Something Special
by
Janice Sagraves

This is for Donna, who wanted to see a story done in this vein and anyone who loves Ben best. Some of the characters, situations and settings of this story are not mine. No infringement is intended. It is simply for the enjoyment of fellow Bonanza fans.

ONE

Her long dark brown tresses rested on her shoulders, and she was unearthly pale in the warm lamplight as her distraught young husband held her cool, lifeless hand in his. Never more would he look into those clear blue eyes that could snap with temper. Never more would he hear the enchanting notes of her voice that came to him like music. And never more would he hold her supple body close to his and know that she belonged to him. His head dropped and a wisp of black hair fell over his forehead. Then slowly his dark brooding eyes were drawn to the cradle on the other side of the bed. But what filled his heart and his mind wasn’t love, wasn’t pride, wasn’t even charity. His beautiful Elizabeth was dead and that child was the reason and all he could feel was all-consuming anger and bitterness.

*******

The sixth of May was chilled by the wind that blew in from the sea. The sky more resembled slate and rain fell as if Heaven itself were weeping. The sounds of life went on about the small throng gathered in the well-kept cemetery off to the side of the large stone church blissfully ignorant of the pain that dwelled within them.

Ben Cartwright stood at the edge of the grave, his head bowed and hands clasped in front of him. Rain dripped from the brim of his tall hat to sink into the freshly turned earth. He wanted to remove it but many times his dear Liz had chided him for going hatless in such weather as this. “Benjamin Devington Cartwright,” she would say in that chastising tone she had, “are you trying to catch your death?” Then she would smile, and he would willingly comply, though he made a show out of being bullied into it.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain resurrection unto eternal life we commend our dearly departed Elizabeth Virginia.”

Ben heard none of what the minister was saying nor did he notice those around him. So consumed with his loss was he that little registered except that the love of his life was gone. As he continued to stand there firm fingers gripped his shoulder. It took some effort to pull his eyes away from the ground and look into the worn face of Elizabeth’s father, Captain Able Morgan Stoddard. And for the first time he realized that it was quiet except for the sounds of living and the steady patter of the rain.

“She loved you very much,” the Captain said softly.

“And I loved her more than words can express.” Ben’s voice trembled as his cheerless gaze returned to the grave. “And I can’t, I don’t want to believe she’s gone.”

“You have my deepest condolences, Benjamin,” Pastor Ryan said as he came to the disconsolate young man. “She was a fine young woman and had been a member of my flock since she was very small. We are all going to miss her very much, but I know she would be happy to know that her son is safe with his father.”

Ben’s sharp coffee eyes shot to the man’s face, and his hands wadded until the skin of his knuckles stretched and whitened. Without a word he spun on the ball of his foot and stomped toward the street where the carriage waited at the curb.

“I’m sorry, Able; I didn’t mean to upset him. I only wanted to reassure him that she’s happy knowing that her baby is where he’ll be safe and loved and taken care of.”

“I know that, Liam,” the Captain said as his dark hazel eyes drifted after his son-in-law, “but the boy seems to be the problem.”

Understanding registered in the white-haired man’s expression. “Oh, I see. Well, I hope Benjamin comes to think differently. I’ve seen it before and the child always suffers for it.”

“I’ll see that doesn’t happen, not to my grandson,” the Captain said as his crafty Irish eyes came back to the minister. “Even if I have to raise the lad myself.”

Ben sat rigid in the carriage; his eyes drilled onto the opposite seat and the pelting rain the only sound. So lost in his own bleak ruminations he didn’t notice when the door opened and the Captain got in.

Captain Stoddard observed him for a few seconds then slammed the door and sat across from him, but Ben only appeared to be looking through him. With a lurch, the carriage started off.

“When we get home we need to…” but his voice died off. He could tell that Ben wasn’t listening and knew that conversation at this point simply would not be a fruitful undertaking. “All right, son,” he said with a poignant smile and laid a comforting hand on his son-in-law’s wrist, but even that didn’t register. With a jagged inhalation, he leaned back and – holding his hands in his lap – simply sat in silence and watched the husband of his only child grieve.

*******

The house wasn’t far from the church so it usually took about ten minutes, but with the overcast sky and rain slick streets it took a little longer this day. When the carriage did pull up to the curb, the Captain practically had to guide Ben out. The rain seemed to rouse some cognition inside him, and he was able to go in without any further assistance.

Inside was warm and inviting and dry and welcomed home the grief numbed family. The smell of hot coffee and cooking food beckoned but the idea of sustenance was furthest from anyone’s mind.

Mrs. Iona Callahan, a spare older woman whose dark hair had long since gone gray, sat in a chair near the fire place, a Bible open in her lap. The cradle was nearby so that she could watch after the babe while he slept. She looked up from her reading as the two men disencumbered themselves of their wet outer trappings and hung on them on the rack by the door.

“And how was our little boy while we were gone?” the Captain asked as he started in her direction.

“Good as gold?” Mrs. Callahan said as the firelight caught the adoration in her eyes. “Not so much as a peep out of him. Except once when he got hungry, but Mrs. McGuire arrived before too much of a fuss was kicked up.”

“I don’t like the idea of using a wet nurse. His mother should be here,” Ben grumbled.

“And I know she’d like to be, but sometimes these things are simply out of our control. Now let’s see this little man.” Bending down, the Captain tenderly scooped up the tiny, blanket wrapped bundle.

Laying the Good book delicately aside, Mrs. Callahan came to her feet. “Would you like some coffee, Captain, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Aye, that I would. It’ll take some of the chill out of these old bones.”

“No…, thank you,” Ben said brusquely.

As the Captain held the little one in front of him, gently bracing him against his arms and looking into the small, perfect face, Ben continued to keep his distance. His harsh, intolerant eyes stayed on what his father-in-law held, and he made no attempt to take the child.

“And what has my boy been up today other than bringing in the roof?” the Captain said as he joggled him slightly and rocked him from side to side.

The baby laid perfectly still, fans of thick black lashes resting against his soft skin with the fuzz and blush of a summer peach. One petite hand had escaped the bonds of the blanket which had been swathed about him and made into a tiny fist.

The Captain’s large sea-roughened hands held securely to his grandchild – the only one he would ever have – and he felt the stirrings of his heart. In his grasp he held a part of Elizabeth. He could see her in the refined features of her son, the mouth that could pull into a pucker when displeased or in stern concentration, the dense eyelashes and the slim, tapering fingers. The warmth he held clean and fresh and new was hers and was her and it made him swell with pride and affection, he could only hope that Ben would come to feel the same.

As Mrs. Callahan came to him with the steaming cup he turned to Ben. “He is so content that I hate to put him down. Why don’t you hold him while I drink my coffee?” and he held the newborn out to his father.

But instead of taking his son and without a solitary word, Ben simply turned away and went upstairs.

“I’ll take him,” Mrs. Callahan said as she sat the coffee on the mantle then carefully took the baby from the Captain. Then her solemn gray-blue eyes followed the line of Ben Cartwright’s assent as she adjusted the infant in the crook of her arm. “Poor, dear man. He’s so lost without his missus.” Then her gaze went down to the diminutive life resting contentedly against her. “And it’s good this one isn’t aware of the turmoil he’s entered into.” She shook her head. “Tis a pity not to be loved by one’s own father.” She tisked and shook her head again.

The Captain’s eyes lingered toward the top of the stairs as he took a sip of the hot, bracing black coffee. It was indeed a pity, but he liked, wanted to believe that all this would change with the passing of the first night without Elizabeth. He hoped that once Ben got to know his son he would come to love and cherish him. But the thing that disturbed him was the possibility that he wouldn’t, as other men had not been able to. He took another sip and looked around at his grandson asleep in Mrs. Callahan’s arms, blissfully ignorant of the unforgiving feelings directed toward him.

TWO

Scant light from the city around them made its way in through the bedroom window as Ben sat in the softly padded chair looking out into the darkness. The soft patter of the rain continued as it had all day, though maybe not as hard as earlier.

There wasn’t any way that he could make himself get into that bed this night or possibly any other. All that awaited him there was emptiness. Without her lying comfortingly at his side or in his arms it was a mockery.

His fingers dug into the arms of the chair as her soft voice came to him through the waves of grief. “Read to me, Ben. You know what.”

“Oh, Liz,” he moaned and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands. “How I wish you were here so that I could. How can I go on without you?”

As he sat there in the deepest throws of despair a soft murmur made its way to his ears. His head snapped up, and his anguish laden eyes turned menacingly in that direction. The baby was in there with him, though he hadn’t wanted it, but the Captain had been quite adamant in the decision. A serious row had punctuated his turning in as he’d told his father-in-law of his desire of having the child removed from his bedroom, Elizabeth’s room.

“And where do you suggest we put him?” the Captain had asked bitingly. “In the grain bin in the carriage house? Maybe the wood box downstairs by the hearth? At least there he would be warm.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ben said as he ran a hand back over his thick black hair.

“And why shouldn’t I, you are, and it isn’t simply a privilege of the young, though they do seem to be more prone to it.”

“Will you do as I ask or not?”

“No, I will not. This is your son we’re talking about, Elizabeth’s son, and you can’t just discard him.”

“And what if I said I could do exactly that? What would you say then?”

“That you’re a liar, to me and to yourself. Either that or you’re talking nonsense.”

“Then you’d be wrong on both counts. It’s because of him that she’s gone and every time I look at him…” and his words choked off, and he turned away from the penetrating eyes before him. “His mouth is so like hers.”

“That’s because he is hers,” the Captain said more charitably, “hers and yours.” Compassionately, he had gripped Ben’s shoulder. “Have you held him yet?”

Ben whirled, dislodging the strong hand. “No, and I haven’t any intention of doing so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to bed, it’s been a long, trying day.” Then he had stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Ben’s head dropped as the darkness became more stifling, and his arms fell at his sides. How could life turn so drastically around? For just less than a year he had been supremely happy, happier than any man had a right to be. But then life had jerked the rug from under his feet, as it was wont to do, and left him in an abyss of misery that he wondered if he could ever climb out of. In fact, he wondered if he even wanted to.

Another soft murmur came from the other side of the bed and it was more than he could stand. He sprang from the chair, tugging the sash tighter about his robe. He went straight to the door and out, never once letting his eyes go in the direction of the cradle.

