The Guardian

By: JC

Well, this is it, thought Adam Cartwright as his limbs slowly succumbed to the fatigue of muscles pushed to their limit of endurance. There was no bitterness in the admission, no desperation, only the quiet resignation of a man who had given his best and lost. Who would have thought things would turn out this way?

Certainly not him. He had grown up with danger, and contrary to what people were fond of saying, he knew that a man never really cheated death, he merely postponed it. Adam had faced it enough times to recognize it, and each time he had escaped to contemplate its sobering inevitability. He had pictured his own demise a number of ways – a bullet, an arrow, a cave-in, a wolf bite, an unlucky bounce from a horse -- but he had never imagined drowning in the Truckee River.

If he’d had the energy he would have been tempted to laugh at the irony. It seemed so silly in retrospect, chasing after that hat. So what if it was new? Why couldn’t he have just let it go? Joe had always accused him of being tight-fisted with his money. Maybe he was right. Adam was sorry that he had teased him last night about Wendy Milford. He wished he could tell him that. He wished a lot of things.

He had always heard that a person’s life flashes before him right before he dies. It seemed to be true. So many moments came back to him with such clarity, poignant images resurrected from the ashes of memory. Pa’s comforting presence next to him in the wagon at night on the trail. Inger’s cool touch on his feverish forehead, her lilting voice like a soothing lullaby. Hoss’s chubby hand in his. Marie’s infectious laugh. Little Joe’s curly head on his shoulder. His first real Christmas. His first horse. His first kiss. Pa’s bear-hug embrace when he returned from college. Hoss’s grin across the dinner table. Joe’s irrepressible giggle. A woman’s face, freshly scrubbed and wholesomely beautiful, warmed by eyes lit from within by honest love and simple faith. She held out her hand to Adam, and he took it.

It's not bad at all, he decided. If people knew, maybe they wouldn't be afraid. His mind yielded along with his body, anxiety and regret ebbing with the release from physical pain. He did not feel the sun retreat as the water closed above him, nor did he feel his lungs expire. His only sensation was an incredible lightness, as if he was a feather borne on a breeze, and in the calm of darkness he floated.

Whether it was seconds, minutes or hours, he could not say, for he had no concept of time or space or anything else except a sense of peace he had never experienced before. The blackness abated, and he felt rather than saw the light, as though he were lying in the sun with his eyes closed. Its gentle warmth infused his body even to the tips of his fingers and toes, which until that moment he had quite forgotten. His renewed awareness was discomfiting, and his first instinct was to resist and return to the tranquil nebula, but the command to consciousness was too strong. His chest heaved, his body retching in agony as if to turn him inside out. A pair hands secured him on his side while his lungs purged themselves of the river. The drumming in his ears gradually subsided, and a faint wheezing grew louder, the sound of his own breathing. He was alive.

Something as gentle as a whisper brushed his cheek. He lifted one eyelid, then the other, enough to discern and the outline of a woman kneeling beside him. As he struggled to bring her face into focus, he was struck by the familiarity of her smile. It couldn’t be her, could it? He tried to say her name, but he lacked the strength.

She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t try to talk,” she murmured. “You must sleep now. All is well.”

Sleep, yes. He was exhausted, more tired than he had ever been in his life. Dead tired, he thought with a voiceless chuckle. He closed his eyes. To sleep, perchance to dream…. Her hand smoothed his brow. Her…she…who? Maybe he was already dreaming.

* * * * *

A pungent smoky aroma roused him, and he woke wrapped in a quilt next to a crackling fire. He propped himself on one elbow and looked around. His clothes lay spread out on some adjacent rocks. The woman was nowhere in sight.

“Hello?” His voice echoed in the still night, silent except for the pop and hiss of the flames.

There was bacon and bread on a plate, along with a canteen, obviously intended for him. Whoever she was, she seemed to know what he needed. He was certainly hungry.

When he had eaten, she still had not returned. He wondered if his clothes were dry. He secured the quilt around him with one hand while he crouched down and examined them with the other.

“I think they’re probably still damp.”

He hadn’t heard her approach, and the sound of her voice startled him, nearly setting him back on his heels. He instinctively gathered the quilt a little closer as he stood up and turned around. He realized he was probably being foolish, because after all, she was the one who…and she had already…but he blushed nonetheless.

