Summary:  Hoss and Adam each make a promise on the night their brother Joe is born. But nobody can imagine how those promises will one day be kept … 

Rated: K (7,265 words)

 

Greater Love – Promises Kept 

 Story Notes:  

This story has gone through many transformations since I first began writing it years ago. I posted it for the first time as a tribute to Dan Blocker on his 80th birthday, but have since added a revised ending. I hope readers will be blessed by this narrative of “greater love.”

 *****

Hoss and Adam each make a promise on the night their brother Joe is born. But nobody can imagine how those promises will one day be kept …

If anyone had asked Hoss Cartwright when his life first began, the simple, honest man would have most likely replied with the date of his birth. Later, alone, in a more reflective mood, Hoss, who was so in tune with life itself, whose very being was in harmony with nature, may have considered the idea that his life first began when the love of his father, Ben Cartwright, melded with that of his mother, Inger, on the night of his conception. But Hoss always found it awkward to share philosophical or sentimental feelings with others, and he would have blushed at the thought of putting this notion into words.

Had he given the question further reflection, he may have said his life began the day he, his father and his older brother Adam had first stood on that sloping hillside, looking down at the sapphire jewel of Lake Tahoe, and had known they were at home. Life as he would know it forevermore began that day, for Hoss felt a kinship with the land that they called the Ponderosa that had nothing to do with ownership or words printed on a deed. Hoss was a part of the Ponderosa, and the Ponderosa was a part of him, and there was no place on earth he could have ever lived that would have been as right for him as was life on the Ponderosa.

To Hoss, the sweeping expanse of the Ponderosa symbolized a welcome to any and all who would yield to her embrace. So it was that Hoss had readily accepted Marie, his father’s third wife, into the family, into his life. Hoss was fascinated by this beautiful, dark-haired woman who spoke in a voice that flowed like honey and laughed like the crystal waters flowing across the pebbles in the streams. A little later, Hop Sing arrived, and to Hoss, the small man with the quick movements was at once familiar and mysterious. Hop Sing seemed to know how to do everything, and do it well. Even as he cooked the familiar foods that Hoss had known all his life … or tended to the minor cuts and bruises of his beloved “Ca’tlights” that were a price paid daily for wresting a living from the land and from livestock … Hop Sing was efficient, effective, and yet there was always a touch, just a hint, of something foreign and exotic.

But Hoss accepted it all, unquestioning. If Marie and Hop Sing were from places far away, that was no matter; they were part of the Ponderosa now, and they were part of the heart of Hoss.

But there was another “beginning” to his life that perhaps Hoss had never quite recognized himself, for it became such an inherent part of him that it almost immediately seemed there had been no life before this.

It was the birth of his little brother, Joseph.

Hoss had been sitting on the edge of the table in the great living room downstairs, looking anxiously up the stairway as he heard the moans and cries of Marie in her labor. Adam, his face dark and unreadable, was silent as he slumped in their father’s great leather chair. Hoss had cast desperate looks toward his brother but Adam did not respond, only stared grimly and resolutely at something Hoss could not see. Once, as Marie had cried out sharply, both Hoss and Adam had leaped to their feet, then stood still. Adam’s breath came tight and he had gnashed his teeth, and Hoss had clenched and unclenched his fists as they stared bleakly and helplessly toward the ceiling. They had heard a door burst open and then Hop Sing had come down the stairs and scurried into the kitchen, his padded slippers making no noise, moving so swiftly he seemed to be flying. A moment later and Hop Sing had rushed by again, carrying yet another pot of steaming water, and glided quickly back up the stairs without a glance at either of the brothers, who stood together and yet each very much alone.

Hoss remained standing. Adam sat down again, somehow seeming to vanish into the shadows of the deep chair, and they continued to wait in agonizing silence.

It was not long before they heard the door open again, this time more slowly and deliberately, and then came the unmistakable sound of their father’s footsteps in the hallway upstairs.

Ben Cartwright appeared at the landing and he looked down at his two sons, whose faces were twisted with fear.

Ben saw those faces and it seemed he could not speak quickly enough as the words tumbled out: “Boys, Marie wants to see you both … wants you to meet someone.”

