A Time To Every Purpose
It had been a long, hard
ride, fraught with anxiety, but at last Ben was home and heartily relieved to
be at the end of his journey. As the familiar sight of the Ponderosa greeted
him, Buck slowed to a walk and then halted before the front porch, allowing Ben
to dismount wearily. His exhaustion was evident, although anxious expectation
influenced each movement. All he knew was that Joe had been shot,
then mauled by a wolf and was now dangerously ill. Desperate to discover how
his son was and still unsure about exactly what had happened in his absence,
Ben merely slung the reins over the well-worn hitching rail, knowing his tired
horse would not wander off. Sure enough, Buck simply drooped
his head in weary resignation and the tacit acknowledgement that a warm stall
and a good feed awaited him in the barn. It was highly unusual for Ben not to
attend to his horse’s comfort first, but right now that was the last thing on
his mind. Ever since receiving a frantic telegram from Hoss that broke the news
of Joe’s accident, there had been only one thing on Ben’s mind – to get home as
quickly as possible. He just hoped he had arrived in time.
Ben and Joe shared a
special, deep bond that went far beyond the normal love of a father and son.
Their souls chimed in harmony, giving and receiving a deep, intuitive comfort
that that was unique. While he loved all three of his sons, Ben knew it was
useless to deny the special relationship he felt for this youngest child.
“Joe has to be alright,” he thought
frantically. “I have to be in time, I
need to see him, I need to let him know I’m here…”
He did not like to ask for
anything more, fearing to tempt providence. Ben knew only too well how brief
and fragile life could be. He knew that it took only a brief second of
carelessness for everything to change out of all recognition and wondered if he
could summon the strength to endure another tragedy.
All Ben’s feelings of
unease multiplied a hundredfold as he noticed the front door lay slightly ajar.
He quickened his steps, fighting down the fear that rose in his gorge and
filled his mouth with a bitter terror. From the moment Adam and Joe first
announced their intention to hunt down a wolf that was menacing the stock, Ben
had experienced deep feelings of unease and even now, now that the very worst
had happened, he was still on his guard. Something did not seem right. He drew
his gun before entering the house.
A man and a woman stood
just inside the front door, huddled close to one another. At his entrance they
turned towards him and Ben saw the man’s mouth moving, but the words went by
unheard. There was no time for such things. There was only one thing that
mattered. Everything else could wait. There would time to deal with these
strange interlopers hereafter. If there was a hereafter.
How could he contemplate life if the worst had happened and Joe was dead? What
did it matter who these strangers were or what they were doing in his house?
The world swirled around in
a giddying kaleidoscope and Ben found it difficult to remain standing as all
his senses reeled. He sucked in a deep breath of air, fighting to retain
control.
“Joseph!” There was no
answer. The silence seemed to mock the anxious tones self-evident in his voice.
Once again, the sour dread of abject fear filled Ben’s mouth, but he pushed his
terror down, ignoring the turmoil in his stomach and the pounding in his chest
that reverberated through his entire body. How could he be so aware of his
senses, while Joe lay upstairs, so dangerously ill? If indeed Joe was still
alive…
The man walked towards Ben
with his arms stretched out wide in a welcoming gesture and started to say
something. By now, Ben’s patience was at an end: he was thoroughly annoyed by
the interloper’s over-familiar behaviour. Allowing the barrel of his gun to
swing in the interfering man’s direction, Ben succeeded in abruptly halting his
progress and silenced him most effectively.
“Joseph?” he called out
again. This time, he could not repress the worry that coloured each syllable of
the beloved name.
“Up here!” a voice called
down and Ben hurried towards the staircase, no longer concerned with the
strange people in his home. His only priority was to ensure that his boy was
safe.
“Pa!” Joe appeared at the top
of the stairs. He ran down and grasped Ben in his arms, noting how pale and
shaken his father appeared. “What’s the matter?”
“Joe – are you alright?”
Ben craned his head forward for a better look, scrutinising Joe carefully. A
lone tear pooled in the corner of his eye and then slid slowly down his thin,
lined cheek. Although his son looked to be in perfect health, Ben knew that
something was very wrong.
“I‘m fine,
“Where’s Adam? And Hoss? Are you boys all right?” Ben asked in a thin,
reedy voice that was a mocking echo of the deep bass that used to rumble
through the house. He felt very tired all of a sudden and let Joe guide him
towards his armchair beside the fireplace, where he eased down into the seat
with an involuntary sigh, realising just how drained he felt. It had been such
a long day…although he wasn’t quite sure exactly what he had been doing.
