Bonanza: Odyssey

Startled out of his thoughts, the man tore his eyes from the stretch of water and turned his head to take in the woman in the deck seat next to him.

A pleasant faced woman in her forties smiled back at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. But I’ve never been this far east before and my husband spends all his time in the club room with his nasty cigars, so I’m growing quite forward.” She offered her hand. “Mrs. Lyle Chambers. It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“How far are you going?” She saw his expression and flushed. “Pardon me. I am disturbing you.”

A little wearily, Mr. Cartwright turned himself to face her and summoned his manners. “Not at all. I’m going to Boston. And yourself?”

“That is a long way. I’m going to Albany, and heaven knows that’s far enough. Lyle has family there he hasn’t seen in years.”

He nodded again, his expression faintly distracted. “Over fifteen years ago now.”

He shook his head. “My son – “ he paused “is in school in Boston. Harvard,” he added, with a touch of pride.

Ben nodded again. “It’ll be faster now. On the steamboat. And the train.”

“Oh, yes, my husband says trains are a wonder. Still, it’s a long time to be away from your other boys.”

“Yes.” Ben shifted uneasily, his mind automatically replaying the same arguments it had been playing since he received the message. “Joseph’s only nine and Hoss fifteen – but they’re in good hands.”

Mrs. Chambers didn’t think it was her he was trying to convince. “Is your other boy graduating?”

Ben shook his head, his eyes drifting restlessly about the deck. “Not – not right now.” He looked at her directly for the first time as though trying to make up his mind about something, then said slowly, painfully, “He – he’s ill. His grandfather sent word to me – the doctor thought – if at all possible – that I ought to come.”

Mrs. Chambers was silent. They both knew what a doctor asking a man to make such a trip meant. They both also knew that the sheer length of the trip made arrival for final arrangements far more likely than arrival for final good byes. She cleared her throat delicately. “Do you know what he has?”

He frowned, his eyes back at the water, staring out from under lowered brows. “Some kind of fever. He’s always been a little prone to them – gets it from his mother, I suppose. Of course, he’s scared me before for nothing.” He tried to smile.

She tried to make herself smile back. “Is his mother with the other boys?”

Her distress brought out his chivalrous side and he made a quick, dismissive gesture. "A long time ago. More than twenty years. That’s what I was thinking about. Over twenty years ago I made this trip in the other direction to fulfill a dream and escape my memories of Liz. After all these years I’m going back for the first time to – " he broke off abruptly, frowning hard at the water.

Mrs. Chambers hesitated, then threw propriety to the winds and touched his knee lightly. “Children are so resilient, Mr. Cartwright. And we never really know what providence has in store for us.”

Ben smiled suddenly, a real smile. “That’s true, isn’t it, Mrs. Chambers? I certainly never could have guessed half of what it had in store for me.”

And just as well, too. Would he have ever had the courage to love Liz if he’d known he’d lose her so soon? To create Adam if he’d known he’d be raising him alone? And now perhaps he’d lose him, too. Possibly he’d lost him already. Madness, probably, to let him go so far away, knowing how tenuous, how fragile life is. But Adam had wanted it so badly…school – the east – how could he have denied him? Like denying his own birthright. And then there was Abel. Abel hadn’t seen his only grandchild since babyhood, though he maintained an active correspondence with both Ben and Adam.

Ben had often imagined the moment Abel would finally see Adam – see Elizabeth’s eyes smiling at him out of her son’s face, notice the echo of her smile. He knew how much it would mean to Abel because he knew how much it meant to him, himself. And Abel had been so generous – so reassuring, even as he’d carried away the last breathing remainder of his only daughter – had told him not to brood, to move on with his life. Surely it had only been right to give grandfather and grandson this time together. Impossible to know that the time would be so short. That was always impossible to know. Who had reason to know that better than he did? His gaze drifted automatically back to the broad stretch of water before him.

Ash Hollow. 1836. It had seemed to him, later, an ironic name - a symbol of his own hollowness - of dreams turned suddenly and irrevocably to ash. Dreams that had begun so auspiciously - not far from here in Illinois, that green land of many rivers that would always symbolize Inger to him, with its gentle, rolling landscapes and rich, warm soils. A good place to settle - to raise a family. But he had had his heart set on the west - the great, open country of the legends, where he could raise "tall sons among tall trees", as Liz had said. He had made a promise to her - to Abel - to continue on, to follow his dream. First Liz, then Inger had been so much a part of that dream - and so briefly, both.

He had left this green land with a strong sense of new beginnings - a fresh start - their small wagon full of happy dreams. Now, he had thought, now - after so long - to leave the pain of the past behind - the terrible grief that had ravaged him and haunted his days. Adam's days, too, he had realized with regret. Too much sorrow for a little boy.

Adam had run alongside the wagon as though he felt it too - a fresh new start. It made his heart full just to remember. A new land. A mother for his boy. A wife and partner and friend…God was hard sometimes, but in the end, he was merciful and good. The Lord taketh away, but the Lord also giveth.

Perhaps if they had stayed here in Illinois, it would have been different - Inger would have lived, they would have raised Adam and Hoss happily along the banks of the Ohio. He sighed. But of course, that would have meant no Marie - no Joseph. Life was a difficult thing, like a terrible game of barter - lose one precious thing, gain another. How to choose? Just as well it wasn't possible to know the choices you were making at the time. You would be paralyzed to immobility by the very prospect.

It had been a terribly slow pace to the promised land - a 2,000 mile walk. He wondered how much Adam remembered of walking across a continent. He would have to ask him, if… when. When he saw him. He would ask him what he remembered about the journey. He knew he remembered what came later.

The boat twisted gracefully to accommodate yet another curve. Took skill to steer this river, the old sailor in him thought absently. Pretty, though. Hard to remember why it had seemed so important to leave this pretty land for another. But the dream had burned in him like a fever then. There had been no fighting it. And Inger had seemed to want it too - maybe just because he did, though. She had been like that. Cherishing her loved ones' dreams - wanting their happiness - almost more than her own. Her face was so clear to him here, as it hadn't been for fifteen years. The soft lilt of her voice…he sighed. "Inger."

He hadn't realized he had spoken aloud. "Oh - just…remembering." He gave Mrs. Chambers a conciliatory smile, meant to show that this topic was closed, so he was surprised to hear himself saying, "My second wife. We met and married not far from here. More than fifteen years ago now. Doesn't look all that different."

He nodded, his mind replaying the simple civil ceremony, Inger's fresh face alight with happiness. "Oh, yes. Inger was mother to my second boy - Hoss."

"I'm fond of children." She gave him a whimsical smile. "Like most people who have none of their own, I suppose. Was your second boy born here?"

"No. In a wagon right on the Oregon Trail. I suppose you could say Hoss is a true pioneer." The light glittered on the river's surface. Somewhere it barely registered that the boatswain was calling the river depth. He should bring Hoss here sometime - when he was older, of course. See where his father and mother had courted. He shifted uncomfortably as he remembered saying good bye to Hoss.

He had tried to make light of it. Talked of it as a visit to Adam, of the fun they'd have with Hop Sing and Shaughnessy while he was away. Joseph, of course, had been adamant in his insistence on accompanying him - had enjoyed a full-blown tantrum, in fact. Hoss had been strangely quiet. He had waited until Joe was in bed before asking, "What's wrong with Adam, Pa?"

Ben had felt his heart sink within him. "What's wrong? What's wrong is he's been gone nearly two years and I'd like to see him! Is that all right with you?"

Hoss had just looked at him. "So yer goin' all that way just afore round up?"

Ben was silent a moment. "Well, it's not a trip you can make during the winter, Hoss…" he tried tentatively.

Hoss continued to stare at him. He could look uncomfortably like his mother sometimes. "Then I wanna go too," he said at last.

Ben had sighed, a beaten sigh, and lowered himself slowly into his chair. "I need you here, Hoss," he said at last. He wasn't placating - it was true.

He sighed again. "There's Joseph. Hoss, he needs you. I can't leave him here without any of us for all that time."

"Then we should all go. Somethin's wrong with Adam, Pa, whether you wanna say it er not. I wanna go."

"I know, son…" he rubbed his hands helplessly over his face. "It's a very expensive journey, though - very difficult and long - I need to make all due speed - even if you could manage, a boy Joseph's age…" he trailed off. Why were the choices always so terrible? Why was it his fate that his heart should always be rent? Choose this one, leave that one? He saw Hoss's chin quiver suspiciously despite his fifteen year old dignity and held his gaze earnestly. "Hoss. Do you remember when you were a little boy - a few years younger than Joseph - I had to go away to New Orleans for a while? Remember? I returned with your new mother…"

"Adam was probably old enough to travel with me. Can you imagine how difficult it would have been for you if we had both gone? He stayed to be with you.

I need you to do that for Joseph now, Hoss. I need you to be with him while I go to be with Adam. Do you think you can do that for me? For me and Joe? For Adam?" Hoss's tears spilled over. He looked so lost and hopeless - just as Adam had, ten years past. It tore at Ben's heart anew. "Thank you, son," he said quietly. "I appreciate it. I'll feel much better knowing you're here looking after things."

"Adam will be fine." It came out more sharply than he had intended. "Everything - will be fine."

He had still believed in happy endings before Ash Hollow, despite Liz, despite everything. Inger had renewed his faith - reset the world's order for him, giving it back a kind of sanity. Finding her had seemed to mean that things balanced in the end, that joy could be found even after the most horrible of losses. Losing Inger so suddenly and senselessly had ended that for him - broken the back of his faith in mercy and fairness. There was no justice, no evening of rights and wrongs - every throw of the dice was random. Some men were given everything - lost nothing. Some men knew nothing but loss. No easy answers. No guarantees. The Lord taketh. And taketh. And taketh.

He could not forget kneeling at Inger's grave in that hollow that day - so far away from where he'd been, so far away from where he was going. Another piece of his heart buried in some distant spot, deprived of even the comfort of visits. His mind flashed to Adam, dead or dying and fated, perhaps, to be buried almost a continent away from their home as well, and he lurched unsteadily to his feet. No. Not again. Please. He sensed, distantly, Mrs. Chambers steadying hand on his arm, her soothing murmurs in his ear, but somehow they were multiple - the murmurs of a group of mourners, quietly repeating after the minister as he gazed at the simple prairie cross with damp and stricken eyes. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Hoss's wail rising over the murmurs, like keening, the combined rustle as they began to move away - to care for his children for him, to give him some last time alone with her. Alone. He remembered laughing inwardly even as he thought it. There would be plenty of time alone now - nothing but time alone, now and forever. He knelt there for what seemed like an eternity, long after the voices had faded away, long after the cold dampness of the ground had soaked into the knees of his trousers and the cold dampness of his solitude into his bones. Only because he realized he could not, in all practicality, stay there forever - that he was, after all, the father of two motherless boys now, did he finally force himself painfully to his feet and turn to go. And stopped in surprise.

He was not alone. One mourner had stayed, silently shadowing him and patiently waiting for him to finish, with his flat-brimmed hat respectfully clasped in his hands. He didn't say anything, but looked up at him expectantly from Elizabeth's eyes.

Not so alone after all . He had reached down to stroke the dark head, at a loss for words. His stalwart companion through this whole journey of sorrows. How much worse would it have been to have traveled this road truly alone? He let his hand drop to the small shoulder and patted lightly. "Come on, son," he had managed at last. "Let's go find your brother."

He dragged himself back across a gulf of fifteen years and blinked at the anxious face of Mrs. Chambers, so close to his own. He gave an embarrassed laugh. Of course he wasn't all right - how could he be? But that was not an answer for this kind woman. What must she be thinking? Surely anyone could provide her with better company than himself. He patted the concerned hand resting on his arm. "I'll be fine, Mrs. Chambers. My - past and future seem to be - at odds this evening. Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive." Good breeding demanded that she release his arm but she did not, and somehow it seemed appropriate to him.

She raised her brows archly, but her eyes were compassionate. "Now, the bell for tea was just rung and I was going to invite you to join me and meet my husband. I hope you aren't going to leave me unescorted. I'd be quite mortified."

She waved his protests aside. "The price of tea is included in your passage so you might as well eat it." She squeezed his arm meaningfully. "It will help pass the time."

His eyes softened and he studied her, suddenly gleaning something. "Very well," he said after a moment. "On one condition. That later we put my troubles aside for a moment and talk about you."

He smoothed the telegram once more with a hand stiff and a little gnarled now with the years of salt spray, and reread the date. Three days ago. From St. Louis. At the very fastest, he would reach here in another twelve. If all went well. So far nothing seemed to be going well.

He gazed sightlessly at the steady shimmer of rain against the window. A fine caretaker he had turned out to be. He wouldn't blame Ben a bit if he packed Adam right up and bundled him back to the Ponderosa. Once he was well, of course. Always assuming…but those thoughts helped nothing.

He turned away from the window and rested his eyes again on the still figure in the bed nearby. The fever was as high as ever, but he no longer thrashed about and muttered to himself. Too weak, the doctor said. How long could a man - even a young and strong one - remain in such a fever? The doctor had said eight weeks wasn't unusual in these cases. Longer, with complications. It had been almost five already.

He dropped himself heavily into the rocker by the bed and glanced about the room. He should have moved Adam. What on earth had possessed him to put him in here? Even giving up his own room to him would have made more sense. At the time it had seemed like a good thing, a good place for a boy to get acquainted with the mother he had never known, but now, watching him struggle for his life in the same bed where his mother had breathed her last was almost unbearable - terrifyingly reminiscent. What would it do to Benjamin to see it? How he wished he had thought of it sooner. Now, of course, Adam was too weak to be moved. He reached out and took hold of the lax hand - it felt hot and dry in his own. Fleshless. And he'd thought him thin when he'd arrived.

He remembered waiting to meet him down at the wharf, nervous as moon calf at his first dance. He remembered the long figure, taller than himself or Benjamin but still boyishly thin - a jumble of long arms and legs, silhouetted against the horizon. In that poor light there had been nothing familiar about him - just another gangly boy caught on the bridge between youth and manhood. It wasn't until Adam had caught his eye and given him a tentative smile then dropped his eyes in a brief spate of shyness that his heart had nearly bounded out of his chest. Good Lord. Benjamin had tried to tell him, but nothing - nothing could have prepared him for this.

The handshake he offered was firm and strong - just like his father's - and for a moment Abel had been almost swept away in a tidal wave of memories. He had felt a quick rush of tears and to cover it had boomed out, "Well, laddie, look at you! Nothing but skin and bones! Doesn't that father of yours ever feed you?"

There had been only the slightest shift in the dark eyes but it had taught him something that he would never forget again - no criticism of his father would be tolerated, even in jest. Ah, well - and that was a good thing. A boy should be loyal to his father. But it had also underlined the fact that, even though a continent no longer lay between them, even after fourteen years of faithful correspondence, they were virtual strangers. Much as he may resemble her, this was not the daughter he had known. This was the grandson that he really didn't know at all.

The first weeks had been excruciating in their awkwardness - Adam had been faultlessly pleasant and endlessly polite - oppressively so - careful not to be in his way, keeping his belongings neat and contained. He was always respectful of his grandfather's wishes, solicitous of his comfort. Abel thought it would drive him mad. How could this boy have his daughter's face and yet none of her sass - her spirit? Oh, he knew he wasn't Elizabeth's child alone, but even Ben had never been this serious - this - this - damned proper!

He was being unfair and churlish - he knew he was - but it was torture to have the beloved image transformed and alive before his eyes and yet so far away and unfamiliar. He pushed sometimes - he needled - and sometimes he saw a flash of something that he thought might actually be temper, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared and he was sure it had just been wishful thinking. He put it down to Adam's restlessness, for he haunted the small house like a ghost, swinging his arms as though hunting some kind of physical release, looking for something. His brothers, most likely. And it would be hard for a boy accustomed to physical labor to suddenly find himself confined to the close quarters of the city. And so he went for walks - long walks, God only knew where. Sometimes Abel went with him, matching his long stride. It was on one of these that he had first seen a different side of his grandson.

They were walking about the Common. Abel was talking in loud, boisterous tones because that's what he did when he was nervous and Adam was answering in those brief and maddeningly polite pleasantries that made Abel long to shake him. Because he was used to carrying the bulk of the conversation it had taken him a minute to notice when Adam was no longer with him. He had slammed to a halt in surprise. Well, this was a new wrinkle. This might almost be considered…rude. He turned to squint back through the crowds, spotting his grandson's tall dark head easily above the throngs that jammed the sidewalk. He retraced his steps and stood behind him, about to speak, then pausing instead to follow his gaze to the plate glass window before them. A bookstore. What the devil was so entrancing about that? Well, from the lad's rapt expression, something, evidently. His heart softened. Elizabeth had been fond of books - was always at Benjamin to read aloud to her. He studied his grandson's profile, then cleared his throat. Adam actually jumped, then flushed. Abel chuckled. "We could go inside," he suggested gently.

Adam looked at the sidewalk, then at his grandfather. Abel chuckled again. So it wasn't impossible to ruffle his composure, then.

"Oh, come along. It's cold out here anyway. Let an old man warm up." That worked as well as he thought it might and he led the way into the store. Adam forgot him almost immediately, wandering from shelf to shelf, fingering the book bindings, pulling them out to look at them and flip through the pages, studying the color plates inside. Abel leaned against the counter, his eyes following him. Not a statue after all, are you, boy? he thought, folding his arms over his chest and watching the intent, absorbed expression settle and deepen on his grandson's face. He wasn't sure how long he stood and watched - until Adam seemed to remember where he was, carefully closing the large book he was perusing and easing it back on the shelf.

He looked embarrassed. "Sorry - I - didn't mean to take so long. Are you warm now?"

Abel pushed himself away from the counter, eyeing him with raised brows. "Aren't you going to choose one?"

Adam turned his eyes resolutely away from the shelves. "I'll have my college reading list in a few days - I'd better wait for that."

Abel blustered. "Nonsense, boy! Those books are for learning! I meant one for pleasure!"

Abel squinted at him. Of course. Money. Must have cost Benjamin a packet to send him and keep him here - couldn't be much left over for fripperies. "The devil!" he burst out brusquely. "Choose one you like! I'll get it for you - a welcome to Boston gift."

There was only the slightest pause in the drawing on of the gloves. "Thank you," he repeated, with one of his most civil smiles. "But I think I should wait for my reading list."

Abel wanted to kick him and then himself. Damn, he should have known better. Trust the son of Benjamin Cartwright to be stiff-necked with unreasonable pride! Why, the look on his face had reminded him exactly of - he choked a little. Oh . Well, he supposed he could have gotten it from both sides of the family. There were those who felt that he had a bit more than his share of pride as well. What was it Benjamin had called him that time they had fought over the Chandlers Shop? He snorted at the memory. Well, this was different. A grandfather should be able to give a gift to his only grandson without him stiffening up all over the place. Damn, he'd buy him the whole blasted book shop without blinking and count it cheap if he could only keep him looking the way he had a few minutes ago. He brooded about it all the way home, a cold and silent walk.

He was still brooding about it when they arrived, the words of remonstrance hovering on the tip of his tongue. He was a direct man, not given to subtleties, and couldn't help feeling that a good, rip-roaring fight would do them a world of good - well, himself, anyway. Adam opened the door and let him enter first - another of those damned courtesies. There was a stack of letters on the tray by the door and Abel flipped through them briskly. At least two addressed in Benjamin's strong, decisive hand - one for him and one for Adam - another one for Adam labeled in a boyish scrawl. He plucked Adam's free and held them out to him, caught the look on his face from the corner of one eye.

Eh, damn, he cursed himself. As bad as that, was it? And what kind of a fool was he not to think the lad might be awash in homesickness? Too old and stupid to be allowed the stewardship of a young man, he was - too callused of heart and hard shelled from years of fighting the sea and almost everything else in his path. Of course the boy was lonely. What kind of company was an old man - a stranger - to someone who was used to the companionship of two young brothers and a father? And what could he do about it? There had to be some way to ease his path here - maybe rent him a horse in the park on weekends - or there were other pleasures the city had to offer that he might enjoy - the Opera, the theatre, the museums. He felt a twinge of conscience. Of course, he had promised Ben not to spoil him. Ben had been very emphatic about that - had repeated it in more than one letter as they were trying to agree on arrangements. Don't spoil him, Captain, I know you…he'll have to make his own path one way or another after this is over, so you won't be doing him any favors…promise, me…and he'd promised - a little insulted, even, that Benjamin thought he could be so lily-livered - such a - a - woman. Well, maybe he was, then, after all, just a bit - but he was ready to don a skirt if it would get a smile out of the lad. A real smile - not one of those mannerly reflexes of the lips he was given to.

He continued to brood about it and worry it in his brain as the days passed. Perhaps the start of school would fix things - he'd be busy enough then and there would be young people to become acquainted with. He watched him anxiously, pretending to be jovial. I'm as bad as he is, he thought. He's pretending not to be homesick, I'm pretending not to be worried. There's a pair of us.

He was thinking about it hard when he returned home unexpectedly early from the Chandlers Shop one day. He had started to push his way into the house when he heard a peculiar sound and stopped to listen. Whistling. He worried his lower lip, drinking in the sweet, melodic treble notes. Unable to resist, he cracked the door an inch more and peeked through. Yes, it was Adam, with that same intent, absorbed expression he'd had in the bookshop, studying drawings on some large pieces of paper spread out all over the table and whistling contentedly to himself. Abel paused, suddenly feeling foolish. What was he doing, spying on the lad in his own home? Maybe he should just sneak away and pretend to arrive again. But he knew that when he did the papers would be instantly swept away and upstairs, out of sight. And the boy seemed happy - such a rare thing these days. He hated to drive him back to the cautious courtesy that characterized him in his grandfather's presence. He eased himself carefully away from the door and back to the stoop. Let the youngster have the house to himself for a time - he needed a walk anyway.

He walked for a long time and as he did he was thinking. He couldn't transport Benjamin or the two younger boys here - he couldn't fetch the Sierra Nevadas. Sending him home was not an option - winter was on the way, and besides, he was almost certain he'd refuse to go. He had started this course and, barring unforeseen circumstances, he was committed to it. But there must be something he could do - something.

Eh, Elizabeth - I don't know what to do. Yer mother took care of these things when you were a girl and I was away at sea. Perhaps it's just a matter of time, but I can't bear to see him so unhappy. If there's any way - anything I can do to help make yer laddie more comfortable here, then show it to me. He stopped with a sigh. Almost dinner time. Time to get back. He made a move to turn, then stopped, gaze narrowing.

Right above eye level swung a store placard - Conway's Music - fine instruments, repairs and sheet music since 1812. He frowned, remembering the whistle, and remembering something else. Elizabeth, my girl, you always were one with a quick and cheeky answer. The bell jangled as he made his way inside.

The interior smelled of wood polish and rosin and he sniffed deeply, looking about. Possibly this came under Benjamin's heading of "spoiling"…eh, who was he to tell him how to handle his own grandson? Young upstart. He wasn't here, was he?

He cleared his throat. "I need one of those - those guitars. You carry those?"

"Devil if I know - a good one. One with good sound." Devil take Benjamin, anyway. He knew what he was doing.

He obediently followed the clerk to a collection of instruments hanging along one wall. All looked the same to him.

Ben's dictums echoed in his brain and he frowned to drown them out. Damn it, he wasn't spoiling him, he was spoiling himself. Surely he had a right to do that. What was the point of having his grandson come all this way after all this time and then not even get to hear him play and sing? Ben had said he was good - he would like to hear for himself. He studied the instrument the clerk handed him. A pretty thing. He could picture Adam with it. He remembered the experience in the bookshop and hesitated. Damn. What if his confounded pride got in the way again?

"I need a nice one, but not too expensive," he added hastily. "Good, but not showy." He glared at the clerk, daring him to think him cheap. It's not me, he thought at him. It's that blasted stubborn, hard-headed boy of mine.

But the clerk merely nodded and reached for another instrument. "This is a good one. Very rich sound, but reasonably priced. Would you like to hear it?"

Abel shook his head. "If you say it's good I'm sure it is - they'd all sound the same to me. I'll take that one. I'd like it sent round - today, if you're able."

"Our boy is out doing some deliveries now, but I'll have him take it round as soon as he gets back. Would you like to write down the address?"

Abel had written it down hastily under Adam's name, his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn't been this self-conscious about a purchase since he'd bought his Meg her engagement ring. He fled the shop as though he'd been caught committing a crime. All the way home he'd felt both excited and uneasy at the same time. In his mind he could see that sassy daughter of his laughing at him. "This was your idea, you know," he told her sternly. "Just in case Benjamin ever finds out." He smiled to himself. Not that it would worry her. Elizabeth had always known her way around Benjamin. He wondered if Adam did.

He was late for supper and jumpy and nervous throughout the meal, speaking volubly to cover it. He saw Adam glancing curiously at him from time to time. Probably thought he had run mad. Well, it was better than all that politeness anyway.

The door knocker sounded in the middle of the meal and Adam got up to answer it, shooting him one more inquisitive look as he went by. Abel ducked his head guiltily, listening intently to the voices at the door. Adam was protesting, then arguing; the delivery boy repeating his answer with rote inflexibility. He held his breath as the voices got louder, then heard the brisk click of the door closing. Then silence. He waited, trying not to peek and then peeking anyway. Adam stood in the entryway between the front door and the main room with the cloth-wrapped instrument in his hands, held gingerly in front of him as though he thought it might explode at any minute. His face was dark as a thundercloud, as though he might explode at any minute as well. Abel raised his brows. Oh, yes - that was definitely temper. Well, well, well.

"The delivery boy," Adam began in carefully measured tones, "says this belongs to me."

Aye, big temper, too. Definite storm lurking beneath all that calm. "Does he, now?" boomed Abel breezily. He pretended to keep his eyes on his plate, but looking through his lashes he saw Adam narrow his gaze at him.

"Mm hm." Adam leaned his shoulder into the entryway lintel, staring at him, eyes smoldering. Aye, this was better now. Definitely a fight brewing. "Thing is, I don't remember ordering it. "

Abel nodded, slicing briskly at his ham. "That's because you didn't, I expect. I did." Couple of young upstarts, him and Benjamin both. Teach them to think they could tell him how to run his household.

"Grandfather - " Adam took a deep breath, looked at the guitar, looked back at him. "I - I appreciate the thought, but I am not supposed to - "

Abel beetled his brows at him. "Supposed to what?" He was amused to see Adam flush.

Abel nodded, gesturing with his fork. "And that there guitar, it keeps you from doing that somehow, does it?"

Adam glanced down at the wrapped guitar in his hands, the flush spreading to his ears. "Well, no, not - That's not the point and you know it. Pa - "

"Eh, yes, yer father. It was all right fer me ta send you gifts now and now when you were on the Ponderosa and for some reason it's a problem now that you're here. Well, as it happens that's not a gift for you, it's a gift for me - I don't suppose even yer father could object to that? He told me you play and I'd a fancy to hear it. Seems to me the least you could do for an old man seeing as you're living under my roof." Oh, yes - he had him now - he could see it, see the battle in his face! The first time he'd seen him nonplused. Terrible how much he was enjoying this.

Adam looked again at the guitar. Abel noted how gently he held it, even in his confusion and irritation. "Well, of course it's not that I wouldn't be happy to…I'll do anything you like, Grandfather, but - " he trailed off.

Abel grinned. "Then why don't you unwrap the bloody thing and we'll see how it sounds?"

Adam hesitated. He wasn't really ready to give in, but he couldn't quite remember what he was holding out for. He looked again at the package in his hands, then went over and, resting it on the nearest chair, proceeded to carefully unwrap it, a troubled frown creasing his brow.

Abel watched the frown soften and gradually smooth out as the mellow glow of the instrument's wood appeared. He watched him pluck delicately at a string and saw a smile lift one corner of his mouth. "So - are you going to play something or not?"

"Needs tuning." Adam pulled away the rest of the wrapping and plucked at another string, listening.

Adam hesitated, looking at the discarded wrappings. Abel saw the look. "Eh, leave 'em for now! Criminy, aren't you ever untidy?"

He gave his grandfather a shrewd look and Abel found himself flushing this time. He cleared his throat noisily. "Come, come, lad - food'll be cold as a polar bear's nose in another minute."

So after dinner Adam had tuned the guitar and played for his grandfather - that evening and nearly every evening that followed.

After that, things seemed to change. Not big things, but small ones. Not all at once, but gradually. Instead of being marshaled efficiently back upstairs, textbooks were found splayed open here and there in the main room. The occasional roll of drafting paper was left tucked near the dining table. The front door closed now and now with an indecorous slam and school friends started to find their way home with Adam.

Looking at Adam on the opposite side of the fireplace one evening Abel noticed that even his posture had changed - instead of the rigid, both feet on the floor stance of early days, he sat slumped comfortably with one leg thrown over the arm of the chair. Abel felt a warm glow of smug pleasure that his strategy had worked. Eh, maybe it would have happened eventually anyway - but he was willing to take the credit. He looked up from stuffing his pipe.

"So, lad - " he said jovially. "Are you going to play something for me tonight?"

Adam nodded and turned a page without lifting his eyes from his book. "Sure."

"Maybe you could play that Annie Laurie. Or Barbara Allen. Though that one gets me all choked up."

Abel couldn't resist rubbing it in a little. "So buying that guitar seems to have been a good idea of mine after all. Don't you think?"

"Yes, sir," Adam agreed politely, turning another page. And then, more quietly, but loudly enough to be sure he was heard, "Conniving old seadog."

Abel's brows twitched together and he squinted one incredulous eye at him. "Laddie-mine," he said cautiously after a moment, uncertain he had heard correctly. "Did you just - sass me?"

"Me, sir?" Adam's voice was innocent and faintly shocked, one eyebrow rising

Abel stared hard at him, then saw the telltale smirk sink into the corner of Adam's mouth.

A laugh rumbled deep in his chest. "You watch yerself, lad," he admonished sternly. "I'm not so old yet that I can't take you."

Abel settled back in his chair and puffed his pipe, his heart light with merriment. "I've been thinkin'…" he continued pensively, studying the embers glowing red in the pipe bowl, "of buying a piano. For myself, of course."

Adam's head shot up, eyes wide with alarm, then he caught the teasing expression and his face relaxed into a mock-glare. "Well, that would be nice," he agreed dryly. "Then you could play for me for a change."

Abel grinned evilly at him and bit his pipe stem. Eh, Elizabeth, girl - I knew you had to be in there somewhere. Not that it mattered now. By now he had ceased to love Adam as Elizabeth's child and had come to love him as himself.

Abel closed his eyes in pain at the memories and moved his hand so it rested instead on the pale, broad forehead, radiating heat like a boiling kettle. "Eh, lad," he said softly. "This is one way I'd rather you didn't resemble your mother. You hang on, now. Come back to me."

Ben stared over the rail into the bottomless blackness of the water. He had no idea what had woken him, but sleep had been restless lately anyway: elusive. Irritating, in a way, since on these long voyages it was sometimes the only way to pass the time. But this was better than the stagecoach had been. Smoother. Faster. And being on the water still held a deep sense of connection for him - of peace. He smiled a little into the darkness. Once a sailor…

There was no one else about except for the crew, who would no doubt be disconcerted to find a wayward passenger wandering the boat at this hour, so he kept quiet and out of the way. The only sound was the slap of the water against the side of the boat - the only light the pilothouse, a soft beacon of warmth and brightness. He knew what it would be like in there on a night like this - hot coffee and tall stories shared - the distinctly masculine companionship of those who made the water their mistress. He had thought himself one of them, once - had never imagined replacing that love of a boat and the water with that of a flesh and blood woman. Then he had met Liz and all of that had changed - like following one of the dozens of different eddies that branched off of the river, his life had taken a different path.

He looked again at the pilothouse and for a moment considered joining them, then changed his mind. No. All that was behind him now. He no longer belonged there. In truth, maybe he never had, for the call of the land had always been strong for him, too - stronger, possibly, than the voice of the sea. Maybe Elizabeth had just helped him to hear it more clearly.

He gazed into the inky depths below him. The loss of his first love would always be a tender spot - one that had hurt so deeply and for so long that he still approached it a little warily, expecting that crippling twist of anguish that had accompanied it so reliably for so many years.

It had dominated his days endlessly - he suspected, looking back, that it had made him more impatient, quicker to anger, than he had wanted to be. It was a bit of a blur now, but it had always troubled him some. He had often wanted to ask Adam about it - to apologize, maybe - but he knew Adam would have none of it, would tell him it was fine, that he was fine. He shook his head. A bad habit he had never been able to break him of. Things hadn't always been fine - he knew that all too well. But Adam had a protective streak where his father was concerned - would defend him from all comers, including himself.

Well, they had had a long partnership together - longer, oddly, than he had shared with any of his wives. No wonder the last couple of years without him had seemed so odd - so out of kilter. Still found himself looking around for him some days - expecting to see him coming down the stairs, sitting at the big desk in the Great Room, riding in after a long day. He wondered if Adam felt the same at all - their partnership had, after all, encompassed his whole life. His letters never hinted at it if he did, but then, Adam was stubborn. He'd fought so hard for this chance - he would never admit to any doubt now or distress his father with his troubles when he was so far away and unable to help. He sighed a little. And he was young - adaptable. Chances were he rarely even thought about his old father among the excitement of Boston and Harvard. He smiled at the thought. So much for him to love there. He would give a lot for a glimpse of Adam enjoying Boston.

He leaned his elbows on the ship's rail and rested his head in his hands. And maybe he would get that. Maybe. Adam was a strong boy, not just in body, but in mind and spirit, too. He wouldn't give into this any more easily than he had ever given into anything else that threatened to slow him down. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. Of course, Elizabeth had been strong, too. Of spirit, anyway. But there were things that even the strongest spirit, the most stubborn will, couldn't overcome.

Ben started and glanced up at the shadowed face of the watchman peering curiously at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Certainly. Just couldn't sleep. The river is beautiful at night."

The watchman pursed his lips and frowned speculatively out into the stygian gloom where river and sky ran together as one and shrugged. "Yes, sir," he agreed doubtfully.

The watchman's expression compressed into one of deep reproach. "I should hope I did," he said indignantly. "Just left Illy-noy behind us. Now you've Kentucky on your right and Indiany on your left. Should make Loo'ville late tomorra, barrin' any trouble."

Ben nodded again. In Cincinnati there would be a telegraph office and an update from Abel. He would be able to send one on his own progress as well. The watchman lingered a minute, as though expecting him to go inside, then shrugged again when he didn't and returned to work. Barely over a week to make his way from St. Louis to Cincinnati. It seemed impossible. It had certainly taken him longer to travel in the other direction all those years ago. Of course, that had been somewhat different - earning his keep as he went, and with a small boy in tow. Ben leaned back against the railing and this time sought out the stars. Heavy cloud cover. Couldn't see much. Nothing to orient himself by. He squinted into the darkness, trying to imagine the bank on the other side. Indiana. What did he remember about Indiana?

They had lingered for a while, he thought - one of their stops to earn money. It was before they had purchased the horse and wagon and everything had gone slowly - he had walked and an old, swaybacked mule had carried Adam and their few supplies. Well, for a while. Until Adam had gotten it into his head that if his father could walk, he could, too. How old had he been - four, maybe? Ben had tried to reason with him - to explain that he was no real burden to the mule, but Adam had gotten that set look on his face that Ben was to grow so familiar with over the years and had slid off anyway.

Ben had wanted to scold - a habit of obedience was important to Adam's survival - but Adam had looked so pleased that he'd lost the heart to be strict about it. Well, what did it matter, anyway? He couldn't possibly be any slower than the mule was. In truth, it was pleasant to have him trotting along by his side, studying the flat green land before them with serious, curious eyes. Adam was happy. The mule was happy.

"It is closer, Adam. You just can't tell because it's further away than it actually seems. It will take a long time and a lot of walking before it seems closer."

Adam was quiet a moment, turning this over in his mind. "But we'll be there when we get past that group of trees?"

"No, son - that group of trees only looks like it's close to the town. It's actually very far away. You'll see when we get closer." Ben expected him to whine a little, prepared to put him back on the mule, but he looked more intrigued than anything.

"The last place," he said at last, "you didn't see things 'til they were close."

"Well…" Ben thought about it. "Because it was hilly there - you couldn't see far ahead. Here it's flat and you can see for a long way - makes things seem closer and piled up on each other, but they're not. That's called perspective."

Ben chuckled to himself. Never knew what was going to take his fancy next. From his face you'd think he'd just been given a new toy. He sighed. Just as well, too, because it was the only one he'd be getting for a while. Funds were low. Hopefully there'd be work for him in this town. They had a while before the cold weather set in, anyway. He'd better put a little away for that. No telling where they'd be by that time and he'd heard the winters could be fierce out this way. He felt a small hand slip into his and glanced down, his worry easing into a faint smile. "What is it, son?"

Even Ben had misjudged the distance, though, and the town had bounced tantalizingly ahead of them for hours like a desert mirage, never seeming to get any closer. A thin drizzle started to fall and he felt Adam's hand begin to drag in his and hefted him into his arms. No point in putting him back on the mule now - he was half-asleep and would probably just fall off. Besides, the mule looked almost as tired as Adam did. Too bad. He'd been hoping to trade it for a few dollars or supplies in town. The way it looked right now he'd be lucky if he didn't have to pay to have it shot and carted away. The sun was getting low on the horizon when they finally reached the first buildings of the town and he scanned them for a general store. Tomorrow was Sunday by his calculations and everything would be closed. As much as he would like to find a room to rest and put Adam to bed he would have to get his supplies now or go without until Monday morning. And by then he hoped to be working. He spotted what he was looking for and made his way up the steps, past the bags of feed and grain piled outside, out of the drizzle and into the cool, dimly lit interior.

The man behind the counter looked up from the scratchings he was doing on a piece of paper and smiled. "Can I help you, sir? Looking for a place to stay?'

"Well, yes, that's next - right now I need some things." Ben maneuvered Adam with practiced ease and pulled a short list from his pocket.

The man studied it and nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard - looks like you've come a long way."

"Mrs. Kittwell's place is nice enough and she likes young'uns. Plumb tuckered out, ain't he?"

Ben made a non-committal response. Probably the man was only being friendly, but he always felt faintly reproached by such remarks. He watched in silence as the storekeeper fetched items from the shelves.

"Lucky thing you came when you did - we'd be closed in another half hour. The missis has already gone home to fix supper. Let's see what we've got here, now…" he began to list figures in a painstaking row on the paper in front of him. "That's a nickel even…two cents…three more…ten for the feed…rope's another seven…fine quality, though - got those new…soap is three for six, but if you only want one, let's see, that's…"

Ben stopped listening. Adam murmured something in a sleepy voice and he reached up and smoothed the dark curls at his nape soothingly until he settled down again. He glanced down at him. His ankles hung below the hem of his trousers already. Seemed like he'd just replaced those, but Adam was growing fast. Something else he should see to while they were in town - new clothes.

Ben shifted his weight, trying to seem patient. Hopefully this boardinghouse would do. Hopefully it was someplace he could feel comfortable leaving Adam during the day while he worked. Maybe he could afford a slate for Adam, too, and he could work on his letters while Ben was away. He'd like that, and it would keep him occupied. "Do you have any slates here? And chalk." It was probably extravagant - probably he shouldn't - but it was a good, constructive way to pass the time and would keep Adam out of trouble. Not that he was much trouble, really.

"Hm…yes, we do…penny for the chalk and three cents for the slate. Hmph. Have to start over. Let's see, that's five and two…three…then ten then seven…two for the soap…a penny and three…" he gave Ben an apologetic smile. "I ain't much of a head for figures, I'm afraid. Usually the missis does 'em, but like I say, she's gone for the day. Too bad. She's the brains of the operation." He laughed.

Ben smiled in return. "I know what you mean. My wife - " he stopped, his heart suddenly constricting painfully.

The storekeep didn't seem to notice. "They're a wonder, ain't they? Your wife waitin' outside?"

The shopkeeper looked up in surprise, sudden understanding dawning. "Oh. Oh, now that's a shame. Let's see what we got here…forgot to carry somethin'…hm…there's five and two…" he droned back into his monotonous recitation of prices.

Adam turned his head on Ben's shoulder and muttered something. Ben reached up to stroke his hair again, making shushing noises. "We'll have a room soon, Adam."

Ben laughed a little. "I don't know. Probably "perspective". He's been practicing it all day. Once he gets a word in his head…"

"No." The shopkeeper shook his head, looking back down at his numbers. "No - that's not what he said. I'm pretty sure he said - thirty-three. And I think…" he carefully checked the column of numbers. "I think he's right."

Ben stared at him. "What are you saying?" He glanced at the heavy head on his shoulder and put his mouth close to the small ear. "Adam? Adam, did you want to tell me something?"

Adam sighed and muttered again. Ben frowned. It did sound like thirty-three. "What, son? What's thirty-three?"

Adam opened one eye at him and yawned. "Five and two and three and ten and seven and two and one and three…"

Ben glanced over to watch the storekeeper check off each number in turn. He swiveled the paper so he could look at it more closely and added them himself. Thirty-three. He looked back at Adam, whose eye had slid shut again.

"Looks like you owe me thirty-three cents, mister." Ben wordlessly reached in his pocket, his eyes on the dark head snuggled into his neck. "He do that a lot?"

"No, of course not. He's only a little boy, he - I'm sure it's just a coincidence."

"Don't be absurd. He couldn't possibly…" he trailed off. It was a big coincidence. And Liz had had a knack with numbers.

Afterwards, in their rented room as he peeled off Adam's wet clothes and poked his arms through the armholes of his nightshirt, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He pulled down the nightshirt, noticing the spots that had worn thin with age - this would have to be replaced, too - maybe after summer was over - a new flannel one for winter - and pulled down the clean, worn blankets so Adam could crawl under them.

"Adam - " he finally ventured as he pulled the blankets up over him, "did you add up those numbers in the store?"

Ben let his hand rest on Adam's chest, studying him curiously. "All those numbers? Who taught you to do that?"

Ben laughed shortly. "I did not! Well, of course I taught you one and one is two and two and two is four…"

Ben leaned over and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "No, no - of course not - it's just…" How to explain? "It's just that most people can't add up numbers in their head like that, son."

Ben reached over and stroked the hair off his forehead. "A story? Adam, you're barely awake."

Adam set his jaw mulishly. "I'm awake enough for a story. " His father's hand dropped to his shoulder and he nestled under it. "Tell me about the clipper ships."

The clipper ships . Ben ran his hand mindlessly up and down the boat rail, wincing at the memory. How many nights had he used them as a bedtime story? As many as he could get away with. Talk about anything rather than what he probably should have been talking about. At the time it had seemed like the best solution - to let the wound heal over and start to scar. Later, he had known better - that to let the wound heal over prematurely caused grief to fester and poison you. Live and learn. He'd done better after Inger, he thought - handled it better with both Adam and Hoss. He leaned over the rail and saw what wasn't visible in the darkness. Indiana. The first real blow to the wall he had built so carefully around his heart - a wall later demolished by Inger's deft and loving hands.

He had found work even more easily than he had hoped - at a nearby stockyard, counting and marking and slaughtering hogs. It was hard, exhausting work, but it paid well and Mrs. Kittwell at the boarding house seemed kind and competent to look after Adam. The board was good. It had seemed like a good place to rest for a while. He returned to the boardinghouse every night smelling of sweat and blood and hog entrails but Adam was always unfailingly overjoyed to see him.

Ben scooped him up in his arms as he ran to greet him one evening, inhaling deeply. He smelled pleasantly of fresh baked goods - a wonderful change after the stench of the hogs.

Ben shifted his shoulders, trying to relieve the tiredness in his back. "I give up. What else?"

Ben's brows twitched a little at the sight of his beaming face, then he glanced over Adam's shoulder to raise them questioningly at Mrs. Kittwell. "Really," he said slowly. "What kind of a job?"

"I do things for Mrs. Kittwell. Keep the wood box full and set the table and stuff."

"Uh-huh. Mrs. Kittwell says if I do a good job she'll take something off our board and then we can get to California faster. Isn't that good, Pa?"

"Is that so," Ben spoke slowly, watching Mrs. Kittwell for an explanation. "Well, I'm glad if you're a help to Mrs. Kittwell, son, but I think that's a favor for her kindness, not a job."

Adam's black brows drew together and he looked at Mrs. Kitwell, too. Mrs. Kittwell blushed.

"He's running some little errands for me, Mr. Cartwright. It's a big help to me - I'd have to pay a boy to do it anyhow and this saves me that. Seems only fair I should take it off your board."

Ben patted him lightly on the back and lowered him to the floor. "I see, son. Adam, will you go to our room, please? Do your letters for me. I'd like to check them before dinner."

Adam hesitated, studying him darkly. "Aren't you happy, Pa? It will go faster if we both have a job, won't it?"

Ben squeezed his shoulder absently. "We'll talk about this later, son. Now do as I say."

Adam paused as though he wanted to argue further, but Ben's lowering brows convinced him to obey and he turned slowly toward the hall. Ben and Mrs. Kittwell watched him leave.

Once he was out of earshot Mrs. Kittwell burst out, "Please don't be offended, Mr. Cartwright. He's very helpful, really, and I'd have to pay someone anyway. And it makes him so happy."

Ben kneaded at the tightening spot between his brows. "My son is four years old, Mrs. Kittwell. I do not want him going to work. I can support him just fine."

"I know…" Mrs. Kittwell clasped her hands earnestly. "But it's such a long day for him with you gone and it helps to pass the time…the things he does for me are very useful but, truly, they're just little things. Really, just the sort of thing he would be doing as chores anyway if he had a home."

Mrs. Kittwell eyed him timidly. "I hope you're not angry, Mr. Cartwright? I thought it would be a good arrangement for all of us - everybody benefits. Really, I was only trying to help."

Ben nodded dumbly. He was busy trying not to show how stricken he was by the words "if he had a home ." Adam had a home, didn't he? Well, not exactly a home, not yet, but he had Ben - that was almost the same thing, wasn't it? He swallowed again. Mrs. Kittwell seemed to be talking, but he couldn't concentrate on the words, his eyes on the hallway that lead to the rented room he shared with Adam. He held up his hand finally, forcing his face into what he hoped was an expression of pleasantness. "Mrs. Kittwell - I appreciate all your kindnesses to both me and Adam - please don't think otherwise. But if you'll excuse me, I need to have a talk with my son before dinner." Mrs. Kittwell looked apprehensive and touched his sleeve questioningly as he passed. He shook his head. "Adam is NOT in trouble," he assured her. "We just need to talk."

He found Adam sitting in the middle of his bed with his slate in his lap. He looked up as Ben entered, but didn't say anything. Ben dropped onto his haunches opposite him, studying his face keenly. Adam waited. "Adam, " he said at last, "do you understand that if you take this job, it comes with certain responsibilities? That you have to do it and do it well, even when you don't feel like it - that you can't stop if you get tired of it? When you accept a job from somebody then you have an unspoken agreement to honor - an agreement to fulfill that job to the best of your ability every day, until the job is done."

Ben sighed. "Well, I don't know if you do understand - I think you're too young to, really - but I suppose there's no better way to learn. But Mrs. Kittwell has been a good friend to us and it's important not to let your friends down."

"Very well. If you really want to do this, then you may. You can tell Mrs. Kittwell at dinner."

Adam gave a little hop of joy and threw his arms around Ben's neck. Ben held him close, knowing that the talk was not over and that the next part might not go nearly as well. So after a minute he added, "Adam. Look at me. I need to talk to you about something else."

Ben sighed at the memory, turning away from the railing, wishing he could turn off his mind and sleep. Tomorrow would be another long and tedious day on deck with nothing but his thoughts for company. He shuddered. With the responsibilities of building a ranch and raising three boys to distract him it had always been easy to keep his memories at bay. Now they swarmed over him like the escaping demons of Pandora's Box.

He found a deck chair in the faint light and sank into it. Silly to pay for a berth and then spend the night on the deck, but he felt better out here in the open air - the tiny berths below seemed claustrophobically cramped - pressing in on him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, remembering.

That talk with Adam had been a disaster. He remembered how shocked he had felt, and how helpless - shocked because, even as a small boy, Adam was not usually given to emotional outbursts. He had wondered, not for the first time, how other people figured out how to do child rearing. Did they automatically know? Would Elizabeth have known?

At dinner afterward he had sneaked a glance at the dark head next to his elbow, bent low over his plate, listlessly moving his food about. He smiled slightly despite the pull on his heart as he remembered. Adam still did that when he was bothered about something.

That night he had forced himself to drag his attention from the red rimmed eyes and occasional sniffling on his right and to turn it instead with assumed casualness to the other diners, trying to look unconcerned. He hated everyone knowing his business, but they weren't so blind that they couldn't tell something was wrong between him and Adam and that Adam had been crying.

He shifted his eyes to the man on his left. He worked at the slaughterhouse with him but was less particular about his hygiene. The smell of the day among the hogs was still strong about him and as Ben watched, he spit a long stream of tobacco juice into a nearby bucket before returning to shoveling in his food with a knife. Ben averted his eyes quickly to the other end of the table. Two men who helped keep up the livery sat there, unwashed and unshaven, their fingernails black with inattention, enjoying a voluble, good-natured argument. Next to them was a tall silent young man who currently worked sweeping out the feed store - probably just passing through and at least he was clean. Ben felt his heart sink. They were all honest men, of course, and respectable enough since Mrs. Kittwell wouldn't take any other kind of boarder, but all things considered, they weren't exactly the sort he would have chosen to expose his young son to. Lord only knew the kind of habits he could pick up from them. He smiled grimly. Not that they hadn't been exposed to worse in their journeys. He could rarely afford the better places and a roof was a roof. Still, Mrs. Kittwell was right. This wasn't any kind of home.

He put down his fork, suddenly losing his taste for dessert, and glanced at Adam's plate. Most of the food remained there, organized into tidy piles. Softly, so as not to draw the attention of the others, he said, "Are you going to try to eat that, or are you finished?"

Adam put down his fork. "Finished," he whispered, so softly that Ben had to stoop further to hear.

Lectures on wasting food and never knowing where your next meal was coming from leapt to Ben's lips, but he bit them firmly back. Now wasn't the time and he wouldn't be telling Adam anything he didn't already know from bitter personal experience. "All right, then. Let's go to our room. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Adam looked directly at him for the first time since dinner started. "I have to help Mrs. Kittwell."

Ben swore internally. Not for the first time he wished that Adam's memory were a little less accurate. "I know what I said, Adam. But you can officially start your new job tomorrow - tonight I need to talk to you." He lifted him down from his chair and held out his hand to him. For a second he could see Adam consider rebelling, but then he seemed to notice the others at the table too and hung his head. He ignored Ben's hand and walked past him toward their room. Ben pretended not to see the furtive glances that shot around the table and followed.

By the time Ben reached their room, Adam had already climbed onto his bed and buried his head in the pillow. Ben sighed. Evidently this was not going to get easier. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on Adam's back. "Son. We need to talk about this." Adam pressed his hands over his ears. Ben sighed again, more deeply. "Adam. Look at me, please." Adam pushed his face more deeply into the pillow. Ben ground his teeth a little. "Adam, I know it's not pleasant, but ignoring it will not make it go away. Now, I want you to listen to me - "

Adam turned over suddenly and glared at him. "You promised!" he cried fiercely.

Ben blinked. Had he? Probably…he hadn't wanted Adam to worry about being left alone, didn't want him to worry about it now, in fact, but he had to tell him about Abel - he had to know that he had someplace to go if anything did happen to his father. Ben was only too aware of how easily accidents could happen - what if he was hurt or killed? What would become of Adam then? An orphanage? Some well-meaning soul letting him work for his keep, like Mrs. Kittwell? Some less than well-meaning soul taking advantage of his youth and vulnerability? His heart hammered painfully in his chest. He couldn't bear the thought of him left defenseless in the hands of uncaring strangers. No - Adam needed to know about his grandfather. Needed to know enough to explain to people where he was in case worse came to worst. He could count on Abel to step in for him. Abel would love Adam. Abel would take care of him. He cleared his throat carefully, wishing there was someone to tell him how to say this.

"Certainly I'll always be your Pa, Adam - and I'll always be there for you. I just meant that in CASE anything ever happened to me you should - " Adam promptly dropped his face back into the pillow and covered his ears again.

Ben pinched at the bridge of his nose. Well, this was going well. It had seemed so simple when he'd started. He desperately wanted to take Adam in his arms and assure him that of course he would always be there for him, forever and ever, but another part of him kept whispering, what if he wasn't? He reached down and rested his hand on the back of Adam's head this time. Adam didn't look up from the pillow, but he didn't flinch away, either. He was so still that it almost broke Ben's heart. He stroked the dark hair, thinking.

"Adam, " he said suddenly, "do you know what a grandfather is?" There was a pause, then Adam cautiously turned his head to peer at him. Ben wanted to smile, but he didn't dare. "Did you know that you have one?"

Adam turned his head a little more, studying him. "You mean like Grandfather Skinner in Schuylerville?" he said at last.

Ben shuffled through his memory. "Oh. Well, something like that. But I think everyone called Grandfather Skinner that as more of a - title of respect. I mean a real grandfather."

