Cousin Clarissa Returns
Part 1

By Kathleen T. Berney

“Dear Benjamin,

Good news! In fact, the best news. It looks as though I’ll be able to accept your very kind invitation to come visit after all.

Cousin Amelia is doing so much better than was initially expected. Imagine that! Less than two days after having a baby, she is back on her feet running around like a house afire (incredible as it may sound) with even more vim and vigor than she had before having the baby. Ah, the strength and stamina of youth!

As Cousin Amelia is most insistent upon resuming the mantle of her responsibilities and obligations, I’ve decided it’s high time I met my young cousin once removed . . . and what better time than her school graduation? I’m looking forward to seeing you and your boys again as well.

I will be arriving the fifteenth of June, on the noon stage.

Love to all,
Cousin Clarissa”

“I gotta bad feeling about this,” Joe murmured in a gloomy tone of voice, after reading again the short note from his father’s first cousin, Miss Clarissa Cartwright. “A REAL bad feeling!”

“So you’ve already said . . . about a dozen times,” Ben observed wearily.

“Dadburn it, Pa . . . why’d ya hafta go ‘n invite her t’ come for Stacy’s graduation in the first place?” Hoss groused. “The LAST time she was here . . . well, doggone it, she tried t’ starve me t’ death.”

Joe chucked as he reached over and patted Hoss’ massive girth, as he might the head of a very large, friendly dog. “Big Brother, I don’t think it’s even possible for you to starve to death. You’ve got more stored up in there for the winter than a hundred great big mama grizzly bears.”

“Joseph . . . . ” Ben accompanied utterance of his youngest son’s real given name, with a sharp warning glare. “That’s enough.”

“Yes, Sir,” Joe murmured as he removed his hand from Hoss’ stomach.

“ . . . and Hoss . . . . ”

“Yes, Sir?”

“To set the record straight, I DIDN’T invite Cousin Clarissa to come,” Ben said curtly. “I merely TOLD her about Stacy’s upcoming graduation.”

“But, in her letter she talks about accepting your kind INVITATION,” Joe quickly pointed out.

“I did NOT invite her,” Ben reiterated. “I merely told her that your sister is graduating. Period. Cousin Clarissa, however, has taken that to be an invitation, which she’s decided to accept, now that this Cousin Amelia . . . whoever SHE is . . . seems to have bounced back so quickly after having a baby.”

“Blast her scurvy hide!”

This last Ben added silently, reverting back to some of the salty language he had once used as a sailor.

“Sorry, Pa,” Joe murmured contritely. “I should’ve realized that you wouldn’t have actually invited her . . . not after what happened the LAST time she visited.”

The three Cartwright men occupied the small round table nearest the door of the Silver Dollar Saloon, dressed in their Sunday-go-to-meeting best. Ben wore his best summer suit, a custom made three-piece, gray cotton, with a clean white shirt, and black string tie. Hoss had on his brand new three-piece suit, royal blue cotton that enhanced the brightness of his sky blue eyes. He also wore a freshly laundered, pressed shirt, with a dark navy blue string tie. Joe wore a clean pair of beige pants, with a clean white shirt, his green denim jacket, and a black string tie hanging around his collar, its ends untied.

“Boys, THIS time, I won’t make the mistake of asking Cousin Clarissa to move in with us . . . that I promise,” Ben said earnestly. “But, I couldn’t very well tell her NOT to come. Now that Cousin Amelia is back on her feet, and the rest of our relatives seem to be enjoying a bout of perfect health, poor Clarissa’s at loose ends. You KNOW she has no place, really, to go— ”

“ . . . and YOU feel sorry for her.” Joe’s words sounded more like an accusation, than observation.

“Well, of COURSE I feel sorry for her,” Ben hotly defended himself.

“I feel sorry for her, too, Pa. I ALSO feel sorry for a wounded she-bear,” Joe argued, “but no matter how much I feel sorry for that wounded she-bear, I’m sure as shootin’ NOT going to invite her into my home.”

“Joe . . . and you, too, Hoss! Given the double good fortune of our abundant good health, AND having Hop Sing around to do the cooking and cleaning, I seriously doubt that Cousin Clarissa will want to linger much past your sister’s graduation exercises, next Tuesday,” Ben said sternly.

“What if she has no choice?” Joe demanded, drawing a blank look from his father.

“Li’l Brother here’s gotta point, Pa,” Hoss immediately chimed right in. “Y’ just got through sayin’ yourself that all our relatives seem t’ be enjoyin’ a bout o’ good health.”

“That’s right, Pa,” Joe agreed. “You also said that Cousin Clarissa’s got no place to go. Does that mean . . . W-WE’RE stuck with her until . . . until one of our other relatives gets sick?”

Hoss blanched. “Now why in t’ world didja hafta go ‘n say a thing like THAT, Li’l Brother?!”

Ben glared over at Hoss first, then at Joe. “Alright, Boys, I’m layin’ it all right out on the table,” he said sternly. “I haven’t the foggiest idea as to how long Cousin Clarissa plans to stay with us. BUT, for the time she’s here, I expect the both of you AND your sister to make the best of things. Is that clear?”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” Joe gulped, flinching away from his father’s withering glare.

“Hoss?!” Ben prompted.

“Yes, Sir . . . and who knows? It’s been a few years . . . maybe Cousin Clarissa’s changed a mite, ‘n lost some of her snooty, stuck up ways,” Hoss, the eternal optimist, suggested hopefully.

“A body can always HOPE, I suppose,” Joe murmured with a melancholy sigh.

“Hey, Pa?” Hoss ventured.

“What?” Ben snapped.

“When she left after her last visit . . . I thought she was gonna go t’ work for George Bristol, over at the bank,” Hoss said, with a puzzled frown.

“She did for a while,” Ben said.

“Yeah. I remember seeing her at the bank, working away behind that great big desk, ‘way in the back corner,” Joe said. “I also heard that Mister Bristol was gonna ask her to marry him.”

“So did I, Li’l Brother. Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“What happened between Mister Bristol ‘n Cousin Clarissa anyway?” Hoss asked. “One minute the two of ‘em are talkin’ weddin’ plans, the next, she’s off on a stage headin’ east t’ some sick cousin, or some such . . . never t’ be seen again.”

“I don’t know. Neither George nor Clarissa ever said, and I’ve never asked. The two of you aren’t going to ask either,” Ben said sternly. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Hoss said very quickly.

“Joseph?” Ben quickly prompted his younger son.

“Yeah, Pa . . . sure.”

Satisfied, Ben reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the gold pocket watch that had once belonged to his father, and flipped up the cover. “Boys, you’d better finish your beer. It’s almost time to go meet that stage.”

Hoss downed his near full mug of beer in a single giant swallow, then raised his arm, intending to use his sleeve as a napkin.

“Hoss! Not on your brand new jacket!” Ben hissed, casting a withering glare at the biggest of his three sons.

“Oh.” Hoss immediately dropped his arm. “Sorry, Pa, I guess I kinda forgot I was all gussied up.”

“Ben . . . Hoss . . . Joe . . . can I get you another round?” It was Sam, bartender and manager of Virginia City’s Silver Dollar Saloon.

“No, thank you, Sam,” Ben said, after downing the last swallow of beer from the bottom of the mug. “We’ve got a stage to meet. How much do we owe ya?”

“Lemme see . . . all three of ya had two beers apiece . . . that’s six altogether . . . your bill comes to three dollars even.”

Ben dug into his pocket and pulled out four silver dollars. “That’s three for the beer and one for your trouble, Sam,” he said, placing the money in the bartender’s open palm.

Sam smiled. “Thank you, Ben. It’s always a real pleasure doing business with the Cartwright family.”

“Thank YOU, Sam. Be seein’ ya.” He, then turned his attention to his sons. “Let’s go, Boys . . . and Joseph, will you please tie that tie properly?!”

“Aww, Pa, the daggone thing feels like a noose,” Joe complained, even as his fingers worked to tie it.

“Funny you don’t say that when you’re gettin’ ready for a Saturday night dance, Li’l Brother,” Hoss teased.

“That’s different,” Joe said.

“I’ll say it’s different,” Hoss guffawed. “F’r one thing Cousin Clarissa ain’t got the cute li’l figure Lilly Beth Jared’s got.”

“NOBODY’S got the cute li’l figure Lilly Beth Jared’s got,” Joe declared with a bold grin, as he finished tying his tie.

Ben very pointedly cleared his throat. Though he respected the girl’s parents, Virgil and Amelia Jared, as very shrewd, yet fair and honest business people, he had definite reservations about his youngest son and their oldest daughter, Lilly Beth. “Boys, that will be enough of THAT kind of talk,” he said in a very quiet, yet very firm tone of voice. “To put this politely, I don’t think Cousin Clarissa’s going to be the least bit interested in hearing the pair of you going on and on about the virtues of Miss Jared’s waist line.”

“Warm water with equal measurements of lemon juice and honey.”

“Warm water . . . lemon juice ‘n honey,” Emily Gibson murmured wearily, as the rigors of a long journey, keeping constant watch on a lively young daughter, and the non-stop verbiage of one Miss Clarissa Cartwright the entire way out from Saint Jo, had extracted their toll on her stamina, physically and mentally.

“Equal measurements, Dear,” Miss Cartwright said using the same tone of voice Emily herself might use in addressing her own young daughter, accompanied by that ever-so-slight condescending smile that always seemed to be on her face.

“Equal m-measurements?!” Emily echoed with a bewildered frown.

“ . . . of lemon juice and honey.”

“Equal measurements,” Emily murmured, deeply grateful that this long arduous journey was at long last near its end.

“Equal measurements of lemon juice and honey in warm water,” Miss Cartwright reiterated. “Best thing in the world for your little girl’s cough.”

Emily sighed. She had told Miss Cartwright many, many times on the long road out from Saint Jo, that Sarah HAD a cough and cold, but she was fully recovered now. Yet, somehow, Miss Cartwright never seemed to hear it, or much of anything else, for that matter. Emily finally concluded that any and all attempts to correct the older woman’s many misconceptions was naught but a colossal waste of time, energy, and breath, and had opted to stop trying. She gathered her young daughter, aged four, into her lap and pointedly turned her face to the window, hoping against hope Miss Cartwright would take the hint.

“Aunt Matilda . . . actually she was my GREAT Aunt Matilda, being my maternal grandmother’s sister . . . at any rate, SHE’S the one who told me about equal measurements of lemon juice and honey in warm water when my father took ill, and started coughing a lot,” Clarissa Cartwright blithely rambled on, wholly oblivious to Emily’s decided lack of interest.

“Yes. You told me.” Emily had stopped counting the number of times Miss Cartwright had imparted THAT particular piece of information after about the first dozen.

“It worked wonders for my father. Absolute wonders!”

After a seeming eternity of riding down C Street, the stagecoach finally began to slow.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Sarah?”

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost, Sweetie-Pie.”

“Will DADDY be there to meet us?”

“He’d BETTER be,” Emily groused silently. “He’d better be, because if I have to endure this woman’s company for even one second AFTER we get off this stage . . . so help me, I’m going to strangle him with my bare hands.”

“I’ll be visiting my first cousin and HIS lovely family,” Clarissa continued. “I’m sure you’ve at the very least heard of him, since you live here in Virginia City.” She grimaced, then smiled again. “He’s a very important man.”

“Unh hunh,” Emily murmured listlessly. She had ALSO told Miss Cartwright a pretty fair number of times that she and Sarah were just arriving in Virginia City . . . that her husband had come here a year ago to work, to save up, and buy some good farm land . . . that he had just sent for them a month ago.

“You MUST know him. Benjamin Cartwright of the Ponderosa.”

“Yeah, sure.” Why bother wasting the energy trying to explain it all to Miss Cartwright yet again? Whoever this Ben Cartwright of the Ponderosa was . . . Emily felt very sorry for him, and for his lovely family. As the stagecoach finally came to a stop, she began to scan the sea of faces gathered at the stage depot, through the rounded eyes of a trapped wild animal, desperately hoping and praying that her husband was there.

“Benjamin’s daughter, Stacy, will be graduating from school in a few days, and come fall— ”

“VIRGINIA CITY!” the stagecoach driver yelled. “NEXT STOP, CARSON CITY. STAGE LEAVES AT THREE O’CLOCK.”

“Well!” Clarissa exclaimed, as her smile quickly faded to an irritated frown. “THAT was terribly rude!”

“Come along, Sarah,” Emily frantically urged her young daughter, the minute the stagecoach door opened. Desperation quickly gave way to a deep, profound relief the minute she spotted her husband, standing over near the stage depot building. He smiled and waved; she smiled and waved back.

“Remember . . . warm water . . . equal parts lemon juice and honey,” Clarissa called after Emily, as she snatched her young daughter up into her arms and bolted toward the handsome young man, now making his own way toward them. Rather, he WOULD be a handsome young man, if he had dressed properly in a suit and tie. “Honestly! The very idea! Coming into town dressed like a . . . a . . . like a farmer!”

“Clarissa?”

She turned and found Benjamin standing at her elbow, smiling, looking every bit as handsome as she remembered. “Oh, Benjamin, it’s so good to see you,” she gushed, offering her hand.

Ben gallantly took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “It’s good seeing YOU again, Clarissa. You look well.”

“Thank you. YOU look very well yourself.”

“Hello, Cousin Clarissa, glad you could come for Stacy’s graduation,” Joe Cartwright greeted his father’s first cousin politely, with a big smile that never quite reached his eyes.

“Joe, I don’t believe it!” Clarissa exclaimed with a delighted smile. “You’ve actually grown even MORE handsome than you were when I LAST visited.”