“Adam left home to travel,
remember? And Hoss…” Joe’s voice threatened to tremble and he fought to keep it
steady. “Hoss died,
Keeping hold of his father’s arm, Joe looked
into Ben’s eyes, wreathed in a constellation of wrinkles and no longer the deep
colour of black coffee, but faded and with a ring of pale blue around each
iris. The past six months had been characterised by a slow, inexorable decline
as Ben began to retreat into a nebulous world where the past was more real than
the present.
Ben shook his head slowly.
“I should remember, shouldn’t I? How could I forget something like that?” He
looked frail and vulnerable. “I knew something was wrong, but I thought it was
you, Joe. I thought you were hurt. For some reason, I thought you and Adam were
out hunting and you were hurt…” He gave Joe a look of confusion, the pain and
terror melting together and threatening to overwhelm him. “I don’t know why I
thought that, do you?”
“It doesn’t matter, Pa,”
Joe soothed. “You’re home and I’m fine. That’s all that matters, isn’t it? You
don’t need to worry about me. There’s nothing to worry about at all.” He took
hold of the frail hand and gently stroked it, soothing away the distress,
knowing that in a few moments, Ben would forget this latest upset. How delicate
the skin felt – as fragile as onion skin, and almost as translucent. All the
hard skin and calluses, built up through years of physical labour were being
washed away, as wave upon wave of change gradually eroded the powerful man his
father had once been. This terrible illness was gradually obliterating all
traces of the strong, tall man who had crossed a continent, built the mighty
Ponderosa from scratch and raised three boys to become men. Now, for the first
time in his life, the independent Ben Cartwright had to rely upon others. It
was the final cruelty in a life that had known so many tragedies and had
endured so much hardship.
Gradually the weariness of
the long day, the presence of his son and the warmth of the fire all worked to
ease Ben’s worries away and the lines of his face relaxed as he slipped into a
peaceful sleep. His lips turned up briefly in a small, sweet smile as a memory
from long ago flitted across his dreams and danced enticingly before his
vision, always just out of reach. One day, he would be able to stretch forth a
hand and clasp his dream, hold it securely in his arms and prevent it from
disappearing. For the moment, he was content just to sleep.
Joe sat down upon the stone
hearth, watching serenity sooth away the years and the worries from his
father’s face and wondered just how much more he could endure. He had seen many
deaths in his life, but this inexorable leeching away of his father’s whole
personality was harder to bear than anything else he had ever been called upon
to witness. This obliteration of memory was so much brutal and pitiless than
anything Joe had ever encountered. He had to watch Ben disappearing before his
very eyes, loosing just a little more of his personality every day. And yet
Joe’s love remained as strong as ever and did not waiver. Nor was there a
sudden cataclysm, a frantic, overwhelming grief that threatened to consume
every fibre of his being, as there had been when first Hoss and then Alice had
died. There was no crushing realisation that death was final and absolute, that
an entire part of his life and soul was severed.
No, this was much worse.
For now, Joe had to sit back and watch his father disappear, inch by inch, day
by day, memory by memory. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that he could do.
And, overarching everything else, the final thorn in this crown of bitter gall
was the knowledge that things would grow worse, there would be no sudden easy
release. Each day Joe lived through purgatory, while trying to keep Ben happy
and content. It was the least he could do. It was all that he could do. This
was his beloved father and nothing could ever change that.
**********
There is a time in a
child’s life, when everything changes and the world tilts violently upon its
axis, throwing the natural scheme of things into total disarray. No longer does
day follow night, for nothing is the same. This realisation comes on the day
when a child realises their parent is no longer a strong and self-reliant
person, but has devolved into someone who requires to be cared for, guided and
tended to. The child becomes the parent and the parent becomes a child once
again. This sea-change slowly worked upon both Ben and Joe, altering their
relationship in a myriad of small, almost imperceptible ways. At first, it was
easy to dismiss the frequency of Ben’s memory lapses, his need to take naps in
the afternoon, the way Ben was reluctant to go far from the house, fearful of
not being able to find his way home again. But as the months beat their dreary
way on, Joe could no longer ignore the pounding realisation that his father was
failing and growing feebler by the day.
He fought against it,
fought as desperately as Joe Cartwright had ever fought against anything in his
life. Hard-headed and stubborn, at first Joe refused to acknowledge the gradual
diminution of his father, the slow erosion of a once-powerful man. His love
never wavered, even as he mourned the loss of the man his father had once been
and struggled to accept the dependant stranger who now inhabited his body.
