The Lo Mein Affair
Part 1: Mistaken Identity
By Kathleen T. Berney

“Virginia City, Folks,” the stagecoach driver wearily announced, as he opened the door. “We leave for Carson City at three o’clock sharp, soon as we change horses, ‘n pick up the mail.”

Ben Cartwright leaned back heavily into his seat, and closed his eyes while the other passengers, seven in all, disembarked. He had spent ten days of the two weeks he was actually in San Francisco negotiating a contract with the railroad to supply lumber over the next three years. There was a lot of hard, intense, even down and dirty bargaining over terms, but in the end, he walked away with a very lucrative contract, worth a whopping fifty thousand dollars a year over the next three years.

The remaining four days were spent enjoying what a big city, like San Francisco, had to offer. He attended a piano recital given by Andrew Xavier, stage name for a very fine concert pianist Ben knew as Carleton. Afterward, he visited the pianist and his wife, the former Angela Drake , herself a once renowned opera singer as well as old friend. He had also enjoyed visiting Julia Grant backstage after catching a performance of her latest musical comedy venture.

Ben also looked up his old friend, Horace Banning and his wife, Deborah. He was gratified to learn that Horace had built an excellent career for himself as a reporter for the San Francisco Examiner. Their daughter, Melinda, had married the junior partner of an established, lucrative law firm several years before. They had three children, two boys and a girl. They were expecting their fourth, due any day. Deborah had also mellowed greatly in the intervening years since the Bannings had visited the Ponderosa. The financial stability now provided by her husband enabled her to let go of a lot of her manipulating ways. She also took great delight in her role as doting grandmother.

Though he had enjoyed the plays, concerts, the fine dining, and visiting old friends, Ben Cartwright had missed his sons, daughter, and the Ponderosa very much. He stepped down from the Overland Stage, exhausted, but glad to stand at long last on the beauteous, solid terra firma of home after spending the last eight days of being bumped and jostled over roads still riddled with pot holes and ever deepening wheel ruts left in the wake of spring rains.

“PA! HEY, PA! OVER HERE!”

Ben smiled upon hearing his daughter, Stacy’s enthusiastic greeting. He glanced up and immediately spotted his two younger children, standing over next to the stage depot building smiling and waving. Without bothering to wait for his luggage, he beat a straight path toward Joe and Stacy, pausing only to side step around an elderly couple, both of whom had been fellow passengers. The minute he reached them, he grabbed both of them in a big affectionate bear hug.

“Glad to have you back, Pa,” Joe declared with a broad grin, as he returned his father’s embrace with equal fervor and affection. “A month is a long time!”

“TOO long!” Stacy added, as she gave her father an affectionate squeeze around the waist. “We missed you, Pa.”

Ben held Joe and Stacy for a moment longer, then, acting purely on impulse, planted a kiss on each forehead. “I missed— ” he stopped abruptly mid-sentence. “Wait a minute! Stacy Rose Cartwright, I just realized . . . . ” He favored her with a suspicious frown. “Isn’t today a school day?”

“It’s SUPPOSED to be, but when I got there this morning? There was a notice on the door saying that there’d be no school today because Miss Ashcroft is sick.”

Ben knew by the earnest look on her face that she told the truth. “I’m sorry Miss Ashcroft’s not feeling well,” he said, smiling, “but at the same time I’m glad you could be here with your brother . . . WITHOUT playing hooky.”

“Me, too, Pa,” Stacy agreed wholeheartedly, “although I don’t think Miss Ashcroft would’ve minded me playing hooky to come meet you in the least.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” A bewildered frown creased Stacy’s otherwise smooth brow. “It seems I’ve suddenly become the teacher’s pet, starting about a week or so AFTER you left for San Francisco.”

“You?!” Joe chortled in complete and utter disbelief.

“Yeah, me!”

“I don’t believe it!”

“That makes TWO of us, Grandpa!”

“What gives you the idea that you’ve suddenly become the teacher’s pet, Young Woman?” Ben asked.

“Well, to begin with, I’m suddenly making all A’s and B’s.”

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe . . . just maybe . . . your school work’s improved?” Ben asked.

“If it HAS, Pa, I sure, for the life of me, don’t see HOW!” Stacy replied with a helpless shrug.

“Well, Miss Ashcroft and I are long overdue for that parent-teacher conference,” Ben mused thoughtfully. “I’ll ride in with you to school tomorrow morning and see her about scheduling it. Maybe she’ll be able to shed some light on things when I actually sit down and talk to her.”

“Uh oh! If you’ve done anything naughty at school, you’d better ‘fess up NOW, Little Sister,” Joe teased, “ ‘cause if Pa finds out first from Miss Ashcroft . . . . ” He rolled his eyes upward toward the heavens, while leaving the sentence lying ominously unfinished.

“For YOUR information, Grandpa, Pa is fully up to date on all my naughty doings for the school year,” Stacy retorted, favoring her brother with a dark, murderous glare.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Positive?”

“Absolutely!” Stacy sighed. “There’s other stuff, too.”

“Like what?” Ben asked.

“Lately, Miss Ashcroft seems to be calling on ME for the special things she usually calls on Molly or Liam to do,” Stacy continued, “and every time she does? Molly, Liam, Susannah . . . and all the other kids my age give me this strange, knowing kind of a look. Sometimes, it gets a little creepy.”

“I’m sure there’s a very plausible explanation for all this,” Ben said reassuringly.

“Whatever it is, Pa, I’d be interested in finding out what it is myself,” Joe declared with an impish grin.

“Grandpa, did anyone ever tell you that you’re incredibly nosy?”

“You’re calling ME nosy?!” Joe echoed incredulously. “Isn’t that a little like the pot calling the kettle black?”

Stacy, unable to quite hold back the amused grin, stuck out her tongue.

Joe immediately responded in kind.

“All right, CHILDREN, settle down!” Ben admonished his youngest offspring with a smile. “Tell you what! Why don’t we collect my luggage, and stop by the Silver Dollar on the way home for a couple of beers and a root beer?”

“Sounds good to me, Pa,” Stacy readily agreed.

“Me, too,” Joe replied. “Tell you what? As a welcome home for Pa, all drinks are on ME.”

“Ben Cartwright! Long time no see, you sly ol’ rascal! What’ll ya have?” Sam, the bartender at the Silver Dollar greeted the Cartwright clan patriarch with a broad grin, as he, Joe, and Stacy entered the saloon.

“I’ll have a b-beer,” Ben stammered, taken completely aback by Sam’s odd greeting.

“After all this time o’ holdin’ out, I honest and truly never, not in a million years, EVER thought I’d see the day,” Sam murmured shaking his head in absolute wonder and delight. He finished filling a clean mug and set it on the bar in front of Ben. “Y’ ol’ rascal! That ol’ goat, Myra Danvers . . . I hear tell SHE’S fit to be tied over this whole business.”

The scowl, already present on Ben’s face, deepened. “Sam, WHAT are you talking about?”

“Oh, yeah! Ya still wanna keep things quiet!” Sam declared with a wink. “Joe, what’re YOU having?”

“I, uhhh . . . I . . . guess I’ll have a beer also,” Joe replied, equally perplexed by the odd exchange between the bartender and his father.

“So! What do the two of you think about . . . . ” Sam grinned and winked as he placed a full mug of beer down in front of Joe.

Joe and Stacy exchanged puzzled glances. “ . . . er, uhh . . . what do we think about what?” the former asked.

“Oh, I get it! The two of YOU ‘n Hoss’re keeping mum, too,” Sam chuckled and winked again. “You havin’ your usual, Stacy?”

“Y-yeah.”

Sam placed a mug of cold root beer down in front of Stacy, while waving away Joe’s attempt to pay for their drinks. “Cartwright money’s no good in here today, Folks,” the bartender declared. “All drinks are on the house.” He winked at Ben again, then moved off to serve a couple of other customers who had just walked in.

“Pa?” Joe ventured, as he replaced his wallet back in the inside pocket of his green jacket.

“What is it, Son?”

“Would you mind cluing Stacy and me in on . . . whatever it is Sam’s talking about?”

“I’d love to . . . if only some kind soul would clue ME in,” Ben replied.

“Hell-lloooo, Joe,” Laurie Lee Bonner greeted the youngest Cartwright in a low, sultry voice and a sly wink. “Buy me a drink?”

Joe shrugged. “Sure, I guess . . . why not?” He turned and hesitantly signaled for the bartender.

Sam responded immediately. “What can I do for you, Joe? Another beer?”

“No, this time, I’m buying the lady here a drink.” Joe nodded toward Laurie Lee Bonner, standing beside him. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have a beer.”

Sam immediately drew the beer and set the mug down in front of Laurie Lee. “You crazy kids behave yourselves, y’ hear?” he exhorted Joe and the barmaid with a big, wide knowing grin.

Laurie took a sip from the beer mug sitting in front of her. “Joe?”

“Yeah, Laurie Lee?”

“I just wanted to let you know I had a wonderful time last night.”

“Y-You did?”

“Oh yes,” Laurie Lee sighed with a beatific smile on her face. “Joe, I . . . well, I had no idea! No idea at all!”

“N-no idea . . . about WHAT?”

“Silly Man! Always kidding!” Her smile broadened as she kissed the tip of her index finger and placed it gently against his lips. “Will I see you again tonight?”

Joe looked up at the willow reed slim barmaid through eyes round with shock. “I . . . I, well, I . . . . ”

Laurie Lee glanced over at Ben and Stacy, both quietly sipping beer and root beer respectively. “I understand,” she murmured knowingly. “Until NEXT time, My Darling.” With that, she turned and sauntered off, swaying her hips provocatively. Joe stood, as if rooted to the spot, staring after her retreating back, open mouthed with shock.

“Joseph, would you mind telling me what THAT was all about?” Ben demanded, favoring his son with a dark scowl.

Stacy was about to add that she would be very interested in knowing herself, but the fierce look on her father’s face gave her due cause to rethink the matter.

“Pa, honest! I have NO IDEA what that was all about! No idea at all! I-I’ll swear on a whole stack of Bibles if you’d like . . . . ” Joe stammered.

“Hey, Ben!”

He glanced over toward the door, from whence the voice issued. His lawyer, and good friend, Lucas Milburn was stepping through the front door of the saloon. “Good afternoon, Lucas . . . . . ”

“You old dog!” the lawyer chuckled, and winked.

“Lucas, may I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Ben, feel free?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, I understand, you want to keep things quiet, Ben, but . . . . ” Lucas shrugged. “Frankly, I can’t see the point any longer. Everyone seems to know.”

“Know WHAT?” Ben demanded, his ire rising.

“OK, Ben, I’ll play it YOUR way,” Lucas chuckled.

“Play WHAT my way?”

“Ssshhh! Mum’s the word!” Lucas lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, then winked.

“I don’t know about the two of you, but I think I’m ready to go home,” Joe said, casting a nervous glance in Laurie Lee’s direction. She winked back and blew him a kiss.

Stacy drained the last remaining swallow of root beer from her own mug. “I’m with you, Grandpa. This is getting to be too much like those creepy moments I keep having in school,” she declared with a shudder, as she set her mug back down on the bar.

“I’m ready, too,” Ben declared with an emphatic nod of his head, making the vote unanimous.

“I stopped by the store earlier to get the stuff on Hop Sing’s list, and I’ve also picked up the mail,” Joe said. “After Stacy returns from the Livery Stable with Blaze Face, we can head for home.”

“Good!” Ben exhaled a heartfelt sigh of relief. “I trust Hop Sing’s relatives arrived safely?”

“Day before yesterday,” Joe replied. “His sister and brother-in-law, Li Mei-Ling and Li Hsing, are upstairs in Adam’s old room. His niece, Li Yin-Ling, is bunking with Stacy, his nephew, Li Xing is in the back with Hop Sing, and Mrs. Li, Li Hsing’s grandmother is in the downstairs guest room.”

“Good. I hope everything goes well on Friday night.”

“I know it means a lot to Hop Sing and Mei-Ling, but . . . . ” he sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know about this business of arranging marriages, Pa. Frankly, I’d rather pick out the lady with whom I’m going to spend the rest of my life myself.”

“Make that lady a gentleman, and I’m with YOU on that score, Grandpa.” It was Stacy, with Blaze Face.

“You, ummm . . . don’t have anybody specific in mind . . . do you?” Ben asked warily.

“No, I don’t,” Stacy shook her head. “When I DO, Pa, I promise YOU’LL be the first to know.”

“I’m holding you to that, Young Woman,” Ben said, half teasing and very much in earnest.

“It’s just that when I get married I want my husband to be somebody I love very much, who loves me in the same way,” Stacy said thoughtfully, as she hitched Blaze Face to the back of the buckboard.

“This business of negotiating a marriage like . . . well, like YOU would a lumbering contract or some other business deal seems kinda cold to me, Pa,” Joe said, as he climbed up into the buckboard seat and reached for the reigns.

“I agree with both of you,” Ben said quietly.

“But?” Joe prompted.

“How did you know there was a ‘but’?”

“Something in your tone of voice, Pa,” Stacy replied.

“I see. Well in THIS case the ‘but’ is this. The pair of YOU and your older brothers have all grown up in a new country that places high value on such things as individual rights . . . like life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” Ben said quietly. “Furthermore, all four of you have had the good fortune, I think, of growing up here on the frontier of that same new country, where you’ve been able to enjoy a greater measure of freedom and independence than a lot of young men and women your age do in the big cities back east.

“Hop Sing and his family, on the other hand come from a place that values a certain respect of elders, dignity, and honor, especially family honor, over and above the rights of the individual,” Ben continued. “Hop Sing once told me that his brother-in-law’s family members were once wealthy, powerful aristocrats, very highly respected and honored. Though the Li family lost most of their wealth in recent years, they’re still considered a noble, and honorable family. They command a lot of respect, despite being impoverished.

“As I understand things, the family Yin-Ling will be marrying into is what we sometimes refer to as ‘nouveau riche.’ They’ve acquired their fortune in recent years, in much the same way we have . . . through lots and lots of hard work. Though they have wealth, they have none of the honor and respect that the Li family has enjoyed for many years, possibly for many centuries.”

