Chapter 24

Joe rubbed his damp palms across the legs of his trousers, hoping they hadn’t been covered with sweat when he’d shaken hands with each of the ten school board members. He sat in Adam’s office at the institute, waiting to hear the outcome of his job interview. Adam was still in the conference room with the board members, saying what, Joe didn’t know, but he supposed putting in a few good words for him before the vote was taken.

The man’s left hand rose to his black string tie, but just as he was about to undo it and loosen the top button on his shirt, he thought better of it. What if the board members wanted to see him again before they voted? He’d better stay all “gussied up,” as Hoss would say, until this ordeal ended. 

Joe’s first exposure to the school a week earlier had been a positive one. Like Adam said would happen, the kids took to him the second they realized he was carrying bags of candy. Aside from meeting many of the children who boarded at the school for the summer, Joe had met the small contingent of staff on hand, who oversaw and provided for the students unable to travel home, wherever “home” might be.

“Many of them simply live too far away,” Adam had explained about the year-round students after that initial visit was over, and he and Joe were walking back to Beacon Hill with Shakespeare. “It’s too much of a hardship for their parents to pay for passage to places like California or Texas. We even have two students from Nevada.”

“You do?”

“Yes, one teenage boy who went home to Carson City for the summer, and one ten-year-old girl who lives in Silver Peak. You met her. Hannah Robinson.”

Joe nodded, but in truth he had no idea which one of the children who’d clamored around getting acquainted with him by feeling his facial features with their hands, was Hannah Robinson. All the names ran together. He was just beginning to learn how difficult it was to distinguish one person from another, when you had no visual clues to draw from, like hair color, eye color, height, or body size.

“And then there are those students whose families refuse to have them come back home.”

“Refuse to have them? Whatta ya’ mean?”

“Because they’re blind, Joe.”

“So?”

“It’s. . .well, to some families it’s an embarrassment. Having a blind child, that is.”

“Oh.”

Adam’s arm slid around Joe’s shoulder. “But not to the Cartwright family. Not ever.”

Joe had smiled at his brother. “I know that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Don’t worry about it.”

“You sound upset.”

“Only because of what you told me. About how some of the kids don’t get to go home because their parents refuse to have them. What happens to those kids when they’re too old to continue attending the institute?”

“Those who come from wealth, generally go on to college, and then upon graduation, advance to careers that allow them to live independently of their parents. Other students – those whose parents won’t entertain the notion of college, or can’t afford it – return home despite the lack of a warm welcome, though to what type of futures, I’m not certain. I sometimes wonder if all we taught them is lost, simply because they have no support from their parents or siblings.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Joe had agreed. He wondered what it would be like for a child raised in a school for the blind, to return home after years of absence to people who wanted nothing more than to pretend that his or her handicap didn’t exist. Or that he or she didn’t exist for that matter.

“Others go on to find work here in Boston, or in New York, or Chicago. And when worst comes to worst, I’ve allowed those in need to stay at the institute beyond the age of eighteen, until I can find something for them – a job, a place to live, a decent start in life. I’m not supposed to do it, but what the school board doesn’t know, doesn’t hurt them.”

“I like your devil-may-care attitude, big brother.”

“You should. I learned it from you.”

Joe laughed that afternoon, but what Adam said about the students who weren’t welcome back in their parents’ homes stayed with him. He couldn’t imagine turning his back on one of his own children, regardless of what illness or tragedy might befall him or her. The same went for children of Adam’s or Hoss’s. If Joe were needed to take care of any offspring either of his brothers had, his door would always be open to them. And if one of those children was blind, or deaf, or crippled in any way by an illness or problem at birth, it wouldn’t matter to Joe. And he didn’t just feel this way because he’d lost his own sight. It wouldn’t have mattered to him before that, either. 

Joe went back to the school with Adam and Shakespeare four more times between that first day and today. Originally, he tagged along for no other reason than for a way to pass the time. But by his second visit, he was looking forward to doing whatever he could to help. There were no formal classes during the summer months, but the kids who remained behind while their schoolmates went home, were kept occupied with all types of projects and activities, as well as the weekly publication of the school’s newspaper. Laddie had put Joe to work right away assisting with the boys, and going along as a chaperone on “day trips,” as she called them. As near as Joe could tell, “day trips” gave the kids an opportunity to do what he’d done on the Ponderosa since he was old enough to walk – fish, swim, hike, and go on picnics. It was amazing what people in Boston would pay a fee to do. 

I’ve gotta remember to tell Hoss about this, Joe thought one day when the school had paid for the younger children to ride ponies at a stable. He and I should have come up with this idea years ago. We could have gotten rich charging city people to spend a few days on the Ponderosa fishing, swimming, and riding horses. 

Joe didn’t get paid for his help at the school, of course, but he didn’t care. It gave him something to do – a way to feel useful, and it gave him a chance to get to know some of the other teachers. However, those days spent at the institute also meant it would be that much harder on Joe if the school board didn’t hire him, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on that. Boston held a lot of possibilities, and Adam knew a lot of people. If Joe wasn’t hired to teach, maybe he could get a job doing. . .well, what, he wasn’t sure, but something where it didn’t matter if he was blind or not. And if all else failed, he’d return home with Hoss and Pa in the fall, and make the best of things on the Ponderosa. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, unless Pa could come up with some jobs for him, but it was comforting to know there was always that option.

As he now waited for the school board’s decision, Joe’s legs jiggled up and down with uneasiness. He heard some of the kids passing by in the hallway, but he didn’t open Adam’s office door and greet them. He didn’t want them to know he was here. The children hadn’t been told he was applying for a job at the institute. They only knew he was Headmaster Cartwright’s brother, who was visiting from Nevada. They didn’t even know he was blind. Some of their teachers were blind, like Laddie, while others were sighted, like Adam.

If the way the morning had started off was any indication of what the day held, then this long wait could only mean one thing – that the school board didn’t find him qualified to teach. Joe had felt fine at breakfast, and after a walk around Adam’s yard with Shakespeare, he’d gone upstairs to bathe and get dressed in his black suit. He was scheduled to meet with the board members at eleven. He’d just gotten his clothes out of the closet, when pain lanced through his head so sudden and strong that it dropped him to his knees. He grabbed for the washstand, caught just a corner of it, and sent it crashing to the floor. The pitcher and bowl shattered, splattering Joe with water. He barely took notice, though, because he began throwing up more violently than he could ever remember doing in his entire life.

Adam had still been sitting on the back porch reading the newspaper when Joe went inside, but Mrs. O’Connell was in the kitchen washing dishes. Joe barely registered her running footsteps on the backstairs, and then her startled cry of, “Joseph! Joseph, what’s wrong with yeh?”

Even if Joe had been able to answer the woman, he wouldn’t have known what to tell her. He’d experienced numerous headaches since the explosion, but none as severe as this one.

He was dimly aware of the woman’s short, choppy steps as she sped from the room calling, “Mr. Cartwright! Mr. Cartwright, come quick, Joseph’s ill! Mr. Cartwright! Mr. Cartwright!”

The next thing Joe was aware of was heavier footsteps racing up the backstairs. By this time he had nothing left in his stomach to bring up, and was curled on his left side moaning in pain, his hands clutching his forehead.

Adam didn’t shout. Thank God he didn’t shout, Joe would think later, because surely his head would have split open had his brother yelled his name like Mrs. O’Connell had done. Instead, Adam kept his voice soft and calm.

“Joe. . .Joe, can you hear me?”

Joe’s eyes were squeezed shut against the pain, but he managed to give a slight nod.

“Okay, Joe, listen. I’m going to move you just a little bit here. Get you out of this mess you’re lying in, all right?”

At that moment, Joe didn’t care what he was lying in, but he was too sick to tell Adam to leave him alone. 

“On three, Joe.” Adam’s arm slithered beneath Joe’s shoulder and the floor. “Help me if you can by moving backwards, but if you can’t, that’s okay, too. One. . .
two. . .three.”

Joe felt himself being scooted back toward the bed. He tried to help as Adam had asked him to, but he didn’t accomplish much more than sliding his boots along on the Oriental rug he’d just decorated with his breakfast. A blanket was spread over him, and then his head and shoulders were gently lifted into Adam’s lap. He heard Mrs. O’Connell say, “Here, Mr. Cartwright. Here’s a cool cloth.”

“Thank you.”

Joe wasn’t sure how long he remained on the floor in Adam’s lap, Adam holding a cold cloth across his forehead. He knew the cloth was replaced every so often with a fresh one that had been doused in water, but that was about all he was aware of, other than Adam’s voice drifting in and out as the waves of pain came and went. 

“You’ll be okay, Joe,” Adam assured in that steady way he had, as though the world wouldn’t dare defy what Adam Stoddard Cartwright dictated. “You’re going to be fine. Obviously, Mrs. O’Connell’s cooking isn’t quite as good as everyone thinks.”

That joke got a small smile out of Joe, which was probably what Adam was hoping for. At least it told Adam that Joe understood what was said to him, which likely lifted a portion of Adam’s worries.

“Don’t yeh speak ill of me cooking, Adam Cartwright,” Mrs. O’Connell scolded, while she swept the broken glass into a dustpan and then rolled up the soiled rug. “T’wasn’t anything I cooked that made poor Joseph so sick.”

“No. . .” Joe’s voice was barely stronger than a whisper. “Was-wasn’t your cooking.”

“I was just kidding her, Joe,” Adam said, as the woman left the room with her broom and dustpan. “I know it wasn’t her cooking. Now don’t worry about it. Just lie here quietly and rest for a little while. If you’re not feeling better soon, I’m sending Mrs. O’Connell for my physician.”

“Don’t. . .don’t need a doctor.”

“You promised me on the train that if this happened again, you’d let a doctor look at you.”

“I was. . .I was fibbing.”

“Joseph Cart. . .oh, what’s the use. Just be quiet and rest. As long as you’re living under my roof, I’ll decide whether or not a doctor should be sent for.”

“Sound. . .sound like Pa.”

“Good. Then maybe you’ll listen to me.”

“I wouldn’t. . .I wouldn’t bet money on it.”

“Allow me to assure you that I’m not that foolish.”

Just as had happened on the train, Joe’s headache passed within the hour. When he felt like he could sit up without vomiting again, he slowly pushed himself from Adam’s lap. His brother kept his arm on Joe’s back, offering support if Joe should sink to the floor again.

“Are you all right now?”

“Yeah,” Joe nodded. “A little shaky, but I’m fine.”

“I think I’d better get word to the board members that we won’t be there today. I can reschedule with them for–”

“No!”

“Joe–”

“No, Adam. I don’t want them to think I can’t do this job.”

“But–”

“What time is it?”

“What?”

“The time? What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty.”

“Then I can still clean up, get dressed, and be there before eleven.”

“You can, but I don’t think you should. I think you’d better stay here and rest today.”

“Rest for what reason?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve just spent the past hour lying in my lap moaning with pain.”

“Well I’m not in pain any more, and I don’t wanna miss this interview.”

“Joe–”

“It was just nerves, Adam.”

“I’ve never known Joe Cartwright to be struck with a case of nerves. Especially not to the point that it makes him sick.”

“Well, maybe I’m not as hardy as I once was.”

“Or maybe you need to let a doctor examine you. Have you experienced any other headaches since arriving here?”

Joe hesitated just long enough for Adam to know the answer to that question.

“When?”

Joe could tell he was trying Adam’s patience, when Adam asked again, “When, Joe?”

“The. . .the first night I was here. It started during supper.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it wasn’t that bad, and I didn’t wanna spoil things for you and Laddie.”

“That was considerate of you, but you still should have told me.”

“Told you what? That after a long trip, and then getting robbed and lost in a strange city, I had a headache? Anyone who’s gone through all that in one day is entitled to a headache.”

“Maybe so, but you still should have said something about it. How bad did it get?”

“Not as bad as some of them have. Not as bad as the one this morning. I slept it off.”

“And you haven’t had any again until today?”

“No.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“No, Adam, I’m not lying to you.”

“All right. But if it happens again. . .”

“I know, I know. I have to see a doctor.”

“You do, Joe. The institute consults with an eye specialist when needed. Maybe we should have you see him.”

“Why? So he can tell me I’m blind?”

“Joe–”

“Come on, help me up. If I didn’t puke on my suit, I need to get dressed.”

“You didn’t puke on your suit.”

“Good. That’s the one thing that’s gone right so far today. Maybe my luck will hold when I meet the school board.” The suit was placed in Joe’s hands. “Oh, and about the rug–”

“Don’t worry about the rug.”

As though Adam hadn’t spoken, Joe said, “I’ll pay to have it cleaned.” 

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do. I’ll wire Pa and have him send some money from my bank account. I should have done that the day after my wallet was stolen, so I could give you something for expenses.”

“And I told you that’s not necessary. Besides, after today you’ll be earning a salary.”

“I might be earning a salary.”

“You will be.”

Joe didn’t have time to debate that fact with his brother. Besides, he appreciated Adam’s confidence in him. 

Adam remained by Joe’s side as he walked from his room to the lavatory. Adam probably would have come in there with him, too, had Joe let him. But Joe closed the door in his older brother’s face; assuring Adam he’d be fine. 

“Call me if you start to feel sick again. I won’t go far.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Joe had said dryly.

But Joe didn’t feel sick again, and by ten-thirty, he and Adam were riding to the institute in a carriage the school provided for Adam, complete with its own driver.

Joe wasn’t certain what time it was now. One of the first things he planned to invest in, when and if he was hired, was a Braille watch. He thought his interview with the school board had taken about thirty minutes. The men asked him a lot of questions, but he was pretty sure he’d held his own, displaying a firm confidence he wasn’t necessarily feeling inside, along with the business-like manners he’d learned at his father’s knee, and just the right amount of Joe Cartwright charm thrown in for good measure. He’d been honest with the men when he’d said that no, he didn’t have a teaching certificate of any sort, and no, he’d never attended a college of any kind, and no, he’d never taught school, other than that time three years ago, when he’d briefly substituted for Abby Pettigraw in Virginia City, but he was a hard worker, a quick thinker, determined, and resourceful. He’d also learned a lot from Adam in recent months about how to teach skills to the blind, and he was willing to put in extra time without getting paid for it, in order to learn from any of the teachers on staff if that’s what the school board wanted him to do.

After that, there wasn’t much else Joe could say, other than to thank the board members for considering him for the job. That’s when Adam had told him to wait across the hall in his office. 

Joe’s attention was drawn to the door when it opened. It closed, as one person entered the room.

“They’re taking the vote now.”

Joe nodded in the direction of his brother’s voice. As administrator of the institute, Adam was considered a board member with full voting rights. But where this particular vote was concerned, Adam was forced to exclude himself, as Joe expected would be the case.

By the proximity of Adam’s voice, Joe could tell he’d sat down on one corner of his desk. Joe was seated in one of the chairs across from the desk.

“You did good in there, Joe. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. And thanks for talking me up to them.”

“How do you know I talked you up? Maybe I told them what a thorn in my side you’ve been since the day you were born.”

“Unless you want me living with you for the next forty years, I know you didn’t tell them that.”

Adam chuckled. “Well, not quite. But either way, you presented yourself well. I think they were impressed.”

“I hope so.”

“We’ll find out in a few min–”

Before Adam could finish his sentence, there was a knock on the door, and then a man entered.

“Adam. . .Joe. . .”

Joe turned toward the sound of the board president’s voice.

“I’m happy to tell you the vote was unanimous. You can start work tomorrow if you’d like, Joe.”

A smile split Joe’s face. He stood and walked toward the man with his right hand outstretched. “Thank you, Mr. Sheridan. I’ll be here bright and early. And please tell the other board members I said thank you, as well.”

“I’ll do that.” The man’s voice was now directed at Adam. “The board is ready to conclude the meeting, Adam, unless you have something else we need to discuss.”

“No, I don’t have anything else to bring up.”

“All right then, I’ll see you at September’s meeting.”

“Yes, Bob, I’ll see you then.”

“Goodbye, Joe.”

“Bye, Mr. Sheridan, and thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. Your brother has done an outstanding job for us. I’m sure you will, too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“If you’re anything like Adam, your best will exceed our expectations. Gentlemen, I’ll make my leave now. Good day to you of both.”

After the door closed, Joe felt his way back to the chair, sank down, yanked his tie loose, undid the top button on his shirt, and sighed with relief.

“Glad that’s over with, huh?”

“You can say that again.”

“How about if we celebrate by eating lunch out? Then we’ll come back here, and I’ll get you familiar with your classroom. Actual teaching sessions won’t start for two more weeks, when the remainder of the students return from summer break, but I’m sure you’ll find things to keep you busy until then.”

“I’m sure I will, too.” Joe stood and walked to the door with his brother. “Hey, Adam, do you mind if we stop at a telegraph office and wire Pa and Hoss with the news?”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“And uh. . .listen, thanks again.”

“For what?”

“For all you did to help me get this job. I’m not kidding myself. The school board didn’t come to that meeting today thinking some blind cowboy from Nevada is gonna make an outstanding teacher. It was because of you. . .because of your reputation here, that I got hired.”

“Oh no. If you think they hired you as a favor to me, then you’re dead wrong. I told them straight off that they had to hire you on your own merits, and not based on my work for the institute.”

“Still, I’m sure it made a difference that you’re my brother. I won’t let you down, Adam. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“I’ve never thought for even one second that you would.” Adam held his arm out to Joe, placing Joe’s hand at the crook of his elbow. “Now, how about if we send that wire, and then eat?”

“I won’t argue with either one of those suggestions.”

“For once you’re not arguing with me. Joseph, you just might give me a heart attack if you make this a habit.”

“For the sake of your health then, I’ll do my best not to.”

And that’s where the conversation ended, as the brothers made their way out of the school that now employed two men with the last name of Cartwright.

Chapter 25

Ben leaned back in his chair, kneading the strain from his eyes with his right thumb and forefinger. It seemed like the print on these timber contracts grew smaller and smaller each year. Or maybe Ben just wasn’t used to looking at them. Joe had reviewed the contracts the previous year, and the year before that, as well. It wasn’t that Ben was ready to put himself out to pasture just yet, but little by little since Adam’s departure six years earlier, he’d been turning the running of the Ponderosa over to Hoss and Joe. 

Ben had never quite known for certain whether or not he was somewhat to blame for Adam leaving. Adam had assured Ben that wasn’t the case, but still, a father wondered. Ben understood that there comes a time when a man needs to feel like he has something to call his own. Something his efforts allow him to take pride in, and reap the benefits from. Maybe a little bit of glory he doesn’t always have to share with his brothers. 

Which was why, after Adam left, Ben was mindful of trying to give Hoss and Joe some glory now and again that they could each call their own. Not that the two of them seemed to care one way or another, but then, given how close they’d always been, that didn’t come as a big surprise to Ben. Adam was the trusted older brother Hoss and Joe had looked to for everything from help with homework, to questions about the birds and the bees, to advice and guidance as they’d passed from their teen years, to young adulthood. But Hoss and Joe – they’d been to one another what Ben thought all brothers should get the opportunity to be, but only a lucky few were able to attain. Playmates, best friends, confidants, and co-conspirators in more pranks and schemes than Ben could keep track of. Which were just a few of the reasons why Joe’s absence now was so difficult for Hoss. Not that Hoss had said much about it, or seemed anything other than his friendly, amiable self. Still, Ben could tell it was hard for Hoss to be the only Cartwright brother left on the Ponderosa, now that Adam and Joe were both gone. It didn’t seem to matter to Hoss that the running of the entire ranch was his for the taking, but then, Ben had known all along that it wouldn’t. Hoss wasn’t a man motivated by power or greed. As long as he had miles of open space before him, and the day-to-day ranch chores to attend to, Hoss was happy. Or at least he had been before Joe left for Boston. 

Ben looked at the timber contracts he’d laid on his desk, idly fiddling with a corner of the papers. They’d heard from Adam just once since the boys had left three weeks earlier. The day after they’d reached Boston, Adam sent a telegram that was short, and to the point.

Arrived Boston Safely. Joe Fine. Will Write Soon. Adam.

Ben had smiled a little at his oldest son’s abrupt ending of “Adam.” It spoke volumes about the man he was, and even the boy he’d been. The feelings were there, but kept inside for the most part, under wary guard. Had Joe sent the telegram, he would have signed off, “Love, Joe,” without hesitation. If it had come from Hoss, it would have read, “Take Care, Pa,” at the end. But overt sentiment wasn’t Adam’s way. Or maybe it was, but only if a person took the time to study his actions. Like how he’d dropped everything at the institute – possibly even risked his job by being gone so long – to come here and help Joe. Then extending an invitation to Joe to return home with him, and attempting to procure Joe a teaching job. 

Ben opened his top desk drawer and reached for that telegram he’d saved, but before he could retrieve it the front door opened. He didn’t have to wonder long about the identity of his visitor. The heavy footsteps against the floorboards told him Hoss had returned from a morning of running errands in Virginia City.

“Hey, Pa,” Hoss greeted as he rounded the corner with a bundle in his right hand. “Here’s the mail.”

Ben stood, taking the bundle from his son.

“Thank you. Have you eaten?”

“Yeah. Stopped at Mizz Lucy’s ‘fore I headed home.”

“I thought you might.” 

Miss Lucy’s was a café in Virginia City where a hard working man was served large portions of the daily hot lunch special, and could get a second helping of pie for just ten cents, which was why the café held such an appeal to Hoss. Or maybe it was, as Joe claimed, “Miss Lucy” who appealed to Hoss. 

“I told Hop Sing not to keep lunch warming for you. I assumed you’d make yourself a sandwich if you hadn’t eaten.”

“Might just make me a sandwich any way, now that ya’ mention it.”

Ben smiled, then started to thumb through the mail. He didn’t get beyond the third piece before Hoss fished an envelope from his shirt pocket.

“Oh, here. Almost forgot. I gotta a telegram for ya’ too. ”

Ben set the mail on his desk and took the sealed envelope his son handed him. 

“Probably from Harry Deevers, wanting to know when I’ll be putting these timber contracts in the mail.”

Hoss’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at the pile of papers on his father’s desk. 

“That’s kinda what I figured when Dave tracked me down at Mizz Lucy’s and delivered it.”

Ben slit the envelope open with his forefinger and pulled out the tri-folded paper inside. As he unfolded it and read the address of the sending telegraph office on top, he frowned.

“What’s the matter, Pa?”

“It’s from Boston.” Ben’s brows knit together with concern. “I was expecting a letter from Adam one of these days soon, not another telegram. I hope everything’s all right.”

“I hope so too.” 

As Ben read the telegram, his frown changed to an ever-growing smile.

“What’s it say?”

Ben glanced up at his son, and then back down at the paper again. 

“It says, ‘Pa And Hoss, Good News. Got The Teaching Job. Start Tomorrow. Adam’s Buying Lunch To Celebrate. Love, Joe.’ ”

Ben handed the telegram to Hoss. “Well, now, that is good news, isn’t it?”

Hoss read through the message for himself while slowly nodding. “Yeah. . .sure. It’s good news. I’m real happy for him.”

“You don’t sound real happy.”

Hoss shrugged. He let the telegram flutter to his father’s desk. “I. . .I guess I was kinda hopin’ Joe wouldn’t get that job, and that he’d come back home with us in the fall. I know it wasn’t right of me, Pa, wishin’ for somethin’ like that. I just. . .”

“You just miss him,” Ben finished softly for his son.

Hoss dropped his gaze to the floor, giving the boards a slight scuff with the toe of one boot. “Yeah, Pa, I miss him

“I know, son,” Ben nodded. “I miss him, too.”

Because there wasn’t anything either of them could say that the other didn’t already know where this subject was concerned, Ben put an arm around Hoss’s slumped shoulders and walked him toward the kitchen.

“Come on. Let’s go make that sandwich you’ve got a hankering for. Maybe I’ll even make myself one.”

“Sounds good to me. Ya’ know how I hate ta’ eat alone.”

“Yes,” Ben agreed, eyeing his ample-sized son. “I surely do.”

“And say, Pa, how ‘bout if we wire a telegram to Joe tomorrow and congratulate him on gettin’ that there job? And maybe wire a separate one to Adam, thankin’ him for all he’s done for Joe. I know Joe didn’t say a lot in that message, but I could tell he’s happy.”

Ben smiled. Whether Hoss knew it or not, his heart was always in the right place.

“I think that’s a fine idea, son. We’ll ride into town together first thing in the morning and send telegrams to both of your brothers.”

Ben’s promise seemed to lift Hoss’s spirits some, though the man wasn’t fooling himself. Both he and his middle son would have their ups and downs in the months to come where Joe’s absence was concerned, just like he, Hoss and Joe had experienced ups and downs after Adam first left for sea. But eventually, you get used to the way your household has been altered by the departure of a loved one. You might never grow to like it, but you do get used to it.

Or at least that’s what Ben Cartwright told himself fifteen minutes later, as he sat at the kitchen table with Hoss eating a sandwich, while trying not to notice how quiet the house was.

Chapter 26

The two weeks that passed between when the school board hired Joe, and the children returned from summer break, were amongst the busiest of Joe’s life. He gained a newfound respect for how Adam earned his living, and no longer thought that “real work” was only defined by a full day of physical labor outdoors. 

Joe crammed as much learning into those two weeks as he could. Adam helped him create a lesson plan that covered each school day until the start of Christmas break in mid-December, and provided him with a Braille copy of the institute’s teachers’ handbook. The students who ran the school’s printing press published the little leather bound book, that contained the rules and guidelines the institute expected its teachers to follow. There was a separate handbook for the students that Adam also gave Joe a copy of to review.

As Joe walked home with his brother carrying the books, he hefted them with his left hand and teased, “Seems like a lotta rules for a man to follow, Headmaster Cartwright.”

“I’m sure it won’t take you more than five minutes to break at least two of them.”

“Oh, Adam, come on. You don’t give me enough credit. If it takes me more than five minutes to break at least four of them, then you’ll know something’s wrong with me.”

Ten years ago, Adam would have taken Joe seriously, and lectured him on putting his best foot forward, setting a good example, honoring the Cartwright name, and two dozen other things that would have caused Joe to yawn with boredom, and Adam to threaten to let Pa deal with him. But Adam had learned not to take some things quite so seriously since leaving the Ponderosa, and one of those things was a younger brother who thrived on getting a reaction out of him.

“No,” Adam had countered, “if it takes you more than five minutes to break at least six rules, that’s when I’ll know something’s wrong with you.”

Like Adam, Laddie helped Joe in any way she could. She gave him a stack of her old college textbooks on various teaching methods, that he studied each evening in his room at Adam’s house. She also passed along many tips and pointers. 

“The beginning of the school year isn’t easy for any teacher, Joe,” Laddie assured on a day when Joe was having doubts that he could actually live up to what the school board expected of him. “Not even a seasoned one. It takes the children a few days to settle into the routine of having to sit still, listen, and do their lessons. And without a doubt, they’ll test you.”

