A Passing Stranger:

A Modern Cartwright Story

Robin & Ginny

Introduction:

A Passing Stranger is based on the Bonanza episode “A Stranger Passed this Way”. We already wrote a fan fic based on that episode called “Together“

http://www.womenwritersblock.net/Ginny/ginny9.htm

A Passing Stranger  is the fourth story we wrote about modern Cartwrights.

The first is Windmills and Rememberances

http://www.womenwritersblock.net/Ginny/ginny7.htm

The other 2 modern Cartwright stories are:

Substitutes In The Cemetery

http://www.womenwritersblock.net/Ginny/ginny16.htm

and A Quarter’s Worth Of Glory: Joe in the Machine

http://www.womenwritersblock.net/Robin/Robinstory11.htm

 

Thanks to Gwynne for being a thorough and supportive beta reader who helped bring our writing to a higher level.

This is the first section of three sections.

 

 

A Passing Stranger:

A Modern Cartwright Story

Robin & Ginny

SECTION TWO of THREE SECTIONS

CHAPTER 1

PART 3

Chapter 1

 

December 2001

The Ponderosa

Ben Cartwright was the first to admit that at some occasion each of his sons had insisted that his father loved another brother more than he loved him. Of course, being a good father, Ben denied it to the angry boy. He patiently explained that he didn’t love one son more than the other. That was utterly impossible. He loved each of his sons differently: not more, not less. Each one of his sons was a unique individual. He loved each of them for being just who they were. Adam, he told his first born, was the best Adam in the family. He told Hoss that he was the best Hoss, and Joe was told that he was the best at being who he was, Little Joe. He wouldn’t want three boys who were Xeroxes of each other any more than he wanted snow in the summer or the sun shining at midnight or each day to be exactly the same as the next. He loved each of them for the boys they were and the fine men each had become.

Ben’s eldest son was logical and dependable, the next predictably generous and earnest, the third dynamic and frustrating. Ben’s three sons loved and hated each other with fierce devotion. When they disagreed among themselves, they fought like rabid animals. But let an outsider intrude or attack one of his boys, the other two would defend their brother to the death.

The bond between the Cartwright brothers was unbreakable. Their father taught them that they were stronger together than apart. Together they were invincible. Together, the three brothers formed balance, like the three legs of a milking stool.  Now, one son was gone forever, and the other two struggled to find a new equilibrium between them before they tipped over. Ben prayed they would find it before both of them shattered into pieces.

Christmas 2001 was going to be unbelievably difficult for all of them. The family had developed certain traditions and rituals for the holiday over the years, but without Hoss, Ben wasn’t sure what they would do. They had eaten a quiet, subdued Thanksgiving dinner with Doc Martin and his wife, and everyone had managed to get through the day, but as Christmas approached, Ben wasn’t sure what he should do.

One evening over dinner, Ben asked Adam and Joe what they wanted to do for Christmas. Both of his sons were suddenly tongue tied.

“Maybe we all should go on a cruise or a ski trip instead of staying home this year? What do you boys think? Or maybe San Francisco?” Ben questioned as Hop Sing carried in a steaming platter of fried chicken.

“Leave the Ponderosa?” Joe shook his head.  He looked first at his father, then at Adam. “I’m not spending Christmas anywhere but right in this house.”

“Don’t worry little brother. Do you think Santa won’t find you? You’ll have plenty of toys under the tree and lots of mistletoe and holly,” Adam quipped, but the awkward joke fell flat. Then he muttered something about being responsible for the children’s choir and how he might have considered skiing in Switzerland or maybe spending time back east with his college friend Ed Booth, but it was probably too late to make reservations with all the plane schedules still in flux.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joe repeated. He looked down at his plate, suddenly fascinated by separating the peas from his carrots. Ben waited for his boys to say more, but the rest of the meal was eaten in total silence.

Hop Sing stood silently in the door way watching, thinking. He had a perfect solution. If his employer was annoyed with his interference, he would deal with it, just as he had dealt with many other things.

Finally the decision was made for the Cartwrights. Faye called Ben later that night and said that she was hoping to come in for a visit for Christmas and New Year’s. “It was lovely of you to have Hop Sing make the call, Ben. I can’t wait to see you.”

****

Chapter 2

December 2001

 “I think that should do it, Ben,” Faye Franklin said. She took one quick look around the dusty but orderly attic. Then she scooped up the last small box of Christmas ornaments and started down the steep wooden stairs from the attic. She had convinced Ben to put up the tree with her while Joe and Adam were out of the house. There would be no need for any discussion or debate between Ben and his sons if the task was completed by the time Adam and Joe came home.

 “No, there’s one more bin, Faye. I have it.”  He hefted a heavy large green plastic tub and followed after her.

 “Just, how many ornaments do you Cartwrights put on your tree? That tub is gigantic, Ben.” Faye asked, following him down the second set of wider stairs leading to the high ceilinged great room. The room was perfumed with the fragrance of the freshly cut pine.

That morning, after Adam left to straighten out some problems with their bank and meet an old college friend for lunch, Ben had taken Faye up into the hills. By then, Joe was long gone. At dawn, he had headed out to campus for a makeup final exam in French. When the exam was originally given a week earlier, Joe had neglected to set his alarm, and after another restless night, he had slept through until noon. Joe was able to charm the usually inflexible professor into giving him a second shot at the exam.

Ben and Faye had selected a fine pine tree not too far off the ranch road. It was huge compared to any tree Faye had ever seen in a home, but Ben said it was half the usual size the Cartwrights were used to setting up. Ben swung the axe and easily cut it down. He knocked off most of the snow and bound up the branches with rope. Together, their boots crunching on the frozen crust of snow, they hauled it to the pickup truck.

 “It’s just you and me, Faye. If we are going to surprise Joe and Adam with a completely decorated tree, there is no sense in trying to take on a bigger job than we can manage. Next year will be easier. We just have to get through this year,” Ben spoke from sad experience having been widowed three times. Ben took a deep breath and looked off into the distance. He stared at the bright blue of Lake Tahoe shimmering in the distance: blue as the eyes of his lost son, blue as Inger’s eyes. Now they were both gone, and all he had was memories.

 

“The first time you do anything after someone dies is horrible. That empty chair at the table. The first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, the birthdays… A man isn’t supposed to outlive his children, Faye. You never forget, but the pain is less sharp. The pain of loss never goes away completely, but it diminishes enough that you can live with the ache. We have to make our best efforts to remember his life, not just how Hoss died. That’s what Adam and Joe need to understand.”

 

“We have to remember Hoss for his life, not just his death. My aunt used to say ‘As long as someone remembers you in their heart, you are still alive’,” Faye observed. She started to help Ben load the tree.

 

“I’ve got this, Faye. No need for you to get scratched up or get pine sap on your jacket,” Ben smiled as he swung the trussed up tree into the back of the truck. She still was having terrible difficulty moving on after her own experiences on September 11. “Next year will be better for all of us. You included, Faye.”

She stood aside and let him deal with loading the tree in the back of the pickup. “Are you sure about next year being better, Ben?” Faye asked.

“I’m sure.” Ben smiled reassuringly.

 

“Do you promise, Ben? I don’t know how much longer I can manage,” Faye said, her mood suddenly grim. The sun disappeared behind a bank of smoky gray clouds, and a cold wind blew up from the lake. Beyond the pines, the sliver of Lake Tahoe looked more leaden gray than bright blue. More snow was on the way.

 

“I promise. It’s only been three months, Faye. You’ve been through an awful lot.

You can’t keep running. Give it time. Light in one place. Take it easy. Let someone else do the heavy lifting.” Ben sincerely hoped she would come back to Virginia City, to the house she had inherited from her aunt, but Faye was like a skittish mare. He wouldn’t push the idea on her so quickly. He would take things slowly and ease into the suggestion of her remaining as her visit continued.

 

“That’s what my boys need to remember: how Hoss lived, not how he died. Adam and Joe can’t get over that instant the plane crashed into the tower and we realized that Hoss was going there to meet Andy.  I know they keep picturing that he was there in all that chaos and violence and death.  And they are thinking about that minute Roy Coffee drove up and said….” Ben paused and swallowed. “When Roy said the New York police found Andy, but not his uncle and not Hoss. They couldn’t find my son anywhere.  In our own way, each of us realized that Hoss was gone forever, without a trace. Not even a body to bury. Both of my boys are trapped in that moment of loss.” Ben firmly slammed the tail gate of the pickup. The first icy flakes of the new snow started to fall.

 

“It’s how all of those people lived, not how they died. All that might remain of so many of them is just the memories of those who knew them,” Faye said. Suddenly, she was very cold and started to shiver. Ben pulled her close and held her in his arms. Then he kissed her gently.  “Next year will be better than this one, Faye. Let’s go back to the house and get warm. I’ll make a fire.”

 

Faye nodded in agreement. “A fire would be just wonderful, Ben.”

 

“As long as someone remembers you in their heart, you are not gone,” Ben said helping her into the cab of the truck. “I like that.”

 

Neither of them spoke during the brief drive back to the house; both were lost in their own private thoughts but comfortable in each other’s silent company.  Ben thought about Hoss and how to best help his two surviving sons deal with their immense grief.  

 

Faye reflected on what Ben had just said. Perhaps this should be her next project? She could preserve the memories of those whose loved ones were lost on 9/11 and find some purpose in all this pain.

 

***

 

“Poor Joe is having such a terrible time accepting Hoss is gone,” Faye said gently.

 

“He is. Adam won’t ever admit it, but he’s having a far worse time than Little Joe.” Ben opened the bin of ornaments.

