Summary:   Ben struggles with saving Joe’s life having already dealt with an incompetent replacement physician. The Best Medicine is Part 1 of a two part Series.

Rated T  WC 11,000

Best Medicine Series:

Best Medicine
Malice Aforethought
Coup De Grace

 

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The Best Medicine

The lingering pain crashed in great waves that rocked Joe into a restless slumber. There was only one other feeling that was just as unrelenting as the torment his body had endured, and that was the feeling of his father’s embrace. Ben held his youngest son in his massive arms, his shirt sleeves uncuffed and rolled up to the elbows. The skin of his forearms perspired from the heat the boy was giving off. He prayed that his love and the magic of his touch could somehow heal his son. Leaning with his back against the hard oaken headboard, the anguished father could feel the weight of Joe’s body slumped against his own. The thick curly hair brushed against his father’s cheek, reminding the man who held him how much he would lose if the doctor’s sutures did not do the trick this time. Ben could both see and feel the rise and fall of Joe’s chest, his own arms encompassing Joe’s upper torso. He counted the three short respirations which were followed by one long hitch for breath. It quickened Ben’s heart as well as that of his son’s. Then, the breathing broke into a more regular pattern as Ben pressed a heavy hand against the wad of bandages and prayed that the wound was finally starting to clot. The night seemed unending, and each second that ticked by lasted a million years. Whenever consciousness would hit Joe, droplets of tears would spill from his smouldering hazel eyes. The tears never reached the boy’s pillow case, instead, they were tenderly swiped away by the loving hand of his pa. “I’ve got you, Joseph. You are going to be fine, just fine.” Ben asserted, the words almost choking in his throat. Even false hope was better than no hope at times, Ben reasoned as he felt his boy’s left hand come up from alongside his leg and reach for his father’s face. “Pa?” The weak voice came off with a haunting tone to it. Ben looked down towards the sound and tightened his hold on the boy’s bandages before speaking. “Don’t talk right now. You just go back to sleep. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. That’s a promise.” Joe allowed his eyelids to droop back down again, content in the fact that if anyone could save him it was the man who had given him life in the first place. The scent of his pa hung like a perfume in the room working like a sedative with each breath the boy took in. It was a unique blend of cotton from the man’s shirt, a pinch of Bay Rum cologne, and the essence of worry and love combining with sweat. It wasn’t long before the boy’s faint heartbeat was keeping a steady rhythm with that of his father’s heart and he had dozed back under the dark curtain of sleep.

The fever was mounting, the indication was evident as Ben pressed his lips against his son’s brow as both a test and loving gesture. Keeping his dominant right hand tending the wound, Ben reached with his left one and was able to pull the washcloth from out of the basin on the night stand. He squeezed the excess water from the cloth and then placed it on his son’s forehead. Knowing he would soon have to move from his current position, Ben thought on the situation at hand. He could not believe the predicament both Cartwrights now found themselves to be involved in. Joe’s two older brothers had left days ago on a business trip to secure water rights for the increasing herd of cattle on the ranch. All of the hired hands were stationed elsewhere moving the main body of cows north towards better grazing land and would be of little help now.

Ben’s mind flashed random scenes and his ears still echoed the crash of gunfire which had erupted earlier that day. He shook his head angrily as he stared down again at the seemingly mortal wound Joe now carried due to his impulsiveness and undying love for his father. Why? Ben thought to himself sighing wearily. Why hadn’t he seen Joseph coming towards the clearing where a disgruntled ex-ranch hand held his gun on his former employer? Why would the boy make such a terrible mistake in judgement to jump in front of the bullet? Tears tracked down Ben’s face and pooled into the hollow of his neck. He knew why. His youngest son had known that the gun was about to be fired point blank into his father and had made the only rational choice a loving son could make. Joe had caught the bullet marked with Ben’s name on it, all the while knowing it might mean his own death in doing so. It all had happened in only a few second’s time, and yet, Ben felt like he was still frozen inside that instant. He could still hear the shout. **NO, Joseph! NO!*** But, it was too late. The only positive move Ben had been able to make was when he fell to the ground spinning his body along with his Colt forty- five. In one shot he killed the man who had fired the bullet which had entered Joe’s abdomen.

Ben thought back to the long ride home on his buckskin horse holding his youngest in his arms trying to staunch the flow of blood to no avail. It was an arduous journey back to the Ponderosa ranch house. Another stroke of bad luck came upon opening the front door still carrying Joe. There was the note from the Cartwright’s cook and caretaker. Hop Sing had been summoned away due to a death in his family and had hurriedly left for San Francisco. That news made Ben a party of one to tend the injured young man. He had carried Joe up the long and seemingly endless staircase and brought him into the confines of the boy’s bedroom where he began the task of cleaning the wound.

Four o’clock that same afternoon, after having spent two hours trying his best to stop his son’s bleeding, Ben heard the rider approaching and called out from the second story window. He had shouted for Cliff, one of the hired hands, to hurry into Virginia City and bring back Doctor Paul Martin. The other man never even dismounted. He turned his mount and spurred the horse towards town. At the time, Ben’s heart felt a little less burdened at the thought of the doctor’s arrival. It would be just a matter of time until the Cartwright’s dear friend and skillful doctor would be there suturing the boy’s wound. Ben had already performed his own inspection of the gaping hole and had determined that the bullet had gone straight through and had come out through his son’s side. At least there would be no digging for it, and from what Ben had seen, there hadn’t been too much internal damage. However, the bleeding was not letting up much and sutures were badly needed.