Where had
the tall, upright man disappeared to, Joe wondered. It seemed only a few
years ago that he would run to greet his father with a hug, wrapping his thin
arms around Ben’s stalwart legs, which was as high as he could reach. To a
little boy, Ben was nearly as tall as the Ponderosa pines that almost scraped
the sky. Ben would hoist his young son high above his head and, in his mind,
Joe could still hear Marie’s anxious voice, begging her husband to be careful
with this most precious child, even as Ben’s deep laugh seemed to shake the
very rafters of the house. And then his strong arms would toss the little boy
into the air, so that he almost seemed to be flying and his high-pitched
giggles would ring out in a pure, exultant treble, for Little Joe knew he could
trust his father to be there, to catch him, to enfold him in his arms and keep
him safe. Life was very sure and very sweet in those days.
But those days were gone
now, faded into the past where they must remain, and yet they seemed more real
than this half-life. Now Joe could easily slip an arm around his father’s
shoulders, would support him up the stairs each night and help him into his
nightclothes. He had become a parent, without ever knowing the joys and rewards
of fatherhood, only reaping its sorrows in a bitter harvest, sewn in despair.
Yet love compelled him to keep going.
**********
It was nearly time for
supper. Candy and Theresa paused in the doorway and watched as Joe sat
perfectly still on the hearth, staring blankly into space as his father
slumbered contentedly. Candy gave a small start as a deep sigh shook Joe’s body
and began to move towards him, but Theresa put a gentle hand on his arm and
shook her head silently. They could help in practical ways, ensuring the
Ponderosa ran smoothly, but how could anyone provide succour during this living
purgatory?
Theresa had only lived at
the Ponderosa for a few months, but already she felt like a part of the family.
She arrived when Hop Sing finally decided to return to his beloved
He was greatly missed,
leaving a vast hole that ripped through the warp and weft of life on the
Ponderosa. The departure of his long-time companion upset Ben more deeply than
anyone could have predicted and from that point onwards his illness seemed to
accelerate rapidly. It was only after Hop Sing left that Joe and Candy realised
how much he had helped his old friend, covering up the memory lapses, keeping
to strict routines that gave Ben a sense of security and stability. And Hop
Sing’s departure left an aching void in Joe’s life. Another part of his past,
one more piece of his entire existence had gone forever. First his mother died,
then Adam left, then Hoss died and Alice and the baby were murdered. And now
Hop Sing had gone too. One by one, all the people that Joe loved left him,
until only Ben remained. Joe had never felt so isolated and alone as he did
that evening, sitting watching his father and wondering when he too would
leave.
Theresa was a good cook and
an excellent housekeeper, but she was not Hop Sing. She did not share the
common bond that only long years of shared experiences
can build, or the love that builds up and blossoms over time. Joe realised that
soon there would be no-one to call him “Little Joe”. For years he had fought
against the childhood nickname, but now it seemed very sweet. Now he longed to
have someone call him by the once-familiar name.
“Leave him be,” Theresa
mouthed and pulled at Candy’s arm, turning him around so that he faced her and
stared intently into his eyes, compelling him to meet her gaze. “There will be
a time when Joe will need to cry and will welcome your comfort – but that time
is not now.” Her voice was low and firm. “Right now he needs time and space to
be alone – and you need to respect that.”
Candy gulped nervously, for
voicing emotions had never been his forte. He tended to shy away from any
suggestion of closeness, even with Joe, who was not only his best friend, but
also his boss. Personally, he thought that Joe should mourn now, while there
was still a little of the old Ben Cartwright left. Everyone could see the old
man was slipping away before their eyes, that each day
his mind travelled a little further along a road that was characterised by
shadows and confusion and he needed a little more help. But Candy could see
that Theresa’s words made sense: Joe was coping with this in the only way he
knew how and it was up to him to offer whatever help he could…even if that
meant standing back and letting Joe cope with his pain in private.
“Reckon you’re right,” he
agreed hoarsely, suddenly forced to acknowledge that Ben was dying. The
realisation hit him hard, for Ben was so much a part of the Ponderosa that it
seemed inconceivable that it could continue without him.
Theresa smiled sadly at him
and Candy found himself returning the gesture. He had never noticed what lovely eyes she had
before, sparkling like the deepest cerulean depths of
“You just make sure you are
around when Joe needs you,” Theresa continued. “He’s a good man and a strong
man, but he’ll need someone to stand by him and be a friend…and that’s where
you come in. You’re the closest person to him and he’s going to need you. He
hasn’t got anyone else.” Her heart broke as she thought of the litany of
tragedy that seemed to haunt Joe Cartwright.
