Adam’s nose wrinkled in appreciation of the aroma that awakened him New Year’s morning, 1855.  He didn’t recognize the fragrance, but whatever it was smelled appealing, so he bounded out of bed to investigate.  “What is that, Pa?” he called as he entered the front room.

    “Special New Year’s breakfast,” Ben said.  “Hoss up yet?”

    “No, sir, not yet,” Adam replied, scuffing over to the fireplace to find a more specific answer to his query.  “Hangtown Fry!” he cried.  “That is special, Pa!”

    Ben laughed lightly.  “Thought you’d like it.  Been saving eggs back just for today.”

    Adam grinned and climbed up to perch on the table’s edge, bare feet hanging from beneath his faded gray nightshirt.  “I wonder if Hoss will like it.  He’s never been to Placerville to taste Miss Ludmilla’s.”

    “I’ll be mighty surprised if he doesn’t,” Ben chuckled, cracking another egg into the spider.

    “Yeah, I guess it is food,” Adam commented dryly, “but there must be some kinds he doesn’t like.”

    “Liver, remember?” Ben said.  “He was quite adamant about that.”

    Adam wriggled uneasily.  “Pa,” he asked hesitantly, “would it be too soon to hint for my birthday present?”

    Ben turned to look at his older son.  “Too late would be more like it, Adam.  Surely you’re bright enough to realize that I bought your present on my last trip to California.”

    Adam sighed.  “Yeah, I guess you’d have had to, huh?”

    “Yup,” Ben said, reaching out to smooth Adam’s sleep-tousled hair.  “Now, don’t tell me you’re already bored with your Christmas gifts.”

    Adam bit his lower lip.  “No, sir,” he started, “it’s just that—”

    “Go on,” Ben encouraged when Adam broke off.

    “Well, me and Billy had made plans to go hunting,” Adam sputtered, “but I didn’t get a rifle for Christmas like I wanted, so I was sort of hoping—”

    “That you’d get one for your birthday?” Ben finished for him.

    Adam nodded sheepishly.

    Ben set the eggs off the fire and sat down in a chair facing Adam.  “I’m sorry you were disappointed in your Christmas.”

    “Oh, no, Pa,” Adam assured him.  “I like what I got.  It’s just that——well, Pa, don’t you think I’m as grown up as Billy?”

    Ben rubbed the boy’s knobby knees affectionately.  “Oh, at least!” he laughed.  “Compared to Billy, Adam, you’re a little man.”

    Adam flushed.  “I’m serious, Pa.”

    “So am I,” Ben stated.  “The way you take hold around here, especially the responsibility you show in caring for your brother.  Those are signs of maturity, son.”

    “Then why can’t I have a rifle?” Adam pleaded.  “I guess I shouldn’t ask, but—”

    “Of course you should ask,” Ben said quickly.  “You can always ask Pa anything, Adam.  You may not get the answer you want, but you can always ask.”  Ben took the two slender hands in his larger-boned ones.  “It’s not wrong for you to want a rifle, son, but there are a couple of things you do have wrong.”

    “What, Pa?”

    Ben gave the small hands an encouraging squeeze.  “First of all, you’re wrong to think you should have a rifle just because Billy has one.”

    “But if I’m more grown up than him—”

    “Let me finish, Adam,” Ben said firmly.  “There are other factors involved, not just maturity.  There’s bodily strength and coordination to take into account, and you’re not the best person to evaluate all those factors.”

    “You are, I guess,” Adam mumbled.

    “That’s right,” Ben said solemnly, “and when I make decisions about you, I don’t look at what’s going on with Billy or any of your other friends.  I just look at what’s best for you.”

    “Yes, sir,” Adam sighed, picturing his cherished rifle fading further and further from sight.

    Reading the boy’s mind, Ben smiled sympathetically.  He hated to see his child miserable, but the boy’s joy would be all the greater when his birthday did arrive.  He pulled Adam into his lap and gave him a tight hug.  “There is one other thing you had wrong,” he whispered.

    Adam sighed again.  “Yes, sir?”

    “Your first hunting trip will not be with Billy Thomas,” Ben said gently.  “I claim that privilege for myself.”

    Adam smiled and laid his head on his father’s shoulder.  “I’d like that fine, Pa.”

    Ben dropped a kiss on his son’s forehead.  “Would you like that for your birthday present, Adam?”

    The dark head came up quickly.  “A hunting trip?  I’d love it, Pa, but without a rifle?”

    Ben laughed loudly.  “I might let you take a shot with mine.  Would you like to start learning to use it, so you’ll be ready on that far distant day when you get a gun of your own?”

    Adam beamed.  “Yes, sir!”

    “What’s for breakfast?” Hoss yawned, rubbing his eyes as he stumbled into the room.  “Me’s hungry.”

    “I’m hungry,” Adam corrected.

    Hoss yawned again.  “Yeah, me, too.”

    Adam slid off his father’s lap and scooted over to his little brother.  “We’re having Hangtown Fry, Hoss.  You think you’ll like eggs and oysters?”

    “Like eggs,” Hoss replied sleepily.  “Eat now, Bubba.”

    Adam wagged his finger under Hoss’s nose.  “Not Bubba,” he scolded.  “Say Adam, Hoss.”

    “Adam Hoss,” the younger boy chortled, giving his brother a playful push.  Adam went sprawling to the floor.

    “Here now,” Ben scolded.  “Don’t play so rough with your big—”  Suddenly, Ben roared with laughter, for it no longer seemed appropriate to call Adam Hoss’s big brother.  Physically, the younger boy was more than a match for the older.  Ben pulled Adam to his feet.  “Be kind to your older brother, Hoss,” Ben cautioned, tongue in cheek.  “He’s just a little fellow.”

    “Me big boy!” Hoss cackled happily, while Adam glowered at him, obviously not appreciating the role reversal.

    “All boys, big and small, get your faces washed while I finish up this breakfast,” Ben said quickly to divert their attention.  Both hungry boys dashed for the wash pan and began to lather their hands.

     Ben passed the latest copy of the Scorpion back to Clyde, who was warming his backside at the Thomas fireplace.  “Looks like we’re gonna have some real government at last,” Ben commented.

    “If Mormon government can be called real,” Clyde scoffed.  “Reckon you noticed that Orson Hyde they’re sendin’ here as judge is one of their twelve apostles.”

    “I noticed,” Ben smiled, “but I figured to wait until I met the man to decide what I thought of him.”

    “I figure we got a few months before we have to worry about what damage the man can do,” Clyde stated firmly.  “Hyde won’t be here ‘til Spring.”

    “Clyde, Clyde,” Ben chuckled.  “Do you always have to look for the cloud in every silver lining?”

    “When the clouds rain Mormons, I do,” Clyde grinned good-naturedly.  He and Ben had long ago agreed to disagree on the subject of their neighbors.

    Ben stood and stretched his arms.  “On that note, I’ll take my leave,” he said.  “Time Adam and I headed for home.”

    Nelly looked up from the panful of dishes she was washing.  “Hate to see you leave, but it is gettin’ late.  Don’t fret none about Hoss now; he’ll be fine with us.”

    “I know that,” Ben smiled.  “I’ll just step in and tell him good-bye.”  Ben walked into Clyde and Nelly’s bedroom, where Hoss was amiably playing house with Inger.  “Is she a good cook, son?” Ben chuckled as he watched the boy pretend to eat what the little girl had prepared on her new stove.

    Hoss’s chin bobbed agreeably.  “Very good pie,” he announced.

    “Well, don’t let her get away then,” Ben said with a twinkle in his eye.  “Good cooks are hard to come by out here.”  He stooped down and put his arms around Hoss.  “Time for Pa to leave now, boy.”

    Hoss scrambled to his feet.  “Okay, let’s go Tree.”

    “No, no,” Ben said, running his fingers through the lad’s thin, sandy hair.  “You’re staying with Aunt Nelly while I take Adam hunting, remember?”

    Hoss’s face puckered.  “Take me, too,” he wailed.

    “No, Hoss, you’re too young,” Ben said firmly, “and stop that blubbering right now or Pa will have to spank.”

    Hoss swiped his hand across his eyes.  “Wanna go, Pa,” he whimpered.

    Nelly’s head poked in the door.  “Don’t cry, Sunshine,” she cooed.  “Aunt Nelly’s gonna make cookies tomorrow and you can help.”

    “There now, won’t that be fun?” Ben said brightly.

    Hoss’s chin bobbed and the tears that threatened to spill down his face dried almost immediately.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  “I gonna make some for you, Pa!”

    Ben smiled wryly.  “Just so he doesn’t make them out of mud,” he muttered as he passed Nelly.  From the front room he called to Adam.  “Time to go, boy.  We want to get an early start tomorrow.”

    “Comin’,” Adam called from Billy’s room, where Billy had been filling Adam full of advice for his first hunt.  Adam hustled out and thrust his arms into his warmly padded plaid jacket.

    “Don’t forget your package,” Clyde reminded the boy.

    “No, sir, I wouldn’t forget that,” Adam grinned.  “It’s from my friend Jamie, you know.”

    “Figured as much,” Clyde snorted.  Lands, how could he forget after all the years he’d picked up that journal at the post office for Adam!  Since the Cartwrights almost always took Sunday dinner with the Thomases, Clyde had fallen into the habit of picking up Ben’s mail when he got his own and giving it to him on Sunday.  Same way with the newspaper.

    Ben wrapped his Christmas muffler tightly around his throat, for the air was chilly.  “Happy birthday, Billy,” he said once more as he and Adam prepared to head out into the wind.  Since Billy’s birthday fell on Sunday this year, he and Adam had shared a birthday cake after dinner rather than meeting on the day between the two boys’ birthdays as they often did.  And Adam would get his promised hunting trip a day early because it was more convenient to leave Hoss with the Thomases tonight than to make the trip back again tomorrow.

    “Yeah, it was a good one,” Billy acknowledged.  “Hope Adam enjoys his as much.”

    “I will,” Adam promised.  “I’ll still be out hunting with Pa, you know.”

    “Bring back a big buck,” Billy challenged.

    Adam grinned.  Nothing would please him more than to bag a deer his first time out.  So far, Billy’s greatest triumph had been that turkey at Thanksgiving, and Adam longed to outshine his friend and put a stop to Billy’s endless bragging.

    Ben shook his older son’s shoulder.  “Adam,” he said softly.  “Time to wake up.”

    Rubbing his eyes, Adam yawned.  “Morning, Pa.”

    “Happy birthday, son,” Ben said cheerily.

    Adam sat up, grinning.  “Not ‘til tomorrow, Pa.”

    Ben chuckled.  “You saying you’d rather wait ‘til tomorrow to see your present?”

    “No, sir!” Adam exclaimed.  “I thought the hunting trip was my present, though.”

    “Just part of it,” Ben laughed.  “Hustle into your clothes and come see what’s waiting on the table for you.”

    Adam needed no further encouragement.  He pulled on his blue shirt and gray pants, drawing the suspenders quickly over his shoulders, and hastened into the front room.  His mouth gaped as he saw the Sharps rifle lying on the table.  “Pa!” he screamed.  “You did get me a rifle!”

    Ben laughed.  “Don’t you think I knew what you wanted most, Adam?”

    “You sure did!” the boy declared, hugging his father enthusiastically.  “I should’ve known, Pa.  I shouldn’t have any trouble hitting a deer with this!”

    “A deer, is it?” Ben chuckled.  “Sure you wouldn’t rather bring home a squirrel?”

    Adam shook his head, grinning.  He knew Pa was teasing.  He’d already shot plenty of squirrels, using his father’s gun.  It was time to hunt for bigger game.

    Adam was quite willing to forego breakfast, but his father insisted he eat.  Then, with a warm, filling meal in their stomachs, the two Cartwrights headed into the foothills, leading a pack mule to carry their supplies.  They’d sleep under the stars at least one night, maybe more if they didn’t find game sooner, so the pack included bedrolls.

    They headed north, gradually moving into the forest.  Though the valley floor had been free of snow, an icy crust crunched under their feet, for beneath the canopy of evergreens the snow was sheltered from thawing rays of the sun.  While they walked, Ben reviewed all he’d been teaching Adam about the safe handling of guns and the necessity of making his first shot count.  “Otherwise, you’ll have to track the animal and finish him,” Ben stated.  “It’s unkind to wound an animal and leave it to suffer a slow death.”

    “Yes, sir,” Adam replied.  “I’d never want to do that.  I’ll aim true.”

    Shortly after midday they came to a small clearing.  “This is where we’ll make camp,” Ben said.  “Let’s get the mule unloaded, then you can picket him over there where the grass is thickest.  Always look to the needs of your animal before your own, son.”

    “Right, Pa.”  Adam hurried to relieve the mule of its burden and stake him out to graze.  When the animal was cared for, he gathered all the dead branches and pinecones he could find for the fire.  They would eat a cold lunch, but hopefully they’d have found some kind of game for supper.  Even if they didn’t, they’d need the fire once the sun faded behind the Sierras and plunged the eastern slopes into shivering shadows.

    After munching on bacon and biscuits left over from breakfast, Ben wiped his mouth.  “You still set on bagging a deer, Adam?” he asked.

    “Yes, sir,” Adam replied with determination.  “Do—do you think I can, Pa?”

    “It’ll be a challenge,” Ben admitted, “but it’s one I think you’re ready for.  I’m gonna show you a spot where I’ve had good success in the past.”

    Adam jumped to his feet, rifle in hand.

    Ben laughed as he stood.  “You won’t be doing any shooting this afternoon, Adam, but you’re right to keep your gun with you.”

    “Why not now, Pa?” Adam pressed.  “I’m ready.”

    Ben laid one hand on Adam’s shoulder as the two walked side by side.  “You’re ready,” he said, “but the deer are not.  They’ll be hidden in thick brush this time of day, son, but tonight they’ll come out to feed and we’ll be waiting.”

    Suddenly, Ben stopped and laid a finger across his lips.  Adam looked where his father pointed and descried the shape of the rabbit crouched against a snowbank, its white fur blending into the background so well it was barely visible.  Ben raised his rifle quickly and fired, hitting the little animal in the head.  He smiled down at Adam.  “There!  That assures us of a hot supper, no matter what else happens.”

    Adam nodded.  It wasn’t as if Pa didn’t trust him, he consoled himself, but better safe than sorry had been their motto for so long the thought was almost habitual.  It was good planning, too; after all, you couldn’t count on a deer coming within sight just when you needed one.

    Within a hour Ben pointed out the spot where he’d often seen deer come to feed.  “First we get downwind,” he said, “then we keep as quiet as possible.  Deer have a keen sense of smell and of hearing.”

    Adam’s voice immediately dropped to a whisper.  “Then we can’t talk at all, Pa?”

    “You can now,” Ben chuckled softly, “but once the shadows start to lengthen, you’ll want to stop.  Any questions?”

    “Is deer about the hardest game to shoot, Pa?” Adam queried.

    “Adam, Adam,” Ben scolded gently.  “That’s pride asking that question.  You need to quit thinking about impressing Billy Thomas with your prowess.  I don’t approve of killing animals for sport.  A man needs to learn to hunt so he can put food on the table, son, not to give himself bragging rights.”

    Adam’s ears perked up at the word ‘man.’  “It does take a man to shoot a deer, though, doesn’t it, Pa?”

    Ben frowned.  “Adam, have you heard a word I’ve said?”

    The boy’s face fell.  “Yes, Pa,” he whispered.

    Ben reached out with two fingers and lifted the boy’s crestfallen chin.  “I suppose it’s natural for a boy to yearn for manhood.  And our neighbors, the Washo, do connect that with a boy’s first deer kill.”

    “Honest, Pa?” Adam asked eagerly.  “A Washo that kills a deer is a man?”

    “If it’s big enough,” Ben replied with a wink.  “They turn the antlers’ points down; then the boy tries to crawl through.  If he’s shot a deer large enough so he can, he’s considered a man, and he’s eligible to take a wife.”

    “That’s what I’m gonna do,” Adam boasted, “shoot one big enough to crawl through.”

    “Not if you don’t quiet down, you’re not,” Ben pointed out.  Adam nodded solemnly and pressed his lips together.

    Father and son waited in silence until the sun started to splash the horizon above them with shades of lavender and burnt orange.  Then Ben pointed to the far side of the clearing where three deer were just stepping into sight.  He nodded at Adam when the buck came toward them.

    Adam raised his rifle.  So did Ben, in case his son missed the first shot and only wounded the deer.  Adam fired, his bullet glancing off the buck’s rack of antlers.  The three deer started to run.  Ben immediately pulled the trigger and the buck crumpled.

    Adam looked up at his father, his face abashed.  “I missed,” he said.

    “You did,” Ben agreed, “but your shot was mighty close, son.  Sometimes you have to get used to a new rifle, you know.”

    “Yeah,” Adam muttered, but he didn’t think the excuse a valid one.

    Seeing the boy’s disappointment, Ben touched his shoulder gently.  “You can have another chance in the morning, Adam.  Now, we’d best get the meat back to camp and fix our supper.  Rabbit stew sound good?”

    Adam nodded morosely.

    Back in camp, Ben had Adam skin the rabbit while he peeled and chunked potatoes and carrots for the stew.  “Maybe we should put some of the leg meat of that buck in, too,” Ben mused.  “I’m hungry enough to eat a lot.  What do you think, Adam?”

    “I don’t care,” Adam muttered.

    Ben frowned.  “Adam, quit moping,” he ordered.  “We got meat and that’s what counts.”

    “But I wanted to shoot it, Pa——not you,” Adam protested.  “Everybody already knows you’re a crack shot.”

    “I wasn’t at your age,” Ben said.  “Come here, son; I want to show you something.”  When Adam dragged over to his father’s side, Ben pointed to the antler broken by Adam’s first shot.  “Do you realize how near the mark you were, Adam?  You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, and I’m certainly proud.”

    The boy’s countenance lifted slightly.  “You think I’ll do better tomorrow.”

    “Wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” Ben offered encouragingly, “and even if you don’t, it’ll still have been an enjoyable and worthwhile trip.  Don’t get your eyes so stuck on one thing that you miss everything else, Adam.  Look at those stars, boy.  You ever see them shine so bright?”

    Adam looked into the dark sky, glittering with twinkles of light.  “Yeah, there’s a bunch tonight,” he admitted.  He looked at the surrounding trees and smiled.  “It’s really pretty up here, Pa.  Remember how we used to talk about settling up this way.”

    Ben leaned back on one elbow.  “Yeah.  Haven’t talked much about it lately, have we?”

    Adam sprawled companionably next to his father.  “It was a promise, Pa, a promise to Inger.”  Now that Hoss was old enough to understand that he and his brother had had separate mothers, Adam had fallen into the habit of referring to his stepmother by her first name.  It seemed to prevent confusion for the younger boy, who couldn’t comprehend the difference between “Mother,” by which Adam referred to the woman who had given him birth and “Mama,” as he had called Hoss’s mother while she was living.

    “You think it’s time we kept that promise, do you, boy?” Ben asked.

    “I do, Pa.  Don’t you?”

    “Yeah, I guess so,” Ben agreed.  “Time to start planning anyway.  First thing we should do is decide what kind of house we want.  Then we’ll scout out a place to put it.”

    “A big house,” Adam said, lying back with his arms folded beneath his head.  “You promised her that, too, remember?  A house big enough to shelter anybody that came by needing a place to stay.”

    Misty memories floated in Ben’s warm brown eyes.  He did indeed remember the night he’d made that promise to his second wife.  It was during the time Adam’s young friend Jamie Edwards had been ill with cholera and Inger had longed to bring him and his father into their home where she could nurse the boy properly.  That hadn’t been possible in their tiny quarters behind the Larrimore store in St. Joseph, and to console her, Ben had promised that when they came west, they’d build a home large enough to accommodate anyone who needed help.  Inger was gone now, but Ben, like Adam, still felt constrained to keep that promise, whether it made sense or not, if only to honor the big-hearted woman to whom he had made it.

    “A big house, then,” he replied.  “When we get home, why don’t you draw out a picture of what you think it should look like?”

    “I’ll do that, Pa,” Adam said eagerly.  “I’ve got lots of ideas.”

    “Well, they’ll probably need some modifications,” Ben laughed, “but I sure want to see them.”  He sat up.  “Better see how that stew’s coming along.”

    Ben roused the boy long before daybreak the next morning, so they could get into position in a clearing not far from the one where Ben had shot the deer the day before.  Again they waited in silence until a lone buck entered open ground.  Adam spotted the animal and, raising his Sharps, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.  The buck fell, a bullet through his head.  Adam jumped to his feet, his jaw dropping.  “I got him!  I got him!” he screamed.

    Ben leaped up and wrapped his boy in a bear hug.  “You sure did!  And a big one, too.  Let’s get it back to camp.”

    Back at the clearing Ben helped his son skin and cut the venison into pieces.  “We’ll split the meat with the Thomases,” he said.  “We don’t need this much for ourselves, and it won’t keep with the days getting warmer.”

    “Pa, you think I could keep this rack of antlers?” Adam queried.

    “I don’t see any harm in it,” Ben chuckled, “but you’ll have to earn the privilege.”  He took the rack of antlers and turned it so the points touched the ground.  “Crawl through, boy, and I’ll help you peg it on the wall above your bed.”

    Adam quickly pulled off his jacket to make himself as thin as possible.  Lying flat on the ground, he squiggled carefully between the upright antlers, so he wouldn’t tear his clothing.  Emerging on the other side, he smirked triumphantly.  “There!” he said.  “Now I’m a man!”

    “Headed that direction, for sure,” Ben smiled.  “You got the girl picked out yet, son?”

    “Pa!” Adam cried, horrified.  “I don’t want to get married!”

    Ben guffawed.  “Oh, I see.  You want all the pride of manhood and none of the responsibilities.”

    Adam shrugged sheepishly, and Ben swung the boy into the air.  “Well, Pa’s proud enough for both of us,” he crowed.  “Proud as punch of my fine young man.”  And from that time forward, he regularly referred to his older son by that title.

    Adam and Billy swung down from their mounts almost simultaneously and charged toward the door to the Cartwright cabin.

    “Adam!”  Ben shouted.  “See to your horse first, young man!”

    “Aw, Pa, I want to show Billy those antlers,” Adam protested.  “It won’t take a minute, and we’ll tend the animals right after, I promise.”

    “Oh, all right,” Ben conceded indulgently, “but be quick about it.”

    Hoss slid off the back of Ben’s bay.  “Wait, wait,” he called.  I wanna see, too.”  Chuckling, Ben gathered the reins of the three horses and led them all to the barn.

    “Wow!  What a rack!” Billy was exclaiming when Hoss trotted in.

    “Ooh,” the four-year-old murmured, wide-eyed.  He reached out the grab one of the points.  “Ouch!” he cried as it stuck his hand.

    “Keep your hands off!” Adam ordered.  He snatched the small hand and examined it.  “You’re okay,” he said, dropping Hoss’s hand.  “It didn’t break the skin.  Now, don’t touch, Hoss.”

    Hoss nodded, sticking his finger in his mouth to suck on the imagined wound.

    “Where you gonna hang ‘em?” Billy asked.

    Adam pointed at the head of his bed.  “I figure right above there.”

    “Yeah, that’ll look grand,” Billy agreed.

    Hoss frowned, staring at his own bed, which suddenly looked plain and unadorned.  “How ‘bout here, Bub——uh, Adam?” he corrected quickly, pointing above his own bed.

    Billy hooted.  “You’ll have to grow big and shoot your own buck if you want a rack of antlers, boy.”

    “That’s right,” Adam said, setting the antlers up on his quilt-spread bed for safekeeping.  “We better get to the barn, Billy, before Pa comes looking.”

    “You’re right,” Billy said.  The two friends headed out immediately to give their horses the needed attention.

    When they were gone, Hoss tiptoed over to Adam’s bed and gingerly touched the antlers.  Growing bolder, he stroked their smooth sides affectionately.  No sense asking Adam to give up his prize, and Pa wasn’t likely to make him, either.  So Billy was right:  if Hoss wanted a rack of antlers, he’d have to shoot a deer himself.  His lower lip thrust out with irritation.  Billy’d had one thing wrong, though.  I don’t need grow big, Hoss thought.  I big now.

    It was true, at least in the sense Hoss understood.  Adam might be taller, but Hoss already weighed more than his older brother.  From the corner of his eye, he spotted the rifle Adam had tossed on the bed and picked it up.  Acting quickly, before Adam or Pa had a chance to catch him and take the rifle away, Hoss slipped quietly through the front door and began to run toward the woods.  As usual, though, his clumsy feet tripped him up.  He fell and the rifle discharged with a terrifying boom.  Throwing his hands over his ears, Hoss screamed.

    Ben, Billy and Adam, in that order, rushed from the barn.  “Hoss!” Ben yelled.  “What are you doing with that gun?”

    Hoss sat up, fear in his blue eyes.  “Goin’ huntin’, Pa,” he said quickly.  “I wanna deer, too.”

    Adam ran over to snatch his new rifle up from the ground.  “You little idiot!” he screamed.  “Pa makes me wait ‘til I’m twelve to have a gun, and you expect to use one at your age!”

    “That’s enough, Adam,” Ben said sharply.  “I’ll handle this.”  He held his hand out toward his younger son.  “Come here, Hoss,” he said sternly.  “Pa needs to have a very necessary little talk with you.”  Head drooping, Hoss stood and reluctantly put his hand in his father’s.  He hadn’t had many spankings, but he sensed he was due for another.

    As they walked toward the house, Ben called over his shoulder, “You come inside, too, Adam.  I’ve a few words to say to you, as well.”  Adam scuffed the ground with his shoe and slowly followed his father and brother.

    “Uh—guess I’d better head for home,” Billy suggested.  “Not a good time for me to stay the night, I reckon.”

    “No, you can stay,” Ben said from the doorway, “but I’d suggest you make yourself useful outside for awhile.  There’s some kindling needs chopping.”  Billy nodded and went immediately to the woodpile.  With two boys already in trouble, he didn’t plan to make it three.

    Adam propped his elbows on the table and stared at his rifle morosely as he listened to his father administering the “very necessary little talk” to his brother’s buttocks.  Hoss shouldn’t have touched his gun, of course, but it was really his fault for leaving it on the bed to tempt the little fellow.  How could he have known, though, that Hoss would do something that stupid?

    Ben emerged from the boys’ bedroom and sat opposite Adam.

    Adam raised a penitent head.  “I’m the one you should whip,” he muttered.  “I shouldn’t have left Hoss alone with that gun in reach.”

    “No, you shouldn’t have,” Ben agreed soberly, “but I have to share the responsibility with you, Adam.  Owning a gun is new to you.  I should have reminded you to stow it high, and I should have provided you a place to do that.”

    “Then why’d you spank Hoss?” Adam asked.

    “For the same reason I used to spat your hand when you reached for the fire,” Ben smiled.  “A little pain to make you avoid a greater one.”

    Adam shrugged.  “I don’t remember doing that, Pa.”

    “You were young,” Ben chuckled, “younger than Hoss is now, and while you may not remember the lesson, you certainly learned the principle.  Hoss will, too.  Don’t berate yourself too harshly, Adam.  I’ve cautioned Hoss often enough about touching my guns that he knew he was doing wrong.  He deserved what he got.”

    “And me?” Adam probed.

    “You’re getting a mite old to spank,” Ben said, “and in this case there’s little to be gained by it.  I think you’ve already learned your lesson.”

    “Yes, sir,” Adam said seriously.  “If anything had happened to Hoss—”

    Ben stood, circled the table and gave his older son a consoling embrace.  “Thank God, nothing did.  Just be more careful in the future, young man.”

    “I will, Pa.”

    Loud thumping sounded through the door.  “Hey!  You about through whuppin’ them boys?” Billy hollered.  “It’s cold out here!”

    Ben laughed and opened the door.  “Yeah, I’m through whuppin’ them boys,” he announced.  “Now, while I fix supper, you two whittle some pegs so we can mount that rack of antlers.”

    “And my rifle,” Adam added.  “I want it up high, where certain snoopy little fingers can’t reach.”

    “Huh!  That ain’t likely to stop him,” Billy snorted.  “He knows how to climb a chair.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “He also knows what’ll happen if he does.”
 
 

Leaning on a rail on the wharf overlooking San Francisco Bay, Ben took a deep draught of the salt-tipped breeze.  To him, no fragrance ever seemed quite so refreshing, though the pine-scented air near the big lake the Indians called Tahoe ran a close second.  This trip to San Francisco had been unusually relaxing.  For the first time Ben’s attention hadn’t been focused on the purchase of supplies.  He’d bought a few things, of course, primarily treats to take back to the boys.  But since dropping out of partnership in the trading post, he no longer needed to be burdened with a wagonload of goods.  He’d be buying all his supplies from Clyde from now on.

    In fact, there was really no reason for Ben to be in San Francisco this May morning——none, that is, except to provide moral support for the world’s most flustered father.  Ben glanced over his shoulder to confirm that Paul Martin was still restlessly pacing the boards behind him.  The ship from Hawaii that would carry his daughter was due to anchor this morning, and Paul’s attitude was a mixture of eager anticipation and absolute dread.

    Ben’s ostensible reason for making the trip with Paul was to show the drawings of the projected house he and Adam had worked out to someone who could advise them on their feasibility.  Ben had been a little leery of using the man Lawrence Larrimore had recommended.  After seeing Larrimore’s new home, he simply wasn’t sure the man who had designed that palatial residence could even understand the rustic elegance he and Adam envisioned.  Clarence Williams had been enthusiastic, however, and had contracted to draw a set of working plans based on young Adam’s design.  “Your boy has a fine eye for line, Mr. Cartwright,” Williams had said.  “Most of his ideas are quite usable, though some alterations will be needed to give the proper foundation and structural strength for your home.”

    Ben had filed away that compliment to repeat to Adam, but to be honest, the design wasn’t entirely Adam’s.  Ben had added his own ideas, of course, but so had almost every friend the Cartwrights had.  Even young Hoss had put in his two-cents’ worth by demanding a big pantry with one shelf set aside for the pies he was sure Aunt Nelly wouldn’t mind donating.  Nelly had insisted on a sizable kitchen and had made the suggestion Ben liked best, that of placing it with a family dining room on one side and one for his hired hands on the other, to serve the men who would sleep in the bunkroom beyond that dining area.

    He hadn’t been as fond of the addition Paul Martin had declared essential.  Ben didn’t like entertaining the idea that one of his boys might become ill enough to require close supervision, but he’d finally admitted having one bedroom downstairs was probably a good idea.  As Paul had pointed out, little boys and broken bones sometimes went together, and if it happened, the affected youngster wouldn’t enjoy negotiating stairs often.  And in the passage of time, some of the Cartwrights’ friends might grow old or otherwise become incapacitated enough to appreciate a first-story guest room, as well.

    Most of the house, though, reflected young Adam’s ideas, and Ben especially loved the openness of the lower floor his son proposed.  Reflecting the multi-purpose room which had been its progenitor in the original cabin, the lower floor was a combined dining room and living area with a huge stone fireplace as its focal point.  Ben had suggested having a desk at which he might work on the ranch books while still keeping his sons in sight, so Adam had drawn an alcove at the front of the house that flowed smoothly with the rest of the room.  Clarence Williams had waxed particularly eloquent about that open flow from area to area, so different from the homes he’d been called on to build in San Francisco.

    Strong fingers gripped Ben’s elbow.  “Ben, Ben!”  Paul croaked hoarsely, drawing Ben from his reverie.  “Isn’t that a clipper?”

    Ben smiled at his nervous friend.  “Probably the very one,” he agreed.

    “I knew it; I knew it,” Paul babbled.  “Oh, what will I say to her?”

    Ben propped an elbow on the rail.  “How about ‘Howdy, Sally’?”  He gave his friend a mischievous wink.

    “Don’t make fun,” Paul sputtered.  “I’ve got to make a good beginning with my girl.”

    “Then give her a hug and hand her that box of chocolates we picked up this morning,” Ben suggested.  “That ought to win her over quickly.”

    “The chocolates!” Paul cried, looking frantically in every direction.  “Where did I leave the chocolates?”

    “With me, thank goodness,” Ben chuckled, bending over to pick up the box of assorted candies Mr. Ghirardelli had personally selected for them.

    “Yes, thank goodness,” Paul said with a sigh of relief.

    They stood side by side, waiting as the passengers disembarked.  “There she is!” Paul cried, spotting a kelly green bonnet.  “There’s my little lady.”

    The face beneath the bonnet lit up brightly as Sally caught sight of her father, but the girl politely kept her place in line.  “A well-mannered little lady, indeed,” Ben declared.  And a lovely one, too.  Ben couldn’t help but contrast Sally’s rosy-cheeked charm with the appearance of the daughters of two of his old friends from the Overland Trail, both of whom he’d visited the day before.  Mary Wentworth had always been a pretty child, of course, in a pale, fragile sort of way.  The trip west had been difficult for Reverend Wentworth’s child, and she’d never really recovered her health.  If anything, though, Ben had found himself more disturbed by the change in little Jewel Larrimore.  Affluence had only made it possible for her mother to spoil her more easily than before, and Jewel was growing positively pudgy on a steady diet of bonbons and pastries.  To counter the image of a fat child, Camilla dressed her daughter in low-cut gowns far too mature for her, and the effect was one of a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s cast-off finery.  At least, Jewel didn’t paint her face yet, but that was the only thing that saved her from looking completely ridiculous.

    How different the blooming girl who now stood before him, smiling sweetly!  “Ben, this is my Sally,” Paul said proudly, then touching her arm, “Sally, my best friend, Mr. Benjamin Cartwright.”

    Sally curtsied demurely, her green hem brushing the toes of her neatly buttoned brown boots.  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cartwright.”

    Ben took the diminutive hand gently.  “And I, Miss Sally, am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

    Nelly’s invitation to dinner was, of course, predictable and readily accepted after a long day’s journey.  Clyde behaved normally, too, as did Adam, Hoss and Inger, but Billy was uncharacteristically struck silent by the ruffled vision that descended from the wagon. It wasn’t her red-headed admirer who caught Sally’s eye, however.  Those sparkling blue orbs were fixed smilingly on Ben’s older son.  Uh-oh, Ben thought.  Looks like we’ve just introduced a little Eve into our Garden of Eden.  Only we’ve got two Adams to vie for her favor.  Or perhaps not.  The boy who actually bore the name of Eve’s Biblical mate seemed glad to welcome Sally as the daughter of his father’s respected friend, but he showed no interest in her obvious feminine allure.  Billy, on the other hand, openly gaped at the girl.

    “Dinner’ll be on the table in about an hour,” Nelly said, “so you men go off and do your jawin’ about the latest news.  Then we won’t have to listen to it at the dinner table.”

    “May I help you with the meal?” Sally asked as Nelly herded Hoss and Inger back into the cabin.

    “What a sweet girl to offer,” Nelly cooed, “but it’d be a bigger help to me if you’d help these young ones finish up their bakin’. I’m gonna need to set the table soon, but they’ve got it cluttered up playin’ with some pie scraps I gave them.”

    “I—I could help, too, Ma,” Billy offered.  Both Billy’s mother and his friend Adam stared at him in disbelief.

    “Since when are you so eager to help?” Nelly asked, her brown eyes narrowing.

    Billy’s face flamed to match his red hair.  “Aw, Ma, you know I help out a lot around here.”

    “Well, if you’re so eager to be a help,” Nelly said crisply, “you can start with your regular chores.  Plenty of work left in the barn.  Now, clear out.”

    Billy scowled, but turned on his heels and dragged toward the barn, not expecting to find anything there half so attractive as what he was leaving behind.

    Inside the cabin Hoss and Inger climbed back into the chairs they’d left when the wagon pulled up.  Sally stood behind them, laying a soft hand on each small shoulder.  “What are you making, children?” she asked.

