Bloodlines
Part 7

By Kathleen T. Berney

Ben Cartwright sat in the red chair next to the fireplace, his eyes fixed on the glowing deep red embers in the firebox, barely aware of the flurry of activity going on around him. Hop Sing was upstairs, helping Claire McKenna settle her mother and sister in bed for the night. His sons were busy fetching in the last of the McKennas’ luggage from the wagon.

“Pa,” it was Hoss, “Joe and I just took up the last o’ their things.” He sighed, and sank wearily onto the settee. “Not that THEY had much,” he added with a scowl. “Most of what’s in all them trunks and bags we put in t’ downstairs bedroom are HIS things. Can you believe that?”

“I’m afraid so, Son,” Ben replied, sickened and repulsed upon hearing John McKenna’s voice order his own daughter into the center of the room, with every intention of murdering her in cold blood along with Stacy, and seeing him once again cruelly shame and humiliate his wife for her pathetic, ultimately vain efforts to stop him.

“That Claire’s quite a gal,” Hoss remarked, shaking his head slowly in astonished wonder and admiration for the curious, silent young woman.

“Yes . . . she is,” Ben heartily agreed. “She’s certainly got her hands full, though . . . . ” He fell silent for a time, allowing the flickering, almost hypnotic dance of the dying flames to exorcize the terrible memories of John McKenna’s last hours upon this Earth. “Hoss?”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“Where’s Stacy?” Ben asked, glancing around.

“I reckon she’s where she usually goes after dark when she needs to be by herself,” Hoss said quietly.

“I guess I should go fetch her,” Ben murmured reluctantly, wondering at the same time how he could possibly face her after tonight’s staggering revelations.

Hoss mistook his father’s hesitation for fatigue. “You’ve been through a lot tonight yourself, Pa. Why don’t you g’won up to bed, maybe get a good night’s sleep?” he suggested. “I’LL go out ‘n fetch Li’l Sister back inside.”

“Thank you, Hoss,” Ben said, vastly relieved. He rose. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Pa.”

Hoss quietly slipped out of the house, and crossed the yard to the barn. Inside, the barn, he found Stacy standing beside the stall occupied by her horse, Blaze Face. “Past your bed time, Li’l Sister,” he said in a quiet, gentle tone.

“I-I’m not sleepy, Big Brother,” Stacy said in a small, very sad voice.

“No, with everything that’s happened, I reckon you’re not,” Hoss said, taking a seat on a nearby bale of hay. “There’s somethin’ I’ve been wanting to tell ya, but I just ain’t had the chance until right now . . . . ”

“What’s that, Hoss?”

“The four of us . . . you, me, Joe, ‘n Pa . . . knew we belonged together from the first time we met each other at Fort Charlotte,” Hoss began. “You comin’ home with us clinched things. You were . . . ‘n ARE . . . my sister in all the ways that count.” He paused. “But, I’m really happy . . . and proud to know that you’re also my sister by blood.”

“Th-thanks, Hoss, I . . . . ” Stacy wanted to tell Hoss that she felt the same way. Her words were drowned in a torrent of weeping.

Hoss rose, walked over to the stall, and put his arms around her. Blaze Face nickered softly and nuzzled the top of her head. “That’s right, Li’l Sister, you just let it all out,” Hoss said, feeling the sting of tears in his own eyes. “Blaze Face ‘n me . . . the both of us are right here . . . . ”

The funeral for John McKenna took place gravesite in the cemetery, set into the side of the mountain at the north end of town on E Street. Reverend Daniel Hildebrandt, minister of the Virginia City Church, presided. It was brief, and sparsely attended by his widow, his two daughters, and the Cartwrights.

The men, who had served him so devotedly during the war and in the years after, were unable to attend. All save one were locked up in the Virginia City Jail, awaiting trial on charges of kidnapping, murder, and conspiracy to murder. Zachary Hilliard had been taken from “Bill Taylor’s” room at the Bucket of Blood to Doctor Martin, at Sam Yates’ urging less than a half hour before David Matthews arrived with a terse missive from their captain ordering them to report to the tenement house on Blood Alley. Zachary was barely conscious and running a dangerously high fever, the result of massive infection that had set into the wounds on his back, inflicted several days before by John McKenna. When “Bill Taylor’s” secret was discovered, Paul Martin immediately sent for Deputy Clem Foster, who came and within minutes, took Sam into custody.

Though in a great deal of pain and still running a high temperature, Zachary was lucid, resting as comfortably as he could, given his circumstances. He remained in the home of Paul and Lily Martin, under heavy guard. The prognosis for a complete recovery was very good, though it would take time.

Jeffery Collier had spent the night at the Ponderosa, with Hoss, Joe, Candy, and Hank Carlson, the senior foreman, keeping close watch in shifts throughout the night. Though he yet ran a slight temperature, and suffered occasional bouts of dizziness due to loss of blood and the blow to his head, he otherwise appeared to be doing quite well physically.

“Mister Cartwright, I . . . I know you won’t believe me when I say this, and . . . and I can’t blame you, I s’pose,” Jeff said very quietly the night before, “but I’m glad that no . . . that no lasting physical harm has come to your daughter . . . . ”

“I believe ya, Mister Collier,” Ben said wearily, his head throbbing. “I . . . kinda had a feeling your heart wasn’t completely in your captain’s crazy scheme.”

“You’re . . . not the first man to say so, Sir,” Jeff said ruefully, remembering again his last conversation with the late George Edwards.

“Then why---?!”

“I told you, Mister Cartwright . . . I OWED . . . and STILL owe Captain McKenna my life,” he replied. “I . . . don’t know what happened to him . . . what changed him . . . but the John McKenna who died tonight wasn’t the man I knew on the battlefield.”

“You don’t hafta answer this if you don’t want to, Mister Collier, but I can’t help BUT wonder . . . if ya had it do over again . . . would you? Knowing what your captain intended to do, would you have STILL been a willing part?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Jeff had replied, his voice barely audible. “I . . . honestly . . . don’t . . . know . . . . ”

Jeff Collier had been moved to the Virginia City Jail at his own insistence early that morning. Paul Martin had gone by the jail long enough to give Jeff a cursory once over and change his bandage. He would stop by again sometime in the late afternoon, or early evening to examine the patient more thoroughly.

“ . . . to know wisdom and instruction; to perceive the words of understanding; to receive the instruction of wisdom, justice, judgment, and equity; to give prudence to the simple,” Ben somberly read aloud from the first chapter of the Book of Proverbs. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge. But fools despise wisdom and instruction.”

Ben was loath to read that passage, noting John McKenna’s interpretation of those verses in the faded bruises on Erin’s face, in the shame and humiliation to which he had subjected the woman he had to have promised to love and cherish at some point in the past; in Claire, forever silenced by an act of incomprehensible butchery; and in the vivid purple, blue, and sickly yellow green bruising on Stacy’s face.

But Virginia McKenna was adamant. It was, after all, the passage by which her husband had lived. She stood beside the open grave, clad in a dark brown wool skirt, two sizes too large, and a plain long sleeved white linen blouse. Its cuffs were worn, and frayed at the edges. Her hazel eyes, round with shock and grief, and the way she twisted the handkerchief Ben had given her lent Virginia McKenna the air of a lost, lonely, frightened child, with no idea what to do next.

Claire and Erin also wore ill-fitting clothing that their cousin, Stacy, had out grown several years ago. The elder of the two stood with a comforting arm around her younger sister’s shoulders and a watchful eye on their mother.

The Reverend Daniel Hildebrandt gave a eulogy that was mercifully brief. It mentioned John McKenna’s service to his country in time of war, and that he was also husband and father. But its primary focus was on the love of God, and of his promise to be as husband to the bereaved Virginia McKenna, and father to her daughters.

As Ben turned the pages in his Bible to the Twenty-Third Psalm, he understood why Claire McKenna had refused to leave with Paris, Stacy, and himself that night. She had, over the years they had lived with John McKenna, become mother in every sense of the word, short of pregnancy and giving birth, to Virginia and Erin. No mother worthy of being called such would dream of leaving her children to face danger unprotected. Ben took a deep breath and began to read aloud. “ ‘The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul . . . . ’ ”

Claire found herself listening to the words of the Twenty-Third Psalm with rapt attention. Even Erin lifted her red, swollen, tear stained face and turned toward Ben, with eyes round with astonishment and mouth gaping open.

“ ‘ . . . he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’ ”

Neither Claire nor Erin ever had heard words such as these read to them from the Bible. Ever! Mister Cartwright read them with a quiet, granite firm conviction that extended beyond mere belief and faith to knowing.

“ ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’ ”

Claire closed her eyes again, blotting out everything—her father’s coffin, resting on the ground next to the open grave, her mother, sister, the minister, the Cartwright family. She focused her thoughts, her whole mind on the remaining words of the psalm, drawing from them a measure of comfort and strength.

“ ‘Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’ ”

Claire slowly opened her eyes and found herself staring over at Mister Cartwright, awe struck. She knew then, that somehow, this man’s deep, abiding faith in and love of God would see him through the pain and anguish that tore him apart inside, and separated him from the love of those he treasured most on this earth, to a place of healing.

“Stacy,” Virginia McKenna left her daughters, at the conclusion of the funeral ritual for her husband.

Stacy stood next to Hoss, with Joe behind her to the right. She looked over at her aunt expectantly.

“I want you to know that your uncle . . . that he wasn’t ALWAYS . . . . ” Virginia’s voice trailed away to uncertain silence. Then, with the suddenness of a summer cloudburst, the sad confusion in her face gave way to a defiant, angry resolve. “It was the WAR,” she declared with an emphatic nod of her head. “The WAR changed him. Before that terrible, terrible day he marched off to war, your uncle was the kindest, most gentle and loving man ever. That’s how my daughters and I will always remember him.”

Stacy looked up at her aunt, her eyes a mixture of grief, rage, and astonishment. The war might be to blame for some things, but not for everything. He had murdered his own parents and both of his younger sisters before the fall of Fort Sumter to the Confederacy. He would have killed her, too, had Aunt Mattie not put her out of the house through the parlor window, and urged her to run. Worst of all, this “kindest, most gentle and loving man ever,” had actually cut his own daughter’s throat, silencing her forever. That, too, had happened long before the ‘terrible, terrible day’ John McKenna marched off to war.

