Historical Notes:   Took the following liberties with history:  1) The Max O’Rell quote about flirtation (spoken by Adam) was not published until 1884, but who’s to say it wasn’t in circulation before then?  2) Lily’s mangled Bible verse comes from a 1922 Moffatt translation, so she would have to have been ahead of her time to use exactly those words, but I highly doubt God minds. 3) I cheated on Glory of the Seas; she wasn’t launched till 1869. And, 4) if there was a park on Clay Street in 1863, it was not recorded. Also, technically, the architectural boom really hit San Francisco in the 1870s, but development started earlier than that, and of course Adam Cartwright would have been on the cutting edge of such matters.

Bonanza Note:This assumes that the Cartwrights are the ages assigned by David Dortort:  Ben was born in 1810 and Adam in 1830.

Musical Note:The definitive version of the 300-year-old Irish tune Planxty George Brabazon is on the CD “ Water from the Well,” by The Chieftains.

Disclaimer : Ben and Adam are not mine. Lily, Aubrey, Julia and their households are.
Copyright © 2002 as allowed
 
 

BEN CARTWRIGHT knew that something was wrong when he gazed at the approaching skyline of San Francisco and failed to note even the slightest detail. Only one view in the world surpassed it, and that was Lake Tahoe from the wooded hills of the Ponderosa. Today neither excited his interest.

He eased a finger under the collar of his shirt. “At least there’s a breeze,” he muttered to his son Adam. The temperature was soaring—a misleading quirk of coastal California, where the disappearance of the sun in a few hours would herald a sharp chill. Around them, beyond the dark waters of the bay, the hills were an arid golden brown, almost shimmering in the unseasonable heat of late September.

“Not long to go now,” Adam commented, shooting his father a worried glance. “I’ll see that our trunk’s ready to claim. Why don’t you go up on the second deck? We have time for a drink before we land.”

“No, I’ll wait for you here.” Ben turned away, surveying the broad foredeck of the sternwheeler Edmund P. Morris, late of Sacramento.  It was a maze of freight and hostlers, passengers and rivermen, all, it seemed, swirling in a kaleidoscope of color as they prepared for landing at Howison’s Wharf.

He watched with detachment, almost oblivious to all the action. A sort of weariness was creeping through him, and he didn’t mind letting Adam take care of their baggage. He could see his son gesturing to the handlers, tossing them coins and finally shouldering a way back through the passengers.

“That’s done,” Adam said, resting both hands on the rail. He threw back his head and closed his eyes to let the wind wash over his face. Capriciously, it toyed with his black hair, playing in the curls that had materialized in the damp heat. His olive skin glowed with a fine sheen of sweat, emphasizing the high planes of his cheeks and the supple cording of muscles in his neck.

He looks, Ben reflected, like a strong young panther, full of vitality, of leashed energy. Instinctively, he hid his own fatigue. None of his sons would understand—good heavens, he didn’t even understand what was causing a sudden and peculiar uncertainty within himself.

“You feeling all right, Pa?”

“Sure … why?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Adam stared out over the water at the panorama of San Francisco. “You’ve been a little—different—ever since Hoss and Eleanor announced their engagement.”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Ben said, but a small inner voice countered, Liar. “What exactly do you mean?”

Adam shrugged. “Maybe it’s my imagination.”

“Well … Hoss’ marriage  was a surprise—a nice surprise, but just the same …” One of your boys is getting married, the inner voice whispered. Everything is changing.  He shied away. “Maybe I was just thinking about what we have to get done. A full agenda in the city, and then when we get home, there’ll be the wedding. … A lot of important things going on, son.”

Adam nodded, this time meeting this father’s gaze, his clear hazel-brown eyes twinkling. “Well, at least we only have to take care of San Francisco. The wedding’s about as under control as Eleanor’s mother can make it.”

“Being the father of the groom does have its advantages,” Ben agreed with a crooked smile and lapsed into silence. It all felt so strange. Hoss the first one … Somehow, he’d just never doubted that Adam or Joe, both more at ease with the ladies, would be the first to take a wife. But that inner voice would not go away. It isn’t ‘who’ that’s got you all riled up.  It’s simply that one of your boys is starting a family of his own. It’s a milestone, a turning point. A big one.

He shifted uncomfortably and finally offered, “I was just thinking about our first trip to San Francisco. Remember?”

Surprise flickered on Adam’s face. His father was rarely nostalgic, and now his tone was alarmingly sentimental. “Us? Ah … the summer before I went east, so I guess—sixteen years ago.”

“M’m … Marie had just died.”

“And Sarah was still alive. Aubrey had just started Van Dine & Bondurant, and Jessica and Anthony were fifteen or sixteen.”

Ben nodded at the mention of the family they would be visiting in San Francisco.  He’d known Aubrey since his childhood—had been best man at his friend’s wedding to Sarah, back in Boston, before Adam had been born. But Sarah had been dead for years, and Jessica and Anthony now were grown and living in the east. Aubrey was happily married to Julia and had a new young family.

He smiled a little to himself as he remembered that first trip to San Francisco. He could see Adam clearly back then, a lean, serious boy burdened by the premature responsibilities of holding a ranch together while his father battled overwhelming grief. The trip had been a reward, an expression of appreciation for the boy’s hard work during a critical time. It all seemed so long ago.

For a second, Ben considered discussing his unease with Adam. There was very little he couldn’t say to his eldest son, and he valued Adam’s opinion over nearly everyone else’s in the world. But not this … how could he say that with his boys moving on in their lives, he suddenly felt as if his own had lost its meaning? Not only did it sound stupid—and it was—but it would make them feel awful. Not to mention that they would never look at him with the same respect and trust again. It would open the door to their pity, and that he couldn’t stand.
 
 

In less than an hour, the steamboat was secured to the big stanchions on San Francisco’s Howison’s Wharf and Adam had gone to claim the trunk that contained most of the clothing they would wear in the city.

Ben was searching the crowd on the dock when he felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around to find a stout older man in dark green livery. “Doyle! It’s good to see you!” he exclaimed.

The coachman tipped his hat. “And it’s always good to see you, too, sir. I’ve got the rig right over there. Don’t you worry, Peter’ll go with Mr. Adam to get yer luggage, and he’ll bring it in the cart.”

Ben followed Doyle’s gesture and located the Van Dine landau, a shiny black affair pulled by a pair of matched bays. He had no more than stowed their carpetbags when Adam appeared with a young man in the same formal livery, lugging a trunk which they loaded on a small gig that was ground-tied nearby. Then Doyle opened the door for his passengers and in moments, they heard him chirrup to the horses.

“This is nice,” Adam commented, running his hand over the soft leather seat. “I don't think I've ever seen a landau fitted out for just two horses.   Aubrey’s doing very well for himself.”

“He’s done well for us, too,” Ben observed. Since Aubrey Van Dine had become the Ponderosa’s commercial agent three years before, they’d seen their cattle, timber and mining operations burgeon. It was well worth the twice-yearly trips to San Francisco to meet with the buyers Van Dine & Bondurant found for the myriad of products the big ranch offered.

He gazed out the window at the steady stream of wagons and riders eddying around them as Doyle maneuvered the team out to California Street and past the busy Montgomery intersection. Then the horses leaned into their harness to negotiate a long, steep incline to the top of one of the area’s famous hills. Before long they’d be at the edge of town, where wealthy San Franciscans, Aubrey among them, were building stylish mansions.

The city was a far cry from the undistinguished collection of rough buildings and tents he and Adam had found all those years ago, Ben thought. Some of the streets were now cobblestone, and unvarnished plank facades were giving way to elaborate brick and stone architecture. It was becoming ever more beautiful, with its vistas of the surrounding sea.

“It was like this …” he said unexpectedly, surprising even himself.

“Like what, Pa?”

There was nothing to do but finish the thought. “Like this whenever we’d come into port from a long voyage.” His smiled in recollection. “Even to Boston, which was home and nothing new to us … We looked forward to the excitement of a city, so different from a ship at sea—or, I suppose now, from the Ponderosa.”

“Yes, Boston may have been everything that’s old and familiar,” Adam agreed. “But here, you’re always approaching something new. Who’s to know how San Francisco will turn out? It’s settling down in a lot of ways, but it’s still a little wild …” His voice softened as he contemplated the passing scene. “As if it’s been caught halfway between history and what’s to come.”

Through the open window, the wind ruffled Ben’s silver hair, blowing a lock down across his forehead. Adam was such a strange mix of poetry and reality, he reflected, more than a little impressed with his son’s mercurial intellect. His son—just as Hoss and Little Joe were his sons … individual, unique … and more important to him than anything else in the world.

More strongly than ever, he was reminded that something fundamental in his life was changing, and it seemed just beyond his understanding. Good God … I’m marrying a son off, not sending him to the south seas , he reminded himself with asperity. It made him angry to feel so inadequate in the face of what was really just a normal passage of life.

“It’s certainly a lot different than it was sixteen years ago,” he finally said to cover the silence, and fished in his waistcoat pocket for his watch. “We’re a little late. I hope that doesn’t inconvenience Julia.”

“I doubt it will. Probably upsetting the rest of the family more. What d’you want to bet that Madison’s in the window right now, counting the minutes till you arrive?”

“Well, we won’t keep him waiting much longer.”

The coach took a sharp right on Mason and crossed the crest of the hill before turning left on to Clay and pulling up before a flight of steps which rose to an elegant four-story home. Almost immediately, the door of the house opened and another liveried young man bolted out, followed by a thin, sandy-haired figure in the gray day uniform of a butler.

“Welcome, Mr. Cartwright!”

Ben’s eyes lit with pleasure and the tight muscles of his shoulders loosened just a fraction. “Samuel, how have you been?”

The butler snatched their carpetbags with the familiar tsk, tsk of a servant long accustomed to his guests. “You gentlemen know better than to carry your own grips!—Just fine, Mr. Cartwright, thank you for asking. I think you’ll find little changed here since your last visit.” He motioned to the footman to take care of the trunk. “You’re in your regular suites, of course. Mrs. Van Dine is with the children in the study. They’ve been expecting you.”

Ben nodded, suddenly sure that Julia Van Dine and her children would lighten his mood. He followed Samuel into the house and barely slowed in the large main entrance hall, hurrying up the stairs which led to the less public rooms on the next floor.

“I guess we’re not cleaning up first,” Adam said dryly, handing the butler his hat.

Julia’s radiant smile, as she rose with a swirl of skirts to embrace them, confirmed their welcome. “Ben! Adam! It’s so good to see you!”

Ben’s arms closed around her. “Julia, my dear. You’re looking better than ever … and who are these fine folks? I don’t remember anyone in your family this big!”

At nine, Michaela Van Dine blushed furiously. “It’s just me, Uncle Ben. Michaela. You know me.”

He released her mother to Adam and accorded the same bear-hug treatment to the little girl. “Of course I do, Michaela! You’re such a beautiful young lady.”

Then he shook hands with Ted, the quiet, serious middle boy, and Madison, the impish youngest who reminded him so much of Joseph at the age of seven. All the children had their mother’s delicate features and enormous blue eyes—which was a good thing, Ben considered, for although he cared deeply for his friend Aubrey, there was no denying that the man’s strong point was his business acumen and not his appearance.

“Let me ring for tea,” Julia said when Adam had greeted the children. “Or would you prefer something stronger?”

“No, no—tea would be just fine, thank you,” Ben replied, and swiping ineffectually at his jacket, sat down in a leather chair. It was fortunate that Julia had not chosen the drawing room, he thought; the heavy brocades and silks wouldn’t have allowed their lounging around in suits that were dusty from travel. Life in San Francisco was a good deal different from the Ponderosa.

He couldn’t help smiling as he watched Michaela lead Adam to a window seat and show him her latest book. Another difference from home and the shared bachelorhood of his family—children and their activities. Michaela was gazing at Adam as if he had hung the moon, clearly in the throes of a young girl’s crush.

“Was it a difficult journey?” Julia asked.

“Not so hard. Just long, and we were delayed out of Sacramento.” He frowned. “Maybe I’m just getting old. That sort of thing doesn’t usually upset me.”

Julia laughed. “You, old!  Just imagine!”

Ben sat back and stretched out his legs, a certain peace stealing over him. He so loved watching the children; their casual, affectionate infighting reminded him of Hoss and Joe as children. Adam, being older, hadn’t enjoyed the luxury of a carefree childhood—none of them had, really, but when Marie had been alive, Hoss and Joe had been as silly and rambunctious as Ted and Maddie.

Yes, he decided, the children were just what the doctor ordered.
 
 

“Uncle Ben, Adam, come to the park with us!” exclaimed Ted and immediately the other two chimed in as well. They were trying hard not to interrupt, but their natural exuberance could not be contained any longer. The teapot was empty, the conversation settling into a comfortable lull.

Julia threw Ben a smile of apology. “Children, mind your manners! Ben and Adam have only just arrived! Give them a chance to breathe. We’ll all go to the park tomorrow.”

“But Lily’s there now,” Ted pointed out politely, pushing his spectacles farther back up his nose. “And we promised her yesterday that we would see her today.”

“Well, Lily will be there tomorrow, and you can apologize for making such a rash promise. Now—”

“Julia, actually, I’d be glad for a walk, if you’ll trust me with the children,” Ben interjected gently. “We’ve been traveling for three days now. I’d like nothing better than to stretch my legs.”

“You’re sure you want to take on this brood?” Julia looked doubtfully at her offspring, who tried to assume the appearance of angels.

“Of course.  You children will promise to do as I say, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Oh, yes, Uncle Ben—”

“You bet!”

Ben stifled a grin. If Madison got any more like Joseph had been at that age, he would think he’d gone back in time. “Well then, what do you say we clear out of here and give your mother a little time to herself?”

