Summary: A night at the Opera House in San Francisco really goes with a bang. But will Joe will able to save Adam’s life as his brother desperately seeks a way to survive.

Rating:  T  (15,390 words)

 

A NIGHT AT THE OPERA

The hotel room was spacious and comfortable. Joe had bounced on the bed he had selected for himself and pronounced it satisfactory as he flipped his hat onto the bed post. His brother, Adam, had strolled over to the window and looked out onto the main street below them. He folded his arms and smiled,

 

“This place is growing larger every time we visit,” he murmured as he watched various people getting on with their business like so many ants trailing down one path, turning off into another, all ignorant of his scrutiny.

 

“It’s a pity Hoss couldn’t come with us,” Joe stretched and yawned, “He was overdue a break from the Ponderosa.”

 

“Yeah, well, we were all due a break.” Adam sighed and took off his yellow coat, which he flung casually over the back of a chair. “I thought Pa was going to give in to the temptation himself and come along here to see Mr. Greaves.” he ran his fingers through his hair, and as a result looked more like his youngest brother than usual.

 

“Huh, Pa isn’t that fond of San Francisco since that last fracas here,” Joe grinned, pulled off his boots and settled back onto the bed, lying outstretched with his arms folded behind his head on the pillows, “Pa loves the Ponderosa at this time of year too. Hadn’t you noticed how he always avoids leaving the place in the fall?”

 

Adam paused in the act of unbuckling his valise; he pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows before looking thoughtfully over at his brother,

 

“No, I hadn’t noticed.” he replied thoughtfully, then frowned, “Why do you think that is?”

 

“Just that he loves the place too much, and it looks more – well – colourful in the fall.”

 

Adam smiled and continued with his unpacking. There wasn’t much to stow away in the rather cavernous ward robe, just a good suit, his best shirt and tie. He glanced over to his brother who had his eyes closed and was making a pretence of sleeping. Well, why not, it had been a long ride and the stagecoach suspension had not improved with use over the years.

 

“I gather Mr. and Mrs. Greaves’ daughters are looking forward to meeting us,” he closed the wardrobe doors, “You never know, Joe, but you could be going home with more than a timber contract under your belt.”

 

“Have you seen them?” Joe muttered without stirring and with his eyes still firmly closed.

 

“Not for the past two years.” Adam sighed, and took from his saddlebags the documents that his father had given him before they had left.

 

He sat down on the chair close to the window so that the natural light fell across his lap and carefully began to scrutinise each page. Harold Greaves had been a good businessman for many years in San Francisco and Ben had conducted several deals with him during that time. Both men respected the other highly, and the signing of this latest contract was merely the legal requirement of what would at one time have been dealt with as a gentleman’s agreement. Adam smiled to himself, times had changed, the bigger the deal the less likely either man was prepared to rely on a mere gentleman’s agreement.

 

The rustling of the pages in the quiet room with only the slightest hum of noise from the street was soothing to both men. Joe’s pretence of sleep soon turned to reality as his breathing became heavier and his body relaxed into the bed. Adam continued to read the documents and finding no fault with them finally set them aside and returned them to his saddlebags.

 

……………

 

“What do you think they look like now?”

 

Mrs. Greaves looked at her youngest daughter and sighed, she shook her head and turned to her husband,

 

“My dear Greaves, would you listen to the girl? You would think she was husband hunting.” Her voice was brittle, the tone rather sharp.

 

Mr. Greaves looked up from his surveillance of some papers and looked at his wife and his two daughters. The youngest flashed him a smile that brought a responding smile to his face; she always had the ability to charm him.

 

“And why not? I’d be very proud of my daughters if they managed to snag a Cartwright for a husband.” he chuckled.

 

“They’re too young to be thinking of any such thing.” his wife responded, “I hope you’re not thinking along those lines yourself, Amy?”  Thus spoken to, Amy Greaves blinked behind her spectacles and lowered her head.

 

“No, Mama,” she replied softly, and picked up her book from her lap to resume her reading.

 

“I’ve not seen them for over two years,” Greaves poured out some brandy into a glass and stood a moment as he swirled it round and round in the glass goblet. No one commented on the fact that he had not offered his wife anything to drink, it was accepted in the family that Mr. Greaves’ word was law, and his actions confirmed the fact.

 

Mrs. Greaves glanced over at the Tantalus with a slight frown on her brow, and then with a suppressed sigh picked up some needlepoint and took out her irritation on that, jabbing the needle in and out with a haste that would mean she would be taking the stitches out again in the morning and regretting her lack of patience.

 

“I only ever saw the two eldest sons before,” Amy ventured to say, “They were very nice.”

 

“Nice?” Greaves snorted somewhat derisively, “You don’t refer to men like the Cartwrights as nice!”

 

Mrs. Greaves inhaled deeply through her nose, and pursed her thin lips as she brought up her embroidery closer to her face. Her husband walked to the window and stood there for a moment, the brandy warming in the goblet he held in his hand,

 

“Adam Cartwright’s a crafty fellow, college educated too. There’s not much that gets past him.”

 

“No, Papa.” Claudia smiled at him, and was rewarded with a smile back at her.

 

She was a pretty little thing, Greaves mused. He often wondered how he and his wife could have brought about such a little beauty for he was honest enough to admit both of them were of homely looks which Amy, sadly, had inherited.

 

Claudia tossed back her soft golden hair that curled in luxuriant coils over her shoulders, and her deep blue eyes glanced from him to her mother and then onto her sister. Amy, whether aware of being under observation or not, merely lowered her head further to read more closely the words in the book.

 

Poor Amy, Claudia sighed and walked over to stand by her father’s side, how good not to look like Amy. People noticed Claudia when she entered a room; tall and stately, slim and regal with her swan like neck and elegant figure. Men admired her and cast flirtatious eyes at her, and women looked her up and down and sighed wistfully.

 

But poor Amy, no one looked at her. She was like the little tug boat that trailed behind the elegant yacht. Sturdy and stocky, lank straight hair that refused to curl or coil, a nose too short and one chin too many.

 

“Will you be inviting them to dinner, Mr. Greaves?” his wife asked, and Mr. Greaves looked at her with wide surprised eyes,

 

“They have already been invited, my dear, and then afterwards we shall be going to the Opera House.” He smiled condescendingly and drank his brandy. No one dared venture the opinion that it was rather early in the day to be imbibing.

 

……………………

 

Joseph twitched the cuffs of his shirt and straightened his tie. He picked up his silver backed brushes and began to make an attempt to bring order to chaos by plying them back and forth over his hair. After several attempts which made no difference to the overall effect whatsoever, he put the brushes down and looked at himself in the mirror.

 

“Not so bad, even if I do say so myself.” he muttered and winked at his reflection.

 

“We’d best not be late,” Adam leaned towards the mirror, having to peer over his brother’s shoulder to see his own reflection, and then smiled at Joe,

 

“Come on, Joe, I want Mr. Greaves to be in an amiable mood tomorrow when I go over these papers with him.”

 

Adam locked the door to the hotel room behind him and pocketed the key, and then together they made their way down the stairs. Out on the side walk a carriage awaited them and a man in livery hustled up to open the door,

 

“Seems Mr. Greaves wants you to be in an amiable mood as well,” Joe muttered with a grin as he took his seat in the vehicle.

 

Adam said nothing to that but leaned back to observe the sights of San Francisco as they drove past them. He smiled suddenly and shook his head,

 

“Pa often reminds me of what this place was like when we first came here. Not that we stayed long, only a few days, but it was only a little bigger than Eagle Station then. It‘s certainly mushroomed in size”

 

“You don’t regret having moved on, have you, Adam?” his younger brother asked, and without waiting for a reply from his older brother he exclaimed “Oh, look, The Opera House, is that where we’re going later?” he craned his head out of the window and laughed, “I’d prefer an evening at the Sazarac myself.”

 

Adam laughed along with him for although he loved his books, his poetry and music, Opera was something of a tedium to him. He wondered what the evening was going to be like, and found himself hoping that the hours would pass quickly.

 

………………..

 

There was the low hum of conversation in the background as Adam and Joe were admitted to the Greaves’ rather ostentatious house on Nob’s Hill. As the brothers’ removed their hats and coat they glanced warily at one another,

 

“I thought it was going to be a private dinner?” Joe frowned, “Sounds like half of San Francisco is there.”

 

Adam quirked an eyebrow and shrugged. Together they entered the big room and stood in the doorway looking at the assembled group of people gathered there.

 

As always when anyone new arrived those already present turned to see whether or not they were known to them, and one woman in particular seemed particularly pleased when she saw the two young men in the doorway. She hurried to the side of her host and whispered a request to be introduced, to which Mr. Greaves smilingly agreed, offering her his arm as he did so and walking with her to greet his new guests.