“So if Yin-Ling marries this guy, her family comes into some money, and his becomes connected to the honor and respect of her family,” Joe said slowly.

“Yin-Ling’s family also has the assurance that she and her children will be well provided for,” Ben added. “That’s a very important factor in negotiating this marriage, too.”

“I think I can understand a little of where they’re coming from, but I sure as shootin’ wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of the bridegroom,” Joe said with a shudder. “Speaking for myself, I definitely prefer OUR way of doing things.”

“Like I said before, I’m with YOU, Grandpa,” Stacy said with an emphatic nod of her head. “Pa, I’ve got Blaze Face secure to the back of the buckboard.”

“Good! Up you go, Young Woman!”

“Mister Cartwright!”

Ben turned and found himself staring into the angry face of Eloise Kirk, whose daughter ran the establishment known as Kirk’s Hostelry. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Kirk. What can I do for you?”

“You, Mister Cartwright, plain and simply ought to be ashamed of yourself! Do you hear? ASHAMED!”

“Mrs. Kirk, I don’t understand. What—?”

“They say there’s no fool like an old fool, but after all these years of . . . well, let’s just say I’d come to think better of YOU than most.” Eloise sighed and shook her head. “I’m disappointed in you, Mister Cartwright, very disappointed.”

“Mrs. Kirk, would you mind telling me—?”

“Good day, Mister Cartwright!” Eloise rudely cut him off in a tone that dripped icicles, then turned heel and flounced back across the street.

“Benjamin, don’t listen to that old crow!” It was the widow, Clementine Hawkins. Retired from vaudeville and the boarding house business, she was a wealthy lady of leisure, after having sold not only her boarding house but an enormous emerald, known as “The Burma Rarity.” These days, her permanent address was a posh suite at the International Hotel.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hawkins,” Joe greeted her with that dazzling smile guaranteed to melt butter on the sidewalk even in the dead of winter.

“Good afternoon, Ducky!” she returned Joe’s greeting with a smile of her own and an affectionate pinch on his cheek. “Coo! Stacy Luv, good afternoon to you, too!”

“Hello, Mrs. Hawkins!”

“Ma’am, what did you mean just now when you told Pa not to listen to that old crow?” Joe asked.

“Coo! That pickle faced old prune! I swear, Ducks! She was born an old maid and she’s gonna some day DIE an old maid, you mark my words.”

“What?!” Joe stared down at the diminutive curly haired woman, whose locks were a shade of orange reddish lavender, not normally occurring in nature. “Whaddya mean Mrs. Kirk’s an old maid?! She WAS married, and she’s got a daughter.”

“Joseph Luv, it’s all up here!” Clementine declared tapping on her right temple gently with her first two fingers extended. “Some ladies remain old maids up here,” again, she tapped her temple twice, “even if they was t’ marry eight times and have ten children.”

“Mrs. Hawkins, and you, too Joseph Francis! I’d appreciate you not talking about . . . well, about things like that with Stacy in earshot,” Ben growled at both sotto voce.

Clementine laughed with genuine mirth. “Coo! What THAT child’s no doubt learned from bein’ around all those horses ‘n cows . . . well she could probably educate ME on a few of the finer points, if y’ get what I mean, Ducky?” She gave Ben a playful elbow jab to the stomach.

“Mrs. Hawkins, about this business of not listening to Mrs. Kirk— ” Joe began.

“Coo! I’ve got to run along!” Clementine gasped. “Jolly good talking to you, Duckies! Toodles!” With that, she was gone.

“Hello, Ben! Long time no see!”

“Hello, Roy!” Ben greeted the sheriff of Virginia City with a weary smile.

“Where’ve y’ been keepin’ yourself . . . as if I didn’t know?” Roy queried with a sly grin.

“I’ll bite, Roy,” Ben said with a touch of annoyance. “Enlighten me! Where HAVE I been keeping myself?”

“As if you didn’t know, You Sly ol’ Son of a B—oops!” Roy spotted Stacy standing next to Ben in the bare nick of time to stop himself from uttering something that, in his mind, should never be uttered in the presence of someone of the female persuasion. Smiling, he immediately lowered his voice. “You go f’r it, Ben! If anyone in this whole wide world deserves it, you sure as shootin’ do!” He slapped Ben heartily on the back, winked, then ambled on down toward his office.

“THERE you are!”

Joe, Stacy, and Ben turned, and found themselves suddenly staring into the face of Lilly Beth Jared, the current love of Joe’s life, contorted with raw fury.

“L-Lilly Beth . . . ?!” Joe stammered, taking an involuntary step backward.

“You no good, lousy, rotten, slimy, two timing slug!” Lilly Beth snarled, bringing the full force of her wrath to bear on Joe Cartwright. “How DARE you?”

“Whoa! Back up a minute, willya?!,” Joe stammered, taking another step backward.

“No body two times ME and gets away with it! Especially NOT with a SLUT like Laurie Lee Bonner!” With that, Lilly Beth lashed out with the deadly swiftness of a rattler, striking Joe’s face with all the power and strength generated by her all consuming fury. The force of her blow sent him reeling backwards into his father and his sister. Had Ben not blindly grasped the edge of the buckboard, all three of them would have been knocked to the ground.

“HEY! WHAT’S THAT FOR?” Joe demanded, shocked and outraged.

“THAT’S for last night!” Lilly Beth snarled, glaring at the hapless Joe Cartwright with a look meant to kill. With that, she furiously tossed her head and continued on her way.

“Joseph?!” Ben demanded with a baleful glare, as he and Stacy helped set Joe back on his feet.

“I-I . . . I don’t know, Pa! Honest! I swear! I . . . don’t know!” Joe stammered, his hazel eyes round with complete and utter astonishment.

“Pa, we were all HOME last night,” Stacy said, favoring Lilly Beth Jared’s retreating back with a bewildered frown. “Between Hoss and me training the horses, and Joe breaking ‘em in . . . we were all pretty well done in.”

“I went to bed right after supper,” Joe insisted.

“He actually fell asleep about halfway THROUGH supper, Pa.”

“ . . . and we have house guests! We couldn’t very well go into town and leave Hop Sing’s relatives alone. That would’ve been very rude!”

“If you don’t believe US, you can ask Hop Sing where we were last night when we get home!”

“All right, settle down, Both of You,” Ben sighed. “I believe you.”

The profound look of relief that came to Joe’s face was almost comical.

Smiling, Ben placed his arms around Joe and Stacy’s shoulders. “What say we head for home?”

“Sounds real good to ME, Pa,” Joe said, with an emphatic nod.

“Me, too,” Stacy agreed.

Hoss examined the knee of Chubb’s right front leg, smiling with great satisfaction. With a grunt, he straightened, gently turning to the left, then the right, to stretch and limber up those aching lower back muscles. “Well, Boy, neither one of us is as young as we used t’ be,” he said, rubbing the side of his horse’s neck fondly.

Chubb snorted softly, then turned to munch on the fresh hay Hoss had just given him.

“Looks like that poultice Hop Sing whipped up ‘s worked for ya,” Hoss continued. “That swellin’ ‘s dang near gone. Another day o’ rest, ‘n you’ll be good as new.” His smile broadened. “Maybe even better.” He gently stroked Chubb’s left side, at the shoulder, ending with an affectionate pat. “Lemme getcha some fresh water.”

Hoss stepped out of Chubb’s stall, closing the lower half of the door behind him. As he leaned over to pick up the water bucket, sitting just outside Chubb’s stall, his ears picked up the sounds of horses and the buckboard. “Sounds like Li’l Brother’s just come home with Pa,” he murmured. “Be right back, Boy.”

The buckboard, driven by his younger brother, Joe, pulled into the yard just as Hoss was stepping out of the barn. Pa sat on the passengers’ side of the buckboard seat, with Stacy comfortably sandwiched in the middle. Blaze Face, Stacy’s horse, trotted behind, tethered to the back of the buckboard.

“Welcome back, Pa,” Hoss greeted Ben with a broad grin and a wave.

“Thank you, Hoss. It’s good to BE back!” Ben declared as he alighted from the buckboard, returning his biggest son’s smile with a warm, loving one of his own. He walked over and gave Hoss a big bear hug. His smile broadened as Hoss squeezed back with equal affection.

“Didja get t’ see that opera singer friend o’ yours, Pa?” He frowned. “What was her name?”

“Angela,” Ben replied, “and yes. I had supper with her and her husband, Carleton, after attending one of a whole series of piano recitals he’s been giving all over San Francisco.”

“Oh yeah, Angela!” Joe remembered with a wry smile. “Tell me something, Pa. Has she quieted down any since the last time we saw her?”

Ben shook his head. “Not a bit, Son. If anything, she’s more talkative than ever.”

A horrified look passed over Joe’s face, as he sarcastically rolled his eyes. “Poor Carleton!” he murmured with genuine heartfelt sympathy.

“Don’t you feel one bit sorry for Carleton, Joe,” Ben chuckled. “HE doesn’t mind in the least.”

“Really?!” Joe looked over at his father, astonished and perplexed, then shook his head. “Wow! Some guys are real gluttons for punishment!”

“At least she has interesting stories to tell,” Ben pointed out.

“Until she starts repeating herself,” Joe returned with out missing a beat. He, then, turned his attention to Hoss. “You want to give me a hand with those trunks, Big Brother?”

“Let’s just set ‘em on the porch for now,” Hoss said. “I’ll help ya lug ‘em up t’ Pa’s room AFTER, I see t’ the horses.”

“I guess I’d best get inside and meet Hop Sing’s relatives,” Ben said. “I’d better take the briefcase in with me, but you can leave the two small bags on the porch with the larger ones.”

“Here’s your briefcase, Pa.” Stacy reached into the back of the buckboard and retrieved it. “I’ll be in, soon as I take care of Blaze Face.”

“Hey, Li’l Sister, what’re YOU doin’ here?” Hoss demanded.

“I LIVE here, Big Brother, remember?”

“Smart aleck!” Hoss growled back affectionately. “I MEANT what’re y’ doin’ HERE, when y’ oughtta be in school?”

“Miss Ashcroft took sick.”

“I’ve been thinkin’, Hoss . . . . ”

“Really, Grandpa?” Stacy quipped. “I guess the strain’s what’s given you all those new gray hairs.”

“That’s it! Right after supper, I’m gonna sit down with Pa and have a real nice long talk with him about his daughter’s terrible lack of respect for her elders,” Joe countered with mock severity. “In the meantime . . . . ”

“In the meantime . . . . WHAT?” Stacy demanded.

“In the meantime, LITTLE Sister, I’ve got a good mind to turn you right over my knee and spank you good!”

“Hah! You and WHAT army?”

Ben smiled, as the teasing banter between his three younger offspring, along with their easy laughter, echoed in his ears. He had thoroughly enjoyed seeing, and catching up with old friends in San Francisco. But nothing would ever compare to the joy of seeing the faces of his sons and daughter, hearing their voices and their laughter, or feeling their arms around him in a great big bear hug. Half way between the barn and the house, he stopped and turned.

“The three of you can be as high spirited as you want to OUT here, just so long as you get your chores done.” His tone was stern, but his dark eyes sparkled with merriment, a fact not lost on the sons and daughter standing before him. “But the minute you step inside that house, I expect you to behave like half way civilized human beings, and NOT disgrace me in front of Hop Sing’s relatives. Understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes, Sir,’ and ‘understood, Pa,’ followed from voices a touch too solemn, issuing from faces too earnest.

Ben smiled. “Good! I’ll see you later inside.”

“Mister Cartwright, welcome home,” Hop Sing greeted him with warmly as he stepped through the front door. “Glad you back. Hop Sing present honorable relatives.”

“Thank you, Hop Sing, it’s good to be home,” Ben declared as he set his briefcase down on the floor next to the large grandfather’s clock standing next to the front door. “I’m most anxious to meet your honorable relatives.”

Ben followed Hop Sing over to the fireplace, where an elderly Chinese woman, with a stern face, sharp black eyes, and iron gray hair occupied the red leather chair. Three others stood close together, tightly clustered about the chair.

“Mister Cartwright, you remember Hop Sing’s sister, Li Mei-Ling.”

“Yes, Hop Sing, I remember Mrs. Li Mei-Ling VERY well, with fondness,” Ben said, offering the elder of the two women standing stiffly behind the chair, a warm, ingratiating smile. Aged in her early forties, the deeply etched lines of her weary, careworn face, lent her the appearance of someone much older.

Mei-Ling, her shoulders and head bowed, eyes deferentially lowered, stepped out from behind the red leather chair. “Mei-Ling honored Mister Cartwright remember her so well,” she acknowledged the introduction softly. “Mei-Ling also remember Mister Cartwright well.”

“I, too, am honored, Mei-Ling.”

“Mister Cartwright, this Li Hsing, honorable husband of Hop Sing’s sister,” Hop Sing politely nodded to the stern faced man, aged in somewhere between his late forties and early fifties, standing to the right of the elderly woman, still seated in the red leather chair.

Ben noted the strong resemblance in the faces of Li Hsing and the elderly woman. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Mister Li,” he graciously acknowledged the introduction, then extended his hand. “Welcome to the Ponderosa and to my home. I apologize for not being here to welcome you personally when you and your family first arrived.”

Hsing accepted Ben’s extended hand and politely shook it. “Thank you, Mister Cartwright, honored to meet YOU. No apology necessary. Hop Sing and your very delightful sons and daughter make very welcome.”

“Thank you, for my sons and my daughter, and for me.”

“Mister Cartwright, this Yin-Ling,” Hop Sing continued, nodding to the younger of the two women standing behind the red leather chair. “She daughter of Li Hsing and Mei-Ling.”

Ben knew that Yin-Ling was a year older than his own daughter, possibly two. She stood quietly beside her mother, with head bowed, eyes respectfully averted. Slim and willowy, she had long, dark shining hair, plaited into a single braid that reached down to her waist, and a flawless golden complexion. Yin-Ling quietly, demurely moved out from behind the chair, keeping her head bowed and eyes riveted to the floor. “I am greatly honored and most pleased to meet you, Mister Cartwright,” Yin-Ling said demurely, her English flawless. “Thank you for your kindness and your hospitality.”

“I am very pleased to meet YOU, Yin-Ling,” Ben said quietly. “Your graciousness adds much to the beauty of my home.”