Stacy opened her mouth, fully intending to speak of these things, until she felt the weight of a gentle, massive hand coming to rest upon her shoulder. She glanced up, meeting the eyes of her big brother, one she truly knew to be the kindest, most gentle and loving man ever. Hoss, imploring with eyes and face, shook his head.

“Ma’am,” Hoss addressed himself to Virginia McKenna, while Stacy closed her mouth and bowed her head, “we’re glad you have those memories now to comfort you.”

Virginia beamed, nodded, then made her way back to her daughters.

“How can she say that?” Stacy said softly, looking from Hoss to Joe. “After all that . . . that . . . I can’t even think of something nasty enough to call him . . . did to her, Claire, and Erin . . . how can she possibly stand there and defend him?!”

“She loves him,” Hoss said simply, “and maybe . . . just maybe . . . she DOES remember a time when he was all the things she just said.”

“Aunt Virginia’s got the right to remember John McKenna as she likes, I suppose,” Stacy reluctantly allowed through clenched teeth. “But, as far as I’M concerned, he wasn’t a man . . . he was a monster, and I claim no relationship with him whatsoever.”

“What about your aunt and cousins?” Joe asked.

“Them, yes, but not him. I’ll NEVER forget that he killed his parents, his sisters, my mother, and that he almost killed Claire, Pa, and me,” Stacy angrily continued. As she turned to look over at her father, the angry mask blurred and disappeared, exposing a deep, profound grief that had over the past few days, come to possess her entire being. “Even though John McKenna DIDN’T kill Pa . . . he . . . he STILL took him away from me . . . . ”

“No. He hasn’t,” Joe declared stoutly, trying hard to convince himself as well as his young sister. “NO one can take Pa away from you . . . or Hoss ‘n me either for that matter. Even if John McKenna HAD killed him, I know that Pa would’ve somehow found a way to be with us . . . . ”

Stacy shook her head vigorously in denial. “Pa won’t talk to me, and . . . when I try to talk to him? He just says, ‘Not now, Stacy . . . not right now,’ ” she said, her voice catching, “ . . . and when he looks at me? He’s NOT looking at me. He’s looking at something else, or . . . or looking right through me, as if . . . as if I weren’t there at all.”

“Right now . . . Pa’s got a lot to work through, too, Kid . . . just like YOU do,” Joe gently pointed out. “He just needs time, that’s all . . . . ”

“I sure hope Pa doesn’t need too much time,” Hoss silently mused. “ ‘Cause Li’l Sister here needs him NOW.”

The Cartwrights silently and discreetly withdrew, allowing the McKenna family time alone to make their final good-byes. The minister lingered for a few moments to offer his own condolences, before taking his leave.

For a time, Virginia, Claire, and Erin stood silent and unmoving before the simple, pine box coffin that held John McKenna’s earthly remains. Then, at Claire’s gentle prompting, Erin moved forward and placed the bouquet of wild flowers she had gathered on their way into town from the field, half way between Virginia City and the Ponderosa. The little girl reached out and touched the closed lid, then returned to the waiting arms of her older sister. Virginia leaned over and kissed the coffin lid, above the place where her late husband’s head was positioned. Like Erin, she, also, lovingly caressed the top of the lid.

“Let’s go, Girls,” she said in a brisk, no nonsense tone of voice. Stepping past her daughters, she flounced over to the cemetery gate, where the Cartwright family stood waiting, moving like a ship with the wind in her sails. Claire and Erin followed, hand in hand, moving at a slower pace.

“Mister Cartwright,” Virginia said imperiously, as she marched right over to Ben, “before we return to the Ponderosa, I want to pay a call on the men who served with my husband.”

For a moment, all Ben could do was stare at the woman, too stunned, too dumbfounded to move or even speak. “Mrs. McKenna,” he said tersely, the minute he again found his voice, “the Virginia City JAIL is hardly the place to pay a social call.”

With her jaw rigidly set, and hazel eyes blazing with the flames of the hellish inferno raging inside her, Virginia McKenna balled her fingers into a pair of tight, rock hard fists and planted them forcefully down on her hips. “Mister Cartwright, you had YOUR way about them not attending my husband’s funeral,” she raged. “But, I WILL have my way in THIS. Those men served my husband— ”

“I KNOW, Mrs. McKenna,” Ben cut her off, his voice colder than deep winter.

“I would like my daughters AND my niece to accompany me.”

“No!” Stacy protested, appalled and furious.

“Now you listen to me, and you listen to me GOOD, you . . . you spoiled, self centered little brat,” Virginia hissed, as she seized hold of Stacy’s forearm in an agonizing, vice like grip. “Those men— ”

Virginia’s tirade ended in a yelp of surprise and pain, when Stacy brought her forearm down against her aunt’s thumb with all the strength and force of her own growing fury, effectively freeing herself.

“Those men KIDNAPPED me, Aunt Virginia. They HURT my pa. They probably would have killed BOTH of us, if— ” Stacy angrily broke off. She took a deep, ragged breath, as she wiped her eyes with her open palm. “The next time I see those men will be in a courtroom when I testify AGAINST them. After that, I hope to God I NEVER see them again, EVER!” With that, she stormed off beating a straight path toward her beloved horse, Blaze Face, tethered between Buck and Cochise at the cemetery gate.

For a long, tense moment, Virginia stared after Stacy, stunned to the core by not only the girl’s fierce stubborn determination, but by the intensity of her fury as well.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Hoss?”

“Why don’t you, Joe, an’ Hop Sing take Stacy on home? I’LL go on over to the jail with Mrs. McKenna ‘n the girls.”

Ben nodded.

“We’ll see you at home later, Big Brother,” Joe murmured quietly, before turning to leave with his father . . . .

“Ma’am, words can’t say how sorry I am about the death of your husband . . . OUR captain,” Jeff Collier said quietly. He was on his feet, his fingers wrapped around the bars of his cell for support. Sam Yates and Jim-Boy Tuttle hovered close behind, like a pair of brooding mother hens, keeping a close watch.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Virginia murmured, her voice breaking. “I . . . I c-can’t help but notice . . . there’s one among you, who’s . . . who’s missing.”

“Yes, Ma’am . . . Lieutenant Hilliard,” Jeff replied.

Virginia’s cheeks reddened and she bowed her head, too ashamed to look anyone in the eye as memory of all the awful things she had confessed about herself and the lieutenant came to mind. “Yes,” she murmured softly. “Lieutenant Hilliard. I . . . I h-heard he was ill . . . . ”

“He was BEATEN, Mrs. McKenna . . . within an inch of his life,” Sam Yates said, his voice filled with bitterness and contempt. “The wounds on his back have become infected.”

“I’m sorry,” Virginia said contritely.

“You SHOULD be! He was innocent.”

“Mister Yates, you’re out of order,” Jeff snapped.

“If it hadn’t been for the lies SHE told her husband--- ”

“I SAID you’re out of order!”

Sam lapsed into sullen silence and very pointedly turned his back on Jeff Collier and Virginia McKenna.

“Mister . . . Yates is it? I . . . I truly am very sorry for the harm that’s come to Mister Hilliard,” Virginia said plaintively. She blinked against the acrid sting of tears forming in her eyes. “I . . . I didn’t WANT to c-confess to those awful lies, but John MADE me say those things. That’s the honest truth, I swear.”

“Mrs. McKenna . . . it’s hardly MY place to stand in judgment of my captain, but I WILL say this,” Jeff said very quietly. “The man you and your daughters laid to rest today wasn’t the man I knew on the battlefield, and I don’t think he’s the same man you knew and loved before the war.”

“No, he w-was NOT,” Virginia reluctantly agreed. “Mister Collier . . . . ”

“Yes, Mrs. McKenna?”

“I SWEAR . . . I-I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles if you’d like, but I meant Mister Hilliard no harm . . . no harm whatsoever! Please, Mister Collier . . . please!” she begged. “You’ve GOT to believe me--- ”

“I do, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Sir . . . and . . . and I hope Mister Hilliard will be feeling better very soon,” she said. “I WILL remember him in my prayers.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McKenna. He’ll appreciate that, I know,” Jeff said. “Speaking for myself, I appreciate you stopping by, but . . . perhaps it’s time you returned to your daughters?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Hoss growled. He stood framed in the open door between the sheriff’s office and the jail cells, flanked on either side by Claire and Erin. “Claire, would ya mind lookin’ after Erin for a--- ”

Claire laid a gentle hand against his chest and shook her head, her eyes and face imploring. She then touched her own chest and pointed toward her mother.

“You tellin’ me that . . . YOU wanna g’won in ‘n get your ma?” Hoss asked.

Claire nodded, then mouthed the word, “Please.”

“Alright,” Hoss acquiesced. “Though I hafta tell ya, it’s against m’ better judgment. Erin ‘n I’ll be waitin’ for ya in the other room.”

“They’re BAD men,” Erin grumbled, as Hoss took her hand and led her back into the sheriff’s office. “I hate ‘em, Mister Hoss. If . . . if I had a gun right now, I’d KILL ‘em. I’d kill ‘em ALL.”

“They ain’t very nice men, that’s for dadburned sure,” Hoss agreed wholeheartedly, “but Erin?”

“Yes, Mister Hoss?”

“I can’t say as I blame ya for hatin’ those men, ‘specially for upsettin’ your ma the way they did just now,” Hoss said quietly, yet very earnestly, “ ‘n you, like as not, have other reasons for hatin’ those men, too. But, I hafta tell ya somethin’ . . . . ”

“What?”

“The only one you’re hurtin’ by hatin’ those men is YOU.”

Erin looked up into his face with a puzzled frown. “How?” she demanded.

Hoss picked the child up and gently set her down on the edge of Sheriff Coffee’s desk. “It takes a lotta energy t’ hate, Erin . . . a lotta energy that could be better spent doin’ somethin’ ELSE.”

“Like WHAT?!”

“Lovin’,” Hoss replied.

“Not those men!” Erin exclaimed, grimacing as if she had just bitten into something with a very foul taste.

Hoss shook his head. “I was thinkin’ about your ma ‘n your sister,” he explained. “Your sister lost HER pa, too, ‘n your ma . . . well, SHE lost somebody she loved very, very much. They’re gonna need YOUR love, Erin, every bit as much as you’re gonna need theirs.” He paused, allowing the girl a moment to give thought to his words. “For every minute you spend hatin’ those men in there . . . that’s a minute you ain’t spendin’ on lovin’ your ma ‘n sister.”