 

“Miss Lotta Crabtree,” Mr. Greaves smiled and looked at Adam and Joe with a glint in the eye as he presented the lady to them, “Miss Crabtree, may I present Mr. Adam Cartwright and his brother, Joseph.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Greaves, but these gentlemen and I are old acquaintances,” Lotta laughed and presented both her hands to them, “Oh my goodness, how well you look. Joe, you’re even handsomer than I remember, and Adam -” she paused as a blush mantled her cheek, “I’d recognise you anywhere.”

 

“You’re looking mighty fine, Miss Lotta.” Joe grinned, squeezing the woman’s fingers between his own with an enthusiasm borne more from relief at meeting someone he knew than from any actual pleasure at meeting her again.

 

“Thank you, Joseph.” she flashed him a wide smile although her eyes were on Adam’s face, “And how’s your father and the other brother, Horse wasn’t it?”

 

Adam raised an eyebrow and inclined his head,

 

“They’re both well, thank you.” he replied and was about to say more when he was aware that Mr. Greaves was ushering two young women towards them.

 

There couldn’t have been a greater contrast between two sisters Joe thought as he looked at them being ushered forwards by their genial father, and he sighed and glanced over at his brother.

 

A warning lift of the eyebrows from Adam forced Joe to remain where he was, although his initial inclination was for flight. He had recognised several young people he had met on previous visits to San Francisco and although he was loathe to abandon his position by Lotta’s side, he would dearly have loved to have been elsewhere as Mr. Greaves brought Amy and Claudia to meet them.

 

“My daughters Amy and Claudia.” Mr. Greaves beamed proudly, “Amy and Claudia, this is Mr. Adam Cartwright and his brother, Joseph.”

 

Both sisters bobbed a polite curtsey. Amy with her head lowered and quite sure that neither gentleman would want to look at her anyway, and Claudia with her blue eyes twinkling up at them both and warily deciding which of the two she would cajole into being her escort for the evening.

 

Joe was about to speak when the gong announcing dinner was sounded and he found himself with Claudia by his side, her hand on his arm, a sweet smile, dimpled cheeks and a coy expression on her face.

 

“May I?” he asked politely and offered his arm through which she slipped her own with a beguiling laugh and a flutter of eyelashes.

 

Adam was seized upon by Lotta who had already decided that this evening was going to be an excellent opportunity to pick up from where they had left off several years earlier in Virginia City. Amy stepped back, her head lowered and her hands clasped together. Misery mantled her cheeks and welled up in her heart. If she had had the courage she would have turned round and headed for the safety of her bedroom and the company of a good book right there and then.

 

…………………

 

The meal was pleasant enough. The hands on the clock ticked away the minutes and before they knew it the group were assembling rather noisily in the hall collecting hats and gloves, or bonnets and shawls.

 

Claudia and Joseph had discovered that they enjoyed one anothers company well enough to remain as a couple for the evening, and strolled down the steps from the house to the carriage chattering amiable nonsense together.

 

Lotta Crabtree, Adam decided, was no longer the great beauty she had been when first they had met. The intervening years had coarsened her looks and she had, he surmised, found life not so pleasant or as easy as previously. As he led her down the steps from the house he recalled their first meeting, and the disaster that could have resulted from it.

 

Adam Cartwright, Lotta decided, was no longer the hardened gun fighter he had first appeared to be when they had met on the Ponderosa. He had softened, appeared more at ease with himself and less inclined to threaten to break a woman’s arm as he had once done. She smiled at him as he helped her into the carriage, and remembered not only their meeting, but the time of their parting.

 

She wondered as she pulled her shawl closer, for the night air was cool, whether he had similar thoughts and memories. She hoped that whatever his memories were of her, they were remembered with affection.

 

Amy Greaves slipped away as she had planned. As the group of guests had gathered together in the hallway of the house she had simply slipped through a door to the back stairway and made her way to her room. Once there she threw herself onto the bed, wept a few self pitying tears before walking to the window to watch the convoy of carriages leave the house.

 

How she envied them their gaiety and vitality. How she hated Claudia for her beauty. How she wished that handsome Joseph Cartwright had turned to her, offered her his arm and led her into the dining room. She let the curtain drop back into place. How she wished she had no sister. How she longed for Claudia to disappear out of her life forever.

 

……………………

 

The Magic Flute by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was the musical fare for the evening. Mr. and Mrs. Greaves were led to their private box and joined by Claudia, Joseph, Lotta and Adam. The other guests were led to a box close by.

 

“Do you like Opera, Adam?” Lotta murmured as she opened her programme.

 

Adam smiled enigmatically, and raised a dark eyebrow. She leaned forwards, the fragrance of her perfume drifted about her,

 

“I’m performing at the theatre tomorrow, would you come and see me? I’ll make sure you have a private box.” she whispered, and her knee touched his, whether by accident or not, only she would have known.

 

Mrs. Greaves suddenly seemed to realise that her elder daughter was not with them and made some shrill request as to whether anyone of them had seen her, but Claudia stiffly responded by telling her mother that Amy had gone to her room.

*****

The music started. For some inexplicable reason that he could never have explained to any other person Joseph Cartwright felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a shiver trickle down his spine. The music wrapped around him and he was totally seduced by its magic.

 

It was half way through the first act when there was an explosion of such enormity that the lead performer was thrown across the stage. The floor began to bulge and tilt, the safety curtain hurtled down with a resounding crash upon the stage.

 

“That’s not supposed to happen, is it?” Joe asked innocently, rising very quickly to his feet.

 

Within seconds people were reacting with shrieks and screams. They rose from their seats open mouthed with fear, turning this way and that way in an attempt to escape, knowing instinctively that they had to fight for their lives or there would be no life left.

 

Black smoke and vivid flames of orange fire leapt forwards as seats were abandoned and toppled over. People pushed against each other as they screamed in their panic striven efforts to escape.

 

The crackling and snapping sounds of fire and the flames were like living sheep dogs snapping at their heels and driving them into a mass of seething terrified people who now, without sense or instinct, thronged together in the aisles.

 

Lotta rose to her feet with her hands covering her mouth, unable to speak, to scream. Everywhere she looked there were people struggling to escape. Adam grabbed at her elbow but she was transfixed, frozen with fear and terror.

 

There were so many frantic people, women who shrieked and squealed, women who were draped like broken dolls across chairs, others holding close to them their young children, others using their children as buffers by which they could force an entry through the milling mass of terrified people.

 

A girl shrieked as someone trod on her skirt and pinned her back. She struggled to be free as the material ripped and she was left standing in her petticoats. She was soon elbowed aside and overtaken by others so that she, in turn, had to push against the flood that was forcing her back.

 

“The ceiling,” someone shrieked.

 

“The ceiling,” everyone seemed to scream at a higher pitch of intensity than previously.

 

Adam looked up and saw huge cobweb cracks splintering the plaster. It seemed as though suddenly there was an immense silence as though everyone there were holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen. The sound of plaster cracking was like so many whiplashes zapping into that silence which released once again the hysteria of fear in their hearts.

 

The crystal chandelier shimmered and trembled. So many thousand prisms glittered across the walls as it swayed and great slabs of plaster began to fall down upon the assembly. Plaster ornaments and coving split and toppled and fell upon them adding more terror to the people scrabbling for their lives.

 

Adam had pushed Lotta and the Greaves from the box as the usher had flung open the door. He had turned to see Joe half carrying Claudia, who had fainted, through the doorway and had promptly followed them.

 

They were now engulfed by the tide of people streaming out into the corridors. Joe felt his knees weakening and his hold on Claudia loosening. He looked up to see the ceiling about to collapse on him and his heart gave way to despair. Claudia gave a cry, a bleating whimper, and he lowered her down onto her feet,

 

“Hold onto my hand,” he cried and grasped for her hand as she began to fall. Her hand slipped from his and he stepped back to seize hold of her again as the people thronged forwards,

 

“Don’t fall, don’t let go” he cried and he pushed her forwards and found, in her struggle, the will to get strength from somewhere and fight onwards.

 

In the narrow corridors the people were hemmed in more closely and progress was slower. Overhead a chandelier rattled like so many sabres clashing in battle. There was a scream as it began to fall sending slithers of glass splintering here and there among them.

 

Joe saw a woman splattered with blood that covered her face and the front of her gown. A man staggered as glass cut through his arm. Mayhem and panic increased among them as they fought to make their escape like so many lemmings hastening to their deaths. The doors that opened to the foyer was packed with people, and Joe heard a child screaming in panic ridden fear for his mother. He tried to see where the child was but was encumbered by the now dead weight of the girl in his arms.

 

He just had time to see a thick set man stoop down and pluck the child to safety, bearing him shoulder high above the crowd when someone‘s elbow dug into his back and he stumbled forwards, Claudia screamed and tightened her arms around his neck. He struggled to keep to his feet for he knew that once he was down he would never get back up and that those following behind him would keep him down, both himself and the girl who had once again fainted in his arms.

 

Some distance behind them Adam and Lotta were being borne along by the tide of people thronging the corridor.