 

“Adam? How can you say that, Ben?” Faye was astonished. Adam seemed so put together. “I thought he was doing so well, considering.”

 

“Only on the surface.  My first born never complains. He holds things in. He always did. Adam puts on a good face, but its eating him up inside.  It’s like he doesn’t want to disturb anyone with his problems.  I know he can’t do his work but won’t let anyone give him a hand. He says he is managing, but he’s not. Yesterday, when he was in Carson City checking some deeds for the grazing leases, I looked through the ledgers, and they all were in complete chaos. Complete and total chaos. Adam says it’s the new computer software, but I know he can’t stay focused. That’s why he’s meeting with the bank this morning. He thinks I don’t know, but he needs them to help him unravel the mess he’s made of our accounts. He forgot to pay all the bills and record deposits for most of October. Then in November, paid things twice and didn’t enter anything in the ledgers. The payroll is even more of a mess.”


“His mind was on Hoss.”

 

“Of course it was. How could it not be?  But Adam would never admit he needed a hand or that he is completely devastated at the loss of his brother. It’s as if he thinks he will disappoint the entire world if he isn’t perfect and strong.”

 

“I don’t think he’s worried about disappointing the entire world, just disappointing you, Ben. You are far more important to Adam than the rest of the world.”


Ben sighed and silently busied himself adjusting the Christmas tree stand.

Faye looked at the bins standing near the tree. “That’s an awful big bin. And you said the tree isn’t as big as you usually do. Are you sure we need any more ornaments?”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  
                                                                                                                                  “This isn’t ornaments. It’s Legos.

“Legos?” Faye laughed. She couldn’t imagine what Ben Cartwright was going to do with a huge bin of Legos.

“My boys’ Legos.” He pointed to the side of the bin. Written in a childish hand was “Property of Joe, Hoss, and Adam Cartwright. Ponderosa Ranch. Nevada. USA. Planet Earth. Private Property. ”

Faye smiled and gently touched the label on the bin. “Hoss wrote that?”

Ben nodded “How did you guess?”

“Look how big he wrote his own name,” she smiled.

“You are right, Faye. I never noticed that,” He traced the letters of his lost son’s name with his finger. “You have sharp eyes.”

Faye smiled “Guess that’s a good thing since I’m a photographer. Tell me about the Legos, Ben.”

“It’s Cartwright tradition. They have to go under the tree. We do it every year since…since…” Ben paused and scratched his neck. He could not quite remember when the tradition started. “Goodness Faye! I honestly don’t remember how long, but we just always do it. Maybe we started it when Joe was real small, to keep him from climbing up into the tree to play with tinsel and lights and from unwrapping the gifts that belonged to everyone else? That’s probably it. I bet Hoss thought of it.”

Faye chuckled. “That sure sounds just like Hoss. He was so patient and thoughtful.”

“He certainly was.  All I know is my youngest was a handful. The older two never thought to do half of what Little Joe did in a flash if no one kept their eye on him. In a flash!” Ben laughed.

“They are all individuals, Ben. Each different and special in his own way.”

“From the time they were born my sons were completely different from each other. “ As he twined the lights through the branches with a practiced hand, Ben explained. “Even when he was really small, Adam would sit in one spot if I told him to sit there. Obedient to a fault.  I think I could have come back two days later, and Adam would have been sitting in the same spot. No problem with Hoss either. He would just do what I asked, and Adam would watch out for him, and he was content with whatever he had. Easy going.  Joe was …”

“Lightening in a jar?” Faye suggested.

Ben nodded. “Lightening in a jar full gasoline looking for matches.” 

“He wanted to light up the world,” Faye said as she evened out the string of lights Ben had had looped on the far side of the tree.

“That’s Little Joe,” Ben laughed. “He still wants to light up the world.”

“He has such a way with people. But I bet that sweet face melted you every time you reprimanded him, Ben. Just like that French professor who gave him a second chance on the exam. My goodness! My professors would have said “Sorry, Miss Franklin! You shouldn’t have overslept. Too bad. You fail.”

“Really?” Ben asked. “I can’t believe that.”

“Really. Or more likely they would ask, ‘Why is a pretty girl like you filling your head with French! You should be hunting for a husband, not studying so hard. Why don’t you just get married and let your husband speak for you when you go traveling or dine out in chic French restaurants?’ “

“Really?” Ben hesitated, started to say something, and then seemed to think better of it. Rather than saying “I agree. Maybe you should be settling down and getting married to me.”  Ben remained silent. He quickly knelt down behind the blue arm chair and plugged in the lights.

“They all work! Bravo!” Faye applauded. “Bravo!”

“Thank you!” Ben smiled and bowed deeply as if he were taking a curtain call at Piper’s Opera House.

“Now, finish telling me about the Legos, Ben,” Faye quickly changed the subject.  She handed Ben the end of a snarled garland. They untangled it together and started to twine it between the boughs of the tree.

“The Legos. We have this big bin of them.” Ben rested his hand on the bin.

“Did each boy hand them down to the next brother? “ Faye tried to draw Ben out. He had suddenly become very quiet.

“Yes, sort of. They started out as Adam’s.  He took fastidious care of everything he ever had, even as a little guy. He meticulously following the detailed directions in the instruction booklets and making elaborate reproductions of the Eiffel tower, the Golden Gate, the Empire State Building and huge, precisely built aircraft carriers, battle ships and working catapults. He was a real whiz. Even as a small boy, he would neatly put the pieces away in a huge compartmentalized plastic case. Never lost a single piece. He had a precisely arranged binder where he stored all the directions in plastic sleeves. I bet that binder is in there. Look in the bottom of the bin when we finish this.”

“I will,” she said stretching out another garland on the floor in front of the fire place. “Should we put this on the railing? It looks like it will be long enough.”

“Nice idea,” Ben nodded at her suggestion and continued with his story. “Certain creations were preserved, neatly arranged on the high shelves in his bedroom between his books and his trophies. Woe be it if Hop Sing moved one a millimeter while dusting or one of his younger brothers decided to climb up and play with it,” Ben smiled. He climbed on the small step ladder he had brought in from the kitchen.

Faye handed him a shiny silver ball, and he placed it on the highest branch. “Find me a couple of more so I can put it in that empty space over there.” She handed him a small tin guitar and a miniature artificial wreath with a fake candle in the middle.

“The summer before Adam left for college back east, he packed up his vast collection of Legos and generously gave them to Hoss and Joe, claiming he had no need for such childish things. “ Ben explained. “No need to hang on to childhood toys when you are a mature college man.”

“That sounds just like Adam.”

“With Adam back east, things changed between the two younger boys. Hoss was now the older brother and sort of came into his own while Adam was away. He and Joe got closer than before. Hoss read to Joe. Joe came home from school with dozens of drawings of Hoss fighting monsters and bank robbers and smashing rocks with his hands. They brought each other goodie bags from parties and split the last piece of pie between them. Hoss taught Joe how to throw a baseball and Little Joe sat for hours keeping track while Hoss trained for football. Did you know that boy would get up before dawn to run with Hoss when he was in training?”

“Joe? That night owl got up before dawn?”

Ben smiled and nodded. “He did. For months. For his brother Hoss.  Adam was really proud too. He even sent Little Joe a sweat shirt that said ‘coach’. And a tin whistle on a braided lanyard.”

“A whistle?”

“A horribly loud, shrill whistle with an ear piercing tweet that Little Joe blew continually. Continually! It stirred up the livestock something fierce and drove Hop Sing completely insane. Gave me a huge headache. I think somehow that whistle got lost. And it got buried in the manure heap on the far side of the barn,” Ben winked. “Accidentally of course.”

“Of course, accidentally,” Faye laughed picturing her beloved Ben finally losing his patience with Little Joe and wrenching the whistle from the boy’s mouth to heave it over the barn.

 “It was only when Adam returned home on his first Christmas vacation he regretted his gift of his Legos to his brothers. My hot shot college man was beside himself to discover his prized models had been dismembered and re-combined into his younger brothers less traditional attempts.”

“Less traditional?” Faye took a sip of the cocoa Ben had made when they returned from cutting the tree.

 “Adam’s carefully constructed structures had been pulled apart, totally dismantled. The laser weapon on the top of Little Joe’s space ship was reconstructed from the top of Adam’s precious Eiffel Tower; the base was recycled into a windmill on Hoss’ Lego ranch.  The two of them, Hoss and Joe, would sit in front of the fireplace and build for hours. Or they would have wild running battles, jumping on the furniture, throwing pieces at each other until Hop Sing threatened to quit. Of course they never stowed things away like Adam did. Joe would fling a few pieces in the bin and then fall limp on the rug pretending he was sound asleep. Poor Hoss would just gather up the rest as best he could. Invariably, I would wind up stepping on some stray Lego with my bare feet when I snuck downstairs for a midnight snack.”

Faye laughed at the image he was creating “That’s what you get for eating in the middle of the night, Ben.”

“I suppose so. Poor Adam couldn’t believe his brother never referred to his meticulously organized notebook of plans.”

“That they didn’t do things the way he did things?” Faye hung a few shiny colored glass balls on the lower branches.

“You know, Adam hates if anyone sees him being sentimental or foolish. He still does. He vehemently claimed he didn’t really mind that his childhood toys had been dissected, but Hoss immediately knew Adam was lying. Hoss could always see through to the heart of things and tried to set things straight.”