“Can I be mad at ‘em?”

Hoss nodded. “Just don’t stay mad at ‘em,” he cautioned.

“What if I can’t stop being mad at ‘em, Mister Hoss?”

“You might try feelin’ sorry of ‘em . . . ‘n their families,” Hoss gamely suggested. “That Sergeant Collier fella . . . he’s got three kids, who ain’t got a ma, ‘cause she died . . . ‘n they ain’t likely t’ have their pa either, not for a very long time.”

“Why not?” Erin asked.

“ ‘Cause he’s gonna go t’ prison,” Hoss replied. “He could be locked up for a good ten, maybe fifteen years at least. He may even end up being locked up for the rest o’ his life.”

“Is that because he helped Daddy get Cousin Stacy?”

“Yeah, but that ain’t the only reason why,” Hoss said. “He broke other laws too, ‘n now he’s gonna hafta be punished.”

“Is it . . . is it like the way Daddy punishes . . . USED to punish . . . Mother, Claire, and me . . . when WE were bad?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Hoss said somberly, feeling sick at heart at the child making mention of her father as the family disciplinarian. “Yeah. It works somethin’ like that. But those men in there . . . they don’t have a pa here t’ punish ‘em. That’s why THEY hafta go to jail.”

“ . . . Sergeant Collier, I . . . I want you t-to know that I . . . I don’t blame you one bit for . . . f-for telling the C-Cartwrights where . . . where t-to find Stacy,” Virginia, meanwhile, continued her conversation with Jeff. “I-I can’t blame you for not wantin’ to kill a young lady Stacy’s age, and . . . and y-you telling them were we were . . . I think you ended up saving Claire life, too.”

“As I told Mister Yates . . . the captain had changed,” Jeff said stiffly. “He would never have sought to kill his own daughter had he been in his right mind, Ma’am, and I don’t think he would have tried to kill his niece either, but mind you . . . my first loyalty was and is . . . to my captain. Had he given me a direct order to kill his daughter or the Cartwright girl, I’d have done it without a moment’s hesitation.”

“I . . . I understand,” Virginia said. Though her eyes rested squarely on Jeff Collier’s face, they fell very far short of meeting his eyes. “You and the others . . . including Lieutenant Hilliard . . . served my husband ably and well, with love, devotion, and loyalty, far, far above your bounden duty to do so. No commander could’ve asked for better.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“I’m sorry you weren’t allowed to attend Captain McKenna’s funeral observances . . . . ”

“That wasn’t YOUR doing, Mrs. McKenna,” Jeff said, “and speaking for myself, I don’t hold it against Mister Cartwright, either. Had I been in his shoes, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.”

Virginia nodded, then straightened her posture. “Sergeant Collier, I wish you and the others all the best, and as I said before . . . I hope Lieutenant Hilliard recovers soon.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I wish you and your daughters all the best as well.”

“Mister Cartwright? We’re back,” Erin announced, as she trudged into the house ahead of Claire and her mother. “Mister Hoss said to tell you he’s taking care of the horses.”

Ben wearily glanced up from the open payroll ledger on the desk before him. “Thank you, Young Lady,” he said softly.

“Claire, you and Erin go on upstairs,” Virginia ordered, in a tone of voice faintly imperious. “I’ll be along directly.”

Claire nodded, and held out her hand to Erin.

“Do I have to, Mother?” Erin whined. “Mister Hoss said he’d show me the new baby kittens after while.”

“You do as I say,” Virginia snapped, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Erin muttered in a sullen tone of voice, as she turned to take Claire’s outstretched hand.

Virginia watched as her daughters crossed the great room, and started up the stairs. She nodded her head with smug satisfaction, then turned her attention to Ben. “Mister Cartwright, I want to inform you that I received a reply from the wire you sent my father,” she said with stiff formality.

“Oh?”

“A messenger from the Western Union office in town brought it over to the sheriff’s office just as we were leaving.”

“What did your father have to say?”

“He said that we . . . my daughters and myself . . . should come.”

“Being with family . . . and having a change of scenery will do you and the girls a world of good,” Ben said, inwardly relieved. “You said your parents live in New York?”

“Westpoint,” Virginia said. “My father teaches at the Army academy there.” For a moment, her eyes softened, and a dreamy smile spread across her lips. “John and I first met on the academy parade grounds, Mister Cartwright.”

“I see,” Ben said stiffly.

“My father sent money to the Overland Stage Company to cover the cost of our fares,” Virginia said briskly, her thoughts returning again to the present. “Your son was kind enough to stop by the stage depot on our way home, so I made arrangements for us to leave Friday morning on the ten o’clock stage. I . . . should’ve booked passage on the stage leaving tomorrow morning, I suppose, but Miss McKenna WAS John’s sister . . . and my daughters’ aunt as well. I feel that we should remain for her funeral observances. I hope that won’t be TOO much of an imposition . . . . ”

“No imposition at all,” Ben said quietly, before returning his attention to the ledger before him. When Virginia made no move to leave, he reluctantly glanced up. “Is there . . . something ELSE, Mrs. McKenna?”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright,” Virginia said. “My parents have a large house . . . a VERY large house . . . well able to accommodate them, my daughters, and me . . . with plenty of room to spare.”

“Your point being?”

“I’ve been thinking about Stacy ever since . . . ever since . . . . ” Virginia fell silent, as she became painfully aware of the sudden warmth flooding into her cheeks and neck. She bowed her head, focusing on the edge of the desk directly in front of her. “Ever since my late husband made known the, ummm . . . rather indelicate nature of . . . of Stacy’s c-coming into the world.”

Ben scowled. “The only thing indelicate, Mrs. McKenna, was the manner and language your husband chose to make known the circumstances of my daughter’s birth.”

“You’re . . . you’re n-not making this easy for me, Mister Cartwright.”

“Say what you intend to say, and let’s be done with it,” Ben said impatiently, in a voice stone cold.

“As I just said, I . . . I’ve been thinking about Stacy, and . . . well, you know,” Virginia continued. Her face and neck were beet red, and though she lifted her head, her eyes fell very far short of meeting his. “All things considered, I . . . I . . . feel it would be best for everyone concerned if . . . well, if she accompanied my daughters and me to Westpoint.”

“Is this what Stacy wants?” Ben asked slowly, feeling as if he had just taken a hard blow to the stomach.

“I’ve not spoken to Stacy of this,” Virginia admitted. “I thought it best to approach you, since you ARE her father and . . . and legally empowered to decide what’s best for her.”

“Why do you want to take Stacy with you?”

“To spare her . . . and spare YOU, too, Mister Cartwright . . . you AND your sons . . . the humiliation and scandal that will almost surely follow, once your friends and neighbors learn the sordid details of Stacy’s ignoble origins.” She grimaced delicately. “If you send her to Westpoint with me now . . . well, you know what they say. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“I see,” Ben murmured, inwardly seething. “Tell me something, Mrs. McKenna . . . how did you intend to explain Stacy’s presence in Westpoint?”

“We would simply tell people that she is John’s niece, and leave it go at that.”

“No!”

Ben and Virginia turned toward the stairs, and found Stacy standing there, her face pale, her entire body shaking with fear and anger. Joe stood on the great room floor next to the staircase, his emerald green eyes smoldering with his own just kindled rage.

“Pa, no! Please!” Stacy begged, as she bounded across the room. “Please, don’t make me go.”

“If you’d stop and think beyond your own selfish wants and desires, Young Lady, you’d see that it’s for your father’s and brothers’ better good . . . and YOURS as well,” Virginia said scathingly.

“I WON’T go with you, Aunt Virginia . . . I WON’T!” Stacy passionately declared.

“Now you see here!”

“NO, Aunt Virginia . . . YOU see here. If . . . If Pa tries to make me go, I’ll run away. I swear . . . on my mother’s grave not yet dug, I SWEAR . . . I’ll run away before I go ANYWHERE with you.”

“Stacy— ”

“I MEAN it, Pa,” she angrily cut him off. “You try to make me go with her, I WILL run away.” With that, she turned and bolted for the front door.

“STACY . . . STACY, PLEASE WAIT— ” Joe cried out, as he started after her. She ran outside, slamming the front door behind her, before he could get half way across the room.

“That’s another thing, Mister Cartwright,” Virginia said in a condescending tone of voice. “That girl is far too outspoken and independent for her own good. If she is to grow up to be a proper young lady, she needs a WOMAN’S influence.”

“Mrs. McKenna, I think Stacy is just fine the way she IS,” Joe declared, as he turned the full force of his growing anger on Virginia. “The very last thing in the world I want is for some woman’s ‘kindly’ influence to turn her into some . . . some weak willed, lily-livered sissy who can’t DO for herself or THINK for herself— ”

“Joseph . . . . ” Ben growled in a low voice, as he slowly rose from his chair behind the desk.

“ . . . and another thing,” Joe continued with reckless, passionate abandon. “My sister came into this world because her parents LOVED each other. There’s nothing one bit shameful about that! NOTHING!”

“JOSEPH!” Ben’s terse voice cracked like a whip.

“Pa, I’m sick and tired of constantly hearing this . . . this . . . self-righteous hypocrite cast aspersions on MY sister,” Joe vehemently declared, his entire body trembling. “I WON’T stand for it. Not anymore!”

Virginia McKenna pulled herself up to full height. “Young Man, I DEMAND an apology.”

“I’ll be more than happy to apologize, Ma’am . . . after YOU apologize to my sister for . . . for . . . intimating she’s . . . that’s she’s something less than she oughtta be,” Joe immediately returned, his eyes blinking excessively against the angry tears now forming. “Pa, I’m going outside. The AIR in here’s suddenly gone very stale.” This last was said with a scathing glare directed at Virginia.

“It’s more than abundantly clear you haven’t raised your youngest son properly either,” Virginia said with a disparaging sigh, after Joe had gone.

“Mrs. McKenna, first of all, I raised my sons and I am raising my daughter in the manner I deem most fit,” Ben said, taking no pains to conceal his own anger and contempt for the woman standing before him. “Second, my son, Joseph, knows full well that by and large, I DON’T approve of him losing his temper like that with a guest in our home. I ALSO know full well, that in THIS instance, his anger is justified.”

