A Father's Love

By Anne

"Take that, Injun.” Eight year old Joe Cartwright swung the rifle across the back of the sofa in front of his family's large fireplace. He'd come into the house and thought himself alone. It was a state in which he rarely found himself and this day, his eyes had settled on the row of rifles his father kept in the gun case by the stairs. Although forbidden to touch the guns, Joe had figured that what his father didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He was sure that he'd be able to hear his father or brothers arrival and could get the gun back in place before any of them came in. So, he'd been happily shooting Ute braves for the last five minutes. He could hardly wait until his father let him have his own rifle and taught him to shoot.

"Joseph," Ben Cartwright's voice boomed from the stairs. "Don't you move a muscle.” Ben had seen his youngest son swing the barrel of the rifle around and Ben wasn't sure if the rifle was now loaded or not. It hadn't been originally, but with Joe, he couldn't be sure what the boy might have done.

Joe froze where he was, terrified of his father's booming voice and of what he was sure would follow. It had been less than a month before when his father had promised him a sound thrashing if he ever touched another gun without his father's permission and presence. Joe had tried to argue that he was old enough to learn to shoot, but his father had accepted none of his arguments and had stated, in no uncertain terms, what his youngest son could expect if he disobeyed him. And Joe had never known his father to either forget or ignore such a threat of punishment.

Ben came purposefully down the stairs until he stood towering over Little Joe. He slowly reached his hand out to accept the rifle. Joe glanced at the rifle, then at his father. With a sigh, he passed the rifle over. Ben checked the chamber to be sure it was empty, sighing with relief when he found the gun not loaded. Leaning the rifle against the chair, Ben moved over to sit on the sofa, then patted the seat beside him, indicating that Joe should come over.

For a moment, Little Joe thought he might be in for just a lecture, but the look on his father's face quelled that thought. He was in for a licking, that was a certainty. With downcast eyes, Joe slowly moved over beside his father.

"Young man," his father began. "Did we have this discussion not a month ago?"

"Yes, sir," Joe whispered.

"And what was the outcome of that discussion, Joseph?"

Joe shrugged his shoulders, hoping his father didn't really expect an answer. He was wrong again. The truth was, he was so worried, he wasn't sure he could answer his father without his voice breaking, something he really hoped to avoid.

"I'm waiting, Joseph. And speak up so I can hear you."

Joe started haltingly, knowing he would have to relive that entire scene. "You told me," he began with little confidence, "that I was too young to take on the responsibility of handling a firearm. That shooting was a much a matter of using my head as pulling the trigger and that 8 years olds aren't old enough to assume that risk.” He was reciting the lecture from memory. "And you said that if I touched one of your guns again without your permission, that," Joe's voice dropped until it was almost inaudible, "you told me that you'd wear me out, that I'd not sit comfortable for a week.” Joe couldn't look at his father. Not only was he worried about what his father was going to do, he was almost as worried about having let his father down once more. If only he'd think before he did such crazy things.

Ben nodded grimly. "Look at me, Joseph. I am going to punish you severely for your actions. I want you to tell me what you think I'm going to punish you for."

Joe hated this. "Yes, sir.” He swallowed hard, wishing he were anywhere besides being part of this inquisition. It was hard to keep his father's gaze. "I disobeyed you, Pa," he said quietly.

"That's right, Joseph. You disobeyed me. And what's the punishment for disobedience in this house, in particular, for playing with guns?"

"I'm sorry, Pa. Honest I am." Joe's voice was pleading as he looked up at his father, hoping for a reprieve.

"Answer my question, son."

"I already did, Pa," said Joe quietly, looking back down at the floor. "You promised you'd blister my hind end."

"That's right. Stand up, please."

Joe stood up, wiping his hands on the seat of his pants. Rubbing his shirt sleeve across his eyes, he stood in front of his father, wishing fervently that this was over.

It was over soon enough and Joe stood, sobbing, before his father. "I do not want to have this discussion with you again, Joseph," his father admonished. Joe knew he wasn't expected to answer. "Supper will be in 30 minutes. I expect you to join your brothers and me at the table. You're excused now."

Glad to escape his father's presence, Joe ran out the door, colliding with Adam and Hoss as they came in to get ready for the evening meal.

"Hey, little brother," Hoss began, catching his little brother to prevent him from falling.

"Leave me alone.” Joe pulled away, still crying, and ran into the barn, climbing into the hayloft, a place he'd learn long ago was a safe haven when he needed to get away from everyone and think about things.

Concerned, Hoss turned to follow his little brother. "What's eating him? I'd better see if he's all right."

Adam stayed his brother with a touch to the arm. "Hoss, if I guess right, I'd say he and Pa had a parting of the ways. Looked like a little steam coming off the seat of his pants just now."

"Huh. You think so?” Hoss was still worried.

"I'm pretty sure. Let's go inside. If it's something else, we can both go see what's up."

Adam and Hoss entered the house to find Ben Cartwright putting a rifle back in its place in the gun cabinet. Looking at Hoss with a questioning glance, Adam spoke, "What was that all about, Pa? Joe didn't finally talk you into teaching him to shoot did he? Or did he finally drive you to such distraction that you threatened to shoot him?"

"You know better than that, Adam. And it's not a joking matter. Your young brother was shooting Ute Indians with your old rifle when I came down the stairs. I assume he thought I was out with you two and wouldn't find out. Hopefully, it'll be a long time before he pulls that stunt again. He should have second thoughts about it every time he sits down for the next while."

Hoss looked toward the door. "You know, Pa, I've never seen anyone who wanted to learn to shoot as bad as Little Joe does. He bugs all of us anytime we're out...teach me how to draw, teach me to aim, how do you keep the gun steady. "

Ben was horrified at the prospect of someone with Joe's impulsive nature having access to firearms. "Surely no one lets him shoot, does he?"

"Heck no, Pa, but that little cuss sure is persistent. Charlie even threatened to warm the seat of his pants if he bothered him one more time about his teaching Joe to shoot."

Ben breathed a sigh of relief. Shaking his head slowly, Ben added,”I'm not sure how to get to that boy about this. It was just a month ago I warned him what would happen if he touched one of those rifles without my permission. It was like he didn't even think about that threat before playing with those guns again. I surely hope it sunk in this time. I'm not eager to repeat today's lesson, but I most certainly will if he continues with this nonsense."

