Be Still, My Soul
(Sequel to The French Piano Player)
Be still my soul: when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.*
Morning. Bright, sunny morning. Invasive morning. Light that penetrated the draperies, his eyelids and his consciousness. Joe wrapped his pillow around his head and turned away from the window. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sunrise, except on his way to bed. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Mornings were definitely overrated.
He heard noises in the hallway. Hoss, trying to walk quietly so as not to waken him. Bless Hoss. Who else would have been so concerned about letting him sleep? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard them talking, didn’t know how his father and brothers felt. He’d overheard Adam’s comments about his pulling his own weight. He wasn’t doing pulling his weight; Adam was right, and he knew it. Once, he’d have moved heaven and earth to prove Adam wrong. Now, he just couldn’t figure out a way to make himself care enough.
It had been nearly a month since he’d returned to the Ponderosa, and he still didn’t feel as if he were home. Home was with Robin, in a cheap rented room on the third floor of a San Francisco tenement.
Except that Robin was dead. And he was here.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t missed his father and brothers. For the entire two years that he’d been gone, not a day had gone by that he hadn’t thought of them, missed them, loved them. What he hadn’t bargained on, though, was what it would take to get back to them. In the end, it had cost him everything.
His memories of his brothers’ rescue mission were vague. Most of what he knew was reconstructed from other people’s accounts. It was no exaggeration to say that he’d been near death when Hoss had appeared before him, as if in a dream. Adam and a doctor had arrived moments later, and they’d swept him off to the hospital where he’d reconnected with his father and had endured withdrawal from alcohol. Only later did he discover that the only item his brothers had considered worthy to take with them from his room was the picture of his mother. Everything else—Robin’s blue scarf, the combs she’d used to secure her silky dark hair, the journal she would never let him read—all of this had apparently been deemed worthless. By the time he was able to go back, the landlord had cleaned out the room, and all their meager possessions had been thrown away. Even Judith, who had first been Robin’s best friend and, after her death, his own lover, had saved nothing.
He was back on the Ponderosa now. Everything should have been fine. Somehow, though, the ranch didn’t seem to fit him anymore. It made no sense. He was born in this house, he’d grown up here, and he had always loved everything about living on the ranch. Until Robin, he’d never thought of living anywhere else. The whole time they’d lived in San Francisco, he’d been homesick for the Ponderosa as well as his family. Except for that one day when they’d rented a buggy and driven out into the countryside, he’d gone two years without ever feeling the rough leather of reins in his hands or the power of a horse at his command. He’d been so happy that day. He’d missed the beauty and grandeur of this land. For a long time, he’d compared the bustle and noise and stench of the city to the purity, the majesty, the peace of the Ponderosa. When he’d played the piano, he’d tried to recreate in music the sounds and feeling of being here.
And now that he was here, it was like wearing another man’s boots. Even though the boots were made of the finest materials and fashioned by the most skilled craftsman, they just didn’t fit.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “Joseph?”
“Yeah, Pa, I’m up.” The door opened, and Ben raised his eyebrows at the sight of his youngest son, still lying in bed. “Okay, I’m getting up,” Joe admitted, grinning.
Ben chuckled. A part of him would have been content just to close the door and leave Joe to sleep as late as he wanted. Two years of having this room stand empty had worked a toll on him that he still didn’t fully appreciate. He knew that he was treating Joe with kid gloves; even if he hadn’t seen it himself, Adam’s comments left no room for question. “Pa, he’s not going anywhere,” Adam had said recently. “It’s okay to expect him to do what he can, to pull his weight.” But Ben remained cautious, lest he again step over the line and drive his son away, perhaps for good this time.
He had thought the issue settled. Father and son had talked for hours as Joe convalesced in the hospital and later, in the little house on Hudson Street where they’d lived until Joe was strong enough to travel back to the Ponderosa. Both had admitted fault and asked forgiveness, and both had forgiven. And so Ben was surprised to find that, back in the familiar surroundings, the relationship was not as easy as it had been in San Francisco. The connections that had seemed so solid felt looser here, almost wobbly at times.
Just yesterday, Ben watched through the window as his youngest son repaired a harness. It was a simple task, one Joe had done more times than he could count, and yet the boy seemed to be challenged by it. He started to fit the pieces together, then stopped and undid what he’d done, and started again. More than once, and for no apparent reason, Joe’s hands stilled, and he looked off into the distance as if seeing someone who was no longer there. Then, he shook his head quickly and returned his attention to the job at hand, brow furrowed. Ben drew back from the window, troubled. On Hudson Street, he’d have gone out immediately and sat with his son, and they’d have talked about it. Now, Ben found himself afraid, as if one wrong word would send the boy back to San Francisco, or off to parts unknown.
Ben came out of his reverie to see Joe watching him carefully. The boyish grin had faded as Joe studied his father. Their intense time together in San Francisco, just the two of them, without the distractions of running the ranch, had enhanced and strengthened the bond that had always existed. As he’d matured in these two years, Joe had also grown more perceptive. The result, Ben realized ruefully, was that he could no longer evade the scrutiny of his youngest son.
“What’s the matter, Pa?”
Ben smiled. “Nothing,” he said. “Just…come down to breakfast when you’re ready.” He pulled the door closed behind him before Joe could inquire further.
The others were well into their breakfast when Joe came down the stairs. “Hey, Little Brother!” Hoss’ delight at seeing him every morning never seemed to fade. “What’re you doin’ up so early?” Joe’s dislike of early hours had been well-established since his childhood.
“I heard a rumor that people get up really early around here, so I thought I’d see if it was true,” said Joe, sliding into his seat. He looked around, grinning. “Now that that’s settled, I don’t expect to be doin’ this again. But don’t worry, Older Brother,” he added, waving his coffee cup at Adam. “I promise I’ll be up by lunchtime tomorrow, no matter what.”
“You have no idea how that sets my mind at ease,” Adam said. “Eggs?” He offered the platter.
Joe shook his head. “No, thanks,” he said. “Just coffee’s fine.”
Hoss frowned. The kid was still way too skinny. When they’d found him last fall, there’d been nearly nothing left of him, and there wasn’t much more now. “You gotta eat somethin’,” he said. “Strong wind’s gonna blow you right away.”
“I never eat in the morning,” said Joe, refilling his cup.
The table fell silent. Before he’d left with Robin, Joe had always eaten a normal breakfast, just like the rest of them. Apparently, this habit had changed in San Francisco. Whether it was the result of working nights as a saloon piano player or simply being too hung over in the morning to eat, no one was willing to ask.
Before the silence could become too long and awkward, Ben said, “I’ve got to head into town this morning. What do you boys have on for today?”
“Hoss and I were going to head up to the north pasture to fix the rest of the fences,” said Adam. “We figure it’s about a day, maybe a day and a half, to finish.”
“I could come, too,” Joe said. “Then we’d be sure to finish in a day.” Maybe getting out and working with his brothers would help him to feel more like he was home. Ever since he was a kid, going off to mend fences was a regular part of his routine. Sometimes, he’d worked alone, with nothing in his mind but what he was doing at that moment. More often, he’d worked with Adam or Hoss, and talk flowed as easy as a stream in early summer, the way it could when men didn’t have to look right at each other. Being in the house was too intense. Maybe out there, they could relax a little.
“You sure you’re up for that?” asked Ben uneasily. Doc Martin had said that Joe still needed to take it easy. They hadn’t discussed the details with Joe, but even he knew that strenuous labor, like digging post holes, was beyond him at this point. There were things that he could do to help mend fences that weren’t all that demanding, but still. . . .
