ANOTHER MAN’S SON

John McDonald looked out his office window at the street and people below of New York City. Horses and carriages filled the street as pedestrians walked the sidewalks. Looking down he felt as if he were watching the world and his life go by. One of the wealthiest men in the country and yet he felt
empty inside. Never being able to father a child, that part of his life seemed empty to him. No son to pass his business down to. No son to follow in his footsteps and carry on his name. How he now wished he had adopted a son many years ago. . He was fifty-six years old now and too old for a small child. Closing the dark green, velvet curtain, he sat down at his desk. Maybe just maybe the trip to San Francisco was what he needed. What both he and his wife Ruth both needed.

As Ruth helped her maid pack her suitcase in her large Victorian bedroom, suddenly the emptiness of her marriage hit her hard. Holding her long, black dress in her hands, her thoughts turned to her husband. She had known for years that her husband had grown apart from her, but now it was different, because she herself had grown apart from him, mainly because he was half a person now. Having a son was the most important thing in life, and the only thing that John McDonald couldn’t buy with his millions. She knew John had suggested this trip to San Francisco as a last hope to save their marriage if indeed there was one to save. Ruth doubted that highly.
For her, her marriage was over unless some miracle happened to change both their lives.

ADAM CARTWRIGHT was on his way back home from Placerville. It was 3:16 on a Sunday afternoon. He should have made it home yesterday, but the rain wouldn’t let up. It had rained most every day this past week delaying his journey.

Adam stopped Sport at the top of the hill. His biggest fear became reality as he gazed upon the swollen creek below, it’s current rushing over the rocks that lay within it. Studying the creek he noticed a spot where he may stand a chance of crossing it safely. Riding Sport down the side of the steep hillside carefully, they came to the edge of the creek. There were some very large, smooth, flat, brownish boulders pitched to where the water went more around them then over them.

Adam said a prayer before making the attempt to cross the creek. Even if the boulders didn’t have so much rushing water, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t be slippery, and first he had to get to those boulders through very high and rushing water. “Come on Boy,” he said to Sport at he patted his neck.
Sport went slowly into the water making a complaining noise. “It’s all right boy,” Adam reassured him. “Just take it nice and slow, and easy boy.
You can do it. We’ve been through tough things like this before.”

As if knowing what his master was saying, Sport took it nice and slow. Once they got to the smooth, flat boulders, Sport climbed up on them. At first Adam thought everything was going to be all right, but then before he knew it, Sport had slipped. Adam went down on the boulders hitting his head.
Everything went black. If it hadn’t been that his foot had caught on the stirrup, he would have drowned. Sport got up onto the creek bank, dragging his master behind him. Once on the ground, Adam’s foot slipped out of the stirrup. He lay on his back on the the ground soaking wet and unconscious.
Sport took off for home, as if knowing he had to get help for his master.

“There’s a man up ahead in the road sir,” the driver of the expensive buggy said.

John McDonald looked out the window of his coach. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t know sir,” the driver, Sam Albertson replied. “He’s not moving.”

“Well let’s find out.” John said.

“Yes sir,” Sam said as he brought the coach to a full stop.

Ruth grabbed John’s arm before he could get out of the coach. “John, you don’t think that man is really dead do you?”

“Now Ruth how can I know that if I don’t get out and see?” John dismounted from the coach and met the driver standing over the man in the road. The two men looked over the body. “He’s breathing Sam. It looks like he’s hit his head or someone has hit him with something.” John checked the wound where the blood down Adam’s face was coming from. “Sam, let’s get him in the coach.”

Sam and John carried Adam into the coach, laying him down on the soft seat.
Ruth gasped at all the blood trickling down his face. “Is he dead?” she asked with her hands up to her mouth.

“No he’s not dead, but he is hurt,” John replied. “Ruth, you go up with Sam and I’ll dress this man in some of my dry clothes and then we’ll get him to a doctor. Ruth obeyed her husband. John took Adam’s wet clothing off, dried him off with a towel, then dressed him in his brown suit and shoes. He cleaned his wound and combed his now towel dried hair. Looking at the man on the seat, John couldn’t believe how much he resembled him. If he had had a son, he may have looked a lot like this man. Going through the wet pockets of the man’s coat, he came upon a book of poems. Inside the cover was written “The property of Adam Cartwright.” Hiding the book under his suit jacket on the other seat, he went back to where a confused Adam was awakening.

Bending down beside him, John cautioned Adam not to move too much. That he had been injured. “Where am I?” Adam asked.

“You’re in our coach,” John replied.