“There’s his brother,
Adam,” Candy protested.
Theresa snorted in derision.
“Adam? And where exactly might he be? You tell me that!”
Candy shrugged his
shoulders, realising that she really did not expect an answer.
Theresa took a deep
breath.” I’ve been here for ten months and he’s written once in all that time.
Once! And when was the last time he actually visited his father, eh?” She shook
her head sadly, as she considered the situation. Theresa cherished a deep
affection for Joe and empathised with the role he had found thrust upon him. As
the youngest of six children, she had been expected to look after her parents
and knew just what an exhausting and soul-destroying job task it was. Yet Joe
did not complain, he just shouldered the increasing
burden without comment, doing all that he could to keep his father happy and
comfortable, while continuing to run the ranch. His loving tenderness never
ceased, even on the days when Ben had difficulty in recognising his youngest
child.
“You can’t count on Adam’s
return,” Theresa said. “Where is he now, when Joe could really do with his
brother’s support? What effort is he making to ease his father’s troubled mind?
Adam’s nowhere in sight. Not even on the same
continent, as far as I can make out. If he’s not here now to help Joe, when
he’s really needed, then what possible comfort can he give when…”
Theresa swallowed the rest
of her words, not wanting to admit what they both knew
was true: Ben Cartwright was failing visibly and it was unlikely he would live
to see the wild geese return to
Candy walked quietly back
into the main room and saw that Joe now had his head buried in his arms, his
shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Part of him wanted desperately to go to the
man, to let him know that he wasn’t alone, to tell him that there was someone
who cared and who understood, but yet something held him back from reaching
forward and making the contact. He stood awkwardly for a moment, feeling
totally helpless before finally leaving father and son alone together in the
darkening room.
*********
In the midst of life we are in death.
For as long as Joe could
remember, death was a part of his life, something that simply had to be
accepted, and something that was always there. He had grown up with tales of
Elizabeth and Inger, who were still a part of the family, even if they had died
long years before Joe was born. Then, while he little more than a toddler, Joe
had lost his own mother.
The memory of Marie’s death
was imprinted on his memory as keenly as if it were engraved upon steel: Joe
could still remember staring out of his bedroom window, watching in admiration
as his mother came riding into the yard at high speed. It was a cold, frosty
day and the little boy’s breath condensed upon the window pane, obscuring the
view. As he rubbed the glass with his shirtsleeve, Joe saw the horse rear up,
its hooves pounding the air in a frantic tattoo. The terrified child watched as
Marie struggled to control the animal, but it was too strong. She flew out of
the saddle, landing on the hard-packed ground, where she lay still and quiet as
her young son watched in silent horror from his bedroom window.
The visions haunted his
memory for years. The sound of breaking bones accompanied every nightmare that
plagued Joe’s sleep. He would be jerked back to reality as a sharp crack echoed
in his head, a sound similar to a breaking bough, but which he knew was much
more sinister. Each time the nightmare began Joe found himself trapped inside a
dizzying miasma of terrifying proportions, where he knew exactly what was about
to happen, but was powerless to prevent the inevitable. In each and every
nightmare he had to stand and watch from his bedroom window as his mother died
before his eyes. And now it was happening all over again with his
The night terrors had only
stopped when
The pain upon waking was
indescribable. No wife, no baby – nothing. Just a cold, empty bed and the
mocking silence of his room. Nothing could ever come close to the sheer agony
of knowing you had lost everything that was true and good – and yet you still
had to beat out a weary path in life. The great Comforter could offer very
little solace to a man who had watched his own heart be torn out and ripped to
shreds.
“Perhaps if Hoss was alive,” Joe
thought, wrapping his arms around himself, craving some comfort, but ultimately
finding none.
“Perhaps Hoss could help me make sense of all this, or to find a way to
cope.” But there had been too many deaths in recent years, and now there was
no-one left to succour him.
“When will it end? I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. I
don’t know if I want to go like this…”
The thoughts tumbled over in his head, but there was no-one to answer, let
alone to help him and the unspoken cries went unheeded.
In the chair opposite, Ben
stirred slightly, beginning to waken. Heaving a deep sigh, so that the breath
filled not only his lungs, but enervated every fibre of his being, Joe summoned
up all his strength and fixed a cheery smile upon his face, in the full and
certain knowledge that Ben would not see that it sat wholly unnaturally and did
not even begin to reach his eyes.
“Give me strength, Joe pleaded inwardly. Let me get through this and to help my
father in whatever way I can. Give me the strength to do what ever is
necessary. Nothing else matters. Everything else can wait.”
