EPILOGUE

Ben Cartwright stepped out of the ranch house and looked to the left and right. It was a cold crisp night and there was a thin coating of snow on the ground. It was Christmas Day and there had never been a better time or more reason to celebrate. Paul Martin had finally given Joseph a clean bill of health where the pneumonia and his other physical injuries were concerned, and his youngest was going to come down to the great room for the first time since he had returned home. Ming-hua was busy setting the table. Hop Sing was cooking away merrily all the while singing snatches of Christmas carols in Cantonese. Joseph was sleeping and his brothers were nearby upstairs, getting ready and keeping a close watch. Their younger brother was still fragile. He tired easily and was often introspective. Loud noises – raised voices especially – made him wince. Little Joe had always feared the dark. He had come now to loathe it, so much so that most nights the house was roused with the boy's nightmares.

Ben reached up to rub his neck. Last night had been one of those nights. The boy's screams had cut through the silence bringing them all to their feet. He'd sent everyone else off to bed and sat at Joseph's side until the sobbing subsided, and then crept out leaving a light burning in his room and in the hall beyond.

Lifting his arms over his head, the rancher stretched and then looked around. He'd taken a moment after checking on the boys to change his own clothes, putting on his finest silver vest and blue coat for their company and Christmas dinner. When he returned to the great room, he found both Rosey and Jude missing. Not that it was surprising that the Englishman was nowhere to be found. Since their return over a month before, he had grown introspective. Jude would often vanish without a word for hours at a time. Ben left him alone, knowing the former cabin boy had his own demons to deal with where Wade Bosh was concerned.

Rosey was another matter.

He found he didn't want to leave her alone.

In some ways Rosey was a mix of his former wives – dark like Elizabeth, strong and gentle as Inger, and with a past like Marie. He grinned. She had a bit of Marie's fire too. He'd felt it each time he'd tried to probe into that past. Something had wounded her so deeply she couldn't speak of it. He knew it had to do with a child she had lost.

He just hoped that one day she would trust him enough to unburden herself.

Stepping off the porch, Ben looked around. It took a moment but he spotted her, wrapped in her winter cloak and sitting on the swing just beyond the porch. She'd brushed off most of the snow, but enough remained to make the wooden structure sparkle. Rosey's cloak was made of a deep wine wool. It was of the Welsh kind, with a large ruffled hood that pulled up around the face. Like a little girl too long in he cold, her cheeks were nearly as red as her cape.

As he came alongside her, Ben turned and looked in the direction she was looking.

It was at Joe's room.

"His name was Rory," she said abruptly.

"Your son," he replied as he turned back to her. It was a statement, not a question.

That brought a small smile. "Yes. You guessed?"

Ben indicated the swing beside her. "May I?" When she nodded, he sat down. "You said you were married. Your obvious interest in Joe's welfare brought me to the conclusion that there must have been a child and it was a boy."

She nodded. "Rory was about Joseph's age when he died."

The rancher pursed his lips. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."

"You know, that's the problem," Rosey replied, her eyes glinting with tears. "For so many years that's all I have thought about – the bad memories. I forgot what a precious treasure I had for those twelve years. Your Joseph has reminded me."

"Do you mind if I ask –"

"What happened to him?" She drew in a breath against a remembered pain. "I did. Or more accurately, the woman I was before I met you and your family did."

He shook his head, not understanding.

"There was a man," she began. "He was a bouncer in the sporting house where I worked. He thought he loved me. When I married Patrick, he considered it a betrayal."

"He...murdered your son? Twelve years later?"

"He was in a brawl and almost killed a man. He went to prison for a time. When he was released, he found out I'd married and had a son and another child on the way and decided to exact a price for my liberation." Rosey paused at his look. "I lost the baby too."

"I'm sorry." Ben paused. "Was the man ever caught and made to pay?"

Anger crinkled the edges of her eyes. She shook her head, at a loss for words. Rosey remained still a moment longer and then reached out and took hold of his hand. She blinked back tears as she continued.

"After they all died, I went back – not to that house in San Francisco, but to another just like it. I met a woman there who'd been an army scout and decided that was the life for me. Now I'd be leading men instead of being led. I'd be outside, in the wilds, instead of trapped by four walls. Outside where –"

"You hoped to die."

She looked up at him, startled. Then she laughed. "Is there no keeping anything from you?"

He patted her hand. "I have buried three wives. Each time, I felt I couldn't go on." He looked at the house. "My sons saved me."

"They are fine boys."

"Yes, they are. I wish..." He cleared his throat. "I wish you could have known Joseph before. That boy..." He lost the ability to speak.