    “Sin rolls,” Hoss informed her.

    Sally tilted her head, puzzled for a moment.  “Oh, you mean cinnamon rolls,” she laughed suddenly.

    “Help them roll out the scraps, then spread it with butter,” Nelly began as she tied a dishtowel around Sally’s waist to protect her dress.

    “Then sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar,” Sally said, dusting her hands with flour.  “At least, that’s how my—my mother used to help me make them.”

    Nelly noticed the catch in the girl’s voice when she mentioned her mother.  “That’s right, dear,” she said gently.  “That’s exactly how we do it, too.”

    “Now, then, who wants to roll out the dough?” Sally asked the two youngsters.

    “Hoss,” Inger replied.  “He do it better.”

    Sally gave the little strawberry blonde a hug.  “My, aren’t you the prettiest little thing,” she whispered, “and a sweet, unselfish girl, too.”

    Hoss impulsively threw his flour-coated hands around Sally, powdering the back of her lavender gingham skirt.  “Me, too,” he demanded.  Sally laughed and returned the hug the boy obviously wanted.

    Nelly turned from the stove to smile sadly at the scene.  Hoss was such an affectionate boy that she was sure he suffered from the lack of cuddles and kisses a child normally receives from his mother.  Of course, Ben was a warmer father than most——always hugging and kissing and mussing his boys’ hair like a mother might do——but he was still a man, often so caught up in his work he missed the little signs that hinted at a youngster’s yearnings.  A child like Hoss needed and deserved a mother, but Ben was as adamantly opposed to remarriage as he’d always been.  Doctor Martin seemed of the same mind, so Nelly saw no hope for either of their motherless children.  She’d do what she could to fill that void, of course, but there was only so much a family friend could do.

    Hoss threw the short stick as far as he could.  “Get it, Klam,” he urged.  “Get the stick, boy.”  The brown dog yipped and obediently chased after the stick.

    Billy Thomas clattered into the yard and jumped off his horse, wrapping the reins around the hitching rail Ben had erected in front of the Cartwright cabin.  “Hi, Nuisance,” he called to Hoss.  “The big boys around anywhere?”

    Hoss planted both palms on his hips.  “I’m a big boy,” he insisted, then obligingly pointed to the barn.  Klamath returned, stick in mouth, and Hoss bent over to reward the dog with a solid pat on the head.

    “Thanks, big boy,” Billy snickered and sauntered toward the barn.  He found both Adam and Ben inside.  “Howdy, gents,” he drawled, stuffing his thumbs behind his gray suspenders.

    “Howdy, yourself,” Ben said.  “You come to give us a hand?”

    “Not hardly,” Billy snorted.  “I come to ask Adam if I could borrow his mare, seein’ as how he said he’d be tied up all day chorin’.”

    “What’s wrong with your horse?” Adam inquired, leaning on the pitchfork he’d been using to toss down fresh straw in the stalls.

    “Not a thing,” Billy replied, “but I need two.  I figured to show Sally Martin some of the scenery hereabouts.”

    Adam frowned.  What was the fun in that?  “If you’d help with these chores, I could be through early enough to ride up and show you where we’re thinking about building the new place,” he suggested alternatively.

    Billy scuffed his black boot through the straw scattered on the barn floor.  “Yeah, I’d like that sometime, Adam,” he said awkwardly, “but I got other plans today.”  He threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin defensively.  “After all, it’s only neighborly to show new folks around.”

    Ben’s lips twitched.  “Why, I’m proud of you, Billy,” he chuckled.  “It’s wonderful to see a young man exhibit such civic responsibility.”

    Billy glowed.  “Yeah,” he agreed readily.  “That’s what it is, a civic responsibility.”  He’d have never thought of those fancy words on his own, but he liked the feeling of importance they carried.

    “Well, that’s fine,” Ben continued, trying to control the laughter gurgling into his mouth.  “According to the Scorpion, there’ll be a number of new settlers arriving next month from Salt Lake City, and I’m sure you’ll be equally glad to take them on a tour of the territory.”

    Billy blanched, his rusty freckles standing out against his suddenly pale face.  “Well—uh—I don’t know about that,” he stammered.  “They’ll likely be mostly grownups.”

    Ben guffawed.  “Oh, I see!  There’s a limit to your civic responsibility!”

    Billy grinned sheepishly.  “Yeah, sort of,” he admitted.

    “Sort of, my foot!” Ben roared, raising dust from Billy’s red shirt as he slapped him on the back.  “Your civic responsibilities are limited to twelve-year-old girls!”

    Billy grinned more broadly.  The joke was on him, but he didn’t mind.  “Worse than that,” he cackled, willing to pick a little fun at himself.  “It’s limited to pretty twelve-year-old girls.”

    “Well, I’m sure Adam won’t mind loaning his horse to such a good cause,” Ben chuckled.

    Adam shrugged.  “So long as I get her back, I reckon.”  He didn’t think Pa should have agreed to loan out his horse without checking with him first, but he really had no reason to object.

    “Sally and her pa’s comin’ to your place tonight, ain’t they?” Billy asked.  “I figured she could keep the mare ‘til then.”

    “That’ll be fine, Billy,” Ben assured him.

    Sally Martin returned Adam’s horse that night when she and her father arrived for the usual Saturday night dinner and chess match.  While Adam felt somewhat disgruntled by the fact that his friend had chosen to spend his free time with this girl, he found himself enjoying her company, too.  Not as a girl, of course, but Sally had fascinating tales to tell about her stay in the Sandwich Islands.  Adam was particularly interested in the courses the girl had taken in the school there.  Like him, Sally enjoyed learning, and Adam found himself looking forward to Saturday nights, when he and Sally could exchange information.  Besides, Sally had learned enough from her mother to help with the cooking, and the quality of their Saturday night suppers definitely improved with her arrival in Carson County.

    Nelly refilled the bowl of gravy and set it on the table near Hoss, who immediately grabbed for the spoon and sloshed his mashed potatoes liberally.  “You don’t have any more of that stashed out, do you?” a chagrined Ben muttered.  Giggling, Nelly shook her head as she sat down.

    “That’s okay,” Hoss assured her.  “I got enough.”

    “That’s not exactly what I was worried about,” Ben chuckled, tweaking the boy’s ear.  “Go a little slower, son; someone else just might crave a little gravy, too.”

    Hoss gulped.  “Oh, sorry,” he said.

    “That’s all right, Sunshine,” Nelly said, giving his hand a comforting pat.  “You know you must always eat your fill at Aunt Nelly’s house.”

    “As if he didn’t do that everywhere he goes!” Billy cackled.

    Nelly frowned at her son, and Billy turned his attention back to the chicken remaining on his plate.

    “Aw, don’t let your pa fool you, youngun,” Clyde snickered.  “Ain’t you he’s riled at; it’s them new neighbors.”

    Ben frowned.  Clyde had, unfortunately, hit the nail on the head.  The new contingent of colonists from Salt Lake City had recently arrived, but instead of settling near Mormon Station as expected, they had taken up claims to the north in Washoe Valley, some of them on land Ben had hoped one day to call his own.  Not, thank goodness, the proposed site for their new home, but much of the best pastureland in the area.  Ben was upset about it, and it didn’t help that Clyde was taking pure pleasure in seeing his old friend irritated with the Mormons for a change.

    “Have you met any of the new folks yet?” Nelly asked.

    “Yeah, a few,” Ben said, absent-mindedly stirring an extra teaspoonful of sugar into his coffee.  “I met Hyde, of course, and his wives.”

    Fork half-way to her mouth, Nelly frowned.  Though she knew Mormons believed in polygamy, it had still come as a shock when the new judge arrived with four women in tow.  “Well, everyone’s met him, I think,” she sputtered.  “I meant the regular folks.  Like the Cowans, for instance.”

    “Oh, yes,” Ben moaned.  “They’re the ones who snatched up the piece of ground I favored most.”

    Nelly laughed gently.  “Sorry I brought it up then.  I got to meet Mrs. Cowan, though.  A right likable woman.”

    “For a Mormon,” Clyde groused into his auburn beard.

    “Oh, now, Clyde,” Nelly protested.  “From the looks of it, Eilley ain’t what you’d call a faithful Mormon.  Done her shoppin’ here ‘stead of with her own kind and told me straight out she’d left her first husband ‘cause he wanted to bring in a second wife.”

    “You’re in favor of divorce now?” Ben queried with a significant arch of his eyebrow, which had begun to sprout a few gray hairs at the outer edges.

    “You know better,” Nelly scolded, rapping Ben’s knuckles with her spoon, “but even that’s a far cry more decent than polygamy.”

    “What’s lig’my?” Inger asked, her blue eyes wide in consternation at her mother’s abnormally petulant tone.

    “Something you ain’t never gonna have nothin’ to do with, that’s what!” her father snorted.

    Ben decided it was time to repay Clyde for some of his sass.  “Now, I don’t know, Clyde,” he commented with apparent seriousness.  “There aren’t many but Mormon men to choose from.  You may just have to swallow your pride and take one for a son-in-law.”

    Clyde turned beet red and his cheeks puffed out with barely contained rage.  “Over my dead body!” he yelled.  “Ain’t one of them cusses gonna touch my girl!  Over—”

    “Over!  That’s just what this conversation is,” Nelly snapped, banging her palm flat against the tabletop.  “I won’t have such topics at the table with these innocent little pitchers listening in.  Behave, the both of you!  For lands sakes, Clyde, Inger’s three years old.  You’re more than a decade too early worryin’ about some man carryin’ her off.”

    “Yeah, it’s that other youngster of yours you need to be worrying about,” Ben chuckled.  “He’s moving pretty fast.”

    Billy’s ears flamed to match his father’s face.  “No such thing,” he protested.  “Sally’s just—just—”

    “Just a civic responsibility,” Ben finished, nodding his head with gravity denied by the twinkle in his eye.  “Yes, Billy, you told me.”

    Adam snickered, and Billy flushed a deeper shade of red.  “You stay out of it!” Billy demanded.

    Adam stuck out his tongue.  “Make me,” he taunted, then jumped to his feet and ran out the side door that led outside from the new kitchen.  Billy leaped up, knocking over his chair, and charged after Adam.

    “Boys, boys, you haven’t had dessert yet,” Nelly called, but her words didn’t penetrate the slammed door.

    “Let ‘em go,” Clyde snorted.  “Leaves more for the rest of us.”

    “More for us!” Hoss chortled happily and clapped his hands as his elders and Inger joined in his laughter.
 

Ben finished yoking the final ox to the wagon and gave the animal’s side an affectionate stroke.  “Gonna kind of miss you, boy,” he murmured.  He’d had the ox a long time.  Most of the team was made up of animals he’d traded emigrants for over the past few years, but this one had made the trip west with him.  He had no more use for oxen, though.  Now that he was through freighting heavy wagonloads of supplies over the Sierras, it made sense to sell them, along with the bulky wagon they pulled.  The light buckboard he’d bought last year was more useful for ranch chores and transportation in the valley.  So once he reached Placerville, he’d sell the wagon and oxen.  He and the boys could travel the rest of the way by stage and steamboat.

    Ben went inside to check on his sons’ progress.  Entering their bedroom, he saw clothes piled on the bed, but few actually in the carpetbag he’d told them to pack.  “We’re not gonna get a very early start at this rate,” he mumbled.

    Adam heard him.  “I’m not sure what to take, Pa.  What about my suit?  Will we be going to the theater or anything?”

    Ben looked quickly at Hoss.  “Well, I’m not sure, Adam.  I’d like to, of course, but it may not be practical.”  Not with Hoss along this trip.  He was a little young to attend most stage performances, and Ben wasn’t certain he’d be able to leave the boy with anyone.

    He looked back at Adam.  “You’d better pack it, anyway, for when we visit the Larrimores.  They dress for dinner nowadays.”

    Adam scowled.  Who’d ever heard of putting on a suit and tie just to eat!  And with that stuffed shirt, Sterling Larrimore, too!  “We gotta go see them, Pa?” he whined.

    “Of course, we do,” Ben insisted.  “Lawrence is one of my oldest friends.  Besides, the Larrimores have never met your brother.”  He smiled.  Introducing his younger son to his old friends was the part of this trip Ben anticipated most.  Everyone always asked about the youngster they’d left behind when the rest of the wagon train moved on, leaving the Cartwrights and the Thomases in Carson Valley.  None of them had seen him since he was three months old, and the women, especially, would be thrilled to see this stalwart lad.  They’d been so afraid he wouldn’t thrive without a mother’s care.  Well, one look should silence those concerns forever.

    “Pa, Hoss doesn’t have a suit,” Adam pointed out.  “What’ll we do about him?”

    “Oh, I don’t know,” Ben said abruptly.  “I’ll worry about that when the time comes.  Now, get that bag packed, so we can head out!”

    “Okay, okay,” Adam muttered, hastily stuffing shirts and pants into the bag.  “Ready!” he beamed.

    Ben rolled his eyes.  Maybe he could get one of Camilla’s servants to press the boy’s suit when they got there.  “Let’s get loaded then,” he muttered.

    Adam snatched up the carpetbag and ran out to the wagon, while Ben carried the last of their supplies for the trip.  Hoss grabbed his calico dog and trotted after them.  Klamath barked when he saw his young master, and Hoss squatted to give him a farewell pat.  “You can’t go, boy,” he said sadly.  “Pa says it’s too far for a pup.  I’ll be back soon, boy.”

    “Do not worry, my little friend,” a voice with a soft French accent assured Hoss.  “I will care for your dog.”

    Hoss grinned up at Jean D’Marigny.  “Yeah, I know, but he’ll miss me.  I ain’t never left him before.”

    “Oui,” Jean said sympathetically, “but I will keep him company, and I see you have someone to keep you company.”

    Hoss squeezed his stuffed dog tight.  “Yeah.  Bye, Jean.”  Pa had tried to teach him to use the foreman’s last name, as was proper for a young boy speaking to a man, but Hoss couldn’t manage the odd French pronunciation, so everyone had finally decided “Jean” was respectful enough, at least for now.

    Hoss crawled in the wagon, while Ben and Adam mounted their horses to ride alongside.  The sides of the canvas covering the hickory bows was rolled up, so Hoss could see the countryside as they traveled.  He couldn’t get enough of the new sights.  He’d been some distance to the north before, on regular visits to the Paiute camp with his father, but as the wagon rumbled south past Mormon Station, Hoss found himself in unexplored territory.  Ben rode close to answer the unending questions, but Adam had his fill of Hoss’s chatter quite quickly and trotted out ahead, priding himself that he was scouting for possible danger.

    A few days’ travel brought them to Placerville.  Hoss’s blue eyes shot wide when he saw all the buildings.  “Big town!” he cried.

    “Placerville’s not big,” Adam scoffed.  “Wait’ll you see San Francisco!”

    “One experience at a time, Adam,” Ben chuckled.  “There was a time you thought Placerville was quite a sight, remember?”

    Adam grinned and nodded.  “It’s still quite a place,” he told Hoss.  “You’re gonna love Mama Zuebner’s.”

    Ben’s nose wriggled.  “Mama Zuebner, is it?”

    “That’s what everyone calls her,” Adam said defensively, “and Hoss will love her cooking.  You know he will.”

    “Oh, yes!” Ben agreed readily.

    “Let’s eat,” Hoss suggested eagerly.

    Ben laughed.  “Not yet.  I need to transact a little business first.”  He took Hoss’s hand and led the way to the corner of Main Street and Bedford Avenue, where John Studebaker kept his wagon shop.  “Ah, Mr. Cartwright,” Studebaker said when Ben and the boys entered.  “No problems with that wagon I sold you, I trust.”

    “No problems; it’s a fine piece of work,” Ben assured the craftsman.  “No, I’m here because I have an old wagon I’d like to sell, and I wondered if you might be able to help me find a buyer.”

    “Let’s see it,” Studebaker said.  They went outside, where he examined the old wagon.  “It’s seen a lot of use,” he told Ben, “but it’s in good condition.  I don’t market anything this heavy myself, but if you’d care to leave it with me, I could probably sell it to a freighting company that comes through regularly.  Can’t promise a high price, though.”

    “Doesn’t matter,” Ben replied.  “I know from my previous dealings with you that it’ll be a fair one.”

    “That it will,” Studebaker promised.  “The team looks too old to fetch much of a price, though.  Might as well sell them for meat.  Philip Armour should give you a fair deal.”

    “Thanks,” Ben said and followed Studebaker’s directions to Armour’s shop.  He briefly explained his business to the red-headed butcher and, after a little haggling, arrived at an acceptable agreement.

    “Now, lunch,” Ben told the boys.

    “Hooray!” Hoss shouted.  “I’m hungry.”

    “Tell me something I don’t know,” Ben guffawed.  “Let’s go.”

    The three trooped into Mama Zuebner’s Cafe, where they were greeted by a pretty flaxen-haired maiden of fifteen.  “Oh, Mr. Cartwright, how good to see you again!” she cried.  “And you, too, Adam.”

    “Wonderful to see you, Katerina,” Ben smiled.  “You grow prettier by the month, my dear.”

    Katerina Zuebner blushed modestly.  “And you have brought a friend?” she asked to change the subject.

    “Friend, nothing!” Adam hooted.  “That’s my brother.”

    Katerina screamed.  “Oh, it can’t be!  Not this big boy!”

    A large, amply padded woman hustled out from the kitchen.  “Katerina!” she called.  “What is wrong?”

    “Oh, nothing, Mama,” Katerina said quickly.  “Just see who’s here.”

    A welcoming smile spread across Ludmilla Zuebner’s florid face.  “Ah, Ben!” she cried, then turned to frown at her daughter.  “But, mercy, what a scream.”

    “I’m sorry, Mama,” Katerina said, “but when I saw Hoss—”

    “Hoss!” Ludmilla screamed, louder than had her daughter.  “This is Hoss?”  She immediately wrapped her plump arms about the boy and squeezed tight.  “I not see you since you little baby,” she said.

    “He’s not little now,” Ben said.  And a good thing, too, or he’d never survive the hug Ludmilla was giving him.

    Ludmilla patted the boy’s sturdy shoulder and felt down his arms.  “No, no, he big boy.”

    Hoss grinned brightly.  “Are you Mama Zuebner?” he asked.

    “Yah, yah, I Mama,” Ludmilla said, “and I gonna fix you big plate oxtail stew.  You like?”

    “He’ll like,” Adam snickered.  “I guarantee he’ll like.”

    “You like, too?” Ludmilla laughed.

    Adam nodded.  “Yeah, me, too, unless you got sauerbraten today.”

    “Not today.  Sorry,” Ludmilla said, “but I fix extra big plate oxtail stew.  You need meat on your bones, Adam, like your brother.”

    Grinning, Adam shook his head.  He had no ambitions of putting as much meat on his bones as Hoss had.  When Ludmilla hustled back to the kitchen, Adam turned to Katerina.  “Where’s Marta?” he asked.  “Out mining?”

    Katerina giggled.  “No, we don’t do much mining any more, Adam.  Stefán is busy with the brewery, and we try to keep Marta in the kitchen.  She is fourteen now, old enough to act like a young lady.”

    “Marta?” Adam laughed heartily.  “She’ll never be a lady.”

    Katerina shrugged.  “Well, Mama tries.  I will tell Marta you are here.”

    Shortly, Marta, a slightly smaller copy of her sister, burst out of the kitchen.  “Hi, Adam,” she said, sliding into the chair beside him.  She exchanged greetings with Ben, too, then looked across at the younger boy, whose coloring resembled her own.  “This can’t be Hoss,” she said.

    “Yes, I am,” Hoss replied.

    “You’re a big one,” Marta laughed.  “He’s gonna outgrow you, Adam.”  Hoss’s chest puffed out, but Adam scowled at Marta’s prediction.

Seeing his expression, Marta laughed again.  “Where’s that nuisance of a Billy?” she asked.  “It’s about time for him and Mr. Thomas to come back through for more supplies, isn’t it?”

    “Pretty soon, I think,” Adam said.  “We don’t keep track of the business much now.  We’re busy at the ranch.  But I reckon he’ll come with his pa unless he’s too busy sparkin’ that girl.”

    A strange glint flickered in Marta’s blue eyes.  “What girl?” she demanded.

    “Sally Martin,” Adam said.

    “Oh, her,” Marta murmured.  “I met her when your pa and hers brought her through here.  She’s pretty, all right.  I—I guess Billy’s head over heels for her, huh?”

    “Something awful,” Adam reported.

    Marta’s face fell slightly.  “Well, you tell him I said ‘howdy,’” she said.  “Here’s Katerina with your food.  I’ll get back to my dishes while you eat, but don’t leave without saying good-bye.”

    “We won’t,” Ben promised, giving her a sympathetic smile.  Adam might be blind to the girl’s obvious feelings, but Ben was not.  And who could tell?  In the long run, this merry-hearted lass might be the one who won mischievous Billy.  They had much in common.

    Marta leaned close to Adam’s ear.  “There’s strudel,” she whispered, and Adam grinned happily in response.

    After a thoroughly satisfying lunch, including two helpings of apple strudel for Hoss, the Cartwrights bid their friends farewell.  “You will stop again on your way home?” Ludmilla asked.  It was a needless question.  The Cartwrights always did take at least one meal there when they passed through.

    “We’ll be here,” Ben promised anyway, to reassure her.

    Hoss threw affectionate arms around the German lady’s hips.  “I’ll make ‘em,” he said.  “I like you, Mama.”

    Ludmilla laughed, delighted, and returned the embrace exuberantly.  “Mama likes you, too, sweet boy.  You only one in family eat good.”

    Ben shook his head amused.  In Hoss’s case, at least, the way to a boy’s heart was definitely through his stomach.  He and the boys made their way down the street and caught the next stage for Sacramento.  There’d be no old friends there, and certainly no strudel, but Ben was eager to see what Hoss thought of California’s capital.

    They had only a short layover in Sacramento before the steamer was scheduled to leave, so Hoss saw little of the town.  The size of what he did see, however, impressed him more than had Placerville’s, and he found it hard to believe his brother’s declaration that San Francisco would be larger still.

    There was only enough time to visit a few shops.  Their first stop was Kaerth and Smith’s Philadelphia Boot Shop.  Hoss had outgrown his last pair of shoes, as he always quickly did, so Ben took him in to be measured for a custom-made pair to be picked up on their return trip.  Adam’s feet hadn’t grown much in the last year, so he didn’t need new shoes.  To keep things even, Ben took him by Dale and Company’s music store and treated him to some new sheet music.

    Then the three Cartwrights trooped next door, where Hoss stood enthralled by the jars of brightly colored candies standing along the counter of Hardy Brothers and Hall’s dry goods store.  “Pa!” he cried.  “Can I have some?  Please, Pa.”

    Ben ruffled the light hair indulgently.  “Oh, a little, I guess.  You want some, too, Adam?”

    “Yeah, I’d like some lemon balls,” Adam replied.

    “Me, too,” Hoss announced, “and some licorice and some—”

    “I said ‘a little,’ Hoss,” Ben said firmly.  “We’ll take a nickel’s worth of the lemon balls,” he told the proprietor, “and a nickel’s worth of whatever this little greedy belly wants.”

    The proprietor’s salt-and-pepper mustache twitched merrily as he bent over the counter to speak to Hoss.  “And what for you, little man?  Maybe a mixture?”

    Hoss beamed.  “Yeah!”  That way he didn’t have to make the difficult choice of what to leave out.

    Around mid-afternoon they boarded the stern-wheeler, the Hartford, headed for San Francisco.  This time Ben didn’t bother paying for a cabin, even though the trip would take ten hours.  He assumed, accurately as soon became apparent, that Hoss would want to stay on deck and see the countryside along the riverbanks, even after dark.  Hoss might not have his older brother’s scientific mind, but he was definitely impressed by new sights and sounds, and he obviously enjoyed the new experience of floating on water.  Ben finally gave up keeping the boy tied down to one location and posted himself on one side of the steamer and Adam on the other and let Hoss run back and forth between them.  “We might as well have let him walk to San Francisco,” Ben grumbled under his breath.  “He’s covering more ground this way than he would have if we’d gone by foot.”

    Hoss ran his index finger around the inside of the tight, stiffly starched collar of the fancy dress shirt once owned by Sterling Larrimore.  He had quickly decided that he shared Adam’s opinion of dressing up for dinner.  And so far the food wasn’t making up for the discomfort of his clothing or the high, delicately carved chair on which he perched at the Larrimore table.  The raw oysters had tasted all right, though a bit slimy for Hoss’s taste, and the soup was good, creamy and flavorful.  There wasn’t enough of it, however, and his father had warned him not to ask for more unless it was offered.  It wasn’t offered.

    Hoss sighed as the yellow-skinned man in silky blue pantaloons and tunic reached to take his bowl.  No seconds, then.  Soup wasn’t much of meal to offer guests, Hoss decided, wishing earnestly that he could go back to Placerville for some of Mama Zuebner’s heartier hospitality.  She knew how to feed people!  Mrs. Larrimore obviously did not.

    His opinion changed moments afterward when the Chinese servant presented him with a plate on which sat thin slices of both ham and beef, potatoes and creamed peas.  Now this was more like it!  Hoss felt a little puzzled, though.  When Pa made stew at home, that, along with bread and milk, was their meal.  You got all you wanted, of course, but just the one thing.  Even at Aunt Nelly’s, where the choices were more plentiful, they all appeared on the table at once.  Hoss had never seen a meal served in stages the way this one was.  Must be more fancy dinner nonsense, he figured, not sure he liked it any better than the borrowed suit that pinched his elbows and hung short of his ankles.  Hoss thought it was better to see what you had to choose from, so you knew how much of each thing to take.

    “I do hope the meat is to your liking,” Camilla Larrimore was saying to Ben.  “It’s so hard to get decent beef here, and our new Chinese cook hasn’t learned our American style of cooking as well as I’d like.”

    “The meat is fine,” Ben assured her, keeping to himself the conviction that this meal was much tastier than the ones Camilla used to cook herself before growing affluence made possible all the frills of the Larrimore’s new lifestyle.

    “Not as good as we raise, of course,” Adam couldn’t resist saying, although he knew Pa would give him what for later.  He was dressed in his brown suit with matching string tie.  He didn’t mind, though.  Since they were going to the theater right after dinner, it made sense to dress for the meal.

    Ben coughed into his napkin.  “Well, our beef is fresher, of course, and that does make a difference.”  He glared at Adam, then turned to smile at Camilla.  “This meal certainly surpasses my feeble attempts at cooking, however.”

    “Yes, I’m sure,” Camilla sympathized.  “It must be difficult for you to prepare a proper meal after a day’s work.  I must say, though, that your younger boy hasn’t suffered, by the look of him.  He’s certainly a stout little fellow!”

    Ben caught the note of disapproval in Camilla’s voice and wondered silently how she could criticize Hoss’s size and overlook the obvious weight problems of her own two youngsters.  Hoss, after all, was more large than fat.  Aloud, he said, “Yes, he’s a fine, healthy boy, and I’m very proud of him.”

    “Oh, of course, you are,” Camilla stammered quickly, discerning that she’d offended her old friend, “but, really, Ben, it might not be a bad idea to let a doctor examine the child while you’re here.  He does seem to be growing at an enormous rate.”

    “We have a physician back home,” Ben said quietly, “and he assures me Hoss’s size is normal for him.”

    “Oh, well, good,” Camilla said.  “I just hope he’s a qualified man.  It isn’t easy to find one, I can tell you.  Why, I searched and searched before finding a doctor who could properly understand my children’s needs.”

    “Now, Camilla, Ben doesn’t need your advice,” Lawrence inserted, “certainly not on that subject.”  Observing the difference between Ben’s two hearty sons and his own sickly offspring, Lawrence couldn’t help thinking that Ben was not the one who needed advice.  Larrimore wasn’t at all happy with the way his children were turning out, but he hated the thought of confronting Camilla about it.  He never won those arguments.  Three against one were daunting odds.  Besides, a man preferred peace at home after a day of wrestling with merchandising problems.

    Lawrence patted his lips with the lace-edged linen napkin and stood.  “Really, my dear, if we’re going to reach the theater before the curtain rises, we’d best be leaving.”

    “Dear me, yes,” Camilla murmured.  “I don’t want Ben to miss this opportunity to hear our opera company.  I’m sure he misses cultural pursuits in that backwoods wilderness of his.”

    “Camilla,” Lawrence muttered sharply.

    Ben laughed.  “It’s all right, Lawrence.  Camilla is quite correct.  We do have few cultural performances in Carson County, though that may come in time.  This is my first opera, and I’m looking forward to it.”

    “Me, too,” Adam added eagerly.  “I’ve been to the theater a couple of times in Sacramento and I liked it.”

    “Really, it gets incredibly boring after awhile,” sixteen-year-old Sterling yawned, “but I suppose it’s better than staying home with the children.”

    “I don’t see why I have to stay home, mother,” Jewel pouted.  “You’ll be going to Delmonico’s afterwards, and you know how I love their desserts.”

    Camilla smoothed the girl’s carefully positioned ringlets.  “Now, sweetheart,” she cooed.  “You wouldn’t want to leave Hoss alone.  Be a good little hostess, and Mama will bring you home some pastry from the restaurant.”

    “Well, all right,” Jewel agreed, but the pretty pout didn’t leave her painted lips.  The one touch lacking to make the eleven-year-old a ridiculous caricature of a lady of fashion had now been added with the application of cosmetics.

    “Now, you mustn’t be a bit concerned, Ben,” Camilla said as she rose from the chair her husband pulled out.  “The governess will see that Hoss goes to bed at eight just as you ordered.”

    Ben nodded, and after giving Hoss a few words of admonition about minding the governess who was being left in charge of him and Jewel, left with the others for an evening’s entertainment.

    Jewel, blue merino and velvet wrapper tied loosely over a ruffled and ribboned blue linen nightdress, ran to her mother as soon as the opera party entered the vestibule of the Larrimore home.  “Where’s my pastry?” she demanded.

    Adam, yawning against his father’s thigh, stared at her in disbelief.  How could anyone want to eat at this hour?  He’d been too sleepy to do more than nibble at his dessert after the musical performance.

    “Now, Jewel,” her father protested.  “Why don’t you wait until tomorrow?”

    “Yes, sweetheart,” her mother purred.  “You know how delicate your stomach can get when you eat late at night.”

    Jewel stomped her foot.  “I want it now!  And I deserve it after all I’ve put up with from that horrible boy!”

    Ben bristled.  The ‘horrible boy’ in question could be none another than his own Hoss.

    “Why, whatever do you mean, dearest?” Camilla was asking her daughter.  “Did you and Hoss not get along?”

    “He hit me!” Jewel declared, squeezing tears from the corners of her eyes.

    Adam jolted instantly awake.  “Hoss wouldn’t do that!” he sputtered defensively.

    “Well, he did,” Jewel accused, flipping her brown ringlets back from her face.  “He knocked me to the floor and smudged my pretty dress.”

    “Well, really,” Camilla said, eyeing Ben with displeasure as she put a protective arm around her daughter.

    “If you’ll excuse me,” Ben said soberly, “I’ll speak to Hoss.”

    “He’ll just deny it,” Sterling snorted, glaring at Adam as if he were responsible for his brother’s misbehavior.

    Setting his lips tightly, Ben ignored the boy’s words and headed down the hall to the room Hoss was to share with Adam, who followed on his father’s heels.  Ben walked into the room, expecting to find Hoss asleep at this post-midnight hour, but the youngster lay awake on his bed, sobbing as if his heart were broken.

    Ben immediately sat next to Hoss on the bed and pulled the youngster close to his side.  “Here, now, boy,” he soothed.  “Settle down, son, and tell Pa what’s upset you.”

    Hoss shook his head violently from side to side.

    Ben frowned.  “That wasn’t a request, Hoss,” he said firmly.  “I’m going to ask you some questions, and I expect you to answer me honestly.”

    Hoss looked into his father’s face and nodded, though his face continued to be streaked with tears.

    “Jewel says you hit her,” Ben reported, “and pushed her down.  Is that true, Hoss?”

    Hoss swiped at his wet face.  “I pushed her,” he admitted, “but she hit me first, Pa!”

    “Why did she hit you?” Ben pressed.  “Were you arguing?”

    “N—no,” Hoss quavered.  “She kept pokin’ me in the stomach and callin’ me a fat baby, so I pushed her back.”

    “I see,” Ben said gravely.  “Well, Jewel shouldn’t have behaved that way, son, but that doesn’t give you the right to respond in kind.  Boys mustn’t hit girls, Hoss.  Women——small ones, especially——are built more delicately than men——or boys——and they must be treated with respect, whether they deserve it or not.  And you must be extra careful because you’re such a big boy.  You could hurt someone without meaning to.”

    “But she killed him!” Hoss wailed.

    “Huh?” Adam asked, crawling onto the bed at Hoss’s other side.  “Killed who, baby?”

    “My doggy,” Hoss whimpered and buried his face in his father’s gray satin vest.

    Ben looked completely perplexed, but Adam began to search the room, and soon his sharp eyes spotted Hoss’s little calico dog, its head torn off, tossed under a table.  Adam hopped up and grabbed the little dog.  “Look what she did!” he yelled.  “No wonder Hoss pushed her.”

    “No,” Hoss admitted honestly.  “I pushed first, then she took my dog and——and—”  He buried his face again.

    Ben held the boy close for a moment.  “You see, Hoss, that’s just what I’ve been trying to tell you.”  He took the fabric dog from Adam’s hand.  “Jewel did this because she lost her temper, and if you don’t learn to control yours, you could hurt a real person just as badly.  You know, like when you play too rough with Adam sometimes?”

    “Tell me about it!” Adam grinned.  His tailbone had been bruised for a week after his last wrestling match with his brother, and that had been in fun.

    Ben frowned at his older son for distracting Hoss’s attention from the point he was trying to make.  “Do you understand, Hoss?  No pushing,” Ben said firmly.

    “I—I’m sorry, Pa,” Hoss said meekly.

    “And that’s just what you must tell Jewel tomorrow morning,” Ben dictated.  He stood and eased Hoss into a reclining position.  “Go to sleep now, Hoss.”  He looked at the damaged toy in his hand and continued, “And don’t worry about your dog.  I’m sure Aunt Nelly can mend him good as new.”

    “Sure,” Adam said, wrapping a comforting arm around his brother.  “Aunt Nelly can fix anything.”

    At last a feeble smile flickered across Hoss’s face.  Ben kissed both boys good night and took the injured dog with him to pack away in his carpetbag until they reached home again.

    “Adam,” Hoss whispered after his father had left.  “I—I still don’t like that girl.”

    “Me, either,” Adam replied loyally, as he undressed for bed, “or her fancy pants brother either, but we’d better keep that to ourselves.”

    “Yeah, to ourselves,” Hoss agreed.

    Adam pulled his nightshirt over his head, buttoned it snugly and crawled in beside Hoss.  The younger boy huddled close and Adam let him lay his tawny head against his shoulder.

    The atmosphere at breakfast the next morning was decidedly chilly.  Urged by her mother, Jewel accepted Hoss’s apology, but neither mother nor daughter regarded the youngster with warmth afterwards.  Ben ached for his little boy.  Hoss had always been such a loving child, and to see him slighted pained Ben’s heart.  He said nothing, however, for fear he’d say too much.  He couldn’t see destroying a friendship over a disagreement between two children and could only hope the Larrimores would feel as he did.  The look on Camilla’s face, however, didn’t bode well for that hope.

    When the meal ended, Lawrence asked if he could see Ben alone in his study.  Reluctantly, Ben followed his host into the book-lined room and sat in the leather armchair Lawrence indicated.  Lawrence sat in a matching chair nearby, nervously fingering the brass studs on the armrest.  “I’m supposed to be saying some firm words to you about your son’s behavior toward my daughter,” he said quietly.

