Reconstruction

Characters: Adam

Genre: Romance

Rating: G

Summary: While fighting in the Civil War, Adam is wounded at Cold Harbor. He convalesces with his Cousin Jack Stoddard and his family in Massachusetts and falls in love.

On the morning of the 3d, the battle of Cold Harbor began. Grant threw the corps of Hancock, Smith and Wright against the Confederate works on the right of their line. At first the attack promised success, but at last it failed. The Federals were repulsed. The battle did not last an hour, but in that short period. The Federals lost between seven and eight thousand men. The Civil War and the Constitution, 1859-1865, Volume 1 by John William Burgess at p.253

Ponderosa, June 10, 1864

Adam left a year ago in the spring. He was a man of convictions and could ignore the War no longer. His own deep-seated objections to slavery, and letters from friends and classmates already commissioned in the Army, led him to leave. Enlisting in the Army of the Potomac, he quickly rose through the ranks of the cavalry where his skills as a horseman and his valor were rewarded with a captaincy. He wrote home often but the delivery of his letters was sporadic. Ben was often forced to keep track of Adam’s company through newspaper accounts.

While Hoss was in town picking up supplies, he retrieved the mail and the week’s newspapers. That evening after dinner, Ben sat in his leather chair and resisted the urge to open the latest letter immediately. He sorted Adam’s correspondence and read them in order, from late April to early May. A month had already passed. Where was his son now?

Adam wrote that his company was on the move through Virginia with the ultimate goal of Richmond. He described the coming of summer, the lengthening days and the antics of the men, trying to keep his tone light. But Ben sensed a tension between the lines of Adam’s letters. He knew his son felt a keen responsibility for his men. The War was dragging into its fourth year. Grant was making good progress, but Lee would fight his hardest to preserve Virginia. Many men would certainly be lost. Ben hoped his son would not be among them.

Turning to the papers, he read an account of a bloody battle in a place called Cold Harbor in Virginia. Union troops suffered catastrophic casualties. The Territorial Enterprise quoted the Eastern papers. Adam’s company was among those listed in the battle accounts.

“The struggle was short and severe. The brave fellows, however, could not hold what their valor had won.” New York Times, June 7, 1864.

A chill passed over Ben. He closed his eyes and prayed that Adam had been spared.
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Douglas Hospital, Washington City, June 10, 1864

Lieutenant Wells slowly made his way through the crowded ward, at last finding his friend Capt. Adam Cartwright’s cot. The air in the ward was hot and stale. Adam was sleeping restlessly, his brow shining with sweat. Wells sat in the chair near the cot watching his friend and remembering the battle just days earlier.

Adam had been shot just above the knee by a sharpshooter not twenty yards from the entrenchments. Though wounded he remained in the saddle leading his men. But with bullets flying from all directions, his horse soon was shot from under him. The horse fell on him, knocking Adam senseless and shattering his ankle. That was when Wells took command.

Sergeant Curtis rushed to his captain’s side. The sergeant ordered some men to remove Adam from the battlefield to a field hospital. He followed them to the outlying medical station. It was only at the insistence of his sergeant that his leg was not removed. They cut his cavalry boots off and set the ankle. The leg was packed tight and Adam was carried to an ambulance to be taken to a Washington bound train. After a seemingly endless and very rough ride he arrived at Douglas Hospital. His surgery had gone well the nurse told Wells.

Adam shifted his position and groaned, waking from the pain. His throat was parched and he could scarcely talk. “Sam…,” he croaked when he recognized his friend. "Water, please.”

“Adam!” With his own arm in a sling, Wells found an orderly to assist Adam in sitting up and drinking the water.

“What happened to you, Sam?”

“It’s nothing….caught a ball in the wrist. Broke it. How are you feeling, Adam?”

“The leg hurts. And the medicine makes my head foggy most of the time, makes me thirsty. The dreams are.… Well, I keep dreaming I’m back there.” He sighed in frustration. He rubbed his hand over his damp forehead. “How are they, Sam, the men? Is Curtis all right? I wouldn’t be alive without him, wouldn’t have my leg…”

“Curtis is fine. He’s a good man.” Wells hesitated a moment and added, “Not now, Adam. There’s plenty of time to catch up. You need to rest. You’ll be fine.”

“Sam, please wire my father. I don’t know if he knows where I am.”
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Ponderosa, June 11, 1864

Mrs. Pritchett waved Joe down on C Street and gave him the telegram. It had just come in and she knew his family would want the news as soon as possible. Joe rode home fast and hard.

“Capt. Adam Cartwright wounded in the leg at Cold Harbor STOP Transferred to Douglas Hospital, Washington City STOP Expected to recover STOP

Lieut. Samuel Wells, Army of the Potomac”
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Douglas Hospital, Washington Ciry, June 15, 1864

The summer heat settled over the capitol like a thick blanket, sapping what little strength the wounded men in the ward had left. Adam was sleeping, looking ashen and gaunt. His long black hair, curled with the dampness, framed his face. He was snoring softly.

A tall, gray-haired man dress in an open neck linen shirt and carrying a basket of oranges stopped at the foot of the cot and, for a moment , watched Adam sleep. He examined the card posted above the bed. "Adam Cartwright, Captain. Army of the Potomac. Home: Virginia City, Nevada." He looked down at Adam and murmured, "You're a long way from home, Capt. Cartwright."

"Mister Whitman, is that you?" a young officer weakly called from a nearby cot. Lieutenant Hiller had been badly wounded at Cold Harbor. His leg had been amputated at the field hospital and still festered. He was not doing well.

