{"id":14444,"date":"2002-04-15T17:01:43","date_gmt":"2002-04-15T21:01:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=14444"},"modified":"2025-09-25T15:27:59","modified_gmt":"2025-09-25T19:27:59","slug":"daughter-of-the-night-by-becky-s","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=14444","title":{"rendered":"Daughter of the Night (by Becky S)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Summary: \u00a0<\/strong>This story takes place approximately twenty years after the events in the episode \u201cBushwhacked.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rating: \u00a0T \u00a0(1,520 words)<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dear Readers — \u00a0This story was written almost fifteen years ago for my own pleasure, and I’m happy to share for others to enjoy. \u00a0I know some readers may wish\u00a0there was more, but this how I saw fit to write this story. \u00a0Since I no longer write Bonanza fan fiction, I ask that you honor my request to not post comments asking\u00a0for the story to continue.<\/p>\n

Author’s Note: \u00a0This story was inspired by \u201cBorrowed Time<\/a>,\u201d written by the Tahoe Ladies. \u00a0I strongly recommend you read the Tahoe Ladies story before reading this one.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Daughter of the Night\u00a0<\/strong>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

The old man flipped through the pages of another journal \u2013 this one, unlike the later leather-and-gilt volumes that were piled on the floor next to him, was bound with ragged and stained cloth-covered boards.\u00a0 The pages turned unevenly as he flipped through them, his gnarled hands shaking from age and stress.\u00a0 It has to be here somewhere!<\/em>\u00a0 He\u2019d finally found the right dates \u2013 surely, surely his son had written it down.\u00a0 Adam\u2019s memory was phenomenal, but he\u2019d only been twelve at the time, so Ben Cartwright believed he wouldn\u2019t have taken the chance of forgetting it.\u00a0 Ben had only heard him recite the poem once, many years ago, but he knew it was the one thing that might ease the suffering of his youngest, might help him understand his oldest brother\u2019s actions.\u00a0 Joe might be approaching forty, Adam just passing fifty, but some things never changed.<\/p>\n

An unusual word caught his eye.\u00a0 \u201cThere it is!\u201d he whispered.\u00a0 Tears blurred his vision, and he sank down into the wooden captain\u2019s chair.<\/p>\n

. . . And with her golden shears in hand,
\nAtropos cut the thread that was my brother’s life.<\/em><\/p>\n

Memories almost overwhelmed him:\u00a0 Joe, cool and flint-eyed in the hot sun, even with a rustler\u2019s pistol jammed into his back.\u00a0 Heat from the branding fire between them twisting the expression of the man\u2019s partner as he lifted a glow-tipped running iron toward his son\u2019s face.\u00a0 His own struggles against the ropes that bound him to a nearby tree.\u00a0 Adam twisting from the grasp of a third man to grab his brother\u2019s arm and jerk him to the ground, away from the running iron, away from the pistol.\u00a0 And a single frozen moment when Adam turned slightly toward his brother and Joe\u2019s eyes widened, when he saw the hammer drawn back on the gun, the muzzle aimed squarely at his brother\u2019s chest, and Adam . . . Adam made no move, remained solidly between the rustler and his brother, protecting him . . . as always.<\/p>\n

Ben marked the page with a slip of paper and set the book on the small table by Adam\u2019s bed.\u00a0 He laid a shaking hand on his son\u2019s forehead, then smoothed the black hair that was now streaked with gray at the temples.\u00a0 His fever was no higher, but the bandages around his chest were bloodied again.\u00a0\u00a0 When will it end?\u00a0 How long will it be before the land is settled enough to ride safely?<\/em>\u00a0 Adam had finally come back from his travels only three months ago, compelled for no logical reason, he\u2019d said with an ironic smile, to return to his home.\u00a0 And from the expression in his eyes as he\u2019d said the word home<\/em>, Ben had known his eldest would never leave again.\u00a0 He sank back into the chair.\u00a0 He hadn\u2019t even considered that Adam might have returned only to find his peace in a grave.<\/p>\n

“Take from my length!” I begged her,
\n“Tie it to that which you have cut.
\nShorten mine, not his!”<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cPa?\u201d\u00a0 A hand pressed against his shoulder.<\/p>\n

He looked up to see the lined, strained face of his youngest, a man well into his prime, now his partner in every way that Adam had been when they were all younger.\u00a0 He suddenly realized that Joe\u2019s wild curls were dusted with gray as well. Tears clouded his son\u2019s green eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow is he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe same.\u00a0 If he\u2019d just wake up . . .\u201d\u00a0 He couldn\u2019t bear to finish the thought.\u00a0 If he\u2019d wake for only a moment, just long enough to say good-bye . . .<\/em><\/p>\n

Joe stood at the foot of Adam\u2019s bed, gazing at the man who lay still and silent, barely seeming to breathe.\u00a0 \u201cHe was gone for years, Pa . . . years.\u00a0 We\u2019ve lived separate lives \u2013 different lives \u2013 and I thought he accepted me as a man.\u00a0 But he pushed me aside out there, just like a little kid.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben regarded his son thoughtfully.\u00a0 Joe and Adam had been down that route before, and he knew it had long been resolved.\u00a0 \u201cThat\u2019s not what\u2019s really bothering you, is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe scrubbed at his face, ran a hand over the back of his neck.\u00a0\u00a0 He sighed and sat carefully on the end of the bed, one hand resting on his brother\u2019s blanket-covered leg.\u00a0 \u201cNo, I guess you\u2019re right.\u00a0 It\u2019s part of it, though.\u201d\u00a0 He rubbed Adam\u2019s leg gently, lovingly.\u00a0 \u201cHe took that bullet for me, Pa.\u00a0 He stood there and let that rustler shoot him.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t even try to get away.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her sister Clotho, daughter of Night, stayed her hand.
\n“You would do this for another?” she asked.
\n“Yes, yes, for he is precious to me.
\nMore precious than my own life.”<\/em><\/p>\n