Then, with a smile, Ben explained how two days later, on Christmas morning, among the mountain of gifts under the tree, there was large gift-wrapped box addressed to Adam. The tag was signed “Santa” in Hoss’ handwriting. When Adam tore it open, it was a brand new set of Legos.  “Hoss must have busted open his piggy bank and got someone to drive him into town. Another box tagged for Adam contained a replacement Eiffel Tower that Hoss and Little Joe had managed to completely reconstruct. They needed to use a few red and blue bricks when they ran out of black, but the two of them had done a fairly good job following the directions from the binder. A third package was all lumpy and lopsided. Joe had insisted on wrapping it himself, and he must have used two rolls of tape and wrapped his gift in toilet paper and cotton batting so it wouldn’t break.”

“What was in it?”

“Oh! It was a huge package but inside it was about yay big,” Ben put his hands about a foot apart. “It was this wobbly, rectangle with a pointy top constructed of all the odds and ends of Legos. This little frayed plastic monkey from some birthday party goodie bag was taped to the pointy top. ”

“What was it?” Faye asked.

 “Little Joe said ‘It’s King Kong on the umpire stay building. And the umpire said you should stay safe at home.’  Safe at home,” Ben’s sighed. “So, that’s how we began the Cartwright boys’ tradition of hauling out the big Lego bins when we all set up the Christmas tree. The boys played with those Legos together for hours, even years later when the first two were really far too old.  Adam and Hoss joined Little Joe with the huge bin that had been handed down to him, claiming that they did it for Little Joe, but they all still did it when even Joe was too old. You can’t wrap your boy’s in cotton batting and keep them safe at home.”

“No, you can’t. And you wouldn’t even if you could, Ben. That’s not the kind of man you are.”

“I suppose you are right,” Ben nodded. He sat down on the couch close to Faye.

“It’s a given,” Faye smiled. “Each generation does better than the previous. Maybe I’ll tell you about my parents and grandparents when we have a few free hours. “

“Each generation is supposed to outlive their parents,” Ben sighed. “You aren’t supposed to outlive your children. We just have to make sure our kids understand that after we’re gone, they’ll have each other. My three boys would have each other when I was gone. That was the plan. My three boys would have the Ponderosa and each other when I was gone.” Ben stared at the fully decorated tree.

“Hoss dying destroyed your plan, Ben” Faye said softly. She took his hand in hers. “Man plans and God laughs,”

“Man plans and God laughs?” Ben asked.

“It’s a Yiddish proverb. Man plans and God laughs…. “

“Man plans and God laughs and the Cartwrights play with Legos at Christmas.” Ben smiled. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Thank you for coming here, Faye. I don’t know how I could have managed all this without you.

 

Chapter 3

Carson City, Nevada

December 2001

“I can still feel that weight on my chest, sitting there, threatening to suffocate me. Do you think I’m having a heart attack?” Adam asked nervously. He was reclining on a gurney, wearing a blue paper hospital gown. A white sheet covered him to his chest. He hadn’t expected to wind up in the Emergency Room of Carson Tahoe Hospital after having lunch with his old college friend, Edwin Booth. Ed had been attending a medical conference at Lake Tahoe, and the two old friends took advantage of the situation to spend the afternoon together. When Adam, who never complained about his health, described how he was feeling, Ed immediately insisted on bringing him to the emergency room.

Dr. Booth shook his head. “I didn’t think so, but I had them give you that cardiogram to be sure. I’m a neuro-psychiatrist, not a cardiologist, and I sure wasn’t going to shrug off something and let my oldest friend die from my negligence.”

“So what did the other sawbones say?” Adam asked.

“You heart is perfectly fine. We can go.” He pulled the curtains of the cubical closed and handed his friend his black trousers. “Let’s get out of here and get something to eat. You still owe me lunch, and it’s getting closer to dinner time.”

“But why am I feeling so awful?” Adam whispered so softly that Ed had to lean closer to hear him.

 “No, you didn’t have a heart attack. I guess the poets might say losing your brother broke your heart. Here’s my diagnosis, my friend. It’s grief and stress and working far too hard. Stop trying to make everything perfect and pay more attention to what’s happening to you,” Ed said gently

“To me?” Adam asked pulling on his clothes.

“Yes, to you, Adam. You. Take some time off to mourn your brother’s death. Take some time to heal your broken heart. Ride your horse. Go skiing. Read some poetry and play your guitar. Give yourself time to grieve. Why don’t you come spend a few days with me back in San Francisco? Or Vegas?”

Adam ignored his friend’s suggestions. He started to get up off the gurney. “If nothing is wrong with me, I’m going to leave. I should be heading back home. It’s getting late. I don’t want my father worrying. He’s had enough to deal with these last few months.”

“You don’t want you father worrying? Are you kidding? “Ed reached into Adam’s jacket pocket and handed Adam his own cell phone “I’m sure Ben Cartwright isn’t too frantic about you being a few minutes late for supper, but if you think he is, call. Tell him where you are.”

“And tell him I’m in the hospital? I don’t think so.” Adam snatched the phone from the other man’s hand and shoved it back in his own pocket. Then he tried unsuccessfully to yank off the plastic name bracelet the emergency room nurse had slapped on him when he came through the door. “How do I get this damn thing off my wrist?”

“Don’t ignore me. I’m not just your friend, Adam. I’m a doctor. Give yourself a chance to grieve for your brother and quit trying to tough it out. Adam, you were there for me when everything happened with my brother John. I couldn't have managed without you, and now you have to let me help you too.” 

Adam sank back on the gurney and closed his eyes. He knew Ed was right. Adam sincerely wished he wasn’t.

　

Chapter 4

NYC

July 2002

 

“3192 Twenty-Seventh Street,” Joe Cartwright told the driver. As he scrambled into the back seat of a Yellow Cab, he elbowed past a man in a suit, causing him to drop his leather briefcase into a puddle from the overnight rain. Joe ignored the man’s shout and dirty look as the cab nosed into the heavy traffic.

********

Something didn’t strike Kristina Vandervoort quite right about the young man who entered the flower shop. He was pleasant enough looking with his curly brown hair, neat tan and green Rugby shirt and jeans, and clean white Nikes. They never had any problems with gang members in that neighborhood. No, he didn’t look like danger, but as he looked around nervously, she sensed trouble, nonetheless.

 

“Excuse me, ma’am. Uh, my name is Joe Cartwright. I’m from Nevada and just got into New York.

 

My….my brother’s been missing ever since 9/11. He was here on vacation and was supposed to meet some friends for breakfast at Window’s on the World. I, uh, I’ve been showing his picture around, and I was wondering if you would mind taking a look at it.” He started to hand her the cell phone he clutched in his hand.

 

Thinking that her feeling of trouble had no basis, this slight young man’s brother couldn’t possibly be her “Heinrich,” Kristina looked at the picture on the phone he held out to her. After all, millions of tourists breakfasted at Windows of the World, and New York was full of people looking for lost relatives and friends.

 

“No! It couldn’t be!” Kristina’s felt numb as she looked at the familiar face on the screen. “I have got to get him out of here!”

 

“No, no. I have never seen this man. I am very sorry. I have to return to my work, now. I am a very busy woman. Again, I am sorry.”

 

She scurried into the workroom in back of the store.

 

“Ma’am? Is there anyone else here I could ask?” Joe started to inquire, but the woman had already disappeared through the folding door.

 

 

Kristina Vandervoort glared at Manolito Montoya. She hadn’t realized he was in the back of the shop. He should have been out with Heinrich on the truck. Heinrich shouldn’t be driving alone. 

 

“Is everything ok, Mrs. V?” Manolito asked his employer. 

 

Kristina had to think fast. If that boy came back with a picture of his missing brother, Manolito might tell him that it was Heinrich. Manolito would give her son back to this Cartwright family. She would do whatever needed to be done to hang on to her Heinrich.

 

“I’m not sure, Manolito. I think that young man worked for Immigration. He was asking about you.”

 

Montoya went pale. “Immigration? But I have a green card, Mrs. V! I’m not illegal! Why would he be asking about me?”

 

Kristina smiled. “That is what I told him. But, you know with all that is going on since 9/11, who knows? Maybe you shouldn’t come in for a few days. You don’t want to have any trouble and get sent to one of those terrorist jails and disappear before you family can get it straightened out? Do you, Amigo?”

 

Montoya shook his head. He quickly took off his apron and hung it on the hook near the door. He scrawled a phone number on a scrap of paper. “I’ll go visit my uncle, Don Domingo in Jersey for a few weeks until this guy stops nosing around. Here’s his number. Call me there.”

 

“It sounds like a good idea, Manolito. I’ll call you when I think it is safe for you to come back.” Manolito cautiously slipped out the back door. Looking up and down the alley, he didn’t see Kristina toss his uncle’s phone number in the trash can.

　

Joe stood on the sidewalk in front of the flower shop looking around. He hoped to find a coffee shop or bar or someplace where he could sit and keep an eye on the door of the florist shop. Not seeing a likely place close by, he shrugged and walked down the street. He remembered passing a Starbucks on the way there. It wasn’t really close enough to the flower shop to serve as a lookout. Joe entered, ordered a large cappuccino to go and left to walk uptown to the apartment. The long walk would help him calm down and figure this thing out.

 

Maybe Faye was right? He was making something out of nothing because he wanted to find Hoss. Maybe it was only a coincidence that the florist saved the trapped horse? The guy’s mother said that she had never seen Hoss. Why would she lie? Adam would tell him he was chasing star dust and moon beams and not being logical. Maybe his granite-head brother was right?

