Cousin Clarissa Returns
Part 2

By Kathleen T. Berney

“Need a hand?”

Stacy turned from the task of brushing her horse, and found Ben standing at her elbow. Though her eyes blinked excessively, there was a glint of steel there, as well. “Thanks, Pa . . . but, I can manage,” she replied. “Honest . . . I can.”

“I KNOW you can, Stacy,” Ben said quietly, as he picked up the extra brush on the small table Hoss kept next to Chubb’s stall.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?” he replied, as he moved in alongside her and began to brush Blaze Face’s rear flank.

“If I ask you a question . . . will you give me an honest answer?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Do you . . . oh, Pa . . . do . . . YOU . . . want me to finishing school?” she asked. Though her voice caught, her gaze never wavered.

Ben put the brush aside. “Stacy, it’s what YOU want that matters,” he said earnestly, taking both of her hands in his own. “If YOU want to go to Boston, to finishing school— ”

“I don’t,” Stacy said with that firm, resolute set of mouth and chin that signaled a decision was made, end of conversation. “To be completely honest? I think it’s a waste of time, even if Cousin Clarissa DOES think it’s the best thing in the world that could ever happen to me.”

“Oh?”

“Of course,” Stacy said firmly. “I KNOW how to use a knife, fork, and spoon . . . and if it’s ever a case of WHICH knife, fork, or spoon . . . all I have to do is watch YOU guys. I also know how to conduct myself in public like a half way civilized human being, despite what Grandpa says sometimes . . . AND I know how to waltz.”

“Yes, that’s all very true,” Ben agreed.

“ . . . and not even the best teacher and the very best of finishing schools could teach me any of that stuff half so well as YOU have,” Stacy declared, as she slipped her arms around Ben’s waist and gave him a gentle, affectionate squeeze, “and besides . . . I’d miss you, Hoss, Grandpa, Hop Sing, Jason and Blaze Face terribly.”

“ . . . and we’d miss YOU terribly, Young Woman,” Ben said, as he placed his arms around her shoulders, and hugged her close. “However . . . . ”

“However . . . what?”

Ben set her apart, just enough that he might look her straight in the eye. “While it’s true that finishing school IS learning about proper etiquette, how to dance, run a household, and how to conduct yourself properly in different social situations, it’s also an opportunity to further your education, especially in the arts, to learn another language— ”

“I’m already pretty fluent in Paiute.”

“Yes, you are,” Ben agreed with a chuckle, “and if you someday find you have burning questions about art or music, I suppose you COULD always write and ask your brother, Adam. But, Stacy . . . . ”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“I think the most important aspect of attending a finishing school is the opportunity it presents to meet and interact with other young women in and around your age from all over the country. Are you sure you want to pass that up?”

“Pass up the opportunity to interact with mean, spiteful, social climbing young women, like Pruella Danvers, Millicent Adams, or that dreadful little snot, Jenny Lind!?” Stacy said with a comically grotesque shudder that brought an amused smile to her father’s face. “Heck . . . YES! They can be so sugary sweet to your face, but the minute you turn your back, they’re sticking a KNIFE in it. If THAT’S the way the crème-de-la-crème of high society acts . . . well, I want no part of it.”

“It’s . . . unfortunate . . . that the likes of Miss Danvers, Miss Adams, Miss Lind . . . and Cousin Clarissa, too, for that matter . . . have come to define what high society is,” Ben said quietly, as they set to finishing the task of brushing down Blaze Face.

“What do you mean, Pa?”

“Most of the people I was privileged to know when I lived in Boston, who could be considered the cream of its high society, were and are wonderful people, kind, generous, and very down-to-earth,” Ben replied, as he turned his attention to Cochise

“Really?”

Ben nodded. “Between you and me, Young Woman, I think snobbish people, like Pruella Danvers, Millicent Adams, Jenny Lind . . . AND Cousin Clarissa . . . are terribly insecure people trying very hard to convince themselves that they’re something . . . they’re . . . not.

“Take Mrs. Wilkens, f’r instance,” Ben continued, as he removed Cochise’s bridle and blanket. “SHE came from a wealthy southern family, who can trace its roots back to the founding of Jamestown. She went to a finishing school in Charleston, then spent the following year touring Europe to round out her education. When she returned home, she was presented to society at a great big, grand and glorious debutante ball . . . and it was there she met and fell in love with MISTER Wilkens, a kind, decent man, who was every bit as down to earth she is.

“Now I ask you . . . have YOU ever once known Mrs. Wilkens to ever go about with her nose in the air, putting on a lot of fancy airs?”

“No,” Stacy replied, as she changed Blaze Face’s water, and gave him fresh hay.

“Neither have I . . . and I’ve known her almost from the time Hoss, Adam, and I first came here,” Ben said. “Of course you won’t see someone like Mrs. Wilkens putting on airs . . . because SHE doesn’t have to.”

Stacy silently set to work helping her father brush Cochise, all the while digesting the import of his words. “I . . . think I understand what you’re saying, Pa,” she said slowly. “Pruella Danvers, Millicent Adams, and Jenny Lind are all sow’s ears trying hard to be silk purses . . . while Mrs. Wilkens doesn’t try to be a silk purse at all . . . because she really IS one.”

“I’ll bet MOST of the young women who go to finishing school are very much like Mrs. Wilkens.”

“Point taken, Pa . . . but, I still DON’T want to go,” Stacy said very firmly, “because everything I want and . . . and everyone who really matters to me . . . are all right here.”

On impulse, Ben slipped his arms around her and hugged her tight for a moment. “Cousin Clarissa’s going to be terribly disappointed.”

“I know, Pa,” Stacy said sadly, as she slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. “I wish I could do something about that, but I can’t . . . because the only thing that’s going to make her happy is for me to go with her to Boston. I’m sorry if I’m being selfish— ”

“No, you’re NOT being selfish, Young Woman.” Ben’s tone of voice was gentle, yet firm. “You’re entitled to live your life as YOU see fit . . . whether you decide to stay here with Hoss, Joe, and me . . . go to Boston with Cousin Clarissa . . . or travel and see the world like Adam did. The decision has to be what you want . . . not what Cousin Clarissa wants . . . not even what I want, because we’re not the ones who are ultimately going to have to live with what comes of that decision.”

“Thanks, Pa . . . for letting ME decide.” Stacy hugged him again, then reached up to kiss his cheek.

“Do you want me to tell Cousin Clarissa?” Ben offered, knowing only too well how daunting such a prospect could be.

“Thank you for offering, but I think I need to be the one to tell her,” Stacy said. “If I’m old enough to MAKE my decisions, I’m old enough to stand by them. But, there is one thing I’d like you to do.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like you to be with me when I DO tell Cousin Clarissa what I’ve decided . . . to help me pick up the pieces.”

“Surely not YOURS?!”

Stacy shook her head. “Mostly Cousin Clarissa’s,” she said, “and . . . well, maybe mine, too . . . a little . . . but, only because I feel so sorry for her. Pa, between you and me? I think COUSIN CLARISSA’S the one who wants to go to finishing school.”

“What?!”

“I’m serious.”

“She’s a little old for that, don’t you think?”

“I know that, Pa . . . and YOU know that . . . and most of all Cousin Clarissa knows that,” Stacy explained. “While we were out at Ponderosa Plunge, she told me about how much she looked forward to going to some finishing school in Boston. . . then her pa suddenly took sick. The cost of doctors, medicines, and hospital stays took nearly every cent they had. Between that, and having to look after her pa all the time, Cousin Clarissa told me she had to give up everything she had ever wanted . . . going to Boston, having her society debut, her opportunities to meet decent young men of good background . . . HER words, Pa, not mine.

“When I told her that I didn’t want all those things . . . that I wanted to stay HERE, Cousin Clarissa got very upset with me. She went on and on and on about how lucky I am, about all the advantages and opportunities I have, and . . . how stupid, selfish, immature, and silly I am in wanting to pass all that up. By the time she got through, I felt really guilty because I honestly DON’T want all the things she had to give up.”

“It’s all right to feel sorry for Cousin Clarissa,” Ben said. “I can’t help feeling sorry for her myself. But, that doesn’t obligate YOU to live the life she couldn’t have.”

“Thanks, Pa. It’s still not going to be easy to tell her, but at least, now, I don’t feel so guilty because I don’t want all the things SHE wanted,” Stacy said, then frowned. “Does that make any sense?”

“That makes PERFECT sense,” Ben said, with a smile.

“Pa . . . . ”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“I have that final fitting with Madame Darnier Monday afternoon . . . you know, for the dress I’m wearing for graduation,” Stacy said. “Think maybe YOU could come along, too? That way, I could tell Cousin Clarissa about not going to finishing school with just the three of US.”

“What time is that fitting?”

“Four-thirty,” Stacy replied. “That’s to give me enough time to get there after school lets out . . . and we do the final rehearsal for the graduation ceremony.”

“Cousin Clarissa and I will meet you there,” Ben said. “We’ll come in the buggy. When we leave Madame Darnier’s, you can hitch Blaze Face to the back, and ride home with us. You can tell Cousin Clarissa your decision on our way home.”

“Thanks, Pa.”

Clarissa grimaced with distaste as she and Ben stepped into the dress shop of Madame Camille Darnier, the following Monday afternoon. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all of rough hewn lumber. In the middle of the sales room lay a large, round rug, made from pieces of fabric interwoven, its bright colors bleached to their pastel variants from long years exposure to sunlight. The only adornment on the walls were a half dozen small etchings, depicting the French country side, that hung behind the counter, and a full length mirror hanging beside the door, leading back to the large room that served as fitting and sewing room. Six straight backed chairs, with no cushions, four matching, the other two odd pieces, completed the furnishings in the sales room.

“Oh, Benjamin . . . this is AWFUL!” Clarissa declared, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Simply AWFUL!” She shuddered delicately.

Ben looked over at his cousin surprised, and not without trepidation. He silently, fervently hoped and prayed that the proprietress of the establishment hadn’t overhead Clarissa’s remark. “What’s so awful?” he asked, taking care to keep his voice low.

“Benjamin, this is supposed to be a fine ladies’ dress shop, not a . . . a hardware or feed supply store,” Clarissa said, unconsciously lowering her voice to the came decibel level as Ben’s.

Ben stared over at her with a bewildered frown.

Clarissa sighed disparagingly, and shook her head. “I can’t expect YOU to know any better, being a man, but when I go into a fine dress shop, I expect certain amenities.”

“Like what?”

“Like wallpaper to start with . . . white with tiny pink rose buds or blue forget-me-nots . . . curtains in the windows . . . a ladies’ maid to offer me tea and refreshments . . . a COMFORTABLE chair . . . matching furniture . . . and with a name like Madame Darnier, I expect the furniture to be French provincial, white with gold trim.”

“So Madame Darnier doesn’t offer all those amenities you’re used to,” Ben said in a dismissive tone. “The thing that’s most important to me is she’s got to be the best dressmaker in Virginia City.”

The pale face, eyes round with horror, her gloved hands clasped tight over her open mouth all seriously questioned Ben’s sanity.

“We first came to her a couple of years ago to have a dress made up for Stacy that was suitable to wear to a wedding,” Ben continued. “Madame Darnier came up with something that was lovely, that looked very well on Stacy, AND was to Stacy’s taste. That last was no picnic I’m sure, because my daughter has very definite ideas as to what she will and won’t wear.”

Stacy’s taste?! Clarissa groaned inwardly. Incredible as it seemed, Stacy was even more ignorant of what constituted appropriate women’s attire than her father. No dressmaker in her right mind would or should pander to the dictates of a backward, unaware young girl, like Stacy.

“Ahh, Monsieur Cartwright . . . bonjour.” A portly woman, tall, with silver gray hair, and bright emerald green eyes greeted Ben with a warm smile of genuine delight, as she flounced in from the room beyond. She wore a green dress that enhanced the color of her eyes, with a cameo broach pinned just below her throat. “Mademoiselle Stacy said you would be coming by this afternoon,” she continued, extending a hand, well manicured, with a simple pearl ring on her third finger. “It is always a delight. I wish more men would take an interest in the clothing their wives and daughters wear.”

Ben took her hand and kissed it. “Half the delight is seeing my beautiful daughter in a new dress. The other half is seeing YOU.”

Camille Darnier laughed, low and throaty. “You have the honeyed tongue of a rogue, Monsieur.”

“From YOU, I’ll accept that as a compliment,” Ben declared with a bold grin. “Madame Darnier, I’d like to present my cousin, Clarissa Cartwright. She’s here for Stacy’s graduation.”

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Madame Cartwright,” Camille acknowledged the introduction with a smile, and an offer of her hand.

“That’s MISS Cartwright,” Clarissa said stiffly, with a pained smile. She declined to shake Madame Darnier’s hand.

“MISS Cartwright,” Camille said, nodding. “If you will excuse me, I will see how Mademoiselle Stacy is coming along. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. He took Clarissa by the arm and steered her over to the line of chairs, sitting against the wall perpendicular to the same facing the street.

“Benjamin, she is cheap, vulgar, and that phony French accent is absolutely DREADFUL!” Clarissa declared, as she removed a clean handkerchief from her purse.

“Hardly cheap, though I feel it IS money well spent,” Ben said, as he took a seat on one of the end chairs, “and personally, since I’ve gotten to know her a little, what with having a daughter, who on occasion needs to have a dress made . . . I find Madame Darnier to be a very charming, gracious woman, with a wonderful sense of humor.”

Clarissa sighed and sarcastically rolled her eyes heavenward, as she made a point of thoroughly dusting the chair beside Ben with her handkerchief. “She’s also after YOU.”

