Brother Daniel

 

By Jo

 

The monastery had been on the hill since before the town was built. As long as people had visited and worked at and lived in San Pedro, they had shared the streets and businesses with the monks. With their rough brown robes, hoods often drawn up, and their quiet ways, the town folks found the monks to be generally indistinguishable from one another. And even though there were some who might have stood out a bit, like skinny Brother Clarence who was six and one-half feet tall, or round Brother Charles who was only five-foot-nothing but weighed well over two hundred fifty pounds, no one could ever keep them straight. Brother Charles had been called Brother Clarence more times than he could count, if he’d bothered counting at all.

 

So, it came as no surprise later that, although there were monks in the bank at the time of the robbery, no one was quite certain which ones they were. And for some strange reason, even the monks themselves seemed unsure.

 

The monks always traveled in groups of two or three. On this lovely morning in June, Brother Thomas and Brother Nathaniel were headed to the bank, while Brothers Andrew, Gabriel and Thaddeus were at the mercantile. The monks kept three cows, several pigs and a herd of goats. They used some of the milk for their own needs, and they sold or made cheese from the rest. They also had a flock of chickens, and they sold all the eggs they didn’t use. Keeping the herb and vegetable gardens watered took constant vigilance in the dry climate, but they managed so well that some in the town claimed that God was showing them special favor. It was their goal to be as self-sustaining as possible, although there some things they just couldn’t quite manage with such a small group. They purchased such items as flour and corn, and they made do with surprisingly little meat for a group of men. 

 

On the morning in question, Brothers Thomas and Nathaniel were on their way to deposit the egg money in the bank while the others used the milk money to purchase flour.

 

There was a young man in the bank when they entered. He was a very nice-looking man, lean and muscular, wearing a green jacket and a tan hat. He looked at the monks with only slight curiosity when they came in. They nodded to him, and he nodded back.

 

Just as the young man turned to the teller and opened his mouth to speak, the door was flung open, and three men burst in, guns cocked. Brother Thomas, who was well on in years and had been in the monastery since he was fifteen, was quite taken aback. His watery blue eyes grew round. He’d heard of bank robberies, of course, but this was the first time he’d ever seen one. He couldn’t wait until he got back and told the others all about it.

 

Brother Nathaniel was in his mid-fifties. Before taking his vows, he worked as a cowhand on ranches all across the west. It was out on the prairie, under the stars, that he first felt the call of God on his life. Eventually, he turned in his six-shooter and spurs for a Bible and a robe. Even so, Brother Nathaniel had not lost his edge. He had an excellent sense of people. And he knew that, although he wasn’t supposed to think this way, these three men were bad clear through.

 

“Everybody! Hands up!” The leader of the gang was an older man with a squarish face and white hair. Brother Thomas envied him his rich baritone voice; Brother Thomas’ voice had always been a bit wispy, and he wished that he had a deep, authoritative voice like this man. Obediently, though not hurriedly, Brother Thomas raised his hands. He looked around to see whether everyone else had done so. They had, but none of them looked peaceful about it. The two tellers, a pair of wiry young men who looked like brothers, seemed to be terrified. Brother Nathaniel was carefully expressionless, a state which, Brother Thomas knew, meant that he was angry. And the young man in the green jacket was glaring daggers at the robbers.

 

One of the robbers was nearly as tall as Brother Clarence and probably weighed twice as much. The third was more of a medium size, with dark hair and a permanent-looking sneer. They were much younger than the leader, but they didn’t seem to Brother Thomas to be any nicer. 

 

“Down on the floor! Now!” barked the leader. 

 

Brother Thomas frowned; the floor was dusty, and he did not like to get dirty. He hesitated, and the dark-haired robber reached over and shoved him to his knees. “Are you deaf, old man? He said ‘down on the floor’!” he shouted.

 

“Leave him be!” snapped the young man in the green jacket. Brother Thomas turned to smile at him. He was horrified to see that, for his trouble, the nice young man was struck on the head with the gun of the biggest robber. In fact, the big man hit him so hard that the nice young man dropped to the floor, unconscious, blood running down the side of his face.

 

“Are you all right?” Brother Thomas started to get up to go to him, but the dark-haired man shoved him again.

 

“He’ll do as you say, don’t worry,” said Brother Nathaniel. “Brother Thomas, you need to lie down on the floor now.” The monks had recognized in recent years that Brother Thomas required more and more supervision, although none would have spoken aloud of this development. They simply looked out for him as they would for a small child.

 

“But that nice young man is hurt!” Brother Thomas was the most innocent and good soul that Brother Nathaniel had ever met. It didn’t surprise Brother Nathaniel in the least that Brother Thomas would believe that the bank robbers should wait while he tended to the nice young man.

 

“I know, Brother, but you need to lie down now.” As he spoke, gentle but firm, Brother Nathaniel lay down on the floor. He nodded to Brother Thomas to do likewise. With a frown that would have been petulant in a child, Brother Thomas lay down unhappily, still watching the motionless young man.

 

The large man nudged the nice young man with his foot. “Looks like he’s prob’ly got some money,” he observed. He rolled the young man over and reached into the green jacket for the man’s wallet. Apparently satisfied, he tucked it into his vest pocket. Then, he gestured to one of the tellers with his gun. “Open the vault,” he growled. 

 

Wide-eyed, the teller said, “I can’t. I don’t know the combination.” Which turned out to be the last words he ever spoke. 

 

Cursing with disgust, the large man shot the teller, who fell to the floor. He turned to the other one. “What about you? You gonna play games, too?”

 

“We ain’t playin’ games, mister,” whimpered the second teller. “Only person who knows the combination is Mr. Samson, and he ain’t here yet. But he should be here any minute,” he added nervously, as if hoping that his helpfulness would save his hide.

 

No such luck. As casually as he might choose one steak over another, the large man pumped two bullets into the second teller.

 

“That’s enough,” said the older man. Brother Thomas saw him frown. He opened his mouth to say something to the man, but Brother Nathaniel caught his eye and shook his head.

 

The dark man kicked Brother Nathaniel in the side. “You think just because you’re men of the cloth, we won’t kill you?” he sneered.

 

“I think you’ll kill pretty much anybody who gets in your way,” said Brother Nathaniel evenly. “And I know that God will judge you for it.”

 

“Let Him judge this,” laughed the dark man. He aimed his gun at Brother Nathaniel’s head.

 

“It’s the sheriff!” The older man shoved him aside, crouching down beneath the window. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than gunfire began from outside, sharp and loud, and the dark man’s attention was distracted from the monks. Brother Thomas was more surprised than anything else. Brother Nathaniel flung himself on top of Brother Thomas. The nice young man was just coming to, but he pushed the monks back against the wall, trying to shield them from the gunfire. Brother Thomas heard shouting, doors banging, guns firing. Then, everything was quiet. 

 

Cautiously, Brother Thomas lifted his head. The three bad men were gone. The nice young man sat up. He pressed his hand to his head as if he were in serious pain. Brother Nathaniel lay heavily on top of Brother Thomas. Blood puddled onto the floor, but Brother Thomas couldn’t see where it had come from.

 

“Brother Nathaniel!” Brother Thomas hissed. No answer. “Brother Nathaniel!”

 

The nice young man was breathing heavily as he rolled Brother Nathaniel off the older monk and onto the floor. He pushed back the hood of Brother Nathaniel’s robe and felt the monk’s neck. His green eyes were sad when they met Brother Thomas’. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

 

Brother Thomas considered the situation. He knew that Brother Nathaniel was with God, but he liked Brother Nathaniel, and he did wish that the younger monk had remained with him a while longer. “We need to find the other brothers,” he said. “We’ll have to get Brother Nathaniel back to the monastery.”

 

The nice young man nodded. Blood was still trickling down the side of his face from where the bad man had hit him with a gun. 

 

“Are you all right?” Brother Thomas fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief and began to dab at the nice young man’s face.

 

“I’m fine,” the nice young man said. He started to stand up, but he lost his balance and nearly fell, grabbing at the counter. 

 

“You’re not fine at all,” said Brother Thomas, rising. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to lie to a man of the cloth?”

 

The nice young man looked perplexed for a moment before he smiled slightly. “I don’t reckon they ever got that specific,” he said smoothly. “They probably just told me not to lie.”

 

“And here you’re doing it anyway,” said Brother Thomas. “For shame. Now, you stay here with Brother Nathaniel, and I’ll go and find the others.” He helped the nice young man to sit back down on the floor.

 

“What others?”

 

Before Brother Thomas could answer, the sheriff and his deputy came banging through the front door. They looked perplexed to see only the three men. The sheriff’s face quickly became somber when he realized that Brother Nathaniel was dead. “Anybody else?” he asked.

 

The nice young man shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I was out for part of the time.” He looked to Brother Thomas.

 

“There were two lads working behind the counter,” said Brother Thomas. “I believe they were both shot.”

 

The deputy hustled back behind the counter. “They’re dead,” he confirmed. Coming back to the front, he said, “You two are lucky to be alive.”

 

“It’s not luck,” protested Brother Thomas. “We’re alive by God’s grace.”

 

The sheriff looked askance at Brother Thomas, who stood next to Brother Nathaniel’s body. If this was an example of God’s grace, he sure didn’t want to see God’s wrath. “You want me to take him over to the undertaker for you?”

 

“No, sheriff, we’ll take him back to the monastery,” said Brother Thomas. “We always bury our own there,” he added to the nice young man.

 

“Who’re you, son?” asked the sheriff.

 

The nice young man opened his mouth to answer and stopped. He suddenly looked unsure, worried, and a tiny bit frightened. As he struggled to his feet, Brother Thomas offered, “He’s with us. He’s helping us. He’s a very nice young man.” He reached out to steady the nice young man, who was swaying and grabbing for something to hold onto.

 

“Well, this very nice young man looks like he could use a doctor,” said the sheriff. 

 

“Oh, Brother Dominic will take care of him, no need to worry,” said Brother Thomas, holding him steady. The uncertainty in the nice young man’s face was turning into panic. Brother Thomas knew exactly how he felt, and he knew that, whenever he felt that way, the best thing to do was to go back to the monastery. “Sheriff, if you’d be good enough to find Brother Andrew, Brother Thaddeus and Brother Gabriel—they should be at the mercantile—and have them come back here with our wagon, we’ll take care of getting Brother Nathaniel out of here.”

 

The sheriff nodded. “Whatever you say, Brother,” he said. He was pretty new to this town and, like most of the townfolk, he couldn’t tell most of these monks apart, but he’d seen this old guy around a lot. Nicest fellow you’d meet in a day’s walk, even if he was a few cards short of a deck.

 

After the sheriff and the deputy left, Brother Thomas turned to the nice young man. “You need to sit down until the others get here,” he said firmly. The nice young man did not appear to be listening. He looked very, very troubled. Brother Thomas took his arm and pulled him down to the floor so that he was sitting with his back against the wall. Lightly, the old monk ran his fingers over the nice young man’s wound. “You’re going to have a lump there,” he said. “I’ll bet it hurts, too. Well, don’t worry. Brother Dominic is very gifted. He takes care of our animals, and he does a fine job with us, too.” When the nice young man said nothing, Brother Thomas smiled gently. “The rest of it will sort itself out,” he said softly.

 

The nice young man jerked around as if startled at the comment. Immediately, he put a hand to his head from the pain of the sudden movement. He looked up at Brother Thomas warily. Brother Thomas noticed that he had green eyes and wondered if he’d chosen his jacket to match them. 