“Why . . . thank you, Cousin Clarissa,” Joe beamed, while Hoss sarcastically rolled his eyes heavenward.

“I mean it! You weren’t much more than a boy when I was last here, and now . . . you’ve grown into a very fine, very handsome young man.”

“I guess I HAVE grown some since I saw you last, Cousin Clarissa,” Joe said, as two splotches of bright pink appeared on each cheek.

“Yeah . . . he ‘gruesome’ all right,” Hoss chuckled, unable to resist the play on words. His comment drew a dark glare from his younger brother.

“ . . . and YOU’VE grown some, too, Young Man,” Clarissa rounded on Hoss severely. “Unfortunately, it’s all in the middle. The first thing I’m going to do when we get to the house is give that . . . that . . . what IS his name? Hop-a-Long!? Sing-a-Song? Sing Sing, perhaps?!”

“Hop Sing, Cousin Clarissa,” Joe said.

“Hop Sing!” she said with a delicate grimace. “The minute we reach the house, you can rest assured that I am going to give him the dressing down of his life for not feeding Hoss properly.”

Hoss’ face immediately fell. “Awww, Cousin Clarissa . . . y-y’ don’t need t’ do that . . . . I think Hop Sing feeds me pretty good.”

“Oh, he feeds you good, alright . . . in fact, he feeds you TOO good!” Clarissa said sternly. “It’s not healthy, Hoss. It’s not healthy at all. This time, I’m going to make sure Hop Sing puts you on a proper diet . . . and that YOU stick to it.”

“Pa . . . . ” Hoss turned to appeal to his father, his big, baby blue eyes round with sheer horror, “ . . . help!”

“Clarissa . . . if anyone’s going to say anything to Hop Sing about, ummm Hoss’ diet . . . it’s going to be ME,” Ben said, as Joe burst into gales of mirthful laughter.

“Dadburn it, Li’l Joe . . . . ” Hoss growled menacingly. “How would YOU like t’ starve t’ death?”

“At least for ME, starving to death is a very real possibility.”

“Boys, settle down,” Ben admonished his two younger sons with a warning glare.

“But, Pa . . . . ”

“Hoss, I SAID . . . settle down.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now why don’t you boys see to Cousin Clarissa’s luggage?” Ben said. “After you get it loaded in the buckboard, you can pick us up at the C Street Café.”

“Sure thing, Pa,” Hoss murmured, acutely aware of his stomach just starting to rumble.

“Hey, c’mon, Hoss . . . don’t tell me you’re hungry after that big lunch we just had?!” Joe teasingly admonished big brother.

Hoss exhaled a long, melancholy sigh. “No, it ain’t so much that I’m hungry NOW . . . it’s more that I know I’m gonna BE hungry, especially after Cousin Clarissa gets through with Hop Sing.”

“Actually, we’re ALL gonna be pretty hungry after Cousin Clarissa gets through with Hop Sing,” Joe hastened to point out.

Hoss frowned. “Oh yeah? How do ya figure?”

“After the way she worked him like a slave driver the LAST time she came to visit. . . well, you KNOW the very first time Cousin Clarissa opens her mouth, Hop Sing’s gonna high tail it out to San Francisco to help his cousin with that restaurant . . . THIS time for real!”

For a brief, intense, terrifying moment, Joe half feared Hoss was going to lose the big lunch he had consumed earlier, right then and there. Instead, the biggest of the Cartwright offspring, sighed again. “Oh, Lordy . . . . ” he murmured very softly, under his breath.

“Benjamin, how very . . . quaint,” Clarissa said with a tight, forced smile, as she dusted the seat of the chair with her napkin.

“Yes . . . I, uhhh . . . think this place is charming myself,” Ben said, darting an occasional worried glance toward the open kitchen door, “ . . . and the fact that they serve up the best lemonade and cherry pie in town, certainly doesn’t hurt business any.”

“The very best lemonade I ever had was from a street vendor of all things, in Philadelphia,” Clarissa said, as she continued to sweep the seat of her chair, growing more and more vigorous with each stroke. “Tart with just the right amount of sweetness. I was there helping Cousin Hepzibah when her mother . . . poor thing, may she rest in peace . . . . ”

Ben darted another quick, furtive glance back toward the kitchen. “ . . . uuuhh, Clarissa . . . . ?!”

“ . . . when she broke her hip,” Clarissa blithely rambled on. “Cousin Hepzibah isn’t related to YOU, Benjamin, since she’s related to me on my MOTHER’S side of the family. But, on days nice and sunny, she and I would take her mother to the park across the street, where— ”

“Clarissa!”

She straightened, pulling herself up to full height. With her iron, rock hard fists planted down hard just below her waist, Clarissa turned and favored her cousin with an angry murderous glare. “Benjamin, that was inexcusably rude— ”

“Clarissa . . . would you PLEASE sit down?!” Ben said sternly, all the while taking care to keep his voice low.

“I will in a minute.”

“Now!” he growled, in the same tone of voice he had, over the years, used to call four his children to order whenever they behaved in a manner best described as extra and ‘specially unruly.

Clarissa defiantly gave the seat of her intended chair one last vigorous swipe with her napkin, before primly seating herself, poised on the very edge of her seat, with back stiffly erect and hands folded on top of the table.

They had gone to the C Street Café, a small restaurant owned and operated by Maxine Pettigrew and her widowed sister, Letty Mae Harris. It had a cheerful, if small, dining room, with its whitewashed walls, and tables adorned with fresh flowers and covered by red and white-checkered tablecloths. There was a large round table in the back corner, able to comfortably sit six, and a line of tables for two lining the wall next to the enormous picture window looking out onto the street.

The table for four, located next to the small window overlooking the alley, was kept in perpetual reserve for one Mister Elbert Sweeney, the very first customer to walk through the door of the establishment. He was an elderly man, widowed for the better part of thirty-two years, more often than not given to eccentricity. He arrived promptly at seven fifty-two every morning for breakfast, and every afternoon at four minutes past twelve for lunch . . . except on Sunday, when the restaurant was closed.

Ben had chosen the table placed directly in front of the large picture window, and positioned square in the center under the words, “C Street Café,” carefully lettered in white paint, edged with red. He was comfortably seated, hands folded on the table in front of him, with one eye glued to the street, watching for his sons, and the other trained on his cousin.

“Hey! Ben Cartwright, long time no see!” Maxine Pettigrew greeted the clan patriarch with a big, bold smile and deep, booming baritone voice. Aged in her mid-forties, she stood nearly as tall as Ben, in her stocking feet. Her hair, long ago gone to salt and pepper gray was worn in a single braid that reached almost to the small of her back. By nature, she was a friendly, gregarious woman, always ready to lend a helping hand to anyone in need, be they friend or stranger.

“Yes, it has been a long time,” Ben agreed, returning Maxine’s greeting with a warm smile of his own. “How’ve you been keeping yourself?”

“Can’t complain. I expect you’ve been kept pretty busy with that li’l gal o’ yours fixin’ to graduate.”

“Hardly a LI’L gal anymore,” Ben said with a touch of regret.

“No, I expect not. Accordin’ t’ Letty Mae, kids grow up mighty quick.”

“TOO quick, if you ask me! By the way . . . how’s Letty Mae doing? I heard she’s been a mite under the weather lately.”

“Winter sniffles, turned into pneumonia,” Maxine said, “but, the worst is past. Soon as she gets some more o’ her strength back, she’ll be around.”

“You tell her I was asking about her,” Ben said. “You hear?”

“I hear ya.” Maxine turned to Clarissa and smiled. “So. Who’s your lady friend?”

Clarissa, much to her horror and chagrin, felt the telltale prickle of blood rushing to her face. She rolled her eyes heavenward, desperately wishing for a very large, very deep hole into which she might crawl.

Ben chuckled. “Maxine, this is my COUSIN, Clarissa Cartwright. Clarissa, this is Maxine Pettigrew. She and her sister, Letty Mae own and pretty much run this place single handed.”

“Howdy,” Maxine acknowledged the introduction with a smile and extended hand. “Glad t’ make your acquaintance.”

Clarissa tried very hard not to grimace, as she gave Maxine a limp, ‘dead fish’ kind of handshake. “I’m also pleased to meet YOU, Mrs. Pettigrew,” she murmured.

Maxine laughed out loud. “Honey, only Mrs. Pettigrew I ever knew was my ma, now gone to her reward, God rest her soul. I’m MISS Pettigrew, though most folks generally call me Maxine.”

“My apologies, MISS Pettigrew,” Clarissa said stiffly.

“So. What can I getcha, Ben?”

“We’ll have a couple o’ glasses of that wonderful lemonade of yours,” Ben said.

“Can I getcha a hunk o’ pie with that? It’s apple . . . hot, just outta the oven.”

“Tempting, but I’d better pass,” Ben said with heartfelt regret. “The boys’ll be along soon with the buckboard and my cousin’s luggage.”

“I’d best g’won ‘n fetch that lemonade, then,” Maxine said. “I hope you enjoy your stay, Miss Cartwright.”

“Benjamin, I have never . . . NEVER . . . not ever . . . been so embarrassed in my entire LIFE,” Clarissa moaned softly, after Maxine had retreated to the kitchen in the back of the establishment.

Ben looked over at her in complete bewilderment. “I’m afraid I . . . I don’t . . . understand,” he murmured, shaking his head.

“Your LADY friend! She actually referred to me as . . . as your lady friend!” Clarissa moaned again, and buried her beet red face in her still gloved hands. “How crass! How rude, how impertinent, and . . . and how VULGAR! By rights we should get up and walk right out of here.”

“Why?”

“Why?!” Clarissa echoed, incredulous. “Haven’t you heard a single word I’ve said?!”

“You mean because she mistakenly assumed you to be a friend?” Ben queried, equally incredulous.

“Not just a friend, Benjamin . . . a LADY friend,” Clarissa said scathingly. “You know very well that a LADY friend is something far different than a friend.”

“Clarissa . . . she didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I don’t believe this!” Clarissa gasped, outraged. “Y-You’re actually taking up for that woman!?”

“Maxine is a good friend.”

“A friend?!” Clarissa sighed disparagingly, and rolled her eyes heavenward. “A friend?? Benjamin, don’t you realize that people judge you by the company you keep?! That woman is . . . well, let’s face it! She’s loud, crude— ”

“I get the picture, Clarissa,” Ben said stiffly.

“I’M not so sure you do. If we were in Boston— ”

“Here y’ are. Two lemonades, ice cold,” Maxine announced as she sauntered back into the dining area, carrying two tall glasses, filled to the brim with fresh lemonade, one in each hand.

Though exceedingly thankful that Maxine’s return had effectively nipped Clarissa’s nascent tirade in the bud, Ben couldn’t help but anxiously wonder how much she might have overheard.

“ . . . and WHAT, may I ask is THIS?” Clarissa demanded in a cold, imperious tone of voice, as she gingerly lifted a small piece of greenery from the edge of her glass.

“Clarissa . . . . ” Ben hissed, as he shot her a warning glare.

“Benjamin, I am NOT used to finding grass in my lemonade.”

Ben could feel the blood draining right out of his face, as vivid remembrances of what happened the last time his cousin came for a visit trooped unceremoniously through the places of mind and memory. “M-Maxine, I . . . I . . . I’m sorry , I . . . . ”

“It’s all right, Ben,” Maxine said, as she placed a friendly, reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You ‘n me . . . we’ve been friends for quite a spell. We pretty much understand each other.” She gave him a friendly wink, then, turned her attention to Clarissa, and smiled. “As for the greenery in your lemonade, Miss Cartwright, it’s a sprig o’ mint for garnish. Letty Mae grows it herself out back yonder.” She inclined her head toward the back door, standing open to admit the fresh air, and to the backyard beyond.

“I see.” Clarissa responded in a voice that dripped icicles.

“Thank you, Maxine. How much do I owe you?” Ben interjected very quickly, before Clarissa had a chance to say anything more.

“Two lemonades, ten cents apiece . . . your total’s twenty cents.”

Ben dug into his pocket and extracted a half dollar. “Here you are, Maxine, and please! Keep the change.”

She grinned. “Thank you, Ben. That’s right neighborly of ya,” she said, as she pocketed the coin. “If ya need anything else, just gimme a holler. I’ll be in the back.”

“I will, Maxine . . . thank you,” Ben called after her.

“Honestly, Benjamin . . . I don’t believe you sometimes,” Clarissa lamented.

“What’s the matter NOW?” Ben asked, with a bewildered frown.

“Well, for one thing, I can’t even begin to understand WHY you gave her a thirty cent tip on a bill totaling TWENTY cents,” Clarissa fumed. “It might be different, if the service had been something exceptional and sterling, but— ” An exasperated sigh exploded from between her lips.

“Clarissa . . . . ”

“What!”

“Are you STILL upset over her reference to you as my lady friend?”

“Of COURSE, I’m upset. Benjamin, I was humiliated!”

“Clarissa, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I could understand you being upset if there were others present, maybe . . . but . . . you and I are the only ones in here.”

“What about Miss Pettigrew?” Clarissa wailed.

“What ABOUT Miss Pettigrew?!”

“Benjamin, what is going to stop HER from telling everyone that I’m your newest . . . lady friend?” She grimaced.

“I set her straight,” Ben quickly assured her. “Remember? I told her that you’re my cousin. Even if I hadn’t, Maxine Pettigrew is the soul of discretion. She wouldn’t have told a soul, unless I had given her permission.”

The withering glare on her face told Ben that Cousin Clarissa was far from being convinced. He sighed, wondering if Joe’s very bad feeling about all this, might have been right on the money after all. “Better finish your lemonade, Clarissa. The boys are pulling up outside now.”