Ben laughed out loud.

“She IS, Benjamin, you mark my words,” Clarissa admonished him primly, as she seated herself stiffly at the very edge of the chair. “A woman KNOWS when another woman is after a man.”

“Clarissa, you couldn’t be more wrong,” Ben said, as his laughter subsided. “Though Madame Darnier is flirtatious by nature— ”

“I can certainly see THAT.”

“ . . . and while occasionally she occasionally enjoys the company and companionship of a man— ”

“Just one?” Clarissa queried in a tone dripping with acid sarcasm.

“THAT was beneath you and completely uncalled for,” Ben admonished her, taking great care to lower his voice. “If I had been allowed to finish, I was also going to say that Madame Darnier has made it perfectly clear that she has no desire to marry again.”

“She actually SAID that?!”

“Not in words— ”

“Benjamin, honestly! How in the world can you be so DENSE?!” Clarissa admonished him severely, her voice rising slightly as each word tumbled from her mouth. “No woman throws herself at a man . . . the way that . . . that WOMAN did at you just now— ”

“Clarissa, please! Keep your voice DOWN.”

“Frankly, Benjamin, I don’t care if she— ”

“Well, I DO. Please, Clarissa . . . for ME?”

“Alright,” Clarissa agreed stiffly, with much reluctance. “Though how you can actually sit there and tell me that woman has no interest in marrying again— ”

“Simple,” Ben said, taking care to lower his voice to the decibel of a stage whisper. “Madame Darnier is a warm, gracious woman, with a keen interest in music, art, and literature as well as being a very shrewd business woman. A woman with all THAT going for her can have just about any man she wants . . . IF she’s of a mind. The fact that she’s not taken a husband in all the years she’s lived and done business here in Virginia City . . . well, that tells ME she’s not looking.”

Clarissa sighed mournfully, then lapsed into sullen silence.

“Pa? Cousin Clarissa? What do you think?” Stacy asked, as she entered the room. The dress was white, made from fine linen, light and cool for the hot summer days soon to come. It had a full skirt, and long sleeves, slightly puffed at the ends. The tailored bodice, with its clean, simple lines displayed her burgeoning womanly figure to full, yet very tasteful advantage.

Ben rose to his feet, smiling. “Beautiful,” he said immediately, “and very grown-up.”

“On the occasion of her graduation from school, I thought a more mature, adult style appropriate,” Camille Darnier said.

“I agree completely,” Ben said, his eyes suddenly misting.

“Pa? Are you all right?” Stacy asked anxiously.

“I’m all right . . . just . . . realizing my little slip of a gal is fast becoming a beautiful young woman.”

Stacy slipped her arms around Ben’s waist and gently squeezed. “You keep that up, Pa, and you’re going to have ME blubbering right along with you,” she said, her voice catching on the last word.

Ben slipped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her close for a moment. “We, ummm . . . can’t have you getting tear stains on that beautiful dress before Madame Darnier has a chance to finish it,” he said, as he gave her an affectionate squeeze, before letting her go. “You’d best get changed.”

Stacy nodded, then turned and headed back toward the sewing room in the back.

“I will be right with you, Mademoiselle Stacy,” Camille called after her. She, then, returned her attention to Ben. “All I need do is put in the hem, and the dress will be complete.”

“How long will that be?” Ben asked.

“I have no more fittings today,” Camille said with a smile. “I can have it ready within the hour, Monsieur Cartwright. Do you wish to wait, or shall I send it out to the Ponderosa this evening?”

“I think you’d better have the dress sent to the Ponderosa,” Ben decided. “If I tried to squeeze it into the buggy between Stacy, Miss Cartwright, and myself . . . it’s going to end up a hopeless mess of wrinkles.”

Camille smiled. “Mademoiselle Stacy shall have her new dress before you and your lovely family sits down to supper,” she promised.

“Thank you, Madame Darnier.”

This prompted a sarcastic roll of the eyes from Clarissa.

“Ah, non, non, non, Monsieur Cartwright. I am the one who should be thanking YOU,” Camille insisted graciously. “Now if you will excuse me?”

“I’m glad SOMEBODY around here knows which side her bread is buttered on,” Clarissa growled, as Camille made her way to the back room, to help Stacy take off the dress. It rankled her no end the way Cousin Benjamin insisted on treating service people, shop keepers, and even the people who worked for him as equals.

Ben sat back down, and looked over at Clarissa as she made it a point to wipe off the chair she had just occupied, yet again. “Didn’t you just do that?” he queried with a puzzled frown.

“One can’t be too careful,” Clarissa said stiffly. “So much for this supposed Frenchwoman’s reputation as the best dressmaker in Virginia City!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh come now, Benjamin,” Clarissa responded with a stiff, pained smile that came no where close to reaching her eyes. “That dress!”

“I thought it was lovely.”

“Lovely?!” Clarissa echoed, staring at him as if he had taken complete leave of his senses. “Lovely? It’s so PLAIN. No ruffled hem . . . no lace on the neckline or sleeves . . . no ruff at the waist— ”

“That’s what Stacy prefers,” Ben explained. “Simple, straight lines. She doesn’t like ruffles.” He refrained from adding that Hop Sing had a very strong aversion to ruffles, too, especially if they happened to turn up in the laundry.

“Benjamin, has it never occurred to you . . . . ?! Has it never occurred to you AT ALL that maybe, just maybe . . . growing up in a household with a father, two older brothers, and a male servant . . . that Stacy has no idea in the world WHAT she likes or even wants??!”

“Never,” Ben said immediately. “Even from the time she was just a little slip of a gal, Stacy has ALWAYS had a very clear idea as to what she likes and doesn’t like, what she wants and doesn’t want . . . AND how SHE wants to spend the rest of her life.” This last Ben added as a preamble for the talk Stacy would be having with Cousin Clarissa on the ride home.

“That poor, poor child!” Clarissa moaned, shaking her head. “YOU have done your daughter a terrible disservice, Benjamin.” She sighed, and shook her head again. It was becoming very clear that she and Cousin Mirabelle would have their work cut out for them when she arrived in Boston with Stacy.

Ben scowled, bristling against Clarissa’s allegation. “HOW have I done Stacy a terrible disservice?” he asked in a tone cold enough to generate an early frost.

“Benjamin, when a lady makes an entrance, especially on an occasion as important as her graduation, the first thing people notice is what she’s wearing,” Clarissa said in a tone, faintly condescending. “Is it stylish? Is it something appropriate for the occasion? Is it something suitable given the lady’s age? All these things are going to reflect back on Stacy, whether of good or for ill.”

Ben closed his eyes for a moment, and slowly counted to ten. “Clarissa,” he began upon opening them, and looking her square in the face, “when you look at a very fine painting, do you ever see its frame?”

“No . . . not if the painting has the right frame.”

“Why not?”

Clarissa favored him with a quizzical smile. “Because a frame is supposed to compliment and enhance the picture,” she replied.

“Madame Darnier once told me that a woman’s dress, especially when it’s for a special occasion . . . like her school graduation . . . is like a picture frame,” Ben said. “It should enhance and compliment the women, so that you see HER first when she makes her entrance, the same way you always see a picture first, when its set in the right frame.”

“Benjamin, that’s ludicrous!” Clarissa declared with a derisive snort. “To call attention to herself . . . especially in the manner YOU suggest, well . . . it’s not done! It’s simply NOT done! THAT kind of thinking breeds arrogance and conceit.”

“Clarissa, I assure you, Stacy is a very far cry from arrogance and conceit,” Ben said, his ire rising all over again.

“Not so far as you’d like to think,” Clarissa argued. “When I look at Stacy . . . the way she walks and carries herself . . . the way she looks you straight in the eye when she’s speaking to you . . . even in the way she speaks, I see a confident, independent young lady who thinks extremely well of herself.”

“ . . . all qualities I’ve tried not only to instill in Stacy, but in Hoss, Joe, and Adam, as well,” Ben returned, without missing a beat. “I learned a long time ago that earning the lasting respect of others begins with a healthy respect for yourself.”

“Which is FINE for your sons, Benjamin. A man NEEDS to cultivate the respect of his fellow man in order to make his way in the world,” Clarissa ardently pressed. “But, a LADY . . . especially a YOUNG lady . . . is supposed to be modest, retiring, demure, and humble.”

“I happen to love my daughter very much the way she IS,” Ben said stiffly.

An exasperated sigh blasted out from between Clarissa’s lips. “Benjamin, I warn you . . . that kind of independent spirit will NOT be tolerated in Boston high society. She should have been broken of THAT a long time ago.”

Ben looked over at his cousin, appalled. “You don’t know anything about breaking and training horses, do you?”

“Of course not,” she snapped.

“When I speak of breaking a horse, I’m taking about bringing him to the place of accepting bridle, saddle, and harness . . . of bringing him to a place where he will work with a man, or woman for that matter,” Ben patiently explained. “On the Ponderosa, at any rate, we NEVER break a horse’s spirit. In the long run, it produces a cowed, frightened animal, I don’t feel is of much use to anybody.

“I’ve also found that the same holds true for people. I’d no more break the spirit of my own daughter or my own sons, than I would one of my horses . . . and besides, Stacy’s bold, independent spirit is one of the things about her that I admire and cherish the most. Do you remember what you said when you first saw her the day you arrived?”

“Yes. I said that she’s beautiful.”

“One of the things that makes her beautiful is her bold, independent spirit.”

Stacy emerged from the back room a few moments later, attired in the long split riding skirt and plain cotton shirt she normally wore to school. “Pa . . . Cousin Clarissa . . . I’m ready to head for home,” she said, casting a nervous glance in Clarissa’s direction.

“I am, too,” Ben agreed, noting the nervous glance. He placed a paternal hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze to reassure, and as a reminder that he was with her.

“Benjamin . . . I just remembered . . . I need to purchase a few personal items,” Clarissa said, as an afterthought. “Would you mind? I shouldn’t be any more than an hour . . . if that.”

“I don’t mind at all, Clarissa,” Ben said. “Why don’t you meet Stacy and me here in an hour?”

“Alright,” Clarissa said with a smile. “See you in an hour.” With that, she quickly scurried off.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“Why do I all of a sudden feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter?” Stacy asked, as she and her father set themselves to the task of watering Blaze Face and the horse hitched to the buggy.

“You’re probably feeling a little apprehensive because of having to put off telling Cousin Clarissa about not wanting to go to Boston,” Ben said sympathetically. “Tell you what. After we get the horses watered, why don’t the two of us g’won over to the Silver Dollar, and get something to wet our whistles while we wait for Cousin Clarissa?”

“Sounds good to ME, Pa,” Stacy readily agreed. “I, ummm . . . don’t suppose you’d let me have a mug of beer . . . would you?”

“Anytime AFTER your next birthday, Young Woman,” Ben said, then smiled. “That’s not so far off, you know.”

“I guess not,” Stacy replied, “and I guess I don’t really need a good mug of beer or something stronger to help bolster my nerve to tell Cousin Clarissa about my decision to stay right here.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear THAT.”

“Actually, I have something better,” Stacy said as they secured their horses to the nearest hitching post.

“You do, ‘ey. And just what might that be?”

“You,” Stacy declared, as she took his arm.

“Stacy Rose Cartwright, I love you,” Ben said as he gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“I love you, too, Pa.”

“You ready for that drink, Young Woman?”

“Yeah.”

Clarissa, meanwhile, had fled around the corner and down the street to the Western Union telegraph office, where she desperately hoped against hope that word from Cousin Mirabelle in Boston would be waiting. As she peered in through the window, she was heartily dismayed to find the George Ellis, the telegraph operator, seated at a small table within, with his back to the window, scribbling fast and furious, almost keeping time with a series of odd clicking noises she heard inside.

“Young Man . . . . ”

There was no response.

“YOUNG MAN.” Clarissa raised her voice slightly, so to be heard above those loud, annoying click-clacking sounds.

Again, no response. George continued to scribble almost like a man possessed, trying desperately to keep pace with the clicking of the telegraph machine. He remained as he was at the table, making no effort whatsoever to even acknowledge her presence.

Clarissa discreetly cleared her throat a few times, then impatiently drummed her fingers on the window counter as she stood there fuming. She cleared her throat again, then coughed loudly.

Still no response.

A sigh borne of pure and utter frustration exploded from between her thinned lips and clenched teeth. “YOUNG MAN !” she yelled.

George yelped, then whirled in his seat with momentum sufficient to send his chair, and himself toppling to the floor. He lifted his head slowly and gazed up at her with a dazed, almost stupid look on his face, before turning to stare helplessly over at the telegraph still clicking.

“Young man, I am not accustomed to being so rudely ignored !” Clarissa rebuked him severely.

“MA’AM, THE MACHINE!” George wailed, his eyes round with apprehension.

Suddenly, the clicking stopped leaving behind a near deafening silence in its wake.

“Uhh! Finally!” Clarissa sighed disparagingly. “Another minute of that inane clicking and I would have almost certainly gone right out of my mind.”

“B-But, Ma’am . . . that was the telegraph machine,” George stammered as he slowly rose to his feet.

“I don’t care WHAT that was,” Clarissa said imperiously. “The least you could have done was turn that noisy thing OFF.”

“I was trying to get down an important message for Sheriff Coffee,” George tried to defend himself. “He sent a wire to the sheriff over in Carson, and he’s been waiting for this reply all day.”

