No Matter What the Circumstances

By Ella

Author’s Note: Special thanks to Kathryn, for her proofreading.

Ruth Orowitz stood on tiptoe, to slide several pieces of new crockery onto the top shelf behind the counter. She paused, when a sudden feeling of foreboding washed through her. When she spun around, her brown eyes homed in on the tall young man standing in the trading post entrance.

"Adam? How long have you been standing there? Is there something I can get for you?"

Eyes darting to every corner of the store, Adam answered distractedly, "No, Mrs. Orowitz. That is, I … I didn’t come in to purchase anything. I was hoping you might have seen Little Joe or maybe … maybe, you know where he is?" Eyes making another frantic pass over the room, Adam didn’t hear the woman’s answer.

Brow furrowing, Ruth stepped from behind the counter and approached him. Grasping his arm, she shook it slightly, as she asked quietly, "Adam? What's wrong?"

Adam jumped, then focused on the round face close to his. "Yes’m?"

Smiling gently, Ruth patted his arm. She spoke softly, carefully, as if to a little child. "I have not seen your youngest brother today. If fact, I have not seen him for several days. The last time Little Joe was here, he was with your father. Ben is in Sacramento now, is that not so?"

"Yes’m. Pa left at the beginning of the week. But Joe … Joe has been missing ... since this morning."

"Missing?" The lines in Ruth’s forehead deepened with her concern, then eased a bit, at the sound of her husband’s voice.

"Missing?" Eli, entering from the back room, came to his wife’s side. "Adam, what do you mean your little brother is missing?"

Adam removed his hat, to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then push his fingers through his damp hair. "Mr. Orowitz, Joe is very sick. This morning I told him he’d have to stay home, but I guess, because of his fever ... well, he blew the situation way out of proportion."

As the memory of the flare up flashed through his mind, Adam relived it for the storeowners....

~~~~~~~~

Slamming both palms to the table, Joe yelled, ‘Whatdaya mean I can’t go into town with Hoss? You ain’t Pa, Adam! I don’t care if he left you in charge. You can’t keep me from goin’ ta town.’

Adam shot out of his chair at the table, pointing a sharp finger at his brother. ‘I can and I am, Joe. You’re coming down with something. Hop Sing told you that last night. You’re in no condition to go to town. For that matter, the way you're looking just now, I don't think you should even be out of bed. So, you're gonna go back to bed, and stay there, until Hop Sing says you're well, or until Pa returns and has his say in the matter.’

Leaping to his feet, Joe swept his place setting to the floor. Swaying slightly, he grabbed the edge of the table for balance. His voice shook as it rose in anger. ‘But that mind reader is gonna be at Shelby’s place later today. I wanna see that show. I ain’t that sick. You can’t make me miss the best excitement we’ve had in town since … since Mr. Washington was here ... with his discourse (1). You’re just lettin’ your authority go to your head, Adam! You just like bossin' me!’

Dots of sweat sprang up across the youngster’s forehead as he tried to take a step from the table. The brothers watched as the color drained from his face, but before either could move, the child let out a low moan as he crumpled into a heap on the floor. Adam rushed around the table, scooping Joe up in his arms. He pressed his cheek to the boy's forehead as carried him back to the bunkroom, with Hoss on his heels.

"His fever's gone up, Hop Sing."

The cook nodded in answer, then hurried away to draw cool water and gather clean rags for compresses.

~~~~~~~~~

Ruth pressed Adam’s arm, whispering, "What does Hop Sing say, Adam? What illness does he think Little Joe has contracted?"

Adam opened his mouth then snapped it shut, noticing the closing ring of worried faces surrounding him. He made eye contact with each of them, before turning to answer Ruth.

"He says it’s just something children get, nothing anyone here should panic about. But Joe needs to be in bed. He's got a fever and a bad case of the chills. He could pass out again, in his weakened state. He’s such a scrawny kid. He hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning."

Adam shook his head, scolding himself, in an angry whisper, "I … I should have stayed at his bedside. It never occurred to me that he would go out the window, in his condition. I only left him for a few minutes, to get fresh water for his compresses. When I came back, his bed was empty. That kid has always been able to move like the wind when he wants to." He tried to smile over his light-hearted remark, but failed miserably, lines of worry adding years to his face.

