9

Two days after his pa and Hoss arrived, Joe convinced them all he was ready to ride home. It took a lot of effort to stand up straight and hide the ongoing twinges of pain behind a grimace masquerading as a smile. It took an even greater amount to endure the journey. Yet the moment he found himself on home soil, he knew it was all worth it—even when actually setting foot on home soil proved harder than he’d expected. His legs had gone so numb he needed help dismounting.

Two weeks later, things were back to normal—if watching Adam and Hoss playing with the Hansen children and their cousins could be considered normal. Joe sat on the Hansen’s front porch with the rest of the adults while his two older brothers ran around in circles and ferried children across the yard on their shoulders. The youngest Cartwright still wasn’t quite hale enough for running or ferrying. Besides, he had more important things to do. Gunnar Andersen was preparing to present the Hansen’s case against Gainsby.

“In all likelihood Judge Haynes will find in favor of Kari,” Gunnar explained. “But that won’t be the end of it. In equal likelihood Gainsby will file a counterclaim. He will have to in order to protect his own finances, since the money he took from Kari was destroyed in the fire. A judge could potentially find in his favor, in which case although Kari is entitled she could still receive nothing. On the other hand, if the judge rules against Gainsby he will be required to reimburse her from his own bank account. This could encourage him to file a claim against the stage line for failing to protect his money, which would in turn cause them to file a claim against him for causing the fire in the first place. That is where we might encounter our greatest complication with—”

“It all sounds terribly complicated.” Kari Hansen shook her head and gazed out at her laughing children.

Joe agreed. His head was spinning already. How could it get more complicated than that? And did any of it even matter anymore? He noticed the contented look in Kari Hansen’s eyes matched by a small but very real smile. It was a good change, so different from her appearance in Virginia City the day Gainsby took her money.

“I’m afraid the real complications begin with that fire,” Gunnar went on. “It will primarily be Joe’s word against Gainsby’s. The only physical proof we have against Gainsby will be that cigar burn Dr. Harding treated on Joe’s palm. With Harding’s reputation, well… Gainsby’s lawyer can be expected to take advantage, seeking to discredit Harding. A judge could rule the doctor’s deposition invalid, in which case we have only Adam’s witness account attesting to the existence of that cigar burn. And since Adam is not a trained physician, his testimony could also be invalidated. I’m afraid we will have to face the possibility that Joe could even be implicated in a determination of cause for that fire, in which case the judge could find him financially responsible.”

“That’s absurd,” Ben Cartwright complained. “Joe was just an innocent bystander, or at most a … a good Samaritan. Jebediah Ralston and Ed Burke have both agreed to testify against Gainsby. Surely any judge would recognize the validity of their accounts.”

“But neither Ralston nor Burke actually witnessed the scuffle in the stagecoach, and neither can testify to having seen the start of the fire. And as to the children’s accounts, well, because they’re children the judge might not consider them credible witnesses.”

“Well.” Kari tore her gaze away from the laughter in the yard. “If this whole tangled mess could possibly result in a financial loss to the Cartwrights, I cannot in good conscience go forward with any of it.” She met her brother’s gaze. “You must tear up all these papers at once. I will not file anything against Mr. Gainsby.”

Ben Cartwright placed his hand atop hers, pulling her attention. “Kari, please,” he said softly. “Men like Gainsby…; they take advantage of the law at the expense of others, people like you. Our only recourse is to use what laws we can against him.”

“But what good will it do? It won’t stop him from doing the same thing again to someone else. And if it costs you—”

“Don’t you worry about me or Joe,” Ben insisted. “And as to Gainsby, well, maybe it won’t stop him. But maybe it will. At the very least it will cause him to think twice before he tries to go after someone else’s money again. Men like him count on the fact that no one will ever challenge them. Wouldn’t you agree he needs to be challenged?”

Kari Hansen studied him for a long while, seeming unsure what to say. Joe noticed her eyes welling with tears. “I… I’m so sorry you and…and Joe….” She turned her attention toward Joe and then looked down, as though ashamed. “I’m so sorry I allowed you to get involved.”

“I’m not sorry,” Joe responded. “I’m not sorry at all.”

He met his pa’s gaze and was happy to see Pa smile back at him.

“Nor am I,” Pa added. “Now, please. Sign those papers. The sooner we let your brother get started, the sooner we can bring this all to a close, once and for all.”

Kari held his gaze a while longer. Finally, she took up the pen Gunnar had prepared for her, and began signing her name.

XxXxX

Joe leaned back against the hard, wooden seat of the buckboard and gave Adam his most serious look. “You do know I almost broke my neck up there at Daggett Pass.”

Adam glared his way before returning his attention to driving the horses. “I know. I was there.”

“It’s only been a few weeks. You really think I’m anxious to go through all that again?”

“Maybe not; but you and I both know you’re too stubborn to think sometimes. Usually all I have to do is tell you a horse can’t be broken, and then there you are on its back, aiming to prove me wrong.”

“It takes more instinct than thinking to break a horse, brother.”

“Hmmm.” Adam studied the road ahead as they drew closer to Virginia City. “Usually it takes more thinking than instinct to break through that thick skull of yours.”

“Usually?”

“This time instinct won out. How else could Hoss know you wouldn’t try breaking that stallion?”

“Hmmm.” Joe stared toward the buildings in the distance, attempting to make it appear he was deep in thought. “Well,” he said after a moment. “Maybe it’s because I’d already told him.” Joe’s laughter drew a heated glare from his older brother.

“You told him?” Adam asked.

Joe nodded. “I told him.”

“Before he made that bet with me?”

Joe winked.

“And you let us make the bet, anyway.”

“Come on; how long has it been since Hoss went to a cotillion in Carson City?”

“You know very well Hoss has never been to—”

“And how long has it been since you’ve been to a cotillion in Carson City?”

Adam sighed.

“I figured it was about time Hoss had an opportunity to dance with some fine ladies for a change.”

“I suppose you also figured it was about time I had an opportunity to pick up a month’s worth of supplies?”

Before Joe could answer, a chorus of children called their attention.

“Uncle Joe! Uncle Adam!”

As soon as Adam drew the horses to a stop, Joe jumped to the ground to accept a bevy of hugs. All thoughts of bets and cotillions forgotten, he lifted Mary into the air, laughing as she squealed in delight. But when Adam went a step further, hoisting Matthew to his shoulders and then lifting James into his arms as well, Joe rolled his eyes and gave his brother an incredulous look. “Show off!” he complained before he noticed Martin standing alone, seeming far too serious. “Hey, Martin!” Joe called to him. “How about we head into the general store and get some of that licorice you like so much?”

Martin’s eyebrows rose. It wasn’t exactly a sign of excitement, but it was about as close as that boy could come these days.

“We’ll have to wait for Momma,” Martin answered then. “She can pay for it after she gets done at the bank.”

Taken back, Joe knelt to meet Martin eye-to-eye. “I offered the candy as a gift, Martin. I’m not asking you to pay for it.”

“But we won’t need gifts anymore,” Martin went on. “Momma’s getting her money back today.”

Now it was Joe’s turn to make a show of excitement by raising his eyebrows. “She is? Well, that’s fantastic! But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to give you the candy.”

“But Momma doesn’t want any more gifts.”

“Think of it as an early birthday present.” Joe winked.

“But my birthday isn’t for another three months yet.”

“My birthday’s before his!” Mary announced.

“Well, then,” Joe said, “We’ll say this is an early birthday party for Mary. I’ll get candy for everyone. I don’t think your mother would mind, Martin. Do you?”

The boy shrugged. “I guess not.”

“Come on, then.” Joe rose, and reached his hand out to Martin.

Though the boy seemed hesitant, minutes later he was smiling as wide as the rest of them—maybe even wider.

XxXxX

While the children were happily gnawing away at various types of candy, Joe watched the bank manager personally escorting Mrs. Hansen up the street toward them.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Little Joe?” Mr. Whittaker said the moment she reached him. “Mr. Gainsby paid her back for everything.”

“Yes,” Joe answered, keeping his gaze on Mrs. Hansen and hoping she knew his smile was meant specifically for her. “It’s wonderful.”

Mrs. Hansen smiled back at him. “What I find hard to believe is none of that…tangled mess of counterclaims Gunnar told us about…, well, none of it is likely to come about.”

“Oh?” Joe turned to Adam, puzzled.

Adam shrugged, giving his own attention back to Mrs. Hansen.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hansen went on. “It seems Mr. Gainsby, well, apparently he’s elected not to sue for his own financial loss.”

“You…you’re kidding.” Joe was stunned. This did not sound like the Gainsby he’d come to know painfully well.

“Not at all.” Mrs. Hansen hesitated, seeming to consider something. “It makes me wonder if perhaps he wasn’t at all the man we’d thought him to be.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Adam cautioned. “You can bet on the fact he has his reasons.”

“I’m not exactly the type to place bets, Adam,” Mrs. Hansen answered. “But if I were, I think I’d prefer to bet on the possibility that maybe he has come to…well, to find a certain degree of compassion.”

“I got to known him pretty well at Daggett Pass,” Adam said. “Up there he didn’t understand anything about compassion. People don’t change that much, that quickly.”

“I’d like to think you’re wrong about that.”

“I’d like to think so, too. But I’m not.”

Joe noticed the set of Adam’s shoulders and the knowing look in his brother’s eyes.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Joe asked him. “You knew he wouldn’t go through with all that mess about countersuits.”

Adam cocked his head. “Let’s just say up on the pass we showed each other our cards. I had the winning hand.”

“Well,” Mr. Whittaker spoke into the strange silence that followed. “I need to get back to the bank. But I do wish you a wonderful day, Mrs. Hansen. A truly wonderful day.”

Joe pulled his attention away from his older brother and hurried after Mr. Whittaker, although he waited until they’d turned the corner before grabbing the man’s shoulder, causing him to stop.

“You let it happen,” Joe accused him once they stood facing one another. “Why?”

“Whatever do you mean, Little Joe?”

“You never once questioned it. You didn’t hesitate. You just looked at that piece of paper and said Gainsby had every right to the Hansens’ money.”

“He had what appeared to be a legitimate claim. There was no cause for me to question it.”

“No cause?” Joe asked, bothered but not surprised by the man’s statement. “No cause?” Joe repeated. “What about protecting your customers? Shouldn’t that be enough cause for you to question the claims of a…a stranger? A thief?”

“He was by no means a thief, Little Joe. He had a legitimate business claim. How was I to know there might be a way for Mrs. Hansen to challenge that claim?”

“That’s just it. How were you to know there wasn’t? You didn’t even bother to consider the possibility. You just gave him the money. You…gave it right to him.”

“I was just doing my job. You can’t fault me for that.”

“That’s right.” Joe nodded, glancing away. “You were just doing your job. You were just following…the letter of the law is I believe how you put it before.”

“Yes. Precisely.”

“Well maybe that’s the whole problem,” Joe said accusingly. “You’re so focused on the law and your job that you’ve lost sight of what matters. You know….” He hesitated, suddenly recognizing what he’d failed to see before. “In a way that makes you no different than Mr. Gainsby.”

“How can you say that? You heard your brother. Gainsby is not a man of compassion. I’m nothing like him.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Mr. Whittaker. I almost believed it too, back in the bank that day. But it wasn’t compassion I saw in your eyes then. It was weakness. You were too weak to stand up for Mrs. Hansen or anyone else. Another Mr. Gainsby could come to you tomorrow, and you’d hand over my pa’s money just as easily as you did Mrs. Hansen’s.”

“I would never!”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course not!”

“Why not? Is it because my pa has more money in his account than Mrs. Hansen? Is it only because you’d be more afraid of losing Pa’s business than of accepting some strange man’s claim?”

“I resent these implications!”

“Why? Because they’re true?”

“I’ll listen to no more of this!” Mr. Whittaker turned away.

“I tell you what, Mr. Whittaker,” Joe called after him. “The next time you have to tell someone they’re flat broke, the next time you have to foreclose on a piece of property someone has invested a lifetime of work into, you remember what happened to Mrs. Hansen. You remember what you let happen to her because you didn’t stop for one second to question Mr. Gainsby’s claim, because you were just doing your job. Then you can decide whether or not you’re a man of compassion.”

Mr. Whittaker paused for a moment, seeming to consider Joe’s words. But then he walked on, leaving Joe standing alone, breathless with unspent anger, fists clenching uselessly at his sides—just as he’d been weeks ago when he’d watched Gainsby slip away.

Somewhere in his thoughts Joe found himself remembering Doc Harding, a man who’d had too much compassion. And suddenly Joe was confused—so confused he could hardly think. Feeling numb, he barely flinched when a hand fell upon his shoulder.

“How about I buy you a beer, little brother?” Adam offered.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he let Adam lead him away, thankful for the companionable—compassionate feel of his brother’s arm. It felt good to know he wasn’t alone.

XxXxX

This story is posted in chapters, to move from page to page, click the next page number below.

 

Epilogue

For a long while Ben stood gazing down at the tall, sleek piece of stone marking his late wife, Marie’s grave. How could he speak to a piece of stone? She wasn’t there. She wasn’t in that stone. Yet somehow, she was. He could feel her presence. He could almost smell her perfume in the breeze as it gently brushed his cheek with soft fingers of air so like Marie’s delicate touch.

Finally, Ben took his hat into his hands and started to say the words he needed to believe she could hear.

“I don’t know what to tell him, Marie,” he confessed. “He has so much of you in him. So much. I can’t .… I can’t tell him he’s wrong to do such things. I also can’t tell him he’s right. If he had come to me, if he had asked my permission—or even just my advice—I would have insisted he stay home. He had no responsibility to Mrs. Hansen or her children, none at all. His responsibilities lie here, on the Ponderosa. His responsibilities lie with me.

“And yet,” Ben took a deep breath, gazing up at the trees. “If I had stopped him, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened to that woman, to her family. I can’t help but…imagine she would have…died. If you had seen her that day I found her in her garden, if you had…been there…. Only.…” Pausing to clear the heaviness straining his voice, Ben returned his attention to the stone, to the name carved there.

“Joe saw it first,” he went on. “He knew. He knew right away, before he even laid eyes on her. I have no doubt you would have, too. You would have been just as stubborn, just as impulsive. You would never have let those children go off on their own like that. You would have done exactly…exactly what Joe did. I would have argued. But you…you would have won that argument. And…that’s what disturbs me. I could accept you winning. I can’t accept it with Joe. I don’t ….”

Ben’s breaths were coming quicker now. His heart was growing heavier. “I don’t want him to end up like…like Doc Harding.”

“Why would I?”

Little Joe’s soft question pulled Ben around, surprised to find his youngest son standing behind him, one hand holding loosely to Cochise’s reins.

“Joe,” Ben rasped out a terse greeting as he turned back to the stone, confused and unwilling to show that confusion to his son.

“I’m sorry, Pa. I didn’t mean to intrude. I just….” Joe’s voice broke. “I need to know why you think I could end up like him.”

“I learned some things,” Ben answered, still facing the stone, “about Doc Harding in Carson City. Major Sinclair knew him. They were…very close back when they’d first joined the army.”

“Doc Harding was in the army?”

“Yes. Sinclair said he was a good man, among the finest he could ever hope to know. Always concerned about people, about saving people. Sinclair called him passionate. And headstrong. He even went so far as to…to compare Harding as a young man with…well, with you.”

“How could he? I’ve never met Major Sinclair.”

“He knows what I’ve told him. He knows what you did for the Hansens. And…he knew your mother.”

“My mother?”

“You and she are more alike than you know, Joseph.”

“She could never have ended up like Doc Harding. If we’re so much alike, why do you think I could?”

Ben gazed longingly at Marie’s name, and then turned to face his son. “Joe, she had us. All of us. Your brothers. You. Me. We helped temper her…her passion. She did whatever she could for others, of course, whenever she could. But she also recognized there were times she couldn’t help, or shouldn’t help. It would break her heart, but she said just having us near her, it was enough to keep her strong.”

“You think I don’t find strength in you?”

“Maybe you do. I hope you do. But son…. It’s a different kind of strength. And maybe…maybe not the right kind of strength.” Ben glanced out at the lake beyond Joe’s shoulder.

“Joseph,” he went on then, “there will be times when no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, it just won’t make a difference. People will suffer, people you want desperately to help, but simply can’t. And times when helping causes a different kind of harm, one you hadn’t anticipated. You need to remain strong when that happens. You need to hold to the fact that you simply could not have done anything different.”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” Ben repeated with a soft, humorless chuckle. “It sounds simple. But if you let your passion drive you too much, too hard, it will start to take its toll. As it did to Doc Harding.”

“Pa,” Joe’s gaze was both sad and baffled. “I’m not Doc Harding.”

Ben found himself smiling at the innocence of Joe’s statement. “No, I suppose you’re not.”

“And I do have you, and Hoss, and Adam, just like my mother did. I also have something she didn’t have.”

Puzzled, Ben waited for Joe to explain.

“I have her.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, considering Joe’s words.

“Sometimes it’s like, like I can feel her watching over me.” Joe smiled, seeming to find solace in his own words though his eyes glistened. “I don’t want to let her down, Pa. I don’t want to let either of you down.”

“I know,” Ben said in an abrupt whisper, no longer trusting his voice. Crossing to his son, he wrapped an arm around Joe’s shoulder. “Now how did you know to find me here?”

“Hoss said you had something you needed to do. After that long ride from Carson City I couldn’t imagine you thinking of anything other than just getting home. Or maybe…coming up here.”

“Am I really that predictable?”

Joe shrugged instead of answering. “I suppose I’m impulsive enough for both of us.”

“That you are, Joseph.” Ben squeezed Joe’s shoulder and then drew away. “What do you say we head home? I can almost smell Hop Sing’s pot roast from here.”

“I hope you’re not too hungry.”

“Why’s that?”

“Hoss said there wasn’t enough food in Carson City to keep him full.”

“He’s right about that. Well, we’d better hurry up, then.”

It would have to do. This conversation, this moment, it was what he’d needed, maybe what they’d both needed. He could only hope it was enough.

XxXxX

~end~