“Thank you for your kind compliment, Mister Cartwright.”

“Li Xing, Hop Sing’s nephew not here,” Hop Sing said, his face darkening with anger.

“Mister Cartwright, Li Hsing humbly apologize for wayward son,” Hsing murmured contritely.

Before Ben could respond to Hsing’s apology, Hop Sing turned toward his brother-in-law and snapped out a short, clipped string of Chinese syllables. Hsing scowled, and responded with a terse single syllable. Mei-Ling quickly interposed herself between her brother and her husband, looking from one to the other as she spoke. Though Ben couldn’t understand the words of her native tongue, the pleading in her voice came through very clearly.

Hop Sing glared at his brother-in-law, then took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. “Mister Cartwright, this Mrs. Li Yin-Kuan. She grandmother of Hop Sing’s brother-in-law, and venerable head of honorable Li family.” He, then, turned to the old woman and formally introduced her to Ben in Chinese.

The old woman glanced up, her black eyes meeting Ben’s dark brown ones without flinching or looking away. She quietly spoke a few words in Chinese.

“Mister Cartwright, Mrs. Li say she very pleased to meet you. She also thank you for very kind invitation to your home,” Hop Sing deftly translated.

“Thank you, Hop Sing.” Ben turned from Hop Sing to Yin-Kuan. “Mrs. Li, I am most honored and pleased to meet you and have the opportunity to become acquainted with you and your lovely family.” He smiled. “For that, I thank YOU.”

Hop Sing solemnly translated, drawing a small, shy Mona Lisa smile from the old woman. She gestured for Ben to sit down on the settee, on the end closet to the chair she occupied, then turned to her son and daughter-in-law. A few brief words were exchanged between herself and Mei-Ling. Mei-Ling answered, then turned to her husband, speaking to him rapidly in Chinese. He nodded. The two of them bowed to the old woman, then turned and headed for the kitchen.

Hop Sing groaned. His normally robust complexion had gone completely gray.

“Hop Sing?” Ben pressed, concerned. “Hop Sing, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

“Venerable Mrs. Li want Mister Cartwright to talk. Together. Back, forth,” Hop Sing murmured dolefully. “She ask Hop Sing for to translate.”

Ben favored his old friend with a bemused look. “That’s all right, Hop Sing. I’d like nothing better than to sit down and converse with Mrs. Li.”

“Mister Cartwright not understand. Mrs. Li want Hop Sing make Chinese to English and back again to Chinese. Mrs. Li also want Mei-Ling and Hsing cook dinner so Hop Sing translate.”

“I see. You don’t want Mei-Ling and Hsing in YOUR kitchen.”

“Worse than THAT, Mister Cartwright, much, much, MUCH worse!” Hop Sing groaned. “Reason Hop Sing learn cooking . . . Mei-Ling LOUSY cook.”

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating things a mite?” Ben asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “No body can be THAT bad.”

“You see, Mister Cartwright! You see!” Hop Sing promised darkly.

“Stacy?”

Stacy glanced up sharply upon hearing her name, then smiled when she saw Hop Sing’s young niece walking into the barn. “Over here, Yin-Ling,” she responded.

“Where?”

“Here! With Blaze Face!”

Yin-Ling carefully made her way across the barn floor, toward the stall occupied by Stacy’s horse, a big bay gelding, with a rich reddish brown coat, black mane and tail, and a white stripe running down the length of his face. She spotted her roommate and newfound friend standing inside her horse’s stall, giving him a vigorous brushing. “Your honorable papa sent me out here to tell you that dinner will be ready very soon,” she said, returning Stacy’s smile.

“Thank you. I’ll be finished in a few minutes.”

Yin-Ling leaned against the closed bottom door leading into Blaze Face’s stall, watching Stacy brush him. “You care a lot about Blaze Face don’t you.”

“Yeah,” Stacy nodded. “It was love at first sight for both of us, I think, since Pa and Hoss let me watch him being born.”

Yin-Ling shuddered. Her hands flew to her mouth and her complexion lost a significant amount of its robust golden hue. “Y-Your papa actually allowed you to . . . to watch . . . . ”

“It wasn’t as bad as all that,” Stacy said kindly, her eyes misting at the memory. “I thought it was pretty awesome watching a new life coming into the world. It was a real easy birth. All WE did was stand there and watch. A few minutes after he was born, Blaze Face was on his feet moving toward his mother . . . and breakfast. Guinevere . . . she’s Blaze Face’s mother . . . let Hoss come over and gently stroke his back, and amazingly . . . she let ME, too.”

“Amazingly?”

Stacy nodded. “Guinevere knew Hoss pretty well, and knew HE could be trusted not to hurt her baby, but she didn’t know me at all when Blaze Face was born. Yet, she let me come over and touch him, too. When I did? He turned for a second and looked at me and . . . well, something clicked. I can’t really explain it, except to say that we both knew that we belonged together. Pa and Hoss knew it, too. When we sat down to breakfast later on that morning, Pa told me that Blaze Face was mine.”

“I . . . remember a time when my family had horses,” Yin-Ling said slowly. “It was a long time ago, and I was very, very young. I had a pony I named Buttercup. She was a golden color, like your father’s Buck. She was sold when my family’s fortunes changed. Perhaps . . . once I am married, I will once more have a horse of my own and be able to ride.”

“Have you met him yet?”

“Yan-Chou?”

Stacy nodded.

Yin-Ling smiled. “He and I met in San Francisco last month, while his venerable grandparents and great uncle worked out terms of the marriage contract with my honorable great-grandmother and my parents. Much of our time together was strictly chaperoned, but . . . . ” A sly, impish smile slowly spread across her lips. “Yan-Chou and I managed to slip away from the prying eyes of great-grandmother, grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles.”

“What . . . kind of man is he?” Stacy asked, surprised by the mischievous delight sparking in Yin-Ling’s eyes.

“Are you asking me if I love him?”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Stacy admitted sheepishly.

“The answer is yes. I love Yan-Chou and know that he is the man I want very much to marry.”

“After . . . after having only met him that one time?” Stacy asked, incredulous.

“It’s the same with Yan-Chou and me as it was with you and Blaze Face. We looked at each other and knew that we belong together.”

“It was the same way when I first met Pa, Hoss, and Joe,” Stacy said thoughtfully, as she finished brushing Blaze Face’s coat. She patted her horse’s rear flank affectionately, and then started cleaning the old hay from his feeding trough. “We had no idea in the world then, that we were family, by blood, but we sure knew that we belonged together.”

Yin-Ling’s smile broadened. “I am glad you, your papa, and your brothers found each other.”

“Thank you, Yin-Ling. I am, too. I also hope you and Yan-Chou will be very happy together.” Stacy gave Blaze Face fresh hay to eat, and plenty of fresh straw for the bottom of the stall. “Will the wedding take place on Friday night?”

Yin-Ling shook her head regretfully. “That won’t happen for another year.”

“Wow! A whole YEAR?!”

“The time will pass very quickly, Stacy. We . . . my family and I . . . will have many preparations to make for a traditional Chinese wedding. I will be very busy.”

“Hey, Little Sister . . . and you, too, Yin-Ling! Better shake a leg!”

Stacy and Yin-Ling both turned their heads toward the open barn door, where they saw Joe Cartwright stepping over the threshold.

“Hop Sing says dinner’ll be ready in two minutes.”

“You two go on ahead,” Stacy replied. “I’ll be in as soon as I give Blaze Face some fresh water and wash up.”

“Dinner serve,” Mei-Ling announced with a proud smile, as she moved through the door between dining room and kitchen. “Mei-Ling make roast beef.”

“Roast beef,” Hoss echoed, licking his chops in anticipation. “My favorite.”

“ANYTHING having to do with food is your favorite, Big Brother,” Joe quipped, with a playful elbow jab to Hoss’ side.

“Joseph Francis . . . . ” Ben growled in warning, his eyes moving to Mrs. Li, seated at the foot of the table.

Joe swallowed nervously and immediately sat up with poker straight posture.

“I sit beef here,” Mei-Ling said, as she placed the serving tray in front of Ben. “Mister Cartwright head of house. He cut.”

Hoss’ face fell the minute he laid eyes upon the shriveled hunk of meat, charred black, sitting in the center of the platter. Joe and Stacy tried hard to hide their own dismay, as did Yin-Ling, seated between Stacy and her own father, Li-Hsing. None could claim any degree of success in this endeavor. Ben made a point of focusing his eyes on the cutlery, wholly ignoring the disdainful ‘I-told-you-so’ look from Hop Sing. The only ones at the table who seemed not to notice how the roast had turned out were the ‘chef’s’ husband, Li-Hsing and his venerable grandmother.

“All right, Everyone . . . please! Pass your plates forward,” Ben invited with much reluctance.

“Pa,” Hoss whispered. Ben duly noted that his biggest son’s eyes were unusually bright and that his lower lip quivered slightly. “Pa, you can’t . . . that roast is burned.”

“It’s probably just burned on the OUTSIDE,” Ben whispered back. “Cut away the outer hull, you’ll probably find that it’s perfectly edible on the INSIDE, if a little well done.” A moment later, the Cartwright clan patriarch found, much to his horror and chagrin, that he was completely wrong on both counts. Just under the charred outside, the meat was bright red and very cool to the touch.

“Pa, may I please b-be excused?” Hoss asked, his voice unsteady.

“No,” Ben hissed back, sotto voce. “You can sit there and suffer with the REST of us.”

“Dadburn it, Pa . . . . ”

This drew a sharp glare from his father.

Hoss exhaled a long, melancholy sigh. “Yessir,” he murmured, sorely missing those by-gone years in which the family had briefly owned a dog.

“Mashed potato,” Mei-Ling blithely announced as she reappeared again from the kitchen, “and biscuits Mei-Ling make from scratch.” She placed the former in the center of the table between her husband and her brother, and the latter next to Joe.

Stacy bit down on her lower lip hard, so not to noticeably grimace as Hsing stoically spooned out a generous portion of what appeared to be potato soup, for himself first, then for his grandmother. The dismayed look on Yin-Ling’s face and the sarcastic roll of Hop Sing’s dark eyes with accompanying sigh of much long suffering gave lie to the concept of inscrutable Oriental. Hoss picked up his napkin and began to dab at his eyes, when Joe took a biscuit from the breadbasket and dropped it onto his plate with a loud clatter.

“Mister Hoss!” Mei-Ling exclaimed in surprise upon returning again to the dining room with a gravy boat filled with a congealed, solid mass balanced in one hand and a plate of cremated pancakes carefully balanced in the other. “What matter with Mister Hoss? Mister Hoss got eye trouble?”

“Allergies!” Joe and Stacy chorused together in perfect unison.

Down at the other end of the table, Hop Sing muttered something wholly unintelligible.

“What was that, Hop Sing?” Ben demanded with a bewildered frown.

“Irish ‘complimentary’ words,” Hop Sing retorted with a complacent smile. “Hop Sing learn long, long time, many, many years ago from father of Joe friend, Missy Lotus O’Toole.”

At the far end of the table, Yin-Kuan glanced up, her dark brown, nearly coal black eyes meeting and holding Ben’s. She uttered a few words in Chinese, as she deftly spooned up a generous portion of liquid ‘mashed potatoes’ mixed with the gelatinous gravy, then turned expectantly toward Hop Sing, seated at the table on her right.

“Mrs. Li ask Mister Cartwright if he arrange for bank to send jade statues . . . bride price to family of groom when he in San Francisco,” Hop Sing ably translated.

“Yes, I did,” Ben replied. “They will arrive in Virginia City tomorrow afternoon on the four o’clock stage. Three jade statues. Sun, Moon, and Mercy.”

“Moon is Chang-O, Sun Hou-Yi,” Hsing explained. “Lovers, husband and wife, only come together one time a year, when Chinese have moon festival. That why full moon most beautiful then. Chang-O meet husband and lover, Hou-Yi.”

“Chang-O take pity on lovers, on husband and wife, most ‘specially when they apart,” Mei-Ling added, as she gamely sawed into one of the three rock hard biscuits sitting on the edge of her plate.

“Statues bring chi energy of Chang-O, Hou-Yi, and Kuan-Yin . . . she Goddess of Mercy . . . to bless marriage of Yin-Ling and Yan-Chou,” Hsing added. “Jade statues very old. Carved by Yang Wei-Chu, much renowned artist many, many years ago. Li-Hsing venerable great grandmother once say Yang Wei-Chu give to Li Family as gift.”

“Really?” Ben murmured, visibly impressed.

This prompted a question from Yin-Kuan.

“Mrs. Li ask if you know work of Yang Wei-Chu, Mister Cartwright,” Hop Sing translated.

“I’ve seen his work in the art museum in San Francisco,” Ben replied. “In fact, I had the pleasure of attending a special exhibition of his work when I was there two years ago on business. Yang Wei-Chu’s jade pieces are nothing less than exquisite, with all that fine detail work. Apart from that, however, I’m afraid I can’t claim any degree of being knowledgeable.”

Hop Sing immediately translated Ben’s words into Chinese, prompting a reply from the venerable old woman seated between at the other end of the table.

“Mrs. Li say jade statues last of Li Family treasure,” Hop Sing translated with a touch of sadness. “Bride price to groom. Of course will stay in Li Family pass down to Yin-Ling children and grandchildren.”

Hop Sing’s words prompted a dark, angry glare from Li-Hsing. “That wrong. That very, very, VERY wrong!” he exclaimed heatedly. “Jade statues pass down father to son to HIS son over many, many generations since Yang Wei-Chu make, give to Li Family. Jade statues should pass to XING, not Yin-Ling.”

“Mrs. Li RIGHT make statues bride price,” Hop Sing growled back. “Xing no good. If HE get statues, he SELL statues to highest bidder.”

Hsing responded with a long string of terse, clipped Chinese syllables.

Hop Sing blanched, but yet found the wherewithal to respond in kind.

Yin-Kuan immediately neatly nipped the argument in the bud with a short, terse syllable, spoken very softly, yet delivered with a ferocious scowl, leveled first at her own grandson, then at Hop Sing. The two men lapsed into a sullen silence.

