Ben Cartwright frowned at the face of the grandfather’s clock beside the front door of the ranch house.  “Where can she be?” he muttered.

    Adam, sitting in his favorite blue chair, looked up from his book.  “Pa, you know where she is—at a quilting bee at Katerina’s.”

    Ben swept his hand toward the clock.  “At this hour?  She knows what time supper is served, young man!”

    A light sparkled in Adam’s dark eyes.  “Young man”—even if the words were said in anger, they were sweet to his ears, for it was the first time in nearly three weeks that his father had called him anything but boy.  Besides, the anger wasn’t directed against him this time.  “You know what hen parties are like,” Adam offered conciliatorily.  “She’s just lost track of the time.  I’m sure she’ll be home in time for supper, Pa.”

    As if on cue, Hop Sing appeared in the dining room.  “Where Missy Cahtlight?” he demanded.  “Hop Sing no like keep food warm too long.  All dly up, not good—you unnastand?”

    “Yes, I understand!” Ben snapped.  He threw open the door and stormed outside, casting a concerned glance at the deepening shadows of twilight.  Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he paced toward the porch.  Adam was right, of course: get a gaggle of women together and it was hard to break them apart.  Laura and Nelly would have long rides home, too, but, being older, had probably exercised more sense than Marie and left earlier.  No doubt she was helping Katerina clear up, maybe even helping to get supper started.  Then, knowing his wife, she’d ride that fidgety roan too fast to make up for lost time when it dawned on her how late it was.

    Ben’s assessment of the situation was all too accurate.  Marie had stayed behind, not only to help clear up, but to console Katerina, who had that morning been presented yet again with evidence that she was not with child, a disappointment she’d faced every month of her married life and one which was becoming increasingly distressful to the young woman.  Then, when Marie had finally started toward the Ponderosa, she’d been lost in her own thoughts, wondering whether it wasn’t time to consider having another child of her own.  Dr. Martin, of course, thought she shouldn’t, after the difficult time she’d had with Little Joe’s birth, and Ben, not wanting to take chances with the love of his life, had adamantly insisted that they limit their intimate encounters to safe times of the month.  But Little Joe was no longer a baby, and Marie’s arms had begun to long for the feel of an infant.  She wanted to fill the Ponderosa with strong sons and daughters for Ben—and for herself, she admitted with a laugh.  She felt healthy, and even if carrying a another child was a risk, it was one she was prepared to take, for the joy of once again cradling a baby.  Now, if only she could persuade Ben.

    Marie suddenly became aware of the sinking sun and the lateness of the hour.  Ben would be worrying, and that was no frame of mind for him to be in when she approached him about having another child.  She needed to hurry.  Touching her heels to the roan’s flanks, she urged him into a gallop.  She’d have to slow down once she reached the foothills, of course, but here on the flat of Washoe Valley, she could make up some lost time.

    Throwing her head back, Marie felt the wind on her face and let it whip at her uncovered head.  As a couple of hairpins came loose, golden tendrils trailed down her neck, and when she slowed to ascend the foothills toward home, she reached up to pull the other pins out and let her hair cascade over her shoulders in unfettered freedom.  With a shake of her luxurious mane, Marie laughed.  Ben liked her with her hair down, and perhaps giving him a vision of what might await him in bed tonight was the best way to begin her campaign to have another child—as well as to soothe his irritation over her late arrival.

    The road straightened out on the final approach, and Marie grabbed that last opportunity to hasten her arrival by signaling a faster gait to the gelding.  A full-out gallop wasn’t safe here, as Ben had often told her, but the horse was flying almost that fast as the eager woman entered the yard, thinking only of how soon she would be in her husband’s arms, promising him a night of love to rival the one beneath the stars at Washoe Lake five nights before.

    Ben was at the far end of the porch, still pacing, when he heard the thunder of hooves, and thunder glowered on his brow as he turned to rebuke his wife for her heedless speed.  The vixen—she’d never ride that fast if she thought her precious baby boy might still be outside, but at this hour she knows he’s safe indoors and thinks she can do as she pleases!  As Ben strode angrily down the porch, though, his heart halted in mid-beat as the horse stumbled, neighing wildly, and his wife’s delicate frame soared skyward and came crashing to earth.  “Marie!” he screamed, running toward her motionless body.

    He gathered her into his arms, calling her name frantically, and caught his breath in relief as her emerald eyes fluttered open.

    “Ben?” she whispered.  Her eyelids closed, and her head fell to one side.

    “Marie?”  Ben tapped her cheek several times.  There was no response.  “Marie!”

    Inside, Adam’s gaze jerked up from his book.  Though absorbed in the story, he’d been vaguely aware of the sound of hooves coming into the yard, but hadn’t paid much attention until a sharper sound struck his ear.  Was it a scream?  He listened for a minute, and then heard it again, recognizing his father’s voice this time, loud and frantic.  Adam slammed the book shut, tossed it onto the table before him and ran to the door.  He opened it and froze, unable to move and unable to speak, able only to stare at the shocking tableau before him.  Marie lay in his father’s arms, not only motionless, but with her head held at such an awkward angle that Adam knew instantly that her neck was broken.

    As Ben clasped her lifeless body to his breast, stroking her cheek, whispering her name, Adam started forward, but stopped when he heard his little brothers clattering down the stairs.  Not wanting them to see what lay beyond the door, he closed it quickly and turned around.

    “Was that Mama’s horse I heard?” Hoss asked, jumping the final two steps to the landing.  “We gonna eat now?”

    Adam rushed to the stairs and blocked the way.  “Yes, that was her horse,” he said, “but it’ll be awhile ‘til we eat.  Go back upstairs and wait ‘til you’re called.”

    “But I’m half starved, Adam,” Hoss complained.  “How come we gotta wait if Mama’s home?”

    Little Joe pushed past Hoss and tried to squeeze by Adam.  “I wanna see Mama,” he declared dictatorially when Adam caught him and held him back.

    “Later, baby,” Adam said.  Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, he added, “Pa and—and Mama need some time alone.”  Mama, his heart cried.  Why, oh why, didn’t I call you that while you were alive to hear it?  How could I let you go without once hearing the word you wanted most from me?

    This was no time for self-reproach, however.  These two little innocents had to be kept back ‘til Pa had time to gather himself together and tell them what had happened.  “Hoss, take Little Joe upstairs and play quietly ‘til you’re called.”

    “I want my Mama!” a fiery-faced Little Joe demanded, trying once more to push past Adam.

    “Do as you’re told,” Adam said sharply, turning the child around and pushing him toward Hoss.  He hated himself immediately for the harsh tone, but he didn’t know what else to say.  The truth couldn’t be told, not yet, and that left him with nothing stronger to fall back on than a big brother’s authority.

    Hoss was staring at him, clearly sensing that something was wrong and that he was being kept in the dark deliberately.

    Seeing the apprehension in the boy’s blue eyes, usually so calm and peaceful, Adam made himself speak softly.  “Look, Hoss, I’ll explain later, but it’s important that you both stay upstairs for now.”  He tilted his head toward Little Joe, while his eyes remained locked with those of his middle brother.  “I need your help, boy.  Take care of the little one, okay?”

    Chin quivering, Hoss nodded and took Little Joe’s hand.  “Come on, punkin.  Supper ain’t ready yet.”

    “Don’t want supper,” Little Joe whined, pulling his hand away.  “I want Mama, Hoss.  She’s been gone all day!”  He turned back to his oldest brother and planted both hands on his small hips.  “She wants to see me, too, Adam; she does, and you’re mean!”

    Though his heart ached for the child, Adam forced firmness into his voice.  “Do you know what happens to little boys that don’t mind?” he asked with his hands on the narrow shoulders.

    Little Joe’s eyes grew wide.  “They get nes’ry little talks,” he mumbled.

    “That’s right,” Adam said solemnly, resisting the urge to pull the boy into his arms and squeeze him tight.  For now, it was best that Little Joe continue to see him as the mean big brother, so mean that he must be obeyed.  “They get necessary little talks, right on the seat of their pants, so if you don’t want a little talk like that, you’d better go with Hoss and not give me any more backtalk.”  Oh, God, don’t let him call me on this; I couldn’t do it right now; I just couldn’t, but he’s got to mind.

    Having twice this summer been on the receiving end of a paddling from Adam, Little Joe puckered up in a pout, but he flounced around and grabbed Hoss’s hand and let himself be led upstairs.

    Adam exhaled slowly, but the sense of relief didn’t last long.  His father needed him.  Squaring his shoulders, he walked to the door, lifted the latch and swung the door back.  Slipping through, he closed it carefully and stepped into the yard.  To his right, he saw a few of the hands standing outside the bunkhouse, just looking—staring, really—paralyzed by shock as Adam had been when he first opened the door.

    He walked tentatively toward his father, who was still rocking back and forth with Marie cradled next to his heart.  “Pa?” Adam asked softly.  There was no response.  “Pa?” he whispered again.  “Maybe we should take her inside.”

    “Yes,” Ben murmured, but he didn’t move, just kept rocking and stroking her long golden hair, loose on her shoulders.

    Hop Sing appeared in the open doorway to the kitchen.  Seeing Adam, he scurried over, and Adam rose to meet him.  “Hop Sing see something wrong, set food off fire,” the cook told him in hushed tones.  “Missy hurt bad, you think, Mr. Adam?”

    Tears stung Adam’s eyes, but he blinked them back.  “She’s dead, Hop Sing.”

    Hop Sing nodded, as if the words only confirmed what he had suspected.  He buried his face in his stained apron and began to keen in Cantonese, his body swaying in rhythm with the words.

    Adam looked from the cook to his father, both of them so lost in grief that they apparently would be of no help whatsoever in doing what needed to be done.  He glanced toward the bunkhouse.  “I could use some help here,” he called, his voice raspy.

    Hank Carlton, the man who had driven the freight wagon to Virginia City on the Fourth of July, came forward to lay a supporting hand on the young man’s shoulder.  “Just tell us what needs doing, son.”  The other men moved up behind him, also ready to do whatever was asked of them.

    “We need to move her inside—the downstairs bedroom would be best, I think,” Adam said.  He stepped quickly to his father’s side and squatted down beside him.  “Pa,” he said gently.  “We’re going to take her inside now, okay?”

    “Yes,” Ben murmured, staring off into the darkness.

    Carlton moved in front of his employer and slid his arms under Marie.  “Let me take her, sir,” he requested respectfully.

    “Yes,” Ben said, but his arms still held her against his body.

    “Pa, please,” Adam implored.  “You have to let go.  Please, Pa.”

    Ben turned toward the sound of his son’s voice, but his eyes were as vacant as before.  “What?  Oh.  Oh . . . yes; yes, son.”  His arms relaxed, and Carlton, with the help of two other men, was able to take Marie from him.  Adam helped his father to his feet and led him into the front room.  Settling him in the chair closest to the fireplace, the young man hurried across the room to open the bedroom door and show the men where to place the body of his stepmother.

    “We’re real sorry about this, son,” Carlton said.

    “Real sorry,” another hand choked out.  The other man didn’t say anything at all, but all three faces were etched with grief.  Marie had been well loved and respected by the men, and all of them knew what a blow her passing was to the Cartwright family.  They walked out silently, none speaking to Ben, each sensing that their employer was too overcome to even hear them.

    As the last of them filed out of the room, Hop Sing, having recovered enough to realize his assistance was needed, entered with a basin of water.  “You go to father,” he told Adam.  “I see to Missy.”

    Unable to speak, Adam nodded, his hand resting briefly in silent gratitude on the shoulder of the young Chinese cook before moving past him.  As he entered the great room, he saw his father, slumped over, his face buried in his hands, and Adam’s mind flashed back to that afternoon on the trail when he’d last seen his father this broken.  Why? his heart screamed. Why do we have to go through this again?  Twice wasn’t enough?  Couldn’t just one of us have an unbroken childhood?  The thought brought his younger brothers back to mind, and he glanced toward the stairs before moving toward his father.

    “Pa, I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he sat down on one end of the fireside table, facing his father.  “I don’t know what to say.”

    Ben didn’t move, didn’t speak, and Adam again found his mind rushing back to the trail, to the dreadful, silent days following Inger’s death, when it seemed almost as if his father, too, were no longer alive.  “Pa,” he said softly, “what shall we do about Hoss and Little Joe?  They heard the horse ride up.  I—I kept them back, but they won’t keep much longer.”

    Ben didn’t move, didn’t speak, and in his frustration Adam grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him.  “Pa!  They have to be told.”

    Ben looked up, face blank, eyes lifeless.  “All right.  Tell them.”

    Alarm flashed in Adam’s ebony eyes.  “Me?  Pa, I can’t!  You’re their father, not me.  They need to hear it from you.”

    Ben stared at him.  “I . . . can’t.  Not . . . yet.”

    Adam’s mouth set in a grim line.  “We don’t have the luxury of time here, Pa. Hoss already senses that something’s wrong.  Little Joe knows his mother’s come home, and he wants her, and . . .”

    “I want her, too,” Ben moaned, burying his face in his hands again, shoulders shaking.

    “Pa, please,” Adam pleaded.  “Don’t leave this to me.”  He leaned forward, putting his hand behind his father’s neck with a tender touch.  “Wouldn’t it be easier, coming from you?” he asked gently.

    “Nothing makes it easier,” Ben groaned, and his face fell to his knees this time.

    Adam stood up.  Eyes fixed on his father’s folded body, he backed, step by step, toward the stairs, as if praying for a reprieve.  When he felt the square newel post against his spine, he bit his lower lip and turned to climb up, every few steps casting a mute plea over his shoulder at the still form of his father.

    Reaching the second floor, Adam moved toward his own room first, longing to escape inside, at least long enough to get his own emotions under control and figure out what to say to those little boys across the hall.  Ought to just hide out in there, he fumed inwardly, ‘til Pa has no choice but to do the job himself.  He should; it’s his job, not mine!  Adam reached for the doorknob and started to turn it.  Then, slowly, he drew his hand back.  It wouldn’t work.  You couldn’t force a man past his grief on your schedule; he had to follow his own.

    A man.  That’s how he’d wanted Pa to see him, and he’d never get a better chance to prove himself than in this awful moment.  Adam closed his eyes as another painful realization washed over him.  It didn’t matter now whether Pa saw him as a man or a little boy.  Yale was lost to him, lost to the greater needs of those he loved, but what was the loss of a dream, compared to what those two little ones had just lost, what they’d all lost? Oh, Marie . . . mon ami . . . Mama!  He leaned his head against the door to his room.  His hand again reached for the doorknob. Five minutes.  I deserve that much time for my own grief.

    Then he shook his head, knowing he couldn’t risk having either of his brothers come out of Hoss’s room, slip past him and come upon Pa the way he was now.  So, instead of retreating to the sanctity and solitude of his room, Adam stood in the hallway, back against the wall, staring at the door he must soon enter, searching for words that just wouldn’t come.  Oh, God, help me , he implored.  Give me the words.  Show me how to help them.

    Adam stood there until he felt a measure of calmness descend, and he moved across the hall, trusting that when he needed the words, they’d come to him.  He knocked softly on Hoss’s door, turned the knob and walked in.  His heart leaped into his throat as he caught sight of Little Joe, riding astraddle Hoss as the bigger boy “galloped” around the room, the bittersweet scene recalling all too vividly that the child’s mother had just fallen from a horse.

    “I’m a Pony rider, Adam,” Little Joe chirped.

    “Are you?” Adam asked.  “Give me my mail then.”  He lifted the boy from Hoss’s back and sat down on the bed, holding Little Joe in his lap.  As the young Pony Express rider handed his oldest brother a pretend letter to read, Hoss sat on the rug to catch his breath.

    “Time to eat now, Adam?” Little Joe asked.  “I’m a little hungry now.”

    “Soon, baby,” Adam murmured, stroking the gold-brown curls, only slighter darker than those of his mother.

    “I’m not a baby!” Little Joe declared indignantly.

    “That’s right.  Brother keeps forgetting, doesn’t he?”  Adam licked his lips.  “You’re getting to be a big boy now, aren’t you, Little Joe?  Big enough to understand some hard things, maybe?”

    Little Joe cocked his head and gazed up at his brother’s face, wondering why Adam looked so serious.  “Hard things?  Like school, you mean?”  His face brightened.  “I wanna go to school like Hoss and you, I do, Adam.  He don’t like it, but you do and so maybe I will.  You think I will?”

    “I hope so,” Adam said gently, “but that’s not what I meant.  I meant like—like what you hear in church sometimes.  Do you know about heaven, Little Joe?”

    “Uh-huh.  Mama told me.”  Little Joe squirmed a bit, ready to get down, but Adam wouldn’t let go.

    “What did she tell you?” Adam probed.

    “Ain’t we never gonna eat?” Hoss asked grumpily, getting to his feet.

    Eyes filled with compassion, Adam looked up at him.  “Soon, Hoss, but this is important.”  He looked down again at the child in his lap.  “What did Mama tell you about heaven, Little Joe?”

    “It’s a beautiful place,” the child recited, “but just for good people.  I gotta be very good if I wanna live there someday, but I think I like the Ponderosa better, anyway, and I don’t gotta be good all the time to live here.”

    At any other time Adam would have smiled at the childish logic and agreed that the Ponderosa was a little bit of heaven, but his mind, just now, was weighed down with the daunting task before him.  “Your mama’s a very good person,” he pressed on.  “You know that, don’t you?”

    “Uh-huh.”

    Adam sent a pleading glance toward the open doorway, willing his father to walk through it, but the doorway remained empty.  “So you know she’ll go to heaven, right?”

    Little Joe’s nose wrinkled in puzzlement.  “Someday.”

    “Yeah, someday,” Hoss put in quickly, a tremble in his voice.

    Adam looked directly into the alpine eyes and saw that Hoss had begun to suspect where this was leading and wanted to forestall the news he feared.  “Not just someday,” Adam said softly, eyes fixed on Hoss.  “Today.”

    Hoss started backing toward the far corner, hands pressed tight to his ears, but Little Joe just laughed.  “No, Adam, Mama go see Aunt Kat today.  Aunt Kat not live in heaven; she live in our old cabin.”

    Adam wrapped both arms around the baby, wondering how he could possibly make a child this young understand.  “Yes, she went to see Katerina—but then she had to go to heaven.”

    “No!” Hoss screamed as he collapsed in the corner, his head dropping between his knees.

    Torn between the needs of his two brothers, Adam didn’t know what to do.  He instinctively reached toward Hoss, and Little Joe took advantage of his older brother’s distraction to slip off his lap.  Scurrying over to the corner, he began to pat Hoss’s head.  “What’s-a matter, Hoss?  Your head hurt?”

    Hoss stared at his little brother.  “Don’t you know nothin’, you stupid baby?”  Then, with an anguished cry, he grabbed Little Joe and pulled him into his lap, hugging him tight.

    Adam followed his brothers into the corner and, squatting down, began to rub his hand across Hoss’s heaving shoulders.

    “What’s-a matter, Adam?” Little Joe asked, looking worried.  “What’s-a matter wif Hoss?”

    Still stroking Hoss with one hand, Adam drew his youngest brother close with the other.  “Little Joe, I know it’s hard for you to understand, but when your mama came home today, she had an accident and fell off her horse.  She was hurt very badly, baby, and God thought He could take better care of her in heaven.”

    Little Joe frowned, forehead creasing.  “Better than Doc Martin?”

    “Yes, much better.”

    “Then she be back, when God gets her all fixed up, huh, Adam?”  The little head bobbed up and down hopefully, although the child was beginning to look worried.

    Adam shook his head, choking down a sob before he answered.  “No, baby.  When people go to heaven, they have to stay and live there.”

    “No!” Little Joe shrieked, and before Adam could catch him, he broke free and ran for the doorway.

    “Joe, come back!” Adam called, scrambling to his feet.  He paused long enough to check on Hoss, who hugged his bent knees close to his chest and laid his head down on them.  Adam wanted to gather the sobbing boy into his arms, but there wasn’t time, not now.   Time only for a single, soothing touch, and then Adam, his heart divided, ran after Little Joe.

    The child trotted down the stairs and had reached the landing before Adam left Hoss’s room.  Seeing his father, still slumped in the fireside chair, Little Joe ran straight to him.  “Pa!”

    From the landing Adam gasped, wondering how his father would respond.  Maybe it was what he needed, to be forced to think of someone besides himself.  Adam held back, watching, praying that the child could accomplish what he, with all his supposedly mature logic, had failed to achieve.

    Ben instinctively lifted the little boy and set him on his lap, but he held Joe woodenly, without the accustomed warmth the child had known all his life.

    “Pa, make God send Mama back,” Little Joe demanded.

    With a tortured groan, Ben fell back in the chair, holding his youngest son at arms’ length, unable even to look into the indignant little face.  “Take him,” he begged as he spotted Adam, slowly descending the last few stairs.  “I—I can’t.  Take him—please.”

    Disappointed, for he’d hoped the child’s need might draw Ben out of his near-stupor, Adam nodded.  Stepping quickly across the room, he lifted a protesting Joe from their father’s lap and into his own arms.

    “No!” Little Joe screamed, tiny feet kicking Adam’s ribs, tiny fists pounding his chest.  “Put me back.”

    “Hush, baby,” Adam urged, but Little Joe continued to wrestle him as he carried the child outside.  He walked into the yard, noticing with gratitude that one of the hands had taken care of the horse.  The air was still and warm as he moved toward the corral, feeling each kick of those little boots against his side.  “It’s all right, baby,” he soothed.  “Everything will be all right.”

    “You’re mean, Adam,” Little Joe whimpered.  “You wouldn’t let me go to Mama; you won’t let me stay wif Pa.”

    Adam nestled the curly head against his shoulder.  “You can’t go to Mama; it’s too far.  And you can’t stay with Pa right now; he’s too . . . sad.  But brother’s here, baby, and brother will always be here.  I’ll take care of you, just like Mama would.  I promise, baby; it’ll be all right.  In time”—Adam stopped himself.  The child was four, barely capable of comprehending the loss.  How could he hope to understand that time would heal it—or at any rate ease its pain?  “Brother’s here,” he whispered again, cooing the words tenderly into the miniature ear.

    Slowly, Little Joe pulled back to stare at his older brother with such soulful eyes that Adam didn’t know how to read what thoughts lay behind them.  Concerned about leaving Hoss alone, he walked back to the house, noticing that Ben was no longer in the room.  Had he gone in to Marie—or just shut himself away in his room, to lick his wounds with less risk of intrusion?  It was too much to hope that he had gone to Hoss.

    As Adam moved toward the stairs, Hop Sing came out from the downstairs bedroom and called the young man’s name softly.  Mindful of his words in the presence of the youngest Cartwright, he said, “Need talk to you, Mr. Adam, ‘bout what to do.  Hop Sing ask Mr. Ben; he not say, just leave.”

    Well, that answered one question.  Pa wasn’t with Marie.  “Yeah, in a minute, Hop Sing,” Adam replied, inclining his head toward the child in his arms.  “Let me take Little Joe upstairs.  Then we’ll talk.”

    “All light, Mr. Adam, I wait,” the cook said, bowing slightly.

    Adam took the stairs as fast as he dared with a child in his arms.  The door to Hoss’s room remained open, so he went straight in, saddened to see that his younger brother was still in a disconsolate heap in the corner.  “Hey, buddy,” he called.  “How you doin’?”

    Hoss looked up, his eyes red, his normally placid face etched with pain.  “I ain’t doin’ so good, Adam.”

    “That’s okay, Hoss,” Adam assured him as he sat on the edge of the bed.  “It’s okay to be any way you have to be right now.”  Which goes for Pa, too, I guess, he conceded with a sigh.  He patted the bed beside him.  “Come here, buddy.”

    Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, Hoss got up and moved to the bed, perching next to his brother and leaning his aching head against Adam’s strong shoulder.

    “Hoss, I hate to keep leaving you when I know you need me, but I have to take care of some things downstairs,” Adam explained as his arm circled the younger boy.  “Could you watch Little Joe for me awhile, just ‘til I get back?”

    “Where’s Pa?” Hoss asked.

    “I’m not sure,” Adam replied.  “In his room, maybe, but don’t bother him unless you have to.  He’s not doin’ so good, either.  Come get me first if you have any problems.  Just get Little Joe dressed for bed and . . . help him the best you can.”

    His tender heart touched by the baby’s troubled, confused gaze, Hoss overcame his own emotions and reached for Little Joe, who came willingly into that warm place of refuge.

    Adam stood, giving Hoss a pat of approval.  “I’ll be back soon as I can,” he promised.  He went downstairs, where Hop Sing still stood, awaiting his return.  Motioning for the cook to sit on the settee, Adam took his familiar seat in the blue chair.

    Feeling awkward at taking a place reserved for the family, Hop Sing sat on the outermost edge of the settee.  “I clean Missy up best I know, Mr. Adam,” he began, “but me man.  Not know how fixee ‘Melican way.  Think, need woman—Missy Nelly, maybe-so?”

    Adam rubbed his hands on the arms of the chair.  “Yeah, she’d know what to do, and they should be told, in any case.  I’ll send one of the hands tomorrow morning.  It’s too late to send anyone that far tonight.”

    “What ‘bout dinnah, Mr. Adam?” the cook inquired, his deferential manner indicating that he considered Adam the man in charge of the household now.  “Food all leady, but Mr. Ben gonna eat?  You, little boys?”

    Adam ran his fingers through his hair.  “Oh, I don’t know,” he sighed, his own stomach churning so wretchedly that he didn’t think he could possibly put anything in it.  “I’m not sure anybody will be hungry,” he said when he saw that the cook was waiting patiently for an answer.  No stronger sign that the world’s spun off its axis than that Hop Sing isn’t ranting about a missed meal, he mused.  “Fix up a plate for Pa, and I’ll take it to him in his room.  I think he wants to be alone.  Then I’ll ask the boys if they’re hungry.  They were before, and they ought to eat something, I suppose.”

    “Be good if they can, maybe-so make tloubles lighter,” Hop Sing agreed, standing quickly to his feet and hurrying to the kitchen, where he felt more at ease, especially now that he had some way to minister to his grieving family.  He returned shortly with a plate of food and handed it to Adam.  “I put just little,” he said.  “Hope Mr. Ben eat that much.”

    “We’ll see,” Adam said.  “Thanks, Hop Sing.”  He climbed the stairs, plate in hand, and carried it down the hall to his father’s room. His room , he thought, not theirs anymore, just his, and he ached with the simple change of term.  Rapping on the door, he waited for a moment, and then entered when there was no answer.  “Hop Sing fixed you up a plate, Pa,” he said.  “I know you’re probably not hungry, but it might help to eat.”

    Sprawled on his bed, Ben shook his head.  “I don’t want it.”

    “I’ll just leave it, in case you change your mind,” Adam said.  He started to leave, but stopped when he heard his father ask if his brothers were all right.

    “They’re hurting,” Adam said.  “They need you, Pa.”

    Ben nodded in acknowledgement.  “I haven’t anything to give them right now,” he murmured, voice breaking.  “Take care of them for me, will you, Adam?”

    “The best I can,” Adam replied reluctantly.  He felt himself a poor second to his father, but decided not to push.  “Have you—uh—given any thought to funeral arrangements?” he asked hesitantly.  When Ben stared at him blankly, he hurried on.  “I thought I’d send one of the men into Carson tomorrow morning, to tell the Thomases.  I thought Nelly could help, if that’s all right with you.”

    “That’s good,” Ben said after a moment’s pause.  “Just leave it to Nelly; she’ll know what to do.  Whatever she plans is fine with me.”

    “Okay,” Adam said, concerned at his father’s apathy.  He left and went down the hall to Hoss’s room again.  Opening the door, he smiled at the sight of Little Joe, dressed in a pale green nightshirt, sitting Indian-style in the middle of Hoss’s bed, clutching the old calico dog that Nelly Thomas had made for Hoss years before.  Hoss was beside him, with his arm protectively around the little boy.

    “See?  He came back,” Hoss told Little Joe, patting him on the back.

    “Of course, I did.  I promised, didn’t I?” Adam asked as he sat down.  Reaching over, he pulled the thumb from his youngest brother’s mouth.  “We’ve got better food than that downstairs,” he teased.  He looked beyond Joe to his other brother.  “How about it, Hoss?  You ready for supper now?”

    “I ain’t hungry,” Hoss muttered, words Adam could never remember hearing from his middle brother.

    “You were before,” the oldest brother pointed out.  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but—”

    “I wouldn’t-a been then if you’d told the truth!” Hoss snapped, jumping up from the bed.

    Adam’s long arm snaked out to grab his elbow.  “Hoss,” he pleaded.

    Hoss turned around and stared back at Adam.  His gaze dropped to the floor, and he mumbled, “Sorry.”

    “It’s okay, buddy,” Adam assured him, drawing the chunky boy into an embrace.  With his other arm he pulled Little Joe close and took the consoling thumb from his mouth again.  “I really think you two should get something into your stomachs before you go to bed.”

    “Food don’t even sound good,” Hoss said sadly, and Little Joe, never as concerned about meals as his bigger brother, anyway, nodded in agreement.

    “I could use a good example here,” Adam said, but when he caught sight of his middle brother’s shame-filled expression, he gently smoothed the tousled sandy hair.  “Never mind.  That wasn’t fair.  You don’t have to be anybody’s example, Hoss.”

    “I tried to help,” Hoss muttered defensively.  “I gave him my dog, and I’m lettin’ him sleep with me tonight.”

    Little Joe held the calico toy up for Adam to see.  “Mine now,” he announced.

    “That was very kind of Hoss,” Adam said, smiling proudly and making sure that Hoss saw it, “and you have been a big help already, buddy.”  He thought for a moment of how hard the evening had been and how much harder the next day was likely to be.  He’d need help then, too, but it really wasn’t right to demand more of Hoss than the boy felt able to give.  Marie was his mother, too—the only one he’d ever really known—and Adam knew just how it felt to lose someone that special and to have the care of someone younger forced on you before you were ready.  He wouldn’t do it to Hoss; he’d give him his time to grieve and somehow find comfort enough inside himself for both his little brothers—and Pa, too, if he’d let anyone comfort him.

    “Look, if you’re not hungry, why don’t I ask Hop Sing to make us all some hot cocoa?” Adam asked, standing up.  “We can have it right here in the room.”

    Hot cocoa brought warm memories of nights by the fire, and Hoss nodded with a wistful smile.  “That sounds good.”

    Little Joe didn’t say anything, but Adam thought he’d drink the cocoa if it were placed before him.  “Okay, I’ll get it,” he said.  “Why don’t you both get under the covers, and I’ll bring it right up?”

    As soon as Adam left the room, Hoss turned back the covers.  “In you go, punkin,” he ordered, “like Adam said.”

    Little Joe crawled toward the head of the bed, dragging the calico dog by one ear, and tucked his bare feet beneath the sheet and blanket.  Hoss had just snuggled in next to him when Little Joe whimpered, “Want Bun-bun and Barker.”

    “Aw, no, you don’t,” Hoss argued, for he didn’t want to get up again so soon.  “You got my dog.”

    “My dog,” Little Joe corrected, frown on his lips.

    “Yeah, yeah, your dog,” Hoss agreed quickly, “but he’s all you need.  There ain’t room for all three critters in bed.”

    Little Joe shook his head wildly.  “Bun-bun and Barker, Hoss.  They be scared to sleep alone.”

    Hoss tossed the covers back and jumped, barefoot, to the floor.  “Doggone you.  I should-a known you’d be nothin’ but a nuisance if I let you sleep over.”  Suddenly remembering why he’d made the offer, Hoss was ashamed of himself for complaining.  Maybe Little Joe was right; maybe having the bed packed full tonight would make both of them feel less lonely for Mama.  Choking down a sob, Hoss scurried into the next room and took the stuffed bunny and harbor seal from Little Joe’s bed.  He hurried back to tuck the animals where Joe said they should sleep and then hopped back into bed himself.

    It wasn’t long before Adam returned, carrying a tray with three steaming cups of hot cocoa and a plate of cookies.  The little boys sat up, each stretching out both hands, and Adam placed a cup of cocoa between each set of palms.

    “He’s like to spill his,” Hoss grumbled, casting a baleful eye at Little Joe after taking the first sip, “and it’s bad enough havin’ him and them three critters in the bed without wet sheets, too.”

    Adam scooted over next to his youngest brother to help balance the cup.  “Feel safer now?” he asked, giving Hoss a half-smile, the most he could manage.

    “Some,” Hoss admitted, reaching for a sugar cookie.

    Little Joe nibbled only half a cookie, Adam and Hoss polishing off the rest of the plate between them.  The child drank all his cocoa, however, and Adam thought that would probably be enough for tonight.  Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about proper nutrition.  Tonight, he just wanted to soothe these little boys to slumber and finally find those few minutes he’d craved to deal with his own torn heart.

    As he tucked the youngsters in, side by side, Adam hesitated a moment, pondering whether he should give them the kiss they were accustomed to receiving each night.  Would it be too sharp a reminder that their mother was gone or would the loss be easier to bear if her simple gesture of love were perpetuated by another?  The promise he had made to Little Joe in the yard earlier that night came back to him and answered the question.  He’d promised to take care of his baby brother “just like Mama would,” and a kiss was probably the easiest part of keeping that vow.  Bending over the bed, Adam placed a kiss, first on the broad forehead nearest him and then on the tiny one on the next pillow.  “Sleep tight, little brothers,” he whispered.  Lowering the wick of the lard oil lamp, he started to leave.

    “Adam,” Hoss called, voice trembling slightly.

    “Yeah, Hoss?”

    “Could you leave the door open—and your door, too?”

    Fear.  Adam couldn’t remember when he’d last heard fear in his stalwart younger brother’s voice, but if Hoss needed reassurance that someone was near, Adam wanted him to have it.  “Sure, buddy—and you just sing out if you need anything.”

    “Okay.  Thanks.”