 

“I’m scared -” Lotta cried and grabbed for Adam’s arm as someone pushed against her and she stumbled forward.

 

A large chunk of plaster from the ceiling crashed down beside them, and several people staggered and fell, becoming victims to the many feet that passed over them. Adam seized her wrist and with all his strength pulled her closer to him so that he could put a protective arm around her and together force their way through the door into the foyer and towards the exit.

 

He was no match for the constant flood of people, and felt his own strength failing. Somehow he managed to keep his balance and stumble onwards, holding Lotta almost roughly to his side just as she clung to him with the same fearful dread that a drowning person clings to a piece of wood that may happen to drift by them. They were pushed and shoved forwards, sometimes lifted off their own feet by the strength of the masses behind them. The smoke was billowing about them now and made him wheeze, his eyes streamed water and he could barely see beyond the blur of the people’s backs in front of them.

 

Fleetingly he wondered about Joe’s safety, a wisp of a thought because everything was focussed on getting to the exits and the safety of outside. It seemed like a miracle when at last he found himself through the doors, smashed and broken and hanging on their hinges like those of a discarded doll‘s house. Then there was the ecstasy of cool fresh air brushing against their faces, the freedom and release from the pressure of so many bodies against them as the people ran, scattering, to safety.

 

Lotta leaned against him, her hands still clinging to his jacket, her eyes closed as tears slipped down her smoke smudged face. She was gulping in fresh air, her chest heaving, and very gently he lowered her down onto one of the seats that were positioned opposite the Opera House’s entrance.

 

“I thought we were going to die,” she whispered, and buried her face in her hands.

 

“Everyone thought the same -” he replied reassuringly, and would have knelt by her side to comfort her had he not been so concerned about Joe.

 

He stepped back and stood erect, scanning the crowds for the sight of his brother. To add to the cacophony of noise there came the clang of the fire wagons and the sounds of the men and women calling out to friends and family, children crying, the sobs of those lost and forgotten, even the barking of a lonesome dog caught up in the melee all became a confusion in his head. He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and turned back to Lotta,

 

“Lotta, I have to find Joe.”

 

“Yes, of course.” she looked up at him, her face stricken with the fear of what had taken place, “Adam, I -” she stopped and knew that there was little point in trying to prevent him from leaving her there when Joe could not be found. She let her hand, which she had raised to rest upon his arm, fall to her lap.

 

“Adam -” Mr. Greaves appeared from among a group of people, he was staggering slightly as though drunk, but the bloodstained handkerchief he held to his head was proof that he had sustained some injury during his departure from the building,

 

“Mr. Greaves – thank goodness, could you help Miss Crabtree while I go and find Joe?”

 

“But – but I can’t find my wife and Claudia – she’s with Joe and I don’t know where they are -” Greaves looked forlornly around him and his eyes, standing out from their sockets, were evidence enough of his anguish.

 

Adam turned back to Lotta and was about to speak when Greaves grabbed his arm,

 

“I’ve just seen Mrs. Greaves, over there -” he pointed to where his wife stood looking dazedly around her, as though she had been washed up on a beach all alone and couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing, “Adam, I’ll take Miss Crabtree home with us once we have found Claudia.”

 

Adam said nothing but turned to Lotta. His instinct to protect her made him feel guilty in his desire to find Joe just as he knew Mr. Greaves would want to locate his daughter before doing the chivalrous thing and attend to his guest. It was at this point that Mrs. Greaves arrived and fell into her husband’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder. Adam seized the initiative and the opportunity to turn once again to Lotta,

 

“Lotta – Miss Crabtree – Mrs. Greaves needs a friends shoulder to cry on, would you -?” the appeal in his eyes was two fold and he sincerely hoped that it would not have been too obvious that she would release him from the responsibility of his protection of her in order to find Joe.

 

As Lotta rose to take Mrs. Greaves hand and lead her to a place upon which to sit, Mr. Greaves stumbled away to look for his daughter while Adam hurried towards the Opera House where a group of men were knotted together. It seemed to him that he had recognised one tousle head among them and with the feeling of hope buoyant in his heart he ran towards them,

 

“There are women and children still in there -” a man cried as he pulled off his jacket and flung it to the ground, “The fire men can only do so much, for pities sake, men, let’s do something useful here.”

 

The group of men divided, some remained solidly where they were but others followed the example of the first and ran towards the burning building. Adam saw Joe running as though his life depended upon it towards the Opera House, and by instinct, he turned and ran with them.

 

There were fewer people leaving through the shattered doors now, but the men, with the two brothers along with them, jostled their way past the stragglers and into the dense smoke. Adam grabbed at Joe’s arm, and the younger man turned, recognised his brother and just had time to give him a nod of acknowledgement before a man ahead of him thrust a child into his arms.

 

Joe turned and headed back outside while Adam continued onwards into the smoke. He stumbled over someone strewn across the floor and quickly scooped her into his arms and carried her outside. A white faced man who was about to enter the building took her from him, and, like a machine, Adam turned and re-entered the foyer.

 

Twice more he was able to find a body and bring them out. Elsewhere shadowy figures engulfed by the dense smoke were doing the same. Whether Joe was one of them Adam had no way of knowing.

 

“One last effort.” a burly Scot yelled as they stood panting and gasping on the steps of the burning building.

 

“What about the back entrances?” Adam suggested.

 

“No, the fire started there, you canna fit thru’ there, mon, we’ll hev to go through yon, if it is still possible.”

 

A fire Officer ran towards them, waving at them to stop, but they ducked under the barriers that were being erected. Someone grabbed the Scot by the arm and he pushed the man aside,

 

“Whist, mon, I saw several ladies still in there, ye kin na think to be leavin’ them -” and he ran onwards, “Through here -” he yelled and pulled open a door.

 

As he did so a fire ball erupted in front of him and blew him off his feet.

 

Adam had, upon entering the building again, found Joe by his side and together they had branched off to take another route. They had taken to the stairs but the rumble ahead and below them forced them both to stop mid-way and look around them.

 

“We won’t get up there,” Adam said softly as he held his brother back, “If we do, we’ll never be able to get out again.”

 

“”What shall we do? We can’t go back if there’s a chance of anyone else being trapped in there?” Joe replied hoarsely and looked at his brother with a soot streaked face.

 

“Joe, I’m not leaving here without you.” came his brothers reply and Adam put his hand to the door, but then drew it back, “The doors red hot, Joe, there’s little point -” he paused and looked at what appeared to be a bundle huddled upon the stairs.

 

“What’s that?” Joe croaked and coughed.

 

“I can’t see – I’ll go and find out.”

 

“No, we go together, it’s too dangerous to go singly now.”

 

Side by side they mounted the stairs that were now bucking and rocking as the walls of the building beyond the doorway were collapsing. The bundle proved to be a child, barely six, crouched in a foetal position, eyes screwed tightly shut. Adam picked her up and held her close against him, then looked into Joe’s face,

 

“Let’s go.”

 

They took the stairs so quickly that their feet were scrabbling to keep hold, and out into the smoke filled foyer Adam turned to Joe and passed the child to him.

 

Joe ran on, the child so light in his arms that she was no burden to bear at all. He was out in the open air so suddenly that he gave an involuntary shout of pure joy as he took the steps down to the crowd below as though he were flying.

 

It was only when Joe had passed the child into the arms of a near hysterical woman that he realised Adam was not behind him. He turned and was about to re-enter the building when one of the fire wardens approached him and barred his entry.

 

“My brother’s still in there.” he cried and pushed the man away with both hands, “I’ve got to get back.”

 

“There’s no chance of you doing that, sir.” the fire warden said and as though to emphasise the fact there was an enormous whoosh sound and several explosions, the ground rocked beneath their feet, and glass and debris shattered towards them. “No one’s going in now, sir, and I doubt if there will be anyone coming out.”

 

Joe stepped back, reeled back, as the hot air blasted upon them. He raised his arm to shield his face and then let it drop forlornly to his side as he stared at the blazing building.

 

Bereft, exhausted physically and emotionally, Joe stood staring into the flames. He was just one among a number of people who stood waiting for a miracle as the orange flames plumed skywards against the night sky.

 

…………………..

 

An hour passed. The air was cooled by the slight autumn chill, but the heat of the flames still reached them. Thankfully there was no wind to blow upon them and rouse the fires to greater vehemence.

 

Joe had joined the water chain in an attempt to help the fire wardens to bring the fire under control. He passed bucket upon bucket of water from hand to hand, men and women, all labouring together to stop the flames spreading to other buildings and to save the Opera House from total destruction.

 

Joe worked like a machine. Water slopped from the buckets over his boots and onto the ground where it was churned into mud that sucked at his feet. He worked unstintingly, afraid to think, exhausted physically and aching in every bone. When his mind began to take him along the route of acknowledging that his brother was in that burning building, he forced himself to blank it out, to concentrate on passing another bucket to the weary hands of his neighbour, to dwell only on the thought that the flames had to be extinguished.