“Come on, Everyone, EAT!” Mei-Ling urged. “Mei-Ling slave over very hot stove, make delicious dinner. Eat!”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“I, uhh . . . I’m not feeling very well,” Joe said in a small voice. That was the pure unvarnished truth, too, or would be if he looked at the results of Mei-Ling’s cooking long enough.

Ben studied his youngest son with a jaundiced eye. Joe’s face DID appear to be a shade or two paler than normal. His face lost even more color when his eyes fell on Hsing eating the food on his plate with gusto.

“Pa, I think Li’l Brother here needs some fresh air,” Hoss said quickly. “Lots, ‘n lots, ‘n lots o’ good fresh clean air.”

“Alright, Hoss, take him on outside,” Ben agreed. A few moments later, he was surprised to hear the sound of horse hooves leaving the yard outside at a fast gallop.

“What’s the matter with you, Big Brother?” Joe demanded. “You suddenly take sick of something?”

“No,” Hoss sighed, as he stared dejectedly into a glass of beer, virtually untouched.

The Cartwright brothers were now seated together at the Silver Dollar Saloon, at one of the tables in the very back. Less than an hour before, they, rather Joe, had just polished off a big dinner at the International Hotel’s fine restaurant, of crispy fried chicken, mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, green beans slow cooked with bacon in a savory cream sauce, light and fluffy biscuits made by Gretchen Braun herself from an old, time honored family recipe, with generous portions of butter and jam, and coffee. All they could drink. Dessert was apple pie, another specialty of the proprietor, Gretchen Braun. Joe had indulged himself had eaten two pieces.

“Something’s not right with you, Big Brother,” Joe pressed. “I not only ate MY dinner, but I ended up eating most of YOURS.”

Hoss sighed. “Awww, I dunno, Li’l Brother. I guess . . . maybe . . . I’m havin’ a real bad attack o’ conscience.”

“Conscience?! What on earth for?”

“For runnin’ out on Pa ‘n Li’l Sister like we did . . . . ”

“You were hungry! So was I!” Joe said defensively. “For something edible. I don’t apologize for that, not no how, not no way!”

“But, Joe . . . I out ‘n out LIED t’ Pa.”

“When?”

“When I told him you needed lots o’ good, fresh, clean air.”

“Hoss, that was NO lie! If you hadn’t have gotten me out of there when you did . . . well, let’s just say I really would’ve been sick. Very sick! In fact, I STILL feel a little queasy just thinking about it.”

“But, Joe . . . . ”

“What?”

“We didn’t tell Pa we was comin’ into town.”

“That’s because we didn’t know it ourselves . . . exactly . . . kinda sorta, I guess. We just plain got on our horses for a nice brisk ride in all that nice clean fresh air and we, uhhh . . . sorta ended up here.”

Hoss took a moment to consider the matter.

“Since we just happened to be in town . . . AND very hungry, we decided to stop in at the International Hotel restaurant.”

“Is . . . THAT what we’re gonna tell Pa?”

“Pretty much, though I think we’d better leave out the part about going to the International Hotel restaurant.”

“Then YOU’D best be the one t’ tell him,” Hoss said. “You know I can’t lie to him ‘n keep a straight face.”

“Hoss, we WON’T be lying,” Joe argued. “We’re just condensing the story for the sake of time.”

Hoss exhaled a long, melancholy sigh.

“How many cards, Boss?”

Joe frowned and turned in the direction from whence that voice had issued. It’s cadence, it’s rise and fall in pitch, all seemed somehow very familiar. Two tables away, he saw three men intent on what appeared to be a high stakes poker game, given that tall pile of cash in the middle of the table.

“Boss, how many cards?”

No answer.

“Boss . . . . ”

Silence.

“Hey, Boss!”

“Hmmmm?”

Hoss and Joe blanched at the sound of that deep baritone ‘hmmmm.’ With eyes the size of serving platters, the younger Cartwright brothers very slowly, very reluctantly turned their heads in unison toward the poker game two tables away. Both swallowed very nervously upon catching sight of a big man, with a full head of thick silver white hair sitting with his back to them.

“Joe . . . . ” Hoss whispered, his blue eyes glued to the back of the silver haired man’s head. “That’s— ”

Joe rubbed his eyes and vigorously shook his head. “No! It can’t be!”

“Y-You sure?”

“Come ON, Hoss! He was at the dinner table when we left for cryin’ out loud . . . in his work clothes! There’s no possible way he could’ve run upstairs, changed his clothes, and still beat US into town!”

“I dunno . . . . ”

“Ok, ok, don’t stare! We’ll just lie low, and act casual! First chance we get of not being spotted, we slip out the back door.”

“BOSS!” The man whose voice had initially caught Joe’s attention yelled, startling the silver haired man so badly he had almost toppled right out of his seat.

“WHAT?” the silver haired man yelled back, upon recovering his composure. Joe and Hoss swallowed nervously again and began to slide very slowly under the table.

“I ASKED ya how many cards!”

“You still got your mind on that frumpy little schoolmarm?” the third man queried. He was a big man, the exact size and shape of Hoss Cartwright. His face was completely masked by the deep shadow cast by his white ten-gallon hat.

“You will NOT talk about her in that manner,” the silver haired man said curtly, leveling a withering glare at the two men sharing his table. “When you speak of her in MY hearing, you WILL speak of her with respect.”

“Y’ know? I think he DOES have a fondness for the li’l lady,” the first man teased.

“By golly, I think you’re right,” the big man agreed. An amused smile spread slowly across his lips. “Don’t THAT just beat all! A man like YOU, so called ‘so-fist-i-cated’ man of the world, falling head over heels for a dowdy little old maid schoolmarm.”

The silver haired man slammed his hand down on the table and glared over at the biggest of his two new associates. “You will apologize, then take back that remark.”

“Yep!” The first man, the card dealer guffawed. “He’s in head over heels all right!”

“No accounting for taste, Older Brother,” the big man shook his head. “I mean she’s kinda pretty, in her own li’l way, I s’pose, but I’LL take— ” He was abruptly silenced by a swift, powerful right cross to the left side of his face, delivered with force sufficient to topple his chair and lay him out, sprawled ignobly on the floor. Scowling, his hand immediately moved to his holster.

The silver haired man, however, moved even faster, whipping out his own weapon before the big man could so much as touch his. “You take back every last word of that insulting, condescending remark you made about Miss Ashcroft just now,” he ordered curtly, “unless you want your older brother here to suddenly find himself an only child.”

“Alright . . . alright, put that thing away. I take it all back. I’m sorry I ever said it in the first place.”

The big silver haired man returned his gun to its holster. “Get up,” he spat.

The big man rose to his feet slowly, keeping a wary eye glued to the big silver haired man’s face.

“I’ll take FOUR cards,” the silver haired man said coldly, keeping his own baleful eye on the big man. He yanked four cards from his hand and angrily slapped them down on the table in front of the dealer.

The dealer dealt four cards, all the while exchanging smug grins with the big man.

“I’LL take one card,” the big man said, his eyes moving to the enormous pile of greenbacks dominating the center of the table. He began to lick his lips in greedy anticipation.

“Dealer takes TWO cards. Alright, everybody ante up. It’ll cost ya five bucks to stay in.”

Each of the three men placed five dollars onto mound in their midst.

“OK, Boss, you open,” the dealer said.

“I’ll open with a two dollar raise.” The silver haired man dropped a pair of silver dollars on top of the tall pile of green.

“I’m going to see your raise, and up it by three more,” the big man said, his grin broadening.

The dealer placed a five into the growing pile. “Up it by one,” he said, adding another silver dollar.

“I’ll see YOUR one, Shorty, and raise it three more,” the silver haired man said.

“Well, I’LL see your raise and up it by TEN!” The big man, now grinning from ear-to-ear, slapped a ten-dollar bill onto the pile.

“I’m out!” Shorty, the dealer, muttered, slamming his hand face down onto the table.

“Well, Boss?”

“I’m gonna see YOUR raise, Big Jack, and raise it by ten more,” the silver haired man said, with a secretive cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. He removed his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a twenty dollar bill. “Your move.”

The man addressed as Big Jack glared sullenly at the twenty he had just laid on the very top of the already large mound of money for a moment, then shrugged. “I think you’re bluffing!” he declared stoutly.

“Maybe I am, and then again, maybe I’m NOT.”

“I got a good mind to CALL your bluff, and wipe that snooty smile off your big ugly face at the same time.”

“Your prerogative,” the silver haired man said indifferently. “Like I just said, it’s YOUR move.”

“I got a good mind to teach YOU a real hard lesson,” Big Jack said smugly, with a faint, condescending note. “So I’m gonna raise your ten and up it by TWENTY.”

The silver haired man watched as Big Jack counted out the money and placed it very pointedly over top his twenty. “There’s your twenty, and I’M gonna raise it by fifty.” He smiled complacently. “I’m a slow learner.”

Tiny beads of sweat dotted Big Jack’s brow as he glared down at the silver haired man’s fifty-dollar raise. “You think you’re really one hot hunk o’ goat cheese don’t you?” he snarled.

“It’ll cost you fifty to stay in the game.”

“Alright! Here’s your blamed fifty!” Big Jack counted out the amount from the remainder of the rolled bills left in his pocket and slammed it down on top of the pile hard enough to slosh the beer in their mugs.

“Dealer calls,” the man addressed as Shorty interjected very quickly. “Big Jack?”

“Four kings,” Big Jack said, “heart, club, spade, diamond. Let’s see ya top THAT . . . if ya can.”

The silver haired man adroitly fanned his cards with a flourish and placed them down on the table, face up. Aces all, diamond, spade, heart, and club. He reached out his hand to claim the pile.

“Not so fast,” Big Jack growled, drawing his pistol.

“Why not? I won fair and square. Looks like Lady Luck decided to smile down on ME tonight.”

“Lady Luck and a couple of aces up your sleeve.”

“You can’t prove that!”

“Oh yeah?” Big Jack countered. “I know for fact that none o’ those cards you were dealt was an ace.” His face contorted in agony when Shorty’s booted foot slammed down onto his own.

“Oh? And how could you possibly have known THAT, Big Jack?” the silver haired man demanded, leveling a cold hard glare at the big gunslinger. “Hmmm?”

Big Jack lapsed into an angry, sullen silence.

“I thought so.” The silver haired man placed his hand on the pile and drew it across the table in front of him. He gathered all the paper money together and slipped it into his wallet, then pocketed all of the silver dollars, except for two. “Here y’ are, Boys.” He tossed Shorty and Big Jack each a single silver dollar. “Don’t spend it all in one place. Ciao!” With that, he rose and sauntered toward the swinging doors of the Silver Dollar Saloon.

“That no good lousy son uva sea cook! I got half a mind to air out that fancy-schmancy jacket o’ his . . . with a few real well placed bullet holes!” Big Jack muttered angrily under his breath.

“AFTER we pull that heist tomorrow, you can drill him with all the lead y’ want, Big Brother,” Shorty said tersely. “UNTIL then, we need him!”

“Alright!” Big Jack snapped. “But he’d better mind his p’s and q’s, ‘til then, or so help me, I’ll— ”

“Finish your beer,” Shorty growled as he shoved the untouched mug of beer over in front of his brother.

“Hey, Joe. Buy me a drink?”

Joe swallowed nervously as Laurie Lee Bonner’s voice fell upon his ears. He glanced up, expecting to see her standing right next to his chair. The tall, willowy barmaid was nowhere to be seen.

“Sure thing, Honey. What’ll ya have?”

It was the dealer. Joe, from his and Hoss’ vantage point under the table, glanced up toward the table, now occupied by two: Shorty and Big Jack. He was very much surprised to find Laurie Lee Bonner sitting on the former’s lap, with one arm around his neck. She signaled to the bartender with a graceful wave of her hand.

Jim Dover, the new guy Sam had been hired a month ago to help out during the evenings, nodded and waved back. He motioned to Sam, then pointed over toward the table occupied by the Laurie Lee and her newfound friends.

“ ‘Evenin’, Joe,” Jim drawled, as he approached the table.

Hoss and Joe looked over at each other in complete bewilderment.

“What’ll ya have?”

“A bottle o’ whiskey and TWO glasses. The lady and I will have it upstairs in HER room.”

“I’ll fetch it right up.”

“Thanks, Jim. Put it on my tab.” Laurie Lee leapt to her feet with the grace of a gazelle. Shorty, the dealer rose, his face masked by shadow, and slipped his arm firmly about the saloon girl’s shoulders. “Now you behave yourself, Big Brother,” he admonished the big man still seated at the table.

“Aggh!” the big man snorted derisively, as he rose, and stretched. “I’m just gonna g’won back to the hotel ‘n turn in. We gotta big day ahead of us t’morrow.”

“Goodnight, Big J—I mean Hoss!”

“Hunh?!” Hoss Cartwright, the one sitting under the table next to his younger brother grunted, thoroughly perplexed.

“What’s the matter NOW, Hoss?” Joe demanded, troubled by the worried, confused look on his big brother’s face.

“I couldda SWORN that guy over there with Laurie Lee . . . the one SHE called JOE . . . just now called that big fella HOSS.”

“You’re imagining things!” Joe immediately dismissed the notion, then turned thoughtful. “Of course that big fella’s kinda built like you . . . . ”

“And the card dealer’s kinda built like YOU.”

“No way, I— ” Joe’s words ended abruptly in a gasp of complete and utter astonishment. His complexion turned several shades paler to a sickly gray-green color, and his jaw dropped.

An anxious frown knotted Hoss’ brow as he turned toward his baby brother. “Joe?”

No answer.

“Hey, Joe . . . . ” Hoss placed his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder and shook him gently.

Still no answer. Joe’s eyes were riveted to the Laurie Lee Bonner and the short man, now stepping from deep shadow into the light.

“H-Hoss?”

“What is it, Li’l Brother?”

“Either I’m d-dreaming or . . . or I’m having one heck of an outta body experience,” Joe barely managed to stammer.

Hoss’ frown deepened as his concern for Joe grew. “You all right, Li’l Brother?”

Joe swallowed and pointed.