She smiled. “It’s good to see you up. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He stared at her. She was petite, not much over five feet tall, probably no more than a hundred pounds. She couldn’t have pulled him from the water, so there must have been someone else. But she was the woman who spoke to him before, though clearly not….

“Your appetite seems healthy,” she said, picking up the empty plate.

He was further embarrassed that he had forgotten his manners. “Forgive me,” he apologized. “Yes, thank you. It was very good. I’m just a little confused.”

“You thought I was someone else,” she said matter-of-factly.

He nodded. “How did you know?”

“You talk in your sleep, Adam Cartwright.” .

She knew his name. He supposed he must have told her, though he did not remember. “Well, you seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

“In more ways than one, I think.” She eyed the quilt around his waist in amusement as she brushed past him.

He felt himself redden again.

“Here, I’m sure you’ll feel more like yourself when you put these on.” She handed him his clothes with a sympathetic smile.

The warmth he found in her eyes dispelled his self-consciousness. He smiled. “Thank you…” He still didn’t know her name.

“Celeste,” she said softly. “You’re welcome.”

His clothes were completely dry, not a trace of dampness anywhere. But just moments ago… “How did…?” He looked up only to find her gone once more.

* * * * *

Adam stared up at the sky. There were no stars, no moon, no light at all beyond the campfire circle. He had no idea where he was, for any landmarks he might have been able to distinguish were lost to the darkness. He reasoned he couldn’t be far from the river, but when he strained his ears no sounds came, none. And nothing moved. He had never known a night so empty. Yet as strange as it seemed, he was not afraid.

He slept again, and this time when he woke she was there. He studied her as she deftly coaxed the dying embers back to life. He decided she was probably much younger than he first imagined; in the fire’s glow her face seemed almost childlike, soft and unlined. Her dark hair hung in loose waves to her shoulders, tucked behind one ear, and the eyes he thought were brown appeared in the light to be dark blue. So far all she had told him was her name. He didn’t know where she came from or how she happened to be out here all alone, but she was no ordinary mountain girl, of that he was sure.

She smiled at him and once again he was struck by a nagging sense of the familiar, like a secret long forgotten. Deja-vu, the French called it. He had to know. He held out his hand to her.

She took it and knelt beside him. “Yes, Adam?”

He stared at her, and the pain of almost remembering nearly choked him. “Help me,” he whispered.

She touched his face, her deepwater eyes calm and reassuring. “That’s why I’m here.”

Her voice was like an echo from a sweet dream, a haunting melody, the words of which he could nearly recall. He felt he would go mad with the effort; in fact, the thought had occurred to him. “Am I crazy?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“So we have met before.”

“Yes.”

He felt a sense of relief at her smile. “Then tell me, where, when? Why can’t I remember?”

Her expression softened. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He squeezed her arm encouragingly.

“Because some truths can’t be taught; they have to be discovered. And sometimes remembering is forgetting.”

The affinity he felt for this intimate stranger was tempered with frustration at her convoluted evasiveness. He let go of her.

“Don’t be angry,” she said softly.

“I’m not angry. I just don’t understand your answer.” He frowned. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Does everything have to make sense?”

“Yes. It should.” As soon as he said it he knew it probably sounded silly, but that was the way he felt, and besides he was a little angry in spite of his denial. And why shouldn’t he be? Was it too much to expect a forthright answer to a simple question?

She stared at him thoughtfully. “That’s the problem with people like you, Adam. You want a rational explanation for everything. You’ve been blessed with a brilliant mind, but sometimes your thinking gets in the way of your seeing.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Would you be offended if I asked you to explain what you mean by that?”

She ignored his sarcasm and continued patiently. “What I mean is this. It’s never wrong to question something, but you should be prepared to accept the answer even if it doesn’t fit your expectations. Only a small part of the world is discernable through the five senses. Some people may think it’s irrational to believe in something they can’t see, but just because they can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. Perceptions are not necessarily truths. In fact, perceptions can blind a person.” She paused. “It’s strange, but sometimes the more a man learns, the less he sees. The first step toward true vision is forgetting what you think you know.” She tapped his forehead gently. “The answer you’re looking for is not here. It’s here.” she said, placing her hand on his chest.