    Relief replaced the fear, the transformation readily discernible to Adam’s ear as he slipped out of the room.  Crossing the hall, he left the door ajar and wandered over to the window.  He raised the sash and leaned out to catch the faint breeze, though he hadn’t noticed ‘til now that he was hot.  And tired.  More than tired, he now realized—wrung out, with nothing left to give.  And tomorrow would be worse.  Unless Pa climbed out of that hole in which he’d buried himself, there’d be those two little brothers to see to again in the morning, and there’d be decisions to be made and a troop of well-meaning friends to deal with, when all Adam really wanted was to be alone, to let the grief over Marie and the disappointment over what her death meant to his dreams of college just come leaking out, with no one to see and have their own pain made worse by his.

    Staring down into the yard, where all their dreams had come crashing down, Adam could still envision his stepmother’s lifeless body, neck dangling to one side, golden hair cascading over his father’s almost inert arms.  With a shudder he turned away from the window and threw himself down, crosswise, on the bed, too exhausted to even remove his boots.  He tried to cry, but the tears, held back too long, wouldn’t come on command.  They’d catch up with him sometime, he was sure, and as he drifted into uneasy sleep, he prayed that it wouldn’t happen at some inopportune time, like tomorrow with all those friends, and especially his little brothers, looking to him for direction.

    The house was quiet, quiet as a tomb, Ben reflected mournfully as he moved down the dark hall.  He paused briefly and looked through the open door to Adam’s room, seeing the boy sprawled across the bed, boots hanging off the side.  He can’t possibly be comfortable like that, Ben mused, but he made no move to enter the room.  At least, the boy was sleeping and that was more than his father could do.  Noticing that Hoss’s bedroom door was also open, Ben peeked inside, smiling softly at the two figures, sleeping locked in each other’s arms.  Then his eyes fell on the golden curls of his youngest son—so like hers—and with a strangled cry he turned away.  He padded down the hall and went slowly down the stairs to the great room below.  Crossing it in the faint light from the window above his desk in the alcove, he walked to the bedroom, opened the door and went inside.

    There she lay, the love of his life, beautiful as always, looking as she had so many nights when he’d come in late, tired from work or from some trip that took him away from the Ponderosa.  She’d always wake at his touch and open her arms to welcome him home—and what welcomes they had been!  Indulging himself in the fantasy for a moment, Ben touched her hand with his fingers and drew them back abruptly from the cold, rigid flesh.  Oh, God, she was gone!  Gone!  As surely—and as permanently—as Elizabeth and Inger before her, the third woman to share his dreams was gone.

    Ben fell into the chair beside the bed and dropped his head once more into his palms, where it had rested most of the evening.  Why, God, why? he demanded, tears springing from both anger and grief dropping down onto the thin sheet that covered her cherished flesh.  Why a third time do You deprive me of love?  What is my sin, that I must be punished again and again?  The dream itself?  Is that where I went astray, just in daring to dream at all?  Or was the dream a selfish one, for myself alone, without regard for the needs of these precious hearts?  Why?  You tell me why!

    There was no answer, only the same questions, again and again reverberating in his hollow heart until Ben feared he would go mad if they did not stop.  Jumping up, he thrust the chair back and fled.

    The manner of Marie’s death is drawn from Ben’s description in “Marie, My Love” by Anthony Lawrence.
  

    Trying to work the kinks out of his back, Adam staggered groggily across the room to his washstand.  He lifted the porcelain pitcher, pouring and yawning at the same time.  Splashing cold water in his face helped.  He ran a hand over his stubbly chin, but decided a shave could wait.  So could a change of clothes.  His stomach was rumbling, and however little he felt like eating, it would be wise to stoke in some fuel.  Who knew what he’d have to deal with later in the day, so now, while everything was quiet, before anything had a chance to go wrong, he’d get some breakfast—hot coffee, at least.  That would help him wake up and clear his aching head.

    Vowing that he’d never sleep sideways in his bed again, he left his room and stepped across the hall.  He hadn’t heard a sound so far, so peeking into Hoss’s room was just a precaution.  No, the boys were both still asleep, and Adam thought it best to leave them that way as long as possible.  He spared a glance down the hall toward his father’s room.  Probably best to let him sleep, too.  Odds were Pa wasn’t any better prepared to face up to things this morning than he had been last night.

    Adam made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, pleased to see that the Chinese cook was up and about, the same as always.  There was something comforting in seeing that some things hadn’t changed.

    Hop Sing turned from the stove when he heard footsteps behind him.  “Oh, Mr. Adam,” he said.  “I not know you up yet.  So solly.  I fixee bleakfast light away.”

    “Take your time,” Adam said.  He pointed his chin toward the back burner of the stove.  “If the coffee’s ready, I’ll take a cup.”

    Proud that he had anticipated what was needed, Hop Sing beamed and reached for the metal coffee pot with a padded holder.  Taking a tin cup from a peg above the open fireplace to his left, he poured in the hot brew.  “Much people come later, I think,” he explained, “so Hop Sing save good china for visitors, yes?”

    Adam smiled in appreciation of the cook’s thoughtfulness.  “Yes.  Thanks for thinking ahead, Hop Sing.  You don’t know how much it helps.”

    “Hop Sing know,” the diminutive Cantonese said softly.  He’d seen death many times in China, from natural disaster, starvation and domestic revolts, but this was no time to speak of the hardships that had brought him to America.  The young man sipping his coffee had hardship enough of his own this sad day, and Hop Sing wanted only to ease the load.  “Mr. Ben up yet?” he asked as he laid strips of bacon in the cast-iron skillet.

    “I don’t think so; I don’t know when he will be.”  Or if, Adam might have added.  After Inger died, his father had barely been able to put one foot in front of the other, only doing so because they had to keep pace with the other wagons or be left alone in that savage desert country.

    “Little boys?” Hop Sing asked.

    “They’re still asleep, and I plan to let them sleep as late as they can,” Adam said, setting down the empty cup and waving his hand to refuse the second cup the cook offered to pour.

    “That be good,” Hop Sing agreed, turning back to the stove.  “I fixee food for them when they leady.”

    “Thanks, Hop Sing.”  Adam opened the kitchen door and stepped into the yard.  A shudder went through him as his eyes fell on the spot where his stepmother had fallen, and he shut his eyes to block out the grim vision.  Intending to get a start on the morning chores while his breakfast was cooking, he walked over to the barn and was surprised to see two of the hands already at work.  “It’s all taken care of, sir,” Carlton said when he saw the young man.  “You just see to the family today.”

    “Thanks, Hank,” Adam said.  He wandered back outside and was halfway across the yard when he realized that he really didn’t know what Hank had meant.  The barn chores, obviously, were being taken care of, but what about the other work of the ranch?  Adam sighed.  No, Hank wouldn’t have taken that responsibility upon himself.  He was a good man, one Adam was coming to respect more by the day, but he was relatively new to the Ponderosa and had no real authority.

    The man who did rode into the yard as Adam stood there in thought.  “Hey, Adam,” Enos Montgomery called as he dismounted and led his horse to the hitching rail.  “You’re up and out early, boy.  Your pa inside?”

    Adam tucked his hands in his back pockets.  “Yeah, but he’s still asleep.”

    The ranch foreman, still lean and lanky as when he’d traveled west with the Larrimore train, laughed.  “Asleep?  At this hour?  Don’t think I’ve ever seen Ben Cartwright lay abed this late.  You’re pullin’ my leg, aren’t you, boy?”

    Adam shook his head.  “Something happened here last night, Enos,” he said, eyes fixed on the ground.  “Something bad.”

    The young man’s solemn demeanor troubled the foreman.  “What is it, son?”

    Adam took a deep breath.  “There was an accident.”

    Concern flickered across Enos’s angular face.  “Your pa ain’t hurt, is he?  That why he’s in bed?”

    Adam shook his head and forced himself to look up.  “Not him.  Marie.  She . . . fell from her horse when she came in last night . . . riding too fast, like always.”

    Strong fingers gripped the young man’s shoulder.  “Is she bad hurt?”

    Adam looked toward the house, mostly because he didn’t want to see pity spring into the foreman’s blue eyes.  “She’s . . . dead.”

    The grip tightened, and Enos’s voice was choked as he said, “No.  Don’t seem possible.  She was at my place just last night, teasing me about taking Katerina out in the moonlight.  I—I’m sorry, Adam, sorrier than I know how to say, boy.”

    “Thank you,” Adam murmured perfunctorily, wondering how many times today he’d be saying those words.  He looked up at the foreman.  “I—there’s things that need to be done, and, well, you’re the foreman.  I guess you’re here to talk to Pa about his plans for the ranch today, but I don’t think he can.  I—”

    Seeing that the young man was close to breaking down, Enos steered him toward the front door.  “Let’s go inside, son, and you and me will talk about what needs doing.  Between us, we can figure it out, I reckon.  No need to bother your pa.”

    “Yes, yes.  Thank you,” Adam said again, beginning to hate the babbling sound of those repeated words.

    Hop Sing came to the kitchen door.  “Bleakfast leady, Mr. Adam,” he called.  “You come eat now, please.  Mr. Enos, you want something, too, maybe-so?”

    “No, thanks, Hop Sing,” the young foreman said as they turned toward the kitchen.  “The wife fed me before I left, but if you got a cup of hot coffee, I’ll take that.  Me and the young boss here got some talkin’ to do.”

    Adam’s head jolted up.  Young boss, huh?  Was that what he was now?  There was a time when hearing that title from one of the men, not to mention the ranch foreman, would have thrilled him.  Now he would gladly have foregone the privilege, just to have his father filling his rightful place as boss of the Ponderosa.

    He went through the door and, seeing the filled plate on the work table in the kitchen, picked it up and carried it into the dining room.  Hop Sing poured two cups of coffee and handed them to Enos Montgomery.  The foreman followed Adam into the dining room, where Adam was sitting in his accustomed place at the foot of the table.  Enos sat down at Adam’s left and took one sip of his coffee before speaking.  “I’ve got a good feel for where the ranch stands and what to do to keep it going ‘til things settle down a bit,” he said, “so you leave that to me, son.  You got anyone you can count on up at the lumber camps?  You could put in a thimble what I know about that business.”

    Adam broke a piece of bacon in half.  “I can count on Jake Webber at my camp,” he said.  “I just need to get word to him.”

    “We got hands we can send on errands like that,” Enos suggested.  “How about the camp your pa usually runs?”

    Swallowing a bite of bacon, Adam shook his head.  “I don’t really know many of the men there.  Pa handled that operation strictly by himself, never even talked about it, except in general ways.”

    Enos nodded grimly.  “I’ll ride up there then,” he offered.  “Like I said, I know nothin’ about lumber, but I can usually size a man up pretty well.  If you’re willing, I’ll scout out a man I think can manage things a day or two and leave him in charge.”

    “That sounds like a plan,” Adam agreed gratefully.  “It helps, just to talk things out like this, Enos.”

    “Sure.  Glad to.”  Enos leaned forward, his face earnest.  “Want to help all I can, son.  Your pa—your whole family—you all mean the world to me.”  He took another sip of coffee.  “That should take care of the ranch.  I reckon there’s folks you’ll want to let know what happened.  Just tell me who, and I’ll find some men to send wherever they need to go.”

    “The Thomases first.  Pa and I agreed that Nelly was the best to help with . . . with the arrangements.”  Adam stirred his scrambled egg thoughtfully.  “I guess Mrs. Dettenrieder will want to be at the funeral, but I don’t know when that’ll be yet, and Dayton’s a long ride.”

    “That’ll keep, then,” Enos said, “but I’d best have the man who rides to Carson City let the doc know, too—and Sheriff Blackburn.  He’s the closest law, I guess.”

    Adam looked up, and his eyebrows came together as his forehead furrowed.  “The law?  Why do we need the law?  It was an accident!”

    “And it’s best to get that set down official,” Enos said patiently, reaching over to touch the young man’s forearm.  “That way there won’t be no questions later.  The doc can examine the body, and you—or your pa—can tell the sheriff what happened.”

    “Oh, God!”  His appetite suddenly gone, Adam pushed the plate away.  Was there no end to what he had to take over for his father?  “Will they take my word?  I didn’t really see what happened . . . just heard the horse ride up and a scream . . . and when I ran out, I saw her . . . lying there . . . dead.”

    “And your pa?”

    “He was outside.  He saw,” Adam said with a shake of his head, “but he’s—I don’t know if he can.”

    “I reckon the sheriff will want to talk to him, then, if he’s the one saw it,” Enos said.  “Knowin’ your pa’s high standin’ hereabouts, I reckon they’ll take his word, though.  Don’t fret so, boy.  Your pa’s a strong man.”

    “Is he?” Adam asked absently.

    “He is.”  Enos pushed Adam’s plate back toward him.  He waited until he saw the young man take a bite and then asked, “You want me to send someone to the preacher?”

    “Preacher?”  Adam stared blankly at him.

    “Reverend Bennett, over to Washoe City,” Enos amplified.  “That’s where you folks worship, ain’t it?”

    Adam shook his head.  “Not Marie; she was Catholic.”

    Enos shrugged.  “It’s the livin’ that need comfort, and none of you are Catholic, are you?”

    Adam wasn’t sure what he was, but he said, “No, guess not.  Guess maybe we should tell the Reverend Bennett, whether he performs the service or not.  Maybe he could help Pa.”  He rubbed his temple with both hands.  “I don’t even know if her priest would come, anyway, feeling the way he did about her marriage to Pa.”

    “Someone ought to ask, I guess,” Enos said, “but that’s not a job for ranch hands, son.  Ought to be family that talks to the priest.”

    Meaning me, Adam realized with a groan.

    Enos hung his head.  “Sorry, boy.  Wish I could—”

    Adam looked up quickly.  “No, don’t feel bad, Enos.  You’ve helped so much, but you can’t do everything.”

    The foreman again reached over with a supportive hand.  “Neither can you, boy.  Just you remember that.  Wait ‘til Mrs. Thomas gets here and ask her advice about the church question.”  He stood up.  “I’ll get men posted to Carson and Washoe City and head on up to the lumber camp.  Anybody else you want told?”

    Adam started to say no.  Then a face flashed before his eyes.  “Ross,” he murmured.  “I’d like Ross Marquette to know—and to come if he can break free.”

    Enos nodded, understanding the young man’s need of a friend to lean on.  “He’ll come,” he said confidently.

    “Adam.”

    Adam turned at the sound of the plaintive voice behind him and saw Hoss standing on the stair landing, bare legs protruding from beneath his blue-striped nightshirt.  “Hey, buddy,” he called.  “Sleep okay?”

    Hoss rubbed at his eyes.  “I reckon.  Is it okay to come down?  I’m kinda hungry.”

    Adam smiled sympathetically.  “I’ll bet you are.  Come on down, and we’ll get you fixed up.”

    Enos stood up.  “I’ll see myself out, Adam, and I’ll tell Hop Sing the youngun needs some breakfast on the way out.”

    “Thanks again, Enos.”  The words came easily this time, for the foreman’s help had been sincerely appreciated.

    Hoss padded hesitantly across the room and took the chair that Enos had vacated.

    “Little Joe still asleep?” Adam asked, taking another bite of his own breakfast.

    “Yeah.”  Hoss twisted the hem of his nightshirt as one foot twined around the chair leg.  “I kinda thought it was all a bad dream ‘til I saw him sleepin’ in my bed and it all came back.”

    Adam stared out the window across from him, behind the chair where his father normally sat.  “I had a moment like that myself this morning, when it didn’t seem real.”

    “Yeah?”  Hoss looked surprised.  Adam had seemed so calm the night before, like nothing, however bad, could set him off-balance—just like he seemed now, poking in eggs, one bite after another, as if nothing had changed.  “Don’t seem right, somehow, to feed my face when . . . when . . .”

    Having eaten enough to satisfy his hunger, Adam pushed his plate away and leaned forward to touch Hoss’s arm.  “I know how hard it is, buddy,” he began, but stopped when Hoss jerked away.

    “You don’t know nothin’!” Hoss snapped.  “She wasn’t your ma; you didn’t even want her!”

    “Hoss!” Adam cried, shocked.  “How can you say that?”

    “I remember,” Hoss sputtered.  “I ‘member you pullin’ down my ma’s picture from the mantel—the one up in heaven—the other one up in heaven, I mean—and you said—”

    “I know what I said,” Adam returned sharply.  Then he fought down his indignation at the accusation—all too deserved in those difficult early days, though it hadn’t come then—and forced himself to speak gently.  “I really hurt you back then, didn’t I, Hoss?  And I never said I was sorry, but you must know I was.  It took me a lot longer than you, but I loved her, too.  I”—Adam turned away, not wanting Hoss to see the tears filling his eyes.

    He looked up when he felt a light touch on his elbow and glanced back to see Hoss standing beside him.  “I’m sorry,” the younger boy said.  “It did hurt, back then, when you was so mean to her, but I know you changed.  I just never heard you say you loved her, Adam, so I didn’t figure you was hurtin’ much as me and Joe.”

    Eyes shimmering, Adam turned around and caught his solidly built little brother around the torso.  “Oh, Hoss,” he croaked and let the tears unashamedly roll down his cheeks.  She never heard it, either.  Oh, Mama!

    The two brothers clung to each other, heart speaking to heart, until Hop Sing came in and placed a plate of hot bacon, eggs and biscuits before Hoss, as well as sliding a biscuit onto Adam’s plate.

    Though he had thought his appetite assuaged, Adam couldn’t resist the appeal of that hot bread.  Taking his knife, he split the biscuit and slid a slice of butter into the fluffy center.  “Hoss, I hope you won’t ever say anything again about the way I treated Marie when she first came,” he said as he waited for the butter to melt.  “I had changed by the time Little Joe came along, and I don’t want him ever to know that I felt that way about his mother.  He wouldn’t understand, and it would hurt him badly, worse than it did you then.”

    “I won’t tell,” Hoss promised.

    “Thanks.”  Adam took a bite of biscuit, chewed and swallowed.  “I really appreciated your help with him last night, Hoss, and I’m gonna need to lean on you for awhile.  It’s gonna be up to you and me to help Little Joe—and each other—because Pa’s so upset himself he just can’t.  You know how much he loved Marie . . . Mama.”

    Mouth full, Hoss just nodded.  He swallowed the bite of egg.  “You want I should go up and sit with Little Joe ‘til he wakes up, so’s he won’t be alone?”

    Adam smiled in appreciation, but he shook his head.  “No, you just finish your breakfast, and then you can go upstairs and get washed up and dressed.  If Joe’s not awake by then, I’ll come up and stay with him awhile.  You need to take care of Klamath and see if any of your other chores need doing.”

    “Guess they all do,” Hoss chuckled.  “I ain’t done a one yet.”

    “Hank said he’d take care of things out there,” Adam explained, “but he might have missed some of the little chores, like gathering eggs, for instance.  Just check and see.”

    “Okay.”  Hoss washed his meal down with a tall glass of milk and trotted upstairs to change.

    Adam took advantage of the brief break between responsibilities to get out of the clothes he’d slept in all night and to have a quick shave, a little too quick, he decided when he cut a place beneath his right ear.  Wearing only his brown slacks, he held a towel to his jaw, to stop the bleeding.

    Hoss peeked in through the open doorway. “Little Joe’s stirrin’ around some, but still sleepin’,” he reported.

    “Okay, I’ll see to him,” Adam said.

    “You okay?”

    “Little nick, that’s all.”  Adam dabbed at the cut, glad to see the towel come away clean this time.  “It’s nothing, Hoss, not even bleeding now.”

    “Okay.  I’m gonna find Klamath,” Hoss said.

    Adam nodded and tossed the towel down beside his washbasin.  He drew on a clean tan shirt and took a pair of dark socks from the top drawer.  Staring at them, he shook his head.  No, not yet.  He couldn’t bear the thought of putting anything on his feet yet, not after sleeping in boots and socks all night.  Grabbing up his boots, he took them and the socks into the opposite bedroom and set them in the floor beside the bed.

    He smiled down at his little brother, lying sprawled on his tummy with one of what Nelly Thomas called “cuddle critters” tucked under his right arm and one resting above his head on the pillow.  Who’s missing? Adam asked himself.  Oh, Bun-bun.  Now, where could that little rabbit be hiding?  He lifted the sheet, the only cover remaining over Little Joe, and pulled the missing member of Joe’s menagerie from beneath his brother’s small foot.

    He tucked the animal under Little Joe’s arm, holding his breath as his little brother squirmed a little, but then settled back into sleep.  Arms reaching toward the wall behind him, Adam yawned widely.  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to lie down a few minutes, just ‘til Joe wakes up.  Might even do me some good.  Stretching out on top of the covers, Adam laid his head on Hoss’s pillow and closed his eyes.  His long lashes lifted for a moment when he felt Little Joe cuddle up against him, but seeing that the child was still asleep, he lowered them again and drifted off himself, one hand resting on his brother’s soft curls.

    To Adam, it felt like only moments before a hand was shaking his shoulder.  Alarmed by the unfamiliar touch, he jolted awake and bolted upright.

    Disconcerted by the reaction, Hop Sing took a step back.  “So solly, Mr. Adam,” he murmured, eyes lowered, “but thought you want know Mr. Ross come.”

    Adam quickly swung his legs over the side of the bed.  “Oh, thanks, Hop Sing.  I’m glad you woke me.”  He bent over to snatch his socks from the floor, unfolded them and began to slip one over his right foot.  “Tell him”—he stopped, looking anxiously back at Little Joe.

    “You want Hop Sing stay with little boy?” asked the cook, discerning the young man’s concern.

    “Would you?” Adam requested.  “He probably won’t sleep much longer, but I don’t want him to wake up alone, not this first day.”  The hardest day .

    “Hop Sing stay.”  The Chinaman pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down.

    “Thanks.”  Adam hastily pulled on his boots and hurried downstairs.  He saw Ross sitting on the settee.

    “Hey, Adam,” Ross called softly.

    “Hey, Ross,” Adam returned.  He walked over and sat down next to his friend, and for several long minutes neither spoke.  Finally, Adam said, “I hope it didn’t put you out, asking you to come.”

    “Naw, not a bit.  Didn’t have a thing to do but chores.”  Ross grinned a little.  Then, remembering the soberness of the occasion, his smile faded.  “Sorry.  Didn’t mean to make light.”

    “That’s what you’re here for,” Adam returned gently.  “Just having you here makes the load a little lighter, Ross.”

    “Glad I can be, then,” Ross said, relaxing.  “Ma wanted me to wait ‘til she had a chance to cook up some grub to send, but I wanted to come straight off, and—wonder of wonders—Pa sided with me.  Said I’d been sent for, and it wasn’t right to dawdle at a time such as . . .”  His voice tapered off, as he hesitated to bring up any reminder of the tragedy that had brought him here.  Suddenly, he leaned forward, folded hands dropping between his legs.  “Doggone it, Adam.  I ain’t much help for such as this, but I’d sure like to be.”  He turned to face his friend.  “Just tell me what I can do.”

    Adam leaned his head against the back of the settee.  “Just stay . . . close,” he whispered.  “It’s hard right now”—he licked his lips—”and I think it’s gonna get worse before it gets better.”

    “Yeah,” Ross murmured, thinking of the difficult days after his own brother’s death.  “Yeah, you got that right.”

    Hop Sing appeared at the top of the stairs, holding Little Joe, nightshirt-clad and barefoot.  “Little boy want brother,” he said, deliberately failing to mention that Adam had been the third name the child asked for.

    Adam got up at once and, meeting them at the foot of the stairs, took Little Joe in his arms.  “Morning, baby,” he said, pressing a light kiss to his brother’s cheek.  “You had a nice long sleep, didn’t you?”

    Little Joe said nothing, just laid his head on his big brother’s shoulder and popped his thumb in his mouth.

    As he had the night before, Adam calmly removed it.  “That’s not something”—he broke off abruptly, for he had been about to finish by saying “something Mama would like to see.”  Starting over, he said gently, “That’s not something big boys do, Little Joe.”

    With a trace of typical defiance, Little Joe put the thumb right back, sucking noisily.

    “Oh, all right,” Adam sighed, moving toward the settee.  Evidently, the baby was finding some comfort in that thumb, and he didn’t want to make a battle over its removal.  He had battles enough to fight already.  Shrugging at Ross, he sat down beside his friend.

    “Hey, there, little fella,” Ross said, brushing the tangled gold-brown tresses.

    Momentarily distracted, Little Joe looked up.  “Hey, Ross.  Why you here?”

    Ross cut a quick glance at Adam.  “I just come for a visit.”

    “Oh.”  Little Joe looked around the room.  “Where’s Hoss?” he demanded.

    “Outside,” Adam answered.

    Little Joe peered intently into his older brother’s eyes.  “He not go heaven?” he asked, his voice tiny and trembling.

    Adam clutched the child to his chest.  “No, baby, no.  Hoss is just outside with Klamath.”

    “Wanna see,” Joe insisted.

    “Okay.”  Adam stood up and walked to the front door, whispering soothing words in the baby’s ear.

    When the two brothers had passed outside, Ross looked up at Hop Sing.  “Boy, this is gonna be one tough day.”

    Hop Sing nodded and moved toward the kitchen, the swish of his soft slippers the only sound in the room.

    Feeling uncomfortable alone in the great empty room, Ross stood up and after pacing a bit, followed his friend outside.  On the porch to the left he spotted the three brothers, Little Joe clinging desperately to Hoss’s neck and Adam standing over them like the guardian angel in a picture Ross had seen in his mother’s Bible.  Ross moved to the porch and rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder.  Adam looked across at him, eyes full of gratitude for the silent support.

    Both young men turned at the sound of hooves and wheels behind them.  Adam immediately moved toward the buckboard driven by Katerina Montgomery, and Ross, sensing that his friend might want to speak to the lady alone, asked, “Hey, Hoss, you taught that pup any tricks?”

    “Aw, Klam ain’t much for tricks, Ross,” Hoss admitted with a shrug, but he glanced up with a proud little smile as he added, “He can  fetch right smart, though.”

    “Sure like to see it,” Ross said.  “Let’s go find us a good throwin’ stick, what you say?”  He scooped up Little Joe and headed off toward the trees behind the house, Hoss trotting alongside.

    Katerina threw her arms around Adam as soon as he helped her down from the wagon.  “Oh, Adam, it’s a terrible thing!  I’m so sorry.”

    Adam instinctively closed his arms around the young woman, but his movements were awkward, stiff.

    Sensing his discomfort, Katerina moved out of his embrace and cupped his elbows in her slender palms.  “How are you holding up, Adam?  How’s your pa?”

    Adam ignored the first question and answered the second.  “He’s not doing well.  It’s like—like the way he was on the trail after Inger . . .”

    And that makes it harder on you, my young friend, Katerina surmised, but not wanting to embarrass Adam, who was so obviously trying to hold his own emotions in check, she kept the thought to herself.  “I remember,” she whispered simply, blue eyes filling with compassion.

    “He hasn’t even left his room this morning, hasn’t eaten.  Maybe I should try to get him . . .”

    “No,” Katerina advised.  “You have enough on your shoulders, Adam, from what Enos told me.  There’s others your pa might listen to quicker.  Let them help.”

    Adam nodded in appreciation of the advice.  Smiling slightly, he said, “Let me help you, then, if that food’s intended to go in the house.”

    “It is.”  Katerina took the lightweight basket herself, letting Adam lift the small crate.  “It’s not much, just what I could put together on short notice, mostly leftovers from . . .”  She tapered off, not wanting to mention the quilting bee yesterday for fear it would bring back to mind the tragic end to that gathering.

    “We don’t need food, really,” Adam said as he walked toward the kitchen door.

    Katerina forced a light laugh.  “Oh, Adam, you need it more than you know!  The way Ben Cartwright is thought of in the territory, there’s bound to be people in and out over the next few days, and you can’t send them home hungry, distances being what they are.”

    Adam smiled ruefully.  “You’re right; I wasn’t thinking.”

    “And good as Hop Sing is, he won’t be able to keep up alone.”  She touched his arm with her free hand.  “Don’t worry.  I’m here to help, whatever you need, and there’ll be others, too, I know.”

    Adam nodded as Katerina opened the door and held it for him.  There would be others, ready and more than willing to lend a hand: Enos and Katerina, Clyde and Nelly, Billy if they could get word to him, Ross, Doc Martin, the preacher and the Ponderosa hands.  Though his heart was still heavy, Adam took comfort in the long list of friends he could call on.

    Hop Sing looked up from the stove as the two young people walked in.  “Oh, Missy Kat’lina, velly good you come.”

    Katerina set the basket on the work table and turned to smile at him.  “Why don’t you just call me Kat, like Enos does, Hop Sing?  It’s easier.”

    Hop Sing cocked his head, looking to Adam for confirmation.  “Dat all light?”

    “It’s respectful, since she asks,” Adam assured him, recognizing the real concern behind the Chinaman’s query.

    Hop Sing smiled in relief.  “All light.  Missy Kat, den; dat be easier.”

    Katerina stepped to the stove.  “And I’m here to make things easier any way I can.  What are you cooking here, Hop Sing?”

    “Little Joe bleakfast,” the cook replied, pouring batter into the hot skillet.  “Where little boy, Mr. Adam?  Food ‘most leady.”

    Adam moved toward the kitchen door.  “I left him on the porch with Ross and Hoss.”  The sound of a giggle stopped him in his tracks.

    Katerina was trying to stifle the merry sound behind her fingers.  “Ross and Hoss,” she choked out when the others continued to stare at her.  “I’m sorry, Adam, but it struck me funny, the way it rhymes.”

    Adam grinned, drawing fresh strength as the lighter moment blew away some of the heavy shroud of gloom that had hovered over the house since the evening before.  He opened the door, intending to call to his brothers, but frowned when he saw the empty porch.  “Now, where could they have gone?” he muttered.

    Katerina spun around.  “Oh, didn’t you see?  They went around the side of the house, Adam.”

    “Thanks.”  Adam stepped outside, shutting the door and headed across the yard.  As he rounded the corner into the side yard, he could hear his middle brother calling out encouragement to Klamath, and following his ears, he found the trio of boys with the dog at the back of the house.  He snatched Little Joe from behind and lifted him onto his shoulders for a piggyback ride.  “Time to come in and eat,” he replied to the child’s squeal of protest.

    Not having eaten the night before, breakfast sounded good to Little Joe, and he went willingly, especially since his playmates trailed along behind.

    Adam ducked as he went through the doorway into the kitchen.  As he lifted the child over his head, he noticed the dirty bare feet and the dusty hem of Little Joe’s nightshirt and shook his head.  Marie never let her baby play outside barefoot, and she prided herself on keeping him neat and clean.  “You are a mess,” Adam said as he set Little Joe down in a chair next to the worktable.  “I can see brother will need to give you a bath first thing.”

    “Oh, let me do that, Adam,” Katerina offered.  “I’d love to, really.”

    Realizing that the doctor and sheriff might arrive before he could finish the task, Adam started to agree, but he was caught up short by the response of his youngest brother.

    “No, thank you, Aunt Kat,” Little Joe said politely.  “I wait for Mama.  Mama always give me my bath.”

    Everyone in the kitchen stared at the child, and Katerina’s fingers flew to her lips.  “Oh, Adam,” she murmured.  “I thought you’d told him.”

    “I did,” Adam said.  He squatted beside his youngest brother’s chair.  “We talked about this last night, remember, Little Joe?  You remember that Mama went to heaven, don’t you?”

    Hop Sing quietly slid a plate with two hotcakes in front of the child and poured syrup over them.

    Little Joe at first ignored his brother, but when Adam posed the question again, he looked up.  “I ‘member, but she be back soon.”

    Adam caught his brother’s left hand, the one holding the fork.  “Little Joe . . .” he began.

    Hop Sing interrupted with a hand on the young man’s shoulder.  “Let little boy eat,” he stated firmly.  “Den talk mo’.”

    Recognizing the wisdom of that suggestion, Adam stood, nodding his agreement to the cook.

    “How come Little Joe gets flapjacks and all I got was eggs and bacon?” Hoss demanded, a petulant frown on his face.

    Arms akimbo, Hop Sing stared at the large child.  “Boy want mo’ food, all he have do is ask.”

    “I want flapjacks,” Hoss muttered grumpily.

    “Sit down,” Hop Sing said, pointing at the second chair by the table.  “I fix.”

    Ross tossed an impish grin at the Chinese cook.  “Does that offer go for bigger boys, too?”

    “Hop Sing never be through wi’ bleakfast this rate,” the little Oriental muttered, feigning disgruntlement, although he was actually pleased to see his cooking appreciated.  “I fixee mo’ flapjack fo’ you, Mr. Ross, but no mo’ chairs here.  Go dining loom, please.  Missy Kat want, too?”

    “No, thank you, Hop Sing,” the young German woman replied with a smile.  “It’s only boys who have hollow legs.”

    “Velly hollow, all-a-time empty.”  Hop Sing turned back to the stove, smiling as he emitted a string of Cantonese phrases that sounded fierce, but were really words of supreme satisfaction.

    Ross headed for the dining room at once, and Katerina herded Adam that direction, too.  “I want to ask you something about the boys,” she whispered.  When the three young people were seated at the dining table, she leaned close to Adam.  “Have Hoss and Little Joe seen her yet?”

    “The body?”  Adam shook his head.  “No.  I—I haven’t even done that myself . . . since she was out in the yard, I mean.  I don’t know if . . .”

    “It might help,” the girl suggested.  “I remember when Papa died along the trail, it just wasn’t real to me ‘til I saw him, lying there so still.  I was older than Little Joe, of course—closer to Hoss’s age now—but it might help, Adam.  It’s obvious the poor baby doesn’t understand.  He thinks she’s just on a trip.”

    “Believin’ what he wants to believe,” Ross put in.  “Kinda went through that myself when my brother was took.”

    Adam closed his eyes, wondering where he’d find the strength to get through this day that just seemed to get harder and harder with each passing minute.

    “I could do it,” Katerina offered hesitantly.

    Adam shook his head.  “No, it needs to be”—Pa, he thought, glancing toward the staircase; it needs to be Pa—”me,” he finished, knowing with certainty that no help would descend those stairs.