“It’s not that hard,” said Joe. He looked from his father to his brothers. Nobody was going to override Pa. They didn’t even look like they wanted to. “I still remember how to fix a fence,” he said, trying to hide his irritation. Maybe they just wanted to be out there on their own, without him. Without the one they’d had to cover for, search for, rescue. The troublemaker. He felt his face growing hot.
“Nobody’s sayin’ you don’t,” said Hoss, ever the peacemaker. “It’s just…well, you think you’re ready? You been pretty sick.”
“You mean pretty drunk, don’t you?” Joe threw down his napkin and shoved back his chair. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I? Take a good look, folks, here he is: the family drunk!” He started to storm out of the room.
“Joseph!”
Ben’s sharp voice stopped him in his tracks. Joe took a deep breath and turned around. To Hoss, he said, “I’m sorry, Brother. I know what you meant.” To Ben and Adam, he added, “I’m sorry. I…I’m sorry.” He turned, grabbed his jacket, and headed outside.
The others sat in silence for a long minute. Finally, Adam said, “Well, I, for one, am so glad our young brother made a point of getting up to join us for breakfast.”
“That’s enough, Adam,” said Ben wearily. Joe had always had a short temper, but these days, it flared without warning, like a sudden summer storm, blowing over just as quickly. “You two do the fences,” he added. “Joe can go into town with me.”
“Pa, he jest wants…” Hoss began.
“I know what he wants,” said Ben. Joe wanted things to be back to normal. So did his family. “But he’s not doing anything until Doc Martin says it’s okay, and I doubt the doctor will approve your brother to be out mending fences right now.” He drained his coffee cup. “I’ll see you two tonight.”
Ben found Joe in the barn, untangling the harness that had fallen from its hook. He watched a moment as Joe worked the leather straps. “Your brother didn’t mean anything,” he said finally. “And neither did I. We’re just concerned about you.”
“I know.” Joe didn’t look up from the harness.
“I’d like you to go into town with me today,” said Ben. “You haven’t seen Doc Martin in nearly two weeks.”
This time, Joe looked up. “I’m doin’ fine,” he said with the slightest touch of belligerence. “I am,” he added, catching his father’s expression.
“Then it won’t hurt to have Doc Martin take a look at you,” said Ben. “And if he says you’re up to heavier work, then fine. You can do whatever he says.” And if, as Ben expected, the doctor said he couldn’t do anything heavier—well, at least Joe wouldn’t blame his father.
Two hours later, Joe sat in Doc Martin’s office, buttoning his shirt. “Well?” he demanded. “How am I?”
“You’re coming along,” said Doc Martin. He scribbled on the paper where he’d recorded Joe’s recent visits. “Are you eating better?”
“I’m eating fine,” said Joe.
“If I asked your father, what would he say?”
Joe snorted. “Pa doesn’t think Hoss eats enough.”
The doctor smiled. “You’re probably right, but Hoss isn’t my patient right now,” he said. “And if you don’t eat, you’re not going to get stronger.” He made another note. “I’d like to see you in a week.”
“A week? It was two last time!”
Doc Martin consulted his notes. “So it was,” he agreed. “Let’s do one week this time anyway. A lot more rest, no work. Three full meals a day. No alcohol.”
“No work? Not even what I’ve been doing?”
“You’re doing too much,” said the doctor. “Let’s try a complete break for a week and see what happens.”
“But you said I was getting better!”
“I said you were coming along,” said the doctor. “But you’re not well yet. Joe, I’m not sure you understand just how seriously ill you were. Your doctor in San Francisco had pretty much given you up for dead when the hospital admitted you. From what I’ve read in his notes, that was a pretty reasonable view. As far as I can tell, if Adam and Hoss hadn’t found you when they did, it would probably have been too late—and I mean, if they’d come by a day or two later. You did quite a job on yourself, and you did it for an entire year. The fact that you’re alive at all is nothing short of a miracle. You need to give yourself a decent rest in order to recover. The human body isn’t built to endure what you did to it.”
“So, this is all my fault,” said Joe, tucking in his shirttail. Was there anyone who wasn’t blaming him?
“Not all,” said the doctor. “Different people handle loss differently. Yours hit you harder than some, I don’t know why. You’re the one who poured the whiskey down your throat, and for that, yes, you’re responsible. But how your body handled it—everybody’s different. Some men could have drunk as much as you did or more and survived, and others wouldn’t have lasted a month at that rate. There’s only so much a man can do about that. So yes, it’s partly your fault, but only partly, so stop feeling so guilty about it.”
Joe was startled. “I don’t…” The doctor raised an eyebrow, and Joe broke off. “How did you know?” he asked finally.
“I brought you into this world,” said Doc Martin. “I think I know you pretty well by now. You’ve always been one to blame yourself, whether you should or not.”
Joe said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he admitted, “I need to get back to work. Even if it’s just fixing fences, and stuff like that. I need to be out there working with Adam and Hoss.” I need to pull my weight, he wanted to say. I need to make up for what I did to my family. I need to know if I can still be here. I need to know if the Ponderosa is still my home.
“What you need is to be resting and taking care of yourself,” said the doctor. The young man looked unconvinced. He was going to need the whole truth. “Joe, I’m hearing something in your chest that I don’t like. I’m hoping it’s nothing and that it’ll clear on its own. That’s why you need to take it easy and take better care of yourself.”
“In my chest?”
“Your heart,” admitted Doc Martin. “The rhythm’s not right. I don’t know if it’ll correct itself or not, but I’m hoping. You can help by not exerting yourself.”
“And it’s just happening now?” This didn’t make sense.
“It’s been there since you came home,” said the doctor. “Probably a long time before then, if the truth be known. I didn’t mention it before, because as long as you were still in bed, there was a chance it would clear without my having to worry you. I’m telling you now because I have a feeling that, if I don’t, you’ll be out at the corral with the broncs.”
Joe thought for a moment. “Does Pa know?” Doc nodded. “But you didn’t tell me. . .?”
“Maybe we were wrong not to,” admitted the doctor. “It was a judgment call, based on your condition at the time.”
“Whose idea was it not to tell me?”
The doctor hesitated. “It doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “Your father and I agreed.”
“It was his idea.” It wasn’t a question.
“As a physician, I agreed with him,” said the doctor firmly.
Joe shook his head. In the end, there it was—Pa and the doctor, two old friends, against the kid. The doctor was right. It didn’t matter. He knew what was really wrong with his heart. He’d heard of people dying of a broken heart. He’d just never believed before that it was possible.
He returned to the primary issue. “You said ‘rest’. But I don’t have to stay in bed or anything like that?”
“Bed rest would be ideal, but I know you,” said the doctor, relieved at the change of focus. “So I’ll settle for telling you to rest for now, and we’ll see how that goes. If it doesn’t improve, though, bed rest will be the next step.”
The jangle of the bell on the door heralded Ben’s arrival. As he entered the doctor’s office, he saw his son and the doctor coming out of the examining room. Both looked somber. “Is everything all right?”
Doc and Joe exchanged glances, and Joe nodded. As the doctor explained his concerns and instructions, Joe looked at the floor, out the window, and everywhere except at his father. As if he hadn’t put his family through enough already, he reflected. He was back, but he might just as well not be, for all the use he was. A thought occurred to him. “I’m gonna be okay, aren’t I?” he asked.
“That’s what we’re aiming for,” said the doctor.
Aiming for. If there was one thing Joe Cartwright knew, it was that you didn’t always hit what you were aiming for.
