Ben Cartwright sighed with
satisfaction as he relaxed in his chair by the fire. He was looking forward to a
peaceful evening alone at home. Savouring the silence for a moment, he reached
for the book he had been trying unsuccessfully to find time to read.
Ben’s three sons were all in
town for the evening. Adam and Hoss for a visit to the saloon, Joe to see Ellen
Davies, the latest in his seemingly never ending string of young lady friends.
He had got no further than half way down the third page, however, when he was
interrupted by a knock at the door. Irritated at the interruption, he put the
book aside and went to see who could be calling at this hour.
As he opened the door Ben
saw a tall, big built man, around the same age as himself. Startlingly blue
eyes regarded him from a weather-beaten face.
“Ben Cartwright, it’s good
to see you!” the man’s voice was deep and carried a hint of an Irish brogue.
“Patrick?” Ben questioned
uncertainly. It had been the best part of thirty-two years since he had seen
this man. “Patrick Finnigan?”
“It’s me all right,” Patrick
confirmed with a hearty laugh. “When they told me in town that a Ben Cartwright
owned this ranch I just had to come and see if it was the same one, and there
you stand large as life.”
“Well I’ll be…” Ben was at a
loss for words. “Come in, come in,” he ushered the other man into the house.
“It’s been so long.”
Entering the house, Patrick
stood for a moment looking around him in admiration. “It’s a fine place you
have here Ben,” he said at last. “And all this land too! Seems you turned into
a real landlubber.”
“And you? What are you doing
out here in
“There’s a lot of water
passed under the bridge since then.”
“You must tell me all about
it,” Ben told him. “But first, make yourself comfortable. Would you like coffee?
Something to eat? I could get my cook to rustle you up a meal if you’re
hungry.”
“I’m fine Ben,” Patrick
settled himself on the couch. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a drop of the hard
stuff, if you have any?”
“Of course,” Ben went to
fetch the bottle of brandy and some glasses. Pouring the drinks, he studied his
old friend. He had first met Patrick on board ship; the young Irishman had
already been an accomplished sailor. He had worked his passage to America, and
then signed on as crew with the clippers that plied the Atlantic. The two young
men had become firm friends, till Patrick announced that when he left on his
next voyage he wouldn’t be returning to
“I’m off to see some more of
the world, Ben,” he had told him, as they drank together one evening in a
****
The two men were deep in
reminiscing the past when Adam and Hoss returned a couple of hours later.
“Ah, boys,” Ben looked up as
they entered the house. “I want you to meet an old friend of mine. This is
Patrick Finnigan.” Patrick stood up and executed a quick bow before going
forward to greet them. “Patrick, this is my eldest son, Adam, and my middle
son, Hoss.”
“Your father has been
telling me all about you two,” Patrick said, shaking hands. “I knew your
grandfather Adam, when I lived in
“You know Pa from
“That I do. We were friends
there, many years ago. Then I left to travel the world and we lost touch. I did
return to
“Where are you staying?” Ben
asked.
“I haven’t got that fixed
yet,” Patrick told him. “When I heard about you I just came straight on out
here. I imagine I can get a room in a hotel easy enough.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” Ben
smiled at his old friend. “You must stay here with us. We have plenty of room,
and tomorrow you can tell us all about your travels.”
****
Joe Cartwright stabled his
horse, Cochise, and headed for the house. It was very late and he was tired. He
hadn’t meant to stay so long in town, knowing he had a long day’s work ahead of
him tomorrow. He smiled to himself, thinking of the reason he was late,
remembering the silky feel of Ellen’s long blonde hair between his fingers, the
softness of her lips beneath his.
Opening the door he was
surprised to see lamplight shining from his father’s desk. Momentarily he felt
a flash of annoyance, surely his father wasn’t waiting up for him? After all he
was nearly nineteen, and should be able to come home when he wanted.
As he walked towards the
light, however, he was taken aback to see a complete stranger sitting at his
father’s desk.
“Ah,” the man said, looking
up as Joe approached. “I imagine that you must be Ben’s youngest. Joe isn’t
it?”
“I’m Joe Cartwright,” Joe
confirmed. “And you are?”
