Chapter 24
Joe rubbed his damp palms across the legs of his trousers, hoping they hadn’t been covered with sweat when he’d shaken hands with each of the ten school board members. He sat in Adam’s office at the institute, waiting to hear the outcome of his job interview. Adam was still in the conference room with the board members, saying what, Joe didn’t know, but he supposed putting in a few good words for him before the vote was taken.
The man’s left hand rose to his black string tie, but just as he was about to undo it and loosen the top button on his shirt, he thought better of it. What if the board members wanted to see him again before they voted? He’d better stay all “gussied up,” as Hoss would say, until this ordeal ended.
Joe’s first exposure to the school a week earlier had been a positive one. Like Adam said would happen, the kids took to him the second they realized he was carrying bags of candy. Aside from meeting many of the children who boarded at the school for the summer, Joe had met the small contingent of staff on hand, who oversaw and provided for the students unable to travel home, wherever “home” might be.
“Many of them simply live too far away,” Adam had explained about the year-round students after that initial visit was over, and he and Joe were walking back to Beacon Hill with Shakespeare. “It’s too much of a hardship for their parents to pay for passage to places like California or Texas. We even have two students from Nevada.”
“You do?”
“Yes, one teenage boy who went home to Carson City for the summer, and one ten-year-old girl who lives in Silver Peak. You met her. Hannah Robinson.”
Joe nodded, but in truth he had no idea which one of the children who’d clamored around getting acquainted with him by feeling his facial features with their hands, was Hannah Robinson. All the names ran together. He was just beginning to learn how difficult it was to distinguish one person from another, when you had no visual clues to draw from, like hair color, eye color, height, or body size.
“And then there are those students whose families refuse to have them come back home.”
“Refuse to have them? Whatta ya’ mean?”
“Because they’re blind, Joe.”
“So?”
“It’s. . .well, to some families it’s an embarrassment. Having a blind child, that is.”
“Oh.”
Adam’s arm slid around Joe’s shoulder. “But not to the Cartwright family. Not ever.”
Joe had smiled at his brother. “I know that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Don’t worry about it.”
“You sound upset.”
“Only because of what you told me. About how some of the kids don’t get to go home because their parents refuse to have them. What happens to those kids when they’re too old to continue attending the institute?”
“Those who come from wealth, generally go on to college, and then upon graduation, advance to careers that allow them to live independently of their parents. Other students – those whose parents won’t entertain the notion of college, or can’t afford it – return home despite the lack of a warm welcome, though to what type of futures, I’m not certain. I sometimes wonder if all we taught them is lost, simply because they have no support from their parents or siblings.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Joe had agreed. He wondered what it would be like for a child raised in a school for the blind, to return home after years of absence to people who wanted nothing more than to pretend that his or her handicap didn’t exist. Or that he or she didn’t exist for that matter.
“Others go on to find work here in Boston, or in New York, or Chicago. And when worst comes to worst, I’ve allowed those in need to stay at the institute beyond the age of eighteen, until I can find something for them – a job, a place to live, a decent start in life. I’m not supposed to do it, but what the school board doesn’t know, doesn’t hurt them.”
“I like your devil-may-care attitude, big brother.”
“You should. I learned it from you.”
Joe laughed that afternoon, but what Adam said about the students who weren’t welcome back in their parents’ homes stayed with him. He couldn’t imagine turning his back on one of his own children, regardless of what illness or tragedy might befall him or her. The same went for children of Adam’s or Hoss’s. If Joe were needed to take care of any offspring either of his brothers had, his door would always be open to them. And if one of those children was blind, or deaf, or crippled in any way by an illness or problem at birth, it wouldn’t matter to Joe. And he didn’t just feel this way because he’d lost his own sight. It wouldn’t have mattered to him before that, either.
Joe went back to the school with Adam and Shakespeare four more times between that first day and today. Originally, he tagged along for no other reason than for a way to pass the time. But by his second visit, he was looking forward to doing whatever he could to help. There were no formal classes during the summer months, but the kids who remained behind while their schoolmates went home, were kept occupied with all types of projects and activities, as well as the weekly publication of the school’s newspaper. Laddie had put Joe to work right away assisting with the boys, and going along as a chaperone on “day trips,” as she called them. As near as Joe could tell, “day trips” gave the kids an opportunity to do what he’d done on the Ponderosa since he was old enough to walk – fish, swim, hike, and go on picnics. It was amazing what people in Boston would pay a fee to do.
I’ve
gotta remember to tell Hoss about this, Joe thought one day when the school
had paid for the younger children to ride ponies at a stable. He and I should have come up with this
idea years ago. We could have gotten rich charging city people to spend a few
days on the Ponderosa fishing, swimming, and riding horses.
Joe didn’t get paid for his help at the school, of course, but he didn’t care. It gave him something to do – a way to feel useful, and it gave him a chance to get to know some of the other teachers. However, those days spent at the institute also meant it would be that much harder on Joe if the school board didn’t hire him, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on that. Boston held a lot of possibilities, and Adam knew a lot of people. If Joe wasn’t hired to teach, maybe he could get a job doing. . .well, what, he wasn’t sure, but something where it didn’t matter if he was blind or not. And if all else failed, he’d return home with Hoss and Pa in the fall, and make the best of things on the Ponderosa. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, unless Pa could come up with some jobs for him, but it was comforting to know there was always that option.
As he now waited for the school board’s decision, Joe’s legs jiggled up and down with uneasiness. He heard some of the kids passing by in the hallway, but he didn’t open Adam’s office door and greet them. He didn’t want them to know he was here. The children hadn’t been told he was applying for a job at the institute. They only knew he was Headmaster Cartwright’s brother, who was visiting from Nevada. They didn’t even know he was blind. Some of their teachers were blind, like Laddie, while others were sighted, like Adam.