***********

Dinner was a quiet affair that evening. Little Joe had tried to elicit some sympathy from Hoss earlier, but Hoss had agreed with his father on this one, making Joe feel even more out of sorts than he had been feeling. In fact, at dinner, Joe was still sulking about his session with his father and was bound and determined his entire family would be as miserable as he was. Any comment one of his brothers made, Joe had a negative response to it, effectively squelching any dialogue at the table. Finally, after telling Adam his horse was ugly as could be and that was probably the reason he wasn't doing well as a cutting horse, Ben excused his youngest son, sending him upstairs to get ready for bed.

"That's not fair, Pa." Joe whined. "You always say we're free to express ourselves at dinner. You never send Hoss or Adam away..."

"Enough," Ben interrupted his young son. "You got yourself into this state and the rest of us are not going to have to listen to you whine and carry on until you've figured out for yourself that the rules in this house apply to you, too. Now, upstairs and not another word out of your mouth."

Joe stood his ground, wishing with all this heart he hadn't gotten into this contest of wills with his father. He desperately wanted out of this situation before it got out of hand, but his stubborn pride wouldn't let him give in. "But, Pa..."

"No buts, Joseph. And not another word. If I have to escort you to your room, I can assure you, you'll wish I hadn't. Do I make myself clear?"

Joe dropped his head, knowing he'd pushed too far already. "Yes, sir," he responded, dejectedly. With that, he trudged up the stairs, quietly closing his bedroom door to get ready for bed.

Ben shook his head dejectedly. "I wonder how long your brother's going to try this act. I just don't remember either of you boys being quite as headstrong as that child is."

"You know how Joe is, Pa," reminded Adam. "He'll think about this for the next day or two, then he'll apologize and it'll be fine again. I don't know anyone who holds a grudge less than that boy does."

Ben smiled sardonically. "You're probably right, Adam. We'll see how tomorrow goes."
 

**********

As he got out his shaving gear the next morning, Ben was still thinking of his youngest son, wondering how best to teach the boy. Even though it was Sunday, the elder Cartwright was up early, ready to enjoy the early morning solitude before the family started getting ready for church. There was a soft knock at the door.

At his beckoning, the door opened and Ben was surprised to find his youngest son, barefoot with his flannel nightshirt hanging down to his ankles, standing in the doorway. Joe's tousled curls framed a cherubic looking face in the early morning. It was obvious he'd just waken up. It was also obvious to Ben that Joe was a little nervous, standing before his father.

"Well, Joseph," Ben said evenly, not sure why his youngest son was up just at daybreak, "you're up awfully early."

"Yes, sir.” Joe stood in the entrance, shivering slightly in the cool morning air, not quite sure where he stood with his father.

Smiling, Ben walked over to his young son, ruffling his hair with his big hands. He picked him up and set him on his big bed. "You'd best get a blanket around you before you catch cold, son."

"Yes, sir.” Like an animated toy, Joe bounced to the end of the bed where he picked up a warm quilt to wrap himself up in. Smiling happily, he plopped onto the bed to watch his father shave.

Ben turned back to his shaving, smiling as he watched his youngest in the mirror. Before Marie's death, Joe had come to the bedroom almost every morning to watch his father shave. It had been a source of pleasure for Ben and had given Marie some time to herself, still knowing Little Joe was under someone's protective watch. In those early morning times, Ben and Joe had solved many of life's problems as defined by the worldly vision of a preschooler. "God watches all of us, right?” Yes. "Then, how could God be watching me and Hoss both when Hoss is at school and I'm not?” God is everywhere. "I'll see that nice Mrs. Johnson sometime in heaven won't I?” Yes, but hopefully, not for a long, long time. "Will I see my favorite puppy that died in heaven, too?” No, dogs don't have souls, only people. "God made everything, right?” Right. "Where did he keep his team of horses?” What? "People go to hell for their sins, isn’t that what the preacher said last week?” Yes, that's what he said. "Will I go to hell for not filling the wood box with kindling for Hop Sing?” No, son, that was a mistake, not a sin. And so it had gone those early years. In a melancholy mood, Ben reflected on what might have brought Little Joe into his room so early that morning.

"Pa," Little Joe pulled the blanket closer to him and began his 20 questions. "Do you remember when you said dogs don't have souls, only people have souls?" Yes. "Do Indians have souls?” Yes, son, Indians are people, too. "Then why did Mr. Cooper say Indians were just animals?” Mr. Cooper is what's called prejudiced, Joe. And he's very wrong. "Will I ever have my very own horse?" Certainly. "When?” I don't know right now, son.

The questions came fast and furiously. Finally, Joe stopped and took a deep breath. "Pa, do you love me even when I really do something really wrong?" Joe's voice got more quiet. "Even when I disobey you?"

Ah, Ben now understood the reason for this morning's visit. He turned to look at his youngest son. "Joseph, don't ever doubt my love for you. I may not like some of the things you do. And, I may have to punish you for them, because I want you to learn what is allowed and what's not allowed in this world. And, I want you to be safe. But, throughout it all, I'll always love you."

"Isn't there something I could do that would make you hate me?"

"No, son, there is nothing you could do that would ever make me stop loving you."

Joe sighed a contented sigh. "Pa, do you think I could start shaving, too?"

Ben laughed and stepped over to Little Joe. "Well," he said playfully, tickling his youngest boy until he was giggling hysterically. "You can practice just getting this shaving cream off you first.” And with that, Ben smeared a brush of the gooey shaving mixture all over Joe's face.

"What's going on here?” Adam's voice interrupted their revelries. Seeing Joe covered with shaving cream and his father standing over him in his robe, a shaving brush in his hand, Adam was taken back in time to those happy years before his step-mother's death. Smiling contentedly himself, the oldest Cartwright son entered the room.

"Hey, Adam," Joe giggled.

"Hey, yourself, half pint. I was wondering who'd turned on the giggle machine in here.” The three of them laughed heartedly, enjoying the fellowship of family that early morning.

"Well, little brother, I think it's time you got ready for church and let Pa get ready, too. Come on.” With that, he swooped over to Joe and, in one motion, swung his little brother over his shoulder like a sack of flour. With Little Joe laughing and kicking, the two brothers went down the hall way.

"See you downstairs for breakfast, boys," Ben called.

***********

Breakfast was a much more lighthearted affair than the previous night's dinner had been. While Joe hadn't actually apologized for disobeying his father, Ben nevertheless took this morning's conversation as the closest thing he was going to get any time soon from his young son. He knew that it was just a matter of time until Joe formalized his apology.

"Hoss, why don't you and Adam get the buggy rigged up while Joe washes all that syrup off his face and hands.” Joe grimaced slightly, carefully avoiding his father as he did so.

