Mark of Kane

Part 1

By Kathleen T. Berney

Prologue

A soft, discreet cough emanating from the direction of the open French doors drew the attention of Adam Cartwright, his wife, Teresa, and their two children from the late luncheon, they had been enjoying outside on their verandah. Adela Cortez, the housekeeper, stood, framed in the open doorway, with a sealed envelope in hand. “Senor Cartwright?”

“Yes, Senora Cortez?”

“This message was just delivered by a young man from the Western Union office,” Adela said as she made her way across the verandah. She handed Adam a plain white envelope marked, ‘Mr. A. Cartwright.’

“Thank you,” Adam said, as he accepted the envelope. “Does the young man from the Western Union office expect an immediate reply?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Senora Cortez.” Adam slipped his thumb under the sealed flap and sliced open the envelope. Inside was a small sheet of paper, folded in half. He removed the paper and read the wired message. Short and to the point, it read:

Adam [stop]

Fire early morning day before yesterday [stop] House gone [stop] Lost nearly everything [stop] Everyone survived [stop] Joe missing believed kidnapped [stop] Stacy hurt bad [stop] Need your help [stop] Please come if you can [stop]

Hoss [stop; end of message]

“Adam?”

He lowered the paper bearing Hoss’ message, and found himself staring into three anxious faces.

“Adam, is it . . . is it bad news?” Teresa probed gently.

“Here. Read for yourself.”

Teresa took the message from her husband and read it over twice. Looking up, she said very quietly, “Yes, Adam, you MUST go.”

“Go where, Pa?” Dio, their daughter, demanded.

“To Nevada, Dio,” Adam said quietly.

“To see Grandpa?” Dio asked, her entire countenance brightening.

“Yes . . . . ”

“Can I go with you, Pa? Please?”

“Not this time.” Adam shook his head.

Dio’s face fell.

“Dio, this visit’s not going to be the same kind of visit we enjoyed three summers ago,” Adam explained patiently. “Grandpa’s house was completely destroyed by a fire early in the morning, day before yesterday.”

“Oh no!” Dio cried, her eyes filling with tears.

“Papa?”

Adam turned his attention to his son. “Yes, Benjamin?”

“Did . . . is . . . is everyone . . . o-ok?”

Adam smiled and nodded. “Everyone made it out,” he replied, electing for the time being, to withhold the other details concerning Uncle Joe and Aunt Stacy.

“Thank goodness!” young Benjamin exhaled a long, heartfelt sigh of relief.

“Your grandpa, uncles, and aunt want me to come and help them build another house,” Adam continued. “Since I designed and built a lot of the old one, it’s reasonable they would ask.”

“When do you plan to leave, Adam?” Teresa asked.

“If possible, I’d like to leave on the noon stage tomorrow,” Adam replied, as he took the wired message back from his wife.

“You need any help with packing?”

“Thank you, Sweetheart,” Adam replied with a smile, “but I can manage. Benjamin?”

“Yes, Papa?”

“Would you please find Senor Mendez and ask him to meet me in my study immediately? I’d like him to take my reply to Uncle Hoss’ message to the Western Union office.”

“Yes, Sir,” Benjamin nodded, then dashed off in search of Juan Mendez, the family gardener and handyman . . . .

Part 1
Nine Days Later . . . .



“VIRGINIA CITY, LAST STOP!” the driver yelled, after bringing the team of horses pulling the stagecoach to a complete stop in front of the depot. In all, there were three passengers. Two of them were a young husband and wife, newly married, on the first leg of a long journey home from an extended honeymoon trip. The third, Adam Cartwright, exhausted and feeling slightly lightheaded, gathered together the drawings spread out across the seat next to him and placed them neatly into his portfolio folder.

“Mister Cartwright?”

Adam glanced up into the equally weary faces of his traveling companions, Lorenzo and Maria Estevan.

“My wife tells me that you will be getting off here in Virginia City?”

“Yes.”

“I wanted to let you know that it was a real pleasure traveling with you from Sacramento,” Lorenzo Estevan smiled and offered his hand. Aged in his mid to late twenties, he stood a few inches taller than Adam, and his build was of a type Hoss would likely describe as beanpole skinny. He was clean-shaven with dark brown, almost black eyes, and a full head of jet-black wavy hair.

“Thank you, Mister Estevan,” Adam returned the man’s smile and shook his hand. “I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent talking with you and Mrs. Estevan, as well. My pa always said that good traveling companions shorten the miles. He’s absolutely right.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright,” Lorenzo said, beaming. “I was afraid I might have bored you a few times along the way.”

“Certainly not,” Adam hastened to reassure. “Architecture and engineering are my occupations, but I’ve always been very interested in ancient history and archaeology. Your accounts of the trips you took down to Mexico City with your father to study the ancient ruins were fascinating. I especially enjoyed looking through your sketch book.”

Lorenzo turned to his new bride, flashing her a smug, triumphant smile. “You hear THAT, Maria? You worry for nothing.”

Maria Estevan smiled. She was very young, not much older than Adam’s own sister, Stacy. She stood all of five feet tall in her stocking feet, and weighed in at slightly less than a hundred pounds. Her long, dark brown hair was worn in a simple French twist. Some of the short, fine tendrils had escaped their confines during the course of the day, and framed her delicate oval shaped face like a halo.

“I’m most gratified you enjoyed listening to his stories about those trips he took with his papa to Mexico City,” Maria said, the relief evident in her voice. “Unfortunately my loving husband has unwittingly bored many a captive audience to tears talking about ancient history and the archaeology trips he and his papa took together.”

“I can assure you . . . I was a captivATED audience, Mrs. Estevan, not captive.”

The stagecoach driver opened the door. The two men graciously hung back, allowing Maria to exit the stagecoach first.

“Mister Cartwright?”

“Yes?”

“You say you are from here? That your family lives here?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you can suggest comfortable overnight lodging and a good place to relax and eat?” Lorenzo Estevan asked, as he and Adam exited the stagecoach. “My wife and I leave tomorrow morning on the ten o’clock stage.”

“As a matter of fact, I can,” Adam replied. “The International Hotel has very good, very comfortable accommodations. There’s also an excellent restaurant in the hotel.”

“Howdy, Adam! Glad you could come!”

Adam turned and saw the biggest of his two brothers standing at his elbow. “I’m real glad you sent for me, Big Brother,” he murmured his heartfelt sincerity, as they exchanged big, bear hugs. “Hoss, I’d like you to meet my traveling companions, Lorenzo and Maria Estevan. Mister and Mrs. Estevan, this is my big brother, Hoss Cartwright.”

“You are the eldest, Mister Cartwright?” Maria asked.

“No, Ma’am,” Hoss smiled warmly and politely tipped his hat. “Adam here’s the oldest. I’M the biggest.” He, then, turned and offered his hand to the young man. “Glad t’ make your acquaintance, Mister Estevan.”

“Your name is . . . HORSE!?” Lorenzo queried with a puzzled frown.

“No, just HOSS. Pa once told me Hoss is mountain talk f’r a big, friendly fella,” Hoss replied. “I have the buckboard with me. Can Adam ‘n me drop you folks off somewhere?”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright, but we don’t want to impose,” Maria politely declined. “If you could just direct us to the International Hotel . . . . ”

“That where you folks’re stayin’?” Hoss asked.

“Yes.”

“It won’t be any trouble at all droppin’ you folks by,” Hoss immediately assured the Estevans. “Adam ‘n I hafta drive by there anyway t’ git t’ where WE’RE goin’.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright,” Lorenzo Estevan said gratefully. “THAT being the case, my wife and I would appreciate the lift very much.”

Arrangements were quickly made to deliver Adam’s single trunk to the Fletcher house, located across the street from Doctor Martin’s office and the home he shared with his wife, Lily. The Cartwright family had taken up residence there, until their home on the Ponderosa could be rebuilt. Hoss, meanwhile, retrieved Adam’s small carpetbag, along with two smaller bags, belonging to the Estevans, that contained the essentials for their overnight stay in Virginia City. Their trunks would remain at the stage depot overnight. That done, Hoss ably assisted Maria up into the back seat of the buckboard. Her husband settled in beside her.

“How long are you folks gonna be in Virginia City?” Hoss asked as he and Adam climbed into the buckboard’s front seat.

“Overnight,” Lorenzo answered. “We leave tomorrow morning on the ten o’clock stage.”

“Too bad you folks can’t stay a li’l longer,” Hoss said, as he picked up the reins and nudged the horses into motion. “There’s a lot o’ beautiful countryside ‘round here.”

“We’ll have to make a point of it the next time we travel,” Lorenzo said. “For now, however, my wife and I are anxious to get home.”

“We’ve been away nearly two months now, Mister Cartwright,” Maria added. “Lorenzo and I are returning home from our honeymoon trip.”

“Congratulations! I hope the two of ya have a real long, happy life together,” Hoss said with a big, warm smile.

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright,” the young bride said, returning his smile. “For your good wishes and the ride to the hotel.”

A few moments later, Hoss pulled up in front of the International Hotel. He and Adam saw the Estevans into the hotel lobby.

“Mister and Mrs. Estevan, I hope the rest of your journey is a safe one,” Adam said, as Hoss set their bags down next to the check-in desk.

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright. I hope you enjoy your visit with your family,” Maria said with a smile.

“Speakin’ o’ the family, Adam ‘n I need t’ move along,” Hoss said. “Knowin’ Pa, he’s back at the house chompin’ at the bit, with waitin’. Mister ‘n Mrs. Estevan, you both have a good safe trip back, y’ hear?”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright. It was a pleasure to meet you,” Lorenzo said in parting.



“The Estevans seem t’ be real nice folks, Adam,” Hoss remarked as he and his older brother climbed back into the buckboard.

Adam nodded. “Yes, they are. I am grateful for having had their company,” he said quietly. “Had it NOT been for them, I . . . I’m pretty sure I would’ve gone completely out of my mind with worry. Hoss?”

“Yeah, Adam?”

“Have you and Pa found Joe yet?”

Hoss nodded. “Pa, Candy, ‘n I found him . . . I guess it’s been pert near a week ago now, Adam.”

Adam closed his eyes briefly and offered a silent, heartfelt prayer of thanks.

“I wish there was a way we could’ve gotten hold of ya t’ tell ya,” Hoss said contritely, when his older brother opened his eyes.

“It’s a little difficult getting a wire to way stations with no telegraph lines,” Adam said gently, placing a paternal hand on his biggest brother’s shoulder. “I’m just thankful to hear that he’s been found . . . hopefully none the worse for wear.”

“We’re still out t’ lunch on that last part,” Hoss said soberly.

“What happened to him?”

“He was kidnapped,” Hoss said, his face darkening with anger.

“Kidnapped?!” Adam echoed, incredulous.

Hoss nodded. “He had no sooner gotten himself outta the burnin’ house when they grabbed him, ‘n took him off.”

“Who?”

“You remember Lady Chadwick?”

“Oh yes,” Adam said in a wry tone, as memories of her last visit to the Ponderosa began to surface.

“She’s the one who kidnapped Joe.”

“What?!” Adam exclaimed in surprise. “You’re joking!!”

“Nope. It WAS Lady Chadwick, Adam.”

Adam vigorously shook his head, still finding that difficult to believe. “I thought we saw the last of HER . . . how long has it been now? Ten years? Fifteen, maybe?”

“Closer t’ ten, I think, and I wish with everything that’s in me that’d been the last time we ever laid eyes on her.

“Why did she kidnap Joe? Was it for ransom?”

Hoss shook his head. “It was f’r some kinda revenge.”

“Revenge?! For what?” Adam demanded, his own brow darkening with anger. “For Pa exposing her scheme to financially ruin him?”

“We think that was part of it,” Hoss replied. “Joe’s talked some about what happened. Not much, but some. He told us somethin’ about her wantin’ to use him as some kinda weapon t’ git back at Pa f’r what happened not only then, but for when he jilted her nearly THIRTY years ago back when they was in New Orleans.”

“Some kind of weapon?!” Adam echoed, as a bewildered frown deepened the lines already present in his brow.

“Somethin’ about turnin’ our li’l brother against Pa,” Hoss tried to explain. “Exactly how that was t’ turn Joe into some kinda weapon . . . well, I ain’t figured THAT one out yet.”

“Hoss, I . . . I don’t understand! Pa didn’t jilt her in New Orleans . . . it was the other way around.”

“She wasn’t right in the head, Adam,” Hoss said grimly. “She may not’ve been right in the head when she came t’ visit us. Pa said she was rememberin’ stuff that never happened . . . even then.”

Adam let out a long, low whistle.

“She also set fire to our house,” Hoss continued. “That’s what she told Joe. She had her boy pay someone t’ do it.”

“Her boy?”

Hoss nodded.

“Her boy . . . as in her SON?!”

“Yep.”

“I . . . I had no idea she and Lord Chadwick had any children,” Adam said, shaking his head. “She never mentioned having a son.”

“I think she even told Pa that she ‘n Lord Chadwick never HAD children.”

Adam frowned. “I find that very strange.”

“That ain’t nearly the half of it,” Hoss said. “Her boy worked on the Ponderosa f’r a couple o’ months, so he could watch US, ‘n tell HER everything we were doin’. Pa ‘n Candy hired him. He led us t’ believe he was a drifter, come up from down Texas way. We . . . none of us, had no reason to think different. Then, the night of the fire, after she kidnapped Joe, she . . . Adam, Lady Chadwick had her man kill him. Her own boy!”

“What?!” Adam’s breath caught in his throat. For a brief, horrifying instant, he felt as if he had been slammed hard in the chest with a sledgehammer.

“We . . . Pa ‘n me, figured it out when we started goin’ through her boy’s things,” Hoss continued, gripping the reins hard, to keep his hands from shaking. “Joe . . . well, that was one o’ the things he DID tell us. He saw it happen.”

“M-My God, Hoss! H-Her own son! Why?”

“ ‘Cause he was the same size as Joe ‘n had hair like his. She had him runnin’ around the night o’ the fire, dressed the way Joe dresses . . . just so she could have her man kill HIM ‘n burn his body . . . t’ make Pa ‘n the rest of us think Joe died in the fire.”

