Cinnamon Rose
Part 2

By Kathleen T. Berney

“ ‘Morning, Pa,” Adam greeted his father stiffly as he ambled into the dining room, though he had put on a clean shirt, he wore the same suit he had worn the day before, when his family had met him at the stage.

“Good morning, Adam,” Ben greeted his oldest son with a smile the following morning, as he took his place at the dining room table, on his father’s right. “I guess you got used to dressing for meals while you were in Boston, but . . . this ISN’T Boston and those are hardly what I would call work clothes.”

“I agree completely, Pa. Unfortunately these seem to be the only clothes I own that fit me,” Adam replied in a stone cold voice.

This revelation sent his two younger brothers into peals of gut wrenching laughter. Little Joe nearly fell out of his seat.

“Wh-Whut’sa matter, Adam?” Hoss guffawed, as he blotted the tears of mirth from his eyes and cheeks with his napkin. “You . . . you been livin’ like a city slicker for too long?”

“ ‘Way too long,” Joe giggled, “if none o’ his clothes fit him.”

“Boys . . . Hoss . . . Joe . . . that’s enough,” Ben admonished his younger boys, sternly, but in vain.

“No such thing,” Hop Sing declared with an emphatic nod of his head, as he entered the dining room with two large serving bowls, one filled with fluffy, yellow scrambled eggs, the other filled with fried potatoes. “When Adam leave home, go to fancy school back east, Adam tall like man, but still skinny like boy. Then, old clothes upstairs fit. Now Adam come home, tall like man, but filled out like man. Like Papa.” Because conventional wisdom dictated that it was best to err on the side of prudence, the number one cook of the Ponderosa decided to keep the conversation he had overheard early this morning between the two daughters of his first cousin, Hung-Chou. Both girls, the eldest just turned fifteen, the younger aged twelve, had let it be known as to how much they appreciated the way Adam Cartwright had filled out very much.

“Hop Sing speaks very true,” Ben reluctantly admitted. It was difficult sometimes thinking of his sons in terms of being grown men, instead of boys. “A young man goes through a lot of big changes during the years between eighteen and the age you are now, Son. Tell ya what! Why don’t you g’won into town and buy yourself some new work clothes? You can also drop Little Joe off at school and pick up the mail. That would leave me free to ride out and see how Hank and Jacob are coming along with that fence mending.”

“Ok, Pa,” Adam agreed. “I feel badly about the thought of deserting you my first day home, but I guess there’s no other choice.”

“No, there’s not. You can’t very well rope cattle and bust broncs in either THAT outfit or in the all together, that’s for sure,” Ben quickly pointed out.

“True,” Adam had to agree.

“Pa?” Joe queried with a bewildered frown. “What does in the all together mean?”

“It means nekkid, Shortshanks,” Hoss quipped, as he helped himself to generous second helpings of eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes.

“WOW!” Joe exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement and anticipation. “Is Adam really gonna rope cattle ‘n bust broncs nekkid?”

“No,” Adam replied curtly, while leveling a murderous glare in the direction of his younger brother, Hoss.

“Dadburn it!” Joe pouted, his lower lip stretched to its limit.

“Aaww, you would’ve had to miss it anyway, Li’l Brother,” Hoss pointed out, “seein’ as how today’s a school day.”

“You boys need to finish up,” Ben exhorted his sons. “Adam . . . Little Joe, the both of ya need to be on your way in the next twenty minutes, so you, Young Man . . . . ” he turned and glared very pointedly in his youngest son’s direction, “will get to school on time, and Hoss . . . your chores aren’t going to get done by themselves.”

“Good morning, Mister and Mrs. Alcott, I presume?”

“Yes indeed,” Jedediah Alcott nodded and held out his hand. He was mildly surprised to find a lawyer and gentleman of Lucas Milburn’s eminence, according to Ben Cartwright anyway, standing outside on the sidewalk, apparently waiting for them. “You must be Mister Milburn.”

“Yes, Sir,” Lucas replied as he cordially shook hands with Jedediah Alcott.

“Mister Milburn, this is my wife,” Jedediah turned and made the formal introductions.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Alcott.”

“ . . . and I you, Mister Milburn. A very old friend of ours speaks very highly of you . . . Mister Benjamin Cartwright, of the Ponderosa.”

“Ben! He and I have been friends for the better part of the last twenty, twenty-five years perhaps. He was one of my first clients when I first put out my shingle as a green kid just out of law school.” Lucas Milburn opened the door to the building in which his office was located. “He and I’ve been friends since.”

“Good morning, Mister Milburn,” the lawyer’s secretary, Clarence Mortimer, a young man, aged in his early twenties, greeted his employer in a polite, yet crisp, business-like tone.

“Mister and Mrs. Alcott, my secretary, Clarence Mortimer,” Lucas quickly initiated the round of introductions.

“How do you do, Mister and Mrs. Alcott?” Clarence correctly acknowledged the introductions. “Mrs. Alcott, may I take your shawl?”

“No, Young Man, thank you very much. I’d prefer to keep it, since I get chilled very easily these days.”

“Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee perhaps? I have a fresh pot brewing.”

“No, thank you,” Jedediah politely declined. “Mister Milburn, my wife and I would just as soon get down to business, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course,” Lucas agreed at once. “Clarence, I trust you will hold down the fort while I’m in conference with Mister and Mrs. Alcott.”

“Yes, Sir, I will.”

“Please see that we are not disturbed.”

“I certainly will, Mister Milburn.”

Lucas Milburn ushered the Alcotts back into his inner office, adroitly dubbed ‘the inner sanctum,’ by Clarence Mortimer. He very gallantly gestured for Mrs. Alcott to take the cushioned chair next to his desk, while he pulled a hard backed chair over for Mister Alcott.

“So, Mister Milburn . . . what word have you on my granddaughter?” Jed asked, his eyes gleaming with an almost predatory anticipation.

Lucas took a deep breath, and mentally braced himself. “Mister and Mrs. Alcott, all I can offer you at this juncture is my deep regret and most heartfelt apologies.” He heard the sharp intake of breath from Mrs. Alcott, and saw the blood draining right out of her face, leaving it white as a sheet.

Jedediah Alcott looked over at the lawyer, with a puzzled, bemused expression on his face. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mister Milburn.”

“The trail has gone cold, Sir, almost from the time and place it begins,” Lucas explained with much reluctance. “I, of course wired your attorney in Boston, Mister Edward Phillips, I believe . . . . . unfortunately, my message was delayed because wires were down somewhere between here and Chicago. Consequently, Mister Phillips didn’t receive my wire until a week after you and your wife had left Boston.”

An uneasy silence fell on the Alcotts and Lucas Milburn that, to the lawyer seemed to stretch into a dreadful eternity.

“M-Mister Milburn?” It was Esther Alcott who finally broke the silence.

“Yes, Mrs. Alcott?”

“Wh-What happened? Ed . . . Mister Phillips sounded so positive when he received that report from the private detective . . . oh dear, I seem to have forgotten his name . . . . ”

“Murphy,” Lucas supplied that piece of information. “John Murphy.”

“Damned bumbling incompetent!” Jed spat contemptuously. “He ought to have his license revoked.”

“Jedediah Alcott, I don’t care what the situation is, I will not tolerate you swearing like a . . . a . . . like some kind of common street thug in my hearing,” Esther admonished him severely, her face darkening with anger. “You owe ME an apology and you owe Mister Milburn one as well.”

“Sorry,” Jed growled. “Now would you please tell us what exactly happened?”

“I have a copy of the report Mister Murphy sent to Mister Phillips in Boston,” Lucas said quietly. “He checked the passenger list for the stage that rolled in from Saint Joseph . . . it was a month, going on a month and a half ago now, looking for someone else.

“Mister Murphy saw the name of an Andy Smith, listed as traveling with his wife Lyn, and daughter Rose,” Lucas continued. “He recognized them from a wanted poster he saw in the sheriff’s office as aliases used by your son-in-law. He made some inquiries, and learned from the ticket master that Mister Smith asked to be directed to a boarding house, clean but not expensive. The ticket master directed the Smiths to Kirk’s Hostelry, a few blocks from the stage depot.”

“Did this Mister Murphy bother to inquire at this . . . this Kirk’s Hostelry establishment?” Jed asked sardonically.

“He did not inquire immediately, because he was doing work for another client,” Lucas replied, “work that he did not complete until a week or so later. At that time, Mister Murphy and Sheriff Coffee went to Kirk’s Hostelry together and looked over the registries. They found no Andy, Lyn, and Rose Smith registered.”

“I’ll just bet the proprietors weren’t cooperative,” Jed groused.

“On the contrary, Mister Alcott, Mrs. Kirk was very cooperative and forthcoming,” Lucas said. “She cares very much about the reputation of her establishment . . . a reputation that would suffer greatly if she were to become known as someone who knowingly harbored fugitives.”

“There’s nothing else, Mister Milburn?” Esther asked, her eyes gleaming with the brightness of tears she desperately strove not to shed.

“I’m very sorry, Ma’am, but there is nothing else.”

Esther rose. “If anything comes up between now and the time the next stage leaves, my husband and I will be at the International Hotel,” she said in a very small, very sad voice. “I want to thank you for everything you HAVE done, Mister Milburn, and for seeing us today.”

“Esther, just a da—dar----just one minute here,” Jed protested.

“Jed, I see no reason in the world why we should belabor the point,” she said firmly. “Mister Milburn said there was nothing else.”

“But, what about some of the other places around here . . . the ranches, perhaps. He could be working as a hand somewhere, hiding out on one of these big spreads.”

Esther shook her head. “Not Andrew. I seriously doubt he knows the back end of a horse from the front.”

“That was . . . what? Seven years ago? Eight?” Jed argued. “That’s certainly plenty of time to LEARN, Esther.”

“Jed, PLEASE!” she returned irritably. “We’ve already taken up more than enough of Mister Milburn’s time. I’m also very tired and I want to go back to the hotel.”

“Esther . . . . ”

“NOW, Jed, please. Right now!”

“Hi, Adam.”

“Good morning to YOU, Miss Lotus,” Adam greeted his youngest brother’s best friend affably, with a smile.

She frowned. “What are you all dressed up for? You’re not courting someone so early in the morning . . . ARE you?”

“No,” Adam replied, “not hardly.”

“He’s all dressed up ‘cause he’s been living like a city slicker for too long,” Joe said, grinning from ear-to-ear, as he quickly jumped down from the buckboard. “That’s what Hoss said.”

“What does THAT mean?” Mitch Devlin demanded.

“It means none of Adam’s old clothes fit him,” Joe cheerfully explained.

“Oh.”

“Lotus, Mitch, and you, too, Joe! You’d best get your things together. The bell rings in five minutes.” It was Hazel Gibson, the schoolteacher. She turned her attention to Adam, still sitting in the buckboard, as the three children ran off. “Welcome back, Adam,” she greeted him with a warm smile. “I knew you were arriving home sometime soon. Joe’s talked about nothing else.”

“Thank you, Miss Gibson,” Adam replied with a smile.

“I understand congratulations are in order,” the schoolteacher continued. “I heard you graduated from Harvard University, no less, with high honors.”

“Y-Yes, Ma’am,” Adam nodded, as two bright splotches of red colored his cheeks. “Thank you.”

“How was Boston?”

“Wonderful,” Adam replied. “I was able to get acquainted with my maternal grandfather before he died, and I met and got acquainted with some other members of my mother’s family, as well.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I also took advantage of the cultural offerings, operas, plays, and lots of concerts,” Adam continued, “and I took the opportunity to visit some of the historical landmarks in Boston, especially places we talked about in your classes when we studied about the Revolutionary War. One of my cousins took me to the Old North Church, and the place where the Boston Massacre happened. We even made a point of driving out to Braintree so he could show me the house where John Adams was born.”

Miss Gibson smiled. “That must have been very exciting to actually visit those places,” she said with a touch of envy.

“Being there . . . visiting those places, makes those things you taught me about the Revolutionary War come alive . . . it all seems more real to me now.” Adam said, returning her smile. “But, between you and me, Miss Gibson? I’m very glad to be back home. I had no idea how much I had missed Pa, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing, until I stepped off the stage yesterday.”

“Glad to see you back, Adam. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s almost time to ring the bell.”

“I’ll see you this afternoon, then, Miss Gibson, when I come back to pick up my brother,” Adam smiled again, and politely tipped his hat.

While Miss Gibson chatted with Adam, Joe approached a group of children in and around the same age as himself and his two friends. Lotus and Mitch both followed close at his heels. The other children, mostly boys, were tightly packed in a close-knit circle around toward the back of the schoolhouse.

“Hey, Zeke,” Joe sidled up to Ezekiel Gregg, one of the boys hanging around at the very edge of the circle. “What’s going on?”

Zeke shrugged. “Pat MacLowry’s found an old picture o’ somebody, I dunno who. He’s drawin’ a moustache ‘n a beard on ‘im.”

“Oh yeah?”

Zeke nodded solemnly.

Joe turned and started to edge into the circle for a closer look.

“Hey, Cartwright, you hold on right there.”

Joe turned and found Danny MacLowry, his big brother’s worst enemy looming over him, with a sneer on his face.

“Where d’ ya think YOU ‘n your little friends’re goin’ anyway?”

