Chapter 3

The Gist of the Matter

Of course, this was all Adam’s fault.

Joe sighed. He shifted into a more comfortable position on the cot, where he had spent the last forty-five minutes sulking and dabbing a kerchief to his split left palm. It had been a hook Hoss wouldn’t have to be ashamed of and it had knocked Billy-Bob Colston out cold, but Joe’s hand had not only hit Billy-Bob’s unshaven cheek—somehow it must have caught on the miner’s inevitable pipe, too. Now the pipe lay in pieces on the floor of the Bucket of Blood saloon, its owner with a dislocated jaw on Doctor Martin’s couch, and Joe on a prison cot in Sheriff Coffee’s jail.

It was all Adam’s fault. Unfortunately Adam wasn’t here to right his mistake or even to bail Joe out.

Joe stopped dabbing and sat up. Studying his palm for a moment, he found that, mercifully, the bleeding had stopped already. He wound the bandana around his hand, awkwardly secured it by tying two ends into a knot, and carefully tried to move his thumb. He winced. Holding things, clenching the hand, even shooting would be painful for the next few days, but it was manageable. He wondered how Juliet had coped when—

Juliet.

Maybe Adam wasn’t there to bail him out, but his wife was. Joe winced again. There would be no escaping a lecture, and he was sure Juliet’s words wouldn’t be less forthright than any speech Adam had ever given him; but anything was better than spending the night in a cell, waiting for Pa to come and get him out; and Juliet might be gentler if he told her how it all was Adam’s fault anyway.

Because it was. Adam’s fault. All of it.

The tiny voice in the back of his head, that annoying little voice that sounded so much like his older brother and that was in the habit of just popping up whenever Joe’s efforts to block out uncomfortable truths threatened to be successful—that exact darn smart-alecky little voice chose this very moment to snort.

Joe groaned.

And then the little Adam in his head said, Whose fault was it?

“Adam’s!” Joe was surprised to hear himself shouting.

You don’t really believe that, do you?

Joe decided to ignore the voice. For now. He stood and gave the cot a kick. He did it with much consideration, with not too much and not too little vigour, with excellent aim, and with emphasis but not violence. Much different from the uncontrolled way he had struck out at poor Billy-Bob about an hour ago, as if he’d run out of anger.

He crossed the cell to peek out of the small barred window, and as if on cue, his sister-in-law came round the corner.

Hooray!

Joe watched Juliet hurrying to the sheriff’s office with her usual long, determined strides. Despite the fact that it was a scorcher of a day, she wore long sleeves and thin white gloves, so as not to encourage the gossip anew—for her arms, wrists, and hands still showed fresh red scars.

Joe vividly remembered the day she had come home from San Francisco; how she’d emerged from the stage coach clutching little Henry to her chest, but otherwise alone. Her face had been white as the bandages around her wrists and hands, her chin stubbornly raised, her jaw set, and her eyes had carried a horror that had made Joe fear the worst.

He remembered Pa’s choked question, Juliet’s brusque answer—and then her downcast eyes and low apology. Whether she had apologised for her brusqueness or for the fact that she’d let Adam go, Joe would never know, but he suspected it had been both.

The gossip had started soon after that. Word had spread of Adam’s enlistment, and of how his wife had tried to slit her wrists. “Obloquy” was what Juliet called it with an imperious disdain in her voice that might have fooled others, but not Joe. He didn’t know what she had really done, but he certainly didn’t buy her story about how she’d fainted and fallen into a standing mirror. Her hands and arms showed the most damage, as if they’d taken the brunt of whatever had happened, but when you fainted you wouldn’t fall hands first, would you?

Pa always said to leave her alone whenever Joe tried to share his concerns, and that all that malicious talk was, as Juliet said, obloquy, defaming.

Slander, Joe thought slowly pacing his cell, libel, and defamation. He was sure Adam would find even more synonyms*, he’d be mad enough to find about a billion; but Adam was fighting for the greater good now, and so someone else had to list words.

Joe shook his head. Since his big brother had abandoned his family, someone else had to do a lot of the things Adam used to. There was the work on the ranch, sure, but that wasn’t so hard. They were used to stepping in for each other, and there were the ranch hands, too. The ledgers were another question, but Juliet had surprised them by volunteering. Apparently she thought it was “fun” doing ledgers. And then there were the things Adam did because he was Adam. Things like being a confidante for Pa. An older brother for Hoss. An annoying yet valued adviser for…everyone. A deliverer of snarky one-liners. Someone who held Juliet in check…

Joe tried to be all that and more, but he felt that until now he’d only succeeded in finding synonyms. Despite himself, Joe snickered. Who’da thought that?