If the way the morning had started off was any indication of what the day held, then this long wait could only mean one thing – that the school board didn’t find him qualified to teach. Joe had felt fine at breakfast, and after a walk around Adam’s yard with Shakespeare, he’d gone upstairs to bathe and get dressed in his black suit. He was scheduled to meet with the board members at eleven. He’d just gotten his clothes out of the closet, when pain lanced through his head so sudden and strong that it dropped him to his knees. He grabbed for the washstand, caught just a corner of it, and sent it crashing to the floor. The pitcher and bowl shattered, splattering Joe with water. He barely took notice, though, because he began throwing up more violently than he could ever remember doing in his entire life.
Adam had still been sitting on the back porch reading the newspaper when Joe went inside, but Mrs. O’Connell was in the kitchen washing dishes. Joe barely registered her running footsteps on the backstairs, and then her startled cry of, “Joseph! Joseph, what’s wrong with yeh?”
Even if Joe had been able to answer the woman, he wouldn’t have known what to tell her. He’d experienced numerous headaches since the explosion, but none as severe as this one.
He was dimly aware of the woman’s short, choppy steps as she sped from the room calling, “Mr. Cartwright! Mr. Cartwright, come quick, Joseph’s ill! Mr. Cartwright! Mr. Cartwright!”
The next thing Joe was aware of was heavier footsteps racing up the backstairs. By this time he had nothing left in his stomach to bring up, and was curled on his left side moaning in pain, his hands clutching his forehead.
Adam didn’t shout. Thank God he didn’t shout, Joe would think later, because surely his head would have split open had his brother yelled his name like Mrs. O’Connell had done. Instead, Adam kept his voice soft and calm.
“Joe. . .Joe, can you hear me?”
Joe’s eyes were squeezed shut against the pain, but he managed to give a slight nod.
“Okay, Joe, listen. I’m going to move you just a little bit here. Get you out of this mess you’re lying in, all right?”
At that moment, Joe didn’t care what he was lying in, but he was too sick to tell Adam to leave him alone.
“On three, Joe.” Adam’s arm slithered beneath Joe’s shoulder and the floor. “Help me if you can by moving backwards, but if you can’t, that’s okay, too. One. . .
two. . .three.”
Joe felt himself being scooted back toward the bed. He tried to help as Adam had asked him to, but he didn’t accomplish much more than sliding his boots along on the Oriental rug he’d just decorated with his breakfast. A blanket was spread over him, and then his head and shoulders were gently lifted into Adam’s lap. He heard Mrs. O’Connell say, “Here, Mr. Cartwright. Here’s a cool cloth.”
“Thank you.”
Joe wasn’t sure how long he remained on the floor in Adam’s lap, Adam holding a cold cloth across his forehead. He knew the cloth was replaced every so often with a fresh one that had been doused in water, but that was about all he was aware of, other than Adam’s voice drifting in and out as the waves of pain came and went.
“You’ll be okay, Joe,” Adam assured in that steady way he had, as though the world wouldn’t dare defy what Adam Stoddard Cartwright dictated. “You’re going to be fine. Obviously, Mrs. O’Connell’s cooking isn’t quite as good as everyone thinks.”
That joke got a small smile out of Joe, which was probably what Adam was hoping for. At least it told Adam that Joe understood what was said to him, which likely lifted a portion of Adam’s worries.
“Don’t yeh speak ill of me cooking, Adam Cartwright,” Mrs. O’Connell scolded, while she swept the broken glass into a dustpan and then rolled up the soiled rug. “T’wasn’t anything I cooked that made poor Joseph so sick.”
“No. . .” Joe’s voice was barely stronger than a whisper. “Was-wasn’t your cooking.”
“I was just kidding her, Joe,” Adam said, as the woman left the room with her broom and dustpan. “I know it wasn’t her cooking. Now don’t worry about it. Just lie here quietly and rest for a little while. If you’re not feeling better soon, I’m sending Mrs. O’Connell for my physician.”
“Don’t. . .don’t need a doctor.”
“You promised me on the train that if this happened again, you’d let a doctor look at you.”
“I was. . .I was fibbing.”
“Joseph Cart. . .oh, what’s the use. Just be quiet and rest. As long as you’re living under my roof, I’ll decide whether or not a doctor should be sent for.”
“Sound. . .sound like Pa.”
“Good. Then maybe you’ll listen to me.”
“I wouldn’t. . .I wouldn’t bet money on it.”
“Allow me to assure you that I’m not that foolish.”
Just as had happened on the train, Joe’s headache passed within the hour. When he felt like he could sit up without vomiting again, he slowly pushed himself from Adam’s lap. His brother kept his arm on Joe’s back, offering support if Joe should sink to the floor again.
“Are you all right now?”
“Yeah,” Joe nodded. “A little shaky, but I’m fine.”
“I think I’d better get word to the board members that we won’t be there today. I can reschedule with them for--”
“No!”
“Joe--”
“No, Adam. I don’t want them to think I can’t do this job.”
“But--”
“What time is it?”
“What?”
“The time? What time is it?”
“Nine-thirty.”
“Then I can still clean up, get dressed, and be there before eleven.”
“You can, but I don’t think you should. I think you’d better stay here and rest today.”
“Rest for what reason?”
“Oh, gee, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve just spent the past hour lying in my lap moaning with pain.”
“Well I’m not in pain any more, and I don’t wanna miss this interview.”
“Joe--”
“It was just nerves, Adam.”
“I’ve never known Joe Cartwright to be struck with a case of nerves. Especially not to the point that it makes him sick.”
“Well, maybe I’m not as hardy as I once was.”
“Or maybe you need to let a doctor examine you. Have you experienced any other headaches since arriving here?”
Joe hesitated just long enough for Adam to know the answer to that question.
“When?”
Joe could tell he was trying Adam’s patience, when Adam asked again, “When, Joe?”
“The. . .the first night I was here. It started during supper.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it wasn’t that bad, and I didn’t wanna spoil things for you and Laddie.”
“That was considerate of you, but you still should have told me.”
“Told you what? That after a long trip, and then getting robbed and lost in a strange city, I had a headache? Anyone who’s gone through all that in one day is entitled to a headache.”