Adam looked over at Hoss, his face a few shades paler than normal, his eyes round with horror, too stunned to speak. The thought of anyone, particularly a mother, so callously murdering her own child was beyond unfathomable. “I . . . somehow I n-never figured Montague to be such a . . . a cold blooded killer.”

“It wasn’t Montague.”

“Oh?”

“It was some new man, name o’ Crippensworth. She killed Montague, too, Adam, ‘bout six months ago, over in Carson City.”

Adam shook his head. “Damn! I can’t say I held a lot of affection for the man, not after all the things HE did to Pa . . . AND to us . . . at her bidding, but I had to admire the him for his loyalty. He stuck by her, even after that plan of hers to ruin Pa blew up in her face . . . and now . . . you’re telling me Lady Chadwick . . . murdered him, too?!”

“Yeah. Crippensworth told Sheriff Coffee all ‘bout THAT. Seems Montague was threatenin’ Lady Chadwick somehow . . . threatenin’ t’ go to the sheriff ‘bout somethin’, so she up ‘n killed him.”

“Where’s Lady Chadwick and this Crippensworth now?”

“Lady Chadwick’s dead,” Hoss replied. “Dead ‘n buried now, over in Carson City. Pa didn’t want her grave anywhere ‘round here where he . . . or the rest of us . . . might see it.”

“How did she die?”

She was strangled first, then had a couple o’ bullets put in her chest,” Hoss replied. “Sheriff Coffee’s pretty sure Crippensworth killed her, then tried t’ kill Joe, before tryin’ t’ run off with Lady Chadwick’s money ‘n jewelry in his pocket. He’s in jail, right now.”

“When does he come up for trial?”

“Sometime after he gits back t’ England, I expect.”

“England?!”

“Yeah. Seems he’s wanted for killin’ a half dozen or so men over there. Judge Faraday signed the papers . . . only thing t’ do now is wait for the men from Scotland Yard t’ come.”

“At least I have the satisfaction of knowing he can be convicted over there on less than he can here,” Adam said grimly. “You said this Crippensworth intended to kill Joe?”

Hoss nodded. “When we found our li’l brother, he was in that big meadow across from the Marlowes’ house. That fella, Crippensworth, was WITH him. Pa said he had a derringer aimed right at Joe’s heart. I . . . I still get the willies when I think o’ what we might’ve found if we’d . . . if we’d— ” Hoss broke off, suddenly unable to speak.

“I understand . . . . ” Adam said tonelessly, as he placed a steadying hand on his big brother’s forearm.

For a time, Adam and Hoss rode along together in silence, the former utterly shaken to the very core of his being by everything that his younger, bigger brother had just told him.

“S-Sorry, Adam, I . . . I guess it’s all kinda catchin’ up with me, now that Joe’s back ‘n Stacy’s on the mend,” Hoss said ruefully, when he was once again able to speak. “We could’ve ALL died in that fire. If . . . if Pa hadn’t woken up that night when he did . . . . ”

“Thank God he DID wake up,” Adam said very quietly, his words a heartfelt prayer of gratitude.

“I . . . I really hate like anything havin’ t’ say this, but when Pa ‘n Sheriff Coffee told us Lady Chadwick was dead . . . God help me, Adam, I was GLAD,” Hoss continued, his voice shaking. “All I could think of was how bad she hurt Joe, in just about the worst way a body CAN hurt another . . . ‘n when she burned down our house? She hurt Stacy, too . . . almost . . . almost K-KILLED her.

“I was worried ‘bout Pa, too. Worried about what it’d do to him if one or BOTH them young’ns had . . . had . . . well, hadn’t pulled through. I . . . I was also worried about Pa might’ve done t’ if he ‘n Lady Chadwick, if he ‘n Sheriff Coffee hadn’t found her dead.”

“Hoss, if Lady Chadwick HAD been found and taken into custody alive, Pa would have done as he’s always taught US to do . . . what any CIVILIZED man would do,” Adam said sharply, more sharply than he either realized or had intended. Something in Hoss’ words, the quiet conviction by which he spoke them, unsettled him deeply. “He would have seen to it that she was handed over to be tried fairly in a court of law, AND he would have abided by whatever decision was handed down by that court.”

“S-Sorry, Adam, I . . . well, just ‘cause I’M feelin’ kinda rattled ‘n upset right now, I ain’t got no call to get YOU upset,” Hoss apologized, his voice now filled with remorse.

“ . . . no more than I had any right to snap at YOU because I’M worn out from the trip and, well, I’ve been upset and worried, too, since I left Sacramento before you and Pa found Joe,” Adam said, equally contrite. “Which reminds me, would it be alright if we stopped by the telegraph office before going ho— before going to the Fletchers’ house? I’d like to send a wire to Teresa, letting her know that I’ve arrived safely and that things are on the mend here. She was pretty worried, too, when I left.”

“Sure thing, Adam. When you send that wire, would you mind sendin’ Teresa an’ the kids all OUR love?”

“Not at all,” Adam replied, managing a wan smile. “In fact, I was going to do that anyway.”



“Mister Cartwright, Mister Cartwright, Mister Hoss back!” Hop Sing announced, grinning from ear-to-ear, as he bounded into the living room from the kitchen. “Mister Hoss have Mister Adam!”

Ben placed the book in hand down on the coffee table, and turned to wake up Stacy, who had dropped off to sleep on the settee beside him. “Time to rise ‘n shine, Young Woman,” he said, as he gently shook his daughter. “They’re here.”

Stacy opened one eye, then the other. “Who’s here, Pa?” she asked, punctuating her inquiry with a big yawn.

“Hoss is back with Adam,” Ben quietly explained.

Stacy yawned again, then sat up straight.

“Where’s Joe?” Ben asked, upon glancing around and finding his youngest son absent.

“He said something about going upstairs to take a nap right after we finished playing checkers,” Stacy replied. “I think he actually let me win that last game, Pa.”

“Good for him.” Ben said, smiling. He, then, rose and walked over toward the stairs. “JOE?”

No answer.

“JOE, YOU ASLEEP?”

Still no answer.

“JOE, WAKE UP,” Ben yelled again, raising the volume slightly. “HOSS IS BACK . . . WITH ADAM.”

Still no answer.

“That boy’s gonna sleep right through Gabriel’s trumpet on the day of the last judgment,” Ben muttered to himself as he started up the stairs.

“No, Mister Cartwright,” Hop Sing protested, as he moved toward the stairs on a direct intercept course. “You stay here. Say hello to Mister Adam. Hop Sing go up, fetch down Little Joe.”



Earlier on, after having soundly beat his baby sister six games of checkers out of seven, fair and square despite her protestations to the contrary, Joe had retreated to his room upstairs, intending to stretch out on the bed and rest his eyes for just a little while.

“Poor Kid,” he had mused silently, as he sat down on the bed to remove his slippers, all the while shaking his head. “The least little bit of activity and she’s out like a light.” He remembered Pa saying that Stacy had spent the better part of four days lying flat on her back. He knew from personal experience that spending long periods of time lying around in bed, whether it be from injury or illness always left a body weaker than a newborn kitten. That coupled with having to get about now on crutches . . . .

Hopefully Stacy would regain enough of her old vim and vigor over the next few days to keep awake and alert while they played checkers. There was absolutely no challenge in rearranging the pieces on the board when his opponent was so tired, she kept nodding off. He had even let her win that last game because he felt so sorry for her.

Joe yawned as he stretched out on the bed, gazing down at his sprained ankle, still much too swollen and tender to even consider wearing boots. He had injured it when he fell out of that tree, growing up next to the Marlowes’ old house in his bid to escape the clutches of Lady Chadwick. As he closed his eyes, his mind drifted to the tick, tick, ticking of the wall clock hanging above the bureau . . . .

The clock hands, big just drifting down to the two ,and the little sitting squarely over the four suddenly looked for all the world like tree branches. The sun’s glare shining in through the window, with curtains parted, struck the clear glass over the clock face, obscuring the two, then dipped down slowly toward the four.

“Fifteen minutes . . . half an hour . . . three quarters of an hour . . . one hour,” he murmured softly, uneasily.

The even rhythmic ticking of the clock became the steady taping of a lady’s pair of shoes, the kind with the slightly elevated heel, striking against a hard wood floor. The clock’s pendulum, swinging back and forth, back and forth, keeping even cadence became a riding crop tapping an even beat against the open palm of a woman’s hand, keeping time with the tapping of her shoes against the floor . . . .

“No,” he groaned in protest. “No! This can’t be happening . . . . You’re dead.”

Little Joe?

“NO. You’re dead.”

Little Joe.

“I told you . . . you’re dead! Now willya please, go ‘way. Lemme alone . . . .”

Little Joe . . .

“ . . . wake up.”

Joe’s eyes snapped open. For a moment, he had no idea in the world where he was. He lay, unable to move, gazing at his unfamiliar surroundings with mounting dread.

“Little Joe? What wrong with Little Joe?”

He gasped at the sound of another voice. He turned, and found himself staring into the anxious face of Hop Sing.

“Little Joe alright?”

“F-fine . . . I’ll be fine,” Joe murmured as he struggled to sit up. His heart was racing, and his brow was liberally dotted with beads of cold sweat.

“Hop Sing come, tell Little Joe Mister Hoss back. Bring Mister Adam,” Hop Sing said quietly. “Little Joe alright? Not sick?”

Joe flashed Hop Sing a smile, meant to reassure. The increased apprehension mirrored in Hop Sing’s eyes and the appearance of an anxious frown told him he had failed miserably. “It’s alright, Hop Sing, I’m not sick. I just kinda dozed off, ‘s all.”

“Little Joe ok now?”

“I will be. I just need a minute to wake up a little.”

“Ok. Tell Papa you be down few minutes?”

“Yeah. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” Joe waited until Hop Sing had left the room, and closed the door. “She’s dead,” he muttered very softly, under his breath. “I saw her lying at the undertaker’s, in a pine box coffin . . . dead. I also saw her coffin loaded onto a buckboard, taking it to Carson City. She’s dead. She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s DEAD.”



“Adam, it’s so good to see ya,” Ben declared, as his eldest son stepped through the door a split second behind Hoss. He caught Adam up in a big, fierce bear hug.

“I can’t say I much care for the circumstances, Pa, but I’m glad to see you, too,” Adam said with heartfelt sincerity as he returned his father’s embrace with equal strength and affection.

“Come on in and sit down,” Ben said, taking Adam gently by the elbow. “You must be exhausted.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Hoss?”

“Alright if I put Adam in the big room upstairs?”

“Sure, Son, that’s fine.”

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Adam?”

“I’ll take the portfolio.”

“Which is the portfolio?” Hoss queried with a perplexed frown.

“The flat black leather case.”

Hoss handed the portfolio to his older brother, then started toward the stairs.

“Hey, Adam . . . . ” That was Stacy. “Don’t I rate a hug, too?” she demanded, leveling a ferocious glare in his general direction.

“Absolutely.” Smiling, Adam walked over toward the settee, where Stacy sat with her leg propped up on the coffee table, resting comfortably on one of the chair cushions.

“I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t get up,” she quipped, as he carefully sat down beside her.

“Well . . . MAYBE I will, just this once,” Adam teased as he caught his sister up in an affectionate bear hug.

“Glad you’re here, Oldest Brother.”

“Me, too,” Adam said as he planted a quick kiss on Stacy’s forehead.

“You have the house plans drawn up already?” Stacy asked, as she and Adam separated, and her eyes moved to the portfolio lying on the coffee table.

“I drew up a few preliminary sketches on my way out here,” Adam replied, “but nothing final yet, not by any means.”

“Can I see?”

“Her leg may be broken, but there’s sure nothing wrong with her nose.”

Ben, Stacy, and Adam turned toward the stairs together, their movements in unison, as Joe trotted down the steps with a distinct limp, with Hop Sing and Hoss following close behind. Ben noted his youngest son’s pale complexion, his trembling hands, and the wan smile with an anxious frown.

“Are you implying that I’m nosy, Grandpa?”

“No, I was IMPLYING nothing of the sort . . . leastwise I didn’t THINK I was,” Joe said very slowly, as he paused at the bottom of the steps. “I was trying to say it straight out.”

“Well, it takes one to know one I suppose,” Stacy returned without missing a beat.

Joe responded by thumbing up his nose.

Stacy stuck out her tongue.

“I’m very glad to see that SOME things never change around here,” Adam said with a smile.

“It’ll be quite a while before Stacy and I are up to practicing our fencing in the living room, however . . . . ” Joe said, as he favored his eldest brother with a warm smile.

“You two had best behave yourselves or you’re going to find out real quick that I’m more than up to making that trip out to the woodshed,” Ben warned, half teasing.

“Good seein’ ya, Adam, I’m glad you came,” Joe said, as he gave his eldest brother a big hug.

“This real happy day,” Hop Sing declared, grinning broadly. “This real big happy day. Whole family together. Supper ready half hour.”

“That will give me just enough time to splash some water on my face, comb my hair, and change my shirt,” Adam said. “If you’ll excuse me . . . . ”

“Don’t you dare dawdle, Oldest Brother,” Joe called after him. “You know how Hop Sing is about eating while it’s hot.”

“Basically, I’ve kept the general layout of the house roughly the same,” Adam explained, as he spread his preliminary sketches out on the coffee table, following an enormous, delectable supper, courtesy of Hop Sing. He sat on the settee, sandwiched in between his youngest brother and his sister. Ben occupied the end of the settee, next to Joe, while Hoss and Hop Sing peered over everyone’s shoulders. “I enlarged the area of Pa’s study a bit . . . . ” he looked over at his father, and smiled. “I noticed how cramped things had become when Teresa and I visited with the kids two years ago.”

“I suppose they have . . . . ” Ben admitted with a chuckle, then sobered. “HAD.” He sighed. “I’m sure glad I had extra copies of the important documents, like the deeds to the Ponderosa and contracts we’re working on NOW, either in the safe, or on file in Lucas Milburn’s office.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“If you’d like, we COULD fit a vault sized safe right in here . . . . ” Adam removed a pencil from his shirt pocket and lightly reworked the lines of the study on the sketch placed square in the center of the coffee table. “You’d STILL have the same amount of space I had envisioned, even though a third of it would be taken up by the vault. But, you could keep YOUR copies of important documents in here, where they would be protected from fire.”