Miss Esther Johnson, teacher at the schoolhouse in Virginia City, stood next to her desk, smiling proudly at the graduating students, this year numbering seven. Aged in her mid-to-late forties, she was a diminutive woman in stature, barely reaching five feet tall, with girth measurement to match. Her light brown hair, slightly wavy, was pulled away from her plump, round face, and styled in a very tight, very severe chignon. Her eyes were as Joe Cartwright’s . . . hazel, with the chameleon ability to change color according to their surroundings. This afternoon, Miss Johnson’s eyes were deep blue, a reflection of her navy blue suit, with skirt, matching jacket, and a plain white blouse.

“Students, you ALL did very well,” she said in a clear voice, while standing atop a stoutly reinforced wooden soap box, to better see the faces of all her graduating students. “Very orderly and dignified. You need to remember the order in which you’re lined up now, so please take a moment to make note of who’s in front of you . . . and who’s behind you.”

Stacy Cartwright noted with a grimace that Millicent Adams, daughter of Seth Adams, president of the First Mercantile Bank of Virginia City, was seated on her right, and Julio Fernandez on her left. Julio was ok, but the prospect of having to sit next to stuck up Millicent through the entire graduation ceremony was the one tiny cloud marring an otherwise much-anticipated event.

“It’s only for a couple of hours . . . maybe not even THAT long.”

She could hear Pa now, speaking the same words he had spoken two nights ago, when she had groused about the horrible prospect over supper.

“After that, you don’t have to associate with her ever again.”

That, of course, was very true, especially since none of the Cartwright funds were invested with Seth Adams’ bank. “ . . . thank goodness,” Stacy murmured very softly.

“What was that?” Millicent demanded in that imperious, condescending tone usually guaranteed to set Stacy’s teeth on edge.

“Nothing,” Stacy returned, favoring her arch nemesis with a smug, secretive, Mona Lisa kind of smile. “I was just thinking out loud.”

Millicent snorted derisively and tossed her head, thankful beyond words that none of the Cartwright funds were invested at the First Mercantile Bank of Virginia City, even if her father WOULD have given his eyeteeth for things to be otherwise. The thought of having to go through life toadying up to the likes of a backward bumpkin like Stacy Cartwright was beyond imagining.

“Millicent, if I might have your attention for just a few moments more, I could finish giving everyone their instructions,” Miss Johnson said in a clear, succinct tone of voice, while favoring the tall, blonde haired girl with a stern glare.

“Yes, Miss Johnson,” Millicent muttered through clenched teeth.

Stacy had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“We will have our final rehearsal Monday afternoon, at three-thirty,” Esther said. “The honors awards will be announced at that time. In the meantime, have a nice weekend. I’ll see each and everyone of you in school Monday morning.” She paused briefly. “Oh yes. Just in case anyone is tempted to cut class on the last day, he who gives in to temptation will be barred from participating in the commencement ceremonies. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Miss Johnson,” the seven graduating students all responded in unison.

“Very good. See you all Monday morning.”

“So, tell me. What WAS so funny, Stacy?” Julio asked as the seven made their way toward the door.

“Millicent mostly, though the irony of us graduating seniors staying after school on our very last day before graduation exercises isn’t lost on me either.”

“I thought of that, too,” Julio admitted with a chuckle.

“Ok, Julio . . . now it’s your turn to tell ME,” Stacy said. “What are your plans after graduation?”

“As if YOU didn’t know . . . . ” Julio smiled. “I’ll be attending college in San Francisco, of course, but I got a letter from Angela Drake herself yesterday afternoon, telling me that she is willing to take me as a student.”

“That’s wonderful, Julio. I’ll be looking forward to your first concert at Piper’s Opera House right here in Virginia City in a few years,” Stacy said with a broad grin.

“I’ll see that you and your pa have front row seats,” Julio promised. “Do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t know when I’ll see him next . . . . ”

“I do,” Stacy said with a smile. “He’ll be at our graduation ceremonies with bells on . . . leastwise he’d BETTER be. I’m putting myself through all this for HIS benefit, not mine. If I had MY druthers, I’d have asked Miss Johnson to mail my certificate.”

“I AM very grateful for Mister Cartwright putting in a good word for me with Miss Drake,” Julio said with a warm smile. “I shall tell him so on Tuesday.”

“Hey . . . Stacy!”

She turned and saw Susannah O’Brien and Molly O’Hanlan, heading in her general direction.

“I’d best move along, Stacy,” Julio said, sparing a smile and a wave for the Cartwright daughter’s closest friends. “I leave for San Francisco two days after graduation and I have lots yet to get done.”

“Alright, Julio. See you Monday.”

“Stacy, Susannah and I are going to do some shopping this afternoon,” Molly said. “You want to join us?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Stacy declined reluctantly.

“See? I told you!” Susannah said with a smug grin and extended hand, palm up. “You LOSE. Cross my palm with a half buck, or else.”

“Or else WHAT?” Molly demanded as she withdrew a half dollar coin from her purse and placed it square in the center of Susannah O’Brien’s open palm.

“ . . . or else I bring the curse of the Shoshone nation down upon your head,” Susannah threatened, as she pocketed the half dollar.

“ . . . which wouldn’t last two seconds against a good, old-fashioned IRISH curse,” Molly countered, her blue eyes sparking with pure mischief.

“What was this bet all about?” Stacy demanded, looking from one to the other.

“I bet Molly that you WOULDN’T go shopping with us this afternoon,” Susannah said smugly. “She lost.”

“Susannah ALSO said that the REASON you wouldn’t go shopping with us is . . . because you’d be in a real big hurry to reach the post office just as her brother gets off from work,” Molly added, her words ending in a squawk of protest, courtesy of a sharp elbow jab to the rib cage from Susannah.

“I wish,” Stacy sighed. “However, today, such is not the case. Pa’s Cousin Clarissa arrived on the stage earlier, and I promised I’d go straight home. So . . . it looks like you owe Molly a quarter back, Susannah.”

Susannah dug two dimes and a nickel from her pocket and dropped them one by one onto Molly’s outstretched palm. She then turned and stuck her tongue out at Stacy.

Stacy merely smiled and returned the gesture.

“Hey! Come on, You Two, cut it out!” Molly hissed. “People are STARING!”

“I’ve got to get moving,” Stacy said. “See you guys on Monday.”

“As MY sainted Irish grandmother would say . . . Ooooh, Lordy!” Susannah heaved a melodramatic sigh, after she and Molly had parted company with Stacy.

“Why?” Molly asked.

“Mister Cartwright’s cousin . . . MISS Cartwright.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

“Plenty,” Susannah replied. “Last time she was here . . . . ” She sighed again, and rolled her eyes.

“What?” Molly demanded.

“Well . . . thanks to HER, the Cartwrights not only lost a lot of friends, but there were also a few folks ready to tar, feather, and run ‘em out of town on a rail,” Susannah said grimly.

“That’s AWFUL! What did this cousin DO?”

“It’s enough to curdle your blood!”

Stacy, meanwhile, had led her horse, Blaze Face, over to the small stream behind the schoolhouse for a cool drink of water, before starting off on that long ride home. “Well, Big Fella, we’re coming up on the end of an era,” she said softly, while gently stroking the top of his left thigh, just in front of the saddle. “Got one more full day of class, on Monday, followed by yet another rehearsal . . . . ” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Then the big day is Tuesday.”

Wednesday morning, she would go to work for her father on the Ponderosa, full time, just like her brothers, earning wages instead of being given an allowance. Though Pa had not, as yet, decided exactly where she would begin, he had come to a hard and fast decision as to what she would NOT do . . . ever, if he had his way in the matter . . . .

“Pa, I could really use The Kid’s help in saddle breaking that string of horses we brought in off the range a couple o’ days ago,” Joe said gamely, at the breakfast table just his morning.

“Oh, Pa . . . may I?” Stacy asked, with eager anticipation. “Please? PRETTY please?!”

“No,” Pa said, his voice carrying within it all the finality of that last nail being driven into a coffin.

The disappointment mixed with surprise she saw in Joe’s face mirrored the way she felt. “But, Pa . . . . ” she protested, “I can— ”

“I KNOW you can, Stacy, but my answer is still NO.”

She knew better than to argue when Pa used THAT tone of voice. The remainder of the meal was taken in strained silence, broken only when she had asked to be excused in order to finish getting ready for school . . . .

“The LEAST he could’ve done was tell me why,” Stacy groused, as Blaze Face finished drinking his fill, and lifted his head.

“Why what?”

Stacy turned, and much to her pleasant surprise, found Jason O’Brien standing at her elbow, gazing down at her with a warm smile that turned her knees to jelly. “Jason, what are YOU doing HERE?” she asked as she draped her arm over the saddle for support.

“I figured YOU’D still be here.”

“You didn’t get fired or anything like that . . . did you?”

Jason chuckled softly, and shook his head. “We didn’t get much mail in today, so Mister Blevins let us all off an hour early.” Mister Blevins was the postmaster at the Virginia City post office. “So what were you muttering under your breath about just now?”

Stacy sighed, then shared with him the conversation she, her father, and brothers had at the breakfast table that morning. “He just plain, flat out said no,” she concluded, her ire rising once again. “He didn’t even tell me WHY.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“Not when Pa uses THAT tone of voice, I don’t,” Stacy said, as she and Jason climbed up into their respective saddles, and headed for the road that would take them out of town, toward the Ponderosa.

“It might have a lot to do with Marie,” Jason said thoughtfully.

“Joe’s ma?”

Jason nodded. “They ever tell you how she died?”

“Pa and Joe said she was thrown from her horse,” Stacy replied.

“I was a baby when that happened, but I remember Pa and Crystal saying she was an accomplished horsewoman,” Jason continued, “with a real keen eye for horseflesh to boot. Your pa had given her a mare named Clover for her birthday. Clover was a real fine horse, but very high strung.”

“Clover’s the horse that ended up throwing Joe’s ma?” Stacy asked.

“Yeah. Marie had been working very diligently with her every day. That last morning, according to MY pa, she and Clover went out as usual, and when they came back . . . I don’t know whether something had spooked her or if she stumbled in a chuck hole, but Pa told me that the only thing your pa could do was stand there and watch helplessly as Clover tossed poor Marie to her death,” Jason said.

“That’s . . . awful!” Stacy murmured softly, her heart going out to her father. “You think, maybe he’s afraid the same thing will happen to ME . . . if I help Joe bust broncs?”

“Deep down, I think he may be.”

Stacy silently digested all that Jason had told her. “I’m glad you told me, Jason,” she said in a small, contrite voice, barely audible.

“Just promise me you won’t tell your pa what I told you. I COULD be ‘way off the mark about this.”

“I don’t think you are, Jason. I’ve got a real strong hunch that you’re right on the money,” Stacy said. “I just wonder why I didn’t think of that myself.”

“Probably because, now that you’re about to go to work on the Ponderosa full time, you’re real eager to prove yourself,” Jason said with a smile. “Just like Susannah, now that SHE’S going to be working for Pa and Crystal. But, I’ll tell you the same thing I told HER, Stacy Rose . . . . ”

“What’s that?”

“You DON’T have to prove yourself,” Jason said earnestly. “Certainly not to your pa and your brothers. They’re REAL proud of you. I can tell by the looks on their faces when they talk about you . . . and I daresay your pa, especially, knows everything you’re capable of doing . . . and WILL be capable of doing . . . probably better than YOU do right now.”

“You really think so?” she asked, awed by the idea.

“I KNOW so,” Jason quickly assured her.

“Benjamin . . . SURELY there must be SOMETHING I can do!” Clarissa implored, growing more and more exasperated with each passing second. She had spent the better part of the last half an hour pacing up and down behind the settee, anxiously wringing her hands.

Ben glanced up from the open book he cradled in his hands, and smiled. “Yes, Clarissa . . . yes. Now that you mention it, there IS something you can do.”

The anxious scowl on her face instantly vaporized, leaving behind a smile, bright as the sunshine of a beautiful summer day. She abruptly ceased her interminable pacing behind the settee, and turned to face her first cousin, comfortably ensconced in the maroon leather easy chair. “What?” she demanded. “Plan meals? Help with the cooking . . . the housekeeping? You name it, Benjamin.”

“You needn’t worry about any of THAT,” Ben said, as he marked his place, then closed his book. “Hop Sing has all that very well in hand.”

“Then . . . what . . . WOULD you like me to do?”

“I would like you to sit down . . . and relax.”

Clarissa’s face fell.

“I mean it, Clarissa.”

“B-But . . . with Stacy’s graduation exercises on Tuesday . . . that big party you have planned for her AND her two closest friends— ”

“I already told you, Clarissa . . . though we’re holding the party here at the Ponderosa, Hugh O’Brien and Molly O’Hanlan’s parents are co-hosting this shindig with me,” Ben patiently explained once again. “The O’Briens are providing the fatted calf, we Cartwrights are providing the fatted PIG and a few fatted chickens, the O’Hanlans are providing the music, the liquor, and the cake. The rest of the costs are being split three ways.”

“What about the cooking, the cleaning, the decorating— ?!”

“Hop Sing will oversee the cooking and the cleaning,” Ben replied, “and Stacy, Molly, and Susannah have volunteered to take charge of the decorating. Joe will probably help out, of course, and I’d be REAL surprised if Susannah’s brother, Jason didn’t lend a hand.”