 

“Just wait and talk to Brother Dominic,” said Brother Thomas. He knew just how the nice young man felt. Even though he should have been used to it by now, he still found it frightening when he forgot things that he used to know. He didn’t know why the nice young man hadn’t seemed to be able to remember his name for the sheriff, but it didn’t matter. The brothers would take care of him until he remembered again, just the way they always did for Brother Thomas.

 

**********

 

Ben Cartwright watched as the last person stepped from the stagecoach. For the third day in a row, his youngest son was not among the passengers. His annoyance at the young man’s tardiness was starting to teeter on the edge of concern. Usually, if Joe was delayed, he’d send word. Ben tried not to think of all the things that could happen to a man carrying a bank draft for twenty-five thousand dollars.

 

The money represented the price of the timber they’d sold to Gus Starr and the price of the land they were buying from Gary Hanson. It had seemed such an efficient method of closing both transactions:  have Joe pick up the draft in one town and take it to the other. Simple, but the substantial amount was the whole reason he’d insisted on Joe traveling by stage instead of riding, as Joe had wanted. It had been a tradeoff:  send one man alone by stage, or send at least two on horseback. Given how shorthanded they were this spring, the idea of having only one of his boys gone had seemed preferable. Now, Ben wasn’t so sure.

 

“Pa!” His middle son, Hoss, hustled up the sidewalk. The big man’s face, usually jovial, was creased with concern. Ben’s heart lurched. Of all his sons, Hoss was the one who usually took things in stride. 

 

“What’s the matter, son?” Don’t worry. It’s not time to worry. It’s nothing serious. It’s something that can be fixed. Ben’s face remained impassive as he fought down the sudden urge to panic.

 

Grimly, Hoss handed his father a piece of paper. “Wire came from Mr. Hanson.”

 

Ben took the wire. He felt his face grow pale as he read it. “DRAFT HAS NOT ARRIVED STOP PLEASE ADVISE RE REASON FOR DELAY STOP TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE STOP.”

 

Joe was to supposed to have picked up the bank draft in San Pedro. He and the draft were supposed to have arrived at Gary Hanson’s office in White Springs on the twenty-fifth. 

 

Ten days ago. 

 

But Joe had never arrived.

 

Ben closed his eyes for a moment. All around him, daily life went on. The stage pulled away from the station. Across the street, three young men loaded sacks of grain onto a buckboard. A cluster of women in soft-colored dresses tried to squeeze past Hoss, and the big man automatically tipped his hat as he stepped aside to let them pass. The cheerful tinny music of a saloon piano provided ironic counterpoint.

 

Finally, Ben found his voice. “Have Adam wire the bank in San Pedro,” he said. “Find out if Joe ever picked up the draft. Then, meet me at the mercantile. We’ll need supplies.”

 

Hoss nodded. Nothing more needed to be said. They were going after Little Joe.

 

************

 

Brother Dominic looked somber as he entered the dining room to find the brothers gathered at the table, waiting for him. The large, rough-hewn table had been one of the first pieces of furniture made by the brothers for their new monastery, some sixty years earlier. Originally intended simply as a dining table, it had served many other purposes over the years. Some of the gouges in its surface came from its periodic use as a carpenter’s bench. When they held school for the local children, the boys and girls could be spread out around the table, far enough apart to minimize poking and whispering and tugging of pigtails. On more than one occasion, the table, heavily draped with sheets, had served as an operating table, and on one memorable occasion, a young woman had given birth there. The brothers scrubbed the table’s surface very, very well after such uses.

 

The table also served as the brothers’ central meeting place for discussion of business. It was an unspoken rule that business was not discussed in the parlor; the parlor was for rest and refreshment on the Sabbath. Through the years, many serious matters pertaining to the operation of the monastery had been raised, discussed and resolved at that table. It was an article of faith among the brothers that, however heated the debates might be while at the table for a meeting, such discord was left behind when they rose. 

 

“How is he?” asked Brother Gabriel. A small, slim man in his mid-forties, Brother Gabriel looked as if he would have been quite the dapper dresser, had he had occasion to wear anything other than rough brown robes. He had a fondness for tea that was unequaled in the experience of the other brothers, and even now, he still occasionally extended his pinky when he drank, much to the amusement of the others.

 

“He’s asleep,” said Brother Dominic, sliding into his accustomed place between Brother Thaddeus and Brother Charles. 

 

“Is it true that he really doesn’t remember anything?” Brother Thaddeus’ hair had been gray since before he came to the monastery at the age of twenty-three, forty years earlier, and it flopped on his forehead when he walked quickly. His blue eyes bulged slightly, giving him the appearance of being awestruck at whatever was being said to him. 

 

Brother Dominic nodded. “Nothing before he came to in the bank,” he said. “He doesn’t know his name, where he’s from, why he was there—nothing.”

 

“But didn’t he have anything with him that would explain this?” asked Brother Charles reasonably. Brother Charles had, at one time, struggled between a desire to practice law and a sense that God was calling him to join the ministry. His tendency to challenge and question gave the other brothers ample opportunity to practice patience.

 

“The robbers stole his wallet,” Brother Thomas reminded them. As the only other eyewitness of the robbery, he had already told them what he’d seen. He was a bit disturbed to find that there were parts that he didn’t recall as clearly as he might have expected, but the others did not seem to be either surprised or displeased by this turn of events, and so he did not linger on this failing.

 

“The only thing he had in his pocket was a picture of a woman,” said Brother Dominic. “He didn’t know who she was.”

 

The brothers perked up at this information. They had, of course, all taken a vow of chastity upon joining the monastery. Being normal, red-blooded men, they had all had occasion to struggle with their fidelity to this vow over the years, but they supported each other through the struggles. Privately, each felt he was somewhat entitled as a result to live vicariously through the romantic experiences of others, and so the announcement that their guest had a woman in his life whose picture he carried provided the possibility of fresh stories upon which to ruminate. 

 

“What does she look like?” asked Brother Gabriel somewhat tentatively.

 

“She’s quite beautiful,” said Brother Dominic. “But our young friend has no idea who she is.” He was well aware of which piece of information was more intriguing to the brothers at that moment, but he felt a responsibility to keep their minds on the real question.

 

“Clearly, she must be important to him, if he’s carrying her picture,” said Brother Clarence. Brother Charles nodded his approval of the tall monk’s analysis.

 

“I’m sure she is,” said Brother Dominic. “But he doesn’t remember her. She could be his wife, and he doesn’t know it.”

 

“I would imagine that she probably is,” said Brother Andrew. “What other woman’s picture would he carry?” Brother Andrew’s dark hair and ruddy complexion made him look even younger than he was. In fact, in his early thirties, he was the youngest of the brothers. His wife had died eight years before he entered the monastery. Long discussion and debate had surrounded the issue of whether he would be permitted to keep a picture of her. Brother Charles argued that doing so would constitute Brother Andrew’s hanging onto his old life and would prevent him from wholeheartedly stepping into this new world as a servant of God. Brother Clarence claimed that it was unrealistic to pretend that the man had had no life before entering the monastery and that, since the woman had been his lawful wedded wife, there was no sin in the fact of the relationship which could cause him to stumble. The debate had been fierce, threatening to degenerate into an all-out battle, complete with pounding on the table. At last, Brother Dominic called a halt and asked that they all bow for a time of silent prayer. Fully an hour passed before another word was spoken aloud. When the monks finally rose from the table, stiff from sitting so long, agreement had been reached:  Brother Andrew would retain the daguerreotype, but he would not display it. 

 

“If she is, it’s all the more reason we need to see what we can do for him,” said Brother Thaddeus. “Suppose they have children? They’ll be needing him to come home and take care of them.” He looked around the table. “Does anybody have any idea what we would need to do to help him get his memory back?” All eyes turned expectantly to Brother Dominic.

 

“I have no idea,” the older man confessed. “The animals never seem to have this problem.” Although Brother Dominic had been doctoring the monks, members of the community and passing strangers ever since he’d arrived in San Pedro nearly fifteen years earlier, his training was in animal medicine. His father had owned a livery stable, and young Dominic had trailed after him as he tended the horses and any other animals that people needed to have treated. No one disputed that Brother Dominic had a special gift for healing. From the harvest of his extensive herb garden, he concocted brews and poultices, the effectiveness of which rivaled anything prescribed by the town doctor, who resented him mightily as a result. Last spring, Brother Dominic’s little book of herbal remedies had gone missing. Though none of the brothers would have admitted it, they all suspected the town doctor of having purloined it.

 

“There is, however, a more immediate problem,” Brother Dominic added. At the raised eyebrows of his brothers, he smiled. “He has no idea what his name is. We need to call him something.”

 

This was precisely the type of debate the brothers enjoyed most. Brother Gabriel poured tea as they suggested and argued and advocated, flipping pages of the Bible for suitable candidates. James, Michael, Joseph, Peter, and David were all considered and rejected, as were Malachi, Habbakkuk, Abraham, Zephaniah, and Brother Charles’ ironic suggestion that they call the young man Methusaleh. Finally, as the softening of the late afternoon light signified time for evening prayers, they reached agreement. Satisfied, they dispersed to the chapel to ring the bell and pray for the protection and healing of their new friend, Daniel.

 

***********

 

Daniel leaned his face against the cow’s warm flank for a moment as milk spurted into the pail. The systematic squeezing of the teats, one finger after the other rolling downward again and again, felt so automatic that he knew he must have done it before. He hadn’t needed to have it explained to him, but it didn’t trigger any memories. Nothing did—not his clothes, the picture of the woman that was in his jacket pocket, or even his own face in the glass. It was as if he’d been born at however old he was—he didn’t even know his age or birthday, simple things that a child knows. He wondered if he had any children. His parents might still be alive, or maybe not. The monks seemed to assume that the woman in the picture was his wife, and he couldn’t say one way or the other. She might be a friend, a sister, a mother, or a lost love, for all he knew. He didn’t know if he had any brothers or sisters, or other family members or even close friends, or if he walked this world alone.

 

He didn’t know where he lived or what he did for a living. He seemed to have an affinity for the animals, especially the horses, but he had no idea whether he’d worked with them before. Maybe he’d owned a livery stable, or worked in one. Maybe he’d been a cowboy. Then again, maybe he’d stood behind a counter in a store, wearing an apron and watching as other men lived those lives. 

 

He knew that the brothers were watching him, trying to piece together clues about him. He wanted to be able to tell them about himself. All he knew were his physical characteristics—slight build, green eyes, left-handed, curly hair a bit too long. He didn’t wear spectacles. The pearl-handled gun they’d recovered at the bank felt natural in his hand, and so he thought it was probably his, but he didn’t know if he’d ever killed anyone with it. He had some scars at various places on his body, but he had no idea what had caused them. 

 

He didn’t resist when they wanted to name him Daniel. It wasn’t his name—of this, he was certain, simply because it didn’t sound familiar—but it was as good as anything else.

 

Daniel stripped the cow dry and sat back on the stool, patting her flank. “Good girl,” he said, getting to his feet. The cow stepped forward, and her right back hoof landed squarely in the milk pail, spilling it.

 

“You damn fool cow!” He reached down for the pail just as she kicked her hoof free of it. Hoof and pail connected squarely with Daniel’s right temple, sending him sprawling backward to land flat on the floor of the barn, out cold.