“Maybe so, but you still should have said something about it. How bad did it get?”
“Not as bad as some of them have. Not as bad as the one this morning. I slept it off.”
“And you
haven’t had any again until today?”
“No.”
“You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“No, Adam, I’m not lying to you.”
“All right. But if it happens again. . .”
“I know, I know. I have to see a doctor.”
“You do, Joe. The institute consults with an eye specialist when needed. Maybe we should have you see him.”
“Why? So he can tell me I’m blind?”
“Joe--”
“Come on, help me up. If I didn’t puke on my suit, I need to get dressed.”
“You didn’t puke on your suit.”
“Good. That’s the one thing that’s gone right so far today. Maybe my luck will hold when I meet the school board.” The suit was placed in Joe’s hands. “Oh, and about the rug--”
“Don’t worry about the rug.”
As though Adam hadn’t spoken, Joe said, “I’ll pay to have it cleaned.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do. I’ll wire Pa and have him send some money from my bank account. I should have done that the day after my wallet was stolen, so I could give you something for expenses.”
“And I told you that’s not necessary. Besides, after today you’ll be earning a salary.”
“I might be earning a salary.”
“You will be.”
Joe didn’t have time to debate that fact with his brother. Besides, he appreciated Adam’s confidence in him.
Adam remained by Joe’s side as he walked from his room to the lavatory. Adam probably would have come in there with him, too, had Joe let him. But Joe closed the door in his older brother’s face; assuring Adam he’d be fine.
“Call me if you start to feel sick again. I won’t go far.”
“I’m sure you won’t,” Joe had said dryly.
But Joe didn’t feel sick again, and by ten-thirty, he and Adam were riding to the institute in a carriage the school provided for Adam, complete with its own driver.
Joe wasn’t certain what time it was now. One of the first things he planned to invest in, when and if he was hired, was a Braille watch. He thought his interview with the school board had taken about thirty minutes. The men asked him a lot of questions, but he was pretty sure he’d held his own, displaying a firm confidence he wasn’t necessarily feeling inside, along with the business-like manners he’d learned at his father’s knee, and just the right amount of Joe Cartwright charm thrown in for good measure. He’d been honest with the men when he’d said that no, he didn’t have a teaching certificate of any sort, and no, he’d never attended a college of any kind, and no, he’d never taught school, other than that time three years ago, when he’d briefly substituted for Abby Pettigraw in Virginia City, but he was a hard worker, a quick thinker, determined, and resourceful. He’d also learned a lot from Adam in recent months about how to teach skills to the blind, and he was willing to put in extra time without getting paid for it, in order to learn from any of the teachers on staff if that’s what the school board wanted him to do.
After that, there wasn’t much else Joe could say, other than to thank the board members for considering him for the job. That’s when Adam had told him to wait across the hall in his office.
Joe’s attention was drawn to the door when it opened. It closed, as one person entered the room.
“They’re taking the vote now.”
Joe nodded in the direction of his brother’s voice. As administrator of the institute, Adam was considered a board member with full voting rights. But where this particular vote was concerned, Adam was forced to exclude himself, as Joe expected would be the case.
By the proximity of Adam’s voice, Joe could tell he’d sat down on one corner of his desk. Joe was seated in one of the chairs across from the desk.
“You did good in there, Joe. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. And thanks for talking me up to them.”
“How do you know I talked you up? Maybe I told them what a thorn in my side you’ve been since the day you were born.”
“Unless you want me living with you for the next forty years, I know you didn’t tell them that.”
Adam chuckled. “Well, not quite. But either way, you presented yourself well. I think they were impressed.”
“I hope so.”
“We’ll find out in a few min--”
Before Adam could finish his sentence, there was a knock on the door, and then a man entered.
“Adam. . .Joe. . .”
Joe turned
toward the sound of the board president’s voice.
“I’m happy to tell you the vote was unanimous. You can start work tomorrow if you’d like, Joe.”
A smile split Joe’s face. He stood and walked toward the man with his right hand outstretched. “Thank you, Mr. Sheridan. I’ll be here bright and early. And please tell the other board members I said thank you, as well.”
“I’ll do that.” The man’s voice was now directed at Adam. “The board is ready to conclude the meeting, Adam, unless you have something else we need to discuss.”
“No, I don’t have anything else to bring up.”
“All right then, I’ll see you at September’s meeting.”
“Yes, Bob, I’ll see you then.”
“Goodbye, Joe.”
“Bye, Mr. Sheridan, and thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. Your brother has done an outstanding job for us. I’m sure you will, too.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“If you’re anything like Adam, your best will exceed our expectations. Gentlemen, I’ll make my leave now. Good day to you of both.”
After the door closed, Joe felt his way back to the chair, sank down, yanked his tie loose, undid the top button on his shirt, and sighed with relief.
“Glad
that’s over with, huh?”
“You can say that again.”
“How about if we celebrate by eating lunch out? Then we’ll come back here, and I’ll get you familiar with your classroom. Actual teaching sessions won’t start for two more weeks, when the remainder of the students return from summer break, but I’m sure you’ll find things to keep you busy until then.”
“I’m sure I will, too.” Joe stood and walked to the door with his brother. “Hey, Adam, do you mind if we stop at a telegraph office and wire Pa and Hoss with the news?”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“And uh. . .listen, thanks again.”
“For what?”
“For all you did to help me get this job. I’m not kidding myself. The school board didn’t come to that meeting today thinking some blind cowboy from Nevada is gonna make an outstanding teacher. It was because of you. . .because of your reputation here, that I got hired.”
“Oh no. If you think they hired you as a favor to me, then you’re dead wrong. I told them straight off that they had to hire you on your own merits, and not based on my work for the institute.”
“Still, I’m sure it made a difference that you’re my brother. I won’t let you down, Adam. I promise, I won’t let you down.”
“I’ve never thought for even one second that you would.” Adam held his arm out to Joe, placing Joe’s hand at the crook of his elbow. “Now, how about if we send that wire, and then eat?”