Adam rubbed at his damp eyes, frowning thoughtfully. "What's a real one?" he asked, almost against his will.

Ben forced his face to stay bland. "Well, you know how I'm your Pa?" Adam nodded a little warily, cautious of a trap. "Well, my Pa would be your grandfather. A grandfather is your parent's father."

Adam rolled onto his back, his eyes on Ben's. "My grandfather is your father?"

Ben flushed. "No - well, yes, of course, but my father is no longer alive. The grandfather you have is - " he coughed to clear his suddenly tight throat, "is your mother's father."

Ben didn't know what to make of his expression. "Adam…" he began uneasily, a terrible suspicion dawning, "you do know you had a mother?"

Ben wanted to weep. Mrs. Callahan. Hadn't he told him? He must have - surely, in four years he must have talked SOME about Elizabeth to Adam? Oh it was hard, and he actively avoided it, he knew that…even now he would like nothing more than to close the subject and move on, but…he cleared his throat again, but his voice came out husky anyway. "What did she tell you?"

Ben nodded. "She was. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He took a quick breath to get a hold of himself and tried to smile brightly. "What else?"

Ben was surprised. Adam's memory was surprisingly and sometimes even exasperatingly thorough. "All right. Well, then. " He tried not to sound relieved. "Her father is your grandfather. He lives in Boston. You know - where the clipper ships are."

"Well - it's taken us your whole life so far to get from there to here, and we're not even in California yet. So pretty far, wouldn't you say?" Adam nodded, trying to imagine it. "But you should always remember that you have a grandfather you can live with, Adam, in case - well, in case anybody ever asks."

Adam nodded again, his brain obviously puzzling this new information. Ben saw his eyes droop and patted his arm. Poor little fellow. Tired himself out crying. He went over to the washbowl and dampened the towel in the ewer, then returned to the bed, gently wiping the sticky tear tracks from Adam's face, then letting the cool cloth rest over his eyes for a minute. "You know, " he said quietly, "I think you should get some extra sleep tonight. After all, you're starting a job tomorrow." Adam nodded wordlessly, curling into a ball. Ben laughed softly. "Not yet - let me get you into your nightshirt first."

He struggled Adam out of his shirt and trousers and into his nightshirt, leaning his sleep-heavy body against him as he maneuvered the sleeves over his hands. He held him for a minute then; thinking, remembering - wondering a thousand things, then eased him onto his back. "Come on now - under the covers." Adam slid under the covers more due to Ben's help than any conscious volition and Ben tucked the blankets tightly around his neck, kissing him on the ear. "Good night, son."

Adam snuggled into the cot. "Story," he mumbled from deep inside the pillow's depths.

Ben chuckled a little at the stubborn conviction in his tone. "Very well. What'll it be - the clipper ships?"

Adam opened his eyes and looked at him. Ben felt his heart tremble in his chest. He grasped Adam's shoulder with a suddenly palsied hand, avoiding his gaze, fighting for his composure. "I see. So you think - " his voice came out in a strangled whisper and he cleared his throat and tried to start again. "So you think that tonight you might like me to - tell you a little about your mother?"

Ben nodded back, trying to sound calm around the great rush of tears in his throat. "Well, let's see…I met your mother by a clipper ship, you know…"

Ben turned away and looked hard at the opposite wall. A question he would like to ask his Maker himself. "Because - because that's where all good people go."

Ben's heart turned chill. "Someday, Adam, I'm sure - but not for a long, long time."

There was a pause and Ben was convinced he had fallen asleep, but when he turned to check he saw his eyes were wide and open, fixed on him unwaveringly. "Will you go there, Pa?" his voice quavered slightly.

"I hope, someday…" he saw Adam's face and recklessly threw caution to the winds, damning the consequences, daring God to make a liar of him. "But not for a long, long time for me either, Adam. I won't leave you for a long, long time."

Ben stroked his hair with his free hand. "Yes, Adam - I promise. I promise for real. Cross my heart."

Adam fell asleep still clinging to him with a two handed grip and Ben stayed by his bed the whole night, wanting him to know he was there, even in his sleep, wanting him to be able to keep his hold on him all night long. Or maybe it was him who had wanted to keep his hold on Adam. Looking back, he really couldn't be sure.

Something had changed for Ben in Indiana. Maybe talking to Adam about Elizabeth, even that little, had helped. He couldn't be sure, but whatever it was, his grief was somehow a little less acute. It frightened him at first and he had stubbornly clung to his sorrow, afraid that this shift was somehow disloyal - the beginning of forgetting her - but despite himself, he was beginning to heal anyway. He wondered now if even Inger, as persistent and patient as she was, would have been able to get through to him if he hadn't already started to change.

They had stayed for over a month in the end, carefully putting aside money. Adam worked hard for Mrs. Kittwell and while Ben still wasn't completely comfortable with it, he had to admit that the money off their board did help. By the time they were getting ready to leave, Ben had made a decision and carefully counted out a share of their savings. He took Adam over to the livery one morning after their tearful separation from Mrs. Kittwell and led him around the back to where the animals were kept.

"That's right. Oh, I know it's not really a home, but it's a place to keep our things and it has a roof for when the weather is bad. We can even sleep in back sometimes."

Adam ran around back and tried to peek over the gate. "I want to see!" Ben followed and boosted him up so he could clamber inside. "It's big!" Adam crowed.

Ben couldn't help smiling at his pleasure though he secretly thought it would probably get small pretty fast if they had to spend much time in there together. Adam scrambled to the front and disappeared through the opening to the driver's seat.

"Adam - " Ben called warningly as he hurried around to the front just in time to see Adam slide to the ground. "Adam!" he said sharply, then sighed at Adam's look of mild surprise at his tone. Sometimes he wished his boy were just a little less independent.

Adam lost all interest in the wagon at the sight of the horse. He trotted around to its head and lifted his hand up to touch the animal's nose. Ben made a snatch at his other hand and held on firmly, shooting an apprehensive glance at the horse's large feet. Oblivious to his father's agitation, Adam giggled as the horse sniffed curiously at the tiny fingers. "She likes me!"

"He." Ben shook his head ruefully. Oh, well. It would probably take a thunderclap to stir the tired old nag anyway.

Adam considered, patting gently at the velvety snout. "I think I'll call him 'Grandfather'."

Ben huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself. "I think that's an excellent name. Very dignified." He could hardly wait to write Abel. "Now, let's get started. Up you go."

He lifted Adam onto the wagon seat and Adam squinted up at the sky. "It's high," he observed.

"Yes, it is," agreed Ben dryly. "And it's near the wheels. Which is why I'd like you to wait for me to lift you up and down."

Adam knew that tone and kicked his heels against the wooden seat restlessly. "Okay," he said at last.

This horse will never win any races, observed Ben a few hours later as the fresh green countryside rolled by about them. But it was patient and steady and calm around children, and that was more important. And it was certainly a more comfortable mode of travel than they were used to. He sneaked a glance at Adam. He had been quiet so long that he expected to find him asleep, but no, he had his head tilted back, studying the great blue arc of sky overhead. Ben's face softened. What had caught his interest now? Pictures in the clouds, maybe? He felt the familiar twinge. Liz had always been finding pictures in the clouds - had laughed with him about one that looked like an elephant shortly before Adam was born. He lightened his hold on the reins.

Adam kept his eyes fixed overhead. "Mrs. Kittwell said heaven is up in the sky. I thought maybe I could see my mother." He dropped his gaze resignedly to where his boots dangled over the floor, his shoulders drooping a little. "I guess it's too far, though."

Ben's breath caught in his throat, his vision blurring suddenly. Oh, Adam. What can I say?

When he could trust himself to speak he said slowly, "Adam - do you remember what I taught you about perspective? About how sometimes even when things look close they're really far away?" Adam cocked his head at him and nodded thoughtfully. Ben took another deep breath. "Well, sometimes it works the other way, too - sometimes, even though things look far away, they're really much closer than they seem." Adam frowned, concentrating hard on what he was saying. "Because if there is one thing I am absolutely sure of, son, it's that your mother is never far from you - even if you can't see her."

Adam looked back at the sky as though he might catch a glimpse of something he had missed before. He sighed a little. "Do you ever see her, Pa?"

Ben drank in the achingly familiar profile and then turned quickly forward to hide the moisture stinging at his eyes. "Oh, son," he murmured, half to himself. "Oh, son - you have no idea."

Ben awoke with a start and a bump as the boat scraped over a sandbar. He was stiff and chilly and the sky was lightening with the first hint of dawn. He'd slept out here all night. He had to clean up for breakfast. He rubbed a hand over his eyes to clear them and it came away wet - he sat studying the moisture on his fingers for a moment, reflecting on his dream memories, rubbing absently at a strange tightness in the left side of his chest.

Oh, Adam - what was I thinking? It was all very well for me to promise to stay for a long, long time…why didn't I think to make you promise, too?

He didn't answer - had stopped answering such pointless questions days ago. The close air of the room became fragrant with the scents of tea and soap and pungent medicine, and then rain as he heard the window casements creak open. The moist breeze brought him to life. "Shut that!" he said sharply. "Last thing he needs is a chill!"

"Ah, so you haven't gone deaf then. " The tone was dry, but he felt the breeze diminish some. "Miracle, seeing the way you sit alone in here, day in and day out."

"I'm not alone." His voice was low, but held the warning note of a suppressed roar. "Not yet. Close that window, or you'll kill him sure."

"A little fresh air will be good for you both." But the tone was milder this time. "And you didn't answer my question."

The wall sconces suddenly sprang to life and he blinked, cupping his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sudden brightness. "You want answers then ask sensible questions."

He shifted positions, squinting his eyes to help them adjust. "Why?" he snapped sourly. "Something special going on out there?"

He pushed the rocker into truculent motion. "No," he said after a moment. "I'll stay." He ignored the gusty sigh that accompanied his pronouncement.

"Then at least come over here and have some tea while I clean him up. Allow the poor boy a little privacy."

He gave a snort of laughter. "You call a perfectly strange woman bathing him privacy? Just as well he's unconscious."

"I am not in the least strange and think of myself as a nurse. Heaven knows I've enough experience. Get out of my way now and feed yourself - I've enough to do."

Abel pushed himself from the rocker with reluctant stiffness and moved toward the small table by the window where she had laid out tea, pausing just short of it to hover anxiously around the foot of the bed.

He poked distractedly at a piece of toast. "Don't know why you have to keep shaving him anyway. Not like he's going anywhere."

He watched her movements, smooth and rhythmic, for a while and then sank slowly into a small chair facing the table. "Wives' tale," he muttered.

She didn't bother to glance up. "Maybe. But why take the chance?" She reached for a soft towel. "Besides, I'm sure it's more comfortable."

Abel's hand went unconsciously to his own beard and he glared. "Lot you know about it." He cut the top off of the egg sitting in the eggcup without really seeing it, dabbing at it with a bit of toast. He rumbled in his throat, glancing up again to where she was stirring a mug of shaving soap. "Spose I - " he broke the toast in two and abandoned it on his plate. "Spose I - should be thanking you."

She looked up at him in surprise, but his eyes skidded away. "I don't see why," she said easily. "It's my job."

He snorted. "It's not and you know it. A little cooking and cleaning and marketing - that's your job. Not - " he turned away and stared hard at the window.

'Well, then, I guess it must be my pleasure." He snorted in response. "It's true. You're not the only one to enjoy having a young face about for a change, you know." She paused, her eyes intent on spreading the shaving soap evenly. "And you're not the only one to ever lose someone."

"No," the voice was barely above a whisper. "No, I'm not. I'm sorry, Alice."

She glanced up from her work and looked at him in surprise. He caught the look and raised his brows in return. She smiled in response. "Usually you call me Mrs. Longworth," she explained. "That's the first time you've ever used my first name."

He grimaced. "Then I'm sorry for that, too. Next I'll be getting as cheeky as that one - " he broke off abruptly, turning hastily away from the figure on the bed and pressing a hand over his eyes.

Her eyes flashed with compassion, but her tone remained even. "Like grandfather like grandson, I suppose."

"No - " he shook his head fiercely, "No. He's not. Like his father, surely, and like his mother in almost more ways than I can bear to - but not like me. Never. I know what I am."

He made a crumbling mess of the toast in front of him, staring out at the grey dreariness. Typical New England springtime. There were things he should attend to…business things…but he had lost interest in them somehow. Adam would be irritated with him. He liked things done right, and on time. He smiled faintly. That must come from Benjamin, that rigorous, efficient streak. He could remember it, almost, if he thought about it - remember Benjamin's meticulous attention to schedule and detail on shipboard, but he had surrendered that memory until he had actually seen Adam at work in the Chandlers Shop - that had brought it all back. Not that he had approved of him working there in the first place.

It had happened more or less by accident - a brief stop on one of their weekend strolls. Abel had wanted to check on some things since one of his men had just retired and another was down with influenza. It was Adam who had suggested that he could assist on the weekends, Abel had waved the idea aside.

"As if you don't work hard enough. Why don't you spend a little more time in play with your friends? Row the lake, go on a picnic - find a pretty girl to write bad poems to…"

Abel nodded a casual assent, but in truth he was touched by the look on the boy's face - a softening, as if he were approaching a long anticipated shrine. Romantic soul. That must come from his father - certainly not from a hardened old barnacle like himself. "This is it, if you care to step inside. Hasn't changed that much since your parents started the place - still running, still solid - despite your father and all his new fangled notions."

Adam had taken a step towards the door, but stopped abruptly. "What was that?"

"Your father and all his new fangled ideas. New navigational equipment and the like. Like there was something wrong with the old way. Though I'll admit a few of those ideas didn't turn out so ill."

"Oh, aye - was always wanting to try new this and new that and the very latest - now what is it you're gaping at, boy? You have the look of a beached carp!"

Adam shook his head slightly as if to rouse himself. "Nothing, I just - Pa. I can't imagine. He's so old fashioned. Why, every time I mention trying something new he practically blows his top."

"Hmph." Abel reached for his pipe and tobacco and started to work on filling the bowl. "Is he now." He tamped down the tobacco, making sure it was even. "You keep at him though, I trust?"

He flipped open his tinderbox and eyed Adam over it. "No matter what he says."

Abel struck a light, hovering it over the pipe bowl. "Drives him mad, does it?"

He pushed at the door to the shop and went inside. Adam followed close at his heels, his face awash in that intent expression that Abel enjoyed so much. "You poke around if you like. I need to check on a few things." He squinted at the interior with critical eyes. "Needs a bit of cleaning up, I suppose."

"A bit." Adam picked up a stack of papers from the nearest desk and automatically started organizing them. "Look at this place."

Abel chewed on his pipe stem and waved vaguely at him. "Now, now - let's have none of your tidy, fussy ways - I'll just take a quick peek at the books and then we're gone. No point in spending a fine Saturday afternoon in the Shop."

"It's an overcast afternoon, and we might just as well take a few minutes to get things in order. Won't take long. How do you find anything?"

"I can find everything just fine," answered Abel sternly. "It's just - just a might - casual. I like it that way."

"Well, I'll tell you this," rejoined Abel indignantly, "you didn't get those persnickety habits of yours from my side of the family."

"Yes, I can see that," agreed Adam dryly, trying to sort through a scattered jumble of inventory. "What is all this?"

"That's - why that's - some things that need labeling, I suppose. Leave it, lad - you've better things to do."

"We might as well fix it, since we're here. Want me to take a look at the books? I do them for Pa a lot of times."

"What I want is for you not to work for a few bloody minutes on what should be your free afternoon!"

Adam laughed. "You call this work? This is nothing. Why, when Marie died - "

He stopped so abruptly that Abel looked at him in surprise. Why, the lad's face had actually gone white. What on earth…?

"Marie," he nudged gently after a tense, suspended pause. "That would be your last stepmother?"

Adam nodded jerkily, avoiding his eyes and paying meticulous attention to the stacks of boxes he was straightening, his face now colored with a hectic flush.

Abel beetled his brows. And now he actually looked mortified. "Something you'd like to tell me about…?" he suggested gently.

Adam ducked his head. "There's nothing to - there was just a lot of - work. After she died. With Hoss and Joe and…everything…"

"Yes. Of course. There would be." Abel waited patiently. He would bet his life there was more, but he knew better than to push. After a minute he knew there would be nothing more forthcoming and he removed his pipe from his mouth, choosing his words with care. "Well. Perhaps some time you'll tell me all about it. Wouldn't hurt if you took a glance at the books, I suppose - they're just a jumble of numbers to me. They're on that desk back there - " He indicated with a jerk of his head and Adam made a grateful escape to the rear of the store. Abel returned his pipe to his mouth and sucked on it thoughtfully.

"Find 'em, lad?" he asked after listening to the shuffling and banging of ledgers and giving him a decent time to regain himself.

"Yeah. All of them." Adam's voice floated up to him, sounding normal again and tinged with irony. "How did you ever manage on a ship is what I'd like to know. Don't you ever throw anything away?"

Abel blustered. "Why throw away perfectly good things that you might just as well need later? Can't believe your father raised such a wasteful boy."

"Well, in ranching we learn that sometimes you have to clear away the old and the dead to make room for the new. Do you have any idea how far some of these go back?"

"It's useful, I find, to have a history of the business. And you need to learn a little respect for your elders, young man."

"Well, the first thing we're going to do is create some kind of an archive system for you. That way you can keep all your history but it doesn't have to be cluttering up everything underfoot. Look at this one. I'll bet this is the first…"

Abel waited. The silence stretched between them. "Adam?" he offered after a moment. Still no answer, and he strode to the back of the store this time. "I hope you're not throwing anything out back here! I'll have you know that I'm still - " He stopped, puzzled and a little concerned. Adam sat with the ledgers surrounding him, one open in his hands, on his face an expression Abel couldn't begin to fathom. He maneuvered to get a peek at the ledger and felt his own face melt with sudden understanding.

Adam didn't answer and Abel mentally shook himself. Stupid thing to say to a boy about the mother he didn't know - that she had nice penmanship, as if that was all there was to her. "Of course, I'm afraid she wasn't always tidy either - look at the way she used to scribble in the margins - the marketing list…ah. Look. That one there - that must have been things she needed to prepare for you. She worked here almost until you were born, you know. Your father didn't approve, but your mother had a mind of her own, make no mistake." His eyes scanned the page, his heart warming within him.

"I suppose you're right - " he continued slowly after a moment, "About hanging on to everything. Time I cleared out a bit. Don't suppose you'd like to take that off my hands?"

"Just taking up space around here I can ill afford. Be doing me a favor, really."

"And now it's yours. Nasty old dust catcher really." He dropped a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Take it, lad. It's a little link with your parents' life together. I think it belongs to you."

He smiled slightly at the memory. He'd lost track now of how many times he'd stopped by Adam's room nights to make sure he wasn't studying too late only to find him asleep with that ledger splayed open on his chest. Such a small thing to cling to - he wished he had more to give him. Adam had brought Elizabeth back for him in so many ways - he wished he could return the favor.

This grandfatherhood was surprisingly pleasant and he took to it - not that he hadn't to fatherhood - Elizabeth had been his very joy, especially after Meg had died, but he couldn't say he'd really had much hand in her upbringing, gone to sea for months at a time as he'd been. She'd romped on his ship when he was in harbor, imitated him barking orders to the crew, played with him and, later, taken care of him, but there was no doubt that it was her mother who'd had the raising of her. Of course, it was Ben who'd had the raising of Adam, but he felt as if he was having a small part - showing him life in the big city - the city where he was born.

He liked having him about and preened himself a little on his tall, handsome grandson. He normally wasn't one for frequenting teas and soirees and dances but couldn't resist the urge to show him off and, telling himself that he was just giving Adam the opportunity to meet people, he accepted an invitation for both of them to a soiree planned in support of the Fund for Indigent Seamen. Of course, that meant another delicate dance around that pride of his.

He broached the subject casually one evening while he was pretending to peruse the Globe and Adam was burying his face in one of those books he was so fond of.

Adam shook his head without lifting his eyes from his book. "I don't think so. Who are they?"

"Oh, fine folk. Known them since Meg and I were a young couple. They're having a musical soiree next week. Thought you might fancy it."

"Never mind what I like. I was thinking that you might like it. They're having a harpist or some such nonsense. Sounded like something you might enjoy."

"A harpist?" Adam dropped his book to let it dangle from his hand. "A real one? I've read about harps, but I've never heard one."

Abel suppressed a pleased smile. "Then this would be your chance." Now came the tricky part. "Have many parties out your way at home?"

"Some." Adam got up and refreshed his grandfather's coffee and then his own. "Barn raisings and hoe-downs, mostly. Barbeques."

"Hm." Abel cleared his throat, trying to decide how best to approach this. "Sound like fine times. Soirees are all right - a bit high toned, though." He stirred sugar into his coffee and sipped. "You know the kind - ladies in big skirts and gloves and the like."

Adam let his eyes drift back to the page. "Pa had one made for me in San Francisco before I left. If that's what you're asking."

Abel shot him a glare of annoyance. "Now, if you knew what I was asking why the devil did you let me go on like that?"

Abel tried to scowl. "Miserable boy. Is the suit heavy enough for Boston weather? Winter's coming on."

"Now, how do you know that? Have you ever been to Boston in winter before? I think I should have a look at it."

"And don't start that again! Pa's right - if you keep this up I won't be worth anything when I get home!"

The words hung between them in the air, startling both of them - Adam with a sudden wave of homesickness and Abel with the terrible realization that this time would eventually come to an end. They were both silent for a moment, torn by their thoughts.

Abel finally got himself in hand. Never mind that now - more important to make the best of the time they did have. Pushing the feeling aside he reached resolutely for his coffee again, eyeing him with assumed casualness over the cup rim. "I know where there's some fine haberdasheries," he said slyly. "Don't go in much for finery myself, but I know one or two." This time it was Adam's turn to look exasperated. "We should ask Mrs. Longworth about color and style and such. She used to be a dressmaker."

"Oh, indulge me, lad," his voice lowered. "I haven't that much time with you."

Adam hesitated, then sighed, then laughed. "All right," he turned his eyes to his book again. "For someone who supposedly knows nothing about instruments you sure know how to play me."

Adam was quiet a moment. "Pa says that." He paused and added a little shyly, "How?"

"Oh, that tongue of yours, for one. Disrespectful, the both of you. Shameful."

"Those books you're always lugging everywhere. And your smile - well." Abel swirled his coffee. "Lots of things. Little things. Things I'd almost forgotten."

Abel put down his cup and sighed. "I know, laddie," he said simply. "I wish, too."

He wished for a number of things, more with every passing day. Watching the dark head bent over the books every Saturday he found himself wishing, almost against his volition, that that was something that he could count on not only this year and the three after, but for many years into the future as well. A pleasant thought - to be able to hand his business over to his only heir - to have Adam slide as neatly into his future as he had into his life. And who was to say? There was a lot in Boston to tempt a young man of Adam's ilk. He promised himself that he wouldn't hint or push - that the decision would be Adam's alone - but there was nothing that said that he couldn't hope. And with every passing day his hopes grew a little more.

But that had been before, of course. Now he didn't care if Adam chose to stay in Boston or on the Ponderosa or in Timbuktu - as long as he stayed alive. Horrible enough to outlive your own child - to outlive your grandchild was obscene. Like history repeating itself…He noticed he had crushed his toast and abandoned it impatiently, tapping an indifferent spoon against the egg.

The soiree had been a revelation. Adam had looked very handsome, he thought, in his charcoal suit with the new dark red vest Mrs. Longworth had selected and his silver watch chain stretched across it. Oh, possibly he was a bit biased, but he didn't think so. He felt justified in his small sin of pride when he saw more than one lady glance their way as they were received at the entryway.

"That's enough, lad!" he had scolded brusquely as Adam tried to help him out of his coat. "I'm old, after all, not enfeebled. Why don't you go get us a couple of glasses of punch and I'll introduce you round?"

He heard Adam chuckle softly behind him and felt him surrender the coat. "All right." He looked around the room with interest.

Abel watched him as he made his way to the refreshment table at one side of the room. He was surprised at how poised he seemed. Oh, there was a definite measure of reserve in his manner, but he had expected more shyness. He saw him hold his hand out to one of the guests at the punch table - retired Captain Starbuck it looked like from here - then saw them both glance his way. He smiled and nodded in return, smoothing down the sleeves of his dress uniform. Damn, but he hated getting rigged out for these affairs. Still, he had a feeling he was going to enjoy this one. He swaggered over to the pair and hooked his thumbs in his lapels.

Captain Starbuck nodded. "Abel. Indeed I have! Elizabeth's boy, hey? Doesn't seem possible it was that long ago, does it? But if he's grown that much then I suppose we've been getting older too." He laughed heartily at his own joke. "Stayin' with you for a spell?"

"That's right. He's here to go to university. Taking his course at Harvard."

Starbuck raised his brows. "Well, now, that's something, isn't it? What are you studying - Adam, wasn't it?"

Adam opened his mouth to answer but Abel interjected smoothly, "Oh, it's a double course - engineering and architecture."

"Eh, that so?" Starbuck eyed him keenly. "Can't make up your mind what it is you want to do, young fella?"

Adam opened his mouth again, but Abel swept in, "Eh, well, it's difficult to narrow down your choices when you're talented at so many things." Adam shot him a speaking glance and he blinked back serenely.

"Must have been a long trip for you - living somewhere way out west in the wilderness, aren't you? Doesn't your father have need of you?"

"Yes, well, he does, but Adam's on scholarship, don't you know. Couldn't say no to a thing like that, so Benjamin gave his blessing. You remember Benjamin, don't you? Fine a first mate as I ever had."

"Did I mention that he was musical?" Abel interrupted cheerfully. Adam's stare grew pointed, but he ignored it. "One reason we're here tonight. Young Adam is partial to music. Plays himself."

"You should hear him," Abel continued blithely. "Beautiful. Isn't that right, lad?"

Abel beamed at him, unruffled. "Well, I expect we'd better run along and mingle some. Pleased to see you, Jonah."

"Nice meeting you," Adam agreed faintly. He fell into step beside Abel. "Is this what it's going to be like all evening?" he hissed through his teeth, sotto voce.

Abel smiled innocently. "What's that, lad? Meeting people? Aye, of course - that's the whole point. Well, that and the music."

Abel's eyes twinkled. "Now, laddie-mine. Is there a single word I've said that hasn't been true?'

"Now, Adam - " Abel adopted his most sincere expression. "Would you deny an old man the pleasure of introducing his only grandson around?"

Abel beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. "I thought not. Eh, look over there - Captain Reginald Thomas. Let's go introduce you to him."

Abel couldn't remember when he'd last enjoyed himself so much, at least at first - he got as much wicked enjoyment out of Adam's discomfort as he did out of his own bragging. But as the evening whiled on he noticed something else that began to wear at his pleasure. He had at first observed the fairer sex's subtle and not so subtle responses to his grandson with pleasure and pride, but as the night continued he felt a creeping sense of alarm and began to wonder more and more if this had been such a good idea after all. It came to him suddenly that he had no idea what Adam's experience with women was - if indeed, he had any - especially with the more sophisticated types that Boston had to offer.

The possibilities of the problems this could present and his absolute unpreparedness to deal with them almost made him dizzy and throughout the harp recital he found himself less and less focusing on the music and more and more on his growing concerns. What on earth had ever made him believe that he was equipped to handle this? Who was he to guide a young man through the rocky shoals of one of society's romances?

The sound of tinkling laughter mixing with Adam's baritone caught his ear and he glanced to his left to see the Widow Davenport with her gloved hand resting lightly on Adam's arm as she laughed up into his face. He frowned. Good God, the woman was at least ten years the boy's senior - what on earth was she thinking? Never mind - he had a pretty good idea what she was thinking. He glared meaningfully at her and made it a point to corner her at the punch table.

She smiled at him like a lazy cat. "My goodness, Abel - they certainly grow them big and strong out West, don't they? Maybe we should send all our young men out there."

Abel stared hard at her without the smallest glimmer of a smile. "He's a boy and my grandson, Lydia - I'll thank you not to forget either."

Abel watched her glide away, skirts swaying. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the wisest course would be to take Adam back to the house and lock him up there for four years, releasing him only for classes. Coward, he chided himself. You were happy enough to parade him around before you realized the consequences - now what? Write to Benjamin, "Women are looking at your son - your son is looking back - what do I do? Please hurry reply?" No doubt that would give Benjamin a good laugh at his expense. Not that he couldn't survive that, but any advice would probably get here too late to do any good anyway.

The implications and possibilities left him brooding so deeply that Adam made his way to his side and asked under his breath if he felt all right.

"Then let's go home," Adam insisted, frowning. "I'll get our coats." Abel followed him meekly, feeling like a traitor. Outside on the sidewalk he noticed Adam peering at him anxiously. "I'll wave down a cab," he said firmly.

Abel flushed, feeling his own duplicity. "Nah, laddie - just need some fresh air. Let's walk." Adam hesitated, ready to protest. Abel insisted, setting the pace. "Will do me good. One of those stuffy old cabs will only give me a headache and it's a beautiful night. Look at those stars. Your father ever teach you about them?" Adam nodded, still watching him, his expression troubled. Damn . Abel tried to think of a way to distract him. "Did you enjoy the music, now?"

Predictably, Adam's face changed and he nodded again. "I've never heard anything like it."

"Aye, liked it myself. It's no wonder they write about angels playing harps. Did you enjoy yourself?" Adam nodded one more time, but shot him a probing glance. Abel was grateful for the sporadic lighting offered by the street lamps, keeping them half in shadow. He paused on the bridge over the Charles, trying to think of what he wanted to say. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he offered weakly at last.

Adam leaned on the railing next to him and gazed out over the water, silvered with moonlight. "Yes," he said quietly at last. "I've grown to love it."

Abel nodded in the darkness, struggling with himself. "Adam," he said at last. "Can I ask you something?'

Adam shrugged non-committally. "There aren't many to know. Indians and saloon girls, mostly."

"I see." Abel felt very much like he was drowning, but he pressed on. "Well. And has your father - ever - had occasion to - make himself clear on certain points of - of - " the pause hung heavy in the air.

Adam chuckled. "Well, I don't, exactly, but - if it's what I think it is then I can assure you that the process of breeding animals makes such mysteries unmysterious at an early age."

"Ah, well, animals." Abel snorted. "They're honest and straightforward about it, no doubt. Women aren't, I'm afraid. Not all women anyway."

Abel sighed. "I don't know how to tell you what I want to say, lad. Except to warn you that for some women love and conquest are no more than a game. Be on your guard." He glanced at him to see if he was listening and the moonlight showed that his expression had sobered. "Ever been in love, lad?"

"Well, then. I suppose I'm telling you not to mistake the bauble for the real thing. Women smell good and they're soft and warm and it's easy for a man to get confused when they're close."

Abel scratched at his chin. "I don't know how to tell you, laddie. I wasn't in love but once in my life - with your grandmother. All I can tell you is that it makes you strong where you never had been and brave where you thought you couldn't be and patient where you thought you never would be. Love with the right woman is about the nearest we come to heaven here on this earth, I suppose. With the wrong one, well - I'm guessing that's about the closest we come to hell."

"To Meg? A good while. Your mother was almost seventeen when she died. A good girl she was, too - looked out for her old father. Thank God I had her - don't know what I would have done if I hadn't. Like to have lost my mind, I suppose." He saw Adam shift, frowning a little out over the river at the shadows of the buildings on the other side. "Now, what is it you're thinking?"

Abel studied his expression in the half-light. It was taking him a while to learn how to read Adam, but then it had taken him a while to learn how to read the ocean, too. Both were changeable and inscrutable, but eventually gave up their mysteries to the practiced eye. "It was," he said finally. "The same for your father. If that's what you’re wondering."

"It's a little different, I think. I was just a baby and he was traveling west - I was a lot of work for him."

"Doesn't matter." Abel leaned against the rail beside him. "Every day he thanked God for you. I know. You don't."

Adam fixed his eyes on the low hanging moon. "It was so hard on him," he said finally, his voice very soft. "Every time. It hit him so hard. I didn't know my mother, but I did see how losing her affected him. And then Inger…" he paused painfully, "and Marie…" He shook his head. "It always changed everything. Sometimes I think it would be better…"

"Then you'd be wrong, lad. And you'd miss a great deal. What would my life have been without Meg? And then Elizabeth? Yes, I lost them both, but not to have had them at all? Nah - unthinkable."

Adam turned to look at him. "Did you resent him? When Pa came to take my mother away?"

"Resent him?" Abel paused, wanting to remember, to be honest. "I don't think so. He was a good man, like a son to me, and he made your mother so happy - I couldn't find it in my heart to resent him. And of course - " his eyes twinkled. "They moved in with me, so he didn't take her very far. There were other things I resented, surely, things I wish I'd done differently…but no - I never resented that."

Abel was silent. He had often wondered what Benjamin had told Adam of it. Nothing, then. A generous man, Benjamin Cartwright. Not one to carry a grudge, never mind pass one on. "It's not a time I'm especially proud of, lad," he said at last. "I could have done better by your mother and father in those days. I'll tell you about it sometime - I promise. But not tonight. It's late and we should be getting home."

Adam pushed himself away from the railing. "All right. But you don't have to."

"Aye, but I want to. Get it off my chest, like." He draped an arm around Adam's shoulders and turned him in the direction of home. "And then maybe you can tell me some things, too. Like instead of talking about how losing his wives affected your father, maybe we'll talk about how it affected you."

He sighed at the memory. They never had found the time to talk about it and it hung over him now, as grey and dampening as the clouds that sealed out the sky. "I have a lot to answer for," he murmured, mostly to himself. "You don't know."

He had almost forgotten Mrs. Longworth and glanced up at her where she had paused in her shaving. "I'm not. You don't know," he picked up what was left of the mangled toast and dabbed it mindlessly at the egg.

Twenty years ago he had left Elizabeth sickening in that same bed for no better purposes than his own foolishness and pride, aye, and had dragged Benjamin from her side, too. By the time they had returned - that is, by the time Benjamin had tried his hand at fixing the mess he'd made and had been able to return …he let the toast dangle from his hand, unnoticed. Well, not this time. This time, if Ben had questions, he would be able to answer them, be able to tell him he had been there. History may repeat itself, but it had taught him something, too. This time he was sticking, come what may.

Ben watched with interest the crew of men as they set the gangway in place. Cincinnati. Hard to believe it was the same city. He hefted his modest carpetbag as the crewman gestured for the passengers to come forward and disembark - ladies first, of course. How long ago had it been since he had set foot in Ohio? 1833. Over seventeen years.

He waited his turn patiently. The train for Cleveland didn't leave until 2:30 and he had no other plans except for a trip to the telegraph office. His heart bumped at the thought, but he looked out over the river, forcing himself to steady it. No sense in borrowing trouble. He would know soon enough. He finally made his way down the gangway, one of the last in line, touching his hat pleasantly to the crewman assisting passengers onto the dock. The wind off the river was stiff but pleasant and the street that ran alongside it was bursting with sound and color. He strolled along it, admiring the bustle and energy. What he needed now was directions to the telegraph office. He gazed about him, wondering who it would be best to ask, then paused, frowning. Was that - ? Yes, apparently it was. He made his way toward one of the benches facing a view of the river.

The woman started in surprise and then smiled up at him. "Why, Mr. Cartwright! I wondered who could be calling me by my name in this strange town!"

She laughed lightly. "Oh, Lyle. He had a business meeting. I could have gone with him if I wanted, but I've never been to Cincinnati before and I thought it would be nicer to sit here in the air and look about. It's a very exciting town, isn't it? I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it."

"Yes - yes, it's very nice - but you shouldn't be sitting here alone - the train isn't until 2:30."

"Oh, Lyle'll be back before then - we'll have lunch somewhere before the train departs. Until then I don't mind sitting here - much better than some stuffy office."

"Well, I have to agree with you on that." He turned his hat in his hands. "Listen - I don't have anything to do either - if you don't mind a side trip to the telegraph office, what do you say to an escort? I can show you a bit of Cincinnati."

She studied him for a moment, then smiled. "Well, I admit I'm dying to explore a little - but a woman alone - "

She laughed now, taking his arm. "I've no doubt about that. So you've been in Cincinnati before?"

"Oh, my, yes - Adam and I spent quite a bit of time here. There was good work for an ex-sailor - on the boats and on the docks. Hard to imagine now, but Cincinnati was the gateway to the west then - much like St. Louis is now."

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it? If the gateway to the west will be even further west in a couple of decades."

Ben smiled. "Well, if it moves too much farther it will turn into the gateway to the Far East! Look - that looks like a telegraph office - let me stop in and then we can promenade." He ushered her inside and saw her comfortably settled on a bench before approaching the operator's window.

"I'm looking for - " he stopped to clear his throat, finding it unexpectedly dry. "A telegram. From Boston. From a Captain Abel Stoddard?"

The operator turned to eye a collection of pigeonholes. "You Benjamin Cartwright?" he asked briskly.

Ben cleared his throat again, his eyes on the piece of paper in the operator's hand. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"Thank you - " Ben pushed some money through the window. "I'll be sending an answer back…" He took the thin sheets gingerly, turning them over in his hands. The one was from Abel. The other was from Roy - he must have sent it through someone going to St. Louis. He stood fingering them, wondering what kind of news they contained for him.

"I could read them for you, if you like." He started at the soft voice at his elbow, felt his face redden.

"No - " he replied, a little too quickly. "I - I'll - read them." He slid his thumb under the seal of the one from Boston and carefully unfolded it, turning a little to afford himself some privacy.

"DIAGNOSIS TYPHOID STOP," it read. "WEAK BUT STILL HERE STOP HURRY DON'T STOP ABEL."

He was hardly aware of the rush of air from his lungs, the stinging in the corners of his eyes. In fact, he was hardly aware of the whole telegram, except for the words "weak but still here". Adam was alive - for now, he still had a chance to reach him.

He glanced up into the quiet, concerned face of Mrs. Chambers, taking a minute to dash his handkerchief at his eyes. "Still alive, as of this telegram." He was quickly calculating the remaining days of travel in his head. "Typhoid, evidently. I don't know much about it, though I've heard of it before."

"Not - not really…" she hesitated. "One of my sisters was in Philadelphia during an epidemic of it, though. Many people died." She saw his face and added hastily, "Many recovered, too, of course."

Ben continued to study her. "Adam is strong," he said, a little defiantly. "Young and strong."

"He - he's survived a lot." He folded the telegram carefully, tucking it into his inside pocket and half-heartedly opening the next one. "He's still alive - that's the main thing."

He smoothed out the second telegram, using it to shield his face, which seemed to be working unaccountably. "ME AND JOE OKAY STOP HOPE YOU AND ADAM ARE TOO STOP MISS YOU BUT HOP SING AND SHAUGHNESSY TAKING GOOD CARE OF US STOP LOVE DON'T STOP HOSS" He ran a hand over it and read it again. Love don't stop. Of course he wouldn't - how could he? He smiled at the vagaries of his tired mind.

"I have to send answers…" he went to the window for paper and pen, but also to create some distance for himself. He had been wrong, probably, to even think of trying to be with anyone today, with his heart so raw and his feelings so near the surface. He blotted at his face and studied the paper under his hand. "IN CINCINNATI STOP BE THERE IN FIVE DAYS IF ALL GOES WELL STOP LOVE TO YOU AND ADAM STOP THANK YOU CAPTAIN DON'T STOP BEN PS TAKE CARE OF MY BOY STOP. He frowned at the PS. A stupid thing to add, and expensive, too - of course Abel would - had been, in fact…but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to erase it. He addressed it and pushed it hastily through the window, turning his attention to the other telegram. AM WELL AND MAKING GOOD SPEED STOP EXPECT TO SEE ADAM SOON STOP WILL GIVE HIM YOUR LOVE STOP MY LOVE TO YOU AND JOE AND ALL DON'T STOP PA. He turned to address this one too, and hesitated. Should he address it to Roy? Probably a better choice than Hop Sing since Hop Sing's English was sometimes variable. He started to address it, then paused again. Me and Joe okay…he had left Hoss with a man sized job - asked him to do something hard and grownup and it sounded like he was doing it well. Surely that deserved some show of confidence - some recognition of adult responsibility? He stared at the sheet of paper, then scrawled "Erik Cartwright, the Ponderosa, c/o Virginia City/ via St. Louis, and pushed it through the window. Two other boys he had to believe he would see again - had to believe would be fine, even without him there. He shoved some money after the messages and waited while the operator checked them and counted words and made a little stack of his change. Still he waited, and the operator finally said boredly, "They'll go through in the hour."

Ben nodded, turning away, not quite sure what else he had been waiting for. He felt Mrs. Chambers slip her hand into his arm and give it a little squeeze.

"There'll be another one in Cleveland," Ben explained, not sure why he thought she should care. "Abel and I agreed - every stop with a telegraph office. Cleveland then Buffalo then Albany…" he trailed off. So many cities - so much distance still to be covered. So many opportunities for…he shook himself firmly. No. Adam was a strong boy - he hadn't lied about that. He would see him again - he would not believe otherwise. He couldn't. Typhoid…he would have to find someone who could tell him about typhoid…

Ben looked at her in surprise. It had been a long time since a woman had read his mind. "No," he said slowly after a minute. "No, thank you - probably only scare me senseless, and for what? As I said, Adam's frightened me before for nothing. Besides…" he patted her hand absently. "I promised you a promenade."

Outside the wind came up off of the harbor, sending dirt whirling in little eddies. Ben paused, staring, caught for a moment between the present and the past.

"I worked there," he said at last. "Assistant to the Harbor Master. It was one of the few skilled jobs I enjoyed in my travels West. It was a good time for us - after we lost Mrs. Callahan, Adam's nurse, of course, but we had a little more money - a little better accommodations. And the amenities a city had to offer…Cincinnati wasn't much like Boston, but it had it's own kind of culture - a fiercely growing town."

"Oh, Adam was with me." Ben started an easy pace along the quay. "After Mrs. Callahan I always tried to take jobs that kept him with me. Not at first, of course - but once I found out about the sort of childcare that was available. You'd be shocked at some of the people who consider themselves suited to care for a young child."

Ben was quiet a moment. "Two, about. She grew ill - too ill to travel and care for an active toddler. I sent her to her sister's in Pennsylvania and then Adam and I went on alone together."

Ben laughed a little ruefully. "Well, it wasn't my plan, exactly - I tried out a nurse here and a nurse there - but I didn't find them very reliable at the price that I could afford. The last straw was when I came back to our room one day to find the latest nurse passed out on the floor and Adam cheerfully playing with an empty whiskey bottle. I decided then and there that until he could fend for himself a bit I would only take jobs that would allow me to keep him with me."

"No. No, it wasn't." Ben shook his head. "Not at all like I expected it to be. For some reason I thought it would be simple enough - I reasoned that hundreds of women did something very similar every day, so how hard could it be?" Mrs. Chambers shot him a sideways look and they laughed together. "And yes - I learned how wrong I was very quickly. "

"Difficult? No, not really. I mean, I may have thought so at the time, but later experience taught me otherwise. No - he was well behaved for the most part, but very curious - and his curiosity sometimes got the better of him. And me." He smiled to himself, his eyes skimming over the row of boats docked and waiting to load or unload. It was a busy harbor, though not as busy as it had been seventeen years ago - the railroad trade had cut back on the steamboats. "In those days Adam and I sat in that little cabin overlooking the wharf, marking ships in and out. We'd occasionally go down to the boats to check out a cargo here or a passenger list there. Adam used to love that."

"Three." He saw her face and shrugged. "He seemed older. You'd have to meet him to understand. And no one seemed to mind." The steermen and their crews had become so familiar with the sight of Adam trailing him like a small shadow as he made these inspections that they barely remarked on it, except maybe to absently pat his head or slip him a peppermint or a lemon drop or two. "He was very quiet for the most part - I almost forgot he was there sometimes myself." He sighed a little. "Of course, I learned to remember - the hard way. So much of parenthood is learned the hard way, I find."

He stood a moment, watching the long line of smokestacks bellowing smoke, listening to the musical cry of the whistles as ships signaled their arrivals and departures, gripped in an almost painful fist of reminiscence. Adam had been fascinated by those smokestacks - had stared and stared at them, trying to figure out where all the smoke came from.

"Pa, " he had asked him once, tugging on his pant leg to get his attention, "Is there a stove on board?"

Ben had been busily checking an inventory list and only gave him half an ear. "Well, I suppose there's a stove of some sort, Adam, since there's a cook and a galley - that's a ship's kitchen - but that smoke is from the engine. The thing that makes the boat go."

"Oh." Adam stared harder, as though the sheer act of desire would make the smokestacks release all their secrets to him. "Smoke makes the boat go?"

"Not smoke, Adam - steam. That's why they're called steamboats." Ben moved toward the gangway, not really noticing Adam wasn't quite with him until he heard him scrambling to catch up.

"What's that?" Adam gave him a look of mild exasperation and he slowed himself to listen more carefully.

Adam stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked them thoughtfully. He knew something about steam - had had a rather nasty encounter with it at one point that had robbed him of all desire to put his hand in the middle of a cloud of it to touch again. "How?" he asked finally.

"How?" repeated Ben absent-mindedly, shuffling through his papers. "Good heavens, Adam, I don't know - you'd need to ask Mr. Fulton or Mr. Fitch or whoever this week's scuttlebutt says is the inventor the steam engine."

This time he had only gone a few steps before he noticed Adam was not beside him. He turned to look for him, a little impatient. What had gotten into the boy today?

'That's scuTTle - tuh - I'm not sure that's a very good word for you to learn anyway, Adam. It's just sailor slang."

"No, not really bad, but - I thought we had agreed that you were too old for that, young man?"

Adam noticed his fingers in his mouth and hastily removed them, clasping them behind his back. "How come? Slang?"

"Well, they're not REAL words, they're…" Ben made a face. How the devil did somebody explain slang?

"By not real I mean - well, I mean - " Ben shook himself, then reached down and grabbed Adam's hand to hurry him along. "It's just not a word you need to know. Come along now, I have a lot of work to do."

Ben broke off his story to glare at Mrs. Chambers. "Oh, yes - it's all very well for YOU to laugh - you try and explain slang to a three year old! Particularly a very persistent three year old! I don't think Adam ever forgot anything in his life."

"No, not at all! In fact, I positively must know if poor Adam ever got to find out the workings of a steam engine or the meaning of slang!"

"Ah, yes, well…" Ben shook his head. "He certainly made his best effort. Well, there was some trouble with the inventory list. We were fairly strict about them in those days since a number of boats were suspected of smuggling."

Ben recalled with some amusement how mortified the Captain had been - insisting he'd never had a black mark against his name. "It'll take me a bit to straighten it out, though - why don't you go below to the galley - have some coffee and pie while I talk to m'mate. It's right at the end of the stairs, other side of the engine room."

Ben had obediently made his way to the galley, knowing that if anything were amiss the Captain would have time to destroy the evidence or ditch hidden cargo. It didn't matter particularly - as long as the cargo didn't make it into port; that was all that mattered. An expensive loss was sometimes the best lesson anyway. So he settled down with a piece of peach pie and a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

Ben raised his brows in surprise when Adam shook his head. Usually Adam liked pie. "You sure, son? You feeling all right?" Adam nodded and Ben noticed his preoccupation with the small porthole windows of the lower decks and nodded that it was all right for him to move to the built in bench beneath them. "All right - don't stand on the bench to look out, though." Adam obediently dropped to his knees. Ben saw that he was securely settled then turned his attention back to his pie. The cabin boy topped off his coffee and set another cup for one of the pilots who had come down from above for a free bite before looking for lodgings in port.

The pilot nodded again. "Verra diff'runt thing, the river. Gotta know her like yer hand - day or night, all kindsa weather. Takes a special sorta man."

"I'm sure that's so," agreed Ben politely, "But the same thing can really be said of the ocean."

The pilot slurped at his coffee, settling in for a good argument. "Ah, but the ocean, she's deep - deep at almost every point. The river'll shallow out on ya without warnin' - can run her aground with no notice whatsoever."

"I suppose," Ben nodded seriously, accepting the gauntlet. "But it's difficult to get lost in the river - not so vast as the ocean. The ocean seems to go on forever…a man has to know how to steer without a single landmark in sight except the stars."

The pilot begrudgingly allowed as how this was so. "Still - " he challenged, chawing at his pie, "there's some room to spread about in the ocean. In the river, now - there you're riding cheek to jowl with other steamers, small craft and the like. Half the time most of 'em run without a single lantern on the darkest night. Ocean'd be too tough for 'em - yes, on the ocean you're spared them nuisances."

Ben pretended to consider this, then nodded. "There's something to what you say, of course. But at least in the river you never have to deal with deep sea life. You haven't lived until you've seen what a run in with a whale can do to a clipper."

The pilot looked stintingly impressed. "Never seen one of them whales," he admitted. "Hear they're a fearsome sight."

"Fearsome, indeed. Why, I remember a time - " Ben could never remember later exactly how long he had sat and traded sailing yarns with the old pilot - only that it had taken several cups of coffee. What he always remembered, though, so clearly that it woke him up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat for weeks to come, was the moment when the Captain arrived to summon him and he had turned around and realized that Adam was no longer kneeling on the bench under the porthole. At first he had just shot his eyes around the room, looking, but as he realized that no corner of the compact galley concealed a small, dark haired boy, he felt a surge of panic in his chest.

He seized hold of the cabin boy, who was just arriving with another pot of coffee. "My son - " he said urgently, "He was over there - "

Ben fought the urge to shake him. Really, it wasn't his fault, after all. "Did you see him go anywhere…?"

The boy put down the coffeepot to scratch his scalp. "Now - I been running back and forth to the cook doin' my usual - can't say as I noticed," he decided after a moment's serious consideration. He brightened. "Maybe he's up on deck?"

Ben bit his lip. The same thought had occurred to him - staring at the smokestacks, maybe…he was reassuring himself all the way up the flights of stairs to the top deck that Adam might be small but he was still too large to fit between the rail slats and tumble into the river. He made a sweep of one deck and then the next - so many places for a little boy to hide…where would he go? What would he want to see? Adam was usually happy enough to sit and listen - what would be so pressing to him that he might…? Ben slowed and then stopped, realization dawning. "Captain," he said slowly, "where did you say the engine room was?"

The Captain looked at him sympathetically. "Just down from the galley…oh." He smiled through his beard. "Why don't we give it a look?"

Ben almost tumbled down the steps in his haste to get below again, not even bothering to wait for the Captain. He pushed his way to the engine room, oblivious to the mounting heat and stench, and all but burst through the door.

Two busy firemen and the engineer glanced up at him with little interest. Ben was out of breath from his dash, so before he could speak the engineer drawled, "Come ta fetch that one, have ya?" He gestured with his head to a small, sooty figure perched on a stack of wood, sucking his middle three fingers and staring intently at the massive engine the engineer was judiciously feeding water.

"Adam!" Ben barked - and because he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry he blurted, "Fingers, young man?"

Adam hastily snatched his fingers from his mouth and tucked them behind him. "Look, Pa." He pointed with his other hand. "Steam."

Ben was upon him in one stride, snatching him from the woodpile and trying to look less panicked and more stern. "Adam, what on earth were you - and those fingers are covered with soot! You do NOT put them in your mouth when - " he remembered his audience suddenly and glanced around, reddening. "I - I apologize for my son - he does know better. I hope he didn't cause you too much trouble. Adam, apologize to the men for disturbing them."

The engineer shrugged. "He weren't no trouble, mister. Just sat there an' looked - showed'em a few things. Was good ta see somebody take an interest in the engine, even a little shaver - "

"Ah, well, yer old enough ta reckernize a good thing when ya see it - she's a beautiful sight, eh? Not enough folk realize…" He reached over to tousle Adam's hair. "Figgered somebody'd be along ta claim 'em eventually."

Ben gave him an exasperated stare, then turned a disapproving look on his son. "Adam, apologize to these gentlemen and to the Captain. Then we're going to have a little talk about wandering off."

Adam frowned, but he knew no argument would be tolerated so he said, "I'm sorry," half-heartedly, his eyes drifting back to the engine.

Ben nodded briskly. "Now, I am going to conclude my business with the Captain and you are going to stay with me the whole time - then we are going to have our talk. Understood?" Adam didn't respond, so Ben took his chin in his hand and turned his face away from the engine and back to him. "I said, understood?" Adam nodded. Ben rubbed futiley at a soot stain on the round cheek. "You, " he said bluntly, "are a mess."

He couldn't quite bring himself to put Adam down again, though he could see the Captain and his crew found his predicament amusing - and so he signed papers and checked cargoes with Adam sitting firmly on his hip. Adam, who was used to a measure of independence, seemed to like it even less than he did, but he also seemed to know that he had pushed his luck about as far as it would go today, so he bore it stoically.

Finally, with all his official duties aboard the steamer done, Ben headed down the dock and back towards the Harbor Master's station. Halfway there he sat Adam on a piling where he could meet his eye easily and looked at him firmly. "Adam," he said very seriously. "You must never again wander off when nobody knows where you are. Never, do you hear me?"

Ben sighed. "Well, that's all very well, but - perhaps I need to be more specific. You must never wander off unless I know where you are. Adam, anything could happen to you. It's very dangerous."