Julia squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Ben. Aubrey sent word from the office that he’s bringing two men home to supper tonight, I suppose to talk business with you. Cook and I are making some adjustments.”

“Don’t you worry a bit, Julia. We’ll have a fine time. Adam, are you coming?”

“Ah—no, Pa, thanks, I think I’ll pass. I have some work to do.” Adam captured Michaela’s hand. “You’ll promise to help make these two rapscallions mind my Pa, won’t you?”

“Yes, Adam, of course!”

“Uncle Ben, what’s a rapscallion?” Ted inquired.

“Pay no attention to Adam, Ted!” Ben shot his son a wry glance. “But for your information, a rapscallion is something he was when he was your age.”

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to wane in the new park down the street when they got there. The trees cast long, slanting shadows across the lawns, and in the tranquil silence, Michaela, Ted and Madison kept their voices down as they pointed out their favorite spots to Ben.

“See the fountain, Uncle Ben? Our neighbor, Mrs. Gillette, just built it.  Ted wants to sail his boat there, but Papa says he can’t.”

“I like that hill over there! Michaela and I rolled down it one day. Mama was awful mad because we got green streaks all over our clothes.”

“Where’s Lily? My favorite part of the park is Lily!”

Ben leaned down to his smallest charge. “And who is Lily, Madison? Why is she so special?”

But Madison couldn’t explain himself. Michaela helped. “She’s Lily Mercer. She lives up the street. Her husband died a few years ago.”

“And she’s a good friend?”

“Oh, yes. Lily’s …”  Michaela struggled and finally gave up, too. “She’s a good friend.”

“Uncle Ben—” Madison was tugging at Ben’s coat sleeve. “May I have a ride on your back?”

Ben smiled indulgently. There was a request he hadn’t heard in fifteen years. He bent down so that Madison could scramble up into position.

The little boy wrapped his arms around Ben’s neck. “I won’t make you gallop,” he said. “I know you’re tired from the boat and stuff.”

Ben smothered a grin and thanked him. Maddie wasn’t heavy, but he squirmed constantly in excitement.

“There’s Lily!” Madison suddenly cried. “C’mon, Uncle Ben, you have to meet Lily—”  He beat a tattoo with his heels into Ben’s stomach.

“Madison!” Ben’s voice was low, but brooked no argument. “Calm down.” The boy became still instantly.

With what dignity he could muster, Ben strode down the path toward the solitary figure approaching from the opposite direction. He wasn’t really in the mood to meet anyone above the age of ten, but it couldn’t be helped.

For her part, Lily Mercer didn’t seem to be paying any attention to him.  She was too busy greeting the children, laughing at something Ted was telling her. She was quite attractive, he noticed: Her yellow dress fit her well, accenting a figure that was both mature and alluring, and her dark auburn hair was swept back from her face to a bun at the nape of her neck. The stray locks which curled near her cheeks looked not unkempt, but intriguingly casual, tiny imperfections in otherwise flawless grooming.

When they were almost face to face, he bent down to let Madison slide to the ground, and rose to encounter a pair of blue eyes that both welcomed and challenged him as they looked him over with interest.

“Lily! Lily! You have to meet Uncle Ben!” Madison chattered shrilly, grabbing Mrs. Mercer’s hand and dancing around.

Michaela intervened—no doubt, Ben reflected, trying to heed Adam’s instructions. “Hush, Maddie! You have to do it properly! … Mrs. Mercer, I’d like to present our friend, Mr. Cartwright.”

Lily’s lips were quivering as she extended her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Cartwright. How nice to meet you.”

Stealing a little of her poise, Ben shook her hand. “And I you, Mrs. Mercer. These three have spoken of no one else since my arrival.”

Before he could say more, Ted challenged Madison to a race to the footbridge, and with an apologetic glance, Michaela declared that she’d better make sure it was a fair contest or they’d be fighting all the way home. Ben was left standing with Lily Mercer on the deserted path.

“Do you have time to stay with them for a little while?” he asked. “They’ll be disappointed if you have to go now.”

“Of course. A day isn’t complete without our little outing in the park.” He offered her his arm and they followed Michaela, Ted and Madison at a slower pace. “You came all the way from the Nevada territory?”

“The children really do talk! Yes, my son Adam and I are here for a few weeks.”

“Is he the one getting married? Maddie especially can’t wait for you to bring grandchildren to San Francisco with you.”

Ben roared with laughter. “Good heavens, that’ll be a few more years yet! No, it’s my middle boy, Hoss, who’ll be marrying when we return. So I don’t mind saying there may be a grandchild before too long, but it won’t be right away.”

Lily’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, Julia mentioned the wedding. She so much wants to attend, I wouldn’t be surprised if Aubrey arranges it.” She looked ahead to make sure the children were not getting into mischief. “I hear that he’ll make a wonderful father, and the general consensus is that you will spoil your grandchildren shamefully.”

Ben measured his strides to her shorter ones. “Hoss will be a good father. As for me as a grandfather”—he shrugged—“we’ll have to see about the spoiling. I’ve always believed in discipline. I love my boys, but I’ve never, not once, spoiled them.”

“Yes, but that’s what grandchildren are for—to spoil. I’ll bet your sons will be delighted to see that side of you.”

“If that happens, they’ll be amazed, I can assure you. … Do you have children?”

“No. No, I would love to have had children, but my late husband and I couldn’t.” She glanced up with a quick smile. “I’m not complaining, because you see, I have Michaela and Ted and Maddie. Their own grandmothers passed away before they were born, so I’ve taken it upon myself to stand in.”

“I’m sure you do a thorough job of spoiling them, but no one would mistake you for Julia’s or Aubrey’s mother!”

“How kind you are!”

“I only speak the truth.” He helped her up a set of steps in the path. “I wonder that we haven’t met before. I come to San Francisco twice a year.”

“During my husband’s illness, I rarely went out. In fact, the only times I did were to Julia and Aubrey’s for dinner, but those were very quiet affairs. It wouldn’t have done for me to be socializing when Howard was so sick.”

“How long has he …?”

“He’s been gone two years now. After he died, I traveled. I believe I was in Baltimore when you were here last winter.”

“Adam loves Baltimore.  He visited friends there while he was at college in Boston.”

“It’s such a beautiful city. In fact, it’s where I finally realized that it was time to come home and pick up my life again. What a delightful surprise it was to find that the children still remembered me!  We have such wonderful times together.”

They reached the footbridge where the boys’ race had ended, and all three children were peering into the clear currents of a small stream.

“Look, Uncle Ben,” Maddie exclaimed, reaching up to grab Ben’s hand and haul him over to the railing. “Look! There’re fish in the creek! What kind of fish are they? Can you tell?”

“Maddie, I have no idea. They look like trout, but they’re too small.”

“Maybe they’re like me—they just aren’t big yet.”

“That could well be. In that case, you’ll want to keep an eye on them and see that they grow up properly.”

“I will,” the boy promised, and crouched down to examine the fish more closely. Ben and Lily exchanged an amused glance.

Ted leaned far out over the bridge’s handrail. “Maddie, how will you know which one is which?”

Maddie scrunched up his face in concentration.

“I think,” Ben interposed, “that the point is to watch out for all of them.”

“Like Papa and Mama watch out for us,” the little boy said. “And Lily. She watches out for us, too.”

From the corner of his eye, Ben saw Lily flush with appreciation. There was a certain serenity about her that was very feminine, he thought, watching her tell Madison thank you for his generous words. She knelt to re-tie the bow on Michaela’s sash, which had come loose in the girl’s headlong rush to the bridge.

“Perhaps, Mickey, you might not be quite such an enthusiastic runner next time,” she cautioned lightly as she looped the pale blue cotton and tightened its knot.

“Oh, Lily, is it so important? Do I always have to look perfect?  I think it’s not fair.  The boys can do anything they like! They don’t have to worry about what they look like!”

“Well, darling, it doesn’t mean you have to give up all your fun. Perhaps just temper your actions a little. It’s important that a lady always looks like a lady.” Lily glanced up to find Ben’s eyes on her. “Wouldn’t you say that’s true, Mr. Cartwright?”

“I’d say that’s very good advice, Michaela. I’m afraid we men do like our ladies to look like the very special and captivating creatures they are.”

“Adam, too?”

“Yes, Adam, too. I think if you use your mother and Mrs. Mercer as examples, you’ll have no trouble at all when you grow up.”

“And now, I think we should start back,” Lily said. “Your mama will be wondering where you are. And besides, it’s getting chilly. The sun’s going down.”

“I’ll race you to the gates!” Ted exclaimed, and bolted down the path. Maddie leapt forward like a deer and Michaela spun quickly, then caught Lily’s glance, and with a sigh, trotted off sedately. Lily smothered a laugh, but her eyes met Ben’s eloquently.

He again offered her his arm, and when her fingers slipped over his sleeve, he covered them with his other hand. “I’d like it very much if you’d call me ‘Ben,’” he said.

“If you’ll call me ‘Lily.’”

“Consider it a deal, then. After all, as surrogate family, we really should be on a first-name basis.”
 
 

LILY closed the door behind her and listened thoughtfully as Ben Cartwright and the Van Dine children crossed the wide porch and descended the steps to the street. She smiled faintly; he’d been very courtly, when in his rich, deep voice he’d insisted that they walk her home.

“Mrs. Mercer!” a voice behind her said. “You have only an hour before your guests are due! What were you thinking, ma’am? You’ll have to hurry!”

Lily patted the plump, grey-haired woman who looked at her anxiously. “Yes, Hannah, I know. I guess I wasn’t thinking. But don’t worry, I won’t be long.”

She was a little bemused with herself.  With dinner guests—fortunately, old friends—coming that evening, she’d had no business remaining late in the park. But Michaela, Ted and Madison had spoken of nothing but Ben Cartwright for days, and she’d promised them she would meet him. It was no good telling herself that she could easily have postponed it until tomorrow.

In her room, her maid unhooked the long line of buttons down the back of her dress and Lily quickly stepped free of it. Not for the first time did she wish that she could forgo her corset, as she daringly had when she was younger. But old habits died hard, and while she was not overweight, she recognized that after a certain age, a woman’s figure just wasn’t as firm. She waited patiently while the maid untied the lacings of the uncomfortable garment.

In the room used for bathing, her housekeeper, Hannah Trask, was dispensing bath salts into the brimming copper tub, and Lily lowered herself gratefully into the water. “Now, give me a few minutes, Hannah, and don’t worry. I’ll be out and dressed in plenty of time.”

“Mrs. Mercer, I just don’t understand it. You’re never late for anything!”

“And I won’t be tonight—now go on, just give me time to catch my breath.”

She wasn’t sure herself why she’d remained in the park, why she hadn’t at least, having met Ben Cartwright, excused herself.  With a sigh, she gave up the questioning. She’d been having a good time, obviously. Ben was a nice man.

She really hadn’t known what to expect of him, although she’d heard about him from Aubrey and Julia forever. Perhaps she’d avoided meeting him in the past because she suspected they might be entertaining some idea that she and Ben could be attracted to each other. She hadn’t been ready for any sort of romantic liaison then, and probably wasn’t now, but at least now she felt confident enough of herself to welcome new experiences … and Ben Cartwright had proved to be a good new experience.

It was his eyes, she decided. At first, he’d appeared just what she’d imagined: tall and handsome in a rough-hewn sort of way—distinguished, with that silver hair. His suit fit him so well that she had trouble picturing him in whatever garb ranchers typically wore, but there had definitely been a dimension about him which could not be confined to the city. One knew right away that he was as adept physically as he was mentally.

He’d been unfailingly courteous to her, almost old-fashioned … but she’d seen that before on countless men. On occasion when he spoke to one of the boys, she had heard the ring of authority which she was sure had characterized his relationships with his sons. And then, at other times, his dark brown eyes had positively melted when he looked at the children. That fascinated her.

She ran a sponge over her arms, down her legs. Nothing would come of it, of course, but she was glad she’d worn the yellow silk dress today, and glad that she had always worked at keeping her figure, even when there seemed no real reason. Now that Howard was gone, she was not looking for another husband. But on the odd occasion when a man like Ben Cartwright looked at her, she was relieved that she didn’t have to apologize about herself.

Then she was reminded of the time and with a great splashing of water, she rose and wrapped herself in a towel. She had guests coming soon, and old friends or not, she had to be in the drawing room to greet them.
 
 

A few houses away, Ben reflected that the walk in the park had been the real turning point in what had been a rather unpleasant day. The heat of the afternoon, the stress of travel, the unquiet thoughts had all faded away.

First, there had been the park’s clean, sharp scent of the sea, a welcome change from the stagecoach, the train and the crowded steamboat. And the coastal pines had reminded him of the towering forests of the Ponderosa—smaller, perhaps, but the same striking green.

Then there had been the agreeable stroll with the children and Lily Mercer. On the long walk to the park gate, she’d been an interesting conversationalist, well informed but inquisitive, thoughtful and open-minded. Altogether, she was a charming woman, remarkably free of vanity as far as he could tell. And it didn’t hurt that she was lovely to look at. He could see why Michaela, Ted and Madison liked her.

Finally, there had been his return to the house. Samuel had unpacked his luggage, laid out his evening clothes, and set up a huge brass tub of steaming water in a closet just off his suite. When he had emerged from his bath, scrubbed clean and refreshed, he’d found a crystal decanter of Aubrey’s premium Kentucky bourbon on the table next to the room’s most comfortable chair. A fire crackled in the big hearth, and the hands of the ornate clock on the mantel told him that he had half an hour before he was expected downstairs. A man could hardly ask for more.

