PART 1: A SINGLE SHOT

“I’m sure glad we’re gonna be home in time to sleep in our own beds tonight,” Hoss Cartwright said as he untied his horse and prepared to mount.

 

“You said it , Hoss,” his brother Adam replied as he did the same. “I feel like I could sleep for a long, long time.”

 

The four Cartwrights were just returning from delivering some cattle to a buyer across the border in California. They had stopped in Virginia City for some food and drink before tackling the last leg of the journey home.

 

Now, as they stood by their horses, ready to head out, their attention was diverted to a commotion coming from across the street at the Silver Dollar Saloon. A figure staggered out of the door of the saloon and barely avoided falling on his face into the street. This seedy looking individual carried a revolver in each hand as he flailed about drunkenly, singing snatches of some unidentifiable tune.

 

“Isn’t that old Lem Avery?” Joe said, stepping around his horse to get a better look.

 

“Yes, it is.” Ben frowned as he moved up to stand beside his youngest. “Someone had better get the sheriff. That man could easily hurt someone.”

 

Almost as if he had heard, old Avery staggered out into the middle of the street, raised his hands above his head and fired two shots into the air. Bystanders scattered, huddling against the sides of nearby buildings wherever they afforded some protection. The drunken man spun around a couple of times, lowering his arms.

 

He ended up with the gun in his right hand pointing directly at Ben and Joe Cartwright .

 

With a cry of “NO!” Adam Cartwright leaped forward into the line of fire. At the same instant the noise of a single shot split the evening air with the impact of a thunder clap.

 

The jolt of the bullet sent Adam reeling backwards into his father, who caught him and sagged to his knees from the weight. Ben ended up kneeling in the dust cradling his son. His face was devoid of any expression except numb shock. Hoss and Joe quickly knelt down on either side of him.

 

“Get the doctor!” someone yelled. None of the Cartwrights noticed who it was.

 

Ben looked down into the eyes of his injured son. Adam was struggling to speak, but only a single gasping “Pa” escaped his lips.

 

“Don’t try to talk, son.,” Ben said, his own voice trembling. “Save your strength. Help is coming.” His shock was rapidly turning to fear as he watched Adam lapse into unconsciousness.

 

Roy Coffee appeared out of somewhere. He took in the scene before him with utter dismay. He had always been close to the Cartwrights. Never having had a child of his own, he had envied Ben his boys. Adam especially had been there to help him on so many occasions. Now, seeing Adam lying there wounded, it was almost like seeing his own son struck down.

 

“Ben, Avery is in custody.” Roy finally found his voice. “He’ll pay for this. I promise you, Ben. I only wish to God someone had come for me sooner.” Ben hardly seemed to hear. He was caught in the grip of a nightmare. “This can’t be happening,” he thought to himself. “Oh God, wake me up. Please let it all be a dream.” He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping against hope that when he opened them again everything would be changed. It didn’t work.

 

He sensed Hoss on one side of him, his head bowed, his whole body shaking. Joe was on the other side of him, his hand reaching out to gently touch Adam’s shoulder, tears coursing down his face.

 

“Pa, you saw….he jumped right out in front of me ….Adam took that bullet for me, Pa…..I should be the one….” he choked out.

 

“It could have been either of us, Joe,” Ben managed. He wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come.

 

It was at this moment that Doctor Paul Martin arrived. He knelt down in front of Ben and spoke gently to him. “Ben, let me see him….please.”

 

Something in his compassionate tone reached Ben. Here was someone who would help. He loosened his tight hold on his son, allowing the doctor to examine the wound in Adam’s chest. It took very little time for Paul Martin to realize that his services would be of no use this time. He looked into the pleading eyes of his longtime friend and quietly spoke perhaps the hardest words he had ever been forced to say.

 

“Ben, I’m so terribly sorry, but there’s nothing that can be done.”

 

Ben bowed his head, fighting to find some sort of acceptance. A hundred images were flashing through his mind. The infant, whose eyes were so like his mother’s. The dark haired four year old tramping bravely across a wilderness at his father’s side. That same boy a couple of years later, holding his baby brother during the Indian attack that claimed his new mother’s life. The lanky youth who headed back East to pursue his dream of learning and the self-assured young man who returned. So many other images showing boy and young man working on the ranch, helping fulfill his father’s dream.

 

A small groaning sound reached his ears, and the images faded to be replaced by the reality he held firmly in his arms.

 

Adam’s eyes were open now, looking straight up at him. His breathing was labored.

 

“Pa.” It came out more clearly this time.

 

“Yes, son.”

 

“You…..Joe….Hoss….all right?”

 

Ben could only nod his head. How could he really say any of them were all right?

 

The response satisfied Adam. He gave a small sigh of relief. His pain seemed to ease a little.