As he went down the stairs the door to the Captain’s chambers opened, and he stepped into the hall with a low burning lamp. As he watched the young man disappear and heard him go into the parlor his gaze directed to the open doorway across from his. With tilting steps, caused by the limp he had gotten from an accident at sea when he was a mere cabin boy of fourteen, he crossed over the threshold. Caught in the gentle glow of the lamp he went to the cradle and looked down upon its precious contents. “Poor little lad,” he said quietly. “Maybe the world has turned against you, but I never will… and I like to think that your father will come to see what he has.” A sad smile curved his mouth but didn’t quite reach his dark hazel eyes. Then he sat the lamp on top of the chest and lovingly picked the baby up and held in front of him, once again resting against his arms. “We must work on him my fine boy. It’s up to us, and I think that we can rely on Mrs. Callahan too.” The smile broadened into a wide, devious grin. “There’s nothing like the wiles of a woman.” Then he brought the little one to his chest and took him back to his own room.

*******

It was early the next morning when Ben came down to breakfast. He wasn’t hungry but the thought of a hot cup of coffee wasn’t too unappealing. As he reached the bottom landing he seized in his tracks and ran his hand over the cap piece of the newel post. This was where Elizabeth had fallen, had it really not been so long ago? It was the night of the day when he had found out from Otto that the Captain had taken the money from the strong box to give to Mandible to get him a ship and confronted him about it. They hadn’t noticed Elizabeth standing on the stairs listening to every word.

“How could you?” she had seethed. “You make me ashamed to be your daughter.”

When Ben had started to her the Captain shoved him back. “Why did you come here? First you take my command then you make a shopkeeper of me and now you turn my own flesh-and-blood against me.”

Then it had happened. As she started down she collapsed and called out to him. Fear had shot through him like a harpoon as he rushed to her and took her in his arms. He’d sent the Captain for Doctor Byrum and the wait had been interminable. His eyes clamped shut against the recollection, but it only augmented for now he could see it all as plain as if it were happening before him right now.

“Is that you I hear, son?” the Captain asked crisply.

With an onerous sigh Ben stiffened his spine and straightened his coat then went on into the parlor. The Captain was at the dining table with his breakfast. Sometimes his behavior rankled with Ben. It was as if he didn’t miss his own daughter at all.

Mrs. Callahan was at the hearth and the baby was in a cradle next to the wing chair that Ben didn’t recognize.

“Where did that cradle come from?” Ben asked as his eyes narrowed. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“I borrowed it from the Miles’. It was so much trouble to continually carry the other one up and down the stairs.” The Captain took a good slug of his coffee. “This way Mrs. Callahan only has to bring him down.”

As Ben stepped to the chair she handed him a cup of coffee, and he thanked her succinctly then turned but as he did he froze with his eyes down. The baby was asleep on his stomach, his tiny hands knotted on either if of his head with its cap of black hair. He was a beautiful child but it did hurt so to look at him. “Why?” he thought. “Why did he live and not my Elizabeth?” Normally, he would have known the answer to his own question, but at the moment his thinking was clouded. Yanking himself around, he joined the Captain at the table.

“Tomorrow I think we should open for business again,” the Captain said as he split his biscuit and filled it with honey and butter.

Ben’s sharp eyes came around as he sat the cup onto its saucer with a hard clink. “Why so soon?”

“Because we need the money, and I think work will be good for us both. It’ll help keep our minds busy and away from so many things if only for a short time.”

“No, not yet,” Ben said as he directed his eyes away and took a sip of his coffee.

“And why not? If you stay away five days or five years, it isn’t going to change anything.”

“I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind,” Ben said, keeping his gaze on his hands as he took a biscuit onto his plate.

“It has to be done sooner or later and now is as good a time as any, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think!” Ben stormed out as he came abruptly to his feet, his chair scooting back over the floor. “That’s why I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

Amber light’s danced in the Captain’s eyes, and he threw his napkin onto his plate and jerked to standing. “I know you loved her, so did I?”

“Did you? The way you’ve been going around like nothing is different it doesn’t look that way!”

“She was my daughter a lot longer than she was your wife,” the Captain said in an effort to contain his growing ire.

“Then show some feelings!” Ben bellowed.

“I’ll not have a young upstart telling me how I should behave! Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean I’m not grieving for the loss of my only child! I lost Elizabeth’s mother when she was born so I’ll not have you telling me how I should feel or how I should show it!” and he slammed his fist onto the table, jarring the dishes.

With that the baby let out a high-pitched, ear splitting scream. Mrs. Callahan went to the cradle and picked him up and began walking back and forth in front of the fireplace, patting the petite back in an effort to placate him.

“I don’t think…! Would you get him out of here, Mrs. Callahan?” Ben raged as he whirled on the woman

Her stormy gray-blue eyes shot to his face as she clutched the bawling bundle of humanity to her bosom.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Callahan,” the Captain said soothingly as he went to her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Take him on upstairs. I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“Yes, Captain Stoddard.” Then her irate glare came around to Ben but didn’t linger as she started for the second floor cooing and shushing the badly frightened child.

Once the bedroom door closed the heated words resumed.

“I thought you were the one who wanted a son?”

“That was before he took Elizabeth away from me!”

“Ah, man, use your head! He didn’t take Elizabeth! She gave her child life then left us for a better place! Benjamin,” he took his son-in-law’s arm, some of the pique leaving him, “she wouldn’t want you blaming anyone, especially your own son for what was supposed to be.”

“How can I blame anyone else? If not for him she would be here with me right now,” Ben said as he jerked his arm free and trounced to the door.

“Where are you going?” the Captain asked as he came around the table.

“To the cemetery,” Ben said as he shrugged into his coat.

“Don’t you think you should stay here and get to know your son?”

Ben’s cutting eyes flashed around as he grabbed his hat from the rack. Then, without a word, he thumped it onto his head then went out into the chilly rain and slammed the door behind him.

THREE

He could have taken a carriage but he felt like walking. The morning was gray and gloomy just as he felt inside, and he needed to be out in it. He made his way along the walkway past shops and a tavern – head down with eyes locked on the tread of his feet – and didn’t even acknowledge those who spoke to him. The wind blew inland, carrying the scent of salt and fish with it, and his heart turned for the time when he plied the vast seas at Captain Stoddard’s side and when Liz waited for their return. The scene of the day when he and his dearest one lay in the grass beneath a spreading tree on a bluff overlooking the ocean when he had given her the music box she did so cherish came to him. When he had first seen it in the window of the little shop in Amsterdam he had known then that she had to have it. The price he felt had been too high, but for her it was worth every cent, so when he went back out it went with him, held securely under his arm.

His head instinctively came up as he reached the gate of the white picket fence that edged the well-kept cemetery. It squeaked thinly as he opened it and stepped inside but he didn’t even hear it. He made his way past headstones – some large and ornate, some small and plain, and others simple crosses – until he came to the fresh, new grave and looked down on it.

“See, Liz,” he said tremblingly, “I’m still wearing my hat.”

He stepped forward and rested his hand on the temporary wooden cross that would mark her final repose until the headstone was completed. It wouldn’t be anything too elaborate – Elizabeth hated ostentation – but it would be adorned with two cherubs patterned after the ones on her beloved music box. Tremulously, he reached out and traced the words etched into it. Elizabeth Virginia Stoddard Cartwright September 11, 1811- May 5, 1830. There was room for little else, but that would come later.

“Liz, I miss you so much. You were all I ever dreamed of in a wife, and I know that I can never find anyone as wonderful as you ever again. But it doesn’t matter because I know I could never want another.” Then he dropped his head and brought a hand to his face and sobbed into the soggy, unsympathetic morning. “Oh, Liz.”

*******

It had come to late morning by the time he finally left the cemetery, but instead of heading in the direction that would take him back to the house he made a line away from it. The rain had picked up slightly and long since seeped into his coat, though he was mindless to it. His legs were driven by pure instinct for his mind was focused inward and not on his surroundings. People continued to speak as he passed and still he continued not to acknowledge. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but his muddled brain was trying to sort things out.

As he crossed a vaguely familiar street at the corner, his head rose, for one of the few times, and he saw where he was. Several feet ahead sat The Mermaid tavern. Of all the groggeries in the city this one he liked frequenting more than most. But being the studious, level minded young man whose life revolved about more serious and important things than drink, he came very little. This day, however, called for a libation stronger than coffee or tea that he could drown his sorrows in.

Upon entering, the strong scent of ale and rum mingled in with pipe smoke greeted him along with robust laughter and salty language. Not as busy as usual – probably due to the time of day when most men were working – he had no trouble making his way to the bar where he sullenly ordered a pint.

As the barkeep thumped it down in front of him, Ben paid up with a guttural ‘thank you’ then leaned his forearms on the rim of the bar and commenced to stare into its tawny depths. For some reason – now that he had it – he didn’t really want it. What good would it do? What good would anything do?

As he stood there, his hands around the heavy pewter tankard, he became aware of someone saying his name at his elbow. With some effort, he drug his head about and found himself looking into the broad, salt-weathered face of Jack Hawkins, first mate of the Sea Nymph. A couple years older than Ben, they had known each other since they were children. “Jack,” he said almost in puzzlement. “Jack Hawkins…. When did you get back?”

“Early this morning. The sun was just clearing the horizon when we pulled into port. One of the first things I did when I got onto dry land was ask about you and Elizabeth.” His face pulled down with genuine sympathy. “Ben, I’m so sorry.”

“What’ll it be?” the barkeep asked gruffly.

“Rum.”

The drink was quickly supplied and – after paying and taking a good slug – Jack went on. “I ran into her on the street last December, and I remember how excited she was.” He grinned ironically. “Well, at least you have your son. I know he’s a comfort.”

Snatching up his drink without so much a grunt, Ben retreated to an empty table and sat hard in one of the chairs. With his glass clutched in hand Jack followed after him.

“If I said something wrong, Ben, I didn’t mean to.”

Ben refused to look at him, and his fingers tightened against the pewter.

“Is it all right if I sit down?”

“I’m not stopping you,” Ben snapped, still without looking up.

Ben could almost feel his friend’s black eyes boring in on him. He didn’t like being the object of such scrutiny; he’d only come in here to try to kill some of the sadness. “Why don’t you just come out and ask me how I am?” Ben said tersely.

“I don’t have to; I can see it for myself. Ben, you’re not expected to get over it in an hour, a day, a week or even a year, the human heart doesn’t work that way. But that’s not all of it, is it? It’s what I said about the baby, isn’t it?”

Ben’s eyes grew sharp as finely honed blades.