 

“Joe?”

 

He didn’t hear his name being called. The yells of the fire wardens, and the shouts and yells from those on the chain, the noise all around that drowned out even the roar of the flames and the occasional explosion of sound from the collapsing building drowned out the sound. It was only when he felt someone urgently tugging at his arm that he paused and turned,

 

“Mr. Greaves? What are you doing here, sir?”

 

“I came to get you, Joe.”

 

“Get me?” Joe frowned and wiped his brow on his shirt sleeve, “Why?”

 

“To take you back with me, son. You need to come back and get some rest. You must be exhausted.”

 

“I can’t come back,” Joe protested while at the same time his mind said ’Yes, I’m exhausted, totally totally exhausted.”

 

“I have to think of you, Joe. I have responsibility to Ben, your father. Come back with me now, and if you feel you need to -”

 

“I can’t.” Joe pulled his arm free, and shook his head, “I have to stay here. Adam’s -” he turned his head towards the building, “No, I have to stay here.”

 

“But you can come back later.”

 

“Mr. Greaves, I have to stay.”

 

Mr. Greaves stepped back, defeated. He stayed awhile, standing far enough away from the men and women in order not to get his clothes soiled, his hat he held in one hand close to his chest and his eyes strayed from the Opera House to the young man who was striving against what Mr. Greaves considered an impossible job. Eventually he turned away and walked slowly back to his carriage.

 

Joe felt his lips quivering as he worked. It was hard not to give in to emotion. It seemed that no matter how hard one worked physically the mind still seemed intent on plaguing the emotions, even when he was able to keep the thought of Adam at bay; he was still finding his body reacting to the horror of it all. The stomach lurching, the tears springing to his eyes and his knees shaking.

 

How was he going to tell Pa? He passed on another bucket of water and at the same time imagined himself in that big room, standing in front of Ben, and Hoss. How could he tell Pa? What explanation could he give to Hoss? His throat tightened and he had to gasp to force air into his lungs.

 

“That’s enough -”

 

Everyone stopped. Buckets in hand ready to pass on to their neighbours every man and woman there stopped. They all turned towards the building and watched as the entire frontage folded up upon itself and crumpled inwards.

 

Everyone there involuntarily stepped back as a wave of heat wafted towards them. Sparks blazed upwards amid the thick black clouds of smoke that swirled to the black sky and was swallowed into its immensity. The shoulders of every one sagged as though each one there admitted defeat and that the battle was over.

 

Joe let down his bucket and put his hands to his face. What was he going to tell Pa? A sob shuddered through him as he turned his face towards the building to stare long and hard at it.

 

“Hey, you?”

 

He turned as someone pulled at his arm and he saw a tall thickset man standing near him,

 

“You were with the other fella – who went into the theatre?”

 

“My brother -” Joe stammered.

 

“You brought out my little girl. I remember you coming out with her.” he extended his hand, and Joe stared at it for some seconds before taking it “Thank you. You were both very brave.” The man’s mouth worked, he had words he wanted to say but not the ability to express them, so he nodded and slapped Joe on the shoulder, “Thank you.”

 

Joe nodded, his throat tightened again as he remembered how Adam had thrust the child into his arms. Had he known then that he was not going to get out of the building alive? Had he known that he would never get home again? Joe watched as the man strode away towards where a woman held her daughter to her. Then he turned back to the sight of the burning building …

 

 

“Joe?”

 

He turned and saw her, Miss Crabtree, Lotta. She was walking towards him with her face pale, her eyes too large for her face. She looked like she was sleep walking and her clothes were stained and soiled. She put out a hand to take hold of the one he held towards her,

 

“Miss Lotta?” his eyes swept over her face, “Are you alright?”

 

“Yes, I’m alright.” she glanced over his shoulder to the shattered building and turned abruptly away, “They set up a rudimentary hospital at the hotel. I was helping there. There were casualties.” she sighed and forced herself to look at his face, “Adam?”

 

Joe shook his head and kept his eyes staring resolutely ahead of him,

 

“Mr. Greaves said we were to go back to his place. He didn’t want us to go back to a hotel.” she was holding onto his arm, and he could feel her body shivering against him, “His daughter, Claudia, she’s going to be alright. You saved her life, did you know?”

 

“Claudia?” Joe frowned, trying to put a face to the name, a name to a face; everything seemed remote and far away. He had to concentrate but eventually he was able to recall the pretty girl who had clung to him as they had left the theatre. “That’s good.”

 

He didn’t want to turn back and look at the building. The desire to do so was strong, like an obsession to torture oneself with a memory too horrific to accept, but needed to do so nevertheless. He bit down on his bottom lip and clenched his fists tightly so that his fingernails bit into his flesh. He wouldn’t look back; he wouldn’t look back at a building that was tantamount to being his brother’s funeral pyre. How could he bring himself to do so, it would be like searing his brain with a memory that would haunt him forever.

 

…………….

 

The floor had heaved and bucked beneath his feet as Adam passed the child into his brother’s arms. He had time to see Joe turn towards the door and then raise his hands and fold them above his head. That was when the floor gave way from under him and he began to fall with the burning debris of the foyer drifting down along with him.

 

He scraped his arm against something rough and hard, his shoulder bounced against something that was cold and rough. He kept his eyes screwed tightly shut as he anticipated his death at any second. Still he kept falling. A burning piece of timber hit his hand, and something struck against his back, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He was gasping for air as he plummeted downwards, and struggled to reach out for some thing that he could grasp at to stop the sickening plunge. As his legs struck solid ground his body collapsed upon himself and for some while he lay there, unconscious but alive.

 

……………………..

 

Amy Greaves sat by her sister’s bedside and held her hand tenderly in her own. Guilt nibbled at her conscience when she recalled how she had wished for her sister never to return to the house. When she thought of how Claudia was carried into her room by their father, tears would well up into her eyes and she would long to cry out for forgiveness.

 

Instead she bathed her sister’s bruised forehead, brushed the long golden hair very gently with the softest brush, dabbed at Claudia’s temples with lavender water and was instantly ready to moisten the younger girl’s dry lips with honeyed water.

 

Claudia, unaware of her sister’s guilty conscience, nevertheless determined to make the best of the moment and sighed and moaned most theatrically throughout the night.

 

Doctor Morecombe, who had been the Greaves’ medical practioner for some years, inspected Joe’s blistered hands and after dealing with them carefully, and bandaging them thoroughly, declared that the young man needed bed rest as he was totally exhausted.

 

“I need to get back,” Joe cried defiantly, “I can’t sit around here not knowing what happened to Adam. I have to get back.”

 

“Joseph, it may be hard to accept the fact but there really is nothing you can do to help your brother. You have to be honest with yourself, and stop insisting on going back,” Lotta leaned forward and put a gentle hand to his face, she sighed for good measure, and her large expressive eyes filled with tears.

 

“He’s my brother.” Joe replied simply, removing her hand and getting to his feet, “There isn’t any other place I can be just now.”

 

“Joe -” Mr Greaves stepped forward at this point and shook his head, with a sigh he took hold of the young man’s arm, “Joe, I’ll come with you. I can’t leave you to go there on your own. You need someone to be with you.”

 

“It’s good of you, sir, but -”

 

“No but’s -” Greaves replied with a determination that seemed to surprise Lotta and Mrs Greaves, “I could never face your father knowing I had done nothing in the way of helping you at this moment.”

 

Joe nodded, too exhausted to argue, he could only turn on his heel and leave the house, wondering as he did so where his hat could have gone. In the direst of moments he had always found that it was the trivia that seemed to rise to the surface of his mind.

 

………………………

 

Adam stirred slowly; moving his legs gingerly, stretching them out to their full length and feeling some hard surface make contact with his feet. It was very dark within the confines of this place in which he now found himself. Every so often the darkness was relieved by the glow of burning wood that swirled slowly down towards him, burning itself out before finally falling with a thud close to where he lay. He struggled to his feet, wincing as he did so at the realisation that his arm hurt and there was a grating sensation in the bone between his wrist and elbow. Using his one good hand he stretched it out in front of him to get an idea of just how wide his ‘prison’ happened to be. Above him there seemed only a long column of darkness which ended with brief glimpses of fire and flame, and dark coiling smoke.

 

The wall he had expected to touch was not there, instead he found himself walking along what appeared to be a natural cavern. Turning around upon himself he reached out for the other side of the wall and his fingers touched solid rock. For a while he leaned against it as he tried to think out his current situation.

 

He needed light, anything, something. He needed the pain of his arm to go away. He needed to get out of wherever he happened to be and to do so as quickly as he possibly could. He pulled off his tie with his uninjured hand and carefully made a rough form of sling in which he could cradle his injured arm. Using his teeth to assist him he made a crude knot and hoped that it would suffice until he could get the proper help he required.