“That sounds like a real good idea, Adam,” Ben said, nodding, “but, such a thing IS pretty expensive. I’d like to give the matter some thought before I answer one way or the other.”

“Sure, Pa.”

“Mister Adam, what that over there?” Hop Sing asked, pointing toward what appeared to he a block of squares sitting perpendicular to the proposed kitchen area.

“That, Hop Sing, is a green house,” Adam replied. “That would enable you to grow fresh herbs, maybe even a few other fresh greens, and flowers, too, if you wish, through out the winter months.”

Hop Sing looked over at Adam, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Grow herb in winter?! How THAT work? Or did Mister Adam chew loco weed?”

This last prompted a loud burst of giggling from Joe, then from Stacy, who had from the first day she had joined the family, found his laughter potently infectious.

“No, I have NOT chewed on any loco weed,” Adam said in a wry tone. “Hop Sing, it works like this. This green house is made out of glass, tinted green. The sun shines through the glass, its heat magnified to the point of keeping the inside not only warm, but moist. In the summer, you could grow things in here that would only survive in warmer, more humid climates.”

“Hop Sing grow herbs in winter. This very, very good,” Hop Sing declared, grinning from ear to ear. He, then, pointed over to a small, square room adjacent to the kitchen door. “What THAT for, Mister Adam?”

“First of all, it’s a place where you can hang your herbs to dry,” Adam replied. “Second, I saw that doubling as a mud room. When you come in from the garden, with your feet dirty or boots muddy, you can step in here, remove your boots, wash your feet and not track it onto your clean kitchen floor.”

“Oh, Hop Sing like THAT very, VERY much.”

“The rest of the kitchen I’ve left blank, because I wanted to ask what you want, and where you want it to go,” Adam explained, then smiled. “The kitchen is yours after all . . . . ”

“ . . . and don’t nobody forget it!” Hop Sing added, directing a ferocious scowl at everyone gathered.

“That’s not something I’M very likely to forget,” Joe quipped with a grin, “not after having been chased all the way out to the road with a meat cleaver a few times.”

“Hop Sing only chase Little Joe out to street once,” Hop Sing defended himself immediately, “and not with meat cleaver. Hop Sing NEVER chase Little Joe with meat cleaver. Maybe dull carving knife . . . . ”

“Awww, come off it, Hop Sing,” Hoss guffawed. “You ain’t never chased Joe outta your kitchen with nothin’ sharp in your whole life, ‘cept maybe your TONGUE.”

Joe giggled again. “I almost rather he HAD run me out of his kitchen with a knife or meat cleaver on a few of THOSE occasions, believe you me. Of course I didn’t understand a word of it, since it was pretty much all in Chinese.” This last he punctuated with a smug, secretive, Mona Lisa type smile.

“If Hop Sing say in English what said in Chinese, Hop Sing have to wash out mouth with soap,” Hop Sing said with a chuckle.

“With real, good, strong lye soap, too, the way some of those words sound,” Stacy added with a smile.

“YOU’VE got no room to talk, Little Sister,” Joe teased. “I’ve heard you utter a word or six, or seven in Paiute that sounded like they could’ve used some real, good strong lye soap, too.”

Stacy responded by sticking out her tongue.

Joe returned the gesture, all the while trying not to succumb to a fit of giggling.

“Would you YOUNG ‘NS mind behavin’ yourselves?” Hoss admonished his younger siblings, favoring first Joe, then Stacy, with a stern, warning glare.

“Yes, Pa,” Joe and Stacy chorused together in unison, before succumbing to another fit of giggling. Ben and Hop Sing immediately joined them, followed by Hoss a few moments later.

Adam smiled politely, though, in truth, he was far from amused. Hop Sing’s words regarding the dull carving knife, though spoken in jest, had left him feeling oddly disturbed. He immediately castigated himself for being so ridiculous.

“The, uuummmm REST of the downstairs layout I’ve left pretty much the same,” Adam raised his voice slightly so to be heard above the rest of the family’s fading laughter. “The fireplace and the living room area is over here, Pa’s study here, with the downstairs bedroom over here, on the other side of the front door, dining room here, kitchen and Hop Sing’s room back here.”

“Looks like you’ve enlarged the dining room area a little,” Joe observed thoughtfully.

“Yes, I did,” Adam replied. “We’ve . . . and I guess you STILL do . . . enjoy having people in for supper. I remember how things got a little, shall we say cozy? if we happened to invite one too many, so I thought I’d enlarge it, provide room not only for a larger table and a cabinet to hold and display the good china, but for a side board as well.”

“Great idea, Adam,” Joe said with an approving smile. “I never even thought about a sideboard. There’s one request I’D like to make, however . . . about the choice of painting we hang in the dining room.”

“Oh? What’s that, Joe?” Adam asked.

“Can we get a landscape, or maybe a garden scene? I found that one of the fruit and flowers crawling with bugs real unappetizing.”

“I’ll have you know, Young Man, THAT painting was selected by your mother,” Ben laughed.

“MY mother?! Are you kiddin’ me, Pa?”

“Nope,” Ben said, turning serious. “She always thought it was a very fine painting, and it was. Most people never noticed the bugs . . . only your mother, and YOU from the time you were three or four.” He smiled again. A wistful, nostalgic smile. “She was delighted when you picked out a few SHE’D never noticed before.”

Joe smiled. “After Stacy came to live with us, SHE showed me a couple I didn’t know were there . . . and I thought I’d pretty much found ‘em all.”

“Ok, no paintings with bug infested fruit,” Adam said, “though I just BUILD the house. I don’t FURNISH it. Now as for the upstairs, I’ve pretty much sketched things in the way they were, except for placing a larger window in Stacy’s room here . . . . ” He looked over at his sister and smiled. “All the better to see the moon, stars, and the night sky.”

“Thanks, Adam,” Stacy said, punctuating her words with a yawn. “Excuse me, it’s NOT the company . . . . ”

“Hey, Kid, if you’re ready for bed, I’ll walk behind you to see you up safely,” Joe offered.

“Not just yet. I want to see the rest of the upstairs,” Stacy said, this time, trying not to yawn.

“I’ve kept the spare rooms the same, and enlarged all of YOUR rooms, since I added room to the downstairs,” Adam said. “These other sketches were things I was playing around with, but nothing’s final by any means.”

“Say, uhhh . . . Adam . . . . ”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Any chance of us finally getting the back house moved indoors?” Joe asked. “This business of bundling up in the winter just to go out and . . . well, YOU know . . . . ” Two bright splotches of crimson blossomed on his cheeks and began to spread. “It’s getting kind of . . . OLD . . . and speaking of old, much as it pains me to admit this none of us are getting any younger. Those last three inches to the chamber pot are getting harder and harder all the time.”

“Well, Joe, it appears great minds think alike,” Adam said with a grin.

“You mean . . . . ?!” Joe queried, looking eager and hopeful.

“Yes,” Adam replied with a smile. “I’ve been studying the work done by the Crapper brothers in England, AND there’s an antebellum mansion in Louisiana, near Baton Rouge called Nottoway that has indoor plumbing.”

“You ain’t joshin’ with us . . . are ya, Adam?”

“No, Big Brother, I’m NOT,” Adam replied. “Furthermore, a good friend of mine happens to be well acquainted with one of the sons of the man who built Nottoway, and he was able to get me a copy of the drawings. I’ve been studying them on my way out here and I think an indoor privy just might be do able.”

“Hallelujah!” Joe and Stacy chorused together in unison.

“Water closet . . . phooey!” Hop Sing snorted derisively. “In China, back house for elderly, sick, or sissy people. When Hop Sing little boy back in China, Hop Sing go all the way to river, many, many miles, rain, shine, snow, even big hurricane. Hop Sing go many mile to river, day, night, no matter.”

“Hop Sing, you’re going to appreciate and enjoy that indoor plumbing every bit as much as the rest of us,” Ben returned, chuckling, shaking his head. “Well, Adam . . . looks like you’ve made a real fine start.”

“Thank you, Pa,” Adam said, returning his father’s smile, basking for a moment in the warmth of his praise. “I guess my next question is . . . When can I ride out to the Ponderosa? I need to see how much has been cleared, and what needs to be done.”

“You can ride out with me tomorrow mornin’ right after breakfast, if ya like,” Hoss said.

“You two mind if I tag along?” Joe asked.

“Me, too?” Stacy asked, suddenly alert and looking hopeful. “Please?”

“PRETTY please?!” Joe added, with those big, very round, very sad puppy dog eyes, and a slightly quivering lower lip.

Ben sardonically rolled his eyes heavenward. “Joseph . . . Stacy, one word,” he said sternly. “NO!”

“Awww, Pa . . . . ” Stacy protested.

“No! N-O, NO! That’s final, end of discussion!”

“Please?” Joe wheedled, trying a different track. “I’m starting to go stir crazy.”

“Joseph, YOU’RE STILL limping . . . your ankle’s too swollen to even think about wearing a pair of shoes, let alone a pair of boots, not to mention those fractured ribs,” Ben started to recite the list of Joe’s physical injuries. “Even though they’ve lessened, you’re still having occasional bouts of lightheadedness. As for YOU, Stacy, in ADDITION to that broken leg— ”

“Pa, I don’t need to stand up to ride,” Stacy argued.

“You need to be awake and alert to ride,” Ben quickly pointed out. “You’ve gotten better, but you STILL tire and fall asleep very easily.”

Joe said nothing, rather he turned and leveled the full force of that poor, sad, lonely puppy dog look against his father. Stacy followed suit. Though she ably mimicked the look, she lacked the years of experience Joe had spent in perfecting it to get just that right amount of pathos.

Ben sighed. “Alright, I’ll tell you what,” he said, unable completely to resist his younger children . . . especially Joseph Francis, when they got “that look” on their faces. “IF . . . and ONLY if the two of you behave yourselves, tomorrow morning, I’ll go to the livery stable and rent a buggy so we can all go out for a drive.”

“Thank you, Pa!” Stacy said gratefully, her eyelids drooping.

“Come on, Kid, let’s get you upstairs,” Joe said as he rose, and gingerly stretched his arms. “I’ll go up behind you. I’m kinda tired myself.”

“Adam, you wanna go over to the Silver Dollar ‘n git a couple o’ beers?” Hoss asked, as Joe and Stacy made their way toward the stairs.

“Don’t mind if I do, Big Brother, as long as we don’t stay out too late.”

“How ‘bout YOU, Pa?” Hoss asked.

Ben smiled. “Not tonight, Hoss. I’m more in the mood for sitting down with a glass of brandy, my pipe, and a good book. But you boys g’won and enjoy yourselves.”

After seeing his sister safely up the steps, to the door of her room, Joe walked back to the front of the house, to the room he had chosen for himself for the duration, and collapsed down onto the bed, bone tired and very hungry. He had graduated to a heavier liquid diet a few days ahead of schedule, with the grudging approval of Doctor Martin, that now included soups with meat and vegetables, milk, and eggnog, in addition to what he had been allowed on the clear liquid diet. But the thing he wanted most right now, in the whole wide world was a plate of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs as only Hop Sing could make them.

“Maybe if I look sad enough . . . HUNGRY enough . . . maybe Pa will let me try a taste,” Joe mused silently. This time sad and hungry wouldn’t be very much of a stretch at all. He slowly stripped off his clothing, and slipped on his nightshirt, wincing as he had to lift his arms up over his head.

Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . . .

Joe’s eyes were drawn once more to the clock on the wall, facing his bed. The time was four minutes before ten . . . .

Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . . .

Joe yawned once, then again, as his eyelids grew increasingly heavy. Within less than the space of a heartbeat, his eyes were fast closed. An easy silence fell over the room, broken occasionally by a bout of soft snoring.

Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . . .

Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . . .

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

He saw her once again, clad in that flowered print morning dress, pacing the floor; heard again the steady rhythmic clack, clack, clacking of the soles of her shoes tapping against the floor.

“Tell me again, Little Joe,” she demanded, as she paced. She had a riding crop in one hand. With each step, she slapped it against the palm of her other hand.

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .

“Tell me, Little Joe.”

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

“Tell me again . . . . ”

Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .

“Tell me what REALLY happened . . . . ”

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .

“ . . . the night of the fire.”

“No,” he whimpered. No. This can’t be . . . .

Without breaking stride, she turned her head, facing him, her unblinking eyes, meeting and holding his own. A malevolent smile slowly spread across those cotton candy pink lips.

“Tell me, Little Joe,” she said in a voice low and menacing. “Tell me AGAIN what REALLY happened . . . the night of the fire.”

Why?

Why is this happening?! I’m back now . . . back with my pa, my brothers and sister . . . and Hop Sing! WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?

A peal of cruel laughter, soft and low, flowed from between her parted lips.

“Little Joe . . . .

DEAR, Little Joe . . . .

Dear, SILLY Little Joe . . . .

You HAVE to wake up SOMETIME.”

He stared over at her, numb with horror, eliciting another peal of cruel, mirthless laughter.

“Silly, Darling,” she laughed.

“Silly, silly Darling.

Surely you know . . . . ”

“What?” he demanded. “WHAT?! SURELY I KNOW . . . WHAT?!!”

“That THIS is what’s real, Little Joe. Being with your father and the rest of your family . . . THAT’S the dream.”

He buried his face in his hands and shook his head in vigorous denial. “No,” he moaned. “No . . . please, God, no . . . . ”

Then he remembered.

The trip with Pa to the undertaker . . . .

Seeing her laid out in a pine coffin . . . .

Laughter, harsh and mocking, as much without mirth as hers was, welled up from a place deep inside and exploded out of his mouth. She paused, breaking stride, and turned, her eyes slightly round with frightened surprise.

“You’re LYING, Lady Chadwick,” he declared triumphantly. “I AM back with my family. THIS is the dream.”

Joe?

“THIS is the dream, Lady Chadwick . . . . ”

Joe, wake up.

“This is the dream . . . . ”

Suddenly, his eyes flew open. He bolted immediately from prone to sitting, eliciting a started gasp from his sister, seated on the edge of his bed.