“The name’s Finnigan,” the
stranger said, standing up. Joe couldn’t help but notice that the man had
obviously been making serious inroads into his father’s brandy, a half full
glass of the spirit stood next to the almost empty bottle on the desk. “Patrick
Finnigan. I’m an old friend of your father’s. He very kindly offered me a bed
for the night.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Joe
watched as Finnigan unsteadily headed towards the couch, carrying the glass of
brandy in one hand, the nearly empty bottle in the other “Is there anything I
can get you before I turn in for the night?”
“No, I’m fine,” Finnigan
replied. “I couldn’t sleep, thought a brandy might help.” He saw Joe’s glance
at the glass he held and added quickly, “I’m sure your father won’t mind.”
“I’ll say goodnight then,”
Joe headed for the stairs. “Perhaps I’ll see you at breakfast.”
There was no reply from Finnigan and considering the amount of brandy the man appeared to have imbibed, Joe thought it unlikely that they would see him at breakfast.
****
Joe was wrong; Patrick was
already seated at the table when he joined his family the next morning. The man
wasn’t eating though, Joe noted, just drinking coffee.
“Ah, here’s Joe,” Ben said,
looking up as his son approached. “Patrick, this is my youngest, Joseph.”
“We met last night,” Joe told
his father, taking his seat at the table. “When I got back from town.”
“We did?” Patrick looked
blank for a moment, then remembered. “Oh, yes, I couldn’t sleep, so I was
having myself a little night-cap when Joe came in. I hope you don’t mind Ben.”
“No of course not,” Ben
smiled at his friend. “I want you to feel at home here for as long as you
decide to stay.”
Piling his plate high with
food, Joe wondered if his father would feel quite so accommodating when he
discovered just how much of a ‘little night-cap’ Patrick had drunk.
****
“You seeing Ellen tonight?”
Hoss asked his younger brother as the two rode back to the ranch that evening.
“No, she’s got some family commitment tonight, couldn’t get out of it,” Joe told him. “I thought I’d just go into town for a couple of beers.”
“I reckon I might just join
you in that.”
Adam was already home when
Hoss and Joe arrived, talking to Patrick Finnigan down by the corral.
“Hey, brother,” Joe hailed
him as they rode up. “Hoss and I were thinking of going to town tonight, care
to join us?”
“As it happens,” Adam
smiled. “Patrick and I had decided on a trip to town this evening as well, so I
guess we might as well all ride in together.”
****
“He’s fascinating to listen to,” Adam told Hoss. “He’s seen so many things, been so many places.” The two brothers were sitting together in the saloon. Joe was seated a few tables away with some friends, playing cards, and Patrick had gone over to watch them. While they were alone Hoss had asked Adam’s opinions on their father’s guest.
“He’s been all over the
world,” Adam continued. “He’s worked on sailing ships and steam ships, he was
on one of the first iron ships. And the sights he’s seen! The pyramids in
“Then how come he’s ended up
here?” Hoss asked, looking over to where Finnigan stood. "Seems kinda
strange to me, just turning up out of the blue like that.”
Adam shrugged. “I didn’t
ask.” He too looked over at Patrick. “I suppose it is a little strange, after
all these years to just turn up on Pa’s doorstep like that.” Watching Finnigan
approach the bar and buy a whisky, he frowned slightly. “He sure knows how to
put the drinks away. That must be his eighth whisky in an hour.”
Leaving the bar, Finnigan
wove his way unsteadily through the tables towards Hoss and Adam. “Your brother
seems to be doing well,” he said, voice slightly slurred. “Winning a fair
amount.”
“Joe’s good at card,” Hoss
told him, glancing over to where Joe was playing.
Patrick drained his glass
and began to get to his feet again. “You boys ready for another? I’m buying.”
“We’re fine,” Adam told him.
“In fact we were thinking of calling it a night, getting on home.”
“You two carry on,” Patrick
smiled, heading for the bar. “I’ll come back with Joe when he finishes his game.”
“Right,” Adam replied, then
turned to Hoss. “I think we’d better get him out of here,” he said quietly. “Pa
won’t be happy if we take him back drunk.”
Hoss nodded in agreement.
“I’ll go explain to Joe and get him to finish up the game. Don’t reckon he’ll
be too happy about it though.”
****
Half an hour later the three
Cartwrights and Finnigan rode back towards the Ponderosa. As Hoss had predicted
Joe wasn’t impressed at being asked to leave his game part way through, but Hoss
had kept at him until he finally agreed.