“Well, I happen to be conducting some urgent business for my first cousin who just so happens to be a very important man here in Virginia City,” Clarissa argued. “I have been standing here for the better part of the last fifteen minutes now, trying desperately to get your attention in such a way so as not to make a complete public spectacle of myself and you just SAT there, ignoring me completely . . . writing.”

“Sorry, Ma’am, but . . . I HAD to get that message for Sheriff Coffee. As it was, I missed getting— ”

“The constable is the LEAST of your worries, Young Man . . . because I fully intend to let my cousin, Mister Benjamin Cartwright, know about your rudeness and the inexcusably shabby way you treated me,” Clarissa declared, highly indignant.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the boy murmured softly, not quite knowing what else to say.

“Now . . . do you have any messages here addressed to Miss Clarissa Cartwright?”

“I’ll check, Ma’am.” The boy walked back over to the table and began to leaf through the stack of envelopes piled in the center. “Yes,” he said, finally. “I DO have a message here that’s addressed to you, Miss Cartwright.”

Clarissa snatched the envelope out of the boy’s hand and ripped it open. “Please, please, please, please, oh, please!” she murmured softly, just under her breath, as she drew out the folded slip of paper. Clarissa closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then, upon opening her eyes a moment later, and exhaling, she quickly slipped the message out of the envelope, and unfolded it.

The message read:

“Cousin Clarissa [stop]

Made inquiries [stop] Portnoy Academy will accept Stacy [stop] Willing to board Stacy and sponsor debut upon graduation [stop] Please wire regarding ETA [stop] Look forward to visit and meeting Stacy [stop]

Regards [stop]
Cousin Mirabelle [stop; end of message]”

“Oh, this is wonderful, just WONDERFUL!” Clarissa exclaimed with delight. She smiled and clasped her hands. “I can’t wait to tell Stacy the news!” Clarissa returned the message back into the envelope, folded it, then stuffed it into her purse.

“ . . . uuhh, Ma’am?”

“What?” Clarissa sighed, taking no pains to conceal her annoyance.

“ . . . will there be a return message?”

“Yes,” Clarissa immediately replied. “Yes, there will. Do you have paper and pencil?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” George procured both and slid them across the counter toward Clarissa.

“ ‘Cousin Mirabelle,’ ” she wrote, “ ‘Thank you for your kindness and generosity. Leaving Virginia City Thursday morning. Will wire one week before arrival. Regards, Cousin Clarissa.’ ” She tore the sheet with her message off the pad and thrust it into George’s face. “Please send that to Mrs. Mirabelle Standish . . . Boston, Massachusetts.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” George said, taking the sheet of paper. “Do you expect a return reply?”

Clarissa quickly drew herself up to full height, with posture ruler straight. “I’m not expecting one, but if one should come, please deliver it to me at the Ponderosa,” she said in a tone, faintly condescending, accompanied by a smile.

“Yes, Ma’am.” George took a moment to count the words. “That will be two dollars and forty cents.”

“You can put that on Benjamin Cartwright’s tab.”

George looked over at her askance.

Clarissa’s smile faded. “I AM his first cousin, Clarissa Cartwright,” she stated imperiously.

“But, Mister Cartwright don’t keep no tab here.”

“Doesn’t!” Clarissa snapped. “Mister Cartwright DOESN’T keep no . . . I mean doesn’t keep a tab here.”

“I just said that.”

Clarissa sighed and rolled her eyes, as she yanked on the cord, opening her small reticule. “Here. Two dollars and thirty cents.” She slapped the money down on the counter.

“Ma’am . . . . ”

“WHAT?!”

“I said two dollars and FORTY cents.”

Clarissa exhaled a short, curt, exasperated sigh, as she dug down into the bottom of her purse and extracted two nickels. “Here.” She slapped them down onto the counter with the remainder of the money.

“Thank you, Ma’am. It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” George said in a wry tone.

“Thank you,” she snapped. “Now if you would be so kind as to give me directions to the stage depot? I need to purchase two tickets for the stage leaving Thursday . . . at once.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” George gave her the directions, then very dutifully wrote them out for her on a scrap sheet of paper. He exhaled a very long, heartfelt sigh of relief when Clarissa Cartwright finally turned heel and left, half running, half skipping down the street.

“George, I need to send a telegram.”

He turned and found Eloise Kirk standing before his window. She and her daughter, Rita Mae owned Kirk’s Hostelry, one of the better boarding houses in town. Though Rita Mae handled most of the day-to-day operations these days, Eloise still did the meal planning and cooking.

“It’s for my daughter, actually,” Eloise continued, as she slipped the scrap sheet of paper, with the message already written out. “It’s to a Mister Charles Wainwright Smith in Saint Jo, confirming his reservation at our hostelry at the start of August.”

George nodded and took the slip of paper from Eloise.

“George . . . . ”

“Yes, Mrs. Kirk?”

“That woman who was just here . . . isn’t that Ben’s cousin?”

George sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Ma’am, it is,” he sighed disparagingly, then set himself to counting up the letters and spaces in Eloise’ brief message. “That’ll be a dollar eighty, Mrs. Kirk. Does Rita Mae expect a reply?”

“No,” Eloise replied as she counted out the amount and placed it on the counter. “But if there is one, would you please have it delivered to Kirk’s Hostelry?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I certainly will.”

“I wonder who she was sending a wire to . . . . ” Eloise wondered aloud, as she watched Clarissa’s fast retreating back.

“It seems Stacy Cartwright’s changed her plans for after graduation,” George said. “Can’t figure it, though . . . . ”

“Can figure what, George?” Eloise asked, as she quickly turned her full attention back to the young telegraph operator.

“I’d thought Stacy was gonna be workin’ for her father and brothers once she’s done with school, but . . . . ” he shrugged. “Seems she’s changed her mind.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Stacy’s gonna be goin’ to some fancy finishin’ school back east,” George said. “I saw the wire myself, sayin’ Stacy’d already been accepted. It was from some cousin o’ theirs in Boston.”

“Well, I do declare,” Eloise murmured softly, with a big bright smile on her face. “Will wonders never cease.” Best of all, she had the exclusive. “Thank you, George. Thank you very much.”

“Oh . . . Mrs. Kirk?”

“Yes?”

“Your change. You just gave me two dollars. The cost for sending this wire to Saint Jo’s only a dollar eighty.”

“It’s all right, George, you just keep the change, you hear?”

“Sure, M-Mrs. Kirk . . . thank you.”

Eloise turned heel and fled back down the side walk, eager to spread the word about the Cartwright daughter’s very sudden, very unexpected change of plans.

“Howdy, Ben . . . howdy, Stacy,” Sam, the bartender greeted father and daughter as they stepped into the nearly deserted Silver Dollar Saloon. “Your usual?”

“No, I think I’ll have a sarsaparilla this time,” Stacy said.

“How ‘bout YOU, Ben?”

“I’ll have a beer, Sam.”

“Well, Stacy, it won’t be long now . . . no more school, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks?!” Sam quipped, as he opened a bottle of sarsaparilla for her, and filled a beer mug for Ben.

“Not exactly,” Stacy said, with a smile. “School will be in session come Wednesday morning out on the Ponderosa . . . I’ll be learning more about our LEDGER books, and when it comes to dirty looks . . . no teacher I ever had can compare with Pa, Hoss, and Joe . . . except maybe for Miss Tess.”

Sam chuckled. “So you won’t be heading east after all.”

“After all?!” Stacy echoed with a bewildered frown. “I never had any plans to go east.”

“Oh,” Sam murmured, then shrugged.

“Where in the world did you get the idea Stacy WAS going east?” Ben asked.

“Sally said she overheard Emmeline Jenkins ‘n Paula Henry talking about it with Mrs. Kirk.”

Ben frowned. “When was this?”

“Just now, I think . . . right out in front of the notions shop.”

“Oh no,” Stacy groaned.

“Looks like my cousin’s somehow become acquainted with Eloise Kirk,” Ben sighed, as he reached over and gave Stacy’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Sam, I’m afraid Clarissa’s . . . misunderstood a few things.”

“That explains it,” Sam said. “I hope you don’t take offense, Stacy, but I’d always figured you to be the last gal in the world t’ ever attend a finishin’ school.”

“No offense taken because you figured right,” Stacy said, trying to fight down a rising tide of panic. “I sure wish I was old enough to order whiskey,” she sighed morosely. “ ‘Cause right now . . . I could sure use something a lot stronger than sarsaparilla.”

“Don’t worry,” Ben said. “We’ll set Cousin Clarissa straight on the way home.”

“Stacy, I got a little something for ya,” Sam said. “A graduation present.” He reached down under the bar and produced a small, flat package wrapped with brown parcel paper.

“Thank you, Sam,” she said, as he placed the package in her hands. “Can I open it now . . . or do I have to wait until tomorrow?”

Sam chuckled at the eager, childlike hopefulness he saw reflected in her bright blue eyes. “I couldn’t to THAT to ya, Stacy. G’won and open it.”

Stacy needed no further urging. Within less than the space of a heartbeat, she had removed the brown wrapper, and found herself staring at a miniature watercolor set in a simple wood frame. “Pa, look!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining with delight. “It looks like Sun Dancer and me!”

“Yeah, it sure does!” Ben declared with a smile, as he peered over her shoulder.

“It should,” Sam said with a smile. “That IS Sun Dancer and you. My aunt was visiting the summer you and that big golden palomino ran in the Independence Day Race. She made some sketches of you and that big stallion . . . and that water color is one of ‘em. She gave me that one and some others she did in Virginia City and of the surrounding country side. I’ve been saving that one for the right time.”

“Thank you, Sam.” On impulse Stacy leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll always treasure it. Your aunt’s very good.”

“Yeah . . . she IS, if I do say so myself. When I write her next, I’ll tell her how much you appreciate her work.”

“If you give me her address, I’LL write and let her know, too.”

“Sure thing, Stacy. I’ll copy it down ‘n give it to your pa or one of your brothers next time they come in,” Sam promised.

“ . . . uummm, Mister Cartwright?”

Ben turned and found Sally Tyler, one of the saloon girls at the Silver Dollar, standing at his elbow. “Yes, Miss Tyler?”

“There’s a lady waiting out on the sidewalk,” Sally said, “says she’s your cousin. She, uhhh . . . doesn’t look real happy.”

“Hoo boy,” Ben sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Tyler.” He, then, turned to his daughter. “Come on, Stacy. We’d best get a move on.”

Stacy nodded, as she grabbed up her virtually untouched bottle of sarsaparilla in her free hand. “Thank you again for the picture of Sun Dancer and me.”

“You’re welcome, Stacy.”

“Benjamin Cartwright, it’s bad enough that YOU and your sons patronize saloons, but to take your daughter in there with you— ” Clarissa, her face darker than the thunderclouds that came with the worst of summer storms, immediately lit into her cousin the instant he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Stacy, why don’t you g’won ahead and get Blaze Face securely attached to the buggy,” Ben said quickly, cutting off his cousin’s tirade mid-sentence.

“You’ll be ok, Pa?” Stacy queried, as she inwardly shuddered at the sight of the murderous frown on Cousin Clarissa’s face.

“I’ll be fine. Now scoot.”

“How COULD you, Benjamin?”

“Clarissa, Stacy NEVER goes into a saloon, without her brothers or me,” Ben said, cringing away from the indignant scowl on Clara Mudgely’s face as she sauntered by on the sidewalk, “and she doesn’t drink anything stronger than sarsaparilla or root beer.” Yet.

“You think THAT makes it all right?!”

“For a few minutes, at THIS time of day, as long as she’s with Hoss, Joe, or me . . . I don’t see that there’s been any harm done.”

“No HARM done?! What about that poor child’s reputation?!” Clarissa wailed.

“What ABOUT her reputation?”

“Benjamin, I keeping telling you . . . Stacy is a young LADY,” Clarissa admonished him sternly. “Ladies, no matter what their age, do NOT patronize saloons. Ever!”

“Back east, no,” Ben agreed, “and I freely admit that not very many women in THIS part of the country patronize saloons either, but a few of them DO in the company of their men folk, early on in the day.” There were exceptions of course, like Amy Wilder i but he wisely decided not to open THAT particular can of worms. “An occasional stop in at the Silver Dollar Saloon with her father during the late afternoon is NOT going to tarnish her reputation one bit.”

“Cousin Mirabelle and I are certainly going to have our work cut out for us,” Clarissa groused in silence.

They found Stacy waiting next to the buggy, with Blaze Face already hitched to the back.

“Cousin Clarissa, I’ve given thought to everything you told me when we rode out to Ponderosa Plunge a few days ago— ”

Clarissa smiled and clasped her hands. “You have?!”

“Yes, and I’ve decided . . . ” Stacy reached over and touched her father’s arm for support, for strength, “ . . . I DON’T want to go to the . . . whatever academy— ”

“The Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies,” Clarissa graciously supplied the information.

“I want to stay right here,” Stacy continued.

“Stacy, I’m going to ask you a question and I expect an honest answer,” Clarissa said.

“All right . . . as long as it’s not something real personal.”

Clarissa shot Ben a dark scowl at Stacy’s reply, then returned her attention back to her young cousin. “If you could live anywhere in the world, do absolutely anything you want . . . anything! Where would you go? What would you do?”

“There’s a lot of places I’d like to VISIT someday,” Stacy said slowly. “Pa’s told us about a lot of interesting places he’s been, back when he was a sailor. I’d also like to visit Ireland someday . . . see where my mother was born, and I’d like to see Boston, where Pa came from, and places there he and Adam have talked about.”

“So you would like to go to Boston,” Clarissa beamed.