Adam immediately bolted from the chair. Hoss stood frozen in place for a moment, a smile breaking over his face like the dawn over the mountaintop, so the brothers were side by side as they stampeded up the stairs and down the hall and through the doorway of what had been the extra bedroom, now the baby’s room, where Marie had insisted the child be born.

Marie looked tired. Her hair was undone and spilled across her pillow, a few wispy strands clinging to her face, which was still wet with perspiration and tears. But she was smiling, and the room was filled with a joy, a victory such as Hoss had never known before, and he tiptoed in, knowing he was in the presence of a miracle.

The miracle was wrapped in a soft blanket and snuggled close to Marie’s breast. Marie moved the blanket gently aside and Hoss and Adam looked for the first time into the face of their brother, their little brother.

He was tiny. His eyes were closed and his lips looked like a tiny pink rosebud. A miniature fist rested near his mouth, and as Hoss and Adam stared, fascinated, the baby stirred a little and began to suckle on his hand. His hair was damp and sticky, and Marie stroked it with a tender finger. A stubborn curl refused to be smoothed, and sprang back up with lively defiance.

“His name is Joseph,” Marie said, and her voice, although weary, swelled with pride.

Adam and Hoss had stared, just stood and stared, and then Marie had lifted the tiny bundle and held it toward Adam.

“Your little brother,” she had said. Adam had hesitated for only a moment, then reached out almost hungrily and took the baby as if it were the greatest treasure he had ever known. But even as he clutched the baby tightly, Adam stared only at Marie, an expression on his face Hoss had never seen before … and would never see again.

Marie had smiled, a gentle smile, and had spoken in a voice so quiet that Hoss knew it was intended for Adam alone as she said, “You must teach Joseph all the things he will need to know, Adam.”

Adam had nodded, his lips pressed tightly together, holding the baby almost fiercely as he replied, and Adam’s voice was ragged but strong as he had promised, “I will; I will.”

It was with great reluctance that Adam had passed the baby to Hoss. Hoss, whose heart was full of love, full of love for his family, for his home, for all of nature and everything found in nature, felt his heart swelling with a new love for this new brother.

Marie had turned her smile toward this son as she had whispered, “And you, Hoss, you must always care for your brother … keep him safe … ”

Adam had responded deliberately, nobly, with a conscious and sincere commitment.

But Hoss had merely nodded, his heart overflowing, his eyes fixed on this tiny little baby, his brother, Joseph, little Joseph … Little Joe, and in his heart there was a bond forged, a promise made that he would never, never break.

There had been so many happy days after that. Little Joe, surrounded by a family who adored him, grew from a baby to a toddler, inquisitive and busy. Little Joe seemed to always be at the center of the circle that was the Cartwright family, and Hoss could not have been more delighted.

Hoss hurried home from school each day to relieve Marie from watching the curly-haired little boy, who required constant supervision. Each day brought more mischief and laughter, and Hoss loved every minute of every day.

And the brothers kept their promises to Marie.

It was Hoss who introduced Little Joe to the animals around the ranch. Hoss, in his gentle way, would encourage Little Joe speak quietly and stand still as they stroked the velvety noses of the horses, patted the liquid-eyed calves and smoothed the sleek feathers of the fussy chickens. Hoss had taken his little brother into the fields to see rabbits and gophers and deer, and had shown him the trees and the flowers and the clouds in the sky and explained them all.

It seemed that everything was an adventure, now that Little Joe had arrived. Meals were loud and lively, baths were a splashing, shrieking festival, and even chores were accompanied by the constant chatter of a little boy who always seemed to want to know why and how and when and what and who and where … and why not?

The questions were never-ending and often took everyone by surprise, even Adam, who knew so much.

There was a momentary silence one night when Little Joe had looked around the table during supper and exclaimed, “Everyone here has a different color of eyes … but I can’t see mine! What color are they?”

He had stared earnestly around the table, blinking his wide eyes, waiting for an answer.

His Papa had said, “Why, they’re green, Little Joe. Green, like the needles on the Ponderosa pines.”

His Mama had said, “They are emerald; they are like the jewels sought by kings in far-away places.”

Adam had frowned and said, “They are the color of moss in the forest. That’s what they are.”