***********
March was coming in like a lion this year. By the time Joe and Ben had reached the house, the winds had picked up, and a mix of snow and rain was beginning to swirl around them. Hoss and Adam appeared hours later, drenched and shivering. Privately, Ben congratulated himself on having forbidden his youngest son to go with them. No point in asking for trouble.
After dinner, the family gathered around the fire. As Ben watched Joe and Hoss playing checkers and Adam tuning his guitar, his heart was full. Adam caught Ben’s eye and nodded slightly, a small, private smile playing on his lips. He knew what it meant to his father to have them all home again. He hadn’t realized just what a hole Joe’s absence had left until the kid returned. Finding him had required long hours, lots of travel, a fair bit of money, and a wagonload of luck—or grace, as his father called it. Other things—even important things—had gone unattended to, while Hoss and Adam searched for their brother like a pair of detectives in one of Joe’s dime novels. But now, they were together again, and life could return to normal.
Adam plucked the strings of his guitar and launched into one of his favorite songs, “Early One Morning.” Halfway through the first verse, he realized that Joe was stifling a giggle. Perturbed, he stopped. “May I ask what is so funny?” he inquired archly.
As soon as Adam stopped singing, Joe stopped stifling, and he roared with laughter. It was the first time since they’d found him in San Francisco that anyone had heard him laugh. “Sorry, Older Brother,” Joe said finally, wiping his eyes. “It’s just—no, don’t worry, just keep singing.” He tried to choke back the laughter, but it burst forth like a river that would not be dammed up.
“What in tarnation is so funny?” Hoss was so tickled to hear his little brother’s laughter that he was joining in without even knowing the joke.
Joe laughed so hard that he started coughing. He reached past Hoss for the teacup sitting on the coffee table. The habit he’d developed on Hudson Street of a nightly cup of tea had stuck. He sipped the tea to relieve the coughing and sat back, still chuckling.
“Okay, it’s nothin’ personal, Adam,” Joe began.
“Nothing personal that you’re laughing at my singing?”
“It’s not you,” Joe said. “It’s the song. Robin really hated that song.”
“And that’s funny?” Ben didn’t understand the joke.
“Not that, but—you know how things go. It’s a saloon song, and sooner or later, somebody’d always ask her to sing it. Well, every now and again, if she hadn’t had to sing it in a while, I’d get somebody to ask for it, just to liven things up. We always had fun watching her try to hide how much she just didn’t want to sing it. Ruthie or Eileen’d tell some sailor that they just loved that song, and—well, you know how sailors are. They’ll do pretty much anything if they think it’ll get them upstairs for an hour. Not you, Pa,” he added hastily. If his father’s youthful seafaring days had ever included behavior like that of the sailors who’d docked in their port, he preferred not to know about it. “But the ones in San Francisco. So, the girls’d say they wanted to hear the song, and the sailors would ask for it, and Robin would have to sing it.
“Well, eventually, she figured out what was going on. So, when they’d ask for it, she’d say that she didn’t know the words. But one time, there was this cardsharp who asked for the song. It wasn’t a setup—the guy really wanted to hear it—but Robin thought it was my doing and she wasn’t gonna sing it. So, she just says she doesn’t know the words and does he want to hear something else. The guy gets up, strolls over to the piano, and stuffs a fifty-dollar bill in our glass and says, ‘Are you sure you can’t remember the words?’ Fifty dollars—that was a whole month’s worth of tips, right there. And Robin looks up at him, all five-foot-nothin’ of her, and he had to be as tall as Hoss, and she gives him that smile she had that could just light up a room, and she says, ‘For that, I can remember both verses.’”
“‘Both’? That song has four or five verses,” said Adam.
“Actually, I’ve heard as many as seven,” said Joe. “And for fifty dollars, I’d have played all seven verses, and I’d have done it with a smile. But this guy got two verses for fifty bucks, and Robin gave such a performance that he was happy about it!” He sipped his tea, chuckling. “I always wondered if the guy might have thought his money was buying him something else, but as soon as the song was over, we went on break, and I made damned sure he knew that Robin was my wife.” His eyes clouded for a moment, then cleared. “And she got that fifty out of the glass real fast and slipped it to me for safekeeping. We ended up splitting it with Ruthie, because she kept the guy distracted for a while after that, just to make sure he didn’t change his mind.” He sat back, smiling. “Those were good times,” he said reflectively. “Didn’t have two nickels to rub together some days, but damn, we had fun.” He drained his teacup. “Hey, Hoss, it’s your move.”
“What? Oh, okay.” Hoss turned his attention to the checkerboard. Joe chuckled softly, remembering. He didn’t notice the troubled expression in Ben’s eyes or the look Adam shot his father.
***********
Joe’s hands flew over the keyboard. He’d never played so well. The notes sparkled, clear and pure, precise and elegant. His left hand maintained a rich, full bass as his right fashioned a delicate filigree that rang like crystal. The beautiful woman stood in the curve of the grand piano. Her dark hair shone in the stage lights of the concert hall. Her blue silk dress molded her impeccable figure. He nodded, and she opened her mouth to sing.
Just as she began to sing, shots came from the audience. “Get down!” he yelled. He couldn’t move from the piano bench. She continued to stand by the piano. She kept singing, and he kept playing. “Get down!” he yelled again. Bullets struck her. Bright red blood poured down her sapphire dress. Still, she kept singing and he kept playing. “You have to stop!” he shouted over the gunshots, her singing, and his inexplicable piano playing. Bullets continued to fly. He saw one, curiously slow, making its way toward her. It hit her forehead, and blood gushed forth. Finally, she closed her eyes and her mouth.
“Robin!” he screamed, lunging for her as she fell.
“Joe! Joseph! Wake up, son. It’s just a dream.”
Joe opened his eyes. His father sat on the bed beside him, shaking his shoulder. Why was his father in their room? Where was Robin? “Where is she? Is she all right?” He floundered to a sitting position, trying to catch his breath, oblivious to the tears running down his cheeks.
“It was a dream, son,” Ben said gently, holding him steady. Joe had had these nightmares regularly on Hudson Street, but this was the first time since he’d come home.
The door opened, and Adam and Hoss came in. “You okay, Little Brother?” asked Hoss.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” said Joe. He knew where he was now. More important, he knew who lived here—and who didn’t. He drew a deep breath to brace himself against the inevitable wave of grief that washed over him every time he woke from a dream to find her gone. He ran his hand through his hair to buy a moment. With only a slight quaver in his voice, he said, “Sorry to wake everybody.” He wiped the wetness from his face with a corner of the sheet.
“You want something to drink?” asked Adam.
“Oh, God, yes,” said Joe. At this moment, he’d gladly trade his hard-won health and sobriety for the oblivion that comes in a bottle.
Ben’s head snapped around to glare at his eldest son. Adam bit his lower lip. “I meant water or tea, or something like that,” he clarified.
“Oh,” said Joe, caught. A man’s habits don’t change overnight. “Tea sounds good,” he lied. He moved to get out of bed.
“Stay there, I’ll bring it up,” said Adam.
Joe opened his mouth as if to argue. After a moment, he said, “Thanks, Brother.”
After Adam and Hoss had gone downstairs, Ben asked quietly, “Which one was it?”
“The concert hall,” said Joe. There were four different settings for the dream—a concert hall, a saloon, someone’s living room, and a meadow—but the events were always the same. No matter what he said in the dream, Robin kept singing until the last bullet struck.
“I told her to stay down,” Joe said, as if he hadn’t told his father the story dozens of times already. “But when she saw I was hit, she came to me. If she’d stayed where she was, she’d have been safe.”