"Yes, son," Walt Whitman answered softly. "I've come to read to you, Noah." He moved quietly to the soldier and sat on the edge of the bed, taking Noah's hand in his. "What would you like to hear?"

"The Brooklyn Ferry poem."

"Reminds us both of home, doesn't it?" He closed his kind gray eyes and in his strong tenor voice and broad New York accent, the poet began to recite.

"The beautiful city! the city of urried and sparkling waters!
The city of spires and masts!
The city nested in bays! my city!"

The young man relaxed against the pillows. "I'd like to back there right now, Mr. Whitman. I'd like to be on the promenade with my Merrie."

The poet reached in his pocket for a horehound candy and gave it to Noah. He grabbed a flannel from the table beside the cot. He dipped it in the basin and began to wipe Noah's forehead. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit, son. You'll feel better."

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Douglas Hospital, Washington City, June 19, 1864

Growing up with two boisterous brothers had taught Adam to ignore almost anything when he put his mind to reading. It was a skill that now served him well in the cramped and noisy hospital ward. The heat and smells and the itching from his wounds were harder to disregard. Still he was grateful for the book the Reverend Crawford's daughter had brought to him. Dryden's translation of the Aeneid was a trusty old friend from his college days. Adam felt a kinship with Aeneas who traveled far from home to go to war.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly changed and Adam looked up to find a kindly vagabond with a broad face and long gray locks and beard. He wore a green slouch hat and carried a knapsack. He greeted many of the patients by first name as he made his way through the ward. When he stopped at Adam's cot he smiled warmly.

"Well, Captain Cartwright, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"Whitman. Walter Whitman," he said as he extended his hand. "Friends call me Walt."

Adam shook his hand. "The poet?"

"Well, yes, sir. I am indeed. You know my work?"

"I've seen some of it in the magazines."

Whitman smiled and glanced at the book that Adam was reading. "The Aeneid? You must be a Harvard man, Captain. Most everyone here prefers dime novels."

Adam’s mouth curved into a smile and he nodded. "My brother Joe would agree with them. It's what was offered to me, and it suits me fine." He closed his eyes and recited from memory.

"Arms, and the man I sing, who, forced by Fate,
And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate
Expell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan shore."

"Harvard served you well."

"And you, Mr. Whitman, where did you go to school?"

"Ah, sir. The open road was my Harvard, Captain. And the multitudes of people I've met have taught me all I know."

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you."

"That's your Leaves of Grass, isn't it? Touché, Mr. Whitman."

Whitman bowed slightly. "I'll bring you my book next time, Captain."
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Douglas Hospital, Washington City, July 31, 1864 
 


Dear Pa, 
 


I received your letter from June 12th yesterday. You must have written shortly after you got Sam Wells’ wire saying I was injured. It took a long time to get here, but news from home is so precious. That Hoss and Joe have been spared this War is a comfort to me. I think of home and those I left behind often. You are all so dear. 
 


My leg is stronger each day. Doc Martin is right, we Cartwrights are blessed with strong constitutions and heal quickly. The surgeon here says that I may be released in a month’s time. I should be assigned to light duty for a while and for that I am grateful. 
 


I know that you read the battle reports in the Territorial Enterprise, but Pa, Cold Harbor was brutal. I never supposed that I would see such horror as I did that day, nor endure such hardships after. There are thousands of things I could tell you that I cannot write in a letter. I pray that someday I can tell you face to face. 
 


Paper is scarce and so is time. A friend promised to post this note this afternoon. 


Know that I love you, Pa. You and Hoss and Joe. 



Your affectionate Son, 


Adam

Whitman stopped by Adam's cot and asked, "Are you finished with your letter, Adam?"

"Thanks, Walt. Hold on a moment, I'll get you some money." He leaned over to open the drawer in the bedside table he. He pulled out a small money pouch and handed a coin to his friend.

"Adam, that's a five dollar coin. I can't take that."

"Please Walt. I need some more paper and stamps." He looked around to see if anyone was listening. "And Walt, it's so hot in here. Please bring us some ice cream or watermelon."

"A gift from a friend?" Walt winked at Adam.

Adam nodded.

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Douglas Hospital, Washington City, August 11, 1864 
 


Dear Hoss, 
 


I cannot tell you how good it is to receive your letters. You are my touchstone for how things are at home. Your news of Pa and Joe and the ranch never fails to bring a smile. I rely on your honest and plain language to report just how things are. 
 


My leg improves, but I fear that the hospital is not a good place to be. There are so many wounded and dying here. There is no shortage of pain and sorrow. The orderlies make quick work of filling empty cots.

Last week a fever spread through the ward like wild fire. We were all laid low. Men cried out in their delirium. I fear that I did as well. Cold Harbor is still with me. My fever is gone now, no thanks to the “tonic solution” of quinine and whiskey that I was dosed with three times a day. 
 


Sgt. Curtis came to see me with news of my regiment. I cannot write to Pa and Joe all of the details of that day. Someday I will share my experience with them. But I can never hide my feelings from you, Hoss. 
 

No battle was more wretchedly fought. The regiment went into battle with 28 and came out with 12. That any of us survived is a miracle. There was a maelstrom of iron and lead around us. Bullets and cannon shells were flying from all sides, bursting all around us. The screams of the shells and of the wounded still echo in my ears. Our men all fought like heroes. But we were doomed. I pray that this War ends soon and that our cause shall prevail. A horrible price has been paid. 
 


I miss you and love you, Brother. Be strong. Take good care of all at home.