“I won’t argue with either one of those suggestions.”
“For once you’re not arguing with me. Joseph, you just might give me a heart attack if you make this a habit.”
“For the sake of your health then, I’ll do my best not to.”
And that’s where the conversation ended, as the brothers made their way out of the school that now employed two men with the last name of Cartwright.
Chapter 25
Ben leaned back in his chair, kneading the strain from his eyes with his right thumb and forefinger. It seemed like the print on these timber contracts grew smaller and smaller each year. Or maybe Ben just wasn’t used to looking at them. Joe had reviewed the contracts the previous year, and the year before that, as well. It wasn’t that Ben was ready to put himself out to pasture just yet, but little by little since Adam’s departure six years earlier, he’d been turning the running of the Ponderosa over to Hoss and Joe.
Ben had never quite known for certain whether or not he was somewhat to blame for Adam leaving. Adam had assured Ben that wasn’t the case, but still, a father wondered. Ben understood that there comes a time when a man needs to feel like he has something to call his own. Something his efforts allow him to take pride in, and reap the benefits from. Maybe a little bit of glory he doesn’t always have to share with his brothers.
Which was why, after Adam left, Ben was mindful of trying to give Hoss and Joe some glory now and again that they could each call their own. Not that the two of them seemed to care one way or another, but then, given how close they’d always been, that didn’t come as a big surprise to Ben. Adam was the trusted older brother Hoss and Joe had looked to for everything from help with homework, to questions about the birds and the bees, to advice and guidance as they’d passed from their teen years, to young adulthood. But Hoss and Joe – they’d been to one another what Ben thought all brothers should get the opportunity to be, but only a lucky few were able to attain. Playmates, best friends, confidants, and co-conspirators in more pranks and schemes than Ben could keep track of. Which were just a few of the reasons why Joe’s absence now was so difficult for Hoss. Not that Hoss had said much about it, or seemed anything other than his friendly, amiable self. Still, Ben could tell it was hard for Hoss to be the only Cartwright brother left on the Ponderosa, now that Adam and Joe were both gone. It didn’t seem to matter to Hoss that the running of the entire ranch was his for the taking, but then, Ben had known all along that it wouldn’t. Hoss wasn’t a man motivated by power or greed. As long as he had miles of open space before him, and the day-to-day ranch chores to attend to, Hoss was happy. Or at least he had been before Joe left for Boston.
Ben looked at the timber contracts he’d laid on his desk, idly fiddling with a corner of the papers. They’d heard from Adam just once since the boys had left three weeks earlier. The day after they’d reached Boston, Adam sent a telegram that was short, and to the point.
Arrived Boston Safely. Joe Fine. Will Write Soon. Adam.
Ben had smiled a little at his oldest son’s abrupt ending of “Adam.” It spoke volumes about the man he was, and even the boy he’d been. The feelings were there, but kept inside for the most part, under wary guard. Had Joe sent the telegram, he would have signed off, “Love, Joe,” without hesitation. If it had come from Hoss, it would have read, “Take Care, Pa,” at the end. But overt sentiment wasn’t Adam’s way. Or maybe it was, but only if a person took the time to study his actions. Like how he’d dropped everything at the institute – possibly even risked his job by being gone so long – to come here and help Joe. Then extending an invitation to Joe to return home with him, and attempting to procure Joe a teaching job.
Ben opened his top desk drawer and reached for that telegram he’d saved, but before he could retrieve it the front door opened. He didn’t have to wonder long about the identity of his visitor. The heavy footsteps against the floorboards told him Hoss had returned from a morning of running errands in Virginia City.
“Hey, Pa,” Hoss greeted as he rounded the corner with a bundle in his right hand. “Here’s the mail.”
Ben stood, taking the bundle from his son.
“Thank you. Have you eaten?”
“Yeah. Stopped at Mizz Lucy’s ‘fore I headed home.”
“I thought you might.”
Miss Lucy’s was a café in Virginia City where a hard working man was served large portions of the daily hot lunch special, and could get a second helping of pie for just ten cents, which was why the café held such an appeal to Hoss. Or maybe it was, as Joe claimed, “Miss Lucy” who appealed to Hoss.
“I told Hop Sing not to keep lunch warming for you. I assumed you’d make yourself a sandwich if you hadn’t eaten.”
“Might just make me a sandwich any way, now that ya’ mention it.”
Ben smiled, then started to thumb through the mail. He didn’t get beyond the third piece before Hoss fished an envelope from his shirt pocket.
“Oh, here. Almost forgot. I gotta a telegram for ya’ too. ”
Ben set the mail on his desk and took the sealed envelope his son handed him.
“Probably from Harry Deevers, wanting to know when I’ll be putting these timber contracts in the mail.”
Hoss’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at the pile of papers on his father’s desk.
“That’s kinda what I figured when Dave tracked me down at Mizz Lucy’s and delivered it.”
Ben slit the envelope open with his forefinger and pulled out the tri-folded paper inside. As he unfolded it and read the address of the sending telegraph office on top, he frowned.
“What’s the matter, Pa?”
“It’s from Boston.” Ben’s brows knit together with concern. “I was expecting a letter from Adam one of
these days soon, not another telegram.
I hope everything’s all right.”
“I hope so too.”
As Ben read the telegram, his frown changed to an ever-growing smile.
“What’s it say?”
Ben glanced up at his son, and then back down at the paper again.
“It says, ‘Pa And Hoss, Good News. Got The Teaching Job. Start Tomorrow. Adam’s Buying Lunch To Celebrate. Love, Joe.’ ”
Ben handed the telegram to
Hoss. “Well, now, that is good news,
isn’t it?”
Hoss read through the message for himself while slowly nodding. “Yeah. . .sure. It’s good news. I’m real happy for him.”
“You don’t sound real happy.”