Patrick though obviously
intoxicated appeared to be riding well enough; he was in high spirits, singing
loudly, and tunelessly as they rode.
As they approached the ranch
the older man’s demeanour underwent a change, he quieted down and in answer to
Adam’s enquiry if he was all right, snapped back to leave him be.
Dismounting in front of the
house Adam turned to aid Patrick from the saddle as the older man almost fell
to the ground.
Joe moved forward and took the reins of Patrick’s horse. “I’ll stable him for you,” he offered. “You get off to bed.”
To Joe’s surprise Patrick
turned on him furiously. “Do you think I cannot manage my own horse?” he
yelled. “Think I’m incapable do you?”
Raising his hands, Joe backed
off. He left Patrick’s horse and started to take Cochise over to the stable.
Adam and Hoss began to
follow their brother when Finnigan suddenly darted forward and grabbed Adam’s
gun from its holster.
“I’m not so very drunk you
know,” he shouted. “You just watch, I’ll prove it to you.”
It was obvious from the
man’s slurred speech, his unsteadiness on his feet that he was drunk. The gun
he held was wavering from side to side as he attempted to take aim.
None of the Cartwrights were
exactly sure what the man was aiming at but they were only too aware that in
his intoxicated state the bullet could wind up anywhere.
“Hey, Patrick, no need to
prove anything to us, fella,” Adam said soothingly. “Why don’t we just go on in
the house?”
At that moment the front
door opened as Ben came out to see what was going on. Hearing the door open
Patrick turned toward the sound just as his finger tightened on the trigger.
The sound of the shot echoed through the still night air, and simultaneously,
or so it seemed, Cochise gave a sharp whinny of pain.
****
“Cochise! Joe exclaimed in
shock. “You’ve hit Cochise!
Patrick dropped the gun from
nerveless fingers as, sobered by the sound of the horse’s cry, he realised what
he had done.
“Adam get him in the house and
get some coffee into him,” Ben’s voice was angry. He headed towards where Joe
stood anxiously examining Cochise, Hoss beside him.
Adam reached down and picked
up his gun from where it had fallen, then grasping Patrick’s arm firmly, he
guided the older man into the house.
“How is he?” Ben asked,
reaching his son’s side. He knew how much Joe cared for the animal and hoped
the injury was not too bad.
“The bullet’s in his
shoulder,” Joe told him, his voice holding both concern for his horse and fury
at what had occurred. “I’ll need to get it out.”
Ben helped Joe lead the
shocked animal into his stall while Hoss went to fetch the necessary equipment.
****
Leaving Joe and Hoss to work on Cochise, Ben returned to the house. He found Patrick sitting on the couch, a cup of strong coffee in his hand. Adam, sitting on the hearth, looked up anxiously as his father entered. “How is he?”
“Hoss and Joe are trying to take the bullet
out now. And your brother is understandably angry and upset,” he turned towards
his friend. “What on earth possessed you Patrick? Bad enough you hit Joe’s
horse but that could have been one of my sons with a bullet in him.”
Holding his cup in trembling
fingers, Patrick turned shamefacedly to look at Ben. “I’m so sorry,” he said
quietly. “I just don’t know what comes over me sometimes. It’s the drink, I
know, but I just can’t seem to stop it. I need help Ben, I know that much.”
****
Carrying a cup of coffee in one
hand and with a blanket draped over his shoulder, Ben pushed open the barn
door. He stood for a moment watching his son; Joe was standing beside Cochise,
weariness apparent in his face.
“Joseph,” Joe looked up as he heard his father’s voice, taking the proffered coffee gratefully.
“Hoss thinks Cochise will be
fine.” Ben said putting his arm round his son’s slim shoulders, feeling the
tension in the boy relax a little at his touch.
“He’s still pretty shocked.
I thought I’d stay out here the night with him, if that’s all right with you
Pa?”
“I guessed you would,” Ben
handed over the blanket. “But do try and sleep a little Joseph, you look
tired.”
“I am a bit,” Joe reached
out to smooth Cochise. “Did you get Mr Finnigan sobered up?”
“He’s sleeping it off. He’s
very ashamed of what he did, Joe.”