Hop Sing, who had slipped in from the kitchen with another basket of rolls, had whispered, “They are the green of jade, the precious stone of courage and honor.”

But Hoss shook his head at all these responses. “I know what color they are,” he said, and his voice alone, of all the voices that had replied to Little Joe’s question, was untinged by the shadow of doubt.

Joe had turned to Hoss, his face expectant and trusting, knowing Hoss would tell him the truth, and Hoss, speaking with a confident wisdom far beyond his years, had replied firmly, “They are the color of the sky right before a storm, Little Joe. I’ve seen that color up in the mountains, and when the sky turns that shade of green, all the living creatures find a sanctuary because they know they’re about to experience the power and the strength of nature almighty.”

Ben and Marie and Adam and Hop Sing had looked from one to another … but for Little Joe and Hoss, there may as well have been no one else in the room, no one else in the world, as the two brothers stared into the eyes of the other. And then Little Joe, without breaking his gaze, had slipped from his chair and climbed into the lap of his big brother Hoss, and Hoss, still looking seriously, deeply, into the eyes of his baby brother, had whispered, “When I look in your eyes, I see the storm … ”

Adam also kept his promise to Marie, taking his younger brother under his wing in a different way. In the evenings, after supper and as the firelight was low, Adam tucked Little Joe close under his arm as they sat together in the big chair, the older boy reading poems and stories that the little boy could scarcely understand, and yet there was a cadence and a power and a poetry to the words, as Adam spoke them, that mesmerized the child, and he sat quietly in the evenings as Adam read and Marie sewed and Hoss and his father had played checkers in the light of the fire … and every night, before his sleepy eyes closed, those were the faces and voices that Little Joe carried with him into his dreams.

Those dreams became but a memory the day Marie died.

Little Joe had been in the corral with Hoss, making a pest of himself as Hoss had tried to curry the horses, when they heard the familiar sound of Marie’s horse as it came thundering into the yard. Joe had leaped toward the fence, clambering up until he had hung over the top rail, one arm wrapped tightly around the post and the other waving wildly as he had yelled, “Hi, Mama!” and then the horse had stopped in its tracks, shying suddenly from a shadow unseen by any other, and Marie, Mama, had fallen to the hard ground and was still.

Ben and Adam seemed to materialize at her side the instant she fell. Joe, his free hand still in the air, had stared at his mother in confusion, his mouth still open, his happy words of greeting still echoing across the yard, and Hoss had suddenly snatched his baby brother from behind and yanked him from the fence, carrying him deep into the dark barn and into the stall in the very farthest shadows.

It had happened so quickly that Little Joe hardly knew what had happened. Hoss had dropped him onto a pile of straw and had fallen to his knees beside his little brother, one arm still wrapped tightly around his shoulders and the other clutching Joe’s arm. 

Hoss did not realize he was speaking and Little Joe did not realize he was hearing his brother’s voice as over and over again, Hoss whispered, “I’ll take care of you, I’ll take care of you …. ” as the two brothers had huddled together in the straw, trembling and staring toward the golden shaft of light that streamed in from the barn door … 

… and they caught their breath in unison as they heard Adam cry out in agony – “Mama!” – and then they saw a great and terrible silhouette, dark against the sun, as their father had walked to the doorway of the barn, his voice choking with grief as he called to them ….

Little Joe, only 5 years old, struggled to understand a mystery that men have lived their entire lives without comprehending. He knew only that his mother was still, very still, and she did not open her eyes even when he cried and pleaded for her to look at him. She did not speak, although he begged her to answer him.

His Papa did not look at him either, did not speak, and this frightened the little boy even more. He was afraid to cry for his father to look at him, to speak to him, for Mama did not answer, and if Papa would not answer either, the child knew he would not be able to bear the abandonment.

Adam looked older, somehow, and larger, and there seemed to be an anger about him now that Little Joe did not understand, and this only added to the child’s terror.