    “I think that’s best,” the girl admitted.  “Do it as soon as they’ve eaten, Adam, and then I’ll take Little Joe up for his bath.”

    “Little boys almost done.”  Hop Sing slid a plate of hotcakes in front of Ross.  “I fixee bath light away, Missy Kat.”  Not waiting for thanks, he shuffled soundlessly back to the kitchen.

    A couple of minutes later Hoss walked in, holding Little Joe by the hand.  “Hop Sing said you wanted to see us, Adam.”

    Adam reached out and Hoss moved into the circle of his arm.  “Would you like to see Mama?” he asked.

    “Mama back?” Little Joe asked, eyes lighting up.

    Adam gently touched the child’s tousled curls.  “No, Little Joe.  That’s not what brother meant.”  He looked back at Hoss and saw the boy’s Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed hard and then nodded.  “Come on, then.”  He took one brother in each hand and moved toward the bedroom, which opened into the dining area.  He turned loose of Hoss’s hand to open the door and let his middle brother go in first.

    There was no holding Little Joe back, though, when he saw his mother’s face on the pillow.  Jerking free, he ran to the side of the bed and patted her arm.  “Wake up, Mama,” he cried happily.  “I need bath.”

    Hoss stopped at the foot of the bed, biting his lip anxiously and looking to Adam for guidance.

    “Give me a minute,” Adam told the older boy and squatted down to put an arm around the four-year-old.

    “Make Mama wake up, Adam,” Little Joe begged.

    Adam smoothed the child’s rumpled hair.  “I can’t, baby.  Mama isn’t just sleeping; she’s gone away—to heaven.”

    “No, Adam,” the little boy protested, patting her cheek.  “Mama here.”  He frowned at the coldness of her flesh.  “Mama cold, Adam; need blanket.”

    Adam sat down on the rug beside the bed and pulled Little Joe into his lap.  “A blanket won’t help, baby.  Mama isn’t really here anymore.”  He lifted Marie’s hand.  “This is just the house that Mama used to live in, but she doesn’t live in it now.”  He let the hand fall to the mattress to illustrate the lifelessness of the empty shell.  “Mama has a new house to live in, up in heaven, a brand new body that won’t ever get sick or hurt again.”

    Hoss crept close and sat down next to Adam.  “I understand what you mean, Adam, but I don’t think he does, do you, punkin?”

    Little Joe wagged his head back and forth.  He pointed to his mother.  “That not house.  This house.”  His hand swept around the walls and toward the ceiling.

    “Naw, that ain’t what Adam means.”  The youngster fought for words the baby would understand.  “It’s like this, punkin: we got two parts, an outside and an inside.”  He lifted Little Joe’s arm and ran his index finger up and down it.  “This here’s your outside part, the part we see, and it changes all the time—like when you grow or get scratched up or dirty—and it can get hurt and sick.”  He placed his hand over his younger brother’s heart.  “But you got a part inside, too, punkin, that don’t change like that.  It’s the real you, the part that thinks and feels and loves and . . . just  . . . is.”  He looked up at the bed.  “That’s Mama’s outside part there, but her inside part went on to heaven, so she don’t need this outside part no more and just left it behind.”

    “Mama’s inside part come back?”  Little Joe, chin quivering, looked to Adam.  “Please?”

    Blinking back tears, Adam shook his head.  “She can’t, baby.  She would if she could ‘cause she loves you so much, but once the inside part leaves, it can’t get back in the outside part.  It’s like a door that’s locked, and only God has the key.”  Too symbolic, he chided himself.  Keep it simple, like Hoss did.  Not really knowing what else to say, though, Adam pulled the child close to his chest and, feeling the slight form start to tremble, he murmured, “Go ahead and cry, baby.  Let it out.  Don’t keep the hurt inside.  Let it all out and don’t take any of it back in.  You’ll feel better.”

    Slowly, Adam could feel his youngest brother begin to shake with noiseless sobs, and finally the tears came, dampening his shirt front.  Adam rocked back and forth on the floor, encouraging the child to cry, not realizing until this moment that Joe hadn’t done so before.  The child had reacted the night before with anger and demands, but no healing tears.  Katerina was right, Adam realized; it wasn’t real to him ‘til now, maybe not fully yet, but it’s coming.

    As the sobbing slowed down, Adam pulled his little brother back and peered into the reddened eyes.  Wiping away the last trickling tears, he asked, “Now, how about that bath?”

    “Aunt Kat?” Little Joe asked, and when Adam nodded, he did, too.

    Adam stood up and lifted the child into his arms.  He looked down at his other brother, still sitting quietly in the floor, gazing at the face on the pillow.  “Hoss, you okay?”

    Hoss turned to look at his older brother.  “Can I stay awhile longer, Adam?”

    “You can stay as long as you want.  Let me give Little Joe to Katerina, and I’ll come back and stay with you.”

    “Can’t I be alone with her, just a little while?” Hoss demanded.

    Shocked by the anger coming from gentle Hoss, Adam laid a comforting hand on the sandy head.  “Sure, buddy, if that’s what you want.”  He carried his baby brother through the door, closing it behind him, and handed the boy to Katerina.  Then he went upstairs to exchange his damp shirt for a dry one.

    As soon as the door closed, Hoss moved closer to the bed and got up on his knees to prop his elbows next to his mother.  “Ma?” he whispered.  “I know you ain’t in there no more, but I figure you ain’t gone far yet, so I’m just gonna talk to you like you was still here, okay?  I just wanted to tell you one more time that I love you, and I always will.  You wasn’t always my mama, but I ‘member the day you came, and it was the happiest day ever.  Guess this is ‘bout the saddest.  I miss you somethin’ awful, Ma.”

    He lowered his head to the covers and cried for awhile; then he lifted his head and gazed lovingly at her face once more.  “I’m gonna grow up good, just like you’d want, Ma,” he promised, “and I’m gonna do my best to help Little Joe grow up good, too.  I won’t never let nothin’ hurt him, leastways if I can help it.  He’s hurtin’ now, Ma, and I don’t know ‘xactly how to make it stop ‘cause I’m still hurtin’, too, but I’ll try.  I promise you, I’ll try, and Adam’ll help, too.  He did love you, Ma, even if he never said it.  I thought you oughta know.”

    Hoss sat back on his heels and wiped away the tears, satisfied that he’d said what needed to be said and that his mother had heard him.

    A soft smile touched Adam’s lips as he breathed in the sweet smell of his freshly bathed baby brother.  Dressed in clean clothes, Little Joe was nestled in his lap, damp curls resting on his chest, while Hoss was huddled up against his side on the settee.  Ross was sitting quietly in the mauve armchair to their left, not wanting to intrude on the peace of that scene or the comfort the brothers obviously were drawing from each other.  Katerina and Hop Sing were at work in the kitchen, baking pies against an onslaught of well-wishers, and upstairs the Reverend Bennett was trying to bring some consolation to the distraught head of the family.

    Ross sprang to his feet when three solid knocks sounded on the front door.  “I’ll get it.”  He moved across the room with long strides and opened the door.  “It’s Doc Martin,” he called over his shoulder.  As he caught sight of the square-built man with a badge pinned to his chest, who stood behind the doctor, he added softly, “and a lawman, but it ain’t Sheriff Blackburn.”

    Closing his eyes, Adam took a deep breath and stood up, still holding Little Joe, and moved toward the door.

    Hoss scrambled up from the settee and rushed toward the man who had always been more friend than doctor to him.  “Pau-pau,” he sobbed, falling back on the name he’d used in childhood as he threw his arms around Paul Martin.

    Paul knelt at once and took the boy in his arms, looking up at Adam and the child he was holding with silent compassion.

    “Which of you is the Cartwright boy?” the unknown law officer asked, eyes moving from Ross to Adam.

    “I am,” Adam replied.  “Please come in, sir.  Would you care for some coffee?”

    “Coffee would go well after that dusty ride, son,” the deputy replied.  He chuckled.  “I’ve always felt a certain kinship to a drink named after me.”

    “Sir?” Adam queried.

    “Coffee,” the lawman explained with a wry grin.  “That’s my name—Roy Coffee.  Just signed on as deputy to Sheriff Blackburn, who’s indisposed this afternoon, you might say.”

    Paul Martin snorted, but said nothing, not deeming this the right time to discuss the foibles of the local sheriff.  Indisposed, indeed!  Once the most respected lawman in the region, John Blackburn had taken to heavy drinking, and the doctor had patched up more than one prominent citizen in Carson City who had aroused the sheriff’s unruly temper.  He’d even heard that Blackburn had shot a prisoner, arrested on some minor offense, for failing to quit singing when ordered.  The last thing the Cartwrights needed to deal with in their grief was a man of Blackburn’s erratic temperament, and Dr. Martin had been pleased to learn that the new deputy sheriff would be handling the investigation.  Though he’d had no contact with the deputy prior to their riding out here together, that brief acquaintance indicated Coffee to be a decent, fair-minded man.

    “I’ll tell Hop Sing,” Ross offered.  He reached for Little Joe.  “How ‘bout I take the younguns outside for a spell?”

    Paul Martin stood up.  “That would be best, I think, all things considered,” he said, his hand still resting on Hoss’s sandy head.  “Go help Ross with Little Joe now, son,” he urged, “and we’ll visit more later.”

    “Okay, Doc,” Hoss said, wiping his shirt sleeve across his eyes.  He followed Ross, who was carrying his younger brother, into the kitchen, Ross delivering the request for coffee as they passed through.

    Following Adam’s gesture, Deputy Coffee moved around the settee and took the seat Ross had recently vacated.  “First, let me say I’m sorry to be bothering you at such a time as this, son.  I’ll keep it as short as possible, but there are a few questions that need to be asked.”

    Adam sucked in his chapped lips and made a conscious effort to relax as he worked them out again.  “I understand.”

    Roy Coffee absently scratched his chin.  “I’ve asked the doctor here to act as coroner, so if you’ll tell us where the body is, he can get right to his examination.”

    Adam inclined his head toward the room behind him.  “In there.”

    Dr. Martin rested a supporting hand on the young man’s broad shoulder for a moment and then made his way into the downstairs bedroom.

    Katerina brought in a tray with three cups of coffee, leaving as soon as she’d set it on the table before the fireplace.

    True to his word, Deputy Coffee kept his questioning brief and to the point.  “I’ll talk to the ranch hands you say were around at the time, just to confirm your story,” he said, “although I have no doubt you’ve spoken the truth, son.  I really need to speak to your pa, too, if that’s possible, him bein’ the only one present when the lady was injured.”

    “The Reverend Bennett is with him now,” Adam explained.  “If you could wait ‘til . . .”

    “Certainly,” the deputy agreed at once, his attention focusing on the doctor as Paul Martin exited the bedroom where Marie lay.  “Were you able to determine the cause of death, doctor?”

    Paul nodded grimly.  “Her neck was broken, consistent with a fall from a horse.”

    “There’s other ways it could’ve gotten broke, though,” Coffee suggested.

    Paul’s nostrils flared.  “Not in this family!”

    The lawman raised his hands to ward off the anger.  “That fits with all I’ve ever heard,” he admitted. “Ain’t never heard a bad word spoken about Cartwright in the brief time I’ve been in the territory—to the contrary, in fact—but I try to be impartial when I’m investigating a violent death, doctor.”

    “Yes, of course,” Paul Martin sighed as he took a cup of coffee from the tray and sat down beside Adam.  “Certainly, there are other ways a neck can be broken, but the contusion on her right temple, while not conclusive, also confirms a fall.”

    “The horse was standing right there; all the men saw it,” Adam sputtered through gritted teeth.

    “Exactly why I want to talk to them,” the deputy said.

    Heavy steps came down the stairs, and the Reverend Bennett’s head was bowed as if it were as heavy as his tread.  As he came to the ground floor, he lifted sorrowful eyes to Adam’s face.  “I tried,” he said, ‘but he’s a broken man, beyond comfort.”

    “I know,” Adam murmured.  “Thank you, sir.”  In response to the minister’s quizzical gaze at the others in the room, he introduced the doctor and the deputy.

    “Any reason Mr. Cartwright can’t be questioned now?” Coffee asked, standing to his feet.

    The minister shook his head.  “No, but, please, be gentle.”

    “Don’t intend anything else,” the deputy said as he moved toward the stairs.

    “I’d like to come up with you,” Dr. Martin said, rising from his seat.

    “Sure.  Coroner’s got a right.  Might even be helpful,” Coffee replied, and the two men mounted the stairs, one behind the other.

    Reverend Bennett moved toward the settee.  “I told your father I’d perform the service, if he wanted,” he said, “and he seemed content with that.  If you prefer another minister, of course . . .”

    “No, personally I don’t,” Adam said, “but you know she wasn’t Protestant.  I haven’t had a chance to speak with her priest yet, and, frankly, I don’t know if he’ll agree to come.”

    “I realize it’s a complicated situation,” the minister said, laying a gentle hand on the young man’s knee.  “Just let me know what you decide.”  He stood.  “Please let me know when the service will be, at any rate; I will wish to attend.”

    “Thank you,” Adam said, standing and moving toward the door to see the minister out.

    Paul Martin sat on the side of the bed, strong supportive arm around his friend.  Deputy Sheriff Coffee had asked his questions, few and precise, and left.  Ben, still in his robe though it was almost noon, had barely been able to answer even those simple questions, however, his words mumbled and barely coherent.  Now, with the need to hold up in front of the lawman past, Ben had broken down entirely.

    “Why?” he asked through choking sobs.  “Why?  She was everything to me.”

    “I know, Ben; I know.”  Paul gently stroked the dark head buried in his chest, like the deputy keeping his words few, knowing Ben probably wouldn’t hear even the ones he spoke, so lost was he in his grief.  Paul remembered back to his first Christmas in what was then Utah Territory, remembered how his friend had reached down into the depths of his own pain over a similar loss, and he wished that he could provide the same sort of comfort Ben had given him then.  Ben had forced him to look that pain square in the eye and come to grips with it, but it wasn’t time for that yet.  This loss was too fresh, too raw, for mere words to soothe, and confrontation was not the answer.  Ben didn’t need talk; he needed a shoulder to cry on.  That Paul could offer, as a friend, but as a doctor he could give more.

    He stood and moved to the washstand.  Tearing open a packet of sleeping powder, he emptied it into a glass, poured water from the pitcher into it and stirred.  He came back to the bed and handed the glass to his friend.  “Drink this, Ben,” he said.  “Then lie down and get some rest.”

    “Rest?” a blank-eyed Ben babbled, as though the concept were foreign to him.  He glanced at the empty pillow beside his own barely used one.  “Without her?  How can I . . . ever again?”

    “Drink this, Ben,” the doctor urged.  “It will help, I promise.”

    Obedient as a child, Ben drank.

    Ross, who’d been occupying the younger boys with an energetic game of chase, snatched up Little Joe when a buggy pulled into the yard.  Adam had told him more than once about the youngster’s propensity for rushing toward any horse within view, and he didn’t want his friend to have to deal with another nasty accident.

    “Hey, it’s Aunt Nelly,” Hoss cried, moving with his usual caution toward the vehicle.

    Nelly reined the horse up sharply and opened her arms to the boy who still seemed like a son to her, even though she had relinquished that role to another.  “Sunshine!” she cried as she pulled him into an embrace.  “Oh, my poor Sunshine.”

    Tears flushed Hoss’s eyes, but he blinked them back.  “It’s awful hard, Aunt Nelly, but I gotta be brave—for Little Joe.”

    Nelly squeezed him tighter, her brown eyes warm with compassion as they fell on the little boy in Ross’s arms.  “The little lamb,” she murmured tenderly.  Accepting Hoss’s help, she stepped down from the buggy and reached up to pat Little Joe’s cheek.  While her feeling for the youngest Cartwright was not quite the same as for the boy she had, in part, helped to raise in his earliest years, her heart went out to Little Joe, so young to bear such a loss.  Just the age of my Bobby when he was took, she remembered.  As she imagined how her little four-year-old might have felt had she been the one taken, instead of him, that connection knit her soul still closer to the little boy in Ross’s arms.

    “I didn’t know you had a buggy, Aunt Nelly,” Hoss said.

    Nelly smiled down at him.  “I don’t, Sunshine.  I rented this from the livery, just for the day.  Uncle Clyde will be bringing the buckboard when he and Inger come.  He’s ridden out to see if Billy can get free and let some other friends know, and my girl’s cookin’ up a passel of food.”

    “Katerina and Hop Sing are in the kitchen, cookin’ up a storm, too,” Hoss informed her.

    Nelly gave him another squeeze.  “And I’ll be in there helpin’ ‘em, soon as I’ve had a word with Ben.”

    Ross switched Little Joe to his other arm, the left one having grown tired from holding the squirming youngster.  “Adam’s been waitin’ to talk to you, Miss Nelly.”

    “Adam?” she asked with a puzzled expression.

    “Yes’m.  He’s kind of taken charge,” Ross explained.  “Fact is, I ain’t even seen Mr. Cartwright since I been here; he’s that torn up about”—he cut a quick glance at Little Joe and bit his lip.  “Anyway, Adam wants to talk to you about the arrangements.”

    “I’ll go right in,” Nelly said.  “Could you boys see to the horse for me?”

    “Sure, ma’am.  Proud to.”

    “And, Sunshine, if you could bring my carpetbag in after awhile, I’d be appreciative.”  She glanced up at the older boy, for some reason feeling a need to explain.  “I come prepared to stay, figurin’ I might be needed.”

    “Yes’m, you sure are,” Ross replied with a smile and a nod.  He plunked Little Joe into the seat of the buggy and moved to the horse’s head to lead him toward the barn.

    “Go for ride?” Little Joe begged, leaning forward in an attempt to reach the reins.

    “Why don’t you?” Nelly suggested to Ross.  “I ‘spect you’ve had your hands full, keepin’ that one occupied.”

    Ross chuckled.  “You know him pretty good, don’t you?  Yeah, we’ll take a short turn around the meadow if you don’t mind.  Don’t want to overtire the horse after his comin’ all the way from Carson.”

    Nelly gave his arm a couple of encouraging pats.  “You’re a good, thoughtful boy, and I can see you’re bein’ a big help to your friend.”  She could almost have sworn that Ross Marquette’s shoulders set a little squarer as she moved past him toward the door.  When Adam answered her knock, she wanted to throw her arms around him, as she’d done with Hoss, but even as a little boy, Adam hadn’t seemed to welcome hugs like his younger brothers did.  And now he looked like the weight of the world was bearing down on him.  Tryin’ hard to be a man, bless his heart, Nelly concluded and determined to treat him with the deference due that status.

    Walking in, she saw Dr. Martin sitting in the mauve armchair.  “Doc, you lookin’ after Ben?” she asked.  “How’s he holdin’ up?”

    “Not too well, Nelly, as I was just telling Adam,” the doctor said sadly.  “I sedated him, so he’d get some rest, but he has yet to touch food since  . . . last night.”  Like everyone else, he found it hard to put the tragic event into words.

    “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Nelly,” Adam said as he directed her toward the settee.

    “So Ross said,” Nelly responded, holding her blue calico skirt as she sat down at the right end of the settee.

    Licking his lips, Adam sat in the blue chair near her.  “Yes.”  He took a deep breath.  “I talked to Pa last night, and we decided to ask you to advise us about the arrangements.  We both felt you’d be most likely to know how to do things right.”

    Dr. Martin’s eyes narrowed in concern for the young man.  Having seen how disoriented Ben was, he had a good idea who had done most of the “deciding” in the conversation last night.

    “I’ve had some experience with these things, right enough,” Nelly agreed, “and I’ll be glad to help all I can.  I even took the liberty of packin’ a bag so I could stay over.”

    “That’s no liberty,” Adam said smoothly.  “You’re family, always welcome here.”

    She smiled and reached over to pat his arm, as much touch as she thought he’d be comfortable with.  “That’s just how I feel toward all of you, too.  Now, I assumed you’d be havin’ the buryin’ tomorrow afternoon; that’s what I’m havin’ Clyde tell all the folks he sees.”

    “It shouldn’t wait longer, unless you intend to put the body on ice,” Dr. Martin inserted.

    Seeing Adam’s face go gray, Nelly glared at the doctor.  “No need to speak so blunt, there bein’ no real reason to wait longer.  Ben’s brother is too far away to come, at any rate, and tomorrow is just right for friends in the territory to make their way here.  That’s why I went ahead and told Clyde what I did—just usin’ common sense.”

    Adam smiled, a trifle weakly.  “See?  We knew you’d handle things just right.”

    “About two o’clock seem good to you, son?” Nelly asked deferentially.  “Give folks time to get here and time to make it home ‘fore it gets late, in most cases, and it bein’ Sunday, the minister will be tied up ‘til noon, anyway.”

    Adam nodded.  “Two is fine.”

    “Next thing is to get hold of the minister then, I reckon,” she went on.

    Adam sat forward, dropping his hands between his knees and twirling his thumbs around each other.  “That’s one thing I wanted to ask you about—which minister to ask.”

    “Why, the Reverend Bennett, of course,” Nelly said matter-of-factly.

    “But Marie was Catholic,” Adam pointed out.  “Shouldn’t I at least ask her priest?  I don’t know if he’ll come, disapproving of the marriage the way he did, but I know that’s who she would want.”

    Nelly’s lips set in a hard line.  “You know I don’t hold with Papists, Adam, so to my mind there’s only one man fit to ask, but I understand you wantin’ to show respect to your ma’s wishes.  Most folks hereabouts won’t fancy listenin’ to that Latin drivel, though, and you know it.”

    Sighing, Adam raked his fingers through his dark hair.  “Yeah, I know, but I won’t feel right if I don’t ask.”

    Nelly’s mouth softened.  “Then do it, boy.  You gotta do what you think is right, and if folks fuss, they fuss.  Those who love you will stand by you, either way.”

    Adam nodded his appreciation of her understanding.  “Guess I’d better ride in to Virginia City right away then.  You’ll see to the boys while I’m gone?”

    “Now, you didn’t need to ask that,” Nelly scolded gently.

    Adam stood.  “I’ll head on out then.  Be back soon as I can.”

    “You’ll do no such thing!”

    Everyone in the great room turned to see Katerina, standing just outside the entrance to the kitchen with her hands on her hips.  “You will not stir a step ‘til you’ve had your dinner, young man.  Hop Sing and I have a tasty stew bubbling, and it’ll be ready by the time I get this table set.”  Her gaze rested on the woman on the settee.  “Hello, Nelly.  I didn’t realize you’d come yet, but there’s plenty—enough for you, too, Doc.”

    “Never crossed my mind to turn you down,” Paul said with a smile, “and she’s right, Adam.  You should eat before you leave.  It’s a long ride, son.”

    “Never crossed my mind to turn it down,” Adam responded, smiling in response to the kindness of all these good friends.

    The setting was serene: emerald pines thrusting toward the cloudless sky and white-tipped waves, stirred by the gentle breeze, washing the lake shore.  Standing before the open grave, Adam could hear the voice of Reverend Bennett, and somewhere in the back of his mind the words registered.  Like thunder rumbling softly in the distance, though.  Segmented as an earthworm, his thoughts crawled from one concern to another, and he couldn’t follow what was being said, except to acknowledge that the words were gracious.

    Riding into Virginia City the day before had been a waste of time, time better spent comforting his little brothers, instead of leaving them in the hands of caring friends, but he’d had to try.  Father Gallagher had been compassionate and kind, but firm in his position that he could not bless the burial of a woman out of communion with the Holy Church.  Adam had understood, had even expected that response, but he ached over it, nonetheless.  He had so wanted to do this one last thing for Marie, to express the love he’d never voiced, but it had been denied him.  Father Gallagher, laying aside his clerical robes, had come as a friend and fellow mourner, which Adam appreciated, but it wasn’t quite the same.  The Methodist-Episcopal minister was doing a fine job, lauding Marie as a god-fearing woman, despite the difference in her beliefs, but Adam still felt that he had somehow failed his mother.

    That sense of failure made him all the more determined to fulfill his other responsibilities, and they were legion.  Already today he’d pressed his father to decide on the burial site, had organized some of the hands to dig the grave and had selected six friends to serve as pallbearers: Clyde Thomas, George Dettenrieder, Enos Montgomery, Ross Marquette, Billy Thomas and Mark Wentworth, on a special pass from Ft. Churchill.  He’d welcomed mourners to the Ponderosa, greeting them in place of his father, who had remained in his room until Nelly Thomas finally took the bull by the horns and insisted that he come down to greet the friends who had arrived to pay their respects.

    He’d seen to it that his younger brothers were properly dressed in their best suits, although Nelly, who’d spent the night, and Katerina, who’d been back by breakfast time, had managed the actual washing and dressing.  He’d supervised the spread laid on the table at noon for the roomful of people and had made sure that everyone took nourishment, including his father.  He’d also tried, with limited success, to steer his younger brothers away from the ladies who wanted to weep over the poor motherless little things.  Ross and Billy had been godsends in that department, somehow managing to keep Hoss and Little Joe occupied and clean, even when they took the youngsters outside to escape the maudlin cooing of the more melodramatic mourners.  They were both still watching over the younger boys, Billy standing directly behind Hoss and half-hugging him, while Ross stood just to the right, too shy to touch anyone, but close at hand, if needed.

    Adam was grateful for their help with his brothers, as he was grateful to Paul Martin, who was standing at Ben’s left hand to offer both moral and physical support.  Adam, at his father’s right, was supporting him, too, his left arm circling the slumped man’s waist, while his right hand rested on Hoss’s shoulder.  I need a third arm, Adam sighed to himself as he glanced down at Little Joe.  Hoss, bless him, was acting as that third arm, though, his chubby arms wrapped around Little Joe’s small frame, holding him steady as the service went on.

    Little Joe.  More than to anyone else, Adam’s heart went out to the baby, who was peering from face to face as if searching for someone to help him understand what was happening.  But how could anyone explain the incomprehensible to a four-year-old child?  All the adults around him were still so lost in shock themselves that they had little to offer, and that was true of no one more than Pa.

    Adam remembered with anguish the moment when Pa had finally come downstairs.  Little Joe, who had been wandering from person to person, accepting their pats on the head and hugs, had seen his father descending the stairs and had scrambled up to the landing with an ecstatic cry.  Pa, however, had only given him an absent-minded pat on the head, briefer by far than the ones mere friends were doling out, and the little boy’s face had crumpled.  As he gathered the stricken baby into his arms, Adam had glared at his father, but the anger died when he looked into those vacant velvet eyes.  Pa wasn’t ignoring Little Joe; he wasn’t even seeing him.

    The words ended, shaking Adam from his reverie, and one by one friends dropped a handful of earth onto the wooden coffin resting in the rectangular hole.  Little Joe looked puzzled, as if he couldn’t understand why people were throwing dirt at his mama.  When it came time for the family to say their farewell, Adam stooped down beside his youngest brother and trickled a little dirt into the tiny palm.  “To say goodbye,” he whispered.  “We’ll come back another time and plant some flowers in the dirt.”

    “Mama likes flowers,” Little Joe whispered back.  “Yellow and blue ones, best.”

    Adam nodded and held the child’s hand over the open grave, uncurling his fingers so the earth would spill out.  He noted with gratitude that Ross and Billy were flanking Hoss as he performed the same rite.  Lifting Little Joe, he placed him in Billy’s arms and turned back to his father, who was standing, much as Little Joe had, just staring at the dirt-dusted coffin.  “Time to say goodbye, Pa,” he said, feeling almost as if he were dealing with a child of Joe’s age.

    He didn’t, at least, have to put the dirt in his father’s hand.  Ben nodded half-heartedly and bent to gather a handful for himself.  Dribbling the dirt down into the grave, he stood staring into its depths until Dr. Martin led him away.

    The house was finally quiet, but Adam still couldn’t sleep, despite feeling completely exhausted by the events of the day.  Being surrounded by people ‘til dark had left him no time for contemplation, and now that they were gone and he had time, he couldn’t silence his thoughts, no matter how much he needed sleep.  So many people.  Somehow, he hadn’t expected such a large turnout for Marie’s funeral, hadn’t realized until then just how respected his father was in the larger community.

    They’d come from every stratum of society: the high and the low, everyone from newly arrived Territorial Governor James Nye, with politically ambitious attorney Bill Stewart hugging his side; to their neighbors, Eilley and Sandy Bowers, who had risen from humble beginnings to become some of the Comstock’s first millionaires; to Touqua, the lean-fleshed Washo Indian who worked the Ponderosa whenever he got hungry enough.  There had been a large representation of Ponderosa employees, many of whom had known, admired and even loved his stepmother, but a number of the newer workers at the lumber camps had come, as well, some of whom had probably never even met Marie.  They’d come for Pa, though, and while Pa had barely acknowledged them, their support must surely have bolstered him.

    It had been a largely male gathering, partly because the Territory itself was still largely male, but other than close friends and neighbors, the female population of Nevada had stayed away in droves.  Marie had stirred ill-will among that segment of the community: some from simple envy of her beauty, some because of her Southern origin during this time of war, a few because she was Creole and in their view racially inferior, a few more due to religious differences and others because of her championship of social outcasts like Julia Bulette, who had, thankfully, had the good sense to stay away today, if she even knew.  Adam’s thoughts went back to the Fourth of July, to Marie’s fiery insistence that she would never leave a friend behind. That’s the kind of woman you spurned, he fumed at those hoity-toity ladies of Virginia City and Washoe Valley, who hadn’t wanted to sully their reputations by associating with Marie, even in death.  You weren’t fit to kiss her feet.   And what about yourself, Adam Cartwright? he scolded.  You didn’t deserve her, either.  You were the first to spurn he r.  He threw his arm across his forehead. I tried to make it right, Mama.  I didn’t say it as clearly as I probably should have—didn’t really know how and still don’t—but you knew, didn’t you?  Oh, God, I hope you knew!

    Adam bolted upright in bed as a sharp cry cut through the silence.  His bare feet hit the floor, and he instinctively hurried across the hall into his baby brother’s room.  Little Joe was thrashing with the covers, most of which were tangled around his lower legs, and he was crying aloud for his mama, alternating that plea with screams of “No, don’t!”

    “Baby, baby,” Adam whispered, picking the child up and holding him against his chest.  “Shh, it’s all right, baby,” he soothed as he gently patted his brother’s back.

    Little Joe pulled back, blinking his eyes and looking into his brother’s face.  “Adam?”

    Adam moved to the rocking chair near the open window and sat down.  “It’s all right, baby,” he said again.  “I think you were having a nightmare.”

    “Nightmare?”  Little Joe cocked his head in puzzlement over the unfamiliar term.

    “A bad dream,” Adam explained.  “Did something scare you in your sleep?”

    Little Joe’s head bobbed up and down.  “Dark, Adam.  Cold.  Mama don’t like it in the box in the ground.  Too dark, too cold.”

    Adam stroked his brother’s tousled curls.  “Mama’s not in the box, remember?  Only her outside part.  Mama’s in heaven, remember?”

    “Not in the box?”  The question was a plea for reassurance, and Adam quickly gave it.  “Mama like heaven, Adam?”

    “I’m sure she does,” the older brother replied.

    “She miss me?”

    “I’m sure she does,” Adam said again, “but she has God to comfort her, just like you have me and Hoss and”—he stopped before mentioning Pa, recalling that their father hadn’t been of much comfort to anyone so far.

    Little Joe didn’t seem to notice the omission as he snuggled closer to his brother, slipping his thumb in his mouth.

    “Ready to go back to bed now?” Adam asked.

    Little Joe shook his head violently from side to side.

    Adam didn’t want to rush the little boy, but he hesitated to stay in the rocking chair for fear that he would fall asleep and lose his grip on the child.  “Want to come to my bed?” he asked.

    The thumb came out, and Little Joe smiled as he nodded.

    “Okay.”  Adam stood up and carried his youngest brother into his own room, pausing only a moment to glance down the hall.  You’d think Pa would have heard his baby screaming.  Marie would have, Adam was sure.  But maybe only a mother’s ear stayed cocked for sounds of her baby’s distress.  To be sure, Hoss was still snoring away, and his room was right next door.  Maybe Pa just hadn’t heard.  It was far better to assume that than to think that his father might have heard and just not come.
 

    As the copper sun started to sink below the evergreen-fringed ridge to the west, Adam rode toward home at a walk, slumped over his saddle horn, so bone-tired that just sitting upright seemed tantamount to scaling some sheer rock face reaching straight up to the sky.  Marie had been buried a week now, and it had been the hardest week of  his life.  Oh, he’d thought life was hard right after Inger’s death, but this was worse.  The sense of loss had been more devastating back then because he’d opened his heart wide to the gentle Swede, and she’d filled it with all the love he’d ever dreamed of in a mother.  He hadn’t been as open with Marie, maybe out of some sense of not needing a mother at his age or  maybe, if he looked deep enough, out of fear of losing her, too, if he cared too much.  And now, as if to fulfill that foolish fear, he had.  Maybe the fear hadn’t been so foolish, then; maybe love did lead inevitably to loss.  It seemed to in this family.  In all families eventually, of course, but it shouldn’t come so soon.  Love should last a decade or two, at the very least, shouldn’t it?  But it hadn’t.  Not for him, not for Pa, nor for Hoss or Little Joe.  They’d had Marie the longest, but even she had left them after five brief, mostly blissful years.  For all of them, the time with the ones they loved had been short—much, much too short.

    It wasn’t the grief, though, that made this death harder to deal with; that was no greater than before.  It was, rather, the crushing burden of responsibility that had been thrust upon him overnight.  He’d been a child when Inger died, and while he’d tried to bear some of the load, especially in caring for Hoss, that had been child’s play compared to shouldering the entire responsibility of running a ranch as diverse as the Ponderosa had become.  Up before sunrise and home after sunset had become the pattern of his days, as Adam struggled to keep the far-flung ranch operations afloat.  Jake Webber had virtually taken over for him at one lumber camp, but Adam still hadn’t found anyone he could rely on that completely at what had been his father’s camp.  So he was spending a lot of time there, fielding questions, making work assignments, solving problems and confronting troublemakers.  Thankfully, there hadn’t been too many of them—so far, at least.  Adam thought he saw signs of trouble brewing, of men who didn’t appreciate working for a boy when they’d signed on under a man, but he couldn’t afford to borrow tomorrow’s troubles.  He had enough to deal with today.