“What about fresh flowers?” Clarissa suggested hopefully. “Flower arrangements are my forte, you know . . . . ”

“Yes, I know,” Ben sighed, upon remembering how, on the occasion of her last visit, Clarissa had taken it upon herself to fix things up inside, with an over abundance of tatted lace doilies, and vase after vase after vase of fresh flowers sitting on virtually every flat surface available.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Clarissa, we won’t be needing any flowers, except for a vase full on the food table perhaps.”

“What?!”

“The morning of the party, Stacy, the boys, and I will be moving the furniture into the store room, so we’ll have plenty of space for dancing,” Ben explained. “With the McGuire brothers providing the music, it’s gonna be awfully hard to keep your feet still.”

Clarissa gasped, as her hands flew right up to her cheeks. Her mouth moved, but no words, no sound issued forth, as she stared over at her first cousin through eyes unblinking, round with shocked horror.

“Clarissa? Are you . . . alright?” Ben queried anxiously.

“Y-Yes . . . NO!” Clarissa very quickly pulled herself up to full height, and glared murderously at Ben as she slammed a pair of dainty, rock hard fists down hard onto her hips. “Benjamin Cartwright . . . do you mean to tell me that you expect a . . . a . . . that you and your boys actually expect a delicate young lady, like Stacy, to help you move furniture?!” she sputtered, giving full vent to the righteous ire and indignation rising swiftly within her. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, do you hear me?! ASHAMED!”

“Clarissa, I am very pleased to report that there is nothing delicate or weak about my daughter in the least,” Ben said complacently, “and, if I were you, I wouldn’t refer to her as a lady, young or otherwise.”

This pronouncement drew a bewildered frown from Clarissa.

“I’m afraid Stacy doesn’t accept that as much of a compliment . . . as Hoss found out the hard way, not long after she came to live with us,” Ben explained. “He was left limping for the better part of a month.”

“ . . . and y-you . . . you let her get away with that?!”

“Certainly not.”

“But, you just WARNED me about— ”

“Oh, I warmed her backside good and proper for kicking Hoss in the shins,” Ben replied.

“But . . . what about this business of . . . well . . . of not referring to her as a lady . . . young or otherwise?!”

“I can see her point, and respect her feelings, even if I don’t completely agree,” Ben said. “Now . . . in the meantime . . . . ”

“Yes?”

“Would you please stop that frantic pacing and sit down?! I’m tiring myself out just watching you.”

Clarissa exhaled a soft, melancholy sigh, as she circled around to the other side of the settee, and sat down. “Benjamin . . . . ”

“Yes, Clarissa?”

“I want to help,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Please . . . let me help?”

“Clarissa, you’re our GUEST.” Though his tone was kindly, even gentle, there was an underlying firmness that signified the end of this particular topic of conversation. “After all these years of caring for one sick or infirm relative after another, it’s high time you sat back, put your feet up, and allowed someone to wait on YOU for a change.”

“I see,” Clarissa murmured softly, before lapsing into sullen silence . . . .

“HELPFUL? HELPFUL!? YOU CALL REDECORATING MY STUDY . . . MY STUDY MIND YOU . . . WITH AN OVER ABUNDANCE OF . . . OF LACE DOILIES AND FLOWERS HELPFUL?!”

The voice of one James Burgess, raised in anger and frustration, once more echoed in Clarissa’s ears. He was the husband of her second cousin, the former Rosalyn Jones, and father of Amelia Hatcher, second cousin once removed, who, at the time was expecting her first child, due any day.

“THAT’S IT! THAT’S THE FINAL STRAW!”

“James . . . please!” Rosalyn meekly begged, in a voice barely audible.

“NO! I WON’T HAVE IT, ROSE. I WON’T! BY HER OWN ADMISSION . . . BY HER OWN ADMISSION . . . SHE MADE GERTIE CLEAR OFF THE TOP OF MY DESK . . . IN MY STUDY . . . NOW, I CAN’T FIND A BLESSED THING!”

“James, please keep your voice down . . . she’ll HEAR you.”

“I HOPE THAT INTERFERING, BUSYBODY SECOND COUSIN OF YOURS DOES HEAR ME,” James ranted. “HALF THE PAPERS THAT WERE ON MY DESK ARE GONE . . . MISSING . . . I HAVE A SICK FEELING SHE THREW THEM OUT— ”

“I’ll ask her to stay out of your study, James,” Rosalyn said wearily, “as for your papers, I’m sure they’ll turn up. Jenkins is searching through your study, and Ellen has the scullery maids sifting through the trash right now.”

“Rose, I want that woman OUT of my house.”

“Oh, James . . . no, please. She’s got no where to go— ”

“I don’t wonder,” James snapped back sardonically.

“ . . . and she HAS been a big help in looking after Amelia . . . . ”

Amelia’s husband, Jeremy Hatcher was away, in Philadelphia, on a business trip. Because Amelia was so near her time, she had gone into her confinement at her parents’ home.

“A HELP!? YOU CALL SCARING OUR POOR DAUGHTER TO DEATH HELPFUL?!” James echoed, incredulous.

“It’s all right, James . . . I asked Doctor Jaeger and Kristen, the mid-wife, to talk to Amelia . . . to answer her questions, and to allay her fears and concerns, and they have,” Rosalyn said. “Amelia’s feeling a lot better about things.”

“THAT’S a mercy anyway . . . but, I STILL want that woman out of my house, at the earliest possible convenience.”

“James, please— ”

“No, Rose. I’m putting my foot down.”

“I’ll tell her to stay out of your study.”

“It’s NOT JUST my study,” James protested. “It’s . . . it’s going through and undoing all the hard work YOU’VE done to furnish and decorate this house to suit HER tastes, HER idea of what’s proper. Her obsession with cleanliness has been driving poor Ellen crazy . . . last week, she was ready to quit, Rose, did you know that?”

“No.”

“I told her that from NOW on, she takes her orders from you or me, period. As for the rest, she’s to continue as she always has. I also instructed Ellen to pass that on to the other maids.”

“Oh, Dear, I had no idea.”

“ . . . and I’d just as soon hire a proper nurse to look after Amelia,” James continued. “I know it’s natural for her to be concerned, even fearful right now, and I feel it would be far better to have someone looking after her who’s knowledgeable in matters of the human body, than someone who doesn’t have the common sense the Good Lord gave a sparrow. The very idea, telling poor Amelia about all the women who died in childbirth.”

“She HAS been a help, James . . . . ”

“That woman has been about as helpful as . . . as . . . as a fifth wheel on a wagon. I want her out of here, Rose. As soon as humanly possible . . . . ”

As useful as a fifth wheel on a wagon.

The very same words her father used, and used often, as his illness and forced invalidism turned him bitter and cantankerous. Hearing those words on James Burgess’ lips hurt just as grievously as they did all those many long years ago, when Papa spoke them.

As useful as a fifth wheel on a wagon.

After overhearing that altercation between Rosalyn and James, Clarissa had gone to her room straightaway, with tears streaming down her face, to pack her things. Far be it from her to stay where she wasn’t wanted! She had every intention of leaving first thing in the morning.

That night, however, Amelia went into labor, giving birth to a fine healthy baby boy. Clarissa stayed on, intending to be of help with the baby. However, Amelia had insisted on caring for her newborn son herself, as she was able, and, true to HIS word, James had hired a young woman, not much older than Amelia, yet trained as a nurse, to look after mother and son. After two days of enforced idleness, she left for Virginia City . . . .

“Benjamin, bless his heart is a lot more polite about it,” she mused sadly, in silence. “But, underneath it all . . . he’s still saying the exact same thing Cousin Rosalyn’s husband did . . . . ”

. . . . and Papa.

“Tea time for Missy Cousin Clarissa,” Hop Sing blithely announced, mercifully drawing Clarissa from her less than happy reverie. He entered the great room carrying a tray bearing the silver tea service, along with cups, saucers, and teaspoons for two.

Clarissa sighed and shook her head. “Hop Sing . . . how MANY times do I have to tell you . . . I am NOT your cousin,” she stated primly, all the while favoring him with a withering glare.

“Oh. So sorry,” Hop Sing apologized. An impish grin spread slowly across his lips, as he set the tray down onto the coffee table directly in front of Clarissa, who sat perched on the very edge of the settee, knees pressed close together, hands folded in her lap. “Tea time for Missy Cartwright.”

“That’s supposed to be MISS Cartwright,” Clarissa corrected him in a peevish tone of voice.

“Horses, Mister Cartwright . . . in yard,” Hop Sing said, pointedly focusing his attention solely on Ben. “Miss Stacy home. Mister Jason come, too.”

“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Ben said, as he set his book down on the coffee table.

“Who’s this Mister Jason?” Clarissa asked, as she reached for the teapot.

“Mister Jason special somebody Miss Stacy like very, very much,” Hop Sing said with a broad grin.

Before Clarissa could even think of pursuing the matter further, the front door opened. Stacy entered first, with Jason following close behind.

“Benjamin . . . is that Stacy?” Clarissa asked, sotto voce.

“Um hmm.”

“She’s beautiful!” Clarissa exclaimed with a genuine, almost childlike delight, upon catching first sight of the tall, slender young woman, with her long, dark brown hair plaited in a single braid. She had never, not in the whole of her long life, ever seen a woman walk the way Stacy did, with back straight, shoulders back, with such confident sureness of foot. “She’s . . . absolutely beautiful!”

“Yes, she is,” Ben immediately agreed before walking over to greet his daughter and Jason.

“She’s going to be the belle of the ball when she makes her societal debut,” Clarissa mused silently, with a dreamy smile. That, of course, would happen in two years, upon completion of her studies at the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies, a venerable institution, known far and wide as THE finest finishing school Boston, and the whole of the east coast for that matter . . . had to offer. Clarissa herself would have gone there. In fact, she was all set to go there, when her father had taken ill.

Ben, meanwhile, greeted his daughter with a customary hug and kiss on her forehead. He, then turned and politely offered Jason his hand, while keeping one arm draped protectively around his daughter’s shoulders. “Good seeing you, Jason.”

“Thank you, Sir. Good seeing you, too,” Jason said, as he shook hands with the Cartwright family patriarch.

“ . . . and how was YOUR day, Young Woman?” Ben asked.

“Our rehearsal went very smoothly, Pa,” Stacy said with a smile, as she gave her father an affectionate squeeze around the waist, “and Julio said he heard from your friend, Miss Drake, yesterday.”

“Oh?” Ben queried, not without a slight bit of trepidation. “What did she say?”

“She’s agreed to take him as a student.”

“That’s wonderful!” Ben declared with much heartfelt relief. Angela Drake was a famous opera diva many years ago, and had recently found new acclaim as a very fine, if, more often than not, very tyrannical, teacher and mentor. Her artistic temperament was every bit as mercurial as it had been in her heyday. Though he had made a point of warning young Julio Fernandez of this when he had offered to write on the young man’s behalf, he was happy to know everything had gone well.

He turned to his cousin, now standing beside him. “Clarissa . . . .”

Her mind was thousands of miles away, in Boston, to be exact, wholly lost in a vivid reverie of herself and dearest Cousin Mirabelle Jones Standish looking on proudly, as the most handsome young man in all of Boston, the very crème-de-la-crème of Boston high society, bowed, and asked Stacy to dance on the momentous occasion of her society debut . . . .

“Clarissa?!”

She started violently, and opened her eyes to find Benjamin standing in front of her, with his arm around the shoulders of a young lady, with the brightest sapphire blue eyes she had ever seen. The young man, Jason, stood a little behind them, to their right.

“I’m sorry, Clarissa,” Ben immediately apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you like that.”

“I should be the one to apologize, Benjamin,” she said ruefully. “Here I am . . . a woman of my advanced years . . . wool gathering, of all things, like a silly young school girl . . . . ” She looked over as Stacy, and gasped. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry, I . . . I didn’t mean to imply that YOU’RE a silly school girl . . . . ”

“Clarissa, this is my daughter, Stacy,” Ben proudly made the introductions, “your first cousin, once removed.”

“Oh, Stacy, I’m so pleased to meet you . . . finally . . . face-to-face,” Clarissa gushed. “Your father’s told me so much about you in his letters, I . . . well, I feel like I half way know you already.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, too, Cousin Clarissa,” Stacy acknowledged the introduction with a warm smile.

“ . . . and this is Jason O’Brien,” Ben continued, motioning for the young man to move forward. “His father and I have been friends and neighbors for more years now than I care to count. He’s . . . lately . . . become a special friend of Stacy’s.”

“I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting you when you last came to visit,” Jason said with a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you this time.”

“Why thank you,” Clarissa beamed, as she offered Jason the same dead fish of a handshake she had offered Maxine Pettigrew earlier. “Young Man, I must say . . . your manners are quite lovely.”

“Thank you, Miss Cartwright.”

“It’s such a rare and wonderful surprise finding a young savage with such exquisite manners.”

Stacy felt the blood drain right out of her face, as she pointedly stepped over to Jason’s side and slipped her arm through his. Jason merely smiled over at her and reassuringly patted her hand.

“Cuh-Cuh-Cuh . . . Clu-Clarissa . . . . ”

“Yes, Benjamin?”

“Clarissa . . . J-Jason’s . . . well, h-he’s HARDLY a savage . . . . ” Ben stammered, as his own face rapidly turned ten different shades of red, one after the other after the other.

“Well, of course not,” Clarissa readily agreed. “I didn’t mean to imply that he was.” She turned and favored Jason with a condescending smile. “I was trying to say that for a young savage to have so diligently applied himself to learning proper etiquette . . . well, that’s quite an accomplishment.”

For a brief, insane moment, Ben heartily wished that the earth would open and swallow him right up. “J-Jason, I . . . I’m really sorry about . . . . ” he barely managed to stammer out his apology.