 

The next thing he knew, he was in bed. A cold, wet cloth was being pressed against his aching head. He forced his eyes open, immediately squeezing them shut against the incredibly bright light. After a minute, he opened them just a tiny bit and saw a blurry Brother Dominic looking serious.

 

“Welcome back,” said Brother Dominic. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Fine,” said Daniel, wondering why he said it even as the word left his mouth. He was far from fine. His head was throbbing, he felt sick to his stomach, and it was hard to focus. 

 

Brother Dominic snorted gently. “I doubt that very much,” he said. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

 

Daniel squinted. “Two.” It wasn’t quite a guess, and Brother Dominic seemed to be satisfied.

 

“Do you remember what happened?”

 

“The cow stepped in the milk,” Daniel said. “I tried to get the pail.”

 

“And she kicked you,” said Brother Dominic. “You shouldn’t have done that. You could have been killed.” He dipped the cloth into a bowl of cold water, wrung it out and reapplied it to the young man’s head. “Do you remember anything else?”

 

Daniel considered the question. My name is..., he thought, but he had no idea how to complete the sentence. He started to shake his head in response, but the slightest movement sent jolts of pain through his skull.

 

“Don’t move,” said Brother Dominic. “Just tell me yes or no. Do you remember anything from before?”

 

“No,” Daniel whispered. He wanted so much to be able to say yes. “Should I?”

 

“It can happen that way,” said Brother Dominic. “It’s rare, but it can happen. More likely, some event will trigger a memory, probably when you least expect it.”

 

“I don’t expect it now,” offered Daniel.

 

Brother Dominic smiled. The bitter disappointment on the handsome young face was hard to watch. “Give yourself some time,” he said. “You’ve had two head injuries in the space of a few days, and it appears that you have a concussion this time. You need to stay quiet for now. I don’t want you out of this bed before Sunday. That’s four days from now,” he added as Daniel frowned.

 

Just then, Daniel saw another blurry brown shape approach. “How is he?” asked Brother Thaddeus.

 

“He’s awake,” said Brother Dominic, as if he weren’t. “Concussion. Sensitive to light. Probably nauseated. How’s your stomach?” he asked, switching his focus to Daniel.

 

“Not great,” Daniel admitted. It was an understatement.

 

“Memory or not, he’s going to be with us for a while,” concluded Brother Dominic. “Did Brother Gabriel make the tea I asked for?”

 

“Water’s boiling,” said Brother Thaddeus. “He was just waiting until Daniel woke up. Didn’t want the tea to steep too long.”

 

“Bring the tea in, please,” said Brother Dominic. “He’s not going to be up for anything solid tonight.”

 

I’m still here, Daniel wanted to say, but he was suddenly terribly tired. Without another thought, he closed his eyes and slid back into blessedly pain-free sleep.

 

True to his word, Brother Dominic managed to keep Daniel in bed until Sunday. By that time, the young man was chafing at his confinement. His eyes were still inordinately sensitive to light, to the point where Brother Charles procured a pair of dark glasses which the younger man initially scoffed at, but ultimately wore. As the days passed, the headaches lessened, but a sudden movement could still cause a shaft of pain to pierce his skull with such intensity as to cause him to double over, gasping for breath. 

 

In an effort to keep Daniel simultaneously occupied and quiet, Brother Andrew commandeered him to assist in preparing dinner. He placed a large pile of vegetables before the younger man and handed him a knife, and they both began chopping vegetables for the soup. 

 

“How long have you been here?” Daniel asked after a few minutes of silence.

 

“Three years,” said Brother Andrew. 

 

“What did you do before?”

 

“I was a telegraph operator,” said Brother Andrew. “My wife and I lived in Virginia City.”

 

Something flitted through Daniel’s brain, but it was gone too fast. Had he, too, been a telegraph operator? Did he have a wife? Mentally, he shrugged. He was becoming accustomed to this feeling that the answers were ever so slightly out of reach. Better not to dwell on it, or so Brother Dominic said. So, he asked, “Your wife?”

 

Brother Andrew nodded. “Elena,” he said. “We met when we were seven and married at sixteen. She died when we were twenty. Scarlet fever,” he said at Daniel’s questioning look. “I fought God hard on that one. She was the best person I ever knew. It didn’t make any sense at all, and I made certain that God knew I thought so.”

 

“But you’re here,” said Daniel.

 

Brother Andrew nodded again. “The funny thing is that, after I’d finished yelling at God for messing up, I started to think about other things, like the fact that He’s the sovereign God of the universe and He doesn’t owe anybody anything, including an explanation. ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord.’ Does that sound familiar?” Daniel shook his head, wincing at the pain caused by the instinctive movement. “It’s from the book of Isaiah. I must have read that verse a hundred times. And I spent a lot of time in the last few chapters of Job, where God calls Job to account for having questioned Him. It took a long time, but I started to consider the idea that, just maybe, the God who made the world knew what He was doing when he took Elena and left me in a world that didn’t have her in it. And finally, I understood:  God is God, and I’m not. And that was when I started to think about a life where I could focus on serving Him, and praying and studying and meditating. So, I came here.”

 

“But surely this wasn’t the only place around, was it?” Daniel was trying to be tactful, but he couldn’t understand why someone would choose dry, dusty, sleepy little San Pedro.

 

“Of course not,” said Brother Andrew. “There are some very large missions in California and Arizona, but I didn’t want that life. I wanted a small community—a family, if you will. I had no family except for Elena. I was wandering from town to town when I came upon this place by accident—if, of course, it can ever be said that a child of God does anything by accident. And I stayed in town and watched, and I talked with the brothers, and they allowed me to worship and pray with them. Eventually, we all agreed, and I took my vows.”

 

“But—what kind of monks are you?”

 

“Well, we’re sort of Franciscans, but not really,” said Brother Andrew. “I think that’s how the monastery started, but it’s always been a very independent little place. I’m not at all certain that any order would claim us now, even if we wanted to be claimed. We’re just here, serving and worshipping God as best we can.” He gathered up a large pile of carrots and onion from his side of the table and dropped them into the pot. “Just a few more potatoes, and we should be ready,” he said approvingly. He rose and reached for the chicken carcass that Brother Thaddeus had cleaned and plucked earlier in the day.

 

“Brother Andrew?” The voice was so tentative that the monk turned back in surprise. Daniel’s eyes were hidden by the dark glasses, and his growing beard further obscured his face, but the furrowed brow evidenced concern.

 

“Yes?” Brother Andrew said when Daniel said no more.

 

“If—if I were to stay like this forever—”

 

“Like what?” coaxed the monk.

 

“With no memory,” said Daniel, the words clearly costing him. “If I were—do you think that—maybe—”

 

He sounded so uncertain, so young. Brother Andrew doubted that he had as much as ten years on the younger man, but suddenly, he felt very old and wise. “I’m sure that won’t be an issue,” he said reassuringly, although he was far from certain. What he was certain of was that, memory or not, the brothers would never turn Daniel out. And deep in his heart, he was equally certain that, memory or not, the day would come when Daniel would choose to leave.

 

***********

 

Hoss walked slowly toward the horses, shaking his head. He didn’t need to say more. Ben and Adam knew. Another town that Joe had passed through and left, presumably intact. 

 

They had been riding for two weeks, stopping in every town the stage went through and asking around. In each town, somebody—usually somebody in a saloon—remembered the good-looking young man in the green jacket. A charmer and a flirt, a bad poker player, a surprisingly good brawler—the comments would have identified Joe Cartwright even if the physical description hadn’t. The sheriffs in those towns all shook their heads when asked if the young man had been involved in any disturbance. As far as anyone knew, he had left each of those towns peaceably, boarding the stage and moving on.

 

“Best get some fresh supplies,” said Ben. “It’s almost a full day to San Pedro.” None of them looked forward to San Pedro. That was where the trail went cold. 

 

The bank in San Pedro had confirmed by wire that Joe had never picked up the draft. It was still sitting in Mr. Samson’s top desk drawer, as it had been for nearly four weeks. No one, of any description, had asked for it. 

 

Samson hadn’t mentioned the robbery in his wire. It wasn’t as if it had anything to do with the fact that the Cartwright boy had never arrived. Besides, Samson wanted to continue doing business with the Ponderosa, and he didn’t want Ben Cartwright thinking that his bank was not secure. So, he kept mum, hoping that no one else would tell the Cartwrights about the robbery.

 

In any event, it didn’t matter. There were only two explanations for the draft still being there.

 

Joe had never gotten to San Pedro.

 

Or he had never made it to the bank.

 

************

 

Brother Daniel looked around as Brother Clarence drove the wagon into town, with Brother Andrew beside him. The street looked vaguely familiar, but he didn’t know if it was because he’d seen it when they’d left the bank after the robbery, or if he was actually remembering something. He felt hot and sticky inside the rough brown robe. He wished that he could wear his own clothes and carry his gun, but the brothers had been adamant. No one knew if the robbers were around, and they weren’t likely to be able to distinguish one monk from another any better than the townspeople. Especially with the dark glasses and his new beard, Brother Daniel was virtually unrecognizable as the young man in the green jacket who had seen the robbers commit cold-blooded murder. 

 

The disguise had come at a cost. Brother Daniel had argued hotly that he was quite capable of defending himself if he should encounter the robbers, and for a while, it looked as if he were going to insist over the objections of the monks. But finally, when they all stopped shouting, Brother Thomas spoke up.

 

“If the robbers were to kill you, we wouldn’t know how to contact your family to tell them you were dead,” he said gently. “All they would ever know is that you left them and didn’t come back. They would never know why.”

 

Stricken, Brother Daniel stared at the old monk. His eyes appeared to be filled with tears for a moment, though whether at the thought of his unknown family or of their believing he abandoned them, no one could tell. He swallowed hard and pushed himself from the table.

 

“All right,” he said huskily. He strode from the room, leaving the others in silence around the table. Brother Andrew started to rise as if to follow, but Brother Dominic restrained him with a hand on his arm. 

 

Now, as the others transacted business at the feed and grain store, Brother Daniel looked around, trying to jog his memory. Each time something seemed to nudge at him, he attempted the same sentence:  “My name is...” But again and again, he had no idea how to complete the thought, a fact that left him feeling disturbingly vulnerable. He would never have admitted it, but a part of him was glad for the anonymity of the robe, the beard and the glasses. If he didn’t know who he was, it was just as well that no one else did, either.

 

After the feed store, they walked along the board sidewalk to the mercantile. Brother Daniel slowed his steps as they approached the saloon. “Hey, Brothers, think we can stop in here for a minute?” As the words left his mouth, he realized that they sounded familiar. 

 

Brother Andrew and Brother Clarence looked puzzled. “Why?”

 

There were a lot of things Brother Daniel didn’t remember, but he was pretty sure that he’d never heard a man ask why he should stop into a saloon. “Just for a quick beer,” he said. Seeing their faces, he said slowly, “You do drink beer, don’t you?”

 

“No,” said Brother Clarence. “We don’t drink alcohol of any kind, except for wine when we celebrate the Eucharist.”

 

“None?” Brother Daniel was flabbergasted. He took off his dark glasses, squinting even in the shadow of the overhang as he tried to see whether the tall monk might be joking.

 

“None,” said Brother Clarence calmly. 