Three full hours later, Ben once more heard an approaching rider and peered out of the window. His mouth formed a deep and woeful frown when he realized that the carriage down below was not that of Doctor Martin. Moments later both Cliff and another man appeared in the doorway to Joe’s room. It was then that the worried father learned that the usual family physician was away for the weekend and in his place was a doctor who was not at all as reliable or as gifted in tending wounds. Ben tried as hard as he could to not let his lack of faith in Doctor Steven Hale show on his face as the man strode briskly over to the bed. He watched as the man, oft’ times roughly, prodded and poked at the festering wound. Biting his tongue as he saw the grimace that took over Joe’s face and hearing the boy moan loudly, Ben neared the bed. The doctor was not only rough in his mannerisms but also in his demeanor. Ben decided he was close to downright rude when he observed the doctor as he had slung open his medical bag and the top cover landed on Joe’s right knee causing him to moan from the sudden movement. With clenched fists Ben asked the man to be a bit more careful only to have the doctor totally ignore his complaint. Doctor Hale threaded his needle quickly and with just a quick pour of antiseptic over the injury he dove right in, pushing aside his patient’s screams of agony.

Ben stood next to the bed not really knowing what he should do at that point. He wondered if he should drop the doctor onto the floor and knock the hell out of him for his awful treatment of his precious son. Ben had to rethink the emotions which were erupting from each pore of his body and from every drop of blood in his veins. Joe had to have help, he had to be stitched up or would surely die from loss of blood. He would have to tough it out a bit longer, at least until the doctor had tied off the last stitch. Ben counted the sutures and willed himself to remember how many punches he would repay the doctor with once he was done. Less than fifteen minutes later, Doctor Hale all but slapped the wad of gauze bandage onto Joe’s stomach and tossed his instruments back into his black bag and stood up. The doctor turned to Ben and told him that he “guessed” the boy would live but that he couldn’t stick around to make sure. He made a half-veiled excuse that he had other patients waiting for him in Virginia City and started towards the door. When Ben protested, worried that the boy didn’t look much better, the doctor fired right back at him. He had told Ben in no uncertain terms that he could not stay and that was it. He then advised him to keep a good eye on Joe, to keep him as upright in the bed as he could to prevent pneumonia from starting up and to also keep a good deal of pressure on the wound just in case the sutures weren’t quite doing the trick. Cliff looked over at his employer. He had never before seen the anger displayed on Ben’s face and it looked as though he was going to explode from within. Ben took two steps towards the so-called care-giver with his fists at the ready. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Cliff decided he had to intervene, the doctor might very well have been the one who needed sutures. Instead, Cliff ushered Steven Hale out as fast as they had originally entered the bedroom.

From that moment on the father had taken over, determined that he alone would somehow keep Joe alive. He knew he would have two days until Doctor Martin would be coming out. Ben spent a short time getting the room set up for the long night. Cliff came back after making sure that the doctor was gone from sight and kept a watchful eye on Joe while Ben brought up the provisions he would need. It was at that point that Ben had to dispatch the hired hand on a new mission. He needed the man to head over to Carson City in the hopes that the doctor there might be free enough to come back with him to do a more thorough job on Joe’s wound. With those instructions given, Cliff hurried out again.

“I have to move you, Son.” Ben whispered as he tried to push his thoughts to that of the here and now and not back to the what ifs. Hearing no response from the boy who was still nestled in his arms, Ben tried to gently prop Joe up against the mass of pillows and shift his own body out from under. A groan escaped the parched lips and Joe’s eyes fluttered briefly as his father repositioned his body. Ben’s hand fell back onto his son’s forehead as he removed the washcloth and dropped it back into the basin. He poured some fresh water from the pitcher standing underneath the lamp onto the soaking cloth.

Ben walked solemnly over to the bedroom window and peered out. It was dark and there wasn’t even the faintest glimmer of the moon nor the normal brilliance of stars in the sky. Praying for a breeze to start up to cool the sweltering room Ben shot another glance back towards the still figure laying on the bed. ***Oh, Joseph***Ben thought, as the worry surged back up out of his heart and soul. ***I have to get that fever down somehow***. Walking back towards where his son lay, Ben inspected the various items he had brought up earlier from the medicine chest in the kitchen. He lifted up the rubbing alcohol and stared back once more towards his youngest son. Joe’s complexion was mottled with red blotches and his hair fell onto his forehead in a matted formation showing the effects of the increase in temperature. Ben knew he had to do something or run the risk of the boy not surviving until daylight. Sitting down on the bottom of the bed, Ben set aside the heavy down comforter and pushed his son’s long-john legs up to the boy’s knees. Then, rubbing alcohol in hand he began to massage the liquid over the exposed legs. The pungent odor of the alcohol filled Ben’s nostrils as he slowly continued with the ritual. It was the only way the worried father knew to try and cool the exposed skin in a frantic effort to lower the boy’s body temperature.

Joe pulled a leg up as he began to fall into delirium. His head thrashed side to side and his words were nothing more than gibberish. Ben hated to see his son’s pain but refused to stop his process. Cooing soft words of encouragement, Ben’s hands drifted up his son’s body until he came to the boy’s chest. He had to bypass Joe’s stomach due to the bandages, but Ben was able to coat him with the alcohol from the base of his rib cage all the way up to his neck. Joe’s pale skin erupted in goose bumps giving the subtle sign that the treatment was working. Ben cupped alcohol into his right hand and gently stroked each of his son’s arms.

“No! Pa–watch out!” Joe shouted in his confused state of mind.

Ben grabbed his son as he tried to bolt from the bed. “Joseph–settle down now, everything’s all right. Settle back. That’s it.” Ben instructed calmly and somewhere in the back of Joe’s mind he heeded what his father had said. The boy’s head stopped moving back and forth and his facial expression went fully lax. He was back under now, where the pain and the worry could no longer take him back to what had happened earlier that day.

Ben tightened the lid on the bottle of alcohol and moved back over to his son. He inspected the tightly wrapped gauze bandage and bit at the bottom of his lip concerned. There was some fresh blood again, peeking through the corner of the wrappings. Ben mopped his own perspiring brow and poured himself some water to quench his thirst and loosen the knot he felt tightening in his throat. He never missed Paul Martin more than he did at that moment. Even if there wasn’t anything more that Paul could do himself, it sure would have been a comfort to have him there to monitor what was going on with the injured boy. Ben also wished his other two sons were not almost one hundred miles away, tending to the legalities of purchasing the new water rights. Ben shook his head, almost ironically amused. What difference would water rights and cattle make if he should lose a son? And if that son just happened to be the youngest, well, the ranch would never matter ever again should that be the case. ***if it would only rain*** Ben thought internally. A good solid rain would lower the temperature in the room and assist him with bringing down Joe’s fever. Ben shot another glance over towards the window. The gingham curtains fell still at the sides, showing the total lack of a breeze.