 

Suddenly Joe wished he could talk to his father. Pa would know what to do. Pa would make him feel better. He pulled out his cell to call home. Then he realized that it was not even five a.m. in Nevada. He couldn’t call his father at that hour and wake him up to tell him some crazy story about a florist rescuing a horse. He shouldn’t tell him that story at all, like Faye said. He had given his father enough trouble the past year on top of his grief over Hoss. Poor Pa.

 

Faye was right when she told him not to bother his father with his crazy idea. And Faye; she had had a bad year too. She loved Pa, and it hurt her to watch him grieve. And she could have been hurt or killed too that day. She was right there when the towers went down and had to run for her life. In addition to a son, his father could have lost a fourth woman he loved. No, Joe Cartwright was a man. He needed to act like one. He would do the job he came here to do with Faye, and he would try to help her deal with her own issues.  The shock of watching it all happen must be indescribable.

 

As Joe continued his walk north, Heinrich Vandervoort entered the front door of the flower shop. He was surprised to see his mother sweeping the back room. “Hi, Mama. Where’s Manolito? He’s supposed to be doing that, not you.”

 

“Manolito quit. He said his uncle in Jersey needed him. He just left.”

********

Faye was at the breakfast bar drinking coffee when Joe sheepishly entered the apartment carrying a package behind his back.

 

“What’s that, Joe?” Faye asked

 "Sorry about how I acted last night, Faye, “he said swinging the overstuffed bag onto the granite kitchen counter.  “I brought breakfast and even got you some black and white cookies from Lilly's. It’s a peace gesture."

 

“Glad you are back,” Faye gave him a quick hug. “To be honest, I was starting to get worried. Did you speak to the owner of the flower shop?” She set some plates and silverware out and poured Joe a mug of coffee.

 

I guess you’re starting to know me pretty well.” Joe spread cream cheese on a bagel and flashed a smile. “I spoke to a woman. I asked her if she was Mrs. Vandervoort, but she didn’t say. I showed her Hoss’ picture, but she said she had never seen him. But, Faye, I have a feeling she did. She cut me off in the middle of what I was saying and practically ran into the back room like the devil was chasing her.”

 

“You probably scared the poor woman. This isn’t Virginia City or even Reno where you smile at everyone and have a neighborly chat. A store keeper in New York would think you are some sort of escaped maniac from the sex offender list or a scam artist trying to rip her off. Everyone in New York City is on edge since 9/11. Maybe she thought you were Osama Bin Laden’s henchman? “

 

“Maybe,” Joe shrugged. He decided he’d go back to that Vandervoort shop later on and poke around. No sense upsetting Faye any more than he had.

 

“I‘ll call Tavern on the Green and ask if that William Zombrotto is working today. If he is, we‘ll have lunch or dinner there and see if he’ll talk to us. “

 

“Whatever you say, Faye,” Joe quickly agreed. “How about we go through those prints the lab made for you? From the pictures you took on 9/11? I’m really curious to see them”.

 

Faye shook her head. “I. . . . I don’t think I can, Joe.”

 

Joe put his coffee mug down. “Let’s give it a try. I’ll help you out if it gets too hard. And, if it gets to awful, we’ll just stop and. . . . “

 

“Go have dinner at Tavern on the Green?”

 

***

　

Later, Joe sat cross-legged on the living room floor, photos spread around him. He was going through some photos that Faye had taken the day of 9/11. She had told him that she had snapped them off, randomly pointer her camera into the chaos.  Afterward she couldn’t bear to look at them and just sent the film to her publisher’s lab. They had processed the film and sent her a disk and one set of prints in a big manila envelope. She had filed it away unopened.

 

Now, they were going through them to see if any could be used in her book. After two hours, Faye had spent as much time as she was able and needed to take a break. She had taken a shower – as if she could rinse her distress down the drain. Joe could hear the sound of the blow dryer coming from her bathroom.

 

Something caught his eye in the photo he had just laid down, so he picked it up again for a closer look.

 

“No, it can’t be,” he thought. “Get a grip, Cartwright.” A woman resembling Kristina Vandervoort was bending over someone lying on the sidewalk. He couldn’t see his face, but he could tell that the person was a big man.

　

　

Chapter 5

NYC

July 2002, later the same day

 

 “Heinrich, we need to buy the Legos for my sister’s twin’s birthday tomorrow. Let’s get going.”  Abbey Jones tugged Heinrich Vandervoort’s arm to urge him past the display of Breyer Horses that had caught his eye. “We don’t want to be late for our reservation at Tavern on the Green. It was so nice of the manager to give you that gift card for helping that stuck horse. You know,” she mused, “after 911 people seem to be more appreciative of acts of kindness.”

 

“I didn’t need any thanks for helping the horse. All of a sudden I just seemed to know what to do, so I did it.”

 

Abbey picked up a small, realistic horse. “I think Elizabeth Marie would love this! A Breyer pony! Isn’t it cute? Which one do you like? The brown one? The black and white? What’s that called? A pinto? Or look at that one with the cowboy. The packages say Cowboy Ben and his Buckskin.”

Heinrich pointed at a palomino in the display of toy horses. “Bessie Sue would like this. She’s always been fond of palominos.”

 

“Bessie Sue? Who’s Bessie Sue?” Abbey asked.

 

Heinrich didn’t seem to hear her. He had picked a black horse with a white blaze and one white stocking. He ran a finger gently down its back and frowned. He was strangely drawn to this horse.

 

“Heinrich? What’s wrong? Do you feel alright? Who’s Bessie Sue?” Abbey tugged on Heinrich’s arm again, this time harder.

 

“Bessie Sue? I . . . . I don’t know. That thought just popped into my head.” He put the black horse back on the shelf.

 

The store was quite crowded, and he wished he could go outside and get a breath of air. He blinked his eyes and suddenly felt queasy. “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought, Abbey.

“We should be done in a minute. Didn’t you have lunch today?” Abbey knew Heinrich and his father would never refuse anything his Mrs. Vandervoort requested. She was the boss of both the family and of the business.

Heinrich nodded. “I think I did.”

Abbey looked at him with concern “Goodness! Don’t tell me your mom had you work through lunch again. You work much too hard. I think I might have some candy or a bag of granola in my purse from when I took the kids to the movies. Would that help? “She dug into her purse and came up with a bag of trail mix and a few Jolly Ranchers. “Which do you like?” she asked holding them up.

Heinrich pointed at the candy. Abbey playfully tossed them to him “Catch!” He easily caught them with one big hand. “Great catch! You tagged the Jolly Rancher out at home!” she teased. “Hope that holds you until dinner at Tavern on the Green. If not, you can have the granola too. I can’t believe we are playing catch in the toy store.”

“Playing catch.” he smiled weakly. He remembered throwing a ball back and forth for hours in a big yard outside a big garage. He could smell the fragrance of fresh cut hay and hear the whinny of horses. It was wide open like the sheep meadow in Central Park, even bigger. It was a field near a barn, not a garage, and horses were in a corral nearby. When he played catch with Little Joe after supper, his fastballs stung his palms through the mitt.

“We can get him a baseball glove. Little Joe will be a great pitcher!” Somehow Heinrich knew this as fact. He popped a candy into his mouth and quickly devoured it. “A great rider and a great pitcher.”

“Horseback riding? In Brooklyn? You have to be kidding. Baseball pitcher? Oh no, Heinrich. Joey hates baseball. He’s a wild basketball fan. And his mother would kill me if I got him another basketball. The kid plays so much he is wrecking his knees, the doctor said. Besides why do you keep calling him Little Joe?”

Heinrich shook his head and massaged his temples. “Little Joe? That’s his name, isn’t it?”

“Not really. My nephew’s name is Joseph Francis Calcagno.”

“Joseph Francis? “ Hoss raised an eyebrow.

“If anything, he would be called Big Joe. He’s the tallest boy in his class,” Abbey laughed as she squeezed past a slender, well-coiffed woman pushing a noisy child in an expensive double stroller. She dug into her large tote bag and pulled out a leatherette folder of snapshots. “Isn’t he cute? This is his latest school picture,” Abby showed Heinrich the school photos in her wallet of a dark skinny boy with a wide grin and twinkling dark eyes. His straight black hair was cut short in a bristly crew cut. Elizabeth Marie had the same dark coloring and long dark hair. “He is really Joseph Francis, the third. But we call him Joey, and his dad is Joe Junior and his grandfather is Joe. It’s a family thing. My sister had no choice so she got to name Elizabeth Marie after her favorite actress, Elizabeth Taylor and our grandmother Marie.” She put the photos away in her overflowing purse. “Maybe we should get him a puzzle or some blocks or something like that for when the weather is bad and he can’t go outside? What did you like when you were a kid?

 

“Like you said, we’d better get the Legos and get going.” He ignored her question about what he liked as a child and looked around at the signs. “Where would they be?’

 

“They’re this way.” Abbey pointed to the next aisle. She knew that now was not the time to pursue the matter of Bessie Sue and the horses, but she would bring it up after she had time to think of a way to do it that would not alarm Heinrich. “Could it be that his memory is returning?” she asked herself silently.

 

“Ah, here we are.” Abbey looked over the Lego sets. “Hmm, the Legos in the sets for boys are different colors than the Legos in the sets for girls. Kind of sexist, but a good way to keep Joey and Elizabeth Marie from fighting over whose Legos is whose. But then the twins are still at the age where they want the same things. I think I‘ll get them the town building set and the vehicle building set for them to share. What do you think, Heinrich? Heinrich? Oh no! Should I buy you a set too?” Legos?” Heinrich nodded. His head started throbbing, and he crushed the cellophane wrapped granola in his hand and shoved the wad in his jacket pocket.