“Stacy?! Wh-What’re YOU doing here?” he demanded with a bewildered frown.

“I heard you yelling, Grandpa.”

Joe flashed her a triumphant grin. “Yeah,” he said. “I reckon you did.”

“You ok?” she asked anxiously.

“If I’m NOT. . . I’m well on the way,” Joe said with confidence. Then, his smile faded. “Sorry, Kid,” he said with a touch of regret. “I didn’t mean to wake ya.”

“It’s ok, Grandpa. I must’ve woken YOU up at least a hundred times screaming in the middle of the night when I first came.”

“TWO hundred, but who’s counting,” Joe quipped, unable to resist.

Stacy stuck out her tongue.

Joe gamely thumbed his nose up at her, then slowly eased himself to a sitting position. “Can you stay a little while?”

Stacy nodded. “As long as you want me to.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Three years ago, when your uncle kidnapped you . . . he . . . I remember, he beat YOU up pretty good . . . . ”

“Yeah.”

“Did he . . . did he ever tell you WHY?”

“He tried to convince me that Pa didn’t love me, that he couldn’t have cared less about me,” Stacy replied, her voice catching. “When I refused to believe him— ”

“I’m sorry, Stace, maybe . . . maybe I shouldn’t have asked.”

“ ‘S ok, Grandpa,” she said in a small voice, stunned by the intensity of emotion remembering that incident had provoked.

“I . . . what I really wanted to know is how YOU got through. How YOU refused to be convinced.”

“I think I got through the same way YOU got through, Grandpa,” she said slowly, thoughtfully. “I KNOW Pa. I KNOW that if he HAD known I was out there, he would’ve come looking for me and for Miss Paris, too.”

“Were you . . . scared?”

“Some, but I think I was more sad,” Stacy replied. “The last thing I remember before they . . . b-before they knocked me out was s-some man telling . . . telling one of his companions, I guess to . . . to f-finish off PA. Until the night h-he and M-Miss Paris came to . . . to rescues me, I . . . I thought Pa was--- ” She broke off, unable to continue.

“Sorry, Kid,” Joe murmured softly.

“It’s ok, it’s just that I . . . well, I kinda feel a little silly going on like this,” Stacy said ruefully. “For a minute there, I was f-feeling like it was all happening again . . . fresh.”

Joe slipped his arms around her and held her close. Stacy slipped her arms up under his arms, as she buried her face against his shoulder for a moment. “I’m sorry, Grandpa,” she sighed dolefully, at length. “Here I come in here to try and help YOU . . . and you end up being the one t-to comfort me.”

“It’s MY fault. I should’ve realized those questions might be upsetting.”

“You didn’t know. I didn’t even know that talking about it w-was gonna hit me THIS hard,” Stacy said softly, grateful to have the youngest of her three brothers home, alive and safe. “But . . . Joe?”

“Yeah, Stace?”

“The whole time John McKenna kept me prisoner? I KNEW that you guys were out there looking for me . . . trying to find me . . . that if I couldn’t find a way to escape, you’d have found me.”

Joe remembered bursting into that room where Stacy’s uncle not only held HER prisoner, but their father as well. He saw again the rifle in John McKenna’s hands, still aimed at Pa and Stacy, even as his cohorts were busy surrendering their own weapons, giving themselves up. Had it not been for Roy Coffee’s lightening quick reflexes, then . . . .

. . . or Pa, almost two weeks ago now . . . astride Big Buck, galloping through that meadow, lying across the street from the Marlowe mansion, looking like some very angry god of vengeance, bearing down on Crippensworth . . . .

He shuddered.

“Lady Chadwick tried to tell me that Pa and the rest of you believed I was dead,” Joe said, as tears suddenly welled up in his eyes once again. “That the whole t-time I w-was gone? you . . . none of you ever spared me a . . . a moment’s thought.”

Stacy quietly slipped her arms around him once again, upon seeing one tear, then another, slip down over his eyelids and flow down onto his cheeks. “That was a nasty, vicious, cruel LIE,” she declared vehemently, her voice catching. “I was worried sick the whole time you were gone. So was Pa, Hoss, Hop Sing, and a lot of other people. They . . . they were all working hard trying to find you. I would’ve been, too, if— ”

“I know, Kid . . . I know,” Joe said hugging her closer, smiling through his tears. “Had it not been for that broken leg, you would’ve been out helping them look for me, too. I know that because I know . . . well, b-because I know YOU.”

“I’m so glad you’re back, Grandpa. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too . . . but you wanna know something?”

“What?”

“You were there with me,” Joe said, his voice filled with awe.

“What?!” Stacy looked over at him askance.

“You WERE,” Joe insisted. “All of you! You, Pa, Hoss, Hop Sing . . . even Adam! You were all there! In all my lowest moments, I’d remember all the times we were there with and for each other . . . and it got me through. Every time Lady Chadwick tried to tell me that Pa, Hoss, and you didn’t care . . . I’d remember a time, something that happened . . . that proved otherwise . . . and like you, I knew that my family would find me, if I couldn’t find a way to escape myself.”

“Just like . . . you were all there f-for me, too. Joe?”

“Yeah, Stace?”

“We’re gonna come through all this . . . and when we do? We’re gonna be stronger than ever.”

“You betcha!” Joe nodded in wholehearted agreement. “That dream I just had, with all the yelling?”

“Yeah . . . . ”

“Well, it started out as it always did . . . with me being back there again . . . with her,” Joe said with a shudder. “She kept trying to tell me that this . . . me being back here with you, Pa, Hoss, and Hop Sing was the dream . . . that I was still THERE, with her. But, this time, I remembered she was dead. When I did? I KNEW . . . beyond any doubt whatsoever, I knew THIS is real . . . and that all the times, I found myself back there with her . . . was the dream.”

Looking into his eyes, Stacy was greatly heartened to see something of the old sparkle once again.

Unbeknownst to either Joe or Stacy, another had been rudely awakened by the former’s yelling. Adam stood in the hallway, just outside the open door to his youngest brother’s room, his entire body tense, listening. His first impulse had been to rush in, shoo his sister on back to bed, then sit with Joe himself.

Yet, he had hesitated . . . .

“What I really wanted to know is how YOU got through.” Joe’s words spoken just a few moments ago, spoke again in the deep silence of his own thoughts.

“I got through the same way YOU got through, Grandpa,” came Stacy’s reply once again. “I knew that you were out looking for me . . . trying to find me . . . that if I couldn’t find a way to escape, you guys would find me.”

“You were there with me. All of you! You, Pa, Hoss, Hop Sing . . . even Adam! You were all there!”

Even Adam?

EVEN ADAM?!

Words set apart from the rest, spoken in complete astonishment.

Deep down, it rankled . . . and hurt. “Can’t say it’s entirely unexpected,” an inner voice spoke to him quietly from somewhere deep within. Though Adam loved his youngest brother, there existed a certain amount of animosity between them, subtle, yet something that ran very deep, even to this very day.

His thoughts drifted back to an encounter, two years ago, the summer he and his whole family came to visit. A minor incident, yet one that spoke volumes . . . .

“Little Brother . . . ”

He heard his own words again, with subtle, but clear emphasis on ‘Little.’

“ . . . think about it! We’re dealing with a man able and willing to inflict violence on the mother of his unborn child. If he finds out she’s HERE and comes looking . . . . ”

“Alright, Adam, I get the picture,” Joe had snapped, zeroing right in on the faint, yet unmistakably clear condescending note in his tone of voice, with all the uncanny precision of a seasoned sharp shooter.

At the time, he was referring to the husband, now long since EX-husband, of Peggy Dayton van Slyke. Dangerous, violent, completely insane.

Like Ross Marquett.

Like Kane.

Like Kane?

Adam stepped back away from the door, shocked and astonished, that he would even think of Peter Kane. What had passed between them happened many years ago, a whole lifetime ago, or so it seemed now, standing alone in this darkened hallway. It was past . . . over and done. He had never told his father or brothers about it, apart from a few cursory facts; nor had he ever told Teresa. There was no reason to tell Teresa. He had put it all behind him and moved on, without sparing so much as a backward glance.

“Oh, Brother,” he groaned softly, then vigorously shook his head, as if to physically dislodge all the strange and errant thoughts that had suddenly sprang up into his mind. “Adam Cartwright, you MUST be more exhausted than you realize.”

“Adam?”

He started violently, and turned. It was Pa, his face a veritable mask of worry and concern, stepping up along side him.

“Sorry I startled you, Son,” Ben apologized, placing a steadying, paternal hand on his eldest son’s shoulder. “You all right?”

“Just tired, Pa,” Adam flashed Ben a reassuring, if weary smile. “It’s been a long day. I think Joe had a nightmare a short while ago, but he and Stacy seem to have things well enough in hand.”

“Stacy?”

Adam nodded. “She beat me to the punch.”

Ben gave Adam’s shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “You g’won back to bed, Adam. You’ve had a long, tiring journey, and right now YOU need your rest every bit as much as your youngest brother and sister. I’ll go in and check up on ‘em.”

“In that case, goodnight, Pa.”

Ben favored his firstborn with a weary smile. “Actually, Adam, I think it’s good MORNING.”

The following day dawned clear, with not even the slightest wisp of cloud to mar the bright azure blue sky overhead. Hoss and Adam set out together right after breakfast, on Chubb and Fido, a horse rented from the livery stable, respectively, bundled against the morning chill.

“Can y’ feel it, Adam?” Hoss asked, smiling. “There’s that li’l bit o’ warmth in the air that tells me spring ain’t so far off now.”

Adam returned Hoss’ smile. “Yes, I CAN feel it, Hoss.”

Hoss closed his eyes and took a whiff. “Another month now . . . maybe a li’l more . . . things’ll be warmin’ up an’ staying warm,” he said, opening his eyes. “I reckon you’ll be puttin’ up our new house fast ‘n furious by then.”

“VERY fast and furious,” Adam agreed. “If memory serves, I believe the spring rains begin, very soon after the temperature starts staying warm. I definitely want to have the roof in place by then.”

“I guess you’ll be wantin’ t’ start hirin’ men t’ work with ya in the next couple o’ days?”

“I’d like to start hiring men TOMORROW,” Adam said firmly, “and Hoss . . . .”

“Yeah, Adam?”

“I’d appreciate your assistance. I’ve . . . well, I’ve been away for so long, I don’t know any of the people passing through anymore,” Adam said. “You’re also a very good judge of character, and I trust that.”

“I’ll be glad t’ help ya any way I can,” Hoss said by way of agreement, “and since y’ ask my advice . . . . ”

“Yes?”

“I know a man who’s lookin’ f’r work right now, who’d make a real good foreman.”

“Oh? Who?”

“You remember George Farlyn?”

“Yes, indeed I do,” Adam replied, then frowned. “I thought he was working as Clay Hansen’s foreman over at the Five Card Draw.”

“Last fall, George was tossed by one o’ the horses they were tryin’ t’ saddle break, a real ornery cuss, name o’ Diablo,” Hoss explained. “He ended up breaking BOTH his legs. He got better, his legs healed ‘n all, but he was left with a real bad limp ‘n a stiff back. Doc Martin told him if he got thrown from another bronc, he could end up in a wheel chair . . . permanent. George handed Mister Hansen his walkin’ papers right after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry to hear about George’s misfortune,” Adam said quietly. “He was one of the best horse breakers around.” He smiled. “Right up there in the same class as our baby brother. Where’s George now?”

“He ‘n his wife moved t’ town, where she’s been taking in sewin’, and he’s been doin’ odd jobs as he c’n get ‘em,” Hoss replied. “Gettin’ work’s been hard f’r George lately, with some o’ bigger silver mines closing down. Most folks’d rather hire from among the strong, able bodied miners, who’re findin’ THEMSELVES outta work.”

“I see,” Adam said slowly.

“I kinda figure he wouldn’t hafta sit a horse much, since you’d be workin’ pretty much in the same place.”

“You’re right, Hoss. George Farlyn WOULD be an excellent foreman,” Adam agreed. “You don’t foresee any problems with the men we hire following his orders?”

“Not a bit, Adam, not one bit. In fact, most folks ‘round here admire him for the way he’s kept right on goin’ without NOT givin’ up.”

“If we get back early enough this evening, we’ll go pay him a visit,” Adam decided. “If we don’t, we’ll see him tomorrow morning.”

For a time, the eldest of Ben Cartwright’s four children rode together in companionable silence.

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Adam?”

“I noticed last night at supper and again at breakfast his morning that our little brother’s on a liquid diet,” Adam said. “Is he ill?”

“Lady Chadwick didn’t feed him,” Hoss said very quietly. “ ‘Cept for ONE time, she served him up a real fancy meal . . . spiked with poison.”

Adam could feel the blood draining right out of his face, as he turned and looked over at Hoss. “P-Poison?!” he whispered. “She . . . she actually POISONED Joe?!”

Hoss nodded.

“Hoss, please . . . don’t take this next question the wrong way, but . . . why is he still alive?”

“Doc Martin thinks he got to a place where his stomach couldn’t take regular food, ‘cause o’ Lady Chadwick not feedin’ him,” Hoss replied, his face darkening with anger. “When she served our li’l brother that big fancy meal, up it came, with most o’ the poison.”

“My God . . . . ” Adam murmured softly. The thought of how close he had come to actually losing his youngest brother left him shaken to the core.

“Joe seems t’ think she wasn’t tryin’ t’ poison him, but PA,” Hoss continued, drawing a bewildered frown from his older brother. “When Lady Chadwick served JOE that meal, she was callin’ our li’l brother by PA’S name.”

“You also said she killed Montague?”

“Yep.”

“Poison?”

Hoss nodded. “We’re pretty sure she poisoned him, too. When Pa ‘n I went t’ check on an address over in Carson City . . . an address one o’ Joe’s kidnappers’d been writing to . . . we found out the house belonged t’ Lady Chadwick.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“That would explain how she was able to accomplish so much, so quickly when she visited last,” Adam remarked in a wry tone of voice. “How long ago did she buy that house?”