Ben rinsed the washcloth again and then bent down and kissed Joe’s forehead before placing it back on his brow. At that same moment Joe’s hand pulled up and grabbed at his stomach wound and he moaned loudly in pain.

“Hurt.” Joe whispered and before his father could respond, the boy fell back under.

The bandage needed extra padding to soak up the additional blood which spilled out from the sides. Ben reached over for the supplies sitting there next to the water pitcher. He folded another wad of gauze bandage and gently placed it over his son’s wound securing it with the strips of cotton wrapping already there. He cursed under his breath, ***damn worthless incompetent doctor! I’ll have him run out of Nevada once you are well!*** Knowing he needed to resume his former position on the bed, Ben grabbed one more quick swallow of water and sat down alongside his boy.

“I’ve got you, Joseph. You sleep and don’t worry.” Ben whispered as he eased Joe back into his arms. The boy’s head fell into the secure and comfortable resting place between his father’s shoulder and his neck. It wasn’t long before Ben could feel the hot breaths as Joe turned ever so slightly, his face right under his father’s chin. Ben repositioned the wash cloth on his son’s head and then placed his right hand firmly over the boy’s bandage. He was determined to keep pressure on the ill placed sutures, in an attempt to permanently stop the bleeding.

Fighting both the profuse heat in the room along with his own exhaustion, Ben tried to stay awake. His eyes darted around his son’s room and inventoried each picture, each piece of furniture. There was the picture of the Indian chief that Joe as a child had chosen as a birthday present for himself. Against the far left wall hung the two French sabers which Ben had brought back with him from New Orleans along with his new bride, Marie. A slight stabbing pain seared the father’s heart and he closed his eyes remembering his wife. He wished a million times over that she was still there with the family, and always more so when something bad had befallen the youngest; her pride and joy. Ben’s left hand instinctively caressed his son’s unruly hair as thoughts of the boy’s mother filled his troubled mind. Many times Ben had wondered how his youngest son would have turned out had he had the loving touch of a mother to soothe him at such times. He worried that he had not done the best job at being able to give the boy the softness that Marie surely would have over the years. Ben worried that his oft’ times stern countenance had kept Joe at bay when he was in trouble. How many times had his boy hidden the facts from him until it was too late out of fear of retribution or because he thought Ben would never understand his actions? This third child of his was a challenge, and far different in temperament and feelings than either Hoss or Adam. Joe was only seventeen, and there was so much that Ben still did not know about him, even though he had tried to learn of his secrets. There was something behind the bright inquisitive eyes that Ben was not at all sure of. Sometimes he thought it was fear, and other times he was sure it was a hurt which the boy could not face himself. Whatever it was, it was still there and his father would have moved the Heaven and Earth to make it go away forever.

Ben felt the warm fingers of Joe’s right hand fall onto those of his own. Was he trying to pull his father’s hand off of his wound subconsciously? Ben stared down at the boy’s fingers as they slowly braided themselves into those of his father’s and held on. Joe’s actions let his father know that he was glad that he was there and that, wound or no wound, the boy did not want him to let go. “It’s going to be okay, Son.” Ben whispered down to the boy, who squeezed his hand in response to the words.

Joe’s body rose and fell with each breath of his father, secure in his father’s protective embrace. What no doctor could give him, what no medication could accomplish, was the sense of peace and love which came in abundance from his second self. Ben’s presence and compassion would be the kind of memories that his son would carry with him to the grave. Had he ever told his father how much he truly meant to him? At this point, in dull revelation, he could not remember. Did pa know that he was always the driving force in his life? Joe felt the hand that continually stroked his matted hair and could not imagine his life without his father. It was that fact which had automatically propelled his body in front of the bullet which had been aimed at Ben. And, even now, throughout the pain and anguish, Joe knew he would gladly do it again. Without his pa, Joe would never really feel alive anyway. He remembered every single absence, every trip Ben had made without him at his side. Those were the memories he struggled with every single day of his life. There was no way that he could confess these haunting thoughts to his father or his two brothers. Joe felt it showed how much of a child he still was and he kept his secret from all of them.

He thought he had done a pretty good job with his deception over the years whenever his father left for places unknown. No-one would know the many nights, in that very room, Joe had cried himself to sleep out of the insecurity he felt in his soul. He had lost a mother, one he could hardly remember now. All the little things had faded over the twelve years since Marie’s death. Joe could no longer remember what she looked like, the feel of her hand on his face, nor the brush of her lips on his cheek. If it hadn’t been for the many photographs his father had made over the early years, his mother would be gone completely from his life. Joe worried that it could happen again, and this time it would be his father. He vowed to himself that he would never let his father go, no matter what. But, there were times when he could not be by the man’s side. It was during those times that Joe turned to God in prayer to protect the man who was in fact the main reason the boy wanted to live.

Ben became suddenly aware of the moisture increasing inside the palm of his right hand. It could only be one thing; blood. He slowly and carefully removed Joe’s fingers that still rested on top of his father’s and pulled his own hand closer so he could see if his assumption had been correct. There in the pale glow given off by the lamp was the distinct crimson stain. Ben’s heart pounded over the meaning and consequences that were forged in his brain as he realized he would have to take action and quickly.

“Joseph?” Ben whispered softly and the boy slightly moved his face from his resting place. “I have to move you again. I’m sorry.” Ben apologized as he gently maneuvered his son back against the pillows and pulled his own body out from underneath. There was only a low groan in response to his father’s actions, but Joe’s eyes glazed over with pain and unspent tears very evident now.

