Summary:  This is a WHN for the episode “A Far, Far Better Thing.”
Rating:  T
Word Count:   6320

---

JOE

My feet hurt and my head pounds in time to my heartbeat.  I ache all over as I stumble my way home.  I’d fought Sharp Tongue when we were boys but had never gone toe to toe with him as a man.  My God, his fists felt like rocks and my body screams from every blow.

I’m thirsty and hurting:  my body and my heart.  I killed my friend.  At least I think he was my friend.  I was saddened earlier in the week when I heard that Sharp Tongue was being hunted.  I knew it would not go well and that he’d be killed.  I did not know, however, that I would be by my hands.  I thought that if I stayed away from the posse, I would not have a chance to see him die.  Oh yeah, I’d hear about it, but……..It hurts.

My heart is beating faster when I hear the thunder of hooves behind me.  I lack the energy to fight or run.  I’m going to die right here if the Paiutes have returned to finish me.  I have no weapon, I’m exhausted, I’m spent.  I slowly turn to face my death head on, no fear.

“Joseph,” Pa said as he swung down from his mount.

“Pa,” I respond and lean into the open arms.  “Are you real?”  I sway on rubbery legs.

“Are you all right, son?”  He asks, giving me a quick once over.  I watch him record the damage and see the squint in his eyes.  Pa knows I’m hurt.  I hope he spares my dignity.

Looking over his shoulder, I see that silly girl who caused this and my true friend, Tuck.   I goaded Sharp Tongue into fighting me rather than Tuck who was already limping.  I killed one friend while saving another.

“Joe, are you all right?” Tuck  asks, worry clearly written on his face.

“Yes, I’m fine.  Just a bit tired is all,” I answered.  My legs give out and I hold on for dear life.  Pa did not want to let go, either, but realized the position we were in.

“Let’s s go home, son.  We’ll get you cleaned up and resting real soon,” he whispered as he gave me the typical manly pat on the shoulder.  The squeeze said something entirely different, though.

“Joe, I’m sorry.  My silliness put you in a horrible situation. I think I’ve learned my lesson,” Lucy said.

“I hope so.  What Carton says in a book is so different from the real world,” I respond.  I turn away from the appreciative and apologetic statements.  All I wanted is to go home, curl into myself and cry.  If they only knew . . .

Cochise is standing at the ready when Tuck hands me the reins.  Easing myself into the saddle was a chore and my belly screams in pain.  Biting my tongue, I hold it all in and follow the group home.

I can feel my body giving in to the damage caused during the fight and I don’t know if I can stay upright much longer. I need my father close by; I am too manly to call for him.  Somehow, he recognizes that I am not going to make it and drops back to ride beside me.  He always knows without me saying a word.

“Get us home, Tuck,” he says in that take control voice.

“Yes, Sir,” Tuck answered.  I watch as he straightens his back, taking the lead in the short journey back to the house.

We are almost home and all I can see is the ground.  My body gives out, all my strength is gone.  I hold on to the saddle horn, praying I would not fall.  Cochise recognizes my weakness; settling his gait to an easy, slow even walk as we enter the yard.  A good mount is priceless.  I’m finding out the worth of this true and faithful friend.

Hands reach for me, taking me from the saddle without my asking for help.  These strong hands have always been there.  Hoss, when I need him, he’s like a strong mountain when I need shelter.  He maintains my dignity by not carrying me bodily into the house.  His strong arm wraps around my waist, but I know he could lift me like a small child and carry me to my bed.  He doesn’t, though.  He follows me step by step up the stairs.  I can feel his presence; strong and protective behind me.

“Mr. Cartwright, what can I do to help?” I hear her say.  “I caused all this with my foolishness.”

“Leave that aside.  Joe is going to be fine.  He’s just a little tired from the fight.  Get yourself some rest,” Pa answered. She does not hear the annoyance in his voice, but I do, and I laugh to myself.  My ribs doth protest much.

We clear the landing, out of view of others and I collapse.  There is not another step in me.  My legs are done, my ribs and belly are screaming with each movement, and my feet feel as though I have been walking on hot coals.  My head feels as if it is three times as big as it should be.  I’m hurt.

“I got you, Joe.  Let me have it now,” I hear Hoss murmur.  “Let go.”