"Pa," Joe knew it probably wouldn't work, but sometimes it did. He put on his most angelic smile. "Why don't we skip church today? We could just go up by the lake for a picnic, couldn't we?"

Ben smiled at his son. "Nice try, Joseph, but we are all going to church this morning. But, I tell you what I'll do. How about if I have Hop Sing make us a picnic to take up to the lake after church. I'm eager to get some fishing in myself, before it gets too hot and before we get too busy around here."

"All right!!!!!” Joe was ecstatic.

That afternoon found the four of them eating some of their cook's delicious fried chicken as they sat on an old quilt under one of the tall Ponderosa pines for which their ranch was named. Ben smiled as he watched his oldest and youngest sons. Adam was sitting with his right leg bent and his arm around it, looking east. With his back to his oldest brother sat Little Joe, facing west with his body in an identical position. Hoss had obviously noticed the same thing as he shook his head in wonderment, catching his father's gaze as he did so. For two brothers who appeared so different, Adam and Joe seemed to have a lot in common. Despite the bickering that sometimes defined his sons' relationships, Ben realized his boys were much more alike than they were different. A deep abiding faith told him his sons would always be there for each other.

The afternoon was spent catching fish, skipping rocks, and wading in a cool stream that fed the lake and catching crawdads. A chilly evening breeze finally chased the reluctant Cartwright clan back to the ranch house.

Late that night, long after his sons had gone to bed, Ben Cartwright sat staring at the fire, wondering what life in this great land would bring his family. Today, he thought of that line, what was the poem...."God's in his heaven and all's right with the world."

***********
 

Little Joe arrived home from school, glad to be away from the confines of the classroom. It had not been a good day, that was for certain. For starters, Joe had failed a spelling test he forgotten to study for. Then, during lunch, two of the older boys were talking about shooting with their fathers over the weekend and how much fun they'd had. Even Mitch Devlin had chipped in that he had been allowed to go rabbit hunting with his two older brothers and his father. That last bit of information was really the last straw for Joe. He was Mitch's age and Mitch was already shooting rabbits with his pa and brothers. It really wasn't fair.

Coming inside, Joe looked over at the table for the cake and milk Hop Sing usually left for him if he weren't going to be home. Sure enough, there it was.

He ate his snack quickly, hoping he'd be left alone just a bit longer. Today, he was going to check out that pistol his father kept in his desk drawer. Saturday's lesson over his father's knee was forgotten as the boy vowed to keep up with his friend, Mitch.

Very cautiously, Joe slid open the desk drawer. So far, so good. He even checked outside one more time, but none of his family was around. Taking out the pistol, Joe practiced holding it with his two hands, aiming it at imagined outlaws, and drawing it up quickly from his side. He was so absorbed in the task at hand that he failed to hear his father and two brothers as they rode quietly into the yard. Ben entered the house first and found his youngest son, his back to the door, aiming at some site on the far wall. "Joseph," his voice boomed in the stillness.

Startled at the loud voice, Joe jumped as he turned around. The pistol went off hitting Ben Cartwright at the right temple. The man fell to the floor, blood everywhere.

At the sound of the shot, Adam and Hoss charged into the house, only to find Ben lying on the floor in a puddle of blood with their youngest brother lying beside him, in tears and crying, "I'm sorry, Pa. I'm sorry."

Adam grabbed up his brother and shaking him by the shoulders demanded, "What happened here. Joe, what did you do?” When it was obvious his brother was too distraught to answer, Adam pushed Little Joe into a chair and ran to Hoss who had gone to his father.

"It ain't good, Adam. He's been shot, bad.” Hoss looked up at Adam, then over to his younger brother.

"Hoss, get Charlie to send for Doc Martin."

"I'll go," Joe interrupted.

"You've done enough," Adam snapped back at him. "Hoss! Move! Now! Then bring back someone to help me get Pa upstairs.” Hoss hurried outside.

"Adam," Joe whispered, taken aback at the anger from his oldest brother in the face of the terrible deed he'd committed.

Adam pointed a finger at Joe and spoke his words coldly, "Don't you move out of that seat. I'll deal with you later.” Joe sat back down and withdrew into his own feelings as he once again rued the day he'd disobeyed his father.

Hoss returned with Charlie who had sent one of the other men for the doctor. "How is he, Adam?"

"It's hard to say. Let's get him upstairs and get this blood off him. I'll see if I can stop the bleeding."

With Charlie taking the feet and Adam the shoulders, the two men managed to carry Ben up to his room and into bed. Hoss, meanwhile, had gotten bandages, towels and hot water. Slowly and laboriously, Adam cleaned the deep wound as he worked to stop the bleeding from his father's head. No one spoke.

Downstairs, Joe still sat in the big chair, staring into the fire, wishing desperately he were anyone else than who he was.

An hour later, Al rushed in with Doc Martin, who hurried upstairs to see his patient. Hoss, Adam and Charlie moved back downstairs while the doctor ministered to Ben. Al was the first to speak, "How is he, Adam?"

"I really don't know. Not good. This never should have ever happened.” As he spoke, he glared at his youngest brother. "Pa hasn't waken up yet and didn't respond to anything we were doing earlier. I just don't know.” Joe looked away, tears in his eyes.

"Adam, there's no cause for that." Hoss directed his comment over Joe's head for he'd seen Adam's look at his little brother and had seen Joe look away.

Adam had felt guilty immediately after he'd said his piece. He knew he'd been angry and was lashing out. After all, Joe was Joe and Adam understood that his little brother had not intentionally shot their father.

Al excused himself, while Charlie offered to make sandwiches. It would be a long night. When Hoss moved over and lifted Little Joe onto his lap, his younger brother buried his head in his chest and sobbed. Adam stood poking at the fire.

Time passed so slowly. The sandwiches, uneaten, were drying out on the table. Hoss had taken Joe upstairs, ostensibly to change clothes and get cleaned up, which he'd done; but his brother would have none of Hoss' attempts to get him in bed or even into his nightshirt. Joe was now curled up on Hoss' lap in the red chair by the fire, but not yet asleep. Adam had moved over to the blue chair by the stairs and was trying to read some book, the title of which he had yet to even look at while Charlie tried playing solitaire on the coffee table, praying that Ben Cartwright would survive this. He feared for the family's well being if the Cartwright patriarch died.

It was almost 10 p.m. when Doc Martin came back downstairs. He paused at the top of the stairs,  surveying the scene before him. He had never worried about anything as much as he was dreading what he had to say to those three boys.