Much love, 


Adam

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Douglas Hospital, Washington City, August 13, 1864

Walt Whitman strolled down the narrow aisles of the ward greeting the wounded and sick men, passing out peaches to cool their throats. He stopped short when he spied Adam's empty cot. Although Adam had been ill with the fever the previous week, he had recovered sufficiently to join in on the Twenty Questions game the evening before last. The poet sighed, fearing he'd lost his new friend, another casualty to the fates of War.

"Walt!" Adam called, startling his friend, as he approached him slowly on crutches.

"Adam! Look at you, my friend. You are up and about. That's a good sign."

"It's hot as hell in here. Do you think you can help me outside?"

"Sure. We'll take it slowly."

Whitman settled Adam in a lounging chair on the second floor porch. Adam recovered his breath and smiled warmly, satisfied with his efforts. He leaned his head back against the padded chair and felt the sun full in his face for the first time in two months. "I can't tell you just how much I've missed this."

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Virginia City, September 12, 1864 
 


The telegram came in early, before the opening time at 8 am. Mrs. Pritchett was pleased that it was good news for the Cartwrights. Billy was due any minute now and she’d send him out to the ranch. He met Ben an hour later on the road to Virginia City. Ben tipped him a quarter and wasted no time opening the envelope. 
 


“Furloughed until December. STOP Not enough time to come home and back. STOP Going to Boston to stay with Cousin Jack. STOP Will wire on arrival. STOP Love, Adam.” 
 


Ben was thrilled that Adam was well enough to leave Washington, Nonetheless he was disappointed that he would not see his son. “Cousin” Jack was Elizabeth’s cousin but just two years older than Adam. They had become close during Adam’s college days at Harvard. Jack and his wife, Carrie, would welcome Adam and take good care of him.

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Washington City, September14, 1864 
 

It was Indian summer in Washington. Adam stood on the train platform as the hot sun beat down on the pavement. It was stifling. The collar of Adam’s blue wool uniform chafed his neck and sweat poured down his back. He was grateful to be headed north to Boston, grateful to put Washington and the Douglas Hospital behind him. 
 


He turned to his companion, "Thank you, Walt. You have been good company and a very good friend." He held out his hand.

The conductor shouted, “All aboard! All aboard for Baltimore, Philadelphia, Trenton, Newark, New York, Providence and Boston!"

Whitman pumped Adam's arm. Then he grabbed the valise at Adam's feet and climbed into the train. He stowed the bag on the luggage rack above the bench seat and settled Adam in the cramped compartment. He bade him goodbye. Adam waved to Walt as the trained pulled away. He was not sorry to leave the capitol. Boston seemed a million miles away from the battlefields he had known. He looked forward to the warm company of his family and the crisp nights of autumn in New England.

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Cambridge, September 15, 1864

“Boston. Boston station next.” 
 


Adam woke with a start at the conductor’s announcement. The trip from Washington had taken nearly twenty four hours with the delays for troop trains and missed connections. He blinked against the bright sunlight as the train made its way into the city. It was autumn in Boston and the warm color of the leaves turning were a welcome reminder of a happier time, of his school days. 
 


He grimaced as he shrugged his shoulders, trying to relieve his aching back. His leg had stiffened during the journey. It robbed him of his usual grace as he lurched with the train when he retrieved his bag. Allowing the other passengers to leave first, he limped to the exit. 
 


The stairs were steep and his leg gave way as he descended. Strong arms caught Adam and righted him on the platform. Looking up to thank his rescuer, he was met with the familiar face of his cousin Jack Stoddard. 
 


“Adam! Is that you?” Jack held Adam’s shoulders at arms’ length and looked into his cousin’s eyes. He shook his head, “I wouldn’t have known you.” 
 


Adam smiled wryly and answered, “It’s good to see you, too, Jack.” 
 


Shocked by Adam’s gaunt appearance, Jack asked, “Are you all right? Can you walk? It’s not far to catch a cab.” 
 


Adam nodded. Jack grabbed Adam’s bag and placed a supporting arm at his cousin’s waist. Slowly they walked the length of the platform. 
 


“Those boots are horrible, cousin. Where did you get those hob-nail ones? Where are your cavalry boots?” 
 

“They cut them off when I was wounded. The hospital issued me these. I haven’t had time to replace them.” 
 


“We’ll fix that soon enough. But first we need to get you home. You look tired and Carrie is going to want to fatten you up.”

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The fresh air and the short walk to the street helped to revive Adam but Jack insisted they take a hansom cab and not the horse-car back to his home in Cambridge. Adam had had enough jostling on the train.

The ride back to Cambridge was short. The brick houses and streets lined in elm trees brought back pleasant memories. He and Jack were students at Harvard together. He’d been Jack’s best man before he returned West to his family and the Ponderosa. Jack was an architect now, with an office near his home in Cambridge. He and Carrie had a loving marriage and two sons, Paul, twelve years old and Joshua, five. It was Jack who urged Adam to recuperate with them.

As they stepped into the house, Jack dropped Adam’s valise on the floor and called out, “We’re home!”

A squeal of “Papa!” came from the back of the house. “Papa! Uncle Adam!” Josh came running to greet them. A towel was wrapped around him, but he looked ghostly with flour covering him from head to toe. He ran into his father’s arms and kissed him.

Then he moved on to Adam, first hugging his legs and holding his arms out. Adam picked up his nephew and laughed, “How’s my boy?” Josh’s floured hands left white handprints all over Adam’s blue uniform.

