Touched By An Angel

                                                        ********************** 

Chapter 1

My sister Mary can sniff in ten different moods.   Disdainful, disgusted, displeased are the three most commonly used by her with regard to myself.  I have heard her sniff with pleasure, delight, dismay, joy, passion, greed, and anger.  Had she been able to speak any foreign language, I am sure she would be able to sniff with an accent.    Nor was anyone ever offended by Mary when her pretty nose sniffed, whereas when I made such attempts in practice sessions in front of a mirror, I was told to get a handkerchief and to stop being so revolting.

I am the middle child of five.  Two brothers ahead of me, and two sisters thereafter.  My name is Millicent Hephzibah Cassandra Browne.    My brothers, Jack and Simon, are both big handsome lads.   My sisters, Anne and Mary, are both petite, dainty little creatures with everything where it should be and just as most men would expect, in fact, perfectly lovely.

I would often think of Mary as The Lady of Shallot, with her beautiful golden hair sprawled about her as she floated in her barge down the stream near our house.   Her blue eyes were limpid and long lashed and her lips full and pink.   Anne, on the other hand, was lissome and delicate, more like La Reine Margot as Dumas described her in the book of that name.

Well, I am not blessed with the good gifts of my sisters.   I actually resemble my brothers far more, although no one would call me a handsome lad.    I am not beautiful in any shape or form, and shall never be loved.  I am sure, that when I was born and my mother was told that I was a girl, that she promptly passed out and upon recovering locked her bedroom door and refused to come out and look at me until I was a month old.    I cannot recall my mother ever touching me.   The only attention I received from her was a cold look of reproof or words of criticism or scolding.      Nor would she deign to say she loved me, or cared for me in any way whatsoever.    Perhaps I should not blame her for that as she was most beautiful to look upon and her voice was soft and like music.  Such women deserve only to look upon things that are lovely and sweet.    To have the likes of myself before their eyes, a constant reminder of how, despite having two eyes, one nose and two lips, symmetry can get it wrong at times.

My father was big and handsome.  I have his build, his big feet and his big ugly hands.    I have also inherited his big nose.  On his face it was a feature that was attractive whereas on my face it dominates cruelly and make my eyes appear too close.  He always treated me with good-humoured tolerance.    But when he saw his sons, his eyes would light up with pride and pleasure.  When he saw his younger daughters the colour would mount in his cheeks with delight.   I was more like his pet dog – there to be patted occasionally and because of the rarity of such a gesture, my response would bring him pleasure of a kind.

At school the other children would call me names.  No one called me Millie, which I always associated with someone dainty and always busy.   But they would say things such as “Come on, Centipede, move those stumps”   “Oh, no, NOT centipede, you mean MILLipede”, always accompanied with great guffaws of laughter as they would run ahead of me to play.   Eventually I became known as ‘You –‘.  

The teachers referred to me as Miss Browne.   Sometimes they would refer to me as Millicent, which would engulf the classroom with laughter and I would hang my head and pretend that I had heard neither my name being called nor the laughter that followed it.   I hoped and prayed that a day would come when I would be transformed into a beauty.   Sometimes I had noticed with my peers that such could happen.  A clumsy lump of a girl suddenly reaches an age where they take notice of their looks and with a little primping and pinching and dieting – lo, something lovely appears.

I remained a clumsy lump of a girl and no primping, pinching and dieting made any difference.   I continued to grow up and out.   I was the despair of my sisters and the butt of jokes for my brothers.

I found solace in two things – animals and books.   Animals would seek me out and nestle in close to me to be loved.   I could understand them and comfort them.   When their eyes looked into mine, I knew what they were asking of me.  It was wonderful.   I believe that it was a gift from God and it saved me in a hundred different ways.    To be loved is the sole measure of a man or woman.   To love in return, a pure pleasure.   And I was loved.    Humans could rebuff me, insult me and turn away from me in disgust.    But a dog that came to lick my hand, or a cat that would nestle close to my neck and purr contentedly into my ear.   That love, given so unconditionally, gave me joy beyond compare.

When I discovered the art of reading I discovered another means to retain my self worth.   How often did I lose my ugly self in the words of an author and thus transform myself for an instant of time into the most beautiful heroine?   Oh how many deaths have I languidly died and how many handsome cavaliers’ hearts have I captured?   Those, oh so wonderful, wonderful words.  They became my escape route from reality.    

A day came when I knew that I could never survive if I were to stay any longer in my parent’s home.    For some reason my mother rose from her bed in an angry and bitter mood.    The slighting comments when she saw me were uttered with such extreme bile that even I, used to such over so many years, felt my cheeks redden with shame.   Throughout the morning whenever she looked in my direction she would utter words of such unkindness that I wondered how a mother could even think of such things.   Surely to protect their child is as natural to a mother as the milk with which she feeds it?  

“Mother, I am sorry I offend you, “ I said when I could stand the jibes and insults no longer but mustered up the courage to speak, “But if you could tell me why or how I have upset you, perhaps I could put the matter right.”

“YOU could never put the matter right, you wretch of a girl,” she spun round, her eyes wide and her features distorted with loathing. “Every morning when I set eyes on you I find you more repulsive to look at than the morning previous.   I wish you out of my sight.  I wish you had never been born.”  

I stared at her with my heart fluttering in dismay.  I stood and stared at her and failed to notice the hand mirror that was flying towards me.  It struck my brow with a glancing blow that slit the skin and sent the warm blood gushing down my face.    Even then my one thought was to reassure her and I could hear myself saying, over and over again “It’s alright, mama, it’s alright” even as I slid down the wall onto the floor in a crumpled heap.

Chapter 2

Doctor Harcourt was holding my hands when I recovered consciousness and his face was very kind as he looked down at me.  I could see Mary and Anne hovering just behind him and Mary was saying over and over “She won’t die, will she?”

“How are you feeling, my dear?” Doctor Harcourt’s voice was soft and gentle and his eyes gray and kindly.    He never seemed to mind how any patient looked in appearance, so long as they looked healthy.  He smiled now and nodded at me and I mustered up a smile “That’s better,” he said “I like to see a bonny smile from you, Millicent.    Now then, you’re going to have a headache for a while and it may be a good idea if you stayed in bed for a day or two.    That will give you a good chance to fully recover.”

I just stared at him.   Surely he was making a mistake telling me to stay in bed.  It was not as though I were one of his dainty namby pamby patients that needed constant cosseting and pampering.   This was I, Millicent Hephzibah Charlotte Browne he was talking to and treating like delicate porcelain.

“I’ll be fine.” I said stoutly and tried to sit up, but his firm hand pushed me back down against the pillows.

“I said, you have to stay in bed for a little while.”

I looked at him again and he smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes this time.   Now I understood why I had to stay here in my bed, in my bedroom.    Why did not people just say what they meant?    Why could he not have said that it was better for me to hide away so that my mother could not see me?

“Doctor Harcourt?”

“Yes, child?”

I blinked. Only Doctor Harcourt could see me at twenty years of age and call me a child in that tone of voice. I swallowed a lump in my throat. Was there anyone less looking like a child than myself?     

“Am I a changeling, Doctor Harcourt?”

“Certainly not, Millicent.”  Harcourt’s smile widened and his eyes twinkled.

“Then is being ugly the mark of Cain?”

“I don’t understand what you mean by that, my dear.”

“I mean that, does it really mean that being ugly on the outside, means that I am evil inside.   That looking at me, people can see that I am wicked and evil inside?”

He took hold of both my hands in his and shook his head sadly, his eyes were a little moist as he spoke “You’re not ugly, Millicent.  Being different doesn’t mean that you are ugly, or evil, or wicked.”

“I think my mother would disagree with you, Doctor Harcourt.”

He only sighed at that and touched my cheek with his hand before getting up from the side of the bed and bidding us all farewell.  Mary and Anne promptly came and stood there, at my bedside, in silence, staring down at me.

“Do I look very bad?” I asked.

“The lump is huge, and it’s going green and yellow as well as black.” Mary said ghoulishly.

“Doctor Harcourt has put big black stitches in it.  They look rather like spiders legs trying to scramble out of a mouldy pudding.”  Anne smiled and produced from behind her back a small posy of flowers from mothers garden.   Then she kissed my cheek and sighed, “Simon and Jack are calling a meeting this evening.  We’ll meet here, as you can’t get out of bed.”

“Will that be all right with you, Millie?” Mary asked, looking sad and big eyed and very beautiful.

I nodded and stared into the full-blown roses that Anne had picked for me.   I heard the door close and then, knowing I was alone, I allowed the tears to flow.

*********

We, the children, had always met together for ‘discussions and such’ whenever anything of any importance had occurred in the family.   Simon, being the eldest always presided with a great deal of pomp and pomposity.   When they trooped into my room that evening he looked more pompous and more like papa than ever.   They pulled up the chairs around the bed and surveyed me thoughtfully.

“How is the old head then, Millie?” Simon demanded.

“Sore.”

They sighed and mumbled and looked at me in sympathy.    I don’t suppose I looked like a patient that was fading away or anything like that, so there was not much said other than that as a display of their sorrow for me.

“How is mother?”  I thought I should ask, as knowing them so well, I knew they would avoid mentioning her to me.

“She had a fainting spell, and saw the Doctor.   She’s all right now.” Jack declared.

“She’s getting ready to go to the theatre with Papa.” Anne said with a sigh, then blushed and put her hand to her mouth “Oh, perhaps I should not have said that…. I am sorry, Millie.”

Sorry?  For what?   For reminding me that neither of my parents had bothered to come into the room to see me?    For letting me know that a trip to the theatre was more important than a sick daughter of theirs?    I looked at them thoughtfully, as though I was seeing them all for the very first time.   I don’t mean seeing them by their looks, but deeper than that, like looking into their very being.   Jack sat there, he was already bored.  He wanted to be out and escorting his young lady somewhere or other.  Simon’s pomposity was slipping and being replaced by a determination to finalise the matter once and for all.  Anne was twittering as usual, she had beautiful looks but not a brain in her head.  Mary was looking around the room, observing this and that with her usual sharpness.  She was lovely to look at and her attention to detail meant that she was going to be a first-rate gossip and greatly in demand in the social circles in which she moved.

“Millie, this sort of thing –“

“What sort of thing, Simon?” I asked quietly.

“Well, the way Mother was this morning.  It can’t go on.”

“I agree.”  I looked at them all and swallowed hard “I’ve decided to leave.”

“Leave?”  Anne exclaimed “But where will you go?”

“I don’t know.”    I looked at them and frowned as best I could.  How like them all, not one of them showed concern, nor attempted to even pretend to try and change my mind.  Mary was frowning slightly as she looked around the room once again, and I knew she was doing so in an attempt to think out how it would look with her things in it.   Simon and Jack had exchanged a look between them, which spoke volumes.  I had obviously spared them the trouble of suggesting just that solution.  “I shall leave as soon as I can.   You will not know when, then if anyone asks, you can honestly say, you knew nothing about it.”

The four of them, my brothers and sisters, sat there and looked satisfied and smug.   Anne leaned forward and took hold of my hand and squeezed it gently.   Simon stood up and looked at me and then nodded.

“I think you’re doing the best thing, Millie.”

“Thank you, Simon.”

“Won’t you even leave a letter for us, saying good bye.” Mary asked quietly.

“I don’t think so.”  I replied with a sudden longing to be out of that room, out of that house, that very instant.

“Will you let us know where you go?” Jack enquired, his brow furrowed in thought.   Jack wanted to become a lawyer, and was obviously working out any of the implications of an absentee sister.

“I may do.”

They looked at me blankly.    Then one by one they kissed me as though all ready saying their goodbyes.   At the doorway Anne turned and gave me a long tender look.   She was the only one who bothered to do so.   The door closed behind her and I was alone once more.   This time I did not cry or weep.  I only settled back against the pillows and began to daydream about the adventures I would have in the future, far away from them all.

I heard the large front door of the house closing and the sound of the carriage drawing away from the building.  My mother and father were leaving for the theatre.   I closed my eyes and forced myself not to think about them.    Perhaps, in time, not thinking about them would become easier and easier, until I didn’t think about them at all.

Chapter 3.

My home is beautiful.    I cannot put into words how lovely it is here.   It had taken me three years to reach this place and I have lived here for nearly a year.   I arrived at the same time as the first winter blizzard.    I stumbled my way through the snows with the wind blasting against my head and my ears feeling the agony of extreme cold.   When I finally found shelter I could only lay in a huddle upon the ground for I was so weak that I had not the strength even to lift a finger.   I lay there for nearly a whole day without moving.    My eyelids refused to open.  They seemed as though glued together.   

This state lasted until I slipped into a natural sleep and when I woke up I found myself inside a small cabin.    There was wood on a hearth ready to be used.   Rough furniture, which consisted of several chairs, a table and a bed.   Oil lamps swayed from the ceiling beams.    I forced myself into a sitting position and wondered how on earth I could have reached such a haven.

I was stiff from the cold and getting to my feet in order to move was a matter of stern discipline.   I realised the door to the cabin was open, and forced to remain open due to the pile of snow that had blown against it.   I had walked into the cabin without even realising it was there.  Somehow, by a miracle, I had walked through the entrance to the cabin and then collapsed on the floor.

That was how I found my home, or perhaps, my home found me.   Either way hardly mattered.  I have no idea who owns the cabin, nor why they left it.  There were no personal items in the cabin at all, except for one book that I had found discarded under the bed.  It had fallen, perhaps, and been kicked inadvertently there as the owner prepared to leave.     It was a book of poems and the owner, I presumed, had attempted to write some poetry of his or her own, for on the flyleaf had been written:

“I cried when I was born

Tears were my language:

But you taught me other ways to speak

And that one could cry with laughter.”

Apart from the initials “A.C.” in the corner there was no other indication of ownership. That little book of poems was my close companion throughout the winter storms.  It kept company upon the shelf with the few books that I had brought from my home.  Just as the cabin had saved my life, so the books saved my sanity.

Gradually winter had passed into spring. The earth came back to life.  Every morning I expected the door of the cabin to burst open and the owner to stride in and claim it back.   If such a morning were to come, then so be it.  But I was in no hurry to see that day arrive for it was in too beautiful a location.   The beauty all around me refreshed my soul daily and it would have been no easy task to have to leave it all behind.

The animals about me were my friends.  I tended to their needs where possible.  Not that many of them had needs that I could help them with for they know their own ways best.  But lame and injured, starving and orphaned, those I could help.

I had found an abandoned wolf cub not too far distant from the cabin.   Searching around I was able to find the dead body of a male wolf close by but no sign of its mother or any other cubs.  It was half starved and had injured its back leg.   I had made it my morning duty to go and feed the poor creature and check on its injuries.

As I walked to the den where the wolf cub was hidden I thought over the past three years of my life since leaving my home and my family.    It had been three years of discovery, of a finding of myself, although I was still to learn so much more.    I found that there were advantages to being ‘homely looking’ as one homesteader called me.   Women were unafraid of taking me on board their wagons for any number of days as we shared the journey west together.  Why were they unafraid?  Because they knew their husbands were quite safe and also their eldest sons.   No one would run away with the likes of me, nor would I even consider the thought of playing the temptress.  In fact the thought, was laughable.

The men showed me how to split logs and make kindling and how to change an axle and grease a wheel as good as any man.  The women showed me other skills like how to dry fruit, and preserve it and how to cut material and sew it.   By the time I had wandered into that cabin I had been re-educated and was self-sufficient.

As I approached the shrubs, which hid the little cub from view, I heard someone talking.   A soft voice, a mans voice.   I slowed my pace and crouched down and hid myself and peered through the foliage.

“Did you like thet then?  Yeah, you sure did, didn’t ya?”  The voice held a warm chuckle within it and I just parted the curtain of leaves very slowly, to see who had found the little cub.  

He was a big man.   Not just big in being tall, but in every other aspect too.   A chest like a barrel, and big muscular arms and legs like slabs of beef.   His hands were big, but I noticed that they were beautifully formed as he reached into the den and lifted the cub out and brought it to his chest.  The cub looked up at its new savior and the man smiled.

He rather reminded me of the cherubs my mother had painted on her ceiling above her bed.   A round face, tanned and smooth, with round blue eyes the colour of cornflowers.     He had a strong aquiline nose and a generous mouth and a gap toothed smile.  He was the most wonderful looking man I had ever seen on this earth.

Surely love is not just for the perfect and beautiful.  Even women like myself could be blessed by this sweetest of emotions and swayed by the most blessed of passions.   As I looked at this man cradling the little cub to his chest my own heart seemed to vacate it’s usual cavity in my chest and go flying over to entwine around his own.   I must have gasped although there was no pain with it, not as though some surgical instrument had separated the organ from its place.   But I knew and recognised the change and as a result made some slight sound or movement.

“Who’s there?”  

He turned to face where I was hidden and his hand hovered to his gun handle.  

“Show yourself or I shoot.”

I stepped through the shrubs cautiously and watched his face.  He looked at me, then seemed to realise I was a woman and visibly relaxed.  His face creased into the smile I felt I had known for a thousand years already.

“Shucks, ma’am, whereabouts did you spring from?”  He removed his hat with his free hand, exposing a fine head with thinning hair.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.   Reality came to the surface and the dream of love floated elsewhere as I realised that this man could be the owner of my home.  I licked my lips and opened my eyes wide and struggled to speak.

“Doggone it, I gone done and frightened ya.  I never meant to do that, little lady. Guess I’m jest about the clumsiest fool around here.” He glanced down at the cub in his arms and then smiled at me “I tracked down his marks and found him here.   Seems to me someone’s been caring for him?”

“Yes.  He was hurt when his father was killed and the rest of the pack moved on.”

“Guess that happens.” He frowned and then smiled once again “I’m Hoss Cartwright.”

Hoss. Hoss Cartwright.   I had heard the name mentioned on the infrequent visits I had made to town.  It had always been mentioned with respect and seeing the man for myself I could understand the reason.   I extended my hand to take hold of his and gripped his hand tight.

“I’m Millicent Browne”

His hand was strong as it gripped my own.   Dry and warm, slightly rough skin, as I would have expected a man who worked hard.  When he released my own hand I realised I had been holding my breath.   He bent down and put the little cub back into its den and then stood up and looked at me with a slight frown furrowing his brow.

“Wal,  Miss Browne, whereabouts are you from?”

“Oh, just about anywhere I suppose.”

“I see.  And whereabouts are you living, right now I mean?”

“Right now?” I swallowed the lump in my throat as I envisioned my little cabin taken away from me, my little bolthole, hiding place, call it what you will.  I took a deep breath, “I suppose you’re the owner of the cabin a mile back along?”

He narrowed his eyes as though he was thinking out a reply, and then he nodded slowly.

“Sure am.   Fact is, all this land belongs to me, and my brothers, and my Pa.” 

“It does?” I sighed and mentally said farewell to everything I had grown to love over the past months “Well, I see.  I hadn’t realised.”

“This is the Ponderosa.  Haven’t you heard about the Ponderosa?”

Hadn’t I heard about the Ponderosa?   How could anyone living in the proximity of a hundred miles from the place not know about the Ponderosa let alone someone camping in one of their cabins on the very place itself!   I nodded humbly and bowed my head contritely.

“This is the furthest south that we go, so I guess you must have found our line shack”

“Line shack?” I glanced up at him with puzzlement at the expression.

“Guess you ain’t never heard about a line shack before, huh?” he grinned and stepped closer to me, “We have ‘em built along the borders of our territory so that there’s a place to hole up in when we get to working this area, or for the men to camp out in if they need to do so.”

“And you’re working this area now?”

“Not exactly.   I just like riding out to the boundaries once in a while to take in the sights.  I don’t like to forget just how lovely the place is.  A man can get to take things too much for granted if’n he don’t remind himself of the gifts the Lord provides for him.”

His earnestness and the way he expressed himself made my heart flutter again.  He looked, well, he looked such a special kind of man as he stood there, his hat in his hand and his blue eyes looking at me as though he had known me for years and there was nothing at all wrong with talking to a strange woman in the middle of the woods about anything at all.

“I didn’t realise that the cabin belonged to the Ponderosa.” I took haste now to say, “I knew it belonged to someone, of course, and was expecting the owner to return, eventually.”  I forced a smile to my lips “Hopefully later rather than sooner.”

He smiled again, it brought dimples to his cheeks and his blue eyes twinkled and nearly disappeared in the folds of his cheeks.

“I kin imagine so, no one would want to leave here in a hurry.”

“No.   I suppose you would want me to move on now then?”

He frowned again and twisted his hat round and round in his hands and then looked at me with a narrow eyed expression

“How’s about we have a drink and a chat about that?” he suggested and I wondered then if he was going to produce a bottle of something from his saddlebags (I forgot to mention his lovely black horse, nodding just a little left of his shoulder).  “That’s if’n you’ve got any coffee there still.  We usually like to keep cabins stocked up with rations, but depending on how long you’ve been there –“ his voice trailed off and he looked at me with wide open blue eyes and I relaxed and nodded.

“There’s plenty of coffee, and tea, if you have a wish for it,” I replied and turned to lead the way back to the cabin.

My heart was swelling with pride, with joy, with  - oh, I don’t know what nor how to express the feeling – but if it is wrong to say I knew he was the man I would always love, even then, well, I just felt I was not, could not, be wrong in the feelings that I felt at that moment.

This tall, strong man was walking by my side as though I were some kind of wood nymph. He was treating me as though I were a woman as dainty and feminine as my sisters.   I had not been given one single look from him that I had received from countless other men.  That raking over from head to toe and the look of curiosity and puzzlement that they could not even pretend to hide.   He had looked at me, surprised at seeing me there, but that was all.

When we reached the cabin he looked at it and then at me and smiled as he tethered the horse to the ring on the post outside.

“Looks to me like you’ve prettied it up some.”

“I did buy some things in town, to make it less bare looking.” I admitted as I led the way through the door.

He stepped inside and paused and looked around and noted the curtains at the windows.    He looked at the books on the bookshelves, for I had added another two shelves to the one that had previously existed there.   He noted the tablecloth covering the basically built wooden plank table. His lips parted into a smile and he looked at me again

“Seems you really made it a home for yourself.”

“I’m sorry.  I guess I was being rather presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous?” Hoss shrugged after repeating the word after me and then turned his attention to the comfortable chair.   He pulled it away from the hearth some little distance and sat down and once again allowed himself a good look around the cabin.

“This is rather an isolated spot.   I’d be a mite worried that summat could happen to you here,” he said suddenly.

“How could anything happen to me here?   No one knows the place exists, except you and I.”

“You found it though.”

“Yes, and I thank God that I did,” and I quickly told him all about what had happened and how I had walked through the open door of the cabin during a blizzard.   He listened to me attentively whilst watching as I prepared everything for our drink and then as I set out the biscuits and cookies.

“Reckon that was some kind of miracle.”  Hoss agreed when I had run out of words at last.  He surveyed the ceiling for some moments, while the kettle boiled on the fire and then he looked at me “What brought you all the way here anyhows?   Seems odd to me that a fine looking gal like yourself should be hiding away in a cabin instead of being in town enjoying life.”

My hands were shaking as I put the plate of food down by his chair and I turned away so that he could not see my face as I poured out the coffee.   Perhaps he had trouble with his eyesight, I pondered, or may be my face was in shadow as we walked and talked through the woodland.

“Mr Cartwright, I didn’t feel that I would rightly settle in to the town.   And –“

“Are you running away from something?”

“No.”

He looked at me earnestly then.   I have never been good at lying, and I had meant my answer, in the negative, to mean that I was not running away from the law or an enraged husband, something of that nature.  But I was running away in a sense.  How do you explain to anyone that one was running away from oneself?  

“I’ve not broken any laws, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You had every right to do so.  This is your property.  You wouldn’t want to find out some outlaw had taken it over.”  I smiled, trying to divert the conversation into a more light hearted track and he smiled at me and gave a guffaw of a laugh that warmed my heart.

“Shucks, ma’am, you’d be the first outlaw I’d know to fix up a hiding place so purty.”

I could tell that he was good natured, and a man who enjoyed laughter and happiness around him.   I could also tell, at the rate the cookies disappeared, that he enjoyed his food.  The walk to the cabin had obviously put an edge on his appetite.

“Do you Cartwright’s really own over a thousand square miles of land?” I asked him, sitting on the stool near his feet and gazing up at his face.

“Yep, we shore do, Miss Millicent.”

“But how?   How do you get to own so much land here in this far off place?”

“By hard work, sweat, blood, tears.”   His face became sober, serious.  His eyes took on a deeper look that made the blue of them more intense.  “My Pa, Adam and I started building this place up years back, before Little Joe was born.”

“Little Joe?”

“My youngest brother, Joseph.  We call him Little Joe because he is the littlest, and youngest.”

“I should think most folk would be little compared to you, Hoss.”

“Shucks, no, miss.   My brother Adam isn’t that much shorter than me.”  Hoss paused and his brow furrowed “He ain’t as broad as me mind.”

“I’ve heard of Adam in town, and of Little Joe.   People talk about you Cartwrights a lot.”

“Sure, not always good things either.”

“No, but one can hear the note of envy in their voices so can see where there comments really stem from.”

He looked at me again, as though he liked what he had heard and didn’t mind looking at me for all that.   He nodded and then stood up and picked up his hat.

“Thanks, Miss Millicent, I sure enjoyed myself this afternoon.    D’you mind if I ride on by another time?”

“You mean…..you mean you will let me stay here?”

“Wal, strictly speaking my Pa wouldn’t be too pleased to know we have a squatter living in one of our own line shacks, but if I don’t tell him, and if you don’t tell him…..” he winked and then smiled as he stepped out of the door and took a deep breath of clean woodland air.  He looked at me and smiled “Shucks, Miss Millicent, if’n you ain’t almost as tall as my brother Adam.”

“I – I guess I am kind of lanky.” My heart had sank to my boots, so he had noticed how ugly and clumsy and big and everything else I was, and he didn’t like me after all.

“You don’t know what a relief it is being able to talk to a gal without breaking muh back.   All that bending down to git to their level sure makes a man ache all over.” He smiled, slipped his hat back on and walked over to his horse “Don’t forget, don’t you go telling anyone you’re here?”

“I won’t.”  I raised my hand in farewell with my heart swelling with pride and joy.  The man I loved had walked into my life, at last.

Chapter 4

I spent the next two days in such an anticipation of seeing him again that I could barely sit still.  The cabin became suddenly claustrophobic and I found myself constantly walking through the woods to where the little cub was hidden in its den.  In the evenings I sat outside and read poetry, even tried to write some, until darkness fell and I was forced to retire to bed.    Sleep was as elusive as a will-o’-the-wisp.

I needed to go into Virginia City so I discarded my skirts and feminity and clad myself in my usual working clothes of loose pants and shirt and jacket, and hid my hair under my hat.   I had all ready made two trips into the town and knew that it would take several hours to get there so I left early.

Perhaps, I told myself, I would see him in town.   The thought prompted me to think about returning to the cabin and changing back to my skirt and trying to do something with my hair.    But it was only a thought that did not occur to me until I was almost half way to town.   I continued on my way with thoughts of poetry and Hoss tumbling over and over in my mind.

Once in town I headed straight for the General Store.   There were quite a few good stores in the town but I liked this particular place.   Miss Sally Cass was always very pleasant and she appeared to like books, as there was a goodly supply of them on some shelves.  I tied my horse to the hitching rail and glanced around me, just in case I saw him.   There was no sign of him and with a sigh I gave the black and white horse that appeared to be getting friendly with my animal, a friendly pat on its sleek neck and went inside.

Miss Cass was packing goods into a box on the counter and glancing every so often over at a couple standing a little way from her.  They appeared completely engrossed in each other and although it had never happened to me, I had seen it so often with my sisters and brothers, it was obvious that they were flirting with one another.

I watched them for a few minutes before handing my list of goods to Miss Cass and waiting patiently for her to help me.

There was no denying that the young man was as handsome as a young and virile Greek god.  He lounged against the counter with one elbow against it, and waving his hat too and fro with a casual devil may care kind of attitude.  He had a very mobile and expressive face, beautiful hazel eyes that twinkled up at her, speaking that language no one had ever voiced to me.  

The girl was undeniably pretty, with dark hair coiled in what I supposed to pass as the latest style here in Virginia City.  Her dark eyes were hidden every so often under heavy eyelids as she coyly giggled at some compliment he paid her. 

I sighed and turned my attention to Miss Sally who was talking to me about my order.  I must admit talking about coffee and sugar was not as interesting as watching the young couple but it was more necessary.

“I was not expecting to see you again, Miss Browne.”

“I was not expecting to be here for so long, Miss Cass.”

“You must obviously like where you are – is it far from town?”

“Some distance away.”  

She was a pretty little thing, and reminded me so much of my sister Mary that I felt a sudden pang of longing to see my family again.  I sighed and she smiled,

“Are you in a hurry, Miss Browne, only I have still to finish Miss Kent’s packages.”

“That will be fine by me, Miss Cass, I have to go to the bank and Mail Depot and will come back in a little while for my order.”

She smiled and I could feel her eyes on my back as I left her, the young man turned to let me pass by him, and I could see him look at me and the light frown on his brow as he tried to puzzle out my gender.   Dressed, as I was I suppose it would have been difficult, I certainly did not come in the guise he was accustomed to, or seemed attracted to at all.

It took very little time to conduct my business at the bank, and I collected several letters from my family and slipped them into my jacket pocket.   It had been agreed with Simon and the others that I would always let them know my whereabouts for I allowed myself the indulgence of thinking that they did love me, in their own way.

“You keep your hands of’n her, d’you hear?”

“Who are you to tell me what to do, Judd?   You’re not her keeper.”

“And you ain’t walking out with her, neither.  D’you hear?  If I see you anywhere near Sandra again I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Judd, Sandra Kent is not walking out with you and has no intention – ouf”

I winced as I saw the fist strike against the young man’s face and when he staggered back I stepped forward a pace or two as though to catch him, but someone grabbed my arm and I turned to find myself face to face with a tall thin faced man with a thin lipped smile on his face.

“Mind your own business, boy, and git outa sight.”

I blinked, then realised that he was talking to me.  I pulled my arm away and pushed him from me and turned to see how the young man from the General Store was getting along in what had developed into a slug it out fistfight.    Several more people had appeared from somewhere and amongst them was the sheriff who elbowed us all away and yelled out to them to break it up.  The man who had grabbed at me had disappeared and other men were holding the two combatants back as the sheriff stepped in between them.

I looked at the young man who was going to have a remarkable black eye but seemed to have come out of the fight better than his combatant who was bleeding from the nose and mouth.  I decided to leave the scene and get back to my groceries and hope that Hoss Cartwright would stroll into view.   He did not.

The black and white horse was still ‘chattering’ to my horse outside the General Store and Miss Kent was strolling down the sidewalk with her parasol protecting her pretty head and obviously unaware of the fight that had taken place in her honour.  I pushed open the door and seeing that there were several other customers there, browsed amongst the books. I selected one, Charles Dickens ‘Great Expectations’ which was a first edition, having only recently become available.   No one took any notice of me, and as Miss Cass was busy I collected my goods, paid for them and carried everything out to the wagon.  Before I left I cast another desperate look for Hoss and then, downcast, I clambered aboard my wagon and urged the horse onwards.  The black and white horse, I noticed, had already disappeared. 

I drove slowly out of the town looking to the left and right and searching for the sight of him.   If I saw a black horse anywhere my heart missed a beat and I would speculate that he would be in that particular building and perhaps I should go and see and check it out and – oh then I would just flick the reins and drive on until another black horse came into view.

There’s an old music hall song that goes “I dillied, I dallied, I lost my way and don’t know where to go,” which just about summed my situation up that afternoon.  I was certainly dillying and dallying when several gunshots rang out and aroused me from my apathy.

I stopped the wagon and looked about me.  I was at least three hours journey from town now, and quite alone.  Was I the target of some robber’s intentions?  I thought of the money I had taken from the bank, hardly a king’s ransom, let alone my own.  I was a woman, and alone.  The gunfire rolled away and faded out of hearing.  I still sat there, looking about me, with just a slight tremble to my heart.  

After some minutes I urged the horse onwards.  Perhaps it had been some hunters in the hills close by, or cowboys letting off steam.    My horse ambled onwards, whilst I kept a close look out for my safety.

We – my horse and I – turned from the track to go towards the woods where my cabin was concealed.   My heart missed a beat however when I saw the body sprawled in front of me.   Although I could not see his face, I recognised the green jacket right away and knew that the young man in the General Store had been the victim of those gunshots.

Poor boy.  Poor unfortunate youth.  I cradled his head in my arms and wiped the blood away from his face and wanted to cry for him.   I wept over injured animals and sobbed when little birds breathed their last, but to see such a handsome youth shot down and dead there in the road as though his life counted for nothing reduced me to tears.    When he groaned I felt such relief, and then panic, as I then worried about what to do with him, and, more to the point, how to help him.

The green jacket was sodden with blood and when I pulled both the jacket and shirt away from his body I could that there were two bullets in his body, both pumping blood.   I hastily did all I could to staunch the blood, knowing that he had all ready lost so much that the possibility of his survival was negligible.  

For once my height and strength were an asset for I was able to pick the young man up and carry him over to the wagon and settle him down upon some of my groceries.  Not the most comfortable transport available, but he was out cold and past caring or noticing.   The main thing was to get him home where I could treat him to the very best of my limited ability.    I had already realised that were I to take him back into town he would not have survived the journey. 

All the way to the cabin, however, my mind was in a foment of indecision.  Should I have taken him back to town?  What if the doctor had been there and could have operated rightaway and saved his life and I had removed that chance from him?   But what if I had taken him there and there was no doctor available for a person would have had to be stupid not to have appreciated the population was vast in proportion to the one doctor’s abilities to attend to everyone with a gunshot wound!  Oh, once again I dithered and didn’t know what to do for the best, but carried on regardless, urging the horse onwards towards the cabin at a faster pace than it had been used to since the day I had bought him two years previously. 

I stripped him of his bloodied clothes and examined his wounds carefully.  Once the water had boiled I filled a bowl and carefully washed him clean and placed wads of padding on the wounds.  One had an exit hole in his back, which I plugged with clean moss (an Indian had shown me how to do this several years ago, quite fascinating to watch, but I had never expected to have to carry out the procedure for myself). 

Now I tore up some sheeting, strips upon strips of it.  I took off the padding and looked at the bullet wound that still contained the bullet.  I sat there and stared at it and grew frightened as I wondered what to do.   I’ve nursed sick animals, tended to birds with broken wings and even patched up my brothers injuries in the past, but this was something far beyond anything I had dealt with before.  A young man, who could be dying, and I had taken on the responsibility for him. 

I paced the floor and was wringing my hands and wasting time, and I knew I was wasting time, but I was too afraid to do anything.   I felt so incompetent.  I knelt down beside him and took hold of one of his hands and held it between mine. I don’t really know why, perhaps just to make sure that he was real, and still alive and needing me. 

“Pa?  Pa?”  

His lips were trembling but the words were clear and then his eyes opened and he looked down at me.  The long lashes were spiked with perspiration that trickled from his pores and beaded his eyebrows and collected in the hollow above his upper lip.   Oh, he was so handsome.  I don’t think I have ever seen a more perfect specimen of a youth in my life before then, although I felt nothing for him in the way that I felt for my Herculean hero.

“Pa? Is that you?”

The lustre of the hazel eyes that I had been so taken with in Sally’s store had gone.   Instead he gazed at me with eyes that were dull, and the green in them had disappeared.

“It’s alright.  You’re safe.” I whispered.

“I need to get home.”

“You can’t, you’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re wounded badly.”

“How – how did I get here?   Where am I?”

“I brought you here.”  I put my hand to his mouth and very gently tried to silence him for he was making me more and more indecisive.  My mind kept wandering down different avenues, and my lack of confidence in my abilities and in myself was surfacing and threatening to blow common sense out of the water.

He groaned and his lips formed meaningless words beneath my fingers.  His hands were trembling and he began to turn his head this way and that, as though the pain were beginning to pulsate through his brain.

I brought the bowl of water to his bed and began to bathe away the sweat, and in doing so, noticed the scars on his shoulder.   They were not new scars, for they were pale against the tan of his skin, but they were obviously the claw marks or teeth marks of some animal, I would venture to guess perhaps, a wolf.   Close to the wounds I noticed the mark where a bullet had once penetrated below his ribs.   So, he had sustained injuries that could have killed a less healthy speciman of humanity. I could only pray that he still had such vitality and strength in order to endure what was about to come.

Chapter 5

I boiled copious amounts of water, and linen, and knives.  Could I do this, I asked myself?  What if the knife slipped and I injured him even more?  What if the bullet was in too deeply and I caused his death?  Should I wait until he was calmer and then ride into town and get the doctor?  Oh what was I to do? 

“Pa?”

He screamed for his father.  No low whisper that aroused sympathy but a scream that jangled my nerves and made me panic even more.   I dropped a knife.  It clattered upon the floor and I began to shake.

“It’s all right, Hoss, it’s all right, just put the saddle on,” and he laughed, such a merry laugh.  

My heart somersaulted.  He had mentioned Hoss.  Could it be possible that this was Hoss’ brother Adam?  Or Little Joe?   I tried to remember what I had been told about them, and all I could recall was that one wore black and the other was young and merry and loved life.

“Hoss, I said put the saddle on, oh, well, if you don’t want to, don’t say you ain’t bin warned.  If Adam were here he’d only tell you the same. Oh – Pa, Pa, it hurts so - .”

I took the things to the bedside and set them down and looked at him.  So, this was Joseph Cartwright.  This was the one who loved life.  I wiped sweat from his brow and face and neck and held his hand in mine for some minutes as I prayed for calm and good sense to guide me.  His eyes fluttered open and he seemed to look directly at me and smiled,

“Momma, is that you?”

“Joseph, it’s –“

“Don’t die, momma.  I don’t ever want you to leave me again, you won’t, will you?   You won’t go away, promise me?” and then he groaned, a long drawn out wail of a groan that squeezed my heart dry and brought a sob to my throat.

“Oh God, I don’t know what to do.” I whispered fervently “I need your help, and I need a steady hand.   He needs you now more than any time before and I don’t know if I can do it on my own.  Help me, help me.”

“I don’t want to be afraid.  I shouldn’t, I’m a man and I should take things – things like a man -  momma, hold me close and don’t let me go again.”

His voice was breathless; he was gasping between the words, and punctuating them with groans.  I knew there was little time for me to waste now, that bullet had to come out and then the healing process could begin.

His eyelids fluttered open and his eyes rolled in his head and he was mumbling incoherently.  I couldn’t touch him with the knife. It was impossible as he threshed and twisted on the bed in pain and clutched at the covers as though they were lifelines to survival.   I bit my bottom lip and clenched my fist.  Well, I was the size of a man, had the strength of a man, and my brothers could testify that I had a punch like a man.  I swung my fist hard.

Now as I stared down at his still body I worried that I had punched him too hard and that I had killed him.   I put my fingers to his throat and gratefully found the pulse beat there.   It was regular and steady although not as strong as it should have been, but considering the agony he was in that should be of no surprise.

I picked up the knife and took a deep breath.   

“This will hurt but it won’t take long.” I told him, although he was beyond hearing, thank goodness.   “I’ll try to be as quick as I can.   See, the knife is really sharp and will make a clean incision.  The bullet – “ I paused and could feel the bullet against the blade of the knife.   It had not penetrated as deeply as I had feared.  That was one of the best things that could have happened and I could have cried with relief.

I was amazed at how steady my hand was now.   I extricated the bullet and then cleaned the area well with boiling salted water.  I padded the wounds well, making sure, as I bound them up, that there was some pressure against them.  Then, as gently as I could, I settled him back down upon the bed.

I was shaking again when I carried everything back to the sink.  The bloodied materials reminded me that I had held his life in my hands and I shook, felt sick, and vomited.

An hour passed by and I had managed to drink several cups of strong coffee and even eaten some bread.   I sat by his bedside and read aloud from the book of poems that Hoss had said belonged to his brother, Adam.

The youth had barely stirred, once he had whispered for some water and I had poured some, drop by drop, into his mouth.   His eye, where Miss Kent’s admirer in town had hit him, was closing up and fulfilling its early promise of being multi-hued and this was now accompanied by the bruising to his face from my punch.  I regretted it bitterly, but it had served its purpose and saved him some suffering.

I suppose I had expected him to sit up and demand bacon and eggs within an hour.  The worse, I was sure, was over.   He would survive because he was strong and healthy and the bullet had been removed.   But he did not sit up; he did not regain a healthy bloom of colour.   He lost even more colour, except for the red flush of fever on his cheeks.  Perspiration began to roll from his body in a profusion.  The linen bandages became streaked with his blood.   Once again he began to whisper and murmur in delirium.

I washed him.  I bathed his brow like heroines in the novels were supposed to do in just such situations. I talked comfortingly to him.   I poured water between his lips whether he wanted it or not.    I found medication, ground willow bark, and gave him that in the hope that it would ease his suffering.  I was a totally inept, incompetent and clumsy nurse and felt so lonely, desperately lonely and helpless.

In the end I burst into tears and buried my head in my hands and cried.  So, with Joseph on the bed groaning and mumbling and heaving himself about, and myself sat beside him, crying like a fool, it was a wonder we survived the rest of the day between us.

Eventually I was so exhausted that I fell asleep.   I had watched the sun set, and the long shadows of evening had become the darkness of night.   My whole body had become weak with weariness and I succumbed to my own need for sleep.   In the bed Joseph muttered and mumbled to himself for I was no longer able to help him in any way at all.

The silence woke me.  The room was in darkness for I had neglected to refill the lamp with oil so had slept through it smoking and spluttering out.  The fire had died to ash, although a few glimmers in the embers indicated that there was the possibility of life yet.    The youth on the bed was still.

How quiet it all was and how frightening to find it thus.    I leaned towards the bed and touched his brow and although it felt warmer than it should have been and rather clammy, it no longer burned as previously.   I touched the vein at his neck and was relieved to feel a steady regular beat, weak though it was, but it was reassuringly steady.   I hastened to light candles and tend to the fire while he slept.  Soon it would be morning, a new day.   Thankfully, Joseph Cartwright was going to live to see it, and enjoy living once again.

Chapter 6.   

“Ma?”

Softly whispered, the word floated over from the bed and I turned to look at him.  I was afraid that the fever had returned and with it another day where we would have to fight for his survival.   How like a child he looked at this moment with his hair tousled and unkempt and his features so devoid of expression.  Just the blank look of a child.

I sighed and told my self that this young mans mother would have been some beautiful creature with a figure like an hour glass and tumbling golden hair.  Men seemed to like that kind of woman more than the kinds like me.   I guess no one could have looked more of a contrast to Joseph Cartwright’s mother than I. 