As he started down the stairs, four pair of eyes turned toward the doctor. The three Cartwrights were beside Doctor Martin as he stepped off the stairs into the living room. Charlie had hung back, knowing from the man's expression just what the good doctor was about to say. How he wished he could have been anywhere but in that room just then.

"Adam, Hoss," began Dr. Martin, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry.” He had assumed the boy in Hoss' arms was asleep. The two older boys' shoulders sagged, while Hoss clung tightly to his little brother. Confused and not
understanding what the doctor had meant, Joe pushed himself down from Hoss and confronted their family's dear friend.

"Why are you telling them you're sorry?” he challenged. "It's my pa that's hurt."

Dr. Martin squatted down to be level with Little Joe. "Son," his voice faltered as he took Joe by the shoulders with both hands and looked him in the eyes, "Son, your father is dead."

"No, he's not," Joe shouted. "You're the doctor. You're supposed to fix people." He began beating Dr. Martin with his small fists. "He's not dead. You take it back. You hear?” He was screaming now. "Take it back.” Hoss reached down to pick up his little brother.

"Leave me alone, Hoss. You make him say that ain't true. Hoss!!!!!!” Joe began hitting Hoss, trying to get his brother to set him on the floor. Little Joe was becoming hysterical.

"I wish it weren't true, little brother. But it is." Hoss was trying to hold back his tears.

"No, no, no," Little Joe was out of control. "You take it back."

Dr. Martin filled a syringe from his case. "Adam, hold your brother still."

Adam took Little Joe from Hoss, becoming the victim of Joe's fists as he did. "Let me go, Adam. Leave me alone. All of you. You're all liars. Go away."

Without saying anything, Adam pinned his little brother's arms to his side while Dr. Martin pulled down the top of Little Joe's pants and injected the sedative. "I hate you all. He's not dead.” Joe was still screaming. Perhaps the strength of Adam's embrace, perhaps the medicine, but Joe suddenly collapsed into Adam's arms and sobbed. "He just can't be," the young boy finally whispered. "He can't be."

Within a half hour, the youngest Cartwright was asleep in Hoss' bed. The night had just begun for the rest of them. While Charlie went outside to tell the rest of the men what had happened,  the two boys moved silently upstairs where they bathed their father and dressed him in his best suit. That done, they carefully carried him downstairs to the guest bedroom where he would lay in state until the funeral. Already, the life force that was Ben Cartwright was gone. Adam feared the life force of the Ponderosa had died with him.

Adam and Hoss sat beside their father's body, each deep in thought with his own private memories of that wonderful man. It was Hoss who finally raised the inevitable question. "Adam, what are we gonna do? What happens next?"

Adam raised his eyes, seeming to see Hoss for the first time. "God, Hoss, I don't know. We've gotta get a casket, let people know what happened, plan a funeral."

"That's not all I mean," Hoss interrupted. "What'll we do with the ranch? What'll happen with Little Joe? He has to stay here, you hear?"

Adam was tired, drained emotionally and physically. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he replied, "I just don't know about the ranch, Hoss. And I guess I'm too tired to think right now. We're just going to have to get through this one day at a time for a while. Joe? I don't know, Hoss. Maybe he'd be better with Ms. Gillespie. Or maybe the Devlins would keep him for a while. With Pa gone, he's almost going to need a woman around. I just don't know.” He sat back, running both hands through the top of his hair.

"Adam, you ain't mad at Joe are you? You know he didn't mean it."

The eldest Cartwright sighed. "Yeah, I know it. But Hoss, I'm gonna need some help with this. There's one part of me that's so sorry he's having to deal with this and there's another part of me that's so angry at him that I don't know if I can even be civil to him. I guess it's as much for me as for Joe that I'd think about sending him away. And that's no reason, I know."

"No, it ain't, Adam. That boy's gonna carry the weight of the world on his shoulders from now on. Just wishing he'd stopped and remembered what Pa was trying to teach him."

Adam looked up at Hoss incredulously. "You think he'll worry about it much at all after the first couple of weeks? Look how long he remembered he wasn't to touch Pa's guns.” Adam was clearly disgusted now.

"What's eating you, brother? I heard you laughing and playing with him Sunday morning and now, you're ready to get rid of him. He's the same kid, Adam, with the same needs and the same fears. He just made a big mistake. He needs us both right now; not some strangers."

Adam stretched his arms over his head and stood. "Let's get some coffee, Hoss. It must be close to daybreak and I'm too tired to think any more."

In fact, the sun was just rising as Adam added some fuel to the fireplace and went to the kitchen to make coffee. He moved to the dining table as Hoss came down from upstairs. "Joe's still asleep. Guess we should let him sleep as long as possible."

"Guess so.” The two began to make plans...digging the grave, getting a casket, getting the preacher to come out, telling the folks in town, picking a time. It was almost an hour later that they finished that task.

"Adam, you still haven't said anything definite about Little Joe. Are you gonna keep him here?"

"No, I guess I haven't decided. Hoss, I've been trying to do some thinking about my feelings for that boy. You know, before, I stayed here on the Ponderosa by choice. The theater, opera, libraries...they're all in the East, but I stayed here because this is where I wanted to be."

"Has that changed, brother?"

"No, but the motive has changed. Does that make sense? Before, I was free to go, but I chose to stay. Now, I'm no longer free to go. I'm a prisoner now, Hoss. I couldn't leave you and Joe with the ranch now even if I wanted to. That's what I'm having trouble with. And Joe is the cause of making me a prisoner as much as he's the cause of Pa's death. I don't know if I can deal with that.” He put his head in his hands as he sighed.

Unseen by them, Joe had crept down the stairs and heard everything Adam had said. Big tears stole along his cheeks as the small boy slipped out through the kitchen and into the ranch yard. Joe was seeking refuge in the only place he'd ever found peace and quiet around the house. He slowly climbed into the hayloft, where he collapsed into the loose hay above his father's horse's manger. Dear Lord, why hadn't he left that pistol alone? Would his brothers ever forgive him for the mess he'd made this time? He lay on his stomach, watching his Pa's big gelding munching on hay someone had pitched down into the manger. Somehow, he felt closer to his father here, watching that kind animal that had always carried his father safely across the trails of the Ponderosa. Joe tried to think of what his father had said to him just the day before...or was it two days now; about love. He was too tired and confused to think.