“None o’ your business, Danny MacLowry,” Joe said defiantly, as he leveled a dark, angry glare in the older boy’s general direction. Lotus and Mitch quietly flanked Joe on both sides, their faces twin masks of grim, stubborn determination.

At that moment, the bell rang, summoning the children from the playground to the classroom.

“Let’s go, Joe,” Lotus said. She reached over and gently touched Joe’s arm, all the while keeping her eyes glued to Danny MacLowry. “You, too, Mitch.” She, Joe, and Mitch turned and started toward the entrance to the schoolhouse, with the children, who had been standing clustered together in the tightly packed circle began to disburse and follow.

Within a scant few moments, Danny MacLowry was left alone with his younger brother, Patrick, who continued to draw, oblivious to the fact that the bell had just rung.

“Hey, Squirt! Whatcha doin’?” Danny demanded, glaring down at his younger brother.

Pat jumped at the sound of his older brother’s voice, then glanced up slowly, very slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Whatcha got there?”

“N-Nothin’!” Pat squeaked and he worked desperately to fold the paper spread out on the ground before him.”

“Gimme that!”

“No!” Pat snatched up the paper and held it away, far out of his older brother’s reach.

Danny scowled upon realizing that the paper in his brother’s hand was the wanted poster he had taken the Monday after the dance, when his father had FINALLY come to bail him out of jail. “Hey! Where’d you get that?”

“I found it,” Pat shot back.

“Where?”

“I just found it!”

Danny roughly seized his brother’s shirt collar and unceremoniously hauled him to his feet. “Like heck you just found it,” he growled. “You been snoopin’ through my stuff again, haven’t you?!”

Pat glared up at Danny defiantly, but said nothing.

“You snoop nosed little brat!” Danny muttered, as he snatched the well creased, defaced wanted poster from his brother’s hands, nearly tearing it in two in the process. He then lifted Pat, kicking and screaming, high enough off the ground that his feet dangled.

“PUT ME DOWN, YOU DIRTY, ROTTEN, NO GOOD, STINKIN’ PIG!” Pat shouted, angrily, while ineffectually swinging his fists and legs.

“What-ever-you-say, Brother Dear!” Danny replied in a mocking, singsong voice, before throwing his younger brother down on the ground hard.

“OW! THAT HURT!” Pat howled in protect, on the edge of angry tears.

“Let that be a lesson to ya, Brat Boy! Keep you hands OUT of my pockets, and away from my stuff!” With that, Danny turned heel, and angrily stalked off. He walked around toward the back of the schoolhouse and rounded the corner. He paused, just long enough to cast a quick furtive glance over his shoulder. No one had followed. Satisfied he was, for the moment, quite alone, Danny held up the wanted poster for a closer look.

“Damn stupid kid!” Danny muttered angrily under his breath upon seeing the crudely drawn mustache, beard, and bushy eyebrows. He crumpled the poster into a tight ball, then pulled back his arm to throw it as far as he possibly could. He abruptly halted. Something about that face . . . . .

Danny very slowly, very carefully straightened out the wanted poster and studied the picture of Andrew Sandringham, with penciled mustache and beard. “I’ll be—that kinda looks like Mister Taylor!” His eyes moved to the picture of the little girl Andrew Sandringham had supposedly kidnapped, and lingered. Then slowly, very slowly, his eyes still glued to the girl’s face, Danny reached into his pocket and drew out that piece of yellow chalk he had pocketed a few days ago, after having been called on to do an arithmetic problem at the board.

Danny placed the creased and torn wanted posted up against the back of the school building. Using the yellow chalk, he carefully colored over the girl’s dark hair. “Well, well, well! Looky what I have here!” he murmured, gazing down with great satisfaction at his own handiwork. He pocketed the chalk, then refolded the wanted poster. “No uppity little bitch is gonna play foot loose and fancy free with Danny MacLowry ‘n get away with it, no sir-reee! By the time I get through with her, she’s gonna regret the day she was ever born.”

“Well, well, well! Ain’t YOU the dude!” Walt Jared teased, grinning from ear to ear. He was a short, stocky man, a few years older than Adam. Three years ago, he took up residence with his brother, Virgil, upon the sudden death of their mother, much to the chagrin of his brother’s wife.

“Wouldn’t hurt YOU t’ dress up once in a while,” his sister-in-law, Amelia growled. She was on the other side of the floor, sweeping up while trying to keep a close watch on her rambunctious youngest daughter, Cora Lynn, aged two and a half.

“The only time you gonna catch ME in one o’ them monkey suits is when the undertaker lays me out in a big pine box,” Walt declared with an emphatic nod of his head.

“Monkey suit?!” Amelia hooted. “I’D be happy just t’ see ya in CLEAN clothes f’r a change, that wasn’t all tattered ‘n frayed at the ends, ‘n worn out at the elbows.”

Amelia Jared and her husband, Virgil, owned and operated the general store in town. She kept the books and dealt with the customers, while her husband took care of the jobs requiring a strong man’s brute strength. They had three children, Bertram, who was four years younger than Joe, Lilly Elizabeth, known best as Lilly Beth, a year younger than her brother, and baby Cora Lynn.

“Hey, Adam . . . y’ gotta lady friend?” Walt guffawed, giving the oldest Cartwright son a playful jab in the ribcage with his elbow.

“No,” Adam replied, as he placed the clothing in hand down on the counter. Ten work shirts, and four pair of pants, all black.

“Ain’t none o’ YOUR business anyhow,” Amelia snapped.

“Aww, da---!, uhh . . . DANG it, Amelia! Would’ja lay off?!” Walt growled back, as he turned and leveled a ferocious scowl over in his sister-in-law’s general direction. “Adam ‘n me’s just horsin’ around a li’l . . . man t’ man.”

“You may be horsin’ around, Walt,” Amelia returned, as she put aside her broom for a moment, long enough to reach for her dustpan, “but I don’t know ‘bout this man t’ man, business.”

“Fer cryin’ out loud, Amelia. Adam here ain’t a li’l boy no more,” Walt whined. “He just come home from college for G---, I mean for goodness sake!”

“I WASN’T referin’ t’ Adam,” Amelia retorted primly before bending down to sweep up the small pile of dust in the middle of the store into her dustpan.

“ . . . ‘n just what the h--- . . . what’s THAT s’posed t’ mean?!” Walt demanded with all the angry frustration of a two year old who had just been told no.

“It means grow UP, Walt!” Amelia rounded on her brother-in-law ferociously. “Most MEN your age’ve been married a few years, ‘n like as not have a li’l one or two, ‘n another on the way.”

“I’ll settle down with a wife ‘n a whole passel o’ young ‘ns when I’M dang well good ‘n ready, ‘n not one minute before!” Walt declared, his face beet red, his anger rising. “ ‘N another thing Miz High-‘n-Mighty Amelia Latshaw Jared, it’s gonna be a real cold day in, uhhh HECK when I settle down with one o’ them sour faced battle axes YOU keep tryin’ t’ fix me up with! I’m goin’ t’ the Bucket o’ Blood!”

“Li’l early on in the day f’r that, don’t ya think?” Amelia angrily shot right back.

“No! So far’s I can see, it ain’t soon enough . . . not when I gotta put up with a harpy like YOU ‘round drivin’ me t’ drink,” Walt growled back, before storming out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Adam,” she sighed. “That Walt . . . he just really gets m’ goat, sometimes! I’ll be right with ya.”

“It’s all right, Amelia . . . and please. Take your time. I’m in no rush,” Adam kindly offered.

Amelia stepped outside just long enough to empty her dustpan in the street, then returned to her customer. “I know . . . . ” she continued, as she placed broom and dustpan out of sight under the counter, “I oughtta try ‘n be more patient with Walt, leastwise that’s what Virgil’s always sayin’, but---,” She sighed again and very slowly wagged her head back and forth. “I mean . . . do YOU think it’s too much t’ ask him t’ fix himself up a li’l now ‘n then and maybe find somethin’ t’ do t’ make himself useful?”

“No, Amelia,” Adam replied, “I don’t think it’s at all unreasonable to ask a healthy, able bodied man like Walt to fix himself up once in a while and do something to make himself useful. Have you talked to Virgil about this?”

“Oh yeah,” Amelia replied with a wry roll of her eyes heavenward. “Virgil ‘n me’ve talked.” She jotted down the price written on the tag of the last piece of clothing in the stack Adam intended to buy. “The upshot of it all is, he tells me over ‘n over I’m right as rain, but when push comes right down t’ shove? Virgil just plain ain’t as firm as he oughtta be.”

“Maybe he feels sorry for Walt,” Adam suggested.

“Could be he does,” Amelia agreed, “but it still ain’t right t’ let him get away with bein’ a shiftless, ne’er do well slob, what spends pert near all his wakin’ hours ‘n what li’l money he’s got in his pocket at the Bucket o’ Blood.”

“I . . . don’t remember Walt being like that while old Mrs. Jared was still alive,” Adam ventured.

“Oooh no!” Amelia agreed in a solemn tone of voice. “That woman was a real tarter, Adam, but she made Walt tow the line. If’n she could see him now, that poor woman, may God rest her soul . . . . ” She very quickly crossed herself. “She’d be rollin’ over ‘n over in her grave right now, you can bet on that.”

“I’m sure,” Adam murmured very softly remembering how, as a child and as a teenager, he had always been half afraid of Virgil and Walt Jared’s mother.

“Sorry, Adam,” Amelia sighed again, then fell silent for a moment to add up and total Adam’s purchases. “I mean here I am goin’ on ‘n on about Walt with YOU here, just home from that college back east. But that man . . . some days I just wanna grab him by the ears ‘n pound his head up against a brick wall ‘til I pound some sense into it or the sawdust runs out.”

“It’s all right, Amelia . . . I understand perfectly,” Adam replied. “I had a couple of roommates in the college dormitory who couldn’t be bothered to shift for themselves. One . . . a rich man’s son . . . actually paid classmates to do all of his written assignments, so that he might have more time to spend drinking and carousing.”

Somehow, the thought of a rich man’s son living back east somewhere, who, from what Adam had just said, was exactly like her shiftless, good-for-nothing-these-days brother-in-law, made her feel a little better. “That’ll be ten dollars even,” Amelia said. “Y’ want me t’ charge it t’ your pa’s account?”

“No . . . that won’t be necessary,” Adam replied, as he extracted his billfold from the inside pocket of his jacket. “I have the money.”

“Thank you, Adam,” Amelia said, as she accepted the proffered ten dollar note. “I’ll have it all wrapped up for ya in a jiffy.”

“Amelia . . . would it be alright with you if I came back in about an hour or so?” Adam asked. “There’s a couple friends of the family staying over at the hotel. Since I’m in town anyway, I figured it’d be nice to stop by and see them.”

“They’re stayin’ over at the hotel!?” Amelia echoed, looking over at Adam with upraised eyebrow. “How come your pa didn’t ask ‘em out to the Ponderosa?”

“He DID, actually, but they had some business to take care of in town,” Adam replied. “They decided it would make more sense to remain close. We’re hoping they’ll come out and spend some time with us after they’ve taken care of their business.”

“Aww . . . dang it all, Amelia, there y’ go again, pokin’ your nose right where it DON’T belong!”

She whirled in her tracks and found her husband, Virgil, leaning against the doorjamb that opened into the Jared family’s home in back of the store.

“Virgil Eugene Jared, you hush!” Amelia admonished him, her cheeks all of a sudden flaming a bright scarlet.

“Hey, Adam . . . welcome back!” Virgil greeted the eldest Cartwright son with a friendly smile and firm handshake. “I know your pa ‘n brothers’re glad t’ see ya . . . they ain’t talked about nothin’ else for the last month o’ Sundays. When did ya get in?”

“Yesterday afternoon on the four o’clock stage,” Adam replied.

“What?!” Amelia exclaimed. “Adam Cartwright, y’ oughtta be ashamed o’ yourself, what with runnin’ out on your pa first day back!”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have much choice in the matter, Amelia,” Adam defended himself with a long-suffering sigh. “The work clothes I wore just before I left for Boston four years ago doesn’t quite fit any more.”

“Too much big city livin’, eh, Adam?” Virgil guffawed. “Well, you needn’t worry none . . . a couple o’ months o’ working for your pa . . . you’ll have a nice washboard flat stomach just like me.” He grinned proudly from ear-to-ear and spread his arms.

“Oh f’r---!!” Amelia sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. Though he didn’t have a great big beer belly like his brother, Walt . . . something for which she was profoundly thankful . . . it could hardly be said that Virgil Jared’s abdomen was washboard flat. Now Adam on the other hand . . . .

“What’sa matter with YOU now?!” Virgil demanded with a scowl.

“Let’s just say the reason Adam here needs a bigger size is ‘cause he left here for that fancy college back east just this side o’ still bein’ a boy . . . ‘n he’s come home now a grown MAN . . . ‘n leave it go at that, shall we?” Amelia said primly.

“There somethin’ you ain’t sayin’, Woman?” Virgil demanded.

“You finished getting’ that order t’gether for Mister Hansen yet?” Amelia shot right back. “One o’ his men’s gonna be stoppin’ by here any minute now t’ pick it up . . . . ”

“All right, all right,” Virgil groused. “Good seein’ ya, Adam . . . . ” This last he added in a friendlier tone of voice.