 

Now what could he do? The darkness was less now as his eyes accustomed themselves to it, the various shades of grey and black now wavered before him. There was nothing distinguishable enough for him to discern exactly where he was and he had enough sense to know that it would be a very long time before anyone would be able to enter the building and locate the tunnel that the flooring concealed.

 

He bowed his head, his chin rested upon his chest and he closed his eyes. Think, he told himself, think about what this could mean. The floor concealed what? A well perhaps? It could have happened that they had built the Opera House on the site of a previous building and just built over the old well. But in that case it would be far narrower, and surely not so deep?

 

What else then? He wiped his brow with the back of his arm and realised how weak he felt, how tired. Apart from anything else – where was Joe? Was he safe? What if anything had happened to him? How would he tell Pa?

 

For a moment despair welled up inside him and he covered his face with his one good hand and drew in a shuddering breath of dismay. Joe, Joe, Joe! Please, please, be safe.

 

He turned as he heard a soft squeak close by, close enough for him to pick up the sound above the noises of which he was now aware. The sounds from above that confirmed that the fire was still raging throughout the magnificent building. The natural sound of water dripping onto rock, into water, plopping sounds, shifting sounds, sounds like sighing and that soft squeak.

 

Keeping his hand against the hard rock surface he leaned forward, straining his ears to hear the direction of the sound which was fading away now. He made several steps forward, missed his footing and fell. The cry of pain was involuntary, welling up and out of his mouth as the agony of bone jarring against bone seared through him. The weakness it caused trickled through him and left him on his knees.

 

Something slipped across his hand, wet and soft it moved over his fingers. Something squeaked and slid away. He swallowed bile, coughed against the reflux acid, spat into the void. Reaching out for the security of the wall once again he clambered to his feet, took a deep breath and stepped forward.

 

The shades of light and grey and dark were merging, melding and changing. His head throbbed as his eyes struggled to conform to the sights it could distinguish, his hand could now feel water trickling down the wall as he inched carefully along. Then his foot gave way beneath him, and he found himself sprawled full length onto the water sodden ground which splashed upwards into his face.

 

Somehow he had managed to avoid landing on his injured arm, and with considerable care he succeeded in clambering to his feet. There were the squeaking sounds now, from more than one source. Little sounds, pattering along the solid surfaces, splattering where the water lay. He recognised the sound of rats now, and he also recognised the smell, the stench, of a city’s sewer.

 

He wiped his hand over his face, wiping away the wetness that slicked over his flesh. Once again he spat out the foulness in his mouth, and once again he forced himself to walk on, his feet dragging and his broken arm hugged close to his body by his free hand.

 

Gradually the water deepened. Things that he was grateful he couldn’t see drifted against his legs and continued onwards past him. Once or twice there was a flicker of light, a patch that shimmered upon the black oily surface of the water, and as he reached it so it would vanish away.

 

After a little while the darkness began to slip into greyness, making the way slightly clearer and enabling him to see what appeared like a raised curb stone and smooth path. He made his way towards this and dragged himself onto it. For a moment he paused to think about just where he could be and came to the only rational conclusion he could reach and that was that he had somehow tumbled into the city’s sewer system.

 

In that case, he surmised, there would be some means of getting out of it, of climbing up to the surface and finding out what had happened to Joe. With these thoughts upper most in his mind he began to stumble forwards. The walls were smooth and he knew they were man made, hewn from the rock by the men who had been hired by the architects of the city. He ran his hand over the wall at some points just to reassure himself that it really was there, solid and real.

 

He lost track of time as he forced himself to walk along the stinking path alongside which the filth of the city floated to its final destination. Rats scurried about the place, and at one time he slipped as his booted foot stumbled upon one fat furry little body. He didn’t stop to check whether or not it had survived, but hurried onwards.

 

Now ahead of him he could see some light. It shone down through the gratings overhead, and beneath it he could see the rusting metal rungs of a ladder that rose vertically upwards from the path. When he finally reached it he grabbed at the bottom rung and sagged heavily against them, lowered his head upon his arm, and closed his eyes.

 

………………………………

 

“Joseph Cartwright? Is that you?”

 

Joe turned at the sound of his name. Before him the wreck of the building still smouldered, the occasional flares of flames streaking skywards as though in mockery at mans feeble attempts to extinguish them.

 

“Seth? What are you doing here?” He cried with delight at the sight of an old friend from school days. He shook the proffered hand warmly and introduced Mr. Greaves, introducing Seth Gaydon who had left Virginia City several years earlier to seek his fortune elsewhere.

 

“I could say the same of you, never thought you to be an opera buff.”

 

“I’m not – even less so now,” Joe scowled, his lips thinned and he glared at the desecrated building that mocked them, “I was here when the place went up. Do you know what happened?”

 

“Of course I do. I’m the foremost journalist of the San Francisco Chronicle, didn’t you know? It’s my job to find out what happens anywhere here.” His young face fell into more serious planes as he looked thoughtfully at Joe, and his eyes took on an anxious air, “You were here then, when it happened?”

 

“That’s what I said -” Joe replied testily, “with my brother, Adam.”

 

“Adam?” Seth’s eyes widened as he recalled minding the oldest Cartwright brother and he pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows and then looked at his young friend, “where is he?”

 

“I don’t know,” Joe whispered, and he clenched his hands into tight fists, “I don’t know.”

 

“Well, I can tell you this for a fact, you won’t be able to go in there to find him for some time yet.”

 

Joe swallowed a big gulp of dismay, nodded and turned to stare bleakly once again at the still burning debris of the Opera House. He bit his lip and then turned to Seth,

 

“You didn’t tell us what had caused it?”

 

“Two drunks got in through the back and went through to the store room. They thought it would liven things up with a few fire crackers thrown into a props box and the whole thing went up.”

 

“How did you get to know this?” Greaves asked doubtfully, “Are they still alive?”

 

Seth nodded, “Soon as they saw the fire starting they got out as fast as they could, it sure sobered them up quick enough.” He shook his head vaguely and shrugged, “They were so shook up that they didn’t have the fight left in them to avoid the Police, just blabbed it all out there and then.”

 

“But not soon enough to stop the fire spreading.” Greaves muttered.

 

“No, sir, but soon enough to get the fire wagons here more quickly. Joe – you don’t think Adam – I mean -” his voice trailed away, and he averted his eyes to avoid looking at the distress etched on the younger man’s face.

 

“If it wasn’t for him there would have been more deaths here, and that’s a fact,” Greaves said solemnly, “Joe and he went in several times to bring out those who were trapped inside.”

 

“We were in the foyer.” Joe sighed, “He got this little girl and -” he stopped to swallow, “handed her to me, pushed me forwards and I thought he was right behind me, but the floor was buckling, it was hard to keep my feet steady on the ground.”

 

Seth Gaydon frowned thoughtfully, and then scratched his head, pushing back the bowler hat he was wearing to do so,

 

“The foyer? And you said the floor was buckling?”

 

“Yeah, kind of rippling and that kind of thing.” Joe replied mournfully.

 

“Joe, why not come to my place and have something to drink. I have an idea, just a thought and not a very concrete one at that, but it may be worth discussing with you both.”

 

“Will it help Adam?” Joe asked, eager to grasp at any straw that floated by that could buoy up his hopes of finding his brother alive and well again.

 

“I don’t know, Joe, I can’t promise, but there is a chance.”

 

Joe cast one last lingering look at the Opera House and then looked at Greaves who nodded,

 

“Come on, Joe, what have we lose now?” Greaves said with gentle authority as he took hold of his arm and turned him away from the sight of the building.

 

Joe said nothing but firmed his resolution to do whatever he could to find his brother, and if it meant listening to one of Seth’s hare brained ideas, then so be it!

 

……………………..

 

Adam looked above him at the grating and the light that revealed that a new day had dawned. He had been leaning against the ladder for some time now, but had been too exhausted to think of a why by which he could mount it. He released his breath which, for some reason, he had not realised he had been holding in, and leaned his brow upon the arm that still clasped the last rusting rung of the ladder.

 

The ladder was a complete vertical climb up to the surface, with rungs so rusted through that they were liable to break beneath his weight. He had one arm which he would have to use to grip each rung, support his weight, and bear him up as he reached for the next rung. He had lost count of the rungs as they mounted upwards, but he knew there was no other way out of the sewers than this one.

 

Taking another deep breath he gripped the third rung ahead of him and hauled himself upwards. The pressure upon his injured arm as the metal hit against it caused him to gasp, clench his teeth together and screw up his eyes. His feet scrabbled for the bottom rung, found it and pressed his knees against the wall as he reached for another three rungs above his head. Perspiration dewed his brow, beaded upon his eyebrows, slowly trickled down his spine. He clung tightly to the rusting metal while his feet found a hold and once again he pressed hard against the wall with his knees, the metal rung hard across his thighs.

