Summary:  A devastating tragedy sends Joe on a quest for answers.

Rated: T  WC  53,000

 

                                              Loving Carrie

 

Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much.

Luke 7:47

 

Part One

Ben Cartwright’s steps were slow and heavy as he approached the closed door.  He raised his hand to knock, then paused.  For a moment, he thought he’d heard something.  He listened intently.  No sound from within.  Not a curse, not a sob.  Not so much as a breath.  Just silence.  He knocked.  No reply.  But then, he hadn’t expected one.

He opened the bedroom door.  “Joseph?”

Joe sat on the edge of the bed.  His tie was draped around his neck, as if he’d forgotten what to do with it.  His boots still lay where they’d been dropped the day before when Hoss had helped him into bed.  His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed.  Blotches adorned his pale complexion.  Only the trembling of his lips betrayed his efforts to maintain control.

“Son,” said Ben.  “It’s time to get going.”  No response.  “Joe, we need to leave.”  Nothing.  Ben sat down next to his son.  “I know,” he murmured.  At last, movement:  Joe closed his eyes.  “Let me help you,” Ben said.  As if the clock had turned back twelve years, he tied Joe’s tie.  The clock turned back further, and Ben knelt before his son, trying to stuff Joe’s feet into his boots.  “You’ve got to help me here, son,” he said.  Joe made only a half-hearted attempt to push his foot into the boot, but years of dressing reluctant little boys stood Ben in good stead, and he was able to finish the job.

He rose, his knees creaking, and placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder.  “Come on, son,” he said.  Joe looked up at his father.  The anguish in his face was so raw that Ben nearly closed his own eyes in defense.  Instead, he drew his son to his feet and laid a protective arm around his shoulders.  He did not tell Joe that everything would be all right.  He had never lied to his son, and he was not about to start now.

Adam and Hoss were waiting in the living room.  Devastation was plain on their faces.  Where they might normally have made jokes or small talk, silence loomed.  Adam handed Joe’s jacket to him, and his youngest brother looked at the garment as if he had been given some completely unfamiliar tool and he had no idea what to do with it.  He stood by the credenza, holding the jacket, until Hoss took it from him and held it for Joe to put on.  After a minute, Joe slid his arms into the sleeves.  Ben resisted the urge to button the jacket for him.

Adam and Hoss had already harnessed the horses to the buggy.  Ben helped his youngest son into the rear seat and joined him there, leaving his elder sons to the front.  Hop Sing settled himself in the back.  Surreptitiously, Ben felt his own jacket pocket.  Good.  He’d remembered his handkerchief.

The familiar drive was much longer than Ben had remembered.  Neither he nor his elder sons tried to make conversation.  Some days, there is no point.  It had been a long time since they had had a day even remotely like this, but it never got easier.

A small group had already gathered at the site.  Their closest friends:  Roy Coffee, Paul and Rose Martin.  Mitch and Kathleen Devlin.  Ruth and Ray Gillam; Ruth’s eyes were red, but she was glaring as they pulled up.  Reverend Abbott.  And Nathaniel Greene, the undertaker, and two of his men.  Ben found that he was grateful for the small turnout.  Fewer people to talk to, to deal with.  Fewer people for Joseph to face.

As Adam reined in the team, Paul and Mitch approached the buggy.  When he met Paul’s eyes, Ben shook his head ever so slightly.  Ever discreet, Paul refrained from comment.  Adam and Hoss disembarked and turned to help their father and brother down.  Ben stepped down and turned to Joe.  For a moment, Joe was motionless, as if unaware that they had arrived.  Then, mechanically, he slid over in the seat and allowed himself to be helped to the ground.  He wavered for a moment, and Ben reached out to him.  His heart ached as he watched his son regain his balance and begin that long walk.  One step, another step.  Joe stopped as if unsure what to do next.  The other men exchanged the briefest of glances before Ben placed his arm around Joe’s shoulders.  As if shepherding an invalid, Ben drew his son forward until they stood together beside the hole Nathaniel Greene’s men had dug early that morning.

When everyone was gathered, Reverend Abbott opened his Bible.  “Friends,” he intoned.  “We are gathered here today to remember Caroline Ann Cartwright.”  At the mention of her name, Ben felt Joe begin to shake.  Hoss and Adam, who already flanked their father and brother, moved even closer, as much to lend physical strength as emotional support.  Hop Sing’s face remained inscrutable, but he clutched Hoss’s sleeve.  Kathleen Devlin pressed her handkerchief to her mouth.  Mitch held her close.  Rose clung to Paul’s arm.  Ray Gillam kept his skinny arm around Ruth’s ample shoulders.  Roy held his hat over his heart.

The service was mercifully brief.  Reverend Abbott cast worried looks at the Cartwrights as he spoke.  When Ben met his eyes and then looked meaningfully at his son, the reverend knew that it was time to close, regardless of whether he was finished.  “Let us pray,” he said.  All heads bowed.  “Merciful Father, we commend to You the soul of our sister, Caroline Ann Cartwright.  Grant to her Your love and peace as You welcome her into Your kingdom, and bestow on those she has left behind Your comfort and strength.  We ask Your special blessing upon her husband, Joseph, and his family.  May You grant them Your peace in this difficult time.  Amen.”

Nathaniel Greene and his men moved forward.  The pine coffin had lain by the graveside throughout the service.  Now, they maneuvered it into the hole more smoothly than Ben would have thought possible.  Nathaniel met Ben’s eyes questioningly.  When Ben did not shake his head, Nathaniel approached Joe to hand him the spade.  Joe did not take it; it was not clear if he even saw the undertaker standing before him.  After a moment, Nathaniel nodded and stepped away.  He and his men would finish the job after the mourners left.

At that, the crowd broke formation, but no one seemed quite certain what to do.  Kathleen kissed Joe on the cheek, and Mitch shook his hand.  “You’re staying at your pa’s?” asked Mitch in a low voice.

When Joe did not respond, Hoss said, “Yep.”

“I’ll stop by next week,” said Mitch, more to Hoss than to Joe.  Hoss nodded their appreciation.  Mitch shook the hands of the other Cartwright men before he led his wife back to their carriage.

Rose laid a hand on Joe’s cheek.  She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.  She turned tear-filled eyes to Ben, who clasped her hand.  As she moved to Adam and Hoss, Paul slipped Ben an envelope.  At Ben’s questioning glance, he murmured, “Sleeping powders.  I imagine you could all use them.”  He shook his head.  “She was a beautiful girl,” he said, softly enough that Joe could not hear.  “I wish. . . .”  Ben nodded.  They both knew what the doctor wished.

Then, Ben found himself face to face with Ruth Gillam.  Her small brown eyes were teary, but her lips trembled.  She almost seemed more angry than grief-stricken.  Ray was holding firmly to her arm, and Ben shot him a quick look of gratitude.  “I’m sorry,” Ben said to her.  “I know how much you cared about her.”

“She was a good girl,” said Ruth as though someone had challenged the point.  She looked defiantly at Joe, but all he could do was to raise his head.  As his eyes met hers, Ben saw something in her face soften, as though she had been forced to recognize that Joe had loved Carrie, too.  “I’ll write to her kin,” Ruth said, more to Joe than to Ben.  She and Ray were gone before Ben could ask whom she intended to write to and what she would say.

Roy Coffee stepped forward then to lay his hand over Joe’s.  He had no children of his own, and in a secret corner of his heart, he’d always thought of the Cartwright boys as the sons he’d never known.  To see the young man he’d known from infancy in such agony was almost more than he could stand.  He wanted to tell Joe that, no matter what he thought, it wasn’t his fault.  Nobody could have seen this coming.  Roy shook hands with Adam and Hoss.  When his eyes met Ben’s, the two old friends felt the tears swell.

Reverend Abbott was the last.  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked quietly.

Ben shook his head.  “Thank you,” he murmured.

Joe roused himself slightly from his stupor.  “Thank you,” he echoed.

The reverend clasped Joe’s hand.  “If you ever want to talk . . . .”  He let the offer trail off.

“Thank you,” said Ben when it became clear that Joe had exhausted his store of social graces.

Finally, when no one remained except the undertaker and his men, Ben guided his youngest son back to the buggy.  Hoss assisted first his younger brother, and then his father, into the rear seat.  Hop Sing resumed his seat in the rear of the buggy.  Then, Hoss hoisted himself into the front.  When Adam joined him, they headed back to the house as silently as they’d come.

In the yard, Adam helped Joe down from the buggy seat, releasing his arm only when Hoss came around that side.  As though helping an invalid, Hoss and Hop Sing flanked Joe as they made their way into the house.  Once they were out of earshot, Adam said, “Hoss and I thought we’d go over to the house.”

“What for?”  The thought turned Ben’s stomach.

“Pick up some more of Joe’s things,” said Adam.  “Clean the place up.  He’ll want to go back in there at some point.  It needs to be scrubbed down before he does.”

“You don’t have to do anything today,” said Ben.  “He’ll be fine for a few days at least.”

Adam was silent.  “She was our sister-in-law,” he said finally, his voice tight.

Sister-in-law.  Daughter-in-law.  Wife.  Deceased.  How had Carrie gone from a beautiful young woman to a series of labels?  From being the love of Joe’s life to a mere memory, destined to fade?  From living in the cottage in a sunny meadow to lying in a pine box in the dark, cold ground?  How had daily life, with its secrets and lies—and truth—become too much to bear?

Ben realized that Adam was still waiting for his answer.  He nodded, his throat thick with tears.  “Don’t be late for dinner,” he said hoarsely.