Juliet must have entered the office then, because Joe heard some faint mumbling outside of the cell block. He couldn’t make out words but he distinguished Roy Coffee’s humming baritone and the answering soft alto.

When Pa had asked him to take his sister-in-law along when he went to town to stock up on supplies at Barnes’ store, Joe hadn’t exactly been enthusiastic. Juliet and he didn’t get along too well even at the best of times, and ever since she’d come home from San Francisco she was downright acrimonious—if she wasn’t miserable. But Pa had said she needed a change of scenery and Henry, who grew quicker than a beanstalk, required new garments anyway, and surely Joe wouldn’t want to be picking out baby-clothes, would he?

Now Juliet’s presence turned out to be a blessing. She’d pay his bail, and Joe’d be out of prison in no time.

“Well, excuse me!” This time Joe could make out the words—and the tone: his sister-in-law was outraged. He could easily picture her, very upright, with a scandalised eyebrow nearly scratching her hairline. Most probably not even the baby in her arms would ruin the effect that posture had on people; if anything, it would actually enhance it.

Roy’s words were just the same low mumble; but then Juliet was heard again, and her voice had even risen in volume.

“You do have me gravelled here, Sheriff. I was under the impression you were a friend of the family, but apparently—”

Again, Roy’s words were too low to be understood clearly, but he talked for quite a while after he’d interrupted her.

Gravelled, Joe thought, not really a word he’d have expected from Juliet. More likely amazed, astounded, stunned. Or non-plussed. Yes, he was getting the knack of this synonyming. If there was a word like that. He’d have to ask Ada—well.

“That’s just ridiculous! Joe isn’t violent!” Juliet again.

He stopped his pacing listening carefully, but there were no more words audible.

Joe isn’t violent. He was surprised and touched by her speaking in his favour and also by her confidence in him. Did he have that confidence in himself, too? Joe wasn’t so sure. Not anymore, not after…not after he’d wanted to beat Billy-Bob Colston into a pulp.

He had wanted to beat Billy-Bob Colston into a pulp to defend the family pride, the family honour. His honour, Adam’s honour, even Juliet’s honour after Billy-Bob had joined Joe at the bar in the Bucket of Blood, raised a glass to him and then started to ramble about how lucky a boy Joe was, having a war hero for a brother and said brother’s depressed soon-to-be widow to comfort, and she was such a pretty bird to boot. How Joe was already parading around with his brother’s wife and son as if they were his; and how much nicer that was than fighting in a war himself.

And even though this all had been said only because Adam had left his family for something apparently more important, suddenly Joe realised in all clarity that it wasn’t his brother’s fault at all. It wasn’t even Billy-Bob’s fault, the poor drunken fool who’d just blundered out the town’s collected gossip from over the past few weeks. It was his fault, entirely his, Joe Cartwright’s. For Billy-Bob’s words had hit too close to the mark.

Children and fools tell the truth, Joe thought wryly. Maybe he should consult that boy Josiah* Adam and Juliet were so fond of, about it, too, but perhaps Billy-Bob had delivered enough truths for one day.

Of course, Joe had no intention whatsoever of substituting for his brother at Juliet’s side—the thought alone made him shake, and how anyone could call her “pretty” was beyond him anyway—but yes, he would like to have a girl and a son all for himself. Yes, he felt protective of Henry—and of Juliet, too, as he realised in amazement. Yes, he was afraid she might do something rash, even though he had no idea what. And yes, he felt like hiding behind his war hero older brother when he could be fighting himself.

It had been the first thing he’d said after they’d come home the day Juliet had returned from San Francisco: “I’ll go, too.”

Naturally, his family had opposed that. Joe had stood his ground and fought for his cause as long as—no, longer even than—he’d seen the ghost of a chance to convince them, even though he should have known he couldn’t win against the pooled forces. And, he had to admit, they were right: he couldn’t do that to Pa, he couldn’t do that to Hoss, he couldn’t do that to the ranch, he couldn’t—no, that was not it. Perhaps he should be ashamed of himself, but, actually, he could do that to Pa, to Hoss, to the ranch, to anyone or anything. To anyone—except Adam.