 

“Is that one of your vows, too?” Brother Daniel tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

 

“Not in so many words, but it’s the way we choose to live,” said Brother Clarence. His calm, slightly patronizing demeanor reminded Brother Daniel of someone. He tried to reach down into the recesses of his brain for the memory, but he couldn’t grasp it. 

 

“Besides, how would we pay for it?” said Brother Andrew reasonably. “We do take a vow of poverty, you know.”

 

“Well, I didn’t take a vow of poverty,” said Brother Daniel somewhat heatedly.

 

“Then feel free to spend all your money in the saloon,” said Brother Clarence, looking him squarely in the eye.

 

“Fine.” Brother Daniel bit off the word. “Let’s go.” If there was one thing almost as bad as not knowing who he was, it was not having any money to get out of this place. He hooked the dark glasses over his ears, jammed his fists into the pockets of his robe and stormed past the saloon, unaware that a certain saloon girl was watching him, her jaw hanging as she saw how he was dressed.

 

“That rotten, no-good, son of a…” She flounced over to the bar. “Carl! I need a whiskey, now!”

 

*************

 

Adam and Hoss stopped just inside the saloon door to let their eyes adjust after the bright daylight. When they could see in the dimness, they scrutinized the patrons. Lucky for Joe, he was nowhere to be seen. Adam reflected grimly that if they’d come in to see him trying to draw to an inside straight, there probably wouldn’t have been enough pieces left of him to take back to Pa.

 

The two men got themselves beers and looked around, trying to decide which saloon girl was likely to be Joe’s type. After a minute, they saw her:  petite but bosomy, soft red curls, doe-like brown eyes, ladylike attitude. They nodded to each other and approached her.

 

“Excuse me, miss,” said Hoss. “We’re lookin’ for a feller. Wondered if you mighta seen him.”

 

“Maybe,” said the girl softly. She adjusted the feather in her hair and pushed the lace trim of her bodice down a bit. 

 

“He’s a good-looking young fellow, green eyes, nice smile,” said Adam. “Very charming. Bad poker player, but won’t give up until he’s tapped out. Probably came through in the last few weeks.”

 

The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Him?” She spat the word out with venom. “Oh, I remember him, all right. That rotten, no-good, son of a…” The epithets spewed forth with such ferocity that Adam and Hoss almost ducked to avoid them.

 

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Adam said when she stopped for breath. “What exactly did he do to get you this upset?”

 

“He came in here, all sweet and flirty, and he was gonna come back the next day to—well, you know—and not only did he not come back the next day, but it turned out that wretched excuse for a man was lyin’ the whole time! He wasn’t ever gonna come back! I was just his last fling before he went over to that blasted church and took his vows!”

 

“Before he what?” Hoss’ voice skidded up at least an octave.

 

“Took. His. Vows!” The girl glared from one Cartwright to the other. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

 

“Uh—we’re his brothers, ma’am,” said Hoss. 

 

The girl slapped him with all her strength. “You be sure to give that to your brother for me,” she said. Hoss rubbed his stinging cheek as she turned on her heel and marched across the room.

 

Stunned into silence, Adam and Hoss stared at each other. “Did she just say what I thought she said?” Hoss said finally.

 

“She sure did,” said Adam. “Seems our little brother went and got himself married.”

 

“Without even tellin’ anybody? That don’t make no sense. Unless...” He broke off, and Adam nodded. Together, they articulated the same conclusion.

 

“Shotgun wedding.”

 

************

 

Two hours later, Hoss poured himself another shot. “I jest can’t believe it,” he muttered. “How could he do such a dang fool thing?”

 

“I hate to say it, Younger Brother, but it was probably just a matter of time,” said Adam, holding out his glass for a refill. “Remember Molly Conway?”

 

“But they were just kids!”

 

“They may have been just kids, but they were, shall we say, dabbling in some grownup behavior.” Adam remembered well the day he’d found his little brother hiding down by the lake, looking as scared as it was possible for one person to look. It hadn’t taken much to pull the story out of the boy, who kept insisting that it wasn’t fair, it had only happened once. The notion of his sixteen-year-old brother being dumb enough to get himself and this girl into such a fix made Adam want to punch something, but he put his own feelings about Joe’s possibly being a father on the shelf and concentrated on keeping the kid from falling completely to pieces while they waited three unending days until Molly said that no, it was a false alarm. It had taken some fancy maneuvering to keep the kid away from Pa until they knew—Little Joe was so rattled that he would have spilled everything, and false alarm or not, Pa would have had him marching down the aisle in a heartbeat. Adam would have thought that a scare like that would have put the fear of God into his little brother, but apparently, Joe’s memory was not all it could be. 

 

“This is gonna kill Pa,” muttered Hoss. Normally, drink made the big man even more genial. On occasion, though, it had the opposite effect. This looked like it was going to be one of those occasions. He was starting to grumble threats at Little Joe for doing such a dang fool thing and upsetting their pa. 

 

Adam pushed back his chair. “Let’s go.”

 

The Cartwright brothers left the saloon. “I’m gonna beat the daylights out of him. In fact, I’m gonna tear that little brother limb from limb,” announced Hoss loudly, weaving slightly and slurring a bit more. “I’m gonna smash that dadburned little turnip into the ground. I’m gonna wring his scrawny neck until his eyes pop out of his skull. Then, you know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna put him back together so’s I can do it all over again!”

 

“Easy, now,” said Adam. Why did it always fall to him to be the voice of reason? “Save some for me. I get to tear him apart him, too. And then Pa’s going to want to have a piece of him.”

 

“I’m gonna take that dang green jacket of his and string him up with it, and then I’m gonna use Little Brother as a punching bag!” Hoss slammed a fist into his palm. “And when I’m done, there ain’t gonna enough of him left to put in a coffee cup!”

 

Neither man noticed as they stumbled past the two monks, who were wide-eyed with horror. At the mention of the green jacket, Brother Gabriel and Brother Thaddeus turned and fled down the sidewalk to the mercantile. These men didn’t look as if they were going to go shopping, but Brother Daniel needed to get out of town, just in case.

 

They hurried along the dusty sidewalk so fast that they nearly ran into the sheriff. “Sheriff!” Brother Gabriel exclaimed. “Just the man we needed!”

 

“How so, Brother?” The sheriff had long since given up on calling them by name, but they didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Those bank robbers are back!”

 

The sheriff’s languid expression vanished. “Are you sure?”

 

Brother Thaddeus’ head bobbed vigorously. “They were walking down the sidewalk, drunk in the middle of the day, and they were threatening Brother Daniel.”

 

“They threatened him? Was he with you?”

 

“No, sheriff, but they were threatening him,” said Brother Thaddeus. “They said the most awful things about what they would do to him, and—well, you remember how, when he got here, Brother Daniel was wearing that green jacket?” The sheriff nodded. You didn’t see a lot of those in San Pedro. “Well, the big one even said that he was going to string Brother Daniel up by his green jacket!”

 

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” said the sheriff. “Just tell me where they are, and I’ll take them in.”

 

The monks looked around. “There they are!” said Brother Gabriel triumphantly, pointing. “The big one and the one in the dark outfit.”

 

“You’re sure it’s them?”

 

“Positive,” said Brother Gabriel. Now, all they had to do was to find the third one, and Brother Daniel would be safe until he remembered his name and they could send him back to his wife. They watched from across the street as the sheriff approached the two men, who seemed awfully unhappy about being arrested. The sheriff drew his gun and took theirs, and the monks watched, quite satisfied and relieved, as the two men were escorted over to the jail.

 

***********

 

“Where are my sons?” Ben Cartwright’s thundering baritone nearly rattled the windows of the sheriff’s office.

 

The sheriff looked unimpressed. “Your sons,” he repeated.

 

“My sons,” said Ben. “The two men you pulled off the street and threw into your jail for no reason whatsoever.” He threw onto the sheriff’s desk the note from Adam that the deputy had delivered to the hotel.

 

“Oh, I had a reason, all right,” said the sheriff. “Would you like to see your sons?”

 

“I would,” said Ben. 

 

“Then you will,” said the sheriff. He unfolded his lanky frame from behind the desk and picked up the keys to the jail. “This way,” he said. He led the way into the back, where Adam leaned against the bars of the cell and Hoss had flopped onto the cot.

 

“Pa! Thank God you’re here!” Adam said.

 

“Watch your use of the Lord’s name, young man,” said Ben. 

 

“You,” said the sheriff to Adam. “Step away from the bars.” Adam did so, and the sheriff unlocked the door, allowing Ben to enter. Once Ben had walked into the cell, the sheriff closed the door behind him, locking it with a smile.

 

“Sheriff, I’m not going to be here that long,” called Ben as the sheriff turned to leave.

 

The sheriff turned back with a big grin. “Oh, I think you are,” he said. “I got me three bank robbers, and you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

 

“Bank robbers!” Ben was dumbfounded. Adam and Hoss nodded wearily.

 

“Bank robbers,” smirked the sheriff. He was immensely proud of the way he’d outsmarted the leader of the gang.

 

“But the bank hasn’t even been robbed since we’ve been in town!” sputtered Ben.

 

“Not this time,” allowed the sheriff. “This is from when you were here a few weeks ago.”

 

“But we’ve never been here before!” stormed Ben.

 

The sheriff was unflapped. “You say you ain’t been here,” he said. “I got two monks who can put you at the scene. Now, I don’t know if you’re a poker player, mister, but I think in this case, a pair of monks beats three bank robbers.” 

 

“Monks?” Ben had a vague recollection of seeing a couple of men in brown robes but, like most of the town, he hadn’t paid them any mind.

 

“Monks,” said the sheriff firmly. 

 

“Who are they?” demanded Ben. “What are their names?”

 

“Pa?” Adam said softly. “Why does it matter?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Do you know any monks?”

 

“Well—no, but—”

 

“Then why could it possibly matter what their names are?”

 

“I want to talk to them,” said Ben. He was nearly as frustrated by his eldest son as by the sheriff, who was slouching against the doorway with an insouciant grin.

 

“You can talk to them at the trial,” said the sheriff. “When you tell ’em why you killed those two tellers and Brother Nathaniel.” He straightened and started through the door. “Dinner’s at five,” he added over his shoulder, chuckling.

 

************

 

The lawyer had a florid complexion and a round belly that strained against his waistcoat. His smile, though broad, was unconvincing. He shook hands with the Cartwrights through the bars of the jail.

 

“Malcolm Albert, at your service, gentlemen,” he said, pulling up a chair to the bars. He shuffled the papers he carried. “Hmmm. Robbery, assault, murder—oh, three counts of murder. And one of them a monk. Ouch. That’s not going to go well for you. The brothers are very well-liked in this town. Been here a long time. They run that little school for the local children. Very good cheesemakers, too.” He read a bit more, the dropped the papers into his lap. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?” he said conspiratorially. “What was it? Money was tight, you thought you’d pick up some quick cash, things went wrong and you made a mistake? It happens. If that’s it, I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“What are you talking about?” demanded Ben.

 

“No need to shout,” said the lawyer, unfazed. “People are always a little upset at this point. We can try to work something out.”

 

“Work what out? We’re innocent!” Ben glared for all he was worth.

 

The lawyer held up his hand. “Oh, no, no, no,” he said. “Please don’t say that.”

 

“Why not?” asked Adam. “It’s the truth.”

 

The lawyer waved both hands, as if shooing away gnats. “You have to stop doing that,” he said.

 

“Doin’ what?” asked Hoss.