Ben found Hoss and Joe in Joe’s old room.  Joe was sitting on the bed, his gaze was turned inward as though seeing one who was no longer there.  He didn’t seem to realize where he was, much less that Hoss was pulling his boots off and murmuring, “That’s better.  Let’s get that tie off you, too.  Then you can try and rest for a little while.”  He undid Ben’s earlier handiwork, dropping the tie on the night table.

As Hoss unbuttoned the top buttons of Joe’s white shirt, Ben’s breath caught.  It shouldn’t be surprising, though.  Of course, Joe would wear his best shirt.  Adam had retrieved clothes from Joe’s house the night before, and it made perfect sense that he’d have brought that one for today.  It had been his gift to his little brother on Joe’s nineteenth birthday, made specially by a tailor in San Francisco, and it was the only custom-made shirt Joe had ever owned.  Ben didn’t recall the particular type of fabric, only that it was exotic and expensive.  Joe had preened like a peacock the first time he saw it in the mirror.

“The ladies won’t be able to keep their hands off me now!” he crowed.  The others just laughed, but the truth was that he did look like the finest of gentlemen in that shirt.  It came out only on very, very special occasions, and when it did, Joe always held himself just a little straighter.

Even in his grieving stupor, Joe had reached for that shirt.  It was probably the one he’d  worn the first time he took her out.  He’d worn it to marry Carrie, and now to bury her.  Ben fought a sudden urge to rip the shirt off his back right then and there, to tuck it and all the memories it carried away in the back corner of a bottom drawer against the day that any of them could bear to see it again.

Now, as Hoss assisted Joe, Ben poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bureau and dissolved one of Paul’s powders into it.  He tried to wrap Joe’s hand around the glass, but the glass nearly fell as Ben drew his hand back.  He steadied the glass, guiding it to Joe’s lips.  “Drink this, son,” he murmured.  Obediently, Joe drank.

Hoss reached past his father to take the glass.  “You get some rest now, Little Brother,” he said, the gruffness in his voice belying his own pain.  But Joe remained upright, unmoving, until Hoss pushed slightly at his shoulder.  “Just lie down,” he said, and after a moment, Joe obeyed.

Ben drew the coverlet over him.  He didn’t know if Joe would need to be told to close his eyes or if the young man was so far removed from the room that it wouldn’t matter anyway.  Ben would almost have preferred the devastated grieving of the day before.  He needn’t have worried; Joe lay unmoving, so silent that he might already have been asleep.  As the sleeping powder began to do its work, Joe’s eyes took longer to open with each blink until finally, they stayed closed.  The only sign that he was not resting comfortably was his hands.  Even in sleep, they clutched at the coverlet, knuckles white as they crushed the fabric.

Hoss turned to Ben.  “Pa. . . .”  His voice broke.

“Adam told me what you’re doing,” Ben said in a low voice.  “Go ahead.  I’ll stay here with him.”

With one final look toward the bed, Hoss left the room.  Ben watched him go.  Then, he sat in the chair by his sleeping son’s bed, his fingers smoothing and re-smoothing Joe’s tie.

How had it ever come to this?

*******

One year earlier

The young woman in the brown traveling dress stepped cautiously off the stage.  Strands of wispy blond hair escaped from the careful knot.  Large brown eyes looked anxiously up and down the street.

“Miss?  Where do you want your trunk?” asked the stage driver.

“I—I don’t know, sir.  The Gillams were supposed to meet me here.”  She looked up and down the street again, her fair complexion growing more pale.

The driver climbed up on the stage and untied the trunk.  He jumped down, then reached up and pulled it off the top of the coach.  He dropped it unceremoniously by the stage office.  “They’ll be able to pick it up when they get here,” he said, tipping his hat to her.

“But—where are you going?”  She was doing her best to disguise her fear, but she was growing more frantic by the moment.  “This is Virginia City, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said the driver, climbing back up on the seat.  “I’ve gotta be in Carson City by sundown.  Good day, miss.”  With that, he clucked to the team and drove off.

The young woman stood on the sidewalk, her hand to her throat.  The street swam before her.  Dear God, just don’t let me faint, she prayed silently.  Where were the Gillams?  What had happened?  How was it that she was standing on a strange street in an unknown town with no one she knew?  She felt her eyes fill with tears and fumbled in her satchel for a handkerchief.  She couldn’t cry.  Not here, in front of everybody.  As she dabbed at her eyes, a voice at her elbow asked, “Is everything all right, ma’am?”

She turned to see a handsome young man in a green jacket that matched his eyes.  His face was kind, his slight frown concerned.  Immediately, she felt better.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “Please forgive me.  I’m just very tired from the journey.”

The young man smiled then.  It was a nice smile.  It looked real, as though he wanted to help her rather than simply charm her.  “Are you meeting someone?” he asked.

She smiled gratefully.  “The Gillams,” she said.  “Only, as you see, they’re not here.”

“Maybe not, but I am,” said the young man.  He extended his hand.  “Joe Cartwright.”

“Caroline Mulrooney,” she replied, taking his hand.  She half-expected him to kiss her hand, but he merely held it for a moment.

“Well, Miss Mulrooney, I don’t know where the Gillams are, but perhaps I can offer you some refreshment while you wait?”

Carrie felt herself relaxing into his care.  She opened her mouth to accept his kind offer.

“Carrie!  Carrie!  There you are!  I’m so sorry we’re late!”  Ruth Gillam bustled up the street, waving her handkerchief and huffing as if she were making the most enormous effort.  Ray Gillam, as skinny as his wife was not, followed behind her.  Ray rarely spoke.  Most folks thought it was because he didn’t get much of a chance.

As the Gillams reached them, Joe tipped his hat to Ruth.  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Gillam, Ray,” he said.  Carrie smiled.  Nice manners.

“Oh, my dear, you must have been so worried when we weren’t here to meet you!”  Mrs. Gillam wrapped her plump arms around Carrie, nearly smothering the girl in her ample bosom.

“I was fine, really,” said Carrie.  Over Mrs. Gillam’s shoulder, she caught Joe’s eye.  He was trying to keep a straight face.  Definitely nice.  As Mrs. Gillam released Carrie, only the twinkle in his eye told her that they were still sharing the joke.

“Well, let’s get you home,” said Mrs. Gillam, taking Carrie’s arm.  “Ray, take care of Carrie’s luggage, will you?”

“I can take care of that for you, ma’am,” Joe offered.  “I’ve got the buckboard right over there.”

“Well, isn’t that lovely!”  To Carrie, Mrs. Gillam added, “Little Joe has turned out to be such a fine young man.  You’d never have expected it when he was younger, he was such a little rapscallion, always getting in trouble everywhere, but now look at him.  As fine and upstanding as his father and brothers!  It just goes to show, you really can’t tell about a person until they’re grown, can you?”

“No, I don’t suppose you can,” said Carrie.  This time, the twinkle lit her eyes.

“Now, Carrie’s going to be staying with us, so you just bring her luggage along to our house, Little Joe,” instructed Mrs. Gillam.  If she noticed or cared how he cringed at the nickname, she gave no sign.

“I’ll do that,” he said.  “Is this everything?” he added, gesturing to the trunk.

“Yes, Little Joe,” Carrie replied, dimples showing.  He made a mock stern face at her, and she giggled as Mrs. Gillam swept her off toward the house, her bony husband following along behind.

As Mrs. Gillam chattered, Carrie found herself thinking of Joe.  He was undeniably attractive.  More important, he seemed like a kind, caring person.  She wondered how he would feel if he knew about her.  She pushed the question out of her mind.  If he loved her, nothing else would matter.  Jonathan hadn’t felt that way, but Jonathan clearly hadn’t loved her.  She was better off without him.  Granted, she hadn’t felt that way at first, but now that she was here and handsome Joe Cartwright was bringing her trunk, she could believe that she might be better off without an insensitive, selfish boor like Jonathan Walzer.

Mrs. Gillam led her up the walk and across the porch of the white clapboard house.  Carrie forced herself to focus on her hostess’s monologue as they entered the house.  She hadn’t realized that the Gillams were so well off.  Cut-glass lamps graced small tables in corners.  Rich brocade draperies hung at the windows.  Thick, ornately patterned rugs provided warmth and color against the highly-polished wooden floors.  Graceful chairs and a settee, all upholstered in polished cotton, were assembled in conversational groupings.  The round dining table glowed with years of careful polishing.  A silver bowl of flowers sat at its center.

Carrie immediately became aware of the hem that she’d turned up to hide its frayed edge.  Her shoes, though hidden beneath that hem, showed signs of wear.  Her gloves were dirty from the trip.  The dust of the road still coated her hat.  She felt her heart beat faster.  She hadn’t realized how inadequately prepared she was to be here.

A knock at the door startled her.  She turned to see Joe with her trunk.  “Where would you like me to put this?” he asked.

“Oh, Little Joe, you can put it upstairs in Carrie’s room,” said Mrs. Gillam.  “Come along, I’ll show you.”  Carrie wondered for a moment if she should go with them.  On the one hand, it was her room, and she hadn’t yet seen it.  On the other hand, she simply couldn’t be in her bedroom with a young man, even if Mrs. Gillam was also there.  She pretended to fuss with the flowers in the silver bowl until they came back down the stairs.  She sensed Joe looking at her questioningly, but she pretended that the flowers were absorbing all of her attention.

“Miss Mulrooney?”  He was standing at her elbow.  She looked up and smiled pleasantly, but not eagerly.  “I was wondering if you might permit me to take you to dinner tomorrow night,” Joe said.

