Angel of Death
A Bonanza Story
by: Carla D. Ledford
"Oh, Hoss, you're always hungry!" cackled Little
Joe Cartwright as he entered the dining room of the International House.
"Now, little brother, that ain't fair! I ain't
had nothing to eat for neigh on three whole hours and I'm just about weak
with hunger." Hoss protested.
"Come on, you two. From the looks of this crowd,
we better hurry or there won't be anything left." Adam chided his younger
brothers as he glanced around the chock-full dining area. "My
stage leaves in little more than an hour and I want breakfast first." he added
leading his brothers to their favorite table in the front corner of the large
dining room. It offered a bird's eye view of the activities going on
along Virginia City's main street.
A tall, lean well-muscled young man with finely chiseled
features, dark hair and eyes, thirty year old Adam Cartwright was well respected
in Virginia City for his acute business sense. His razor sharp intelligence
coupled with strong leadership qualities was essential to the success
of the family business. The Ponderosa empire included ranching, mining
and timber interests. Since returning home from college in the
East, Adam had become his father's right hand man on all matters concerning
the Ponderosa.
Following closely behind his older brother, was twenty-four
year old Hoss. At 6' 4" tall and 250 pounds of pure muscle, at
first sight, Hoss was extremely intimidating. However, he was
an anomaly -- a gentle giant with a heart of gold. With eyes as blue
as Lake Tahoe, a friendly moon shaped face and an easy-going grin, Hoss was
popular with adults and children alike. Hoss was in charge of
the cattle operation and often assisted Adam in marking trees for timber contracts.
Right on his heels was the youngest of the Cartwright
clan -- Little Joe. Although physically smaller than his older brothers,
eighteen year old Little Joe possessed the agility of a cat and rock hard
muscles. Dark curly hair encircled his tanned face intensifying
hazel eyes flecked with gold. Widely known for his explosive temper
and fun loving attitude, Little Joe was also recognized for his generosity.
Most of the citizens of Virginia City were proud to call him 'friend.'
Little Joe had just recently taken over the horse operations on the Ponderosa.
"You sure are lucky Adam. I wish I didn't have
that string of horses to break for the Army. I haven't been to San
Francisco in a long time and you get to spend two whole months there."
complained Little Joe wistfully as his hazel eyes scanned the dining room.
"Now, Little Joe, you know this trip is strictly business
-- contracts, meetings, more meetings and all that paperwork........"
Adam stopped speaking as he realized his youngest brother was no longer paying
attention. Adam glanced at Hoss and they shared a grin before following
Little Joe's gaze. As suspected, Little Joe's attention had been diverted
by a beautiful woman.
The young woman was petite, no more than 5' 4" tall,
with long silky ebony hair pulled back and caught up on each side with matching
jade hair combs. Long dark lashes surrounded smoky gray eyes accentuating
flawless alabaster skin. Her perfectly shaped pink mouth and high cheekbones
gave her an exotic look. Attired in a low cut emerald green dress
trimmed with white lace, a beautiful jade necklace adorned her graceful neck.
Completely captivated, Little Joe failed to notice his
brothers' teasing grins. Rolling his eyes, Adam placed a hand on Little
Joe's shoulder shaking him out of his trance.
"Hey, little brother, you still with us?" he asked,
dark eyes dancing with amusement.
"Huhhh.....Wha.....?" Little Joe stammered as he
reluctantly focused his attention back to his brothers, causing Hoss and Adam
to chortle out loud.
"Boy, little brother, you sure fall hard and fast don't
ya?" Hoss said shaking his head.
Little Joe ignored the remark as he stood up from the
table, his eyes transfixed on the vision across the room.
"Hey, Little Joe, where are you going?" Adam inquired,
knowing perfectly well his younger brother’s intentions.
"I'm gonna ask that young lady to the dance on Saturday
night." Little Joe declared with a wink and a smile.
Hoss and Adam watched in amusement as Joe approached
the woman. They couldn't help smiling as he took the woman's dainty
hand in his gloved one, kissing it gently.
"Now where do you reckon he learned that little trick?"
Hoss asked, always amazed at his younger brothers' way with the ladies.
"Who knows. But, from the look on her face, I'd
say our little brother just got himself a date."
Little Joe returned to the table a few minutes later
grinning wildly, hazel eyes sparkling. He plopped down in his chair,
a look of satisfaction on his face.
"Well, what did she say?" prodded Adam. "Is she
going to the dance with you or not?"
"Of course she is!" exclaimed Little Joe, scowling
at his older brother. Adam ducked his head, hiding a grin behind his hand.
"Who is she anyhow, Little Joe? asked Hoss. "I
ain't never seen her around here before."
"Her name is Angela Dubois. She came in on the
stage a couple of days ago from St. Louis. She was going to stay with
her uncle, Ken Mayberry, but he was called out of town on business.
That's why she's staying at the hotel."
"You found all that out in just five minutes?"
exclaimed Adam in amazement.
"Found all what out? "a booming voice questioned from
behind them.
The three brothers looked up to see their father standing
over them. Ben Cartwright was a tall handsome man with rugged features
and a quick smile. Although his once dark hair was now peppered with
gray, his dark eyes still had the sparkle of youth. There was
a certain elegance about him as he nodded hello to a group of people at the
next table.
"Hi, Pa." his three answered in unison.
"There's a new gal in town and Little Joe already has
a date with her for the dance on Saturday night. Pa, he only just met
her a few minutes ago!" Hoss explained.
"Why am I not surprised?" Ben said shaking his
head. It was no secret his youngest son had quite an eye for the opposite
sex.
“Boys, we better order if we're gonna have breakfast.
Adam's stage will be leaving soon and I need to leave in an hour or so if
I hope to make it to Placerville before nightfall." Ben said as he took
his seat.
The waitress appeared at that moment to take their orders.
As usual, Hoss ordered the largest steak on the menu and a double order of
potatoes.
"Think that's enough for you?" kidded Adam.
Hoss' insatiable appetite was a standard joke with his brothers.
"Well, older brother, it's a start!", Hoss
answered as they all laughed.
After enjoying a lively breakfast, the four walked to
the stage depot. They joined Hop Sing, the family cook, who was making
the trip to San Francisco with Adam. Hop Sing planned to visit many
of his relatives living in the area.
"Hey, Hop Sing, you sure you don't want to just stay
here?" Hoss asked hopefully as he patted his expansive belly.
"I'll plumb starve to death without you!"
"You no starve. Hop Sing teach Little Joe to be
good cook." Hop Sing scolded. He was secretly pleased that Hoss
enjoyed his cooking, but it just wouldn’t do to let Hoss know!
"Little Joe!?! Aw, Hop Sing, he's liable to poison
me!" Hoss protested loudly throwing his arms up in the air.
Ben and Adam burst out in laughter. Little Joe shot Hoss
a hurt look, but before he could respond, the stagecoach driver announced
it was time for passengers to board.
"Take care of yourself now, Son. And look
after Hop Sing as well. Make sure you bring him back safe and sound--we
wouldn't want Hoss starving to death!" Ben smiled as he shook hands
with his oldest son.
"Hop Sing, give all your relatives my best." Ben put
his hand on the diminutive Chinese man's shoulder.
"Yes Sir, Mr. Cartlight." Hop Sing nodded and bowed
slightly.
"Don't worry Hoss, I'll see that Hop Sing gets home in
one piece!" Adam said seriously as he patted his brother on the back.
"Just see that you do, Adam."
"And you, little brother" Adam faced Joseph smiling,
"Behave yourself with that pretty young lady."
"Always, Adam, always." Little Joe grinned, his
handsome face the picture of innocence.
Moments later, the stage pulled away as Ben turned to
his younger sons. With an arm thrown around the shoulder of each one,
he walked them toward their horses.
"Hoss, while I'm gone, you're in charge." Ben stated.
"Yes sir, Pa. I'll take good care of the Ponderosa
while you're in Placerville." Hoss said seriously.
"I know you will, Son." Ben smiled, then addressed his
youngest.
"Joseph, I'm counting on you to do your share of the
chores before you go to the dance on Saturday night. I'll be home on
Sunday afternoon and expect some of those horses to be broken in as well.
And I want you to promise you'll stay out of trouble--especially at the dance.
Is that clear, Joseph?" Ben said sternly, his dark eyes serious.
"Yes sir, Pa, real clear. I promise." Little
Joe said giving his father his most angelic smile.
Ben studied his young son's face for a moment.
He opened his mouth to say something else then thought better of it and shook
his head instead. He shook hands with Hoss, gave Little Joe a
pat on the back, then mounted his horse.
"Now, Hoss, if there are any problems, send me a telegram
in Placerville."
"Don’t worry, Pa. There won't be anything I can't
handle." Hoss assured him.
"Well, I better get moving. You two take care and
I'll see you sometime on Sunday."
"See ya Sunday, Pa!" Little Joe called after him,
waving. "Have a safe trip!"
"Be careful, Pa." Hoss added.
The brothers stood watching their father riding out of
town for a minute before Hoss slapped Little Joe on the back, nearly knocking
his younger brother off his feet.
"Well, little brother, we best get on back to the ranch
if you expect to get any of those horses broke before Saturday." Hoss
declared.
Little Joe groaned, but obediently followed Hoss to the
hitching post.
********
Much to Hoss' relief, Little Joe kept his promise and
worked hard the next few days. Little Joe had a tendency to shirk responsibilities
whenever possible and Hoss had fully expected to have problems with him.
However, by Saturday afternoon, Little Joe had all his chores done.
He also had several horses ready for the Army.
Shortly after 4:00, Little Joe and Hoss headed
for the house to get ready for the dance. Both were tired and Little
Joe more than a little sore after hours of breaking horses. However,
a nice hot bath worked wonders and two hours later both were revitalized
and ready to go.
"Hey Joe, I can't get this dad-burned tie fixed right.
Give me a hand with it, will ya?" Hoss said as he descended the stairs.
He was dressed in his new brown suit with a starched white shirt. His
thinning hair was slicked down and the faint scent of bay rum permeated the
air around him.
"Sure Hoss." Little Joe moved to assist his
brother. "Hey, that's a good looking suit you got there. Bessie
Sue is sure gonna be impressed."
"You really think so, Little Joe?" asked Hoss anxiously.
He had developed a crush on Bessie Sue the first time he saw her. Because
of his tendency to be shy and backward where women were concerned, it took
Hoss months to ask Bessie Sue out on a first date. Since then, they
had attended several functions together.
"Sure do." Little Joe said as he finished tying
the tie. Taking a step back, he put his hands on his older brother's
shoulders. "You look fine, big brother, just fine."
"Thanks Little Joe, you look pretty handsome yourself."
Hoss grinned.
Little Joe looked magnificent in a deep blue suit with
a white silk shirt and black string tie. His dark curls were carefully
combed; his perfect teeth, white and gleaming. His hazel eyes danced
with excitement.
"Well, I guess we're all set, lets get to that dance!"
Little Joe exclaimed as he grabbed his black hat and gun belt off the side
board by the front door.
********
When they rode into Virginia City, Little Joe reigned
up in front of the hotel while Hoss continued on down the street to Bessie
Sue's house. Little Joe was a bit disappointed that Angela was waiting
for him in the hotel lobby -- he had hoped to spend a few minutes alone with
her.
His disappointment melted quickly as he took in the vision
standing before him. Angela's dark hair was piled high on her head in
intricate curls, a few fine wisps escaping to frame her delicate face.
She was dressed in a white satin dress adorned with pink roses. A delicate
band of pink lace followed the low cut of the neckline, dipping into
the deep swell between her high, firm breasts. Around her elegant
neck was an exquisite ruby and diamond pendant. She was breathtaking
and Little Joe couldn't take his eyes off her.
"An angel." he whispered, looking deep into her
gray eyes.
"Pardon me?" Angela inquired, tilting her head.
Little Joe smiled. "I said you look just like an
angel." he repeated, louder this time.
"Why, thank you, Mr. Cartwright. I've never been
compared to an angel before." Angela smiled at him shyly, then
lowered her eyes.
Little Joe bowed and smiling, offered her his arm.
"Shall we go, Miss Dubois?"
Returning his smile, she linked her arm in his as they
walked out of the hotel.
********
A sudden cacophony of voices and music hit them full
force as Joe and Angela approached the community hall. As they entered
the dance, all eyes were immediately on them. Joe smiled proudly as
he heard whispers of "beautiful..... gorgeous..... stunning..... a princess
and an angel." He was with the most beautiful women in the room and
Little Joe Cartwright knew it.
As the music started, he took her hand, bowed gracefully
and asked, "May I have this dance?"
Angela curtsied and Joe led her to the center of the
dance floor.
The night passed all to quickly for Joe and Angela as
they danced every dance together, oblivious to the hordes of people around
them. Before they knew it, the musicians were playing the final song
of the evening. Little Joe held Angela close and as each looked into
the others' eyes, they were in a world all their own, a million miles from
Virginia City. Otherwise preoccupied, they failed to notice that everyone
else had stopped dancing and were watching them. It wasn't until they
heard clapping that they realized the music had stopped and they had an audience.
Little Joe smiled and bowed to the crowd while Angela curtsied.
Grinning broadly, Hoss walked over to the couple and
put a hand on Little Joe's shoulder.
"Joe, I'm taking Bessie Sue home. I'll meet ya
at the hotel in half an hour. All right?"
"Um, ah, yeah, sure." Little Joe answered absently,
his eyes once again locked on Angela.
"Little Joe....." Hoss began again.
Angela interrupted. "Don't worry, Hoss, I'll see
that he's there on time."
"Thank you Ma'm. Good-night."
"Good-night Hoss." Angela said.
********
Joe and Angela left the dance hand in hand, arriving
a few minutes later in front of the hotel. Angela invited him to her
suite where moments later she was pouring two glasses of brandy. She
handed one to Joe and kept the other for herself.
"Thank you Angel." Joe said with a smile as he sipped
the liquid. "Come, sit with me." he added as he moved over to allow
her room on the settee.
Angela snuggled in close to him then raised her glass
in a toast.
"To Joe Cartwright who made me feel like a princess at
the ball tonight."
They both took a drink, then Little Joe raised his glass.
Looking deep into Angela's eyes, he offered his toast.
"To Angela Dubois -- my angel." They drained their
glasses.
Little Joe put his glass down and reached to take Angela's,
never taking his eyes off her. She was intoxicating! Little Joe
reached out, first touching her hair, then running his fingers gently down
the side of her face. He felt himself drowning in her smoke colored
eyes.
"You are an angel. The most beautiful angel I've
...." he whispered as he pulled her toward him. He kissed
her lips, gently at first, then with more passion. He drew her closer
to him, his heart beating wildly, his face flushed with excitement.
"You are so beauti......" Joe murmured, his voice husky.
Angela's delicate fingers pressed against his lips, silencing
his words. She untied his tie and slowly began unbuttoning the top buttons
of his shirt.
Eyes closing, Little Joe inhaled deeply the sweet
scent of her jasmine perfume. Her warm breath brushed the exposed skin
of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. Soft lips skimmed his
jaw, traveling to the base of his ear and settling in the sensitive hollow
behind his lobe.
Joe sucked in his breath as Angela's warm tongue caressed
him.....softly.....hesitantly....in gentle even strokes. He reached
for her, pulling her closer, hands resting rigidly on her hips.
She nuzzled his ear, her breath warm and moist on his skin. Suddenly,
her tongue darted into his ear, invading untouched corridors. He hitched
in a breath, then released it with a slow hiss. The tip of her tongue
worked magic, diving and searching the secret passages, leaving no curve unexplored.
She finished at the top of his ear, whispering a gentle kiss on the delicate
fold before stepping away.
His eyes drifted open. The air cooled the moist
interior of his ear, sending another shiver through his body, this one deep
inside, more powerful, demanding. Blood surged fiercely through his
veins, pounding out the beat of his heart.
Angela watched him, her eyes glazed with passion, the
flames from the lamps dancing around them. Slowly, she began to undo
the remaining buttons of his shirt.
********
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Little Joe thought at first the sound was that of his
heart pounding wildly in his chest. Only when Angela withdrew from him
did he realize it was someone knocking on the door. Reluctantly, Angela
moved to answer the door while Little Joe quickly buttoned his shirt.
Angela straightened her dress and hair before pulling
the door open. She was surprised to see Hoss Cartwright standing there.
"Why, hello, Hoss." Angela said, bewildered.
"Evening, Miss Angela. I sure hate to bother you,
but I've been waiting for my little brother for close to an hour now.
Is he here?" Hoss asked anxiously.
"Yes, he's--he's here. Come on in." She moved
away from the door to allow him access.
Little Joe appeared at that moment, a frown on his face.
"Hoss, what are you doing here?" he asked, more than a little perturbed
at the interruption.
"Well, little brother, you said you'd meet me in half
and hour almost an hour ago. I was getting a little anxious.”
Hoss explained, frowning. He was a bit annoyed at Little Joe for causing
him to worry. "It's getting late, we gotta get on home."
"Oh Hoss, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault.
I'm afraid I was -- ah -- bending Little Joe's ear and lost all track
of the time." Angela apologized. Little Joe bit his lip to keep
from laughing.
"That's all right, Ma'm." Hoss smiled. "Little
Joe, we best be gettin' on our way."
Little Joe scowled at his older brother, then acquiesced.
"Yeah, all right. I'll be there in a minute." he
sighed.
Hoss stepped out into the hallway, tipping his hat to
Angela.
"Good-night, Miss Angela."
"Good-night, Hoss." Angela replied sweetly.
Little Joe took both of Angela's hands in his.
He stared at her, amazed at how beautiful she was. After a moment, he shook
his head and kissed her hands.
"Angel, I'll come for you next Saturday about noon and
we’ll go on a picnic up by the lake. How's that sound?" Little Joe asked.
“I’d like to come in to see you before then, but I’ve got a lot of work to
do this week.” he added dejectedly.
"A picnic on Saturday sounds delightful, Little Joe!
Until then...." She reached over and kissed him passionately on the
lips.
They slowly parted and Little Joe backed out of the room
as Angela closed the door gently.
********
Joe slowly opened his eyes, then closed them immediately.
His eyes burned, his head pounded mercilessly, and he knew the moment he moved
he'd be combating nausea.
He turned his head into the soft mattress and retreated
in the warm, dark folds of the quilts. Something razor sharp dug into
his ribs, piercing his skin each time he drew a breath. The pain played
a distant second to the ache in his head and the heavy weight of exhaustion
that seeped into his bones. Blood oozed like molten lead through his
veins.
That punch must have had more liquor in it than I thought.
While he remembered leaving the hotel, he didn't remember
the ride home and wondered briefly how he wound up in his bed. With
exaggerated care, he rose to his hands and knees and braced himself on the
soft mattress, letting his body acclimate to the position. He had no
idea what time of day it was, but assumed it was late simply by the lethargy
in his muscles.
He realized he had fallen asleep on top of the covers,
sprawled across the mattress while still fully dressed. Confused and
sluggish, he struggled to focus out the window to gauge the time. He
decided it was at least 8:00 a.m. and was surprised the Hoss had let him sleep
in.
It was all he could do to stumble to the pitcher of water
on the table by the window. His muscles protested the movement, stubbornly
remaining stiff and sore, shoulder joints shooting with pain at the slightest
motion.
Maybe I tried to break to many horses in one day.....
His fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt as he
set his mind against the lingering aches and fatigue. His father was
due back today and Little Joe knew he had to have all his chores done or Pa
would never let him have Saturday afternoon off to see Angela.
He removed his jacket and unbuttoned his silk shirt,
rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. Closing his eyes against the
pain, he splashed cool water on his face, then poured it over his head.
Looking up at his reflection in the mirror, he was surprised to find faint
blue bruises on his forearms. Frowning, he lightly skimmed his fingers
over the discolored flesh. He removed his shirt and inspected the rest
of his body. Another bruise marred his ribs and there were two more
on his lower back. His biceps were also covered with bruises.
They were lightly colored and not painful to the touch, though his muscles
were stiff.
I don't remember being in a fight.........
He ran a hand over his chin, observing his features in
the mirror. The water had helped rejuvenate him somewhat. He shaved
quickly and aside from the unusual pallor of his skin, decided he didn't
look too bad.
********
Joe slowly descended the steps, head pounding and body
aching. Hoss was sitting at the table finishing breakfast and looked
up at the sound of his brothers' footsteps.
"Morning, Little Joe. I was beginnin' to think
you was gonna sleep all day!" Hoss said cheerfully.
Little Joe gave his brother a half smile. "Sorry,
Hoss. I didn't mean to sleep so late. Why didn't you wake me?"
"Well, you fell asleep on your horse on the way home.
I had to practically carry you to your room. I figured you'd been working
too hard the last few days and deserved to sleep in a little." Hoss
explained with a smile.
"Thanks, Hoss. I appreciate that." Joe said
quietly as he headed towards the door.
Hoss frowned as he took a closer look at his little brother.
Little Joe was pale and looked exhausted.
"Little Joe, are you all right?" Hoss asked, concern
in his voice.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired. I'm
gonna go get started on the chores." He said, trying to make his escape.
He felt awful and knew if he didn't get away from Hoss soon, he brother would
begin to suspect something. All Joe wanted to do was get his chores
done so he could go back to sleep.
"Hold on a minute. I've already done the chores.
Why don't you have some breakfast and go back to bed for awhile? You're
mighty pale....are you sure you're all right?" Hoss was worried by the
unusual pallor of Joe's face.
Joe was relieved that Hoss had already completed the
chores--he wasn't sure he could have done them. Just the short walk
from his bedroom to the great room had taken its toll.
"Thanks, Hoss. I'm not hungry, but I think I will
catch a few more winks before I start with the horses." Joe said, watching
his brothers' reaction, concerned Hoss would try to talk him out of
working with the horses. He only had a few more to break and the Army
contract would be completed. Joe didn’t want to give his father any
reason to deny his request for taking Saturday off to spend with Angela.
"Joe, maybe you shouldn't break any horses today.
You've only got a couple more and the Army contract isn't due until ....."
Hoss began.
Little Joe held his hand up to stop him. "Hoss,
I'm fine. All right? I'm just a little tired, that's all.
Too much dancin' and punch last night, I guess. I'll go back to sleep
for a little while and I'll be fine, you'll see. Don't worry."
Hoss frowned, but in order to avoid an argument, finally
conceded.
"I'll be out in the corral if you need me." Hoss
said as he retrieved his gun belt and hat. "You get some rest now, y'hear?"
"I will, I promise." Little Joe smiled weakly.
"I'll be fine, you go ahead. And Hoss, thanks." He added.
For a moment, Hoss held Little Joe's gaze. He had
a feeling his brother was dealing with something more serious than a simple
hangover. With a final concerned look, Hoss went out the door.
The climb back up the stairwell tired Little Joe more
than he'd expected. By the time he'd crested the top step, he was breathless,
as if the air had become too thin to breathe. A sudden wave of dizziness
sent him staggering against the oak wall, legs weak, body trembling.
What's going on.....?
He closed his eyes, leaned heavily against the solid
wall and waited for the dizziness to pass. After a few minutes, he
pushed away from the wall and steadied himself, taking deep breaths forcing
air into his lungs, trying to satisfy his overwhelming appetite for oxygen.
A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead. He abruptly
wiped it away, angry that his fingers trembled, irritated at the sudden weakness.
Slowly, he made his way to his bed and sank into the soft mattress, exhausted.
********
Joe had hoped the pain and weakness would be gone when
he woke again, but it was not to be. His eyes were still burning and
he was as weak as a kitten. He closed his eyes and slowly sat
up, his chest and ribs screaming in pain at the slightest movement.
Taking shallow breaths, Joe sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the pain
to subside. He opened his eyes once more, but the strain of sitting
up caused a spasm of pain behind his eyes, sharp enough to force him to shut
them again. Joe remained in place, unmoving for several minutes.
Finally, he opened his eyes once more and this time the pain wasn't as bad.
What's wrong with me?
He stood up slowly and carefully, again shutting his
eyes as a wave of dizziness swept over him. After a few minutes, he
cautiously opened his eyes and moved towards the window. He was relieved
to see it was raining. At least he had an excuse for not breaking the
rest of the horses. As he stood at the window, he saw Hoss and
his father ride into the yard. He hurried as quickly as his aching
body would allow toward the wash basin. Rolling up his shirt sleeves,
he was alarmed to see even more blue bruises on his forearms. Looking
in the mirror, he was relieved to see there were no bruises on his face and
neck. However, he was extremely pale. Even his lips had lost their
pale color and he had dark smudges under his hazel eyes. He hoped his
father and brother would not notice how ill he looked.
Moving slowly and painfully, Little Joe made his way
down the stairs. He wanted to meet his father and brother at the door.
If his father thought he was ill, he would send Hoss for the doctor and one
thing Little Joe Cartwright absolutely abhorred was being ill.
His family always treated him like a five year old when he was sick or injured
and Little Joe loathed being babied.
Each step was pure torture for Joe. A constant
strong pressure in his chest kept him from taking anything but shallow breaths,
and even those cost him pain and a great deal of energy to accomplish.
It took him a long time to inhale, and longer still to exhale, like pushing
against a vacuum. The pain in his ribs was almost more than he could
bare, but he forced himself to move down the staircase. Finally reaching
the last step, Little Joe stopped and squeezed his eyes shut against the lancing
pain in his ribs and chest, tying to gulp in air, his breath catching in
his throat. He was exhausted and wondered how much longer he would be
able to remain upright. Through his hazy thoughts, he heard his father's
footsteps on the porch. Little Joe stood frozen in place, his body
refusing to move, refusing to be punished anymore.
Ben opened the big oak door and entered the ranch house.
"Hi, Joe." he said absently as he began unbuckling his
gun belt, barely glancing in Little Joe's direction.
His father's voice washed over him like warm water, easing
Joe's fear and settling him into irresolution.
"Hi, Pa. Where's....." His voice trailed
off, washed away in the flow of incomprehensible thoughts. An opaque
curtain descended before his eyes, blurring his vision. He swayed.
"Pa.....?"
Something in Little Joe's voice caused Ben to turn to
face his son.
"Joseph, are you all right?" Ben asked in a worried
voice, frightened at the paleness of his young son's face.
Dizziness hit Joe with a staggering force. He felt
the blood drain abruptly from his face.
"Joseph?" Ben quickly moved to his son and grasped
Joe's arms. "Joseph....!"
Joe's knees buckled and Ben caught his son as he collapsed
into sudden unconsciousness. Joe’s head limply flung back; the cords
of his neck stretching into an unnatural line. His throat pulled to
straightness, his mouth parting slightly as his jaw slackened. For a
moment, Ben held him closely, bearing the burden of his young son. Then
Ben followed Joe to the floor, the limp body a dead weight in his arms.
Joe lay astonishingly still, his white complexion a sharp contrast to the
dark floor beneath him.
Ben laid a hand on Joe's forehead. The skin felt
clammy and damp with perspiration. He trailed his fingers along the
smooth contours of the jaw, then firmly pressed his ear against Joe's chest,
hearing the sluggish beat of his heart, a faint laboring murmur under the
ribs.
"HOSS!" Ben screamed, terror in his heart.
Little Joe lay helpless in his fathers' arms, his pulse faint. Soft
gasps escaped from bloodless lips, his lax features an eerie white-to-the-bone
color.
Hoss burst into the room a moment later and stopped short
at the sight that greeted him.
"Pa, what happened? What's wrong with him?"
Hoss asked, his blue eyes wide with fear.
"I don't know. He just.........collapsed.
Send one of the hands for Doctor Martin. Have them tell him this is
an extreme emergency and we need him NOW!"
Hoss hurried to do his father’s bidding and was back
in less than two minutes. Ben looked up at him expectantly.
"I sent Buck, Pa. His horse was already saddled
so he's on his way. Here, Pa, let me take Little Joe."
As Hoss reached down to take his little brother from
their father's arms, Joe body suddenly tensed. A steady ripple of motion
swept his form, muscles convulsing in tiny spasms that were hardly visible
to the naked eye. It lasted only a minute, before releasing Little Joe
from its hold. A soft puff of air escaped his pale lips, and he lay
limply in his father's arms, his respiration rapid and shallow as his body
instinctively tried to get the oxygen that his blood denied him.
Hoss lifted Little Joe into his arms and quickly carried
him up the stairs, his father following closely behind. Upon reaching
Joe's room, Hoss lay him gently on the bed. Ben moved to the other side
of the bed and began unbuttoning Little Joe's shirt, pulling the fabric to
expose his naked chest. Ben gasped loudly and closed his eyes for a
moment blocking out the image of his youngest child's body. Dark bruises
covered Joe's lower ribs and abdomen, marring the pale flesh in unsightly
shades of blue. The ends leached to a soft gray, webbed with tiny red
vessels that stretched outward. More bruises covered Joe's forearms
and biceps.
Hoss stared at Joe, shocked beyond words, his blue eyes
wide with fear and worry.
"Hoss, what happened to him?" Ben's voice shook
as he spoke.
"I don't know, Pa. We worked most of the day yesterday
and then we went to the dance in town. He was there the whole time and
I met him at the hotel after I took Bessie Sue home. We came straight
home and he seemed fine. He fell asleep in the saddle, but he's done
that before. This morning, he woke up with a headache, but thought
it was just a hangover. He's been asleep most of the day." Hoss
explained, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.
Ben slowly finished undressing Joseph then covered his
bruised body. He stared at his young son, buried under the quilt, his
head resting on the soft pillow. Errant wisps of dark curls fell on
Little Joe's forehead, his complexion a strange waxy sheen.
"Joseph, my son....." Ben whispered.
Slowly.....weakly....the eyes fluttered. Little
Joe's eyes opened lazily, the pupils dilated, vision out of focus. Joe
stirred restlessly, mumbling as he moved his head on the pillow, disoriented
and confused.
Ben stroked his fingers gently across Joe's slick brow.
"I'm here, Son. It's all right, you're Pa's here."
Joe lay exhausted against the pillow, his eyes closed
again. Ben knew Joe was not sleeping, but resting, conserving his strength.
He took his son’s sweat slicked hand in his and waited.
********
Ben stood back as Dr. Paul Martin examined Little Joe,
who lay unnaturally still. He watched the shallow rise and fall of his
son's chest, the delicate outline of ribs against bruised flesh, and the
gentle hollow of his lean abdomen that had sustained most of the bruising.
Despite his obvious vulnerability, the discoloration enhanced the purely male
quality of Joe's young body, well-defined muscles beautifully sculpted under
the condemning illness. Ben laced his fingers together tightly
and forced himself to remain in place and allow the doctor to help his son.
Dr. Martin lightly clamped a hand on Joe's jaw and held
a finger before his eyes.
"Joe, can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"
Paul asked.
"One."
"I want you to follow my finger with your eyes only,
Joe. Don't move your head. Okay, good. Do you have any
pain?" Dr. Martin's hands moved to palpate Joe's abdomen, pushing his
fingers deeply into the bruised flesh, eliciting a deep moan from his patient.
"Joe, can you tell me how you got all those bruises?"
Paul asked.
"I --I-I don't know. They were there this morning."
Little Joe's breathing had turned ragged, and his voice was now tight with
pain.
"Have you suffered any injuries in the past few weeks?"
"No." For the first time, Joe moved restlessly
on the bed, trying to push himself up on his elbows. "I'm fine, Doc.
I just got a little dizzy."
Paul gently pushed Joe back on the bed as Ben hurried
to his side.
"Joseph, you need to rest and you are not fine.
You collapsed and you're in shock. Your breathing is shallow and rapid
because you're not getting enough oxygen in your blood, and your heart rate
is erratic. You have severe bruising you cannot explain, as well as
a low grade fever. In your present condition I doubt if you can make it to
the door. Now, just lie back and take it easy." Paul scolded softly
as he turned toward the night stand. He pulled a bottle of medicine
and a spoon out of his black bag.
Ben took Joe's hand. His son’s features were set
in a stubborn mask, hazel eyes darkened to a rich chocolate. The lines
around his mouth etched deeply into the pale skin, brows slanted forward against
the pain he refused to acknowledge.
"Joseph, Dr. Martin is here to help you....." Ben began.
"Pa, I'm all right." Joe closed his eyes for a
moment, caught his breath. "I don't need a doctor."
Ben laid his hand on Joe's shoulder. He could feel
his son's pain and weakness, despite his recent testimony to the contrary.
"Joseph, you are not all right. Please son, just
lie back and rest." Ben's face was taut with worry.
Joe looked up to his father, their eyes meeting.
Very slightly, so that it was barely perceptible, he nodded, and his entire
body relaxed into defeat. Ben smiled tenderly at Joe and lightly trailed
his fingers down the still arm and off the back of his bruised hand.
Dr. Martin turned back to Joseph with the medicine in his hand.
"Here Joe, this medicine will ease the pain. Ben,
would you help him sit up a little?"
Ben raised Joe's upper body slightly and Paul spooned
the medicine into him. Joe made a face, then sighed softly as his father
lowered him back on the bed.
Ben looked down at his young son, his hands caressed Joe's soft, dark
curls. It only took a few moments for the medicine to begin working
its magic. Joe’s eyelids began to flutter, and although he fought
to stay awake, the medicine was too strong. He slowly closed his eyes
and was lost to sleep.
"Paul, what's wrong with him?" Ben asked anxiously
as he watched the rise and fall of Joe's bruised chest.
Paul hesitated a moment before answering.
"Ben, I can't tell you what's wrong with Joe, but
I can tell you that he's a very sick boy. The bruising means his blood
is not clotting properly. If he should get into a fight or fall
or otherwise injure himself, he could bleed to death."
Ben eyes flew open wide as a cold wave washed over him,
leaving him numb, empty except for the fear.
"Surely you have some idea, some indication........"
Ben’s voice trailed off.
"It's imperative you keep him still. I don't want
him out of this bed--an injury could be fatal. I'll be back tomorrow.”
Paul put his hand on Ben's shoulder. "I'll do everything I can Ben,
you know that."
"I know, Paul. I appreciate all you're doing.
It's just so hard....." Ben stopped speaking as tears threatened to
overcome him.
********
Voices whispered around Joe, the words buried beneath
a fog of medication. The tones sounded distorted--sometimes concerned,
sometimes angry, and sometimes a whisper--but always with him, hovering in
the distance, pressing ever closer to his consciousness until he could ignore
them no longer.
The darkness lifted from within, as sensation slowly
returned. Little Joe forced his eyes open and felt a hand on
his forehead, caressing his hair. He tried to focus his eyes on the
blurry image above him and after a moment succeeded. He moaned softly.
"It's all right Joseph. I'm here." Ben said
softly, continuing to caress his son's dark curls.
"Hi, Pa." Joe whispered. He turned his head
and saw Hoss in the doorway.
“Hey, big brother.” Joe smiled weakly as he tried to
sit up. A sharp pain emanated from his ribs and abdomen causing him
to catch his breath sharply.
Hoss moved over by the bed and helped his brother into
a sitting position. The sight of his younger brother made his heart
ache. He was frightened by Little Joe’s paleness, by the bruises that
covered his young body.
“Hey, Little Joe. How ya feelin’, Buddy?”
Hoss asked, blue eyes betraying his worry.
“I’m all right. Just a little sore.” Joe
answered quietly. In truth, his entire body ached and he was weak from
fatigue.
Joe looked closely at his father and frowned.
"Pa, are you all right? You look tired."
"I'm fine. How do you feel?" Ben smiled as
he felt Joe's forehead. He was pleased to find Joe's fever had not increased.
Little Joe shrugged softly. “I hate being sick."
He dropped the words like stones in water, letting the little boy tone surface.
Ben couldn’t help smiling. Somehow Little Joe’s
complaining comforted him.
“Well, you do what Dr. Martin tells you and you’ll be
better in no time.” Ben said with much more confidence than he felt.
Joe looked at his father and frowned again.
“Pa.....?” Joe hesitated.
“Yes, Joseph, what is it? Is there something you
need?” Ben inquired.
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked simply, looking
deep into his father’s eyes -- the eyes he had always trusted, always found
comfort in. Ben’s heart nearly shattered at the simple question.
“Joseph, Dr. Martin is not sure what’s wrong yet, but
he’ll be out again this afternoon. For now, though, how about some breakfast?”
Ben asked a bit to cheerfully.
“No, I don’t think I want anything right now. I’m
awful tired. Maybe I’ll just go back to sleep for awhile, if that’s
all right with you, Pa.” Joe said quietly as he sank back into the soft
pillows. Exhausted, he allowed the heavy pull of sleep to take him.
********
Gradually, Joe rose to consciousness, fighting his way
through thick layers of darkness. Hands touched him, probing, examining.
In the gray fog that encased his mind, he heard the sound of disjointed voices,
fragment of words floating beyond his awareness or his ability to react.
“........his spleen is enlarged.....watch him carefully.....”
“....how pale he is....shaking......”
“I’ll get another blanket......feel better in a while.”
Joe moved restlessly in the bed, moaning softly as he
came up through a hazy fog of medications. Ben leaned forward to place
a hand on the hot forehead, feeling the fever burning inside his young son.
“His fever is up.” Ben said frowning.
“I know. His system is out of balance. His
body is reacting to his enlarged spleen. Ben, I’m going to have to treat
him symptomatically, since I’m still not certain what’s causing this dangerous
drop in his red blood cells.” Dr. Martin explained.
“Isn’t there anything you can do, Doc?” Hoss asked.
“I’m doing everything I can, Hoss. Right now, we
need to get him stabilized.”
Joe moved restlessly, weakly tossing his head on the
pillow. A frown creased his brow as he moaned softly.
“He’s in pain, Paul.” Ben said softly as he stroked
Little Joe’s dark curls.
“That’s caused by the blood settling in his joints.”
Dr. Martin pulled back the blankets to expose Joe’s bare abdomen. He
pressed his fingers firmly into the tender flesh, palpating the spleen.
Joe moaned, writhing weakly under the painful examination.
His eyes fluttered open, alert and alarmed. His breathing quickened,
face grimacing as he struggled to understand the unexpected pain.
“It’s all right, Joe.” Ben leaned over so that Joe could
see him clearly. One hand soothed his fevered forehead. “Please,
son, you need to lie still.”
Dr. Martin’s fingers had stilled for a moment, while
Joe rose to consciousness, but now they moved along the ribs, pressing upward,
under the defined ridges.
Joe cried out, his one knee flexing. He arched
slightly to avoid the probing hands.
“Lie still, Joe,” Dr. Martin said in a low voice.
“I know this is uncomfortable, but I’ll be finished in a minute.”
Dr. Martin’s hands continued their path, lowering toward
the smooth curve of Joe’s hip, his fingertips burying into the pale flesh,
sinking deeper and deeper.....
Joe choked back another cry. His heart slammed
painfully in his chest. He groaned low in his throat and shut his eyes
against the onslaught of pain he was helpless to stop.
“I’m almost done,” Dr. Martin droned, his hands
slipping under Joe’s back. “Just another second.”
Joe tried to move away from the invading hands, his arms
weakly reaching to support himself, to rise from the bed, but his strength
failed him and he fell back exhausted and panting, sweat pouring from his
face.
“Pa.....”
“Shhh, the doctor is almost finished. Lie still,
son.”
Dr. Martin finally completed the crude examination.
“All done.” he said as he pulled the blankets up
around Joe’s shoulders. He smiled at his young patient.
“Welcome back. You had us worried there, Joseph.”
Joe turned away from the doctor, seemed to sink into
the mattress. His face, pinched in pain, had lost all color.
“I know you’re in pain, Joe,” Dr. Martin began,
“and I’m sorry about that, but it was unavoidable. Your spleen has become
enlarged and I want to make certain it doesn’t rupture.”
Joe kept his head turned and showed no sign of hearing
the doctor’s words. Dr. Martin glanced across to Ben before he continued.
“You’ve a very sick young man. You know your body,
Joe. You know you’re ill.”
Joe shut his eyes for a moment, fatigue flowing into
him again. Slowly, the hazel eyes opened -- dark and languid -- the
expression calm and resigned.
“What are you going to do?” His voice was no more
than a whisper.
Dr. Martin straightened his shoulders, seeming to draw
on a determination he knew he would need.
“The pain is coming from an enlarged spleen and bleeding
that’s seeped into your joints. Immobility is the best thing to prevent
any further bleeding and lessen the pain. Unfortunately, immobility
is detrimental to your low circulation. Because you don’t have the proper
blood quantity, your circulation is poor, which advocates blood pooling.
You’ll need to have massages twice a day to keep the blood circulating.
You’re not producing red blood cells at an satisfactory rate and we need to
find out why.”
Joe turned to look at his father, his eyes drooping with
fatigue. He struggled to keep them open, he wanted to say something
to his father. He moved under the blankets, a soft, subtle motion.
Ben rested a hand on Joe’s shoulder.
“Rest now, son. We’ll talk later.”
Joe’s eyes were already closed.
********
Five days later, Little Joe was sitting on
his bed slowly pulling on his jeans. He moved cautiously, one leg at
a time. He still ached, his stiff muscles punishing him with every move,
but he felt stronger as each day passed.
He stood and glanced at his reflection in the mirror
above the wash basin. He looked better as well, having lost the near-death
appearance of his complexion, the gaunt, sickly quality that made him grimace.
The twice daily massages had warmed his body, restored some of his energy
and, except for the bruises, he could almost convince himself he was well.
He lightly brushed the masses of purple and blue colors
on his abdomen and ribs, cringing at the sight of them. They looked
awful and he hated them. Grabbing his shirt from the bed, he struggled
into it, needing to cover the evidence of his illness.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ben asked, his
voice sharper than he meant.
Joe paused with one arm in his shirt and looked up to
meet his father’s concerned gaze. Ben stood in the doorway, his thumbs
hooked in his belt loops, his body unnaturally rigid. A slight frown
creased his brows, darkened his eyes.
“I-I-I thought I’d go downstairs for awhile. I’m
tired of looking at these four walls.” Joe said softly as he slipped
into the shirt, ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulders.
Ben sighed heavily and Joe braced himself for a fight.
He knew getting past his father wasn’t going to be easy.
“Joe, I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Pa, you don’t understand. I’m going crazy in this
room all day with nothing to do! I need to be outside--I need to do
something, anything.” Joe said evenly, trying to control his emotions.
“The doctor said you needed to rest. You’re not
well enough to do anything yet.” Ben said patiently. He knew how
difficult it was for Joe to remain still once he started feeling better.
Like a sudden blast of wind, anger hit Joe, shaking his
reserve. “I’m not too sick to walk downstairs! I’m standing, walking,
breathing. You make it sound like I’m an invalid or something!”
He reached for his boots, his movements quick, indignant. “I feel fine.”
Joe sat on the bed and suddenly lowered his eyes,
concentrating on pulling his boot on, ashamed to look at his father.
He was angry at himself for losing control, and angry at his father for pressing
the issue.
Suddenly, Ben sat beside him and rested a gentle hand
on his shoulder. Joe’s body softened slightly, yielding to the
touch that had always comforted him throughout his life. His hands stayed
their restless movements, but he still would not meet Ben’s eyes.
“Joe, you heard what Dr. Martin said, but did you understand?
You are not well, you need to be careful.........”
“I know what he said. I was here, remember?
But it doesn’t mean everything stops.” Joe interrupted.
“Then what does it mean?” Ben asked quietly.
The question caught Joe off guard. He hesitated
and, for a brief moment, met his father’s fathomless dark eyes -- soft and
warm -- reaching out to him.
Joe’s body sagged against his father as a single tear
rolled down his cheek.
“Pa, I’m tired of being sick. I just want to be
me again.” he said, his voice barely audible.
Ben pulled Joe close, hugging him gently.
“I know, son. You’ll be well soon. Just give
it a little more time.”
Joe nodded his head. “Pa?”
“Yes?”
“Please, Pa, can I go downstairs just for a little while?”
Joe asked looking up at his father’s face, his hazel eyes imploring.
Ben smiled. “You just never give up do you?”
Joe smiled back weakly and shrugged his shoulders.
“All right, you win. You can go downstairs, but
only until Dr. Martin gets here young man. Is that clear?” Ben
tried to sound stern, failing miserably.
Joe grinned and slowly stood up. “What are we waiting
for? Let’s go!”
********
“Joseph Cartwright, you are incorrigible!!!” Dr.
Paul Martin exclaimed shaking his head.
“Please, Doc? I have to get out of this house
for just a little while -- it’s stifling me.”
Dr. Martin pursed his lips, tapping his chin with his
finger. He studied the young face before him. Little Joe had been
his patient since he was no more than a toddler and no one knew better than
Paul Martin how restless this young man could be.
“Joseph, does this sudden desire to get out of the house
have anything to do with that pretty young lady you took to the dance last
Saturday?” he asked slowly, watching Joe’s reaction.
Joe blushed, then gave an embarrassed grin.
“Yeah. I promised her a picnic tomorrow.
That shouldn’t be a problem, should it? I mean we would just be sitting
on a blanket eating sandwiches. How dangerous could that be?”
Joe asked, his hazel eyes pleading for understanding.
“Joe, I’m just not sure you are ready to be out yet.
You are still weak and the danger of an injury causing massive bleeding is
still a concern.” Paul watched the disappointment spread over Joe’s
face as he spoke. His heart went out to the boy.
“All right, Joseph.” he sighed heavily.
“If your father agrees and if you promise to take it easy, I’ll let
you go. However, you have to give me your word that you’ll stay in bed
all day today and rest. And, I expect you to eat all of your meals.
Is it a deal?”
Joe’s eyes lit up. He knew if Dr. Martin approved,
his father would come around--eventually.
“I promise!” he exclaimed.
********
Joe woke up with a feeling of excitement. It had
taken almost an hour of begging and cajoling before Ben had finally relented
and given Joe permission to keep his date with Angela. As promised,
Joe spent all of Friday in bed resting, although it was difficult. Hoss
had stayed with him a couple of hours in the afternoon, playing checkers and
talking. Joe forced himself to eat all the food brought to him and
obeyed his fathers’ every command.
Joe climbed slowly out of bed and looked in the mirror
hoping the mass of purple and blue marks would be gone. Although somewhat
lighter, they were still there. Sighing, he splashed water on his face,
pleased to see that his skin was only slightly pale and the smudges under
his eyes almost nonexistent. Knowing his father would watch his every
move carefully, he took his time getting dressed. Unable to delay
any longer, he slowly headed downstairs. Hoss and Ben were at the breakfast
table and looked up as he descended the stairs.
Although his body still ached, Joe tried his best to
hide the pain. He could feel his father’s gaze on him --
scrutinizing, analyzing. Ben gazed at him in a curious, intense manner
that made Joe feel like a little boy who had committed some indiscretion
and wouldn’t own up to it.
“Good morning, Joseph. How are you feeling?”
Ben asked, his eyes still intensely inspecting his youngest son as Joe slid
into his seat.
“I’m fine, Pa.” he answered with a sigh, then giggled
lightly. “You worry too much.”
“That’s a father’s prerogative, Joseph.” Ben stated.
“Here you go, little brother. This will help get
your energy back.” Hoss said as he filled Joe’s plate with ham, eggs
and potatoes.
“Thanks, Hoss.” The last thing Joe wanted to do
was eat, but he knew he would never be allowed out of the house until
the last morsel was gone.
********
After promising his father he would take it easy and
get back at a reasonable hour, Joe finally made his escape. Careful
to give the illusion of good health, Joe forced himself to look relaxed as
he left the house. The dull ache of his muscles made it necessary to
go slowly and Joe was glad when Virginia City came into view.
His first stop was the International House kitchen where
he procured a picnic lunch of fried chicken, biscuits and chocolate cake.
He was a little irritated that Dr. Martin just happened to be in the International
House dining room when he arrived. He patiently answered the doctors
barrage of questions, knowing his father would receive a full report later.
When Dr. Martin was at last satisfied that the ride to town hadn’t been detrimental
to Joe’s well being, he smiled and, patting Joe on the back, told him to have
a good time. Joe sighed with relief. The long ride into town
had left him fatigued, his body aching. He was glad to have fooled Dr.
Martin.
Joe was pleased to see Angela waiting for him in the
lobby as he left the dining room. He had dreaded climbing the stairs in his
weakened condition. Angela looked stunning in a simple blue cotton
summer dress. Her dark hair was covered with a large brim straw hat
adorned with a blue ribbon that matched her dress. In her hand was
a bottle of champagne and two glasses. She smiled as he drew near.
“Hello Joe. I’ve missed you.” she said coyly.
Joe took her hand, kissing it softly.
“I’ve missed you too, my Angel. You’ll never know
how much.” he smiled.
“Shall we go, sir?” Angel asked.
“After you, Ma’m”
An hour later, Joe pulled the surrey to a stop under
a large shade tree. He slowly disembarked and turned to help Angela.
They took the blanket, picnic basket and bottle of champagne to an area overlooking
Lake Tahoe. They selected a spot in a beautiful meadow filled with fragrant
summer flowers dancing softly in the breeze. The grass was a glorious
green; the sky, a brilliant blue, dotted with puffy white clouds. Tall
Ponderosa pines reached to the heavens, the Sierra Nevada mountains standing
majestically behind them. Below them, the warm sun gently kissed
the magnificent blue waters of Lake Tahoe. On a grassy knoll
behind Joe and Angela was a small fishing cabin, the only suggestion of civilization
for miles around.
After finishing lunch, they leaned against a tree, sipping
champagne, talking quietly. Joe had his eyes closed as Angela
studied his handsome face. She had noticed how stiffly he got in and
out of the buggy and now noticed the slight paleness of his skin.
“Joe, are you all right?” Angela asked, concern
in her voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?” He
questioned, hazel eyes opening, a hint of irritation in his voice.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Angela dropped her eyes, folding her hands on her lap.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, I’ve been
a little under the weather this week and my family worries too much.
They’ve been watching me like a hawk for days.” he apologized.
“I didn’t know. Are you all right now?”
Angela inquired.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” he answered, then grinned wickedly,
hazel eyes sparkling. “On second thought, I do have a pain right here.”
he said as he pointed to his lips. “Can you kiss it and make it all
better?”