I turn to meet his eyes, so blue.  They give me permission, they say “You know I’m here.”  I let go; I have no choice.  The darkness that played in the corners of my vision is all consuming and I am.. . . .

I hear someone moaning and realize it’s me.  Pressure on my chest, pushing on my belly.  I remember, I’m in a fight with Sharp Tongue.  Indian Grief.  Tuck.  Sydney Carton.  Stupid girl.  Fight or die.  So, I begin fighting, again.  Pushing the hands away, fists flying at whoever is touching me, causing the pain to flair across my chest.  Strong hands grab my arms, pinning me down.

“No!” I hear myself screaming into the air.  “Let me go, Sharp Tongue!”  I fight my adversary.  My life and Tuck’s life depend upon my survival.

“Joseph, it’s Pa and Paul.  Stop fighting son.”  My father’s voice breaks through the dream and I work to control the fear.  Yeah, I was afraid that I was about to die, thinking Sharp Tongue and his warriors had the upper hand.

“That’s it, boy.  Take a deep breath.  Take another one,” Paul said.  “I don’t want to use the ether on you, but I will.”

“Pa?  Where am I?” I asked, still not fully aware that I was in my room and that I had been there for three hours.

“Joseph, you’re at home in your bed.  Doctor Martin is here to make sure you have no injuries,” Pa answered.  “Just stay calm and I’ll let you go.  I don’t want you to hurt yourself any further.  Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” I said as I release the tension in my arms.  “I’m here, Pa,” I answer again.  The pain flares across my abdomen and shoulders.  “I’m alright,” I moan between gritted teeth, as Paul began poking and prodding.

Examination done; I am exhausted again.  Pain is everywhere and Paul determined that I had a couple of cracked ribs, a slight concussion, blistered feet, and a myriad of bruises.  He did not add the injuries that were not visible.  The ones he could neither see nor touch.  The broken heart for being the one to kill my friend.  The fear of seeing his eyes dim at the time of death.  The sadness at seeing such a strong man die because of insults and injury caused by unknowing children.

They cannot not see these injuries, can’t medicate this pain.  But I would feel the hurt, carry the guilt, and remember the dark brown eyes as they stared at the childhood friend who killed him.  Sharp Tongue saw me last before his spirit departed.

“Take a sip of this, Joe and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Paul said lifting my head to drink.

“No, I don’t want to sleep like that.  I’m tired.  I’ll go to sleep in a minute.” I did not want to be trapped by the drug-induced sleep Paul was offering.  I knew the dreams would come and they would be disturbing.  I needed to wake myself during the night.

“Joe, when your body finally settles down, you will feel every single punch you took today, and you took quite a few.  You will be miserable if you don’t take this,” Paul said.  He tries his best to convince me to take a drink of the bitter medicine, but I continue to refuse.

“If I need it, I can take it later.  Right now, you two just go away and let me sleep.  I’m so tired,” I said rolling over in the bed.  My ribs screamed against the movement, but I bit my tongue to hide it from prying eyes.

“Ben, give this to him when that mule headed boy of yours wakes up.  He’s going to need it.  Joe, I know your ribs shot a jolt of pain through your chest just now.  You can’t hide anything from the doctor who’s cared for you from the time you first opened your mouth to scream.  Good night, boy.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Paul.  And I love you, too,” I whispered into my pillow.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear that,” Paul whispered back.  I felt his hands pat the top of my head and rest there for a few minutes.  “Good night, son,” he said.

“Mmmmm,” I answered and allow sleep to take me from the pain and hurt.

 

BEN

I remember sitting beside Joe’s bed the night he stumbled home from the horrible fight with the boys from school.  A bloody nose that refused to stop for an hour, cuts over both eyes, a split lip, and broken ribs.  It looked as though he had tangle with a man Adam’s size or larger.  How could boys do this to him?  Some of them were his friends.  Now, I sit here, watching similar injuries from the boy he tried to protect who had grown to become a bitter, vengeful, angry man.

Joe’s moans of pain are barely audible, but they are there, nonetheless.  He is hurt and refuses to admit the depth of his injury.  So typical of this son, especially now that he has become a man.

“No Sharp Tongue.  You can’t fight here.  Your ancestors . . .NO!” Joe shouted and began thrashing about in his bed.  Grabbing his flailing arms would be dangerous.  He seemed to be in the fight again, so I just wait to see if he calms down.