Carrie’s smile became genuine.  Tomorrow night.  How perfect he was:  enough time to allow her to rest from her trip, but not so long as to raise a question about whether he truly wanted to see her.  “I’d love to,” she said.

“Until tomorrow night, then,” he said, tipping his hat.  “Goodbye, Mrs. Gillam, Ray,” he added.  Carrie remained by the table, fussing with the flowers until she heard the door close behind him.

*******

“I don’t know about this.”  Ruth Gillam paced back and forth across the parlor.  “That Cartwright boy has quite a reputation.  I think I should chaperone them.  After all, better safe than sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  Ray rolled his eyes.  “Carrie’s as safe with Joe Cartwright as she’d be with you or me.”

“But what about her reputation?  If we allow her to go out unchaperoned, what will people think?”

“I expect they’ll think she’s a grown woman,” Ray said.  He turned to Carrie, who had been sitting wordlessly on the settee.  “What do you think, Carrie?  Do you want to have dinner alone with this man?”

Carrie swallowed hard.  “Well . . . do you think it’s all right?”

“Yes,” said Ray.

“No,” said Ruth at the same time.

“It’s not as though she’s got kin here to protect her,” said Ruth.  “We’re all she’s got, and we’re bound to do right by her.”

“And we are,” said Ray.  “The Cartwrights are good people.  She couldn’t be in better hands.  Besides, it’s not like Little Joe’s going to take her off to Genoa or something.  They’re just going to have dinner right here in town.  Isn’t that what he said?”

“He said dinner.”  Carrie hated how timid her voice sounded.  She wanted to be—well, not like Mrs. Gillam, but able to speak up for herself better.  Sometimes, she felt as if she’d spent her whole life being taken care of.  Not that this was a bad thing, but she’d always admired people like Edie, who could stand up for other people.  Maybe that kind of thing was just easier in a small town like Bushnell Flats, where everybody knew everybody.  Virginia City seemed to be large and loud and dusty, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was as scared as she was fascinated.  Not that she’d been outside much yet, but when she and Mrs. Gillam had walked over to the mercantile to order supplies, she’d heard rough voices all around.  Right in front of them, two men had come tumbling out the batwing doors of the saloon, cussing and pummeling each other without the slightest regard for anyone else.  Mrs. Gillam had simply taken Carrie’s arm and walked her around them, shaking her head, but Carrie couldn’t help looking back to see if they were still fighting.  As she watched, another man came out and shouted at them, hauling them back inside.  Turning back, Carrie nearly bumped into a post, but luckily, Mrs. Gillam didn’t seem to notice.

So, yes, part of her would have been more comfortable with someone else joining them for dinner, but there was that other part of her. . . .  She thought of his kind eyes, and her heart fluttered in that delicious way it had the first time Jonathan smiled at her.

“I don’t need a chaperone,” she said.  Joe Cartwright would never hurt her.  She was certain of it.

“Then it’s settled,” said Ray.

“But—” Ruth began, but Ray gave her a look that Carrie didn’t understand, and the large woman turned on her heel and left with a loud “Hmmpf!”

“Don’t mind Ruth,” said Ray.  “She takes her responsibilities a mite too serious sometimes, but she has a fine heart.  Your mama was a good friend to her, and she doesn’t forget that.”

Carrie smiled.  The truth was that she barely remembered her mother, but she’d heard so many stories about her over the years that sometimes she felt like she recalled more than she did.

Later that evening, as she and Joe Cartwright sat in a lovely little restaurant, she said as much when he asked where her folks lived.  He looked almost stunned for a second, and then a smile of understanding broke over his face.  “That’s sort of how it is for me, too,” he admitted.  “My mother died when I was about five, but I’ve heard my pa and brothers talk about her so much that sometimes I can’t tell what I remember and what they’ve told me.”  His eyes glowed in the lamplight, and Carrie felt a quick catch in her throat.

“It must have been wonderful to grow up with a pa, though.”  She looked down for a second; even now, the thought could sometimes overwhelm her.  You were lucky, she reminded herself.  She’d had Edie and her brothers, who were almost like her own brothers, as well as Edie’s husband who was almost like a pa.  She’d even had Mrs. Gillam for a short time back when she was Ruth Swenson, before she’d married Ray Gillam and moved away; Mrs. Gillam hadn’t lived with them, of course, and six-year-old Carrie had been intimidated by her booming voice and manner, but she’d always known that Mama’s friends were looking out for her.  So, she’d had lots of family, even if she hadn’t actually had parents.

When she looked up, Joe was peering at her.  “Are you okay?” he asked.

Flustered, she nodded.  “What do you think we should order?” she asked, as much to change the subject as to redirect her thoughts from the way she suddenly felt when she looked at him.  The feelings were catching her entirely by surprise, and she wasn’t quite certain what to make of them.  A rush of heat in her body made her very, very aware of the fact that Joe Cartwright was not just sweet, but handsome.  His thick curls were barely tamed with hair oil, his skin hadn’t yet been tanned to leather by years of hard work in the sun, and thick lashes that fringed his green eyes.  Even under his crisp white shirt—she wondered who kept his clothes so nice in that all-man household—she could see that he was lean and yet muscular.  His lips were parted just a bit, and for the first time in her life, Carrie wanted nothing more than to nibble on a man’s lower lip.  She bowed her head, blushing furiously.

“Carrie, what is it?  Do you feel all right?”  His hand touched hers, and she thought for a moment that she was going to swoon right there.

“I’m fine,” she said, nodding vigorously.  “Really, I’m fine.”

“Would you like some water?  Or maybe we could go outside and get some fresh air, and eat later?”  He was already getting to his feet.

“Some water, please.”  Dusk was falling outside.  The last thing she needed was to place her hand on his strong arm as they walked outside.  She’d probably fall right down at the mere touch.  Worse, she might lose all control and take advantage of the growing dark to kiss him, and then he’d think she was fast and he’d never come calling again.

Vaguely, she heard Joe calling the waiter and asking for some water for “the lady.”  Oh, dear heavens, she thought as he took the glass from the waiter and set it down carefully by her plate.  If she wasn’t careful, she would fall in love right here and now, before she’d even been in town for two days.  She’d heard about girls who thought that the way to get over one man was to fall in love with another, but she’d never been like that.  Jonathan had been her first love, or so she’d thought.  Now, as she allowed Joe Cartwright to hand her a glass of water, she accepted it with a tremulous smile of thanks and knew that she’d never been in love before.

He kept the conversation light over dinner, and she was grateful.  He told her funny stories about life on a ranch, and when she laughed, his beautiful boyish grin widened.  If he was being careful not to ask personal questions, he disguised that care with concerns about whether she’d enjoyed her dinner and whether she might like dessert.  She said yes, not because she wanted anything more to eat, but because she didn’t want the evening to end.

Eventually, though, she looked up to find that they were the last people in the restaurant.  “I suppose I should be getting you home,” Joe said, and he sounded reluctant, as though he didn’t want to let her go.

“I suppose so,” she agreed, and while she tried to hide the reluctance in her own voice, his smile told her that she hadn’t succeeded and he was glad.

Outside, she took his arm, and they strolled down the board sidewalk.  The noise from the saloons didn’t seem nearly as scary as it had in daylight with Mrs. Gillam.  With Joe Cartwright by her side, she didn’t need to be afraid of anything.  She just knew it.

Too soon, though, they reached the Gillams’ house.  He escorted her up the two steps to the porch.  “I had a wonderful evening,” he said.  “Thank you for letting me take you to dinner.”

She felt herself blushing.  “I did, too,” she said.  “Thank you so much.”

Then, he said the thing she’d wanted most to hear:  “May I see you again?”

She knew that she should put him off.  She shouldn’t be eager.  She should make him work.  But all those games felt silly and artificial.  Her feelings were real, and if being honest about them would make him go away, then it was better to know now.

“Yes,” she said.  His eyes met hers, and her heart pounded at the thought that he might kiss her.  She knew that if he did, she should slap his face, but she couldn’t imagine doing such a thing.

“Carrie?  Is that you?” came Ruth Gillam’s voice from inside.

For a moment, they froze as though they’d been caught doing something wrong.  Then, at the same instant, they were both overtaken with giggles that they tried unsuccessfully to smother.  “Yes, Mrs. Gillam,” she called as soon as she could speak.

“Is that Cartwright boy with you?” Ruth Gillam demanded.  Her large silhouette was clearly visible on the other side of the curtains.

“Yes, Mrs. Gillam,” Joe echoed, his eyes dancing.

“Well, Carrie, you just send that boy home and come inside.”  They could practically hear her crossing her arms, prepared to stand there until she was obeyed.

“Yes, Mrs. Gillam,” Carrie said.  She lowered her voice, and her giggles faded.  “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Joe.”  She held out her hand, and when he picked it up and kissed it briefly, she thought she might faint from pure happiness.

“Dinner on Saturday?” he half-whispered.

“Yes.  Good night, Joe.”  She gave his fingers the slightest squeeze and let herself inside.  As she turned to close the door, she saw him still standing on the porch, and he touched the brim of his hat in farewell as she closed the door.  She leaned against the painted wood, listening as his boots clacked against the porch steps.

Then, she looked up to see Mrs. Gillam standing, arms crossed.  Carrie couldn’t tell whether she looked stern or worried, but at that moment, she didn’t care.  “Good night, Mrs. Gillam,” she said, floating up the stairs to dream of Joe Cartwright and Saturday.

*******

“Hey, Joe!  Pay attention, will you?” snapped Adam.