"Well - any - bad things. You could fall in the water or get lost or hurt yourself - and I wouldn't know where to find you. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

"So if you feel you need to leave for any reason, you must come tell me first. Understood?"

"Yes - well, I don't want you to interrupt frivolously, of course - I expect you to use good judgment - "

"Judgment." Ben repeated. "It's something you'll need to cultivate. The good kind, that is."

"Fri - ? Oh. Oh, frivolously? That's - that's - well, that's not important right now. What's important is, do you understand? That you aren't to wander off anywhere - EVER - without speaking to me first?"

"Work? Well, before you go anywhere you just - " he stopped, suspicion dawning, and, following Adam's eyes, glanced over his shoulder to see smokestacks cheerfully spouting smoke behind him. "Adam! Have you been listening to a word I said?" Adam looked at him as though he wasn't quite sure what the best answer would be. Ben groaned. "Adam, when I'm talking to you, you need to listen - pay attention to what I'm saying and learn what I'm trying to teach you! Do you understand me? I need you to focus on what I'm saying, son!"

Ben stopped his story again to look reproachfully at Mrs. Chambers. "I'm glad my early efforts at child rearing provide you with so much amusement."

Mrs. Chambers tried to suppress her giggles. "I - I'm so sorry. But - but - "

Ben tried to hide his own smile. "Well, you must remember that I had virtually no experience with children - it seemed like a perfectly reasonable request at the time. Of course, several years and two more three year olds later I learned to adjust my expectations a little."

Mrs. Chambers threw back her head and laughed at that, and after a second, Ben joined her. The breeze off the quay stiffened and Mrs. Chambers reached up to tuck some loose hair back into her bonnet. "So," she smiled, "Did Adam ever manage to learn good judgment?"

"I suspect he knows many more words than I do at this point and some that I don't even want to know about."

Ben thought about all the things Adam had been so hungry to know - the things that had pushed him East to school - secrets that he may never have the opportunity to unlock now.

Ben glanced up from admiring the view of the Ohio over the rim of his coffee cup to meet her smiling eyes. "It is indeed. Almost as charming as the company."

Mrs. Chambers laughed, lifting her teacup. "Well, you were a wonderful guide. I can't thank you enough. I would have been so disappointed to have passed through without seeing a bit of it." She glanced at the clock on the wall of the small, snug tea room. "I suppose Lyle will be along any minute now. The train is in only three hours."

Ben nodded, his expression darkening slightly as he felt the slight crinkle of the telegrams tucked away inside his jacket pocket. "And we'll be on our way to Cleveland. I really owe you thanks. You've helped take my mind off of things a bit."

"Then that was my pleasure. Did you stay here long in your travels? When did you leave?"

"We were here a while." Ben paused as the round little waitress brought him more coffee and another plate of muffins. "We left in early spring - summered in Indiana." His eyebrows drew together slightly. "Now, that's something I hadn't thought about in years." He added a dollop of cream to his coffee, musing absently that there really was nothing in the city that could compare to cream from your own cow. He stirred it carefully, looked up to see Mrs. Chambers eyes resting on him with a pleasant question in them.

A smile quirked at her mouth. "I've pried so much already," she explained apologetically, "that it's become almost a habit now."

Ben chuckled softly in return. "Well, this one may not be such a pleasant story. The truth is that Adam and I snuck out of Cincinnati like criminals. It's entirely possible that there are still charges of some kind leveled against me here."

Mrs. Chambers placidly selected a muffin from the plate on the table. "You shock me very much," she said comfortably. "What nefarious criminal deeds are you guilty of? Or was Adam the guilty party?"

Ben leaned back in his chair, his eyes admiring the panoramic view of the waterfront through the plate glass window. "Now, Adam was precocious but I don't think he was capable of getting us into trouble with the law at the tender age of three." He hesitated. "Mrs. Chambers - "

"You know," she interrupted, "If you are going to divulge your criminal past to me, you might at least call me Katherine."

Ben smiled, but the smile was a little troubled. "I would be honored. Provided you agree to call me Ben."

Ben sighed. "Mrs. - Katherine. I realize suddenly that I know very little about you. My story may shock you. If you prefer to keep your distance after hearing it, then I'll understand."

Mrs. Chambers lifted her brows delicately. "I find that very hard to imagine."

Ben gave her a piercing look. "Very well. But I did warn you." His eyes returned to the waterfront, remembering another waterfront seventeen years ago.

"I told you about my job as Assistant Harbor Master. About the smuggling that was so common at the time." Katherine nodded encouragingly. "It took on all kinds of forms - forms I'd barely imagined myself, though I suppose I'd heard of them. Not that I saw much of it - mine was the day shift and it was much less common during daylight hours. Jim Pierson worked the night shift most nights. One night he took sick, though - very suddenly - and the Harbor Master asked if I would be willing to take his shift. Night work paid a little extra - I figured, why not?" He paused, sipping his coffee, studying the view before him but seeing something else. "I brought Adam with me, of course, and settled him down with a pillow and blanket on a bench in the Watch House. He was pretty used to sleeping anywhere that was reasonably warm and dry so he was out like a light in no time. After that, the shank of the shift was usually just boring, compared to day shift. Much less traffic."

Now that he let himself remember, it was as vivid as yesterday. A clear, chilly night - the sky a panoply of stars. He had checked in an old barge - just cargo this time, no passengers - and was waiting for the captain to come complete his paperwork and perhaps chat for a bit - relieve the monotony. A stirring in the dark made him think the captain was on his way, then he noticed that the captain was not alone - three dark, barely discernible shadows followed him, bobbing silently in his wake. Ben felt the hair lift from the back of his neck. Something was wrong - he could sense it.

He gave a quick glance at the shock of curly black hair peeking from the bundle of blankets, but Adam seemed deeply asleep. After a brief hesitation, he picked up the pistol from under the counter, checked to be sure it contained ball and powder and, slipping it under his coat, went outside - pulling the door to behind him without quite shutting it tight. He took three steps away from it, moving to meet the small, shadowy party.

The man in front had his hat pulled low over his forehead and stopped suddenly at the sight of him, looking unsure. He cleared his throat. "I be lookin' fer Jim Pierson?"

Ben let his hand rest on the reassuring weight of the pistol under his jacket. "Jim is sick tonight. I'm on duty. Something I can do for you?"

There was a pause, and the whole party shifted uneasily. Ben could sense their tension and exhaustion.

The man in front cleared his throat again. "Naw, well - we was just here ta say hello ta Jim - if he ain't around, we'll be on our way."

Ben didn't move from in front of him. "Odd time of night for visiting," he suggested. Another uncomfortable tremor ran through the small party, the anxiety so palpable that it made the muscles at the base of Ben's neck ache. "You came from a freighter - not a passenger boat," he pointed out quietly. "Are these stowaways?"

The man cleared his throat again, like a nervous tick. "Naw - what are ya sayin'? Of course not. Now, we ain't botherin' you none - we'll be on our way."

Ben tightened his grip on the pistol. "I am charged with the duty of watching this harbor. If your - friends - are entering illegally then it's my responsibility to stop you."

The silence was long and highly charged. Ben set his teeth - there were at least four of them and one of him - he looked again - no, one looked to be a woman. Three against one, then…

The leader raised his hands placatingly. "Lookee, mister, we don't mean no man no harm. Just out fer a stroll. Just let us pass and you won't have no trouble from us."

Ben took a deep breath. "I can't do that. I have a responsibility to the Harbor Master. Now, either you state your business…" he looked at them more closely and realized suddenly why the other three were so difficult to see in the dark - they were Negroes. A very large young man, a tall, lean older man and a woman - all three looking thin, ragged and exhausted. He blinked in sudden realization. All the stories he'd heard - the rumors - suddenly rose up to meet him. "You're slaves," he murmured, hardly realizing he's spoken aloud.

"Not on this side of the Ohio, mistah," the older black man spoke in a voice hoarse with strain and exhaustion. "Not no mo', if you turn yo' head whiles we walks away."

Ben stared. Helping escaped slaves was against the law anywhere in the United States. Even slaves who made it to the north could be captured and returned to their masters. Harboring a slave or helping one to escape carried a severe penalty - sometimes even death. He wasn't really sure how he felt about slavery - hadn't ever had cause to give it much thought - but he had been charged with a job and he knew perfectly well how he felt about fulfilling his responsibilities. He glanced from one to the other measuringly. He was out numbered, but they were exhausted. Maybe -

"Pa?" The small treble voice struck an odd note in the middle of the standoff and Ben felt his heart tremble in his chest. He licked his lips and took a careful step to the side so he could still keep his adversaries in view and avoid turning his back on them, but could get a glimpse of the Watch House door as well. Adam stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with one hand and dragging the blanket behind him with the other. "Pa?" he repeated sleepily.

Ben glanced at the group in front of him, suddenly feeling sick. "Adam," he instructed quietly, "go back inside." He saw Adam glance dubiously over his shoulder at the shadowy interior of the Watch House and then back at him, hesitating. Ben thought he would choke on the heart that had somehow become firmly lodged in his throat. "Adam," he repeated, as calmly as he could manage, "do as I say, please. Go back inside."

Adam glanced over his shoulder again, fidgeted with the blanket, looked back at his father. Ben thought he would scream in terror and frustration. Surely these people wouldn't harm a little boy? A child? He glanced back at them appraisingly.

"He's skeered to go in alone." The soft, sweet voice surprised him, and he looked down a goodly ways to the woman huddled in the thin shawl. "Lord 'a mussy - he's jest a baby."

Adam's brows drew together. "I'm three, " he insisted, though his usual conviction sounded a little shaky.

The woman looked past Ben to Adam, rubbing unconsciously at her arms for warmth. "I could - " she hesitated, then continued boldly, "I could sit with him - fer a bit - while you menfolks settles bizness…"

Ben shifted his feet. These people were desperate. How foolish would it be to let this total stranger sit with his son in the middle of such a volatile situation? He looked down at her again. She had pushed the shawl away from her face and he saw her wistful, yearning expression, stretched with weariness and sadness. He paused. No matter how hard he tried, he could not imagine this woman hurting his son. He glanced back at Adam. "Well…" Lord, how had he gotten himself into this situation? "He doesn't always take to strangers…"

But he knew she was right. Adam was used to waking up in strange places, but he wasn't used to waking up in them alone, and though he knew he would rather die than admit it to his father, Ben could tell that he was indeed frightened.

The woman walked past him as though drawn by a string and squatted down in front of Adam.

Adam glanced at Ben and, receiving a nod, answered, "Adam," in a small voice.

"Well, sugah, why don' yo' come inside with me an' we'll sit fer a piece while yo' Daddy settles bizness out heah? That be okay wit' yo'?"

Adam glanced at Ben again and, receiving another nod, blinked up at Hattie and nodded.

Hattie chuckled. "Well, yo' shuah is a purty thing. Come on, now - " she pushed to her feet and held out her hand.

Adam sighed. "Me neither." He slipped his hand into hers. "My Pa is teaching me, though."

Hattie gave a low laugh that sounded like music. "Well, wheah I growed up, learnin' ta read was agin the law fer my kind. Shuah would like a chance ta learn…" She steered Adam gently back into the Watch House.

Ben followed as far as the door, planting himself next to it and leaving the door ajar, not caring whether or not he offended anyone. He was a father first, after all. He raised his eyes defiantly to the group in front of him and surprised a look of rueful appreciation on the lean older man's face. A quick moment of fatherly understanding flashed between them. The man looked embarrassed and dropped his eyes. When he raised them again, his guard was somewhat back in place. "I thank yo', " he said gruffly. "She'll be real good with 'em. Jest about yearns fer them little ones since we lost our own boy."

Ben felt some of the stiffness melt out of him, shot a look over his shoulder to where Hattie had settled on the bench under the window with Adam snuggled against her.

"Adam and I - " the words snagged in his throat and he frowned deeply and tried again, "we lost Elizabeth - Adam's mother, too. I'm sorry to hear about your boy."

The man looked puzzled for a minute, then seemed almost sardonically amused. "Oh, my boy ain't dead, mistah. Least ways, not so's I knows. Sold away from us- when he was jest a little older than yo's. 'Bout broke Hattie's heart. Figgahed if'n we's free, though, well - maybe someday…" his voice trailed off and he shrugged.

Ben stared hard at him, then back at the shadowy corner that showed Hattie and Adam in silhouette. Losing Liz had been the great tragedy of his life - had very nearly torn the soul out of him - but at least it had been a random act of fate or providence. How would it have been to have had her ripped out of his arms - or Adam snatched away from him - for simple reasons of commerce and profit? He leaned heavily against the wall behind him, his head reeling.

"My Pa tells me stories sometimes - even without reading," he heard Adam hint innocently, and he couldn't suppress a smile. Trust Adam to wheedle a story out of a stranger.

"Well, I don' know as I know all that many stories…" Hattie's warm voice made him feel confident despite his fears. "But my boy used ta love fer me ta sing him ta sleep. You like ta be sung to?"

Ben closed his eyes tight, forgetting for the moment that he could be in danger. Of course he didn't know. No one sang to him. A boy needed a mother to sing to him - lullabies - nursery rhymes - nonsense songs…

"Well, why don' we try it an' see hows you like it? You know the stars, sugah?"

There was a silence, then Adam's voice said reproachfully, "That's the Big Dipper. My Pa says so."

Hattie laughed again. "Well, a dippah's the same as a drinking gourd, ain't it?"

"So this song is secret code. Drinking gourd means Big Dippah. It's a secret map fo' folks what's makin' theys way no'th."

He could make out the rustle of the blankets as Adam snuggled down. "My Pa and me are makin' our way west. Do you know any secret songs for that?"

There was a brief silence. "No, sugah, 'fraid I don' - wheres I come from everybody wants ta go no'th. Wheres they can learn ta read…wheres they can sing their babies ta sleep…yo' wanna heah it?"

The singing started soft and low. "When the sun comes up and the first quail calls…follow the drinking gourd…for the old man is awaitin' to carry you to freedom…follow the drinking gourd…"

Ben opened his eyes and gazed at the shadowy figures. Even with the molasses smooth drawl, in the uncertain light it took only the smallest imagination to pretend that he was seeing what he had never gotten to see - Elizabeth singing Adam to sleep. He stared at the scene hungrily, trying to fix it in his mind.

"The river bank makes a very good road…the dead trees will show you the way…" Hattie's voice was warm and sweet and true. "Left foot, peg foot, traveling on…follow the drinking gourd…"

Ben turned his head away, his eyes suddenly damp, and saw the face of the lean man, reflecting his as clearly as a mirror. He glanced back inside the Watch House - knew exactly what the lean man was seeing there.

"The river ends between two hills…follow the drinking gourd…there's another river on the other side…follow the drinking gourd…"

He felt a powerful kinship with this man - his family truncated - desperately seeking a new place to set down new roots and heal… So many families torn apart. Good God, where did it end?

"Where the great big river meets the little river…follow the drinking gourd…for the old man is awaiting for to carry you to freedom…follow the drinking gourd…"

The last word fell away to soft humming and Ben realized with a start that he had a job he was supposed to be doing. He leaned even more heavily into the wall, his eyes fixed on the outline of the woman with his little boy's head on her knee. He cleared his throat, never moving his gaze. "You'd best be moving along. I have another boat due within the hour."

"I said you'd best hurry. Don't want to be caught here. It's a clear night - they could easily get here early."

The man scratched at his head and stared at him, but the lean man pushed past him. "Hattie," he called softly. "We's gotsa be goin'."

Hattie looked down at the head in her lap and gave it a final stroke before shifting it back to the pillow with a mother's deftness. She stood stiffly, her tiredness suddenly showing, and moved silently to his side.

In the faint, reflected light Ben could see the questions in her eyes. He stayed, unmoving, in his position against the wall. "Thank you for singing my boy back to sleep."

She gave him a tiny, shy smile. The lean man moved her gently aside, fumbling at a pouch fastened inside his shirt. "We got a few dollas…"

Ben left his hands in his pockets and made no move to take the proffered coins. "Good," he said with finality. "You'll need them. You'd best be on your way, now."

The leader stared at him a moment, then glanced over his shoulder at the knot of fugitives behind him. He opened his mouth, then closed it, his face unreadable. Then he touched his cap to him and jerked his head in signal to the three ragged followers.

The lean man glanced back at Ben, clutching his wife's elbow in one hand and his tattered money pouch in the other. He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure what.

"You too, suh." Their eyes met and for a second they felt almost like the same man.

Ben hesitated as he saw them move away. "You never told me your name," he called after him, quietly, almost sure they wouldn't hear, shaking his head at himself. As if names were important. Nay, worse - in a situation like this names were downright dangerous.

"Benjamin…" The name floated back on the breeze. Ben smiled faintly to himself. Benjamin. Of course it was.

He pushed himself finally away from the wall and strolled back into the Watch House, shutting the door against the cold. Through the large northern window he could clearly make out the Big Dipper hanging in the sky, pointing demurely to the North Star. It looked clear and bright and beautiful tonight, shining strongly from among all the others. He had some paper work he should be doing - a great deal, really…but after a moment he sat down on the bench instead, turning so that he could clearly see the constellation. He reached down and gently stroked the hair curling over Adam's ear. Adam was a light sleeper and his slumber had already been interrupted once tonight…but he couldn't help himself. After a second he gathered him into his lap and, holding his sleeping son, gazed out at the stars.

Jim Pierson looked pale when Ben turned the books over to him at the end of the next day's shift and he didn't think it could all be attributed to yesterday's illness. He felt a little wan himself after his double shift and was glad to hand things over to the other man. As he was signing off, he noticed the furtive glances Jim kept shooting him.

Finally Jim burst out, "I'm sorry - I - understand you had a - little - excitement last night because of me."

Ben checked his work once more and signed his name. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He shuffled the papers together into a neat stack.

Jim scrunched his face apprehensively. "Last night. I'm sorry if you were - inconvenienced - in any way…?"

Ben shrugged. "Staying awake for two shifts is inconvenient, of course, but the money is good. Don't even think about it." He held out the papers.

Jim looked at them, hesitating. "Cartwright - Ben - " he swallowed hard. "I don't know what you - intend to do about…"

Ben looked directly at him this time. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Pierson," he said slowly and deliberately. "But your indisposition certainly seems to have turned you into an infernal chatterbox." He gestured again for him to take the papers.

Jim took them this time, his face still creased with trouble. "I - I wouldn't blame you none," he sputtered earnestly. "There's folks who'd pay a packet for that kind of information and - well - you've got your boy to think about."

Ben let his eyes drift to the corner where Adam was busily making some drawings with chalk on an old piece of slate and singing to himself. He watched him for a moment.

"It's my boy that I am thinking about," he said quietly at last. "I have no memory of anything out of the way last night."

"For what, I have no idea." Ben gathered up Adam's blanket and pillow and walked over to where he was playing. "Adam - " he held out a hand to him. "Pick up your things. It's time to go home."

Adam neatly gathered his things together and handed them to his father. Ben smiled and reached down to rub away a smear of chalk from across the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, and Jim - " he was halfway to the door before he turned again, as if it was an afterthought. "If you ever need someone to take the night shift for you again - well. I just wanted to let you know that I'd be interested. As you say, I can use the money."

Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise, studying his face to be sure he got his meaning. "I - I'd be glad to. Be glad of the help, I mean."

Ben nodded briskly. "Well, then. I'll wait to hear from you. Adam - what do you say we get some dinner?"

Looking back it was odd to see how easily and almost unconsciously it had begun, without any real thought or conviction - only a sudden, deep empathy that drove him on. Even today, Ben had trouble thinking of himself as a member of the Underground Railroad - he remembered himself instead as another father, driven to help fathers like himself keep their families together and strike out for a new life.

It had ended as he would have seen it had to end, if he'd taken the time to think about it - a light rapping on his door late one night in late spring. He crept out of bed, wondering who could want him so early and glancing down at Adam's cot as he passed to be sure the sound hadn't disturbed him. The man outside the door was one he distantly recognized as an member of Lyman Beecher's church - a safe house they often used in feeding the escaping slaves before sending them on their way north to Canada. He raised his eyebrows at him silently.

The man - a boy, really - was shifting from one foot to the other anxiously. "Jim Pierson sent me," he whispered, glancing anxiously down the hall as though pursued. "He's says you been ratted out - you and him - to the Harbor Master and that you'd better get goin' whiles the goin' is good."

Ben frowned at him, still shrugging off the remnants of sleep and trying to understand. "Now?" he said vaguely.

The boy nodded. "Right now. There'll be a keelboat awaiting 'bout half a mile down the river'll give ya a lift ta Indiany if ya leave within the hour. Jim says don't wait - the Harbor Master will have ta have ya arrested if ya stay, but probably won't bother ta pursue ya. Likes ya, Jim says."

Ben scratched the back of his neck, wincing. That meant abandoning his pay, and he had been counting on that for this next leg of the journey. Well, it couldn't be helped. "I'll be at the keelboat, " he answered automatically. "I thank you for coming out to me in the middle of the night. I know you took a chance."

Ben closed the door slowly on his retreating back, taking only a second to glance about the room. He and Adam had been happy here - it had been a pleasant bit of their journey. Efficiently, he began stuffing clothing and belongings into a couple of carpetbags, laying out warm clothes for himself and Adam and leaving waking Adam for the last. He needn't have bothered. When he looked up from closing the last bag, he saw that Adam's eyes were open and watching him.

Ben tried to smile naturally. "Packing, sleepyhead. We're moving on to Indiana."

Adam stirred, blinking at the barely-lit room. "It's night," he pointed out.

"Yes, well - " Ben picked up the clothes he'd lain out for Adam and sat him up as he spoke, "That's as good a time to leave as any, don't you think? There's a keelboatman who's going to give us a lift." Adam scrubbed his fists in his eyes and looked at him but didn't ask any questions, which told Ben that he knew perfectly well that something was wrong. He pushed the small boots on his feet and stuffed his arms into his jacket, pulling an old quilt around him. "Now, you can just sleep all the way and when you wake up, we'll be in Indiana." Ben reached down to pick him up, but Adam resisted.

Ben tried not to sound impatient. "I know you can, son, but it will be faster if I carry you and the keelboat leaves in only an hour. Come on, now." He lifted Adam, still wrapped in the quilt, into his arms, picking up the carpetbags with the other hand and creeping out into the darkened hall and then into the quiet street.

He had engaged rooms near the river, so it wasn't a long walk to the where the keelboat was waiting, moored along a quiet bank a half mile down from the harbor. Adam hadn't made another sound and he wanted to believe that that meant he'd gone back to sleep, but the tiny fist that clung tightly to his shirtfront told him otherwise. The keelboat steersman took his money without comment and he found a place to sit on a large, tied down crate on the aft deck. As the steersman pushed away from the bank, he watched the misty lights of Cincinnati draw away and into the distance.

The keelboatman let him off on a bank somewhere in a wooded section of Indiana about the time dawn was turning the sky rosy. He disembarked carefully because it seemed as though Adam had finally gone back to sleep and he was loathe to wake him. He gave the boatman a nod of thanks - the whole transaction and journey had been conducted in silence, giving it a surreal quality - and stepped onto the shores of a brand new state.

He found a clean, dry spot on the ground by a fallen tree to lay Adam down and collected enough wood to start a small fire and boil some coffee for himself while he picked through their meager collection of provisions to put together a makeshift breakfast. The coffee had just reached a boil when he saw Adam stir and rub his eyes and blink about him.

"Indiana," Ben answered with a slight smile. "Don't you remember I told you?"

"Uh-huh." Adam sat up so he could look around better. "Pa?" He frowned at the trees

Ben hesitated. "Well, Adam - we're on our way to California, remember. We won't be staying anyplace very long until we get there."

"Oh." Adam lay down again and snuggled under the quilt. "What's in California?"

"Our home. Well, not right away, of course - we'll have to build it - but eventually."

Ben sipped his coffee. "California? Well, I've never been there myself, of course, but they tell me big trees and big mountains and big sky…"

"Oh." Adam was quiet for a moment, as though trying to make his mind up about something. "Pa?" he ventured, a little timidly.

"That's right. The ocean and rivers and lakes - I'll tell you what - we'll find some really good water and we'll live right next to it - how'll that be?"

Ben chuckled a little. He was sounding more like himself again, that was for sure, one question after another. "Yes, Adam?"

"Oh, I don't know, Adam - don't know many songs, I guess - except maybe old sea chanteys, and those aren't good songs for little boys."

"Ah. Yes. Of course you are. But I'm not sure sea chanteys are good songs even for grown up boys of, say, four or five. Why don't you get a little more sleep now."

Ben sat back against the fallen trunk to watch the fire. How many promises had he made now? Promises Adam didn't even know about - promises to make up for every missed meal, for every cold and uncertain bed, every pet he couldn't have, every friend he had to leave. Promises about where they'd live and how, and things that would never happen to them again - how many times had he mortgaged his soul to a promise to give Adam the illusion of security?

He swallowed his cooling coffee, slipping his free hand downward to rest it on the silky head at his side. However many he'd made, he'd better start keeping track - better make sure he remembered. Because one thing was for certain - whether he remembered or not, Adam certainly would.

Ben stirred his coffee slowly, giving Mrs. Chambers an apologetic shrug. He gathered the nerve to glance up and meet her eyes and shook his head ruefully at what he saw there. "Don't go thinking that," he said lightly. "There was nothing heroic about it. It was simply a matter of common human decency."

Mrs. Chambers added a touch of cream to her tea. "To be frank, I can't think of anything more heroic or less common than human decency."

Ben laughed abruptly. "Well, I'm glad I haven't offended you, but you mustn't think it was anything great."

Mrs. Chambers raised her brows. "I'm afraid I think it was, Ben - you'll just have to live with that. I'm very pleased to have made your acquaintance."

Ben looked at her in sudden surprise, his heart unexpectedly warmed. He opened his mouth to reply, but heard the tinkling of the bell in the doorway announcing an arrival and saw her eyes brighten.

"Lyle!" she rose to her feet and went to greet her husband. "You're here! Well, I hope your meeting was worthwhile, because Mr. Cartwright gave me the most wonderful tour - you have no idea what you're missing."

Ben watched Lyle Chambers stoop to kiss her cheek and thought about the pleasant morning they had shared and her kind, unflagging attention.

No, he thought, watching them. No, Mr. Chambers - you really have no idea what you're missing.

Be there in five days … he splayed his hand open on the calendar, looking. Five days would be…the fingers curled into a loose fist. May fifteenth. Just three days before Adam's birthday.

He leaned back in his chair and blew out his cheeks. His twenty-first birthday, to be exact. Elizabeth had never quite made it to hers. Now, there was a morbid thought. What was that about? He knew, though. Almost twenty-one years ago in this very room Adam's life had begun…and Elizabeth's had ended. History seemed to be caught in a disturbing, repetitive cycle.

He heard a sound from the bed and pushed himself up from the desk to look. Adam's eyes were open, but glassy and unfocused - Abel had no illusions that he could actually see him, or even that he knew where he was. He had been through all this before. He touched his face. Hot. Not quite as hot as it'd been, but he wasn't fooled by that either - the fever rose and fell with monotonous regularity, never really releasing its death grip.

He soaked a cloth in the ewer by the bed and held it to Adam's mouth. Adam sucked at it automatically, then his eyes dropped shut again. He had gotten rather deft at getting liquids down Adam while he was mostly unconscious. He was not quite as good at it as Mrs. Longworth, of course - she was a master. But then, she hadn't been joking when she'd said she'd had plenty of practice. Abel reached for another cloth and rested it on Adam's face, hoping to infuse some moisture into the arid skin.

Mrs. Longworth and Adam had become good friends - had hit it off from the first. In fact, he occasionally felt a little excluded by the way their mutually quieter, self-contained natures seemed to mesh. Only occasionally, though – most times it pleased him to see the boy with a woman in his life – he suspected that he missed his stepmother much more than he was willing to talk about, or even admit to himself. He sighed, turning the cloth over and pressing it gently against Adam's cheek to extract any remaining moisture from it. It was one of those subjects that seemed to be almost taboo – whenever he tried to introduce it, Adam deftly slid the conversation elsewhere. He wondered if Alice had had any better luck.

Abel knew Adam often used the pre-dawn hours to study, wandering down to the kitchen eventually to greet Mrs. Longworth as she arrived to fix breakfast, firing up the stove for her and setting the table. He knew this because he had found himself unable to sleep one early morning and had almost walked in on them, stopping just in time with his hand on the kitchen door and pausing unabashedly to listen. He briskly excused his eavesdropping by telling himself that it was his duty as grandfather and temporary guardian to find out everything he could about his grandson, and positioned himself against the wall by the door out of sight and got comfortable.

“…no reason at all why you have to start the fire for me. I’ve been doing it for years. You must have studying you’d like to be doing.”

“Already did. I like starting the fire. Can’t quite get over wood just arriving at the door, all cut and everything, I guess. I wrote to Hoss and Joe about it, but I don’t think they know whether or not to believe me. If it’s true, I think Joe is planning on moving out here himself. Filling the wood boxes is his job.”

Abel didn’t hear Mrs. Longworth’s response, but he could picture her smile.

"Eight," Adam's deep baritone carried better. "Hoss just turned fourteen, but he was almost as tall as me when I left. He's gonna be big. Of course, Inger was tall."

He made out a murmured question - for Lord's sake, speak up, woman! - then heard Adam's half-shy answer, "Hoss's Ma. She was my first - um…" Abel noticed him trail off and winced. Ah, dear. So many nasty ruts and bumps for him to accidentally put his foot in. Did he really think anyone would blame him for loving the woman he could actually remember? It didn't mean he'd no feeling for the one he didn't. He frowned to himself. At least, he hoped that wasn't the case - Elizabeth deserved better. No, of course it wasn't, he'd seen it wasn't…still. Hard for a woman people told you about to compete with one who had actually held you in her arms. He scratched at his beard thoughtfully.

"…Marie." Damn. He'd lost the thread of the conversation now. "She was Joe's Ma." He could almost see the sentence hang poised in the air as it always did, as if there was so much he wanted to say, but nothing he dared say. Come on, Alice - you were a mother yourself - worm it out of him! Mrs. Longworth's voice remained unintelligible. He really needed to talk to her about this dashed mumbling of hers.

"…almost two years ago now." Adam again. Abel did the calculations quickly in his head. Her death, then? Maybe.

"It was just over twenty-four years ago I lost my son and husband." Mrs. Longworth must have moved closer to the kitchen door, because she sounded very clear now. Abel drew back a little, his own heart pinching at the memory of that time. "Lost them in the same epidemic that took your grandmother and left your Mama motherless. Sounds like she was about the same age as you were when your stepmama died."

"She was?" Adam's voice was edged in surprise. "I didn't - nobody ever talks about my grandmother."

"No? She was a very good friend of mine - a good woman. Did a fine job of raising your mother. Your mother was heartbroken when she died - your grandfather, too. We lost a lot of good folk, all over Boston, in that epidemic."

"Oh, yes - she had a hard time of it, poor thing. She had been going around with Richard - that was my boy - at the time, too. Oh, not in love, I don't think - not like with your father, that was the real thing. Just calf love. But they'd grown up together - it hit her very hard. And her mother had always been the one thing she could count on, what with Abel off at sea for months at a time. They were almost inseparable. You'd see them walking along the beach together, or sitting on a blanket with their needlepoint or both their noses stuck in books. Or one reading aloud to the other. Meg loved to read aloud. When we had sewing bees she was always the one to read while we worked - just as well, too, as she wasn't much of a needle woman."

"Oh, yes - that's where your mother got it from. Mercy, you don't think she got it from Abel, do you?"

Abel glowered at the door. Woman had a smart mouth. Liked her better when she was mumbling.

"Your grandmother was from toney Mayflower stock - went to Finishing School and all the rest. Came out as a debutante - was quite a hit that season. Not a conventional beauty, but - she had something. Charm, I suppose. You have her nose and mouth, you know. Elizabeth did, too." Abel heard the sound of a stool scraping across the floor and figured Adam was settling in for a good chat. "And of course, she stood out with that hair. Had the most beautiful red hair."

"Oh, my, yes - was quite famous for it in society circles. I can't believe no one ever told you this."

"Well, let's see…she had very progressive ideas about women and education and made sure Elizabeth had access to any books she wanted. Wasn't hot tempered, for all that red hair - well, can you imagine her surviving with your grandfather if she had been? But had very definite ideas about things. Stuck to them. Never knew anyone like her for digging in her heels when she thought she was right."

Abel smiled to himself. Aye, wasn't that the truth! There was no moving Meg once she was set on a course.

"That's how she ended up marrying your grandfather - not that there was anything wrong with marrying a sea captain - quite respectable, really - but her father had larger ideas for her - she was so pretty and lively and smart and came from such a good family - had his mind set on a pedigree, I think."

Abel leaned into the corner behind the door and closed his eyes. That was true, too. He'd almost forgotten it himself, it was all so long ago. His Meg; his bright, particular star. He had been besotted, persistent - and she had been single-minded, unyielding. Faced down her father. Fought for him. Won, too. Then had settled into keeping house for him, just as if she hadn't grown up with a dozen servants…what a woman. They'd broken the mold with her, they had. You'll be a lucky man if you ever find one half so fine, Adam.

"…think there's a portrait of her somewhere in the old house…probably went to your cousins."

"Well, second cousins, really - Meg was an only child. Like your mother. And like you - well, you aren't either, exactly, are you? But childbirth never came easy in that family."

"Why? Well, if you knew your mother you wouldn't ask that. Only needed to tell her there was something she couldn't do to have her determined to do it. Sound like anyone you know?"

Mrs. Longworth laughed. Abel raised his brows. Couldn't remember the last time he'd heard a laugh out of Alice. "That wasn't exactly who I meant."

"Yes. Well. She wanted children - she and your father both - a house full of them." There was a silence full of…something. Abel wished he could get a glimpse of Adam's face. "You can put those around on the table now, if you insist. Breakfast is almost ready."

Abel had beat a hasty and strategic retreat back to his bedroom. He had meant to get dressed, but he sat instead on the bed for a long time, thinking of things he hadn't in years - his courtship with Meg, the birth of Elizabeth, the years of housekeeping they'd had together. He'd been lonely since Elizabeth's death, he realized - so busy that he'd barely noticed, but lonely nevertheless. He had a pleasant enough life, but something had been missing, and now Adam seemed to fill an ache he'd barely been aware of. He pulled on his shirt and fastened the collar. He should find some way to show him how happy he was to have him there - how grateful. Oh, not too much, of course - no point in letting the boy get a swelled head…he glanced at the calendar.

Well, his birthday was coming up - he should plan something. The first one he'd spent with his grandson since that very first day of his birth. The first one he didn't have to plan for months in advance in order to send something to some god forsaken territory. That would be Ben's problem for a change this year. He smiled at the thought. He would ask Mrs. Longworth to help him plan something - she would be sure to have some ideas about it!

Abel only heard the barely breathed sound because he was ever vigilant. "What's that, laddie?" he asked gently. Not that he expected an answer.

Abel caught the words as they rested on the faint edge of a sigh. He patted the transparent hand on the coverlet. "I know, laddie…you told me. I know."

Abel sighed this time. "No, Adam. It's me - your Grandsire." He wasn't sure if the answering breath was meant as a response or not, but Adam's lids had sealed themselves again. He patted the hand a second time. "Just five more days, lad - if all goes well. Now you hang on for him or he'll be disappointed…and I know you hate to disappoint him." Five more days. Eight more until Adam's birthday - so different from the one last year. Not that that had been exactly what he had expected - well, what ever was?

Mrs. Longworth had proved to be an excellent co-conspirator. While he had been debating the merits of a party crowded with people over the charms of a small family supper she had firmly cast her vote for the family supper, insisting that Adam would prefer to spend his first birthday here alone with his grandfather. Abel had been a little disappointed to lose the opportunity of a splashy party teeming with his and Adam's friends, but in the end the words "alone with his grandfather" caught like a hook in his heart and would not be dislodged. The idea of having Adam all to himself for their first birthday celebration together came to seem like a precious thing. Well, almost alone - for Mrs. Longworth must be there, of course - she demurred some, but he insisted. He knew Adam would be disappointed to have it otherwise.

And so they went from debating the merits of the type of party to arguing about the best food to be served. Abel was insistent on seafood - lobster, perhaps, or crab - something not easily obtainable in Nevada Territory. Mrs. Longworth pointed out that Nevada was not all that far from San Francisco and so Adam was probably not a stranger to the fruits of the sea. Abel had replied that she was an uppity know-it-all kind of woman and should serve whatever she wanted as long as it bloody well wasn't beef. Mrs. Longworth had added insult to injury by laughing at him. He smiled faintly at the memory.

With the worries about the food out of his hair and in her capable hands he turned his mind to the proper gift. He had sent Adam many things over the years - books mostly, bits of clothing that would only be available in Boston, novelty items he thought might appeal - but now it seemed so different. This gift he would give him face to face, and it had to be perfect. He mulled and wondered and worried and fought with himself, and then finally decided. It was nothing new or flashy, but he knew Adam well enough by now, he thought, to know what he would treasure most. As for himself, well, it was nothing he had ever really considered giving away - not while he was alive, anyway - but meeting his grandson had taught him, above all things, that time moved on and changed things whether you were ready for it or not. Time had moved on - he understood that now. Other things should move along with them.

Gifts arrived from the Ponderosa only a few days before the auspicious day, and Abel breathed a sigh of relief. Adam wouldn't have said anything he was sure, but Abel knew it would have marred the day for him - left a tinge of homesickness - not to hear from his family on his first birthday away from the ranch. And Abel was determined that this celebration be absolutely perfect. He fingered the lumpy packages neatly bound in homespun curiously, trying to guess what they contained. Not much, he suspected. Ben must be feeling the pinch with Adam gone. He finally gave up trying to identify the gifts and secreted them in his room, far out of sight.

Adam's birthday dawned a crisp, fresh spring day, with a touch of early morning frost in the air. Abel could hardly contain himself at breakfast. He hadn't said anything to Adam about the plans for the little party, wanting instead to surprise him. He smiled to himself when he found Adam unusually subdued and quiet at the breakfast table. No doubt he thought they'd forgotten what day it was. Well, he'd be in for a surprise, he would. It was all he could manage to keep himself from shoving Adam out the door to school so that he and Mrs. Longworth could begin preparations.

He spent only a few hours at the Chandlery that morning - an unproductive and distracted few hours, until his chief clerk asked him bluntly to please go home and get out from underfoot. "And tell Adam happy birthday from the rest of us," he finished more kindly, to take out the sting. Abel had returned an embarrassed half smile.

He walked home briskly, stopping to pick up some of the last minute purchases Mrs. Longworth had requested. He shook his head and laughed at himself when he realized he'd passed the flower booth for the second time without stopping. "You're a fool, Abel Stoddard," he scolded himself, torn between amusement and disgust. "As jumpy as a flying fish. Eh, but you've almost twenty years of special times not had to make up for - so perhaps you can allow yourself some foolishness this once. Deliberate foolishness, that is - Lordy knows you've been a fool in any number of ways over the years without meaning to."

He glanced at the list in his hand again and shook his head impatiently. Drat that woman, did she need to send him for the whole of the market? He needed to get home and make himself presentable. Probably didn't need a blasted thing on the list and just wanted to get him out from underfoot, like Clemens, his clerk. Oh, he was onto her and her sneaky ways! Still, just to be safe, he stopped next at the egg booth as the list instructed.

When he finally entered the small house with his burdens he was greeted by the rich, savory smell of chowder. He followed his nose back into the kitchen, breathing in the fragrant stem that rushed out as he pushed in the door. "Well, " he said smartly. "Here are your things. I see you decided on a New England dinner after all."

"I didn't say I wouldn't," answered Mrs. Longworth serenely. "I said that you should leave the menu to me. That way I could check what looked nicest at the market this morning. Walk lightly - I've a cake in."

"Can barely smell it under all that chowder. Anything I can do to make myself useful? Besides getting out from under foot, which is principally what everyone else seems to want of me today."

Mrs. Longworth's mouth quirked and she handed him a copper bowl. "Yes - you can put your muscles to good use and cream that butter for me. What time do you expect Adam back?"

Mrs. Longworth pushed at a stray lock of hair with the back of her hand. "Capon. And I found some of those small rock lobsters. A little rich, I suppose, but I thought…well."

"You thought right." Abel settled himself on a stool and applied himself to the butter. It had been a long time since he'd actually sat in the kitchen. It gave him a warm, homey feeling. "The flowers you wanted are on the table. They didn't have a lot of selection, I'm afraid. Been a cold spring."

She settled the lid back on the pot and frowned. "Did they at least have the roses, for the cake?"

"I don't think he'll be any less masculine for having a few pink roses on his cake." He frowned, suddenly disturbed. “You think I should go out and look for some others? White, maybe? No – those are too much like weddings and funerals. Purple? Damn, I think that seems more girly still. Maybe we should leave the flowers off all together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Pink will be fine. I’m sorry I brought it up. Here – taste for me – “

Abel took the mouthful of hot chowder and rolled it around in his mouth. Delicious. Tasted like – home. Ah, Benjamin – how could you stand settle so far away from your beginnings? To travel on the sea was one thing, as long as you could always return to that sweet, safe spot with the sounds and tastes and smells and people you knew and loved best. He winced a little, recalling in a sudden rush other homey days spent in this kitchen, accepting a taste of chowder from another, much loved hand. The people. On the other hand, without the people you loved, home lost a great deal. Perhaps running away from the memories and starting over was the wiser choice. He found his eyes unexpectedly damp. “Needs salt,” he said gruffly, to cover his moment of weakness.

Mrs. Longworth seemed not to notice his sudden awkwardness. “I thought so myself, “ she answered simply.

They fought again when it came to arranging the flowers – really, blasted woman thought she knew everything – no idea why he even put up with her – until she finally shooed him out to fetch wood for a nice fire in the fireplace and to pull a few garnishes from the small, tidy kitchen garden just off the back step. He returned with his arms full of wood and his hands crowded with greenery, grumbling to himself and wondering if he was to be allowed to participate in his own grandson’s birthday celebration after all. Should’ve sent everyone else straight to the devil and taken Adam out to dinner, now that he thought about it. No idea why that hadn’t occurred to him earlier.

He dropped his greenery on the kitchen table and shouldered his way through the kitchen door with those very words poised on his lips. He stopped in his tracks, suddenly silent. And blinked.

Somehow, the nondescript collection of spring flowers he had lugged home from the market had taken on a fairy tale quality – overflowing from a vase in the center of the table, festooning the breakfront, gathering up the draperies. Meg’s good silver – he’d forgotten they even had that still – shone like jewels under a fresh coat of polish. Candle branches were everywhere, waiting to be lit. He coughed to clear a sudden lump in his throat. “Looks like a demmed Opry-house,” he managed hoarsely, after a pause. “You’re gonna blind the boy with all those candles.”

Mrs. Longworth reached out to pluck an unacceptable, drooping bloom from the center arrangement. “I knew you’d like it. Build up that fire now, so you’ll have time to get yourself ready. I’m just going to see to my cake, then I’ll tidy up, too.”

Abel laughed at himself again as he got ready. “You’d think you were going courting,” he told his reflection, amused and bemused at once. “What would Adam think if he knew he could get his old grandfather into such a state?” But he wanted tonight to be perfect – to make up for all the imperfectness that had marked their relationship through the years – its inauspicious beginning, the long separation, his many, many failures and disappointments in his history with his daughter and son-in-law. Second chances came so rarely, and this seemed like that – no, not that exactly – a new chance all together. A fresh start. He fumbled with his cravat for the third time and, in irritated resignation, sought out the kitchen and Mrs. Longworth to set it right for him.

He found her tucking the last pink rose into a ring around the middle of the cake. She looked up with a smile and he was surprised to notice how sweet she looked in a simple, wine colored evening dress with her hair freshly smoothed.

He glared in response to her immediate and accurate observation, wondering how he could have ever thought her sweet, even for a moment. "Blasted thing keeps slipping about."

She wiped her hands on her apron and reached out to tie it for him. "Much better," she decided, studying it judiciously. "Now the cake is done and it's nearly five - you'd best settle in and wait for Adam."

"Aye, well - " he hesitated, not really sure what he wanted to say. "I think we need a toast," he blurted at last.

Abel nodded, avoiding her eyes. "A toast to - well, to all your hard work here. I - I do thank you. Couldn't have managed without you"

Alice removed her apron, folding it neatly and hanging it on a rack by the stove. "That's my job."

"It's not and you know it," he scratched at his beard. "Or it's that you do it exceptionally well, then. You take good care of him. Of - of me, too. I'm grateful." Mrs. Longworth's brows rose another notch and he felt himself redden. "Well, if you're just going to stand about staring then I'll get the glasses."

That brought Mrs. Longworth to life. "You'll do nothing of the kind - after all the time I spent polishing that crystal! We'll use kitchen glasses and a little of the sherry I keep for cooking. Leave the brandy for after supper."

She lined up two jelly glasses on the counter and splashed a measure of sherry into each glass, then held one out to him. "So you've mentioned before." When he took hold of it, she kept her grip on the glass for just a minute. "I've - enjoyed it," she admitted. Abel tried not to smirk. "Oh, don't look so smug. It's just been…well, almost like…"

Abel sighed, letting the liquid swirl up and coat the sides of the glass. "Almost," he agreed.

Abel squinted thoughtfully. "To old friends," he said at last. Then he remembered those last moments in his room. "And fresh starts."

Alice nodded approvingly. "I can drink to that." They clinked glasses and sipped.

"Oh, good Lord!" Mrs. Longworth abandoned her glass on the table and went to check her oven. Abel chuckled to himself. Well, well, well. It was nice to see her every bit as flustered as he was.

The clock chimed six. The candles were no longer crisp new tapers, but half-burned logs coated with dribbles of clinging wax. Mrs. Longworth had long since moved the dinner to the warming oven. Even the flowers seemed to lose their jaunty festiveness and droop. Abel sat and drummed his fingertips lightly on the tabletop, his forehead lowering in a furrowed frown. His cravat had started to unravel itself a good half hour ago. His temperament had not been far behind.

"Where the devil is that dratted boy?" he grumbled. His disappointment had moved to irritation and was even now turning to a strange, icy sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Mrs. Longworth folded and unfolded her hands. "Are you sure he didn't tell you he had to be somewhere? You have a very poor memory, Abel."

"You think I wouldn't remember - on his birthday?" his voice came out more sharply then he had intended.

What on earth could be keeping him? A hundred things could happen to a young man walking the streets of Boston. He could be robbed and beaten. Run over by one of those careless taxi drivers. Fall in the Charles and drown. Well - maybe not drown. Adam was a strong swimmer. But there were a hundred other things - at least a hundred. Imagine trying to explain to Ben that he had misplaced his son somewhere in Boston. That his son had suffered some terrible accident. The ice spread from his stomach to cover and clench at his heart. No. No, no, no…he would not lose another he loved - he would NOT! He pushed restlessly away from the table and stood to pace the end of the room. Perhaps he should be out looking for him, even now. No, no - you couldn't go looking for a boy - all right, a young man, really - even if it was his birthday - just because he was an hour late. He glanced at the clock. An hour and ten minutes late.

Abel glared at her. "He knows to come home for dinner. He's never not come home before without saying."

"Yes, well - it is his birthday. Maybe some of his friends wanted to buy him a drink to celebrate and he lost track of time."

Abel glared harder. That wasn't impossible. But he was supposed to celebrate with me, a tiny voice inside him complained. Eh, damn. Why hadn't he just told him - ? Why had he gotten this ridiculous idea into his head about a surprise? Adam was probably out there somewhere celebrating, thinking that his grandfather had forgotten his birthday all together. Damn, Abel, but you're a bloody fool…but at least if that's the case, he's all right. He's alive. At least until I get my hands on him for not telling me he'd be late, he is…oh, God, please let him be alive…his anxious eyes sought the clock again. An hour and twenty minutes.

At an hour and a half he'd go looking for him - no matter how foolish it made him look, no matter how angry it made Adam. He'd…there was the sound of a familiar footfall on the steps and he froze. He heard the soft opening and closing of the front door, as if someone wanted to avoid notice, then a light step in the entryway. The rush of relief nearly knocked Abel off of his feet. It was followed almost immediately by a rush of anger, just as strong. He was at the door to the entryway in four quick strides; yanked it open and stood, filling the doorway, just as Adam was putting his foot on the first stair.

"SO!" It was the voice he used to use at sea to be heard over the pounding of a storm. "So, young man! What is the meaning of this?"

Adam turned his head, surprised at his tone of voice. Abel couldn't make out his face in the dimly lit hallway, but his shoulders seemed to droop. "Sir?" he asked quietly.

Somehow that made Abel even angrier. How dare he seem so - normal - after - after - "I asked you what you mean coming in so late! Missing dinner - sending no word…"

Abel had to stop himself from reaching out and shaking him. "You've a watch, haven't you? There are about a hundred bloody bell towers all over Boston, aren't there? You must know it's late! And Mrs. Longworth's dinner all spoiled - the least you can do is apologize to her."

Adam shifted on his feet, his face unreadable. He nodded slowly. "Of course. I will. When I see her in the morning."

"Of course she's still here! What do you think? Now get in there and apologize like a man and then we'll have a talk about this lateness of yours! If there's one thing I won't stand for it's carelessness - carelessness and bad manners!"

Adam looked at him strangely, then nodded again, ducking past him to enter the main room. Abel followed close on his heels, his face a thundercloud. Adam stopped so abruptly that Abel actually bumped into him.

Adam's eyes moved slowly about the room, taking in the elegantly set table, the flowers, the pile of gifts sitting by one plate. "What - ?" His eyes returned to the gifts and fixed there. "Were you…?"

Abel moved around him and stood with his arms crossed. "Yes, a fine thing to miss your own birthday supper - and after Mrs. Longworth worked all day on it, too!"

Adam rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, his brows scrunched together in a frown. "My…?"

"You can't mean you forgot your own birthday!" Abel stared at him. Really - he was such a bright lad in every other way, too!

"Of course I knew it was my - I just thought…I'm sorry, Mrs. Longworth, I had no…" He broke off again.

"Never mind, Adam," Mrs. Longworth smiled warmly, her keen eyes on him. "Dinner's no worse for waiting - I'm warming it up right now. I'll bet you haven't had any." Adam shook his head mutely. She peered at him as if she had discovered something and gave Abel a meaningful look. "I'll just see to it while you gentlemen talk, then we'll eat. No harm done. Don't make it too long, though - you must be starved."

Adam watched her disappear into the kitchen, then returned his gaze to the table. He had the same expression on his face Abel had seen there when he'd miscalculated a math problem - the same puzzled, concentrated look as he went back through the steps, refiguring his logic and checking his calculations.

Abel cleared his throat to remind him he was there. "Well?" he repeated. Adam glanced at him. There was something odd about his eyes, Abel noted - they looked - wrong. Was he coming down with something?

Abel puffed out his cheeks. "Well, you come home for dinner every night - what made tonight so different all of a sudden? And why didn't you send me word?"

Adam looked at him harder this time, as though he was part of the math problem he had misfigured. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His eyes moved back to the table.

"And for heaven's sake - haven't I sent you a gift for your birthday every year of your life? Did you think I'd forget it now that you're here?"

Adam's voice sounded hollow and Abel tried to get a better glimpse of his face. "Well, then. Surely it stands to reason that we'd be celebrating in some way. Don't they celebrate your birthday on the Ponderosa?"

"Of course they do." Adam sounded cross, moving away from him to study the cluster of gifts wrapped in homespun by his plate.

"Then why on earth wouldn't we celebrate it here?" Adam didn't answer. He reached out to touch one of the gifts. Abel got a glimpse of the dirt ground in under his fingernails and smeared across his palms. He felt his temper rise again. "And what on earth have you been doing to get your hands in such a state?"

Adam jumped as if he'd struck him and glanced at his hands, folding his arms over his chest and tucking the offending appendages out of sight under them. He strode over to the back window and stared out, though there was very little to see.

"I am waiting for some kind of explanation from you, young man, and I don't expect you to deliver it with your back to me!" Adam's shoulders grew more rigid, but he didn't turn around. Abel seethed. "You have exactly five minutes to tell me what you were thinking to come in here so late without a single notice to me and what in the name of heaven you've been doing with yourself! I know you didn't go into the library to study and come out with hands like a gravedigger's!" Something about his own words sounded loud in the room and Abel paused, hearing himself. Some of the jumbled pieces dropped into place and he let his hands fall to his sides. Oh, lad.

"Adam," his voice was much quieter this time and he watched the stiff back in front of him carefully. "Son. Is it that you thought – “ he groped for the right words. “I - might not want to celebrate today?"

Adam's shoulders sank a little. "I thought," his voice was so soft that Abel could barely make it out, even in the quiet room. "I thought, maybe…you might not."

Abel took a step toward him and rested a hand lightly in the middle of his back. The back didn't soften, but didn't shrug him off either. "I thought maybe…on a different day. When I was little, sometimes Pa…preferred…" Abel's brows went up. So, Benjamin - you didn't always do everything perfectly either, hey? The thought brought him an odd comfort. "I just assumed…you'd want…" The back under his palm was as rigid as rock and he slid his hand up to cup the nape of Adam's neck. Adam's head dropped. "I'm sorry. I should have asked."