It had been Hoss who’d said the magic words. “What if you have to shoot at Adam?” After that, joining the Confederate Army hadn’t seemed so exciting anymore.

But still, it nagged at him. He was the fighter in the family. Always ready to defend himself and others, quick with his gun. Adam was a fast draw, too, no question one of the fastest Joe had ever seen, but Adam would always try and talk first. Talking, however, wouldn’t help Older Brother much in a battle; and so Joe was convinced he was far better suited to be a soldier and a war hero. And yet—

“Palaver, palaver, palaver! Stop cavilling already!” That was Juliet’s voice again. “You’ve got your money; now let him out. I don’t need your instructions on how to handle a stupid—” She broke off.

The door into the cell block opened and that’s why Joe heard her much lower spoken “He won’t do it again, I promise.”

Roy made a big show of letting Joe out: he made him sign half a dozen forms, gave him his gun back with an admonition, counted the bail money out slowly enough for Joe to see how much it was, and finally told him he would come out to the Ponderosa: “I’m gonna have to talk to yer pa ‘bout that, Joe.”

Joe rolled his eyes at the same moment Juliet said, “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Coffee” in a voice that allowed no contradiction.

Roy mumbled, “Iffn you say so,” and then they finally were allowed to leave the office.

In unusual unspoken agreement they headed straight to the waiting buckboard. Luckily Joe had followed Adam’s principle of settling business first before going into the saloon, for loading the wagon would have been a painful affair with his injured hand. Loading would also have delayed their departure—and they both were eager to escape the prying eyes and whispering voices.

They were halfway to the ranch house when Juliet broke the awkward silence in which they had been travelling.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Joe started. “Didn’t Roy tell you?”

“He said you’d thwacked a man.” She adjusted the baby in her arms. “But he didn’t tell me why.”

“Why?” Joe stopped the team. Suddenly he was furious. “Why? You want to know why? Because Adam…”

“Because Adam…?”

“Because Billy-Bob…because he said…because he insin—” He broke off. Insinuated. Hinted, implied, suggested. His anger made room for…the truth.

He looked at his sister-in-law, who sat there next to him, calmly studying his face, her mouth curled into a small smile.

“I was mad,” he said in a much lower voice, staring at his hands in his lap. “I was mad, but not about Billy-Bob. He was just there at the wrong place, the wrong time. I was mad, Billy-Bob said something about Adam and…I don’t know what happened, really, it was as if my fists acted on their own. I just had to punch, get my anger out and—I don’t know.” He shook his head, than looked up, shy of her reaction. “All I know is that I’m so mad about Adam.”

She laughed. For the first time since she’d come home, she laughed. “Yes, he has that effect on people at times, doesn’t he?”

“He never…. He could have talked to us before we went. But he didn’t. He didn’t ask anyone, he just decided for himself.” Joe was aware that he sounded exactly like the adolescent boy he so desperately didn’t want to be taken for.

“He leaves you feeling powerless,” Juliet stated bitterly. “You know you have the better arguments, but he refuses to see it.”

“Yeah, he was always mule-headed.”

“That’s not ‘mule-headed’; that’s arrogance, at least in part.”

Joe was surprised. For all their bickering and bantering, neither Adam nor Juliet ever spoke a single ill word about the other to anyone. Something must have happened in San Francisco, something she hadn’t told. Something that had left her with injuries not too different from his own.

“Juliet,” he started, but she shook her head.

“It’s getting late, Joe. We better get moving.”

“Sure.” He flicked the reins, urging the horses into a brisk walk. Another time; he’d ask her another time.

“I trusted him,” Juliet said so low he nearly couldn’t hear it. “I trusted him not to hurt me.”

Joe swallowed. Yep, that’s the gist of the matter. “So did I,” he replied softly.

For the rest of the ride they remained in mutual silence, and for the first time ever, their shared silence felt welcome.

Silence, Joe thought after a while. Quiet, calm, hush. Tranquillity. Really, I have to stop this. He giggled. Once you’ve started, though, you cannot stop. Placidity. Peacefulness.

Peacefulness. Right.

__________

Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath. ~Eckhart Tolle

***

 

* This habit of Adam and the boy Josiah could first be  seen in The Art of Horse Selling

The words given were: obloquy, cavil, gravelled, shy, palaver