“It was given her as a belated weddin’ gift from Lord Chadwick,” Hoss replied with a shudder. “Pa figured he must’ve bought it for her ‘way back when Mama was still alive . . . ‘n Joe was a wee tyke, not much more ‘n a baby.”

“You’re kidding! THAT long?!”

“Gives me the willies just thinkin’ about it.”

“Gives ME the willies just thinking about it, too,” Adam said soberly.

“Anyway,” Hoss continued, “when Pa ‘n me went t’ check out that house, I found a decanter ‘bout half full o’ brandy on the buffet on the dinin’ room. I thought it had gone bad, ‘cause when I took off the top ‘n smelled it? It smelled like rotten almonds. The smell was real strong, too. I found out later that brandy had some kinda poison in it . . . I can’t remember what kind now.”

“Cyanide smells like bitter almonds,” Adam said.

“Cyanide,” Hoss murmured softly. “That’s it. Sheriff Coffee said the sheriff over in Carson City thinks she used THAT to do in Montague.”

“All I can say is . . . thank the Good Lord she turned Pa down when he asked her to marry him,” Adam said softly, shaking his head.

“Amen t’ that.”

“So Joe’s on a liquid diet now to get his stomach used to taking in food again,” Adam said, coming back to the initial subject of their conversation

“Yeah.” An amused smile tugged at the corner of Hoss’ mouth. “He was s’posed t’ be on a CLEAR liquid diet f’r the rest o’ this week, but somehow talked Doc Martin into lettin’ him have stuff like soup, ‘n eggnog three days ‘fore he was supposed to. Poor li’l fella! I could tell he wanted a taste o’ them scrambled eggs we had f’r breakfast this mornin’ real bad.”

“It was all poor Pa could do NOT to give in, especially when he looked up with that sad puppy dog look on his face,” Adam said. “Maybe after he’s able to eat solid food again, he won’t be so picky at the table.”

“Maybe not,” Hoss agreed as they rounded the corner of the barn and rode into the yard.

Adam was stunned to find what remained of the house lying in ruins, except for the massive fireplace that had dominated the entire back wall of the great room and the equally imposing stone chimney that rose from it.

“The stuff that came through the fire’s in the back o’ the barn, in a couple o’ the empty stalls,” Hoss explained. “Most of it’s stuff outta the kitchen ‘n some o’ Hop Sing’s things. That was the only part o’ the house left standin’ when the roof fell.”

“Did . . . did any of OUR things survive?”

“That big, red leather chair that once belonged t’ Mama,” Hoss replied, “an’ the horns Pa kept over the fireplace. The chair needs t’ be upholstered, ‘n the horns need cleanin’, but they came through. Joe saved the pictures on the end table . . . the ones of our mothers, of Cousin Will ‘n Uncle John, yours ‘n Teresa’s weddin’ picture, an’ that picture we had taken o’ all of us a couple o’ years ago when you, Teresa ‘n the kids came t’ visit.

“There were a few other odds ‘n ends,” Hoss continued. “Stacy’s jewelry box ‘n medicine bag, the Virgin Mary statue that belonged t’ Mama, the safe, which was fire proof anyway, and the map that used t’ hang on t’ wall behind Pa’s desk . . . . bits ‘n pieces of it anyway. Hop Sing’s pa, Hop LING’S got the pieces with HIM. He’s been workin’ on puttin’ what’s left back t’gether. The daughter o’ one of his friends is in artist . . . real good, too, I’ve seen her work. She’s gonna paint another map, from the pieces. Hop Sing ‘n me are gonna give it to Pa f’r his birthday.”

“He’ll like that,” Adam said, as they dismounted and lead their horses toward the barn. “Was there . . . was there anything else?”

“Not much,” Hoss said. “ ‘Course the important thing is WE got out, a li’l worse f’r wear, maybe, but we all got out.”

Adam nodded.

“Tell ya what, Older Brother. I’ll g’won ahead ‘n stable our horses, while you take a look at the house,” Hoss continued. “We were able t’ salvage pieces that can be used for buildin’ material, if you’re of a mind. Candy ‘n Hank got it all stacked up in the loft.”

“Thanks,” Adam said, his voice a hallow monotone.

As he made his way across the yard toward what remained of the house, memories rose within his mind, one after the other . . . .

“This is our first Christmas together as a family.”

Adam could hear Marie’s voice again echoing in the recesses of his own thoughts and memories. He could see her face again, too, gently illumined by the joy and happiness welling up inside.

“I ordered this special to mark the occasion.”

She held a small box in her hands, a parcel he, his father, and Hoss had picked up at the post office in town. Inside the box, lying amid a mountain of tissue paper and packing material, was an angel, with dark hair and a fine bone china head with painted face. She wore a white lace gown and had gold paper wings . . . .

The lace patterns in the angel’s gown shifted, and filled in with color, transforming them from empty space to tiny pieces of material, all different sizes, shapes, and textures, each with its own story to tell. Every last one of those pieces, culled from rags that had once been clothing, had been lovingly hand sewn together by Inger’s mother to form a memory quilt.

“See these pieces of satin and lace, Adam? They were part of my mother’s wedding gown,” Inger, her eyes the same sky blue as those of her son, Eric Hoss, had grown misty with her remembrance of loved ones. “These soft blue ones came from your uncle, Gunnar’s baby blanket.”

“Where did THESE come from, Mama?” Adam asked, his small fingers darting over the surface of the quilt, touching the bright red pieces of cloth.

“These came from my papa’s favorite red shirt.”

“Mama?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“What was your papa like?”

“He was a big man, Adam, a very big man,” she replied, “with a big chest, and wide waist . . . very much like a great big beer keg. His arms and legs were big, too, bigger than most tree trunks. He had reddish hair, and blue eyes, same as mine.”

“Was he strong?”

“Ja, VERY strong . . . but, very gentle, too. He had such a kind heart, Adam, such a very good and kind heart that was as big as all out doors . . . . ”

Adam smiled.

Inger had no idea then that she also described the son she carried inside her, to whom she would very soon give birth. In the years following Inger’s sudden, tragic demise, he had dutifully taken it upon himself to tell Hoss all of the stories lovingly sewn into that quilt. Many was the night, before Marie came, that he sat next to Hoss on his bed, with Inger’s memory quilt spread over both of their laps, telling and retelling his brother all the stories Inger had told him. Those stories had kept Inger’s memory fresh and alive for him, a beacon of light when he, his father, and brother, Hoss laid claim to the very first parcel of land that would someday become the Ponderosa . . . and the dark hole left in the wake of Inger’s parting was very keenly felt. Adam fervently hoped that he had given something of Inger to Hoss, as well.

Inger’s memory quilt had lain on Hoss’ bed from the time he was very young, until, very probably the night of the fire. The thought of that lovely, colorful quilt, the tangible remains of Inger’s loved ones and their stories, reduced now to ash and cinder saddened him immensely.

As he approached the place where the house stood, where some of its charred, blackened pieces yet remained, Adam shook his head to clear away the obscuring mists of memory, of things past, that he might focus on the task at hand. He carefully mounted two of the remaining steps, leading up to what was once the porch. Most of the boards there had actually escaped burning. The wood supports that had once held up the porch roof also remained in place, their top ends lightly singed, thrusting skyward, vaguely reminiscent of an animal corpse’s ribs, left behind after carrion birds and insects had stripped away the meat and organs.

Adam paused a moment to check those stark posts, test them for strength and stability and found them all sound. As he carefully picked his way across the porch, he cast a critical eye over what remained, estimating that a third to half of the debris had already been cleared away. He stepped over where the threshold of the front door had been, impelled by force of many years’ habit, duly noting that the floor boards had remained largely intact. They would have to be pulled up so that he might inspect the foundation beneath, but, from all appearances they could be laid down again to form the floor of the new great room.

He moved across the floor slowly, shoving the occasional large piece of wood or broken plaster aside with his booted foot, until he found himself standing before the immense fireplace that had wholly dominated the area designated as living room. Looking up, he noted the jagged, uneven line of chimney top against the bright blue sky.

“The chimney was, in all likelihood, damaged when the roof collapsed,” Adam mused aloud, as he moved back toward the fireplace. There, he crawled inside pushing against the stones with all his strength. “The fireplace seems solid enough . . . . ”

“PA!” The voice of Little Joe, aged six, frantically rang out, bouncing off the wall and echoing throughout the house. “PA! ADAM! HOP SING!”

The three of them bolted toward the living room from three different directions, Pa from his desk, Hop Sing from the kitchen, and himself from the master bedroom downstairs, where he had often retreated to do his school work. They nearly converged in a frantic, head on collision right there in front of the fireplace. In the space of less than a single heartbeat, they came to the realization that young Joseph Francis was nowhere to be seen.

“Joe?” Ben called the name of his youngest son, as he glanced around in complete bewilderment. “Joe, where are you?”

“PA! YOU GOTTA COME QUICK!”

Hop Sing, with feet planted solidly on the floor, space shoulder width apart, and hands firmly on hips, looked upward. “WHERE LITTLE JOE?” he demanded with an indignant scowl. “WHERE LITTLE BOY GO?”

Adam smiled, upon remembering it was he, himself who found Little Joe, inside the fireplace, half way up the chimney.

“Hey, Buddy . . . what’re you doing up there?”

“Where?” Ben demanded, annoyed and concerned.

“Up here, Pa.”

Ben unceremoniously moved his eldest son aside and thrust his own head into the fireplace. “Joseph Francis Cartwright, WHAT are you doing up there?”

“I wanted to make sure our chimney’s big enough for Santa Claus to get down, Pa,” the boy wailed, “and it AIN’T . . . . ”

Images, pictures of other Christmas Eves began to surface, rising like tendrils of smoke from the remnants of a dying campfire, or of sweet incense left in offering to Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory, according to the Greek myths he loved so well.

Himself and Hoss, seated together in the big blue chair before a roaring fire, soon after the downstairs portion of the house had been built. He and Pa squeezed into the chair, side-by-side, with Hoss curled up on Pa’s lap. Pa had one arm around him, the other around his brother, while yet holding the book sent by Pa’s brother, Uncle Aaron, titled The Night Before Christmas.

A year later, Marie had joined them, and Little Joe another year after that. The blue chair had been relegated to a corner, it’s place usurped by a brand new settee, just wide enough to accommodate them all. At Marie’s insistence, Ben had started to read the Christmas story, as had been set down in the Gospel According to Luke, along with Clement C. Moore’s poem about Santa’s visit.

Adam remembered many of the quiet evenings he, his father, and brothers spent by the fireplace with a roaring fire. Joe and Hoss, more often than not, indulged themselves in game after game of checkers, with the former taking outrageous creative liberties with the rules of the game, while he and Pa quietly read. Sometimes, he would fetch his guitar down from his room, and regale his family with new songs. Joe often joined in, as did Hoss, LESS often . . . fortunately.

Then, memories of another day surfaced, bringing with them darker images, filled with tragedy and grief.

He heard again the thunder of hooves, announcing the return of his stepmother, Marie, and Clover, that new, high spirited mare Pa had given her for her birthday a scant week before. She had spent most of the morning working with the mare out in the corral, as had become her custom since receiving Clover. Afterwards, she had climbed on the skittish mare’s back and taken her for a brisk ride. Now, Marie was heading into the yard, riding her horse ‘way too fast, as usual.

“Same as Joe STILL does, I’m sure,” Adam silently remembered . . . .

Pa slammed his pencil down onto the desk alongside the open ledger, and bolted right out of his chair with a thunderous scowl on his face. He strode briskly toward the door, with Adam trotting close behind. Pa stormed out onto the porch, his mouth open, ready to read his beautiful, headstrong wife the proverbial riot act for galloping that horse into the yard so fast. The words sitting at the very tip of his father’s tongue died before he could give them utterance, upon seeing Clover’s leg sink down into a very deep chuckhole.

The gut wrenching crack of poor Clover’s leg shattering, the result of her leg coming to a sudden stop while the rest of her surged forward, reverberated once again in Adam’s ears. Marie tumbled from the saddle, striking the ground with a dull, sickening thud. Before she had a chance to move, to think, or even scream, Clover had collapsed on top her, killing her instantly. The only thing he and his father could so was stand by helplessly and watch.

Micah Everett, who at the time was the Ponderosa’s senior foreman, entered the yard in the company of his grand nephew, Hank Carlson, and a half dozen other hands when the accident occurred. He immediately took charge of the situation upon catching sight of his employer and good friend, standing on the porch, unmoving, his body stiff, his face pale.

“Hank!” Micah snapped, as he half climbed, half jumped down out of his saddle. “You g’won into town ‘n fetch back the doc.” he ordered, his face set with grim, almost angry determination.

Hank wheeled his horse around, without question, without a word, and rode out of the yard, as fast as he dared.

“Adam!”

The sound of Micah’s voice, cracking like a whip, rudely jarred him from the stupor into which he seemed to have fallen. “H-Hunh?!” he grunted.

“Get your pa back into the house, Boy,” Micah ordered, “ ‘n see to it your brothers are kept occupied for the next hour or so.”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” Adam barely managed to stammer. He took firm hold of Pa’s forearm and steering him back toward the front door, still standing wide open. Pa moved, automatically placing one foot in front of the other, offering not even the slightest resistance.

The sound of Micah’s rifle releasing poor Clover from her suffering, brought Joe, then aged five, screaming from his room upstairs. Hoss, nearly six years older, followed close at his younger brother’s heels, his face nearly white as a sheet, his blue eyes round as saucers.

“Hoss! Take Pa over there, to the settee,” he said harshly, with tears streaming down his face, before tearing across the room after Joe, who at that moment was barreling headlong toward the open front door, fast as his little legs could carry him.

Hours later . . . after the doctor had come and gone, after Marie’s body had been whisked off to the undertaker in the Everetts’ buckboard, gently bundled up in a white shawl belonging to Micah’s wife, Jenny . . . and the younger boys put to bed with an herbal tea to help them sleep, courtesy of Hop Sing . . . Adam, all of seventeen years old, swallowed nervously, and walked over to the settee, taking up position next to his stunned, grief stricken father.

“Pa,” he said softly, laying his hand on his father’s shoulder, “don’t you think you’d better come up to bed? It’ll be light, soon.”