“Test me?” Joe asked, from where he sat at a student’s desk in Laddie’s classroom. Shouts and laughter drifted in from outside, where the children boarding at the school for the summer were playing on the grounds behind the building. 

“To see how strict or lenient you’ll be. To see what they can get away with in your classroom, and what you won’t tolerate. To see if you’ll send anyone to Adam’s office for a paddling.”

The discipline section of the teachers’ handbook stated that only the headmaster was allowed to deliver corporal punishment to the students, but Joe hadn’t thought too much about it until now. 

“A paddling?”

“Yes.”

“And Adam’s the one who does that?”

“As the headmaster, yes, that’s part of his job.”

“Oh.”

“You sound like you don’t approve.”

“It’s not that. Believe me, I was raised by a father who declared if his son earned a licking in school, he got another licking when he arrived home.” 

Joe could hear the humor in Laddie’s voice. “I bet it didn’t take a boy long to learn to avoid getting lickings in school then.”

“Probably took Adam just once, Hoss probably never had to be taught that lesson at all, but as for me. . .well, as my pa would tell you, I preferred to learn things the hard way. But even at that, three times, maybe four at most. After that, I got smart.”

“I see. So you were on your best behavior.”

Joe laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. I’d just say that I learned how far to push things, and when to bring my fun to a halt. Once Miss Jones came when I was eleven, things got easier.”

“How so?”

“She was sweet on Adam, so she tended to look the other way when it came to my ‘tomfoolery,’ as Pa would call it.” 

“Sweet on Adam, was she?”

“Oh yes, Ma’am.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want you to remember it.”

Laddie laughed. “Joseph Cartwright, I suspect you didn’t learn anything from those lickings you earned.”

“Not much of anything, no,” Joe agreed with a laugh of his own.

“So, if you don’t disapprove of a paddling when it’s needed, why do I get the impression you don’t like the idea?”

“I guess I just can’t imagine spanking someone else’s child, so it’s hard for me to picture Adam doing it. I mean, sure, I’ve encountered kids that I thought needed a trip to the woodshed – like those two hooligans who stole my wallet – but thinking it, or even saying it, doesn’t mean I could really do it.”

“Discipline must be maintained, Joe.”

“I know.”

“If we let one student’s bad behavior go unchecked, then other students will think we’re giving them permission to behave in any manner they please.”

“I know that, too.”

“However, I’ll let you in on a little secret if it will make you feel better.”

“What’s that?”

“Adam doesn’t appear to be fond of spanking someone else’s child, either. He uses it only as a last resort when all other forms of punishment have failed to get through to an errant youngster. I haven’t known him to paddle more than two or three boys in the three years he’s been here, and I can’t fathom that he’d ever paddle one of the girls. He’s really quite good with the children. They all respect him.”

“I’m sure they do.” Joe grinned and quipped, “Besides, how hard can a one-armed man possibly paddle?”

Joe jumped when a strong hand clamped down on his left shoulder from behind. 

“Maybe you’d like to find out, little brother.”

Joe glanced up, removing his brother’s hand. “No need. My students and I will be models of good behavior.”

Adam gave an exaggerated, choking cough. “Excuse me, I think I need a glass of water. Students of Joe Cartwright’s as models of good behavior? Now that I’ll have to see to believe.”

When Laddie said, “Oh, Adam, by the way, I’d like to talk to you about someone named Miss Jones,” and Adam growled, “Joe. . .” Joe made a hasty retreat to his classroom, laughing all the way there.

Aside from lesson plans, studying the books Laddie gave him, memorizing the teacher’s handbook, and getting his classroom in order, Joe also used the time he had before school started to grow accustomed to the building, and the 30 acres of land it sat on. 

Based on Adam’s descriptions, and the tour he’d taken Joe on, Joe knew the institute was a four-story, brick structure that housed three dozen classrooms, Adam’s office, a conference room, a supply room, an infirmary, a massive kitchen, and a dining room large enough for all two hundred students and their teachers to eat in at the same time. A long, one-story dormitory for the boys sat behind the institute, while the girl’s dormitory was attached to the school building itself. Aside from teachers, the institute employed two stable boys who took care of the horses and carriages, a contingent of cooks, building caretakers, groundskeepers, two nurses, and a dorm “father” and “mother” – an older married Irish couple, who had been with the institute since Laddie attended school here as a child. Adam had told Joe that each dorm room held four children, two teenagers and two younger children. The help gleaned from the older children lessened the responsibility of the dorm parents somewhat, though Adam said he’d recently told the school board they’d have to consider hiring additional adults for dorm supervision within the next year.

“Our student body just keeps growing.”

“Aren’t there any other schools for the blind anywhere?” Joe had asked Adam during his first tour of the grounds. 

“There are, though few with as good of a reputation as ours. We turn students away every year because we just don’t have the room for them, or the staff to teach them. We could really use more schools around the country that are directly affiliated with ours, but until the necessary funds are raised, and someone volunteers to run such a school, I’m afraid we’ll have to continue to turn children in need away.”

Joe didn’t think that seemed right. Any blind child should have the opportunity to attend a school that could help him learn the necessary skills for survival in a dark world, but Joe didn’t bother saying so to Adam, because he had no doubt Adam was well aware of it.

Much of the school’s acreage had been donated by Laddie’s father. Trees that were on this land when the pilgrims first arrived provided shade for little girls having tea parties with their dolls on a hot summer day, and made great places for a boy to climb into when he wanted a little time to himself. 

Slides, merry-go-rounds, seesaws, sandboxes, and wooden swing sets dotted various areas of the grounds, as did a baseball diamond specially modified for blind players. Joe himself knew the game by the name of stickball, a schoolyard activity he’d enjoyed playing as a boy that didn’t involve anything as fancy as a “diamond,” or wooden bats, or leather mitts, or bases, other than what he and his friends designated as such, like the pump, the schoolhouse steps, the hitching post, and the flag pole.

A few days before school was due to start, Adam took Joe to an exclusive men’s shop, where Joe supplemented the clothing he’d brought from home by purchasing two additional black suits, two gray suits, half a dozen white shirts, and three black string ties, so he’d be in compliance with the school’s dress code for its male teachers. He wouldn’t entertain the notion of black shoes to replace his well-worn tan cowboy boots, but did agree to a pair of black cowboy-style boots when Adam suggested them. Joe hadn’t earned his first paycheck yet, but rather than having to continue borrowing money from Adam, he’d opened an account at Adam’s bank, and had money wired into it from his account at Virginia City’s Cattlemen’s Bank. After he’d finished making his clothing purchases, Joe bought a wallet to replace the one that had been stolen. 

The night before the new school year began, after Laddie had dined with the brothers at Adam’s house and then left in her father’s carriage, Adam took Joe into his study. 

“I have something for you that I purchased at a shop that carries Braille supplies.”

“Braille supplies?” Joe questioned, hearing a desk drawer open. “I think I have everything I need for my classroom.”

“What I have here isn’t for your classroom.”

“No?”

“No.”

Adam stepped out from behind the desk. “Here. See what you think of this.”

Joe took the round, smooth object Adam slipped into his left hand. He felt the chain, and then the stem that opened the lid. As Joe’s fingers explored the raised Braille numbers on the face, he smiled. “It’s a watch.”

“That it is.”

“This is one thing I’ve really missed since I lost my sight – knowing what time it is.”

“I know. That’s why I thought it was the perfect gift. I was going to wait and give it to you as a birthday present, but I was afraid you’d go out and buy yourself one before then.”

“You can call it my birthday present.”

“I’m not opposed to that,” Adam teased.

“Didn’t think you would be.”

It was as Joe explored the watch a second time that he discovered the Braille lettering engraved on the inside of the lid that read:

Sept. 1872

Joe,

To Success!

Your brother, Adam

Joe let his fingers read the words again, then shut the lid and slipped the watch into his pocket. He knew that short phrase, “To Success!” was Adam’s way of telling him how far he’d come in the months since he’d lost his sight, and that Adam had faith he’d have nothing but success as he began his teaching career.

Joe’s voice was husky with emotion when he stepped forward and hooked an arm around Adam’s neck, pulling his brother into a hug.

“Thanks, Adam. It’s a beautiful watch. It’ll always be special to me.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.” Adam clapped Joe on the back. “Come on. We’d both better turn in. As I’ve come to learn, the first day of school is always a long one. By the time we get back here tomorrow evening, we’ll be ready to collapse.”

“It’s even worse than the first day of a cattle drive?”

“Allow me to assure you, little brother, it’s worse than the first day of any cattle drive you’ve ever been on.”

Joe’s skepticism was plain to hear. 

“I think you’ve been away from the ranch too long. A bunch of kids having to settle in for the first day of school can’t come close to comparing to a bunch of stubborn cattle that don’t wanna leave their grazing land.”

Adam chuckled with what Joe perceived as delight, while they walked up the stairs together.

“If you’re still willing to say that at this time tomorrow night – if you’re even still awake to say it – then I’ll owe you dinner at my favorite restaurant.”

“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal. And if I’m not willing to say it, which I won’t be, but if I’m not, I’ll buy you dinner at that favorite restaurant of yours.”

“Good thing you had some money wired here then, because you’re going to need it.”

The brothers bantered back and forth on this subject until they reached their rooms. Once they’d said good night, Joe shut his door and got ready for bed. He removed the watch from his pocket and placed it on his dresser. He chuckled a bit when, thirty minutes later, he found himself tossing and turning while having trouble falling asleep. 

For the first time in his life, Joe Cartwright was excited over the thought of attending school.

Chapter 27

“Hey!” Joe ducked when another paper wad clipped him on the side of the face. “Cut that out!” 

He made a blind grab as running footsteps flew past him. “Get back in your seats!”

The noise level in the room only increased, as boys talked, laughed, whistled, and shouted. One little guy clung to Joe’s legs, crying for his mother, while Joe held a fistful of a teenager’s shirt and propelled the boy toward a seat. For all Joe knew, he was throwing the kid on top of another boy, but he was long past caring.

“Now sit down and stay there!”

Another paper wad bounced off Joe’s shoulder, and then some maverick with a peashooter hit Joe in the middle of the forehead with a pebble. 

“Ouch! Why you little. . .”

These kids are blind, for cryin’ out loud! How can they have such good aim?

Before Joe could sort out which kid had the weapon, a bell clanged in the hallway, signaling the end of the school day. The older boys rushed for the door, eager to go outside and play. 

“Wait! Hey, wait! You’re supposed to leave as a class in an orderly fashion!” Joe shouted, quoting a rule from the students’ handbook. “And don’t run! Boys! Boys, get back here! Boys, the stairs! Be careful on the stair–”

The child clinging to Joe’s legs tugged on his trousers. 

“Mr. Cart-Cart-Cartwright?” the six-year-old hiccupped between his tears.

“What, Billy?”

“I want-I want-I want-I want my papa to come get me and take me home.”

Joe patted the boy’s back, mumbling, “I know just how you feel, Billy. Believe me, I know just how you feel.”

Billy’s sobs caused the other little boys left in the room to start crying and saying they wanted to go home, too.

“No, no.” Joe stumbled toward the sounds of distress coming from all directions. “Don’t cry. Come on now, don’t cry.”

“I want my mama!”

“I want my pa!”

“I wanna go home!”

Thankfully, the boys’ dorm father, Killian Murphy, entered the room before the sobs and cries for parents and home could escalate further.

“I thought yeh might need me help, Mr. Cartwright. I know how hard the first day is on these young ones who’ve traveled so far to attend our fine school.”

Joe wanted to say that he was sure by now everyone in the institute probably knew he needed help, but he managed to swallow his sharp retort because he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Thank you, Mr. Murphy. I appreciate it.”

Joe passed the weeping Billy over to the dorm father, at the same time resisting the urge to get down on his knees and kiss the Irishman’s boots in gratitude. 

“Come along, young lads. Come with me. We’ll go outside to play until supper is served.”

The sounds of sobs, hiccups, sniffles, cries for “Mama!” and shuffling feet, lingered for a moment, then slowly began to fade as Mr. Murphy led the littlest members of Joe’s class – boys just six and seven years old – outside to a playground.

When Joe sensed he was finally alone, he trudged toward the front of the room, swearing when he banged his shins into a student’s toppled desk. Still wincing from the smarting pain, Joe navigated gingerly toward his own desk. He felt his way around the wooden structure and dropped to his chair. He propped his elbows on the desktop, buried his head in his hands, gave a defeated sigh, and wondered if he’d be the first teacher Adam had ever fired after just one day of employment.

Chapter 28

Adam leaned against the doorframe, trying to suppress a grin. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn the Battle of Vicksburg was fought in this room. Paper wads littered the floor like cannonballs, desks were overturned like dead horses, textbooks were strewn from one end of the room to the other like fallen soldiers, and the general – his curls limp with perspiration, the first two buttons on his collar open, his tie askew, and his suit coat hanging by just one shoulder from the back of his chair – looked like he was ready to wave a white flag. 

No less than a dozen smart remarks immediately came to Adam’s mind. The kind of quips one Cartwright brother would toss to another during a situation such as this, like: “You mean to tell me that you can break twenty horses in a day, but you can’t control twenty boys?” Or, “Since when did reenacting the Civil War become part of our curriculum?” Or, “Now you know how every teacher who ever taught you felt at the end of the first day of school.”

But Adam squelched the urge to say any of those things, because Joe looked so forlorn and beaten. The smart remarks could wait for another time. Right now, Joe needed a little brotherly support, rather than brotherly humor.

Adam pushed himself away from the doorway, making his presence known as he walked into the room. His tone was soft and sympathetic.

“Rough day, huh?”

Joe’s head came out of his hands. “You’re the master of understatement.”

“Come on. Let’s get this place cleaned up, and then head home.”

Joe pushed himself to his feet. “Just get it over with, Adam.”

“Get what over with?”

“Go ahead and fire me.”

“Fire you?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not going to fire you.”

“Oh come on. Don’t do me any favors just because I’m your brother.”

“I’m not doing you any favors.”

Joe extended an arm. “Look at this room. I don’t have to be able to see to know it’s a mess.”

“It’s a mess all right. I won’t deny that.”

“And the kids did nothing but yell and run around like wild animals all day long. That is, when they weren’t throwing paper wads, or using their peashooters. And the ones who weren’t doing any of that stuff spent the whole day crying.”

“And what makes that different from any other first day of school?”

“What makes it different is that none of it was happening in anyone else’s room. Only mine.”

Adam approached his brother. He lifted his hand and squeezed Joe’s shoulder. 

“Joe, sit back down for a minute.”

“Why?”

“Just sit down. I think we need to talk.”

Joe did as Adam asked of him, while Adam perched on a corner of Joe’s desk. 

“Look, it’s okay. Just fire me. I’ll explain it all to Pa. I’ll let him know you gave me a fair shot.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. I’m a little too old to be worried about what Pa would have to say if I did fire you – which I’m not going to do, by the way – so it’s a moot point.”

“Adam, just be honest with me. If I was anyone but your brother, would you fire me for my performance today?”

“No, I wouldn’t. What I’d do for that fictional teacher you’re speaking of who isn’t my brother, is give him a second chance.”

“I don’t think a second chance is gonna make much difference.”

“I’ve never known you to hang up your spurs without a fight.”

“I feel like I’ve fought about all I can. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Want some advice?”

Joe shook his head. “I’m not up for advice at the moment.”

“All right,” Adam agreed, knowing full well that Joe only accepted advice from someone when he was darn good and ready to. He’d try to work the problem out on his own for days, maybe even weeks. If by then he didn’t meet with success, he might be willing to listen to what Adam had to say, but prior to that, Adam would just be wasting his breath. 

Joe was quiet for a few seconds; then said, “I just can’t believe a roomful of blind kids could be so much trouble.”

Adam chuckled. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Kids are kids, Joe. It’s doesn’t matter that they’re blind. And you have to remember that some of them have been blind since birth, so they’re used to navigating in strange places, even though their methods of doing so might be sloppy at best, ill mannered at worst. And keep in mind, too, that many of them have never been to school. So in some cases, you’re being forced to teach a sixteen-year-old what most kids learn at six.”

“What’s that?”

“How to sit in a classroom and be respectful of the teacher and other students. Also, it’s not unusual for many of the children to come to us spoiled and pampered. Some of them have never been made to do anything for themselves, and because they’re blind, and no one at home could bear to discipline them, they’ve gotten away with behavior our father would have had us over his knee for.”

Joe gave a slow, thoughtful nod. Adam knew his brother had read the summary reports on each of his students that had been converted to Braille type for him. Therefore, Joe possessed the same knowledge of the boys Adam did prior to this first day of school. 

Henry Thompson was sixteen, and blind since birth. He’d never attended school, and was only here now because a wealthy aunt had stepped forward and paid for two years’ worth of tuition.

John Dugan was fifteen, and also blind since birth. Like Henry, what little education John had received was given to him at home by his mother. His parents had scrimped and saved to get him here.

Anthony Marcelli was fourteen and blind since the age of three, again with no formal education of any kind. 

Caleb Greers was ten years old, and blind for just nine months. Prior to that, he’d lived a normal life with his parents and three brothers on a farm in Pennsylvania.

Six-year-old Billy Fitzgerald lost his sight at age two, and was now many miles away from his home in Minnesota.

The remaining fifteen boys in Joe’s classroom were no different from Henry, John, Anthony, Caleb, and Billy. They ranged in age from six to sixteen, some born blind, while others had lost their sight due to illness or accidents. Those who had lost the ability to see after the ages of six or seven, had at least some experience attending school, while for those who had been blind since birth, or who had lost their eyesight when very young, like Billy, this was their first time in a classroom. 

“Joe, the first day of school is always like this. Between the confusion and chaos as the children arrive, attending the morning assembly, saying goodbye to their parents, getting them into their classrooms – well, it never goes smoothly. Not for anyone.”

“Maybe so, but I didn’t hear anyone else experiencing the Battle of Bull Run in their classroom.”

Adam smiled at Joe’s Civil War reference, but didn’t comment on it other than to say, “Great minds think alike.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Listen, Joe, whether you realize it or not, you’ve got the hardest job here.”

“I do?”

“You do.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because aside from Laddie, you’re the only teacher who doesn’t have students who’ve attended the institute in prior years. This is a brand new experience for the boys in your classroom. And, like you just a few months ago, they’re completely without any skills other than what they’ve taught themselves.”

“But I didn’t hear any problems coming from Laddie’s room.”

“That’s because she’s a seasoned teacher. As well, she’s teaching only girls this year. It’s been my experience that girls don’t cause nearly as much trouble as boys, and certainly aren’t as loud and physical about it when they do.”

“Now you tell me.”

Adam smiled, while clapping Joe’s shoulder.

“Enough of this talk about being fired. Let’s clean up this room and go home. I promise, tomorrow will be a new day.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now come on. Mrs. O’Connell will have supper waiting for us.”

The brothers worked together righting the desks, and picking up papers and books. When Adam declared the room was back in order, they headed for his office to collect Shakespeare before walking home. 

“Hey, Adam?”

“Yes?”

“If I’ve got the hardest job here like you said, I’d like to put in for a raise.”

“Oh you would, would you?”’

“Yeah. I need that extra money, because I owe my brother dinner at his favorite restaurant.” 

Adam laughed. “Worse than the first day of a cattle drive, was it?”

“As much as I hate to admit this, a lot worse. Just don’t tell Hoss I said that, ‘cause he’ll never believe me.”

“Then perhaps we should put Hoss in charge of a roomful of boys on the first day of school.”

Joe grinned. “Yeah, perhaps we should.”

As they walked out of the building, the men joked back and forth over the thought of their big-hearted middle brother trying to ride herd on a classroom of rambunctious, ill-behaved boys. 

At least Joe’s in better spirits, Adam thought when they arrived home and Joe greeted Mrs. O’Connell with a grin and a compliment about the meal he could smell cooking. 

Adam hoped Joe’s good spirits would last beyond the next morning when he returned to his classroom, and as well, he hoped Joe wouldn’t allow his pride to keep him from asking for advice if he needed it.

Chapter 29

The only thing Joe could find to be thankful for during the early days of his teaching career was the arrival of the weekend. The school term had begun on the first Monday in September. By Friday, Joe felt like he’d been riding the range under a high-noon sky for three weeks straight. Adam’s promise that “tomorrow would be a new day,” came to pass, Joe supposed, but not in quite the way Adam expected it to, and certainly not in the way Joe wanted it to. The only thing new about each day was the way the older boys in his classroom increased the level of pranks and noise. Frogs and snakes were smuggled in from the playground and let loose down the little boys’ backs, which sent Billy Fitzgerald into a whole new round of crying for his mother. Mashed potatoes somehow found their way from the dining room to Joe’s chair, as did a piece of chocolate cake with a thick layer of chocolate icing that soiled the seat of Joe’s gray trousers. Not that Joe could see it, but he could easily imagine what it looked like, and spent the rest of the day tugging on the hem of his suit coat, as though doing so would make it longer, and cover the embarrassing stain.

At the end of each day, instinct told Joe his classroom once again looked like a battlefield, and he had no doubt he was fighting on the losing side. By Friday afternoon, when he’d no more than get one boy seated, before having to give chase after another one in some kind of an absurd game of blind man’s bluff, any reservations Joe had about spanking someone else’s child left him. If he could have gotten his hands on that paddle in Adam’s office, he’d have warmed more than a few pairs of britches. 

Adam stopped by the room each afternoon and helped Joe put it back in order; something Joe wished he wouldn’t do. For one thing, the thought of Adam seeing him fail so miserably was humiliating for Joe, and for another, he wanted to handle this situation his own way, despite the fact that currently, he had no idea what exactly his “own way” entailed. 

Saturday passed quietly, with Adam doing paperwork in his study, and then taking Laddie to a concert in the evening. He invited Joe to attend as well, but Joe declined. He was determined not to intrude on Adam’s private life, or be the “tag-a-long little brother” – a role he’d outgrown many years earlier. As for Joe, he spent most of Saturday walking the flower-lined paths of Adam’s yard with Shakespeare at his side, wondering what the future held if he wasn’t cut out to be a teacher.

Adam attended church on Sunday with Laddie and her family, as he did every Sunday, followed by lunch at the Brockington estate. Church attendance followed by lunch was one invitation Joe didn’t turn down, but only because Laddie wouldn’t hear of it. It was tradition that Laddie, her parents, her sisters, their spouses and children, were present in the pews at Boston’s First Presbyterian Church each Sunday, and then gathered at her parents’ home afterward. This tradition had included Adam for the past year, and by virtue of Joe being Adam’s brother and houseguest, had included him ever since his arrival from Nevada.

Although Joe was still in the early stages of getting acquainted with Laddie’s family, he didn’t have a bad word to say about any of them, other than he found one of her brothers-in-law, Gilbert Hall, to be a pompous know-it-all who ran on at the mouth, and didn’t understand that silence could indeed, be golden. But then, Adam said Laddie’s entire family thought Gil was a pompous know-it-all, as did Adam, too. Adam even suspected Gil’s wife, Florence, wasn’t exactly enamored with the man.

“I don’t suppose it can be a complete bed of roses in a family as large as Laddie’s,” Adam had commented.

“No, I don’t suppose it can,” Joe agreed. Considering Laddie had five sisters, and equal the number of brothers-in-law, Joe guessed one “bothersome bloke,” as Mrs. O’Connell would say, wasn’t anything to complain about.

Because the Brockington clan was accustomed to Laddie’s lack of eyesight, they knew how to make Joe feel comfortable, while at the same time not making him feel singled-out or “different.” Laddie still resided with her parents, and their Victorian mansion was set up to accommodate her needs. The same held true outside, where everything from lawn tennis to croquet could be played by a blind person. These were new games for Joe, and though not something he could ever picture himself and Hoss playing on the ranch, Joe appreciated the Brockingtons including him in all they did each Sunday once lunch was eaten and they headed outside for “amusements,” as Laddie’s father referred to it. With sixteen grandchildren scampering over the grounds, along with fifteen adults, it made for a lively time. This particular Sunday, Joe wasn’t much in the mood for croquet, or tennis, or a new game some of the grandchildren wanted to try called badminton. He hung back on the large veranda, as everyone else clamored down the steps. 

“Joe, you coming?” Adam called from somewhere down on the lawn.

“No. Think I’ll stay up here for a while.”

Adam’s voice was closer this time, as though he’d walked toward the section of porch railing Joe was leaning his palms on.

Quietly, Adam asked, “You okay?” 

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have a headache, do you?”

“No. No headache. You go ahead and get everyone started on an exciting game of croquet. I’ll join you later.”

“What?” Adam asked, pretending to be offended. “Croquet isn’t your style?”

“Let’s put it this way, it’s not three-card stud, a horse race around Virginia City, or tracking a mountain lion, but I guess for Boston on a Sunday afternoon, croquet is about as good as it gets.”

“Just about.”

Joe smiled and assured again, “I’ll join you in a little while. Go and have fun.”

“If you’re sure you’re all right.”

“I’m all right, Adam. Go on. The kids are waiting for you.”

“Okay. See you in a little while then.”

“Yeah,” Joe agreed, as his brother headed off toward the group of Laddie’s nieces and nephews calling his name and begging him to get the game started. “See you in a while.” 

Joe heard the swish of a woman’s dress as someone approached.

“Not going to play this afternoon, Joe?”

He turned toward the voice. 

“Not right now, Mrs. Brockington. A little later maybe.”

She patted his arm. 

“You join us when you’re ready. In the meantime, I’d better go make some children mind their p’s and q’s.” The heels of her shoes clicked against the wooden steps as she descended. “Bernard! Grandmother saw that! Don’t you push your sister, young man, or you’ll go straight to the back of the line! Amelia, honey, tie your bootlaces so you don’t trip! Jerome! Douglas! Get down from there before you fall! How many times must I tell you boys not to climb on the carriage house roof?”

Joe shook his head over the way a woman thirty years his senior could make children behave, while he, a man in the prime of his life, couldn’t keep order over a handful of blind kids confined to a contained space.

“So, Joseph, how’s the teaching going?”

Joe turned at the sound of Edward Brockington’s voice. Had he been paying attention, he’d have known the man was near him just by the pungent smell of his pipe tobacco. And aside from Mrs. O’Connell, Mr. Brockington was the only other person in Boston who regularly called him Joseph, though Joe had no idea why.

Joe felt the man stop beside him, sharing the porch railing with him as a resting spot. The picture Joe had in his head of what Mr. Brockington looked like was based on a description provided by Adam. The man was a little over six feet tall and slender, with a salt and pepper handlebar moustache, a full head of dark, wavy hair that was graying at the temples, and bright blue eyes that were the first thing you noticed about him. His voice was a deep baritone, which had initially given Joe the impression that Mr. Brockington was closer to Hoss’s size than to his own. But according to Adam, while Edward Brockington wasn’t large in stature, he was nonetheless a formidable presence – a man others respected and admired, who’d made his money through real estate sales, and numerous other business dealings he’d been involved in over the years.