“Someday, with Pa, or maybe Adam,” Stacy said. “But, I don’t want to LIVE in any of those places. When it comes to living somewhere, to settling down, and calling someplace home, that place is right HERE. I just can’t see myself living anywhere else.

“The Ponderosa is a beautiful land, and a good land. She and Pa have taken real good care of each other, and she’s taken good care of my brothers, Hop Sing, and me, too. Pa’s taught Adam, Hoss, and Joe a lot about taking care of the Ponderosa, and he’s taught me a few things, too. Once I’ve graduated, he’ll be able to teach me more. I want to learn, so I can help look after the Ponderosa, and teach MY children . . . when I have them, someday . . . how to look after her, too.”

“Stacy, how do you KNOW?” Clarissa pressed. “How in the world can you POSSIBLY know?! All you’ve ever seen, ever known is THIS small piece of the world.”

“You don’t have to travel all over the world to find your heart’s desire,” Stacy said. “All you have to do is look in here.” She touched the place over her heart.

“Is that one of YOUR pearls of wisdom, Benjamin?” Clarissa asked, leveling a scathing glare in his direction.

“No,” Ben replied. “My daughter’s reached THAT conclusion entirely on her own. However, speaking as someone who HAS been all over the world, there’s a lot of truth in what Stacy just said.”

“Alright, Benjamin,” Clarissa said in a dismissive tone, allowing the entire matter drop . . . for now. She leaned back into the seat, and closed her eyes. All the arrangements were finally in place. A happy smile slowly spread across her lips. Tonight, she would spring her surprise after an exquisite supper fit for a king. Stacy couldn’t help but accept, and gladly, with the trip to Boston, her acceptance at the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies all but guaranteed, along with Cousin Mirabelle’s generous sponsorship. Clarissa couldn’t wait to see the expression on her young cousin’s face . . . .

“Hop Sing?”

“Yes, Missy?”

Clarissa sighed and shook her head. “That’s MISS, Hop Sing, as in MISS Cartwright.”

“Yes, Missy Cartwright.”

Clarissa sighed wearily as she rolled her eyes upward toward the heavens beseeching The Almighty for a large dose of patience and calm. “Instead of the usual COFFEE in the living room, I’d like you to bring in the champagne I have cooling in the sink,” she ordered in a tone, faintly imperious.

“Yes, right away, immediately Missy COUSIN Clarissa.”

“Hop Sing, HOW many times do I have to tell you . . . I am NOT your cousin,” Clarissa reprimanded him severely.

“Oh, so sorry, Missy,” Hop Sing said. “Hop Sing forget. Must be old age catch up. So sorry. So very sorry.” He immediately turned heel and beat a hasty retreat back toward the kitchen, chuckling softly every step of the way.

An explosive sigh borne of pure exasperation exploded out from between her lips. “Benjamin, I KNOW good help is hard to come by out here in this barbarous, uncivilized, Godforsaken part of the country, but HONESTLY. His complete and utter lack of respect for his betters is absolutely appalling. You’ve GOT to talk to him.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Ben said, making a mental note to tell Hop Sing how much he admired and appreciated his restraint. “In the meantime, Clarissa . . . what are we celebrating?”

“Celebrating?!” Clarissa echoed, her brows coming together to form a bewildered frown.

“You asked Hop Sing to serve up this scrumptious supper . . . no! BANQUET would be a better word, and now champagne,” Ben prompted. “I took that to mean we’re celebrating some good news that you have to share with us.”

“Oh. Yes! Yes, I DO have good news to share with you,” she said, all smiles once again. “Oh, Benjamin, I’ve been dying to tell you all day.

“Why don’t we adjourn to the living room?” Ben suggested, as he rose, and gallantly held her chair. “We can toast your good news there.”

“Splendid,” Clarissa beamed.

Smiling, Ben turned and offered her his arm.

“I didn’t want to say anything about this until I knew for sure,” Clarissa said, as she demurely took Ben’s arm, “but, I finally received a wire from Cousin Mirabelle in Boston.”

“Cousin Mirabelle?!” Joe echoed, with a bewildered frown.

“In Boston,” Clarissa said with a complacent smile.

“So, where does SHE fit into the family?” Joe asked.

“Uncle Joseph . . . your paternal grandfather . . . and my father were first cousins to Cousin Mirabelle’s mother,” Clarissa explained. “SHE was married to a man by the name of Clive Benedict Jones.”

“Say! Is this Cousin Mirabelle any relation t’ ol’ Cousin Muley?” ii Hoss asked.

“Yes,” Clarissa replied with a grimace. “Cousin Muley is her youngest brother. HE was a late-in-life baby, born soon after Cousin Mirabelle married Edward Standish. Their mother died when Cousin Muley . . . . ” she grimaced again, and shuddered delicately, “ . . . was quite young, so Cousin Mirabelle and her late husband ended up raising him.”

“So you wrote to Cousin Mirabelle about Stacy fixin’ to graduate?” Ben asked, steering the conversation back to its original track.

“Yes,” Clarissa replied. “Cousin Mirabelle’s a widow now . . . her husband died a few years ago, when an influenza epidemic hit the city. Her children are all off on their own. Her youngest boy just started Harvard last year, and the others are married, the older two with families.”

Ben led Clarissa to the red leather chair next to the fireplace, and gestured for her to sit down. Hoss, meanwhile, sat down in the big blue chair, while Joe and Stacy seated themselves on the settee, leaving a space for Ben.

“She is also a most distinguished alumna of the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies,” Clarissa continued, without pause, “and in the years since her marriage, has been one of its most generous patrons. I told Cousin Mirabelle about Stacy’s upcoming graduation, and asked her to speak to the headmistress of the academy about accepting her as a student.”

Stacy’s face suddenly lost every bit of color it had. She stared over at Cousin Clarissa, through eyes round with sheer horror.

“This afternoon I got a wire from Cousin Mirabelle. Oh, Stacy, it’s all been arranged. Everything,” Clarissa blithely rambled on, wholly oblivious to Stacy’s horrified dismay. “Not only have you been accepted as a student at the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies, but Cousin Mirabelle has graciously offered to act as a sponsor when you make your debut to society, after you graduate. Oh, Stacy, with luck, you’ll make a fine marriage with a young man of good breeding and you’ll get to live in BOSTON, instead of an uncivilized mining town like Virginia City, on the edge of this godforsaken frontier.”

“C-Cousin Clarissa— ” Stacy began, as she suddenly saw the brief span of her whole life flash before her eyes.

Clarissa turned to Stacy, and favored her with a condescending smile. “Don’t interrupt, Dear,” she rudely cut her young cousin, once removed, off, in a sugary sweet tone that set Stacy’s teeth on edge. “It’s not polite, and I can tell you right now, it won’t be tolerated at the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies. I was also going to tell you that I’ve made arrangements for us to leave for Boston on the morning stage, day after tomorrow. Benjamin?”

“Y-Yes, Clarissa?!” Ben stammered, every bit as stunned and horrified as his daughter.

“I’ve also arranged for Stacy and me to stay at the hotel the night before we leave,” Clarissa said. “That way we won’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to make the stage and— ”

“N-No,” Stacy murmured, while vigorously shaking her head.

“What was that, Dear?” Clarissa asked, her smile never wavering.

“I said NO! Cousin Clarissa, didn’t you hear a single word I said when we were coming back from town this afternoon?!” Stacy demanded, as her initial shock underwent a quick metamorphosis to outrage, even anger.

“You told me that you wanted to go to Boston, Stacy,” Clarissa said, her smile still fixed firmly in place.

“ . . . with Pa, or maybe Adam, to see the places THEY’VE talked about,” Stacy shot right back. “I didn’t say I wanted to live there or . . . or go to finishing school there.”

“But . . . it’s all been arranged,” Clarissa said.

“I told you . . . on our way home from town this afternoon . . . I want to stay right here.”

“Oh, Stacy, for heaven’s sake . . . open your eyes! There’s no future for you HERE! None! But, in BOSTON . . . . ” A dreamy smile appeared on her face, as her eyes locked onto the marvelous future she had envisioned for her young cousin, once removed. “After you complete your studies at the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies . . . and you have your debut? YOU are going to take Boston society by storm. You’ll have your pick of fine, eligible young men . . . the very cream of society, Dear, with an impeccable lineage that stretches all the way back to the Mayflower. You won’t have to settle for a young man, half savage— ”

“First of all, Cousin Clarissa, when the Mayflower landed, Jason’s relatives were there to meet the boat,” Stacy said, directing a dark, murderous glare over in Clarissa’s general direction, “and furthermore, his ma was daughter, GRANDdaughter, and GREAT granddaughter to a long line of many chiefs. Among the Shoshone, THAT’S like coming from royalty, which makes Jason’s lineage a heckuva lot more distinguished than somebody who can ONLY trace his back to the Mayflower and the pilgrims.

“Second . . . I told you this afternoon AND the day before yesterday . . . when we rode out to Ponderosa Plunge, that I DON’T want to go to finishing school, I DON’T want to make a debut in polite society, and I sure as shootin’ DON’T want to end up leg shackled to some fancy pants dandy who doesn’t know the butt end of a rifle from the barrel,” Stacy continued, carried along by the momentum of her growing fury. “I want to stay right here.”

“B-But, Stacy . . . everything’s all arranged!” Clarissa protested, her smile drooping noticeably. “C-Cousin Mirabelle is expecting us.”

“Cousin Clarissa . . . I’m sorry YOU couldn’t go to finishing school in Boston and have your society debut,” Stacy said, as she slowly rose from her place on the settee, “but . . . no matter how much I DO feel sorry for you, I’m NOT going to do all those things for you. I have to live my life as I see fit. I can’t . . . I WON’T . . . live the life YOU couldn’t have. Excuse me— ” With that, Stacy beat a swift, hasty retreat outside, slamming the front door behind her.

“Hoss . . . Joe . . . why don’t you g’won out and see to your sister,” Ben said quickly, upon noting the sudden lack of color in Clarissa’s cheeks and the way she pointedly bowed her head and fixed her gaze on her hands, folded demurely in her lap.

“Sure, Pa,” Hoss murmured, as he rose. “C’mon, Li’l Brother.”

Ben waited until his sons had gone out of the house, and Hoss had closed the front door firmly behind them. “Clarissa— ”

“How DARE she?!” Clarissa wailed, now looking every bit as horrified as Stacy did a moment ago. “How dare she speak to me like that?! Benjamin, so help me . . . if YOU don’t take her to task, I WILL.”

“Clarissa, first of all . . . I am Stacy’s father,” Ben said, his own ire suddenly rising. “If there’s any discipline to be meted out, I will be the one to do it, not YOU . . . not anybody ELSE. Second, I am NOT inclined to discipline my daughter or my sons, either, for that matter . . . for telling the truth.”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?!” Clarissa demanded, hurt, angry, and very bewildered.

“I mean that Stacy was absolutely right when she said just now that she’s got to live her own life, as SHE sees fit . . . not the life YOU were forced by circumstance to give up.”

“Benjamin, that’s a . . . a horrible . . . monstrously CRUEL thing to say! Everything I d-did . . . all the arrangements I made . . . it was all for STACY . . . because I . . . I care about her. I c-care about her a great deal! I DO, you know. I really and truly DO.”

“I know you do, Clarissa,” Ben said, “but, I ALSO believe there’s truth in what STACY said about you making all those arrangements for another young woman, about the same age as my daughter is now, who WASN’T able to go to Boston, to live with her cousin, Mirabelle, while she attended the Portnoy Academy, OR have a society debut.”

Clarissa digested Ben’s words in cold, stony silence. “Well,” she said at length, in a small voice. “I had no idea you thought so poorly of me.”

“Clarissa, no. I don’t think poorly of you at all,” Ben protested.

“You . . . and Stacy, too . . . y-you’ve BOTH just let me know . . . in n-no uncertain terms that . . . that I’m a . . . that I’m a selfish old w-woman, with n-no thought for anyone b-but herself.” With that, she turned and fled across the great room toward the stairs, sobbing heartbrokenly.

Ben stood, as if rooted to the spot, watching in stunned silence as Clarissa fled to the upper environs, weeping every step of the way.

“I TOLD her!” Stacy said, as anger began to give way to regret and remorse. “I KNOW I told her . . . I know it, I know it, I KNOW it!”

“Hey, Kid, you’re preachin’ to the choir here,” Joe said gently. “We’re on YOUR side. Now, try ‘n calm down a little . . . I think you’re upsetting poor Blaze Face.”

“Oh no.” Stacy immediately made her way over to his stable. “I’m sorry, Blaze Face,” she murmured softly, as she stroked the length of his muzzle. “I AM upset, but it’s certainly not YOUR doing . . . . ”

Blaze Face nickered softly in response then lowered his face and mouth down to pocket level.

“He’s lookin’ for a treat, Li’l Sister,” Hoss said, smiling.

“Unfortunately dresses don’t come with pockets,” Stacy sighed, gazing down at her attire in dismay.

“Well, I think ol’ Hoss can fix you ‘n Blaze Face right up,” the biggest of the Cartwright offspring said. “I always keep a secret stash right over here.” He walked over to the stool and small table he kept next to Chubb’s stall, and bent down.

“There’d better be enough in that secret stash over there for Chubb and Cooch, too,” Joe said, “or they’re gonna be mighty jealous.”

“Don’t you worry none about THAT,” Hoss said, as he retrieved a small bag out from among the straw lying under the small table. “There’s plenty.” He parceled out treats to Joe, Stacy, and himself.

