Summary: The way to recovery can be stony. But sometimes obstacles come from the most unexpected origins. And just how many times will Doctor Martin have to come to the Ponderosa to patch up Adam once again?

16,750 words, rated T

My Story Index and reading order for the Art-Universe

The Missing Week

This can be read as a stand alone, although it is a companion piece to The Art of Horse Selling. It contains some spoilers, so you might want to read Horse Selling first.

If you haven’t read Horse Selling, you have to know is this: Adam was shot and left for dead in a mud hole. He was eventually found and brought home; and while Hoss was going for the doctor, the Ponderosa was raided and Adam, despite his injury, had to defend his friend Juliet against the burglars.

 

 

 The Missing Week

or

The Art of Convalescing

Sunday Evening

Juliet stretched out her long legs under the bedcovers. She yawned heartily, snuggled into her blanket and finally gave in to exhaustion.

After Hoss had delivered her to Mrs. Hawkins’; after the widow had dragged her in crying, “Dear god, what happened to you?” over and over again; after she had thanked Hoss for offering to tend to her horse and send him on his way with the words, “And take good care of Adam!”; after she had given a short but trenchant summary of the day’s event to her host, who was busily fluttering around, heating water, getting towels, and making tea; after she had washed herself and changed into a wonderfully clean nightshirt and dressing gown—Juliet had settled down and drawn up the new series of articles she planned for the next issues of the Territorial Enterprise. She had even fully written the one that would probably be the banner story of tomorrow’s edition: a first hand report of the events leading to the capture of Virginia City’s most wanted criminals. She had chosen not to give away details yet, she had spared the best for the conclusion of her series. She had only stopped writing when the first strays of morning sunlight flickered through her room.

Now sleep engulfed her and led her to an endless swamp that she was supposed to clean out with only a tiny Brussels laced handkerchief. She desperately tried to wipe here and there, but, of course, her efforts had no success. Just when she was ready to give in to frustration, a long fingered tanned hand grabbed her arm and dragged her away. She looked up to see Adam, clad in a Roman toga, with a laurel-wreath on his head; and he gazed at her with warm, sad eyes and said, “I just came to say good-bye. I know you did your best, but once again, your best wasn’t good enough.” And then suddenly the pristine white sheet draped around him was stained with crimson red, and the stain became bigger and bigger until there was no white left, and Adam let her arm go and went to the swamp, and with every step he took he sank deeper into the mud. Juliet watched that in utter horror, and she cried and screamed and begged him to come back, please come back—

She woke with her mouth open, her throat sore from crying. Pushing her covers from her sweating body, she sat up at the side of her bed, pressing her hands to her throbbing temples, silently rocking back and forth until it was time to get up at last.