   Enos was handling the cattle operation efficiently, but it was still necessary to meet with him every day or so, to discuss any changes needed in the regular routine, and while he trusted the foreman implicitly, the men working under him needed to see the boss from time to time, to keep up morale, if nothing else. The young boss, Adam corrected himself with a wry smile, employing the title Enos had used the morning after Marie’s death.  Scant chance they’ve got of seeing the real boss anytime soon.

    Every time Adam tried to arouse his father’s interest in the ranch, he ran head-on into a blank wall of indifference.  “Whatever you think best, son,” was becoming a standard answer to any question.  Adam was tempted to scream back, “I don’t know what’s best, Pa!”  But he never did.  It would be like slamming his fist into the midriff of the scarecrow staked in Hop Sing’s garden, for Pa seemed almost as lifeless as a man made of straw.  He staggered around the house in a haggard daze, rarely bothering to change out of his dressing robe, forgetting to wash and shave unless reminded, and he never remembered to eat unless someone set a plate in front of him and urged him to take nourishment.

    Hop Sing and Hoss had been dividing that chore between them, and Adam felt terrible about it, as if he were foisting off on others responsibilities that should have been his, but he had no one else to turn to.  As Enos had so wisely told him that first day, he couldn’t do everything, and Adam was forced to admit the truth of that every morning when he reviewed all he needed to accomplish that day.  Like it or not, he had to rely on the resources available to him.  For watching over Pa and Little Joe during the day, Hop Sing and Hoss were the only resources he had, but sometimes Adam felt as if he’d dumped the dirtiest chores of all on those willing shoulders.

    Hop Sing had always felt free to scold any member of the family not doing justice to meals, but even he spoke tentatively to Pa now, urging rather than demanding, as if fearful of breaking an egg already cracked.  And often—far too often, to Adam’s way of thinking—Hoss was acting as caretaker to his father, instead of the other way around.  The youngster was almost full-time caretaker for his younger brother, too, although Hop Sing was beginning to loosen up his rigid sense of respectful relationship between employer and employee enough to provide some personal care for the youngest Cartwright and let Hoss have a little time off.

    Hoss had made it plain that he wanted to work alongside Adam, that he enjoyed being up at the lumber camp and didn’t like hanging around the house and yard all the time.  He’d been looking forward to working the ranch all through his school term, and he didn’t appreciate being deprived of a reward he felt he’d earned.  He’d understood, of course—or said he did—when Adam told him that he was doing the most important job of all in taking care of Little Joe.  Much as he loved his baby brother, though, Hoss didn’t relish tending him all the time and hadn’t been shy about expressing his frustration to his older brother.

    Adam didn’t blame him.  He could remember all too well how he’d felt as a boy of seven, washing out dirty diapers in the shallow waters of the Humboldt River as their wagon skirted its meandering shore.  Seven—or even ten, as Hoss was—was simply too young to take on the full responsibility for a younger child.

    Suddenly, Adam jolted upright in the saddle.  Ten, had he said?  Hoss would be eleven any day now, and no one, Pa least of all, had given the slightest thought to planning a celebration.  Not that any of them felt like celebrating, but Hoss deserved something to make his day special, something to lift the sadness for one day, at least.

    Adam shook his head.  Planning a celebration meant trying to talk to Pa, and he had a feeling Pa’s answer would be that same standard “Whatever you think best, son.”  He urged the black gelding to a quicker pace, not admitting ‘til this moment that the slow gait had been a result of his reluctance to go home.  For if the days were hard, the nights were worse.  After supper they’d all gather in the great room, as before, but the evenings weren’t as they’d been before, warm times of sharing the experiences of the day or just relaxing in one another’s company.  Adam tried to make the hour after the meal a pleasant one for his brothers, playing checkers with Hoss or reading a story to Little Joe, but it seemed harder each day because each day he felt more exhausted.  All he really wanted to do after the evening meal was drop down in his blue armchair and let every muscle go slack.  Most nights, he was too tired even to read.

    It wasn’t the unrelenting weariness that sullied evenings at home, though.  It was the silence.  Pa just sat in his chair, staring into the fire, saying virtually nothing, and Hoss spoke only in hushed, hesitant tones when their father was around.  With Little Joe, it was worse.  The first few days he’d been unnaturally quiet, drawn into himself in a way that seemed totally alien to the active four-year-old.  Then a couple of nights ago the baby had evidently decided to take matters into his own hands and try to force things back to the way they’d been before.

    Sitting in his father’s lap had been a nightly ritual as long as the child could remember, but not once since his mother’s death had he been snuggled and cuddled at the end of the day.  That night Little Joe had climbed into Pa’s lap to claim the attention he craved, and for the briefest moment Pa had permitted it.  Then, staring into those iridescent emerald eyes, so like Marie’s, tears had started to fall down Pa’s cheeks, and he’d gingerly set the child in the floor and rushed up the stairs to his room.  Adam had cradled his heartbroken baby brother in his strong arms until Little Joe cried himself to sleep.

    There’d been another nightmare that night, and Adam had taken his youngest brother into his bed for the third time in a week.  The next morning the damp sheets told Adam that sucking his thumb wasn’t the only childish behavior to which Little Joe had reverted.  He’d talked it over with Dr. Martin, who’d stopped by early that morning after an all-night vigil at a neighbor’s home, and learned that backtracking like that wasn’t uncommon when little children were upset.  “Don’t be surprised if his language development takes a step back, too.  Be patient with him,” the doctor had urged, “and he’ll get over it as he becomes accustomed to the new situation.”

    Adam sighed as he made the final approach to the house.  Last night there had been an even more traumatic confrontation between Ben Cartwright and his youngest son.  Little Joe was nothing, if not determined, and he had once more attempted to take his accustomed place in his father’s lap.  Ben reacted at once this time, setting Joe down.  “Not tonight, baby,” he’d whispered hoarsely.  “Pa’s tired.”  And he’d turned back to gazing into the fire.

    Fire in his eyes, Little Joe had slapped his father on the knee, and Adam had held his breath, wondering how Pa would react.  Taken by surprise, Pa had stared at the impudent little face and then turned slowly away.

    Little Joe’s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened in disbelief that the act of disrespect was being ignored.  Then, in what was clearly an attempt to make Pa jealous, he’d climbed up onto the settee and into Hoss’s lap.  Ben didn’t even turn around.

    Hoss had looked to Adam for guidance and at his older brother’s encouraging nod, he pulled Little Joe into an embrace and spent the rest of the evening cuddling the little boy.  Joe had soaked up the petting like a thirsty sponge, but every few minutes Adam would catch him looking toward that lonely figure in the chair and a little more light would fade from those expressive eyes.

    As Adam rode into the yard and dismounted, the door to the bunkhouse opened, and one of the hands walked out.  “Stable your horse for you, Mr. Adam?” the wiry young fellow asked.

    “Yeah, Lou, I’d appreciate it,” Adam said, handing the young man the reins.

    “You sure been keeping late hours, boss,” Lou offered.

    “Yeah,” Adam said.  And even that wouldn’t be so bad if I could sleep soundly at night.  Little Joe had ended up in his bed again last night, and Adam had been awakened when he rolled over to discover that his nightshirt was sopping wet on the side next to his baby brother.  Not wanting to change the sheets in the middle of the night, he’d tossed off both his own garment and Little Joe’s, picked the baby up and carried him across the hall.  He’d wrapped the sleeping baby in a blanket and crawled into Joe’s pint-sized bed with him, but that had been a mistake.  Joe didn’t take much room, but even without his baby brother, Adam’s long frame would have been cramped in that small space.  Little Joe had giggled—a rare and precious sound these days—when he woke up and realized that both he and his big brother had been sleeping naked.  Adam, on the other hand, had awakened with a groan, stiff in his limbs and with an aching crick in his neck.  Nothing like a miserable night to set a man up for a frustrating day, he’d moaned to himself, and whether the prophecy was self-fulfilling or not, “frustrating” had turned out to be a perfect description of how today had gone.

    Adam opened the front door and came inside, plunking his hat on one of the pegs to the left and unbuckling his gun belt.  He hadn’t unfastened the first notch, however, when an odd sound caught his ear, and he glanced over to see Little Joe standing upright in the middle of the wooden table before the fireplace, stomping his little feet, eyes glued to his father’s face.  It was another obvious bid for attention, but Adam couldn’t afford to just stand back and watch to see what developed, not when the child might fall and injure himself at any moment.  He dashed around the settee and snatched Little Joe up in mid-stomp.  Not, however, before that small foot sent the bowl of apples on the table crashing to the floor.

    “Uh-oh,” Little Joe said, darting a peek in his father’s direction.  “Gonna be nes’ry talk now, I guess.”

    You little imp! Adam thought.  That’s exactly what you want.   The anger rising within him, however, wasn’t directed at the baby, for he understood the desperation that made his little brother willing to take a spanking just to have some kind of contact with Pa.  And Pa was just sitting there, staring at the boy, seemingly without a clue that what he was really seeing was a cry for help.

    Suddenly, the pent-up frustration and anger came surging out.  “Were you just gonna let him?” Adam demanded as he clutched the child to his chest.  “Or don’t you care if he gets hurt?”  He regretted those words a moment afterwards.  Not for his father’s sake.  Pa deserved them, but Little Joe shouldn’t have heard any suggestion that his father didn’t care about him.  There was no calling the words back, however, so Adam just stood his ground, glaring at his father.

    Ben looked up, through a haze of confusion.  “No, I—I”—he broke off, his thoughts too fragmented to complete the sentence.  “I’m sorry, son.”  He slumped forward, dropping his face into his hands.

    Hop Sing, who had heard a crash, scuttled in from the kitchen and, seeing the apples scattered across the floor, grabbed the bowl and started to pick up the fruit.  “What happen here?” he scolded.  “Hop Sing no have time fo’ foolishment.”

    “Little Joe kicked it over,” Adam explained.  “Where’s Hoss, Hop Sing?”

    “He not here?” the little cook asked, eyes darting around the room.  “He here befo’, Mr. Adam.”  He set the bowl of apples back on the table and wagged a finger at Little Joe.  “No mo’ foolishment, little boy.  Velly bad boy.”  Muttering in Cantonese, he scurried back to the kitchen.

    “Bad boy,” Little Joe echoed, nodding his head soberly, as he looked intently at his father.  Seeing Pa’s face still buried in his hands, the little boy then glanced anxiously up at Adam.  “Nes’ry talk?” he whispered, his expression fearful this time.  He clearly didn’t want a spanking if it were to be his big brother administering it.

    Adam kissed the soft cheek.  “Maybe,” he said, “but not with you, sweet baby.”  To comfort Joe, he put the boy over his shoulder and rubbed up and down his back.  Then  Adam looked toward his father and raised his voice.  “Pa?”  When there was no response, he spoke still more sharply.  “Pa?  Where’s Hoss?”

    Ben looked up.  “I . . . I don’t know.  I should know, shouldn’t I?  A father should know where his sons are . . . but I . . . don’t.”  His eyes were troubled as he glanced around the room, as if searching for his middle son.

    The front door opened, and the missing family member walked into a whirlpool of concern.  “Where were you?” Adam demanded.  “You’re supposed to be watching this baby.”

    “I been watchin’ him,” Hoss protested.  “All day I been watchin’ him.  Ain’t I even got the right to traipse to the outhouse when I need to?”

    Adam winced in chagrin.  “Sure you do, Hoss.  Sorry I snapped.”

    “Aw, that’s okay, Adam.”  Quick to forgive, Hoss came close to his brother.  Planting both hands on his hips, he frowned at Little Joe.  “Okay, punkin, what mischief did you get into that’s got Adam so riled?”

    “Climb on table, kick off bowl, bad boy,” Little Joe explained, hanging his head in what Adam was sure was false shame this time.

    “You’re a mess, all right,” Hoss said.  “Can’t turn my back a minute, can I?”  He looked up at his older brother.  “I’m sorry, Adam, honest.”

    Adam tousled his brother’s sandy hair.  “No harm done, Hoss.  I hate to impose again, but could you take Little Joe upstairs and get him cleaned up for supper?”

    “Yeah, sure,” Hoss said, reaching for his younger brother.  He gave the little boy a bounce as he headed toward the stairs.

    “And Hoss?” Adam called as his brothers started up.  “Keep him up there ‘til I call you to supper.”

    “Huh?  Oh . . . okay.”  Hoss wasn’t sure why Adam wanted them out of sight for awhile, but he responded with trust.  Hopefully, it wasn’t anything as bad as the last time Adam had told him to keep Little Joe upstairs.  No, it couldn’t be.  Nothing could be as bad as losing Ma, like they had that night.

    Adam tucked his hands in his back pockets and licked his lips as he surveyed his father, who was again staring into the flickering fire.  No time like the present, I guess, he told himself as he moved around the table and sat on the end closest to his father’s chair.  “Pa?  We need to talk.”

    “What?”  Stirred from his melancholic musings, Ben turned slowly toward him, moisture glistening in his eyes.  “I haven’t done too well by you boys, have I?”

    No, you haven’t, Adam accused silently, but he only said, “You aren’t doing too well by yourself, either, Pa.”  He took a deep breath and plunged in.  “Look at yourself, Pa.  Here it is time for supper and you’re still puttering around in your robe and slippers, and you didn’t shave today, either, judging by the length of that stubble.”

    Ben rubbed his spiny jaw.  “I . . . I forgot, I guess.”

    Concern etched deeply in his features, Adam leaned forward.  “Don’t you think you’d feel better, think clearer, if you did make an effort to clean up—and to get out some?  Fresh air would do you a world of good, Pa.”

    Ben smiled weakly.  “Fresh air.  It does sound inviting.”

    Adam’s ebony eyes sparkled with hope.  “A world of good, Pa,” he repeated.  “Why don’t you get dressed in the morning and have one of the men saddle a horse for you after breakfast?  Ride up toward the lake, smell the pines.”

    Ben nodded.  “Yes.  I—I might do that.  But not—not the lake—not near there.”

    Not near her grave, he means, Adam realized.  “Anywhere you like, Pa,” he urged.  “Just get out and about.”

    “Yeah.  Yeah, maybe.”

    Seeing his father’s attention start to drift away again, Adam spoke quickly.  “Pa, that isn’t what I needed to talk to you about.”

    Ben blinked, as if trying to focus on his son’s words.  “I—uh—I know I’ve been leaving a lot in your hands these last few days.  Are—are you having problems with the ranch, son?”

    Yes!   Adam wanted to scream the word, but he had a more important concern to deal with tonight.  “Nothing urgent,” he said, “but I just realized this evening that there’s a special day coming up next week.”  He waited, hoping his father would make the connection on his own.  When Ben didn’t, Adam said softly, “Hoss’s birthday.”

    Ben looked startled.  “Oh.  I—I hadn’t realized, either.”

    Adam edged forward.  “Don’t you think we should make some plans?”

    “Plans?”  Bewildered, Ben shook his head.

    “To mark the day,” Adam explained.  He couldn’t bring himself to use the word “celebrate.”

    “There is a gift.  She—she saw to that, and I’m sure she had something in the works for the boy, but”—Ben sucked in a shallow breath—”I don’t feel much like a party, Adam.”  He paused and then added, “I doubt Hoss does, either.”

    “It might do him good,” Adam said.  “Don’t you think he deserves a little happiness?”

    Ben’s head came up sharply.  “Of course, he does.”  His left hand raked through his dark, tangled hair.  “Well—well, you go ahead and plan something, if you think that’s what he’d like.”

    “Me go ahead,” Adam sputtered.  “Will you be there . . . or will you be ‘too tired’?”

    Ben flushed with sudden shame.  “I’ll be there,” he promised weakly.

    At the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs, three heads came up at the breakfast table.  Swiveling in his chair at the foot of the table, Adam smiled with warm welcome.  “Good morning, Pa,” he called.

    “Good morning, boys,” Ben returned with some effort.

    Little Joe went right back to playing with his oatmeal, but a wide grin split Hoss’s face as their father moved across the great room toward them.  It had been a week since Pa had been up in time to eat breakfast with them, and he was dressed in something besides night clothes, too.  As Ben took his place at the head of the table, however, Hoss noticed that his father was wearing range clothes and thought he’d better mention it.  “Uh, Pa,” Hoss began tentatively, “you gonna change into your suit after breakfast?”

    Ben’s brow wrinkled in bewilderment.  “Suit?”

    “For church,” Hoss explained.  “Did you forget it was Sunday, Pa?”

    Ben absently massaged his temple.  “Sunday?  I—uh—yes, son, I did forget.”

    “There’s plenty of time, if you want to change,” Adam suggested.  “I still have to dress Little Joe, and you know how long that can take.”

    A brief smile touched Ben’s lips as he recalled other Sunday morning struggles to get his youngest ready for church, but the smile faded as he pictured the golden-haired woman in whose lap those struggles had generally taken place.  “I—I hadn’t intended to go to church,” he mumbled.  Now or ever .

    Though disappointed that the family would not be together, Adam nodded in understanding.  For him, it was progress enough to see Pa up and dressed and sharing breakfast with his sons; getting him out and among other folks could wait.  “Sure, Pa, I remember.  You were going to take a ride around the ranch today, weren’t you?”

    For a moment Ben looked as though he didn’t remember the previous night’s conversation, but then he stammered, “Yes, I—a ride—fresh air.”

    Little Joe’s head came up abruptly, and his eyes sparkled as he declared, “Me, too!  Not go church; go ride with Pa.”

    “No!” Ben said sharply.  Then, embarrassed, he softened his voice.  “Not today, baby.  Pa needs to go alone today.”  Seeing tears begin to form in the small boy’s eyes, he turned away.

    Adam spoke up quickly.  “That’s right, Little Joe.  Pa needs to ride alone today . . . and brother needs you to help drive the team.”

    “Him?” Hoss snorted.  “He ain’t big enough to”—he broke off abruptly in response to the significant glare Adam sent his direction.  “Oh, yeah.  Time he learned, I reckon.”

    Little Joe’s face was alight with excitement now.  “Really?  Me drive team?”

    “Help,” Adam corrected, having no intention of taking his own strong hands off the reins while they were held in his brother’s diminutive ones.

    “Okay.”  Little Joe grinned broadly.  Turning to his father, he announced, “Me go church with Adam, Pa.  Him need me.”

    Ben forced himself to turn and smile at his youngest son.  “That’s fine, son.  You help your brother.”  He looked down the table, giving his eldest a nod of genuine gratitude.  Adam was shouldering so much responsibility these days; his father was just beginning to realize how much.

    C risp.  Cool.  Pungent with pine.  Ben Cartwright sucked in air thirstily, like a man gulping water after a long walk in the desert, and a little of the life of the pines seeped inside.  It’s good to be up here, alone with the trees, he mused.  He’d had a few bad moments in the ranch yard, when Hank Carlton had offered condolences as he saddled the horse for his boss.  Ben had nodded perfunctorily, mounted and ridden away from painful reminders.  Then he’d run into a couple of hands as he rode through the valley, looking over the herd.  More condolences, more painful reminders of what he’d lost, so Ben had headed up into the hills, weaving his way among the silent pines, carefully avoiding the lake she had loved so much and near which she lay buried.

    Ben shook the thoughts loose.  He’d spent too much time thinking about her this past week or so.  Adam was right: it was time to think of other things, even if he had to force himself.  The ranch.  Think about the ranch.  It was looking good, well cared for, everything in order, and Ben knew whom he had to thank for that.  Adam’s done a good job, as good as any man could, but he shouldn’t have to.  No boy should have to shoulder his father’s responsibilities.  Oh, Adam, son, I’m just not doing right by you!

    Ben squared his shoulders.  That would change; it had to change.  He slumped over the horse again.  Yes, it  had to change . . . and it would. . . soon.  Just need a little more time to . . . to face things.  A shudder of shame rippled down his spine.  No, not good enough.  Adam deserves better, deserves an end to carrying this load.  Set a date, Ben, he scolded himself.  Tomorrow?  First day of the week, a good day for beginning anew.  But then there’s Hoss’s birthday the next day.  No use working one day and laying off the next.  Wednesday, then.  I’ll go back to work on Wednesday.

    That decided, he urged the horse on, his thoughts drifting to his second son as he climbed through the tall trees.  Hoss—my dear, undemanding boy—how could I forget your birthday?  How, when I’m so proud of the man you’re becoming?  A man in size already, but still a boy at heart.  She always reminded me of that.  Have to work at it now, now that she’s . . .enough pity!  Think about Hoss.  Adam was right—again.  Hoss deserves a little happiness, even at this sad time.  She promised him a picnic with all his friends.  It’s what I should give him, but I can’t . . . not yet.  Can’t abide being around people.  Hard enough just to be with my boys, especially—

    Ben vaulted off his horse and began to walk—long, forceful strides, as if trying to out-walk—what?  My anger, my shame?  Bad enough what I’m doing to Adam, to Hoss, but my baby—oh, Marie, what am I doing to our baby?  I can’t bear looking at him.  God forgive me, but it’s like looking at you, every time I see that little face . . . so like yours . . . and those eyes!  They’re your eyes, and my heart breaks every time I see them, so full of emotion, as yours always were.  Ben put his head back and laughed harshly.  No more pity, did I say?  You’re a pathetic excuse for a father, Ben Cartwright.

    He threw himself down on a carpet of wildflowers in the small clearing to which he’d come and idly plucked a few blooms.  Lifting them to his nostrils, he breathed in their gentle fragrance, such a contrast to the pungent pine scent of the surrounding evergreens.  She would love it here, had loved it here.  He lifted his head and, closing his eyes, let the soft breeze caress his face, imagining that it was her slender fingers brushing his cheeks. Marie, Marie!  How can I go on without you?  How can I be anything but a pathetic father without you to guide me?

    You did before.

    Ben’s eyes flew open, almost as if he’d heard an audible voice, but the meadow was empty, the wind whispering in the pines the only voice to be heard.  The thought, from wherever it had come, remained, however.  He had done it before.  Twice before he’d picked up the pieces and gone on.  Why did it seem so hard to do it a third time?  Maybe a man just ran out of strength, eventually, like a bank account drawn on too often.  “I can’t do it again!” he cried aloud, and from somewhere within the voice came again.  You have to try.

    Ben looked up at the sky and noticed that the sun was directly overhead.  Noon.  The boys would be home from church soon, sitting down to one of Hop Sing’s fine meals.  Ben knew he should be there with them, but he couldn’t pull himself to his feet.  It was peaceful here, quiet and serene, and his heart was still too heavy to heed the message it had heard.  Try, I have to try, he told himself as he picked another posy.  Tomorrow.  He plucked a blue lupine, one of her favorites.  I’ll try tomorrow . . . or perhaps the day after.

    “Adam!  Adam Cartwright!”

    Lifting Little Joe up to Hoss, who was already seated on the buckboard, Adam turned to see a spare-boned woman, her jet-black hair bound in a severe knot at the nape of her neck, swooping down on him.  “Mrs. Hunter,” he said, lifting his hat.

    The fortyish woman panted breathlessly as she scuttled up to the young man.  “Mercy, boy, no need to take off so fast,” she scolded.  “I wanted to ask about your pa.  Missed seein’ him in church this mornin’.  Still grievin’ hard, is he?”

    Adam cast a concerned glance at his younger brothers.  “Well, yes, ma’am, he is.”

    Mrs. Hunter bobbed her head sympathetically.  “Such a sad thing.  I know exactly how he feels.  Took me months, just months, to get over losin’ my Obadiah, but life goes on, and your pa’s got these poor little ones to think of.”

    “Uh, yes, and I’d—uh—better get the little ones back home, ma’am.”  Adam sprang into the buckboard beside his baby brother.

    The Widow Hunter caught his arm, her bony fingers digging in, as he reached for the reins.  “Now, you tell your pa that if he needs help, anything at all, I’m available.  All he need do is ask.”

    “Yes, ma’am.  Pa appreciates everyone’s support.”  Pa was, of course, still too numb to appreciate anything, but in time the words would be true, so Adam didn’t think speaking future, rather than present, truth counted as a lie.  He lifted his arm, but Mrs. Hunter’s grip didn’t relax.

    “And you tell your pa that he needs to be in church next Sunday,” the woman urged.  “He needs the consolation of God’s people at a time like this.”

    “Yes, ma’am.”  As Adam again tried to raise the reins, he felt Little Joe crawling across his knee.  “No, baby, sit still,” he said sharply.

    Little Joe frowned at the harsh tone, but he tumbled over between Adam’s knees and stood his ground.

    “Oh, the little lamb, he wants a kiss, I’ll bet.  Been missing a mother’s affection, have you, lambie pie?”  The Widow Hunter puckered up and, holding the child by both shoulders, pressed slurpy affection on his smooth cheek.  Little Joe scowled and wiped his cheek with his hand, but Mrs. Hunter didn’t see, for her gaze had shifted to Adam.  “I know it’s a terrible thing for a child to lose his mother,” she rattled on, “but at least now the sweet babe can be brought up in the true faith, instead of that Popish nonsense  That much will be a blessing.”

    Little Joe slapped at Adam’s chest, calling his name imperiously.

    “What?” Adam snapped, although it wasn’t Little Joe he felt like biting.

    Little Joe drew back, but there was nowhere for him to go in the tight space between the seat and the front of the wagon.  “Me drive?” he whimpered, lower lip trembling.

    “Not now,” Adam said.  His arm finally freed, he lifted the reins.  “I really have to get the boys home for dinner,” he said.  Shifting the reins to his left hand, he grabbed Little Joe around the waist and, lifting the boy over his knee, plopped him down between his older brothers.  “Good day, Mrs. Hunter.”  Husband Hunter, that’s what she is, he fumed as he whipped the horses forward, and Marie not gone ten days!   He set the team to a lively pace until he was well outside Washoe City; then he pulled to a stop.  “Okay, Little Joe,” he said as he placed his youngest brother back between his knees.  “You can drive now.”

    “Now that we’re shed of her, right, Adam?” Hoss asked with a grin.

    Adam gave his middle brother a conspiratorial wink.  “Right.”

    Little Joe put his hands directly behind Adam’s on the reins and yelled, “Giddyup!”  At the appropriate signal from Adam, the horses responded, and the Cartwright brothers headed for home.

    Leaning his head back against the broad trunk of a shady cottonwood, Adam closed his eyes, but kept his ear cocked toward the chatter of his little brothers on the creek bank just below.  His worn body craved a nap on this warm and sunny late July afternoon, and the rippling waters of Franktown Creek trilled a lullaby hard to ignore.  He had to stay awake, though.  Pa, although he was trying, still had too much tendency to stare off into space, lost in his own thoughts, to be trusted to keep a proper watch over the boys.

    “No, Little Joe! I ain’t got the worm on the hook yet,” Hoss complained, his voice drifting up the slope to his older brother.

    “Hurry, Hoss, hurry!” Little Joe squealed in high-pitched excitement.

    “You ain’t gonna catch nothin’ if you don’t settle down,” Hoss scolded.  “Now, sit!”

    Adam grinned at the sudden silence—good for about two minutes, if Little Joe’s average held true.

    Hoss had seemed content with, if not excited about, the family fishing trip for his birthday.  He’d seemed to understand that Pa couldn’t face a crowd of people, not even the close friends who had always attended the boy’s previous birthday celebrations.  He’d seemed to understand that Pa didn’t want to go near Lake Tahoe, where the memories of the funeral remained strong, and that fishing in Franktown Creek was a pleasant, but private alternative with few past associations to bring back thoughts of Marie.  He’d seemed happy enough, but it would be like Hoss to keep any unhappiness he might feel to himself.  Over the last eleven days the boy had gotten a lot of practice at holding back his own grief to avoid upsetting Pa or Little Joe, and he’d more than earned the right to be happy today.

    He’d been happy with his birthday gifts, presented at breakfast that morning; of that Adam was certain.  And he’d better have been, after all the trouble I had collecting them yesterday!  His parents’ gifts had already been selected and paid for, but the saddle that was his main gift had to be picked up in Carson City, and when he’d stopped by the Thomases to beg a meal, they had sent a special set of checkers with a horse’s head carved by Clyde on each round piece.  Adam had taken the opportunity to pick up some candy at the general store, to add to his own gift, and that, of course, had met with a warm welcome from his younger brother.

    Hoss had loved the saddle and the checkers, but he’d cast a wary eye at the book Adam gave him until Adam opened it and read one of the nonsense rhymes by Edward Lear:

There was an Old Man in a tree,
Who was horribly bored by a Bee;
When they said, ‘Does it buzz?’
He replied, ‘Yes, it does!’
‘It’s a regular brute of a Bee.’
 

    They’d all been close to tears when Ben gave those marbles to his son and told him who had chosen them, but then Little Joe, eager to join in the giving, had dashed upstairs and run back down, dragging his newly adopted calico dog by one ear, to return it to Hoss as his gift.

    They’d all laughed then, even Pa, and Hoss had ruffled Little Joe’s hair and said, “Naw, that’s all right, punkin.  Brother gave that to you, and I ain’t no Indian giver.  You just gimme a hug, and that’ll be present enough.”

    With a big grin Little Joe had thrown his small arms, dog and all, around Hoss’s middle, as far as they’d reach, and hugged with all his might.

    Except for the marbles, perhaps the most meaningful gift had come from Hop Sing, though he had entrusted its delivery to Adam.  “Starting tomorrow, you go back to work at the lumber camp,” he’d told his suddenly bright-eyed brother.  “Hop Sing says he’ll look after Little Joe while we’re away.”

    The celebration had spiraled slowly downhill after that.  Pa’d tried to maintain a cheerful face during the picnic lunch, but he kept fading away from them, then jerking back with a flush of guilt.  By the time the candles were lighted on Hoss’s birthday cake, the strain evident in Pa’s face was beginning to affect everyone.  As soon as they’d each had a slice of chocolate cake, Adam had hustled his brothers down to the creek and gotten them set up for fishing.  Too tired to join them, he’d moved back up the slope a ways, just far enough to find some restful shade and, hopefully, a few moments of relaxation.

    Despite his best intentions, Adam must have drifted off, for he awakened with a start when he heard Little Joe’s excited shouts, close at hand.

    “Pa, Pa!” the little boy was shouting as he ran up the hill, Hoss at his heels.  In his arms Little Joe held a flopping fish as he trotted toward his father.

    With a sense of foreboding, Adam scrambled to his feet and gave chase, arriving moments behind his brothers at the patchwork quilt where they’d eaten their picnic lunch and where Ben still sprawled after the meal.

    “Lookee, Pa,” Little Joe demanded, struggling to hang on to the fish as he held it out for inspection.  “I caughts it all my own self!”

    Ben blinked as the fish fell onto the quilt.  “That’s nice, baby,” he murmured.  He tried to smile at the child, knowing he should, but was too drained emotionally to have anything left to give.  As he felt the fragile smile falter, his eyes dropped to the log-cabin pattern of the quilt, and he began to trace the outline of a block with his index finger.

    Little Joe’s face fell, his lower lip began to quiver and his eyes filled with tears.  Turning, he ran away, but Adam caught him before he’d taken ten steps, swung him up to his shoulder and began to pat his heaving back.  “Hoss, get that fish on a string and into the water,” Adam ordered.  Then he walked swiftly down the hill, whispering soothing words in his baby brother’s ear.

    For a moment Hoss stared at his father and then stared at the fish.  Finally, his obedient nature overcame his rising emotions, and he picked up the fish and scurried down to the water’s edge.

    That night, though, when he was finally alone and no one could be bothered, Hoss let the churning emotions boil over.  He’d given up the party his mother had promised him, to make things easier on Pa, but it wasn’t enough.  Pa still acted like it plumb wore him out to spend an afternoon with his sons.  Then, to top it off, he’d gone and made Little Joe cry.  There just wasn’t any call for that!  All the little punkin wanted to do was show off that fish I let him think he hauled in by himself.  Just wanted to make Pa proud, but Pa wouldn’t even look.

    Sharp shrieks reverberated through the wall between Hoss’s bedroom and the one next to it, and the boy heard fast footsteps crossing the hall.  Another nightmare.  He moaned and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his ears to muffle his baby brother’s frightened cries.  Adam would settle Joe down, like he had night after night, but listening to his baby brother scream was a miserable way to end what had always before been a special day, a day packed full of love.  I ain’t never gonna celebrate another birthday! Hoss vowed, soaking his pillow with tears.  All it does is make folks sad.

    The limerick quoted in this chapter is from A Book of Nonsense by Edward Lear.  Editions were published in 1846, 1855 and 1861.  Although the quotation is taken from an online version of the 1861 edition, Adam’s gift would have been a copy of the 1855 book.
 
 

    To Adam’s surprise, Pa had shown up at breakfast Wednesday morning, dressed and ready to go to work.  He’d only lasted an hour or so at the lumber camp before he took off somewhere and wasn’t seen again ‘til supper, but Adam still felt encouraged.  At least, Pa was making an effort, and he’d seemed to get along a bit better the next day.  On Thursday Pa’d been up and out before breakfast, even, probably relishing the chance to work alone in the cool morning air.  That first day back so many men had come up to him, telling how sorry they were about Marie, and Adam suspected that those kind expressions of condolences were what had driven his father away so quickly.  He had run into a few men on Thursday whom he hadn’t seen the day before, and the condolences had come pouring out again, but not as many, and Pa’d managed to stay on the job two or three hours that day.  Yesterday had been more encouraging yet.  No one had said anything about the family’s recent tragedy, at least in Adam’s hearing, and Pa had stayed on the job ‘til the sun stood directly overhead.  Father and son had ridden back to the house together for dinner, talking over ranch affairs—not quite as freely as they had before, but at least they were talking.  Exhausted by his efforts at controlling himself around the men, however, Pa hadn’t gone back to work after the meal.