“I . . . I wish Cousin Clarissa had ASKED me, before she made all these big plans to take me to Boston,” Stacy sighed dejectedly.

“Even if she HAD asked you, Stace, I doubt seriously she’d have listened to your answer,” Joe said. “Cousin Clarissa gets a notion in her head, decides it’s the best thing in the world for you, and does it. The LAST time she came to visit, she worked poor Hop Sing like a slave, then had Pa, Hoss, ‘n me wearing slippers inside the house so we wouldn’t get the floor all muddy . . . half the men working for us up ‘n quit because she insisted on hanging curtains in the bunkhouse . . . and we nearly lost all our friends after she insisted on telling ‘em how important a man Pa is and how lucky they were to have us doing business with ‘em.”

“Poor woman,” Hoss sighed and shook his head. “She tries so hard t’ be useful ‘n needed, she . . . well, she ends up bein’ about as useful t’ folks as a fifth wheel on a wagon.”

The sound of the barn door opening immediately brought all conversation to a complete halt. As he stepped into the barn, Ben found himself staring into three anxious faces, all turned expectantly toward him.

“What happened, Pa?” Hoss asked, half fearing he already knew the answer, given his father’s face, drawn and pale, and the sadness he saw mirrored in those dark brown eyes.

“She . . . wouldn’t listen,” Ben said ruefully.

“I’m sorry everything went so badly, Pa,” Stacy said with remorse. “It’s just that . . . well, the more she went on about finishing school and the rest of it, I . . . I actually saw my life pass before my eyes! . . . and when she said what she did about Jason— ”

“It’s all right, Stacy,” Ben said gently, as he slipped his arms around her and held her close. He felt her arms encircling his waist, and the weight of her head resting heavily against his chest. “I’m sorry things turned out the way they did, too . . . and, I want you to know that none of this is your fault. You were absolutely right in telling her that you have to live YOUR life, not the one she missed out on.”

“Thanks, Pa,” Stacy murmured softly.

“So . . . what, exactly . . . happened?” Joe asked.

“She and I . . . well, I guess you might say we had words,” Ben sighed. “Then, she ran upstairs crying her heart out.”

“Pa, maybe she’ll see things different in the morning, after she’s had a good night’s sleep, ‘n a li’l time t’ think things over,” Hoss suggested hopefully.

“I hope so, Son,” Ben said with a heavy heart.

“Good morning, Benjamin . . . good morning, Hoss,” Clarissa greeted them in a brisk, no nonsense tone, as she strode purposefully into the dining room, her face set with iron willed determination. “Aren’t Joe and Stacy up yet?”

“They’re out in the barn gettin’ the buggy hitched,” Hoss replied. “The graduation exercises start at eleven o’clock, ‘n Stacy needs t’ be there by ten-thirty.”

“I see,” she murmured softly. “Hoss . . . . ”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“My things are all packed. Two trunks, a suitcase, and three carpetbags. Would you mind fetching them down for me?”

Ben frowned. “Clarissa . . . y-your things are all packed? I . . . don’t understand.”

“Benjamin, may I speak with you?” Clarissa asked, directing a furtive glance over at Hoss.

“I’ll be outside, Pa,” Hoss said very quietly, as he rose from his place at the dining room table.

Clarissa immediately seated herself in the chair Hoss had just vacated.

“What’s this all about?” Ben asked.

“Benjamin, first of all, I want to let you know that I don’t harbor any ill feelings toward Stacy at all,” Clarissa offered magnanimously, with a small, sad smile. “If anything, I feel sorry for her.”

“You feel sorry for Stacy?!” Ben echoed, incredulous. “Why?”

“Because THIS is the only kind of life that poor child is ever going to know,” Clarissa wailed. “Up at the crack of dawn, working her fingers to the bone . . . outside, I have no doubt . . . in all kinds of weather . . . . ” She shuddered. “Worst of all, in a couple of years she’ll probably end up married to some cowboy!”

“Like her father and her brothers?” Ben queried in a wry tone.

“I didn’t mean that to be a slight against you or your sons, Benjamin,” Clarissa said immediately. “You, Hoss, and Joe have worked hard and done very well for yourselves. You’ve also made a good life here for yourself AND for your sons, but . . . oh, Benjamin, Benjamin . . . don’t you see?! This is no suitable kind of life for a young lady.”

Clarissa sighed, and dolefully shook her head. “I honestly . . . really and truly thought Stacy would jump at the chance to go to the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies, and the prospect of being presented to proper society if those things were actually offered to her,” she continued. “Then . . . last night, it occurred to me that not only does she KNOW nothing else, but—

“Oh, Benjamin, you HAVE to talk to her! It’s NOT too late for her to change her mind about accompanying me to Boston. If you care ANYTHING about Stacy . . . anything at ALL, then please . . . talk to her,” Clarissa begged. “If you tell her YOU want her to go to Boston, she’ll listen to YOU. I know she will! Please— ”

“Clarissa, Stacy’s made her wishes abundantly clear,” Ben said quietly. “I know you MEANT well, when you made all of your arrangements, but— ”

“You’re not going to talk to her, are you?”

“No.”

“Then, there’s nothing more to say,” she said in a very small, very tight, angry voice. “I would greatly appreciate it, if either you or Hoss could take me into town.”

“I wish you would reconsider your decision to leave.”

Clarissa resolutely shook her head. “I think my leaving at the earliest possible convenience, would be best for all concerned.”

“But the next stage doesn’t leave for another three days.”

“I intend to check myself into the International Hotel in the meantime.”

“Will you be attending Stacy’s graduation?”

“No,” Clarissa said ruefully. “Not after that set-to between Stacy and me last night. Why, I’m probably the very last person she wants to have there . . . ch-cheering her on . . . . ”

“I wish you’d reconsider.”

“No. I think it best this way. Benjamin . . . . ”

“Yes?”

“When I came to visit a few years ago . . . do you remember what I told you, then?”

“I’m sorry, but I think you’re going to have to refresh my memory.”

“You and the boys invited me to live with you,” Clarissa said. “I told you that I couldn’t just sit around, and be idle. I had to be a useful, contributing member of this family.”

“I remember now.”

“Well . . . . ” Her voice caught. “Last night, it became very clear that HERE . . . I’m just about the m-most useLESS creature on the face of the earth. I wanted so MUCH to help Stacy . . . to offer her something better. Then . . . it was bad enough t-to have HER s-so . . . so callously . . . so cruelly throw aside all my hard work, but when you and Stacy BOTH accused me of . . . of acting SELFISHLY— ”

Ben reached over and covered her trembling hand with his own. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you had KNOWINGLY acted from selfish motives,” he said kindly, as he dug into his pocket for a handkerchief. “As I just said, I think you meant well, and I believe that you did what you did because you genuinely care about Stacy.” He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to his distraught cousin.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, as she accepted the proffered handkerchief.

“Clarissa, folks OUR age . . . well, we’re at a place now where most of our future lies behind us,” Ben continued. “It’s a natural thing, I think, for US to look at young folks, especially young folks like Stacy, who have their whole future ahead of them with just about everything in the world to choose from, and wonder what would WE do if we had it to do all over. I found myself wondering when Adam, Hoss, and Joe came of age, and yes . . . I’ve caught myself wondering again now that Stacy’s about to come of age. It’s fine to wonder, as long as we don’t let it turn into something unhealthy.”

“What do you mean?” Clarissa asked, warily.

“I mean . . . when a parent forces a child to follow in THEIR footsteps, for example, or to follow in footsteps, they, for whatever reasons, couldn’t.”

“Are you saying I did this . . . with Stacy?”

“I’m suggesting that as a possibility.”

Clarissa buried her face in the handkerchief Ben had given her, and began to sob in earnest. “Oh, B-Benjamin, I . . . I . . . I d-don’t want H-HER t-to . . . to end up like ME!”

Ben silently reached over and gently touched her forearm.

“ . . . all those y-years!” Clarissa sobbed. Ben had never, ever heard the depths of bitterness, of remorse and regret from any human being, that he heard welling up and spilling out of his cousin, as freely as the copious tears now running down her cheeks. “All those y-years of . . . of s-so diligently c-caring for Papa . . . d-day and night . . . did h-he care? Was he . . . was he in any w-way . . . appreciative?! NO!”

Ben remembered Uncle Reuben, Clarissa’s father, as a cold, bitter man, as much filled with anger, even hatred, as his own father, Joseph, was filled with warmth and love. His uncle had always looked so much older than his siblings as well, even though he was the youngest. Once, in the company of Ben’s father, and their older sister, Aunt Leah, a stranger had actually thought Uncle Reuben was their father. As a child, Ben had always been afraid of him, and had always gone out of his way to avoid him. There was one exception however . . . .

A family picnic, held out on the Boston Commons. Grandfather and Grandmother Cartwright were there, along with his aunts, uncles, cousins, and of course, his own father and mother, his brothers, and baby sister.

“Papa?” Ben could hear the voice of, then, five year old Clarissa, as clearly now as his had all those many, long years ago. “Papa, may I play with the other children?”

“No,” came the reply, terse, clipped, and very angry.

“Please, Papa?”

“No. Your stepmother needs you to help look after the baby.” There was a slight, yet unmistakable emphasis on ‘step.’

“Reuben, it’s all right . . . I can manage.” It was one of those rare times Ben remembered Aunt Doreen, Reuben’s second wife, actually stringing together more than two words.

“I SAID no.”

Aunt Doreen sighed, and quickly averted her eyes to her hands, folded in her lap, with fingers interlacing.

Clarissa turned and watched her cousins romping and frolicking, her eyes filled with longing and envy, as their children’s games took them all over the thick, lush, carpet of well manicured grass, that lay between the picnic area and a vast pond, filled with ducks. Tears flowed from her eyes, and ran down her cheeks, like rivers.

“Clarissa.” Uncle Reuben’s voice cracked like a whip.

The girl turned and stared up into her father’s angry face, through eyes round with horror.

“Stop that damned crying.”

His words, and the anger behind them, had the opposite effect. Despite her valiant efforts to the contrary, Clarissa began to cry even harder.

“I TOLD you to STOP that damned crying.” Reuben grabbed his daughter in a painful, vice like grip, eliciting an involuntary cry of pain mixed with surprise. He hauled her unceremoniously to her feet, and slapped her across the face with force sufficient to rattle her teeth. When he drew back his arm to slap Clarissa again, eleven-year-old Ben immediately sprang into action, without thought or consideration, in manner not unlike his own impulsive youngest son.

“STOP IT!” Ben cried as his hands grabbed hold Uncle Reuben’s arm mid-swing.

“Let go of me, Boy,” Uncle Reuben snarled, in a voice barely audible.

“Leave her alone!”

“I’m WARNING you . . . . ”

“NO!” Ben shouted.

“You let go of me right now or so help me . . . as God is my witness, Boy . . . I’ll give you the thrashing of your life.”

“Reuben, you so much as lay a finger on my son, I’ll not only thrash YOU within an inch of your miserable life, but I’ll have you jailed for assault and battery as well.” Ben turned and found himself staring into the face of his father. Never, not in the whole of his brief span of life upon this earth, had he ever seen him look so angry.

Father and Uncle Reuben stood with backs ramrod straight, glaring at one another. For one brief terrifying, exhilarating moment, Ben was sure the two men were going to come to blows. Then, Uncle Reuben shook Ben off, sending him tumbling to the ground in an ungainly heap.

“Your boy owes me an apology, Joseph,” Reuben said.

“I’M NOT GOING TO APOLOGIZE,” Ben shouted, his voice, his entire body shaking with anger and a lot of healthy trepidation. “YOU’RE . . . YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A MEAN, NASTY, COWARDLY SON OF A SEA SNAKE!” With that, he turned and fled, as far and as fast as his legs could carry him.

His father found him somewhere on the other side of the pond, listlessly tossing one stone after the other into the shallow water near the bank.

“Ben . . . . ”

He drew himself up to full height as he turned to face his father. “You . . . you can take me out behind the back house and thrash me within an inch of my life if you have to, Father, but I won’t apologize.”

“I’m NOT going to whip you, Ben,” his father said quietly.

Ben gazed up into his father’s face, shocked and astonished. For a long moment, he was too stunned to move or speak. “Y-You’re . . . you’re N-NOT?!”

“Walk with me?”

Ben nodded as he fell in step alongside his father.

“You took up for your cousin against . . . well against some pretty tough odds, Son,” his father said. “Uncle Reuben’s a big man.”

“I . . . I didn’t think about that, Father,” Ben said quietly, his voice barely audible. “I only saw that he was gonna hit Clarissa . . . and maybe really hurt her . . . all because she asked if she could go play.”

“I know.”

“Father?”

“Yes, Ben?”

“Why does Uncle Reuben hate Clarissa so much?”

“Because her mother died bringing her into the world,” Father answered, his voice filled with sadness. “Uncle Reuben loved your aunt, Anna, very much.”

Ben remembered staring up at his father with a bewildered frown on his face. “Does that mean . . . Uncle Max didn’t love Aunt Etta?” Uncle Max, short for Maxwell, was his father’s oldest brother.

“No. Uncle Max loved your Aunt Etta very much . . . and to this day STILL cherishes her memory.”

“But . . . he doesn’t hate Cousin Abby because Aunt Etta died bringing HER into the world.”

“It’s all in how you look at things, Son. When your Aunt Etta died . . . Uncle Max told me that your cousin, Abby was the very last gift Aunt Etta ever gave him,” Father explained. “In HIS eyes, that made her all the more precious. Your Uncle Reuben, however . . . . ” He sighed, and very sadly shook his head, “all he sees is the loss of a woman he claimed he loved more than life itself . . . and he blames poor Clarissa for it.”