"You've nothing to be sorry for." Abel sighed. He'd guided ships through some of the most treacherous, rocky and ice-filled shoals on the planet, but he had never been more daunted than he was by the channel he was trying to navigate now. "Adam, you're the only grandchild I'll ever have and twenty years ago on this day you were born - surely you can see that, for me, that's a big reason to celebrate?"

He felt Adam's neck muscles harden under his hand. "That's not the only thing that happened twenty years ago on this day."

The harsh note in his voice nicked at Abel's heart and he sighed again, more deeply. "No," he admitted quietly. "No, it's not." He closed his eyes. Elizabeth, child, if ever I needed your help, it's now…he could see in his mind's eye, more clearly than he had for years, that day twenty years ago - Elizabeth, pale but beaming, an anxious Benjamin clutching her hand…he opened his eyes. Elizabeth, beaming. How could he have forgotten?

He cleared his throat. "I'm going to tell you a secret, Adam, about today. Today twenty years ago was the proudest and happiest day of your mother's life. Now, you mustn't tell your father this - he thinks that was the day she married him. But that was the second happiest. Today - that was the first. She'd want us to celebrate. In fact, she'd take us to task and make no mistake if we didn't."

"Yes, well, she did, of course." Abel pressed his eyes tight shut again, trying to find the words for what he felt so clearly but wasn't quite sure how to explain. "And I'm not saying that, given the choice, she wouldn't have wanted to live to raise you - and to grow old by the man she loved. She wasn't a fool, after all. What I am saying is that, given the choice all over again about having you, even knowing how it would end - well, there would be no choice. For her, having you was - unmitigated joy."

Adam shifted slightly. "If she hadn't…she might have had…other children…"

"If you think that that would somehow have made up for not having you, then you would be wrong." He moved his arm to Adam's shoulders. The tension in Adam's back did not soften. "She was besotted - from the minute she saw you. Was almost all she could talk about that day. Father, do you like your grandson? Ben, have you seen your son? Isn't his face sweet? Like the cherubs on my music box. To tell the truth, she was in a fair way of becoming a bore on the subject." He was rewarded with a brief, watery chuckle. Abel smiled. "You were her crowning achievement, Adam. The crowning achievement of a happy life. A short one, to be sure - too short, but…

"And now here you are, grown into a fine man. How proud she'd be. Reason for celebration indeed." The shoulders quivered suspiciously in his grip and he delicately averted his eyes and searched for another topic.

Adam's head jerked in a nod and he coughed to clear the fog from his voice. "Pansies," he said huskily. "For thoughts. I wanted rosemary, for remembrance, but…I don't actually…" he trailed off.

"No," agreed Abel, his heart twisting within him. "No, you don't. But I do - I remember her whole life. And I can tell you everything I remember. But you have to believe what I tell you then, Adam. She was my own daughter and I knew her well." He tried to catch Adam’s evasive eyes and hold them. "You have to believe that, for Elizabeth, this was never a day of sorrow. For her, you were never the thing that ended her life, Adam. For her, you were the thing that completed it."

A tremor shook Adam's shoulders again and he quickly turned his face away. Abel stubbornly kept his grip and turned him back, drawing him carefully against his heart. Adam stiffened, then unexpectedly relaxed. His head dropped to his grandfather's shoulder and though he made no sound, Abel could feel the telltale heaving of his lungs beneath where his forearm rested.

He patted the back gently. "All right, then," he murmured. "All right…" His own heart was such a tangled mess of sadness and loss and joy and tenderness that he couldn't begin to name what he was feeling. He leaned his cheek against Adam's hair and thought about what an odd thing life was, love and sorrow and happiness so hopelessly intermingled; so fraught with surprises, both devastating and miraculous. He realized that Adam was actually holding onto him and he smiled, his own eyes welling. Really, if one didn't know what a pair of toughened, brusque and stubborn men they both were, one might almost get the idea that they were crying.

Dinner, of course, had been delayed. Mrs. Longworth had set it out the minute Adam had disappeared upstairs to wash his face and scrub his hands and compose himself. She seemed to know automatically when the time was right, the way she seemed to know everything - well, probably listening at the door, nosy old biddy. She had understood, of course, right away what Adam's dilemma was - the least she might have done was seen fit to inform him - hand signals or the like. But no, she seemed to enjoy watching him stumble through it on his own.

By the time Adam came back downstairs the chowder had resumed its savory aroma. He looked so pleased and touched and shy at the sight of the table that Abel felt some of his original buoyancy return. Adam gratified Mrs. Longworth by eating like a starving man and putting on her gift - a scarf knitted in crimson and grey, Harvard's colors - right away, complimenting her on its warmth, and kissing her impulsively on the cheek in thanks.

She had patiently rearranged the scarf around his neck, coloring slightly. "You're as bad as your grandfather with these things, I see. Leave it off and look at your other gifts now - you have plenty."

Adam paused to admire the scarf's fringe, but obediently pulled the string on one of the Ponderosa gifts. The cloth fell away to reveal a little carved horse, whittled out of a reddish wood.

"It's Sport," he said by way of explanation, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. "Hoss is getting good with a knife." He unfolded the note inside and, to Abel's delight, for the first time read it aloud. "Dear Adam - Happy Birthday. Sport sure misses you so I figured maybe you missed him too. This might kinda help you not miss him too much till you get home. I used red wood on accounta he's red. Love, Hoss. PS I sure miss you too." Adam ran a fingertip down the little carved mane.

"Well," Abel took the wallet from him and eyed it solemnly. "You've a talented pair of brothers."

Adam looked down in surprise, frowning. "I hope not. We agreed that being here would be my present."

"Yes, well, no doubt he misses you and felt better sending a gift. Open it, now."

Adam picked up the flat gift that had been hidden by the other two, eyeing it a little nervously and discreetly pocketing the attached note this time. After a second, he pulled the string and the wrappings and a lot of padding dropped off. "It's a daguerreotype," he said slowly after a minute. "We couldn't afford one before I left, so…" he tilted it toward the light.

"Well, let's see, then!" Abel plucked it casually out of his hand. They'd had enough rampant sentimentality for the evening - time to keep things sailing on an even keel now. "You don't mean that that's Benjamin? Lord, he was just a boy when I saw him last! Look at how grey he's gone! I suppose you contributed to that some, hey?" Adam grinned in spite of himself. "Not that I'm criticizing - by his age I'd barely any hair to speak of myself. And the big one must be Hoss? He is a big boy!"

"Really, Abel, you've no manners at all," Mrs. Longworth scolded lightly, leaning over his shoulder to see for herself. "And the little one must be Joseph. Isn't he sweet."

"Sweet," Abel gave a snort. "Anyone can tell he has the devil himself in him. Three of you give your father a run for his money I'll wager. Well, what are you waiting for, lad? You've mine left - open them! Open them!"

Adam tentatively lifted the long, narrow wooden box with a ribbon tied around it. After a second he pulled the ribbon and pushed back the polished lid. It swung up on small hinges. Nestled in the dark blue velvet lining was a brass spyglass. He lifted it out, running his finger around the engraving that rimmed the glass. "Captain Abraham Abel Stoddard," he read aloud, "1765. Captain Morgan Abraham Stoddard. 1785. Captain Abel Morgan Stoddard - 1810. " He stopped, silent.

Adam glanced up at him, then looked down again. He cleared his throat. "Adam Benjamin Stoddard Cartwright. 1850. "

Abel nodded in satisfaction. "My grandfather got that as a gift when he captained his first ship. Gave it to my father when he captained his first, and my father passed it on to me when I got mine. Thought it was time I passed it on to you."

"No, well," Abel smiled. "Not precisely. But I thought you coming out here to college was the same sort of thing for you - a rite of passage. It's just an old thing, of course - "

"No, I love it." Adam ran a finger down the names, reading them again. "It's wonderful. I - don't know what to say."

"Yes, well - " Abel dusted his hands briskly. "You can say, thank you Grandfather and now I'll open my other gift."

"Another one?" Adam looked in surprise at the smaller gift pushed half under his plate. "Grandfather, I thought we agreed - "

"You know, laddie - " Abel interrupted with a twinkle, "Before you leave here I'm going to teach you to accept a gift graciously."

Adam flushed, gave him an abashed grin. "All right…" he picked up the gift and reached for the ribbon. "At least it's light…" The cloth wrapping peeled back to reveal a small portrait of three people - a young man in a captain's uniform, a young red-haired woman in a lace cap and an old fashioned, high-waisted dress, and a young girl with large, bright, long-lashed eyes. Adam was still and silent, looking.

Abel cleared his throat nervously. "Almost forgot I had that. Yer grandmother had it done years ago - so my daughter wouldn't forget what I looked like while I was away at sea, she said. It was done by one of those young artists she was always taking on and trying to help - yer grandmother had a terrible weakness for talent - almost couldn't recognize the bad in anyone who could paint or draw or make music…"

"It's just an old dusty thing, of course, but the likeness isn't bad - see there? Caught your grandmother's dimples, even. Well - " he clapped his hands together. "Mrs. Longworth has a cake and then we'll have a birthday toast. She wouldn't even let me break open the brandy until you got here, so I think I deserve two glasses for waiting." Abel rose briskly and collected the brandy decanter from the sideboard, pouring it carefully into three small, rounded glasses. "Let's see…" he lifted his glass just as Mrs. Longworth set the flower bedecked cake in the middle of the table and picked up her own glass. "To the birth of Adam Benjamin Stoddard Cartwright - twenty years ago today." He clinked with Mrs, Longworth.

"Wait - " Adam glanced back at the small portrait. "I'd also like to - toast - "

Abel followed his eyes and understood. His heart warmed within him. He had been wrong to wonder whether Adam's other mothers - the ones he knew - meant more to him than his own. Rosemary was for remembrance and memories were important - but they weren't stronger than thoughts. Elizabeth would always live in Adam's thoughts. "Very well, then. To Adam Benjamin Stoddard Cartwright and Elizabeth Margaret Stoddard Cartwright - and everything that happened - twenty years ago today."

Abel glanced at the two pictures - the muted daguerreotype and the small painting, keeping company side by side on the night table - and rested the back of his hand against Adam's parched cheek, his eyes soft with memory.

Odd. He had wanted so badly for Adam's birthday to be perfect and it had been - just not at all in the way he had planned. Life indeed was fraught with surprises, both devastating and miraculous. He wrung out the cloth once more and patted it gently against Adam's throat, then his cheeks. "You know, laddie - I think you owe me a birthday celebration where you're actually on time. I think you need to hang on for that." He put down the cloth and loosened the dark curls where they clung across his forehead as the terrible dry heat changed once again to drenching sweats. "Besides - you have to see the new celebration I have in mind. And just wait until you see the surprise I have for you this year."

The boatman shrugged indifferently. "That's right, mister. Not afore. Has to make its way back from Buffalo first. Then we got to clean her up some and refuel - "

Ben waved his hand to interrupt what promised to be a lengthy catalog of steamship preparation. "And there's no faster way to get as far as New York?"

"Faster?" The man stopped chewing on his cigar long enough to look amused. "Mister, just a couple of years ago you couldn't get there anything like this fast. Boat'll have you over in Buffalo by nine tomorra morning. Downright mirackalus, I call it. Couldn't get there faster w'thout wings. You could take the road, a course, but that'd take much longer, 'specially in this rain. If I was you and in a hurry, I'd hang on fer the boat. Get myself a bite to eat and relax until six."

Relax. Ben automatically touched the latest telegram nestled inside his breast pocket. How could he relax? The train had been slowed first by a broken switch, then by the weather, until it arrived three hours late. Not that that would have mattered much in a normal way - he knew the boat to Buffalo wasn't due until six - but somehow he had been nervous, impatient, uneasy - cooped up too long in the train, perhaps, with too much time to think, despite Mrs. Chambers efforts to distract him. Then he had arrived here to find his telegram…he needed to get to Boston! He couldn’t afford to be marooned here on some miserable shore, waiting for some confounded boat to come in!

The tension and exhaustion of his travels and the days of alternating hope and despair seemed to catch up with him all at once, sweeping over him and weighing him down as surely as the cold, grey waters of Lake Erie before him. He wanted to pray, but found his heart empty and cold as well - barren of words.

He hung his head. "Thank you," he managed at last, wishing he meant it. He would find someplace nearby to wait - someplace where he could watch for the first sign of the boat landing. Someplace out of the dull, enervating rain. Not that it didn't suit his mood. A hand touched his arm, and he actually jumped.

"I'm sorry, Ben," He recognized the warm, mellow tones immediately. "You looked like you could use some company. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Ben was embarrassed by his reaction, and his courtesy seemed to go the way of his optimism. "Mrs. Chambers," he said abruptly, looking over her shoulder and finding her alone. "Where the devil is that husband of yours now?" He was mortified by his tone, but it was too late to take it back. He felt himself color like a boy, ready to stammer an apology.

She looked unexpectedly unruffled. "He met some potential business associates in the Club Car on the train and is pursuing a deal with them. Thinks it could be very lucrative." She smiled and shrugged. "Don't be too hard on him, Ben. It's a big disappointment to a man to find he'll never have children - heirs. Lyle compensates by burying himself in business. It could be worse."

Ben ran a hand over his face, rubbing it free of rainwater only to have it instantly drenched again. "I'm - sorry, Katherine," he continued more quietly. "I had no right…"

She chuckled. "Oh, now, I don't know about that - since you've been left to baby sit me this whole trip I'd say you had every right. I was determined to leave you alone this stop, but you looked so…like you could use some company." She saw his hand press unconsciously against his breast pocket and frowned. "Have you had bad news?"

She slipped her hand through his arm. "What do you say we get out of the rain? Then you can tell me all about it. Or not, of course, if you prefer."

"No, no…I just…" he let her steer him toward a collection of small shops set up to accommodate travelers. They moved under a bakery awning, and he was surprised to find he felt better just to no longer be pummeled by the rain. He made himself smile. "You have it all wrong, you know - I'm very sure it's you who have been baby sitting me."

"Ah, but I'm just trying to make it seem that way. Very clever of me, don't you think? Mmm…smell that cider! I could do with a cup - nice and warming. How about you?"

He nodded dully, too weary and disheartened to resist, and found them a space at a bar that ran two sides of the shop. "No seating, I'm afraid," he apologized.

"Thank heavens," she answered bluntly. "After all that sitting on the train! I'm dying to stretch out a little!"

She set a steaming cup of cider in front of him, and he was surprised at how good it smelled. He took a sip and tried to force another smile. "You can't have children, then?"

"No," Mrs. Chambers wrapped her hands around the cup to warm them. "Probably why I find yours so interesting. Oh, don't look so grim - it was a big disappointment, of course, but I've grown used to the idea. Lyle, on the other hand…" she sighed. "Hurts a man, I suppose, to think there will be no one to carry on his name."

Ben gave a grunt. "But it doesn't hurt a woman?" Mrs. Chambers' forehead wrinkled, but she shrugged. "It's a pity. You would have made a wonderful mother."

"You would. You're patient and giving and open-hearted - all the right qualities. Some days I can't for the life of me figure out what the Almighty is up to."

"Like today?" The voice was very gentle, but Ben winced anyway. He nodded briefly. "Is Adam…?"

"He's alive." Ben stared mindlessly at his cider, his eyes unexpectedly full. "The doctor says…he'll reach a point of crisis…sometime soon, he thinks. Today, perhaps - who knows? I couldn't bear it if…to come all this way and then…"

Ben laughed abruptly. "Mrs. Chambers, you are very kind, but you know nothing of the sort. No one knows better than I do the vagaries of God's will - how inexplicable and random…" He pulled his wet hat off and pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to grab for some smidge of composure. "I'm very worried, that's all." He blotted at his eyes with the back of his hand and struggled hard to smile. "But here we're talking of me again, and I wanted to talk about you for a change."

"A very dull one, I'm afraid! Let's talk about…oh, more about your journeys if you don't mind. Were you and Adam ever in Cleveland?"

"Cleveland? No…" Ben gazed out at the misty grey harbor. "We bypassed Cleveland. Entered Ohio a little farther south, from western Pennsylvania…" he trailed off with a frown.

"Really? My sister lives in Philadelphia - we're stopping for a visit on the way back. Did you pass through there?"

He could feel Mrs. Chambers' questioning eyes on him. "I've done it again, haven't I? Reminded you of something awful?"

"Awful? No, no…" Ben bent his head to take a long, slow draught of his cider. "I haven't thought about Pennsylvania for years, though. That was…well, a difficult time…I made a lot of decisions then - some bad ones, some - I'm not sure to this day. Suppose I'll go to my grave wondering about them, though."

Ben cocked his head at her. "Are you really sure you can stay awake for another of these stories?"

Ben laughed, and was surprised to find the ache in his heart ease some. "You're a very good woman, Mrs. Chambers."

She smiled in return. "Well, if by that you mean that curiosity is a virtue, then I must be positively saintly."

Ben settled his elbows on the counter, huddled over his cup, and got comfortable. "I told you that we lost Adam's nurse - Mrs. Callahan - about that time…" She nodded, and he continued. "She wasn't well. She kept with us as long as she could, but finally I had to send her to her sister - " he smiled at her, "also in Philadelphia. Traveling was just too hard on her. She was heartbroken to leave us - especially Adam - but there was nothing else to do. Of course, I had to see that she had comfortable accommodations and good care for the trip - she had been so good to us, always. I would have liked to have escorted her to Philadelphia myself, but there wasn't enough money for more than one adult, so I found a kind woman who was also going that way and willing to look out for her and sent her on her way with many tears. That left us a little short of cash, so I thought it would be a better idea to take the money that remained and buy a sturdy horse and some gear and to go cross country rather than along the more expensive main roads and towns - hunt and fish for food. I'd heard there was plenty of game in central Pennsylvania…." He paused.

"I've told you how little experience I had with children up until then?" She nodded again. "Yes. Well. That will explain why I didn't actually realize what a terrible idea that would be for someone traveling with a two year old. It sounds preposterous to me now." He stopped and took another mouthful of cider, his eyes distant. "Adam was no longer being bottle fed, of course, but he was still young enough to require some of the normal civilities like milk and bread, and his young digestive system wasn't really geared to deal with a steady diet of game yet. Mind you, we were well into the mountains and far away from any cities before this dawned on me." He stared ahead at the misty lakefront. "I also hadn't really thought about the effect of the elements…of course, children and their little bodies do not retain heat the way adults do - and while the open air is very good for them when the weather is nice…" he shook his head. "Mrs. Callahan had taken care of this sort of thing up until now. It shocks me, looking back, how ill equipped…how do other parents learn? I remember thinking that over and over. Women learn from their own mothers, I suppose, and if you have younger siblings…I had none. I was the younger child. Children really need to come with instruction booklets." He looked into his cider, finally sipped it. "I don't need to tell you, of course, that the weather got bad?"

"It certainly seems to be." He straightened suddenly. "You know, we have several hours to go, and if I'm going to bore you to death the least I can do is treat you to some more cider. And maybe a couple of those current buns?"

Ben considered. "Spring. So it seems churlish to complain about the rain, hey?" He left a coin for a basket of buns and refilled their cider from the urn on the counter. "And, of course, we had no shelter. I had my slicker, that was all, and constructed what coverings I could, as needed. But it was not ideal. To make matters worse, I found it very difficult to convince a two year old that he was to stay under my slicker for his own protection and that we were not actually playing an elaborate game of peek-a-boo." He paused to frown at her. "None of this is nearly as funny as you seem to think."

Her eyes sparkled. "No, no, of course not - very serious. Adam - er - refused to stay under the slicker?"

"Yes….first because he thought it was a game, then, when I got sterner, because he was stubborn. He liked to see out as we went along, and he had reached that two year old stage…" he smiled a little, remembering. "I was beside myself - was sure he was going to get pneumonia. I kept asking myself over and over what on earth God had been thinking to entrust a helpless child to the likes of me."

Mrs. Chambers broke off a piece of bun and buttered it leisurely. "Somehow I have trouble picturing your Adam as helpless, even at two."

Ben laughed abruptly. "You'd be right about that. Truth was he was taking it all much more in stride than I was. Well, needless to say, we were drenched, and needless to say, I was frantic. I'd a good sense of direction after all those years of navigating on the sea, and I could tell we weren't even close to any large towns I knew about and wouldn't be for some days…you can imagine my surprise and relief when I heard music from somewhere up ahead. A church, I thought. No - not that sort of music. A tavern, perhaps? Even better - we could spend the night…I had no idea how I would pay for it, but perhaps I could work for a couple of nights’ lodgings. Surely they wouldn't turn away a man with a child…" He broke off thoughtfully, watching the rain sheeting the glass.

The rain had been very much like this. It had been about this time of year, too. Despite the rain, Adam had dropped off to sleep leaning back against him and was peacefully napping when Ben finally caught sight of the brightly lit windows through the trees. He remembered it vividly - remembered breathing a prayer of thanks and swinging out of the saddle, carefully holding Adam in place. The movement and the sudden absence of Ben’s presence at his back had woken Adam, and he had blinked at him, rubbing the rain away from his eyes.

Ben lifted him down from the saddle, trying to wrap the rain spattered slicker around him. "No, not really a house, I don't think."

"Yes, a building of some kind. One with a stove, anyway, and that's all that matters right now."

Adam pushed his fingers into his mouth and sucked. Ben sighed. Adam had a peculiar habit of sucking on his three middle fingers with his palm turned outward. Ben had seen children suck on their thumbs before, but this was a new one for him. He reached up to ease the fingers out of Adam's mouth. He wished he had some idea how old was too old for this sort of thing. Was he too old now, at two? Next year, maybe? "Just can't do things like other children, can you?" he breathed as he tugged the fingers loose.

"Hm. Is that "no" to the fingers or "no" to doing things like other children? Leave that over your head now, it's very wet out here. We don't need you catching cold."

He unfastened their small bag of possessions from the saddle and tied the horse where he would at least get a little shelter from the weather under the overhang of the roof, then, hefting Adam in one arm and the bag in the other hand, he lifted the door latch and stepped inside.

The room seemed dim despite the cast iron stove and the warm globes on the rustic chandeliers, and he took a minute to let his eyes adjust. His lungs filled with the scent of old cigar smoke and cheap liquor, and he made a face. Not his first choice of places to bring a toddler, but at least it was dry. The sound of a tinny old piano pierced the air around him. Adam pushed the slicker off of his head and looked around with interest.

“Well what have we here?” A figure appeared in front of him from out of the low-hanging miasma of smoke, displaying such an expansive array of cleavage that Ben automatically averted his eyes. She must have noticed, because the tobacco-stained smile she presented to him was amused. “Nice weather, we’re having, huh? Look like you’ve been out in it fer a bit.”

“Yes, for a couple of days. We were badly in need of shelter when we saw your building – “

She seemed to notice Adam for the first time, and the smile broadened into a grin. “Well, lookee, here! How are you, little Sport? Will you come to Lillibelle?”

Ben was about to explain that he was shy with strangers when Adam astonished him by reaching out his hands and hopping from Ben’s arms into the woman's.

Ben felt heat rush up from his collar to his forehead. He thought of his Elizabeth with her refined, dainty ways and gentle upbringing. What would she think to see their son in the arms of this rough woman with the chaw stuffed in her cheek, the scent of liquor in her hair and her air of uncertain virtue? He carefully but firmly took Adam back, ignoring his squawk of protest, and held him tightly. “I apologize – he misses his nurse, so I think he thinks all women…he’s usually quite shy.”

“Well, that’s all right, he just knows a friend when he sees one – don’t you, Sport?” She ran a friendly hand over Adam’s hair, and Ben tried to resist the urge to pull him away. “Look at them curls. I bet your Mama cried the day they cut them short.”

“His mother is dead.” Ben felt his face grow redder when he realized how abrupt that sounded.

If Lillibelle noticed his sharpness, she gave no sign. "Now, ain't that a shame. And where's this nurse of his gone off to, then?"

"Philadelphia. She had to leave us. She wasn't well." Ben touched Adam's hair himself and winced at how wet it was. Just as well it was short now, though Mrs. Callahan certainly would have wept if she could have seen what he had done to the carefully kept curls. But one of the first things Ben had discovered when he became Adam's sole caretaker was that he had neither the time nor patience to lavish on long hair. The first day after putting Mrs. Callahan on the stage to Philadelphia he had spent nearly an hour struggling to comb the tangles out. Finally, with Adam in tears and his own nerves in shreds, he had pulled out his sharp knife and done away with the ringlets, cutting them as close to the scalp as he could manage. Adam had seemed more relieved than otherwise. "You don't have a towel or a blanket I could rent or borrow, do you? And I was hoping we might be able to get a meal and a room for the night…"

Lillibelle slapped her forehead dramatically. "Now, where the heck has my head gone, letting you stand here and drip? We keep a mess a soup on the back of the kitchen stove all day for the miners, and you're welcome to some of that - Henry's got a space in the attic I'm sure he'd let you use for the night pretty cheap. And I'll bet you could use a cup of coffee."

"I'll get the blankets and see about the soup." She tickled Adam on the cheek, and he grinned at her from around his fingers. She let out a hoot, spitting with neat precision so that the stream of tobacco juice rang off the side of the spittoon like a clanging bell. "Get a load of them dimples! Ain't you gonna be the little heart breaker! You wanna come with old Lillibelle to get the blankets?"

Adam held out his arms, but Ben clung firmly to him. "He's very wet," he offered by way of explanation. Adam frowned at him with lowered brows. Ben met his gaze unwaveringly. "I said "no", Adam."

Lillibelle shrugged, chucking Adam under the chin. "Adam, is it? Well, never you mind, sweetheart. I'll be right back, and maybe your Daddy will let me feed you, huh?"

Ben closed his teeth hard to keep back a protest. Adam watched wistfully as she walked away. Ben felt his small body shivering against him and moved closer to the stove.

There was a man seated in front of it with his legs stretched out and a cup of coffee wrapped in his hands. From the smell coming from the cup it was more whiskey than coffee, but it looked warm, and Ben found himself glancing at it as wistfully as Adam had at Lillibelle.

The man took a swig and, without actually looking at him said, "So ye, mister - where you hail from?"

"Boston," answered Ben trying to squeeze some of the water out of Adam's hair. Adam batted his hands impatiently away.

Ben gave up on Adam's hair and held him closer to the stove. "Don't touch, though," he instructed. "Hot. I'm looking for work, actually, if you know of any."

The man looked at him keenly for the first time. "This here's mining country, mister. And you ain't no miner. What kind of work do ya do?"

"I was a sailor, but I'll do about anything. I'm strong and able. How can you tell I'm not a miner?"

Ben looked at one of his hard, callused hands and raised his brows. The man grinned and held one of his own out for Ben to see. Ben studied the black lines that edged every furrow of the man's palms and nestled around his nails. "See that? Them's miners hands. Life among the coal'll leave'm that way forever. Ain't never comin' clean. And then there's yer face."

"Now, mister, I'm sure there's no more coal on your face then there is on mine."

"Naw, not that - it's yer color. You're colored by the sun. Look at me - as pale as them vegetables that grow underground. Spend the daylight hours underground and this is the color you end up. Yer no miner, not you."

Adam was still shivering, and Ben ran his hand up and down the small back to warm him. "I could learn. I learn quickly."

The man tilted his head at him. "Mining's skilled work. Takes a lot of learning. Most of our best miners are imports - Wales, mostly, where they know what mining is. There's some unskilled jobs, o'course - loading coal and such. Pay's not bad. You look like you've a strong back."

The man shrugged. "You'd need ta talk to MacNamara 'bout that. Could take ya to him tomorra."

"I'd appreciate that," Ben felt Adam shift in his arms and remembered something. "I can bring my son, can't I?"

The man studied Adam over his cup rim and snorted a laugh. "Mister, we start 'em young in the mines, but even we don't take 'em as young as that! There's a mess a young girls down in the village that would look after him along with their own brothers and sisters - always lookin' ta pick up a extra penny."

Ben remembered the last time he had left Adam with a caretaker and winced. "No," he said reluctantly. "I need to keep him with me."

The man frowned. "Suit yerself, but not down there. Dangerous place. No place for a little 'un."

"Mister, now I know you're not a miner or you wouldn't even be thinkin' of it. MacNamara'd 'bout have a conniption fit just seein' him there. Sorry, but you can't have it both ways."

"Here you go!" Lillibelle returned carrying a mug and two bowls and followed by a boy of about ten clutching two blankets in one arm and a lidded pot in the other. "Why don't you give him to me and put this around you - " Before Ben could object, she lifted Adam from his arms and settled herself on a stool next to the mining man with Adam in her lap. Ben started to say something, but the boy shyly held out a blanket to him and after a minute, he took it and wrapped it around himself instead. Lillibelle was vigorously drying Adam's hair and Ben watched nervously. He heard Adam giggle as she ceased her ministrations and watched his head pop out from under the towel. He smiled faintly, recalling their frustrating game of peek-a-boo with the rain slicker. "There you are!" Lillibelle's voice was filled with hearty good cheer. "Now, why don't I get some soup down you while your Daddy eats?"

"Adam," Ben's voice brooked no nonsense. "We'll have none of that here. Come to me."

Ben sighed. "He does know other words, you know, but for some reason that's the only one he seems to want to use lately."

"Reached that stage, has he? They all go through it…" Lillibelle had placed the bowls on top of the wood stove and let the boy pour soup into them.

Lillibelle gave a crack of laughter. "Land, no! Not me! But I was the first of fourteen and sure did my share of kid keeping before I left home to make room for the rest. Never met one who didn't say nothin' but "no" fer a while. Open up for Lillibelle, sweetheart…" she gestured with the spoon, and Adam opened his mouth like a baby bird. "You better eat yours, too, mister, while it's hot - I slipped a little something else in your coffee, too, to take the chill out." She saw Ben hesitate and filled another spoonful. "You can sweep the place out later to pay for it if you've a need."

Ben nodded, something inside him relaxing a little. He kept his eyes glued to his son, but he took a sip of coffee and nearly choked on the infusion of spirits. It burned all the way down like fire, but left his insides warm.

Ben dug into his own soup. Adam must be warming up if he was starting to look around. He saw him rub at his ears and stare around the room, puzzled. Ben sighed. What did he see? What sort of memories would his son have of a night spent in a ragged old tavern filled with smoke and noise and rugged, raucous men? None, he hoped.

Adam shook his head. "Down," he repeated stubbornly, squirming to slide off of her lap.

Adam shook his head vigorously. His little feet hit the floor with a thunk, and he was moving almost before he landed. Ben half-rose. He would never be able to get used to the idea that something so small could move so fast.

Lillbelle waved him back down. "Eat your soup - he’ll be all right. Land, where's he gonna go? Nobody'll hurt 'em."

"Heck, half of 'em are so drunk they won't even know he's there." She laughed uproariously at her joke, but Ben closed his eyes for a minute. What on earth was he doing? What sort of way was this to raise a child? "So, where were you headed when you got caught in the rain?"

Ben stirred his soup, trying to keep his eyes on Adam's progress. It wasn't easy in the dimly lit room. "West," he answered briefly.

He shook his head. Adam seemed to have found what he was looking for - he was stopped by the rickety old piano, watching in rapt fascination as the piano player's fingers banged up and down on the keys. His three fingers crept back into his mouth. He seemed to be occupied for the moment. "No, California."

"California?" Lillibelle's voice cracked with incredulity. She followed his eyes to where Adam was standing, staring. "With him, or you leaving him somewhere?"

She shook her head slightly. "Mister, you're plannin' on going all the way to California with a baby in tow? You're either the bravest or the craziest man I ever met."

Ben looked at her, then back at Adam. "Let's hope it's bravest, then," he said tartly.

"If you know of anywhere I could get work around here, I'd appreciate it. I need to get a little financially ahead before we move on."

"Lord, I should think not! But you could leave him with me. Told you I'm used to the little ones."

Ben set his jaw hard and tried not to sound uncivil. "I'm sure you have your own - work - to do."

"Oh, well, yeah - but that's mostly nighttime work and you'd be back by then."

"Miss Lillibelle. I don't mean to sound - ungrateful - it's a very generous offer, I'm sure, but…well, you're really a stranger to me, and I haven't had very good luck with some of Adam's caretakers. I only take work now where I can keep him with me."

She raised her brows at him and shrugged. "Well, then," she glanced over at Adam again for a minute, then stood and tucked in some loose strands of hair. "Well, I suppose Henry could use you to tend bar and throw out the rowdies…wash up at the end of the day. Pay's not great but there's a roof and food." Ben swallowed hard in surprise. "Bout the best you'll do around here, mister. It's a patch town - exists just to support the mines."

"I - I accept. Thank you." He was going to say more, but just then he saw Adam's free hand creep out and press experimentally on the piano keys. "ADAM!" he called sharply, but he was too late. A discordant sound exploded through the room, interrupting the rollicking tune. Adam's eyes grew huge, and he yanked his hand away as if he’d been bitten. "Adam - " Ben was across the room in three strides, snatching him up.

A roar of laughter rose from the men ranged along the bar. "Hey, don't stop him mister - it's gotta be a improvement on Barney's playin'!"

Ben flushed, glancing apologetically at the piano player. "I'm sorry - he's never seen one before. Adam, apologize to the man." The piano player shrugged indifferently, without pausing in pounding his melody. Adam leaned way over Ben's arm, trying to reach the keys again. Ben pulled him away. "No, Adam, the man is playing now, you don't touch. It's called a piano."

"'Nano," Adam repeated, leaning forward once more to see if he could make the sound happen again.

Ben pulled him firmly back up. "If you can not restrain yourself from touching things and you don't want any more to eat then I think it's time for you to go to bed."

"Yes, it's a piano. If you're not going to apologize we're going to bed right now."

Ben counted to ten in his head. He was acutely aware of the amusement he was providing the entire bar and wished with all his heart that Adam had not chosen this particular moment to act up - that he could try out his fledgling attempts at child rearing in private. How was he to convince anyone that he could handle a job keeping this bar in order if he couldn't even handle a two year old?

"That was not," he said at last, "open for discussion." He nodded to the piano player. "I'm sorry," he repeated again. The piano player shrugged again. Adam let out a wail of protest as Ben carried him away from the piano and went to retrieve their carpetbag. "Another sound," he told him sternly, "and you'll be having a little talking to."

Lillibelle came back from wherever it was she had disappeared to, dusting her hands off briskly. "Talked to Henry and you're all set. We keep late hours round here - you won't start till afternoon, but you'll go until the small hours. Attic's at the top of those stairs. Second floor's for - um - Henry's - other - employees. I left blankets - you should be fine." She looked from him to Adam in faint surprise. "One of you boys havin' a tantrum?"

"We are having a disagreement about a couple of things. Isn't that right Adam?"

Lillibelle shook her head, absently patting Adam's cheek. "I can see. Just a regular chip off the old block, ain't he?"

Lillibelle raised her brows, shifting her tobacco chaw in her cheek. "You say so, mister. Right up those stairs, now."

Ben's eyes followed her, puzzled, then returned to Adam, trying to see what she saw. He saw what he always saw – Elizabeth’s lustrous, long-lashed eyes and straight little nose, her Cupid’s bow mouth and elegant bones. Then he looked again, taking in the lowered brows, the set jaw and the stubborn lip, and he blinked.

"Hm?" Ben started, jerked from his reverie. He had, in truth, forgotten she was there.

"Oh. Oh, a few weeks. Most of what I made went for keep, so it took a little time to be able to put any cash aside. The work was easy enough, though, and Adam was good about playing quietly behind the bar. The piano was a terrible temptation but a little - er - warming of his posterior eventually convinced him to leave it alone. At least when poor Barney was playing."

"Yes, well, curiosity always was his downfall - and, as it turned out, he's very musical, but I had no reason to suspect that at the time. I think he actually liked the hustle and bustle of people around us for a change." He shrugged. "As you can see, he didn't exactly have an orthodox childhood."

Ben swallowed a sigh. "Yes," he said slowly, returning his eyes to the window. "He had me."

It had continued to rain for three more days, so three days passed before he actually got a look at Fernley, the patch town the Griffin Tavern existed to service. He found himself liking the miners right away, though - they reminded him of sailors - rough and blunt but honest, hard working, loyal and opinionated. And like sailors they spent their days in small, tight, confining quarters, always one step away from death and at the whim of providence and nature. Ben admitted to himself that it was in no way an existence he cared to return to - he craved the wide open spaces with a bright sky above. Even now he wasn't completely sorry that he had been unable to go to work in the mines. The tavern didn't pay much and the dark, smoky interior was hardly the wide-open spaces, but the hours before and after could be spent outdoors, and he could stand and move about freely - and walk away when he wanted.

The hours were long, though, and he did worry that the fetid interior of the bar room was not a good place for Adam to be spending his days. But at least, he reasoned, he was fed regularly, which had started to become a challenge on the trail, and at least they were out of the elements for a while. And he seemed content enough. Still, working all day and keeping an eye on a small child was by no means easy. Lillibelle was happy to help where she could and seemed very fond of Adam - an affection he apparently returned - but somehow Ben could not escape the image of his pristine Elizabeth looking down from heaven to see the kind of company her little son was keeping. The mental picture never failed to make him wince.

So he struggled to do it all himself and found himself falling onto the straw pallet he and Adam shared at night asleep almost before he lay down. He was barely roused from one of these deep slumbers early one morning by a persistent sound on the edge of his hearing…the strident whistle that called the miners to work shrilling over and over. At first he thought he was dreaming it - surely he had only gone to bed a short time before, and after a particularly late and difficult night - he could distinctly remember having to break up a fight between a couple of drunken miners - then, as he woke a little more, he realized the sound had been going on and growing for some time - much too long to be the work whistle. He turned over and sat up just as the sound rose to a wail. Adam!

Adam was sitting on the pallet next to him, howling at the top of his voice. Ben grabbed him and stumbled to his feet, jiggling him to settle him. "Sssh, Adam…there's other people sleeping…" People who also had had a late night - might, he thought ruefully, still be having one for all he knew. Adam pushed away from him, his cries growing louder. Ben put a hand to his forehead. He felt warm. His cheeks were flushed, too. Oh, God, what if he were coming down with something…he jiggled him again helplessly. "Did you have a bad dream, son? Does something hurt? Tell Papa."

Adam nodded, rubbing at his face. Ben bit his lip. The rain seemed to have stopped and unless he was going to wake the whole tavern and probably lose his job he needed to get Adam out of here and find out what was wrong. “Well, let’s go outside and get some air, shall we? Won’t that feel nice?” He already had his pants on so, shrugging into his suspenders and grabbing his shirt and a blanket to pull around Adam against the early morning chill, he bumped down the stairs as quickly as he was able, all but running out the door. He took Adam a decent distance from the house and paced with him, making ineffectual shushing noises.

“He hurt himself?” He nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice. Lillibelle stood behind him with a blanket pulled around her shoulders over her nightgown and her hair in wild disarray.

Ben shook his head, raising his voice to be heard over Adam’s screams. He’d never noticed before what a piercing voice Adam could have once he got started. “He’s warm, though, and something is hurting – he keeps rubbing at his ear and his cheek.”

“Want me to take him?” Adam shook his head frantically, his cries growing louder, tightening his two-handed grip on Ben’s suspenders and burying his face in his neck. Lillibelle shrugged. “Guess not,” she said dryly. “Just thought maybe you could at least get your shirt on. He been drooling like that all along?”

Ben tried to get a peek at Adam’s face. “I think so – last couple of days.”

“Uh-huh,” Lillibelle tried to turn Adam’s face toward her, but he yanked his head away. “Easy, there, heart breaker, I just want a look – I won’t take you from your Daddy. He got his teeth?”

Ben jiggled Adam desperately, wincing at the unabated sound now right at his ear. Whatever was wrong, it certainly wasn’t with his lungs. “Of course he has his teeth! You can see that he has!”

“I mean them big, back ones…” she reached for Adam’s head again, this time turning it toward her and pinching his jaw open. He tried to pull away again and failed, wouldn’t release his grip on Ben to bat at her. She stuck her finger unceremoniously into his mouth and rubbed along his gums. And grinned. “Oh, yeah – they’re comin’ in all right. Hurt like bedamned, too. My Ma used to ladle a little whiskey down us – quieted us right down.”

Ben felt as though he were teetering on the brink of a yawning black hole of parental failure. Not only was he keeping his son in – let’s call it what it was – a Cat House, but he was using a swearing doxy as a nurse, and if that doxy hadn’t been around, he would never have figured out what was wrong with his own child. On top of it, he was short on sleep, worn to the bone, and now probably deaf in one ear. He felt that he had to draw the line somewhere or lose his mind. “No whiskey!” he roared, trying to be heard over Adam. “I am not giving whiskey to a two year old boy!”

“Yeah, well, it worked fine fer Ma! You got somethin’ he can chew on?”

Ben ran through his small list of possessions in his mind. “I have an old teething ring…”

She shook her head. “Never get way back there without choking him. We got a little ice – I’ll get some.”

She disappeared in a flurry of skirts. Adam’s cries were falling off to a persistent whimpering, his chest heaving against Ben’s shoulder. Ben patted his back, rocking him a little.

Lillibelle was back quickly, with a small chunk of ice wrapped in a handkerchief that reeked of scent. Ben tried not to notice.

“Open up, sweetheart.” Adam turned his head to her and gave a hiccoughing sob that shredded Ben’s heart. “That’s my good boy – now suck on this.” Adam cautiously released one hand from Ben’s suspender and took it, biting down hard. He sniffed. “There you go – don’t that feel better?” She looked at Ben. “I still say a little whiskey’ll get you both back to sleep.”

“I said NO,” Ben’s voice came out more harshly than he’d intended, and he saw Lillibelle eye him speculatively. He sighed wearily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Miss Lillibelle, I didn’t mean – “

“Right.” The smile she gave him was not warm. “There’s a doctor down the hill in Fernley, if you want something fancier. Quite a wait, usually, but do what suits you.” She looked at Adam gnawing on his chunk of ice, and her face changed. “Hope you feel better, honey.”

Before Ben could say anymore, she turned on her heel and disappeared back inside the tavern, leaving Ben standing alone with his heart feeling heavy and cold.

Ben could never remember how long he looked after her, trying to sort out his confused feelings. He liked Lillibelle - he did - he had had no intention of offending her, but…Adam was something separate. He had been left solely responsible for his care and upbringing, and sometimes the weight of that burden terrified him and all but brought him to his knees. Not burden - he corrected himself quickly. Never that. But…it was hard. He was so…unsure.

The icy dribbles of water running down his shoulder from Adam's improvised teething ring brought him back to himself, and he reached for his shirt. "Come on, son," he said quietly. "Let's get you to the doctor - just in case."

The tavern overlooked Fernley, and he could see it spreading out below him as he followed the well-worn path down the slope. A patch town indeed - from above, the tiny, square gardens that backed each small clapboard house resembled a patchwork quilt, with larger houses at either end of the straight street that ranged through the town - the owner's house, judging by its grandness, and maybe the supervisor's? Or perhaps that was the doctor's. Someone would be able to tell him.

There were women about already - in their gardens, or drawing water from the public pump house, but as it turned out, there was no need for directions. Clear, simple signs marked the public buildings, and they were few - the Company Store, and next to it, a sign that read "Doctor - In". Ben tentatively put his hand on the door and pushed.

Lillibelle had been right - the small, barren room was already filled with people, ranged in uncomfortable looking, mismatched chairs along the walls – a man with his hand wrapped in a bloody rag, a child leaning listlessly against its mother, a woman whose belly was swollen with pregnancy. Ben found an empty chair and sat down to wait. Adam pushed himself up from Ben’s shoulder to look around, only sniffling occasionally now. Ben fumbled for his handkerchief to wipe his nose and chin. He felt a little foolish being here suddenly, among these more seriously hurt people – perhaps Lillibelle had been right. Not about the whiskey – he was NOT giving his child whiskey – but about the doctor. Adam seemed to have calmed down, and while he still rubbed irritably at his face, he seemed much less distressed and even interested in his surroundings. Ben touched his forehead experimentally. Still warm, though. Probably just the teething, but…well, he’d feel better if he were sure. Memories of Elizabeth’s final, fatal fever danced before his eyes, and he tugged Adam a little closer.

“That’s right – he’s going to do something about those teeth hurting you.”

Surprisingly, Adam didn’t argue. He leaned back against Ben instead, chewing on what was left of Lillibelle’s handkerchief. Ben curled his hand protectively over the small abdomen. Probably all worn out. He was feeling a little worn himself. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, just for a minute.

The next thing he knew, there was a gentle tap on his shoulder. He stirred slightly, rubbing soothingly at Adam’s stomach. “Sshh…”

The tap came again, though – firmer this time. “Sir?” He jumped. Adam jumped in response and tilted his head back to look up at him questioningly. The handkerchief in his mouth was in shreds. “You can see the doctor now.”

“Oh…” Ben pinched his fingers into his eyes. “I’m sorry – I must have dozed off…” he glanced around the room. He and Adam were the only ones left.

“Well, it’s as productive a way to shorten the wait as any.” He could hear the smile in the voice and turned his head to look. “Are you the patient, or is it the child?”

“I’d better keep hold of him.” Ben rose slowly to his feet, hefting Adam onto his shoulder and stretching his aching back. “I’m Benjamin Cartwright.” He offered his hand.

The woman took it and shook, a surprisingly firm grip. “I’m pleased to meet you – you’re new here, yes? I’m Barbara Chesterfield – my brother, Charles, is the doctor. If you’ll forgive my forwardness, Mr. Cartwright, you sound like my home town.”

“Yes. I’m a teacher there, actually – I come here to help my brother out a couple of months out of the year.”

Ben felt himself relax. He couldn’t suppress a nostalgic glow at the sight of Miss Chesterfield – this was the sort of woman he was used to. Oh, he’d seen plenty of the other kind at port when he was a sailor – he wasn’t a naïve stripling, after all – but he missed the company of women of breeding and education. He studied Miss Chesterfield in her neat maroon skirt and crisply starched shirtwaist, ornamented only by a watch, and thought that he would have known her for a New England girl even if she hadn’t spoken. Liz would have approved of her. He wondered how on earth she kept her shirtwaist so white in this town where coal dust pervaded the very air. He had even given up sleeping with their one small window open when he’d discovered both he and Adam were waking up with a ring of black edging each nostril.

Dr. Chesterfield looked much like his sister – neatly kept brown hair and friendly brown eyes behind wire spectacles. He also shook Ben’s hand, though Ben thought he looked tired. Well, no wonder, if he was the only doctor around here. “Well, what have we here?”

Ben shrugged apologetically as he set Adam down on the table that filled most of the room. “Lillibelle thinks he’s getting his molars. I’m inclined to agree, but he’s so warm…” he glanced at Adam, who suddenly, he thought ruefully, had never looked more well. “Really, he was screaming his head off just a little while ago.”

The doctor chuckled. “Yes, they all do that – intentionally to aggravate their parents, I think. You know Lillibelle?”

The doctor nodded, not looking particularly shocked. “I had heard that Henry had a new bar man. Try to keep my fighting injury list short if you can, since the mine injury list is long enough, will you?” He smiled at Adam, who returned his gaze warily, and placed a gentle hand on his head. “Want to give me a look inside there?”

Adam politely offered him his drool-soaked handkerchief. Ben groaned inwardly, but Dr. Chesterfield thanked Adam and took it, handing it in turn to his sister. He kept his hold on Adam’s forehead and pulled down his jaw with his other hand. Adam’s uncertain eyes sought Ben’s, and Ben took one tiny hand in his fingers and ran his thumb over the knuckles reassuringly.

“Uh-huh…” the doctor let go of Adam’s jaw and smiled. “Lillibelle’s diagnosis would seem to be correct. All four at once, poor little fellow, but at least he’ll get it over with. I’ve got something you can rub on his gums that should help you both get some sleep. Barbara can take your information while I get it.”

Miss Chesterfield went over to a small cabinet and took out some papers. “Just a few questions while he mixes that up for you – can you write? Would you rather fill it out yourself?”

“Good,” she handed him the papers, watching as he began to fill them out in a neat, copperplate hand. “Most of my patients can’t. What on earth brings a man like you to Fernley?”

Ben dropped the pen and grabbed him. “No, Adam,” he said firmly. “Stay put until the

“I’ll bet I have something that will keep him occupied,” Miss Chesterfield went back to the small cabinet and returned with a faded cloth book. “Why don’t you look at this while you wait, Adam?”

“Yes, I see – be careful with it…” Ben watched for a minute to be sure he had settled back down, then returned to his paperwork.

Miss Chesterfield’s eyebrows pushed together. “California. Well…what a long way.” She glanced over at Adam. “Is his mother…?” She trailed off. Ben could almost watch her put together that he would not be living at the Griffin Tavern with his son if Adam’s mother was alive. “Then it’s just the two of you.”

“Yes.” The word came out as a hiss, and Ben noticed that he had left a blot on the form. Wordlessly, Miss Chesterfield handed him a blotter, and he applied it with more violence than was really necessary.

“Forgive me, Mr. Cartwright, but – you and Adam are both going all the way to California – just the two of you?”

“No, I suppose we’ll put in with a wagon train at some point. I understand that’s how it’s done.”

Ben set his jaw grimly. “You mean is he coming with me. The answer is “yes”.” God, he wished people would stop asking him that. What did they expect him to do with Adam – leave him at the side of the road like a stray cat and hope that a good family found him?

Ben's tone was polite even though the words weren't, and Miss Chesterfield surprised him with a smile. "Spoken like a true New Englander - no mincing of words."

Dr. Chesterfield re-entered, carrying a small, cobalt blue bottle. "I'll show you how to apply this - just rub it right on the gum when it's sore - I recommend before bed, too…" He slid his hand under Adam's chin, tilting his head away from the book in his lap. "What do you say, little friend - going to open up for me again?"

Ben nodded. "Go ahead, Adam - the doctor just wants to help you feel better."

Adam cautiously opened his mouth, and the doctor briskly inserted his finger all the way to the back gums and rubbed them vigorously. Adam choked and coughed, but if he was going to bite, the doctor was too fast for him - he pulled out his finger, and Adam was left shaking his head and trying to spit away the unpleasant taste of the medicine. When he didn't succeed, he gave the doctor an indignant glare.

Dr. Chesterfield laughed. "It's just as well that looks can't kill, little one." He put his hand back on Adam’s forehead, his smile fading some, then felt the back of his neck as well. "He really is warm. It's most likely just teething, but…does he tend to run high temperatures?"

"Yes. Well - they seem high to me. I can't pretend to be an expert. You think he's all right?"

"Oh, probably. I like to err a bit on the side of caution, though…do you have to get right back to work, or could he stay for a bit? I wouldn't mind keeping an eye on him for a little while, just to be sure."

"Well, it's early, I don't - but you must be very busy…I could bring him back if he seems worse."

"Oh, do stay," Miss Chesterfield coaxed. "The waiting room is actually empty for the moment, and I was just going to fix tea. I would love to have a fellow Bostonian to chat with, and, frankly, you look as though you could use a bit of a breather yourself."

"Go ahead," agreed Dr. Chesterfield pleasantly. "I have a new medical text I want to look at - we can read our books together."

Ben turned back to Adam to ask him how he would feel about being left alone with the doctor, then stopped. Adam’s eyes had drifted closed, and he was sound asleep on the table, still clutching the book. Ben rested a hand lightly on his head. “Well…I suppose it couldn’t hurt…”

“That’s right – let him get a little nap in – probably the best thing for him. Go on – I’ll come get you if he wakes up.”

“I always take it here, in case a patient shows up. They’re shy about coming to get me during meals, unless it’s a near amputation or something equally dire. Go on – I’ll enjoy reading my text without Barbara buzzing about, and it will be good to know that she has company for a change.”

“Yes, you can see how fortunate it is that my brother is a talented doctor, because he is clearly NOT a diplomat,” Miss Chesterfield retorted. Charles looked at her, and they laughed together.

Ben gave Adam’s head a pat and straightened. “All right – I’d enjoy that very much.”

Miss Chesterfield led him to a trim house next door with a bright, well kept kitchen and moved the kettle to one of the front stove covers. Ben watched, feeling suddenly vaguely sad. He’d missed these little civilities, he realized: the companionship of being part of a community and all the small rituals that entailed.

“Your brother seems like a good man,” he said at last, to break the ice.

“Oh, my, yes – a bit of a saint, really – that’s why I try to come here a couple of times a year. Like most saints, he’s impractical – I like to make sure he’s getting mended and laundered and fed properly.”

“Very. He visits a couple of the smaller mining towns once or twice a month, too. He provides a valuable service for them, but I can’t help feeling sometimes that it’s a shame – he could have had a practice anywhere he wanted.”

Ben smiled slightly. “I’m going to guess that you tell him that, too.”

She laughed, placing a teacup and a plate of scones in front of him. “You read me well.”

“That’s true. Never saw the point of it – waste of energy, if you ask me. Yes, I tell him he could have a practice anywhere, and he says, ‘And so I have, Barb – and so I have ’. How on earth do you reason with a man like that?”

"Well, you know how siblings are - no hiding of teeth among them. How do you like your tea?"

