Ben Cartwright slowly stretched and opened his eyes to the dark room. He lay still for several minutes, hearing the silence about him. As the room slowly took on the grey hues of dawn, he thought about the sounds he usually heard in the early morning. Adam’s steady footsteps would have passed his room and descended the stairs, pausing by the front door while he put on his hat and strapped on his gunbelt, before leaving for the barn to tend to the chores. Then, Hoss’s lumbering tread would sound from his room as he washed and dressed, followed by his heavy, echoing feet as they followed his older brother. Finally, Ben would emerge from his room, and almost always step into his youngest son’s room to shake him awake. Then, he would carefully descend the steps. Hop Sing always had a cup of coffee waiting for him. He would drink it as he strapped on his gun and put on his hat, and then leave to talk with the foreman about the tasks for the day.

Finally, he shoved back the blankets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He might as well begin the day. It was one he had dreaded for a long time, and it wasn’t going to be any easier for delay. He rubbed his eyes, then rose and started pulling on his trousers. As he washed up, he felt uncomfortably alert, and wished he could spend the day in bed. Something was wrong; something was missing....

Of course, his sons were missing. Adam had gone to San Francisco to supervise, with their banker’s help, the transactions in the mining interests near the Ponderosa. Hoss was heading up a cattle drive to Texas with some rough drovers, and Joe – well, Joe was supposed to be riding perimeter along the Humboldt River, checking for strays and possible cattle rustlers.
Ben sighed. Little Joe . . . The possibilities for trouble with that hot-headed youngster, even with the steadying hand of Brett, one of Ben’s long-time and most trusted hands, were endless. Joe was angry before he even left. He complained that he should have been allowed to go to San Francisco with Adam. Ben and Adam both rolled their eyes, realizing that Joe was only interested in the fast women and fancy entertainment offered in that spangled city, not in proving his astuteness as a businessman. Then, he preferred to take Hoss’s place on the cattle drive, not realizing that the business end of selling and buying superseded the thrill of traveling through the wild country. Hoss was proving himself trustworthy in the business end of the ranch, and Ben was pleased that his middle son’s confidence in selling and buying was growing. Far too often, Ben had worried that Hoss felt overshadowed by his more intelligent, astute, and articulate older brother in the business affairs of the Ponderosa, while he surely believed himself third-rate with the ladies in the social life of Virginia City in comparison with the youngest of the Cartwright clan. Ben was confident that Hoss would find his niche in life, and hopefully a special lady to share it with, soon.

After he shaved, Ben buttoned his shirt and tucked it in, fastened his belt, brushed his hair, and walked the familiar path down the hall, as he had done for so many years. As he descended the staircase, he thought for a fleeting moment of his three wives, the women who had made his present happiness and fulfillment possible, and tried to chase away the ache that threatened to overtake and stop his heart. Sometimes, his memories hurt so much that he wished his heart would stop, and he could join his wives in death. At moments such as that, he was grateful for the presence of his three sons, each a visible reminder of the love who had left him years before. Perhaps that was why part of him never really wanted Adam, or Hoss, or even Joe, though he was still young, to leave him and settle down with a woman. He needed them here. Not just to help run the Ponderosa; they could do that from a house several miles away. He needed them here, to keep him from remembering, and wanting to die from, the memories of his lost loves. Ben had lost three wives. How many times could a man love, and still recover? How long could he go on, pretending that he still could live? No, he needed Adam, Hoss, and Joe near him, so he didn’t have to think about the loss of the women he loved more than life. After all, each son was a gift; a visible, tangible remembrance of his mother.

As Ben turned from the staircase and entered the living room, the sun was shining through the window at the end of the house, by the dining room table. The entire room was illumined by a golden light, which he surely had seen before, but had seldom noticed or appreciated. He looked about him in wonder. The striped satin couch glowed in the early morning light, and dust motes swam over it. The golden wood of the coffee table absorbed the lustrous rays of the sun and emitted a resplendent glow, which Ben knew would be lost to more reserved tones as the day progressed, and the year moved inexorably toward Winter.