Hop Sing became a shadow. He moved even more silently than he ever had before as he prepared meals eaten by nobody. Without saying a word, he somehow had shooed everyone from the room where Little Joe’s Mama lay, and when the door opened and they re-entered, they saw her hair had been brushed and braided, her dress changed to the lacy, cream-colored gown from New Orleans, and her face was peaceful. She looked like an angel. They had all stood in awe at the foot of the bed, silenced by her beauty … silenced by her stillness … and only Little Joe had turned around to see Hop Sing as he had left the room, tears glinting on his cheeks as he carried away a candle with a sweet and unfamiliar aroma. 

Only Hoss did not change. He had wept, but Little Joe had seen Hoss cry before, and he was not frightened by the sight. This weeping seemed right, somehow, and natural, as was everything about Hoss. These were not the fierce, angry tears that streamed down Adam’s face, nor the awful, anguished sobs that Papa’s closed door could not muffle.

Hoss had cried openly, honestly, and he had clung to Little Joe even as Little Joe clung to him, and they had cried together, grieving in one another’s arms.

Little Joe had kept a tight hold on Hoss’ hand during the funeral, and he had looked up to see Hoss weeping there beside the grave, and Hoss had looked down at his younger brother.

It was a vision Little Joe would never forget.

The sky beyond Hoss was blue, crystal clear and cloudless, and the lake beside them was an even deeper blue. But Little Joe had looked up and lost himself in a blue so true and clear that Little Joe had almost gasped, for it seemed that as he looked into his brother’s eyes, he was looking into Heaven itself.

All around them, eyes were closed in prayer and they heard their father’s voice, deep and rich, sorrowful and yet sure – “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” – but Hoss and Little Joe had stood silent, one looking down and one looking up, and their broken hearts beat together, ached together.

On the quiet walk back to the wagon, Hoss had lifted his brother and carried him, and they had looked deeply into one another’s eyes during those silent moments. Behind them, people were shaking Ben’s and Adam’s hands, but Hoss and Joe were alone together in a communion of grief, yet comfort.

It was on that day that the thought first came to Little Joe that although his eyes were green and stormy, and Hoss’ eyes were blue and clear, they both had eyes like the sky.

The years had gone by. True to his brother’s prophetic observation, Little Joe’s eyes did indeed often warn of impending storms, and there was sometimes a rage that seemed to lash out at everything around him. Nobody understood it, nobody could control it, not even Joe himself, and if it frightened his family, it terrified him.

Only Hoss could come close during those times. Moving tentatively, carefully, as toward a wounded and wild animal, Hoss could often quiet the anger that Joe could not harness for himself. There were many times when Joe, in reckless abandon, flung out harsh words that cut his brother deeply, but Hoss seemed to regard those hurts as though he were a tree that had been scarred by lightning … accepting as a simple fact of life that nature sometimes is wild and destructive.

And so Hoss, sturdy and strong as the mighty trees that reached for the heaven, received without complaint, question or retaliation those flashes of lightning that stormed from his mercurial brother.

The brothers grew closer as the years went on. Although they could not have been more different in temperament, they each provided the other a balance and a foundation.

Hoss and Little Joe were friends; they were a team. With seemingly nothing in common, they found in one another what they lacked in themselves … and by giving to the other, each completed himself.

They were brothers.

That they shared a father had little to do with it. They shared adventures, confided dreams, teased one another mercilessly, defended one another fearlessly.

And so it could well and truthfully be said that for Hoss, life had begun when Little Joe had been born … as for Little Joe, whose brother had always been by his side, there had never been life without Hoss.

The day was ordinary, unremarkable. There was no indication, no warning that a day that began like so many others would be a day like none other, ever before or ever since.

Breakfast, with Pa and Hoss and Little Joe talking about the plans for the day, was like so many before. Ben would be finishing the paperwork to renew a long-standing timber contract and researching the feasibility of another livestock business opportunity. Hoss would leave later that afternoon for a trip to the Washoe Meadow, checking to see how the herds were progressing and making sure the crew was prepared for the annual spring drive. But first there were supplies to pick up, and Joe had hurried through his work with the horses yesterday so he could join Hoss on his trip into Virginia City. Ben had given his permission, benevolent and content as he watched his sons, young men now, pull their hats down snug and wave cheery farewells as they walked out the front door and toward the barn to get their horses.