“Uncle Reuben doesn’t love Aunt Doreen?”

“I think he does . . . after a fashion,” Father replied. “But, not in the same way he loved Anna.”

“Poor Aunt Doreen . . . and Clarissa, too,” Ben murmured softly, as tears welled up in his chocolate brown eyes. “They love Uncle Reuben so much . . . and they . . . they try so hard to make him love them back, but he won’t. He won’t EVER love them back, will he, Father?”

“No, Ben . . . I don’t think he ever will.”

“Why NOT?”

“Because he’s blinded himself to everything except Anna dying,” Father patiently explained. “He’s not living . . . not really, and he won’t let those around him live either.”

“That’s why he won’t let Clarissa play with us?”

Father nodded. “Worst of all, I think is . . . he won’t ever let himself know and feel how much Aunt Doreen and Clarissa love him. That’s why . . . as much as I do feel sorry for Aunt Doreen and Clarissa . . . I think the one I feel the sorriest for is Uncle Reuben . . . . ”

The sounds of Clarissa’s agonized weeping drew Ben back to present time and place. He quietly rose, then walked over and gently helped his grief stricken cousin rise to her feet. He put a gentle arm around her shoulders and led her away from the dining room table over to the settee. There, they sat down together, and Ben held Clarissa close, as she poured forth the torrent of anger and sorrow, she had carried around with her for so long, in the same way he held his own sons and daughter close in their times of grief and anguish.

“All those y-years . . . all those y-years of . . . of looking after him . . . c-caring for him . . . giving up m-my life . . . m-my future . . . all my chances t-to marry . . . to have a family and . . . and a h-home of m-my own . . . . ” she looked up and favored him with a defiant, angry glare. “I . . . I H-HAD prospects, Benjamin. I d-did.”

“I know,” Ben said in a quiet, gentle tone.

“ . . . and I g-gave it all up . . . threw it all away . . . t-to . . . to care for Papa,” Clarissa sobbed. “All he did . . . all h-he ever did was . . . c-complain and . . . and f-find fault. N-Not once d-did he ever s-so mush as s-s-say . . . thank you. It would have m-meant so much if he had . . . .

“ . . . and . . . when h-he died?! He l-left me d-destitute, Benjamin . . . destitute, h-homeless . . . without anything t-to call my own, except . . . except the clothes on m-my back. M-My sister and brothers were . . . they were n-no better! You’d have thought they would h-have had pity and . . . and let m-me k-keep my home . . . the only h-home I’ve ever known, but no! They wanted their share of the m-money. So . . . here I am . . . always m-moving f-from pillar to p-post, helping c-care for relatives every b-bit as . . . as mean, and ungrateful as P-Papa was. I d-don’t want the s-same thing to h-happen to Stacy— ”

“Clarissa, that will NEVER happen to Stacy,” Ben said gently, yet firmly. “When my time comes, HER share of the Ponderosa . . . and of my OTHER worldly goods . . . will equal that of her brothers. Should THEY decide to sell their portions and move on, her home will still be here.”

“But . . . what if YOU become ill and . . . and infirm l-like . . . like Papa?”

“Stacy won’t be saddled with the full responsibility of with caring for me alone,” Ben promised. “I KNOW my sons, Clarissa. Hoss and Joe WILL pitch in and help with my care, should such a thing come to pass. They’ll insist on it. I daresay Adam will, too, though HIS help will, more than likely be of a financial nature, seeing that he lives out in Sacramento. But, they will all share equally.”

“Oh, B-Benjamin . . . I’m s-so s-sorry— ”

“You needn’t be,” Ben said, understanding now some of the complexities that had prompted Clarissa to make the arrangements for Stacy to go to Boston, to finishing school. “You cared enough about Stacy to take steps to make absolute certain her future was secure. I can’t fault you for that. Perhaps . . . I should be the one to apologize for accusing you of wanting to live the life you couldn’t have through Stacy.”

“No . . . . ” Clarissa wearily shook her head. “While I DID want to make certain that Stacy had a . . . a comfortable home and secure f-future . . . I’m afraid I’d be less than honest if I didn’t admit to a secret desire deep down to . . . to live the life I had to give up . . . through her. It’s not a bad kind of life, Benjamin.”

“No.”

“ . . . and there’s a p-part of me that just plain can’t understand why in the world Stacy wants to stay HERE, when she could go to Boston.”

“Perhaps you need to ask STACY about that,” Ben suggested.

“If she’s even talking to me.”

“Stacy’s a very forgiving young woman, once she’s had a chance to cool off. In fact, she feels every bit as badly about how things went last night, as you do.”

“Ok, Kid . . . now that the buggy’s hitched, it’s time for YOU to jump into that bath Hop Sing’s got ready for ya upstairs and get dressed,” Joe said, as he quickly double checked the harness and fastenings to make certain everything was secure. “You’ve got an hour before we have to leave.”

Stacy nodded mutely.

An anxious frown creased Joe’s brow upon noting that his sister’s eyes blinked excessively. “You all right, Stace?” he asked gently, as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re not getting all sentimental on us now . . . are you?”

“No . . . I’m not getting sentimental about leaving school, I . . . well, I still feel bad about what I said to Cousin Clarissa last night,” Stacy said contritely.

“I’m sorry it finally had to come to that, too,” Joe said quietly, “but from where I sit . . . it was either take the stand you did or let her drag you clear across country to that finishing school in Boston. You TRIED to tell her nice and polite, I KNOW you did, but she wouldn’t listen.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and favored her with a reassuring smile. “Pa, Hoss, Hop Sing and I are all with ya, Kid. You just remember that, and try not to let Cousin Clarissa mar what should be one of the biggest days of your life.”

“Thanks, Joe,” Stacy said as she impulsively turned and gave the youngest of her three older brothers a big hug.

“You’re welcome,” Joe said as he returned her hug with an affectionate one of his own. “Now scoot! That hour’s dwindling away fast!”

Stacy nodded, then turned and started walking briskly toward the barn door. She nearly ended up in a head on collision with a very shocked, very astonished Clarissa Cartwright, before she had gone a half dozen steps. “Oh dear . . . I-I’m sorry, Cousin Clarissa.”

“Stacy, I want to speak with you,” Clarissa said, in a flat monotone that somehow lent her voice an unintended, yet faint, imperious air. “Now.” Her eyes moved over to Joe, standing next to Stacy. “Alone.”

“Cousin Clarissa, anything you have to say to my sister . . . you have to say to me, too,” Joe said quietly, as he stepped up beside her and placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

“ . . . uhhh, Grandpa?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“I . . . don’t think you have to worry,” Stacy said slowly, taking due note of the older woman’s puffy upper lip, her red, swollen eye lids, and the unusual brightness of her eyes. “I’ll be ok.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“In that case, why don’t the two of you step outside and talk?” Joe suggested. “I think maybe I’d kinda like to check the harness . . . make sure everything’s properly fastened.”

A smile tugged hard at the corner of Stacy’s mouth, as she silently nodded her head. She refrained from pointing out that the two of them had already double-checked the fastenings.

“Oh! . . . and one more thing, Kid.”

“What’s that, Grandpa?”

“If ya need me . . . I’m right here.”

“I’ll remember that, Grandpa. Thanks.” Stacy slipped her arm around his waist and gave him one more gentle, affectionate squeeze, before following Clarissa out into the yard. “Cousin Clarissa . . . . ”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“I’m sorry about the way things went last night,” Stacy said contritely. “Pa’s always warning me about my temper. I try to find better ways to work it out, but last night . . . well, I’m afraid it got the better of me.”

“Stacy, I’M the one who should be apologizing,” Clarissa said, equally remorseful. “All things considered . . . you . . . had . . . every right . . . to be angry.”

“I’ll accept YOUR apology, if you’ll accept mine.”

A tiny smile played at the corner of Clarissa’s mouth. “It’s a deal,” she said quietly, holding out her hand.

“Done,” Stacy agreed as they shook hands.

“Oh, Stacy . . . . ” Clarissa murmured, her voice tremulous. “If you could only realize what you’re giving up.”

“Maybe I have no idea what I AM giving up, but I know very well what I’m NOT giving up,” Stacy said quietly.

Clarissa favored her young cousin once removed with a bemused smile. “Oh? And what are you not giving up?”

“Did Pa ever tell you anything about my life before I came here?”

“Not very much. He said that you lived with your mother’s family until you were five or six, and after that with a family of Paiutes.” Clarissa shuddered at this last, unable to help it.

“Miss Paris . . . my mother . . . didn’t tell Pa she was going to have me,” Stacy began. “She just left, without telling anyone where she was going . . . or why she was leaving. She didn’t even say good-bye. I know she was a very proud woman, and I think maybe she left because she didn’t want Pa to feel obligated to marry her. What she didn’t know . . . unfortunately . . . was how much Pa DID love her . . . and . . . and that he was about to ask her to marry him.”

“I . . . I had no idea,” Clarissa murmured softly. “What . . . finally happened to her?”

“She ended up going back to HER family, to her parents and sisters. They looked after her until I was born. After that, her pa told her that they would give me a home, but SHE had to leave and never see them . . . or me . . . ever again.”

“Oh, Stacy . . . what a terrible, cruel thing to do,” Clarissa murmured softly.

“My mother’s family didn’t like her . . . or Pa either for that matter,” Stacy said, unable to keep the sadness and rancor out of her voice. “They did what they saw as their duty by me, but I think it was more to spite Pa and Miss Paris than out of any great love for me.

“The Paiutes who took me in and raised me cared a great deal about me. In fact . . . I don’t see how any mother could love her child more than Silver Moon, my Paiute foster mother, loved me,” Stacy continued. “But, SHE was told in dream that she had been entrusted with me until the time came for me to go live with my real family . . . so, even though they loved me, we all knew I wouldn’t be staying.

“When I came to live here, I finally knew what it was to belong somewhere . . . to have a family and a home I could really and truly call my own for the very first time in my whole life. You asked me if I knew what I was giving up . . . well . . . if I had agreed to go with you to Boston, gone through with all the plans you had for me? THAT’S what I would’ve had to give up.”

Clarissa winced at the catch in her young cousin’s voice. “Oh, Stacy, I’m so sorry,” she murmured, with deepening remorse. “I . . . I had no idea. No idea at all. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course I can, Cousin Clarissa,” Stacy replied. “On ONE condition.”

“ . . . and that is?”

“That you’ll come with Pa, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing to my graduation? Please?”

“Oh, Stacy, I . . . I’d be happy to,” Clarissa cried, smiling through the new tears forming in her eyes, as she enveloped her young cousin into her arms.

“ . . . soon, all TOO soon, the seven of us will go our separate ways,” Molly O’Hanlan, valedictorian for her graduating class, spoke in a clear, crisp, voice, filled with excitement. She stood before the podium, drawn up to her full height, gazing out into the sea of faces spread before her with confidence. “Julio Fernandez leaves Virginia City in a couple of days for San Francisco, where he’ll be attending the Amadeus School of Music and taking voice training with renowned singer and teacher, Miss Angela Drake.

“Liam Sullivan leaves in two weeks for New Haven, Connecticut, where he’ll be attending Yale University, studying medicine. His schoolwork has always been outstanding; from the time I’VE known him anyway. I can’t ever recall a time when his name didn’t appear on the teacher’s honor roll. He’s also received a four-year scholarship from the university and he’s been chosen as recipient of the Jeremiah Edward Martin Memorial Scholarship, established by Doctor Martin in honor of his father, to give financial aid to a student, who has proven himself an exemplary scholar and a young person of strong moral character. Liam, we’re all expecting great and wonderful things from you in the years to come.

“Millicent Adams and her mother leave Thursday morning for Boston, where Millicent will be attending the Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies for the next two years. According to Mrs. Adams, Millicent will be the first of HER generation to attend this venerable institution . . . a tradition that began with her maternal grandmother.

“Carol Ann Thompson will be getting married at the end of the month, then moving back east to Philadelphia, where her husband-to-be will be learning all about the newspaper publishing business from his uncle.

“Stacy Cartwright and Susannah O’Brien will remain right here in Virginia City, working for their fathers on the Ponderosa and Shoshone Queen, respectively.

“As for myself, I leave for Minnesota the day after Carol Ann’s wedding, where I’ll be attending normal school to get my teaching certificate.

“But, no matter where we go . . . whether it be to the far flung corners of the world or whether we stay right here . . . no matter what we do . . . whether we become well known, or remain largely UNknown to the world at large . . . I know I can safely speak for all of us when I say that we’ll look back on our time here, in the school house behind me . . . and remember with affection and gratitude, not only our teachers, but our parents, and the entire community as well, for caring enough to properly teach us about the three ‘R’s’ . . . and how to be decent human beings.

“Thank you.”

Molly’s valedictorian speech earned her a rousing standing ovation. Ezekiel Abercromby, the head of the school board, rose, finally, and pounded his cane on the floor of the platform, assembled the day before, to call for order. One by one, the people, assembled for the graduation exercises, sat down, until only Francis O’Hanlan, Molly’s proud father, was left on his feet, still applauding. A gentle tug on his arm from his oldest daughter, Colleen Nikolas, seated beside him, brought the proud father back down to earth.

“Oh, uhhh . . . sorry,” Francis, his face beet red, hastily stammered out an apology, as he dropped back down into his chair.