“I’m paying attention!” retorted Joe.  To prove it, he flipped the little bull calf and held it firmly while Hoss branded it and Adam castrated it.  Then, he released the calf, and as it ran, bleating, back to its mother, he took a second to think about Carrie.

He hadn’t said anything about her to his family, but they knew there must be a new girl in his life.  Extra trips to town, distraction, the occasional goofy grin—the Cartwrights knew when Joe had fallen in love.  Not that it was unusual—Adam had once joked that Joe could fall in love three times in a day without breaking a sweat.

But this time, it was different.  There was something special about Carrie.  She was so lovely, so sweet, so innocent.  And yet, there was a look in her eyes that said that she knew what it was to be hurt badly, and she was going to try to protect herself.  Don’t you worry, he wanted to tell her.  I’ll never hurt you.  His family would have said he was being ridiculous.  He’d only known her for four days, but he knew deep in his soul that he wanted to hold her, to protect her, to take care of her.  To marry her.  To raise a family with her.  To grow old with her.

He’d dropped by the Gillams’ the day before when he was in town to pick up supplies.  As he raised his hand to knock on the door, he heard an ethereal voice singing with a piano that sounded as if it had been made just to accompany her.  It couldn’t be Ruth Gillam.  There was no way that such a sound could have come out of a woman who looked that much like Hoss.  He stood on the porch, listening.  When the song ended, he took a deep breath and knocked, and when Carrie opened the door, the slightly flustered expression on her face revealed that she knew she’d been heard.

“Joe!”  Her voice was slightly breathless.  “Won’t you come in?”

His fingers played with the brim of his hat as he stepped into the entry hall.  “I can’t stay long, but I wanted to say hello while I was in town.”  He felt like a schoolboy.  She was so delicate, so sweet, and with just a bit of spice like when she giggled at Ruth Gillam’s bellowing.  And now . . . he remembered hearing Adam talk about hearing someone who sang like an angel, but he hadn’t really been able to imagine what that would sound like.  Now, he knew.  Her voice was pure and clear as a sparkling mountain spring reflecting the sunlight.  The tiniest bit of pink colored her cheek.  More to buy time than anything else, he asked, “Was that you singing?”

The pink in her cheeks deepened.  “Yes,” she murmured, looking down.

He wanted to say something eloquent and poetic, the way Adam would have.  Something to let this gentle young woman know that he had manners and refinement, that he wasn’t just another dusty cowboy.  Instead, he blurted, “That was the prettiest thing I ever heard.”

“It was nothing.”  He could barely hear her now.  It was like she didn’t believe him, like she thought he was just saying it to be nice.

“Sure it was.  I’ve heard a lot of singing in my life, but I ain’t never heard anybody who sings like you.”  He could have kicked himself.  Hadn’t Pa and Adam been correcting his ain’t nevers for his whole life?  Now she was bound to think he was just another uneducated jasper.  He cast around frantically for something sophisticated and insightful to say as the silence between them lengthened, but nothing presented itself.  “Well, I should get going,” he said finally.  “But I’ll see you on Saturday?”  He waited until she nodded, and then he touched the brim of his hat and mumbled a farewell as he let himself out.  After the door closed behind him, he stood on the porch, listening, but he didn’t hear her singing again.  Finally, he just headed back over to the feed store to pick up the order.

He couldn’t go back into town on Friday because there was branding to be done, but he’d written her a note and slipped it to Hop Sing after breakfast.  It wasn’t the first time the little Chinese man had played courier for Joe, although when Joe mentioned Ruth Gillam, Hop Sing looked apprehensive.  “You just have to give Carrie the note,” Joe reassured him.  “You don’t even have to talk to Ruth.”  He’d sat up half the night trying to come up with something to say that would let her know that he really had liked her singing, and while he wasn’t certain that the finished product was any better than what he’d said in her front hall, hopefully she’d appreciate the fact that he’d tried.

“Little Joe!  Wake up!”  Hoss’ hat smacked him on the head.  Carrie’s sweet voice faded in Joe’s mind, drowned out by the lowing of cattle, the shouting and cussing of cowboys, the beating of hooves against the packed dirt, and his brothers’ laughter.

Adam rolled his eyes.  To Hoss, he said, “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

Hoss grinned.  “I reckon there’s a new filly in town.”

“Looks as if she’s got our little brother hog-tied already,” said Adam.

“Very funny,” said Joe.  “Come on, let’s get this finished.”  Because Hop Sing might be back, and I’ve got to see what Carrie thought of my note.  He reached for the next calf.  As he leaned over and started to flip it, a ball of fire seemed to explode in his back.  He couldn’t keep back a yell, and he dropped the calf’s feet as he grabbed for his back.

“Joe!  You all right?”  He could feel Hoss holding him up.  “You get kicked?”

“My back,” he managed.  Two years ago, Joe had wrenched his back in a particularly nasty fall from a bronc.  Since then, there had been two other times when a simple movement, such as turning the wrong way, had left him paralyzed with sudden, blinding agony.  The last time had been just two days before Christmas; Joe had ended up in bed with so much laudanum that he’d barely known the day arrived.

“What do you need?”  Adam’s voice was calm and controlled, the concern and sympathy vibrating underneath the simple words.

“Down.”  Speaking, moving, thinking—it all felt white-hot and violent.  As carefully as they could, Adam and Hoss helped him to lie flat on the ground.  He could hear them talking, but he could barely understand them.  It was worse this time than it had ever been.  He bit his lip to keep from crying out, and he felt Adam’s capable hand on his shoulder as though his brother understood.

“Hoss has gone for the buckboard,” Adam said.  “He’ll be right back, and then we can get you home.  Jake’s already gone for the doctor, and he’ll probably meet us back at the house.”

Joe nodded ever so slightly to let his brother know he’d heard.  As if at a great distance, he could hear cattle lowing and men shouting and Adam calling out that Joe was all right and they should just get on with the branding.  He closed his eyes, and Adam wiped his face with a wet bandanna.

It seemed forever before Hoss arrived.  Slowly, carefully, they moved him onto a blanket and four men lifted it by its corners to maneuver him into the buckboard.  “Now, don’t you move,” said Hoss, as if Joe could have.  He bit his lip as they jostled him, but even when he could taste salty blood, he managed not to make a sound.

“Little Brother, I’m gonna take it easy as much as I can,” Hoss promised.  He’d gathered some pillows to help to cushion Joe, but moving him to put them underneath him caused so much pain that it almost wasn’t worth it.  Adam stayed in the back, trying to keep Joe from getting bounced around too much as Hoss focused on avoiding ruts and rocks.  Sometimes, when they hit a particularly hard bump, Joe couldn’t help crying out.  If he’d felt any less miserable, he’d have been embarrassed, but as it was, he couldn’t even make himself care.

It seemed forever before Hoss drew the team to a halt.  “We’re home, Joe,” Adam said.  Hoss was calling for Pa, and two of the men rode into the yard behind them to help get Joe upstairs.  He knew they all meant well, so he just squinched his eyes shut to hold back tears as each movement jarred him, sending fiery waves of torture through his body.

They laid him on the bed, and he let down his guard.  It was a mistake.  When they tugged at his boot, he couldn’t help himself.  “Stop!”  Panic broke his voice, and he gripped the mattress as hard as he could, but tears spilled over.  Mortified, he blocked his face with his hand.  He heard voices, and then the door closed.

“It’s okay, Joe, it’s just us,” said Adam.  He stroked his brother’s forehead as he added over his shoulder, “Hoss, just cut his boots off.”  At another time, Joe would have protested, but now, he just lay with his eyes closed, tensed against the onslaught of pain that bombarded him every time he even drew breath.

They undressed him down to his drawers, turned him on his stomach, and drew the quilt up over him.  Hop Sing brought up the long, flat irons he used for pressing clothes, heated and well-wrapped in towels, and he laid them with infinite gentleness on Joe’s back.  “This help back not be so hard,” he said.  He looked from Adam to Hoss.  “Hop Sing bring medicine?”

“Not yet,” said Adam.  “If he takes the laudanum now, he’s not going to be able to tell Doc anything when he arrives.”

Hop Sing nodded somberly.  It tore at his heart to see Little Joe suffering like this.  He’d known the boy since the day he was born, and in his secret heart of hearts, he felt toward the youngest Cartwright as he might have toward a son of his own.  He rested his fingertips feather-light on the back of Joe’s neck and murmured something in his native tongue that Hoss and Adam didn’t understand, but Joe did, and he nodded ever so slightly.

The door opened, and Ben Cartwright stood stockstill, taking in the scene.  “What happened?” he demanded in a low voice.

Quickly, Adam recounted the events of the morning and what had been done so far to ease his brother’s torment.  “The doctor’s on his way,” he finished, stepping back to allow his father to see Joe.

Ben moved to his youngest son’s side.  “How’re you feeling, son?”

“Pa,” Joe managed, but his voice cracked even on that single syllable.

Ben pulled the bedside chair close so that he could put his face down next to Joe’s.  “You’re going to be all right,” he said, resting his fingers on the boy’s cheekbone.  “This is the same thing that happened at Christmas, remember?  A few days in bed, and you were just fine.  It’s the same thing again.  You’re going to have a few rough days, and then you’ll just take it easy for a little while, and you’ll be as good as new.”  Joe was biting his lower lip, and Ben stroked his cheek to try to ease the tension in the young face.  “I know you’re hurting, son,” he said.  “As soon as Doc gets here, we’ll be able to give you some painkiller, and you can go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” whispered Joe.  He didn’t say more, but Ben could hear the unspoken words:  it hurts so bad. 