“It’s quite alright, Mister Cartwright,” Jason readily and graciously accepted Ben’s apology, unable to quite hide his own smile of amusement. “I understand.”

“Would you like to sit down and perhaps . . . visit with Stacy for a little while?” Ben invited, gesturing toward the settee with a broad sweeping motion of his arm.

“I’d like nothing better, but I really need to be off,” Jason said with genuine regret. “I still have chores to get done before supper, and while PA might let me slide just this once, my sister, Crystal WON’T.” He turned and favored Clarissa with a feral grin. “In fact, SHE just might lift my scalp.”

Clarissa gasped and shuddered.

“Stacy, why don’t you g’won and see Jason off, while I have a little, ummm CHAT with Cousin Clarissa,” Ben said, regaining a small measure of his composure.

“Ok, Pa,” Stacy murmured, her voice a flat monotone.

“Oh, Benjamin, you never told me how lovely she is,” Clarissa effused with a big, bright smile, after Stacy and Jason had stepped through the front door, and closed it behind them. “SHE is going to take Boston high society by storm, you just mark my words.”

“B-Boston?!” Ben echoed, suddenly feeling as if someone had sucker punched him hard in the stomach.

“Well of course, Boston,” Clarissa said, favoring her cousin with a look that clearly questioned the completeness of his mental faculties.

“Clarissa, wh-who said anything about . . . Boston?!”

“Stacy IS going to finishing school . . . isn’t she?” Though phrased as a question, it was more than clear that Clarissa took this as a given, set in stone.

“I . . . well, to be honest?! We’ve, ummm . . . never . . . actually . . . t-talked about it,” Ben stammered, completely taken aback. It was assumed all the way around that Stacy would go to work for him here on the Ponderosa, as her brothers had. In fact, from all indications, Stacy herself was looking forward to that every bit as much as he, Hoss, and Joe were looking forward to her joining them.

Clarissa sighed disparagingly, and rolled her eyes. “Benjamin, arrangements SHOULD have been made by this time LAST year,” she castigated her cousin very soundly. “All of the best schools have waiting lists a year long, some even TWO.”

Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Clarissa— ”

“However, YOU needn’t worry, Benjamin,” she said, rudely cutting him off, mid-sentence. An eager smile began to spread slowly across her face. By golly, she would show Mister and Mrs. Think-They-Know-Everything-James Milton Burgess that she WASN’T as useful as the fifth wheel on a wagon, thank you very much . . . and while she was at it, she’d show her father, too, may he rest in peace. “You needn’t worry about a blessed thing,” Clarissa said again, her eyes glowing now with a fierce, determined inner light.

Ben remembered with a sinking heart having seen Clarissa’s face and eyes glowing with that very same unholy inner light, just before she had set about to making herself useful on the occasion of her last visit. In the space of a single day, she had forced poor Hop Sing to clean the already spotless house from top to bottom, stem to stern, before cheerfully overhauling the decor. Ben had never, not in all his born days, EVER seen such an over abundance of flowers and lace doilies gathered together in one place. The final indignity was having to wear those blasted slippers whenever he, Hoss, and Joe came into the house, to preserve the clean floors.

“Clarissa—,” Ben ventured with a shudder.

“What is it, Benjamin?”

“I . . . n-needn’t worry a b-blessed thing . . . about . . . WHAT?!”

“About Stacy. Cousin Mirabelle lives in Boston . . . and SHE is a most distinguished alumna of the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies,” Clarissa blithely rambled on, wholly oblivious to Ben’s growing trepidation.

“C-Clarissa . . . wh-what . . . is this . . . Sarah Lynn Portnoy A-Academy for . . . Young Ladies . . . and WHAT in the world does it have to do with Stacy?” Ben asked, trying to ignore the thoroughly discomfiting feeling of having just fallen in ‘way over his head.

“What is the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies?!” Clarissa echoed, incredulous. “Benjamin, I don’t believe you! I honest and truly DON’T!”

Ben shook his head and shrugged his shoulders helplessly in response.

Clarissa sighed disparagingly, and shook her head. “The Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies happens to be THE finest finishing school, not only in Boston, but on the whole of the east coast . . . and maybe in the whole COUNTRY as well!!”

“I’m sorry, Clarissa, but . . . I’ve never heard of it.”

“That comes of being a man, and having been the father of SONS for the most part, I suppose,” Clarissa said, her stern tone of voice at complete odds with the smile trying to burst forth on her face. “All I can say is . . . thank heaven Cousin Amelia recovered from having that baby as quickly as she did, because it’s plain to see that I’ve got my work cut out for me HERE.”

Ben felt his heart plummet to his feet. “Clarissa, what . . . exactly . . . do you mean when you say that you have your work cut out for you h-here?” he ventured with much reluctance, fearing that he already knew the answer.

“I meant that you and Stacy don’t have a thing to worry about,” Clarissa said brightly, with a rapturous smile now on her face. She clasped her hands together in wondrous glee. “Benjamin, Cousin Mirabelle is not only a distinguished alumna of the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies, but over the years, she’s been a very generous contributor as well. One word from her to the headmistress and I guarantee Stacy will be accepted immediately, right on the spot, sight unseen.”

“Accepted?! Accepted where?”

“To the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies!” Clarissa said, with a touch of exasperation.

“N-Now just one minute here— ” Ben tried desperately, in vain, to get in a word edgewise.

“Oh, Benjamin, Benjamin . . . all the golden opportunities . . . all the lovely prospects that young lady has ahead of her . . . . ” Clarissa blithely rambled on, as if her first cousin had not even tried to speak. “When she makes her society debut in two years, Miss Stacy Rose Cartwright is going be the absolute belle of the ball, you mark my words.”

“Clarissa— ”

“What is it, Benjamin?” Clarissa demanded impatiently.

“Don’t you think you ought to ask Stacy first before you start planning her whole life for her?”

“Ask Stacy?!” Clarissa laughed with genuine mirth. “Ask Stacy? Surely you jest.”

“No, Clarissa, I am NOT joking.”

“Benjamin, she may be about to graduate from school, but she’s STILL hardly more than a child,” Clarissa said severely, “and a GIRL child at that.”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

Clarissa sighed again, wondering how a man intelligent enough to build and run a vast empire, like the Ponderosa, could, at the same time be so infuriatingly dense. “Girls tend to be very capricious, always changing their minds from one minute to the next, with their pretty little heads in the clouds, carried away by one fanciful whim or another,” she patiently explained. “Perhaps you CAN allow a young man a certain amount of say in his future, since boys generally tend to have their feet planted more firmly on the ground, but to trust a GIRL to make the kind of crucial decisions that are going to affect the whole rest of her life?!” Clarissa vigorously shook her head. “Never. Older and wiser heads MUST prevail.”

“Clarissa, Stacy’s NOT— ”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Benjamin, I have a million things to do.” With that, she turned and flounced out of the room, and up the stairs.

Ben, pale and shaken, lifted his eyes to the heavens. “Help . . . . ” he whispered softly.

“Jason, I’m so sorry for what Cousin Cla— ” Stacy, meanwhile, began to apologize the instant they had stepped out onto the porch, closing the front door behind them.

Jason quickly silenced her apology mid-sentence with a gentle, feather light kiss on her lips. “It’s all right, Stacy Rose.”

“No . . . it’s NOT all right,” she protested.

“Miss Cartwright is old, she’s from a different generation. She doesn’t know any better.”

“But . . . PA’S older than SHE is, and . . . HE certainly knows better.”

“Your pa’s traveled a lot,” Jason hastened to point out. He slipped his arm about her shoulders as they stepped down off the porch, and started across the yard toward the hitching post, where both their horses remained tethered. Stacy, in turn, automatically placed her arm about his waist. “He not only traveled all the way from Boston to Virginia City . . . but, he also spent many years traveling all over the world back when he was a sailor. He’s had lots of opportunity to meet and get to know a lot of different people from many, many, many different places and backgrounds.

“Miss Cartwright, on the other hand, probably never ventured more than ten miles from the place of her birth, until her father died, and even though she’s traveled a lot since, it’s been from one relative to the next . . . all of them, more than likely, people very much like herself.”

“THAT’S a scary thought . . . but, you’re probably right,” Stacy had to agree.

“She means well, Stacy Rose, she’s basically harmless,” Jason said, “and, as I just said, she doesn’t know any better. I don’t take people like that seriously, and neither should YOU.” He punctuated his words with a playful kiss on the tip of her nose.

“I STILL don’t like the way she was going on and on about you being some kind of ignorant savage, who barely has enough brains to learn table manners,” Stacy growled. She, then cast a quick, furtive glance over in the direction of the front door, noting with great satisfaction that it remained closed. “ . . . and another thing, Jason Thundercloud O’Brien . . . how many times do I have to tell you . . . if you’re going to kiss me, then for heaven’s sake, KISS me?!” With that, Stacy threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips.

Jason’s arms automatically encircled her waist and shoulders, tentative at first, then more firmly as his initial shock faded, and he began to return her kiss with equal ardor. “NOW who’s the savage?” Jason demanded with a warm smile, when their lips finally parted.

“I was wondering about that myself.”

Stacy and Jason glanced up sharply, and found Joe leaning against the corral fence, with his arms folded across his chest, chuckling.

“How long have you been standing there?” Stacy demanded indignantly, her complexion significantly more ruddy than usual.

“Long enough to begin wondering whether or not you two were gonna come up for air,” Joe teased, taking great delight in his sister’s discomfiture.

“You should’ve made your presence known.”

“Made my presence known?! Are you KIDDING?!! I would have not only spoiled that, ummm tender scene between the two of you, but I would have also blown what could be my biggest ace in the hole ever,” Joe said with a mischievous grin.

“What do you mean your biggest ace in the hole ever?” Stacy demanded warily.

“I mean you take my turn mucking out the stalls for the next six months, and maybe . . . MAYBE, mind you . . . I won’t tell Pa what goes on out here in his very own front yard when he’s not looking,” Joe said smugly.

“Oh yeah, Grandpa? Well I have a COUNTER proposal for ya,” Stacy said, returning his smug grin with a cat-that-just-ate-the canary one of her own. “How about you keep the details of what goes on out here in the front yard when Pa’s not looking to yourself, and I’ll keep Lilly Beth Jared’s new pet name for ya to MYSELF.”

Joe blanched. “Whuh—wait a minute! How did you— ” His scowl deepened as the evil laughter Stacy could no longer keep back assailed his ears. “Hey! Who do you think you’re trying to bluff?! You don’t even know what her new pet name for me is!”

“YOU know that and I know that . . . but PA doesn’t know that,” Stacy said, taking no pains to hide the smug, triumphant note in her voice. “All I have to do is come up with something suitably naughty.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t I?”

The fierce scowl on her face and the rigid set of her jaw answered the question she posed in a way mere words couldn’t even begin. “Where in the ever lovin’ world did you ever learn to be so daggoned devious, Little Sister?”

“From my venerable honorable older brother sir.”

“Never!” Joe immediately declared in tones of mock indignation and righteous outrage. “I’ll have YOU know, Miss Stacy Rose Cartwright, that I am the heart and soul of the whole, the pure, and the unvarnished truth. I would never even think of lying, except when I turn in every night.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What about that little chat YOU had with Pa about the dress I had made for The Wedding of the Century?”

“WHAT chat?”

“The one that left him absolutely convinced that I was having a dress made like the ones the girls, who work at the Silver Dollar, wear.”

“Uh oh. On THAT note, I think I’d better get while the gettin’s good,” Jason said, with an amused smile. “Joe, a piece of advice, if I may?”

“What?” Joe growled.

“When it comes to being sneaky, and devious, a SISTER will beat ya every single time,” Jason said with a broad grin. “I know. I grew up with TWO.” He, then, turned his attention back to Stacy. “I’ll see you Tuesday, at the graduation exercises, Stacy Rose. I’ll be right there in the front row cheering you and my sister on.”

“I’ll be looking for you, Jason,” Stacy said. “Thank you for riding home with me.”

“My pleasure as always.”

Joe and Stacy waited until Jason had mounted his horse and ridden off.

“So tell me something, Kid . . . where in the world did you ever learn to kiss like THAT?” Joe demanded, as he and Stacy turned and started toward the house.

“You promise me you won’t get mad?”

“Uh oh. Don’t tell me it was from watching me and Lilly Beth,” Joe groaned.

“I’m afraid so, Grandpa,” Stacy said, as she slipped her arm through his.

“I tell ya . . . . ” Joe murmured, shaking his head in dismay. “All I gotta say is . . . it’s a darn good thing for you and Lilly Beth that Jason and I are honorable, trustworthy gentlemen.”

“I just hope I haven’t seen the last of Jason,” Stacy said sadly, with a healthy dose of trepidation.

“Seen the LAST of Jason?!” Joe echoed, favoring her with a look that asked which rock did she just crawl out from under. He immediately stopped walking, then turned and looked her straight in the face. “Stacy Rose Cartwright, I want you to listen to me and listen real good,” he said sternly. “Speaking as a guy who’s been engaged a couple of times, I know what I’m talking about when I tell ya . . . Jason’s in for the long haul, Kid. I know the look when I see it.”

“Y-You really think so?”

The eager, almost childlike hopefulness he saw in Stacy’s face and in her eyes killed the smart retort sitting right on the tip of his tongue. “Hey! I KNOW so,” Joe reiterated gently. “Where’d you get the idea you’d seen the last of Jason anyway?”

“Cousin Clarissa,” Stacy said dolefully. “When Pa introduced her to Jason, she complimented him on his manners, then gushed about how diligently a . . . a young savage had to have applied himself to have learned proper etiquette in the first place.”

