Summary: This story looks at Joe’s early life based on the events told in The Wheels of Fate and how it was for him growing up outside of the Ponderosa’s protective wing. Alone as a boy Joe deals with rejection, prejudice, and loneliness.

Rated:  T (12, 230 words)

Story Notes:
As stated before, this story is attached to The Wheels of Fate. If you want to read this story without reading Wheels Of Fate all you need to know is that Joe was taken from the Ponderosa at an early age and was raised by a family completely different from his rightful one.

The Wheels of Fate Series:

The Wheels of Fate
A Spoke in the Wheel: Joe’s Story

 A Spoke In The Wheel – Joe’s Story

Daylight squeezing through the cracks in the roof to lay a pattern of stripes across his face woke him, but he didn’t move. Not yet. First he listened, straining his ears for any sound coming through the paper thin wall that separated his tiny bedroom from the rest of the shack. The term bedroom was used loosely since there wasn’t a bed and it wasn’t so much a room as a lean to attached to the shack to store wood in that he had closed in with miscellaneous bits of wood, but it was his, and it was better than sleeping in the shack with his drunken father and short tempered mother.

It was his father that he was listening for now, a habit that stretched back as far as he could remember. He couldn’t hear the shallow wheezing of his snore, but he couldn’t hear anyone moving about either. His mother must have already left for the hotel. Carefully Joe stood and eased himself out of the lean to. Not a board creaked beneath his feet, and soon he was running long and low into the line of trees along the road, ignoring branches that whipped against his sore shoulders.

Away to his right the sun was just peering up over the line of hills that Durham was nestled against. Joe still had a few hours before school started. He sank to the ground and contemplated not going at all, but that meant a day of skulking in the woods without anything to eat. At least at school he might have a chance of wrangling some food away from some of his schoolmates. With a heave Joe stood up, still ignoring his tender shoulders that had been a result of last night’s drunken rage, and he set out through the trees, taking the back way to the Miller farm. If Mr. Miller was around he would run him off, but if he wasn’t there his wife usually let him milk their two cows in exchange for food. Not too much, in case her husband suspected, but enough to get him through the morning.

Joe paused at the edge of the trees and watched the house for a few moments. He hated skulking around like a thief, but he wasn’t in the mood to have a rake swung at his head like the last time he’d walked up to the front door when Mr. Miller was around.

Hypocrite. Joe thought. Just because he has money. He’d grown to get used to the attitude in his short eleven years, but it still rankled.

The barn door opened and Mr. Miller came out leading his mule. Joe watched as they disappeared from sight toward the fields and then moved forward toward the house.

“One of these days.” He muttered. One of these days he wouldn’t have to creep around ‘respectable’ folk. Both of his fists clenched as he lifted one to knock on the door.

~*~

The school bell clanging through the trees made Joe pick up his pace as he jogged over the carpet of pine needles toward the schoolhouse. Then there was silence once again except for the sound of a sparrow chipping merrily. He glanced up at it with a glare and then paused at the top of the hill and looked down at the small schoolhouse, paint chipping from its sides, silent and somber in the clearing. He was late again. Last time Mr. Herron had kept him in at lunch and made him do lines, which kept the rest of the class from playing their favorite game of stomp-Joe-into-the-mud, but he wasn’t in the mood to write line after line under Mr. Herron’s hawk-like eye while his stomach reminded him that all the other students were outside eating. He turned around and cut back through the woods.

Now the sparrow’s chirps echoed his silent footfalls over the pine needles as he jogged back down the hill. He inhaled the scent of the pine trees. It was his favorite scent in the world, and for a moment he slowed to a walk and just let it soak into him. He didn’t know why, for some reason it always calmed him even though it stirred something up inside him, something he couldn’t put his finger on. It made him restless almost. Joe pushed the thought aside and started to jog again, reaching up to hit branches aside with his hand as he ran. He knew exactly where he was going.

After a few minutes he broke back into a walk and crept forward until he could see the edge of the woods. He dropped to his stomach and inched forward, not even noticing the damp earth that clung to his clothes and hands. He settled under a bush and as he peered forward into the clearing his heart leaped.

There were two corrals about fifty feet in front of him, one empty and one with several horses in it. His eyes rippled over them and took in the earth tones of their colors, their impatiently flashing hooves, and their curious eyes. They knew something was about to happen. Joe tucked further under his bush as several ranchers arrived. With an easy motion one of them haltered the first horse, a chestnut, and led him over to the other paddock. The horse glanced back and nickered, curious but not too alarmed.

Joe tensed with the horse as they saddled it and held it, not prancing slightly against the fence so one of the cowboys could climb on. For a moment the horse froze. Then it leaped forward, kicking its hind legs up toward the sky. Joe’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the animal snort and kick, plunging the rider forward and back in the saddle until he finally rolled off. But then he was up and back on. Joe had to grin at the look on the horse’s face. It was just like one he’d worn countless times. A look that asked just how many times they were going to try to knock him down. But there was a glint to the horse’s look too. This time the cowboy’s seat had barely touched the saddle before the horse was off again.

After a few more falls, the horse had decided it wasn’t worth the fight, and the cowboys pulled in a bay. It didn’t matter how many times Joe watched, he never got tired of seeing the struggle between a person and a wild beast. And while he knew that the horse had to be broken and admired the cowboys for continually getting back up after being knocked on their rear ends, backs, and sometimes heads, part of him couldn’t help but cheer for the horse as if fought back.

“Hey!” A hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Joe wrenched away, and he heard a rip from his shirt. He glared up into a pair of dark brown eyes above a brown beard that were returning the look of defiance.

“What are you doing here?” the man demanded.

“Nothing.” Joe snapped.

“You’re the Greyer boy, aren’t you?” the eyes softened when the man saw how young he was, but his voice remained hard. “What are you doing? Looking for something to steal?”

“Yes, actually, I was just sizing up your barn and trying to decide how many trips it would take for me to cart it away.” Joe retorted.

A cuff on his ear knocked him sideways in answer.

“Get out of here!” the angry look was back. “I don’t need young scamps skulking about my ranch and running their mouths off.”

“Learn to hit harder.” Joe muttered as he took off through the woods. His ear was ringing slightly, but it wouldn’t last very long. That wasn’t what made him take a swing at the first rotted out tree stump he saw. The broken wood cracked under his fist. And Joe swung again. He punched until it splintered beneath his blows.

Smoke was drifting lazily toward the sky from the stovepipe of the shack when Joe went home that afternoon. He’d spent the day throwing a ‘borrowed’ knife at a tree and wishing he had an actual throwing knife. He’d contemplated the faces he could’ve drawn instead of a target and then had changed his mind and drawn a simple target. Before going home he’d snuck into the barn he’d gotten the knife from and returned it. His fingers had itched with a desire to keep it, after all, who knew that he’d taken it? And it was just a cheap knife, not more than fifty cents and probably a lot less. But he’d taken it back. Maybe being accused of stealing so much had made him determined not to become a thief. Who knew? He shrugged and pushed open the flimsy door, hoping that the smoke indicated that food was being cooked and not just coffee.

“You’re late.” His ma said. Joe barely heard her; he was staring at the flapjacks she was cooking on the stove and inwardly calculating how many he’d be able to eat.

“He’s always late.” A voice growled from a chair in the corner. Joe glanced over at his Pa and took note of the bottle beside him. Only a quarter empty and no empty bottles beside him. He wasn’t drunk yet, which meant not to argue. Joe bit his tongue and scooped a ladle full of water from the bucket by the stove.

“Drink it all and you’ll have to get me more to clean up.” His ma said. For a moment Joe was tempted to drain the bucket if only for an excuse to be outside. But the flapjacks were almost done and he didn’t want them all eaten before he got back. So he sat at the table and stared at the scratches on it. One of them looked like an arrow.