Virginia gasped, indignant and outraged.

“Everything he said concerning Stacy just now speaks for ME as well,” Ben continued in a low voice, laden with the deadly quiet of a storm about to break. “I love my daughter too much to sweep her under the rug like dirt, and forget about her. So . . . unless SHE decides otherwise, Stacy’s staying right here where she belongs.”

“She belongs with her family, Mister Cartwright,” Virginia said stiffly. “Her REAL family.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Mrs. McKenna,” Ben replied, “and that’s exactly where my daughter is going to STAY! Right here with her REAL family!”

Virginia exhaled a long, melodramatic sigh and shook her head. “Mister Cartwright, you disappoint me. I had thought that YOU, at least, would be sensible about— ”

“Mrs. McKenna,” Ben rudely cut her off, “this conversation is OVER.”

Joe, meanwhile, bolted across the yard toward the barn, hoping against hope that he could catch up with his sister. Entering the barn, he ran head on into his big brother, literally. He wobbled on legs that had suddenly turned to rubber, like a tall stalk of grass caught in a ferocious wind, before losing his balance and falling over backwards.

Hoss blindly reached out, grasping his younger brother by the forearms, preventing what might have been a nasty fall. “Joe? Hey, Li’l Brother . . . y’ all right?” he queried with an anxious frown.

“Whoa! Guess you’ve been right all these years when . . . when y’ said it wasn’t f-fat, it w-was . . . it was all r-rock hard muscle,” Joe wheezed.

“Come on. Let’s get ya off your feet for a minute,” Hoss said, as he half dragged, half carried Joe into the barn and sat him down on the nearest bundle of hay. “You SURE you’re alright?”

“Will be . . . in just a minute,” Joe replied, still breathless. “Where’s The Kid?”

“Stacy?”

“Yeah. You seen her?”

Hoss nodded. “She came in here a minute ago, lookin’ madder ‘n nest fulla wet hornets.”

“Where is she now?”

“She told me she had t’ get away for a li’l while, then saddled Blaze Face ‘n left.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No . . . ‘n she was long gone before I could even think t’ ask.”

A few terse, unintelligible syllables escaped from Joe’s lips.

Hoss frowned. “That sounds an awful lot like what Hop Sing says, right after he says he’s gonna quit ‘n go help some cousin o’ his with a restaurant.”

“We gotta find her, Hoss,” Joe said, ignoring that last comment from his big brother.

“What happened?”

Joe curtly shared the entire conversation between their father, himself, and Virginia McKenna.

“Dadburn it!” Hoss growled. “That Mrs. McKenna oughtta be taken out back ‘n horsewhipped! I . . . I hate like all get out sayin’ that ‘bout a woman, especially a woman who’s suffered as much as she has . . . but at t’ same time, I’m gettin’ real sick ‘n tired o’ her goin’ on ‘n on ‘bout Stacy bein’ born outta wedlock.”

“Thank heaven they’re leaving day after tomorrow,” Joe said with heartfelt relief.

“Amen to that,” Hoss readily agreed. “What did PA say t’ all her goin’ on?”

“I don’t know,” Joe replied. “Between The Kid and me, I’m afraid there wasn’t any room for him to get in a word edgewise.”

“Well . . . what EVER he might’ve said t’ Mrs. McKenna after you ‘n Li’l Sister left, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna have plenty t’ say t’ the both o’ YOU later on,” Hoss said soberly.

“No doubt,” Joe said ruefully. “But, I couldn’t just stand there any longer and let that woman talk about OUR sister the way she was.”

“I know,” Hoss sighed.

“I’m gonna ride out to Ponderosa Plunge,” Joe said. “Stacy goes out there most of the time when she’s feeling low, or she’s got some things to think through.”

“After all that time Pa had t’ keep her on restriction . . . she may not appreciate ya ridin’ out there t’ check up on her,” Hoss warned.

“If she wants to cuss me up one side, back down the other, ‘n call me every rotten, nasty name in the book, she’s more ‘n welcome,” Joe said grimly. “But I AM going after her, first off to make sure she’s alright and second, to keep her from doing something rash like running away from home.”

“Supper ready ten minute,” Hop Sing announced, a couple hours later, as the big grandfather’s clock struck the quarter hour before seven o’clock.

Claire tapped Hoss on the shoulder. When he looked up she touched her chest and pointed toward the stairs.

“Yeah,” Hoss nodded, “better g’won up ‘n wake your ma.” He turned to Erin. “Come on, Li’l Lady, let’s you ‘n me g’won out to the kitchen ‘n wash up.”

Erin smiled, and happily fell instep along side the big, gentle man.

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“After you and Erin wash up, would you mind going out to the barn and fetching in your brother and sister?”

“Sure thing, Pa . . . . ”

“ . . . I don’t see ‘em, Mister Hoss,” Erin said a few moments later, as the two of them peered inside the barn.

“Me, neither,” Hoss murmured with sinking heart. “You do me a real big favor ‘n wait right here, by t’ door, alright?”

Erin nodded.

Hoss stepped into the barn, noting with growing dismay that the stalls allotted to Cochise and Blaze Face stood empty. “Daggone it, I’d have thought they’d be back long before this,” he muttered under his breath as he beat a straight path toward the tack room. As he stepped inside, he saw at once that their saddles and bridles were also missing.

“Mister Hoss, is everything ok?” Erin asked, an apprehensive brown creasing her brow.

“Joe ‘n Stacy ain’t here,” Hoss said quietly as he reached for the little girl’s hand.

“Is Hop Sing gonna be mad?”

“He ain’t gonna be real happy ‘bout this, that’s for dang sure,” Hoss said. “Neither will Pa!”

“Do you know where Mister Joe and Cousin Stacy went?”

“Mister Joe rode out to a real pretty place called Ponderosa Plunge,” Hoss replied. “He went t’ look for your cousin, Stacy.”

“Cousin Stacy went to Ponderosa Plunge, too?”

“Well now, she didn’t SAY she was goin’ t’ Ponderosa Plunge, but that’s where she usually goes when she’s upset, ‘n needs t’ think about things.”

“Oh. Mister Hoss?”

“Yeah, Erin?”

“I hear horses,” Erin said. “They seem to be coming from around the other side of the barn.”

Hoss smiled. “That’s probably Mister Joe ‘n your cousin, Stacy, comin’ back now,” he said, the relief evident in his voice. Relief very quickly turned to disappointment when Candy and two other hands rode into view.

“That’s not Mister Joe ‘n Cousin Stacy,” Erin stated the painfully obvious, the frown already on her face deepening.

“Come on,” Hoss said as he started in the direction of the returning men. “CANDY . . . HEY, CANDY!”

“I’ll be with you guys in a little while,” Candy told his companions, as he brought his horse, Thor, to a complete stop.

The other two men nodded.

“What’s up, Hoss?” Candy asked, was he walked over toward Hoss and Erin, with Thor’s lead firmly in hand.

“You happen t’ see Joe ‘n Stacy when you were ridin’ in just now?”

“No, we didn’t,” Candy immediately replied.

“Dadburn it! Pa’s gonna be fit t’ be tied, ‘n Hop Sing . . . . ” Hoss sighed and sarcastically rolled his eyes heavenward.

“You know where they went?”

“Joe rode out t’ Ponderosa Plunge lookin’ for Stacy,” Hoss replied. “Stacy didn’t say where she was goin’ when she took off earlier, but I’m assumin’ it was Ponderosa Plunge.”

“Tell ya what, Big Guy,” Candy said. “There’s still an hour . . . maybe an hour an a half of daylight left. Why don’t I ride out in that general direction and see if I meet ‘em half way?”

“Thanks, Candy, I’d really appreciate that,” Hoss said gratefully. “If you DO happen t’ spot ‘em . . . tell ‘em t’ get a move on?”

Candy grinned. “I certainly will, Hoss . . . . ”

“Yes and no, Mister Cartwright,” Candy said with a melancholy sigh, nearly an hour later. “I DID run into JOE on his way back from Ponderosa Plunge . . . but Stacy was no where to be seen.”

“DAMN!” Ben swore, his fear and concern mixing with rising anger.

The Cartwright men and Candy stood in a tight circle, over in front of the desk, while the McKennas sat together on the settee. Claire and Erin were engrossed in a game of checkers, while their mother sat, looking over at the men, straining to catch their every word.

“Where’s Joe now?” Ben demanded.

“In the barn seeing to his horse,” Candy replied.

“Hoss,” Ben turned on his middle son. “You were out in the barn unhitching the buckboard and seeing to the horses when Stacy left. You MUST’VE seen her . . . . ”

“Yeah, Pa, I did, ” Hoss said quietly. “She told me she had t’ get away for a li’l while, then saddled Blaze Face ‘n left.”

“ . . . and she didn’t tell you WHERE she was going?” Ben pressed.

“No, Sir, she didn’t.”

“You didn’t ASK?! Or better yet, try to STOP her?”

“Pa, that li’l gal of ours has been through a lot these last few days, what with . . . . ” Hoss cast a quick, furtive glance over toward the McKennas, noting with satisfaction that the girls remained engrossed in their game. Taking great care to lower his voice, so that only his father and Candy could hear, he continued, “what with everything she went through with that crazy uncle o’ hers . . . not t’ mention rememberin’ how her grandparents ‘n aunts died . . . findin’ out you ‘n Miss Paris are her pa ‘n ma by blood, then losin’ her ma ‘fore she had much of a chance at gettin’ t’ know her . . . .

“ . . . and, Pa? I . . . can’t HELP feelin’ sorry for Mrs. McKenna. She reminds me a lot of a horse, that’s been beaten ‘n tormented day in ‘n day out, ‘til finally, it’s spirit ends up broken. But, at t’ same time, havin’ her around ain’t HELPED Stacy a whole lot, either.”

“I’ve told Mrs. McKenna that she’s NOT to speak any more of the circumstances surrounding Stacy’s birth, AND I let her know in no uncertain terms that Stacy is NOT going with her to Westpoint, New York,” Ben said quietly. “I ALSO know full well that Stacy has a lot to take in and work through, and that she’s going to need time alone to do that. But, that’s no excuse for her taking off like she did without telling someone where she was going.”

A few moments later, Joe wearily entered the house. He immediately removed his hat and placed it on the peg nearest the door.

“Joseph?”

Joe froze upon hearing his father address him by his true given name, swallowed nervously, then turned.