    Adam didn’t know how things had gone today because he’d been away from the ranch since sunup.  Not surprisingly, Pa hadn’t wanted to go into Virginia City, so with Hoss along for company, Adam had driven a load of timber beams to the Gould and Curry, while having Jake Webber oversee a similar shipment to the Ophir.  Adam had dealt with the superintendents of both mines personally, of course, and deposited the payments rendered with Wells, Fargo.  Then, while he loaded up a few supplies at Cass’s Mercantile, he’d let Hoss pick out two bits’ worth of candy for himself and Little Joe.  Mrs. Cass, expressing her sorrow at the boys’ recent loss, had wrapped up some fresh-baked gingerbread for them to take home.  “Now, be sure you share with the little one—and your pa,” she’d said, running a motherly hand through Hoss’s straight, tawny hair.

    “Yes’m, sure will,” Hoss had assured her as they moved out the door.

    After treating his younger brother to chicken and dumplings at Barnum’s Restaurant on the west side of C Street, Adam had turned the team toward home.  It was still only mid-afternoon when they arrived at the Ponderosa, time enough to put in another couple of hours work, but Adam didn’t think it worth the effort of saddling up Blackie and riding out.  He might as well just unload the supplies, groom the horses and take the rest of the afternoon off.  Goodness knows, he’d earned a couple of hours free time, and no one else around here would be hesitant to take it!

    He jumped down from the seat of the freight wagon and reached over its high side to retrieve the paper-and-string-wrapped package of gingerbread.  “Get that in to Hop Sing,” he said, handing it to Hoss.  “It’s been out in the hot sun long enough as it is.”

    “Yeah, don’t want it dryin’ out.”  Hoss gave his lips a little anticipatory lick as he took the package.  “I can carry more than just this, though,” he offered.

    Adam patted his shoulder in appreciation, but shook his head.  “I’ll get the rest.”

    “Well, okay,” Hoss replied with a shrug.  “I’ll run it in and be right out to help with the team.”

    “No, I’ll take care of that, too.”  Adam chuckled.  “You’ve got a bigger job to do.”

    Hoss scrunched up his nose in thought, but couldn’t come up with his brother’s meaning.

    “Taking Little Joe off Hop Sing’s hands for awhile,” Adam explained with a grin at his middle brother’s quizzical look.  If there was anyone who had looked more strained at the end of the day this week than Pa, it had to have been Hop Sing after a day of chasing Little Joe from pillar to post, but so far, the stalwart cook was sticking to his bargain manfully.

    “That’s a chore and a half, all right!” Hoss said, but his eyes were shining.  He’d enjoyed working at the lumber camp again this week, feeling almost like a man as he’d wrestled with the big trees, but he had missed his little brother and was still boy enough to relish the idea of playing with him ‘til time for supper.

    As Hoss headed for the house, Adam unhitched the team and led them into the barn, spotting his father’s horse in its usual stall.  He’d have been more surprised if the animal hadn’t been there, of course, but he hoped Pa had managed to get some work accomplished this afternoon.  There was plenty to be done, since the ranch was still running a bit behind, but Adam was more concerned that his father keep taking those little steps back toward life.  In that regard, it had been a good week, and he had hope that the next one might be even better.  Taking the team to the far back stalls reserved for draft animals, Adam began to whistle as he tended to the horses’ needs.  He heard a horse come into the yard, but assuming that it was just one of the men, riding in early to clean up for a night in town, as they often did on Saturday, he didn’t look up from his work.

    The visitor was greeted, instead, by Hoss, who was romping around with an exuberant and energetic Little Joe.  “Hey, Reverend,” the larger boy said, catching hold of the smaller.  “You come to see Pa?  He’s inside.”

    “I did, my boy; I did.”  The Reverend Jesse Bennett smiled at Hoss as he reached out to pet Little Joe.  “Is he feeling any better?”  He’d talked to Adam before church the previous Sunday and had gathered that Ben Cartwright was having a difficult time adjusting to the loss of his wife.

    “Yeah, some better,” Hoss said.  His lips curved upward slightly, although the expression couldn’t really have been called a smile.  “Seems like he gets a little better every day—some ways, anyhow.”  And some ways not, he could have added, but didn’t.  Pa still didn’t seem to want them—or anyone else—around much, and he wouldn’t cuddle Little Joe at all.  Hoss had pretty much taken over doing that himself after supper each night, having noticed how tired Adam was lately.

    “I’m glad to hear that,” Bennett said gently.

    Hoss walked the minister to the front door, opened it and showed him in.  “Pa, it’s Reverend Bennett, come to call.”  Duty performed, he hurried back outside, shutting the door behind him, and started chasing his squealing little brother around the side of the house.

    Ben Cartwright stood up awkwardly.  “Reverend,” he said, his voice stiff and almost toneless.

    “Brother Cartwright—Ben—I hope I’m not imposing,” he began, feeling awkward himself in the face of such a cool greeting from the man whose hospitality heretofore had always been warm and inviting.

    “What is it you want?” Ben asked bluntly.  “If it’s about my missing services last Sunday . . .”

    “No,” Bennett said quickly.  “Certainly, I missed seeing you and hope you soon feel like returning to church, where you’ll find the support of your brothers and sisters in the Lord, but I’m here to ask your assistance with a project to aid in the construction of our sister church in Virginia City.”

    Ben fell back into his fireside chair.  “I—I don’t see how I can be of any help . . . with any project.  I—I’m not getting out much yet.”

    Though he hadn’t been offered a seat, the Reverend Bennett sat down on the settee, near Ben.  “Yes, I know,” he murmured sympathetically, “but sometimes, my brother, concern for the needs of others helps us forget our own sorrows.”

    Ben reared forward.  “I have no desire to forget her,” he snapped.

    “I didn’t mean”—the minister swallowed to give himself time to regroup his thoughts.  Obviously, he needed to be more careful of his words with this touchy man.  “As you know, the Reverend Samuel Rooney has taken over the work in Virginia City that I pioneered, although he’s had no regular meeting place.  I believe you attended his services a time or two.”

    “Once,” Ben said tersely.  The Sunday before Marie died he and Hoss had joined Rooney’s congregation in an E Street boardinghouse, while Adam and Little Joe had attended Mass with their mother.  He didn’t appreciate the reminder, with its inevitable association with what had happened a few days later.

    Bennett shifted uneasily, for this conversation was not proceeding as he’d hoped.  “Yes, well, as I was saying, the Virginia City church has been meeting in private homes and lodging houses”—he laughed slightly, trying to lighten the atmosphere—“even in a blacksmith shop, when nothing else was available.”   The attempt had fallen flat, as a quick glance at Ben Cartwright confirmed.  “At any rate, as I told you about a month ago, the church has obtained a vacant lot in town and has been trying to raise funds to construct a building.  I just learned this week of one of their projects, and as I believe it is in the interest of all in the territory to promote such a good work, our church will be participating tomorrow night in a box social, to be held on the property.  I apologize for the short notice, but I hope that you will cooperate in making the venture a success.”

    Ben shook his head, not understanding and not particularly caring whether he did or not.  “Cooperate?” he asked perfunctorily.

    “You’re one of the larger landowners in our Washoe City congregation,” Jesse Bennett explained, “which means that you have a large workforce.  I hope that you’ll encourage your men to attend, Ben, as the more people we attract, the higher the bidding is likely to go on those box suppers the ladies are preparing.  I hope you and your sons will attend also, but I’ll understand, of course, if you don’t feel like being involved in a public gathering so soon after your bereavement.”

    Ben drew himself haughtily upright.  “Is that all you wanted?”

    The minister took a deep breath.  “Yes.  Just that.”

    Ben stood up, his attitude clearly one of dismissal.  “My men are free to do as they please, outside of working hours, and I have no objection to my sons’ attending, if Adam feels inclined to take his brothers, but I have no desire to promote your church—or that of Reverend Rooney.”

    Concerned deepened in Jesse Bennett’s eyes as he, too, stood to his feet.  “I’m sorry to have troubled you, then, Ben.”  He moved toward the door, but paused, turning to face the other man.  “May I hope to see you in church tomorrow?”

    Ben’s dark brows came together in a single line.  “No.”

    Hand outstretched, Bennett took a step toward him.  “Ben, I honestly think it would help you.”

    Ben stood rigidly erect, head held high, mouth hard as he said, “I don’t need your help—or the help of your church.”

    Bennett grasped the back of the settee, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.  “My church,” he said soberly.  “That’s twice you’ve referred to it as my church.  I thought it was yours, as well, Ben.”

    “No—no more.”  Ben turned toward the fireplace, his body rigid from head to heel.

    “And is it ‘my God,’ also?” the minister asked perceptively.

    Ben spun around, finally letting the anger show in his countenance.  “And why should I worship a God who cares nothing for me and mine?” he demanded harshly.

    “Oh, Ben, He does.”  Reverend Bennett moved toward the other man, longing to embrace him with the love of God.

    Shaking his head sharply, Ben stepped back, his stance defying the minister’s attempt to reach out to him.  “Is it caring to rip the love of a man’s life from his heart—not once, not twice, but three times?  Is it love to deprive a child of his mother—not once, not twice, but three times?”  He was shouting as he finished, so intent in his denunciation that he didn’t even notice the front door opening.

    Bennett smiled sadly, paying as little attention to the footsteps behind him as did Ben.  “Those are hard questions, Ben, and I have no pat answers for you.  I know that life is often unfair, often unjust, often unkind, but I still believe in the goodness—and the undying love—of the One who for our sakes gave His only son, whom He surely loved as much as we do those close to us.  Ben, I beg you not to turn your back on the only One who can help you.  If you insist on sowing bitterness, you are likely to reap a bitter harvest.”

    “Get out of my house, you and your sermonizing, and take your God with you!” Ben shouted, pointing toward the open door.

    “Pa!” Adam cried, shocked by the vehemence and irreverence of his father’s declaration.

    “This is none of your business, boy!” Ben bellowed.

    Reverend Bennett rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder.  “Don’t concern yourself, young man.  I’ll see myself out.”

    “No, I’ll see you out,” Adam insisted as the minister moved past him.  “I, at least, have not forgotten the manners my father taught me!”  He followed Bennett out, slamming the door behind him.

    “Don’t quarrel with your father on my behalf, son,” the minister urged when they were alone.

    “Reverend Bennett, I am so sorry,” Adam apologized.  “I’ve never seen him like that, so—so—”

    “Broken,” Bennett suggested with a sad smile.  “It’s as I told you that first day, Adam; he’s a broken man, beyond comfort—and angry with the One from whom he should seek it.  Don’t judge him; just continue to support him and pray for him, as I shall—and for you, my son.”

    Lips pursed, Adam nodded.

    The minister put an arm around the young man.  “Let me tell you why I came.”  Standing in the yard, he explained to Adam about the box social and requested his help in spreading the word among the Ponderosa’s employees.  “And you come, too, young man,” Reverend Bennett urged.  He inclined his head toward the ranch house.  “You need a night away from this.”

    “I’ll come,” Adam promised, “and even though it’ll be a late night, I’ll bring Hoss, too.”

    Sitting alone in the great room, Ben poured another measure of wine into his goblet and swished it around as he stared into its ruby clarity.  Wine wasn’t a strong enough painkiller to completely block his misery, but it was the only liquor in the house and it did somewhat blunt his sharp self-recrimination.  It couldn’t, however, erase his memory of the reproach in the dark eyes of his eldest son, when Adam had caught him yelling at the minister, or the confusion in Hoss’s honest blue ones, when he’d adamantly refused to go to the box social.  Then, after the two older boys were gone, the deep emerald pools of Joseph’s eyes had stared at him with mute appeal until Ben had suggested strongly to Hop Sing that it was the boy’s bedtime.

    No eyes stared at him now in the silent room, but the accusation glared back at him from the ruby-red wine.  Not strong enough, not by half , Ben decided, red droplets splashing over the top of the glass as he slammed it down on the occasional table to his right.  Ben swiped the drops off the table with a hasty hand and stood up abruptly.  He needed a drink, and if he didn’t have what need demanded here, he knew where to find it.  Striding across the room, he snatched his hat from the peg by the door and stormed out to the barn to saddle his bay.

    Uncertain which direction to take, he pulled up short when the road from the ranch reached the valley floor, but it didn’t take Ben long to decide.  Washoe City was the closest town, but it didn’t have many saloons to choose from.  That, in itself, didn’t pose a problem because, for Ben’s purposes, the quality of the liquor was unimportant, but he was more likely to run into people he knew close to home, especially when there weren’t many places for his neighbors to find liquid refreshment in Washoe City.

    He could find the anonymity he sought in Virginia City, of course, but he ran a risk, however slight, of running into Adam and Hoss or someone from the church on those streets.  Besides, the mining town was further away than the third choice, anyway.  Ben had friends in Carson City, as well, but there were a number of saloons to choose from, and if he chose carefully, he should be able to steer clear of any place likely to attract those he knew.  Carson City it was, then.  Touching his heels to the bay’s flanks, he took off at a pace he had often chided his young wife for using.

    Steering clear of the more popular Magnolia Saloon and the one attached to the Ormsby House, Ben tied his horse outside the What Cheer on the east side of Carson Street, down near 5th, and pushed through the swinging doors in hopes the place would live up to its name.  It didn’t.  For an hour Ben determinedly downed one shot glass of rotgut after another, trying to ignore the belligerent voices railing about the Union defeat at Bull Run.  North—South—what difference did it make who won that foolish clash of arms back east?  What difference did anything make without her?   Full to the gills of both liquor and political oratory, Ben lurched up from his table in a dark corner of the loud and raucous room and wove his way out, from table to table. Staggering through the swinging doors, he stumbled and would have fallen had not a convenient upright post provided a support to latch onto.

    “Mr. Cartwright?  You all right?”

    Ben raised his aching head and stared at the swimming double image of a face he knew he should recognize, but couldn’t quite place.  Narrowing his eyes, he saw a shiny metal shape pinned to the man’s shirt.  “I know you, officer?  Don’t think I do.  Pleased to make your—your ‘quaintance, sir.”  He moved to shake the lawman’s hand and fell forward.

    The man wearing the deputy’s badge instinctively grabbed the falling man, and though shorter than Ben, easily supported the dead weight.  “Mr. Cartwright, it’s Roy Coffee,” the deputy said.  “You remember, I came out to the Ponderosa to speak with you after—after your wife’s death, sir.”

    Ben pulled back.  “I ‘member.  Don’t wanna talk ‘bout that now.”

    Or think about it, either, Roy Coffee concluded with a sad shake of his head.  This besotted wretch bore little resemblance to the upstanding citizen he’d had described to him by various people in Carson City during his investigation, but the forty-five-year-old lawman had had plenty of opportunity to see how grief could change people.  He had, in fact, personal acquaintance with the grief of losing a spouse and knew how it could cut the ground from under a man’s feet.

    Staggering away from the deputy, Ben stepped off the edge of the wooden walkway and grabbed hold of the hitching rail, barely managing to stay on his feet.

    Coffee was at his side a moment later.  “Mr. Cartwright, you might best find yourself a place to sleep it off,” he suggested as he hauled the man upright again.

    Ben shook free and listed toward his horse.  “Goin’ home,” he mumbled.  “Got a ranch, boys to see to.”

    Deputy Coffee guided Ben’s foot into the stirrup.  “Sure you can make it?” he asked, a trace of anxiety edging his voice.  “We got plenty of hotels here where you could take a room for the night.”

    Ben didn’t say anything in response; he just gathered up the reins and began to walk the horse north on Carson Street.

    Roy Coffee shook his head.  At that rate Ben Cartwright would be lucky to get to the Ponderosa by morning, but maybe he’d have a better chance of staying in the saddle at a walk than a gallop.  Roy hated to let the man ride off in that condition, but felt he had no choice.  Oh, he could have locked Cartwright up for his own protection, on a charge of drunk and disorderly, perhaps, but it wouldn’t stick.  Wasn’t even fair, since Cartwright hadn’t been disorderly, just a mite disoriented.  Besides, that miserable log shanty wasn’t even fit for felons, much less a man of Cartwright’s caliber.  If he’d lived closer, the deputy could have seen him home, but it was a long ride out to the Ponderosa, and with Sheriff Blackburn as inebriated tonight as the grief-stricken rancher, someone had to stay on guard here in Carson City.

    Just past midnight Adam dismounted in one fluid motion and quickly wrapped his horse’s reins around the hitching rail.  “Down you come, buddy,” he said, reaching a protective arm toward Hoss.

    Hoss gave a prodigious yawn.  “Aw, Adam, I ain’t Little Joe; I know how t’get off a horse.”

    “When you’re awake, you mean,” Adam chuckled.  “Come on down, then.”  He let Hoss dismount by himself, but stayed close in case his younger brother’s pronounced grogginess caused him to slip.  When Hoss was safely on the ground, Adam rubbed across the back of his brother’s shoulder blade.  “Late night for you, buddy.”

    Yawning again, Hoss nodded.  “Sure had a good time, though.”

    Adam grinned.  “I noticed you took quite a liking to that little blonde with the pigtails.”

    Hoss scowled.  “What I took a likin’ to was her ma’s fried chicken and peach cobbler.  Miz Wilkins sure can cook!”

    “Yeah, I think you made out better than me in the food department,” Adam said, mouth twisting awry at the memory of the overly tart apple pie in the box he’d purchased.  “We’d better get you straight to bed, though, buddy, and don’t hurry getting up in the morning.  You can sleep in and just do some chores around here ‘til dinner.  Then I’ll take you back to the lumber camp with me for the afternoon.”

    “Okay.”  Hoss stretched his arms to both sides.  “Better get Charcoal bedded down first.”

    “That’s good thinkin’, little brother,” Adam said with an approving squeeze of the boy’s brawny biceps, “but I’ll tend the stock after I’ve gotten you into bed.”

    “Aw, Adam,” Hoss muttered again, but he didn’t argue as Adam walked in with him and went up the stairs just behind him.  Truth was, Hoss felt like he could just sink right down on the first landing, curl up and go to sleep, so maybe it was a good idea for his big brother to prod him on up.

    Adam stopped at the door to Hoss’s room.  “Can you make it from here?”

    His hand on the doorknob, Hoss turned to give his older brother a vinegary look.

    Waving his hands before his face, Adam laughed softly.  “Okay, okay.  I’ll just look in on Little Joe and head back down to tend those horses.  Good night, buddy.”

    Hoss grinned back.  “Night, Adam.  Thanks for takin’ me.”

    Adam moved back down the hall and walked through the open door into his youngest brother’s bedroom.  His eyes widened in shock when he saw the empty bed, but before he even had time to turn around, he heard the disgusted voice of his other brother in the next room, hollering, “Doggone you!”

    Rushing from one room to the next, Adam saw Hoss tugging at their younger brother, who woke with a cry.  “Hoss, what are you doing?” he demanded.

    “What am I doin’?”  Hoss pointed an accusative finger at the intruder in his bed.  “What’s he doin’ in here?”  Planting both hands on his hips, he glared at Little Joe.  “This is my bed!  You go get in your own.”

    Little Joe sat up, rubbing his eyes with his fists.  “My bed wet,” he whimpered.

    “Figured as much,” Hoss grunted, “and now you aim to soak mine!  When you gonna quit bein’ such a baby, huh?”

    “Hoss!” Adam rebuked sharply.

    “Me not baby,” Little Joe whined.

    “Yeah?  Prove it, then.”  As Little Joe’s thumb headed toward his mouth, Hoss roughly pulled it away.  “Quit that!”

    “You quit,” Adam hissed.  “What’s got into you, Hoss?”

    “What’s got into the lot of you?” a booming voice demanded.  “Do you know what time it is?”

    Three sets of eyes turned toward the doorway, where a glowering Ben Cartwright loomed over them, although he was leaning heavily against the doorjamb.  Adam stood quickly.  “Pa, I’m sorry.  Did we wake you?”

    Ben raised his left hand to his aching head.  “How’s a man to sleep through this—this”—he appeared to be struggling to find the right word, finally settling on “racket.”

    “I’m very sorry, Pa,” Adam apologized again.  “I’ll get them quieted down right away, I promise.”

    “Well—well.”  Again Ben appeared to be searching for elusive words.  “All right, then.  See that you do.”  He turned too quickly and staggered into the doorjamb on the opposite side.

    “Pa?” Adam asked with concern as he moved to his father’s side.  “Are you all right?”

    “Tired.  Need sleep,” Ben managed to slur out.  “No more noise.”

    Catching a whiff of whiskey-laced breath, Adam gasped and took tight grip on his father’s elbow.  “Let’s get you back to bed then,” he said, hustling Pa out the door in the vain hope that neither of his younger brothers would notice anything amiss.  He steered his father’s unstable steps down the hall and helped him back into bed.

    Ben rolled over, burying his face in the pillow, and for a moment Adam just stared down at him.  Never, absolutely never, had he seen his father drunk, and his mouth curled in distaste at the sight.  Pa had seemed to be doing better; then he’d uttered near-blasphemy to the preacher this afternoon—and now this.  Was there no end to this relentless spiral downwards?  Adam had no time to seek an answer to that question, however; down the hall another situation in need of rectifying awaited his attention.

    Arriving back at Hoss’s room, he saw that his youngest brother was sobbing pitifully, repeating over and over again that he wasn’t a baby, but Hoss, at least, seemed more like himself.  He had his arm around the younger boy and was trying to quiet him, if only to keep Pa from coming back and yelling at them again.  Adam walked in and, picking Little Joe up, sat on the edge of the bed with the boy on his knee.  He couldn’t help noticing the moisture that seeped into his pants’ leg from the wet tail of Joe’s nightshirt.  “Looks like you need a change, little fellow.”  He looked over at Hoss.  “Can you fetch him some dry nightclothes?”

    “Yeah, I guess.”  Hoss sounded grumpy, but he went into the next room and returned with a pale yellow nightshirt.  “It’s the last one he’s got, so you’d better hope he don’t soak it again.”

    “One accident a night has been the extent so far,” Adam said with an attempt at cheer.  He unbuttoned the damp blue garment Joe was wearing and pulled it off.

    Hoss had the yellow one gathered up and ready to pop over Joe’s head.

    “Thanks,” Adam said as he pulled the nightshirt down and began to fasten the buttons.  Without looking up, he asked, “Wanna tell me what got under your skin tonight?”

    Hoss scuffed his boot across the rug by his bed.  “Just tired, I reckon.”  He looked up, frowning.  “Plumb tired a-bein’ the onliest one around here that’s gotta act grown up.”  His face flushed as he peered up at Adam, and he added quickly, “‘cept you, o’ course.  Didn’t mean you, Adam; you been the best, but Pa’s just lettin’ go, and this one’s takin’ to talkin’ and actin’ like he was two years younger than he is.  Makes me mad.”

    “I think you mean ‘worried,’” Adam suggested gently.  “They can’t help it, Hoss, either one of them.  Pa and Little Joe both are coping the only way they know how.  I know it’s hard to handle—for me, too—but you don’t have to act grown up, buddy.  I told you before: you can be any way you need to be.  That still goes.”

    Hoss cocked his head to one side.  “For you, too?”

    “Sure, for me, too,” Adam said.  Don’t I wish!  But Hoss is right: somebody has to behave like a grownup, and I’m evidently elected—by default.  He stood up, lifting Little Joe to his shoulder.  “You better get dressed for bed yourself now,” he told Hoss, “and climb under those covers.”

    Hoss nodded.  As he began fidgeting with his top button, he looked up and saw Adam headed for the door.  “Adam?  He can sleep here, if’n he wants.”

    “You don’t have to do that, Hoss.”

    Hoss shrugged.  “Like you said, he only soaks the sheets once a night, so it’s okay.  I’d—I’d kinda like him to know I ain’t mad, Adam.”  And maybe I’ll tell him a little night-night story about how big boys is ‘sposed to act.

    With a smile Adam tucked Little Joe back into Hoss’s bed, gave him a kiss on the forehead and stood up.  “Into bed, quick as a wink,” he told Hoss as he gave him a hug.  Then he headed toward his own room.  He hustled into his nightclothes and slid under the covers, grateful that Hoss had offered to let Little Joe sleep with him.  A night alone in his own bed—that would be heaven.  With a sigh of contentment, he closed his eyes, but they immediately popped open again.  “Oh, doggone it, I forgot the horses!”  Groaning, Adam sat up, pulled his boots back on and headed downstairs to do his duty.

    Ben Cartwright slept late the next morning, but by the time Adam returned for the noon meal, he was up and dressed, although he still looked rather the worse for wear.  Having had a late breakfast, he said he wasn’t hungry and so declined to join his sons at the table.  He strode to the cabinet beside the front door and began to buckle on his gun belt, glancing  over his shoulder with irritation when he heard footsteps behind him.

    “Pa, about last night . . .” Adam asked tentatively.

    “Last night was a disgrace,” Ben grunted.  “You needn’t worry that it’ll happen again.”

    Face lined with concern, Adam leaned against the low cabinet.  “I was really surprised to see you like that, Pa, after all you’ve said to me about drinking to excess.”

    “I’m sure,” Ben snapped.  “Believe it or not, Adam, I do not need an eighteen-year-old boy telling me right from wrong.  I was wrong to try to drown my sorrows in liquor last night, and it won’t happen again.  Now, if you don’t mind, boy, I’d like to get to work.  I haven’t done my fair share the last couple of weeks, and that’s another wrong I mean to set right, starting today.”

    “And the boys?”  Adam knew he shouldn’t press, but he couldn’t help himself.  “Aren’t there things to set right there, too?”

    Ben almost crumpled in on himself.  “Give me some time, son,” he pleaded.  “Let me take it one step at a time—please.”

    “Sure, Pa,” Adam murmured, but the words carried no confidence.

    Flushing, Ben turned away, determined to prove that he could, at least, be trusted to do a day’s work.  Beginning that afternoon, he threw himself into his ranch responsibilities as if his very survival depended on getting the requisite number of trees cut or the right number of cattle herded to each green meadow.

    Ben kept his promise, and now it was he who worked sunup to sundown—and even beyond, not returning home in time to take supper with his sons either Monday or Tuesday.  He was as obviously trying to drown his sorrows in hard work as he had tried to drown them in hard liquor that grim Sunday night.  At least, that was how Adam saw it.  Not that he was ungrateful.  With Pa taking renewed interest in the ranch, the young man’s workload eased up markedly, and he was once again merely bull of the woods of his own timber operation, instead of trying to manage the entire Ponderosa.

    While he no longer carried the responsibility for the ranch, the burden of caring for and comforting his younger brothers still rested solely on Adam’s strong, but sagging shoulders.  He’d far rather his father had taken on that load and left the ranch to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to share that sentiment.  Pa had asked for time, so time Adam would give him, but the young man was beginning to fear that the ones suffering the most from his inability to fill Pa’s shoes were Hoss and Little Joe.

    Joe did seem to be doing a bit better, at least outwardly.  Adam had started restricting his fluids after supper, and it had apparently helped, since Joe had slept dry the last two nights.  The two older brothers had discussed the problem as they worked side by side, and Hoss had outlined his talk with Little Joe in bed Sunday night about acting like a big boy.  Adam wasn’t sure how much good that little discussion had done, but he decided that he should probably stop referring to his youngest brother as “baby.”  It was a hard habit to break, especially when Little Joe gazed up at him with those abandoned-baby-calf eyes, but Adam was determined to call the little boy by the title he wanted him to live up to.

    While encouraging Joe to act his age, it occurred to Adam that his other brother had the same need, in the opposite direction.  Hoss was man-sized now, physically as able to put in a day’s work as any other hand on the ranch, and with Pa leaving them short-handed, it had been easy to overlook that the willing young worker was not really a man yet.  At eleven, Hoss was still a boy, and he needed time to be a boy, to run and play and just be at loose ends.  That had hit Adam like a sledge sometime Monday morning, and he had instituted a policy that very afternoon of sending Hoss home early, just to give him some time to romp and play with Little Joe and Klamath.

    It was a policy that benefited everyone, for Hoss arrived home just at the time Hop Sing needed to start supper.  The Cantonese cook almost sang as he moved freely about his kitchen without having to worry about what Little Joe might be getting into while his back was turned.  The Cartwrights, one and all, had learned long ago that a happy cook tended to make for peaceful mealtimes at the Ponderosa, and the atmosphere at the table the last two nights, when Hoss had arrived home early, had proven the point once again.

    However, Hoss deserved some free time that didn’t come attached with responsibility for Little Joe as part of the bargain, and Adam thought a trip to Carson City for the mail fit the bill perfectly.  Although the Overland Stage had started daily deliveries just last month, the Ponderosa rarely received mail urgent enough to require that anyone pick it up in the middle of the week.  Hoss didn’t have to know that, though.  As the older Cartwrights discussed their plans for the day over breakfast Wednesday morning, Adam blithely announced the surprise and promptly cursed his lack of forethought in mentioning it in front of Little Joe.  Intent on giving Hoss that bit of pleasure, he overlooked the completely foreseeable certainty that Little Joe would beg to go, too.

    Before Adam could explain why that was impossible, however, their father exploded.  “No!” he shouted, banging his hand on the table.  “You may not ride to Carson City—or anywhere else—with your brother, Joseph.  Now, stop that whining this instant!”  Ben bolted to his feet, glowering at his two older sons.  “Never, absolutely never is either of you to take this child into your saddle, understood?  Never!”

    “Of course, Pa,” Adam murmured hastily, as images of his stepmother hurtling from her horse rushed into his mind, similar to images he suspected were tormenting his father.

    Eyes still snapping, Ben rounded on his second son.  “Hoss?” he demanded.

    “S-sure, Pa.”  Eyes dropping, Hoss swirled his fork through the runny egg on his plate, his appetite suddenly gone and his pleasure in the proposed expedition shattered.

    Thumb creeping toward his mouth, Little Joe cowered back in his chair, confused and apprehensive, but not until his father stormed out through the kitchen did tears start to trickle down his cheeks.  Adam quickly gathered the little boy into his lap, wiping away the tears with his napkin and trying to explain that Pa just wanted him to be safe.  “You can’t go with Hoss, anyway,” he said, “because Hoss will be leaving from the lumber camp and it’s too far to come back here for you.”

    Somehow he managed to get Joe calmed down, and Adam and Hoss rode out, leaving to Hop Sing the thankless task of coping with the cranky youngest Cartwright.

    “Adam, is—is Pa ever gonna get back to bein’ Pa again?” Hoss asked, moving Charcoal alongside Blackie.

    Adam reached over to give his brother’s brawny arm a comforting pat.  “Sure he is.  Look how much different he is from just a week ago.”

    Hoss twiddled with his horse’s reins.  “I reckon.”  He didn’t sound convinced.

    “He just needs time, Hoss,” Adam assured him.  “It took him awhile to get back to normal when your mother died, too, but he made it then and he will again.”

    “Yeah?  After your ma, too?”

    Adam gave his brother a gentle smile.  “I was barely born then, Hoss, so I can’t say for sure.  I think it must have been the same, though.  In fact, I can’t ever remember Pa being really happy ‘til he met your mother.  Something came alive in him then.”

    “And died when she did?”

    Adam cocked his head at his younger brother.  “More like went to sleep.  Like now.”

    Hoss smiled, then, pleased with the picture Adam’s words had painted.  If Pa were only sleeping, sooner or later he was bound to wake up.  “Thanks, Adam,” he murmured.

    “Sure.  Look, Hoss, why don’t you take off around eleven this morning,” Adam suggested.  “That way you can take dinner with the Thomases.  They’ll love havin’ you.”  And Nelly can cuddle you up and fill up some of that emptiness inside, like she used to when we lived with them.

    Hoss’s smile broadened into a wide grin, and he touched Charcoal with his heels to make her trot a little faster into the good time to come.

    As reliable as Hoss generally was, Adam wasn’t quite sure he could be trusted to get home on time that afternoon, so he made a point of coming in early himself, to relieve Hop Sing.  Taking Little Joe into the barn with him, Adam tried to complete the evening chores, reconfirming in the process just how underfoot a four-year-old could get.  At the sound of horse hooves clattering into the yard, Adam instinctively grabbed his youngest brother around the waist, as the boy tried to dart past him.  “No, no, not yet,” he insisted.  Then, through the open door, he saw Hoss dismount.  “Okay—now,” he said as he turned Joe loose and propelled him forward with a soft swat on the bottom.

    Soon Adam heard Hoss holler, “Hey, punkin!” and couldn’t resist coming to the barn door to watch what sounded like such a cheerful reunion.  As he peeked around the door, he saw Hoss catch Little Joe up under his arms and swing the little boy in a circle as Joe squealed with delight.

    “Guess what I saw, Little Joe!” Hoss cried, turning round and round.

    “Down, Hoss, down!” Little Joe screamed.

    Hoss obligingly set the child on the ground and tousled his curls.  “Guess what, Joe,” he said as he squatted down to Joe’s level.  “There’s a circus come to town!”

    Little Joe’s face puckered in thought.  “What circus is, Hoss?”

    “That’s right.  You ain’t never seen one.”  Pushing his hat back from his brow, Hoss laughed, more at himself than at Little Joe.  “Well, I ain’t, either, ‘til today—’cept in pictures.  A circus is—well, a kind of show, Little Joe, with clowns and tightrope walkers and folks doin’ fancy tricks on horses and such.”

    Joe’s eyes widened, especially at the mention of tricks on horses.  “Can we go, Hoss?  Can we, can we?” he asked, bouncing with excitement.

    Hoss bit his lower lip.  “Well, I don’t know.  Pa might . . .”

    Little Joe stopped dead still, and his gaze dropped to the dust.  “No,” he sighed.  “Pa won’t.”

    Adam ducked back inside the barn, not wanting his younger brothers to see the emotion their simple exchange had evoked.  Needing some way to release the anger building inside, he slammed his palm against the upright of one of the stalls.  How dare Pa add to the grief of these two youngsters!  How dare he deprive them of even the hope of an evening’s enjoyment as a family!  A circus comes to Nevada for the first time, and they can’t run straight to Pa and ask if they can go?  No, they’ve got to worry about him, just like I did crossing the Forty-Mile Desert after Inger . . . well, I won’t have it!  Those little boys are going to get the chance to be little boys, if it’s the last thing I do!  Hoss and Joe will have their night at the circus, even if it means bearding our lion of a father in that cage he’s built around himself!