“So he should be!” Ben saw
the anger in his son’s eyes, felt the tension return to his body.
“He asked me for help,” Ben
moved his hand to Joe’s arm, gently smoothing his thumb over the fabric of the
boy’s jacket. “He wants to stop drinking, but he doesn’t feel that he can do it
without help.”
“And?”
“I told him that I was
willing to help provided you agreed,”
Joe looked at him in
surprise.
“I know how much Cochise
means to you. And I’d understand if you don’t want me to do this for Patrick.”
“But you want to?” Joe’s
feelings were mixed. He knew the shooting had been an accident, could
understand a man getting drunk. But he was angry with Finnigan; the bullet
could easily have killed Cochise.
“I don’t know,” Ben
admitted. “Alcoholism is an illness, and a difficult one to fight. I believe
Patrick has taken the first step by admitting he is an alcoholic and asking for
help, but it’s a long, hard road he has ahead of him.” Watching his son’s face,
Ben saw the indecision written there. “He wants to talk to you in the morning.
Would you do that for me Joe? Just listen to what he has to say?”
Joe nodded his
agreement, for his father’s sake he
would hear Patrick out.
****
Ben looked down fondly at his son; Joe was curled up on the hay in the corner of Cochise’s stall, sleeping soundly. “Joe,” Ben knelt beside the youth, gently shaking him. “Time for breakfast.”
Slowly opening sleep heavy
eyes, Joe stared up at his father, momentarily confused to find himself in the
barn. Memory returning, he sat up quickly. “Cochise?”
“He’s fine,” Ben reassured
him. “Just fine. Now you come on in the house and get some breakfast please,”
Smiling, he plucked a stalk of hay from Joe’s dark curls. “And a wash and brush
up wouldn’t go amiss either.”
Joe was just checking
Cochise over, his father folding the blanket to take back into the house when
the barn door opened to admit Patrick Finnigan.
“How is the horse this
morning?” he asked softly, walking over to join the two Cartwrights.
“Fine, no thanks to you,”
Joe replied, his anger flaring at the sight of the man
“I wanted a word with you,”
Patrick said, leaning against the stall. “Your father said you’d listen.”
Joe turned to look at the
older man. Patrick looked in a bad way this morning, pale with beads of
perspiration apparent on his brow, his hands trembling slightly. “I’ll listen,”
Joe told him shortly.
Ben gave his son’s shoulder
an appreciative squeeze. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” he said, taking the blanket
and heading back to the house.
“Could we sit down?” Patrick
asked as Ben left. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling too good this morning.”
Wordlessly, Joe indicated
the bales of hay at one end of the stable; Patrick sank down on one gratefully.
“Your father told you that I
asked him for help?” he inquired of Joe, who nodded in affirmation.
“I’d like you to know what
led me to this state, Joe,” Patrick continued. “I’m not trying to excuse
myself, I’d just like you to know.” He patted the hay beside him, inviting Joe
to sit and, reluctantly, Joe did so.
“When I first knew your
father,” Finnigan began. “I was about your brother Hoss’ age, full of a great
desire for adventure, to get out and see the world. I used to like a drink even
then, but no more than all the other young fellows did, not to excess. Well, I
went off on my big adventure all right, I travelled all over the world.
Eventually, I found myself back in
Patrick sat silently for a
moment, lost in memories of the past. “Then I came home one day,” he continued
softly. “And found that Bess was ill, dying of consumption. There was nothing
that could be done. When it was all over, I just didn’t want to live any more.
I drank more and more, trying to forget. Then I realised one day that I just
couldn’t stop drinking any more. I did try, but I couldn’t. So, I decided that
I needed a new start, a new life. I came back to
“And your children?” Joe
asked. “What happened to them?”
“I left them behind,”
Patrick told him. He saw the incredulous look on Joe’s face. “They were better
off there,” he explained. “I was in no fit state to be a father to them. Bess
had a cousin that took the older boy and I arranged for the younger boy to go
to my sister in
Joe was shocked. Not only
had Patrick abandoned his own children, he had even had the two separated.
“Don’t you keep in touch?”