Carrie entered, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh Adam, he’s made a mess of you.” With tears in her eyes, she examined Adam. He looked thin and a bit frail in his dark uniform. But his eyes were smiling as they met hers. “Adam Cartwright you need a good meal, a hot bath and sleep,” she said. Her voice cracked, betraying her emotions. “First, a kiss.”

Yes, ma’am.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. She blushed and grabbed Adam in a tight hug.

“We were just baking biscuits for lunch. Jack, why don’t you show Adam his room? He can freshen up. Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

As they climbed the stairs Jack explained, “We put you in Paul’s room. He moved back in with Josh.” He opened the door to a homey sunlit room. Adam had sent his trunk some time ago. It was placed at the foot of the bed. After months of sleeping rough or in the hospital, the neat bed and its patchwork quilt looked very inviting to Adam.

“It’s just family at lunch, Adam. Dress comfortably.”

Carrie served chicken and biscuits and baked apples. Not an invalid’s meal, but not too taxing for someone still recovering. She bit her tongue when she saw how little he ate. His appetite would return in time.

“Adam, I can draw you a bath if you’d like.”

He smiled as he answered her, “That sounds wonderful.”

Jack offered him a whiskey while he waited and escorted him to the parlor. “Adam, she wants her Uncle Frank to see you.”

“Uncle Frank?”

“He’s a doctor here in Cambridge.” With that Adam winced. He’d had enough with doctors and all of their prodding and poking. He had grown weary of being a convalescent. He just wanted to feel normal again.

“She asked him to stop by tomorrow morning. She’s worried about you, Adam. And so am I." Jack looked into his glass a moment and quietly added, "please?”

Reluctantly Adam agreed. It was Jack and Carrie's house and their hospitality, he’d honor their wish.

Toweling off a short time later, he had to admit the good food, the whiskey and the hot bath had made him feel human again. When he returned to his room he found that Carrie had turned down the covers. He stretched and relaxed his long body in the large bed. He pressed his face into the plumped pillows. They smelled faintly of the lavender sachets Carrie used in her linen closet. They reminded him of the meadows in bloom around Lake Tahoe. In minutes he was fast asleep, a deep healing sleep.

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Cambridge, September 16, 1864

Adam slept through until morning and woke refreshed. Quietly, he dressed and made his way to the kitchen. He brewed some coffee and sat at the table savoring the strong dark liquid and the quiet.

Carrie joined him a short time later. “Good morning.” She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “I know that you slept well. You look more like yourself. Hungry?”

“I could give Hoss a run for his money this morning.”

“Eggs, bacon and toast?”

“Oh, yes. And Carrie, I like my bacon crisp.”

“I remember.” She tied her apron on and grabbed the skillet from its peg. “There’s a telegram for you on the hall table.”

Curious, he arched his eyebrows. She explained, “Jack wired your family yesterday. Someone must have been in town when it arrived and answered immediately.”

Fetching the envelope, he returned to the kitchen, sat at the table, and opened it.

“Good news that you are in Boston. STOP Take care and listen to the doctor, Yankee Granite Head STOP Have fun as well STOP Love to you and Jack and family STOP Joe”

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Dr. Frank Steele stopped by before his surgery hours. Adam was relieved that the doctor was cut from the same cloth as Paul Martin. He carefully examined Adam, listening to his heart and lungs as well as looking at his leg wounds. Adam winced and held his breath as the doctor prodded the bullet wound at the knee and pulled and twisted his ankle.

The doctor carefully placed his instruments back in his medical bag and pulled out a journal while Adam dressed. Sitting at Jack’s desk he wrote notes about his new patient. He adjusted his glasses and looked up at Adam. “I can sign the medical discharge papers now if you’d like.”

“What…?” Adam was caught by surprise with the doctor’s remark.

“Your wound is much healed,” the doctor explained. “And your leg will be fine eventually. I can help you, but you won’t be ready for combat any time soon.”

“That’s not an option,” Adam insisted. “The War isn’t over. My men need me.”

“They need you fit, Captain. The War is nearing its end. You’ve paid your dues. I can sign the papers now, but if you’d like, I can examine you again near the end of your furlough.”

A compromise was met. Dr. Steele instructed Adam to begin walking every day, with his cane at first. He might walk to Jack’s office a half mile away. There he could rest as long as he needed but he should walk home as well.

“I’ll see you on Sunday and check your progress,” Dr. Steele said as he placed the journal in his case and straightened his dark frock coat. Adam was about to object when the doctor added, “It’s a family dinner. Jack and Carrie and the boys are coming. You are family, too, Adam.”

So that’s how it would be. His recovery would be carefully watched by his loving family. Ben would surely approve.

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Cambridge, September 17, 1864

The next morning Adam limped up the stairs to Jack’s sunlit architect’s studio. He was more tired than he cared to admit but pleased with his efforts. Jack greeted him warmly and showed him a project in progress. Part two of the family’s plan to heal Adam was beginning. They’d keep his mind active. Examining Jack’s plans piqued his interest.

“Why didn’t you join the Army Corp of Engineers? It would have been safer.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t. Building pontoons is important but it’s done in the background. I wanted to be in the thick of it.”

“Do you ever use your engineering background?”

Adam looked up from the plans and answered, “Oh yeah, sometimes. I haven’t forgotten it, if that’s what you mean.” He placed the plans on the drafting table. “My life isn’t all cattle and timber in Nevada, Jack. I’ve been known to use my Harvard education. You’d be surprised.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Adam. I was just wondering if you ever missed what could have been another life here in the East.”

Adam sat quietly for a minute, wondering how much he’d admit. “Sometimes.” He left it at that and was soon lost in thought looking at Jack’s drawings.