Ben bent over the bed, lamp in hand, inspecting the blood drenched bandages. His hand trembled as he loosened the gauze and pulled aside the cotton strips. There in the middle of the bullet hole was the problem. Several of Doctor Hale’s sutures had pulled apart and lent way to the continuous flow of blood.

“Pa? What—what’s wrong?” Joe asked, his voice showing the strain of holding back his protests over the pain his father’s inspection was causing.

Ben breathed in deeply before answering his boy. He knew what was needed, but he wondered internally if he had the strength to do it. Casting a glance over towards the dresser, where he had earlier in the evening set the medicine tray, Ben bit at his lip. “Son, you have got to have some more sutures—and I am afraid that I am gonna have to do it this time.” Ben replied standing back up straight and setting the lamp back to it’s original position.

Joe closed his eyes, feeling a bit more woozy than he had earlier. His mind tried it’s best to comprehend what pa was telling him now. Something about sutures? Joe didn’t quite understand. But, he was well aware of the ominous look that his father now wore. Opening his eyes again he could see the furrowed brow and the worry creased face. Pa was upset, or just down right scared. It wasn’t something that the boy had witnessed often in the past. As far as Joe was concerned his father was the bravest man who had ever walked the face of the earth. Looking back over at pa, the two pair of eyes met. Joe wondered if he was seeing things or whether he had spotted tears streaking down Ben’s face. No that could not be! Not his pa, anyway.

Just when Joe had decided that his mind was playing tricks on him, Ben bent over him and kissed his forehead and the boy felt the coolness of teardrops on his own cheeks. He knew they were not from his eyes, and it was only then that he knew his father was in fact shedding tears of his own. This was amazing! The injured boy’s heart leapt in his chest as it took in the meaning and pasted it there for all time. All the years, seventeen in fact, Joe had fought not to cry in front of his pa. Now, the man who he so wanted to emulate was crying himself. Could this mean that it was all right? Maybe it wasn’t the sign of weakness that Joe had always worried about in the past? Maybe it meant that he could show his father things that he never thought possible, and tell him things that had been stashed away in his soul for years? These thoughts along with a million others pulsated in the boy’s head, and completely took his mind off the wound that his father was so worried about.

“Pa? Are you crying?” Joe asked quietly, almost afraid to.

Ben swept his hand over the boy’s abundant curls and nodded. “I’m just a little afraid I guess.” Pa whispered. He stared into his boy’s astonished eyes and wondered why there was such a large amount of awe in his gaze. Joe looked at him as though he had revealed the deepest secret known to mankind.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.” Joe replied and then noticed that his father wore an even stranger expression on his face.

Ben analyzed his son’s words and his gaze. For just a brief moment he was able to see something that had been so well hidden by the boy that it almost shocked him. There in front of him was his youngest without the cleverly placed wall the boy had built over the years since Marie’s death. He was looking at Joe and seeing him without his inhibitions for the very first time in his life. It seemed as though the boy’s eyes were bright and unclouded as they had never been before. With that wall down, with that block gone, Joe’s brilliant hazel hues were an exact replica of his late mother’s. The view momentarily stopped Ben’s heart. It was almost as though the shadows that had been inside Joe’s eyes had at last moved away. Just like Marie. Ben remembered how his wife’s eyes had always held the dark secret of her past until she had finally succumbed to her husband’s desires and had told him all there was to know. Looking now at the product of their love, Ben realized how much of his mother Joe had inside of his own soul. And, just as Marie needed the love and acceptance from her husband, Joe needed it from his father.

Ben wanted to talk to the boy, to completely rid him of any old pain or pent up emotions. But, with the wound needing immediate attention, he knew it would have to wait a little longer. He had to get to the sutures, not wanting to prolong the bleeding and risk losing the boy he had just discovered.

“I cry all the time, Joseph.” Ben admitted and patted the boy’s arm affectionately. “We’ll talk more about this. I promise. But, I have to get to that wound first.” Ben whispered and walked towards the bureau.

Joe watched his father as he had walked across the room. Still taking in all that his father had said, and more so what his father had shown, Joe hoped that he would keep true to his word. He had a million questions to ask his father now that he felt he could indeed ask them.

Ben spread out the small suture kit onto the towel he had laid on the bed next to his son. Reaching down, he drew the needle into his hand and threaded it with the thin strand of black material. Doctor Martin had left the kit in Ben’s care a good many years ago “just in case” he wasn’t around. Ben never figured he would need it but had held onto it should the necessity arise. Unfortunately it had now. How many times had he seen Paul draw the strands of suture through one of his sons due to an injury? Ben did not know, but now wished he had paid a tad more attention to the doctor and had learned his technique.

Everything was ready. In the order in which they would be needed sat the antiseptic, the suture material, the cleansed needle, scissors and the wad of bandage. All that was needed now was a steady hand and a great deal of nerve. Ben cleared his throat to gather his wits and stared back up towards the head of the bed.

“Hold as still as you can, Joseph. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of stitches to fix you up. Now close your eyes.” Ben instructed and gave his son’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

Joe winced his eyes shut and prepared for the feel of the needle. He knew that as much as he was hurting, no doubt his father was also suffering to a degree just in having to do the repairs. With as much skill as he could muster, Ben sent the needle through the bottom of the bullet wound, pulling the thread taunt and circling it back after piercing the top of the gaping hole. Ben made another mental note. He would make sure that not only would Doctor Hale be barred from medical practice in Nevada, but also throughout the entire country. With baited breath the anguished father once again punctured the skin and drew the needle through the hole left by the bullet. He had to blot the increasing blood flow in order to see what he was doing, and, each time he pressed on the wound Joe screamed out in pain. It was almost enough to stop the whole procedure. Ben could not stand to hear the effects of his suturing and had to fight with all his will to keep going.

Four stitches later, Ben was content that he had strengthened the closure of the wound. The blood had slowed to a trickle as he tied and cut off the last suture. “All done.” Ben said gratefully. When he did not hear a response he looked towards his son and saw that Joe had passed out. The wound was again cleaned and bandaged tightly before Ben left his position on the bed. He moved aside all of his instruments and washed his hands in the wash basin. Ben sent up a quick prayer that he had helped the situation and had not made things worse. He was, after all, no doctor. It would remain to be seen if his handiwork had in fact put a stop to the bleeding in the long run. But, at least for the time being things were looking up.