“I know,” said Ben. He still remembered how Inger had handed baby Hoss to Adam and grabbed a rifle. If she had stayed in the corner with the boys, the way he’d said to, she wouldn’t have been killed by the arrow.
“You’re the only one who does,” Joe said. “If only she’d listened . . . .” Tears welled up again, and Ben handed him a handkerchief.
They sat in silence until Adam and Hoss returned with the tea. “Thanks,” said Joe, accepting the cup. He leaned back against the pillows his father had propped up and sipped. “Is this one of Hop Sing’s herb teas?” he asked.
“Yep,” said Hoss. “I think it’s the one that’s supposed to help you sleep.”
“You think?” Joe raised his eyebrows.
“Well, if we’re wrong, I guess we’ll know soon enough,” said Adam.
“I guess we will,” Joe said, forcing a smile. Nothing was going to make him feel better, but he loved them for trying.
***********
The next morning, Joe awoke to overcast skies. It was impossible to tell the time. He’d fallen asleep after drinking the tea, with his father still by his side. This time, his sleep had been deep and blessedly dreamless.
He listened and heard nothing. No footsteps, no voices. He threw back the covers and fumbled for his dressing gown. It couldn’t be too early for everyone to be up; even with the cloud cover, there was too much light. He opened the door and listened. Still nothing. He padded down the hall to the top of the stairs.
Ben was seated at his desk, surrounded by papers. He seemed utterly content as he made notes on a document. Neither Adam nor Hoss was anywhere to be seen.
“Pa?”
Ben looked up, smiling broadly. “Morning, son,” he said.
“What time is it?”
“Almost ten.” Ben laid down his pen and rose. “Did you sleep well?”
“Almost ten?” Joe was incredulous. “Why did you let me sleep so late?”
“Obviously, you needed to,” said his father matter-of-factly.
“But Pa…” Joe didn’t even know what to say. This was beyond strange. Granted, Doc Martin had said that he needed to rest, but sleeping until ten o’clock was just unheard-of on a working ranch. The only times he’d ever slept that late were when he was truly sick.
“Why don’t you go on back to bed? I’ll have Hop Sing bring up a tray for you.”
“Because I’m not sick!” What was going on? He’d heard everything the doctor had told his father. There couldn’t possibly be any more secrets. “Pa, Doc just said I need to rest. He didn’t say I had to stay in bed.”
“But you’ll rest better in bed,” said Ben. His casual manner belied his own anxiety. If rest was good, bed rest was better. “Besides, Doc said you’re not to be working, so there’s no reason for you to be up.”
“That doesn’t even make sense! Pa, I’m fine. He just doesn’t want me to do anything strenuous. So, I’m not busting broncs or digging post holes or herding cattle. It doesn’t mean I have to spend the next week in bed!”
“Joseph, you need to rest, and I think you should do it in bed.” Ben’s pleasant tone was slipping. He didn’t want to upset the boy—that couldn’t be good for his heart—but he wasn’t going to brook any interference, either.
“But there’s no need! I’m going to get dressed, and I’m going to come downstairs, just like a normal, healthy person.” This was ridiculous. What was his father trying to do? He was a grown man, and he could decide for himself whether he needed to be in bed.
“But you’re not a healthy person! There’s something wrong with your heart, and I’m not taking any chances with that!”
“Neither am I!” shouted Joe.
The front door opened, and Adam walked in. At the sight of Joe in his dressing gown, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” said Joe emphatically.
“No,” said Ben at the same time.
Adam looked from one to the other. “Okay,” he said slowly.
“I’m fine,” said Joe, glaring at his father.
“He’s going back to bed,” said Ben, ignoring his son’s anger.
“There’s no reason for me to be in bed,” said Joe. “What?” he demanded as Adam shook his head, grinning.
“I seem to remember this conversation from somewhere,” Adam said. “I think you might have been seven at the time.”
“Adam!” snapped Ben.
“Pa, he’s a grown man,” said Adam. “If he needs to be in bed, he’ll go to bed.”
“Thank you, Older Brother,” said Joe. He turned on his heel and headed back to his room to dress.
“And if that’s settled, I could use a hand in the barn when you’re ready,” Adam called after him.
“He’s not to be working,” said Ben.
“It’s nothing physical,” said Adam. “I’m just rearranging some things, and I could use an opinion.” Once he was sure Joe was out of earshot, he said quietly, “You’ve got to give him some breathing space, Pa.”
“He doesn’t need breathing space,” said Ben. “He needs a heart that works properly. Doc seems to think that resting will help, so I’m going to see that he rests if I have to sit on him.”
“He can have both,” said Adam. “Look, Pa, I’m no expert on any of this, but you know as well as I do that something’s just not right—and it’s not his heart,” he added as Ben opened his mouth to interrupt. “I know you’ve noticed it. Last night, when he was talking about Robin and that song—that’s the first time since he’s been back that he’s shown any enthusiasm about anything. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it had nothing to do with us or the Ponderosa. Now, I don’t know the answer, but I just don’t think that leaving him upstairs in bed, by himself all day, is it. Even if he just sits out in the barn with me and never lifts a finger, it’s got to be better for him than lying in bed, doing nothing except thinking about Robin.”
Ben considered this for a long moment. Finally, he met his eldest son’s eyes. “I can’t lose him again,” he whispered. “I just can’t take that chance.”
“Don’t worry, Pa,” said Adam softly. “I’ll take good care of him.” He stepped back as Joe bounded down the stairs.
“See you later, Pa,” said Joe cheerfully, grabbing his jacket.
Ben nodded, not trusting his voice.
************
“So, this is what I was thinking,” said Adam with uncharacteristic cheer. “If we move the tack over here, and store the tools over there…”
“Adam?” Joe interrupted.
“What?”
“Exactly how stupid do you think I am?”
Adam started to make an excuse to keep up the façade, but he stopped himself before the first word. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said.
“But you think Pa is?”
Adam shook his head. He pulled up a stool and sat facing his brother, who was seated on the feed box. “I thought you might want a break from being under his thumb, that’s all,” he said. “I didn’t put it to Pa quite that way, but close.”
For a long moment, Joe looked down at his boots. When he met Adam’s gaze, the younger man’s eyes were dark with misery. Adam moved closer to his brother. “Talk to me,” he said softly.
Joe opened his mouth, but no sound issued. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened. “I don’t know what to do,” he said at last.
“About what?”
“About anything,” confessed Joe. “It’s like all the answers are locked up in a box, but nobody knows where the key is.” He met Adam’s gaze, and Adam saw the flames of a distant agony lingering in his brother’s eyes. “I didn’t mean for things to turn out like this. Nobody sets out to become a drunk. But after Robin died, it just hurt too much. Such a damned coward. Pa could handle losing three wives, but I couldn’t handle losing one. Whiskey numbed me enough that I could survive.” He closed his eyes again. “I almost didn’t play anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Playing made me feel,” Joe said. “At first, it was so hard, and that’s when I really started drinking. Then, playing became the only thing I could do. It was a way to keep Robin with me, especially when I played our songs. When I’d stop, I’d lose her all over again, and I had to be drunk to survive losing her every night. I couldn’t stop playing until I was so far gone I could hardly stand up. Otherwise, I’d feel it.”
“Have you played since you got out of the hospital?” asked Adam.
“I tried, once,” said Joe. “Just before you and Hoss came for Christmas. Pa went with me to the Singing Dove. I had to see the place one more time. It was so different, though. Maybe it was because I wasn’t used to seeing it in the daytime, or sober. The only times I was there in the daytime were when Robin was rehearsing. I tried to play that day, but it was like I’d never touched a piano before. There was nothing—no life, no imagination, nothing. Pa didn’t know the difference—at least, if he did, he didn’t say anything. But I knew.”