In that instant realization adorned Jack’s long face. “You’re blaming him for this. Oh, Ben, not you, you’re made from better stuff than that.”

“Who says what kind of stuff I’m made of?” Ben took a hard slug of his ale and it burned like concentrated fire. “I just can’t feel any other way,” he said hoarsely.

“Well, I never thought I’d see the day when Ben Cartwright would hate his own flesh-and-blood, much less his own son.”

Ben eyes stayed locked with his friend’s, but they were looking more into his own soul. Why did things sound so different and stand out so much more clearly when someone else said it.

“Would you even bother telling me what his name is?” Jack asked frostily.

For the first time it struck Ben hard that he had never even once since his birth uttered his son’s name, hadn’t wanted to. His hand grasped the tankard like an enemy. “Adam,” he said softly, then his death grip released on the cool vessel. “Adam Stoddard Cartwright.”

*******

When Ben stepped out into the sodden day after nearly two hours of just sitting and talking – mainly of Liz – he knew where he wanted to go. The ale he had ordered hadn’t been touched but only the once, so he wasn’t drunk. With deliberation to his step he set off up the street.

When he finally reached his destination the sky had lightened some and the rain had tapered off if only slightly. His eyes rose to the sign over the door. ‘Stoddard and Cartwright, Ship’s Chandlers’ it read. The bold lettering reached into him and strengthened a need that had been pushed way into the background these last three days. Coming forward, he tried the knob – a black wreath hung over the glass – and found it locked. Absentmindedly, he groped in his right coat pocket and found what he gave no real thought to finding. When his hand came out he had a long key in his fist. It must have been there when Otto later brought his coat to him and events had blotted out the fact that it was still there. With trembling hand, he placed it in the lock, gave a turn, then opened the door and went inside.

The blinds were drawn on both windows and on the door and it shrouded the room in shadow. No light made it in to find glass or metal, wood or rope. Nothing glistened, glittered, sparkled or shown in the dimness. It was quiet and still as the inside of a tomb and swallowed up even the sound of the rain outside.

He pushed the door shut behind him then took a couple tentative steps forward and stopped. His eyes roved about him and took in the room’s wares: sextants, chronometers, lanyards, log books, and the large, expensive compass that sat in front of one of the windows to hopefully lure potential customers inside.

Since opening for business in the late spring of the previous year, things had been up and down, bad and good, dark and bright. Money had come and gone and everything had all almost been lost to Mandible. But the supposed debt would be paid off, and he would start saving anew for his dream. His dream? What did that matter now without Liz? Without her at his side to live it with him did it count as much as it once had? But he had promised her just before she died that he would go on with it.

A ragged breath permeated the silence and sullen coffee eyes found the small room at the back that had become an office. Removing his hat and shaking the wet from it he headed in that direction.

Hesitantly, he came to stand in the doorway and his gaze traced over its contents. His desk and chair, the tall cabinet behind it, the bureau against the wall as you came in and the high desk and stool where Liz worked.

Where Liz worked? Had that been so awfully long ago? He made himself go over to it. His fingers lightly grazed over its surface and an image of Elizabeth sitting on the stool flooded his mind’s eye. He could see her so plain, almost as if she were there with him, her cheeks rosy, and her face aglow with the prospect of becoming a mother. She, like him, had been so overjoyed at the idea of a child.

And what had he done with that child? Her child? Their child? He had scorned and shunned him, had derided every thought of him, and for what? His wife had died bringing their little boy into the world. Other men’s wives had died in the same fashion, and while some had despised the child for it, others hadn’t. The latter were the wise ones, the ones that knew these things happened through no fault of anyone’s, it was simply a part of the scheme of things larger than any one person.

With a rough sigh he cast his eyes to the ceiling and ran his fingers back through his thick black hair. If Liz were here right now how could he face her? He had turned his back on their baby, had actually hated him and wished he had been the one to die. “How could you?” he sneered low in the deafening quiet. “Your gift, your wonderful gift, and you flung it away.” His head dropped as the hat hit the floor, and his shoulders began to shake, and he wept unabashedly into the stillness.

FOUR

It was late, and Ben still hadn’t rounded in. The rain had finally stopped, but the night remained chilled and dank. Captain Stoddard sat in his rocking chair before the fire and it was obvious to anyone that he wasn’t in a happy frame of mind. The creaking grew louder and longer as the motion of the chair increased by the second. Then he heard someone outside, and his dark hazel eyes went to the clock on the mantel. Eleven-thirty. He had been out the whole blessed day and was only now showing the courtesy of returning home.

As Ben came in shaking the rain from his outer garments as the Captain continued to rock.

“Well, I see you finally decided to come home. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to grace us with your presence for the rest of the night.”

“I had some thinking to do,” Ben said as he hung his coat and hat on the stand. “And I had a long talk with an old friend.”

“And just where did you meet this ‘old friend’? New Bedford?”

“I ran into Jack Hawkins in The Mermaid.”

“A tavern,” and the chair stopped suddenly. “I might’ve known.”

“It’s not that way.”

“Then what way is it?” the Captain said as he came to his feet.

“It’s true that I did go in there to get drunk…. I needed to try to drown some of this pain…. But then Jack came in,” he shook his head, “and I only touched my ale once.” His mouth curled into a sad, tired smile. “We did more talking than drinking…, and he helped me to see some things that I had conveniently forgotten.” The smile tried reaching his haggard eyes but didn’t exactly succeed. “Now I need to get to bed. I can’t remember ever being this tired.”

“We need to talk about this,” the Captain as he took a few steps closer. “Things need to be set to rights.”

“Tomorrow, I promise.” Then, without any further explanation, Ben went upstairs.

As he drug himself into his bedroom the light from the hall spilled in and fell across the cradle. Ben stopped in the process of removing his coat. His eyes riveted themselves onto the small piece of furniture with its lone inhabitant. When he’d collected himself he moved to the bed and slung the garment over the foot of it then turned.

The little one was asleep on his stomach, a position he seemed to favor, since this was how he slept the best. For the first time since the loss of his wife Ben felt a warm sensation bud in his chest and begin to grow infinitesimally. As he stood there the baby moved and turned his head so that it rested on the other side but didn’t wake. Ben could barely catch his breathing in the faint light, and he heard more than saw it in the hush of the room. It came as soft, delicate whispers like the soughing of an angel’s breath.

With a start, he pulled himself from distraction and lit the lamp on the table by the bed then went to the highboy by the window. From one of its top drawers he took a fresh nightshirt, and as he did something fell from its folds and hit the floor at his feet. With puzzlement he bent down and picked it up. A small, dark blue jeweler’s box with a hinged lid, and he knew instantly what he held. In the events of the last few days its presence had been completely forgotten. His fingers squeezed on it and the hurt reasserted itself with the force of raging surf.

A minute tremor set in as he forced himself to look inside. Nestled in sapphire-hued velvet was an elegant golden band with a single, flawless, marquise-cut emerald. It had taken months if scrimping and saving, and a small loan from Jack Hawkins to be able to buy it but he had managed. It had been purchased for Elizabeth’s first birthday since their wedding, and he had planned to make a big day of it. He could just hear her when he presented it to her. “Benjamin, how extravagant. You know we can’t afford such a thing.” But then the light would twinkle in those crystal blue eyes, and a smile that could outdo the Mona Lisa would come and she would say, “Ben, I love it, and I’ll cherish it for as long as I live.” Now, however, that would and could never be and it renewed the pain and, unfortunately, the anger.

His hands thought to crush the fragile box, and his eyes clamped tight, but in the blank slate behind his lids came Elizabeth’s face, and she wore a smile as bright as the golden rays of a June sun. “Protect him, Ben,” she said. “Protect him and keep him from all that would harm him as much as you can for now he needs you more than anyone ever has. Protect our son, Ben, and give him all the love that I know is in you. Goodbye, Ben,” and she began fading away, “and always know how much I do and always will love you. Goodbye, my beloved, goodbye.”

“Liz,” he said pitifully then, like a shot, his eyes flashed open, and he found himself standing in his own room. Frantically, he looked around him but she wasn’t there. No one was there. Then his gaze strayed to the cradle and he realized that he wasn’t alone. He stepped closer and looked down at what he and Elizabeth had conceived and had been entrusted to his care, and for the first time the dawning of what it meant to be a father soaked into him. But he wasn’t quite ready yet to pick up this little boy, maybe later it would come, but for now he simply couldn’t.

“Not yet,” he said shaking his head. “Not yet.” Then he turned away and started getting dressed for bed.

*******

It was around two o’clock in the morning when a crash of thunder shook the house to its very foundation. Frightened, the baby set off a squall that could wake the dead in Hong Kong. Ben came out of the bed as if fired from a cannon, and his bare feet slapped the floor like the day’s catch.

Lightning lit the room like giant flares and the windows rattled with the storm’s ferocity. There wasn’t any need for lighting the lamp as Ben made his way around to the cradle. Without giving it any thought he gathered the bawling baby into his arms and held it against his chest.

“Shh, shh, nothing’s going to hurt you,” he said soothingly as he continued to jostle and sway but the crying showed no signs of abating. In another flash he made his way to the chair and sat down as a blast of thunder quickly followed. He could feel his son’s fear as the infant quivered in his arms. “Papa’s right here and he’ll never let anything hurt you. It’s all right, baby. It’s all right, Adam.”

Father and son weren’t the only one’s who had been roused by the tempest. Captain Stoddard came out of his room in robe and slippers. He held a lamp but with the electrical dance going on outside he didn’t really need it. He padded softly across the hall to Ben’s door and knocked lightly but seriously doubted if he could be heard above the storm’s wrath. Turning the knob, he gently pushed the door ajar and stuck his head inside. In the illumination provided by Mother Nature he could see his son-in-law sitting in the chair and could plainly see that he held something. Between booms he could hear the comforting voice and what he was saying. His lips turned, and his breast swelled with joy then he ducked out and silently closed the door.

*******

Ben awoke the next morning just as the light of dawn had begun to seep into the room. As his senses began to awaken he gradually became aware of still being in the chair. With an indolent blink followed closely be a wide-mouthed yawn wakefulness roiled in his brain and spread out like tentacles to other parts of his body. The first thing he noticed was weight on his arms and against his chest. With an invigorating breath his eyes lowered. He still held his baby swaddled in his blanket. With a single finger he reached out and pushed the heavy black hair back from the small forehead. “My son,” he whispered and smiled.