The solid gold pocket watch came up from his pocket as Ben stood by the lamp. Opening the lid, Ben saw that it was almost one in the morning. It seemed as though the night would never end, nor would his child’s pain. Ben poured a glass of water and gently lifted Joe’s head urging him to drink. It had been a long while since he had been able to get anything past his son’s lips and the worried father was starting to think the boy was becoming dehydrated. His lips were dry and parched and his fever still had not broken.

Joe sipped what he could and then signaled with his hand that he couldn’t take in any more. Ben set the glass back on the night stand, disappointed that the boy hadn’t gotten more of the water into him. He sat down on the side of the bed and reached for his son’s forehead once more. The heat from the boy’s brow stung Ben’s calloused hand. The fever had mounted, there was no doubt about it. Ben sighed wearily and went back to the rubbing alcohol. The previous ritual was going to be needed again.

***Oh, Joseph—you just have to get better–you just have to*** Ben thought to himself when he finished rubbing his son’s body down with the alcohol. ***I am running out of ideas. If only someone else was here!***Ben shook his head, doubting his doctoring abilities.

“Doc Martin—” Joe mumbled as he opened his eyes.

Ben looked perplexed when he heard the words coming out of Joe’s mouth. Was he still delirious? Was he thinking that the family doctor was there at his side?

“Doc Martin–” Joe said again, this time a bit more lucid.

“No, Son—it’s just me here with you.”

Joe fought to force a slight smile on his lips and reached for his pa’s hand. Ben held on to it and was surprised by it’s strength. “Pa—I was just saying—you done as good a job as Doc Martin.” Joe explained.

Ben’s face glowed with relief and gratitude over his son’s compliment. He knew it was said to ease his mind and not because it was actually the truth. But, nevertheless, seeing Joe attempting a smile and witnessing his grip was the medicine that Ben needed himself at that moment.

“Oh? You think so?” Ben teased with a grin painting his face.

“Ben Cartwright, M. D..” Joe replied and winced as he tried his best to pull himself up a bit against the pillows.

“Well, since I am your doctor—I think you better stop moving around. I am not at all sure just how well placed those sutures are, Son.”

“Better than that quack who was here earlier.”

“You remember? I thought you were out of it?” Ben asked surprised by Joe’s memory of events from earlier in the day.

“Remember—-remember everything.” Joe whispered as his eyes drooped and a slight yawn passed from his lips. “You said we’d talk.”

Ben nodded, knowing now exactly what the boy was getting at. He could read the exhaustion on his son’s face and decided it still wasn’t the time for any in depth conversation. Ben positioned himself back up at the head of the bed and moved Joe so that he rested as before, encircled in his father’s willing arms. “We will talk, as soon as you get some rest. As soon as this fever dies down a bit.” Ben whispered. Joe let his head fall back onto his father’s chest. He was a bit anxious to have the conversation that had earlier been hinted at. But, right now Joe was content just knowing that his pa was there with him. It wasn’t more than just a couple of minutes before an exhaustive sleep fell over the boy and his body sagged it’s weight against his father.

The heavy rain pelted the rough hewn timbers of the Ponderosa ranch house. With the distant sound of thunder and the flapping of the window curtains it formed a strange rhapsody which had assisted in lulling both Cartwrights into a deep slumber. The temperature in the bedroom fell dramatically ending the earlier uncomfortable humidity which had dogged the room all the previous day. Joe was the first one to notice the change. In fact, it had been the cool breeze which had fully awakened the young man. The sound of thunder, the rain, and also his father’s slight snoring hummed a peculiar tune.

Searching with his eyes, Joe tried to figure out what time it was and how long he had been under. When he tried to turn a bit, it instantly wakened his slumbering father.

“Joseph?” Ben whispered, pulling himself out of the heavy blanket of exhaustive sleep.

“Rain.” Joe muttered his reply and felt his father’s hand fall to his forehead.

Ben shifted in the bed and tried to get a good look at his son. His heart leapt with joy when he spotted the droplets of perspiration that sprinkled Joe’s face and spread down to his chest. The fever had broken.

“Let me get a look at your wound, Son.” Ben said as he moved Joe carefully to the side, propping him with pillows in exchange for his own body.

Ben slowly lifted the bandage and sighed. There had been no further bleeding, not since he had done his suturing. Closing his eyes in a prayer of thanksgivings, Ben felt for the first time that his son was truly going to pull through in spite of the earlier questionable odds.

“Looks like I got both of my prayers answered.” Ben grinned up at his boy. “It’s raining and your fever is gone. Your wound looks pretty good too.”

“Gully washer.” Joe whispered as another crash of thunder could be heard and the rain thrashed at the side of the house in a heavier torrent.

Ben laughed and moved over to the window. Fortunately the wind was attacking at an angle so that only a little rain had entered the bedroom. Ben watched the magnificent crash of lightening off in the distant and stood in awe of God’s handiwork. ***always darkest before the storm*** Ben thought to himself, still dwelling on his long night of worry. ***always brighter after the storm*** Ben smiled again as he shot a look over at his boy.

“You’re going to be fine, Joe, just fine.” Ben remarked as he approached the bed again. This time he was saying the words because he truly believed them and not because of some pipe-dream as he had earlier. Ben dropped his weight into the chair by the bedside and reached for his son’s hand. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got shot.” Joe quipped and flashed a smile which could have melted a glacier.

“That you did! You’ve got to stop taking these chances, Son. Next time you might not be so lucky.” Ben replied, but knew his argument would fall on deaf ears.

“Pa, you know—I had to this time—not because I was thrilled about getting shot—believe me. I just couldn’t—” Joe stopped abruptly and his disposition changed as did his facial expression. He didn’t have a clue as to how to explain to his father what had gone on in his mind when he had seen the gun leveled at the man. Joe did not have the words in his head, though they were written so deeply in his heart.