After a few minutes he stood up and began again, “There was one time, Jack, that I’m really proud of. There were cave-ins at the Comstock, a whole series of them. Lots of men were dying. My best friend, as well.”

“I remember that. There was a foreigner, a mine engineer….Deedle…something.”

“Deidesheimer. Philip Deidesheimer. He designed a structure of honeycombs that could withstand the shifting of the mine walls. Saved a lot of lives.”

“And?”

“And … I helped him. I was there when he designed it and helped him test his idea. It was timber from the Ponderosa that built the first honeycombs.”

“You’re an enigma. You know that, Adam? Why didn’t I know about the mines?”

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Well, you’re wrong about that. And there are some people over at Harvard who would be interested. They want to start a mining school, Adam. You remember Professor Whitney, don’t you? He’s a Dean now, leading the group to start a school. I’m sure that he’d be very interested in talking to you.”

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Cambridge, September 19, 1864

After lunch Carrie suggested that Adam take advantage of the pleasant weather and sit in the small backyard near the chestnut tree. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the warm sun and peaceful setting. He was many miles from the battlefields but no closer to home. He would write a letter to his family that evening. Just how much he would admit to them about his injuries and the doctor's opinion, he would leave for later. For now, he was content to "loaf and invite my soul," to borrow a phrase from Walt Whitman. Walt's gift of his Leaves of Grass had been a solace during the long nights in the ward.

He was startled from his reverie by the sound of the back door slamming as Josh ran into the yard. The boy was singly loudly and off key. Adam smiled as he listened to his nephew. Josh could not carry a tune but he made up for it with his enthusiasm.

"Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker
He's come too late to git his supper,
Supper's over and breakfast cookin',
Old Dan Tucker standin' lookin'"

"Where did you learn that song, Josh?"

"You know it, Uncle Adam?"

"Sure, I do. It's one of Hoss' s favorites." He remembered the music that sometimes wafted over from the Rebel campsites on quiet evenings. "I haven't heard it in a long time. You do it justice, Josh."

"Mama is sick of it. She sent me out here to get out of her way."

Adam laughed and grabbed the youngster, pulling him on to his lap.

"Oh no, he's torturing you as well?" Carrie asked. She brought a tray with glasses of lemonade and a plate of cookies.

"Uncle Adam likes my singing."

"Uncle Adam has not listened to your 'concert' all afternoon," she said. "Now, one cookie for you, young man. The rest are for Uncle Adam."

"Three for me, Carrie? Are you trying to fatten me up?"

"Indeed, I am!" she laughed.
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Cambridge, September 20, 1864

Late Sunday afternoon, Jack and his family made their way to Dr. Frank Steele’s house. Twelve year old Paul was walking with his father’s cousin, Adam, peppering him with questions about Washington and President Lincoln. Douglas Hospital, where Adam had first recovered from his wounds, was near to the Capital. It was commonly known that Lincoln eschewed bodyguards and would sneak into hospitals to talk with the soldiers. Did Adam ever see Mr. Lincoln?

Uncle Frank opened the door and greeted them. “Come in. Come in.” He kissed Carrie and warmly shook Jack’s hand. Taking Adam’s arm, he ushered him into the parlor to meet his wife, Barbara. But Adam’s attention was drawn to the pianoforte and the striking woman playing a duet with a little girl who appeared to be her daughter. They shared the same hazel eyes and warm auburn hair. And when they realized they were the center of Adam’s attention, he noted that they shared the same laugh.

“Adam, may I introduce my niece, Sara Knowles, and her daughter Amy. Sara works with me in my surgery.”

He bowed slightly. “It is my pleasure, Mrs. Knowles.”

“Oh you were right, Carrie," Sara said admiring the tall stranger in the deep navy blue uniform. "He is handsome and very charming.”

It was Adam’s turn to blush. Amy regarded him carefully and asked, “Are you a soldier?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I am.”

“My daddy was a soldier. He died.”

Sara gathered her daughter near to her and offered an apology to Adam. “I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t know what came over her. She’s usually not so, well, blunt.”

“It’s fine, Mrs. Knowles. I am sorry for your loss.”

Carrie called for Amy to join her and the boys for a quick game of tag in the yard. Mrs. Steele was in the kitchen putting final touches on the roast. Jack and Dr. Steele were in the home office, going over plans for a new examining room.

There was an awkward silence when Adam and Sara were left alone in the parlor. Sara stood at the window watching the children play. The spell was finally broken when Adam said, “That was a lovely song you were playing when I came in.”

“Do you like Mozart, Capt. Cartwright?”

“Oh yes. And ‘La ci darem la mano’ is a favorite of mine.” She smiled and he added, “I think, we are distantly related." He tugged his ear. "Perhaps we are cousins-in-law? Please call me Adam.”

She laughed. “Cousin-in-law? Is there such a thing? Call me, Sara.”

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Dinner was a relaxed family affair. For once Adam felt his health, and especially his appetite, was not the object of scrutiny. Carrie introduced a lively conversation about the coming season at the new Music Hall. Jack insisted that Adam would appreciate the architecture and suggested that they all attend a concert soon.

After dinner, Amy took Adam’s hand and led him to the settee. She sat next to him and said, “Mr. Cartwright, you said you’re a soldier. But Josh says you’re a cowboy. What are you really?”

“Sweetheart, I’m both. Right now I am a soldier, but mostly I’m a cowboy. My family lives out West on a ranch.”

Josh was more than a little jealous and climbed up to join them. Together he and Amy flanked Adam. “He has a big horse called Sport. And he shoots bad men.”

“Do you?” Amy asked, her eyes growing wide.