 

He teetered a little, swayed and had to grab hard hold on the rung in order not to fall. Once again the metal struck against his broken arm and this time he could not suppress the groan of pain that caused him. There was no doubt about it, he told himself, he was not going to be able to get to the top and if he could have done, there would have been the grating above which would have required a strong two handed man to lift it.

 

Once again he bowed his head and leaned it upon the arm that was supporting him upon the ladder. If he went higher and lost his balance he would fall back, and heavily, perhaps break more bones. He closed his eyes, felt faint, fought nausea, and then carefully began to lower himself back upon the ledge.

 

He stood leaning against the wall for a while, so that his heart beat could slow down and the pain in his arm could subside. He was tired, exhausted from pain and the stench. He tried to think of what to do next but all he could see in his mind’s eye was the fleeting glimpse of Joe’s back as he had left the building.

 

With a heavy sigh he wiped his face upon his sleeve once again, and then slowly slid down upon his haunches before burying his face in his lap and cradling his head with his good arm. He couldn’t think just yet, he was too tired; he wanted to sleep, just to sleep.

 

…………………………

 

“Right,” Seth rubbed his hands together as he strode into the main room of his apartment, “Let me see now, where did I put it -?”

 

As the two men who had followed him into the room had no idea about what he was talking of, they remained silent as they took off their outer coats and stood watching their host pull out drawers from a desk over laden with papers, letters, files and various other items that added to the proliferation of literature overflowing to the floor.

 

“You see -” Seth turned to them with an intent look on his face, “When the Opera House was built there was a considerable amount of fuss about its location -”

 

“There was nothing wrong with its location,” Greaves began to protest, a niggle of guilt pervading his conscience as he remembered his own recommendations as a member of the Council that passed the plans for the Opera House to be built.

 

“The fact was,” Seth ignored the older man’s statement and resumed his rummage among the papers on his desk, “the Opera House was built above various old mine shafts. One of the architects drew up plans showing exactly where the mine shafts were …” he pulled a box file from beneath the desk and dropped it with a thud onto a low table near some chairs, “Sit down, do, take the weight off your feet by all means.” he scowled over some papers which he put on the floor before exclaiming with great joy “Eureka, here they are.”

 

He spread out some drawings on the table and with his forefinger traced the lines drawn so finely until he came to those that formed the foyer. It was neatly written in black ink FOYER.

 

“Now, see here?” he indicated some notations on the side of the plans, “The architect’s comments that care needed to be taken because there had been a mine there and if the foyer wasn’t stabilised properly it could collapse.”

 

“And you think that could have been what happened?” Joe stared at the words printed on the plans as though they were some spell that would magic Adam out of his particular danger, “Would that be why the floor was buckling?”

 

“I think so.” Seth nodded and his unruly mop of ginger hair broke loose into a tangle of curls, “of course, I can’t guarantee that Adam would have survived the fall you understand?” he looked at Joe gravely and cleared his throat, “What do you think, Mr Greaves, does that make any sense to you?”

 

Greaves nodded thoughtfully, then stood up and began to pace the floor, tugging at his chin like a man deeply troubled who had something to say but couldn’t find the right words in how to phrase it,

 

“Look, there is something else that – er – you may not know about, and which, if you don’t mind, I would rather you’d forget my mentioning later should anyone ask -” he glared at Seth who nodded with his face perfectly blank, “there are some sewers that run beneath that road, probably right beneath the Opera House. It’s possible – and I do mean possible rather than definite – that the sewers ran through the shafts. Do you understand what I mean?” he looked at them both, and they both stared blankly back at him.

 

“Look, this plan shows you where the foyer of the Opera House was built over the mine shafts – supposedly.” his eyes flicked from one to the other of them and they both dutifully nodded, “the shafts went directly down to open up into the sewers – possibly.”

 

“You mean, Adam could have fallen down a mine shaft into one of the sewers?” Joe looked at Greaves with his anxious face more haggard than ever, “Do you really think that could be possible?”

 

“That was my first thought,” Greaves nodded, “after this young man had mentioned about the mine shafts. It is just – just a possibility. I don’t want to raise your hopes too high, Joseph, after all – I mean – there’s a lot more involved after all.”

 

“Any hope, however small, is still a hope to hold onto,” Seth murmured, and he raised his eyes to look into his friend’s pale face, “What do you say, Joe? Shall we go and see if we can find him?”

 

“Where do you think we should start? Have you any ideas?”

 

“Well, there’s no point in even thinking about getting into the Opera House, that’s still burning like a funeral pyre – sorry – forget I said that -” he shook his head regrettably and sighed, “I just meant, we wouldn’t be able to get inside anyway because of the heat and things still burning. But -” he scratched his head, “we could try and locate the nearest manhole to the sewers that would be running under the building, couldn’t we?”

 

Seth looked from one to the other of them, saw horror on Greaves’ face at the thought of scrabbling down a sewer, and hope in Joe’s eyes that seemed to light up his whole face.

 

“We could do that, couldn’t we? Mr. Greaves? What do you think?” Joe turned to Mr Greaves who succeeded in nodding his head while he tried to think of some good reason to excuse himself from the excursion. Seth smiled and stood up,

 

“Mr. Greaves, you look mighty tired, sir, and no doubt your family will be concerned about you. Why don’t you just go home and turn in, sir?”

 

“Well, er, yes, if you wouldn’t mind?” Greaves drew himself up and nodded, “I could well do that -” he picked up his hat and coat before turning to them both, “Look, if you need more men to help with the search?”

 

“That would be helpful, sir.” Joe said gratefully.

 

“I’ll send some along and – and later – I mean – afterwards – come straight to my place. You’ll need and he’ll need care and attention, no doubt.”

 

Joe seized hold of the plump soft hand and shook it warmly, everyone had their limits and he surmised that Mr. Greaves had just about gone beyond his own. The two younger men stood in the centre of the room together and watched as the door closed upon Greaves, then Seth nodded,

 

“Well, then, we had best get started.” he said in the most solemn tone of voice Joe had heard from him since they had first met.

 

………………………..

 

“Where do we start?” Joe asked as he stood beside Seth while his eyes were fixed upon the sight of the ruined building now smouldering in the early morning light. A soft drizzling rain fell upon them and the other people standing around in little groups. He knew some were curious bystanders, but he also knew that some were waiting, with dread, news about any that had been trapped in the burning building.

 

He now turned to Seth and sighed, lowered his head and looked over the dismal scene with a feeling of deep despair welling up inside of him. On the way from Seth’s apartment he had felt optimistic about the outcome of this enterprise, but now too many questions buzzed in his head and confused the whole issue.

 

“We find a manhole, a grating, and then go down it,” Seth said as he paced the street slowly with his head down and his eyes scanning the road.

 

“What if we go down the wrong one?”

 

“How can we?” Seth frowned, “Look, Joe, those city planners built those sewers knowing they would connect up to those old mine workings. They let a building they knew would be used by the public to be built over the whole shebang. Heavens forbid, this could have happened any time since and they would and should be charged with culpable manslaughter.”

 

“Seth, this isn’t the time to go on a crusade. I just want to find Adam – if that’s possible.”

 

“I’m sorry, Joe, it just makes my blood boil, that’s all. Shoddy workmanship, and someone raking in the profits, that’s what this is all about, you know?”

 

“Seth ?” Joe’s voice broke, physically and emotionally he was wrecked and the last thing he needed now was for Seth Gaydon to rant on about things in which he had no interest. He sighed deeply and was about to push pass his friend when someone grabbed at his arm,

 

“Mr. Joe Cartwright?”

 

“Yes. Who are you?”

 

“Mr. Greaves said I’d find you here, sir. He gave me these to give to you, and told me to help you out.” the stocky young man pushed some papers into Joe’s hand and brushed back some hair from his forehead. “They’re plans of the sewers, Mr. Cartwright. See …” he opened them up and after a moment stabbed at a point marked with an x. “Mr. Greaves said that was the place to start.”

 

Seth joined them and peered over Joe’s shoulder. He gave a low whistle and reached out to take the papers from Joe but the young man prevented him from doing so by grabbing at his wrist,

 

“Sorry, Sir, Mr. Greaves said only to let Mr. Cartwright see them, and then afterwards I was to return them to him.”

 

“Oh sure, of course he would,” Seth sneered, “Another cover up for what’s happened here.”

 

Joe ignored them both but after scanning the paper for a few minutes he allowed his eyes to go from the paper to the roadway and to turn back towards the shambles of the Opera House.

 

“Here -” he rolled the papers up and slipped them into his pocket, “This is where we start.”

 

It was easy enough to slip the manhole cover free from its holdings and then slowly the three men made their way, hand over hand, down the ladder to the murk of the sewer beneath them.

 

“It’s quite a stink, isn’t it?” Seth muttered

 

“Don’t even think about what’s down here,” their companion said, “You’d not want to be wading through it if you did.”

 

They relapsed into silence, concentrating only on the task at hand until Joe stopped suddenly and gave an exclamation of dismay.