Ben noticed the rapid change that had over taken the boy there in front of him. There before him were those eyes again. The eyes that seemed to look through to the depths of his soul at time; Marie’s eyes. Ben knew this was the chance he had been waiting for, but was not at all sure how to broach the subject with his youngest. He wondered why he felt so strangely unsure of what to say to the boy. Ben had always felt that he had a special connection to this last child of his. Unfortunately though, Joe had done a great deal of hiding truths in the past and Ben wondered if he would come clean if he were to be asked point blank.

Drawing in his breath and then clearing his throat, Ben decided it was time to try to get behind the feigned aplomb of his youngest. “You said something earlier, Joseph, and I think it’s time we talk about it. You mentioned that you didn’t remember me ever crying in front of you before. Why did you say that?”

Joe struggled to come up with the answer to his father’s blunt question. It was finally time to air it all out to the man, and yet, in a way he was almost scared to convey his feelings now. “I don’t know exactly–well–maybe–” Joe stopped in mid sentence fighting for the words.

“You can tell me anything—you do know that, right?” Ben attempted to reassure the boy.

Joe dropped his head slightly, breaking the gaze between his father and himself. “I just thought–well–that for some reason that crying was kinda kid stuff. You know?”

Ben shook his head wondering where his son had come up with that idea. “When something moves you–or touches your heart—well–don’t you think it’s okay?”

“I just thought, you know I am gonna be a full grown man soon—one more year and I will be eighteen years old. I thought that it kinda showed weakness, you know?”

Ben chuckled over his son’s logic, but stopped quickly when he saw the hurt that his amusement had caused. “I am not laughing at you, Joe. I am just surprised at the way you’ve been thinking. You know being a man really doesn’t come by age. I’ve known people in their sixties who act more like a child than a two year old! Now, why do you think that you shouldn’t show emotions just because you are almost grown up?”

“Adam doesn’t—and Hoss rarely. I have seen him mist up a little–like when that foal died last year. And you–well–like I said before—I don’t remember you crying. How are you all gonna think I’m grown up if I don’t act like you?” Joe blurted out, finally letting go of his long held insecurities.

Ben thought for a few moments before answering the question posed by his child. He wanted to somehow get his point across, but not do it in a condescending way. “You are forgetting something here. YOU are not Adam nor Hoss. Besides that, they each have their own particular way of expressing their feelings. Adam finds a whole lot of his outlet in the books that he reads. Hoss in tending to the animals and helping them when they are hurt. No two people have the same desires of the heart nor the same needs.”

“What about you, Pa? I mean—you don’t show your emotions all that much you know? Yeah, well, maybe when one of us gets hurt—you kinda do. But, the rest of the time–” Joe trailed off again as he watched his father now being put on the spot by his words.

Ben thought on what the boy had said and did a quick inventory in his mind. Perhaps Joe was correct in his statement? Ben knew he lavished his affection and attention on his sons, Joe in particular, when there was an injury or an illness. But, what about the times that Joe was now referring to? Could there be some truth in the boy’s admission? Had he somehow led his son to believe that he had to show strength at all times except in times of injury? In trying to figure out the hurt behind his youngest’s eyes Ben suddenly found himself to be addressing his own attitudes. He would have to go back to where the deception had started if he was to try to get Joe to understand.

“Joseph–how much do you remember about your mother?”

Joe’s facial expression became a mass of sorrow at the abrupt way his father had asked his question. The mention of his mother almost sent the tears where they shouldn’t still be. Not after twelve years. “Not much.” Joe at last spit it out.

“I have tried over the years to tell you about Marie. I’ve told you of her beauty, told you about her zest for life. But, perhaps I’ve missed a few things.” Ben said as he reached for the picture of his wife kept at all times on the boy’s night stand.

“Like what? What’s my mother got to do with what we were talking about?”

“You are so much like her that it’s amazing to me, even after all these years.”

“You mean I look like her–” Joe began and was cut off by his father.

“Not just that. She was the most loving and open person I’ve ever met. She loved you three boys so much! I never saw her enter or exit a room without touching all of us in some way. It didn’t matter if it was a kiss, or a pat on the shoulder—anything–just so we knew how much we were cherished. And you–well—you were her baby. Though she made sure she was affectionate to Adam and Hoss, well, she couldn’t hide the fact that you were the light of her life.” Ben stopped as his face broke into fond remembrance. He smiled warmly over to the boy on the bed. “I was worried that you would never learn to walk! She carried you in her arms all the time. Had to get after her a time or two! She loved you so much, Joseph.”

Joe shook his head, trying to remember, trying to reach for the memories that were no longer there. The twelve years since his mother’s death had erased them all. He still held love in his heart for the woman, but had no idea why. Joe wished he could see in his mind the kinds of things that his pa had just related. He wished he had one concrete picture of his mother holding him in her arms.

“I’m not sure where you are going with this, Pa? I know Ma loved me, you have told me–so has Adam and Hoss. I still don’t see what this has to do with what we were talking about. You’re just making me kinda sad.”

Ben squeezed his son’s hand again, looking sympathetically at the boy. “Maybe I am going the long way around the barn. But, what I am getting at—is that you are just like Marie. Or at least you were, until you got the notion in your head that showing love was a sign of weakness. It’s not you know? Nor is crying.”

“I’m not the only one, Pa.” Joe retorted and this time he was forcing his father into his own self awareness.

“I know—I know what you are saying. And, you are right on that count as well. Now that I have thought on it, I realize that I am the one who led you to believe these misguided notions. Just like you pointed out to me, I show you a great deal of affection and concern when you are injured but not at other times when it is just as needed. I can remember a time when that wasn’t the case. When your mother was still here, she showed me how much affection meant. I guess—after she died–a part of all that died too.” Ben stopped as he could feel the tears over his lost wife welling up in his somber eyes. At any other time, in the recent past, he would have excused himself from the room and gone out to put his emotions in check. But, now, he knew that had been his downfall all along. His child needed this from him, all the little things he had himself kept hidden over the years. As much as Ben wanted his youngest to open up to him, he knew now that Joseph wanted the same thing from his father. “I tried—tried to be what all of you needed from me. There was a long time, right after your mother died, when I turned so inside myself that I pushed all three of you away. I am afraid that Adam and Hoss bore the brunt of most of that, you being so young.”