“Hoo boy!” Joe murmured, rolling his eyes. “What did PA say?”

“I don’t know,” Stacy said miserably. “I was too busy wondering which one of us was gonna faint first.”

“I sure hope Pa gets Cousin Clarissa a good, stout, leather muzzle this time,” Joe said grimly. “If he doesn’t, our family’s not gonna have a single, solitary friend left in the whole wide world.”

Ben, now seated behind his desk, glanced up wearily as his two younger children trudged in through the front door. “Joe! I didn’t know you were home,” he exclaimed in mild surprise.

“Yeah, I rode in as Jason was leaving,” Joe replied. “Hoss and I made real good time getting the needed supplies out to that broken section of fence surrounding our winter pasture. We got everything unloaded, ready to start work first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Ben said with an approving smile. “Where’s Hoss? He came back with you . . . didn’t he?”

“No, Pa . . . he didn’t.”

“Oh?” Ben’s smile faded. “Where did HE go?”

“Valhalla.”

“Valhalla?!” Ben echoed with a puzzled frown. “What for?”

“His exact words were . . . ‘A decent meal, dadburn it.’ ”

“Why would Hoss have to go to Valhalla to get a decent meal?” Stacy asked, with a perplexed look on her face.

“Because Cousin Clarissa vowed to put him on a diet . . . again! Just like she did the LAST time she came to visit,” Joe said with a scowl. “It was awful, Kid. She had him down to eating nothing but lettuce and turnip greens.”

“Poor Hoss,” Stacy murmured softly.

“Hoss’ll be alright,” Ben said. “I’m more worried about what she said to Jason.” He turned his attention to his daughter. “Stacy, is . . . is everything all right?”

“Yeah, Jason’s ok,” Stacy said. “I think you and I were more upset than HE was.”

“I’m very relieved to hear THAT,” Ben declared with heartfelt sincerity.

“Pa . . . where’s Cousin Clarissa now?” Joe asked, taking great care to lower his voice.

“She said something about having a million things to do, then went on upstairs,” Ben replied, as he cast a uneasy glance over toward the steps . . . .

“HEEEELLOOOOOO! GOOD MOOOOORRRRNING!” Clarissa called out, as she pounded insistently on the fast closed door of the bunkhouse with her balled fist.

No answer! This was the third time she had knocked on the door and called.

Scowling, she pounded on the door as hard as she could, rattling its very hinges. It was seven o’clock, and the sun had been up for nearly an hour now. It galled her no end the way Benjamin’s servants took such outrageous advantage of his good nature. At the very least, they should have been up, washed, shaved, dressed, and about the business for which her cousin no doubt paid them very handsomely.

It was Candy who finally answered the door, groggy with sleep, his hair mussed, eye lids half opened, clad only in a pair of pajama bottoms.

Clarissa stood, as if rooted to the very spot, with a crimson face, her mouth hanging wide open.

Candy yawned in her face. “S-Sorry, Miss Cartwright . . . . ” He yawned again. “Wha’ can I do f’r ya?”

“You can make an effort to look half way presentable before you come to the door,” Clarissa angrily sputtered, the minute she found her voice.

Candy just stared over at her blankly, with a puzzled frown on his face.

“You’re positively indecent! Benjamin’s daughter should not have to endure being exposed to— ”

“Sta— uhhh, Mister Cartwright’s daughter doesn’t make a habit of barging into the bunkhouse this early in the morning . . . or at any other time, either, for that matter,” Candy said stiffly.

“ . . . and speaking of early in the morning, Young Man, WHAT are the lot of you still doing in bed?!” she cried, outraged. “You should have been up and about your duties HOURS ago.”

“MISTER Cartwright expects us to report to work PROMPTLY at eight-thirty, unless, of course, HE says otherwise,” Candy said, his own ire beginning to rise. He yawned again, much to Clarissa’s annoyance and vexation. “Now if you will excuse me . . . . ” He started to close the door.

Clarissa angrily thrust out a hand to stop him. “Just a moment, Young Man.”

“NOW what?” Candy groaned, taking no pains to conceal his own irritation.

“I have an URGENT message that MUST be wired to my cousin in Boston, as soon as possible,” Clarissa said imperiously.

“I’m sorry, Miss Cartwright, but we all have our assigned duties for the day,” Candy said stiffly. “We’re not going to have the time to stop and— ”

“Mister Canaday?” a sleepy voice spoke out of the darkness of the bunkhouse interior.

“Yes, Kevin?”

“Mister Cartwright asked me to go into town this morning and pick up his mail,” Kevin O’Hennessy, one of the younger hands said. “I can take Miss Cartwright’s message to the telegraph office.”

“Thank you very much, Young Man,” Clarissa said, smiling, though her tone remained faintly imperious. She stepped toward the open door.

“ . . . uhhh, Miss Cartwright, I . . . . ” Candy thrust out his hand, as the blood drained right out of his face. “I’LL see that Kevin g-gets the message.”

“If you DON’T mind, MISTER Canaday,” Clarissa said as she pushed her way past Candy, and sauntered into the bunkhouse. “I’d prefer handing Kevin the message my—su, su, su . . . . ” With a feeble groan, she fainted dead away at the sight of Kevin standing to the right of the door, in the complete altogether.

“Honest, Mister Cartwright . . . I TRIED to stop her,” Candy desperately tried to explain. He wore the same clothing that he had worn the previous day, donned in haste. His face remained pale, and his eyes round with shocked horror. “I did. It was like trying to stop a . . . a juggernaut!”

Ben gazed over at his cousin’s prostrate form stretched out on the settee, with her feet propped up on the arm, groaning softly, as Hop Sing alternated between fanning her and holding a bottle of smelling salts under her nose. He, then, turned and glared over at Joe and Stacy, both of whom were leaning against the back of the settee, trying desperately not to laugh. Their success in that arduous endeavor was dubious at best.

“Candy, I believe you,” Ben said, placing a reassuring, paternal hand on the junior foreman’s shoulder. “I know my cousin can be very forceful when she sets her mind.”

Candy exhaled a long, heartfelt sigh of relief.

“I . . . don’t THINK Miss Cartwright will up and try to barge in again like she did just now,” Ben continued, “but, just in case? Perhaps it might be wise for you and the other men in the bunk house to wear a modicum of SOMETHING to bed, while she’s here?”

“Yes, Sir.” Candy turned to leave.

“Oh. Candy . . . one more thing?”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright?”

“I know some of the men keep flasks for, ummm shall we say medicinal purposes?”

Candy nodded.

“It might be a good idea for them to keep their flasks well out of sight while she’s here, too,” Ben added, remembering how Clarissa had sauntered into the bunk house, hung curtains, then dumped every last container of whiskey she could find, when she came to visit last. That had prompted half the men to quit on the spot.

“I guess it kinda figures she’d be a teetotaler,” Candy sighed. “I’ll tell the others, Mister Cartwright.”

“Thank you, Candy . . . I’d appreciate that.” Ben waited until his junior foreman had left, before turning his attention to Clarissa.

“Oohhh, Benjamin, I . . . I feel so silly,” she groaned, as Ben seated himself on the coffee table next to the settee.

“There’s no need to feel silly, Clarissa,” Ben said gently, as he took her hand in his own. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“Benjamin, you need to be FIRM with these people,” Clarissa moaned. “You need to let them know exactly WHO is in charge here.”

“Cousin Clarissa, take it from me . . . there’s no doubt at all in anyone’s mind as to who’s running things here,” Joe spoke up for the first time.

“ . . . and I’ve already spoken to Mister Canaday, and asked HIM to pass the word on to the others.”

“Good!” Clarissa said, as she started to rise.

“Cousin Clarissa, not sit up so quick,” Hop Sing warned.

“Hop Sing, I am NOT your cousin,” she said with a grimace. She rose, only to fall back down with a feeble moan, as her head started to spin.

Hop Sing sighed and sarcastically rolled his eyes heavenward. “Mister Cartwright, Missy YOUR cousin. YOU stay with Missy. Time for Hop Sing start make breakfast,” he said tersely, before turning heel and making tracks toward the kitchen.

“Oh, B-Benjamin . . . I’m so sorry . . . . ” she groaned . . . .

“Sorry?! Hell! You’re pathetic, Child, utterly pathetic . . . about as useful as a fifth wheel on a wagon!”

Her father, the first night Clarissa tried to cook their supper. They could no longer afford the housekeeper, the maids, or the gardener because his medical expenses, the doctor, the nurse who came each day, his medicines, all cost a small fortune. They had kept Cook on as long as they possibly could, but in the end, they were forced to let HER go as well . . . .

“You’re pathetic, Child, utterly pathetic . . . . ”

What did he expect?! She had never learned to cook or clean. She never had to learn . . . never thought she’d EVER have to learn.

. . . every bit as helpful as . . . .

. . . a fifth wheel on a wagon.

. . . a fifth wheel . . . .

. . . on a wagon.

She squeezed her eyes shut against Papa’s angry, jeering face, and brought her hands up to her ears, pressing so tight, she half feared she was going to end up crushing her own skull . . . and still his cruel words poured in, relentlessly, without even the slightest sign of let up.

“I’ll show YOU,” she adamantly vowed. “I’ll show you.”

Clarissa?

Clarissa, wake up.

Her eyes snapped wide open, and she found herself staring up into three anxious faces of her first cousin, and his two younger children.

“Clarissa? You all right?” Ben asked.

“I . . . yes, I’m f-fine,” she murmured softly. “Benjamin?”

“Yes, Clarissa?”

“I . . . I’m not very hungry,” she murmured softly, her voice barely audible. “Would you mind too terribly much if I went back upstairs to rest for a little while?”

“Not at all,” Ben said quietly. “Feel up to having a slice of toast and a cup of tea?”

Clarissa responded with a tremulous smile. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

“Hop Sing will bring it up when it’s ready. In the meantime, why don’t you rest, maybe even have a nap,” Ben said. “After lunch, if you’re feeling up to it, maybe we can persuade Stacy to take you out to Ponderosa Plunge . . . . ”

“Oh, Benjamin, what a delightful day this has turned out to be!” Clarissa exclaimed, her face aglow with an almost rapturous delight, as she and Ben stepped out onto the front porch together. She had spent most of the morning napping, despite her intentions to the contrary, and it had proven a much needed, much welcome tonic. Now, with her normally abundant vim and vigor, for the most part, restored, she was ready and eager to face the afternoon.

“Yes, indeed it HAS turned out to be a fine day,” Ben agreed, “perfect for a nice ride out to Ponderosa Plunge. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Yes, I am, thank you,” Clarissa said, with a smile as bright as the sun shining overhead. To her own mind, she was fashionably attired in a riding costume, with jacket, hat, and skirt, long and flowing, hued in a sensible dark brown most suitable to a lady of her advanced years. She also wore a cream colored blouse with a subdued ruffle at the collar and at the wrists, peeking modestly out from the sleeves of her jacket. Her leather kid gloves were the same dark brown as her riding habit, while the scarf, which held her hat in place, was made from a translucent, diaphanous material dyed to match her blouse.

“Oh, Benjamin, I’m so glad you suggested that Stacy and I ride out together this afternoon,” Clarissa said, as they made their way across the yard to the corral fence

“I know you’re going to enjoy it. I . . . wish I could go with the two of ya, but I’m afraid I’ve put off doing the ledgers for too long already.”

“That’s quite alright,” Clarissa said. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy your company, but I feel this will be a nice chance for Stacy and me to get better acquainted.”

Ben was gratified and relieved that there had been no further mention of Boston, finishing school, or debutante balls since yesterday afternoon. He fervently hoped and prayed that Clarissa had decided not to press the matter any further, that she would just relax from here on out, and enjoy the company of her relatives.

Stacy and Candy stepped from the coolness of the dimly lit barn into the bright morning sunshine, leading Blaze Face and Gentleman Jim, Clarissa’s mount, respectively. Clarissa was horrified to see that Stacy’s horse was outfitted with the kind of saddle MEN use . . . and Stacy herself attired in a pair of britches, a shirt, and a wide brimmed Stetson, just like one of her father’s hired hands.

“Oh dear . . . . ” she murmured, as the blood drained right out of her face, leaving it a sickly, ashen gray. “B-Benjamin . . . . ”

“Y-Yes, Clarissa?” he queried with sinking heart. He had come to learn all over again, very quickly, that he was in for a big, long diatribe of a lecture when she got that horrified look on her face, and spoke in that particular bell like tone of voice.

“Doesn’t Stacy have a proper riding costume?” she demanded, taking great care to lower her voice.

“You mean . . . for riding side saddle?”

“I mean for riding as a lady ought to ride,” she snapped.

“Clarissa, during the time Stacy lived with the Indians, she learned to ride a horse astride,” Ben explained.

“Did no one ever try to teach her otherwise?”

“She tried once or twice before letting it be known that she would ride as she already knew how to ride,” Ben said.

“You should have been firm, Benjamin.”

“Clarissa, very few women out here ride side saddle,” Ben tried to explain. “With the work we do . . . rounding up horses or cattle— ”

“I can assure you that Stacy will be doing NONE of those things when she reaches Boston,” Clarissa said severely. “The only kind of riding she’ll be doing . . . IF she does any at all, will be to promenade around the square on Sunday afternoon, AFTER she attends church.”

“Hoo boy!” Ben sighed, as he paused to gaze upward to the heavens, silently, desperately beseeching. “Clarissa— ”

“What?”

“I . . . think you and I need to come to an understanding on a few things— ”

Clarissa glared over at him, with her posture ramrod straight, and arms folded tight across her chest.

