Summary:  A WHN for “The Gift.” Sometimes, the hardest ones to forgive are ourselves.

Rated: K  WC  2800

 

                                                           Forgiveness  

 

The clunk of his brothers’ boots on the wooden floor roused Joe from the half-slumber he’d succumbed to after lunch. “Did you get him?” he demanded as he pushed himself to sit up. “Is he all right?” Dizziness tried to claim him, but he grabbed Pa’s arm and hauled himself upright.

“Easy, son,” said Pa, just as he had umpteen times since they’d found Joe in the desert two days earlier. To Hoss and Adam, he said simply, “Well?”

“We got him,” said Adam. “He’s fine.”

“You see? I told you your brothers would take care of everything,” said Pa. “Now, I want you to lie back and get some rest.” He’d said that umpteen times, too.

“I want to see him,” said Joe, ignoring Pa.

“Joseph.” Pa’s voice was gentle, but stern. “You need to rest, boy. We can’t leave Tyson Wells until you’re strong enough to ride.” To Adam and Hoss, he said, “Any problems?”

“Nope,” said Hoss. “I reckon most of ’em had gone out after Wolfe, and when they found his body–well, they probably scattered.”

“So, he was all right?” Joe persisted. He didn’t mean Sam Wolfe.

“He was just fine, Shortshanks,” said Hoss. “You rest up, like Pa says, so’s you’ll be strong enough that we can get out of here.”

“I’m strong enough now,” Joe protested. “I want to see him.” He tried to get out of bed, but Adam pushed him back against his pillow with one dusty finger.

“You can see him later,” Joe’s eldest brother said in that infuriatingly calm voice that made it clear that he didn’t understand, not even a little bit.

“But-”

“Joseph.” Pa’s voice was less gentle this time, more stern. “You get some rest, and I’ll see what I can do about finding us some supper.” He rose from the bedside chair where he’d kept an almost constant vigil over Joe ever since they’d ridden back into Tyson Wells.

“I’m going to wash up,” Adam announced, following Pa out of the room.

When the door closed behind them, Joe sat up again. “I’ve gotta see him.”

“Joe.” Hoss’s voice held that note Joe knew so well, the one that said he knew he shouldn’t go along with his little brother, but in the end, he would anyway. “Pa wants you to stay here an’ rest,” he added as though that meant anything.

“I’m fine. I’ve been resting since Tuesday.” Joe swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his shirt, which hung on the back of Pa’s chair. He swayed a little bit as he surveyed the floor for his boots, but luckily, Hoss didn’t seem to notice. After a few seconds, he spotted his boots in the corner, and he got himself to his feet.

Almost at once, the floor started to buck beneath him, and he sat down heavily on the bed. “Hey, Hoss, get my boots, will you?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Hoss gave him a long, solemn look that said as clearly as words that this was a bad idea. Still, he wasn’t actually refusing, and Joe took this as a good sign. “Little Brother, you need to stay here an’ rest,” Hoss said after a minute.

“I’ll rest after I see him,” Joe promised. “Now, you get my boots, and we can be down and back before Pa and Adam come back.” He half-held his breath, but then he saw in Hoss’s eyes that his big brother understood. For just a second, he felt tears of gratitude and relief well up, but he forced them back. He’d felt all churned up inside ever since Pa found him, but it wouldn’t do to have Hoss thinking he was still a little kid.

Hoss held out the boots, but when Joe reached for them with one hand while clutching the mattress with the other, Hoss frowned. Before Joe could tell him to just hand over the boots, Hoss squatted in front of him. “Gimme your foot,” he growled.

“I can do it–”

“You try to lean over, and you’re gonna fall over. Now, gimme your foot.” Without waiting, Hoss snatched Joe’s foot and crammed the boot on like Joe was four years old again. “Push,” he ordered, and Joe pushed. Moments later, when they’d repeated the ancient ritual with the other boot, Hoss took his arm. “Come on,” he said, half-hauling Joe to his feet.

“I can do it,” Joe tried again, but he swayed and would have fallen if Hoss hadn’t grabbed him.

“Pa’s gonna have both our hides for this,” the big man grumbled. Ordinarily, Joe would have made a smart retort, like how Pa was still so relieved at finding him alive that it was just Hoss’s hide at risk, but staying upright was proving to be harder than he’d figured and it was taking all his concentration to keep walking in a straight line.

Out of the room, down the stairs, and through the short hallway to the doorway. They paused, and Joe squinted into the late afternoon sun that shone on them like those footlights at the opera house. No way Pa and Adam wouldn’t notice them if they were anyplace around.

“I don’t see them,” Hoss announced like Joe had said it aloud. “Let’s go.”