In response to the man’s question, Joe almost said, “It’s going all right, thank you for asking,” just to put a quick end to the conversation. But for some reason, he found himself being more forthright with Mr. Brockington than he’d been with any other member of Laddie’s family who’d made this same inquiry of him today. Maybe it was because the pipe smoke and deep voice reminded Joe a little bit of his father, and made him homesick for Pa’s advice at a time when he could really use it. Or maybe it was just the fact that everyone else was occupied, and therefore he and Mr. Brockington could talk privately. Or maybe the heavy meal he’d just eaten, combined with the warm September sunshine that caused autumn to seem months away yet, lulled Joe into forgetting his pride.

“It’s. . .well, to tell you the truth, Sir, it’s not going very good.”

“No?”

Joe sighed. “No.”

“Mmmm. . .I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too. I. . .I was hoping this would work out. I really hate to disappoint Adam, but–”

“I don’t think you need to worry about disappointing Adam.”

“No?”

“He speaks highly of you, Joseph, as he does of your brother Eric.”

Joe smiled at the use of Hoss’s given name. Evidently, Mr. Brockington didn’t cotton to nicknames. 

“That’s what makes the thought of disappointing Adam all that much harder.”

“What seems to be the problem, son?”

“What isn’t the problem? The kids are unruly, they won’t stay in their seats, they won’t listen to me, they pick fights with one another – when they’re not pelting me with paper wads, that is – and the little ones cry all day for their mothers. So far, I haven’t been able to figure out if I even can teach, because I’m spending all my time trying to ride herd on these boys.”

“Ride herd?”

“Keep them in line. Get them to head where I want them to.”

“Ah. I see.” 

The man took a few puffs on his pipe before speaking again. “Laddie had much the same problem the first year she taught.”

“She did?”

“She certainly did. Got herself quite down in the mouth over it, you see. Told me she was going to tender her resignation, that she wasn’t made to be a teacher – all kinds of foolish nonsense such as that. And do you know what I told her?”

“No. What?”

Mr. Brockington tapped Joe’s chest twice with his knuckles. “I told her to talk to her mother.”

“Her mother?”

“Yes. To see what her mother would do in that same situation.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

“No, no. Of course you don’t. It’s like this, son. I have six daughters, as you know, so I left the disciplining of the girls to Mother. I rarely got involved, other than to back Mother up when she needed me to, or to offer a stern look or word. I still don’t exactly know what Grace’s secrets were when it came to bringing up six fine girls, but I’m pleased with the results, and I told Laddie so. I said, ‘Speak to your mother. However she tells you to handle the discipline, is the way to proceed.’ And that’s what she did. So I suggest you speak to your father about such matters, Joseph.”

“My father?”

“It appears to me that he did an upstanding job of raising you and Adam. And I’m sure of raising Eric, as well.”

“He did, but unfortunately, my pa’s not here to ask.”

“Oh. . .oh no. No he’s not, is he. Silly of me, now wasn’t it? Well. . .
um. . .that does present a bit of a challenge, doesn’t it. I wish I could offer you a few words of wisdom, but having raised only girls, I’m afraid I’m not much good where boys and discipline are concerned.”

“That’s all right.” Joe tried not to sound downhearted, though he didn’t think he’d succeeded. “Thanks anyway.”

Mr. Brockington fell silent for a few seconds; the only sound on the porch was of the man’s teeth clacking against the mouthpiece of his pipe.

“Upon giving it further consideration, Joseph, I suggest you spend some time contemplating what your father would do in a situation like this.”

The thought that immediately came to Joe’s mind made him chuckle. “Tan some hides.”

Mr. Brockington laughed. “That’s what my father would have done, too.”

Before the conversation could progress, a little boy called, “Come on, Grandpapa! It’s your turn!”

“Ah. It appears as though a croquet mallet is waiting for me.” The man patted Joe’s back, signaling an end to their discussion. “About this school issue. You’re a smart young man. You’ll figure things out. And as the expression goes, it’s always darkest before the dawn.”

“Yes, Sir,” Joe agreed. “Thanks for the. . .” by the time Joe finished with, “advice,” Mr. Brockington was striding across the lawn out of hearing range.

Joe felt his way to the porch swing behind him. He sat down, gently rocking the swing back and forth while doing what Mr. Brockington had suggested – contemplating what Ben Cartwright would do if he were in charge of teaching twenty boys in bad need of guidance, direction, leadership, and some basic manners.

Joe was still lost in thought thirty minutes later, when a small hand tugged on his arm. 

“Come on, Joe. Adam says it’s time for you to play croquet.”

Joe smiled at the child. He recognized the voice as belonging to Laddie’s niece, Frances. It was a standing joke between them, that her first name was the same as Joe’s middle name. Franny found it funny that a man had what she declared was a girl’s name, and in return Joe always teased her, telling her he didn’t think it was funny at all, and how he wished his father had given him any other middle name but Francis.

“Whatta’ ya’ want your middle name to be today, Joe?”

“Mmmm…let me think. How about. . .Beauregard?” 

This was a part of their game, too – Joe coming up with the oddest name he could think of to replace his middle name.

The five-year-old giggled. “If you ask me, that’s a lot worse than Francis.”

“Well, not if you ask me. I kind of like it, Miss Frances. Joseph Beauregard Cartwright. I might even write to my pa and tell him that’s what he should call me from now on.”

The girl laughed again, while at the same time tugging at Joe until he stood. As she led him down the steps and across the lawn she yelled, “Adam! Adam, you’ll never guess what.”

“What, Franny?” Adam called back.

“Joe’s middle name is Beauregard now!”

Adam’s tone was filled with exaggerated shock. “Beauregard?”

“Uh huh. Joseph Beauregard Cartwright. That’s what he just said.”

“Oh, he did, did he? Then I hope he’s the one who plans to break that news to our father.”

“He is! He said he’s gonna write your papa and tell him all about it.”

“I’m happy to hear that, since generally this oldest brother is the bearer of bad news on behalf of that younger one there. Now why don’t you get Joseph Beauregard over here, and tell him to take his turn.”

Joe heard the amusement in Adam’s voice, and was glad he’d put it there. He didn’t want to ruin his brother’s day with Laddie’s family, or spoil the fun. Because of those reasons, the younger Cartwright went through the motions that afternoon, laughing when it was expected of him, playing whatever game was suggested, eating cookies and drinking lemonade when snacks were served, but all the while gnawing on the thought nagging at the back of his mind. 

Would he be able to get his students under control, or would Adam be forced to fire him and put him on a train headed back to Nevada?

Chapter 30

It wasn’t until after lunch on Monday, that Joe Cartwright finally figured out he couldn’t beat these kids at their own game. None of them knew he was blind, which was probably a good thing, since that knowledge would have likely made their behavior even worse. Regardless, chasing after them, yelling at them, demanding that they sit in their seats and be quiet, was getting him nowhere. It was when Joe accepted this, that he changed his tactics. It was when he thought of the things Adam had taught him, that Joe knew he still had ways to triumph. And it was when he thought of how, as a kid, he was far more unnerved by his father’s silences when he’d misbehaved, than he was by any yelling Pa did, that Joe realized he might actually have a chance to succeed.

Therefore, Joe didn’t attempt to stop any misbehavior on Monday afternoon, nor did he attempt to stop it on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, or even Friday. He sat silently throughout the week observing his class, using his sense of hearing to get to know every voice, every footstep, every bit of trouble instigated, and every habit all twenty children possessed. To some degree, his silence intimidated the kids, in the same way Joe’s father’s silences had intimidated him, but at best it only caused a pause in their misbehavior now and again, as opposed to putting a stop to it. That was all right though, because Joe hadn’t expected silence alone to correct the misdeeds, and bring these children together as a class eager to learn. He had to be the leader here. The shepherd who guided his flock in the right direction, rather than off the end of a cliff, which was pretty much where they’d been headed up until now.

Amongst Joe’s other observations as that week progressed – Adam’s sympathy for him was waning. Adam still came by the room each afternoon and assisted Joe with righting the desks, picking up books, and throwing away paper wads, but he no longer asked Joe if he wanted advice. Instead, Adam offered it willingly while they cleaned.

“You can’t let this continue, Joe,” Adam declared on Thursday afternoon.

“I know.”

“Other teachers are complaining about the noise.”

“I know.”

“Mr. Cross came right out and accused me of nepotism today.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope there’s a cure.”

“Joe,” Adam said with exasperation, “nepotism means–”

“I know what nepotism means. You don’t need to explain it. And as for Crabapple Cross–”

“Joe! You can’t refer to a colleague that way.”

“I can and I will if it applies, and where Cross is concerned, it does. Besides, I already know what his opinion is. He passed me in the hall yesterday and mumbled something about my incompetence, and that if I wasn’t the headmaster’s brother I’d have been fired by now.”

“Then all the more reason to listen to my advice.”

“Why?”

“Because Cross’s father is a school board member.”

“Oh really? Well, well, well, how do ya’ like that? And that horse’s behind had the nerve to accuse you of nepotism.” 

“Joe–”

“Adam, just have a little faith in me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

“It doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”

“I realize that, but as Pa would say, you’ve gotta crawl before you can walk, and you’ve gotta walk before you can run, so I figure I’m in the crawling stage right now.”

“Well if you don’t move to the walking stage fairly quickly, you’ll leave me no choice but to. . .”

“But to what?”

“I. . .Joe. . .I don’t want to have to let you go.”

“Fire me, you mean?”

“Yes. I don’t want to do that, but we’re more than halfway through the second week of school, and these boys are only getting worse, instead of better. Now, if you’d let me sit in class with you for several days, give you some hands-on guidance and 
direction–”

“I don’t need your help.”

“As headmaster of this institution, I think you do. This isn’t the time to be stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn.”

“Then what are you being?”

“I’m being like pa.”

“You’re what?”

“Like Pa. I’m doing what Pa would do in a situation like this.”

“And just what pray tell is that?”

“Letting the bear cubs think they’ve outsmarted me. In due time, they’ll find out there’s a fox in the den.”

Joe could feel Adam studying him. Adam finally sighed, and Joe pictured his brother throwing up his arm in defeat. 

“All right, all right. You win. I’ll give you a little more time. But if these kids haven’t straightened up by the end of next week, and if there’s not some teaching going on in this room by then, I’ll have no choice but to ask you to resign.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t let it come to that, please. Let me help you. Let me sit in here with you and–”

“No. I can do this by myself. That’s the only way I’ll earn the boys’ respect. If they think I’m gonna run to the headmaster and tattle every time they misbehave, they’ll never be willing to learn from me.”

“That’s what Elias Cross does.”

“Runs to you and tattles when his students misbehave?”

“Yes.”

Joe snorted. “Figures. I had that whiney jackass pegged as a snitch from the first day I met him.”

“Joe. . .” 

“Oh, come off it, Adam. Quit acting so prim and proper. You think he’s a whiney jackass, too.”

“Well. . .okay, I do, but–”

“I know, I know. He’s a colleague, and his father’s on the school board. I get it. I’ll be on my best behavior around him, don’t worry.”

“Part of being on your best behavior is getting your students under control.”

“And I will. Just give me a few more days, like you said you would. Please. Just through the weekend. That’s all I need.”

“The weekend?”

Joe nodded. “I’ve got some things I need to get done on Saturday. I’ll be here most of the day. Don’t worry if you don’t see me until after you come home from your date with Laddie. Better yet, enjoy an evening alone in your house with her. I promise I won’t be home until well after you two are done doing whatever it is you do when I’m not around, and Mrs. O’Connell is at her sister’s house.”

“Joe! Laddie’s not that kind of woman.”

Joe winked. “All the more reason to marry her then, and make her that kind of woman.”

“Joseph!”

Joe laughed. “Listen, I personally don’t care what you two do. Stay home, go out, hunker down in a closet together. . .I’m just lettin’ you know I’ll be busy on Saturday, and that by next week things should be improving in this room.”

“How are you going to get back and forth from my house to here?”

“I’m twenty-nine years old. I can make my own arrangements.”

“Joe–”

“Adam, everything you taught me was to help me gain my independence. I know plenty of the staff here now. I can get a ride with someone, or pay one of groundskeepers to walk me home, or ask Mr. Murphy to. Don’t fret about it.”

“Why can’t I come with you?”

“Because what I have to do. . .what I wanna accomplish, I need to accomplish on my own. Without your opinion coming into play.”

“Since when is my opinion poison to you?”

“It’s not. I respect your opinion more than I’ve probably ever told you. But I have to do this on my own. If I succeed, I’ll prove to myself that I know what I’m doing. That I can teach these boys. If I fail. . .well, if I fail, I’ll at least be able to tell 
myself. . .and Pa, that I tried.”

“You don’t have to tell Pa anything. He’ll know you tried.” 

“He probably will. But still, it’s important to me that I do this on my own, no matter what the results are.”

“Joe. . .”

“Adam, please. Trust me with this. I’m the one who’s allowed these boys to get this far out of control. Now I’m the one who has to rectify that.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself. You’re new to teaching. You–”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to fix this myself. Without your help.”

Joe envisioned Adam shaking his head with disgust.

“Why is that little brothers are so all-fired determined to do things by themselves, when a big brother is willing to help?”

“I don’t know. Why is that big brothers are so all-fired determined to offer their assistance, when a little brother says he wants to do something on his own?”

“Perhaps those are questions we’ll never have answers to, huh?”

“That seems to be the case, yeah. Now, if you really wanna help, you could straighten the desks after I pick them up.”

“Mmmm. . .somehow I knew any help I was allowed to give would be on your terms.”

“You know, Adam, you’re gettin’ plumb smart in your old age, as our brother Hoss would say.”

“And what he’d say about you, is that you’re getting more bull-headed and ornery.”

“He just might at that,” Joe agreed.

Once the room was back in order, the brothers went to Adam’s office to get Shakespeare. Adam and Joe walked to and from the institute on most days, Adam almost always bringing his German Shepherd with him. Only on rainy days, or during the middle of winter, or on a day when Adam knew he’d be short for time, did he make use of a carriage and driver to cover the two mile distance that separated his home from the school.

On the way home, Shakespeare walked ahead of Joe, as had become his habit in recent weeks, as though he’d appointed himself Joe’s guardian. When they reached Adam’s house, Shakespeare led Joe through the open iron gate. Joe gently tugged on the dog’s leash, stopping their progress on the walkway leading to the front door.

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“I just wanna let you know that if things don’t improve by the end of next week like I hope they will, I’ll give you my resignation before you have to ask for it.”

“You’ll give me. . .what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I won’t put you in a position where you have to fire me, and I won’t hang onto the job so that other teachers besides Cross start accusing you of favoritism. I’ll resign if my plan doesn’t work.”

“Joe–” 

“I’ll resign, Adam. That’s all I have to say about it.” Joe walked forward again, Shakespeare taking that as his cue to walk as well. “Now come on, let’s go in and see what Mrs. O’Connell has made for supper.”

“Stubborn and ornery, Joseph!” Adam called after his brother. “Stubborn and ornery both.”

“That’s my middle name.”

“I thought it was Beauregard.”

Joe laughed as Shakespeare led the way into the house. He kept the mood light the remainder of the evening, not wanting Adam to detect that he figured he had a 50-50 chance at best, that come one week from now, he wouldn’t be tendering his resignation.

Chapter 31

It was late by the time Joe returned to Adam’s house on Saturday evening. He’d left before Adam was up that morning, and spent the majority of the day at the school, except for one trip to the Braille supply shop where Adam had bought his watch. Despite Joe’s assertion that Adam should enjoy his time alone with Laddie on a rare evening when both Joe and Mrs. O’Connell were away from the house, Adam must have been watching for him. Joe didn’t even get his hand on the front door knob, before Adam yanked the door open.

“Who walked you home?”

“And a how-do-you-do to you too, big brother.”

Joe brushed past Adam with Shakespeare leading the way. There was a long enough pause that Joe knew Adam was looking up and down the sidewalk, trying to determine if anyone had accompanied him.

“Hi, Joe.”

Joe smiled in the direction of Laddie’s voice as he unhooked Shakespeare’s leash and hung it on a hook in the foyer’s closet. The dog went over to his favorite spot in front of the fireplace hearth and plopped down, as though he’d done a full day’s work and deserved a nice, long rest.

“Hi, Laddie. I hope my brother hasn’t bored you this evening by doing nothing but staring out the window watching for me.”

“Oh, he’s come up with a few other ways to pass the time, but yes, mostly he’s been staring out the window.”

“I got that impression when I practically fell in the front door.”

“Joe, who walked you home?”

Joe turned at the sound of Adam’s voice.

“Shakespeare.”

“Shakes. . .Joe. . .”

“You asked.”

“You told me you’d make arrangements to get yourself to and from the institute.”

“I did. With Shakespeare. Didn’t Mrs. O’Connell tell you he was with me?”

“She did, but she never mentioned that you’d left here by yourself.”

“I didn’t leave here by myself. I told you, I had Shakespeare with me.”

“Joe. . .”

“Adam, this dog knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry, I was perfectly safe.”

“Where you and worry are concerned, I’m second only to Pa in how much of it I do. You can’t use a dog as a companion to get you to and from places.”

“Maybe not to and from some places, but to and from the places he’s familiar with. He took me right to the school, and brought me right home. When I had another errand to run today, where I knew Shakespeare had never gone, I got Mr. Murphy to go with me. But I took Shakespeare, too, so he’d know the way from now on. I’ll tell ya’, Adam, I think this dog could be trained to take me a lot of places. Ever since I’ve been walking back and forth to the institute with you and Shakespeare, I’ve noticed that he always stops when we have to step off a curb, when we come to stairs, if there’s a carriage headed our way. . .smart animal.”

“Smarter than you, evidently.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you can’t trust a dog to keep you safe. I think Shakespeare’s smart too, but not quite as intelligent as you’re giving him credit for. And just what errand did you have to run today that I couldn’t have taken you on?”

“Never mind. It’s not important.”

“Oh. Another errand where my opinion wasn’t welcome, is that it?”

“Adam, come on. Don’t take it personally. I told you that I have to do this on my own. It has nothing to do with whether or not I want your opinion.”

“Well, maybe you need my opinion. Walking home alone after dark was stupid, Joe. You shouldn’t have even considered doing it. You told me you’d have someone bring you home. You said–”

“I told you I’d make my own arrangements, which I did.”

“But you didn’t tell me those arrangements were going to be with a dog!”

“And you didn’t ask!”

“And why would I have thought to ask? I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be that absurd, though I suppose I should know better by now.”

“Who are you callin’ absurd?”

“You! That’s who!”

“If you think that just because I can’t see I won’t pop you one right in the jaw, just keep it up!”

“And if you think that just because I have one arm, I won’t pop you one right back, just try me!”

Laddie’s laughter was like a bucket of cold water being thrown on the altercation that was just starting to heat up.

“What’s so funny?” Adam asked the woman. 

“You two. You sound like a couple of little boys who need a ‘trip to the woodshed,’ as I believe people from Nevada refer to it.”

“I don’t need a trip to the woodshed,” Adam growled, “but I sure know someone who does.”

“And you think you’re a big enough man to do it, is that it?”

“I just might be.”

“Oh yeah? Well. . .”

Laddie came to stand between the two warriors. “Boys, boys, boys. Enough. I thought we were past silly arguments like this.”

“We would be, if he hadn’t done something so foolish.”

“It wasn’t foolish!”

“No, Joe, I don’t think it was, either.”

It was when Laddie made that declaration, that Joe wished he could have seen the expression on Adam’s face. 

“What did you just say?” Adam asked Laddie.

“I said I don’t think it was foolish, either. Well. . .possibly a little foolish, but if Joe says Shakespeare is capable of keeping him safe, then I believe it.”

“A month ago, you were the one scolding me for leaving him alone by a bench, and now you’re endorsing this. . .this. . .this guide dog idea of his?”

“Guide dog,” Joe mumbled. “I like that. Good name for it, Adam.”

“I’m not trying to find a name for it, because it’s not something you’ll be doing again.”

“Adam. . .” Joe balled his fists, but almost as quickly, relaxed them. When all was said and done, Shakespeare was Adam’s dog, and to argue for the right to use him wasn’t Joe’s place. He took a deep breath and counted to ten, then whistled for the dog. 

“Come on, Shakespeare, let’s go to the kitchen and get you some food and water.”

What transpired in the parlor during the extended period of time Joe remained in the kitchen with Shakespeare in an effort to calm his temper, Joe wasn’t sure. All he knew was that when he returned, Laddie had left to go home, and Adam offered an apology.

“Look, Joe, I’m sorry. I still think what you did was foolish, but if you say Shakespeare is capable of doing the things you outlined, then I believe you.”

“He is, Adam.”

“All right.”

“I. . .I’d like to use him sometimes to take me places, if that’s all right with you.”

“It’s all right with me under two conditions.”

“What conditions?” Joe asked warily, sure his newfound independence would be snatched from him before he even got the chance to experience it.

“Number One. That I have the opportunity to watch him work for you, and he proves to me he can do the things you say he can.”

“Okay.”

“And that if you’re going out after dark, or returning after dark, you let me accompany you, or you get someone from the school to do so. Someone who’s sighted, that is.”

“Adam, come on. It’s always dark for me now. What difference does it make?”

“You know what difference it makes. Boston’s like any other city. There’s a higher incident of crime after dark.”

“Tell that to the kids who stole my wallet in broad daylight.”

“I’ll be happy to, if I ever run across them.”

“Adam–”

“Those are the conditions, Joe. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

Joe hesitated a few seconds, but only to save face. 

“All right. I’ll take ‘em.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Thanks, Adam.”

“You’re welcome.”

Right before Joe headed up the stairs, he turned toward his brother and grinned. 

“With the way that woman has you apologizing to me left and right, you really do need to marry her.”

A sofa pillow smacked Joe in the back of the head. He laughed, but let the subject of a marriage between Adam and Laddie drop as he walked up the stairs to his room.

Chapter 32

Joe stood in the doorway of his classroom on Monday morning, waiting for the bell to clang that signaled the start of the school day. He took his watch out of his suit coat pocket, flicked open the lid, and felt the position of the hands. Eight twenty-eight. He shut the lid and returned the watch to his pocket, then took a deep breath. This either worked, or he was headed back to the Ponderosa to live out his life trying to find ways to be useful.

Joe’s room was on the fourth floor of the building, with Laddie’s room down the hall from his. Elias Cross’s room was housed on this floor, as were the classrooms of several other veteran teachers. Joe wondered at the logic of putting the newest students on the uppermost floor of the building, meaning they had to navigate the most stairs, but he supposed it didn’t hamper them much. Or least ways, he couldn’t tell it by how the boys in his class charged up those stairs like a herd of stampeding cattle.

Speaking of stampeding cattle, at the sound of the bell, the stairs vibrated with pounding footsteps. Joe heard the disapproving, “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” from the other side of the hall, where Cross was no doubt standing at his classroom door, waiting to monitor everything Joe and his students did.

Today, Joe was ready for those stampeding cattle. He grabbed the first boy to reach his door by the arm and brought him up short, causing the other boys to bump into him. From the sounds of things, Joe guessed a few had fallen on their rear ends, but he figured it served most of them right.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?”

Joe immediately identified the speaker. 

“The big idea, Henry, is that things are going to be done differently in this classroom starting right now.” Joe “looked” at his students. “Boys, I’m leading Henry into the class. The rest of you will follow in an orderly fashion, just like the school rules state.”

“I ain’t waitin’.” 

Joe was prepared for the boy who tried to plow his way past Henry. So prepared, that he could have predicated the teenager’s actions. Joe grabbed this boy with his free hand.

“Oh yes you are, John. Now come on. It’s your lucky day.” 

“Lucky day?”

“You and Henry here, have the privilege of setting an example for your classmates.”

Joe marched the two troublemakers into the class, his grip firm and strong.

“Hey, you’re hurtin’ me!”

“Then quit trying to twist out of my hold, Henry.”

This was the first time Joe had called the boys by name on a regular basis, because it was the first time he could easily identify who they were. His week of observation was already paying off. It seemed to make Henry and John a little nervous now that Joe was directly calling them on their misbehavior.

Joe turned to face the others. 

“Come on, boys. Come in the room. But don’t sit down.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Tony, there’s a new seating order.”

“New seating order?”

“That’s right, Pete. Everyone stay where you are, while I lead Henry and John to their seats.”

Some of the younger boys giggled at the thought of the “big boys” being led to their desks like little kids.

Henry turned. “Shut up!”

Joe gave the teen’s arm a firm squeeze. “No, Henry. No more talk like that in this classroom.”

“Talk like what?”

“Telling someone to shut up. Calling someone names. Hitting, throwing things, tipping over desks. . .it stops as of today.”

“What if we don’t wanna stop?”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. I’m in charge here.”

“Haven’t been up until now.”

“Well, kid, it’s a new day.” Joe propelled the boy forward. “Now come on.” 

When Joe came to the first desk in the first row, he let go of the boys, took Henry’s hand, and ran it over the wooden placard screwed to the back of the seat. 

“This is your name written in Braille. It’s the first thing you’re gonna learn today. Now sit.”

“What if I don’t wanna?”

Joe shoved the boy downward. “Do it anyway.”

Joe smiled as he heard Henry trying to do exactly what he’d expected once the boy was seated – tip the desk over.

“Don’t waste your time, Henry. The desks are bolted to the floor.”

Joe smiled again at the collective, “Awwww,” of disappointment that resounded throughout the room.

“Now come with me, John. Your seat is the last desk in the last row.”

“But I wanna sit by Henry!”

“I’m sure you do. But starting today, you’ll sit back here. Give me your hand. This is your name written in Braille.”

Once Joe had John seated, he turned to go and retrieve another boy. However, he was forced to make a detour to the new bookcase he’d had installed on Saturday, where he heard someone trying to open the doors. 

“That’s locked, Henry. Until you boys can learn books are for reading, and not for throwing, it’ll stay that way. Same goes for the paper. It’ll stay locked in that bookcase until you learn it’s for writing on.” Joe placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Now come on. Back to your seat.”

Despite Henry’s resistance, Joe ran the teenager’s fingers over the name placard again, telling him once more, “This is your name in Braille.”

As Joe assumed would be the case, he didn’t meet with resistance from the younger boys when it came to the new seating arrangement. It was only the older boys who voiced their displeasure with it. 

“I don’t know what difference it makes to you guys anyway,” Joe quipped at the complainers as he seated Tony Marcelli, “it’s not like you can see the blackboard, no matter where I put you.”

Joe’s comment was met by shocked silence at first, followed by a smattering of laughter from the teenagers.

“Good joke, Mr. Cartwright,” John said.

“Yeah, Mr. Cartwright,” fifteen-year-old Pete Simmons agreed. “Pretty funny.”

Although Joe didn’t tell the boys this, there was a reason for the new seating arrangement. On the first day of class, the boys had been made to sit according to the Braille seating chart provided for Joe, which placed them in alphabetical order based on their last names. By the end of that first day, however, they were sitting wherever they wanted to. Which meant, like Pa often used to say rather pointedly to Joe when he was a boy, “Somehow the troublemakers always find one another.”