 

“Saying you didn’t do it,” said the lawyer.

 

“But why…?” The Cartwrights exchanged startled looks.

 

“Because I can’t put you on the stand if I know you’re going to lie under oath,” said the lawyer. “As long as you’re going to take the stand and say you didn’t do it, I’m honor bound not to put you on the stand.”

 

“But we didn’t do it!” thundered Ben.

 

“I’m telling you, you have to stop this,” said the lawyer. He focused on Hoss, apparently deeming him the most reasonable. “I’ve been a lawyer for a long time, and I can tell you, it’s going to go easier for you if you just tell the truth.”

 

“We are telling the truth,” said Adam.

 

“As long as you keep up this claim of innocence, we’re never going to get anywhere,” said the lawyer. “Now, tell me what happened when you first entered the bank. There were two monks there, weren’t there? No, wait—it looks like there were three. Brother Thomas, Brother Daniel and Brother Nathaniel. Daniel and Nathaniel—they rhyme! Do you suppose they planned that?” None of the Cartwrights looked at all pleased with the lawyer’s linguistic discovery. His delight faded as he turned his attention from the papers to the men in front of him. “Now, which one of you killed Brother—Nathaniel, I guess it was?” He looked expectantly from one Cartwright to another.

 

“None of us killed anyone!” Ben’s patience was long exhausted.

 

The lawyer sighed with exaggerated patience. “Mr. Cartwright, we really do need to move on,” he said. “I need to know exactly what happened in the bank on the morning of June 22nd. Did someone draw on you when you were in there? If so, I can claim that you shot in self-defense. Monks don’t carry guns, do they? I’ll have to check on that.” He made a note. “So—yes or no on self-defense?”

 

“Get out!” Ben’s voice rattled the bars. 

 

“But……”

 

“Get out! You’re fired! Go!”

 

“Pa, wait a minute,” said Adam in a low voice. “We’re going to need a lawyer.”

 

“He’s right,” said the lawyer. “And I’m the only one for fifty miles.”

 

“Then we’ll represent ourselves! Now, get out of here before I come out there and throw you out!”

 

The lawyer shrugged. “Suit yourselves,” he said, gathering his papers. “No hard feelings, gentlemen. Best of luck to you.” With a wave, he was gone.

 

Ben’s sons watched as their father flung himself onto a cot. Finally, Adam said, “That may not have been your best idea, Pa.”

 

“Didn’t you hear him? He thinks we’re guilty!”

 

“So does everybody else in this town,” said Adam. “The difference is, they know him. They don’t know us. If we go in there without him, we’re just the strangers who robbed a bank and killed a monk. They’ll stretch our necks before the day’s out.”

 

“Sounds like that’s what they’re plannin’ anyway, if that feller is like the rest of ’em,” said Hoss, sitting down on his own cot. 

 

Adam sat down next to his brother, mulling over what little the lawyer had told them. Three dead people. Two monks had apparently witnessed the robbery. He didn’t know who had been assaulted, whether it was one of the dead people or someone else. As Ben fumed and Hoss watched him, Adam turned over the scraps of information. Again and again, he came back to the same conclusion.

 

They needed to talk to the monks.

 

And he knew without asking that nobody in this town was going to allow it.

 

************

 

“Sheriff, may we speak with you a moment?” Brothers Thaddeus and Charles stopped the sheriff on his way out the monastery door. The sheriff had made the trek up the hill to discuss with the monks the upcoming trial of the bank robbers. They’d all sat around the table as he outlined what would happen, and they’d all nodded seriously, as if they understood and agreed with him. Now, the other brothers were already returning to their regular duties. Brother Daniel looked as if he was having one of his headaches, and Brother Dominic was trying to get him to go and lie down for a while.

 

“What is it, Brothers?”

 

Brother Thaddeus lowered his voice. “Well—how important is it that Brother Thomas and Brother Daniel testify?”

 

“It’s the whole case,” said the sheriff. He thought he’d made this clear. “What’s the problem?”

 

“Well, sheriff—you see, Brother Thomas—well, he tends to get a little bit confused in the best of circumstances, and Brother Daniel is still having problems with headaches, and I think it would be best if they could just stay here. Maybe somebody else could go and testify.” Brother Charles knew full well that the sheriff should not agree to this, but he was not above being disingenuous if it was necessary to protect the others.

 

“But they’re the ones who were in the bank,” said the sheriff. “They’re the only eyewitnesses.”

 

“But it was Brother Gabriel and Brother Thaddeus who identified them on the street,” Brother Charles pointed out. 

 

Brother Thaddeus nodded vigorously. “Why can’t we testify instead?” 

 

“Because you didn’t see the robbery,” said the sheriff with forced patience. 

 

“But if they know who the men are, why does it matter if they saw the robbery? They heard the men threatening Brother Daniel. Why isn’t that good enough?” Brother Charles’ hands rested on his round hips, and his bearded chin jutted out ominously.

 

“Because that ain’t the way the law works!” The sheriff reined in his temper. Brother Charles looked up at him, unfazed. “The way the law works is that if you see something, you’re the one who has to testify about it. You can’t just tell somebody else and have them do it. It don’t work that way.”

 

The monks nodded. “All right, then,” Brother Charles said. “I’ll see about maybe getting them there.” He hoped that the sheriff hadn’t heard the “maybe”. The truth was that he did want Brother Daniel to testify so that the robbers could be convicted, but he just didn’t see how it was going to be possible with the young man feeling as poorly as he had since the cow kicked him. It figured that this would be the one time the circuit judge was prompt in getting to town.

 

“Brothers, there ain’t no ‘maybe’ about it!” The sheriff clenched his teeth. “Brother Thomas and Brother Daniel have to come to court tomorrow and testify. That’s all there is to it. You have them there tomorrow morning at nine o’clock when the courthouse opens, or else.” He hoped that the brothers didn’t ask, “Or else what?” Frankly, he couldn’t think of any threat he’d use against a holy man. 

 

“We’ll do our best,” said Brother Charles. “We can’t do better than that.”

 

All right. He had a monk’s promise to do his best. He couldn’t ask for more than that. “Fine,” the sheriff growled, stomping out to his horse as the brothers gently closed the door behind him.

 

************

 

The next morning, after prayers, the monks gathered around the table. Unexpected rain pelted against the windows. “Where’s Brother Daniel?” asked Brother Charles as thunder rumbled.

 

“He’s still in bed,” said Brother Dominic. “He had a pretty rough night. The headaches were bad. I gave him something for the pain and told him just to rest.”

 

“Do we need to call in the town doctor?” asked Brother Gabriel hesitantly. He didn’t mean to offend Brother Dominic, but it did seem to him that injuries were supposed to get better, not worse.

 

“I’d give him another day or so,” said Brother Dominic. “If he’s not better then, we might want to see what the doctor says.” 

 

“But we promised the sheriff that we’d do our best to get him to the courthouse,” said Brother Thaddeus.

 

“If he can’t go, he can’t go,” said Brother Charles. Brother Gabriel nodded his agreement.

 

“But what if the men who killed Brother Nathaniel go free because Brother Daniel isn’t there to identify them?” Brother Andrew looked around the table. The others were somber. They knew that vengeance was the Lord’s, but as far as it was possible on this earth, they wanted to see justice done. Had they been different men, they’d have said point blank that they wanted to see the bastards hang.

 

“It’s all right, I can testify,” said Brother Thomas. He looked around the table. None of the brothers was looking at him. “What’s the matter?”

 

“Brother Thomas,” said Brother Clarence gently. “How much do you remember about what happened that day at the bank?”

 

“I remember everything,” declared Brother Thomas. The others looked gently skeptical. “Almost everything,” he amended. “Everything that matters.”

 

“Can you describe the robbers for me?”

 

Brother Thomas thought. “There were three of them,” he said finally.

 

“What did they look like?”

 

Brother Thomas concentrated. “I don’t quite recall,” he admitted. “But I’d know them if I saw them. I’m sure of it.” The brothers were silent. “I’m sure,” he insisted. 

 

“Brother Thomas, these men are on trial for their lives,” said Brother Clarence quietly. “If Brother Daniel can’t be there, three men will die on your word. Now, tell us. Are you absolutely sure you’ll know whether these are the men?”

 

Brother Thomas looked around the table. All of the brothers were much younger than he was. He’d been one of the first to come here to serve God in this place. He’d built this room. He sawed the planks that became the table they were sitting around. He knew that pride was a sin and humility a virtue. It wasn’t pride, really. If he could get the job done on his own, Brother Daniel could get some much-needed rest. The fact that testifying might make the younger brothers look up to him a bit . . . well, that was just a little something extra.

 

His usually wispy voice was strong and clear. “I’m sure.”

 

***********

 

“All rise. Court is now in session. The Honorable Horace J. Bimler presiding.” The bailiff stood by the door, alert and stern, as the judge entered. His blue eyes were fierce under his bushy white brows. The light glinted off his shiny dome. He sat down and banged his gavel unnecessarily.

 

“Be seated,” he barked.

 

Judge Bimler wasn’t usually this rough at the beginning of a trial, but he’d been a judge for a long time, and he was no fool. This trial already had the feeling of a hanging party:  three strangers at the defense table with no lawyer, three dead people who had been known and liked, and townspeople crowding the gallery and standing along the back and sides. He’d tried cases here before, and he knew that some of them knew to respect him, but he was going to make sure that this trial went according to Hoyle, and that meant throwing his weight around now, before things got out of hand.

 

“This is the case of the people versus Benjamin Cartwright, Adam Cartwright and Erik Cartwright,” said Judge Bimler. “Now, let’s clear up a few things right from the start. This is no Sunday school picnic. This is serious business, as serious as business gets. These men are on trial for their lives. I will not stand for any disturbances of any kind. I have no problem clearing the courtroom if I have to and trying this case with just the defendants, the prosecutor, the witnesses, the jury and yours truly. I don’t care what you think about these men. Nobody but the jury gets to decide their fate. And if you think for one minute that I’m going to stand by and let you folks take matters into your own hands, you’ve got another think coming. I will throw each and every person in this room into the jail before I’ll let this trial be compromised, and you’ll rot there until the next time I get around this way, which could be a very, very long time if I have anything to say about it. Am I making myself clear? No funny business!” He glared until he felt comfortable that the spectators were suitably cowed. Then, he sat back and nodded to the prosecutor. “Your opening statement, counselor.”

 

Outside, the sheriff was pacing. There had been no sign of any of the monks. The prosecutor had nearly ridden up to the monastery himself, but he’d tried enough cases with Judge Bimler to know that there would be hell to pay if he was late. “You said they’d be here!” he’d hissed to the sheriff as they watched nervously for the bailiff to stride into the courtroom.

 

“They will,” said the sheriff with conviction that he didn’t feel. And so, he paced in the rain, peering up the street.

 

The monks’ wagon came around the corner. Several brown-hooded figures were crowded into the seat and the back. It was impossible to tell who was present. The sheriff breathed a quick prayer that the monks he needed were among the group.

 

The wagon drew up in front of the courthouse, and a covey of soggy monks disembarked. As they reached the shelter of the overhang, they pushed their hoods back. The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the old monk, but his relief faded when the young one did not appear.

 

“Where’s the new guy?” he demanded.