Any other time, Joe would have fussed about how Hoss was holding onto him, but right now, there was a bigger issue, and Joe knew he couldn’t have moved this fast on his own. They hustled across the dusty street and ducked into a large open doorway. It took a few seconds for Joe’s eyes to adjust to the cool darkness, but even before they did, he was asking, “Where is he?”

“Right here.” Hoss walked him farther inside, and then they were there.

“Hey, you.” Joe tried to keep his voice from breaking. He patted the velvety nose as Cochise nuzzled his arm. “You okay? I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you. You okay, fella? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” He turned to Hoss. “You checked him over, right?”

“Before we ever left Wolfe’s place,” Hoss said. He released Joe’s arm, and Joe rested his cheek against the pinto’s neck. “He’s jest fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Joe whispered into the coarse mane. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to leave you there.” He squinched his eyes shut to hold back the tears that threatened to burst out like a river in spring when the ice finally breaks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again and again. “I’m so sorry.”

“All right, let’s go back,” said Hoss. “Pa’s gonna be wondering where you are.”

Joe ignored him, looking instead at the gentle brown eye that regarded him solemnly. “I didn’t mean it,” he said again.

“Come on, Joe, let’s go,” said Hoss. He took Joe’s arm, but Joe couldn’t make himself let go of Cochise’s neck. “Joseph, let’s go,” said Hoss more firmly. “Or else I’m gonna carry you right across that street in front of everybody.”

“You wouldn’t.” But Hoss didn’t look like somebody who wouldn’t, and reluctantly, Joe turned from the horse to his brother. “You make sure he gets plenty of oats,” he instructed. “Probably didn’t get anything at Wolfe’s place.”

“Already taken care of,” said Hoss. He took Joe’s arm, but Joe turned back to the pinto again.

“I’m sorry, boy,” he breathed. The horse nickered softly, and Joe looked away fast to hide the tears that were just about to spill over. “Give me a minute,” he managed, and he knew his voice was giving him away.

For a second, he thought Hoss hadn’t heard him, because his brother started leading him away from the stall, but the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a feed box with Hoss’s strong arm around his shoulders and Hoss pressing a bandana into his hand. “I’m okay,” Joe said, but his voice was thick with tears.

The two sat together, not speaking, until Joe lifted his head and blew his nose. “Okay,” he said, looking up at Hoss. His big brother frowned briefly and stepped outside to the trough, returning moments later with the bandana dripping water. He handed it to Joe, who pressed its coolness against his face. This time, when Joe looked up, Hoss nodded.

“You ready?” Hoss asked.

“I guess.” Joe got to his feet and let Hoss hold on to him as they made their way back to the room.

* * * * *

“You keep brushing that horse, he ain’t gonna have any hair left.”

Joe ignored his brother and kept brushing. Cochise’s coat gleamed like silk in the lantern light. Not the slightest bit of dried mud dirtied his hooves, nor did the tiniest tangle mar his tail or mane. It was no more than such a fine animal deserved.

Hoss settled himself on the feed box as Joe worked. Joe could feel him watching, but it didn’t matter.

It had been nearly three weeks since they’d returned to the Ponderosa. Joe knew Pa and his brothers were getting concerned, but so far, they hadn’t said it straight out to him. He’d heard low voices that broke off abruptly when he came into the room, and at least once a day, somebody asked how he was doing, but none of them had questioned why he was spending so much time in the barn. He’d overheard Adam suggesting that this was Joe’s way of coming to grips with all he’d been through, and he’d snorted quietly, because he knew Adam didn’t understand.

When every inch of the pinto shone, Joe straightened up. “I got something for you,” he said to Cochise as though Hoss wasn’t there. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an apple. “Here you go, boy.” The horse took the treat, chomping noisily, and Joe patted his neck.

He turned away to see Hoss still watching him. “What do you want?”

“I want to know what’s goin’ on,” said the big man with characteristic simplicity.

“What are you talking about?” Joe found himself feeling unexpectedly defensive. It was nobody’s business what he was doing.

Hoss nodded toward the horse. “You figgerin’ on entering him in a rodeo or something?”

“What? Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.” He tucked the brush and currycomb into a pail and hung it on a nail he’d driven in the end of the stall divider.

“Then why’re you spendin’ all your time prettyin’ him up instead of riding him? You ain’t taken him out but two or three times since we got home.”

“What’s wrong with grooming my horse? He works hard, he should be taken care of. I’d think you of all people would understand that.” He stroked the horse’s neck to calm himself. He hadn’t figured on anybody else noticing. It was dumb, he knew it, but somehow he just didn’t feel like he deserved to ride Cochise. Not after what he’d done.