Ruth squeezed his hand, her warm eyes reaching out in comfort. "Don’t, Adam. You mustn’t be so hard on yourself."

Adam answered bitterly, "My father left me in charge, Mrs. Orowitz. I haven’t been very responsible."

Ruth shook her head slowly, patting his arm. "There now, these are hardly normal circumstances, Adam - "

The young man spoke sharply, in self recrimination. "A man has to be ready to protect his family, no matter what the circumstances. That’s a very big part of being a man."

When he turned and left abruptly, the Orowitzes exchanged worried looks before Ruth suggested, "Eli, perhaps Big Dan can help in the search for the boy?"

Patting his wife’s arm, Eli smiled reassuringly. "Yes, I’m sure he can. I’ll go see if he’s with Frenchy at the livery."

"Eli -"

The panic in Ruth's voice brought Eli back to her side, instantly. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Please, Ruth, you mustn’t worry." Looking deeply into her eyes, he begged, trying to head off her thoughts. "Please ... you mustn’t think that way."

Ruth's lower lip trembled and her husband watched her eyes fill with memories of their two precious lost treasures. "Oh, Eli, hurry now. Go find Daniel."

Pressing his cheek against his wife's, Eli pulled her close, then abruptly left the trading post.

When Dan Larsen heard of the Cartwright’s dilemma, he marched down the road into Shelby’s saloon. Pushing through the doors, he announced, "Need some men ta look for a lost boy."

The motley bunch, sitting around the tables, blinked stupidly at the big man, then returned to their drinks.

From behind the bar, Shelby rolled her eyes at the unresponsive bunch. Pulling her cigar from her mouth, she glared at the lot of them, then hollered, "The man jest made a request of all of ya. Ain’t ya got no civic pride?"

When her patrons stared blankly at her, Shelby turned to her large friend. "Who’s missin’ Dan?"

"The youngest Cartwright boy. Seems he’s sick and wandered away from their ranch house." The big man's eyes traveled over the room of men, before focusing again on Shelby. "Frenchy volunteered ta take a couple volunteers and do a search here in town, but I told Adam it's more than likely the kid's wanderin' round in the woods near their home, seein' that his paint horse is still back in their barn."

The big man rubbed his beard. "Prob'ly fever’s got ‘im by now, so he don’t know which end’s up." When the folks at the tables shifted nervously and exchanged excited whispers, Dan raised a big hand. "Ain’t nothin’ fer you all ta worry over catchin’. Not like that cholera, what scared us all a while back. It’s some little kid’s kindda sick. But the boy needs our help. So do his brothers. They’re worried silly, 'specially with their pa bein' away. What’s poor Ben Cartwright gonna think, iffen he comes home ta find that little sprite a his missin’?"

When the men turned lazily back to their bottles and glasses, Shelby slammed a hand to the bar. "All right, that does it!" Whipping her "Closed" sign out from under the counter, she plunked it on the bar and pointed sharply to the swinging doors.

"Git! Now! Every sorry one of ya! And I don’t never wanna see ya in here agin, if that’s all the backbone any of you's got."

The patrons blinked back at her, numbly. Eyebrows arching, Shelby propped her hands on her hips, voice rising with each word. "Are ya all deaf as well as stupid? I said git yer sorry bee-hinds outta here! If ya cain’t give a little somethin' of yerselves ta help one small boy, you ain’t got a reason ta live, let alone take up space in my saloon!" Her eyes burned into each of them, promising abrupt, painful exits if they didn't come alive, right quick like!

Andrew Wilkins leaped to his feet. "I’ll come with ya, Big Dan. So will Jake Peters here."

Peters pushed himself to a shaky standing position. "Yeah. Yeah, I will. So will my friend Dutch." He glared at the stout, glassy-eyed blond still sitting to his right. Through gritted teeth, he insisted, "Ain't that right, Dutch?"