“Adam Cartwright! Is that really YOU?”

“In the flesh, Mark, big as life, twice as real and about ten times as ugly,” Adam greeted Mark Garrett, the hotel clerk and one of his oldest friends, with a warm smile.

“Heard you were comin’ home. When did you get in?”

“Yesterday afternoon, four o’clock stage,” Adam replied.

“What can I do for ya?” Mark asked.

“A couple friends of pa’s are staying here,” Adam replied. “Mister and Mrs. Alcott. Are they in?”

Mark nodded. “Just got in about an hour ago from a meeting with Mister Milburn. You’ll find ‘em in room number 204.”

“Thanks!”

Adam bounded up the stairs two at a time, and within a few minutes found himself standing in front of the fast closed door to the Alcotts’ room, knocking.

“Who is it?”

“Adam Cartwright, Mister Alcott.”

The door opened. Jed Alcott’s face was drawn and pale. His hand, resting lightly on the doorknob, trembled slightly. The soft, muffled sounds of a woman’s heartbreaking weeping could be heard from the small alcove that served as a dressing room.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mister Alcott,” Adam immediately apologized. “I can plainly see that I’ve come at a bad time. I can come back later . . . . ”

“It’s alright, Adam, please . . . come in.” Jed stood aside and gestured for the young man to enter.

“You’re sure, Mister Alcott? I CAN come back another time . . . . ”

“I’m afraid there won’t be an opportunity for another time,” Jed sighed.

Adam entered the room. “I . . . take it the news wasn’t good?”

“No.” Jed mournfully shook his head, as he quietly closed the door. “Please, sit down, Adam. Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you, Mister Alcott,” Adam said quietly, while seating himself in one of the wooden straight-backed chairs. “I’m sorry the news wasn’t what you had hoped.”

“Thank you.” Jed sighed. “After all these years, I should be used to this by now. But . . . I had really hoped that this time— Adam, Esther and I AREN’T getting any younger. I’m beginning to think we’ll never again see our beloved granddaughter ever . . . at least not in this life.”

“If there’s anything I can do . . . . ”

“No. Esther and I will on the first stage leaving Virginia City tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know Pa was hoping you’d come out to the Ponderosa for a few days, and I was looking forward to the pleasure of your company at my homecoming party.”

“I’m sorry, too, Adam.”

The eldest Cartwright son glanced up sharply, and saw that Mrs. Alcott had entered the room. Her overall appearance shocked him. Her face was alarmingly pale, a fact greatly emphasized by the fading rouge applied to her cheeks earlier. She had dark circles under eyes that appeared to be dull, and lifeless.

Adam rose, and noting how heavily she leaned against the bedpost, walked over and offered his arm.

“Ben’s told us so much about you three boys and the Ponderosa over the years, I was looking forward to seeing it . . . and meeting YOU . . . well, I DID get to meet the three of you.”

Adam helped ease her down onto the small settee.

“Thank you, Adam,” Esther said, favoring him with a grateful, though weary, smile.

“Mister Milburn told us this morning that a man by the name of Andy Smith, that’s one of the names my former son-in-law has been using, was listed as a passenger on the stage that arrived here in Virginia City about . . . . ” Jed paused to do some mental figuring. “It’s been nearly two months now. There was a woman with him and a young girl, aged sixteen or seventeen . . . the age my granddaughter is now.

“The man behind the ticket counter at the stage depot told a private investigator here that this Andy Smith asked to be directed to lodging, something inexpensive. He said that he gave Mister Smith directions to an establishment known as Kirk’s Hostelry.”

“Ah, yes. Eloise Kirk’s place.”

“What kind of an establishment does this Mrs. Kirk run?”

“A very good one, actually,” Adam replied. “She keeps her place spotless. Her customers get clean towels and bed linens, changed once a week. Hot water for washing and bathing is always available on request, and her cooking is passable, what you might call good old fashioned home cooking. Her prices fall in what I would call the moderate range, which discourages a lot of riff-raff.”

“Thank goodness,” Jed breathed a sigh of relief. “At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that if my granddaughter was there, she was in a decent enough place.”

“I don’t think she was there, Jed,” Esther said sadly.

Jed reached over and patted his wife’s hand. “Mister Milburn made inquiries, actually checked over Mrs. Kirk’s register himself. No one by the name of Andy Smith ever registered at Kirk’s Hostelry.”

“I’m quite frankly surprised Mister Milburn didn’t wire you in Boston.”

“He did, Adam,” Jed said wearily. “Unfortunately there were lines down . . . somewhere between here and Chicago, he said. My lawyer didn’t get the message until about a week after we had left.”

“I’m sorry you had to come all this way to receive bad news,” Adam said sympathetically. “I DO wish you would reconsider Pa’s invitation to come and stay at the Ponderosa, if only for a few days.”

“Thank you, Adam, but I just plain want to go home,” Esther said wearily.

“I think I can understand that, Mrs. Alcott,” Adam said, rising. “I need to be running along. My brother, Joe, gets out of school in the next half hour, and I’m picking him up. If you DO change your mind about Pa’s invitation, please, just come on out.”

“We will, but I don’t think we’re going to change our minds.”

“If I don’t see you again, Mister and Mrs. Alcott, I wish you a safe journey home.”

“Thank you, Adam,” Esther rose. “Please tell Ben that Jed and I are— ” Her eyes suddenly rolled up under her eyelids. She wavered on her feet before collapsing back down on the sofa in a dead faint.

“Oh, Dear God! Esther . . . . ?!”

Adam was at the stricken woman’s side in an instant. “It’s alright, Mister Alcott. She merely fainted.”

“I was afraid of something like this,” Jed murmured dolefully. “Esther’s . . . Mrs. Alcott’s health hasn’t been the best . . . not since our granddaughter disappeared.”

“Doctor Martin is right down the street, Mister Alcott,” Adam said. “I’ll have the desk clerk send for him, if you’d like.”

“Yes, thank you. I would appreciate that very much.”

“ . . . . I DID stop by, Pa, after I picked up Little Joe from school AND my purchases from the general store,” Adam said. “Doc Martin and his wife were in the hotel room, presumably still examining Mrs. Alcott. Mister Alcott was in the hotel lobby, waiting for Doc to finish. He was still pretty adamant about leaving on the first stage out tomorrow morning.”

“I hope to heaven Paul can talk some sense into that ornery ol’ scalawag!” Ben said grimly.

“It wasn’t MISTER Alcott who was being stubborn, it was Mrs. Alcott. She flat out told me that she just plain wanted to go home,” Adam said.

The Cartwrights, minus Hoss, were just finishing up their evening meal.

“Pa?”

Ben turned to Little Joe, tonight seated in Hoss’ chair, on his left. “What is it, Son?” he asked, favoring the boy with a wan smile.

“Can . . . . ” Joe looked over at Adam and cringed. “MAY I please be excused? I have some homework I have to finish before bed.”

“Certainly,” Ben readily gave the boy permission to leave the table. “I’ll be up in a little while to check over your school work.”

“Ok, Pa.” Joe immediately climbed down from his chair and bolted toward the steps.

“That’s a first,” Adam observed wryly, as he watched his youngest brother run upstairs, taking the steps two and three at a time. “Somehow, I don’t remember him as being so enthusiastic about doing his homework.”

“He’s NOT,” Ben said. “I guess the Alcotts’ bad news put a damper on things tonight.”

“Sorry, Pa,” Adam murmured sheepishly.

“It’s not your fault, Adam.” Ben sighed and shook his head. “It’s too bad Lucas’ wire got held up like it did, though.”

“If you’d like, I’ll work on those accounting ledgers . . . bring ‘em up to date,” Adam offered, as he and Ben rose from the table.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, honest! Just think of it as my way of making it up to you for having to go into town to purchase new work clothes,” Adam said, leading the way over to the desk. “By the way, where’s Hoss tonight?”

“He’s having supper with the Taylors.”

“That his new girl?”

Ben nodded, and smiled. “She and your brother have been inseparable ever since they met a couple of months ago.”

“He’s really in love with her, isn’t he?” Adam asked as he seated himself behind his father’s desk.

“Yes, he is.”

“What about her? Does she feel the same way about HIM?”

“Absolutely,” Ben declared with an emphatic nod of his head.

“Mrs. Taylor, that was one mighty fine meal,” Hoss complimented the hostess with genuine heartfelt sincerity and gratitude. “You’re cookin’ is every bit as good as Hop Sing’s . . . but, please! Don’t tell him I said so?!”

Carolyn smiled. “Thank you, Hoss, and your secret is safe with me.”

“Can I give ya hand with clearin’ the table, Ma’am?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Carolyn said sternly, then smiled. “Hoss, you must be exhausted after darn near moving us from Kirk’s Hostelry to this house single handed.”

“ . . . uuhh, Ma’am, it wasn’t like ya had much . . . at least not in the way o’ heavy stuff . . . t’ move.”

“We did have this dining room table, along with eight chairs and two leaves.”

“None o’ that was very heavy.”

“Be THAT as it may . . . I still say you’ve worked very hard today, helping us get moved,” Carolyn said. “Now that you’ve had a nice dinner, you are going to sit back and relax. Do I make myself clear?”

“But, Mrs. Taylor . . . . ”

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Hoss,” Drew said, a half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’ll do you NO good. Once my wife make up her mind . . . . ”

“Tell you what! Hoss, if you absolutely MUST do something . . . you and Cindy could go out for a stroll in our new garden,” Carolyn suggested with a secretive, yet knowing kind of smile. “It’s a lovely night, and with the moon nearly full, there’ll be plenty of light for your path,” Carolyn said.

“But, Mama Carolyn, the dishes— ” Cindy protested.

“Your pa and I will manage with the dishes just fine, Young Lady,” Carolyn said with mock sternness. “Now you ‘n Hoss skedaddle!”

“If you put it that way . . . yes, Ma’am,” Cindy said, smiling.

Drew Taylor dutifully set himself to the task of clearing the table of dishes and leftover food, while Hoss and Cindy let themselves out. He placed the last of the dirty dishes down next to the kitchen pump and sink, where his wife stood washing the plates, bowls, cups, saucers, and utensils already removed from the table.

“Carolyn . . . . ”

“Yes, Drew?”

“She . . . she’s in love with him, isn’t she,” he said, stating fact.

Carolyn smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re just now figuring that out.”

Drew nodded, as he picked up a clean, dry hand towel and set himself to the task of drying the dishes and putting them away. “I . . . think when it comes to his daughter’s love life, a father’s always the last to figure it out. How long have YOU known?”

“I think I’ve known since that day she came home, her eyes all lit up like a Christmas tree, because Hoss asked her to that dance.”

“Is THAT why you insisted on us staying here in Virginia City?”

“Partially.”

“What’s the rest?”

“Hoss reminds me a little of my older brother, Dominic.”

“The minister, who died when his ship sank on it’s way to the mission field in Africa?”

Carolyn nodded sadly. She finished washing and rinsing the last of the eating utensils, then passed them to her husband. “Hoss doesn’t fully have his growth in yet, but he’s going to be a big, strong man like my brother. He’s already every bit as kind and gentle. For us to have just up and left would have hurt him every bit as much as it would’ve hurt Cindy.”

“I was just standing here thinking how much Cindy reminds me of Donna when SHE was her age.”

“From what you’ve told me, by the time Donna was the age Cindy is now, she’d been in love with you for a very long time,” Carolyn said gently. She gathered the serving bowls and the meat tray from the counter and carried them over to the sink.

“I didn’t notice at the time, of course, but looking back, I think you’re probably right. You, ummm . . . think I’m actually looking at a prospective son-in-law here?!” Drew queried, as he took the larger dishes from his wife. He, then stepped over to the washtub and set himself to the task of scraping the remaining food and gravy from the meat tray.

“I don’t know,” Carolyn said thoughtfully. “This is the first time our Cindy’s fallen in love . . . . ”

“Had the opportunity to fall in love, you mean,” Drew said with a touch of bitterness.

“Don’t you dare go putting words in my mouth I not only didn’t say, but had no intention of ever saying, Drew Taylor,” she admonished her husband severely. “I’m not going to pretend our life together’s been all fun and games, but we did what we had to do. I have no regrets about that, Drew, nor will I ever.”

“ ‘Sorry.”

Carolyn smiled. “Apology accepted. I was also going to say that I have a feeling this is the first time Hoss Cartwright’s ever fallen head over heels in love, too. He’s young, but he’s got a lot of maturity about him I don’t see much in other young men his age. He also knows what he wants out of life.”

Drew nodded. He finished cleaning the meat tray, then rinsed it under the kitchen pump. “He loves the Ponderosa every bit as much as his father does. I’ve heard it said that home is where the heart is. Well, if that saying has any truth to it, the Ponderosa is where Hoss Cartwright’s heart lies.”

Carolyn nodded.

“You think Cindy will be able to adjust?”

“Ask me that question again, oh . . . say a couple of years from now?!”

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Cindy?”

“How’s Guinevere’s new foal doing?”

Hoss smiled, remembering . . . .