 

“What’s wrong?” Seth said and the three men peered ahead of them to where a pile of rubble and smouldering wood filled the aperture that they had been seeking.

 

“I guess that’s what came down when the floor collapsed,” the other man murmured, voicing, had he but known it, their very own fears.

 

“Do you think that Adam -?” Joe’s voice trailed away and ended with what sounded to Seth very much like a sob.

 

“He could have got away, before it all came down” Seth remarked keeping his voice very low as there was an eerie echo to his voice when he spoke at his usual pitch.

 

“If he had we would have met him along the way,” their Job’s comforter commented immediately, “Seems to me that he stood no chance here. That lot coming down on him – not a chance.”

 

“But perhaps he did,” Joe said turning angrily to the other man, “He could have gone in the other direction, couldn’t he? He didn’t have to come this way, did he?”

 

“No, sure enough, but -”

 

“No ‘but’s -’” Joe cried and turned around to retrace his footsteps with Seth trailing behind him.

 

“Best thing is to get to the manhole that nearest to the north side of the Opera House,” the dark tones of their companion suggested, “If he got clear of all that stuff and went in any other direction he would have had to go northwards.”

 

Joe said nothing, his eyes smarted from lack of sleep, exhaustion and misery. His legs felt heavy as he waded through the filth of a town’s sewerage, and all he could think about was finding his brother.

 

……………….

 

Adam Cartwright rose to his feet and steeled himself for another attempt at the rusting ladder. While he had been resting from his previous effort he had noticed a large amount of burning or smouldering wood drifting with the debris of the sewers. At first he had paid little attention to it but soon realised that he was watching what had formed part of the Opera House that had followed him down the mine shaft.

 

He pondered on just how much debris there would have been piled up there and then realised, upon more serious contemplation, that had there been sufficient amounts of wreckage the possibility of the tunnels being blocked posed quite a danger as it would be tantamount to cutting off what air supply there existed.

 

As it was the air in the sewers reeked of methane gas and other noxious fumes, but there had been sufficient airway for something decent to flow among it all. He once again wiped his face free from perspiration, checked that his injured arm was secure in its makeshift sling and turned to face the ladder.

 

If only Hoss were here with him, he pondered, there would be nothing to worry about then. Hoss would have thought nothing of scaling that ladder and giving him the necessary help he needed. But – he ground his teeth, the fact had to be faced, he was on his own and there was only one way out.

 

He put his hand to the metal rung and gripped hold, took a deep breath and hauled himself up. Step by agonising step, teeth clenched, temples throbbing, legs weakening. He heard a loud crashing sound that echoed through the chamber and glanced upwards. What daylight there was protruding through the grill was every so often obscured with passing traffic, but there was no accounting for the sound from above him. He laboured onwards.

 

His knees were shaking as he attempted to grip the sides of the ladder, and his hand, wrist and arm was throbbing with the attempt to maintain his hold upon it. There was nothing he could do now, he knew that he would have to let go, and hope that when he landed it would not be too painful.

 

As it was he had lost consciousness by then and was quite unaware of how he had landed and upon what. The dull pain of his injured arm pricked at his consciousness until eventually even that ceased.

 

……………………

 

“Hey, Pa, look at this?”

 

Hoss Cartwright shook the page of the news sheet straight and pointed to an article on the left hand corner. He grinned widely and his blue eyes twinkled as Ben peered down to read the head line

 

“Miss Lotta Crabtree to make rare appearance at San Francisco Theatre.”

 

“I wonder if Joe and Adam will go and watch her, Pa.” Hoss crinkled his brow and peered at the smaller writing, “Says here she’s staying there a whole week. Dang it, when was this here thing printed anyhow?” he turned the page over and located the date, two days previously, he nodded contentedly, “They still got a chance to catch her, Pa.”

 

“It would be quite pleasant for them if they did,” Ben replied, pulling his chair closer to the table and pouring out some hot coffee into his cup, “I wonder how she has been getting on. It’s been some years since she made her trip to Virginia City.” and he smiled wryly as he recalled the time of Miss Crabtree’s last visit.

 

“Things have changed a lot since then, Pa.” Hoss replied as he continued to read the printed lines telling the readers how Miss Crabtree had been travelling in Europe and had just completed a successful tour of Paris.

 

“For us? Yes, I think you’re right there, Hoss. Things came to a head between us and the mine owners while she was here. I think we learned a lesson just as big as they did -” he pursed his lips and stared ahead of him at the far end of the room, “We made ourselves vulnerable by staying up here in the mountains, Alpheous Troy and the other mine owners made us realise that we needed the town as much as the town needed us. It didn’t do us much good keeping our distance as we did then.”

 

Hoss threw his father a swift glance and nodded in agreement. He frowned at the memory of events that had taken place during Lotta’s visit, and then smiled at the thought of anyone thinking they had got the better of the irrepressible Little Joe Cartwright.

 

“Shucks, Pa, even you’ve changed,” he rather unwisely chortled at the memory of his father’s change in personality over the years, but he blithely ignored his father’s black look and turned the page over, “Ha-haw, they got some fine shenanigans going on at the Operee House as well. I bet Joe and Adam will give that a wide berth. Ain’t never seen no sense to all that warbling going on, spoils a good play to my way of thinking.”

 

“It had only just been built the last time we were in San Francisco.” Ben smiled slowly, “I recall Greaves preening himself about it, and he made a fine profit from that building.”

 

“He didn’t use Ponderosa Pine though, did he?” Hoss pushed the paper aside and picked up another slice of bread which he used to mop up the egg yolk and bacon grease on his plate, “I betcha old Adam will get himself sparking with that Miss Crabtree before he gits back home.”

 

“Well, maybe. Don’t forget Joe’s a mite older now, and Miss Crabtree did seem to have a soft spot for him too.” and Ben chuckled to himself as he imagined his two sons wrangling over Miss Lotta Crabtree who probably couldn’t remember them from … well, from whoever.

 

…………………

 

The sound that Adam had heard earlier was the mound of burning, smouldering debris collapsing into itself and breaking up into sections that slowly drifted along with the flow of the sewer water. Eventually it would build up again when it would come up against the iron bars at the exit of the sewers where the sewer water met up with the waters in the harbour. But that was to be later, some distance further along from where Adam lay at the foot of the rusting ladder.

 

As he regained consciousness Adam was very much aware of the smell of burning wood. It even overwhelmed the stench of the sewer waters, or perhaps, he wondered, he had been down there long enough for that particular smell to have lost its repugnance. He raised himself upon his elbow and turned to look as the debris drifted past him. After some minutes his head began to spin and he slumped onto his back once again, closed his eyes and tried to fight the pain. Now along with the injury to his arm he recognised the sharp edge of the pain that came from injured ribs. His left foot was numb in one position but if he moved it at all pain like myriads of red ants chewing at him soared from his foot to his knee. He groaned and raised his arm to cover his eyes for apart from the anguish he was suffering came the knowledge that no one would realise he was there needing help, and, as far as he could see, there was no way he could get out.

 

Soft feet pattered over his chest and a curious be whiskered pink nose sniffed at his armpit before it decided to run its way to join the rest of the pack. Adam let his arm slump to his side and with another groan tried to find the strength to resist death.

 

…………..

 

“Give me a hand here,” Joe called over to Seth and Humphrey Callaghan, “It’s rusted into the concrete.”

 

“Try this bar and lever it up,” Humphrey suggested passing a stout crow bar to Joe who thanked him gruffly and applied it to the metal grille that was inset in the roadway.

 

It took some pressure and some firm application on the bar to get it to finally ease a little and then with a cry of triumph it lifted far enough from the cement lip for the other two men to grip hold of it and haul it free.

 

“You first -” Seth offered his friend who promptly disappeared down into the environs by way of a ladder that was as rusty as the grille above it.

 

Joe went hand over hand down the metal rungs until his feet finally felt solid ground beneath him. He turned, frowning as he did so for the stench hit his nostrils with renewed force, but not for long as his eyes fell upon the crumpled form of a man’s body only a foot away from him.

 

For a second only he found himself powerless to move, and then he flung himself towards the other man and gently put his hands on his shoulders and turned him round to face him.

 

“Adam?” he whispered, “Adam – it’s me, Joe, it’s Joe.”

 

But Adam did not move in response to his brother’s cry, only the slightest throb of a nerve at his throat indicated that there was life still within him.

 

Joe raised his face upwards and cried out to the two men above that he had found his brother.

 

“I need some rope, anything to get him out of here.” he added with an urgency that both men thankfully acted upon with due alacrity, disappearing and then reappearing within minutes with a good stout rope which Seth bore on his shoulders as he went down the rungs of the ladder to where the brothers remained together.

 

“Is he still alive?” Seth whispered.