    Striding outside, Adam forced a cheerful expression to his face.  “What’s all this about a circus?” he asked.  “Did you get the particulars, Hoss?”

    The light of hope sparkled in Hoss’s clear blue eyes.  There wasn’t a chance of Pa’s taking them to the circus, but Adam just might—if he wasn’t too busy.  “Hey, I sure did, Adam.  It’s in Carson through Saturday night and then moves on to Virginia City.  Sure wish we could go.”

    “Saturday night, huh?”  Adam stroked his chin as if in thought.  “That might work.  Don’t say anything to Pa, though, okay?  Let me do the talking.”

    Hoss grinned.  “Sure thing, Adam.”  He dug into his saddlebags and pulled out three envelopes.  “Good thing you sent me into Carson, ‘cause it was a big day for mail—even one for you.”

    “Thanks,” Adam said, taking the letters.

    Hoss swung Little Joe up onto Charcoal and started toward the barn to tend his mount.

    Adam didn’t get a chance to see who the letters were from.  Hearing a soft plop, like flesh on leather, he looked up quickly, and his heart caught in his throat as he saw the little boy in the saddle.  His eyes darted swiftly down the road leading up to the house.  Needless worry, of course.  Pa never got in this early, but after the explosion at the breakfast table, Adam hated to think what would happen if Pa were to ride in and see Little Joe sitting on that horse.  The admonitions Hoss was pouring into their younger brother’s ear about keeping the circus a secret were needless, too.  If he had the chance, Little Joe would heedlessly blurt everything out, not a doubt in the world about that!  Sadly, the little boy wouldn’t likely get that chance, for if pattern held to form, he’d be asleep by the time their father decided to join them.

    Glancing at the first envelope, Adam walked toward the house.  It was a letter, probably one of condolence, from Reverend Wentworth.  Mark must have written to his father about Marie’s death.  Well, maybe Pa’s old friend would find the right words to comfort him.  He’d lost his wife along the trail and had nearly fallen to pieces himself, so if anyone could understand what Pa was feeling, it was likely to be Ebenezer Wentworth.

    As he opened the door, Adam slid that letter to the back of the bundle and read the return address of the second.  He sighed as he read the name of John Cartwright.  He’d lay odds that Pa hadn’t written his brother yet about what had happened.  I’ll probably have to do it for him, Adam concluded with a snort.  He laid both letters on his father’s desk and moved toward the staircase.

    The final letter had to be the one Hoss had said was for him, but Adam wouldn’t look at it until he was safely in his room, door closed to shut out prying eyes.  While he had school friends who might have written, he had an instinctive dread that this letter had come from St. Joseph, Missouri, and represented another problem to be faced.  Adam was fed up to his gizzard with problems to be faced, but this one, being truly his, he’d somehow have to handle.

    Entering his room, he tossed the letter onto his bed and with slow, deliberate care removed his hat and gun belt, which he’d absent-mindedly forgotten to do downstairs.  Then he sat on the side of the bed, one leg drawn up in a V on top of the coverlet.  Shutting his eyes, he took a deep, bolstering breath, opened his eyes and reached for the letter.  As expected, it was from Jamie Edwards, and also as expected, it made urgent inquiry as to whether Adam had yet spoken to his father about coming east to school.

    After scanning the lines, Adam slumped back against the headboard.  Attending Yale with Jamie was a dream that had died with Marie.  So why did it hurt so much, still, if it were dead?  He shook his head, disgusted with himself for asking such a fool question and even more disgusted that he hadn’t done his duty by his friend before now.  I’m as bad as Pa, not writing Uncle John that his wife had died.  Since Adam was no longer available, Jamie needed to find a new roommate to share expenses, and he had little time left to do so before the start of the fall term.  In all fairness Adam knew he had to write at once, telling his friend about the tragic loss of his stepmother and how that had changed all his plans.

    With a sigh, Adam went to his desk, took out a sheet of stationery and began to write:

Dear Jamie,
It is with heartfelt regret that I must inform you that I will not be attending Yale with you this year. . . .

    Little Joe was in bed when Ben returned, but Adam waited until Hoss had gone upstairs, as well, before approaching his father.  After eating his warmed-over dinner in the kitchen, Ben had immediately gone to his desk.  When Adam walked up, he was still sitting there, unopened letters shoved to one side, ledger spread before him, although he didn’t seem to be recording figures, just staring off into space.  “Pa?” Adam began hesitantly.

    Ben jumped slightly.  “Yes, son?  How—uh—how did things go at your camp today?”

    “Fine, Pa.”  Adam licked his lips.  “Pa, there was something else I wanted to ask you about.”  He rushed into an announcement of the arrival of a circus in Carson City and explained how much the boys would like to attend.  “Quite an opportunity, don’t you think, Pa?”

    “What?”  Ben blinked, trying to focus on what his son was saying.  “Oh, yes, of course, Adam.  The boys will enjoy that.  When did you plan to take them?”

    “Saturday.”  Adam placed both hands on top of the desk and leaned toward his father.  “I was hoping—and so were the boys—that you would come, too, Pa.”  There.  It was said.  Adam stood back, squaring his shoulders to face . . . whatever would happen next, certain it wouldn’t be light-hearted acquiescence.

    Ben’s mouth hardened into a straight line.  “No.  No, you take them.  I have no interest in circuses just now.”

    Or anything else, Adam might have added, but didn’t deem it prudent.  “Please, Pa,” he requested plaintively.  “It would mean a lot—to all of us—and maybe do you as much good as . . . fresh air . . . and hard work.”

    Ben’s fingers tightened around the pen in his hand.  “Do you honestly think clowns and pony acts will make me forget what I’ve lost, boy?” he asked tersely.

    Adam’s nostrils flared, and the anger he’d felt earlier came spewing out.  “Well, maybe!  Just maybe you could forget for an hour or so, if you’d let yourself think about something besides your loss.  It isn’t just your loss, Pa; it’s mine and Hoss’s and Little Joe’s, too!”

    Forearms falling to the desktop, Ben slumped forward.  “Don’t you think I know that, Adam?  Don’t you think I know I’m failing all of you and reproach myself for it every day?”

    “Hang your reproach!” Adam shouted.  “What good does that do anyone?”

    Ben’s head snapped up, and his black eyes sparked.  “You lower your voice, young man!”

    Adam sucked in a slow breath, forcing himself to calm down.  “All right, Pa, I’ll lower my voice, but it won’t change the truth.  The boys need you—especially Little Joe—and all your lofty self-reproach won’t give them a minute’s comfort.”

    Ben dropped his head into his left palm, and his fingers closed around a handful of salt-and-pepper hair.  “I can’t give them what I haven’t found myself, son.”  He glanced up, his eyes pleading for understanding.  “Don’t you think I’ve tried to make myself reach out to them?  I can a little with Hoss, but Joseph”—he dragged his hand down to cup his chin and shook his head in despair.  “I’ve tried.  I honestly have, but every time I look at him, the pain rushes at me, like salt being poured into an open wound.”

    “He’s hurting, too, Pa,” Adam persisted relentlessly, although his voice had grown quieter.

    Ben sighed deeply.  “I know he is, but I’m afraid that if I take him in my arms, all he’ll feel coming from me is the pain—and that will hurt him all the more.”  He raised his head and found the courage to meet his son’s smoldering eyes.  “I do appreciate your concern, Adam, and how you’re holding things together.”  His eyes fell on the letter from his brother.  “Reminds me of how John took me in hand when our parents died.  Like him, you’re a good older brother.  You—you go right ahead and take your brothers to that circus and show them a good time.  I’ll foot the bill.”

    “The bill.”  Adam almost spat the words back.  “Well, thanks for that, I guess, but you won’t go?”

    “No,” Ben answered curtly, fumbling for his pen and pulling the ledger toward him.  “I—I have a great deal of bookwork to catch up on, son, so if you’ll excuse me . . .”

    “Well, by all means, you do your bookwork!” Adam snorted.  “And I hope that includes writing your own brother about what’s happened . . . or do I get that lovely little chore, too?  You’ll pay for the stamp, I trust!”

    Ben stared at the irate face before him.  “I think you’d better go to your room, young man, and give some thought to how you conduct yourself before you come out again.”

    “Go to my room?  You’re sending me to my room?”  Eyes raised to the ceiling, Adam released a short, abrupt and humorless laugh.  Here he’d practically run the Ponderosa for a couple of weeks and filled a father’s shoes with his younger brothers, but in Pa’s eyes he was still a kid!  He lowered his gaze to his father’s face once more and stared back intently as he ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth while weighing his words.  “All right, Pa.  I’ll go to my room, like a naughty schoolboy”—he took three steps toward the stairs and spun around—”but it won’t change what I said.  You know I’m right!”

    Adam herded his brothers into the canvas tent of Dr. Bassett’s Circus and down the aisle of rough plank benches to a spot where there was room for three.  Handing a brown bag of popcorn to Hoss, he put Little Joe between them and sat down.  Not surprisingly, Hoss immediately dug into the bag and pulled out a handful of buttery white puffs.  “Me, too,” Little Joe demanded, making a grab for the sack, squealing in protest when Hoss held it out of his reach.

    “No, you let Hoss hold it,” Adam admonished as he restrained his youngest brother’s reaching arm.  “He’ll share.”

    “Sure I will.  Just didn’t want you spillin’ it,” Hoss said, dropping several popped kernels of corn into Little Joe’s outstretched palms.

    Grinning, Adam shook his head.  He couldn’t believe that even Hoss was hungry this soon after the rather sizeable supper he’d put away at the Alcove Restaurant on the plaza.  They could have begged a meal with friends, of course—and would probably be taken to task by Nelly Thomas when she found out they hadn’t—but if Pa’s only contribution to the evening was to be footing the bill, Adam was feeling just perverse enough to run up a good one.  He’d told his brothers to order anything they pleased, and while Joe hadn’t eaten all that much, Hoss had really packed it away, including a hefty helping of apple brown betty after cleaning his plate.  And now popcorn?  Well, there was just something in the air inside that circus tent that made a fellow want to munch.  Adam reached across Little Joe to snare a handful of popcorn before it all disappeared down his middle brother’s gullet.

    “You ever seen a circus, Adam?” Hoss asked between mouthfuls.  “Back east, I mean.”

    Adam gazed dreamily at the single ring before them.  “Yeah, once.  I was about Little Joe’s age or maybe closer to five.  Pa and I came to this good-sized town—don’t remember the name, just that there was a lot of tall corn growing along the roadsides.  Anyway, Pa was short of funds, as usual, so he tried to find work, but couldn’t.  We were just getting ready to head down the road, hoping for better luck in the next town, when the circus wagon rolled down the main street.  Pa made a bargain to help tend the animals for the price of a meal for me and him and two tickets to see the show.”

    “Wow!  Bet that was fun,” Hoss said.  “What’d you see?”

    Adam laughed and looked back at his brother.  “About what you’ll see tonight, I imagine: clowns, riders, a trained dog act.  Oh! and an elephant.  That made my eyes pop, I’ll tell you!  I’d never even seen a picture, and there was this huge gray mountain standing right in front of me, long trunk snaking out to feel me over while Pa cleaned up after him.  I scurried behind Pa, fast as I could move!”

    Little Joe scooted close to Adam’s side.  “El-fant not get me?”

    Adam gave him a hug.  “No, Joe.  This circus doesn’t have an elephant.  That was back east, when brother was a little boy the size of you.”

    Grinning, Little Joe shook his head.  “Adam never size of me—always big.”

    “Not always,” Adam laughed, tousling the golden brown curls.  “I grew, just like you will.”

    “Me grow big like you, like Hoss?”

    Adam chuckled.  “Like me?  Good chance.  Like Hoss?  Not on your life!”

    “Aw, Adam,” Hoss protested.  “I ain’t so all-fired big as all that.”

    “You’re just the right size,” Adam assured him.

    The show started then, and soon the boys were clapping at the performances of the trained dogs and holding their breaths as they watched the astounding Mrs. Walter P. Aymar and the Aymar Brothers perform on the tightrope.  Between each act a clown in baggy pants and over-sized shoes cavorted around the ring, making everyone laugh, especially Hoss, who was cackling with such abandon that he almost fell off the narrow bench.

    Then the equestriennes took the ring, and Little Joe stared at them, positively enrapt.  “I gonna do that!” he cried as Mademoiselle Camille stood on the back of her prancing pony as it raced around the ring.

    “Don’t you try it, little boy,” Adam scolded.  “I’ll spank your bottom!”

    Little Joe pouted, but the ill temper didn’t last past the next acrobatic trick on horseback.  Someday, when I’s big as Adam, I will do that! he promised himself.

    Gymnasts followed the equestriennes, and then more horses trotted out, this time trained ponies performing tricks, one of them dancing around the ring with all the precision of a waltz on a ballroom floor.  “When I gets a horse, I gonna teach him tricks, Adam.  I am,” he insisted with a determined jut of his tiny chin.

    Pleased with the more articulate way Joe was expressing himself tonight, Adam just laughed this time.  “I bet you will, Little Joe.”  As the clowns ran out again, he leaned back, watching his younger brothers, instead of the comic in the ring.  It felt so good to see them laughing again, carefree, untouched for a few brief hours by the tragedy that had disrupted their lives.  If only Pa could have granted himself that same reprieve; if only he could relax and laugh again, like these innocent-hearted boys; if only . . .

    In August of 1861, a circus came to Nevada for the first time.  The performers listed in this chapter were members of that first troupe, and, with the exception of the trained dogs, the acts described were part of the show.  The dogs are included as the author’s interpretation of the “variety acts” listed in historical record, since canine performances did take place in Virginia City on other occasions.
 
 

    Ben sealed the envelope and shoved the letter aside.  One duty done, but the harder one still loomed ahead.  Writing back to Ebenezer Wentworth had been a strain, but at least he already knew about Marie, and a concise note of thanks for his condolences was all that duty required.  Pulling out a fresh sheet of stationery, Ben sighed.  Writing to John, who knew nothing, would mean reliving that night of horror afresh, even if he kept to the bare facts and shared none of his feelings.

    Ben stared at the blank sheet for a long time.  Then, looking up, he became aware of a set of emerald eyes—her eyes—peering at him over the desk top.  “What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly.  Immediately contrite for the rough tone, he softened his voice.  “I mean, why aren’t you at church with your brothers, Joseph?”

    Yawning, the four-year-old rubbed at his eyes.  “Don’t know.  They gone?”

    “Yes, they’re gone.”  A battle with his conscience having kept his sleep fitful, Ben had awakened after the boys had left for church, or, at least, church was where Ben had assumed they were.  Of course, he had also assumed that his youngest son was with them, and that conclusion was clearly wrong.  “I suppose they thought you might need extra sleep after your trip to town last night.”

    Little Joe’s face brightened.  “We went to the circus, Pa.  I liked it!”

    Willing himself to do right by his child, Ben smiled gently.  “That’s nice, baby.  Pa’s glad you had a good time.”

    It was the warmest response Little Joe had received from his father since his mother’s death, and the affection-starved child responded eagerly.  Moving around the desk, he came to his father’s side, babbling excitedly about dinner at the Alcove and the funny clowns and popcorn and horses ‘til Ben’s head began to swim.  “That’s enough, Joseph,” he said sharply.  “Pa’s busy now and . . . look at you.  Not even dressed and probably haven’t had your breakfast.  You—you run along now, child, and ask Hop Sing to take care of you.”

    Chin quivering, Little Joe drew back, turned and ran for the kitchen.

    Hearing the patter of small footsteps, Hop Sing looked up from his work table.  “Oh, dere you are.  Hop Sing wonder how long you sleep.”  He caught sight of the brimming eyes.  “What mattah, little boy?”

    “Pa’s busy,” Joe answered with a slight whimper.

    Hop Sing nodded sadly.  “Yes, honolable fathah always much busy.  You sit down; I fixee bleakfast chop-chop.”

    “Where’s my brothers?” Little Joe inquired, climbing into the slat-backed wooden chair.

    “Dey go chu’ch,” Hop Sing replied, putting more kindling into the stove.  “Say let you sleep.  You wantee egg o’ flapjack?”

    “Egg,” Little Joe decided.

    Forty-five minutes later, fed and dressed, Little Joe was given a bowl of scraps for Klamath and told to play outside for awhile.  He put the bowl in front of the small brown dog, but didn’t sit down to pet him, as he usually did.  Instead, he wandered around to the side of the house, kicking pine cones and clumps of needles out of his way.  Finally, he sat down beneath a Jeffrey pine, picked up a cone and sniffed it.  The vanilla scent always reminded the child of pleasant aromas in Hop Sing’s kitchen and usually brought a smile to his face.  Today, however, Little Joe began viciously stripping the scales from the cone, as if hurting something would somehow make him feel better.

    Why didn’t anybody want him?  Pa never did anymore, but today even Hoss and Adam had left him behind, and Hop Sing had turned him out, too.  Hoss and Adam would be back by dinnertime, Hop Sing had promised, and the cook would let him back in, too, sooner or later, but Pa never would.  Little Joe had been avoiding that conclusion for a long time now—to him, it seemed like forever—and he’d thought for a minute this morning that Pa was going to be liked he used to be.  Then he’d closed up again and sent Joe scooting out of his way.

    Little Joe sighed, tossing away the pinecone.  In the way.  That’s how he felt all the time now.  They all teased him about being underfoot, but maybe it wasn’t a joke.  Maybe Hop Sing and Hoss and Adam all felt the same way Pa did.  No, they didn’t.  They still loved him; they were just too busy to play with a little boy most of the time.  Mama never had been.  She’d always had time for him, and she’d kissed him and cuddled him and made him feel wanted.

    Little Joe sprang to his feet.  Maybe Mama didn’t know how much he missed her; maybe she’d come back if she knew.  Joe shivered as he remembered the nightmares he’d had the first few nights after they put Mama in the box in the ground.  Mama didn’t like that box, he was sure she didn’t, so maybe if he went there and told her, she’d come back and make them all happy again.  He remembered riding through trees up to that place by the lake where his mama was buried, so he set off through the pines to find his mother.  To the four-year-old, however, one tall pine looked much like another, and though he had started in roughly the right direction, he soon was wandering aimlessly from one tree to another in a direction altogether different.

    “Little Joe!  Where you hide, bad boy?”  Hop Sing called as he circled the house for the second time.  “Hop Sing no have time fo’ foolishment.  You come now!”  The Chinaman walked a short distance into the woods, calling the child’s name, but he had food on the stove and didn’t dare leave it unattended for long.  Coming out of the woods near the kitchen door, he started inside, but stopped when he heard horses entering the yard.

    “Mr. Adam,” he cried, scurrying to the hitching rail where number one and number two sons were tying their horses.

    “Hey, Hop Sing, what’s for dinner?” Hoss asked with a quick slurp of his lips.

    “No dinner no time soon,” Hop Sing ranted.  “Little boy cause much foolishment, hiding flom Hop Sing.”

    Patting the black’s flank, Adam moved toward the cook.  “Hiding?  Were you playing a game with him, Hop Sing?  You don’t have to do that, you know; you have enough work as it is.”

    Arms akimbo, Hop Sing glared at Adam.  “Hop Sing have plenty work all-a-time.  He not play with little boy, but little boy play with him, maybe-so.  Hop Sing look hard, no can find.”

    Adam laid a reassuring hand on the smaller man’s shoulder.  “We’ll find him.  Where have you looked so far?”

    Hop Sing waved his arms wildly.  “Look ev’lywhere, Mr. Adam.  Alound house, alound barn, by garden, in trees.  No can find.  Not see since bleakfast.”

    Adam’s eyes narrowed in greater concern.  “Does Pa know the boy’s missing?”

    Hop Sing shook his head.  “Mr. Ben much tired today.  He work at desk, then go bed.  Say no wake, even for dinnah; say he eat when he want.”

    “Don’t bother him, then,” Adam said, straightening up.  “Joe’s probably just hiding, like you said.  We’ll find him.”

    “Why would Joe hide?” Hoss asked as the cook shuffled back to the kitchen.

    Adam shrugged.  “Some kind of game, I guess.  Kid’s got to amuse himself somehow.  You check out the barn, and I’ll look behind the house.”

    “Okay,” Hoss agreed.  He went into the barn, calling his brother’s name.  “You better come out, punkin, or Hop Sing’ll put you in the stew pot.”  After scouting out all the stalls, he looked up at the loft.  Would his little brother be foolish enough to climb that high by himself?  Hoss nodded grimly.  It would be just like Joe to pull a fool stunt like that.  Ma shoulda made ‘Foolish’  your middle name, ‘stead of that French one.  “Joe, you up in that loft?” he called.  “You better come out, ‘cause I don’t fancy climbin’ up there after you.”  Hearing no answer, Hoss set his face with determination and climbed the ladder into the loft.  A thorough search, however, revealed that his little brother was not up there.

    Convinced that Joe was not in the barn, Hoss checked carefully around the building and then searched through all the smaller outbuildings in the area.  He met up with Adam at the side of the main house.  “I can’t find him no place, Adam,” he said.  “If he’s hidin’, he’s doin’ a bang-up job of it.”

    Adam nodded soberly.  “I don’t think he’s old enough to do a ‘bang-up job’ of playing hide-and-go-seek, Hoss.  I don’t think he’s hiding; we’d have heard that giggle by now if he were.  I think he may have wandered off and gotten himself lost.”

    Fear flickered in Hoss’s blue eyes.  “What we gonna do, Adam?  He’s too little to be wanderin’ around in the woods.”

    “You’re telling me!”   Adam licked his lower lip.  “We’ve got to find him; that’s all there is to it.  Let’s go in the kitchen.”

    “He ain’t in there,” Hoss snorted disdainfully.

    Adam put an arm around his brother’s broad shoulders.  “I know, but let’s see if Hop Sing can dish us up a plate of something before we start looking.”

    “Aw, I don’t care nothin’ ‘bout eatin’,” Hoss protested, adding with a fearful glance into the woods.  “He could get hurt, Adam.”

    “I know,” Adam murmured, steering Hoss toward the kitchen, “but you should eat something.  Might be awhile before you get another chance, ‘cause we’re gonna have to keep looking ‘til we find him, buddy.”

    Though Hop Sing fussed that the food wasn’t ready to serve, he managed to dish up two plates and then stood over the Cartwright brothers, scolding them for eating too fast.  “You get sick; then Hop Sing have to take care of you and find bad boy, too.”

    “We’ll find him,” Adam said, standing as he swilled down the last of his coffee.  “Hoss, you check the bunkhouse, see if any of the men are around, tell them I need to see them.”

    “Okay, Adam,” Hoss agreed, wiping off his milk mustache with the back of his hand and heading for the door.

    Only a couple of men were in the bunkhouse on their day off, but both quickly agreed to help the two brothers look for Little Joe, whom most of the men looked on as a sort of pet.  “Thanks,” Adam said in response to their offer of help.  “Hoss and I will saddle a couple of horses for you while you get yourselves a bite of food from Hop Sing.  Then we’ll take off in different directions and see if we can’t find that little scamp.”

    Looking over his shoulder as his feet pounded through the forest, Little Joe didn’t see the fallen limb lying across his path.  His left foot rammed into the wood, and he tumbled forward with a cry.  A thick layer of pine needles cushioned his hands and knees slightly, though, as he plummeted to earth, and Little Joe soon scrambled up to lean, panting, against the furrowed, cinnamon-shaded bark of a ponderosa pine.  He stood still for a moment, listening, and exhaled his relief at the silence that met his ears.  He didn’t know what kind of animal it was he’d heard before, but the sharp cry had scared him and made run away from the sound.

    Joe slid down to sit at the base of the pine tree and rested his head on his knees.  He felt like he’d been walking for days, but he knew it couldn’t be that long, since the sun hadn’t gone down yet.  He hadn’t found the lake.  In fact, he hadn’t seen anything but trees and more trees since he left the house.  He wanted to go home, but didn’t know which way to go.  Glancing around in despair, he thought he saw an opening to his left and rocks beyond.  It wasn’t home, obviously, not with those big rocks, but at least it wasn’t trees and more trees.  Joe stood up and walked toward the beckoning light.

    As agreed, the four searchers met back in the Ponderosa’s yard an hour later.  None of them had seen a glimpse of the missing child, and each knew what that meant:  the little boy wasn’t close to home, and the search would have to be widened.

    Hoss’s face was frantic when the final man rode in and reported that he hadn’t seen Little Joe.  “We gotta find him, Adam!” the youngster cried, arms around his brother’s waist.

    “We will,” Adam soothed, supple hands massaging Hoss’s back.

    “But the Ponderosa’s so big, and he’s so little,” Hoss sobbed.  “I shoulda stayed home with him.”

    Adam pulled back and tipped Hoss’s chin up.  “It’s not your fault, and we will find him,” he said, wishing he felt the confidence he was espousing for Hoss’s sake.  As Hoss had said, however, the ranch was huge and riddled with nooks and crannies large enough to conceal an under-sized four-year-old—assuming that Joe was still on the ranch.  Hop Sing hadn’t seen him since breakfast, and in that length of time, even those short legs might conceivably have wandered off the property.

    Embarrassed to be seen crying in front of the two hands, Hoss wiped his eyes, but his voice was still choked as he asked,  “Before dark?”

    Adam drew his brother to his side in a one-armed embrace.  “If we can, but we’re going to need help, Hoss, precisely because we do have a lot of ground to cover.  I want you to ride over to the Montgomery place first and then into Carson City.  Tell Uncle Clyde what’s happened and ask if he can get some men together.”

    “Okay,” Hoss agreed quickly, glad to have something to do.  “I’ll get Doc, too, if he’s around.”

    “Good idea,” Adam said with a clap to the boy’s back.  “In fact, I want you to stop by the Sheriff’s Office.  Don’t talk to Sheriff Blackburn, though.  Find that deputy of his, the one that came here about Marie—Coffee, that was his name—see if he’ll help, too.”

    “I’ll raise dust there and back,” Hoss said, foot in the stirrup.

    Adam placed a restraining hand on his brother’s thigh.  “That kind of foolishness is”—he bit his tongue, for he’d almost said “what cost us our mother,” and he didn’t want to bring up that kind of painful reminder, especially now when his brother’s emotions were already raw.   He boosted Hoss on up into the saddle. “Unnecessary,” he finished.

    “Huh?”

    “That kind of foolishness is unnecessary,” he repeated.  “You ride fast, but you ride safe, you hear?”

    “Fast, but safe.  I promise,” Hoss said and turned his horse toward the road.

    One of the men who’d been searching for Little Joe earlier came out of the bunkhouse, followed by two more men, who had come in early from their day off.  One of them, Hank Carlton came up to Adam and asked if he should ride up to the lumber camps and get some more volunteers.

    “I’d appreciate it,” Adam said, “and tell the men to bring lanterns.  I hate to think we won’t find him before dark, but it’s best to be prepared, if we don’t.”

    “You bet, boss,” Hank said.

    After a brief discussion of what ground each would cover, Hank and the other three hands rode out again, while Adam went into the house.  He didn’t even bother taking off his hat as he moved past the tall grandfather’s clock and rounded the corner into the alcove.  Though he dreaded telling his father, the time for sparing him was past.  The alcove was empty, however.

    Hearing steps behind him, Adam spun around.  “Oh.  Hop Sing.  Is Pa still sleeping?”

    Hop Sing shrugged.  “Guess so, Mr. Adam.  I not bother, like you say.”  His almond eyes shimmered with compassion and concern.

    “Is there something I should be bothered about?” a voice behind them brusquely demanded.

    Turning, Adam saw his father on the stair landing.  “Yes, Pa, there is,” he said.  Pausing, he added softly, “Little Joe is missing.”

    Ben took an involuntary step toward the stair rail and grasped it with both hands.  “Wh-what do you mean, ‘missing’?”

    Adam spread his hands.  “Missing—gone—nowhere around.”

    Ben’s grip on the rail tightened.  “How long?”

    “We’ve been looking since we got back from church.”  Adam glanced toward the cook at his side.  “In fact, Hop Sing hasn’t seen the boy since giving him breakfast.”  Seeing his father’s sudden pallor, he added quickly.  “Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s been gone that long . . . just that no one’s seen him.”

    Hop Sing wrung his hands, his face contorted with anguish.  “So solly.  I send Little Joe out to play.  Not think he go ‘way.  He always stay close befo’.”

    Adam squeezed the Chinaman’s shoulder.  “It’s not your fault, Hop Sing.”

    No, it’s mine, Ben thought as he came down the final five steps.  I’m the one who sent him away, who wouldn’t give him the attention he needed.  He recalled vividly the dismal pleading in those earnest emerald eyes when he’d told the child to run along that morning.  He’d turned away from it, as he had time and again the past three weeks.  “Who’s on hand to help search?” he asked crisply.

    Adam looked back and saw his father, standing square-shouldered, ready for action.  This was the Ben Cartwright he’d seen many times in the past when confronting a problem, and Adam felt as though a one-ton load had shifted off his shoulders.  “Four men, plus me and Hoss, but there’ll be more.  Hank Carlton is heading up to the lumber camps to get more men, and I sent Hoss to tell Enos, Clyde, Doc Martin and Roy Coffee.”

    “The deputy who was here?” Ben inquired.  He remembered the man’s gentleness as he’d asked about Marie’s accident.  “Yes, I think he might be the kind of man to care about a missing child.”  Though his face was strained, he smiled tautly at Adam.  “You’ve done well, son—except you should have told me sooner.”

    Adam’s gaze dropped to the floor.  “I wasn’t sure you were up to it,” he murmured.

    “Oh, Adam, Adam.”  Ben gathered the young man into his arms.  “I’ve been the worst kind of father—to all of you—but I promise you that’s going to change, as of this minute.  No more excuses, no more begging for time, no more putting off on others—you, in particular—what I should be doing myself.  I’m so sorry, son.”

    Though he longed to relax into the comfort of his father’s embrace, longed to lay the load in those strong arms and leave it there, Adam drew back.  Time was wasting.  “The important thing now is to find Little Joe.”

    Ben squeezed both of his son’s broad shoulders, the shoulders that had carried too much responsibility for too long, and released them with an inner vow that those shoulders would henceforth carry no more than a boy’s fair share.  “Yes, you’re right.  Would you saddle my horse, son?”

    “Right away, Pa,” Adam said, moving toward the door before the moisture in his eyes betrayed his manly dignity.

    Ben moved to the alcove and picked up the framed photo sitting at the corner of the desktop.  “I’m sorry, my love,” he whispered, contrition choking his voice.  “You gave me a beautiful gift, and I’ve let it slip through my fingers.  But I promise you I will find him, and he will know he is loved.  Never again will any of our sons have cause to doubt that.  I give you my word.”

    Having trudged through sand and sage for half a day, the little boy could barely put one foot in front of the other, and dust covered his face, except for the muddy courses carved by rivers of tears and perspiration.  Little Joe was tired and hungry, but there was no place to rest and nothing to eat.  Occasionally he would look back at the forest on the hillside, now far behind him.  Young as he was, the child knew that both home and his mother’s grave by the lake lay among trees, but to him, the trees were an impenetrable maze of light and shadows with the cries of unknown animals coming at him from the dark.  He definitely didn’t want to go back to the trees, so he kept trudging ahead through sand and sage, without a destination and having no idea of what lay ahead.  That uncertainty, more than any immediate fear, sent tears tracking down his dusty face.

    Once he flushed a sage hen, but that only startled him for a moment and made him think of food.  The snake that swished across his path later scared him, and he ran hard to get away, although had Hoss been there, he could have told the child that it was only a gopher snake, nothing to fear.  The red-gold sun was starting to sink behind the forested hills, but though he felt very drowsy, Little Joe didn’t like the idea of sleeping on the ground, where snakes and mice might slither and scamper over him in the night.  Maybe he should find some higher ground and take a nap.

    Looming just ahead, he saw a mammoth red sandstone slab, stabbing the flame-streaked, saffron sky like the jagged point of a Paiute arrowhead, jutting so high that heaven surely couldn’t be far from its top.  Sudden inspiration sparked the child’s imagination.  Adam had told him more than once that Mama wasn’t in the box in the ground.  She was in heaven, so maybe the lake had been the wrong place to look for her.  Maybe a place like this was what he’d needed all along!  If he could just get to the top, he’d be safe from snakes and mice and close enough to Mama to make her hear his pleas to come home.  The sheer sides of the barren promontory offered scant hold for either hand or foot, but those tiny hands and feet could fit in cracks too small for grownup ones.  Scaling that height would still be a challenge, but Little Joe didn’t daunt easily.  With thoughts of seeing his mother again soon, he began to climb.

    Dadbern that Deputy Coffee! Hoss fumed as he led Charcoal into the barn.  Who asked him to—well, I guess we did, but he didn’t have to come in, givin’ orders and takin’ over like—like he knew what he was doin’, I guess.  He unbuckled his saddle cinch, pulled off the saddle and threw it, blanket and all over a half-moon stand.  Pairin’ everybody up in twos was a good idea, with dark comin’ on, but he had no business tellin’ Adam to send me home!  Said I wasn’t needed and shouldn’t be out after dark.  Hoss grabbed a curry brush and began stroking Charcoal’s gray coat with more vigor than he commonly used.

    Tears welled in eyes that normally shone with pure contentment.  Blinking them back, the man-sized boy, faithful to his father’s teaching, continued to groom his horse.  Adam shouldn’t have listened to that deputy, shouldn’t have sent me home, like some kid scared of the dark.  Well, I do hate the dark, I really do, but Little Joe’s my brother, too, ain’t he?  Ain’t I got a right to help look for him, dark or no dark?