The big man in question slid his filthy fingers through his matted curly hair, then rose slowly. "Yep, course I will. What ‘man’ wouldn’t?" Holding himself upright, pressing both fists to the table, he scanned the room, daring any of the patrons to remain in their chairs.

Shelby’s lips spread into a wobbly grin as, one by one, every man in the bar struggled to a standing position. She gave Dan a bright smile. "Lead the way, Big Dan. We're every one of us with ya."

As the bar began to empty, Andrew Wilkins called out, "Hey, Shelby, what about that there mind reader you was havin' in here later taday?"

With a wink at Dan, the barkeep drawled, "Well, iffen he's really a mind reader, I guess he'll figure out where we all went."

*****

Comforted by the sight of lanterns swinging, in whichever direction he turned, Adam pressed through the trees, his voice hoarse as he continued his relentless call. "Joe! Little Joe! Answer me! Please answer me! You're ill, Joe. We've come to help you!" A swelling in his throat choked off his next words, as it had several times during the long day. He swiped impatiently at his filling eyes, scolding himself, "Stop it. That won’t help you find him."

He raised his own lantern a little higher and focused on the path ahead. "Have to find him. Have to." His voice dropped to a whisper, "Oh, God, please help me. I could never face my father again if I don’t find him. Could never face myself. Please guide me. Please lead me to my little brother."

His words stopped him in his tracks. He'd uttered the very same plea before ... many years ago - but he'd been searching for a different brother then ....

They'd only recently found a place to stay in New Orleans, a temporary stop, Ben assured his two sons, until he earned enough money to fuel their journey westward. But something happened in New Orleans. Adam closed his eyes against yet another ugly twist in the journey of the Ben Cartwright family. This memory, like so many others, came rushing back, to smash against the young man’s eyelids, opening them to a truth he could only learn to live with.

