lessons or social convention.  Frantic hands fumbled over hooks, ties and buttons, craving and exploring all at once.  When at last, nothing stood between them but their own final doubts, they parted suddenly, caught in a moment of mutual hesitation.  Their eyes studied each other timidly in the dim early light of predawn, seeing the obvious readiness in bodies which trembled with mixed fear and excitement.  Slowly, their eyes met, sharing the fear of their own inexperience and the love they craved both to give and receive.  They smiled then, and drew close again, falling together in the soft grass, sealing their promise of the future, never guessing that future would hold only one more precious day.

Connie gasped when the man on the bed suddenly shot a hand toward her, cupping her head in his palm and pulled her down to kiss her.  He had begun mumbling and tossing his head back and forth and she had leaned closer, trying to understand what he was saying, when he had grabbed her.  His kiss was hungry, demanding but not at all rough and Connie began to respond automatically, then pulled away.  She touched her lips and gave the two astonished men watching an equally shocked look.  Joe mumbled something else and shifted on the mattress, then he went very still as his dreams took him in a new direction.  

“Don’t be upset with him, child,” the doctor advised, regaining his composure and smiling at the stunned young woman.  “I doubt very much he even knew who you were.  He’s out of his head and he probably mistook you for someone in a dream.”

Connie smiled and bit her lip to quell a sudden desire to giggle.  “I guess it’s just lucky Matthew wasn’t up close to him instead of me!”

Matthew chuckled and resumed his patient efforts to cool their patient down.  He shot the desk clerk an appreciative glance and told her, “He ain’t that far gone.” 


For three days, things remained very much the same.  The doctor would come and go and Joe’s three volunteer nurses would take turns sitting by his bedside, sponging him down with cold water when he burned with heat and piling blankets upon him when he shook with chills.  

At times, it seemed to Joe that he could almost break through to the reality around him and strained up through the fog in his mind to try and reach it.  At others, reality was so far away so as not to even exist any more.  The dreams were more compelling and he often spoke out loud, talking to people he did not realize were only there in his mind.

The rain was pounding down and the trail was awash in mud.  The cry of a thousand bawling cattle filled the air as the animals resisted ropes and prods and the shouts of the men around them, not wanting to proceed over the boggy ground.  Three steers had already gotten stuck in the thickly sucking mud and now a forth head was down.  Joe did as he had done every other time.  Ordered the men to keep the rest of the herd out of the way while he and whomever was handiest got down off their horses and slogged into the mire with the animal. Shoving, and pulling and shouting curse filled encouragement to the struggling beast until it finally came unstuck they climbed out and mounted back up, ready to move on to the next disaster.  Joe grew more exhausted with every battle but there was no time to rest.  He was the boss and they had to keep moving.

A different kind of battle was being waged inside room 28.  Clara Hill sat next to Joe in the dim light of evening, helping Dr. Rogers pour the latest dose of medicine into the mouth of a young man who was unable to be still as he wrestled with the figments in his mind. 

“Steady, boy,” the doctor murmured, clenching Joe’s jaw tight in his hand and pouring the liquid down his throat.  He then released a long breath as the patient swallowed and the fight suddenly went out of him again.  “Any idea when the boy’s father is due to arrive?”

Clara shook her head sadly as she began to once again stroke back Joe’s sweat damp curls.  “I sent word that first night, right after he collapsed in my arms in the lobby.  At the time I was worried that I might be jumping the gun and alarming his folks unnecessarily, but now I’m glad I did.  Joe’s brother sent a wire back telling me to expect his father, but that’s all I know.  I just hope he gets here soon.”

“So do I,” said the doctor grimly.  “I’m really worried that this fever has held on so long and with as much severity as it has.  Your grandchildren are already feeling much better but this boy just keeps getting sicker.  I pray to God that his father doesn’t get here too late.”

Clara’s hand flew to her mouth.  “Oh, doctor!” 

Rogers looked frustrated. "The medicines, the compresses, even the ice bath we tried this morning don’t seem to be doing him any good.”  He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.  “Well, it’s time I gave the children their doses.  Will you be all right alone for a while?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she said quietly.  She waited until the physician had departed then allowed the tears gathered in her eyes to fall as she watched Joe’s lips move in silent words, his limbs twitching as he dreamed.  “You hang on, child, you hear me?  Your pa will be here soon.”

Joe’s mind keyed on that last sentence, understanding it as he had not understood anything else in days.  Pa was coming?  Pa would save him!  Joe had been dreaming about being lost in the desert.  The same desert where the Comanchero known as Sam Wolf had captured him.  He began to babble as the memories returned.  “No.  Big white one…Pa’s gift…Emiliano…saved me.  Trusted me…I failed Pa…gift…gift…ran his heart out for me.” 

He felt so weak and helpless as Wolf threw him down and hog-tied him with humiliating ease.  Joe had no strength left as his long trek through the burning desert with no water caught up with him.  He was going to die and there was no getting out of it.  Suddenly, he caught sight of a man silhouetted against the sun.  It was Pa!  He stood like a rock in that desert, facing down the Comanchero with rage radiating from him in solid waves.  Joe heard the man try to escape his fate, telling Pa he’d caught a horse thief, Joe. Joe waited for Pa to tell the outlaw those beautiful words,  “He’s my son!” and for the ensuing gunfight and rescue, but this time they never came.  Pa listened to the words of Sam Wolf, then looked over at Joe with a stricken expression.  “I had no idea.  First you left Emiliano behind to save yourself and now this!”  Before Joe could say anything, Pa turned and strode away, leaving him to the mercy of the killer.

“Pa!  Pa don’t leave me!  Don’t go, Pa, please come back!”  Joe was screaming, his voice hoarse and filled with pain.  He had shot up from the mattress and Clara Hill had managed to catch him before he could tumble out of bed.  Joe thrashed in her arms but she held tight and soon enough his strength gave out and he began to sob heart brokenly against her shoulder.

“Oh, Joe honey, please don’t!  Please don’t cry,” Clara hushed him.  “Your pa will be here soon.  He hasn’t abandoned you, I promise.  Shhhh.”

The lady’s arms felt kind and welcoming.  They made the evil face of the outlaw and the burning memories of the desert fade back into the swirling darkness, but she was not the person he needed to hold him.  Where was Papa?  Little Joe did not understand why he felt so very bad, but he knew there would be no comfort until Papa c