As quietly and stealthily as possible he came to his feet and went around the foot of the bed to the cradle. Carefully, as he started to put his son down, he realized that he was being watched and scrutinized.

“Good morning,” he said as he held the baby out in front of him, and his hands tightened lest he drop the little fellow. “We had us quite a night, didn’t we?”

And then it happened. As he looked down into the dark blue eyes he knew he was lost for all time. He had just given his heart to the most precious thing on the face of the Earth, and he didn’t want it back. It belonged to Adam now and would for good and always.

FIVE

Myriad dots of light twinkled in the ceaseless black void that made up the night sky. No civilization for miles so therefore no illuminaton coming from windows and doorways to mar the endless tracts that lay virgin about them, only a cooking fire in the middle of camp that did nothing to detract. And there were no sounds save for insects, muffled voices with the occasional spurt of laughter and the lowing of a cow.

A more beautiful, peaceful place Ben Cartwright hadn’t seen since starting out on this journey. As he sat on the ground with his back against one of the front wheels of their wagon his arm squeezed about the boy snuggled close to him. His eyes were inexorably drawn to this raven-haired child, his son.

“Pa.”

“Yes, Adam.”

“I can’t find the North Star tonight.”

“Remember what I said?”

The child’s face – lit by the glow of the firelight – scoonched up in concentration. “Point the wagons toward it and in the morning you’ll always know which way is north.”

“That’s right. Now just let your eyes follow their direction and you’ll find it.”

Ben watched with rapt attention as the dark hazel eyes probed the velvety darkness. For six years now this splendid little being, so much like his mother in so many ways, had been his. He had watched the child grow into a son to be proud of. Through the trials, perils and depravations that had brought them to this point the boy never complained never wavered never let his father down. What was asked of him rarely had to be asked more than once. Ben knew that in many ways his son was a typical little boy, but in many ways he was anything but. His arm pulled the small body still closer but Adam showed little notice as he diligently searched for the elusive star.

Inger Cartwright watched father and son as she stood at the camp fire, her slender hands wrapped about a tin cup of coffee and the orange radiance lighting her delicate features and casting gold in her already golden hair. Evenings spent beneath the sparkling canopy were leant greater magic by the closeness of this man she called ‘husband’ and his son. The boy may not have been of her but she loved him as much as if he had been. He called her ‘mama’ and came to her as much as he did his father. She took a sip but her gentle blue eyes never left them. They were her family and she theirs and soon it would grow. She rested one hand against her belly and felt the baby kick inside her and it gave her such pleasure.

“I found it, Pa!” Adam said with a near squeal of delight. “See?”

Ben’s eyes followed the small pointing finger to the glittering particle in the ebon sky. “Yes, son, you certainly did, and now that you’ve done that I think it’s time to go to bed.”

“Ah, Pa, do I havta now?”

“Yes, you do,” Ben said as he got up, bringing the boy with him. “We have to get an early start in the morning, and we won’t have time to wait on sleepy headed young men who stayed up too late. Now you go on and we’ll be right along.”

“All right, Pa.”

Ben watched as the youngster trotted off and disappeared into the back of the wagon.

“He is indeed a fine boy,” Inger said in her pleasant Swedish accent as she stepped next to Ben.

“Yes, he is.”

She proffered him her cup, and he took it and drank from it as she held his arm.

“Ben, are we so very far behind?”

“I don’t think so, but we do need to keep moving as quickly as we can or we will be.”

“And you think we will make it in time?”

She could see by his expression that maybe he wasn’t so sure, but she knew he didn’t want to worry her. He looked around at her and now she could be certain of it.

“We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” he said and let his arm steal around her as he continued working on the coffee. He had all the riches that any man could strive for even though he was not a wealthy man by the standards of many and even below a pauper by others. Ben Cartwright felt himself to have more treasure than King Midas could ever attain to, and it fulfilled him beyond what he had ever been able to imagine.

*******

As Ben settled down for the night in the wagon bed and took Inger in his arms, he could feel his son huddle close to his back. Since a tiny baby, Adam had never been far from his father when bedtime came, and then Inger had entered into their lives. She had brightened what had been an otherwise gloomy existence and now she was mother to his son and would be to this baby that was on the way. Ben reached behind his back and felt a small hand take it in a firm grip.

“Good night, Adam,” Ben said gently without looking back.

“Good night, Pa…. Good night, Mama.”

“Good night, Adam,” she said and scooted closer to Ben.

His arm tightened around her as she nuzzled her head against his neck, and he squeezed his son’s hand as the night revolved around them. Tomorrow would bring them that much closer to his dream, but it could be not better than this.

*******
Ben stood at the grave clutching the brim of his in his hands, a simple wooden cross made of two tree branches tied together at the other end. Ben’s heart had been twisted from his body a second time. Twice tragedy so wrenching as to be incomprehensible had befallen him. He had been fortunate enough, where most men were lucky to only find one, to find two women that he could and did love, and both had been taken from him before even a year had passed.

A soft gentle hand slipped into his and clutched his fingers. “Pa,” came like a feather, and he looked around into those soulful hazel eyes. Something alight there spoke to him and sought to tell him that things would be right again. How hard that was to believe, but those eyes made it almost believable, almost plausible, and he did want to believe, but now he simply couldn’t. He wanted to reassure his son, but how could he because he had no reassurances for himself?

He looked back to the forlorn grave of his second wife and felt the weight of the world bearing down upon him as if to crush him beneath its burden. “Inger, dear Inger.”

Returning his hat to his head he turned to Mrs. Bradley and took his baby son – his and Inger’s son – from her and started off with his boys. So much had happened in the last few days, but he had never, in his wildest dreams, dreamt that it would come to this. As before he had an infant son to rear without his mother, but this time Adam would be there to help, Adam would be there to comfort. What would he do without Adam?

*******

That night he couldn’t bear to get into the wagon, not without his Inger, not without the one that had lifted him from his despair and now was gone as well. His arms would be so empty, his life so vacant without her. He felt so alone, so alienated, so separated from everyone. He held his hands out in front of him and – through the tears that burned like the most corrosive of acids – he could see her blood on them again. They balled into tight, hard fists in an effort to wash that dreadful red stain from them but to no avail.

The others in the train had been by to give their sympathies and platitudes but Ben hadn’t been too receptive, though he knew they meant well. But how could anything anyone said help now in the deepest pit of his heartache, how could anything possibly be of any solace?

As he stood there, his mind in another place and time, he felt a light touch on his arm, and at first it didn’t register, but then came that mild voice. He finally looked down into that dark face and instead of love and consolation something snapped and burned. “What’re you doing out here?” he growled low and menacingly.

“When’re you comin’ to bed, Pa?”

Ben’s hand telescoped out, and he grabbed the boy’s arm with the grip of a vise. “I told you not to leave your brother alone. Don’t you ever listen?” and he gave him a fierce jerk, bringing the child’s heels off the ground.

Through his own he couldn’t see the pain – tinged with fear – that streaked through the boy’s eyes.

“Now let’s go back, and if anything’s happened to him I’ll wail you for the rest of the night.” He turned his son roughly and they climbed into the back of the wagon.

With a hard shove he pushed Adam to the other side of the wagon bed. “Now sit there.” He turned to his other son. Erik, a big baby for all of two weeks old, lay wrapped in his blankets without a sound. He was good-natured that didn’t cry much, but when he did it was serious business.

Ben gathered him up and gave the first trace of a smile that he had worn since yesterday. Things had been so mixed up and harried, what with missing their connection at the station and then the Indian attack that had taken his Inger from him. He rubbed his hand tenderly over the few strands of blond hair atop the baby’s head and felt something come to life inside him.

His eyes rose to where his other son sat huddled – his arms about his knees – as his father had told him and didn’t move. The child had made a mistake, a small infraction of the rules, and Ben had landed on and chastised him all out pf proportion. He was hurting in his soul, but there was no reason to take it out on the boy, after all, he had just lost the only mother he’d ever known, and he had to be in pain too. Extending one arm out in front of him, the hardness left Ben’s eyes. “Come to me. Come to me, son.”

After a moment’s hesitation the boy crawled forward and did as he’s been told. Ben put his arm around him and pulled him close and kissed the top of his child’s head. “I’m sorry, Adam. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I shouldn’t have scolded you like that.”

“It’s all right, Pa,” the boy said timidly. “I understand.”

“Maybe you do, but that doesn’t make it right, and I’m sorry…. I love you, Adam.”

“I love you too, Pa, and I miss Mama.”

“I know you do, son…, so do I. Now try to get some sleep.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Well, you can try.”

His arm pressed the six-year-old closer, and he felt the dark head rest against his chest. Once, in grief, he had turned away his oldest son, he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

SIX

Ben enjoyed his life on his ranch, hard and grueling though it could be, but he just had to get away. He loved his three sons desperately, but he just had to get away. He could see that Adam, as accorded his more sensitive nature, was having problems, but he just had to get away.

It had been hardly over two weeks since the terrible accident that had taken his beloved Marie from him. Three times, it had happened to him three times. Elizabeth, Inger and now Marie. What had he done that this should be loosed upon him that three wonderful women had been taken from him?

He settled down in the saddle and tugged his hat down in front. He didn’t exactly know where he would go; he just knew that he had to get away. He had left home two days before and – being in no big hurry – he hadn’t gone so terribly far. He had thought that he would want to distance himself from what lay behind him as swiftly as possible but it wasn’t turning out that way.

A sharp breath rattled through him as he raised his tormented eyes to the growing dusk. The sky reminded him much of the way it did on the day his Elizabeth was buried, sullen and foreboding. Why was it that whenever a man thought things could get no better something like this came along and changed everything? Was this the price of being too self-assured, too certain? It didn’t matter why; it hurt the same whatever the reason.

He trusted the big blue roan he rode and let him pretty much have his head. Without any real thought behind it he reached out and patted the animal’s neck then sat back and closed his eyes.