    Ben shifted uncomfortably, though the chair was amply padded.  “Lawrence, I—”

    Larrimore raised his hand, palm toward Ben.  “There’s no need to defend your boy, Ben,” he said.  “He hasn’t told his version of the story——at your instruction, I’m sure——but without hearing it, I know whatever happened was instigated by Jewel.”

    Ben blew out a sigh of relief.  “Well, Hoss was at fault, too,” he conceded.  “He did push her——though not without some provocation.”

    “I’m certain of that!” Lawrence ejaculated.  “You don’t have to tell me how provoking that child can be.  Sometimes I despair of her——and Sterling, too, for that matter.”

    Ben sat forward, his face grave.  “Lawrence, far be it from me to criticize another father’s parenting.  Goodness knows, I make mistakes with my boys, but if you’re dissatisfied with your children’s behavior, isn’t it up to you to change it?”

    Lawrence sighed.  “Easier said than done, Ben.”  He looked earnestly into his old trailmate’s eyes.  “You don’t know what it’s like, Ben, to have disharmony in your home.  You and Inger always agreed on everything.”

    Ben smiled.  “Not everything,” he said quietly, “but the important things, yes.”

    “Well, Camilla and I are miles apart on everything,” Lawrence stated bluntly.  “Sometimes I think we’d have been better off if we’d never come west.  I thought I could make a better living here, and I have.  We’ve made money, but it only seems to make Camilla want things she’d never have been tempted with in St. Joseph.  She even talks of my running for political office.”

    “Is that what you want?” Ben asked quietly.

    “Good lands, no!” Lawrence protested.  “I’m a businessman, not a politician.  It’s the prestige of a title Camilla yearns for, but I don’t need that.”

    “Then, tell her,” Ben said.

    “I try,” Lawrence sighed, “but it’s like talking into the wind.”

    “Keep trying,” Ben urged as he stood.  He laid an encouraging hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “And keep trying with those youngsters, too,” he continued.  “Sterling’s almost a man, Lawrence.  If changes are going to be made, they should be made soon.”

    Lawrence nodded, though his face reflected no hope, and reached out to shake Ben’s hand.  “I’ll see you out,” he said.

    Ben smiled.  “Would it help if I looked duly chastened?”

    Lawrence chuckled.  “It might, but I’d rather keep things honest, at least between you and me.  Tell Hoss I’m sorry about the unpleasantness and that we’ll try to make his next visit a happier one.”

    “I will,” Ben promised.

    “And give my best to the Reverend Wentworth.”

    “That, too.”

    Ben loaded their carpetbags and got the boys settled into the carriage, then gave directions to the driver.

    “That’s not down by the wharf, is it, Pa?” Adam asked as Ben stepped inside the vehicle.

    “No, Adam, it’s not,” Ben said, sitting across from the two boys.  “I thought we’d stop by Ghirardelli’s first and pick up a box of chocolates for Mary.  I doubt she gets many treats.”

    “And deserves ‘em more than some who get more than their share,” Adam observed.

    “Hush,” Ben cautioned.  “Little pitchers—”

    “I know who you mean,” Hoss protested, “and I know who Adam means, too——that bad girl.”

    “Hoss—” Ben said, warning in his tone.

    “I don’t like her, Pa; I don’t like that Jewel at all,” Hoss sputtered.

    Adam slunk down in his seat.  Trust Hoss to blurt out what he’d promised to keep to himself.  Now, if he just wouldn’t implicate his big brother—

    “Well, let’s not talk about her,” Ben said, lifting Hoss’s chin with two fingers.  “Pa’s gonna take you to a place that’ll make you forget all about Jewel Larrimore.”

    Adam sat up straighter.  “Yeah, Hoss.  Mister Ghirardelli makes chocolates.  Candy, Hoss, a whole store of nothing but chocolate candy.”

    “Oh, boy!” Hoss cried and his characteristic smile returned.

    Ben sat back, relieved.  Never before had he heard Hoss express dislike for anyone.  The little lad had always been open and trusting of everyone he met, and Ben hated to see that innocence die.  A few chocolates wouldn’t really cure a brush with harsh reality, but an afternoon with the Wentworths might.  The minister and his family had little to share of material goods, but they had warm, loving hearts, and right now that was what Ben’s wounded little boy needed.

    The carriage pulled up outside Ghirardelli’s Confectionery and Ben jumped outside.  “We won’t be long,” he told the driver.  “Please wait.”  The carriage driver tipped his top hat in acknowledgment.

    Adam had helped Hoss out of the conveyance, and the younger boy was tugging on his brother’s hand, eager to go inside.  Ben laughed and gave Hoss’s free hand a happy swing.  All smiles, the three Cartwrights entered.

    “Ah, Signor,” the Italian behind the counter called.  “You have come again and brought another new customer, I see.”

    “This is my younger son, Hoss, Signor Ghirardelli,” Ben said.

    “Ah, a fine, big boy, he is,” Ghirardelli said, his face beaming, “and do you like chocolates, my leetle friend?”

    “Lots!” Hoss cried.

    “Yeah, well, lots is not what you’re gonna get,” Ben chuckled.  “Too many sweets aren’t good for you, son.”

    “That’s a true,” Ghirardelli agreed, “but it’s a long way to come for more, Signor.”

    Laughing, Ben agreed.  “I want a pound of assorted chocolates like you’ve made up for me before——for a very sweet little lady, and then a small bag for each of the boys here.”

    “Sure, sure,” the Italian agreed readily.  “What a kind you like, boys?”

    “I want all orange,” Adam said.

    “And how about a you?” Ghirardelli asked Hoss.

    Hoss’s nose was pressed up against the glass behind which all the tempting confections lay.  “Are they different?” he asked.

    “Sure, all different,” the confectioner said as he was putting Adam’s triangular chocolates with the creamy orange centers into a bag.  “Maybe I fix you up with a few each kind, eh?”

    “That’s what you should do, Hoss,” Adam advised.  “That way you can decide which kind is your favorite.”

    Hoss nodded eagerly and Ghirardelli went to work fixing up his bag of chocolates and filling a box for Mary Wentworth.

    Ten-year-old Mary was thrilled when the Cartwright boys presented her with the box of candy.  “Oh, how wonderful!” she said.  “I’ve never had such a treat.”

    “I got some, too,” Hoss informed her, “but not as many.”

    “Hoss,” Ben rebuked quickly.

    Fair-haired Mary laughed, a silvery sound.  “It’s all right.  I can’t imagine how long it’ll take me to eat so many.  Maybe Hoss would like a piece of mine.”

    “He would not,” Ben said firmly and Hoss’s face fell.

    “She’s nice,” Hoss announced, “not like that Jewel girl.”

    “Hoss,” Ben chided again, then shook his head, chuckling.  No need to keep up appearances with Ebenezer Wentworth.  They’d been through far too much together on the journey west to keep secrets.  “Hoss and Jewel had a disagreement last night,” he explained.  “Hoss is still upset because Jewel ripped his toy dog apart.”

    “Aunt Nelly fix when we get home,” Hoss declared, but his blue eyes were still clouded.

    Mary bent down to look into Hoss’s face.  “Maybe I could mend your doggy,” she offered.  “Would you like me to try?”

    “I’m sure Mary can do the job,” Ebenezer said, smiling at Hoss.  “She’s a fine little needlewoman.”  The proof of his statement was all around them, in the yellow gingham curtains at the roughly cut window and the cushions tied to the plain, unmatched chairs in the Wentworth’s makeshift sitting room.

    Hoss’s face lit up, as if sunny rays had split the clouds in his eyes.  “Unh-huh.  Try,” he said, fumbling at the clasp on his father’s carpetbag, which still sat in the floor.

    When Hoss had burrowed beneath his father’s shirts and stockings to pull out the beheaded dog, Mary took his hand.  “Let’s go back to my room, then, Hoss, and find a needle and thread.  You coming, Adam?”

    “Adam will be coming with me, Mary,” Ben said.  “Hoss, are you sure you want to stay here?”  Oh, how he hoped the boy would say yes!  A squirming almost-five-year-old was the last thing Ben wanted to take to Clarence Williams’ office, but after his experience last night Hoss might not be trusting enough to stay with strangers.

    “I wanna stay,” Hoss said.  “Let’s fix my dog, Mary, and go look at the big boats.”

    “All right, that’s just what we’ll do,” Mary agreed as she led Hoss toward her room.  “And you mustn’t think too harshly of Jewel, Hoss; she’s been very good to me.  Did you know she gave me this dress of hers after she outgrew it?”

    Hoss shook his head, not believing that Jewel Larrimore could ever have worn anything that small.

    “Now this alcove at the front is where I’ll do the book work,” Ben said, pointing to the finished plans spread out on the table around which the Reverend Wentworth and his two sons, along with Ben and Adam, were grouped.

    “It’s a fine house, Ben,” Ebenezer said admiringly.  “You must be very proud.”

    Ben ran affectionate fingers through Adam’s dark hair.  “If you mean proud of my boy, I certainly am.  The ideas were mostly his.”

    “And fine ideas they were,” Wentworth’s older son, eighteen-year-old Matthew said with a kind smile toward Adam.

    Adam couldn’t respond.  He was still glowing with the warm praise Clarence Williams had heaped on his head, and to receive more from the young man he’d admired so much on their trip west was overwhelming, like icing on a cake already too sweet.

    The door cut in the side of the old sailing vessel in which the Wentworths lived opened.  “Pa!” Hoss yelled, running to his father.  “I saw the ocean and big, big boats.”

    “Well, that’s fine, son,” Ben said, then noticed with alarm how bedraggled Hoss’s pretty companion looked as she shut the door.

    “Mary, you shouldn’t have gone out with the wind so chilly,” her seventeen-year-old brother Mark admonished.

    “Oh, Mark, don’t scold,” Mary pleaded.  “Hoss wanted to go, and it wasn’t that cool.”  Her sudden cough gave more credence to Mark’s words than her own.

    “I’d have taken him when I got home,” Mark said.

    “Mary, love, go lie down a bit,” her father urged, his dark eyes clouded with concern.  “You’re tired.”

    “It’s time to start supper,” Mary protested.

    Ben laid a gentle hand on her frail arm.  “You’ll not be cooking tonight, my dear.  I’m taking you all to dinner.”

    “Oh, Ben, no,” Ebenezer protested.  “That’s too costly.  There’s four of us.”

    “I’ve done very well with my ranch, Ebenezer.  I may not have the kind of wealth the Larrimores do, but I’ve more than enough for our needs,” Ben said.  “Let me share with you what God has blessed me with.  It would give me pleasure.”

    “Oh, Papa, a real restaurant,” Mary murmured, her blue eyes shining.  “I—I would so like that, and I am tired.”

    Mary was the one person who could possibly have swayed the Reverend Wentworth, for the softest spot in his heart was reserved for his delicate daughter.  “Well, if Mary would enjoy it, I suppose I oughtn’t say no,” he said, smiling fondly at her, “but she must rest awhile before we go.”

    “I will, Papa,” Mary promised, lightly kissing his cheek before heading down the hall to her room.  Like a faithful pup, Hoss trotted after his new friend.

    “Have you had a doctor examine Mary recently?” Ben asked anxiously.

    “Last month,” Wentworth said.  “She’s not ill, Ben, just not strong, so we tend to be protective.”

    “She needs a warmer home, Ebenezer,” Ben stated flatly.  “She’s done wonders in turning this old hulk into one, but it’s drafty and hard to heat, I should imagine.”

    “I tell father that constantly,” Matthew muttered.

    “It’s the best we can afford,” Wentworth said, laying a silencing hand on his older son’s shoulder.  “My congregation is small, at least the portion of them which pay their tithes.”

    “They pay them on the Barbary Coast,” Mark spat out bitterly.

    Ebenezer sighed.  “I’m afraid that’s more true than not.  Are you familiar with the area, Ben?”

    Ben nodded.  “Slightly.  I don’t go there myself.”

    “Thank God!” Ebenezer exclaimed.  “That twelve-block section is the most depraved place I’ve ever seen:  nothing but cheap groggeries and bawdy houses, where girls sell their souls for the price of a drink.”

    “And Cheap John stores, don’t forget them,” Mark snapped.  “We’d all be naked but for those and the Larrimores’ charitable castoffs.”

    “Cheap Johns sell used clothing, Mr. Cartwright,” Matthew explained.

    “Probably stolen from shanghaied sailors,” Mark groused, “but we aren’t too proud to wear them, are we, father?”

    “Boys, this is no way to behave before a guest,” Ebenezer chided.

    “I’m not a guest,” Ben said quickly.  “I’m your friend, practically a member of your family.  Why haven’t you told me how hard things were?”

    Ebenezer brushed against Ben’s shoulder as he passed him and sat down in one of the rickety chairs.  “The Lord provides,” he whispered.

    Ben flushed.  He believed in that principle, of course, but he also believed that God generally provided through people.  “Ebenezer,” he said softly.  “Like others in your congregation, I’ve been remiss in paying my tithes——for years now.”

    Wentworth smiled.  “You’re not part of my congregation, Ben.”

    “Then, whose?” Ben pressed, taking a seat near the other man.  “You’re the only minister I’ve had since I left St. Joe.  There’s certainly none in Carson County, unless you count Mormons.  Why shouldn’t I express my gratitude to God for all He’s given me by supporting your work here?”

    Ebenezer sat forward, tears in his eyes.  “Bless you, Ben.  How can I refuse?”

    “Just see you spend it on Mary and not on drunken sailors or whores from Pacific Street,” Mark said harshly.

    “Mark!” his father protested, but Mark merely folded his arms and stared his father down, obviously unrepentant.

    Ben’s eyes narrowed.  He’d never heard one of Ebenezer’s boys speak so disrespectfully to his father.  Too much hardship, endured too long, perhaps——that and a brother’s honest concern for the welfare of his little sister.  Well, Ben would do his best to relieve the hardship and lessen the concern, starting tonight.  “Look, you’re going to have to tell me where we should eat,” Ben suggested.  “I don’t get here often enough to know the best places.  We ate at Delmonico’s last night, and it was good, but a little on the grand side.  We can go there, of course, if that’s what you’d like, but I’d be content with simpler fare.”

    “There’s the Irving Restaurant, not far from here,” Matthew suggested.  “Not a door the Larrimores would darken, of course, but it would suit us, I’m sure.”

    “The Irving it is, then,” Ben said brightly.  “We’ll leave as soon as Mary’s sufficiently rested.”  He stood and began to roll up the plans for his new home.  Tapping them, he turned to Ebenezer.  “When this is built, I want you all to come for a nice, long visit,” he said.  “We’ll have plenty of room.”

    “Ben, I couldn’t,” Wentworth said.  “It’s a kind offer, but I couldn’t leave my work here.  The needs are too great.”

    Ben sighed, but he knew the minister too well to argue against what the man saw as his duty.  “Mary, at least,” he said softly.  “That’s why we’re building those extra rooms, for people like her.”

    “Ben,” Ebenezer said, standing to hold his friend by both arms.  “Ben, that isn’t possible.”

    “But, Ebenezer, think how good it would be for her,” Ben urged.  “A few months in our cool, dry air would strengthen her; I know it would.”

    Wentworth sighed.  “I don’t doubt that, but it would ruin her reputation, my friend.”

    Ben blanched.  “Surely, you don’t think I’d—”

    The minister’s bony fingers gripped Ben’s arms tightly.  “No, of course not!” he said firmly.  “But that isn’t the point.  The Scripture teaches us to avoid the very appearance of evil, and you must consider how it would appear.  I can’t send my girl to live with an unmarried man, Ben; you know I can’t.”

    Ben’s face dropped.  “I—I didn’t think of that,” he whispered hoarsely.  “Forgive me, Ebenezer.”

    “For what?” Ebenezer smiled.  “For having a generous heart, a heart so free of guile it didn’t stop to think how less honorable hearts might construe his kind offer?  No, Ben, don’t be ashamed of that, and don’t worry about what you’re unable to give.  What you can do is quite sufficient and all God expects of anyone.  Now, shall we see if Mary’s ready to go to dinner?”

    Ben blinked back the moisture in his velvety brown eyes and nodded.

    The horse pulling the hired buggy clopped along at an easy pace.  “We’re close now, aren’t we, Pa?” Adam asked.

    “About a mile,” Ben replied, then smiled.  “You tired of traveling, Adam?”

    “Kind of,” Adam admitted.  “We’ve been a lot of places this trip.”

    “That we have,” Ben agreed.  And now, at last, they were approaching the destination that was the main reason for this summertime journey.  He’d wanted to pick up the plans for the house, of course, and introduce Hoss to all his old friends, but the real purpose of this trip to California had been to purchase a horse for Hoss’s birthday.

    The boy would turn five tomorrow, and though that was far younger than Adam had been when he received his first mount, Hoss’s size made the acquisition of an animal almost imperative.  He’d been riding double behind his father or brother, but now his added weight had become a disservice, if not outright cruelty, to any horse.  And to whom else but Jonathan Payne would Ben turn to find the right animal for his son’s first mount.  He’d written ahead of their arrival and was sure Jonathan would have the perfect horse already selected.

    Ben had tested Hoss out at home and decided he was ready for a horse of his own.  Though young, the boy was careful around the ranch stock.  He’d happily groomed his father’s bay under Ben’s direction and was thrilled when Ben rewarded him by helping him into the saddle and letting him walk the big animal around the yard.  Still, Hoss had no suspicion of the birthday present Ben had planned for him.  In fact, he hadn’t mentioned his birthday once since they’d left home.  Ben suspected the boy had lost all track of the date.  He still had little notion of the passing of time.

    The buggy rounded a curve and the Payne hacienda came into view.  “There!” Adam cried, pointing ahead.  “That’s where we’re going, Hoss, Rancho Hermosa.”

    “Good,” Hoss said.  “We gonna eat soon?”

    “Don’t you ask,” Ben cautioned.  “It’s the middle of the afternoon, boy.  Think of something besides your belly for a change.”

    “Okay,” Hoss agreed grumpily.  What difference did it make what time it was if a fellow was hungry?  His face perked up again, however, when he saw the three children playing tag in the yard as his father reined up before the house.  “Look, Pa, kids!” he cried.

    “Some your age for a change, eh?” Ben laughed.  “Well, clamber down, son, and I’ll introduce you.”

    Hoss “clambered down” more quickly than Ben had ever seen him move before and trotted over to the youngsters who stopped their play to examine the newcomer.  “Hi,” Hoss called, running to them.

    “Uncle Ben!” the little girl squealed and came running.

    Ben tossed her high and gave her a quick squeeze.  “Hello, Susan,” he said, then setting her down, “I want you to meet my son Hoss.”

    Susan, though slightly older than Hoss, had to look up into his face.  “Hi, Hoss,” she said.  “Mama said you’d be coming, and I’m real glad.  We’re gonna have a party for you——with cake and even ice cream!”

    “Cake!” Hoss shouted.  “Oh, boy!”  Then his face screwed up in thought.  “What’s ice cream?” he asked.

    Ben laughed.  “Oh, you’ll like it.”  He started to stoop down to greet three-year-old Samuel Payne, but just as his knees bent, he heard a rush of footsteps running across the porch.

    “Oh, Ben!” Rachel Payne cried, throwing her arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek.  She spun around and gasped as she caught sight of the sandy-haired boy standing by Susan.  “Oh, this can’t be Hoss,” she murmured, folding him in her arms.  “Oh, Ben, he’s so—so tall.”

    “For five, you mean?” Ben said.  “Yes, you’re quite a big boy, aren’t you, Hoss?”

    Hoss nodded, tilting his head to gaze quizzically at the dark-haired lady.  Ben read the question correctly and answered it.  “This is Mrs. Payne, Hoss, your mother’s dearest friend.”

    Hoss smiled then.  That made the lady seem very special.

    “Mama, may Hoss come play with us?” Susan asked.

    “Ben?” Rachel queried.

    “Sure,” Ben said, then touched Hoss’s shoulder.  “Remember to play gentle, boy; they’re smaller than you.”

    Hoss grinned and walked away with Susan, Samuel and the little Mexican girl they’d been playing with.  Adam hadn’t been invited, but he tagged along after the younger children, figuring that would be more fun than listening to his father and Mrs. Payne talk over how all their friends were doing.  That conversation had been repeated at every stop they’d made the last couple of weeks, and Adam didn’t care to hear it again.

    “Come in, Ben,” Rachel said, taking his arm.  “Would you like some coffee, or maybe lemonade?”

    “Lemonade sounds refreshing,” Ben suggested.  “It’s been a dusty drive.”

    Rachel smiled.  “I just knew you’d come today.  Jonathan wasn’t sure, but—”

    “Nor was I,” Ben chuckled as they entered the hacienda, “but I’m glad it worked out as planned.  I really wanted to give Hoss his birthday present on the right day.”

    “Well, Jon had just the horse picked out,” Rachel said, sitting on the sofa, “but I have a feeling he’ll have to pick another.  You wrote that Hoss was big for his age, but we took it for a proud father’s bragging.  You weren’t exaggerating, though!”

    “Oh, no,” Ben laughed as he sat beside Rachel.  “Now, what’s this I hear about a party?”

    Rachel flushed.  “Oh, I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve asked a few of my children’s friends to a luncheon tomorrow in Hoss’s honor.”

    “How could I mind such a thoughtful gesture?” Ben said.  “Hoss will be thrilled, especially by that ice cream.”
 
 

Ben sat casually in his saddle and gazed across the range where the men were finishing the fall roundup by branding the new calves and those that had evaded the spring cow gather.  He was smiling, happy on this, his thirty-fifth birthday.  Though there’d be no cake and ice cream for him, as there had been for Hoss’s special day, Ben was content.  He didn’t need the trappings of a celebration to tell him how much he had to celebrate.  The ranch continued to show a profit; in fact, as Ben had indicated to the Reverend Wentworth, he had far more than enough to meet basic needs——both for him and his boys.

    Ah, those boys! They were the pride of his life.  Ben smiled even more broadly as he saw Hoss walking his gray mare in the wake of Adam’s sorrel one.  The younger boy still didn’t sit a steady saddle, so he was required to stick close to either his brother or his father when he rode.  He obeyed that restriction flawlessly, however, so Ben didn’t worry about him even when he was out of sight.  Hoss was doing his share of chores around the place now, too.  To be honest, more than his share, for the boy’s physical strength enabled him to carry out tasks that Adam could only have dreamed of doing when he was five.

    Hoss loved animals and gladly did any chore concerned with their care.  In fact, the only problem Ben had had with Hoss lately had developed when they’d started branding the day before.  Fearful the little animals were being hurt, Hoss had wept openly, but finally seemed to accept his father’s word that burning the calves’ hide with a searing iron was essential.  Seeing the gangly-legged creatures get up and run off afterwards as if nothing had happened seemed to convince Hoss that all was well, and he definitely liked the look of the brand Ben had chosen, a stick figure portraying a pine tree.

    Then, Adam.  What a fine hand that older boy was turning out to be!  Adam didn’t have Hoss’s affinity for animals, but he possessed a firm devotion to duty and always seemed to be looking for new ways to help out.  He was picking up the skills of a real cattleman from the men, too.  Ben laughed joyously as he saw Adam expertly cut a calf from those milling about and drive it to the branding area.  Better than I could have done, Ben admitted.  But then Adam had gotten an earlier start.  Yes, both boys had a fine future ahead of them on this ranch Ben was building and that was fitting:  he was building it for them.

    Building.  Yes, there’d be a lot of building going on this year and next.  As soon as roundup was finished, Ben hoped to begin logging trees and squaring timbers for the new house.  That would take some time, so he didn’t plan the actual raising of the house until next spring.  By that time, though, he hoped to have all the preparations made, so by this time next year, he and the boys should be well settled into their new home.

    Ben jerked himself out of his reverie.  Birthday or no birthday, there was work to do, and he’d best get back to doing his share.  He touched the bay gelding’s flank with his heels and trotted across the range.

    Later that evening Ben met with his foreman Jean D’Marigny to assess the final tally of calves branded.  “More than I expected,” Ben said.  “We’ve had a good year.”

    “Oui, un bon an,” Jean replied.

    Ben smiled.  “You must miss having someone around who understands your language, Jean.”

    Jean shrugged.  “One becomes accustomed to what one must, monsieur.”

    Ben’s smile faded.  “A sad philosophy, Jean.”

    Jean spread his hands in a noncommittal gesture.  “It is a sad world, monsieur.  We can but make the best of it.”

    Ben’s brows knit together.  “You—you said once you had a wife, Jean.  I’m sure you must miss her greatly.”  A sudden thought made Ben brighten.  “It just occurred to me, Jean, that by this time next year I’ll have no need for my cabin.  Perhaps you’d like to bring your wife out and—”

    “No,” Jean said abruptly.  “That one will never share my bed again!”

    “I—I’m sorry,” Ben stammered.  “I didn’t mean to pry.  I just assumed—”

    Jean shrugged.  “A natural assumption, monsieur; think nothing of it.  It was a kind thought, but as much as I love my wife, never again can I exchange with her a kiss, an embrace.”  The Frenchman’s voice broke slightly, but he recovered quickly and flashed Ben the smile that his employer now suspected he used to cover a heart filled with pain.

    “But if you love her,” Ben began, then stopped himself.  It was really none of his business.

    Jean, however, seemed to think his employer had a right to an explanation, or perhaps, Ben later thought, the Frenchman really needed to unburden himself.  Whatever his motive, Jean said passionately, “I love Marie as I love my heart and my soul, but I cannot hold in my arms a woman who was unfaithful.”

    “Are you certain she was?” Ben asked sympathetically.

    “I myself found her in the arms of another——in the bed where we had shared only a month together as man and wife,” Jean declared.  “She protested her innocence, of course, but it was impossible to misread the evidence of my own eyes.”

    “Yes,” Ben conceded, feeling the other man’s grief over his wife’s behavior.  “I am sorry, Jean.  That’s why you left New Orleans, I suppose?”

    “Oui, and why I can never return,” the foreman said, a trace of sadness touching his words.  “Every sight, every smell is a reminder of Marie and of the amour we shared, though for so short a time.  She betrayed that love, then lied to cover her sin.  I can never forgive that, monsieur.”

    Ben lightly touched the Frenchman’s shoulder.  “‘Never’ is a long time, Jean,” he said.  “I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but I have learned that harboring unforgiveness only poisons your own heart.”

    Jean pulled away.  “As you say, monsieur, you cannot know how I feel.”  D’Marigny, evidently fearing he’d already too openly revealed his emotions, excused himself quickly.

    Ben went inside the cabin and looked at the pictures on the mantel.  How blessed he had been to find two such worthy women to share his love.  He lifted both frames and held them close to his heart, glad no one was there to see the foolish gesture, although it was meaningful to him.  Like Jean, he would never again know the embrace of a woman, for no one, he was sure, could fill the shoes of Elizabeth or Inger.  Though clutching their likenesses made him doubly aware of that, it made him feel closer to them, too.  Ben knew something that would work even better, though, so he set the pictures back in place and headed for the barn, where Adam and Hoss were doing chores.  The boys were living legacies of their mothers’ love, and with them in his arms, Ben knew the aching loneliness couldn’t touch him.  The boys were everything to him, and that’s what he wanted for them——everything.

    “Hey, Ben!” Clyde shouted.

    Ben raised a hand in salutation and waited for the older man to reach him.

    Clyde swung down from his mount.  “You goin’ in or comin’ out?” he asked, jerking his head toward the building behind Ben.

    Ben chuckled.  “Coming out, Clyde.”

    “Done made your choices, have you?”

    “Yup, too late to campaign for your favorite candidates,” Ben smiled.

    Clyde scowled.  “You know my favorite candidates,” he said gruffly.  “Every gentile on the ticket, few though they be.”

    “That’s the truth!” Ben laughed, shaking his head.  It really wasn’t a laughing matter.  Virtually every office for which the new judge Orson Hyde had called this September 20th election offered a slate of only Mormon candidates.  Worse than that, in Ben’s opinion, was the fact that many of them were new to the county, and Ben hadn’t gotten to know them as well as he would have liked to before marking his ballot.  “Never felt less prepared for an election in my life,” he remarked to Clyde.

    Clyde snorted.  “Don’t see as how it makes much difference how we vote; we’re plumb outnumbered.  Well, gotta go through the motions, I reckon.  Stick around while I do this fool thing, and we can ride back to my place together.  Nelly’ll have my hide if I don’t ask you to lunch.”

    “Can’t have that!” Ben said gravely.  “Your ornery hide wouldn’t even make decent shoe leather, so I’d better wait.”

    Clyde aimed a stream of tobacco juice just short of Ben’s boots and walked inside to do his civic duty.

    Ben didn’t learn the election results until the following Sunday when he and the boys arrived for dinner at the Thomas’s.  The Mormons hadn’t scored quite the unvarnished victory Clyde had feared, but they had elected their own candidates to every office except that of prosecuting attorney.  Clyde’s was not the only voice raised in protest.  Elsewhere in the county, discontent with Mormon domination became increasingly vocal; many opened declared that they would prefer to align themselves with California.  In response to the outcry, Orson Hyde requested California governor John Bigler to conduct a survey to determine whether Carson County lay within the borders of that state.  To no one’s surprise, the survey concluded that the residents of Carson Valley were completely within the jurisdiction of the Territory of Utah.

    Though Ben had tried to support the Mormon government, as being the only one they had, he found it hard to defend the actions of the special term of court which met in John Reese’s home October 27th.  At Sunday dinner the next day Clyde was fuming about the “connivin’ Mormons” granting themselves “the sole and exclusive” right to dig ditches to channel the waters of the Carson River near Gold Canyon.  Ben had to agree; the ruling seemed biased, for one of the men granted the privilege was none other than Judge Hyde himself.  Other prominent men involved included John Reese and his nephew Stephen A. Kinsey, editor of the Scorpion.  “Got half a mind never to buy a copy of Kinsey’s rag again!” Clyde stormed.

    Ben smiled.  Small chance of that.  The Scorpion probably did slant its stories to a pro-Mormon viewpoint, but it also provided practically the only news available in this remote region.  Not likely Clyde would be willing to give that up.

    Reese brought in fifty Chinese laborers to dig his ditches, which gave Clyde something else to complain about.  “We’re drownin’ in heathens,” he growled.

    Ben kept his opinion to himself, but he personally admired the Orientals.  They were hard workers, who mostly kept to themselves and caused problems for no one.  Besides, Ben thought they added a little exotic flavor to the community with their loose blue cotton tunics and pants, and their peaked straw hats.  More and more of them, however, were exchanging their Chinese garments for the red flannel shirts and denim britches of the local miners.  Reese complained that too many were deserting the work for which he’d imported them to prospect in the mines, but that was his problem.  Ben didn’t feel inclined to criticize a man for wanting to better himself, although he didn’t personally think mining was the surest road to prosperity.

    Despite his diminishing work force, Reese completed his water project and began to compel other settlers to pay for the use of the water which had previously been free to all.  Neither the Cartwrights nor the Thomases were personally affected, however; both lived too far from Reese’s canal to be serviced by it.  The Mormon leader, nonetheless, fell a rung or two on the ladder of Ben’s respect.

    Just before entering the building Ben laid a firm hand on Adam’s shoulder.  “I want you to remember, son, that however much this place looks like a barn, it is, in actuality, a court of law.” he admonished.  “You’re here to listen and learn how our government works, not to call attention to yourself in any way.”

    “I’m not a baby, Pa,” Adam protested.  “I know how to act.”  I sure should , he grumbled to himself, after all the lectures I had to listen to before you’d let me come.

    “See that you do, then,” Ben said and went inside the stable.  He and Adam climbed a ladder into the loft, the only place in town large enough to hold court sessions.  When Clyde Thomas signaled him, Ben angled to the left for the seats his friend had saved, giving the one on the aisle to Adam so he could see around the taller heads of the men in the room.  Adam was the only youth there.  Clyde had offered to let Billy come, but despite the fact that attending the first criminal trial in the newly organized Carson County meant a day’s reprieve from school, Billy had chosen to remain at his desk.

    So he wouldn’t miss a chance to ogle Sally Martin, Adam suspected.  He felt proud that no girl could turn him into that kind of fool and glad that work at the ranch was slack enough on this second day of November to permit his father to bring him here.  Adam was certain the experience would be educational——and downright interesting to boot.

    “That’s Charles Daggett,” Ben said, pointing to the bearded man in the black suit who was seated to their right behind a table at the front of the room.  “He’s the new prosecuting attorney.”

    Adam nodded.  “And the other man?”

    “Don’t know his name,” Ben admitted, “but he’s the defendant’s lawyer.”

    “Who talks first?” Adam asked.

    “Mr. Daggett, son.”  As he saw Orson Hyde enter the courtroom, Ben laid a finger across his lips to silence any further questions.

    After the preliminaries Charles Daggett called his first witness, A. J. Wyckoff.  “Mr. Wyckoff, please describe in your own words the incident that occurred between you and Mr. Thacker at your store on the morning of October 29th,” Daggett said.

    “Thacker come in my store for supplies,” Wyckoff said, “and had ‘em mostly together when Mrs. Jacob Rose come in.  Naturally, I went to wait on her.  Thacker didn’t like the idea of waitin’ his turn and got right rilesome.  When I tried to service the lady instead, he started threatening both me and Mrs. Rose.”

    “What was the nature of those threats?” Daggett asked.

    “Said he’d burn my store down around my ears——with me in it,” Wyckoff snarled.  “Mrs. Rose spoke up and said she’d tell the authorities if he did what he said.  That’s when he said he’d set her place ablaze, too, and cut her heart out and roast it on the coals if she opened her mouth.”  A roar of outrage greeted his words.  Women were highly revered in Carson County, and no threat to one was taken lightly.

    Judge Hyde banged his gavel.  “Silence!” he ordered.  The observers quieted down.

    “And did you and Thacker become embroiled in an altercation at that point?” the prosecutor pressed.

    “Huh?  Well, we had a fight, if that’s what you mean.”

    “That’s what I mean,” Daggett stated.

    “Yeah, I slugged the nigger, sure,” Wyckoff declared proudly.  “Wadn’t gonna stand for no ugly black buck insultin’ a white woman.”

    “Objection, your honor!” shouted the defense attorney.  “The witness should be admonished against the use of such defamatory language as ‘ugly black buck.’”

    “Well, that’s what he is, ain’t he?” Wyckoff demanded, glaring at the defendant’s attorney.  Murmurs of agreement rippled through one section of the room.

    Hyde slammed the gavel.  “Mr. Wyckoff,” he ordered.  “You are out of order in responding to counsel.  That is my job, sir, and the objection is sustained.  There’ll be no gratuitous name-calling in my court.”

    “Good,” Ben whispered.  “No need for that.”  Adam cut his father a reproachful look.  Honestly! after all Pa’s admonitions about keeping quiet in court, he was the one breaking the rules!

    “To continue,” Mr. Daggett said, “what was the outcome of this altercation?”

    “Two other men come in about then and between the three of us, we wrestled that black—” Wyckoff looked sharply at the judge and amended his original phrasing——“man——outside and sent for the law.”

    “Thacker was then taken into custody and held until his trial today, is that correct?” the prosecutor asked.

    “Yeah, that’s right,” Wyckoff said.

    “Your witness,” Daggett said and sat down.

    The defense counsel was a considerably younger man than the prosecutor.  The beardless young Mormon stood and approached the witness.  “Mr. Wyckoff,” he began, “is it not true that Mr. Thacker had already gathered his supplies and was ready for you to tally the total when Mrs. Rose entered?”

    Wyckoff shifted uneasily.  “Couldn’t be sure of that.”

    “But did he appear to have finished his selections?” the attorney pressed.

    “Yeah, it looked that way,” Wyckoff admitted.