“Noooooo!” He screams again.  This time I wrap him in my arms to quiet him down.  This boy would wake the whole house when he’s in this state.

“Joseph, take it easy now.  You’re at home, take it easy,” I whispered.

“Pa, Sharp Tongue.  I killed him.   I killed him,” Joe said as he clings to me in desperation.  “He was my friend and I killed him,” he repeats.

“I know son.  You had no choice, Joe.  It was kill or be killed by him.  Had you not done so, Tuck would have died as well.  You did what you had to do,” I remind him.

“I had no choice, did I?  I didn’t want to fight him.  I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen.  Sharp Tongue thought his shirt would protect him.”

“You must also remember, the Sharp Tongue you knew as a schoolboy was long gone.  This man had seen the horrors of war, the carnage left of Indian villages, the death and destruction of his people.  He was not the same person you knew, or he would not have fought you the way he did,” I said.

“He would have killed me.  He was armed with a spear and I had no weapon at all,” Joe said.  “It was unfair.  He wanted to race Tuck, who was injured, and he surely would have killed him.  Besides, Tuck can’t fight anyway.  You’re right, Pa.  He wasn’t the person I knew.  Sharp Tongue was someone else.  He was a stranger to me.”

“Yes, son.  He was not the same person you knew, and you were not the same person he knew.  You both were strangers on the battlefield.  Remember that and go back to sleep now,” I said.  I could see the exhaustion still present in my son’s face.

“Pa, I think I’ll have some of that medicine Paul left in that cup.  I’m hurting all over,” Joe said as he lay back on the pillows.

“Sure thing, son.”  I helped him take small sips of the tincture and settle back on the pillows.  I helped him find a comfortable spot on the bed, adding pillows to support his injuries.  Within minutes he was sleeping, and I knew the medication would keep him down for the rest of the night.  That curl fell over his forehead and I had to brush it away.  My son.  I am so proud of him.

“Good night, boy,” I said to the man stretched out on the bed.  “Good night.”

 

JOE

I awoke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat.  I ache all over and no position in the bed was comfortable.  My belly grumbles from not having dinner, so I get to my feet, ignoring the pain that shout each time I move.  I wrap myself tightly in my robe and brace my ribs for the cautious journey down the backstairs to the kitchen.  Easing my way across the loose board near Pa’s door to avoid alerting my captor that I was escaping the confines of my room, I get to my destination.

Hop Sing left the kitchen spotless, as usual, so he would know first thing in the morning that someone had been making a midnight meal.  He, however, knew I was coming and waited at the foot of the stairs.

“What little Joe doing out of bed?  You hurt, no come down the stairs.  Hop Sing bring to you.  Little boy hungry-he not have dinner tonight.  Hop Sing ready for hungry little boy.  Have steak sandwich, rice, beans, and cookies.  Hop Sing make your favorite and hide from Mr. Hoss.  Little Joe sit here.  Hop Sing get food.”

I take my orders well, sitting near the stove that warms the room.  It feels so good to be here, watching Hop Sing rummage through his kitchen.  Always there, waiting, knowing, and prepared.  I still don’t understand how he knew when I’d come stumbling down the stairs.  But then again, he always knows.

The steak was tender and the bread fresh from the oven.  I take slow, cautious bites as my jaws are still sore from the rock-solid fists Sharp Tongue threw.  Hop Sing prattles on about various things while I enjoy the meal.  Sometimes he speaks to me in Chinese, and I respond in kind; a secret between the two of us.  Every now and then, I’d let something slip, alerting my family that I had acquired our cook’s language well enough to understand him and vice versa.  Hop Sing and I harbored many such secrets.  Private moments, information, and knowledge I gained while sitting in his kitchen.  Tonight was no exception.

“Joseph, little girl not so bright.  She not understand many things.  Tuck will marry her and take care of her.  You not worry.  Not so bright girl will be fine,” he said.

“Hop Sing, how do you know all this?” I ask with my mouth full of a warm, soft sugar cookie.  It was so good; it seems to melt in my mouth.

“Hop Sing listen and watch.  Not so smart girl like Tuck very much.  No like my Joseph.  He not tolerate foolishment from not so smart little girl.”

“Her name is Lucy, Hop Sing,” I add.