As Joe was struggling to recollect the conversation with his pa, Charlie, Al and another of the hands from the ranch came into the barn. "My God," stated Charlie, "when Doc Martin came down those stairs last night, I knew immediately what had happened. I wished for the entire world that I could have just evaporated. Adam and Hoss, I reckon they were expecting it, but that young'un, he was ruined by it. I never heard such racket. Doc finally had to give him a shot of something."

"You guess he's feeling responsible for what happened?" Al wondered.

"He should," the other cowhand was adamant. "He's the one what pulled the trigger, ain't he?"

"Come on, Jed. That boy didn't mean to shoot his pa. Give him a break.” Joe recognized Al's voice again.

"Nonetheless, he's still the one that killed his old man."

"Lighten up, Jed. You know, I always figured those Cartwrights were sort of like the guys in that book by that French guy. With the three musketeers? Except I used to think the 4 musketeers. You know, all for one and one for all. I wonder what'll happen now.” That was Charlie speaking, Joe was sure. "That boy has been headstrong about guns since he was knee high to a prairie chicken. Never seen the likes of it before. Wonder how he'll feel about it now."

"Guess those hidings that boy took for playing with guns just didn't work. Or there weren't enough of them. I'd a sworn he'd just gotten a whipping a couple of days ago. He sure ran in the barn and disappeared fast enough. And he didn't look none too happy, either. That boy's sure not going to be too well accepted I don't think. At least not for a while.” That was the new man again.

Charlie spoke up, "I figure how Adam and Hoss take the lead will have a lot to do with how well Joe's accepted. I just feel so sorry for them right now. Guess we'll find out what kind of grit that family really has."

The three men moved out of the barn after seeing to the other horses in their stalls. Lord, what if Charlie was right? How Adam and Hoss take the lead...Joe already knew how Adam was feeling. And he sure knew how he was feeling. Joe didn't think he had any more tears to cry, but little by little, the tears began to fall again, until he was again crying as though his heart would break.

He froze as he felt strong arms holding his shoulders. Gently, the arms turned him over until he found himself on his back in the fresh hay, facing his oldest brother. "When you weren't in your room," Adam said kindly, "I thought I might find you here. This was one of my favorite spots when I needed a place to think." Adam noticed Joe's uncertainty, maybe even fear. "Come on," Adam tried to smile encouragingly. "You're needed front and center.” Using his shirtsleeve, Adam wiped away most of Joe's tears and a lot of the hay. Then, he helped Joe to his feet. "Sheriff Coffee's in the living room. He needs to talk with you about yesterday.” He felt Joe stiffen. "It'll be okay. I'll be there beside you. I promise, we'll get through this together."

Joe smeared what was left of his tears across his face, his eyes still swollen from all the crying. "I can't stand it, Adam," Joe whispered. "I wish I were dead instead of Pa."

Adam got down on his knees in the hay until he was eye level with his little brother. "I won't lie to you. I wish Pa weren't dead, too. But I don't think I could stand it if you were dead. Please, don't think that way, Joe. I love you, little brother.” Joe stared at his brother incredulously, then silently followed him out of the loft and into the house.

To Little Joe, Roy was an imposing figure standing beside the fireplace. For a short moment, the boy was reminded of his father and an intense feeling of sadness enveloped him. Seeming to sense his brother's distress, Adam softly laid an arm across Joe's shoulder and gently led him to the sofa where Adam sat down and pulled Joe onto the sofa beside him. His brother's response, to lean into Adam's side as if drawing strength from the man, was sufficient answer for Adam to know he was doing the right thing.

The sheriff pulled the large, red stuffed chair around until it was facing the two brothers. "Son," Roy began quietly, "I know this is difficult, but I've got to know what happened yesterday."

"Roy," Adam protested, "you know what happened. Didn't Doc Martin talk with you?"

Sighing, Sheriff Coffee looked at Adam. "You know he did, Adam. That's why I'm here. But what I heard was his version of your version of what Little Joe told you. That's not good enough for me. I truly am sorry; I know this is so very difficult for all of you. But I can't do any less as sheriff of Virginia City."

Joe was getting nervous. The exchange between his brother and Sheriff Coffee worried him more than he'd like to think. He'd been terrified that Sheriff Coffee would come for him. "Are you gonna hang me? It was an accident, honest." The boy stammered, tears again threatening. He knew he'd killed his father and he remembered discussions over dinner that had confirmed that hanging was the only way to deal with murderers.

Sheriff Coffee turned back to the boy as though he'd been slapped. "Hang you? Lord no, son. Don't you worry about that.” The sheriff instinctively reached to take Little Joe from beside Adam and held him tightly to his chest while Joe clung sobbing in the big man's arms. Adam turned away, embarrassed by his own tears and those of Virginia City's sheriff, his father's best friend. Roy walked back and forth in front of the warm fire until Joe's tears stopped and the boy fell asleep.

"He's asleep, Adam. Would you like me to take him upstairs?"

"What? Oh, no, just lay him on the sofa here. I'd like to keep a closer eye on him than I can do when he's upstairs. Roy, I had no idea Joe thought he might get hanged. God," Adam covered his eyes with both hands. "What else is going through that boy's head that I don't know about?” He looked up at the sheriff. "I don't think I can do this, Roy. I just don't think I can do it.” He hung his head dejectedly.

"You'll do fine, son. These next few days will be terrible, but you'll all get through them. Your family needs you Adam. You've got to be here for them, especially this young'un here.” He nodded toward the sleeping boy.

At that time, Hoss came in the front door. "Sheriff Coffee, I thought I saw your horse out there. Are things okay?” He knew they'd never be okay, but for his father's sake, Hoss was trying to keep it together.

"I had to talk with Little Joe about what happened.” He glanced down at the sleeping child. "I got all the information I needed to close this out officially.” He paused, not quite knowing whether to forge ahead or not. He drew a breath and asked, "Have you decided about the funeral yet?"

Hoss looked surprised at the question. "Yeah, I guess we have. The preacher's going to be here at 11:00 tomorrow morning. We'll" Hoss’ voice caught, "we'll bury Pa up on the hill."

"Yeah, well, we'll see you tomorrow boys. You know most of Virginia City will be by later on this afternoon, don't you? They'll be wanting to pay their respects to your pa and see that you all are gonna make it. Just remember, they mean well, even if you'd like to be more alone than they'll let you over the next few days." Hoss and Adam looked at each other, then nodded. "That boy there," he nodded toward Little Joe, "he's gonna need some protection from the good folks of Virginia City. They'll be things said that he shouldn't have to hear by folks who wouldn't otherwise hurt anyone. You two are going to have to do a lot of interpreting for him. I promised myself I wouldn't say this, boys, but I'm going to anyway. That's the way your pa would want it. He wouldn't want anyone blaming Joe for this, you understand? No one.” The two brothers looked at each other again, then nodded mutely. "Good bye, boys.” Adam looked to the floor. Had Roy been listening to his thoughts, he wondered abstractly.