    “Then, why didn’t you simply tell him how much he owed, let him pay and leave?” the lawyer asked, his head cocked to one side.  “After all, the lady had just arrived.  No doubt she wanted to look around awhile before making her choices.”

    “Objection,” the prosecutor stated, looking up from the notes he was jotting on a sheet of paper.  “Counsel is calling for a conclusion from this witness, asking him to read the mind of a woman.  I submit no man is qualified to do that.”

    Laughter met his jibe.  “You can say that again, mister!” a miner called out.  Daggett turned to grin at the man while Hyde again called the courtroom to order and sustained the objection.

    “Without attempting to read the lady’s mind, then,” the defense attorney asked, “why did you leave a customer ready to pay to inquire into her needs?”

    “‘Cause she was a lady,” Wyckoff sputtered.  “No lady oughta have to wait on a—a”  He broke off, uncertain what to call the defendant without drawing down the wrath of Judge Hyde.

    “An ugly black buck?” the Mormon lawyer suggested.

    “Objection, your honor!” Daggett cried, jumping to his feet.  “Counsel is violating the ruling he himself elicited.”

    “Goes to the bias of the witness, your honor,” the other attorney stated.

    Hyde nodded.  “I’ll allow it.”  Looking at the prosecutor, he frowned.  “Take your seat, Mr. Daggett; your objection is overruled.  The witness will answer the question.”

    “For the sake of clarity, let me rephrase my inquiry,” the defense counsel continued.  “Are you stating that your sole reason for refusing Mr. Thacker service was the color of his skin?”

    “I didn’t refuse him,” Wyckoff said.  “I told him to wait.  The lady deserved that respect.”

    “Because she’s white?”

    “Yeah, because she’s white,” Wyckoff snapped.

    “And you can’t understand how a man might take offense at such arbitrary treatment?” Thacker’s lawyer quizzed, sarcasm in his tone.

    “His kind should know their place,” Wyckoff declared.

    “His kind being black men?”

    “His kind bein’ niggers, yeah,” Wyckoff snarled, daring the judge to make him alter his words.  No objection was lodged this time.  The defense attorney turned from the witness with a look of contempt and announced, “I have no further questions.”

    The next two witnesses, the men who had come to Wyckoff’s assistance, were dispatched quickly.  The prosecutor drew from them a straightforward description of their actions, and the opposing attorney scored a point when he compelled the men to admit that they had not actually seen who instigated the scuffle they broke up.  They were followed to the stand by Mrs. Jacob Rose, a middle-aged woman dressed in the conservative style favored by Mormon women.

    “Mrs. Rose, did you have a conversation with the defendant on the morning of October 29th?” Mr. Daggett began.

    “I did,” Mrs. Rose replied.

    “Will you relate that conversation for us, please?”

    “I overheard Mr. Thacker threaten to burn down Mr. Wyckoff’s store,” Mrs. Rose stated, “and immediately told him that should he do so, I would inform the authorities and see to his arrest.  He told me to mind my own business or he would seek out where I lived and burn my home to the ground, as well.”

    “Were those his precise words?” Daggett asked.

    Mrs. Rose blushed furiously.  “Sir, I cannot repeat Mr. Thacker’s exact words,” she pleaded.   “As a saint, I believe such language to be inappropriate.  I have given you his meaning as I understood it.”

    “Far be it from me to compel a lady to repeat the strong language used between men during an altercation,” the lawyer said smoothly.  “However, I must ask whether you can verify that Thacker told you he would cut out your heart and roast it over the hot coals of your home.”

    Mrs. Rose nervously twisted the handkerchief in her hands.  “Yes, he said precisely that.”

    “And did you fear for your life?”

    “I did, sir; oh, I assure you, I did,” Mrs. Rose murmured, her lips trembling.

    “I have no further questions, madam,” the prosecutor said.

    The defense attorney rose slowly from his seat.  “Do you need a moment to compose yourself, Mrs. Rose?” he asked with deliberate gentleness before approaching her.

    Mrs. Rose shook her head and settled back in the witness chair.  “No, I’m perfectly able to continue.”

    The lawyer smiled graciously.  “I have only a few questions.  Were you able to hear any of the argument that preceded these alleged threats?”

    “Not at first,” Mrs. Rose admitted.  “As their argument became more heated, their voices rose.  I heard Mr. Thacker’s threat clearly.”

    “Did you, for instance, hear Mr. Wyckoff call Mr. Thacker a dirty nigger and order him to remember his place?” the attorney queried.

    “I don’t recall those exact words,” Mrs. Rose said, “but they’re similar to what I did hear.”

    “And do you believe such language appropriate, to use your own word, when referring to those of Negro descent?” Thacker’s counsel asked pointedly.

    “No, certainly not,” Mrs. Rose replied, sitting with her spine rigid against the back of the chair.  “I believe all men are created in the image of God.”

    “Then, why, madam, did you insinuate yourself into the conversation when all Mr. Thacker was doing was defending his personhood?”

    “I did not,” Mrs. Rose said, her chin rising haughtily.  “I ‘insinuated’ myself, as you call it, only when violence was threatened.  I believe my actions were proper.”

    The defendant’s lawyer realized he might have overstepped the line of safe cross-examination with the Mormon lady.  “Indeed, madam,” he said quickly.  “I meant no disparagement of your behavior or disrespect to your person; I sought only to remind the court that my client also is a person meriting respect.  Thank you for your testimony, Mrs. Rose.”

    “The people rest, your honor,” Mr. Daggett announced.

    Thacker’s attorney stood.  “Your honor, we have heard from all the witnesses to this incident except one.  I call Mr. Thacker to the stand.”

    As Thacker stood, Ben could easily see why diminutive Mrs. Rose had felt so intimidated.  The burly black miner could have broken her slender neck with one squeeze of his mighty hands.  Thacker lumbered to the front, swore to tell the truth, then sat in the designated chair.

    “Mr. Thacker, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your background,” his counsel began.  “Are you a free citizen of the United States?”

    “Yassuh, I is,” Thacker answered.

    “But that wasn’t always the case.”

    “No, suh, I done been born a slave.  Been a slave ‘most all my life.”

    “Until when?”

    “‘Til my massa brought me to Californy in de gold rush.  When it become a state, weren’t no slav’ry ‘lowed, so I up and left him.”

    “Would you say your master treated you with respect and dignity, Mr. Thacker?” the lawyer asked, his voice dripping with implied empathy.

    “Your honor, I object,” the prosecutor said wearily.  “What does this recitation of the defendant’s past have to do with the crime for which he stands accused?”  Ben nodded.  He’d been wondering that himself.

    “It relates directly to the motive behind his actions, your honor,” the other attorney argued.

    Hyde thought for a moment.  “I’ll overrule the objection, for now.  I would advise counsel to make his point quickly, however.”

    “Thank you, your honor,” the defense counsel replied briskly.  “I’ll be brief.  Mr. Thacker, what kind of treatment have you come to expect from white men such as Mr. Wyckoff?”

    “Ain’t knowed hardly none white mens ever treat me like I’s worth scratch,” the black man alleged bitterly.

    “And you feel such treatment is unfair?”

    “Yassuh; I’s a man, same as white folk.”

    “Mr. Thacker, you don’t deny being in Mr. Wyckoff’s store or having an argument with him, do you?” the lawyer asked.

    “No, suh, and dey done tole de truf ‘bout what I said,” Thacker admitted.  Ben’s eyes widened; the man had just admitted his own guilt.

    “You did threaten to burn both Mr. Wyckoff’s store and Mrs. Rose’s home?” the lawyer continued.

    “Yassuh.  I ain’t proud on it, but I said dem tings,” the black man replied.

    “Why, Mr. Thacker?” his counsel pressed.  “Why did you say those threatening words?”

    “I said ‘em in anger, suh.  I’d heared words like Mr. Wyckoff were usin’ all my life, and it were just too much all on a sudden,” Thacker explained.

    “And the vivid language you used to Mrs. Rose,” the attorney said.  “What made you choose such gruesome words, Mr. Thacker?”

    Thacker looked sorrowfully across the courtroom to where Mrs. Rose sat.  “Din zactly choose ‘em, suh.  Dat what ole massa used to say to me when I don’ hop to de way him tink I ought.  I do ‘pologize to de lady, but I was so mad I wanna lash out, kinda de way my back been lashed to ribbons by ole massa.  Only ting, I use words, not a whip.”

     “You fought back with words, not a weapon.”  The attorney leaned close to his client.  “And would it ever have gone beyond words, Mr. Thacker?”

    “Don’ tink so, suh,” the defendant said earnestly.  “After I simmer down, I’s sorry I say dem words.”

    “You wouldn’t actually have harmed either Mr. Wyckoff or Mrs. Rose?”

    “No, suh, don’ tink so.”

    “In fact, you did them no harm, did you, Mr. Thacker?”

    “No, suh.”

    “Your witness,” the attorney informed the prosecutor.

    Daggett leaped immediately to his feet, his attitude belligerent.  “You admit you made the alleged threats, right?” he asked sharply.

    “Yassuh,” the defendant replied.

    “You expect us to believe that you wouldn’t have carried them out, but we have nothing but your word for that, do we, Thacker?”

    “Reckon not, suh, but I’s tellin’ de truf.

    “Did you or did you not have to be restrained and dragged bodily from Mr. Wyckoff’s store?” Daggett demanded loudly.

    “Yassuh, dat true.”

    “And have you not been incarcerated from that time to this?”

    “Been locked up, yassuh.”

    “So even if you’d wanted to carry out your threat, you had no opportunity, did you?”

    Thacker looked down at the floor.  “No, suh, reckon not.”

    Both attorneys made passionate closing arguments, then Judge Hyde adjourned the court until one o’clock.  Ben, Clyde and Adam left the courtroom, and Ben was surprised to find his foreman, Jean D’Marigny waiting outside.  “Jean, problems at the ranch?” Ben asked.

    “No, monsieur,” Jean assured him.  “I did not think you would mind if I came to watch the trial.”

    “No, of course not,” Ben replied.  “Goodness knows, you’re due for some time off, but I didn’t see you inside.”

    “I came late and sat in the back, monsieur,” Jean explained.  “I wanted first to set the men to their work.”

    Ben smiled.  Yes, Jean would want to do that.  He was a good and trustworthy foreman, and Ben thought himself lucky to have found the Frenchman.  “Have you found the trial interesting?”

    “Look,” Clyde interrupted, “I reckon we all got things to say about this here trial, but I’m in favor of findin’ some grub first.”

    Ben laughed.  “An excellent point, my friend, but we don’t have time to get to your place, much less mine, and be back by one.  Bread and cheese from the store satisfy you?”

    “Reckon it’ll have to,” Clyde groused, “but let’s get it down to Moses Job’s place.  His prices are as fair as we’re likely to get in a Mormon town.”

    “Join us, Jean?” Ben offered.  “I’m buying.”

    “Oui, monsieur, with much thanks,” Jean said.  He fell into step at Adam’s side behind Ben and Clyde.  “Adam, my young friend, did you understand the words of these lawyers?” he asked.

    “Most of them,” Adam said.  “I don’t know what Mr. Thacker’s lawyer meant by ‘mitigating circumstances.’”  The attorney had used that phrase in his closing argument.

    “Me, neither,” Clyde admitted, talking over his shoulder.  “Them lawyers sure do like to throw around the fancy words, don’t they?”

    Ben chuckled.  “They do, for a fact.  What the man was trying to say, gentlemen, was that he wanted the judge to look at more than just what Mr. Thacker did.  He wanted him to consider, as well, the reason he did it.”

    “All that about what happened when he was a slave makin’ him extra touchy?” Clyde asked.

    “That’s what I understood,” Ben replied.

    “Such treatment I do not understand,” Jean inserted.  “My family, of course, owns slaves.  All the best families do, but we treat them well.”

    “It isn’t always so, Jean,” Ben pointed out.

    “No,” Jean admitted, “but in New Orleans the type of treatment this man received would have been censored by other slave owners.  Our Code Noir would enable such a cruel master to be brought to court by others of his class.”

    Ben stepped onto the porch of Moses Job’s store.  “But would the charges be upheld, Jean?”

    “Oui.  At least, it was so before the Americans came,” Jean hedged.  “They try to impose their barbaric laws on our people, and—”

    “Hey!” Clyde sputtered, his patriotic pride offended.  “American law is the best there is!”

    Jean shook his head in disagreement.  “No, Monsieur Thomas.  Americans treat their blacks far more harshly than we Creoles ever did, and as for free men of color, they are scarcely allowed to exist.”

    “Is there a difference between black and colored?” Adam asked.

    Ben rolled his eyes.  “Before we get into that, let’s get something to eat.”

    “I’m for that,” Clyde cackled.

    “You would be,” Ben said dryly.  “So help me, I think my younger boy inherited his appetite from you.”

    “Huh!” Clyde snorted.  “I ain’t blood kin, remember?”

    “Well, he sure didn’t get it from me or Adam,” Ben teased, going inside.

    Purchases made, the quartet of courtroom observers exited the store and the three men sat along the edge of its porch.  Adam plopped down Indian-style in the street facing them so he could hear the conversation more clearly.  “So what’s the difference between black and colored?” he asked again, taking a nibble of cheese.

    “None that I know,” his father answered.

    “Ah, you are wrong,” Jean said, “at least, in New Orleans.  We say ‘black’ when speaking of a Negro slave and ‘colored’ when we mean a person of color who is free.”

    “Can’t be many of those,” Clyde snorted.

    “Again, you are wrong, Monsieur Thomas,” Jean smiled.  “Before the Americans came, almost a third of the Negroes of New Orleans were free people of color.  There are still many.”

    “I didn’t realize that,” Ben said.  “My visits to New Orleans were always brief, not long enough to comprehend all the distinctions of the society.”

    Jean laughed lightly.  “A lifetime would be too brief to understand the society of New Orleans, Monsieur Cartwright; it is most complex.”

    “Gettin’ back to the trial,” Clyde said, “either of you gents think Thacker’ll get off?”

    Ben shrugged.  “Hard to say.  He admitted making the threats, but did no real harm.”

    “Didn’t have a chance,” Clyde alleged.

    “‘Cause they locked him up,” Adam said.  “How can anyone tell what he’d have done if he was loose?”

    “So how would you decide the case, Adam?” Ben inquired.  “I’d be interested.”

    Adam’s face pinched in thought.  “I understand why he got mad and why he said those things, but they were still wrong.  And Mrs. Rose is too nice a lady to have to stay scared.  I think they should do something.”

    “Guilty as charged,” Clyde stated.  “Ain’t no other verdict Hyde can give.”

    Ben looked at the sun and judged the time.  “I guess we’ll know soon.  Shall we finish eating and head that way?”  Everyone made gestures of agreement and turned his attention to his meal.

    Court reconvened at one o’clock with Judge Orson Hyde behind the bench.  He ordered the defendant to rise for the verdict.  “In light of Mr. Thacker’s confession, I have no choice but to find him guilty of the charge of using threatening language,” the judge stated, “but in assessing the penalty I have taken into consideration the other facts presented here today.  My decision is based not on the defendant’s background, for had he actually carried out his threats, no sympathy for his unfortunate past could excuse criminal behavior.  However, such behavior did not occur, and no one can state with certainty that it ever would have.  A man may have malice enough in his heart to kill another, and judgment and discretion to prevent him from committing the deed; he may have the ability to cut a lady’s heart out and roast it upon the coals and at the same time he may have the good sense not to do it.  In the absence of evidence to the contrary, this court will assume that Mr. Thacker possesses such good sense.”

    Hyde gazed gravely at the defendant.  “The judgment of this court,” he stated, “is that the defendant will pay a fine of fifty dollars and the costs of this suit.  Thereafter, Mr. Thacker, though I have no legal authority to so order, I recommend for your own safety that you return to California and that in future you guard your words when hot with anger.  I wish you well; you are free to go.”

    The quartet of storefront commentators gathered outside.  “I thought that was a fair verdict,” Ben stated.  “Just, but merciful.”

    “Yeah,” Adam chipped in.  “I think so, too.”

    “Oui,” Jean agreed.  “I had not expected so impartial a ruling from an American court.  It is good.”

    Clyde took out a plug of tobacco and put a chaw into his cheek.  “Yeah, Hyde done better than I thought he would.  Shows he can be fair——when his own interests ain’t at stake, that is.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow, agreeing with the assessment, but disturbed by it.  After all, when did a judge more need to be fair than when his own interests were at stake?  If fair play could only be expected when Mormon interests weren’t involved, then surely Justice’s legendary blindfold had slipped and the government she represented was unworthy of trust.

    For that reason, when other Gentiles began circulating a petition requesting the California legislature to annex Carson County, Ben added his signature to the list.  The proposal met with favor in the neighboring state, where a resolution was passed urging Congress to permit the merger.  When the decision finally came down, however, Ben and those of like spirit were destined for disappointment once again.  Congress evidently felt that California was too large already, and that the interests of the settlers on the eastern slope of the Sierras would best be served by improving the government in Utah Territory.
 
 

Ben led three saddled horses from the barn, then frowned.  The boys should have been ready to go by now.  He walked across to the cabin door, opened it and hollered inside, “Hey!  Get a move on, you two!”

    Adam and Hoss emerged a couple of minutes later.  “You want to be late for school?” Ben scolded.  “Your Christmas holiday’s over, boy.”

    “Sorry, Pa,” Adam said, “but I wanted to get my journal ready to mail to Jamie.  I’ll drop it by the post office after school.”

    Ben shook his head, chuckling.  “Adam, Adam, no need to do that this early.  The mail won’t be picked up for days, assuming, that is, that it’s picked up at all.”

    “Yeah, I know,” Adam sighed, “but I can’t take the chance it won’t be on time.”

    “That’s right,” Ben teased.  “Jamie couldn’t possibly wait an extra week or so to learn of your doings over the past year.”

    “Or me to learn of his,” Adam grinned.

    “Yeah, well, maybe by your birthday, if the snows don’t delay the carrier too much.”

    Adam nodded in grim acceptance of the unreliability of winter mail to their valley.  “Come on, Hoss,” he said.  “Got to get going so I can drop you by Aunt Nelly’s before school.”

    “I wanna go with you,” Hoss complained.

    “Not a chance!” Adam snorted, swinging into the saddle and stroking his sorrel’s white mane.  He started forward.

    Hoss frowned, mounted his gray and followed at a slow trot.  Ben rode the opposite direction to check on the herd.

    What neither Ben nor his boys knew that frosty January morning in 1856 was that reliable mail service lay just on the horizon for Carson County.  Ben couldn’t believe his eyes the first time he saw their new mail carrier come sliding into town on the longest set of snowshoes Ben had ever seen.  They had to be ten feet if they were an inch!  Narrower than normal snowshoes, too, with upturned front edges; the man fairly skimmed over the snow.

    Realizing by the canvas pack on the man’s back who he must be, Ben made his way directly to the post office in hopes of receiving a letter.  Other people of the town were just as eager for news, so by the time Ben reached his destination, he found so many ahead of him, there seemed little point in standing in line.  He decided to meet the mail carrier instead of crowding the harried postmaster.  “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Ben said.  “Can’t tell you how we look forward to news of the outside world.”

    The tall, muscular young man uttered a loud, hearty laugh.  “Yah, I know,” he said.  “You folks look like me when I get letter from home.”

    “Is home in Sweden?” Ben asked, smiling.  The man’s accent reminded him of Inger’s.

    “No, no, but near there,” the man replied with good humor.  “I am from Norvay.”

    “My late wife was from Sweden,” Ben explained.  “Your speech sounds like hers, Mr.——uh—”  He tilted his head questioningly.

    “Thompson,” the Norwegian replied, thrusting out a huge hand for Ben to shake.  “John Thompson.”

    “Ben Cartwright, and I sure hope we’re going to be seeing a lot of you this winter!”

    “Yah, yah, I come twice a month,” Thompson promised.  “Snow not stop me.”

    “I noticed those shoes of yours,” Ben commented.  “They look like they could really fly over the snow.”

    “Shoes?” Thompson asked, looking with puzzlement at his feet.  Suddenly, the light dawned.  “Ah, mine snowshoes, you mean.  I make like I see at home in Norvay, not fat ones, like here.  Yah, they are fast.  Only five days from Placerville to here.  I think when I know the route better I make it in four or even three, maybe.”

    “Three days!” Ben cried.  “That’s amazing!  You don’t plan to pack mules at all, then?”

    “No, faster this way,” Thompson said, “and I strong, so I carry ‘bout a hundred pounds in pack.  No need mules.”

    Ben’s eyes widened.  The man looked strong of course, but carrying one hundred pounds over the ninety-mile journey from Placerville was quite a feat.  No wonder Thompson was dressed so lightly in only a Mackinaw jacket.  Every added ounce would slow him down.

    The crowd was thinning out, so Ben excused himself and took his place in line, willingly paying postmaster Stephen Kinsey the dollar charged for each letter.  He walked out shortly, gratified at receiving two pieces of mail, the letter he had been hoping for from his brother John and a small package from Josiah Edwards, a book by the shape and feel of it.  Ben smiled.  That Josiah, always concerned with keeping his friend supplied with the best new literature, always worried that important works wouldn’t reach the unlettered western wilderness he pictured Ben’s home to be.

    As he tucked the book and letter into his saddlebag, Ben congratulated himself on the book he’d mailed to Josiah as a Christmas gift.  The engraved drawings by George Holbrook Baker in his Sacramento Illustrated just might help convince the erudite Mr. Edwards that Ben wasn’t quite so far from civilization as his friend feared.

    Ben walked down the street to John Reese’s store.  Though he normally made his purchases at Clyde Thomas’s trading post, on occasion he bought some small item in town.  Today he found himself running short of tobacco and the Thomas place was enough out of the way that he thought he’d just get it here.

    Ben was surprised, however, to see Bill Thorrington, whom everyone called Lucky Bill, behind the counter.  “Hello, Bill,” he said in greeting.  “You working for Reese now?”

    The smooth-faced man shook his head.  “Nope, workin’ for myself,” Thorrington said proudly.

    Ben’s face registered surprise.  “Really.  Reese sold out to you?”

    Thorrington shrugged.  “Wasn’t exactly a sale.  Transfer for moneys owed.  Reese hasn’t been doing too well since that partner of his took off with his assets.”

    “Oh, yeah?” Ben murmured.  “Sorry to hear that.  He’s one of our oldest settlers.”

    “And a good man,” Thorrington said.  “Hate to see him lose everything, but I can’t afford to be out what I loaned him either.”

    “Sure,” Ben agreed.  “You say Reese lost everything?”

    “Almost,” the new proprietor reported.  “Had to give some property to Thomas Knott to pay for that sawmill he built him, some to me.  I think he’s still got some left, but I hear there’s more creditors out there.”

    “Too bad,” Ben said with a shake of his head.  “Well, I came in for some pipe tobacco, best grade you’ve got.”

    “Sure thing,” Thorrington said brightly, turning to the shelf behind him.  He handed Ben a tin of tobacco, which Ben paid for.  “Hope to see more of you, Cartwright.”

    “I don’t get in here often,” Ben replied, “but I expect you’ll see me from time to time.”

    “Make ‘em close together,” Thorrington grinned.

    At home, Ben eagerly read the letter from John, but he frowned with disappointment as he finished.  No word of plans to come home, no mention of the letter Ben had written, urging his brother’s return.  Was John angry, then, so angry he couldn’t bring himself to broach the subject at all?  Ben sighed and laid the letter aside, hoping he hadn’t made the situation worse by his firm words of admonishment.

    Turning to the package, Ben found a copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.  The letter Josiah had slipped inside its front cover explained why he had sent the volume.  “This book’s been available about four years now,” Josiah wrote, “but you wrote that you hadn’t read it.  As unpleasant as the subject is, Ben, I think you should acquaint yourself with Mrs. Stowe’s work.  The question with which it deals grows more heated by the day, and this book is playing no small part in stirring up the furor.”

    Ben sighed and laid the book aside.  Josiah was undoubtedly right, but Ben was reluctant to admit it.  He’d hoped the issue splitting the United States into northern and southern factions had been left behind when he came west.  There were so few blacks residing in Carson County that slavery seemed a mute point out here.  A man couldn’t be an ostrich, hiding his head in the sand, though, however much he might wish to.  Ben nodded grimly to himself.  Yes, he’d make himself read the book, and if it weren’t too gruesome, he’d have Adam read it, as well.  If the issue were destined to be as volatile as Josiah Edwards thought, it would undoubtedly come to Adam’s attention, for the youngster read any newspaper he came across as avidly as did his father.  Since it would be impossible to shield his son from the controversy over slavery, Ben preferred to discuss it openly with him and guide the boy’s understanding.

    The day after Adam’s thirteenth birthday in late February, news came that made Ben glad he and Adam had started talking about the issue of slavery.  That Saturday the Scorpion reprinted the text of President Franklin Pierce’s February 11th proclamation asking citizens of all states to stop meddling in Kansas’s affairs, though it was Sunday before the Cartwrights picked up the copy they shared with the Thomases.

    “You think folks will leave Kansas alone, Pa?” Adam asked that night after he, too, had read the article.  “It’ll go Union if they do, don’t you think?”

    “I think so, Adam,” Ben replied, “which is why I doubt the interference will stop.”

    “Slavery’s wrong, Pa. Why don’t folks just see that?”

    Ben smiled and gave Adam’s neck an affectionate rub.  “Not as wise as you, boy, I suppose.”

    Adam didn’t return the smile.  He wanted to be taken seriously, and Pa was making jokes.  “I mean it,” he said bluntly.

    Ben sat back and drew a thoughtful draught on his pipe.  “It’s a hard thing, Adam, when men are raised in one belief, to make a 180-degree turn and steer into a wind that blows against all they’ve ever been taught.  Take Jean, for instance.  He really doesn’t see anything wrong with slavery because he’s known it all his life.”

    “And because his family were good masters, I guess,” Adam mused.  “I don’t think that matters, though, Pa.  Uncle Tom had a good master to start with, but look how he ended up.”

    “Yeah.  Well, of course, that’s a work of fiction, Adam,” Ben said, “but if it comes even close to the truth, it demonstrates the blight slavery is on our country.”

    “You think it’ll ever end, Pa?”

    “I think it has to.”  Ben shuddered to think of the price that might ultimately be paid to purge the land of the blight of slavery, but couldn’t bring himself to mention that to Adam.  He prayed, as did all  good men, whether their allegiance lay with the North or the South, that their country would be spared the bloody ravages of war that now engulfed the Territory of Kansas.

    Kansas seemed far away, however, and though Adam discussed its problems for several days, the arrival of Jamie Edwards’ journal turned his thoughts to more personal concerns.  Night after night, as soon as Hoss was in bed, he avidly read through the cherished remembrance of his old school chum, covering weeks of the journal at each reading.

    Within two weeks of the journal’s arrival in the mail, Adam finished the final entries and closed the slim volume with a sigh.

    Ben caught the sound and looked closely at his son.  “Anything wrong, Adam?” he asked.  “Jamie not feeling well?”  Too often, as Ben knew, the December entries of Jamie’s journal reported sickness, for Adam’s friend was prone to severe colds during the winter months.

    “Better than usual,” Adam answered.

    “Then why the glum face?”

    “Jamie writes a lot about his plans for next year,” Adam sighed.  “He’s going on to the academy after he graduates.”

    Ben suddenly understood.  “And there’s nothing like that around here,” he said sympathetically.  “Is that what troubles you, son?”

    Adam looked chagrined.  He hadn’t meant to let his disappointment show.  The last thing in the world he wanted was to make Pa feel bad about bringing him west.  Nothing but the truth ever suited Ben Cartwright, however, so Adam nodded quietly.  “Sounds like he’ll be learning a lot of real interesting things,” he said.

    Ben laid aside his nightly pipe and patted his knee.  “Come here, Adam.”

    Adam willingly perched on his father’s lap, though he secretly considered himself a little old to be dandled on anyone’s knee.  “I’m glad we came to live here, Pa,” he said.

    Ben smiled.  “So am I, but I think you’re missing some opportunities we left behind.”

    Adam shrugged.  “No sense wishing for what can’t be.”

    Ben pulled Adam close against his shoulder.  “I don’t know that it can’t be.  We don’t have any academy here, of course, but I understand they’re starting to teach some advanced subjects in Sacramento.”

    Adam’s face brightened with interest.  “Yeah?  What kind?”

    “Oh, history, astronomy, bookkeeping,” Ben said, remembering what he’d read in the last Sacramento Bee he’d seen.  “Even some foreign language, I think.”

    “Latin?” Adam asked.  “Jamie’s going to study Latin.”

    “Probably,” Ben said, “though I don’t know for certain.”

    Adam sighed deeply.  “Well, that’s nice to know,” he said, “but Sacramento’s a long way from here, too far to go to school.”

    “Not if you want it,” Ben said firmly.  “You’d have to board, of course, so you couldn’t see me or your brother for months at a time, and you’d have to spend Christmas alone.  But if you’re willing to pay that price, I can handle it financially.”

    Adam’s brow creased with thought.  “I don’t know if I’d like being away from here that long, Pa.  I’d miss you, and Hoss, too.  Besides, you need me to take care of him.”

    “He’s doing a pretty good job of taking care of himself these days,” Ben chuckled, “and he’ll be in school, as well, next year.”

    Adam laughed.  “I forgot about that!  My baby brother’s not such a baby anymore, huh?”

    “No, you don’t need to be concerned about him,” Ben said, “though it makes me proud that you thought of his needs.  I’m not trying to push more education on you, Adam.  Goodness knows, I’d like to keep you close, but I don’t want to stunt the growth of your mind, either.  So you think about whether you want to take those advanced studies over at Sacramento.  I trust you to make a wise decision.”

    Adam flushed in the glow of those words of respect.  Then, the dignity of his thirteen years notwithstanding, he threw his arms around his father’s neck.  “You are the best pa ever born,” he declared.

    Ben returned the embrace.  “And you’re the best son.  You and Hoss both.”
 

Spotting Paul Martin as the doctor entered the crowded room, Ben motioned him forward.  “Saved you a seat,” he said when Paul reached him.

    “Thanks,” Paul said, then nodded beyond Ben to Clyde and Nelly Thomas.  “Howdy, folks.”  He blew a kiss to Inger, in her mother’s lap, then ruffled the sandy hair of the little boy seated beside Ben.  “Howdy, Hoss.”

    “Howdy, Doc,” Hoss grinned.  He’d decided Pau-Pau was too babyish a name to call anyone, but still didn’t like using the doctor’s formal name.  They were much too good friends for that.

    “Howdy, Doc,” Inger mimicked, giggling into her fingers.

    “Glad you made it,” Nelly said.  “We were beginnin’ to worry.”

    Paul laughed.  “No, I wouldn’t dare miss Sally’s graduation exercises.  Almost did, though.  Patient kept me late.”

    “Nothin’ serious, I hope,” Nelly said, smoothing her gray skirt, where Inger’s fidgeting had wrinkled it.

    “Nothing the boy won’t survive,” Paul replied.  “Jimmy Ellis took a tumble down the front steps.  Raised a real goose egg, but he’s all right.”

    “Glad to hear it,” Clyde said.  “His ma works too hard as it is to be tied down with a sick youngun, too.”

    “No mother escapes that!” Nelly snorted.  “One time or another they all take sick.”

    “Not my boys,” Ben announced, his prideful posturing swelling the breast of his starched white shirt.  “They respect their pa.”  He gave Hoss a squeeze.

    “And it doesn’t hurt that they have the constitution of horses,” Paul remarked wryly.  “Or should I say ‘hosses’?” he teased.  Hoss looked up at him, grinning at the joke.

    Ben grinned, too.  “One of life’s chiefest blessings, I’ve always felt.  One reason I’m willing to let Adam board over at Sacramento during the school term is the assurance that his health is sound.”

    Paul nodded.  “Yes, a healthy child is definitely a blessing.  I’ve been blessed that way, too.  Incidentally, I’m supposed to beg you to make Adam quit pestering my girl to go away to that academy with him.”

    Clyde guffawed.  “He’s been after Billy to go, too, but my boy was lucky to make it this far.  Graduatin’ a year behind them other two as it is.”

    “Eighth grade is more learnin’ than we ever had, anyway,” Nelly said.  “I reckon it’ll be enough for that rapscallion of ours.”

    “For Sally, too, I think,” Paul added.

    “Lands, yes!” Nelly said.  “Girl don’t need much education to run a home.”

    Paul smiled.  “I’m not sure I agree, but Sally felt she couldn’t bear to leave her old father after being reunited so short a time.”

    “I’m sure you tried to talk her out of that,” Ben commented with a mischievous wink.

    “Didn’t try at all,” Paul admitted.  “I was flattered.”

    Eliza Mott, who had been at the door greeting parents as they came in, walked to the front of the room.  “Let me welcome you all, on this first Saturday in April, to the closing exercises of Genoa School,” she said formally.

    Ben smiled.  He liked the new name Orson Hyde had given the town of Mormon Station.  Having never sailed into the Mediterranean, he couldn’t confirm Hyde’s opinion that the mountains here resembled those surrounding Genoa, Italy, but the association was a pleasant one and the name rolled well off the tongue.  Even Clyde liked it; of course, he’d have liked anything without the offensive word “Mormon” in its title.

    Hyde was also trying to lay out Genoa, as well as the newer settlement over in Washoe Valley called Franktown, on the Mormon plan first used in Salt Lake City.  Ben approved of the broad streets with irrigation ditches on each side, but he and Adam both frowned at the new homes being raised under Hyde’s direction.  The Mormon houses were nothing if not plain, while the Cartwrights preferred a building to have grace and beauty, not just unadorned utility.

    At Mrs. Mott’s direction, the students all came forward for the spelling bee.  The competition was fiercer than during the weekly contests, for everyone had studied extra hard for this final program of the year, when every parent tried to attend.  Even Billy, whose spelling skills were pathetic, held his own longer than usual, but in the end the competition came down, as it generally did, to a heated contest between Sally Martin and Adam Cartwright.  When Adam successfully spelled the word Sally had just missed, he grinned triumphantly, then shook hands with his opponent and congratulated her on a good contest.

    Normally, Sally would have smiled sweetly in return, then said, “I’ll get you next time.”  But there would be no next time and both youngsters knew it.  As they clasped hands, Sally said, instead, “It’s been fun, Adam.  I’ll miss you next year.”

    “You could still come with me,” Adam teased as they took their seats in the front row.

    “For the millionth time, no,” Sally said, rapping him sharply on the knee.  “Father needs me.”

    Adam nodded.  He could understand duty.  He still felt a little guilty about leaving his father with the extra responsibility of Hoss’s care.  That had been Adam’s job for so long, it didn’t feel right to leave it, even for something as important as his education.

    Adam, Sally and Billy waited with varying degrees of patience while the younger students presented their recitations.  Then Mrs. Mott again faced the assembled parents.  “This is a particularly proud day for Genoa School,” she said, “for today I have the honor to present to you our first graduating class.”

    The three graduates filed to the front, faces flushed with the excitement of this culmination of their years at the small school.  Mrs. Mott had words of praise for each of them before she handed each a hand-printed certificate of merit for successfully completing the course of study.  “I’m particularly pleased to announce that one of our students, Adam Cartwright, will be continuing his education at the academy in Sacramento,” she said when she handed him his.  “Adam was one of my first students here, and has always set a standard of excellence for his schoolmates.  I expect great things of him, and I’m sure Sally and Billy will also make important contributions to our community.  I ask you to join me in congratulating these three fine young people.”  Mrs. Mott began to applaud and the parents stood to add their hearty clapping to hers.

    As the exercises ended, Clyde reached over and pulled at the buttons of Ben’s gray satin vest.  “Still attached, I see,” he cackled.  “I figured you’d have bust ‘em off by now.”

    Ben gave his friend a playful shove.  “As if you weren’t equally proud of your boy.”