“Yes, Lucy is not so smart girl, full of foolishment.  Tuck marry Lucy and she go away.  Not get Little Joe hurt again. Maybe now she not think Indians are play things found in books.  Maybe today she see Indians very angry people,” he said shaking his head.  “Joseph be safe when Lucy get on stage, take father, Tuck, books and go far, far away.  Humph.”

I laugh at his rant.  This man brokers no nonsense when one of us is injured.  Sometimes, I just enjoy watching his reactions and this time was no different.

“I’m fine, my friend,” I said, hiding a yawn behind my hand.

“Drink warm milk Hop Sing make for you.  Go to bed.”

“Thanks for waiting up for me,” I said taking a sip of the milk.  I knew he spiked it with one of his many herbs from the garden.  The milk had a strange flavor at the end.

“Boy go to bed, now.  Hop Sing bring breakfast in the morning.  No come down to table.  Hop Sing bring to you.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you in the morning, then,” I said.  I stop before I take the first step up as I felt the impact of the “warm milk.”  Chuckling to myself, I watch him put away the container, then ease my way to my room.  By the time I sat on my bed, I felt light and pain-free.  The aches were gone and so was the soreness in my ribs. Hop Sing, I thought as I lay down on the warm, comfortable bed.  I feel as though I am floating away on a cloud.

“Go to sleep, Joseph,” he whispered as he pulled the covers over me.  Hop Sing had followed me to my room, knowing what would happen.

“What did you give me?  I feel so good and peaceful,” I said.

“I will always have what you need, my son.  Hop Sing make good medicine to help you rest and take pain away.  Now, go to sleep,” he said.

I take that cloud.  The one that came nearest and drift away, leaving the pain and hurt behind.

 

JOE

The morning sun streamed through the open window across the room.  Hop Sing is here, adding water to my basin and placing clean towels on the chair.

“Good morning,” I murmured.  “I think you were the last person I saw last night,” I smile.

“Hop Sing knows when little boy wakes up.  Breakfast be here in a few minutes.  Little Joe clean up and get ready to eat all Hop Sing puts on tray.  Be right back, lickity split,” he says as he bounces from the room.

I ease off the bed, feeling the soreness in my arms, legs, and back.  Taking a deep breath, I make my way to the bowl and clean up before breakfast.  My reflection shows the results of the battle with Sharp Tongue.  Bruises, both blue and yellow stood out prominently on my cheeks and chin.  A small lump had settled itself to the right of my eye, and my lip is swollen.  Memories flood my mind, taking me back to my childhood and the most awful fight of my life at the time.

Sharp Tongue and I stood side by side against the bullies at school.  I defended him, again, from being attacked by boys I called my friends.  Things did not go well.  There were six of them, determined to drive Sharp Tongue away from Virginia City and back to his people.  They were on a mission to finish what they started the first day he walked into the school room.

We fought them as best we could, losing the battle and the war.  I was beaten and so was Sharp Tongue.  They succeeded in more ways than I knew when I went home.  They drove him away.  For good.  They also created in him a most hate-filled adversary and he returned to exact his revenge on those who had nothing to do with the school yard fights.  He came back as a viscous destroyer, aiming to hurt those who resembled the ones who showed no respect for him as a human being. Those who thought of him as savage when he knew of the stories of war.  Those who hated him when he was but a boy.

There was nothing we could do but try to stay alive that day.  We were all young men, just barely fourteen and they beat us with no mercy.  When they left, I watched Sharp Tongue walk away.

“Joseph Cartwright, you are a friend of Sharp Tongue.  You fought like a warrior by my side.  You stood with me against those like you.  Joe Cartwright, you are either a fool or a brave man.”

“Sharp Tongue, you don’t have to go.  Stay, please.  You can’t let them win.”

“I go, Joseph Cartwright.  But Sharp Tongue will see you in another life.”  And with that, he disappeared into the nearby forest.  I watched as he blended completely with the trees and brush.  Gone until he decided when “another life” would begin.

I lost three friends when I was labeled an “Indian lover.”  I was the loser that day, defending a boy who only wanted to learn how to live in this country among men who hated him.  I rode into the yard, barely clinging to the saddle, only to fall off before Cochise made it to the barn door.  I remember the hands calling for my father, his worried face, and the looks on my brothers’ faces as they carried me into the house.