Adam could pinpoint the exact moment in time the change in Pa took place ….

~~~~~~~~

Just barely a month after his father found a nighttime job behind a bar, a fight broke out between two of the patrons and Ben was forced to kill one of them, to save an innocent bystander, who walked through the door, just as guns were being drawn. He considered the man he’d killed a friend and the incident ate at him, weighing on his shoulders, with more guilt over lives lost. Lives he felt he should have had the power to save.

He'd come home late that night, his shirt and pants spattered with blood, a glassy look in his eyes. Shortly after the incident, he began drinking regularly (2). Adam could smell it on his breath when Ben leaned over the boys' bed to check on them, after arriving home in the wee hours one morning, long after his shift should have been over.

Despite his drinking, Ben continued to function well enough to work. In fact, through leads from bar customers, he landed additional odd jobs during the day, stretching his schedule round-the-clock during some weeks, when he was serving two, three, sometimes four employers, simultaneously. While he missed his father, Adam preferred not seeing him, to watching him lose himself in the bottles Ben thought his eldest son knew nothing about.

Drink had made Ben absent in a whole different way and Erik had begun asking questions about their father’s odd silences followed by long naps at inconsistent times during the day. Adam was running out of answers for his innocent little brother, but always somehow managed to satisfy the wide blue eyes looking up at him with total confidence.

Thankfully, Ben was never a "mean drunk." He never once struck his children or showed any tendency toward violence when under the influence. But perhaps just as devastating, he was a sad drunk - one Adam ran from, on several occasions. More than once, during his father’s periods of imbibed stupor, Adam heard him moan for Inger. At the sound of her name, he’d flee, dragging his little brother with him. They'd roam the streets, until their empty pockets and bellies forced them to return home.

One of these excursions took place on an early spring day - their first spring in New Orleans. Adam had overheard lots of talk, from people along the streets in previous weeks, about something called Mardi Gras. The people spoke of brightly painted masks, of a grand parade, and merry-making that reached unprecedented heights – too much to resist, for a boy who wanted to know about ‘everything.’

When Pa slid into one of his mid-afternoon naps, the day of this rumored carnival, Adam grabbed his little brother, and they headed off in search of merriment.

The brothers’ jaws dropped, when they reached the main street and spied not one, but dozens upon dozens of people in colorful masks. Before Adam even had a chance to answer his little brother’s barrage of stammered questions, the boys caught sight of a platform, drawn by horses, with a dozen masked celebrators calling out in excited voices. They were throwing something into the street. Something small. Something that made other children, and a handful of adults, run to pick them up.

‘What’s they throw, Adam?’ Erik tugged his brother’s tight hand, impatiently.

Adam shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’ He tossed his free hand into the air. ‘Only one way to find out.’ Pulling his willing brother along with him, they stepped into the street as the platform passed in front of them. Adam picked up one of the small objects that landed at his feet. He grinned as he bent to pluck it up, holding it out to Erik, announcing excitedly, ‘Candy-covered peanuts!’

Erik licked his lips, his eyes growing rounder, as he imagined devouring the treats sprinkling everywhere around them. He yanked free of his brother’s secure grip, then dropped on chubby knees, to help himself to the irresistible bounty. Adam laughed. It felt so good to laugh. It felt too good. He succumbed to the rising fervor around them, let it fill his chest – and his head. Joining the squealing boy beside him, he popped as many of the sweets into his mouth as he could, while stuffing his pockets.

At that point, someone in a purple mask called to Adam from a passing float. When Adam rose and looked up, the person tossed something at him, yelling, ‘Here, boy, join the party!’ Adam caught the object, grinning with abandon at the painted green face looking up at him from his hands. He slid it over his head, then turned to his brother.

‘Hey, Erik, look at me, am I scary or funny?’ His breathing stopped as his eyes bulged behind the slits in the mask, to drink in the empty space beside him.

He swiveled his head to the right and the left, then spun to look behind him.

‘Erik?’

Yanking the mask off his face, Adam screamed into the flood of people suddenly surging around him, filling the space and sealing him in a cocoon of flesh.

‘ERIK! ERIK! WHERE ARE YOU!’

Face curdling to a sickly shade of white, Adam threw the grinning green mask to the ground. He heard it crunch under some big foot, as people thickened around him, choking him as they pulled him along. As he twisted frantically, trying to save himself from the human flood, he caught another glimpse of the masks on the floats. They seemed to float and bounce in the air now, taunting him, laughing, grinning wildly. He felt his stomach lurch suddenly and the peanuts he’d so giddily consumed only moments before, came up in a rush, spilling down his shirtfront.

The happy crowd didn’t even notice, continuing to move, chasing the floats. Somehow Adam managed to jerk himself loose from the masses, landing on his butt, in a doorway of one of the closed stores along the street. Hauling himself to his feet, he slid his hands up the side of his face, digging his fingers into the top of his head as screamed for his brother, for all he was worth, his innate sense of duty keeping him from bursting into tears or giving in to the fear and hopelessness trying to envelop him.

Then, Adam prayed, as fervently as he ever had in his life.

Out of nowhere, in what seemed like a vision, a creamy face framed in dark hair, loomed over him. Her eyes and smile spoke nothing but kindness, as her naturally rosy lips asked, ‘Is this perhaps what you have lost?’

Adam’s wild eyes flashed to the chubby hand in the woman’s gentle grasp, then to the round face with flushed cheeks and watery eyes, bloodshot from hysterical tears. He grabbed the boy from her and squeezed him so hard, the child began to cough. Pulling him away, Adam felt his anger surge. He shook his brother’s shoulders. ‘Where were you! Where did you go!’

Erik began to cry again and the dark haired woman spoke in his defense. ‘I think, like you, this little boy got caught up in zee party, non?’ She gestured at the human flow behind them, then looked down on the two brothers as she shook her head and frowned, scolding, ‘Perhaps your parents, they are also worried?’

Securing Erik’s shoulder with a protective arm, Adam shot the woman a dark glare. ‘No, ma’am. They’re not.’ He corrected his tone, almost instantly, seeing the disapproval in the stranger’s eyes. ‘Thank you, ma’am, for returning my little brother. We got separated when all these folks …’ he gestured at the dwindling mob, ‘were tryin’ to follow the people throwing the candy.’ He watched as the crowd thinned to a trickle, as the parade drifted out of reach around the next corner. ‘We’ll be goin’ home now. It’s time I made supper.’

The woman’s frown deepened. ‘You make zee supper? Where is it that you live?’

Grabbing Erik’s hand, Adam snapped, ‘Ma’am, I said thank you, but you ain’t in charge of me.’ Yanking his brother so hard, the child nearly fell, Adam insisted as he steadied the boy, ‘Come on, Erik, it’s time to go home.’ He called over his shoulder, ‘Good night, ma’am.’

He didn’t see the sad look crawl over the woman’s gentle features. Nor did he realize that she followed them, from a healthy distance, until they were safely at their gate. And when, a month later, she appeared on his father’s arm, he couldn’t hide the surprise that leaped for an instant, into his blue eyes.

Ben caught the look, but when he opened his mouth to investigate, Marie de Marigny patted his hand, pulling his eyes, like a magnet, to her own. ‘Ben, your boys, they are even more handsome than you describe for me.’

Erik was still trying to formulate his own surprised response to the reappearance of the vision that had reunited him with his brother at Mardi Gras. His lips opened and closed several more times, but at the first sound from them, Adam pinched his backside and the boy jumped.

Ben’s sharp eyes shot to his eldest, but again Marie intervened, ‘Your boys, they would like the sample of my cooking, do you think, Ben?’ As his eyes found hers again, they crawled suspiciously over her suddenly innocent face, wondering what Marie knew that he didn’t. It was a look that would be repeated, many times in the future, when Ben Cartwright wondered just what had transpired in his absence, between this woman and his sons.

The memory of the samplings of Marie’s excellent culinary skills forced Ben to agree. ‘Yes.’ He nudged out his chin, in Erik’s direction. ‘This one will not likely let you leave our house, after he has tasted the luncheon you described for me.’ He found Adam’s eyes next. ‘And this one, who likes to brag on his cooking, will realize he has a lot to learn.’

Adam pressed his lips together. He knew better than to say anything at this point. He felt the woman’s eyes studying him. For now, she would say nothing of their previous meeting. He would wonder over the years if she ever told his father of when they first met. But one thing was sure, Marie never held that bit of knowledge over him as some sort of threat or blackmail. When she married his father, she took her rightful place as his second parent. He learned quickly enough, that she expected him to obey her as he would his father, or suffer the consequences. Her sweet temperament could turn on a dime, when a boy decided to test its limits.