“I remember—some things anyway. It was like it was a time when the smiles ended. I can even kinda remember you being gone for awhile. I think that’s when it started.” Joe stopped himself, he was just about to blurt out one of his most prized secrets. Had his father guessed? Joe was unsure as he stared over into his pa’s soft brown eyes.

“You were saying, Joseph?” Ben asked quietly when he witnessed how quickly the boy had cut off his last statement.

“Nothing.” Joe muttered and turned his face away from the gaze shot his way.

“Out with it. Come on–it’s time we both faced up to ourselves and each other.” Ben squeezed his son’s hand urging him on.

“I remember that suddenly Ma was gone, then I remember you disappearing. I remember Hoss being so sad–he didn’t want to play with me like he usually did. I remember Adam. He would go through all the motions–you know? He would help me dress–he would tuck me in at night. But, that’s when you left. To me—even now—it seems as though you were gone for years and when you did return you weren’t the same pa.”

Ben’s tears drifted from his eyes upon hearing Joe’s rendition of his absence after he had buried Marie. He had come to terms with leaving the ranch, with both Hop Sing and Adam left to care for the two youngest. Ben had even, years later, had deep conversations with both Adam and Hoss and had apologized for his lack of judgement in making the decision to leave them. He had been gone for a month to sort out his thoughts and to try to come to grips with losing his third wife. Now, looking over at his youngest son, Ben knew where most of the boy’s insecurities had come from. How could he have been so insensitive? Why hadn’t he addressed it to his little boy at the time? Ben could not believe he had missed all the chances he had in the past to explain to Joe why he had left and why perhaps, he had come back a bit more aloof. Ben shook his head feeling at a loss over how he could explain it now, twelve years later? He had assumed that the five year old had not needed the apology, never thinking on how deeply the boy had taken the loss of his father in conjunction with having lost his mother. That regretful decision, to assume that Joseph had not been as equally or more so affected by his absence as his other boys had evidently caused the boy great grief.

Now Joe was laying there in his bed, staring intently over to his pa and wondering what all was going on in his head and why he was taking so long to respond to his words. He was starting to have second thoughts over his statement when Ben finally replied.

“Oh, Joseph, how could I have been so blind? I am so very sorry. I never stopped to think of how you read my absence back then. I presumed my being gone had mostly affected your two brothers, you being little more than an infant at the time. Now, I can see how stupid I was in that assumption. Not only didn’t you have your mother’s love, your mother’s loving touch, you no longer had me there to help you through it! You said that I came back like a different pa—and now I can see it myself. I worked through my own grief, and even helped your brothers to deal with theirs. But, you needed me and I let you down. I came back determined to put myself so into the running of this ranch that I missed the most important reason for there even being a Ponderosa; my sons.”

“Pa—it’s not your fault–I understand, really.” Joe insisted. He did not want his father to think he had failed him.

“It is my fault–that I never talked to you. I think I’ve worked it out with your brothers, and I think they understood. I never explained it to you. That was wrong. My seeming aloof to you was wrong too. You made the statement that I didn’t come back the way I had been. I can see now, from your point of view, why you said it. You also said that I show you affection and concern when you are hurt, but that I am not as demonstrative at other times. That is also the truth. You know it’s kinda funny–in a way. I wanted to talk to you, to learn what was on your mind. To find out all I could about you. Instead, I have learned an awful lot about me. I guess seeing through your eyes it has made things a whole lot clearer to me.”

“Then I guess you know why I jumped in front of that bullet, huh?” Joe asked weakly.

Ben nodded his head as he caught the glimpse of tears now spilling from his son’s eyes. “I know.”

“Ever since that time, when I was just a little kid, I have been so scared of losing you, Pa. Whenever you leave—it makes me wonder if you’re coming back.” Joe whispered, full of emotion at having said the words at last. It had weighed on his heart for so long, that the boy could feel the burden lift as he released the truth.

“And this is what you have kept from me–from all of us? This is what I see in your eyes whenever I go away?”

Joe just nodded in response and pushed away the tears that were leaving his eyes and tracking down his flushed cheeks. He had a knot in his throat that would not allow him to reply verbally to his father now.

“Why couldn’t you tell me, Son?”

“Tell you what?” Joe blurted out, now so swept up in surging tide of emotion that he could not stop it. “Tell you that every time you leave, for a day or a week that I sit up here and cry? I was sure that you, and everyone else, would think I was acting like a little kid. I mean a seventeen year old crying just because his father left on a trip? How stupid is that?” Joe continued to spill it all out, berating himself with his words.

Ben grabbed a firm hold of Joe’s right arm and forced his gaze to make what he was going to say register in the boy’s mind. “It is not stupid! And, I think now we both can see exactly where it comes from. I wish you could have told me these things before, Joe. But, I understand why you’ve held them in. As awful as I feel about you getting shot, at least one good thing came out of it. There’s so much about you that I still don’t know, and so much that I want to know. You have also shown me some things that I can improve upon myself.”

Joe’s tear-filled eyes asked the question, though his voice couldn’t. Ben knew the boy was asking him “what”.

“If you will stop hiding yourself from me, and all of those who love you, then I will promise to be that father who left that day so long ago. You won’t have to wait until you are hurt in some way to get the comfort you need at other times. I want you to come to me, no matter what, whenever you need me. And, I don’t want you to worry about sounding childish either. The emotions you feel and the needs you have are what makes you Joe Cartwright. And no-one could be better at being him than you. So? How about it?”

Joe reached for his father who tenderly embraced the boy, carefully watching where he placed his arms in an attempt to avoid the boy’s wound. Ben felt the tears that trickled down his neck and knew that they were a blend of his own mixed with those of his youngest son.