Chubb and Cochise lifted their heads and stamped their feet as they saw their riders approach. Hoss opened the stall doors for two of the big draft horses but Joe went first to his beloved Cochise. Cochise whinnied a little as Little Joe approached, tossing his head and looking expectantly at Joe, obviously hinting for a treat. Joe had hurried from the house without a sugar cube this morning but he reached up and scratched his pinto’s ears and laughingly promised a treat when he returned from town.

The brothers talked and laughed as they led the big horses into the yard, then secured them in their traces – there’s a dance next Friday, think Sara will be there? Have you seen that new horse the Andersons brought back from California? Wonder if anybody’s got that coyote yet that’s been harassing the herds – and leapt nimbly into the seat, Joe laughing gaily when the springs protested under Hoss’ weight.

They left the barn door open – all the horses were secured in stalls anyway – and the sunlight glinted through the open doorway as the brothers rode toward town. The hay on the floor glinted like gold and the whole barn seemed to glow … except for the dark and shadowy stall in the very farthest corner, the stall nobody would use, empty but for some broken tools, discarded scraps of lumber … and the ghosts of two boys desperate with fear.

Side by side on the wooden seat, Hoss and Little Joe rode together, comfortable and familiar, and their father stood in the doorway and watched them leave. Ben Cartwright glanced up at the sky as he turned back toward the house and the work that waited at his desk, then stopped and looked again, frowning.

Ever since he was a young boy, Ben Cartwright had studied and observed the skies, reading their predictions of weather, so important to the sailor and to the rancher. He could read the skies as well as Adam could read a book and he knew every nuance of cloud and shadow and what they foretold.

But today’s sky was one he had never seen before, and Ben stood for a long time, looking up at a sky that was blue in the east, bright and clear and promising of sunshine … and green in the west, ominous and foreboding and threatening of storms.

He considered the sky for a long time and it seemed that a shadow came over the day, although the eastern sky was as blue and bright as it could possibly be … It was with a suddenly troubled heart that Ben went back into his home to wait for his sons’ return.

Neither Hoss nor Joe particularly noticed the unusual sky that spread above them during their ride to Virginia City. There was a cool breeze blowing and their horses were spirited, fairly dancing during their journey to town. Hoss and Joe were equally spirited, bantering back and forth, by turns teasing and talking, laughing and riding in a comfortable silence. The large wheels rattled over the rutted road and the wagon groaned and squeaked as it bounced and lurched along.

The brothers grinned at one another, completely at ease with one another, completely at peace with their world. 

Smiles played about their faces. Their hearts were light. Their eyes were clear.

And just as the wagon creaked around the final bend in the road and began the final ascent up the road that led into Virginia City, Joe turned to his brother and found him staring pensively toward the horizon.

“I been thinking about Adam,” Joe said.

Hoss nodded. He had been thinking about their older brother also – a fact that served as a testament to the younger brothers’ closeness, which Hoss had long ago accepted as natural.

“I wonder where he is,” Hoss murmured, but Joe only shrugged in response. “I wonder if he’s thinkin’ about us right now,” Hoss added, and this time Joe glanced at his brother.

Joe started to reply, and would have said, “I don’t know,” but the truth was, he did know, or at least thought he knew, and he suspected that Hoss knew it too: Adam was thinking about them.

But time and distance were overshadowed by the here and now, and the brothers’ conversation, spoken and unspoken, was swept aside by the sights and sounds that signaled their arrival in Virginia City.

Once in town, they loaded the wagon with the supplies Hoss and the men would need for the cattle drive. Little Joe teasingly suggested adding salt to the larder – “Hop Sing won’t be cookin’ for you, big brother, so you’ll just have to disguise the potluck as best you can!” – while Hoss good-naturedly reminded Joe that his share of the chores would double during Hoss’ absence.

The conversation was so ordinary, so casual, so commonplace, that no matter how he tried in all the years to come, Joe Cartwright would never be able to remember even one thing that either he or his brother said.

And no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to forget what happened next.

Wagon loaded, the brothers had turned toward the saloon, not even articulating their destination, just doing what they always did. A trip to town was always concluded with a visit to the Bucket of Blood, where a beer or a card game or a pretty girl were always waiting to be enjoyed. And so Hoss and Joe Cartwright, each giving one final thump to the packages loaded in the back of the wagon, had swung around, adjusting their hats, boots kicking up little clouds of dust as they walked side by side toward their destination, just as they had done a thousand times before.