 

Brothers Charles and Clarence exchanged a glance at the appellation. Wordlessly, they decided to let the disrespect pass, since Daniel wasn’t really a monk anyway. “He’s back at the monastery,” said Brother Clarence. “He’s having terrible headaches, and he can’t come. But Brother Thomas is here, and he can testify to everything Brother Daniel could. More, actually, because Brother Daniel was unconscious for part of the time.” He glanced down at Brother Charles, who nodded slightly at this touch.

 

The sheriff suppressed a groan. They might be men of the cloth, but they could drive an ordinary man to drink. “He’d better,” he muttered, shepherding them into the courtroom. “Let’s go.”

 

The prosecutor was just wrapping up his opening statement as the sheriff and the monks entered the room. A quick glance told the sheriff that the prosecutor had, in fact, been dragging his statement out in the hope that his witnesses would arrive by the time he finished. “And so, gentlemen, when you have heard all the evidence, I believe that you will have no choice but to return a verdict of guilty as to all three of the defendants,” he announced with a relieved flourish.

 

Judge Bimler nodded as the prosecutor strode back to his seat. Then, he turned his attention to the defendants. “You’re entitled to make an opening statement,” he said. “Just one of you, though.” 

 

Ben rose and approached the jury. “Gentlemen, my name is Ben Cartwright,” he said. “The men at the table with me are my sons, Adam and Hoss. We live on the Ponderosa, outside of Virginia City. Until we arrived here three days ago, none of us had ever been to San Pedro in our lives. Now, we don’t know what happened here when the bank was robbed, and we’re mighty sorry that you folks apparently lost some good friends in that robbery, but gentlemen, I tell you the truth, we had nothing to do with it.”

 

“Objection!” The prosecutor was on his feet. “He’s testifying!”

 

“Sustained,” said the judge. “Mr. Cartwright, you can’t testify yet. You haven’t been sworn in.”

 

Ben turned to the judge. “Yes, Your Honor,” he said, sensing that cooperation would be more likely to earn them some leniency. A few minutes ago, the man seemed to be determined that the Cartwrights would have a fair trial, and now, he wouldn’t let Ben talk about what happened. With a fleeting dart of regret for having discharged the lawyer, Ben turned back to the jury. “Gentlemen, I believe that, when you have heard all the evidence, you will find that my sons and I are not the men who committed the crime for which you seek retribution. We are not guilty, and we ask that you so find. Thank you.” He returned to the defense table, wishing that he could shake the sense that this entire trial was a farce, that their fates were not already sealed. As he turned his attention to the judge, Ben also felt a brief, sharp pain at the thought that, if they were to hang in this little town, Joseph would never know what had happened to them. 

 

Assuming, of course, that his son was even alive.

 

No. The father’s heart rejected this thought uncategorically. If Joseph were dead, Ben Cartwright would know it. He was certain. He didn’t know if he’d ever see his son again, but he felt absolutely sure at that moment that the boy was alive. 

 

He forced his attention back to the courtroom as the prosecutor rose. “The prosecution calls Brother Daniel to the stand,” the lawyer announced so enthusiastically that you might have thought he expected applause.

 

“Uh—Mr. Warren?” Brother Charles leaned forward from his seat in the row of monks.

 

“Yes, Brother Daniel?” the prosecutor said impatiently.

 

“Brother Charles,” the round monk said. “Brother Daniel isn’t here.”

 

The prosecutor looked down the row. Six monks, and none was Brother Daniel. The sheriff had told him that Brother Daniel, the newest monk, was the preferred witness, because the old monk had a tendency to get confused. Resisting the urge to swear under his breath—he knew from past experience that swearing was expensive in Judge Bimler’s courtroom—he leaned in close to Brother Charles. “Who have you got who was in the bank?” he whispered.

 

“Brother Thomas,” Brother Charles said, nodding acknowledgement to the monk on his right.

 

Damn. The old guy. Well, he was going to have to make this work. “Okay, let’s go,” he said unceremoniously. In a louder voice, less enthusiastic than before, he said, “The prosecution calls Brother Thomas to the stand.”

 

Brother Thomas rose. He pretended not to notice that all eyes were on him as he walked the short distance to the witness chair. As instructed, he placed his left hand on the Bible, raised his right hand, and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

 

The prosecutor asked him some preliminary questions about his name and where he lived before getting to the meat of his testimony. “Brother Thomas, were you in the bank on the morning of June 22nd?”

 

“Yes, I was,” said Brother Thomas, almost proudly.

 

“Who else was in the bank?”

 

“Brother Nathaniel, Brother Daniel, and the tellers. Oh, and the bank robbers, of course.” A chuckle ran through the courtroom, and Judge Bimler pounded his gavel.

 

“Were the robbers in there when you arrived?”

 

“No, sir,” Brother Thomas said. “Brother Daniel was already in the bank when Brother Nathaniel and I came in. Then, the robbers came in. They hit Brother Daniel on the head and knocked him out, and they made Brother Nathaniel and me lie down on the floor. The floor was very dirty, but Brother Nathaniel said that we had to do it anyway.”

 

The prosecutor referred to his notes so that Brother Thomas and the judge wouldn’t see him rolling his eyes at this detail. “What happened next?” Brother Thomas considered the question for a long time. “Brother Thomas? What happened next?”

 

“Just give me a moment, please,” said Brother Thomas. “It was all very confusing. I can’t remember who got shot first. It might have been Brother Nathaniel—no, I think the tellers—no, it was Brother Nathaniel. That’s it. The big man shot—no, it was the one in the dark clothes—no, I think he just threatened us, but the big man shot somebody. He shot Brother—no, that’s not right, because Brother Nathaniel said something after one of the tellers was shot, so he must have been alive, musn’t he?” He was starting to feel agitated. Sweat was rolling down the back of his neck. This happened sometimes, when he tried too hard to remember. He wished that the prosecutor would ask an easy question so that he could get his bearings back.

 

The prosecutor poured Brother Thomas a glass of water and handed it to him. “Just take it easy,” he whispered. All he needed was for the old guy to keel over right there. The judge would have to declare a mistrial.

 

“Brother Thomas, do you see the bank robbers in this courtroom today?” asked the prosecutor. He moved so that the monk had an unobstructed view of the Cartwrights.

 

Brother Thomas squinted at the three men. There was an older one, a big one, and a dark one, all right. But something seemed—well, off. There was something about these men that didn’t seem quite the same as the men who had been in the bank that morning. He scrutinized each defendant. The older man didn’t have the hard, mean look that he’d had in the bank. The big one looked serious, but quite pleasant now. The dark one looked annoyed, maybe even angry, but he didn’t seem like the man who had held a gun on Brother Nathaniel. 

 

“Brother Thomas?”

 

The monk jumped guiltily. The judge was peering at him. “Brother, are the defendants the men you saw in the bank on the morning of June 22nd?” asked the judge point-blank.

 

Brother Thomas hung his head. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. He didn’t want to look at the other brothers. He had taken the stand because of his own pride, and look where it had gotten him. He’d been so sure that he’d know the men when he saw them, and now, it seemed that he didn’t. He thought briefly of saying that these were the men and burying that niggling doubt in his head, but Brother Clarence’s statement about these men dying on his word, and his own sense of right, wouldn’t allow it. “I can’t say for sure,” he said again.

 

For a moment, the prosecutor looked furious. Then, decorum reasserted itself, and he nodded. “Thank you, Brother Thomas,” he said. “You may step down.” As the older monk rose, the prosecutor turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I would like to request a brief recess. My next witness is not yet in the courthouse.”

 

“Who’s your next witness, Mr. Warren?” The judge counted six monks in the front row.

 

“Brother Daniel,” said the prosecutor. “And I’m told that he’s not here yet.”

 

The judge scowled. To the monks, he said, “None of you is Brother Daniel?”

 

“No, Your Honor,” said Brother Charles, rising. “Brother Daniel is back at the monastery. He’s in poor health at the moment, and we felt it best that he stay home.”

 

“You felt it best,” the judge repeated. “Well, brother, whatever Brother Daniel’s state of health, these three men are going to be in much worse shape if they’re convicted, so I’m ordering you to get Brother Daniel in here. We’re going to take a recess for one hour, and when court resumes, Brother Daniel is going to testify about what he saw in the bank that morning. Is that clear, brothers?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Brother Charles, refusing to be cowed. 

 

The judge banged his gavel in disgust. “Court stands in recess. Bailiff, take the defendants back into custody.” The judge marched off the bench, slamming the door to his chambers behind him, as the bailiff, the sheriff and the deputies seized the Cartwrights and hauled them into the little room in the back. 

 

Brother Charles scribbled a note and handed it to young Marcus Damon, who was ten years old and the best math student he’d ever had. “Run as fast as you can and take this to Brother Dominic at the monastery,” he said. As the boy lit out in the rain, Brother Charles looked up to see Brother Thomas sitting in the front row, eyes downcast. Before Brother Charles could do anything, Brother Thaddeus sat down next to the older monk.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Brother Thaddeus said softly. “You tried. If you weren’t sure, you had to say that.” He draped his arm around Brother Thomas’ shoulders. 

 

“I know,” said Brother Thomas. “I just thought. . . .”

 

“We know,” said Brother Gabriel. He and the others pulled their chairs closer to Brother Thomas, and the brothers sat in silence as the spectators milled about and everyone awaited Brother Daniel’s arrival.

 

***********

 

Even with the rain, the daylight was bright enough that Brother Daniel kept the dark glasses on and his hood pulled up to shield his eyes. His head pounded, and his stomach felt queasy. He hoped he wouldn’t be sick in the courtroom. Bad enough he had to show up dressed as a monk. 

 

A thought occurred to him. “How’m I gonna take the oath?”

 

“What do you mean?” asked Brother Dominic.

 

“Don’t I have to tell them my name?”

 

Brother Dominic considered this. “Well, I think that, for now, you can fairly say that your name is Brother Daniel. If you remembered your real name and didn’t use it, that would be lying, but since the only name you have right now is Brother Daniel, I think it’s fine to say that’s your name and that you live with us.” He glanced at the young man beside him. “And if you need to take a break, just say so, and they’ll let you.” He didn’t like the way Brother Daniel looked at all. The young man was far too pale. If only this hadn’t been necessary. If only Brother Thomas could have been sure.

 

Brother Dominic reined in the horse and secured the reins. He climbed down from the wagon and reached up to give Brother Daniel a steadying hand down. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked once more.

 

“Let’s just get it over with,” said Brother Daniel. He felt himself losing his balance and reached for the older man. Without comment, Brother Dominic tucked Brother Daniel’s hand into the crook of his arm.

 

All heads turned as the monks crossed the threshold.

 

“What the…” Adam’s jaw dropped. “They’re not serious about this. They can’t be.”

 

“That’s the one who’s gonna say whether we were there? But—Pa—he’s…” Hoss couldn’t finish the sentence.

 

“…blind.” Ben was seething. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why this town seemed to have it in for them. First, the old monk thought he was so sure, right up until he wasn’t. Now, they had brought in a blind man to identify them as the robbers. Absolutely unbelievable.

 

The Cartwrights huddled together at the defense table, trying to make sense of this latest turn of events. They didn’t notice as the rotund monk seated the blind monk in the front row, between two other monks, and asked him if he was all right.

 

“I’m fine,” said Brother Daniel.

 

Quiet though they were, the words penetrated Ben’s consciousness. For a moment, he’d have sworn Joseph was in the room. He looked up, half-expecting to see the familiar green jacket and lopsided grin. But, of course, he didn’t see his son. Silly to expect to.