In the darkness he saw images of his home, his wives, and his sons. He had so much, maybe too much, and maybe that was why Marie had been taken as it had been with Inger and Elizabeth. As his thoughts settled into the steady, rhythmic clop of the horse’s hooves one face became clearer and seemed to imprint itself on his mind. Adam, now eighteen, had grown into a tall, straight, earnest youth that at times took things too seriously. He had been with his father since that first black day back in 1830 and had always been there. He had been a child when they had lost Inger and he’d never known his mother, but this time things were different. He had fought against Marie at every turn at first, and Ben had feared that he would resent the little brother she had presented him with but – thank all the stars in Heaven – that was not to be. He doted on both his brothers and was fiercely protective of them. Fool was the person who harmed or laid hand to either of them. And after Joseph’s birth things had changed between him and his stepmother, and he had learned to truly love her. Ben didn’t know what had brought about the change and Adam had remained closemouthed as a clam about it, and when he questioned Marie she would simply smile and say ‘He is my son’ then change the subject. It didn’t matter, though, a bond had been formed and now that bond had been broken and his son was suffering for it. And the boy was having self doubts and upbraiding himself. Ben had tried talking him out of such notions until he was blue, but he had seen that it was to no avail. That was when he had realized that he needed to escape. He could still hear the harsh words exchanged between him and his oldest son as he was preparing to leave.

“But Pa, why do you have to go anywhere to think? Why can’t you do it here with us? Here with those who love you?”

“Because I need to get away from the memories for a while,” Ben said as he tugged the cinch around his horse’s belly without looking at his son.

“You mean you need to get away from me. Isn’t that really it?”

Ben had whirled on him, eyes ablaze. “No, that’s not it. I told you why, and if you choose not to believe it then there’s nothing I can do about it. Now go back into the house with your brothers.”

“No, Pa, I’m gonna stand out here until you’re gone.”

“I said, go into the house!” Ben stormed as he gave him a push.

“No, Pa, I won’t make it that easy on you,” Adam said as he came right back to his father. “You’re gonna have to ride away knowing that I’m standing right here watching you.”

Ben’s blood came to boil and without a second’s hesitation his right hand raised but he instantly froze. His pulse ran wildly and his throat closed. For the first time in his life he came close to striking a son in the face, something he vowed he would never do. His gaze roved over his boy standing there firm and resolute and stubborn as a Missouri mule. No further words were to be exchanged, then, after several seconds of dead silence between them; Ben slipped his foot into the stirrup, mounted, then wheeled the horse and headed off. And Adam, true to his word, stood right there and watched him go. This Ben knew because he looked back, and he would never forget the look of utter desolation in that usually bright, intelligent face.

With a jerk his head came up, and his eyes flew open. “Why did you leave your son? Why did you leave him like that?” he said half to himself as his hand clenched on the reins. “And what about Joe and Hoss?”

He reined in and looked back in the direction he had come, and his mind ran frantically. The September nights came quickly and darkness would soon be upon him and it was too late to start back now. Tonight he would make camp, but first thing in the morning he would head back home. His sons were there, they needed their father, and he needed to be with them.

*******

Chet Tussler had been riding hot on the heels of Ben Cartwright in an attempt to catch him since the previous day. His horse was worn out, he was worn out, and he was beginning to wonder if he would accomplish what he’d set out to do. Time was desperate and urgent without any to spare, and for all he knew it was already too late.

*******

Ben had found a cutout in the rock that would be a perfect spot for the night. Trees sheltered it from the elements and probing eyes and provided a good haven. The big roan had been unsaddled and tethered in such a manner that he could crop grass without the danger of his wandering off. Between Piautes and Shoshones, Ben decided to make a cold camp, something of which he wasn’t any too fond, but it was better than losing his scalp.

Sitting down and leaning back against a dead log he began rummaging through the right pouch of his saddlebags. There was just enough light left to see what he was doing and it would soon be gone, so best do what he had to now. He fished around until he came out with the muslin drawstring bag that held his supply of venison jerky. It wasn’t hash or some of Hop Sing’s wonderful stew, but it would have to do. And he would have to wash it down with water since coffee was out of the question. Taking two strips he put the rest back then went over and eased down against his upturned saddle. It would probably be cold as whiz tonight and it would hold in his body heat.

The thought of seeing his sons hit him fair as he tore off his first bite. For the first time since riding out, the thought of them took some of the heartsickness away. Why hadn’t this happened before he abandoned them? No matter, in a short while he would be with them again.

As he sat there thinking of them the snapping of a twig caught him in mid-chew, and he went deathly still. The last shafts of light were coming through the boughs of the trees, and he hoped it was enough to see if anyone came in on him. Stealthily, his hand lowered and slid the pistol from his coat, and he prayed he wouldn’t have to use it. As the horse and rider flashed into sight Ben knew instantly who it was. “Chet,” he said cautiously. “Chet Tussler.”

In a few seconds the man rode into camp, and Ben came to his feet, the jerky long forgotten and the gun still ready for use.

“Chet, what’re you doing out here?”

“Lookin’ for you, Mr. Cartwright,” Chet said as he alit and tied his horse to some brush. “And I was beginnin’ to think I wasn’t goin’ to.”

“Trying to fine me?” In less than a second Ben went white as milk. “Chet, what is it?”

Ben’s eyes were riveted to the man as he took his hat off and ruffled his straight ebony hair.

“There’s been an accident, Mr. Cartwright.”

Ben’s gun hand dropped at his side as a steel hand grasped his throat. “My sons,” he was barely able to rasp.

“Only one…. Adam.”

Ben felt like he had just been punched in the gut as all the air left his lungs. “He’s not…”

“No, Mr. Cartwright, he ain’t dead. Hurt pretty bad though.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t rightly know. That first night after you left he slipped outta the house while everybody was asleep and lit out on ol’ Whirlwind.”

“That hellion?”

“Yessir, and we didn’t even know he was gone ‘til the next mornin’. Hop Sing couldn’t find ‘im in the house and the horse was standin’ at the barn still saddled. We looked all over the place and couldn’t find ‘im so we took out lookin’.” A smile spread his genial mouth. “Those other two of yours wanted to come with us but we said they best stay home in case he come back.”

“Where did you find him?”

“Out by Coyote Canyon layin’ in some rocks. From what we could tell it looked like he was ridin’ pretty hard and the horse most likely stumbled in the dark. I sent Britt for the doc while me and Till took ‘im home.”

Ben swallowed back the stifling fear that closed in on him. “You said it was bad…. How bad?”

Chet’s indigo eyes briefly flicked away as his long fingers tightened on his hat. “He got banged up a might, and he hit his head when he fell…. The doc said he should be awake but he ain’t…, he just lays there. That’s why Hop Sing sent me after you.”

Abruptly, Ben began readying his horse.

“What’re you doin’, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Going home to my sons.”

“That ain’t such a good idea. The light’s nigh gone, and it’ll soon be pitch dark.”

But Ben paid him no mind as he tossed the blanket onto the big roan’s back.

“Mr. Cartwright,” Chet said as he grabbed his arm and ominous, piercing eyes turned on him, “it ain’t gonna do your boy no good if you go and kill yourself in the dark. Now you need to just settle down and get some rest and we’ll head out at first light.”

Ben knew he was right but the thought of staying away from his son and not knowing if he was still alive was unbearable. “All right,” he said tonelessly then sat down on the log with a hard thud, his empty eyes fixed ahead in the growing murkiness, and he saw his oldest.

With a shudder he leaned his head forward against one hand. In his anguish he had selfishly run away with no other thought but of himself, and his oldest son had been badly injured. “Please, Dear Lord, don’t take my son too,” ran through his mind as the tears broke past his thick lashes.

SEVEN

It had been another day before Ben and Chet made it back to the single story log house. There were two bedrooms – one for him, later Marie, and one for the boys – on either side of the fair-sized parlor and a kitchen. A small alcove had been added to the latter room for Hop Sing a bed and a place to keep his personal belongings. Nothing fancy, but it was comfortable and the family called it home. Now Ben had never been so glad to see it since he had built it.

While Chet took care of the horses Ben dashed for the house. Throwing the front door back, he stopped the second he saw his younger sons. “Pa,” came as music to his ears as they rushed at him.

“Pa, we were afraid Chet wouldn’t find you,” six-year-old Joe said, his deep emerald eyes set on his father.

“Well, he did, and now I’m home,” Ben said as his arms hugged around them. “How’s your brother?”

“He ain’t doin’ so good, Pa,” twelve-year-old Hoss said glumly. “He ain’t moved since Chet an’ Till brought ‘im home.”

As Ben stood holding Joe and Hoss, Hop Sing appeared from the kitchen at the back of the house, his round young face aglow like a candle as he saw the elder Cartwright. “Mr. Cartlight, Chet find you,” he said as he came forward drying his hands on his apron.

“Yes, Hop Sing, he found me, but only barely.” Ben stepped free of his sons and went to the little cook. “Adam still isn’t awake?”

“No,” and the braid swished across his back as he shook his head, “it like him not want to wake up. We talk to him but it like him not listen. I wollied. Him been so diffelent since Missy Malie die.”

“I know, Hop Sing, but I’m home now, and I’m not going anywhere.” He threw a docile grin back at his boys. “I’m going to see him now, he in his room?”

“Yes, boys move into you and Missy’s loom.”

With a pat on the little man’s arm Ben headed for the bedroom on the right.

Quietly, the door opened, and Ben stepped inside, and his heart sank the second he saw his son. Adam was lying in the middle of the big bed where his brothers slept, motionless and pale with a white bandage swathed about his head and his long arms at his sides. His eyes darted down to Adam’s small cot against the wall by the doorway. “Like a trustworthy watch dog,” he said under his breath.

Pushing the door lightly together Ben moved to the side of the bed, his footfalls hardly audible. With the gentlest of touches, he reached out and tenderly stroked the heavy black hair then ran his fingertips over the purple bruise on his son’s right cheekbone. “Adam,” he said softly, “it’s Pa, I’m home.” Still Adam didn’t move. “I’m home and I’m not going to leave you?”

His boy lay like death had already seized him in its grip and it frightened him to see Adam so still. Ben pulled the old rocker that had belonged to Inger to the side of the bed. It squeaked as he sat down in it and it brought back fond memories of sitting in it with a son in his lap and reading or telling stories.

“Adam, I’m home son, and I’m not going to leave you again.” He could feel the emotion building inside him, and he had to fight to hold it back. “I’m sorry, son, this is all my fault. I was so wrapped up in my own pain I couldn’t see yours…. You’ve always been there for me, but one of the times when you need me so desperately I saddle up and take off…. I feel like I’m the reason you’re like this, like I let you and your brothers down.” Then he took one of the dark hands and clasped it between both of his and pressed it to his lips. “Oh, Adam, don’t leave me. I couldn’t stand to loose you too.” He held the dear hand to his cheek and wept to himself.

