Summary:  Ben is trying to sleep after laying his son to rest and is visited by memories of a life well lived. In another room, Joe is struggling with similar thoughts as he tries to quiet his mind to sleep. And in a place far removed, Adam receives the news that sends his heart reeling. This is a story about Hoss’s passing, but it is not about death. It’s about a family coming to terms with loss while rejoicing in the man they knew. and figuring out how best to honor the life that was lost.

Rated: K+  WC  9000

Story Notes:

I wrote this story a couple of years ago, just prior to Pernell Roberts death and when he passed, I found it too hard to post. But something spurred me to pull it up and read it over. It is not a story about death, but remembrance. The intent was to draw these varied individuals together in thoughts about the man they loved, each finding peace in their own way, but each moving ahead one-step-at-a-time, as is the Cartwright way.

***

The Sum of All Sadness

(Taking One Step at a Time)

Ben sighed as he sank down into the comfort of his soft bed and clean sheets. He hadn’t been in his bed, let alone slept in days. For a moment, he enjoyed the scent of fresh linens—a combination of homemade lye soap and fresh Sierra sunshine—that was a simple pleasure Hop Sing always made sure was waiting at the end of any Cartwright journey. A good night’s sleep while moving cattle or traveling by stage was assured on the grounds of exhaustion alone, never comfort. Curling up on the ground and using a saddle as a pillow was difficult, but it was better than sleeping on the bug-infested mattresses in small-town hotels and way stations that left them each “itching” to get home.

 

But whenever any of the Cartwrights rode back onto the Ponderosa—whether they were days earlier or later than expected—the diminutive powerhouse, called Hop Sing, had everything prepared for them. He had a sixth sense about their return and each of them found their room orderly, the bed aired and remade, and a fresh set of clothes laid out. In the bathhouse hot water bubbled for bathing and a good hot meal was on the table when they were cleaned up and feeling human again.

 

Tonight Ben felt that he had returned from the longest journey of his life, and was overwhelmed by gratitude as he realized that Hop Sing had seen to his needs as always: the gesture made more meaningful since Hop Sing had taken the same journey. Ben fervently thanked God for this loyal employee and faithful friend.

 

It surprised Ben to find what memories came calling in his extreme exhaustion. He relived vivid images of the day his family had finished this house and moved in with great anticipation of the life to follow. A young, determined Adam had designed the house and Ben had seen to its construction. They had wanted a home that was big enough for four men to share comfortably, and most certainly hadn’t want the fussy sort of house prevalent back East with little rooms for this and that. This Territory was big and bold, so the Ponderosa ranch house was built to embody that spirit. The inviting, open interior allowed them to live intimately—yet gave them the ability to pull away the furnishings and have space to accommodate many guests when such occasions arose. His family had solved many problems sitting before a blazing fire in the living area, talking about their ideas and plans. Indiscretions had been confessed and discipline rendered within these walls. Opinions had been aired, arguments engaged in, and bonds restored. In Ben’s mind it had served its purpose well.

 

Ben smiled with pleasure as he remembered the day Hoss’s custom-made bed had arrived at the new house. Hoss had had trouble sleeping because he didn’t fit standard-sized furniture and had to curl into uncomfortable positions just to stay covered. Once they had the space for it, Ben had ordered a bed that was sturdy and large like the man who had slept in it. Hoss never asked for much, but the bed was a reminder of his father’s love and understanding. Ben cringed as he thought of Hoss, now resting in a hard wooden box—and tried to recapture the more pleasant thoughts he had been experiencing moments earlier.

 

It was too late. He couldn’t keep his mind from moving to the horror of the last few days. Who would have thought that the simple sound of a horse and rider in the yard would be the harbinger of such sorrow? Was it a mere three days ago that it had all begun with the sound of a horse sliding to a halt and frantic hollering for Ben and Little Joe to come quickly? The rider said there had been an “accident” and there was “trouble” with Hoss. Those were such innocuous words to alert them to the incredible loss they were about to realize. But in the end, there was no word to describe the agony, complete loss and eternal hollowness they were left with.

 

It hit him again like a sudden burst of wind chasing strong and hard over the Sierras. He saw himself riding up to the spot where Eric lay, taking in the chaotic scene before him.Certainly a mistake, he thought. Hoss is just messing with them. He dismounted onto legs made wobbly by fear, trying to make his way toward his son while hands held him back assuring him that it was too late to do anything; that Hoss had died as valiantly as he had lived—saving an entire family; that a wagon was coming for him. But Ben broke free of the well-intended onlookers and rushed to his son’s side, encouraging him to wake up: stern in his observation that he had enjoyed his fun and it was time to end it. Finally, holding the lifeless body to his own, he tried to transfer his own warmth to the cold child he embraced. The words of love he spoke to his unmoving son were overtaken by a moan that grew louder as pain ripped its way from his heart through to his soul.

 

Ben had known that Joe was there, equally paralyzed by pain and grief. Both men had knelt unmoving until they were pried from the spot in order to move Hoss to the wagon.