“I don’t want you exerting a lot of undue pressure on Stacy about going to that finishing school in Boston,” Ben said, feeling very disconcertingly on the defensive.

“I can’t talk to her about it . . . mention it as a possibility?!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t MENTION it, or suggest it as a possibility,” Ben said in a very quiet, very firm tone of voice. “But, I WON’T have you browbeating my daughter into doing something she doesn’t want to do.”

“Are you saying that . . . that you don’t want her to g-go to Boston?”

“Between you and me? No. I DON’T want her to go to Boston, but— ”

Clarissa looked over at Ben, stunned, for a moment, before suddenly bursting into tears. “Benjamin . . . B-Benjamin, h-how COULD you?!” she sobbed, grief stricken and very angry. “How COULD you?!!”

“H-How could I . . . what?!” Ben stammered, wholly taken aback by her tears.

“How could you be so selfish?!”

“S-Selfish?!”

“Yes, SELFISH!” Clarissa said angrily, then softened. “I’m sorry, Benjamin, I . . . well, I guess not having had children myself, it’s very difficult for me to understand how hard it must be for a parent to let them go, but . . . surely . . . you’re NOT going to put YOUR desires . . . what YOU want . . . above Stacy’s happiness.”

“Of course not. If . . . I had been allowed to finish, I would have said that it’s not for ME to decide . . . or YOU either, for that matter,” Ben said. “It’s up to STACY to decide what she wants to do after she graduates, and I mean to stand by that.”

“Have you ever once ASKED Stacy about going to finishing school?” Clarissa pressed with all the stubborn relentlessness of a pit bull.

“Well . . . no . . . not in so many words . . . . ” Ben replied, feeling very much like a criminal, who had been caught in the very act, standing before judge, jury, and executioner, without a proverbial leg to stand on. “But . . . we’ve talked about things— ”

“WHAT things . . . other than this ranch?” Clarissa demanded.

“Stacy knows what her options are, Clarissa,” Ben said, bristling at her unspoken insinuations.

“Cousin Clarissa?”

She turned and found Stacy standing at her elbow.

“Ready to ride?”

“Yes, I am,” Clarissa said with an emphatic nod of her head . . . .

“Well, Cousin Clarissa? What do you think?” Stacy asked, eagerly watching for Cousin Clarissa’s reaction to the wondrous landscape spread out before them.

Clarissa Cartwright gasped in awe at the magnificent vista, of deep blue lake, tall ponderosa pine trees, mixed with aspen, oak, cottonwood, and birch spread out before her. The dark forest, deep pine greens, mixed with the lighter greens, lush almost succulent over the long stretch of many, many miles, gradually faded into a uniform blue green hue, which, in turn melted away into the bluish-purple mountains in the far distance. “Oh, Stacy . . . it’s . . . it’s magnificent,” she murmured softly. “Nothing less than . . . magnificent.”

“Would you like to get down and stretch your legs a bit?” Stacy asked. “I can help you, if you need it.”

“No, Stacy . . . thank you. I’m fine,” Clarissa replied, though, in truth, she would have liked nothing better. Unfortunately, Benjamin didn’t employ a proper groom, a man, who, under normal circumstances, would have accompanied them on their ride, and deftly seen to it SHE at least was assisted in dismounting and climbing back onto the saddle once again, when they were ready to move on. She was gratified, even touched by Stacy’s generous offer to assist her in dismounting, but doubted very seriously that the child possessed sufficient strength to accomplish so arduous a task.

“Pa told me that Adam named this place Ponderosa Plunge, the first time they came here together,” Stacy said, speaking softly, reverently, as Molly and Susannah did whenever they entered the sanctuary of Saint Mary’s in the Mountains. “Adam used to come here a lot, especially when he needed to think, or simply to be alone. So do I.”

“It IS quite lovely and peaceful here,” Clarissa said, her stiff tone of voice at odds with the smile on her face. “Benjamin . . . your father . . . allows you to ride out here . . . alone?”

Stacy nodded. “As long as my morning chores are done, and I’m back in plenty of time to get Blaze Face properly stabled by the time Hop Sing has breakfast ready.”

Clarissa added ‘ NO riding alone’ to the rapidly expanding list, of things Stacy must know and understand before starting at the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies, come fall. She would also have to be fitted with a proper riding costume, maybe two or better yet, three. It wouldn’t do at all for her to be seen promenading around the square on Sunday afternoons in the same one too often, not among the wealthy elite making up the very cream of Boston high society.

“ . . . and, most important, she MUST be taught to ride in a manner proper for a young lady . . . using a side saddle,” Clarissa mused darkly, in silence.

“We’ll have to come out here one morning to watch the sun rise,” Stacy said with a dreamy smile, blissfully ignorant of her companion’s silent, dire musings, “ . . . that is . . . if you wouldn’t mind getting up before dawn.”

“I’m a firm believer in early to bed and early to rise,” Clarissa said quickly. “May I ask you a question?”

“I guess . . . . ” Stacy replied, suddenly wary.

“Nothing personal . . . well, maybe a little personal.” Clarissa’s disgruntled frown faded into a warm smile. “I was just wondering what your plans for the future might be, now that you’ll be graduating in a few days.”

“Oh.” Stacy relaxed slightly, and even returned Clarissa’s smile. “Wednesday morning, I go to work for Pa, just like Hoss and Joe,” she replied with confidence, and a touch of pride. “He’ll be paying me wages, too . . . just like he does them.”

Clarissa was appalled. Absolutely appalled! “What . . . kinds of things will you, uhhh b-be doing?” she forced herself to ask that question.

“Pa hasn’t exactly come to a decision as to where I’m going to start,” Stacy replied, feeling oddly on the defensive. “I HAVE been working with Joe and Hoss training horses after they’ve saddle broken . . . some.”

“Only some?” Clarissa triumphantly snapped right back.

“As school and . . . homework have allowed.”

“What ELSE?”

“What else?!” Stacy echoed. A bewildered frown creased her normally smooth brow.

“What else do you do around here?”

“I have MY morning chores, of course . . . . ”

“Is that all?”

“No. I’ve also been teaching people how to ride,” Stacy said, warming now to a favorite topic. “Kids mostly, but I’ve also taught a couple of adults. Just this past summer Mrs. Hansen . . . she’s one of our neighbors . . . she came with her youngest daughter, Meribeth . . . and I got to teach BOTH of ‘em at the same time.”

“Do you . . . enjoy that?”

“Very much,” Stacy replied, her bright blue eyes shining with adoration and deep reverence. “I love horses, Cousin Clarissa. They’re not only useful as work animals, but I’ve found them to be wonderful companions, too . . . especially Blaze Face.” She punctuated her words with a gentle, loving caress along the side of his neck. “If I can teach someone else not only how to ride, but also how to take care of their horse, I feel like I’m doing something really worth while.”

“I . . . see,” Clarissa said stiffly, with a grimace.

“Pa says I also pass along my love of horses to the people I teach. I think I like that idea best of all,” Stacy said, finding it hard to speak past that sudden lump in her throat, upon remembering the love and pride shining in her father’s eyes when he had told her that. “Now that I’m graduating, I’ll have lots more time to give lessons.”

“Stacy, have you ever thought about . . . well, about doing something else? ANYthing else?”

No,” Stacy replied, “because everything I’ve ever wanted is right here.”

“That poor child!” Clarissa mused silently. “THIS . . . . ” she grimaced, “ . . . is all she’s ever KNOWN!” Benjamin meant well, but no matter how much he, his sons, and even Stacy herself tried to pretend otherwise, the real fact of the matter was . . . running a ranch, especially a ranch the size of the Ponderosa, was work for a MAN. The boys would someday marry, and start their own families . . . and they would eventually take over the duties and responsibilities of running things when Benjamin finally became too old, too infirm to effectively run things himself.

But, where would that leave Stacy?

The only future Clarissa could possibly envision was an empty life, not unlike the way her own had been, after Papa took sick. The thought of Stacy spending year after lonely year caring for a cantankerous, invalided father . . . never marrying, or having her own family, because there was no time for such folderol . . . .

Papa’s words.

. . . and what would happen to her after Benjamin finally shuffled off this mortal coil, as all men and women eventually must? Would Stacy end up as SHE had? Left bereft of hearth and home because Papa’s last will and testament said share and share alike, and she had no money to buy out her brothers’ and sister’s shares of the old homestead?!

No!

A glint of the old Cartwright steel flashed in Clarissa’s gray green eyes, and her mouth thinned to a near straight, determined line.

NO!

That would NOT be Stacy’s future. Not while SHE was around to prevent it. And she silently vowed, then and there, that she would do all that lay within her power to save poor Stacy from such a fate.

“Stacy,” she snapped out the girl’s name.

“Yes, Cousin Clarissa?” she queried, suddenly wary. There was something unsettling about the look in her companion’s eyes . . . .

“Will you be going away to finishing school?”

“No!” Stacy’s reply was succinct, emphatic, no beating around the bush.

“There’s a fine one in Boston,” Clarissa continued, as if Stacy had not even spoken. “In fact, it’s the finest on the entire east coast, if not in the entire country. Young ladies come from far and wide to attend . . . even from as far away as England and France. What would you say if I told you I could get you admitted there as a student . . . even now at the eleventh hour?”

“I would say thank you very much for your offer, Cousin Clarissa, but I DON’T want to go.”

For a moment, all Clarissa could do was stare over at her young cousin once removed through eyes round with shocked astonishment, too stunned to even speak.

“I . . . Cousin Clarissa, I . . . think, maybe we ought to be getting back now,” Stacy said, suddenly desirous of being free of the older woman’s company.

“Stacy— ”

“Cousin Clarissa, I don’t want to go to finishing school,” Stacy said in a firm tone that brooked no argument, no further discussion of the matter, sounding very much like her father when HE came to a final decision.

An exasperated sigh exploded from between Clarissa’s rapidly thinning lips, as astonishment and shock began to give way to anger, and a very real, all consuming fear for Stacy’s future. “Stacy Cartwright, do you realize that you literally have the world . . . the WHOLE WORLD . . . lying right here, at your feet?!”

“I-I don’t understand— ”

“Of COURSE you don’t understand! How could you POSSIBLY understand?!” Clarissa exploded, rudely cutting Stacy off, mid-sentence. “Given all the right resources . . . completing your studies at one of the finest, if not THE finest finishing school, making your societal debut, and finally . . . making a good marriage to a man of impeccable breeding with generous financial means . . . do you realize there’s nothing you can’t do?! Nothing you can’t have??”

She opened her mouth fully intending to tell Cousin Clarissa that she already HAD everything she could possibly want . . . right here. Not even the best finishing school, or a grand and glorious societal debut . . . whatever THAT was . . . could ever take the place of the kind and loving family, who had unconditionally accepted her as the beautiful, unique young woman she was, who had always encouraged her to follow her own heart. With Pa, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing behind her, she already knew there was nothing she couldn’t do . . . or have. All she had to do was simply make up her own mind to go after it.

As for making a good marriage, she would be hard pressed to find anyone better than Jason O’Brien. He was every bit as loving and kind as her biggest brother, Hoss. She saw that not only in the gentle, respectful way he touched and handled the animals entrusted to his care, but in the kind, gentle, loving, and respectful way in which he treated HER. Jason loved and accepted her as she was, for the person she was, every bit as much as Pa, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing did. Would the social climbing, blue blood, Cousin Clarissa had in mind, who in all likelihood looked down his long thin nose with disdain at everything west of the Appalachians . . . . Could such a man truly love and cherish her as Jason did? Stacy doubted very much that would be the case.

“Stacy, you have been blessed with so much,” Clarissa’s voice, made harsh and strident by her increasing anger and fear, dissipated Stacy’s thoughts and words, before she had the chance to give them voice. “So many opportunities, so many advantages . . . . Do you realize how many young ladies would give literally give their eyeteeth for the chance to attend a prestigious finishing school, like the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies . . . to be presented to society at a grand and glorious debutante ball . . . and to make a brilliant marriage to a man of means who could provide for them and their children a life of comfort with a secure future?”

“But, I— ”

“I was all set to go, you know . . . . ”

Clarissa’s anger and fear gave way to the deep, profound sadness and bitter regret that consumed her for so long. “I had been accepted at the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies,” she continued, her head tilted downward, her eyes riveted to her gloved hands, now tightly clasped to her chest. “I was packed . . . all ready to go, when . . . a week before I was supposed to leave f-for Boston, Papa h-had an attack of apoplexy that . . . that left him unable t-to . . . to look after himself.”

“Oh, Cousin Clarissa . . . I’m so sorry,” Stacy murmured softly, her heart going out to her companion.

“All the money we had went to pay for doctors, nurses, medicines, and hospital stays,” Clarissa went on, surprised at how powerful those initial feelings of pain, grief, even anger remained, despite the passage of nearly half a century. “There was no money left to pay my tuition at the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies, or purchase a stage ticket so I could travel to Boston. My cherished dream of being presented to society was dashed, too, along with any shred of hope for making a good marriage. Stacy . . . . ”

“Yes, Cousin Clarissa?”

“More than anything, I want to drag you down off that horse and shake you, and SHAKE you . . . good and hard . . . until I finally shook some sense into you,” Clarissa furiously rounded on her young cousin once removed. “Here YOU are . . . with the world literally at your feet . . . with all the wonderful advantages I had to give up . . . and you want to throw it all away with both hands! I don’t understand you! I don’t!”

“Cousin Clarissa, I think we’d better go back now,” Stacy said in a hollow monotone, feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly afraid.