Ben thought about his own brother, John, and wondered if he agreed. Somehow they had never been very close, and now years had passed since they'd seen each other. "Oh!" he started, realizing Miss Chesterfield was waiting for an answer. "Cream, please, if you have it."

Miss Chesterfield poured cream from a can into a small pitcher and put it on the table next to the scones. The kettle began to rattle, and she emptied the water into the teapot. "So," she said conversationally, setting the pot on the table to steep and taking a seat. "Why California?"

"I don't know," Ben poured a dollop of cream over the fragile china cup. "It's a dream I've had for a while - a place where a man can work with the earth and build from the ground up. A place to spread out - set down roots and create something for future generations."

Ben watched her pour a steaming stream of amber liquid into his cup. "Miss Chesterfield, it's clear you have something you want to say to me. You're a plainspoken woman - why don't you just say it?"

Miss Chesterfield looked at the cloud of steam rising off of her tea and nodded. "Very well, then. Ben. I truly don't mean to pry…or perhaps I do; it does seem to be a habit of mine, but…it seems to me that caring for a small child alone is difficult enough - doing it without the support of friends or family of some kind, I can't imagine. And now you're saying you're going to continue to try to do it in what amounts to the wilderness - a daunting undertaking for a man who has only himself to worry about, never mind…I just have to wonder if you've really thought this through. It seems like…madness."

"I hope I haven't offended you - I just can't help wondering if you haven't considered other options."

"I promised Elizabeth - my wife, you see - that I wouldn't abandon my dream. The dream we had together. She made me promise…that I would still head west."

Ben felt as though there were a wire twisting in his heart. He hadn't really talked about this to anyone since…He ducked his head to take a sip of his tea. "She died giving birth to Adam - I'll never believe that she meant for me to leave him behind."

"No…" Miss Chesterfield spoke very carefully. "Of course, it's possible that she didn't mean for you to leave right then, either."

Ben looked at her quickly, looked away. Possibly not, but…how to explain? How could he explain to anyone his desperate need to quit Boston, where every sight and sound reminded him of Elizabeth - of all they had had together…of all he had lost? He had fled like a man pursued by demons - indeed he had felt like one - the demons of his past. "I saw no real reason to wait," he stammered at last.

Ben stared hard at her. "I hope you are not going to suggest me giving up my son."

"Of course not. Not - permanently, anyway." Ben's face grew set. "Mr. Cartwright - Ben. I was just thinking that, if you had family in Boston…"

He paused, reluctantly. "Her father. He's not young any more, though. Miss Chesterfield, what are you getting at?"

"I was just thinking…what if you left Adam in Boston and went ahead west yourself? You could stake your claim, get a start on building a home, get settled, then send for him. In the meantime, you'd know he had a good home and was well fed and well taken care of - even educated, depending on how long all that takes."

"Then surely this would be faster in the end? If you were traveling without Adam? If it's taken you nearly two years to make it from Boston to Pennsylvania, how many years will it take to make it to California?"

"It doesn't matter to you, you mean. What about Adam? No friends, never knowing where his next meal is coming from…no medical care if he needs it. I don't know if you've noticed, Ben, but he's underweight."

Miss Chesterfield sighed. "I'm not telling you what to do, Ben. I'm just saying you should consider your options."

He would forget me . Ben just stopped himself from saying it aloud. I'm his father.

He picked up the spoon to stir his tea. It evaded his grasp, clattering softly against the saucer. He let it lie there, staring at it.

Miss Chesterfield's voice softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you ought to consider it. For Adam's sake."

Ben shifted his eyes painfully back to her. Suddenly the tea didn't look the least bit appetizing. Suddenly talk of Boston held no charm. "I'd better get back to my son." He rose awkwardly to his feet.

He nodded briefly. "I do thank you, Miss Chesterfield, for everything. I - know your heart is in the right place." Miss Chesterfield rose with him, reluctantly. "No - I know my way back."

He made his way blindly out the neatly painted door and back toward the clinic. There were one or two patients in the waiting room now, and he nodded politely in their direction as he walked to the examining room.

Dr. Chesterfield looked up with a smile as he entered, a smile that changed quickly to a look of concern as he studied Ben's face. "Eh, dear - don't tell me. Has Barbara been managing again?"

"Your sister is very kind," Ben said distantly, resting his hand on Adam's shoulder and giving a little squeeze. "Come on, Adam - time to go home."

Barbara appeared behind him in a rustle of petticoats. "Ben. Forgive me if I intruded. I warned you I was a plainspoken woman…"

"Not at all." Ben helped Adam sit up and watched him blink about him, trying to orient himself.

Adam saw what he was still clutching and blinked at that. "Book," he stated drowsily.

"Perhaps Miss Chesterfield will let you look at it another time. Right now we have to go."

Adam rubbed absently at his cheek. "Book," he repeated more insistently, as if he didn't think Ben was getting the point.

Ben took a breath. "Adam, give the book back to Miss Chesterfield, please, and thank her - we're leaving."

Adam looked back at the book, then at Miss Chesterfield. He smiled a bright, angelic smile. "Book?" he wheedled ingenuously.

Miss Chesterfield smiled back. "He can borrow it, if you like. Bring it back tomorrow."

Ben shot her an exasperated look. "Very well…" he lifted Adam from the table.

"All right," Ben set him on his feet. "Don't forget to thank the doctor and Miss Chesterfield."

Miss Chesterfield ran a hand over his curls. "That's fine, Adam. Enjoy the book." And in a softer voice, to Ben, "I hope I haven't caused trouble again? He might just as well enjoy it."

"No, no…" Ben took another deep breath, trying to settle his tumultuous feelings. "I just don't want him going through life thinking he can get whatever he wants just by smiling."

"Yes, well…" Miss Chesterfield studied the small, upturned face and shrugged with rueful humor. "Maybe he can."

The town was bustling with life this time as Ben and Adam made their way back through it - housewives rushing to get laundry off the line before it was blackened with the ubiquitous coal dust, or sweeping their small porches or feeding their meager collection of stock. Up above the town, the Griffin Tavern remained silent and shuttered.

Ben steered Adam to the foot of the rough path leading up the slope and back to the inn, taking his hand. "It's a bit of a climb - might be better if I carry you."

Adam dragged his eyes away from the book he kept trying to peek in. "Doh. Walk."

Ben gave him a look. "All right - but at some point we're going to have a talk about this "no" business. I expect a little better manners and a little more obedience out of you, young man." Adam cocked his head at him and Ben wondered how much of what he'd said was understood. Adam's small legs toiled up the slope, and Ben was just admitting to himself that he was doing better than he'd expected when Adam suddenly stopped. "Ready for a lift?" Adam was crouched down staring intently at the ground. Ben tried not to sound impatient. "Adam."

Adam glanced up at him, then pointed. With a resigned sigh, Ben bent over and looked. A nest of fat ants building a hill. "Yes, I see - bugs."

"Adam, I'm sure they're terribly interesting, but we don't have time for this today. I'd like you to have some lunch and a nap before we go to work tonight and to tell the truth, I wouldn't mind a bit of a nap myself - so come along."

Adam straightened reluctantly, his eyes still on the ants. "Bugs," he told Ben, taking his hand again.

When they got to the tiny attic room, Ben sat him on their straw pallet and poured some water into the washbasin. Adam's little feet were black from the walk, and he wanted to clean them before they lay down. They needed to remain civilized, no matter what their circumstances were.

Adam opened the book in his lap and happily perused the faded cloth pages. "Buhd," he informed Ben, pointing.

Ben dunked a threadbare washrag in the basin and swished it around. "Mm hm. Bird."

Ben wrung out the rag and judiciously applied a thin sliver of soap. "Tree. I see."

Ben squatted down and picked up one soiled foot. "That's right, house." He scrubbed the diminutive sole and examined his work.

Ben smiled a little at Adam's exaggerated diphthong. "Yes. Cow. Very good." He wiped the soap from the clean foot and reached for the other one.

Ben was applying the cloth to the small toes, but his eyebrows jumped a little at that. He glanced at the picture. "Oh, no, Adam - " he said automatically. "I think that's the Mama."

"Mama?" Adam tilted his head questioningly at him and looked more closely at the page. He pointed to the figure in the picture. "Nuss?"

Ben felt his heart skip. If he could have snatched the words back, he would have. "The…" lying was an almost overwhelming temptation, but…he didn't like to make a habit of lying to Adam. Avoiding subjects was one thing, but…he had started this…"No. I don't think that's the nurse, Adam. I think that's the Mama. All families start with a Papa and a Mama, Adam…"

"Sometimes, though, the…" he cleared his throat, studying the foot closely as he dried it. "Mama…has to go away. She doesn't want to, of course, but…that's why we had a nurse, while you were a baby. For a while."

Adam's face gathered into a frown, and he bent over the picture, his nose almost touching. He looked at Ben as though he wasn't quite sure whether or not to believe him. He pointed. "Mama?" he asked tentatively.

"That's right." Ben took the book from his hand and closed it firmly. "Time to nap, now. Lie down."

Adam paused and for a minute Ben thought he was going to disobey - then he lay down and sucked thoughtfully on his three favorite fingers, his eyes following Ben over them.

Ben slipped his own shirt off. "Close your eyes. I'll join you in just a minute. That's a good boy." Ben pulled the thin blanket over Adam and adjusted the window shade to block out daylight. And tried to resist the urge to throw the goddamned book right out the window.

It seemed a long time later when Ben finally awoke. He sensed a change in the light in the room, heard the sounds of the tavern stirring, readying for tonight. He stretched without opening his eyes, felt automatically alongside on the pallet. The spot next to him was empty and no longer warm. His eyes popped open and he craned his neck about. "Adam?"

Ben massaged his eyes, trying to smother a yawn. Thank God. Good boy. He hadn't meant to sleep so long…

"Bugs," repeated Adam pleasantly, and Ben rolled over, trying to find the desire to get up.

"Yes, I know…we saw the bugs outside. There were a lot of them, weren't there?"

Ben pushed himself into sitting position and rubbed a hand through his hair to wake himself. "Let's get you dressed, shall we? And…" He stopped, frowning at the sight of Adam kneeling in the corner, his eyes glued to the floor. An unpleasant suspicion dawning, he rose slowly, reaching for one boot.

Adam looked up at him as he approached and pointed, clearly pleased to share his discovery. "Bugs!"

Ben made a face, scooping Adam up so that he dangled over one arm and bringing the boot down sharply with the other. Two more well-placed blows with the boot followed.

Adam studied his father's handiwork and wrinkled his nose at him. "Gone," he observed. "Squished."

"Yes," Ben concurred dryly. "Let's hope they don't have a lot of cousins and friends."

"That is my sincere hope." Ben straightened, settling Adam more comfortably on his arm, ruffling his hair affectionately and dropping a light kiss among the wayward curls. "Oh, Adam. Maybe it is time we moved on."

The thought remained with him as they made their way down the stairs a short while later. Adam had wanted to bring his book along, but Ben had convinced him that the Tavern was too dark to enjoy it and that he should leave it where it was "safe" anyway. He hoped Adam was too young to sense his discomfort.

"We can bring your blocks instead - you could build something nice for Papa - what do you think?" Abel had managed to send a bag of bright wooden blocks - red and blue and yellow, with letters carved in some of them - to them where they had wintered in New York. For Adam's second birthday, the note had read. Ben was touched by the trouble Abel took to stay a part of his grandson’s life. Adam loved the blocks and spread them out whenever there was room.

Adam rubbed his cheek. "Huhts," he decided, but more as an observation now than an expression of suffering.

The main room of the tavern was already filled with cigar smoke, not quite covering the savory smell of the stew that must be today's lunch.

Lillibelle seemed a little stiff and formal when she saw Ben, but she smiled warmly at Adam. "Well, you're lookin' better, heart breaker! How you feel? The doctor fix you up?"

"Yes, he gave him something that seemed to help." Adam screwed up his nose and made a face at the mention of the medicine. Ben looked at him reprovingly. "A simple answer will do, Adam. I'm sure Miss Lillibelle doesn't need a graphic display on how you feel about your medicine."

Lillibelle reached out and gave Adam's nose a tweak. "Never you mind - I feel the same way after I see him. He's a nice doctor, though, ain't he?"

"Did he now?" Lillibelle looked amused. "Well, he's a handy fella to have about, ain't he? That's one problem with the good weather - rain stops, bugs come out. Hey, Jake!" She raised her voice to a bellow, and her ten year old shadow appeared at her elbow. "Grab some kerosene when you got a minute, will you, and take it on up to Ben's room? Paint the corners - them bugs is back already. You two pull up a stool and eat - it won't last long with this crew."

Ben lifted Adam onto a stool and slid onto one next to him. They had missed breakfast, so the thin stew smelled good. He broke Adam's bread into small bits and reached for his own slice. He was just enjoying his third spoonful when he felt a small tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see Adam staring across the room to where Lillibelle was giving instructions to Jake. Ben raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Ben grimaced, following his gaze. "No, Adam,” he managed to sound normal enough, he thought “ - Lillibelle isn't a Mama. She's just a - a lady. Not all ladies are Mamas - just ladies with babies or big children." Adam rumpled his face, thinking. He moved his eyes to Jake and turned a questioning gaze to Ben. Ben sighed. "No, no - Lillibelle isn't Jake's Mama.”

Adam considered this, chewing on his spoon. “Mama go ‘way?” he asked at last.

Ben felt his face quiver, turned away hastily to pretend to take a mouthful of stew. “No, Adam,” he continued carefully, when he thought he could trust his voice, please, Adam, please – can’t we drop this subject…? “- you've seen Jake's Mama - she comes here sometimes to walk him home, remember?" Adam seemed to be thinking about this very hard. Ben gently turned him back to his bowl. "Eat your stew now - you missed breakfast, remember."

His hands rested on the sharp little shoulder blades as he turned him back around, and he remembered what Miss Chesterfield had said. Adam wasn't really underweight, was he? He tried to look at him the way a stranger would. He had had a recent growth spurt - he had had more baby roundness just a short while ago, then suddenly had sprouted long, skinny arms and legs, and his body hadn't seemed to have settled into it yet. But surely that was normal? Of course, he hadn't eaten well along the trail, but he seemed to be eating all right now. He sighed. It would be helpful if children came with instruction booklets. Or diagrams and charts. Both would be better.

He watched for a moment while Adam carefully ladled stew into his mouth - mostly with the spoon. "I'd like you to finish all of that, now."

"When you're done eating. And don't talk with your mouth full." Adam sighed gustily, and Ben dabbed automatically at his mouth. Waste of time, really. Might as well wait until he was done, then dip him in the horse trough. He swallowed a couple of spoonfuls of his own dinner and checked on Adam's progress. "Eat - don't play with it."

"No blocks until you eat more." Adam stuck his lip out. Ben took the spoon out of his fist and filled it. "Come on - two more spoonfuls." Adam swung his legs and studied the spoonful, then opened his mouth. "Good boy. One more. Then I want you to drink all your milk. We don't get much of that." A lot of the town people kept goats for milk, and Adam didn't seem to know the difference between it and cow's milk anyway. Adam resignedly accepted the next spoonful Ben offered.

"All right, all right - just see that you drink it." He watched Adam swallow the milk with surprising speed, then hop from the stool. "Adam - " Adam was already halfway across the room. He looked at the abandoned bowl and shook his head. Fine, fine…he'd just have to learn to live with being that terrible father with the underweight child…he'd finish his own, anyway - it tas ted good.

A ragged chord split the air, and he swiveled his head. " Adam!" He looked up in time to see Adam snatch his hand away from the piano keys and put it behind his back. Ben kneaded his forehead in exasperation, starting to his feet. "How many times do we have to go over this? Barney…"

Ben stopped, startled by an interruption from the laconic Barney. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard him open his mouth before.

"I was showin' him." Ben's brows twitched dubiously together, but Barney stood firm. "Thought I could show 'em a couple o' chords. Hell, Ben, he can't hurt anything."

Ben made a face at the expletive - he could imagine what Adam's new favorite word was going to be - and hesitated. And sighed. "As long as he's not in your way…"

"Heck, no, Ben - be doin' us all a favor if he could learn to play and relieve Barney of his duties," chuckled Blossom, who served as one of Henry's hostesses.

"You just never get tired o' the same joke, do ya?" Barney unperturbedly offered Adam a seat on his lap so he'd have a better reach of the keyboard.

Ben settled back down to finish eating, shaking his head. The piano rattled out sounds like it was being dragged in a wagon over a bumpy road, and he looked up again to watch. In spite of himself he smiled to see Adam trying to imitate Barney's key-slamming style and shook his head again at a particularly sour chord. Blossom and Barney had a point. Adam couldn't really make anything any worse.

"All right, son - that's enough. Time to go to work." Ben had let Adam play with Barney while he mopped up and set up the bar for the evening. Barney had shrugged off all his offers to take him off his hands, and he had to admit that things did go a lot more quickly and smoothly without Adam's inquisitive little person underfoot. But now the miners would be making their way home any minute, and their first stop would be the tavern. Some would go from there home to supper and families - some would stay to enjoy the - other - entertainments the tavern had to offer.

Adam gazed longingly at the piano keys, then at his father. Ben put his hands on his hips. "I meant 'now', Adam." Adam slid slowly from Barney's lap to the floor. "Thank Barney."

Adam looked at Ben as if he didn't understand anything. "Sank you," he parroted obediently.

Barney gave the curl in the middle of Adam's forehead a little tug. "Hey, that's fine - maybe by tomorrow we'll be playin' a duet."

Blossom grinned. "Lord, let's hope so. I was thinkin' you might want him to take over a couple of sets this evenin' - could make you a couple of pennies, Ben." Then, in answer to cold looks from both Ben and Barney, "All right, all right - only jokin'! Lordy, you men got no sense of humor!"

Ben took his place behind the bar, giving the top one last wipe and opening Adam's bag of blocks to get him set up for the evening. He rolled his eyes when he realized that Adam hadn't followed him. Really, that boy seemed bent on pushing him to his limits today. "Adam," he intoned firmly. Adam didn't answer right away but stood rooted to the floor, watching the door. Sending up a brief prayer for patience, Ben made his way back around the bar and took his hand firmly. "Adam, I called you."

Adam pulled his eyes away from the door and looked up at him. He whispered something, and Ben had to crouch down to hear.

Ben felt his heart somersault in his chest. He peered almost fearfully at the door, unreasonably afraid of what he might see.

Jake Rowley was sliding into his jacket, and Mrs. Rowley stood close by, chatting with Lillibelle. She bent over automatically and buttoned Jake's coat for him, still chatting, then put an arm around his shoulders to steer him out the door. Ben couldn't say exactly why the simple, normal little scene hurt him, but it did. Almost as painful was the realization that Adam had sensed from him that this was something to whisper about.

"Yes, Adam - that's Jake's Mama. You've seen her before." He started to stand up, longing to turn away, but Adam still had hold of his sleeve.

He was staring at the Rowleys in deep concentration, as if working out an important problem in his head. "Where Papa?" he asked at last.

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. Well, at least they could get away from the subject of Mamas. "Jake's Papa…went away," he explained patiently. "That's why Jake works here - to help out at home. His older brothers work in the mines. Sometimes Papas go away, too, you see." He waited for the inevitable next question, but it didn't come. In fact, Adam was so still that he looked at him more closely, a little alarmed. He looked pale, actually. Almost - stricken. "Are you all right, son?" He felt his forehead. Not really too warm. "Are your teeth hurting you?"

Adam shook his head and turned away from him. His fingers crept back into his mouth.

Ben watched him, troubled. He felt as though something was wrong, but couldn't put his finger on it. "Let's get to work then, shall we? You were going to build me something with your blocks." He took Adam's hand from his sleeve and held it to lead him to his spot behind the bar. Adam returned his grip so tightly that he glanced at him in surprise. He ran a hand lightly over the dark head. "Sure you feel all right?" Adam just stared back at him in that serious, intent way he sometimes had. Ben shook his head and gave him a gentle nudge forward. Sometimes he didn't understand this child of his. He wondered if it would get any easier as he got older…or just more complicated.

Ben found himself thinking it again as he lay on the straw pallet next to Adam, his arms folded under his head. It was very early in the morning, and he had once again had to break up a fight - they were becoming more and more frequent, the mood of the miners darker and more restless. Gone was the good-natured jibing of hard working men after a long day - instead there were grumbles and whispers and then raised voices. He couldn't quite figure out what it was about. He only caught snatches of conversation and he didn't understand mining well enough to really put them together.

"That tunnel was closed for a reason!" one had hissed to the other earlier this evening. "Working it is sure disaster."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he does for sure - he's way down the other end of the town, ain't he? What's it mean to him, except profit and loss? Miners are a dime a dozen - we're like so many rats to him."

"So, you'd rather we closed down for a while? Is that it? And what will your children eat then, hey?"

"Oh, aye - for a while, anyway…" was the sneering reply. "We've few choices, and our best bet is to keep working as long as we can and take our chances."

Ben had stepped in then, hearing the heated rise of voices, seeing the one miner push his stool back decidedly. The second miner shrugged at Ben and slapped his coin down on the bar then stood to leave, saying pointedly that he had to get some rest, since he had work tomorrow.

The other man had spat after him but made no move to follow. "I'll have another rum."

Ben had wordlessly refilled his tankard, wondering whether or not it was wise to broach a question. He didn't have to bother.

"Daft, they are." The man had gazed at him out of drink-bleary, tormented eyes. "If we stood together we'd have something, but, no - they're like so many sheep. Afeerd of change."

"Change is hard for many people," Ben had learned to keep his answers neutral.

"Oh, aye, for sure - especially for sheep. They treat us like so many sheep to slaughter, and so that's how we learn to act. It won't last forever, I'll tell you that - day'll come when someone decides to stand up and do som'thin' about it. Only hope I'm alive to see it. Minin's the devil's own work, and there's none that make a dime off it except those with clean hands."

The man gave a crack of mirthless laughter. "Oh, aye - not that we ever see much of it. Part goes to pay for the doctor. Part to the company store for our equipment, then for our household goods, then food. Man takes home but nothin' to put away fer tomorra, try though he might. Not even with all his sons workin', a man can't get ahead. Nor get away." He emptied his tankard in one big swallow, slamming it down on the bar for emphasis. "But day'll come. Men can't live like sheep ferever. Mark my words, friend - day'll come."

Ben couldn't quite understand the odd creeping feeling that left on his spine. As soon as he could, he had closed and cleaned up and gathered Adam up from his little nest of blankets on the floor and headed up to bed.

Time to sleep. He rolled over, trying to banish the memory and relax, adding up their small sum of savings in his head. Enough to make it to Ohio? Maybe he had something he could trade for a goat - it could eat grass along the road, and that would mean milk for Adam until they could get to another town…they could sell it or slaughter it for food once they got there.

He shifted restlessly onto his side. Watching his son sleep always seemed to settle his confused feelings - leave him with a sense of peace. To his surprise, Adam wasn't asleep, but was watching him with his eyes wide open. Ben couldn't read his expression in the dark. He reached out and stroked the velvety cheek.

"What's the matter, son?" he asked softly. "Can't sleep? Need your medicine?" He heard Adam sniff and reached for the small bottle and handkerchief he kept by the side of the pallet. Cutting teeth certainly seemed to keep Adam's nose running. "Here…" he held the handkerchief so Adam could blow his nose, then smeared some medicine onto his finger and liberally coated Adam's gums. Adam didn't fight him much, except to make a spitting sound when he was done.

Ben grinned. "Come here." He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, tucking the silky head under his chin. Adam wasn't always much of a cuddler, but this time he pressed himself against Ben's chest, curling into a tight little ball. Ben rubbed his back soothingly. "I think we'd both better get some sleep, hm? Lots to do tomorrow." He drew the threadbare blanket over them and buried his face in Adam's sweet-smelling hair, calmed by the sensation of the tiny heart fluttering against his own. He closed his eyes. He couldn't really speak for Adam, but for him, breathing in tandem gradually seemed to ease the tensions of the day, and he was soon deeply and peacefully asleep.

Throughout the next day Ben decided for certain - it was time to move on. Payday was in only a couple of days, and he would warn Henry that it would be his last. If one of the mine tunnels did close then there would be men scrabbling for his job, so he shouldn't be leaving anyone in a bad situation. He and Adam would strike out for Ohio. The atmosphere in the tavern was becoming more and more hostile - volatile - like a wound festering. He had no desire to be there when it finally erupted.

The miners had almost visibly divided into groups now - some sitting at the bar, some sitting around the tables, eyeing each other with dark suspicion. The tension hovered in the smoky air. Ben wished that they would all take their troubles home before something happened. He paused to glance over where Adam was busy with his blocks behind the bar, so he missed, at first, the entrance of the newcomer - was only vaguely aware of the burst of cold damp air from the open door and the shivering of the candle flames in the lamps at the quick breath of breeze. By the time he turned around, he was struck at how suddenly quiet the tavern had become.

A man he'd never seen before made his way to the bar. He was better dressed than the usual patron - cleaner shaven, better kept. He dropped a gold coin on the counter and cleared his throat. "I'll have an ale. Please."

Ben glanced at the man’s hands - noticed that, despite his well-groomed appearance, his hands bore the telltale coal stains of time spent in the mines. He allowed himself a quick glimpse of the stranger's face. The tavern light was subdued, but first glance didn't seem to indicate a miner's pallor. Ben poured a tankard of ale, trying not to stare. The man politely nodded his thanks for the drink and turned around to face the company of miners, taking a sip from his tankard. The miners seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

"I have been speaking with Mr. Clousser…" he began. Murmurs hissed around the room. He held up a hand to silence them. "I have expressed all of your concerns and fears, and we have talked about them at length - taken everything into account. Mr. Clousser has decided that the best course of action…" he paused to be sure he had their attention. The air shook with expectant silence. "Is to continue on. We will not be closing, even for a day - tunnel 26 will be reopened."

A roar went up from the room - part cheer, part howl of rage. The gentleman held up his hands again. "Please! We understand that some of you have concerns and why…"

Ben recognized the strident, raging tones of his customer of the previous evening.

The gentleman carefully put his ale down. "There are risks, of course, but mining always carries risks…"

"It's not risks!" Someone else hollered back. "We ain't afraid of risks - but that's madness! Jesus, Harry - you were one of us once - you know what we're talking about!"

"Oh, sit down and shut up!" came another voice from one of the tables. "We'll still be working won't we? Still be paid? The other tunnel’s played out - I say we got no choice. It's a risk we'll take."

"That's right," agreed another. "Them's what don't have the guts can pack up and move out."

"Oh, that's brilliant, that is - " retorted another. "Let them turn us against each other, will you? Together we might get the fairness that animals gets, but you bleedin' cowards - "

A chair shot across the room as someone jumped to his feet. "Who you callin' cowards?"

Ben saw what was coming and vaulted over the bar almost before he had time to think about it. The air was clogged with sounds - glass breaking, the thump of fists on flesh, the crack of splintering furniture, the clatter and tinkle of falling chandeliers. He ducked as a bottle flew by his ear, trying to yank two brawlers apart and throw them to their respective corners.

The stranger's voice rose above it all. "Enough! Enough! Are you all crazy? This won't help anything…" He might as well have been yelling at the wind. The pent up rage and fear and tension of the last few days had found an out and would not be stopped until it had spent itself. The best Ben could hope for was to keep property damage to a minimum, and that didn't look too promising either. He instinctively ducked another punch, returned it with one of his own that sent the miner into temporary dreamland. He heard the plaintive, tumbled voice of the piano and looked over his shoulder to see if Barney needed any help, just in time to watch a miner bounce off of the keys. Barney dusted off his hands and gave Ben a grin, the stub of his cigar still clenched in the corner of his teeth.

A thunderous boom split the air and the last remaining chandelier dropped unceremoniously from the ceiling to land with a clunk and a rattle of shattering glass. Henry looked mournfully from the shotgun he clutched, still smoking, in his hands, to the ruin of the chandelier. He glared at his stock-still patrons. "Go home," he said flatly, his eyes traveling about the broken tavern. "I have one barrel left, and I know how to use it. Go home and stop busting up my place or I'll have you all arrested. Then nobody will be working. Go. Now."

The miners shifted their feet, suddenly looking ashamed. Ben watched as they helped each other up, no matter who'd argued for which side, helped each other locate scattered possessions, dusted each other off. Touching their shabby hats to Lillibelle and Blossom, they shuffled toward the door. Ben shook his head. Just like sailors. He glanced around and shook his head again - and there would be a lot of clean up to do before this night was over - a lot to restore, if they were going to be open again tomorrow night. Opening and closing his bruised fists, he went to get his broom.

He was just reaching for it when he suddenly remembered Adam. He was being very quiet - the noise must have been terrifying for him. He forgot the broom and crossed behind the bar to the spot where he’d left him. Adam was still sitting in front of his blocks. Ben couldn't see him well now that they had lost the light of even the rustic chandeliers and were left with only scattered lanterns, but he wasn't crying and in what light there was he could make out the shine of his eyes. He crouched down in front of him, trying to get a better look. "Are you all right, son? Did the fight frighten you?"

Adam blinked at him. He seemed - startled, maybe. Confused. Ben reached down to scoop him up, mostly to reassure himself that he was fine. Adam shivered a little when he touched him and Ben kissed the top of his head. "It's all right now - it's all over. Well, you're wet, aren't you? No wonder you're cold…" With all those bottles and glasses spilling and breaking it was no wonder. "What is that you've got all over you? Rum, maybe? Seems too dark to be anything else…" It didn't smell much like rum, though; it seemed to have splashed and soaked his entire left side. Adam leaned heavily against him. "I'm going to clean you up a little, then Papa has to see to cleaning up the bar…what on earth is this stuff…?" He moved to the one small lamp burning behind the bar to get a better look, rubbing the thick liquid between his thumb and forefinger. Not beer or ale, certainly…he peered closely in the darkness, squinting to see clearly. Then froze. And turned and ran for the door as fast as his legs could carry him.

He half slid, half tumbled down the slope to the village, Adam limp and quiet in his arms. The clinic was dark and shuttered. He didn't even hesitate. He went directly to the small, trim house next door and hammered on the door with all his might. It swung inward almost immediately.

Barbara Chesterfield peered through the opening, an apron around her waist and a towel in her hands. "Why, Ben…"

She opened the door a little wider to get a better look. "Oh, God - Charles?" she turned to yell over her shoulder.

Charles was already on his feet, tossing down his napkin. "Next door," he said abruptly. "I have more equipment there, better light…" He pushed past Ben, groping through a ring of keys for the right one. He led them directly through the empty waiting room, and stopped outside of the examining room to unlock. He indicated the examining table with his head while moving around the room to crank up the lamps. "Where is he hurt?"

"I - I don't know…" Ben felt all the air suck out of his chest as he saw Adam in the light, blood soaking his shirt and overalls and streaking his face, his head resting listlessly against his father’s shoulder. "I - couldn't really see - the tavern was so dark - once I realized - I just came here as fast as…"

Ben could barely bring himself to put Adam down, as if holding him would somehow infuse him with all his own strength, but he carefully rested the little body on the table, keeping one hand on his head and the other on his right arm.

Dr. Chesterfield pulled out a pair of scissors and cut away Adam's torn and bloody left sleeve. "Well, think I've got it - " he said slowly, eyeing it closely. "Lot of blood, but otherwise doesn't look too bad - hold him still for me?" He picked up a pair of large tweezers and turned Adam's arm so that he could get a better look. Adam whimpered as he manipulated the arm and the doctor shifted his eyes to his face. "Adam, I'm going to have to hurt you for a bit, but I promise it will only make you feel better in the end, okay?"

Adam half-opened his eyes at him, then turned his head, searching. He saw Ben and pushed his three fingers into his mouth. Ben bent down so that his face was close to Adam's. "The doctor is just trying to help you, Adam. Can you be still for him for just a little bit? There's my big boy." Adam blinked slowly at him, then jerked suddenly. Ben heard something ping off of the wall of a metal basin and saw out of the corner of his eye Dr. Chesterfield putting down his tweezers and pressing white cloth against the wound. He swallowed when he saw the cloth quickly change to red and turned his eyes back to Adam. Adam tried to pull his arm away and Ben stroked his hair away from his brow, whispering soothingly. The little forehead felt so cold.

He half-noticed Dr. Chesterfield tossing the cloth away and reaching for a new one. "How long ago did this happen?"

Ben felt himself flush with shame. "I'm - not sure exactly…there was a brawl…glass was flying everywhere - was it glass?"

Dr. Chesterfield nodded. "At least the liquor sterilized it. Looks like we aren't going to get away without stitches. Can you keep him still? I think this is the worst of it, but I want to look him over and make sure I haven't missed any others."

Ben nodded dully. He placed a hand in the middle of Adam's chest to keep him quiet. Adam half opened his eyes again, looked at him, and let them drop closed. Ben rubbed his thumb over Adam's forehead, trying to warm it. "The doctor is going to hurt you some, Adam," he said as calmly as he could manage. "but it won't last long, I promise. He's just trying to make you better. Then I'm going to put you to bed, and you can sleep as long as you want. What do you think of that? Or you can have all the stories you want. You just let me know. Whatever you say…just let the doctor take care of you for now, okay?" He kept on rambling to Adam, mindlessly, really - as much to distract himself as to distract his little boy, trying not to see the bright flash of needle as the doctor focused on his close work. Adam trembled, but he didn't make a sound. Ben continued to stroke his forehead, wishing there was more that he could do, that both of his own arms could be amputated instead.

"Almost done." Dr. Chesterfield picked up a glass jar of salve and a roll of bandages. "Just let me bandage and then we'll see if there's any other damage." He cut away the rest of the shirt and wrapped a clean white bandage around the tiny arm, checking the chest and shoulder for any further wounds. "I THINK that's it - can you sit him up? I don't think he can manage on his own - that's a lot of blood for someone his size."

Ben sat him up and then leaned on the table next to him so that Adam could rest against him. Dr. Chesterfield slid his hand under Adam's chin and lifted his head. "Adam? Can you open your eyes for me?" He studied the eyes closely, first one, then the other, and reached for a spoon. "I'm going to give you something for the pain, now." He glanced at Ben. "He's probably in shock now, but it will hurt later. You have to get a lot of fluids down him - water, milk, broth - anything you can. He needs to put some blood back. Keep him warm and still. The hardest part will be keeping the wound clean - I want you to change the bandages twice a day, morning and evening - and keep all the coal dust out that you can. If you see anything like infection, or if it starts bleeding again, bring him back right away." He saw Ben's face and smiled encouragingly. "I know it's frightening, but I think he'll be fine. Probably won't even have a scar. And if he does - well - at least he'll have a story to go with it. About his first bar brawl."

The doctor looked like he wanted to say something, then changed his mind. "I'll get you a blanket you can borrow - it will keep him warm while you take him back." He disappeared back into his supply room and returned with a fleecy blanket, which he cocooned around Adam. He hefted him into his arms and handed him to Ben. "You were a very good boy, Adam - get some rest now. And no more brawls for you for a while." Adam buried his face sleepily in Ben's neck. Ben held him as closely as he could without risking hurting him.

"Ben…" Dr. Chesterfield hesitated, then took off his glasses and polished them carefully on his vest. "My sister…is a good woman. She means well." He perched his glasses precisely back on his nose. "But - she's not always right. She thinks she is, of course…" he smiled.

Ben nodded tiredly. "Thank you, doctor. For everything. I'm sorry to pull you away from your dinner."

Dr. Chesterfield clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder and guided him out of the clinic.

Barbara was waiting for them just between the clinic and the doctor's house. "How is he?" she demanded anxiously, trying to get a peek of Adam in the voluminous blanket.

"Oh, he'll be all right…" Dr. Chesterfield handed Ben a wrapped package. "If he's in a lot of pain, give him a spoonful. Remember - clean and warm."

"Ben…" Barbara hugged her arms around herself, watching Ben snuggle Adam closer. She dropped her head for a minute, then met Ben's eyes directly. "I'm going back to Boston on Wednesday."

Ben did think about it - all the way back up the slope to the tavern whose windows flickered with only a fraction of their usual brightness. He thought about everything Barbara had said and everything Lillibelle had said and about how small and white and defenseless Adam had looked on the doctor's table. He thought about what he had been trying to push out of his mind ever since the doctor found that chunk of glass - how easily it could have been elsewhere…Adam's eye or his chest or his forehead. He hissed as if hurt and wrapped his arms more tightly around the blanketed bundle, as if crushing Adam close would somehow make him a part of himself and keep him safe from everything forever. If only it were that simple. He reached the door to the tavern and paused, half wishing he never had to go inside again. But their small bag of possessions was in there, and shelter for the night and his pay for the week, and it was foolish to blame a building for what had happened. After a moment, he lifted the latch and entered.

Lillibelle was sweeping up the last of the glass and smashed crockery and broken chair legs. She stopped and leaned on the broom, watching as he entered and glanced around.

Everyone else seemed to have gone to bed. The tables had been righted, the broken chairs piled in one corner to be repaired or turned into kindling, and the last of the debris was in a heap in front of Lillibelle's broom. It was remarkable how quickly a semblance of order had been restored, but then, he reminded himself, this probably wasn't the first time for them.

Lillibelle studied him. "Chair?" she said at last. "I think that one there's pretty much still whole."

Ben suddenly found his knees shaking under him. He dropped into the chair with more speed than grace. "I'm - sorry," he said at last. "To have run off like that without helping. I - had to - I had - " He thought for one, awful, humiliating moment that he might cry, so he closed his mouth abruptly and bit down on his lip, hard.

"Don't matter," answered Lillibelle easily. "We managed. Gonna tell me why?"

Ben lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. "Adam was - um - injured. He was - bleeding - quite badly. I didn't - I…"

Lillibelle nodded casually. If she noticed he was unraveling then she gave no sign. "Figgered it was somethin' like that. He doin' okay? Doc fix him up?"

"Yes…" He cleared his throat again and tried to speak with more authority. "The doctor - um - took stitches. He seems - he seems to have stopped…"

"Well, that's fine." Lillibelle swept her pile of rubbish into the dustbin and plunked it outside the door. "Need anything for him?"

Ben tried to thaw his frozen brain enough to remember the doctor's recommendations. "Um…liquids? Water and milk and broth…"

"I'm pretty sure we got somethin' like that around here." She glanced at the woolly wrapping that hid Adam but didn't come any closer. "I could probably leave some broth on the back of the stove for the night. That way you could just fetch it as you need it."

Ben felt those annoying tears pricking at his eyes again. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

"Oh, well, it ain't like it's a lot of trouble." She put the broom back in its corner and wiped her hands on her skirt. "I'll go get it started. You put him down. Looks like a little lay-down wouldn't hurt you any either."

Ben nodded vaguely, but she had already left. He forced himself heavily to his feet, glanced up the seemingly insurmountable stairs. Adam stirred, and Ben hugged him even closer to his chest, closing his eyes for a moment. The hurt and fear of loss swirled through him. He lifted a foot and began the long, lonely climb to their attic room. What had he been thinking? Why had this seemed to make sense to him? Each step seemed to reproach him, to mock him with his failings. Barbara had said that Adam belonged somewhere safe and consistent and clean and stable - steady meals, the same bed every night, the same faces every day.

He bent to enter the low attic door and set Adam down on the pallet. Even now, it took all his strength to wrench him out of his arms, and he stayed kneeling on the floor beside him, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Adam lifted his lashes and looked at him. His eyes seemed a little unfocused - the way they did right after he woke from a nap - and Ben smiled at him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly. "Any better? You know, Adam, you were a very brave soldier. Papa's very proud of you."

Ben tucked the flimsy blanket over the wool one the doctor had lent them and bent to kiss him good night. His scalp felt hot and moist now. He hoped it wasn't a bad sign. Adam was asleep before he could even tell him good night.

He sat for a long time with his hand resting on Adam's chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily under his palm.

No, Dr. Chesterfield, he thought tiredly, Barbara probably isn't right all of the time. But she probably isn't wrong all of the time, either.

Adam paused his squirming and looked at Ben. "Itzs," he explained plaintively, wrinkling his nose.

"It - ? Oh. Yes, well, that's the stitches. The doctor will take them out in a week or so, and then it won't itch any more." Ben set the soiled bandage aside and reached for the salve.

"Not this minute. Let me finish my work here. You know how this goes, Adam - just sit still and it will be over much faster." Ben rubbed the oily salve carefully into the cut.

"Yes, I know it stings." Ben studied the stitched gash closely. The cut looked a little red and swollen, but not too bad. Adam was healing quickly. Ben wished that he could do the same.

He had been determined to stay upstairs and look after Adam the whole day after the accident, money or no, but except for his scheduled administrations of broth or milk, Adam had slept heavily, and as Lillibelle had pointed out, he could watch him sleep as easily behind the bar as he could up here.

He had reluctantly admitted that this made sense and created a makeshift bed out of an empty crate and some blankets and tucked Adam into it behind the bar. He had looked at it for a while, and then added a low table over it as a sort of roof. Now, he thought, if any stray glasses or mugs came Adam's way he would have some protection.

An hour later it occurred to him that the small lamp burning behind the bar could easily start a fire if left untended, and he moved the alcohol and rags away from it and placed a glass of water handy - just in case. It was another two hours before he noticed how sharp the breeze was that blew in every time the door opened. Well, he couldn't keep that closed - patrons had to come and go - but he took his jacket and tucked it over Adam and his blanket. By halfway through the evening he was exhausted - jumping at every sound, trying to anticipate every possible threat to Adam's well being. He looked around the bar with new eyes. Why hadn't he noticed before how dangerous it was? Drunken men, rolling and flying bottles and tankards and shot glasses - there were a dozen different things that could hurt his son. A terrible place to keep a child. That night he sat up again by Adam - thinking.

But the morning had brought him no further clarity - nor had the next. This was the day he had planned to leave - payday - but now he wasn't so sure. He didn't want Adam too far away from a doctor when time came for the stitches to come out, and the thought of trying to take them out himself turned his knees to water. So maybe they should stay - just a little while longer.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down at the upturned face. "Yes, son?"

"Hm?" Ben looked at the bandage. Well, no wonder, with his mind wandering he'd tied it too tight - it was a miracle if the arm was getting any circulation at all. He untied the knot and tried again. "Better?"

Ben hesitated. "Adam - what would you think of playing up here tonight while Papa works?"

"You could have fun up here. You have your blocks…" He had found the blocks sitting on the bar the morning after the brawl, washed clean of blood. Lillibelle, most likely. He needed to thank her.

"Yes, well, I know - but I'm not sure you should be bothering Barney anyway…" he frowned a little, picturing the long lengths of stairs in his mind's eye and Adam suddenly deciding to navigate them on his own while Ben worked below, unknowing. "All right," he agreed reluctantly. "I suppose it's for the best. But you stay close to Papa, you understand?"

Ben tidied up his medicines, carefully returning the remaining bandages to the muslin bag and counting them, calculating how many he had left until he needed to make another trip to the doctor. A couple of days. Yes, they should probably stay until Adam's stitches came out - no point in taking chances. He straightened, dusting off his knees. "Now…" Adam deftly worked the latch and slipped out the door. "ADAM!" Ben was across the small room in one stride, very nearly cracking his head on the low ceiling. He fixed Adam with a stern look. "I told you to wait for me."

Adam twisted his hands in the bib of his overalls. "'Nano," he offered in a small voice.

"Well, no piano if you don't obey me. Now, what's our rule for going down the stairs?" Adam meekly lifted up his hand. "Much better. Good boy. Now, we never run on the stairs - we take our time…" Ben took his hand and stepped down the first step. Adam followed with his shorter stride.

Despite the stern tone of the words, deep inside Ben wondered if there was really any better feeling in the world than having your child's hand wrapped in your own.

The mood in the tavern these days was one of increasing surliness and barely suppressed rage. The miners would enter after a long day, shaking off the coal dust and glowering at each other, muttering dark phrases. Ben kept a rifle behind the bar now, and Barney one next to the piano. It seemed a better reason than ever to get out of here just as soon as Adam had his stitches out - Ben couldn't even think about what it might mean if gun play started in this tight box of a room. He had lost interest in trying to determine what the discontent and disagreement was about - he just wanted to shake the coal dust of Fernley from his feet and be on his way to Ohio. A little voice inside whispered to him that he had no reason to suppose that things would be any better or safer in Ohio. The little voice sounded suspiciously like Barbara Chesterfield. He pushed it down ruthlessly.

Ohio would be better. He'd have a clearer idea what to expect. He'd stick to the cities - travel by river, maybe - he'd heard about the Ohio River. And he felt at home on the water. All he really needed was to find better work - be a little bit ahead financially - to make up some of the money it had cost to settle Mrs. Callahan comfortably on her trip to Philadelphia. Not that he begrudged her a penny - it just took a long time to regain ground, that was all. He smiled grimly. The miners' complaint exactly. He was so distracted by his plans that he hardly noticed last call, or the last of the stragglers being good-naturedly shooed out the door by Lillibelle. He scooped up the final payments from the counter, figuring it absent-mindedly in his brain. Good. Not much to clean up tonight - he could put Adam to bed and grab some sleep himself. He glanced down to see if Adam had dozed off yet. No, he was sitting in front of his blocks, lethargically moving them around. Ben knelt down to get a better look. "Tired, hm? I told you to take it easy - that cut is going to leave you tired for a while to come."

"Well, let's take a look…" Ben lifted him onto his knee and frowned. He looked at him more closely and touched a hand to his face. "Well, you're very warm - have you been playing hard?"

Adam shook his head. To Ben's surprise, he sagged against him and closed his eyes.

"Hm," Ben picked at the knot in the bandage. He felt a funny frisson tickle his spine. "How about your teeth? Are they bothering you?" Please, let it be your teeth …

Adam shook his head without opening his eyes. The knot gave way under Ben's fingers, and he unwound the bandage carefully. He could see the discolored matter staining the cloth before he even got to the gash. He stared at the cut for a few minutes, trying to rally his welter of feelings. After a second, he carefully rewrapped the arm and gave Adam a little squeeze. "I'll tell you what," he said carefully. "Before we head up to bed, how about we a pay a little visit to your friend Dr. Chesterfield?"

“Don’t look so guilty, Ben – it’s not that bad and it was almost unavoidable, really. That coal dust is pervasive – just ask the women trying to keep their houses clean.”

Ben frowned, looking not at all comforted. Adam eyed Dr. Chesterfield dubiously, then turned questioning eyes to Ben. Ben patted his knee. “What do you need to do?”

Dr. Chesterfield smiled reassuringly at Adam and stood to rummage through a cabinet with row upon row of drawers. “I’ll lance it and drain the stuff out – give you something to soak it with. Should clear up in a couple of days.”

Ben’s frown deepened and he lowered his voice. “Lance it. You mean – cut him?”

Dr. Chesterfield found what he wanted and unrolled a towel on a small table nearby. “That’s right.”

“But – “ Ben glanced at Adam, then back at the doctor, appalled. “He’s – just a baby!”

Adam ceased his intent study of his feet at the unusual tone in his father’s voice and cocked his head at him. Ben mustered what he hoped was a comforting smile. From Adam’s curious stare he deduced it wasn’t very convincing.

"Better out than in, Ben. Can you hold him still and distract him for me? There's some books and toys and things in that cupboard over there."

Ben hesitated, then rose reluctantly and went to the cupboard. He chose a new cloth book and handed it to Adam, watching the doctor almost as uneasily as Adam was.

Dr. Chesterfield glanced at him as he arranged his materials. “You know, Ben,” he said casually, “If you’re scared, then he will be, too.”

Ben shrugged apologetically. He tried to swallow down the roiling in his stomach and sat down on the table next to Adam and pulled him onto his lap. Adam leaned gratefully into him, his eyes dropping half-closed. Ben helped him turn a page, brushing against his hot little hand. He wished it were even a little cooler. “Look, Adam – " he hoped he sounded more normal than he felt. "What’s this here?”

Adam blinked drowsily at the picture and tucked his fingers into his mouth. “S’eeps,” he mumbled around them.

Adam opened his eyes a little further and used his free hand to point to first one sheep and then another and another.

Ben nodded. “I know it doesn’t sound like it makes sense, but we say sheep for one or for many sheep.”

Adam looked at him as if he was trying to decide whether or not he was making it up, then pointed experimentally at the next page. “Pig?”

Adam took his fingers out of his mouth as if to ask another question about this curious phenomenon, then let out a yelp of surprise. He turned to gaze reproachfully at Dr. Chesterfield. Dr. Chesterfield dodged his look and kept his grip on Adam's left arm, setting aside the sharp knife to push on the wound, squeezing out the poison. Adam’s startled yelp rose to a roar.

He kicked and squirmed against Ben's grip, the book dropping from his hands to flop, unheeded, to the floor. Ben caught one glimpse of his face and closed his own eyes and hung on, trying to keep him as still as possible, murmuring a steady cadence of mindless platitudes in Adam’s ear, hoping to be heard over his wails of distress and wishing he could close his ears as well as his eyes to block out that sound that was wringing his heart raw.

Dr. Chesterfield continued calmly, inspecting his work thoroughly and callously finishing with a scrub of a solution of something or other that made Adam quiver in Ben's arms. Adam’s cries lost heart and gave way to a ragged sobbing, his face buried in Ben’s shirt. Ben rested his forehead on the top of the hot, damp scalp and wished that it would just be over.

“There you are,” Ben glanced up as Dr. Chesterfield deftly tied a fresh, white bandage over the wound. He peered at both of them. “We’ll finish off with a little whiskey and water, I think.”

Ben straightened his sagging spine at that and bristled. “Whiskey! Is this some sort of frontier medicine? Why is it that everyone keeps trying to dose my son with whiskey?”

Dr. Chesterfield’s eyes twinkled discreetly from behind his spectacles. “The water was for Adam, Ben. I was thinking of the whiskey for you. You look like you could use a shot.”

Ben rocked Adam as he waited for the doctor to return. Adam wasn't crying any longer, but his breath stuttered in shuddering gasps that made Ben want to cry himself.

Dr. Chesterfield came back with a shot of whiskey in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He handed the whiskey to Ben and touched Adam's shoulder to offer him the water. Adam shook his hand off and buried his face deeper in Ben's shirt.

Ben tried to peel him away from his chest. "Adam, Adam," he chided gently. "Dr. Chesterfield is only trying to help you."

Ben threw back his whiskey and put the glass down. His eyes widened for a minute as the liquid exploded throughout his chest, then he took Adam by the shoulders and tried to position him to get a look at his face. Adam ducked his head. Ben shot Dr. Chesterfield a weak smile. "He gets - stubborn, sometimes…Adam, I want you to have a drink of water for me. Come on - you're hot - you must be thirsty."

Dr. Chesterfield perched on the edge of the table and looked amused. "Well, I can't say that I blame him. Every time I come near him, he gets manhandled. There's a little hartshorn in the water - I don't like to dose much when they're that size, but I thought a little bit might help you both sleep. You both look like you could use it."

Ben reached for the glass, trying to lift Adam's chin with his other hand. "You do, too. Sorry to get you out of bed."

"Ah, well. If I'd wanted to keep regular hours I would have chosen another profession." He watched as Ben managed to maneuver the glass to Adam's mouth. Adam peeped at him over the brim with wet and tragic eyes. Dr. Chesterfield smiled. "What do you think, Adam? Think you can forgive me?"

Adam swallowed water. "Doh," he mumbled crossly, turning his face back into the refuge of Ben's shirt.

Dr. Chesterfield chuckled, but Ben frowned. "Now, Adam - that's no way to behave. Thank the doctor for helping you." Adam shook his head obstinately, keeping his face hidden. Ben sighed. "He'll probably be a little more grateful tomorrow…drink a little more water for me, then…"

"Don't worry about it. I'm going to give you a poultice to put on it - should draw out anything I didn't get. Doesn't look like it had gotten much of a hold - good thing you didn't wait to bring him in. Sometimes by the time I see these things they've been subjected to all manner of home remedies that do more harm than good and have all but putrefied. Keep it as clean as you can. If it gets worse, come back and we'll lance it again."

"Again!" Ben almost lost his grip on the glass he was putting aside. Adam stirred at the sound, but his lids were drooping. Ben lowered his voice. "You mean we might have to go through this again?"

Dr. Chesterfield shrugged. "Coal dust didn't disappear, Ben. It's still in the air."

Ben set down the glass and glanced at Adam, all but asleep now, his good hand tightly entwined in the front of Ben's shirt. He draped an arm protectively over him. "It's in the air here," he answered grimly. "Here."

Ben heard the straw that stuffed the pallet squeak under him as he turned over for the third time. His back ached with tiredness, but sleep seemed far away. Adam, on the other hand, slept soundly next to him, twisted into a fetal position as though protecting himself against further attacks. Ben smiled a little and rubbed him lightly between the shoulder blades, his brain fussing at the tangled knot of his thoughts.

When Elizabeth had died he had thought that his life was completely thrown out of kilter, altered forever - and it had been. What he hadn't realized at the time was how much having Adam had changed his life, too.

During Elizabeth's pregnancy he had looked forward to fatherhood in a vague, theoretical sort of way - had had some indistinct visions of Elizabeth bringing him a neatly dressed little boy (for Elizabeth had been insistent that it was a boy) to kiss good night, of teaching the child some things, perhaps, while the he sat decorously still - extolling him, maybe, with stories about the sea. In his imagination, it had all been very tidy and remote and manageable - a pleasant addition to a happy life. The reality was shockingly different. Much more complicated. More frightening. More daunting. He moved a little closer to Adam and stretched out behind him. More…wonderful.

There was a difference between being a father to some imaginary child and being a father to Adam - his child - a separate being with heart and feelings and personality and ideas of his own. He chuckled in the dark. Very definite ideas of his own. If what he was like at two was any indication, then God help them both as he got older. He curled a hand protectively over Adam's abdomen.

Yes, fatherhood had changed everything. What he should do. How he should do it. What really mattered. It had honed things, in a way, to utter simplicity: Adam mattered. Everything else was secondary. What was best for him was what was important. Now, if only he could be sure what that was.

Adam frowned in his sleep and made a small noise, and Ben slid the hand up to rest it on his head instead. Adam settled back into sleep. Ben dropped his own head back to the pallet and sighed through his nose. He was kidding himself, of course. Traveling as he was placed his child in harm's way - vulnerable to the elements, accidents, hunger - to the fickle hand of chance. What he hadn't understood when he'd left Boston was now far too clear for comfort: deciding to take on the hardships of the journey himself was one thing - deciding to let Adam take them on was quite another. Did he even have a right to do that? If a safer alternative existed, didn't he have a responsibility to take it?

He ran his hand over Adam's hair, trying not to think about what that would mean. Then he spotted the bandage, like a bright white flag in the darkness, and his heart twisted within him.

It could have been so much worse. He had been lucky - he had been given another chance. He pushed himself onto his elbow and tried to feel lucky. He studied what he could see of Adam's face in the gloom, memorizing it - fixing it in his mind. It had only been part of his life for two years, and yet he couldn't imagine a day without that face.

He sat up slowly. He didn't have to decide this minute. Tomorrow was Tuesday - Barbara wouldn't be leaving until the following morning. He could write a note, just in case…have it ready. Henry had pen and paper downstairs…he wouldn't mind if he borrowed them. He would check his funds - maybe ask around - see if anyone knew anything about Ohio. Then he would choose. He would decide.

Careful not to disturb Adam, he slipped out from under the blanket. Something scuttled across his foot in the dark, and he jumped, swearing softly but potently. Hopping on one foot, he grabbed a handy boot and smashed it against the floor. Adam stirred and turned over, but didn't wake. Ben brought the boot down two more times, quietly but decisively, tracking the tiny movements across the floor in the dusky room and putting a period to them. He stood a moment, staring at the crushed remains, then straightened slowly. He'd ask Lillibelle for more kerosene. He glanced over at Adam and rubbed wearily at a painful spot between his brows. Good God. Suddenly heavy hearted, he made his way down the creaking staircase.

Henry's desk sat in an alcove just off the stairs, bright in a shaft of moonlight from a nearby window. Ben found a neat stack of writing paper and a well-sharpened pen and uncapped the ink well. He stared at the paper, as if writing on it would bind him to something irrevocably. His mind drifted unbidden to his son's cries of pain in the doctor's office, the cold, rain-sodden trail, the scant provisions, the dead vermin upstairs on the bedroom floor. The painful spot between his eyes grew more intense, and he dropped his head into his hands and rubbed it again, vigorously.

The next day passed like a dream for Ben - everything seemed momentous and far away at the same time. He went through the motions of his plan deliberately and efficiently, barely noting what he did as he did it. He counted his money. Asked someone to talk to MacNamara for him. Sent a note round to Barbara. Folded and sealed his letter to Abel. He felt as though he were sealing off something else - his future, maybe. Once again his life was going to change.

He watched Adam as though he had never seen him before, trying to store every gesture, every expression, for the days ahead. Adam had woken surprisingly bright with only the slightest hint of a temperature, but he had soon become quiet and pensive, his spirits damped by his father's unusual mood. Ben would look up to find him watching him with that serious, intent expression of his. He reached out automatically to touch his forehead. "Are you feeling all right, son? Arm hurting you?" Adam had answered with a shrug. Ben wondered briefly where he had learned that.

By the time night came they were both tired and quiet, the atmosphere like a small grey cloud that hovered over both of them. Ben thought Adam's cut still looked clean when he wrapped it for the night, but he put a little hartshorn in his water anyway to help him sleep. He barely even admitted to himself why - he simply sat by the pallet, stroking Adam's hair wordlessly and trying to keep his mind a blank. A cold, jagged rock seemed to be lodged in the middle of his chest.

When Adam appeared to be deeply settled into sleep, he lifted him gently into his arms, trying to manage a deep breath around the rock. Adam turned his face as he sometimes did so that it was hidden in Ben's shirt, and Ben smiled slightly, despite the pain in his chest.

It's going to be all right, Adam, I promise…he thought silently. You'll love Boston - there's so much for you to see there. Lots of huge buildings, just like you build with your blocks, more books than you can imagine. Streets full of people, all kinds of pianos…other instruments, too. Just wait until you see. He ducked out of the attic and started down the dimly lit stairs. And your grandfather. Your grandfather will just love you, Adam. He'll find some nice woman to take care of you - the way you should be taken care of. The way you deserve to be taken care of. He shifted Adam to one arm so that he could unlatch the tavern door. Adam stirred, curling a hand in Ben's shirt but not waking. Ben held him tighter for a moment, trying to breathe. And while you're seeing Boston, I'll be building a home for us. I'm going to find some land and build it just as fast as I can - very fast, I promise. And then I'll send for you, or come back for you - either way, we'll be together again - just as soon as I can give you a home. A real home, not some battered old tavern along the trail. It won't be long, Adam, I promise…I'm going to build us a home so fast…and then we'll be together again. In the meantime, you'll be growing tall and strong…

He reached the door to the Chesterfields and knocked. The door swung inward nearly immediately. Barbara stood there with the lantern light spilling out from behind her. She opened her mouth, but something in Ben's face must have silenced her, for she closed it again and simply held out her arms instead. For a moment Ben balked…what on earth was he doing? Then he clenched his teeth and held out two envelopes.

Barbara glanced at them, hesitated. "Oh, Ben," she whispered, "I don't need your money…" Ben continued to proffer them silently, and after a minute she acquiesced. She gazed at the envelopes, then back at his face. "I'll send word as soon as we get there…"

Ben stared at her, suddenly torn. He looked back down at Adam, warm and heavy against his chest, and for a second he was sure he couldn't go through with it. Not even for Adam's sake. Not for anything. Barbara reached to take Adam, and Ben had a wild thought of clutching Adam tightly and running away - far and fast. He stroked the dark head again, trying to remember all the reasons why this was the right thing - the only thing - to do. He let Barbara lift Adam from him, leaving his arms suddenly light and empty. Adam's hand remained entangled in his shirt, and he used his fingers to pry it, very gently, loose, then dropped his vacant arms to his sides. Barbara opened her mouth to say something again, but Ben turned his back and walked away. He would not look. He would not see. He could survive this thing if only he didn’t have to see.

He heard the door shut behind him, snuffing the small light cast by the lantern, leaving the night suddenly dark and cold. He closed his eyes for a second then started his way back up the slope, still not thinking, still not daring to feel. He was almost back at the tavern before he noticed the words, like a small prayer, that had been running over and over inside his head ever since that door had shut behind him…he leaned against the tavern for a moment and whispered them aloud.

Sorting and loading coal required no tools and no skills other than a strong back. It was hot, dirty, tedious and soulless work in crowded, airless conditions; the atmosphere cluttered with noise and black coal dust. It held no promise for the future and offered no joy and scant satisfaction. Ben found that it suited his mood perfectly.

He had started his new job - new life, really - with a vengeance that morning, not long after he had turned Adam over to Barbara Chesterfield. He had barely slept the remainder of the night - the emptiness of the small attic room seemed to mock and jab at him, allowing him no rest. A thousand tumbled images danced before his eyes - a pale but smiling Elizabeth, proudly showing him their son shortly after his birth; Adam's first, faltering steps; that terrifying day when Mrs. Callahan had gone on to Philadelphia and Adam had become solely his responsibility. And now Adam was gone. How could such a small person leave such a gaping hole in his heart?

He's not gone forever , he scolded himself. It's just temporary. Necessary. But "temporary" was so meaningless when you were two years old. What had Adam thought when he had woken up to find, not his father, but Miss Chesterfield? Had he been angry? Confused? Perhaps it would have been better to wait until morning and try to explain…but there was really no way to make Adam understand at this age, and he had dreaded a heart-rending scene - both from Adam and from himself. No, he was sure he could not have gone through with it with Adam crying or clinging to him. He smiled bitterly. Or with him clinging to Adam. He sorted through the stack of jagged black lumps viciously.

It wasn't forever . He needed to keep remembering that. They would be reunited and soon, too, if he kept his head about him and his back to his work. Of course…Adam probably wouldn't know him when he saw him again. Probably those whole two first years would have faded…maybe he would need as much help to understand the concept of "Papa" as he did that of "Mama". Maybe the next time he looked at a family picture he would think it was Grandpa, Baby, and Nurse.

"Hey, hey - ease up, friend! You keep going at it like that and there'll be no more coal to work by lunch time!"

Ben looked up to meet the eyes of the man working the cart next to him. His thoughts must have shown in his eyes because the man's smile faltered, and he turned away, muttering something about "no offense meant." He heard him further extol the man on his other side to watch out for the new fellow - looked to be violent.

Ben sucked in a deep breath and rubbed at the small of his back. Eh, dear. Probably he should apologize. Not their fault. On the other hand, he didn't plan to be around long enough to make friends and emotional ties sounded like an exhausting thing right now - having them afraid of him wasn't the worst thing that could happen. He would collect his pay for the day and stay at the Griffin Tavern tonight, then be on his way to Ohio. A day's work here should bring enough money to get him some provisions - living off the trail would not be a problem now that he didn't have to worry about…he felt a sudden rush of moisture fill his eyes and dropped his head, clutching the edge of the coal bin like a lifeline. Oh, God. Oh, God, what had he done?

He wasn't sure how long he stood there - a while, probably, because someone, his friendly neighbor, it turned out, touched him tentatively on the back. "You all right, mister?"

He managed another deep breath through lungs pinched tight with pain and straightened slowly. "Yes," he said at last, wishing that his voice didn't sound so gruff - wishing that he cared enough to try harder to be civil. "I'm fine. This cart's ready - take it away."

The morning passed in a blur of rote motion, Ben sorting and lifting coal with eyes that barely noted what he was doing. Adam had grown so much in even the last few months - how much would he have grown by the time he saw him again? How much would he have changed? What else would he have learned? Abel was getting old - would he have the patience to go through books with him? To answer his endless questions? To explain to him why many sheep was still "sheep" and not "sheeps"? He felt the tears suspiciously near the surface again and ferociously forced them back.

No. He had made his decision. He had not made it lightly and now torturing himself about it would do no good - it would not help Adam, and it would not help him. By now Adam was on his way to Boston and Abel, and he needed to accept that - to go ahead and build a home and make it all right for both of them again. He looked at the coal before him and slowed his frenzied pace a little, his mouth quirking at the sight of his palms. He'd be looking like a real miner in no time, now.

A shrill whistle blew somewhere, and he looked up in surprise. The neighbor, evidently the stubborn sort, clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the lunch whistle!" he shouted. "Time to take a break!"

Ben blinked, barely comprehending. The neighbor and the man at the cart next to him exchanged a speaking glance. The neighbor cleared his throat. "Say, mister, " he began casually, "Can't help but see you got no lunch pail. Now, Jerry and me - we generally got more than enough to share, if you don't mind his wife's cookin'…" He gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Ben rubbed the back of his hand over his nose, the ice edging his insides thawing a little for the first time. Really, he didn't deserve their generosity…"You're very kind," he said at last, meaning it. "I'd be very grateful."

As they spread out their meager meals, Ben was painfully aware that there was very little to share, but the miners were proud, and he wouldn't have hurt their feelings by refusing for the world. He accepted the bread smeared with some kind of spread with a smile and settled down next to them to eat. "I'm Ben Cartwright," he offered, a little diffidently, since he had been less than friendly earlier.

"Ed Plummer - " his persistent neighbor jerked his head towards the third man. "Jerry Thurlow. Ain't I seen you at the Tavern? Why you working here now?"

Ben's face darkened. "Yes, I - the money is better here. I'm in fairly urgent need of money." Both men nodded phlegmatically - nothing unusual about that. Ben cleared his throat. "About earlier - I - "

Jerry waved a careless hand at him. "Eh, forget it. Ain't like we ain't never had sorrows of our own."

Ben nodded, grateful that he didn't have to explain. The whistle blew again, and he raised his brows. "Short lunch."

Ed shrugged, punching the lid onto his lunch pail. "Don't want us to get fat or nothin' - won't fit in the tunnels." He laughed at his own witticism.

Ben smiled slightly in return, rising to his feet, but his voice was lost in a sudden muffled "whump" of sound that shook the ground under him. The sun disappeared in a rainstorm of black ash, and the whistle sounded again - three short, sharp blasts this time - almost like a woman's scream. Ben started to ask what was happening, but the ground buckled and heaved more violently underneath him and for a moment all he could think about was keeping his feet. The earth trembled then lurched again stiffly, tossing him like a ship's deck pitching in a storm, throwing him forward. He felt the ground scrape against his palms and for a moment could see nothing in the swirling blackness - his ears were filled with roaring, and he couldn't discern whether the sound was really all around him, or just rattling in his aching head. He opened his mouth to call out again, breathed in a mouthful of ash and choked. He made out another three blasts from the whistle, longer and more urgent this time - and the roaring built, growing and coming closer, like a charging animal. Surely that wasn't in his head? That had to be real? He opened his mouth to ask again, but suddenly the blackness was inside him too, and he knew no more.

He had probably only been out for a few minutes. When he roused, the air was still swirling with smoke and ash, like some macabre snowstorm, and the roaring had died away to an odd, preternatural quiet. He pushed himself up cautiously, checking for injuries, but he seemed to be mostly unhurt. He managed to climb into a crouch and rubbed the backs of his hands over his stinging eyes, trying to clear them. A pungent scent bit at his nostrils and he sneezed. He noticed his coal cart nearby, tipped on its side, lumps of rough coal spilled everywhere, and he shuddered. That cart had been heavy, heavier still with the ore in it - whatever had knocked it over had been a mighty force. He straightened his knees carefully, pushing to his feet. And if he had been any closer to it, he could have easily been crushed under it. He had been lucky.

He batted ineffectually at the air in front of him, trying to get a look. "Ed?" he called. "Jerry?"

"Here - " he just caught the movement in the shrouded atmosphere - squinted hard, reaching down to grasp the flailing hand. "Ben? Where's - " Ed stopped abruptly, and Ben tried to follow his gaze through the unaccustomed haze. He winced and looked away from Jerry's tipped cart and the dark puddle seeping from underneath it. Jerry had not been lucky.

"What happened?" Ben found his voice hoarse and coughed to clear it. Before Ed could answer there was a sound of feet scrabbling down the slope. Ben recognized the shift foreman by his distinctive red beard, now streaked with black soot, even in the shifting air.

"You fellas all right?" he bellowed, skidding to a stop. His eyes went instinctively to Jerry, then back to the two men trying to pull themselves together before him. "Tunnel collapsed," he said abruptly. "Whole thing. I need you two to run to Fernley - get as many lanterns and blankets as you can from the Company Store - anything else you think will help. Tell Doc Chesterfield to get ready."

Ben nodded and started forward, beating dust uselessly from his clothes. He noticed after a second that Ed wasn't with him and glanced back to find him silently staring at where Jerry had been. Ben gently took hold of his arm and pulled him away from the scene, following the shift foreman. "We'll be as fast as we can…" he hesitated. "How many men…?"

Ben was amazed to see how far the black cloud reached - probably right to Fernley, he thought. He kept ahold of Ed's arm, sure the man would stop walking all together if he let go. After they had been walking for a while, Ed finally spoke.

"Had three young'uns, Jerry did. Too young to go into the mines. What'll his missis do now?" Ben was fairly certain that he expected no answer, so he remained silent. "He was a good friend, Jerry was. Used to have me to dinner of a Friday. I got no missis, so he used to…" Ed trailed off. Ben gave his arm a squeeze, using most of his focus to follow the uneven trail, barely visible in the dim and smoky air. The narrow road had buckled in places, and he needed all his attention to negotiate it. That must have been quite a blast, to do this much damage. "Course, if tunnel 26 is gone, who knows how much work there'll be for any of us? Or how many there'll be left to…?" Ben squeezed his arm again, a little absently this time. They were mounting the rise that led to Fernley, and the air was a little clearer here…but still smoke hovered over it - different smoke - not like the detritus from the mine. He paused, trying to orient himself. Something was…had he taken a wrong turn? Lost his way? He stood at the top of the rise overlooking the small table of land where Fernley should be.

No town. A few scattered buildings…clouds of rising smoke…a peculiar collection of sounds…he must have taken a wrong turn. Ed was still talking - rambling on about Jerry. He turned to tell him that they needed to go back, to correct their way, when he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. He stopped, a shiver rippling over his skin. A familiar building sat a little further up the slope, overlooking the town - not quite as he remembered, but…he squinted hard through the swirling wisps of smoke. The Griffin Tavern. Tilting to one side, to be sure…one half of the roof suddenly sloping to the ground…he took a tentative step forward, trying to get a better look. The scattered buildings were looking more familiar now, too. That was the owner's house, its chimney lying in ruins beside it, its porch ripping away from the façade. That one down there looked like the pump house, the rickety roof torn off and lying upside down nearby. He took another step, had to catch himself as the ground skittered unexpectedly beneath him. He looked down and felt his stomach lift into his throat. A deep crevasse yawned at his feet. Peeping out over the top of it he could see what remained of a chimney, rising unsteadily over another broken roof, crumpled as though it had been crushed under some giant’s foot…he backed up hastily, bumped into Ed, who must have followed him.

Ben glared at him through eyes swollen from the foul air. "What are you saying?" he demanded. "Where…?" He frowned at the scattered buildings before him, trying to make sense of the scene. "Are you trying to tell me…" He suddenly felt sick. "Is this what all the fighting was about?"

Ben clutched at Ed's shoulders trying to resist the urge to shake him, his eyes burning now. "Are you telling me…? You were digging under Fernely? Blasting? Are you saying that the entire town has…" he stared back at the eerie mess before him. The sounds were beginning to distinguish themselves now - moans and groans and cries of dismay, the wails of injured livestock, the crackling of small fires…he dug his fingers into his forehead and rubbed hard, as though that would make the image go away. "Good God."

He looked back at Ed, not really seeing him, and gave him a small push. "Go back to the mine. Tell them what's happened and that we need help here as well. I'm going to look for the doctor and help who I can…bring back as many as they can spare from the cave-in. Remember, there's women and children here…" Ed was still staring past him, his vacant eyes fixed on the broken signs of a town swallowed by the earth. Ben spun him bodily back toward the mine and pushed again - less gently this time. "Go! We have no time to waste!" He watched for a minute to be sure that Ed was really on his way to get help, then slowly, reluctantly, turned back to the sight before him. Merciful heaven. God forgive them all.

He stepped forward more tentatively this time, watching his feet - ground must be unstable, he'd have to be careful. A burst of smoke and steam belched from in front of him, and he shuddered. The earth was actually hot here, burning the soles of his boots, but that made sense - if the anthracite underground had caught fire then it could burn for…well, for years. What had they been thinking? Why had anything seemed worth such a risk? He tried to block out the cacophony of distress, to focus. He couldn't help everyone at once - he needed a place to start. If he could locate Dr. Chesterfield then at least he would have medical attention to offer anyone who he managed to unearth. He tried to visualize a straight line from the owner's house to where the clinic had once stood and started off, picking his way carefully. It was agonizing to pass by so many sounds and cries of pain and fear and have to leave them, but he had to be practical - first things first. He closed his eyes briefly and promised in his heart to come back and tend to them all - come back with help. God willing, it wouldn't be too late.

He was concentrating so hard on his feet that he nearly ran into the wall that loomed suddenly out of the smoke and stench and had to pull up short. The clinic - for a wonder, still standing, though leaning drunkenly to one side, the sign stating whether the doctor was in or out splintered on the ground in front of it. He rested his hand on the door for a moment and the building gave an ominous groan. He stepped back hastily, biting his lip. He didn't dare pull on that door - if Dr. Chesterfield was still inside, then he risked bringing the whole building down on top of him. He needed to wait for help to come - to help him shore up the walls and make it safe to enter. "Dr. Chesterfield?" his deep voice carried, even over the sounds of chaos. He listened intently. "Charles? It's Ben Cartwright. Are you in there? Are you all right?" Silence . Ben turned away slowly. He'd have to wait, then. Or…it had been about lunch time. Perhaps the doctor had been at home? He lifted his head to look to where the small, trim house had stood. All that remained was the skewed peak of the roof, lifting itself just out above a hole in the ground. Ben swallowed hard. It was hard to imagine that just a short time ago he had sat in that bright kitchen, sipping tea. He approached the roof cautiously, squatted down to look at it. "Dr. Chesterfield?" God, I hope you weren't in there, Charles…He lifted a board to throw it aside, then another. The inner walls and furniture looked as though they had all been squashed in on each other, as though someone had been trying to squeeze them into a too small space. He yanked a large armchair out of his way, tried to peer more deeply into the compressed depths. "Charles? Charles, are you in there?"

There was so little room - so little space. Surely no living thing could have survived if it had been caught inside? He mindlessly pulled at the inside of a desk, now innocent of its legs and lid, trying to create some order where there could be none. "Dr. Chesterfield?" No. If he had been at home at the time of collapse then he was surely…his hand caught in a length of maroon fabric and he paused. It reminded him of something and, more cautiously, he lifted the remains of a table out of his way. From under the maroon fabric protruded what had once been a neat black shoe. Uneasy now, Ben shifted some boards, uncovered a huddle of greyed and singed fabric, spotted with stiff rust colored blotches…he bowed his head. What must have once been a crisp white shirtwaist…he thought he could just make out the bloodied remains of a human arm…Oh, Barbara. I'm so sorry. He covered his eyes with his hand and said a brief prayer. I'm so sorry - you had so much life in you. I'm sorry it ended this way. Sorry you never got to return to your students. Sorry you never got to see Boston again…that thought triggered another thought way back in his brain and a slow trickle of ice began at the top of his head, sifting through his veins and making its way down to the bottom of his feet.

"ADAM!" A huge hand was pushing against his chest, forcing all the air out, not letting any back in. "ADAM!" A coldness prickled over his skin like a hundred ice needles, itching along his scalp, pricking at his eyes. He grasped at beams of lumber and tore them out as if they were splinters, shoveled at the remains of furniture, ruthlessly shifted Barbara in her terrible makeshift grave, breathing a quick prayer for forgiveness - but life was, after all, for the living first, surely?…let him be living…he MUST be living…a shattered wash stand followed a crushed settee…surely someone small…it would be sure death for an adult, of course, but surely someone small…a little child…could be hidden and protected in a crevasse…between the bits of lumber…it wasn't impossible. It could happen. A baby really only needed a little…a very little…he yanked out a shoring timber, tossed it aside. The rubble within the house gave a warning rumble. He hastened his efforts, dug heartlessly under Barbara, trying to see his way. He couldn't be far. He wouldn't be. He would be with…he would…his hand closed around a tattered portmanteau and for a second his resolve shook.

No. Barbara was close. The portmanteau was close. So it stood to reason…it only made sense that…the contents of the pit that had been the Chesterfield home shuddered again, then groaned, sifting slowly first, then faster and faster, sliding in upon its center, resettling. The roar was deafening to Ben's ears - the broken furniture and timber slipped back in on itself, filling the space he'd cleared, tighter and more compact than before. Ben stared, his hands hovering uselessly above the remains.

No, he - he had to start again. He had to try again to create a new - to burrow in and…doggedly, he ripped out more timber, tossed it aside. Chair legs. Tableware. Garments. All he needed to do was to get them aside and find…if he just uncovered enough, then he could…he would see…the snarled mass of wood and fabric and pottery didn’t even shift under his hands. He tugged more frantically, willing it to loosen. Nothing budged. It was as if it had been welded together – morphed into a whole new creation of solid mass. He scrunched up his face, trying to see through the smoke and looked - really looked - into the pit before him. His knees evaporated beneath him.

He was distantly aware of the rugged ground digging into them…aware in a curiously detached way, because it was really the only thing he could feel. His hands danced again over the melee, almost of their own volition, trying to decide where to start next, and he watched them just as curiously, as though they belonged to someone else. There was no place to start, he told them dispassionately. Because no one…nothing…ice filled his chest, freezing and swelling and cracking it apart. Nothing could have…who was I trying to fool? Nothing…his head seemed to release itself and float somewhere above his shoulders.

He was gone. He had sent him away and now he was gone. He had made the wrong choice - in his eagerness to spare his child, to protect him, he had actually sent him to his very death.

He heard a high pitched laugh, a terrifying sound - unbalanced almost, tinged with hysteria. It was minutes before he realized the sound was coming from him, and he bit his lip until it bled to stop himself. His head landed back on his shoulders, dropping so abruptly and heavily back onto them that it bowed forward, a leaden weight, careening toward the ground. He grabbed it with his hands before it could bang into the earth, cradled it carefully.

His son was gone. Dead. Another life he had been foolishly charged with had slipped through his fingers. One moment of inattention - one wrong move. He had not been enough to protect and save Elizabeth. He had not been enough to protect and save Adam. Now he had lost them both. He was terribly alone and he deserved to be alone - a man who could not protect his loved ones deserved no better.

Losing his Elizabeth had been devastating - an amputation of his heart…but Adam…the baby entrusted to him…his sweet, tangible momento of his and Elizabeth's love…he was supposed to be looking out for him. HE WAS HIS FATHER. He pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, trying to quiet the raucous roaring there.

How could this have happened? So suddenly, so fast? Just like last time - so quickly, before he could do anything about it…he had meant to do well. Meant to do right by Adam. And somehow, he had been wrong. Fatally wrong. The smallest misstep. The smallest mistake. It wasn't Adam's fault that he had been wrong. Why take it out on him? Why make him suffer for his father's failures? How could God allow such…such…wrongness? His hands spread about his head, pressing against his skull, trying to restrain the sanity that was tugging at its fragile moorings, threatening to snap away all together…

Oh, God. Adam's voice. And now Adam would call to him out of the night - haunt him, just as Elizabeth haunted him. This was his fate, then - to be driven to the ends of the earth pell mell, pursued by the ghosts of those he had wronged. It seemed only right. Wasn't there a man in the Bible like that? Or was it Greek mythology?

"Papa!" He eased his hands from his ears. Maybe it was worth it - maybe the pain was worth it - to hear the beloved voice once more. Maybe that was better.

His head lifted a touch at that, his brows raised, listening. Now, that seemed somewhat unreasonable, on the other hand; that Lillibelle should also haunt him.

He turned his head stiffly. It seemed to creak on his neck. There was a shadow coming toward him in the shifting smoke - he rested his eyes on it possessively. It looked like some wild mythological creature - a woman with two heads and many flailing limbs - a crazed mop of seaweed for hair…

He frowned. It still sounded like Lillibelle. And now that he could see it better, it didn't have two heads at all…or rather it did, because…his knees stiffened and lifted him back to his feet of their own accord. It was a woman carrying a child. A child with one grotesquely long and deformed arm…no, a child waving something…a child…despite the chill numbness that had enveloped his skin, he felt his eyes moisten.

His child. His last look…he cocked his head curiously, staring. The shadow had almost reached him now, barely recognizable with its face coated with ash and its hair a witch’s wig. "I was afraid you were…" It stopped, as though waiting for something from him.

The child it carried had no such compunctions and leaned out of her arms, reaching for him. "Papa!"

Ben's arms rose automatically and the ghost-child hopped the distance into them, grinning. He looked enormously pleased with himself.

Ben gazed at him, bemused. The slight body felt solid and real in his arms, his weight familiar and recognizable. It was odd, he mused, how you could recognize your own child’s cry, even in a roomful of children – know the feel of your own child in your arms, even in the pitch dark… A smudge of soot across the small face darkened the cleft in his chin and traveled down his neck to cover his shirt. Ben reached up tentatively and touched the cleft with one finger - brushed a hand lightly through the stiffened hair. He glanced down at his fingers, now blackened with fresh soot and smoke. Ghosts couldn't do that, could they? When you touched them, you couldn't get stained, could you?

The specter flapped his right arm at him to get his attention, proudly displaying the tattered remnants of cloth he was clutching. "Papa!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Book!"

Ben trembled. A sob exploded from his chest, shaking him like an ague flu. He tightened his arms convulsively, dropping his head onto the smaller one and squeezing until Adam finally let out a squeak. Ben released his grip marginally, and Adam pushed back to look at him, eyes large and solemn, puzzled by his reaction. Ben chuckled and hugged him to him more gently this time, if no less fiercely. He’d thought he’d never get to see that look again.

The chuckle seemed to settle Adam’s mind, because he kicked his legs and announced, “Down!”

Ben shook his head, holding him closer, trying to speak through the sobs that rattled his frame, gasping instead, laughing and crying spasmodically until he couldn’t tell one feeling from the other.

“I’m sorry, Ben…” Lillibelle’s voice filtered through just barely. “I looked for you as soon as I could. Found him sitting on the steps when I opened the doors late this morning - waiting for his Papa, he told me. Wouldn’t budge, and Henry said you were down in the mines…was about to send word to you through Jake when all hell broke loose. Figured the best thing to do then was just keep us both alive and look for you after. I know I ain’t yer first choice for that but…”

Ben astonished her into silence by bending over and kissing her resoundingly on one grubby cheek.

It seemed like a long time before the peripheral sounds began to filter back. Ben raised his face from Adam’s slowly, his back straightening. He cradled the curly head in one hand and caressed the round cheek gently with his thumb, reality twisting at his heart. His loved one was all right – unhurt. He was very lucky. But others – so many others – were not as lucky. Adam blinked contentedly at him, offering the book again. Ben didn’t feel as though he could manage to separate from his boy again, but he knew he had to. Other people needed him. It was the least – the very least – he could do to show his gratitude for Adam’s life. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Adam – “ he cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the residue of smoke and tears. “Adam, I am so happy to see you, but I – there are some people who need Papa’s help. People in trouble. I need you to go with Miss Lillibelle for a little bit while I help them. All right?”

Adam’s face changed, his dark brows lowering ominously. “Doh,” he growled flatly.

Ben sighed. He knew just how he felt. “I know, Adam, but it will only be for a while and there are people in trouble – we must always make time to help people in trouble.”

Adam scowled, his lower lip creeping out. “Go ‘way,” he accused darkly.

Ben raised his brows. For a second he thought Adam was telling him to go away, then understanding dawned, and he groaned inwardly. What had he done? How would he ever be able to make Adam understand? “No, Adam,” he said quietly. “I am not going away. I’ll be right here.” Adam watched him with an expression that Ben had never seen on his face before – a shadow of doubt and fear. Ben thought his heart would break. “I promise you, Adam,” he insisted, and, when Adam looked unconvinced, “Perhaps…” he glanced pleadingly at Lillibelle. “Perhaps Miss Lillibelle will take you a little ways up the slope, out of the way, and sit with you where you can watch? Then when you look down, you’ll be able to see where I am all the time. How would that be?” Adam’s face wavered, and Ben pressed his advantage. “Maybe…” he gave a quick look at the ragged mess of cloth that Adam was still holding onto, “…maybe, if you’re a very good boy, Miss Lillibelle will even read your book to you while you wait for me?” and, in response to Lillibelle’s look of panic, “It’s only pictures. He’d just as soon tell you about them, given the chance.”

Adam looked from Ben to Lillibelle, unsure. “Adam – “ he cupped the small head carefully but firmly and looked directly into his eyes. “I promise you. I’m not going anywhere. I promise. Now, let Miss Lillibelle look after you for a bit for me?” Adam ducked his head. Ben smiled. “That’s my good boy.” Lillibelle held out her arms, and for a second Ben didn’t think he’d be able to let go – but he satisfied himself by closing his eyes and pressing a kiss at Adam’s hairline. Thank you, God. Thank you. Thank you. When he opened his eyes again, Adam allowed himself to be lifted into Lillibelle’s arms, his gaze still fixed on Ben. Ben gave him an encouraging smile. “I promise, Adam.” Adam wrinkled his forehead at him, slipping his three fingers into his mouth. Ben winced and started to say something, stopped himself. With everything else he’d survived today, probably sucking on filthy dirty fingers wouldn’t kill him.

“Don’t worry, Ben,” Lillibelle winked at him. “We’ll be fine. Now, there, Sport – “ she tilted her head at Adam. “You gonna read me this book o’ yers or what?”

Ben watched them make their way up the slope, part of him tugging after them in panic, wanting to run and catch up, to reassure himself that they weren’t an apparition after all. Over his shoulder he became aware of the sounds of new voices approaching – help from the mines, probably – and he turned to greet them.

He tried to block Adam out of his mind and focus on them – on the people who needed his help. He kept his mind a blank and functioned mechanically, following the orders of the assistant foreman, sorting through the tools they had brought and selecting some, helping to find shoring timbers to prop up the clinic so they could check the interior for the doctor or medical supplies. He was moving like a zombie, but he knew he was more effective this way – obedient, with his feelings severed and set aside. Cut off. Or so he thought.

They had shored up the clinic, and two of the men were cautiously testing the door when he found his eyes turning automatically to the slope, trying to see where Lillibelle and Adam might have settled themselves. His heart jumped when he saw them right away – Lillibelle seated on the ground with Adam on her skirt between her legs and the book open in front of them, Adam with his fingers in his mouth, for once oblivious to the book as he stared at the remains of the town below him, wearing that serious, intent expression of his. Ben smiled before he could stop himself and lifted his hand in greeting. Adam saw him immediately and jumped to his feet and grinned at him, flapping his hand vigorously in return.

Ben chuckled - he swore he could even make out the dimples from here - returning to his work with a lighter heart. He helped steady one side of the clinic, musing absently that he would really have to ask Lillibelle what would be the right age to break Adam of sucking those fingers.

Ben leaned back in the rocker and let out a deep sigh. The old willow chair groaned under him, creaking ominously, but it held. It was dark now - in the smoke and coal smudged sky he could just make out a few faint stars. The house behind him was silent except for the barely audible stir of busy women, a sliver of light from the kitchen brightened the porch. Adam sat on the weathered floor of the porch a few feet away, carrying on a voluble conversation with himself while building something with his blocks. Ben couldn't follow a word he was saying, but it eased his heart some to hear him anyway. His fingers wandered automatically to his front pocket before he remembered he hadn't been able to afford tobacco for months. Too bad. He could really do with a smoke. He watched Adam with the blocks for a moment before sighing again, rubbing a hand through his thick hair. Those blocks.

Someone had found his carpetbag at the damaged tavern - Barney had recognized it as his and saw that it was returned to him. It was good to have back his few scant possessions - the music box, the copy of "Paradise Lost", the teething ring Adam had inherited from the Stoddards, their small stock of clothing that he had forgotten to give to Barbara anyway…but he had felt horribly guilty receiving them in light of the people who had lost everything today. He had had Adam returned to him - surely that was enough.

Unable to bear it any longer, he rose from the rocker and lifted Adam from his place on the floor. Adam objected to being dragged away from his work with a yelp, but philosophically made a grab for the discarded book instead as Ben hefted him into his arms and sat down again, settling him on his lap. What a day. What a horrible, memorable day.

Most of Fernley lay in ruins - the population decimated. Dr. Chesterfield had been discovered inside the listing clinic, unconscious, but able to stagger into action once he came round and understood what had happened. He had worked tirelessly, paling only slightly when Ben had broken the news to him about Barbara. Ben closed his eyes at the memory. What an awful day.

The clinic was doing duty as a hospital for the injured - the owner's house was serving as a morgue for the dead - at least, what dead could be recovered. So many were already claimed by the ground. When it grew dark and all their lanterns combined could no longer illuminate things enough for them to continue the rescue efforts, they had finally lain down their tools and tried to see what they could do for those who remained living. Whatever buildings were found to still be sound would serve as shelter - any kitchens still intact served what little food they had and what pallets could be found held the walking wounded and children for the night - three and four to a pallet. Those who, like himself, were relatively well and whole made do as they could - when one woman had apologetically offered him the use of her rocker and porch with its tiny band of roof in case of rain so that Adam could be sure of some sort of bed, he had accepted gratefully. He would rather be out here anyway - away from the packed crowds of shocked and grieving, away from the broken women quietly trying to prepare their dead. Here, alone and in the open, he almost felt as if he could breathe again.

He ran a hand over Adam's head, felt his callused fingers snag in the silky curls. It had been a lot of work, but they had hauled enough water to manage some sort of clean up for everyone. Lillibelle had scrubbed up Adam before he had even been able to drag himself to the washing station at the pump house to help. Now she was helping the other women clean up the corpses. A good woman. Elizabeth would have approved of her, too. He surprised himself with the thought, squinted at the few stars he could see.

Now, why was that? Elizabeth was a well-bred and upright New England girl, while Lillibelle…well. But Lillibelle had grit, and Elizabeth would have admired that - had had plenty of her own. He smiled faintly. He had, perhaps, been a little guilty of sanitizing Elizabeth since her death - turning her into a person she had never been. He needed to watch that. He remembered Elizabeth warning him once that he "couldn't put her in a box - that she wasn't that sort of woman." Indeed. He needed to remember. He pulled Adam more firmly back against him. But I suspect, little one, that you will play a big part in refreshing my memory on some of your mother's less saintly characteristics as we go forward. That made him think of something else and he closed his eyes again.

Going forward. How was he to go forward now? He had made a choice - a torturous choice, but one that he had truly felt was in Adam's best interests. And he had nearly lost him as a result. Now, even if he knew of someone besides Barbara that he could trust to take Adam back to Boston he didn't think he could muster the will to let him go again. What if something else should happen to him while he was so far away? What if letting go of him meant never seeing him again? His exhausted heart reeled within him, and the ready tears that had dogged him all day sprang, once again, to his eyes. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "I don't know what to do."

Adam blinked up at him from the book he was trying to scrutinize in the dim light, and Ben fought hard to smile at him. Adam seemed to take it for encouragement and pointed to the stained picture before him. "Buhd," he said hopefully.

Ben didn't answer, just tightened his grip on him. Oh, Elizabeth…I want so much to do right by our son - to be a good father. I want to be able to make any sacrifice that will make his life better. But…he must have tightened his grip a little too much, because Adam gave a squeak, and he loosened his hold hastily. Adam eyed him curiously in the dusky light, then turned back to his book. Ben leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes tight shut. But. I don't think I can do it again. I just don't think I can. It almost killed me the first time and then I almost lost him today and I don't know…I don't think…I know it sounds selfish. I don't mean to be selfish. I just don't think I'm strong enough or brave enough to let our little boy go again. I can't let him go. Please, please - show me what to do. Oh, Elizabeth, if only you'd lived…there wouldn’t be any decision to make then…we'd be a family…he saw Adam look up at him again and realized that he was crying in earnest now, tears coursing down his unshaven cheeks. He tried to stop - he didn't want to frighten Adam - but the physical and emotional trials of the last few days had taken their toll, and he had no resources left to fight the tears. Adam patted his forearm awkwardly with one hand, and Ben reached over and enveloped the small hand in his own, bringing it to his lips and kissing it fiercely. He still clung to it as he wrapped his arm around Adam's chest and rubbed a cheek against his hair. Please, show me what to do. I don't know what to do…

Ben woke with a start. He blinked at the darkness, unable to estimate how much time had passed. He felt a prickle of panic - where was Adam? Woke enough to notice that he was still comfortably ensconced in his lap, the book forgotten for now while he sucked quietly on his fingers. Ben settled back with a gasp of relief. He noticed Adam's other hand was still in his and adjusted his grip, running his thumb gently over the tiny fingers. He had some sense that he had been dreaming, but he couldn't bring any images or specific memories of the dream to mind. Still. He felt…different, somehow. Better. His heart more at rest. He pushed the rocker softly into motion, thinking.

"You know, " he said conversationally after a minute, "I don't know what I'm doing. I've never been a father before. I'll probably make a lot of mistakes. You'll have to be patient with me." Mindlessly, he counted the fingers in his grasp…one, two, three, four…and a little thumb…the rocker continued its sawing motion gently beneath them. "And if we do it this way…there's so much that I can't promise you. I can't be sure how we'll eat - where we'll sleep all the time. It will be a bit of an experiment, and I suspect that it won't always be pleasant. I CAN promise you that I'll always do my best by you, Adam - that what you need will always come first and foremost. That I can promise with all my heart. I just can't be sure about the rest. But then, maybe nobody can be, really, given what life is. Maybe we just like to fool ourselves about that. After all - look at today." He wrapped his fist completely over the hand in his, sheltering it within his own. "But…" This felt so good somehow - all logic, all good sense aside. So right. "But I do think…I think there's something to be said - for a father and son being together."

Adam tilted his head back to look at him, his eyes gleaming faintly golden in the minimal light. Ben rumbled a small laugh deep in his chest. "What are you trying to tell me - that you knew that all along?"

Despite the warmth of the night he cuddled Adam close, his tattered heart suddenly at peace. He had never been a man to play it safe. Foolish to think that he could change his nature now. He rocked for a few moments in silence, enjoying the closeness with his son.

"So," he said lightly at last, "You walked all the way from the Chesterfields' to the tavern today to find me? That was a very long way for you to come all on your own." And very unsafe. He must put an end to that.

He had a hundred lectures assembled in his head - a hundred sensible explanations marshaled as to why Adam must never, ever try anything like that again. They were important, and he opened his mouth to deliver them. For the life of him he could never figure out why the only words that came out were, "Good boy. Good boy."

Ben frowned at the misty rain obscuring his view of the harbor, surprised to find the memory as sharp and fresh and vivid as if it had just happened. He frowned harder when he realized that more than the rain was obscuring his vision, made an angry dash at his eyes. How on edge he was - exhausted - just as he had been way back then.

He turned to apologize to Mrs. Chambers, then raised his eyebrows and fumbled for his handkerchief instead. "Here - take mine." She accepted the handkerchief gratefully, and he studied her face with some concern. "Are you all right?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No. No, I'm glad you told me." She dabbed at her nose. "What happened to the people of Fernley?"

"They stayed, believe it or not - tried to rebuild further up the slope. Couldn't even think about moving on, I guess - said it was home."

Ben was silent for a moment, then he shrugged. "I don't know. I moved on. Couldn't understand what they were thinking." He frowned. "I do now, maybe. A little." He peered harder through the curtain of rain. "Is that our boat docking?"

Mrs. Chambers glanced at the quaint timepiece behind the counter. "Perhaps. But it will still be some hours before it sets sail. They'll have to take on wood, I suppose, and restock supplies."

Ben nodded resignedly. "Then perhaps we should track down your husband. We have time for a real meal before it leaves port." He offered her his arm.

She tightened her grip on his arm for a moment. "You did the right thing. I know it. You did."

Ben's smile softened some and he sighed. "You're very kind, Katherine," he said, replacing his hat with polite resignation. "Very kind."

Abel smiled. The “Rs” were backward. Adam had had some trouble with those “Rs” – had taken him a year or two to straighten that out.

Always started the same way – for the first few years, anyway – the years, he suspected, when Ben had been carefully guiding Adam’s hand. Later, Adam’s missives had grown more adventurous – more personal. But Abel had kept and treasured them all. A marvel, really, when you considered – that Benjamin had taken the time and spent the money to keep him in touch with his grandson. A combination of duty and guilt, those two strong motivators, he supposed. It must have gotten increasingly difficult as they got further west, yet Ben had persisted. Abel couldn’t but be grateful. He had preserved every letter that reached him, no matter how shaky the penmanship or vague the content, had stowed them all carefully first in a wooden box, then, as they overflowed the box, an old chest of drawers. It had been almost like seeing Adam’s face as he grew. Almost.

Of course, he hadn’t known why. Just a small drop in the comprehensive ocean of things he didn’t know “why” about.

He caught the sound of footsteps overhead and tilted his head to listen, could just make out the murmur of voices, and then silence. Damn, that doctor was taking a long time. You’d think he could excuse Mrs. Longworth for a moment to tell him something. Bad enough that he’d been kicked out of Adam’s room – insult to injury that SHE had been allowed to stay.

He carefully folded the letter away and tucked it back in place, plucked out another one. Adam would be astonished to see how neatly his grandfather kept this single spot.

…aye, that was better – all the alphabet marching in the right direction now.

He had done better on that question – had done some asking among his sailor friends and customers at the Chandler's Shop and had finally ended up sending Adam some books on the principles of climate and geography. Smiling at the memory, he slid the letter back into its slot and reached randomly for another.

Abel chuckled. Sometimes corresponding with Adam was like cramming for exams. He slipped that one back in the bundle of its fellows, under the faded ribbon. He kept them all carefully tied together by year, lined up in order. He wondered what Adam’s letters to his father and brothers over the last two years looked like – what they said, what they carefully avoided saying. Probably Ben kept them, too – read them over and over, worried or wondered or laughed over the contents.

Some days he felt that he had understood Adam better when he was writing him than he did face to face.

Voices overhead now - not loud enough to overhear, just loud enough to make him tense and listen. He sat very still, trying to catch at least a word or two - no luck. Damn whoever had built this bloody house so solid. He rose and took a turn about the room, rubbing the back of his neck to loosen the stiffness that had lodged there.

It had been difficult sometimes - he and Adam just different enough - or maybe just enough alike. Like two flints knocking together to cause sparks. They had had a bit of a squabble not long before Adam had become ill - a foolish one, he realized now. Not even about what it had seemed to be about, really - actually about who got to decide what Adam should and should not do. He had lost, of course.

He had come home to find Adam whistling some complex tune, stuffing things into a satchel. Adam had glanced up from his work to grin at him. "Don't wait breakfast for me tomorrow morning - I have to be off early. Practice."

Abel had tried to catch a glimpse of the clothing being arranged neatly inside the satchel. "Practice. And what are you practicing for at the crack of dawn?"

"Rowing. I joined one of the rowing teams." Adam had neatly fastened the buckles on his pack and moved to set it near the door for easy remembering, so it took him a minute to register Abel's frown and raise his brows questioningly in response.

Abel had felt his frown deepen. "And where will this rowing in the skinny boat take place - on the Charles?"

"Scull," Adam repeated. He looked mildly exasperated but visibly made an effort to keep it in check. "Yes, of course. I don't think we'd make much progress in the lake in the park."

Adam had lost his smile now, and he crossed his arms carefully over his chest. "At which point?" he countered politely.

"What would your father have to say if he knew you were setting forth in that tiny boat on that great river?"

He could almost watch Adam count carefully in his head. At last he took a breath and said, "Then I guess he'd say it must seem mighty tame after Lake Tahoe. Would you like to know how deep that is now?"

"Grandfather, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but you have to be a little reasonable - what on earth is it that you think I do at home?"

"And you're not responsible for me when I'm here! I'm twenty years old - and frankly, if I don't get a little more physical outlet, I think I'm going to lose my mind!"

"And those are nice - they're fine, but - I spend most of my day sitting - well, sitting on something that doesn't move for a change and - it's not enough. I need - I need something else!"

"It is perfectly safe!" Adam raised his voice to be heard over Abel, and despite his preoccupation, Abel lifted his brows a bit in surprise. It had been a long time since anybody had been able to shout him down. Not since…well…Benjamin.

"And what happens if the skinny little boat turns over in the middle of the river?"

"IT'S. CALLED. A. SCULL." Abel blinked. Impressive, how he could enunciate through his teeth like that. One big breath. One smaller. "And if, by some bizarre turn of circumstance, the SCULL tipped over, then I would swim."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Adam paced away from him, rubbing a hand over his forehead. After a minute he turned around. "I like it," he hissed with forced calm. "I'm used to - to working as part of a team! I guess I - I guess I miss it. It's - well, it's FUN. It's something I want to do. Something I'm going to do! I'm sorry if you don't approve!"

"Yes, little you care for my approval! And little you'll care when I'm the one who has to break the news to your father that you've drowned! Just once in my life I'd like to not let him down! Just once in my life I'd like to successfully complete a charge he gives me!"

Adam opened his mouth to retort, stopped suddenly, his eyes narrowing. After a second, he walked over to the wing chair and dropped down on the arm of it. "You know," he said quietly after a second, "that's not the first time you've hinted at something like that. Are you ever going to tell me what that's about?"

Abel hesitated. "I was speaking metaphorically." Adam's eyes narrowed further. "And don't give me that all-knowing look - it's not at all becoming."

Adam stretched his long legs out in front of him and dropped his probing gaze to his boot toes. "Metaphorically. Very fancy."

"Hmph." Adam continued his frowning investigation of his footware. "So. First match is Saturday morning. You coming?"

Abel glared. "Wouldn't miss it. Someone has to be there to drag your ungrateful carcass out of the drink."

He chuckled at the memory and ran a finger over a particularly fat bundle of letters, his smile fading. Ah, yes. That year.

The letters had been long and frequent for a while that year. Ben had gone to New Orleans, and it seemed to leave Adam more time to write - or perhaps just more need to. The letters were different, though - no requests for information, no ingenuous observations. They were filled with hollow chatter about daily things, long and rambling. Many references to what good care Shaughnessy was taking of them. Glancing references to how badly Hoss was missing Pa.

Abel had learned by now that what Adam left unsaid was often more significant than anything he actually shared and what was missing from these letters bothered him so much that he had found himself pacing the floor, then actually checking out passage to Utah territory - what routes were available, how long it would take to get there. He finally had to grudgingly concede that by the time he would be able to arrive, Ben would already be home. Pointless. So he had written back long, cheerful letters instead - tried to send small surprises now and then. And then suddenly, the letters had stopped all together for a while.

He picked up the next, slight bundle, running his thumb down the edges, counting. He hadn't been alarmed at first. Mail out of the west was infrequent and unpredictable at the best of times. Then he received a note from Ben telling him that he had remarried while in New Orleans, so there was a new Mrs. Cartwright. Like Adam, what Ben didn't say was often more significant than what he did, so Abel had looked at the letter for a long time before sitting down to answer it. He wrote his congratulations and added cautiously that he was glad to hear that all was well because he hadn't heard from Adam in a while, and he had been somewhat concerned. Predictably, another letter from Adam arrived shortly thereafter. Very brief and empty. Very "Dear Grandfather, how are you; I am fine."

After some hesitation, Abel had sent another letter off to Ben, saying that Adam didn't really sound like himself and was everything all right? Ben had answered rather crisply that Adam took a little longer to get used to things than most people but that all was well. Thank you for your concern. How are you, we all are fine.

Neat, dutiful letters arrived regularly from Adam after that. The weather was good. Schoolwork was good. The ranch was good. Everything fine. Absent among the pages of words, though, was a single, solitary reference to his new stepmother. Troubled, Abel had read them over and over, searching for clues. Lonely as the letters during Ben's trip to New Orleans had seemed, these seemed lonelier still. Withdrawn. Like a box with the lid shut and locked. After bearing with a few of them, he had finally ventured to write to Ben to suggest that perhaps Adam would like to come for a visit and winter in Boston? Ben wouldn't be needing him for ranch work really over the winter, and Adam was probably old enough to travel alone now? Perhaps it was time that they became acquainted.

Ben had written back very definitely that Adam would be staying right where he was. He wasn't really old enough to make such a trip by himself; there was plenty for him to do on the ranch, and besides, Marie was expecting a baby right away - by fall. The extra set of hands would be needed. But thank you very much for the kind offer. How are you…?

Heavier footsteps overhead now - brisker, hurrying. He stiffened like a terrier catching a scent. A male voice raised - the doctor's - calling for something. Abel found himself on his feet and at the door before he could stop himself, paused with his hand on the latch. He heard the doctor call again - no answer from Mrs. Longworth, but in his mind's eye he could see her economical, efficient motions as she fulfilled his requests. More requests - barked almost, now…Abel ground his teeth and pressed his forehead into the door lintel.

He would only be in the way. He would be a distraction to whatever they were trying to do. They mustn't be distracted now…God forbid he should distract them, but why in God's name couldn't someone at least send him word…? No. Adam needed them, and that's where they should be. He could wait. It might kill him, but he could. He could do whatever he had to do.

He turned his back to the door, leaned against it as if to shut himself inside, covered his face with his hands.

He had loved watching the rowing as it turned out - loved watching it as much as Adam had loved doing it. It was a breathtaking sight, the slender boats cutting through the water while the teams rowed rhythmically in time - like a single person. Like a bird's flight, almost. They shot across the silver breast of the water, under the budding trees, in the shadows of the buildings - the sound of the coxswain's calls as mesmerizing as their strokes. Be even more beautiful in fall, he had caught himself thinking - under the colors of the trees. Served him right for assuming things…thinking ahead, making plans…fate always got even with you for that.

He liked watching Adam with his teammates - happy and playful - romping with each other like an oversized litter of puppies. Probably what he was like at home with his brothers. Made him feel young again just to see them push and tease each other. They won their fair share of matches, but that wasn't the point, really. Though there was some talk of forming an elite team and rowing against Yale the following year. Now THAT would be something to see. Abel found himself anticipating it in spite of himself. Show those Connecticut folk a thing or two.

Adam would always meet him after he had toweled off and changed back into his street clothes, his hair curling damply from the sweat of exertion. He always seemed more relaxed and content after the exercise. "Enjoy yourself?" he would ask easily.

Adam would grin in response. "Knew you'd like it," and throw a comfortable arm over his shoulders to guide him home to Mrs. Longworth and a waiting lunch. It was all so pleasant. So - satisfying. It had lulled him, that's what it had done - until he had forgotten to be afraid.

Abel returned to his seat on the bed and flipped ahead to the last letters in the bundle.

Sounded a little easier now. More normal. The next letter of the bunch was filled with rapturous descriptions of Adam's new foal that he was going to get to train himself - evidently the foal's arrival put that of a baby brother to shame. To hear Adam tell it, that horse was so smart you'd expect him to be able to read, at least. There was even a passing reference to Marie knowing something about horses…from Adam, high praise indeed. Marie though, not Ma. But it was a start. Oh, and since Grandfather had sailed to the other side of the world, then he must know if the people there were hanging upside down? If the world was round, how could they not be? But then, how did they keep from falling on their heads? If Grandfather knew, could he please write and tell him? He'd like to know. Your loving…

The footsteps overhead had stopped now, the voices dropped to the faintest of sounds. He tried to listen once again, ridiculously, really - he couldn't make out words when they were shouting - what did he expect to hear when they were muttering? But things seemed a little steadier. More stable. And there were no feet making their way to the stairs…so maybe that was a good sign. He would take it as a good sign. He leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

He had never missed a match. By that last one he considered himself a veteran - could spot some of the tricks the coxswain was calling, could almost remember to call that damned skinny boat a scull. He smiled slightly. Not that he would. Give Adam far too much satisfaction. He had a regular spot he liked to stand in to watch and woe betide the soul who tried to stand there instead. He still had his sea captain's glare at his disposal, and it was still unmatched. Oh, Adam had a halfway decent glare of his own, but it was still unformed, really - amateur. Mrs. Longworth had made him a scarf of his own in Harvard's colors to help keep out the spring chill. It tickled him some to be wearing it among that teeming mix of students.

That last race was a tense one, and the blood sang in his veins as he watched the two crafts slicing across the rippled surface; now this one nudging ahead, now the next. He had been watching closely, cheering Adam's team on, but he had still missed what had happened, exactly - who had taken a turn off course and why. He probably only imagined that he heard the faint thunk of hull bumping hull under the roar of the crowd, but he knew he didn't imagine seeing both the slender crafts roll…slowly, so slowly, it seemed, it was almost surreal…turning upside down and dumping their oarsmen head over ears into the swollen spring waters of the Charles. He was sure that his heart actually stopped dead in his breast.

A few heads popped up right away, laughing, damn silly boys that they were, grabbing the oars or onto the sides of the capsized crafts…but not the particular head that he was looking for. He started to shoulder his way forward through the crowd muttering half-hearted apologies, his eyes fixed on the water below. Just another stupid notion, really - he had no idea what it was he thought he could do when he got there - swim his way out to them? At his age? He only knew that he had to do something - to get closer - to find the missing head that had gone under and not come up. And then suddenly it erupted from the water, shaking wet hair away from its face, choking up great mouthfuls of the river. He slowed his pace, stopped. His heart started to beat again.

He watched as one of the oarsmen pounded the sodden figure between the shoulder blades. He must have made a witticism of some sort, because he saw Adam drape himself over the overturned bow and laugh. He shook his head. Stupid boys, didn't even know when they were in danger. Had he ever been that young and stupid? Someone had a rowboat out there now, was righting the vessels and bringing the boys in to shore. A couple were swimming alongside the boat, keeping pace. His, of course. Stupid boy.

He made it to the water's edge just about the time Adam emerged, still coughing up water and laughing. One of his teammates slapped him on the back and someone else handed him a towel. He rubbed it over his face before noticing Abel standing there. He smiled cheerfully in greeting. "Damn, that water's cold!"

"Watch your language," said Abel automatically. Not that he didn’t swear himself.

Abel felt almost dizzy with relief, and it made him waspish, so he continued bitingly, "So, how deep exactly is the Charles at THAT point?"

Adam gave a burst of surprised laughter, then shook his head with a rueful smile. "A little lower than it used to be, I can tell you that - think I swallowed about half of it!" He looked over to where the sculls were draining, upside down on the water's edge. "Guess that one's a draw."

"Hmph. Is that what that was. Took years off my life - and I don't have them to spare."

Abel bristled. "Sit down indeed! I'm not an old woman!" Adam's mouth quirked quizzically, and Abel served up his best sea captain's glare. "Don't be impertinent!"

"You were thinking it. Clear as day." Adam confined the laughter to his eyes this time, blotting at the water running from his hair. Abel studied him closely. "And what about you? Are you all right?"

Adam slung the towel around his neck and looked down at himself. "I," he decided solemnly, "am very wet."

"Scuttle along and change, then. Or Mrs. Longworth will loose her hoity-toity ways on the both of us for being late." He scowled thoughtfully. "Well, on me, that is. YOU always seem to escape that treatment."

Adam laughed out loud this time, scrubbing at his hair with the towel and making his way to the changing area. "I'll be quick."

Abel watched him walk away, couldn't resist one last parting shot. "Adam!" he called. Adam turned questioningly. Abel smirked. "Told you you'd upset."

Ben was a better man than he was, he decided - more courageous. Watching Adam take a spill into the Charles had shaken him so badly - how did Benjamin deal with the endless chain of inevitable tumbles and spills? Not just for one son, but for three?

Marie's name had crept more and more into the letters - missive by missive, epistle by epistle. She always stayed "Marie", never "Ma", but maybe that was only natural. Maybe "Ma" had been reserved for Inger, "Mother" for Elizabeth. Maybe keeping her first name gave her a place of her own in Adam's life.

He returned the letter to the bunch of its brothers and tried to listen to the room above again. Nothing. Not a sound. A good sign? Who could tell? He wasn't sure he believed in changes in luck any more.

Almost a week after the rowing match that ended in a dunking Abel had been unfolding his napkin at the breakfast table. Adam wasn't at his place yet and that was unusual, because Adam always rose early and studied before starting the stove fire for Mrs. Longworth. But it was exam time, and maybe he had lost track of time and was still studying. Or maybe he had been studying too late last night and had actually overslept. Abel had smiled at the thought. If that were the case, Adam would be mortified.

Mrs. Longworth was setting out breakfast and he was about to go to the foot of the stairs and call Adam when he finally appeared, a little disheveled, and slid into his customary chair.

Abel smiled behind his napkin when he noticed that he had evidently cut himself shaving. "Oversleep?" he queried politely.

Adam nodded dumbly, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead then reaching for his napkin.

Abel's smile slipped a little when he caught a glimpse of his face. "How late were you up studying?"

Adam shrugged. "Not too late." He took the platter of hotcakes from Abel, eyed it a little dubiously, then forked a couple and poured himself coffee.

Abel returned to finishing his own meal. He was shaking out his napkin and sliding it back into its ring when his eyes fell on Adam's plate. The hotcakes were now cut up and spread around, but had not noticeably diminished. Adam seemed more interested in his coffee, rubbing absently at a spot between his eyes while he sipped. Abel had been about to excuse himself, but that made him pause. "Not hungry?" When was Adam ever not hungry?

Adam started to shake his head then seemed to think better of it. "Not really. Bit of a headache."

"Might be a good night to get to bed early." And when Adam didn't answer, "Adam."

"All right, then. Have a good day." Abel made his way to the door, picked up his hat and overcoat. He glanced back at Adam, still sitting motionless at the table, feeling curiously reluctant to leave him. Then he saw Adam push himself heavily to his feet and move toward the kitchen and Mrs. Longworth, and he finally positioned his hat on his head and made his way slowly out the door.

Abel had watched Adam through his lashes at dinner that night, noted that he seemed no more interested in that meal than he had been in breakfast. Something about his eyes looked wrong, too - they seemed heavy and listless, like his movements, none of the veiled merriment or sly humor or keen interest he had become so used to seeing there evident. Finally, when he couldn't stand it any more, he had blurted, "Something wrong with Mrs. Longworth's stew?" And, when there was no response, more firmly, "ADAM!"

Adam's head jerked up in surprise, and Abel saw a flicker of pain shiver across his face. "I'm sorry…did you…?" He kneaded unconsciously at his brows in a gesture that was becoming almost chronic today.

"I asked you if something was wrong with the stew." He waited while Adam looked down at his plate as if he was surprised to see there was stew on it. "Head still hurting?"

Abel drew in an exasperated breath. It was like trying to talk to a bloody wall. "And did they help?"

"If you don't want to eat then maybe you'd better be getting to bed. It will probably be better in the morning."

"I don't think you'll get a lot of studying done anyway from the look of you. Go to bed and start fresh in the morning."

Adam pushed at his forehead again as if he was trying to keep it from exploding outward. "Maybe you're right."

Abel smiled grimly. "It's been known to happen. Take yourself off to bed, and if you're not better in the morning then we'll call the doctor."

Adam pushed away from the table and navigated carefully to his feet. "I don't need a doctor - I'm sure it's nothing."

"Hmph." Abel watched him make his uncertain way to the stairs, his own face creased with worry. "And maybe you'd better think about letting go of rowing for a while."

Adam didn't look back at him. "Yeah, maybe," he answered listlessly. Abel's heart froze within his chest. Maybe he should send for the doctor right now.

He wished he had. Not that it really would have made any difference - the doctor had said not. But he might have felt better. Where was that line between being an alarmist and being a good guardian? Would he ever find it? Did anyone? He ran a finger down another packet of letters, this one from several years later. He hesitated, then drew one out anyhow. Another thin year for letters - the thinnest yet. He knew what this one said, by heart, almost, but he looked at it anyway.

He sat looking at this one for a few minutes, remembering, then carefully folded it again and slipped it back into place.

The next morning Adam had been late for breakfast again. This time it did not make Abel smile. Instead, he rose immediately and made for the stairs, calling Adam's name. There was no answer. He entered the bedroom without even knocking.

The room was as neat as ever, except for a few books left open on the desk and yesterday's clothes discarded rather heedlessly on a nearby chair. That sight alone was enough to stop Abel's breath for a moment - in his wildest imaginings he couldn't see Adam carelessly dropping his clothes instead of folding and hanging them and putting them in their proper places.

"Adam?" anxiety made his voice sharp, and after a moment the long mound under the quilt stirred. Abel rested his hand on the shoulder under the coverings and shook it lightly. "Adam. Son, are you all right?"

The mound shifted and rolled and Adam's face came into view as he dropped onto his back. "Grandfather?" his voice sounded blurry. "What's wrong?"

Abel's heart did a skip and flutter at the sight of his face, but he kept his voice level. "It's morning and you've overslept."

It seemed to take Adam a minute to digest this. "Oh." He choked on a short, dry cough. "I'd better get up." But he didn't make any move to.

Abel reached down tentatively to touch his cheek, winced at what he felt there. "I tell you what, " he said conversationally, though his heart was hammering suffocatingly against his ribs. "Why don’t you lie in for just a couple of more minutes? You can take a cab to school this morning and that will give you a little extra time to sleep."

Adam swallowed slowly, coughed again. "Expensive," he croaked half-heartedly.

Abel forced a smile. "Oh, just this once. Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?"

Abel reached down to massage Adam's temple lightly with his thumb, trying to retain his smile though the heat there was pushing him to panic. "All right then. I'll be right back." He had all but run down the stairs.

Mrs. Longworth had sent a message around to the doctor and searched through her small chest of medicines while Abel fetched the water. Adam seemed to hardly know that he was there.

The doctor had taken hours to finally arrive. Well, maybe it just felt like hours, but it was a long time. By the time he did arrive, Adam seemed to be barely semiconscious, swallowing water only with Mrs. Longworth's most patient and persistent coaxing.

Abel paused his journey between the window and the bed. "This morning at least - but I think since yesterday." Adam coughed again and Abel winced. "He took a spill in the Charles a few days ago - is it pneumonia?"

The doctor shook his head. "No. Lungs are clear. " He frowned, shaking Adam gently to rouse him enough to answer his questions. After a while he rose from his seat at the edge of the bed, pressing a hand to the small of his back and stretching. "We'll have to see how it progresses and treat the symptoms until I can figure out what's wrong. High fever. Headache. You say he has no appetite?"

Abel shook his head helplessly. "I can't tell you how unusual - " he stopped abruptly, swallowed.

"Heart rate is slow, too. Could be an infection of some kind. I'll check back in a couple of days. If there's any change in the meantime, for better or for worse, send someone around to fetch me."

There was no change for the better. Change for the worse was slow but sure. When five days later the fever had shown no sign of abating, the doctor quietly asked Abel where Adam's parents were. Abel told him there was only Ben, and that he was all the way out in Utah Territory. The doctor sat for a minute, thinking. "Send for him," he said at last.

His fingers skipped ahead through the packet of letters. He set aside a collection of fat ones at the front, filled, he knew, with plans and details, and went to the last one of the pack and eased it out of the group. There had been another long passage of no letters before receiving this one. It crackled a little as he unfolded it. A short, terse note this time:

Abel frowned at the letter. Inconvenience indeed. Drat the boy. As if his own inconvenience would be what he would be thinking of.

He had sent off immediate letters to both Adam and Benjamin - had gotten another short note back from Adam, thanking him for his sympathy and explaining that Ben also appreciated it, but was not really up to replying for himself right now. Abel had understood, of course - he had been widowed himself. Inside, he had cursed being a continent away, wondered if there was anything at all he could do to help. The next letter he received was a long time in coming, dated a full eight months later. It had talked about trying again for college in a year or so. Brisk. Polite. Not a word again about Marie or her death - the subject seemed to be permanently closed. He never had been able to get him to open it.

Oh, he had tried - they had danced around it, Adam deftly evading all his advances. He wouldn't speak of it, though Abel felt he wore his grief like a banner, worked around it like a man adapting to a permanent limp until he didn't even realize he was compensating for it any more. Well, a man was entitled to his privacy of course - he just couldn't help thinking he would feel better if he could bring himself to talk about it.

He leafed briefly through the next set of letters - very sparse, very short, all saying more or less the same thing…all is well, all is well, all is well…all showing very clearly that all was nothing of the kind. He didn't pull them out to look - even today, after three years, something about them hurt his heart. He let his palm lie quiet on top of the neat rows of yellowing correspondence.

He had sent word to Ben - had couched it as carefully and as tactfully as he could, though he knew there would be no hiding what he was really saying. Ben's answer had crept back to him through the circuitous mails, telling him he had made arrangements and he was on his way, detailing his route so that they could maintain some sort of communication by telegraph. He had felt a little better somehow once they were in consistent touch - as if the burden were no longer his alone. A few days later, the doctor had looked up from his examination - they took place twice a week now, one tediously like another, bringing no relief or respite - and asked him to take a look.

Abel had looked down reluctantly. The doctor had peeled back Adam's nightshirt to reveal his abdomen and lower chest. The first thing Abel noticed with a pang was that Adam's ribs were beginning to arc in a pattern through his skin. Then he saw that the doctor was fingering a series of flat, rose colored spots scattered across Adam's stomach and peeping through the black hair curling over his chest. Abel squinted at them. "What does it mean?"

The doctor hesitated. "Well - not really - we'll just keep treating the symptoms like we've been doing. But it rules some things out anyway."

The doctor hesitated again. "We don't really know. There's a lot we don't know about it."

Abel pressed his lips together to prevent a sarcastic rejoinder. That wouldn't help. "The survival rate?"

This time the doctor avoided his eyes, busying himself with closing Adam's nightshirt and pulling the quilt up over his chest. "Mixed. Many people do survive it. It's most severe in - "

Abel crossed his arms over his chest when the doctor seemed reluctant to continue. "In - ?" And when the doctor remained silent. "In people like Adam?"

"In adults," the doctor finished reluctantly. "Children get milder cases. Your grandson seems like a strong young man."

He is, thought Abel. But strong people die all the time. "I see," he said crisply. "Contagious? Something else we should do? Or don't you know that either?"

The doctor gave him a sympathetic glance. "We're not sure how it spreads, but you probably want to keep visitors to a minimum and to watch who you and Mrs. Longworth traffic with, too. Have your food delivered rather than marketing - that sort of thing. You're not under quarantine, but I am asking you to be circumspect. Can someone run the Chandlery for you for a while?"

As though he wanted to be traipsing off to the damn Chandlery anyhow while his grandson lay at death's door. "Yes. My manager is very competent."

"Good. Good. I'll be contacting some other doctors for information about typhoid, and I'll check back in two days. In the meantime ..."

Footsteps sounded overhead again, and he snapped to attention. This time the voices sounded automatic, cordial, growing louder as they made their way toward the landing. Abel froze as they hit the first stair, his impatience leaving him. Suddenly he didn't want to hear what the doctor had to say - suddenly he wanted to stall - he wanted more time. But stalling would buy him nothing. Sooner or later, he would have to know.

Slowly, carefully, he rose from the bed and walked delicately to the door. He hesitated with his hand resting on it, hearing the voices now just outside in the entryway, trying to gather clues from them. They gave nothing away. Just let Benjamin get here first, he prayed to himself. I won't ask anything more, if only…

The voices were quiet now and there was a soft rap on the door, almost right under his hand. He bowed his head. Don't be a coward, Abel, he scolded himself. You have a responsibility - see to it.

He wanted to pray again, but his mind was a blank. He looked back at the rows of letters neatly arranged in the drawers. Dear Grandfather, how are you…?

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped out to meet the doctor.

"ALBANY!" The conductor's voice shook Ben from a half-doze, and he peeled back his eyelids, stretching his shoulders beneath his jacket. "Albany! Everybody off for Albany!" Albany. He needed to change trains here for Boston. He rose awkwardly, squirming some of the kinks from his back and pulling his carpetbag down from the rack above. He saw Mrs. Chambers yawning and stretching in her seat across the aisle and scooped her small bag down as well. No doubt there was more substantial luggage in the baggage car and a husband in the club car, but he could offer this one small courtesy. She saw what he had done and smiled at him, trying to bring some order to her hair.

"Well, it's a LITTLE more comfortable than spending the night on a stagecoach."

Ben smiled in return. "Very little." He pulled out his watch and glanced at it. "7:30am. We made good time, though."

Mrs. Chambers nodded, straightening her smart traveling jacket. "Only fourteen hours. It's amazing, when you think about it." She took the arm Ben offered her and then let him precede her down the steep car steps and assist her onto the platform, breathing deeply as she looked around in the thin dawn light. "Real air. I'd almost forgotten what it smells like."

Ben inhaled the faint smells of coal and cinders and shook his head. "Almost real air. If you really want real air, you'll have to come to the Ponderosa."

Mrs. Chambers stopped trying to retie her bonnet. "I'd like that," she said simply. They stood looking at one another for a moment. "This is my stop," she added at last.

Ben dropped his head and nodded. "It has been - " he cleared his throat. "Your company has been - well. Wonderful. I want to thank you - "

"Piffle." Mrs. Chambers abandoned the bonnet strings to pull on a pair of crocheted mitts. "The pleasure has been all mine. I wonder if you'd be willing…" She trailed off, looking embarrassed.

Ben looked at her questioningly, and when she didn't continue prompted gently, "Anything."

Mrs. Chambers flushed a little, paying careful attention to the wrist button on one of her mitts. "Well, I wonder if I gave you my address if you'd be willing to drop me a line and let me know how you make out? You and Adam? I know it's presumptuous of me, but I can't help wondering…"

"Not presumptuous at all. After listening to all those long stories I think it's the least that I owe you."

Mrs. Chambers gave a low laugh, peeking up at him. "I had such a good time. I never would have believed it."

Ben nodded, his heart suddenly restless. "You're very good company. I'd almost forgotten myself how it could be…" He shrugged, glancing around. "Your husband wheeling and dealing again?"

"That's right." She stared at her mitts in exasperation as the button eluded her grasp and finally peeled them off again. "I wonder if I might impose on you one more time to watch my carpet bag for me while I freshen up? I honestly feel as if even my teeth are full of cinders."

Ben laughed. "Go on." He watched her walk away toward the small ladies' washing facility, feeling in his front pocket for his pipe and tobacco. He had time for a brief smoke before he had to board the train for Boston - might as well enjoy it. No time between trains for a telegram here, and at his next stop…he shook his head. He didn't know whether to feel relief or terror.

He tamped down the tobacco and coaxed it into a rosy glow and was just enjoying the first fragrant puff when a throat clearing behind him made him turn. Lyle Chambers stood there, looking uncomfortable. His eyes were bloodshot and his coat had absorbed the smoke of a dozen different club car cigars. Ben raised his brows in polite inquiry.

Chambers cleared his throat again, jerking his head at the small, neat bag next to his own. "That Katherine's?"

Chambers nodded back, sliding the bag over his arm. "I - um - " he looked past Ben, as if studying something across the track and on the station wall beyond him. "I - know you looked out for her on the way - not that she isn't capable of looking out for herself - she is - but - I know she enjoyed talking with you. I - wanted to thank you."

Chambers bobbed his head at the toes of his boots. "I know that," he said abruptly.

Chambers head shot up. "I do know it. But business comes first. Katherine understands."

Chambers' face tightened. "Oh, yes - it's all very easy for you, isn't it? You with your three sons. Katherine told me. Three." Ben winced, praying inwardly that that was still true. "What do you know about it? A man needs something to pin his name on - something that will carry it into the future so his life doesn't end with his own. If he doesn't have children then he needs to have something else. It's worth making a few sacrifices for."

Ben looked down at his pipe, not drawing on it now, letting the embers flicker and fade. "It's true," he said slowly after a minute. "I don't know what it's like not to have children - not to have that stake in the future." After a minute he upended the bowl of the pipe and ground the ashes into the platform. Chambers nodded abruptly, turning to leave. Ben hesitated, then said it anyway. "Mr. Chambers - "

Ben wondered why he'd stopped him, rubbing his hand over the pipe to cool it. "I - do know something about loss, though. I know - I know one thing. One thing." He looked at his pipe as if wondering how it had gotten into his hand and tucked it away in his pocket again. "I know that sometimes - you can become so focused on your loss - on what you don't have - that you lose sight of what you do. You can have some idea inside that that's something you will never lose - that it's sort of guaranteed - because you've lost so much already. " He smiled sadly. "I know that's not so. There are no guarantees - no limits to loss. Losing or being denied one thing does not safeguard another. You can still lose that other precious thing - and the next. And even the next. So make sure to pay attention to the precious thing you already have. Because some day you may not. That's all I'm saying. Just friendly advice. " He shrugged. "Take it or leave it."

"Oh, there you are, Lyle!" Ben glanced over Chamber's shoulder, saw Katherine approaching with her bonnet and mitts neatly in place. She kissed Chamber's cheek and held out her hand to Ben, a piece of paper in it. "My address. You won't forget?"

Ben took the paper and slipped it into his vest pocket, brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them lightly. "Forget? You? Never." Katherine laughed, and he squeezed her fingers gently before releasing them. "I hope you enjoy your visit to Albany. Meeting you has been a pleasure."

Ben glanced behind him at the train growling to life there. "Well, I'd better board. You two take care." He had lifted his carpetbag and turned toward the conductor when he felt someone catch at his sleeve.

"Cartwright - " He turned back, saw Lyle Chambers offering him his hand. He took it tentatively, was surprised by the firmness of the grip. "God speed," Chambers blurted, then, in a lower tone, "I - I won't forget either."

Boston. After all this time. There lay his past - and part of his stake in the future.

He turned to look out the window, watched the station sign for Albany grow small in the distance. Scenery crowded the windows now, moving past them slowly, then faster - blurring. New York had been like that for him, he remembered, those near two decades ago - like that scenery - blurring past. Schenectady, New York, to be exact. The end of the Erie Canal. Oh, technically Albany was the end, but the canal between Schenectady and Albany was longer than the stage road, so most passenger traffic stopped in Schenectady. Shipping went on to Albany. Pretty Dutch cities, both, he remembered, with herringbone brick for streets and breathtaking views of the Mohawk and Hudson.

He had rented a comfortable set of rooms overlooking the canal, he remembered - the canal was an engineering marvel, called the wonder of the century, and a rich source of employment, especially for a man with seafaring experience. He had found work immediately, helping to stock and inventory a Chandler's Shop. He had even taken their books home to work on at night - a good source of extra money. Even better because he hated doing books - Elizabeth had done them for their Chandler's Shop in Boston. There was a spiteful, angry pleasure and pain to forcing himself to struggle through them without her.

The Chambers had long since disappeared from the window's view - the station was a tiny speck in the distance. Ben rested his head against the window and thought about those days, slipping past soundlessly and indistinctly as the train scenery; like something outside of time. He remembered so little about them. Sensations. Anger. Despair. A deep, burning pain that defined his days and hovered over his nights. The specter of a beloved face and the echo of a beloved voice - he would sit for hours over those miserable books pretending to work them, really recreating her in his mind - her smile, the sound of her laugh…the way she drew herself up when she was angry…the soft light in her eyes when she looked at him. She might be gone but she was not gone - he would not let her be - she would be with him always. Always. God may try to take her away, but God would not win - not while Ben was alive. He would reconstruct her - rebuild her in his mind's eye - every waking moment and every sleepless night.

He did, too. Faithfully. Vividly. Mrs. Callahan kept their small household and looked after the baby while Ben brought home money and kept Elizabeth alive, sure that if he ever missed even a day of remembering she would disappear from him forever. And then everything good that he was would disappear, too.

How long had they stayed in Schenectady? That was a blur, too. One winter? He thought so. Had Adam's first birthday been there? No - further down the canal somewhere - Syracuse? Rochester? He couldn't remember now. The train rocked him, the wheels singing along the tracks.

He could still see those rooms, though, if he closed his eyes - a sunny parlor with large windows overlooking the canal - some kind of dark burgundy wallpaper: his desk was there, a sparse kitchen marking the opposite wall, a small chamber at one end of the room for himself, a slightly larger one next to it that Mrs. Callahan shared with the baby's crib. Mrs. Callahan seemed very attached to the baby and that was a relief - she saw circumspectly to all his needs and left Ben free to chase his ghost.

He remembered sitting in that parlor one evening, the candles gutting low in their branches, drowsing over his pretense of doing the books with Elizabeth shimmering mistily before him in the shivering light. It was like that sometimes - he could almost reach out and touch her, she became so real. If he worked at it long enough and hard enough, maybe he would be able to someday. He would try. He was entranced by his vision - so much so that it took him a long time to become aware of another sound - not Elizabeth's ghostly laughter this time - filtering into the parlor. He blinked and frowned, more than a little irritated at being interrupted. What on earth was that? It was familiar…oh, yes. The baby. He had heard it before, but usually Mrs. Callahan took care of it fairly quickly. She would again. He settled back into his imaginings.

The sound did not abate - grew louder, in fact - disruptive. He glared at the plank door to the second bedroom as if his disapproval would stop the sound. Really, she was taking a long time about it tonight - was it that teething again? It sometimes took quite a while to quiet the crying down when there was teething. He sighed and thought about going for a walk until the crying was over and Mrs. Callahan could get things back in hand…then suddenly remembered that Mrs. Callahan was not here. She had asked permission to go to a sewing bee held in honor of families of War veterans. She had given him some sort of rambling instructions but had assured him that he probably would not need them - that the baby usually slept through once he was settled down for the night. He looked back at the door, uneasy and irritated. Well, he certainly didn't seem to be sleeping now! And if any neighbors were hoping to sleep, it was a sure bet that they weren't either. He should probably…do something.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and strode to the plank door, determined to put an end to this nonsense. The wall lamp in the room had been left burning very low, and he turned it up higher so that he could locate the shadowy crib in the dark. The crying stopped. Ben let out a breath of relief. Good. He turned the lamp back down and started to pull the door closed behind him. The crying started up again. Ben braced himself against the door lintel. Damn.

He opened the door all the way and turned the light back up. The crying stopped. Hm. Maybe it was the light he wanted. Maybe it was too dark for him. Pleased with his own ingenuity at solving this little problem so quickly, he turned to leave. The reaction was immediate - and loud.

Ben threw up his hands in exasperation and went back in. "Listen, young man," he began in what he thought was a rather good imitation of his own father's stern voice. "It is night and you are supposed to be asleep. Now lie down and go back to sleep, and Mrs. Callahan will take care of whatever you need when she gets back."

The crying stopped. Well, thought Ben, that's all he needed, then. Just a little discipline. His father had always been a great believer in discipline, and evidently he had been right. He turned to leave. The crying started again - louder and more insistently this time. Ben wanted to tear at his hair.

What were those things Mrs. Callahan had explained to him about? What were the things she was always checking for?

Hunger was one. There was pap in a bottle in Mrs. Callahan's little window box of supplies, keeping fresh and cold, but didn't it have to be warmed up first, and how on earth did you do that again?

Wetness. Lord, he hoped it wasn't that one - he had seen Mrs. Callahan take care of that and had no desire to try it himself.

Teeth. That had been a big one lately…He spotted the old ivory and silver teething ring that the baby had inherited from Elizabeth and a long line of Stoddards before her lying on the small maple dresser and seized it, holding it out gingerly in two fingers and approaching the crib cautiously.

There was a faint snuffling sound, then a small, round hand poked through the bars of the crib and curled around the proffered ring. Ben held his breath. Mercy, but those were long fingers for such a little hand - had they always been that way? The hand shook the ring, but made no move to adjust it mouthward. Well, no matter - as long as he was entertained. Stealthily, he began backing toward the door again. He had almost reached it when the snuffling escalated to whimpering, then built to a wail. Ben shut his eyes and prayed for patience.

He paced back to the crib, his mouth set. "Are you wet? Is that it?" he demanded, shaking his head at his own foolishness. Not as if he could really answer, was it? After all, he was only…he paused. How old was he now? Six months? No - nine? Well, certainly not a year yet. And children didn't start talking until…when did they start talking, anyway? And when on earth was Mrs. Callahan due back? "Can you hold out for just a little longer, do you think?"

The tiny, long-fingered hands wrapped themselves around the crib spokes and tightened and a small head popped over the top of the railing. Ben stood still. Why, he was standing up. When had he learned to do that? He felt a bit of an unexpected glow. Was that normal? It seemed very clever to him. He inched a little closer.

The diminutive figure gnawed on the railing in front of its mouth, gazing at him unblinkingly. Ben considered him with misgiving. "Well, maybe you're hungry then, but your food is cold, and I'm not certain about warming it up. Perhaps you wouldn't mind it cold, just this once…?" The infant stopped chewing and cocked his head at him. Ben's heart did a slow somersault.

It was…it was almost like his visions…that same look, that same…he took another step closer. More real than his visions, actually - flesh and blood. How could he have missed…? One more step forward, his hand hovering in the air over the downy head, then dropping to his side without touching. He swallowed slowly. "You have," he remarked, his voice shaking a little, "your mother's ridiculously long eyelashes." The eyelashes went up and down like twin fans as the baby blinked at him. Ben stared, his heart tightening now within him. Had he ever really looked at the baby before? Not the baby, he corrected himself - his baby. His son. Adam. He moved to lean against the crib, studying him as if he'd never seen him before. Which, upon reflection, was not far from being the case.

He could remember that first glimpse, Elizabeth staring into the cradle, constantly pulling back the draping and remarking on the newborn, begging Ben to notice this and that. He remembered feeling paralyzed, potential joy snuffed out by almost certain grief when he saw Elizabeth's grey and drawn face, transparent in the sunlit bedroom. He pretended to look - made some foolish remark, he thought - something about the baby making a fine looking man. He shook his head slightly. Elizabeth would have teased him mercilessly about that one if she had…he rubbed a hand over his face.

He had had eyes only for the face of his beloved - as though staring at her - fixing his eyes on her - would somehow keep her with him, in this world. And then afterward… afterward. He dropped his eyes.

Afterward, he hadn't wanted to look. Had shied away from that thing - that painful reminder of what had been meant to be such joy and had turned instead into such sorrow. That important thing that Elizabeth had so yearned for and rejoiced over and in the end, had had such little time to savour. Oh, he had seen to his child's care - had hired a good nurse, made sure he was fed and clothed and warm. Kissed him goodnight every night when Mrs. Callahan brought him to him. Surely that was enough? Wasn't that what a father did? It was what he remembered his father doing.

He reached with a cautious finger and ran it along the tips of hair that stood up on the little scalp. Black, he marveled, like his own. Curling, like Elizabeth's . The baby (Adam, he corrected himself mentally) shook his teething ring companionably at him and broke into a grin at the light touch, dimples popping out in either cheek. Ben found himself grinning in return.

"Now, where did you get those?" he asked, flicking a finger over one round cheek. "I don't remember any in my family. You could actually hide something in those, they're so deep." His skin was so soft. Were babies always so soft? He touched a fingertip to the velvety line of black brow that traveled across his forehead, then ran it lightly down his nose. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd almost think those were your mother's eyes looking back at me…" The words caught in his throat, and he let his hand fall to his side. Well, Elizabeth, I'm looking now…a superb joke, that while I have been desperately trying to keep your image with me you had provided me with a living remnant - if only I'd done what you asked and looked.

The clock chimed in the parlor, and he gave a start. That late already! "You are supposed to be asleep," he enjoined hastily, "and I am supposed to be working." Adam politely offered him the teething ring. Ben took it doubtfully. "Well, thank you very much, but this is not the point. You lie down and go to sleep now, like a good boy." Adam stared at him. "Lie down…" Ben gestured with his hand to indicate lying prone. Adam gnawed thoughtfully on the crib rail. Ben sighed. "Well, all right, then. You can stand. I'll leave the light up for you if that's what you like, but you have to be quiet and go back to sleep." He turned and made for the door. He recognized the warning signs of a rising wail before he was halfway there.

He spun on his heel. "Now, see here, young man - " The wailing rose to howls. Ben winced, rubbing at his ear. "You can NOT make that noise at this hour! Are you wet? Is that it?" He reached between the crib bars and, delicately, as though he was afraid the child might explode in his hand, patted the diaper. Dry as a bone. The crying stopped. Ben pursed his lips and sighed deeply. "I don't know what it is you want of me," he confessed, "but I DO know that I have a great deal of work that I need to accomplish by tomorrow. And I know that you need your rest. So I am going to leave this room, and I do not expect to hear any more crying - is that clear?" The dark eyes fixed on him. He nodded approvingly. "Good."

With great military precision, he swung back toward the door and marched to it. His hand was on the latch when he heard a small sniff. He waited. No crying, but another tiny sniff. He stood frozen in the doorway, wondering fiercely at his inability to move. Another sniff - very small, but distinct. He turned around slowly. And cringed.

Elizabeth had never been much of a crier - had never been one of those women who used tears as a weapon. Despite that, or maybe because of it, he had always found himself curiously unable to deny her anything when she looked at him with wet lashes and full eyes. He found himself no more resolute when gazing at those same eyes in another face.

He walked slowly back to the side of the crib. "Well…" he fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief and dabbed awkwardly at the upturned face. "Well, I suppose you could come and keep me company while I work for a bit - would that keep you quiet? But you have to be back in bed before Mrs. Callahan gets home." He pictured the way Mrs. Callahan picked the baby up in his mind's eye and maneuvered himself to where he could slide his hands under the little nightgowned arms. There was an uncomfortable moment where Adam dangled from his hands like a sack of feed, then he moved him against his chest where he could get a better grip on him. Immediately, Adam's hands wrapped themselves in Ben's shirt at the neck, his head nestling into the crook of his shoulder. Ben stood stock still, the oddest feeling around his heart.

It was well over an hour later when Mrs. Callahan bustled in, full of apologies for her lateness and stopped suddenly at the sight before her. "Oh, Mr. Cartwright, I'm so sorry - has he been restless? Usually he's so quiet once I put him down…"

Ben glanced up from the books he was working on, putting down his pen and pushing the old quill Adam was waving around out of his face. "No, that's fine, Mrs. Callahan - Adam was just helping me out with the books. How was your sewing bee?"

"It was - well, we got a lot - excuse me, Mr. Cartwright, but perhaps he is wet? I should probably - "

Ben ran a finger down his column of figures, checking. "Believe me, Mrs. Callahan, I would know if he was wet since it's my lap he's sitting on. He's fine. Did you ladies get a lot of sewing done?"

Mrs. Callahan blinked. "Well, yes - yes indeed - a record amount, they said, what with - pardon me, Mr. Cartwright, but maybe he is hungry? I could heat up a little - "

Ben grasped the quill and shifted it slightly as Adam slapped it on Ben's page of figures, crowing happily. "No, not hungry - I tried that. You'll have to show me that heating up again - I don't think I have the trick of it. Can't believe he really eats that stuff - it looks nauseating. Are you sure it's good for him?"

"Oh, yes - " Mrs. Callahan hastened. "The very BEST pap recipe - been in my family for years. You just make sure you don't put it directly on the stove, but in a pan of warm water…um…excuse me, Mr. Cartwright, but what is that in his hand…?"

He saw her eyes drift nervously to the quill and disengaged it from Adam's mouth. "Don't worry - I cut off the end. He can't hurt himself on it. A record amount of sewing, you say?"

"Yes - " Mrs. Callahan twitched. "Yes. Two whole quilts and just dozens of little…you know, he may be cutting a few new teeth. That does make him restless. I could get some paregoric…"

Ben gestured to the abandoned teething ring on the desktop, gently but insistently moving Adam's quill to the other side of the ledger. "Why don't you take care of that page, Adam, while I work on this one? He doesn't seem to be teething, though he chewed a little on his crib.

"Well, I'm sure you made some families of veterans very happy tonight. You should get out more, Mrs. Callahan - it's good for you."

Mrs. Callahan opened her mouth, closed it abruptly. She clasped and unclasped her hands. "Well, I'm so sorry you were disturbed, Mr. Cartwright," she stuttered feebly at last. "Usually he's such a good boy - I can't imagine what's wrong with him."

Ben lifted Adam's hand carefully from the ledger and gently turned the page before putting it back. Adam grinned a four-toothed grin at him and he smiled.

"There's nothing wrong with him," he said simply, picking up his own pen again and dipping it. "I think he just wanted his father."

"BOSTON!" The jolt of the train stopping threw Ben forward and back into the present, his eyes popping open in surprise. "Boston! Everybody off for Boston!" He rubbed at his sleep-gummed lids, blinking. When had he fallen asleep? "BOSTON!"

Boston. He stared out the window at the track sign swinging slightly in the wind.

Ben picked up his carpetbag and slowly descended the train steps to the platform. Boston, he thought dazedly. Boston ground under his feet for the first time in twenty years. It didn't seem real.

He walked the length of the platform into the station, a building, he reminded himself, that hadn't existed last time he was here, and through it out into the street, glancing at the station clock as he passed. A quarter til six. He stood outside the station, ignoring the bustle of passengers around him, and stared. It was like the landscape of a dream - oddly familiar, and yet almost completely unrecognizable. He waved away a hopeful cabby and began to walk. Well, there was the Old South Church - that looked more or less the same. And there, in the distance, was the harbor. The salt tang in the air had heralded it even before he saw it though, that and the smattering of gulls circling hopefully overhead. The Atlantic Ocean. Unexpected tears sprang to his eyes. His ocean.

He walked further into the heart of town, staring about him, wondering at how large, how modern and prosperous it all looked. San Francisco was a big city, booming with life, but it was still rough and tumble - lacked the refinement, the dignity, the mellowed age of Boston. The trees that lined the streets were green with spring's tender new blossoms, lilac bushes dotted most yards. It would be nice, he thought, to see it in Fall again - New England was beautiful in the Fall - bright with rich color, fragrant with the smell of fruitwood fires and burning leaves. Even the sky seemed lower and cozier - so unlike the vast, vaulting sky over the Ponderosa.

He was so caught up in the sights that it took him a while to realize that he was actually walking in the wrong direction - away from Abel's - and he slowed to a stop. What on earth was he doing? He had raced across a continent, slept in trains and on stagecoaches, eaten half-cooked meals standing up and washed up in makeshift pumps to get here and get here quickly and now, suddenly, he was dragging his feet. He leaned against the brick wall behind him, feeling his tiredness.

All right, he knew exactly what he was doing. He was longing to see Adam - longing to hear the details of his illness, but…God. Once he got there he would know for sure - for better or for worse.

If Adam was…gone…then that would be the end of it, forever. He would have to begin at that moment getting used to the idea of a world without him - a world where he would never see him again. And right now, at this minute, he couldn't bear that. He needed just a tiny bit of time here in Boston to believe that his son was still alive - that it would all work out in the end. Just a short time - just a few more minutes of hope.

He let his head fall back to rest against the brick, warm at his back in the late day sun, watching the shadows stretch and lengthen. I'm going, he assured himself. Just one more second to catch my breath and then I'll go. Reluctantly, he pushed himself erect once more and moved slowly in the opposite direction, trailing his hand against the brick like a blind man. When his hand reached a pillar, he looked up - then stopped again, studying the archway in faint wonder. He hesitated only a second then went in, following the neat stone path over the rolling, green, well-kept ground, through small, scattered trees bursting with pink and white blossoms. He thought he knew where he was going though this too had changed some - continued his way as though drawn by a magnet, stopped suddenly.

The shadows were visibly longer; a dusty mauve painted the sky. He squatted, studying a bright mound of pansies - purple and gold and blue and white and even black velvet; smiled. They reminded him of her - playful and regal at the same time. Heart's ease. His own mother had had pansies in her garden - had always referred to them by that old fashioned name, heart's ease. He wondered whose work this was - Abel's or Adam's?

He ran his hand over the smooth, cool granite, tracing the carvings, reading the inscription: Elizabeth Stoddard Cartwright: beloved wife of Benjamin, loving mother of Adam, precious daughter of Abel and Margaret. Our Paradise: Lost. The stone must have absorbed the sun, because it felt warm and silken under his palm. He let his hand rest lightly on top.

The sky was deepening to rose now, the last fingers of light made queer shadows slant from the carved letters, a faint breeze ruffled the leaves of the flowering trees. Ben bowed his head.

"I'm back, Elizabeth," he whispered, his hand tightening its grip slightly. "I came back."

The last of the pink had faded from the sky leaving it slate colored with an undercoat of violet before he lifted his head again. Some of the tightness had left his face now, and he paused, letting his fingertips run along the letters of her name. "You always had a way of making me feel better about things," he said softly. "Always. What would I have done without you all these years? I never could have raised him on my own. Funny how hard I fought in the beginning to keep you with me - how long it took me to realize that you would never really leave me. You were always there. Always. And if Adam leaves me…I know he'll always be there too, but…" he let his forehead rest against the stone for a minute. "But I don't want to lose him, Liz. I don't want to outlive my child. Anything but that."

The shadows were starting to blend together, and he slowly unbent his knees, using the headstone to push himself erect. "Yes, yes - I know what you're telling me - I didn't come all this way not to go and see now. I'm just…" he winced. "…afraid." Another light wind sighed through the trees, and he cocked his head to listen as if it was trying to tell him something. Nothing. Nothing he could understand, anyway. He touched the top of the stone one more time then straightened his back painfully. He bent over to pick up his bag again, his eyes lingering on the pansies. Impulsively, he broke off one purple and one gold one and tucked them in a buttonhole of his coat. "Remember how you used to do that for me? For luck. Oh, don't nag, I'm going." He grasped the bag this time and started toward the path, paused to look back at the headstone silhouetted in the waning light. "But I'll be back."

He left the Burying Ground in the right direction this time, his feet remembering without conscious effort, just as they had remembered the way to Elizabeth. The streets were shadowed and peaceful now; probably sensible people were inside having their dinners. He quickened his pace.

Elizabeth. He had married two more times after Elizabeth's death, and if he was very lucky perhaps he would marry again one day - but no one had ever taken her place in his heart. She had been his first love, the love of his young manhood: that ardent, burning flame of youth - just as Inger had been the love of his older, wiser, steadier young father-self and Marie the love of his mature, successful, mellowed nature. Each owned a part of him that could not be shared by the others - a part uniquely their own. Just as Adam owned a part of him that was uniquely his own. His first experimental joys of fatherhood were all tied up in Adam, his long and arduous journey to the home they had built together. With Adam he could share memories of his time with both Inger and Marie, and the very sight of him brought back memories of Elizabeth in a way nothing else did. Losing him would mean losing the link to a whole portion of his life that no one else had shared.

More importantly…he walked a little faster. More importantly, losing him meant just plain not having him in his life any longer. He thought he could bear having Adam far away if he had to, could just bear him forgetting all they had shared together, but he could not bear the thought of him just - gone; never to see him again. Adam was, he thought ruefully, one of the oldest, longest and steadiest relationships of his adult life. Loving him had taught him so much, in so many ways - those first, faltering attempts at fatherhood had altered the man he was and changed the course of his life.

He remembered again those cozy rooms in Schenectady where he had first started to take a tentative interest in his child - watching him crawl around the cabbage rose carpet, feeling the tug on his pant legs as the little fists grabbed them to pull himself erect, seeing the careful negotiation from pant legs to chair to wall become a few steps, then - boom!, he'd fall. Watching as he picked himself up again, roaring a protest if anyone dared to try and interfere by offering assistance, seeing him struggle up again to continue his walk until - boom!, he'd be down again. And then up again. Over and over and over. His first glimpse of his son's focused and determined temperament. He chuckled a little despite himself. Oh, call it what it was - stubbornness. His stubborn child.

"I've never seen you give up before, Adam," he breathed as his brisk walk turned into a jog. "Don't you dare give up on me now. I'm almost there, son. Almost there."

He got his first glimpse of the familiar house on the familiar street, hazy in the light of the street lamps - almost thought he could see Elizabeth in her bonnet and cloak, waiting for him at the door as she used to. He was mostly running now, took the shallow steps in one bound, Elizabeth's image dissolving in front of him like air. He grabbed the old brass knocker and had barely dropped it before the door swung inward.

The light from the hallway dazzled him for a moment, and he only just made out a figure's outline, but the height and posture were unmistakable. He squinted against the light trying to see more clearly, had but a second to wonder how it was that Abel had gotten so old when he noticed something else that struck a death knell in his heart - Abel's damp and red rimmed eyes. He felt the carpet bag drop from suddenly nerveless fingers, trying first to peer around Abel, then staring directly at him, struggling to read his face.

Abel did not seem the least dismayed by this mannerless greeting and stepped back to let him in. "Upstairs. He - "

Ben didn't hear the rest because he had brushed by him, taking the stairs two at a time. He pushed the familiar door at the top of the stairs inward, stopped abruptly on the threshold.

The lighting in the room was low and restful. A woman he didn't know sat beside the bed, wringing out a damp cloth. She looked up at him and smiled. Ben's eyes went past her, searching. He walked beyond her to the other side of the bed, dropped down on the edge of the old stuffed chair that sat there as though recently abandoned. He reached out a hesitant hand to the figure in the bed and brushed one emaciated, flushed cheek, his breath knotting in his throat.

The woman seemed unperturbed by the absence of introductions and instead handed him the cloth. "He had a very bad night," she murmured in a pleasant undertone, "but he seems better now. The doctor thinks he may have turned some kind of corner. We'll know more in the morning, but he really does seem better."

Ben nodded mutely, mindlessly accepting the cloth and moving his other hand to cup the pale forehead. He thought he saw the dark lashes quiver, and he leaned in closer. "Adam," he whispered. "Adam, it's Pa - can you hear me?" He stroked the dark curls lightly, almost afraid of breaking him - how could his strong, stalwart boy look so fragile? "Son, I'm here, and you're going to be fine - that's all you need to know. I'm here. Everything is all right."

The lashes flickered again, parted fractionally. He could just make out two thin streaks of amber iris in the narrow slit between the lashes, smiled. He knelt down next to the bed to be sure Adam could see him, never moving his hand from his head. "Well, there you are," he murmured softly. "Now, how many times have I told you not to wander off somewhere without telling me where you're going?"

He thought he saw the corner of Adam's mouth lift just the slightest bit, the narrow gold streaks fixed on his face. The lashes dropped again and the wasted chest rose and fell in a soundless sigh. Ben watched intently until it rose and fell again, more gently, settled into sleep. Then he buried his face in the mattress just in time to hide the rush of silent tears.

Ben jumped awake, disoriented by the familiar-but-unfamiliar voice, and blinked about at the familiar-but-unfamiliar room. He feared for a moment that he had fallen asleep on the settee while spooning with Elizabeth, and that Abel had caught them red handed, then he got a glimpse of Abel's face looking old and worn and everything came back. He glanced automatically to his right, trying to make a fist with his numbed hand, saw that he had dozed off with it lying open over Adam's heart. He kneaded the fingers with his left hand, working to restore the circulation, stealing a sheepish glance at Abel.

Ben frowned, pressing the back of his hand against Adam's throat and then his jaw and shaking his head. "Must have been very hot, then, because he's certainly warm enough."

"Well, he's quieter anyway." Adam had opened his eyes once or twice more, if you could call that slight lifting of his lashes opening - hadn't tried to speak or move, had just focused his eyes on Ben and then closed them again. Ben wasn't even sure if he recognized that he was there. He stretched his muscles, trying to remember at which point he had gotten back into the chair. "I have a rocker at home just for this sort of thing," he remarked absently. "More comfortable."

Ben choked a laugh, checked Adam's temperature again, on the forehead this time, straightened. "I suppose," he began ruefully, shooting an apologetic glance at Abel, "that it would have been nice if I'd said hello at least - after twenty years."

"Yes…" Ben's eyes drifted back to Adam. "There's nothing to him," he burst out involuntarily. "Looks like he could just slip away…"

"No." Ben lumbered to his feet - Lord, but he was tired - held out his hand to Abel. "It's good to see you, sir."

Abel took the hand, clasped it tightly, then pulled him into a quick embrace. "You too, son. Welcome home." He leaned back a little, studying him. "Benjamin Cartwright," he said seriously after a minute, "You have gotten older."

Ben twinkled. "That's funny, Captain - I was just about to remark that you hadn't aged a day."

"Ha!" Abel clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. "What a liar! Your charm is wasted on me, boy! Bet I've aged an extra twenty years just since that one came to stay with me!" He jerked his head toward the bed.

Ben's face softened as he followed his gaze. "Yes, well," he squeezed Abel's arm lightly. "Now you know what happened to me."

Abel snorted his agreement. "I'm sure you must be hungry - Mrs. Longworth is preparing some sort of supper."

"Be that as it may, she'll be expecting you to eat and believe me, that means you'll be eating. A terrible tyrant - don't know why I put up with her."

Ben looked at him questioningly. "That quiet little woman who was sitting here…? She seemed very docile…"

"Ha! A wolf in sheep's clothing! Always has her way. Oh, that boy of yours has her fairly wrapped around his finger, but I'm given no such mercy, believe me." Ben smiled faintly. "And speaking of manners, I suppose it might have been nice if I'd at least offered to take your coat."

Ben glanced down at himself and laughed. "I am still wearing it, aren't I? Wonder where I lost my hat?" He shook himself free of his coat.

"The entry way. Dropped it with your bag." Abel accepted the coat and hung it on one of the hooks ranged along one wall. "God forbid we should be untidy in here…" he paused, fingering one of the coat's lapels, gave Ben a curious glance.

Ben followed his gaze and reddened. "Oh. I - stopped by there - hadn't intended to, really, but found myself there somehow…" he crossed to the coat and pulled the somewhat flat and wilted pansies from the buttonhole and stroked them lightly. "I thought they were - appropriate. You plant them?"

Abel shook his head. "Him. For thoughts, he tells me. Rather than rosemary, which evidently is for remembrance. Won't pretend I understood, but I think she might have, somehow…"

Ben was silent. He dropped the flowers into the water basin, letting them float on top. Maybe the water would revive them a little, and they looked cheerful there…"Yes," he said after a moment. "Yes, I know the quote."

He returned to his perch on the edge of the chair and studied Adam closely. "What does the doctor say?"

Abel frowned. "Been touch and go, but he seems to think he's passed the crisis - that's what I was trying to tell you when you arrived. Mind you, he's not saying anything definite - they seem to know precious little for all their airs, these doctors, muttered some blather about complications and the like - but he seemed optimistic for a change. Warned that if he's on the mend then convalescence will still be long and slow."

"Well, he gives that impression. Worse than a politician, the way he waffles and hedges. He'll be back tomorrow for another visit."

Ben nodded, pulling the covers to Adam's neck and patting them lightly. "He's the one who looks like he needs feeding."

"Keep trying. Can't seem to keep anything in him long enough to do any good. Maybe tomorrow."

Ben dampened the cloth he'd abandoned in a nearby basin and patted it along Adam's neck. "Wish he'd cool down. You say he was hotter than this?"

Abel grimaced. "Much. Was…very alarming. Of course, if he IS on the mend I suppose I'll be feeling pretty foolish to have dragged you clear across the country."

"Don't." Ben wiped the cloth over Adam's collarbones, watched as he shifted slightly, then was quiet again. "I'm glad you sent word. Glad I came."