“Oh honey, are you getting another one of your headaches?” Abbey frowned.

Abbey turned to Heinrich, who was staring intently at an architectural set of Legos with a picture of the Eiffel Tower on the front. She started to giggle but stopped when she saw that Heinrich’s face was white, and he was trembling. She clutched his arms. “Heinrich! Heinrich! What’s wrong? Are you sick? Oh my God!” She looked franticly around for help and spied a clerk. “Can you help me?”  She accosted the clerk. “My friend’s been taken ill suddenly. Is there a place he can sit down? Please.”

 

The young clerk rushed to help. He didn’t want to make a scene on the sales floor and have the customers disturbed. “We can take him to the manager’s office. He isn’t here right now, but it will be all right. Sir, this way. You can sit down in the manager’s office.” Each taking an arm, Abbey and the clerk led Heinrich to the office and sat him in a chair. The clerk got him a cup of water from the water cooler in the office. “Ma’am, should I call 911?” he asked Abbey with sincere concern.

 

She was about to agree when Heinrich, who was coming back to himself, interrupted. “No! Don’t call them! I’m all right now. I’m just fine.”

 

“Heinrich, are you sure. Maybe we should.” Abbey persisted.

 

Heinrich gulped down the water. “No, just let me sit here for a few minutes. I’m feeling better.” He held out the cup. “May I have some more? “ This time he sipped slowly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. ”

 

Abbey wasn’t happy with Heinrich’s decision, but had no choice. “All right. We’ll grab the Legos and then call a cab and go back to my apartment. We can go to Tavern on the Green some other time.”


“No. Whatever happened is over, and I feel a lot better. Really. We’re going to go to dinner like we planned. You look so pretty in that blue dress. I know you’ve been looking forward to this, and I’m not going to disappoint you.”

 

“It’s all right. You aren’t going to disappoint me,” Abbey countered. “Let’s go another night. I can wear this same dress then, if you like it.”

 

“We’re going this evening. Now, let’s go get the Legos and get going.” He turned to the clerk and held his hand out to shake hands. “Thanks, very much for your help. We really appreciate it.”

 

The clerk looked a little relieved that the situation had turned out all right and that the man and woman were leaving.

 

Abbey sighed and murmured something about “stubborn men” and followed Heinrich out of the store manager’s office.

 

Chapter 6

 

A sudden torrential downpour hit the city just as their cab pulled away from the curb at One Fifth Avenue and drove uptown in the evening traffic toward Central Park. Weary from the long, emotional day, Faye sat quietly beside Joe. She was almost mesmerized by the swish-thud rhythm of the cab’s windshield wipers.

She couldn’t help thinking that the bright lights of New York City through the rain-streaked windshield of the taxi were strangely beautiful. They were not as beautiful as the stars in the night sky over the Ponderosa but beautiful in their own way. 

The shower ended just as quickly as it had begun. By the time their taxi reached the 66th Street entrance to Central Park, the heavy, humid heat of the day quickly turned into a cool, breezy evening.

The yellow cab slowly turned into a traverse road that led to the front of the restaurant. Taxis, private cars and limousines crowded the narrow horseshoe shaped driveway that led to the entrance of Tavern on the Green. Two police cars with blinking lights were parked on either side of the driveway, and a pair of National Guardsmen at alert stood near the low stone wall, their automatic weapons by their sides.

“What’s going on?” Faye asked, nervously eyeing them. She pulled her cardigan close around her despite the summer heat. Faye still wasn’t used to the constant police and military presence in the city since 9/11. Joe protectively squeezed her hand in his for a moment.

“Just the usual. I think they just finished some sort of practice drill. Homeland Security, NYPD and the Fire Department,” the driver explained. “It screwed up traffic crosstown most of the afternoon. Tomorrow they are in Queens. That will screw up all my airport runs.”

As the cab inched forward, Joe Cartwright was able see the sprawling Tavern on the Green. It was not what he had imagined. The brick building resembled an old, slate-roofed Normandy chateau. It was festively lit up and surrounded by flowers and trees.  It looked nothing like the small, urban bar he had imagined.

“You folks here for the fundraiser?” the cab driver asked in a friendly fashion.

Anxious to get inside, Joe shook his head.

Ignoring the fact that his passengers were just eager to finish the ride, the driver chattered on. “Heard Rudy Giuliani might be coming, and a bunch of Broadway people: the cast of ‘Cats’, and that new show ‘Early One Morning’.  The one that couldn’t open last fall. Regis Philbin too and some of the Mets,” the driver added. He inched the cab between a police car and a Dodge minivan with New Jersey license plates. A tall, stout woman in a sequined dress tried to cross the drive, shoving a skinny girl in a matching outfit in front of her.

“We’re not here for the fund raiser,” Joe repeated. As the sequined pair crossed in front of the cab, Joe got a closer look at them in the headlights. He quickly realized it wasn’t a tall, stout woman and a skinny girl but two men in drag. “Jeez, Faye! That’s two guys! Look at their Adam’s apples! The taller one needs a shave.”

“The shorter one too,” the driver added. “But they have nice legs.”

“Nothing is what you think it is in New York.” Faye couldn’t help but laugh at Joe’s shocked face.

“And I bet you a quarter that old guy near the door with the young girl is not her father. The one with the bad comb over.” Faye nudged Joe with her elbow.

The driver stuck his head out of the window to try to get a closer look just as the couple went into the restaurant. “I think that guy with the chickie was Donald Trump. Well, folks, we are here! Tavern on the Green!”

 “So that’s the Tavern on the Green. It looks pretty crowded,” Joe said eyeing the happy knot of cheerful people gathered in the entrance under a large, red awning. The huge windows were brightly lit from within, and he could see the glittering restaurant was filled.

“There’s always a crowd here,” the cab driver observed. Then, in true New York fashion, the driver leaned on the horn in an attempt to get the cab in front of him to move faster. “Move over! Do you have your head up your butt? Go back to Jersey and learn to drive, lady!”

Faye completely ignored the cab driver and just continued her conversation with Joe. “Tavern on the Green is a very popular place for weddings and parties and for couples on romantic dates. I think on Valentine’s Day they give away free honeymoon trips to the Caribbean to the first dozen couples who get engaged that night.  One evening I was here at a birthday dinner for my editor when two different guys, at two different tables, proposed to their girlfriends, within fifteen minutes of each other. One of them had the ring in the cheesecake he ordered for dessert,” Faye explained.

“Two? In one restaurant in one night? Gee, only in New York! What happened?” Joe was amazed.  The driver slowly inched his way up the line of traffic as the meter clicked the rate higher.

“Oh, the girls both said ‘yes’, and the other diners applauded, and the management sent over champagne. It was pretty hokey but very sweet. The couples were happy.”

“Did you take their pictures?” Joe asked.

Faye nodded. “They were good pictpictures, too.”

“Maybe you should tell Pa to take you here?” Joe teased. “I know he likes cheesecake a lot.”

“Joseph Cartwright!” Faye blushed and quickly tried to change the topic. “To be honest, you come to Tavern on the Green for the décor and the atmosphere more than the food. The food is decent, but real New Yorkers insist there are far better places to eat. ”

“I’m not a New Yorker, real or pretend,” Joe shrugged. “And we are not really here for the food, Faye. We are here to talk to the manager,” He just wanted to get inside and get that manager to tell them about Heinrich Vandervoort.

“I know, sweetheart,” and she squeezed his arm. “We are almost there.”

“Here we are folks!” the driver announced as he finally made his way to the curb in front of the restaurant. Joe quickly settled the fare with the cab driver by handing the driver a twenty dollar bill.

“Thanks Pal! Watch out for those puddles,” the driver said as he quickly pocketed Joe’s overly generous tip.  He reached behind him and flipped up the handle on the back door in a lazy but polite show of appreciation.

Joe had been expecting change from his twenty, but, rather than arguing, let it go. He slid out of the back seat and helped Faye out of the cab. “Let’s go find that manager, Faye.” 

“I think his office is on the other side of the building. Let’s go around the outside of the building through the court yard. I think I can remember how to get there through the service area,” Faye said. She led Joe through the knot of people loitering around the entrance and around the side of the building.

Overhead, the wet, dripping trees were hung with glittering, white twinkle lights. The lower branches were strung with illuminated paper lanterns much like the multicolored ones the Cartwrights used at parties. Joe’s head turned as he looked around the fairy land. “Wow, Faye! We use lanterns like this when we have outdoor parties on the Ponderosa, but they must have hundreds strung up! Thousands! Look at that big one!”

“Wait until you see the inside, Joe. Some people think the place is a bit touristy, but I love it. It’s so over the top and fun.”

 Joe looked through the brightly lit windows and observed, “This place looks sort of like something that old piano player might do.  You know – the one who played in Vegas; what was his name?  The one with all the glitter and the candelabras?”

“Liberace? “

“Yeah, this place is like Liberace and someone’s rich, crazy, old granny collaborated on the décor… look at all the mirrors and crystal chandeliers and stained glass and bronze statues,” Joe had never seen anything quite like Tavern on the Green.

“Eccentric,” Faye corrected.

“Huh?”

“You said rich, crazy, old granny. If you are rich, you are eccentric. Poor people are crazy.”