“Hoss told me you rode out to Ponderosa Plunge looking for your sister.”

“That’s right,” Joe replied, feeling uncomfortably on the defensive.

“Was she there?”

“No, Pa . . . I didn’t see hide nor hair of her or Blaze Face at Ponderosa Plunge,” Joe replied, his voice filled with anger and worry.

“Didja check for tracks?” Hoss pressed.

“Yeah, I checked,” Joe said curtly. “There was nothing. In fact, from the look of things, I don’t think anyone’s been out there since Pa and Stacy went last.”

“Did she tell YOU where she intended to go?” Ben asked.

“No.” Joe shook his head. “She was gone by the time I reached the barn.”

“Mister Cartwright?”

“Yes, Candy?”

“Most of the men are out in the bunkhouse right now, fixing up their own supper. I’m thinking maybe one of ‘em saw her, or she might have told someone where she was going. If you’d like, I’ll go out and ask around.”

“Thank you, Candy. You’ll let me know what they say?”

“I sure will,” Candy promised, before letting himself out the front door.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“Maybe Hoss and I should go out and look for her,” Joe anxiously suggested. “I . . . know she’s got a half dozen or so places BESIDES Ponderosa Plunge, where she likes to go when she needs to be by herself. Hoss and I could divide ‘em up . . . maybe ask Candy and some of the other men to help us look.”

“It’ll be dark before you could reach ANY of those places,” Ben said ruefully.

“We can’t just leave her out all night,” Joe argued. “What if something happens to her?”

“Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to her, Joe,” Hoss said quietly. “Li’l Sister knows all t’ ways back and forth between here and her favorite places like the back of her hand. She also knows how t’ track every bit as good as you, me, or Pa . . . AND she knows how t’ follow the stars. Ain’t no way she’s gonna get lost.”

“She CAN get hurt, Hoss.”

“She’ll be alright, Joe,” Hoss said, as much to convince himself as to convince his younger brother and father. “Why . . . I’ll betcha anything Stacy’s gonna walk right through that front door any minute.”

As if on cue, the front door opened.

Hoss grinned. “See? I told ya— ”

“Mister Cartwright . . . . ” It was Candy.

Hoss’ face fell, as his father and younger brother turned their attention to the junior foreman.

“ . . . I asked everyone out in the bunkhouse,” Candy said somberly. “I’m sorry, but none of ‘em saw Stacy and she didn’t tell any of THEM where she was headed, either.”

“Thank you, Candy,” Ben said, his voice a bland monotone.

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

“There isn’t,” Ben said curtly, his voice barely audible. “Not tonight.”

“In that case . . . I’ll see you in the morning,” Candy said, not quite knowing what else to say.

“Good night, Candy,” Hoss said.

“If Stacy’s not back by the time we finish supper . . . I don’t care HOW dark it is . . . I’M gonna go out and look for her,” Joe declared, his mouth and jaw line rigidly set.

“Mister Cartwright?”

They turned and found Virginia McKenna standing in their midst. Though her daughters remained on the settee, they had turned around to watch the interaction between their mother, and the Cartwrights. Their game, half played, sat forgotten on the coffee table.

“Is . . . something wrong?” Virginia asked.

“No,” Joe snapped, drawing a glare from his father and a look of reproach from Hoss.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, Mrs. McKenna,” Hoss addressed her in a more conciliatory tone.

“It’s just that we’ve been waiting nearly an hour for supper to be served and— ” She suddenly broke off, as a smug, triumphant smile became to spread across her face. “This has something to do with my niece, doesn’t it.” It was an accusation, not an inquiry. “This is just the sort of thing— ”

“Hoss, why don’t you g’won out to the kitchen, and ask Hop Sing to fix up a couple of biscuits out along with some jam, perhaps, and two glasses of milk for the girls,” Ben said, cutting Virginia off mid-sentence, “and a cup of coffee for Mrs. McKenna, as well, to tide them over until— ”

“Mister Cartwright, when you sit down, have supper?” Hop Sing demanded, as he barreled around the corner, from the dining room to the great room. “Hop Sing keep warm in oven long time. If Hop Sing keep warm in oven much more, dinner ruin. No good except for throw away in garden.”

“A few more minutes, Hop Sing . . . please?” Joe begged. “We’re waiting for Stacy.

Hop Sing’s jaw dropped slightly, as he looked from Joe to Ben, his dark eyes wide with surprise. “Miss Stacy not back?”

Ben immediately pounced with both feet. “Hop Sing, did she tell YOU where she was headed?” he demanded, anxiously.

“No, Mister Cartwright. Miss Stacy not tell Hop Sing where she go,” Hop Sing said tersely. “When Hop Sing ask, she only say she need get away, need be alone. Hop Sing want to tell Miss Stacy be alone LAST thing Miss Stacy need. Miss Stacy need family . . . . ” He looked Mister Cartwright full in the face, his mouth set in an angry, determined line, “ . . . especially papa!”

Ben abruptly turned away, without a word.

A heavy, stunned silence fell over everyone gathered, and remained until broken by the sound of a single horse approaching. Next came the sound of Candy’s voice, followed by Stacy’s, both raised.

“Excuse me,” Ben muttered, as he turned and beat a straight path to the door. “You’re late!” he said curtly, the minute his daughter stepped into the house.

Stacy said nothing. She glared back at him with equal animosity, her jaw rigidly set with obstinate determination and mouth thinned to a straight, angry line.

“Where have you been?”

“Out!”

“Out WHERE?”

“OUT!”

“WHERE?”

“I RODE DOWN TO THE LAKE!”

“The lake?!” Joe echoed, incredulous and a little angry. “You went all the way down to the lake?! Chiminey-Christmas, Kid— ”

“I didn’t MEAN to go to the lake . . . exactly,” Stacy tried to explain. “I had to get away . . . you know . . . . ” She turned and glare over at her aunt for a moment.

“Yeah, Kid. I know,” Joe said curtly.

“I . . . I just started riding, not going anywhere in particular, except for . . . for away,” Stacy continued. “Next thing I knew, Blaze Face and I were at the lake.”

Ben, meanwhile, closed his eyes and took a few slow, deep, even breaths, and tried desperately to count to ten. He only got as high as six. Barely. “Stacy Cartwright,” he said through clenched teeth, wit jaw rigidly set, “you KNOW very well what time we serve supper in this house.”

“I know,” she snapped.

“ . . . and you HAD to have known that you couldn’t possibly have made the trip from here to the lake and back again . . . and STILL be on time for supper,” Ben continued.

“I just TOLD you, Pa . . . I didn’t MEAN to go all the way down to the lake---”

“YOU WENT OUT . . . WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE WHERE YOU WERE GOING, AND NOW YOU’RE AN HOUR LATE!” Ben finally exploded, giving full vent to the fear and anxiety that had been building over the entire span of that hour. “I’VE BEEN WORRIED SICK!”

“HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE WORRIED SICK?” she shouted back, clearly on the edge of tears. “YOU HAVE TO CARE ABOUT SOMEONE BEFORE YOU CAN B-BE . . . BEFORE YOU CAN BE WORRIED SICK ABOUT ‘EM . . . . ” With that, she abruptly turned heel and fled to the safety and privacy of her room upstairs.

Ben stood, unmoving, staring after Stacy’s fast retreating form. Just beyond the top of the steps, she melted into the deep shadows as she turned and ran down the corridor. A moment later, the loud bang of her bedroom door being slammed shut reverberated through out the house.

“Let’s have supper,” Ben muttered in a stone, cold voice.

The meal was taken in silence.

Hop Sing dutifully served the dried, leather hard roast beef, the congealed gravy, the biscuits now rock hard, along with ice cold mashed potatoes, peas, and squash. He directed an occasional glare at Ben and Virginia, as he slammed the meat platter and serving bowls down in the table, then, mercifully retreated to the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

Tonight, even Hoss’ legendary appetite had dwindled to practically nothing. Fixing his gaze to the meal before him, he focused all of his attention to the task of sawing the big slab of meat on his plate into smaller pieces. Erin, seated between Hoss and her mother, sat back in her chair, with arms folded tight across her chest and an angry scowl on her face. Virginia spared an occasional glance toward her youngest daughter, ordering her to eat. She spent the rest of the time cutting her own beef, squash, and biscuits into tiny, tiny pieces. Joe cut his meat, then pushed the food on his plate back and forth across his plate, until finally lumping it all into an unappetizing greenish-gray lump in the middle. Claire sat next to Joe, staring down at her plate. She tried a bite of beef, followed by half a spoonful of mashed potatoes. She swallowed, then set her spoon down on the table with a soft, melancholy sigh.

At length, Ben resolutely pushed away his plate, it’s contents untouched, and rose. “Ladies,” though he spoke softly, the anger still festering within him made its existence known in the clipped syllables, tersely uttered. He briefly made eye contact with Virginia and her daughters. “If you would excuse me.”

“Certainly, Mister Cartwright,” Virginia murmured in a voice barely audible, her eyes riveted to her plate.

Ben glanced over toward the stairs for what amounted to the space of a single heartbeat, then abruptly turned away. “Hoss . . . Joseph . . . . ”

Hoss glanced up sharply. “Yeah, Pa?”

“I’m going into town. I’ll be very late returning. Please DON’T wait up.”

Both Hoss and Joe stared after their father, stunned, as he threw his napkin down on the table, and walked toward the door, his back stiffly erect. His footfalls, surprisingly soft and quiet given a man of his size, culminated in the slamming of the front door.

“It says somewhere in the Bible, I ain’t sure where exactly, that the greatest act of love is when a man . . . or woman gives up their own life for someone else. ” Hoss addressed the small group gathered on the Ponderosa, at Paris McKenna’s grave site the following afternoon, which included the Cartwrights, Hop Sing, Candy, the McKennas, Sheriff Coffee, and Stacy’s best friends, Molly O’Hanlan and Susannah O’Brien.

Stacy stood at the head of the open grave, on Hoss’ right, with Joe on one side, and Molly on the other. Joe looked over at Hoss, with one arm wrapped protectively around Stacy’s shoulders, and tears flowing unchecked down his cheeks. Molly stood on the other side of Stacy, with her arm about her friend’s waist, gazing up at Hoss with a fierce look in her eyes and jaw set with determination. Susannah stood on the other side of Joe, straight and tall, her own face a mirror of Molly’s.

Hoss wanted to take both girls in his arms and to kiss them soundly, knowing beyond doubt, that they and their families would show themselves friends, whom Stacy . . . and the rest of the family, too, could count on in the days to come, when the circumstances surrounding her birth became known. He also noted with dismay that Ben stood near the foot of the open grave, with head bowed, arms folded tight across is chest, holding himself apart, not only from Stacy . . . but from Joe and himself as well.

“I . . . ain’t one to sugar coat things,” Hoss resumed speaking. “Miss Paris had a lot of stubborn pride about her, ain’t no denyin’ that. In the end, I think that might’ve been just about all she had left in this world. Her pride led her t’ make some bad decisions along the way . . . decisions that kept her away from her daughter, Stacy, ‘til about a month ago. Those decisions also kept Stacy away from her pa, Ben Cartwright, an’ from her brothers, Adam, Joe, ‘n me.”

The McKenna daughters stood together, behind Joe, Stacy, Molly, and Susannah. Erin, with her arms wrapped tight around her sister’s waist, buried her face against Claire and sobbed piteously. Claire held Erin close, stroking the child’s long hair. Their mother, Virginia McKenna, stood behind her daughters, facing away from the ritual and those gathered, her face buried in the shelter of her hands. Hop Sing and Candy stood next to Claire and Erin.

“The night ‘fore last, Miss Paris gave her own life to save Stacy, because she loved her,” Hoss continued his eulogy. “She loved Stacy as a friend, an’ as a mother loves her child. As far as I’M concerned . . . and I like t’ think as far as a Loving an’ Merciful God might be concerned . . . there’s a special place in Heaven for a proud, stubborn woman who loved her daughter so much, she gave her own life so her daughter could live.”

Sheriff Roy Coffee stood at the foot of the grave, hands at his side, his eyes moving from Hoss’ face, to Ben, and then to Joe and Stacy. Though not the most sensitive man in the world, by his own admission, even he could see the distance that had grown between Ben and all of his children. He bowed his head, focusing on his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes blinking excessively. In all the years he had known Ben, the boys, Hop Sing, and most recently Stacy, they had come to embody the love, the strength, the trust, and being there for one another, he had come to define as family. He fervently hoped and prayed that the Cartwrights would somehow find the where withal to come to terms with Paris McKenna’s death and the startling revelations that had come out of it.

After Hoss finished speaking, Ben opened his Bible and began to read from First Corinthians: “Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could move mountains, and have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing,” his voice broke on every third word.

“L-Love suffereth long, and is k-kind,” Ben continued, his voice trembling, “love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, d-doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not its own, is not provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love . . . Love n-never fails.”

Hop Sing and Candy led the McKenna family back to the waiting buckboard. Sheriff Coffee and Stacy’s two friends silently followed, leaving the Cartwright Family alone. Ben, his two younger sons and daughter watched as three of the Ponderosa ranch hands began to lower the coffin into the newly dug grave.

Ben peered into the deep shadows of the open grave, as the coffin gently came to rest, his eyes riveted to the place he imagined Paris’ face to be. Overwhelmed by the agony of her loss one minute, bitterly despising her the next, and wondering how two such extremes could possibly exist in such close proximity left him fearing for his own sanity. He cast a furtive glance over at Stacy, flanked now on either side by Hoss and Joe, not quite meeting her eyes. He had failed her. In failing to earn the trust of her mother, he had failed both of them in the worst possible way a man could fail a lover and their child. All the anger and rage he held in his heart toward Paris for keeping secret her pregnancy and the existence their daughter could never alter that fact. He had failed Paris and ultimately Stacy every bit as much as Virginia McKenna had failed her own children.

“Hoss . . . Joseph . . . . ” Ben looked up, meeting the eyes of his two sons. “I’ll see you back at the house later.”

“Where are you going, Pa?” Joe asked with a frown. “It’ll be dark in less than an hour.”

“I know what time it is,” Ben rounded furiously on his younger son, “and I’m not accountable to you for my comings and goings.”

“Pa . . . . ” Joe protested vigorously.

“I’ll see you back at the house later,” Ben growled back. He turned and started walking resolutely toward Buck.

Hoss and Joe stood unmoving, staring after their father’s retreating back, anxious and bewildered.

With mounting rage and a bullheaded determination that bordered on foolhardy recklessness, Stacy waited until Ben had mounted Buck and disappeared into the surrounding woods. “I’ll see you guys at the house later, too,” she told her brothers, her face set with grim resolve.

“Where do you think YOU’RE going?” Joe demanded, as he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.

Stacy furiously shook him off with a force and intensity that shocked him. “I’m going after Pa,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

“Stacy, I think you’d better come on back to the house with us,” Hoss insisted.

“I SAID I’m going after Pa,” Stacy replied in a tone that brooked no argument. She abruptly turned, and started past her mother’s final resting place, toward the tall tree, where she had tethered Blaze Face.

Joe and Hoss exchanged worried glances. “How in the world does she expect t’ find him?” the latter queried with a puzzled frown. “He’s had ’way too much of a head start.”

“The Kid learned how to track from the Paiutes, Big Brother, remember?” Joe said tersely. “She’ll find him. Count on it.” He turned and started walking briskly toward Cochise.

“Joe,” Hoss had to run to catch up with his younger brother, “you ain’t fixin’ t’ do what I THINK you’re fixin’ t’ do . . . are ya?”

“If you’re thinking that I’m about to go after that pair of stubborn, hardheaded fools we’ve been blessed with for a father and a sister . . . then the answer is yes! I am,” Joe said grimly.

“I’m coming with ya,” Hoss said.

The distant whiney of a horse, and the sound of footsteps approaching through the brush drew Ben from his tormented thoughts. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

“It’s me, Pa,” Stacy said, marching doggedly into the clearing.

“I said I wanted to be alone,” Ben said angrily, turning away.

“I know what you said.” Stacy walked around so she could talk to him face to face.

“Stacy, I’ll be home in a little while,” Ben said in a more conciliatory tone. “I just need a little time to— ”

“I’m not leaving,” Stacy defiantly folded her arms across her chest.

“Stacy— ” some of the anger crept back into his tone.

“NO! DAMMIT, PA . . . I’VE JUST LOST MY MOTHER,” she gave full vent to her own grief and anger at the top of her voice. “I AM NOT GOING TO STAND IDLY BY AND LOSE YOU, TOO.”

Ben reeled, physically and emotionally, against the onslaught of her raw, unbridled primal fury.

“You’ve been avoiding us,” she accused, her jaw rigidly set, “ALL of us, especially me.”

“Stacy, I HAVEN’T been avoiding you— ” Ben’s defense sounded flimsy and false even to his own ears.

“THE HELL YOU HAVEN’T! YOU’VE HARDLY SAID TWO WORDS TO ME SINCE MISS PARIS DIED,” Stacy turned on him furiously. Her pain and rage pushed her to the edge of tears.

“Stacy . . . do you have any idea . . . any idea at ALL . . . what it means to be known as . . . as a child born out of wedlock?!” Ben demanded. Though his tone of voice was harsh with anger, inside, his heart ached under an enormous burden of guilt, too heavy to be borne.

“No! I DON’T know, and I don’t CARE!”

“You may find yourself wishing that I HAD opted to send you to Westpoint, New York with your aunt and two cousins,” Ben said bitterly, “because you’re going to find out very quickly that the ‘good’ people of Virginia City agree with John McKenna. They’ll deny it to your face, of course, and, like as not they won’t say so using the words your uncle did--- ”

“I DON’T GIVE A BLOODY TINKER’S DAMN WHAT PEOPLE THINK OR DON’T THINK!” Stacy passionately declared, enraged and grief stricken, with all sincerity, using words, she had heard Miss Paris utter on a few occasions. “THE ONLY THING RIGHT NOW THAT I DO CARE ABOUT IS . . . is . . . I just w-want m-my pa back.”

Ben’s anger evaporated, as quickly and as suddenly as a drop of water, dribbled onto desert sands, evaporates under the relentless glare of a merciless afternoon sun. “Stacy, I-I’m sorry,” he said contritely, his eyes burning with the acrid sting of tears. “I’m so sorry. The last thing in the world I ever wanted to do was hurt you, but I HAVE . . . in the worst way possible . . . beginning, it seems, the day you were born.”

“No, Pa!” Stacy vigorously denied her father’s self-incrimination. “Right before she died? Miss Paris told me to . . . to remember that I . . . that I c-came into the world because you two loved each other,” she continued, her voice trembling. “John McKenna told me HIS children were . . . that they were c-conceived in fear and . . . and born in hatred. YOU saw the way he treated them. In the end, he was going to KILL Claire . . . his own daughter! Aunt Virginia, for all HER crying and carrying on, was still going to stand by and LET him. You and M-Miss Paris did everything you could to SAVE me.”

She began to sob openly, unable to hold back. “Pa, I . . . I’d rather be a . . . a bastard child born into this world because her ma and pa loved each other than any ten children, like . . . l-like my two c-cousins . . . conceived in fear and . . . and born in hatred to . . . to parents married to each other.”

Ben embraced her fiercely, clinging to her as desperately as he clung to his pain, his grief, and his guilt. He felt her arms wrapping themselves tight about his waist, her fingers clutching the material of his jacket. He wept openly with her, mourning Paris, the love they once shared, all that had been lost, and all that might have been. He also mourned for Stacy herself, for those very first years, forever lost. He would never know the joy of holding her as a baby, never hear her utter her first word, or see her take her first halting steps. “I-I had no idea,” Ben said, his voice ragged and unsteady. “No idea in the world she was pregnant.”

“I know, Pa,” Stacy sobbed, her own heart breaking with his. “I also know that if you . . . if you HAD known, you would have moved earth, heaven, and hell to find me . . . and f-find M-Miss Paris, too! . . . and you wouldn’t have stopped looking either, until you DID find us. That . . . that no good, dirty, rotten, yella-bellied **** . . . . ”

The word was Paiute. Though he had no idea as to its meaning, Ben winced against the intensity by which she contemptuously spat the word.

“ . . . he tried to make me say it w-wasn’t true, but I wouldn’t.”

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Ben very gently pushed back the hair that had fallen down into her face. “Is . . . is that why he . . . why he did this?” he asked in a voice barely audible.

Stacy nodded.

Ben stood for a time, gazing down at his daughter’s bruised face, and into her bright blue eyes, filled with grief, pain, anger, confusion, and something else . . . .

. . . something very strong and powerful, that reached out to bolster him against the pain and the guilt, that had so grievously burdened his heart since he had learned the reason why Paris McKenna had left so abruptly in the dead of night sixteen, going on seventeen years ago.

Love . . . .

. . . and Trust.

This precious knowledge lifted the terrible, crushing burden from his heart, then pierced it through, like a rapier, all in the same, swift stroke. “I . . . I l-love you, Stacy,” Ben said, his voice breaking under a fresh onslaught of tears.

“ . . . and I . . . I . . . oh, Pa, I love you, too,” Stacy said, sensing that the barriers that had risen the night he and Miss Paris had come to rescue her were gone. Feeling the sting of new tears in her own eyes, Stacy buried her face against his chest, and wept anew.

“Pa . . . Stacy . . . . ” It was Hoss. “Joe and I are here, too.”

Ben reached out for both of his sons with one hand, while keeping the other arm tight around Stacy. He felt their arms, their love, surrounding both him and Stacy. He could hear Joe, standing to his left weeping openly, and feel the moistness of Hoss’ tears flowing down his cheeks to mingle with his own.

Drawing strength from the loving bonds that connected them all not only with each other, but with the land called Ponderosa, and all that lived, breathed, and had being upon her, Ben found the courage to finally let go of the pain, the grief, the guilt, and the anger he harbored towards the mother of the young woman he held so close. With that release, he could acknowledge the love he had, and would always have for one Miss Paris McKenna. There would always be a special place in his heart for her as there were special places for Elizabeth, Inger, and Marie. It would take time, lots of time, for all of the wounds to finally heal. Even so, he could feel the healing beginning within himself.

“Stacy?”

“Y-yeah, Pa?

“Are YOU . . . all right?”

“Not now,” Stacy shook her head vigorously, “but I will be.”

By her answer, Ben knew that healing was beginning to happen within her as well. “Stacy . . . Hoss . . . Joe . . . thank you for coming after me,” he said gratefully.

“Pa, you’ve done the same for all of us many times,” Hoss said, wiping his eyes against the sleeve of his jacket.

“ . . . and besides, we’re family,” Joe added, his voice catching every other word. “You, me, Hoss, Stacy, Adam, and Hop Sing.”

“ . . . and don’t you ever f-forget it,” Stacy said, giving in to a fresh round of tears.

“I won’t,” Ben promised. The revelations that had come to light over the course of the last few hours had ripped the Cartwrights to shreds individually and had sundered their bonds as a family. But, here, in the woods by the shore of the lake, new and stronger bonds of love and trust had been forged in the fires of anger, grief, and guilt, acknowledged and released. “I . . . guess we should think about getting back to the house,” Ben said reluctantly.

“That’s assuming we don’t get lost trying to find our way through the woods in the dark,” Joe said, wiping away the last of his own tears.

“We won’t get lost,” Stacy said, “not as long as we have the stars to guide us.”

The four began to pick their way through the dim twilight towards the clearing where they had tethered their horses.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?” Ben automatically placed his arm around her shoulders as they walked.

Stacy slipped her arm around his waist. “Joe told me that the name Miss Paris gave me . . . Rose Miranda . . . was your mother’s name,” she said.

“Yes, it was,” Ben said quietly.

“I want to change my name from Stacy Louise to Stacy Rose,” she said. “That way, I’d have HER name, too . . . like you and Miss Paris wanted. Would you mind?”

Ben smiled. “Not at all,” he said. “In fact, I think Stacy Rose is a much prettier name, and certainly more fitting.”

“You do?”

“Yep,” Ben affirmed with an emphatic nod of his head.

“Why?”

“Because, you’re a beautiful wild Irish rose, so very much like your mother,” he said, his voice catching on the last word.

“ . . . complete with the thorns,” Joe teased gently.

“Thanks a lot,” Stacy retorted, with a smile.

“Just do me one favor, Little Sister.”

“What?”

“Don’t ever change a thing,” Joe said. “I love you, Kiddo . . . just the way y’ are . . . rose petals, thorns, and all.”

Epilogue

“Here y’ go, Angus,” Hoss said, as he picked up the last of four matching bags, belonging to the late John McKenna, captain, U. S. Army, retired, and handed it up to the stagecoach driver.

Angus Dawson lifted the bag from Hoss’ hands and settled it along side its other three mates on top of the stage. “That it, Hoss?”

“Yep. That’s it,” Hoss replied.

“Driver . . . . ” Virginia McKenna called out, as she darted from her place sandwiched between Ben Cartwright and Janet Greeley, a brisk, no-nonsense matron, aged in her late forties. “Driver!”

“Yes, Ma’am?” Angus queried.

Virginia took up position at Hoss’ elbow, to his right. “You make sure those bags are latched down good ‘n tight, you hear me?” she anxiously admonished. “Three of those bags . . . well, their contents may not have much money value, but they’re awfully important to ME.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Angus grunted. He turned and picked up the coil of rope, lying on the roof of the stagecoach, a little behind him to his left, then set to work securing Virginia McKenna’s luggage.

“You needn’t worry none about your bags, Mrs. McKenna,” Hoss said with confidence. “Once Angus Dawson gets somethin’ tied down, the only way it’s gonna get loose is if Angus Dawson unties it.”

“A-Are you sure?” she queried, her voice filled with trepidation and doubt.

“I’m sure,” Hoss affirmed, nodding his head.

“ . . . and . . . your father will send the rest of John’s things . . . after he gets instructions from MY father?”

“We’ll follow your pa’s instructions to the letter, Ma’am,” Hoss solemnly assured her. He wisely chose not to tell Virginia that they had received a wire from Major Sinclair yesterday afternoon, instructing the Cartwright family to . . . .

“ . . . dispose of my late son-in-law’s personal effects in whatever manner you see fit.”

“Janet, I can’t thank you enough for your gracious offer to see the McKennas to Westpoint,” Ben said, grateful and deeply relieved. “I know I’m going to rest a whole lot easier, knowing they’re in your care.”

“Oh posh, Ben,” Janet scoffed gently. “It’s not like I’m going out of my way or anything . . . . ”

She was the wife of Enoch Greeley, the president of the Vein-Glorious Mining Company, a small, but lucrative operation that had acquired the mining rights to a major vein of silver ore, newly discovered. Enoch and Ben were business associates, in that the latter owned a hefty thirty-five percent share of stock in the former’s mining operation.

Janet Greeley was leaving Virginia City on the Overland Stage, the same day as the McKennas, also bound for Westpoint, New York and the home of her daughter and son-in-law, to be on hand for the birth of her first grandchild. Upon learning that Virginia McKenna and her two daughters were traveling to the same destination, she had offered to take them under her wing, and see them safely to the home of Virginia McKenna’s parents.

“I know you’re not going out of your way, but it was still kind of you to offer, and . . . . ” Ben cast a quick, furtive glance over his shoulder, noting with satisfaction that Virginia McKenna seemed to be in animated conversation with Hoss, while the girls stood with his youngest son and daughter over next to the depot. “ . . . truth be known,” he continued sotto voce, “I was a little worried about the three of them making so long a trip by themselves.”

“Understandable,” Janet silently mused, even if only half of the things about the McKenna woman, currently making their rounds through Virginia City’s vigorous rumor mill turned out to be true. Aloud, she said, “Ben, you can rest assured that I’ll deliver Mrs. McKenna and her daughters to Westpoint safe and sound . . . right to her parents’ front door.”

“Thank you, Janet . . . and I’ll be sure to keep your daughter and grandchild soon to come in my prayers,” Ben promised.

“Thank you, Ben,” Janet said with a smile. “Though her doctor promises a safe delivery, speaking for myself, I’m going to rest a whole lot easier knowing there’s people praying for my daughter and her baby.”

“Ben?” It was Roy Coffee. With a glance over at Janet Greeley, he politely touched the rim of his hat and inclined his head slightly. “Good afternoon, Ma’am, would ya mind excusin’ Ben for a moment?”

“Not at all, Sheriff Coffee,” Janet graciously assented.

“I’ll only be a moment,” the lawman promised. He and Ben moved apart from the others.

“What’s up, Roy?” Ben asked.

“I just wanted t’ let ya know I gotta letter from Miss Russell in Dodge City about Miss McClelland,” Roy said, lowering his voice. “Seems she was George Edwards’ common law wife. They have . . . HAD a li’l gal, who was found t’ have some kinda blood disease.”

“Had?” Ben echoed with a frown.

“That wire George Ellis got from Miss Russell tellin’ George Edwards someone named Lucy died . . . that was their daughter,” Roy explained. “Ben, I want ya t’ know that so far as I’M concerned none o’ this EXCUSES what George Edwards done, but I CAN understand . . . a li’l anyway . . . . ”

“Go on, Roy,” Ben prompted with the sheriff did not immediately resume.

“In her letter, Miss Russell said the li’l gal was found t’ be sick three, maybe four years ago,” Roy began. “Doctors . . . medicines . . . ‘n hospital stays tend t’ be expensive, as I’m sure ya know, Ben.”

“Yes,” Ben nodded in agreement.

“Seems this George Edwards’d made himself somethin’ of a reputation as a bounty hunter out there in Kansas, ‘fore he met ‘n settled down with Miss McClelland,” Roy continued. “Miss Russell said he doted on that li’l gal ‘n was devastated when he found out she was so sick.”

“I . . . think I can guess the rest, Roy,” Ben said somberly. “He and Miss McClelland found, as time passed no doubt, they couldn’t afford the doctors, the medicines, and other medical care their daughter needed . . . so he hired himself out . . . himself AND his gun . . . . ”

“That’s about the size of it, Ben,” Roy said quietly.

“No wonder,” Ben murmured softly, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

“No wonder . . . what?” Roy asked.

“No wonder he was so good with Arch and Mary Campbell . . . and their boys when their daughter, Amy, died,” Ben replied. “By then, Eddie . . . George . . . who ever he was . . . must’ve known that his own daughter was dying.”

“That Collier fella told me somethin’ else about George Edwards . . . . ”

“What was that, Roy?”

“He said the very last time he spoke t’ Mister Edwards, he told him he couldn’t quite bring himself t’ go through with killin’ Stacy,” Roy replied. “He’d THOUGHT he could . . . with the kind o’ money Mister Hilliard ‘n Mister Deveraux offered t’ pay him, he ‘n Miss McClelland could’ve taken that li’l gal o’ theirs to a specialist somewhere.”

“Yes . . . it could’ve,” Ben agreed . . . .

“Cousin Stacy?” Erin, in the meantime, ventured shyly.

“Yes, Erin?”

“Would you write to me and tell me about Mama Cat’s kittens? Please? Mister Hoss showed ‘em to me yesterday . . . . ”

“Of course, Erin,” Stacy promised, pleasantly surprised and touched by her young cousin’s request.

“Oh, Erin, really! Of all the silly— ” Virginia McKenna sighed disparagingly and rolled her eyes heavenward. She, then, turned to her niece. “Now, Stacy, I don’t want you going to a lot of fuss ‘n bother to write Erin a . . . a . . . a whole long missive over a silly litter of kittens.”

“No trouble, Aunt Virginia . . . no trouble at all,” Stacy said very quickly.

“Well, well, well,” Virginia murmured softly, all the while shaking her head in complete bewilderment. “That child is certainly chock FULL of surprises.”

“You, uhhh . . . talkin’ ‘bout my li’l sister?” Hoss queried softly, as he gently took her by the elbow and carefully edged her away from the circle comprised of her two daughters, Stacy, and Joe.

Virginia nodded. “The day before yesterday . . . when we buried my beloved husband? She couldn’t be bothered to fulfill her duty, as John’s niece, in accompanying me and my daughters to visit the men who so diligently . . . so devotedly . . . served her uncle in war time AND in peace . . . yet, she’s more than willing to write Erin just to let her know about a silly litter of kittens. It just plain and simply boggles the mind, Mister Cartwright.”

She sighed again and shook her head. “I DO wish your father would reconsider his decision about keeping Stacy here,” she continued. “With my mother and me taking a good firm hand, that girl would very quickly learn the difference between things silly and frivolous . . . and the things that are her bounden duty and obligation.”

“Ma’am, my pa’s doin’ a real good job in raisin’ Stacy . . . in teachin’ her ‘bout the important things in life . . . ‘n all the things NOT so important,” Hoss said with confidence. “Now he might not be raisin’ her ‘n trainin’ her the way you ‘n your ma would, but I know for fact, he IS doin’ what’s best ‘n what’s right by that li’l gal.”

“Time will tell, I suppose,” Virginia said in a dismissive tone, “and, seeing as to how your father is so adamant about keeping her here, she’s not really mine to worry ‘n fuss over.”

“You’re right about that, Ma’am,” Hoss wholeheartedly agreed.

“ . . . and besides . . . I’m going to have my hands full looking after my own daughters,” Virginia continued. “I’m so grateful . . . grateful beyond words that Mama’s going to be there to help me out.”

“Claire . . . Erin . . . we have a couple of going away presents for you,” Joe said with a big smile. “You got ‘em, Stace?”

“Right here.” Stacy reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out two small gifts, wrapped in plain brown paper. “Hoss whittled ‘em, then Joe and I painted ‘em.”

“Thank you, Cousin Stacy and Mister Joe,” Erin said softly, after her cousin had parceled out the gifts.

Claire smiled, and vigorously nodded her head in agreement.

“Can we open ‘em now?” Erin asked.

Claire gently elbowed her younger sister and mouthed the word please.

“Oh yeah . . . can we open ‘em now . . . PLEASE?” Erin quickly amended her request.

“You sure can,” Joe readily assented, grinning from ear-to-ear.

Without further ado, the McKenna sisters quickly tore off the brown paper. Claire’s gift was a standing horse, painted to match Joe’s horse, Cochise. Erin’s was a napping cat, curled into a perfect circle with its nose tucked under the tip of its tail.

Erin gasped, as she gazed down at the wooden cat figure lying in the palm of her hand. Her bright blue eyes shone with pure delight. “She . . . she looks just like Mama Cat,” she exclaimed.

Claire smiled as she held the carved horse up for a better look. Glancing over at Joe, she first pointed to the horse gently cradled in her right hand, then over at him. She, then, held up her hands in front of her, as if she were holding tight to invisible reins.

Smiling, Joe nodded. “Yeah, Claire . . . that’s Cochise,” he replied.

“Mrs. Greeley?”

Janet turned, and glanced up, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, now nearing its zenith. “Yes, Mister Dawson?”

“I just wanted to let you know that the mail’s loaded, and seeing as t’ how you and the McKennas are my only passengers, we can leave whenever you wish,” Angus Dawson said.

“Thank you,” Janet said briskly. “Well . . . the sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll all get to where we’re going.”

“Mrs. McKenna, from t’ sound o’ things, it looks like you folks’ll be leaving early,” Hoss said.

“How early?” Virginia demanded, her eyes round with mild alarm.

“Just as soon as we can get ourselves aboard, Mrs. McKenna,” Janet said briskly, as she gently took the younger woman’s elbow.

“Claire . . . Erin . . . looks like the stage is getting ready to leave now,” Joe said.

“What about our presents?” Erin wailed. “I don’t wanna lose ‘em . . . . ”

Claire turned to her sister and lifted the carpetbag that held all of their belongings.

“That’s a good idea,” Stacy said, smiling. “You can put your gifts inside the bag . . . where they’ll be safe.”

“Claire! Erin!” Virginia frantically called over her shoulder, as Janet kept her stepping lively toward the open coach door. “Come on! We’re leaving!”

“We’re coming, Mama,” Erin called back.

Joe took the carpetbag from Claire and opened it, allowing both girls to place their gifts inside.

“Girls! Come ON!”

“They’re coming, Aunt Virginia,” Stacy called back this time, while her brother closed the carpetbag.

With bag in hand, Joe began to herd the two girls over in the direction of the stagecoach. Stacy followed close behind.

“Up y’ go, Young ‘n,” Hoss said as he lifted Erin up into the stagecoach. “You be sure t’ mind your mama ‘n Mrs. Greeley.”

“I will, Mister Hoss,” the girl eagerly promised. “Will you write to me . . . after we get to Westpoint?”

“I sure will . . . if YOU write me back,” Hoss said with a grin.

Claire turned to the three Cartwright offspring, and smiling, she pointed to herself. Next, she held up her right palm, and with the first finger of her left hand made motion, as if she were writing, then finally, she pointed at Stacy first, then at Joe, and last at Hoss.

“You bet we’ll write to you, too, Claire,” Stacy eagerly promised.

“But, same deal applies to YOU as to your younger sister, Claire,” Joe said. “You have to write to US back.”

Claire nodded and mouthed back the words, I will.

“We’d best get you up inside, too, Claire,” Hoss said. He placed his hands around her waist and lifted her with almost ridiculous ease. “We’re all countin’ on ya t’ help look after your mama ‘n sister.”

Claire nodded solemnly.

“Have a safe trip,” Joe said, as he handed the carpetbag back to Claire.

“We will, Mister Joe,” Erin responded with a smile. “Bye, Cousin Stacy . . . ‘n Mister Hoss, ‘n— ”

“I think a ‘good-bye, Everybody,’ will do, Young Lady,” Virginia admonished her youngest daughter.

“Good-bye, Everybody,” Erin said, waving vigorously.

“Oh! Oh dear, oh dear!” Virginia gasped. “Mister Cartwright . . . Mister Cartwright . . . . ”

“Yes, Mrs. McKenna?” Ben responded.

“Thank you! Thank you so much for everything!”

Ben smiled. “You’re very welcome.”

“Mister Dawson, you’d better close that door right now, lest we be here all afternoon saying good-bye,” Janet said testily.

“Yes, Ma’am . . . .”

“I sure hope things go well for ‘em when they get to Westpoint,” Joe said quietly, after the stagecoach had rounded the corner at the bottom of the hill.

“Me, too,” Stacy agreed. “After living with the likes of John McKenna . . . . ” She shuddered.

“Given a lot of time . . . a lot of love and patience, I’m sure the three of ‘em will eventually find a measure of peace and security,” Ben said, as he stepped in between his younger children and placed his arms around their shoulders.

“Mrs. McKenna’s pa WAS real quick in sendin’ an answer back t’ her wire,” Hoss quietly added his own two cents, “ ‘n HE’S t’ one who invited them t’ live with him ‘n his wife in Westpoint.”

“That’s true,” Joe had to agree.

“ . . . ‘n that tells me that maybe . . . just maybe . . . Mrs. McKenna’s pa ‘n ma are willin’ t’ give ‘em a home ‘cause they care about ‘em,” Hoss continued.

“I’ve always said that you’re a real good judge of character, Son,” Ben said, favoring his biggest son with a proud smile, “and seeing as how YOU’RE optimistic, that’s good reason for the rest of US to hope for the best.”

“Thanks, Pa,” Hoss murmured softly, his cheeks all of a sudden several shades pinker than usual. “Well, Li’l Brother, you ‘n me got a lot t’ do while we’re in town today,” he continued, quickly turning his attention to Joe and to all of the practical matters at hand, “so we’d best get at it.”

“You boys remember to bring Hop Sing’s list?” Ben asked.

“I got it, Pa,” Hoss immediately answered, “right here.” He gently patted his vest above the approximate location of his shirt pocket, with a smile.

“All right, Boys . . . see ya both at home later,” Ben said, looking from one to the other. He, then, turned to his daughter. “You and I’d better get a move on ourselves, Young Woman. You have chores to finish and I need to sit down with those ledgers.” This last he said with a melancholy sigh.

“Think maybe you and I could make another trip out to Dressler’s Pond later on this afternoon?” Stacy asked hopefully. “After I’ve finished with my chores and you’ve finished with the ledger, of course . . . . ”

“School’s back in session first thing Monday morning, Young Woman,” Ben quickly reminded her, much to her dismay and chagrin. “After you finish your chores, I think your time might be better spent checking over any written homework and reviewing your reading assignments. You ought to know as well as I do by now that whenever Miss Ashcroft is out sick for any length of time, she tends to grade all the harder.”

“Yes, Pa . . . I know,” Stacy sighed dejectedly.

“Hey, Kid . . . don’t look so glum,” Joe quipped with a broad grin. “Surely you haven’t forgotten summer vacation’s just around the corner . . . . ”

The End

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