Pa’s wisdom regarding troublemakers proved to be sound where Joe’s students were concerned. Therefore, his new assigned seating arrangements split the troublemakers up, and had younger boys seated between them. 

Three times during the process of getting everyone familiar with the Braille version of their names, and then getting them seated, Joe had to tell older boys to return to their desks. But now he didn’t feel at a disadvantage, because he recognized every voice and every footstep. He’d immediately refer to a youngster by name, and command that he get back to his seat. Joe’s sense of hearing told him if his command had been complied with or not. 

Joe walked over to shut the door, and then seat the last child.

“Come on, Caleb. Let me show you to your desk.”

The boy yanked himself from Joe’s grasp. “I can find it myself!”

Joe was taken aback by the child’s anger. Because his attention had mostly been on the teenagers the last two weeks, he hadn’t observed a lot, good or bad, about Caleb Greers, other than the boy was quiet and seemed to keep to himself. At a time when Joe was desperate for a quiet boy, he took Caleb’s silence to be an indication of good behavior.

Joe didn’t try and touch Caleb again. The boy stumbled around the room feeling for an empty desk, Joe following behind him.

“Come on, kid, let Mr. Cartwright help ya’,” Tony advised. “If you hadn’t noticed, you’re blind.”

“Yeah, kid, quit trippin’ over your feet and sit down!” Henry called. “Ya’ can’t see the broad side of a barn, ya’ know!”

Caleb whirled toward Henry’s voice. “I can too! I can see! I can!”

“Then whatta’ ya’ doin’ here? Take a wrong turn on the way to Georgia or somethin’?”

Laugher erupted at Henry’s remark.

“All right, boys,” Joe said, “that’s enough. Go on, Caleb. Find your seat.”

“I can do it myself!”

“I never said you couldn’t. Just find it, please, and then sit down.”

Joe waited until he knew the boy had found the only empty seat left in the room. 

“Your name is on the back of it in Braille. Why don’t you see what it feels like.”

“ ‘Cause I don’t wanna! I can read real words! Regular words written like they’re supposed to be.”

“Braille is regular words, too.”

“No it’s not, and you can’t make me learn it!”

“So you’re going to do your lessons in “regular words,” is that it?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. If you can do it, I’ll accept your work that way.”

“I can do it.”

“Okay,” Joe agreed, hearing the anger and defiance in the boy’s voice, as though he was daring anyone to say he was blind. “When we get that far, we’ll see how it goes.”

“It’ll go fine!”

Joe ignored the boy’s declaration, instead, turning his attention to the entire class. For once, the older boys were riveted by someone causing trouble other than themselves. Joe walked up and down the four aisles made up of five desks each. He didn’t realize how much he sounded like his father when he spoke, both in tone of voice and words chosen, though if Adam or Hoss had been present, they would have had hard a hard time discerning who was in charge of this classroom – Joe Cartwright, or Ben Cartwright.

“Boys, as I said earlier to Henry, it’s a new day in this room. Name calling, hitting, pushing, shoving, running in the halls, throwing things, shouting, and switching seats, won’t be tolerated. Therefore, Pete and John, get back to your assigned seats.”

Joe listened, smiling when he heard the two boys mumble under their breath as they did as he commanded. 

“Thank you,” Joe then told the boys, wanting to give them the respect they deserved for obeying him. He kicked Tony’s feet aside as he continued to walk the aisles, causing the boy to grunt with pain.

“And if you’re smart, you won’t stick your feet out and try to trip anyone either, will you, Tony?”

“No, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Good man. You learn quickly. “Now–”

Joe grabbed his forehead. Once again, he’d been the victim of someone’s peashooter. But this time, he knew right where it had come from. He’d heard the boy take a deep breath, and then let it out fast and hard. He walked over to the first desk in the first row, and held out his hand.

“Give me the peashooter, Henry.”

“I don’t got no peashooter.”

“The peashooter.”

“I’m tellin’ ya’, Mr. Cartwright, I don’t got no pea–”

Joe grabbed the boy by the shirt collar and yanked him from his seat. 

“The peashooter, kid. Now! Or you’re gonna find out I’ve got me a real nasty temper that my father’s warned would get the best of me someday. I don’t think you want that to be today, now do you, Henry?”

“Um…um…uh…no. Uh…here it is.”

The peashooter landed in Joe’s palm. 

“Thank you. When the rest of us go out for recess after lunch, you’ll go to Headmaster Cartwright’s office, and write five times in Braille, ‘I will not bring peashooters to class.’ ” 

“But I don’t know how to write in Braille.”

“I’m sure Headmaster Cartwright will be happy to teach you.”

“But it might take me more than one recess to get it done!”

“Then that’s the price you pay for bringing your peashooter to class.”

“But–”

“I’ll escort you to his office after we eat. And take it from me, Headmaster Cartwright is a real stickler for things bein’ done all nice and perfect-like, so you’d better plan on doing a good job right from the start, or you’re liable to be spending two months’ worth of recesses in his office.”

“Aw, Mr. Cartwright, that’s not fair.”

“Well, Henry, I hate to be the first one to break the news to you, but life isn’t fair sometimes.” 

Joe turned to face the rest of the class.

“Anyone else with a peashooter, I suggest you either turn it in to me, or keep it in your pocket, unless you wanna join Henry in the headmaster’s office. And don’t bring them to class again, boys.”

“Golly, but this class sure ain’t no fun any more.”

Joe smiled at John’s remark. “There’ll be plenty of fun if everyone behaves, and you work hard at learning your lessons. The reward for hard work is fun. The reward for not working hard, is more hard work.”

Before any of Joe’s students could comment on that, someone knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Joe called, already certain he knew the identity of his visitor.

“Is now a good time, Joseph?”

“Yes, Mrs. O’Connell, come in. Boys, say hello to Mrs. O’Connell.”

A chorus of “Hello, Mrs. Connell,” sounded around the room.

“Henry, I didn’t hear you say hello to Mrs. O’Connell.”

“Hi, Mrs. O’Connell,” the teenager grumbled.

“My my my, what nice young gentlemen yeh have in yer class, Joseph. They wouldn’t be hungry fer a snack now, would they?”

The smell of chocolate and warm cinnamon traveled with the woman as she walked toward Joe’s desk.

“Oh, I don’t know. . .”

“I’m hungry!” John called.

“Me too!” Pete and Tony echoed. Even Billy Fitzgerald joined in. 

“I’m hungry, Mr. Cartwright!”

“Well, I’m glad to hear yeh lads say that, because I just took some cinnamon rolls from the oven, and I just finished icing some chocolate doughnuts. I even stopped on me way here, and bought a cold pail of milk from that nice Mr. Harvey at the market down the street. Joseph, have yer boys here been good enough to have a snack, or should I just leave everything for yeh and the headmaster to share?”

“Mmmm. . .” Joe pretended to contemplate this proposal that he’d prearranged with Mrs. O’Connell, “let me see. Other than a few small incidents, I’d say yes. These boys deserve the snacks you brought.”

“Even me?” Henry asked.

“Yes, Henry, even you.”

Mrs. O’Connell took plates and cups from a picnic basket, along with the rolls and doughnuts she’d made that morning after she’d gotten breakfast on the table for Adam and Joe. Adam hadn’t even realized she was up to something. He didn’t pay much attention to the running of the kitchen, allowing his housekeeper free rein over the planning of the meals. He might make a special request now and again when he was having company, but overall, he let the kitchen be Mrs. O’Connell’s domain, in much the way the Ponderosa kitchen was Hop Sing’s.

Joe asked Mrs. O’Connell to pass out the plates and let the boys choose a treat from her basket. While she started that process with Henry, Joe went to the other side of the room with the pail of milk and the cups, giving the boys their first lesson in how to pour their own drink. A few of the boys had mastered this skill on their own at home, but most of them were like Joe had been just a few months earlier – dependent on someone to pour their milk for them.

The boys were eager to learn this new skill. Joe smiled a little at something he was learning as well – that you could make schoolwork fun, and in so doing, the kids didn’t realize they were actually completing an assigned lesson.

As Joe was showing Billy how to tell when his cup was full, Mrs. O’Connell gave a startled cry. Joe heard a “thud!” and rushed to the woman’s aid.

“Mrs. O’Connell, are you all right?”

“Yes. . .yes. . .” the woman answered a little breathlessly. “I think I’m okay. . .me old body doesn’t take a spill like it used to. Thanks be to Saint Thomas that I didn’t drop me basket of treats.”

“What happened?”

“I tripped.”

Joe turned at the sound of a snicker. 

“Caleb, did you trip Mrs. O’Connell?”

“So what if I did?”

“Oh, Joseph, surely the lad didn’t do it on purpose.”

Joe crossed his arms over his chest. If he’d had his sight, he’d have stared a hole through the boy.

“I have to differ with you on that. I think Caleb did do it on purpose.”

“So what? You gonna make me write sentences in the headmaster’s office, too? I can do ‘em in regular writing, ya’ know. I don’t need to learn none of that Braille stuff.”

“Nope, no sentences, Caleb.”

“Mr. Cartwright! That’s not fair! You’re making me write sentences!”

“Be quiet, Henry.” Joe turned to face Caleb again, taking the plate off his desk that held a warm cinnamon roll. “As for you, young man, no snack this morning.”

“I don’t care! I didn’t want it anyway!”

“Well, that’s good, because you’re not gonna have it. Snacks are rewards for good behavior, and obviously, your behavior toward Mrs. O’Connell is about as far from good as it gets. You don’t ever treat a woman that way in my classroom, Caleb. You go it?”

When Joe was met with nothing but silence, he poked the ten-year-old in the chest with a firm finger. 

“Caleb, I asked you a question.” 

“Yeah,” the boy grumbled.

“Yeah what?”

“I got it.”

“Good. Now apologize to Mrs. O’Connell.”

When Caleb didn’t do as Joe ordered, Joe repeated, “Caleb, apologize to Mrs. O’Connell.”

Caleb hesitated, then finally mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Your apology is a little short on sincerity, but I’ll let it go for now.”

“Can the boy have his roll back now, Joseph?”

“No, Mrs. O’Connell, not today.”

“But he apologized and–”

Joe gently urged the woman to move on up the aisle to the next child waiting for a treat from her basket. “Yeah, he apologized, but he lost his chance at a snack when he tripped you. Now come on. Let’s get the rest of these boys fed.”

While Mrs. O’Connell continued on her way with her basket, Joe resumed passing out cups and teaching the boys to pour milk. When he came to Caleb, he said, “You can have milk if you want some.”

“Don’t want any!”

“All right,” Joe agreed, moving on to the next boy. Despite what Caleb claimed, Joe knew better than to think the boy didn’t want something to eat, and a cup of milk to go along with it. No ten-year-old refused a doughnut or cinnamon roll, and especially not when the rest of his classmates were enjoying one. 

Let him be punished by his own stubbornness. That’s what Pa would tell me to do. Lord knows I punished myself that way a time or two when I was ten.

When the boys had been taken care of, Joe pulled a chair up to his desk and insisted Mrs. O’Connell sit down and eat with him. Joe chose a doughnut from the basket, while she chose a cinnamon roll. After everyone had finished, Joe asked the boys to bring their plates and cups to the front of the room. Again, many of them were learning a lesson without realizing it – how to pick up after themselves.

Joe helped Mrs. O’Connell pack her basket, then thanked her for coming. 

“Boys, thank Mrs. O’Connell for bringing snacks to us.”

“Thank you’s” were called out. Joe took note of how Mrs. O’Connell’s presence seemed to be a positive thing for the younger boys – especially Billy, who hadn’t cried at all since she’d entered the room. He decided she’d become a regular visitor to his classroom.

“Now, a man always walks a lady to the door. Henry, can you do that today, please.”

Joe heard the pride in the teenager’s voice. 

“Sure.” 

The boy stood and waited for Mrs. O’Connell to reach his side. When she did, he walked with her to the door and opened it. Joe just about fell over with shock when Henry said, “Thank you for comin’ here today with your snacks, Ma’am. Please come back sometime.”

“My, but aren’t yeh a nice lad. I’ll do that ‘Enry. Maybe bring some of me sugar cookies next time. Would yeh like that?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

After Mrs. O’Connell left, Joe told Henry to shut the door and return to his seat. Henry did as Joe asked without hesitation, which was a first where Joe and Henry were concerned.

“Thank you, Henry. You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you,” Joe teased, with just the right amount of humor. He could picture Henry blushing as John and Tony joined in the teasing, but he sensed Henry liked it. Maybe this was the first time Henry had ever gotten attention for good behavior, as opposed to all the attention he’d garnered over the years as a result of bad behavior.

“Okay, boys, that’s enough. Settle down. It’s time all of you start learning to walk around a room without bumping into things. Billy and Henry, come up here, please. We’ll start with the two of you.”

And that’s how the morning proceeded. Joe paired an older boy with a young one, and then taught them the basic lessons of navigating a room, just like Adam had taught him. When it came to anyone giving him problems, it wasn’t Henry, or John, or Tony, or Pete, but instead, Caleb, who refused to employ the methods Joe showed him. The boy stumbled around the room in the same way Joe remembered stumbling around the ranch house. He purposely pushed a chair in Caleb’s path, wincing when he heard the child topple over it. He reached down to help the boy up.

“Now you know why you should do what I tell you to. You wouldn’t have fallen over that chair if–”

“Leave me alone!” Caleb twisted from Joe’s grasp. “Just leave me alone! I don’t need ta’ learn any of your dumb ol’ lessons ‘bout bein’ blind. I’m not blind; do you hear me? I’m not blind!”

“Then why–” 

Joe clamped a hand over Henry’s mouth. “Be quiet,” he told the teenager.

“Caleb, you’re right. If you’re not blind, you don’t need to be here. You can go ahead and leave.”

“Le-leave?”

“Yeah. Go ahead. Leave the room. You might as well pack up your stuff and go home. It’s silly for you to be here learning with us, if you’re not blind. I’m glad I got to meet you, but seems to me it’s a waste of my time and yours if there’s nothing you can learn from me.”

“All right then. I’ll leave.”

Joe was taking a big gamble that the boy wouldn’t actually leave the building and disappear somewhere in Boston. But it was a gamble Joe was willing to take in an effort to deflate some of Caleb’s bravado.

And it was a gamble that paid off, because when the bell clanged an hour later signaling the start of lunch break, Caleb was leaning against the wall outside Joe’s classroom. The only thing Joe said to the youngster when the boy tried to sneak by him was, “Get in line, Caleb. We’re going to lunch now.”

“I don’t need to be here, ya’ know.”

“I realize that. But until I figure out how you got sent here to the institute by mistake, you might as well keep comin’ to my classroom, don’t you think?”

Caleb refused to answer, but for some reason, Joe knew the boy would be present in his assigned seat when recess ended. 

After lunch, Joe took Henry to Adam’s office and explained what the boy’s punishment was. As Joe knew would be the case, Adam took exaggerated delight in using this opportunity to teach Braille to Henry.

“Henry, I admire a boy who’s so diligent that he volunteers to stay in at recess to do his lessons.”

“Didn’t volunteer.”

“Pardon?”

“I. . .I mean, yeah. Sure. Sure, Headmaster. Whatever you say.”

“That’s better. Go on, Henry. It’s eight steps straight ahead to a chair by my desk. I’ll be right there.”

Adam pulled Joe out into the hallway. “How’d this morning go?”

Joe smiled. “Better. A lot better.”

“I thought as much since I haven’t heard any crashes coming from above, and since Cross hasn’t been in my office with a battle report.”

“It hasn’t all been smooth sailing, and it probably won’t be for a few days yet, but I. . .I think I’m on my way, Adam.”

Adam clapped Joe’s upper arm. “Good for you. What’s your secret?”

“Secret?”

“Yeah. How’d you turn things around?”

“I told you. I’m being like Pa.”

“Ah. A fox in the bear cub den, is that it?”

“Something like that. Listen, I gotta get outside and help supervise recess. . .plus say a couple of “I told you so’s” to Cross. See ya’ later.”

Adam normally would have admonished Joe to leave Elias Cross alone, but not today. Today, he wanted Joe to revel in his victory, because God knew Joe deserved to.

Chapter 33

That afternoon, Adam didn’t have to help Joe pick up desks, papers, or books. Instead, he silently admired his brother’s ingenuity when he stopped by Joe’s classroom at the end of the school day.

“Who helped you do all of this?” Adam asked, referring to the desks bolted to the floor, the name placards on the back of them, and the new bookcase.

“A lot of people. Ray and Boyd helped me with the desks,” Joe said, naming two of the building’s caretakers, “and some of the kids on the newspaper staff did the placards for me, and Mr. Murphy went with me to get the bookcase, along with a few things I wanted from that Braille shop where you bought my watch.”

“What things?”

Joe answered vaguely, “Oh, just some toys, games, things like that.” 

“Joe, you’re not going to bribe these kids, are you?”

“Whatever works, big brother.” Joe grinned as he passed Adam on his way out of the door. “Whatever works.”

Adam followed in Joe’s wake. “Pa never resorted to bribery.”

“Maybe not with you he didn’t, but with me he did.”

“All the more reason not to be the oldest child.”

Joe laughed. “Guess not, if that means you missed out on chocolate drops every time you were good after a visit to Doc Martin, or on new marbles every time you sat still in church.”

“You got marbles for sitting still in church?”

The only answer Adam received was another laugh. 

As Joe lay in bed that night drifting towards sleep, he smiled over his successes as a teacher. Like he’d told Adam after lunch, he still had a ways to go before the seas weren’t a little choppy now and again, but overall, it had been a good day. A day Joe was proud of. A day he’d remember for a long time to come. Granted, he hadn’t made any headway with Caleb Greers, but right now, as Joe basked in victory, one angry ten-year-old was the least of his worries.

Chapter 34

Joe Cartwright was likely the most unorthodox teacher that the Boston Institute for the Blind had ever employed, but the headmaster was willing to look the other way – not because Joe was his brother, but because his methods worked, and his students were prospering. After all, as Adam told Elias Cross one morning, how could a teacher be held at fault who had, despite an unproductive start, managed to make up two weeks worth of missed lessons by the end of September, and now had his students on schedule.

“But there’s too much laughter coming from that room, Headmaster,” Cross complained.

“Isn’t that better than shouting, and crying, and general chaos?”

“It disturbs my students.”

“Then perhaps you should tell them not to concern themselves with what’s going on across the hall, and instead, focus their attention on you.”

Cross glared at Adam, then moved on to his next complaint. 

“He allows his students to go outside during times that aren’t designated as recess. He says he’s holding lessons out there.”

“Then I’m sure he is.”

“Playing horseshoes and baseball?” The man sneered with disgust. “I highly doubt it, unless horseshoes or baseball will somehow become a way for blind men to gain employment.”

“Possibly not employment, but I’m sure it’s teaching them teamwork, while building their self-confidence.” 

“Self-confidence? And just how might that be?”

“I’d suggest you run around a base path with your eyes closed to discover the answer to that question.”

“It appears to be nothing other than fun to me. Of no value whatsoever.” Cross shrugged, “But you’re the headmaster, so if you disagree. . .”

“I do.”

“So be it. But one thing you can’t disagree with me about, is that your brother takes off his suit coat and tie, and rolls up his shirtsleeves, not five minutes after the morning bell rings. All of that is a direct violation of the dress code for this school’s male teachers.”

“Since his students can’t see him, I don’t think it makes a lot of difference, do you?”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if he wasn’t your brother.”

Adam sighed. Maybe Cross was right about that. He’d told Joe more than once in recent weeks to put his coat and tie back on. Joe would apologize sheepishly, claiming he “forgot” about the dress code, and then do as Adam asked. Somehow, though, by the time their paths crossed again during any given school day, Joe’s memory where the dress code was concerned had managed to fail him. Adam finally gave up on trying to make Joe adhere to it, figuring his brother deserved a little leniency given how hard he’d worked to master his new career.

“Look, Elias, I know my brother’s ways are a bit. . .informal, but you have to keep in mind that until very recently his life’s work was as a rancher. He’s used to a more relaxed atmosphere.”

“Then perhaps he should return to roping steers, or panning for gold, or chasing Indians, or doing whatever it is you people do out West.”

Adam shook his head as the scrawny man with the stick-thin legs and arms turned on one heel and walked stiffly from his office. If Joe could see Cross, with his erect bearing and beak-like nose tilted upward with disdain, he’d ask Adam who’d shoved a hot branding iron up the man’s ass. 

The headmaster chuckled at that thought, then walked to his office window. He looked toward the ball diamond, seeing Joe’s class engaged in a game. Adam knew Joe was using some of these impromptu trips outside as a way of rewarding the boys for good behavior, and for working so hard to get caught up in class. Despite Cross’s complaints, Adam was hard-pressed to find a reason why Joe couldn’t reward the boys every now and again. Plus, Adam truly believed they were learning from each new experience Joe gave them, even if it was playing baseball. When it came to engaging in common schoolyard games, they were discovering they could enjoy the same entertainment sighted children did, albeit adjusted in some ways to allow for their handicap – like the rope strung around the diamond that guided the boys as they ran from base to base, and the ball with jingle bells inside of it, that allowed them to use their hearing to track its movements as it was pitched, and then hit. Shakespeare, who now went to Joe’s classroom on most days, chased the boys around the bases, playfully barking and nipping at their heels. 

Joe’s shouts of encouragement drifted in through the window, as did the boys’ laughter. Adam couldn’t tell who was having more fun – Joe, or his students. Well, all except for Caleb Greer, who was sitting on a bench and not participating. An educated guess told Adam the boy was once again being punished for misbehavior. So far, nothing Joe had tried seemed to get through to the ten-year-old. He was the only student of Joe’s lagging behind where progress was concerned. 

They’d had a few students like Caleb since Adam’s tenure at the institute. Angry, sullen children, who refused to learn, and who Adam eventually sent home to their parents. Adam hated giving up on those kids, but since so many other children were waiting for a place at the institute, he couldn’t see the point in keeping a student who didn’t want to be here. He’d broached the subject of Caleb’s possible dismissal with Joe, but Joe wouldn’t entertain the notion.

“I’ll get him to come around. Just give me more time.”

“I’m not saying I’m sending him home tomorrow, Joe. I’m just saying that he’s been here for a month now, and he hasn’t made any progress. If I don’t see his attitude change soon, then quite frankly, notifying his parents and asking them to come get him is my only option. There are too many other deserving children on our waiting list.” 

“Give me more time, Adam,” Joe requested in that voice that sounded so much like Pa’s – the one Adam doubted Joe even realized he used when he was determined to accomplish something. “Give both Caleb and me more time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You didn’t give up on me when I didn’t wanna learn, so don’t ask me to give up on him.”

Adam had reluctantly agreed to do as Joe asked, but added, “I’ll give you until Christmas break. If Caleb’s still refusing to learn at that time, then I’ll have to tell his parents not to send him back to us when school resumes in January. Deal?”

“Deal,” Joe nodded in agreement.

Adam watched out the window now, as Joe called a halt to the ball game and told the boys they had to return to class. Joe put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, but the boy jerked from his grasp. While the other boys walked across the grounds toward the building with one arm protecting their faces, and the other arm extended in front of them, Caleb stumbled along, tripping over everything in his path.

Adam shook his head, wondering if the boy would ever be willing to learn, or if, when school resumed after Christmas, another child would take his seat.

Chapter 35

October had always been one of Joe’s favorite months. The days were still warm enough to make being outdoors enjoyable, but the nights spoke of winter’s pending arrival. It was a time on the ranch when they’d be busy making repairs to buildings and line shacks, so animals and people had protection from the cold, and getting ready for the cattle drive. Hop Sing would be bringing in the last of the vegetables from the garden, filling the kitchen with rich smells as he canned pumpkins and squash for winter pies, cakes, and breads. That was one of the few memories Joe had of his mother – the way she’d help Hop Sing in the garden all summer and fall, and then helped making jams, jellies, pies, as well as canning whatever vegetables were currently being harvested.

Adam said autumn in New England was truly a season of beauty, with brilliant oranges, golds, yellows, and reds bursting from the trees. Joe would have loved to see the colors that spoke of an old year slowly slipping away, but then, he would have loved to see a lot of things. He still wasn’t completely used to being blind, and wondered if he ever would be – or ever fully accepting of it, either, for that matter. He kept that non-acceptance well hidden now. After all, it seemed petty to wallow in self-pity when he was surrounded by children who didn’t complain about their misfortune in life. A misfortune just like his own. 

Joe’s teaching skills continued to grow that fall. As he’d known would be the case, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. The entire month of September was as much a learning experience for Joe, as it was for his students. His confidence grew as October progressed, and the boys settled into the daily routine. No longer was Joe confiscating peashooters, or sending someone to Adam’s office to write sentences, or dealing with John, Henry, Pete, and Tony, doing their best to switch seats at the start of each day. The younger boys were thriving, too. The calm routine that prevailed in the classroom now seemed to put their fears to rest, and even Billy no longer cried for his mother.

Mrs. O’Connell made “surprise” visits now and again, bringing treats baked in Adam’s kitchen, and Joe also gave out other rewards for good behavior, or lessons well mastered. For the little boys, the rewards were things like tin whistles, toy soldiers, Braille building blocks, wooden horses, hand-carved cowboy and Indian sets, modeling clay, Braille card games and board games, and candy from Casey’s Sweet Shop – everything purchased with Joe’s own money. The older boys received “passes” to places Joe took them on Saturdays – horseback riding at a nearby stable, a picnic at a park down the street from the institute, and upon an invitation from Laddie’s father, “amusements” at the Brockington estate. Mr. Brockington even taught Joe and the boys a new game called golf. It seemed silly to Joe, trying to hit a tiny ball into a small, round hole, but Mr. Brockington claimed the game would be all the rage soon. Silly or not, it didn’t matter to the teenagers. A day away from the institute was a treasured prize. They didn’t care where Joe took them, they were just happy to have the opportunity to leave the grounds with him, which probably accounted for at least some their good behavior in class.

The only child who had yet to earn a reward was Caleb Greers. He’d taken over where the older boys had left off when it came to disruptions. Tripping his classmates, striking out at them in anger, name calling, sweeping books off his desk, shouting at Joe – and if he wasn’t doing those things, then he was sitting sullenly, refusing to learn, all the while maintaining that he could see and shouldn’t be at the institute.

“Saying it doesn’t make it so, Caleb,” Joe had told the boy more than once.

“Yes it does!” the stubborn child insisted, and kept on insisting it even when all the other younger boys were playing with new toys and games Joe had given them.

At least Joe was dealing with only one child not willing to learn now, instead of twenty. He continually thought of ways to make the boys’ lessons fun. When Adam discovered the older boys reading dime novels in Braille with titles like, “The Adventures of Tex Mathers and the Cowboy Kid,” and “Shootout at the Circle B Ranch,” and “Pistol Pete and His Trick Horse Maverick,” he told Joe, “I can’t believe you’re letting them read that trash.”