He poured a small glass of whiskey and sipped appreciatively, barely able to suppress an audible “Ahhhhh.”  Then he carried it to the dresser and peered into the looking glass he’d used to shave before his bath. Samuel had laid out his silver-backed brushes, and he ran one through his hair.

All these thoughts about himself lately, who he was and how he wanted to live at this point in his life … He examined himself in the shaving mirror and saw a rather craggy face, tanned by the sun and the wind, surrounded by a longish mane of silver-grey hair. Did he look particularly old? Like a kindly grandfather? He was only fifty-three, for heaven’s sake. And while he looked forward to grandchildren, he realized suddenly that he didn’t want to be considered exactly a grandfather. At least his eyes, a clear, resonant brown, looked alert … straight-forward, no nonsense. He certainly did not have the rheumy gaze of a man past his best years.

That was just his face, however. He turned slightly to catch his full reflection in the free-standing glass by the wardrobe. What he saw again was reassuring: a tall man with a barrel chest; strong, muscular arms and legs; a waist perhaps no longer boyishly thin, but certainly not soft or fat. Life at the ranch, hard as it could be, had left him very fit for his years. He flushed with embarrassment.  Since when had he been concerned with how he looked, other than to be as clean and tidy as his mother had taught him?

It was not until he’d stepped into the dark trousers of his suit and donned a white linen shirt that he realized his uncharacteristic attention to his appearance was because of Lily Mercer. He’d suddenly wanted to see himself as she—or, he amended, any woman—would see him.

Impatiently, he crammed the shirttails into his pants. Was he turning into some kind of schoolboy or something? He met women often without wondering what they thought of how he looked. How one looked was the province of the ladies. For men, it was who one was … what he’d done.

The circuitous thoughts were interrupted by a light tap at the door. “Come in!” he called, glad for the distraction.

Aubrey Van Dine entered, dressed for dinner, his sparse reddish-grey hair slicked back  with pomade. “Ben!” he exclaimed jovially. “I’m sorry not to have been here when you and Adam arrived!”

“Aubrey, don’t mention it. Julia tells me we’re having guests at dinner—I assume that would be Foley and Birdsall, which tells me that you were working on our behalf.”

“You’d be right. I think you’ll find that this contract will be easy to conclude.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Ben waved at a chair next to the fire. “Would you like a glass of your own bourbon? It’s good to have a few moments alone before they get here.”

Aubrey nodded. “It’s good to have a few minutes where we won’t talk business. … How’ve you been, old friend?”

Ben handed him the drink. “I can’t complain—can’t complain at all. The winter was easier than usual … cattle prices are up, and these timber contracts are looking good.” He grinned. “Now, tell me about yourself.”

Aubrey, a portly man whose city lifestyle was apparent in his soft hands and spreading middle, smiled. “I can’t complain, either. I bless m’fortune every day that I found Julia; she’s a saint. I hear you took the children t’the park—you were the most special thing in their day, y’know. Ted absolutely worships you, and I swear, Michaela’ll be beggin’ you t’make one o’ your sons wait for her.”

“Which one?” Ben inquired with a laugh. On occasion, all of his boys had traveled to San Francisco and they knew the Van Dines.

“Well, before today I’d’ve said any one, long as he was your son. But Julia tells me it’s goin’ to have t’be Adam. I think Michaela’s a bit smitten.”

“I thought I saw something along those lines. Well, the way Adam seems to shy away from settling down, he may just be there waiting for her when she grows up! You’re going to have your hands full in a few years. She’s becoming quite a beauty.”

“I know. I just hope I’m strong enough t’handle it. An’ I hope they minded their manners in the park. If they didn’t, you must tell us. I won’t have my children behavin’ like urchins.”

Ben smiled as he listened to his friend’s speech. A native Bostonian, Aubrey had lived briefly in England before coming west, and ever since had reflected a slight Oxbridge accent over his New England brogue. The result was unique. “They were perfectly fine, Aubrey. You needn’t worry. They introduced me to a very nice friend of theirs.”

“Ah, I’ll wager that was Lily Mercer. They’re quite devoted to ’er.” Aubrey savored the bourbon before continuing, “Her husband Howard was a good friend for many years, and Lily was indispensable t’Julia when we were married. In fact, I’d say she’s prob’ly m’wife’s best friend. She’s older’n Julia, o’ course, and was able to offer a good deal o’ wise counsel. But she’s never been dull and staid, you know, that sorta thing, so they’ve always gotten on—sometimes, I must admit, like school chums. Quite amazin’.”

“Did I ever meet her husband? I don’t remember.”

“Don’t think so. He was ill for a long time. Very difficult for Lily. If y’like, we might invite ’er for dinner while you’re here. I’m sure she’d enjoy it.”

“That would be nice. She … she’s lovely … ” Like the children, Ben suddenly found himself at a loss to describe Lily Mercer.

Aubrey’s lips twitched humorously. “Ah, the famous Mercer spell. Can’t describe ’er, can ya?”

Ben flushed. “No, I suppose not. What’s that all about?”

“Damned if I know. It’s just funny—happens t’all of us. Ya try t’describe Lily Mercer, and the words don’t come. Ya think o’ one phrase, and it’s true, but it doesn’ cover it all. So you think o’ another, and that doesn’ do it either.”  He shrugged. “And now, I think, we’d better head downstairs. Adam’s already down, talkin’ t’Julia, and Foley and Birdsall will be here anytime.”
 
 

By the time Darius Foley and Jim Birdsall left, replete with food and a generous allowance of wine and spirits, the hands of the clock were advancing toward midnight. Ben yawned. He felt sure that their timber contract would be completed on the morrow, and his highest priority was quickly developing into a good night’s sleep. He left Adam and Aubrey to a final brandy.

The fire in his bedroom was burning low when he changed into a nightshirt and tossed his dressing gown over the chair by the mantel. Samuel had seen to it that the big mahogany bed had extra feather pillows, and he piled them up with great anticipation before turning down the oil lamp.

He didn’t know how long it had been when he heard a faint tapping at the door. A few minutes? Half an hour? At first he was disoriented, so he must have been asleep. There it was again … a light knock. He threw back the covers and retrieved his robe from the chair, hastily belting it around himself before he swung open the door.

His eyes huge, Maddie looked up him. The little boy was clad only in a blue plaid nightshirt, his feet bare. “I couldn’t sleep, Uncle Ben,” he whispered.

“Maddie!” Ben stepped back. “Come in here. Are you cold? Where are your shoes?”

Maddie darted into the room and scrambled up on the bed, tucking his feet under the covers. “Not cold, ’cept my feet. You won’t tell Mama I’m here, will you?”

Closing the door, Ben frowned slightly and followed the boy into the room. His voice remained kind. “Madison, I’m not going to deceive your mother. Why don’t you want her to know?”

“’Cause she’d skin me. You’re a guest.”

“I’m a friend, too.”

“Yeah, but she wouldn’t want me botherin’ ya.”

Ben sat down on the side of the bed. “You’re not bothering me, son. I’m happy to see you … but why can’t you sleep?”

Madison hesitated and then blurted, “I have bad dreams.”

“I see.”

“An’ I just had one. It was pretty scary, Uncle Ben.”

Ben leaned over to twist the stem on the lamp, bringing the light up in the room. He could see now that Madison, although he tried to appear calm, was trembling. Probably still fearful from the dream, he thought. He slid a little closer and opened his arms. “Come here.”

The boy needed no further urging. He hurled his body across the short space between them, wrapping his arms around Ben’s waist and burying his face in the soft quilted velvet of the dressing gown. Ben clasped him tightly, absorbing the child’s faint shudders and stroking his back. Without thinking, he dropped a kiss on Maddie’s tousled hair.

“You know, it’s no crime to be frightened,” he said softly.

“I’m s’posed to be brave.”

“Oh, Maddie …” Ben smiled crookedly. “No one’s brave all the time. And besides, it’s something you practice as you get older. You get better at it as you go along. What do you dream about that’s so bad?”

But Maddie only buried his head farther into Ben’s gown.

“Madison.” Ben kept his voice low, but he gently disengaged Maddie’s arms, and made the child sit up and look at him. “Now tell me. What was your dream about?”

Great tears rose in Maddie’s eyes, and he hiccuped nervously. “I’m all alone. Our house isn’t here. And I can’t find Mama and Papa.”

Ben had to resist folding Maddie back into his arms; everything in him wanted to cradle the child and comfort him. But he forced himself simply to stroke Maddie’s cheek and hold his wide eyes in a reassuring gaze. “Madison, of course that would upset you,” he said. “It’s all right that you feel like you do.”

“It is?” Madison snuffled dramatically, and Ben reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. How many times, he thought, had he done just the same thing for Joe, Hoss and Adam when they were young? Helped them dry their tears, while trying to teach them the dignity and control they’d need as grown men.

“You do. Your parents and Michaela and Ted are the dearest people in your life. If you were to lose them, you’d be very unhappy, so of course it would frighten you. But it’s just a dream, and it didn’t happen. You have to remember that.”

Madison nodded, his eyes still swimming in tears, but his jaw clamped against quivering.

“In fact, I’d venture to say that if your papa or your mama had that same dream, they’d be frightened, too.”

“Not papa.”

“Even your papa,” Ben nodded. “If I dreamed that about Adam and Hoss and Joe, I’d be very scared.”

“You would?”

“Of course.” Ben combed Maddie’s curly hair with his fingers. “And as you get older, you’ll learn how to help yourself get over that fear.” He smiled. “But in the meantime, you try not to think too much about it. Is this the first time you’ve had that dream?”

Maddie shook his head. “No. I had it last week, too. And once before that.”

Ben sighed. He wished mightily that he could simply banish the child’s nightmare and spare him its devastating effects. “Son, I want you to promise me something, and that’s that you’ll tell your mother about this.”

“I don’t want her to be disappointed in me, Uncle Ben.”

This time, Ben did pull Madison to him and squeezed him tightly. The little boy snuggled into him, lapping up the physical comfort. “Maddie …” Ben cleared his throat. “I guarantee your mother won’t be disappointed in you. She’ll help you deal with it.”

“How can she, Uncle Ben?”

“By talking to you. If you didn’t love your family so much, this dream wouldn’t scare you so. You see, it’s really a good thing that you love your parents and your brother and sister. If you let them tell you that they’re not going away, that you won’t just wake up one morning without them, I don’t think you’ll dream it again.”

“Really?”

“Really … although it may take a little while.”

“I can wait. I can be strong, if I think it’ll go away.”

“That’s my boy!” Ben clasped Maddie to him again, and then sat back. “Now, I think it’s about time we got you back in bed. Your mother’s not going to be pleased if you can’t wake up in the morning.”

Maddie giggled. “Don’t worry, I’ll get up. I promise.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll hold you to that. So … why don’t I walk you back to your room?”

“You mean it? You’ll tuck me in?”

“I mean it. You just have to show me the way … and give me a minute to find my boots.”

The grandfather clock in the main foyer was chiming 12:30 when Ben, having seen Maddie safely curled up in bed, descended the stairs from the third floor. He had just regained his own room when he heard a polite voice from the hall. “I thought you were going to bed.” It was Adam.

He turned in the open door. “I did. Maddie had a nightmare.”

Adam’s voice rose in surprise. “And he came to you?”

Ben stepped back into his suite’s small foyer and held the door open. “If we’re going to have a conversation, perhaps it’s best not to include the whole house,” he said, and waited until Adam had come in. “Yes. He was afraid his parents would be ashamed of him.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Well, parents or not, I can’t fault his judgment in who to come to.”

Ben’s eyebrows rose.

“You forget, I’ve had experience in that department,” Adam said dryly. “I’m sure he thought you could take care of anything that goes ‘bump in the night.’”

Ben’s lips quivered with appreciation, but he couldn’t stop a concerned frown. “This was a little more than that. He’d dreamed that he awakened all alone and his family had disappeared.”

Adam whistled under his breath. “Not your normal run-of-the-mill nightmare. Poor kid.”

“Yes.” Ben sighed, and his voice was reflective. “It certainly brought back memories.”

“About us, you mean?”

“M’m-h’m. You all went through that sort of thing, but it was a very understandable thing. You’d all lost a mother—in your case and Hoss’, more than one mother.”

“We were lucky. We had our father.”

“And your father was very grateful for you,” Ben said with more strength, shaking off his introspective mood. “Maybe I’m overreacting. I’d just like to save Aubrey any heartache, if possible. And Madison, too.”

“Pa, look, I can’t think of a better person for Maddie to come to with his problem. Take my word for it, you did him some good.”

“I hope you’re right.” Ben caught his son’s eye. “But speaking of the children, I’ve been meaning to mention—you did notice, didn’t you, that Michaela has a crush on you?”

Adam nodded without vanity. “It looks like it. Don’t worry, Pa, I’ll be careful.”

“I thought as much. I knew I could trust you to be sensitive, son.” He untied the sash of his robe. “And now, don’t you think it’s about time we got some sleep?”
 
 

Aubrey Van Dine was right; the first timber contract fell into place with ease. The second, with a construction firm, was very promising, but showed signs of taking longer. By the time Ben awakened on Friday, he was feeling satisfied with their progress, but restless from the unaccustomed office life.  He was glad Aubrey had said they didn’t need to be at Van Dine & Bondurant until later in the morning, and that Adam had taken the opportunity to view one of the city’s new building sites. He lingered over his coffee with a copy of the Alta Californian.

“Ben, I have a quick errand to run,” Julia said as she passed through the dining room. “I should be back in a few minutes.”  She was almost out into the hall before she turned back and said hesitantly, “And—and I wanted to thank you for helping Madison the other night. He told me about it this morning.”

He looked up from his paper in surprise. “Julia, you don’t have to thank me. I couldn’t have done any less … but I’m glad he told you about it. I asked him to.”