**********
The days passed slowly in
dreary succession and as the winter grew deeper and the hours of daylight grew
shorter Joe watched helplessly as his father’s life start to ebb slowly away. Soon, Ben no longer had neither the strength nor the inclination to
get out of bed. The doctor from
“Just keep him warm and
comfortable,” he advised, with all the callow assurance of youth.
Ben glared at him
sceptically from the snowy depths of his pillows with some of his old spirit
and made caustic comments about “insolent young pups”. The brief re-emergence
of his old spirit and verve gave Joe a fierce, brave hope, but it was a short
rally and soon vanished, just as quickly as snow melts with the first warmth of
a spring sun, dissipating and dissolving away to nothingness. All too soon, the
spark faded from Ben’s eyes and his hands clutched fretfully at the bedclothes,
while his eyes wandered restlessly around the room.
“Marie?” he called
querulously. “Marie – where are you?”
“I’m here, Ben. I’m right here beside you, just as I always have been. I
am always with you.”
Ah, that beloved voice! Ben
smiled as he looked up into Marie’s beautiful face and felt her soft hand
stroking his cheek. And all the years slipped seamlessly away, easing him into
a time when life was so much simpler and happier, when he had everything a man
could crave. In his mind, Ben was once more young and vigorous, with an
infinite world of pleasure stretching forth in front of his eyes, as sweet as a
flower-filled meadow, as permanent as the mountains that cradled
Soon, he was living permanently
in the past and did not recognise anyone, not even Joe. That was the cruellest
blow in a long litany. Like a man almost inured to pain, Joe had thought he
could cope with the vicissitudes thrown at him, but this was beyond bearing. He
was pitched past the deepest despair. There was no worst. His father was gone –
and yet he was not gone. Joe longed to grieve, yet could not while Ben still
lingered on in a half-life that mocked everything he had once stood for. The
time was not yet ripe for grief, for he knew there would be worse to come.
“How do you stand it?”
Candy asked, as he and Joe shared a late night whiskey.
Joe shrugged, refusing to
meet the other man’s eyes. “What else can I do? He’s my father and I love him.”
He turned to the fire and stared into the flames, his hands tightening
convulsively around the glass. A rainbow shaft of light burst forth from the
crystal glass, but Joe was impervious to the beauty as he prayed that God would
end this living death both he and Ben were suffering.
Oh Lord, hear our prayer, and let our cry come unto Thee.
**********
It had snowed overnight,
the first deep snowfall of the winter and the pale sunlight was reflected into
the house with a brilliant intensity that seemed to mock the slow decay that coloured
everything. It cast a shimmering hope that glistened mockingly at the
inhabitants of the Ponderosa. Ben slept a good deal of the time now, rousing
only briefly to take a few sips of water or broth. Sitting at the side of his
bed, Joe reflected on all the times their positions had been reversed, when he
had lain ill or injured in bed and his father had tended to him. A faint smile
curved the sides of Joe’s mouth as he recalled the family joke that Ben’s hair
had started to turn white the day his youngest son was born. He had certainly
given his father enough causes to worry…
Reaching forward, he gently
patted the frail hand patterned with blue veins and tried to instil a little of
his own vigour. “I’m right here with you,
“You’re a good boy, Joe,”
he said faintly, struggling to get the words out, for he was very tired. “I’m
so proud of my boy.” Ben moved his hand slightly, so that he could clasp Joe’s
fingers in his own. “Live your life, Joe…you’ve so much to offer. I don’t want
to think of you being on your own.”
“I’m fine, Pa,” Joe said
automatically, leaning forward and smoothing his father’s thick hair back off
his forehead. Pa’s always so particular
about his hair, he thought. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
For the first time in
weeks, Ben’s mind was suddenly clear, the clouding mists evaporating away.
“Live your life, Joe. All I’ve ever wanted is for my boys to be happy. You’ve
got so much to offer…live your own life, Joe and be happy… Promise me, Joe —
promise me that.”
“I promise. I love you,
Ben smiled up at him, a
lifetime of love in his face, as he drank in every detail of the young man
before him, as if he was seeing him for the first and last time, the tiny,
helpless baby and the strong, vital man untied in perfect harmony. “I love you
too, Joe.”
His face bore a look of
ineffable weariness and suddenly Joe knew that his father had finally reached
the very last bend in the long road he had journeyed along. There was one last
thing he could do for his father.
“It’s time,” he said. “Time to let go. You’re so very tired Pa, so just let go.”