It became clear early on that it was going to be a breech birth. Pa had sent for the vet immediately of course, and over the next several hours, everyone pitched in, including Cindy. She did whatever was asked of her without fear of her skirt and blouse being soiled, or her hair mussed. Best of all, she snowed no sign whatsoever of being squeamish. If Pa hadn’t been impressed by her before, he sure was after it was all over.

Afterwards, Hoss and Cindy stood together, side by side, watching with rapt attention as the newborn foal, his stance growing more steady with each passing second, nursed from his mother . . . .

“Sir Lancelot’s getting bigger ‘n bigger every day,” Hoss answered her question. “He eats like there no tomorrow, an’ he’s friskier ‘n a pair of bear cubs on a real fine spring day. You’re gonna hafta come out ‘n see him for yourself.”

“May I when we come for Adam’s party?”

“Sure. Cindy— ”

“Hoss, would you do me a favor, at least while we’re out here?” Cindy asked as she took him by the hand.

“Sure,” Hoss agreed.

“While we’re out here, for tonight anyway, would you mind calling me Cinnamon Rose?” she asked, gazing earnestly into his face and eyes. “I . . . I just feel like having someone call me by my whole, real name, and since you’re the only one I’ve ever told . . . . ”

“I was hopin’ I could sometime, Cind—Cinnamon Rose,” Hoss replied. “It’s such a pretty name, I wish I could call you that all the time.”

“I wish you could, too, Hoss.”

“Maybe I’ll be able to someday, when we— ” Hoss was about to say, ‘When we get married.’

“Hoss?” Cindy queried, noting that he seemed to suddenly be staring off into space through eyes the size of Mama Carolyn’s meat platter. “Hoss, are you alright?”

“I . . . I think so,” he stammered, as he slowly returned to present time and place.

“You were talking when you suddenly stopped right in the middle.”

“Y-yeah,” Hoss’ cheek flushed a very deep pink. “I was sayin’ that maybe I’ll be able t’ c-call you Cinnamon Rose all the time someday, when it won’t git anybody into trouble.”

Hoss remembered again the night Sir Lancelot was born, the way Cindy—Cinnamon Rose did what was asked the way he and Pa did, without the slightest hesitation or second thoughts. Many ladies he knew would have fainted dead away or suffered a serious attack of the vapors, or some such, but not Cinnamon Rose. After it was all over, with Sir Lancelot safely born into this world, she stood next to him, watching, take his first steps along with his first meal, with the same look of awe he saw on Pa’s face, and that he knew to be in his own.

Suddenly, he wanted more than anything, to ask her flat out if she would marry him. He actually opened his mouth with every intention of saying those words, only to have them stick in his throat as Pa’s voice echoed through his mind and his thoughts . . . .

“Marriage, Hoss?! You’ve known each other barely two months!”

“I feel like I’ve known her all my life, Pa.”

“You’re only fifteen, Son . . . she’s only seventeen. I know you care about each other very much, but you’re both too young.”

“I know we’re young, but I know what I want . . . and one thing I want more’n anything is t’ be with Cinnamon Rose, Pa, forever ‘n always.”

“Hoss, if the two of you are meant to be together . . . forever and always . . . . then you’ll still be together three years from now. You’ll be eighteen then, she’ll be twenty. There’s a lot of growing up that happens between then and the ages you are now. You need to let that happen . . . . ”

Hoss smiled. Trust Pa to have those words of wisdom, even if he didn’t actually speak them, save within his son’s mind, and his heart.

“Hoss?”

He turned and found Cinnamon Rose regarding his with a bemused look on her face.

“A penny for your thoughts, Hoss.”

He smiled. “I was just thinkin’ how much I love bein’ with ya, Cinnamon Rose, ‘n how, when were NOT together, I kinda feel like I’ve gone off ‘n forgotten something I really need . . . . ”

She stopped walking, turned, and took both of his hands in hers. “I feel the same way, too, Hoss . . . about YOU.”

“Cinnamon Rose, I . . . I’d be honored ‘n real proud t’ boot if . . . if you’d . . . well, if you’d be my gal.”

“Oh, Hoss,” she half sobbed as she threw her arms around his waist. “I already consider myself your girl. I . . . I think I have since you asked me to that dance.”

Hoss slipped his arms around her shoulders and gazed down at her in dazed wonder. “Y-you DO? Really?”

“Yes, I do. Really. Hoss?”

“Yeah, Cinnamon Rose?”

“I love you.” The smile that burst out upon his face out dazzled the moon over head, or so Cinnamon Rose thought.

“I love you, too, Cinnamon Rose,” Hoss declared, then lowered his head and kissed her soundly. When, at long last their lips parted, both were left breathless. “And maybe . . . just maybe, three years AIN’T such a long time t’ wait after all,” he mused in happy silence.

“Black?!” Ben exclaimed incredulously, as Adam, attired in the new clothing he had purchased in town the day before, took his place at the breakfast table. “You actually bought BLACK work clothes?!”

“Um hmm,” Adam replied with a roguish grin. “Has a certain . . . panache, don’t YOU think?”

“I suppose,” Ben had to admit. “But it’s not real practical.”

“Oh?! Why not?”

“It shows up every single speck of dust and dirt,” Ben replied. “It’s actually worse than white in that respect. Hop Sing’s going to have a fit.”

“Why?”

“He’ll be having to wash YOUR clothes more often,” Ben replied.

“Hey, Pa!” Joe cried out with excitement, as he ran toward the table. Hoss followed behind his baby brother, ambling at a much slower paced, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Who’s the gunslinger?”

“What gunslinger?” Adam queried in a wry tone as Joe climbed into the chair, directly facing his oldest brother, on the opposite side of the table.

Joe stared over at Adam with a bewildered frown on his face. “You sound like my brother, Adam?”

“And for good reason. I AM your brother, Adam.”

Joe stared over at Adam, open mouthed with shock and astonishment for a long moment, before suddenly, bursting into gales of laughter. “You STILL look like some kinda gunslinger!” the boy declared. “Don’t he look like a gunslinger, Pa?”

“DOESN’T he look like a gunslinger, Pa,” Adam automatically corrected.

“That’s what I just said!”

“No comment,” Ben said firmly, as he quickly raised his napkin to his mouth to hide his own amused smile. “Joseph, you’d best dig in. You have to leave for school in an hour.”

“Yes, Sir,” Joe murmured as he reached for the serving bowl with fried potatoes.

“ ‘Morning, Pa . . . ‘Mornin’, Adam, ‘n you, too Shortshanks,” Hoss greeted everyone with an affable smile. “Say, Pa, I thought I heard horses pullin’ up out in the yard when I was comin’ down the stairs just now.”

“I’ll go see,” Joe immediately volunteered as he leapt from his seat.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Adam’s arm snaked out with all the swiftness of a striking rattler. He snared his youngest brother by the shirt collar, and hauled him back to his place at the table. “YOU are going to eat, like Pa just said. I will go see who it is.”

Joe scowled darkly at his oldest brother’s retreating back and stuck out his tongue.

“What’s f’r breakfast, Pa?” Hoss asked as he seated himself on the other side of the table, in the chair facing his littlest brother. “I’m hungry enough t’ eat a horse.”

“I think Hop Sing will be very happy to hear THAT,” Ben said in all sincerity. “He was getting a mite worried about you, Son.”

“Does THIS mean you’re not in love with Cindy any more?” Joe asked, looking a trifle crestfallen.

“It don’t mean nothin’ o’ the sort, Li’l Brother,” Hoss replied. “I love Cindy more ‘n more every day.”

“Hoss getting his appetite back means the love between Hoss and Cindy’s not new anymore, but something now that’s grown more comfortable, more settled,” Ben tried to explain.

“Is that good, Pa?” Joe queried dubiously.

“Yes, Joe, that’s VERY good. It means Hoss and Cindy are becoming good friends along with being in love. You’ll understand better when you’re older.”

“Pa,” it was Adam, returning to the breakfast table. “We have company.”

Ben quickly placed his napkin down next to his plate on the table and rose. Adam entered with Esther and Jed Alcott following close behind.

“Good morning, Ben,” Jed greeted his old friend with a rueful smile. “I know you said to just come on out, if we changed our minds . . . even so, I hate barging in on you like this.”

“Jed, Esther, you’re not barging in at all. Would you like some breakfast?”

“No, thank you. Esther and I ate before we checked out of the hotel this morning.”

“In that case, Adam?”

“Yes, Pa?”

“Would you mind showing Mister and Mrs. Alcott to the guest room upstairs?”

“Not at all, Pa,” Adam replied with a smile. “Mister and Mrs. Alcott, if you’ll just follow me.”

“I’ll give ya a hand with the luggage,” Hoss volunteered, rising from his own place at the table.

“I’ll help, too.” Little Joe started to rise.

Ben reached out and grabbed his youngest son by the wrist. “Oh no you don’t, Young Man. YOU are going to sit down and finish your breakfast. You NOW have half an hour to eat and wash up before time to leave for school.”

“I’m so glad you changed you minds and decided to come and stay with us,” Adam said as he led the Alcotts upstairs.

“Truth be told, Adam, your Doctor Martin changed our minds for us,” Esther admitted.

“Oh?”

“He said I need a few days rest before attempting to make that long trip back to Boston,” she said.

“He actually said at least a month, Esther, better yet TWO.”

“Now don’t you start up again, Jedediah Alcott! To stay that long would be a dreadful imposition on Ben, and besides . . . I’m home sick. The opera season will be starting soon, and we haven’t yet purchased our tickets.”

“Mister and Mrs. Alcott, I think I can safely say I speak for Pa in say you’re both welcome to stay as long as you like,” Adam said with a smile, “though I can’t blame you for wanting to return home in time for the opera season.”

“You an opera fan, Adam?” Esther asked hopefully.

“Yes, I am. I can’t say I’m all that knowledgeable, but I did manage to find time and enough funds to go occasionally, while I was attending Harvard.”

Jed favored his wife and Adam with an indulgent smile. “You two can talk opera to your heart’s content. Whenever I go, I always seem to end up getting a good night’s sleep.”

“That would be wonderful, perhaps later,” Esther said, beaming. “Right now, I think I’d like to wash up a mite, then take a nice long nap.”

“I’ll ask Hop Sing to bring you up some hot water,” Adam said, as they reached the door of the guest room. He wrapped his fingers loosely around the doorknob and swung the door wide open. “Your home away from home, Mister and Mrs. Alcott. Hop Sing always keeps clean sheets on the bed. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, Adam, thank you very much. I’m fine,” Esther said, with a weary smile.

“In that case, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ll go down and give Hoss a hand with your luggage.”

“I’ll walk down with you, Adam. I’m hoping maybe your pa has some coffee left over. I could sure use a cup.” He turned to his wife. “Will you be alright by yourself for awhile?”

“I told you, I’ll be fine,” Esther replied. “In any case, I plan to take a nap, so I won’t be much company at all, anyhow. You go on, have that coffee, and maybe a good visit with Ben.”

“We’ll see you later, Mrs. Alcott. I hope you have a good rest in the meantime.”

“I’m sure I will. Now scoot! Both of you!”

Jed removed his jacket and tie, then followed Adam back out into the hall.

“Out of curiosity, how long do you plan to stay with us?” Adam asked, as he quietly closed the door behind them.

“I’m hoping to stretch things out for a week, beyond that . . . . ” Jed shrugged. “Esther CAN be a very determined woman, when she sets her mind . . . and her mind is definitely set on going home.”

“That would be wonderful if you can convince her to stay the entire week. You’ll be here for my homecoming party . . . . ”

“Goodness, Ben! It looks as though you’ve quite literally killed the fatted calf to welcome your prodigal back home!” Reverend Broderick Matthews exclaimed as he looked in amazement at the animal roasting over a low fire on a spit, being turned by several of the younger ranch hands.

“Fatted HOG is closer to the truth, Broderick,” Ben replied with a smile. “I’m glad you could come, though I don’t see Louise . . . . ”

“Louise received word just this afternoon that her mother’s taken a turn,” Broderick said. “She and her sister, Pearl, are with her and their father.”

“I’m sorry to hear that her mother’s not feeling well,” Ben murmured sympathetically. “Please tell Louise she AND her parents will be in my thoughts and my prayers.”

“I certainly will, Ben, thank you.”

“In the meantime, there’s plenty to eat and drink,” Ben said, gesturing toward the food tables with a broad sweep of his hand and arm. “Please . . . help yourself.”

“Good evening, Ben . . . Reverend Matthews.” It was Clara Mudgely, the church organist, with a tall, gangly woman, with frizzed, nondescript brown hair, and horn-rimmed glasses, in tow. “This is my niece, Beulah Crane. Beulah, this is Mister Cartwright and Reverend Matthews.”

“How do you do, Reverend Matthews . . . Mister Cartwright,” Beulah acknowledged the introduction in a distinctly nasal tone.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Crane.” The good reverend’s smile never quite reached his eyes. “Your aunt, Miss Mudgely has told us all so much about you.”

“Did you know, Ben, that my niece is a graduate herself this year?” Clara continued with a genuine warm smile, which she directed very pointedly toward their host.

Ben swallowed nervously, trying his hardest not to flinch away from the church organist’s intense gaze. “R-Really? Where . . . . ?!”