“So you came home,” said Adam.
Joe had the grace to look ashamed. “It wasn’t just that,” he said. “I really did want to be back here with you all. I thought I could have my old life back. I thought I could be the old Joe. I even thought I could live without the piano, whiskey, Robin. But it’s like my old self isn’t here anymore. I don’t know where he is.” He met Adam’s eyes again. The flame intensified. “And I can’t even go looking for him because of what I’ve done to myself. Drinking too much messes up your heart. Did you know that? Talk about shooting myself in the foot. Do you know Pa wouldn’t even let me ride Cochise into town yesterday? We had to take the buckboard—too much exertion to ride. I haven’t been in a saddle since the day I got married.” Tears welled up in the hazel eyes. Adam reached out and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. As the sobs began to shake the slender frame, Adam moved from the stool to sit beside Joe on the feed box, his arms around his brother. It had been a long time since Joe had turned to him for comfort.
“You’ve only been back for a few weeks,” Adam murmured. “Give yourself some time. Everything’ll work out somehow.” He held his brother close, praying that he was right.
***********
The week passed with glacial slowness. When he’d come in from the barn, Joe had returned to his bed as if exhausted. Ben felt slightly triumphant; clearly, he’d been right. The boy needed more rest than he thought. Granted, in the past, they’d practically had to force Joe to stay when he was ill. Only on the most superficial level did the notion that he might voluntarily agree to bed rest make any sort of sense. Still, Ben accepted it, pushing out of his mind the tiny suspicion that something else might be brewing.
Joe lay in bed, awake and silent. When someone came to his room, he would rouse himself to speak, but when he was alone, he neither read nor slept. Instead, his mind journeyed back to the brief, sweet days of his marriage.
***********
“I have an idea,” Robin whispered, kissing Joe’s earlobe.
“You’re gonna have to give me a few more minutes,” grinned Joe as his breathing returned to normal. One of the advantages to working nights was having long, lazy mornings in which to make love. The wind and the early spring rain swirled outside their windows. The dingy little room felt positively cozy.
“I didn’t mean that,” she giggled, snuggling against him. “I was thinking of something else.”
“Whatever it is, we can’t afford it, so I guess we’ll just have to stay right here,” Joe murmured. Robin once joked that lovemaking was the only form of entertainment their meager budget would allow.
“I think we probably can afford it, if we start planning now.” She twisted his curls around her fingers. “I always wanted curly hair,” she said wistfully. “Mine always went straight as string, no matter what I did to it.”
“Preacher said when we got married that the two of us became one,” Joe reminded her. “So, Mrs. DeMarigny, that means this is your hair, too.” He kissed her sleepily. “Just as long as you don’t want to dye it or something.”
“Drat,” she said. “And I was so looking forward to having bright red curls.”
“That was your idea?” Joe raised an eyebrow.
“No, darling, I had a different idea,” she said. “You have a birthday coming up at the end of October.” She paused. “And you’ll be twenty-one.”
“Looking forward to the day you won’t be a cradle robber any more?” he teased.
“You know, ‘Little Joe’…” she began with mock severity.
“Okay, okay,” he said hastily. “You’re not a cradle robber. Much—ow!” He rubbed his arm where she’d pinched him. “So, why is my birthday so interesting to you?”
“Because you’ll be a legal adult,” Robin said.
“Since when do you care about that?” Joe asked.
“Since I was thinking that maybe we could go away for Christmas.”
“Go away? To where?”
Robin took a deep breath. “The Ponderosa.”
“What?” Joe sat up. “What are you talking about?”
Robin sat up beside him. “You haven’t seen your family since we got married last fall,” she said. “It’s already April. By Christmas, it’ll be more than a year. But in another six months, you’ll be twenty-one. Even if they still don’t approve of our marriage, there won’t be anything they can do about it. Your father can’t have our marriage annulled once you’re of age. The worst thing they can do then is to still hate me—and then, at least we’ll know we tried.”
“I won’t take you anywhere that someone might hate you,” said Joe, his gaze hardening.
“I know,” she said softly. “But I’m betting that when they see you, they’ll be so happy that you’re there that they won’t care so much about me. Besides, I’ll bet Hoss would even like me.”
“Lovely lady, anybody who got to know you would adore you,” Joe said, holding her close. She never ceased to amaze him. Nobody but Robin would do this. He knew without asking that she’d been thinking this plan through for a long time. She probably knew exactly how much they would need to save each week in order to afford stage fare, and she likely had ideas about what Christmas presents they would take. And all this to spend Christmas with people who had rejected her without even meeting her, just because she knew that he missed his family. If they couldn’t see how wonderful she was after this, he would shake the dust of the Ponderosa off his boots and never look back.
Robin kissed his shoulder. “We don’t have to decide today,” she said. “It’s just something to think about.”
Joe stroked her silken hair. “You are the most incredible woman I have ever known,” he whispered. He drew his wife into his arms and kissed her deeply, hungrily. “I love you so much, my darling.” He lay her down beside him. There, in their tiny rented room, the young couple held each other so tightly that the two were very nearly one.
************
A month later, they went for that buggy ride in the countryside. It was the only time he’d ever driven a horse with her. He still remembered how absurdly proud he felt when she praised him for his skill. The warmth of the sun, the faint smell of the salt air mingling with the stronger scent of the grasses and the horse, the breeze that played with her silken hair, the nearness of the woman he loved—all of it was so intoxicating that when he saw a secluded little copse of trees, he drove right off the road, secured the horse, and swept her out of the buggy. A month after that, Robin told him that he was going to be a father.
***********
“Are you sure?” For a minute, the world stood utterly still.
She nodded, uncharacteristically shy. She looked up at him through her long lashes. “I’m sure,” she admitted.
He waited to feel something, anything. It was as if there had been an explosion, and everything inside him had been blown clean out of there. His body was nothing more than an eggshell filled with air. She’s pregnant, he told himself. You’re going to be a father. His mind was blank. He felt nothing.
A moment later, in a giant swoosh almost every emotion he had ever felt swirled up in him, violently, like a tornado. He stood stockstill, barely breathing. All he could see was Robin. Everything around her had dissolved like sugar in coffee. Nothing else existed. He felt himself swaying.
“Honey? Are you all right?”
She reached out to touch his cheek. Before her hand reached him, he was holding it, kissing it. Tears spilled down his face. The feeling was so new, so different from anything he’d ever known, that he couldn’t put a name to it. It had so many pieces: excitement, panic, thrills, contentment, worry, anticipation. Amazement. Protectiveness. Jubilation. Thankfulness. Joy. Peace. A deep sense of rightness. And over all the parts, and seeping into the spaces between them, an overwhelming love for this woman and the child they had created. He pulled her into his arms and held her as tightly as he could. His cheek rested on the top of her head, and his tears fell into her dark hair.
************
“Joseph?”
Joe returned to the present to see his father standing before him with a tray. He smiled weakly. He didn’t trust his voice.
“Are you all right, son?” As pleased as Ben had been about his son agreeing to rest in bed, even he had to admit now that something was not right. The young man who had been fighting him just a few days earlier to go out and do something, anything, had vanished. In his place was the one who, when he’d opened the door, was simply lying in bed, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. The book on the night table was unopened. The newspaper on the bed was undisturbed. The lamp had not been lit against the gray day. There had been no sound when Ben opened the door.
“I’m fine,” Joe said, sitting up in bed. He accepted the tray, murmuring his thanks and hoping that his father would leave. He wanted to go back to his memories. Ben’s presence felt like an intrusion.
