Help Is But a Plea Away
by
Debbie B.

The sweat continued to bead on his brow. The young man, drenched in his own
perspiration moaned as he tossed about in the damp sheets. He fought against
the gentle hands that worked at cooling his feverish body with cool damp
cloths.

'Adam...Adam...Hoss...Pa...help me', his mind cried aloud, pleadingly. Even
in his disoriented condition, Joe Cartwright knew help would come...he just
wished they'd hurry.

It had come on sudden like, the rain that all but flooded the creek and
spilled over onto the flat, barren land. His horse had slipped, tossing him head
first into the swelling water. He struggled against the rapids, calling out
for help, though there was nobody around to aide him.

"ADAM...ADAM...HOSS...PA...Help me!" he'd shouted until his lungs ached and
his voice cracked. His mind cast doubts in his heart...in his courage.
Where had they gotten to? Were they okay...and then he suddenly remembered, they
were home, safe, dry...and warm.

Afterwards, it seemed like a lifetime before he was finally able to pull
himself out of the muck and filth. His clothes by then were tattered and torn,
his body battered and beaten. What strength he'd had before was gone...

With in hours it seemed, the deep pain in his chest had all but cut off his
air. The cough began soon afterwards. He struggled to reach home where he
knew his family waited, most likely worried sick about him. How long had be
been gone, he pondered. A day...maybe two? He shivered again as he felt the
cold that seemed to be glued like ice to his flesh. He longed for a blanket,
warmed in Hop Sing's warming oven, but knew he'd have to wait until he
reached home...if he did...if he didn't freeze to death first.

Why hadn't they come for him? Weren't they worried...didn't they know how
the rain at this time of year could cause such flash floods...didn't they even
care?

He heard himself moan again. It seemed to him that he could hear people
talking, yet they were far away...too far for him to understand the words or to
recognize the voices. His head ached with a pain so intense that had he been
able to open his eyes, he would have refused.

A warmth he hadn't felt before suddenly covered him. Hands grabbled for his
body...he felt as if he were floating and then suddenly, the softness beneath
him shot a measure of comfort throughout his aching body. Again the voices
resounded in his ears. Several his mind concluded, all talking at once as if
they were in a rush to go someplace or to get things done. He felt a sharp
stab at cold air, suddenly feeling naked and exposed but just as quickly the
warmth covered him again. Something soft was placed under his head...a cool
cloth brought a measure of relief to the intense heat that seemed to be
scorching his body.

"Pa," he mumbled...unaware of his surroundings.

"Easy son..."

The voice, it seemed closer, familiar in a way he couldn't understand. How
he wished he could stop shivering; how he wished he could more clearly make
out the voices. And then something warm was forced into his mouth. Automatic
ally he swallowed. The liquid was hot, burning his throat as it slipped
downward. His stomach felt the heat of the drink as little by little he was forced
to swallow more.

As if in a dream, his mind drifted; the aching ceased. His body relaxed and
a feeling of peace washed over him. The fever cooled and by the time he
opened his eyes, hours had passed. Slowly, Little Joe raised his head and
looked around, startled to find himself in his own room, his own bed, yet pleased
to see, sleeping soundly in the chair close to the bed, his father. Joe
relaxed, returning his head to the pillow as he smiled at the sleeping man.

When a sudden urge to cough rose and spewed forth, Ben jerked awake,
surprised to find his youngest son also awake. Quickly, he grabbed a glass of water
and helped Joe to drink, easing the tickling in the boy's throat.

"Thanks," Joe said in a raspy voice. "Oh...my throat hurts."

Ben sat the glass down and smiled at his son. "I'm not surprised...you've
been coughing for days...we feared pneumonia..."

"Days...pneumonia...?" sputtered Joe.

"Yes, son," his father explained. "We found you three days ago down by the
creek...you were unconscious and burning with fever...you were
hacking...coughing..."

"And you looked like a drowned rat," Adam, who had appeared in the doorway,
added to his father's statement.

"Yeah...and ya was outta ya head...talkin' about things we ain't never heard
of before," Hoss added, joining his family in the sick room.

"I don't remember..." coughed Joe.

"Never mind...we'll explain it to you later, when you're feeling better.
Right now, you need to rest and keep quiet. Hop Sing's fixing you another
mustard pack for your throat..."

Joe groaned loudly. "That's why I've felt as if my throat's been on fire..."

"Yep..." laughed Hoss, wrinkling his nose as Hop Sing entered, carrying the
dreaded medicine pack.

"You be good boy...Hop Sing make you well..." the little Chinaman boasted.

Joe, his face scrunched up in a scowl, thanked the family friend and then
closed his eyes as the warmth converged on the flesh around his neck.

"I wish I had stayed in a deep sleep...this thing stinks..."he groaned,
making all of them laugh.

"I can fix that," Ben said.

Joe had just then noticed his fathering mixing a powder in a glass of water.

"Here, drink this...and then say good night," Ben said, handing the glass to
Joe.

Joe puckered up his mouth, though he drank the entire glass of medicine.

"Good night," he said with a smirk as he handed the glass back to his father.

Minutes later, the young man had drifted off into dreamland. Days later,
Joe Cartwright was up and about and back to his old shenanigans...bringing
smiles to his family's face.

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