He lay without movement. Allowing only his eyes to scan the dimly lit room. He couldn’t make out where he was, yet the room seemed familiar. The sofa on the far side of the room was draped with bed linen and blankets. The covers were pulled asunder. Whomever had been sleeping there had left the room, leaving the door ajar.

Apart from the sickening, throbbing in his head, his major concern was his dusty, dry mouth, throat and tongue. He hoped the jug on the small table beside the bed would be the answer to his problem. Struggling to raise his head and shoulders from the pillow. He scrunched his eyes closed to ward off the waves of nausea that swept up from the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t decide which was worse, the dry heaving or the dry throat. The throat won out. Settling himself, he leaned his back against the bed head and reached for the pitcher. Even though it was only half full he could barely lift it. Not bothering with the tumbler. Using both hands he brought the life saver to his mouth and drank his fill. At first a powerful feeling that he was going to vomit overcame him. But after breathing deeply he pushed the sensation back to where it came from and emptied the contents of the jug. It drizzled down his chin and out of the corners of his mouth. He didn’t care, it tasted good, too good. He needed more. He closed his mind to the weakness of his body. The lack of strength in his left arm bothered him, as did the cast on his leg. It did not deter him. Holding the empty jug in his right hand he slowly pushed himself from the bed. No, this wouldn’t do, he needed the help of both hands. Replacing the jug. He started again, using his arms to steady himself he staggered to the wall and leaned against it for support. Catching his breath he edged his way to the half open door. Again he stopped and steadied himself. Taking lungfuls of air. His head spun, he closed his eyes against the movement. Keeping his back against the wall he slid his body along, taking small side steps. He made it to the kitchen. Making his way around the perimeter of the room he moved in the same fashion. Using the walls to keep himself upright and dragging his heavy leg. At last he stood in front of the sink. Before he could use the pump he wiped the sweat from his face and the back of his neck. Clinging onto the edge of the sink he worked the pump. At first using his left hand, but the weakness and ache is his arm was prohibitive. He moved a step sideways and continued with his right. Seeing the upturned glass on the draining board he breathed a sigh of relief. Placing the glass in the sink he pumped. The water flowed and filled the glass. Another gasped sigh of satisfaction escaped through his half open mouth. Picking up the glass he turned, altering his position he leaned with his back against the sink, closed his eyes and drank deeply of the cool, clear water.

She stood at the door of the room. Dressed only in her nightgown. A long, white, almost transparent cotton and lace garment. Her robe, a deep burgundy colour, similar to that of his brothers, hung open. His hand trembled as the glass slipped from his fingers and fell, shattering in pieces. Splashing his bare feet with the remains of the water and shards of glass. He felt nothing. His eyes were transfixed on the woman’s face.

This could only be a dream…if not his mind had left him completely…his dead mother stood before him…his dead mother…maybe he too was dead. Desperately he clung to the edge of the sink. It offered him no assistance. He felt himself sliding, falling…falling…’catch me’ he heard his own voice calling. ‘catch me’ He hoped it was all in his mind.

Even without opening his eyes he knew it as daylight. He also didn’t need to be told, he knew the hand on his face was that of his brothers. The blue eyes that met his were screwed with concern. The chubby, caring hand was now pressed against his forehead.

“I’m fine Hoss.” he said without being asked. Adam stood at Hoss’s side. Joe couldn’t quiet understand the look in the eyes of his brothers. The sad, longing in their faces. All he could say was that he was fine, nothing more…then he remembered.

“How’s Cooch, she aint hurt bad is she?” this question brought a gasp from Hoss. He pulled Joe into a breath removing hug. Joe’s squeal for release was ignored. His eye’s widened as he shot Adam a silent plea for help. His elder brothers back was turned toward him. Joe could almost swear that those broad shoulders were huddled and shaking…and not with mirth.

Joe’s frantically flapping hands brought Hoss finally to his senses. Realising he was suffocating his young brother, he lay Joe back down on the pillow.

“What is it with you two…l tells you l’m fine, but it aint till l ask about Cooch you get all emotional?”

Hoss was beside himself with joy, “It’s you aint it shortshanks…it’s you?” tears were streaming down his chubby round face…Joe couldn’t understand at all what was going on. He was more than concerned when Adam turned around. Adam’s cheeks were streaky dry, but his eyes still shone with unshed tears.

Questions, dreams and memories started to flood Joe’s head. He knew he had been in some kind of an accident. He had been injured before…what was so different this time?…Where was he?…Where was Pa? Before he could put any of these questions to either brother. Hoss was sat on the chair beside the bed and Adam was standing beside him. Adam asked a question of his own.

“What is the last thing that you remember?” Joe racked his brains. He did remember the drive and leaving Candy and Griff to take the wagon and the horses back to the Ponderosa. The more he tried to think the more his head ached. It was useless.

“l dunno…l’m not sure l want to know. My head is bandaged and beating like a tom tom. My left arm feels like it’s made outa mud and my left leg weighs a ton. You tell me what l should remember?” as Adam sat down the bed springs creaked under the added weight.

“Yer remember Cooch getting hurt dontcha?” Hoss asked, hoping to jog his brothers memory. Joe had to agree he remembered hearing Cooch’s terrifying screams. He couldn’t though remember why or what happened to make the animal so distressed. Adam with Hoss’s help filled in the gap in Joe’s memory. The youngest Cartwright visibly blanched. The blood draining from his already pale face, at the realisation that he had been unconscious for nearly two months. Adam taking the lead flashed Hoss a hard look. Hoss immediately understood. Adam thought it not necessary to tell Joe about the weeks he had spent in his childhood.

“What about Pa, does he know?” Joe gave a sigh of relief when Adam told him that their father was, as far as they knew, still in San Fransisco. With the lines still under repair it meant there was no way of contacting him. Joe couldn’t fail to see the shared look that passed between Adam and Hoss when he asked about the woman, Etta Tone, who had given them so much help and allowed them to use her house as their own.

“She must be a mighty fine woman.” Joe stated, and wondered why Hoss couldn’t look him in the eye before saying that Adam certainly thought Etta a mighty fine woman. Joe didn’t think he could take much more. His head was spinning with what he had learned and with what he was trying to remember, it felt as if it were about to burst, as did his bladder. Thinking about the need to relieve himself only added to his discomfort. Adam ‘s voice cut in on his thoughts. Something about preparing himself to meet Etta. All he wanted to do was have a pee and go to sleep. Adam rose from the bed and left the room. Crossing his arms over his chest Hoss sat back and waited for Adam to return.

“Shortshanks you get yerself ready for a bit of a surprise.”

“l really don’t need any surprises Hoss, l just wanna…” the woman walking towards him was the woman in his many dreams and nightmares…it couldn’t be…

“No Joe, you are not being deceived, you can believe your eyes. This is Etta, Etta Tone.”