Ben bowed his head to hold Joe’s hand against his cheek.  He felt the boy’s fingers curl around his.  He moved again to where Joe could see him.  “Close your eyes, son,” he said.  “Try to rest.  The doctor will be here soon, I promise.”  Obediently, Joe closed his eyes, and Ben stroked his hair in an effort to help him relax.  There was nothing worse than watching his son suffer.  It was one part of being a father that he’d never gotten used to.

Another two hours crawled by before Doc Martin entered the room.  Hop Sing’s irons had been reheated and replaced, interspersed with hot, wet towels.  The doctor felt up and down Joe’s back, pressing as lightly as he could while still garnering the necessary information and taking particular note of the spots that made Joe gasp.  He asked a few questions, looking solemn at the answers but making no comment.

Finally, he pulled the covers up over Joe.  He poured laudanum into a spoon and maneuvered two spoonfuls between Joe’s lips.  Grimly, Ben noted that the boy looked positively relieved at the introduction of the medicine that he normally hated above all else, claiming that it made him feel as if his head were stuffed with hay and wrapped in blankets.  Doc gestured with a nod for the others to join him in the hall, drawing the door closed behind them.

“At least he’ll sleep for a while now,” said the doctor.  “If the hot irons and the towels are giving him some relief, keep them up.  Make sure he stays flat and doesn’t move any more than absolutely necessary—not that that’s likely to be a problem for the next few days.  Give him two spoonfuls of the laudanum every six hours, and don’t get behind if you can help it.”  He put on his hat.  “If he isn’t better in a couple days, let me know.”

“That’s it?”  Adam raised a skeptical eyebrow.  “That’s all you’re going to do?”

“Adam,” remonstrated his father.

“That’s all I can do,” said the doctor.  “It’s like I said last time.  Joe’s probably going to have this kind of problems for the rest of his life.  Being careful will help, but the fact is that people with bad backs sometimes find that even some silly little thing that normally isn’t a problem will trigger a situation like this.  The only thing you can do for him is keep him still and give him the pain medicine and whatever else you find that helps, like the irons or the hot towels.  Believe me, I wish there were more I could do, but right now, the best thing you can do is to keep him sedated and let him sleep through it as much as possible.  If he’s awake, he’s liable to keep tensing up against the pain, and that’s only going to prolong the problem.  The more he sleeps, the more chance that those muscles will be able to relax and whatever’s flared up will have a chance to heal.”

Sleeping through it as much as possible meant that Joe was barely conscious for the next couple of days.  He swallowed the spoonfuls of broth his father maneuvered into his mouth, and he groaned and gripped his brothers’ arms as they shifted him so that he could attend to his personal needs, but apart from that, the painkiller kept him mercifully oblivious.  When the day came that he awoke and moved with pain that was more of an ache than a stab, a bleary smile crossed his face.

“Well, the sleeping beauty is finally waking up,” smiled Ben.  He pushed back the unruly curls from his son’s face.  “How do you feel?”

“Like I had a big night in town with too much whiskey,” said Joe.  He started to try to turn over onto his back, but he caught his breath and dropped back down on his belly.

“Let’s just take it slow,” cautioned his father.  “You’re not going anywhere anyway.  From what Doc says, it’s going to take some time before you’re ready to be up and around.”

“But I’ll be okay for the drive to St. Louis.”  It was a statement rather than a question, but Ben shook his head anyway.

“From the looks of things, you may not even be out of bed by then.”  The cattle drive was still two weeks away, but Ben felt confident that the doctor would back his opinion that Little Joe would most definitely not be recovered enough to ride in only two weeks.

“Not out of bed?”  Joe squinted.  There was some reason other than the obvious ones that that wasn’t sitting right with him.  “How long has it been already?”

“This is the fourth day,” said Ben.  “Your back flared up Friday morning, and this is Monday.”

Friday.  Monday.  There was something he was forgetting.  He tried to chase down the elusive thought, but it kept dodging his grasp.  He was just about to give up when it hit him.

“Carrie!”

“What?”

“Oh, no.”  Joe closed his eyes, not from physical pain this time.  “I was supposed to see Carrie on Saturday.  We were going to have dinner and go to the dance.”

“And who is Carrie?”  Ben didn’t recognize the name, but it barely mattered.  Keeping up with Joe’s love life was close to impossible.

“Carrie Mulrooney,” said Joe.  “She’s new in town.  She’s beautiful and sweet and gentle and just—just wonderful, Pa.”

Ben smiled.  “Sounds as if you’re quite taken with the lady.”

“Oh, I am,” Joe said.  “Not that she’ll have anything to do with me now.  Standing her up, not even sending a message—she’s never going to speak to me again.”  He looked almost as miserable as he had on Friday.

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” said Ben.  “There wasn’t anything you could have done.”  Joe looked unconvinced.  “I’ll tell you what,” Ben said.  “Your brothers are going into town this morning.  They can stop by Miss Mulrooney’s house and tell her what happened.”

Joe brightened.  “That’s a great idea,” he said.  “I’ll write her a note, and they can take it.”  He started to roll over quickly, but he couldn’t hold back a cry of pain.

“Joseph, if you don’t stay right where you are, I’m going to give you a double dose of painkiller, and you’ll sleep until Thursday,” said Ben.  “Just tell your brothers what you want to say to this girl, and I’m sure they’ll take care of the matter.”

Two hours later, Hoss and Adam stood on the Gillams’ front porch.  Hoss held a large bouquet.  “Make sure it’s a big one,” Joe had said.  “Best you can find.”

“You think Joe would like this?” asked Hoss, moving a sunflower.

Adam rolled his eyes.  “You’re as bad as he is.”  He knocked smartly on the door.

When Ruth Gillam opened the door, her glare was as fierce as either Cartwright had ever seen unaccompanied by a shotgun.  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Uh—well—we’ve come to see Miss Mulrooney,” said Adam, his hat appropriately in his hand.  He elbowed Hoss, who removed his hat.

“Oh, you have, have you?”

“Yes’m, we have,” said Hoss.  “See, Little Joe asked us to come and bring her these.”  He held out the bouquet.

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“Yes, he did,” said Adam with only the slightest edge to his voice.  “May we see the lady?”

“‘May we see the lady?’” Ruth Gillam mimicked.  In her normal voice, she said, “No, you may not see the lady.  She’ll never see another Cartwright again if I have anything to say about it.  That poor girl—she actually believed your brother when he said all those pretty things to her.  And now—she spent all Saturday night sitting in that parlor, dressed up, convinced that he was going to show up just the way he’d said, but no—not him, and not even a message or an explanation.  And the next day—not a word from that Lothario!  She’s been sitting in her room, crying like a little girl, ever since.  And he can’t even be bothered coming himself—he sends the two of you!  Where is he, off with another girl?  I tell you, hanging’s too good for the likes of him.  Now, go away and leave her alone!”

“But, Mrs. Gillam—” began Hoss, but the door slammed soundly in his face.  He turned to his brother.  “What do we do now?”

Adam blew out his breath.  Bad enough he was having to play messenger for Romeo and Juliet, but now he had to deal with the obstreperous landlady.  His answer to Hoss was to knock loudly and determinedly on the door.

“What are you doing?  I told you to go away!”  She began to fling the door closed as hard as she’d flung it open, but Adam blocked her efforts.

“We have some things to say to Miss Mulrooney, and she just might find them interesting,” said Adam.  “So, we’d be most obliged if you would tell her we’re here.”

“I’ll do no such thing, Adam Cartwright!  You and your high and mighty ways can just get right off my porch, do you hear me?  Or I’ll send for the sheriff!  Carrie wants nothing to do with any of you Cartrwights!  Now, go!”  She slammed the door again.

The brothers looked at each other.  “Now what?” asked Hoss finally, the bouquet in his hand looking inappropriately cheerful.

“Too bad Ray isn’t around,” said Adam.  “Ruth isn’t going to let us within a mile of that girl.”

“Mebbe Ray’s over at the saloon,” suggested Hoss hopefully.

Adam rolled his eyes.  “Makes as much sense as anything else,” he shrugged.  The Cartwrights started down the steps, but Hoss stopped.  He regarded the flowers for a moment.  Then, he went back up onto the porch and laid them carefully on the rocking chair nearest the door.  Satisfied, he followed his brother out into the dusty street.

That evening, Joe was distinctly unsatisfied.  “What do you mean, you didn’t see her?” he demanded.  He started to try to sit up, but a stab of pain forced him back down.  “You said you were going to take care of everything!”

“Joe, we tried,” said Adam.  “But that she-wolf wouldn’t even tell your girl that we were there.”

“She’s a tough old bird,” added Hoss.  “We tried to find Ray to talk some sense into her, but he wasn’t around nowhere.”

“Great,” said Joe miserably.  “Now, Carrie’s never going to talk to me again.”

“Cheer up,” said Adam diffidently.  “There are plenty of other girls in Virginia City—and none of them live with Ruth Gillam.”

“It’s not funny!” snapped Joe.  He bit his lip, closing his eyes against another stab of pain.  When it had passed, he met Adam’s amused gaze with dead seriousness.  “I’m in love with her,” Little Joe said.  “I love her more than anything in the world.”

It was Adam’s turn to bite his lip.  It seemed as though he’d been hearing that line at least once a week since his brother was ten years old.  He made himself hold back every smart remark that wanted to come out, and there were a lot of them.  He didn’t even roll his eyes, although he was sorely tempted.  Finally, when he’d established sufficient control, he said, “Are you sure?”  When Joe nodded, Adam sighed.  “I think that you’re going to need to wait until you’re better, and then you can go and see her yourself.  Ruth seemed to find it offensive that we were there in your stead.”