Joe pointed at a huge elm tree decorated with twinkling lights. “Look, they built the room right around that tree. Bet some drunks think they are outside when they are in,” Joe said skirting a shimmery puddle. “Watch your step, Faye! You don’t want to get your feet wet.” Just as Ben Cartwright had taught him, Joe graciously extended a helping hand to the lovely lady he was escorting.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the restaurant, Abbey Jones and Heinrich Vandervoort were waiting for their reservations near the maître d’s desk in a crowded foyer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART 4

Chapter 1

Virginia City

3:45 PM

Ben Cartwright sat opposite Roy Coffee in the back booth of Daisy’s Café in Virginia City.  The two weary men were finishing a late lunch after driving in from Carson City.  Most of their day had been spent there in an intense meeting with the regional head of Homeland Security.  Sheriff Coffee had represented the law enforcement officials of the Comstock region while Ben represented the Cattlemen’s Association. After a few recent incidents of anthrax laced letters sent to government officials, upgrades were being made in the system for preventing bioterrorism. Since anthrax was, for the most part, a cattle disease, it was vital to network with U.S. Postal System, the FBI and Centers for Disease Control.

All the rest of the tables in Daisy’s Café were empty. The television droned on in the background as Claude, Daisy’s scrawny, balding husband, mopped the floor before customers started to come in for dinner.

“You gents want some dessert?” Daisy smiled. She poured more steaming coffee in the sheriff’s empty cup.

“Think I’ll have me some pie. What about you Ben?” the sheriff urged. His friend’s attention was on the television where a square-jawed man was being interviewed by Oprah Winfrey.

“Got a fresh blueberry that just came out of the oven, cherry and chocolate cream. And apple of course,” Daisy said as she stacked the dirty dishes.

“Give me some of that blueberry, Daisy,” Roy Coffee quickly decided. “Nothing like hot blueberry.”

“Nothing like it with ice cream on the side," Daisy suggested with a warm smile.

"Sounds good. Add some ice cream and wrap up one for Clem too,” answered the sheriff. "He’s been working double shifts for the last week so I could go to all these dang fool meetings in Carson City.”

"And one for me too, please. And don’t let Hop Sing know. He thinks he is keeping me on a diet that Paul Martin requested,” Ben added. He couldn’t help but look up at the TV screen on the other side of the room.

“That means the final World Trade Center death toll will drop no lower than about 2,750, not including the 10 hijackers. Counting the 233 killed in Washington and Pennsylvania, it will remain the second-bloodiest day in United States history, behind the battle of Antietam in the Civil War,” said the man to Oprah Winfrey.

“Can you beat that?” Sheriff Coffee sighed and shook his head.

“From the earliest hours after the destruction of the World Trade Center, one of the most painful and complicated tasks has been determining precisely how many people died and who exactly they were,” explained Oprah. “The enormous task was made difficult by the scale of the losses, the chaos that followed the collapse of the towers, the reluctance of some grieving families to give up hope, and the thousands of unfounded or duplicate claims that poured in from around the world.”

The screen was filled with a close up of the same serious man Oprah Winfrey had been interviewing. Under his image, white letters said Chief Frank K. Chambers, NYPD. The camera followed him as he and Oprah walked down the corridor of some sort of official building. “After close to a year of tireless labor by a legion of police detectives, medical examiner's staff members, lawyers and even city diplomatic affairs staff members, the city is finally on the verge of establishing the final death toll,” explained Chambers.

“And what is that?” asked Oprah. She looked directly into the camera as if she could see right into Daisy’s Café and straight into the heart of a grieving rancher sipping his coffee.

“Well, after surging as high as 6,729 in late September and dropping below 3,000 in January, the final list of victims should end up at 2,800 or just below. The remaining number of unresolved cases now stands at 78, and investigators will report on a late push on those cases by Wednesday. At least two people who died of injuries weeks after the attack will be added; they were missed because they had been moved to hospitals out of state before they died.”

Her hands filled with the dirty dishes, Daisy tried to catch her husband’s eye and get him to turn off the TV or at least change the channel to something else, something less upsetting.

“The job, undertaken around the world on behalf of heartbroken families and in pursuit of historical accuracy, has been like no other. The city officials involved in compiling the final list for the September 11 ceremony are trying to whittle down the list of 78 before re-releasing a final count to be read at the ceremony. When the work is finally completed -- and that will be after September 11 -- probably no more than 50 of the 78 will have been removed from the list, officials predict.”

“You and Adam going out to that ceremony?” Roy gently asked his friend.

Ben nodded, his eyes still fixed on the TV on the other side of the cafe. “Joe will meet us there. Faye said he’s really doing well. He’s been a great help to her.”

“Glad to hear that.” Sheriff Coffee smiled. “Send him my best. Faye too.”

“A loss of one person is a terrible tragedy,” said Chief Charles V. Chamberlain, “but the loss is at least diminished somewhat by the knowledge that so many people were saved and so many families have been reunited.”

Hoping to avoid distressing the grieving rancher any further, Claude abruptly shoved his mop into the galvanized bucket. Sudsy water sloshed onto the worn linoleum floor. He quickly scrambled behind the counter and grabbed the remote, changing the TV channel to a rerun of “Happy Days”.

On the screen Fonzie walked into Arnold’s and slapped the silent juke box. 1950s rock and roll music started to play. “AAaayy!” Fonzie grinned. He threw his arms wide embracing the world. On the laugh track, the audience broke into gales of hysterical laughter. 

“Hoss always liked that show,” Ben sighed.

 

 

Chapter 2

The Tavern on the Green

NYC, the same day

Abbey Jones and Heinrich Vandervoort were patiently waiting for their reservations in the midst of the hustle bustle around the maître d’s desk in a crowded main foyer of Tavern on the Green. The mirror-lined foyer was decorated with elaborate flower arrangements, potted palms and gilded statuary. Overhead, sparkling crystal chandeliers were filled with flickering light bulbs that simulated candles.

“Go ask the maître d’, Heinrich,” Abbey nudged her date.

With Abbey hanging on his arm, Heinrich nervously threaded his way through the press of people. He made his way up to the tall mahogany desk. A slender, bald man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo was the gate keeper in the busy restaurant. His engraved name tag said “Claudio”.

“Umm, you have reservations for us? “

“Are you here for the fundraiser, sir?” He turned pages in his oversized, leather bound book. “It’s in the Crystal Room. Down the hall to the right.”

“Fund raiser?” Heinrich wasn’t sure what the gentlemen meant. A chubby woman backed into him as she tried to take a snap shot of her grandchildren, who were posed next to a colorful stained glass window.

“Well, excuse me!” she declared indignantly as if Heinrich had bumped into her.

“What’s your name,” the bald man asked as the shiny black phone on the desk rang. He picked up the receiver and answered.  “Tavern on the Green. Claudio speaking. How may I help you?”

“Umm, my name?” Heinrich was distracted by seeing his own reflection being reflected an infinite number of times in the dozens of mirrors surrounding him. He was wearing the new yellow shirt his mother had bought him and, somehow, seeing his own reflection in multiples was disconcerting. He didn’t look like himself. He looked like a huge bumble bee. 


“Tell them your name, honey,” Abbey urged. “For the reservation.” She slid her hand into Heinrich’s. 

“Oh, my name. Vandervoort, Heinrich Vandervoort.” Heinrich smiled shyly. He squeezed Abbey’s hand affectionately.

The maître d’ hung up the phone. He smiled at Heinrich and Abbey, immediately recognizing the husky Heinrich Vandervoort as the hero who cleverly rescued the trapped handsome cab horse. “Oh you are the guy with the horse!”

“Horse? No Hoss! Just H-O-S-S,” Heinrich said automatically. He pulled on the suddenly tight collar of his new yellow shirt. “Hoss.”

Abbey looked at him curiously; she wondered what Heinrich was talking about.

“Mr. Vandervoort, your table is in the Chestnut Room, sir. It’s down the hallway to the left and then the first right and to the left again, past the garden entrance. Your table’s not quite ready, though. Why don’t you go into the bar, and someone will call you there when your table is ready. The bar is down the right and to the left past the big fountain, to the right of the Park Room. Then you go straight ahead.” The telephone rang again and the maître d’ turned his attention to the call.

“Which way did he say to go? He spoke so fast,” Abbey asked. “This place is like a maze.”

“I think this way,” Heinrich said, heading down a narrow hallway to the right. The corridor went off at an angle and opened into another crowded foyer lined with cheerful paintings in ornate frames. The couple continued walking down the corridor.

“Wow! Look at this place. It’s gorgeous! Like a fairy land,” Abbey exclaimed. She was enchanted by the romance of the summer evening. “Look at the wonderful view outside, Heinrich!” The pair stopped next to a row of multi-paned French doors that looked out on the garden. “The rain made everything sparkle in the garden like the diamond counter in Tiffany’s. If I didn’t know better, I would never guess we are right in the middle of the city, except you can see the police car over there by the gate. Do you think we can eat outside? There are plenty of little tables.”

Heinrich shuddered when he saw the flashing blue lights of the parked NYPD patrol car reflected in the numerous puddles in the court yard. “It’s much too wet.”

Abbey watched as a handsome, young man with curly hair offered his hand to a chic, slender woman with a cardigan draped over her shoulders. He gallantly helped his lovely companion step over a wide puddle. “I guess you are right. Those people look like they are headed back inside, too.” Abbey smiled. ”Maybe we’ll come back here for brunch and eat out there on the patio. We have to come back another time, honey.”

“Another time, honey,” Heinrich echoed. His head started throbbing again. He rubbed his eyes and wondered why he had the sudden urge to go out and embrace the pair of passing strangers.

Abbey watched as the couple quickly made their way down the path to the rear of the Tavern on the Green, and she got a better look at the woman. “Do you know who that was?”