It was a destination they would never reach.

Years ago, their father had told his sons, “A man who fears death fears everything. A man who is not afraid of death is not afraid of anything.”

That statement stirred something in the hearts and souls of the Cartwright brothers. It was more than courage; it was more than confidence. It was complete and absolute conviction.

Over the years, the brothers had encountered many dangers and their lives had been threatened, both from man and nature. Adam had found his peace through the power of reason, and Hoss lived his life with an attitude of absolute harmony. Joe often wrestled with the subtleties of possibility before surrendering to some level of understanding, but, each in his own way, the Cartwright sons stood strong on the foundation their father’s words had built for them.

And that day, that unremarkable day, there was no refuge from destiny.

A stranger, anonymous in every way … an argument with another just like him. Hot words, heated by liquor; an avalanche of threats, tumbling out of control; a taunting, daring crowd; and a gun.

And Hoss and Joe Cartwright, stepping through the door of the saloon, just as those random elements fell into their preordained places.

Their eyes widened, absorbing the scene before them as they took their places on the invisible stage. Realization dawned quickly … but too late.

The shot was fired.

Noise and darkness. Joe Cartwright was only vaguely aware of noise and darkness. Slowly, he became conscious of his own reality, and realized that the roaring noise was silence, the darkness was blinding sunlight.

Consciousness swirled around him, not quite touching him, and Joe felt Hoss’ large, strong hands, grabbing his arms, pulling him off the fence, pushing him toward the dark stall in the barn … no, that was a long time ago … but why, then, could he still hear his brother’s voice … “I’ll take care of you …”
Joe stirred a little, as though trying to discover himself. Something gritty in his mouth, and he felt with his tongue for smashed teeth, but it was only sand and dirt. Lifting his head a little, he spat, shook his head and spat again. He winced at a pain, tried to lift himself up onto his forearms and found he could not. Groggy, he tried to figure out just where he was; that first, he thought vaguely, then what had happened.

But first this weight. By now, Joe’s head had cleared to the point that he knew he was not seriously hurt. He was lying on his stomach in the street, just off the wooden sidewalk in front of the saloon, and his legs were sprawled out behind him but crushed under a heavy burden.

He looked back over his shoulder and saw his brother Hoss. The sight confused him; why was Hoss on his legs? Grunting, Joe reached back and shoved at his brother.

But Hoss did not move.

It was then that Joe realized he was surrounded by a forest of legs. Squinting up, he saw men standing in a circle around him, staring down with somber faces. Joe felt a flash of annoyance; why wasn’t anyone moving to help him or Hoss to their feet?

Suddenly, Joe regained his senses, completely and terribly. Memory rushed back, and Joe relived that moment when he and Hoss had walked through the saloon doors, hearing shouts of horror and warning, hearing the blast from a gun, and then feeling … 

Joe had been slightly ahead of Hoss, but now he remembered feeling his brother’s large hands grabbing him from behind on both arms, lifting him, and Hoss had turned and flung his brother out the door through which they had just entered. Joe had stumbled, fallen, flown … he didn’t know … and then – nothing.

Joe had known fear many times in his life, but this icy feeling that gripped his heart now was a new emotion – no, it was one he had felt only once before, as a little boy trembling in the protective embrace of his brother … but now there was no one to comfort him.

“Hoss – ” Joe’s frantic mind screamed the name; he did not realize his strangled voice cried aloud. Scrambling and kicking, he pulled himself out from under his brother’s still form, then fell to his knees beside it. Someone behind him placed a hand on his shoulder, tried to pull him away, but Joe savagely slapped the hand away. No one else dared approach.

“Hoss – ” Joe leaned close now as his eyes desperately sought those of his brother. Joe’s hand brushed dirt from his brother’s face, then helplessly clutched at his brother as Joe continued to whisper, “Hoss! Oh, Hoss …”

A flutter, a flash of blue, and a faint whisper. 