“Didn’t you tell her that Little Joe can’t even get out of bed?” asked Ben.

“We didn’t get the chance,” said Hoss.  “She just yelled at us and slammed the door—twice.”

“That’s it, then,” said Joe.  “I have to go see her myself.”  He gritted his teeth as he turned over.  His breathing was becoming ragged, but he started to push himself up to a sitting position.

“Just a minute, young man,” said Ben, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to see Carrie,” said Joe, as if the question were just shy of ridiculous.  “I’ve got to talk to her.”

“What you’ve got to do is stay in bed,” said his father firmly, pushing him back.  “You wouldn’t make it to the top of the stairs.  Doc said that you need to rest, and that’s exactly what you’re going to do—right here, in this bed.”

“But, Pa—”

“No buts, Joseph,” said Ben.  His voice softened.  “Tomorrow morning, you can write her a note, and one of us will take it into town.”

“Hoss, get me some paper.  It’s in my top desk drawer—”

“I said ‘tomorrow morning,’” said Ben.  “Hop Sing’s going to bring up those hot towels in a little while, and you’re going to rest the way the doctor said you’re supposed to.”  He patted Joe’s shoulder.  “Don’t worry, Joe.  You and Carrie will work things out, and everything will be just fine.”  Much later, when Ben recalled this conversation, he would wonder where he’d gotten the nerve.

The dawn hadn’t quite broken when Ben awoke to the sound of furniture falling.  The muffled curses that followed told him all he needed to know.  “Joseph!” he thundered as he yanked on his dressing gown.

Sure enough, he found Joe leaning heavily against his desk, the chair knocked over where he’d apparently lunged into it.  “What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?” Ben demanded as he took Joe’s arm.  “Get yourself back in bed!”

“I just need to get some paper.  Gotta write Carrie’s note.”  Joe’s voice was breathless with pain.  Grumbling about pigheaded sons who wouldn’t recognize a lick of sense if it bit them on the nose, Ben helped Joe back into bed, glaring as a groan escaped the boy.

“Next time, wait until somebody’s awake to help you!” Ben snapped.  He righted the chair and started for the door, but Joe’s voice stopped him.

“Could you give me that paper and a pencil?  Right over there.”  Joe pointed to the desk.

Ben took a deep breath for control.  “Go back to sleep,” he said.  “You can write your note later.  Nobody’s leaving for town before breakfast.”

“But, Pa!”

Ben was about to deliver his standard response of “No buts, young man!”, but for some reason, he stormed back over to the desk and snatched up the small stack of paper and a half-worn pencil, thrusting them at his son with an irritated “Here!”

“Thanks, Pa!” came Joe’s voice as Ben stomped down the corridor, the notion of going back to sleep vanishing like morning mist in the sunrise.

When he brought up Joe’s breakfast tray an hour later, he found his son nibbling the end of the pencil.  Crumpled balls of paper littered the floor beside the bed.  Ben raised an eyebrow.  “Can’t figure out what to say?”

“Huh?”  Joe looked up from his latest effort.  “It just doesn’t sound right.  No matter what I say, it sounds like I’m making up excuses.”

“Just tell her the truth,” Ben said.  “How’s your back?”

“I don’t want her thinking I’m some kind of an invalid.”  Joe’s mind was clearly not on his father’s question.  “I’ve got to make it sound serious enough to explain why I didn’t come, but not so serious she’ll think I’m some sickly thing she’d have to spend her life taking care of.”

“‘Spend her life’?  Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?  Move your paper,” Ben added as he started to set the tray on Joe’s lap.  “Before you start thinking about the rest of your lives, maybe you should just see if she still wants to talk to you.”

Joe’s head jerked up.  “You don’t think she’ll want to talk to me?”  His green eyes were round with horror.

“Of course, she will—when she knows what happened,” Ben said hastily.  “Now, eat your breakfast.  Maybe you’ll think better with something in your belly.”

“I guess it can’t hurt,” Joe mumbled.  He exchanged the pencil for a fork and stabbed at his egg with more force than necessary.  “I don’t know why people do this for a living.”

“Do what?  Eat breakfast?”

“No—write.  I’d sooner spend the day cleaning out every stall in the barn.”

Ben chuckled.  “I’m sure there are writers who can’t figure out why you’d want to spend all day shoveling horse droppings.”

“’Cause it’s a hundred times easier,” said Joe through a mouthful of scrambled egg.  “At least I don’t have to—wait a minute!”  He shoved the plate to the edge of the tray and snatched up another piece of paper.  Ben watched for a minute as his son scribbled.  “There,” said Joe, holding up the paper triumphantly.  “That’s what I meant to say.”

“And it didn’t take as long as cleaning out the barn,” Ben pointed out, but Joe was too busy rereading his masterpiece to pay any attention.

Three hours later, Ben reined in the team in front of Gunther’s Feed Store and climbed down.  Joe’s note, carefully copied over in ink, was tucked safely into his vest pocket.  He hadn’t asked to read it; it was enough that Joe had seemed quite satisfied with the final version.  “Let me know what she says,” he’d instructed his father.  “And if she writes something back, don’t forget to bring it straight home.  You got all that?”

“I think I can manage it,” said Ben, deadpan at his son’s earnestness.

A rumble of thunder distracted him and he frowned up at the sky.  He hadn’t really noticed how dark the clouds were.  “Easy, there,” he said to the team; the horses were tossing their heads nervously.  Well, he only had a couple of errands.

First things first.  He went into the feed store and arranged to have his order filled and loaded.  Then, as large, fat raindrops began to pelt the ground, he adjusted his hat and headed over to the Gillams’.

He was still half a block away from their house when the skies opened up and released a deluge that soaked him.  He ran, but it didn’t help; within moments, he was drenched.  He ducked into a doorway.  He felt a bit guilty about the team, but hopefully, they wouldn’t be giving Jake Gunther’s men any trouble.

It was probably only about ten minutes before the rain began to lighten, but it felt as though he’d been standing in the doorway in his wet clothes for hours.  As soon as the rain eased off, he pulled his hat down and sprinted the rest of the way to the Gillams’.

Dripping, he knocked on their front door.  “Just a minute!” came Ruth’s voice.  The door opened, and her smile faded.  “Good morning, Ben,” she said in a formal voice.

Ben touched the brim of his hat.  “Good morning, Ruth,” he said.  “I wonder if I might have a word with your houseguest, Miss Mulrooney.”

“Let me guess,” she said.  “You’re here for Little Joe.”

“’Well—”

“You tell him that if he can’t be bothered coming to see Carrie himself, it doesn’t matter who he sends or how many flowers they bring!  That girl has been through enough, and I’m not about to stand by and watch her heart get broken by a boy who’s got half the girls in town on a string!”

Ben wasn’t entirely certain what Ruth meant, but he understood enough to know that Adam and Hoss hadn’t exaggerated.  There was no time for diplomacy or anything else.  “Ruth, may I come in?  I’d like to speak with Miss Mulrooney.  Joe wrote her a note.”  The rain pelted on the porch roof, and Ben waited, not realizing that he was holding his breath until Ruth moved aside to let him enter.

“I’ll see if she wants to come down,” she grunted as Ben stepped into the entryway.  Well, I guess that’s progress, Ben reflected as she swished out of the room.  He removed his hat, grimacing slightly as rain poured off the brim and onto the rug.  He waited for what seemed an extremely long time, but eventually, a lovely young woman with large, nervous eyes came down the stairs.

He favored her with his warmest smile.  “Miss Mulrooney?  I’m Ben Cartwright—Joe’s father.”  He held out his hand, and she took it as though she had no choice.

“How do you do?” she said, her voice soft and timid.

“Miss Mulrooney, Joe asked me to come and see you,” said Ben.  “May we sit down and talk for a minute?”

“Yes, of course.”  She still looked nervous, but she led the way into the parlor and invited him to sit.

Clearly, this was going to take some work.  Ben reached into the pocket of his drenched jacket.  “Joe sent this for you,” he said, handing over the moist paper.

The girl took the paper with obvious trepidation.  Slowly, she unfolded it.  She studied it for a minute, and then she looked at Ben, her eyes brimming.  It seemed as though she was about to speak.  Then, she held the paper out to Ben.  Her lips trembled, but she remained motionless until he had taken it.  Then, she turned and ran from the room.

“Miss Mulrooney!”  What could Joe have said to bring forth this reaction?  Ben looked at the paper, and his heart sank.  His son’s handwriting, which was always a challenge to decipher, had been rendered completely illegible by the rain that had soaked Ben’s jacket.  Reflexively, Ben glanced down at his shirt to see that the blue ink had saturated the pocket.

“Miss Mulrooney!” he called again.  No answer.  He stood in the Gillams’ parlor, wet and ineffective.  When another ten minutes had passed and neither Ruth nor Carrie reappeared, Ben picked up his hat and let himself out.  As he headed out into the rain, he shrugged.  They’d done all they could, even if Joe wouldn’t see it that way.  If things were meant to work out between Joe and Carrie, they would.

He arrived home to find Joe lying on the settee in a dressing gown with a blanket over him.  “What happened?” his son demanded as soon as he crossed the threshold.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Ben asked as he removed his soggy hat.  At least the rain had stopped.

“Did you give Carrie my note?”  Joe didn’t appear to notice that his father was soaked.

“Yes.”  Ben hung up his jacket.  “What are you doing up?”

“I got bored,” said Joe.  “What did she say?”

“What do you mean, you got bored?  How did you even get down here?”  Ben coiled his gunbelt on the credenza.  He definitely needed to change into dry trousers.