Hoss’ eyes followed the line of Joe’s extended arm and pointing finger to the card dealer and Laurie Lee Bonner as they started up the stairs. “Holy Jumpin’ Catfish!” he whispered, shocked and stunned, upon seeing the card dealer’s face now completely exposed to the light. “That guy’s a dead ringer f-for . . . f-for . . . Joe! He could be your twin brother!”

“You see the resemblance too?”

“Y-yeah . . . . ”

“Good!” Joe exhaled a long sigh of relief. “THAT means I’m not hallucinating!”

“Joe?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“I wanna go home,” Hoss said in a small, almost child-like voice, his eyes still glued to the stairs where Shorty, his brother’s double, had gone with Laurie Lee Bonner.

“I’m with YOU, Big Brother.”

The Cartwright brothers, their shoulders hunched, faces tilted toward the floor, wove their way among the tables, casting the occasional quick, furtive glance at the big silver haired man standing at the bar. Suddenly, less than three feet from the door, Hoss stopped, mid-stride. Joe collided hard against his bigger brother’s rock hard muscular back.

“Joe?” Hoss turned upon hearing his younger brother groan. His big, baby blue eyes grew round with apprehension upon seeing Joe, with both hands cupped protectively around his nose, tottering alarmingly from side to side. With heart in mouth, Hoss placed two steadying hands on both of Joe’s shoulders. “Joe? You all right?”

“No!” Joe snapped irritably. “I’m NOT all right! I’m in agony!”

“What in the world happened to ya, Boy?”

“YOU, ya big lummox!”

“What did I do?”

“You STOPPED!” Joe growled. “The NEXT time you decide to stop suddenly like that, wouldja mind giving me some kinda warning or something?!”

“Sorry,” Hoss murmured contritely.

“It’s broken,” he groaned. “I just know it’s broken.”

“Y-You wanna stop by Doc Martin’s office . . . let HIM have a look at ya?”

Joe sighed and sarcastically rolled his eyes toward the heavens. “Hoss, are you outta your ever lovin’ MIND?! I can’t go to Doc Martin’s!”

A bewildered frown knotted Hoss’ brow. “Why not?”

“Will ya keep your voice DOWN?!” Joe hissed, daring another look at the big silver haired man standing at the bar. “Come on, let’s get outta here!” He made a quick exit through the saloon doors, shoving his older, bigger brother through ahead of him.

“Joe . . . . ” Hoss ventured, once they were safely out on the street.

“What?”

“Why CAN’T ya go see Doc Martin?”

“Think about it! How does a man USUALLY come by a broken nose?”

Hoss took a long moment to think the matter over. “I guess most men come by a broken nose in a saloon brawl,” he finally replied. Bewilderment quickly gave way to utter dismay. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh! Doc Martin tells Pa, Pa knows we came into town . . . figures we went to the Silver Dollar and got into a fight . . . you ‘n me land clear up to our necks in heap big bag o’ real deep sheep dip.”

“Joe?”

“What is it NOW?” Joe snapped irritably, as the pair crossed the board sidewalk toward the hitching post where their horses were tethered.

“What ARE we gonna tell Pa?”

“About WHAT?”

“About that broken hose?”

“As long as there’s not a whole lotta swelling, we don’t need to tell Pa anything,” Joe replied, taking no pains to conceal his growing annoyance.

“ . . . uuh, Joe?

“NOW what?”

“You got swellin,’ ” Hoss said, “and a couple o’ shiners pretty well on their way to turnin’ into a pair o’ REAL beauties.”

“Oh no!” Joe groaned, burying his face against Cochise’s front shoulder. “Hoss, tell me something . . . . ”

“What?”

“Why didja stop like that for, anyway?” Joe demanded petulantly.

“I . . . . ” Hoss ruefully shook his head. “Sorry, Joe, it’s nothin’, ‘cept maybe my eyes playin’ tricks on me. It’s just that I . . . oh forget it!”

“It’s just that you WHAT?” Joe pressed.

“I thought I saw Hop Sing’s nephew walkin’ in the door.”

Li Xing, Yin-Ling’s older brother and Hop Sing’s nephew, boldly sauntered into the Silver Dollar Saloon, blissfully ignorant of having been glimpsed, if only for a brief moment, by Hoss. He paused briefly just inside the door to allow his eyes to adjust from the bright sunlit late afternoon outside to the dimmer illumination inside, then glanced around the public room as his vision cleared. The big, silver haired man he sought stood at the farthest end of the bar nursing a glass of whiskey. Xing walked down the length of the bar, strutting with all the confidence of a rutting shanghai rooster. He sidled right up along side the man and tapped him on the shoulder. “Mister Meredith . . . . ”

Bradley Meredith , the big silver haired man, turned and glared down at the young Chinese man. “How many times do I have to tell you to address me as Mister CARTWRIGHT?” he admonished through clenched teeth and jaw, rigidly set.

“Then you’d best keep a sharp look out, ‘Mister Cartwright,’ because the REAL Mister Cartwright just returned home from San Francisco this morning,” Xing said sardonically.

Bradley scowled. This was most unexpected. He had an associate, one who owed him many favors, keeping him posted about Ben Cartwright’s lumber negotiations with the railroad. The haggling over terms for a proposed contract had actually gone on a few days longer than Bradley had anticipated. He figured that Ben would linger in San Francisco, enjoying the delights such a big city had to offer, but such was not the case. “What about the dowry?”

“It will be arriving tomorrow afternoon on the four o’clock stage.”

Bradley smiled. The heist, at least, would go off as planned at a spot already selected an hour’s ride outside the environs of Virginia City. He lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips and downed the remainder in a single gulp, then started for the door.

“ . . . . uuhhh, Mister M—CARTWRIGHT!” Xing called after him.

“What?”

“My, ummm commission?”

“If all goes well, you will be paid the amount agreed.”

“When?” Xing demanded pointedly.

“You know the location of the Virginia City Social Club?” Bradley Meredith asked.

“The establishment run by Mrs. McPherson? Absolutely, yes I do,” Xing answered very quickly.

“Good! Be in the alley between the Virginia City Social Club and the Pink Flamingo Saloon,” Bradley ordered. “If all goes well, a couple of associates will meet you there and pay you your commission. If NOT . . . . ” He let his voice trail away to ominous silence.

“Eric Hoss Cartwright . . . and YOU, too, Joseph Francis . . . where have you been all this time?” Ben demanded, with a ferocious scowl, the minute his two younger sons stepped through the front door. “You left right after dinner, and NOW its nearly time for supper.”

“We was out gettin’ Li’l Joe here all that nice fresh air so ‘s he’d feel better,” Hoss said a little too quickly.

“Looks like all that fresh air did you more harm than good, Son,” Ben observed wryly, noting Joe’s nose swollen to three times its normal size, and the lurid purple-black bruising on his cheeks and under his eyes.

“I w-was doin’ better, Pa . . . ‘til I, ummm . . . accidentally walked into that real big tall pine tree,” Joe groaned, directing a disdainful glare at his brother.

“Get him on up to bed, Hoss,” Ben said, “then you’d best see to the afternoon chores . . . ‘specially since you have yours AND you brother’s to do.”

“What?!” Hoss’ face fell.

Joe quickly averted his face to the floor, and bit his lip, in a desperate attempt to keep back the smug, triumphant smile that threatened to burst forth upon his lips.

“You heard me, Son.”

“I hafta do ALL o’ Joe’s chores, too?!”

“SOMEONE has to do his chores,” Ben said firmly, “seeing as how your brother’s in no shape to do them himself.”

“Can’t Li’l Sister give me a hand?”

“No, she’s upstairs doing her homework.”

“Pa, she can’t possibly have homework!” Hoss protested. “School was called on account o’ Miss Ashcroft bein’ sick.”

“I know she didn’t have any assigned homework for tonight, Hoss,” Ben said. “I also know that Miss Ashcroft is a very demanding teacher, who’s going to grade the homework assignments that much harder since the students had an unexpected day off today, so I sent your sister upstairs to go over her reading assignments and check back over the written ones.”

“Oh,” Hoss sighed crestfallen.

“Also, if your brother gets any worse, I MAY have to send Stacy into town to fetch Doctor Martin,” Ben added.

“Yes, Sir,” Hoss sighed glumly, as he half carried Joe over toward the stairs.

Once out of their father’s line of vision, Joe relaxed, allowing that triumphant smile to break through. “So . . . you get to do YOUR chores and MINE, eh, Big Brother?”

Hoss glared murderously down at his younger brother. “So help me, Joseph Francis Cartwright, one more word outta YOU, an’ Pa’s gonna be sendin’ Li’l Sister t’ fetch Doc Martin!”

“How do YOU know?” Joe demanded.

Hoss balled his hand in a tight fist and brought it down very close to Joe’s face. “I know, Li’l Brother, ‘cause I’m gonna see to it!”

Bradley Meredith woke up the next morning in Judith Ashcroft’s double bed, as was fast becoming his custom. He slowly opened his eyes and stretched. “Good morning, Ju— ” he stopped speaking abruptly as his right hand descended down on her side of the bed, coming into contact with mattress instead of warm body. He turned over and discovered, much to his surprise and chagrin, that she was gone. “Judy?!”

The soft sounds of someone coughing fell upon his ears. Bradley immediately sat up and turned toward the closed door to her dressing room, where the sounds seemed to originate.

“Judy?”

No answer. The coughing continued. Bradley scrambled out of the bed, while reaching for the robe he kept hanging on the bedpost. He slipped the robe on over his nude body, then strode briskly across the room toward the dressing room. He paused, and gently knocked.

“Judy?”

He heard a soft moan within. With heart in mouth, Bradley tore open the door. Inside, he found Judith, bent over her washbasin, retching violently. He slipped inside and gently held her head until, after what seemed to him a dreadful eternity, her vomiting finally ceased. “Let’s get you back to bed, Darling,” he said gently, while slipping a supportive arm around her waist.

Judith straightened and turned, sagging heavily against him. Suddenly her head rolled back. She moaned softly, then fainted.

Bradley gathered her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed. He carefully stretched her out on her side of the mattress, stuffing both pillows under her feet to elevate them and placing the quilt over her for warmth. He, then, ran out to the small kitchen, and filled a pitcher with ice cold water from the pump. He found a small dish towel hanging on a hook above the sink.

He returned to the bedroom with pitcher and dishtowel in hand, placing both on the night table next to the bed. Dipping the dishtowel into the cold water, he squeezed out the excess moisture, and began to gently dab her face. A few moments later, much to his great relief, her eyelids flickered.

“W-Welcome back, Judy,” Bradley favored her with a tremulous smile when her eyes had fully opened.

“Ben?”

“Ssshh, Darling, you just lie still.” He dipped the cloth once more into the pitcher, squeezed, and gently sponged her forehead.

“Ben, what happened?”

“You were vomiting in the dressing room a few moments ago,” Bradley replied. “When I came in, you fainted. Darling?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I . . . I am now,” she replied with a meaningful glance and a wan smile.

Her alarmingly pale face and weak, barely audible voice did little to convince him.

“Honest, Ben, I’ll be fine. It’s . . . always worse in the morning.”

“I can postpone my business trip, if— ”

“Ben Cartwright, no! I won’t hear of it!” Judith protested. “I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you should see Doctor Martin.”

“Ben, I— ” The stricken, anxious look on his face stopped her cold, mid-sentence. “You ARE worried, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

“Tell you what,” Judith said slowly. “If I’m no better by tomorrow morning, I’ll WILL pay Doctor Martin a visit.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, on the condition I hear no more ridiculous talk out of you about postponing this business trip of yours.”

“It’s a deal,” Bradley agreed. “I just want to make sure you’re all right, Judy . . . or, at least . . . that you’re going to be. I’m going to be away for a few days . . . maybe longer, depending on how things go. I don’t like the idea of leaving while you’re so sick.”

Judith reached out and took his hand in both of hers. “I’m going to be just fine,” she said earnestly. “If I don’t feel better by tomorrow, I WILL make that appointment with Doctor Martin. When you return from your business trip, I’ll be right here, safe and sound, fit as a fiddle and waiting impatiently.”

Bradley leaned over and gently kissed her lips.

“Ben Cartwright, anyone ever tell you . . . how well you can kiss?”

“A few,” he replied, then smiled. “But, you’re the only one who’s said so with her lips AND with her eyes.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“Here comes Miss Ashcroft now,” Stacy said pointing.

Ben watched as Judith Ashcroft slowly made her way across the school yard, with posture stiffly erect and head bowed. She clutched her book bag tightly in her left hand and held her right hand protectively across her stomach. “Stacy, wait here,” Ben said, eyeing the school teacher with an anxious frown. Without waiting for an answer, he set off on an intercept course toward Judith Ashcroft.

“Good morning, Miss Ashcroft!”

Judith abruptly stopped mid-stride upon hearing his voice, then turned and stared over at his through eyes round as saucers. “Be—?!” She caught sight of Stacy standing over by the hitching post with her horse, Blaze Face. “Mister Cartwright. G-good morning.”

Ben’s concern deepened upon getting a good close look at her pale face and slightly discolored mask under her eyes. “Miss Ashcroft . . . are you all right?!”

“I told you I WILL be,” she said taking great pains to lower her voice. “I thought you were going to be away on . . . on business.”

Ben stared over at the school teacher, completely dumbfounded. “I . . . just got b-back from a business trip . . . to San Francisco . . . yesterday,” he stammered. The surprised look on her face, mouth open, eyes round as saucers, almost certainly had to mirror the look of bewilderment on his own. “ . . . uumm, Miss Ashcroft, the reason I accompanied Stacy to school this morning is to schedule that parent-teacher conference— ”

She stopped again, abruptly, and regarded him with a hard, suspicious glare. “Mister Cartwright, we’ve already HAD that parent-teacher conference . . . THREE WEEKS AGO.”

Ben’s jaw dropped. “M-Miss Ashcroft, that’s . . . that’s impossible! I w-was in S-San Francisco three weeks ago,” he barely managed to stammer.

“Right!” Judith sighed, then smiled. “I’m really touched by your concern, Mister Cartwright. I really am. But, I’ll be all right.”