 

The judge resumed the bench and pounded his gavel as he called court back to order. The blind monk winced at the noise. The bailiff intoned, “Will the witness please take the stand?” The Cartwrights exchanged grim, furious looks. They were being railroaded, and they didn’t know why.

 

Brother Daniel shook his head slightly as he got to his feet, pulling the hood close around his face to block out light and smoothing his beard. What a rotten time for a headache, and it just kept getting worse. He tried to breathe deeply as he walked the few steps to the witness chair. He placed his hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God. His voice was weak and breathy, and as the rain pounded on the roof, it was nearly impossible to hear him. The judge had to tell him to speak up, but the prosecutor could tell that even that was going to do little good. It would be a miracle if the jury could hear the monk’s testimony. The prosecutor would probably have to repeat everything in his closing.

 

The prosecutor approached. Without asking, he poured Brother Daniel a glass of water and handed it to him. “We’ll make this fast,” he whispered. Unintentionally blocking the defendants’ view of the witness, he began his questioning as thunder rumbled.

 

“Would you please state your name and address?”

 

“My name is Brother Daniel,” said the witness, wondering how this comported with the oath he’d just taken. “I live at the monastery on the hill.”

 

Ben craned his neck to see around the prosecutor. From the moment he saw the monk rise to approach the stand, something had shifted. Everything in him was humming, alert. He could barely hear the monk’s soft voice over the pelting of the rain on the roof and the rolling thunder, but it wasn’t the substance of the testimony that had his attention. He fought the urge to shove the lawyer aside so that he could see the witness. He spared a quick glance at his sons beside him. They, too, were fixated on the witness. There was something about this man. . . .

 

“How long have you lived there?” the prosecutor continued.

 

“A few weeks.”

 

“Were you present in the bank on the morning of June 22nd?”

 

“Yes.” He sipped the water. His head was pounding so hard that it was a wonder everybody couldn’t hear it, even over the rain and the thunder.

 

“Can you tell the court what happened on that date?” The prosecutor had barely finished the question when one of the spectators began to cough. He tried to signal the witness to wait with his answer so that the jury could hear him, but Brother Daniel was already responding, even though probably no one could hear him except the lawyer and the judge, both of whom were within arm’s length of the witness stand.

 

“Three men came in and held up the place. They killed Brother Nathaniel and a couple other people.” Brother Daniel took off the dark glasses and rubbed his eyes. The room was starting to spin. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. He replaced his dark glasses.

 

“Do you see those three men in this courtroom today?” With a flourish, the prosecutor stepped aside.

 

Brother Daniel looked up. What he saw made him blink hard. The men were fuzzy, but there was something familiar about them. Images swirled in his brain like dry leaves in an autumn windstorm. He knew them from somewhere, he was sure of it. But not the bank—someplace else. He needed to get closer, to get a good look.

 

“I can’t see them very well from here,” he murmured. “Can I…” The prosecutor glanced up at the judge, who nodded. 

 

“Bailiff, escort the witness to the defendants’ table,” said the judge. 

 

Carefully, Brother Daniel set down the water glass and stood. The monks watched carefully, the defendants more so. Unsteadily, the young man approached the defendants’ table, brow furrowed above the dark glasses. 

 

The Cartwrights watched the monk walk slowly toward them. The bailiff walked beside him, but it was hard to know whether he was there to protect the monk from the defendants or to catch him if he fell. Ben’s heart pounded. This wasn’t an ordinary witness. There was something familiar about this man, about the way he held himself and the way he moved, about his coloring and his demeanor and the spark of something that showed through even though he was blind and dressed as a monk. If Ben hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn…

 

“Pa?”

 

The room erupted into chaos. The young man, reaching out to him, collapsed and fell to the floor. Ben lunged for him, only to be slammed back into his chair by the bailiff. The sheriff and his deputy sprang forward to restrain Adam and Hoss. The witness disappeared in a sea of rough brown robes as the monks clustered around him. The judge pounded his gavel on the table.

 

“Order! Order in the court!”

 

“That’s my son!”

 

“Get back here!”

 

“Joe!”

 

“Bailiff!”

 

“Brother Daniel!”

 

“Sit down this instant!”

 

“Somebody get a doctor!”

 

“Order in the court!”

 

“Little Brother!”

 

“Where’s Brother Dominic?”

 

“Brother Daniel!”

 

“JOSEPH!”

 

************

 

Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes. Brother Dominic sat beside him, wiping his face with a cool, wet cloth. He squinted.

 

“Is it too bright in here?” Brother Dominic reached into his pocket and handed him the dark glasses. Gratefully, the young man put them on.

 

“Where’s here?”

 

“The judge’s chambers,” Brother Dominic said. 

 

“Where’s the judge?”

 

“Still in the courtroom, I’d imagine.” He dipped the cloth into the bowl of water and wrung it out, laying it across the young man’s brow. “Do you remember what happened in there?”

 

He thought. “I—I saw my pa. He was there. I’m sure of it.”

 

Brother Dominic smiled. “Do you remember his name?”

 

He didn’t have to think this time. “Ben Cartwright. Was he really there?”

 

Brother Dominic nodded. “He’s really out there,” he said. “So are your brothers. Do you remember their names?”

 

“Adam and Hoss.” He grinned weakly. “And my name is—my name is Joe Cartwright.” It felt so good to finish that sentence. Relief washed over him. He was back. At last. 

 

“Pleased to meet you, Joe Cartwright,” said Brother Dominic, his casual tone masking his relief and gratitude for the gift of the young man’s memory.

 

Joe’s grin faded. “What were my pa and brothers doing out there? Why aren’t they in here?” His heart began to beat faster. Something was wrong, he was sure of it. There was no way that his family would have stood aside and let a stranger, however kind, tend to him. Not unless something was very, very wrong.

 

“Well—it’s kind of complicated,” said Brother Dominic. The fact was that Cartwrights were still defendants in a murder trial. As such, they were still in custody. He saw the growing panic in Joe’s face, and he hedged a bit. “There are a couple little things that need to be cleared up. Just tell me this. Were your father and brothers present at the bank on the morning of the robbery?”

 

“Of course not. Why would they be?” His voice grew louder, more agitated.

 

Brother Dominic rose, his gentle smile masking his vast relief. “Okay, take it easy,” he said. “You just stay here for a little bit and rest. I need to go and have a talk with the judge.”

 

“I want to see my family,” said Joe, trying to rise even though the room started to spin as he did.

 

“You will,” promised Brother Dominic as he pushed the young man back on the settee. “It may take a few minutes, but you’ll see them. You have my word. Just lay quiet, and I promise you, you’ll see them.” Slightly to his surprise, the soothing tone that he used so effectively with the animals worked on this young man who had come to mean so much to the brothers. 

 

He patted Joe’s shoulder and stood. As he started to turn toward the door, Joe reached up and caught his hand. Surprised, the monk looked down at the former Brother Daniel. 

 

“Thanks,” Joe whispered. 

 

Brother Dominic smiled. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He adjusted the cloth on Joe’s brow as the young man’s eyes closed.

 

***********

 

“Joseph.”

 

Joe opened his eyes and caught his breath. The most beloved face in his world hovered over him, lamplight creating a halo. He reached up, and Ben pressed his son’s hand against his own face. “Pa,” Joe murmured.

 

“What have you done to yourself now, young man?” His father smiled gently, hiding the effort that it took to keep his voice steady. Between nearly being convicted of murder and finding his missing son, it had been quite a day.

 

“Got hit in the head,” Joe said. “A couple times.”

 

“So I heard,” said Ben. “You should stop doing that,” he added, hoping to coax a smile from his son.

 

“Good thing I got that thick Cartwright skull,” Joe said. It was so hard to keep his eyes open, but he didn’t dare close them for fear that he would waken to find this moment a mere dream.

 

Ben smiled at his son’s effort. “You just rest now,” he said. The deep, soothing voice that Joe remembered so well was soft with unshed tears. 

 

“Where are we?” The room was unfamiliar and yet familiar, all at once.

 

“Two of the monks gave us their room,” Ben said. While he was infinitely grateful to them for all they’d done for Joe, he was especially touched that these childless men understood how a father would want to stay with his son. 

 

“Which two?”

 

Ben leaned closer. “I’m not quite sure,” he admitted in a conspiratorial whisper. This time, Joe smiled, and Ben caught his breath at the realization that he might easily have died without ever seeing that smile again. “You go to sleep now, son,” he murmured. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He watched as the pain medicine the doctor had administered before they left the courthouse claimed Joe again. “I’ll stay right here,” he whispered again, a promise to his sleeping son.

 

************

 

Joe awoke to the sound of low voices in another room. He struggled to open his eyes, wincing slightly at the light that filtered through the drawn shades. He would never have believed he could be so tired. He felt as if someone had drained all the blood out of him. He would have closed his eyes and gone back to sleep, but the smell of bacon frying reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday.

 

He was just pushing himself to his feet when the door opened. “And just where do you think you’re going?” said his father with mock sternness. 

 

“To get some breakfast,” said Joe. “A man could starve to death around here.” He took a step, but he began to sway and would have fallen if his father had not caught him.

 

“Breakfast will be ready in a minute,” said Ben. “Now, you lie down, young man.” Firmly, he grasped his son’s arm and maneuvered him back into bed.

 

“You shouldn’t try so hard to keep me in bed,” said Joe as his father drew the light covers over him. “If I hadn’t gotten up yesterday, who knows what would have happened?”

 

“Since Brother Thomas couldn’t identify them, maybe nothing,” said Brother Charles from the doorway. He bore a tray containing a cup and a plate with two slices of bread and some jam.

 

Joe shook his head quickly, as if to clear it, and immediately regretted doing so. “I thought I smelled bacon,” he said.

 

“You did,” said Brother Charles. “But Brother Dominic says that you’re to eat lightly today after everything that happened yesterday. So, this is your breakfast. The tea is one of Brother Gabriel’s special blends,” he added encouragingly.

 

It was on the tip of Joe’s tongue to protest such treatment. Tea and bread, while the others had bacon and coffee and who knew what else. But he had learned a few things in his weeks at the monastery, and one was that, whatever the result might be, the brothers meant well. And so, he held back his complaint, ignoring the amusement in his father’s eyes as the older man positioned the pillows behind him and settled the tray on his lap.

 

“The least you could do is steal me some bacon,” Joe muttered once the monk had left the room.

 

“And go against Brother Dominic’s orders?” Ben smiled, pulling the chair close to the bed. The truth was that, right then, he’d have gotten his son whatever he wanted, no matter who had ordered what. Although Joe had slept soundly through the night, Ben had wakened regularly. Each time, he crossed the small room to sit on the edge of his son’s bed, with gentle touches on hand, arm, cheek, and brow reassuring him that the young man was really there, safe and whole. 

 

Joe raised his eyebrows. “Since when do you do what the monks say?”

 

“Since they may well have saved my son’s life,” Ben said with sudden seriousness. Deep brown eyes met green ones as father and son acknowledged without words all that they had come so close to losing.

 

“Hey, there, Little Brother,” said Hoss as he and Adam came in, stretching. The older Cartwright brothers had insisted on sleeping in the parlor, over the strenuous objections of the monks. The Cartwrights reasoned that, unlike the monks, they had bedrolls, and so it made perfect sense that they should be the ones to use them. The monks, concerned that they were being bad hosts, insisted that they at least take the pillows from the beds, a compromise that was deemed acceptable to all.