"Adam," Hoss' voice brought his older brother out of his reverie. "The casket's in the buckboard. What do you want me to do with it? Do we…" Hoss choked on his words.

Adam looked up quickly. "I don't guess, Hoss. Let's just put it in the barn til after everyone is gone this evening. Pa's laid out really peacefully in that downstairs bedroom. I'd just as soon leave him there if people need to see him.” He shook his head. "God, I wish this day were over with."

By late morning, people had begun bringing food and drink to the Ponderosa. As the first buckboard drove up, Adam said, "Much as I hate to do it, I'll wake up Joe and get him dressed for company. Guess people will be expecting to see him as much as us.” He smiled. "At least, it'll be a controlled waking up. Can you imagine Joe getting waked up unexpectedly and him here on the couch? Remember that time he fell asleep on the sofa and Pa came in with that rail road man he was trying to convince to buy all that timber?"

Hoss paused for a moment, trying to remember the incident, then started laughing. "Yeah, the slamming door woke Joe up and he let loose with a string of profanities that shocked even Pa."

Adam could hardly contain himself. "But the funniest part was his throwing that glass rabbit at the guy."

Hoss was holding his sides to try and control himself. "Busted the guy’s nose right then and there, blood everywhere. Pa was fit to be tied."

"Wasn't he? I never did like that guy. I don't recall we ever did get that timber contract."

"No, but I do recall Joe getting it on both ends that day. His mouth washed out with that horrible soap, then his backside lit up like a Christmas tree."

Both brothers suddenly stopped laughing, realizing what they were doing and who they'd just been laughing about. "Well," Adam commented slowly. "I guess we are going to make it if we can recollect some funny moments with our pa. And Joe's a part of lots of those times."

"Yeah, I guess he is at that. Adam?” Hoss didn't know how to broach the subject of Adam's feelings of holding Joe responsible for Ben's death.

As though reading minds, Adam answered. "It's okay, Hoss. Joe didn't mean to shoot Pa, I know that. He's our brother and Roy’s right. He's going to need a lot of support these next days. I mean to be there to give it to him. Now, let me get him upstairs and into some clean clothes before we have him hurling ashtrays at our neighbors."

As carefully as Adam picked up his little brother, Joe still stirred, coming semi-awake. "Come on, little brother. We've got company and you need to be dressed a bit differently than you are now.” Joe still wore the same clothes he'd slept in last night after Hoss had helped him change out of those bloody jeans and shirt. Dirt and straw from the hayloft, mingled with tears were smeared across the front of his shirt. Waking just enough to snuggle back into his older brother's arms, Joe settled onto the comfortable perch his brother's arm provided.

As Adam and Joe disappeared around the corner upstairs, Hoss opened the door, greeting unseen friends and neighbors. "Mrs. Johnson, so good to see you. My, that cake looks delicious. Let me have Hop Sing put it somewhere. Thank you, I appreciate your kind thoughts. We're doing as well as can be expected right now."

Adam heard the murmur of voices, mostly muted but an occasional laugh as someone shared some memory of Ben Cartwright. God, would this never end. He turned back to the task at hand, getting his little brother awake and dressed. Sitting Joe on the bed, Adam shook him gently awake. "Little Joe, time to get up.” He was pleased to see his little brother rubbing his eyes to wake up.

"Come on, half pint. There are people here to see Pa and us and they'll want to see you, too. And you're not in any condition to see them yet.” Adam took a cloth and washed Joe's face, his brother not protesting for once in his life. Turning toward the armoire, he pulled out a clean shirt for Joe to put on, then moved over to the dresser to find socks, underwear and pants. He brought these back to Joe, who, while not actively involved in putting them on, at least allowed Adam to get him dressed.

"Adam," Joe spoke very tentatively. "What did you mean they came to see Pa? He's dead, ain't he?"

"Isn't he.” Adam shook his head at his reflex response to Joe's grammar. "He is dead, Joe. But he's laid out in the downstairs bedroom.” When Joe looked confused, Adam tried to remember if his little brother had ever been to a wake before, other than his mother's. And he'd slept through most of that from the light sedative the doctor had given him that night when Joe had become hysterical at seeing Marie on the bed. No, while Joe had been to a few funerals, Adam couldn't remember any wakes the boy might have attended.

Adam got down til he was eye level with his brother. "Joe, when someone dies, when Pa died," Adam corrected himself, "when Pa died, we had to put him somewhere before we bury him. Hoss and I dressed him in his best suit and took him to the downstairs bedroom and laid him on the bed. That's called laying out somebody. People will be in and out of this house all day today, little brother. They'll want to see us to tell us how sorry they are, and they'll want to see Pa, sort of to say good bye to him, too."

"But if Pa's dead, he won't know they're saying good-bye, will he?"

Adam ran his hands through his hair again. "Maybe he will, maybe he won't. But it's mostly for the person saying good bye. It gives them some closure to it all. It may help them realize it really is over. I don't know, but that's what people do."

"Have you said goodbye to Pa?"

Adam thought for a moment, realizing that while he and Hoss had said their good byes that first night, Little Joe hadn't even known his father was in the house. "Hoss and I did after we laid him out, Joe. Would you like me to take you in there?” Seeing the hesitation in his younger brother's reaction, Adam added, "after everyone has left?” The look in his brother's eyes convinced him he'd made the right offer. "We'll do that after everyone has left this evening. Now, let's get downstairs and greet our friends with that Ponderosa hospitality Pa was always so proud of."

Glad that he had at least garnered a small smile from his little brother, Adam led him down the hall way and to the top of the stairs. There was an obvious lull in the conversation in the great room as the two descended the stairs until Dr. Martin redirected the conversation back to a story he was telling about Ben Cartwright. Adam had felt his brother stiffen, but hoped he wasn't fully aware of the undercurrent of feelings that would be floating around the room. Adam was embarrassed by his own reaction to Joe's role in this entire episode and could understand what some of their neighbors might be thinking, even though he had changed his feelings on the subject. What would he do if someone made a nasty comment? It was something Adam hoped he wouldn't have to face.