Hoss regarded him for a long minute. Just when Joe thought he was about to leave, Hoss announced, “One of the things I like best about animals is that they don’t hold a grudge.”

“What? What’re you talking about? You been chewin’ some of that loco weed?”

Hoss didn’t seem to hear him. Lazily, just like they were lying on a sunny river bank with their fishing poles, he continued, “Now, a person, he might get all het up if’n he thought you did him wrong, but not an animal. Things that’d make a person madder’n all get out, a critter’ll jest go about his business ’cause he’s got a whole lot more sense than most humans. Mebbe he’ll fuss an’ kick or something right at the time, but in two minutes, it’ll all be over.”

“That ain’t true,” said Joe. “You know it as well as I do. There’s plenty of times you’ve seen horses and dogs that’ve been beaten, and they don’t ever trust people again and they’re not good for anything but to turn ’em loose and let ’em go free so they don’t have to see our type any more.”

Hoss considered this. “I reckon you’re right about that kind of hurtin’,” he said. “But I’m thinkin’ more of when a man does somethin’ where he just don’t have a choice even though he knows the animal won’t like it, and mebbe it’s for the critter’s own good besides–like when we brand calves or break horses. They don’t like it at the time, but they don’t hold a grudge over it, either. They know when we’re doin’ what’s best for them.” He watched Joe until the boy looked down, biting his lip.

“I left him there,” Joe said in a low voice. “I took the white horse, and I rode out, and I left Cochise there and I didn’t have any idea whether I’d ever get back.” Behind him, the horse nickered softly, and he turned to stroke the silky black and white neck.

“You did what you had to do,” Hoss said. “An’ in case you don’t remember, you were all set to go back for him when you couldn’t even stand up by yourself.”

Joe shrugged. He had a vague memory of insisting that he should go back to Wolfe’s place even as Pa half-carried him up the stairs at the fort at Tyson Wells. He’d thought he’d dreamed that, but apparently not.

“You never meant to leave him for good,” Hoss went on. “It was only for a little bit, until you could go back and fetch him.” He let the words settle in the night air before he continued, “‘Sides, that pony couldn’t ever have done what the white horse did, an’ you’d have killed him trying. Mebbe you didn’t know it then, but leavin’ him behind prob’ly saved his life.” He got to his feet and approached Joe and the pinto. “Animals are a whole lot smarter than we give ’em credit for,” he said. “Ol’ Cooch here knew you’d be back for him.”

Hoss reached past Joe to stroke the horse’s velvety muzzle as he added, “There was probably half a dozen horses in that corral, but this feller was standin’ by the fence, watchin’ the trail when we rode in. As soon as he saw us, he started prancin’ around like he’d won a blue ribbon. He was waitin’ for us, Little Brother. ‘Cause he knew you wouldn’t leave him for good.”

Joe swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to leave him,” he said. “But I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up.” He reached up to scratch behind the horse’s ear. “That white horse–he ran his heart out for me-and when I had to shoot him, I looked at him lying there–Hoss, he was so beautiful, you’d have loved him–and I remember thinking that at least Cooch was safe.”

Hoss rested his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “You did the best you could, Little Brother,” he said huskily. “We all know that. All of us,” he added, petting the pinto’s nose.

Joe looked from his brother’s guileless blue eyes to the horse’s quiet brown gaze. Right then, he knew why Hoss always seemed to prefer animals. There was something about them–about the way they trusted a man to do right by them–that made him want to be better, to live up to what they seemed to see in him. Maybe some folks would think he was just being silly, but as he patted the horse’s neck, he couldn’t help feeling like he wanted to be worthy of the faith Cochise had in him.

“You think he’s forgiven me?” Joe asked suddenly.

“Nope,” said Hoss. At his brother’s startled look, he grinned. “‘Cause that pony don’t think anything to forgive you for.” He patted Joe’s shoulder, adding, “We should head inside. It’s gettin’ late.”

Joe nodded. Hoss was right. Cochise wasn’t the one who thought Joe had something to make up for. That notion was all Joe’s own, and it was high time he put it away.

He stroked his horse’s neck. “‘Night, boy,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and we’ll go for a ride.” Silently, he made his promise: I’ll always come back for you. Always.

Just as though he’d heard and understood, the pinto bobbed his head and nickered softly. Joe patted the horse’s neck as Hoss took the lantern from its nail. As the brothers reached the door, Joe heard a soft snort from the far stall, and he chuckled.

Tomorrow, he promised, pulling the barn door closed behind them.

* * * * *

For Jennie and Jersey and all the others who wait at the rainbow bridge. We’ll be coming back for you.

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.