“That ‘trash’ as you refer to it, entertained me on more cold winter nights than I can remember when I was a kid.”

“Which explains a lot.”

Joe ignored his brother’s teasing sarcasm. 

“They’re perfect for teenage boys just learning Braille.”

“And why is that?”

“Because those novels make them want to read, that’s why.”

“Thoreau and Hawthorn should make them want to read, too. Not to mention Shakespeare.”

“All those guys ever did for me was put me to sleep. But either way, there’ll be enough time for Thoreau and his buddies next year, when the older boys are in your literature class. In my class, it’s nothing but Tex and Pistol Pete.”

“And candy, and games, and my housekeeper showing up with a basket of cookies, and–”

“And whatever works, Adam,” Joe said with a grin. “Whatever works.”

When it came to Joe teaching the boys table manners, Adam thought he’d gone too far when all of them but Caleb, who’d refused to leave the institute with his classmates, showed up in Adam’s dining room one Saturday evening. Laddie, however, thought it was ingenuity at its finest. The boys took turns pulling out her chair for her, spreading their napkins across their laps, passing dishes of food without spilling anything, filling their own plates and cups, and then offering Laddie their arms and leading her to the parlor after the meal was finished. The final touch was when the boys wrote Adam a thank you note in Braille to express their gratitude for the evening.

“I would have never guessed you knew it’s proper to send a thank you note to your host after a dinner party,” Adam told his brother on the evening the thank you note had arrived in the mail.

“That’s because you think all the manners Pa taught us only rubbed off on you. Hoss and I picked up on a few things, too, ya’ know.”

“I’m beginning to learn that.”

“About time you did, big brother. About time you did.”

Joe’s headaches continued to come and go during September and October, but he’d been able to keep their existence from Adam. Some were mild enough that Joe could go about his normal routine without interruption. He’d had a bad one on a Saturday evening when Adam was out with Laddie, and Mrs. O’Connell was doing some kind of charity work for her church, which made it easy to go to bed early without Adam being the wiser. Another bad headache occurred one day at school right before lunch. That day, Joe managed to keep the pain hidden while getting Laddie to take his boys to the dining hall, and then to recess, saying he had things to catch up on his classroom. By the time the boys returned an hour and a half later, the headache was gone. 

But probably worse than any headache, was the heartache Joe felt when one particular letter arrived from Pa. Adam, of course, had to read Pa’s and Hoss’s letters to Joe. After Adam had read the news Pa wrote about the price he was anticipating for the fall market steers, and that the nights were growing colder, and that Hoss was busy repairing and stocking line shacks while wishing Joe was there to help him, and how old Bart Thomas was predicting a bad winter because his bursitis was bothering him something fierce, Adam’s voice faltered and trailed off.

“Is that it?” Joe asked, from where he was seated in what had become his favorite easy chair in Adam’s parlor.

“Uh. . .no. There’s. . .there’s one more paragraph.”

“Go ahead then, read it.”

“Joe. . .”

“What?”

“Um. . .never mind. It says. . .it says. . .” Adam took a deep breath, then read, “Joseph, I’m sorry to have to write of this news, son, but I didn’t think it was right to keep it from you. Sally Morris’s parents have announced her engagement to Carl Jeffers. The wedding is to take place in February.”

Joe stood as Adam finished reading. 

“Joe–”

“Don’t say anything, Adam. There’s nothing you can say.”

“How about, I’m sorry?”

“No need to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Joe whistled for Shakespeare and went to the closet for his leash. “I’m taking Shakespeare for a walk around the neighborhood. Be back in a little while.”

“You want company?”

“No. Thanks but. . .no. Not right now.”

Adam was still sitting in the parlor when Joe returned a half hour later. Joe knew this was his brother’s way of saying he was available to talk if Joe wanted to, but Joe didn’t want to. Instead, he bid Adam good night, and went upstairs to bed. 

Joe lay awake for a long time that evening, trying not to feel sorry for himself, while thinking of all the dreams that had died when he’d lost his sight.

Chapter 36

“Come on, Caleb. Let’s go. That was the breakfast bell.”

“I’m still dressing!”

“Well hurry! I’m not gonna be late for breakfast again ‘cause a’ you. Last time that happened, that ol’ weasel Cross gave me detention.”

“Then go on without me! See if I care, why don’t ya’.”

Caleb could tell the older boy had paused with indecision. Emil Sheen was the “sergeant at arms” of this room, meaning it was his job to make sure the daily rules were followed; like beds being made, clothes being folded and put in the dresser, the floor swept, and getting to breakfast on time. Caleb’s other roommates, a teenager named Hal Jenkins, and that stupid crybaby Billy Fitzgerald, had already left for the dining hall.

“Just go on!” Caleb yelled, when he couldn’t stand Emil’s silent presence any longer. “I don’t need you walkin’ me there anyway.”

“It’s my responsibility.”

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care about anything!”

“Don’t need to tell me. Pretty much figured it out the first day I met ya’.” Emil didn’t attempt to keep the disgust from his voice. “Fine. Have it your way. I’m not servin’ detention again ‘cause a’ the likes a’ you, that’s for darn sure.”

“Just go then!”

“Don’t worry, I am.” Emil stomped out of the room, muttering, “Loony kid,” as he headed for breakfast.

Caleb finished buttoning his shirt, though his state of undress didn’t really have anything to do with why he was running late. He was lagging behind on purpose, hoping a long-awaited opportunity would finally present itself.

The boy dropped to his knees beside his mattress. His was the lower bed of a wooden bunk bed set. Emil slept above him, with Hal sleeping on the upper bunk of the other bunk set in the room, Billy on the bed below him.

The beds reminded Caleb of the room he shared with his brothers at home. Matthew slept above Caleb, and Phillip slept above James. Caleb remembered when James was still too small for a bed, and slept in a cradle in Ma and Pa’s room. But James had grown quickly, like Mama said he would, and it seemed like in almost no time at all before he joined Caleb and the older boys in the “bunk house,” as Pa jokingly referred to their room.

“There’s no bunkhouse on a farm, Pa,” Caleb would say at those times. “Ranches have bunkhouses, not farms.”

Caleb’s father would laugh again and agree, while telling Caleb what a smart boy he was. Caleb didn’t know how he came to have all the knowledge that seemed to be stored in his head, ready for him to pick and choose it at will. Maybe he was smart because he’d always liked to read, or because sums came easy for him, or because he was a good speller, or because, unlike a lot of other boys his age, he liked school. Or at least he had liked school until his parents sent him to this stupid place. He didn’t need to be here. He’d told them that before they brought him. He told them he didn’t want to come, but they wouldn’t listen. He promised he’d earn his keep by doing the same chores on the farm that he’d done before the accident, but Ma had cried a little when he said that, and Pa had hugged him, and told Caleb that the school in Boston would teach him how to do those chores.

“But I don’t need anyone to teach me! I know how to do my chores! I been doin’ ‘em by myself since before James was born!”

However, when Caleb tried to prove that to his father, he fell over a milking stool, knocked over the pail of milk that Phillip had just gotten out of Susie, and somehow ended up face down in a pile of manure.

So, Caleb had ended up here, at this dumb school with all these blind kids. He wanted to be at his own school, the one just over the hill from his parents’ farm, where Miss Kennelworth taught. She was pretty, and she smelled pretty too – sweet, like the way a lilac bush smells when it blooms in the spring. Not like Mr. Cartwright; he smelled like men’s cologne. Caleb didn’t want a teacher who smelled like a man. He wanted a teacher who smelled like Miss Kennelworth. And besides, he was the one who was supposed to be in charge of James this year. James was going to school for the first time, and just like Matthew had been in charge of Phillip, and Phillip in charge of Caleb, it was Caleb’s turn to look out for a little brother and show him what school was all about. But they sent Caleb to Boston instead, and Phillip probably got to look out for James, or maybe Matthew, ‘cause he was the oldest.

It wasn’t right that one of them got to do Caleb’s job. It was an important job, too. Pa said so. But Pa seemed to forget that it was supposed to be Caleb’s responsibility to see that James made it to and from school safely, and learned where he should hang his coat, and what shelf his lunch bucket went on. Ever since Caleb and his best friend, George Fillmore, had played with those firecrackers, nothing had been the same. It wasn’t fair! George hadn’t been hurt when they went off – he’d hadn’t gotten so much as a scratch. Not that Caleb wanted George to be hurt. Ma would say a good Christian boy didn’t wish for bad things to happen to his friends. 

Well, maybe a good Christian boy didn’t, but Caleb wasn’t even sure if he cared about being a Christian any more. Right after the accident happened, he’d prayed and prayed and prayed that God would give him his eyesight back. But so far, God hadn’t answered his prayers, and Caleb no longer believed you could call upon Him for all of your needs, as Mama often told Caleb and his brothers was the case.

Footsteps coming down the hall caused Caleb to sweep his hands under his mattress. He smiled when he encountered what he’d smuggled from his winter coat pockets into his suitcase before leaving home. These would sure make a jim-dandy noise in class today. Billy would cry for his mother again for days on end. 

Caleb stuffed his treasures in the pockets of his woolen trousers, just as someone stepped in the room.

“Ah, Caleb lad, there yeh are,” Mr. Murphy said. “Glad to see yer sayin’ yer prayers. Now finish up, and let’s hurry on to breakfast. There’s barely ‘nough time left to eat a’fore classes get underway.”

Caleb stayed on his knees a few seconds longer, pretending to do the activity Mr. Murphy mistakenly thought he was engaged in. He mumbled, “Amen,” for good measure, then stood. He didn’t even pull away when Mr. Murphy laid a hand on his back and urged, “Come along, lad.”

Had Caleb’s mother been present, she would have realized what her son was up to, because in some instances, for reasons known only to God, little boys don’t always learn their lesson the first time.

Chapter 37

Joe winced, trying to fight off the throbbing pressure building behind his eyes. At least in this roomful of blind boys, he had no worries that anyone would notice he was in pain. 

As Joe stood beside the desk of seven-year-old Jacob McGregory, helping the boy do a few simple sums, he struggled to keep his concentration focused on the child. He realized now that he should have told Adam he wasn’t feeling well, and stayed home. But Joe wasn’t one to shirk his responsibilities. When he was younger, playing hooky every so often from his ranch duties wasn’t beneath Joe, but with age comes maturity. Or so he’d often overheard Pa assure Adam would eventually happen where Joe’s occasional waywardness was concerned. Currently, maybe Joe was letting his maturity and dedication to his job override his common sense. Or, more likely than that, Joe hadn’t wanted to tell Adam he was under the weather, because he didn’t want Adam taking him to a doctor.

So Joe had toughed it out through breakfast with his brother, and then on the walk to school, never giving Adam any indication that this headache had been brewing since the previous evening. They’d parted ways once they reached Adam’s office, Shakespeare continuing up the four flights of stairs with Joe. The dog now lay beside Joe’s desk, ready to guide him from the classroom if needed, or play outside with the boys. 

Joe winced again, massaging his temples while requesting that Jacob repeat the question he’d just asked. He grabbed Jacob’s desk as a wave of dizziness swayed him back and forth. The animated chatter coming from the older boys, who were gathered around Henry’s desk plotting a wagon train route from Boston to Virginia City on a Braille map, grew distant and fuzzy. The younger boys went about working their sums quietly as they’d been instructed to do, or so Joe assumed was the case. The teeth-clenching pain was making it so hard for him to concentrate, that the little boys could have been dancing on their desktops while singing “Oh Susanna” for all Joe knew. 

“Do the best you can on your own, Jake,” Joe mumbled to his student. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Just make it to your desk, Joe told himself as he walked on weak legs toward the front of the room. Make it to your desk and sit down. You’ll be okay in a little while. The pain’ll get worse yet, then it’ll pass. It always does.

For just a brief second, the black curtain that had been pulled over Joe’s eyes ever since the day Charlie’s shack exploded was lifted. Or at least it seemed that way to Joe, when suddenly, his world was a foggy, out-of-focus murky gray. Before Joe could figure out if this alteration was real, or a product of his imagination, or the result of a pain-addled brain, a mighty succession of “Bang! Bang! Bang’s!” resounded from the back of the room.

Joe dived for the floor as children screamed and Shakespeare barked. 

“Get down! Get down!” Joe yelled. “Get under your desks!” he ordered, as the explosions continued. 

The eruptions were over with almost as quickly as they’d started. However, when you’re blind and lying on the floor praying to God someone wasn’t standing in your classroom doorway taking potshots at your students with a gun, the situation seems to go on forever. But when the room was finally quiet again, other than the sound of Billy Fitzgerald’s wails for his mother, Joe came to a very quick conclusion based on the smell of burned fuses. His headache forgotten for the moment, Joe jumped to his feet, demanding, “Who shot off those firecrackers?”

A smattering of, “Not me, Mr. Cartwright,” came from the teenagers huddled beneath Henry’s desk. They all sounded sincere to Joe, and plenty scared, as though they feared they’d be blamed for something they hadn’t done. Six weeks ago, Joe wouldn’t have believed them, but now he had no reason to doubt their honesty. Which left just one culprit on Joe’s list.

“Caleb?”

A defiant, “What?” told Joe his suspicions were accurate.

“You’ll make things easier on yourself if you tell me the truth.”

“I wasn’t gonna lie anyway. It was me who did it. So whatta’ ya’ gonna do about it? Make me write sentences?”

Joe advanced toward the boy, doing his best to keep his temper in check. He had yet to send any of his students to Adam’s office for a paddling, so stood there in silent debate with himself, wondering if that’s exactly what Caleb needed. Considering the danger the boy had just thrust upon his classmates with this latest prank, Joe was tempted to turn the kid over his own knee and give him a few whacks, before passing him on to Adam for more of the same treatment. 

“You know, Caleb, when I was a kid, behavior like this in a schoolroom – endangering my teacher and my classmates the way you just did – would have earned me a trip to the woodshed.”

“I don’t care. Besides, you can’t give me a lickin’, only the headmaster can.”

“Then maybe you and I need to take a walk to his office.”

“Fine with me! Go ahead and tell him what I did! He can give me a lickin,’ and then send me home.”

It was with those words that Joe fully understood the reason behind Caleb’s surly attitude and frequent misbehavior. While Joe had known Caleb was in denial about his loss of sight, he hadn’t realized the kid was bucking for a one-way ticket back to the Pennsylvania farmhouse he’d been born and raised in.

Joe abruptly changed his stance on the form of punishment Caleb needed.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“What?”

“I said I don’t think so.”

“What’s that supposed ta’ mean?”

“It means you won’t be going to the headmaster’s office after all.”

“But–”

“That’s not fair, Mr. Cartwright! If me, or Tony, or Pete, or John had just done what that stupid kid–”

“Be quiet, Henry.”

“But, Mr. Cart–”

“Henry, I said be quiet. I’ll handle the discipline in this room the way I see fit.”

“No!” Caleb screamed. “No! I wanna go to the headmaster’s office! Take me there! Tell him what I did! Tell him!”

“I’m the teacher here, Caleb, not you. I don’t have to tell the headmaster anything I don’t want to.”

“Yes you do! You do! You do!” 

The boy launched himself from his desk. Joe heard the movement, but Caleb was too quick for him. Before Joe could jump out of the way, the boy was on him like a frenzied bobcat, clawing, biting, and unlike a bobcat, throwing punches in a whirl of flying fists Joe couldn’t get under control.

The boy’s unexpected weight threw Joe off balance. He fell backwards, slamming his head against the floor with a “thunk!” The other boys rushed to Joe’s aid, which only made matters worse instead of better. As Shakespeare darted around the room franticly barking, as though trying to summon help, Joe ended up on the bottom of a suffocating pile of tangled arms and legs. Boys’ frenzied shouts and cries, and in the case of Billy Fitzgerald, screams of terror, punctuated the air. 

Joe tried to fight his way out from under the kids, tried to order them to stop, but it was like a mob gone out of control. If their original intention had been to pull Caleb off of him, it had quickly changed to beating Caleb up, and in the process, accidentally hitting each other, and Joe, as well. 

Joe wasn’t sure how long the free-for-all went on before he heard a shout over all the noise.

“What’s going on in here?”

No one answered the headmaster. The boys were too caught up in their brawl to even take notice of his presence, and Joe was barely able to get any air beneath the weight of their bodies, let alone give his brother any kind of response.

Soon, the burden on Joe began to lessen, as boys were plucked from the pile by some of the building’s caretakers and Mr. Murphy, who had either been summoned by the noise, or by Adam, Joe wasn’t sure which. He could have sworn he heard Elias Cross snickering somewhere by the door. He pictured the yellow-bellied snake being the first one to run to Adam to report the disturbance, but the last one willing to offer a hand when it came to breaking up the brawl.

A hand finally grasped Joe’s arm and pulled him to his feet. 

“What happened here, Joe?” Adam demanded over the cacophony of young voices offering explanations and accusations to the adults in the room. “Who started this?”

Joe swiped at the blood running from a corner of his mouth. “No one.”

Adam squeezed Joe’s arm. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”

“You did. We were. . .we were goofing around, and things got outta hand.”

“Joe–”

“Adam, not here.”

Adam started to say something, but then squelched it, instead letting his aggravation come forth in the form of a sigh. 

“Come on. We’re going to my office.”

Joe squeezed his eyes shut against the renewed pain pounding between his temples, but said nothing about it to his brother. Adam paused just long enough to ask Mr. Murphy and Laddie, who’d been drawn from her room by the noise, to take charge of Joe’s students, and get any boys who needed medical care to the nurse’s office. Adam also asked Mr. Murphy to look after Shakespeare for the time being, to which Mr. Murphy responded, “Be ‘appy to keep me eye on ‘im, Headmaster.” 

And so, when someone was finally marched to the headmaster’s office that morning, it wasn’t Caleb Geers, but instead, Joseph Cartwright.

Chapter 38

“Hold still!”

Joe steeled himself not to jerk away from Adam again, as a handkerchief soaked with some kind of liniment that stung like the dickens was dabbed against the cut on his mouth.

“There.” Adam returned the liniment bottle to a bottom desk drawer, then folded his blood-speckled handkerchief. He put it in his suit coat pocket, planning to deposit it in the laundry bin when he arrived home. “That’s about as patched up as I can get you. Lucky for you, where you and patching up are concerned, I’ve had years of practice. Now, about that explanation you promised me on the way down here. . . .”

Joe sat in a chair beside Adam’s desk. He propped an elbow on the desktop and rested his head in his hand, which was the only way the pain allowed him to remain upright. 

“I already told you,” Joe said quietly, because to talk with any kind of volume only made his head throb with more intensity, “we were goofing around and things got outta hand.”

“And I already told you, that I don’t believe a word of it. Unless you were goofing around with firecrackers, that is.”

Joe brought his head out of his hand, “looking” up at his brother. “Does that sissy Cross have anything better to do than tattle?”

“Apparently not. Now what went on, Joe? There’s no point in protecting whichever boy started this. I’ll find out who it was soon enough. The other kids won’t keep it a secret for long.”

“I know.”

“Well. . .?”

“I can handle it on my own, Adam.”

“I don’t doubt that you can, but as the headmaster of this institution, it’s my responsibility to step in and discipline a child if his behavior has endangered other students. In this case, neither of us can deny that’s what’s happened. Aside from the firecrackers, there’s the little matter of the brawl that ensued afterwards.”

“The kids were just trying to help me.”

“Help you? You’ve got a black eye, a goose egg on the back of your head, and a split lip. That’s their idea of help? And why’d you need help, anyway?”

When Joe refused to answer, Adam took an educated guess.

“One of the boys attacked you, is that it?”

Joe gave a reluctant nod of his head, though just that slight movement made him vow not to repeat the action.

“The same one who blew off the firecrackers,” Adam deduced.

“Yeah,” Joe confessed, all the while hating himself for what he considered his failure with Caleb, “the same one.”

“Which boy, Joe?”

Had Joe been feeling better, he’d have held out a little longer before revealing the child’s name. He might have even been able to convince Adam to let him handle the situation without interference. But his headache was rapidly escalating once again, making coherent thought difficult, let alone the ability to employ stubborn resistance. On the heels of a sigh wrought with weariness and regret, Joe told his brother the boy’s name. 

“Caleb.”

“Caleb?”

“Yeah.”

“All right.” Disappointment filled Adam’s voice. “I have no choice but to paddle him, and then send him home for good.”

“That’s exactly what he wants – on both accounts.”

“Then it appears he’ll get his wish.”

“Boy, Adam, you didn’t learn anything from Pa, did you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t punish a kid by making the punishment exactly what he’s hoping for.”

“And you have another suggestion?”

“Not yet, but give me some time and I might.”

“Joe, the boy put you and every student in your room in danger. His behavior instigated a brawl that could have left someone seriously injured, or even dead! As it is, you’re not exactly looking robust yourself right now. Maybe I should take you to the nurse’s office.”

Joe ignored the latter half of Adam’s sentence. 

“I know what Caleb did, and I know what could have happened. But don’t you see, he wants to go home. He wants to do something that’ll get him sent home so he doesn’t have to try. So he doesn’t have to admit he’s blind, and needs help.”

“Then I’d say he’s accomplished just that.”

“Adam–”

“Joe, I have a list of children waiting for the opportunity to attend this school. I can’t justify keeping one child who doesn’t want to learn, when I have fifty more desperate to be here. Besides, once the school board hears about this, and trust me, Elias will see to it that they do, they’ll demand that I remove Caleb.”

“You make it sound like he’s a horse we no longer have a use for.”

“That’s not how I mean for it to sound, but–”

“I can get through to this boy if you’ll just give me a chance.”

“I have been giving you a chance!” Adam turned away from his brother to pace the floor in frustration. He didn’t like the thought of Caleb being expelled from the institute any more than Joe did, but he was the headmaster, and in the end, these types of decisions fell in his lap. “For weeks now, I’ve been giving you chance after chance after chance with Caleb. But when his misbehavior reaches the point that it puts others in danger and–”

“Adam–” Joe interrupted, his brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate on verbalizing his suddenly muddled thoughts. “Ad. . .Adam–”

“Look, Joe,” Adam said from where he now stood by the window, absently looking out at two of the groundskeepers raking leaves, “I understand that you don’t want to give up on Caleb, and I commend you for it, but–”

“No. . .no. . .I. . .Adam, I-I think. . .I think I need a doctor.”

Adam whirled around. “What?”

Joe half-stood from the chair, his hands groping blindly in front of him as though he was searching for his brother.

“Ad. . .Adam?”

“I’m right here, Joe,” Adam assured, grasping his brother’s right arm. “I’m right here. Come on, let me help you sit back down.”

“No. . .no. . .flo-floor.”

“You want me to help you to the floor? Do you need to lie down?”

Adam took Joe’s barely audible, “huh” to be a yes. Joe’s weight slumped heavy and pliant against Adam’s chest as his legs gave out from under him. 

“Joe, stay with me.” Adam eased Joe to the floor. “Come on, stay with me, Little Joe.”

Adam turned his brother on his right side, so if Joe vomited he wouldn’t swallow any of it. He knelt beside Joe, crouching close to his face while brushing a tangle of salt and pepper curls away from his brow.

“Joe, what’s wrong? You need to tell me what’s wrong.”

Joe grimaced with agony. “Head. . .head. . .head–”

“Headache? You’ve got a headache?”

“Ye-yeah.”

Adam’s fingers lightly probed the bump on the back of Joe’s head.

“No. . .no,” Joe said, trying to give Adam more information. “No. . .had it. . .had las-last night.”

“You’ve had the headache since last night?”

Joe gave a nod so slight Adam almost didn’t see it.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Thought. . .thought it’d go. . .go away.”

Adam kept his tone light – more teasing than scolding, though there was an element of both behind his words.

“By the looks of things, little brother, you thought wrong.”

Footsteps sounded outside Adam’s office. He craned his head, looking through the doorway to see one of the caretakers passing by.

“Ray! Hey, Ray!”

The man stopped when he heard Adam call his name. He turned around, barely getting to the office doorway before Adam ordered, “Send someone for Dr. Nichols. Then come back and help me get my brother to the infirmary.”

Hiram Nichols was Adam’s personal physician, and served as the physician for the institute’s pupils when needed. His office was just three blocks north of the school.

“No. . .” Joe whispered, clutching Adam’s sleeve. “No. Don-don’t mo-move me, please. Don’t. . .move. . .”

“Okay, Joe,” Adam soothed, sliding his brother’s upper body onto his lap. “Okay. If you don’t want to be moved, we won’t move you.”

Adam’s attention returned to the caretaker. “Ray, hurry and do as I asked! Send someone for the doctor. Then go to the infirmary, get a blanket, a pillow, and bring one of the nurses back here with you.”

“Right away, Headmaster.” 

The man’s eyes darted briefly to Joe, who was now withering against his brother’s chest with his hands pressed to either side of his head.

“What’s wrong with ‘im, Sir?”

“I don’t know. Now go! 

“Yes, Sir!” 

Ray’s pounding boot steps echoed off the hallway walls as he raced to do Adam’s bidding. 

Left alone with Joe now, Adam struggled to keep him from rolling into the desk.

“Joe. . .Joe! Lie still! Joe, lie still.”

“Hurts,” Joe confessed, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony that felt like his brain was being clawed from his skull. “Hurts.”

“I know it does.” While cradling Joe against his chest with his knees, Adam used his thumb and forefinger to massage Joe’s temples. “Just try and take deep breaths. Deep breaths, Joe. A doctor’s on the way. He’ll be here soon.”

“Sor-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Should tol-told you.”

“Told me what?”

“That I. . .I wasn’t fee-feeling good.”

“That’s water under the bridge now. Just stay quiet, okay?”

Joe ignored his brother’s directive. “Did-didn’t wan-wanna miss work. 
Boys. . .boys depend-depending on me.”

“And that’s why you need to stay quiet and still, so you can be back in class with them as soon as possible.”

Joe suddenly cried out, arching his back against the pain. Adam was sure his brother was going to die, but could do nothing other than hold Joe close while promising everything would be all right. 

It had been a long time since Adam Cartwright thought about the vast distance that separated Boston from the Ponderosa, but right then, when he felt it was urgent that his father and Hoss be at Joe’s side too, that distance spanning 2,500 miles seemed tragically insurmountable.

Chapter 39

Adam rolled his head from side to side, working the kinks from his neck and shoulders. He’d sat in this chair beside Joe’s bed for too long now. He’d caught just a few hours of sleep the previous evening, when Laddie stopped by after supper and insisted Adam get some rest while she remained with Joe.

“He probably won’t wake up until morning,” Adam told her. “Hiram had to give him several doses of laudanum before the pain finally eased.”

“Then just that much more reason for you to get some rest. Joe won’t wake up, so all will be well.”

“If he does–”

“If he does, I’ll come and get you. I don’t think Joe would appreciate finding a woman in his room when he wakes.”