    Hoss leaned his head against the mare’s side.  More than a right.  He’d made a promise to Mama to take care of Little Joe and see that nothing ever hurt him, and he felt as if he were breaking his word.  For all his talk of being a big boy, Little Joe really was a baby, too small to be out in the dark, and probably scared, too, ‘cause there was plenty out there to be scared of.  Doggone fool kid, why’d you run off, anyhow?  If Pa or Adam don’t tan your britches, I will!

    After seeing that Charcoal had feed and water, Hoss went into the house.  At the sound of the front door opening, Hop Sing scuttled out from the kitchen.  “All come back?” the cook asked anxiously.  “Little boy, too?”

    Closing the door, Hoss shook his head sadly.  “Just me.”

    The Chinaman’s face reflected the disappointment etched on the boy’s.  “Oh.”  Seeing tears swimming in the boy’s blue eyes, Hop Sing gave the slumped shoulder a tentative pat.

    Needing comfort and seeing no other source of it, Hoss put his arms around the diminutive Chinaman.  For a moment Hop Sing didn’t know what to do.  He was an employee in this home, and he had been taught from his youth the importance of comporting himself properly, especially when in the service of white people.  This family, though, had never treated him as he’d been treated by others of their race; they had always accorded him an intimacy that went across all racial lines and beyond rules of comportment.  They had treated him—like family.  While his mind debated the proper response, his arms instinctively closed around the frightened boy.  “Number two son not wolly.  Little boy be all light, you see.”

    Hoss turned loose, nodded and swiped his eyes dry.  “They’ll find him.  They gotta.”

    Hop Sing beamed with encouragement.  “Dat light.  Dat light.  You clean up, put on night clothes, then come kitchen, have sandwich, milk.”

    “Okay,” Hoss said.  Worried as he was, Hoss was still a growing boy, and he hadn’t eaten a bite since choking down that hurried meal at noon.  A sandwich and milk sounded good.  Bet Joe could use some, too, he sighed as he slowly climbed the stairs.

    Halfway up the sheer precipice, Little Joe lay flat against the warm sandstone.  Even though the sun was nearly down now, the rock still retained the heat baked into it by the blistering summer sun, and it felt good, especially in contrast to the cool wind whipping across the child’s back.  He’d torn his shirt in a couple of places, and the wind crept right through to bare flesh in those spots.

    Joe looked up, dismayed by how far he still had to climb.  Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all.  Heaven sure was a long way off, and the descending dusk made it harder to see where to put his hands.  A high-pitched cry made the boy’s head jerk in the opposite direction, and he shivered as he saw a long-tailed, tawny cat slink through the sage below him.  He’d seen an animal like that once before, when he was out with Hoss.  Hoss had called it a puma and said it was dangerous, and they’d gotten away from that place as fast as they could.

    While the cat didn’t look so big from up here, Little Joe knew it was, big enough to gobble up a little boy in a single bite—two, at the most.  Any notion he’d had about making his way down again vanished at first sight of that puma, and Little Joe began to climb with renewed determination.  He didn’t stop ‘til he’d reached the very top, where he wedged himself into a narrow crevice and raised his face to the sky.  “I’m here, Mama,” he called urgently.  “Come get me—please!”  When the only sound coming from heaven was a low rumble of thunder, the little boy put his face in his scratched hands and began to cry.

    “Been carryin’ quite a load lately, haven’t you, son?”

    Torn from his anxious reverie, Adam slowly turned toward the lawman riding beside him.  “As much as I can,” he said simply.  “Pa’s been having a hard time since—well, you know.”

    “Yeah, I know.”  Roy Coffee pursed his lips in consideration and continued, “Saw your pa in town a week ago tonight.  He was . . .”

    “Three sheets to the wind?” Adam suggested, mouth curling up on one side.

    Coffee uttered a short laugh.  “You knew, then?”

    “Yeah, I knew.”  Adam lifted his chin and declared loyally, “It just happened that one time.”

    “Glad to hear it,” Coffee returned steadily.  “I’ve seen men take to drink after a loss like you folks have had and end up losing all the more.”

    Adam nodded, his mind immediately flashing to Little Joe.  He’d seen his father’s face when he’d learned that his little boy was lost, seen the guilt and grief in those velvet brown eyes.  He’d known in that moment that his father couldn’t handle the loss of his son, especially so soon after his loss of the child’s mother.  If that were to happen, Ben Cartwright really might topple over the edge and become a drunk—or worse, a madman.  “We have to find him,” he muttered aloud, talking more to himself than to the lawman.

    “We will, son, we will,” Roy Coffee assured him.  “We won’t rest ‘til we do, and that’s a promise.”

    Feeling bolstered by the support, Adam smiled.  “I appreciate your help, sir.  I know your responsibility is to the citizens of Carson City, not us.”

    “When a child’s involved, responsibility doesn’t end at the city limits, boy,” Coffee said gruffly.  “Children are . . . special.”

    “You have some?” Adam asked.

    Roy Coffee didn’t answer at first.  Then he said quietly, “No.  My wife Mary died in childbirth—and the child was stillborn, too, so I lost them both that night.”

    A lump caught in Adam’s throat.  “You really do know what we’re feeling, don’t you?”

    “Yeah, son, I do.”  The deputy stretched tall in the saddle.  “Which way did you say your pa had gone?”

    Adam recognized the question as a deliberate change of subject, but while he suspected that the other man knew the answer to his own question, he responded factually.  “Over toward Clement’s Ridge,” he said, his arm sweeping to the left.

    “Don’t like the idea of a man alone in that rough country,” Coffee grunted, stroking his chin in contemplation..  “Wish he’d stayed long enough to pair up with another man.”

    Adam nodded, knowing Roy Coffee spoke with the voice of wisdom.  There’d been no stopping Pa, though, once he knew his youngest son had gone missing.  He wasn’t worried about his father, but he did hope his baby brother hadn’t gone that direction.  While Pa knew how to take care of himself in the roughest country, Little Joe didn’t, and the deputy was right about that rugged stretch of sand and sagebrush and savage-shaped red rocks.

    “Not anybody searching between here and there,” Coffee commented.  “Why don’t we head that direction, son, and meet up with your pa?”

    Feeling a need to be near his father if bad news lay ahead, Adam quickly agreed, and the two men turned their horses toward Clement’s Ridge.

    Ben pulled the front of his jacket together and began fastening the buttons.  Typically, once the sun had gone down, the temperature had dropped, and the wind was beginning to be chilly.  Hearing a roll of thunder in the distance, Ben looked up and saw a dark cloud scud across the face of the moon.  Just shy of half stage, the celestial orb provided only a pale light, anyway, and now, if it were further obscured by storm clouds, how would he ever spot one small boy, lost somewhere in this vast, empty land?  Dear God, don’t let it rain, he prayed, and then his heart shuddered to a stop.

    What right did he have to ask anything of God?  Ben recalled with shame his searing words to the Reverend Bennett, his denunciation of a God who had three times deprived him of love, his demand that the minister leave his house and take his God with him.  Oh, God, what a fool I’ve been!  I’ve done just what he warned me against; I’ve planted enough bitter seeds to harvest a bumper crop of grief.  Must this be part of it, the loss of my child?  Dear God, no—please no!  Whatever I’ve done, whatever wrath I’ve incurred, my child is innocent.  Don’t let him suffer for my sin.

    A sudden gust of biting wind made him hunch forward, but the jacket kept out the cold.  Little Joe probably had no such protection, Ben realized ruefully.  He was only a child, and his flight had not been a planned one.  Ben couldn’t accept the theory that his son had simply wandered off and couldn’t find his way home.  No, Little Joe had run away—from the misery of a home that was no longer a home and from a father who no longer acted like a father.  He’d taken nothing with him, no food and nothing to keep out the chilly wind.  He must be freezing, Ben sighed.  I have to find him—and soon.

    He reined up and called the child’s name again, though he’d already shouted himself hoarse during the hours he’d searched this barren landscape.  What on earth had possessed him to come this direction, anyway?  No one else seemed to think the boy might have come this way; at least, he hadn’t run into any other searchers throughout the long afternoon and early evening.  Maybe that was why; maybe he instinctively felt that his independent youngest would naturally choose a direction inexplicable to any mind but that of a four-year-old.  Ben only knew that he’d been led here by some inner urge . . . or could it be more?

    He shook his head.  That kind of thinking came from his second wife, who had a simple, solid faith in God, unlike the harsh New England doctrine in which Ben had been reared.  Elizabeth, too, had inherited that puritanical fear of God’s retribution for the smallest of sins.  Ben remembered, sadly, how Liz had asked him if she were one of the people that God and good angels would protect.  He’d assured her that she was, but though her childlike heart had forgotten the question in her delight over a cloud shaped like an elephant, he’d pondered it often after her death.  Why hadn’t God and good angels protected Liz?  What sins had she—or he—committed to merit such harsh punishment?

    He’d carried that pain for years ‘til he met Inger, and the sunlight of God’s love, reflected in her eyes, had melted away the ice in his heart and driven back the dark shadows.  He’d come to see God the way she did, as long as he had her faith to lean on.  Then that arrow had come flying toward her, and God and good angels hadn’t stopped its flight.  Enough of her faith had taken root in his own heart by then, however, to see him through—enough, even, to make him wonder now if his impulse to search near Clement’s Ridge had, in fact, been planted by God Himself.  Was this the way God sent his “good angels” to protect His children?  Were God and good angels trying to protect Little Joe by leading him to his cherished child?

    The thought gave him the courage to raise his face to heaven again.  “Help me find him,” he prayed aloud, “and I promise I will never turn my back on You again, whatever hardships come my way.  Just show me where to look—please.”

    No voice came from heaven; no location suddenly popped into his mind.  Nothing at all happened outwardly, but a quiet peace settled into Ben’s tormented spirit, and he felt as though God were telling him to just keep going as he had been, but this time to search with trust in his heart that God and good angels were, indeed, watching over his youngest son.

    He moved down to the dirt road below Clement’s Ridge, walking the horse, calling out Joe’s name, stopping every few feet, just to listen.  It was during one of those quiet times when a small sound, barely audible, seeped into his ear.  Not the wind rustling in the sage, not the scampering footsteps of some little animal or the swish of a snake or lizard through the sand, but a distinctly human sound, the soft sobs of a child crying.

    “Joseph!” Ben called, but there was no answer—not surprising since his overused voice could emit little more than a whisper now.  And perhaps his ears, equally strained by hours of careful listening, were only hearing what they wished to hear.  After all, the wind could play tricks on a man, Ben told himself.  Still, something—or Someone—told him to be quiet and simply listen.  He did, and the sound came again, seemingly from above him.

    Ben lifted his eyes, trying to track the source of the sound, and gasped.  Eagle’s Nest!  Its very name implied its height.  A rusty arrow, notched at the top, piercing the fabric of the obsidian sky.  As if directed, Ben’s eyes went straight to the notch, and there in the pale light of the cloud-shrouded moon, he saw the object of his search.  “I’m coming, baby,” he whispered, and vaulting off his horse, he began to climb.

    He inched his way upward, hand over hand, eyes riveted to that sheltering cleft at the very top.  “Don’t move, baby; don’t move,” he pleaded, only voicing his concern for his own ears, for he was afraid that if Joseph did hear, the boy would try to come to him down that treacherous sheet of sheer rock.  One misstep and the child would skid over the edge, with nothing to break his fall except scattered bushes of fragile gray-green sage.  Don’t move, he pleaded again, not even trusting a whisper this time.  Dear God, don’t let him move.

    Inch by inch, handhold by handhold, Ben pulled himself up the face of that forbidding rock, his only concern the rescue of his child.  Finally, when he’d almost reached the top, he spoke his son’s name softly.

    Little Joe’s head came up from his knees, and when he saw his father, just below him, he gave a wild cry of unleashed elation.  “Pa!”  He started to squirm out of the tight crevice

    Frantically Ben thrust his hand toward the child, palm out.  “No, Joseph, don’t move, baby.  Let Pa come to you.”  Miraculously, the little boy obeyed, and Ben murmured, “Good boy, Joe, good boy.  Just stay still.”  Still moving with caution, he climbed the final few feet.  Settling himself on a small, flat outcropping of sandstone, he stretched out his arms and pulled Little Joe into his chest.  “There now, baby,” he soothed, fingers twining in the golden-brown curls.  “Pa’s precious little boy is safe now.”

    Little Joe clung to him, sobbing out his fear and relief.  “I was scared, Pa!”

    On that fragile shelf of sandstone, Ben gently rocked his son “Oh, my little love, of course you were, but everything’s all right.  Pa’s got you now.”  Slowly he moved Joe back, so he could wipe the child’s tears, his thumb leaving smudge marks from eyes to ears.  Ben smiled.  His son’s face was dirty, but to him, absolutely beautiful.  How could I ever think that seeing this little face, this perfect image of my lost love, would bring me anything but joy? Ben asked himself reproachfully.  I could look at you forever, my beautiful little son.

    But such thoughts were best reserved for solid ground, Ben decided as he looked down at the daunting distance to the earth below.  Climbing up had been hard enough; getting down with a small child in his arms would be infinitely more difficult.  “Little Joe, we need to get down to my horse, so we can ride home,” he explained simply, hoping the child would not hear fear in his voice.

    Whether Joe did or not, fear was what sprang into his glimmering green eyes.  “No, Pa,” he wailed.  “Too far.”

    Ben cuddled him close again.  “I know, baby.  It won’t be easy, but we can’t stay here.”  A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, and thunder rumbled toward them seconds later.

    Little Joe hid his face in his father’s vest, but Ben tipped the little face up.  “You see, it’s going to rain.  We can’t spend the night up here in the rain.”  Dear God, one more mercy, he pleaded.  Don’t let the rain come ‘til we get off this wretched rock .  Though he hesitated to rush the frightened child, Ben knew they had little time to spare.  He drew his gun.  “I want you to cover your little ears, precious.  There are some other people out looking for you, so Pa’s going to fire his gun three times to let them know I’ve found you.  All right?”

    “All right,” Joe whispered, putting his small palms over his ears.

    Ben smiled and pulled the trigger three times.  He wasn’t sure if any of the other searchers were close enough to hear, but, if not, he’d signal again after they were on the ground and had ridden down the road a bit.  Now wasn’t the time to think about what he’d do once he got down, however; now he needed to focus every thought on moving down this precarious precipice, one inch at a time.  “Put your arms around my neck, Joseph,” he said.  When Joe had done so, he added, “Now, we’re going to start down.  You just hold tight and don’t look down, precious; just keep looking straight at Pa’s face.”

    As he started down the ruddy precipice, however, Ben could feel the boy trembling in his arms.  “Joseph, I’m sorry I was too preoccupied to listen to all you were saying this morning.  Why don’t you tell me about the circus now?”

    “O-okay,” Joe stammered through trembling lips.  “There—there was clowns.”

    Ben’s foot found another toehold and he moved another cautious inch downward.  “Oh?  Did they wear funny clothes?”

    “Uh-huh,” Little Joe whispered, looking straight into his father’s face.

    “Well, tell me more about how the clowns were dressed, precious,” Ben urged, sliding slowly down ‘til his free hand caught another crevice. “What funny things did they do?”

    Adam reined up.  “Did you hear that?”

    The deputy from Carson City pulled up beside him.  “What?”

    Dark eyes alight with hope for the first time in hours, the young man looked back.  “Sounded like gunfire to me.  Two, maybe three shots.”

    Roy Coffee shrugged.  “Maybe.  Hard to tell with that thunder booming so close now.”

    “I’m sure I heard shots—down below us, I think,” Adam said.  “I think we should check it out, don’t you?”

    As a drop of rain splashed onto the tip of his nose, Coffee tugged his hat down over his face.  “Good a place as any,” he said.  “We certain sure need to get off this ridge before the rain hits.”

    “Right,” Adam agreed at once, and since he knew this area close to home better than the lawman, he took the lead on the trail down from Clement’s Ridge.

    Plop.  Plop.  Ben could feel random drops plopping against his back, still far enough apart to count each one, and he was praying with all the fervency he possessed that the drops wouldn’t start coming closer together.  Even the scant rain that had fallen was making it harder to move steadily down the side of the rock.  Ben risked a glance down.  He and the child in his arms had come about three-quarters of the way down from the top of Eagle’s Nest, but there was still a lot of rock between them and solid ground.

    “Pa, cold,” Little Joe whimpered.

    “I know, sweetheart, but we have to get down before Pa can do anything about that,” Ben explained patiently.  He stretched his foot for another toehold, hit a slick spot and skittered down, out of control, for a few feet.

    Clinging tighter to his father’s neck, Little Joe screamed, and so did Ben.  “God, help me!” he cried.  Suddenly, he felt spiny barbs prick his hand and grabbed hold of the clump of sagebrush growing out of a crevice in the rock.  Hanging by one hand, Ben felt around with his boot toes and found an indentation large enough to wedge one in.  “We’re all right now, Joseph,” he assured his son.  “Tell me about those trained dogs again.”

    “I-I don’t ‘member,” Little Joe whimpered.

    Ben squeezed him.  “Sure you do.  The little ones rode on top of the big ones, you say?”

    “Uh-huh, like the ladies on the ponies.”

    As Little Joe resumed his broken chatter about the circus, Ben slowly inched down the forty-five degree slope toward the safety of earth below.  Finally, he felt his feet come to rest on a flat ledge.  He wasn’t on the ground yet, but from here on the descent wasn’t steep.  Ben stood up and by comparison with the slow progress of the last half hour, he raced the rest of the way down.  The minute his feet touched solid earth, he hoisted Little Joe above his head and gave a shout of victory.  “We made it, Little Joe; we made it.  Hurray!”

    Little Joe giggled with the exhilaration of being held so high in his father’s strong hands and shouted back down, “H’ray!”

    Delighted at the sound of his child’s merriment and wanting to share it, Ben laughed aloud, but he quickly set Little Joe down.  Pulling off his own jacket, he wrapped it around the shivering boy and then picked him up again.  Just then the rain began to fall in streams, instead of drops.  Looking back up the steep slope of Eagle’s Nest and realizing what it might have meant had the heavier rain come a few minutes sooner, Ben raised his quivering face to the sky and let the rain wash it as he whispered, “Thanks.”

    Ben had barely swung into the saddle before he heard the clop of horses’ hooves on the road behind him.  Glancing back, he saw his oldest son, riding with Roy Coffee and turned his horse to meet them.

    Catching sight of his father and the bundle in his arms, Adam raced forward, reining the black up hard beside his father’s mount.  “Is he all right?” he asked anxiously.

    “Right as”—feeling the water pelting his cheeks, Ben laughed—”rain.”

    Adam sagged with relief and then straightened as Roy Coffee came up alongside them.  Adam leaned forward to tousle Little Joe’s damp curls.  “Hey, you little scamp.  Do you know what a scare you gave us?”

    From the shelter of his father’s arms, Little Joe peeked out at Adam.  “I scared, too, Adam.”

    Seeing that pathetic little face, Adam didn’t have the heart to scold.  “Do you want me to take him?” he asked his father.

    Unable to bear the slightest separation from the child so recently restored to him, Ben shook his head and laid his left cheek against the damp head curled into his chest.

    Watching closely, Adam was certain he saw the salt of tears mingling with the fresh rain from heaven.  “Get him home,” he urged.  “I’ll make the rounds and let everyone know the lost has been found.”

    Ben sat up and touched a grateful hand to the young man’s shoulder as he passed.  “Thank you, son—for everything.”  He stopped beside the deputy then and murmured words of thanks to him, as well.  “You’re welcome at the Ponderosa anytime.”

    “Might take you up on it sometime,” Roy Coffee said with a grin.  “I hear the feed’s mighty good at your place.”  He laid a tender hand on Little Joe’s head.  “Take good care of this young one,” he urged.

    “I will,” Ben promised and without further delay tapped the bay’s flanks with his heels and galloped toward home.

    Having heard the front door open, Hop Sing scurried in from the kitchen, beaming as he caught sight of the child in Mr. Ben’s arms.  He quickly wiped the broad smile from his face and began to scold, wagging his finger before the youngster’s face.  “Bad boy.  Velly bad boy, lun away flom Hop Sing.”

    Little Joe laid his head on Ben’s shoulder and slid his thumb into his mouth.  Ben gently removed it and said, “Now, Hop Sing, I think what this boy needs is a nice, hot bath and something to eat.”

    “Humph.  Dat light,” Hop Sing snorted.  “Little boy bling in mud—fathah, too.”

    Ben looked at the muddy puddle pooling around his boots.  “Well, yes,” he conceded, “and the sooner we get cleaned up, the sooner this can be cleaned up.”  He set Little Joe down, took the dripping jacket from around the boy, which Hop Sing immediately snatched before he could hang it to drip on the cabinet below the row of pegs.    Hop Sing threw his hands toward the ceiling and stormed away, chattering in what sounded like irate Cantonese.  Ben just laughed as he removed his gun belt.  Nothing, absolutely nothing could bother him tonight.  As he’d read long before in some poem, God was in His heaven and all was right with the world.

    Hoss, who had been dozing on the settee, woke up to the cacophony of Chinese ranting.  The minute he spotted Little Joe, he jumped up with a whoop, rounded the end of the settee in two long bounds and crushed the little boy in a fierce, protective hug worthy of any she bear.  Then he held Little Joe at arms’ length and scolded him soundly.  “Shame on you for runnin’ off like that!  You worried ev’rybody plumb to death.”

    The thumb snuck back into Little Joe’s mouth.  “I sorwy,” he mumbled around it.

    “Well, you should be,” Hoss insisted emphatically.

    Ben placed a hand on his middle son’s shoulder.  “No time for lectures tonight, Hoss,” he said, his warm voice soothing both his sons.  “I need to see to my horse, so if you could watch your brother, I’d appreciate it, and if Hop Sing gets his bath ready before I’m back, start washing him, all right?”

    “Sure, Pa,” the older boy agreed at once.  As soon as his father went through the door, Hoss took his younger brother’s thumb from his mouth.  “What did I tell you about that, huh?”

    “Big boys don’t,” Little Joe repeated glibly.

    “And you wanna be a big boy, don’t you?”

    Little Joe’s head bobbed up and down.

    “Good.  That’s settled, then,” Hoss decreed, taking his brother by the hand.  “Let’s go see how that bath water’s comin’ on, ‘cause you sure need one.”

    Ben had bathed quickly while Little Joe was eating.  Now, dressed only in a maroon flannel robe he had hastily tossed on when he stepped out of the tub, he turned back the covers of his youngest son’s bed and started to lay the boy down on the plump feather pillow.  Something in those expressive emerald eyes gripped his heart, however.  “What is it, son?” he asked.

    “Nes’ry talk?” the child asked anxiously.

    Ben would have laughed had the boy not looked so frightened.  “Why would I give you a necessary little talk, Joseph?” he inquired seriously.

    Little Joe pulled at his lower lip.  “Bad boy run off, Hop Sing say.  Hoss, too.”

    “Oh.  Did you run off, Joseph?”  Ben smiled, lifting the boy’s small feet in one hand.  “I thought it was only these naughty little feet that ran away with my good boy.”

    Little Joe tittered as his father ran a finger from heel to toes up each little foot.  “Me good,” he agreed quickly.  “Feet naughty.”  Then he looked worried again.  “You spank naughty feet?”

    This time Ben did laugh.  “I suppose I should.  Such naughty little feet to run away with my precious boy!  But I’d rather do this.”  He brought the sole of each foot to his lips and kissed it.  Then he popped Joe’s feet beneath the covers.  “There, I think they’ll stay put now.”  He bent to kiss his son good night, but pulled back.  Something still wasn’t right; the emerald eyes still looked troubled.  “What’s wrong, Joseph?  You can tell Pa.”

    Little Joe’s thumb started moving toward his mouth.  Then, mindful of Hoss’s admonition, he dropped it to his side and just shook his head, as if to deny that anything was troubling him.

    Something clearly was, though, and Ben thought he caught the look of fear in his son’s eyes.  Joe couldn’t still be afraid of a spanking; that was settled.  However, Ben wondered fleetingly if a grain of fear remained from the time Joe had spent in the cold and the dark atop Eagle’s Nest.  Yes, that must be it.  “Would you like to sleep with Pa tonight, precious?” he asked gently, fearing that, left alone, his child would only awaken in the grips of a nightmare.

    Little Joe nodded eagerly, raising his arms.

    Smiling, Ben lifted the boy to his shoulder and carried him down the hall.  For a moment he felt his heart lurch as he laid that little golden head on his mother’s pillow, but the pain was quickly swallowed up in sheer thankfulness that he still had this blessed remembrance of his beloved Marie, just as he had Adam and Hoss to keep alive the memories of Elizabeth and Inger.  He tucked the covers up to Little Joe’s chin and bent to kiss him on the forehead.  “Close your eyes and sleep tight, little love.  Pa’ll be right here all night, so not a thing can harm you.”

    Little Joe smiled, sweetly as a cherub, and, exhausted, fell quickly asleep.

    Ben pulled a chair close enough so his hand could rest on the damp curls on the snowy pillowslip.  When he was certain that his son was sleeping soundly enough that movement wouldn’t disturb him, he slid into his side of the bed.  Little Joe rolled down the slope created by Ben’s heavier weight on the mattress and, still asleep, snuggled up against his father’s side.  With a sigh of complete contentment, Ben put an arm around the boy and lay for a long time in the dark, enjoying the satisfying sound of his son’s regular breathing.

    The house was dark when Adam finally rode in that night, but he had expected that.  It had taken a long time to make the rounds and tell everyone that Little Joe was safe at home and to thank each man for his efforts.  Eager to get inside and out of his dripping clothes, he gave Blackie a quick, but thorough, rubdown and hurried across the yard, grateful that the rain had finally stopped.

    Depositing his hat and gun belt on the cabinet by the door, he moved across the room and after warming himself slightly by the fire’s fading warmth, sat down on the table to remove his boots.  He set them on the hearth, hoping they’d dry out by morning and made his way upstairs in his stocking feet.

    He paused to peek into Little Joe’s room, just to reassure himself that the little boy really was home again.  Seeing the empty bed, he shook his head and moved down the hall.  Should’ve known they’d be sleeping together after a scare like this.  As he looked into the next bedroom, however, Adam saw only Hoss, and his brow wrinkled.  Where could Joe be, if not with his brother?  A smile touched the young man’s lips.  With Pa?  Was that possible? After all these weeks of avoiding the little boy, had Pa taken him into his own bed?

    Adam tiptoed down the hall and around the corner, stopping at the open doorway to his father’s room.  Peering in cautiously, he exhaled in deep satisfaction at the scene that met his eyes: Little Joe, cuddled up against Pa, whose arm was wrapped protectively and lovingly around his little son.  Adam stood watching the tranquil tableau for a few moments, and then the dampness of his clothing made him shiver and he turned to leave.

    “Adam?”  Ben rose up in bed.  “Is that you, son?  You just getting in?”

    “Yeah, Pa,” Adam whispered.  “Sorry.  Didn’t mean to wake you.”

    “Who has a better right?” Ben said, sliding out from under the covers.

    Adam stepped forward, hand raised to stop his father.  “Oh, no, stay with him.  I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight—you and him, back together again.”

    Ben smiled down at the golden curls nestled on the pillow beside him.  “It is a beautiful sight,” he murmured.  Looking up, his lips twitched as he said, “You, on the other hand, young man, have rarely looked worse.  You’re soaked to the skin, Adam!  Get out of those wet clothes, and I’ll draw you a hot bath.”

    Adam waved the offer aside.  “Oh, no, Pa.  It’s late; I’m tired.  I’d rather just dry off and get to bed.”

    “Are you sure, son?” Ben asked, brow furrowed with concern.  “I’d be happy to do it for you, and you might rest better.”

    “I’m sure, Pa.”  Adam smiled down at his little brother again and swallowed the lump in his throat.  “Just seeing him sleeping so peacefully is all the sedative I need to sleep like a baby myself.”

    “I know what you mean,” Ben chuckled.  He started to crawl back beneath the covers, but as something struck his mind, he got up and followed his oldest son into the hall.  “Adam,” he called softly, “I need to ask one more favor of you.”

    Adam turned.  “Just ask.”

    Ben’s smile was warm with love and pride.  “My good boy, always there when I need him.”  His fingers gripped Adam’s shoulder.  “I’ve imposed on you too much of late, and it will end, I promise.  I have to ask you to fill in for me one more time, though, with ranch responsibilities.  I really feel a need to spend some time with Joseph tomorrow.”

    “Of course.  You should,” Adam replied simply.  He shivered slightly.  “Pa, I really would like to change now.”

    Ben nodded, loosening his grip on the boy, although what he really wanted was to take Adam in his arms, drenched shirt and all.  “Of course.  You should,” he said softly and let his son go.

    Monday morning Ben sat at his desk, scribbling figures in the ledger, but keeping an ear cocked for the sound of little footsteps on the stairs.  Finally, he heard them and glanced up in time to see Little Joe duck behind the Indian blanket hung over the railing at the landing.  With a chuckle Ben leaned back in his green leather chair and waited to see what the little boy was up to.  He saw the tiny head full of curls dart out at first one side and then the other and smiled in amusement.  “Why are you hiding, Little Joe?” he called eventually since his son appeared disinclined to come further downstairs.

    Little Joe peered around the edge of the blanket once more.  “Pa mad?” he asked hesitantly.

    Shutting his eyes, Ben sighed deeply.  He had ground to make up with this child.  He’d realized that and had, in fact, been sitting here waiting for Joe so he could start mending those broken bridges.  “No, Joseph,” he said softly after a slight pause.  “Pa has no reason to be angry with you.  Come here, son.”  He stretched a hand toward the boy.

    Barefoot, Little Joe moved cautiously down the steps to the great room and almost tiptoed over to the desk, as if fearful his father would at any moment withdraw the invitation.  He edged slowly around the bulky piece of furniture until he stood next to his father.

    Ben picked his son up and set him on his knee.  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said cheerfully.

    “I sleep long time?” Joe asked, still looking slightly fearful that he’d done something wrong.

    Ben nodded.  “Yes, just as you should, son.”  He snuggled the child against him and planted a kiss on top of his curly head.  “Tell me, Little Joe, if you could do anything you wanted with Pa today, what would it be?”

    Little Joe cast a suspicious glance at the open ledger and the consoling thumb slid into his mouth.  “Don’t know,” he mumbled.

    Ben removed the thumb.  “I can’t hear you with that in your mouth, Joseph.  Now, what would you like to do?  Would you like to go fishing, just you and Pa?”

    Little Joe’s eyes widened in surprise.  Him and Pa go somewhere alone?  Never had this happened, not even in the good days when Mama was still with them.  His eyes cut toward the ledger again.  “You don’t got work?”

    “I have work,” Ben said, “but I’d rather fish with you.  How about it?”

    Joe’s entire face lit up.  “You mean it?”

    Ben laid his work-toughened cheek against the child’s velvety one.  “I want very much to spend this day with my little son, whom I love very much.”

    Little Joe’s arms circled his father’s neck.  “Love you, Pa,” he cried.

    “Love you, too, Joseph,” Ben said.  He set the boy on the floor.  “Run into the kitchen now,” he said, “and tell Hop Sing to give you breakfast.  Tell him I’ll get you dressed because he needs to pack up a big picnic lunch for two hungry men.”

    “Okay!” Little Joe cried happily and took off for the kitchen.

   The incident at Eagle’s Nest is derived from the Bonanza episode, “Between Heaven and Earth” by Ed Adamson.
    Ben’s recollection of Elizabeth’s query about God and good angels is taken from “Elizabeth, My Love” by Anthony Lawrence and is a reference to a passage from John Milton’s Paradise Lost.
    While the character of Roy Coffee appears in many episodes of Bonanza, his family background, including his wife’s name, is based on “No Less A Man” by Jerry Adelman.
    The poem referred to in this chapter is “Pippa Passes”, written by Robert Browning in 1841.
 
 

    “My turn,” Ben said, plucking his nightshirt-clad youngest from Hoss’s ample lap.  “You’ve hogged my boy long enough,” he added with a chuckle and a wink at his grinning middle son.  Little Joe squealed, but settled contentedly in his father’s lap as soon as Ben sat down.  It had become a nightly ritual in the last few days, for Little Joe still went first to Hoss each evening after he was dressed for bed.  Ben felt a measure of pain each time it happened, for he knew that his repeated rejections had resulted in the child’s turning elsewhere for consolation.  He could scarcely fault Little Joe for feeling hesitant to ask him for anything, but he longed for the day when that would change, when the little lad would crawl up in his lap uninvited, as he’d always felt free to do before.

    As he cuddled his youngest and tickled his bare toes, Ben gazed across at the young man seated on the opposite side of the fireplace and pondered, as he had the last couple of nights, the disturbing change that had come over his oldest son.  He had no fault to find with the boy’s performance of his duties.  Adam was working steadily and had made his weekly delivery of timber to the mine today, regular as clockwork.  During the evenings, when they were all gathered in the great room, however, the boy had become positively moody, burying his nose in some dull Latin tome, barely noticing either of his brothers and refusing to converse with his father beyond the briefest of responses.  Ben could think of no reason for Adam’s unaccustomed behavior, except one, and he dreaded having to face the possibility that his son was seething with silent anger, most likely directed toward him.

    Goodness knows, he’d given the boy cause during the time he’d refused to accept his own responsibilities and thrust them off on his oldest son.  Adam had been a bulwark to his brothers and a rock for his father to lean on during those difficult days.  There’d been flashes of anger, even then, but Ben had chosen to ignore those signals.  Was he now simply seeing evidence of the full-blown fury beginning to leak out?  Or was it merely that Adam was finally allowing himself to grieve, now that he didn’t have to be that rock-solid bulwark any longer?  Petulance and isolation were poor ways of grieving, of course, but Ben felt he had no right to criticize anyone’s method of dealing with his feelings after handling his own so badly.

    Still, the boy shouldn’t be allowed to curl up inside himself and shut others out.  It wasn’t good for me, and it isn’t good for him.  Ben cleared his throat.  “I wish I’d thought while we were in town, but you really could use some new books, couldn’t you, son?”