I awoke the next morning, just like now, sore, bruised and battered.  My confidence in my friends was destroyed as they were responsible for my pain.  I did not understand how they could hurt me after we had played together, gone on camping trips with our families and spent days on the fishing holes around town.  I was defeated in so many ways.

“Here is your breakfast,” Hop Sing said, interrupting my thoughts.  “Eat all food and drink coffee.  Will feel much better all day.”

“Thank you.  I’ll be sure to eat it all,” I answer returning to sit on my bed.  The door swung open and a tall shadow darkens the room.

“Hi Hoss,” I said not looking up from the tray.

“Sorry to hear about yesterday.  I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after Doc left.  You were so tired,” he says.

“I had to kill him, Hoss.  I had no choice,” I answer stuffing a crispy slice of bacon in my mouth.  “He left me no choice.”

“I know.  The other braves have left the area and are on their way back to the reservation.  Adam and I joined a posse to make sure they were leaving.  We went back to Indian Grief and took care of Sharp Tongue,” Hoss said leaning his huge frame inside the door.

“You were lucky you survived that, Joe.  Just plain lucky.  Look, the next time you decide to take on some wild, out of control Indians, you need to let someone know.  Joe, do you know you coulda–”

“Yes, I know, Hoss.  But had I not done so, they would have killed Tuck and Lucy.  I couldn’t stand aside and watch that happen,” I answered.  “I survived and so did they,” I whispered.  “It’s over and I’m glad.”

“We won’t mention it again unless you want to talk,” Adam said as he brushed pass Hoss.  I know it’s a tough situation.  You let us know when and if you’re ready to discuss it.”

“Thank you, brothers.  I’m glad I have the two of you.  You know, it’s a much better thing, by far, to live in the world with people who really care about you,” I said.  “A better thing, by far, than anything else.”

The conversation was interrupted with Hop Sing’s rapid-fire chatter.  “You big brothers leave Little Joe to finish breakfast.  Hop Sing make hot bath to make body better real fast.  You finish breakfast and hot bath wait for you,” he said.

“That sounds good, Hop Sing.  Thank you,” I said.

“Hop Sing wait for you with hot bath,” he answered nodding as he left the room.  “Hop Sing happy to take care of Number 3.”

 

BEN

My two older sons came down the stairs, one after the other.  I knew they’d just left their brother’s room by the expressions on their faces.  I saw a mixture of feelings there:  relief, anger, and amazement.

“That boy’s tougher than a bag of nails,” Hoss said smiling.  “He took a pounding and still made it home.”

“Yes, Sharp Tongue pulled no punches.  But your brother gave as good as he got, it seems.  He’ll be fine in a day or so,” I said.

“So where is Lucy right now?” Adam asked.  “Off somewhere reading another story?”

“No, Adam.  I’m right here.  Please know how sorry I am about what happened to Joe.  I did not intend for him or anyone to be injured.  I’ve learned my lesson about the difference between embellished stories and reality.  I guess I had to learn it the hard way and Joe got hurt because of it,” Lucy said with tears shimmering in her eyes.

“You have apologized more than once and no more are necessary.  Now, did I hear that you and Tuck are speaking of marriage?” I asked to change the subject.

“Why, yes sir.  Tuck asked me last night and I said yes.  We are going to become husband and wife,” Lucy said smiling.

“That is wonderful news, Lucy.  I am happy for you both,” I said.  “Have you set the date for your ceremony?”

We want to wait until Joe is better.  Of course, he’ll be the best man,” she said.  “We both owe Joe so much.  Our very lives,” she whispered.  “Please excuse me.  I have to go . . .” And with that the flighty little thing took off from the room, leaving my two sons in confusion.

“Just don’t ask.  How’s Joe this morning?” I asked to change the subject.

“On his way for one of Hop Sing’s hot baths.  He’ll be feeling right as rain after that long soak,” Hoss said.

“You know our dear friend will have Joe squared away in no time at all.  I could use one of those hot baths right now,” Adam said.

“Pa, Hoss and I are going to town to talk to Roy. We’ll let you know what’s happening there when we get back.  Do you need anything?”

“Yes, son, pick up something for your brother to read.  With his feet in the condition they’re in, he’ll be down for a few days.”

“How about Sam Clemens latest?  I think he has a new one out right now.  We’ll take care of it.”