    Clyde grinned.  “I admit it.  Never thought Billy had it in him.”

    “I think a certain charming young lady dressed in blue had something to do with his success,” Ben teased.

    Nelly laughed as she shifted her slumbering little girl to her shoulder.  “I know it did!  Billy’s given a lot more attention to his books since Sally came to the valley.  Didn’t want to look the fool in her eyes, I reckon.”

    Paul Martin smiled.  “I think it has to do more with not letting the competition outdo him.”

    “If you mean Adam,” Ben objected, “there’s no competition.  He’s too interested in his studies to give much thought to girls.”

    Clyde and Paul both hooted.  “Take a look,” Paul suggested, “at who’s holding Sally’s hand.”

    “And who’s mad as a hornet watchin’ ‘em,” Clyde added.

    Ben looked to the front of the room, where Adam indeed held Sally by the hand right under Billy’s glowering gaze.  “Maybe I’d better pack that boy off to Sacramento sooner than I’d planned,” he smiled.

    The other parents laughed.  “When does he leave?” Paul asked.

    “Well, I don’t know exactly,” Ben said.  “We have to deal with spring roundup first, then drive some cattle over the hills for sale.  We’ll enroll him then and see when the term actually begins.  I’m guessing the first of September.”

    “We got chocolate cake and coffee down to our place to celebrate,” Nelly said.  “I’m expectin’ you all to stop by.”

    Hoss, who’d been slumping sleepily against his father’s thigh, suddenly came to life.  “Oh, we will!” he said.  “Chocolate’s my favorite!”

    The heavy clouds had grown steadily darker for the last thirty minutes, and the storm Ben had feared all morning, ever since he saw the halo around the sun, threatened to break.  “Adam!” he yelled and waved the boy toward him.

    Adam trotted around the edge of the herd, Hoss following slowly behind.  “You need me, Pa?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the increasing wind.

    “Yeah, I need you to take Hoss back to the house,” Ben said.  “This storm’s gonna break any minute, and I don’t want him out here.”

    “Aw, Pa,” Adam moaned.  “I don’t want to miss roundup.”

    “I ain’t scared of gettin’ wet, Pa,” Hoss protested, “and I wanna help, too.”

    “No argument out of either of you!” Ben snapped.  “These animals are getting edgy, and you know perfectly well Hoss isn’t a good enough rider to handle a skittish horse.”

    “Yeah, okay,” Adam grumbled.  “Come on, Hoss.”

    Hoss’s lower lip stuck out with irritation, but he did as he was told.  He was pretty sure what the consequences would be if he didn’t.

    With the boys safely out of the way, Ben turned his attention back to the herd.  So far, as he’d said, the cattle were only edgy, but that could change in a minute.  He’d seen cattle stampede before, and running all their flesh off was the last thing these animals needed right before a drive to market.

    Feeling the first drops of chilly rain strike his face, Ben pulled the slicker from behind his cantle and put it on.  Rain started to pelt down, so cold it felt like icicles stabbing his cheeks.  Occasional light showers were common in April, but fierce-looking storms like this didn’t usually hit until a month later.

    Then the first bolt of lightning struck.  The animals reacted as Ben had feared they would.  They began to mill around, their eyes wide with terror.  Just in the eyes so far, though.  Maybe they could still be calmed.

    Another fiery beam zigzagged to earth.  Ben’s horse shied, but he got him under control.  The herd, however, suddenly made an about face and began to run for the open valley.  Ben and the other men charged after them, trying to circle around and head off the cattle.

    Ben had just reached the front of the stampeding animals and started to turn them when another bolt of lightning crashed with ear-splitting closeness.  His horse, terrified, reared and Ben flew off, landing with stunning force on the ground.  He looked up to see three cattle veer off from the others and head straight for him.  He scrambled to get out of the way, knowing with heart-draining dread that there wasn’t time.

    His foreman, Jean D’Marigny, saw the danger and quickly galloped between the charging beasts and his employer.  The animals turned slightly, giving Ben the time he needed.  But in his concern for Ben, Jean failed to realize how close he himself was to the animals.  One cow bumped hard against his horse’s flank, and the sorrel gelding flung his front hooves heavenward,  and throwing Jean back into the path of the other two cattle.  Jean screamed as four pairs of hooves trampled him.

    “Jean!”  Ben cried, running toward him on foot.  The herd was still moving past them, too close for comfort.  Ben put both hands under his foreman’s armpits and pulled him out of harm’s way.

    But the harm had already been done, as was all too evident from the Frenchman’s contorted face and gasping struggle for air.  “Jean,” Ben whispered hoarsely.  “Jean, you saved my life.  You lie still now, and we’ll get you the help you need.”

    The foreman nodded once, too breathless to respond verbally.  Ben’s hired hand Diego galloped up.  “Señores!” he cried.  “You are all right?”

    “Jean’s hurt,” Ben called.  “We’ve got to get him back to the ranch.”

    “Sí, Señor Ben,” Diego said.  “I will get the wagon.”

    “Good,” Ben said.  He sat down beside his foreman and took the man’s hand.  “It’s gonna be all right, Jean,” he promised, squeezing hard.  “Everything’s going to be all right.”  Ben wasn’t sure whether he was talking to encourage Jean or himself.  The injuries looked serious.

    While the other men successfully stopped the stampede, Diego rode to the house for the buckboard.  With Adam’s help he carried a mattress from the bunkhouse and laid it in the back.  Hoss, the tears streaking his face quickly washed away by the pouring rain, clambered up onto the mattress.

    “Hoss, you get down from there!” Adam ordered.

    “No!” Hoss shouted.  “Jean’s my friend.  I’m gonna help him.”

    “Some help you’ll be,” Adam bellowed.  “Get down this minute or I’ll spank your bottom.”

    “Please, Señor Hoss,” Diego pleaded as he pulled on the boy’s legs.  “You are keeping me from going to Señor Jean.”

    Hoss bit his lip and quit resisting.  He didn’t want to slow Diego down, not when it might mean his friend’s life.

    As soon as Diego pulled Hoss within reach, Adam snatched the younger boy off the buckboard and landed a heavy swat on his backside.  “That’s for disobeying!” he shouted.  “Now get inside or you’ll get more!”  Hoss hustled into the cabin, less from fear of a spanking than from concern to get out of the way quickly so Diego could get the needed help to Jean.

    Adam entered soon after and immediately grabbed Hoss by both shoulders.  “If I leave for awhile, can I trust you to stay put?”

    “Where you goin’?” Hoss demanded, quivering at the sight of Adam’s grave face.

    “If Mr. D’Marigny’s hurt bad, like Diego said, he’s gonna need a doctor,” Adam explained quickly.  “I can ride over and fetch Dr. Martin, but not if I have to stay here to make sure you behave.”

    “I’ll behave,” Hoss promised.  “Get Doc here fast, Adam.”

    Adam gave his little brother a smile of approval.  “I will.  You shouldn’t need to put any wood on that fire before Pa gets here, so leave it be.  You can get some toys and play right here where it’s warm.  Don’t go outside.”

    “I won’t,” Hoss said.  “Hurry, Adam.”

    Adam ran outside and re-saddled his horse, tearing east as soon as the mount was ready.  Hoss watched him leave through the front window and stood there looking out until he saw his father and Diego arrive with the buckboard carrying the ranch foreman.

    Ben and Diego carried Jean inside and placed him on Ben’s bed.  “Adam!”  Ben called.  “Adam, come here.”

    Hoss followed them into the bedroom.  “Adam, ain’t here, Pa,” he said softly, hoping he wasn’t getting his older brother into trouble.

    “What do you mean he’s not here?” Ben demanded.  “Where is he?”

    “He—he went to fetch Doc,” Hoss explained hurriedly.  “I promised to be good, so he could go.”

    “Oh,” Ben sighed with relief.  “That’s good; that’s just where I was going to send him.  That boy’s got a good head on his shoulders.”  He bent over D’Marigny.  “You hear that, Jean?  The doctor’s on his way.”

    “Oui, bon,” Jean murmured.  “Do—do not look so worried, little friend.”

    Ben turned to look at Hoss’s anxious face.  Then, taking him by the hand, he led him into the front room.  “I’d rather you stayed out here, son,” he said.  “Jean is very weak and needs to rest.  Can you play quietly?”

    “I don’t wanna play, Pa,” Hoss whimpered.  “I want to help.”

    Ben gave the tender-hearted boy a hug.  “Yeah, that’s fine, son, but the best way to help is to be quiet, all right?”

    “All right,” Hoss said.  “Can I look at Adam’s book, the one with the pictures of all the animals?”

    “I’ll bring it to you,” Ben said.  Soon he handed Hoss Adam’s copy of Aesop’s Fables and went to do what he could to make Jean comfortable.

    When Dr. Martin arrived, he made a thorough examination of the foreman, then, not wanting to speak in front of Hoss and Adam, motioned Ben into the boys’ bedroom.  “It’s serious, Ben,” he said gravely.  “His ribs are crushed, and I suspect internal injuries.”

    “How serious?” Ben pressed.  “Is there any chance at all?”

    Dr. Martin shook his head sadly.  “I’m sorry, Ben.  He may hang on a day or two, but it’d be a mercy if he went quickly.  He’s in a great deal of pain.  Laudanum will help, but—”  He broke off, knowing no further words were necessary.

    Ben sat at Jean’s side throughout the night as the Frenchman drifted in and out of consciousness.  Often, just as he was coming to, he’d whisper, “Marie,” and Ben wished with all his heart he could bring the man’s wife to him, but that would be a journey of months, not hours.

    “Marie,” Jean murmured as he again awoke from the fog in which he drifted.

    “No, Jean, it’s Ben,” Ben whispered.

    “Always here,” Jean breathed raggedly.  “I—I have not much longer, have I, monsieur?”

    Some people might have thought it a kindness to deny the truth, but Ben couldn’t do that.  “Not much longer.  I’m sorry, Jean.  If-if you need to make things right with your Maker, now’s the time.”

    Tears began to flow slowly down the Frenchman’s cheeks.  “One thing only troubles me.”

    “What is it?  Can I help?” Ben asked gently.

    “Marie,” Jean said.  “You were right, monsieur; I should have forgiven her.”

    Ben stroked the callused hand lying listlessly on the covers.  “Yes, and now you have.  Now you can rest in peace.”

    “But she does not know,” Jean wept.  “My Marie, she must know.  You will do this for me, monsieur?  You will take a message to my wife? You will tell her that I love her and I forgive her?”

    “Yes, yes, of course,” Ben agreed readily.  He didn’t consider the length of the journey he’d have to undertake to carry out his promise or the disruption it would bring to his life.  All he could think of at that moment was that the man who had saved his life at the cost of his own had made but one request in return.  The thought of saying no never entered his mind.

    “You’re not serious!” Nelly Thomas protested.

    “Of course, I’m serious,” Ben insisted.  “How could I be anything but serious on a day like this?”  They’d buried Jean D’Marigny that morning in the cemetery at Genoa, and Nelly had invited the Cartwrights to her home afterwards for lunch.

    “But New Orleans!” Nelly remonstrated.  “Do you have any idea how far that is?”

    Ben smiled ruefully.  “Of course, I do, Nelly; you don’t need to tell an old sailing man where New Orleans is.”

    “You talk sense to him, Clyde,” Nelly ordered.  “I got to start cookin’.”  She bustled into the kitchen, where the banging pots declared her frustration.

    “She’s right, you know,” Clyde began.  “Ain’t no sense in goin’ all that way to deliver a message you could send by mail.”

    “Would you want to get that kind of message by mail?” Ben asked, settling back onto the parlor sofa and crossing his legs.

    “I admit it might make it some easier on the lady to hear it in person,” Clyde said, “but it’s too far to go, Ben.”

    “Not as far as Jean went for me,” Ben replied quietly, “and this is what he asked.”

    Clyde shook his head.  “I know you feel you owe the man your life, but think how hard a trip like this is gonna be.  What you plan on doin’ with your place, for instance?  Got no foreman now, and busy as Doc Martin stays these days, ain’t likely he could fill in like before.”

    Ben moved to the edge of his seat and pressed his palms against his knees.  “That’s the first problem I have to deal with, of course.  I thought I’d visit with Jonathan Payne.  Lots of good cattlemen in his part of California, and he could suggest one that would make a trustworthy foreman.”

    “Yeah, I reckon,” Clyde conceded, “and I don’t mind lookin’ out for the money end of it, if you want.”

    “I want,” Ben smiled.  “I’d also like to leave the boys with you.”

    “Goes without sayin’,” Clyde responded gruffly.  “Wouldn’t have it no other way.  But what about that house you was gonna build?  No way I can supervise that and run the trading post, too.  Busy season’s comin’ up soon.”

    “Yeah, I know,” Ben sighed.  “The house will have to wait, I’m afraid.  Adam will be disappointed, but it can’t be helped.”

    Nelly appeared in the doorway.  “You’re set on this fool trip,  aren’t you?”

    “I’m set on it,” Ben said firmly.  “I consider it a sacred obligation.”

    “Might have known,” Nelly scolded.  “I always said there was nothin’ on earth as stubborn as a mule or a Cartwright.”

    “If being a man of my word qualifies me as stubborn,” Ben said, raising his eyebrow in his characteristic gesture of moral certainty, “then I’ll carry the label proudly.”

    “Oh, just carry yourself to the table,” Nelly ordered irritably.  “Dinner’s ready.”

    That night after Hoss finally fell asleep, Adam tiptoed past him into the front room.  “Pa,” he called softly.  “Can we talk?”

    “Sure,” Ben said readily, stretching an arm to invite Adam close.  “Can’t you sleep, boy?”

    “Didn’t really try,” Adam said. He twisted the tail of his nightshirt nervously.  “I was just waiting ‘til Hoss was asleep so we could talk, man-to-man.”

    Ben smiled at the phrase.  “All right, young man,” he said.  “What’s on your mind?”

    “I heard you talking today at the Thomases,” Adam began, “about the things you have to take care of before you can keep your promise to Mr. D’Marigny.”

    “Eavesdropping, were you?” Ben smiled, his eyebrow rising.

    Adam nodded.  “Enough to hear you need a new foreman.  I—I’m volunteering for the job, Pa.”

    The idea would have struck Ben as ludicrous had Adam not looked so serious.  “Son—” he began.

    “I’m as good a horseman as anyone around here,” Adam argued hurriedly, “and I know cattle.  I can do the work, Pa.”

    “I’m sure you could handle the day-to-day operations, Adam,” Ben said proudly, “but I have to hire someone who can handle emergencies, too.”

    “I can do that, Pa,” Adam insisted.  “You always said I was mature for my age.”

    “Yes, and I meant it,” Ben said, “but even if you were completely able to deal with anything that came up in my absence, I couldn’t leave you in charge, Adam.”

    “Why not?” Adam sputtered.  “Don’t you trust me?”

    Ben reached to take the flustered boy in his arms.  “With all my heart, I trust you, Adam.  I trust you more than I would many grown men, but I have to be practical.  The men here will not be comfortable taking orders from a thirteen-year-old boy, and that’s the plain fact that overrides everything else.”

    “And the house?” Adam asked.  “I guess you think I’m too young to boss that job, too?”

    “Yes, the same facts apply,” Ben said, giving his son a comforting squeeze.

    “Even though I’m the one who drew up the plans?” Adam persisted.

    “Even so,” Ben said.  “There’s something else we need to discuss about the house, Adam.  You realize, of course, that even if I can persuade Clarence Williams to start as soon as I return, the house can’t possibly be finished before you leave for school.”

    Adam pulled away, his frustration obvious.  “You know how much it means to me to be here while we’re building, Pa.”

    “Yes, I know,” Ben said, “and I’m sorry, Adam.  The only alternative is to put it off another year.”

    “I can think of another one,” Adam declared.  “I could put off school for another year.”

    “You could,” Ben admitted.  “I hate to put you in this predicament, son, but I feel I must keep my word to Jean.”

    “Of course, you must,” Adam said firmly.  “I know that; I just hate the way it’s messing up our other plans.”

    “I hate that, too,” Ben said sympathetically, “but part of growing up, Adam, is realizing that sometimes plans change.”

    “Like when we put off coming west for a year?” Adam asked.

    Ben nodded firmly, pleased that Adam had remembered so apropos an example.  “Exactly like that.  We made that decision because we felt we’d be better off in the long run.  And though it involved sacrifice in one way, I think we made the right choice.”

    “Yeah,” Adam said quietly.  “So what gets put off this time, the house or the schooling?”

    Ben took the boy’s face between his hands.  “You’re the one most affected,” he said gently.  “You decide.”

    Adam’s countenance brightened.  “Really?  I decide?”

    Ben smiled warmly.  “As I said, Adam, I trust you.”

    “I’ll think about it,” Adam said seriously, “and let you know in a couple of days.”

    “Soon enough,” Ben agreed.  “I don’t plan to leave until the first of next week.  Any time before then will be fine.”

    The Cartwrights spent Sunday, the 20th of April at home alone.  Ben would be leaving the next morning, and he wanted this final day alone with his boys.  Hoss had sat in his lap for most of the afternoon, while Ben tried to help him understand what a lengthy journey this would be.  Hoss seemed unable to comprehend the difference between this trip and one to California, but he clung to his father as he had increasingly since the death of Jean D’Marigny.  Hoss apparently needed reassurance that his father would not depart, never to return, the way his friend had.

    “I can fix supper if you want to pack,” Adam said late that afternoon.

    “I believe I’ll just let you,” Ben smiled.

    “I can help you pack,” Hoss, not to be outdone by his big brother, offered.  Ben chuckled softly, not wanting to hurt the little boy’s feelings.  “Sure,” he said.  “Just what I need.”

    “Like you need an extra thumb,” Adam teased.

    “Shh,” Ben cautioned with a wink.  “As for you, young man, I’m going to need your final decision tonight.  If you want to attend the academy, I should probably enroll you on my way through Sacramento.”

    “I’m not going,” Adam stated.

    “You sure?” Ben asked.  “You’ve been wavering back and forth all week, and I know how you’ve looked forward to school.”

    “Not as much as seeing the house go up,” Adam explained.  “I think a builder’s what I want to be, Pa.”

    “Ah, in that case,” Ben said as he slid Hoss off his knee and stood, “I don’t think you should pass up the chance to watch Mr. Williams at work.  I hear he’s one of the best.”

    “Right,” Adam said, glad his father approved of his decision.  “Besides, with you being gone so long, I’d hate to leave right after you got back.  It’d be like not seeing you for almost a year.”

    Ben gave his son a quick embrace.  “Yeah, I’d thought of that, and I’d sure hate sending you off so soon myself.  I’ll check with Mr. Williams, and if he’s not able to start in August, I’ll go ahead and enroll you at the academy.  But I hope it works out so we can do as we’ve planned.”

    Ben took Hoss’s hand and started toward the bedroom.  “You think you know what Pa should pack, son?”

    “You goin’ to them fancy folks again, Pa?” Hoss asked.

    “The Larrimores?  Yeah, I imagine so, Hoss.”

    “You’ll need your suit, then,” Hoss sighed.

    Ben walked into the Payne parlor patting his stomach.  “Ah, Rachel, that was a wonderful meal.”

    Rachel laughed lightly as she followed Ben and her husband into the room and settled into the rocker, while the men took the sofa.  “I’m afraid the credit for that belongs entirely to Mañuela,” she said.  “I cook so little these days it’s almost embarrassing.”

    “Well, my compliments to Mañuela, then,” Ben smiled.

    “Wait ‘til you see the breakfast she’s planning,” Rachel teased.  “You haven’t had huevos rancheros before, have you?”

    “No, I don’t believe so,” Ben replied.

    “Hope you like your eggs spicy,” Jonathan Payne commented dryly, laughing at the uncertain expression that crossed Ben’s face.

    “Ben, I was so sorry to hear about the death of your foreman,” Rachel said.  “He seemed such a personable young man when he was here with you.”

    “Yes, in many ways,” Ben agreed.  “Hoss was particularly fond of Jean, and his death upset the boy badly.”

    “Of course, it would,” Rachel murmured sympathetically.  “Hoss is such a gentle, loving child.  I could tell that just from the couple of days he spent here last year.”

    Ben smiled.  “I’ll take that as a compliment to my son.”

    “Then I’ll add another,” Rachel continued.  “Susan told me after Hoss left that she was sorry he didn’t live closer because she liked playing with him better than any boy she’d met around here.  And speaking of Susan, I’d better check on her bedtime preparations.  She has a tendency to dawdle.”

    “Is there a child who doesn’t?” Ben chuckled.  One perhaps, he immediately thought, that exception being sober, dutiful Adam.

    Rachel smiled in response to the jest and excused herself.

    Ben adjusted the sofa pillow behind his back and turned to Jonathan.  “So, do you think you’ll be able to help me find a new foreman?”

    “Almost positive,” Jonathan replied.  “I have a young fellow in mind that I think would suit you well.”

    “How young?” Ben inquired.

    “Late twenties,” Jon answered.  “Twenty-eight, I think.  He’s worked with cattle about six years now.”

    “You sound like you know this fellow pretty well,” Ben commented.

    “Well enough to recommend him,” Jon said.  “He’s working on the Rivera place.”

    “Where I bought some of my cattle?”

    “That’s the place.  Rivera only hires the best, as I’m sure you’d agree.”

    Ben nodded.  Some of Rivera’s men had helped him drive his first herd over the mountains.  They were among the best vaqueros he’d ever seen.  “Rivera pays well,” he said.  “Why would this young man be willing to leave a good position?”

    “For the chance to advance himself,” Jonathan replied readily.  “He came by here hoping I could make a place for him as a foreman, but I already had a good one.  The same’s true at Rivera’s ranch, so there’s no real future for the boy there.”

    “Well, I’d be interested in talking to him, if it can be arranged,” Ben decided.

    “I’ll send for him tomorrow morning,” Jonathan promised.  “You care for a cup of coffee before we turn in?”

    “Better not,” Ben said.  “Keeps me awake if I take it too late.  Same room as last time?”

    “That’s the one.”

    “Think I’ll hit the sack, then,” Ben said.

    “And dream of huevos rancheros?” Jon teased.  Ben rolled his eyes and headed down the hall to the guest room.

    The next morning Ben’s mouth had barely had time to cool down from the salsa-covered fried eggs that sat atop crisp tortillas when he heard Jon greeting the young man who hoped to become Ben’s foreman.  The lean, lanky man entered, removing his slouch hat as soon as he came inside.  “How do you do, sir?” he said formally, but as he raised his eyes to Ben’s face, they shot wide with surprised recognition.  “Mr. Cartwright!” the young man cried.

    The sunlight behind the young man made it difficult for Ben to see him without squinting, but as the man moved further into the room, Ben’s face reflected the same startled recognition.  “Enos?” he asked in disbelief.  “Enos Montgomery, is that you, boy?”

    “Sure is,” the dark-haired, sunburned cattleman said.

    “Enos!” Ben cried and wrapped the other man in a bear hug.  Then he looked reproachfully over at Jonathan Payne, who was grinning like Alice’s Cheshire cat.  “You rascal!” he scolded.  “You never said a word.”

    “You never asked,” Jon chuckled.  “I guess I don’t have to tell you much about Enos’s skill with cattle.”

    “Indeed not,” Ben said.  Enos Montgomery had worked his way west by caring for the extra cattle Ben and other members of the wagon train had brought with them.  Ben could think of no one he would trust more to take over Jean D’Marigny’s role at the ranch.

    “Are you the man looking for a new foreman?” Enos asked, excitement gleaming in his blue eyes.

    “I’m the man,” Ben said, “and if you want the job, it’s yours.”

    “When do I start?” Enos asked eagerly.

    “As soon as Señor Rivera’s willing to release you,” Ben replied.  “I’ll be out of the country for around three months, so the sooner you can leave the better.  Clyde Thomas is watching the place for me until I send someone to take over.”

    “Just give me directions, and I can leave in the morning,” Enos said.  “Señor Rivera’s never been one to stand in a man’s way when he had a better job waiting.”

    Ben stretched his hand forward to seal the bargain with a handshake, then wagged his index finger at Jonathan Payne for springing such a surprise on his unsuspecting friends.

    “Ben, dear, you won’t mind taking a bit of advice from an old friend, will you?” Camilla Larrimore asked as the servants placed a piece of thickly frosted lemon cake before each person at the table.

    Ben hesitated a moment, not sure what advice Camilla was qualified to give.  To be polite, he responded, “Of course not, Camilla.  I’m sure there’s much about me that needs amending.”

    “Oh, no, no,” Camilla hastened to say, her face growing flustered.  “Nothing about you personally, Ben.  It’s your clothes.”

    “Camilla!” her husband protested.  “That’s hardly the way to speak to a guest.”

    “Ben knows I have only his best interest in mind,” Camilla silenced her critic smoothly.  “It’s just that your suit is years out of fashion, Ben.  Now, that’s no problem out here where no one seems to care about being up to date.  You did say, however, that this woman you plan to see——your foreman’s mother——was of the French aristocracy.”

    “That’s right,” Ben said, “and of course I plan to see his wife, as well.”

    “Yes, but his mother’s the one to consider when you choose your wardrobe,” Camilla stated emphatically.  “You’ll want to look your best before such a distinguished person.”

    “Now, Camilla,” Lawrence asserted, “I still say—”

    “No, that’s all right, Lawrence,” Ben interrupted.  “I hadn’t thought of it, but Camilla is correct.  I haven’t had a new suit in years, and I’m sure I’ll look quite the rube to Jean’s mother dressed in this worn old thing.  But I’m not sure I’d know what to buy to correct my style.”

    Camilla sat up, clasping her hands eagerly before her.  “Oh, Ben, you must let me take you shopping tomorrow,” she cried.  “I study all the latest fashions from back east, and we do try to keep a selection of the best fabrics and accessories at the emporium.  I can take you to the finest tailor, too.”

    Ben smiled awkwardly.  He’d never shopped for clothing with a woman before, and while there wasn’t much else about Camilla Larrimore he cared to emulate, he certainly had to admire the fashionable flair with which she dressed her family.  “Yes, I’d appreciate your help, Camilla,” he said, “if you think there’s time to have a suit tailored before my ship leaves.”

    “The first of May you said?” Camilla inquired.  At Ben’s affirming nod, she smiled.  “Plenty of time.”

    “Are you certain you’ll be able to find these people, Ben?” Lawrence asked.  “It’s a long way to go without a definite address.”

    “I have one for his mother’s home, of course,” Ben replied.  “D’Marigny was able to tell me that much, but he wasn’t certain his wife would still be at the address where they lived together.  He gave me the name of his old fencing master, who was a close friend to both Jean and his wife.  It shouldn’t be too hard to locate the Angierville Academy on Exchange Street, and, hopefully, Monsieur Angierville will be able to direct me to Mrs. D’Marigny.”

    “Yes, that sounds workable,” Lawrence agreed.

    “Oh, I do envy you the trip to New Orleans,” Camilla sighed.  “Such a fine city, from all I’ve heard.”

    Ben smiled ruefully.  “I’m afraid my trip to New Orleans is strictly business, and unpleasant business at that.  It’s what comes after I’m looking forward to.”

    “Oh?” Camilla asked with a coquettish tilt of her ringlet-crested head.

    Ben’s smile grew broader.  “I’m going to treat myself to a steamboat up to St. Joseph to see my dear friend Josiah Edwards.  I can’t imagine I’ll ever have another chance, and it will only add a couple of weeks to my time away.”

    “Oh, St. Joseph,” Camilla said flatly.  Of all the places on earth she had no desire to see again, provincial St. Joseph, Missouri, headed the list.

    Her husband’s eyes, however, perked up at Ben’s words.  “Now, that’s a destination I could envy,” he cried.  “I’d like another look at the old store, like to see what the new owner’s made of it.”

    “Oh, you would,” Camilla chided.  Sometimes she feared she’d never made a society man out of Lawrence Larrimore.  She had greater hopes, however, for her son Sterling, who was already showing a taste for the finer things of life.  Suddenly, Camilla clapped her hands.  “Oh, Ben, if it’s truly just a business trip, perhaps you wouldn’t mind conducting some business for us in New Orleans.”

    “Camilla!  What on earth!” her husband sputtered.

    “Think of it, Lawrence,” Camilla continued, brushing aside his outrage.  “Think of the quality merchandise Ben could purchase for us in New Orleans and how well it would sell here.  And for all his personal simplicity, Ben knows quality when he sees it.  I know he’d choose wisely.”

    Lawrence was growing redder by the minute, but his wife’s idea appealed to his business sense.  “It would be better than ordering sight unseen,” he admitted.  “Would it be asking too much, Ben?  We’d pay you, of course, for your time and effort.”

    Ben laughed.  “That would help offset the cost of the trip.  Yes, Lawrence, if you and Camilla give me clear instructions about the type of merchandise you want, I’ll make the selections and arrange for their shipment before I go to St. Joseph.  That’s the least I can do to repay Camilla for getting me decked out in decent duds.”

    Camilla squealed with delight.  “Oh, this is working out beautifully, isn’t it?”

    Ben nodded, but he couldn’t help thinking that however much profit came out of this trip, it could never pay for the loss that made it necessary.
 

One day short of three weeks after leaving San Francisco, Ben stepped off the steamer onto the dock at New Orleans, happier than he’d dreamed possible to touch land again.  He’d enjoyed the sea voyage down the coast——though he would have preferred a fast clipper to the more plodding, less graceful steamship——and the new railroad across the Isthmus had connected the next day with the Pacific Mail Steamship Company’s boat to New Orleans.  So the journey had taken far less time than before, and Ben had been spared the discomfort of transport by natives through a stifling jungle and the unpredictable wait for an available steamer that the pioneers who’d come this way in ‘49 had bemoaned.  Still, he was tired, and while he was anxious to conclude the serious errand on which he’d come to this southern seaport, it could wait until tomorrow.  For now, all Ben wanted was a hot bath, a good meal and a comfortable bed.

    Having made inquiries of fellow passengers returning home to New Orleans, Ben had been assured that he could do no better than the St. Charles Hotel, two blocks above Canal Street in the American sector.  He told the driver of the carriage seeking passengers at the dock where he wished to go and soon found himself gazing admiringly at what the driver told him was one of the architectural wonders of the New World.  Seeing it, Ben wished his son Adam were at his side.  How Adam would have appreciated the white dome covering the Corinthian portico!  Truly, a magnificent building.

    As he entered, however, Ben caught sight of the activity taking place under the rotunda of the stately hotel.  A slave auction, the barter and sale of human flesh, Negro men and women stripped bare to reveal their physical strength or fecundity.  Ben felt his stomach churn and averted his eyes, glad now that he’d left Adam at home.  They’d both seen similar scenes in Missouri, but somehow it seemed more out of place here in the presence of such classic beauty.  Or perhaps the reminder of whose labor had made possible such structures was more than appropriate here.  Maybe it was just, though unintended, tribute.

    Ben registered and went to his room, setting his carpetbag at the foot of the brass bed.  He walked to the mirrored table where a pitcher of water and wash bowl stood ready for his use.  Looking into the mirror, Ben scowled.  No wonder the clerk had turned up his nose when Ben requested a room.  Not wanting to wear his new suit on the sea voyage, Ben had arrived in his well-worn brown one, which, frankly, looked as though he’d traveled in it for a month, and though he’d shaved that morning, Ben’s face was stubbled with a five-o’clock shadow that added nothing to his appearance.  Ben poured water into the bowl and set to work to rectify his grooming before looking for a place to dine.

    Dressed in a gray cut-away jacket with tails and fawn-colored pants stylishly strapped beneath his boots, Ben admired his reflection in the mirror as he set on his head the tan hat banded in a lighter shade of the same color.  Quite stylish, according to the other attire he’d seen on the streets of New Orleans.  Camilla had done well by him, and she’d kept the cost down, too.  Ben had only the one jacket, but two pairs of trousers and several vests that would allow him to change his look from day to day with little added expense.  He’d chosen the wine-colored one to wear this evening, along with the beige and wine plaid string tie.

    Not feeling particularly hungry yet, Ben decided to walk the streets of New Orleans on a sort of get-acquainted tour.  He saw much that pleased his eye.  Going down Canal Street to the Custom House, he walked inside to look at what he’d been told was the finest Greek Revival interior in the country.  Most of the newer buildings he passed were built in the Greek style, but this one was outstanding, even outside, with its colossal columns.

    Pulling his slate gray, knee-length cape close against the damp wind, Ben left the Custom House and crossed Canal Street.  As he neared the corner leading to the Rue Royale, a rider came galloping past on a powerful black stallion.  Ben pulled close to the wrought iron fence and stared up at the rider as the stallion reared close to him.  A smile touched Ben’s lips.  The rider was a young woman, no more than twenty, the most spectacularly beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  It was no exaggeration.  Framed between a black top hat, ribboned in white with a crimson plume, and a gray, frilled jabot that set off her black riding habit was the face of a golden-haired, emerald-eyed angel.  She nodded demurely at Ben, her way of apologizing for the close encounter, then urged the horse on down the Rue Royale.

    You’ve been in the wilderness too long, Ben scolded himself, if the first female you see turns you to mush.  Think what sport Clyde and Nelly would make if they saw you now.  Slowly, he began to walk into the French section of the city.  Though he had no intention of calling on anyone tonight, undoubtedly those he planned to see on the morrow lived within the confines of the original settlement.  It wouldn’t hurt to acquaint himself with the streets.  He tried to take note of their names as he passed each intersection.

    It was hard to keep his mind on streets and avenues, however, when such a rich panorama of life flowed around him.  New Orleans was a cosmopolitan city, where people of all races, nationalities and stations teemed the streets.  Ben saw Frenchmen, of course, but just as many of Spanish descent.  That made sense, since the Spaniards had held title to the city for so long.  Much of the architecture, in fact, was Spanish in style, with overlapping clay tile roofs and balconies graced by rails of intricate, lace-like wrought iron.  There were Americans, too, some elegantly attired, some in simple homespun.

    Ben passed the Place d’Armes and entered the French Market, where an intriguing variety of goods could be purchased, and found an even greater ethnic mix.  Greeks, Italians, a few Chinese selling shrimp and fish, and even Indians, wrapped in blankets, with more exotic wares.  And weaving in and out through the crowd, black faces of every shade from the midnight of recent arrivals from Africa to the cafe-au-lait of those whose African heritage had been diluted to virtual extinction.

    Most of the vendors sold foodstuffs and Ben couldn’t resist nibbling his way from one booth to the next.  He ate oranges and bananas until he was sure he’d ruined any dinner he planned to have later.  Then, when he reached the riverfront, he visited the oyster stalls and, like the other customers, waited while the oysters were opened so he could eat them fresh from the shell.  So much for supper!  Moving back through the square, however, he did find room for a dish of sherbet sold by a Greek vendor in a red fez.

    Ben chuckled to himself as he returned to the St. Charles Hotel. Too bad there was no way to pack that sherbet back to Carson Valley!  Adam might have enjoyed the architecture of this old, yet ever-new city, but Hoss would definitely have been the one to take on a tour of the French Market.  Ben undressed and went to bed, feeling lonesome for both his boys.  The sooner he finished his business here and got back to them, the better pleased he would be.

    Ben had passed Exchange Alley on his walk the previous night, so it was a simple matter to locate the Angierville Academy.  As was true of most two-story structures built during the period of Spanish rule, the academy was made of brick, which had been painted gray.  The door was standing open, so Ben walked in without knocking.

    A flight of wooden stairs stood almost at the entry.  Ben moved past them, past the embroidered tapestry of a rearing golden horse hanging on the wall above a narrow table decorated by two statuettes, one a knight in armor, the other a swordsman in more modern attire.  He saw, sitting beside a table, an elderly man with a luxurious shock of wavy white hair and an ample mustache, stretching horizontally past his cheeks and climaxing in sharp points.