“Who are they?” Heinrich asked hopefully. He rubbed his temples.

“You know the woman who interviewed me about Roy? The one doing the book about 9/11? That was her, Faye Franklin. She’s a famous photographer. And the cute, young guy? He’s her assistant. I can’t think of his name.”

“Joe?” somehow the name came automatically to Heinrich. “His name is Joe.”

Abbey assumed he remembered the name from her excited accounts of being interviewed by Faye Franklin.

Heinrich and Abbey head down another corridor. This one had emerald green carpets and paintings on the ceiling of clouds and cherubs. At the bend in the corridor, the pair saw a cluster of well-dressed people socializing. Waiters strolled around serving drinks and passing silver trays of hors d'oeuvres.  “I think we headed the wrong way, Abbey. That sign says ‘Crystal Room’. That’s where that fund raiser is tonight.”

Hearing music, Abbey was suddenly emboldened and clutched Heinrich’s hand. “Let’s peek in. Maybe we can see some celebrities.” Before Heinrich could protest, she pushed open the door to the Crystal room, and they slipped inside. The darkened room was crowded with tables, and a brightly lit stage was on the far end of the room. Near the door, a trio of young women sat selling raffle tickets. They were wearing name tags that indicated they were part of the 9/11 family fundraiser committee.  

 “Look! It’s Regis Philbin up on the stage. He must be the MC. Oh my goodness! My sister watches Regis every day. I wonder if I can get his autograph, Heinrich. And Andy Walker is going to sing! He’s just so wonderful. Did you know Andy almost got killed on 9/11? His uncle did and his old friend who was on vacation. Don’t you just love him?”

Heinrich nodded as Andy Walker stood in the middle of the stage in a bright white spot light. “Sure, he’s like one of the family…”  Heinrich pictured himself sitting in front of a massive stone fireplace singing with Andy Walker and a friendly guitar player in a black shirt, but that didn’t seem quite right. The Vandervoorts lived in an apartment over the store. They didn’t have a fireplace. He must be picturing something he saw on TV or in an old movie.

“Let’s stand here a minute and listen to Andy do his song,” whispered Abbey. “I don’t think anyone will notice.”

The rest happened so fast that, later on, it was nearly impossible for anyone to explain.  Just as Andy Walker started to sing the show stopping ballad from his Broadway hit show, “Early One Morning,” one of the young ladies wearing the committee tag walked over to Abbey and Heinrich. Assuming they were invited guests, she intended to welcome the late coming couple to the fundraiser and sell them some of the raffle tickets. Instead, Bessie Sue Hightower took one look at the husky man in the yellow shirt standing in the doorway and started to shriek. Andy Walker abruptly stopped singing and tried to figure out what was going on in the rear of the Crystal Room. As the door to the darkened room opened, he was quite positive he spotted a fair-haired young woman pull his late, beloved friend Hoss Cartwright through the door. Shocked, Andy lost his balance fell off the edge of the stage right into the lap of Mayor Michael Blumberg, knocking him to the floor.

Chapter 3

Ponderosa Ranch

Late Afternoon

Struggle to Tally All 9/11 Dead By Anniversary

Lawrence Lipton

NY Times

 

The need to settle on a solid list of 9/11 dead is given urgency by the approach of the first anniversary of the attack and the city's plans to read each victim's name during the main ceremony at ground zero. If a sign were needed of just how difficult it has been to establish the number with confidence, it might be the city medical examiner office's recent experience in listing the victims.

On Aug. 19, it released a list of 2,819 names, and this week it will reissue its list with additions and subtractions discovered only in the last two weeks.

Six names will be deleted, because they turned out to be alive even though they had been designated as missing for almost a year. Four more names are being removed from the count after investigators concluded that the reports of their death were fraudulent. One woman will be removed because her death was recorded twice, under her married and maiden names.

Bill Cleary’s brother, Jack, who sped to the site with Ladder Company 132, is presumed to have died in the attack. The Cleary family had been in no rush to have him added to the list of confirmed.  Mr. Cleary knows that his 26-year-old brother, whom he considered his best friend, is among the dead, but he and his parents have not wanted to take the final step of applying for the death certificate, waiting, perhaps, for his remains to be identified. The medical examiner's office plans to continue the identification effort, mostly through more DNA testing, until at least early next year.

“If you have that piece of paper in front of you and if it has your brother’s name on it, it just hits home; it drives the nail in the coffin, so to speak,” Cleary said. “He is gone and he is not coming back. I guess it is just nicer to think he is only missing,” he said of his brother, “It is nicer than saying that someone you knew for 26 years is gone and there is nothing left of him.”

Adam Cartwright knew exactly how that fire fighter’s family felt. He sighed, neatly refolded the Times and put it in the recycling bin. No need for his father to read this when he got home from a long day of Homeland Security Meetings.

Adam quickly decided the legal forms the Cartwright’s attorney Hiram Wood had sent could wait to be completed at some other time. Adam Cartwright had never been one to procrastinate. That was Joe’s nature, not his.  Since 9/11, a lot of things had changed for Adam Cartwright.

He sauntered across the living room to the desk and picked up a thick folder that he and his father had assembled in the last few months. In it were pictures of Hoss, his birth certificate, dental records, the DNA reports on Ben, Adam and Joe and the one made from the hairs left in the comb on Hoss’ dresser and the abandoned tooth brush in the bathroom. Adam decided they could postpone taking the legal action to declare Eric Cartwright legally dead for a few more weeks, a few more months. They could complete it after Christmas or when Joe came back home from New York. It could wait until all of them were together and all of them were ready to sign off on declaring Hoss Cartwright legally dead.

Adam wound a sturdy rubber band around the manila folder and shoved the entire thing into the bottom drawer of his father’s desk. He decisively slammed the drawer shut. Suddenly the phone rang.

 “Hello! Hello!” Adam Cartwright barked impatiently into the phone on his father's desk. The caller ID showed a familiar number with a New York City area code.

“Joe? Are you there? Faye?”

“Adam! Is Ben there?”

“No, he won't be home till supper. Faye, what's wrong!”

“Oh my God!  I just don't know how to tell you this.” Faye Franklin's voice came unsteadily out of the phone, and then stopped as a sob caught in her throat.

Adam's stomach clenched and lurched at the sound of her soft weeping. “Joe.” he thought. “Please don't tell me that something's happened to Joe.”

Seconds later, relief washed over him as he heard his brother's voice in the background. “Give me the phone, Faye!  Geez, you’re going to scare Adam to death.”

“Joe, what.....”

“He's alive, Adam!  I told you!  I told you!”

“Joe, who are....”

“Hoss, of course!  Hoss!  We found him, and he's alive!  No, it wasn't anyone else! Don't you think I know my own brother when I see him? Faye saw him, too, and Bessie Sue and Andy Walker!  Now, just listen to me!”

“Adam,” Faye cut in. “I know it sounds impossible, but it's true. There's quite a long story behind it. Please, you and your father get the first flight to New York that you can, and let us know which airport you'll be flying into. It's too complicated to explain over the phone. Please, Adam, trust me.”

 

Chapter 4

 

NYC

 

The next morning

 

“Klaus, come into the back room and sit down, we must talk.”

Klaus Vandervoort, busy bringing the sidewalk flower displays onto the sidewalk for the day, stopped and looked at his wife. Instead of counting the money in the cash register and going over the day’s schedule as she always did at opening, she was bustling around boiling water in the electric teapot.

 

“I have a few more pots to pull out before I can open up.”

 

“That can wait. It is important that we talk before Heinrich wakes up. He was out late last night with that girl. “She pointed to the small table where she had set out tea bags and cups. “Sit.”

 

Shrugging, Klaus sat. He nervously dunked a teabag up and down in his cup. Kristina insisted that the sidewalk displays must always be brought in on time, and she never parted from routine. He had known her from childhood when they both lived in a small village not far from Amsterdam. She had always been bossy and secretive, as was her whole family. After the war, he had understood why when it became known that her uncles had been involved in the Dutch Resistance. Despite her bossiness and stubbornness, he loved her with all his heart. Ever since they had taken in the young man they had found on 911, he had been worried about her actions concerning the young man. He had thought of going to the authorities, but he had a fear of them from his childhood spent in a Nazi occupied country. Also, he was afraid that Kristina would fall back into the depression that plagued her after their son died if this surrogate son was taken from her. He was torn; hoping, on one hand, that the young man’s family would find him and he would regain his memory, and, on the other hand, that the young man could stay with them forever.

 

Kristina Vandervoort slipped into the chair opposite her husband. She sat poker straight, her hands clasped on the table in front of her. “Klaus, it is time to go back to the old country. I have been thinking very hard on this. I have had several commercial real estate agents come look at the shop at times you and Heinrich have been out on deliveries, and they all have said that we can get a good price for the business. We can live cheaper in retirement in Holland than we can here. We have enough savings to live on there until the shop is sold, so we can go right away. In fact, we could even buy a small flower shop there.”

 

“Kristina, what . . . . !” Klaus dropped the tea bag he was dunking into his cup. “You want to go back to Holland? After all you had been through there? When we came to America, you said you never wanted to set foot anywhere in Europe again! And what about Heinrich, I mean the young man we took in? We cannot leave him here alone while he has no memory.”

 

“We will take him with us, of course”, Kristina answered matter-of-factly. “He is our son, now. He will go where we go.” She calmly sipped her tea. “He might never get his memory back.

 

Klaus leaned across the table and took her hand. “Kristina, he is not our son. He could be anyone’s son, or someone’s husband, or even some child’s father. Someone somewhere might be looking for him. What if his memory returns? We cannot just take him out of the country like he was a stray dog we took in.”