“From the Emma Evangeline Lewis Finishing School for Young Ladies back in Saint Jo,” Clara declared with a proud smile. “ALL of the Mudgely women have attended and graduated from that fine institution beginning with my grandmother. Beulah here is the very first of the FOURTH generation of Mudgelys to graduate from the Emma Evangeline Lewis Finishing School for Young Ladies.”

“That’s umm, quite a, uh . . . long standing tradition,” the good reverend observed as he tried to unobtrusively back away. His efforts in that endeavor were nipped in the bud by a dark glare from his host.

“Ben . . . . ”

“Yes, Clara?”

“Now that ADAM has graduated from that college back east, done his wandering and returned home, it’s high time HE thought of settling down.”

“He has, Clara. Adam’s been working with Art Menken . . . he’s my foreman down at the sawmill . . . learning the operation. In fact, I think he’s been formulating some ideas about improvements to increase production next spring. He’s also— ”

“That’s NOT what I meant,” Clara snapped, rudely cutting Ben off at mid-sentence.

“Oh?!” Ben queried, with great fear and trembling as he entertained suspicious now as to what she did mean.

“I MEANT that Adam needs to think seriously about taking a wife, Ben, and having a family, as is his bounden duty before God and to YOU, in keeping your name and lineage going,” Clara declared stoutly, confirming the very worst of Ben’s fears. “Has he anyone special in mind?”

“Well, uhh . . . no . . . no, he doesn’t,” Ben stammered, feeling as if he had somehow betrayed his oldest son into the hands of the very devil incarnate. “As I just said, he’s getting himself back into the routine of things HERE . . . I just figure he’ll take a wife . . . when he’s ready . . . AFTER he’s met the right gal, of course . . . . ”

“Ben, something this vital, this important should NEVER, not under any circumstances be left up to chance,” Clara admonished her host severely, then smiled. Ben shuddered as her complacent smile reminded him of the perpetual upward curving lines of an alligator’s closed mouth. “My niece, Beulah Crane will be visiting me for the remainder of the summer. Perhaps the four of us . . . you, me, Adam, AND Beulah might get together for dinner some evening. I have a feeling that Adam and Beulah have a lot in common.”

“We’ll see,” Ben said evasively. “In the meantime, I . . . well, as host, I have to see to my other guests, as well . . . . ” He refrained from mentioning that he also had to warn Adam.

“Yes, of course, Ben. We’ll talk again Sunday, and set up a time then.”

“A time, Clara?” Ben queried with a bewildered frown. “A time for WHAT?”

“To have dinner, Silly.” Clara giggled like a geriatric schoolgirl, and winked coquettishly at him. “You and me . . . Beulah and Adam.”

“Over my dead body,” Ben growled under his breath, as he moved to greet his arriving friends and neighbors, the O’Briens.

“He’s beautiful, Hoss . . . and so ‘s Guinevere!” Cindy exclaimed with delight as she stood alongside the biggest of the Cartwright boys, watching Guinevere munching on fresh hay, while her young foal, Sir Lancelot drank greedily from his mother’s milk. She and Hoss had stepped into the barn for a brief respite away from the gathering crowd of arriving friends and neighbors outside. “I STILL can’t get over how he got up on his feet and started walking when he was only a few minutes old.”

Hoss looked over at her and smiled. “That’s ‘cause horses are food for other animals, like cougars ‘n wolves, leastwise they are out in the wild. When wild horses come into the world, they’re usually born real quick, an’ up, walkin’ around even quicker . . . or else they end up bein’ somebody’s dinner.”

“Guinevere and Sir Lancelot would’ve been in real big trouble, if they’d have been in the wild.”

“Yep.”

“What’s going to happen to Sir Lancelot? After he grows up, I mean.”

“That’ll be up to Pa, but I’d say he’ll more’n likely be gelded, then saddle trained once he’s old enough.”

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Cindy?”

“You think you could teach me how to ride?”

“I sure could, if it’s alright with your folks ‘n my pa,” Hoss replied.

“Maybe we could ask them after the party?”

“Sure.”

Cindy smiled. “That would be wonderful! I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride, but with all the moving around we’ve done in the last seven years or so, I guess I just never got around to it.”

“Your folks ever learn t’ ride?”

“Pa never learned. He told me that his ma and pa were too poor to keep a horse,” she replied. “Fortunately, he grew up in a big city where he was able to walk everywhere he needed to go. I don’t know about Mama Carolyn, though.”

“Hoss . . . Cindy?”

The pair turned toward the door, where they say Joe Cartwright with a glass of punch in one hand and a big sugar cookie, half eaten, in the other. “You better not eat too many o’ them cookies, Shortshanks,” Hoss admonished his younger brother. “Hop Sing’ll have a fit if you fill up on cookies, ‘n have no room t’ eat your supper.”

“Pa said I could have one,” the boy said defensively.

“How many HAVE ya had?” Hoss asked with a knowing glare.

Joe immediately averted his eyes to what remained of the cookie and glass of punch in hand. “Three,” he replied sheepishly.

“You just better watch it, ‘n make sure ya save room for your supper,” Hoss warned.

“Yes, PA,” Joe returned, then stuck out his tongue.

Hoss and Cindy both returned the gesture, much to Little Joe’s delight. “So, what’s up, Shortshanks?” the latter asked.

“Pa’s lookin’ for ya.”

“Tell him I’m comin’, Li’l Brother.”

“I will . . . . . ” With that, Joe bolted out of the barn running at top speed.

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Cindy?”

“Would it be alright if I . . . well, if I waited here for you?”

He noted her trembling hands and eyes round with alarm. “You ok, Cindy?”

“I’m ok, it . . . . Oh, Hoss, I feel terrible having to say this, but . . . it’s your pa’s friends . . . you know, that couple from back east?”

“The Alcotts?” Hoss queried, looking over at her in surprise.

Cindy nodded hesitantly. “They . . . they scare me. I don’t know why . . . . ” she looked up at Hoss and shrugged helplessly, “but they scare me.”

“They’re different, that’s f’r sure,” Hoss said thoughtfully. “They’re nice enough, I think they are, anyway, ‘n real polite, but there’s somethin’ that’s kinda . . . well, kinda stand-offish about ‘em, too.”

“Y-You think maybe that’s why they scare me?”

“Could be part of it, Cindy. I was a little put off by ‘em myself that first night I met ‘em, ‘til Pa told me folks’re more formal, ‘n reserved in Boston, where the Alcotts come from,” Hoss said. “That first night I met ‘em? They’d just arrived in Virginia City, on the same stage as Adam. They were pretty tuckered out, an’ Pa said neither one of ‘em are well. He also said they got some bad news a few days ago, when they met with Mister Milburn.”

“I’m sorry they’re not feeling well, Hoss . . . and I’m sorry about them getting bad news,” Cindy said slowly. “I’ll TRY not to be so put off by them, at least until I get to know ‘em a little better. But, would you do me a favor?”

“Sure, Cindy, anything.”

“Could you stay real close, Hoss? Somehow, I don’t feel quite so afraid as long as you’re close by.”

Hoss smiled. “I’ll be more ‘n happy t’ stick close,” he agreed very readily, then offered his arm. “Shall we go see what Pa wants?”

“Drew . . . Carolyn . . . . ”

“Good evening, Ben,” Carolyn greeted their host with a warm ingratiating smile. “If you’re looking for Hoss— ”

Ben smiled back. “I know. Joe just told me he and Cindy are in the barn looking at Sir Lancelot,” he replied. “However, I wasn’t looking for Hoss. I was looking for you and your husband.”

Drew and Carolyn exchanged quick, furtive glances. “What can we do for you, Ben?” the former asked.

“I wanted to introduce you to a couple of very old friends of mine . . . . ”

“Ben Cartwright, we’re not THAT old,” Esther Alcott quipped.

“Mister and Mrs. Taylor, this is Mister and Mrs. Alcott,” Ben graciously made the introductions. “They were in Virginia City to take care of some family business, and decided to stay with us here at the Ponderosa for a few days before returning home.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mister and Mrs. Alcott,” Carolyn smiled and held out her hand.

“ . . . and I’m most pleased to make YOUR acquaintance, Mrs. Taylor,” Esther smiled and graciously took her hand. “Ben tells us you and your husband are new in town.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Where are you from?” Esther asked, as the pair ambled slowly over toward the punch bowl.

“Saint Joseph, Missouri, Mrs. Alcott,” Carolyn replied. “Where do YOU call home?”

“Boston is my home these days,” Esther replied, “though I grew up in Cambridge.”

“Have you been to Boston, Mister Taylor?” Jed asked upon noting the look of recognition in the younger man’s eyes when his wife made mention of Boston and Cambridge.

Drew Taylor clasped his hands very tightly together in front of him, in an attempt to hide their trembling. “I . . . uh, n-no. I remember Mister Cartwright saying that his son, Adam, has been attending Harvard University for the past four years, but . . . . ” He shrugged.

“Never been to Boston? Ever?”

“No,” Drew replied, averting his eyes away from Jedediah Alcott’s sudden, intense scrutiny.

“You look familiar to me, Sir,” Jed said, his hard, almost lizard-like glare never wavering. “I thought if, maybe, you had even visited Boston, we might have actually met.”

“I’ve never been to Boston, Mister Alcott.” Drew’s tone was terse, his syllables clipped.

“I overheard your wife telling mine just now that you come from Saint Joseph,” Jed continued.

“Yes.”

“May I inquire as to your reasons for leaving Saint Joseph and moving here, to Virginia City?”

“Jed, I really don’t think that’s any of our business,” Esther said, taking care to lower her voice. “We’ve only just now MET Mister and Mrs. Taylor.”

“They may know something,” Jed argued. “Andy Smith, his wife, and daughter ALSO came from Saint Joseph. The Taylors may have met them there.”

“Jed— ”

“The Taylors and the Smiths obviously arrived HERE in Virginia City at the same time. Chances are they rode in on the same stage. They may have talked, and in so doing, its possible Andy Smith might have mentioned their next destination to Mister Taylor here.”

“Jed, stop it! Just stop it!” Esther demanded, on the edge of tears.

“Esther— ”

“No! Jedediah Alcott, this is supposed to be a PARTY . . . a welcome home party for Adam, not some . . . some inquisition.” She, then turned her attention to the Taylors. “I must apologize for my husband,” she said contritely. “A few days ago, Jed and I received some bad news, but he has no right to take it out on you.”

“It’s alright, Mrs. Alcott,” Carolyn murmured, shaken now to the core of her own being. “I’m sorry to hear things aren’t going as well as they might for you.”

Esther managed a wan smile for Carolyn Taylor’s benefit. “Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. Ben?”

“Yes, Esther?”

“Would you please excuse me? I’m . . . with all that’s happened, I think it’s taken a greater toll on me than I thought,” she said quietly, her voice catching. “Would you mind conveying my apologies to Adam and the rest of your guests?”

“Not at all,” Ben murmured sympathetically, with a touch of concern. “Doctor Martin is here at the party with his wife. I can ask him to— ”

“Thank you, Ben, but I don’t think I need a doctor, just rest. I was planning on retiring for the evening.”

“Good night, Mrs. Alcott,” Carolyn said quietly. “I hope you’ll be feeling better very soon.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor, you’re very kind.”

“Pa?”

Ben turned, and smiled upon seeing Hoss and Cindy approaching, her arm linked through his. He waved the young couple over. “Hoss, would you mind seeing Mrs. Alcott to the house? She’s not feeling well— ”

“Thank you, Ben, but you needn’t trouble Hoss,” Esther declined politely. Her eyes moved from Ben’s face, and came to rest on the girl clinging to Hoss’ arm, almost for dear life it seemed. She smiled. “Good evening, Young Lady.”

“Mrs. Alcott, this is my daughter, Cindy,” Carolyn made the introductions with a warm smile of her own. “Cindy, this is Mrs. Alcott. She and her husband are old friends of Mister Cartwright.”

“I-I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Alcott,” Cindy murmured fearfully, as she extended her hand.

“ . . . and I’m delighted to meet YOU, Cindy.”

Hoss’ attention, meanwhile, was drawn away by the sounds of approaching horses. He turned toward the barn, just in time to see Roy Coffee riding into the yard, scowling, his mouth set in a grim, determined line. Rob MacLowry and his oldest son, Danny, flanked the sheriff on either side. “Dadburn it, who invited THEM?” he growled under his breath.

“I can’t say I entirely approve of Roy Coffee’s choice of friends either, Son,” Ben muttered. An angry scowl creased his brow. “But, this IS your brother’s home coming, and I won’t have it spoiled by you making a scene with the MacLowry boy. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Hoss muttered reluctantly, his own brow darkening with anger, as Cindy edged closer.

“Tell you what! Why don’t the BOTH of you see Mrs. Alcott inside the house?” Ben suggested in a kindlier tone. “I’ll ask Joe to bring you a couple of plates in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright,” Cindy murmured gratefully, relieved at the prospect of taking shelter inside the house, well out of the sight of Danny MacLowry.

“Good evening, Roy,” Ben walked over and greeted his old friend, determined to keep a good face on things despite the appearance of the MacLowrys.

“ ‘Evenin’, Ben.”

“We have plenty to eat if you want to— ”

“Ben, I’m afraid this ain’t a social call,” Roy said grimly, as he dismounted from his horse. The MacLowrys followed suit. A malicious, triumphant grin spread across Danny’s face as he dismounted.

Ben stared over at Roy, wholly taken aback.

“I’m here to pick up Mister ‘n Mrs. Taylor ‘n take ‘em both into town for questionin’.”

“WHAT?!”

Roy Coffee scanned the faces of the guests, friends and neighbors all, as he tethered his horse to the hitching post. “You heard me, Ben.”

“Why?” Ben demanded, as he turned and favored the MacLowrys with a dark, angry glare. “What are the charges against the Taylors?”

“Accordin’ to Mister MacLowry ‘n his boy, Danny, Mister ‘n Mrs. Taylor may be fugitives, guilty of kidnappin’ the granddaughter of a couple on Boston . . . . ”

Jed Alcott, who had been conversing with Adam, glanced up sharply, upon overhearing the sheriff’s words. “Adam, please excuse me.”

Esther, leaning very heavily on Hoss’ extended arm, with Cindy walking quietly on her other side, turned and spotted her husband, his face set with a grim, stubborn determination, making his way through the crowd toward the place where Ben stood, talking with the sheriff and two unkempt strangers. Adam followed close behind him.

“Hoss?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“I recognize the sheriff, but . . . who’s the man and boy with him?”

“That’s Mister MacLowry ‘n his son, Danny,” Hoss replied, his scowl deepening. “I know Pa invited Sheriff Coffee, but NOT the MacLowrys.”

“Why are they here?” More to the point, why was her husband listening so intently to what they, the MacLowrys, had to say.

“I have no idea in t’ world why they’re here, Mrs. Alcott,” Hoss said grimly. “If I had MY way, they’d be high tailin’ it right back t’ town where they came from.”

“Would you mind seeing me over there? I’d like to know hear what the MacLowrys and Jed are talking about.”

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Cindy?”

“If you and Mrs. Alcott don’t mind, I’ll go join my ma and pa. I want to put as much distance between me and the MacLowrys . . . . ” Cindy grimaced as she might if she had eaten something with an exceptionally foul taste, “ . . . as I possibly can.”

Hoss nodded, understanding. “I’ll look for you in a li’l bit,” he promised, before turning and once again offering Esther Alcott his arm.

“I see ‘em, Sheriff Coffee,” Danny declared with a smug, triumphant smile, as Ether and Hoss drew up alongside Jed. “That’s them! Over there next to the punch bowl with their daughter.” He pointed.

Roy nodded curtly, and set off on an intercept course toward them, with the MacLowrys, Ben, and Adam following close behind.

“Jed?”

“What do you want, Esther?”

“What’s going on?”

Jed turned to face his wife with a smile not unlike the same on Danny MacLowry’s face. “We may yet have some good news,” he said, before turning and falling in step behind Ben and Adam.

Hoss and Esther Alcott followed a short distance behind Jed.

Roy, leading the delegation, reached the punch bowl and the Taylors first. “Mister Taylor?” he queried, placing a firm hand on the man’s shoulder.

At the sound of his name, Drew started violently.

“Sheriff Coffee, you don’t have to sneak up behind a man and scare him half out of his wits like that,” Carolyn Taylor, her face pale and voice trembling, admonished the sheriff severely.

“I’m very sorry, Ma’am,” Roy apologized. “I need to take you ‘n you husband into town f’r questionin’.”

“What for?”

“To find out what you may or may not know about the kidnappin’ of a child, a nine year old girl, from her grandparents in Boston.”

“They know plenty, Sheriff Coffee, ‘cause that’s THEM,” Danny sneered.

A dark angry scowl creased Hoss’ normally smooth brow. “You’re lyin’,” he spat, bringing the full brunt of his wrath to bear on Danny.

Danny involuntarily took a step backward. “No, I’m not,” he stolidly maintained. He reached into his pants pocket and dug out the wanted poster he had been carrying around since removing it from the sheriff’s office nearly two months before. “Take a look, Cartwright!” he sneered, as he waved the creased, torn poster up in front of Hoss’ face. “Tell me THAT don’t look like Mister Taylor!” He pointed to the picture of Andrew Sandringham.

“It looks like a picture some kid drew a moustache ‘n beard on,” Hoss growled.

“Maybe so, but with that moustache ‘n beard, this guy STILL looks like Mister Taylor.”

“You lyin’ piece o’ sheep dirt!” Hoss spat. “You’re just doin’ this t’ get back at Cindy here, ‘cause she won’t give ya the time o’ day.”

“Well I’m GLAD she wouldn’t give me the time of day, Cartwright! You hear me? I’m glad! ‘Cause if she HAD, I’d be arrested, too, for associatin’ with known criminals!”

“So help me, Danny, I’m gonna make you eat every lyin’ word . . . . ” Hoss stepped over toward his nemesis, with fists tightly clenched and eyes blazing with fury.

“Hoss Cartwright, you so much as lay a finger on Danny MacLowry, I’ll run YOU in for assault ‘n battery,” Roy warned sternly.

“ . . . and I’ll be right there to swear out a complaint,” Rob crowed.

“Mister MacLowry, I think it might be best f’r all concerned if you ‘n your boy went on home,” Roy said tersely.

Danny’s face fell.

“Why?” Rob demanded. “So ‘s you can sweep this whole thing under the rug without US seein’ . . . ‘cause the Taylors happen to be friends of the Cartwrights?!”

“One more word outta either one o’ ya, I’ll put YOU under arrest f’r interferin’ with a lawful investigation into a committed crime,” Roy countered. “I’ll need a statement from your boy, but you c’n bring him in t’ my office t’morrow mornin’ for THAT. F’r now, I’d appreciate it if you ‘n your boy moved along.”

“If you’re not well on your way within the next five minutes, Mister MacLowry, I’ll add trespassing on private property to Sheriff Coffee’s list of charges,” Ben growled.

“Alright, we’ll see you in the morning, Sheriff,” Rob MacLowry growled. “Let’s go, Danny.”

“But, Pa . . . . ”

“I SAID let’s go! NOW!”

“Pa . . . Sheriff Coffee, Danny’s lyin’!” Hoss protested, as he slipped a steadying arm around Cindy’s waist.

“No, Hoss, he’s not,” Drew Taylor said in a very quiet, yet very firm tone of voice. The anxious lines etched so deeply in his brow had faded leaving a forehead nearly as smooth, as unlined as Hoss’ own.

“Drew, what are you saying!” Carolyn protested, her eyes round with alarm.

“It’s over, Carolyn,” Drew said gently.

“Drew . . . . ”

“Pa? Mama Carolyn?” Cindy looked from one to the other. “What’s this all about?”

“Are you Mister ‘n Mrs. Andrew Sandringham?” Roy asked, his eyes on Drew Taylor’s face.

Drew looked over at his wife and held out his hand. Carolyn moved forward hesitantly, her eyes shining with the brightness of tears, newly forming. She slipped her small hand within the large one of her husband’s and took her place at his side. “Yes, Sheriff Coffee. I AM Andrew Sandringham. This is my wife, Caroline.”

Cindy looked over at her father and step-mother in complete and utter disbelief. “Pa? M-Mama Carolyn? What is all this? What’s going on?”

“It’s the end of a very long search, Child.”

Cindy turned and found herself staring up into the face of Jedediah Alcott. A murderous scowl darkened his entire face, giving emphasis to the fires of the wrath that had consumed him over the last seven years, now glowing with frightening intensity. She edged closer to Hoss.

“Mister Andrew Sandringham and Mrs. Caroline Sandringham, you’re both under arrest,” Roy said tersely. “The charges are kidnappin’ an underage child ‘n takin’ her across state lines.”

Upon hearing their names, the blood drained from Esther Alcott’s face, leaving it a sickly ashen gray. She stared over at the people, who had just a short time before been introduced to her as Drew and Carolyn Taylor, through eyes round with mind numbing shock.

“N-No!” Cindy protested, shaking her head in complete and utter disbelief. Had it not been for the steadying strength of Hoss’ arm firmly about her waist, she would have almost certainly collapsed. “Mister Cartwright, please! Don’t let Sheriff Coffee take Pa and Mama Carolyn away— ”

Ben walked around and took his place on her other side, his eyes fixed on Jedediah Alcott. “I’m very sorry, Cindy,” he said gently, as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing I can do. The only man who can put a stop to this is your grandfather.”

“M-my grandfather?!” Cindy echoed, incredulous.

“Well, Jed?” Ben queried, his gaze never wavering.

“Sheriff Coffee, take them away,” Jed ordered.

Roy bristled. “Mister Alcott, I don’t know who you think you are t’ be barkin’ out orders t’ me like some cavalry drill sergeant— ”

“For YOUR information, Sheriff Coffee, my wife and I happen to be the grandparents and legal guardians of the young lady kidnapped by the Sandringhams seven years ago,” Jed stated imperiously.

“I see,” Roy said tersely. “You’ll need to come to my office in town t’morrow mornin’ to swear out a complaint, an’ give a statement.”

“I’ll be there, first thing,” Jed vowed.

Sobbing, Cinnamon Rose left Hoss and ran over to her parents. “P-Pa . . . M-Mama C-Carolyn, I’m sorry . . . s-so sorry . . . all MY fault.” She threw her arms around her father’s neck and buried her head against his shoulder.

Andrew Sandringham put his arms around his weeping daughter and held her close for a moment. “Princess, look at me,” he said softly, at length.

Cinnamon looked up, as her tears continued to flow, unchecked down her cheeks.

“Cindy . . . Cinnamon, it’s NOT your fault,” Andrew said in a gentle, yet firm tone. “None of this is your fault.”

“Oh, Pa . . . if I . . . if I hadn’t insisted we stay . . . . ”

“Mama Carolyn and I wanted to stay, too, Princess, and I’m NOT sorry we did. I don’t want YOU to be sorry, either.”

Cinnamon nodded and buried her face once again against his chest.

“If we had it to do all over again, knowing how it was going to turn out, I wouldn’t do anything different,” Andrew added as he hugged his daughter close.

“Pa, what’s going to h-happen to me, if they . . . if you . . . . ”

“You will be coming back home with your grandmother and me to Boston, Cinnamon.”

Cinnamon shuddered at the ice-cold voice falling on her ears. She looked up slowly, with reluctance, and found Jedediah Alcott standing beside her.

“N-no . . . . ” Cinnamon sobbed softly, shaking her head in vigorous denial. She turned to appeal to her grandfather. “Please, don’t let Sheriff Coffee take them away! M-Mister Cartwright said y-you could stop this . . . . ”

“You will stop this nonsense at ONCE, Cinnamon. You will return to Boston in the company of your grandmother and myself. The Sandringhams . . . . ” he grimaced as if he had just eaten something incredibly sour, “WILL go to jail.”

“No!” Cinnamon said vehemently as she backed away.

“Now you see here, Young Lady,” Jed turned to reprimand his granddaughter.

“NO!” Cinnamon shouted, giving full vent to the fury and grief boiling up inside her. “YOU SEE HERE, GRANDFATHER! I DON’T CARE WHAT ANY LAWYER, ANY SHERIFF, OR ANY PAPERS SAY, I’M NOT GOING BACK TO BOSTON OR ANYWHERE ELSE WITH YOU! I’M NOT!”

“Cinnamon Rose Sandringham, you will apologize— ”

“I’LL . . . I’LL SEE YOU BOTH IN HELL FIRST BEFORE I APOLOGIZE . . . OR GO ANYWHERE WITH YOU!” Cinnamon screamed and sobbed. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU BOTH!” With that, she pushed past Esther and Adam, then fled, sobbing, into the night.

“I’ll go after her, Pa,” Hoss said. His words, though softly spoken, fell like loud thunderclaps on the ears of the stunned company gathered. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and set off after Cinnamon Rose.

Esther moaned softly, then burst into tears herself, burying her face in her hands.

Jed gathered his wife into his arms, while directing a murderous glare at Andrew and Caroline Sandringham. “This is YOUR doing!” he spat. “This is all YOUR doing! You’ve poisoned her mind . . . turned her against us . . . . ”

“I did NO such thing!” Andrew harshly denied the allegations. “Although you doubtless would have turned Cinnamon against me had she been in your custody these last seven years, I was determined NOT to turn her against you.”

“He’s telling you the truth, Mister Alcott,” Caroline said. “We never told Cindy . . . CINNAMON the real reason why we had to move around so much. We intended to do so after she came of age, when she would have had the maturity to understand.”

“Sheriff, get them out of my sight, please!” Jed snapped. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Adam?”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Sorry your homecoming party got busted up early,” Joe said sadly as he, Adam, and their father made their way back toward the house after seeing the last of their guests off.

“Thanks, Joe,” Adam said, favoring his youngest brother with a weary smile. “But, you know what?”

“What?”

“First of all, I’m very glad to be home,” Adam said earnestly. “Though I enjoyed myself in Boston, I missed you, Pa, Hoss, and Hop Sing, too. Second . . . . ”

“Yeah?”

“ . . . the BEST homecoming for me was when I got off the stage in Virginia City and saw you, Pa, and Hoss there, waiting.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Adam said firmly. “I think right now, I’m more worried about Hoss and Cinnamon than I am about the party ending early.” He looked over at Ben, two pair of dark eyes meeting and holding. “Pa, you think maybe one of us should go look for them?”

“Not just yet,” Ben shook his head. “They’re both on foot, so they’re not likely to go far.”

“You think Cinnamon will come back with Hoss?”

“She loves him, Adam, and she trusts him,” Ben said with the quiet conviction that comes with knowing. He sighed, and dolefully shook his head. “I’m not so much worried about where they are, or will they come back. I’m more worried about what’s going to happen when they DO come back.”

When Hoss finally caught up with Cinnamon Rose, he found her amid a group of large rocks, leaning heavily against the largest with her head cupped in the circle of her folded arms.

“Cinnamon Rose . . . ?!”

With a heart-wrenching sob, she turned from the rock and ran into the protective circle of Hoss’ open arms. Cinnamon wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and buried her head against his chest. Hoss slipped his own arms around Cinnamon and held her close, as tears began to stream down his own face. They remained thus, each clinging desperately to the other, weeping together as the moon rose steadily in the heavens above them.

“H-Hoss?” Cinnamon ventured, as the intensity of their weeping began to subside.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I hate them, Hoss,” she said in a firm, resolute tone, as she pressed even closer.

“Cinnamon Rose, y’ can’t m-mean that . . . . ”

“I can and I do,” she insisted. “They’ve taken Pa and Mama Carolyn away from me, and now . . . . ” Her eyes shone with newly forming tears. “Now they want to take me away from YOU.”

“Pa told Adam ‘n me about the Alcotts, ‘n a li’l ‘bout your pa, ‘n your ma . . . the ma who brought you into this world,” Hoss said slowly. “He showed us some o’ the letters Mister Alcott wrote him right after your ma died, telling him . . . MY pa . . . how much he loved your pa . . . an’ YOU . . . how much delight ‘n comfort you brought to your pa, an’ to him ‘n Mrs. Alcott, too.”

“If he loves me . . . and loves my pa so much, why is he doing this?” she demanded. “Why is he having Pa and Mama Carolyn jailed . . . and why is he taking me away, not only from THEM, but from you, too?”

“I think, maybe it’s ‘cause he ‘n Mrs. Alcott’ve been worried ‘bout YOU for the last seven years you’ve been with your pa ‘n Mama Carolyn,” Hoss said thoughtfully. “Maybe, now that he knows YOU’RE alive, well, ‘n safe . . . maybe, if he has time t’ think about it, maybe he’ll change his mind.”

“I don’t know, Hoss,” she said doubtfully.

“Cinnamon Rose, do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

“Well I trust my pa,” Hoss continued. “If you c’mon back with me, we’ll talk with MY pa, first thing in the mornin’. I think HE’LL understand, and maybe he can talk with Mister Alcott.”

“You think Mister Alcott . . . my grandfather . . . will listen?”

“I think there’s a good chance, Cinnamon Rose. Mister Alcott ‘n my pa have been friends since before Adam was born.”

“Alright, Hoss, I’ll come back with YOU . . . so we can talk with your pa.”

Ben, clad in white nightshirt, his dark maroon robe, and a pair of slippers, sat in the blue chair, with open book in hand. As the grandfather clock next to the door chimed the hour of midnight, he sighed, upon realizing that he had just read the same paragraph over for the tenth time, and snapped the book shut. He placed it on the coffee table before him, then rose and started across the room toward the front door. The soft sound of footfalls on the stairs, halted him in his trek mid-stride. He turned, and spotted Jed Alcott, attired in pajamas and a dark, navy blue robe, walking down the stairs.

“Jed? I hope I didn’t wake you . . . . ”

“I’m too upset to sleep,” Jed said tersely as he walked down the remainder of the steps. “I’m tired of just . . . just lying there in bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to this clock down here striking quarter hour after quarter hour . . . . ”

“Would you care for a glass of brandy?”

“No, thank you, Ben. I take it they’re not back yet?”

“No,” Ben shook his head, regretting now that he hadn’t taken Adam up on his offer to go out and look for Hoss and Cinnamon.

Jed Alcott walked over toward the fireplace and sat down on the settee. “If anything happens to Cinnamon Rose . . . anything at ALL, I’ll hold YOU personally responsible,” he said through clenched teeth, as he folded his arms tight across his chest.

Ben felt his own ire suddenly rising within. “You’re upset, Jed,” his words were terse, his syllables clipped. “I understand that— ”

“Damn it, Ben Cartwright, don’t you DARE patronize me,” Jed Alcott rounded furiously on his old friend. “She’s been here all along, yet you NEVER said one word . . . not ONE word, to Esther and me. You were just going to let us go on back to Boston, believing that we’d either missed her or that she was never here.”

“Jed, I had no idea that Mister and Mrs. Taylor were your son-in-law and his wife,” Ben said earnestly, half pleading.

“I find that hard to believe, Ben, VERY hard to believe.”

“It happens to be the truth.”

“How could you have NOT known?”

“Mister and Mrs. Sandringham aren’t the only people who have ever come to Virginia City as drifters, two parents and a child,” Ben argued. “I had no reason to suspect they were not who and what they said they were.”

“Even so, you think that’s any kind of life for a child?”

“No, I don’t, for the simple reason that Adam and I were drifters ourselves from the time we left Boston until I met Inger, when he was five or six,” Ben said, taking no pains to conceal the anger growing within him. “We were no different from the Sandringhams. Those years weren’t easy for Adam or me, but we were together.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe you might have chasing after a will-o-the-wisp, Ben? That maybe, for Adam’s sake you should have stayed put in Boston instead of pursuing this pipe dream of yours?”

“I have no regrets about leaving Boston to head west, Jed,” Ben declared in a tone of voice that was colder than ice. “None! Even if I hadn’t done as well for myself as I have, I find myself very grateful that there was at least a thousand miles between me and MY father-in-law so that HE couldn’t so easily go to court and try to take Adam from me when I decided to remarry.”

Jed’s face paled, then turned an odd shade of purple. “How DARE you, Ben Cartwright? How— ”

The sound of voices, Hoss and Cinnamon Rose, accompanied by the front door opening brought the escalating quarrel between Ben and Jed to an abrupt halt. Both men rose, with their eyes glued to the door.

“Pa, sorry we took so long,” Hoss said wearily as he and Cinnamon Rose entered the house together, hand-in-hand.

“I’m just glad to see you both back, safe and sound,” Ben said with genuine, heartfelt relief.

Jed glared over at Hoss, then his granddaughter, who shrank back away from him, into Hoss’ protective embrace. “So help me, Ben, if your boy’s harmed my granddaughter in ANY way . . . . ”

“Jed, I’ve tried very hard to be patient, knowing how upset you and Esther must be,” Ben’s tone was harder than steel. “I was willing to overlook a lot of what you said about me, but I will NOT stand by and allow you or anyone else to falsely accuse my son of improper behavior.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Hoss?”

“Cinnamon Rose ‘n I need t’ talk with ya,” he said, favoring Jed Alcott with an angry scowl. “First thing in the mornin’, if we can.”

“Cinnamon Rose will be leaving with her grandmother and me first thing in the morning, Young Man,” Jed informed Hoss in a cold, imperious tone of voice. “After we conclude our business with Sheriff Coffee, we will check into the hotel until we can catch a stage out of Virginia City.”

“No!” Cinnamon Rose protested vigorously. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Not now, not EVER! You try to force me, I’ll . . . so help me, I’ll run away the first chance I get.” With that, she turned heel and fled upstairs.

“It’s plain as the nose on my face that my granddaughter is in desperate need of discipline,” Jed said grimly, as the lines of his already furrowed brow deepened with anger.

“Now you just hold on right there, Mister Alcott,” Hoss said, his own face darkening with anger.

“Hoss . . . . ”

“No, Pa, I’m gonna have my say, even if it DOES mean a trip out to the barn,” Hoss said firmly. “Mister Alcott, Mister ‘n Mrs. Taylor . . . Sandringham . . . are good people. They’ve had t’ be on the road a lot, an’ now I understand a little why, but they love Cinnamon Rose very much, and have done the best they could by her.”

“You call a life of aimlessly drifting the best this Mister and Mrs. Sandringham could do by my granddaughter?” Jed demanded, venting the full brunt of his fury against Hoss. “If she had been with US, her grandmother and me, she would have had a proper home and upbringing, gone to the best schools . . . . ”

“Maybe her pa an’ Mama Carolyn couldn’t give her all those things, ‘cause of havin’ to be on the run the last seven years,” Hoss argued, “but they DID give her the one thing she . . . an’ everyone else needs a lot more. Love! Mister ‘n Mrs. Sandringham love Cinnamon very much, an’ she loves them. Can’t you see that jailin’ the Sandringhams ‘n forcin’ her t’ go back to Boston with you is breakin’ her heart?”

“Love!” Jed spat. “What can that . . . that lousy excuse for a father and poor replacement for my daughter possibly know about love?”

“That’s what it all boils down to, ain’t it?” Hoss charged. “Your daughter died, ‘n her husband took another wife. You don’t care a dadburn thing about Cinnamon Rose. You just want t’ punish her pa!”

Jed’s face suddenly lost every bit of what little color it had. His mouth thinned to a tight, straight angry line, and his entire body trembled with rage. He clenched the fingers of both hands so tightly, his knuckles turned white. With lightening quick swiftness, he raised his arm and balled fist, fully intending to strike Hoss. “Ben,” he spat, “if YOU don’t discipline this smart mouthed young puppy of yours right here and right now, so help me, I WILL!”

Ben, his own face a veritable thundercloud, immediately interposed himself between Hoss and Jed. “In the FIRST place, Jedediah Alcott, I am NOT in the habit of striking another man for telling the truth, even if he IS my son,” he countered, tight lipped with raw fury, his voice barely above a whisper. “Second, if you so much as lay a finger on my son, even if it’s to tap him on the shoulder, I’ll have YOU jailed for assault and battery so fast it’ll make your head swim.”

“You wouldn’t DARE!”

“If Ben doesn’t, I WILL.”

Ben, Hoss, and Jed all turned toward the stairs, where they saw Esther Alcott, clad in nightgown and robe, standing on the top landing. She glared down at all three of them, with posture ramrod straight, and thin, slender arms folded tight across her chest.

“Esther, WHAT are you saying?” Jed demanded furiously.

“I’m saying that Hoss Cartwright is telling the truth,” Esther replied in a cold angry tone.

“How can you say that, Esther? How can YOU of ALL people, possibly say that?”

She turned and walked down the stairs. “I say that because I remember the love, the respect, even the admiration you had for Andrew in those horrible months . . . and years after Donna died. You never stopped talking about how wonderful, how devoted a father Andrew was . . . until, suddenly, the day he remarried.”

“You wrote the same thing to me, Jed,” Ben added his own words to Esther’s, pleading. “I saved every last one of those letters. I don’t know why, but I did. You can read them yourself, if you want. They’re in the bottom left hand drawer of my desk over there.”

“Ben, I’d rather NOT,” Jed snapped, angrily. “As for YOU, Esther, how can you dishonor the memory of our beloved daughter— ”

His words were abruptly cut off mid-sentence by a resounding slap on the face from Esther, her eyes glinting like sunlight on hard steel. “How DARE you?” she spat.

Jed’s hand rose slowly to touch the cheek his wife just slapped . He stared over at her, through eyes round with shock and astonishment.

“I LOVED our daughter, Jed,” Esther said, her whole body trembling with fury, “I loved her more than life itself. I still love, honor, and cherish her precious memory, but Donna is DEAD. It’s monstrously unfair she had to die so young, leaving behind a loving husband and daughter not much more than a baby. It’s ALSO monstrously unfair to expect her husband and daughter to stop living themselves.”

“I DON’T expect them to stop living,” Jed protested vigorously.

“Don’t you?”

Jed lapsed into sullen silence.

“Jed, the fact that your son-in-law fell in love again, and remarried is a tribute to the love he and your daughter once shared,” Ben said quietly. “You remember Elizabeth, how happy she and I were the brief time we had together. I was devastated when she died. For a little while, I wanted to die, too. But, as time passed, I found that I not only wanted to live to see my son, Adam, grow to manhood, but I wanted to share my life . . . and my heart with another, BECAUSE of the love and happiness I had known with Elizabeth.”

“Jed, what if Donna Lorinda had lived, and ANDREW died?” Esther pressed. “Would you have denied HER a second chance at happiness?”

“That’s different!”

“Why? Because Donna Lorinda was our daughter?”

“Esther, you’re twisting things around,” Jed declared, exasperated. “Yes, Cinnamon WILL miss her father and . . . that woman for a time. But after she’s been with us, known the security of having a proper home, all the finer things in life money can buy . . . I guarantee she’ll forget all about them.”

“You’re wrong, Mister Alcott,” Hoss said in a very quiet, very firm tone. “She WON’T forget her pa ‘n Mama Carolyn, any more ‘n I’D forget MY pa, if someone took me away from him.”

“Jed, what’s more important to you?” Ben pressed. “Keeping a perpetual shrine in memory of a daughter now dead, or binding up the broken heart of a granddaughter still living?”

“I’m going to bed,” Jed spat, then pushed his way past Ben, Hoss, and his wife.

“Jed . . . . ”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, with his hand on the railing. “Esther, I told you I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, we will go to the sheriff’s office to formally press charges against the Sandringhams and petition for their extradition to Boston. We will then assume custody of our granddaughter, and afterwards check into the International Hotel until we can catch a stage out of Virginia City.”

“Jed, you haven’t heard one word that any of us have said . . . have you?” Ben asked, as anger began to give way to sorrow.

“Ben, Esther and I thank you for your generous hospitality. I AM willing to extend to you the benefit of the doubt regarding your alleged ignorance of the Taylors’ true identities . . . . ”

“Jed, there’s going to be a change of plans,” Esther said in a cold, angry tone. “Unless you drop all charges against Andrew and Caroline Sandringham, I will go right to Ben’s lawyer first thing in the morning and ask that he petition Judge Faraday on MY behalf for sole custody of Cinnamon Rose.”

“You’re bluffing,” Jed disdainfully accused his wife.

“Oh no, I’m NOT, Jedediah Alcott. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that it was MY family connections that got us custody of Cinnamon Rose in the first place.”

The blood drained right out of Jed’s face as he turned to face his wife, leaving it an ashen gray.

“Furthermore, I will ALSO ask Ben’s lawyer to file for divorce.”

“Esther, y-you can’t . . . . ” Ben barely managed to stammer out a protest.

“On WHAT grounds?!” Jed demanded.

“Cruelty.”

“What kind of trick is this, Woman? I’ve never, not on all the years we’ve been married, EVER raised a hand to you.”

“No, not physically,” Esther admitted. “But cruelty’s not always physical. For the past seven . . . nearly eight years now, I’ve been forced to stand by helpless, and watch the gentle, kind, loving, and generous man I love turn into a stranger . . . a virtual stranger . . . filled with a bitterness and hatred that’s eating him alive.”

“It’s all Sandringham’s doing!”

“Andrew and Caroline were both very wrong in taking off with Cinnamon the way they did, that I’ll grant you,” Esther said. “But, we were wrong, too. Instead of trying to take that child away from her father, you and I should have been sitting down with him . . . AND his wife . . . to talk, and iron out our differences. If we had . . . maybe, just maybe we would have all been together these last eight years.”

“This is blackmail, Woman.”

“No, Jed. This is trying desperately to begin putting some terrible wrongs back to right,” she said firmly. “I’ve made up my mind to do whatever I have to do, even . . . even if it means divorcing the only man I ever have and ever will love. I only pray, for Cinnamon’s sake that it’s not too late.” She paused long enough to allow her husband to absorb the import of her words. “Ben?”

“Yes, Esther?”

“Would it be too much trouble to ask Hop Sing to make up the bed in the guest room down here?”

“Hop Sing put fresh linens on that bed this morning,” Ben said sadly.

“You’re sure y’ want to do this, Mister Alcott?” Roy Coffee asked.

“Yes, Sheriff,” Jed said wearily, with remorse. “My wife . . . my friends, and I exchanged some harsh words over all this last night, but . . . well, in thinking things over, I see the wisdom in what they said.”

“I’ll need it in writin’, signed . . . that you ‘n Mrs. Alcott’re droppin’ all charges against the Sandringhams,” Roy said quietly.

“You’ll wire the Police Department in Boston, Sheriff?” Esther asked.

“Yes, Ma’am. Clem?”

“Yes, Sheriff Coffee?”

“Mister ‘n Mrs. Sandringham’re free t’ go.”

Clem nodded.

Ben found Hoss and Cinnamon Rose where he knew they would be: standing together at the corral fence watching the frisky antics of young Sir Lancelot. His mother, Guinevere, grazed quietly nearby. As he crossed the yard between the house and corral, Ben noted the easy, comfortable closeness between the two, in the way they stood very close together, with Hoss’ arm draped protectively around her shoulders and in the way she rested her head against his chest, holding his free hand in both of her own.

For a moment, he saw himself there, younger . . . much younger, standing beside Inger, his second wife, Hoss’ mother, and remembered again the natural ease in which she could reach out and touch, how that as much as her love set free a widowed drifter, with a young son, who, in grief, had all but closed his heart to everyone around him, especially the boy, who needed him most. In less than a heartbeat, the brief vision faded, leaving in its wake an aching heart within the father that went out to his big, gentle son and the beautiful girl, standing together at the corral fence.

Ben coughed softly as he approached, making his presence known. Though both of them straightened and glanced up, Hoss’ arm remained firmly in place around her shoulders, and Cinnamon continued to hold his hand in both of hers. “I thought I’d find you both out here.”

“We was jus’ watchin’ Sir Lancelot, Pa.”

“So I see.” Ben noted the unusual brightness of his son’s eyes and the redness of Cinnamon Rose’s eyes and cheeks, as he took his own place at the fence, on the other side of Hoss. “Everything . . . all right? I couldn’t help but notice that neither one of you touched much of your breakfast.”

“Sorry, Mister Cartwright, I . . . I wasn’t very hungry this morning,” Cinnamon said in a very small, very quiet voice.

“Me neither. Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

Hoss turned and gazed earnestly into his father’s face, worry and concern mixing with hope. “Did Mister ‘n Mrs. Alcott say anything to ya ‘fore they left with Adam ‘n Li’l Joe this mornin’? Anything at ALL?”

“Nothing, other than good morning,” Ben said, wishing he could give them a better answer.

“Dadburn it! Pa, this not knowin’ . . . it’s killin’ BOTH o’ us!”

The sound of horses and a wagon brought all conversation to a complete halt. Ben, Hoss, and Cinnamon Rose tensed as they turned their anxious faces toward the other side of the barn. After a seeming dreadful eternity of waiting, the Cartwrights’ buckboard rolled into view. Andrew Sandringham, much to the delighted surprise of the three waiting, held the reins. Esther Alcott, looking very careworn and weary, sat beside him on the front seat.

“PA!” Cinnamon Rose shouted, her joy mixed with great, heartfelt relief. She immediately left her place next to Hoss at the corral fence and ran headlong toward the buckboard. Ben and Hoss followed at a slower pace.

The instant Andrew Sandringham’s feet touched the ground, he had his arms full of his daughter, laughing and crying at the same. Andrew slipped his arms around Cinnamon and held her close. Hoss immediately walked over to the other side to help Esther Alcott alight from the buckboard.

“So . . . what happened?” Ben ventured, not without much trepidation.

“The good news, Ben, is that the Alcotts have decided not only to drop all charges against Caroline and me, but they’ve agreed to restore custody of Cinnamon Rose back to us,” Andrew said quietly, with one arm still around his daughter’s waist.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Where’s Mama Carolyn, Adam, and Grandfather?”

“I left Mama Carolyn . . . Mama CaroLINE and Adam at our house . . . to pack our things.”

“Pack our things?” Cinnamon echoed, incredulous. “Why?”

“We’re all going back home,” Esther Alcott said. “To Boston. There’s a stage leaving this afternoon at four o’clock. Your grandfather’s in town now purchasing our tickets.”

“Princess, I’m so sorry,” Andrew said gently, his own voice tremulous, unsteady, “for you and for Hoss . . . . ”

Hoss spent the remainder of the afternoon alone, in the barn, up in the hayloft, with visibility reduced to a watery blur of color. He tried to find a measure of consolation in the knowledge that Cinnamon Rose’s pa and Mama Caroline weren’t going to jail after all, and that the three if them were free now, to settle down without fear, without constantly looking over their shoulders. Maybe he would later. But, right now, his heart, which had just been shattered into a million pieces, simply ached too much.

He was grateful beyond measure that Adam had gone with Mama Caroline to help her pack their meager things, that Little Joe was in school, and Pa, no doubt had his hands full helping Mrs. Alcott pack up her husband’s things. Hoss settled back down into the hay, trying desperately to gather some measure of strength. He had to be strong, not only for himself, but for Cinnamon Rose, too.

“Please, Dear Lord, please . . . help me t’ git through what I hafta git through,” he prayed fervently, in silence, as tears once again filled his eyes.

“Hoss?”

He sat up suddenly, at the sound of his father’s voice in the barn down below. He stared at his surroundings in complete bewilderment for a moment, surprised to find that his eyes strung and his throat was very sore. He must have fallen asleep, though he had no memory of doing so, and from the lengthening shadows in the loft, he had to have been sleeping for a very long while.

“Hoss!” Ben called once again. “It’s time.”

Then he remembered. Cinnamon Rose. Her parents and grandparents. Returning to Boston.

“Son, if . . . if you’d rather NOT go into town with us . . . . ”

“I’m comin’, Pa,” Hoss finally responded with a very heavy heart.

They were at the stage depot. Everyone. The Alcotts, the Sandringhams, and the Cartwrights, even Little Joe. Mrs. Alcott and Mrs. Sandringham were already in the stage, seated and waiting. None could help but note the touch of color in the former’s cheeks, and the slight spring in her step. Adam and Mister Alcott stood a little apart from the others, their heads together in earnest conversation, while Mister Sandringham engaged Joe.

“Jed?” Ben approached Adam and Jed after the last of the luggage had been loaded on top of the stage.

“Ben, I want to apologize for . . . well, for all of the horrible things I said to you and Hoss last night,” Jed said immediately. “I have no excuse for it. None at all.”

“Apology accepted, Jed,” Ben said, smiling. “I have a little something for you. A going away present.”

“Thank you, Ben,” Jed accepted the proffered package wrapped in brown parcel paper and bound with twine.

“Reading material for the trip home. I hope you’ll share them with the Sandringhams and most especially with your granddaughter.”

“Them?”

“The letters you’ve written me over the years, Jed. I wasn’t lying last night when I told you I had saved every one.”

“Mister Alcott?” It was the stagecoach driver. “You’re luggage is on board, strapped, ready to go. Since you folks are the only passengers, we can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Ben. I must confess I . . . well, after you and Hoss went to bed, I was still so angry I couldn’t see straight, let alone sleep. So I went back downstairs, and before I even thought about it, I was sitting at your desk reading my letters.”

“Is THAT why you changed your mind, Jed?”

Jed nodded. “Ben?”

“Yes, Jed?”

“Anytime you and Hoss want to come to Boston for a visit, you’re both more than welcome to stay with us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Speaking of Hoss and Cinnamon . . . . ” Jed looked from Ben to Adam, then back again to Ben. “Either of you have any idea where they’ve gone?”

“I think they went around to the other side of the coach, Mister Alcott,” Adam said quietly, “to say good-bye.”

“Hoss, I . . . I wish I didn’t have to go . . . . ”

“I wish y’ didn’t hafta go, too, Cinnamon.”

“Hoss?”

Cinnamon Rose’s voice, quiet and tremulous, brought his attention back to the two of them. “Y-Yeah, Cinnamon Rose?”

“What’s going to happen to US?”

“Cinnamon, if we’re meant to be together, we’re gonna be together,” he said with heartfelt conviction. “It won’t matter if we live across the country from each other, or across the street. But if we’re NOT meant to be together, we won’t be. It’s as simple as that.”

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Cinnamon?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Cinnamon, more ‘n I’ve ever loved anyone, ‘cept maybe my pa ‘n brothers.”

“Will you write me?”

Hoss managed a tremulous smile. “You bet I will, if YOU promise you’ll write me.”

“That’s a promise, Hoss.”

“Cinnamon?” It was her father. “Time to go, Princess.”

Unable to keep back her tears, Cinnamon threw her arms around Hoss’ neck and, for a long moment, clung for dear life. They separated briefly, only to come together once again in a lingering kiss. “G-good-bye, Hoss. No m-matter what happens . . . I’ll never, ever forget you.”

“I won’t ever forget YOU either, Cinnamon.” His eyes glistened with tears, as he opened the stagecoach door, and gently helped Cinnamon climb inside.

“EEEYAAGH!” The stagecoach driver snapped the reigns, setting the horses in motion, moving slowly first, gradually gaining speed as they headed away from town.

Hoss watched with a heavy heart as the stagecoach receded further and further into the distance, taking with it the young woman he had come to love more than life itself. He stood, his eyes glued to the stagecoach, waving, until it finally turned the corner and disappeared from view. For one brief, terrifying moment, he felt like a tiny rowboat, suddenly adrift in the vast ocean, moving aimlessly with the currents and winds, with no direction, no land in sight. Then he felt a gentle hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and the strong presence of his father standing by his side.

“I’m sorry, Hoss,” Ben murmured sadly, wishing with all his heart he could take away the agony that even now tore his son’s heart to shreds. He knew all too well he could not.

“I’m sorry, too,” Hoss’ voice caught and broke, as he slipped his arm around Ben’s waist. “I wish . . . . ” He turned and gazed down into his father’s face earnestly, his blue eyes unusually bright, his cheeks wet with tears. “Pa, I wish with all my heart— ” He broke off, unable to continue.

“I know, Son, believe me, I know.” Ben’s own voice broke on the last word. For a moment, he held the biggest, and gentlest of his three sons close.

Hoss clung to his father, in a way he hadn’t done for a very long time, since he was a child, younger even than Little Joe now. He felt Adam’s hands on his shoulders, and Joe’s wiry thin arms clasped tight around his waist, both offering comfort in their own ways.

“Pa?” Hoss ventured, when they all finally separated.

“Yes, Son?”

“Let’s go home.”

The End.

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