Hoss shrugged. He let the telegram flutter to his father’s desk. “I. . .I guess I was kinda hopin’ Joe wouldn’t get that job, and that he’d come back home with us in the fall. I know it wasn’t right of me, Pa, wishin’ for somethin’ like that. I just. . .”
“You just miss him,” Ben finished softly for his son.
Hoss dropped his gaze to the floor, giving the boards a slight scuff with the toe of one boot. “Yeah, Pa, I miss him
“I know, son,” Ben nodded. “I miss him, too.”
Because there wasn’t anything either of them could say that the other didn’t already know where this subject was concerned, Ben put an arm around Hoss’s slumped shoulders and walked him toward the kitchen.
“Come on. Let’s go make that sandwich you’ve got a hankering for. Maybe I’ll even make myself one.”
“Sounds good to me. Ya’ know how I hate ta’ eat alone.”
“Yes,” Ben agreed, eyeing his ample-sized son. “I surely do.”
“And say, Pa, how ‘bout if we wire a telegram to Joe tomorrow and congratulate him on gettin’ that there job? And maybe wire a separate one to Adam, thankin’ him for all he’s done for Joe. I know Joe didn’t say a lot in that message, but I could tell he’s happy.”
Ben smiled. Whether Hoss knew it or not, his heart was always in the right place.
“I think that’s a fine idea, son. We’ll ride into town together first thing in the morning and send telegrams to both of your brothers.”
Ben’s promise seemed to lift Hoss’s spirits some, though the man wasn’t fooling himself. Both he and his middle son would have their ups and downs in the months to come where Joe’s absence was concerned, just like he, Hoss and Joe had experienced ups and downs after Adam first left for sea. But eventually, you get used to the way your household has been altered by the departure of a loved one. You might never grow to like it, but you do get used to it.
Or at least that’s what Ben Cartwright told himself fifteen minutes later, as he sat at the kitchen table with Hoss eating a sandwich, while trying not to notice how quiet the house was.
The two weeks that passed between when the school board hired Joe, and the children returned from summer break, were amongst the busiest of Joe’s life. He gained a newfound respect for how Adam earned his living, and no longer thought that “real work” was only defined by a full day of physical labor outdoors.
Joe crammed as much learning into those two weeks as he could. Adam helped him create a lesson plan that covered each school day until the start of Christmas break in mid-December, and provided him with a Braille copy of the institute’s teachers’ handbook. The students who ran the school’s printing press published the little leather bound book, that contained the rules and guidelines the institute expected its teachers to follow. There was a separate handbook for the students that Adam also gave Joe a copy of to review.
As Joe walked home with his brother carrying the books, he hefted them with his left hand and teased, “Seems like a lotta rules for a man to follow, Headmaster Cartwright.”
“I’m sure it won’t take you more than five minutes to break at least two of them.”
“Oh, Adam, come on. You don’t give me enough credit. If it takes me more than five minutes to break at least four of them, then you’ll know something’s wrong with me.”
Ten years ago, Adam would have taken Joe seriously, and lectured him on putting his best foot forward, setting a good example, honoring the Cartwright name, and two dozen other things that would have caused Joe to yawn with boredom, and Adam to threaten to let Pa deal with him. But Adam had learned not to take some things quite so seriously since leaving the Ponderosa, and one of those things was a younger brother who thrived on getting a reaction out of him.
“No,” Adam had countered, “if it takes you more than five minutes to break at least six rules, that’s when I’ll know something’s wrong with you.”
Like Adam, Laddie helped Joe in any way she could. She gave him a stack of her old college textbooks on various teaching methods, that he studied each evening in his room at Adam’s house. She also passed along many tips and pointers.
“The beginning of the school year isn’t easy for any teacher, Joe,” Laddie assured on a day when Joe was having doubts that he could actually live up to what the school board expected of him. “Not even a seasoned one. It takes the children a few days to settle into the routine of having to sit still, listen, and do their lessons. And without a doubt, they’ll test you.”
“Test me?” Joe asked, from where he sat at a student’s desk in Laddie’s classroom. Shouts and laughter drifted in from outside, where the children boarding at the school for the summer were playing on the grounds behind the building.
“To see how strict or lenient you’ll be. To see what they can get away with in your classroom, and what you won’t tolerate. To see if you’ll send anyone to Adam’s office for a paddling.”
The discipline section of the
teachers’ handbook stated that only the headmaster was allowed to deliver
corporal punishment to the students, but Joe hadn’t thought too much about it
until now.
“A paddling?”
“Yes.”
“And Adam’s the one who does that?”
“As the headmaster, yes, that’s part of his job.”
“Oh.”
“You sound
like you don’t approve.”
“It’s not that. Believe me, I was raised by a father who declared if his son earned a licking in school, he got another licking when he arrived home.”
Joe could hear the humor in Laddie’s voice. “I bet it didn’t take a boy long to learn to avoid getting lickings in school then.”
“Probably took Adam just once, Hoss probably never had to be taught that lesson at all, but as for me. . .well, as my pa would tell you, I preferred to learn things the hard way. But even at that, three times, maybe four at most. After that, I got smart.”
“I see. So you were on your best behavior.”
Joe laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. I’d just say that I learned how far to push things, and when to bring my fun to a halt. Once Miss Jones came when I was eleven, things got easier.”
“How so?”
“She was sweet on Adam, so she tended to look the other way when it came to my ‘tomfoolery,’ as Pa would call it.”
“Sweet on Adam, was she?”
“Oh yes, Ma’am.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want you to remember it.”
Laddie laughed. “Joseph Cartwright, I suspect you didn’t learn anything from those lickings you earned.”
“Not much of anything, no,” Joe agreed with a laugh of his own.
“So, if you don’t disapprove of a paddling when it’s needed, why do I get the impression you don’t like the idea?”
“I guess I just can’t imagine spanking someone else’s child, so it’s hard for me to picture Adam doing it. I mean, sure, I’ve encountered kids that I thought needed a trip to the woodshed – like those two hooligans who stole my wallet – but thinking it, or even saying it, doesn’t mean I could really do it.”