I watched the two leave, knowing they would not be away long.  Hop Sing had taken Joe’s breakfast up some time ago and I was sure he had finished.  Before I could gain my feet, Joe stood at the top of the stairs, smiling as though all were well.

“Don’t you think you should be resting?” I asked, making my way to the stairs.

“I know, but I wanted to get out of my room for a while.  Where is everyone?” Joe asked as he took the first step down.

“You stay right there.  The last thing you need right now is a fall downstairs,” I said taking two steps at a time.  “I’m here, now let me help you.”  I met the blazing eyes Joe would cast at times and ignored the fire of indignation they represented.

“I think I can manage.”

“I know you can.  I’ve watched you manage many times, just not today.  I’m not going to watch you fall so end of discussion,” I said wrapping my arm around his thin waist.

“Do I have a choice in this at all?” Joe whispered as he accepted the assistance.

“None,” I answered depositing him on the settee.  I carefully placed him in a prone position, indicating that I expected him to rest.  The pillow and blanket followed and in a manner of minutes I had taken control of my son’s care.

“Now, rest.”  Indignation and rebellion followed, but the young man was too tired to fight.  I watched him settle into the warmth of the blanket and begin drifting off.  I stoked the fire to ward off the slight chill in the room and settled in my chair to read and watch Joseph sleep.

My thoughts drift back to the days following the last fight over Sharp Tongue.   Sitting in this same chair the next day, watching my son attempt to sleep his way through the pain in his body and in his heart.  The loss of friends and learning that those who once cared for you could beat you in such a manner was destructive to one with a soft heart.

Now I see the same thing, only this time, Joe is the one who severely injured a man who was once his friend.  My son would also have to come to terms with the fact that this friend tried to kill him.

So, to survive the assault, Joe had to take a life.  One that he protected in the past, he destroyed in the present.  But, it is a better thing, by far, than for my son to be the one who took his last breath on the ground at Indian Grief. A better thing, by far.

 

JOE

Noise, unbearable pulled me from my sleep.  Hop Sing in the kitchen sends familiar smells through the room.  I am met by Pa’s eyes and an odd smirk.  For some reason, he seems amused.

“Well, it’s about time you woke up.  Do you know that you have been asleep on that settee for three hours, young man?” He attempts anger, but the smile gives it all away.

“Three hours?  What time is it and where is everyone?” I ask.  Sleep still has me a bit out of sorts, but I manage to put my feet on the floor.  “I’m starved,” I yawn.

“It is almost noon, your brothers are on their way back from town, and Lucy, Tuck and her father are in town making wedding arrangements.  They won’t be back until sometime tomorrow evening,” Pa answered.

Horses in the yard let me know my brothers are back and would soon barge through the door with tales of Sharp Tongue and the remaining Paiutes. I stand to my feet, awaiting their entrance.  Before I could plant my second foot, pain shoot from my soles to both knees and I collapse to the floor.

“Ouch!” I shouted, sounding like a ten-year old who had just stubbed his toe.  “My feet, gosh!”  I sit on the floor by the table rubbing the bottoms of my feet together.  I had forgotten the long run-in boots not made for running.

“Joseph, I forgot to remind you that your feet are a mess,” Pa said.  “I should have remembered.”

“That’s not your fault.  How did I get down here if my feet are in this condition?” I ask.

“Hop Sing make good medicine.  You not feel the hurt in your feet.  Now, come to table.  Hop Sing have more good medicine for hurt little boy,” came the response.

“Joe, Pa?  Whatcha doing on floor?  Didya lose something down there?” Hoss asks.

“No, we didn’t lose anything.  I forgot that my feet were blistered and tried to walk on them.  This is how far I got,” I answer.

“Now, if you’d like to play, I have a few marbles somewhere in my room.  We could . . . “

“No marbles, Adam.  You know, when I’m better, you just wait . . .”  Before I finished the sentence, Hoss scoops me up and carries me to the table like a little boy.

“Thank you, ya big galoot.  But that was not necessary,” I tease after Hoss places me in my chair at the table.

“Little Buddy, I just didn’t want to see you crawl on your hands and knees.  ‘Sides, it woulda took too long and I’m about to eat the legs off the table as it is,” Hoss said.  He smacks his lips as he settles his giant frame in the chair.  It responds by giving a slight creak.