~~~~~~~~

Adam raised his eyes over his lantern to meet the dark heavens. "Ma, I told you at your resting place that my mother must have asked God to send an angel to protect me when she died(3). Both my mothers, I think. But I realize now that you were protecting all of us. And the day you walked into my father’s life, you reawakened the man my brothers and I know as our pa.’

‘Please, Ma, if you can hear me. Help me find your son.’

The snap of a twig jerked Adam’s attention back to the trail he’d been following.

"Who's there?" He whispered to the night, "Please let it be Joe." He insisted, more forcefully, "Joe? If that's you, then please listen to me. You've got a bad fever, Joe. You need to be in bed." He reached out into the darkness, with his hand and his voice. "Joe, I promise, if you come out, I'll get that mind reader back special, just for you, when you're all better. Do you hear me, boy?"

A strained, shaky voice answered. "Adam, I'm sick. I'm bad sick."

Adam rushed forward at the sound of the small body crumpling into a nest of leaves. As he gathered his unconscious brother to his chest, he raised his head, to thank God and the angel who had most surely been at his side during his search.

A heartbeat later, he raised his voice, hollering for help until feet pounded from every direction in answer.

*****

Adam wrung out another cloth, then folded it into a precise rectangle before slipping the warm compress from his little brother’s head and sliding the fresh one into place.

Hop Sing appeared in the doorway, suggesting with quiet insistence, "You should sleep. I can sit with boy."

Without taking his eyes off his brother’s still form, Adam shook his head. "No, thank you, Hop Sing. I don’t feel like sleeping." His forehead bunched into a nest of concerned wrinkles. "What if he calls out? With Pa not here ... well ... Joe ... he might need me."