He went to the dining room table, and looked at the huge, empty wooden monolith with longing. It never seemed so big when it was surrounded by people. But even the presence of his sons couldn’t take up enough space, or fill the hole in his heart that had been left by each of their mothers. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he sat down, wishing in vain for a company of sons, friends, neighbors, and loved ones to fill the space at the table, in the house, and in his heart. His mind strayed to memories from about this table.

"Where is Joseph? Doesn’t he know I expect him to get himself up in the mornings? Why must I always fight to get him to do his fair share of work around here?"

"Now, Pa, calm down. Just calm down! I’ll go up and get him, and make sure he gets out to do that fence mendin’ with the rest of the hands you had in mind for the job."

Lost in his memories, Ben reached out for his coffee. His coffee! Where was it? Hop Sing always had it here, waiting for him. Often as not, he emerged from the kitchen as soon as Ben came down the stairs, and poured him a fresh cup. Ben always savoured that coffee.

Of course: Hop Sing wasn’t here. He had gone to San Francisco, before Adam had left, to visit his family. Ben and the boys managed on their own at first, but now that the boys were gone, well . . . Ben missed his coffee. He stood uncertainly, intending to go to the kitchen to make his own coffee and breakfast, when something from across the room caught his eye. On his desk was a package. He looked more closely, but couldn’t make it out because of the bright sunlight shining directly on it.

As he approached his den, he saw that the package was a bottle with a card under it. Piled on either side of it were packages wrapped in bright paper. He smiled as he picked up the bottle, and slipped the card from under it.
 

To Pa, on your birthday. We hope you have a good day, and know that we miss you very much.

With love,
Adam
Hoss
Joe

With a faraway smile, Ben picked up the bottle, opened it, and sniffed appreciatively. His sons certainly had good taste, and knew what he liked. Well, it was too early in the morning for brandy. He resealed the bottle reluctantly, and thought of the times that he had turned to drinking, or thought of going on a drunk, to drown his grief. Each time, it was the knowledge that his sons needed him that kept him going. How often had he pulled himself from the brink of despair; from the bleak prospect of the absence of love in his life, only to realize that he did have love, but of a different nature and need? Thank God for his sons. Had it not been for them, he might have needlessly thrown away his life in his grief. He looked at the presents, but decided to wait until after breakfast to open them.

As he entered the kitchen, he looked uncertainly around. This was Hop Sing’s domain, and he welcomed no trespassers – not even his employer. He saw the coffee pot on the stove, and found it filled with water, and the container with ground coffee next to it. He smiled. Doubtless, this was Hoss’s doing. His middle son’s heart was as big as the rest of him. Since he was never able to go without food, he would be certain to see to it that his father was taken care of on his birthday.
Ben opened the stove to add the wood, and found it was already done. He had only to open the drafts, start the fire, measure the coffee in, and heat the pot. Well, that would take a while. He might as well go open at least one present from his sons.

He returned to his desk, and sat down, looking at the presents. Which one should he open first? His hand went instinctively to the largest one, then stopped, as he chided himself for behaving like a child on Christmas, and greedily opening the biggest gift first. Then, he thought, "Why not? There’s no one here to see me!" He lifted the large, bulky gift from below the one on top of it, and began tearing away the bright paper.

Several layers of heavy paper lay below it. He carefully removed those, and found a basket wrapped in coarse paper, a sealed note, and a smaller, heavy package wrapped in cloths. Ben unwound the paper and found a basket full of rolls, sweet rolls, and sweetmeats, all carefully wrapped. He smiled as he searched through the treats, and looked at the note. To Pa, the large, careful lettering spelled, and he recognized Hoss’s writing. He broke the seal.
 

Dear Pa,

I know that this little package don’t seem like much, but I thought you might get hankerin for somethin sweet on your birthday, especially without Hop Sing there. I figger you can eat some of the rolls with your breakfast, and space the rest out through the day. You know we’ll be home in a few days, and we’ll have a proper celebration then. Meanwhile, I hope you like these rolls. I asked Mrs. Thomas to fix ‘em up special for you, seeing as how it was your birthday and all, and you’d be alone. She about had a fit, and wanted to bring’em out special, but I told her that you’d probly rather open your presents in peace and quiet.

The other little gift is something I found in Ma’s Bible. I know you told me once that you hardly ever looked at it after she died, and I thought you might like it. I asked Adam about it, and he said he thought you would. I know it ain’t Cristmas, but this picture reminds me of Ma, the way you told me she was.