Heart pounding, Joe pressed even closer, his face in the dirt right next to his brother’s. Had he not been so near, he would never have been able to hear his brother’s final words.

The words faded away as a crash of thunder exploded around them, and Joe threw himself over the body of his brother Hoss, protecting him from the rain that began to fall. But Hoss’s face was soon wet with tears as his brother wept over him, crying out in pain as his heart broke, a storm of sorrow that would never subside, and as blood and tears and rain mingled in the mud, the only thing Joe knew for certain was that the sky would never be blue again.

Ben Cartwright sent a telegram to Adam, telling about the death of Hoss. Adam, in Europe now, responded immediately that he would finalize his affairs as quickly as possible and return home. That gave the grieving father some measure of comfort and hope in the dark days that followed, but for Joe, there was no consolation and no refuge.

Ben grew increasingly worried as Joe sank ever deeper into depression and despair. It was not unknown for Joe to wrestle with problems on his own before finally turning to his father for guidance, but this time, no matter how gently coaxed, Joe would not confide in him.

The season had already changed, and was preparing to change again by the time Adam returned home to the Ponderosa. Ben and his oldest, and long absent, son swept one another into an embrace that seemed equal parts relief and empathy. “How is Joe?” Adam asked as he hoisted the final trunk onto the bed of the wagon Ben had brought to town. His father just shook his head.

“Not well. You’ll see,” Ben replied, and Adam pressed his lips tightly together. He knew of his father’s concern … anxious letters had described Joe’s increasingly solitary behavior, long period of silence during which he stared at nothing at all.

Adam’s tense shoulders relaxed a little when he saw Joe standing on the porch of the sprawling ranch house – there was, at least, a hint of a smile on his younger brother’s face, although it was clear to Adam that a heavy sadness was just behind the surface.

As lithe as ever, Adam leaped lightly from the wagon, stretching out a hand toward his brother. “Joe, it’s good to see you,” he said, his voice husky, but his words were suddenly muffled as Joe grabbed his brother in a fierce hug and clung to him tightly … as though he might never let go …. 

The conversation that evening, and in many of the evenings that followed, consisted mainly of Adam’s narratives describing his experiences of the past several years. On a few occasions, Joe joined in the laughter over a particularly humorous account, but mostly he just sat on the settee in front of the fireplace and stared into the flames as Adam spoke, his voice sounding just as it had all those years ago.

Ben had asked Adam to try to talk to Joe, try to help him work through his grief, but Adam knew his brother well enough to know that Joe would let him know – in his own time, in his own way – when he was ready to talk. “Not yet,” he said. “He hasn’t gotten used to Hoss being gone, much less to my being home. Let’s give him a little more time.”

It proved to be wise advice. Bit by bit, Ben and Adam could see Joe beginning to emerge from his solitude, his façade of isolation melting a little more each day.

And one day – just an ordinary day – Adam and Joe were in the barn, working together to repair a broken hinge on a stall door. They were silent, and although Joe seemed somewhat agitated, at least he wasn’t angry.

But then, without warning, he stopped working and stood up straight, then turned abruptly and walked away a few steps. Adam looked up at him, surprised, and opened his mouth to tell Joe to come back and help finish the job, when Joe began to speak.

“There’s one thing that keeps bothering me, Adam,” Joe said, and Adam knew immediately that this conversation might be the most important of their relationship.

“Why don’t you tell me about it.” He spoke gently. “Maybe I can help.”

Joe was already shaking his head, but to Adam’s relief, he spoke again. “Nobody can help. Nobody knows the answer. His last words; I just don’t understand. What did he mean? I don’t know what he wanted me to do, Adam, and it’s killing me.”

Adam’s heart pounded wildly. Having no idea what Hoss had said, he didn’t know if he would be able to ease the burden his tormented brother was carrying.

But he kept his emotions under control, and Adam’s voice was tender, yet encouraging. “What did he say, Joe?”

Joe turned around now and looked at his brother, and Adam saw the ache in his brother’s green eyes. “He said, ‘Keep my promise.’ But Adam, I don’t know what promise he wanted me to keep.” Joe began to cry; tears flowed down his face as he choked, “He was always there for me, and with his last words he … but I don’t know what he wanted me to do.”