“Ma?  Are you there?” 

I walked to the bedside and placed a cool hand on his brow.  He was feverish again, and his lips were trembling between the words he uttered whilst his hands fluttered upon the covers.

“Ma?  Did you ever see a sunset like that one, ma?  I guess the snow never looked that pink before?  You won’t go away again, will you?”   He clutched at my hands and held them tightly “I missed you so much, ma, you’ll never know how much.”

“Joe, listen to me, I’m -“

“It took about forever to get that picture of you on that horse out of my mind. I dreamt about you all the time, ma.    Adam said that you were safe but he was wrong, ma, he was wrong.  You weren’t safe at all.  Pa cried so –“

The hold on my hand tightened and I winced a little.   With my free hand I once again felt his brow, and he shivered,

“Ma?   You’ve got the touch of an angel, ma.    Am I dead?  Is that what this is and you’ve come for me?”

“No, Joseph, you’re not dead.  You’re very much alive and you’re going to stay that way but you’ve got to fight, Joe, you’ve got to fight hard and not give in.  D’you hear me, Joe?”

A little furrow of confusion touched his brow and then cleared and his features relaxed and he smiled.  He had a charming smile, and I was reminded again about Miss Cass and Miss Kent fluttering their eye lashes at him.  I could well understand why.

“Sure, ma, whatever you say, sure we’ll fight this together, won’t we?”

He relaxed his hold on my hand and I took hold of it and placed it gently on the covers.   He had drifted back into sleep, which I very much hoped would be a healthy one.    I went back to the stove and hurriedly prepared something to eat and a pot of strong coffee.  I also checked my medical stock, there was not much there, but there was, hopefully, sufficient for the day.

Whilst he slept I hurried to do what outside chores there were to be done.  I had several injured animals and birds that needed attention and I was more than happy to be able to release one of them back into the wild.  I saw to the horse and then went back into the cabin and closed the door behind me.

I breathed a prayer of thanks at seeing my charge still sound asleep and the clammy touch of his skin had at last gone.   I leaned down and planted a kiss on his brow.  Perhaps, just perhaps, he may have felt it and thought it was from his mama.

I sat and watched and waited and dozed.   It was while I slept that any sounds from outside passed me by, and it was not until the door was being hurriedly opened that I awoke from my sleep and struggled to my feet in terror.    The man who burst into the cabin was tall, and from his hat to his boots he was clad in black.   In his hand was a gun, and he was pointing it straight at me.

“Who are you?” we both said together.

That confused both of us, and after a momentary pause during which we took the measure of one another, he asked me again, very brusquely, whom I was and what was I doing there?   Then, before I could even get my mouth round the words he was inside and hurrying to the bedside and exclaiming “Joseph, oh Joe, what’s happened, buddy, what happened to you?”

“He was shot – twice.” I volunteered the information gladly, seeing how distressed he was for he was kneeling by the bedside with Joe’s hands in his own and peering into the young face in a quite emotional way.

I could see the self-control envelope him like a shroud.  He composed his face, which I must say here and now was a very handsome, manly, face, and then turned to look at me as though he had only just remembered that I was there.   Thankfully he left his gun in its holster.  He stood up, and squared his shoulders and his brown eyes with their sooty smudge of eyelashes stared into my own in such a way that I felt the colour drain out of me and then rush back again.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” 

His voice was cold, very abrupt and deep.   So I answered him in the same manner, clipped and brusque.   He frowned slightly and looked me up and down again as though he had to look that hard to confirm the fact that I was who I had claimed to be and a woman at that.  He sighed, and turned to the youth in the bed, and for a moment I thought he had dismissed me from his mind for his attention was so absorbed in the boy.

“His horse came home, and there was blood on its saddle.  We tracked back to the woods, and then separated.    Do you know how this happened?”

“No.  I heard the shots as I was on the way home –“ I cleared my throat “- way back there, and I found him on the track.  I didn’t think he would survive the journey back to town in my wagon so brought him here.  One bullet passed through without damage, but the other I had to get out.”

He nodded.   Well, if I were expecting any praise for my efforts I certainly did not get any.  He leaned down to look at Joe more closely and then glanced over at me.

“Do you know how he got these bruises on his face?”

“Actually yes, I do.”

He raised one eyebrow and stared at me, coldly, as though I was the sole cause of every problem he happened to have on his mind at that time.   I felt my knees shake and clasped my hands together.  As briefly as I could I told him about the altercation in town and how it had involved Miss Kent and I was about to confess to him that I was responsible for the blow on the jaw, when he turned to look again at Joe and shook his head.

“Do you recall the names of the men?”

“One of them was called Judd.”

He took a deep breath and then released it and nodded as though in confirmation of what he had suspected.  He scratched his nose and then with a frown took off his hat and turned to wards me again.  I stepped back unsure of what was going to happen next.

“I’m sorry to have been so abrupt just now.  My name’s Adam Cartwright,” he struck out his hand which I took, rather gingerly, and shook “When I saw Joe I was scared that I may have got here too late.   Thank you for taking such good care of him for us, Miss Browne.”

“Well –“ I paused, I could hardly say it was a pleasure for that would have been a downright lie, I looked at him and saw his eyes twinkling at me and a smile softening the lines of his mouth.  “Well, I was glad to have been of help.  I was frightened at first that I may have done the wrong thing, and should have tried to reach the doctor in town, but then had I done that –“

“No doubt about it, he would have died.”

“Yes, he would have done. Would you like some coffee?”

It was all blurted out in a rush and I hurried over to the coffee pot and began to get out another cup.  He stayed by the bedside and then, after feeling Joe’s brow and the pulse at his neck, he came and stood close beside me. 

He watched as I poured out the coffee and handed it to him, and then he pulled out a chair and sat down and cradled the cup in his hands for a while, during which time he looked around the cabin and then, once again, those sooty smudged brown eyes were fixed upon me.  He put his head to one side as though looking at me forced him to have to think.   He frowned slightly and then turned away, bringing the cup to his lips and drinking a little of the coffee.

“So, what are you doing here, Miss Browne?   I hardly recognised the place as one of our line shacks you’ve – er – made such homely alterations.”  It was impossible not to notice the sarcasm in his voice and his eyes twinkled good humouredly as he continued to glance around.

I sat down at the table and faced him.   I told him how I had stumbled upon the cabin and how it had saved my life.   I had not intended to trespass on their property, had always expected the real owner to arrive back and throw me out, in fact, and apologised for having taken it upon myself to make such homely alterations as he put it.

“Well, it looks better for it.   Not exactly what it was designed for though,” he raised the cup to his lips again and looked at me over the rim of the cup “Any of our men come upon this place again they’d never want to leave to do any work.”

“I’ll leave and take my things with me as soon as Joe is better.”

“I didn’t say that you had to leave, Miss Browne.  Now, did I say that?” his voice was teasing now, and his smile was warm and genuine and the eyes had mischief in them, “If you had not been here, my brother would have died.  We owe you a lot.”

“You mean, I can say here a bit longer?”

“Well, I won’t mention it to my pa.” Adam Cartwright chuckled, as though it were all a great joke, and then the laughter stopped and he looked over at the bed and stood up and walked to the bedside and stared down at Joe.  “Judd Scott reckons he’s engaged to marry Sandra Kent.   He’s a mean and bad tempered young man and would not think twice about beating Joe to death, with the help of his brother, Gregory.”