His voice a frail ghost of itself, Ben whispered, “I don’t want to die, Joe. I’m
afraid.” His cold fingers sought Joe’s, holding on weakly, as if anchoring
himself to life.
Joe shook his head.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m right here. I’m with you,
“I don’t want to leave you
all alone.” There were tears in the old man’s eyes.
“You’ll always be with me,
right here in my heart. You’ll never leave me, Pa. Never. ” Joe closed his eyes
for a moment, forcing his own tears back. “But it’s time to go now.”
“Go forth in peace,” he prayed silently.
Finally, Ben nodded.
“Thanks,” he said simply. He squeezed Joe’s hand briefly and then closed his
eyes.
Bending over the bed, Joe
kissed his father gently and stayed at his side as the old man slipped into a
deep sleep, a contented expression on his face that seemed to ease away the
pain that life had written there. Gradually, the grip on his hand slackened
eased and then it slipped away altogether. Dusk was just beginning to fall when
Theresa knocked gently at the door before entering.
“Do you need anything?” she
asked softly.
Joe shook his head, not lifting
his gaze from Ben.
“How about Mr Cartwright?” Theresa continued.
“No, Pa doesn’t need
anything,” Joe said, in a voice that was devoid of all emotion. “Everything is
alright. He’s fine. He doesn’t need anything now.” Joe did not turn to look at
her, but just kept staring at his father, as he gently stroked the pale, chilly
fingers that lay on the bedcovers.
The utter stillness in the
room was all pervading and Theresa took a step forward, suddenly full of dread.
Something was wrong, very wrong indeed. It was not like Mr Cartwright to lie
there so quiet and unmoving. “Shall I get the doctor?” she asked hesitantly.
Joe turned and smiled sadly
at her. There was a world of sorrow in his eyes. “There’s no need for that. Not
now.” He reached out and tucked Ben’s hand underneath the covers, then pulled
them up snugly around his neck. “He just went to sleep and…” He looked at
Theresa helplessly, like a little boy appealing for solace. “And…that was it.”
Joe stood up and gave himself a little shake, as if trying to force the
realisation into his mind. “My Pa’s dead, Theresa. He’s not here any more.”
The body had served Ben
Cartwright so well, over so many years; it had endured so many heartbreaks and
rejoiced in so many joys. Now it lay before them, but Joe knew Ben’s spirit was
gone. That was not his father who lay in the large bed. That was only his body.
Ben was gone and nothing would ever be the same again. The thought pounded in
his head and was almost more than he could bear.
Joe was dimly aware that
Theresa automatically dropped to her knees, crossed herself and started to
pray, even as she wept. Her tears fell onto the polished floorboards, the small
noise sounding almost like beads telling a Rosary. The sound of the Latin words
brought back memories of Joe’s earliest years, when his mother would kneel
beside him at bedtime, teaching him the prayers of her faith. That was so long
ago. So very long ago. Had he ever been that young and
carefree? Joe realised that he too was kneeling, his voice speaking along with
Theresa’s, saying the words that had been hidden in his mind for so many years,
yet suddenly had sprung forth unbidden.
His mother’s legacy echoed
around the room where his father lay, finally at peace. And the rest of the
house lay silent, as if tacitly mourning the man who had been not only its life
blood, but its genesis.
*********
The minister adjusted his
black stole and turned to face the congregation that packed the church.
“Dearly beloved, we are
gathered here, not only to mourn the passing of our brother in Christ, Ben
Cartwright, but to celebrate his life and to give thanks to God, the Father
Almighty, for his time on this earth.”
Sitting alone in the first
pew, Joe nodded in satisfaction and let the service wash over him. His eyes
never left the coffin, made from Ponderosa pine, that
dominated the chancel. He had been determined that the service should reflect
his father’s spirit and personality and commemorate his life. So many people
only gazed at him with watery eyes and pursed lips, shaking their heads sadly
and that annoyed him. His father deserved more than that. Joe stood up and
walked to the lectern and began to read the first lesson in a voice that
brought powerful emotion and new understanding to the familiar words.
“To everything there is a season, and a time to every
purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time
to die….A time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to
dance…”
His face was pale above the
crisp whiteness of his shirt, but his jaw was thrust forward uncompromisingly
and his shoulders were square and true under the fine black broadcloth of his
suit. Joe Cartwright stood tall and straight as he paid his final tribute to
his father with immense dignity and love. It was time to say goodbye. There
would be a time for private grief later.