*******

The sun had long since gone down and the house was quiet and subdued. The usual laughter of boys was absent and had been since the untimely death of Marie Cartwright and now, with the pall of death once again hanging over it, things were even more so.

Supper had come and gone and Ben had steadfastly refused to leave his son’s side. He had touched scant little of what Hop Sing had brought as he continued his quiet vigil. Hands in his lap, the creaking of the ancient chair filled the room as his eyes remained on his son. The chair suddenly stopped, and Ben came to his feet. Throwing back the covers, with loving care he gathered his son, who had grown nearly as tall as he, into his arms. He looked into that calm, peaceful face and felt the love surge through his heart. The chair groaned under the combined weight as he sat back down and began to rock. Adam’s head rested against his father’s shoulder, and his legs hung almost to the floor, his toes less than an inch above the wooden planks. Ben hadn’t held his son this way in what seemed like forever and it felt good.

“You’re getting too big to hold this way,” Ben said with a grin tipped with sadness. “Before long you’ll be taller than I am, and then where’ll we be?” He put the side of his face against his son’s head and felt the heavy hair. “The next time I do something stupid like riding out on my sons when they need me I want somebody to pick up the nearest board and hit me with it. I’ve done some addlebrained things in my life, but that has to be the worst. Of course, I loved Marie, she was my wife for seven years…, but she was mother to my sons, and they loved her too.” The burn returned to his eyes. “You tried telling me that I needed to be here with those who love me, but I just couldn’t hear it at the time.” He snorted lightly. “It’s eye-opening when the son knows more than the father…. I should’ve listened…, I wish I had listened. Maybe then… you wouldn’t be like this…. I’m sorry, son. I’m so very sorry I didn’t listen.”

His arms tightened about his child as he recalled the black-haired little boy that helped him drive the wagon on their way to their new home, and it made him smile. But it soon died away and anguish replaced it as his eyes clamped together. “I love you, son.”

*******

The rocking continued on into the late hours – having never once stopped – and Ben’s legs had grown stiff with the exertion but he wouldn’t quit, not until his son woke up, and he simply couldn’t let himself believe that he wouldn’t.

Long around midnight the endless rocking had ceased and Ben, though he had fought it hard, had fallen asleep. His head, the black hair now streaked with silver, rested back against the chair, but his arms were still about his son.

Gradually, Ben became aware of a soft sound like the stirring of a breeze through the pines and it gently pulled him from sleep.

“Pa.”

Ben looked down at the head still resting against his shoulder and found himself looking into weary hazel eyes and felt his heart leap. “Adam.”

“Pa…, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

He tried keeping his eyes open but Ben could see that it was taking great effort.

“Mother… Inger… Marie…. If it hadn’t been for me… they would still…”

“No, Adam, you had nothing to do with it.”

“Mother…, I killed…”

“I won’t hear such foolishness. Your mother loved you before you were even born. I remember right before we lost her, she said ‘How sweet his face is.’ I could see how much she worshiped you, and if you could ask her I know she’d say that she would willingly do it all over again even knowing that she would die. And Inger and Marie loved you as much as if you were their given child, and you had nothing to do with what happened to them.”

“But I loved them.”

“Unfortunately, we sometimes lose those we love, it’s a sad part of living and there’s not always anything we can do about it, but that’s simply the way it is.” A gentle smile turned Ben’s full mouth and the lamplight glimmered in his eyes. “Now you go back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Ben watched as his son’s heavy lids drifted down and the thick, black lashes rested against his cheeks. “It’s all right, son, everything’s going to be all right. It’ll never be like it was, but it’ll be all right… in time.” Then his eyes closed and a single tear ran down to drip from his chin, and he said a prayer of thanks for the life that hadn’t been taken from him.

EIGHT

“Come on, Pa, we’re gonna be late!” twelve-year-old Joe shouted from the parlor.

Ben was all in a dither as he fussed with his tie. He’d been fiddling with the things for close to forty years, and he knew how it was done, but this one seemed to defy him at every turn. Maybe it wasn’t necessary, but this was a special day, and he wanted to look special.

The bedroom door opened and Joe poked his dark curly head inside. “Havin’ trouble?” he asked as he stepped in.

“Oh, this thing won’t behave,” he said as he glanced at his son then turned back to the mirror, still fumbling with the narrow piece of maroon silk. “Whatever I want it to do, it doesn’t. I do believe it has a mind of its own,”

“Well, you don’t have to wear it. Adam won’t mind.”

“Maybe, but my son is coming home today, and I want to dress for the special occasion that it is.” He gave Joe a quick glance. “You look very nice, Joe. Where’s Hoss.” He continued struggling with the blasted thing, and his frustration was building.

“He’s out in the barn helping Lucias get the buckboard ready.”

“Well, you go see that he doesn’t get dirty while I finish here.”

“All right, Pa,” Joe said and raced back out.

What sons he had been blessed with, and today his oldest was coming home after being away at college. It had been four endless years since Ben had seen his first-born son, and he was having trouble containing his excitement. Maybe that was why he couldn’t tie this durned tie. “Ahh,” he spat as he jerked the bow loose and tried again.

*******

The two-seated buckboard clattered over the rough imitation of a road, Hoss driving since Ben hadn’t trusted himself to keep from heading them off a precipice. They were finally on their way, and they were running late, thanks to that self thinking tie, and Ben feared they wouldn’t get there in time. The thought of Adam cooling his heels in some dusty building agitated him unmercifully. He wanted to be waiting when the coach pulled in. He wanted to see his son step down and know that he was home. Thoughts of what he would look like after so long and how he looked the day he left roiled around in Ben’s fevered brain. “My son is coming home, my son is coming home,” danced through his head like ballerinas.

The time continued its slow, lethargic drag as they went on through the splendid countryside that Ben didn’t see. Joe and Hoss talked like keyed up magpies but Ben heard little and his answers – when they came – were little more than grunts and blunt ‘uh-huhs’.

“I see it, Pa,” Joe said merrily as he turned in his seat to his father sitting behind him. “We’re almost there.”

This didn’t go unnoticed as Ben sat straighter. The inside of his stomach felt like it was being assaulted by a barrage of dragonflies, their wings all fluttering at once. His eyes strained to see if the coach was there, but they were still too far away.

“Hoss, whip ‘em a little faster,” Ben said as his fingernails dug into the top of the front seat.

“All right, Pa.” With the flick of the whip, which Hoss allowed to touch their rumps just enough to sting a little, the horses picked up speed.

“Weeee!” Joe squealed with utter glee as the wind filled his face, and he had to hold his hat on. “We’re comin’, Adam!”

Eagle Station was a trading post and small ranch. On occasion the stage stopped here to disgorge itself of its infrequent passengers to this neck of the woods and today it would be bringing Adam Cartwright back to his family.

Ben checked his watch as they rattled in. It was twelve-thirty in the afternoon and the stage was due in half an hour ago. His eyes ran ahead of them as he tried to see if the conveyance had gotten there yet.

“There it is,” Hoss said as he began slowing the team.

Sure enough, parked in front of the post was the stage. Adam was already here, and his father had missed it, but, no importance, soon there would be a reunion and nothing else was of any concern.

They pulled in on the other side of the big vehicle, and Joe hopped out first, his warm green eyes glittering in the sunshine. Hoss was next and tethered the horses to the branch of a nearby tree. Ben was last, and he couldn’t remember when he had been so excited. He tugged at his coat and gave his tie one last adjustment. “All right, boys, let’s go get your brother.”

Joe and Hoss, in their youthful enthusiasm, got there ahead of their father, but they waited and let him go inside first. They were instantly assailed with the scents of muslin, gunpowder, whiskey and tanned leather and the floor creaked beneath their feet. Standing at a counter – their backs to them – was a tall man in a brown coat and trousers and a woman in a dark green traveling suit and yellow bonnet. A husky man with sandy blond hair was off to a corner talking to one of the proprietors.

“I don’t see ‘im,” Joe said with a touch of disappointment.

“You don’t spose for some reason he didn’t come?” Hoss asked as he turned to his father.

Ben felt panic come into his chest as a rising tide would to swamp the shore. What if his son hadn’t come? What if he had changed his mind or – Heaven forbid – something had happened to him? “Wait here,” he said to his sons then went to the two men involved in discussion. He was just about to ask them about a third passenger when a rich baritone came up behind him and he turned. Before him stood a slim, black-haired young man in a brown Eastern suit, and Joe and Hoss, wearing the broadest of grins, were standing on either side of him. Ben looked over to the counter where the lady was now standing alone. “Adam?”

“Hi, Pa,” Adam said as he held out his right hand.

He reached out and gripped it more for reassurance that his boy was really there, and that he wasn’t only seeing what he wanted to. “Adam, I didn’t recognize you. I didn’t even recognize my own son.” The tear-misted eyes roamed over the lithe frame, long limbed and more handsome than Ben recalled.

Adam Cartwright was maybe an inch or so taller than Ben but build and coloring, along with a few other attributes, he had inherited from him. He more closely resembled his father than either of his brothers, though it wasn’t difficult seeing mother in certain features, movements and gestures.

Ben had always heard that a man gave no outward display of emotion in public lest it weaken him in other’s eyes, but right now he didn’t care. He threw his arms around his son and held him for one lingering, glorious minute. “Welcome home, son.”

“It’s good to be home, Pa.”

Ben stood back and held him at arm’s length. “Let me get a good, long look at you,” he said and shook his head. “It’s no wonder I didn’t recognize you. I still remember the twenty-year-old and, at that age, a man can change a lot in four years.” His face brightened with a mischievous grin. “I once told you not to get any taller, but you didn’t listen.”

“Did you really expect me to?” Adam asked as the characteristic eyebrow rose.

“No, son, I guess I didn’t.”

Adam put his arms around his brothers’ shoulders and pulled them close. “And I can see it didn’t work with these two either. Like a couple of weeds.”

“Who’re you callin’ a weed?” Joe asked with mock indignation and half a frown.

“You, buddy,” Adam said and teasingly punched him in the arm then he went serious and his voice lowered. “You forgive me for leaving?”

“I’m all grown up now,” Joe said with a cocky tilt of his head, “and it’d be stupid to be mad.”

“That’s right, buddy, it would. Now,” and he picked up his valise and turned back to his father, “I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m ready to go home.”

“I think we all are,” Ben said as he got between his two oldest sons.

“And you can tell us what was it like living in Boston,” Joe said as he bounced around in front of his oldest brother.