“There was another man there, he seemed more than willing to see your brother hurt.” 

“Greg Scott hasn’t long got out of jail for shooting a man down in cold blood.   We had to testify against him in court at his trial.  It would be the nature of the man to wait in ambush for Joe and shoot him down.”

“Well, I didn’t see who did it, Mr Cartwright, and I wouldn’t like to say it was either of the Scott brothers.”

He darted a quick look in my direction and frowned, then he sighed and looked at Joe. 

“Poor Joe.   Sandra always had a soft spot for him, was a time we thought he was going to spark her but Judd came along and put an end to all that, that’s for sure.” He took hold of Joe’s hand and smiled softly as the younger man’s eyes fluttered open.   “Joe?   It’s me, Adam?”

Joe smiled weakly and looked at his brother’s face and then looked around and stared at me.    Then he looked back at Adam and the smile faltered

“I thought I was talking to ma,” he whispered, “I thought it was really her.”

“How do you feel, Little Joe?   Do you want something to eat or drink yet?”

“Sure could do with something long and cool to drink.” Joe whispered.

“Can you remember what happened?   Did you see who did this to you?”

“No.  There was a scuffle with Judd Scott in town, but I can’t say who shot me.”

“Did the shots come close together?   Did it seem as though they came from the same gun, the same direction?”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember.”   Joe closed his eyes and with a soft sigh slipped back into a deep sleep.

“I’ll prepare something for him to eat and drink for when he regains consciousness.” I said quietly and Adam nodded, still staring down at his brother.

“Miss Browne?”

“Yes, Mr Cartwright?”

“Would you be able to look after Joe for a while longer?  I don’t think he should be moved yet awhile.  I want to go into town and see Miss Kent about a few things, and get the doctor to come and see him. “

I nodded.   He picked up his hat and after another quick look at Joe, and then at me, he opened the door, and closed it swiftly behind him.

Chapter 7

At mid-day Joe opened his eyes and I could see some of the green twinkling amongst the hazel and knew that he had at last turned the corner.   I hurried over to help him by putting some thing behind him to prop him up but hesitated when he looked at me and gave me rather a cool scowl.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Millicent Browne.  I found you and brought you here.”

“You put me to bed?”

“Yes.” I looked at him with my chin up, and decided that this was one Cartwright who would not intimidate me.  “And I took the bullet out of you as well.” And having said that I bustled about being very officious and got some cushions behind him.  

“So, where exactly am I?”

“In one of your fathers line shacks or whatever they’re called.”

“Phew, I can’t see Pa being over pleased about that –“ he looked around him and shook his head and then looked at me again.  “I’m sorry I was so rude just then, you caught me a little by surprise.”

“I did?  I wonder why?” I replied rather sarcastically.

“I got a kind of picture in my mind of whom I would see here –“ his face reddened and he lowered his eyes and looked out of the window.

“Mmm, no doubt pretty, petite and golden haired.” I mumbled under my breath.

“I kept thinking of my ma, your voice sounded like I remember hers.  I know I was just a kid when she died, but I shall never forget her voice.   And you have a light touch – like hers, when I was sick, she would put her hand on my forehead and I used to think it was like an angels.”

His voice trailed away and he kept staring out of the window, and I realised that, being so weak, he was also very emotional.  I turned away to let him get over his disappointment and poured some broth into a bowl.   I carried it over to him very carefully and set it down on the stool by his bedside.

“You should eat something, try and build your strength up,” and I placed a spoon in his hand and was pleased to see the smile of thanks drift over his face.

“Did you see what happened to me?”

“No, I heard some gunshots, but whoever shot you had left before I arrived on the scene.  I found you and brought you here.”

He frowned and looked at me “You must be pretty strong, for a woman.”

“Not really, you’re just very light, for a man.”

He grinned and the green in his eyes danced mischievously.   I sat down and began to feed him the broth, it was slow going, as he seemed to be lacking in appetite, which was not really surprising.   After a while he closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows.  He took a deep breath before re-opening them to look once more around the cabin.

“Pa won’t be too happy when he sees how you’ve changed one of his line shacks into home from home.”

“That’s what your brother said.”

“Which one?”

“Well, both of them I suppose.”

“They’ve been here?”  his voice took on a note of eagerness and his face lit up with pleasure.

“Adam tracked you down to here.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s gone into town to arrange for the doctor to check you out and to find out who did this to you.”

“What?   But he can’t do that –“ he sat upright, winced painfully, but still attempted to pull back the covers “The Scott’s will kill him.”

I pushed him back, gently but very firmly.   He fell back against the bed like a butterfly pinned to a board and looked up at me with his hazel eyes wide with appeal.

“There’s no point looking at me like that, Joseph Cartwright.  How far do you think you would get?  You’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re ill.   Do you think I’m going to let you go racing around the country after all the hard work I’ve gone through to keep you alive?”

His mouth opened and then closed and he frowned and then nodded.

“I’ve not thanked you yet either.  I’m sorry, I should have been more considerate.  Thank you, Miss Browne.”

“Call me Millie.” I took his hand and shook it, and we shared a smile and I sat down and checked his bandages because I felt a little embarrassed at being alone with him.  Odd to think that considering the hours of quite intimate care I had provided during the past number of hours. Now that he was lucid, I was even more fingers and thumbs than ever.

“The Scott brothers won’t like Adam prying into their business.” Joe frowned and winced a little as I touched upon a sensitive area.   There was no fresh bleeding and I felt relief wash over me and sat down to listen to him.

“Adam did mention that one of them had just come out of prison for shooting a man in cold blood.  Did he really do that?”

“Who?  Oh, you mean Gregory Scott.  Sure, he did that a few years ago.  I was surprised that he got away with just a prison sentence, but then Mrs Scott has a lot of influence in town.”

“You mean, she rigged the jury?”

“Who knows?” he shrugged and chewed on his thumbnail for a moment, “I wish Sandra had kept well clear of them.”

“That’s Miss Kent?  The lady in the stores you were talking to when I was there?”

“You were there?   I never saw you.  Shucks, Miss Browne, I do apologise for being so rude, I didn’t notice another lady there.”

I smiled and shrugged, and decided to say nothing.   It was pleasant being referred to as a lady though, and I didn’t want to spoil his illusions.  In my old gear most thought of me as a boy, and I remembered that the man in the crowd had pulled me back and referred to me as a boy.  

“Tell me about your mother, Joseph.   Was she very pretty?”

“Oh sure she was, ma’am,” his face relaxed and became quite dreamy.   He sighed and looked up and out of the small window to the woodland outside and his mouth slid into a gentle smile “She was the prettiest thing you ever did see.   My Pa said that he fell in love with her the moment he saw her, she was so dainty and sweet looking.   He soon found out that she was one tough lady though, and she didn’t waste time being mealy mouthed about anything.  But she had beautiful golden hair and the biggest eyes in this world.”    He paused then, and was silent for a little while, as though wanting to dwell upon the memories of her.     “She was from New Orleans.   Her life had been pretty tough up to when she met my Pa.   You know, she could fence with an epee better than most men.   I’ve got her fencing foils at home, and – “

“- and you miss her?”

“I guess.”

“Were you very young when she died?”

“I was five.   She came riding up to the house, too fast.  Came off her horse.