 

A far away look came into his eyes then. A smile played briefly across his lips.

 

“It’s….so beautiful,” he whispered.

 

“What is it, son?” Ben whispered back.

 

But Adam never replied. The light in his eyes faded, his head rolled back against his father’s chest, and his breathing ceased.

 

Ben clutched the still form to him even more tightly as his tears began to flow. Everyone around fell silent . The setting sun threw the shadows of the buildings into the street, covering the scene with a blanket of dusk.

 

Far above, the very first star of the night began to glimmer brightly.

 

 

 

 

 

PART 2: AN EXCERPT FROM THE JOURNAL OF DR. PAUL MARTIN

 

 

 

 

 

Sept. 15, 1865

 

 

 

It is the wee hours of the morning, but I know that I will not be getting any sleep this night and neither will the family gathered in the back room of my office downstairs. It is just as well that I should make a start at attempting to come to grips with what has happened and my feelings about it. Doing so will no doubt result in perhaps the most difficult entry I have ever had to make to this journal…or ever expect to.

 

 

 

Adam Cartwright was killed last evening.

 

 

 

I pause to look at those words I have just written and they seem somehow strange to me, almost unreal. And yet the event that they record is all too real.

 

 

 

The strange thing is to think that, up to that point, the day had been so ordinary. There had been an easily manageable number of routine appointments but nothing particularly difficult and nothing of an emergency nature. I had finished in time to enjoy a relatively leisurely dinner of a trout with an herb butter sauce. I was actually looking forward to a restful evening of catching up on my reading of the latest medical periodicals.

 

 

 

That all changed when, rising from the table, I heard the tinkle of the bell which announced that someone had entered the office below. I hurried down and found Simon Ralston standing there in an agitated state. As I approached him he gasped out that I should come quick, a man had been shot outside the Silver Dollar. Then, saying something about having to get Roy Coffee too, he turned and hurried out the door, not even giving me a chance to ask for any more details. But that was just as well. Questioning him would only have wasted precious time and when someone is shot even seconds can be critical. I grabbed my bag and set off as speedily as I could.

 

 

 

As I hurried down the street I was thinking how fortunate it was that I had so short a distance to go. It seemed that someone had reached Sheriff Coffee before Simon had, for there he was striding down the street ahead of me, and I saw that he would reach the spot before I would.

 

 

 

There was a strangely silent circle of people gathered in the middle of the street outside the saloon. Noticing my approach, a couple of them stepped aside to let me through. Then I saw what the people had gathered around to see, and I felt my heart drop to my feet. There was Ben Cartwright, kneeling in the dusty street to cradle his injured son…and it was Adam who had been shot.

 

 

 

For just a moment my personal feelings for these friends of mine threatened to immobilize me, but by virtue of long practice I was able to fall back into a manner of professional competence.. I knelt down before Ben and gently urged him to let me see. And when he did what I found only confirmed my worst fears. As soon as I saw the wound I knew that there was no hope. Adam’s all black clothing and the waning sunset light had somewhat obscured the amount of blood that was pouring from his wound. But when I was able to see it clearly it was immediately evident that a major blood vessel near his heart had been torn and he was within a few minutes of death. Nothing could stop it.

 

 

 

I looked up at Ben, and saw the desperate, pleading look in his eyes. Oh how I wished I could tell him what he wanted so much to hear! But it was just not possible.

 

 

 

How do you tell one of your closest friends that his much cherished son is about to die and there is nothing that can be done about it? I don’t even remember the exact words I said, but I will never forget the look on Ben’s face as he bowed his head, clearly struggling for control. Hoss and Joe had stood up from kneeling beside him and were now clinging to each other, with Joe burying his face in his larger brother’s shoulder.

 

 

 

Adam stirred a little and tried to say something. I didn’t hear those last words of his or what his father said in reply. Looking back I’m glad I didn’t.. It would have felt like an intrusion. It was only a moment later that Adam’s eyes closed and his head fell back. Ben clutched his son to him and began to weep. It took several minutes before the outpouring of his grief had subsided enough for me to intervene again and confirm that Adam was in fact gone.

 

 

 

Ben remained kneeling, holding his son and sobbing quietly. The bystanders continued to hover near in an almost eerie silence. That disturbed me somehow, and I suddenly felt the need to get Adam and his family out of the gaze of curious eyes to somewhere more private. Ben was in no fit state to hear me, so I approached Hoss and Joe, who were at least able to listen, and suggested that Adam’s body should be carried to my office. They and their father could stay there for the night, and in the morning I would be able to help them with making the necessary arrangements. They seemed grateful for my offer of assistance.