Love,
Hoss

Ben removed the cloths from the heavier item, and saw the back of a picture frame. He slowly turned over the heavy, gilded frame and saw a painting of a little blonde girl with long, curly tresses flowing over her shoulders and about her face. On her head she wore a crown of candles; over one arm she carried a basket of fruit, while in the other hand, she carried a wooden flute with a sprig of holly tied about it.

For a moment, tears blinded Ben. He put the picture hastily on the desk before him so he wouldn’t drop it, and covered his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and when he looked about him, the sunlight nearly blinded him. He wiped his eyes, picked up the picture, and forced himself to look at it. This was the Christkindl, or St. Lucia, who visited good children on Christmas Eve. Inger, Hoss’s mother, had introduced him and Adam to that tradition. He had forgotten how Inger had put a crown of candles on her head and brought the gifts to him and young Adam, before Hoss had even been born. She had made sweetmeats and rolls as well. She had restored his joy in life, and been a mother to his motherless son, Adam. She had left them with the gift of her love, which Ben had thought could never be replaced after Elizabeth died. He looked again at the picture of the beautiful young girl. With the love Inger had brought into his life, and her giving spirit, she had seemed, on those Christmas mornings, to be St. Lucia herself. Surely the Christkindl could have taken on no fairer form. And the son she had left with Ben had the same spirit of love, kindness, and generosity.

The smell of coffee reached Ben. He carefully rewrapped the picture in the cloths, and carried the rolls and sweetmeats to the dining room table. In the kitchen, he removed the coffeepot from the stove, nearly burning his fingers. The memory of Inger bringing gifts stopped the curse as it came to his lips. He found some eggs that Hop Sing had left in the springhouse, and several minutes later sat down at the dining room table with a breakfast of eggs, rolls, sweetrolls, and coffee.

The sun had risen above the large window, and filled the room with a vibrant glow. As Ben finished his breakfast, he thought how different it appeared now that he was alone. The light itself spoke of chores to be done; tasks to accomplish, and errands to run. It beckoned him outside as surely as if his foreman had knocked on the door and requested his presence.
He left the dishes on the table from habit, strapped on his gun, put on his hat, and left the house. He resisted the pull of the remaining gifts, and shut the door behind him. There would be time for more reminiscing after his work was done.

No one was in the yard, and Ben chided himself for not doing the chores before he ate. He went into the barn, and found all the stock cared for. Stalls had been mucked out, and mangers were filled. He had always insisted that his sons care for their horses and do those morning chores before breakfast, instead of leaving it to the hands. They must have asked one of the hands to do it for them while they were gone.

Ben mounted Buck, and went to join the hands who were digging new fence posts and stringing new wire. As he approached, he could hear them shouting, laughing, and singing snatches of songs. He heard the echoing thud of an axe as it cut off an extra length of wood, the occasional neigh of a horse, and suddenly, a loud crash, followed by a burst of laughter. Raising his eyebrows, Ben rode over a hill to see a load of fence posts piled on the ground below a wagon, which had tilted back and spilled its load. Rising sheepishly from the ground was a hand whom Ben recognized as Curly.

"Uh-oh, Curly, you did that just in time for the boss to see!" shouted someone. Everyone turned to see Ben approaching, and laughed again.
 

Shorty, the foreman, rode to Ben. "Mornin’ , Mr. Cartwright," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"I came to help," replied Ben, with some surprise. His eyes strayed toward Curly, and the fenceposts next to him. "Guess I know where to begin."

As he rode toward the wagon, Shorty hastened to ride beside him. "No need for you to do that, Mr. Cartwright," he said; "no need at all. Curly wasn’t watchin’ what he was doin’, bumped into the wagon, and spilled ever’thing all over. He and a couple of the others can pick it up."

Ben reined Buck toward the fenceline. "Well, then, I’ll help dig the post holes, then."

"Oh, there’s no need for that, either, Mr. Cartwright," sputtered Shorty. "We’ve got everything under control here."

Ben looked pointedly at the scattered poles and the laughing, joking men.

"Well, we did, until Curly turned around," Shorty hastened to add.