Angela laughed. “Joe Cartwright, you are such a
tease!”
He smiled as he pulled her close to him, the softness
of her breasts pressed against him, moving with her steady breaths.
“Are you sure you are all right?” she questioned
softly.
He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face toward
him.
“You talk too much.”
His lips closed over hers. The velvet texture of her mouth invited
him to explore the moist folds. His tongue slipped between her even
teeth, probing the warm softness.
She moaned low as his tongue invaded her mouth with a
boldness and demanding grace. Her hands began their own exploration,
unbuttoning his shirt with quick, precise movements, feeling the warmth of
his skin through the fabric. She wanted the hot sensation of his smooth
skin against her palms, wanted to feel the thrum and cadence of his heart.
She tugged the hem of his shirt from his jeans and drawing the material upward,
skimming over his muscled flesh. With a deft movement, he freed himself
from the shirt, dropping it to the ground.
Angela gasped softly. “Joe.....?”
He captured her hands, keeping them from exploring the
bruises.
“It’s okay. They don’t hurt. They don’t mean
anything.” he said softly.
He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her intensely,
driving his tongue into the soft wetness, leaving her breathless.
He tore his lips away, trailing his wet mouth down her
neck to the gentle hollow of her throat, resting against the flutter of her
pulse.
“Joe!” she moaned breathlessly. Her hands
were on him, touching everywhere, leaving a sensation of vibrant heat.
She caressed her slim fingers over his broad chest, branding him in secret
places. In response, she felt him shudder, felt the desire begin deep
in his belly.
His breath quickened and he arched his back a little
when her tongue found his tight nipples. He was surprised and gave
a little laugh.
“Hey, take it easy on me,” he said, and nuzzled
the top of her head, inhaling the jasmine scent of her hair.
She ignored his supplication and pressed her mouth against
his chest again, blazing a trail across his flesh with the tip of her tongue.
When she raised her head and looked at him, his mouth was parted with faint
gasps, his eyes bright with desire.
Suddenly, thunder rolled and lightning flashed.
Without speaking, Joe took Angela’s hand and led her towards the fishing cabin.
Once inside the cabin, Joe lit a single candle.
He locked gazes with Angela and slowly, deliberately, began unbuttoning her
dress. She slipped her arms out and let the dress fall to the floor
in a pool of blue. He put his lips to hers, kissing her passionately.
The tip of his tongue traced down the column of her throat and he smiled secretly
at her sharp intake of breath.
Continuing on a downward path, his mouth eagerly took
possession of her breast, closing around the hard bud of her nipple, sucking
through the sheerness of her camisole. His right hand cupped the heavy
weight, lifting it as he devoured her flesh, teeth nipping playfully, hungrily.
Angela sighed and let her body go limp. Joe bent
her over the corded muscles of his left arm, drawing the material past her
breast, baring her to the pleasure of his mouth. He savored the taste
of her, suckling greedily.
She clung to him as much for balance as for passion,
sinking her nails into the smooth muscles of his shoulders, and the camisole
followed her dress to the floor.
“Joe,” she sighed, impatient now. Her knee nudged
the hard bulge in his jeans. With great reluctance, his mouth abandoned
her breast with a satisfying pop. The nipple stood erect -- red, wet
and tender from his attention. His own aching flesh begged for release,
straining to be freed.
He led Angela to the bed.
Gentle hands unbuttoned his jeans, then carefully slid
them down, coaxing them off. She took more time to remove his underwear,
letting her long nails score whisper-lines over delicate flesh. Angela’s
fingers closed around his penis, gently stroking its firm length from blunt
tip to thick base, increasing pressure at the tip, and giving the rigid shaft
a tug before beginning again. He rocked with her motions, thrusting
helplessly.
Slowly, methodically, she stroked him until he was painfully
erect and throbbing. Then, without warning, she released him.
He gave a small cry of frustration. A fine sheen
of sweat covered his body, plastering wisps of hair to his forehead.
His breath came in short, panting gasps. He focused through a haze of
passion that enslaved his mind. Angela lay beneath him, her body flushed
and wanting, waiting for his attentions. She opened herself to him.
For a moment, Joe hesitated, supported by his arms and
suspended above her, aching and needing, his swollen shaft pressing against
her moist, soft center.
Her hands touched at his shoulders with an almost painful
tenderness.
It snapped his reserve. He thrust forward, sheathing
himself inside her with a gasp, ignoring the momentary pain that shattered
down his spine. Her legs wrapped around him, locking them together in
a battle of flesh and will. She adjusted her body, tilting her hips
to meet his thrusts, absorbing the intensity of their lovemaking.
She loved his power, the wild surge of his passion.
“Joe,” she moaned, withering beneath him.
He increased his thrusts, a tightness coiling deep in
his belly. Panting and gasping above her, his body arched and suddenly
went rigid. A shudder tore through him. And again.
“Angel, oh god...” He moaned deeply, locked in
the throes of climax. His body pulsed and throbbed rhythmically.
He moaned again, and it was a helpless sound, like pain. “Angel.....”
His arms trembling, he eased himself down, his weight
locking her in his embrace, his body shuddering in aftermath. For a
long time neither moved, their breathing the only sound inside the cabin.
Joe took longer to recover, his body drained of vital energy and dangerously
weary, but it was a good weariness, and the ache in his back and shoulders
slowly faded with his desire. He gave her a lingering kiss, then withdrew
from her, rolling his weight to the side. Then he reached for her, stroking,
his hand slipping between her silken thighs.
She gently captured his hands. “No.” she
said softly.
“Angel, I.....”
She touched her fingers to his lips. “Ssshhhh,”
she whispered, hands stroking his damp hair, soothing his face. “Sleep.
We have plenty of time.”
She kissed him then, sealing the moment in silence.
Afterwards, as the storm raged outside, he finally slept.
********
Silence descended as the storm moved into the mountains.
The darkness began to impose its own brand of solitude as Ben stood on the
front porch of the Ponderosa ranch house, the evening air chilling and refreshing
on his face. He should have never allowed Joe to go out -- it was too
soon. He feared how the cold rain and the night air might affect Joe’s
weakened body. Ben turned from the evening sky to pace the length of
the porch, stopping every now and then to glance down the road for any sign
of Joe.
“I should have kept him here.” Ben said, raising
his face toward the now star lit sky, his dark eyes clouded with worry for
his youngest child.
“He would’ve just found a way to sneak out.” Hoss
said quietly causing his father to startle. Ben hadn’t realized Hoss
was there, hadn’t even realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud.
Ben sighed deeply.
“You’re probably right. But, still.....”
Ben’s voice trailed off as he heard the sound of a horse splashing through
a puddle. Both men breathed a sigh of relief as Joe came into
view. Hoss hurried out to meet him, glad that his brother was home
safe and sound.
“Hey, little brother.” Hoss greeted him, smiling.
“Why don’t you go on inside, I’ll take care of the horse and rig for you.”
Joe smiled his thanks and without a word stepped gingerly
from the surrey. Hoss’ smile turned to a frown as he got a closer look
at Joe. His face was pale, dark smudges under his eyes. From the
way he carried himself, Hoss could tell his little brother was in pain.
Ben forced himself to stay on the porch, to let Joe come
to him. As Joe drew closer, Ben conducted an analytical inspection of
him and could see his body trembling.
“Joseph, are you all right?” Ben asked, alarmed
at the paleness of Joe’s face, the bruises under his tired hazel eyes.
Joe gave his father a weak smile.
“Yeah, I’m fine -- just a little tired. Guess I
overdid it a bit.” His voice was a strained whisper as he moved inside
the house, his father right on his heels. “I think I’ll go on to bed.
Good night, Pa.”
Ben watched Joe with trepidation as he slowly, stiffly,
climbed the stairs. He knew his son was not well and again berated himself
for allowing Joe to keep his date. He wanted to run to Joe, take
him in his arms and tell him everything was going be all right, but forced
himself to hold back.
Fifteen minutes later Ben found Joe sound asleep on top
of his quilts, fully dressed. He put a gentle hand to Joe's forehead,
relieved to find it cool to the touch. Joe's eyes fluttered open slowly,
meeting his fathers.
"Mmmm. Hi, Pa." he whispered as his eyelids
again drooped, dark lashes splaying across pale skin.
Ben watched his son, smiling at how youthful and serene
he appeared in sleep. Ben kissed Joe softly on the forehead, covered
him with a quilt and reluctantly left the room.
********
On Wednesday morning, Joe jerked awake suddenly, his
body and mind instantly coming alert. For a moment, confusion reigned
as he realized he was in his own bedroom. He stretched, testing then
challenging his body, slowly climbing out of bed. Joe discarded his
clothes, then closed his eyes for a moment. Looking down at his naked
body, his gaze swept the bruises discoloring his flesh, the lean set of his
ribs and the hard sculpted muscles of his thighs. The fatigue had lessened,
taking with it the lingering chills and ache that had plagued him the last
few days, giving him hope that he was on the road to recovery.
Joe quickly washed up, dressed and headed downstairs.
Hoss and Ben looked up from their breakfast, surprise showing on their faces.
"Mornin' Pa, Hoss." Joe smiled cheerfully as he walked
briskly to the table.
Ben's gaze swept his son. He could see that Joe
was still pale, but the bruises under his eyes that had been so dark Saturday
night were now nothing more than dusty smudges.
"Good morning, Joseph. How are you feeling?"
Ben inquired.
"I'm fine Pa. Really." Joe grinned, then
turned quickly to Hoss, changing the subject as he slid into his seat.
"Hoss, I'm going to finish breaking those horses for
the Army this morning, then I'll meet you out in the south ......."
his voice trailed off as he saw Hoss shoot a concerned glance towards their
father.
"What?" he asked, trying to keep his temper under control.
He knew what was coming and he dreaded it.
"Joseph, I don't want you out today. You are still
awfully pale and I don't think you're ready to be breaking horses just yet."
He held his hands up, cutting off Joe's attempt to contest his decision.
"Joseph, don't argue with me. You know very
well that Dr. Martin said you could get out of bed only if you promised to
take it easy." Ben said sternly.
Hoss looked at his younger brother, seeing the restraint
it took for him to keep his explosive temper in check. He watched
the battle of wills between father and son, brown eyes meeting hazel
ones, neither man willing to back down. Hoss was curious to see who
would win.
As he looked into his determined eyes, Joe knew this
time no amount of begging or cajoling would change his father's mind.
Joe slowly acquiesced, his jaw still set against submission.
"Pa, I really don't think it's necessary, but I'll take
it easy for a couple more days if it'll make you feel better." he mumbled.
"Thank you, Joseph. Now, eat your breakfast."
Ben smiled, relief evident in his voice.
*********
"Have you experienced any dizziness in the last few days,
Joe?" asked Dr. Martin as he pressed his fingers firmly into Joe's flesh,
palpating his stomach.
"No, Doc. No dizziness, no pain, the bruises are
gone and I feel great!" Joe smiled, wishing Dr. Martin would hurry.
His father had been watching his every move for the last few days and it was
beginning to wear on Joe’s nerves. He was anxious to be out and about,
away from his father’s watchful eye.
Dr. Martin finished his examination before speaking again.
He turned to Ben shaking his head.
"I don't understand it, Ben. He seems healthy enough.
Whatever was wrong with him seems to have cleared up by itself."
Ben let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
For the first time in two weeks, he allowed himself to believe Joe was going
to be all right.
"Does that mean I can go back to work, Doc?" Joe
asked hopefully.
"I don't see any reason why you can't. Just be
careful not to overdo it.” Dr. Martin warned.
"Great!" Joe said as he started to climb out of
bed, then stopped. His cheeks flushing pink, he asked, "Do you mind.....?"
Ben and Paul looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
"All right, Joe. We'll leave you in peace so you
can get dressed." Ben said as he and Paul started out the door, shaking
their heads in amusement.
********
Joe rode into Virginia City on Sunday morning with
his father and brother. Having made arrangements with Angela to escort
her to church, he hurried to the hotel. Feeling full of energy, he bounced
up the stairs to Angela’s room two steps at a time. Dressed in a blue
suit over a white silk shirt and dark string tie, Joe was the picture of
good health. He stopped in the hallway, wiping dust from his boots before
knocking on the door.
Joe hitched in a breath as Angela opened the door.
She looked gorgeous in a deep royal blue dress accentuated with ivory lace
and mother-of-pearl buttons. Her dark hair pulled back in a bun, a fashionable
blue hat perched on her head, she was more beautiful than he remembered.
He stared into her smoky gray eyes, lost in thought.
"Joe.....?”
He shook his head slightly, her soft voice bringing him
back to the present.
"You look beautiful." he smiled -- a smile that
started at his lips and moved up to his hazel eyes.
"Thank you.” She hesitated for a moment as she
studied his face. He looked well enough, although she thought he might
have lost a little weight.
“Joe, how are you feeling?" she asked concern in
her voice.
"I'm fine. Shall we go?" he brushed her question
off, wanting to forget his recent illness.
After the church service, Joe and Angela joined Ben and
Hoss outside on the lawn where Joe introduced Angela to his father.
"Miss Dubois, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
Ben said as he took Angela's hand.
"And you, Mr. Cartwright." she smiled as Joe stood beside
her beaming.
Suddenly, Joe shivered violently causing Ben's face to
crease with worry. He knew Joe couldn’t be cold since it was a beautiful
warm summer day without even so much as a hint of a breeze.
"Joseph, are you all right?" Ben frowned, his dark
eyes set deep with concern.
Joe sighed, rolling his eyes. "Pa, I'm fine.
You worry too much. Angela and I are going to have lunch at the International
House.” He quickly added, “If that's all right with you."
Ben pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then decided
maybe Joe was right. Maybe he did worry too much. He patted Joe
on the back and smiled.
"Sure Son, go ahead. Hoss and I have to see Jack
Walker about a few things. We'll meet you in the hotel lobby this afternoon
at, say, 4:00?"
Joe was a bit irritated that his father was still trying
to coddle him, but nodded his head in agreement. Joe took Angela’s arm
as they headed for the hotel. Ben inspected Joe closely as he walked
away, looking for any signs that his recent illness might be returning.
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was still wrong.
Joe and Angela enjoyed a nice quiet lunch in the International
House dining room before retiring to Angela's suite. As they relaxed
together on the settee, Joe again shivered violently drawing a look of apprehension
from Angela.
"Now, don't you start in on me too." Joe warned, noticing
the worried look.
"I have something that will help you get rid of that
chill." she smiled coyly.
"Is that right........?" He began to pull her towards
him. Laughing, she gently pushed him away.
"That's not what I meant Mr. Cartwright." she giggled
as she stood. Moving toward a table in the center of the room, she pulled
a small colored box out of her luggage. It was hand-crafted and
made of silk. Tiny gold leaves were pressed into the cloth with intricate
Chinese writing on the top.
Joe followed her, putting his hands around her small
waist as he looked over her shoulder, breathing in the sweet fragrance of
her perfume.
"What's that?" he asked looking at the contents
of the box. They looked like a bunch of dried up leaves and twigs to
him.
"It's called gui zhi tea."
"Gui what tea? What's it for?" He wrinkled
his nose at the unsavory looking mixture.
"Gui zhi tea. It's an ancient Chinese tea made
from herbs that helps increase blood circulation." she explained.
"How do you know so much about a Chinese tea?" Joe questioned.
“I thought you were from St. Louis.”
"My grandfather lived with an Apothecary in China for
several years where he learned to use herbs for medicinal purposes.
When I was a little girl in St. Louis, he taught me." Angela stated
as she crushed the herbs, added hot water and handed the cup to Joe.
"Here you go, try it." she encouraged him.
Joe looked at the tea reluctantly. He took the
cup, sniffed it and deciding it didn’t smell too bad, drained the liquid
quickly.
Shuddering slightly, he handed Angela the empty cup.
The tea had just a hint of a bitter taste, but the warm elixir felt good going
down his throat.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Angela
smiled.
“No.” Joe admitted. “I know something better
though.” He grinned wickedly as he pulled her close to him. Placing
his lips on hers, he kissed her gently.
********
Ben was sitting at his large oak desk working on business
papers when he heard Joe slowly making his way down the stairs. He brows
creased in a frown as his gaze inspected the pale face, the tired eyes of
his youngest.
“Good morning, Joseph. How did you sleep last night?”
“Fine.” came the quiet answer.
“Are you all right, son?” Ben inquired, his dark
eyes once again filled with worry.
“I’m fine, Pa. I’ll see you later.” Joe smiled
sadly as he started for the front door.
“Wait a minute, Joe. You haven’t had breakfast
and......” Ben started, getting up to follow Joe to the door.
“I’m not hungry and I’m already behind schedule.
I --I gotta go.” Joe interrupted as he buckled on his gun belt.
He grabbed his hat and was out the door before Ben could say anymore.
Joe literally ran into Hoss as he was leaving the house.
“Whoa, little buddy, what’s your hurry?” inquired
Hoss with a laugh.
Joe muttered, “Sorry.” He didn’t even look up at
his brother as he continued on his way.
Hoss reached out, putting a hand on Joe’s arm stopping
him. Searching Joe’s face, he frowned.
“Joe, you’re awful pale. Why don’t.......”
“Look Hoss,’ Joe began, struggling to keep his
temper under control. “the Doc said I’m fine. You and Pa need
to quit babying me! Now if you don’t mind, I got a lot to do.”
Joe jerked his arm from Hoss’s grip and headed for the barn. Hoss let
him walk away, feeling he was making a big mistake and hoping he was wrong.
Joe could still feel the imprint of Hoss’s hand on his
arm as he walked into the barn. The heavy odor of horses and hay hit
him full in the face, but he barely paused to register the offending smells.
Why did I snap at Hoss like that?
He knew the answer.
Joe stopped at a mirror hanging on a pole in the barn
and looked at himself. The deep green shirt he wore accentuated his
complexion, framed by his dark curls.
I do look pale....
He touched his face, fingers trailing along his jaw,
examining his profile. He hadn’t bother to shave, but the stubble was
light colored and barely noticeable on his cheeks. He reached down
into a water bucket and splashed cold water on his face, absorbing
the sting and discomfort, punishing his body for its betrayal. He couldn’t
ignore the faint bruises that showed on his ribs this morning, the lethargy
that had kept him in bed an extra hour.
Bruises didn’t necessarily mean anything. He’d
had them before plenty of times. It was part of the job when breaking
horses. He wiped his face on a towel and began saddling Cochise.
Leading Cochise out of the barn, Joe glanced to the porch
where his father and brother stood watching him. Frustration poured
from Joe, mingled with guilt and sorrow. He was tempted to go apologize,
but instead, mounted Cochise and slowly rode out of the yard.
With his hands clasped tightly together, Ben watched
Little Joe ride away. He wanted to reach out to Joe, to
hold him, to make everything all right. Something told him he should wait
for Joe to come to him. He watched until Joe was out of sight then
went into the house, feeling empty except for fear.
********
As Joe rode slowly but steadily towards Virginia City,
despair immersed him in silence, and pure misery stripped him of the rest
of his good mood. He’d begun to feel sick again three days ago.
Nothing serious - aches, lightheadedness, fatigue. He had been drinking
the tea Angela gave him and thought it was helping. Then this morning
he had awakened to nausea and a gnawing pain in his joints that had put him
on the floor the first time he tried to stand. Joe closed his eyes,
fighting off the weariness and chills, the deep ache that crept along his
spine, radiating outward. He was so cold, shivering constantly, the
trembling enhancing the aches, weakening his muscles. He wanted to see
Angel-- needed to see her. He could push his aches and pains to the
back of his mind when he was with her. She made him feel so alive.
Finally arriving in Virginia City, Joe slowly made his
way to the International House. After confirming with the desk clerk
that she was in her room, Joe painfully climbed the stairs to see Angela.
He knocked on the door.
Angela stood in the doorway wearing a simply cut green
dress with white buttons. The neckline scooped to reveal the cushion
of her soft breasts, the milky-white quality of her skin.
“Hello, Joe,” she said in a husky voice, a smile
warming her face.
“Hi. Aren’t you going to let me in?” His
eyes shone like cut glass.
She stepped out of the way and allowed him to enter.
He inhaled her perfume as he passed her, then turned and folded into her arms
without a word. He pressed his body close, locking his lips with hers
in a kiss that was deep and passionate. His mouth clung to hers as
the kiss ended, reluctant to release her.
“Ummmmm. You taste delicious. You look delicious.....a
little pale maybe.” She lightly touched his lips. “How do you
feel?”
“Fine,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a small
smile. His eyes glittered.
“That’s good -- because I have something more in mind.”
she said softly, and insinuated her tongue into his ear.
He sucked in his breath sharply and pulled back, his
smile becoming a grin.
“Really?”
“Really. I’m feeling....ummmm, tactile........”
She kissed him again, softly, tenderly this time.
“I’ve missed you.”
He rested his hands on the gentle curve of her hips and
stared over the top of her head. His nose twitched.
“What are you cooking?” he asked.
“Just some tea. Want some?” She released
him and moved to the table.
“Sure.”
She returned with their drinks and settled on the settee
next to him. As they sipped their tea, they slipped into a comfortable
repose.
“I really missed you.” Angela said, curling next
to him with her head resting on his shoulder.
“I missed you, too.”
“You are all right aren’t you? You’d tell me if
something were wrong. Wouldn’t you, Joe?”
“Ummmmm .” he murmured as he stroked her hair then
traced her finger gently down the curve of her jaw. His heart hammered
in his ears and he felt his desires arise. He leaned over and kissed
her lips as he pulled her close to him. He pulled her dress off her
shoulder, touching her skin, silky against his hand. He kissed her neck
and moved his hand down her arm, then to her breast. She moaned in
pleasure.
She stood, took his hand in hers and led him to the bedroom.
She slipped out of her dress, stepping out of her shoes. She stood before
him in her silk underclothes, and swept her gaze down his muscular, lean
form. Except for the thinness in his cheeks and his pale coloring, he
seemed as intense and vital as always - barely restrained, sensuality awaiting
permission granted by her touch.
She locked gazes with him and slowly peeled away the
rest of her clothes. Joe’s eyes shimmered in the dim lighting, his
lids heavy. He drew in a shuddering breath and slowly lowered himself
to sit on the edge of the bed.
She stood before him in perfect form, all curves and
softness, acutely aware of his arousal. She fell to her knees before
him and stroked is leg with even motions. His heart raced.
Sexual heat rushed through his body, as heady and intoxicating as the scent
of her perfume. She looked like a vision conjured by his imagination
- he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“You’re beautiful,” he said in a husky voice, and
meant it.
She brushed the side of his face with her hand, then
reached for his belt, leaning her body into his. He sighed, closing
his eyes. Slowly and gently, Angel unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them
over his hips. She took more time with his underwear and he moaned
with the exquisite sensation of her touch. Then he reached to capture
her, to draw her onto the bed, his hands gentle even while they pressed her
firmly against the length of his body.
He lay her back, and eased himself on top of her.
“You feel so good,” Angel murmured, stroking his back,
sweeping down to cup his firm buttocks. Her hand slipped beneath his
hips, grasping him lightly. “So good.”
He began to stiffen in the warm sheath of her hand.
Reaching for her, he remembered the sweet hunger of his straining erection
the last time she’d touched him this way. His back arched as his muscles
tensed, pulling tightly along his spine, and then he gasped as much from pleasure
as from the sudden warning pain that radiated down his spine. He shifted
his weight on the bed, supporting himself on his arms, only peripherally conscious
of the weakness that washed over him, suddenly making him tremble. Stubbornly,
he set his mind against the fatigue, concentrating on Angel’s touch and what
it was doing to his body.
He brought his mouth down to hers, slowly, gently, swallowing
her husky moan. He nuzzled at the fullness of her breasts, suckling
until she was arching upwards to meet him. His hips began a slow gyration
as she groped at his back to hold him.
Joe’s arms trembled with exhaustion, the ache spreading
upward from his lower back and belly. He positioned himself, breathing
heavily with exertion, pressing against Angel’s hot, moist center.
She moved eagerly beneath him, her hips rolling forward,
enticing him.
Braced, he waited for the answering surge to take him,
for the sudden rush of heat and the throbbing ache of passion to fill him...but
his body remained in stasis, stubbornly refusing to match the fire in his
mind. His chest heaved as he strained against his body’s betrayal.
Angel surged beneath him, lost in her own hunger, her voice a begging whisper
that was drowned out by his panting breaths.
He heard a cry of frustration, despair, and didn’t know
it was his own. Then Angel was still beneath him and he finally heard
her words.
“Joe....it’s all right. It’s all right, Joe,”
she was saying, and her hand moved to rhythmically stroke his too-soft flesh,
coaxing and teasing.
Something in him died then, leaving him floundering in
futility and failure.
He stopped, and there was only the sound of his breathing.
Angel stroked at his face, seeking to reassure him, but he seemed not to feel
it. His eyes were huge, illuminated
by the single flickering lamp, but he would not look at her, seemed instead
to look inward to some barren vista.
“I can’t,” he mumbled, and pulled away from her gentle
touch.
“Joe....?”
“I-I’m sorry.” Grunting softly, he rolled away,
turning his back to her. “I can’t.”
His trembling was visible, rippling the smooth muscles
of his back. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and walked out
of the bedroom, moving tentatively like a blind man, shutting himself away
from her.
********
It was nearly dark when Ben was awakened by the sound
of a horse riding into the front yard of the Ponderosa. He quickly rose
from the blue chair he had been dozing in and moved to the front porch.
He relaxed a bit as he saw Joe dismount his horse and walk slowly into the
barn. Ben stayed on the porch, waiting for Joe to stable Cochise.
After a few minutes Joe reappeared. As he slowly
moved towards the house, his muscles began to tighten. By the time he
reached his father, his muscles had tightened so severely that the ache under
his ribs became a cramping pain, twisting and pulling at him. He leaned
against the wall, trying to relax, taking slow even breaths.
“Joseph.....?” Ben was alarmed at Joe’s condition.
Joe gave his father a small smile turning meekly from
him. He took a few halting, sluggish steps toward the door and stopped.
He looked defenseless, his curly head bowed slightly.
Ben followed him, watching Joe with concern.
“Joseph, are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Joe mumbled the word as he moved slowly
into the house, his father following close behind.
Once inside, Ben stopped, wanting to go to his son, to
hold him, but knowing that the first move must come from Joseph.
“I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” Ben offered as
he walked toward the kitchen.
“Pa....” The word was whispered, torn from the
pit of Joe’s stomach.
Ben turned.
Joe’s eyes shone brightly as they glanced at him, flitting
to meet his eyes, then dropped immediately, uncertain and somehow frightened.
Ben watched as Joe struggled for control, his chin quivering
slightly as he chewed on his lower lip. Without a word, Ben went to
his son and took him in his arms, pulling him close. Joe’s arms wrapped
around his father tightly, fiercely. Ben felt Joe’s fingers clutch at
his shirt, twisting the fabric, felt him lean into his strength, resting his
forehead on his shoulder. A soft sound escaped Joe’s lips.
“I don’t want to be sick, Pa.” he said in a small
voice, the words a statement, a wish, a prayer.
Ben shut his eyes, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
A ribbon of pain lanced through him, vicious and unrelenting. Gently,
he laid a hand on Joe’s head, stroking the soft curls. “I know, Joseph,”
he said softly, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I know.”
For a long time, Joe clung to him. Heat from his
son’s body radiated through the thin fabric of his cotton shirt and, slowly,
he felt a lessening of tension in Joe, replaced quickly by fatigue.
Gradually, Joe lifted his head from Ben’s shoulder and
drew back, hands still lingering loosely by his fingertips. Ben looked
at him and his stomach tightened with foreboding.
He could see the mottled flush of fever on Joe’s face.
********
Even with his father’s assistance, the climb to his bedroom
seemed endless to Joe. Each step brought new waves of pain as he fought
to control the dizziness, to catch his breath. Finally, after an eternity,
Joe made it to his bed. Without bothering to undress, he lay down and
pulled the blankets tightly around his shivering body. The ache in his
spine and under his ribs had progressed to a steady, throbbing pain that made
him want to curl up somewhere dark and warm. It hadn’t hurt this bad
before and the heightened pain and growing weakness scared him.
Ben removed Joe’s boots and put two more blankets over
his shivering body. He softly placed his hand on Joe's forehead, alarmed
to find it hot to the touch. Joe's eyes fluttered open slowly, meeting
his fathers.
"I'm sorry, Pa." he whispered as his eyelids again
drooped.
As Ben watched his young sons sleeping face, tears again
threatened to overcome him. This was his son -- his youngest child and
he was terrified of losing him.
********
Darkness shrouded the room, invading with a chilling
silence. Ben hadn’t lit the lamp, hadn’t moved from his position at
his son’s side since the doctor left hours ago. Hoss had gone to bed
only after extracting a promise from his father to wake him at midnight.
Joe had slept through the night and day, barely moving on the bed, buried
beneath the heavy quilts, deep in a healing sleep. His features, pale
and deathly still, lay on the sweat-soaked sheets, a thin pillow cushioning
his head.
Ben reached for the basin of water, wrung out the cloth
that had been soaking in it, and spread the fabric across Joe’s forehead.
The heat from his fevered body quickly soaked into the cloth. The water
had warmed too much over the past hours to properly cool the fever that coursed
through him, but the moist cloth absorbed the layer of perspiration beading
his face, and offered a small degree of comfort.
Ben stroked Joe’s damp hair, watching the ashen face
for a reaction, a sign of slowly returning consciousness. It was better
for Joe to be asleep, oblivious to the pain that awaited him on his return.
The doctor had warned of bleeding, which meant that Joe’s blood was not clotting
again and would slip between his joints, causing severe pain. The massages
would need to be resumed as well, the low blood volume prompting the blood
to pool. But the physical aspect Joe would face was nothing compared
to the emotional challenge.
Ben inhaled deeply and caught the musky scent of sweat.
The pillow and sheet were soaked with it, absorbed from Joe’s naked,
fevered body. He didn’t want Joe waking to it, to the uncomfortable
dampness of his own sweat.
He rose silently and walked stiffly to the hallway, his
body fatigued from sitting so long. He returned moments later and lit
the lamp, filling Joe’s room with a gold hue, the flames breathing life, warming
the air, setting the walls into shadowed motion. He sat on the edge
of the bed and carefully, tenderly, eased his arm under Joe’s shoulders, lifting
him from the soiled pillow.
Joe’s head rested heavily against his father’s arm, his
mouth parting slightly as his jaw fell lax. With a deft movement, Ben
slipped the damp pillow from beneath Joe’s limp form. He placed the
fresh pillow under Joe’s head before gently lowering him. Joe made no
sound as Ben settled him, his features remaining poised in deep sleep.
Ben laid a hand on the side of his neck, felt for the reassuring steady beat
of his pulse. Certain his son still slept peacefully, he eased back
into the chair, closing his eyes.
“Pa, where’s Adam and Hoss?” The soft words drifted
into the stillness of the room startling Ben.
He looked at his son. Joe’s pale face lay shadowed
in lamplight, lolling slightly to the side to watch Ben with bright eyes.
“Hoss is asleep. We sent for Adam, he’ll be here
tomorrow.” Ben said quietly, and laid a hand on Joe’s forehead, feeling
the heat from the fever brand his palm.
“I want to see them.” Joe’s voice was hoarse and
weak. He lay utterly still beneath the quilt, his eyes closing briefly.
“I want to.....”
“They will be in to see you soon. You must sleep
now, Joseph.” Ben’s voice was low, hypnotic.
Joe’s eyes struggled to stay open, coming in and out
of focus. His tongue traced a path between his dry lips. “Tell
Hoss....’m sorry. Didn’t mean to yell......” His voice trailed
off.
Ben looked down at Joe, at the expression dulling his
eyes and knew that Joe was remembering pulling away from Hoss.
“It’s all right, Joseph. Hoss knows you’re sorry.
Don’t worry about that now, Son. You need to rest.”
Joe drew in a shuddering breath and his eyes fluttered
shut. Ben continued to stroke his forehead, easing him into sleep.
********
A steady stream of sweat poured down Joe's face, stinging
his eyes. He stood in his underwear on trembling legs, heart pounding
out a fierce rhythm, slamming viciously against his ribs.
I can do this....
He focused on the open doorway and took a staggering
step forward. The constant pressure in his left side was nothing compared
to the deep seated pain lancing through his shoulders and hips. He gritted
his teeth, locking his jaws against the pain, and took another faltering step.
He bit back a moan as agony burned a fiery trail from his left hip to his
shoulder. Leaning slightly to alleviate it, he stood on knees that
threatened to collapse, fighting of waves of dizziness.
Don't let it win! Fight it!
He had awakened alone with soft sunlight pouring through
his window. He thought he heard Adam playing the guitar in his room
and wanted to see him. He took another step....and fell hard, his knees
buckling and hitting the solid surface of the floor, sending another ribbon
of pain through him. He groaned low, blindly reaching for the support
of the doorway. One hand groped clumsily, his fingers brushing the smooth
frame, then gripping it tightly as the rest of his body sagged on hands and
knees, head hanging. He sensed, rather than heard his father's approach.
"Joseph!" The voice was near, laced with concern
and anxiety. Ben bent low as his gentle hands lightly embraced Joe's
hunched figure. "You shouldn't be out of bed."