 

 

 

They would make two of the four men needed to carry the body. As I was looking around to see who else I might ask, Roy Coffee came up to me. Quickly and quietly he filled me in on what had happened. It seems Adam was shot by none other than our town drunk, Lem Avery. At first I shook my head at the idea that such a person could be responsible for ending the life of such a fine young man. There was just such a wrongness about it. But then Roy told me the rest. Avery had been thrown out of the Silver Dollar because of an argument and was stumbling around in the street waving a gun in each hand. The Cartwrights happened to be across the street and somehow Avery got it into his head to take a shot in Ben and Joe’s direction. And that was when Adam, seeing the danger, made a leap right in front of them and took the bullet himself. So it was actually a case of Adam willingly offering himself to protect his family. It does not surprise me at all to know that Adam would do that. It only saddens me deeply that he should have found it necessary.

 

 

 

Roy had hurried Avery off to be locked up and then hastened back to see if there was anything he could do for the Cartwrights. He willingly agreed to my request for help with moving Adams body. Sam from the Silver Dollar was also among the bystanders. Something in his look seemed to tell me that he was feeling at least a twinge of guilt, perhaps from the idea that his throwing Lem Avery out of the saloon had, in a way, led to what happened. When I asked him if he would help he also agreed readily, perhaps thinking that it might somehow assuage the feeling. I helped a dazed Ben to his feet while the four men took up the body.

 

 

 

And so, under the light of the night’s first star, Adam was carefully and reverently borne to my office as Ben and I followed behind. The body was laid on the bed in the back room. Roy and Sam helped me to set up cots for the Cartwrights, before leaving, Sam to return to the saloon and Roy to tend to his prisoner. I stayed with the family for a little while, reluctant to leave them alone, but I soon got the impression that they were more in need of privacy than of my presence, so I came upstairs.

 

 

 

I am deeply concerned about how my friends are going to come through this tragedy. When I left them Ben was sitting next to Adam’s body holding his hand, but he seemed to be almost in a trance, staring straight ahead of him like a blind man, as if looking directly at what was right there beside him would simply be too painful to bear. Hoss was sitting at the other side of the bed with his head hanging lower than I’ve ever seen it before. And Joe was pacing up and down, not settling anywhere, caught between his grief and his anger, unable to stem his tears. Seeing them that way, I hate to think what the next few days are going to do to them.

 

 

 

And not just to them. Roy Coffee, for one, is also going to find this hard to deal with. I saw the look on his face when he was telling me what had happened. Knowing Roy for as long as I have, I know how much he has regretted never having a son of his own, and I have often gotten the impression that he considered Ben Cartwright’s boys to be the closest he would ever come. And of all the boys, he seemed to me to have a special regard for Adam. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Adam was such an outspoken supporter of the law and had helped him on so many occasions. In any case, I’m sure that Roy is feeling that he too has lost something very valuable.

 

 

 

As for me, while I desire to do whatever I can to help my friends, I am feeling that I am going to be in want of some help myself. A doctor sees a good deal of death. It’s part of the game. And it’s never easy. Sometimes it can come as a merciful end to extended suffering. Or it may come as a peaceful conclusion to a long and fulfilled life. In such cases it is at least possible to find a kind of acceptance. But when a young man like Adam Cartwright is taken so brutally, a young man who had so much yet to do in life and so much to give, a young man whose life meant so much to so many others, well, it’s enough to cause a doctor to question his calling and a believing man his faith. My own sense of loss is being compounded by my feelings of uselessness and failure. If I could not save that young man then what good am I as a doctor? And why do things like this happen in the world?

 

 

 

Right now I have no answers to those questions, I’m guessing it will take some time and a good deal of prayer before I come up with any. And I know that it will be quite some time before the Cartwrights, or Roy, or I, will be able to feel good again over just about anything.

 

 

 

 

 

PART 3: AFTER WHAT HAPPENED

 

 

 

 

 

As the shaft of sunlight streaming in through the high barred window touched his face the man lying on the cot stirred and gave out a groan. Slowly he swung his legs down to the floor and sat up. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands and wincing, as the effects of his indulgence of the day before hit him. After a couple of minutes he raised his aching head and began to look around. A surprised look came over his face as he realized where he was. With an effort ,Lem Avery forced himself to his feet and shuffled over to the front of the jail cell. He grasped two bars of the cell and looked out through bleary eyes.

 

 

 

“Sheriff!” he called out. “Sheriff Coffee! Hey sheriff!”

 

 

 

A few seconds later a figure appeared in the door that led to the outer room.. Sheriff Roy Coffee dragged his hand over his eyes tiredly then looked over at the unkempt looking man in the cell with a stony glare.

 

 

 

“No need for all that caterwaulin’, Avery. I’m right here. Now what is it you want?”

 

 

 

Lem Avery was taken aback by the unaccustomed hardness in the sheriff’s eyes and voice.

