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Marked by the Great Spirit…Raven smoothed medicine on the boy’s…my son’s… head. The council had decided, and she and Red Eagle had led the exhausted boy back to their lodge. He was nearly asleep on his feet; his eyes closed as soon as her husband sat him down on the pallet. She finished with the salve and slid her palm lightly down the curve of his cheek. She was relieved to feel no fever. You are strong, my son. He sighed and turned toward her hand. She felt something stir within her. Love? Yes, love for what you were to Naavik…and now love for what you are…my son. She felt protective, possessive—he was now truly her son. A gift.
She stayed
by his side a long time and let his head rest against her hand. I wonder who needs this closeness, this
touch more? You or I?
Once more I stand beside an open grave. Marie…I…I’m leaving Joseph to you now. I know that he’s with you…with God. Ben let Reverend Evers words wash over and around him, his eyes fixed on the bough-covered coffin.
The
sweet scent of freshly cut pine, the sunny morning…How incongruous to be
burying you, Joseph, on a day when you’d be begging me to go fishing or to
picnic by this same lake. Ben
sighed. All the wasted sunny days of
your short life. I thought…I thought
that I had a lifetime of sunny days left with you, Joseph. I…I’m sorry that I didn’t spend more of them
with you.
Ben
became aware of Hoss’s soft weeping. He
could hear the murmurs of the large crowd.
It was over. He felt his shoulder
squeezed, his hand engulfed countless times, saw the faces of friends old and
new blurring together, their mouths uttering meaningless platitudes. God, let this day be over. Let me go home. Home to my remaining sons. He found the strength to wrap his arm
around Hoss’s waist and steer him away from the small coffin. He had no desire to see his baby boy lowered
into that dark hole. He nearly retched
at the thought of hearing the dirt hit the top of the pine box. Goodbye, Joseph…I’ll be back, son.
He allowed Paul to lead him away. He couldn’t seem to see clearly. The sky and ground mixed into a wash of blues and greens. He felt wetness against his face. His voice was soft and wondering. “Is it raining, Paul? It should be raining…”
Paul took a firmer grip on Ben’s arm. “Step up, Ben. Let’s get you home to Adam.” He motioned to Clem, and when the buggy began to move, he pulled out his handkerchief and dried Ben’s tears. “Shock..” Paul mouthed to John and Abigail, who were sitting on either side of Hoss. “It will take time…” He patted his friend gently on the shoulder. “Let’s get you and Hoss home.”
Ben stared forward. “Home…yes. I need to be with Adam”
Adam glared
at Hop Sing. The man could be so
exasperating! He knew, knew that
Hop Sing was being deliberately obtuse.
The man’s understanding of the English language probably matched his
own, but Hop Sing found English conveniently incomprehensible at times—and now
was such a time…
Adam groaned and tried again. “Hop Sing. Where is everyone?”
“Who everyone?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Pa…Hoss…Joe—everyone!”
“Down by lake; be back soon.” And Hop Sing bustled out before Adam could question him further.
Blast
him! I’ve a good mind to get out of this
bed and chase him down! The first day
that I feel…aware, even, and he’s…avoiding me?
Why? Adam pounded his fist in
frustration. Nothing to do but wait—and
I’m about as good at that as little Joe.
Joe woke, disoriented. He was losing track of the days. Was this the third or fourth morning? Did it really matter? The council decreed that I am one of the people now, but Oh God, I miss my home…my family. Joe turned over and buried his face in the crook of his arm. He concentrated on not crying. Red Eagle did not like it.
Adam heard
the horses enter the yard. Pa would be
up soon. Now I’ll get some straight
answers. What did happen with the Paiutes? How did we get home?
Hop Sing waited for them in the open doorway. “Number one son awake and asking questions.”
Paul nodded sadly. “I’d hoped to give him another day to get stronger…” He started for the stairs, passing John’s wife and daughter, who were helping Ben to the settee.
“No, doc…I reckon I need ta be the one. I’ll talk ta Adam.”
Paul studied Hoss. The young man’s face was pale, his eyes bloodshot, but he looked resolute. “Are you sure, Hoss?”
Hoss didn’t answer; he just patted his Pa gently on the shoulder and continued walking to the stairs.
Paul called softly after him. “Hoss…if Adam needs me…”
Hoss paused at the landing and nodded his head, but he did not turn around. “I’ll give a holler, doc.”
Adam turned his head toward the doorway as he heard his brother’s heavy tread. He smiled a welcome at his big ‘little’ brother. “Hoss. Where’s Pa?”
“Downstairs, brother. He’s…resting. I…I need ta talk ta ya.”
Adam’s
smile faltered as he studied Hoss.
“What’s the matter? Hoss…what’s
going on? Hop Sing’s acting…” Lord God!
Hoss is crying! I…I have this
vague memory of Pa crying, too. Thought
it was just a fever dream…
Adam watched as Hoss wiped his face with his sleeve. Why is he wearing his Sunday best? Hop Sing said they were down by the lake…there’s nothing there except…except Marie’s… “Hoss..” Adam’s voice was pleading, but he stopped talking and stared at the absolute anguish reflected in his brother’s eyes.
“Adam. Ya just need ta be quiet for a bit. Let me tell this the best way I can. Then I promise ya, me or Paul or Pa, when he’s able, will answer all yore questions.” Hoss took a deep shuddering breath and was immensely comforted when Adam took his hand.
“Whatever
it is…we’ll face it together, Hoss.” Why
didn’t he mention Joe? Why can’t I hear
my noisy rambunctious brother?
Hoss nodded and smiled weakly. “Adam…Little Joe—he’s…” Hoss looked down and away, his hand trembling in Adam’s.
Adam began to shake his head. In one bleak moment, his treacherous mind put together all the available facts: his memories of the attack, Hop Sing’s words, Hoss’s fancy clothes, his sadness. He knew what Hoss was about to say, knew that Joe was lost to them. “…NO! No..No…No, Hoss..God, NO! Not my little buddy! Oh God! Joseph!!”
Adam felt Hoss lift him effortlessly, enfold him in strong arms, and he went limp against his younger brother’s big shoulder. Hoss cried with him, and Adam gathered a bitter comfort in the closeness. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to see nothing, to block out the light of this cruel day, but images of his baby brother played across the surface of his mind. Marie introducing me to Joseph Francis Cartwright, born too early, how small he’d been in my twelve-year-old arms. Playing horsy and peek a boo with a bright-eyed inquisitive baby; singing Joe to sleep in the rocking chair, feeling his chubby arms hug my neck and hearing his whispered lisp ‘love Adam’; chasing a mischievous naked toddler, still soapy from his tub escape; comforting a grief stricken little boy; chivying a reluctant scholar to improve his efforts. Teaching him how to ride, marveling at his skill with horses. Joe, my beloved little brother, the joy of our family…how can you be gone? Oh Pa! How will you live with this? How will I live with this? God, WHY? Oh, why? Adam’s body shook as he clutched Hoss’s shirt.
Hoss rocked him. Can’t fix this with my strength. Lord, how I wish I could. Oh, big brother, I wish I could spare ya
this…wish I could take away your pain, but all I can do is share it…
Finally, Adam cried himself to exhaustion and fell silent, his gasping breaths
smoothing out as he escaped into sleep.
Hoss laid him back on the pillow and tucked the covers around him. I feel so old, older that my twenty years,
and you, big brother, you look like a kid laying there, tears drying on your
face…He moved over to the chair near the bed. Don’t want ya to wake alone, big
brother…Don’t want ta be alone myself…Together, somehow, we’ll survive this. God help us…
Downstairs, Ben gradually became aware of the warmth of the fire and John’s soft voice beside him.
“Benjamin…you must stop this. I will not allow you to retreat into
yourself. Your sons need you, little
brother.” I need you. Benjamin, I
cannot stand to see the pain in your eyes.
Lord. Heal my brother’s shattered
heart. Give him strength…
John flinched, surprised to silence when Ben’s dull eyes sharpened and focused on him. “Where…” Ben’s voice sounded weak, and he cleared his throat. “Where is Hoss?”
“Upstairs, with Adam.”
Ben shifted, sitting up straight. “I should…”
All heads swiveled upward at Adam’s first anguished cry. The sound of it brought Ben to his feet, and he rushed up the stairs only to stand frozen, unable to force his body forward and into his oldest son’s room. His strength failed in the face of his sons’ pain, the weight of his boys’ grief on top of his own was crushing him, smothering him. Ben wrenched his eyes away from the sight of his boys clinging to each other—he had to escape the sound of their wretched weeping.
Lord help me—help my sons. Ben’s feet, seemingly of their own
volition, led him to Joseph’s room. God! Help me!
Speak to me. Give me your wisdom
and strength so that I can help my sons…
He staggered toward Joseph’s bed, and his unsteady legs knocked into the nightstand. He grabbed the teetering lamp, but heard the thump of a heavy object hit the rug. With shaking hands, he managed to light the wick and adjust the flame. Ben got to his knees feeling for what he had knocked from the table. His hand closed around a book.
Still on his knees, he pulled it out. Joseph’s Bible…I gave him this a year ago. Ben set it on the bed in front of him, his fingers caressed the soft leather cover. Joseph read this daily, just as Reverend Evers challenged him to do. Curious, Ben opened the cover. Joseph had written on the flyleaf and on the pages following. Ben read the first entry:
Given to JF Cartwright on the date of my
baptism by my father, Benjamin Cartwright.
He told me that ‘written in these pages I would find all the answers to
my questions, and the road to follow to become a man he would respect, to be a
man after God’s own heart’. I want that
respect from my Pa, the best man I know.
I want to be a man after God’s own heart.
And below that, Joseph had written out a prayer. Ben wiped his face and read on:
Dear God,
I
know where I’m going when I die, because of Jesus’ sacrifice. Help me to live my short life on Earth in
gratitude for the priceless gifts that you’ve given me…
Ben stopped, blinking until his eyes cleared. The next few pages were filled with Joseph’s distinctive writing, column after column of one to two word phrases…things his son was thankful for. Ben read each entry slowly, stopping often to use his handkerchief.
Oh Joseph, my son…what a gift you have left me—a correction and reminder of what my attitude needs to be before Almighty God.
And Ben knelt there, reading carefully through the hours of the night, until the kerosene lamp reservoir wicked dry. He whispered each entry of Joe’s thanks, starting with:
1)
My
Pa
His eyes traveled the path of each column, and each entry of words brought to
Ben’s mind more memories of Joe, and some surprises. With each resurrected memory, the grieving father’s pain lessened and his heart opened a little more to God’s love and healing mercy. Ben laughed softly at the entries:
22)
Sleeping late
And
57)
Catching frogs
And he raised his eyebrows in surprise at
92)
Katie’s kisses
By the time the lamp flickered and died, Ben had laid his head in his hands, his mind filled with his own list of thanks to God above. On his face was a smile of perfect peace. God met him there, by his youngest son’s bed, and answered his cry for help. God removed his crippling grief and buried it under the abundance of His love.
Over time, Joseph learned to bury his hurt under a smooth bland expression. He no longer cried, except in his occasional nightmares. Only his eyes gave away his yearning for home and for his family. He answered to his Paiute name, Laughing Eyes, but it did not fit him as it had done when Naavik first christened him with it.
As the days had turned to weeks, he had gradually accepted his new life as the son of Raven and Red Eagle. His hair had begun to grow back, and Red Eagle had showed him how to tame the curl with deer fat. Raven marveled at how fast his locks grew; soon his hair would be long enough for a short plait. His skin, bronzed by the almost constant sun, did not look any different now from the rest of the tribe. Even his leg had grown strong from the constant exercise.
Red Eagle used his new son to run messages between the hunting parties. He had accepted no weakness in the boy, and pushed him despite the vicious cramps and pain caused by the loosening of the scar tissue. Joe persevered, running through the pain, getting up each time the leg collapsed under him. He understood Red Eagle’s insistence that he show nothing but strength to the people. Although he did not love his new father, he respected his wisdom and wanted to please him, grateful that he had spared his family’s lives. Joe kept his promises given to the council, and obeyed Red Eagle in every matter. He controlled his desire to escape, believing that God did have a plan for him here. He knew that he was watched too closely for a successful escape in any case, and he did not want to invite the wrath of a war party pursuing him home to the Ponderosa. His family was safe. It was enough.
Joe had even begun to earn the grudging respect of the braves as he was given an opportunity to display his skill on horseback. And he was quickly mastering the necessary tracking and hunting abilities necessary for a Paiute warrior chief’s son. Naavik had been a good first teacher, and Red Eagle was proud of how little direction he had to give his new son, and how quickly he learned.
Broken Feather had chosen this day, the longest day of the year, to speak with Red Eagle and Laughing Eyes. His vision had not changed, and the tribe knew that the adopted white son had a role to play in ensuring their future.
Throughout that spring and early summer, the people had kept to the high meadows, gathering the abundant game and plants, but news through runners had reached them of a possible alliance between the Shoshone and the Northern Paiute, a cessation of the skirmishes between their peoples to unite against a common enemy. Would they join the other Paiute tribes and the Shoshone in an overt attack to clear their lowlands of the whites? A decision would need to be made soon. Broken Feather and the rest of the Council would consider carefully the words of Red Eagle, war chief, on this summer solstice night.
Red Eagle was unsettled as the long afternoon passed. He knew that his braves were ready to follow him, whatever the decision of the council. Yet he had a feeling of impending loss, of disaster whatever road they took. For the third time in the last hour, he searched the west end of the valley for Laughing Eyes. The boy was not late, but he wanted the news he carried from the scouting party in the lowlands. He needed time to think and consider all information before he spoke at the council fire. Would tonight be the birth of an alliance of war? Or the burial of the hope of ever regaining the lands once their own…
To be
continued
Becky H