“Far be it from me to keep you from a meal.” The food flew around the table as we sit in companionable silence and enjoy the fare our cook placed on the table.  Roast beef, potatoes, greens, and beans filled our bellies before the apple pie was served.  It, too, was consumed quickly, with Hoss taking the lion’s share, as usual.

“I think I’ll go up to bed, now,” I said.  My eyelids feel heavy suddenly and the weight of the injuries return.

“Let’s go, you,” Adam said.  He gave me the chance to gain my feet before deciding that I would not make it.  Again, lifted, carried, and placed on my bed like a child.

“I did not need you to carry me to my room like a baby,” I said.

“Actually, you did.  Your feet were blistered and some of them have burst.  You were sleeping when we looked at the battering you suffered in that fight.  You are in rough shape.  If someone did not keep you medicated, you’d be flat on your back and certainly not walking,” my smarty pants brother said.  “With that said, go to sleep.  But, you won’t have a choice.  Hop Sing took care of that.”

With a doff of the hat he wasn’t wearing; Adam left my room while Hoss pulled the covers up to my chin.  I accepted the assistance without challenge; my eyelids betrayed me.

“Sleep tight, Joe.  I’m glad you’re all right and have enough fight left in you to argue.  It is a better thing, by far, than what we could be doing.”

“See you at dinner,” I said quietly.  Sleep became my friend.

 

BEN

“Yes, Joe is doing fine.  He’s sleeping right now.  Made his way downstairs, slept on the settee all morning, ate a full lunch, and went back to bed.  He’s going to be fine, Lucy.  No need to worry,” I said.

“People all over town are talking about the Paiutes and the things they did.  Oh, Mr. Cartwright, I could have gotten all three of us killed.   Me and my dreams of the west and the romance of Indian Grief.  What would they call it if we had died there?  Whose grief would it be then?” Lucy asked.  Tears streamed down her face as the reality of her actions began to set in.

“You see, Lucy, your mistake was made simply because you did not know.  If you don’t live here and know the situation, there is no way to protect yourself.  It is important that you listen to and rely upon others who understand.  What is written in books may not be true or it may be a version of the truth,” I said in a weak attempt to tell the flighty little thing that it wasn’t her fault.  But it was.

“Thank you, sir.  I think I’ll go to my room now.  I have so much to do with me and Tuck getting married as soon as Joe is on his feet again,” she smiled.

“Tuck, are you two remaining in the Virginia City area?” Hoss asked.

“I think it’ll be a far better thing if I tried city living for a while.  I’d feel a lot more at ease with other people around when I leave Lucy to go to work.  And there may be a few children in the house,” Tuck answered.  He dropped his head as the color rose to his cheeks.

“Congratulations, Tuck,” Adam said.  I watched the stiffness in his body and knew he was thinking other things.  He usually hid his true feelings behind politeness and that deep voice.  Wonder what he’s thinking.

Joe

Three days later and Hop Sing has stopped slipping his herbs in my food.  My head is clear, and I don’t fall asleep right after eating.  I had been listening to Tuck prattle yesterday about his impending doom-I mean marriage to Lucy.  My friend would be leaving the area and moving to the city to start his new life next Saturday.  I am to be the best man at their wedding, and I hope my feet will be healed enough to wear boots.  If not, I will look a bit odd standing in the church in house slippers.

I’m happy for them.  It is hard to find someone to love in this rough and dangerous place.  “Where your heart leads, you follow,” I told Tuck when he asked me if I thought it was too soon.  Those who know me already have the answer to that question. “No, it’s not too soon.”

I can only smile as I see the future ahead for Tuck and Lucy.  Tuck, a rancher, living the city life.  Attending the balls and parties.  Sitting in the balcony at the opera or some play.  Lucy’s chatter and laughter filling his home and children running around his feet.  I could see him sitting by the fire on a cold evening in San Francisco, listening to the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobblestone street as his wife teaches one of the children to play piano.  I can see my friend’s happiness, peace, and fulfillment in the years to come.

It is, a better thing, by far, than living the lonely life of a rancher here on the cold mountains of the Sierra.  Nothing but the sweet smell of pine, the swish of the winds through the Ponderosas and the bellowing of livestock in the meadow to end the evening.  Or is it?

I smile and shake my head.  Or is it?

The End

 

Tags:  comfort, Family, hurt, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright