“Sheriff, may we speak with you a moment?”  Brothers Thaddeus and Charles stopped the sheriff on his way out the monastery door.  The sheriff had made the trek up the hill to discuss with the monks the upcoming trial of the bank robbers.  They’d all sat around the table as he outlined what would happen, and they’d all nodded seriously, as if they understood and agreed with him.  Now, the other brothers were already returning to their regular duties.  Brother Daniel looked as if he was having one of his headaches, and Brother Dominic was trying to get him to go and lie down for a while.

“What is it, Brothers?”

Brother Thaddeus lowered his voice.  “Well—how important is it that Brother Thomas and Brother Daniel testify?”

“It’s the whole case,” said the sheriff.  He thought he’d made this clear.  “What’s the problem?”

“Well, sheriff—you see, Brother Thomas—well, he tends to get a little bit confused in the best of circumstances, and Brother Daniel is still having problems with headaches, and I think it would be best if they could just stay here.  Maybe somebody else could go and testify.”  Brother Charles knew full well that the sheriff should not agree to this, but he was not above being disingenuous if it was necessary to protect the others.

“But they’re the ones who were in the bank,” said the sheriff.  “They’re the only eyewitnesses.”

“But it was Brother Gabriel and Brother Thaddeus who identified them on the street,” Brother Charles pointed out.

Brother Thaddeus nodded vigorously.  “Why can’t we testify instead?”

“Because you didn’t see the robbery,” said the sheriff with forced patience.

“But if they know who the men are, why does it matter if they saw the robbery?  They heard the men threatening Brother Daniel.  Why isn’t that good enough?”  Brother Charles’ hands rested on his round hips, and his bearded chin jutted out ominously.

“Because that ain’t the way the law works!”  The sheriff reined in his temper.  Brother Charles looked up at him, unfazed.  “The way the law works is that if you see something, you’re the one who has to testify about it.  You can’t just tell somebody else and have them do it.  It don’t work that way.”

The monks nodded.  “All right, then,” Brother Charles said.  “I’ll see about maybe getting them there.”  He hoped that the sheriff hadn’t heard the “maybe”.  The truth was that he did want Brother Daniel to testify so that the robbers could be convicted, but he just didn’t see how it was going to be possible with the young man feeling as poorly as he had since the cow kicked him.  It figured that this would be the one time the circuit judge was prompt in getting to town.

“Brothers, there ain’t no ‘maybe’ about it!”  The sheriff clenched his teeth.  “Brother Thomas and Brother Daniel have to come to court tomorrow and testify.  That’s all there is to it.  You have them there tomorrow morning at nine o’clock when the courthouse opens, or else.”  He hoped that the brothers didn’t ask, “Or else what?”  Frankly, he couldn’t think of any threat he’d use against a holy man.

“We’ll do our best,” said Brother Charles.  “We can’t do better than that.”

All right.  He had a monk’s promise to do his best.  He couldn’t ask for more than that.  “Fine,” the sheriff growled, stomping out to his horse as the brothers gently closed the door behind him.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, after prayers, the monks gathered around the table.  Unexpected rain pelted against the windows.  “Where’s Brother Daniel?” asked Brother Charles as thunder rumbled.

“He’s still in bed,” said Brother Dominic.  “He had a pretty rough night.  The headaches were bad.  I gave him something for the pain and told him just to rest.”

“Do we need to call in the town doctor?” asked Brother Gabriel hesitantly.  He didn’t mean to offend Brother Dominic, but it did seem to him that injuries were supposed to get better, not worse.

“I’d give him another day or so,” said Brother Dominic.  “If he’s not better then, we might want to see what the doctor says.”

“But we promised the sheriff that we’d do our best to get him to the courthouse,” said Brother Thaddeus.

“If he can’t go, he can’t go,” said Brother Charles.  Brother Gabriel nodded his agreement.

“But what if the men who killed Brother Nathaniel go free because Brother Daniel isn’t there to identify them?”  Brother Andrew looked around the table.  The others were somber.  They knew that vengeance was the Lord’s, but as far as it was possible on this earth, they wanted to see justice done.  Had they been different men, they’d have said point blank that they wanted to see the bastards hang.

“It’s all right, I can testify,” said Brother Thomas.  He looked around the table.  None of the brothers was looking at him.  “What’s the matter?”

“Brother Thomas,” said Brother Clarence gently.  “How much do you remember about what happened that day at the bank?”

“I remember everything,” declared Brother Thomas.  The others looked gently skeptical.  “Almost everything,” he amended.  “Everything that matters.”

“Can you describe the robbers for me?”

Brother Thomas thought.  “There were three of them,” he said finally.

“What did they look like?”

Brother Thomas concentrated.  “I don’t quite recall,” he admitted.  “But I’d know them if I saw them.  I’m sure of it.”  The brothers were silent.  “I’m sure,” he insisted.

“Brother Thomas, these men are on trial for their lives,” said Brother Clarence quietly.  “If Brother Daniel can’t be there, three men will die on your word.  Now, tell us.  Are you absolutely sure you’ll know whether these are the men?”

Brother Thomas looked around the table.  All of the brothers were much younger than he was.  He’d been one of the first to come here to serve God in this place.  He’d built this room.  He sawed the planks that became the table they were sitting around.  He knew that pride was a sin and humility a virtue.  It wasn’t pride, really.  If he could get the job done on his own, Brother Daniel could get some much-needed rest.  The fact that testifying might make the younger brothers look up to him a bit . . . well, that was just a little something extra.

His usually wispy voice was strong and clear.  “I’m sure.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“All rise.  Court is now in session.  The Honorable Horace J. Bimler presiding.”  The bailiff stood by the door, alert and stern, as the judge entered.  His blue eyes were fierce under his bushy white brows.  The light glinted off his shiny dome.  He sat down and banged his gavel unnecessarily.

“Be seated,” he barked.

Judge Bimler wasn’t usually this rough at the beginning of a trial, but he’d been a judge for a long time, and he was no fool.  This trial already had the feeling of a hanging party:  three strangers at the defense table with no lawyer, three dead people who had been known and liked, and townspeople crowding the gallery and standing along the back and sides.  He’d tried cases here before, and he knew that some of them knew to respect him, but he was going to make sure that this trial went according to Hoyle, and that meant throwing his weight around now, before things got out of hand.

“This is the case of the people versus Benjamin Cartwright, Adam Cartwright and Erik Cartrwright,” said Judge Bimler.  “Now, let’s clear up a few things right from the start.  This is no Sunday school picnic.  This is serious business, as serious as business gets.  These men are on trial for their lives.  I will not stand for any disturbances of any kind.  I have no problem clearing the courtroom if I have to and trying this case with just the defendants, the prosecutor, the witnesses, the jury and yours truly.  I don’t care what you think about these men.  Nobody but the jury gets to decide their fate.  And if you think for one minute that I’m going to stand by and let you folks take matters into your own hands, you’ve got another think coming.  I will throw each and every person in this room into the jail before I’ll let this trial be compromised, and you’ll rot there until the next time I get around this way, which could be a very, very long time if I have anything to say about it.  Am I making myself clear?  No funny business!”  He glared until he felt comfortable that the spectators were suitably cowed.  Then, he sat back and nodded to the prosecutor.  “Your opening statement, counselor.”

Outside, the sheriff was pacing.  There had been no sign of any of the monks.  The prosecutor had nearly ridden up to the monastery himself, but he’d tried enough cases with Judge Bimler to know that there would be hell to pay if he was late.  “You said they’d be here!” he’d hissed to the sheriff as they watched nervously for the bailiff to stride into the courtroom.

“They will,” said the sheriff with conviction that he didn’t feel.  And so, he paced in the rain, peering up the street.

The monks’ wagon came around the corner.  Several brown-hooded figures were crowded into the seat and the back.  It was impossible to tell who was present.  The sheriff breathed a quick prayer that the monks he needed were among the group.

The wagon drew up in front of the courthouse, and a covey of soggy monks disembarked.  As they reached the shelter of the overhang, they pushed their hoods back.  The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the old monk, but his relief faded when the young one did not appear.

“Where’s the new guy?” he demanded.

Brothers Charles and Clarence exchanged a glance at the appellation.  Wordlessly, they decided to let the disrespect pass, since Daniel wasn’t really a monk anyway.  “He’s back at the monastery,” said Brother Clarence.  “He’s having terrible headaches, and he can’t come.  But Brother Thomas is here, and he can testify to everything Brother Daniel could.  More, actually, because Brother Daniel was unconscious for part of the time.”  He glanced down at Brother Charles, who nodded slightly at this touch.

The sheriff suppressed a groan.  They might be men of the cloth, but they could drive an ordinary man to drink.  “He’d better,” he muttered, shepherding them into the courtroom.  “Let’s go.”

The prosecutor was just wrapping up his opening statement as the sheriff and the monks entered the room.  A quick glance told the sheriff that the prosecutor had, in fact, been dragging his statement out in the hope that his witnesses would arrive by the time he finished.  “And so, gentlemen, when you have heard all the evidence, I believe that you will have no choice but to return a verdict of guilty as to all three of the defendants,” he announced with a relieved flourish.

Judge Bimler nodded as the prosecutor strode back to his seat.  Then, he turned his attention to the defendants.  “You’re entitled to make an opening statement,” he said.  “Just one of you, though.”

Ben rose and approached the jury.  “Gentlemen, my name is Ben Cartwright,” he said.  “The men at the table with me are my sons, Adam and Hoss.  We live on the Ponderosa, outside of Virginia City.  Until we arrived here three days ago, none of us had ever been to San Pedro in our lives.  Now, we don’t know what happened here when the bank was robbed, and we’re mighty sorry that you folks apparently lost some good friends in that robbery, but gentlemen, I tell you the truth, we had nothing to do with it.”

“Objection!”  The prosecutor was on his feet.  “He’s testifying!”

“Sustained,” said the judge.  “Mr. Cartwright, you can’t testify yet.  You haven’t been sworn in.”

Ben turned to the judge.  “Yes, Your Honor,” he said, sensing that cooperation would be more likely to earn them some leniency.  A few minutes ago, the man seemed to be determined that the Cartwrights would have a fair trial, and now, he wouldn’t let Ben talk about what happened.  With a fleeting dart of regret for having discharged the lawyer, Ben turned back to the jury.  “Gentlemen, I believe that, when you have heard all the evidence, you will find that my sons and I are not the men who committed the crime for which you seek retribution.  We are not guilty, and we ask that you so find.  Thank you.”  He returned to the defense table, wishing that he could shake the sense that this entire trial was a farce, that their fates were not already sealed.  As he turned his attention to the judge, Ben also felt a brief, sharp pain at the thought that, if they were to hang in this little town, Joseph would never know what had happened to them.

Assuming, of course, that his son was even alive.

No.  The father’s heart rejected this thought uncategorically.  If Joseph were dead, Ben Cartwright would know it.  He was certain.  He didn’t know if he’d ever see his son again, but he felt absolutely sure at that moment that the boy was alive.

He forced his attention back to the courtroom as the prosecutor rose.  “The prosecution calls Brother Daniel to the stand,” the lawyer announced so enthusiastically that you might have thought he expected applause.

“Uh—Mr. Warren?”  Brother Charles leaned forward from his seat in the row of monks.

“Yes, Brother Daniel?” the prosecutor said impatiently.

“Brother Charles,” the round monk said.  “Brother Daniel isn’t here.”

The prosecutor looked down the row.  Six monks, and none was Brother Daniel.  The sheriff had told him that Brother Daniel, the newest monk, was the preferred witness, because the old monk had a tendency to get confused.  Resisting the urge to swear under his breath—he knew from past experience that swearing was expensive in Judge Bimler’s courtroom—he leaned in close to Brother Charles.  “Who have you got who was in the bank?” he whispered.

“Brother Thomas,” Brother Charles said, nodding acknowledgement to the monk on his right.

Damn.  The old guy.  Well, he was going to have to make this work.  “Okay, let’s go,” he said unceremoniously.  In a louder voice, less enthusiastic than before, he said, “The prosecution calls Brother Thomas to the stand.”

Brother Thomas rose.  He pretended not to notice that all eyes were on him as he walked the short distance to the witness chair.  As instructed, he placed his left hand on the Bible, raised his right hand, and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

The prosecutor asked him some preliminary questions about his name and where he lived before getting to the meat of his testimony.  “Brother Thomas, were you in the bank on the morning of June 22nd?”

“Yes, I was,” said Brother Thomas, almost proudly.

“Who else was in the bank?”

“Brother Nathaniel, Brother Daniel, and the tellers.  Oh, and the bank robbers, of course.”  A chuckle ran through the courtroom, and Judge Bimler pounded his gavel.

“Were the robbers in there when you arrived?”

“No, sir,” Brother Thomas said.  “Brother Daniel was already in the bank when Brother Nathaniel and I came in.  Then, the robbers came in.  They hit Brother Daniel on the head and knocked him out, and they made Brother Nathaniel and me lie down on the floor.  The floor was very dirty, but Brother Nathaniel said that we had to do it anyway.”

The prosecutor referred to his notes so that Brother Thomas and the judge wouldn’t see him rolling his eyes at this detail.  “What happened next?”  Brother Thomas considered the question for a long time.  “Brother Thomas?  What happened next?”

“Just give me a moment, please,” said Brother Thomas.  “It was all very confusing.  I can’t remember who got shot first.  It might have been Brother Nathaniel—no, I think the tellers—no, it was Brother Nathaniel.  That’s it.  The big man shot—no, it was the one in the dark clothes—no, I think he just threatened us, but the big man shot somebody.  He shot Brother—no, that’s not right, because Brother Nathaniel said something after one of the tellers was shot, so he must have been alive, musn’t he?”  He was starting to feel agitated.  Sweat was rolling down the back of his neck.  This happened sometimes, when he tried too hard to remember.  He wished that the prosecutor would ask an easy question so that he could get his bearings back.

The prosecutor poured Brother Thomas a glass of water and handed it to him.  “Just take it easy,” he whispered.  All he needed was for the old guy to keel over right there.  The judge would have to declare a mistrial.

“Brother Thomas, do you see the bank robbers in this courtroom today?” asked the prosecutor.  He moved so that the monk had an unobstructed view of the Cartwrights.

Brother Thomas squinted at the three men.  There was an older one, a big one, and a dark one, all right.  But something seemed—well, off.  There was something about these men that didn’t seem quite the same as the men who had been in the bank that morning.  He scrutinized each defendant.  The older man didn’t have the hard, mean look that he’d had in the bank.  The big one looked serious, but quite pleasant now.  The dark one looked annoyed, maybe even angry, but he didn’t seem like the man who had held a gun on Brother Nathaniel.

“Brother Thomas?”

The monk jumped guiltily.  The judge was peering at him.  “Brother, are the defendants the men you saw in the bank on the morning of June 22nd?” asked the judge point-blank.

Brother Thomas hung his head.  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.  He didn’t want to look at the other brothers.  He had taken the stand because of his own pride, and look where it had gotten him.  He’d been so sure that he’d know the men when he saw them, and now, it seemed that he didn’t.  He thought briefly of saying that these were the men and burying that niggling doubt in his head, but Brother Clarence’s statement about these men dying on his word, and his own sense of right, wouldn’t allow it.  “I can’t say for sure,” he said again.

For a moment, the prosecutor looked furious.  Then, decorum reasserted itself, and he nodded.  “Thank you, Brother Thomas,” he said.  “You may step down.”  As the older monk rose, the prosecutor turned to the judge.  “Your Honor, I would like to request a brief recess.  My next witness is not yet in the courthouse.”

“Who’s your next witness, Mr. Warren?”  The judge counted six monks in the front row.

“Brother Daniel,” said the prosecutor.  “And I’m told that he’s not here yet.”

The judge scowled.  To the monks, he said, “None of you is Brother Daniel?”

“No, Your Honor,” said Brother Charles, rising.  “Brother Daniel is back at the monastery.  He’s in poor health at the moment, and we felt it best that he stay home.”

“You felt it best,” the judge repeated.  “Well, brother, whatever Brother Daniel’s state of health, these three men are going to be in much worse shape if they’re convicted, so I’m ordering you to get Brother Daniel in here.  We’re going to take a recess for one hour, and when court resumes, Brother Daniel is going to testify about what he saw in the bank that morning.  Is that clear, brothers?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Brother Charles, refusing to be cowed.

The judge banged his gavel in disgust.  “Court stands in recess.  Bailiff, take the defendants back into custody.”  The judge marched off the bench, slamming the door to his chambers behind him, as the bailiff, the sheriff and the deputies seized the Cartwrights and hauled them into the little room in the back.

Brother Charles scribbled a note and handed it to young Marcus Damon, who was ten years old and the best math student he’d ever had.  “Run as fast as you can and take this to Brother Dominic at the monastery,” he said.  As the boy lit out in the rain, Brother Charles looked up to see Brother Thomas sitting in the front row, eyes downcast.  Before Brother Charles could do anything, Brother Thaddeus sat down next to the older monk.

“It’s not your fault,” Brother Thaddeus said softly.  “You tried.  If you weren’t sure, you had to say that.”  He draped his arm around Brother Thomas’ shoulders.

“I know,” said Brother Thomas.  “I just thought. . . .”

“We know,” said Brother Gabriel.  He and the others pulled their chairs closer to Brother Thomas, and the brothers sat in silence as the spectators milled about and everyone awaited Brother Daniel’s arrival.

* * * * * * * * * *

Even with the rain, the daylight was bright enough that Brother Daniel kept the dark glasses on and his hood pulled up to shield his eyes.  His head pounded, and his stomach felt queasy.  He hoped he wouldn’t be sick in the courtroom.  Bad enough he had to show up dressed as a monk.

A thought occurred to him.  “How’m I gonna take the oath?”

“What do you mean?” asked Brother Dominic.

“Don’t I have to tell them my name?”

Brother Dominic considered this.  “Well, I think that, for now, you can fairly say that your name is Brother Daniel.  If you remembered your real name and didn’t use it, that would be lying, but since the only name you have right now is Brother Daniel, I think it’s fine to say that’s your name and that you live with us.”  He glanced at the young man beside him.  “And if you need to take a break, just say so, and they’ll let you.”  He didn’t like the way Brother Daniel looked at all.  The young man was far too pale.  If only this hadn’t been necessary.  If only Brother Thomas could have been sure.

Brother Dominic reined in the horse and secured the reins.  He climbed down from the wagon and reached up to give Brother Daniel a steadying hand down.  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked once more.

“Let’s just get it over with,” said Brother Daniel.  He felt himself losing his balance and reached for the older man.  Without comment, Brother Dominic tucked Brother Daniel’s hand into the crook of his arm.

All heads turned as the monks crossed the threshold.

“What the—”  Adam’s jaw dropped.  “They’re not serious about this.  They can’t be.”

“That’s the one who’s gonna say whether we were there?  But—Pa—he’s—”  Hoss couldn’t finish the sentence.

“—blind.”  Ben was seething.  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why this town seemed to have it in for them.  First, the old monk thought he was so sure, right up until he wasn’t.  Now, they had brought in a blind man to identify them as the robbers.  Absolutely unbelievable.

The Cartwrights huddled together at the defense table, trying to make sense of this latest turn of events.  They didn’t notice as the rotund monk seated the blind monk in the front row, between two other monks, and asked him if he was all right.

“I’m fine,” said Brother Daniel.

Quiet though they were, the words penetrated Ben’s consciousness.  For a moment, he’d have sworn Joseph was in the room.  He looked up, half-expecting to see the familiar green jacket and lopsided grin.  But, of course, he didn’t see his son.  Silly to expect to.

The judge resumed the bench and pounded his gavel as he called court back to order.  The blind monk winced at the noise.  The bailiff intoned, “Will the witness please take the stand?”  The Cartwrights exchanged grim, furious looks.  They were being railroaded, and they didn’t know why.

Brother Daniel shook his head slightly as he got to his feet, pulling the hood close around his face to block out light and smoothing his beard.  What a rotten time for a headache, and it just kept getting worse.  He tried to breathe deeply as he walked the few steps to the witness chair.  He placed his hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.  His voice was weak and breathy, and as the rain pounded on the roof, it was nearly impossible to hear him.  The judge had to tell him to speak up, but the prosecutor could tell that even that was going to do little good.  It would be a miracle if the jury could hear the monk’s testimony.  The prosecutor would probably have to repeat everything in his closing.

The prosecutor approached.  Without asking, he poured Brother Daniel a glass of water and handed it to him.  “We’ll make this fast,” he whispered.  Unintentionally blocking the defendants’ view of the witness, he began his questioning as thunder rumbled.

“Would you please state your name and address?”

“My name is Brother Daniel,” said the witness, wondering how this comported with the oath he’d just taken.  “I live at the monastery on the hill.”

Ben craned his neck to see around the prosecutor.  From the moment he saw the monk rise to approach the stand, something had shifted.  Everything in him was humming, alert.  He could barely hear the monk’s soft voice over the pelting of the rain on the roof and the rolling thunder, but it wasn’t the substance of the testimony that had his attention.  He fought the urge to shove the lawyer aside so that he could see the witness.  He spared a quick glance at his sons beside him.  They, too, were fixated on the witness.  There was something about this man. . . .

“How long have you lived there?” the prosecutor continued.

“A few weeks.”

“Were you present in the bank on the morning of June 22nd?”

“Yes.”  He sipped the water.  His head was pounding so hard that it was a wonder everybody couldn’t hear it, even over the rain and the thunder.

“Can you tell the court what happened on that date?”  The prosecutor had barely finished the question when one of the spectators began to cough.  He tried to signal the witness to wait with his answer so that the jury could hear him, but Brother Daniel was already responding, even though probably no one could hear him except the lawyer and the judge, both of whom were within arm’s length of the witness stand.

“Three men came in and held up the place.  They killed Brother Nathaniel and a couple other people.”  Brother Daniel took off the dark glasses and rubbed his eyes.  The room was starting to spin.  He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.  He replaced his dark glasses.

“Do you see those three men in this courtroom today?”  With a flourish, the prosecutor stepped aside.

Brother Daniel looked up.  What he saw made him blink hard.  The men were fuzzy, but there was something familiar about them.  Images swirled in his brain like dry leaves in an autumn windstorm.  He knew them from somewhere, he was sure of it.  But not the bank—someplace else.  He needed to get closer, to get a good look.

“I can’t see them very well from here,” he murmured.  “Can I—”  The prosecutor glanced up at the judge, who nodded.

“Bailiff, escort the witness to the defendants’ table,” said the judge.

Carefully, Brother Daniel set down the water glass and stood.  The monks watched intently, the defendants more so.  Unsteadily, the young man approached the defendants’ table, brow furrowed above the dark glasses.

The Cartwrights watched the monk walk slowly toward them.  The bailiff walked beside him, but it was hard to know whether he was there to protect the monk from the defendants or to catch him if he fell.  Ben’s heart pounded.  This wasn’t an ordinary witness.  There was something familiar about this man, about the way he held himself and the way he moved, about his coloring and his demeanor and the spark of something that showed through even though he was blind and dressed as a monk.  If Ben hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn—

“Pa?”

The room erupted into chaos.  The young man, reaching out to him, collapsed and fell to the floor.  Ben lunged for him, only to be slammed back into his chair by the bailiff.  The sheriff and his deputy sprang forward to restrain Adam and Hoss.  The witness disappeared in a sea of rough brown robes as the monks clustered around him.  The judge pounded his gavel on the table.

“Order!  Order in the court!”

“That’s my son!”

“Get back here!”

“Joe!”

“Bailiff!”

“Brother Daniel!”

“Sit down this instant!”

“Somebody get a doctor!”

“Order in the court!”

“Little Brother!”

“Where’s Brother Dominic?”

“Brother Daniel!”

“JOSEPH!”

* * * * * * * * * *

Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes.  Brother Dominic sat beside him, wiping his face with a cool, wet cloth.  He squinted.

“Is it too bright in here?”  Brother Dominic reached into his pocket and handed him the dark glasses.  Gratefully, the young man put them on.

“Where’s here?”

“The judge’s chambers,” Brother Dominic said.

“Where’s the judge?”

“Still in the courtroom, I’d imagine.”  He dipped the cloth into the bowl of water and wrung it out, laying it across the young man’s brow.  “Do you remember what happened in there?”

He thought.  “I—I saw my pa.  He was there.  I’m sure of it.”

Brother Dominic smiled.  “Do you remember his name?”

He didn’t have to think this time.  “Ben Cartwright.  Was he really there?”

Brother Dominic nodded.  “He’s really out there,” he said.  “So are your brothers.  Do you remember their names?”

“Adam and Hoss.”  He grinned weakly.  “And my name is—my name is Joe Cartwright.”  It felt so good to finish that sentence.  Relief washed over him.  He was back.  At last.

“Pleased to meet you, Joe Cartwright,” said Brother Dominic, his casual tone masking his relief and gratitude for the gift of the young man’s memory.

Joe’s grin faded.  “What were my pa and brothers doing out there?  Why aren’t they in here?”  His heart began to beat faster.  Something was wrong, he was sure of it.  There was no way that his family would have stood aside and let a stranger, however kind, tend to him.  Not unless something was very, very wrong.

“Well—it’s kind of complicated,” said Brother Dominic.  The fact was that Cartwrights were still defendants in a murder trial.  As such, they were still in custody.  He saw the growing panic in Joe’s face, and he hedged a bit.  “There are a couple little things that need to be cleared up.  Just tell me this.  Were your father and brothers present at the bank on the morning of the robbery?”

“Of course not.  Why would they be?”  His voice grew louder, more agitated.

Brother Dominic rose, his gentle smile masking his vast relief.  “Okay, take it easy,” he said.  “You just stay here for a little bit and rest.  I need to go and have a talk with the judge.”

“I want to see my family,” said Joe, trying to rise even though the room started to spin as he did.

“You will,” promised Brother Dominic as he pushed the young man back on the settee.  “It may take a few minutes, but you’ll see them.  You have my word.  Just lay quiet, and I promise you, you’ll see them.”  Slightly to his surprise, the soothing tone that he used so effectively with the animals worked on this young man who had come to mean so much to the brothers.

He patted Joe’s shoulder and stood.  As he started to turn toward the door, Joe reached up and caught his hand.  Surprised, the monk looked down at the former Brother Daniel.

“Thanks,” Joe whispered.

Brother Dominic smiled.  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  He adjusted the cloth on Joe’s brow as the young man’s eyes closed.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Joseph.”

Joe opened his eyes and caught his breath.  The most beloved face in his world hovered over him, lamplight creating a halo.  He reached up, and Ben pressed his son’s hand against his own face.  “Pa,” Joe murmured.

“What have you done to yourself now, young man?”  His father smiled gently, hiding the effort that it took to keep his voice steady.  Between nearly being convicted of murder and finding his missing son, it had been quite a day.

“Got hit in the head,” Joe said.  “A couple times.”

“So I heard,” said Ben.  “You should stop doing that,” he added, hoping to coax a smile from his son.

“Good thing I got that thick Cartwright skull,” Joe said.  It was so hard to keep his eyes open, but he didn’t dare close them for fear that he would waken to find this moment a mere dream.

Ben smiled at his son’s effort.  “You just rest now,” he said.  The deep, soothing voice that Joe remembered so well was soft with unshed tears.

“Where are we?”  The room was unfamiliar and yet familiar, all at once.

“Two of the monks gave us their room,” Ben said.  While he was infinitely grateful to them for all they’d done for Joe, he was especially touched that these childless men understood how a father would want to stay with his son.

“Which two?”

Ben leaned closer.  “I’m not quite sure,” he admitted in a conspiratorial whisper.  This time, Joe smiled, and Ben caught his breath at the realization that he might easily have died without ever seeing that smile again.  “You go to sleep now, son,” he murmured.  “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”  He watched as the pain medicine the doctor had administered before they left the courthouse claimed Joe again.  “I’ll stay right here,” he whispered again, a promise to his sleeping son.

* * * * * * * * * *

Joe awoke to the sound of low voices in another room.  He struggled to open his eyes, wincing slightly at the light that filtered through the drawn shades.  He would never have believed he could be so tired.  He felt as if someone had drained all the blood out of him.  He would have closed his eyes and gone back to sleep, but the smell of bacon frying reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday.

He was just pushing himself to his feet when the door opened.  “And just where do you think you’re going?” said his father with mock sternness.

“To get some breakfast,” said Joe.  “A man could starve to death around here.”  He took a step, but he began to sway and would have fallen if his father had not caught him.

“Breakfast will be ready in a minute,” said Ben.  “Now, you lie down, young man.”  Firmly, he grasped his son’s arm and maneuvered him back into bed.

“You shouldn’t try so hard to keep me in bed,” said Joe as his father drew the light covers over him.  “If I hadn’t gotten up yesterday, who knows what would have happened?”

“Since Brother Thomas couldn’t identify them, maybe nothing,” said Brother Charles from the doorway.  He bore a tray containing a cup and a plate with two slices of bread and some jam.

Joe shook his head quickly, as if to clear it, and immediately regretted doing so.  “I thought I smelled bacon,” he said, pressing his fingers to his temple.

“You did,” said Brother Charles.  “But Brother Dominic says that you’re to eat lightly today after everything that happened yesterday.  So, this is your breakfast.  The tea is one of Brother Gabriel’s special blends,” he added encouragingly.

It was on the tip of Joe’s tongue to protest such treatment.  Tea and bread, while the others had bacon and coffee and who knew what else.  But he had learned a few things in his weeks at the monastery, and one was that, whatever the result might be, the brothers meant well.  And so, he held back his complaint, ignoring the amusement in his father’s eyes as the older man positioned the pillows behind him and settled the tray on his lap.

“The least you could do is steal me some bacon,” Joe muttered once the monk had left the room.

“And go against Brother Dominic’s orders?”  Ben smiled, pulling the chair close to the bed.  The truth was that, right then, he’d have gotten his son whatever he wanted, no matter who had ordered what.  Although Joe had slept soundly through the night, Ben had wakened regularly.  Each time, he crossed the small room to sit on the edge of his son’s bed, with gentle touches on hand, arm, cheek, and brow reassuring him that the young man was really there, safe and whole.

Joe raised his eyebrows.  “Since when do you do what the monks say?”

“Since they may well have saved my son’s life,” Ben said with sudden seriousness.  Deep brown eyes met green ones as father and son acknowledged without words all that they had come so close to losing.

“Hey, there, Little Brother,” said Hoss as he and Adam came in, stretching.  The older Cartwright brothers had insisted on sleeping in the parlor, over the strenuous objections of the monks.  The Cartwrights reasoned that, unlike the monks, they had bedrolls, and so it made perfect sense that they should be the ones to use them.  The monks, concerned that they were being bad hosts, insisted that they at least take the pillows from the beds, a compromise that was deemed acceptable to all.

“Hey, Big Brother,” grinned Joe.

“Meant to tell you yesterday, that’s quite a fine beard you’ve got,” said Adam.

“Well, don’t get too used to it,” said Joe.  “Now that my monk days are behind me, I’m having a shave, first chance I get!”

“Your monk days,” snorted Adam.  “How on earth did you come to be masquerading as a monk, anyway?”

“I’m not quite sure,” admitted Joe.

“It was for his own safety,” said Brother Clarence from the doorway.  The other brothers clustered behind him.  “We were concerned that the bank robbers would come back and find him.”

“So, we didn’t think anyone would be able to tell the difference between your brother and the rest of the brothers if he dressed the way we do,” said Brother Gabriel.  “And we were right.  No one ever suspected a thing.”

“Not even the sheriff, and he was the only one, besides us, who ever saw Brother Daniel in street clothes,” added Brother Andrew.

“We just told him that Brother Daniel was new to the monastery—which, of course, he was,” said Brother Thaddeus.

“We couldn’t just leave him to fend for himself,” said Brother Thomas.  “Not after all he did for Brother Nathaniel and me.”

“Besides, he had a concussion,” said Brother Dominic.  “He’s sort of a stubborn patient, though, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Brother, he is,” said Ben wryly as Adam and Hoss snickered.

“Our doc at home’s had that problem for years,” added Hoss.

“I’m not that bad,” protested Joe.  He looked up to see his family and the brothers, all nodding.  “I’m not!” he insisted.  All ten men rolled their eyes.  “At least nobody thought I was a bank robber,” he added, switching tactics.

“Why on earth did they think we’d robbed that bank, anyway?” asked Ben.

“Because there were three robbers, and they sort of looked like you three,” said Joe.  “Not if somebody knew you, but if they’d only gotten a quick look—yeah, you could have passed for them.”

“But who knew that besides you and Brother Thomas?” asked Adam.

“Nobody,” said Joe, sipping his tea and trying hard to refrain from making a face.

“Then, I’m confused,” said Adam.  “How did the sheriff know to arrest Hoss and me?  Did you point us out?”

“Not me,” said Joe.  “And Brother Thomas wasn’t even in town that day.”

“Then how—”

“I’m afraid we’re to blame,” said Brother Gabriel.  “Brother Thaddeus and I heard you threatening to kill Brother Daniel, and we assumed you were the robbers, because nobody else knew he was here.”

“You heard what?”  Ben gaped.

Brother Thaddeus nodded.  “We were walking down the street, and these two were talking about how they were going to kill Brother Daniel.”

“I never—I didn’t say I was gonna kill no monk!  Honest, Pa!”  Hoss looked frantically around the room for something to swear on.

“Neither did I, Pa!” Adam chimed in.

“You did,” said Brother Gabriel to Hoss.  “You said you were going to tear him limb from limb, and you were going to wring his neck.  I remember specifically how you were going to string him up by his green jacket.”

“I was?”  Hoss looked at Adam, who was beginning to grin as the light dawned.

“You were,” confirmed Brother Thaddeus.

“I said that?”  The big man was horrified.

“Several times,” nodded Adam.  “And you were most descriptive about how you would do it.”

“You were gonna kill me?  Any particular reason?”  Joe sipped his tea to hide a grin as he watched his brothers squirm.

“Think about it,” said Adam to Hoss.  “It’ll come back to you.”

Hoss thought hard for a moment.  Then, his eyes widened as the memory clicked into place.  “You’re married,” he blurted, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“What?”  Joe sputtered, spraying tea on his father.  He doubled over, choking on a sip of tea that had gone down the wrong way, until Ben pounded on his back.

“Yes, Little Brother, we know all about it,” said Adam.

“All about what?”  Joe squeaked, ignoring the pounding in his head.

“All about what, indeed?” demanded Ben.

“Your marriage,” said Adam.

“She’s a beautiful woman,” Brother Thomas added helpfully.

“Who is?”  Ben and Joe stared at each other, then at the monk.

“Your wife, of course.”  Brother Thomas couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to be so upset.  The lady in the picture looked quite nice.

“What wife?”  Joe looked at the men around him.  His father looked as blank as he felt.  All the others were nodding knowingly.  He saw Adam and Hoss exchanged a quick look.  “What wife?” he insisted.

“What wife indeed?” asked Ben.

“Brother Daniel’s wife,” said Brother Thomas.  “That beautiful young woman.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Joe.

“I wouldn’t worry about it right now,” said Brother Dominic with a warning look at the others.  “Memory doesn’t always return all at once.”

“But I ain’t got a wife!”  Agitated, Joe started to sit up, only to have his father push him back against the pillows.  Brother Gabriel reached past Ben to remove the tray, lest it go flying with the next outburst.

Ben looked up at his older sons, who had remained uncharacteristically silent.  “You boys know anything about this?”

“Well, Pa—from what we could gather, it seems—well, it looks like Little Brother done gone and gotten hisself married,” said Hoss, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“What?” screeched Joe.  His own voice sent a shaft of pain through his head.

“Now, Brother Daniel, there’s nothing to worry about,” said Brother Thomas.  “She looks like a lovely woman, and I’m sure she’ll be very understanding.  Will you be sending for her?”

“Sending for her?  I don’t even know who you’re talkin’ about!”

“Why would you need to send for her?  Ain’t she here?”  Hoss asked.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” shouted Joe.

“Settle down, Joseph,” said Ben.  “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”  He turned to the group of men.  “Do any of you know who this supposed wife is?”  Cartwrights and monks shook their heads.  “Do you know her name?”

“Mrs. Cartwright, I’d imagine,” said Brother Thaddeus helpfully.

Ben ignored him.  “So none of you have met her?”  More head-shaking.  “Have you even seen her?” he asked.

“We’ve seen her picture,” said Brother Thaddeus.  “Brother Daniel keeps it beside his bed.”

“There’s a picture?”  So, the woman was real.  Ben gritted his teeth.  Only the father’s concern for his son’s headache kept Ben from shouting.

“That’s my wife?”  Joe squeaked.  Somehow, as beautiful as the woman in the picture was, she had never inspired those kinds of feelings in him.  He looked helplessly at his father.  “Pa, I don’t know what to say.  I really don’t remember any of this.”

“Joseph, have you seen this picture?”  A thought was beginning to surface.

Joe nodded, wincing at the pain of movement.  “And she’s as beautiful as they say she is,” he said.  A fragment of memory surfaced, and he quoted, “Like having spring in the house all year round. . . .”  His puzzlement gave way as his father smiled with vast relief.

“Would one of you please bring the picture here?” asked Ben.  Brother Andrew retrieved it, handing it to Joe, who nodded.

“That’s her,” he said.  To the monks, he explained, “This was my mother.”

“Well, she’s still very beautiful,” said Brother Thaddeus loyally.

“Thank you,” said Joe.  Relief washed over him.  Except . . . his brow furrowed, and he and his father turned to Adam and Hoss at the same time.

“That explains why these gentlemen thought Joe had a wife,” said Ben.  “But it doesn’t explain you two.  Now, where did you get the idea that your brother had gotten married?”

“Well—y’see, Pa—there was this little redhead over at the saloon—”

“Carrie?”  Joe’s eyes grew round.  “You’re telling me I married Carrie?”

“No, you didn’t marry her—but she said—”  Hoss fumbled for the right words.  It didn’t help when Adam began to laugh.  He laid a hand on Hoss’ arm, but he was laughing so hard that he couldn’t get words out.  “Dadburnit, Adam, cut it out, this is serious.  That little gal said—”

“Think hard for a minute, Younger Brother,” Adam managed, gasping for breath.  “Do you remember what she said?  Not that part,” he added as Hoss fixed him with a look of pure horror at the notion of quoting the girl in front of his father and a bunch of monks.  “What she said about what Joe did after she saw him.”

“She said—she said—”  The light began to dawn.

“She said he went to the church and took vows,” said Adam.  “Seems there are different vows for different men.”  He reached over and tugged at the hood of Brother Dominic’s robe.  “Knowing our brother as we do, we assumed that she meant marriage vows.  We certainly would never have pictured Joe taking the kinds of vows that you gentlemen have taken.”  He winked at his youngest brother, dimples barely showing his vast amusement at the notion of Joe Cartwright taking vows of poverty, chastity or obedience.

“So—Joseph isn’t married?”  Ben was still trying to catch up.

“Not as far as we know,” said Adam.  “Unless there’s something Little Brother hasn’t told us,” he added slyly.

“Pa, believe me, as far as I know, I’m not married to anybody,” said Joe fervently.

“As far as you know,” said his father dryly.  “I can’t tell you how that comforts me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

It took the combined efforts of three Cartwrights and seven monks, but Joe remained in bed, resting and not sustaining any more head injuries, for five whole days after the trial.  On the sixth day, he dressed in his own clothes for the first time in weeks.  He took one last walk around the monastery grounds on his own, committing the place and the men to memory.  Then, he climbed into the wagon with the monks and rode down into town, where his father had rented a buckboard for the trip home.

As Hoss tied Ben’s horse to the back of the buckboard, the men made their farewells.

“Thank you—for everything,” Ben said quietly to Brother Dominic.  “I don’t know what would have happened if it hadn’t been for you gentlemen.”

“It was our privilege,” said Brother Dominic.  He had never had a son, but as he watched Joe, he felt a tug which, he imagined, might be a tiny version of what a father would feel as his son left home.

“You take care of yourself, Brother,” said Brother Andrew.

“You do the same, Brother,” said Joe, shaking the young man’s hand.  There was definitely something about these gentle fellows.  In just a few short weeks, they had indeed come to feel like brothers.

Joe turned to Brother Thomas, clasping the older monk’s hand in both of his own.  “You were right, Brother,” said.  At Brother Thomas’ cocked head, he said, “You said it would all sort itself out.  That morning in the bank, when I couldn’t remember anything and didn’t know what to do.  You took me in and told me that it would all sort itself out.”  Without quite realizing it, Joe had adopted the brothers’ quiet way of filling in the gaps for Brother Thomas.

“And it did,” said Brother Thomas.  “God go with you, Brother.”  A peaceful smile lit the wrinkled face.  He might not remember everything, but he felt certain that he would never forget this nice young man.

Brother Clarence watched thoughtfully as Joe said his goodbyes.  “You know,” he said to Adam.  “He’s got a few rough edges, but in time, I think he’d make a fine monk.”

“Joe?” Adam chuckled.  “I’m not at all sure my little brother really wants to smooth off those particular edges.”  The two men watched as Joe started to climb into the buckboard, then stopped.

“Just a minute, Pa,” he said.  “I see someone I need to say goodbye to.”  Without waiting for an answer, Joe loped across the dusty street toward a petite redhead.  Hoss rolled his eyes at Adam as Joe approached the girl, his most charming smile flashing.  A moment later, the smile was gone, and he was trying to protect himself as she smacked repeatedly him over the head with her handbag and shouted things that made the monks want to cover their ears.

Adam grinned.  “Then again,” he said, “a monastery might just be the safest place for Joe after all.”

The End