Carrie and Sara sat within earshot and were ready to rescue Adam if things got too awkward. They were pleased to hear him deftly evade the shooting topic.

“Yes, I have a big chestnut horse, whose name is Sport. A man needs a good horse on a ranch.”

“I want a horse.”

“That’s silly, Amy. Girls don’t ride horses. Only boys ride horses," Josh insisted in an authoritative tone.

“Truth be told, Josh. Little girls and boys don’t ride horses, they ride ponies.”

Josh laughed. “Girls don’t ride ponies, Uncle Adam.”

“Oh they do, Josh. In fact I know a girl named Peggy, who had a pony. And we would go riding together on the Ponderosa.” Adam had the children mesmerized with stories about Peggy and her pony, Traveler, and the Ponderosa.

Sara watched and listened to the handsome stranger steal her daughter’s heart. He was so at ease with Amy. Sara hadn’t expected that. Clearly there was more to this man than his good looks, courtly manners and appreciation of Mozart. Adam looked up and caught Sara’s glance. He winked at her. It wasn’t just Amy’s heart he was stealing.

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Cambridge, September 22, 1864

Jack arranged for Adam to meet with Dean Whitney in his office at Harvard. As a fellow alumnus and member of the Harvard Engineering Society, Jack had kept in touch with their professor. He was right in his prediction that Dean Whitney would be interested in Adam’s work with Philip Deidesheimer and the silver mines in Nevada.

Late in the afternoon, Jack and Adam slowly walked across campus and reminisced. It seemed like a lifetime ago since Adam entered Harvard as an unsophisticated undergraduate. The campus remained untouched by the War, but the Harvard students and graduates had not. Jack and Adam had lost a number of friends on both sides of the battlefields.

Dean Whitney greeted Adam warmly. His reticent former student had grown into the rather formidable man, confident in his manner, with a strong handshake. He was the equal to any of his classmates who stayed in the Boston area.

Their meeting lasted into the evening and included dinner at the faculty commons. Adam was glad that he had kept up with the science and engineering journals despite his brothers’ teasing. He held his own in the theoretical discussion and added examples from his practical experience, impressing Dean Whitney. At the end of the evening it was agreed that Adam should sit in on some engineering classes at his own convenience. From time to time the Dean might call upon him to share his knowledge.

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Cambridge, September 25, 1864

Josh’s sixth birthday was on Saturday. The Steeles were invited, of course, but Adam was especially pleased that he would see both Amy and her mother again. At lunch he proposed a shopping trip to buy Josh a birthday present. To make it more of an adventure he suggested that they take the horse car across the river to Washington Street in Boston. Josh was thrilled. The horse cars had been introduced after Adam’s college days and he had to admit he liked them as much as Josh. Carrie wasn’t as fond of the crowded cars and the jostling but agreed to accompany them.

The area around Washington Street had certainly changed since Adam’s college days. He’d lived with his grandfather a short walk from this area. The Boston Theatre looked grand. A playbill announced that Hamlet starring his friend, Edwin Booth, would open in the New Year. For just a moment, Adam wondered whether he would still be in Boston then. Nearby was the Society of Natural History. Jack had taken the boys here several times. Josh assured Adam that they had real buffaloes and Indians there.

At last they arrived at Sterns. Carrie left them to purchase some material and sewing notions. Josh led Adam to the toys. He found what he wanted immediately – toy horses. There was a chestnut horse with white slippered feet.

“It’s Sport! Just like Sport, right? And look! There’s a spotted pony! Cochise!”

Adam smiled and agreed. “Which would you like for your birthday, Josh?”

“Sport for me, ‘cause he’s a horse. And Cochise for Amy, ‘cause girls have ponies.”

Adam wasn’t about to argue with Josh’s logic or his generosity in including Amy in the birthday gift. It would allow them to play together. He bought both and some peppermint candies for the ride home.

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Cambridge, October 1, 1864

The birthday was a success. Josh received some toy soldiers and a train engine but the horse remained his favorite. Amy was thrilled with her pony. Playing together on the parlor rug and they “rode” across the Ponderosa.

It was a rare warm sunny October afternoon. Adam and Sara sat in the back courtyard enjoying some lemonade and a quiet interlude from the party.

“That was very sweet of you to give Amy the horse. She’s very taken with you, you know, and your stories about the West. Thank you.”

“The pony was Josh’s idea. A might fine idea. She’s a sweet little girl. I’m taken with her, too."

Sara smiled widely and Adam answered her with a crooked grin. He scratched the back of his neck nervously, "I'm a bit taken with her mother as well."

Sara blushed and feigned horror, “Why Captain Cartwright! You are too bold!”

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Cambridge, October 12, 1864

Dear Pa,

I hope that this letter finds you well. I think of you, and everyone at home, often and miss you. It must be beautiful on the Ponderosa right now. Know that my family and the Ponderosa are always near to my heart.

Nearly a month had passed and I am feeling much better. There is still a limp, but I have abandoned the cane with no ill effect. Carrie’s Uncle Frank, a doctor, has me walking miles every day. Please assure Hop Sing that my appetite has returned and I am more robust every day.

Jack and Carrie and the boys have lifted my spirits. I regret that I could not come home during my furlough but they have been wonderful. Jack and I are like brothers again. Carrie is a bit of a mother hen and keeps a watchful eye on me. Paul reminds me of myself at his age, serious and curious about all matter of things. Josh, who just turned six, would be happy to join you on the ranch. He wants to be a cowboy.