Patrick shook his head. “I
felt a clean break was better. I came back to
Joe didn’t reply
immediately, thinking over the story he’d just heard. It seemed to him that
Patrick Finnigan must be a very weak man. His father had lost three wives but
each time had refused to give in to despair, and carried on to build his dream,
the Ponderosa. Joe didn’t even want to consider what his life would have been
like if Ben had been like Patrick, abandoning his sons. “Do you really think
you can do it this time?”
“I know that I really want
to. And with your father’s help, perhaps I can. Your father is a remarkable man
Joe.”
“Yes he is,” Joe agreed.
“And if he’s prepared to help you, then I guess I can go along with it, for his
sake.”
****
It was obvious to all the Cartwrights how difficult it was for Patrick that next week. He tried to carry on as normal but it was obvious that he was far from well. He found it difficult even to pick up a cup, his hands shook so much. Ben had quietly removed all alcoholic drink; even the bottles that Hop Sing used in cooking had gone.
Cochise was well on the way to
recovery, the wound in his shoulder healing nicely. Joe missed riding him,
having to use one of the Ponderosa’s spare horses.
Coming home late one evening
he spent a while with Cochise, just grooming and talking to the horse. Leaving
the barn he was surprised to see Adam sitting on the veranda.
“Evening Joe,” he said as
Joe walked across the yard towards him. “Been to see Ellen again?”
Joe grinned wryly as he took
a seat across from his brother. “Somehow I don’t think I’ll be seeing Ellen any
more. She wanted to get a little more serious than I did.”
“Talking marriage was she?
Not your idea of the perfect wife?”
Joe shrugged. “She was nice
enough. But she wasn’t special, you know what I mean?”
Adam nodded. “How’s
Cochise?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Fine, I’ll be glad when I
can ride him again though. There’s no horse can match Cochise. He’s real
special.”
“Unlike Ellen you mean?”
Adam said. “Poor girl, second best to a horse.”
“I didn’t quite mean that,”
Joe protested, laughing. “What are you doing out here anyway Adam?”
“The atmosphere’s a little
strained in there tonight,” Adam told him. “Patrick has really got the shakes.
The man’s sweating like a pig and it’s taking all his willpower to stop himself
going into town in search of a bottle. I just felt the need to get out in the
fresh air for a while.”
Joe grimaced. “Not doing too
well is he?” he said, his voice slightly scornful.
“It’s not an easy thing to
do,” Adam said standing up and stretching. “He’s trying very hard. If he gets
through the next few days I think he just might make it.”
Joe wasn’t so sure of that.
“He might do all right out here away from temptation,” he said. “But what
happens when he goes to town next? He can’t hide out here for ever.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon
enough,” Adam yawned. “But right now, I’m off to bed.”
****
Patrick had insisted on
paying Ben for his hospitality by doing some work around the ranch, so his
first trip to Virginia City was to pick up supplies for Hop Sing. The
Cartwrights were relieved to see him return without incident.
As the weeks passed, Patrick
settled easily into ranch life. He was a good worker and never complained
whatever task was asked of him, be it fence mending or cleaning out the horse
stalls. Evenings he spent with the family, playing chess with Ben, checkers
with Hoss and generally entertaining them all with stories of his many voyages.
Adam especially enjoyed hearing the tales and would spend hours in deep
discussion about the different ways of life in other countries.
Even Joe found himself warming to the man as he saw how hard Patrick was working to make his new start.
****
“I was thinking it’s time I was moving on,” Ben looked up his friend’s words; the two men were enjoying a quiet cup of coffee together, the three younger Cartwrights not yet returned from the days work.
“You’re welcome to stay as
long as you like. We’ve enjoyed having you here.”
“You’ve all been very good
to me, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am. But I need to stand on my own
two feet, and I think I can do it now. I
was intending to leave at the end of the week.”
Ben reached for the
coffeepot, pouring himself a fresh cup. “I’ll be sorry to see you go,” he said.
“And you’re welcome back at any time, you know that.”
****
“Another drink Joe?” Mitch asked his friend. Joe was engrossed in the card game and merely nodded in agreement. He had been playing for nearly two hours and the cards were going his way tonight, he’d already made a tidy sum of money.
Mitch made his way across
the crowded, smoky room to the bar. He’d been out of the game for some time now
and, being a cautious gambler, he’d not incurred heavy losses.
“Looks like he’s making a
killing tonight,” Hoss remarked, as Mitch reached his side. He had just arrived
in the saloon and was leaning against the bar savouring his drink.