    The man, with his back to Ben, sat polishing his already gleaming rapier.  He paused to finish the glass of red wine that sat on the table.  As he again started to polish the blade, the old man spotted Ben.  He flexed the steel with both hands.  “A fine instrument, eh, monsieur?” he said.  “Thirty-five inches of authority.”

    “Yes, sir,” Ben said,  hat in hand.  “Excuse me, sir.  Are you Marius Angierville?”

    The fencing master scarcely turned.  “A bit worn in the tooth,” he said, stroking the rapier, “a little bit sour in the stomach, but the very same.”

    Ben smiled.  “I’m glad I found you, sir.  My name is Ben Cartwright.”

    The other man cocked his head toward Ben.  “Should I know you?”

    “Oh, no, sir, no,” Ben replied quickly.  “I’ve just arrived in New Orleans.  I have a ranch up in Utah Territory.”

    “Oh, you’ve come a long way, monsieur,” Angierville commented, still polishing the rapier.

    “Yes.”

    “By ship?”

    “By steamer, yes, and train from Aspinwall to Panama City, then another steamer.”

    “A fine voyage?”

    Ben smiled fondly.  “Yes, sir.”

    “Ah, how I miss that!” Angierville sighed.

    Ben hadn’t realized before how aged Jean’s friend was.  Ben hated more than ever to bring the sad news he carried, but delay wasn’t likely to soften the blow.  “Sir, there was a man who worked on my ranch,” Ben began.  “He was from New Orleans——Jean D’Marigny.”

    Angierville stood at once.  “Jean?” he asked eagerly.  “It’s been so long.  Is he well, happy?”

    Ben took a breath.  “No, sir.  He’s dead.”

    The fencing master looked away in pained disbelief.  “Jean?  He was like my own son.”

    “His last thoughts were of you and his wife,” Ben said.  “I promised I’d see you both and, of course, his mother.”

    “His mother!”  Angierville almost spit the words at Ben.  “Forgive me, but there are some things—”  He looked into Ben’s face and stopped.  “But, no.  Whatever else Madame D’Marigny may be, she was Jean’s mother.  She must be told, of course.  I can direct you to her home.”

    “I have the address, sir.  I—I thought perhaps you might accompany me,” Ben suggested.  “The presence of an old friend might ease the situation.”

    Angierville uttered a bitter laugh.  “No, my boy, you will be more welcome in that home without me.  But where are you staying?  Have you accommodations here in New Orleans?”

    “Yes, sir, at the St. Charles.”

    “Ah, a fine hotel, monsieur, but perhaps it would be more convenient if you stayed here, closer to the people you must see,” the Frenchman offered hospitably.

    “Well, yes,” Ben stammered, taken aback by the offer, “if you have room.”

    Angierville gestured with his head to the room that opened between the stairs and the front door.  “I have room, and any friend of Jean’s is welcome here.”

    “I accept gratefully, then.  I trust you can help me find Jean’s wife Marie,” Ben said.  “You know where she lives?”

    “No, not where she lives,” the old man sighed, “but I know where we can find her.”

    Ben’s brow furrowed, not understanding the cryptic answer nor the fencing master’s evident animosity toward Jean’s mother.  Perhaps all would become clear later, when he met the two women in Jean D’Marigny’s life.

    Ben observed the D’Marigny townhouse from across the street, a two-story white brick home with dark green shutters at each downstairs window and the usual wrought-iron adornments across the second story.  Not as ostentatious as he’d expected, though Marius Angierville had assured him that Jean’s family was every bit as prestigious as the young foreman had boasted.  “Direct descendants of Antoine Phillippe de Maringy de Mandeville,” Marius had said, as if that explained everything.  Ben didn’t recognize the name, but it was obvious from the way Marius said it that the first D’Marigny was a man of renown.

    And power.  Marius had emphasized the power.  “There is great power in wealth,” he stated ominously, “especially when one has no compunction against using it.  Be careful, my boy.”

    Such warnings seemed ridiculous as Ben looked at the silver-haired grand dame who received him after he passed through the arched doorway into the sitting room.  The furnishings demonstrated the owners’ wealth, as did the ornate jewels gracing the lady’s neck and ears, but Ben saw nothing to fear in this elderly woman listening to the news of her son’s death with such rigidly contained grief.

    “I’m sorry to have to bring you such bad news, Madame D’Marigny,” Ben said kindly after explaining the circumstances of Jean’s death.  “I hope that it might give you some consolation to know of your son’s courage.”

    Madame D’Marigny dabbed her nose with a lacy handkerchief drawn from inside her blue sleeve.  “I’m growing old, monsieur, and quite dry of tears,” she said proudly.  “The D’Marignys carry a proud, but bitter, heritage.  We cried at the death of the Emperor; we cried in the streets of New Orleans when the French flag came down, and I cried when my son ran away from his disgrace.”

    Ben’s eyes narrowed in puzzlement.  “His disgrace, Madame?”

    “You knew little about him,” the mother stated.

    “Only that he had separated from his wife, whom he loved very dearly,” Ben said.  He knew more, of course, but couldn’t bring himself to mention the infidelity of Jean’s wife.  He wasn’t sure the mother knew about that, though perhaps that was the disgrace of which she spoke.

    Madame D’Marigny made no explanation.  “Love is often a crown of thorns,” she said, softly touching the black velvet bows cascading down the light blue yoke of her dress, whose sleeves and overskirt were a deeper shade of blue.

    Ben looked at the floor.  “Yes, yes, I suppose that’s true.  I hope to see his wife Marie.”

    “I do not wish to discuss her, monsieur,” the aristocratic woman said, standing abruptly, as if in dismissal.

    “Well, Madame,” Ben stammered, “she is your son’s wife.”

    “Marie DelVyre was never meant to be the wife of a D’Marigny!” Jean’s mother declared haughtily.  “Forgive me, monsieur, but that is not your concern.  If I can be of service while you are in New Orleans—”

    “Well, there is one thing,” Ben began.

    “Oui?”

    “I had been engaged to purchase some quality merchandise for a friend’s business in San Francisco, and I thought perhaps you could direct me—”

    “But, monsieur, I have little connection with my late husband’s import business,” Madame D’Marigny said.  “Still, I could give your name to his associate.”

    “I’d greatly appreciate it,” Ben said.

    “Where are you staying?” she asked.  “I will have Monsieur Clairmont contact you there.”

    “With a friend,” Ben said, “Marius Angierville, at his academy in Exchange Alley.”

    Madame D’Marigny’s eyes grew icy.  “You know Marius Angierville?”

    “Well, yes,” Ben faltered, feeling the chill.  “He’s a friend of your son’s,” he added hastily.

    Madame D’Marigny’s drew herself stiffly upright.  “That one is no friend to my son.  Bonjour, monsieur.”  There was no mistaking the air of dismissal this time.

    Ben bowed from the waist.  “Thank you, Madame.  Good day.”  When Jean’s mother made no response, Ben left quietly.

    Later, in a carriage with Marius, Ben described his visit to the D’Marigny home.  “Jean’s mother wasn’t too friendly toward me,” he said wryly.  “She isn’t exactly fond of her daughter-in-law, is she?”

    “No, she isn’t,” Marius stated bluntly.  “Never was.  I’m afraid Marie isn’t very fond of me.  We may not receive a warm reception, my boy.  I haven’t seen her since the day Jean left New Orleans.”

    Ben stared at the other man.  “Jean told me that you were very good friends,” he said, wondering how that could be true if they weren’t even on speaking terms.

    “We were,” Marius said, “until I challenged her beloved cousin, Edward D’Arcy to a duel.  She’s never forgiven me for wanting to kill him, which I was most anxious to do.”

    No further explanation was forthcoming, so Ben sat back, remembering what Jean had once said about the complexity of New Orleans’ society.  Evidently it rubbed off on the inhabitants, for Ben felt certain the people he’d met so far in this city were more complex than any he’d seen in his travels around the world.  And though he had no inking of it at that moment, he was about to meet the most complex of all.

    The carriage halted before a building similar, at least on the exterior, to the D’Marigny home, though perhaps less ostentatious.  Inside, however, the furnishings rivaled that dwelling.  Mirrors with gilt frames surrounded a room graced by gold brocade draperies, and crystal chandeliers spread a soft glow over round tables intended for gaming or tête-à-tête.

    A woman stood conversing with two gentlemen seated at the nearest table.  Leaving them, she approached Ben and Marius.  She moved gracefully, a vision of loveliness in her light blue, off-the-shoulder gown, whose low neckline revealed a sapphire pendant that matched her earrings.  Ben found himself staring at the woman.  She seemed so familiar, but he was sure they’d never met.  Suddenly he knew.  This was the same woman who had nearly run him down in the street two days before.  He had thought her angelic then, but in this regal attire she seemed even more stunning.

    Ben was glad he’d changed into a fresh white shirt and topped it with the beige satin vest and red string tie.  Even so, he looked less elaborately dressed than the other occupants of the room.  Even Marius, seemed more fashionable with his wide blue bow tie and dark blue top hat, and it was to him that the woman directed her steps.  “Marius Angierville, I thought by now the devil had claimed you for his own,” she said with a beguiling smile.

    “I’m afraid both you and he will have to wait a trifle longer,” Marius said smoothly.  “I brought a friend to meet you, fresh from the wilderness, Marie.  May I present Monsieur Cartwright from the Utah Territory?”

    Marie directed her attention toward Ben.  “I’ve heard there is such a place,” she said.

    Ben was struck silent for a moment.  This ravishing creature couldn’t be Jean’s wife!  No wonder the separation had tormented the young Frenchman so.  “Yes, ma’am,” Ben stammered, in his fluster forgetting the French form of address, “I’m afraid there is, full of wild animals and much wilder people.”

    “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’m going to the bar,” Marius excused himself.

    “Madame, may I speak with you in private?” Ben asked as the fencing master walked away.

    “Monsieur, is that a western custom, demanding a lady’s attention on such short acquaintance?” Marie asked.  Ben couldn’t be sure if her tone indicated offense or bemusement.

    “What I have to say is rather serious,” he explained.

    “Serious?” Marie laughed.  “Why, no one is serious here.  People come here for pleasure.”

    “What I have to say, it’s about your husband,” Ben began.

    One of the men who had been at the table with Marie when Ben and Marius entered the gambling salon approached them.  “Marie,” he said peevishly, “I thought you were going to join us.”  Marie turned to assuage the gentleman.

    At the bar Marius was sipping a glass of brandy when a man in an expensively tailored suit of royal blue approached the bar.  “A little cognac for me, please,” the gentleman ordered, and the bartender immediately came to serve him.  The man turned toward Marius.  “It seems the game-legged old hotspur himself has decided to distinguish us with a visit.”

    Marius regarded the other man with an arrogant eye.  “Why not, D’Arcy?  We will squat in hell together, you and I.”  He raised his glass in a disdainful toast.

    “If you are in a hurry to get there, hotspur, I am always available to assist you on your way,” D’Arcy replied, returning the toast with a sneer.

    “Next time the boot may be on the other foot,” Marius declared, but D’Arcy’s only response was a noncommittal spread of his hands that somehow managed to convey unacceptance of the possibility of defeat.

    Meanwhile, Marie had successfully soothed her offended gentleman friend and introduced him to Ben.  “I am pleased to have met you, monsieur,” the man said with disinterested social courtesy.  “Marie, please hurry,” he added as he went back to the table.

    Marie turned to Ben.  “Monsieur,” she said bluntly, “I do not wish to discuss my husband.  I—I think you had better leave.”

    “Is your husband of no interest to you?” Ben pressed.

    The lovely woman’s chin lifted proudly.  “Of no interest whatsoever.”

    Ben tried again.  “I’m afraid there’s something that you don’t know.”

    Marie shook her head.  “There is nothing I wish to know about Jean.  Bonjour, monsieur.”  She turned her back on Ben and returned to the two gentlemen eagerly awaiting her at the table.

    Ben started to follow her, to somehow make her listen, but a man’s hand restrained him.  “Monsieur!” the man said quickly.  “My name is D’Arcy.  I’m the proprietor here.”

    “How do you do?” Ben said perfunctorily, his eyes still following Marie D’Marigny.

    D’Arcy’s eyes followed Ben’s.  “Are you a friend of Marius?”

    “Yes, in a way,” Ben replied.  No further explanation seemed necessary to a total stranger.

    “You don’t seem to be attracted to our little sport,” the proprietor commented, preferring the newcomer’s attention to be fixed on gambling rather than on his pretty cousin.  “Most Americans find it very stimulating.”

    “I didn’t come here to gamble,” Ben said sharply.  “I’m afraid I’m not exactly attracted to blind chance.”

    D’Arcy glanced at the lovely Marie.  “Perhaps you are attracted more by aesthetic things?”

    Ben was growing irritated.  “And if I am?” he asked, challenge in his voice.

    “Oh, that would surprise me,” D’Arcy replied, his tone smoothly insulting.  “You lack a certain polish in your technique.”

    Ben squared his shoulders.  “I guess my polish has been dulled by hard work, monsieur,” he said bluntly.  “Good night.”  He turned to look for Marius, but the fencing master had already left.  Ben lost no time in following suit.  What was it about these New Orleans people that made it impossible to hold a normal conversation with any of them? he fumed as he rode back to Marius’ place.  Whether he was talking to Madame D’Marigny or Marius, Marie D’Marigny or her cousin D’Arcy, Ben always seemed to come away feeling like he’d been on the losing end of a clash of rapiers.

    With such thoughts in mind, it seemed perfectly reasonable, when he returned to the academy, to find Marius practicing sword thrusts before a three-paneled mirror.  As the old man lunged forward, however, his left hand dropped to grab his leg.  Ben walked toward him.

    “I fought amid the grapeshot and bullets of Waterloo, a saber in my hand, with valiant men, honorable men,” Marius boasted, his voice slurring.

    “You’ve had too much to drink, Marius,” Ben chided.

    “Don’t tell me what I’ve had,” Marius commanded, his touchiness proving Ben’s accusation.  “‘In vino veritas.’  In wine, there is truth.”

    Ben rolled his eyes and took the old man’s arm.  “Let me help you.”  He noticed the sudden grimace of pain.  “What is it?”

    Marius shook his head.  “An old wound.  This afternoon it became as fresh as the day I received it——defending the honor of an old friend.”  He sat down in the chair to which Ben led him.

    Ben patted his shoulder and started to go to his room at the foot of the stairs.  “Ah, Jean, Jean, you came to me, but I failed you; we all failed you,” Marius sighed.

    Ben stopped, then walked to a table near the stairs on which sat a pitcher of water.  He returned, carrying a damp cloth.  “Better?” he asked as Marius held the cloth over his face.

    “Umn,” the old Frenchman murmured from behind the cloth.

    “What did that mean?” Ben asked.  “You all failed him?”

    Marius sighed, lowering the cloth.  “Well, he’d just been married.  He adored his young and beautiful wife.  But when he believed her unfaithful, he ran, his whole world shattered.”

    “And his mother knew?” Ben queried.  “That would explain why Madame D’Marigny didn’t want to talk about her.”

    “I never believed the stories spread about Marie,” Marius declared.  “I tried to prove them false.  She was the innocent victim of deceit.”

    Ben found himself wanting to believe Marius rather than the story Jean had told him.  Having actually met Marie, he found it difficult to believe evil could reside in so fair and flawless a package.  “What was the truth?” he asked.

    Marius shook his head.  “The real facts about what happened are locked in her heart, along with grief and disillusionment.”

    Ben considered the words soberly as he lay sleepless on his bed that night.  Grief and disillusionment.  Yes, those words might describe what he’d seen in her face when he mentioned her husband.  If she were truly guiltless, how must she have felt when the person who should have stood by her side simply left her to face the gossips alone?  Such thoughts seemed disloyal to the man who’d saved his life, but like all these other inhabitants of his native city, Jean had been full of complexities, paradoxes, puzzles.  Still, Ben had made him a promise, a promise to deliver a message, and however little Jean’s wife wished to hear it, somehow Ben would have to speak it.  He’d try again tomorrow.

    Ben smiled approvingly at the simple dwelling before him.  If the information Marius had finessed from the bartender was correct, this was the home of Marie D’Marigny.  From the ornate elegance of the room in which he’d seen her last night and from the fashionable dress she’d worn Ben had expected something as lavishly overwhelming as the home of Jean’s mother.  This building, however, was only one story, roofed in red tile, its front courtyard fenced with heavy black wrought iron between pillars of red brick topped with large gray finials.  Most attractive, as was the courtyard through which Ben walked to reach the recessed doorway ornamented on each side with potted plants.

    Marie answered his knock.  She was dressed today in a royal blue frock with a more modestly cut neckline that, to Ben, made her seem even more attractive than what she’d worn to the salon.  Her hair was dressed more simply, too, forming a softer frame for her lovely face.

    But while she was a delight to Ben’s eyes, he was anything but delightful to hers.  “Sacré boulon!” Marie cried.  “It’s you again!”

    Ben removed his hat.  “I’m a stubborn man, Madame.”

    “Please go away,” Marie said firmly.

    “I will, as soon as you give me a chance to talk to you,” Ben insisted.

    “I know all I need to know about Jean,” Marie said and began to close the door.

    “Do you know that he’s——dead?” Ben blurted out.  Marie’s slender hand touched her bare throat.  “I’m sorry,” Ben apologized his eyes compassionate.  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.  He made me promise to seek you out and let you know.”

    Marie made a demure gesture with her head to invite him inside.  “Thank you,” Ben said as he entered.  In a glance he took in the few furnishings of the foyer:  another potted plant just inside the door, a single chair to one side of the entrance, a small table with a candelabra——not gold, however, like the one at Madame D’Marigny’s.  Everything here was plainer, yet, to Ben, twice as appealing as the wealthier woman’s home.

    “I’m sorry I had to give you the news so bluntly,” Ben said, “but you left me little choice.”

    “Go on, monsieur,” Marie invited, preceding him through an open door made of finely turned spindles into a parlor lighted by a wall of ceiling-to-floor windows that looked out on the greenery of the courtyard.  The furniture here was stylish, its wood finely carved, but unadorned by the gilt he’d seen in Jean’s former home.

    “Jean died after saving my life,” Ben said to Marie, who kept her back to him.  “He was a brave and courageous man.”

    “I accept your statement, monsieur,” Marie replied, plucking at the white undersleeve peeking from beneath a wide blue ruffle, “but it does not fit the Jean D’Marigny I knew.”

    “He asked me to tell you that he loved you,” Ben began again.

    “Love,” Marie sputtered bitterly.  “He didn’t know what it meant to love.”

    “A man on his death bed doesn’t lie,” Ben stated firmly.  He owed some defense to Jean’s memory, after all.

    Marie turned toward him, her face hard.  “All right, you’ve told me.  Now, good day, monsieur.”

    “That isn’t all he asked me to say to you,” Ben declared.

    “I’m not interested,” Marie replied, her head high.

    That was obvious, but Ben had to continue.  “He asked me to say that he forgave you.”

    “Forgave me!” Marie cried.  Fire sparked in her emerald eyes.

    “Yes,” Ben made himself say, “his words were he loved you and he forgave you.”

    “For what?” Marie demanded.  “He believed a horrible lie.  It was absurd.  He couldn’t have accepted it and really loved me.  Instead of trusting me, he ran off, leaving me disgraced and humiliated.  Where was he when I needed him, when my baby needed him?”

    Ben was taken aback.  “I didn’t know there was a child.”

    Marie regained control of her emotions.  “There is no child,” she said more quietly.  “His mother took him from me at birth.  He died of the fever.”

    “Jean never told me about that,” Ben admitted, then looked up at her sharply, suddenly recalling that Jean and Marie had been married only one month before they separated.  “Did he know?”

    The fire flew back into her face.  “If he knew, would he have cared?” she asked hotly.  Turning away, she begged, “Leave me alone, monsieur, please.”  She collapsed on the nearby settee.

    Having no words to heal her pain, Ben turned and walked softly out, leaving her to weep away her grief and anger in solitude.  He decided to walk back to the academy instead of hiring a carriage.  He needed time alone, time to think, time to sort things out.  He’d done his duty to Jean now; now he was free to leave New Orleans, to put these confusing people and their entangled emotions behind him.  But he didn’t feel free.  His own emotions felt as tied in knots as theirs, and he had no idea how to loosen their grip.  Maybe he wouldn’t be able to until he left the exotic fragrances of this city behind and breathed once more the pure, invigorating air of home.  He couldn’t leave yet, though.  He still had a commission to fulfill for Lawrence Larrimore, and he had yet to hear from Monsieur Clairmont.

    Marie D’Marigny exchanged rapier thrusts with her old fencing master, Marius Angierville.  Despite his greater age, Marius easily parried her attack time after time.  “Touché,” Marie said as the point of her opponent’s sword touched her protective vest.  She pulled off the mesh mask.  “Merci, cher maître.”

    Marius removed his mask and shook her hand.  “You have speed and accuracy,” he analyzed, “but your long lunge left you open to my riposte.  You’re too anxious for the kill.”

     Marie loosened the sides of her black skirt, which had been fastened to permit her legs freer movement.  “I’m an impatient woman, Marius.”

    “It will be the death of you,” Marius said soberly, then suggested more brightly, “Another bout.  Three touches.”

    Marie brushed back the damp hair on her forehead with both hands.  She’d worn it down today, falling loosely to her shoulders.  “I’m tired.”

    “You didn’t come here for a fencing lesson, Marie,” Marius said, laying a hand on her shoulder.  “Not after all this time.”

    Marie gave him an enigmatic smile.  “I’m not sure why I came.  I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

    “Well, I can’t give you any fatherly advice,” Marius sighed.  “There are no words to prevent memories from coming back to haunt you.”

    Marie sat in the chair beside a small table and looked fondly into her old fencing master’s face.  “You remind me of a gaunt old tree, gnarled and sad, all covered with Spanish moss and standing up to your knees in dark water.  You’ve been a loyal friend, Marius, even though you were wrong about my cousin Edward.  He’s been very good to me.  I——I think I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

    Just then Ben walked in, gray cape over his arm, hat in hand.  He dropped both in the brocade-covered chair beside the door.  Marie immediately stood and reached for her cloak.  “Oh, please don’t run off on my account,” Ben urged.  “I’ll be out of your way.”

    “Marius told me you wouldn’t be here today,” Marie said.

    “I came back sooner than I planned,” Ben explained.  “I was out walking around your magnificent city.”

    Marie looked embarrassed.  “I—I’m sorry if I’ve been rude, but you just don’t understand.”

    “Allow me,” Ben said, opening the door and placing the black cloak about her shoulders.  “New Orleans is a strange city, strange and unpredictable.”

    “There’s none other like it in the world,” Marie agreed.

    “I find the people rather difficult to understand, too,” Ben continued, for some reason not wanting the conversation to end.  “They’re a blend of so many things.”

    Marie nodded, an intriguing smile playing at her lips.  “Yes, good and evil, bitterness and sorcery and virtue.  You could live a lifetime and find nothing worse than warm sunshine or bubbles in honey.”  Her face darkened.  “Or you might suddenly become aware of the most——the most terrible rottenness.”

    “The west is like that, too,” Ben said quickly.  “Out west there are trees that touch the blue of the sky, unimaginably beautiful, and yet there’s an anger and violence about nature that seems to be there just to test people.  But it hardens them, too, makes them strong and unfeeling.  It’s a man’s country.”

    “Are you going back soon?” Marie asked, surprised that she cared.

    “Yes,” Ben replied.  “I thought——maybe——before I go——maybe we could have supper together, and I promise not to talk about anything more personal than bubbles in honey.”

    Marie looked down demurely, then up into his face.  “I’m sorry.  Good day, monsieur.”  She looked over her shoulder and called, “Bonjour, Marius.”

    Ben closed the door behind her, wondering why her refusal so saddened him.  He’d only meant the invitation as a courtesy to the widow of a friend.  Certainly, it had no meaning beyond that.  Perhaps it was the very commonplaceness of his gesture that made her refusal seem so tragic, as if there were no room left in her life for simple joys.

    “She’s like a woman possessed,” Marius commented as he poured himself a glass of wine, “one moment gay and full of life, the next driven, running to escape from something which seems to chase her.  Well, she loses herself in her way and I in mine.”  He took a sip of the wine.

    Ben picked up the fencing glove Marie had left on the table, folded it and laid it aside.  “You’ve got to learn to recover from sorrow.  I did from mine.”  He sat down, moving the mask Marie had left in the chair.

    During the evenings they’d spent together Ben had told Marius about the loss of his two wives.  Now the old Frenchman faced Ben directly and queried, “Did you?  I think not.  You’re still nursing your wounds, just like me.”

    “I learned to forget, Marius,” Ben alleged, pouring himself a glass of wine.

    “Marie can’t forget!” Marius declared hotly.  “A husband who deserted her, a mother-in-law who loathed her.  They had to be married secretly to avoid her interference.”

    “What about this other man, the one who was supposed to—”

    Marius stood and began gathering his fencing equipment from the table.  “I never found out who he was.  One of D’Arcy’s friends, perhaps.  I tried to make Jean see the truth, but it was no use.”

    Ben stood and lifted the glass of wine.  “Well, it isn’t my affair.  I have my own responsibilities.”  He took a drink.

    “Jean saved your life!” Marius accused loudly.  “He gave you this responsibility.”

    “Just a minute, Marius,” Ben objected.  “I paid my debt to Jean.”

    “How?” Marius pressed.  “By bringing us the sad tale of his death?  By bargaining with his mother for the purchase of rare imports?”

    “That’s a business obligation,” Ben said defensively.  “Besides, what could I do here that you have not been able to do?”

    “You could help me find the other man,” Marius declared.  He placed his sword, mask and glove on the bench beside the stairs.

    “Aw, that happened years ago,” Ben argued, toying with the remaining sword.  “Wouldn’t help Jean now anyway.  It’s a dead issue.”

    “Not to me!” Marius cried.  “And Marie is not a dead issue either.  You could talk to her, make her see that D’Arcy isn’t what she thinks, that he isn’t trying to help her, that he wants only to fulfill his own ambitions by marrying her off to some fat aristocrat.”

    “Well, what makes you think she’d listen to me?” Ben shouted.  “She all but ran from the room the minute she saw me.”  He dropped the sword to the table with a clatter.  “Anyway, I’m not going to get involved.  I have two sons; I’m going to get back to them.”

    Marius stared thoughtfully at Ben for a long moment.  “Maybe you’re right, my boy,” he said with poignant softness.  “Why bother with other people’s agonies when you have your own to keep you company?”  He drained his wineglass.

    Ben blanched.  How dare he?  How dare this crippled old man presume to read his heart?  How dare he stab him with truths too painful to face?  Ben walked away without responding and spent another restless night trying to sort out his turbulent thoughts.

    Sunday morning Ben finally received a note from Monsieur Clairmont, stating that he would be pleased to discuss business with Monsieur Cartwright the next evening at the Salon D’Arcy.  Having nothing better to do that afternoon, Ben took another stroll around the Vieux Carre, the French sector of New Orleans.  He had dressed in his fawn trousers and looped a matching string tie beneath the collar of his white shirt.  With his gray cut-away jacket and tan hat, he felt he had achieved a casual, but well-dressed look that seemed in keeping with the attire of most men he passed on the street.  He wanted to blend in, to call no undue attention to himself, just to wander alone with his thoughts.

    When he peered through a spindled gate into the garden of the Convent of Ursuline Nuns, however, he was glad he’d gone to the trouble of dressing neatly.  On a gray iron bench beneath a statue of some unknown saint sat Marie D’Marigny, lovely as always, in a ruby dress with white lace yoke and a large, shady hat with crimson ribbons and creamy feathers framing her delicate face.

    Ben entered the garden and walked up to her.  “I saw you from the street, Madame.  May I?” he suggested, gesturing toward the bench.  Marie nodded and he sat down.

    “I come here often,” Marie said, looking around the garden with affection.  “I was brought up in the convent after my parents died.”

    “It’s a beautiful place,” Ben commented.

    “I was happy here,” Marie said fondly, “though something of a rebel.”

    Ben tilted his head to examine her face and smiled.  “Yes, I think I can imagine you as a rebel.”

    A slight smile touched Marie’s lips, as well.  “I used to climb that tree,” she said, nodding toward one near the gate, “and look over the wall, fascinated by the beautiful French ladies in their Paris gowns with shining black hair and skin like roses.  I couldn’t wait to wash my face in sour buttermilk.”

    Ben laughed, amused that this exquisite beauty could ever have thought her looks lacking in any way.  Her recollections made him think of his own youthful dreams.  “When I was a boy,” he told her, “I used to stand on a pier and watch the great ships putting out to sea.  I used to imagine myself a captain on the quarter-deck, scanning the horizon, looking for rich new lands to discover.”  He laughed.  “For a long time I had to content myself with finding my heroes in books.”

    A shadow crossed Marie’s fair face.  “I think that was far better,” she said, that customary trace of bitterness lacing her voice.  “Then if they disillusion you, you can throw them into the fire.”  She stood and twirled her gray parasol in her white-gloved hands.  “It’s getting late.”

    “May I walk you home?” Ben requested.  When Marie nodded, he took her arm.  “Who were your heroes, Marie?”

    “Don Jean of Austria, Henri of Navarre, Cardinal Richelieu,” she responded readily.

    “Bold, forceful men,” Ben said as they passed through the gate onto the street.

    “Perfect heroes for a young Creole girl who hadn’t the vaguest ideas about love and life.”

    “You seem to have some definite ideas now,” Ben said soberly, as he guided her past the Indians selling beads along the sidewalk.  Ideas entirely too grim for a girl of twenty, he thought, but didn’t voice it.

    “About life?” Marie asked.  “We don’t live; we’re only in the expectation of living.”

    “And love?”

    “To love is to place one’s happiness in someone else’s hands,” Marie sighed, clearly thinking of Jean.

    “Yet there are hands that would cherish such happiness,” Ben said softly, “hands in which love would be safe.”

    As she opened a parasol so small it was little more than ornamental, Marie gave a deprecating laugh.  Sometimes Monsieur Cartwright seemed naive beyond belief.  “You have known such hands, monsieur?”

    “Yes, twice,” Ben replied.  Marie looked up at him quizzically.  “I’ve been married twice,” Ben explained, “each time to a woman in whose hands I could trust my love without fear of betrayal.”

    “Oh, oui,” Marie said.  “I had forgotten you were from Utah, where men take as many wives as they wish.”

    Ben laughed, loud and hearty.  “No, no,” he assured her.  “I’m no Mormon.  I’ve also been widowed twice, Madame D’Marigny.  Now I’m quite alone, except for my boys.”

    Marie blushed in embarrassment at her innocent misconception.  “You have sons?  You are fortunate in that, monsieur.”

    “They are the spark of my life,” Ben said.  “Without them, I don’t think I’d have had the heart to go on after the deaths of their mothers.”

    “Yes,” Marie agreed sadly, “to go on alone is the hardest task life demands of us.  We have more in common than I had thought, monsieur.”

    They had reached her house.  “I see so much of my own loneliness in you,” Ben said as they entered the courtyard.  He paused for a moment.  “I know I have no right to ask, but what happened that night?”

    Looking into his face, Marie felt she could trust this man who had also known sorrow and loss, but the words locked so long within the dungeon of her heart came slowly, painfully.  “I—I was alone.  Jean had finally worked up the courage to——to tell his mother we’d been married.  But he wanted to do it by himself.”  She took a breath.  “I must have been sleeping for some time when I—I became aware of someone near me.  I thought it was Jean.  When I realized it wasn’t, I struggled.  That’s when Jean came in the room.”

    “It must have been terrible for you,” Ben said softly.

    “He should have believed me,” Marie declared, her golden head proudly lifted, her eyes brimful of the crushed idealism of youthful romance.

    “Yes,” Ben said slowly, sympathetically, “he should have.”

    “His mother was anxious to believe the lie,” Marie stated bitterly.

    “Something should have been done about that lie a long time ago, Marie,” Ben said.

    Marie looked into his face, seeing no dissimulation, no mockery.  Without a word, she turned and walked inside.  That was rude, she told herself later, but she had been too shocked to think of manners at the time.  How could this stranger believe her so readily when the man who had promised to love, honor and cherish her had so easily accepted the lie?  It made no sense, nor did her attraction for the man.

    Marie smiled as she remembered all the gentlemen to whom her cousin Edward had introduced her since Jean’s departure.  Any one of them would have made a better match than this rough westerner.  Yet, though Edward had urged her to remarry——for her own benefit and future security——Marie had not been able to bear the thought of giving her heart to another man.  Secretly, she had hoped Jean would one day return to beg her forgiveness.  Instead, he had sent a blunt-mannered rancher to offer forgiveness to her!  The message was unspeakably insulting.  But the messenger?  Once Marie separated him from his awkward message, Ben Cartwright no longer seemed the boorish barbarian she had first thought him.  He was a man of sensitivity——one, perhaps, in whose hands love could be trusted——and Marie found herself envying the two women who had been blessed to be his wives.

    Marie felt foolish giving so much attention to her toilet Monday evening.  She always dressed well when she went to her cousin’s salon, of course.  Edward expected it of her and had often told her that her beauty encouraged the right sort of customers to frequent his place of business.  Many nights Marie would have preferred a quiet evening at home, but she felt she owed Edward any help she could give.  It was small repayment for all his kindness to her.

    Tonight, however, she wanted to look especially fine, so she chose her coral satin gown edged with gold braid.  She adjusted the puff sleeves so a graceful ruffle circled the curve of each elbow, then added the most exquisite jeweled necklace and earrings that Edward had bought her.  All because she knew Ben Cartwright would be coming to the salon tonight to meet with Monsieur Clairmont.

    Foolish, she chided herself again.  To him, you are only the widow of a man to whom he feels a debt of honor.  Tomorrow or the next day he will be gone, and he will forget you.  Be wise, and forget him as quickly.   None of her arguments succeeded, however.  She made herself as alluring as possible, as Edward had often urged her to do.  If nothing else, Monsieur Cartwright’s last impression of her would be a pleasurable one.

    When Ben entered the salon with Marius, Marie’s feelings of foolishness faded, for Mr. Cartwright also was dressed to please the eye. Her eye, perhaps?  He wore the same gray jacket as always——Marie suspected he had no other——but tonight he wore gray trousers with a gray vest flecked with crimson and a crimson tie.  To her, he looked as handsome and as well-dressed as any of the rich plantation owners idling away the hours over a hand of cards.

    Edward D’Arcy, seated with her at a small table, noticed her distracted attention.  “How popular we are becoming, cousin!  Marius and his American friend are becoming regular customers.”

    Marie stretched an imploring hand across the table.  “Leave Marius alone, Edward,” she pleaded.

    “Don’t concern yourself,” Edward said smoothly, covering her hand with his.  “My quarrel with the old hotspur is ancient history.”  He performed a deft card trick for her amusement and Marie gave him an obligatory smile.

    “That’s Monsieur Clairmont with his back to us at the table,” Marius told Ben.

    “Wait for me at the bar,” Ben suggested.  He approached the rear table where four men sat playing a game of cards.  “Monsieur Clairmont, I’m Ben Cartwright.”

    “Oh it is a pleasure to meet you, monsieur,” the importer replied, shaking Ben’s hand.  He wore spectacles above a narrow brush-like mustache of iron gray.

    “I got your note and came at the time requested,” Ben said.

    “Oh, yes, yes,” Monsieur Clairmont said absently, “about some goods you hope to purchase for resale.  Madame D’Marigny spoke to me.  Er——you play poker, Monsieur Cartwright?”

    Ben looked puzzled.  “Well, I thought you wanted to discuss business, sir.”

    “Oh, certainly, my boy, certainly,” Monsieur Clairmont replied.  “I have a room in the back reserved for our negotiations.  But won’t you join us for a little while and we’ll discuss business later?”