As Ben continued to the place where holes were being dug, Shorty followed him. "Mr. Cartwright, why don’t you just go on back to the house and relax today? There’s no—"

Ben turned toward him with eyebrows lowered and dark eyes smoldering. "Are you implying that I’m too old and feeble to do my share of work around here?" he thundered.

"Why no, sir, not at all, sir! It’s just – well . . . Mr. Adam spoke to me yesterday, and he told me that since today’s you’re birthday, he didn’t want to see you doin’ anything. That’s all, sir."

Ben glared at him. "I appreciate your and Adam’s wishes, but if I don’t work, I’ll go crazy in that house!"

"Well, then, sir, why don’t you take a ride? Go into town, have some fun. Or go off someplace you’ve been wantin’ to go, and haven’t been able to for a while? I’m just trying to follow Mr. Adam’s ord— er, uh, do as he suggested, sir."

Ben bit back a retort that Adam didn’t give the orders; he did. But Adam had only been thinking of him when he asked the foreman not to let him work on this day. He thought of the crystal waters of Lake Tahoe, and the remaining gifts on his desk. It was a warm, sunny day, with a pleasant breeze that carried the sharp scent of the pine trees and the fresh scent of the mountains beyond. Yes, a ride certainly sounded good. "Very well, Shorty. I guess I’ll respect my son’s ‘wishes,’ and go have ‘fun’." He smiled slightly as he turned his horse. "But tomorrow, I do the chores, and help with any other work. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," replied Shorty.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, then," replied Ben, and rode back to the house.

Shorty sighed with relief, and wondered if Adam had known how difficult his father would be when asked not to work. He had the feeling that Adam knew quite well.

As Ben entered the door, the house felt cool and pleasant. The dining room was a little darker, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. He frowned when he saw the dishes on the table; then laughed. He was too accustomed to Hop Sing. He carried the dishes into the kitchen, where he left them in the sink. Then he got a sack from a cupboard, and began searching through the kitchen for some food to take on his excursion. A nice ride through the woodland to Lake Tahoe sounded perfect for a day like today. He packed some food for lunch and dinner, filled his canteen, and went back to the living room.

He put the sack of food on the table, and walked slowly to his desk. Should he open the other gifts now, take them along, or wait until he arrived home. He picked up a large box, wrapped in blue paper neatly folded about it, with strong, flowing script written across it. The other was more clumsily wrapped, with a messy scrawl across it. Ben smiled. The larger one was most certainly from Adam: The neat wrapping job attested to that, even if he hadn’t recognized his oldest son’s handwriting.  He sat at his desk and carefully pulled away the paper from the neatly wrapped package, and slowly removed the lid. Nestled into the box, with cloths and paper carefully placed about it so it could not move, as the replica of a ship.

Ben held his breath as he cautiously removed it from the box, then gave a gasp of amazement when he saw the magnificent piece of work before him. It was exquisitely crafted; an exact model of the Wanderer. Polished wood formed the hull, deck, and masts; the sails were sewn from bits of canvas, and tiny ropes of twine formed the rigging. The anchor was made of pewter, as was the stand that the craft rested in.

Ben was glad for the first time that day that his sons were not home. He was speechless, and knew he could never have thanked Adam properly had his son been there. For the next several minutes, Ben feasted his eyes on the delicate work of art before him. He had no doubt that Adam had ordered this made specially for him, and had probably made several requests in its construction. He wondered who had crafted it, and where, and how Adam had ever gotten it home.

The silence hung heavily in the house as Ben looked about. From the looks of the light, it was past noon. If he wanted to get to Lake Tahoe, spend some time riding about, and return home before dark, he should leave. He carefully moved the model ship to the center of his desk.

As he stood, a piece of paper on the floor caught his eye. It was folded and sealed, and had the same flowing script on it as the package he had just opened. He broke the seal. A small square of paper fell out into his lap. He laid it on the desk, and proceeded to read the note.
 

Dear Pa,

I wish I could be here on your birthday. None of us wanted to leave you alone on your special day, but we all agreed that you shouldn’t have to wait for us to return to open your gifts. When we get back, we’ll have Hop Sing fix a birthday dinner and have a real celebration!