 

“Yes, just about.” Joe replied as he began to form a noose from the rope and slip it over his brother’s head and then down under his arms, he noticed the way his brother groaned when he touched the arm that still rested within the black sling. “Seth, you go up with the rope end and get Humphrey to help you pull him up, I’ll keep close here to guide him so that he doesn’t get too much of a rough passage up. As soon as we get him to the surface I want you to hail a cab. He needs urgent medical attention.”

 

Seth nodded, took a brief look at the face of the unconscious man whose head rested upon his brother’s lap, and then, as though satisfied for himself, he took the rope and began to scale the ladder.

 

The pain of the rope tightening around his already injured ribs caused Adam to groan aloud, open his eyes and see his brother looking down at him, he smiled with his usual cynical twist to the lips and half closed his eyes again while saying very softly,

 

“Hello Joe, are we home?”

 

………………………..

 

The white linen on the bed gleamed brightly white as it caught the sun light upon it. The black hair and tanned skin of the man beneath the sheets appeared in startling contrast and Joe could not help thinking that his brother looked surprisingly handsome and healthy. He approached the bed cautiously, anxious not to awaken the patient, but at the same time longing for him to open his eyes and say something.

 

“Not too long,” the voice of the doctor mumbled behind him and the door then closed with a faint click.

 

The sound was barely audible and yet it was sufficient for the man to open his eyes and stare fixedly up at the ceiling above him before the heavy lids half closed again.

 

“Adam?”

 

Joe whispered the name and placed his hand on his brother’s arm very gently, he swallowed the lump in his throat and licked his lips. It was odd to see his brother here in a hospital bed, somehow alien and wrong. He should have been home with Pa and Hoss there, and Doc Martin hovering about giving them some reassuring hums and haa’s that really signified nothing but did so much to put a fellow’s mind at rest.

 

“Adam?”

 

He whispered again, just in case Adam hadn’t heard him the first time, and stared down at his brother’s face. There were bruises there, grazes and raw flesh where the skin had been torn away. The doctor had said the break in his arm was clean, easy to mend, quick to heal. Thankfully it had not broken through the flesh or skin so the contaminated waters would not affect it. Ribs of which two were broken were now bound securely. Joe dismissed broken ribs as of any importance or concern having broken so many himself and recovered.

 

The main concern, so the doctor had said, was the effect that the sewer waters would have had on Adam’s internal system. Typhoid or paratyphoid are both the result of ingesting contaminated water into the system, and it was quite obvious that Adam had been in close contact with the foulest of water possible.

 

The eyes opened slowly, once again were fixed upon the ceiling before turning gravely towards the face of the younger man. They closed, opened, and a smile touched the pale lips and made the dark eyes twinkle,

 

“How’d you find me?”

 

“Someone knew about the mine shafts, and how they led into the sewage system.”

 

“They need a proper engineer here.” Adam sighed, and closed his eyes again, but his hand sneaked out from under the sheets and gripped hold of his brother’s hand and squeezed it tightly, “Thanks for coming to get me, Joe, I couldn’t work out how to do it myself.”

 

“You surprise me,” Joe allowed himself a light laugh at his brother’s expense but returned the squeeze of the hand which now returned to its place beneath the sheets. “I wasn’t sure we’d find you, Adam.”

 

“It was a chance and a half, Joe. I’m glad that you took it, and – and have you let Pa know?”

 

“Sent a telegram off this morning.”

 

The dark lashes fluttered, a slight furrow creased the tanned brow and a sigh slipped past the well shaped lips.

 

“You – you didn’t put anything in the cable to worry him too much, did you?”

 

“No, ‘course not.” Joe straightened his shoulders, and raised his eyebrows, “As if I would.”

 

“He’s got a lot to think about as it is.” Adam’s voice trailed away, the eyes closed and from the even rise and fall of his chest Joe knew that his brother had slipped into sleep.

 

He pulled out a chair and set it down beside the bed. When his brother woke up, he wanted to be there, right by his side.

 

……………………………

 

Lotta Crabtree straightened her hat and carefully twitched the flimsy tulle attached to it over her face. She looked at herself in the mirror and frowned slightly, sighed a little over lost youth, and wished she could have pulled in her corset just an inch tighter.

 

Adam Cartwright had been a man whom Lotta had found herself thinking about often during the course of the years since they had last met. Arrogant – and she rubbed her wrist where he had seized at it that night in the hotel and threatened to break it if she didn‘t tell him where Little Joe was; handsome – and she remembered the effect he had had on her when she had looked up from the stagecoach and seen him for the first time, gun in hand, straight backed on his horse, gun levelled at her and those dark eyes blazing with anger; gentle – and she touched her lips with the tips of her fingers in memory of the kiss he had left upon them as they had parted.

 

In the years since they had last met she had changed, she was aware of that fact, there was no way of holding back the years, especially when one lived a life in the public eye as she did. She wondered what he had thought of her when they had met at the Greaves’ house a week ago, and what he would think of her now, when she saw him in the hospital.

 

A week – such a long week because of this fear of typhoid. Thankfully Adam Cartwright had a strong constitution and there had been no sign of the fever. He could now receive guests other than his family, although Joe had been the only Cartwright available to accommodate that privilege. She soothed down her skirts, twitched at her collar, pulled on her gloves. This was one audience she did not want to disappoint for a moment.

 

Adam was sitting up in the bed with pillows piled behind him to give him some support. The bruises on his face were now a rather fetching multi-coloured spectrum and the open wounds had scabbed over splendidly. But there was no disguising the attractiveness of black hair curling over a tanned brow, eyelids framed by long black lashes, a well shaped mouth and a firm chin. She stood in the doorway and looked at him for a moment or two, just to allow the impression to sink into her mind and memory.

 

She could see the white of bandages around his chest through the open nightshirt obscured somewhat by the arm that was supported by a sling. In his hand he held a book, one which was obviously of great interest as he didn’t appear to have noticed her entrance.

 

“Should I have knocked?” she said, and her words seemed to shatter into the room, breaking the silence as effectively as a pistol shot.

 

“No, of course not.” he smiled and turned to look at her, “Hello, Lotta.”

 

“Hello, Adam.”

 

He put the book down by his side and held out his hand towards her, by way of an invitation to her to join him at his bedside. Once she was there she took his hand and held it between both hers,

 

“I thought that doctor would never let anyone in to see you. Why did he have to take so long?”

 

“He was worried about typhoid, it’s pretty contagious you know.” he smiled, white teeth gleamed against the bruises and the dark tan, “I’m glad you came, Lotta, I never got the chance to talk to you alone before -” he pursed his lips “before all this happened.”

 

“And now I’m here with barely enough time to say a word before I have to leave again.” she lowered her voice, leaned towards him, “I leave for London in a few hours time. Can you see now why I was so impatient to see you again? All this time wasted -”

 

“Lotta,” he paused, and looked into her eyes, and smiled as much as his wounds allowed, “Lotta, you’ll have a wonderful time there. London is a wonderful city. I’ve read all about it.” he sighed and raised her hand to his lips, kissed her fingers gently, “We missed the chance of something more, didn’t we?”

 

“Did we?” she whispered, folding her hand over his fingers that were entwined with her other hand, “I could stay here. London won’t miss me.”

 

He looked once again into her eyes and slowly released his hand from her grip, he shook his head,

 

“Perhaps not, but it wouldn’t be long before you missed London. Life – any other form of life other than the stage – would not be enough for you, Lotta.”

 

She stepped back, slowly drew away the tulle netting from her face, and looked at the man sitting in the bed, bruised and battered, a book of poetry at his side, a soft smile on his lips. She smiled then and leaned forwards, kissed him gently and sighed as she did so.

 

“You’re right, of course.” she stepped away from the bed, replaced the netting of her bonnet and walked to the door, then paused with her hand on the door handle, “Adam, I’ll never forget you.”

 

He said nothing to that, just smiled.

 

The door opened, closed, and she was gone, leaving the faint trail of perfume behind her.

 

With a sigh Adam leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He could remember Lotta when she had sang in Virginia City and Joe had told them how he had thrown her a red rose. He wouldn’t forget her either, nor would Joe.

 

…………………………

 

They were home now, standing side by side on the porch as the sun set behind the mountains.

 

“I wonder if Lotta’s enjoying London.” Joe sighed, “Do you think she ever looks up at the night sky and wonders about life here on the Ponderosa.”

 

“I doubt it.” Adam replied quietly, and he turned to look as a star twinkled and began to curve a graceful arc earthwards. “She wouldn’t have wanted to change her life for this.”

 

“Oh?” Joe looked at his brother with a slight frown, “Was there any possibility of her even getting the chance to consider it then?”

 

Adam smiled slowly, shook his head and put his arm around his brother’s shoulders,

 

“Joe, you never told me what you thought about Miss Claudia Greaves?”

 

Joe frowned, relaxed and then gave a chortle of laughter as he thought of Miss Claudia Greaves.

 

“Adam, that’s for me to know, and you to find out.” and he winked.

 

~The End

 

Tags: Adam Cartwright, Angst, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright