The Heart of the
Ponderosa
Written by: Susan Lynch
Hoss Cartwright was in such a hurry to get home that he ran his horse right up to the porch, barely dismounting in time to fling open the front door. Gigantic strides ate up the distance to the stairs, which he leaped up three or four at a time. He had to find out how his baby brother, Little Joe, was doing. Word had come to him out on the cattle round-up that Joe had been involved thwarting a bank robbery. Even though he was wearing his green jacket, the youngest Cartwright had been seriously wounded. And now his life hung in the balance. Skidding to a stop outside his brother’s door, Hoss cautiously peeked inside. As expected, Ben Cartwright was holding a vigil by the injured boy’s side, wiping his fevered brow with a damp cloth and whispering comforting endearments to his precious child.
“How is he?” Hoss asked, his heart in his throat. He eased his large body into the room, coming close to the bed. The curly hair of his baby brother was damp with sweat and Hoss longed to take his pain away.
Ben looked over at his middle child. “Tonight will tell. The doc just left. If his fever doesn’t go down…” The rest of the sentence went unsaid; it was too awful to express out loud.
Hoss turned and slammed his fist into the wall, knocking another opening in the plaster. Nearby were several patched holes, remnants of other bedside vigils. “Dadburn it! There’s got to be something we can do!” he said, frustrated. He stared at the still figure on the bed. How small and pale his beloved brother looked against the white sheets. “Did the doc leave any medicine?”
“No, he was out of it, and couldn’t get anymore until morning. We’ll have to do the best we can,” his father replied. Sighing, Ben tenderly brushed a stray curl off his son’s hot forehead, murmuring softly. “Shhhhh, son,” he said. “It’s all right sweetheart; your Papa’s here to take care of you.”
The restless figure on the bed seemed to calm at the sound of his father’s deep voice. Hoss turned, and went back to his brother’s side, reaching down to grip Joe’s hand. “Where is Adam?” Hoss said tightly. Normally their eldest brother would be pacing the hallways, fetching more cool water or helping Hop Sing stir up some nourishing broth in the kitchen.
“He went after the men who did this to Little Joe,” the Patriarch of the Ponderosa responded, his words catching on unshed tears. Wringing out the cloth, he continued stroking his youngest son’s flushed face. “Please, darling,” he whispered as he bent over the bed. “Open your eyes; speak to me.”
Hoss choked back his own sobs, abruptly leaving the room to find another chair. Adam was taking care of the evil men who had dared to shoot their darling brother, leaving him the task of helping Pa nurse their precious Joe back to his normal vibrant self. He wouldn’t eat or sleep until he was sure Joe would be all right; none of them would.
Dawn was beginning to shed its light over the horizon when hoofbeats resounded in the courtyard. Bleary eyed with exhaustion and grief, Hoss
stumbled to the window. He could barely make out Adam riding fast toward the
house. This time the horse didn’t stop
at the front door, but came into the house and up the stairs. Adam leaped off his back before actually
riding into his baby brother’s room. “I
got ‘em, Pa!” he said triumphantly. “Hunted them all down. Shot two and
Ben, his tear stained face buried in hands, tried to smile. “That’s wonderful, Adam,” he said slowly. “But I’m afraid your baby brother isn’t much better.”
The exultation swiftly drained from Adam, and he flung himself down by Joe’s bed. “No!” he cried. “It can’t be! Joe has to live!”
“It’s true,” Hoss confirmed. “Joe’s fever ain’t comin’ down. We sent for Doc Martin, but it’s in God’s hands now. Doc’s got some dern fool baby to deliver and can’t make it here to save our brother.”
With grim determination Adam rewet the cloth and started wiping his brother’s fevered brow. He stared down at the long dark lashes curling softly against Joe’s ashen cheeks. “This can’t be happening,” he murmured, tears welling up in his dark eyes. “We need the doctor now. Why doesn’t he understand that? Nothing is more important than Joe.” What would life on the Ponderosa be like without their precious Little Joe? What would happen to their father? How could life go on? “I’m sorry, Pa,” he choked out. “I tried, I really tried. If I had known, I would’ve gone and forced Doc Martin to come. ”
“I know,” Ben replied, pushing past Adam to be closer to his own baby. He closed his eyes in a silent plea for divine intervention. **Please, Lord, if you can only grant me this one prayer for my entire lifetime, please, spare the life of this precious angel. If a life must be taken this day, let it be mine. Take Adam, or Hoss, Hop Sing, even the ranch itself. Just spare my precious little son, I beg of you. I could not face my existence any longer without him by my side. Nothing else matters, just him. He is our heart, our life, the sole reason for our existence. Please don’t take that away from us, or from this world.**
Hoss stood up slowly, legs shaky with exhaustion. “I’ll get some coffee,” he offered tonelessly. He knew Hop Sing would be keeping a pot fresh on the stove. Staying in the room was taking a toll on him, to see his brother lying there so helplessly.
Out in the hallway Sport was pacing nervously, too frightened to figure a way out of the house. Hoss caught him gently by the bridle and coaxed the animal down the stairs and through the door into the early morning sun. Since Cochise was in the corral by the barn, Hoss quickly removed the sweaty, dusty saddle, setting it on the worn fence railing, letting the brown gelding in with the other horse. He knew Joe’s pinto would have a calming effect on the flighty Sport. Still shivering in fear over being trapped in the unfamiliar house, Sport raced over to Cochise and rubbed his head against the other horse’ neck. Cochise looked at Hoss and nickered softly as if to say “I’ve got everything under control now.” Smiling briefly at the tranquil scene, Hoss sighed and headed back to the kitchen to fetch coffee and resume his vigil.
As soon as his middle son left the room, Ben reached over and slipped Joe’s gun out of the holster. He fingered it reflectively, then checked to see if it was loaded. The look on his face alarmed Adam. “Pa,” his oldest son said. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking,” Ben replied slowly, “that I won’t want to go on without Little Joe. If he dies…”
“Pa, no!” Adam cried. “What about the ranch? What about me and Hoss?”
Ben looked at him, his dark eyes terrifyingly blank. “You two are old enough to go out on your own. You can certainly run this ranch without me.” Then he turned back to the young man on the bed, rubbing his arms and legs with cool water in a desperate attempt to bring down the devastating fever. “Please, sweetheart,” he continued to whisper. “Wake up, open your eyes.”
“Pa,” Adam said again, more softly. But it was obvious that Ben was no longer hearing him; all his attention was focused on the boy, the very heart of the Ponderosa, lying so still before him. Barely able to walk, Adam staggered out of the room and down the stairs, his head reeling with the thought that his darling baby brother might not make it through the day. It was more than he could bear. Eyes clouded with tears, he bumped into Hoss in his hurry to go outside, his mind made up.
“Adam!” Hoss said, oblivious to the hot liquid spilling across his hand. The look on his older brother’s face scared him. He followed the older man outside. “Adam, what’s going on? Is it Little Joe?”
Ignoring the pleading voice, Adam grabbed armfuls of wood and threw them against the base of the house, starting on the front porch. Hoss roughly took hold of his arm. “Adam!” he yelled. “Tell me!”
“
The coffee mugs fell to the ground, shattering
unnoticed. Hoss was stunned. How could
things have gone so wrong? Where was Doc Martin? Why wasn’t his darling baby brother getting
better like he had so many times before?
If Pa and Adam were driven to this point, there must be no hope. With
tears running unchecked down his cheeks, Hoss joined Adam in flinging logs. If the worst happened to Joe, there was no
reason in anything continuing, not even the Ponderosa itself. Hoss started throwing wood all around the
courtyard, the barn, under the trees.
When the two men had exhausted the pile by the house, Hoss stumbled into
the barn to fetch kerosene, drenching everything in sight. Best for them all to go out
in a blaze of glory, with the flames reaching high enough to be seen in
Hop Sing, watching from the kitchen window, wiped his own tears as he fingered a large butcher knife. This must be the worst of times, ever. He had helped raise Little Joe from a baby; and no one knew better than him how much life, love and laughter the youngest Cartwright brought to the house. If the heart was gone, it was only logical that the body would soon follow. Hop Sing, too, would die honorably, in a way that would bring further glory to the spirit and memory of Little Joe Cartwright.
Their job completed, Adam and Hoss dropped to the ground, exhausted. They were under Little Joe’s window, and would sure be able to hear anything going on in the room. “Shouldn’t we go check on him?” Adam asked when his breathing was under control.
“You can,” the gentle giant said, waving a hand. “I can’t go bear to see Little Joe suffering like that. It breaks my heart when I know there’s nothing I can do to ease his pain.”
Adam laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder for a moment in shared grief, then headed into the house. Slowly he tromped up the stairs, trying not to listen for the sound of a telling gunshot. He figured Pa wouldn’t outlast his darling baby son for more than a minute or two.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The darkness was consuming Joe. It wasn’t a particularly restful dark, either. The pain from the gunshot wound was intense, and the heat from his fever was uncomfortable. Aches and pains from various other injuries were unwelcome intruders into his consciousness, and kept him from rising out of the darkness far enough to comfort his Pa and brothers. He knew they were there, keeping vigil. He could feel the coolness of the cloth sliding over his body, hear the tearful pleading of his father open his eyes, but he couldn’t respond; he was too tired. The more he pushed to rise above the pain and growing numbness, the more the dark claimed him. Soon it was easier to give in than fight. As he did, he noticed the black fading to gray as a brilliant white light appeared in the distance.
As the glow touched him, he felt lighter, free from the pain and fever. Peace filled his soul and Joe found that he couldn’t take his eyes off the brilliance before him. Slowly he became aware of figures emerging to group loosely around him. Squinting, he tried to see who or what they were, but they stayed just out of range. He wasn’t afraid, though. After a moment one small, slender shadow separated from the others and came closer. As soon as Joe saw the face of the person moving toward him, and lingering uncertainties fell away. He knew who she was. “Mama,” he breathed, his eyes alight with awe and love.
“Yes, my darling,” the woman responded, a sweet and gentle smile illuminating her face. “It really is me.”
Joe ran toward her, his arms open wide. “Mama!” he said again, this time jubilant. She stopped him before he reached her, one small hand held up at chest level.
“I’ve missed you my precious, so much,” she said softly, her green eyes shining. “You’ve grown into such a fine young man, and I’m very proud of you.”
“Are you?” he said. His arms ached to touch her, the mother he barely remembered, but something about her made him stay still, hands at his side. “You’ve watched me?”
“Of course!” Her gentle laugh rippled like pure music. “We all have.” She tilted her head slightly toward the mass behind her, which undulated slowly in agreement. The faces of Elizabeth, Adam’s mother, and Inger, Hoss’ mother, smiled blissfully from the multitude. “You are the very heart of all that your father and brothers hold dear.”
Joe, mesmerized by the light and the sight of his mother, took a slight step forward. All the pain, the agony, the discomfort of lying in the bed suffering from his wounds was forgotten, nothing more than a distant and quickly fading memory. “Mama, I’ve missed you so much,” he said.
“I know, my baby,” she answered, gliding smoothly away. “But now is not your time. Your father and your brothers, they need you too much. They can’t go on without you to hold the fabric of their lives together.” Lifting a blue satin clad arm, she pointed behind Joe. “There will be plenty of time for us later.”
A little confused, he turned. The mist behind him had cleared, and he could see Ben sitting on the bed and cradling a body in his arms as tears ran down his cheeks. With a bit of a shock, Joe realized the body was his and Pa must think he was dead. “Pa!” The anguished cry tore from his throat. Immediately the clouds and light receded and Joe, with only a little regret, headed home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ben stared in horror at the figure lying in the bed. Where a moment before had been the sound of labored breathing, was now there was only silence. It was unthinkable, it couldn’t possibly be true. The heart of the Ponderosa couldn’t be stopped… Trembling so hard he could barely move, Ben reached over and placed his hand carefully on Little Joe’s chest, praying with his entire soul to feel the reassuring rhythm of life in his baby son. There was nothing. A primal scream of pain ripped from him as Ben flung himself onto the bed and grabbed Joe’s body, cuddling it close. At that moment he hated God for taking away the most precious and important thing in his life. There was only one thing left to do, and as Ben sobbed unrestrained into Little Joe’s brown curls, his hand felt around for the gun he’d left nearby. As soon as he felt the cool touch of the metal, he raised it with a shaky hand toward his head and pulled the trigger. A blinding flash of light and a loud crack shook the room as Ben Cartwright slumped down over the body of his youngest and favorite son. A trickle of blood flowed ominously down the careworn and grizzled cheek.
On the stairs, Adam stopped in dumbfounded surprise at the sound of the gun. Immediately he sprinted the last few steps and flew down the hallway to his brother’s room. The sight was anything but reassuring as he gazed upon the two figures closely entwined on the bed, the revolver dangling from his father’s limp hand. Choking sobs racked Adam’s body as he realized his baby brother was dead. With tear-clouded eyes he turned back into the hallway. There was no need to disturb the bodies within the room. Adam knew his father would want it to end this way – together with Little Joe for eternity.
Hoss, alarmed at the gunshot, had just entered the house when he saw Adam practically falling down the stairs, blinded by grief. Hop Sing rushed out from the kitchen at the same time and they stared at Adam, dreading the worst. “No, no, no!” Hop Sing moaned at the blank expression on Adam’s face. He swiftly cut off his long braid, tossing it on the floor before rushing back into the kitchen to end his own insurmountable despair.
“Adam,” Hoss choked, “He ain’t . . . he ain’t . . .“
“Yes, Hoss, he is,” Adam replied from the depths of his own anguish. “Little Joe is dead. Damn Doc Martin! How could he do this to us? No baby is worth our brother’s life!”
“And Pa?” Hoss questioned faintly.
“Yes, yes, Pa too,” Adam replied, his dark eyes flashing, buoyed by the force of his anger toward Doc Martin, and God for his injustice. Striding over to the massive stone fireplace, Adam took down the book of matches. “Now it’s time to finish the job,” he added grimly.
Hoss gulped, and nodded slowly. Without Little Joe, life was a sea of desolation. “The horses,” he choked out.
“We can let them go free,” Adam said after a moment. Joe loved horses; it woudn’t be right to kill the animals he cared so much about.
The two men hurried to the barn, throwing open the doors and all the stalls. They quickly shooed the horses into the courtyard, then out into the woods. All except Cochise. Though freed from the corral, he didn’t join the terror-stricken flight of Sport, Chub and Buck. Instead, he stood mournfully by the door, as if he knew his beloved master was dead and resisted all attempts to scare him away.
“What should we do?” Hoss asked in despair. It was bad enough Joe was gone, he didn’t want to be responsible for the pinto’s death now.
Adam paused, wiping sweat from his grimy brow. “Just let him be, I guess,” he answered slowly, his respect for the spotted animal growing even more. “If this is what he chooses, who are we to stop him?”
Nodding reluctantly, Hoss sighed and headed back to the house, grabbing some matches on the way. Silently the two men set fire to the wood piled at the base of the log walls. Soon Hoss was crying too much to even see what he was doing, and Adam gestured for him to go back inside.
Unashamed, Hoss wiped the tears from his cheeks as he settled down on the couch, waiting for his brother to finish lighting the wood surrounding the house. Death was infinitely preferable to a life void of its precious heart – Joseph Francis Cartwright. In a few moments Adam joined him and they sat side by side, weeping silently as the hungry fire outside the walls leaped into life, devouring the dry wood. It wouldn’t be long, the two men prayed, before they would be reunited with their beloved brother.
**********
The acrid smell of smoke jerked Little Joe out of the darkness into the light. Something.. someone? was breathing raggedly in his ear, and Joe struggled feebly to lift the heavy weight off his chest. It took him a moment in the deep gloom to realize it was his father, collapsed over his bed. A jagged wound bled freely from the older man’s temple where the bullet, fired with a grief shaken hand, had only grazed Ben’s head, knocking him unconscious. Weak from the fever that still gripped his frail body, Joe summoned his strength and wiggled out from beneath his Pa, laying the older man carefully on the bed next to him.
Now the smoke was clearer, stronger, and the sound of the flames was louder. Joe sat still for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. Images of his mother flashed through his mind, as well as the glimpse of Pa holding his body and crying. Pa must have thought he died and tried to kill himself. Where were Hoss and Adam, though? Surely they wouldn’t be gone if he was so sick and Pa was in such distress. Maybe the fire had something to do with it. It was up to Joe now.
The young man eased himself slowly off the bed. His legs were weak from his illness, but he willed himself to remain upright. His clothes were draped over a chair and as he drew them on, he could feel some strength returning. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
More and more smoke was billowing up the stairs and into his room. Joe knew the first thing he would have to do is move his father. There were several cloths soaking in a pan of cool water. Joe took one and squeezed out most of the liquid, and bound up the slowly oozing wound on his father’s head. He took another and tied it over Pa’s nose and mouth. A third damp cloth was bound over his own face. The smoke was starting to obscure his vision, but Joe brusquely wiped his watering eyes. He had no time for this. Ignoring the burning pain, Joe reached down and grabbed his father’s arms. In one strong movement, he pulled the larger and heavier man up and draped him across his shoulders. Staggering under the weight, Joe willed his cramping legs to move out of the room.
In the hallway, everything was worse. The smell of smoke, the heat from the fire, the sound of crackling flames all rose to assault Joe’s senses. He paused, momentarily confused, then shook his head, gained his bearings, and started for the stairs. Feeling his way along the hallway, Joe dragged his father to the edge of the stairs. So thick was the smoke that Joe could barely see the living room below. He took a huge breath, pulled his father closer, then started carefully down the staircase. His body trembled from the unaccustomed exertion, but Joe refused to give in. Each step jarred his weak body, but he continued on. At the bottom of the stairs he paused, gasping for breath. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to drop his burden and run for the fresh air of outside, but he refused. Nothing could induce him to leave his family to burn if there was something he could do about it.
To his horror he saw the bodies of his two brothers slumped together on the sofa. Luckily they had fallen far enough that their faces were still out of the worst of the smoke, but they were unconscious. With renewed vigor, Joe carried Pa across the smoldering floor to the front door. Ignoring the small flames that licked tentatively at the frame, he kicked the door open and staggered into the courtyard. The cool night air revived him a bit more, and Joe was able to bear his father to the edge of the clearing and lay him carefully down in a bed of leaves, far from any danger of the fire.
Sighing, he turned and walked determinedly back toward the house. Plunging through the ring of fire, he quickly in turn brought out Adam, then Hoss. One last trip in through the kitchen brought him to Hop Sing, draped across the counter with his biggest butcher knife still clutched tightly in one hand. His strength ebbing fast, Little Joe picked up the cook and carried him out and laid him down next to the rest of his family, remembering to grab up the Hop Sing’s discarded braid from the dining room floor.
The house was becoming engulfed in flames. Little Joe couldn’t stand the thought of the place of his birth coming to such a sad end so he returned to the courtyard and contemplated his options. He automatically moved toward the horse trough full of fresh water. Empty buckets were stacked nearby, and Joe grabbed one, dunked it in the water and, running across the yard, quickly flung the contents on the fire eating at the front door. The flames hissed angrily and steam rose, but it wasn’t enough. Joe ran back to the trough, picked up a second bucket, and managed to fill them both before staggering back to the house. How many times he made that trip he didn’t know; the ordeal seemed to last forever. Every now and again he would pause to check on his family, still insensible in the leaves. He thought about dousing them with water, but couldn’t spare the time.
Hurriedly he returned to his daunting task; a fight that, to his chagrin, he seemed to be losing. For every bucket tossed on the house, the flames seemed to roar up higher somewhere else. His abused muscled protested and his lingering fever threatened to climb higher, but Joe refused to give up.
During one short break, Joe gulped down a quick dipper of water and glanced back at the house. The light from the flames reached the roof, illuminating a series of half-barrels lined up on the ridge. Joe almost dropped the bucket in his hand as a memory flooded back into his mind. The gravity water system! Two or three months previous Adam read in an engineering magazine about a new system to bring fresh water into the house. Intrigued, he built the elaborate system as a test, despite Little Joe’s protest that it would prove impractical. Adam had ignored the advice and with Little Joe’s reluctant help, they built an intricate system of barrels on the roof to capture rain water. The whole thing proved unreliable just as Joe had predicted. Adam had refused stubbornly to take the system apart, insisting against reason that he could get it to work. The barrels were bound to still be full since all Adam’s attempts at fixing it had been futile. For once Joe was glad his older brother hadn’t listened to him.