“It’s quite alright, Mister O’Hanlan,” Esther Johnson said with a big smile, as she stepped up to the podium. “You have every reason in the world to be proud today.” She, then looked up into the expectant faces of the gathered assembly. “ . . . and now, Ladies and Gentlemen, we come to that portion of these exercises for which you have been anxiously awaiting . . . the presentation of graduation certificates.”

“It’s about time,” Joe Cartwright quipped, as the gathering of family members and friends of the graduating class all politely applauded.

“Joseph!” Ben hissed, favoring his youngest son with a dark glare.

“To present the certificates,” Esther continued, once again raising her voice slightly, in order to be heard above the applause, “I give the podium over to Mister Ezekiel Abercromby, head of the school board.”

“Oh no,” Ben groaned softly, as he lifted pleading eyes to the heavens, beseeching whoever might be listening for mercy.

“Pa?” Joe queried, as he and Hoss turned toward Ben with anxious frowns.

“Benjamin? What’s the matter?” Clarissa pressed.

“That man is the biggest . . . and I do mean THE BIGGEST windbag that ever walked on two feet,” Ben groaned again, shaking his head.

“Pa’s right about that,” Hoss murmured ruefully.

“We be here all afternoon, almost to suppertime,” Hop Sing added his own gloomy two cents worth.

“I had a speech all prepared, but in the interests of moving along, we’ll go right to the presenting of the graduation certificates,” Ezekiel said, his words eliciting a collective sigh of relief not only from the Cartwright men, but from the rest of the people assembled as well. He picked up the first certificate from the pile. “Miss Millicent Abigail Adams.”

Millicent rose from her place on the first row and mounted the stairs to the top of the platform, with a stiff, regal bearing to a smattering of polite applause from her parents, seated directly behind her. She walked to the podium, where Ezekiel Abercromby stood, with head slightly upraised, and expectantly held out her hand. The elderly head of the school board handed her the certificate, shook her hand, murmuring a soft, “Congratulations, Miss Adams.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she murmured softly, before stepping back and taking her place a few feet behind Ezekiel.

“Miss Stacy Rose Cartwright.”

Her father, brothers, Hop Sing, and Jason O’Brien were all on their feet a split second before she was, applauding and cheering.

“WAY TO GO, STACY!” Joe yelled at the top of his voice, while Hoss whistled and Jason let out a loud war whoop eminently worthy of his Shoshone ancestors. Even the prim and very proper Cousin Clarissa had risen to her feet and clapped loudly, grinning from ear-to-ear. Molly, Susannah, and Julio also applauded with enthusiasm.

Stacy mounted and crossed the stage with an easy confidence, smiling broadly, glad beyond measure that this phase of her life was finally completed. She eagerly looked forward to joining her father and brothers first thing tomorrow morning as a full time partner.

“Congratulations, Miss Cartwright,” Ezekiel murmured, as he handed Stacy her certificate and shook her hand.

“Thank you, Mister Abercromby.”

“Well! THAT was quite a cheering section,” Millicent said, her voice heavy laden with acid sarcasm, as Stacy took her place standing beside her. She punctuated her remark with a haughty toss of her head.

“What’s the matter, Millicent?” Stacy immediately returned, sotto voce, without missing a beat. “Jealous?”

Millicent gasped in outrage.

“Mister Julio Xavier Fernandez.”

The Fernandez family all leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering in English and in Spanish, their numbers easily surpassing the Cartwrights for volume, if not enthusiasm. The only one who remained seated was Mrs. Fernandez, who was one week from the projected birth date of the ninth child she carried within her. Even so, her ovation was no less spirited than the same offered by her husband and their other children. Julio was the oldest boy in the family, placing him third among his siblings, with two older sisters, four younger brothers, and a younger sister. He had set a fine example for his younger brothers, inspiring them to put forth their best efforts, not only in the classroom, but in other areas of their lives as well.

Susannah O’Brien leapt to her feet, clapping and cheering, followed closely by Molly, and the rest of their class, still seated. On stage, Stacy quickly tucked her certificate under her arm and added her applause to the grand standing ovation. Millicent sighed, and finally joined in, clapping her hands with insulting lackluster.

“As many of you no doubt know, Julio Fernandez has been given the award for the most improvement shown over the course of his career as a student,” Ezekiel explained as the applause and cheers began to fade, and people returned to their seats. “This young man has had to endure many hardships, not the least of which was a language barrier during his first couple of years, being fluent only in Spanish. His schoolwork has not only steadily improved over the years, but he has also discovered a love of music and a rare gift for song. Though not the first in his family to complete his basic education, he IS the first to go on to college.

“Congratulations, Mister Fernandez.” Ezekiel beamed, as he handed the young man his certificate and heartily shook his hand.

“Thank you, Mister Abercromby,” Julio murmured softly, returning the older man’s smile with an equally warm one of his own. He walked over and took his place on the stage next to Stacy.

“Miss Susannah B. O’Brien.”

Not to be outdone by either the Cartwrights or the Fernandez family, Hugh, Crystal, and Jason immediately leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering. Robert McShane, the eldest of Crystal’s two sons, stuck his two little fingers in his mouth and whistled, just as their uncle, Jason, had recently taught him. Molly, Stacy, Julio, and Liam also cheered and applauded.

Susannah looked over at her nephew and smiled her thanks and approval, as she climbed up the steps, toward the top of the platform.

“Congratulations, Miss O’Brien,” Ezekiel murmured, as he handed Susannah her certificate and shook her hand.

“Thank you, Mister Abercromby,” she returned gratefully, grinning from ear-to-ear. Like Stacy, she also looked forward to working for her father and her older sister, learning about the day-to-day operations involved in running the Shoshone Queen. She walked over and took her place next to Julio.

“Miss Molly O’Hanlan.”

Molly rose and mounted the steps, smiling, with back straight, shoulders back, displaying all the attitude she could possibly muster.

“Molly, it’s not how big you are . . . how smart you are . . . or even how big a gun you carry . . . that counts for anything . . . . ” She could hear those words again, ringing in her hears, speaking just as clearly to the places of mind and heart now, as they did when Stacy first uttered them six years ago, almost seven, the first day they met.

Her father and sister both smiled broadly, as they clapped their hands. Her brother-in-law clapped and whistled.

“HEY, MOLLY . . . ‘WAY TO GO!” Stacy smiled and shouted, as she applauded every bit as enthusiastically as Molly’s family.

Susannah O’Brien whooped clapped her hands with much energy and enthusiasm.

“Congratulations, Miss O’Hanlan,” Ezekiel murmured as he handed Molly her certificate, and shook her hand.

“Thank you, Mister Abercromby,” Molly responded.

As she walked over to take her place beside Susannah, Molly noted with a pang of regret the absence of her mother, Myrna O’Hanlan, and brother, Frankie. The former had suffered an attack of the vapors early this morning, the absolute worst ever, brought on, no doubt by the row between herself and her son the night before.

“Mister Liam Patrick Sullivan.”

The Sullivan clan, every bit as numerous and vocal as the Fernandez family, the O’Briens, and the Cartwrights, all leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering.

“Congratulations, Mister Sullivan,” Ezekiel murmured, with the same warm smile he had given Julio and Molly.

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you very much,” Liam said, smiling back, as he shook hands with Ezekiel. He walked over and took his place beside Molly. “Modest as always, aren’t you, Girl.”

“Liam, what are you talking about?” Molly queried, taking great care to keep her voice down.

“Not one mention of the straight A average you’ve carried in all the years I’ve known YOU,” Liam chided her gently. “Molly O’Hanlan, between you ‘n me? I’m expecting great things of you, too.”

“Miss Carol Ann Thompson,” Ezekiel Abercromby wearily called the last name.

Carol Ann mounted the stairs, to the polite applause offered by her parents, her younger sister, her husband-to-be, and her perspective parents-in-law. Her mother smiled, and looked on proudly as she crossed the platform to receive her certificate.

“Congratulations, Miss Thompson . . . on your graduation from school, and upon your up coming marriage,” Ezekiel said as he handed Carol Ann her certificate, and shook her hand.

“Thank you, Mister Abercromby,” she murmured listlessly, before walking over and taking her place beside Liam Sullivan.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Ezekiel said, as he turned to the assembly of parents, of brothers and sisters, and of close friends. “I give you our graduating class and their teacher, Miss Esther Johnson, who is herself, one of the three finest teachers I have ever had the pleasure of working with during my long tenure as head of the school board. One was a woman known to us and to our children simply as Miss Tess, and the other was my own daughter.”

Everyone leapt to their feet, applauding, cheering, and whistling.

“I agree with him about Miss Tess and Miss Johnson,” Ben growled under his breath. “But Miss Abercromby, I’m afraid left a whole lot to be desired.”

“Miss Abercromby was the WORST teacher the Virginia City School’s ever had,” Joe dutifully explained to Cousin Clarissa, “bar none.”

“Hoss . . . Joe, it was lovely . . . just lovely!” Clarissa declared with a big smile, after Ben had set off toward the platform where Stacy still remained with her graduating class, receiving the congratulations and good wishes of others. “I’m so glad now, that I stayed.”

“So am I, Cousin Clarissa,” Joe said, with all sincerity, “and I know Stacy was glad that you were able to be here, too.”

“I hope you’re feelin’ a mite better about Stacy,” Hoss said quietly. “Pa said you were kinda worried about her.”

“I feel much better about her, Hoss, knowing that she has you, Joe, and Benjamin around,” Clarissa replied, “though deep down, I still can’t quite understand why she would prefer the kind of life she’s going to have here . . . to the kind of life she COULD have in Boston. But . . . . ” she shrugged, “to each his . . . or HER own.”

“Missy Cartwright wise woman,” Hop Sing declared with a big smile.

Clarissa smiled inwardly, gratified that Hop Sing had, at long last, stopped referring to her as cousin. Though she had realized, and grudgingly come to accept the fact that Benjamin, his sons, and his daughter looked upon the man as part of their family, she just plain and simply could not bring herself to claim any kind of familial relationship. “Perhaps it IS wrong of me, but I’m too old . . . too set in my ways to try and change now.”

Meanwhile, Ben found himself feeling oddly disgruntled, as he made his way over toward the platform, upon seeing his daughter turn and catch Jason O’Brien up in a great big bear hug. Those feelings deepened as Jason hugged back with equal energy and enthusiasm.

“Mister Cartwright!”

Ben turned, and smiled as he saw Julio Fernandez walking toward him. His smile, however, came no where close to reaching his eyes. “Congratulations, Julio,” he said, as he shook hands with the young man. “Your family has every reason in the world to be very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Julio said, as two bright splotches of red appeared on both cheeks. “I also want to thank you putting in a good word for me with Miss Drake.”

“I was certainly more than happy to do that,” Ben said, as he cast a quick, furtive glance over toward Stacy and Jason. He was gratified to see them just standing now, and talking quietly with each other. “Mister Abercromby was absolutely right when he said you have a rare gift,” he continued, returning his attention at once to Julio. “I’m just very glad . . . and relieved . . . that your initial contact with Miss Drake went as well as it did. To put it very politely, she can be somewhat mercurial.”

“So I’ve heard. Still . . . she’s one of the best, if not THE best, voice teacher there is. I’m deeply honored that she’s agreed to take me as a student. I’m looking forward to working with her and learning from her.”

“ . . . and I’M looking forward to your first concert in Piper’s Opera House right here in Virginia City.”

Julio smiled. “I promised Stacy that I’d save the two of you front row seats.”

“You’d better, Young Man. If I don’t see ya before you leave for San Francisco, Julio, I wish you all the best along with a safe trip.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Julio . . . Julio!” The young man turned and found his next youngest brother, Ramon, standing beside him, his complexion a few shades paler than normal and his dark brown-black eyes round as saucers. “Papa said to ask you to run, tell Doctor Martin that Mama’s having the baby.”

“N-Now?!” Julio queried, incredulous.

“Yes, now!”

“Julio, you’d best get a move on,” Ben quietly urged the stunned young man. “Tell your folks, I’m thinking about ‘em, and that I’ll remember them and the new baby tonight in my prayers.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright,” Julio said.

“Yes, Sir . . . thank you,” Ramon voiced his gratitude, before left to return to his parents, and his oldest brother ran to find Doctor Martin. “Julio and I will tell them.”

“Pa . . . . ”

Ben turned and smiled, upon finding Stacy, with certificate in hand, standing at his elbow. “Congratulations, Young Woman,” he murmured softly, as he slipped his arms around her.

“Thank you, Pa.”

He was pleased, and gratified, as he felt her arms encircle his waist and squeeze with every bit of the exuberance he had seen her hugging Jason with a few moments before.

“I’m sure glad it’s behind me.”

“No regrets?” Ben asked, as he and his daughter made their way over to the place where Hoss, Joe, Hop Sing, and Cousin Clarissa waited.

“None,” Stacy replied. “I think the only thing that remains is for you to decide where I’m going to start come tomorrow morning.”

“I’ve been giving the matter a lot of thought,” Ben said, as he slipped a paternal arm around her shoulders, “and I’ve decided to let Joe finish up training this string of horses.”

“Oh?”

“Yep,” Ben nodded his head solemnly, then smiled. “Tomorrow morning, you’re going to be helping Hoss and me move the cattle out to the summer pastures. I hope you’ve been practicing your roping.”

“I sure have,” Stacy declared with a big smile.

“Hey, Pa . . . you ‘n Stacy ready to g’won down to the International House for some lunch?” Joe asked, as his father and sister joined the rest of the family. He glanced over at Hoss, his eyes dancing with impish delight. “The way Big Brother over there keeps looking at me and licking his chops is giving me a real case of the willies.”