“I feel so awful for him—a nightmare like that had to be terrifying.” For a moment, she seemed to debate something within herself, and then coming back into the room, she added, “I don’t want to embarrass you, Ben, but … I’m so glad you were here for him—you’re really amazing. I can see how your boys turned out as they did. To have had you to depend on all these years must have been a godsend.”

“Oh, heavens, Julia. I’m not—”

“Yes, you are, Ben. I’m not entirely sure what you said to Madison, but I know that it wasn’t just the words. It was how you were with him … he was so comforted.”

“Sometimes it’s easier when you’re not so close to the situation.”

“Perhaps. But some of it is just how you are, Ben, and I’m very grateful.” She leaned down to kiss him quickly on the cheek, then gathering up her purse and bonnet, she started for the door. “I thought I’d invite Lily Mercer to dinner tomorrow night. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course. We’ll look forward to it.”

Ben refolded the paper and tried to focus on an article about the city’s effort to expand its dock space, but he found it hard to concentrate. His mind wandered aimlessly. At last, he rang for Samuel. “I think I’ll take a quick turn around the park,” he told the butler. “I’ll have to leave for Mr. Van Dine’s office when I return—say, around eleven. Would Doyle or one of the boys be available?”

“Of course, sir. Doyle’s with Mrs. Van Dine, but I’ll have Peter bring the brougham around. Have a good walk.”

Ben breathed deeply as he descended the steps to the street. There was not a cloud in sight, and the peninsula, stretching away before him, appeared piercingly clean and fresh. Lengthening his stride, he found the gate and pathway the children had shown him. The only other people out seemed to be maids with children, and he tipped his hat respectfully to the few which passed his way. For the most part, they sat on benches in little glades, chatting to each other and watching toddlers play in the grass. It’s so, so different from the Ponderosa, he thought.

At the little footbridge, he stopped long enough to check on Maddie’s fish—it would be fun to report to the little boy that he’d made sure they were all accounted for—and then he walked on, his hands in his pockets. No, at home he’d have been in the saddle for hours now, and the only fish of interest would be the ones Hop Sing was preparing for dinner, if anyone had had a chance to throw out a line.

He felt better the farther he walked, the more he pressed himself to use his muscles. He’d have to make sure his daily regimen included at least a brisk walk … but at the moment there were other obligations, and he reluctantly turned back and headed toward the gate. Perhaps, if they finished their business by late afternoon, he could get in an evening stroll. Or better yet, borrow one of Aubrey’s horses and ride down to the bay.

He was just starting up the steps of the Van Dine house when its front door opened and Julia emerged with Lily Mercer. “It was good that we ran into you,” Julia was saying. “We’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”

Lily made a suitable reply and turned to come down the stairs. “Ben, hello! How nice to see you.”

“And you, too, Lily.” Behind him, he heard his carriage draw up. “Ah … are you going anywhere that I might drop you?”

“If you’re going near Broadway and DuPont, I must pick up a parcel at The Emporium.”

“Of course. Please be my guest.” It was nowhere near Aubrey’s office at California and Montgomery, but he decided suddenly that he didn’t care if he was late, and handed her into the brougham, pleasantly aware of its size. With room for only two passengers, his shoulder rubbed against hers.

“You know, Maddie has checked on his fish each day since you told him to watch over them,” she said after they’d started out.

“I checked on them this morning, too,” he admitted sheepishly.

She laughed. “You’re a child at heart, Ben Cartwright! It’s an attractive quality.”

“Well, either that or a conservationist, I suppose.”

“Perhaps that goes with living in the Sierras,” she replied. “I hear it’s such a beautiful place. Surely you all want to keep it that way.”

He regarded her with surprise. Not many people on the frontier gave preserving nature much thought—and certainly not many city-dwelling women. “I wish more people felt as you do. So far, there’s enough of everything for everyone. But if we don’t take care of it, that could easily not be true in a generation or two.”

“It’s like that here, too. San Francisco is growing so fast, and there’s only so much land here. I just hope we don’t ruin it. And I especially hope that we don’t put up a whole lot of ugly structures.”

“Adam’s out looking at your new architecture now. He says there’re some fine draftsmen at work.”

She nodded. “I think there’s a real possibility, if we don’t go wrong, that we might become as beautiful as Paris.”

“I haven’t been to Paris since I was a young man, but Adam was there many years ago and he's been studying the development there ever since.  I believe he said it's headed by a man named Haussman.”

She waved to someone on the street. “And why does Adam seem to do all the traveling in your family? I could have sworn you’d be the type to see the world.”

“Oh, I was—and I did, as much of it as I could pack into my years at sea. Everything from the Mediterranean to much of Europe. But now …” His voice trailed off and his gaze became distant for a moment before he caught himself and continued, “Now, the Ponderosa is home. I don’t mind travel and I still enjoy a big city, but there’s no place like the shore of Lake Tahoe.” He caught her gaze and added, “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you from? Certainly you didn’t start out here on the west coast.”

“No, I was born in Savannah, Georgia. My mother had family in New York, and I was visiting there when I met Howard. He was in the merchant marine at the time, and we came west aboard ship.”

“That’s very interesting. I wouldn’t have taken you for a seaman’s wife.”

“Probably because I wasn’t for very long. Howard was as much a merchant as a seaman; he was quite unusual—he allowed me to go everywhere with him. His last command brought him here, and he quit the sea to go into business.”

“Do you still have the company?”

“No. It was The Emporium; he sold it several years ago after we’d become established, and we planned to travel again.” She smiled fleetingly. “You know sailors. They’re never quite content in just one place. But then he became ill.”

“I can well understand a love of the sea. There was nothing like that first day out on a voyage to a far-off land … and nothing like the first whiff of the shore on a homeward journey.”

“Aubrey did say that you sailed from the port of Boston.”

He was perplexed at her humorous tone. “Yes, but what does that mean?”

“Oh, there’s a certain look about New Englanders,” she returned playfully. “Very upright and serious.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Oh, no!  Heavens, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to offend you!  I could add, ‘very honorable, honest and respectable’ as well.  It’s quite a good thing!”

“Unless you carry it too far and bore all your friends,” he rejoined dryly.

“Somehow, I don’t think you do that.”

He realized then that she was teasing him and offered a rueful grin. “You know, Lily, I think I’ve been away from city life a little too long. I can hardly keep up with you.”

“You’re doing just fine, Ben. Don’t change a thing. Now, here is my stop. Thank you so much for the ride.”

He stepped out in front of an imposing three-storied building and reached up to help her down. When his hands closed around her waist, their eyes met for a moment as he swung her to the ground. All he could think of was how warm and inviting her expression was, as if laughter would be on her next breath.

“Well,” he said abruptly and stepped back. He tipped his hat. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
 
 

As she pushed open the big double doors to The Emporium, Lily was assailed with a rush of familiarity. She’d come here every day except Sunday for the better part of fifteen years. How could it not be like coming home? A dignified man with a walrus moustache welcomed her—Jennings, men’s haberdashery; a tiny woman with snow white hair smiled up from the display of candies and sweets—Mildred Haskell; a thin young man with a closely-clipped beard nodded from tools and implements—Gerald Dacos. Even though she’d been in only the week before, she greeted them all, one by one, with a nod, a smile and a personal word. It took her five minutes to reach the jewelry counter at the back of the store, where Harriet Peakin was waiting for her with a small package.

“The child is going to love it, ma’am,” the clerk said.

Lily opened the jewelry box to examine a tiny cross on a woven chain, both in gold so highly polished that they gleamed in the light of the lamp overhead. “Very nice,” she murmured. “I’m sure Michaela will like it.”

“And she’s ten, ma’am?”

“Ten, a week from today.”

“Is she a niece, ma’am?” Harriet inquired, and Lily masked a smile. The clerk had only good intentions, but she was the biggest gossip in the store. Or perhaps the world.

“No, just a friend,” she answered.

“Oh, I wondered. Actually, I was wonderin’ if she might be related to the lovely gentleman I saw as left you off today.” Lily glanced up in surprise and Harriet colored slightly. “Well, seein’ as how I had had to go out, I was comin’ in as you were. He was ever so handsome.”

“Miss Peakin, you’ll not be bothering the customers with personal questions,” commanded a sharp voice from over Lily’s shoulder. She spun around to see a tall, slender woman with pince nez glasses perched on her nose. “Even if it is just our Mrs. Mercer. And now you’ve delivered her merchandise, I’m sure you have something else to do.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Harriet squeaked. “Ever so sorry, Mrs. Mercer!” She skittered to the counter on the other side of the alcove.

Lily smothered her laughter. “Thanks so much, Joyce.” She picked up Michaela’s gift, and with a wave to Harriet, linked her arm with Joyce Burkett’s and started for the front door. “She is the biggest busybody!”

“Of course, she wasn’t the only one who saw you with the handsome stranger,” the Assistant Head Clerk said in an amused voice. “Everyone’s green with curiosity, Lily.”

Lily laughed. “He’s just a friend, dear. He’s from the Nevada territory, so I’m afraid you won’t be seeing him again.”

Joyce squeezed her arm. “Oh, Lily, I confess—I was hoping he was a new beau of yours! But the Nevada territory … no, I’m afraid that won’t do.”

“Sorry I can’t accommodate you, but what’s wrong with Nevada?”

“Why, it’s too far away, of course! The Emporium wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t come by every week or two to keep us on our toes. Lily, you and Howard may have sold it, but you know, in our hearts, it will always be yours.”

Lily’s eyes misted. “Joyce, what a kind thing to say! I think of you all as family.”

Joyce nodded. “We think of you that way, too.” She smiled sweetly. “That’s why we were all hoping that you’d found a new man … someone to make you happy, Lily. You deserve it.”
 
 

“Wire for you, Mr. Cartwright.” The thin, reedy voice issued from the door to Aubrey’s office.

Ben glanced up to see the young man who was his friend’s secretary. “For me?”

His brow furrowed, then relaxed when he scanned down to the sender’s signature: Joseph Cartwright.  But Joe had never been known for staying in touch; he caught Adam’s eye across the room.

“I told Joe he was to report in,” his oldest son said mildly, “on pain of having to dance with Sue Ann Lyon at Hoss’ reception if he didn’t.”

Aubrey guffawed. Shaking his head, Ben ripped open the flimsy envelope.

Everything good STOP Expect SF delivery North Fork timber Fri 6th STOP Got inquiry re beef from McKenna & Co. STOP  See P E Larkin re terms  STOP Widow Hensley sends best  STOP Joe

Ben groaned. The Widow Hensley, h’m? If she was sniffing around again, he just might have to extend their trip.

“Trouble at home, Ben?” Aubrey asked.

“No, it’s all under control.” He tossed the telegram on Aubrey’s desk for his friend’s perusal.

“Ah … fine on the timber delivery. Consolidated will be happy about that … an’ McKenna! Capital! Paul Larkin’s a good man, good t’do business with. What’s this? The Widow Hensley?”

Adam snorted with laughter.

“What you heard,” Ben said testily, “was my reaction to the Widow Hensley. Joseph is teasing me, but it’s not a very good joke. Belinda Hensley’s set her sights on a new husband—any new husband. I’m unfortunately one of the ‘eligibles.’”

Aubrey leaned back in his chair and eyed Adam conspiratorially. “Um … I take it you’re not in’erested? The fair widow’s not t’your taste?”

“No,” Ben said shortly.

Aubrey traced a design on a scrap of paper and suddenly turned serious. “Y’know, Ben, none o’ m’business, but Hoss gettin’ married here, Adam and Joe can’t be far b’hind—all due respect, Adam. Why don’t y’give some thought t’marryin’ again?”

“Aubrey, I’ve thought about it over the years. I just never met the right woman. Besides, the women I meet—”

“What’re they like? What sort o’ women do y’see?”

“‘See’? I don’t ‘see’ anyone at the moment—haven’t for a few years now.” Ben glanced somewhat hesitantly at Adam. Although both were grown men who enjoyed feminine companionship, they had rarely discussed their relationships with women.

But Adam appeared not to notice the unusual nature of the conversation. “What Pa’s trying to say, Aubrey,” he interjected smoothly, “is that they seem to fall into two categories. Some of them mother the devil out of him, as if he’s some poor idiot who needs to be taken care of. The Widow Hensley is one of those—if she moved in at the Ponderosa, we’d all be as big as Hoss on her apple pie alone. Others are so deferential they act like glorified servants, most likely because of what the Ponderosa represents—money, power, standing, whatever matters to them.” He shrugged. “We all get that to some extent; Pa gets it the most.”

Ben fiddled absently with a pencil, grateful for Adam’s blunt description of the situation. “I married for love, Aubrey,” he added. “If I were to marry again, I wouldn’t do it any differently.”

Aubrey nodded sympathetically. “I un’erstand. I couldn’t live with females like that, either. But Ben, I’m livin’ proof … there’re women out there like the ones you’ve loved. Julia’s one o’ ’em.”

“You’re a lucky man, Aubrey, and if I met a woman like Julia, I’d consider going to the altar, too. I don’t mean young enough to have children again; I’m not interested in that. But the marriage you have. I don’t think there’re many men that wouldn’t want something like it.”

Aubrey rose and began to stuff a satchel with papers from their meetings that afternoon. “Well, m’friend, at least you don’t have t’do anythin’ you don’t want t’do. But if you’d like a little female company while you’re here, we have a number o’ friends you might enjoy. You too, Adam. Give it some thought.”

“I will,” Ben agreed. He said nothing more, but his thoughts turned to the coming Saturday evening. Undoubtedly, one of the women Aubrey and Julia might suggest for companionship would be Lily Mercer.  So he didn’t have to ask or think about what he wanted, if in fact he wanted anything at all.
 