Sweat ran from his face, falling like raindrops onto
the floor. He pressed his arm against his left side, trying to stem
the pain radiating from beneath his ribs. "I..." He swallowed
with difficulty, his mouth dry, his tongue impossibly thick. "Pa....."
Ben knelt beside him, one hand on his back, the other
supporting his arm.
"What is it, Joseph?"
A ringing began in Joe's ears, reverberating through
his brain.
"Joseph, are you in pain?"
Joe took several breaths, concentrating on responding
to his father's words, feeling the persistent and strong pull of unconsciousness.
"A-Adam...I-I have..to..see.....him."
His hand slipped from the door frame and slapped palm
down on the floor. He swayed and moaned, shutting his eyes against the
pain that vibrated through his body.
A gentle hand stroked his forehead, wiping the beads
of perspiration from his face.
"He's on his way son. Adam will be here soon."
Ben said softly.
For a moment, Joe remained still, anchored to the floor
and fighting dizziness. He reached for his father.
"Slowly," Ben said, carefully lifting him beneath
the arms, his hands cautious and tender, barely touching Joe's flesh.
Joe had seen new bruises on his body when he'd struggled
out of bed. Mottled blue and purple blotches were painted across his
ribs and downward to pattern his hips.
He staggered against Ben, felt his father catch him,
support him as dizziness washed over him again. Closing his eyes, he
leaned heavily, resting his head on his father's stable shoulder. Trembling
with fatigue and exertion, he took an unsteady step toward the bed.
As his body rushed to meet the soft mattress, his consciousness
faded, and he surrendered himself to his father's arms, hearing Hoss's voice
in the distance.
"Pa, what happened?" Hoss questioned.
"I just left him for a minute to go get a cup of coffee."
"He was looking for Adam." Ben said as he looked
down at Joe's still form.
Hoss watched as despair consumed his father, dulling
his eyes, washing the color from his cheeks. Hoss's gaze dropped to
his little brother lying so still on the mattress. Joe's chest rose
and fell in shallow respiration -- it was the only detectable movement of
the frail body. Joe had lost so much weight during his illness, his
skin seemed to cling to his bones, the bruises sharp and lurid. The
image pained Hoss. Gone was the vibrant, energetic kid who could never
seem to be still.
Hoss raised his eyes to meet his father's pale face.
"Pa, why don't you go get some rest. I promise
I won't leave him any more."
Ben stroked Joe's soft curls, then closed his eyes, shutting
Hoss out.
********
Hoss paced impatiently in front of the depot as he looked
down the main street of Virginia City, willing the stage carrying Adam to
come. He hadn’t wanted to leave Little Joe, but felt the need to be
with Adam. When the stage
finally arrived, Adam was the first to disembark. His heart skipped
a beat as he took in his brother. Hoss looked as if he’d aged 20 years,
his face pale and drawn. His normally sparkling blue eyes now seemed
empty and sad, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Adam’s heart went to
his throat, fear hitting him full force.
“Hoss, how bad is he?” he asked, his voice barely
a whisper. He was horrified as a tear ran unchecked down Hoss’s face.
“He’s bad, Adam. Real bad.” Hoss answered,
shaking his head despondently. Hoss looked expectantly at the stage.
“Adam, where’s Hop Sing?” Hoss asked frowning.
“He’ll be here as soon as he can. He had a family
emergency of his own in San Francisco.” Adam explained.
Hoss found himself hoping Little Joe would still be alive
when Hop Sing came home. The brothers quickly moved to the waiting horses,
anxious to see Joe. On the way home, Hoss tried to convey the
magnitude of Joe’s illness, but nothing could have prepared Adam for the
sight of his little brother.
Adam stood in the doorway of Joe’s room, fear filling
every fiber of his being as he looked at the child he helped raise.
Little Joe lay passive, eyes closed, a slight flush coloring his cheeks.
He didn’t move as his father drew the quilt over him. Medication had
quieted Joe to the point where his features were now free of stress and pain
making him look innocent, untouched. Tiny scars patterned his face and
the pallor lingered beneath the mauve bruises under his eyes, all enhancing
the frailty, the illness that stole away his years, but not his youth.
Adam’s gaze fixed on his father. Ben’s face
was etched with concern, his eyes dark and intense, his body drawn and tired.
The endless worry and constant care were draining his strength.
“Pa.....?” he said quietly.
Ben turned, relieved to see Adam, a sad smile playing
on his lips. He moved toward the door, taking Adam in his arms.
“I’m so glad you’re home, Son.” His voice betrayed his exhaustion as
tears rimmed his tired eyes.
“How --how is he?” Adam pulled back and looked
into his father’s eyes -- eyes that conveyed exhaustion, worry and fear.
“He’s sleeping. Dr. Martin doesn’t know what’s
wrong with him. He says it’s some sort of blood disease, but doesn’t
know what’s causing it. “Ben said quietly.
Adam stared at his brother’s form buried beneath the
quilts, deathly still, unmoving.
“Adam, he’s been asking for you.” Ben added, his
gaze following Adam’s.
“Pa, why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll stay
with him for awhile.”
Ben nodded. He knew Adam needed to be with his
brother. With one more anxious glance at Little Joe’s still body, he
left the room.
Adam sat in a chair next to Joe’s bed for hours, watching
his brother’s prone figure, unmoving. Although he was tired after
the long trip from San Francisco, he was afraid to close his eyes -- afraid
Joe would slip away. Then Joe eyes slowly fluttered open and after a
few moments, focused on Adam.
“Hi Adam.” he said quietly. Weariness pressed
him into the bed, crushing him beneath the weight of the blankets.
“Hey, Buddy.” Adam’s hand rested on the top of
Joe’s head, the long fingers cool against his fevered skin. “Can I
get you anything?”
“No.” he said weakly, wishing the pain would go
away. “What time is it?”
“It’s late, the sun will be setting soon.”
Joe’s eyelids drooped heavily.
“Go back to sleep, Little Joe.” Adam’s fingers
rearranged the quilts.
Yes, he was tired. He wanted to sleep, to slip
into the inky well of slumber and release his mind from the pain of his body,
from the harsh reality of his surroundings. But he couldn’t just yet.
There was something he needed to do.
“Adam?”
“Yeah, Joe.”
“I need you to...... do something .....for me.”
Adam moved closer to Joe, his face compassionate and
attentive. “Of course, Joe. I’ll do anything.”
Joe lay listlessly on the bed, head lolling on the pillow.
His breath came in labored intakes of air, side pulling painfully in warning.
“I need you to promise........ me something, Adam.”
Joe released a shuddering breath, felt a ripple of pain deep in his side.
Adam waited patiently for Joe to continue, a feeling
of dread spreading like an epidemic through his body.
“Adam, I’m...... afraid for Pa.” His words were
solemn, flat.
Adam stroked the length of Joe’s arm, clasping his hand.
“Don’t worry about Pa, Joe. Hoss and I will take
care of him.” He assured him.
Joe moved restlessly on the bed. Fatigue pulled
at him, bidding surrender.
“I know......but I’m afraid that .....when the time comes,
he won’t let me go. He won’t, Adam.......”
Adam bit his lip, his eyes glistening with emotion, his
heart slamming in his chest. He didn’t want to have this conversation.
“Promise..... me, Adam. Promise me you ......won’t
let him.....mourn too long.” Joe moaned softly, succumbing to the pain.
“I promise...” Adam said softly as the tears streamed
down his cheeks. With his free hand, he brushed a soothing caress across
the hot forehead, sweeping back damp curls.
Joe drew a labored breath, weakly squeezed Adam’s hand,
felt an answering warm pressure on his fingers. He closed his eyes.
Outside Joe’s bedroom door, Ben’s face crumbled,
his heart shattering into a million pieces.
********
Joe braced himself on his hands and knees as the convulsion
tore through him, gripping him in a violent spasm that paralyzed his body.
His back arched against the forced strain of emptying his stomach, muscles
twisting and pulling from the inside. If he hadn’t felt so miserable,
he would have been mortified by the undignified position the sickness coerced
him to assume.
A cool hand rested on his forehead, supporting his head
through the series of violent retching. Another hand pressed firmly
under his ribs as he swayed unsteadily, riding out the tide of nausea that
threatened to consume him.
He fought the symptoms as much as the inarguable truth
of his condition. He didn’t want to be sick. Cold sweat poured
freely from his face, splashing fat drops into the soiled basin. He
gulped frantic breaths in between bouts of retching, trying to feed his starving
lungs.
He had awakened to an overwhelming rise of nausea, blindly
scrambling off the bed and stumbling to the basin just in time for the first
horrible cycle of sickness. Shortly after, his father and Dr. Martin
had joined him on the floor to support and comfort him through the grueling
succession of spasms.
“Try to relax, Joe.” Dr. Martin instructed softly.
A powerful spasm shot through Joe’s body, convulsing
his muscles from head to foot. He shut his eyes tightly. His
stomach had already emptied itself, but his body still performed the superfluous
motions of sickness, locking him into a never-ending grip of misery.
His fingers dug painfully at the hard floor as the seizing intensified, pain
ripping through him.
“It’s all right, Joseph.” Ben whispered.
Joe hung onto the sedate voice through the haze of choking
that engulfed him, as he had hung on as a child through countless nightmares.
He leaned into his father’s support as he heaved uncontrollably into the basin.
“Paul, what’s causing this?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know, Ben. The broth shouldn’t have affected
him this way.” Paul answered.
The retching continued in a steady, powerful rhythm,
draining Joe’s strength. His arms trembled from exhaustion, but still
it continued unmercifully, until Joe wanted to give into it, to float free
of the pain and sickness.
Ben leaned close, his breath hot against Joe’s neck.
“Try to take deep breaths, Joe. Relax.”
Joe’s body strained and fought against nausea, but he
forced himself to obey his father’s words. He had to try, he realized.
It wasn’t in his nature to surrender.....and he wasn’t ready yet. Through
the heaving, he drew in long, desperate breaths, his stomach quivering.
“Good, Joe. Deep breaths.” Dr. Martins gently
massaged Joe’s abdomen, kneading and probing rock-hard muscles knotted with
strain, until the seizures slowly subsided.
Joe swayed, arms and legs trembling while he panted from
exertion. His father looped an arm under his lean waist. He moaned
low, but it sounded more like a sob, and he rested his head heavily against
Ben’s palm, allowing his father to help support his weight.
“Joseph....Joseph!!”
A violet tremor shook him as darkness crowded out his
thoughts. And for this moment, with his father holding him close, he
surrendered.
Ben caught his son as he collapsed into unconsciousness
and gently lowered him to the floor. Joe’s head rested in his lap. Tiny
rivulets of perspiration soaked into Ben’s trousers. He smoothed back
the damp curls from Joe’s pale face, feeling the immense exhaustion that
drained his son’s strength.
“Joseph.....” Ben leaned down and gently pressed
his lips to Joe’s temple. The shocking coolness of Joe’s skin startled
him, chilling him to the bone.
“What caused this, Paul?” Ben again begged for
an answer.
“I don’t know.” Paul answered, his voice edged
with frustration.
A fine tremor ran through Joe’s body and he moaned softly,
but did not stir. His utter immobility gave him a deathlike appearance.
Ben cradled Joe closer, lending the warmth of his body to his son, though
he knew the coldness grew from inside, eating away at Joe’s life.
Paul crouched at Joe’s side and laid his fingers on the
cool, damp face, carefully lifting an eyelid.
”Ben, we have to warm him.” Paul said.
Adam and Hoss moved quickly towards their younger brother.
They had been watching from the doorway, powerless to help. Now they
were thankful to finally be able to do something to aid their little brother.
Together, they gently lifted Joe’s limp body and carefully laid him on the
mattress. Adam covered him with a quilt, drawing the rim close under
his chin.
“He’s so pale,” Adam said, noting the ashen look
of the softly parted lips.
“His breathing is shallow.” Dr. Martin took Joe’s
clammy hand and felt out the pulse in the center of his palm. “And he
is very weak.”
“What can we do?” Ben asked as he looked at his
son’s lax features, the barely perceptible rise and fall of his bruised chest,
the pulse throbbing in the delicate hollow of his throat.
“We have already tried everything I can think of.
The traditional methods just aren’t working. His body rejects
everything and that just makes him weaker.”
Hoss’s eyes flew open wide. “You’re not giving
up on him are you Doc?” He asked quickly.
“No, Hoss. I’m not giving up on him. I’m
treating his symptoms as best I can, but nothing seems to be working.”
Paul said, his voice quiet and restrained.
“It’s not enough.” Ben caressed the back of his
fingers along Joe’s temples, his features etched in stone, his dark eyes brimming
with unshed tears. “There must be something that will help him.
I will not lose my son.”
********
Silence enveloped the house as Ben stood outside his
bedroom door staring down the corridor. He closed his eyes and took
a deep breath. His stomach was tied in knots, the kind of feeling he
hadn’t had since Little Joe’s mother had died. It was anxiety and stress
and worry, and a feeling even deeper than those. His biggest fear was
walking into Little Joe’s room and finding him gone.
Muffled voices, soft and tender, drifted to him from
down the hall. He opened his eyes and turned an ear, straining to hear
the words. Hypnotized, he walked down the hall, the soles of his house
slippers softly striking the wooden floor. The voices grew more audible.
“Am I really that much like my Mama?” Joe asked
weakly.
“Yeah, you sure are.”
“In what way?”
Adam chuckled. “You mean besides your temper?
Well, you look a lot like her. She had hazel eyes just like yours
and soft, dark curls. But I think your smile is what reminds me of her most.”
Ben stopped just before the open doorway and leaned into
the room. Adam stood by the bed where Joe lay, a bowl of steaming water
on the night table. The quilt was folded back to Joe’s hips and Ben
cringed as he saw the bruises on him, purple and blue against the pallid skin.
Tears sprang to his eyes. He looks so much like
Marie. But he’ so thin, so sick.
Their figures wavered, swimming in tears. He watched
as Adam dunked a cloth into the steaming water and gently stroked it across
Joe’s chest. In slow, even motions Adam drew the cloth over the bruised
flesh, then dipped it to reach Joe’s underarms.
A flicker of pain crossed Joe’s face as his arm was extended,
the cloth following a path to his shoulder, then down to his elbow.
He grimaced and turned his face toward the wall.
Adam continued his ministrations, methodically bathing
his little brother with such tenderness, such care, that Ben felt his heart
would break.
Joe shivered. “It’s cold in here.”
“You’ll warm up when we get you dry.”
“I don’t mind.” Joe said tiredly.
Adam smiled at him, one hand clasped lightly at Joe’s
wrist, holding his arm as he completed the regimen. Adam drew
the quilt up almost to Joe’s chin, and placed a few more pillows under his
head and shoulders to raise him slightly. A fine sheen of perspiration
covered him, his cheeks flushed with fever, eyes overly bright. He looked
to be in pain, and his breathing was uneven. Suddenly, Adam raised his eyes
to meet Ben’s bright gaze. Ben smiled and moved back into the hallway,
leaving Adam and Joe to their privacy.
He leaned against the wall and waited.
Adam stepped out of the room carrying the bowl of water.
He moved out of view of the doorway and regarded his father with a weary expression.
“Are you all right, Pa?” Adam asked, worried.
“You look exhausted.”
Ben smiled. “I’m fine, Adam. How’s Joe?”
“About the same, I guess.”
“I’m going to sit with him awhile Why don’t you
get some sleep.” Ben said as he entered Joe’s room. He moved to
the chair and took Joe’s hand in his. Joe’s eyes closed then,
his breathing shallow and rapid. Ben could feel the fever radiating
from him, burning through the quilt. When night came and his fever rose
higher, Ben again sent for Dr. Martin.
********
“Stay away from me!” Joe’s voice was seething,
his head twisting in the crook of Ben’s arm. “Stay away!”
Ben held Joe’s shivering body as Dr. Martin wiped at
the beads of perspiration that rolled down his face and chest. The
fever had spiked an hour before, assaulting Joe with a vengeance. Icy
compresses at his neck, elbows, chest and groin hadn’t help to cool the heat
burning beneath his skin, poisoning his mind.
“Sshhhhh, Joseph. Lie still, Son.” Ben felt
the tension ripple through Joe’s form, muscles knotting beneath the bruised
flesh, pulling at the swollen joints.
“Don’t go in there. It’s too dark!!” Joe’s
words came rapidly, spoken between labored breaths. His eyes were wide
and glistening, the pupils dilated. He stared at images his fevered
mind had conjured, places he’d been before, products of nightmares, fears.
Hoss entered the room, a cup in his hands.
“Here ya are, Doc. I mixed it just like you told
me.” Hoss said.
Dr. Martin accepted the cup as Ben adjusted his hold
on Joe. The heat from Joe’s fever-ravaged body burned through his shirt,
branding him like a hot iron.
“Joseph, you need to drink this.” Dr. Martin pressed
the cup against Joe’s lips and tipped it until the liquid spilled past the
rim.
Joe twisted violently in Ben’s arms, wrenching away from
the offered medicine, his spine arching, hands coming up to push the cup away
as his head snapped back. “No, no, no. Get away!”
Adam moved in to calm him, gently soothing his face,
one hand placed on his chest to still his motions. Ben spoke softly
to Joe, pulling him nearer. Joe’s harsh breathing echoed in the room,
his eyes darting rapidly at mysterious phantoms.
Dr. Martin tried again to get Joe to drink the medicine,
this time with Hoss’s help, the big man remaining near to stroke and soothe.
The cup touched Joe’s lips. His reaction was immediate and violent.
Joe’s arms lashed out and his fist made hard contact
with the side of Hoss’s face. Startled, Hoss lost his balance and stumbled
backward. Ben quickly clutched Joe, trying to subdue his violent motions
without harming him, the image of bruises vivid in his mind.
“Don’t touch me!!” Joe shouted.
Carefully, Dr. Martin gently gripped Joe’s head, clamping
one hand on his jaw. “It’s all right, Joseph. Close your eyes,
now. Shhhh. Close your eyes.”
Joe bucked in Ben’s arms, thrashing wildly, trying to
twist out of Dr. Martin’s grip. But the doctor held him imprisoned,
gently prying his jaw open as Hoss poured the liquid into his mouth.
Coughing and choking, Joe struggled momentarily in his
father’s arms as he was drawn close into an embrace. The last of his
strength drained suddenly and he curled into Ben, sinking finally into unconsciousness.
Joe’s arms fell limply to the mattress, and his head draped over Ben’s arm.
Exhausted from the struggle, Ben gratefully settled Joe
back onto the bed and covered him again.
Dr. Martin looked searchingly at Joe’s still body.
“He’s dangerously exhausted.”
Ben lowered himself into the chair by the bed, allowing
himself a moment’s rest, leaning his arms heavily on his knees to catch his
breath. His arms quivered slightly from constantly restraining Joe during
his violent hallucinations, from supporting his limp, heavy body through the
bouts of delirium.
Casting aside his fatigue, he slowly began to wipe Joe’s
sweat-bathed face.
“Adam, Hoss, will you help me prepare more ice compresses?”
asked Dr. Martin.
********
She stepped out of the shadows on the wall, separating
herself from the darkness, rising like a demon to claim him.
“No.” Joe uttered the word like a prayer, shrinking
away.
She drew closer, swirling in a mist of shivering moonlight,
shrouded in black silk, eyes empty and cold like hard steel piercing through
him. Her breath expelled onto his naked flesh, sending icy tendrils
through him, the cold growing from inside...numbing...consuming.
“No....stay away!”
Fear gripped him. Heart racing, he glared defiantly
at her, watching a slow-spreading smile curl her pressed lips. Black
eyes glistened. He could smell the earthy scent of her -- raw and provocative,
untamed.
His throat constricted----
“Joseph Cartwright,” she called to him, a warning
tone in her voice, the words like a stone thrown into a hollow pit, a single
endless journey. “Come to me, Joseph. Come to me.”
He couldn’t move, couldn’t retreat from her. Panic-driven,
he struggled madly, arms thrashing, body twisting and arching.
Deep-throated, pitiless laughter slipped past her lips,
tripping across the blackness. The mist rose...she reached toward him--
“Don’t touch me!”
Hands seared his flesh, trailing a blaze of fire across
his face, sweeping through his hair. He struck out, needing to escape,
needing to----
“Joseph, sweetheart.” The voice changed -- soft,
compassionate, beckoning.
He froze suddenly, lying still, gasping in air that scorched
his lungs, his throat raw and blistered.
”Mama?”
She knelt beside him. Long dark curls flowed around
the purity of her face, her eyes like emeralds and gold, reflecting the fiery
glow of candlelight. Gently...softly...she soothed his hair, her touch
cool and tender.
“Rest, my son....my sweet baby.”
He choked back a sob, struggling to focus as her image
shimmered and wavered.
“Don’t leave me, Mama,” he pleaded in a thin voice.
She smiled lovingly at him, brushed the tears from his
cheeks. “Rest, sweetheart. We’ll be together soon.”
“Mama!” Joe reached for her, but was held tight
in a cocoon of softness. Tears rolled freely down his cheeks as desperate
sobs racked him, choking his breath. He watched helplessly as the vision
of his mother faded, bleeding into the shadows.
“Mama.....don’t....!”
A comforting strength embraced him, drawing him close,
protecting. He curled into it.
********
Adam tightened his grip on Joe, desperately restraining
his little brother’s fevered body. The heart wrenching sobs were muffled
in Adam’s shirt as Joe pressed his head into the solid warmth of his broad
chest.
“Shhhh. It’s all right, little brother.”
Adam said quietly, gently stroking Joe’s damp hair. “We’re all here,
Buddy.”
Dr. Martin stood on the opposite side of the bed, worry
etching his features. One hand lay on the side of Joe’s face, long fingers
spread across the hot flesh.
“His fever is higher.”
Adam did not acknowledge what was obvious to him.
He could feel the heat from his brother, the fire burning beneath the pale
skin, devouring vital energy, exhausting him. Joe’s sobs softened as
fatigue sank in. Adam felt him slipping away, his distorted dreams pulling
him into another black pit.
“Mama,” Joe whispered, his head falling limply
back onto Adam’s arm. “Come back.”
Joe shivered and Adam tightened his hold, enveloping
Joe in the shelter of his arms, softly crooning Joe’s favorite song over
his little brother’s faint sobs.
********
Adam stood at the door, watching Ben tend Joe.
The fever had broken an hour earlier and Joe now lay as still as death, his
body washed in a film of sweat, lips ashen and parted slightly. The
quilt had been lowered to bare his chest, exposing new and old bruises patterned
across his abdomen and shoulders. Vivid imprints of Ben’s hand marked
him.
It had taken Ben’s strength to subdue Joe, to keep him
from hurting himself in the violent throes of his delirium. They had
forced the medicine into him, struggled with him as he battled demons, held
him as he wept -- but he knew none of it. All was lost in the hazy corridors
of his mind.
Adam was exhausted himself, the constant stress of restraining
Joe having depleted his own reserves. Night had come and gone.
Morning spilled into the room, pouring jaundiced light through the clear window.
The room still carried the cool breath of night and the lingering scents
of the medicines and poultices they had used on Joe to reduce his fever.
Deeper still was the smell of coal oil and a musky scent that was testimony
to the suffering the young man on the bed had endured.
Ben’s hands shook as he wrung out a fresh compress and
laid it on Joe’s swollen abdomen.
“Enough.” Adam whispered and stepped into the room,
carrying a cup of medicine. He said nothing to Ben as he stood next
to Joe, one hand touching the immobile face. A faint thread of pulse
moved beneath his sensitive fingers, the flesh too warm, too still.
The crisis had passed, but not the danger. Joe was so weak, so sick,
his condition growing worse, his strength inexorably fading.
The beginning of the end. It was a slow, painful
process to watch.
Adam offered the cup to Ben, who immediately slipped
a hand under Joe’s head and brought the cup to his lips.
“No,” Adam said, putting a hand on Ben’s arm and
meeting the concerned dark eyes. “It’s for you, Pa.”
Ben stared at him, momentarily confused. Slowly,
he bowed his head and set the cup aside, turning his attention back to his
son.
“You have to rest, Pa. You can’t go on like this.”
Adam said softly.
“I’ll do what I have to do.” Ben said calmly, placing
his hand on Joe’s chest. He took a deep breath. He looked down
at his son, tears shimmering on the edge of his lashes, his face drawn and
haggard. His eyes were filled with a sorrow so vast, so devouring that
he seemed finally without hope, lost in a familiar and aching corridor of
grief.
Adam gently gripped his father’s arms, feeling the tension
and strain.
Ben trembled slightly beneath Adam’s hands as a shudder
tore through him. His shoulders sagged, head hanging low.
Adam pulled him near, until Ben’s forehead rested on his shoulder. Spasms
began deep within Ben, small shudders rippling up his spine.
And softly, the sound of Ben’s weeping penetrated the
silence, a slow-growing release to anguish that knew no boundaries, no comfort.
Ben clutched at Adam’s arms, his fingers like talons.
With a painful grip, he drew Adam in, burying his head into his oldest son’s
shoulder, his eyes wet with tears.
“It’s all right, Pa.” Adam whispered as tears flowed
freely down his face. His arms encircled Ben’s shaking body, frightened
by the desperation and the fragility of his father.
“Adam....I....can’t.....” Ben’s words were drowned
in sobs. “Lose....him.......”
Adam continued to hold his father, stroking his back,
unable to speak.
Beside them, Joe lay unmoving and silent.
********
Many hours later, Joe stirred, eyes fluttering open,
lips moving without sound as though he’s been awakened in the middle of a
dream.
“Pa?” he whispered weakly, his voice hoarse.
“I’m here, Joseph. Your bothers are here, too.”
Ben soothed Joe’s hair and watched as his son struggled to focus.
Adam handed Ben a glass of water.
“Drink this.” Ben said, and carefully raised Joe’s head,
patiently waiting as his son took shallow sips, then lay back against the
pillow, gasping and exhausted.
“Pa.....”
“Yes, Joseph.” he said tenderly, leaning in close
to hear the faint words, feeling Joe’s strength fade with each passing minute.
“Mama was here.” His eyelids drooped. “So
beautiful.”
Ben continued to stroke Joe’s hair, waiting while he
rested, eyes closed.
“Where......” Joe’s eyes fluttered open.
“Mama?”
“She’s not here, son.” Ben’s eyes filled with tears.
“......locket.”
Ben frowned. “Your mother’s locket?”
“Yes.....want it.” His hand groped weakly for his
father.
Ben took his son’s hand in his own, holding it tightly.
“Please....mine.....”
Ben looked up at Hoss who walked to Joe’s dresser.
He found the locket lying next to a framed picture of Joe’s mother.
Hoss looked at the locket a moment, then opened it. On one side was
a picture of Marie, Joe’s mother. On the other, a picture of Joe with
his father and brothers. With tears in his eyes, Hoss took the precious
treasure to Joe, put it in his hand and closed his weak fingers over it.
“Here you are, Buddy. Your Mama’s locket.”
Hoss said gently.
Joe smiled weakly and closed his eyes.
********
As Hop Sing rode into the front yard of the Ponderosa,
he was struck by the eerie silence. It was the middle of the afternoon,
yet the ranch seem strangely abandoned. He hadn’t sent a telegram, hadn’t
told anyone he would be on today’s stage, hoping to surprise his family.
He had borrowed a horse from one of his many cousins in Virginia City.
As he moved toward the barn to stable him, his eye caught sight of a familiar
buggy. Fear struck his heart and he hitched in a breath as he realized
it was Dr. Martin’s rig. Something was terribly wrong. Quickly
tying his horse, Hop Sing hurried towards the house.
He walked into an empty great room, looking around expectantly.
Satisfied that the first floor of the house was deserted, he quietly climbed
the stairs. As he neared the end of the hallway, he heard the horrible
sounds of someone gasping for air. He hurried to the open doorway of
Joe’s room, then stopped short, eyes wide with fear.
Ben caught Joe’s body as it arched upward, caught in
the violent grip of convulsion, the muscles rock-hard beneath his fevered
skin.
“Easy, take it easy, Joseph. Relax.” Ben
said softly, his arm supporting Joe’s shoulders, drawing his son away from
the bed and closer into his arms.
As Hop Sing watched in horror, the spasms tore through
Joe, contractions that tightened his muscles in rhythmic motions -- powerful,
unrelenting, merciless. His head was flung back, draped over Ben’s arm,
the veins distended on his neck, trailing up to his temples, his eyes blank
and glazed with pain.
Joe’s breath came in short, hitching gasps, his chest
contracting every second, his diaphragm seizing the air in and out of his
lungs, punishing him.
Hop Sing shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the
horrible sounds. In his father’s arms, Joe’s body still strained in
the throes of convulsion. Then...slowly....it ended, releasing Joe from
its grip. Ben felt his muscles soften, felt the fingers at his back
loosen their clutching hold. Everything inside Joe surrendered, and
his body became limp and drenched with perspiration.
“Sshhhh, it’s over, son. It’s over.”
He raised his head to look at his son as he eased him
down to the bed. A soft moan escaped Joe’s pale lips. His eyes
were half-closed as they gazed at Ben, silently, pleading. Words were
unnecessary -- the dull, hopeless expression in Joe’s eyes told Ben that his
son wanted peace, an ending to the pain and suffering, to the convulsions
that continually assaulted him at irregular intervals, abusing his already
tormented body.
Joe made a small, gasping noise, released a shuddering
breath, and closed his eyes. A single tear slipped from one corner and
ran down the side of his temple.
Gently, Ben kissed him on the temple, tasting the salty
moisture on his fevered skin.
“I know, Joseph.....I know...”
He smoothed Joe’s damp hair, coaxing him back to sleep,
reluctant to release him, afraid of what the next instant could bring -- a
shuddering breath, a last silent plea....
“What matter with Little Joe?” Hop Sing’s voice
was quiet, but startled Ben, Adam and Hoss. They had been so focused
on Joe, they hadn’t even noticed the diminutive Chinese man. Adam and
Hoss looked at one another, then Adam moved to Hop Sing, putting an arm around
his shoulder.
“He’s very sick, Hop Sing. We don’t know what’s
wrong with him. Dr. Martin is doing everything he can.........But, nothing
seems to help.” Adam explained gently.
Everyone knew that although Hop Sing loved all the Cartwrights,
he held a special place in his heart for the young man lying near death on
the bed.
“I stay with him awhile.” Hop Sing said quietly,
not taking his dark eyes off Little Joe.
While Ben didn’t want to leave Joe, he also understood
Hop Sing’s need to be with him and knew he couldn’t deny the simple request.
With a small smile, Ben walked to Hop Sing.
“Of course, Hop Sing. We’ll go down for a cup of
coffee.” He looked at Hoss and Adam motioning them with his head, indicating
they should follow.
Hop Sing bowed and moved to the chair next to Joe’s bed.
Reaching out he took Joe’s hand gently in his and began singing a soft lullaby
in Chinese.
********
Hop Sing released Joe’s hand and tucked it beneath the
thick quilt. He glanced around the room taking in the desperately sad
faces of Joe’s father and brothers. None of them would leave Joe for
more than a few minutes for fear Joe would be gone when they returned.
While Hop Sing sat on one side of Joe’s bed, his father sat on the other.
Hoss leaned heavily against the dresser while Adam stared out the window,
lost in another time -- a happier time.
Joe lay motionless, his face deathly white despite the
recent massage treatments, his lips still ashen and parted with faint breaths.
As the shadows grew longer on the floor , Joe’s condition
worsened.
Joe’s eyes fluttered open. His chest convulsed
once, his spine arching slightly for a moment, then relaxing again to lie
flat on the soft mattress. Through half-closed lids, his bright hazel
eyes searched Hop Sing’s face, struggling to focus.
“H-Hop...Sing?”
“Ni hao, Little Joe.” Hop Sing said softly.
Hello, Little Joe.
“Ni hao.” came the whispered response.
“Ni hao ma?” How are you?
Joe’s eyes filled with tears. “Wo sheng bing”
I’m sick.
“Mei guan xi. Mei guan xi.” It’s all right.
Hop Sing said gently, stroking Joe’s damp curls.
Ben, Adam and Hoss stared at Hop Sing and Little Joe,
finding it unbelievable that none of them knew Joe spoke Chinese. He
had always chattered back when Hop Sing was scolding, but they had assumed
it was gibberish. What other secrets did the young man have?
Little Joe’s faint, panting gasps filled the room.
He rested for a moment, concentrating on gathering his strength. His
chest heaved twice with choking gasps before he settled back into a light
sleep, exhausted.
Hop Sing continued to stroke Joe’s hair, soothing the
frown that remained on his pale face, sheened now with perspiration and etched
with hollow sickness.
“Adam, would you get some more cold water?” Ben
asked.
Hop Sing’s eyes followed Adam as he removed the bowl
from the table. Suddenly, he hitched in a breath, his dark eyes wide.
Striking quickly, he grabbed the red silk box and began a tirade in Chinese.
Ben, Adam and Hoss stared at their friend.
Adam put the bowl down and grabbed Hop Sing by the shoulders,
forcing him to meet his eyes.
“Hop Sing! What is it? What’s wrong?”
Adam virtually shouted. Hop Sing took a slow steadying breath.
Looking at Ben, then moved to Little Joe. He pressed his cheek next
to Joe’s forehead, felt the faint brush of breath against his neck.
He stood and faced Joe’s family.
“Little Joe has been poisoned.” he said quietly,
his voice faltering.
“Poisoned!?!” Ben exclaimed. Adam and Hoss
stared at Hop Sing, eyes wide with horror.
“How?”
“Who?”
“Why?”
“Are you sure, Hop Sing?” Adam asked.
Hop Sing shook his head. A great evil had been
set loose, an evil beyond redemption, an evil targeted and calculated, an
evil that had planned and executed the most vile act conceivable.
“Hop Sing, do you know what kind of poison?” Hoss
asked. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Must get Li Chan.”
“Li Chan? The Apothecary in Chinatown?” Adam
asked.
“Yes. Li Chan. You must hurry!”
“What should we tell him, Hop Sing?” Hoss asked
even as he and Adam started for the door.
Hop Sing grabbed the red box from the table and shoved
it toward Adam.
“Tell Li Chan poison from Angel of Death. He will
understand.”
Adam took the box, nodded and hurried after Hoss.
Ben and Hop Sing kept a silent vigil in Joe’s room.
Joe lay flat against the mattress, still and lifeless. His mouth was
lax, gray-white lips slightly parted. Ben recognized the too-familiar
pallor of Joe’s face, the sunken eyes, the hollow cheeks.
Ben closed his eyes, his hand curled into a fist.
He opened his eyes and gently touched his son’s face. The first cool
contact with Joe’s skin sent a shiver through him. How could Joe be
alive and feel so cold? How could Joe’s body survive like this under
the sallow glow of the candle light? Ben slowly lowered himself into
the chair by the bed and reached to gently take hold of Joe’s hand.
He pressed both his palms to Joe’s hands, enfolding the cold, limp flesh in
his own, and took several deep breaths.
Joe stirred in the bed, the movement subtle, weak.
His eyebrows twitched slightly, shadowing his face with a flicker of distress
that seemed to slowly ease with the recognition of his father’s touch.
His mouth parted in a soft sigh, and he drew in a faint gasp of air.
Behind translucent lids, his eyes moved. Ben rested a hand on the cool
forehead, the other still clasping Joe’s limp hand firmly.
********
Ben held Little Joe as Li Chan lifted a cup to Joe’s
pale lips. Dr. Martin hovered nearby, watching carefully the administrations
of the Apothecary. He didn’t have much faith in the Chinese herbs used,
but, at this point in Joe’s illness, did not question Li Chan’s methods.
“This will help.” Li Chan said softly.
Joe weakly sipped the liquid, then sighed softly as his
father lowered him back to the bed.
“Is he going to be all right?” Ben asked anxiously.
“I do not know.” Li Chan admitted. “The poison
has warfin as one of the components. It’s a derivative of coumarin --
a fragrant combination of herbs such as tonka beans and sweet clover, often
used in making perfume. Medically, warfin is used to inhibit the clotting
mechanism in the blood. Whoever has been poisoning Joe, has done so
in stages with various and diverse poisons that attack the blood differently.
“
“Li Chan....” Adam’s dark eyes were clouded.
“Yes, Adam?”
“You seem to know all about this poison. How is
that?”
“The red silk box you brought to me. I have seen
several like it before. Each time, a young man had been poisoned by
a women known as the Angel of Death. She escaped from a sanitarium
two years ago. During that time, she has poisoned several young men
with this tea. Always, she gives them the red silk box.
Hoss’s eyes flew open wide. “You think Miss Angela
did this?”
“If she gave him the tea in the silk box, then yes, she
did.” Li Chan said quietly.
“Hop Sing, how did you know about it.?” Adam questioned.
“Hop Sing stay in San Francisco with sick cousin.
Red box just like this one found in cousins house. Doctor in Chinatown
see before. He know what to do. Hop Sing know Li Chan make Little
Joe better.”
Ben looked at his young son lying so still beneath the
mound of quilts. His face remained deathly pale, breathing shallow and
rapid.
“Li Chan, will my son live?” he asked quietly.
Li Chan looked at Ben a moment before answering.
“I have done all I can. His strength will have
to see him through. The next forty-eight hours will be crucial.”
Ben laid a hand on the side of Joe’s face. This
time the eyebrows didn’t twitch.
Li Chan continued, “He is very weak. I am hoping
he will rest, save his strength. He has a long battle ahead. He
will have to fight for every moment of his life.”
Ben opened Joe’s hand and slipped Marie’s locket into
the waiting palm, then gently curled the limp fingers around them.
********
A soft flutter of motion stirred the cool air.
Consciousness communicated itself through the thick fog of medication and
bone-weary fatigue. Ben felt faint cognition slowly surface through
the deep well of darkness that harnessed his son to the bed, imprisoning
him in the numb existence the illness had imposed on him.
Joe’s fingers twitched in Ben’s hand.
He moved nearer, pressing his body against the bed, laying
a warm hand on Joe’s forehead to meld himself to his son. He watched
closely as Joe broke through the final layer to consciousness.
Joe gasped weakly, struggling to free himself from the
fierce hold of the medications, struggling against the weariness.
“Joseph.” Ben spoke softly, continuing to stroke
the damp curls. He didn’t want to rush him, to yank him mercilessly
from the cocoon of dulled pain into the unkind reality of his bedroom.
Pale eyelids fluttered open, a thick glaze coated the
hazel eyes, the pupils dilated widely, masking the rim of color on the iris.
For a moment, Joe stared blindly at his father, trying to orient himself,
overwhelmed by sensations. Ben knew that his vision was blurred, that
all of Joe’s focus would be internal, taking a mental inventory of his body.
Joe’s lips moved to form the word, but there was
no sound. Pa.
“I’m here Joseph. I’m here.”
For a moment, panic flashed in Joe’s eyes, then they
closed suddenly. His respiration quickened as a phantom of pain crossed
his bleached face. A sob tore from his throat. His fingers clenched
on Ben’s hand.
Ben held his breath, stealing himself against the assault
of his son’s pain and confusion. Joe’s eyes opened then and focused
on Ben. Fear shone in his gaze along with sorrow and regret. Ben
knew Joe understood how sick he was, how desperate their lives had become.
Joe’s eyes filled with tears, suspended on the rims like
a still photograph, glimmering in the sterile light. Then, as if time
had released its hold on the moment, the tears spilled freely over the edge
of his lashes and swept down his cheeks.
A sharp and bitter agony ripped through Ben’s heart,
tearing away the last vestige of his own control. His eyes misted,
filled, but he refused to allow Joe to see his pain. He leaned forward
to kiss his son on the forehead, letting his warm lips linger on the cooler
flesh. He tightened his grip on Joe’s hand.
“I know, Joseph, I know.” He blinked away his tears
and looked into Joe’s eyes. “There is a chance, Joseph. You must
fight -- fight with everything you have.”
Joe’s eyes began to slowly roll back, his lids shuttering
closed, but the hand in Ben’s held fast, communicating a need all its own.
********
Adam moved closer to the bed as Joe stirred. He
placed his hands on Joe, trying to calm his weak, restless movements.
He felt the heat from his brothers body, the fever burning away his life’s
energy, pulling him closer to death. He looked at Joe. Beneath
the pale lids, his eyes moved back and forth. His breath had increased
to a labored, irregular rhythm that echoed harshly in the quiet of the room.
He made soft sounds, as though the pain had penetrated his muddled brain,
digging in deep through the thick layers of medications.
“Shhhhh. Lie still, Buddy.” He laid his hand
on Joe’s forehead, fearful of this restlessness, sensing the warring forces
that seemed to pull Joe in two directions, fighting to claim him.
Joe moaned softly, his eyes fluttering open and seeking
a familiar face. Adam leaned closer as Joe suddenly stilled, his body
lying languid beneath the blankets. Hazel eyes struggled to focus through
half-open lids, a shiny glaze illuminating their gold-flecked hue. Ben
and Hoss moved closer to the bed, watching quietly, terror in their hearts.
“Beautiful,” he whispered faintly, his body sinking into
the mattress with bone-weary softness. He sighed, his respirations slowing
and still unsteady. The tension faded from him, a peaceful expression
smoothing away the pain.
“What is it, Buddy?” Adam asked, searching the
glazed eyes that stared blindly beyond his shoulder.
“Flowers,” Joe said softly. “I smell....flowers.”
Joe sucked in a weak breath. His lids drooped,
lashes brushing the bruises under his eyes. His chest rose suddenly
with a painful gasp, a spark of energy flowing through him.
“Adam.....there’s a meadow--”
Fear tore at the elder Cartwrights as they turned toward
Li Chan, questions unspoken.
“Joseph is young and strong, the herbs I have given him
have helped to restore some of his body’s needs. But now Joseph is dangerously
weakened. I am not certain he has the strength to overcome all the
suffering, to begin anew. There is nothing more I can do. We
must wait.”
Joe’s eyes rolled back in his head, his lids fluttering
closed. A harsh gasp convulsed in his chest before the air rushed out
of his lungs in a long, exhaling breath.
“No!” Alarmed, Ben gripped Joe’s shoulders and
pulled him slightly from the bed, as if to shake him. Joe’s body folded
limply beneath his hands, his shoulders molding like clay, his head heavy
and lax. Terrified, Ben held Joe tightly.
********
Joe stood in a beautiful meadow of daisies. The
sun bathed him in warmth, a perfect golden hue accenting the vivid colors
of the flowers, the green grass, the blue sky. Butterflies floated from
petal to petal, their brightly tinted wings moving like magic in the still
air. He inhaled the sweet fragrance, closing his eyes and drinking in
the sensations around him. A calming peace filled him, like nothing
he’d known before. It sent a tingle from his head to his feet.
Pain and fatigue had vanished. He felt whole, as brand new as a child,
and as innocent.
A gentle voice drifted into the meadow -- familiar and
beguiling.
He opened his eyes. The soft tones of a lullaby
came to him bridging the unseen distance and filling the meadow with a sweet
sound like the weeping of bells.
“Mama,” he whispered.
She walked through the flowers, her graceful movements
guiding a path into the meadow. Long dark hair cascaded past her shoulders
in soft curls, stirred by an unfelt breeze. She smiled tenderly, green
eyes shimmering like emeralds, a light coming into her face, emanating from
deep within, reaching to him. Dressed in a white flowing gown that danced
around her ankles, she looked exactly the way his father had described her,
like an angel caught in the translucent corridors of time.
The flowers seemed to part for her, and yet appeared
not to move, as if all was an illusion. Her fingertips caressed the
velvet petals, dancing lightly from blossom to blossom.
Joe stared at her, unable to move, to breathe, hypnotized
by her beauty and grace. the way she moved, the subtle gestures of her
hands, even the dress she wore, all bespoke of the image he’d held in his
mind, the vision he’d carried in his heart since childhood.
“Yes, sweetheart, I’m here,” she said softly, her
voice like chimes in the morning breeze.
“Mama.” He took a step toward her, the rose water
fragrance lulling him. He wanted to feel her soft breath on his skin,
to bury his face in the curtain of her downy hair and listen to the gentle
tones of her voice as she hushed him. These memories from his childhood
made him ache with longing.
Joe stumbled slightly, his feet suddenly seeming heavy
and uncertain. Another presence brushed his consciousness, warm and
tender. He turned.
His father stood at the edge of the meadow, beyond the
flowers that blanketed the space between them. His lips moved, but no
sound came forth. He raised one hand in a gesture strangely beseeching.
Joe stared at him.
Ben’s own eyes were darkened with sorrow, his face a
maelstrom of emotions that Joe could not comprehend. The gray brows
furrowed, and an expression close to agony settled on his father’s face.
Joe stood between his parents, both beyond his reach,
both beckoning to him. He turned to his mother, the smile still softening
her lips, her eyes glistening, holding no fear or disappointment. She
looked at him with adoration and pride, her love for him spanning the distance.
Behind him, he felt his father’s pain.
Suddenly, his father no longer stood at the edge of the
meadow.
Joe stared at the empty space.
“He’s gone, Joseph.”
He turned to face his mother. She stood close,
her scent permeating the air, her voice like a whisper of silk shimmering
around him. Green eyes gazed upon him, not searching, but accepting.
“Why?” he asked.
“He can’t stay. He doesn’t belong here.”
Her words confused him. He looked again at where
his father had stood and the ground seemed barren, the flowers like paper
sculptures, without scent or texture.
He shivered. “I’m cold.”
Hands as soft as rose petals caressed his cheeks.
Dizziness assailed him, and the air was suddenly suffocating.
“Mama....?”
His vision dimmed. A sudden burst of warmth passed
through him, a living presence sweet with the scent of rose water. In
that instant, he became one with his mother and felt all her love for him,
all her hope and joy, and it shook him to the very depths of his soul.
Then he knew what she wanted......
And where it was he belonged.
********
Pain nudged him awake, biting into the dark sleep that
cocooned him, tearing at the memory that had lulled him into slumber, free
from the confines of his physical form.
Joe slowly became aware of every ache in his body, from
the bruising pressure in his ribs and chest, to the steady, deep agony in
his left side.
He moaned softly, moving restlessly to escape the pain
that consumed him. Exhaustion weighed him down, stilled his movements.
But, somewhere beneath the pain, buried deep in his mind, the memory of the
meadow lingered, not beckoning, but existing, thriving.
It took great effort to open his eyes, his lids felt
impossibly heavy. A blurry image hovered near. Slowly, it came
into focus.
“Pa,” he whispered in relief. “You came back.”
A warm hand stroked his forehead.
“I thought....you’d.....left me.”
“I would never leave you Joseph.”
There was something important Joe wanted to say to his
father, a distant thought that nagged at his consciousness, but it seemed
insignificant next to the very real sensations he was feeling now -- the touch
of his father’s hand, the scent of him.
The soothing motions of his father’s hand continued until
exhaustion push back the pain and again he slept.
Ben looked at Dr. Martin and Li Chan, who stood on the
opposite side of Joe’s bed.
“He’s going to be bed ridden for a long time, will need
lots of care, and his recovery will be long and difficult, but I think he’ll
be fine.” Dr. Martin smiled.
All eyes turned to Li Chan.
“Joseph is strong....so is his will to live. Doctors
do not have enough medicine to do that kind of healing. Joe’s
love of life, of his family, give him the strength he needs to survive.”
Li Chan said softly.
Ben traced his thumb along the ridge above Joe’s brows.
His son responded to his touch, sinking into the soft pillow, undisturbed
by dreams or pain. Ben continued to observe his son, stroking the tender
flesh, soothing the exhaustion that still lingered. He’d been by Joe’s
side for three days as the doctors worked to strengthen him. He’d watched
and waited as Joe continued to improve in tiny increments, the changes sometimes
barely perceptible on the weakened and abused body, but he was always struggling.
Joseph had made his choice in the meadow, in a world
that offered him an end to the suffering, and a continuance with the mother
he had never known, but had always loved.
In the silence of Joe’s bedroom, Ben made a promise to
his son.
“I will be with you, Joseph.....always.”
He stood by the bed and kept the vigil.
********
Three months later Joe sat on the sofa, holding a cup
of coffee in his hands, staring into the dancing flames of the fireplace.
It had been a long uphill battle overcoming the poison-- a battle that Joe
was slowly winning. Angela Dubois had vanished into thin air without
a trace. Hoss and Adam looked for her for almost three weeks without
success before reluctantly abandoning the search. Ken Mayberry was not
her uncle, she had met him in San Francisco where he mentioned that he lived
in Virginia City. It was all she need to concoct her story.
Adam and Hoss had returned to their duties on the ranch,
but Ben refused to leave Joe until he was completely recovered. He sat
now at his desk, watching Joseph. Suddenly, he stood up and joined his
youngest on the sofa.
“How are you feeling, Son?”
“Better. Still a little tired, but all right.”
Joe paused. “Pa, I’ve been wanting to ask you something, but.....”
“Yes, Joseph, what is it?”
Joe’s fingers nervously thrummed on the mug he held.
He stared at the steamy liquid. “When I was sick and thought I was dying,
I thought....well, I thought --I remember this place. It was warm and
I felt safe....and you were there with me...with my mother.” He looked
at Ben, his eyes bright, his face mapped with confusion. “Was that
a dream?”
Ben took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Joe.
It was as real a place as any, I guess.”
“But Mama was there.”
“Joseph, your mother is always with you, as am I, as
are your brothers.”
“This was different, Pa.” he lowered his gaze.
Ben touched his hair, caressing him. “The bond
between parent and child can never be broken. It transcends the boundaries
of time and distance.”
Joe raised his gaze. He smiled at his father, the
first real smile in many months.
“I think I’ve found the strength of my survival.”
“Yes, son, I think you have.” Ben’s eyes glistened
with unshed tears. His son had sacrificed a continuance free of pain,
an eternal existence in the arms of his mother for the opportunity to live,
for the hope and promise of a life with his father and his brothers -- with
all the pain and joy that choice entitled.
He had chosen life.
********
A young man walked up to the beautiful women sitting
in the outdoor cafe. Smiling, he took off his hat and introduced himself.
She smiled back, took his hand in hers.
“How do you do sir, I’m Angela DuBois.............”
THE END
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