Adam had chuckled at that remark. “Well, under other circumstances, I wouldn’t exactly say that, but given he’s set on being related to you through marriage – though not a marriage between the two of you – he might be slightly embarrassed to find you here.”

“Even though I can’t actually see him in his nightshirt.”

Adam laughed again. Bless this woman for all she brought to his life.

“Yes, even though you can’t actually see him, once he got to feeling better, he’d probably give me an earful in the way only Joe Cartwright is prone to doing.”

“And he will get to feeling better soon,” Laddie assured.

“For now, anyway,” was all Adam had said in return, because “for now” meant that the laudanum had put Joe into a deep sleep, thus making him oblivious to any pain. But as Dr. Nichols had told Adam, it wasn’t a cure for the headaches by any means, nor could it be used on a regular basis as a way to control the pain because of its addictive properties.

“Take him to see Rick,” the man advised Adam, referring to Dr. Richard Warren, the eye specialist who consulted for the institute. “I don’t know what conclusions he might come to, but his knowledge in the area of residual pain as related to eye injuries is far superior to mine.”

So, while had Joe slept on a cot in the school’s infirmary, Adam wrote a note to Dr. Warren, briefly explaining his brother’s situation, and asking to set up an appointment for Joe as soon as possible. He sent Ray to deliver the note, then took Hiram up on his offer to assist with getting Joe in a carriage. 

Joe never woke up as he was transferred from the infirmary to the carriage, where they sat him in a half-reclining position against Adam. Adam thanked the doctor, assuring the man he wouldn’t need further assistance when it came to getting Joe into the house, because the stable boy driving the carriage could give Adam whatever help he needed.

While Joe slept the afternoon and evening hours away in his own bed, Adam sat in a chair beside him. He left Joe’s room only long enough to eat the lunch Mrs. O’Connell prepared for him, and then again, when Ray arrived later that afternoon. The caretaker had brought Shakespeare home, along with a note from Dr. Warren that stated Adam should bring Joe to his office at nine on Monday morning. Adam asked Ray to make sure a driver and carriage were waiting outside of his home at eight-thirty on Monday. Ray nodded.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll deliver the message soon as I git back to the school.”

“Thank you.” 

Adam then gave the man a handsome tip for all of his assistance that day, and wouldn’t consider taking it back, even when Ray tried to stuff the money into his hand. 

It wasn’t until Laddie came over and insisted Adam get some rest; that the headmaster left his brother for any great length of time.

Now night had passed to morning, and Laddie had gone home hours ago. Joe slept on undisturbed, showing no signs that pain of any sort was interrupting his slumber.

Adam spent a few minutes in the lavatory cleaning up and shaving, then ate breakfast in Joe’s room. His concern at leaving Joe alone stemmed from not wanting his brother to wake up disoriented and perhaps stumble down the stairs. Adam knew from personal experience that the mind-numbing effects of laudanum could last a few hours after the patient awoke, making the world around him seem tilted and out-of-focus. These last two characteristics of the drug prevailed whether you were sighted or not, which Joe proved when he finally began to wake up shortly after ten a.m.

As Joe stirred and mumbled something incoherent, Adam placed his hand on his brother’s arm.

“Joe?”

Joe turned toward his brother’s voice, his face scrunched with confusion.

“Joe, it’s Adam.”

Joe rose on his elbows. “Adam?”

A smile twitched at the corners of Adam’s mouth. Dryly, he intoned, “Your brother.”

This time Joe’s, “Adam?” sounded like he was trying to figure out what his oldest brother was doing sitting beside him. 

“You’re home, Joe.”

“Pa?”

“No, not at that home,” Adam said with chuckle. “At my home in Boston.”

Joe sunk back to his pillow, his sightless eyes focused on the ceiling. His words were thick, as though his tongue was too big for his mouth. Again, another side-affect of laudanum that Adam was familiar with. 

“I feel like I’ve been on one very long, strange trip.”

“I understand completely. And you’ll probably feel that way for a couple of hours yet. But you’re fine. You’re in your room at my house on Beacon Hill. Sound familiar?”

Joe nodded. “For a minute there, I think I lost a few months, but it’s starting to come back to me.” Joe turned his face toward his brother again. “What time is it?”

“A couple of minutes after ten in the morning.”

Joe shot up. “After ten! I’m late for school! Why’d you let me sleep–”

Adam gently pushed his brother back to the mattress. “While you can’t imagine how amusing I find it that you’re concerned about being late for school, just relax. It’s Saturday.”

“Saturday?”

“At just about this time yesterday morning, you were in my office getting patched up after–”

“You don’t need to remind me. Unfortunately, it’s all coming back in vivid detail.” 

Joe sat up on his elbows again. Adam propped his pillows behind him.

“There, you can lean back now.”

“Thanks.” Joe did as his brother encouraged, sinking into the three fluffy pillows propped between his shoulders and the bed’s headboard. “How’d I get here, anyway?”

Adam explained the events that took place from the time the headache had overtaken Joe in his office, until Joe woke up just a few minutes earlier. The only detail he left out was Laddie sitting by Joe’s bedside for several hours.

“What about my boys?”

“What about them?”

“Is everyone okay?”

“Other than a few scrapes and bruises, everyone’s fine. They’re pretty worried about you, but Laddie did a good job of calming their fears.”

“Worried about me? Why?”

“Henry and John were still in the infirmary being tended to when we carried you down there. As soon as they were released, they spread the word to the other boys.”

“And Caleb?”

“Caleb’s fine too, though in Mr. Murphy’s protective custody for the time being.”

“Huh?”

“Between the firecrackers, the way he attacked you, and then everything culminating with your headache, Caleb’s not exactly what I’d call popular with his classmates at the moment.”

“First of all, he didn’t attack me. He’s ten years old, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Tell that to your black eye.”

“And second of all,” Joe went on as though his brother hadn’t spoken, “Caleb’s behavior had nothing to do with my headache.”

“I know, but try convincing a few headstrong teenagers of that. Either way, don’t fret over it for right now. Mr. Murphy’s keeping a close eye on Caleb, and as for the other boys, you can explain the situation to them when you return to school on Tuesday.

“Tuesday?”

“You have an appointment with Dr. Warren on Monday.”

“I thought your doctor’s name was Nichols.”

“It is, and like I already told you, he saw you at the school yesterday. He’s the one who provided you with the nice night-night drug.”

“Ah. Powerful stuff.”

“Laudanum usually is. Unfortunately, Hiram – Dr. Nichols – doesn’t feel as though he’s qualified to determine the source of your headaches, so he wants you to see an eye specialist.”

“This Dr. Warren you mentioned?”

“Yes. He’s the consultant for the institute. He can see you at nine on Monday morning.”

“What about my class?”

“Laddie’ll cover for you.”

“But she’s got her own class.”

“Mr. Murphy’s going to help her. It’s only one day. Things’ll be fine.”

“Half a day.”

“Pardon?”

“If my appointment’s at nine, I can go to school after this Dr. Warren is done with me.”

“Let’s wait and see how you’re feeling on Monday.”

“I’ll feel fine.”

“Joe–”

“I’ll feel fine, Adam. As a matter of fact, I feel fine now, other than things being a little muddled.”

“Which is the normal state of your brain.”

“Then I don’t suppose either of us has anything to worry about, do we?”

Adam shook his head in exasperation. You’d think he’d know by now that arguing with his youngest brother was like trying to push a stubborn steer up a ravine. All you got for your efforts were sore arms, muddy boots, and a string of cuss words flying from your mouth that you wouldn’t want your minister to overhear.

“Speaking of things to worry about,” Adam said, “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Yeah?”

“How angry will I be when I find out how many headaches you’ve had in recent weeks that you haven’t mentioned to me?”

Joe’s eyes cast downward, as if focusing on his covers. Adam held back his laughter over the way Joe could still look like a nine-year-old doing his best to weasel out of trouble – something Joe’d had plenty of practice at.

“Uh. . .I’d say pretty angry, so maybe you’d better not ask.”

“I’ll take your advice where that’s concerned then.”

“Good idea.”

“I just want you to know, though, that you gave me one hell of a scare.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. By the time I realized that I should have told you about the headache and stayed home from work, Caleb’s fireworks were going off, and from 
there. . .well, you know the rest of the story.”

“I certainly do.” Adam stood from his chair. “All right, let’s put it behind us for now. Just promise me that you’ll tell Dr. Warren the complete truth – number of headaches, frequency, intensity, and anything else he needs to know – when you see him on Monday.”

“I will.”

“Okay. I’ll take your word for it. In the meantime, do you want some breakfast?”

“Sure. I feel like I could eat yours and mine both.”

“That’ll make Mrs. O’Connell happy. She’s anxiously waiting for her “Joseph” to wake up. I think she’s got everything from pancakes, to scrambled eggs, to bacon, to toast, to blueberry muffins, in the warmer.”

“I won’t turn down a breakfast like that. Especially since I missed lunch and supper.”

“I’ll bring you up a tray.”

Joe reached out and grabbed Adam’s arm. “No. I’ll get dressed and go downstairs.”

“Are you sure you feel up to it?”

“I will after you help me make a trip to the water closet. I’d like to clean up, shave, and get dressed. Then maybe eating breakfast on the back porch will clear the rest of the cobwebs from my head.”

Adam agreed. “It just might.” 

It was a bright, sunny, mid-October day. The kind where the sky was so blue and clear that it looked like you could reach up and touch it. Though the air temperature was on the cool side, it wasn’t prohibitive to breakfasting on the veranda if one wore a jacket. Adam had used this method of fresh, brisk air to clear his head of laudanum more than once back when he first lost his arm. 

Adam tossed the bedcovers off Joe’s legs and helped his brother stand. As he’d expected, Joe was a little shaky on his feet, but it wasn’t anything a good meal wouldn’t cure. 

“Is your head okay?” Adam asked as they walked to the lavatory.

“I’m fine.”

“No pain?”

“None at all.”

“Good.”

Adam stood outside the lavatory as Joe went about his personal business, entering after he heard the toilet flush and water running at the sink. He waited while Joe shaved, brushed his teeth, and tamed his tangled curls with a comb and a little bit of hair tonic, then offered a steadying hand once again as they walked back to Joe’s bedroom.

Adam remained nearby as Joe dressed, but didn’t interfere and offer help since Joe didn’t ask for any. 

As Joe tucked his shirt into the waistband of his gray trousers, he said, “Adam, can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Don’t do anything about Caleb until I’m back at work.”

“Joe, I can’t make a promise like that. The school board–”

“Please, Adam. Please just hold off until I’m there. You said yourself I can probably be back on Tuesday at the latest.”

“I said we’d wait and see how you feel.”

“I’ll feel fine.”

“Joseph–”

“Look, I know I’m trying your patience where Caleb is concerned, but all I’m asking is that you give me the next couple of days to think things out. Maybe I can still come up with a way to get through to him.”

“Joe. . .”

Joe turned to face his brother. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, and it’s not my intention to jeopardize your job in any way. If whatever I come up with doesn’t work, you can tell the school board that I asked you to delay Caleb’s dismissal. You can tell them I’m the one who should be fired, not you.”

“I’m not going to tell them that!”

“Well, it’s a lot better than the alternative, don’t you think?”

Adam thought a moment, then sighed as he gave in to his brother.

“I’m in good enough graces with the board members, that I don’t think we have to worry about either one of us losing our jobs if we don’t act immediately where Caleb is concerned. They’ll likely be willing to give me through this coming week to either get that boy on the right track, or send him home to his parents.”

Joe grinned as he pulled on his tan boots. “Thanks, Adam.”

Adam held up an ominous finger, despite the fact that Joe couldn’t see it.

“But I’m warning you, Little Joe, you get one, and I do mean just one, more chance with Caleb. If whatever you come up with doesn’t work, he’s gone.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“No arguing with me at all if I’m putting him on a train before the month is out?”

“No. No arguing.”

“All right. I’ll hold you to that.”

“You can. I promise.”

“Okay. Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s get you downstairs for breakfast. Grab your green jacket out of the closet. The sun’s shining, but it’s chilly.”

Joe did as Adam instructed. He shrugged into the jacket, then willingly took hold of Adam’s arm when it was offered to him.

As they walked down the hall toward the backstairs, Joe asked, “Oh, by the way, since when did you start calling me Little Joe again?”

“Um. . .rather recently it would seem,” Adam said, thinking back to the previous day in his office when Joe was felled by his headache. “Why? Does it bother you?”

“I guess not, as long as you don’t slip up and say it in front of my students. . .or Laddie, or her family, or any of the staff at school, or heaven forbid, Mrs. O’Connell. I don’t think I can take being called “Little Joseph” for more than about one day.”

“Like Miss Jones used to do?”

“Don’t remind me. I always hated that.”

“You seem to enjoy reminding me of Miss Jones.”

“Yeah, and it’s a lot more fun that way, rather than the reverse.”

“All right, I’ll do my best not to call you Little Joe in front of anyone.”

That was a promise Adam kept as he ate his second breakfast of the day, a muffin and a cup of coffee, while Joe polished off everything Mrs. O’Connell sat in front of him. When Joe was done he wanted to take a walk in an effort to chase away the remnants of drowsiness as caused by the drug he’d been given. Adam obliged, putting Shakespeare on his leash, and then walking beside his brother and the dog as they took a stroll around the neighborhood. 

When they returned home, Adam retreated to his office, where he had mail to open and paperwork to complete. Joe retreated to the parlor, sitting in front of the fire burning in the fireplace. Adam quietly checked on his brother several times throughout the late morning hours and into the early afternoon, stepping from his office and looking through the dining room. Joe seemed fine, though lost in thought, which Adam surmised meant that his brother was trying to figure out a way to help Caleb. 

Adam considered telling his sibling that until Caleb was willing to accept help, there wasn’t much that Joe, or anyone else could do for the boy. But Adam knew Joe already realized this, so he left his little brother alone, hoping Joe would find some kind of comfort – and maybe even an answer or two – in the flickering flames of the crackling fire he couldn’t see.

Chapter 40

Joe was quiet on the ride to the institute Monday morning. His appointment with Dr. Warren had lasted an hour. When the visit drew to a close with the doctor saying Joe could return to work whenever he felt ready to do so, Joe knew any argument Adam wanted to initiate about him needing to rest at home for the remainder of the day had just died a quick death.

Adam asked Joe on the carriage ride to school if he was all right. Joe gave a brief, “Yeah, I’m fine,” which Adam accepted without further question. More than likely, he understood that while they were in the presence of the stable boy driving the carriage, Joe didn’t want to discuss the details of his doctor’s visit. Once they reached the institute, however, Adam wouldn’t let the discussion be put off any longer. He didn’t allow Joe to escape to his classroom, but instead insisted, “Come on, let’s go to my office for a few minutes.”

“But my boys–” 

“Your boys will wait. Between Laddie and Mr. Murphy, they’re in capable hands. You can join them in a little while.”

Joe walked beside his brother to the headmaster’s office. He heard the door shut behind him and allowed Adam to lead him to a chair. As near as Joe had been able to discern the first time Adam had given him a tour of this space, the office was as simple and plain as the rest of the school. Any elegance normally reserved for the headmaster of a private institution, Adam hadn’t afforded himself because of the school’s tight budget. The items that decorated the room had been brought from home by Adam, or purchased with his own money. Like the comfortable, overstuffed chair Joe was sitting in now beside the fireplace hearth; its twin set at the same angle a few feet away. 

“Let me get a fire started, then we’ll talk.”

“There’s not much to talk about.”

“No?”

“No.”

For the moment, Adam didn’t push Joe into further conversation. Joe heard him moving about, adding kindling and newspapers to the cold logs in the fireplace, and then striking a match. Burning paper crackled and spit, sounds that grew louder as the kindling, and then the logs, caught on fire.

By the proximity of Adam’s voice, Joe realized his brother had now sat in the chair beside his.

“So, what do you think?”

“About what?” Joe asked.

“Rick’s proposal of surgery.”

“If you wanna know the truth, I don’t think much of it at all.”

“It might give you a chance to see again.”

“Adam, a chance so low that he couldn’t even quote me odds or percentages doesn’t seem like much of a chance from where I’m sitting.”

“I know, but–”

“He doesn’t know if it’ll help me. He admitted that when it comes to restoring my eyesight, it’s a long shot. A real long shot. I’m not exactly fond of the thought of having my skull sliced open for. . .what kind of surgery did he call it?”

“Exploratory.”

“Yeah. Exploratory. Exploratory surgery that could leave me with more problems than I’ve already got.”

When Adam didn’t respond, Joe knew his brother couldn’t argue with anything that was just said. Dr. Warren had told them the headaches could stem from numerous causes. They might be a leftover side-affect of the concussion Joe had suffered in the blast, in which case, surgery wouldn’t make them go away. The doctor said some patients suffered severe headaches on and off for the rest of their lives as a result of a concussion, while for others, it was a relatively short-lived experience. If the concussion was, in fact, the cause of Joe’s headaches, Dr. Warren couldn’t predict how long Joe might be bothered by them. 

“If that’s the case, Joe,” the man had said, “you just may have to learn to live with them.”

That hadn’t sounded like such a good bargain to Joe, until Dr. Warren started talking about the possibility of a cancerous brain tumor. Joe knew enough about cancer to know it was a death sentence, and not a pleasant death, either. Unfortunately, the only way this could be determined was through that exploratory surgery the doctor mentioned, which would have to be performed by a surgeon Dr. Warren knew who taught at Harvard Medical School.

“There are a couple of other possibilities, as well. Either of which I’m strongly inclined to believe are the root of your headaches, considering you told me that on Friday you briefly saw gray, foggy images.”

“I said I think that’s what I saw. I wasn’t far from passing out from the pain at that point, so I might have been imagining it.”

“You might have been,” the doctor agreed, “but you might not have been, either.”

“What do you mean by that, Rick?” Adam had asked. He’d been in the examination room upon the advice of Dr. Warren, who said it was always beneficial for the patient to have an extra pair of ears present to hear what was discussed. The doctor claimed the final decision-making process was easier for the patient if he had someone to turn to he could trust for sound advice. Joe figured when it came to sound advice, Adam was about the most trustworthy source he could think of, so he didn’t object to his brother’s presence.

“What I mean is, although it’s rare, eyesight can return even many months after an injury like Joe has suffered. Seeing shadows and gray, murky images like Joe described, is one of the first signs of sight a patient will have.”

Adam grew far more excited about this prospect than Joe. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, so he allowed Adam to question the doctor further.

“Then what are these possibilities you mentioned?”

“Joe could be dealing with swelling of the optic nerves. That in and of itself shouldn’t cause the severe headaches, but such inflammation can compress other nerves nearby, which could then result in the pain he’s enduring. Or, and this is far more life-threatening, he could have a blood clot behind the eyes as a result of the head injury he suffered in the explosion.”

“A blood clot?” Adam questioned, in a tone that told Joe his brother didn’t realize a man could live for months with a blood clot floating around in his head. But then, Joe hadn’t realized it, either.

“Yes. Blood clots can be very painful. And again, given that Joe thought he had some minor return of eyesight on Friday, that could be an indication that the blood clot was moving. You see, a clot lodged behind the eyes can cause blindness.”

“Which means if it can be removed through surgery Joe might be able to see again?”

“That’s what it means, though such surgery is very new to the medical community – so new, it’s still experimental in nature – and the failure rate far exceeds the success rate at this point.”

Joe joined the conversation again. “If it is a blood clot, will it go away on its own?”

“In rare cases, blood clots do spontaneously dissolve. So yes, Joe, it’s a possibility. But I can’t quote you odds. To say living with a blood clot is dangerous is a gross understatement of the facts.”

“I’ll take your word on that, but I don’t think this surgery you talked about sounds like a great alternative.”

“I didn’t say it was a great alternative. It is, however, something for you to give consideration to.”

That’s when Adam asked about the potential dangers of the surgery. Joe wasn’t too fond of the answer he heard, since those dangers ranged from paralysis, to personality change, to being left an imbecile, to death from infection, blood loss, or numerous other reasons doctors had yet to be able to define. 

“I think I’m better off with the headaches,” he half-joked after Dr. Warren finished his litany. 

“Only you can decide that,” the man conceded. He even refused to give Adam an answer when Adam asked, “Rick, if Joe were your brother, what would you advise him to do?”

“As I just told Joe, only he can decide.”

Joe took that to mean that the odds of him surviving surgery unscathed were slim to none. Of course, the headaches might kill him if a blood clot was involved, but as far as Joe was concerned, that was better than being left in an infantile state that meant his family would have to take care of him for the rest of his life. Drooling, spitting up his food, and wearing diapers, had been fine when he was six months old. But a man about to turn thirty didn’t want to face that kind of future.

Adam now interrupted Joe’s thoughts regarding the doctor visit, bringing him back to the present.

“Do you want to know what I think?”

“As long as you don’t expect me to agree with you, sure.”

Joe heard the smile in his brother’s voice. 

“I don’t expect you to agree with me, but I have a feeling that this time you will.”

“All right. In that case, tell me what you think.”

“I think you should hold off on making any decision until Pa and Hoss get here. We should discuss this as a family. Rick’s right. In the end, only you can decide if you want to have the surgery or not, and I know Pa and Hoss will respect that. But I also think you’ll feel better about whatever you decide after you’ve had a chance to hear what they have to say.”

“And what you have to say, too.”

“And what I have to say, too. Yes. In addition to that, if you do choose to have surgery, Pa’ll want to be here for it.”

Joe gave a slow nod. His father and Hoss were due to arrive sometime in the next three to four weeks. They wouldn’t be in Boston in time for his birthday at the end of October, but Pa’s last letter stated he tentatively planned that they’d arrive no later than mid-November, or if luck held, maybe a bit earlier. It was later than Pa had wanted to leave Nevada because of the possibility of snowstorms across the western plains, but ranch obligations had interfered with his original hope that he and Hoss would be in Boston in time to help celebrate Joe’s thirtieth birthday.

“Adam,” Joe requested, “don’t write to Pa about any of this, okay?”

“Joe–”

“Please. I know it’s a lot of me to ask, but he’ll be here in a few weeks. We can explain everything to him then.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Joe understood what his brother meant by that question without having to ask. If another headache occurred and for some reason it took Joe’s life, Adam was going to be the one Pa turned to for explanations. And one of the first things Pa would demand to know was why he hadn’t been told Joe was suffering from headaches, and had consulted a specialist about them.

“I don’t suppose it’s one of my best ideas, no. But on the other hand, there’s no point in setting Pa to worrying any sooner than we have to. He’s. . .he’s not a young man any more, Adam.”

“You make it sound like he’s got one foot in the grave.”

Joe smiled. “I don’t mean to make it sound that way. But still, there comes a time when you start to realize that your father’s aging, and that you don’t wanna pile any more concerns on him than you have to.”

“Ah. So that explains your good behavior ever since I left home. And here I thought you were just trying to fill my boots.”

“No desire to do that, big brother. Your boots walk too straight of a line for my tastes.”

“I imagine they do.”

“So anyway, as far as Pa and Hoss are concerned, let’s wait until they get here to tell them about the headaches and my visit to Dr. Warren today. If anything happens to me before then–” 

“It won’t.”

“Probably not, but if it does, you tell Pa that I asked you not to write him with the news. Let him know it’s my doing that it was kept from him, not yours.”

“All right. That’ll be the first thing I shout at your funeral.”

Joe laughed. “Good. Should make for an interesting time. . .and hey, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

Joe sat in Adam’s office a little while longer, mulling over the choices he faced in the coming weeks. Adam didn’t seem to be in a hurry to rush him off. He sat there quietly, making himself available in whatever way Joe might need him.

“Adam?” Joe questioned after several minutes of silence.

“Yes?”

“When you lost your arm, how did you decide whether or not you should have the surgery?”

Adam was quiet a moment, as though Joe’s question had caught him off-guard. When he finally answered, he said, “I didn’t have a choice.”

“No?”

“No. When I woke up, I was in a hospital and the arm was gone.”

“Oh. . . .Can I ask how it happened?”

Before Adam answered, the bell clanged, indicating the end of morning classes and the start of lunch. That seemed to be just the opportunity Adam was looking for because he stood, clapped Joe on the shoulder, and said, “Come on. Let’s get you to the table with your boys. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. After lunch, go ahead and return to your class. We’ll discuss how we’re going to handle the Caleb situation over supper this evening.”

Joe nodded. “All right.” He did want to discuss Caleb with his brother, because over the weekend he’d come up with an idea that just might work where the boy was concerned. It was far from a guaranteed success, but it was worth a final try.

If asked, Joe wouldn’t deny that he also wanted to discuss what had happened to cause Adam to lose his arm, but it was a subject Adam continually evaded, or just downright avoided. 

As the men walked together to the dining hall, Joe resigned himself to the strong possibility that he’d never discover what past tragedy had befallen his brother.

Chapter 41

Joe’s arrival at his students’ assigned table in the dining hall on Monday was greeted with cheers and applause. This enthusiastic welcome touched Joe. It was hard to believe that less than two months earlier, these same boys were doing all they could to disrupt the school day and cause him trouble. The exception to the warm welcome was Caleb, who sat in stony silence, not commenting one way or another on Joe’s presence. Adam told Joe the boy’s room and personal belongs had been searched for more firecrackers, or any other item he could use to cause trouble with. Since nothing was found, Adam had decided Caleb could return to class for the time being.

That night over supper, Joe discussed his plan of action regarding Caleb. Like Joe, Adam thought the possibility of success was small, but he didn’t deny Joe the opportunity for one last attempt. As he said, Joe was far more versed than he in the ways of punishment where little boys were concerned, so with a chuckle, Adam allowed that this was Joe’s area of expertise. The only stipulation Adam put on Joe, was that the discussion with Caleb take place in his office. He didn’t want the other boys to overhear or interrupt, and given Caleb’s attack on Joe, he didn’t think Joe should be alone with the child.

“Would you quit bringing that up?” Joe moaned. “And for heaven’s sake, when Hoss gets here, don’t tell him I got beat up by a ten-year-old.”

“I thought you said you didn’t get beat up by a ten-year-old.”

“I didn’t, but you keep insisting that I did, so considering that, I know Hoss won’t be off the train more than five minutes before you’re tellin’ him things that aren’t true.”

“I never speak anything but the truth.”

“Then let me use this opportunity to remind you of the time when you were seventeen, and swore to Pa you’d been busy rounding up strays all day, when you’d actually snuck off to meet Mary Katherine Paulson by Miners Creek.”

“How do you know that?”

Joe waggled his eyebrows. “Told you I’ve had years of practice at paying close attention to things you or Pa wouldn’t tell me.”

“When I was seventeen, you were only five,” Adam scoffed. “There’s no way you knew whether I was rounding up strays or not.”

“Yep, I was only five. But you made the mistake of asking Hoss to cover for you with Pa, and Hoss told me, so the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Hoss told you?”

“Big brother, if you haven’t figured it out by now, Hoss has always told me everything. He couldn’t keep a secret when he was kid if he tried, and he’s still not any good at it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Wise idea.”