Somehow, Joe endured the
rest of the service and then the mourners travelled out to the lake where Ben
was finally laid to rest beside his beloved Marie, buried on the land he loved
with his heart and soul. The minister’s voice ran out clearly against the
distance crash of the waves and the soft rustling of the pines.
“I am the resurrection and the life, he that believeth
in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”
Back at the Ponderosa,
while Theresa and Candy hurried around with plates of sandwiches and pots of
coffee, Joe shook an endless series of hands, thanked the mourners for coming
and accepted their condolences. So many people had stories to tell, wanting to
share small tales of how Ben had helped them, how he had made a very real
difference in their lives. Throughout the long afternoon Joe heard just how far
his father’s influence had spread and saw just how many lives had been enriched
by his presence. No expensive monument could be more fitting than that.
Clem was one of the last
guests to leave the ranch. “He was a good man,” he said, taking Joe’s hand in
both of his own. “Ben Cartwright was one of the finest men I’ve ever met and I’ll
miss him.”
For the first time since
Ben had died, Joe suddenly felt unable to cope as Clem’s simple, heartfelt
statement seared straight to his soul. It reminded Joe of the sort of thing
Hoss would have said, and he missed his brother more than ever.
“Thanks,” he mumbled,
suddenly close to tears.
Clem pulled Joe close,
reaching around his shoulders with one arm. “I’ll always remember Ben and what
he did around here. He’ll live on in many hearts. You must be very proud.”
“Yes, I am,” Joe answered. Clem
nodded, patted Joe’s back awkwardly and then strode
away, leaving Joe alone, except for his grief. For the first time since Ben
died, Joe bowed his head and started to weep, finally allowing all his raw
emotions to surface. Candy stood awkwardly by the staircase, not sure what to
do, until he suddenly remembered Theresa’s words and knew it was time to offer
what comfort he could.
Joe was suddenly consumed
with the brute realisation that Ben was actually gone, that he would never see
his father again and his body shook with the force of his grief. Candy had no
difficulty in leading Joe towards the sofa and, as the fire cast long shadows
around a room that had known so much joy and so much pain, Joe wept in his
friend’s arms. Theresa left the room quietly, not wanting to strip either man
of his dignity, but she saw the tears standing forth in Candy’s blue eyes as he
tried to succour his friend and subdue his own sorrow.
Everything had changed. Now
the house was empty, now all the noise and hub-bub had vanished and the
emptiness and sense of loss was overwhelming. It seemed to rise up,
encompassing both men, broken only by the harsh sound of Joe’s cries, coming
from deep within his chest, searing their way through every inch of his body.
He felt totally alone and bereft, out of touch with his past, for there was
no-one left to share his most cherished memories with. The blow seemed to
ripple though his consciousness as he finally comprehended the depths of his
loss. Ben was dead - and he had taken a part of Joe’s life with him, one that
could never be recaptured.
Perhaps, if things had been
different…perhaps if Adam had been there, the brothers might have given each
other mutual comfort and solace. But it was so many long years since Adam had
left the Ponderosa, sweeping the sandy dust of
At the end, Ben Cartwright
had outlived one son, and had died while his youngest boy helped to ease his
passage into the next world. His eldest son had tried to forge a new life for
himself, far away from a log-built house on the shores of
Now Joe was the only
Cartwright left on the Ponderosa, left all alone, in a house which had once
rung with laughter, but which now only held empty memories that he could not
share with anyone. Only someone who was there can truly appreciate the small
tales from long-ago, the precious memories that keep the past and present
united and let those who are no longer on earth live again in our hearts. It
tore at his heart to think the memories would die too.
Gradually, as the fervour
of his grief started to subside, Joe became aware of several things: the faint
whisper of the wind, as it blew around the house, the soft ticking of the clock
that had punctuated all his memories from infancy onward, the hard, unyielding
surface of the sofa, the sweet smoke from the fire…and the fact that he was
weeping in Candy’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said,
wiping his eyes and trying to pull away.
“No need,” Candy said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “All sorts of people
paid tribute to your Pa today, but this is most honest thing anyone could do or
say. You loved your Pa — and you miss him. There’s nothing to be ashamed
of…heck, it’s even got me crying!” Self-consciously, he dashed away the tears
from his own eyes. His own father had been so very different from the
concerned, involved and loving parent that Ben Cartwright had personified. To
Candy’s mind, there was no finer example to follow.
“Ben knew you loved him.
And he knew you would be alright — I think that gave him the strength to die.
He knew he’d fathered one of the finest men in this country. Don’t you let him
down now, Joe – you go on and make Ben proud. And let yourself cry for him…hey!