Humbled by her kindness, his heart beating beneath her hand, he looked away, but she drew him to back to her. “There are some things the heart inherently knows, Adam. A child can see them clearly. When I look at you, I see a man, but I feel the heart of a boy, a boy who needed so much yet asked for so little, a boy who took on a man’s burden too soon, and hid his tears in the dark so his father wouldn’t see, a boy who wandered too far away from the wagon train one night….”

He saw himself in her eyes as she spoke. Five years old, lost in the woods on one of the blackest nights he had ever known, huddled at the base of an oak tree, shivering and crying. That’s where Pa and the others had found him the next morning. Not a scratch on him. It was miracle, they all said, that the wolves hadn’t gotten him. Mr. Mahan had a killed a big one the night before, and Adam had heard the pack. At first he had been terrified, but for some reason he had stopped being afraid, and he had fallen asleep without feeling the cold.

And now he knew why.

Sleep, little one…all is well.

His trembling fingers caressed her radiant cheek. “It was you,” he whispered. “I dreamed about you so many times after that night I convinced myself that’s all you were, just a dream. I didn’t believe you were real.”

“Of course you did.” She smiled tenderly. “Your mind may have dismissed me, but your heart always knew. That’s why you recognized me. But that night in the woods wasn’t the first time you saw me. Now that I have the chance, there’s something I want to tell you.”

She took his hands in hers, and the golden warmth of her touch spread through his entire body. Her luminous beauty transfixed him as she spoke. “I was with your mother the day you were born. She prayed for an angel to guard the son she knew she would not be able to raise herself. I peeked over her shoulder as she cradled you in her arms, and you looked up at both of us and smiled. You’ve been mine ever since.”

He laid his head in her lap and wept for reasons he could not fathom. She stroked his hair and comforted him as she did that night so many years ago. “Dear, sweet Adam,” she said softly. “If I could give you one gift, it would be eyes to see the love that is all around you, and know that you are never alone.”

He would have been content to stay forever under the shelter of her hand, but after a while but she nudged him gently. “It’s time.”

He rose and faced her. A question remained, though he didn’t fear the answer. “Am I dead?”

She looked amused. “No. Though Jeremiah said it would serve you right, chasing after that silly hat. He was kidding, of course. Still, you really should be more careful.”

“Who’s Jeremiah?”

“Someone who has been around a lot longer than I have.”

“And how long would that be?” he asked, grinning.

The corners of her mouth turned up demurely. “Oh, let’s just say a lot longer than you, and leave it at that.” She paused. “It’s time for you to go back.”

He held her hands and stared at her for a moment as he searched for words. “Will I see you again? Will I remember this time?” He didn’t know if he could bear the thought if the answer was no.

“I can’t say.” She turned her face up toward his, her smile wistful. “I can tell you this. You may not consciously remember, but no one who looks into the eyes of an angel ever forgets. So the next time you get the feeling you’ve met someone before, perhaps you have.”

Her lips brushed his and as he returned her kiss he felt her warmth all around him and inside him, lifting him until he floated once more in a sea of light.

* * * * *

A hum and a murmur became a man’s voice. “That’s it. Come on back, boy.”

Adam squinted up at the weathered face leaning over him.

The man’s grizzled features creased into a smile. “Well, glad you could join us, friend. Think you can sit up and take some supper?”

Adam sat up, noting the blanket draped over him. “Where are my clothes?”

“They’re still pretty full of the river, I reckon, though we got most of it outta you. Son, you wuz near drowned when we found ya.”

“Yeah, the last thing I remember was getting caught in the rapids.” Adam rubbed his head.

“Well, you wuz snagged up in some brush when we came up on you. Lucky for you; a few more feet and you’da been a goner.”

Adam contemplated the scenario soberly. “I thought I was.” He extended his hand to the stranger. “I’m very grateful to you for your help. My name’s Adam Cartwright.”

“Jem Smith.” He glanced up at a young girl approaching with a plate of stew. “This here’s my niece, Mary.”

“Thank you,” said Adam, accepting the plate from her. Pretty, he thought. Nice smile. The stew smelled delicious and he was hungry, but he didn’t want to be impolite. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked as she sat down across from him.