    Another man at the table gestured to the empty chair between him and Monsieur Clairmont.  “Please do join us, monsieur.”

    “Well, thank you,” Ben said, reluctantly taking the seat.  He could count on one hand the number of times he’d played poker in his life, and he didn’t particularly want to play tonight.  It seemed, however, the only way to conclude the business he’d contracted to do for Lawrence Larrimore.

    Monsieur Clairmont smiled.  “I have one vice——cards.”  Ben nodded perfunctorily and the game began.

    They had played for approximately half an hour when Edward D’Arcy approached their table.  Ben’s luck had been surprisingly good for one unpracticed in the art of gambling.  “Well, gentlemen, I have three queens,” he announced, showing another winning hand.

    “Ah, Monsieur D’Arcy, have you had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur Cartwright?” Monsieur Clairmont asked.

    “Yes,” D’Arcy replied coolly.  “He’s the gentleman who does not devote himself to blind chance.”  Ben glanced sidewise at the salon’s proprietor.

    “Certainly doing well with it tonight,” Monsieur Clairmont announced amiably.

    “Throw a lucky man in the Nile, says an old Arabian proverb, and he’ll come up with a fish in his mouth,” D’Arcy commented.  Ben joined in the laughter that rippled around the table, though he wasn’t sure D’Arcy’s comment had been made in jest.  There was a cynical undertone to the comment that Ben found disturbing.  One man, having lost repeatedly, excused himself from the game.  “May I join in?” D’Arcy suggested.

    “Please do,” Monsieur Clairmont invited.

    D’Arcy sat in the vacated chair and the game continued.  Surprisingly, so did Ben’s good fortune.  When Ben raised the last bid, Clairmont folded his cards.  “I believe you, Monsieur Cartwright.”

    “I’ll pay for the pleasure of seeing your hand, Monsieur Cartwright,” D’Arcy declared, matching the raise.

    Ben laid down his hand, a straight.  “Incredible luck!” Monsieur Clairmont exclaimed.

    “It’s your deal,” D’Arcy pointed out.

    Alone at her table, Marie looked across to the bar where Marius stood, decked in his usual drab olive jacket with black velvet lapels.  “Marius, won’t you join me?” she called.

    Marius bowed.  “Thank you.”  He brought his drink and sat in D’Arcy’s vacated chair.  Together, they watched the progress of the game of poker.  This time Ben was the dealer.

    “Monsieur Cartwright, may I see those cards?” D’Arcy demanded abruptly.

    Startled and irritated, Ben slapped the cards to the table.  D’Arcy slowly spread them out, face up, revealing three aces at the bottom of the deck.  Monsieur Clairmont cut a suspicious glance at Ben.  D’Arcy stood.  “You are a cheat and a thief,” he accused.  Alarmed, Marie and Marius stood, as well.

    So did Ben.  “D’Arcy, you cut those cards!” he sputtered.

    “Barbarian!” D’Arcy cried, his outrage visible to all in the room.  “You accuse me!  Why, you uncouth, backwoods—”

    Ben doubled his fist and slammed it into the man’s jaw, decking him.  Though he rarely resorted to violence, he knew instantly that he’d been deliberately set up, deliberately made to appear dishonest, and he was furious.

    The other three men at the table stood quickly and moved aside as D’Arcy rose from the floor, touching his bleeding lip.  “I demand satisfaction for this insult, monsieur:  the Plantation Allard at dawn.  Weapons——rapiers.”

    “Oui,” Ben said, using the French word to exhibit the contempt he felt for his French opponent.

    Marius came forward, grabbing D’Arcy’s arm.  “He can’t fence, D’Arcy, and you know it.”

    “If he doesn’t wish to satisfy me, he’d better conduct himself out of town immediately,” Edward advised with a surly sneer.

    Marius took a wineglass from the card table beside him and flung its contents into D’Arcy’s face.  “He won’t need to do either!” he shouted.

    “Marius, you stay out of this,” Ben cautioned.

    “I’m already in it,” Marius announced with fierce pride.

    “This is my affair,” Ben insisted.  “Now stop interfering.”

    “You can have him when I’m through with him,” the old fencing master said hotly.

    “How popular I am,” Edward laughed disdainfully.  “Gentlemen, it will be a pleasure to do business with both of you.  Whoever is first is immaterial.”

    “Let the cards decide,” Marius suggested.

    “Now, Marius, listen to me,” Ben protested.

    Marie had followed Marius to the scene of conflict, but had remained silent until now.  She laid delicate fingers on Edward’s sleeve.  “Edward, no, please,” she begged.

    “Marie, you stay out of this,” Edward ordered.

    “Marius, will you please listen?” Ben was continuing to ask an unheeding Marius.

    “You cut the cards,” Marius said.

    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Ben snapped.

    “All right, I’ll cut them for you,” Marius replied, lifting first one card, then another.  “Yours, queen; mine, king.  You lose, my boy.”  He turned to the salon’s proprietor.  “All right, D’Arcy, the oak grove, Allards Plantation, at dawn.”

    D’Arcy lifted his chin haughtily.  “Perfectly satisfactory.”

    “Now, Marius—” Ben started to protest again.

    “Come along, my boy,” Marius ordered, taking Ben’s arm.  “Come along!”

    When they had left, Marie turned to her cousin, fire in her eyes.  “Edward, no, please,” she repeated, pulling his elbow to make him face her.  “Monsieur Cartwright is no match for your rapier.  He knows nothing of such things.  And Marius is an old man!  He’s crippled!”

    “Why are you so concerned about Monsieur Cartwright?” Edward asked, eyes intent on her face.

    Marie’s cheeks flamed.  She couldn’t answer.  She barely understood herself what her feelings were for Ben Cartwright.  How could she explain them to Edward?  And just now, she was too angry with her cousin to speak at all.  She walked away without answering, took her cloak and left the salon.

    Ben leaned against the back of a chair as Marius practiced thrusting his rapier before the three-paneled mirror.  He’d started the minute they arrived back from Salon D’Arcy and had thus far given himself no rest.  “To a Frenchman, my boy, honor is sacred,” the old fencing master declared.

    “Oh, come on, Marius,” Ben argued.  “I was tricked into that duel; you know that.”

    “Of course, you were,” Marius agreed, lunging forward once again.

    “Why?” Ben asked.

    “Obviously, you’re considered a threat,” Marius stated matter-of-factly.

    Ben pulled himself upright.  “A threat?  To what?  To whom?”  He spread his hands to the walls  “By whom?”

    “Obviously, again, by Madame D’Marigny,” replied Marius, tucking his rapier beneath one arm, “which is why she’s hired D’Arcy to arrange your convenient demise.”

    That made no sense to Ben.  What threat could he possibly pose to Jean’s mother?  Did she that greatly fear his uncovering the truth about the night that had led to her son’s repudiation of his wife?  He folded his arms.  “Well, it’s still my fight, and I won’t have you interfering.”

    After placing his weapon on the bench by the stairs, Marius turned to face Ben.  “My dear boy, do you actually believe you could meet D’Arcy in a cartel with rapiers?  The man’s a professional duelist.  He’s killed four men.  He half crippled me, a fencing master!”

    Ben couldn’t deny those facts.  “Well, then, we’ll have to find some other way to settle it.  That’s all.”

    “There is no other way!” Marius shouted.  “Unless I kill the man first, he’ll kill you.”

    Ben gave the older man a confident look.  “Marius, I’m not helpless.  I may not be a fencer, but I can hold my own with the best of them with my fists or with practically any kind of firearm.”

    “Too late for that,” Marius sneered eloquently.  “He’s maneuvered you so he has the choice of weapons.”  He walked to the table and poured himself a glass of wine.

    “You’d better understand me, Marius,” Ben warned.  “I’m not leaving town, and I’m not going to let you do my fighting for me.”

    Marius, blue eyes snapping, declared, “And there’s something you must understand:  I have been given another chance, and you’re not taking it from me.  You have everything——a great future, sons——for me, there is only honor.  Without it, I’m nothing.”

    “Honor!” Marie cried, sweeping into the room through the open doorway.  She had walked from the salon to the academy, but it wasn’t just the exercise that brought the heightened color to her cheeks.  “The word hangs in the air of New Orleans like the refrain of a song.”

    “I taught you the art of fencing, Marie,” Marius responded defensively.  “I taught you the code that holds men to the high standard of honor and courtesy.”

    “The Code,” Marie said bitterly.  “Marius, this time you will die.  I know it,” she added, her voice soft with feeling.

    “Perhaps, but with dignity,” Marius announced proudly.

    Marie stepped over to Ben.  “Ben, Marius is just trying to save you.  He can’t win.”

    “He’s not gonna have a chance to try,” Ben assured her.

    “Ben!” Marius protested.

    “I’ve heard all I want to hear, Marius; the discussion is over.”

    Marius looked at his friends thoughtfully.  “Well, maybe you’re right, my boy,” he said, suddenly, inexplicably, tractable.  “Maybe it’s just the stubborn pride of an old man.”  He left the room, going up the stairs.

    Marie looked into Ben’s brown eyes.  “What about you?” she asked.  “How are you going to fight D’Arcy?”

    Ben gazed searchingly at her.  “I thought your concern was for Marius.”

    Marie averted her eyes.  “I love the dear man, but—”

    “But what?” Ben pressed.

    Marie blushed, then looked steadily into Ben’s face.  “My concern isn’t only for Marius,” she admitted.

    Ben’s heart leaped.  For him, then.  She was concerned for him.  As she would be for anyone in danger?  Or did he dare hope her concern was more personal?  Sleep came slowly to Ben that night, not solely from fear over his fate, to be decided at dawn.  As on other nights since he’d come to New Orleans, he found himself trying to solve the enigma of surging emotions, emotions he’d thought dead and buried in the graves of Elizabeth and Inger, emotions that tonight seemed not only alive, but flaming hot.

    When Ben finally fell asleep, he slept heavily and woke feeling sluggish.  He wasn’t sure at first what had awakened him, then he became aware of the pounding on the front door.  He pushed aside the mosquito netting around his bed and stumbled to answer the door.  He opened it and Marie stepped inside.  She was still dressed in the gown she’d worn the night before, wrinkled now.  “Ben, I couldn’t go to sleep,” she said hurriedly.  “I just saw Marius and Edward headed for The Oaks.”

    Ben was suddenly aware of daylight.  Already dawn, the scheduled hour of his duel with D’Arcy, and because he’d overslept, Marius was making good his threat to take on the professional swordsman before Ben had a chance.  “The fool!” Ben cried.  “You’ll have to show me where they hold these stupid duels.”

    “My carriage is outside,” Marie said.

    Ben snatched his great cape from the rack by the door and hurried out after her.  Though Marie urged the driver to make all haste, the duel was well underway by the time they arrived at The Oaks.  Ben sprang from the carriage and helped Marie down, then they both ran toward the rapid clang of steel on steel.

    D’Arcy made a final vicious lunge and plunged his blade between two of Marius’ ribs.  The old fencing master staggered back, dropping his rapier.  Marie rushed forward crying his name.  Ben was close behind her.  “Marius, you old fool!” he cried as he eased the old man to the ground beneath a towering oak.

    “I failed you, my boy,” Marius gasped.  “I failed you both.”

    Fire flashing across his face, Ben stood and moved toward D’Arcy.  “Ben!” Marie cried, still kneeling at Marius’ side.

    Ben ignored her.  “You know what you are, D’Arcy?” he demanded.  “A hired assassin, fighting an old man.  You’re a white-livered disgrace to yourself and your so-called code of honor!”

    With the back of his hand, D’Arcy slapped Ben’s cheek.

    Ben saw his chance.  “I consider that a challenge which supersedes our previous arrangement,” he announced.  “My choice of weapon is pistols——here and now!”

    “Agreeable, monsieur,” D’Arcy snapped.  “André, the pistols.”

    As Ben removed his cloak, he saw Marius nod in satisfaction.  Now Ben and D’Arcy stood on equal footing.  Now the fight would be a fair one.  Marie put her arm behind Marius’ back and raised him to watch the contest.

    The two opponents stood back to back and paced away from each other to the count of ten.  Then both turned and D’Arcy immediately fired.  The shot grazed Ben’s upper arm, but drew little blood.

    “You did not fire, monsieur,” D’Arcy’s second, André, pointed out.

    Ben pointed the pistol at Edward D’Arcy.  He had, despite his contempt for the man, no desire to kill.  “You’ll live, D’Arcy,” he announced, “if you tell the truth about Marie and the man you hired to disgrace her.”

    D’Arcy sneered.  “You know nothing of the matter of honor,” he shouted.  “Fire and be done with it!”

    “Honor,” Ben spat.  “What do you know about honor?”  Pointing his weapon skyward, he discharged it, tossed the pistol aside and advanced on D’Arcy.  He doubled his fist and slammed it into the Frenchman’s jaw.

    D’Arcy went down, but came up at once, hitting the side of Ben’s head with the pistol he still held.  Ben fell, and before he could rise, D’Arcy kicked him in the ribs.  From his knees Ben swung and knocked the pistol from D’Arcy’s hand, then stood and threw his opponent against a towering oak.

    Ben’s skills clearly exceeded D’Arcy’s in a fair fight, which this was, now that D’Arcy was disarmed.  Though the Frenchman was younger than Ben and kept himself fit through regular fencing engagements, the rancher had muscles built by hard work, while D’Arcy’s were the sensitive hands of a professional gambler.  Ben’s advantage was further strengthened by his righteous indignation.  D’Arcy had smeared an innocent woman; he had dealt an old man a fatal blow with his rapier; he didn’t deserve to live.

    Fury fired Ben’s fists, and he soon pummeled his opponent into gasping submission.  “Tell them, D’Arcy,” Ben ordered, clutching the Frenchman by his frilled shirt front and hauling him around to face the assembled observers of the fight.  “Tell them the truth about Marie.”

    “Yes,” D’Arcy stammered breathlessly.  “Madame D’Marigny arranged the whole thing——through me.”

    Marius sank back to the ground, a smile of supreme satisfaction on his frail face.  Ben released D’Arcy, letting him slump against the carriage wheel against which Ben had held him, and walked immediately to the dying fencing master.

    Marius stretched a hand toward him.  “Thank you, my boy,” he whispered, then turned to Marie, kneeling at his other side.  “I’m knee deep in dark water,” he said, recalling her earlier description, “but no longer sad.”

    Marie wept softly, her emerald eyes shimmering as she watched him die.  “No, Marius, no!” she cried, shaking him.  He couldn’t leave her; he was all she had in the world now that Edward’s perfidy had been exposed.

    Ben looked across at her with deep compassion.  “Don’t cry, Marie,” he said, longing to comfort her.  “He died as he wanted to, according to the code by which he lived.”

    Marie jumped to her feet.  “The Code!” she cried as she turned and stalked away.  “I’m sick to death of the Code.  All this stupid, shallow desperation that drives decent men to destroy themselves.”  She turned to find Ben directly behind her.  “Look at this hanging moss with its slime and sickness,” she fumed, flinging her head at the ancient oaks shrouded in feathery gray drapes of Spanish moss, “like this proud society that builds a wall around itself and shuts out the world.”

    Ben took her by both shoulders.  “Marie, there’s a world beyond that wall——a real world, a beautiful world.”

    Marie stared defiantly at him.  “Where trees touch the sky?” she asked sarcastically.

    Ben ignored the tone.  “Yes, where trees touch the sky,” he said earnestly, “and they grow straight and tall and clean, where life is reborn every moment, every day.”

    Marie glanced back to the body of her old fencing master, now being attended by his seconds for the duel.  “Not for me,” she said, looking sadly toward the scene.  “Death follows me.”

    Ben pulled her around so all she could see was his face.  “Only in the past, only in the past,” he promised fervently.  “There’s life ahead for you, for us.  Without you, it would be empty for me.”

    Marie seemed overwhelmed.  “Empty?” she murmured in disbelief.  “But with your sons and the future you are building for them?”

    “Until I came here, I thought my life was quite full,” Ben declared, amazed himself by the ardor of his words, “My sons were all I needed, but now I know:  without you it could never be complete.  Come back with me.  Be my wife.  I love you.”

    Marie gazed into his warm, tender eyes.  It couldn’t be true.  He couldn’t love her.  Yet as soon as he said the words, she realized how much she longed for them to be true, how much she loved him, though she was admitting it to herself for the first time.  But for him to love her, too?  That wasn’t possible.  Such love happened only in storybooks.  But those velvet eyes couldn’t, wouldn’t, lie.  “Oh, Ben,” she cried, impulsively casting aside her fears, “I love you!”  She melted into his arms and his impassioned kiss breathed life into her heart once more.
 
 

Morning sunshine sifted through lace curtains, forming interesting patterns of light and shadow on the small table in Marie’s kitchen.  “More café, Ben?” Marie asked, reaching for the pot.

    Ben tried to keep from smiling.  “No, thank you, my dear; this will be quite sufficient.”

    Pouring herself a cup, Marie laughed.  “Oh, I’m sorry, Ben.  Americans do not take their coffee so strong, do they?”

    Ben reached across the table to press her hand.  “Not by a considerable measure,” he chuckled.

    “Well, I shall learn to do all things to your taste,” she promised.

    “Everything about you is to my taste,” Ben purred.  “I’m glad you asked me to breakfast here instead of stopping at the restaurant as I suggested.”

    “It is more private,” Marie said, as she had during their earlier conversation, “and we have much to talk about.”

    “We do, indeed,” Ben agreed.  “So much has happened so fast I scarcely know where I am.”

    “In New Orleans,” Marie teased, “though I hope not for long.”

    A sour look crossed Ben’s face.  “I’d be happy to leave this evening, as soon as we’ve buried Marius, but unfortunately I still haven’t made those purchases for my friend in San Francisco.  Now, without Monsieur Clairmont’s help, I don’t even know where to start.”

    Marie broke off a piece of flaky croissant and spread a little butter on it.  “Why do you think he will not help you?”

    Ben reached for the pot of strawberry jam.  “I can’t imagine he’d want to do business with a cheat.”

    “Ben!” Marie cried.

    “That’s how he sees me, my love,” Ben said, “after that charade D’Arcy staged last night.  And for all I know, Clairmont may have been in on it.”

    Marie laughed.  “You would not say that, Ben, if you knew Monsieur Clairmont.  He is easily manipulated, that is true, but only because he himself has so innocent a heart.  And by now all of New Orleans knows of the confession you forced from Edward this morning.  It is he who is discredited, not you.”

    Ben looked hopeful.  “You think there’s a chance, then, that I could conclude my business relatively soon?”

    “I am sure it can be arranged,” Marie said, “and, like you, I am eager to leave New Orleans.  It holds nothing for me now but painful memories.”  She looked at Ben and her face brightened.  “But I shall bury all that this afternoon, along with dear Marius.  And tomorrow we shall begin a new life, oui?”

    “A new life, a wonderful life,” Ben vowed.

    Marie glanced shyly at him.  “Ben, could we be married soon?” she asked quietly, “I know you might prefer to wait until you can be with your family and friends—”

    “Oh, Marie.”  Ben took her hand again.  “I would like to have the boys at our wedding, of course, but that simply isn’t practical.  It will take weeks to reach my home, and if we’re to travel together all that time, I believe we should do so as man and wife.  I wouldn’t jeopardize your reputation for anything on earth, my love.”

    A single tear trickled from the corner of Marie’s eye.  “Ben, you touch me:  your courageous actions this morning have vindicated my honor, and still you guard it.”

    “I didn’t feel courageous,” Ben said wryly.

    Marie’s eyes fell lovingly on his face.  “To me, you are Don Jean of Austria, Henri of Navarre and Cardinal Richelieu, all my childhood heroes in one.”

    “Oh, my,” Ben laughed.  “How shall I ever live up to that?  But I promise you one thing, my love.”  He spread his hands, palm up, before her.  “These may be only the hands of a rancher, rough and worn from wind and weather and work, but you can trust your love, your honor, your life in them.”

    Marie put both slender hands in his outstretched ones.  “That I will never doubt.”  For a moment they sat quietly, drinking in the affection and respect each saw in the other’s eyes.  Then Marie pulled her hands back and broke off another piece of croissant.  “We can be married soon, then, as soon as tomorrow?”

    “As soon as you can make the arrangements,” Ben said.  “I—I suppose you’ll want to be married by your priest.  Can he do that tomorrow?”

    Marie shook her head, smiling at his ignorance.  “No, Ben, not tomorrow——nor any other time.  I cannot marry you in the church.”

    “But why?” Ben asked.  “It doesn’t matter to me, of course, since I’m not Catholic, but I thought you’d want—”

    “It is because you are not Catholic, Ben,” Marie interrupted to explain.  “No priest will marry us.”

    “You’re stepping outside your faith to marry me, is that it?” Ben asked, his brow wrinkling with concern.  When she nodded, he asked, “Does that disturb you?”

    “A little,” Marie admitted, “but only a little.  It is a long time since I felt welcome in church, Ben.”

    “I don’t understand.”

    “The priests, the nuns treat me well enough,” Marie told him, “but every time I went to Mass, each woman I passed drew her skirts aside, lest they be sullied by brushing against the sinner.”

    “Sinner!” Ben fumed.  “It was those who slandered you who sinned.”

    Marie nodded.  “But the proud women of New Orleans would never admit they judged me wrongly.  Their pride would make them find other things to criticize.  No, I will not be sorry to leave the church.  Except for the blessed sisters, the only women there who accepted me were the prostitutes.”

    “Marie,” Ben chided softly.

    “It was so,” Marie said defensively.  “Many of them are not evil, Ben, just women with no place to turn.  And such I might have been had it not been for Edward.”

    “Edward!”  Ben all but spat the name.

    “I know,” Marie said, then looked sadly at the white linen tablecloth as she ran her index finger along its edge.  “I know now that what Marius told me long ago was true:  Edward was only kind to me to bring advantage to himself.”  She looked up.  “But when Jean abandoned me, I had no way to make my living, Ben.  Before I married, I lived by my needle, but when he left, no one wanted to employ an adulteress, as I was believed to be.  Edward came to me, claiming affection for one of his own blood, and offered to support me.  Everything I have, Ben——my house, the table at which we sit, the very clothes on my back——came from Edward.”

    Ben came to kneel beside her, enfolding her in his arms.  “No wonder you defended him so staunchly.”

    “I was completely taken in,” Marie sighed, “so you see why I wish to marry quickly.  Who knows if I shall have a place to lay my head by tomorrow?”

    “You have a place to lay your head,” Ben said, gently placing it against his shoulder.

    Marie smiled up into his face.  “I could ask for no sweeter pillow.”

    Ben stroked her smooth cheek.  “So, we’ll be married tomorrow, a civil ceremony, I suppose.”

    “Then as soon as you finish your business we will set sail for your home,” Marie sighed contentedly.

    Ben bit his lip.  “Uh, there’s just one thing, my love.”  He stood and walked a step away before turning to face her.  “I had made other plans——before I met you——and, of course, if they must be changed, we will, but—”  He couldn’t make himself ask.

    Marie stood and came to him, encircling him in her arms.  “What is it, Ben?”

    Ben looked chagrined.  “Well, I’d planned to travel upriver to Saint Joseph, to visit an old friend.  I know it’s not much of a honeymoon, but it’s so far from there to Carson Valley that I doubt I’ll ever have another chance.”

    “Then we will go,” Marie said tenderly, “and the journey there shall be our honeymoon.”

    Ben’s face lighted happily.  “Oh, what a woman I’m marrying!”  For the second time that morning, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

    Propped on his left elbow, Ben brushed the loose, golden hair lying next to him on the snowy pillowcase.  He still couldn’t believe this beautiful creature could be his wife.  So lovely, so young, only twenty.  What did she see in an old man like him?  Why, he was almost old enough to be her father, but there was nothing in the passion with which they’d made love the night before that indicated she saw him as old and fatherly.  Slowly, the long-lashed eyelids fluttered open and those exquisite emerald eyes were gazing up into his tender brown ones.  “Good morning, Mrs. Cartwright,” he whispered, still awed by his incredible good fortune in calling her his.

    Marie smiled and stretched her arms toward him.  He bent to kiss her lips, then, gathering her into his arms, lay down again, her head cradled against his breast.  “Too soon it is morning,” Marie sighed contentedly.  “I would lie by your side until the moon rises again.”

    Ben kissed her forehead.  “I suppose we could,” he chuckled, “though our neighbors might think us quite decadent.”

    “Our neighbors?” Marie asked.

    “In the other staterooms,” Ben explained.

    “Oh, them,” Marie giggled.  “What do we care for them?  I suddenly find I am hungry, though.”

    “So am I——for you,” Ben teased, nibbling her ear.

    “I am not a disappointment to you, then?”  She sounded serious.

    Ben’s brow furrowed.  “A disappointment?  How could you be?”

    Marie twisted the edge of the sheet between her slender fingers.  “I have little experience, you know, only that one month with Jean, and we could meet but rarely.”

    Ben laughed and caught her up in his arms.  “And I’m such a man of the world, am I?”

    “You’ve had two others to compare me by,” Marie whispered.

    Ben gently stroked her golden hair.  “I’m not in the habit of comparing my wives,” he said.  “Elizabeth and Inger were both fine women, and I loved them dearly, but not more than you.”

    Marie smiled then and snuggled against his shoulder.  “Tell me about them,” she said.  “Were they beautiful?”

    Ben sank back on the pillow.  “Yes, each in her way.  Elizabeth was dark-haired with fine black eyes that were sharp with intelligence.  Adam’s a great deal like her.”

    “Your older son?”

    “That’s right,” Ben said.  “Adam’s thirteen now and quite a young man.  You know, when Jean passed away, Adam wanted me to make him foreman of the ranch.  I almost could have, too; he’s a very responsible boy.”

    “But that would be too much responsibility for one so young, oui?” Marie asked.

    “Oui,” Ben said, “though I’m not sure Adam would agree.  I think he was still unhappy with me when I left, but he should be over it by now.  His mother could be stubborn, too, downright hard-headed once her mind was made up, and Adam’s like her in that.”

    Marie studied Ben’s face.  “Elizabeth was not perfect, then?”

    Ben smiled and tickled her chin.  “No one is, my love.  You’ll find I have faults enough, I’m sure.”

    Marie lifted her lips to his cheek.  “Not in my eyes, my love, never in my eyes.”

    “I’ll remind you of that after our first quarrel,” Ben chuckled.

    “Which shall be in two minutes if you keep this up,” Marie threatened.  “I have a terrible temper, you know.”

    “I know; I’ve seen it, but you’re beautiful when you’re angry,” Ben laughed, rolling her onto his prone body.

    Marie pushed away and hammered his chest with diminutive fists.  “Tell me about your second wife, you naughty man,” she ordered.

    “Inger?” Ben said.  “Very different from Elizabeth.  She was Swedish——large-boned, but lovely——though she didn’t think so.  I suppose, to be honest, her real beauty was her sweetness of spirit, her large heart.  And Hoss, my younger boy, seems to have inherited her loving nature.  He’s a big boy, with nearly a foot of height for each of his five years, but so gentle with little children or animals.  He’ll take you to his heart in an instant.”

    “As I shall take him.  I cannot wait to meet him——and Adam,” Marie murmured, “though I think I shall be a shock for them.”

    “Not a shock, a wonderful surprise,” Ben predicted.  “The boys need a woman’s touch as much as I do.  Now, perhaps, we should dress and see what’s available for breakfast.”

    They got up and Ben poured water for washing and shaving while Marie fingered through the contents of her trunk.  Hearing her sigh, Ben turned and smiled.  “Don’t tell me; you don’t have a thing to wear.”

    Marie sat in the floor beside the overflowing trunk.  “More than I need, I think,” she admitted, “but I’m not sure they are the right sort of clothes.  These gowns were meant to entertain in the salon, to attract men’s attention, I am ashamed to say.  Perhaps I should have left them behind, but I had few others.”

    Ben stepped across the cabin and lifted her to her feet.  “You’re beautiful in them, and you earned them, my love.  Wear them without shame, but I agree they may not be appropriate to life on a ranch.  We’ll be in Saint Joseph about a week, time enough to visit a dressmaker and have some simpler things made.”

    “Could I, Ben?” Marie asked, her eyes lighting.  “Have you money enough for that?”

    “Mercy, woman,” Ben laughed.  “Did you think I’d married you without having funds to feed and clothe you?”

    Marie blushed.  “I have no idea how much money you have, Ben, nor do I care.  But a wife should know such things, so she does not bankrupt her husband with her purchases.”

    “You can buy a complete new wardrobe without bankrupting me,” Ben chuckled.  “I may not be as wealthy as the D’Marignys, but I’m doing well.  Why, we’re even planning a fine new house.”

    “Truly, Ben?” Marie asked with evident interest.  “Oh, you must tell me all about it!”

    “In good time, my love,” Ben said.  “Now please pick one of these dresses, so we can, at least, have a cup of coffee before our neighbors take it all.”

    “I shall be dressed before you,” Marie tittered, pushing him away.  “Go shave your scruffy face.”

    Ben rubbed his chin.  It was rough, and here he’d been pressing it up against her smooth, porcelain cheek.  He lathered his face quickly and lifted his razor.

    Marie, of course, was not ready by the time Ben had shaved and dressed.  He’d never met a woman who could put herself together that quickly, but he didn’t have to wait long.  And he was gratified to find that they weren’t so late in arriving that there was nothing left to eat.  Fresh fruit was such a treat that Ben loaded his plate with pineapple, orange segments and bananas, along with apples and figs and dates.  With a freshly baked pastry and a steaming cup of coffee, made to American taste, Ben considered himself well fed.

    After breakfast he and his bride strolled along the promenade, finally leaning against the rail to watch the magnificent plantation houses sliding past.  As a particularly large one came into view, Marie pointed it out.  “That was Jean’s home,” she said.

    Ben gaped, mouth open.  “But—but I thought his home was in New Orleans.  I saw his mother there.”

    “That was their townhouse,” Marie said, “but they spent the summers here.  All the wealthy families leave New Orleans when the heat comes, Ben.  The risk of yellow fever is too great in the city.”

    “Oh, I see,” Ben said.  “That’s what took your baby, isn’t it, the fever?”

    “Yes,” Marie replied, her eyes reflecting the sadness of that memory.  “That is where he lies buried,” she continued, nodding across the water to the D’Marigny estate, “though I have never seen his grave.  I was not welcome there even for that.”

    Ben took her by the shoulders.  “Would you like to?” he asked, his voice hard.  “I could see to it.”

    Marie placed gentle hands on his taut muscles.  “No, Ben,” she said.  “The past is buried; let it stay so.  And your sons shall become mine.  Besides, my little boy is not in that plot of earth.  He is alive in heaven; I would rather wait and see him there.”

    Ben took her face between his hands.  “You’re a remarkable woman, Marie.  You’re right, of course; we both have loved ones waiting in heaven, but, please God, we shall have many happy years together before we go to meet them.”

    “A hundred would be too few,” Marie said, drawing close, her arms circling his waist.  They embraced, inviting the indulgent smiles of other couples promenading the deck.

    Ben spotted the tall, thin man with bushy black sideburns and silk top hat.  “There he is!” he cried, pointing.  “That’s Josiah Edwards, Marie.”

    “A most handsome man,” Marie teased.  “How sad I did not meet him first.”

    Ben frowned eloquently at her, then laughed and waved to Josiah.

    Edwards waved back, as did the young, fair-haired boy at his side.  When the gangplank was lowered, Ben’s old friend charged up it, his son at his heels.  “Ben, Ben!” Josiah cried, wrapping Ben in a hug worthy of any bear.  “It’s so good to see you.”

    “And you,” Ben said, returning the embrace warmly.  He smiled down at the youngster peering up and down the deck.  “You, too, Jamie.”

    “Where is he?” the boy demanded.  “Where’s Adam?”

    “Adam?” Ben asked, puzzled.  “Why, Jamie, he’s back home in Carson Valley; I thought I’d made it clear I was coming alone.”

    “You did,” Josiah smiled, resting his hand atop Jamie’s head, “but when we got your wire telling your date of arrival and saying that you were bringing a surprise, I’m afraid Jamie leaped to the conclusion he wanted.”

    “Oh,” Ben said sympathetically.  “I’m sorry, Jamie; I didn’t mean to mislead you.”  He turned and took the slender hand of the woman behind him.  “This is the surprise I mentioned.  Josiah, Jamie, I’d like to present my bride, Marie Cartwright.”

    Josiah’s jaw dropped.  “You’re joking!”  Marie’s eyes sought the deck.  Seeing her embarrassment, Josiah took her hand.  “You are a most unexpected, but very welcome, surprise, Mrs. Cartwright.  I thought Ben was a confirmed bachelor.”

    “So did I,” Ben admitted ruefully.

    Jamie made a graceful bow to Marie.  “Very nice to meet you, ma’am.”

    Marie smiled gently.  “I hope I am not too great a disappointment, Jamie.”

    Jamie grinned.  “No, ma’am; you’re a beautiful lady.”

    “Here now,” Ben said, “don’t practice your flattery on my wife, young man.”

    “But I meant it,” Jamie, still too young to disguise his feelings, declared honestly.  The adults laughed at his earnest face.

    “We may have to find other lodgings,” Josiah said.  “I reserved only a small room for you.  Perhaps a suite would be better for a couple.”

    “Yes, I think so,” Ben agreed.

    “Well, let’s get your bags and walk over to the hotel,” Josiah suggested.

    “All right, but I’m afraid we’ll need a wagon; I have a trunk, as well.”

    “He means I have a trunk,” Marie said, blushing, “a trunk full of worthless dresses.”

    “If they’re as pretty as the one you’re wearing, ma’am,” Jamie said quickly, “they’re a far cry from worthless.”

    Marie tittered.  “Ben is right; you are a flatterer.”

    “Jamie, why don’t you escort Mrs. Cartwright to the hotel while Ben and I tend to the luggage?” Josiah suggested.

    “That’s a good idea, Father, and I’ll ask them to change the room to a suite,” Jamie offered.

    “Good lad,” Ben said.  As Jamie and Marie walked down the gangplank, Ben turned to Josiah.  “He’s growing into a fine young man, Josiah.”

    Josiah smiled proudly at his son.  “I couldn’t ask for a better boy, though I could wish him sturdier.  He had a rough winter.  Feeling better now, though.”

    “Good,” Ben said, then threw his arm around his friend’s shoulders.  “Oh, how I’ve looked forward to seeing you again!”

    Having deposited Marie at the dressmaker’s, Ben and Josiah were walking down the main street of St. Joe.  “Incidentally, I read that book you sent,” Ben said amiably, “and I’d be interested in discussing it with you.”

    “Not here,” Josiah muttered quickly.  “Let’s walk down by the river.”

    Ben glanced sharply at his friend.  “I don’t understand.”

    “Too crowded,” Josiah hissed.  “Later, Ben, when we’ve left the docks behind.”  Seeing the look on Ben’s face, he softened his tone.  “It’s a dangerous topic to discuss in the open, Ben, but we will talk, I promise.  Tell me what else you’ve been reading.  Any Shakespeare, for instance?”

    Ben nodded, still perplexed by Josiah’s unwonted secretiveness.  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I finally talked Adam into reading Romeo and Juliet with me.”

    “How did he like it?”

    Ben laughed.  “Better than I’d hoped.  You see, there’s a certain pretty little thing back home that’s changing his attitude toward tragic tales of love.”

    Josiah laughed, as well.  “I’ve been spared that so far with Jamie; he still prefers a good book to any ‘pretty little thing’ hereabouts.”

    “Your time’s coming, my friend,” Ben teased.  “I’d bet on it.”

    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Josiah replied.  “Jamie’s completely intent on his upcoming studies at the St. Louis academy.  I suppose Adam’s excited, too, about that school you mentioned in Sacramento?”