Adam needn't have worried about Joe's presence at the wake. He seemed to be doing well, although Adam felt the smile on his face was an artificial. Reflecting on this, Adam felt a real smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Little Joe was mimicking him and Hoss exactly. Yes, they would all get through this day. While not hovering over their youngest brother, the two older siblings nonetheless kept a close watch on Little Joe. Grateful for Mrs. Martin's mothering, the two relaxed as Joe stuck with the doctor's wife most of the afternoon.

Hundreds of people had been in and out of the house all day, but it wasn't until late evening, after too much brandy and punch had been consumed that the first overt and ugly comment about Joe was made. Bill Dole, a neighbor from one of the big ranches east of the Ponderosa, had been talking and drinking with Jack Webster, an itinerant preacher with whom Ben had had many arguments about raising his children. Adam and Hoss were outside, saying goodbye to some close friends who had stopped by from Carson City. Mrs. Martin was sitting beside Joe at the dining room table, trying to get him to eat something. Bill and Jack were standing by the gun rack, their conversation becoming louder and more animated the more they drank and the more they egged each other on.

"I can't believe Ben Cartwright would want that whelp of his spending one more night in this house. An eye for an eye, that's what the good book says. It's too late for that other admonition, 'spare the rod and spoil the child', " Jack began the discussion, looking directly at Little Joe. Joe hadn't moved and Mrs. Martin was certain he'd not heard the remark until she noticed a tear rolling down the boy's cheek. She reached an arm around the lost boy even as she looked for Adam, Hoss, Roy or her husband. Then remembering that Roy and Paul had left earlier with promises to be back later that evening, she searched for the older Cartwright brothers. Hoss and Adam, though, were outside saying goodbye to the Jackson's. She pulled Joe closer to her.

Bill took up the train of thought, removing his hat to cover his heart. "Good Ben Cartwright would still be alive if it hadn't been for that boy over there. If anyone ought to be dead, it's that boy, not his old man."

"That's enough, Bill." Adam had entered the room and heard Bill's comment. He could guess what else had been said. "You and Jack have been here long enough. I think you'd better leave."

"We're not saying anything the whole town ain't thinking, Adam."

"I can't stop what people are thinking, Bill, but I can stop what they're saying out here on the Ponderosa. Get your things and get out of here. You, too, Jack." His words were clipped and said with deathly coldness. Hoss was amazed, realizing he'd heard that voice on other occasions as his father had stood one or all of them before him for some infraction or other.

Bill and Jack read the young man well and gathered their things to leave. Bill turned back with a parting shot, "You mark my words, Cartwright. No good will come from that brother of yours. He's killed once and he'll kill again." As Adam headed toward them, his eyes cold as ice, the two men slammed the door shut, leaped on their horses and rode off to town.

Hoss had hurried over to Joe as the exchange between Adam and two drunk men had begun. His little brother's shoulders were sagging as he sat beside Mrs. Martin. "Hoss," Joe whispered. "I'm really pretty tired. I think I'll go to bed." Hoss, panicking and unsure of what to do, looked for Adam.

Mrs. Martin's touch brought him back to the table. "Hoss, you boys aren't alone in this. Let me take Joe upstairs and get him ready for bed. I'll sit with him a while so you and Adam can tend to your visitors. He'll be okay, I promise. He may just need a mother's touch right now.” With that, she gathered Little Joe into her arms and, moving up the back stairs away from the guests, took Joe to his room.

It was several minutes before Adam could make it back to the table. He'd been amazed at the number of people who had stopped him to say Bill's comments were out of line, that they didn't hold anything against Joe, that it had all been an accident. With difficulty, he'd finally extricated himself from his neighbors and found Hoss by the fireplace. "Damn it, Hoss, where's Joe?” Adam was clearly agitated at what he perceived to be Hoss' neglect.

"Take it easy, brother. I'd not let anything else happen to him. He's upstairs with Mrs. Martin. She thinks he may need a mother's touch and right now I’m inclined to agree. Adam, we're not in this alone. Pa had good friends, we've got good friends who can help us get through this. It's not charity, Adam. It's friendship and love."  Hoss looked Adam in the eyes, until his older brother could no longer hold his gaze.

Adam was exhausted. "You're right, I know. I just promised Marie I'd always look out for him. And I'm doing a piss poor job of it right now. The boy's worried about being hung, and I'm worried about getting his clothes changed. God Almighty. There's so much I don't know."

"That's just it. That boy needs our love and he needs us something fierce right now.  We've  gathered strength from our friends who have offered us comfort. That kind of support may not mean much to Joe right now, but I'll bet a mother's touch means the world to him.  And you and me, Adam; we can't give him that feeling. That's a mother's job and Mrs. Martin is there for him as much as Roy Coffee has been to you and Mr. Knighton has been for me. You're not the good Lord above, Adam. You're not all things to all people. But," Hoss laid his hand on Adam's arm, "you're the best older brother I've ever had.” He grinned at Adam. His brother returned the grin with a half smile of his own, grateful for his brother's words. The two turned back to their neighbors, soon laughing and sharing tales about Ben's early exploits.

Soon enough, the evening was over. Sheriff Coffee and Doctor Martin stood by the fireplace, idly watching as Hop Sing cleared away the dishes and debris. Adam looked around, realizing then that Mrs. Martin had never come back downstairs. "Just a minute, sir, and I'll go get Mrs. Martin."

"I'll go with you, son. I need to check on my littlest patient anyway.” Together, the two men went upstairs. Adam was unprepared for the serene picture before him. Little Joe, in his nightshirt, was curled up on Mrs. Martin's lap. She'd draped an afghan over him to ward off the chill. The boy looked like he had a slight smile on his lips, although it was difficult to tell because his left thumb was in his mouth, his fingers pointed downward. His right hand was curled around Mrs. Martin's index finger. Adam had not seen Joe sucking his thumb since he was four or five. He smiled remembering his father's insistence to Marie that she break Joe of that habit and Marie's insistence that when Joe had no need of that thumb, that he'd break himself of the habit. Marie had won that argument, such as it was, and, Adam reflected now, that his step mother had probably been right.

Seeing his little brother's finger curled around Dr. Martin's wife's finger caused him to pause. Adam's contentment with his brother grew as he recalled the first time Joe had grasped his finger, shortly after his little brother was born. Adam had felt like the most important person on earth right then. Reflecting on that, Adam figured maybe he felt something like that again. Not the only person in Joes' life, and not THE most important person, but an important person. He knew he'd stay at the Ponderosa now, not as a prisoner, not out of obligation, but because this is where he wanted to be. It would be different, but Adam vowed to make it a good place for his brothers to grow.