 

Ben fumbled with his tie. By virtue of its falling on Saturday night, the dinner with Lily Mercer was more formal than usual, and he had chosen his charcoal frock coat with pearl grey trousers and a silver satin vest. But the tie—a black silk he was seeking to coax into a new fashion called the windsor knot, was a problem. And Adam, whom he might have asked for help, had been late back from an afternoon’s architectural expedition and was just now soaking in his bath. At last he gave up and looped it into his normal, relaxed style, then skipping his private bourbon, he joined Aubrey and Julia in the drawing room. Moments later, Samuel announced Mrs. Mercer.

In the general commotion of her arrival, Ben was able to observe Lily Mercer again. The butler was just taking her deep violet cloak; her dress was a matching shade, cut low in the current fashion, and flaring gently from the waist. She wore a choker of four strands of pearls, dangling a single diamond on the pale skin above her neckline, and diamond and pearl earrings which caught the light of the fire and sparkled against her simple hairstyle. A thin gold chain encircled her hips and draped over her skirt, a style, he realized dimly, last seen in the Elizabethan era, but so beguiling.

She seemed oblivious to her physical charms—she was, as usual, just Lily. They talked of the latest news from Washington, of Nevada’s proposed statehood, of the rapid growth of San Francisco. Adam still had not appeared a little later when Aubrey and Julia withdrew to say good night to the children, and Ben relished the time alone with her, but he wasn’t sure how he should handle it.

“It’s very good to see you,” he said. “I know this will sound strange, but I’m beginning to feel like I know you. It’s silly—we’ve spoken only a few times—but I can’t help it.”

“Perhaps it’s the children, because I feel the same way about you. I suppose they’ve said so much that I felt I knew you even before we met.”

“Yes, that could certainly be …”  Suddenly he couldn’t think of anything to add that wouldn’t lead to subjects that weren’t safe. Everything that came to mind, a confused jumble of such remarks as you look amazing , or the firelight brings out the color of your hair, was fraught with risk.

She rescued him. “You always speak of Adam … what about your other two sons? What are they doing while you’re gone?”

“They’re working at the ranch. Perhaps Adam just fits more easily into the topics we’ve been discussing. You’ll meet him this evening. I’m sorry to say that he’s late—I’m afraid he forgot his manners in the pursuit of architecture.”

She laughed. “A noble excuse—and one, I must admit, I’ve never heard before. Is he the one most like you?”

“No. No, I wouldn’t say any one of them is the most like me. They’re more like their mothers. Hoss’s mother was very straightforward and practical, but very kind, and that’s Hoss. Little Joe’s mother was quite tempestuous—and her son is much like her. Joe keeps us all entertained. It’ll always be a toss-up as to whether he acts first or thinks first.”

“And Adam?”

“Adam’s the thinker of the group. He’s always been interested in books, in education, travel … but he’s not bookish, in any sense of the word.”

“Are you?” she inquired.

“Me? Heavens, no! I enjoy reading, of course, but not as Adam does. It’s been quite a while since I’ve had time to indulge that.”

“Perhaps now there will be some time. If Hoss is starting his own family, and Adam and Joe are at an age where they—h’m—have lives of their own, what’s to stop you from pursuing your own interests?”

“Why, nothing … I suppose.” He contemplated the prospect of quiet evenings of study and found it rather attractive. “Of course, as out-of-date as I am, I’m not sure where I’d begin. Any suggestions?”

“Of course!” she laughed. “I could suggest all of my favorites, but I think it would be better if you selected your own.”

“And what are your favorites?”

“Probably none you don’t already know. Among the poets, Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her husband. In prose, oh, the Frenchman, Balzac—he’s exceptional. But I must admit that my real favorites are from another time. I love Voltaire, although I don’t always agree with him, and John Milton.”

“My first wife, Elizabeth, loved Milton.” He smiled. “No American literature? No Uncle Tom’s Cabin ?”

“Of course, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Everyone should read it—but that’s more for civic duty, rather than enjoyment.”

“Civic duty?”

“To better understand that dreadful war we’re fighting. How could anyone enjoy a book about man’s cruelty to his fellow man?” She made an effort to soften her tone, which had sharpened at the mention of the war. “But we can’t avoid subjects just because they’re unpleasant. So yes, read it … but I was thinking of books which might bring you pleasure.”

“You feel strongly about slavery?”

“Yes, I do. Didn’t we fight a war with England for the right to be free? Why should ‘we’ not apply to everyone?”

“You’re passionate about this.”

“Is that a crime?”

“No, of course not. But it’s unusual for a woman.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged helplessly. “I just don’t know very many women who are interested in politics.”

“But it’s not politics, Ben. It’s basic human rights.”
 
 

Adam cursed under his breath. He should have known he hadn’t time this afternoon to really inspect the new Barnhardt mansion in the Mission district. He’d gotten a late start after working with Aubrey in the morning, and of course, this would be the day that he’d chance to meet the home’s architect, a bright young man named McPherson who’d graduated, as he had, with an engineering degree from Harvard. And then when he’d started back, already late, most of the omnibuses going his way had been full.

The net result was that he was late returning for dinner, arriving only minutes ahead of their guest. He knew his father wouldn’t be pleased. Thank God for Samuel, who’d not only had a bath ready and waiting, but also had laid out his evening clothes.

Adam submerged in the big brass tub, trying to let the hot water clear his head as well as clean away the grime of the street. A cloud of soap bubbles rose around him and for a moment he forgot how much he needed to hurry as the heat eased into his tired muscles. He barely heard the soft knock at the door, rousing only when Samuel entered, discreetly bearing a small glass of whiskey.

“You have at least twenty minutes, sir,” the butler said with a wink. “Mr. and Mrs. Van Dine are about ready to put the children to bed, and if I may say so, I’m sure your father is capable of entertaining Mrs. Mercer. You looked as if you might need this.”

“Samuel, you are a treasure.”

He lay back and let the bourbon and the steaming water do their work. Then with a quick shave, a slap of bay rum and some resolute brushing to rid his hair of the effects of the bath, he had only to throw on clothes. Samuel’s taste, as usual, was irreproachable: He’d selected the navy suit and waistcoat, a white shirt and black tie. Except that tonight, of all nights, he couldn’t get the tie knotted in any acceptable bow.

Damn. He was suddenly very aware of the ticking of the clock. If Lily Mercer was on time, she’d arrived a full twenty minutes ago. He ground his teeth and tried to calm down; rushing was only making it worse. The loose bow he’d fashioned reminded him of something Joe might have turned out at the age of eight. Perhaps he could catch Julia by herself and ask for help … With another muttered curse, he jerked open the door and strode into the corridor without looking.

In the dim light of the oil lamps, Adam was aware only of a flash of color somewhere beneath him before he realized that he’d nearly run Michaela down. With a strangled cry, the little girl leaped sideways and slammed against the wall.

“Michaela—I’m sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” He reached out to steady her. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

She nodded and then shook her head, her dark eyes wide.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m fine,” she finally murmured. “I’m sorry. I got in your way.”

Adam forgot about his obligations downstairs, and knelt down to her level. “No, you didn’t. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry; I should have looked.”

She found her voice. “It’s all right, Adam.” Her eyes dropped to his mangled tie. “Your—um—your bow—”

He smiled. “I know. For some reason, I can’t seem to get it tied.”

“Would you like me to help?”

He didn’t expect that she would have much experience in tying men’s ties, but anything he said along those lines would surely hurt her feelings. And anyhow, she could hardly do any worse than he had. “Sure. I’d appreciate it.”

“Then sit on this chair.” She led him to an armchair against the wall of the wide hall, and when he’d sat down, stood between his knees and deftly removed the tie from around his neck. She smoothed out some of the wrinkles he’d created, and then turned up the collar of his shirt. Measuring carefully with her eyes, she positioned the tie, flipped one streamer over the other, and in a matter of seconds had managed a perfect, symmetrical bow.

Arching one eyebrow dramatically, his eyes amused, Adam rose, and taking her hand, led her into his room. Sure enough, he thought as he inspected himself in the mirror, she’d done a faultless job.

“I owe you,” he said.

She shrugged. “It’s not hard. I have younger brothers.”

“So do I. And I’ve tied their ties for them, but I always have to stand behind them and tie them as if I were doing my own.”

“I can’t imagine what they look like,” she said timidly.

Adam burst into laughter before he could stop himself—and immediately realized it was the wrong reaction. Michaela stood rooted for one horrific moment, her eyes wide and a stain of red flushing her cheeks. Then she spun and bolted for the door.

“Michaela! Wait!” It was all he could do to stifle his mirth and take the two long strides necessary to catch her arm. “Don’t you dare think I’m laughing at you!” he said, pinning her with his gaze, but making no effort to subdue the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m laughing at what you said , because it’s funny.”

A little smile of response dawned tentatively on her face. “Is that true?”

“Sure it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the rug. “Well, actually, that’s just as bad. I’m sorry—I’m awful—I just say things, and they turn out to be funny, and it’s a mistake.”

“Why is it a mistake?”

“Girls aren’t supposed to be funny.”

Adam stopped to digest this nugget of information. “Who told you that?”

“Papa.”

He let go of her arm, but gently shepherded her to the chair, where he sat down and pulled her up against his knee. “Mickey, are you sure that’s what he meant? What did he say, exactly?”

His voice, matter-of-fact and without condescension, had an effect. He could feel her relaxing. “I think that’s what he meant. He said that boys wouldn’t like a flighty girl who giggled and laughed too much. And he said I wasn’t to put myself forward or draw attention to myself by making silly comments.”

Adam sighed. “Well, I don’t think that means you can’t be funny. You wouldn’t want to give up laughing, would you?”

“No. But I know better than to make a joke. I really do.”

Adam suddenly realized he’d never seen such enormous cobalt eyes in his life, and they were regarding him with so much trust that he breathed a silent prayer he wouldn’t misguide his little friend. “I think what your father meant—and maybe he wasn’t quite clear about it—was that you simply have to know when to be funny and when not to be. It’s not that men won’t appreciate your sense of humor. It’s just that maybe you should know your audience before you entertain them.”

“Oh. Do I know you well enough?”

“Yes, you do. I enjoy your humor. I thought you were teasing me and I liked it.”

“That’s good. I mean, I wouldn’t have minded teasing you.”

“Well, feel free anytime—but I reserve the right to tease you back.”

“Oh, you can. I can take it, if I know you don’t mean to hurt my feelings.”

“I would never hurt your feelings … at least, not intentionally. If you ever think I do, you ask me about it. All right?”

“Yes.”

“And Mickey … Your father is right about one thing. When you get older, if you’re always giggling and laughing, people who don’t know you might not take you seriously. But I think your father was talking about when you get older.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You have to remember something else, too. Look at me now, sweetheart. I want to make sure you understand this.” He waited until she was staring into his eyes, her own clear and dark and serious. “In the end, Mickey, you don’t let anyone tell you how you can be, or who you are. You have a lot of years to find out who you really are, and only you can decide that. As your father says, temper your actions for society … look around, watch other people, learn what works best for you. But don’t ever—ever—be anything less than true to yourself. And only you will be in a position to know who that really is. Understand?”

She nodded. “Yes, Adam.”

“Good. … And now, I’d better get downstairs or my pa’ll have my hide.”

She giggled. “Did Uncle Ben ever tan you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes.”

She led the way to the door. “Well, I don’t guess he’d do that now.”

“No, I think not. But he’ll be a little put out with me for being so late to dinner.”

“You’d better hurry. I’m sorry I delayed you.”

He ruffled her hair. “You didn’t, and I wouldn’t have missed our talk. Besides, I could hardly have appeared downstairs with my tie looking the way it did.” He suddenly remembered what Samuel had said earlier. “I thought you were supposed to be going to bed.”

“Maddie goes first and then Ted. I can go later because I’m ten—well, almost. I will be next Friday. But when we have company, we all go up together. Mama and Papa are reading them stories.”

“And where were you going when I nearly ran you over?”

“I was going to sneak downstairs. I left my book in the morning room. When you all go into dinner, I want to get it.”

“Would you like me to get it for you? It might be a while longer before we sit down to eat.”

“Would you mind?”

“Not at all. I owe you at least that much. What’s the name of the book?”

“Northanger Abbey .”

Adam’s eyebrows rose. “Jane Austen?”

She nodded. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. Just … ah, don’t be offended, but isn’t that—”

“You mean, am I old enough to read it?”

“Well … yes.”

“I don’t know. I don’t really like it much—I liked Sense and Sensibility better, and Pride and Prejudice better than that.”

“Do you … ah … does it make sense to you?”

She scrunched up her face, but he could tell she wasn’t upset. She was just considering his question. “I’m not sure. I think maybe some of it I don’t quite understand, but not much. And I like Jane Austen very well. I’ll read her again when I get a little older and see if I think the stories mean something different from what I think now.”

“You know, Jane Austen wrote for adults.”

“I know. But I read books written for girls, Adam, and they were just so boring. I thought it couldn’t hurt if I tried something different. And I asked Mama. I didn’t go behind her back.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you would have.” What an enchanting child she was, he thought. But in spite of her worries about her humor, she was too serious—too old—for her age. He sighed. “I can certainly see how little girls’ books would have bored you.”

By unspoken consent, they fell silent at the landing above the first floor. Michaela accompanied Adam halfway down the flight of stairs, then sat down by the railing to wait for him. He descended the rest of the way, grateful for the thick carpeting which muffled his footfalls. In the foyer, he could hear his father and Lily Mercer talking, and he took care to tread softly as he doubled back behind the stairs to the morning room.