“There’s a lot we need to fill each other in on,” Adam said as he tousled his little brother’s already unruly hair then turned his eyes to his father. “Right, Pa?”

“That’s right, son. Now we’d better get going, Hop Sing won’t wait on us forever.”

“An’ I’m hungry as a bear,” Hoss said as he rubbed his stomach.

“Well, it’s nice to know that some things haven’t changed while I’ve been away.”

Ben couldn’t help his laugh running away with him, Adam was back and he felt like he could float away. Together they trouped outside, once again a family.

*******

The trip home hadn’t been so harried and it had been the perfect opportunity for the family to get reacquainted. Hop Sing had shown off his culinary talents by putting on the best feed he ever had. Roast duck with sage and rice stuffing and fried rabbit as well as a multitude of summer vegetables and wild greens followed by one of Adam’s favorites, chocolate cake, had left men full and satisfied. Afterward Joe and Hoss had gotten involved in a rousing game of checkers. Ben enjoyed watching the different ways Joe would cheat and so far Hoss hadn’t caught him at it, though he had been suspicious a few times.

Quietly, the front door opened and Ben looked around as his oldest son slipped outside into the approaching night. With a glance back at Joe and Hoss, who were beginning to bicker, he got up from his chair and followed Adam outside.

“Until right this minute, I didn’t know I missed this so much,” Adam said as his father came to stand next to him. “That’s not to say that I didn’t like it in the city though.”

“Would you go back?”

“I might someday, but for now I’m home with my family, and that’s enough. And, besides, it’s time for me to start taking my part in the running of the ranch.”

“And I have plenty for you to do.”

“I’m sure of that. I mean, it has been four years. Things can really pile up in that length of time.”

For several minutes they said nothing and simply stood and watched as the light gradually grew fainter.

“You know, Pa, I’ve been thinking that this house is smaller than I remember.”

“Well, it’s done all right by us.”

“Yes, it has, and you’ll get no complaints from me, but with all five of us under one roof we need something bigger. Hoss is grown and Joe soon will be and a man needs room to spread out. I thought that I could use what I learned in college and design a new one, subject to your approval, of course.”

“Of course.”

Adam’s arm went around his father’s shoulders. “It sure is good to be home again.”

Ben basked in the warm glow that his son’s nearness radiated. The family was all together again and Ben Cartwright had to be the happiest man in the world.

NINE

Ben followed Hoss blindly into the big roughhewn log house, unaware that his youngest son was the only thing holding him upright. His legs moved liked leaden weights as the sad procession went up the stairs and down the hall to Adam’s room where Hoss placed the limp, lifeless body of his oldest brother on the bed. Curiosity having drawn him from the kitchen, Hop Sing now stood in the doorway, the tail of his apron clutched in his fists and tears pooling in his obsidian eyes.

Ben watched but didn’t really see as Hoss put the bandana back over what should have been his oldest son’s face. With a jerk, Ben wrenched away from Joe’s grasp and went to the bedside. What lay before him was a sight he didn’t want to see, but nothing he could do would change it. “Get out,” he said more as a low growl.

“Pa,” Hoss said as he touched his father’s arm.

“I said get out!” Ben roared as he whirled on them. “Leave us alone!” Then he turned back to the bed, never really cognizant of when they left. “Adam.” His hand trembled as he touched one of the motionless arms. Suddenly, he sank to his knees on the hard floor. “Please don’t let this be happening. If You must take him then take me too. I can’t go on, not like this.” His weeping ran freely and saturated the room and everything in it. His head fell forward against the soft mattress, and his fingers tightened in the comforter. His life and his world had just ended and nothing would ever be worth it again.

*******

The light coming through the window had turned gray as Ben sat in the chair, his red rimmed eyes locked on the still, faceless form of his first-born child. The crying had long since abated leaving only deathly silence that even the outside world couldn’t penetrate.

Never in his life had anything felt like this. When he had lost his wives, when he had lost his parents, he had been able to see their faces and see the peace, but not now. Now all he saw was violence and brutality, and he couldn’t convince himself that his son was at rest. Gone were those dark eyes that sparked with intelligence and the occasional glint of mischief. Gone was that fine mouth, Elizabeth’s mouth, which would pull into a pucker at times of deep concentration or frustration. Gone was his son’s face and it tortured Ben Cartwright to the very core of his existence. Gone was a good part of his own life and – without his oldest son – he didn’t want to fight for what was left.

He wanted to get up, to hold his son close to him for what would be the last time, but he feared what he would feel when his did. A cold, empty shell devoid of the warmth and love and compassion that made his son alive was all that was there.

His hand came to his mouth and his eyes stung as he visualized an energetic, vibrant boy running through the tall grass of the prairie, the trim, straight young man that he met that day so long ago at Eagle Station. Then came the tiny black-haired bundle, and he held his arms out in front of him as if holding his baby again, and for a second he saw those clear, direct blue eyes. “Son,” he said softly.

With a whimper, he fell against his legs and the quiet weeping started up all over again. And so intense was his grief that he didn’t hear the light knock at the door or Joe’s ‘Pa’ from the other side.

*******

Ben sat in the big wing chair, Hoss standing next to him with a firm hand resting on his father’s shoulder, but he didn’t feel it. The coffee eyes were riveted to the scene playing out before him as some of the ranch hands lowered his son’s body into the coffin , which Joe and Chris McCutcheon had brought back from the undertaker’s the day before. He had been left in his usual black clothing since this was how they remembered him best and because Ben wouldn’t allow them back into the room until the issue was forced. The dust and dirt had been lovingly wiped away by Hop Sing, who had replaced the bandana with a clean, white handkerchief and combed his hair.

As the lid was fastened into place Ben could feel the intense desire to make them stop filling him to the point of bursting. His son wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be.

Carefully, the men carried the coffin from the room but Ben’s attention stayed focused on the bed.

“Come on, Pa,” Hoss said gently, “it’s time to go.”

“No,” Ben snarled through a thick film of alcohol, “I don’t want to.”

“Pa, Adam has to leave, and we need to go with him as far as we can,” Joe said as he got on the other side of his father. “Now Hoss is right, it’s time to go.”

“No!”

Joe leaned closer to his brother and spoke into his ear. “I don’t think it’ll hurt anything for him to stay here while we take… take care of things downstairs.”

“I guess you’re right, an’ I can come back for him.”

They got as far as the doorway, and Hoss stopped and let his head droop.

“You all right, Hoss?” Joe asked as he rubbed his brother’s arm up and down.

“No, Joe, I ain’t, an’ I ain’t likely to ever be again.” He took a deep, hard breath and the wounded blue eyes came around, first to Joe then to their father. “An’ I know for danged sure he won’t never be.”

“Then I guess that makes four of us,” Joe said as he gave Hoss a pat.

“Yeah,” Hoss said as a faint smile came to his lips, “we cain’t forgit about Hop Sing.”

“That’s right – now let’s go make sure that Adam is properly taken care of.”

“All right, Joe.”

With a last look at their father as he sat buried in his own torment and lost to those around him they went out and quietly closed the door.

*******

The door to Adam’s room slammed behind Ben as he gave it a vicious push. Still impaired from his drinking bout as he readied himself for the funeral, he held a full decanter of brandy clutched in his hand. He pulled the stopper out and gave it a savage throw across the room where it broke against the wall. Putting the intricately cut glass vessel to his lips he took a hard slug of the liquor and it burned his throat and made his already bloodshot eyes water. “Adam,” he said as he stared at the now empty bed. “Why did you leave me, son? Why would anybody want to take you away from me?”

Tentatively, he stepped forward and ran his fingertips over the smooth wood of the footboard. His other hand clenched on the neck of the decanter, and he took another swig then went to the chair and practically fell into it.

“Pa?” asked that sweet child’s voice that he hadn’t heard for so long.

“Yes, son,” he answered aloud without realizing that he had.

“When can I come home? I miss you and Joe and Hoss and Hop Sing, and I don’t like it here.”

“Why, son?” he asked, still not knowing that he was talking.

“Because I don’t know anybody here. I can’t find my mothers and grandpa, and I want to come home.”

As he sat there, through the alcohol induced haze he could see his little boy. “Come to Papa, son. Come to me,” and he held his arms out to receive one he loved so much, but as he drew closer Adam dissolved like a small specter. “Nooo,” Ben said weakly and the crying started afresh.

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there remembering and hurting and becoming increasingly more intoxicated when he heard something downstairs that sounded like laughter. Pulling himself up, he unsteadily went to the door and opened it a crack. What he heard built a fire inside him that set off a fuse that ignited his rage and he burst out into the hall, the half empty decanter still clutched in his hand. As he came to the head of the stairs and saw them laughing the flames blazed up and intense fury built to an explosion.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he thundered, his words more slurred than ever.

The laughter stopped and everyone hushed and turned in his direction.

“My son’s lying dead in a hole and you’re laughing!”

He didn’t notice as Annie Lundberg came to the foot of the stairs or heard what she was saying to him, but he did see Paul Martin sitting in Adam’s favorite blue chair. “Get out of that chair, Paul! Nobody’s to sit in that chair!”

“Mr. Cartwright, won’t you…?” Annie started again but was quickly cut off.

“I won’t have it, you hear! Now I think you’d all better leave!” Then he whirled, never having noticed her or his own sons, and stomped back to Adam’s room and slammed the door harder than ever. “How dare them,” he said venomously and swayed over to the window. “How dare they laugh with you lying there in the ground....? Oh, son,” and his head fell forward against the glass pane with a thump, and his eyes closed. Nothing had any meaning anymore, and he wished he could die and be with those who had gone before him.

*******

It felt good having the spirited chestnut between his legs and to feel the power of the sinuous body as he galloped through what would have been a beautiful June day had it not been for the veil of grief that Ben saw it through. It had been four days since his son’s beloved Sport had been found by one of the hands at a dilapidated line shack and returned to them. For as long as he lived Ben would never forget that day and how he felt when he first saw the handsome creature in the barn.

Ben blinked hard and fought against the tears that were trying to blind him.

The animal was pretty much a one man horse, though he did respond well under Joe’s hand as he had when they thought they had lost Adam once before. This, however, was Ben’s first try at riding him and it made him appreciate his sons’ skill, for he was definitely a handful.

Sport tossed his head and his mane fluttered in the breeze. “Good boy,” Ben said as he patted him heartily on the neck. “Good boy.”