Pa looked up, his face haggard, his eyes and cheeks wet from tears, copiously shed.

Adam felt the sudden acrid stinging of tears in his own eyes as he sat down on the settee next to his father. “I . . . I can’t sleep either, P-Pa,” he sobbed, laying his hand on top of Pa’s, resting on his thigh.

Pa’s hand moved out from under Adam’s. Less than a second later, the arm was around Adam’s shoulders. He slid across the settee, until his thigh and hip touched his father’s, and together they wept for Marie, as equals, as peers rather than as father and son . . . .

“Adam, NO! You can’t leave . . . not like THIS.”

It was his father’s voice, several years after he had returned home from attending college. It was the night Adam left the Ponderosa . . . and home, for good. Pa’s bewilderment, hurt, and anger came through loud and clear, but there was something else. Something Adam had never heard before, perhaps something only the passage of time and his own parenthood could have revealed. It was deep concern, subtle, yet all pervading.

He heard his own exasperated sigh explode from between his own lips, slightly parted. “Pa, we’ve been over this and over this— ”

“This is so sudden!”

“Aww for---!! Come ON, Pa! It’s not as if I haven’t talked of leaving before for crying out loud . . . . ”

“Not like THIS, Son, NEVER like this.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY NOT LIKE THIS, PA? YOU MEAN BECAUSE ALL THOSE OTHER TIMES, YOU TALKED ME OUT OF IT?!” Adam shouted as his mounting frustration and anger reached explosion point.

“I MEANT NOTHING OF THE KIND, AND YOU KNOW IT!” Pa shouted back, without missing a beat. He, then, took a deep breath and counted to ten. Adam could see his lips move as he silently counted. Pa opened his eyes and took another deep breath. “Adam— ” he entreated in a calmer tone of voice.

“No.”

“Would you please hear me out before you answer?” Though pleading, Pa’s tone nonetheless held a strident note of asperity.

“Pa, my mind is made up,” Adam said through clenched teeth. “I’m leaving. That’s it . . . final. End of discussion.”

“One question. Just answer me this one question.”

“WHAT?”

“Was your decision to leave was prompted by what Randy Paine said?”

Pa’s question took him completely by surprise. For a moment, he felt as if he had just been slugged hard right smack dab in the middle of his solar plexus. “NO!” he shot right back, too angry, too quick.

“Adam, we’ll talk more about this in the morning,” Pa said. “Right now, we’re tired, it HAS been a long, arduous day, after all, and both of us are upset.”

“Pa— ”

His father held up his hand, commanding silence. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll be well rested and in a calmer frame of mind. We’ll talk then.”

He and Pa never had that talk. That night, he had resolutely lain on top of his bed, wide awake, until he was absolutely certain his father had gone to sleep. He, then, rose, and silently crammed his drafting tools, his toiletries, undergarments, and a few shirts into an old carpet bag that had supposedly belonged to his mother. After scrawling his father and younger brothers a hasty note, he left, in the dead of night, without saying good-bye . . . .

The screech of a catbird, perched atop the chimney, rudely jarred Adam’s thoughts back to present time and place.

“So many memories,” he murmured softly, “so long ago . . . a whole lifetime ago, so it seems . . . . ”

He realized, suddenly, with a sharp pang, that the place containing all those memories, the house he had designed, helped build, and once called home, was gone. Soon, after all that remained was cleared, it would be as if that house had never been. Though he would plan, design, and oversee the building of the new house, he would never live in it . . . never call it home.

The tears that suddenly stung his eyes, shocked and surprised him.

“Adam, I— ”

He turned. It was Hoss, standing behind him, to the right. He had been so absorbed by pictures, by memories of people and events long past, he had never even heard his younger brother approach.

An anxious frown marred Hoss’ brow upon catching the tell-tale brightness in Adam’s dark brown eyes and the wetness on his cheeks. “Adam, are you alright?” he asked, surprise mingling with concern.

“Fine,” Adam said curtly, turning away.

“It’s alright, Adam,” Hoss said quietly. “After . . . after the rain put out the fire, ‘n everyone had gone . . . leavin’ me by myself . . . I went in the barn ‘n sat down on that stool next t’ Chubb’s stall and bawled like a new born baby . . . I dunno, f’r a good long time anyway . . . . ”

“Hoss, I’m alright!” Adam snarled through clenched teeth, immediately regretting his angry outburst upon catching sight of the hurt, bewildered look on his younger, bigger brother’s face. “Sorry,” he murmured contritely, filled with remorse.

“ ‘S ok.”

“Hoss, really . . . I-I honestly don’t know what got into me just now, but I didn’t mean to snap at you like that . . . . ”

“ ‘S ok, Adam, let’s just forget it, alright?” Hoss said.

“Alright.”

“Anything more y’ need to check on?”

“Yeah. I’d like to go around to the side and check the outside walls of the kitchen and Hop Sing’s room to see how structurally sound or UNsound they may be,” Adam replied.

“While YOU do that, I’m gonna check on our horses ‘n git Sport II saddled,” Hoss said. “We’ll take him back t’ town for YOU, ‘n return Fido to the livery stable. If ya need me for anything, I’ll either be in the barn or out in the corral.”

“Alright, Hoss. I shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Three letters . . . first class postage . . . . that’ll be six cents total, Mister Cartwright,” the postal clerk, a young man by the name of Cory Baker said in a brisk, business like tone.

Ben dug into his pocket and pulled out the exact change.

“Thank you, Sir,” Cory murmured politely, as he accepted the money and placed it in the till. “I’ll be right back with your mail.”

“Good morning, Ben.”

The Cartwright clan patriarch turned, and smiled upon seeing Paul Martin stepping behind him. “Good morning, Paul.”

“I see you have Joe and Stacy along for the ride,” the doctor observed.

“I know . . . they probably should be home, sitting down, with their feet propped up, but they’re going stir-crazy,” Ben said defensively, “so I decided to bring them along while I run my errands. I figure I can keep a better eye on ‘em THIS way.”

Paul smiled. “I WAS going to say that getting them out for a little fresh air AND a change in scenery would probably do them a world of GOOD,” he said.

“You know how those two are about jumping the gun on doctor’s orders.”

“I do indeed,” Paul chuckled, then sobered. “How ARE they doing, Ben?”

“Stacy still tires easily, but she’s doing better,” Ben replied, “and poor Joe’s hungry as a bear all the time, though he’s doing well on his present diet.”

“Everything staying down?”

“Yes, Paul, everything’s staying down. He wanted to try a plate of scrambled eggs this morning . . . it was all I could do to tell him no with that hungry, whipped puppy dog look on his face.”

Paul Martin laughed out loud. “Tell you what, Ben,” he said, as his laughter subsided. “If Joe continues to keep everything down over the next couple of days, let him go ahead and try the eggs.”

Ben smiled. “He’ll be very glad to hear that.”

“How’s Joe doing otherwise?”

“I thought he was having a doozy of a nightmare last night, from the way he way yelling,” Ben said quietly. “Stacy reached him first. By the time I got there, he two of ‘em had pretty much talked things out. But, Joe told me the dream was different this time.”

“Oh? Did he say HOW it was different?”

“Always before, he woke up frightened, not knowing where he was, not knowing what was real, but last night, he told Stacy and me that while dreaming . . . he realized Lady Chadwick was dead and he told her so,” Ben said.

“He told Lady Chadwick this . . . in the dream?”

Ben nodded. “When I sat down with the two of ‘em . . . for the first time, I didn’t see fear in Joe’s eyes . . . I saw victory.”

“I’m no expert in dream analysis, Ben,” Paul said, “but, from the sound of things . . . it would seem Joe’s taken a significant turn mentally and emotionally . . . for the better.”

“I’m glad to have conformation that Joe’s doing better, because . . . between you and me? I’m a wreck.” Ben briefly told Paul about Joe’s insistence on seeing Lady Chadwick dead, of him giving Roy Coffee his deposition, and of his confronting Gerald Crippensworth. “I . . . tried to talk him out of it, Paul, but . . . you know how stubborn he can be.”

“I can only imagine how hard it must have been for you to go through all that with him, but I’m glad you DIDN’T talk him out of it,” Paul said earnestly. “It’s a gut feeling on my part, Ben, but for what it’s worth . . . Joe spent the better part of a week, rendered completely helpless, unable to do or fend for himself in any way. Now that he’s home, he’s STILL unable to completely fend for himself because of his physical injuries. Making the decisions to see Lady Chadwick dead, confront Mister Crippensworth, and give his deposition to Roy . . . then following through on them gave him back a measure of control over his own life.”

“I DID let him know how proud I was of him, even though I was scared to death,” Ben said very quietly.

“That in and of itself will probably do Joe more good than the best medical science has to offer,” Paul said. “Has he been able to talk about his ordeal at all?”

“Some,” Ben replied, nodding his head. “The night we moved into the Fletchers’ house, I woke up in the wee hours of the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. I decided to go downstairs and have a glass of brandy, hoping that would help me back to sleep. When I went downstairs, I found Joe sitting on the settee. I sat down with him, and we talked . . . which brings me to something that . . . well, it . . . kinda upsets me.”

“What is it, Ben?”

“When Joe and I talked? He asked me about that time I was abducted, and my kidnappers demanded that my boys pay a hundred thousand dollars ransom . . . specifically what did I do the whole time I was being held captive,” Ben replied. An anxious frown deepened the lines of his brow. “He and I talked about it. Then, last night, Adam told me that Joe asked Stacy the same thing . . . what did SHE do the time she was kidnapped and held prisoner by Paris’ deranged brother. I just hope this isn’t going to turn into something unhealthy.”

“I can see how there might be similarities between what happened to the three of you,” Paul said thoughtfully. “Joe knows that you and Stacy came through your own ordeals with flying colors. Discovering HOW you two made it through, or finding out he employed the same or similar means himself could be a very real, very powerful source of hope and healing.”

“You think so, Paul?”

“As I said before, I’m no expert when it comes to treating mental or emotional traumas, but for what’s it’s worth . . . THAT’S my opinion,” Paul replied. “I also think that the most important thing now is that Joe doesn’t keep it bottled up inside. Giving Roy his deposition, comparing notes with you and Stacy . . . all that keeps what happened out here, where he can see it, acknowledge it, and ultimately work it through.” He smiled. “I don’t have many worries about Joe on that score, given the way he generally wears his feelings on his sleeve, as it were.”

Ben nodded in agreement. “This is true. Most of the time Joe’s pretty straight forward about what he’s thinking and feeling.”

“I’d be a lot more worried if something like this had happened to someone, oh . . . like Adam, your oldest,” Paul continued, “given his natural stoic reserve, the way he’s always kept a tight lid on his feelings . . . . ”

The doctor’s words stirred an odd, nebulous foreboding within Ben. “Adam’s mellowed quite a bit over the years, Paul, especially since his marriage and the birth of his own two children,” he said, feeling oddly on the defensive.

“Marriage and fatherhood’s certainly been the mellowing of many a man,” Paul agreed, “as you and I can ably attest. How’s he doing these days, Ben? Adam, I mean.”

“Very well. He’s here, you know.”

“Oh? I thought I had heard Hoss talk about having sent for him . . . . ”

“Adam arrived on the stage late yesterday afternoon,” Ben said. “He’s going to oversee the rebuilding of the new house. He and Hoss went out to the Ponderosa this morning, so he could look around and get an idea as to what needs to be done.”

“I’m glad Adam was able to come and give you a hand. I know between having BOTH of your younger children convalescing and keeping on top of the Ponderosa, you and Hoss must have your hands pretty full. Please give Adam my regards, Ben.”

“I will, Paul . . . . ”

“Hey, Pa, it took ya long enough in the post office,” Joe quipped with a grin.

“Yeah,” Stacy voiced her own whole hearted agreement, with a smile. “I’ve NEVER taken that long to pick up the mail, not even when Jason O’Brien used to work there . . . before he went back to school.”

“Speaking of Jason, Young Woman, I have three letters from him, all addressed to YOU,” Ben said as he placed the three envelopes into his daughter’s outstretched hands.

“You remembered to mail the letter I wrote him last night?” Stacy asked, looking anxious.

“Yes, I did,” Ben replied with a smile.

“So, Little Sister, what does ol’ Jason have to say?” Joe asked, making a big point of looking over her shoulder as she tore open the first envelope.

“Grandpa, if you DON’T mind, I’d like to read my PRIVATE mail WITHOUT an audience,” she growled back, in mock outrage.

Joe laughed and stuck out his tongue.

Stacy immediately returned the gesture.

“All right now, CHILDREN, we’re out on a public street,” Ben admonished both gently. “S-Settle down.”

“Pa?” Joe queried, as he and Stacy both turned, hearing the catch in their father’s voice. “You ok?”

Ben smiled over at his youngest son and only daughter, his eyes blinking more than the norm. “I’m fine,” he hastened to assure them. “I . . . I never quite realized until now how m-much I enjoy watching the pair of you tease each other.”

“Oh, Pa . . . I don’t care if we ARE out on a public street . . . . ” With that, Stacy reached over and gave Ben and affectionate hug.

Ben put one arm around Stacy, then reached out to Joe with the other, and held them both very close for a moment.

“You SURE you’re all right, Pa?” Joe asked.

Ben nodded. “I guess the magnitude of . . . of everything that’s happened is starting to catch up with me,” he said as he gave them both an affectionate squeeze, then let them go. “We’d best get on to the general store.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“If Stacy and I are really good while you’re in the store . . . would you buy us some candy?” Joe asked, his eyes twinkling with impish merriment.

“Please, Pa?” Stacy begged. Though she tried her best to look the part of the poor deprived waif, the amused smile tugging hard at the corner of her mouth completely derailed her efforts.

Ben smiled at his daughter first, then over at his youngest son. “Alright, but the two of you have to be on your very best behavior,” he said in the solemn tone he had used to admonish and exhort when they were much younger, “and NO candy before supper. If you two spoil your appetites, Hop Sing will have all of our heads.”

Joe looked over at his sister, and dissolved into a fit of giggling the minute they made eye-contact. Within less than a heartbeat, Stacy found herself laughing along with him. Ben joined them a moment later, caught up in the contagion of his younger children’s merriment.