Sure enough, on a table next to the settee was a small, leatherbound volume of Jane Austen, marked with a crimson ribbon. He picked it up, his fingers automatically stroking the soft calfskin, and thumbed through it. A small, affectionate smile played on his lips. He’d have to think of something she’d enjoy reading and get it for her. But in the meantime …

He returned to the foyer and sprinted up the stairs. Michaela had not moved.

“Here you are. Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Adam.” She turned to go upstairs, and then turned back and said solemnly, “I appreciate your getting it for me. And I liked talking to you.”

“That makes two of us,” he said, his voice warm. Under his gaze, she blossomed suddenly into a smile. “Sleep tight.”
 
 

Ben was deep in conversation with Lily when Adam strode through the big archway separating the drawing room from the entrance hall. Even rushed and self-conscious about being late, he didn’t miss the singular way his father focused on the attractive woman with the red-brown hair. So this was Lily Mercer … his eyes skipped quickly from Lily to his father, then back to Lily, and he schooled his face to reflect only polite interest.

“… not politics, Ben. It’s basic human rights,” Lily was saying.

Ben was just about to respond when he noticed Adam. “Son—it’s about time!” But there was no hint of remonstration in his voice as he rose to welcome Adam. “We were beginning to give you up for lost. Lily, I’d like you to meet my son, Adam. Adam, Lily Mercer.”

For a moment, all Adam could think was, ridiculously, this must be my night for blue eyes. Lily Mercer’s were fully as beautiful as Michaela Van Dine’s, but darker and more luminous.

“I’m delighted, Adam. Your father speaks so highly of you,” she said, the hint of a laugh in her warm contralto voice.

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Mercer,” he returned. “I’ve heard a great deal about you as well. I’m sorry for being so late.”

“Don’t be,” Lily answered. “Aubrey and Julia are putting the children to sleep, and your father and I were just discussing—ah, his reading material and the state of the union.”

Adam’s eyebrows rose as he accepted another whiskey from Samuel. “I hope the human rights comment I overheard related to the state of the union and not my father’s reading material.”

“Absolutely! I’m rather dogmatic about human rights … and I’m not sure Ben knows what to make of that.”

“Now, Lily, that’s not fair!” Ben objected. “I was just surprised to find that you were so concerned with politics.”

“I simply believe that slavery is an abomination.”

Adam nodded in agreement, but added, “You realize that the War of the Rebellion is about much more than slavery.”

“Yes, of course. There are many other considerations—but none outweigh the fundamental wrong of slavery.”

“Are you following the news of the war?”

“Yes, but not in detail. I haven’t a head for battle strategy.” She regarded him shrewdly. “May I surmise from your calling it the Rebellion that you sympathize with Mr. Lincoln?”

“Of course. Both on principle and on my birth north of the Mason Dixon line.”

“I worry for our country.”

Adam sighed. “So do I—but I think the situation is getting better. With our victories at Gettysburg in the north and Vicksburg in the south, it’s only a matter of time before the Confederacy will have to surrender.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Ben listened as his son and Lily Mercer commiserated on the lack of a gifted general to guide the Union forces as Robert E. Lee was inspiring the Confederate troops; Adam was advocating promotion of the victor at Shiloh and Vicksburg, a hard-driving commander named Grant. Then they speculated on what the addition of Nevada as a free state would mean to the outcome of the conflict.

Presently Aubrey and Julia returned, and it was not long before Samuel appeared in the doorway to announce dinner. Ben took Julia’s arm to escort her into the dining room. Conservation … politics … poetry … man’s relationship to man … he had always felt that he’d remained intellectually active, but now he turned a more critical eye on himself. It had been interesting to watch Adam and Lily converse; not that he couldn’t have expressed his son’s thoughts himself, but he realized with a start that in his day, one hadn’t considered politics a very lively discussion to hold with a woman. In his day ? The very phrase was awkward. And look at what he might miss, if he didn’t indulge in exploring a woman’s thoughts and interests … That is, he realized, if the woman was Lily Mercer and wasn’t shy about discussing those things.

“Ben?”

Four faces obviously awaited his reply. Aubrey’s lips curved upward in a smile. “I was just asking how you liked the wine. It’s from a new vintner about a hundred miles from here.”

Hastily Ben reached for the crystal goblet that Samuel had filled and took a sip. “It’s excellent,” he replied as the butler deposited a first course of a sherried consommé in front of him.

“I thought so, too. Adam? Ladies?”

“It’s lovely, Aubrey,” Lily said, and turned to Ben. “Have you ever considered growing grapes on the Ponderosa?”

“Yes.” He nodded at his son. “As a matter of fact, some of the vintners were in New York recently.  Adam talked to them about it, but the climate isn’t quite right.” He chuckled. “We all enjoyed a great deal of tasting before we decided it wasn’t feasible.”

“When was this, Adam?” Lily inquired.

“The last time was this past winter.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed with thought. “Last winter? I was too, and I shan’t believe this, if we came so close to each other and didn’t meet!”

Adam nodded and a sudden recognition dawned in his eyes. “Wait a minute … Lily Mercer? And were you in New York in January?”

She nodded.

“Lily Mercer …” His voice took on an aura of wonder. “Or as she was known at one point, The Magnificent Mercer!”

“Adam!” Lily blushed furiously. “What can you possibly mean?”

Seeing his father’s face darken, Adam hastened on, “No, no, no—it was nothing disrespectful. Actually, had you remained in New York, I think you’d have had the city at your feet.”

“Maybe you’d better explain,” Ben advised.

Adam didn’t take his eyes off Lily, his expression warmly conspiratorial. “Well, it seems there was a rather arrogant Bostonian named Tom Thackeray.   He was rich as a sultan, or so he told anyone who would listen.   At any rate, he was very convinced that all he had to do was dangle a marriage proposal in front of Mrs. Mercer and she’d be his absolutely, and he made that very well known."

“And was one of those listeners you?” Ben asked with dangerous calm.

“No, Pa, I didn’t arrive until all this was over. If I’d gotten there earlier, perhaps I’d have had the honor of meeting Mrs. Mercer. But at any rate, Thackeray publically announced his marriage to ‘the lucky female,’ I believe he called her, at a party at the  Palais Auersperg. What he’d failed to learn, however, was that Mrs. Mercer had booked passage on a ship to San Francisco the next morning and several of her friends were aware of it. Before long, the betting was—shall we say—brisk on whether or not he would be successful. Now, you might correct me, Mrs. Mercer, but the story I heard was that he knelt down on one knee to inform you of your good fortune, and you disabused him of the idea with the comment that you were too busy to think about it at the moment.” Adam smiled at his audience. “You know the type of self-important blowhard Thackeray was—to be dismissed so easily was a severe blow to his ego, which of course entertained the social elite for days.”

Lily’s cheeks were pink. “I had no idea. I just told him ‘no,’ because I mean, any fool could see that we wouldn’t suit. I would never have embarrassed him so—” She stopped to consider the incident and then burst into laughter. “Oh, yes, I would! Adam, thank you!  I really had no idea all that had gone on—I’m afraid I just don’t pay much attention to what people are saying. But truth be told, if ever someone deserved it, it was Tommy Thackeray.”

Adam nodded. “I suppose he figured all women were fortune hunters.”

“All the money in New England couldn’t have made him acceptable!” she retorted, and then her tone softened. “Adam, I wish I’d stayed around long enough to have met you.”

“Mrs. Mercer—”

“‘Lily.’ Lily, if you want to be my friend. ‘Mrs. Mercer’ if you want the same callous treatment I gave to Tommy Thackeray.”

“Lily it is, then.”

The dinner passed enjoyably. After the consommé came a delectable salmon with an imported Mersault of good vintage; then a grilled filet of beef with airy-light potatoes and a robust burgundy; a small and tasty arrangement of lettuce with olive oil and an herbed vinegar; and finally, a selection of cheeses made by Italian ladies in North Beach. Everyone groaned when tiny fruit tarts finished the meal with a dry, sharp French champagne.

“Good heavens,” Ben said as he folded his napkin. “I’d be willing to bet that party in New York was no finer than this!”

“We happen to know Lily’s preferences very well,” Julia explained.

Lily giggled. “No one has ever accused me of a ladylike appetite!”

“I hate it when women nibble about like birds,” Aubrey muttered. “What’s the point?”

“If we all ate like Lily, we’d not be able to fit into our clothes,” Julia sniffed. “Why do you think we walk endless rounds in the park? And speaking of that, Lily, shall we walk as far as my study and leave the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars?”
 
 

It was nearly midnight when Ben escorted Lily home. He’d wondered if Adam might volunteer for the task—he and Lily had gotten on so well—but his son had simply expressed his pleasure at meeting her and bid her a good night. Lily had seemed unruffled at his withdrawal, and pleased to be alone again with Ben.

“I see now why you speak so highly of Adam,” she confided as they closed the door behind them. “He’s a lovely man—and so like you.”

“I’m very proud of him. And he seemed quite taken with you.”

“I enjoy him very much. I hope we can become better friends while you’re here. I shall have to go through my list of young lady friends—it’s a crime that he should devote his whole visit to work and to architecture! Although,” she added as an afterthought, “it’s going to be difficult to find just the right girl. They seem to come either beautiful and utterly vacant, or very intelligent and horse-faced. I rather think Adam would like a combination.”

Her reflective tone caused him to chuckle. “I’m sure Adam would appreciate your care in making the right selection.”

“You’re teasing me, and I only mean well!”

The breeze off the bay, which had turned cold and unpredictable, suddenly tore violently at their clothing. At the street, Ben stopped Lily and caught the errant sides of her cloak, closing them over her in front and fastening each heavily-braided frog. Then, against the wind, he lifted the violet hood and arranged it over her soft dark hair.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes gleaming up at him like jewels. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they started up the incline to the next block. “Isn’t it a beautiful night?”

“Beautiful?”

“Yes—beautiful! Wild and clear and clean and beautiful! I love nights like this. You can taste the sea.”

In the moonlight, he could see the radiant look on her face. “You can, at that. It is a fine night, but not one I’d expect a woman to enjoy.”

“What, you think only a seaman on an open deck could love a night like this?  Why, Ben Cartwright! Why not a woman?”

“I don’t know.” He couldn’t help an ironic laugh. “Lily, I must say, you turn my thinking upside down. There’s no reason a woman can’t enjoy anything she chooses. I’ve just never known one who liked a wild, windy night—or politics, either. I guess you can say I’ve never known anyone like you .”

Her eyebrows arched. “What a wonderful thing to say! And you needn’t tell me that you didn’t mean that exactly as a compliment! I choose to take it as such, and if you have any sense, you’ll let me.”

He laughed, this time in pure amusement. “However I meant it, I certainly believe it—and the more I get to know you, the more I know how true it is.”

Just then a strong blast of wind nearly unbalanced her, and he clasped his arm around her to steady her, bracing her as they continued up the hill. In moments, they were standing in the portico of her home and she was inviting him in.

He shook his head regretfully. “It’s after midnight. I’d better not. I suspect Aubrey’s waiting up for me; he and Adam looked like they were headed for one last business discussion.”

She nodded. “Thank you for walking me home. I was beginning to think I was a human sail—I might have blown right out to sea.”

“My pleasure.”

“And thank Julia and Aubrey again for me. I truly enjoyed the evening.”

“I will.” The wind whistled imperiously and the wrought iron lantern over the porch swayed gently, casting shadows in the amber glow. Gazing down into her face, with its open, unguarded smile, Ben realized suddenly that he very much wanted to get to know her better. “Perhaps we can do it again before I have to go home.”

“I’d like that.” Then she slipped through the heavy, glass-paneled door and was gone.
 
 

Aubrey had gone up to bed by the time Ben returned to the house, but Adam was sitting by the fire in the drawing room, immersed in a book from the Van Dine library.

“Nice woman,” Adam said, marking his place.

“Very nice.” Ben poured a small cognac from a decanter on a table by the settee.
Adam studied him for a moment, but he pretended not to notice. “Nice enough to excuse your lateness.”

“I had a feeling you’d get around to that before the night was out,” his son returned wryly. “I’m sorry, Pa. I forgot the time, couldn’t find an omnibus, and then got involved with Michaela. I’m glad Mrs. Mercer—Lily—has a forgiving nature.”

“She has a better one than I do.” But Ben’s severe tone was belied by a reluctant twinkle in his eye. “No harm done. But what’s this about Michaela?”

“I nearly ran her down in the hall; I was hurrying to get down here and not watching where I was going. We talked for a few minutes, that’s all.” He shrugged and offered a faint, helpless smile.  “She’s really a remarkable little girl, Pa.”

“In what sense?”

Adam shrugged again and stared into the fire. “I can’t describe it. In some ways, she’s like a little adult—and in others, a very endearing child. I have a feeling that … I can’t put my finger on it … but she seems a little insecure somehow.”

“Some of it may just be that she’s nearing that awkward age. She’s no longer a little girl, but she’s not yet a young woman.”

Adam nodded, his gaze still averted as he considered Michaela. “Maybe so.”

“You don’t believe that?”

“I don’t disbelieve it. I just don’t think that’s everything.”

Ben debated over his next words, and then said hesitantly, “Well, maybe I shouldn’t say this, but Aubrey …”

When he didn’t continue, Adam prompted him. “Aubrey what, Pa?”

“Well, Aubrey’s more comfortable with his boys than with a daughter. Don’t get me wrong—he loves Michaela very much, I’m sure of that. He’d never do anything to hurt her. But Aubrey—” He shook his head. “I think maybe Aubrey just doesn’t know how to be with Michaela. He probably thinks Julia will sort it all out.”

“Was he this way with Jessica? I can’t remember. I’m not sure I would have noticed back then.”

“He was. That’s why I just said what I did. And if it’s any reassurance, Jessica came out fine.”