**********
Even in September, San Francisco mornings were damp and chilly. Joe walked along the pier, considering the options. There was simply no way that he would be able to support their family on his income. They were barely able to make ends meet now, with Robin singing. Judith had helped her fix her work clothes, but any day now, Phil was going to figure out that his lovely young singer was not merely putting on weight, and that would be that. He felt reasonably sure that he’d still be able to play at the Dove as a solo, just as Dusty had, but he was equally sure that the tips wouldn’t be nearly as good. The men who came into the saloon liked to look at a beautiful woman, and Robin definitely gave them their money’s worth in that department. Add to that her exquisite voice, her vibrant personality, her sharp sense of humor, and her unmistakable joy in music, and you had a singer who had them eating out of her hand. There was no way that he could generate alone nearly as much as they made as a team.
He turned down a side street, barely paying attention. He couldn’t go back to playing poker—the results were too erratic. He was going to be a father. He needed a steady income. The Dove was at least steady. He needed something he could do in addition. Or maybe it was time to think about moving out of the city. He could get work on a ranch. No, that would mean giving up the Dove. In his heart, he knew that he didn’t want to do that. Not unless he absolutely had to.
He’d never expected to be a musician. All his life, he’d been told that Adam was the one with the musical talent. Joe could carry a tune, but that was about it. He’d grown up listening to Adam and his guitar, but he’d never had any particular interest in trying it himself. He wondered now if Adam would have taught him if he’d asked. Probably. Adam was always trying to teach Hoss and Joe things he thought they should know, regardless of whether they wanted to learn. When Joe was sick in bed as a kid, Adam read him “Paradise Lost” instead of the dime novels he wanted to hear. The ending had been Adam’s mother’s favorite part, and his eldest brother had read him that section several times when Joe was fourteen and laid up during a particularly nasty chest cold. Joe could still remember those last few lines, after Adam and Eve had been thrown out of the Garden of Eden. Now, they reminded him of when he and Robin had left Virginia City to make their way in the world.
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful faces throng’d and fiery arms.
Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon:
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.
Remembering, he found himself on an unfamiliar street. A small stone church graced the block. Its arched doors needed to be painted, a common problem in a city on the water. The garden around its foundations had been well-tended, and some flowers still bloomed. On one side of the door was a sign bearing the words, “St. Catherine’s Episcopal Church.” On the other side of the door was another sign: “The seats in this church are free. All are welcome.”
Joe hadn’t set foot in a church since his wedding, but he found himself following the flagstone path to the door. Somewhat surprisingly, the door was unlocked. He entered tentatively. A soft hush enveloped him. A coat rack stood by a table barely large enough to hold a guest book. A canister for umbrellas sat beneath the table. He opened a heavy oak door. There before him was a small, but perfectly appointed, sanctuary. The smell of furniture polish, oil lamps and incense was heady. Colored light filtered through the stained glass windows. The pews gleamed. At the front were two pulpits, one on either side. A large Bible lay open on one of the pulpits. Between them, a dark table stood on a platform. On the wall at the front was a round window with an intricate pattern of colors and gentle curves, like looking down into a multi-hued rose. Beneath the window was a mahogany cross. It almost looked as if the cross were holding up the window, the stem to a glorious flower.
Up on the platform, behind the left-hand pulpit, stood a grand piano. He had seen a grand piano once before, when he and Adam were in Sacramento, and Adam dragged him to some concert. The piano he played every night at the Singing Dove was an upright, scarred and battered, veteran of many a bar brawl. This instrument was rich and sophisticated. Its ebony case shone in the soft light. Where his piano yowled and twanged, this one would whisper in velvet tones.
Without thinking, he approached the piano and lifted the cover to expose the keys. No yellowed ivory and chipped edges here. These keys were pristine, pure black and purer white. He brushed them with his fingers. Their surfaces were as smooth as glass. Not a crack, not a rough spot. The bench was black, with a needlepoint cushion, a far cry from the wooden chair he used every night. He glanced around the sanctuary. No one was here. No one would know. He sat down at the piano.
Later, he had no idea how long he’d played. The instrument was as responsive as the best horse he’d ever ridden. The action was delicate enough for trills, and yet the bass rang like great bells. He played songs that Robin sang, and when he ran out of those, he played Robin herself. He played his unborn child. He played the Ponderosa, his family, and anything else that swept through him. He was alive, exposed. Tears spilled down his cheeks, unnoticed.
At last, he stopped. He flexed his fingers. He felt as if he had been running for a long, long time, and that finally, he had come to a place where he might rest.
The sound of a handclap startled him. The metallic taste of adrenalin rushed to his mouth as the clapping continued. Instinctively, he reached for his gun with one hand as he wiped away the tears with the other. “Who’s there?” he demanded, as if he had the right to do so.
“I am,” said a calm voice.
Joe stood to see a priest sitting in the front pew. For a moment, he couldn’t move. At first glance, the man could have been his father’s twin. The priest took his cane in hand and pushed himself to his feet. The gentle smile was unnerving. It suggested wisdom and kindness. It was the smile of one who knew and understood and did not judge.
It was the smile he’d seen countless times on his own father.
“I’m sorry,” said Joe, closing the cover. “I didn’t mean to…the door was open.”
“Quite all right,” said the priest. He approached the platform. Quickly, Joe crossed the platform and bounded down the steps to save the priest the trouble of ascending them.
“Well, I’ll be going,” Joe said. “Thank you. That’s a magnificent instrument. I—thank you.” He retrieved his hat from where he’d dropped it on the first pew.
“It’s I who should be thanking you,” said the priest, laying a hand on Joe’s arm. “You play beautifully. I quite enjoyed listening.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Joe. “I haven’t actually been playing that long.”
“But you are a musician.” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know about that,” Joe said. “I play at the Singing Dove. My wife’s a singer. I just started playing because her accompanist moved back east.”
“It doesn’t matter why you started playing,” said the priest. “It only matters that you did. I’m a violinist as well as a priest, and I’m telling you this: you are a musician. It doesn’t matter what you do to earn a living.”
Joe sighed. “Funny you should say that,” he said. “It looks like I might have to stop playing at the Dove and go find other work anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“My wife’s expecting,” he said. “She’s not going to be able to sing much longer. I’ve gotta find something else.”
The priest considered this. “Son, do you believe in Providence?”
“You mean God?” The priest nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” The truth was that he hadn’t given God a whole lot of thought, especially over the past several months. “Why?”
“Because earlier this week, our pianist informed me that he will be resigning from his post here at St. Catherine’s,” said the priest. “On the basis of what I’ve heard this morning, I’m prepared to recommend to the deacons that they hire you as his replacement. Would this be something you might consider?”
Warmth swelled through Joe’s chest. They could stay here. He could play. And even if they didn’t get back to the Ponderosa for Christmas, he knew in that moment that somehow, it would all work out. “Yes, Father,” he said over the lump in his throat. “That is definitely something I would consider.”
Joe never saw the priest again. When they arrived at the Dove the next night, Robin told Judith about Joe’s new job. Two hours later, Joe was wounded and Robin was dead. Judith sent a note to St. Catherine’s to let the priest know what had happened. She was surprised not to receive a response. Later, she learned that the priest had been knifed while intervening in an assault on a young woman down on the pier. He lingered only a few days before succumbing to his injuries. When she finally told Joe, he sat silently for a minute. Then, he threw back another shot and turned to the piano.