    “He was,” Ben sighed as they reached the river and turned their steps northward along the bank, “but we’ve had to delay that.  Adam wants to be home while we build the new house, and we can’t possibly get it finished before school starts.”

    “But, Ben, you shouldn’t allow the boy to delay his schooling,” Josiah objected.  “Adam has too bright a mind to neglect.”

    “I don’t intend to neglect it,” Ben sputtered.  “A choice had to be made, and I felt Adam should make it himself.  He knows what he wants, Josiah.”

    “He’s thirteen, Ben,” Josiah protested.  “No boy of thirteen should—”  He stopped himself.  “I’m sorry, Ben,” he apologized.  “He’s your son; you have every right to make whatever decision you feel is best without my interference.”

    Ben rubbed his friend’s back.  “I respect your opinion, Josiah, but I respect Adam’s, too.  He thinks he wants to be a builder, and this seemed too fine an opportunity to miss.”

    “I see,” Josiah mused.  “Adam’s considering becoming an architect, then?  Yes, I see your point.”

    They had reached the outskirts of St. Joe.  Ben pointed to a shady willow overhanging the Missouri river.  “Shall we sit there awhile and talk?  It looks like a private enough place for any discussion.”

    Josiah nodded, and he and Ben both sprawled beneath the feathery canopy of the willow.  “I’m sorry if I was abrupt with you before,” he said, “but I didn’t want you voicing your opinion of slavery on the street.”

    “You were never shy about voicing yours when I lived here,” Ben pointed out.

    Josiah smiled ruefully.  “I’ve grown older and wiser, perhaps.  Incidentally, Ben, if anyone asks you if you’re sound on the goose, either say yes or feign sublime ignorance.”

    Ben’s forehead furrowed.  “I won’t have to feign anything,” he declared.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

    “And you’re probably better off staying ignorant,” Josiah sighed, “though I don’t suppose that would satisfy you.”

    “You know me too well for that!” Ben exclaimed.  “What is this ‘sound on the goose’ business?”

    “A sort of code,” Josiah explained.  “It’s used to determine whether you hold the right views on slavery.”

    “Right in this case being in favor of it, I take it,” Ben commented.

    Josiah closed his eyes and nodded.  “It isn’t safe not to be ‘sound on the goose,’ Ben.  Had you been here a few weeks ago, I could have shown you the bruises to prove it.”

    “What happened?” Ben demanded.  “Why didn’t you write me?”

    Josiah gave an ironic laugh.  “I did, Ben; the letter undoubtedly crossed you in transit.”

    Ben smiled wryly.  “Oh, yeah, nothing speedy about postal service to the west, is there?  Well, what did the letter say?”

    “It didn’t amount to much,” Josiah said.  “I was asked the question I warned you about and made an uncircumspect answer.  A few border ruffians, as we call those who hope to influence the ballot boxes of Kansas with their fists, escorted me into an alley and gave me a thrashing.”

    “You weren’t badly hurt?”

    Josiah shook his head.  “Battered and bruised, one cracked rib.”

    “Josiah!”

    Josiah slapped Ben’s thigh.  “No harm done.  At least, they spared me the tar and feathers.  Some slavery opponents have been subjected to that.”

    Ben’s brown eyes widened.  “You’re not serious.  It’s come to that?  In a land that protects freedom of speech?”

    Josiah shook his head.  “Not on that subject, my friend, not in this state.  You must have read of the recent conflict.”

    “I haven’t read many newspapers lately,” Ben admitted.  “I was traveling the greater part of May; then after I reached New Orleans, I was absorbed in other things.”

    Josiah smiled.  “And very pretty things they were.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “Not all of them,” he said, thinking of Marius’ body lying beneath the oaks of the Plantation Allard.

    “You know, of course, the fury that’s been raging over Kansas’ statehood,” Josiah said, eyeing Ben inquiringly.

    “Of course,” Ben said.  “I read the President’s proclamation urging other states to stop interfering in the matter.”

    “Well, they haven’t stopped,” Josiah said sarcastically.  “In fact, the situation’s grown hotter, especially after the raids last month.”

    “What raids?” Ben asked.  “I seem to remember something about looting in Lawrence.”

    “That attack was against the free staters,” Josiah instructed, “and John Brown followed it up, about the time you were in New Orleans, with a massacre at Pottawatomie Creek.  Five settlers who favored slavery were slaughtered, and the aftershocks are still rocking this side of the Missouri.”

    Ben looked out across the water.  How calm it looked, but on both sides of its banks a storm was raging, a storm that could blow the nation apart.  He gazed toward the western horizon, unable, of course,  to see all the way to his home, but Ben found himself wishing he were already back in that peaceful valley, a valley he hoped would never be touched by the kind of conflict brewing in the eastern half of the United States.

    “Tell Adam I’ll write as soon as I get to school and tell all about my classes and what the teachers are like,” Jamie directed.

    “I will,” Ben promised, solemnly shaking the young man’s thin hand, “and I’m sure Adam will write you all about how the house is coming along.”

    “I want pictures,” Jamie dictated.  “If he’s going to be an architect, he ought to be able to draw his plans out for me.”

    “He can,” Ben laughed, “and I’ll see to it.”  He reached to shake the hand of Jamie’s father.  “Josiah, I’ve truly enjoyed my visit with you.”

    “No more than I have,” Josiah said, giving Ben’s shoulder a hearty clap.

    “Or I,” Marie ventured softly, as if reluctant to intrude.

    Josiah bent to kiss her hand.  “Meeting you, my dear, has been the most delightful part of the visit.  If Ben here doesn’t treat you properly, you know you’ll always have a home in St. Joseph——with Jamie, that is.  I believe he’s thoroughly smitten.”

    “Father!” Jamie protested.  “You mustn’t tease like that.”

    “Come, Jamie,” Marie said, extending her hand.  “Why don’t you see me to our stateroom while these two saucy fellows say their good-byes?”

    “I’d be pleasured, ma’am,” Jamie said, tossing his father a triumphant look.

    Josiah watched them walk away.  “She’s quite wonderful, Ben,” he said, then, looking warmly into his friend’s eyes, “I’m sure Inger would be pleased to see you so happy again.”

    Ben’s eyes grew misty.  “You think so?”

    “I know so,” Josiah assured him.  “She loved you too much to want you to remain alone forever.”

    “I never thought I’d marry again,” Ben admitted, smiling at his bride’s disappearing figure, “but, like Jamie, I was thoroughly smitten.”  He looked back at Josiah.  “Now you owe me a visit west, my friend.”

    Josiah shook his head, laughing.  “I doubt you’ll collect on the debt soon, Ben.  I’m not a pioneer, you know.  Then, there’s Jamie to consider.  He’ll be at the academy several years, then on to a university, I hope.”

    “He does get time off for good behavior, doesn’t he?” Ben scoffed.  “School terms don’t run year-round nowadays, do they?”

    “No, but I still doubt we’ll see that new home of yours for many years.”  Josiah didn’t add “if ever,” but both men knew the thought was there.  They exchanged a long embrace, knowing that it might be the last they ever shared.  “Now, you’ve got the box of books for Adam?” Josiah checked.

    Ben slowly nodded.  “Yes.  That was a good idea to send him a set of the same texts Jamie will be studying.”

    “Can’t have that sharp mind neglected,” Josiah twitted.  “Tell Adam to write any questions he has.  If I can’t answer them, perhaps Jamie can.”

    “I will.  Take care, my friend,” Ben urged.  “Don’t tell anyone you’re not sound on the goose.”

    “I keep my convictions to myself,” Josiah said, “though I won’t deny them if I’m questioned directly.  You’d better get aboard, Ben.  I believe that whistle’s the last call.”

    Ben smiled, pressed his friend’s hand warmly once more and hurried up the gangplank, passing young Jamie on the way down.  He stood at the rail and waved as the steamboat pulled away.  Feeling a soft hand on his elbow, he looked down to see his wife blowing kisses ashore with her free hand.  “Those had better be to the younger one,” he teased.

    Marie laughed and laid her head against his shoulder.  They stayed at the rail until they could no longer see their friends, then turned and made their way to their stateroom.

    Ben’s conversation with Josiah Edwards had reawakened him to the seriousness of the political situation, so though he still considered himself on his honeymoon, he made a more diligent effort, as they drifted down the Mississippi to New Orleans, to obtain a newspaper each time the boat docked.  He chose, however, to read it in the privacy of his stateroom, rather than in the Gentleman’s Cabin, where his newly alert ears began to pick up heated conversations on the subject of slavery and the upcoming presidential campaign.

    Ben whistled as he read the article describing the convention of the new Republican Party that had begun on June 17th.

    Marie, touching up her hair in preparation for the evening meal, turned from the vanity.  “Something astounds you?” she asked.

    “Yeah, though I’m not sure it should,” Ben said.  “You’ve heard of the new anti-slavery party?”

    Marie shook her head.  “No, Ben, I leave politics to the men; it has never interested me.”

    “Oh, well I don’t want to bore you,” Ben said.

    “No, no, whatever interests you, interests me,” Marie encouraged with a smile.  “You support this party?”

    “I don’t know yet,” Ben said.  “I was just surprised at the man they’ve nominated for president——John Charles Frémont.”

    “Frémont?  That is a French name, is it not?” Marie asked with interest.

    Ben laughed.  “I guess you’re right.  I’ve never met him, of course, but he was one of the trailblazers of my part of the country.  Governor of California under the Bear Flag Republic.”

    “So you will support him?” Marie asked.

    “My support is of little importance, my love,” Ben chuckled.  “We don’t vote in the national election.  Utah’s not a state yet, remember?”

    “Oh, oui,” Marie laughed.  “Well, I told you I was not political.  But if you cannot vote, why do you care who becomes president?”

    Ben smiled.  “I care, Marie, because that man affects the entire nation.  I can’t vote, but I can, at least, pray that those who can will make a wise choice.  I’ve always respected Frémont, and certainly I hold the same view of slavery as—”  Ben stopped suddenly.  “Here I am rattling on, when I’ve never asked how you feel on the question.  I—I suppose, having grown up around it, slavery doesn’t disturb you.”

    “Disturb me?” Marie pondered, getting up and coming to sit beside Ben on the bed.  “No, I suppose not, Ben.  I never had dealings with slaves myself, but those I saw seemed content enough with their lot.”

    “‘Seemed’ being the key word, I think,” Ben said quietly, “but I thought you had a slave.”

    “Me?” Marie cried.  “Where would I have found the money to buy a slave?”

    “No, no, I’m sure she was actually your cousin’s property,” Ben hastened to say, “but I did see a black woman working at your house.”

    “Oh, you mean Matilde,” Marie laughed.  “No, she was born free, Ben, and she is not black.  She is a griffone.”

    “Griffone?” Ben queried.

    “Three-quarters black,” Marie explained.

    “You’re not serious,” Ben said, dumbfounded.  “You don’t actually have names for the degree of racial mix?”

    “Mais oui,” Marie declared.  She began tolling the names on her fingers.  “There is the full-blood African, of course, and the griff or griffone, if she’s female.  Then you have the mulatto, half-black; the quadroon, one-quarter black; the octaroon, one-eighth black.”

    “Please tell me it doesn’t go further than that!” Ben exclaimed, closing his eyes.

    Marie laughed.  “Beyond that is only cafe-au-lait, like coffee with a little cream——what Madame D’Marigny feared I might be.”

    Ben’s head jerked in her direction.  “You’re——uh——part Negro?”

    Marie looked anxious.  “Does it matter, Ben?  I did not think you were the sort of man who would care.”

    Ben folded her into his arms.  “I don’t care; it doesn’t matter in the slightest.  I’m just surprised.  You’re so fair-skinned, and your hair’s so fine and light, I naturally assumed—”

    “Correctly, I think,” Marie said, smiling at his flustered face.

    “But you said—”

    “I spoke of Madame D’Marigny’s fears, Ben, not of what is true.”

    “Oh.”  Ben shook his head.  “I suppose that would matter to her.”

    “Very much it mattered,” Marie declared.  “It would to any Creole family of unmixed blood, Ben.  That is why they investigate one’s background so carefully.  They refuse to permit marriage to anyone who cannot prove his lineage, and my family had no such proof.”

    Ben fell back on the bed.  “I will never understand Creoles,” he ejaculated.

    “You had better learn,” Marie tittered, her blue satin skirt rustling as she fell into his arms.  “You are married to one.”

    Ben laughed.  “Well, maybe I’ll learn to understand one, then, but just one, I’m sure.”  He began to cover his wife’s cheeks with kisses, and as a consequence, they were both among the last to arrive at the dinner table.

    Marie woke slowly, her right hand seeking Ben’s pillow, but, feeling nothing, she came fully alert.  “Ben?”

    “I’m here, love,” he called from across the room.

    Marie sat up and saw her husband, fully dressed, seated in a gold brocade chair reading the morning paper.  “Is it very late?” she asked, hiding a yawn behind her pretty fingers.

    “About ten o’clock,” Ben smiled as he folded the paper and came toward her.

    “Oh, Ben, I’m sorry,” she murmured.  “Why did you not wake me?”

    “Because I had greater pleasure in watching you sleep,” he chuckled, sitting beside her to give her a kiss.  “After all, it was quite late when the steamboat pulled in last night; you had every right to be tired.”

    “Is that café I smell?”

    “Um-hmn, nice and strong, the way you like it.  I had some pastries sent up, too.”

    “Oh, Ben, you spoil me,” Marie sighed.  She stood and slipped into a lacy peignoir, tying each of the three pastel green ribbons that closed the front.

    “I love spoiling you,” Ben said.  “Now, we have the whole day free since our passage on the Pacific Mail steamer is booked for tomorrow morning.  Anything special you’d like to do?”

    Marie shook her head.  “Whatever you like, Ben.  After all, New Orleans is not new to me.”

    “I thought you might like to do some shopping this morning,” Ben said.  “You know, for feminine foofaraw and the like.”

    “I do not know this word ‘foofaraw,’” Marie said, tilting her head quizzically.

    “Things strictly for ladies,” Ben laughed, “like cosmetics, perfume, underthings.  You’d better lay in a good supply, you know.  They’re hard to come by where we’re going, so buy enough to last a year.”

    “Oh, I hadn’t realized,” Marie said.  “I will need some things then, if you can spare the money.”

    “Marie, I’ve told you before, get whatever you need,” Ben said patiently.  “I’ll give you some cash for this morning.”

    “We are not going together?”

    Ben kissed her fingers.  “Do you mind?  I have an errand to run, and I thought it best if we worked separately this morning, then met for lunch.  We’ll shop together after we eat.”

    Marie giggled.  “For more foofaraw?”

    Ben chuckled.  “I was thinking more of furniture.  We have a house to furnish, remember?”

    “Remember?” Marie squealed.  “You have said nothing, Ben.  You don’t have furniture now?”

    Ben fell back on the bed, overcome with laughter.  “Oh, Marie, Marie.”

    She flounced down beside him.  “Answer me, Ben,” she demanded.  “It is important.”

    Ben propped himself up on one elbow.  “Yes, Madame Cartwright,” he said with exaggerated docility.  “I have furniture, but none I care to take to our new home.  We need everything.”

    Marie threw her hands to her cheeks.  “Everything!  But, Ben, how can we buy everything in one afternoon.  What were you thinking?  I don’t even know what size the rooms are or the colors or—”

    “Whoa!” Ben said, grabbing her waist.  “None of that matters, my love.  I don’t intend you to buy everything today, just a few basics:  a bed for us and one for each of the boys, and some parlor furniture, maybe a dining table.”

    “Is that all?” Marie asked hotly.  “Ben, you ask the impossible!”

    Ben put his arms around her trembling figure.  “Don’t worry, darling.  What we don’t decide on today can be ordered later.  I just thought we might make a start.  Come over here now and have your breakfast.”

    Marie still looked perturbed, but she let Ben lead her to the tiny table and pour her a cup of coffee.  “Ben, what about spices?” she asked as she munched the flaky pastry.  “Are they as hard to find as those other things?”

    Ben sat across from her.  “Well, it depends on what kind,” he said.  “I’m sure you could find most of what you need in San Francisco or Sacramento, but if you have in mind anything unusual, you’d best get it here.”

    “Like filé?”

    “I have no idea what that is,” Ben laughed.

    “For gombo,” Marie explained.

    Ben looked as puzzled as before.  “Gombo?”

    Marie set the coffee cup down with a clatter.  “Ben, how can you possibly visit New Orleans and not know what gombo is?” she demanded.

    “I’ve been busy,” Ben teased and his wife smiled back at him.

    “Well, you must have a bowl of gombo for lunch, whatever else you eat,” she ordered.

    Ben raised his right hand in a crisp salute.  “Aye, aye, captain,” he acquiesced, lips twitching.

    “So I will need to visit the market, too,” Marie sighed, “for filé and saffron, perhaps ginger?”

    “Bring back some of those gingercakes, why don’t you?” Ben suggested, then sighed.  “Too bad they won’t keep long enough to take to Hoss.  He’d love them.”

    “I’ll bake him some fresh ones,” Marie promised.  “Can you have your errands done by one?”

    “Earlier, I should think,” Ben said.  “Where would you like to eat?”

    “Oh, it will be easiest here, Ben,” Marie replied.  “I’ll have packages to bring back to the room, and the chef in the hotel dining room is excellent.”

    “I’ll meet you back here at one, then,” Ben said.

    Shortly before the appointed hour the door to the Cartwright’s room at the St. Charles opened, and Marie, in the ruby dress she’d worn the afternoon Ben saw her in the convent garden, stepped through, followed by a slim black youth, heavily loaded with packages.  Marie took a silver coin from her ivory reticule and handed it to the young man after he placed the bundles on the small table where she and Ben had eaten breakfast.

    Ben thanked the black man for his assistance and closed the door behind him.  “Well,” he said, examining Marie’s pile of purchases, “I expected more than this.”

    “I only bought what I thought necessary, Ben,” Marie said defensively, “and what of your purchases?  I see no boxes at all.”

    “I didn’t say anything about shopping,” Ben smiled.  “I said I had errands.  But, as a matter of fact, I did bring back one small package.”  He slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a tiny square velvet box.  “For you,” he said, handing it to his wife.

    “Ben, what have you done?” Marie demanded.

    “Open it,” he ordered softly.

    Marie lifted the hinged lid and gasped in delight.  “Oh, Ben!” she cried, taking the ring of two intertwined golden bands from the slotted cushion in which it nestled.  She looked inside the ring and read the inscription, BC - MD - May 21, 1856.  “How did you know?” she whispered.

    “You know I told you I hadn’t had time to buy you a ring because we were married so quickly,” Ben said.  “That wasn’t quite the truth.  I visited a jeweler that morning, intending to pick up whatever I could, but the jeweler told me this was the kind of ring that’s traditional around here.  Since he assured me he could have one ready before we sailed from New Orleans, I ordered the work done.”

    Marie’s emerald eyes glistened.  “All my life I dreamed of wearing a ring just like this.  All Creole girls do, but I had given up hope of its ever happening for me.”

    “But surely Jean, with all his money,” Ben stammered.

    Marie shook her head.  “You must remember, Ben, that my marriage to Jean was a secret.  Someone as well known as a D’Marigny could not purchase an engraved ring like this without the matter being known.  No, this is my first and means so much more to me than anything the richest man could have given.  Thank you, my love.”  She kissed his cheek.

    Ben slipped the ring on her slender finger, then kissed the hand that wore it.  “Now, shall we go down to the dining room and try that dish you insist I must eat?”

    “Gombo, Ben,” Marie laughed, “and I do insist.  Yes, let us eat right away; we have much to do this afternoon.”

    Ben and Marie stood on the deck of the Pacific Mail steamer, watching the levee of New Orleans fade away.  Ben smiled down at his bride.  “Will you miss it much?”

    Marie nodded.  “Some things I will miss——the sights, the smells——but it is exciting to think of the new places I shall see.”

    “You haven’t traveled much, have you?” Ben asked.

    Marie laughed.  “Not at all.  So far, the furthest I have been from New Orleans is St. Joseph.”

    “Well, here’s hoping you’re a good sailor,” Ben teased.

    Fortunately for the comfort of their journey, Marie, after a brief bout of seasickness, did prove to be a good sailor, and the crossing to Aspinwall, on the Atlantic side of the Isthmus of Panama, was uneventful.  Ben purchased passage on the railroad for twenty-five dollars each, and within three hours of docking, the Cartwrights were moving overland.

    “How long ‘til we reach the Pacific coast?” Marie asked.

    “About four and a half hours,” Ben replied.  “It’s just forty-eight miles.”

    “Ah, good,” Marie said, patting her damp neck with her lacy handkerchief.  “It’s warm.”  She glanced out the window beside her.  “Oh, Ben,” she cried, “a monkey!”

    Ben laughed at her childlike delight.  “They have the most colorful birds in the world here, too.  You’ll want to keep a sharp eye out for them.”

    “Oh, I will,” Marie said enthusiastically.  Soon she spotted a large bird with green feathers, along with markings of crimson and yellow.  “Oh, Ben, what is that?” she murmured, pointing.

    Ben looked around her.  “That’s a macaw, I believe.”

    “Oh, he is so beautiful.  I wish we could have one.  Could we?”

    Ben patted her hand.  “It couldn’t live through one of our winters, my love.”

    “Oh, does it get very cold?”

    “Very,” Ben chuckled.

    Despite the heat, Marie gave a slight shiver.  “I am not used to cold.”

    Ben put his arm around her.  “I’ll keep you warm,” he promised.

    Marie smiled, but pulled away.  “I do not need warming now,” she giggled.

    The train reached the summit station at Culebra, where the passengers disembarked.  “Care for something to drink?” Ben asked, nodding toward the roadside saloon.

    “Something cool,” Marie sighed.  “I feel ready to wilt.”

    “I shouldn’t wonder, in that tweed traveling dress.  It looks warm.”  The matching golden brown skirt and jacket were both trimmed in dark braid, as were the tapered sleeves.  Stylish, to be sure, but not comfortable, at least to Ben’s eye.

    “It is,” Marie said ruefully.  “The dressmaker in St. Joseph suggested this fabric, but it is too heavy for the tropics, I fear.”

    “She probably had Missouri winters in mind when she chose it,” Ben teased.  “It’ll feel about right around November, I imagine.”

    After refreshing themselves with liquor or lemonade, according to their taste, the passengers reboarded the train, which chugged along at a steady pace.  In just over the time Ben had predicted, it pulled into the final station at Panama City, where Ben found lodgings for himself and Marie.

    “When will the ship for San Francisco leave?” Marie asked.

    “Day after tomorrow,” Ben reported, a trifle disgruntled.  Panama City was not his idea of a good place to lay over, but it couldn’t be helped.

    Ben tipped the bellboy who had carried their bags and trunks to the suite at the Parker House in San Francisco, closed the door and, tossing his hat and jacket on a chair, flopped across the bed.

    Marie removed the jacket of her golden brown tweed traveling dress, revealing a gold blouse with ruffled jabot, and perched beside him.  “You are tired, mon amour?” she asked.

    “Aren’t you?” Ben asked in return, taking the hand she extended.  “It’s been a long trip.”

    “Oui, I, too, am tired,” she said.  “Are we near your home now, Ben?”

    Ben laughed wearily.  “I’m afraid we’ve still a long way to go, my love.  But let’s take a rest before we go on.  Two or three days here in San Francisco will refresh us, and while it’s not quite the city New Orleans is, there are a few attractions you might enjoy.”

    “But are you not anxious to see your sons again?” Marie asked.

    “Our sons,” Ben corrected, “and, of course, I am eager to see the boys and introduce them to my wonderful surprise.  But a few days more won’t matter.  I have friends here who won’t forgive me if I don’t bring my new wife by to meet them, and I’d like to take you to the architect’s office and show you the plans for the house.”

    “Ooh,” Marie squealed.  “I can hardly wait for that.  Can we go right away?”

    “Horrors, no!” Ben protested.  “This afternoon we rest.  I may find the strength to venture out for a brief stroll later, but nothing more.  I’ll send a message to Mr. Williams’ office and request a meeting tomorrow morning.”

    Marie lay down beside Ben.  “All right,” she yawned.  “I’m sure your plan is best.  But I hope our stroll will lead past a few interesting stores.  I’d like to see what San Francisco has to offer.”

    “Don’t expect too much,” Ben warned.  “This isn’t New Orleans.”  There was no response, and, glancing sideways, Ben saw that Marie was already drifting into slumber.  He closed his eyes and sought the same repose.

    “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cartwright,” Clarence Williams said enthusiastically, “and how fortuitous that you have arrived before we began building.  We will want, of course,  to make any adjustments to the house you feel necessary, but I should warn you that major changes will delay our projected schedule.  I—I hope our basic design will meet with your approval.”

    “I’m sure it will,” Marie replied, giving him a charming smile.

    Williams visibly relaxed.  “It’s really a beautiful plan,” he said.  “I’ve prepared a drawing of how the exterior will look.  Would you like to see that first?”

    “Yes, please,” Ben urged.  He couldn’t help seeing how the architect’s eye ran approvingly over Marie’s slender figure, shown to its best in the green suit she wore today.  Ben felt no jealousy, however.  How could any man be expected not to notice how beautiful his wife was?  Especially a man like Clarence Williams with an eye for fine lines.

    The architect had taken a color drawing from his portfolio and spread it on his desk.  As Marie bent to look at it, Ben peered over her shoulder.  The sketch Williams had previously shown him had been in pencil.  This one caught all the color of the surrounding pines, as if the architect had actually seen the site of the proposed building, though Ben knew he had not.

    “But this is lovely,” Marie murmured.

    “You’re sure you wouldn’t prefer something more like the plantation houses we passed along the Mississippi?” Ben asked.  Clarence Williams flinched fearfully.

    “Oh, no,” Marie said, to the architect’s relief.  “That would look out of place, I think.  See how this almost blends into the forest behind it, Ben, like it had grown there always, side by side with the pines.”

    “Yes, yes.”  Williams’ face was warm with affection.  “That is exactly the effect I hoped to achieve.  How perceptive you are, Madame!”

    Marie smiled, pleased by the compliment.  She was used to men praising her beauty, but they generally overlooked her other qualities.  It felt good to have one of them affirmed.  “May I see the interior now, Monsieur Williams?”

    “Oh, of course,” Williams declared, drawing several sheets from his portfolio.  “This is the first floor, Madame.  You see how it all flows together.”

    “One big room,” Marie said.  “I am used to more intimate settings, but this is nice.  We can all be together, no matter what we are doing.”

    “Exactly,” Williams enthused.  “Oh, I do hope you like it; it’s my favorite aspect of the plans.”

    “I like it very much,” Marie said, amused by his earnestness.  “There is another story?”

    “Yes, one more,” the architect replied, pulling out the sheet under the first sketch.  “A stairway leads up here from the main room and another narrow one near the kitchen.  These rooms are, of course, bedrooms——more than the family actually requires, as Mr. Cartwright directed.”

    “For guests,” Ben explained.  “I hope we shall have many, and with distances what they are out here—”

    “Of course,” Marie said quickly.  “All your friends must feel welcome to stay as long as they like.  But, Monsieur Williams, I see no room for—for personal care.”

    The architect merely looked puzzled, but Ben, understanding her meaning, winced.  “Uh——there isn’t any indoor plumbing, Marie,” he said softly.  “I’m sorry.”

    “Oh,” Marie sighed.  “Well, that is all right, Ben.  It is what I knew as a girl, in my parents’ home.  I suppose I can become accustomed to it again.”

    “We might, at least, provide a pump in the kitchen,” Mr. Williams suggested.  “That would require no structural changes, and you did plan to dig a well, didn’t you, Mr. Cartwright?”

    “Yes, I did,” Ben said.  “Certainly, we can bring water into the kitchen.”

    “Please do,” Marie requested.

    “Is—is everything else to your liking, then?” the architect asked hopefully.

    Marie looked hesitant.  “Well, there is one change I would like, if it is not too difficult.”

    “This is your home, Marie,” Ben said.  “You mustn’t be afraid to ask for exactly what you want.”

    “First show me which room is to be ours,” Marie directed.

    “Whichever you like, of course,” Ben said, “but I’d planned to take this one.”  He pointed to a room at the southern end of the house that overlooked the front yard.

    “That’s why I made it the largest,” Williams explained.

    “I thought so,” Marie smiled, “but I wanted to check.  Would it be difficult, Monsieur Williams, to make that room a little larger and have doors opening from it into the next room?”

    “Easily done, Madame,” he replied, “but it will, of course, make the other room quite small.”

    “A nursery does not need to be large, Monsieur Williams,” she said sweetly.  She looked into Ben’s face and smiled, her eyes full of love and of promise.

    “That, Mr. Williams, is a room we didn’t plan for,” Ben laughed.

    “No, indeed, but one you’ll certainly want to include,” the architect responded cheerfully.  “I’ll make those changes, then, and I’m sure I can still arrive by our anticipated date of August first.  I have a project here to finish first, but it’s on schedule.”

    “Good,” Ben said, extending his hand.  The architect shook it.  “We’ll be looking forward to your arrival.”

    Marie knelt before her open trunk, a silk dress in one hand, a muslin in the other.  “Ben, what should I wear tonight?” she asked.

    “The best you have,” Ben chuckled.

    “But I do not wish to embarrass your friends,” Marie pleaded.  “I felt badly about the silk I wore to the Wentworths last night.  Mary looked very sweet in her little yellow frock, but I could see it was quite worn.”

    Ben stood behind his wife to massage her taut shoulders.  “You were kind to notice,” he said, “but I’m sure Mary didn’t begrudge you your finery.”

    Marie looked up into his face.  “No, I suppose not; she seemed an unusually unselfish girl.  I liked her very much, Ben, and her father and brothers, too.  I was a little afraid to go there when you told me Monsieur Wentworth was a reverend, but he treated me most graciously.”

    “Why wouldn’t he?” Ben queried.

    “My religion,” Marie whispered.

    “Oh,” Ben said.  “Yeah, that might have been a problem a few years ago.  Ebenezer was pretty rigid when I first met him, but he mellowed a lot on the trek west.”

    Marie giggled.  “Then I am glad I waited ‘til now to meet him.  But you have not answered my question.  What should I wear?  Do these Larrimores dress as—as modestly as the Wentworths?”

    “You mean as cheaply,” Ben said bluntly, walking back to the mirror to finish shaving, “and the answer is no.  Mrs. Larrimore will be dressed in the best San Francisco has to offer, so I recommend you pick your fanciest gown, Mrs. Cartwright.  It will give me fiendish pleasure to see you outshine Camilla.”

    “Oh, Ben, what a wicked thought,” Marie chided gently.  “Do you not like these people?  Monsieur Larrimore seemed pleasant enough when we met at his emporium yesterday.”

    Ben wiped his face free of lather.  “I like them, of course,” he said, “but since they’ve come into money, Camilla, especially, tends to put on airs.  Sometimes I find that hard to handle.  She’s got a basically good heart, though.”

    “Airs?” Marie said pensively.  “Then I think I shall wear my coral satin.”

    “Oh, do; it’s my favorite,” Ben said, splashing his cheeks with bay rum.  “I’ll be squiring the most elegant woman at the opera tonight.”

    Marie laughed and pulled out the coral gown edged with gold braid.  “I suppose I should wear my rubies, too, if we’re trying to impress.”

    Ben laughed.  “By all means.  Camilla will turn green with envy.”

    Whatever jealousy Camilla felt on meeting Ben’s bride was well hidden beneath the veneer of the gracious hostess.  She took Marie’s arm and led the way into the dining room.  “Now you must tell me all about your husband’s family, Mrs. Cartwright,” she began.

    “But—but you have known Ben longer than I,” Marie demurred as she took her designated seat.

    Camilla laughed as she placed herself to Marie’s right.  “But, my dear, I didn’t mean Ben,” she tittered.  “I know all there is to know about Ben.  I was interested in the family of your former husband.  French nobles, weren’t they?”

    Marie blushed and Ben’s face tightened.  He knew how little Marie wanted to speak on that subject!  But she handled the question with poise.  “I never actually met Jean’s family, Madame Larrimore,” she said quietly.  “We were married only briefly, you know, before Jean came west.”

    Camilla’s disappointment was obvious.  “Oh, that’s too bad,” she said.  “I thought we might have some interesting conversation.”

    “Oh, I would find it much more interesting to talk about your life here,” Marie said.  “It is all new to me.”

    “My dear child, of course it is,” Camilla said, then launched into a string of French words, evidently hoping to make her guest feel more at home.

    Ben coughed into his napkin.  Even to his untrained ears, Camilla’s accent sounded deplorable.  How painful it must be to Marie!  He felt her slender fingers seek his, felt them squeeze his hand, but nothing showed on her smiling countenance.

    “Mercí, Madame,” Marie replied.  “You are most kind to use my tongue, but let us speak in English.  I need the practice.”

    Ben nearly choked at the artless ease with which his wife told the bald-faced lie.  He knew that Marie’s education at the convent of the Ursuline nuns included extensive instruction in English, and what she hadn’t learned there, she had perfected with practice at her cousin’s business, which was regularly frequented by Americans.  The little minx!  Ben might have credited her with concern for Camilla’s feelings had it not been for the mischievous twinkle in her emerald eyes when she turned to smile at him.  Ben had a feeling they were in for an interesting evening at the opera.

    Marie was unusually quiet as she lay beside Ben in the mahogany four-poster at the Parker House.  “Ben, do you come to San Francisco often?” she asked finally.

    “About once a year, usually,” Ben replied, fingering the lacy edge of her nightgown.  “I suppose we could come more often if you’d like.”

    “No, I did not mean that,” Marie said.  “Do—do you always visit the Larrimores when you come?”

    “You didn’t like them,” Ben discerned, his hand dropping to take hers in a comforting caress.

    “Well, not as much as the other friends I have met,” Marie admitted.  “I did like Lawrence, though he seems a weak man, and Camilla is merely tiresome.  But their children, Ben!  Sterling is a languid, lazy lout, and Jewel a cloying caricature of a lady of high fashion.”

    “Oh, yeah,” Ben muttered.  “I know what you mean.  They are insufferable little brats.”

    “To have all they have and be so discontent,” Marie ranted on.  “When I think how much less the Wentworth children have and how grateful they are for the smallest kindness—”  She touched her hand to Ben’s cheek.  “Please promise me that no matter how our ranch prospers, we will never allow our children to become so—so—”

    “I promise with all my heart,” Ben said, silencing her with a kiss.  “Our boys will know the meaning of good, honest sweat.  There won’t be a languid, lazy lout among them.”

    Satisfied, Marie settled into her pillow.  “Ben,” she murmured softly, “will there be many more people to meet before we reach your home?”

    “Our home,” Ben corrected.  “No, not many, my love.  I’m sorry if I’ve overwhelmed you.”

    Marie smiled weakly.  “It did not seem so until tonight.”

    Ben chucked her under the chin.  “No more like the Larrimores, I assure you.  I do have other friends in California, but the only ones we’ll see on the way home are the Zuebners in Placerville, and them only briefly.  Ludmilla Zuebner is another dear friend from the Overland Trail, a simple-hearted soul I’m sure you’ll like.  She runs the best cafe in Placerville, so I always eat there when I pass through.  And her son is keeping my wagon and team for me.  If the stage arrives in Placerville early enough, we won’t even spend the night.  Just eat, pick up the wagon and go.”

    “Oh, I hope so,” Marie whispered.  “I am so eager to meet Hoss and Adam.”  Nervously, her fingers plucked at the linen sheet.  What if they do not like me?  The words rattled in her heart like seeds in a gourd.  But Ben had assured her his sons would soon grow to love her as deeply as he himself.  That was too much to ask, of course.  But, oh, please let them like me, she prayed, and let me love them with all the affection I would have given my own little boy.  She snuggled close to the security of Ben’s side, and her fears faded.