“I only wish I COULD have a piece of candy,” Joe sighed, as their laughter subsided.

“I see no reason why you couldn’t suck on a peppermint stick,” Ben said slowly.

“Really, Pa?” Joe’s face brightened at the prospect.

Ben nodded. “You’ll also be pleased to know Doctor Martin told me, while we were in the post office just now, that if you continue to keep down what you’re eating now for the next couple of days, you can try a plate of Hop Sing’s scrambled eggs.”

“Ummmm UM!” Joe hungrily licked his lips. “I never dreamed I’d EVER see the day when a plate full of scrambled eggs would look so good.”

The three settled into companionable silence as their buggy continued down the street. The warm, afternoon sun on his face, and the rhythmic clip, clop, clip, clop of horse hooves against the packed dirt road lulled Joe into that place mid-way between wakefulness and sleeping. He settled himself comfortably against the seat, with eyelids half closed, vaguely aware of people, of other horses, other conveyances moving all around him.

“JOE! JOE CARTWRIGHT!”

He turned his head upon hearing his name, and saw Sallie Devlin, the wife of Mitch, one of his oldest friends standing next to the hitching post on the street smiling and waving. Joe waved back, thinking at first how pretty she looked with that bright smile, wearing that white dress with blue flowers.

Clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop . . . .

He saw again that white morning dress with blue flowers, but it wasn’t Sally Devlin wearing it. This woman was older, much older, closer to his pa in age.

Clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop . . . .

Clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . clack . . . .

A woman’s shoes striking against the boards of a hard wood floor, each step measured, beating out an even cadence. Clack , clack, clack, clack, clack, keeping time with the clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves.

“Tell me, Little Joe.

Tell me again what happened . . .

. . . what REALLY happened . . .

. . . the night of the fire.”

Joe screamed.

“Joe? You alright?”

He turned and found his father and sister looking at him, their faces nearly identical masks of worry and concern.

“Joe?” his father queried again, peering anxiously into his face.

“I . . . I’m ok, Pa . . . I-I guess . . . . ” Joe murmured, feeling horribly disoriented.

“What happened, Grandpa?” Stacy prodded gently.

“I . . . I dunno . . . . ” Had he been dreaming? He had been drowsing, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember having actually fallen asleep. It seemed like he was in the buggy with his father and sister one minute, back there with her the next, then suddenly back here again.

“We’ve been out and about for quite a little while,” Ben said gently. “I’ll stop by the general store and leave this list with Amelia. I’ll ask her to fill it and have Virgil to deliver it later.”

“Do Stacy and I still get our peppermint sticks?” Joe asked. His levity seemed forced and the smile never quite reached his eyes.

“Of course, Joe,” Ben replied with a wan smile. “You and your sister have been very good today. You’ll get your peppermint sticks.”

“Pa, I think I WILL g’won upstairs ‘n lie down for awhile,” Joe said in a hallow voice, as Ben pulled the buggy up in front of the Fletchers’ house.

Ben noted his youngest son’s glazed over eyes, staring, wholly unfocused, with concern. “Alright, Son. Think you can manage to hold the horses long enough for me to help Stacy down, and— ”

“ ‘S ok, Pa, I got Li’l Sister.” It was Hoss. He lifted Stacy out of the buggy, crutches and all, in one easy swoop. “Why don’t you git Li’l Brother in the house, ‘n see him on upstairs? I’ll take the buggy ‘n horses back once I git Stacy settled.”

Ben nodded. “You and Adam are back already?”

“Yep. Adam’s seen what he needed to,” Hoss replied, as he started up the walk with Stacy gently cradled in his arms.

“Where’s Adam now?” Ben asked.

“He’s gone over t’ see George Farlyn,” Hoss replied. “I told Adam I thought he’d make a good foreman.”

“Yes, he would,” Ben agreed. “I’m glad you thought of him.”

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, Li’l Sister?”

“My letters from Jason. I don’t have them,” Stacy said. “I . . . I must’ve left them in the buggy.”

“I’VE got ‘em, Stacy,” Ben said, “along with the other mail.”

“Thanks, Pa,” she murmured, as her head dropped down heavily on Hoss’ shoulder.

“Tell ya what, Li’l Sister?” Hoss said gamely as he carried Stacy up the side walk and into the house. “I’ll get you settled on the settee, ‘n while you’re reading the letters y’ got from Jason, maybe Hop Sing’ll brew up a cup o’ that peppermint tea, and— ”

“Hoss . . . . ”

“What is it, Pa?”

“I think you’d better just take her on up to her room,” Ben whispered. “She’s sound asleep.”

After Hoss had placed his somnolent sister down on her bed, Ben placed the three letters she had received from Jason on her night table, then gently covered her with the quilt lying neatly folded across the foot of her bed. He, then, moved her crutches from the corner by the door, where Hoss had left them, to a place within easy reach, before quietly tip-toeing out of the room. Satisfied that Stacy was adequately settled, Ben walked down the hall to Joe’s room, and softly knocked on the fast closed door.

“Who is it?” a weary voice called out from within.

“It’s Pa, Son. May I come in?”

“If you want.”

Ben quietly opened the door and stepped inside. He found his youngest son stretched out on top of the bed, with his injured foot propped up on a pair of extra pillows taken from the linen closet.

“You’re checking up on me, aren’t you?” Joe asked, his question sounding more like a resentful accusation.

“As a matter of fact . . . yes. I am,” Ben readily admitted. “Pa’s prerogative.”

A wry smile spread slowly across Joe’s lips. “I know. I’ll understand it a lot better when I have kids of my own someday.”

“Well I’m glad you’ve listened to SOMETHING I’ve been tellin’ ya over the years,” Ben teased, as he carefully settled himself on the edge of Joe’s bed. His smile quickly faded. “Seriously, Son. ARE you all right?”

“I . . . thought I was, Pa,” Joe said slowly. “After that dream last night, when I told Lady Chadwick she was dead . . . therefore my being with her wasn’t real . . . I’d kinda thought I was over and done with her.”

“It may take a little while for the dreams to stop altogether . . . as Adam and Stacy can tell you.”

Joe looked over at his father, bewildered and perplexed. “Adam?!”

Ben nodded. “For a time, right after Inger died, Adam kept having a recurring nightmare night after night, in which either Hoss and I were killed along with Inger . . . or we’d gone off and forgotten him.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“It WAS a long time ago,” Ben said. “Adam couldn’t have been any more than six or seven. He finally had a turning point a month or two after he started having the dreams. After that, the dreams continued for a little while longer, but they weren’t quite as frightening.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“What happened to me today . . . it scared me! It scared me a lot more than even the worst nightmare I’ve ever had . . . partly because I wasn’t asleep,” Joe said, his voice shaking.

“You looked as though you were drowsing.”

“I was . . . a little, but I wasn’t asleep, Pa. I KNOW I wasn’t.”

“What . . . exactly . . . happened, Son?”

“Sallie Devlin called out to me,” Joe replied, suddenly grateful for his father’s presence. “She was wearing this dress, white with flowers on it. I remember thinking how pretty her dress was . . . then I found myself thinking about how much it looked like the dress Lady Chadwick wore, when I . . . when I first woke up and found myself tied down to a bed in her guest room. By the time I turned to wave at Sallie? She had turned into Lady Chadwick, and suddenly . . . I was back THERE again. It was only for a minute, but I . . . Pa, just thinking about it’s giving me goose bumps.”

Not knowing what else to do or say, Ben quietly reached out and covered Joe’s trembling hand with his own.

“It’s not the first time it’s happened either.”

“Oh?”

“Yesterday, just before Hoss arrived with Adam, was the first time,” Joe said. “I dunno . . . it was something about the hands on that wall clock there . . . . ” He pointed. “ . . . or maybe it was the way the sun hit it, but . . . all of a sudden . . . I was back there again . . . with her. Pa, I’m so afraid I’m . . . I’m going crazy.”

“These kinds of . . . of waking dreams . . . visions . . . sometimes they happen to men and women who have gone through a harrowing ordeal very much like the one YOU’VE gone through,” Ben said quietly, hoping to reassure. “Eventually, they pass.”

“What if they DON’T pass?” Joe demanded. “All I can think of right now is that friend of yours . . . he was sheriff over in Concho for many years before he . . . before he all of a sudden just . . . snapped.”

“Paul Rowan DIDN’T just all of a sudden snap,” Ben said with a touch of sadness. “What happened to him was something that had been building and festering inside him for a number of years . . . and the REASON all that festered inside him was he kept everything bottled up. He never told his wife what happened during the years he fought in the war because he wanted to spare her— ”

“THAT’S understandable,” Joe murmured in a voice barely audible.

“Unfortunately, he never shared with anyone else . . . his doctor for instance, or the minister of the church he and his wife attended,” Ben continued. “To make matters worse, he went right from being soldier to being sheriff, without a break, or any kind of a vacation. Paul did bring law and order to Concho, but it was an uphill battle, one waged virtually alone, every bit as bloody and violent as any battle he fought during the war. By the time he felt like he COULD take time off . . . it was too late.”

“I don’t want what happened to Paul Rowan to happen to ME, Pa,” Joe declared in a granite firm, resolute tone of voice.

“You’re doing something very important that Paul didn’t. You’re NOT keeping it bottled up inside ya. You’ve been talking very freely about what happened, AND you’ve not kept back your feelings . . . your fears, your concerns, even your anger and frustration,” Ben said. “I honestly think that if Paul Rowan had someone HE could have talked to . . . he wouldn’t have gone over the edge the way he did.”

“Pa, the first night after we moved in here . . . when you and I were up late talking, you said that Doc Martin knows a couple o’ guys who specialize in things mental and emotional,” Joe said slowly, thoughtfully.

“Yes.”

“I . . . meaning no disrespect toward YOU, but . . . would it be alright if I sat down and talked with one of Doc Martin’s friends?” Joe asked. “I know YOU’VE told me I’m gonna be alright, but . . . I’d feel better if I could hear another doctor say the same thing.”

Ben smiled. “I’m not the least bit offended, Joe. There’s wisdom in bouncing things off an impartial third party, especially if it gives you added peace of mind. I’ll g’won over and leave word with Doc Martin now.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“If it’s alright . . . I’D like to be the one to speak with Doc Martin.”

“Of course,” Ben agreed.

“I . . . I hope you’re not mad.”

Ben looked over into his youngest son’s anxious eyes and face. “Joseph . . . no. I’m not mad,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I’m very pleased . . . and proud . . .to see you making your own decisions and taking the initiative to see them through. It tells me you’re moving in the right direction, mentally and emotionally, as well as physically.”

“Thanks, Pa. Right now . . . that means a lot.”

“I intend to build the new house over the foundations of the old,” Adam said. He was seated across a kitchen table, rough hewn, covered with a red and white checked table cloth, from George Farlyn, his prospective foreman. “The job will be easily accessible by horse and buggy, which means you WON’T be required to sit a horse. The foreman’s job pays five dollars a day, plus lunch. We work six days a week, with Sundays off, and there’s a generous bonus when the job’s complete.”

Aged in his early forties, George Farlyn was a small man, about the same size as Joe Cartwright, but with a thinner, more wiry build. He had red hair, silver gray around the edges, thinning on top, and bright, piercing blue eyes.

George silently mulled over Adam’s proposal for a few moments. “Ya heard about my accident?” he asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Yes . . . . ”

“I don’t take no charity work, Mister Cartwright,” George said, his voice generously laced with contempt.

“Fine,” Adam replied, “because I am not in the habit of hiring charity cases.”

“If my missus put ya up to this— ”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the missus, Mister Farlyn. I was long gone by the time you finally got around to getting yourself hitched,” Adam hastened to point out. “The reason I came to see you is . . . HOSS recommended you. I know that my brother is an excellent judge of character, and I learned a long time ago to trust his judgment.”

“What, exactly, did Hoss tell ya?”

“He told me that you’re a good manager, you work very well with people, and that you’ve earned considerable respect because of the way you’ve continued on after your accident without giving up,” Adam said bluntly.

George silently mulled over Adam’s words again, then nodded. “Alright, Mister Cartwright . . . you got yourself a foreman.” He and Adam solemnly shook hands on the deal. “You hired anyone ELSE yet?”

“Not yet,” Adam replied. “Hoss and I had planned to begin recruiting first thing tomorrow morning. I would welcome YOUR input as well.”

“What time tomorrow morning?” George asked.

“Eight o’clock,” Adam said. “We’ll set up outside the town hall.”

“Eight o’clock tomorrow morning . . . outside town hall. I’ll see ya there, Mister Cartwright,” George said with a curt nod. “Is there any way I can get out to see what’s what with the house . . . what’s left of it?”

“Certainly,” Adam readily assented. “I was thinking we’d spend tomorrow morning hiring men to help with the building, break for lunch around noon, then head out to the Ponderosa afterward.”

“What time do you figure we’ll be back?” George asked. “I just started working nights over at the International Hotel. The pay’s not as good as I was getting at the Silver Dollar Saloon, but it gives Annie peace of mind. I’ll need to make arrangements if we’re going to be late getting back.”

“What time are you supposed to be at the International Hotel?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“I’ll see that you’re back in plenty of time.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright, and . . . I’d be much obliged if you told your brother that I appreciate him thinking of me,” George said gruffly.

“I’ll be sure to tell him, Mister Farlyn,” Adam promised, then rose. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hop Sing, you’ve outdone yourself tonight,” Adam said with a big grin, punctuating his words with a soft belch. “Oh! . . . uhhh, excuse me,” he murmured, flinching away from the dark glare his father leveled at him.

“Now in house of Hop Sing grandfather, NOT to burp after supper big insult,” Hop Sing said, as he moved to clear away the supper dishes. “Not to burp means meal not good. Big insult. Cook quit.”

“When ya look at it THAT way, that belch of Adam’s was pretty wimpy,” Joe said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He quickly swallowed air, then let out with a loud, resonant belch, with all the juicy quality of the most foul smelling fart.

“Was that the BEST you could do, Grandpa?” Stacy asked, with a disparaging roll of the eyes.