“Yup,” Mitch ordered, then
turned to Hoss. “Only three left in the game now. Joe’s having all the luck
tonight.”
Picking up the drinks, he
made his way back to the table while Hoss ordered another beer for himself and
one for Adam, who was just finishing up some business with one of the
Ponderosa’s suppliers, before joining his brother.
Ten minutes later Hoss was
surprised to see Patrick Finnigan enter the bar alongside Adam. The man had ridden
in with them to book a seat on the stage to
Asking for and receiving a
sarsaparilla, Finnigan turned to survey the saloon. “Think I’ll stroll across
and watch your brother’s game,” he said, catching sight of Joe.
Adam nodded, watched for a
while as Finnigan joined the group of spectators now gathered around the table,
then turned back to his drink.
****
Joe concentrated hard on the
cards he held in his hand. He was aware that he had drunk too many beers and
was finding it difficult to focus on the game. He was feeling that kind of hazy
glow that comes with too much alcohol, an almost detached feeling. Not quite
drunk, but slightly befuddled. Pushing away the full glass that Mitch placed
beside him, he watched as one of his opponents threw in his cards in disgust.
“That’s it for me,” the man said, rising from his seat. “Looks like it’s down to you two.”
Studying his cards, Joe
threw another $5 onto the pile of notes in the middle of the table.
His opponent considered his
move for a long time. He was a big man, roughly dressed, a stranger in
Watching the two players
Patrick was feeling slightly uneasy. He had noticed how, when the big man put
down his cards, his right hand would stray to his gun. The man was tense, angry
looking, and, Finnigan guessed, almost out of money.
As the two players laid
their cards on the table and Joe won again, his opponent rose to his feet
angrily.
“Better watch out, sonny,”
he said coldly. “Seems you’re winning a lot today. Some people might think
it’s more than luck.”
Joe was on his feet
instantly. His temper, always volatile and, at the moment fuelled with alcohol,
flaring. “Are you saying I cheated?” he demanded loudly.
“Take it how you like,” the
man replied. His hand, Patrick noted, was ready on his gun.
Silence fell over the saloon
as the customers became aware of the drama unfolding in their midst. Adam and
Hoss turned from the bar and began to make their way towards their brother,
intent on stopping any trouble.
Angry, Joe went for his gun
but, slightly inebriated, fumbled the move, allowing his opponent to draw
first. Patrick hit the big man’s arm away just as he fired and the bullet
nicked Joe’s arm instead of hitting him full in the chest where it had been
aimed.
“That’s enough,” Adam had
his gun drawn now. “My brother’s no cheat, Mister,” he said evenly. “I suggest
you leave now. The game’s over.”
Seeing himself well
outnumbered the man picked up his hat from the table then turned and walked
away.
****
“Joseph,” Ben exclaimed in alarm as he saw the bandage on Joe’s arm. “What happened?”
“He’s fine Pa,” Adam said
assured his father as he entered the house behind his brother. “Just slightly
woozy, and that’s from the beer, not blood loss.”
Ben watched as Joe walked,
slightly unsteadily, to the couch and sat down. “Well?” he demanded of his youngest
son. “Are you going to tell me what’s been going on?”
“I’ll tell you this much,”
Adam told him, coming across to stand beside his father. “If it wasn’t for
Patrick Finnigan, Joe might well not be alive right now.”
Joe listened as Adam related
the evening’s incident to his father. As Ben heard the full story he turned to
look at Joe.
“You were drunk?”
“I just had a few too many,”
Joe tried to look as weak and ill as possible, hoping to stave off his father’s
lecture. “I was thinking about the cards. I didn’t realise how much I’d drunk.”
“You didn’t realise,” Ben’s
voice was deceptively quiet and Joe cringed, waiting for the outburst to come.
“And you drew on this man?”
“Not exactly,” Joe faltered.
“I tried to, but I never actually got the gun out of the holster.”
“You never got the gun out
of the holster,” Ben repeated, his voice rising now, anger taking hold.
“Joseph, you could have been killed. Of all the…”
Outside in the yard Hoss
grinned as he heard his father’s voice. He turned to Patrick. “Guess Pa’s heard
all about it,” he said. “What do you say we give him a few minutes to calm down
before we go in?”