“Miss Ashcroft . . . . ”

“Honest! Like I already told you this . . . whatever this is . . . gets better as the day goes on. I feel much better now than I did earlier,” she continued. It took every ounce of will she possessed to stand there demurely and converse with him as if she were merely the school teacher and he the parent of one of her students. “I also intend to see Doctor Martin tomorrow, if I’m not any better, just like I promised. Now get on with you. I will NOT have you postponing an important business trip just because I happen to be feeling a little under the weather. Ok?”

Ben nodded, bewildered and wholly confused.

Judith wished fervently, with all her heart, that she might give him one more kiss good-bye. However, with Stacy standing over at the hitching post, and other students just now arriving, some with parents, such was not possible. She made a mental note to more than make up for that when he came back from that business trip, however. “I’ll see you when you return, Mister Cartwright,” she said demurely, then walked on ahead toward the school house.

Ben stood rooted to the spot, staring after Judith Ashcroft’s retreating back, stunned.

“Pa?”

Ben started violently at the sound of his daughter’s voice.

“Pa?! Are you all right?” Stacy queried, eying her father anxiously.

“I . . . to b-be completely honest, Young Woman, I . . . I’m not sure,” Ben said slowly, haltingly. “The only thing I AM sure of is . . . that had to be the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had! W-with anybody!”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“I sure wish I knew what was going on around here.”

Ben took a moment to try and regain at least a small measure of composure. “There’s probably nothing going on here . . . apart from a lot of odd coincidences and the imaginations of the Cartwright family suddenly working overtime,” he said in as calm a voice as he could muster. “Well, I’d best skedaddle. You have a good day in school, Young Woman, and behave yourself. Alright?”

“I’ll try, Pa.”

“Good!” Ben gave her a quick hug, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you at home later.”

“Good morning, Class.”

“Good morning, Miss Ashcroft,” the students chorused together in unison.

“Please hand in your homework assignments,” Judith said briskly. She closed her eyes for a moment against the school room and sea of twenty-eight faces all staring up at her very intently. “Since you had an unexpected extra day off from school yesterday, I sincerely hope you used the time to good advantage. I intend to grade them that much harder.”

As she passed her homework to the student in the desk in front of her, Stacy silently made mental note to thank Pa profusely for making her hit the books last night. She could hear some of the other students groaning, most notably Abel Caine, the absolute bane of her existence.

“Grades four through twelve, take out your arithmetic books and begin work on your next lesson,” Judith Ashcroft ordered, squeezing her eyes shut. She reached out placing the tips of her fingers on her desk to steady herself. “Those of you in the f-first . . . . ” She wavered unsteadily on her feet. “Those of you in grades one through th-three . . . . ” She moaned, then collapsed.

Suddenly everyone was talking loudly all at once. Some of the younger children began to cry.

Carol Ann Thompson, a painfully prim and proper tenth grader, instinctively leaned back, pressing hard against the back of her chair. “Oh dear! I . . . I hope it’s not contagious . . . whatever it is she has,” she murmured fearfully.

Abel Caine, seated directly behind Carol Ann, snorted derisively. “Don’t you worry your pretty li’l head none about THAT, Miss Carol Ann. You can’t catch it, leastways NOT from Miss Ashcroft.”

Molly O’Hanlan, her face set with grim determination rose, and climbed up onto her chair. “Class, attention!” she raised her voice so to be heard against the rising din, using her very best school teacher tone of voice. “I want every one to get back in your seats and quiet down.”

The younger students immediately scrambled to obey.

“ . . . and just who do you think YOU are, Miss-Priss-Molly-O’Hanlan?” Abel demanded with a sneer. “YOU ain’t the teacher!”

“Abel . . . . ”

A low threatening voice and succinct tap on his shoulder caused Abel to jump right out of his skin. He turned and found himself staring into the predatory glares of Stacy Cartwright and Susannah O’Brien.

“Abel, if you don’t turn around in that seat right now, sit down, and shut your mouth, I am going to lift your scalp,” Susannah threatened.

Abel blanched, and tried to put as much distance between himself and the wild black eyes and feral grin, worthy of Susannah’s Shoshone warrior ancestors, on her mother’s side of the family. “Y-Yes, Ma’am,” he squeaked.

As the students began to settle down, Susannah O’Brien, took her place along side the chair on which Molly stood, glaring ferociously around the room. Stacy, meanwhile, made her way toward the front of the room where Miss Ashcroft lay sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

“All right, Class, we are going to have recess,” Molly continued. “I want everyone to stand up and WALK in a quiet and orderly manner to the door and line up.”

The students rose from their seats, exchanging frightened, uncertain glances, looking at each other, then at Molly, towering high above them all, even the tallest among then. As they passed by Susannah, even the older ones flinched away from the fierce glare on her face.

“Susannah?”

“Yeah, Molly?”

“Would you mind keeping an eye on things while they’re at recess?”

Susannah’s feral, predatory grin widened. “It would be my pleasure.” She, then turned her attention to the line of students waiting at the door. “You may go outside, single file, no talking,” she said in a low, menacing tone.

Molly remained in place until the last student had gone outside.

“Molly . . . Stacy?”

“Yeah, Susannah?” Molly answered.

“Let me know what’s happening?”

“We will,” Stacy promised.

Susannah nodded, then slipped outside herself.

“Stacy, how’s Miss Ashcroft?” Molly asked as she stepped down off of her seat.

“Her pulse is rapid,” Stacy said grimly, “though she doesn’t seem to have a fever.”

“I . . . think maybe you’d better take Blaze Face and ride over to Doctor Martin’s,” Molly said, casting an anxious glance at Miss Ashcroft inert form. “I’ll stay with her.”

Stacy rose. “See if you can get something . . . anything under her feet,” she said soberly. “You want to raise her feet up higher than her head.”

Molly nodded.

“Also, if you can, find something to put over her . . . keep her warm.”

“I’ll do my best, Stacy. YOU just hurry back here with Doctor Martin.”

“I will.”

“Mrs. Martin?”

Lily looked up from her latest needle point project, a still life of fruit and flowers, and found Hilda Mae Graves, the housekeeper, staring down at her anxiously. “What’s the matter, Hilda Mae?”

“Stacy Cartwright’s here, Mrs. Martin,” Hilda Mae reported. “She says they need the doctor at the school straightaway. The teacher’s fainted.”

Lily Martin put aside her needlepoint, and rose. “Thank you, Hilda Mae. You g’won downstairs and ask Stacy to wait in the parlor. I’ll get the doctor.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Lily Martin quickly made her way down the stairs to her husband’s examination room down on the first floor. Within less than a minute, she stood before the closed door, knocking insistently.

“Lily, what is it?” Paul asked, after opening the door slightly, just enough to allow him to peer out.

“Stacy’s in our parlor, Paul . . . . ”

“Oh NO!” Paul closed his eyes and groaned softly. “Not another sick or injured Cartwright . . . . ”

An amused smile tugged at the corner of Lily’s mouth. “No, Paul, the Cartwrights are all fine.” Her smile faded. “It’s the school teacher. Stacy told Hilda Mae that Miss Ashcroft fainted.”

“I’m almost finished with Mister Parker,” Paul said. “Tell Stacy I’ll be with her directly . . . and Lily?”

“Yes, Paul?”

“I’d like you to come with me. Those kids are going to definitely need some adult supervision.”

“I can leave with you right now,” she said. “Just let me know.”

Paul Martin nodded curtly, then closed the door.

Judith Ashcroft groaned softly as she, at long last, began to stir.

Molly O’Hanlan, half fearing that her teacher may have actually died, nearly fainted herself as wave upon wave upon wave or pure, unadulterated relief began to wash over her. She half fell, half collapsed to her knees along side Miss Ashcroft, with heart pounding wildly within her chest.

Judith groaned again. “ . . . ‘rithmetic lesson,” she murmured softly.

“Miss Ashcroft?”

“ ‘rithmetic lesson. T-time f’r . . . ‘rithmetic lesson . . . . ” Her eyes still closed, Judith tried to rise.

“Please, Miss Ashcroft, please stay still,” Molly begged, placing restraining hands against her teacher’s shoulders.

Judith’s eyelids flickered, then slitted open. The anxious face, framed by what appeared to be a cloud of pale reddish gold was blurred, its features unrecognizable. “Who . . . . ” she squinted, trying desperately to see.

“It’s me, Molly O’Hanlan, Miss Ashcroft. You fainted.”

Judith closed her eyes again and moaned softly.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Ma’am. The kids are at recess, with Susannah O’Brien watching over ‘em, and Stacy’s gone to fetch— ” Molly’s sharp ears picked up the sounds of horse hooves and buggy wheels. “Stacy went to fetch Doctor Martin. I think I hear them coming now.”

A few moments later, Paul Martin burst into the school room, his mouth and lower jaw rigidly set, with black bag firmly in hand. Stacy Cartwright and Lily Martin followed at a slower pace. Paul bolted to the front of the room and knelt down on the other side of the stricken schoolteacher, facing Molly. “You did well, Molly,” he said. “Elevating her feet . . . placing her coat over her . . . you did very well.”

“Stacy’s the one who told me to do all that,” Molly said immediately.

Paul managed a wan smile. “Then both of you did very well.” He touched Judith’s forehead with the back of his hand, then took her pulse. “Looks like you have things well in hand here, Molly.”

“Thank you, though it was a group effort, Doctor. If Stacy and Susannah hadn’t backed me up, I don’t know WHAT I would’ve done.”

“You would’ve done exactly what you DID do, Molly,” Stacy said quietly. “You would’ve showed ‘em attitude.”

“Her pulse is racing,” Paul said soberly. “Lily?”

“Yes, Paul?”

“Miss Ashcroft is too ill to continue today,” he said.

“Any idea what’s wrong, Doctor?” Molly asked anxiously.

“I . . . have a good idea, Molly, but I need to examine her, and I can’t do that here. Lily, would you mind staying here with Molly? I’m afraid school’s going to be out early again today, and dismissal’s going to be at least a two woman job.”

Lily smiled down kindly at Molly. “I’d be more than happy to,” she said quietly.

“Stacy?”

“Yes, Doctor Martin?”

“I’m going to need a nurse to assist me when I examine Miss Ashcroft,” Paul said, rising. “Do you know where the Brauns live?”

“Yes.”

“Would you please ride over and ask Heidi Braun to come to my office at once? Tell her it’s an emergency.”

“I will, Doctor.” With that, Stacy was gone.

The Martins quickly and gently helped Judith to her feet, as Molly wearily looked on. Lily draped Judith’s left arm around Paul’s neck. The doctor then bent down and lifted the schoolteacher in his arms.

“See you at home later, Paul,” Lily called after him.

Lily Martin, with the able assistance of Molly O’Hanlan and Susannah O’Brien, summoned the school children in from their impromptu recess. Under the watchful, stern glare of Susannah O’Brien, the students filed in from the schoolyard, silently, in a single line, and took their seats. Twenty-eight pairs of eyes, many red and swollen from anxious tears shed, turned expectantly toward Lily Martin.

Lily rose. “Your teacher’s taken ill, Children.” Her tone was kind, yet very firm. “School will be dismissed early today.”

“Miz Martin?”

“Yes, Sarah?”

“Is . . . is Miss Ashcroft . . . is Miss Ashcroft gonna . . . oh Miz Martin, is she gonna DIE?” the young first grader, with dark brown braids and eyes round with horror, asked.

“No, Sarah, Miss Ashcroft’s NOT going to die,” Lily hastened to assure the child. “Given time, I expect she’ll make a full, complete recovery.”

“How long is she gonna be sick, Mrs. Martin?” Carol Ann Thompson asked, with a grimace.

“Oh, I’d say about nine months,” Abel Caine guffawed.

“Abel, that will be enough out of you,” Lily snapped, favoring the boy with a dark, murderous glare.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Abel mumbled sullenly.

Lily Martin spent the better part of the next hour pairing up some of the younger children, whom she felt needed an escort home, with older students.

“Mrs. Martin?”

“Yes, Molly?”

“I made up a sign for the front of the door . . . just in case someone shows up to pick up their child later,” Molly said, handing a piece of paper over to the doctor’s wife.

“Thank you, Molly. Truth to tell, with packing everyone up and getting them on home, I didn’t even consider that,” Lily said favoring the girl with a weary smile.

“I’ll tack it to the door on our way out,” Molly said, as she gathered her books together. “Mrs. Martin?”

“Yes, Molly?”

“Is . . . Miss Ashcroft going to be alright?”

“I have every reason to think she will be,” Lily replied as she followed Molly down the main aisle toward the open door.

“She’s not . . . not . . . . ” Molly quickly averted her face upon feeling the telltale rush of blood. “She’s not what Abel said, is she?”

“I don’t know,” Lily replied, truthfully enough, standing firm in her belief that no diagnosis is positively true unless and until an examination is done to confirm it, “and . . . if it turns out she IS, that’s HER business.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Lily smiled and placed a comforting hand on Molly’s shoulder. “I just want to reassure you that Miss Ashcroft is going to be all right, and if it turns out that she’s . . . as Abel said?”

“Y-yes?”

“Please don’t judge her too harshly.”

“I won’t, Ma’am, that I promise you.”

Judith Ashcroft sat, perched on the edge of the examination table, her face white as a sheet, her eyes round and staring. She clutched the edges of the white linen wrapper, donned for her physical examination, in both hands and pressed them tightly closed against her rapidly heaving bosom. Heidi Braun, moving quickly, her presence wholly unobtrusive, gathered the doctor’s instruments together and placed them onto a clean tray.

“Doctor Martin?”

“Yes, Miss Braun?”

“If you’d like, I can take these down below to the kitchen . . . clean and sterilize them THERE,” she offered quietly, directing a meaningful glance at the patient.

“Yes, thank you,” Paul said quietly. “If I need you, I’ll send Hilda Mae down to fetch you.”

Heidi nodded, then slipped quietly out of the room.

Left alone with his patient, Paul Martin walked over and placed a gentle hand on the schoolteacher’s shoulder. “Miss Ashcroft?”

No answer. Judith Ashcroft sat, unmoving, her gaze soft and unfocused.

Paul gently nudged her shoulder. “Miss Ashcroft!”

Judith started violently, but managed to return once more to present time and place. Her lower lip trembled slightly and she slowly raised her head and met the doctor’s gaze.

“Miss Ashcroft, are you all right?” Paul probed gently.