His ma banged around getting out tin plates. From the amount of noise she made, Joe could tell she was trying to get on his pa’s nerves. She usually did when she had enough food to keep him happy. In the meantime his pa was sitting in the corner tapping his boot and scowling. Joe went back to looking for shapes in the table.

A knock at the door made them all jump.

“Who’s that?” His pa growled. His lip curled up like a bulldog’s.

His ma went over to the door and opened it a crack. Joe tried to peer around her and then nearly fell off his chair when he heard a female voice asking if she could come in.

“Well…” his ma glanced back at his pa, who was still glowering in the corner, and then stepped back so the woman could enter.

She paused in the doorway to take in the scene, and Joe couldn’t help but notice how absurd she looked in her finely tailored dress and shoes with shiny blonde hair swept neatly under a stylish hat all while standing next to his mother in her patched and faded dress and ragged dark hair. For a moment the woman was silent, as if unsure what to say, and then she seemed to draw herself together.

“My name is Miss Olivia West. You must be Cal and Elena Greyer?” she waited for a slight nod from the speechless Elena. Joe’s pa sat in stony silence, unwilling to acknowledge the interloper.

“I’m the new schoolteacher.” Miss West continued. She glanced at Joe. “I’m here because Joseph wasn’t in school today.”

Joe flinched and then flinched again as his pa leaned forward in his chair.

“Well then where the hell was he?” his voice was too loud for the tiny shack.

Miss West and his ma both glanced at him, but Joe didn’t answer though several lies occurred to him. But he didn’t want to have it out in front of his new schoolteacher and then have the church ladies all stare at him with a mixture of pity and fear again. He kept his mouth shut and glanced at the new teacher as if she hadn’t said a word yet.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Herron spoke to me before he left about Joseph; he said he wasn’t a bad student, but that he has a tendency to skip school frequently.”

Joe fought the urge to close his eyes as his pa stood.

“Well if he doesn’t want to go to school, he can just stay here and work.”

Work what? Joe wanted to ask. Panic leaped into his stomach though, and his mind raced to think of something to say. Anything was better than being stuck in with his father all day.

Miss West pursed her lips. Clearly she hadn’t been expecting this when she’d decided to drop in. But once again she pulled herself together.

“I hardly think that’s necessary, Mr. Greyer. I just wanted to stop by and see if there was anything I could do to help keep Joseph coming to school. I suppose it was all a little misunderstanding.” She turned to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Joseph?” her eyes flickered to his pa who was still looming like a storm cloud.

Cal Greyer eyed Miss West for a minute, but she didn’t blink. Joe had to be impressed. Whoever this Olivia West was, she had guts. Then, barely perceptibly, Cal nodded.

Miss West turned to smile at Joe. “Have a good evening then.”

The door shut, and Joe and his ma both unconsciously sidled farther away from Cal. There was a storm brewing, but you never knew who was going to take the brunt of it.

“Why did you let her in?” Cal finally snapped. He took two steps and was pushing his wife against the wall.

“You asked who it was!” she snapped back. “Next time should I peer through a crack in the door and whisper so she thinks no one is home?”

“I never told you to open the door! We don’t need meddling teachers poking their noses around. And you!” he whirled, and Joe, who had momentarily been counting his blessings that he’d been ignored cringed. He should have known he’d be dragged in to this. “No more school for you. I don’t want her…”

“My son will go to school!” Elena interrupted. Her dark eyes flashed dangerously. “I won’t have him brought up stupid and ignorant like his Papa.”

Joe flinched at the stream of curses that followed, English from his pa and Spanish from his ma. The flapjacks were slowly turning black, but Joe peeled one off the pan and shoved it in his mouth despite his burnt tongue and fingers. Then Elena noticed the ruined dinner and began to yell even louder. Joe slunk around them, slipped through the door, and then sprinted away from the shack.

“I guess that’s the last time I’m skipping school.” He muttered.