“Hoss helped me.  What did she say when you gave her the note?”

Ben sat on the long, low table in front of the settee.  “You’re supposed to be in bed, young man,” he said, as much to forestall the rest of the conversation as because of a concern about Joe being out of bed.  The truth was that it was probably good that he was trying to be up a little, although stairs were likely more than the doctor would have countenanced.

“What did she say?”  Joe was clearly uninterested in any other topic.

There was no way not to tell him.  “It rained,” Ben said.  “The ink ran.  The note wasn’t legible.”

“So, what did you tell her?” Joe demanded.  He started to sit up, but before Ben could caution him to move carefully, a quick caught breath and a grimace of pain revealed that Joe was still far from recovered.  He lowered himself slowly to a prone position, but his eyes never left Ben’s face.

“I didn’t get a chance to say much of anything,” said Ben.  “Carrie came downstairs, and I gave her the note.  By the time I found out that the ink had run, she was already out of the room and upstairs, and I couldn’t get either her or Ruth to answer when I called them.”

“Didn’t you go after her?”  Joe was incredulous.

“No, Joseph, I did not follow the young lady to her bedroom.”  Ben leveled a stern gaze at his son, frowning until Joe looked down.

But no sooner had Ben relaxed than Joe grabbed the back of the settee and hauled himself to a sitting position.  “Somebody get me my clothes,” he shouted as though there were an entire staff at his beck and call.  He was breathing heavily, but he slid his legs off the settee and started to stand.

“Joseph, settle down,” said Ben, catching him as he lost his balance.  “You’re not going anywhere except back up to bed.  You shouldn’t even be up.”

“Somebody’s got to tell Carrie what happened!”  Joe straightened as best he could and freed himself of his father’s grasp.  Leaning heavily on the settee, he worked his way over to the end.  Then, with a deep breath, he lunged from the settee to the railing on the staircase.  He missed, and it was a good thing that Carrie Mulrooney wasn’t present to hear her would-be suitor’s language as he crashed to the floor.

His eyes were closed and his chest was heaving as his father knelt beside him.  “Hang on, Joe,” said Ben.  “You blame fool,” he added as he hooked Joe’s arm around his neck and helped his son to his feet.  “No telling how far you just set yourself back.”

Whatever Joe’s response was, it was drowned out by a knock at the door.  “Hop Sing!” Ben shouted.  “Come on, up to bed with you,” he added to Joe as Hop Sing padded to the door, muttering in Chinese.

They had only managed a couple of steps when Hop Sing opened the door to admit Ray Gillam.  “Morning, Ben, Joe,” said Ray, touching the brim of his hat.

“Ray!”  Joe tried to turn to greet him, but the twist caused a yelp of pain, and he grabbed his father’s neck.

“Easy, Joe,” said Ben in a half-strangled voice.  “Let’s go back down.”  As Ray Gillam watched, Ben helped Joe back over to the settee and lowered him until he was lying down.  Rubbing his neck, Ben straightened.  “What brings you out here, Ray?”

Ray gave Joe a long, considered look.  “This, I reckon,” he said.  “Ruth is up in arms about how Joe’s sending everybody to do his lovemaking for him, and I figgered it was time somebody found out what was going on.”

“I’ve been trying to get word to Carrie,” said Joe, his breathing still rough.  He reached over the back of the settee to beckon to Ray, who still stood in the doorway.  The skinny older man drew closer, and his weather-worn face grew more solemn at the sight of the youngest Cartwright prone on the settee.  “Is she okay?” Joe added.

“She’s pretty torn up,” Ray said.  “Didn’t know why you didn’t show up.  What happened?  You get shot?”

“Hurt my back,” said Joe.  “Happens every once in a while.”

“When it does, he’s laid up for a good bit,” Ben supplied.  “This time, Doc gave him so much painkiller that it was about three days before he even knew what day it was, and since he hadn’t told us before that he was taking Miss Mulrooney to the dance, we didn’t know to send word to her.”

Ray nodded.  “I figgered Little Joe had a good reason,” he said.  “But Ruth’s been filling the girl’s head with all sorts of nonsense about Little Joe’s reputation with the ladies, and that girl’s heart is broke at the notion that Little Joe was just funnin’ with her.”

“I wasn’t!” Joe protested.  “I love her, Ray.  Tell her that, will you?”

Ray Gillam considered the young man before him.  “Tell you what,” he said.  “You tell her.  Just cover yourself up so’s you’re decent.”

“What do you mean?” Ben asked even as he spread a blanket over his son’s nightshirt and Joe tugged the edges of the dressing gown together.

“She’s here,” said Ray.  “Out in the buggy.  Ruth doesn’t know.”

“Bring her in!” said Joe.  “Let me talk to her.  In fact—Pa, help me up.  I’ll go upstairs and get dressed and then I’ll see her.”

“You’re not going anywhere, young man,” said Ben.  As Ray turned to go out to the buggy, Ben took a moment to smooth Joe’s unruly curls.  “You look fine,” he added as Joe looked up at him, startled.

Moments later, Ray came back in, and the lovely young woman with the large, nervous eyes followed.  Ben crossed the room, his hand extended as he said, “Miss Mulrooney, welcome to the Ponderosa.”  He took the girl’s hand, and something in her expression made him want to put his arm around her and protect her.  Instead, he drew her forward and said, “I think you and Joseph need to talk.”

“Carrie.”  Joe sounded slightly breathless; he’d pulled himself up to a sitting position.  “Carrie, I’m so sorry.  They gave me painkillers, and I didn’t even know what day it was until Monday.”  He was holding out his hand across the back of the settee, and the girl advanced hesitantly.

“Ray, how about we go out to the barn and see that stallion I was telling you about?” suggested Ben with a touch too much heartiness that hid, among other things, his regret at not getting to change out of his damp clothes.  But sometimes, fatherhood required sacrifices that didn’t make sense to anybody else.  Before Ray Gillam could answer, Ben was shepherding him out the front door, leaving Joe and Carrie alone.

When they returned half an hour later, Carrie had pulled Ben’s red leather chair over by the settee, and she and Joe were talking.  She didn’t look nervous now.  Instead, she smiled shyly, dimples showing.  “Just wait until I’m all better,” Joe was saying.  “I’ll be able to take you to dances and for buggy rides.  You’ll see.  I’ll be taking up all your free time—if that’s all right, of course.”

A faint blush colored the girl’s pale cheeks as she ducked her head.  “I’d like that,” she said in a soft voice.

“Then it’s settled,” said Joe.  “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be laid up, but as soon as I’m up and around, I’ll come calling.  Is that okay?”

Her blush darkened.  “Yes,” she said in a voice Ben could barely hear from across the room, but he could see the glow in her eyes.

“I hate to interrupt, but I think Miss Mulrooney probably needs to be getting back to town.”  Ben delivered this with a meaningful look toward his son that said as clearly as words that if Joe protested, his father would announce the truth, namely that it was Joe who needed to be getting back—to bed.

“I’m so glad you came,” said Joe.  He took her hand in both of his.  “I’ll be in touch, I promise.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” said Carrie, withdrawing her hand with obvious reluctance.  “Goodbye, Mr. Cartwright.  Thank you.”  She ducked her head slightly as she moved around the settee to join Ray at the door.  Ben saw them out, closed the door, and turned to his son.

“All right now?” he asked.

Joe grinned.  He looked more peaceful than he had in a long, long time.  He nodded and held out his hand to his father.  “Can you help me upstairs?  I need to get some rest so my back will get better.”

Ben chuckled.  As he assisted Joe up the stairs, he reflected that he’d seen Joe infatuated before, but as near as he could tell, these two young people were really in love.

Thank heaven for Ray Gillam, he thought as he deposited Joe into his bed.  The day would come when he would recall that moment and wonder whether he should have been thankful for Ray’s intervention.  But there was no way of knowing that then, and so he handed Joe a book and headed for his own room to change out of the clothes that still felt damp.

*******

It took some time, but as soon as Joe was able to sit upright in a buggy, he was off to town to court Carrie Mulrooney.  Later, Ben wondered whether the boy’s incapacity might have helped their courtship along:  instead of seeing her so frequently that he soon became bored, Joe was limited to writing notes and spending hours thinking about her. By the time he was well enough pay her a visit, he was quivering like a hound dog that had caught the scent of a fox.

“I guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder,” Ben commented as they heard Joe splashing in the bathtub.  He couldn’t help chuckling as he recalled how Joe had struggled with that first note to Carrie.  Apparently, he’d gotten past his initial distaste for writing, because the flood of letters he’d composed for her during his convalescence would likely have filled a book.

“Ol’ Shakespeare knew what he was talking about,” said Hoss as he selected an apple from the bowl on the table.

“It wasn’t Shakespeare who said it,” said Adam.  “It was an old Roman.  Sextus Propertius, if I recall correctly.”

The apple stopped just short of Hoss’s mouth.  “What the—you’re makin’ that up!  Pa, you gonna let him talk like that?”

“It’s not my fault that was the man’s name,” Adam shrugged.  “Really,” he added as his father raised an eyebrow.

“It don’t sound real,” Hoss harrumphed, biting into the apple.  “I think you’re makin’ it up.”

Joe appeared around the corner.  The towel wrapped around his middle preserved his modesty, but it wasn’t doing much to stop him from dripping on the floor.  “Hey, can somebody fetch me some more soap?”

“More soap?  How much you need, boy?”  Hoss chomped his apple as he spoke.

“I gotta wash my hair,” said Joe.  “Can you get me some?”