On that note, Joe stood to head to the parlor and read the latest weekly edition put out by the New York Braille Press. It was a newspaper published specifically for blind adults that kept them abreast of what was going on in the world, just like any newspaper available for sighted people. Adam had given Joe a subscription to the paper as another “early birthday present.” Between the Braille watch and the newspaper subscription, Joe would have figured further doings for his birthday would be limited to a special dinner cooked by Mrs. O’Connell, topped off by cake, if he hadn’t overheard Laddie and Adam talking about a party one evening. He wasn’t privy to the details, however, because he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, so had quietly backed through the dining room and returned to the kitchen, where he’d been filling Shakespeare’s food and water dishes.

As Joe sat down in his favorite chair to read the paper, he heard Adam walk up behind him. A hand touched his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, before Adam moved on to the settee. 

“Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say that if what you’re planning with Caleb tomorrow doesn’t work, I don’t want you thinking you’ve fallen short in some way. You’ve done all you could for the boy. You can walk away holding your head up high, knowing you gave him everything you’ve got.”

“I suppose,” Joe agreed, having no desire to think about the possibility of failing Caleb, because it hit too close to home. 

Caleb’s anger and refusal to learn mirrored Joe’s emotions of just a few months earlier. If Adam hadn’t stuck with him and pointed him back in the right direction every time he’d veered off course, Joe knew his life wouldn’t be as rich and full as it was today. Would he prefer to be living on the Ponderosa, working beside his father and Hoss, rather than teaching school in Boston? Yes, even with all the rewards teaching brought him, Joe wouldn’t hesitate to take his old life back if someone could give it to him. But his old life was just that – old, a thing of the past. This was his life now. Boston. The institute. And his place in Adam’s home. It wasn’t necessarily the life Joe wanted, but it sure beat sitting in a chair in the ranch house trying to stay out of everyone’s way, while bitterness and anger ate at his soul and turned him into a miserable person no one in his right mind would want to be around.

Joe kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he said what he knew his brother needed to hear.

“I know it’s not a great plan, Adam. Don’t worry, I’m prepared for it to fail.”

Those words seemed to ease Adam’s concerns, because he didn’t say anything else, and soon, Joe heard the pages of a book being turned. In actuality, Joe wasn’t nearly as prepared for his plan to fail as he’d told Adam, but if he did meet failure head on, he’d keep the promise he made to his brother on Saturday. The one about allowing Adam to put Caleb on a train bound for home without giving him any arguments over it.

It was the last thing Joe wanted to see happen to the boy, but as he started to read his newspaper, he was forced to acknowledge Caleb’s permanent expulsion from the institute was a very real possibility.

Chapter 42

After lunch had been eaten on Tuesday, Joe grabbed Caleb before he could rush outside for recess with the other children.

“Come on, Caleb. You have an appointment.”

The boy squirmed, trying to yank himself from Joe’s grasp.

“I don’t know anything ‘bout no appointment.”

“With the headmaster.”

The delight that suddenly filled Caleb’s voice was impossible for Joe not to hear.

“Really? Is he gonna paddle me, and then send me home?” 

“You know, you’re not supposed to look forward to a paddling,” Joe grumbled as he kept a firm grip on the boy, while leading him down the hall to Adam’s office. “If I’d been in the position you are now when I was your age, I’d have earned myself a darn good lickin’ from my pa when I stepped off that train at home.”

“Oh, I’ll probably get a lickin’ from Pa all right. But that doesn’t matter.”

No, I don’t suppose it does, you little imp, because you’ll be right where you wanna be. Back home with your parents and brothers.

When they arrived at Adam’s office, Joe stopped when he felt the closed door. He raised a hand and gave three firm knocks with his knuckles.

“Come in!”

Upon hearing Adam’s invitation to enter, Joe opened the door and led Caleb inside. He shut the door, then placed a hand on Caleb’s back, urging him farther into the room. Not that Caleb needed any urging. As soon as he heard Adam say, “Hello, Caleb,” the boy asked, “You gonna give me that paddlin’ now, Headmaster, and then put me on the train for home?”

“Well, young man, I don’t know. Mr. Cartwright wants to talk to you about your punishment first. Let’s wait and hear what he has to say on the matter.”

“What’s there to say? I brought firecrackers to class and blew ‘em off. A kid should be paddled and sent home for that.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s one way of handling things. But I believe Mr. Cartwright has another way.”

Caleb whirled and “looked” up at Joe, Adam’s presence forgotten for the time being. 

“Another way? What other way? I should be paddled and sent home. That’s what it says in the student handbook.”

“You can’t read Braille,” Joe pointed out. “How do you know what the student handbook says?”

“My ma read her copy to me ‘fore she and Pa sent me here.”

“Evidently, you did a good job of memorizing it.” 

“Doesn’t matter if I memorized it or not. You have to do what it says, Mr. Cartwright. If a student puts his fellow classmates in danger, then the headmaster has to paddle him and send him home for good. It says that right on page nine.”

It was all Joe could do to keep from laughing. He hadn’t seen this side of Caleb before. The earnest, intelligent, lively boy, determined to figure out a way to get sent home. It made Joe think of himself at the same age, and what extremes he’d have gone to in order to be reunited with his father and brothers if he’d been sent away to a boarding school.

“Well now, Caleb, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t have to do what the handbook says, because it’s just a guideline.”

“Guideline? What’s that mean?”

“It means that I can ask the headmaster to paddle you, and then send you home, or I can come up with some other form of punishment for you misbehavior.”

“But I don’t want another form of punishment! I wanna be sent home!”

“I’m sorry to hear that, because unfortunately, I can’t oblige you.”

“What!”

“I said I can’t oblige you, son. Your parents sent you here to learn how to cope with being blind, and–”

“I’ve told you a million times that I’m not blind!”

“And I’ve told you a million times that saying it doesn’t make it so. You are blind, Caleb. You’re blind, and you were sent here to learn how to live without your sight. I won’t be doing right by your parents if I just give up on you and send you home.”

“You don’t even know my parents!”

“That’s true, I don’t. But I’m a teacher, so it’s my job to see that all my students learn their lessons. Now, since you’re so far behind on those lessons, it seems to me that the only solution is for you and I to have private tutoring sessions.”

“Tutoring sessions?”

“Where it’s just you and me in the classroom. We’ll start today after school is dismissed. You’ll stay behind, and we’ll work together for an hour or two. We’ll do this every day, Monday through Friday, for the next few weeks. Come Saturday, we’ll work together again for several hours in the morning. We’ll continue to do that, too, until you’re caught up with your classmates.”

“I don’t care about bein’ caught up with them! I wanna go home!”

“And you will, at Christmas time, if you know all your lessons. If you don’t, you’ll stay right here at school and I’ll continue tutoring you.”

Joe imagined the boy bent partially at the waist, his hands balled into fists, and his face red with fury as he screamed, “You can’t do that! You can’t keep me here at Christmas! My pa and ma won’t let you! They’re expecting me home for a whole month come Christmas time!”

“I’ll write to your mother and father. Explain to them that you got off to a bad start, and are behind the other boys where your lessons are concerned. I’m sure they’ll understand. After all, they sent you here to learn, didn’t they? This school is costing them a lot of money.”

“You won’t wanna be stuck here with me at Christmas,” Caleb said in a triumphant tone, as though he’d just figured out something Joe hadn’t thought of. “You’ll wanna go home to your own family.”

“Headmaster Cartwright is my family. He’s my brother, and I live at his house right here in Boston.”

“I know that, but you said you got a pa and another brother in Nevada. You told us that in class. You’ll wanna go home and see them, I’ll bet.”

“Nope. Won’t need to do that, because they’re coming to visit the headmaster and me in a few weeks. So see, when Christmas arrives, I won’t have any place else to be but right here, and nothing better to do but spend my time teaching you. Heck, with no classes in session, not to mention no chores to do every morning, or horses to break, or supplies to get from town, or fences to mend, or cattle to round up, or brand, or move from one pasture to the next, I’ll be lookin’ for stuff to do. That’s the one thing I haven’t gotten used to about Boston yet, Caleb. All this free time I’ve got. Spending it with you, helping you get caught up to the other boys, sounds like more fun than staying at home over Christmas break, listening to the headmaster snore after he falls asleep in his chair reading one a’ them fancy books of his.”

Adam remained silent through all of this, as he’d previously told Joe he would. He’d said he’d step in only if he deemed his intervention necessary. So far, he must have thought Joe was handling things okay, because based on how quiet Adam was, Joe would have sworn his brother had left the room if he didn’t know better. 

“You can’t do that!” Caleb shouted. “You can’t keep me here!”

“I can, unless you earn the right to go home by learning your lessons.”

The boy cried out with rage and launched himself at Joe in a flurry of flying fists, but this time, unlike last, Joe was expecting the tantrum. He snared Caleb by the wrists, keeping the boy far enough away that his flailing feet couldn’t make contact with Joe’s shins.

“No! No! You can’t do that! You can’t! I’ll. . .I’ll burn the school down if you do. I will! You can’t make me stay here! You can’t keep me here through Christmas! Ma and Pa are expecting me home! Matthew and Phillip and James – they’re expecting me too! You can’t do this! Paddle me! I don’t care, paddle me ‘til I can’t sit down for a week, and then send me home! Send me home now!”

“No,” Joe maintained firmly. “I’m not gonna do that. There’ll be no paddling, and no train ticket home. You’ll stay here and learn, Caleb, and if takes through Christmas break to get that into your stubborn little head, then so be it.”

Caleb wrenched himself from Joe’s grasp and backed up, coughing and sputtering as though his temper was getting the best of him. As though he was so angry his body no longer knew how to handle his fury.

“You don’t understand!” the boy yelled, sobs gulping out between each word. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me! To be blind! I. . .it was them dumb ol’ firecrackers! I didn’t know. . .I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen with ‘em. George and me, we found ‘em on New Year’s Eve! Me and my family were at George’s for a party. It was the first party I was ever at. We had roast turkey, and potatoes, and stuffing, and bread, and pies. . .more pies than I ever saw in my whole life.”

Now that Caleb had started confessing his wrongdoing, he couldn’t seem to stop. Joe got the impression the boy had never actually told the entire version of the story to anyone else, not even his parents, and that by telling it to his teacher, he was trying to absolve himself of the guilt he’d been carrying as a result of his disobedience that night. 

“We were gonna stay up until midnight, to see in the New Year, Ma said. George’s pa was gonna shoot off fireworks, only me and George shot ‘em off first. Our folks told us to stay outta the barn. They told us not to touch anything, but we didn’t listen. We snuck off while everyone else was playin’ charades, and we found the box of firecrackers and some matches. I swiped some – firecrackers and matches both – and put ‘em in my coat pockets. So did George. He said it was okay. That his pa would never miss a few, and that maybe we could shoot ‘em off in one of the fields come summer. Then he lit a match and said we should blow off some of the firecrackers right then. I. . .I told him we shouldn’t, but George said it would be okay. He said everyone would be laughin’ and carryin’ on so much in the house that they’d never hear. I. . .I don’t know what happened after that. I was standin’ there holding some firecrackers, and then all of a sudden I wasn’t standin’ there at all. I was layin’ on the ground, and my eyes felt like they were burnin’ up right in my head. George ran into the house screamin’, and the next thing I knew, my pa was running with me in his arms and climbing into our wagon. George’s pa drove us to Doc Berry’s house. He wound a buncha’ bandages around my head, but said there was nothing else he could do! He told my. . .he told my. . .” Caleb’s sobs threatened to overtake him at this point. The boy took a ragged, deep breath. “He told. . .he told my pa and ma that I’d never see again.”

Joe stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry.”

“No you’re not! You’re just like all the rest of them! You don’t care, you just wanna stare at me ‘cause I’m different now! ‘Cause I’m the little blind boy. You don’t know what it’s like! You say you’re sorry, but you’re not. I can’t do my chores any more! I can’t go to my old school where Miss Kennelworth teaches. I can’t walk through the meadow to George’s by myself, or ride my horse, or. . .or. . .or play with my brothers. I can’t do the things my brothers do, not even James, and he’s the baby! They leave me out! Ma says they don’t mean to, but it doesn’t matter, ‘cause whether they mean to or not, they still leave me out. I hate it! Do you hear me? I hate it!” 

Caleb turned and raced around the room, sweeping his arms out, trying to destroy everything in his path. Books, a clock, and paperwork on Adam’s desk went flying. Joe ran after the boy, whose movements were easy to track based on the noise. Maybe Adam ran for him, too. Joe figured his brother probably did, but Joe got to Caleb first.

“I hate it!” the boy screamed again, kicking as Joe grabbed him from behind, spun him around, and held him at arms length. “I hate it! I hate being blind! I hate it, and don’t tell me you understand ‘cause you don’t!”

“No, Caleb?” Joe yelled just as loudly in return. “I don’t? Is that what you think? That I don’t understand what you’re going through because you can’t see? Well if it is, then you thought wrong, kid, because I’m blind too!” 

Joe shook the boy a bit for emphasis. “I’m blind, Caleb, and believe me, I hate it just as much as you do! Until a few months ago, I still had my sight! Then, like you, I had an accident. A stupid accident. And like you, too, I have brothers, so I know what it’s like not to be able to do the things they do! I know what it’s like to feel left out! I know what it’s like not to be able to do my chores, or ride my horse, or feel like I no longer belong in the house I was born in! I know what it’s like, Caleb, so don’t you dare tell me I don’t, because the one thing I pray to God for every night, is that I’ll get my sight back. My sight, Caleb! That’s all I ask for. That’s all I want.”

At Joe’s final words, the boy melted against his teacher, sobs once again overtaking him. 

“I know.” Caleb cried into Joe’s shirt. “I know, ‘cause that’s what I ask God for, too.”

Joe held the boy close, stroking a hand through his hair, not paying any attention to the tears running down his own face. God, it hurt so much. Saying those things to Caleb brought all the pain and hopelessness of being blind back in full force. 

Joe let Caleb cling to him and cry until the boy didn’t have any tears left. Joe bent down then, pulling his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiping it over Caleb’s face.

“You okay now?”

The boy sniffled. “Ye. . .yeah. Guess. . .I guess so.”

“Do you still wanna go home?”

“I. . .I don’t know.”

“Caleb, listen to me. I know you’re a smart boy. I read everything about you in the reports your parents and Miss Kennelworth gave us. Because of that, I also know that if you’re willing to work real hard during the next few weeks, you’ll be able to earn the right to go home for Christmas break.”

“How. . .how many weeks away is that?”

“About eight. Two months.”

“Is. . .is two months enough time to learn my lessons, and be caught up with my class?”

“For a smart young fella like you, I’d say so.”

“And. . .and will you still help me after school?”

“You bet I will.”

“And on Saturdays?”

“And on Saturdays, too,” Joe confirmed.

“I’m a quick learner, Mr. Cartwright. Honest I am. I never had to stay after school in my whole life to do lessons. When I could see, I was always at the top of my class.”

“And I bet you’ll be at the top of your class again by the time you go home for Christmas.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

The boy wrapped his arms around Joe’s neck and buried his face in Joe’s shoulder. “I still don’t wanna be blind. I’d give anything to see again.”

Joe rubbed a hand up and down Caleb’s back. “I know you would, because I feel the same way. But if you’ll let me help you, being blind will get easier. I promise.”

Caleb lifted his head. “Who helped you?”

“The headmaster.”

“And did you cause him trouble like I’ve caused you?”

Joe chuckled. “Some.”

Adam interrupted for the first time with a questioning, “Some?”

“I think that’s the headmaster’s way of saying I gave him quite a bit of trouble now and again.”

“But then you got caught up with your lessons, right? You must have learned ‘em jim-dandy like, ‘cause you’re here teaching us.”

“Yeah, I’d say I learned my lessons pretty well, but then, I had a good teacher.”

Caleb seemed to be thinking things through while remaining securely encased in Joe’s arms. When he finally spoke, he said, “I’d. . .I’d like to try, Mr. Cartwright. I’d like to try and learn, if you’ll still teach me.”

“I will.”

The boy eased out of Joe’s embrace, then slowly turned toward Adam.

“Headmaster?”

“Yes, Caleb. I’m right here.”

“I know you gotta paddle me for the firecrackers. It says so in the book. If…could you do it now, while the other guys are at recess?”

“I suppose I could,” Adam said with great sincerity, as though he was thinking Caleb’s proposal over, “but how about this instead? If you don’t cause Mr. Cartwright any more trouble, and if you stop picking fights with your classmates, and if you behave for Mr. Murphy, and if you’re completely caught up with your lessons by the time Christmas break arrives, then there’ll be no paddling, and no need for me to mention any of your transgressions to your parents.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I can do all of those things. Really I can, Headmaster. I hardly ever got in trouble at home. My pa always said I was a good boy. And I never got a lickin’ at school. Never. Not even back when Mr. Cooper was our teacher, and he was a lot stricter than Miss Kennelworth.”

“It sounds like you know how to behave yourself.”

“I do.” 

“Good, because if you so much as step out of line even once, I’ll paddle you so hard that when you ride that train home at Christmas time, you’ll be standing up the entire way. Do you understand?”

“Yes. . .yes, Sir,” Caleb gulped.

“Well, young man, there’s still twenty minutes left before your fellow students come in from recess. I’d say this would be a good time to return to class with Mr. Cartwright and start working on those make-up lessons he’s been discussing with you.”

“Yes, Sir. I think so, too.”

“Glad to hear it.” Adam turned to Joe. “Mr. Cartwright, take your pupil and teach away. I’ll expect a full report on his behavior tonight at dinner.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Joe said, putting a false note of sternness in his voice that Adam no doubt recognized as a disguise for humor, but that Caleb would take seriously.

Joe told Caleb to thank the headmaster for his time, to which Caleb dutifully said, “Thank you, Headmaster,” then led him from the room.

As had been the case with his other students when their behavior finally began to improve, Joe wasn’t foolish enough to think Caleb wouldn’t have a few up and downs in the coming weeks, but Joe had faith in the boy. And sometimes, as Ben Cartwright’s faith had taught him on numerous occasions, all a kid needed in order to stay on the right path, was an adult who believed him.

Chapter 43

Adam walked around his office, picking up the mess Caleb had created. He supposed he should have made the boy stay and pick it up himself, but Adam thought that Caleb getting a start on all those lessons he’d missed was more important than a few books and papers scattered about.

Being a silent observer was enlightening, as Adam had known since childhood. His silent observations today revealed what an excellent teacher Joe really was. Not that Adam possessed any doubts about his brother’s newfound abilities; he just hadn’t realized what a natural gift Joe had for the profession. And then the things Joe had said about being blind – how his lack of sight made him feel left out, and made him feel like he didn’t belong on the Ponderosa any more. If Adam had given it any thought, he’d have easily concluded Joe felt those things at times, but as the old expression went, “life goes on,” and pretty soon what was at first a tragedy – like Joe’s blindness – slowly begins to seem normal. Or at least to the man who can still see.

Joe’s words to Caleb had reopened some old pain within Adam that he’d thought was long healed. Feeling on the fringes of your family circle. Feeling like you no longer had a place, or purpose, in the home where you were raised. Feeling like a failure because you could no longer do all of the things you used to. All of the things that had once defined you as a man. 

Yes, Adam understood exactly how Joe felt, because even though over three years had now passed since his accident, Adam had yet to grow completely accustomed to missing an arm.

Chapter 44

Joe’s thirtieth birthday marked the closing of October. He decided he’d heard Adam and Laddie wrong when it came to a party – or at least a party for him – because the day was honored quietly, with dinner cooked by Mrs. O’Connell, followed by one of Joe’s new favorite desserts, Boston Cream Pie. The “pie” part of the dessert’s name was deceiving, since it was actually a rich concoction consisting of a two-layered sponge cake filled with vanilla custard and glazed with chocolate. 

The celebration took place on Thursday evening after the school day ended, with only Adam and Laddie in attendance, and at Joe’s insistence, Mrs. O’Connell. She protested the notion of dining at the same table with her employer and his guests, but Joe wouldn’t allow her to refuse, telling her if she didn’t join him for his birthday dinner, he wasn’t going to eat it.

After the meal, there were presents for Joe to open. Laddie gave him a set of handkerchiefs with his initials embroidered on them in Braille. From Adam, Joe received a set of a dozen Braille dime novels as a joke, which Joe appreciated much more than his brother could imagine, along with a subscription to a magazine printed in Braille. Joe was grateful for these gifts of new reading material, because as he’d told Caleb, he had a lot of time on his hands now, and was always looking for ways to fill it.

From Mrs. O’Connell, Joe received a book, also printed in Braille, about the history and settling of New Orleans.

“Yeh told me, Joseph, that yer mam was born and raised in New Orleans. I thought yeh might like to read a book ‘bout where it is she came from. Mr. Cartwright ordered it special for me from the Braille shop.”

“Thank you. I know I’ll enjoy it.” Joe ran his fingers over the cover and felt the raised Braille lettering that read: New Orleans, The History of a Southern Jewel. “But you shouldn’t have spent your money on me.”

“Ack,” the woman scoffed, “ ‘an just who else do I have to spend me money on? I wanted to wish yeh a happy birthday, I did, an’ no proper birthday wishes come without a present or two.”

Joe would have protested further over what the book must have cost the woman, but he knew he’d only hurt her feelings. So, instead, he graciously accepted the gift while telling Mrs. O’Connell that he was certain it would be one of his favorites.

After Laddie had left to go home, and Mrs. O’Connell had retired to her room for the night, Adam gave Joe one more present by surprising him with letters that had arrived that day from their father and Hoss, both of which included birthday wishes. 

“We’ll celebrate your birthday after we arrive, son,” Pa’s letter stated, which Joe knew probably meant a few more presents, and another big dinner topped off by Boston Cream Pie – a desert that would be new to Hoss, and one that he’d no doubt want two or three helpings of. 

The thought of further presents was of no interest to Joe. The gift he cared about the most would arrive in the form of his father and Hoss walking through the front door of Adam’s house. 

“Does Pa say when they’re coming?” Joe asked, when Adam had finished reading. The brothers were in the parlor now, with Shakespeare lying between the chair Joe was sitting in, and the settee where Adam sat.

“No. Other than when he told you he’d see you soon, there was no mention of a date. I suppose that means he’s still planning on a mid-November arrival.”

“Which means they must be leaving Virginia City sometime in the next two weeks.”

“I’d say so,” Adam agreed. “If you want to write him back tonight and ask him, you can dictate a letter to me.”

“No, not tonight. It’s been a long day. Maybe we can just send Pa a telegram tomorrow or Saturday.”

“Sure. We can do that.”

Although Joe appreciated all of the assistance his brother gave him, the one thing he hated was not being able to write to his father and Hoss without the letters being dictated to Adam. There was something personal lacking in this kind of correspondence. The funny little stories he wanted to tell Hoss about Adam’s infatuation with Laddie went untold, and the opportunity to thank his father for all he’d unknowingly taught Joe about how to handle mischievous, energetic boys, also went unsaid. So for now, when dictating Hoss’s letters, Joe limited his news to tales about his visits to the Brockington estate, places he’d gone with Adam, and all the new foods he was encountering in Boston. To Pa, he sent general sort of news – like letting Pa know that things were going well at school, and that he was fine, and that he and Adam were managing to live together without killing one another, or even threatening to.

Adam must have been able to read Joe’s thoughts, because he asked, “You’re looking forward to their arrival, aren’t you?”

Joe couldn’t keep from smiling. “Yeah, I sure am. I have so much I wanna tell both of them. So much I wanna show them. Hey, do you think it’d be okay if they came to school one day and sat in on my class – met my boys?”

“I think that would be just fine.”

“And do you think Laddie’s parents might invite Pa and Hoss to their home one Sunday for dinner?”

“I have no doubt such an invitation will be extended.”

“I can’t wait for Hoss to learn to play croquet, or golf. He’ll probably think they’re the stupidest games he’s ever seen.”

Adam smiled. “He probably will.”

“But you know Hoss. He’ll be too polite to say so, which means Franny will have him playing about a dozen rounds of croquet before he finally manages to get out of her clutches.”

“I imagine that’s the way things will unfold. Hopefully, it doesn’t snow before Hoss has a chance to swing a croquet mallet.”

“That’s okay if it does. Then they’ll just have to stay longer if the trains can’t leave.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Adam said, “You really miss them.”

Joe hesitated before finally nodding. He didn’t want to hurt Adam’s feelings, or make Adam think he was any less important to him than their father or Hoss. Adam seemed to understand though, because he said, “I miss them, too. It’ll be good to have them here.”

As long as they were talking about Pa and Hoss, now seemed like as good a time as any to Joe to bring up something he’d been mulling over in recent weeks.

“Adam, can I talk to you about something?”

“Little brother, I thought we had that talk about fifteen years ago.”

“We did, and by the way, you were about a year too late.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joe laughed. “If you can’t figure it out, I’m sure not explaining it.”

“Sometimes I still don’t know when you’re kidding me, and when you’re telling me the truth.”

“Good. Keeps you on your toes.”

“I’ll say.” 

“So anyway, what I wanted to talk to you about. . .?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“I know. . .well, I know this is kind of jumping the gun, because I realize it’ll be a couple of years or so before I really have the experience under my belt that I need, 
but. . .uh. . .I’ve been thinking. . .”

“You’ve been thinking what, Joe?” 

“It might be a dumb idea, but remember when you told me there’s a need for schools other places around the country that are affiliated with the institute?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well. . .do you think. . .I mean, given some time and some more experience
. . .that I. . .well, that I could open one of those schools and teach there?”

When Joe’s question was met with a lengthy silence, he gave an embarrassed laugh. “Like I said, it’s probably a dumb idea. I know I’m just beginning to learn and–”

“No, it’s not a dumb idea.”

“It’s not?”

“No. As you said, you need some more experience, but two or three years down the road, I think it’s feasible, Joe. I really do. Though there’s a lot more to it than just deciding to open a school.”

“Like what?”

“Getting investors involved to financially support the school, for one thing. Getting approval from our school board. Getting some estimates together on how many students you think would attend the school, what size the building needs to be, how many staff members it’ll take to run it, the monthly costs of maintaining it, where the best location would be–”

“Um. . .I was thinking of Virginia City,” Joe said in a sheepish tone, as though he expected Adam to laugh at the notion.

But instead of laughing, Adam agreed. “That’s certainly something to consider.”

“It is?”

“Without a doubt. We have a number of students who travel to us from west of the Rockies. Virginia City would be a lot closer to home for them than Boston.”

“You’re right about that.”

“I’ll tell you what, let’s put this idea of yours on hold until Christmas break. Past experience with Boston winters tells me there’ll be days when we’re snowbound in this house. That’ll be a good time for us to sit in my office and get some facts and figures together, don’t you think?”

“Sure. Sounds fine to me. Thanks, Adam. Even if this idea of mine doesn’t turn out to be worth pursuing, I appreciate your support.”

“You’re welcome.” Adam was quiet a moment, then stated, “You’re homesick.”