“Our coach? Are you my father?” Adam asked groggily.

“Yes, yes son. I am your father, John. You are my son.”

“Your son? I don’t remember you. I don’t remember who I am. Who am I?” Adam asked.

“You are my son, Matthew McDonald. Don’t you remember your name?”

“No. I don’t remember anything. What happened to me?”

“Well you decided to cross the creek to see if you could get across and you slipped on some boulders. I tried to tell you not to try but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Don’t worry about it son. Everything is all right now. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

John got out of the coach and told Ruth and Sam about the young man in the stage not remembering anything. “Ruth, we talked about moving to another city to start all over again.”

“Yes John, but you told me you’d never consider moving.”

“I want to move to Boston . I want to sell our business and move to Boston where nobody knows us.”

“Why John?”

Taking Ruth in his arms he said, “Don’t you see Ruth? Don’t you see that this was meant to be? All of this. The trip, buying this buggy, having Sam come out West to drive us around.Don’t you see what all this means?”

Looking up at her husband Ruth replied, “No John, I don’t see.”

“Ruth, the man in the stage, he looks like me. He looks like he could be my son. He doesn’t remember who he is. Ruth, I, I told him his name was Matthew McDonald and that he was my son. He doesn‘t know and he never will know that he isn‘t.”

“John, you can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life Ruth. I won’t let you or Sam or anybody else take my son away from me.”

Moving away from John, Ruth looked at him. “John, what if he’s married and has a wife and children? How could you even think of doing such a thing?”

“Because I deserve him. I deserve to have a son. We deserve to have a son to carry on and Ruth please if you love me, tell me you’ll go along with this. Please tell me you will?”

Looking in her husband’s eyes she replied, “He is our son, Matthew John McDonald.” Hugging her, John said, “Thank you Ruth. Thank you for giving me my life back.” Ruth stood in his arms emotionless, thinking about who this young man really was and who he may be leaving behind.

Before they left, John swore Sam to never tell anyone. Being the loyal employee for so many years, he agreed. As the buggy left the site where Adam had lay injured, John reached underneath his jacket for the book of poems, throwing it out the window. It landed on the bank of the creek by the flat, smooth boulders.

Sport ran into the Cartwright’s yard. Hoss ran outside before calling for his Pa and Little Joe to come out. All three walked up to the horse who was covered in foam from running so fast and so hard. Worry crossed over Ben’s face for his oldest son’s life.

The Cartwright’s backtracked over the territory that Adam would have taken.
Coming to the creek, they found his book of poems. After finding the book, Ben, Hoss and Joe looked for Adam. They searched for two days before Joe finally made his father see reality. Putting his hand on his father’s shoulder, Joe said, “Pa, you know Adam cherished that book. You know he wouldn’t have just dropped it. Pa, it’s obvious Adam was thrown in the creek and the book flew up onto the bank. Adam’s, Adam’s….”

“Dead? Is that the word you have such trouble saying Joe? That my son is dead?” Ben replied emotionless.

“Yes Pa, and that my oldest brother is dead. We’ve searched everywhere. He must have been carried downstream, and with the current running so hard, Pa I’m so sorry.”

“I should have never had him go to Placerville this time of year. The business there could have waited,” Ben said scolding himself.

Placing his hand on his father’s other shoulder, Hoss replied, “Pa, you had no idea the weather would turn like this. It’s not your fault Pa. Things just happen sometimes.”

“This isn’t just a thing, this was my son, your brother. How do I tell my heart and my mind he’s never come home again?” Ben asked as he broke into tears. Joe and Hoss did also as they hugged him. All three stood there realizing that from this moment on Adam was never coming back into their lives. If the creek had been full with water before, it certainly was more now from the tears shed that fateful afternoon.

ONE YEAR LATER

Matthew McDonald walked into his father’s office. His father beaming with pride over how proud he was of his son and how his son was now going to take over his company. No father could ever have loved his son more than he loved his. Never regaining his memory of who he was reinforced John’s belief that finding Adam was truly an answer to his prayers.

Ruth loved her new son and her husband, but the woman inside of her didn’t love the deception and not knowing about the family he may have left behind. They could no longer see friends they once knew, because they couldn’t let anybody know that Matthew wasn’t their son. Picking up the picture of John and Matthew from her dressing table, she was amazed at how much they looked like each other. How they really could have been father and son. She wondered if Matthew looked like his biological father and wondered who he was.

Maybe it was the mother in her now that went over to her husband’s top drawer in his dresser, and looked through the secret compartments that John didn’t know she knew about. Opening one she pulled out a note. On it was the name Adam Cartwright - Matthew’s real name. Next to it was the name Benjamin Cartwright, Virginia City, Nevada - Father. Ruth stood there stunned for a moment before going over to her secretary and pulling out a pen and paper. Dipping the pen in the ink, she wrote down the name Ben Cartwright, Virginia City, Nevada. Putting the pen away, she put the paper in her purse, then placed the paper back where it was found in her husband’s dresser.

Ruth knew what she had to do. She walked back to her secretary and sat down to write a letter. As much as it pained her to do so, she wrote:

Dear Mr. Cartwright,

You do not know me and I do not know you. I am writing to you, because I feel you think your son, Adam is dead. I cannot be positive, but I believe we found your son unconscious without any memory of who he was near a creek a day’s ride from Placerville. He is 6’2” tall, around 180 pounds, black hair and hazel green eyes. He has a scar that goes up on the right side of his upper lip. He also has a small scar that goes across his forehead.

I cannot tell you who I am, but I wanted you to know that this may be your son, and if he is, that your son is alive and he is so very much loved. My husband and I have taken him in as our very own son, and he has brought us so much happiness, just as I’m sure he had brought you and your wife.

Forgive us our selfishness, but for the first time in so many, many years, I have my husband back. We both have reason to live through your son., our son. Please tell his mother that he’s fine. I know she must be worried about him as well. I wanted both you and her to know he’s fine.

Ruth took the paper from her purse and then an envelope from the secretary, and wrote the name and address down before tearing up the paper she had written on, and discarding it in the trash.

THERE WAS NO signature on the letter Ben held in his hand. Only a Boston post mark, which was more than he’d had before the letter arrived. No matter what the evidence showed, he never felt in his heart that his son was actually dead. Now he knew he wasn’t. He also knew he wouldn’t rest again until he found his son.

JOHN SHOWED MATTHEW the desk he had hand picked for him. How proud he was of his son and how proud he was to be handing over his business to him the next day. He felt his son was more than capable of running his company.
Before Matthew left that day his father said to him, “I wish I could tell you something, but I can’t. It’s something you need to know, but I’m a selfish man and I can’t tell you. Only know that I am so proud of you. So very, very proud of you for the man you are. Someday son, I will tell you what it is you need to know. Now young man you go home and take the rest of the day off and do something you want to do. You’re going to be spending most of your life in this room from now on. Now go.”

Matthew walked to the office door, opening it part way. “Matthew?”

“Yes father?”

“I love you son.”

“I love you too father,” Matthew replied before closing the door.

THE CEMETERY was cold or did it just appear cold, because they were burying his father? If he had only known when he closed the door to his father’s office that day, that he would never see him again. The doctor told both he and his mother that his father had died of a heart attack. Matthew knew something had killed him that day. Some deep, dark secret that ate away at him until it finally achieved it’s goal. Holding his mother in his arms as she cried, she was glad she had her son more now than ever, for he was all she had left in the world.

Walking his mother back to their carriage, he paused at the site of a headstone which read “Elizabeth Stoddard Cartwright”. He didn’t know why the stone attracted him so, but it did. Thinking only of his mother, he walked her to the carriage, then took her home.

The next week he found time to go back to go back to the cemetery. That headstone had haunted him all week, but he was so busy tending to the company, and his mother that he had no time to go back before this. Walking up to the headstone, he felt compelled to stare at it. As he stared, his head began to pound. Rubbing his forehead did no good. “Who are you Elizabeth Stoddard Cartwright?” he asked knowing he would get no answer.
Matthew decided to leave when it began to rain.

The next week he went back to the grave. He wanted to get the dates off the headstone and research who this woman had been. When he came upon the grave, a grey haired man was standing in front of it. He found this to be a great opportunity. Maybe this man had known Elizabeth and could tell him something about her.

Walking up to the man he said, “Excuse me sir.”

Ben Cartwright turned around facing his oldest son. At first he couldn’t believe his eyes. Looking at his son, he realized his son did not recognize him. He knew he couldn’t just come out and tell him who he was. Matthew walked up to him extending his hand. “Hello sir, I’m Matthew McDonald. I noticed you were looking at this grave, and I was wondering if you could tell me something about her. For some reason unknown to me, I am drawn to this grave. Anything you could tell me about her would be very much appreciated.”

Taking his son’s hand in his, Ben replied, “I’m Ben Cartwright. Elizabeth was my wife. She died in childbirth giving birth to our son, Adam Stoddard Cartwright.”

Matthew placed his hands on his forehead again, rubbing it as the pain came back. “Adam?”

“Yes Adam. My son, Adam Stoddard Cartwright. He is my oldest son. I have two other sons, Hoss and Little Joe.”

Rubbing his forehead he asked, “Hoss and Joe?”

“Yes, Hoss and Joe. We call Joe, Little Joe.”

“Little Joe?”

Matthew rubbed his forehead more. The more the man said, the more his head hurt. When the pain became unbearable, the man put Matthew’s head on his shoulder and stroked the back of his head. Tears fell down Ben’s face as he held his son.”

For some unexplained reason, Matthew felt so secure in this man’s arms.
Something inside of him didn’t want to leave his embrace. Looking up at the man he asked, “Why are you crying?”

“I lost my oldest son, and I want him back.”

“I know how you feel. I just recently lost my father and I want him back. I want him back so very much. I miss him so.”

“Where is your father’s grave?”

Pointing in the direction of the grave, Matthew replied, “Over there.”

“Why don’t we go and see it?”

The two men walked to the new grave of John McDonald. Standing before it, Matthew hung his head. “I don’t like headstones and graves. They make you have to face reality.”

“What is the reality, Matthew?”

“That my father is dead.”

“Is he?”

Looking at the man standing next to him he replied, “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Look at me Matthew. Look at my face and my eyes and tell me that your father is really dead. Look at me not with just your eyes, but with your heart as well.”

Looking at the man before him Matthew’s head began to ache again. Closing his eyes he saw a dark haired man stroking his head as a little boy trying to get him to go to sleep. Grabbing his forehead again, he turned to his father’s grave. Matthew then ran to the grave of Elizabeth Stoddard Cartwright. Standing before it, he knelt down, grabbing the headstone.
Knowing the man was still behind him, Matthew asked him, “Who am I? Who was she to me? Do you know?”

“Yes.”

“Please tell me.”

“Who do you think you are?”

“I don’t know. I know I’m not Matthew McDonald. I know that now. I looked at my father’s grave, or whoever he was, and I know he wasn’t my father. I remember something from my childhood, but I couldn’t see the man’s face.
I’m so confused.”

Ben took his son’s head and placed it again on his shoulder, stoking his hair as he did so many times before in his son‘s life. “Oh Pa, I want to go home. I want to go home again,” Matthew said.

Grabbing his son’s shoulders, he pushed him away just enough to see his face. “Look at me son.”

“Pa?”

“Yes Adam it’s me, Pa.”

Both men embraced. Adam cried as did his father. I want to go home, Pa.”

“I’ll take you home son, but first there’s something we need to do.

BACK AT THE McDonald’s house, Ruth faced both men in her parlor. A moment she had nightmares about that were now coming true. “I take it you are Benjamin Cartwright are you not?” she asked.

“Yes I am Benjamin Cartwright.”

“And he is your son?” she asked sadly.

“Yes, he is my son, Adam.”

“I should never have written you that letter. I felt sorry for his mother.
I thought she should know her son was alive, as well as you.”

“Why?”

“Because my husband died many, many years ago. I loved him so much that I went along with this. I knew it was wrong, but in time Mathew became as much my son as his. I couldn’t imagine life without him,” Ruth said walking over to the red velvet Victorian chair and sitting down in it.

“You had no right to do what you did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry does not give me back the year you and your husband took from away from me and my son, and all the pain this has caused both me and his brothers.”

“I can’t say anything more than I’m sorry. I’ll understand if you want to press charges against me.”

Looking at Adam, he knew that his son had feelings for this woman. How could he put her behind bars knowing what it would do to the both of them?
“You didn’t have to write me that letter. If you hadn’t, I would have never found him. You probably saved his life that day. With the weather the way it was and the stage not taking the chance in getting through, who knows what might have happened before we could have gotten to him.”

Looking at Adam, Ruth asked, “Are you terribly upset with me?”

“How could you do this to me? How could the both of you say you loved me and said I was your son, when all along you knew I wasn’t? How could you do such a thing?”

“John was convinced you were sent from above to fill the void in our lives.
The way we came upon you. How much you looked like John. I’m sorry Adam.
I’m so sorry.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Adam said before leaving the house. Ben walked behind him but before he left, Ruth asked him, “Did you find your son through the post mark on the letter I sent you?”

“I knew where to come by the post mark, but it was his Mother who found him and returned him to me, and he to his family, where he belongs. Never ever underestimate the love of a Mother for her child, even if that love is from beyond the grave,” Ben replied before leaving the house.

THE END

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