Hoss, lying in the bunk overhead, sat up and propped himself on an elbow. He shook his head at the cook. They both knew Adam wouldn’t leave his brother’s side or ever admit he was exhausted. Hop Sing nodded and turned away. He would go and rest, to be ready to take over, whenever Ben Cartwright’s stubborn oldest boy finally nodded off to sleep.

Adam tugged the gray blanket up a little closer to Joe’s chin. The boy pushed it away, without opening his eyes. Adam smiled, then chided himself quietly, "Of course, you hate the itchy feel of wool against your skin." He rose and tiptoed from the room, returning with one of the soft quilts that Marie had stitched. He tossed it over the woolen cover, then folded the edge over the wool boarder, before tucking it in around his brother’s shoulders. A brief smile of contentment pulled at his lips, but it faded when his eyes focused on the quiet prone figure.

He whispered, "Oh, Joe." He reached out to gently touch the boy’s cheek with the backs of his fingertips, wincing at the warmth still radiating from it. He turned to squeeze out another rag, to continue what seemed like an endless process.

Joe moaned and Adam hurriedly folded the cloth, then traded it for the one on the boy’s forehead. "Joe? Is there something you want? Some water maybe?"

Eyes closed tight, the boy muttered, "The story. You promised. The story. You promised …. "

Leaning closer, Adam probed, "Story? Which one, Joe? I’ll read you anything you want to hear. You just name it."

When Joe tossed his head in rebellion, the cloth slipped off. He moaned, "You promised, Adam…."

Reaching out, Adam carefully put the compress back in place. "Lie still now. I’ll read to you, Joe." His mind raced, searching for the promise he hadn’t kept. He brightened, then stood, eagerly grabbing his copy of "Ivanhoe" off his bookshelf, remembering the night he and Joe had camped after delivering Mr. Holstrum’s horses(4). He pictured the glowing fire and his brother’s getup - a wool blanket and bandana - wrapped around him in imitation of Joaquin. Joe had asked him to read that night, but when Adam made the attempt, sadness clouded Joe's face – images of his mother, sitting contentedly in the rocker in their rooms, likely haunting him. Adam quietly promised they’d do it another time and they’d gone to sleep. Somehow, the reading never took place.

Adam sat, and hopped his chair closer to the bed. "Yes, I did promise you we’d do it again, didn’t I? Let me read you the story." He opened the book, and announced the title, "‘Ivanhoe.’" But before he could utter the first sentence, Joe tossed off the compress again, beating the bed with his fist. "No. You promised. You promised."

Adam closed his eyes, clenching his fingers against his forehead. He spoke to the air. "He doesn’t hear me."

Hoss leaned over the edge of his bunk and called down softly, "Adam? I don’t think it’s ‘Ivanhoe’ Joe wants to hear." Adam looked up, his eyes pleading for any suggestions of how to reach their little brother.

"Remember that time we were at the lake and that old guy floated in on a raft, like out of nowhere?" Adam nodded. "You told us, after, that he reminded ya of Robinson Crusoe, with his tattered clothes and all his gear piled up next to him. Gosh, he even had a cat on board that raft. Ya remember?" Again, Adam agreed, with a silent nod. "An’ Joe got all wound up and wanted ta hear the story, so you promised to read the book to him that night. But ya never did, cause Joe got himself in trouble, later that day, and Pa said you wern’t ta reward him by readin’ to him. And you made a secret promise to read the book to him after his punishment was lifted."

Adam looked down and closed the book in his lap. He nodded slowly, realizing that other things had come into his life fairly soon after that promise. Isabella, for one. And then she was gone. Somehow, with all the comings and goings, well, he’d forgotten yet another promise to a boy who worshiped him. Joe had let him slide, until now. Inside Joe’s fevered brain, that broken promise was like a wound that had begun to fester.

Standing again, Adam slipped the book in his hand back to its rightful place on the shelf, trading it for "Robinson Crusoe." This time when he announced the title, Joe’s pinched features seemed to relax. Adam began the first chapter, "‘I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family….’" Except to change his brother’s compresses, he didn’t stop reading until a small hand reached out to squeeze his.