Adam nodded. “Yes. I saw her the last time I was back East. But …”

“What?”

“Michaela’s different—she’s very sensitive. I’d be willing to bet that Jessica at that age was a lot easier going.”

“All the more reason to be careful, son. You wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“Of course not.”

But Adam did not seem satisfied. When at last he looked up, Ben was struck with how handsome his eldest son was when his face was lit with a special inner warmth, as it was now. It was frustrating, but as a father, he’d long ago had to accept that he couldn’t predict what brought that look on, or what sent it away. Adam must really like this little girl—which, all things considered, was not that unexpected. As taciturn as his son could be sometimes, children never seemed to notice, and responded naturally to him.

“Pa?”

“H’m?”

“Something on your mind?”

“No …” Ben cleared his throat and began again with more command. “No, not really.” He smiled a little wistfully. Adam had been such an extraordinary child … all that intelligence, all that sorrow at such a young age. He wished he could have provided more comfort, more support and structure for his son when Adam was Madison’s age. “Maybe I’m just thinking back to when you boys were young … wishing it could have been easier for you. Maddie and Michaela—and Ted—have both parents and a house to grow up in … not the kind of heartache you boys, especially you, had to endure.”

Adam pulled off his tie and absently fiddled it into knot. “You can’t worry about that.”

Ben grunted softly. “No, I suppose it does no good to think of it now.”

“You might have noticed, we survived.”

“Yes, quite well, actually.” He slapped his knee restlessly. “I don’t know, maybe I’m envying Aubrey a little—this chance he has to do it again … to be a better father.”

“Would you like a piece of advice?”

“From you?” Ben’s eyes gleamed with amusement. Adam’s inclination for privacy was legendary; the day he offered unsolicited advice would go down in history. “This is a first.”

Adam flushed. “Okay, forget it—”

“No. No, son. I’d welcome your advice. I’m just amazed that you’d offer it. You have to admit, you don’t very often.”

His son still looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, strange times call for strange solutions. What I was going to say is, if you’re thinking about starting all over again, whether or not you want another family, why not just try the finding a woman part?”

Ben sobered, touched by his son’s concern. “Adam, you don’t need to worry. I’m not really thinking of starting another family. I was just—I don’t know—happy, I guess, for Aubrey.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sure Hoss will be glad to hear that, because you’ll probably be having grandchildren before you know it.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Might be right about something else, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t you … you know … see a woman, or something?” Adam hastily waved a hand to forestall his father’s protest. “I don’t mean visit a house—I mean, you know … flirt a little with some of Aubrey’s and Julia’s friends. Enjoy the ladies. Have a little fun. Like you did with Lily Mercer tonight.”

“Flirt? With Lily Mercer?”

Adam’s face assumed a familiar smirk. “You know, Pa … ‘attention without intention.’ You seemed to enjoy it well enough tonight. What could it hurt? You’ve been working real hard lately—”

“Adam, I think it’s time we both went to bed.”

Adam’s eyebrows rose elaborately and he stood up slowly, every movement exaggerated. “Ah … right.” But when he was almost out the door, he called back in a low voice that was choked with laughter, “Don’t forget what I said—a woman, Pa!”
 
 

BEN stood up from the paper-littered table and walked to the window, exhaling deeply against the smoked-laden air in Aubrey’s office. Damn … days in the making, and the deal with Pacific Enterprises was falling through. There was no way they could satisfy the buyer’s requirements without incurring a sizeable loss. He questioned why the company’s representatives had bothered to negotiate; they had to know that their demands were untenable.

The two men they were dealing with rose. “If you should reconsider, we’ll be glad to hear from you,” one said. “In the meantime, we’ll pursue more productive connections.”

A long silence followed their departure, and then Aubrey stirred. “I’m sorry about that, Ben. But as they stood on that delivery date there was nothin’ we could do.”

“You can’t close them all.” Ben tried to sound philosophical and unconcerned; he didn’t mention that Pacific Enterprises was the largest of their contracts, almost twice the size of the other two.

Aubrey stood up and slapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s call it a day. I’ve had a coupla inquiries that we might just work up inta another good contract before you leave. I don’ know about you, but I could use a good belt. Make that a double belt. The chil’ren will be at the park, so we can enjoy a bit o’ peace ’n’ quiet. Lick our wounds, so t’speak.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ben agreed. “I need a change in perspective. Adam?”

Adam, slumped in a chair at the other end of Aubrey’s desk, shook his head. “Thanks, but I think a good look at the Hunsaker house would clear my head a little better.” He turned to Aubrey. “Please tell Julia not to expect me for supper. If Dunstan or Crowe is on the site, we may get something to eat downtown.”

Ben smiled. Five days in San Francisco and Adam was already acquainted with some of the city’s leading architects. “Fine, son.”

But things were not quite as anticipated when Aubrey and Ben arrived home. They had no more than established themselves in the study with double shots of bourbon when they heard the front door open to admit laughing children and Julia’s cautionary voice. She didn’t tell them not to see if their father was home, however, and in moments, the room was overrun with enthusiastic youngsters.

“Aubrey!  How lovely! You and Ben can join us for tea!” Julia’s voice came from the doorway. “Lily—now you must stay! Samuel, you can bring tea in here.”

Aubrey sighed. “All right, m’dear, but you mussn’t expect either of us t’be too scintillatin’. We just blew a big deal t’kingdom come, and on account of it, we’ll be passin’ on the tea in favor o’ our whiskey.”

“What happened?” Lily inquired, directing her question at Ben, as Aubrey became engaged with his children.

“Pacific Enterprises had an unrealistic delivery date, and we weren’t able to close on the contract.”

“How bad is that? You’ve been successful with at least two other deals that I know about since you’ve been here.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “But this was the biggest one on the docket.”

“I see.” She sampled her tea and let the silence fall as Ben paid attention to his bourbon. “I’m sorry. I know how you must feel.”

“It’s not so bad,” he said hastily, uncomfortable at talking business, particularly unsuccessful business, with a woman. “Like you said, we have the two, and there are other possibilities out there. It’s just …”

When he hesitated, she finished for him, “The challenge of the thing. You’d focused your attention and prepared yourself to make this deal, and it’s disappointing not to complete it.”

“You sound as though you’ve been through it.”

“From a distance. With a mercantile, you know, there are countless contracts. In the early days, every single one was make or break. I helped Howard prepare … and then I would sit and wait until it was all over and he’d tell me if he’d been successful or not.”

“So even though you probably knew as much about it as he did, you couldn’t be a part of the actual negotiations.”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. And if you think I didn’t mind that very much, you’re quite mistaken.”

He took a taste of bourbon. “Yes, I must admit, at least I know I did my best.”

“Do you know what you’ll do about it? Do you think you can replace the revenue?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll certainly try.” He realized then that just thinking about taking action minimized the sting of the defeat. And he knew, too, that she’d been right: It was not so much the loss of income that he resented as the feeling that he hadn’t achieved his goal.

“Then I have a prediction to make,” Lily announced, raising her tea cup. Aubrey and Julia looked up to see what was happening. “I predict that by the time Ben goes home, you’ll have replaced the Pacific Enterprises account—and added to it!”

“Hear, hear!” Ben seconded.

“I’ll drink t’that!” Aubrey helped himself to another bourbon.

After that, the conversation turned to other topics, until suddenly the clock chimed seven and Lily gasped. “Oh, my!” She leapt to her feet. “Good heavens—I have a dinner engagement in half an hour!”

Ben rose as well. “May I see you home?”

She gurgled with laughter. “Thank you, but don’t trouble. It would be a foot race—so undignified, don’t you know!”

“At least I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Allowed.” She gathered up her small purse and the shawl that matched her dress, and turned to Aubrey and Julia. “Thank you so much for the tea. I’m sorry I must run! As you can see, I’ve had a wonderful time. So wonderful that I lost all track of the clock!”

Julia embraced her. “I’m sorry if we made you late. Have a lovely dinner.”

Ben accompanied her to the heavy front door and then to the street, where, disregarding the passing time, he clasped her hands. “Thank you.”

She returned the squeeze of his fingers and didn’t seem at all concerned about her schedule. “Whatever for?”

He smiled lopsidedly. “For making me forget that I suffered a setback in business today. For making our plan to recoup much more important and interesting than a lost contract. I don’t know how you did it, but it worked and I’m grateful.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes warm and alluring. “I’m glad I was able to help.”
 
 

It was after eleven when Adam returned to the house. The evening had worked out as he had expected, turning into a wine-drenched dinner with building designer Barrett Crowe. He was tired and rather mellow, even as his mind played over the various trends and innovations they’d discussed. At least, thank God, he didn’t have to get up and ride to the north meadow, or brand cattle, or load timber tomorrow morning. A few hours of sleep and some good strong coffee would set him right.

The house was dark, with only the lamps in the foyer burning—and, he noticed with surprise, one of the smaller ones in the library. He wondered if someone was still up, or if the light simply had been forgotten … and then a small, warm smile lit his face. Michaela sat in the corner of the big leather settee, a sketchpad on her knees.

She looked up at him solemnly. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” he replied in a low voice. “Are you sure you should be up this late?” He sat down beside her, careful not to look at her drawing until she invited him. On the table next to her lay a large book, opened to a plate by Leonardo Da Vinci. It depicted a bird rising in flight, its wings spread dramatically.

“No, but I couldn’t sleep.” She offered her sketchpad. “I’m having trouble getting the wings.”

Adam eyed it critically. By anyone’s standards, it was a very advanced drawing for a child, a careful copy of the Da Vinci creation. She had caught the light masterfully, as well as the proportion and perspective. All that was missing, as she had said, was the movement of the wings. The bird appeared frozen in space, lacking the animation of the original.

“I want it to look like it’s about to fly away,” she said. “I just can’t make it.”

“No … but you’ve caught several other things very well.”

“Do you draw?”

“Some. But I’m not Leonardo Da Vinci.” He ran his index finger lightly over the top line of one of the wings. “How about just a shadow—a hair’s breadth darker line—here? And maybe just a little angle to this feather?”

Michaela made the changes and surveyed it critically. “That’s better. It’s still not quite right, though.” She stifled a yawn.

“M’m. And may I suggest that part of your problem could be that you’re getting tired? It all might come right tomorrow if you’d get a little sleep.”

“Maybe. Thanks for helping.”

“My pleasure.”

She sighed. “At least it’s easier than writing.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Writing.” She made a face. “I’m dreadful at it. And it’s what I want to do when I grow up. But I’m no good.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve tried.”

Adam stifled a grin. “Ah … don’t you think you’re a little young to expect yourself to be Jane Austen?”

“Oh, I don’t expect to be Jane Austen—but don’t you think I’d show some promise, if I were any good at all?”

“What have you written? What do you consider ‘no good’?”

“Well, you see, that’s just it. I can’t think of anything to write. I want to write books and illustrate them. I think maybe about animals, because they’re so much easier to figure out than people. But I can’t even think up stories about them. I have no imagination.”

Adam shifted on the deep, comfortable cushion and stretched.  “I tell you what … you go to bed and get some sleep, and when you're finished with your tutor tomorrow, we’ll take a walk and talk about it.”

She watched him with interest, her eyes beginning to gleam. “Have you been out to dinner all this time?”

“M’m-h’m.”

She sniffed. “And you’ve been drinking wine, haven’t you?”

His eyes widened indignantly, and again, he stifled a laugh. “Yes, all right, you little scamp. I’ve been out drinking with a very fine architect, talking business.”

“Whatever you say … but I think maybe you need some sleep, too.”

“Well …” He chuckled. “Okay, come on, let’s both go to bed.”

When she’d gathered up her sketchbook and charcoal sticks, he turned out the lamp and walked her up the steps, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

At the landing, as he got ready to say good night, she spoke. “Did you mean it about talking tomorrow?”

“Sure I did. But not if you don’t guarantee me you’ll go straight to bed. Now. Understand?”

She nodded, but raised her hand and crooked her finger. When he bent down to her level, she brushed a kiss across his cheek. “Thanks, Adam. Good night.”
 
 

After the Pacific Enterprises debacle, Ben, Adam and Aubrey remade their plans and scheduled a series of appointments for the coming days. But when that was settled, early in the afternoon, Ben was free to take care of personal errands. He examined the list the family had given him and set off on a whirlwind of buying, ordering and shipping. By the time he arrived back at Clay Street and Samuel directed him to the family parlor on the third floor, he was ready for his tea—or something stronger.

Striding soundlessly down the thick Oriental carpeting in the hall, he pulled up short at the sound of his name. Julia was telling Aubrey something and he hesitated, curious enough to momentarily forget his manners and natural distaste for eavesdropping.

“I think Ben rather likes Lily, don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t know, m’dear,” Aubrey responded distractedly, as if he might be reading the evening newspaper. “Not somethin’ men talk about, don’t y’know.”

“Darling, if it makes you happy to think that, you go right ahead,” Julia said indulgently, “but I can’t imagine that if a man has something to say, he doesn’t say it.”

“Well, you’ve made m’point for me. Ben hasn’t said anythin’ about Lily—other than that she’s a very nice woman, ‘lovely,’ I b’lieve he called ’er—so I haven’t the first notion how he feels about ’er.”

“‘Lovely’ sounds very good to me—”

“It was the day he arrived, Julia, the day he met ’er. Everyone thinks Lily’s lovely. Don’t mean a thing.”

Julia was silent for a moment, pouting, Ben suspected as he tried to rouse himself to enter the room, but he stood riveted in the hall.

“Well, anyway, I’ll bet Adam would think it was a good thing. He quite likes Lily.”

“Now, darlin’, I’d be willin’ t’bet he hasn’t given it the least consideration.” He sighed. “Women are always matchmakin’ and organizin’ people’s lives.”