"Well, I figured you'd never forgive me if…" he trailed off uncomfortably, coughed a little. "Um…speaking of forgiveness…I wish now I'd put him in another room…I know it must have been a terrible shock…but it was too late by the time it occurred to me, and he was so weak by then the doctor didn't think…"

Ben glanced up from his ministrations, blinking about him in surprise. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Abel stared at him. "This room! This room is where Elizabeth…this very bed! And I was afraid Adam…"

"Oh!" Ben sat up straight, really taking in the room for the first time. "That's true, isn't it? It looks different somehow."

"Different!" Abel glowered. "Good God, man, you mean I've been sweating myself to flinders about it and you didn't even notice?"

"No, not really," Ben admitted, wringing out his cloth again and returning his attention to Adam. "But if it comes to that, this is also the room and the bed where Elizabeth and I started our marriage and where - er - Adam was conceived. Not that I think that should be pointed out to him - it's not the sort of image a young man likes to have in his mind. Embarrassing."

Abel gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Good God," he repeated. "You enter this room after twenty years, a place where some of the most consequential events of your life took place, and you don't even notice? What on earth were you looking at?"

Ben burrowed under the covers for one of Adam's hands, wiped it carefully with the cool cloth, then tucked it back under the blankets and searched for the other hand.

Ben leaned his shoulders against the wall and shifted with poorly concealed impatience.

He folded his arms over his chest and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything.

His eyes snagged Abel's, who rolled his expressively in response. Ben almost smiled.

Ben lost his battle with forbearance and cleared his throat in an explosive cough. "Well, doctor…?"

The doctor found a bottle he liked and pulled it from the bag. "Well, Mr. Cartwright," he countered pleasantly. Good God, he's as bad as Paul, thought Ben sourly. "I think things are looking much better here."

"How much better?" He rubbed a hand over his mouth, fought to produce a civil smile. "Forgive me, but I've had a very long, difficult journey, and I've worried every step of the way. What can you tell me? Will he be all right?"

"Well, that's hard to say." Ben fought the urge to shake him. Abel was right - politician. "I think he's beaten the typhoid - it's just a matter now of avoiding any complications. He'll need a careful, attentive convalescence - in his current state he's vulnerable to a number of things. Of course I know he has a very good nurse," he smiled at Mrs. Longworth.

The doctor didn't seem to notice. "Hard to say - depends on him. He been awake?"

"Sort of. He hasn't spoken, but he opened his eyes. Half opened them, anyway."

"Well, that's something. Probably hasn't got the strength for more yet." He indicated the bottle in his hand. "This tonic will help build him up - and I'll give Mrs. Longworth some dietary instructions. Let him sleep as much as he likes, don't rush him. If his fever jumps let me know, but I think it's on its way down. " He looked genially from Ben to Abel. "You two might consider some sleep yourselves. And hire some help if you need it - no reason to wear yourselves out nursing him."

Ben wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers. "Doctor, I - I want to thank you - "

The doctor accepted the hand he offered and smiled puckishly. "Oh, don't thank me - I can only do so much. Mrs. Longworth did most of the work, the Captain did most of the worrying, and your son fought like a wolverine. It's a hard combination to beat. I'm glad your journey had a happy ending, Mr. Cartwright. When will you be heading back?"

Ben looked at Adam, shook his head. "I don't know yet. I want to see him on his feet, first…"

"Mm. Well, like I said, don't rush him. I'll stop in to check again tomorrow morning, but don't hesitate to send someone around for me if he seems worse."

"That will be fine, Mrs. Longworth - I can write out those dietary instructions downstairs…"

"You know," Abel offered conversationally, "you're welcome to take my bed and get a real sleep."

"That's all right. I'd rather be in here. It's not like this is the first time Adam and I have shared a room."

"It's fine. Besides, you're at least twenty years my senior! I hope you don't think that I'd let you sleep on it! And from what Mrs. Longworth tells me, you've barely left this room - time you got some real sleep of your own."

"Woman's a confounded blabbermouth. Suppose you'll be setting up alliances with her too, then you'll all gang up on me."

Ben sank down into the chair by the bed, one hand automatically reaching out to grip Adam's arm. "I need to send some telegrams, too - let Hoss know, and Hop Sing…"

Abel nodded, easing himself into the spindle backed chair. "Write them out and address them, and I'll give Timmy Bryant a coin or two to bring them around to the telegraph office."

Ben pushed himself from the chair, yawning, and rummaged around Adam's desk for paper and a pen. He opened a drawer and paused, staring. "What's this?" he asked after a moment, lifting out a pair of eye holes on a handle. "Looks like a mask of some kind."

"Hm? Oh, that?" Abel gestured casually. "Called a stereopticon. He does love his gadgets."

Ben looked through the eye holes from one side and then the other. "But what is it for?"

"It's for - there should be a box of pictures in there someplace - drop one in."

Ben found the box carefully nestled in a corner of the drawer and flipped up the lid. On top were two beautiful color sketches of the Roman Coliseum, side by side on a card. Curious, he fit the card into the wire rack in front of the eye holes and looked. "Well, I'll be. Look at that." The images had merged and the Coliseum leapt to life, as real as if it was standing before him in the distance. He reached for the next card, this one depicting the Sphinx, and tried it. "Amazing." He put that one back, inserting a view of the Parthenon instead. "Where on earth did he get it?"

"Won it in a wager of some kind, I think," then, at the look on Ben's face, "Oh, don't tell me I've gotten him into trouble now! I don't believe he makes a habit of it - sport, is all. And he probably couldn't resist that silly toy."

Ben glanced at the recumbent figure, chest rising and falling just barely, and the thundercloud growing on his brow diminished in spite of himself. "I'd be interested to know what he put up for collateral of his own, though," he finished more mildly.

"I didn't ask. A young man deserves some secrets of his own. And sometimes I think I'm better off not knowing everything."

Ben grunted in agreement, changing the card for a glimpse of Notre Dame before setting the stereopticon aside. He found the inkwell and pen and was about to continue his search for writing paper when his hand lighted on something else on the desktop. He picked it up and pulled it to its full length, squinting through the small end. "Doing some star gazing, is he?"

Abel opened one eye, nodded. "Mm hm…drags it up to the roof to look some nights. Don't think anybody's been up there since Meg or Elizabeth used to stand there and wave a handkerchief to me as the ship came in."

Ben turned the small telescope in his hands. "We used to do a lot of stargazing when he was small, especially nights we slept out - taught him to name all the constellations. Think it was a comfort to him to know that no matter where we went or how much things changed from one place to the next the stars were always the same."

Abel stretched out his legs. "Probably why he liked to do it here - same stars over the Ponderosa as over Boston."

Ben nodded. "Of course, I tried to explain to him that if he ever went to the Southern Hemisphere there would be a whole new set of stars, but I don't think he believed me for the longest time. Was sure I was pulling his leg. It was always so hard to get him to take my word for anything - just had to see for himself."

Ben replaced the telescope, looking indignant and amused. "Oh, fine - he'd take your word for it, but not mine!"

"Should have gone into law." He pulled open another drawer. "What on earth are these?"

Abel cracked both eyes open again to look. "You still looking for paper, or are you just plain snooping through his drawers?"

"Looking for paper," Ben answered quickly. Then, seeing Abel's sly smile, "Both. He's been away for nearly two years and I just…what did you say these were?"

Abel forced himself to sit up. "May find out some things you'd rather not know about. Those are those Chinese puzzles - you fool around with them to get them undone? No, I can't show you - don't have the patience myself, though they remind me a little of a sailor's knots. He'll show you when he's up to it - after you confess to him about going through his desk."

Ben poked at the puzzles curiously. "A father deserves to have some secrets of his own too," he answered primly. Abel's responding cackle made him glare. "I'd forgotten how annoying you can be."

"Of course not. Wouldn't dream of it. This is different. It's not as if I'm - " he straightened suddenly as something caught his eye. "Where'd he get the guitar?"

Ben strode over to the instrument in the corner and picked it up to study it, but Abel's discomfort made him pause. "Not part of another wager was it?"

"No, no - " Abel shifted uncomfortably. "He - " He appeared to lose a brief struggle with himself. "I bought it for him," he finished sullenly. "Well, you said he played."

Ben nodded, smiling a little as he ran his hand over the bright wood. "I miss it," he confessed. "I'm glad he has one here. I knew he'd be feeling the lack but there was no way to carry it with him, and shipping it would be almost as expensive as buying a new one. What made you think of it?"

Ben raised his brows at his tone, but simply said, "I guess I was." He pulled out the last desk drawer and saw a stack of writing paper resting on top. He picked it up and was about to slide the drawer back when he saw what the paper had been concealing. He sat back on his haunches and studied the clear glass bottle carefully stowed there and the tiny ship being meticulously crafted inside. He was about to draw the Captain's attention to it when he noticed a name painted in minute letters on the bow: The Wanderer. Captain Stoddard's last ship. If Adam were preparing a surprise for his grandfather then he would not be the one to spoil it. He tucked a few sheets of paper around the bottle and eased the drawer closed, thinking.

He unfolded his legs, spread out the paper on the desktop and noticed that he had left the stereopticon lying out. He couldn't resist one more peek at a picture - a beautiful view of the Swiss Alps this time. He sighed a little, fingering the contraption in his hand. That was his son - always wanting to get a clearer view - to see a little better, a little farther, a little differently. He was so deep in his own thoughts that he actually jumped when the bedroom door opened.

Mrs. Longworth stood in the doorway, carrying a small urn of hot water and a cup of shaving soap, a towel draped over her arm. She looked keenly from one to the other. "I'm going to clean Adam up now - why don't you gentlemen take a walk, and I'll have a nice lunch ready for you when you get back?"

Mrs. Longworth set her burdens on the table by the bed and smiled her serene smile. "Oh, I know you don't, but a walk will brighten you up, and if Adam wakes up I know you'll want to be awake and alert for him." She lowered her voice so that only he could hear. "And I'd appreciate it if you could get Abel out, Mr. Cartwright - he hasn't had any fresh air in I don't know how long."

Ben gazed at the dove grey eyes looking so earnestly into his. Despite their softness there was something - compelling - about them.

"Oh, leave 'em alone…" Abel's lazy voice drifted from his chair. "Can't you see he's busy with Adam's toys?"

Ben looked at the stereopticon still in his hand, a certain heaviness in his chest. Adam's toys. He put it gently back in its drawer. "I guess I could use a little fresh air at that," he said abruptly. He shoved the drawer closed. Abel was right. He'd found out something he'd really rather not know about. Served him right.

"Oh, I think you should choose - should have a say in something. Told you she'd push you around - don't let that meek little face fool you."

"Ha. Tell me you wouldn't rather be sitting with your son right now. Then make me believe it."

Ben buttoned up his coat. Spring breeze had a sharpness to it. "I wanted a little time to think. Do that better on my feet."

Abel looked at him more carefully. "I see. Anything you'd like to talk about?"

Ben shrugged moodily, starting in the direction of the harbor. The wind grew stronger as they approached, and he turned up his collar. "I wanted to thank you."

"Oh, and that was a terrible sacrifice on my part - can hardly bear having him about."

Abel shoved his hands deep into his pea coat pockets. "Was never partial to easy. Sort of stirred me up. Gave me somebody to fight with."

Abel snorted. "Somebody I can fight with and hope to win occasionally, then."

Ben laughed. It eased the pressure in his chest some. The harbor was straight ahead and the breeze from off the sea felt refreshing. Bracing. He pulled the salt air deeply into his lungs, looking. The sun glinted off the water and a few ships bobbed on the surface, anchored offshore. No matter where he went, there would never be another ocean quite like it for him. "And thank you for…looking out for him. Especially these last weeks. Both the doctor and Mrs. Longworth told me how you stuck with him - not that they needed to - I knew you would, inside. Even if it sometimes sounded like I didn't in my telegrams, I always knew it. Counted on it. It made things easier for me, knowing I could rely on you."

Now it was Abel's turn to be silent. He squinted against the sun, idly tracking a seagull's flight. "Well, I'm glad," he said slowly. "After last time I was determined to learn my lesson and do it right."

Ben had been looking out at the water, but he glanced at Abel at that. "Last time. What do you mean?"

Abel lost interest in the gull, found something to study along the harbor at his feet instead. "Last time. Elizabeth. You can't tell me you've forgotten that."

Ben smiled sadly. "I like to think I haven't forgotten anything about Elizabeth. But you'll have to be more specific."

Abel blew out his breath. "When she was so sick - you remember. I left her to make that unholy deal with Mandible about my own ship. And then you had to leave her to come help me - try to fix the mess I'd made and save the Chandler's shop. If I'd just kept to my post then maybe you would have been there all that time instead of having to have someone come and fetch you. You might have had a little more time together that last day - instead…" he let it trail off, frowning hard at the street passing by under his feet.

"Oh." Ben was quiet a moment, trying to recall the sequence of events more clearly in his head. It wasn't a day he liked to think about - had spent a lot of time avoiding thinking about it, actually, so it took him a few minutes. "I don't remember her as actually sick before the delivery - was having a difficult pregnancy and was confined to bed, of course, but Mrs. Callahan was looking after her. I was on my way to work, wasn't I?"

"I was - I remember because I was just leaving when Otto came to tell us about Mandible. Went to the shop…"

"Had that knock down, drag out with Mandible's hired muscle, I remember - you were impressive that day, by the way, if I never told you."

"Thank you. You were insufferable that day, by the way, if I remember right."

"Yes. Well. I'm consistent in some things, I suppose. You were pretty insufferable yourself at the time as I recall - young upstart."

"Humph. I was trying to be downright obsequious - to both my old boss and new business partner and my wife's father. You didn't make it easy." He smiled at the cobblestones. "But with the perspective of age I can see that I might have seemed just a little…insufferable."

"You were always right. It's a very annoying quality in a person, you know."

They walked along in companionable silence. Ben studied the horizon where it curved to meet the sky. "I would have been at the Chandlery anyway - even without the incident with Mandible. Someone would have had to come and fetch me. And they wouldn't have let me sit with her while she was in labor. It would have all come out the same." Abel didn't answer. "I appreciate what you did though. Sitting with him. It's what I would have done if I'd been here."

Abel nodded silent thanks. "So what is it that's been preying on your mind that requires a walk? For all his fence sitting I do think that old sawbones knows what he's talking about - boy's turned the corner. And with a dragon like Mrs. Longworth guarding the gate, he'll have no choice now but to make a full recovery."

"He was. Think I've finally cured him of that, though." Ben's brows lowered. "Oh, don't growl - do you really think anyone could make him do anything but what he'd made up his own mind to do? Needed a little lightening up, however. Was too damnably polite."

Ben was silent at that, then ventured, "He was probably nervous at finally meeting you."

Ben sighed. "No, well. That doesn't surprise me." He squinted out over the ocean. "After five years I think we both felt some…false sense of security. As though enough time had passed that it wouldn't happen again. Childish, I know, but your mind plays games with itself."

"Hm? Oh," Ben nodded. "Yes. I suppose. And then it did happen and…well. This time it must have seemed to him that he'd lost both of us." He caught Abel's questioning look and tilted his head at him. "I - wasn't myself for a while. He didn't tell you?" Abel shook his head. Ben gave a short, unhappy laugh. "No. I don't suppose he would." He pushed his hands deep into his pockets. "He had a lot on his hands for a while. His own feelings are most likely just starting to catch up with him. Good for him, probably, being here."

Ben breathed a laugh. "He almost did - did I ever tell you? I almost sent him to you years and years ago."

Abel actually halted in surprise, then picked up his pace again. "When was this?"

"When he was small - two years old. After we lost Mrs. Callahan as a nurse and I got a real taste of what caring for a two year old was like."

This time Ben laughed out loud. "Well, I thought you'd have a better chance of finding a decent nurse here at least - one with training and credentials. You wouldn't believe some of the so-called nurses I tried out: one was a drunkard, unconscious more often than conscious, another one apparently held a high stakes card game in my rooms every afternoon while I was working. Another one had an astonishing parade of brothers and male cousins in and out all day until I finally figured out - well, I don't think you really want to know. Let's just say it made me really appreciate the likes of Mrs. Callahan and Shaughnessy and Hop Sing." He jerked his head to indicate one of the wharves stretching out into the water. "Feel like sitting for a minute?"

"I hope you're not insinuating that I'm too old to continue a simple walk. I get enough of that sort of thing from your cheeky progeny."

They strolled to the end of the wharf and sat on a couple of pilings, looking out over the broad expanse of sea.

"No, she's steady as she goes. Or she's predictable in her changes anyway, once you get to know her. Miss the sea?"

Ben considered, then shook his head. "No. Not really. I love her, but don't miss her. You?"

"No. Like being near her, but lost the need to be on her. Getting old, I suppose. And don't you DARE tell him I said so!" Ben crinkled his eyes in amusement, enjoying the wind off the water whipping through his hair. "So, you must have solved your nursing problem - didn't send him on after all."

"Not really. Worked jobs where I could keep him with me. When he was about four or so I got a little more comfortable about leaving him at boarding houses for the day if the proprietors were kind - at least then he was old enough to tell me if anything was wrong."

"I suppose." Ben folded his arms over his chest and tucked his hands under them for warmth. Much as he enjoyed it, the ocean breeze was stiff. "It wasn't just the nurses, though - I thought if I turned him over to you for a while - at least while I took care of building us a home - his life would be more - stable. Never knew what we'd be getting into when we traveled - never knew where the next meal was coming from, where we'd be sleeping - I got to thinking that a child should really have a home. Should have…" he sighed. "There was little enough sometimes just to cover the daily necessities, there was rarely anything left over for more. Extras." He felt himself redden, stared out at the water. "You know. Toys."

Abel didn't comment, so after a minute he continued, "I've been trying to remember what toys he had back then. The blocks you sent, of course - he was very attached to those. Slate and chalk - that was usually cheap. Sometimes a book, when I could, or when you sent one. I think I remember whittling a wooden horse for him once, and he put together some things for himself sometimes from odds and ends - I remember a small company of grass and straw and string soldiers…if it bothered him, he never said. But it would have been nice…anyway. I was just thinking."

Abel remained silent. Ben caught sight of a small skiff rowing out to one of the ships and followed its progress. "I had a lot of time to think on the way out here. Thought about things I hadn't in years. That's the one problem with travel - too much time to think. Too many memories. To tell the truth, I had almost forgotten myself that I had planned to send him to you. Had written you a note and packed him up and everything." Ben could sense Abel's eyes on him, but kept his own glued to the skiff on the water.

Ben's smile was troubled. "Circumstances…intervened. And then I - I lost my courage. Couldn't bring myself to part with him. I don't know. I'll go to my grave wondering whether or not it was the right thing, I suppose."

"Hm." Ben could tell that Abel's eyes turned away from him, transferred themselves to the skiff pulling its way slowly through the light waves. "I'll tell you something interesting," Abel continued nonchalantly, pulling his pipe from his pocket. "All the time he was so sick - out of his head for most of it, too, unable to censor himself or be sensible - through all that thrashing about and mumbling he only ever called out for one thing, the whole time. Just one - always the same." He looked at Ben now. "Any idea what it was?" Ben was quiet for so long that he finally prodded, "Benjamin?"

"I'm trying to decide," Ben drawled ruefully at last, "if it would be a book or his horse."

Abel chuckled deep in his throat, holding a tinder to his pipe and then drawing on it. "You," he corrected with mock severity. "Just you. Seems to me that if that's all a boy wants when he's in deepest trouble and is too weak to stop his heart from speaking out then you can't have gone too far wrong. Seems to me that you must have done something pretty right."

They sat in silence, Abel smoking his pipe and Ben deep in thought, watching mindlessly as the skiff reached the ship and made preparations to board. At last Ben unfolded his arms and stood, looking at Abel now, thinking. Finally, he held out a hand to help him to his feet. "Let's head back," he said softly.

Mount Fujiyama. Japan. Hm. He'd seen some of the Orient in his travels, but never Japan. Certainly looked like it was worth seeing. He pulled out the card and reached for another. The Tower of London. Really, this was an amazing contraption - could almost reach out and touch the Tower. He wondered what was the trick of it. He'd have to ask Adam. No doubt he'd know. He put the Tower in the small stack beside the box and picked up the next card. The canals of Bruges. Now, those he'd seen for himself - about the same time he'd passed through Amsterdam and gotten Liz her music box. He smiled at them with fond possessiveness. He'd hoped to take Liz there someday - for an anniversary, maybe. She would have loved it. So much she had never gotten to see.

At that thought he glanced automatically to the figure lying quietly at his side. It looked like he was sleeping more naturally now - had shifted into a more comfortable position. Since Mrs. Longworth had washed and shaved him and combed his hair he looked a little more like himself, too. If he overlooked the terrible thinness and the shadows like bruises around his eyes, he could almost make himself believe that all was normal. He rested a hand cautiously on Adam's hair. Cooler than earlier. Temperature was definitely dropping. He left his hand where it was and returned his eyes to the stereopticon lenses.

Such a lot of world there was to see. He had taken a big bite out of the world himself when he was young - he wondered if Adam would eventually seek to do the same. Perhaps Boston was just the start - perhaps the Ponderosa would never be big enough to hold him. He let go of Adam for a moment to switch the card again - St. Petersburg this time. Very exotic. How could Adam ever resist? He settled his hand back on Adam's head, lightly stroking the hair over his ear with his thumb. Still…

"We saw quite a chunk of the world together, too, didn't we, son?" he mused softly. "Some of it almost untouched wilderness. Was quite an adventure too, in its way. Saw a country - a way of life - being born. It's so different now, isn't it? So much of it tamed and civilized. If you'd been able to have a say, maybe it's what you would have chosen anyway over a nice, safe home someplace. Were always one with a taste for the new and untried." He put away St. Petersburg, slipped a drawing of Istanbul in its place. Even more exotic.

"And if I'm honest with myself, I'm not sorry we had those years together. You've separated from me soon enough - long before I'm ready, to tell the truth. Where would I be now if I didn't have the memories of those years to sustain me? What would I be feeling if I'd allowed someone else to raise you, someplace far away? Just a different kind of guilt, I suppose. Selfish or not, I wouldn't trade those years for anything - wandering as a pair of hoboes. I have to laugh when I remember how young I was. In a way, you raised me just as much as I raised you. I wonder what you remember about it."

He lowered the stereopticon and looked now at the small painting and the daguerreotype rubbing elbows on Adam's bedside table. Elizabeth as a child. Abel as a young man. How quickly the time went. How suddenly the people you loved were with you one day, not with you the next. He hoped he never forgot that. He tried not to. He smiled, a little wryly. Of course, his life made that particular bit of wisdom a hard one to forget. He looked around the room: the room where he and Elizabeth had begun their married life together, the room where he had lost her… yet also the room where his son's life had begun. He smiled down at the dark head, quiet under his hand. And he hadn't lost him, so perhaps you didn't always have to lose. Perhaps that was a lesson too - just as important as the other.

Adam stirred, his fingers lifting slightly, then dropping again. His eyelids slid back,

Adam blinked again then frowned slightly, his eyes roving over the room and its appointments, then back to Ben's face. He closed his eyes tight and then opened them again.

"Yes, you're in Boston," Ben soothed. "And I'm here too. It's not a hallucination."

Adam opened his mouth as if to speak, then coughed instead. Ben frowned, filling a glass with water from the ewer on the nearby stand. He perched next to Adam on the bed and lifted him carefully into sitting position, wincing a little at the sharpness of the bones through the nightshirt and holding the glass for him to drink. Adam made a move to take the glass, but his hand fell limply back to the coverlet. His eyes followed it, his expression faintly alarmed. Ben positioned the glass against his mouth and made him drink, lowered the glass when he seemed to try to reach up and push it away. Adam's head sank back against Ben's shoulder, his eyes drifted shut.

"You're going to be feeling very weak for a while, " Ben explained gently. "But you're going to be all right. It's just a matter of time now." Adam's eyes opened again, struggling to get a good glimpse of Ben. "Do you want me to prop you up?" Adam nodded. Ben reached for another pillow and settled it behind him, shifted himself on the bed so that he could sit facing him. "That all right?"

Adam nodded again; he seemed to be gathering the strength to speak. "What's…wrong with me?" he managed breathlessly. He frowned again at the feeble sound of his own voice.

Adam seemed to digest this. He took a deep breath. "How'd…you…get here?"

Ben smiled a little. "Oh, the usual way. Stagecoach and steamboat and train. Much easier than the trip we made, hey?"

Ben dampened a cloth in the ewer and patted it gently against his face and neck. "Think you could eat something? I know Mrs. Longworth has been keeping some beef tea warm for you, and frankly, you could use a little fattening up."

Adam opened his eyes, studying him. "Where's…Grandfather?" he wheezed, his forehead creasing slightly as he listened to himself.

"Asleep, I hope. I think Mrs. Longworth finally worked her powers of persuasion on him. Now, how about letting me fetch that beef tea, before she tries those powers of persuasion on you?"

"Very nice," Ben agreed. "But I'm not sure I'd ever try to best her." Mrs. Longworth had gently and serenely coaxed them to sit down and eat lunch before he had actually been permitted to see his son again. A man of considerable will himself, he couldn't honestly say quite how she had prevailed, but he had to admit that Abel was right about one thing - there was a mysterious vein of steel running beneath that quiet calm. He liked her more every minute. "I'll get the tea, and I'll be right back." Something in Adam's face made him hesitate. "Adam. I'll be right back. I promise." He squeezed the narrow upper arm lightly, half afraid of breaking it. "You just rest, and I'll be back before you know it." Adam nodded slightly and closed his eyes. Ben paused in the act of rising, settled back down on the edge of the bed. He bit his lip. The look on Adam's face reminded him of something…he patted the skeletal hand resignedly and let his own curl around it. "On the other hand, I suppose it could wait for a bit. Though I would like to see you eat something before you drift off again."

Adam opened his eyes and looked at him, then nodded again. He seemed to be thinking hard. "Where's…Hoss and Joe…?"

"With Hop Sing and Shaughnessy. I'll be lucky if I don't come back to find them spoiled within an inch of their lives." Adam's brows drew together in a troubled frown. Ben saw the look and squeezed his hand firmly. "They're fine, Adam. You needed me more. In fact, they both sent greetings along - I'll let you read them when you're a little stronger. Maybe for your birthday."

"How…? Of course…if you're here, I guess…" He shifted anxiously under the covers, calculations and conclusions chasing each other in his eyes, and Ben moved his hand to the center of his chest both to calm him and to restrain him in case he tried to move too quickly.

"Just take it easy. I don't want you getting excited. I told you - you were very ill. It's been a while."

Adam sank into the pillows, pressing his eyes closed, breathing deeply. After a while he said in a small voice, "I missed exams…didn't I?"

The thin hands tried to knot in the sheets, failed. "I'm…my scholarship…what am I going to do?" The feeble voice broke on a note of despair.

The sound wrung Ben's tired heart dry, and forgetting his son was no longer two but twenty, he instinctively scooped him into his arms. It was like embracing a bundle of dried twigs, but he held on with gentle firmness, one hand kneading soothingly at the back of Adam's neck. "Sh…there's nothing here to worry about…nothing that can't be fixed…I'm sure you can make them up this summer or something. Right now you just can't let yourself get excited…you need to stay calm and save all your energy to get well." He heard a suspicious sniff and gently rumpled the curls at Adam's nape, a twinge in his heart. When was the last time he'd heard Adam cry? He couldn't remember. Proof enough that he was worn away to nothing.

The broken whisper made Ben hold on tighter, rocking slightly. "I'm not. I've been wanting to do this since I got here."

The sniff turned into a choked laugh. Ben smiled, cradling the hot skull against his shoulder. That shoulder was damp now, but he discreetly pretended not to notice.

"Never mind. I do. You're exhausted - I've been trying to tell you. Just relax."

"I think I can forgive you, provided you stop talking now and just rest. Come on - deep breaths…" He felt Adam's lungs heave in a sigh underneath his arm and slowed the rocking, sensed a shift in the quality of his breathing. He stopped, suspicious. "Adam?" he called softly. The body in his arms didn't even stir. He smoothed the hair back from the damp forehead, trying to get a look at the face tucked into his shoulder. "Adam?" he repeated, a little more forcefully. Nothing. His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. Well. He'd better find a comfortable position for himself, because Adam was obviously down for the count again.

He maneuvered delicately until he could lean back against the headboard, chuckling to himself. A silly gesture - he had a feeling that a cattle stampede wouldn't rouse Adam now. Adam slumped against him, his breathing deep and steady. Ben patted him lightly between the shoulder blades. Probably he should lay him down so that he could rest more comfortably…well, he would. In another minute or so. Soon.

It was quiet except for the faint, distant call of a foghorn from somewhere outside the window, the almost indistinct cries of the faraway gulls, and the steady, rhythmic sound of his son's breathing. He felt the bony knobs of spine under his hand through the nightshirt and held him a little closer, letting his own eyes drop shut. "Hm," he murmured in the ear so close to his cheek. "You may think you've wormed out of it this time. But just as soon as you wake up? I am going to see to it that you eat something!"

"Don't give up - it's not that hard, you just have to keep playing with it - that's part of the fun."

"Then I surrender to your superior expertise. I'll return to struggling with the three puzzles I already have - I call them Adam, Hoss and Joe." Ben tossed the puzzles one by one back in the box to punctuate. "They're enough for me."

Abel chuckled. "But at least you've got a chance of solving the Chinese ones."

Ben harumphed. "A good point. Let me take another look…" He fished one of the puzzles out of the box and began examining it again. He kept his eyes intently on it when he asked casually, "You warm enough?"

"If I were any warmer," Adam answered sweetly, "I would burst into flame. Thanks to Grandfather." He fingered the scarlet merino dressing gown he was wrapped in. "Not that I don't appreciate it. Mrs. Longworth made me gloves, too - to go with my Harvard scarf."

Adam studied him, trying to decide whether he was serious or not. "I am NOT wearing a shawl," he objected uneasily.

Ben raised his brows, looking from one to the other. "Adam, I hope you haven't really been disrespectful to your grandfather?"

Adam sighed and dropped his head back against his pillows. "No, of course, I haven't…I mean, not about anything that matters…well, you know…"

"No," repeated Ben with a great show of patience. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

Adam pressed his hands over his eyes and groaned. "Where is Mrs. Longworth anyway?"

"Downstairs making tea for a certain ungrateful birthday boy, so don't look to her to protect you," Abel smirked. "It's terrible, really," he continued sorrowfully. "Taking advantage of an old man…"

Ben's brows rose higher, but there was a suggestion of a smile in his eyes. "I see," he intoned severely. "In what way, pray?"

"Oh, stop tormenting the poor boy, the two of you," Mrs. Longworth appeared as if by magic, with a spoon and a bottle in her hand. She measured out a careful spoonful from the bottle. "Or you'll give him a relapse." The smile left Ben's eyes entirely and he peered closely at his son. "And on his birthday, too. Really, I can't leave the three of you alone for a minute." She proffered the spoon, and Adam took it obediently.

Ben blinked in surprise. "Well, with a nurse like you, I don't think he'd have the nerve to relapse," he said at last, watching Adam carefully.

Ben gave a surprised laugh. "You would certainly be the first to say so." Then frowned again, remembering that Adam had probably been too ill to fight back. Or maybe, he mused wistfully, watching as Mrs. Longworth adjusted his pillows, it was a woman's touch that made the difference. "What do you say, Adam? Are you ready for your gifts, or do you need a rest first?"

"I don't need a rest," Adam protested, insulted, and Ben smiled again. Ah, yes - that was more like it - that was the boy he knew.

"Very well, then. You have your grandfather's - how about the ones from home?" He rummaged through a small sack by his chair. "Let's see…this one is from Hop Sing. The note's in Chinese, I'm afraid."

Adam eyed it curiously. "That's okay. He probably only used character combinations he was sure I knew…" he looked at the square his father handed him and folded back the rice paper to reveal a small tile. On it, inked in a few quick lines, was a tortoise swimming in water. Adam studied the Chinese characters marching down the paper. "Mister Adam," he read slowly, " place this tortoise behind you while you study and he will bring you success and long life. Regards with honor, your friend, Hop Sing. That's funny - Hop Sing doesn't celebrate birthdays the way we do."

Ben listened, his throat strangely tight. Long life. He knew why Hop Sing had sent the gift - he must have been worried too, in his own way. "Well, perhaps he felt it was a special occasion. That's lovely work - there's a man in the Chinese section of Virginia City who paints those - Hop Sing must have stopped there. You'll have to write him, when you're up to it."

Adam nodded, absorbed in his tile. "I'll see how much Chinese I can remember, outside of the signs in Chinatown and the fai chun."

"Well, if you write most of it in English, Hoss can read it aloud to him. Good practice for both of them. Hoss was very particular that I give you this, too, but he wouldn't let me see it. Want his next?"

Adam took the tied up handkerchief, feeling its lightness. "Wonder what he's up to this year? Doesn't feel like any of his carving…" He picked at the thong that knotted the handkerchief closed, let out a frustrated breath as his fingers fumbled weakly at it. Ben took it gently out of his hand and undid the thong before handing it wordlessly back. Adam frowned at it, his brows pushed together.

"You'll get your strength back," Ben prodded patiently. "It'll just take some time. Now, what does Hoss have to say?"

Adam unfolded the handkerchief, his frown melting into a smile. He unrolled the note inside. "Dear Adam, this here's my lucky rabbit's foot. I got it off the back left leg of a real big one I caught in one of my snares. I heard as how if you keep it with you all the time, it will protect you from trouble and all kinds of things. Figgered as how if you hung it on your watch chain or something you'd have protection all the time even though you're far away, until you come back home. I know you ain't coming home real soon, so I thought you could use it. Happy Birthday. Love, Hoss. PS That there rabbit made a real nice stew, too." Adam picked up the brown rabbit's foot by the piece of leather looped through one end. "I guess between Hoss and Hop Sing I'm protected against just about everything."

Ben silently hoped that was true, but said aloud, "Hoss figured out that I wasn't quite coming here for a social call and wanted very much to come along. I guess this was as close as he could get to it. He's been very worried - I know he'd appreciate hearing from you personally."

"No, no - Joe is too young to make the connection. It was hard enough to get out of the house without him as it was. Hoss is keeping an eye on him until I get back."

"Huh." Adam didn't look up, continued his rhythmic stroking of the rabbit fur.

"I know what you're thinking, son, but they'll be fine - Joe is nearly the age you were when I left you in charge of Hoss to go to New Orleans. Hoss is fifteen." Adam nodded again but managed to look unconvinced. Ben tossed him a small bag. "Let's see what the scamp sent you."

Adam picked up the trim doeskin bag and loosened the drawstring at the neck. He pulled out a roll of paper and peered into the bag. After a second, he turned it upside down and a round sphere rolled into his palm. He looked at it for a second, then unrolled the note. "Dear Adam, I was making you something for your birthday but then Pa had to leave real fast and I didn't get it done on time so I sent this instead. It's my best aggie that I won off of Jimmy Crocker and I reckon it's about the best thing I have except for my pony and Pa couldn't travel with him anyway. I hope you have a Happy Birthday, I sure would like to be there, but Pa says no so me and Hoss have to stay here instead. Why don't you come home soon? We miss you and I could show you how to use the aggie, I win all the time with it. Love, Joe." Adam chuckled softly, rolling the marble in his palm. "Poor kid. Wonder what he's playing with now? Maybe you should take it back to him, Pa."

"Never. He'd be mortally offended. Though I am somewhat distressed to learn that all my sons seem to collect their sources of entertainment by winning them off of other boys."

Something in his tone made Adam look at him suspiciously, and Ben shifted his eyes pointedly to the stereopticon lying on the desk nearby. Adam turned reproachful eyes to Abel.

Abel threw up his hands. "All right! I told him! I saw no harm! How was I to know he'd become a prig about such things? Why, when we were traveling on shipboard, he took part in many a wager, aye, and cleaned up often, too, as I recall!"

"That's all very well," argued Ben heatedly, "but I'm trying to set an example here!"

"Aye, and so you did - a fine example, too, without even knowing it, since you always used to win and apparently so does he. And here's young Joseph, following the tradition."

Adam gave a crack of laughter that turned into a cough. Ben half rose to go to him, but Adam waved him back down, getting the cough under control and reaching carefully for the glass of water nearby. "Maybe you should take the stereopticon back to Hoss and Joe," he suggested when he could get his breath. "They'd love it."

"I'm sure they would, but you have some long weeks in bed ahead of you and will be wanting it to assuage your boredom. Besides…" He pulled out a rectangular box. "Happy Birthday."

"Yes, yes, I know - " Ben shifted. "I find I can't actually just let your birthday go by though, so - well. There you are." The truth was that he hadn't had time to purchase anything for Adam's birthday either - had thought to send him money - surely that would be most practical - he would be needing a few new things, or books, or had school expenses by now…but while running errands yesterday he had found himself drawn irresistibly to a store window, and then inside. He had felt both foolish and satisfied as he left the store with a wrapped package. Just this once, he told himself. He hadn't been able to all those years ago, but that didn't mean it was too late, did it? So, why not?

Adam unrolled the protective wrapping and looked at the box inside. He tilted the lid so that he could read it, a slow smile starting. "Stereopticon cards of the world's great architecture…" The smile grew into a grin as he shook the lid free. "Gee - thanks, Pa." He held up the top card and studied it intently.

Ben ignored him, rising to hand Adam the stereopticon and staying to look over his shoulder. "Maybe this will at least keep you from jumping out of bed before you're supposed to."

Adam held the stereopticon against his eyes, murmuring in a preoccupied voice, "I'll admit that I probably won't be doing any jumping until I get the hang of sitting again…you should see this - take a look."

Ben took the instrument from him and focused on the card. "Very nice. What is it?"

"Il Campidoglio, in Rome. Michelangelo designed it. I've seen sketches, but not like this." Adam picked up the next picture, examining it while Ben gazed at the Campidoglio. "Look - St. Peter's Basilica. See what it looks like through the viewer - " he handed it to Ben, while Abel cleared his throat.

"If you two can set aside your toys for just a second, I'd like to give Adam my gift."

Adam lowered the stereopticon Ben had handed back to him and stroked the lapel of his dressing gown. "I thought I was wearing my gift."

"Naw, naw - that's just your get well gift, since you don't seem to be bright enough to protect yourself from these wintery New England drafts."

Abel scowled. "That's not the point - these springs are damp and - oh, devil take it. Here. Happy Birthday." Adam accepted the envelope from him and turned it over in his hands. "It doesn't do tricks or anything, so you might just as well open it."

Adam pried open the flap and pulled out the paper inside. He read it over, his face very still. When he looked up, Ben couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Grandfather," he said slowly. "I - I don't know - "

Abel rose impatiently. "What is there to know? If you aren't the worst fellow for knowing how to accept a gift! You teach him that?"

"No, I taught him very good manners," returned Ben easily, but he rested a hand on Adam's shoulder at the same time and gently took the paper from his grip. "He must have picked that up here. Let me see." He read the paper over, then eyed Abel keenly over the top. "Well. That's very generous, Captain."

Abel shrugged. "Well, why not? He's twenty-one now and it will all be his one day anyway - might as well have a stake in it now. If there's one thing I thought a lot about all these days and nights he was sick it was the wastefulness of waiting." He turned his eyes to Adam. "You're working there now anyway - might just as well have a little of the money in your pocket. Of course, I still have controlling interest. That means what I say, goes. After I'm gone you can start instituting some of your crazy modern notions and run the place to ruin, like your father before you."

Ben folded the paper decidedly and looked up, stung. "Now, wait just a minute - I seem to remember my crazy modern ideas as being very successful - in fact, so successful that we eventually pulled a lot of Mandible's trade, if I recall - "

"Grandfather told me about that," put in Adam innocently. "I'm glad you're on the side of progress, Pa. I have a lot of modern ideas I'd like to try out on the Ponderosa when I get back."

"There is nothing wrong with the way the Ponderosa - " Ben stopped abruptly, looked at him, and then at Abel. "I don't see any reason to just arbitrarily…" Both Abel and Adam were staring fixedly at him, and he shook his head. "We'll - we'll talk about it when you return," he finished weakly with one more pointed glare in Abel's direction. Abel smiled back beatifically.

"Well, that's something anyway." Abel strolled over to the bed to stand next to him. "It's something your father and mother and I built together - only makes sense that you should have a share in it. After all, you're the only other thing we ever built together."

"Oh, you helped, did you?" returned Ben dryly. "Funny, I don't remember you even being in the room."

Abel's eyes twinkled. "But I contributed the mother. Fairly important contribution. I think we need a birthday toast."

Mrs. Longworth rose. "I'll get the brandy, and some nice port for Adam - very strengthening. Then I think Adam should take a rest if he's going to be awake for his birthday dinner."

Adam opened his eyes quickly, trying to look as though they had been that way all along. "I'm not tired," he protested unconvincingly.

"Mrs. Longworth is right - we'll have a toast, then you can have a nap. Then we'll have dinner right here."

"The port, then," Mrs. Longworth continued unperturbedly, eyeing him significantly.

Ben fought hard to suppress a smile and slid a glance at Adam. He surprised a knowing smile on Adam's face and raised his brows at him. Adam winked solemnly in reply.

"We opened that bottle for the doctor just the other - oh!" Abel saw her eyes travel quickly from Ben to Adam then back to him. "Oh, of course! Why the devil don't you just say so, woman? You know I'm no good at this hinting business!"

"Truer words were never spoken. Come along and let the boys have a few minutes alone…" she ushered him ahead of her and closed the door firmly behind her.

Ben shook his head as the door closed. "This is probably the only place in the world I can come and still be considered a boy."

Adam picked at his quilt. "I guess that would make me more or less an infant, then."

Ben raised his brows and pulled out the chair next to the bed to get comfortable. "Problems with your grandfather?"

"No, no - " Adam shook his head. "He's been wonderful to me. Mostly we have a really good time. He just - worries a lot. Smothers. I think he thinks I'm going to break."

"Ah, well, worrying. A grandfather's prerogative, I'm afraid. A father's, too. And then, well," he reached over to smooth Adam's hair back from his forehead under the guise of testing his temperature. "You almost did break, didn't you?"

"That's what makes it worrisome, you see." Adam didn't pull back from his hand, even slightly, so, emboldened, he let it stay, resting on his hair.

"A few weeks. Now that I'm here I want to recover from the journey, catch up with Abel, check on a few old friends, see a little of Boston, make sure that you're really on your way to wellness. I want to see you a little stronger before I go anywhere."

Adam smiled drowsily. "A grandfather's prerogative and a father's prerogative. Don't sons and grandsons have any prerogatives?"

"Certainly they do. It's their prerogative to be smothered." He dropped a light kiss on Adam's hair. "For a little while anyway. It won't kill you. I did a lot of thinking on the way here, and I think you're running a deficit on smothering."

Adam's eyes fluttered closed, then opened again. "That's the problem," he muttered. "I'm not used to it. You always sort of trusted me to figure out the right thing to do myself."

"I just - " Ben shook his head. "Like I said, I did a lot of thinking on the way here - a lot of remembering about how I raised you. I couldn't help feeling that you might have benefited from a bit more - structure. Instruction. That you came out fine despite me, rather than because of me."

"How can you say that?" Adam tried to push himself upright, but Ben's gentle pressure on his shoulder kept him where he was. "I learned everything from you."

"Funny, because I don't remember teaching you anything, except your letters and your numbers, of course."

"How to do a job. How to drive a team. Lots of things. But, I don't think…" Adam paused, trying to remember specifically, trying to turn feelings into words. "I guess it wasn't so much what you said, really," he decided at last. "I learned what to do by watching you, what you did, how you acted. I learned what was right and wrong just by - being with you. I think that means more than words anyway. Words and actions don't always match, and then neither one means anything." His eyes drooped wearily.

"Hm," Ben watched him thoughtfully, his own face relaxing. "Well. I went round to see your Dean of Students yesterday, by the way, about making up your exams."

"He said that they actually had a few students down with typhoid, so there will be formal make up exams for all of you. You'll receive notice when they have it all worked out."

"I didn't ask that either. For the time being I'm contenting myself with knowing that you are."

"You know, I think we'd better save your birthday toast for dinner. I'm not sure you can stay awake for it now." He picked up the stereopticon and new box of cards and moved to put them on the desk, out of the way, paused. "Adam?"

"Mm hm. Don't worry - Charlie already has another one. His father buys him everything."

"No doubt. But what on earth did you have to stake for your part of the wager?"

Adam squinted one eye open. "Oh. Hm." He opened both eyes slowly, considered him. "I wouldn't worry about it, Pa," he said at last. "You know what you always taught me - never bet what you don't own or can't afford to lose." He smiled dazzlingly and Ben raised his brows politely. Every tooth showing. The charmer's smile. Not a good sign.

"Yes, I did teach you that. Which is why I can't imagine what you own that you could put up against it."

Color crept into Adam's face. "Pa, I promise you I didn't do anything illegal or shady."

Adam winced. "Charlie was bound to lose anyway. He's careless at billiards, just like everything else."

Adam grit his teeth. "If I lost," he repeated more precisely, "I - had to take his sister to the Fall Cotillion."

"I told you - I wasn't going to lose. And I danced two dances with her at the cotillion anyway. So everything worked out fine."

"I - " Ben sat back, flabbergasted. "I don't know what to say. Do you often bet with your favors?"

"Of course I don't - " Adam was scarlet now, and he paused to take a breath. "It was Charlie's idea. She - wanted to dance with a real cowboy. I know how silly it sounds - "

"I see." Ben suddenly had to repress the urge to laugh out loud. He was definitely getting old, he decided. "Um - a bit of an exotic out here, are you?"

Adam grinned, relieved to see him smile. "I guess. Or a curiosity. Or a freak. Sometimes works that way, too."

"Of course I don't! I might have had one beer too many at the time and - well - " He looked at the stereopticon in Ben's hands and shrugged.

Adam took it from him, gesturing to the eye holes. "Uses Euclid's principal of binocular vision. You know, a lot of art has its basis in math, if you really look at it. Music, too…see how the two pictures are slightly different? That's how your eyes see, and that's why we see things as three dimensional, instead of flat - look here and you'll see how it throws the two images together - it's all a matter of perspective…"

Ben accepted the instrument from him, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. "Perspective, hm?"

Adam looked at him, and he knew their memories had matched. "Told you you taught me a lot," said Adam quietly after a minute.

Ben saw the stereopticon card dip in his hand and made a snatch for it. "I am going to tell Mrs. Longworth to hold off on the toast, and you are going to get some sleep. No more questions until you've had some rest, I promise. Too much excitement for one morning."

Adam rolled his eyes, but spoiled the affect by yawning. Ben removed one of the pillows so he could lie flat and adjusted the covers, then froze, nearly bowled over by a sudden tidal wave of nostalgia.

Adam studied his face through half-open eyes. "Something wrong?" he murmured.

"No," Ben smiled. "Just remembering how many times I've done this. When you were small, it didn't matter how close to sleep you were; you always managed to wheedle a story."

Ben looked around the room, seeing it as it looked today, filled with Adam's books and things, with Adam in the old walnut bed; seeing it as it had looked twenty-one years ago, filled with his and Elizabeth's books and things, with Elizabeth in the old walnut bed. For a second the two slightly different pictures overlaid each other, like the double images through the stereopticon lenses, dissolving time to form one deeper, merged view of his present and his past.

He swallowed hard, then lay his hand on Adam's, squeezed lightly. "I have a better idea," he said slowly. "In honor of the day and the location - why don't I tell you a story about your mother?"

The spring air was softer today, he noticed, the watery sunlight leaving the sky a washed blue. He remembered another day like this, so long ago now, though it seemed like only yesterday. How quickly time passed - how swiftly it slipped away, while you weren't looking. So many things changed. He looked about him. And so many didn't.

He had sat with Adam for a little while after he had dropped off, watching him sleep, then had gone downstairs and found Abel and Mrs. Longworth at the breakfront, carefully setting out glasses and arguing over which would be the best to use. They both looked up as he approached, and he had smiled reassuringly.

"Sound asleep. Think we should give him at least an hour. Is there anything I can do to help get dinner?"

"No, no," Mrs. Longworth brushed the offer aside. "Dinner is well under control - perhaps you'd like a drink beforehand, though?"

"No…" Ben rubbed at the back of his neck, his mind still upstairs. "No, thank you. I wonder if you'd mind - I do have - a couple of things I'd like to take care of, if you can spare me. If someone could listen for Adam…?"

"Of course." Mrs. Longworth smiled. "He'd probably be grateful for a couple of minutes without one of us hovering over him. You do whatever it is you need to do - we'll have dinner in two hours."

Ben had nodded gratefully, going to the hall for his coat and hat. There was something else he wanted to see to today.

It had taken him a while to gather everything he was looking for, but he had managed. Boston was, he admitted to himself, a more efficient place to shop than Virginia City. Just as well, too, because he still had a few things he had to get before he left. He needed to think of a nice gift for Mrs. Longworth, for example - something to say thank you for all she had done. She was a remarkable woman. He wondered if Abel would ever wake up and make an honest woman of her - they seemed to be good for each other, and Adam wouldn't be in Boston forever. At least, he hoped not. He picked up the trowel and returned to his handiwork, thinking.

He needed to write Mrs. Chambers, too - another kind woman - and tell her that all was well. She wouldn't be back in St. Louis for a while of course - perhaps he should stop in and call on his way back. He'd see what kind of time he had. He didn't want to be away from Hoss and Joe and the ranch for too long.

Hoss and Joe. He had to remember to pick up something for them, too - something from the East Coast. Wouldn't they be excited. Maybe Adam would have some suggestions. Or, if he was well enough before he had to return, maybe they could even go shopping together. Probably not, but Adam had surprised him before. He felt the earth turn under his hands, warm from the sun on the surface, but cooler as he dug deeper. And of course, something for Abel. He'd think on that one. A rocking chair, maybe. He'd be needing it.

He couldn't help feeling that the dry, sunny climate of home would make Adam well much faster than the damp ocean breezes of Boston, but that couldn't be helped. He'd never manage the trip and besides, for now here was where he belonged. He had his own life to branch out into, to begin to explore.

"It's something of a full circle, love, isn't it?" he said conversationally as he worked. "Here he made his start and here he is again. I guess I just have to believe that that same circle will bring him back to me again…or not. It's hard to let go. Not in quite the same way it was hard to let go of you, a different kind of letting go, but still…" He patted the earth under his hands, widening and stabilizing the hole he had created. "Your father told me once not to carry you on my shoulder. I did for a while - couldn't help myself. Took time to learn to carry you instead in my heart. Took a lot of help - a lot of teachers, too. I think sometimes I'm a slow learner. Stubborn - like someone else we know."

He unwrapped the burlap carefully from the roots, inserted them in the soil and began pushing the earth in around them. "I never forgot you, though - not for a minute. I want you to know that. I moved on, but I never forgot. You left me so much - your playfulness, your courage, your unfailing support of me and my dream…our son. I think I clung so long partly because I was afraid…well…afraid of you forgetting me. Sounds silly, doesn't it? But I thought that somehow, somewhere in the afterlife, you would forget us - replace us with something else. And no matter how pure, how noble that something might be, I knew that that would break my heart."

He pushed his fingers into the earth, tamping it gently down. "Of course you didn't. I know that now. And we - we did all right, I think, Adam and I. I haven't always been sure about that one, but I think so. It wasn't perfect, of course - very little is - but it was - good. He's a good boy. Man, really, I suppose - I just can't seem to get used to that idea."

He reached for a small container of water, sprinkled the ground he had smoothed, sat back on his heels to study his work. "I know it exasperates him sometimes, but I can't help it. When he looks in the mirror he sees just himself, but when I look at him I see - oh, a dozen different Adams, from infancy to today, all overlapping and folding together, like the pictures in that stereopticon of his. I don't suppose he'll ever understand until he's a father himself. I wonder what you see when you look at him? When you look at me?"

He brushed off his hands, carefully loading his tools in the basket nearby. It looked pretty, he decided - the dark green fronds climbing against the grey granite, the small blue flowers peeking out. The vari-colored pansies made a carpet at its foot. It looked - right.

The sea air would be good for it, too, but it would have to be dug up come winter - or replanted come spring. Adam could take care of that. If he were well enough, he'd like to surprise him with a glimpse of it before he left.

He rose to his feet, picking up his basket, but hovering by the stone. He had looked up the quote in one of Adam's books to make sure he got it right, but it had proved unnecessary. He had remembered every word, word for word. It was another one of those pieces he had read to Liz over and over and he had carried it unknowingly always in his heart. He brushed his fingers lightly over the tips of the green branches, thinking of what a long journey it had been, from here and back again - not just long in distance, but long in journeys of the heart. A soft breeze tickled at his hair, and he smiled.

"Happy Anniversary, Liz. Here's rosemary - that's for remembrance." He broke off one small, prickly frond, thick with blue flowers, tucked it into his buttonhole, gave it a light pat.

It was getting late. He had a strong feeling that when Mrs. Longworth said two hours, that meant two hours on the dot, and he needed to get back for dinner. Adam's birthday dinner.

His eyes lingered caressingly on the stone, feeling so many things, but uncertain of how to say them. Finally, he let his fingers brush the letters carved across the granite and breathed the rest of the quote, "Pray you, love…remember."