Ben rubbed his hands along the arms of the captain\u2019s chair, and when he could finally speak, his voice was harsh, strangled.\u00a0 \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s head came up.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m sorry; I didn\u2019t mean to bring it all back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Ben choked out.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s all right.\u201d\u00a0 He took a deep breath, calmed himself.\u00a0 Even if he had to face losing Adam to the bullet that had been meant for his brother, he refused to lose Joseph to guilt.\u00a0 \u201cGo on, son.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou raised us to take care of each other, and I know Adam got kind of stuck on that, bein\u2019 the oldest and all.\u00a0 But this . . . I understand the instinct to protect, the urge to jump in and save your family, but he just stood there, knowing it was the end for him.\u00a0 And, Pa . . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe broke down then, his hand grasping convulsively at the blankets.\u00a0 Ben opened his arms, and Joe came to him, knelt in front of him with his face buried in his father\u2019s lap, huge wracking sobs shaking his slim frame.\u00a0 His words were muffled, but Ben heard them clearly.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe smiled, Pa.\u00a0 Not one of his sarcastic smiles, not one of his winning-business-deals smiles, but something that was happy, content, like he\u2019d finally finished a job and was really happy about how it all turned out.\u201d\u00a0 He raised his head, searched his father\u2019s eyes.\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t understand!\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben stroked the tear-damp curls from his son\u2019s face and thanked God he\u2019d found the journal.\u00a0 He gently pushed his son up.\u00a0 \u201cI want you to read something, Joseph.\u201d\u00a0 He gestured at the slim volume where it lay among half-full glasses, bits of lint and bandage and brown glass bottles.<\/p>\n

Curious, Joe swiped at his eyes and picked it up.\u00a0 He ran his fingers around the edges, caressing the worn boards with the same softness as when he\u2019d touched his brother\u2019s leg.\u00a0 He glanced at his father. \u00a0\u201cOne of Adam\u2019s journals?\u201d\u00a0 When Ben nodded, he carefully opened the book to the marked page and began to read.<\/p>\n

Ben waited patiently, his thoughts ranging back over the times these two so very different sons had clashed, had misunderstood, and had, finally, come to a loving acceptance of each other.<\/p>\n

\u201cMore precious than my own life . . .<\/em>\u201d Joe whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo on,\u201d Ben encouraged, and Joe spoke aloud the words that Adam had written in his journal almost forty years ago.<\/p>\n

And because she was a sibling too,
\nClotho took the shorn ends to her staff
\nand spun them back together again.<\/em><\/p>\n

Joe looked up from the page, now thoroughly confused.\u00a0 \u201cPa?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam wrote this down when you were only a few hours old.\u00a0 You almost didn\u2019t make it, son, and he prayed as hard as any of us for your life.\u201d\u00a0 He looked down at the words, ran his fingers over the youthfully ragged writing.\u00a0 \u201cHarder, perhaps. I think, in his child\u2019s mind, he made a bargain with God.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t realize that God would never have held him to it, but I believe it\u2019s stayed there in the back of his thoughts ever since.\u00a0 When you saw him smile, perhaps he was remembering this phrase:<\/p>\n

“Because you love, I have done as you ask
\nBut do not ask again, for this is Time
\nOnly borrowed and must be repaid . . .\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cTime only borrowed . . .<\/em>\u201d\u00a0 Joe shook his head.\u00a0 \u201cThat\u2019s not fair.\u00a0 He shouldn\u2019t have to pay for my life with his.\u00a0 It\u2019s not right, Pa.\u00a0 Whoever wrote this didn\u2019t know about what we have, didn\u2019t know what could happen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, he did.\u00a0 He knew exactly what he was talking about.\u201d\u00a0 Ben squeezed Joe\u2019s shoulder.\u00a0 \u201cYou see, your brother wrote this himself.\u00a0 I know for a fact that twenty years later he believed it.\u00a0 I think he still does.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c. . . tha\u2019s right . . .\u201d A soft voice floated through the room.<\/p>\n

Their heads whipped around to stare at the man in the bed, whose dark eyes had finally opened.<\/p>\n

\u201cHas to be repaid,\u201d Adam repeated.\u00a0 His gaze travelled from his brother to the book, then to rest on his father.\u00a0 A faint dimple appeared, along with a glint of humor.\u00a0 \u201cBut it\u2019s not due just yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

~~ End ~~<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

After I wrote this story, the Tahoe Ladies wrote \u201cPaid in Full<\/a>,\u201d which finishes the story.<\/p>\n

\u00a9 April 2002, 2017<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em>Poem by Irish, of the Tahoe Ladies<\/em><\/p>\n

From the Brandsters \/ Librarians — Any comments that do not respect the author’s wishes as posted above shall be removed<\/strong>.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summary: \u00a0This story takes place approximately twenty years after the events in the episode \u201cBushwhacked.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rating: \u00a0T \u00a0(1,520 words)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":8546,"featured_media":13411,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"template-full-width-post.php","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_members_access_role":[],"_members_access_error":""},"categories":[1015,23],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-14444","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-joe-pa","category-drama","wpcat-1015-id","wpcat-23-id"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/10\/Emily.jpg?fit=391%2C455&ssl=1","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14444","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/8546"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=14444"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14444\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/13411"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=14444"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=14444"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=14444"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}