 

 

 

“Sheriff, can I go home now?” he asked with a slight tremor in his voice. “My Suzy Q is gonna be needin’ her feed and water,” He anticipated that the sheriff would agree. Roy had always treated him with consideration, allowing him to sleep it off when he got drunk and letting him go without too much fuss. Oh, Roy tended to give him a few admonishing words about getting himself together and not drinking so much, but he never seemed to expect him to pay too much attention.

 

 

 

But this time was different. The sheriff walked slowly toward the cell and stopped directly in front of the bars, staring in at him with a grim expression.

 

 

 

“You don’t need ta worry none about that mule of yours,” he said. “I talked to your neighbor Cody Pine and he’s gonna take care of Suzy and your other animals for the present. As for goin’ home…I can’t let you do that, Lem. In fact, if I was you, I wouldn’t be expectin’ to go home any time soon. ..if at all. Not after what happened last night.”

 

 

 

“After what happened last night?” The prisoner looked at Roy in some confusion. “Just what do ya mean, Sheriff?”

 

 

 

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “Lem, do you mean to ta tell me that you don’t remember what you did last night?”

 

 

 

Avery chuckled nervously. “ ‘Fraid I don’t, Sheriff. The way my head feels I musta been mighty soused. So I’m guessin’ I got into some kind o’ fight with somebody and there’s a lot o’ damage I’m gonna hafta pay for.” He looked at the sheriff hopefully. “Is that it?”

 

 

 

Roy covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head as if finding it hard to believe what he was hearing.

 

 

 

“God, if only that was all You can’t know how much I wish that was all. But it’s a lot worse than that. Oh, you were soused all right, probably as bad as you’ve ever been. But that was just the start of it.” He paused. “You really don’t remember?”

 

 

 

The prisoner looked at him anxiously and shook his head, but said nothing.

 

 

 

“Fact is, Lem, you shot a man last night.” The sheriff’s statement brought a startled look to Avery’s eyes.

 

 

 

“Shot somebody? But who, Sheriff?”

 

 

 

Roy Coffee could barely manage to choke out the answer. “Adam Cartwright.”

 

 

 

“One o’ the Cartwrights?” Avery seemed genuinely surprised. “But I never had nothin’ ‘gainst them. Far as I know they’s good folks.” He pondered for a moment. “Well…is he gonna be all right?”

 

 

 

The question forced Roy to swallow a lump that had risen in his throat before replying.

 

 

 

“No. He ain’t. Lem…Adam Cartwright died.”

 

 

 

At that a look of dismay passed across Avery’s face. But it quickly changed to one of suspicion.

 

 

 

“Aw, now Sheriff, you’re just foolin’ with me, ain’t ya? Tryin’ ta scare me into mendin’ my ways and givin’ up the drink. That’s it, ain’t it?”

 

 

 

“I wouldn’t fool about somethin’ like that” Roy snapped at the cowering man. “Not about somethin’ like that” he repeated in a much quieter voice, casting dow n his eyes.

 

 

 

There was silence for a moment as Lem Avery struggled to absorb what had been told to him. He turned and slowly made his way back to sit on the cot, hanging his head. Eventually he looked up. “So how’d it happen?” he pleaded to know.

 

 

 

Roy moved to face the prisoner more closely and grasped two of the bars of the cell. “I was kinda hopin’ that once you sobered up some you’d be able to give me a statement…but it seems not. Fact is, I only got there after the shot was already fired. But I talked to a number of witnesses and the accounts were pretty consistent.” He seemed to gather his thoughts for a few seconds. “You were far gone drunk, like I said, and you got into a shoutin’ match with Hugh Campbell at the Silver Dollar. Even pulled your guns out. And that was when Sam stepped in and told ya to get out. You staggered out into the street wavin’ the guns and fired a couple shots into the air. Then…and this is the thing that nobody seemed to be able to explain….somehow you got one o’ the guns pointed right at Ben and Joe Cartwright.” He narrowed his eyes as he prepared to ask the question that had been nagging at him ever since the incident happened. “Now why’d you do that, Lem?” he demanded.

 

 

 

Avery shook his head, his confusion evident. “Sheriff, I don’t even remember doin’ it, so how am I gonna be able ta tell ya why?” he said in a whining voice.

 

 

 

Roy frowned. He had hoped to discover that there was some sort of understandable reason behind what had happened, but it seemed that hope was a futile one.

 

 

 

“Well, when Adam Cartwright saw that he just jumped right in between you and his pa and brother. And your bullet took him in the chest. Doc Martin came as quick as he could, but there wasn’t nothin’ he could do.”

 

 

 

Again there was a pause as Roy made an effort to pull himself together. When he spoke again it was in a stronger, harsher voice.

 

 

 

“So that’s pretty much all I can tell ya. What it comes down to is, you fired the shot that killed one o’ the best young fellas I’ve ever known. And if I had my druthers…well, all I can say is, I wouldn’t raise no objection if the judge decided to string ya up for it.”

 

 

 

And with that Roy Coffee turned and strode back through the door to the outer office.

 

 

 

Left alone, Lem Avery drew his feet up onto the cot and wrapped his arms around his knees. He started to rock slowly back and forth as tears began to streak his dirty face.

 

 

 

“O Lord, help me” he keened. “Lord help me. I didn’t mean ta hurt no one. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Lord, I’m sorry.”

 

 

 

 

 

PART 4 – A TOUCH OF BALM

 

 

 

 

 

The clearing was normally a place where one could come to find solitude…but not today. Today it seemed as though the greater part of the population of Virginia City had donned sober attire and gathered here in this secluded spot for this solemn occasion. The people gathered around the newly dug grave faced the side of the clearing that opened onto a spectacular view of the shimmering waters of Lake Tahoe. Next to the grave there rested a coffin of gleaming mahogany, the finest to be found in the town, with a large spray of red roses on top of it. Only a short distance away there was a grave marker that bore the name of Marie Cartwright. It had seemed fitting to his father and brothers that Adam should be laid to rest here, in a spot that had been special to him, close to the stepmother that he had, however hesitantly, come to love.

 

 

 

The air was slightly chilly, but not uncomfortably so, as befitted the time of year. The sun showed itself occasionally, but seemed reluctant to observe the scene for very long, always retreating again behind the clouds, as though sharing the sorrow it was witnessing. A slight breeze rustled the grasses and carried the twittering of the birds from the surrounding trees. And then, rising over the sounds of the birds came the resonant voice of the Rev. Joe Gardiner as he recited the familiar words of the Twenty-third Psalm.

 

 

 

“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

 

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

 

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

 

He restoreth my soul.

 

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.

 

 

 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

 

I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;

 

Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

 

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;

 

Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.

 

 

 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

 

and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.” *

 

 

 

Ben Cartwright had heard and spoken the words many times in his life, and had always found them comforting. But, somehow, today they didn’t have their usual effect on him. From the moment of his son’s death, Ben had been going through the motions of doing what he knew was expected of him…but only with difficulty. Nothing, even the concerned presence of his two remaining sons, seemed able to bring him any comfort. He knew that getting through this day was going to take every bit of stamina that he could muster. It was a relief that the service was nearing its end.

 

 

 

As the minister completed the reading of the psalm silence fell over the congregation for a few seconds. Then the woman who led the choir at the church began to sing in a sweet soprano voice.

 

 

 

“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide.

 

The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.

 

When other helpers fail and comforts flee,

 

Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me,”

 

 

 

She motioned with her hand, inviting the congregation to join in. As more and more voices came together the music swelled, lifting a true prayer to heaven.

 

 

 

“Swift to it’s close ebbs out life’s little day;

 

Earth’s joys grow dim, it’s glories pass away;

 

Change and decay in all around I see;

 

O thou who changest not, abide with me.

 

 

 

Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes,

 

Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;

 

Heav’n’s morning breaks and earth’s vain shadows flee;

 

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.“ **

 

 

 

The music faded away and the minister’s voice came again, offering a final prayer.

 

 

 

“Almighty Father, we commend unto you the spirit of our brother, Adam Cartwright. Receive him into your loving embrace, and, by your mercy, grant that we may be reunited with him at the last day to share in your eternal glory. In the name of Christ, our Lord. Amen”

 

 

 

The Rev. Gardiner gave a nod to the undertaker and he and his assistants took their places around the coffin and proceeded to lower it into the ground. As he looked on, Ben Cartwright’s face grew even paler than it had been and he felt his legs begin to weaken. Standing on either side of him, Hoss and Joe watched their father anxiously and started to reach out to support him. But Ben shook them off and, with grim determination, forced himself to remain upright. The brothers lowered their eyes, as they too found it difficult to watch what was happening.

 

 

 

When the undertaker and his men completed their task they stepped aside again. The minister spoke a benediction, ending with “Go in peace” and made the sign of the cross. The people began slowly to disperse, some of them stepping to the side of the grave and tossing flowers on top of the coffin.

 

 

 

A few people who had not had the opportunity to speak to the family earlier lingered to do so now. As Ben saw them approaching he groaned inwardly. He was so tired of the polite routine of accepting condolences. People meant well but, however sincere, no words that they spoke seemed able to actually reach and ease his pain. Almost everyone who spoke to him said something about what a fine young man Adam had been. “As if I needed any reminder of that,” Ben thought to himself with a certain bitterness. “And it can’t change the fact that that fine young man is gone from us.” The thought caused his eyes to sting. He closed them, but no tears came. It seemed he had already used up all he had in him.

 

 

 

Ben looked up to greet the couple who had just come up to him and found himself surprised to recognize his nephew Will Cartwright and Will’s wife, Laura, who had once been engaged to Adam. Will extended his hand to grasp Ben’s.

 

 

 

“Ben, I really don’t know what to say. This is just….” Not being able to find the right words, he let his voice trail off.

 

 

 

Ben nodded, somehow understanding what Will couldn’t quite say.

 

 

 

“I appreciate your coming, Will, though I really didn’t expect you would be able to make it here from San Francisco in time.” His eyes asked the question that his words implied.

 

 

 

“Actually, we only had to come from Carson City. I happened to be there on business and I had brought Laura with me just to give her a little change.”

 

 

 

The way that Will and his wife glanced at each other then caused Ben to wonder if things were all right between them, but he really couldn’t make himself be too concerned with that at the moment.

 

 

 

“When your telegram came to our house in San Francisco,” Will continued, “it was received by our housekeeper, Mrs. Lund, who had been told to send on any messages she thought were important…which this obviously was. So she telegraphed us in Carson…and here we are.”

 

 

 

“Well, I’m grateful to Mrs. Lund, then.” Ben paused. “And Peggy?”

 

 

 

“Back at home with Mrs. Lund.” Will frowned. “According to the message we got, Peggy somehow got a look at your telegram and apparently she was pretty upset.”

 

 

 

“Poor little thing,” Hoss was heard to murmur.

 

 

 

Ben shared the sentiment. Laura’s daughter from her first marriage had become very close to Adam while he was courting her mother. And it was the general consensus among the Cartwrights that Adam’s desire to make the girl his daughter had been deeper and truer than his desire to have Laura for his wife. They had always wondered how Peggy had reacted when she had discovered that Will, rather than Adam, was to become her new father. The letters they had received seemed to hint that Peggy’s acceptance of Will had not come easily. That she would be upset on seeing the news in the telegram was to be expected.

 

 

 

“I’m leaving on the first available stage to go home and be with her.” Laura chimed in. “Will has to go back to Carson to finish his business…but Peggy will need me…and I need her.”

 

 

 

“That’s good,” Ben responded quietly. “Please be sure to give her our love.”

 

 

 

“Of course I will.” Laura reached out a hand to softly touch Ben’s arm. “Ben, please accept my deepest sympathy. And…I want you to know that I’m very sorry for any pain I caused Adam.”

 

 

 

Ben noticed how pale Laura was, even for her, and how subdued her manner was. He couldn’t help but recognize how difficult it must be for her to attend the funeral of the man she had almost married along with her husband, the man she had left him for.

 

 

 

“I understand, my dear,” he said, gently patting her hand. He looked back to Will. “Will the two of you at least be able to come back to the house for something to eat?”

 

 

 

Will and Laura glanced at each other and he nodded. “Yes, we will. Thank you for the invitation.”

 

 

 

“Good then. We’ll see you back there later.”

 

 

 

Laura slipped her arm through Will’s and, after brief exchanges with Hoss and Joe, the two of them turned and slowly moved away.

 

 

 

Their places were taken by an attractive blond woman in a simple, neat black dress and dark cloak and the slim, dark haired boy who clung to her side.

 

 

 

“Mr. Cartwright,” she said in a low voice, “my name is Ann Grant, and this is my son, Jody. My husband is Matthew Grant.”

 

 

 

It took a moment for Ben to dredge the names up in his memory. Then the whole story came back to him. Adam had found the injured Matthew Grant along the trail, taken him home and, in characteristic fashion, had devoted himself to trying to help the man and his family. It turned out that Matthew was involved with two other men who had rustled cattle from the Ponderosa and were planning to do so again. In the end, influenced by Adam and by the pleading of his trusting son, Matthew had disassociated himself from his companions and resolved to turn his life around by confessing his crimes and accepting the consequences. While the other men had been killed in their next attempt at rustling, Grant turned himself in and, with Adam pleading his case, had been given a lenient sentence for his earlier transgressions. Ben recalled how fondly Adam had spoken of young Jody, and, looking at the boy now, it was easy to understand why. He must have seen something of himself in the boy’s dark eyes and serious demeanor. Jody was making a brave attempt to stand straight and bear himself like a man, but his eyes betrayed that he had been crying. Ben found his mind wandering for a moment. Peggy…Jody…Adam had a real gift for relating to children. Some people might find that strange, but it was true nonetheless. And what a shame it was that Adam had never become…would never become…a father himself. He was brought back to the moment by he sound of Ann Grant’s voice.

 

 

 

“Mr. Cartwright, are you all right?”

 

 

 

“Oh yes. Please forgive my distraction, Mrs. Grant. I was just thinking of when Adam had spoken to me about you and your family. I’m pleased to finally get to meet you and your son.”

 

 

 

“I felt I had to come today, Mr. Cartwright. I’m sure that Matt would want to be here too, but it will be another couple of months before he’s released from prison.” She paused, as though calling to mind what she had prepared to say. “I wanted to tell you how much Adam meant to us. When he came into our lives our family was at the point of breaking up. Matt kept promising that a better life was just around the corner, but nothing ever came of it. Still, Adam believed that there was something in him that was worth saving. And in the end Matt found that in himself again. We have a chance at a new start now when Matt gets out of prison…a real one, not just another broken promise. And we have Adam to thank for making that happen. Matt and I won’t ever forget him. And I’m sure Jody won’t either.” She looked down at her son and nodded to him encouragingly.

 

 

 

Jody stepped forward. “That’s right, Mr. Cartwright. I couldn’t ever forget Adam. He was… He was…”. The boy’s emotions seemed to be threatening to choke him.

 

 

 

Ben knelt to meet the boy at his level and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

 

 

“What is it son?” he said gently.

 

 

 

Whatever it was that Jody planned to say had apparently gone right out of his head. Face to face with Adam’s father he could do nothing but speak the first words that came to him out of his own sorrow.

 

 

 

“Oh, Mr. Cartwright, when my mom told me that Adam had died I couldn’t believe it at first. I just didn’t want to believe it.”

 

 

 

“I know, son.” Ben spoke low for the boy’s ears only. “None of us wants to believe it.” His voice turned husky. “None of us wants to.”

 

 

 

The boy and the grieving father looked into each other’s eyes, each saw the reflection of his own pain, and they each felt the need to offer comfort. Jody impulsively leaned forward to throw his arms around Ben’s neck. Ben gathered the boy into his arms to hold him close. And in that moment of offering and receiving comfort Ben’s torn heart felt a gentle touch of balm, and he found that he did have a few tears left after all.

 

 

 

 

 

PART 5: WE’LL GET THROUGH THIS TOGETHER

 

 

 

The grandfather clock had just chimed three when the door creaked open and Joe Cartwright sidled in, clutching a bottle in his left hand. His bleary eyes glanced around the great room, which was dimly lit by a low fire. Not seeing anyone, he breathed a sigh of relief, then raised the bottle to his lips to take a swig. Unsteadily he moved over to the stairs and set his foot on the bottom step.

 

 

“Joseph.”

 

 

The resonant voice, seemingly coming out of nowhere, startled Joe. He turned his head and watched as the flickering light revealed a figure rising from the chair nestled in the shadows next to the fireplace. Joe groaned. His father. He should have known. As Ben approached Joe glared at him with a certain resentment.

 

 

“Waddya doin’ waitin’ up, Pa?” he demanded. His voice was slurred from the effects of drink.

 

 

The eyes that looked back at him from his father’s haggard face were clouded with weariness.

 

 

“I wanted to see just how late you were going to be tonight,” Ben replied.

 

 

“Well you don’t have to worry, Pa. I may be gettin’ in late, but you’ll still get a full day’s work out of me tomorrow,” Joe retorted.

 

 

“That’s the least of my worries,” Ben said sternly. He looked at the bottle in Joe’s hand, noticing how little liquor was left in it. “Joseph, how long do you think you can go on like this? How many times in these last two months have I heard you stumble up those stairs long past midnight in a drunken stupor? And did you think that word of how much you’ve been losing at the gambling table wouldn’t get back to me? Are you really trying to destroy yourself? If that is your intention you seem to be doing a wonderful job of it.”

 

 

“And if I were,” Joe said with a catch in his voice, “what would it really matter?”

 

 

Ben closed his eyes against the pain of hearing such a statement from his son. The two men stood there silently for a moment. Finally, Ben opened his eyes again.

 

 

“Joseph,” he began quietly, “as much as I might wish to, I cannot force you to care about what becomes of you.” His voice rose and began to tremble. “But I will not stand by and watch you dishonor your brother’s memory!”

 

 

There was a stabbing pain in Joe’s eyes as he glared back at his father.

 

 

“Dishonor him? How can you say that, Pa?”

 

 

“What else can I say?” Ben demanded. “Son, every day of your life is a precious gift. Adam gave up his own life to give that gift to you. And what are you doing with it? From all I can see you’re throwing it away as carelessly as you’d toss a piece of scrap paper into the fire. Now how do you think Adam would feel, watching you squander his gift to you that way?”

 

 

Joe lowered his eyes. “I guess he’d be pretty disappointed,” he said with bitter shame. “It’s just that…when I think of what happened…it hurts so much inside…and I can’t think of any other way to stop the pain except to drink it away.”

 

 

Ben grasped his son’s shoulders. “I think there’s something you’re ignoring,” he said quietly.