“Um. . .well, yeah, I guess I am. Don’t get me wrong,” Joe rushed on to say, “it’s not that I don’t like living here, or appreciate all you’ve done for me, or–”

“I know that, Joe.”

“I’m glad, because I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to find a way to leave. If I have to live here the rest of my life. . .well, that’ll be okay. Really it will. But no matter how hard I try to get used to Boston, the Ponderosa will always be home to me. I’ve known it since the day we got here. Plus, you need your privacy.”

“Pardon?”

“I shouldn’t be living with you.”

“Joe, we talked about this before we left Nevada. I told you that I don’t mind. I want you here. It’s worked out well, don’t you think? Like you said to Pa in one of your letters, we haven’t killed each other yet.”

“I know, but it’s just that you were used to living here alone. I feel like I’ve intruded on your territory. . .on your privacy.”

“Sometimes living alone doesn’t just translate to privacy. Sometimes it translates to loneliness.”

“Then ask Laddie to marry you.”

“Joe!”

“I’m not kidding. What’re you waitin’ for anyway?”

“The right time.”

“Well tell me when the right time is gonna be, and I’ll leave the house for a few hours and take Mrs. O’Connell with me. You can ask Laddie then.”

Joe heard the amusement in his brother’s voice.

“You’ve got this all planned out, is that it?”

“Look, Adam, I’m just trying to give you a push in the right direction, is all.”

“I don’t need any pushes, thank you very much. When I’m ready to ask Laddie to marry me, I will, and not one minute sooner.”

“Okay, but you’d better keep in mind that I’m not getting any younger.”

“What’s your age got to do with a marriage between Laddie and myself?”

“Uncle Joe would like the chance to swing your kids in the air before rheumatism sets in.”

“So now I have kids, do I?”

“I hope a whole passel of ‘em. Five or six boys just like me, and then you can start in on making a few girls.”

“Five or six boys like you? I don’t think I’d live through their childhoods.”

“Maybe not, but it’ll sure be fun watchin’ you try.”

“I’m sorry for the disappointment, but it’s not an amusement I’m going to provide you with any time soon. Therefore, let’s put an end to this talk about my privacy. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to. Even if Laddie and I do marry in the future, you’re still welcome to stay.”

“Oh, I’m sure Laddie will appreciate that. The brother-in-law who’s the permanent houseguest on the second story.”

“More like the crazy uncle in the attic, but either way, for reasons I can’t fathom, Laddie’s quite fond of you. Therefore, I know she’ll extend the same invitation to you that I just have.”

“Adam, just marry the girl for cryin’ out loud, and quit worrying about me.”

“Joe. . .” Adam warned, in a tone Joe knew better than to ignore.

“All right. All right. End of discussion.”

“Thank you. And on that note…” Adam stood. “I’ll wish you a final happy birthday, young man. . .or perhaps I should say old man, now that you’re thirty, and your hair has more gray in it than mine.” 

As Adam passed by his brother’s chair, he paused and squeezed Joe’s shoulder.

“Good night, Joe. Happy birthday.”

Joe patted his brother’s hand in return. “ ‘Night. Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome. Sleep well.”

“I will. You too.”

Shakespeare remained in the parlor with Joe, inching closer to Joe’s chair on his belly as Adam made his way up the stairs to bed. When the dog nuzzled Joe’s leg as if to say, “Hey, I’m here,” Joe reached down, running a hand back and forth across soft fur.

All in all, it had been a birthday worth remembering. The meal was excellent, the presents appreciated, and the conversation afterwards with Adam a rewarding one. Maybe opening a school in Virginia City was just a dream that would never bear fruit, but if there was any way Joe could make it happen, then he was determined to do so. Because, despite being thirty years old, like Caleb Greers, Joe desperately wanted to return to the only place he thought of as home.

Chapter 45

By the time the weekend following Joe’s birthday arrived, a person knew winter wasn’t far off. The autumn nip that had been in the air previously, grew just a bit nippier as November replaced October. Adam told Joe the trees were now rapidly losing their leaves, and that the first snowfall probably wasn’t far off. 

Joe walked to school that Saturday with Shakespeare as his guide. He’d kept his promise to Caleb regarding private tutoring sessions, and this was the third Saturday in a row that they’d met. Joe worked with the boy until lunchtime. He was pleased with Caleb’s progress, and told him so.

“You keep working as hard as you have been, and you’ll be on that train home come Christmas.”

“I hope so, Mr. Cartwright. I really hope so.”

Joe clearly heard the longing in the boy’s voice. “Well, I know so,” he emphasized, in order to give Caleb further confidence. And besides, unbeknownst to Caleb, Joe had no intention of not letting him return home for Christmas, provided the boy continued to be diligent with his studies and behaved himself. If he was still a week or two behind his classmates where lessons were concerned when Christmas arrived, so be it. He’d get caught up easily enough when school resumed in January. Now that Caleb was on the right track with his behavior, he was easy to teach, and Joe had already awarded him for his academic advancements with a set of tin soldiers and a card game.

Joe ate lunch with the students at the institute that day, but begged off participating in a baseball game with the boys from his class, saying he was sorry, that he needed to get home. In truth, though, Joe felt a headache coming on. 

While teaching Caleb that morning, Joe’s black world had turned murky gray for all of twenty seconds, and then suddenly a vague shadow that seemed to shimmer back and forth sat in front of him, making Joe think of a ghost child. But it wasn’t a ghost child; it was Caleb. Before the boy came into focus, however, Joe’s world went black again. 

No pain had accompanied that experience, but Joe couldn’t deny it was unnerving. Now, as he walked home with Shakespeare leading the way, the pain increased, though not enough to knock him off his feet, thank goodness. 

Adam wasn’t at the house when Joe arrived, for which he was grateful. After the visit to Dr. Warren, Adam had made Joe promise that he wouldn’t keep any more headaches a secret, but Joe figured what Adam didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, Adam had plans to dine at the Brockingtons’ that night. Something about some old friends of the family that Mr. and Mrs. Brockington wanted Adam to meet. Adam frequently met with people who might be potential financial supporters of the school, so Joe assumed this dinner would be more business in nature than pleasure. Or at least, that’s the way Adam had made it sound when he spoke of it earlier in the week. Regardless of the dinner’s purpose, Joe didn’t want his health to keep his brother from his evening out.

Mrs. O’Connell was also gone when Joe got home. Adam gave her Saturdays off unless he was hosting a dinner party, so she usually left shortly after breakfast, and didn’t return until sometime in the early evening hours. Her absence was beneficial to Joe, as well. He was able to go right up to his room and lie down without anyone questioning if he was ill, or reporting his behavior to Adam. 

The headache didn’t escalate to a point much beyond painful inconvenience. Which, in Joe’s opinion, sure beat rolling around on the floor moaning, and throwing up on your brother’s expensive rug. Joe had another brief episode of seeing a foggy, out-of-focus world when he stood to walk to the lavatory to get a cold cloth to place on his forehead, but once again, the phenomenon passed almost as quickly as it came.

Joe couldn’t deny it worried him — these headaches combined with the fleeting moments of vague eyesight. He wondered if they meant a blood clot was moving, or if he had a tumor, or something else was going on that no doctor could cure. But even the fear over his health didn’t prompt Joe to tell Adam about the headache when the man arrived home a couple of hours later. By then, Joe’s pain was gone, and he was sitting in the parlor reading one of his new dime novels.

“I see you made it home all right,” Adam said, referring to Joe’s trip back and forth to the institute with just Shakespeare as his guide. It was a habit Joe knew Adam still wasn’t keen on, but after having seen for himself that the dog could do all the things Joe claimed, Adam had kept his end of the bargain regarding Joe’s use of the animal. 

“Yep, made it home just fine.”

“How’re Caleb’s studies coming along?”

“Real well. He’ll earn that Christmas train ticket without any problems.”

“And even if he is still lagging behind the other boys, you plan on letting him go anyway,” Adam said knowingly.

“As long as he continues to work hard and behave himself, yeah, I do.”

“I’d argue with that, but you know what, I can’t think of one good reason to.”

“Adam Cartwright, I’m disappointed in you.”

“Why?”

“You’re gettin’ soft in your old age.”

“Must be the bad influence my baby brother is having on me.”

“Must be.” Joe turned in his chair as Adam passed by on his way to the stairs. “Where were you, anyway?”

“Just out running some errands. . . .Oh, and by the way, I stopped and sent a telegram to Pa for you. Maybe we’ll have an answer back on Monday as to the exact date they’ll be arriving.”

“Probably will. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Now I’m going to soak in the tub for a while, then grab a short nap. Elliot’s picking me up at six.”

Joe nodded, while resisting the urge to tell Adam for what would probably be the tenth time in the past two months, that he needed to have a carriage house built on this property, then get his own horse and carriage. However, Joe knew he’d just get the same argument in return – carriages were easy enough to hire throughout Boston, and the streets of Beacon Hill were never short of cabbies looking for fares. In addition to that, the school provided Adam with a carriage and driver when needed, not to mention that Edward Brockington was generous toward Adam in this regard, too.

“Better marry that girl,” Joe quipped, as he returned to his book.

“What?”

“Laddie. You’d better marry her, if for no other reason than having free use of Elliot and that carriage he drives.”

“Joseph, you’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“Now that you mention it, seems I’ve heard my oldest brother say that about me a few times.”

“Your oldest brother is a very wise man then.”

“If nothing else, he seems to think so.” 

“I’d love to continue this pointless conversation with you, but a hot bath awaits me.”

Joe smiled and shook his head, but didn’t say anything further. He remained where he was, sitting by the fireplace reading, while Adam bathed, and then took a nap. The smell of cologne preceded Adam when he finally returned to the main floor. Joe could picture him dressed in his best black suit, with a crisp white shirt, minus his tie yet, because he’d have to ask Joe to tie it for him.

Joe stood and held out a hand before his brother had the chance to make the request. He crinkled his nose when he felt what was placed in his palm.

“I hate tying this stupid Ascot tie for you. Feels like a bib.”

“I happen to like the way it looks.”

“Guess if you wanna wear a bib, that’s your choice. But I’ll tell ya’ one thing, brother, wearin’ a tie like this in Virginia City would get a man laughed clean outta town.”

“I can do without the commentary, Joseph. Just tie it.”

While Joe did as Adam ordered, he laughed and said, “Did you ever think about how ridiculous we look? A blind man knotting a tie for his one armed brother.”

Adam couldn’t help but laugh at Joe’s words. “I suppose it does look kind of odd, uh?”

“I’d say so. I hope no one’s peering in through your windows.”

Joe could tell by Adam’s movement that he’d craned his neck to look out the front window.

“No, no one’s peering in, though I see Elliot’s waiting. I’d better go. Will you be okay until Mrs. O’Connell gets back?”

“Of course. It’s not like I haven’t been alone before on a Saturday night when you’ve had a date with Laddie.”

“Mrs. O’Connell left chicken and dumplings in the warmer for you. And bread she baked before she left this morning. And she said something about a cherry pie on the sideboard. Have a piece of that, too.”

Joe couldn’t figure out why his brother sounded so. . .guilty, was the only way Joe could think of describing it. Like he felt bad about having plans this evening, and leaving Joe home by himself. But that didn’t make any sense, because Adam had gone out with Laddie on plenty of other Saturday nights and left Joe by himself without sounding remorseful about it. Maybe he was just feeling bad for some reason, because he had a woman to court, while Joe didn’t. Which, admittedly, would have been unheard of for Joe Cartwright prior to his loss of sight.

“I’ll have some of everything,” Joe assured, with regard to the food Mrs. O’Connell had left for him. “Now go on.” He brushed imaginary lint from the shoulders of Adam’s suit coat, then gave his brother a little shove toward the door. “You don’t wanna be late when it comes to meeting the Brockingtons’ friends. You know what Pa always says about first impressions.” 

“Sometimes it’s the only impression you have a chance to make.”

“Exactly. So go. Have a good time. Behave yourself. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I think I’d better just stick to not doing the things I wouldn’t do.”

“Probably. If nothing else, that whole first impression thing will likely be a bigger success.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Adam’s footsteps indicated he was moving toward the foyer closet to retrieve his coat and hat. “Don’t wait up. It’ll be late before I’m back. You know how these business dinners go.”

“Yeah. Long and boring. But still, try and have fun.”

“Yes,” Adam agreed, with a laugh that sounded uncomfortable to Joe. “I’ll do that.”

After the front door closed behind Adam, Joe briefly wondered what was wrong with his brother this evening. Adam always looked forward to being with Laddie, regardless of what plans the night held. But as Joe returned to his book and resumed reading, he soon forgot about Adam’s mood. He became so lost in the adventures of Sheriff Cimarron and his deadly foes, the pistol-packing Parker Brothers, that he read right through the dinner hour, and didn’t realize he’d missed his meal until Mrs. O’Connell came home. Joe put his book down and ate in the kitchen with the woman, enjoying her company. When the meal was over, he took Shakespeare outside for his nightly duties, then reentered the house with the dog and went upstairs to bed. 

Joe slept so soundly that he didn’t hear Adam come home. The next morning over breakfast, when Joe asked his brother how his evening went, Adam said in a noncommittal, indifferent tone, “It went fine. The Brockingtons’ friends were very nice,” and then changed the subject without offering further details. Joe took that to mean the night was just as long and boring as he’d imagined it would be, and not for the first time, he was glad he hadn’t been invited.

Chapter 46

Adam and Joe attended church with the Brockington family the next day, the brothers arriving outside of the building in one of those hired carriages so readily available in Adam’s neighborhood. When the service was over, they rode to the Brockington estate like they did each Sunday – in a carriage with Laddie, that was just one amongst the fleet of carriages Mr. Brockington owned in order to transport his large and ever-expanding family. 

Adam said the sun was out, but because of the way the temperature had dropped that weekend, Joe wondered if after-lunch “amusements” would take place outside today, or inside, in the form of parlor games like dominos, or charades – the latter with Adam and Laddie’s sister, Margaret, assisting Joe and Laddie by verbally describing what the person in the front of the room was doing. Or maybe everyone would gather around the piano and sing while Laddie played. Joe was amazed at her talent on the instrument. He admired her parents for giving Laddie the same opportunities throughout her childhood that had been given to her sisters, while raising her to believe her lack of eyesight couldn’t prevent her from accomplishing anything she set her mind to doing.

Whether after-lunch entertainment took place inside or outside didn’t matter much to Joe either way. He had a warm coat on, and gloves in his pockets. He assumed all of the children were dressed warmly too, and eager to run around the grounds surrounding their grandfather’s home. He wondered how many games of croquet Franny would make him play before someone came to his rescue.

This Sunday seemed no different from any other Sunday to Joe as he exited the carriage, and waited for Adam to lead both him and Laddie to the house. Laddie took Adam’s left arm, while Joe stood on his right side. Joe had gotten pretty good at memorizing the layout of the Brockington home, so overall, he didn’t need much guidance from Adam any longer. 

Joe, Adam, and Laddie brought up the rear of the procession, as the family paraded in the front door of the mansion. As Joe knew it would be, the marble foyer that was big enough to host a dance in was full of adults and children chattering away while taking off coats and hats, with three maids on hand to hang everything in a closet. Smells that made a man’s stomach growl wafted about from the kitchen, filling the house with a mixture of pleasant aromas that ranged from turkey, to roast beef, to freshly baked bread, to pies just out of the oven. Everyone headed for the dining room in one large group when Mr. Brockington said, like he did each Sunday, “Come along, my dear family and friends. Lunch is about to be served.”

But this Sunday, before Joe could reach the long table and the chair he always sat in on Adam’s right side, shouts of, “Surprise, Mr. Cartwright!” mixed with other shouts of “Surprise, Joe!” just about knocked Joe over. 

He stood there for a few seconds caught off-guard, and having no idea what was going on until boys’ voices shouted in unison, “Happy Birthday!” and small hands grabbed each of his. The person on his left spoke first.

“Are you surprised, Mr. Cartwright? Uh, are you?”

Joe grinned. “Yeah, Caleb, I’d say I’m surprised, all right.”

“After you went home yesterday, Headmaster came to the school and invited us to the party. We couldn’t wait to get here!”

Now Joe knew the nature of those “errands” his brother had been running the previous day. Adam wouldn’t have wanted the boys to know about the party any sooner than necessary, for fear one of them would accidentally let the secret out in class. 

“Well, I’m real glad you were able to come. It sure wouldn’t have been much of a party without you.”

Joe’s felt a tug on his other hand. 

“This is gonna be the best party ever, Mr. Cartwright, don’t ya’ think? There’s lots of stuff to do here,” Billy Fitzgerald said. “The big boys already told me about everything, ‘cause they said you’ve brought ‘em here before. We all get to go outside and play in a few minutes.”

Before Joe could answer Billy, each one of his students approached him to wish him a happy birthday, the little ones grabbing onto his hands and arms, the older boys patting him on the back and shoulders while extending their good wishes. Killian Murphy was even in attendance. Joe supposed Adam had invited the man for two reasons – one, because Joe had grown to become friends with him, and two, Adam was likely paying Killian to keep an eye on the boys throughout the afternoon’s festivities. 

Joe turned to his brother while the room swelled with conversation, friendly shouts, laughter, and the sound of excited children dashing to and fro. 

“How’d you get the boys here?”

“Edward sent carriages to pick them up after the morning service.”

By “morning service,” Adam was referring to the church service held at the institute on Sundays for the children and live-in staff. 

“That was nice of him. This whole party was nice of him and Mrs. Brockington. I’ll have to thank them – if I can ever find them in this crowd.”

“I’m sure you’ll run across them soon. As for the party, it was Laddie’s idea really.”

“Oh no,” Laddie said, “that’s not true, Joe. It was all your brother’s idea. Every single bit of it. I just provided the place to host it, when we realized the guest list had grown so large that Adam’s home wouldn’t hold all the people.”

“Well, either way,” Joe said, in-between acknowledging pats on the back and words of birthday congratulations from various members of Laddie’s family as they walked past, “thank you. Thank you both. I sure never expected something like this. To say I’m surprised doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

“Then maybe you can’t take one. . .or better put, two more surprises,” Adam said.

“What surprises? Adam, come on, you’ve given me enough presents for one birthday.”

“Normally, I’d agree with that, little brother. But this year. . .well, a man only turns thirty once, and because of that, I wanted to get you some special presents.”

“What kind of special presents?”

“Presents I had to send far away for.”

“Far away for?” Joe tried to think of what foreign treasures Adam had at home, that he’d admired by feel alone and voiced a desire for. Trouble was, while Joe had admired numerous things, like a set of African tribal masks and the maracas, he couldn’t remember ever saying he actually wanted any of them. “What did you have to send far away for?”

“For this.”

Upon saying those words, Adam urged Joe to turn slightly so he was now facing the massive foyer. He waited for Adam to place something in his hands, or lead him somewhere, but then he felt two hands come to rest on his shoulders, and heard a familiar voice say, “Hello, son. Happy birthday.”

Joe didn’t think his own voice worked when he mouthed “Pa?” with stunned shock, but it must have, because his father replied, “Yes, Joseph, it’s Pa.”

Joe raised trembling hands to either side of his father’s face, his fingers tracing the features as though he still didn’t believe the man standing in front of him was Ben Cartwright. Calloused hands covered his and gently squeezed. 

“Son, it’s your pa,” Joe’s father reiterated, as if he understood his presence had caught Joe by such surprise, that Joe wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming.

“Pa. . .Pa, it’s really you,” was all Joe could think to say before being pulled into his father’s strong embrace. 

Time seemed to stop for Joe. He could still hear the animated conversations coming from all corners of the home’s main floor, he could still hear the pounding footfalls of running children as they raced in and out of the front door, he could still hear maids hustling back and forth, but he paid no attention to any of it, and didn’t care who witnessed him clinging to his father while tears ran freely down his face. 

“It’s really me, Joseph,” Joe heard in his right ear as a hand came to rest on the back of his head. Pa’s voice had a funny catch to it, like he was speaking around a lump in his throat. “It’s really me.”

“And it’s really me, too, Short Shanks.”

Somewhere in Joe’s subconscious mind, he’d known Hoss must be in the room too, but he was so focused on his father that he’d momentarily forgotten about his middle brother.

A hand the size of one of those baseball mitts the Brockington grandsons owned cupped the back of Joe’s neck. Joe turned, stepping from his father’s embrace and into Hoss’s. He swore he felt a tear splash against his face, but he didn’t tease Hoss about it, because God knew Joe couldn’t hold back his own tears, and he’d venture to guess Pa was crying, and that Adam’s eyes were moist too.

The tears quickly turned to a good deal of laughter and backslapping, as they generally do with men. Questions flew from Joe’s mouth almost faster than he could coherently verbalize them. Over the next couple of minutes, he found out that his father and Hoss had arrived in Boston the previous morning, and that Adam met them at the train station and brought them directly to the Brockington house. They’d been invited to spend the night here so their arrival could be kept from Joe. 

Joe turned around, where Adam still stood behind him. 

“So that’s why you sounded so guilty last night.”

“I sounded guilty?”

“You sure did. Like you felt bad about going out and leaving me behind.”

“I guess I almost gave it away, uh?”

“I wouldn’t say that. It wasn’t like I figured out why or anything. I just thought you sounded kind of funny. Like you were dreading the evening.”

“I’ll admit it; I did hate having to fool you. I kept thinking that while I was going to be here eating dinner with Pa and Hoss, you were going to be sitting home alone.”

As Joe felt his father’s arm come to rest across his shoulders, he grinned at Adam and absolved his brother of any remaining guilt.

“For this surprise, Adam, I’d say it was well worth sitting home alone.” 

“Glad you feel that way.”

“Believe me, I do.”

Joe started leading his father and Hoss away. “Come on, I want you to meet my boys. And hey, Hoss, there’s a little girl around here somewhere who’ll just be itchin’ to teach you a new game.”

“Why I do I get the feelin’ I ain’t gonna like this “new game” none, little brother?”

“Oh, trust me, you’ll love it.”

“Joe, it always gives me a downright terrible pain in the pit of my stomach whenever ya’ tell me to trust ya’. You comin’ to live here in Boston ain’t changed that, and don’t ya’ go forgettin’ it.”

Before Joe could say anything else, Franny ran up and grabbed his hand.

“Joe, come on! Let’s go play croquet. We’ll have time ‘fore everyone’s ready to sit down and eat.”

“Franny, this big, friendly looking fella here is my brother, Hoss. And you know what?”

“What?”

“He’s never played croquet before.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

Franny transferred her hand from Joe’s to Hoss’s. 

“Hoss, come on, I’ll show you how we play croquet.”

“Well, now, Miss Franny, I don’t reckon I ever heard of that game before.”

“That’s okay. You’ll like it. Joseph Beauregard does.”

“Joseph Beauregard?” Joe’s father questioned, with a certain air of sternness Joe immediately recognized.

“It’s. . .uh. . . it’s just a game Franny and I play, Pa. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Because Joe doesn’t like his middle name,” the child volunteered before Joe could stop her. 

“Oh, he doesn’t, does he? And just what’s wrong with being named for your grandfather, young man?”

Joe could picture his father standing before him with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Uh. . .nothing, Pa. Nothing.”

“Frances is a girl’s name, Mr. Cartwright. It’s my name. That’s why Joe doesn’t like it.”

Trying to put an end to this subject before the child got him in any more trouble, Joe urged, “Franny, why don’t you take Hoss outside and show him how to play croquet.” 

“Okay! Come on, Hoss. Let’s get your coat. I already know it’s the biggest one in the front closet.”

“Joe. . .”

Joe ignored Hoss’s plea, to instead laugh, as he pictured little Franny leading his brother around for the rest of the day. It was kind of like picturing a lively elf dragging a shy giant through the house.

“And now, about this middle name business, Joseph. . .”

Joe put a quick end to his father’s focus on this subject. 

“Pa, have I told you yet how nice it is to have you here?”

Pa laughed, knowing exactly what Joe was up to.

“Maybe not in so many words, but it was well understood.”

Next, Joe turned around, “looking” for Adam.

“Adam?”

“Right behind you, Joe. Just enjoying the fact that it only took you five minutes to cause some family upheaval, which means Hoss owes me ten dollars.”

“Ten dollars? Why?”

“Because he said you’d be so surprised to find him and Pa here that it’d take you at least an hour before you got around to causing trouble.”

“Glad to hear I made you some money.”

“I’m glad to hear it, too.”

Joe stepped forward, giving the surprised Adam a quick hug.

“Thanks, Adam. No matter how long I live, no one will ever give me a surprise as good as this one’s been. Or as appreciated.”

“You’re welcome. I was happy to do it.” Adam patted Joe’s back. “Now go on. Take Pa outside so he can meet your boys, and then enjoy Franny making Hoss play croquet until he starts hiding the mallets on her. We’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

“All right. See you in a little while.”

As often happened at the Brockington house, a maid seemed to magically appear, as though she’d anticipated the needs of the guests. Joe’s coat was placed in his arms.

“Here’s yer coat, Mr. Joe.”

Joe recognized the woman’s voice. “Thanks, Maureen.”

“Yer very welcome. And yer coat, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

Joe put his coat on, feeling his father doing the same beside him. When they were bundled against the late autumn chill, Joe put a hand on his father’s arm and walked with him toward the back of the house. He couldn’t put into words how happy he was, but then, he didn’t figure it was necessary. The grin Joe couldn’t stop wearing probably said all that he wasn’t able to voice.

As they stepped out the back door onto the veranda, Joe said, “Pa, I’ve been wanting to thank you for everything you taught me about being a good parent.”

“About being a good parent?”

Joe laughed. “After you meet all twenty of my boys, you’ll know just what I mean.”

“So what you’re saying is that, in quite an unexpected way, all those times I said, ‘Joseph, someday I hope you have one just like you,’ have now come to pass.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Only you usually yelled it, Pa.”

Now it was Joe’s father’s turn to laugh. “With good reason.”

“I can’t deny that, so I won’t even try.”

“You’d better not, you young rapscallion you.”

“You don’t how good it is to hear you call me that.”

“And you don’t know good it is to have the opportunity to call you that. Now come on and introduce me to those boys of yours. I’ve been looking forward to meeting them.”

From the introduction of his students to his father, to the huge meal, to the games out in the yard once the meal was over, to adult conversation in the parlor later in the afternoon, Joe savored every moment of that day. When all four Cartwrights were finally headed to Adam’s house in a carriage driven by Elliot long after dark had fallen, Joe’s family must have found him to be unusually quiet, because at various intervals throughout the ride, each one in turn, asked him if he was all right.

“I’m fine,” Joe assured for the third time, after Pa had asked, “Joseph, are you okay?”

Pa was sitting next to Joe, so he turned to face the man and smiled. 

“I’m happy, is all. I’m just happy, Pa.”

Joe felt his father’s arm slip around his shoulders. Pa pulled him sideways, holding him in a half embrace for a moment before releasing him. Nothing else was said after that, but then, nothing else needed to be.