 

“Hey, Big Brother,” grinned Joe.

 

“Meant to tell you yesterday, that’s quite a fine beard you’ve got,” said Adam.

 

“Well, don’t get too used to it,” said Joe. “Now that my monk days are behind me, I’m having a shave, first chance I get!”

 

“Your monk days,” snorted Adam. “How on earth did you come to be masquerading as a monk, anyway?”

 

“I’m not quite sure,” admitted Joe.

 

“It was for his own safety,” said Brother Clarence from the doorway. The other brothers clustered behind him. “We were concerned that the bank robbers would come back and find him.”

 

“So, we didn’t think anyone would be able to tell the difference between your brother and the rest of the brothers if he dressed the way we do,” said Brother Gabriel. “And we were right. No one ever suspected a thing.”

 

“Not even the sheriff, and he was the only one, besides us, who ever saw Brother Daniel in street clothes,” added Brother Andrew. 

 

“We just told him that Brother Daniel was new to the monastery—which, of course, he was,” said Brother Thaddeus.

 

“We couldn’t just leave him to fend for himself,” said Brother Thomas. “Not after all he did for Brother Nathaniel and me.”

 

“Besides, he had a concussion,” said Brother Dominic. “He’s sort of a stubborn patient, though, isn’t he?”

 

“Yes, Brother, he is,” said Ben wryly as Adam and Hoss snickered. 

 

“Our doc at home’s had that problem for years,” added Hoss.

 

“I’m not that bad,” protested Joe. He looked up to see his family and the brothers, all nodding. “I’m not!” he insisted. All ten men rolled their eyes. “At least nobody thought I was a bank robber,” he added, switching tactics.

 

“Why on earth did they think we’d robbed that bank, anyway?” asked Ben.

 

“Because there were three robbers, and they sort of looked like you three,” said Joe. “Not if somebody knew you, but if they’d only gotten a quick look—yeah, you could have passed for them.”

 

“But who knew that besides you and Brother Thomas?” asked Adam.

 

“Nobody,” said Joe, sipping his tea and trying hard to refrain from making a face.

 

“Then, I’m confused,” said Adam. “How did the sheriff know to arrest Hoss and me? Did you point us out?”

 

“Not me,” said Joe. “And Brother Thomas wasn’t even in town that day.”

 

“Then how…”

 

“I’m afraid we’re to blame,” said Brother Gabriel. “Brother Thaddeus and I heard you threatening to kill Brother Daniel, and we assumed you were the robbers, because nobody else knew he was here.”

 

“You heard what?” Ben gaped.

 

Brother Thaddeus nodded. “We were walking down the street, and these two were talking about how they were going to kill Brother Daniel.”

 

“I never—I didn’t say I was gonna kill no monk! Honest, Pa!” Hoss looked frantically around the room for something to swear on.

 

“Neither did I, Pa!” Adam chimed in.

 

“You did,” said Brother Gabriel to Hoss. “You said you were going to tear him limb from limb, and you were going to wring his neck. I remember specifically how you were going to string him up by his green jacket.”

 

“I was?” Hoss looked at Adam, who was beginning to grin as the light dawned. 

 

“You were,” confirmed Brother Thaddeus.

 

“I said that?” The big man was horrified.

 

“Several times,” nodded Adam. “And you were most descriptive about how you would do it.”

 

“You were gonna kill me? Any particular reason?” Joe sipped his tea to hide a grin as he watched his brothers squirm.

 

“Think about it,” said Adam to Hoss. “It’ll come back to you.”

 

Hoss thought hard for a moment. Then, his eyes widened as the memory clicked into place. “You’re married,” he blurted, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

 

“What?” Joe sputtered, spraying tea on his father. He doubled over, choking on a sip of tea that had gone down the wrong way, until Ben pounded on his back.

 

“Yes, Little Brother, we know all about it,” said Adam.

 

“All about what?” Joe squeaked, ignoring the pounding in his head.

 

“All about what, indeed?” demanded Ben.

 

“Your marriage,” said Adam.

 

“She’s a beautiful woman,” Brother Thomas added helpfully.

 

“Who is?” Ben and Joe stared at each other, then at the monk.

 

“Your wife, of course.” Brother Thomas couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to be so upset. The lady in the picture looked quite nice. 

 

“What wife?” Joe looked at the men around him. His father looked as blank as he felt. All the others were nodding knowingly. He saw Adam and Hoss exchanged a quick look. “What wife?” he insisted.

 

“What wife indeed?” asked Ben.

 

“Brother Daniel’s wife,” said Brother Thomas. “That beautiful young woman.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Joe. 

 

“I wouldn’t worry about it right now,” said Brother Dominic with a warning look at the others. “Memory doesn’t always return all at once.”

 

“But I ain’t got a wife!” Agitated, Joe started to sit up, only to have his father push him back against the pillows. Brother Gabriel reached past Ben to remove the tray, lest it go flying with the next outburst.

 

Ben looked up at his older sons, who had remained uncharacteristically silent. “You boys know anything about this?”

 

“Well, Pa—from what we could gather, it seems—well, it looks like Little Brother done gone and gotten hisself married,” said Hoss, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

 

“What?” screeched Joe. His own voice sent a shaft of pain through his head.

 

“Now, Brother Daniel, there’s nothing to worry about,” said Brother Thomas. “She looks like a lovely woman, and I’m sure she’ll be very understanding. Will you be sending for her?”

 

“Sending for her? I don’t even know who you’re talkin’ about!”

 

“Why would you need to send for her? Ain’t she here?” Hoss asked.

 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” shouted Joe.

 

“Settle down, Joseph,” said Ben. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” He turned to the group of men. “Do any of you know who this supposed wife is?” Cartwrights and monks shook their heads. “Do you know her name?”

 

“Mrs. Cartwright, I’d imagine,” said Brother Thaddeus helpfully.

 

Ben ignored him. “So none of you have met her?” More head-shaking. “Have you even seen her?” he asked. 

 

“We’ve seen her picture,” said Brother Thaddeus. “Brother Daniel keeps it beside his bed.”

 

“There’s a picture?” So, the woman was real. Ben gritted his teeth. Only the father’s concern for his son’s headache kept Ben from shouting.

 

“That’s my wife?” Joe squeaked. Somehow, as beautiful as the woman in the picture was, she had never inspired those kinds of feelings in him. He looked helplessly at his father. “Pa, I don’t know what to say. I really don’t remember any of this.”

 

“Joseph, have you seen this picture?” A thought was beginning to surface.

 

Joe nodded, wincing at the pain of movement. “And she’s as beautiful as they say she is,” he said. A fragment of memory surfaced, and he quoted, “Like having spring in the house all year round. . . .” His puzzlement gave way as his father smiled with vast relief.

 

“Would one of you please bring the picture here?” asked Ben. Brother Andrew retrieved it, handing it to Joe, who nodded.

 

“That’s her,” he said. To the monks, he explained, “This was my mother.”

 

“Well, she’s still very beautiful,” said Brother Thaddeus loyally.

 

“Thank you,” said Joe. Relief washed over him. Except. . . his brow furrowed, and he and his father turned to Adam and Hoss at the same time. 

 

“That explains why these gentlemen thought Joe had a wife,” said Ben. “But it doesn’t explain you two. Now, where did you get the idea that your brother had gotten married?”

 

“Well…y’see, Pa—there was this little redhead over at the saloon……”

 

“Carrie?” Joe’s eyes grew round. “You’re telling me I married Carrie?”

 

“No, you didn’t marry her — but she said….” Hoss fumbled for the right words. It didn’t help when Adam began to laugh. He laid a hand on Hoss’ arm, but he was laughing so hard that he couldn’t get words out. “Dadburnit, Adam, cut it out, this is serious. That little gal said—”

 

“Think hard for a minute, Younger Brother,” Adam managed, gasping for breath. “Do you remember what she said? Not that part,” he added as Hoss fixed him with a look of pure horror at the notion of quoting the girl in front of his father and a bunch of monks. “What she said about what Joe did after she saw him.”

 

“She said—she said…” The light began to dawn.

 

“She said he went to the church and took his vows,” said Adam. “Seems there are different vows for different men.” He reached over and tugged at the hood of Brother Dominic’s robe. “Knowing our brother as we do, we assumed that she meant marriage vows. We certainly would never have pictured Joe taking the kinds of vows that you gentlemen have taken.” He winked at his youngest brother, dimples barely showing his vast amusement at the notion of Joe Cartwright taking vows of poverty, chastity or obedience.

 

“So—Joseph isn’t married?” Ben was still trying to catch up.

 

“Not as far as we know,” said Adam. “Unless there’s something Little Brother hasn’t told us,” he added slyly.

 

“Pa, believe me, as far as I know, I’m not married to anybody,” said Joe fervently. 

 

“As far as you know,” said his father dryly. “I can’t tell you how that comforts me.”

 

***********

 

It took the combined efforts of three Cartwrights and seven monks, but Joe remained in bed, resting and not sustaining any more head injuries, for five whole days after the trial. On the sixth day, he dressed in his own clothes for the first time in weeks. He took one last walk around the monastery grounds on his own, committing the place and the men to memory. Then, he climbed into the wagon with the monks and rode down into town, where his father had rented a buckboard for the trip home.

 

As Hoss tied Ben’s horse to the back of the buckboard, the men made their farewells.

 

“Thank you—for everything,” Ben said quietly to Brother Dominic. “I don’t know what would have happened if it hadn’t been for you gentlemen.”

 

“It was our privilege,” said Brother Dominic. He had never had a son, but as he watched Joe, he felt a tug which, he imagined, might be a tiny version of what a father would feel as his son left home.

 

“You take care of yourself, Brother,” said Brother Andrew. 

 

“You do the same, Brother,” said Joe, shaking the young man’s hand. There was definitely something about these gentle fellows. In just a few short weeks, they had indeed come to feel like brothers.

 

Joe turned to Brother Thomas, clasping the older monk’s hand in both of his own. “You were right, Brother,” said. At Brother Thomas’ cocked head, he said, “You said it would all sort itself out. That morning in the bank, when I couldn’t remember anything and didn’t know what to do. You took me in and told me that it would all sort itself out.” Without quite realizing it, Joe had adopted the brothers’ quiet way of filling in the gaps for Brother Thomas. 

 

“And it did,” said Brother Thomas. “God go with you, Brother.” A peaceful smile lit the wrinkled face. He might not remember everything, but he felt certain that he would never forget this nice young man. 

 

Brother Clarence watched thoughtfully as Joe said his goodbyes. “You know,” he said to Adam. “He’s got a few rough edges, but in time, I think he’d make a fine monk.”

 

“Joe?” Adam chuckled. “I’m not at all sure my little brother really wants to smooth off those particular edges.” The two men watched as Joe started to climb into the buckboard, then stopped. 

 

“Just a minute, Pa,” he said. “I see someone I need to say goodbye to.” Without waiting for an answer, Joe loped across the dusty street toward a petite redhead. Hoss rolled his eyes at Adam as Joe approached the girl, his most charming smile flashing. A moment later, the smile was gone, and he was trying to protect himself as she smacked repeatedly him over the head with her handbag and shouted things that made the monks want to cover their ears. 

 

Adam grinned. “Then again,” he said, “a monastery might just be the safest place for Joe after all.”

 

*****End*****

 

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