 

 

“What’s that, Pa?” Joe said.

 

 

For a moment the look in Ben’s eyes seemed far away. He was thinking back to the night two months earlier in Virginia City when the town drunk, Lem Avery, staggered out of the Silver Dollar Saloon, carelessly waving a gun in either hand. He remembered his sudden horror as he saw that one of Avery’s guns, for no apparent reason, was trained on Joe…and him. Seeing the danger. Adam had leaped into the line of fire and Avery’s bullet had caught him in the chest. There was nothing that could be done, and Adam had died within minutes…held in his father’s arms. That moment would stay with Ben forever.

 

 

“Pa, what do you mean?” Joe urged gently, bringing Ben’s attention back to him.

 

 

“Joe, the bullet that Adam took…it might just as easily have hit me as you.” Ben paused, letting the import of that sink in. “How do you suppose I feel about that? I’ve lived so much of my life…and Adam had so much more of his life to live. And yet, he was the one who took the bullet. And I’m still here. And that is something I have to live with every day.”

 

 

Joe stared at him, finally understanding that the depth of his father’s pain was just as great his own.

 

 

“Oh God, Pa,” Joe whispered, bowing his head. “How do you stand it?”

 

 

“It’s as difficult as anything I’ve ever had to do in my life,” Ben answered in a voice heavy with emotion. “In those first days after Adam was killed I truly questioned if in fact I could get through it. I had known grief before, especially when each of your mothers died. But even then there had always been something for me to cling to. Each of my wives left me a son and, in a way, part of them lived on in the three of you. But this time I had lost my son. Everything he had been was gone, and there was nothing of him left to hold onto or to provide any hope for the future. Looking on as he was buried was the worst. It filled me with a kind of despair that I had never felt before. I prayed every day that God would take away the pain, but there seemed to be no answer. Then, about a week later, I went out to visit Adam’s grave. I stood there in that beautiful, peaceful spot, but I was feeling anything but peaceful. And as I stood there something came over me. I seemed to feel Adam standing there beside me with his hand on my shoulder. Perhaps it was only my wishful thinking, but I prefer to think that it was the belated answer to my prayers. It was almost as though he was whispering in my ear, telling me, “Pa, don’t let it be for nothing”. I realized then that I had an obligation to make sure that the sacrifice he made would not be in vain. And I vowed that I would live each day striving to meet that obligation. Now I start every day praying for the strength to live up to my vow. The pain is still there. It always will be. But now I have a purpose which makes it endurable.”

 

 

Ben grasped Joe’s shoulders more strongly and looked directly into his eyes. “Son, that is an obligation that the two of us share. And I’m asking you now, will you join me in fulfilling that obligation? Will you strive, along with me, to live each day in a way that will give meaning to your brother’s sacrifice?”

 

 

Overcome, Joe nodded wordlessly. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

 

 

Ben drew back and smiled at his son. “Give me the bottle, Joseph,” he said softly. And without question or complaint, Joe handed it over.

 

 

Ben turned and strode over to the fireplace with Joe following him. Ben stared at the bottle for a few seconds, then, with a sharp, dismissive gesture, he threw it down onto the hearth, shattering it into a hundred pieces. He and Joe stood and watched the flames flare up briefly as the remaining alcohol burned off. Then they turned to face each other.

 

 

“Pa, I’m sorry,” Joe choked out. “I won’t disappoint you…or Adam…any more. You’ll see.”

 

 

Ben drew his son close. Joe rested his head on his father’s shoulder and his tears were no longer held back as he began to sob freely.

 

 

“I know, son. I know,” Ben intoned soothingly. “It’s going to be all right now. It won’t be easy, but we’ll get through this together.”

 

 

Father and son stood together for quite some time, finding a blessed comfort in each other’s embrace. Eventually, they pulled back and smiled at each other gratefully.

 

 

“Let’s get to bed, son. We do both need our rest,” Ben said.

 

 

“Sure, Pa,” Joe agreed.

 

 

With his arm around his son’s shoulders Ben began to move toward the stairs.

 

 

“Pa, when is Hoss getting back from San Francisco?” Joe asked.

 

 

“He’s due back on Thursday,” Ben replied. “It will be good to have him back. We all need to be together now.”

 

 

“We sure do,” Joe said thoughtfully. “I was just thinking, I have a lot to make up to him for. He’s been covering up for a lot of my foolishness over this last couple of months. Maybe I can get a few jobs done for him before he gets home.”

 

 

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that very much, son,” Ben said with satisfaction.

 

 

He tightened his arm around his son as together they slowly made their way up the stairs.

 

THE END

* The 23rd Psalm is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

** The words to Abide With Me are taken from the Lutheran Book Of Worship, 1978 edition.

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