“With all that hair, you’re gonna be here all night,” Hoss muttered even as he got to his feet and headed for the storeroom.

Ben hid a smile as Joe went back to the bathhouse.  As near as he could tell, Joe took after Marie’s side of the family in terms of hair.  Her cousin, Edouard D’Arcy, had had a thick head of curls well into his forties.  By contrast, the Cartwright men tended toward receding hairlines and thinning tops; even though Ben combed his hair carefully, there was no denying that it wasn’t what it once was.  He’d already seen evidence of thinning on his older sons.  So, if heredity was a factor, Joe was likely to be the only brother who would emerge from his thirties with all his hair.

Then again, Cartwright men also tended to gray early.  It seemed as though Hoss and Adam were taking after their mothers’ sides of the family in that regard.  As Joe shouted for Hoss to hurry up and Hoss bellowed back that he was coming, Ben couldn’t help but wonder whether Joe had as yet noticed what his father had seen while tending to him this past week:  two distinctly silver hairs threaded among the dark curls.  Considering that Joe wasn’t quite twenty, this did not portend well.  His brothers would no doubt consider this some type of poetic justice.

He chuckled as he settled himself in his armchair with the latest edition of the Territorial Enterprise.  “What’s so funny?” Adam inquired.

“Huh?  Oh, nothing,” said Ben, folding his paper.  The mental image of two bald sons flanking one with wild gray curls flashed through his mind, and he chuckled again.  Only time would tell if he was right, but if heredity was any indicator, that picture would one day be reality.

*******

“Pa!  Pa!”  Joe’s voice was calling from outside even before the door slammed open.

Startled, Ben laid down his pen and rose as Joe raced around the corner to his desk.  “What the—?”

“She said ‘yes’!  She said ‘yes’!”  Before Ben could say anything, Joe ran around the desk and flung his arms around his father.  “Carrie said ‘yes’!” he exulted.

“That’s wonderful, son!””  Ben hugged the young man, trying to match his son’s enthusiasm.  He’d known this was coming eventually, but he hadn’t realized that Joe was planning to propose quite yet.  Carrie had only been in town for three months, and Joe had been laid up for a goodly portion of that time.  Somehow, Ben had expected his son to wait.

Not that Ben had any room to talk, of course.  He’d known Inger only a few weeks when he proposed to her, and his whirlwind courtship with Marie had been even briefer.  Perhaps the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

But something niggled at Ben.  This wasn’t the first time Joe had fancied himself in love and ready to marry.  When he was only seventeen, he’d proposed to his first love, the infamous Julia Bulette, in front of the entire town.  He’d been far too young to understand the look in her eyes as she pulled away and ran upstairs, but Ben had known what was behind that beautiful face.  She was twice Joe’s age, a former prostitute who now owned a saloon, and she loved Little Joe Cartwright too much to let him throw himself away on such a woman.  Joe had known, and yet he hadn’t known.  He knew about her age and her past, but he didn’t know what that would have meant to their life together.  He still thought love conquered all.  But the truth was that Julia could never have been happy living on the Ponderosa with a boy, keeping his house and raising his children.  Had she tried, it would have destroyed both of them.  While Ben had been saddened by her untimely death and its impact on his son, in a secret corner of his heart lurked a tiny shred of relief that Joe had avoided such a catastrophic marriage.

And there had been others, each love affair ending in its own tragic way:  Amy Bishop, Tirza the gypsy, Connie McKee, Laura White.  Each time, Joe had fallen headlong in love, and each time, his heart had been broken when the girl left or died.  Ben didn’t want to be anything other than gloriously happy for his son, but even as Hoss and Adam came into the house and chortled with joy at their brother’s good fortune, a cold hand of fear clutched Ben’s heart.

Don’t do it, boy, he suddenly wanted to say.  Not yet.  You don’t know each other well enough.  You’re not old enough.  Take your time.  Get to know each other.  There’s no rush.

But he didn’t say it, not then or ever.  The time would come when he would chastise himself for his silence, but right then, when it mattered, he lay awake in the darkness and told himself that It wouldn’t make any difference.  And maybe it wouldn’t have.  Joe was old enough to know his own heart, and he was stubborn as a mule.  Carrie was as sweet and lovely as a day in spring.  There was no question that these two young people loved each other.  Besides, Joe wasn’t much younger than Ben had been when he decided to marry Elizabeth.  True, Joe had had some terrible misfortunes in love, but that was over now.  It wouldn’t be fair to suggest that Joe should wait now because of what had happened to Julia Bulette or Amy Bishop, any more than it would have been fair for someone to suggest that Ben should have waited to marry Marie simply because of Elizabeth and Inger.  The past was the past, and if Joe had the courage to move forward, it would be wrong of his father to stop him.

Besides, he told himself, it wasn’t as though the wedding was taking place tomorrow.  It took time to plan a wedding.  A dress had to made, guests assembled, food prepared.  Carrie might have friends coming from wherever she was from, and they would need to make their travel arrangements.  There was still time.

“They’ll be fine,” he said aloud, turning on his other side.  “Just fine.”  He pulled the covers up over his shoulder and closed his eyes, willing himself to believe his own words.

*******

“Carrie, honey.  I need to talk to you.”

Ruth Gillam had never called her “Carrie, honey” in her entire life.  Carrie sat as still as possible on the bed, just in case there was a chance Ruth might not figure out that she was there.

But the door opened, and the large woman came in.  “Carrie?”

Carrie set her sewing in her lap and covered it with her hands.  “Come on in, Mrs. Gillam,” she said, not because she wanted her to, but because it was the polite thing to do and she’d been raised to be polite.

Ruth settled herself into the armchair.  “Ray tells me that Cartwright boy proposed to you.”

Carrie nodded.  She hadn’t meant to tell them yet, but Ray had been sitting in his chair when she came in, and she guessed that the look on her face said it all.  He’d asked if she’d had a nice evening, and she hadn’t been able to help herself.

And now, here was Ruth.  And reality.

“I love him,” said Carrie.

“I know.”  It was the first time Ruth had admitted that this was anything other than the Cartwright boy toying with her.  When he hadn’t come to pick her up that night he’d hurt his back, Ruth had been quick to accuse him.  In the weeks since, even she had had to admit that he was in love with Carrie.  Nobody seeing the look in his eyes could have doubted it.

But he didn’t know everything.

“Have you told him?” Ruth asked.

Carrie shook her head.

“Don’t you think maybe you should?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Carrie.  “He loves me.  That’s all that matters.”

“Are you sure?”  The portly woman’s voice was gentler than anything Carrie had ever heard from her.

“Yes.”  Carrie knew she sounded like a stubborn child, with maybe a hint of desperation around the edges.  “He loves me.  It’ll be fine.”

“Do you love him?”

She nodded.  “More than anything.”  She forced herself to meet Ruth Gillam’s eyes.  “I can’t lose him.  It’ll be fine.  I know it will.”

Ruth held her gaze for a long minute.  “Don’t you think he’s entitled to know the truth?”

Carrie felt the familiar prickling in her nose that meant tears were coming.  “It wouldn’t matter,” she insisted.  “He loves me.  He wouldn’t care.”

Ruth Gillam sat silently for what seemed like a long time.  Finally, she said, “You know I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Carrie said.  “I love Joe, and he loves me.  We’re happy, and I’m not going to spoil that.”

Ruth looked solemn.  “What if he finds out before you’re ready to tell him?”

“He won’t,” said Carrie.  “I’ll see to that.”

Ruth shook her head.  “Secrets aren’t good between them that love.”

Carrie lifted her chin defiantly.  “Don’t you have any secrets from Ray?”

Ruth shook her head again.  “Nothing like yours.  Something like that . . . I’d have told him.”

Carrie swallowed hard.  “What if he didn’t understand?  What if you told him, and that meant you didn’t have him all these years?  Would it have been worth it?  Wouldn’t it be better to not say anything and have the man you love?”

Ruth watched her carefully.  “Maybe you’d be better off asking Little Joe.”

“No.”  Carrie stood up, clutching the half-finished sewing.  She set it on the chair and turned to face Ruth.  “I love Joe.  I love him, Ruth.  I love him more than I’ve ever loved any man.  More than I loved Jonathan, that’s for sure.  And he loves me, I know it.  I won’t take a chance on losing him over something I had no say about.”

Ruth remained in the chair.  “And just how do you plan to keep him from knowing?”

Carrie stood straight and tall.  “When the time is right, I’ll tell him.  I don’t plan to keep it from him forever.  Just until. . . .”

“Just until it’s too late for him to back out,” said Ruth.  She heaved herself to her feet.  “You’re making a mistake, Carrie.  If Joe Cartwright is the boy you say he is, he’ll understand, and if he’s not, you’re better off without him.”

“No.”  The word came out in a fierce whisper.  “I can’t lose him.  I can’t take that chance.  I love him.”

Maybe it was the shadows, but Carrie couldn’t help thinking at that moment that she’d never seen Ruth Gillam look so sad.  And maybe it was wrong, but just then, it seemed the right thing to say, and she said it:  “Promise me you’ll never tell him.  Swear it.  Swear on my mother’s grave.”  Ruth looked almost shocked, and Carrie moved closer.  “You told Edie you’d take care of me.  This is the man I love.  Promise you won’t destroy that.”

Ruth’s brown eyes glistened.  She held out her arms, and Carrie allowed herself to be enfolded against the woman’s ample bosom.  “I just want you to be happy,” Ruth whispered, stroking Carrie’s hair.

“Then promise,” Carrie said, and tears she couldn’t explain spilled over as she heard the words.

“I promise.”