“I can’t change all that has happened the last twelve years, but I can promise you that things are going to be a whole lot different the next twelve—and beyond.” Ben whispered as he eased Joe back against the pillows. “Now–getting back to that injury–how are you feeling?”

Joe pushed away the fallen tears from his cheeks and his face lit up like a brilliant sunrise. “I feel better than I have for a long time.” He replied.

Neither Cartwright heard the man standing in the doorway until the voice boomed out.

“Might have figured you couldn’t do without me for two whole days.” Came the words of Doctor Paul Martin as he entered the room.

“Paul!” Ben exclaimed. “How did you find out? I thought you weren’t due back for days?”

Paul laughed as he witnessed both the shock and relief that spread across his old friend’s face. “I heard through the grape-vine that this boy here decided to play catch with a bullet. Naturally I had to come.”

“Thank goodness.” Ben said elated that the physician was there to tend the boy.

“Let’s have a look see.” The doctor said as he sat on the side of the bed and lifted the bandages to inspect the wound. “Okay—who’s been playing doctor round here?” He asked gruffly.

Ben stared down at the floor sheepishly and cleared his throat. “Well, those four–” Ben stopped and pointed at his handiwork. “Those are the ones I put in last night. And those—” Ben pointed to the other stitches. “Those were done by Doctor Hale. The man I intend to have run out of the country by the way.”

Paul nodded his agreement and continued to check the bullet hole. “Well, Ben, yours look mighty good.”

“Told you so.” Joe nodded over at his father.

“I did hear that Hale was out here—and that’s what had me worried. I just cut my little vacation short. Besides, I claim this boy as my own patient and don’t really cotton to anyone else working on him. Other than you, of course, Ben.” Paul winked over at the worried father to put him at ease. Paul reached for the boy’s forehead and was relieved to find there was no fever. “How you feeling, Joe?”

“Better than I have in twelve years.” Joe answered and shot a smile over to his father.

“Huh?” Paul asked, not catching the little secret that the two Cartwrights now shared.

“I’m fine. Pa did a good job. Now, that’s not saying I ain’t happy to see you.” Joe patted his favorite physician’s arm.

“What do you think, Paul? Is he going to be all right?” Ben asked stepping in a little closer to get a good look at the wound himself.

“Of course. You should know it takes more than a bullet to stop this boy, Ben! I’ll just clean these other sutures up and he’ll be as good as new in a couple of weeks. Joe, I could give you some medicine for pain before I start on these other stitches if you’d like?” Paul asked as he started to ready the instruments he would need.

“Nah—already had some medicine. The best kind.” Joe whispered as his eyes met those of his father’s. He spotted the release of several unspent tears from Ben’s eyes. Joe smiled at his pa, knowing that he would see such sights in the future now that they had shared their hearts with one another.

Epilogue:

Doctor Martin was absolutely correct in his prognosis. Joe had bounded back from his injury in record time, as was typical of the boy. Both Paul and Ben had filed grievances with the medical board over one Doctor Steven Hale over his shoddy medical performance. Before there was an actual date for the meeting to address the issue, the incompetent physician left for parts unknown.

In Joe’s mind none of that mattered. He was just so elated over the fact that he had spoken with his father and had cleared up so many of his deep rooted issues that in Joe’s mind the bullet had been well spent. Ben was just as happy over the end result of his son’s injury. He had the boy back healthy and happy and more content than he had ever seen him in the past. From that time onward Ben did indeed become the father he had been before Marie’s death. Adam and Hoss spotted the difference as well as their younger brother. Ben was more open and more outwardly affectionate than he had ever been. He did monitor each of his son’s individual needs, gauging his display of affection that way. For Adam this meant that his father paid more attention to his reviews over the novels he read as well as taking an active interest in his future career plans. For Hoss, this meant his father standing there at his side whenever he tended one of the many critters he tried to save. It also meant a pat on the back and a compliment over his abilities. Those were the kinds of things that made his middle son happy and Ben tuned into those needs.

Then there was Joseph, the boy who had shown him the error of his ways. Ever since that night, sitting in the boy’s bedroom and listening to what Joe felt in his heart, Ben made sure that he had rectified any previous aloofness he had shown his son. There was never a time in Joe’s life, after that monumental moment of complete truthfulness, that he didn’t at some time of the day or night feel the touch of his pa. Sometimes it was just the pat to his arm when pa was passing from room to room. Other times it was pushing Joe’s foot from off the coffee table, always with a wink instead of a scowl. Most of the time it was just a slight reminder here and there of the closeness that they both needed. Once in awhile, usually when he spotted that certain look on Joe’s face, Ben would pull his son into an embrace to let him know that he was loved and cherished. Just as Marie had never entered or exited a room without a show of affection, never again did Ben Cartwright.

Joe relished the change that had come over his father and never again hid tears from the man. He could laugh, he could cry, and either emotion was well accepted. Joe never again turned away from his father and rarely from that time on kept such deep secrets from the man. He enjoyed becoming the Joe Cartwright that his father had hoped he’d be. Deep down he also knew that the secrets that the two of them had shared had helped to make his pa the kind of father that he had always wanted to be.

And to address the subject of his absences, Ben made sure he spoke one on one with his youngest son before he ever again left on a trip. It became a ritual with the two of them and was always done out of the sight of all others. Joe continued to miss his pa when he was gone, but was always confident that the man would be returning with a big hug for him upon his arrival. In all ways the night that Ben and Joe had taken the time to share each other’s secrets, became a turning point in their lives. They both thought of it as the night they truly discovered each other and forged their unbreakable bond. Joe had been right. Love was indeed the best medicine.

The end

6-5-02

Next Story in The Best Medicine Series:

Malice Aforethought

Note: Special thanks to a teddy bear who comforted an ailing Wrangler, a bouquet of flowers which cheered her, and a framed poem that reminded her of the bond she shares with three people she cherishes. You sisters are Wrangler’s best medicine. 🙂

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

 

Tags:  ESB, Family, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright, SJS