I know you’ll like the ship. I looked around for just the right person to make it, and I thought he did a wonderful job. It reminds me of Grandfather, and brings to mind the stories he told me during my college days, and the stories you told me about him and my mother when I was young.

While I stayed at Grandfather’s when I was in the East, I found my mother’s book of Paradise Lost. Pressed between the pages was a lock of hair, which I assume was hers. I never asked Grandfather about it. He was always very sad whenever we spoke of her. I thought you might like to have it, in her memory.

I‘ll see you soon.

Fondly,
Adam

Ben slowly laid the letter down, and picked up the square of paper on his desk. With trembling hands, he unfolded it. A soft curl of fine black hair slid into his hand. Yes, this was his first wife’s hair. The raven-headed Elizabeth, his beautiful love. He wept for the second time that day, then looked at the marvelous gift given to him by his eldest son, and realized that Elizabeth had bequeathed to their son not only black hair, but also his beautiful, changeable eyes, intelligence, sensitivity, and creativity. He carefully tucked the lock of hair in his desk, and thanked God for his first wife.

The sun had passed its zenith by the time Ben finally got underway to the lake. He felt a sense of freedom that he hadn’t known in years. For the first time, there were no contracts, no pressing cattlemen’s association matters to deal with, and no stray cattle he had to dig out of holes. He could spend the entire afternoon and much of the evening relaxing and doing as he pleased. He thought with anticipation of Joe’s gift in his saddlebag, and decided to wait until he had eaten to open it.

He rode Buck at his leisure under trees, their shimmering green leaves resplendent in the golden westering sun, and entered a stand of pines. It was always darker, more solemn, and almost silent under them. He was grateful for the scurrying of animals in the undergrowth, and the startled cry and flurry of a bird as it flew away. He’d had enough of silence today, and was sure he would have his fill of it well before Hop Sing returned in a few day’s time.

When Ben rode to the overlook by Lake Tahoe, the azure water shone brilliantly below him, imbued with the brilliance of the afternoon sun, and surrounded by trees mounting the mountain slopes about it. He breathed deeply, and let the solitude sink deep within his soul. How often in the past had he come here to escape the sadness that dwelt deep within him? Each time, he had come away feeling refreshed, but he wondered if even such beauty as this had a limit in renewing such a troubled soul as his.

As his mind cleared and his spirit calmed, he rode slowly along the path at the top of the bluff. There was a nice grove in the pines ahead where he would stop to eat a late lunch. Then, he could go to Marie’s grave, and open his youngest son’s gift.
The clearing where he stopped was surrounded by tall, dark Ponderosa pines, and had a rocky pinnacle overlooking the lake. Ben leaned against the wide girth of a pine tree, pulled his food sack from his saddlebag, and ate his lunch. The sun sank to the top of the pines at the west of the lake, and he remembered his present from Joe.
Reluctantly, he mounted his horse and rode a short distance ahead to Marie’s resting place. He pulled the package from his saddlebag, and smiled as he again saw the hurried, clumsy wrapping, and the scrawl attesting his son’s handiwork. He sat by the tombstone, and deciphered the inscription on the gift:

To Pa
Love, Joe

Ben saw a roughly folded piece of paper within the wrapping, and opened it.
 

Dear Pa,

This horse reminds me of Mama: her independence, her free spirit, and her determination to conquer all who set themselves against her – or you. She was a beautiful lady, and this horse reminds me of her.

Mama made lots of things for us while she was here. I never made anything for her. But I believe she would like this horse. It reminds me of her: free, a little wild, and carefree. Even though Mama died, I’m glad she was the way she was.

I don’t know if I’ve done a very good job of carving this horse, but I think she would like it. I also don’t know if I’ve done very well in school, or doing my chores, or being your son, but I know Mama would love me anyway.

I just want to say I love you, Pa, and I want you to be proud of me.

I’ll work hard all my life to make you and Adam and Hoss proud of me.

I love you,

Joseph, your youngest son

Ben closed his eyes, determined that tears would not again overtake him. But despite his will, he felt the dampness on his cheeks, and cursed his weakness. Wild and free: yes, that described Marie. It also described her son. He looked at the gift again, and choked and shuddered over the resemblance of the independent spirit of the horse to his youngest son. No wonder he had so much trouble with Joe, curbing his impulses, reining in his exuberance, and channeling his energy. Joe was his mother’s son in every way. Each of his boys was so different from the other; yet each had his own indescribable and unmatchable gift.