I’m crying now, and that ain’t something you see everyday!”
“Right at the end, just
before he died – he was the old Pa, Candy,” Joe confided “He was just like he
used to be. For a brief moment, he was my Pa again, instead of an old, frail
man. That’s the memory I’ll keep of him.”
Joe tried to smile, to be
positive and to go forward, but it was too soon. He could not shake Ben’s fear of
death out of his mind, the thought haunted him. Until that moment, Joe had
never thought of his father being fallible. Somehow he had found the courage to
urge Ben to stop fighting, to surrender with honour. He knew it was the right
decision, but it was a victory that brought no joy, only sadness.
And Joe wept in his
friend’s arms. At some point, they would be able to share their memories of
Ben, to rejoice in the legacy he had left behind him and to celebrate his life
and work. But that would come later. For the moment, the two men gave whatever
comfort they could to one another and tried to find the strength to go, just as
Ben Cartwright would have done. It was the least that they could do, in
remembrance of him.
********
It was some days before Joe
could face the final chore left to him. With a sigh, he sat down at Ben’s
desk…no, that wasn’t right – it was his desk now. Yet another
change. One more in a long line of adjustments Joe found himself making
every day
Before him two tall piles
of letters were neatly stacked on the leather writing surface, many of them
with thick, black borders. Automatically, Joe picked up the letter opener, slit
the top of the first envelope and started to read.
Words poured out at him,
tributes written in so many different hands and with varying degrees of
sophistication, each letter telling of its writer’s deep affection for Ben
Cartwright. Some of the correspondents related amusing anecdotes, other told of
countless small acts of generosity, but each reflected a little part of Ben. As
he read, Joe began to truly appreciate the fine man Ben Cartwright was and
realised that these letters ensured his father would never really be gone.
A faint scent of lavender
floated up from the next letter he picked up, and the familiar, elegant Italian
handwriting awoke a store of memories. Settling back in the chair, Joe began to
read. One paragraph chimed in resonance.
“Birth
and death are intertwined, Joe. They are both journeys we must make on our own.
Ben was lucky that you gave him the courage to take his last few steps. It was
your love that travelled with him. I am sure Ben knew you were with him to the
very end, waiting to make sure he completed his journey safely. You were always
there for your father and you gave him so much joy and so much love.
I have so
many memories of the times we spent together. Above all, whenever I think of
the Ponderosa, I remember your laughter and it rings in my heart. Strive to be
happy, my dearest Joe. I could not bear to think that I would never hear you
laugh again.”
There was more, but Joe could not read any further.
His mind ran back over the years, to a night when the stars shot cold fire
across a dark sky; when life had stretched forth in front of him, full of
infinite promise; when he had danced with carefree abandon in the arms of the
woman he loved. It had been a long and perfect evening. So much had happened
since then, but there was still so much more that lay ahead. He had made a
promise to his father and he intended to keep it.
Joe strode to the door and flung it open, walked out
into the yard and drank in all the beauty that surrounded him, immutable and
wonderful. There was a whole world just waiting for him. Who could tell what
would happen next? He breathed in the fresh, pure air and stood quite still,
letting the scene sooth his turmoil.
After a few moments, Joe went back inside, pulled out
a fresh sheet of writing paper and selected a new nib for his pen.
“Dearest Allie…”
As the words flowed onto the paper, Joe began to realise
that life might still hold some joys, that there was still a world of
possibilities just waiting to be discovered and that perhaps happiness was
nearer than he thought. Winding up his mother’s musical box, he listened to the
familiar tune and, for the first time in months, Joe felt his soul soar free.
In the evening, as Joe sat sipping a glass of brandy,
he remembered all the good times and the past and the present started to weave
back together into a seamless whole. The pattern of his life had changed, but
Joe knew that everything would be alright.
Leaning back into the soft red leather chair, Joe put
his feet on the table and then gave a guilty start. Old habits died hard, it
seemed! There were so many small, almost inconsequential reminders of his
father all around him, and they were a comfort. They reminded Joe that Ben
would never really be gone, not as long as he could remember the man who had
given him so very much, not least the courage to go with life and to hope that
the future would be golden once again, as golden and as precious as the
memories Joe held within him.
“Here’s to you Pa!” Joe whispered, and raised his
glass high. The time for mourning was still fresh, but now Joe could see that
there would also be a time for laughter once again on the Ponderosa, a time to
build new memories, perhaps even a time to dance in a moonlit meadow once
again. He was certain of that. After all, there was a time to every purpose
under the heaven.
Claire O’Neill
November 2004