 

“Klaus, we can do it.” Kristina clasped the hand touching hers. “He can use Heinrich’s birth certificate to get a passport and visa. I renewed Heinrich’s driver’s license with a new picture  and  we have Heinrich’s Social Security card. We have all the necessary documents that show him to be Heinrich Vandervoort. It has been almost a year, and no one is looking for him. If his memory returns, we can give him the money to go home.”

 

Klaus shook his head. “Kristina, it would not be right. Can’t you see that?

Opposite him at the table, his wife sat rigid, tears streaming down her face.

“No, Kristina, do not cry. Please. Do not cry. I cannot stand to see you so heartbroken again.”

 

Sighing, Klaus patted her hand. “We will do it. We will put the shop up for sale first thing tomorrow morning. Please, please, don’t cry anymore.”

　

Chapter 5

 

Delta Airlines flight 1959

 

It was a clear, cloudless night. Lights were scattered across the vast middle-American plains thirty-six-thousand feet below Ben and Adam Cartwright’s feet. Ben glanced past a dozing Adam out the airplane window at the clusters of stars. When his sons were children, he had told them that each of their mothers’ souls had become a star. He had also told them the same thing last fall when the two grown men mourned their brother.

 

Ben supposed that he should take advantage of the boredom of the cross country plane trip to grab a quick nap, also. But, his head still spun from everything that had transpired since he arrived home at six o’clock: Adam’s tale of his disconcerting, surreal conversation with Joe and Faye, hurrying to pack while Adam found them a flight, Hop Sing muttering in Chinese in the background about them leaving without touching the nutritious supper he had prepared. Even with skipping supper, neither he nor Adam touched the rubbery chicken and gluey rice airline meal.

 

Ben’s stomach was tied in too many knots to hold any food, and he imagined that Adam’s was the same. After a double scotch and soda, Adam had managed to drift off. Ben’s brandy squash sat untouched on the fold down tray in front of him. Whatever awaited them in New York, one thing was certain: his total trust in what Joe and Faye had to tell them.

 

Chapter 6

Greenwood Cemetery
Brooklyn, NY

Each time Klaus visited his son’s grave, the ritual was always the same. He parked his florist truck on the narrow road dividing the sections of tombstones. Klaus looked around the wide rows of graves and sighed. A few spaces that had been unused when Heinrich was buried now were occupied. In the middle of the week, in the middle of a work day, Klaus Vandervoort was pretty much alone in the vast Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn. The only other people he could see were the cluster of mourners at a burial five or six sections away, and two slender, blond women visiting a grave a few rows in the other direction.

He walked past the dun-colored mounds of sandy earth beside several empty graves toward the stone cross marked with the name of his son.

 Heinrich Vandervoort, beloved son of Kristina & Klaus.  1972- 1998

He touched the granite marker, ran his finger across the top, traced each letter of the name. He removed his blue wool cap and stood in silence. What would his son think of his parents taking in a passing stranger and giving him Heinrich’s name? His son was a good boy, a gentle soul, kind to a fault, hard working. The stranger was gentle and hardworking too.

Klaus used to visit every Sunday after his son died. Then it became once or twice a month, then less frequently. But since 9/11 and the passing stranger being taken into the Vandervoort’s home and given the name of their son, Klaus started coming to visit his son’s grave once a week. He couldn’t tell his wife where he was going. She would get too agitated, too depressed. As a result, he squeezed in his visits when he had to make a solo delivery to a wedding hall in Brooklyn or a funeral parlor in Queens. If Kristina questioned him about his whereabouts, he would claim there was bad traffic on the FDR drive or that the cops had shut the Queensboro Bridge because of a suspicious car. 

Throughout the year, Klaus brought his son flowers. Heinrich’s favorite color was yellow, and Klaus would consider that in his selection. Pots of gold and white chrysanthemums were left in front of the marker in the autumn, bright tulips and daffodils in spring. In December there would be a Christmas blanket, an elaborate tapestry of evergreens woven with yellow ribbons. On his son’s birthday in June, the grieving father brought fragrant Gold Rush roses. Now in summer, Klaus brought bright sun flowers. Heinrich was a big tough guy, but he loved sunflowers.

Soon, Klaus was on his knees, tending the grave that, like the others, was surrounded by carefully trimmed shrubs: bristly yews or neat green privets. He pulled a few weeds and flicked a dry leaf off the tombstone. Then, he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and sat on the battered cement bench to the left of Heinrich’s grave. In the cool shade of a broad sycamore tree, he slowly ate the salami and cheese sandwich and drank the icy cold bottle of Snapple iced tea he had brought with him in a brown paper bag. 

Three sections away, Abbey Jones and her sister stood by the grave of Roy Jones, Abbey’s late husband.

“Thanks for coming with me, Patty,” Abbey said as she put her small bouquet of daisies on Roy’s grave.

“How could I not, sis? You sounded so upset.  Let’s go have some lunch. As long as we get home by the time the kids get dropped off from day camp, I’m all yours,” Patty gave her sister a gentle squeeze.

“I always feel better when I visit Roy. Maybe it’s too soon for me to be going out with someone?” Abbey sighed. “Mom said I should look for a sign.”

“A sign?  Oh no!  Roy wouldn’t want you to be alone.  It’s not that you are going out. Maybe it’s just the wrong guy. Shop around a bit. This Heinrich seems sort of strange…” Patty started protectively.

“Heinrich Vandervoort is not strange. He’s very sweet. Hardworking, devoted to his parents…just like Roy. He works so hard in their florist store. You just need to get to know him more. He’s just quiet and shy. He wasn’t feeling well last night, that’s all. It must have been the heat. And all that chaos at the restaurant.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” said Patty.” Are you sure he isn’t married or hiding something? Or maybe he’s a terrorist?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Abbey shook her head. “He got hurt 9/11. I told you that, Patty. He’s still recovering. ”

“He’s not the only one,” then her sister tried to change the subject to something lighter. There was no sense arguing. “I can’t believe you were at Tavern on the Green last night when all that stuff happened and left without seeing all the celebrities! They said Andy Walker swore he saw his dead friend, and people fainted. Good thing the mayor wasn’t hurt, either. Can you beat that? Did you know it made the front page in the Daily News?  ‘Ghost Disrupts 9/11 Fundraiser!’  I have the paper in the car. You should see the dress that Lissa Rinna wore!  Cut down to her belly button. And Harry Hamilin looked gorgeous as usual.”

“Really? Abbey was shocked. “We just missed it! We were peeping in the room, and people started screaming and running around, so we just left. Heinrich will have to use his free dinner another time.”

“It was on the news, too. The ghost, not the dress. Regis talked about it on his show, and Andy Walker was on the Today Show. Joe said it was just a publicity stunt to get people to go to Andy Walker’s show, but I don’t think so.  Mom doesn’t either.  Everyone loves Andy Walker, and “Early One Morning” is one of the few shows that is getting big box office.  Joe says it’s corny and hokey, but I think that’s why people are going.  No one wants to see a sad show or anything serious this year,” Patty chattered on.  “Even Oprah recommended it.”

Abby nodded even though she wasn’t paying much attention to her sister’s comments. Her mind was on her late husband.  Would he really approve of her dating Heinrich?  Patty thought he would, but her mother said wait for a sign.  What was the right thing to do?

“Maybe we should get tickets for Mom for her birthday? To a matinee?  She loves Andy Walker,” Patty continued fanning herself with her hand. “It’s hotter than hell today.”

“Tickets to what?” Abby asked.

“To ‘Early One Morning’ on Broadway. The show Andy Walker is in.  Maybe that ghost will show up again? Wouldn’t that beat all?”  Patty laughed. Then, gazing across the rows of tombstones towards the left, she noticed the florist van parked on the boundary road. “Look, Abbey! Vandervoort Florist.”

 Abbey gasped and grabbed her sister’s hand. “Maybe it’s a sign from Roy!”

“Maybe Heinrich is making a delivery? Let’s go over and say hello.”  The two sisters started towards the truck. But before the women could make their way through the endless rows of tombstones to where the Vandervoort truck was parked, Klaus climbed in and drove off. Anxious to get back to the store, he didn’t see Abbey waving.

“That was Mr. Vandervoort, his father, not Heinrich,” Abbey said. “Let’s go look at the flowers he delivered. We’re almost there.”

“OK.  Besides, there’s a bench under that tree.  I need to sit down for a minute. This heat is killing me.  I shouldn’t have worn these shoes.  Joe said I would regret it, but I wore them anyhow. Too bad Mr. Vandervoort didn’t see us.”  The two sisters made their way to the battered concrete bench where Klaus Vandervoort had eaten his lunch. Patty sat down, pulled off her sandals and started rubbing her feet.

“Wow!  Aren’t the flowers pretty?” Leaving her sister on the bench, Abbey walked closer to the grave where Klaus had left the huge pot of vivid sunflowers blocking the tombstone. She was curious to see who was buried there and gently pushed the flowers aside to read the inscription. “Oh my God!” she screamed.

“What’s wrong? Patty didn’t bother putting on her shoes. She raced barefoot across the sun baked path to her sister’s side. 

“Read the name,” Abbey gasped, staring at the grave where Heinrich’s father had delivered sun flowers. “Read the name, Patty!”

“Heinrich Vandervoort! Heinrich Vandervoort, beloved son of Kristina & Klaus.  1972- 1998,” Patty read. “Who the hell are you going out with, Abbey? A ghost?”

 

TO BE CONTINUED