“Discipline must be maintained, Joe.”
“I know.”
“If we let one student’s bad behavior go unchecked, then other students will think we’re giving them permission to behave in any manner they please.”
“I know that, too.”
“However, I’ll let you in on a little secret if it will make you feel better.”
“What’s that?”
“Adam doesn’t appear to be fond of spanking someone else’s child, either. He uses it only as a last resort when all other forms of punishment have failed to get through to an errant youngster. I haven’t known him to paddle more than two or three boys in the three years he’s been here, and I can’t fathom that he’d ever paddle one of the girls. He’s really quite good with the children. They all respect him.”
“I’m sure they do.” Joe grinned and quipped, “Besides, how hard can a one-armed man possibly paddle?”
Joe jumped when a strong hand clamped down on his left shoulder from behind.
“Maybe you’d like to find out, little brother.”
Joe glanced up, removing his brother’s hand. “No need. My students and I will be models of good behavior.”
Adam gave an exaggerated, choking cough. “Excuse me, I think I need a glass of water. Students of Joe Cartwright’s as models of good behavior? Now that I’ll have to see to believe.”
When Laddie said, “Oh, Adam, by the way, I’d like to talk to you about someone named Miss Jones,” and Adam growled, “Joe. . .” Joe made a hasty retreat to his classroom, laughing all the way there.
Aside from lesson plans, studying the books Laddie gave him, memorizing the teacher’s handbook, and getting his classroom in order, Joe also used the time he had before school started to grow accustomed to the building, and the 30 acres of land it sat on.
Based on Adam’s descriptions, and the tour he’d taken Joe on, Joe knew the institute was a four-story, brick structure that housed three dozen classrooms, Adam’s office, a conference room, a supply room, an infirmary, a massive kitchen, and a dining room large enough for all two hundred students and their teachers to eat in at the same time. A long, one-story dormitory for the boys sat behind the institute, while the girl’s dormitory was attached to the school building itself. Aside from teachers, the institute employed two stable boys who took care of the horses and carriages, a contingent of cooks, building caretakers, groundskeepers, two nurses, and a dorm “father” and “mother” – an older married Irish couple, who had been with the institute since Laddie attended school here as a child. Adam had told Joe that each dorm room held four children, two teenagers and two younger children. The help gleaned from the older children lessened the responsibility of the dorm parents somewhat, though Adam said he’d recently told the school board they’d have to consider hiring additional adults for dorm supervision within the next year.
“Our student body just keeps growing.”
“Aren’t there any other schools for the blind anywhere?” Joe had asked Adam during his first tour of the grounds.
“There are, though few with as good of a reputation as ours. We turn students away every year because we just don’t have the room for them, or the staff to teach them. We could really use more schools around the country that are directly affiliated with ours, but until the necessary funds are raised, and someone volunteers to run such a school, I’m afraid we’ll have to continue to turn children in need away.”
Joe didn’t think that seemed right. Any blind child should have the opportunity to attend a school that could help him learn the necessary skills for survival in a dark world, but Joe didn’t bother saying so to Adam, because he had no doubt Adam was well aware of it.
Much of the school’s acreage had been donated by Laddie’s father. Trees that were on this land when the pilgrims first arrived provided shade for little girls having tea parties with their dolls on a hot summer day, and made great places for a boy to climb into when he wanted a little time to himself.
Slides, merry-go-rounds, seesaws, sandboxes, and wooden swing sets dotted various areas of the grounds, as did a baseball diamond specially modified for blind players. Joe himself knew the game by the name of stickball, a schoolyard activity he’d enjoyed playing as a boy that didn’t involve anything as fancy as a “diamond,” or wooden bats, or leather mitts, or bases, other than what he and his friends designated as such, like the pump, the schoolhouse steps, the hitching post, and the flag pole.
A few days before school was due to start, Adam took Joe to an exclusive men’s shop, where Joe supplemented the clothing he’d brought from home by purchasing two additional black suits, two gray suits, half a dozen white shirts, and three black string ties, so he’d be in compliance with the school’s dress code for its male teachers. He wouldn’t entertain the notion of black shoes to replace his well-worn tan cowboy boots, but did agree to a pair of black cowboy-style boots when Adam suggested them. Joe hadn’t earned his first paycheck yet, but rather than having to continue borrowing money from Adam, he’d opened an account at Adam’s bank, and had money wired into it from his account at Virginia City’s Cattlemen’s Bank. After he’d finished making his clothing purchases, Joe bought a wallet to replace the one that had been stolen.
The night before the new school year began, after Laddie had dined with the brothers at Adam’s house and then left in her father’s carriage, Adam took Joe into his study.
“I have something for you that I purchased at a shop that carries Braille supplies.”
“Braille supplies?” Joe questioned, hearing a desk drawer open. “I think I have everything I need for my classroom.”
“What I have here isn’t for your classroom.”
“No?”
“No.”
Adam stepped out from behind the desk. “Here. See what you think of this.”
Joe took the round, smooth object Adam slipped into his left hand. He felt the chain, and then the stem that opened the lid. As Joe’s fingers explored the raised Braille numbers on the face, he smiled. “It’s a watch.”
“That it is.”
“This is one thing I’ve really missed since I lost my sight – knowing what time it is.”
“I know. That’s why I thought it was the perfect gift. I was going to wait and give it to you as a birthday present, but I was afraid you’d go out and buy yourself one before then.”
“You can call it my birthday present.”
“I’m not opposed to that,” Adam teased.
“Didn’t think you would be.”
It was as Joe explored the watch a second time that he discovered the Braille lettering engraved on the inside of the lid that read:
Sept. 1872
Joe,
To Success!
Your brother, Adam
Joe let his fingers read the words again, then shut the lid and slipped the watch into his pocket. He knew that short phrase, “To Success!” was Adam’s way of telling him how far he’d come in the months since he’d lost his sight, and that Adam had faith he’d have nothing but success as he began his teaching career.
Joe’s voice was husky with emotion when he stepped forward and hooked an arm around Adam’s neck, pulling his brother into a hug.
“Thanks, Adam. It’s a beautiful watch. It’ll always be special to me.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.” Adam clapped Joe on the back. “Come on. We’d both better turn in. As I’ve come to learn, the first day of school is always a long one. By the time we get back here tomorrow evening, we’ll be ready to collapse.”
“It’s even worse than the first day of a cattle drive?”
“Allow me to assure you, little brother, it’s worse than the first day of any cattle drive you’ve ever been on.”
Joe’s skepticism was plain to hear.
“I think you’ve been away from the ranch too long. A bunch of kids having to settle in for the first day of school can’t come close to comparing to a bunch of stubborn cattle that don’t wanna leave their grazing land.”
Adam chuckled with what Joe perceived as delight, while they walked up the stairs together.
“If you’re still willing to say that at this time tomorrow night – if you’re even still awake to say it – then I’ll owe you dinner at my favorite restaurant.”
“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal. And if I’m not willing to say it, which I won’t be, but if I’m not, I’ll buy you dinner at that favorite restaurant of yours.”
“Good thing you had some money wired here then, because you’re going to need it.”
The brothers bantered back and forth on this subject until they reached their rooms. Once they’d said good night, Joe shut his door and got ready for bed. He removed the watch from his pocket and placed it on his dresser. He chuckled a bit when, thirty minutes later, he found himself tossing and turning while having trouble falling asleep.
For the first time in his life, Joe Cartwright was excited over the thought of attending school.
“Hey!” Joe ducked when another paper wad clipped him on the side of the face. “Cut that out!”
He made a blind grab as running footsteps flew past him. “Get back in your seats!”
The noise level in the room only increased, as boys talked, laughed, whistled, and shouted. One little guy clung to Joe’s legs, crying for his mother, while Joe held a fistful of a teenager’s shirt and propelled the boy toward a seat. For all Joe knew, he was throwing the kid on top of another boy, but he was long past caring.
“Now sit down and stay there!”
Another paper wad bounced off Joe’s shoulder, and then some maverick with a peashooter hit Joe in the middle of the forehead with a pebble.
“Ouch! Why you little. . .”
These
kids are blind, for cryin’ out loud!
How can they have such good aim?
Before Joe could sort out which kid had the weapon, a bell clanged in the hallway, signaling the end of the school day. The older boys rushed for the door, eager to go outside and play.
“Wait! Hey, wait! You’re supposed to leave as a class in an orderly fashion!” Joe shouted, quoting a rule from the students’ handbook. “And don’t run! Boys! Boys, get back here! Boys, the stairs! Be careful on the stair--”
The child clinging to Joe’s legs tugged on his trousers.
“Mr. Cart-Cart-Cartwright?” the six-year-old hiccupped between his tears.
“What, Billy?”
“I want-I want-I want-I want my papa to come get me and take me home.”
Joe patted the boy’s back, mumbling, “I know just how you feel, Billy. Believe me, I know just how you feel.”
Billy’s sobs caused the other little boys left in the room to start crying and saying they wanted to go home, too.
“No, no.” Joe stumbled toward the sounds of distress coming from all directions. “Don’t cry. Come on now, don’t cry.”
“I want my mama!”
“I want my pa!”
“I wanna go home!”
Thankfully, the boys’ dorm father, Killian Murphy, entered the room before the sobs and cries for parents and home could escalate further.
“I thought yeh might need me help, Mr. Cartwright. I know how hard the first day is on these young ones who’ve traveled so far to attend our fine school.”
Joe wanted to say that he was sure by now everyone in the institute probably knew he needed help, but he managed to swallow his sharp retort because he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Thank you, Mr. Murphy. I appreciate it.”
Joe passed the weeping Billy over to the dorm father, at the same time resisting the urge to get down on his knees and kiss the Irishman’s boots in gratitude.
“Come along, young lads. Come with me. We’ll go outside to play until supper is served.”
The sounds of sobs, hiccups, sniffles, cries for “Mama!” and shuffling feet, lingered for a moment, then slowly began to fade as Mr. Murphy led the littlest members of Joe’s class – boys just six and seven years old – outside to a playground.
When Joe sensed he was finally alone, he trudged toward the front of the room, swearing when he banged his shins into a student’s toppled desk. Still wincing from the smarting pain, Joe navigated gingerly toward his own desk. He felt his way around the wooden structure and dropped to his chair. He propped his elbows on the desktop, buried his head in his hands, gave a defeated sigh, and wondered if he’d be the first teacher Adam had ever fired after just one day of employment.
Adam leaned against the doorframe, trying to suppress a grin. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn the Battle of Vicksburg was fought in this room. Paper wads littered the floor like cannonballs, desks were overturned like dead horses, textbooks were strewn from one end of the room to the other like fallen soldiers, and the general – his curls limp with perspiration, the first two buttons on his collar open, his tie askew, and his suit coat hanging by just one shoulder from the back of his chair – looked like he was ready to wave a white flag.
No less than a dozen smart remarks immediately came to Adam’s mind. The kind of quips one Cartwright brother would toss to another during a situation such as this, like: “You mean to tell me that you can break twenty horses in a day, but you can’t control twenty boys?” Or, “Since when did reenacting the Civil War become part of our curriculum?” Or, “Now you know how every teacher who ever taught you felt at the end of the first day of school.”
But Adam squelched the urge to say any of those things, because Joe looked so forlorn and beaten. The smart remarks could wait for another time. Right now, Joe needed a little brotherly support, rather than brotherly humor.
Adam pushed himself away from the doorway, making his presence known as he walked into the room. His tone was soft and sympathetic.
“Rough day, huh?”
Joe’s head came out of his hands. “You’re the master of understatement.”
“Come on. Let’s get this place cleaned up, and then head home.”
Joe pushed himself to his feet. “Just get it over with, Adam.”
“Get what over with?”
“Go ahead and fire me.”
“Fire you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not going to fire you.”
“Oh come on. Don’t do me any favors just because I’m your brother.”
“I’m not doing you any favors.”
Joe extended an arm. “Look at this room. I don’t have to be able to see to know it’s a mess.”
“It’s a mess all right. I won’t deny that.”
“And the kids did nothing but yell and run around like wild animals all day long. That is, when they weren’t throwing paper wads, or using their peashooters. And the ones who weren’t doing any of that stuff spent the whole day crying.”
“And what makes that different from any other first day of school?”
“What makes it different is that none of it was happening in anyone else’s room. Only mine.”
Adam approached his brother. He lifted his hand and squeezed Joe’s shoulder.
“Joe, sit back down for a minute.”
“Why?”
“Just sit down. I think we need to talk.”
Joe did as Adam asked of him, while Adam perched on a corner of Joe’s desk.
“Look, it’s okay. Just fire me. I’ll explain it all to Pa. I’ll let him know you gave me a fair shot.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. I’m a little too old to be worried about what Pa would have to say if I did fire you – which I’m not going to do, by the way – so it’s a moot point.”
“Adam, just be honest with me. If I was anyone but your brother, would you fire me for my performance today?”
“No, I wouldn’t. What I’d do for that fictional teacher you’re speaking of who isn’t my brother, is give him a second chance.”
“I don’t think a second chance is gonna make much difference.”
“I’ve never known you to hang up your spurs without a fight.”
“I feel like I’ve fought about all I can. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Want some advice?”
Joe shook his head. “I’m not up for advice at the moment.”
“All right,” Adam agreed, knowing full well that Joe only accepted advice from someone when he was darn good and ready to. He’d try to work the problem out on his own for days, maybe even weeks. If by then he didn’t meet with success, he might be willing to listen to what Adam had to say, but prior to that, Adam would just be wasting his breath.
Joe was quiet for a few seconds; then said, “I just can’t believe a roomful of blind kids could be so much trouble.”
Adam chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Kids are kids, Joe. It’s doesn’t matter that they’re blind. And you have to remember that some of them have been blind since birth, so they’re used to navigating in strange places, even though their methods of doing so might be sloppy at best, ill mannered at worst. And keep in mind, too, that many of them have never been to school. So in some cases, you’re being forced to teach a sixteen-year-old what most kids learn at six.”
“What’s that?”
“How to sit in a classroom and be respectful of the teacher and other students. Also, it’s not unusual for many of the children to come to us spoiled and pampered. Some of them have never been made to do anything for themselves, and because they’re blind, and no one at home could bear to discipline them, they’ve gotten away with behavior our father would have had us over his knee for.”
Joe gave a slow, thoughtful nod. Adam knew his brother had read the summary reports on each of his students that had been converted to Braille type for him. Therefore, Joe possessed the same knowledge of the boys Adam did prior to this first day of school.
Henry Thompson was sixteen, and blind since birth. He’d never attended school, and was only here now because a wealthy aunt had stepped forward and paid for two years’ worth of tuition.
John Dugan was fifteen, and also blind since birth. Like Henry, what little education John had received was given to him at home by his mother. His parents had scrimped and saved to get him here.
Anthony Marcelli was fourteen and blind since the age of three, again with no formal education of any kind.
Caleb Greers was ten years old, and blind for just nine months. Prior to that, he’d lived a normal life with his parents and three brothers on a farm in Pennsylvania.
Six-year-old Billy Fitzgerald lost his sight at age two, and was now many miles away from his home in Minnesota.
The remaining fifteen boys in Joe’s classroom were no different from Henry, John, Anthony, Caleb, and Billy. They ranged in age from six to sixteen, some born blind, while others had lost their sight due to illness or accidents. Those who had lost the ability to see after the ages of six or seven, had at least some experience attending school, while for those who had been blind since birth, or who had lost their eyesight when very young, like Billy, this was their first time in a classroom.
“Joe, the first day of school is always like this. Between the confusion and chaos as the children arrive, attending the morning assembly, saying goodbye to their parents, getting them into their classrooms – well, it never goes smoothly. Not for anyone.”
“Maybe so, but I didn’t hear anyone else experiencing the Battle of Bull Run in their classroom.”
Adam smiled at Joe’s Civil War reference, but didn’t comment on it other than to say, “Great minds think alike.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Listen, Joe, whether you realize it or not, you’ve got the hardest job here.”
“I do?”
“You do.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because aside from Laddie, you’re the only teacher who doesn’t have students who’ve attended the institute in prior years. This is a brand new experience for the boys in your classroom. And, like you just a few months ago, they’re completely without any skills other than what they’ve taught themselves.”
“But I didn’t hear any problems coming from Laddie’s room.”
“That’s because she’s a seasoned teacher. As well, she’s teaching only girls this year. It’s been my experience that girls don’t cause nearly as much trouble as boys, and certainly aren’t as loud and physical about it when they do.”
“Now you tell me.”
Adam smiled, while clapping Joe’s shoulder.
“Enough of this talk about being fired. Let’s clean up this room and go home. I promise, tomorrow will be a new day.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Now come on. Mrs. O’Connell will have supper waiting for us.”
The brothers worked together righting the desks, and picking up papers and books. When Adam declared the room was back in order, they headed for his office to collect Shakespeare before walking home.
“Hey, Adam?”
“Yes?”
“If I’ve got the hardest job here like you said, I’d like to put in for a raise.”
“Oh you would, would you?”’
“Yeah. I need that extra money, because I owe my brother dinner at his favorite restaurant.”
Adam laughed. “Worse than the first day of a cattle drive, was it?”
“As much as I hate to admit this, a lot worse. Just don’t tell Hoss I said that, ‘cause he’ll never believe me.”
“Then perhaps we should put Hoss in charge of a roomful of boys on the first day of school.”
Joe grinned. “Yeah, perhaps we should.”
As they walked out of the building, the men joked back and forth over the thought of their big-hearted middle brother trying to ride herd on a classroom of rambunctious, ill-behaved boys.
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