“I . . . . ” Judith vigorously shook her head. “No. I don’t know . . . Doctor, are you sure I’m . . . . ” She quickly averted her eyes to her lap, as a telltale scarlet blush colored her cheeks and neck.

“There’s no doubt in my mind whatsoever, Miss Ashcroft,” Paul replied, not without a measure of sympathy. “You ARE . . . with child. Based on what you’ve told me, I estimate the due date to be next year . . . late winter, or perhaps early spring.”

“I’ll give my resignation to the school board, effective immediately,” she murmured in a voice barely audible. “Doctor Martin, can I count on you to be discreet?”

“Absolutely,” Paul replied without hesitation.

“I plan to leave Virginia City, as soon as I can pack the bare necessities.” Though her voice trembled slightly, her mouth was set in a firm, determined line. “Would you . . . oh dear, I know this is asking a lot, but would it be possible for you to send the rest of my things after me? I don’t know yet where I’ll be staying, so I’ll have to write and send an address when I get there . . . . ”

“Miss Ashcroft . . . . ”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Have you told the child’s father yet?”

“No. I don’t intend to.”

“I wish you would reconsider,” Paul said quietly.

“No. I won’t involve him or his family in scandal.”

“Your intentions are very commendable, Miss Ashcroft, but . . . well, to have another woman he loves, or at least cares for a great deal, leave without telling him she’s expecting . . . without letting him do the right thing by her and their child, it would devastate him.”

“Y-You sound as if . . . as if you know who my child’s father is.”

“I know the two of you have tried very hard to be discreet about your relationship, but all the same . . . everyone in town KNOWS.”

“Oh n-no . . . . ” Judith moaned on complete and utter dismay.

“I . . . I can’t force you to tell him, Miss Ashcroft, but I can and do strongly urge that you do so. I speak not only as your doctor and his, but as his friend also.”

“I’ll . . . I’ll give the matter due consideration, Doctor,” Judith promised, her eyes bright with newly formed tears, as yet unshed.

Unbeknownst to either doctor or patient, Eloise Kirk and Clara Mudgely, the church organist, drew back away from the fast closed door of Doctor Martin’s examination room, horrified.

“Well, I never!” Clara gasped.

“There’s no fool like an old fool!” Eloise declared, in tones of righteous indignation.

“But, I . . . I . . . Ben Cartwright’s always been so . . . so circumspect! I never, not in a million years EVER thought he’d . . . that he’d . . . . ” The organist broke off unable to voice the thoughts in her head. Her sudden crimson complexion however, spoke volumes.

“Ben Cartwright’s a MAN isn’t he?” Eloise said with a grimace. “You take it from ME, sooner or later they ALL want one thing, and one thing only.”

“This is awful! Just AWFUL!” Clara lamented.

“Miss Mudgely, HONESTLY! Get hold of yourself, for heaven’s sake! After all, it’s NOT as if this is the FIRST time he’s . . . you know.”

“Y-You mean . . . . ?”

“Of course,” Eloise continued in a tone that dripped icicles. “The first . . . at least the first WE know of was Stacy’s mother.”

“Good afternoon, Ladies.” The sound of Hilda Mae Graves’ voice had Eloise Kirk and Clara Mudgely figuratively jumping right out of their skins. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” Eloise retorted loftily, upon regaining a measure of her composure. “I came in with a sore throat, but it’s gone now. Please give the good doctor and his wife my regards.”

“Me, too,” Clara squeaked, as the pair edged their way past the Martins’ housekeeper, toward the door.

Hilda Mae stood, with arms folded across her chest and her eyes glued to Eloise’s and Clara’s retreating backs, shaking her head in dismay.

“Hilda Mae?”

She turned and found Paul Martin standing behind her, looking perplexed.

“I thought I heard voices.”

“You DID,” Hilda Mae said sardonically. “Mrs. Kirk and Miss Mudgely, as they were leaving. They apparently got better.” She paused briefly. “Doctor Martin . . . . ”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid they overheard just about everything you and Miss Ashcroft were discussing . . . . ”

“Oh no,” Paul groaned. Both were well known as notorious gossips. “Hilda Mae, would you mind going down to the kitchen and asking Miss Braun to come up? I’d like her to help Miss Ashcroft get dressed.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“One more thing . . . . ”

“Yes?”

“When my wife returns, please let her know that I’ve taken Miss Ashcroft home,” Paul said wearily, “and that I’ve gone out to the Ponderosa . . . to warn Ben.”

“WHAT?!”

“You heard me, Ben,” Paul Martin said sternly. He and Ben Cartwright stood in the middle of the yard between the Ponderosa Ranch House and the barn, facing each other in the same way two opposing boxers would just before the start of round one.

“PAUL, THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE!”

“NOT when two people are intimate with each other, as the two of you have been.”

Ben stared over at his old friend, completely flabbergasted. “What are you talking about?! I’ve NEVER been intimate with Judith Ashcroft.”

“Ben, I can understand the two of you being . . . well, being discreet because Stacy is a student in her class, but . . . everyone KNOWS,” Paul argued. “If they haven’t known before, they’ve certainly found out in the last month or so, since you’ve started spending the night at her home.”

For a moment, Ben was too stunned to even speak.

“Ben, please believe me when I say I’m NOT standing in judgment of you,” Paul pressed. “You’re a strong, healthy man with all the needs and drives of a strong, healthy man. I’m quite frankly surprised there haven’t been others before or since Stacy’s mother.”

“Paul, I have NEVER spent the night under Miss Ashcroft’s roof. Not EVER! And certainly not within the last month because I’ve been in San Francisco! I just got back yesterday afternoon . . . . ”

Paul studied Ben’s face closely, with a jaundiced eye. The shocked astonishment on his face and the earnest, pleading quality in his tone of voice all told the physician that his old friend was telling the truth.

“If you don’t believe me, I can give you a list with the names of everyone I met with or visited while I was in San Francisco,” Ben continued.

“That won’t be necessary, Ben. I believe you, but I don’t know how many others WILL, especially after Mrs. Kirk and Miss Mudgely get through spreading the word. I’m afraid you and Miss Ashcroft have a very unpleasant dilemma to resolve.”

“I’ll start resolving it immediately by riding into town myself and setting matters straight,” Ben said grimly. He abruptly turned and started toward the barn, with every intention of saddling Big Buck and riding immediately into town. The sound of an approaching horse’s hooves striking the earth halted the Cartwright family patriarch in his trek mid-stride.

A few moments later, Houston O’Brien, neighbor and friend of many, many years, rode into the yard on Taranis, his big black gelding. “Howdy, Ben . . . Paul,” he greeted both with a nod of his head.

“Hugh, good to see you,” Ben greeted his old friend with a smile. “Would the both of you like to come inside? I think I can persuade Hop Sing to make up some lemonade or iced tea.”

“Thanks, Ben, but I’m afraid I can’t stay,” Hugh declined reluctantly. “Mister Abercromby’s calling a special meeting of the school board at the school house tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. They’re trying to get the word out to as many folks as they can. Since you’re on my way home from Virginia City, I told ‘em I’d stop by and let you know.”

“Any idea what the meeting’s about?”

“ ‘Fraid not, Ben, unless it has something to do with Miss Ashcroft’s resignation.”

“Miss Ashcroft’s resigning?!”

“Effective immediately for personal reasons.” Hugh smiled. “I guess you probably know more about the, umm nature of those personal reasons than most.”

“Thank you, Hugh. You going?”

“You bet I am. If Miss Ashcroft’s resigning, I’d like to offer my own two cents worth regarding the next teacher they hire.”

“I’ll see you there tomorrow, then.”

Hugh nodded, as he turned his horse around, then rode off toward his own spread, Shoshone Queen, named for his late wife.

“Ben, it’s already started,” Paul said grimly, after Houston O’Brien had left.

“Then that special board meeting will be a good place to start nipping all these rumors about Miss Ashcroft and myself in the bud,” Ben declared with an angry scowl.

“Ben, I want you to promise me two things.”

A sardonic retort immediately sprang to Ben’s mind, only to die unuttered upon getting a good look at the doctor’s face. “What, Paul?”

“First of all, please . . . go easy on Miss Ashcroft.”

“I’ll do my best, Paul. I certainly don’t want to drag her name through the mud, but at the same time, I don’t want to take blame for someone else.”

“I understand.”

“What’s the second thing you want me to promise?”

“That you’ll be very careful as to how you conduct yourself in that meeting tomorrow morning, Ben. I . . . well, I just plain and simply, have a bad feeling about all this . . . . ”

Ben Cartwright set out early the following morning, with the intention of arriving at the schoolhouse a few minutes before the start of the meeting in the hopes of having a private word with Miss Judith Ashcroft. He was astonished and dismayed to find the schoolyard already crammed full of saddled horses, buggies, buckboards, and all other manner, shape, and size of conveyance. Ben brought the two horses pulling his buckboard to a halt out on the street before the hitching post nearest the school. He set the brake on the buckboard, then jumped down and tethered the horse team to the post.

The time was eighteen minutes before the hour of ten o’clock, yet, incredibly, the small schoolhouse was already packed. Even the standing room had all but disappeared. Ezekiel Abercromby, the head of the school board, sat behind the teacher’s desk, engaged in what appeared to be a very lively, animated conversation with Georgianna Wilkens and Myra Danvers. The other school board members stood clustered in groups of two or three at the front of the classroom talking together in low voices. Judith Ashcroft was nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning, Ben.”

He turned and found himself staring into the anxious faces of Hugh O’Brien and Francis O’Hanlan, fathers respectively of Stacy’s friends, Susannah and Molly. “Good morning, Hugh. Good morning, Francis. Any idea yet as to what this meeting’s all about?”

“No one’s said officially,” Hugh said soberly, “according to the scuttlebutt, however, it would appear that Miss Ashcroft is the purpose of this meeting.”

“Hugh . . . Francis, I have no idea what you may have heard,” Ben said, lowering his voice, “though since I arrived home from San Francisco on the morning stage yesterday, I’m beginning to get a very good idea.”

“Wait a minute! You were in San Francisco?!” Francis queried, staring over at Ben in complete and utter disbelief.

Ben nodded. “For the past month.”

Hugh and Francis stared at each other wholly nonplussed.

“What’s the matter?” Ben queried warily.

“Ben, didn’t you and the boys go the church picnic three weeks ago?!” Hugh asked.

“Hugh, didn’t I just get through saying that I’ve been away for the last month?” Ben demanded with a touch of asperity.

“Ben, I was there! Crystal, Susannah, and the boys were there, too,” Hugh said. “I . . . all of us saw you there . . . along with Joe and Hoss.”

“Was Stacy also there?” Ben asked.

“No,” Hugh shook his head. “Crystal asked were she was, and YOU told her Stacy was at home feelin’ a mite under the weather.”

“Hugh, what exactly happened at that picnic?” Ben asked.

“You sly ol’ son of a gun!” Hugh grinned and nudged Ben playfully in the ribs. “That’s were you hooked up with Miss Ashcroft. Remember? The picnic basket auction? You bid on her basket?”

“The two of you’ve been inseparable since,” Francis O’Hanlan added.

Ben made a mental note to ask Joe and Hoss about the church picnic when he got home. “Hugh, I don’t know who you saw at the church picnic three weeks ago, but it couldn’t possibly have been ME. Three weeks ago, I was just arriving in San Francisco.”

“You got any identical twin brothers out there no one knows about?” Hugh asked.

“No, of course not!” Ben replied, taking no pains to conceal his growing annoyance.

“Well if this guy WASN’T you, he was a dead ringer,” Hugh said.

“Hugh, I’m telling you . . . that wasn’t me,” Ben pleaded.

“Ben, did you know that Miss Ashcroft is supposedly pregnant?” Francis O’Hanlan asked.

“Yes. Paul Martin came out to the house and gave me fair warning,” Ben replied. “I . . . I don’t know what I need to do to convince you of this, but I WAS in San Francisco for the last month. I just arrived home yesterday on the morning stage. I can give you the names of everyone I saw while I was in San Francisco, if you want proof.”

“That won’t be necessary, Ben,” Francis said quietly. “I believe you.”

“Thank you, Francis,” Ben said gratefully.

“I know who . . . or what I saw at the church picnic, Ben,” Hugh said. “I also know that you’ve never lied to me, and . . . . ” His cheeks reddened. “If you WERE in any way, uhhh, responsible for Miss Ashcroft’s, uuhhh delicate condition? You’d do the right thing by her and by the child.”

“Thank you, Hugh, for your vote of confidence.”

The sound of wood gavel striking wood desk immediately silenced the large group gathered and drew everyone’s attention toward the front of the room.

Ezekiel Abercromby was still seated behind the teacher’s desk, pounding his gavel, the one presented him many years ago when he, himself, retired from his duties as schoolteacher. He was an elderly man, with white thinning hair, slightly stooped posture, and sharp blue eyes that missed absolutely nothing. He glared sternly out at the assembly seated and standing before him past a pair of thick, scraggly eyebrows, white with yet a few strands of iron gray.

The other members of the school board sat in a line up at the front of the room, looking for all the world like naughty school children, caught in their many and diverse acts of deviltry. All, save two, sat with their knees pressed close together, hands folded in their laps, eyes firmly glued to the floor in front of them.

Georgianna Wilkens, president of the Virginia City Literacy Society, occupied the position of honor, first in the line up, closest to the teachers’ desk. She had been given the chair reserved for guests, with its high, tall back and cushioned seat in deference to her own advanced age, a very closely guarded secret. She glared out at the gathered assembly, with jaw rigidly set, tight lipped with a raw fury that shocked Ben, shocked others who had come to know the diminutive lady from Atlanta well enough to know she very rarely allowed anger to get the better of her. Being even now a woman of action, in spite of her advanced years, she preferred to in her own words, “do something about it, not sit around and stew.” Georgianna cast an occasional, outright murderous glare at both Myra Danvers and Ezekiel Abercromby.

Myra Danvers, seated two people away from Georgianna Wilkens, sat with posture ramrod straight, arms folded resolutely across her ample chest and bosom, glaring indignantly out at the assembly.

“This special meeting of the school board is now called to order,” Ezekiel declared, punctuating his words with a final strike of his gavel against the wood surface of the teacher’s desk. “Is Miss Ashcroft here?”

“Yes, I am, Mister Abercromby.” Judith Ashcroft stepped forward from behind the group of people lined up along the wall to the right of the teacher’s desk. Molly O’Hanlan, her face set with a grim stubborn resolve, quietly moved out behind the schoolteacher and took her place beside Miss Ashcroft.

“I didn’t know your daughter was here, Francis,” Hugh O’Brien said sotto voce.

“She insisted,” Francis said with a touch of pride. “Her ma’s having a fit to end all fits, but I couldn’t deny her. I’m surprised Stacy and Susannah didn’t insist on coming.”

“Better part of valor,” Hugh replied. “Stacy’d turn this meeting into a good old fashioned donnybrook before she got through. As for Susannah . . . . ” He grinned. “I can never be sure whether or not her threats to lift a body’s scalp are empty ones.”

“Mister Abercromby?”

“Yes, Mrs. Wilkens?”

“First of all, I would like the recording secretary to duly note that I am in protest of this entire proceeding,” Georgianna declared, rising to her feet, leveling a glare that carried in it the full force of her growing fury at Myra Danvers. “I was told the purpose of this meeting was to consider the tendered resignation of Miss Judith Ashcroft. In MY own humble opinion this is a matter more appropriate for the school board ALONE. I therefore move that his meeting be adjourned immediately and the matter of Miss Ashcroft’s resignation be placed on the agenda of our NEXT school board meeting.”

“Anyone second Mrs. Wilkens’ motion?”

“Yes, Sir, I do.” It was Elmer McFarlane, Judge Faraday’s administrative assistant, and youngest member of the school board. Though he visibly flinched away from the dark, angry glares Myra Danvers and several other members of the school board leveled in his direction, his voice rang out loud and clear.

“A motion has been made and seconded that the matter of Miss Ashcroft’s resignation be tabled now, and placed on the agenda of the next school board meeting,” Ezekiel Abercromby said, then mentally braced himself. “Is there any discussion?”

Myra Danvers shot right out of her seat with enough force and momentum to send her chair toppling over backwards. “I, for one, heartily disagree with Mrs. Wilkens’ motion AND her opinion. There are certain moral consequences to be taken into account and considered here. THAT being the case, I feel it not only appropriate but our bounden duty as members of the school board to involve the community. They have a right to know.”

“Right to know my sit-down!” Georgianna Wilkens snorted derisively. “You’re just looking for an excuse to slander the name of a good woman and one of the finest teachers this school has been blessed with TO DATE.”

“You wouldn’t be referring to Miss Ashcroft as a good woman if you knew the score, Mrs. Wilkens,” Myra Danvers returned indignantly.

“It so happens I DO know the score!” Georgianna returned irascibly, without missing a beat. “The whole town and everyone living around it knows the score. And before Mrs. Kirk and Miss Mudgely get through, the whole state of Nevada’s going to know the score!”

“I’m sure the good Reverend Hildebrandt can tell you how clear the Holy Scriptures are in reference to fornication and licentious behavior,” Myra retorted.

“Yes, I’m quite sure he can,” Georgianna agreed. “I’m also just as sure he can tell YOU how clear those same Holy Scriptures are about gossiping and judging others, lest you yourself be judged.”

“Mister Abercromby, I have a question.” It was Carrie Blanchard. Aged in her mid-thirties, she was a widow with two daughters, aged eight and eleven. She cleaned the homes of Virginia City’s well to do to support herself and her family, which also included her mother.

“Yes, Mrs. Blanchard?”

“What reason did Miss Ashcroft give for resigning her position?”

“In her letter, she states that she is resigning for personal reasons,” Ezekiel replied.

“I can tell you what those reasons are, Mrs. Blanchard,” Myra said with a smug, imperious air of self-righteousness. “Miss Ashcroft is with child.”

The entire assembly was thrown into an uproar of loud talking and discussion.

“Order!” Ezekiel banged his gavel hard against the wood desk, raising his voice to be heard over and above the growing din. “Order! This meeting will come back to order!”

The people gradually grew quiet. Those who had come early enough to find seats at the desks in the middle of the room, sat back down. Those standing drifted back to their initial places around the perimeters of the room. Everyone returned his or her attention to Ezekiel Abercromby.

“Mrs. Donaldson, you will strike Mrs. Danvers’ last remark from the minutes of this meeting,” Ezekiel said to Ada Donaldson, the recording secretary. His entire face was beet read. “The minutes will state that Miss Ashcroft resigned from her position as teacher for personal reasons. We WILL leave things stand at that.”

This drew a venomous glare from Mrs. Danvers.

“We have a motion on the floor, moved and seconded,” Ezekiel continued. “Is there a call to vote?”

“Now just one minute, Mister Abercromby,” Myra protested. “I don’t feel there’s been enough discussion on this issue.”

“I, for one, feel there’s been ‘way TOO much discussion on this issue,” Georgianna growled.

“I heartily disagree,” Myra countered. “As I said before, there ARE moral consequences to be considered. A teacher gives instruction, not ONLY in the classroom, but also by the example she sets. Now we have here before us a woman who has been standing up in front of this very classroom day after day for nearly three years, instructing . . . . MOLDING the young, impressionable minds who occupy those seats everyday.” She gestured toward the students’ desks with a broad sweep of her hand. “It is common knowledge that MISS Ashcroft is with child.”

“Common GOSSIP you mean,” Georgianna reported.

“BE that as it may, we, as a community, must still ask ourselves . . . WHAT is Miss Ashcroft teaching our children? What kind of example is she setting for the children, especially the young LADIES of this community, being in her delicate condition without benefit of holy wedlock?”

“Perhaps we should ask Miss Ashcroft the question straight out,” Judge William Caine, seated in the front row along the wall opposite the place where Judith Ashcroft and Molly O’Hanlan stood together. The judge turned and focused his attention on the schoolteacher. “Miss Ashcroft, ARE you in fact in the family way?”

“Judge Caine, since I submitted my resignation to the school board yesterday, effective immediately, the answer to your question is plain and simply, none of your business,” Judith replied.

“As the mother of two school aged daughters, I beg to differ with you, Miss Ashcroft,” Carrie Blanchard hotly protested. “Mrs. Danvers is absolutely right about you as teacher setting a proper example. As a conscientious parent, I have a right to know exactly WHAT kind of an example you’re setting.”

“You’re so quick to speak of setting examples, Mrs. Blanchard,” Georgianna retorted. “Perhaps YOU should read the passage in the Gospels that talks about he who is WITHOUT sin may cast the first stone. I trust we understand each other?!”

Carrie Blanchard lapsed into a sullen, angry silence.

“If, in fact, Miss Ashcroft IS in delicate condition, I’d like to know why the father of her child has not come forth to do the right thing by her?” Judge Caine posed the question with a malicious smile. “Perhaps Mister Cartwright can enlighten us on the matter?”

Ben felt every eye in the room on him, demanding an answer. It took every ounce of will power he possessed not to flinch. He took a deep breath, then stepped forward. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I have no idea in the world WHY Judge Caine thinks I have the answer to that question . . . . ”

“Come ON, Mister Cartwright,” a man standing at the back of the classroom sneered. “Ain’t no use in pretending! Cat’s out of the bag!”

“I’m NOT pretending,” Ben said in an even, measured voice, focusing his attention on the man who had just spoken.

“Do you DENY that Miss Ashcroft is with YOUR child?” Judge Caine pressed.

“As I recall, Judge Caine, Miss Ashcroft has resigned her teaching position for personal reasons,” Ben said, bringing full measure of his intense glare to bear on William Caine. “The rest is hearsay and gossip.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Mister Cartwright. Are you the father of Miss Ashcroft’s child?”

“Judge Caine, you surprise me,” Ben countered. “The rumors circulating about Miss Ashcroft being with child are just that. Rumor and gossip. Surely as a lawyer, and now as a judge, you wouldn’t even THINK of admitting rumor and gossip into evidence in a court of law.”

“Alright, Mister Cartwright, I’ll phrase it hypothetically,” the judge said. “IF Miss Ashcroft were with child . . . IF, Mister Cartwright . . . is there any possibility, any possibility at all, that she might be with YOUR child?”

“Absolutely NOT,” Ben replied.

“OH, BEN, HOW COULD YOU?!” Judith involuntarily cried out in anguish, heartbroken by his flat denial.

“THERE!” Myra Danvers crowed triumphantly. “You heard it! You ALL heard it! Right out of her own mouth, you all heard it!”

“Miss Ashcroft, are you with Ben Cartwright’s child?” Ezekiel Abercromby asked, his hand gripping the handle of his gavel hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

“Yes!” Judith sobbed. “Yes!”

Order quickly evaporated into anarchy, as everyone began to talk loudly among themselves.

“You lousy, no good son-of-a bitch!”

Ben heard the terse voice, coming from the man standing directly behind him. As he turned toward the speaker, a rock hard fist connected with his face, sending him into the arms of Francis O’Hanlan and Hugh O’Brien. Ben recovered himself quickly, returning the man’s blow with a good, solid right cross of his own. As his opponent recovered, two men moved to join him. Francis and Hugh, their own faces mask of grim determination also stepped forward, flanking Ben on either side.

“ORDER!” Ezekiel screamed. “ORDER! THIS MEETING WILL COME TO ORDER!”

One by one, people lapsed into angry, sullen silence and drifted back to their places. An uneasy silence fell on the meeting like a pall, broken only by the soft hiccupping sounds of Judith Ashcroft sobbing.

“Any more outbursts like that, and I’ll send someone to fetch the sheriff,” Ezekiel informed the assembly in a stern tone that brooked no argument, no opposition. “Do I make myself clear, Ladies and Gentlemen?”

A subdued murmur of ascent rippled throughout the assembly.

“Miss Ashcroft, do you have anything you wish to say?” Ezekiel said, turning his attention to the schoolteacher.

“I most certainly do,” Judith said, as she angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She pulled herself up to full height, her posture ramrod straight. “Mister Cartwright, I want you to come here, to the front of the room, look me straight in the face and tell me that I don’t carry your child.”

“Ben, you want us to stand with you?” Hugh offered in a low voice, nodding to Francis O’Hanlan.

“No, Hugh . . . Francis. Thank you for offering.” With that, Ben made his way to the front of the room, coming to a stop directly in front of Judith Ashcroft.

The anger, pain, and bewilderment she saw in his face and eyes doused her anger as quickly and as effectively as a bucket of water doused a campfire.

“Miss Ashcroft— ” Ben began.

“I . . . I was wrong,” Judith said suddenly, cutting Ben off mid-sentence. She immediately averted her eyes, feeling dreadfully sick at heart.

“What did you say, Miss Ashcroft?” Ezekiel Abercromby, the head of the school board, demanded.

Judith closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then, opening her eyes, she turned to face her accusers on the school board, her posture straight as an arrow, her mouth and chin set with a valiant, grim determination. “I SAID I was wrong,” she repeated her words in a strong clear voice. “Mister Cartwright is NOT the father of my child.”

“She’s lying!” Myra Danvers snarled. “She’s lying now . . . to protect HIM.”

“I am NOT lying, Mrs. Danvers,” Judith quietly, yet very firmly defended herself. “Mister Cartwright is NOT the father of my child.”

Myra’s eyes narrowed. “If Mister Cartwright is not the father of your child, then who IS, Miss Ashcroft?” she demanded with a malicious sneer.

“Seeing as how I have already given my resignation to the school board, effective immediately, Mrs. Danvers, the identity of the man who fathered my child is quite plain and simply none of your damned business!” Judith replied in a cold, angry tone.

The eight members of the school board stared down at the angry young woman, through eyes round with shocked horror, and astonishment.

“Mister Cartwright, would you please take me home?” Judith asked in a kindlier tone.

“J-Just a moment, Miss Ashcroft,” Ezekiel stammered, his mind still reeling. “This meeting’s not . . . over. N-not yet . . . . ”

“It is as far as I’M concerned, Mister Abercromby,” Judith declared.

Myra Danvers glared malevolently at Ben first, then at Judith. “Mister Cartwright, we fully expect you to do the right thing by Miss Ashcroft.”

“Mrs. Danvers— ” Judith started to protest.

“Do the names Vivian Crawleigh and Lucia Churchill Hayes Home for Orphans and Foundlings mean anything to you, Mister Cartwright?” Myra queried in a sly, menacing tone.

Ben felt the blood rapidly draining from his face. He stared over at Myra Danvers, completely dumbfounded, unable to even speak.

“Oh yes, I know all about Mrs. Crawleigh and the Lucia Churchill Hayes Home for Orphans and Foundlings,” Myra continued. “Mrs. Crawleigh . . . Vivian . . . is my first cousin. Our mothers were sisters. She wrote and told me all about Stacy and about the three of you.”

“Your point, Mrs. Danvers?” Ben demanded, his dark eyes smoldering with the fury growing within him.

“Alright, Mister Cartwright, my point is THIS. If you fail to do the right thing by your pregnant mistress, I WILL send a wire to my cousin and inform her of your sordid behavior,” Myra said. “I know for a fact that this was just the kind of thing she was concerned about when she wrote and lamented Major Baldwin’s decision to allow Stacy to accompany you and your sons home from Fort Charlotte. That will give her all the grounds she needs to come here and petition for full custody of Miss Stacy Rose Cartwright.”

“Mrs. Danvers, you are ‘way out of line!” Ezekiel Abercromby admonished her tersely.

“Maybe so, Mister Abercromby, but I don’t care. The only thing that matters to me now is the welfare of an innocent young lady living in that . . . that den of iniquity called Ponderosa!” Myra Danvers declared in a lofty, imperious tone. She then turned her attention back to Ben.

As he gazed into her visage, wholly disfigured into a hideous caricature of her normal appearance by the anger, malice, and venom that permeated her soul, Ben suddenly realized that he looked upon the true face of Myra Danvers, free of all the constraints normally imposed by polite society. He involuntarily shuddered.

“I give you one week to make your arrangements,” Myra continued, her eyes glittering with malicious triumph. “One week! If, by then you have not done as you ought, I WILL send that wire to my dear cousin, Vivian.”

End of Part 1

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