Rosey gripped his hand. "He'll return. Just as I returned. Older, wiser, not the same, but stronger. He's your son, Ben. He can't help but be strong."

She was looking at him. The moonlight struck her face, painting it in perfection. Before he knew it he had taken her in his arms and kissed her.

Rosey pulled back, breathless. "Why Mister Cartwright! And here I thought you were the soul of propriety!"

"Obviously, you haven't talked to the inhabitants of Virginia City," he replied with a cheeky smile.

It was only a second later Adam called him. So quickly, he knew his son could not have missed what had happened.

"Pa! Hoss is bringing Joe down!"

Rosey rose to her feet and pulled him after her.

It was time to go in.

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Adam had turned back into the house. He grinned as Hoss carried Little Joe down the stairs. He'd been listening outside the door when middle brother went in to get him. Joe had protested at being carried. It hadn't' been very loud or lasted too long.

But he had protested!

They couldn't have had a better Christmas present.

As Hoss placed Joe in the big red chair by the fire and settled him in, tucking a blanket around his thin frame to keep him warm, their father walked through the door hand in hand with Rosey O'Rourke. Adam hid his smile. He'd caught them kissing. He didn't know what the future held for the pair, but it wouldn't have bothered him one bit if Rosey came to stay. She was a remarkable woman.

"Melly Chlistmas!" Hop Sing proclaimed loudly as he came into the room carrying, of all things, a blazing figgy pudding! Ming-hua trailed after him, bearing a stack of plates and forks.

"What's this?" their father asked. "Dessert before dinner?"

The man from China paused before the settee. His dark eyes drank in Little Joe. "Special day. Special present for number three son. Hop Sing want him to know how much he is loved."

Joe was doing better. He was still brittle physically and jumpy as a bee-stung stallion, but little by little he was mending. Paul had given them strict instructions that he was to stay inside, probably until spring. Late last night, when Hoss was snoring and he was reading in his room, he'd heard the click of a door. And then another opening and closing. He'd poked his head out into the hall just in time to see a shadow passing onto the stair. Following quietly, he'd looked around the stair wall and seen the front door closing. Padding after whoever it was, the black-haired man had gone to the office window and peered outside. There, in the falling snow, stood his father with Little Joe in his arms. Joe had a thing about snow. He loved being out in it.

It was the first time he had seen a genuine smile on his little brother's face since he'd come home.

His father's voice returned Adam to the present. The older man had moved to Joe's side. Sitting on the hearth beside little brother, Pa reached out and took hold of his hand. Then he looked at each of them in turn – him, Hoss, Joe. They all knew what he was thinking. No presents needed.

They all had the only thing they wanted.

Joe was home and he was going to be all right.

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They all thought he was going to be all right.

Joe wasn't so sure.

The curly-haired boy stared at the dying fire. After a moment, he shifted and sighed, his face a study in concentration. He was better, he knew that. He had come to accept the fact that Wade Bosh had done more damage to his mind than his body. And, though it had taken a long time, he'd finally come to grips with the deaths of the four people who had been killed because they'd tried to help him and to believe that it wasn't his fault.

That was the easy one.

Joe drew in a deep breath and held it like it was something precious before slowly expelling it along with some of his fear. And he was afraid. He was afraid that the people he loved were lying to him, that they didn't really understand – that they thought he should have fought harder, been stronger; that he was weak and useless and wouldn't ever be useful again. Sometimes he would catch them watching him with pity in their eyes and, at other times, with what he thought was disgust. Adam, Hoss and...Pa. Joe swallowed over the other half of that fear. It was still nearly impossible to say that name and when he couldn't say it, something dark rose up in him that made him wonder if what had happened to him hadn't changed him forever. He would start shaking and seeing red and the only thing he could think of was taking Wade Bosh by his fat neck and squeezing until he choked – until the seaman's eyes popped out and his tongue turned black and he died.

But Bosh was already dead.

And so, there was nowhere for that anger to go but inside. Inside, where it tugged him back toward the pit and the peace it offered.

He'd gotten good at pretending. He'd smiled for everyone tonight and opened his presents and acted like he was having good time. He'd joked with his brothers on the way up to bed and then snuggled down in his covers like he was content when his father bid him goodnight. Then he laid there, thinking. Once it got quiet, he'd left his room and come downstairs. The trip nearly wore him out, so much so that when he got to the great room he'd stumbled over to the settee and fallen onto it. He'd been here ever since, leaning his chin on his knee and thinking about everything that had happened and how, sometimes, it seemed like it was still happening and that it would happen forever.

That he would never be free.

Joe sniffed as tears ran down his cheeks.

"It will fade in time," a soft voice said.

The curly-headed boy jumped. "Who...?"