“We’ve already eaten.” She inclined her dark head toward the man’s back as he walked away. “He’s a dear, but he gets a little impatient sometimes. He doesn’t like to stand around waiting.”

“I guess I’ve probably held you two up today. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. We’re not in that much of a hurry.”

“So where are you headed?” he asked between mouthfuls.

She shrugged. “Wherever the wind blows. I never know until we get there.”

Seemed like an odd life for a young girl. “What does your uncle do?”

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Enough to get us by until it’s time to move on. Since it’s just the two of us, we don’t need much.” She smiled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

It was pleasant, just listening to her talk. He decided she must be older than she looked. Suddenly he became aware that she was very attractive and he was wearing nothing but a blanket. She, however, seemed completely at ease, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He was grateful when Jem brought him a shirt and trousers. “Thanks.”

Jem nodded. “Wouldn’t want ya to catch cold out here tonight. Better get to bed, Mary C.,” he said over his shoulder. “We got a long day tomorrow.”

As she stood up to follow, Adam handed her the empty plate. “Thank you for the food, and for your company. I enjoyed both very much.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome. Sleep well.”

“Wait,” he called after her.

She turned.

“Mary what? What does the ‘C’ stand for?”

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “Christmas.”

“Mary Christmas.” He smirked. “You’re joking.”

She grinned. “Good night.”

* * * * *

Adam slept soundly and woke the next morning feeling like a new man. He supposed there was nothing like a brush with death to make a person appreciate life. He certainly had a lot to be thankful for, not the least of which was the kindness of the two strangers who had rescued him. Not only had they saved his life, Jem had also tracked down his horse. Adam patted Sport’s neck as the stallion nuzzled him. “I guess we oughtta be headin’ for home, huh boy? Pa’ll be gettin’ worried if we’re not back by tonight.”

He shook Jem’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. I wish there some way I could repay you.” The old man had already refused his offer of money, even though Adam was sure he could use it.

“No need,” said Jem, grinning. “Just pass it on, friend.”

Adam smiled. “I’ll be sure and do that. And if you’re ever around Virginia City, I hope you’ll stop at the Ponderosa. You’ll always be welcome.”

Mary handed him a small bundle. “Bread for your journey.”

“Don’t you have somethin’ else for Mr. Cartwright?” asked Jem.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “I’ll get it.”

She returned with a rather mischievous grin, holding something behind her back.

“What have you got there?” Adam asked. His eyes widened in surprise when she handed it to him. “I can’t believe you found it!”

“That’s a mighty fine hat, son,” said Jem. “I’d hang on to it if I were you. I figure it’s worth a lot more now than when ya bought it, considerin’ what it nearly cost ya to get it back.”

Adam fingered the battered brim, a solemn reminder of his narrow escape.

“You really should be more careful,” said Mary.

He cleared his throat, nodding in sheepish agreement.

There was a moment when she smiled that something flickered in his mind, like a fleeting impression from a half-remembered dream. And then it was gone.

He put on his hat and gathered Sport’s reins, but before he mounted he turned back to her. “You never did tell me. What does the ‘C’ really stand for?”

Her dark eyes crinkled with unvoiced laughter. “All right. It’s Catherine. Just plain old Mary Catherine.”

He grinned. “Well, Mary Christmas or Mary Catherine, there’s certainly nothing plain about you.” He swung himself into the saddle and leaned over to smile down at her. “I do hope I see you again.”

The smile she returned was more than youthful beauty or a woman’s charm; it was everything that was good and right about the world. And he took it with him as he rode away.

He paused at the top of the ridge and looked back on the river. Yesterday seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way, he supposed it was. He had sense enough to know that he wouldn’t be here if Jem and Mary hadn’t come along at just the right time. What were the odds of that happening? Funny though, he didn’t remember mentioning anything about the hat….

Joe would get a kick out of the mental picture of his older brother trying to fish his new hat of the river, Adam thought with a grin. It would be worth telling, just to hear him whoop and holler. He wouldn’t go into unnecessary details, though. All’s well that ends well.

He nudged Sport forward. There was no need to rush; they would easily make it back to the ranch in time for supper. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day, and he intended to savor every minute, all the way home.

The end

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