At the pace they were going it didn’t take long to reach the lush, peaceful spot overlooking the lake. As they stopped in the gray shade produced by the surrounding pines, Ben got down, gave him another pat then tethered him to a piece of scrub so he could crop grass. As he drew closer to the mound his heart and his breathing threatened to run away with him. Taking his hat off, as he stood at the foot of the grave his saddened eyes rose to the newly placed headstone. It was a fine marker though not worthy of the man who lay beneath it, but then could anything be?

“Good morning, son…. This is the first time I’ve been out her since… I’m sorry; I won’t let that happen again.” He was trying not to read the words etched deeply into the hard, unfeeling rock, for he knew he would be lost if he did. “Things aren’t the same without you and knowing that you won’t be back.” He let his eyelids drop. “I hope you found your mother…, all your mothers and your grandfather. It’s hard being alone in a strange place. I would’ve been alone when I first came here if it hadn’t been for you and Hoss.” He was trying to keep a right rein on himself in an effort not to break down completely. “This is so hard…. I don’t think I can do it. I know you would tell me that I just have to go on, but I don’t think I can, I don’t think…,” and his eyes came up and saw what he didn’t want to. Adam Stoddard Cartwright May 5 1830 – June 14 1864 Beloved son of Benjamin and Elizabeth. That was more than he could take. No words came, only sobs that rose to the heavens in waves of the purest despair a parent could experience. His son was gone and words were useless.

*******

Ben sat on the side of his own bed in his own room in a state of blessed exhaustion. For close to a month he had – in the belief that his oldest son had been brutally slain – simply let go. He had eaten very little, drunk too much, hardly left Adam’s room and neither bathed nor shaved nor cared. And at the grave site, he had finally given in to his baser side and, in lashing out at what he couldn’t fight, struck his youngest son in the face, for which he would be eternally ashamed. But tonight he was cleaned and freshly groomed and with a full belly and a full heart. Earlier that evening, Hoss had come into his self-imposed exile with news of the most wonderful, incredible kind. Joe had found their brother alive and was bringing him home. Adam was coming home, and Joe was coming with him, and Ben could hardly dare to believe it, yet, he knew that Hoss wouldn’t lie to him, especially over this. As he took a deep, cleansing breath, warmth and satisfaction and peace flooded him and sleep was becoming more and more appealing. At supper, he had eaten enough of Hop Sing’s delicious stew to kill him and it was working its magic. With a languid yawn, he could feel restful contentment settle in, and he couldn’t resist any longer.

Hoss was at the large dresser rummaging through the top drawers for a clean nightshirt to put his father into. “Ah-hah,” he said triumphantly as he came out with one in soft gray plaid cotton. “Now we’ll just…,” but as he turned around he saw no use in going on.

Ben had simply lay back on the bed; turned onto his side and drawn his legs up after him, and it didn’t take a genius to see that he was dead to the world. Hoss smiled with complete satisfaction. He hung the nightshirt over the footboard then brought the bedspread down from the pillows and tucked over his father, leaving only his head sticking out.

“Good night, Pa,” he whispered then left the room. As he stepped out into the hall Hop Sing was waiting for him.

“He alleady in bed?”

“He was asleep before I could git his nightshirt on ‘im. He’s plumb wore out, but I think he’ll be all right now.”

“He be all light, him have sons back.”

“Yeah,” Hoss said then he put an arm around Hop Sing’s shoulders. “Now let’s go on back down. I want some o’ that stew, if’n Pa left any.”

With a glance back toward his father’s room, Hoss started for the stairs with the little cook. Indeed, Pa had his son’s back, and Hoss knew that the man’s life was once again complete. But then the nagging of his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten supper yet, and he had to take care of the inner man. And tonight he knew that his food would taste better than it had in what seemed like forever, after all, Adam was alive and would soon be home and Joe would be with him.

TEN

It was hard to believe that it had been thirty-five years. Thirty-five years since that first night when he had looked down into the cradle where his sweet son lay. Thirty-five years since that wonderful creature had been deposited into his life and nothing would ever be the same again. And while he had given his heart twice more since then he had never regretted it once.

Ben stood in the open doorway looking out across the yard toward the barn. The hour was late as he savored his last cup of coffee of the day. Adam had gone to his room and his other two sons had gone to San Francisco. Ben couldn’t really spare them right now, but he had let them go because he had known their reason for going. Tomorrow would be their brother’s birthday and they had wanted to get him something special. They had been acting secretive and sly for about a week before leaving and – though they wouldn’t say why – he had guessed the reason and so had Adam. He didn’t say much but Ben had known him too long not to be able to decipher those knowing, dark hazel glances.

He took another sip as a puff of cool night air brushed over him but the hot coffee staved off a shiver.

Life was so full of gifts, but sometimes it was the most precious ones that went unnoticed, sometimes for the rest of a person’s time in this world. Ben had almost let that happen with his first-born. To this day, he lamented the time that had been lost because he had been too pig-headed stubborn to give in to what his heart and others were trying to tell him. And while many had attributed it to overwhelming grief Ben had credited shortsightedness and stupidity as the main causes.

This was a part of their relationship that Adam knew nothing about, Ben hadn’t told anyone, and, other than himself, the only ones who did were deceased or back in Boston, though the time his son spent there did concern him. But, since Adam hadn’t said anything, Ben figured he didn’t know, and Adam wouldn’t learn of his father’s shame.

“A beautiful evening,” the rich baritone said next to him as a strong hand gripped his shoulder.

“Yes, it is,” Ben said contentedly as he took another drag from his cup. “A bit on the chilly side, though.”

“As it always is no matter what the weather was like through the day. Swelter in daylight and freeze after dark.”

“This is true,” Ben said with a smirk.

Things went quite for several seconds then Ben turned back to his son.

“I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I was just about to but I wanted to check on you first.”

“Check on me?” Ben said with a grin.

“You must admit, Pa, that you’ve been awfully quiet for the past week and getting more so with each passing day. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong, I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking.”

“All right if I ask about what?”

“About a lot of things really, but I guess most about how you and I met.” Ben’s eyes took on a soft glow as he turned his attention back outside.

“And how we didn’t exactly hit it off?”

There was a long pause and only the rustle of a light breeze stirring in the tops of the trees made any comment as Ben’s head snapped around. His son knew though he couldn’t possibly. The knowledge must have come when he was in Boston attending college. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“All these years, don’t you think I’ve noticed things? You’ve gone out of your way for me maybe a little more than you have with Joe or Hoss; I guess I’m saying that you’ve cut me a little more slack.” He shook his head and let his arm slide across his father’s back. “And I don’t see it as you loving me more than them, because I know you don’t, though some people might see it that way…. It’s guilt, Pa, and for a while I couldn’t figure out guilt over what. Then in Boston it came to me, you blamed me for my mother’s death and all these years you’ve been trying to make up for it.”

He was right; someone had said something to his son. “Who told you?”

That devious, impish smile of his spread Adam’s finely sculpted mouth. “You just did.”

Ben felt as if an icy hand had just been brought across his face.

“There’s been no doubt in my mind,” Adam went on, “but you just confirmed it. You blamed me, maybe even hated me, and you’ve been trying to atone for your human frailty ever since.”

“Why haven’t you said something before this?”

“I don’t really know, but I do know it’s past time to set things right. Pa, you were young and the woman you loved so much had just died giving life to somebody you didn’t even know. How could you be expected to feel?”

“But I didn’t do it with Joe or Hoss.”

“And that’s part of where the guilt lies…. Pa, if I don’t fault you for it then you shouldn’t either. Don’t you think that thirty-five years is long enough to live with this? Don’t you think it’s time to let it go? I do.” He gave his father a pat. “Now I’m going to bed and you should to.”

“Before you do, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“How come you decided that you wanted a party after so long without one?”

“Like with you, I think it’s time to get rid of the guilt. And don’t worry about those two. They promised they’d get back in time.” His smile widened. “Good night, Pa.”

“Good night, son.”

Ben watched as he went up the stairs and down the hall as he took a sip. “Why have I ever tried keeping anything from you?” he said with a snort then turned back to the night. “Maybe one of these days I’ll learn.”

*******

Adam stood before his bedroom mirror buttoning his snow white shirt, the black string tie draped about his neck, when somebody knocked at the door.

“Come in.”

Ben entered, dressed in his finest and ready for a gala evening. “The guests should start arriving before long. You about ready?”

“Just about,” Adam said as he tucked in his shirttail and fastened his belt. “Where’re Hoss and Joe?”

“Being very secretive out in the barn.”

“See, I told you they’d get back in time. Do you know what they’ve got?”

“Would you want me to tell you if I did?”

“No, I guess not,” Adam said as his attention went back to his reflection, and he began tying his tie.

“Adam.”

“Yeah, Pa,” Adam said without looking around.

“Before everybody gets here and things liven up there’s something I’d like to give you.” As Ben came closer he took a small dark blue jeweler’s box from the pocket of his silver gray coat.

Adam finished tying a perfect bow then turned to him.

“I’ve hung onto this for all these years just waiting for the right time to give it to you. I almost did when you were going to marry Laura. I’m glad I waited. Here,” and he held it out.

Eyeing his father warily, Adam took it and raised the lid. Inside – nestled securely in sapphire velvet – was an elegant gold ring with a single marquise-cut emerald. A glint of lamp light caught in its facets and it sparkled like green fire. The dark hazel eyes rose to his father’s face.

“I bought that for your mother’s first birthday after we were married, but she didn’t live long enough for me to give it to her. I had to save for months and borrow a little from a friend to get it, but it was worth it… especially now. I knew I was saving it for something special and this birthday – after everything we went through last year – is as special as it’s ever gonna get.” Gentle light warmed his coffee eyes, and he reached out and touched his son’s arm. “Happy birthday, son.”

“Thanks, Pa.”

For several seconds they simply looked at each other.

“Now,” Ben said brightly, “I’d better get downstairs and start greeting our guests.” He went to the door and opened it then turned back to his son. “And don’t you be late for your own party.”

“I won’t, Pa.”

“You see you don’t,” Ben said as he jabbed a playful finger at him then went out and closed the door behind him.

As he stood there Ben thought of what had brought them to this point. He had lost so many that he loved and Adam had very nearly been one of them, but, due to one of the strange workings of the universe, it wasn’t to be and tonight they were celebrating that life. With a smile he straightened the front of his coat and listened to Hop Sing bustling around in the dining room.

“Thank you, Elizabeth, for your gift, for something very, very special.” Then with a sigh of contentment he started down the staircase. “Hop Sing!”

THE END

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