“Stacy, you’re being silly, do you know that? Silly, childish, and . . . and very, very SELFISH!”

Stacy paled in the face of Clarissa’s dark angry scowl, her cheeks and forehead beet red, her steadily rising fury, teetering on the edge of hysteria.

“There’s a lot of impoverished young ladies out there who would absolutely JUMP at the chance I’m offering you . . . JUMP! Do you hear me?! . . . and here YOU are . . . ready to cheerfully throw it all away without a single thought. It . . . it makes me SICK.” With that, she abruptly turned her horse and rode off at a fast gallop, leaving Stacy staring after her feeling terribly sick at heart, and utterly dumbfounded.

“More coffee, Mister Cartwright? Hop Sing make fresh.”

Ben glanced up from the ledger, lying open on the desk before him, and found Hop Sing standing there with a smile on his face and coffee pot in hand.

“Thank you, Hop Sing,” Ben said as he grabbed the empty mug sitting at his elbow, to his left. “Say . . . . ” He paused a moment to sniff the air. “ . . . do I smell peanut butter cookies?”

Hop Sing nodded as he filled Ben’s mug. “Fresh, right out of oven. Mister Cartwright want cookie? Hop Sing go get.”

“You needn’t bother, Hop Sing,” Ben said. “I can help myself.”

“Oh NO! By time Mister Cartwright help himself, Little Joe and Miss Stacy help THEM-self, and MISTER HOSS finally help himself . . . no cookie left for supper,” Hop Sing declared with a scowl and an emphatic nod of his head. “No APPETITE left for supper either . . . except Mister Hoss.”

“True,” Ben was forced to admit.

“Mister Cartwright drink coffee. Hop Sing go back in kitchen, get— ”

The sound of horse hooves pounding against the earth rudely cut Hop Sing off mid-sentence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ben shoot right up out of the chair, with a dark scowl on his face.

“If I’ve told that young man once, I’ve told him a thousand times . . . . ” Ben muttered under his breath as he came out from behind his desk, and beat a straight path toward the front door, moving at a very brisk pace.

“Oohhh . . . that Little Joe, he never learn. Little Joe in big trouble now,” Hop Sing observed with a mournful shake of his head. “Heap deep, very, big, big, BIG trouble.”

“Uh oh. What did I do NOW?” It was Joe, sauntering down the steps, with his green jacket over his arm.

Ben and Hop Sing watched, their faces twin masks of astonishment, as the youngest Cartwright son skipped over the last two steps to the floor. “Hey!” the latter said. “If Little Joe in here . . . who gallop horse in yard?!”

“I intend to find out,” Ben growled under his breath, as he threw open the front door.

Joe and Hop Sing exchanged anxious, puzzled glances, before falling in behind the clan patriarch.

Outside, Clarissa, with tears streaming down her face like rivers, pulled hard on the reins, with force sufficient to elicit a grunt of pain and protest from her mount, the patient, elderly Gentleman Jim.

“Hey! Take it easy, Miss Cartwright,” Candy quietly admonished her, as he took hold of Gentleman Jim’s bridle. “You can do some serious injury to his mouth pulling like that.”

“Help me down!” Clarissa snapped, as she angrily wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Y-Yes, Ma’am,” Candy murmured warily, as he took the horse’s lead and quickly secured it to the corral fence. He, then, moved to help Clarissa down.

Ben, meanwhile, had stepped outside, just in time to see his cousin entering the yard at a full gallop. She had stopped Gentleman Jim abruptly, just short of the horse actually careening into the corral fence.

“Pa?”

He turned and found his youngest son standing beside him, his face, his hazel eyes mirroring the look of surprise he knew had to be on his own face. Hop Sing stood quietly behind them.

“Was that C-Cousin Clarissa galloping into the yard just now?”

“Yes, Joe . . . it was,” Ben said quietly, as he moved to step down off the porch. He grimly noted that Gentleman Jim was lathered and breathing heavily. There was an angry scowl on Clarissa’s face, and, in her exchange with Candy, she seemed upset, agitated.

“Pa?” Joe queried, as he fell in step along side his father. “Didn’t Cousin Clarissa and Stacy go out together?!”

“Yes,” Ben replied, as his initial surprise at Clarissa galloping into the yard at break neck speed began to fade into anxious concern. Where WAS Stacy? Was she lying somewhere hurt? Was that the reason Clarissa was so upset? He saw Clarissa push past Candy, to beat a straight path towards him, her face darker than the worst thunderstorm he had ever experienced.

“I’m gonna saddle Cochise,” Joe said grimly. “Stace was taking Cousin Clarissa out to see Ponderosa Plunge, right?”

“Yes.”

Joe nodded, then turned and made his way toward the barn door, standing open.

Ben, meanwhile, turned his attention to his distraught cousin. “Clarissa?!”

“Benjamin, I don’t want to talk about it!” she declared, resolute and angry, as the tears continued to stream down her face.

“Don’t want to talk about what?!” Ben pressed, as he fell in step beside her.

“Stacy!”

“Clarissa . . . . ” He placed his hand on her shoulder, effectively halting her hasty retreat toward the house.

She turned to his with an exasperated sigh. “What!?”

“Stacy . . . she’s not hurt . . . is she?”

“No,” Clarissa snapped. “She’s not hurt! She’s throwing away a bright, secure future with both hands, but she’s not hurt!”

Had she tried to coerce Stacy into going to Boston to attend that Sarah Leah . . . or whoever Academy for Young Ladies? Ben’s heart sank at the prospect, knowing all too well how forcefully persuasive his cousin could be when she got a notion firmly entrenched in her head. “Clarissa . . . what . . . exactly . . . do you mean Stacy’s throwing away a bright, secure future with both hands?” he queried anxiously.

“I DON’T want to talk about it.”

“Clarissa, please— ”

“I could do so MUCH for that child, Benjamin! So . . . very . . . MUCH! You’ve GOT to talk to her!”

“About WHAT?”

“Her FUTURE! Benjamin, you know as well as I do that THIS . . . ” Clarissa took in the yard, the house, and barn with the dramatic, sweeping gestures of both hands, “ . . . THIS . . . is no proper life for a young lady.”

“WHAT is no proper life for a young lady?!” Ben demanded.

“Life HERE on this ranch . . . on ANY ranch,” Clarissa pressed. “Oh, Benjamin, please! Listen to me! You know as well as I do that there’s nothing that Stacy can do here . . . not really! You have HOP SING to do the cooking, the laundry, and the house cleaning. As for the rest of the chores around here . . . they’re jobs for MEN, not for a young lady. Stacy just plain and simply doesn’t have the strength and stamina to do what needs to be done, no matter how much YOU want to pretend otherwise. She’s going to end up being as useful around here as . . . as . . . as a fifth wheel on a wagon! That’s the way it IS! Benjamin, please! If you honestly and truly love her . . . . ”

Clarissa and Ben entered the house, taking the former’s tirade right along with them. Neither one of them saw or heard the hooves of another horse ride into the yard, a big bay gelding, with a rich reddish brown coat, black mane and tail, with a wide, white stripe stretching down the length of his face. Nor did they see the pale face of his rider, her bright blue eyes riveted to their backs as they entered the house, too stunned to speak or even move.

“Is THAT the real reason why Pa hasn’t been able to decide what he wants me to do?” Stacy wondered silently, as Cousin Clarissa’s words churned within her troubled thoughts as the sea churns with the approach of a storm. The thought of being as ‘useless as a fifth wheel on a wagon,’ to use Cousin Clarissa’s blunt assessment of things, troubled her deeply. But, the alternative . . . the future her father’s cousin envisioned for her . . . seemed a fate worse than death.

“Come on, Boy,” Joe said softly, as he led Cochise, saddled and ready to ride, out of his stall. “Let’s you and me head out for Ponderosa plunge and see of we can find Stacy and— ”

The soft snort of another horse entering the barn immediately drew Joe’s attention. He glanced up sharply, just as Stacy entered the barn, leading Blaze Face. A wave of relief washed over him, upon noting that neither his young sister nor her horse seemed in any way hurt or injured. A second glance, that took in the bowed head, the tell tale slump of her shoulders, brought an anxious frown to his face.

“Hey, Kid . . . glad you’re back,” Joe said by way of greeting, as he tethered Cochise to one of the beams that helped support the barn roof.

Stacy paused, and glanced up sharply upon hearing her brother’s voice, but said nothing.

“Everything . . . ok?” Joe probed cautiously, as he set himself to the task of unbuckling the cinch.

“Grandpa, can I ask you something? Theoretically?” Stacy asked, as she tethered Blaze Face’s lead to another support pole, several yards from the one to which her brother had tied Cochise.

“Sure,” Joe replied.

“Am I as . . . as useless around here as a . . . as a fifth wheel on a wagon?!” It took every ounce of will she possessed to utter the words forming that question. Stacy immediately braced herself, fully expecting to hear the worst.

“No,” Joe immediately blurted out his answer. “Where in the world did you get THAT idea?!”

“Outside just now,” Stacy said in a very small, very sad voice.

Joe frowned. “Surely PA didn’t— ”

Stacy immediately shook her head. “Not Pa,” she said and she bent down to undo the cinch of her own saddle. “Cousin Clarissa.”

“What did PA say?” Joe asked, laboring mightily to keep his own voice calm and even.

“I don’t know,” Stacy said, her voice catching on the last word, as she removed her saddle. “He and Cousin Clarissa went into the house at that point.”

“Stacy, it’s NOT true what Cousin Clarissa said,” Joe told his sister in a firm, no nonsense tone of voice. “There’s a lot that you can and have done around here . . . and a lot you’re going to be learning how to do.”

“Then why is Pa having such a hard time deciding what he wants ME to do?” Stacy asked, her voice catching, as the two of them started toward the tack room, carrying their saddles and blankets, “and . . . why won’t he let me help you with the saddle breaking? I can do it . . . I KNOW I can.”

“To be perfectly honest with ya, Kid, I haven’t the faintest idea why he won’t let you help me bust the broncs,” Joe said with a bewildered frown. “But, if you want MY two cents on your first question, I think he’s having a hard time trying to decide where you should start is because you’re able to do so much. On the one hand, Pa and I both know that I could use your help in TRAINING that string of horses we just brought in off the range, after they’ve been saddle broke. On the other hand, it’s time for us to be moving out cattle out to the summer pastures, now that the branding’s done . . . and Pa’s also thinking he’d like you to start learning how to do THAT.

“But, the bottom line here is . . . we NEED you, Stace, and . . . we WANT you. Pa, Hoss, and I’ve been looking forward to you starting to work with us full time every bit as much as YOU have.”

“Y-You have?! Really?”

“Yes, we have . . . really.”

Stacy carefully placed her saddle on its rack, all the while carefully searching Joe’s face. She knew immediately by the open and earnest look on his face, that he had told her the truth. “Thanks, Joe,” she said very softly.

“Anytime,” Joe replied. “Stacy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask a real big favor of you?”

“Sure.”

“Would you finish stabling Cochise for me?” Joe asked. “I just remembered something urgent that needs doing.”

“Ok,” Stacy agreed.

“I owe you one, Kid.”

Stacy immediately shook her head. “Not THIS time, Grandpa. I owe YOU one, and you can consider stabling Cochise as payback.”

“Pa?!” Joe burst into the house like a juggernaut. “Pa, I need to talk to you about— ” He was surprised to find that his father was no where in sight. “PA?” Joe called out again raising his voice slightly.

“Joe?” Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, his face pale, his dark, chocolate brown eyes round with apprehension. “Did you find Stacy?”

“Yeah. She’s out in the barn.”

Ben quietly descended the stairs. “Is she all right?”

“PHYSICALLY, she’s fine and dandy,” Joe said curtly. “Emotionally . . . Pa, I think you need to sit down and have a heart to heart talk with her . . . pronto!”

“What’s the matter?”

“For openers, Stacy overheard everything Cousin Clarissa said to you in out in the yard,” Joe said, taking no pains to conceal his rising anger.

“About?!”

“About her being as useful around here as a fifth wheel on a wagon . . . among other things.”

“Oh no,” Ben groaned softly.

“Oh yes. Pa, right now . . . if I could have but one wish . . . it would be that Cousin Clarissa could turn into a great big, strapping Cousin CLARK . . . so I could pound him.”

Ben sighed and rolled his eyes. “Joseph, I’m going out to the barn to have that heart to heart talk with Stacy. In the meantime, I want YOU to get hold of yourself.”

“Pa— ”

“Take a deep breath.” Ben quickly and succinctly nipped his youngest son’s tirade in the bud. “Count to ten . . . twenty . . . or a hundred if you have to . . . whatever it takes, but put a rein on that temper of yours.”

“Alright.”

“ . . . and after you get a good hold on your anger, if you can’t say anything nice to Cousin Clarissa, I don’t want you to say anything at all. Is that clear?”

“Clear, Pa, but— ”

“No buts, Joseph.”

“Come ON, Pa . . . you’re not going to let Cousin Clarissa get away with— ”

“I will take care of Cousin Clarissa,” Ben said very firmly, “AFTER I see to your sister.”

Joe was about to remind his father how every single time he had tried to talk with Cousin Clarissa on the occasion of her LAST visit, she would burst into tears and prattle on about how she needed to be useful. The end result was that she cheerfully kept right on driving the family crazy, and alienating their friends. The dark, angry glare he saw on his father’s face, however, made the words die a sudden, quick death before giving them utterance.

“Joseph?” Ben prompted.

“Yes, Sir.”

Satisfied that his mercurial youngest son would refrain from having it out with Cousin Clarissa, at least for the time being, Ben hurried outside to the barn.

End of Part 1

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