***********
Doc Martin closed the door to Joe’s room. He gestured for Ben to follow him down the hall, out of earshot. Ben’s eyes grew wide, and his jaw clenched. Instinctively, he braced for a fight—not with the doctor, but with whatever the doctor was about to tell him.
“Is he worse?” he blurted out as they reached the top of the stairs. Bad enough he hadn’t been allowed in the room while the doctor examined his son.
Paul Martin considered the question as they descended to the living room. “If you’re referring to Joe’s heart, no,” he said. “He’s clearly been resting, and that’s helped. The rhythm is more regular than it was. The heart isn’t normal, but it’s better.”
“Then what?” What else could there be? Dear God, hadn’t the boy been through enough?
“How long has he been in bed?” asked the doctor.
Ben thought for a moment. “Six days,” he said.
“Why is he in bed?”
“Because that was what you recommended,” said Ben.
The doctor shook his head. “Joe and I had that conversation,” he said. “I told him that bed rest was ideal, but not essential at this point.”
“And I told him I thought he should do what was ideal,” said Ben. “I don’t understand the problem.”
“The problem is that never, at any time in his entire life, has your son voluntarily stayed in bed for health reasons,” said Doc Martin. “Usually, we practically have to sit on him to keep him down.”
“I know,” said Ben. “But he’s a grown man now. Clearly, he’s more reasonable about these things than he used to be. Perhaps this whole incident scared some sense into him.”
“I don’t think he suddenly became prudent since last week,” said the doctor. “I think there’s something else going on.”
A cold hand of fear clutched Ben’s heart. “What?”
“I think it’s his mind,” said the doctor.
“You think my son is losing his mind?”
The doctor shook his head. “Not the way you mean,” he said. “I don’t think he’s irrational or imagining things that aren’t there. But there are other ways that the mind malfunctions, ways we’re only just starting to know about. What I’m seeing here—uncharacteristic behavior, withdrawing from people, not doing even the things that he’s allowed to do or likes to do—when that comes hard on the heels of loss and sickness, its cause for concern. It’s as if the mind starts to shut itself down, to guard against things that will make the person feel pain, almost like there’s a wall being built between the person and the rest of the world. It’s like a reduction in feeling, where everything is numbed. Even when I was in there with him, talking to him, I had the sense he wasn’t listening to me, that he didn’t really care what I said. Last week, he was asking questions, wanting to know what he could do, arguing with me. Today, he just accepted what I said without so much as a shrug. I had the feeling that if I told him he had to stay in bed for the next month, he wouldn’t have blinked.”
Ben sank slowly into the blue chair. Paul was right. Talking to Joe these days was like reaching for a candle through a windowpane. How had he let his son get so far away? Because I wanted to keep him safe, Ben realized. And I let him retreat into his shell like a tortoise. A tortoise might be safe in his shell, but it also wasn’t going anywhere or doing anything. It was existing, not living.
“I should have known,” Ben said, half to himself. Of all people in the world, he should have known. He’d lived through the same loss, more than once. But… “Why now? She’s been dead for a year and a half.”
“And he spent the first year drunk,” said Paul gently. “Only after you took the liquor away could he truly feel—which was probably the point of the liquor. Since then, he’s had all he could do to get to the point where he could function physically. So, this is really the first chance he’s had to deal with the loss.”
“But we talked about it in San Francisco,” said Ben. “That’s what I don’t understand. He seemed to be doing so well there. We could talk about anything. It’s only the past few weeks, since we’ve been back here, that things have changed.”
Paul placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Think about it from his point of view for a minute,” he suggested. “San Francisco was where he lived with her, where he was happy. After he got out of the hospital, you and he lived in that rented house, and it was neutral territory—not yours or his. He didn’t have the strength to go anywhere, so you could relax because you didn’t have to worry about losing him. Then, the two of you came back here. You and the Ponderosa might be the same, but Joe isn’t. I’m guessing that he came face to face with the differences between that nineteen-year-old kid who broke horses and herded cattle and did a man’s hard work until the day he left to marry the love of his life, and the widower who came back with a heart condition and a drinking problem. Add to that a father who is so afraid of losing him again that he’s pretty well smothered him, and the question isn’t why things are different. It’s why it took this long for them to fall apart.”
Ben was silent for a long moment. “I knew something was wrong,” he said. “But I thought it was about his heart. I thought it would pass when he got stronger.”
“And it might,” said Doc Martin. “If I could explain all the ways that the mind and the body affect each other, I’d be a very rich man.” He picked up his bag. “I wish there were some medicine I could give him that could fix his mind. Unfortunately, I’d be lying if I said I knew what you should do now. All I can tell you is that his heart is improving. At what cost, I can’t say.”
Ben pondered this as he saw his friend out. At what cost, indeed. He had worked too hard to get the boy back. He wouldn’t lose him again, in any way. Not without a fight.
***********
Dusk was falling when Ben opened the door to Joe’s room. The lamp on the bedside table was unlit. In the dimness, he saw that Joe was not asleep. The boy was just lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t even look toward the door when Ben came in.
“Joe? What are you doing?” Ben tried to sound casual.
“What? Oh, nothing. Just thinking.” Joe sounded distant, as if his own words didn’t matter to him.
“About what?” Ben lit the lamp. The room was immediately bathed in a warm glow. He drew the draperies and moved the chair over beside the bed. “What were you thinking about?” he asked again.
Joe shook his head. “Nothing much,” he lied.
Ben hadn’t spent this many years as a father without learning a few things. He knew when one of his sons was not being truthful. Still, right now didn’t seem the time to accuse Joe of lying. Instead, he lit his pipe and leaned back, as if settling in for a good, long visit, and as if he was not watching his son carefully for a reaction. He saw Joe tense. Inwardly, he flinched. How had they gotten so far apart?
“Doc Martin says that your heart sounds better,” Ben said.
“I know. He told me.”
“You must be pleased.” Ben recalled slogging through deep mud in the pouring rain to capture recalcitrant stray calves. Right now, that job seemed easy.
Joe didn’t acknowledge the comment. There seemed little point.
Ben pulled another weapon out of his arsenal. “I saw Tom Simmons yesterday,” he said. “Tom has a three-year-old roan gelding he’s looking to sell.” He paused, waiting for questions, for some sign of interest. The silence dragged on. Finally, Ben said, “I told him to bring him by. Thought maybe you could take a look at him.”
At last, a reaction. Joe looked at his father with a slight frown. “I’m not supposed to get up.”
“I didn’t say you should ride him,” said Ben, trying not to be irritated. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem if you came outside and looked him over.”
“What do you want with another gelding? Can’t breed him.”
Worse than recalcitrant calves in the mud. Much worse. “Another mount. Maybe break him to drive. Depends on the horse, I expect.”
“Thought we had enough horses already,” said Joe.
A frisson of fear ran down Ben’s spine. He’d have bet his last nickel that his youngest son would never say that the Ponderosa had enough horses. Before he left, Joe had been trying to build up that side of the ranch operations. Horses had been his great love from the time he was old enough to toddle into the barn and pester someone into holding him up so that he could pet the horses’ noses. Even before he left school, he was as good a bronc buster as men who had been doing the job for twenty years, a fact that had accounted for many a silver hair on his father’s head. One of the most familiar sights in these parts used to be Joe and Cochise, racing down the Virginia City road far too fast. Enough horses already. If Ben had needed a sign that his son was slipping away, this was it.
He drew on his pipe as if gathering strength. “I remember how I felt when your mother died,” he said quietly. A desperate move, perhaps, but it was the one topic Ben knew his son couldn’t ignore or dismiss. He’d never told anyone more than just the bare observable facts about that day. But now, his son needed to know. Even after all these years, the words were difficult, the memories more so. He pressed on.