He reached down and lifted Joe off Mrs. Martin's lap. She stood, rearranging the afghan to cover her sleeping charge. "I don't mean to interfere, Adam, but you might consider having him sleep with you or Hoss tonight. He's calmed down now, but remember those nightmares he had after Marie died? My sense is he'll have them back. One of you being near may give him some security.” Turning to gather her shawl, she kissed Joe on the forehead, then looked up and, hesitating slightly, kissed Adam on the cheek. "Good night, boys.” The room filled with a sense of peace as Dr. Martin escorted his wife from the room.

Mrs. Martin had been right about the nightmares. About two in the morning, Adam had felt Joe stiffen in the bed beside him. As Joe had started moaning, tossing and turning, Adam had reached out to place a protective arm across his brother. "Joe, it's okay. I'm here. Joe, wake up.” His brother had fought, desperate to escape the monsters in his mind and his brother's restraint. With a strength Adam hadn't imagined his brother had, Joe had pushed Adam away, only sit up in bed, screaming with tears running down his face. Adam grabbed his brother and held him to his chest, his own tears falling onto Joe's curls. "It's okay, Joe. You're safe.” Adam moved to the rocking chair beside his bed, lifting Joe onto his lap as he sat down. Wrapping a blanket about the boy, Adam leaned back, rocking gently as his deep baritone began softly singing the folk songs his little brother had always loved so. The sobs subsided, and soon, Joe was asleep in his brother's arms. Laying his brother back on the bed, Adam covered him with a thick comforter, hoping the nightmares were over for a while.

Despite his interrupted sleep, Joe was up early the next morning. "Adam," he tapped his brother's shoulder. "Adam, get up.” Adam shook his head, trying to make sense of this early morning scene. "Adam, you said you'd take me to see Pa. I want to go now. Please."

Adam sighed as he sat up and stretched his arms over his head. Looking outside, he realized it couldn't be 5:30 in the morning yet. "Ok, Joe, just give me a minute to wake up.” Pulling on his robe, Adam shook his head, trying to chase away his own feeling of dread as his brain catalogued the scenarios that Adam imagined might happen this morning when Joe saw his father. The one memory that kept returning was Joe's hysteria when, as a 5 year old, his father had brought Joe in to see Marie, laid out then, like Ben was now, in that same guest bedroom. Adam was not looking forward to this time.

As cold as the floor was, he'd tried to carry his brother down the stairs, but Joe would have none of it. Side by side, they'd entered the bedroom downstairs, Adam hanging back just a little, unsure of what his brother's reaction would be.

Joe walked, haltingly, to the side of the bed. Tentatively, he reached out a hand, then looked back to Adam for reassurance. "It's okay to touch him, Joe.” Joe stroked his father's forehead, then traced his fingers along his eyes, down his cheek and across his chin. It was a gesture Adam had seen Joe do many times when he'd been younger; when his brother had been sitting on his father's lap, usually in the evening when Joe was tired, yet not quite ready for bed.

Joe pulled his hands back, holding them to his side. "Adam, on Sunday, I asked Pa if there was anything I could do that would make him hate me. You know what he said?"

"I can imagine. I'm sure he said there was nothing you could ever do that would change his deep love for you."

His youngest brother looked up, surprised. "That's what he said all right. Do you think maybe this is the one thing I could do that would change that?"

Adam resisted the urge to hug Joe tight, to tell him it didn't matter. He could see Joe was deadly serious about this question and needed a serious response to it. "No, Joe, I don't think this would change his love for you. Pa's in heaven now, with your mom, Inger and my mother. He must be the happiest man in heaven to be with his wives he loved so dearly, together, watching their sons down here on earth. He doesn't hate you, Joe. He loves you dearly. You've got to trust me on this one.” Neither of them had seen Hoss enter the room.

Joe smiled a half smile. "Yeah, well maybe Ma will give him some answers to the questions he's always asking her picture.” Adam laughed, hugging his brother by his shoulders. He'd been unaware his brother even knew about their father's conversations with their mothers.

"Joe, Adam," Hoss had hated to interrupt the talk. "it's time we got Pa ready." Joe looked confused. "We need to put Pa in the casket. Do you want to be here when we do that?” Joe nodded and together, Hoss and Adam carefully lifted their father from the bed. Joe took the pillow, with the beautiful hand embroidery Inger had done so many years before, and gently placed it in the casket. The two brothers carefully laid their father in the coffin. As Hoss and Adam prepared to nail the top on, Joe held up his hand. "Wait a minute, please.” Adam and Hoss looked at each other, neither quite sure of their brother's intent. Joe ran from the room, returning in an instant with the three pictures of his wives that Ben always kept on the desk. Sliding them under his father's crossed hands, he stepped back so his brothers could finish their sad task.

Eleven o'clock came all too early, or maybe it was too late. Neither Adam or Hoss was quite sure. The three brothers, Doctor Martin, Sheriff Coffee and Charlie Adams, their foreman, acting as pall bearers, carried the casket out to the cemetery near the ranch house. All was going well, Adam thought, hoping his brother could hold it together during the service. The preacher droned on, saying wonderful things about Ben Cartwright, asking the Lord to watch over these boys left behind, asking forgiveness for sins any of those present had committed. Adam felt Joe stiffen at this last intonement to the Lord. Forgiveness of sins...Joe was immediately transported in his mind back to the house that Monday afternoon. He saw himself shoot his father, watched the blood pouring from the wound in his head, saw him crying, felt Adam's condemnation that he was responsible for this act.

Dr. Martin had seen the change in Little Joe as well, had wished fervently the preacher had never mentioned this. He silently moved over to Joe, prepared to help hold the boy or administer a sedative if need be.

Joe maintained, tears streaming down his face, as he watched the casket being lowered into the grave. He knew he was responsible for this. If he'd listened to his father. If only...NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  A primal scream escaped his lips. All movement stopped.

*********

"Joe, Joe," it was his father holding the boy. "Joe, it's all right. You're here and I'm with you. You've had a nightmare.” His son was trembling, tears streaming down his face, his body soaked with sweat.

Joe reached up, grasping his father face in his hands. "Oh, Pa," he cried. "You were dead. I'd killed you.” Joe was trembling, the memory still too vivid in his mind. Joe carefully stroked Ben's forehead, then traced his fingers over his father's eyes, down his cheek and across his chin. With a sob, he collapsed into his father's arms. "Pa, I'm so sorry I disobeyed you. I promise, I'll never touch those guns again.” And they both knew this was a promise he'd keep.
 

******END*****

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