Adam let out his breath, a long, soft sigh. “Oh, Joe. You don’t have to do anything. I know what Hoss meant … Come here, boy, and sit down … Let me tell you about the night you were born.”

And so it was that Adam shared with his brother the story of how Hoss had made a promise to Joe’s mother, a promise to take care of his little brother and to always protect him. “Joe, Hoss was telling you that he had kept that promise.”

Joe sagged against his brother’s shoulder, sobbing. Adam put an arm around Joe and patted his back; his younger brother had never been ashamed of his emotions. Adam, who had spent a lifetime guarding his own, shook his head wistfully.

Joe said something, but his voice was so choked Adam could not catch the words. “Hmm?” he prompted gently.

Joe sniffed and swallowed, cried again for a moment, then said, “So that … that’s why he smiled ….”

Adam kept patting Joe’s back. “Yes, Joe,” he murmured comfortingly. “He loved you so much. Taking care of you was the joy of his life.”

Joe nodded, ducking his head a little as he wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve. Adam smiled. How much like a little boy Joe still was … “I loved him, Adam,” Joe finally whispered. “And … I love you too. Thanks for telling me, Adam. I thought … I thought I would never know.” Joe glanced up at Adam now, and although tears still glistened in his eyes, those eyes shone clearly with relief.

Adam squeezed Joe’s shoulders. “Now you know,” he said. “Now why don’t you go to the house and get cleaned up. We can talk more later if you want to. The stall can wait.”

Joe nodded again and stood up, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. A brief flash of a smile – sad, but a smile – and he was gone, and Adam was left alone in the barn.

Absently, he put the tools away, his mind going back over so many years, so many memories, lingering over the night he and Hoss had stood at Marie’s bedside and held their baby brother for the first time.

He heard a noise and turned, thinking Joe had returned.

Ben Cartwright stood in the doorway of the barn. “Mind if I come in?” he asked.

Adam shrugged and nodded. “Sure.”

Ben walked toward his son, his steps slow but sure. Adam watched his father in silence, appraising this unexpected visit. When Ben did not speak, Adam shrugged again and went back to returning the tools to their places.

“Joe told me.”

 

Adam paused for a moment before turning around. He was quiet for a moment, then sighed. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. “Yeah. He was, uh, he had some questions. I’m glad I was able to help him.”

 

Ben spoke quietly, choosing his words carefully and deliberately. “Adam – son – I have something to tell you now; something Hoss told me years ago. It meant so much to him, and I’ve kept it all these years, somehow knowing that someday, the time would be right for me to share it with you.”

 

Adam looked away, silent and still, then nodded.

 

“Do you remember the night Joe asked about the color of his eyes?” Ben whispered, and Adam nodded again. “It was soon after that. Hoss came to me – I don’t know why – and he said, ‘Pa, Joe and I have eyes the color of the sky. But I think Adam has the best eyes of all, because his are the color of the earth. That’s where everything grows and becomes strong.’”

 

Adam and his father stared into one another’s eyes, each seeing himself reflected in the tears of the other.

 

Ben opened his arms toward his son. All those years of watching Joe yield himself so easily, so openly to his father’s love … and now Adam found himself wrapped in his father’s embrace, and he experienced the warmth, the healing that his brother had known all his life.

 

“Joseph is a very fortunate young man,” Ben murmured. “To be loved and cherished, all his life, by a brother who would give up his life for him … ” He stopped and shook his head, as though in wonderment at the very idea.

 

Adam nodded again, and then, feeling self-conscious, started to pull away, but Ben continued, slowly and thoughtfully: “But to be loved and cherished by two brothers who would give up their lives for him … that’s a greater love than most men could ever dare imagine.”

 

Adam looked up, startled. His father was looking directly at him, but with a faraway look on his face that Adam didn’t know how to interpret.

“You gave up your life, Adam, to return home, because you knew your brother needed you. You were the only person who could have healed him, by giving him the answer he was so desperately searching for.”

 

Adam stared at his father, realization dawning in his brown eyes.

 

Ben nodded. “Yes, son. You kept your promise too.”

“Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his brother …”

 

Chapter End Notes:

“Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his brother …”

 

The End

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.