“Nothing made any sense. It didn’t seem real, even though I watched it happen. I saw the horse fall. He got up, and she didn’t. I ran to her so fast I tripped and fell just short of where she lay. I didn’t take the time to get up—I just dragged myself to her. I held her in my arms. She looked at me and told me she loved me. Then, I felt her breathing stop. She exhaled, and then she didn’t breathe in again. It was that quiet. I could still smell her perfume, even after she was gone. It didn’t seem right. The perfume should have stopped smelling, too. Her hair shouldn’t have been so soft. There was blood in her hair. Adam came out of the house and saw us there. I think he said something, but I’m not sure. He ran across the yard and knelt next to us. He felt for her pulse. When he realized she was gone, he tried to get me to put her down, but I wouldn’t do it. He sent one of the hands for the doctor, even though there was no point. I think he did it because it was Paul who would come, not because he thought a doctor could help her. He tried to take her from me, to carry her into the house, but I wouldn’t let go. I remember wanting him to get her a different dress, right then, because her dress was dirty from the fall, and she was so particular about things like that. I don’t remember what Adam said, but we didn’t change her dress until later.
“Your brother sat with us in the yard until the doctor came. It must have been hours. Years later, he told me that Hoss came out of the house at some point. Adam sent him back in and told him to make sure you didn’t come out. I don’t have any memory of seeing Hoss that afternoon. Adam said that Paul Martin cried when he told me Marie was dead. I don’t remember that, either. I remember that Paul and Adam talked about where to put her body until we could bury her. It was nearly dark by that time. Adam said that Paul wanted to take her into town to the undertaker, but that I refused. I insisted that she would never want to leave the Ponderosa. In the end, we put her in the barn and locked the door so that you wouldn’t find her. It was the one thing they could tell me that I could focus on—the idea that you shouldn’t happen upon your mother’s body.” He drew on his pipe. “In the end, it was the only thing I could do for her. I couldn’t protect her, but I could protect you.”
Joe didn’t speak. His jaw was clenched, his face immobile. Every fiber of his body was braced against the pain, his father’s and his own. As his father watched for a reaction, Joe began to tremble. He rolled onto his side, away from Ben. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, holding himself tightly against what he had heard. Trembling progressed to shaking. Still, he made no sound.
Ben laid the pipe on the bedside table and moved to sit on the bed beside Joe, resting his hand on Joe’s shoulder. Gently, he began to rub his son’s back in large, slow circles. Gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, the shaking lessened, and then stopped. As dusk turned to dark outside the room, Ben stroked his son’s back and shoulder, murmuring soft reassurances. He wasn’t even certain that Joe heard him, but it very nearly didn’t matter. He needed to say these things at least as much as Joe needed to hear them.
“You’re going to be all right,” he said softly. “I know it doesn’t feel like it. I know it seems impossible. But we’re all here, and we love you, and we’re going to walk with you through this. You don’t have to do it alone.” Joe said nothing, but gradually, the tension in his arms and legs relaxed slightly. “I’d have done anything to spare you this,” he whispered. Eventually, Ben realized that the boy had fallen asleep. Even so, he couldn’t leave, couldn’t take his hand off his son, and couldn’t break this connection.
A knock on the door. Hoss poked his head in. “Pa…” he began. Ben held a finger to his lips, nodding toward Joe. “Sorry,” Hoss whispered. “Is he okay?” Hoss’ blue eyes were troubled.
Ben shrugged slightly and shook his head to indicate that he did not know. The big man frowned. Hoss and Adam had spent a lifetime taking care of Joe. It was one thing that gave Ben peace when he thought of his own passing: the knowledge that his sons would always look out for each other, no matter what. God forbid something happened to him, Joe would be in good hands.
“Hop Sing wanted to know if you’re comin’ down for dinner.”
Ben shook his head. “You and Adam go ahead,” he whispered. “I’ll have something later.”
“We’ll wait for you,” Hoss replied. “You jest take your time here.”
“No, you two should—”
“We’ll wait,” said the big man firmly. “However long it takes. Don’t you worry about that.”
Ben regarded his middle son. Somehow, they weren’t talking about dinner any more.
**********
“Honey, wake up. We need to talk.”
Joe’s eyes flew open. He sat up bolt upright in his bed. “Robin?”
“I’m right here.” She was sitting in the chair beside his bed. The moonlight glowed around her. She reached over and lit the lamp on his bedside table.
“Oh, my God, you’re here,” he whispered. He started to get out of bed, reaching for her, but she held up her hand.
“Sorry, love,” she said. “We can’t get any closer. As it turns out, there are rules about these things.”
“What things?”
“Dead people being in touch with living people.”
“I don’t remember you being much for rules,” Joe said.
“I wasn’t,” she said. “Things changed.”
“Don’t I know it,” he sighed.
“Not as much for you as for me,” she pointed out.
Joe chuckled. “Fair enough,” he said. Even dead, she could still make him laugh. “You really are dead, though, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I was so worried about you that I didn’t do what you said.”
“I know.” Anger flared up in his eyes. “If you’d listened to me, we’d be together now.”
She regarded him. “Just how long are you going to be mad at me for that?”
“I’m not mad at you!”
She snorted. “Oh, please,” she said. “If I weren’t dead right now, we’d be having the knock-down-drag-out fight of our lives over this one. I don’t have that much time as it is, so don’t waste it lying to me. And keep your voice down. Your family’s still sleeping.”
“Okay, fine!” he snapped. “I’m mad at you. What does that accomplish?”
“What does it ever accomplish?” she countered.
“I don’t know!”
“Think about it,” she said.
“The making up was good,” he offered hopefully. “Remember the time…”
She held up her hand. “Don’t even start,” she said. “We can’t do that now. What else?”
He thought. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “How about if you come back tomorrow night, after I’ve had a chance to think?”
“After you’ve had a chance to think? You’ve had a year and a half to think about this!”
“I haven’t been thinking for a year and a half!”
“No kidding,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “You haven’t even played the piano—which, by the way, would have helped you think if you hadn’t been plastered.”
“How do you know that?” Joe asked suspiciously. “What do you know about what I’ve been doing?”
“Everything,” she said. “Everything you did after I stopped breathing. And let me tell you something, cowboy. You think you’re mad? Do you have any idea what it was like, watching you guzzle that swill after what I did to keep you alive? Don’t forget, there was a second bullet. If I hadn’t blocked it, you’d be the dead one now.”
“Wait a minute—you could see me after you died?” He was still back on her first point. His eyes grew large as he considered what she might have seen.
“Yes, I know about Judith,” she said impatiently. “Don’t worry about that. If I’d still been alive, you would have had something to worry about, but I was dead, so it was okay. Not that I was thrilled, and it wasn’t a good idea for either of you, but she did keep you alive until your family got there. They sure took long enough,” she added.
“But they did find me,” he said, remembering. “Did you know they were looking?”
“I assumed they were,” she said. “I didn’t know for sure until after I died. But you keep getting away from the point. They found you. They rescued you. So, what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Were you this slow when I was alive, or did the whiskey affect your thinking?”
Joe’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you said that,” he said finally.
Robin sighed. She started to reach out to him, but caught herself. “You’re right, that was unkind,” she said. “I’m sorry, honey. I just don’t have much time, and it’s not like I can drop in again next week for another chat. It took a long time to arrange this. We kept waiting for you to work things out on your own, but finally, it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, so they let me come.”
“Did you have to fight with them?” He smiled at the thought of Robin arguing with an angel. He could picture her, hands on hips, face close to the angel’s, mak