“Whaddya mean was that the best I could do?!” Joe echoed in tones of mock outrage.

“I’d like t’ know the answer t’ Li’l Sister’s question myself,” Hoss said. “WAS that the best ya could do?”

“I’d like to see the two of YOU do any better,” Joe growled, glaring over at Hoss, then at Stacy.

“You do, and so help me, I’m marching all FOUR of ya out to the woodshed,” Ben declared, glaring at each one of them in turn, starting with Adam.

“Hey! What did I do?!” Adam demanded.

“YOU started the whole thing,” Ben snapped right back.

“How about everybody go in living room, Hop Sing bring everybody coffee, except Little Joe. He get tea.”

“ . . . and a peppermint stick,” Joe added, as he rose. “Don’t you DARE forget that peppermint stick.”

“Adam, Hoss told me earlier that you had gone to see George Farlyn,” Ben said, as the family rose from the table, and began their mass exodus from the dining room to the living room.

“Yes, I did,” Adam replied with a smile, as he fell in step alongside his father. “I offered him the job, and after making certain to his satisfaction that I wasn’t offering charity, he finally accepted.”

“George has always had his pride, even before his accident,” Hoss said quietly, as he followed behind his father and older brother. “Now . . . well, the only one I ever met who was worse ‘n George is now was Li’l Sister’s ma.”

“I remember,” Adam said quietly.

“I’m glad you boys thought of him,” Ben said, as he settled himself in the middle of the settee. “George is a good man.”

“When do we start hirin’ other men t’ help with buildin’ the new house?” Hoss asked, taking his customary place in the easy chair to the left of the fireplace.

“Tomorrow morning,” Adam replied. “We start at eight o’clock, in front of the town hall. George is going to be there, too, Hoss.”

“How’re things going on the Ponderosa, Son?” Ben asked.

“Hank ‘n Candy pretty much have things in hand with the round up, ‘n branding,” Hoss said. “I figure they’ll be ready t’ move the herd out t’ the summer pastures in another couple o’ days . . . maybe three at the outside.”
“Will you be going with them to move the herd?” Adam asked.

Hoss shook his head. “I need t’ be here t’ keep an eye on that string o’ horses for that army contract.”

“Good,” Adam declared, looking a little relieved. “I’m hoping we can get the men we need lined up by lunchtime tomorrow. “As I said before, I would appreciate YOUR input along with George’s.”

Hoss nodded. “Sure, Adam. Hank ‘n Candy both are more ‘n able t’ oversee movin’ the herd.”

“Hoss . . . . ”

“Yeah, Li’l Brother?”

“WHICH string of horses were ya talking about just now?” Joe asked, as he and his father helped settle Stacy on the settee between them.

“The string y— uhhh, WE . . . was workin’ on for the army . . . before the fire, Li’l Brother.”

“Oh yeah . . . . ” Joe murmured, crestfallen. That string of horses was to have been his project, with the able assistance of his sister after they had been broken to saddle.

“I thought we was gonna end up payin’ penalty on ‘em, with out Li’l Brother t’ break ‘em, ‘n Li’l Sister t’ lend a hand in trainin’ ‘em proper,” Hoss continued, blissfully unmindful of Joe’s and Stacy’s increasing discomfiture, “between that new man Hank ‘n me hired, Alex McPherson ‘n Darryl Hughes comin’ from Shoshone Queen, ‘n Big Swede from Valhalla, we just might be able t’ get all them horses properly saddle broke AND trained by our deadline date, after all.”

“That’s wonderful!” Ben declared, favoring his two older sons with a broad grin. “Sounds like you boys have things well in hand.”

“Yep . . . knock on wood,” Hoss replied, punctuating his words with three soft knocks on the wood table.

Joe looked over and Stacy and sighed. “I dunno about YOU, Kid, but suddenly . . . I feel just about as USELESS around here, as . . . as a fifth wheel on a wagon.”

“I . . . know what you mean,” Stacy said. “Y’ know? I never thought I’d ever live to see the day I’d actually miss doing my daily chores.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Well! Will wonders never cease!” Ben declared with a smile and an impish gleam in his dark brown eyes. “I never thought I’d live to see the day I’d hear you two actually admit to missing your chores.”

“Uh oh,” Joe quipped, unable to quite hold back the smile threatening to burst forth on his lips. “Stacy, I gotta real strong feeling Pa’s never gonna let the two of us forget we ever said that.”

“Not until my dying day,” Ben said, with an evil chuckle.

“Well, all I gotta say is you young’ns better enjoy it while it lasts,” Hoss exhorted his younger brother and baby sister, “ ‘cause once the pair of ya are back up ‘n around, you’re gonna have chores aplenty waitin’ for ya.”

Both Joe and Stacy gave their big brother a rousing raspberry.

“On THAT note, Everyone, I’m going to bid all of you a fond good night,” Adam said wryly, as he rose to his feet.

“Already?” Ben asked.

“I want to get the preliminary drawings of the kitchen done, so Hop Sing can look ‘em over tomorrow,” Adam said.

“Alright, Son. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A soft knock on the door drew Adam from the task at hand. He lay aside his pencil and automatically glanced up at the regulator clock hanging on the wall directly above his head. He noted, with mild surprise that the time was a few minutes before midnight.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he murmured softly, under his breath, as he turned toward the door to his room, standing wide open. He was surprised to find Joe there, standing framed in the open portal, leaning heavily against the door jamb on his left.

“Joe?! Come on in,” Adam invited, then frowned. “I’m surprised you’re still up. You looked pretty done in when you stopped in to say goodnight a couple of hours ago.”

“I WAS,” Joe confessed, then sighed. “Yet . . . somehow . . . the minute my head touched the pillow, I was suddenly wide awake. I thought maybe I’d g’won down and see if I could talk Hop Sing into brewing up something to kinda help me off to dreamland. When I saw that YOUR light was on, so I thought I’d check in with ya . . . see what YOU were doing.”

“I’m just about finished with those preliminary kitchen sketches. This will give Hop Sing all day tomorrow to look ‘em over, and decide on whatever changes he might want to make.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure.”

Joe walked over and looked over Adam’s shoulder. “I see you’ve enlarged Hop Sing’s . . . . ” He frowned. “What did you call it yesterday?”

“His mud room,” Adam replied.

Joe smiled. “Does he need more space for herbs?”

“Yes, he does, but I’ve moved his herbs over here . . . . ” Adam moved the blunt end of his pencil around an area that would measure ten feet by ten feet when actually realized. It was set on the other side of the door, that would open out into the garden, directly facing the entrance into the mud room. “Hop Sing asked if I could put in a small fire place to help facilitate the drying process. That’s going to go in right here.” He lightly drew an ‘X’ to mark the blank spot where he intended to put the fireplace.

“Over here . . . ” Adam continued, as he marked in a series of four ‘X’s along the wall adjoining the main kitchen, “ . . . will be a nice, spacious work space, with plenty of storage. There’ll be overhead cabinets, but instead of cabinets under the counter here, I’m putting in drawers. Hop Sing very pointedly reminded me that he’s not getting any younger.”

“That’s gonna be quite a set up,” Joe mused with a thoughtful smile. “Did he tell you why he wanted the extra space in his mud room?”

“Yes. He wants to store his garden tools in there.”

Joe nodded. “Makes sense. That way, he can grab what he needs on his way out the door to work in his garden.” He fell silent for a few moments, watching as his oldest brother continued to work. “Adam?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“What’s that square over there?” Joe pointed to a blank square above and to the right of the main kitchen space, upon which Adam continued to work.

“That’s going to be the layout of Hop Sing’s new root and wine cellar,” Adam replied. “It’ll fit in under the kitchen here . . . in the middle.” He traced out the intended area overtop the kitchen. “The outside entrance will be here.” He showed his brother in relation to the main kitchen area. “I’m also putting in a set of stairs between the cellar and the mud room, so Hop Sing won’t have to go outside after dark or when the weather’s bad.”

Joe nodded visibly impressed. “Can’t wait to see it all finished,” he murmured softly, then smiled. “Don’t tell PA I said this,” he said, taking great pains to lower his voice, “but between us? It’s a real good thing you thought to enlarge Little Sister’s room.”

“Oh?” Adam queried, curious about Joe’s sudden secretiveness.

“I’ll put it THIS way, Older Brother. Give The Kid another couple o’ years . . . tops! You, me, and Hoss are going to have a brother-in-law.”

Adam’s left eyebrow lifted slightly, betraying his mild surprise. “Jason?” he queried, taking care to lower his own voice.

Joe nodded, his grin fading into his own look of surprise. “How’d YOU know?”

“That summer Teresa and I were here with the kids . . . he seemed pretty smitten with her, as I recall,” Adam said with a smile.

Joe shook his head, and laughed softly. “I still can’t believe Jason didn’t recognize Stacy that summer.”

“You said he’d been away for two years?”

Joe nodded, still chuckling over the memory of that whole incident. Jason O’Brien had returned home after attending Harvard University for two years, taking a two year hiatus from his studies in veterinary medicine to come home, and earn money enough to return to Boston and complete his education. When it became clear to his younger sister, Susannah, that he was very much smitten with the young woman he failed to recognize as her good friend, Stacy Cartwright, she had taken it upon herself to solemnly make introductions.

“Those particular two years can bring significant changes in a young woman’s appearance . . . especially when a young man’s not around to see them,” Adam said quietly. “Dio’s changed a lot, especially within this past year. So much, you’d probably be hard pressed to recognize HER.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Joe said with confidence. “Of course, in Dio’s case, I know to look for a young woman who bears a close resemblance to the way Teresa looked first time I met HER.”

Adam’s smile broadened. “That’s very true,” he agreed. “So tell me something. How’s PA taking the addition of Jason to our baby sister’s life?”

“Looking to get in some early pointers?” Joe teased, knowing that it wouldn’t be very long before his young niece started showing interest in those of the male persuasion. He chuckled at the dark glare Adam suddenly leveled in his direction. “Well . . . Pa DID tell me once that he was relieved when it became clear that Jason was the first guy Stacy was gonna fall head over heels in love with.”

“Relieved?!” Adam put down his pencil, then leaned back in his chair, with his arms folded across his chest.

“Yeah. The O’Briens have been friends and neighbors for many years . . . and we all know Jason’s a pretty decent young man,” Joe said, as he walked over and seated himself in the edge of Adam’s bed. “The fact that Jason hasn’t even so much as sneezed around Stacy, with out asking Pa’s permission first has helped.”

Adam chuckled softly and rolled his eyes. “Jason’s got more guts than I have. If I were in his place . . . having to face the prospect of asking Pa for permission to pay court to Little Sister?! I think I’D be looking at someone whose father WASN’T so overly protective.”

“I know exactly what you mean, Oldest Brother of Mine,” Joe laughed. “The Kid’s also allowed Pa to be overly protective regarding matters of the heart,” he added, as his initial mirth began to fade. “That’s helped matters, too . . . a lot!!”

“THAT’S quite a surprise! That baby sister of ours has a real strong independent spirit, not to mention a stubborn streak at least a yard wide and a mile long.”

“ONLY a yard wide and a mile long?!” Joe chuckled again. “If you think THAT, Adam, all I can say is you must’ve caught her on a real GOOD day.”

“Though I’m surprised, I think it’s very sweet of Stacy to let Pa be overly protective,” Adam said, as Joe’s chuckling gradually faded. “I only hope Dio grants ME the same courtesy when SHE falls in love for the first time.”

For a time the two brothers lapsed into a companionable silence. Adam returned to his drawings of the proposed kitchen for his family’s new ranch house, while Joe waxed thoughtful.

“Adam?”

“Yeah, Buddy?” Adam responded, reverting back to the name he had affectionately called his youngest brother from the time he was a young child clear up until the night he had left the Ponderosa to make his own way in the world.

“Alright if I ask you a question?” Joe ventured hesitantly, drawing a sharp, wary glance from his oldest brother.

Adam laid down his pencil once again, and returned his full attention to his youngest brother, still seated on the edge of his bed. “Sounds serious,” he observed.

“It IS serious.”

“What do you want to know?”

Joe took a deep breath. “I was wondering . . . about the time that guy, Kane held you prisoner . . . .?!”

“What about it?” Adam demanded in a voice suddenly gone stone cold.

“What did YOU do that whole time?” Joe asked. “How did you cope? Did you try to escape? Did you try somehow to beat him at his own game? Did he tell you things that weren’t true? Did he—?”

“Joe, that whole thing was over and done years ago,” Adam very pointedly, very succinctly cut off his youngest brother mid-sentence. “It was SO long ago, I don’t even remember that much about it.”

“Sorry, Adam, I . . . I didn’t mean to upset you,” Joe quickly apologized.

“I’m NOT upset,” Adam snapped back. “Surprised that you would even ask after all these years, yes . . . but not upset.”

“I . . . I just wanted to know,” Joe said, feeling suddenly, very much on the defensive, and completely bewildered by the dark, angry glare on his oldest brother’s face, giving blatant lie to his protestations about not being upset.

“It’s over and done,” Adam said curtly, as he again picked up his pencil.

“Ok, Adam,” Joe murmured softly, as he rose from his seat on the edge of his bed. “I’m . . . starting to get a bit drowsy, so . . . I guess I’ll mosey on to bed and let you finish up your drawing of the kitchen.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that very much,” Adam said in a voice that dripped icicles.

Joe involuntarily shivered. “Good night, Adam. Sorry I upset you.”

“I am NOT upset,” Adam snapped.

“I don’t get it,” Joe mused in uneasy silence, as he made his way down the darkened hallway, back toward the small room he had claimed as his own for the duration of their stay in town. “One minute we’re laughing . . . kinda joking around, and the next . . . . ” He involuntarily shuddered, as a vision Adam’s face, its handsome features marred by that terrible angry scowl rose and swam before his mind’s eye.

Just like Lady Chadwick.

Joe shuddered again.

As he stepped from the hallway into his own room, words, a quote, ironically from Adam’s beloved William Shakespeare, immediately came to mind . . . it was something about protesting too much. These were not so much words rising up in judgment against his brother, rather, they seemed to come as words of warning.

End of Part 1

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