I am settling into a routine. Jack asked him to help with some drafting. I am very happy to comply. He put me back in touch with Dean Whitney at Harvard. Twice a week I attend engineering classes. I will admit I felt quite awkward at first but the Dean has loaned me the latest mining engineering books and I am catching up. It feels funny to be a student again, if only for a short time. From time to time he has encouraged me to talk to the class about the mines in Nevada. He even had me lecture about the Philip Deidesheimer’s honeycomb bracing. I have written to Philip about this, but please give him my regards if you see him in town.

News from my men is scarce. They were joined with another brigade after Cold Harbor. Lieut. Wells resigned his commission in August. His wrist did not heal as expected and I fear he lost his hand. I admit that I feel a bit guilty in my safe haven in Cambridge.

Love to you and Hoss and Joe,
Your affectionate Son,
Adam

He put the pen down and blotted the paper. “Coward,” he mumbled under his breath. He dared not write to his family about Sara. He was falling in love with her but was loathe to admit it to anyone. He would return to the War in six weeks and would be in harm’s way again. What if something happened to him? Sara had lost her husband at Antietam. Adam wouldn’t allow himself to hurt her again.

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Music Hall, Boston, November 3, 1864.

Adam and Sara arrived early at the Music Hall. The family outing several weeks earlier had gone well. Sara noted an announcement in the program for an upcoming performance of the Marriage of Figaro, a Mozart opera that Adam loved. During intermission he slipped away to the box office and purchased two tickets.

This evening was theirs alone. Sara hoped it would the first of many evenings. Adam wore Jack’s black evening suit with a white silk shirt. He looked very handsome. “Elegant,” she thought. As for herself, she had taken extra care with her auburn hair, piling it up in neat curls. Her green silk evening dress reflected in her hazel eyes. Her aunt had loaned her a garnet necklace that contrasted the dress with a lovely effect.

Never had she looked so beautiful, he thought. He took her gloved arm and escorted her to their seats in the parterre. The curtain rose and the music began. For once Adam put away all thoughts of worries and cares and was lost in the sublime music of Mozart.

Despite the late hour, their conversation was animated during the carriage ride home.

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" Adam asked.

"The Susanna?"

"No, the Contessa. It was she who touched my heart this evening. Susanna is young and free spirited. But the Contessa has loved deeply and has been cut to the quick by her husband's betrayal. She is so vulnerable. She has so much at stake. Her "Dove Sono" was exquisite. The pain, the lost love suggested in those high notes. They floated into the ether…."

"Why Adam, you surprise me. You are such a romantic."

"You mean, it doesn't go with my image as a soldier or a rancher," he asked, amused by her candor.

"Well, yes. I can't imagine you singing arias to the steers."

He laughed loudly. "No, I'm afraid my singing arias would be lost on the steers and my brothers as well."

She squeezed his arm slightly. "Adam, it was a beautiful evening. Thank you."

Feeling comfortable with her, Adam stretched his arm around her shoulder. She leaned in and rested her head on his chest. He began to hum Figaro's "Cavatina."

"I am just beginning to discover that you are a man of many talents."

He kissed the top of her head. With his free hand, he tipped her chin up and lightly kissed her lips. He whispered, " I want to learn all about you, as well, Sara."

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Cambridge, November 7-8, Election Day and Results

"Don't swap the horse in the middle of the stream," had been President Lincoln's folksy campaign slogan to match his unaffected manner. Still, without the recent victories in Atlanta and Mobile, his re-election was not so assured. Secretary of War Stanton saw to it that those whose votes the President valued most, the soldiers, were given a chance to vote by absentee ballots. Adam himself had voted by this new method. He was proud to support the man he believed would save the country in war and heal it afterward.

The wet weather on Election Day did not prevent a heavy turnout of voters. Jack was late for dinner. He had stood in line for nearly two hours to cast his vote for the presidency. He arrived home soaked but jubilant, predicting a landslide for Lincoln. He insisted on a toast to the President after dinner.

The next morning, Adam rose early and fetched the morning paper. The re-election of Abraham Lincoln was declared in bold over-sized letters, "Glorious Result! Lincoln Victorious in Election!" The state-by-state results were tallied in the paper. Of course, the West was not reported yet. Ben had written that Lincoln was sure to win in Nevada. Adam hoped that it had been so.

Over a cup of steaming coffee, Adam read Mr. Lincoln's victory speech. He was not surprised by the conciliatory tone. "But the rebellion continues, and now the election is over, may not all having a common interest to reunite in a common effort to save the common country."

Several pages in, he found a short article entitled, "Army of the Potomac, The Vote Heavy." He worried about his company and was always glad to have news about them. McClellan had led this army, but he had called for negotiations with the Rebels during the campaign. That was not popular with the men who had sacrificed everything in the war. "The election yesterday throughout this army passed off quietly, the enemy even seeming to appreciate the importance of the occasion, as firing was almost entirely suspended during the day." He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that his company would be safe. He planned to join them in December and see them through until the end of the fighting.

Carrie set a plate piled high with pancakes in front of him. She scolded Adam gently, "If you're going to have your nose in the paper, you'll have to read it aloud and share it with all of us."

"I'm sorry, Carrie," he answered as he folded the paper and laid it on the table. "Good lord, women, these aren't all for me are they? I'm nearly bursting out of my shirts as it is."

"It has taken me two months to make you look handsome again. I think you'll find that the shirts in your trunk will fit you quite nicely again." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You look very handsome indeed."

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Cambridge, November 11, 1864

Adam was greeted at the door by Doctor Steele. "Come in, Adam. I'm afraid that we are all running a bit late. I just came home and must change. My wife and Sara are in the kitchen. Make your way into the parlor. We'll all be ready soon."