Gleefully Joe scampered over to the corral where he had seen Adam’s worn saddle hanging on the rails. The rifle was in the scabbard, loaded and ready to go. Jerking it out, Joe aimed carefully and fired rapidly through the dense smoke at the wooden barrels. Spouts of water appeared after every shot, pouring a deluge of life-saving liquid over the blackened shingles. Rivers of water spilled over the eaves, extinguishing the flames on the walls of the house. Little Joe bravely resumed his own battle with the buckets from the trough until every vestige of inferno had been beaten back.
When the last bit of water washed down the walls, Joe filled his buckets again
and ran inside to make sure nothing was lurking in the main rooms. Luckily the blaze hadn’t reached that part of
the house yet; the real damage was to the outside. Carrying the still full buckets back into the
yard, Joe set them gratefully on the ground and practically fell next to them
as his legs buckled with exhaustion. He only lay there a few minutes before
forcing himself upright again and lurching over to his family. As he dropped to the ground next to Pa, the
older man stirred and slowly opened his eyes.
Incredible relief and joy flooded his face as Ben realized his precious
son was alive. “Joe!” he barely managed
to cough out of a smoke-sore throat.
“You’ve come back to me!”
Joe grinned a little self-consciously. “Aw, Pa, you know I could never leave you, or Adam or Hoss.” He glanced over at his older brothers and saw that they, too, were beginning to wake up.
Gasping, Ben struggled to sit up, but Joe gently pushed him back down. “No, Pa,” he admonished lightly. “You need to rest a bit. You’ve got a nasty cut on your forehead. As soon as the smoke clears from the house I’ll go get some bandages.”
Ben sank gratefully back to the ground, grimacing in pain. “Thank you, son,” he murmured, still not trusting his voice. “My head is pounding.” He glanced sharply at Joe. “Smoke?” he questioned.
Little Joe quickly moved between Ben and the house. Since he wasn’t sure how the fire started, he didn’t know how to explain sufficiently. But the smell of kerosene had been strong and he had his suspicions.
Both Hoss and Adam saw Joe at the same time and sprang to their feet. “Little Joe!” they cried out, ecstatic at the sight of their baby brother alive and well. Two pairs of arms enclosed the younger man in a massive group hug as tears of joys ran unchecked down their cheeks. “Thank God you’re alive,” Adam said. Hoss wheezed in agreement, his lungs still too full of smoke to talk.
Joe smiled again and hugged his brothers in return. For a while he had been afraid that they wouldn’t make it either. He looked at them, then back at the house. “You know anything about that?” he asked quietly, not accusing.
Adam ducked his head, then straightened up proudly. “Yes, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. We thought you were dead, little brother. We thought Pa had shot himself, and we knew that life wouldn’t be the same without you. It wouldn’t be the Ponderosa without Little Joe Cartwright to bring it life and love. So Hoss and I decided to burn the house down, to burn down the whole Ponderosa if necessary.” At Joe’s shocked expression, Adam’s tone softened. “But thank the Lord you’re still with us, Joe. Through some miracle you not only lived, but saved all of us, and the house, as well. I’ll never stop being grateful for having you as my little brother.”
“Me too,” Hoss croaked, wrapping an arm around Joe’s shoulders. He sagged, and Joe caught him and helped him to the ground. “You need to rest,” Joe chided.
Joe turned to his older brother with an amused expression. “You’re nothing but a big ‘ole yankee granitehead,” he said affectionately, punching his big brother lightly in the arm. “and I’m especially glad you left all those barrels of water on the roof.”
Adam only grinned tiredly, slumping to the ground. It was good just to hear his baby brother’s voice again.
As Little Joe fussed over the other men, Ben watched. A smile played around his lips as his heart swelled with an overabundance of love and pride. He could see the fever still burning in his youngest son’s eyes, but Joe never gave up, never stopped serving his family. But that wasn’t what was important. All that mattered is that his precious son hadn’t died; that Joe was still there to give them light and life and hope for the future. The Heart of the Ponderosa would be the rhythm of their lives for many years to come!
The End