"Joe?" The boy didn’t say anything, nor did he open his eyes. He just swallowed noisily. Adam bent closer, deciding for both of them, "You’re thirsty. I’ll get you some water." Gently, he lifted the child’s head and coaxed a couple sips of water into his mouth. He considered putting the book away, and letting the boy sleep, but after a moment of silence, Joe began to toss, muttering again about the broken promise. Adam turned his eyes back to the pages. Reading again, he kept his right hand near Joe’s. Twice more during the story, his brother squeezed his hand. Both times Adam stopped to give him water.

As the sun peeked through the window, Adam read the final words of the tale. When he looked up, he was staring into round brown eyes.

Joe licked his lips. "I’m thirsty, Adam."

Adam glanced up to see Hoss grin as he blinked at his own wet eyes. Bobbing his head, a grin waking his weary, whiskered face, Adam set the book down on the quilt, then rose to fetch the water. Carefully he put the cup to his brother’s lips, cautioning, "Just take a little bit to start, okay?"

Joe grabbed the cup with both hands. "But I’m real thirsty."

Stroking Joe's hair, Adam answered calmly, "Yes, I know. But you’ve been sick, Joe. Trust me, it’s better if you just take it slowly."

Swallowing a small sip, Joe looked his brother square in the eyes and handed back the cup. "Well, sure I trust ya, Adam. Don’t have no cause not to." Studying the odd expression on Adam's face, Joe asked, "What's the matter? Did I give ya a hard time last night?"

Ignoring the imagined roll of Hoss’ eyes above them, Adam assured their sibling, "No. No, we were ... we were just a little worried is all."

Joe looked at the book. "I'm sorry you finished the book. Now what will we read?"

Reaching out, Adam took the cloth that had slipped off Joe’s head, when he was drinking. He placed his hand against the child’s forehead. "I think your fever’s all gone now."

Hop Sing entered the room and confirmed, after his own check, looking at Joe. "Fever gone. Yes. You have a bit more water. I heat some broth. You need nourishment."

As the cook disappeared, Joe looked back at Adam. "Maybe you could read the story over again? I think I might have slept through some of it."

Hoss hung down over his bunk and chuckled. "Little brother, Adam didn't get even a lick a sleep, cause he read ta you, all the night through. Seems ta me, if you are in that good a shape, maybe you should read the story ta him."

Joe nodded eagerly and tried to take the book from Adam’s hands.

Adam still had enough energy to shoot a glare at the grinning face above them. He underlined his words through gritted teeth. "Hoss didn’t get any sleep either." He shifted a gentler look to the grinning boy looking back at him. "And I think you best let Hop Sing feed you that broth, while I join our brother for just a few minutes of shut-eye. Then, when we all wake up, I’ll consider letting you read to me. Okay?"

Little Joe blinked at the sudden tears filling his eyes. "You’re the boss, Adam."

Adam reached out and patted the child’s cheek gently. Then he nodded with conviction. "Yes, I am. Until Pa comes home."

After Joe settled back obediently against his pillows, Adam added, "And, Joe?"

"Huh?"

"Shelby sent word that the mind reader is going to stay in town, until you are well enough to attend his performance."

Hop Sing entered the room. With an insistent back sweep of his hand, he directed Adam to his bed. As the older brother crawled gratefully into his beckoning bunk, he couldn’t help but grin as his little brother’s words hit his ears.

"Hop Sing, it don’t take a mind reader, ta tell ya certain things."

The cook settled himself into the chair vacated by Ben Cartwright’s oldest son. As he lifted the first spoon of broth to the child’s lips, he agreed. "Youngest Cartwright know what mind reader never even imagine." He turned to peek at the sleeping, dark-haired young man behind him, then the blond boy sleeping above them.

"That’s right. Some things, like love and family, are sittin’ right out in the open. All ya need ta see ‘em, is ta open your eyes."

The End.

(December 2005)

(1) The character of Mr. Washington was featured in the Ponderosa episode "The Promise."

(2) A minor reference to Ben's drinking habit and the fact that he had killed a man are made in the Ponderosa series pilot episode.

(3) Reference: Ponderosa pilot episode.

(4) Reference: Ponderosa episode "Joaquin."