He stepped into the foyer, glad to be out of the miserable weather. Sleet was falling and had chilled him to the bone. He hung his coat on a peg near the door and proceeded to parlor and the heat of the fireplace. He stood rubbing and stretching his hands toward the fire.

"Uncle Adam!" Amy shouted gleefully as she ran to him.

He laughed and hugged her. "How's my girl?"

"Can you fix my hair ribbon? Mama is busy."

He nodded and sat on the settee. He pulled her to him and smoothed her soft curls with his long fingers. He gathered her hair in a bow and leaned back to examine her. "Perfect. You look like a princess."

"And you are my prince."

"I'm too old to be your prince, sweetheart."

"Uncle Adam…when I'm old enough I'm going to marry you."

"Amy, when you're old enough, you'll have dozens of suitors wanting to marry you."

She though a moment. "I know. You can marry Mama. Then you can be my papa."

"Now that, Amy, is the nicest proposal I have ever heard." He hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head.

Sara stood in the doorway listening to the conversation. She blushed deeply and coughed.

"Amy, there is a table to be set. Go wash your hands and I'll meet you in the dining room."

Amy skipped out of the room. Adam stood to face Sara. He smiled shyly and held out his hand.

"You heard her, didn't you?"

"I don't know where she gets her ideas," she said as she walked to him.

Adam took her hand and kissed it. He took her in his arms and whispered, "Out of the mouths of babes."
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Cambridge, November 13, 1864

It was dusk when he stumbled up the stairs and rang the bell. Carrie opened the door and gasped. Adam was ashen and there was blood at his hairline. He was dazed and obviously in pain.

“Oh Adam, what happened?” she asked as she placed her arm around his waist. With her help, he limped to the settee and sat.

“I stepped off the horse car too fast and lost my balance on the cobblestones.”

Carrie removed his boots as gently as she could, but he winced and held his breath. His ankle was swelling quickly.

“Stay here. Let’s put your foot up. I’ll clean you up.” She called for her son Paul to fetch some ice and then to run to bring Uncle Frank back. She was frightened that Adam may have broken his ankle again.

Adam was stretched out on the settee, with a bandage pressed to his head and his ankle wrapped in a towel filled with ice, when Paul returned with Sara. Adam looked miserable. He was in pain, that was clear, and he was angry at his clumsiness and the reinjury. All of the efforts he had made to get fit were thwarted in an instant.

“What happened to you?” He opened his eyes and glared at her. “Never mind, let’s just see what I can do.”

“Where’s your uncle?”

“He’s out on a house call, won’t be free for hours. You’ll have to put up with me.”

“Oh yes?” he answered breathing in sharply as she examined the ankle. “I sorry, Sara, but…”

“But I’m not a doctor? I’m a trained nurse, Adam. I worked with my husband, who was a doctor and now I work with my uncle at his surgery. I’ve set broken bones before. By the way, your ankle isn’t broken. It’s a bad sprain.”

“It hurts enough,” he answered dejectedly.

“I’m sure that it does.” She moved to the head of the settee and lifted the bandage from his hairline. “That’s a nice bump you have there, Adam. Any problems seeing? Dizziness?”

He was pouting. “No!”

She leaned down close to him and whispered, “I know how to make it better.” With that she kissed his forehead. “All better?” she teased him.

"A little better," he sighed and then grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer to kiss her gently. When she returned the kiss, he kissed her again, passionately.

“That’s better,” he answered.

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Cambridge, November 15, 1864

Adam sat alone in the parlor, his ankle propped up on the ottoman, having chased everyone away with his ill humor. He looked up from the newspaper when he heard a rustling of skirts behind him.

"I hear that you are being a bear today."

"Who said that?"

"Josh…." Sara walked around the chair to face him.

"Well, I suppose I was abrupt with him this morning."

"And Carrie, Jack, and Paul."

He held his hand up to stop her litany. "I guess I owe everyone an apology."

"Yes, you do. You might make amends if you play your guitar after dinner."

"Only if you and Amy join us for dinner."

"I think that can be arranged" she said. She sat on the ottoman and gently placed his wrapped ankle in her lap. "Now, how does your ankle feel today?"

"Honestly? It hurts like the dickens."

"Honestly? It hurts like hell is more like it and you're being polite."

"Guilty as charged."

She stood and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips. He reached for her and pulled her into his lap. He growled and then kissed her.
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Cambridge, Thanksgiving 1864

His ankle was still swollen, but he could walk using his cane and was grateful to be mobile again. The plans had changed with his injury. Jack and Carrie were hosting Thanksgiving. The Steeles and Sara and Amy came laden with corn relish, applesauce and pumpkin pies.

Doctor Steele took Adam upstairs to examine him. He gently prodded and twisted the ankle. Adam gritted his teeth. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I think we’ve been through this once before, haven’t we, Adam?”

He nodded as he fought to gain back his control.

“Adam, you’ve had a setback, but I assure you the ankle will heal in time. You know you can’t return to the Army right now? I offered before, and I am offering again, I will sign the medical discharge papers for you. What do you say?”

“Yes.”

The last several months had changed him. The restlessness he had felt the last year on the Ponderosa and all through the War was gone. In its place he had found a place where he felt he belonged, with a woman he loved.

"Yes, I will resign. But let's keep it between ourselves for now."

Doctor Steele nodded and shook Adam's hand. "Of course, Adam."

At dinner, Adam squeezed Sara's hand and rose to propose the first toast, “To the future with love and family.”