"Oh, Marie," thought Ben, "I can’t do it. I can’t! I can’t raise our son by myself! He runs in all directions! Neither I nor both of my other sons combined can keep his fires banked. He is every inch your son: He has your passion, your exuberance, your fire and loyalty, and your impulsive nature. If I don’t watch closely, he’ll destroy himself! How can I help him to be the best he can be? How can I raise him right without you? He won’t go in the right direction; he runs after everything, good and bad, for all the right reasons!" Ben sobbed for several moments, and finally choked out, "Oh, God, help me! Help me with my son! All of my sons!" He buried his face in his hands and cried long and hard.

When he raised his head several minutes later, the sun had gone behind the mountains on the western side of the lake. He looked at the red-gold halo surrounding the trees, and the even deeper azure of the lake, and realized he must go home. But he couldn’t move. Exhaustion had paralyzed him, and he leaned back against a nearby tree and closed his eyes. Gradually, slowly, tranquility replaced his weariness. He opened his eyes, and saw the sunset turning Lake Tahoe to various hues of gold, red, deep blue, and purple. The pine trees stood starkly against the grandeur of the western sky.

The last light of sunset illumined Marie’s tombstone. "Marie Cartwright, I will always remember you," swore Ben. He looked at the fading light on the lake below him, and recalled Elizabeth’s enthusiasm about his dream for a life for them out West. His eyes lifted to the trees, and he heard Inger’s voice, pushing him toward his dream. He looked once more at the tombstone before him, and saw Marie as she cared for his older sons and guided Joseph.

Ben raised his glistening eyes to the last rays of the setting sun. "Father, thank you for my sons. Thank you for my wives, the loves of my life." His breath caught, and he stifled a sob. "You have always pointed the way ever so faithfully, and I trust you to do so now. Help me to lead all of my sons, especially Joseph, in the way they should go. I love them, Father. Let me be able to show them that I love them, each of them, for who and what they are. I feel so alone sometimes. Strengthen me, and them, and guide all of us in the right way."

Ben again shut his eyes, and was surprised when waves of strength slowly flowed over him. When he opened his eyes, the land about him was dark, and the lake and the western sky held only a hint of the grandeur he had just witnessed. But he mounted Buck, and rode the darkened path through the pines, under the aspens, and through the open country to the Ponderosa. The stars that emerged from the eastern sky lit the well-trodden road to his home.

His home. His sons’ home. Marie’s home. Everyone’s home. This home he had was built not only with the sweat of his brow, and with the help of his sons, but also with each of his wives. Their dreams, their encouragement, their love, and their sons, had made it possible.

He saw a light in the window as he approached the house, and wondered who was there. When he dismounted, Shorty emerged from the bunkhouse, and insisted on putting up Buck. Ben went into the house, and found the fire lit, a lamp lighting the room, and a place set for him on the table. As he looked on in wonder, Hop Sing emerged from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, Mr. Cartwright!" he exclaimed. "You wash up, and I bring dinner! You late! I think you not coming!"

Ben stared at him in consternation. "I – I didn’t know you were coming back today, Hop Sing! What a surprise!"

Hop Sing laughed. "You really surprised! Of course I come back today! Today is special day – Mr. Cartwright’s birthday! Mr. Adam, and Hoss and Joe, they ask me to try to come back today! I have good dinner fixed! You wash up, and eat!"

Ben unbuckled his gunbelt, and left it and his hat on the credenza. As he approached the table, Hop Sing furiously gestured toward the washbasin. "No, no!! You wash up first! Then, you eat!"

Ben smiled as he complied. Everything was almost back to normal. Once his sons returned home, he would forget what it felt like to be alone. He dried his hands on a towel, and sat at the table, anticipating what smelled like fried chicken and potatoes. What a shame the boys weren’t here to share it. But they would be back, and then, they could celebrate together.

Yes, they would be back. They would always be back. And together, they would continue the love, laughter, and spirit of the Ponderosa. As he hungrily tucked into his birthday meal, he realized that with the legacy of his three beloved wives, and the indomitable spirit of his sons, he could never be alone again.