Stacy laughed out loud at Joe’s comically grotesque shudder, while Clarissa looked on, uncertain, until she heard Ben laugh.

“Little Joe, Miss Stacy . . . better show Mister Hoss lotta respect,” Hop Sing immediately admonished both. The mischief dancing in his black eyes and the amused smile tugging hard at the corner of his mouth gave lie to his stern tone of voice. “Little Joe, Miss Stacy couple of puny appetizers to appetite like Mister Hoss.”

“You got that right, Hop Sing,” Hoss guffawed. “In fact the two of ‘em are too puny t’ even bother with.”

“Little Sister, I think we’ve just been insulted,” Joe alleged with mock severity.

“I KNOW we have,” Stacy immediately replied.

“All right, Children, settle down . . . all FOUR of ya!” Ben’s glare took in Hop Sing as well. The twinkle in his eyes, however, was not lost on his two sons, his daughter, or Hop Sing.

“Yes, Pa,” Hoss, Joe, and Stacy chorused together in unison, before dissolving into more laughter.

“Yes, Sir, Number One Boss of Ponderosa. Hop Sing go now, visit with papa, Hop Ling.”

“You sure you don’t want to come have lunch with us first?” Stacy asked, looking a little crestfallen.

“Hop Sing miss good company, but food at International House . . . NOT good.” Hop Sing shuddered and made a face. “Lady cook at restaurant lousy, not good cook, not nearly good as Hop Sing.”

“No one’s as good as YOU, Hop Sing, ‘n that’s a fact,” Hoss declared.

“Only one cook better,” Hop Sing said. “That Hop Ling, Hop Sing papa. He teach Hop Sing to cook before Hop Sing and papa leave China.”

“Clarissa, I . . . don’t know what your plans are, but I want to let you know that you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you wish,” Ben said, as he and his cousin followed behind Hop Sing and his exuberant children at a slower pace.

“Thank you, Benjamin,” she murmured gratefully. “I appreciate that, very much. Truth to tell, I’m kind of at loose ends right now. That letter for me in this morning’s mail was from Cousin Rosalyn . . . . ”

“Yes, I saw you reading it before the graduation ceremonies started. Who’s Cousin Rosalyn?”

“Amelia’s mother.”

“Ah yes. The one who not long ago had a baby.”

“That’s right,” Clarissa affirmed. “It seems Jeremy . . . that’s Amelia’s husband, and the baby are both down sick, Amelia’s hysterical, and from the sound of the letter, poor Rosalyn’s beside herself. She begs me to come.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know,” Clarissa replied, miserable and clearly torn. “Before I left them to come here, Rosalyn’s husband and I . . . well, I guess you might say we had words. Though they need me . . . they don’t really WANT me.”

“Then don’t go. As I just said before, you ARE welcome to stay with us for as long as you like,” Ben said with a smile.

“I thought maybe I’d send a wire to that home for the elderly out in Sacramento,” Clarissa said.

“The place you were going to when you stopped to visit us the last time?”

Clarissa nodded. “I was too young to go in then, but now . . . well, let’s just say I’m close enough and leave it at that.”

“Clarissa . . . . ” Ben stopped walking. “May I ask you a personal question? You certainly don’t have to answer it, if you don’t want to.”

“That’s fair enough, I suppose.”

“What about your sister and brothers?” Ben asked. “Haven’t any of THEM asked you to come live with them?”

“No,” Clarissa shook her head. “I haven’t seen them since we laid Papa to rest. I get a Christmas card from my sister, but that’s all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t be, Benjamin. They were a cantankerous lot, anyway,” Clarissa said ruefully. She started walking again. Ben fell in step along side her. “In fact, I don’t think they have very much to do with each other, and . . . as much as I would dearly love to live with you, Hoss, Joe, and Stacy, I think I’m at a time in my life that I want someplace of my own to call home.”

“I can set you up in a nice little house right here in Virginia City,” Ben offered.

“You’ve been very generous to me over the years, Benjamin.” She smiled. “Starting from the time you attacked Papa because you thought he was going to hurt me.”

“I’m surprised you even remember that. You were pretty young.”

“Five years old, and I’ll never for get it,” Clarissa declared. “But, I won’t take charity.”

A strained silence fell between them.

“Benjamin, that place out in Sacramento . . . it’s not a bad place,” Clarissa said, sounding for all the world as if she might be trying to convince herself as well as her cousin. “It’s small . . . a one room efficiency, but that’s more than enough room for me . . . and, it’s more than I’ve ever had. It’s within walking distance of the general store, and I have a lovely view of the river.”

She had purposefully neglected to mention such things as hauling her own water up from the well to a room, more than likely on the third, maybe even the fourth floor, or that she would be expected to share the bathroom facilities, located at the end of the hall, with eleven others.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“It’ll do.”

“Clarissa— ”

“Benjamin, you ask what I want . . . well, what I want right now is to have a nice lunch, in what looks to be a very nice restaurant, and celebrate Stacy’s graduation with her, and with you and your boys,” Clarissa said firmly. “For today, at least, I don’t want you, Hoss, Joe, or Stacy to be worrying about me.”

“Alright,” Ben agreed, “but, this conversation’s far from over.”

“MISS CARTWRIGHT? MISS CLARISSA CARTWIGHT?!”

Clarissa and Ben turned and found George Ellis, from the telegraph office, huffing and puffing as he ran up the steps, his face beet red, waving a piece of paper clutched in his right hand.

“I’m Miss Clarissa Cartwright,” Clarissa said, when George stepped up on the hotel porch beside her.

“I just now got a reply back from a Mrs. Mirabelle Standish to the wire you sent her earlier this morning,” George said.

“Th-Thank you,” Clarissa murmured as she received the message with trembling hands.

Ben reached into his pocket and drew out a half dollar. “Thank you, George. Here’s a little something for your trouble,” he said quietly, as he pressed the coin into the telegraph operator’s hand.

“Thank YOU, Mister Cartwright. Thank you very much,” George said, grinning broadly, from ear-to-ear. He turned and made his way back down the hotel steps with a definite spring in his own.

Ben turned his attention back to Clarissa. An anxious frown deepened the lines already present in his brow, upon noting her pale face, the eyes, round with shock, glued to the paper she clutched in her trembling hands. “Clarissa?” he murmured gently, as he reached out to touch her shoulder. “Clarissa . . . it’s not bad news . . . is it?”

She turned and looked up at him, with a tremulous smile and eyes glistening with the brightness of tears yet to be shed. “No, Benjamin . . . no! It’s not bad news . . . far from it,” she said, pausing to wipe the stray tears that had slipped over her eyelids, and started to run down both cheeks. “No . . . this is good news . . . very good news . . . Cousin Mirabelle has asked me to come to Boston, Benjamin.”

Ben smiled. “To visit?”

“No . . . not t-to visit . . . Benjamin, she . . . she actually wants me to come and live with her!” Clarissa exclaimed, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Clarissa, that’s wonderful.”

“I’ll be going home,” she murmured, smiling, yet not quite sure she dared believe. “I’ll finally be going home.” She gasped. “Oh dear!”

“What’s the matter?” Ben asked.

“I’ve got to wire Mirabelle immediately— ” Clarissa turned, with every intention of running all the way to the telegraph office.

Ben reached out and placed a gentle restraining hand on Clarissa’s forearm. “We’ll have plenty of time to do that . . . AFTER lunch,” he said.

“But, I . . . oh, Benjamin, I have a million things to do.”

“ . . . not the least of which is getting a good meal inside ya, now that we have two things to celebrate,” Ben said, as he steered her into the hotel and over to the French doors that opened up into the restaurant.

“I know we’re celebrating Stacy’s graduation,” she said, wholly bemused, “but . . . what ELSE are we celebrating?”

Ben smiled. “I think YOU have some good news to impart . . . . ”

“So I do,” Clarissa said, smiling back. “So I do!”

Epilogue

The Cartwright family assembled together at the Overland Stage depot the following morning, attired in their Sunday-go-to-meeting finest. Ben wore his best gray cotton summer suit, with a clean white shirt, black string tie, and black hat. Hoss had on his royal blue cotton suit, recently made, a freshly laundered white shirt, with a dark navy blue string tie and his white ten gallon hat. Joe wore the greenish gray linen suit that brought out the emerald in his eyes, a white shirt, freshly laundered, pressed, and starched. He held a black hat in one hand, and his black string tie was tucked away in the left hand pocket of his jacket. Stacy wore her graduation present from Cousin Clarissa, a light blue dress, made from fine linen, with rounded collar, and sleeves, slightly puffed, with a ruffled trim, that reached to her elbows. There was a thin edge of white lace around the sleeves and neck.

“Sorry you won’t be here for the big party Saturday night,” Stacy said with genuine regret, “but I’m glad to have met you, and that you were able to come for my graduation.”

“ . . . and I’m very glad I met you, too, Stacy,” Clarissa said with a big smile. “Now when Benjamin tells me about you in his letters, I’ll have a very lovely face to go with the words.”

“Thank you, Cousin Clarissa,” Stacy said, as they embraced.

“Have a safe trip, Cousin Clarissa,” Joe said with a smile. “It was good seeing you again.”

“It was very nice seeing you, too, Joe.” Clarissa offered Joe her gloved hand. She was surprised and very pleased when he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Benjamin, you mark my words . . . THIS young man is going to leave a string of broken hearts stretching from one end of Nevada to the other.”

“He already HAS,” Stacy quipped.

Hoss sighed and sarcastically rolled his eyes heavenward. “Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“With the way Li’l Brother over there’s preenin’ ‘n struttin’ his stuff . . . looks like you’re gonna need t’ start buyin’ his HATS ‘bout ten sizes larger.”

“Very funny, Big Brother,” Joe growled, as Stacy burst into a fit of the giggles. “THAT was so-ooo-ooo funny . . . I plumb forgot to laugh!”

“Joe . . . Hoss . . . and you, too, Stacy! Settle down!” Ben admonished his three younger children, while trying very hard not to smile. He, then, turned to his cousin. “Clarissa, I know you’re going to be very happy living in Boston with Cousin Mirabelle.”

“I know I will be, too, Benjamin . . . though it seems very odd to be traveling someplace where . . . no one’s sick, injured, or just had a baby,” she said with a tremulous smile and a helpless shrug. “I just hope I can . . . somehow . . . find the wherewithal to resign myself to living a life of idleness.”

“I prefer to think of it as living a life of leisure,” Ben said, taking both of her hands in his own. “After all the years you spent looking after your father, and a whole passel of relatives, I can’t think of anyone more deserving.”

“I need to be useful, Benjamin,” Clarissa said in a very small, very sad voice.

“Clarissa, you’re going to be taking on what just may be the most important job in the whole wide world,” Ben said.

“Really?!” She brightened slightly at the prospect. “What job is that?”

“Companionship. You said yourself that Cousin Mirabelle’s widowed, her children are all grown, and living their own lives, some with their own families,” Ben replied. “It can get very lonely rattling around in a big mansion up on Nob Hill.”

“Well . . . yes, I suppose it can,” Clarissa said slowly, thoughtfully.

“You also told me that Cousin Mirabelle had been a generous contributor to the Sarah Linda? Sarah Lea, perhaps?!”

“Sarah Lynn Portnoy Academy for Young Ladies,” Clarissa adroitly supplied the name of the institution.

“If she’s given so generously there, I’ll bet you anything she’s involved in a lot of other charity work.”

“You’re probably right, Benjamin.”

“If she is, she’ll more than likely get YOU involved as well,” Ben continued. “I have a real strong feeling that Cousin Mirabelle’s gonna keep you so busy, you’re gonna find yourself wishing for an idle existence.”

“Pa,” it was Hoss. “Cousin Clarissa’s bags’ve been stowed on top. Since she’s the only passenger t’ Carson City, Mister Dawson says he’s ready to go, whenever she is.”

Clarissa pulled herself up to full height and took a deep breath. “Well, I guess this is it.”

“You have a safe trip, Clarissa,” Ben said.

“Thank you, Benjamin,” she murmured softly as they embraced, “thank you so much . . . for everything. I hope you’ll write.”

“Count on it. You’ll wire us when you reach Boston?”

“Yes, I will,” Clarissa promised. After bidding the Cartwrights one last good-bye, she allowed the driver to help her up into the coach.

Ben, his sons, and his daughter stood together, watching as the coach traveled down C Street and turned the corner.

“I hope she’ll be happy living with Boston with Cousin Mirabelle,” Stacy said quietly, as they turned to leave.

“I pretty sure she will be,” Ben said. “She won’t be going to finishing school, or making any kind of societal debut, but she’ll be more in her element.”

“I just hope Cousin Mirabelle’s able to keep up with Cousin Clarissa,” Joe said, his voice filled with doubt.

“Actually . . . I’m hoping Cousin Clarissa can keep up with Cousin Mirabelle,” Ben said with a chuckle.

“Oh?” Joe queried, his voice filled with doubt.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten that Cousin Mirabelle’s youngest brother is none other than Cousin Muley?!”

“Hey, that’s right,” Hoss laughed out loud. Joe began to giggle, and Ben also joined in the laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Stacy demanded, looking from one to the other, in complete bewilderment, “ . . . and who’s this Cousin Muley?”

“I’ll tell ya all about Cousin Muley on the way home, Young Woman,” Ben promised. “Boys?”

“Y-Yeah, Pa?” Joe queried, as the laughter began to subside.

“You’d best get on down to the Livery Stable and pick up your horses,” Ben said, “and be sure you come straight home. The four of us have a lot of work to do this afternoon.”

The End

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