    Adam slowly lowered his well-worn Latin reader.  “Were you talking to me?”

    Ben forced out a light laugh.  “You’re the reader in the family, aren’t you?”

    “I’m trying to be,” Adam said flatly, eyes dropping back to the Latin lines.

    Frowning, Ben raised his voice.  “I said we needed to get you some new books.”

    “If I want a new book, I’ll buy one,” Adam muttered without looking up.  “I have money enough.”

    “I’d like to get something special for you,” Ben said, “something you might not buy for yourself—as an expression of my gratitude for all you’ve done for me lately.”

    Sighing, Adam clapped the book shut.  “There’s no need, Pa.  There’s nothing I’ve done that I need to be paid for.”  And nothing I’ve lost that the price of a new book would cover!  He stood up, tucking the book under his arm.  “I’m tired, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go on up to bed.”

    Ben’s eyes narrowed with concern.  “Not feeling poorly, are you, son?”

    At the foot of the stairs, Adam turned to give his father a smile that didn’t reach past his lips.  “No, Pa.  I’m fine.  See you in the morning.”  He mounted the stairs, feet dragging from one step to the next, as if they were as heavy as his heart.  Moving down the hall, he escaped into the refuge of his room and closed the door firmly behind him.

    He set the Latin book on the desk with a sigh.  Taking it downstairs had been a mistake; opening it at all had been a mistake, for that matter.  All it had done was remind him of the college courses he’d never take, the broadening of his mind he’d never experience.  As he sat down in the desk chair to remove his boots, Adam shook his head.  He was no better than Pa, just like him, in fact.  Pa was finally coming to grips with the loss of his wife, and life, at least for the others, was getting back to normal—or as normal as life could be with a gaping hole in its middle.  But here I sit, moping and mourning over the loss of a few years of bettering myself and enjoying the companionship of my best friend from years gone by.  How childish!

    He dropped each boot to the floor with a clunk, letting them lie where they fell, and moved to the chest of drawers in his stocking feet.  Pulling a nightshirt, gray to match his mood, from the top drawer, he tossed it onto the bed and began removing his outer clothing.  He’d only posted the letter to Jamie a week ago, so it hadn’t had time to reach St. Joseph, but Adam had agonized for days over the disappointment he was causing his childhood friend.  He’d apologized profusely in the missive for holding up Jamie’s school preparations, and he knew that gentle boy well enough to know he’d be forgiven.  Forgiving himself was harder, though.  Unreasonable as he knew it was, he felt a core of rancor toward his father and little brothers for needing him and, still more unreasonably, toward Marie for dying and throwing all his plans topsy-turvy.

    With a sigh Adam pulled the nightshirt over his head, not bothering to button it.  He walked over to the desk and laid his hand on top of the Latin text he’d never need again.  His dream of higher education was dead; time, then, to bury it.  Maybe then he could come to grips with his loss, somehow get back to normal, despite the gaping hole inside him.  Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, Adam placed the book inside.  Taking from his shelf several others that reminded him of his lost hopes, he placed them inside also.  “Rest in peace, foolish dreams,” he muttered darkly and slammed the drawer.

    “Ow!  Quit pullin’!” Little Joe bellowed.

    Adam clamped both knees like a vise around his perpetually squirming youngest brother.  “I wouldn’t have to if you’d stand still,” he complained, trying once more to run a comb through Joe’s unruly curls.

    They were all running late that Sunday morning, mostly because this little rowdy had made a shambles of breakfast, tipping over his milk, which had set a straight course toward Pa’s best suit pants.  Pa had to go back upstairs and change, of course, and Hoss had been delegated to hitch up the team, leaving Adam to contend with getting the youngest Cartwright dressed and groomed for church and making him feel that he was getting the raw end of the deal yet again.

    The eldest Cartwright brother had awakened in a miserable mood to start with.  Last night’s mock burial had done nothing to lay his dreams to rest; in fact, he’d had one whale of a nightmare about ghostly books rising from freshly mounded earth in a dark and gloomy cemetery, each familiar title pointing a bony accusatory finger and proclaiming Adam Cartwright its murderer.  With such scenes bombarding his brain, the night had been anything but restful, and he’d overslept and had to rush through his chores to get to the table on time.  Joe’s shenanigans, both at breakfast and now, were making it hard for Adam to hang on to a temper already on short fuse from sheer exhaustion.

    “You hurt!” Little Joe screeched, dropping to the floor since Adam’s knees were preventing forward movement.

    Adam reached down and jerked the child to his feet.  Little Joe shrieked, and Adam responded with a smart slap to his brother’s leg.

    “Adam!  What do you think you’re doing?” Ben demanded from the head of the stairs.  His footsteps clattered noisily down the steps.

    “Pa!” Little Joe wailed, running straight to his father as soon as Adam released him.

    Ben scooped the little boy up and carried him to the settee.  Sitting down, he held Joe in his lap and stretched his palm toward his oldest son.  “Give me the comb, please, Adam.”

    “Fine,” Adam snapped, jumping up to slam the comb into his father’s hand.  “Maybe he’ll sit still for you.”  He started past the end of the settee.

    “Adam, sit down,” his father directed.

    “I’m going to help Hoss with the team,” Adam countered, although he halted.

    “I said, ‘Sit down,’” Ben repeated firmly.

    Exhaling with exasperation, Adam dropped back into the chair he’d vacated and sat there fuming as Ben calmly combed the tangles from those impossible golden-brown curls.

    Finally, Ben set Joe down and gave his backside a couple of pats.  “There, that’ll do.  Run outside and see how Hoss is coming along with the team, Joseph.”

    Little Joe trotted off, turning just once to thrust a defiant tongue at his older brother.

    Adam rolled his eyes, wondering why his father had rejected his offer to help Hoss in favor of sending someone who would be absolutely no help whatsoever.  On second thought, he knew exactly why.  Sitting forward on the edge of his chair as the door slammed shut behind Little Joe, Adam announced, “I don’t think I need a lecture, Pa.”

    Ben arched a silver-tinged black eyebrow.  “You might, at that,” he said, “but I don’t intend to lecture, son.  I just want to know what’s wrong.”

    The gentleness of his father’s voice caught Adam off guard.  “Wrong?” he mumbled.  “There’s nothing wrong, Pa.”

    Ben propped his elbow on the arm of the settee and rested his cheek on his curled fingers.  “Of course, there’s not.  That’s why you slapped your little brother, because there’s nothing wrong.”

    Adam tried to shrug the comment off.  “I just lost my temper, that’s all.  I’ll tell Joe I’m sorry and that’ll be the end of it.”

    “‘Til the next time,” Ben observed dryly.  “Something’s gnawing away at you, Adam, and I think I know what it is.”

    That remark caught Adam’s attention.  He stared back at his father in disbelief.  As a child, he’d been sure that Pa could read his mind, but he was a child no longer, and he was quite certain that his father didn’t even know he had entertained notions of going to college.  “You couldn’t,” he whispered.  Then, realizing that could be construed as a confession, fumbled out, “I mean, there’s nothing to know; there’s nothing wrong.”

    Ben shifted his position and rubbed his thigh, unable to look at his son as he said, “You’re angry with me, aren’t you, Adam?”

    “Angry?”  Adam squirmed on the edge of his chair.  “No, of course not.  You had every right to call me to task about treating Little Joe that way.  I was impatient with him and—”

    “That’s not what I meant,” Ben interrupted, still picking at his pants’ leg.  “You’re angry because I let you carry the load after Marie died, instead of shouldering it myself, and you have every right to feel that way, son.”

    Adam’s jaw dropped in shock.  “Pa, I don’t.  I mean, I did, sure, for the boys’ sake, but that’s changed now.  You’ve been fine this week.”

    “But you haven’t,” Ben stated pointedly.  “You’ve been moody, withdrawn and, to my eye, very angry, though you hide it well.  I’ve been unable to think of any reason for that, other than your just resentment of my failure as a father, and I only pray that you can forgive me.”

    “Oh, Pa, no, please don’t think that,” Adam implored.  “You got lost in a fog for a little while, that’s all.  It’s not that, honestly; it’s . . . just the way things are now.”

    Eyes clouded in confusion, Ben cocked his head.  “The way things are?”

    Adam jumped up and began to stride back and forth in front of the hearth.  “Do we have to talk about this?”

    Ben’s troubled gaze followed the pacing figure of his oldest son.  “Yes, I think we do.  How are things . . . now?”

    “Impossible!”  Adam rounded on his father.  “That’s how things are now.  Don’t you think I ever get tired of wrestling with children day and night?  Don’t you think I ever want time to myself, to do the things I want, instead of what’s best for Hoss and Joe and you and the ranch and . . . I’m sorry.”  Collapsing on the fireside wood box, Adam dropped his head into his hands.

    “You have been working hard,” Ben said softly, “and you deserve some time off.  You were gracious enough to give me time when I needed it, so just tell me how long you need, son.”

    Adam’s head came up, and there was a wild look in his eye as he spouted, “How about four years?”  He banged the back of his head against the stone fireplace, wondering what had possessed him to blurt that out.

    Ben, who had been struggling throughout this conversation to understand what was troubling his son, now looked thoroughly perplexed.  “What could take four years?”

    “I just threw out a number, Pa,” Adam said, raking a restless hand through his dark hair.

    “I don’t think so,” Ben replied, noting that Adam could not meet his eyes.  “What takes four years, Adam?”

    Adam slumped forward, forearms dropping to his thighs.  Why had he ever thought he could hide anything from Pa?  He hadn’t been able to when he was Joe’s age, and, evidently, he still hadn’t acquired the poker face or the rein on his temper required.  “College,” he whispered in defeat.  “College takes four years.”

    Ben leaned forward, one hand instinctively covering his gaping mouth.  Then he lowered his hand and asked, dumbfounded, “You want to go to college?  Why—why haven’t you said anything?”

    Adam shrugged.  “What would be the point?  I can’t go.”

    Ben sat back, eyes fixed on his son’s face, trying to read there what Adam was apparently still reluctant to reveal.  “Why can’t you?”

    Adam laughed harshly.  “I should think that would be obvious!”

    Ben cleared his throat.  “Just assume your poor, befuddled father is still lost in a fog and explain the obvious to me, please.”

    The door opened just then, and Hoss came through with Little Joe in tow.  “Team’s all hitched, Pa.  Reckon we better get goin’ if we aim to get to church on time.”

    Ben stared back at the boy, his mind really in a fog for a moment.  Then the mist cleared and he said, “We’re not going to church, son.  Please unhitch the team, and then take Little Joe up the back stairs, and both of you change out of your good clothes and go play.”

    “Huh?”  Now Hoss was the one who looked befuddled.

    “Your older brother and I have something to talk about,” Ben explained, “so please do as I ask and give us some privacy.”

    Hoss flicked commiserating eyes toward Adam.  “Oh.  Sure, Pa.”

    Little Joe’s wide-eyed gaze alternated between his father and oldest brother.  “Nes’ry talk?” he asked anxiously, sibling loyalty instantly replacing his previous anger with Adam.

    Ben chuckled.  “No, Joseph, just a regular talk.  Run along with Hoss now.”

    Joe smiled in relief.  “Okay.”  Taking Hoss’s hand, he pranced toward the door.  “Let’s play!”

    Not as easily assured that all was well, Hoss gave his older brother one more concerned glance, but obediently led Little Joe outside and shut the door.

    The interruption had given Adam the time he needed to get his emotions under control again, and his voice was calm as he said, “There’s really nothing to talk about, Pa.”

    “I disagree,” Ben countered.  “You still haven’t explained why college is impossible . . . the way things are now.  You mean because your mother died?”

    “Yes, of course!” Adam erupted and immediately bit his tongue.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to shout, but it does change everything; you know it does.  I can’t leave you to run this ranch alone and take care of two small boys, as well.  You need me.”

    Ben shook his head from side to side.  “Adam, Adam.  I’m not sure that sending you—where is it you wanted to go?”

    “New Haven,” Adam muttered.  “Not that it matters.”

   “Of course, it matters.  Why New Haven?”

    Adam licked his lips, hesitant to talk about his dead dream, but finding a certain release in finally sharing the secret.  “Jamie’s choice, mostly, although all my instructors at the academy said Yale was a fine school, the best or second best in the country, depending on who was talking.  We wanted to room together, study together, as we used to when we were boys.  I know that sounds childish . . .”

    Ben moved across the room to lay a warm hand on his son’s shoulder.  “No, it doesn’t.  I know I’d cherish the chance to spend time with Josiah again, and your desire to be with Jamie is no different.”  He curled his hand around Adam’s biceps and pulled on his arm.  “Come on over here and sit beside me.”

    Responding to the draw of his father’s touch, Adam let himself be led to the settee.

    Ben wrapped an encouraging arm about his oldest son.  “Is that your only reason for wanting to go to college, reuniting with your friend?”

    Adam shook his head, darted a quick glance at his father’s face and, seeing there genuine interest and concern, gave his lips a nervous lick and began to talk.  Everything spilled out: his yearning to broaden his education, his dreams of becoming an architect, all the concerns that had kept him silent throughout the last several months.

    “You were afraid I’d say no.”  Ben’s somber words were a statement, not a question.

    Adam nodded miserably.  “I was, but I thought if I caught you at just the right moment and explained it well enough, there was a chance, even though what I wanted ran against all you had planned for me.  You had your dreams, and I knew you wanted me to be part of them.  Yes, I was afraid that you wouldn’t understand that I have dreams, too, and that they might be different from yours.”

    Overwhelmed by what he was hearing, Ben rolled his head back against the settee.  “Oh, Adam, I’m sorry.  I’ve never meant any of you boys to fear me.”

    Adam touched his father’s arm.  “I don’t fear you, Pa; it was disappointing you, letting you down that I feared.  I would have come to you with this, except . . .”

    Ben lifted his head and smiled sadly at his son.  “Except she died—and you had to take over for a father so lost in his own grief that he couldn’t see yours.  I’ve been blind to everything but my own pain, my own problems.”  He sat up and squared his shoulders.  “Well, that’s finished—and keeping secrets from your father is finished, too, young man.  Now we can face the issue head-on and determine what’s best for you.”

    Adam sighed.  Why couldn’t his father understand one simple, overriding fact?  “There’s nothing to determine, Pa.  I’m glad it’s out in the open, but I’m not leaving.”

    “Why?” Ben demanded.  “Have your desires changed?  Obviously not!”

    “No, Pa, dreams die hard,” Adam admitted reluctantly, “but the situation has changed.  Of course, I can’t leave you to deal with the ranch and the boys—”

    “Of course, you can,” Ben interrupted sharply.

    “Of course, I can’t!” Adam retorted with equal sharpness.  “It’s just like after Inger died.”

    Smiling, Ben shook his head.  “No, Adam, it’s not.  I was very dependent on you then, that’s true.  I absolutely could not have managed without the help of my responsible older boy when I was left in the middle of nowhere with a tiny baby to care for.”

    Adam let a trace of humor touch his lips.  “Hoss was never tiny.”

    Ben laughed.  “No, he wasn’t, but he was as helpless as any other baby.”

    “As Joe is now,” Adam pointed out.

    Again, Ben shook his head.  “Joseph is a little boy, not an infant.  In a way, that makes him require more supervision, not less”—he leaned forward, taking Adam’s hand—”but I’m not alone now, son.  I had some help besides yours, even back then, but now we’re surrounded by friends and neighbors.  Now, in addition to an older brother—and I mean Hoss, not you—I have Hop Sing and a bunkhouse full of hands who care enough about that little boy to give up their day off to search for him.  No, Adam, I can manage your brothers without your help, although I’ll miss it—and you.  I can manage the ranch, as well, just as I did while you were at the academy.  As you said, the Ponderosa is my dream.  Of course, I had hoped you would share it, but—”

    “Pa, I do,” Adam insisted.

    “But,” Ben continued as if uninterrupted, “it isn’t your complete dream.  There’s a part missing, something you can only find back east.  Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?”

    Adam bit his lower lip, afraid to speak for fear he’d start crying if he did.  Finally, since his father just sat silent, waiting, he did softly admit, “Yes, that’s how I feel.”

    Ben felt his heart convulse in his chest.  His boy wanted to leave home, couldn’t find the complete happiness here that he’d anticipated for all his sons.  Coming so soon after the loss of his wife, to give up his son, as well, was an overwhelming blow.  He’d been selfish long enough, however, imposed on this boy long enough, and he wouldn’t do it a minute longer.  “Then I want you to go,” he said, though it broke his heart.  “My only concern is your personal safety.  This trouble back east—I want your word you’ll stay out of it.”

    Adam spread his hands in consternation.  “I would, of course.  I got my fill of fighting last summer, but you’re overlooking the obvious again.  I’m not going.”  His jaw was set with determination.

    Frustrated, Ben stood up and stalked a few steps away; then he swiveled swiftly.  “You’re fired,” he said bluntly.

    Adam stared back at him.  “What?”

    “You’re fired,” Ben repeated.  “You’re off the payroll, as of—when do you need to leave?”

    Adam waved his hands aimlessly through the air.  “Leave?  I should have left last week, Pa!  That’s why I’ve been such a bear.  Knowing that, I just couldn’t get my mind off all I was missing.”

    Anguish flooded Ben’s eyes.  Had his lengthy drift through the fog deprived his boy of this cherished dream?  No, at worst, it would only be a dream deferred, as he and Inger had called their delayed journey west, but was the deferral really necessary?  “Are you sure it’s too late?” he asked as he came back to the settee.  “When does the fall term start?”

    Adam curled one leg up on the settee.  “According to Jamie, entrance exams begin September 10th.”  He shrugged eloquently.  “I could make it, actually, if I left within the next two or three days and traveled day and night, but I’d be pushing it and I’d be dead tired when I got there.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “Oh?  And your dream isn’t worth the effort?”

    Adam choked out a short laugh.  “To me?  Sure.  I’d suffer any discomfort, push as hard as I had to, but I will not ignore my responsibilities here.”

    Ben’s eyes were warm with love and respect.  “You have no responsibilities here, son,” he said, laying his hand gently on his son’s shoulder.  “The responsibilities are mine.  I know I forced you to carry them for a time, but they were never yours, always mine, and it’s time now to let the load fall where it should.”

    As hope rose within his heart, Adam began to tremble, his chin quivering so hard that his words came out as a stammer.  “Y-you’re saying y-you don’t n-need me?”

    Ben squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand.  “I’m saying I can manage.”  Laughing, he clapped his son’s shoulder.  “And since you’re out of a job, you might as well go to school.”

    Adam released a laugh that acted like the pressure valve on a steam boiler.  “I guess I might as well, at that.”  His head fell forward to rest against his father’s chest.  “Oh, Pa!”

    Ben cradled the dark head against him, as if his oldest son were as young as Little Joe, and his touch was as soothing as if he were dealing with a small child.  Feeling the young man relax in his embrace, Ben gave the ebony hair one final stroke and lifted Adam so they could look eye to eye.  “Now, what do we need to do to get you ready for this new adventure, young man?”

    Pandemonium reigned at the Ponderosa for the next few days.  After dinner Sunday, Ben sat his younger sons down in the great room and explained to them that Adam would be leaving in just a couple of days, to attend college on the east coast for four years.  That was as far as he got before Little Joe burst into tears, but if anything, Hoss took the news even harder.  Having a better sense of time and distance than his younger brother, Hoss realized just how long this separation would be.  “No!  You’re ‘sposed to be through with that blame schoolin’!  I’m ‘sposed to work the trees with you, and we’re ‘sposed to go huntin’ and fishin’ and all kinds of things!” he shouted, stomping his foot in a rare display of temper.  “It ain’t right, and it ain’t fair!”

    Handing his sobbing youngest to Adam, Ben put an arm around his trembling middle boy and drew him over to the settee.

    As Little Joe’s arms fastened possessively around his neck and tears dampened his shirt collar, Adam shook his head in despair.  “I can’t do it, Pa; I can’t do this to them.”

    “Just give me a minute, Adam,” Ben urged.  “This has come out of the blue, and your brothers need a little time to take it in, as I did, if you recall.” He set Hoss down and sat beside him.  “Hoss, do you know what’s really not right, really not fair?”

    Hoss wiped a drip from his nose with the back of his hand and shook his head.  “Don’t much think I wanna hear,” he mumbled.

    “Well, you’re gonna hear,” Ben said firmly, though his voice was gentle.  “It isn’t right and it isn’t fair to expect Adam to give up everything he wants just to do what we want,” Ben explained.  “I know you’ll miss your brother.”  He looked across at Adam, as if storing up memories of that endearing face.  “I will, too, but he has a right to his own wants and wishes, not just ours—just as you’ll have the right to follow your own heart someday and do wherever you might choose.”

    Hoss shook his head violently from side to side.  “Not me.  I ain’t never leavin’ the Ponderosa.”

    “You don’t have to, son,” Ben assured him, “but you’ll be free to go or to stay, when you’re of age.  Adam’s old enough now to make some choices, and this is what he wants.  Do you really want him to stay, just to keep you happy, when doing that would make him unhappy himself?”

    “Anybody oughta be happy on the Ponderosa,” Hoss muttered, throwing a dark look at the family traitor across the room.  He couldn’t help noticing, however, how miserable Adam looked, and his innate fairness took over.  Like his father, he had seen how grumpy Adam had been this whole past week.  Was this why, this fretting over traipsing back east to school?  “I don’t want to make him unhappy,” he conceded reluctantly.

    “You could never do that, buddy,” Adam said as he continued to stroke his youngest brother’s back.

    Hoss fidgeted with a loose thread on the frayed cuff of the old shirt he’d changed into.  “Don’t see how more schoolin’ can make anybody happy.  Can’t wait to get shed of it myself.”

    Adam smiled gently.  “We’re built different, buddy, always have been in that regard.”

    Hoss looked up at him.  “You promise goin’ back there to school is gonna make you happy, Adam?  You gotta promise or I ain’t lettin’ you go.”

    “I promise,” Adam said easily.

    “Good.  It’s settled,” Ben said.  “Adam goes with our blessing, then, doesn’t he, boys?”

    “Yes, sir,” Hoss said quietly, although his face still reflected a different opinion.

    “Joseph?” Ben inquired.

    Little Joe lifted his head from Adam’s shoulder and shook it from side to side.  “Don’t want Adam go!”

    Ben gave his oldest son an eloquent shrug.  “Some people take a little longer.”  An idea struck him.  “Why don’t the three of you spend some time up at the lake this afternoon?  Fish . . . swim . . . talk.”

    “Make memories?” Adam suggested with a nostalgic smile, recalling other such trips before leaving for school each fall.

    “Exactly,” Ben said.

    “There’s so much to do,” Adam pointed out.

    “I know, son,” Ben agreed, “but not much you could do on a Sunday afternoon.  Spend it with your brothers, and we’ll hit the ground running tomorrow morning. ”

    Hit the ground running, they did.  Monday morning was devoted to reorganization of ranch assignments, especially at the lumber camp Adam had bossed.  Many of the men, even some who’d eyed him with skepticism when he’d first taken over, expressed regret that their young boss was leaving the territory, but they seemed content to work under Jake Webber’s direction.  After all, the straw boss had taken over a lot more responsibility since the death of Mrs. Cartwright, anyway, and the men were used to his ways.  Things would continue to run smoothly at the lumber camp.  “That’s a tribute to your management, son,” Ben told Adam.  “You laid a solid foundation, and that gives the next man something to build on.”

    Adam, with both his brothers in tow, drove into Washoe City that afternoon to request a letter of recommendation from the Reverend Bennett and picked up some ranch supplies while the minister was writing it.  Back at home by about four o’clock, he helped Hoss unload the buckboard and then set about the difficult task of determining what to take, what to leave, what to have shipped to him later.  Again, his two shadows were right at his side, completely underfoot, but Adam wouldn’t have chased them away for anything.  Every minute with them was priceless, so he listened to their dubious suggestions about how to sort his belongings as if each were a pearl of wisdom.

    On Tuesday Adam and his father rode into Carson City to make arrangements for his transportation east and to seek one more letter of recommendation.  Ben had remembered that the lawyer Bill Stewart had attended Yale and thought that a letter from a former student, even if he hadn’t graduated, might carry some weight, perhaps more than that of an unknown minister of a different sect than the Congregationalist background of the college.  Stewart had professed himself pleased to assist a young man in pursuit of higher education and had written an eloquent letter, praising Adam as a young man of sterling character from an upstanding family.  Ben thanked him extensively, although he wondered what sort of political patronage Bill Stewart might hope to influence by extending this favor.  Whatever it was, he’d deal with the issue honestly when it arose.

    Next, he and Adam visited the ticket office of Wells, Fargo and Company, purchasing a one-way ticket to Atchison, Kansas, as far as the Overland Stage Line went.  Adam gulped at the price, two hundred dollars, which didn’t even include meals, but he listened intently as the clerk explained that he could carry up to forty pounds of luggage with him.  “I may have to leave some of my books,” Adam said, “and the guitar, though I’d hoped to take it with me.”

    “Pick what you’ll need the first few weeks, son, and I’ll ship anything you need later on,” Ben replied.

    “That’s the way to handle it,” the ticket agent quickly agreed, with an eye to future business.

    Ben chuckled and led Adam across the room to the banking department of the venture.  “You’ll need a letter of credit for expenses, as well as some cash for meals along the route.”

    “I have enough for food,” Adam said.

    Ben clapped him on the back.  “I’d have to feed you if you were at home, boy, so I guess I’ll foot that bill while you’re on the road.  Let’s see.  The agent said about seventy-five cents to a dollar per meal, most places.  About forty-five dollars for that, and then you’ll need steamboat passage across the Missouri and train fare to the east coast and meals all that time, too.  I’d say about two hundred and fifty dollars.  How much is tuition?”

    “Ninety dollars for the year,” Adam replied ruefully.  “This is mounting up to a terrible bill, Pa.  Are you sure you can spare it?”

    “I’m sure, son.  Three fifty then, but you’ll need some new clothes for school and money for food and lodging after you get there.  Let’s make it—”

    “Lodging!” Adam yelped.  “Oh, Pa!”

    Ben turned to see a boy jumpy as if he’d found a scorpion in his boot.  “What?”

    “Lodging,” he moaned.  “Jamie and I were going to lodge together.”

    “I assumed you would.  Half the expense that way.  What’s the problem, boy?”

    Adam pounded his skull with his fist.  “I wrote him that I wasn’t coming, to find a new roommate.  He’ll probably get the letter today or tomorrow.”

    Ben laughed.  “Relax, then.  He won’t replace you that quickly.  Jamie’s probably the only St. Joe boy with his sights set on Yale, so he’ll have to wait ‘til he reaches New Haven to find a new mate.  You can send a telegram from here to the end of the Overland Telegraph line, and the Pony Express will carry it to the western terminus of the Pacific Telegraph Company—somewhere around Ft. Kearney, last I heard.”

    Adam caught his breath, relieved, but concerned at the same time.  More money out of Pa’s pocket.  Telegrams weren’t cheap to send, up to a dollar a word some places, he’d heard, though, hopefully, a more standard rate would be charged here.  “I promise I’ll make this up to you, Pa,” he said earnestly.  “I’ll be frugal and make the money stretch and I’ll work as hard as I can to give you your money’s worth and—”

    “Oh, for mercy’s sake, quit babbling, boy,” Ben scolded lightly.  “Do you think I’d send you across the country if I had the slightest doubt as to your character.  I know you’ll make the most of this opportunity, as you have everything you’ve ever received at my hand.  Now, let’s get that letter of credit—we’ll make it for three hundred—and you can take two hundred and fifty in cash for expenses along the route.  Sound about right?”

    “Sounds perfect, Pa.”  Adam couldn’t trust himself to do more than simply acknowledge the sum quoted, for his heart was near bursting at his father’s expression of confidence.  I’ll live up to it, Pa; I promise I will, he vowed silently, lest he be accused of babbling again.

    Before he stepped up to the teller’s window, Ben took a ten-dollar gold eagle from his pocket and handed it to his son.  “Run get that wire sent off, boy,” he said with a chuckle.  “That should cover it.”

    Clasping the coin, Adam took off and within minutes a telegram was speeding its way eastward:

James Edwards
St. Joseph, Missouri

DISREGARD PREVIOUS LETTER
STOP
ON MY WAY
STOP
YALE HO
STOP
ADAM CARTWRIGHT
FULL STOP

    Little Joe was crying again, as Ben detached him from his oldest brother’s neck.  “Hush, now,” Ben soothed, running his hand up and down the small back.  “Brother needs to say good-bye to others besides you, little one.”

    Quite a crowd had turned out to bid Adam farewell.  The Thomases were there, except for Billy, but Adam had hopes of seeing him at one of the stage stops shared by the Pony Express.  Ross Marquette had come, of course, and with the exception of Little Joe, looked more glum than anyone else gathered outside the stage office.  Having evidently been the only person with whom Adam had shared his dream of a college education, Ross said he was happy that things had worked out, but the boy was obviously going to miss his friend.

    Weren’t they all?  Since Enos was needed at the ranch today, he and Katerina had come over last night to say their farewells, but other friends had come out this morning, early as it was.  Even Roy Coffee had stopped by on his morning rounds to shake the boy’s hand and wish him God speed.  Ben had seen Paul Martin slip his son some packets of powders, but wasn’t sure what traveling ills they were meant to cure, and right after that Sally Martin had thrown her arms around Adam, kissing her old friend on the cheek and shedding a tear or two, as girls felt free to do.

     Ben felt like shedding a few himself—more than a few, if he were honest—but he kept them dammed up, not wanting to let Adam see how much he dreaded this separation—or the fears he harbored in his heart.

    “Here she comes!” Ross announced as the stage rolled in from Genoa.

    Eyes brimming, Hoss threw his arms around Adam for a final hug, and Adam returned it, his firm-muscled arms conveying strength to the younger boy.  “Take care of them for me,” Adam whispered.

    Taking the charge to heart, Hoss nodded.  “You gonna write me, ain’t you, Adam?”

    “You bet, buddy,” Adam promised.

    Little Joe squirmed around to face his oldest brother.  “Me, too?  Write me, too, Adam,” he whimpered.

    Adam laughed, amused by the notion of sending a letter to a child who couldn’t read, but he promised anyway.  “You, too.  One last hug, baby?”

    “I’m not a baby,” Little Joe said, lips puckering into a pout, but he came at once into his brother’s arms.

    “No, a big boy now,” Adam said, wondering how much his little brother would have grown and changed by the time he returned.  It seemed like he’d had so little time with Joe, mostly summers all the boy’s life, and the changes when he returned from California each year had been difficult to take in.  Now, due to the distance between them, it would be four long years before he saw Little Joe—or Pa or Hoss—again, and Adam couldn’t even imagine how much all of them—Joe, especially—and the Ponderosa might have changed in that length of time.  As before, he had a hard time detaching those clinging arms from his neck—maybe because he, too, dreaded the soon separation—and his heart ached as he saw the tears start to trickle again.  Keep that up and I’m likely to join you, baby brother.   He sent an anguished, questioning look toward his father.

    Ben laid Little Joe’s head on his shoulder again and began once more the soothing strokes that always seemed to quiet the child.  “He’ll be all right,” Ben assured Adam.  “Don’t worry.”

    “Better get aboard, boy,” Clyde Thomas recommended.  “Team’s well nigh switched.”

    “And don’t be forgettin’ this here lunch I packed you,” Nelly said, holding out a package wrapped in brown paper.

    “Or the one from Hop Sing or Aunt Kat’s cookies,” Hoss said, piling two similar packages atop the one already held in the crook of Adam’s arm.

    “Or mine,” Sally laughed, loading Adam down with yet another bundle of cookies.

    Adam laughed.  “You see, Pa,” he teased.  “I told you that you didn’t need to send so much money for meals.  This should last me two or three days, at least.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “Or just one, if I know boys, and I speak from considerable experience.”

    “I’ll back you on that one,” Nelly laughed.

    “I really do need to get boarded,” Adam said, saving his last goodbye for his father.  Friends, sensing the family’s need for a few moments of privacy, drifted down the boardwalk a ways.   “I don’t know how to thank you for this, Pa,” Adam whispered.

    Ben handed Little Joe off to Hoss, so he could take his oldest son in his arms.  “Just take care of yourself; it’s all I ask by way of thanks.”

    “We’ve come through some hard times together,” Adam said, adding as his eyes flicked toward Little Joe, reminding him of their recent loss, “and I think there are still some hard times ahead.  We won’t be facing them together this time, though.”

    Ben placed a hand on each of his son’s smooth cheeks.  “Yes, we will.  We’re bound together by something distance can’t sever, and we are always together, son, even when we’re apart.  You understand?”

    Adam’s dark eyes misted and came dangerously near spilling over.  “Yes, Pa.  I understand.”

    Ben turned the young man around and gave his backside a soft slap.  “On that stage with you, then, boy.  There’s a dream waiting out there, and high time you headed toward it.”

    With a grin over his shoulder, Adam stepped into the coach, and moments later six swift horses were galloping down Carson Street, taking him out of his family’s lives for a time, but not out of their hearts.  As Ben watched the stagecoach pull away, he thought of the news Clyde Thomas had shared with him earlier that morning, brought by the latest Pony rider.  There had been another defeat for the Union Army, this time at Wilson’s Creek, but Ben’s concern wasn’t for a nation divided now.  Now the news had taken on personal significance, for Wilson’s Creek was in Missouri, and the path his son was pursuing toward his dream led straight through that battle-torn state.

    Though that disturbing news had planted seeds of fear, seeds of trust had been sown ten days prior, and the fruit of faith had grown tall enough to overshadow the fear itching to sprout.  God and good angels had watched over his youngest son that night at Eagle’s Nest, and Ben sensed that God and good angels were traveling that stagecoach east with his eldest, too.  Adam would be fine, and he and his other sons, though they would miss him, would be fine, too.   And one day—God willing and good angels watching—they’d all be together again, sharing the dream that was the Ponderosa, a dream strong enough to survive its darkest hour and, though temporarily divided, still shining with the light of one united vision.