"I am sorry if I startled you." Jude Randolph, the feller his father had saved from Bosh when he'd been about his age, was coming out of the kitchen. He had a cup of tea in his hand. Crossing over to the red chair, he sat down. "Sleep is not always a welcome companion, is it?"

Joe sniffed again and ran a hand under his nose. "How'd you know?"

"About the nightmares?" Jude smiled. "I know about them, for they are my own."

"Still?" Joe asked.

Jude placed the cup on the side table. "Still, but not so much as before. They are...occasional unwelcome guests now, not family."

Family.

That was a hard one.

Joe hesitated and then asked, "Did Bosh make you call him 'Pa'?"

The Englishman nodded. "Yes."

"Did you... Does that...word...still make you..." What did he say? Wince? Cringe?

Cry?

Jude stood. He came closer and indicated the other end of the settee. "May I?"

Joe nodded. He studied the man as he sat down. In the last of the firelight, he could see the resemblance between them. Jude's skin was darker and his features heavier, but he had the same wide eyes and hair that made him look – as his father would put it – like a riverboat gambler. When he was a boy, they had probably looked even more alike.

"Like you," Jude began, "I was haunted by the memory of Wade Bosh and what he had done to me – what he...took from me. Then, I realized one day that he hadn't taken anything that I hadn't freely given."

Joe frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jude held his gaze. "Joseph, your father loves you more than life. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded.

"And yet you doubt it, because of the things Bosh told you."

"I don't doubt he loves me!" he protested.

"He." Jude paused. "Don't you see? When you hesitate or choose not to call your father 'Pa', Wade Bosh wins. He is in the grave. You are alive and here – but you are not free. Bosh holds you prisoner still."

Joe blinked back tears.

"I know it is hard. But you must set aside what happened and try to remember your life before that madman took you. My grandmother was a woman of deep faith and wisdom. She told me once that we're all enslaved, and she was right. Even if your body is not owned as hers was – as mine was for a time – a man can be owned in many other ways." Jude reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Right now, Joseph, you are enslaved. Wade Boss owns your mind and, perhaps, a part of your soul."

His tears were flowing now. "What do I do?"

"Find a memory from the time before you were taken. One of you and your father. Dwell on it. Let it blot out the memory of the man who used that word to break your spirit. You're stronger, Joseph, but you will never be healed until you can do this."

He thought a minute. "Are you healed, Jude?"

The former cabin boy smiled. "I was healed the day we set you free."

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Ben Cartwright roused from a deep sleep. He thought he'd heard the sound of the latch being engaged. Cracking one eye, he looked toward the hall and found his door open and a slender shadow occupying the frame. With a start, he realized it was his youngest son. Feigning sleep, the ranched remained still, curious to find out what had drawn the boy to his room.

Joseph hesitated and then entered. His son stood at his bedside for a moment before sitting on the edge. Several heartbeats passed before the boy reached out and tentatively, gently, touched his face. It took everything that was in him, but Ben didn't move. His heart ached for his child and he wanted nothing more than to roll over and take Little Joe in his arms.

Something stopped him. Some inner instinct that told him Joe had to come to him.

A moment later the bed bent beneath the boy's weight. Joe moved closer and then lay down beside him. His son's arm reached out and circled his waist. For some time they lay there, completely silent, and then Joseph spoke.

"You awake?" he asked.

Ben's placed his hand over his son's. "Yes."

Joe's voice was sleepy. He was not long for this world. "You know somethin'?"

His heart was racing. "No. Why don' you tell me what it is?"

His son reared up so he could look into his eyes. There was a trace of a smile on his lips.

"I love you, Pa."

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In the spring Jude returned to England and the life he had left behind. Rosey and Ming-hua left the Ponderosa as well, but not before announcing their intention to move to Virginia City. They would return to the older woman's mountain home for a time in order to take care of everything, including the sale of her house and stock, and be back and in place before the summer's end. Hop Sing cried as the wagon pulled out of the yard, carrying with it the lovely girl he had come to think of as a daughter. Ben shed tears too – of thankfulness. Each was an outstanding woman. He would look forward to the homecoming of both, but Rosey most of all.

A most outstanding woman.

Ben turned and looked toward the stables where his sons were roughhousing. He could hear the whoops and hollers and took delight in his youngest's most of all. Nearly six months had passed since Joseph's ordeal and, true to his nature, his young son's spirits had soared as the world was renewed. The boy was still not quite himself, but every day he watched him grow stronger and his laugh – that blessed and beloved laugh – rang out more often than not. He could hear it now, and hear Hoss bellowing in mock rage as he chased his brother toward the house.

Yes, indeed, everything was going to be all right.