Patrick nodded in agreement
and the two men settled down on the veranda to wait for Ben’s anger to subside.
****
“How is he?” Patrick asked,
looking up as Ben came down the stairs from Joe’s room
“Fine. Though I imagine he’ll have a pretty sore head
to go with that sore arm tomorrow,” walking over to the hearth Ben stood with
his back to the fire, facing his old friend. “I don’t know how to thank you for
what you did today, Patrick. If you hadn’t been there Joe might well have been
killed.”
“I’m only glad I was of
help. You know Ben, seeing you and your sons these past few weeks…” he paused
for a moment, gazing into the fire. “Well, you have three wonderful boys.
You’re a very lucky man.”
Ben left his place by the
fire and went to sit beside his friend. “Yes, I am,” he agreed. “I’m very proud
of them all, even that young one up there.” He smiled wryly, thinking of his
youngest. “Under all his bravado and impetuousness, he’s growing into a fine
young man.”
“You’ve made me think,”
Patrick sighed. “Perhaps I was wrong to leave my boys when I did. I’ve come to a decision, Ben. I’m going home,
to
“I think that’s a fine idea,
Patrick and I hope it all turns out well for you.”
“Thank you, Ben. I’ve done
many bad things in my life, many things of which I’m ashamed, perhaps it’s time
for me to start righting some wrongs.”
****
“Have a good journey Patrick,
and the best of luck,” Ben shook his friend’s hand warmly as they stood beside
the
“Thank you for all you’ve
done,” Patrick told him. “And thank you, boys,” he continued, moving along to
shake hands with Adam, Hoss and Joe. As he reached Joe something he saw over
the young man’s shoulder caused his eyes to widen in alarm. Roughly, he grabbed
the youth, and thrust him aside just as the sound of a shot echoed round the
street.
Adam, Hoss and Ben whirled
round, guns drawn. The man standing on the boardwalk was about to pull the
trigger again when Ben’s bullet cut him down.
Joe was kneeling beside
Patrick, the older man obviously badly wounded.
“Get the doctor,” Ben told
Hoss tersely, crouching down at his friend’s side. “It’ll be all right
Patrick,” he assured him. “The doctor’s on his way.”
“I think it might be too
late for that,” Patrick gasped, his blue eyes dark with pain. “Is Joe all
right?”
“I’m fine,” Joe moved round
to where the older man could see him. “You saved my life.”
“I saw him aiming his gun.
The man from the card game,” Patrick groaned sharply as pain washed over him.
“Don’t talk,” Ben urged.
“Save your strength.”
A semblance of a smile
flickered across the weather-beaten face. “Perhaps some things are meant to be,
Ben. I haven’t been completely honest with you, you know. I knew all along you
lived here and I came here to hide out. I killed a man in a bar in Boston. I
was drunk of course,” he gasped as the pain intensified but carried on
resolutely. “It made me realise I had to get off the drink, and I did, didn’t
I?”
“Yes you did,” Ben told him
softly as Patrick gave a last final gasp of pain, his body arching in agony,
then lay still.
Gently Ben reached out and
closed his old friend’s eyes, then knelt for a while, head bowed in grief, glad
of Joe’s consoling hand on his arm.
****
It was some months later
that Ben received the letter from
‘Dear Mr Cartwright,’
he read. ‘Thank you for informing me of the sad death of my father. I had
often wondered about him and the kind of life he was leading. I bore no ill
will towards him as I have had a good life here with my Aunt and Uncle, who
have been as good as parents to me.
I am in touch with my older
brother Liam, who is now a sailor like our father. I have written to him
telling him of your letter and I am sure, like myself, he will be proud to know
that our father died a hero. My only regret is that we never got to know each
other.
Yours Sincerely
Rory Finnigan.
Looking up from his desk,
Ben watched his own three sons for a moment, thinking of Patrick and the life
he had led. Whatever Patrick had done, he had died saving Joe’s life and for
that Ben was profoundly thankful. He was only sorry that his old friend had not
been able to make a life for himself and his sons when his wife died.
‘You missed out on so much, Patrick,” he thought to
himself, listening to Joe’s infectious laugh as he talked with his brothers.
Adam’s soft voice and Hoss’ “Dadburnit, Joe.” ‘So very much.’
© Kathleen Pitts 1999