 

Ben had brought his son home and hadn’t left Hoss’ side: unable to bear leaving him alone downstairs in the house where he had reposed. He had stayed with him countless other times when his child was sick or injured, so it had made no sense to leave him when he was most helpless.

 

This was the one function they hadn’t considered when they’d designed the house. But Ben had observed absently as the unending line of people had come past earlier in the day, that he would write Adam to tell him how well the living room functioned for a funeral. Ben now realized that he had been in a stupor for the entire day as he had shaken hands and accepted condolences from so many mourners before the service began and again, hours later.

 

Ben remembered riding in the wagon that bore his son on his last journey to the grave beside Marie’s, and had been unwilling to leave him until Joseph had tenderly eased him back to the wagon and brought him home. They entered a house that had kindly been returned to order by Hop Sing’s many relatives, so that father and son could sit by the fire and mourn privately for a time. Even with the flames sending tendrils of warmth into the room, Ben had experienced a chill that still left his bones aching.

 

Father and son had tried to talk at first: “Pa…” was followed by a “Yes, Joseph?” but nothing further was exchanged; both knowing that any speech would have led again to the questions that couldn’t be answered. Instead the two men sat silently, each with their arms wrapped around their bodies, hoping to ward of the coldness that lingered on in the house, enfolding them like shawls knit of icy grief.

 

They had finally been roused to action again as more friends and fellow ranchers began stopping by after finishing the chores that had kept them from the earlier service. No one had known what to say. Wives brought bakery and food, wanting to give something to the family that had always done so much. Ben thanked them graciously, knowing that those things would be sent out to the ranch hands who were always hungry for home cooking. There were no appetites inside the house and if there had been, Hop Sing would have gladly moved his emotion aside for the action of cooking. But just seeing the dinner table deterred them from gathering there, knowing it would be far too empty to endure.

 

Many mourners had chosen to comment on Hoss’ appetite for food and life. “So sad,” they had offered. “So sad,” Ben had replied. “Such a tragedy,” they had said. “Indeed it is,” he had replied. “He will be missed,” they had repeated earnestly. “Thank you,” Ben had replied in numbness that could not be penetrated.

 

His face clouded as he remember that there had been the curious and heartless who felt it necessary to comment on the Cartwright “curse” or the absence of the eldest son: “It does seem that this family is saddled with its excess of tragedy, so much so that one might think it cursed,” or “It seems to me Adam could interrupt his journeys long enough to come back for his own brother’s funeral,” had been offered with a snide curl of the lip and barbed tone meant to rip the wounded hearts of the Ponderosa open even further.

 

Yes, they had suffered much loss—maybe more than others—but it wasn’t as if their lives were not more blessed than cursed. How shallow to include this massive loss with the inevitability of the “bad fortune” ascribed to their family. And of course they longed for Adam’s presence, but while they always knew where Adam had been, they never quite knew where he was. Ben had blanketed Adam’s home, offices, the areas he was known to travel in, and the hotels he usually stayed at with telegrams telling of the death, knowing his son could never make it home in time even if the message found him sooner than later. Both hearts on the Ponderosa knew Adam’s would be just as broken as theirs when he heard.

 

Ben had handled such discourteous thought without acknowledgment, explanations or apologies—just penetrating looks given to silence the acerbic thoughts.

 

“Thank God for Joseph,” he said aloud as he lay recalling the nightmare his youngest son had helped him through over the last few days. He truly had no idea what he would have done without him there.

 

There were others who had come through the Cartwright household when his family had gone from three sons to two after Adam left. These others had become “like” members of the family, but no one, even if deeply regarded, had “replaced” the first born son whose essence had lingered and hovered over the household; even now gripping Ben’s heart with remembered joy and unspeakable loneliness. Others held places in his heart, but they could never fill the hole created when Adam left. And now Hoss was gone—leaving another permanent wound in a heart already battered. Ben reached for the handkerchief lying on the bedside table, using it to wipe tears from eyes that were raw. He had shed so many tears already it seemed inconceivable that there could be any remaining. But there they were, spilling onto his cheeks and pillow in silent testimony.

 

Hearing footsteps, Ben rolled over and feigned sleep as Joe cracked the door to check on him. He knew he needed to talk to Joe, to thank him for his support and strength, and to let him have his say in release of his grief and frustration too—but not tonight. His memories were the only visitors he could entertain tonight.

 

As he made himself comfortable, he caught the scent of clean sheets again. Burrowing deeper into their comfort, he let his mind drift in prayer and memory.

 

In his mind, Ben saw Adam, clutching baby Hoss as Inger tried to help the men in their battle with Indians. Had that giant of a man ever really been that small, he mused, even while in dread of remembering what had happened next. Hoss was with his mother now– finally safe and home—and could perhaps better understand what it was about Inger that his father had always seen in him. Inger would be proud to meet his soul: happy at last to embrace the child she had barely known.

 

Hoss: a big, friendly fellow. Odd, Ben thought, Hoss’s size never seemed to matter to Hoss as much as it mattered to others. Hoss accepted that he was who he was and never apologized for it. Ben always felt that Hoss’s compassion began with his mother’s spirit but was honed by the torment and responsibility associated with being big, an oddity in a “regular-sized” world. Hoss never used his size as a weapon or as an advantage unless he was forced into it. The saddest time in his son’s life had come when he thought his strength had caused another man’s death, and Ben had watched as his child nearly died from the self-loathing and anguish that had followed.

 

Ben knew that Hoss had loved without question, and trusted others until his trust was betrayed. Some had tried to use this to their advantage, but most failed when they were stymied by his absence of hate or judgment. Ben figured that some people had never experienced a heart as forgiving and accepting as his middle son’s. They couldn’t conceive of love that wiped the slate clean, giving second chances without concern over what had lead to needing them in the first place.

 

Images flashed through the father’s mind, pinpoints of joy and pain in the young man’s life. He recalled thinking Hoss was lost once when he failed to arrive home, and rode out in search, hoping against reason to find him well and merely delayed. He had found his child—with no memory of his father or family—in the care of a couple named Vandevort. They had lost their own son years earlier and had tried to make Ben’s son into a replacement for theirs. Ben thought now of his promise to Klaas and Christina that he would have allowed Hoss to accompany them to Michigan if he hadn’t regained his memory during a stop at the Ponderosa. But that promise was never given in earnest. I would never have let Hoss go had his memory not been jarred by the picture of his mother. Even if that day had turned out differently, I’d have followed him to the ends of the earth to bring him back to us in every way possible.

 

“Ah, Hoss,” Ben smiled. “You were a force to be reckoned with…and especially when egged on by your younger brother.” He remembered pancake eating contests, wrestling contests, fights…all attempted in the name of brotherly love and the lure of quick cash. Some of these endeavors had turned out better than others. But then there was the time those two had come home with an elephant! His boys could usually make him bark in anger, but after the immediacy had cooled, and he had time to think, Ben had often laughed heartily, even if secretly. His sons—his flesh and blood—his legacy. Where had the years gone? How he longed for the simpler times of growing boys with their daily dose of injuries and heartaches. Those days were gone and he had to live with the truth that one son was gone forever.

 

Ben wondered now, as he often did, why he ever let others influence his feelings toward his boys. He never intended to let it irritate him when someone made remarks about his family, but there were just some people who made him hold a magnifying glass to their actions. Then whatever it was they were doing at the time began to rankle him like a bur in his boot. Jedediah Milbank had been one such person. Ben folded his arms behind his head as he enjoyed the memory of coming upon his three grown boys fighting in the spring mud. Had he not been with that old curmudgeon, he might have joined in the fray. But after Jedediah’s steady recital of proverbs on the way to the ranch, he had just coveted a moment of pride when he would have introduced Jed to his “fine sons” and showed him all that he too had accomplished with no more than the shirt on his back.

 

There had been some tense moments and terse statements made to those boys after Jedediah was injured, and he had ended up introducing them while they dripped mud at his feet. But he smiled now with humored hindsight at the look on Jedediah’s face as he had scanned the boys and said snidely, “So these are your sons, Benjamin Cartwright.” After spending a few days alone with the old “wise man” he had decided that he didn’t care what Jedediah thought. The man was quick to chastise and quote yet another adage, or to note what needed to be done, while artfully never lending a hand in any meaningful way. In fact, his words only added to the burden of the work that Ben had done. In the end he was never more proud of each of his boys that day they returned to tell of their compassionate handling of the distasteful chores they had been sent to do on Milbank’s behalf. Jedediah couldn’t see beyond his own need and greed, but his boys had. Each had given a hand up to another person to help make a life better, whereas Jedediah had only looked to take advantage of people down on their luck, and profit from their circumstances. “Like Father, like son,” Jedediah had spat at him in contempt as he drove away, yet Ben had never felt better about the comparison than at that moment, watching the three of them nuzzle the pup Hoss had taken as a “bribe.”

 

“Sweet memories,” Ben mouthed as he realized that there was healing in the pain of remembrance.

 

His thoughts moved to the fact that those who looked at Hoss and judged him on his appearance were often amazed when they experienced the real depth of his mind. He was certainly not studied as Adam was, and had opted out of school to work the land, but had never lost his desire to learn about what interested and drove him. Hoss could often be found reading when he wasn’t working—trying to keep up on the newest methods and ideas to hone his skill in caring for the land and creatures he worried over.

 

There was innate sensibility in his middle son that understood the pain and suffering of others. Ben wondered how many hearts Hoss had healed with his wisdom, thoughtfulness and care.

 

He reaffirmed that Hoss Cartwright was simply one of a kind: an irreplaceable man. “Good night son” Ben said aloud as his mind finally cleared of pain for a moment. “Sleep well in your mother’s arms.”

***

 

Down the hall, Joseph Cartwright was feeling much the same as his father: numbness, sorrow, denial—feeling as though he was trapped in a dream and would only wake up when his big brother lumbered into his room yelling for him to get going.

 

Joe knew there was no one else like Hoss. Sure, they were brothers but that didn’t account for the love he felt for the big horse of a guy. He knew lots of families where brothers didn’t get along at all, but not on the Ponderosa. The three boys had different mothers, and as a result each had their own style and temperament. Maybe they were so close because they were all orphans of a sort. Joe realized that Pa would have been outraged if they ever said that aloud in his presence, but the three boys were united in the loss of the heart of their lives. The circumstances were different, but it was the same when it came to needing each other’s support. Pa couldn’t always be around and they had learned to rely each other when loneliness came creeping deep and ugly.

 

Of course they fought verbally and physically over their philosophical disagreements and views on issues, but they always came back together. Things had changed after Adam left. It was just him and Hoss then. They understood that their oldest brother would always be just a memory away, but he was too far removed to be included in the decisions of their lives. Joe realized that now he and Adam were each on their own. The link between them was missing. The youngest and oldest brother got along fine, but Hoss had always been there—a buffer of sorts—affording each of them another source of friendship and caring. Adam’s distance both in miles and emotion seemed unbreachable at the moment.

 

Little Joe.  Joe was still called that, even though he was already in his early thirties and had long ago established himself as a man of substance in the male dominated Cartwright family. He had never minded when Hoss called him that…or “short shanks” or “little brother.” He always knew that they were all terms of affection and only meant to tease…unless his older brother was looking to settle a score for something Joe had pulled him into.

 

Joe laid his grief aside for a moment as he thought lovingly of Alice, the girl he would soon ask to marry him, and hoped they’d have a good life on their own homestead within the Ponderosa. It was hard to cope with the loss of Hoss, but looking ahead to the beginning of a new life helped. But who would be his best man now that Hoss was gone? It was supposed to be that Hoss would stand with him, and he would stand with Hoss at their weddings. “That’s how it was supposed to be, Hoss,” Joe groaned. “It’s all wrong, now!”

 

Joe wondered how Pa would manage once the house was empty. What was there to spark his life? Adam was gone, Hoss was gone, and he would be going soon, but at least not so far away. Perhaps there would be children soon to bring life to this ranch again. And then a shudder took hold of Joe’s soul as he thought of what it would be like to raise a child, to love them with every bit of his being and then lose them before their life was fully realized. The hopelessness he had just moved out of his heart returned full force. The best he could hope for was that someday the pain of remembering his brother would lessen. Yet he vowed that he would remember even if it meant the pain had to stay around too.

 

The corners of Joe’s lips curled up as he remembered all the trouble he had gotten into with Hoss. There had been lots of shenanigans pulled as children, and even bigger plots and plans-gone-badly as adults. They had made it through each one; sometimes laughing until they couldn’t breathe, while at other times, had experienced the full brunt of their father and oldest brother’s wrath. It had all been worth it. There was no one like Hoss: No one.

***

 

Ben stirred from sleep and was instantly assailed with vivid flashbacks of the son who was at-large. Elizabeth was there admiring her baby for just a moment before death took her away; Adam riding in the wagon, sick and road-worn, but always ready for more when the new day came; Adam loving Inger and staring in horror as she died while he clutched his baby brother; Adam traveling with him while growing ever more intelligent, and always encouraging his father to move on to “their” future. Those early memories slowed as Ben saw Adam go through the death of another mother and shoulder the responsibility for a man’s work and a father’s dream. It was no wonder he needed to escape to school for a few years. But that wasn’t really it, was it? He just wanted to learn. He had an eager and earnest intelligence that couldn’t be quieted, a quest he needed to attempt. Adam had returned and shared in making the ranch grow to new vistas with a business sense so keen even Ben was amazed by it. The boy had a way of closing a deal that Ben envied and had to give Adam his due; often sending his son instead of going himself when he knew the deal would be difficult. He always knew that Adam would come home with a signed contract.

 

The memories slowed even more as he saw Adam torn by his confrontations with man’s inhumanity, while struggling to make sense of it all. He had loved and lost, not unlike his brothers and father.  But Ben had noted that Adam had changed after his time with Laura Dayton, and the paralysis he experienced following the fall from a ladder. Even after he’d recovered, he had remained withdrawn, introspective and sad. It wasn’t because he loved Laura or was outraged at losing her. He had sent her away with Will without regret; in fact seemed almost relieved to be through with it. Ben had come to feel that it was because Adam realized he had convinced himself that he wanted something he really never did, and the pain of that self-deception had become too much for him to bear. Ben wondered if it was that moment when Adam began to realize that in trying to honor his father’s dream, he was abdicating his own. He had agonized over his decision to have the hands tear down the house Adam was building for Laura. Thinking back, maybe he should have let it stand and had his son finish it and make a life for himself there. Maybe so, but it made no difference now.

 

In the end, when Adam left, Ben was never fully sure what might have been, or even if there had been, a “final straw.” It was more likely precipitated by the sum of all sadness that had followed the boy since his birth. Ben suspected that Adam either needed to break away from the path that brought new pain with such frequency, or simply had to go his own way as his own father had done; experiencing life’s journey on his own instead of in his family’s shadow.

 

That was finally as Ben had accepted it, and even now, smiled as he thought about how successful and happy his son had become as his own man. The freedom to pursue his own dreams, make his own decisions and live with his own mistakes seemed to suit his son well, and Ben relaxed in pride for the child he had loved since he had first felt his mighty kicks in his mother’s womb. “Live well son,” Ben whispered as he drifted again into a light sleep.

***

 

There was a gentle rap on the hotel suite door. One eye opened and a brow rose in question. He hadn’t left a wakeup call and it still felt like the middle of the night—yet there it was again. He reached over to raise the flame on the bedside lamp, shoved the sheets aside and slipped into his old blue robe—the one he had used for so many years and that still held memories of his life on the Ponderosa.

 

“Yes?” he said at the door.

 

“Telegram for you sir. It says it’s important or I wouldn’t have awakened you.”

 

Grabbing his pants he withdrew change from the pocket, cracked the door and took the telegram, handing the bellhop a tip before turning up more lamps to inspect the object of intrusion. Adam noted that it originated in Virginia City. A strong, visceral grip clenched both his heart and gut as he contemplated what news from home it would reveal. “Maybe Joe’s getting married,” he spoke aloud to break his tension. “It would be just like him to wake me up to let me know.” Even as he smiled at this thought, his body was steeling for the worst. His heartbeat raced as he began breathing faster, and beads of perspiration formed on his forehead and upper lip. Recognizing that this would not change the news in the telegram, Adam forced his breathing to slow, and reestablished his composure as he slipped a finger beneath the glued flap.

 

As he read, his world began to spin and he grabbed the back of a chair for support, finally managing to get around the front of it to sit. “Oh, God, no,” was all he could say. “Not this. Oh God, not this.” He would have thought it a joke except that no one would be so vile. “Hoss dead?” he moaned. “It can’t be true? The man is indestructible. Oh, God, no.”

 

Adam read the telegram again; realizing that his brother had been laid to rest during the day, and there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t get home until days— perhaps even weeks passed. How cruel to know but to be unable to do anything about it.

 

“Oh, Pa,” he thought. “You must be going through your own particular hell right now.” Adam couldn’t bear the image of his father’s grief. He knew Ben never gave his sons up without a fight and had gone in search of each of them at one time. Adam recalled that when his father had found him, he had already decided to embrace the endless darkness of death as a way to finally escape the pain of events that had led to his hopelessness.

 

Adam’s mind waxed back to his time in the desert being tested and twisted by the madman, Kane. He had given up hope of seeing his family again, even though he knew they had come looking for him—had actually heard their voices echoing in the canyon. But he had known that if he had called to them, Kane would have picked them off one by one as they rode in, just to torture him more. Adam hadn’t been willing to risk their lives for his and had remained mute.

 

When Kane finally faltered and Adam controlled his own destiny again, he had figured that his family was long gone and that his exodus from Kane’s slavery led to no Promised Land. But he had tried to save himself and the crazy man he towed behind him, knowing his family would expect an effort. But the endless hours walking in the heat while pulling the travios had taken their toll, and he had gone as far as he could go without food, water or hope. There had been nothing left: no physical or spiritual strength had remained. Then remarkably, in his delirium, he had heard three distinct voices from his memory saying, “Adam.” He had convinced himself it was his mind’s fragile earthly fiber trying to make one last connection to those he loved as death claimed him. Adam had always suspected that his family would occupy his final thoughts, and now wondered if images of Ben, Joe and himself, had come to ease Hoss in his journey across the thin barrier between life and death.

 

That day in the desert, Adam had been closer to death than life, and so defeated by exhaustion that his mind would not allow him to make sense of what was happening. But gradually, his family had taken form and substance. Their hands had touched him, held him and gave him strength, when his had entirely ebbed away. He had collapsed while trying to explain his torment, and finally just held onto his father, sobbing like he had never done before. The man had absorbed his agony and simply cradled him until he could regain some sense of awareness and control. He remembered that his father’s shirt had smelled like the clean sheets on their bed; like the sweat they all poured out working long hours on the Ponderosa—and most of all like home at the end of his longest journey.

 

Adam wrapped his robe around himself more tightly and breathed deeply, finding the scent of his family still there, even if only in his mind. For a moment Adam found himself longing to embrace his father now as he had in that barren wasteland, finding solace when all hope of finding any was gone. He hoped that Hoss had felt Ben’s arms around him as his life was stolen away. There would have been no better way to leave this life than to feel his father’s arms delivering him to the arms of God.

 

Adam grieved again as he remembered the gap that had formed between himself and Hoss as he recovered from the ordeal with Kane. His brother had been so overcome with shame and guilt for trying to convince their father to abandon the search that Hoss had pulled away from Adam for a time, not coming to his room as he’d convalesced, and then barely speaking to him when Adam had been able to join the family downstairs. Adam had finally taken him aside and forced him to say what was bothering him. Hoss had quietly confessed that he had given up and would have been the cause of his death. It had become too hard to face that his older brother would have died alone, and couldn’t imagine how he could be forgiven.

 

“But you don’t understand, Adam,” Hoss had agonized. “I not only lost hope, but asked Pa to give up too. If it hadn’t been for Pa, you would have died, and Pa, well somehow in his heart he would have known we could have found you alive if we had just kept looking. He would never have forgiven himself for abandoning you. He would have forgiven me, but for me that would have been even worse.”

 

“Hoss,” Adam had reassured him. “It was a moment in time. You probably would have gotten down the road a spell and turned right back around for one last look, and none of you would have gone home until you found what you were looking for. From what Joe tells me, Pa was at the point of collapse. You didn’t want to abandon me; you wanted to save Pa. I understand that and would have made the same decision.” The two brothers had talked it out until the big man had finally found his way back to his older brother as he had accepted Adam’s forgiveness, and at last had forgiven himself.

 

Adam knew he had brought peace to Hoss that time, but it was usually the other way around. Hoss was the one who always came to his side when things were darkest in his life. He remembered mourning the death of his oldest friend after confronting Ross’s insanity, and thinking about it shook him to his core even now. How could a man forget his wife, his acquaintances, and go to such a dark place that he became a wild beast. Ross had found conspiracy where none existed and participated in actions that were so beyond his sensibilities that Adam couldn’t fathom what had really happened. But afterwards, as he had tried desperately to make sense of it, Hoss had sat next to him, and asked about the final moments when he was forced to make the decision to defend himself against the monster Ross had become. After listening, Hoss had assured him that Ross Marquette had died a friend, not an enemy, and that Ross’s death freed the man from a possessed mind that would have kept him enslaved had he lived. It was only after Hoss expressed these thoughts that Adam had finally been able to cope with his decision. He hadn’t killed his friend. He had killed the angry, rabid beast that had taken residence in Ross’s mind, and at the end, the beast was silenced and the man he had known returned for a last moment.

 

Hoss had always had a sense about grief. He knew to listen first, and in listening he had helped the most. Hoss had never let an abyss of grief stop him from putting an arm around a person who was in pain.

 

Adam was at a loss to mourn his brother. How could he mourn someone who still seemed so alive? Hadn’t they bought a racehorse together just a few years back, and chased a bull together through the streets of Virginia City after one of Hoss and Joe’s plans had gone horribly wrong? It was too soon for Hoss to exit the world. Only the brief description in the telegram made any sense. Hoss died while saving a family from drowning. Stop.

 

Adam figured he’d receive a letter with more information as soon as he let his father know where he was, but knew that his brother would have given his life most willingly to save another. He usually saw when others were drowning before they even realized they were going under. Hoss had had the least to say when Adam left. There had been no argument or plea for him to stay. There had been no attempt to make him feel guilty for leaving, or need to know what his plans were. In his heart, he knew Hoss had felt his reasons more than understood them, and had sensed that Adam would have drowned had he stayed longer. The day Adam had left, Hoss had simply embraced him in a mighty bear hug and quietly said, “Be happy Older Brother. God knows you deserve it.”

 

Adam wondered How can the spirit of Hoss be gone? Shouldn’t there be a slash in the universe, a stoppage of time, or a significant change of events with the loss of a spirit so large? Aw Hoss, how could you do this? How could you die without waiting to see me again? He knew that he could go in search of his brother, but there would be no happy ending this time. A trip home would only honor the living and pay respects to the dust that was once his brother. It was a pilgrimage he was not yet able to make. He resolved to mourn his younger brother privately and honor his spirit by living honestly, showing kindness to others, respecting the earth Hoss had loved and connected with so easily, and continuing Hoss’s boldness of character that accepted all without judgment or prejudice. Those were things his brother would appreciate and understand.

 

Without warning, Adam’s loss poured out; heaving his aching heart in anguish he had not known since that day in the desert, clinging to his father.

***

 

Ben heard his bedroom door open quietly, and a soft voice inquired, “Pa, are you awake?”

 

“Yes Joseph. Come in.”

 

“Were you able to sleep, Pa?”

 

Pulling to a sitting position, Ben motioned Joe to come in and sit on the bed. “I actually slept a few hours on and off. I had a lot of memories keeping me company. How about you?”

 

“Pretty much the same.” Joe stood again and walked around the room, finally leaning his head on the window frame as he looked outside. “I thought about Hoss and Adam and finally dozed for several hours.”

 

“Something on your mind, Joseph?”

 

Joe sat again on the bed looking perplexed. He finally began, “So, Pa, how do we go on? How do we go downstairs now and just move on with our lives? How do we do this?”

 

Ben reached for Joe’s shoulder and held it saying, “Like we always do, son. We get dressed, join Hop Sing for breakfast and start moving again. We put one foot in front of the other and hold each other up if we have to, but we just keep moving. And one day, we’ll realize that we’re smiling again. We’ll realize that the tears are fewer and the memories are sweeter. We’ll lose ourselves in our work and remember Hoss a thousand times every day. At some point, the sadness will give way to joy again. It doesn’t seem possible now, but it will happen if we allow it to.”

 

“Pa.”

 

Ben waited for Joe to continue but when he didn’t, prompted, “What is it son? You know you can tell me anything.”

 

“I wish it was me who died. Not because I don’t want to live, but because it seems so unfair that Hoss is gone. He loved this land more than any of us brothers. My death wouldn’t leave such an incredible hole. I’m afraid to go outside for fear that everything will have withered and died out there with his passing. I could feel something when we were burying Hoss at the lake yesterday. It’s like the land knows he’s gone and is shuddering in pain. I know it’s stupid Pa, but it was as real a feeling as sitting here with you is now.”

 

Ben embraced his heartbroken son. He waited until the pain passed and then began, “Joseph. I have long ago learned that wishing to take the place of the person who is gone is futile. We may not understand why this happened, but we are here and must not spend time considering alternatives because it only makes it harder to move forward. We are all tied to this place and while Hoss may have been closer to the earthiness of it, you and I are just as tied to its upkeep and future. And your observation is not ‘stupid’. I felt it too. You could almost hear the earth groan, marking the loss. But it will recover just as we will recover. That is life’s narrative.”

 

“There’s more, Pa.”

 

“Just say it, Joe.”

 

“It’s what those people said yesterday…about this family being cursed. I sometimes wonder if it isn’t true.”

 

“You can’t let those comments dictate your thoughts, Joseph,” Ben cautioned.

 

“But, Pa, this family has gone through so much. We’ve lost so much. How much more can we lose before it stops?”

 

“Listen, son. Sadness and loss are the other sides of the coins of joy and gain. Having one is not exclusive of the other. Life must be experienced in every form in which we receive it: both good times and bad. God does have a path for each of us. Quite often we just have to hang on in faith, praying to be shown the way, and then for the strength to follow it.”

 

Joe sat in silence and finally nodded his head. “I guess that’s all we can do, Pa. I’ve been holding on by a thread for the last three days. I can do it a little longer.”

 

“So, should we get dressed and have breakfast? I’m sure Hop Sing will be glad to see us come down.”

 

“Adam will come home now, right, Pa?”

 

“Oh, I think we’ll hear from Adam soon but I don’t think he’ll make it home right away. In fact, I have to write a letter, telling him what actually happened, and I’m not looking forward to that. It will feel a little like picking the scab off a fresh wound.” After a brief silence, Ben asked, “Do you understand why Adam left?”

 

“I don’t think it really matters why he left, Pa, just as long as he comes back now that Hoss is gone.”

 

“But it does , Joseph. The reason he left is part of why he won’t be coming home because of this.”

 

“I don’t think I ever quite understood, Pa. Hoss did though. I remember a few times grousing about Adam not being here, and Hoss told me that leaving here was as important for Adam as staying here was for him. He said he understood Adam’s need to go and would never question his decision. I felt that if Hoss could be all right with Adam leaving, who was I to feel differently.”

 

Ben smiled. “Sounds like Hoss had it right again. I’d love to see Adam, but wouldn’t want him to come home thinking it was his obligation. I know you were close to both your brothers, Joe, but with the age difference between you and Adam, I think there are things that you can’t possibly understand. Adam gave everything he had to this family. I think perhaps he gave so much for so long, that he was losing the sense of who he was apart from us. You fought for Adam to recognize that you were a man. That was hard for him because he had always looked out for you, protected both you and Hoss, and accepted the responsibilities of being my right hand pretty much from the time Inger died. Through all his life, I never heard a word of resentment or bitterness from him. I know he expected a lot from you, but never more than he expected of himself. All that responsibility—watching out for you and Hoss, and helping to build this ranch began to take his toll. Adam helped me find my dreams, but I think he had come to realize that his dreams weren’t the same as mine.

 

I also think that in the last year he was home, Adam felt like he was losing bits and pieces of himself. He had to leave to find what would make him feel whole again. Like you and Hoss, Adam’s heart is always here. I want him to come home because his heart calls him back, not because he thinks it’s expected of him or that we can’t manage without him. He would make the best of being back, but it wouldn’t work. That would be harder for me than his leaving was. Do you see what I’m saying, son?”

 

“I guess I have to, Pa.” Joe rose, heading for the door. “I sure miss him though, and we could use his help.” The silence lingered until Joe spoke again. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes. But that’s all I can promise for now.”

 

“That’s enough Joe,” Ben replied as he smiled at his youngest. “One step at a time.”

 

“Sure, Pa.”

 

“Joseph. There’s one thing more I need to say. I know that Hoss wouldn’t have left the Ponderosa, and in his own way he’ll be here forever now. But I don’t want his passing to make you think you have to remain here tending to this land or to me because of a well-meaning sense of obligation. You are always free to make your own choices, just as your brothers did. Promise me that?”

 

“Thanks, Pa.” Joe turned from the door to face his father again. “Right now, I can’t think of a place I’d rather be. I wish the circumstances were different, but I know I belong here.”

***

 

Adam regained his focus after a time, managing to shave and dress before sending off a telegram confirming his receipt of the news. Then, making his way to the hotel stable, he secured a saddle horse for the day.

 

In twenty minutes he had cleared the city and was flying through the countryside at full gallop. A hoar fog shrouded patches of low ground, but the sky was clearing to a piercing blue: the color of Hoss’ eyes. Adam spoke to Hoss in thoughts, expressing his love, and thanking him for all that they had experienced together—the pain, and the joy. Memories embraced him as he saw the episodes of life, both with Hoss as a child and the man he grew to be. He apologized with deep regret for the times his own actions might have seemed hurtful or confusing to his brother, and thanked him for always accepting his explanations, even if they had stung. As Adam pulled his horse to a slower pace, he told his brother, “I will miss you every day of my life.”

 

When he was finally spent and the horse tired, Adam dismounted, withdrew paper and writing tools from his saddlebag and collapsed against a fallen tree. There in the solitude, Adam wrote a letter to his father expressing his concern for him and Joe, and sharing in their loss. He stopped short of communicating his deep emotion at the passing, feeling unable to put it into words. How could he write of the void he felt, or the fact that he had loved his brother since the day Hoss’s tiny pink fingers had wrapped around his in the back of a covered wagon? How could he explain the regrets he felt at not having seen his brother again, the pain at not being able to protect him at the time of his greatest need, the fear that he had not told Hoss how much he loved and appreciated him, or about the part of himself he felt had been buried along with his younger brother?

 

He thought he was finished with the note, but then, opened the page and added,

 

A generous and placid spirit lost

Leaves Sorrow sans voice to speak.

Earthly bonds too soon defeated

A cost too great to fathom.

 

To his name he grew most surely

The boy, a man of grace became.

Sought no more than in return could offer

Thus, offered all in purest form.

 

Finite form amended to infinity

A gentle soul shed human ties.

The while of life he wrote upon my heart

An eternal and indelible inscription:

“Brother.”

 

Adam felt Hoss’ warmth wash over him as he rose to leave; knowing he would say something like, “Don’t grieve me, brother. You can’t even imagine what it’s like here.” Looking up at the wisps of clouds creating a heavenward spiral, he bid farewell to Hoss’s earthly life, pulled up into the saddle and headed back to face his own life again. He considered that although nothing had visibly changed, he was a different man. He had been a fraction of three, and now felt diminished by a third. It would take time to cope with that. In his heart he heard his Father telling him to take it “one step at a time,” and right then that was all he could hope to do.

***

 

Father and son met at the top of the stairs and headed down together. Hop Sing looked up from the living area and smiled. “You hungry now. Come eat.”

 

Since Hop Sing had not set the table, Ben suggested they all eat in the kitchen with cook joining them. “Hop Sing, maybe we can all have our meals together in the kitchen for a while until that huge table doesn’t seem so empty.”

 

“Very good, Mr. Cartwright. Very good,” replied the smiling Hop Sing as he came over and hurried them through the dining area into the warm kitchen with its scents of frying eggs and bacon. “You sit down.”

 

The three men sat quietly at first, enjoying food for the first times in days with the realization of how hungry they actually were. Ben was the first to speak. “Hop Sing, I want you to know how much we appreciate all that you have done for us over these last few days. I don’t think we could have made it without you here. You were our anchor when we would have been blown around at will, and your family helped keep things running at a time when we could barely remember what to do next. I appreciate the special kindnesses you showed us when you must have been experiencing the same grief.”

 

Little Joe seconded the thanks as he grabbed another piece of bacon.

 

“Hop Sing miss Hoss, but remember much happiness in knowing him.”

 

Hop Sing’s thought released the tension of the previous days and the three men began to remember the things about Hoss that made them the happiest. Laughter created a healing balm. The meal was finished in the silence of friends who have all lost much, yet have their memories tattooed upon their hearts.

 

Ben and Joe finally headed to the front door, making one last stop to look at the room where the Cartwright family had always gathered. There was no mistaking the fact that it had grown brighter in the last hour. With his hand on the latch, Ben looked at Joe and said, “One step at a time?”

 

“Sure, Pa.

 

The End.

 

End Notes:

Thank you for choosing and reading this story. I hope that you were able to find something in it that encouraged you in your own struggles. I pray that each of you have a wonderful day and live it fully.

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.