“Think about it, Aubrey. Lily’s bright, intelligent—”

“Pretty.”

“Yes, pretty. And she doesn’t need Ben’s money. She doesn’t need any man’s money. I’ll bet that rarely happens to Ben Cartwright.”

“Y’have a point there,” Aubrey conceded. “But you need t’make sense, darlin’. A man don’t marry a woman because she don’t need ’im.”

“No, I agree with that. But Aubrey—no one has more passion for life than Lily. At least, not now that she’s gotten over Howard’s death. She’s so alive. And Ben—well, don’t you think that Ben is sort of drifting now? He seems different this time … as if he’s a bit out of focus.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“Oh, good heavens, darling. I can tell. I know Ben. And besides, I think Adam thinks so, too.”

“Darlin’, with all due respect, I can’t fathom Adam Cartwright havin’ said any such thing about his father—not that I’m sayin’ you’re wrong, but just that I can’t imagine Adam talkin’ about Ben, period.”

“Well,” Julia hedged, “I did have to ask a few leading questions—oh, all right, perhaps he hasn’t say anything precisely, but Aubrey, I know Adam is worried.”

Aubrey was silent for a moment, and at last said carefully, “Jule, you may be right. I see the way Ben’s kind o’ quiet, not really himself. But darlin’, you have t’let a man solve his own problems. Y’don’t just go throwin’ a woman in his path and thinkin’ that’ll fix it all.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Aubrey,” Julia said in what Ben recognized as her highly-intelligent-reasonable tone, and he as well as Aubrey heard her logic. “But Lily’s different. If they did become friends, it couldn’t be bad, could it?”

“No, my sweet, it couldn’ be bad.” Ben heard the clink of china and the rustle of paper, and realized that Aubrey had set down his tea cup and folded his Evening Bulletin .

“Of course, I have no idea if Ben would be what Lily wants—”

“Y’can’t tell me you women don’t talk,” Aubrey rejoined, his voice an amused parody of Julia’s tone earlier.

“I won’t tell you that,” she replied. “I’ll just say that Lily hasn’t talked. She’s not that way, Aubrey. You know that.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Is she anything like his wives? You knew them.”

“His wives?” Aubrey’s voice became distant as he considered his answer. “Yes, I knew ’em … And no, she’s not a thing like any one o’em. An’ yet … a little like all o’em.”

Any moment now, Aubrey might rise and leave the room. Ben couldn’t risk delaying any longer. Ashamed of himself for lingering, he was, deep down, unrepentant; it had been a thought-provoking exchange to say the least. With a loud and deliberate cough, he strode into the room as if he had heard nothing, ignoring their surprised and guilty faces.

“Who’s like all of whom?” he inquired brightly.
 
 

Ben had not long disappeared up the stairs when Adam came through the front door. He was later than he’d intended, and he hoped Michaela hadn’t given up on him. He found her in her corner of the settee, studying the Da Vinci bird, her brow furrowed in frustration. She looked up when he came in and her expression cleared.

“I wasn’t sure you hadn’t forgotten,” she said.

“Me? Not possible. But I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s all right.”

“You might want to get a coat,” he advised. “It’s getting a little damp outside. I’ll go tell your mother what we’re doing.”

Michaela was waiting for him in the entrance hall when he returned. “Would you mind if we skipped the park today?” she asked. “Cook gave me some apples. I thought maybe we could feed the horses instead.”

“That’s fine with me,” he replied, and she offered directions to the stable Aubrey maintained three blocks away. He waited until they had traversed half the distance in comfortable silence before inquiring about her comments of the night before.

“It’s just that no stories ever occur to me,” she explained. “I can’t even think up characters, or anything for them to do. Like … um … in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I would never think of someone like the Headless Horseman. Or  David Copperfield . How could you know what a boy like that would have faced, without living his life?”

“Where do you think authors get their ideas?”

“Out of the air, I suppose. You know, they just think them up.” Her eyebrows knit together in concentration.

He noticed then that she was practically trotting to keep up with him and subtly slowed his pace. “Well, maybe Washington Irving did, although it’s also possible that he was just embellishing on an old ghost story. Shakespeare did that fairly often—created his own version of an old, well-known tale.”

“If you’re saying that a writer just copies what someone else wrote, who comes up with the very first stories? I don’t want to just copy what others have done.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you would. But you know, most writers don’t begin at age nine or ten. They wait until they have more life experience, and take their stories from that.”

She considered that thought for nearly a block. “Then I have to just go out and do things? What kinds of things can a girl do that are—are ‘life experiences’?”

“Michaela—” He ran a hand gently over her hair. “I think you just let life happen to you. Don’t expect so much from yourself.”

He could tell that she didn’t necessarily agree, but at that moment, they caught sight of the weathered stone structure which housed the Van Dine horses. It was at the edge of the city’s development, a stableyard enclosed on one side by a small house for Doyle and his assistants, on another by a carriage bay and tack room, and on the remaining two by stalls. The double gate which marked its entry from the street was standing open, and they could see Peter walking out the hefty black gelding who usually pulled the brougham. Michaela greeted the young man politely and explained that she was there to see her pony.

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Michaela,” he replied. “But you be careful, now. We’re getting ready to feed, and he’ll likely be impatient.”

Michaela led the way down the barn aisle, past the carriage bay. “That’s our new park drag,” she said, pointing to a large, heavy road coach. “Papa just bought it from a miner in San Jose. He ran out of money—the miner, not Papa.”

Adam’s eyes twinkled at her informative tone. Obviously, Aubrey had not run out of money; the lacquered-black coach with its canary-yellow trim was an investment in itself.

“It came with four Cleveland Bays,” the girl continued. “You’ll meet them. That miner had just brought them from England, or so he told Papa. They’re fun.”

“I think two of them were hitched to the landau when we arrived.”

She nodded. “Probably Roland and Caesar. … Here we are. This is Peanuts.”

The first stall beyond the carriage port housed a fat chestnut pony with a full, flaxen mane and tail. He beheld Michaela with an appraising eye, and bared long yellow teeth that indicated not only his advanced age, but also his interest in dinner. Michaela was unfazed. “Stop it, silly! I brought you an apple.” She produced a chunk of fruit. “I had Cook quarter them,” she told Adam. “They’re easier for him to eat.”

Adam ran a hand over Peanuts’ neck, but the pony ignored him in favor of the apple.

“Next over is Roland,” Michaela said. “And then Caesar and Rex and Ballot. They’re Cleveland Bays. And then Dorset, and that’s Claudius that Peter has. We had them before we got the Bays. And then Papa’s horse, Trifle, and Silvertail, who’s really retired, but he sometimes pulls the brougham or the gig when we have company and everyone gets used.”

Adam laughed. “I can’t remember them all.” He scratched one of Peanuts’ ears. “Tell me something about this fellow. If he were a human, who would he be?”

“Oh, my! You might not even want to know him. He’d be a very bratty little boy. Except that now he’d be an old little boy. He has an awful temper and he’s lazy and he’s really not too happy about doing anything but eat.”

“He doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“Oh, he’s okay. He used to throw me all the time, but I learned pretty quickly to keep my eyes closed.”

“Keep your eyes closed? What good did that do?”

“It kept me from getting dirt in them when I landed on the ground.”

“I see.”

“So it didn’t bother me to get thrown off, and I just got back on, and after a while he quit trying to get me off.”

“Good thinking. … And who’s this again?” He moved on to the next stall.

“That’s Roland. H’m … if he were a person, he’d be a grand and dignified gentleman. Kind of like a mayor or a governor—except that I’ve heard Papa say that our mayor is a fool.” She giggled. “Anyway, Roland has lovely manners and he’s very smart. He’s the leader—on the right front when they’re four-in-hand. Doyle says he has more sense than most people, and he trusts him completely.”

Adam ran a hand down Roland’s nose, and the muscular bay regarded him kindly. “He’s nice,” he said, using a horseman’s classic understatement. “Let me have a piece of apple.”

Michaela tossed him a couple of pieces of fruit, which Roland lifted graciously from his palm. She moved on to the next horse. “This is Caesar. He goes to the left of Roland, whether they’re hitched two or four.”

“What’s he like?”

“Um … kind of like those pompous young men who come to Mama and Papa’s parties and leer at the girls. I see them when Ted and I sit on the stairs and watch everyone arrive.”

“Leer?” It was all Adam could do not to chuckle, but he swallowed his mirth at her choice of words.

Michaela wasn’t fooled. “I didn’t make up that word. I heard one of the ladies say it. You know the kind of person I’m talking about. Papa calls them dandies. Well, Caesar’s full of himself like that. He’s so busy showing off that you can’t trust him on the road like you can Roland. Doyle says sometimes Roland gets so put out with him that he slams into him to make him mind.”

Even though Caesar was clearly not her favorite, Michaela provided him with a lump of apple before moving on to Ballot and Rex, who, she explained, were the wheel horses. “They’re big and strong, but not very bright,” she said. “Ted has a couple of friends who remind me of them. They’re not terribly good-looking, and they’re shy around me and not very smart, really, but they’re sweet. They’d do anything for you. Ballot and Rex are like that. Sometimes Doyle uses them with the landau, just to keep them fit, but he says it’s not nearly as much fun as driving with Roland to lead.”

“It’s beginning to sound like you might be wanting to learn to drive.”

She gave him a glance which told him he’d read her accurately. “Oh, yes. Doyle says I have to wait a few years till I’m stronger and then he’ll teach me. But he says I can’t ever drive on the city streets. It’s not something a fine lady does. At least, not yet. I’m hoping times change by the time I get old enough.”

“They just may.” He didn’t tell her that in Europe it was not unheard of for aristocratic ladies to drive their own teams.

“And this is Dorset,” Michaela continued. “She’d be your faithful old nurse—you know, a little plump, wearing an apron and a little cap, and ever so good at giving you honey and hot lemon juice when you have a sore throat.”

The next stall was empty, but Michaela indicated the black that Peter was walking. “This is where Claudius lives. I haven’t got a personality for him. He’s just Claudius, and bless his heart, he’s boring. He just does his work and eats and sleeps. I feel kind of guilty for not being able to make up something about him, but I don’t suppose it matters much to him.”

“No, I don’t suppose it does,” Adam agreed dryly.

“And this is Trifle.” A high-headed grey eyed her apprehensively before delicately sniffing Michaela’s hand and taking a piece of apple. “She reminds me of one of those beautiful ladies at Papa’s and Mama’s parties. You know—all the men, not just the dandies, parade around them like proud birds. And the ladies look so gorgeous. But then they come upstairs to fix their hair or their dress or something, and when I listen to them talk, they’re so dim. Adam—why are men so daft over women like that?”

Recalling a few times in which he was sure that he, too, had resembled a proud bird, Adam mumbled ineffectively before finally saying, “I don’t really know, Michaela. Perhaps when you’re older, you can tell me.”

“I’ll be glad to, if I can figure it out. At least Trifle is useful. She’s spirited and flighty, but Papa says she’s a good ride, if you keep your wits about you.

“And, finally, here’s Silvertail. He’s been with us the longest and he’s a dear.” She fished the last of the apples from her sack and offered them to the dark bay horse whose tail, Adam could see in the dim recesses of the stall, was an improbable silver. “We don’t know where he got that strange tail, but he’s had it ever since he was young—and he’s nearly fifteen now.” She thought for a moment and then added, “He’s a kindly grandfather, the sort who wears white suits in the summertime and brings you candy when he visits. Next to Roland, he’s my favorite.”

“Heads up! Horse coming through,” Peter’s voice sounded behind them. He walked Claudius into the open stall, turned him around and unsnapped the lead shank. As he secured the half-door, he flashed Michaela a grin. “Now, you aren’t going to forget the queen, are you? I mean, as long as you’re introducing the residents.”

Michaela’s eyes danced. “Of course not. At least, if she’s around.”

“The queen?” Adam inquired. There was only one more stall left in the yard, and its doors were firmly closed.

“Sure. The boss. Even Doyle gives Victoria her due respect.”

“Victoria?”

“The queen, silly. Victoria!” But the yard remained silent, the only sound that of Peter scooping grain from the feed bin. Michaela shivered. A mist had begun to gather and the temperature was falling. “Oh, well, just like a queen.”

Just then there was a thump, and Silvertail’s head jerked up. He remained calm, however, and merely curled his neck around to examine the fat calico cat which had landed on his rump.

“Victoria!” Michaela exclaimed. “You crazy cat! She was in the loft. I forgot—she will use the horses’ backs instead of the ladder at the end of the row.”

The large feline stepped daintily up Silvertail’s back and launched herself from his withers, landing briefly on the top of the half-door and then springing to the barn aisle. She inclined her head to study Adam from the ground up, exhibiting not the least amount of fear.

“Isn’t she rather like a queen reviewing the troops?” Michaela asked.

“She is. But with all due respect, what do you know about reviewing troops?”

“Nothing, except what Papa’s told me, and I just think Queen Victoria must look an awfully lot like our Victoria when she does it.”

“I see.” Much against his will, Adam couldn’t help wondering if he passed muster with the American Victoria. When she concluded her inspection and walked regally to the tack room for her dinner, he was still unsure.

“I guess we should start back now,” Michaela said. “I hope I haven’t bored you.”

“Bored me?” Adam’s voice came out much higher and louder than he’d intended. Even Roland sent him a surprised glance. “Not at all.”

“Well, I don’t suppose this had anything to do with my writing, but you don’t mind that, do you? I mean, it’s not your problem that I can’t write.”

“Michaela Van Dine,” he said slowly, a faint exasperation flavoring his voice. “If you ever say anything as stupid as that you have no imagination again, I’ll personally have you committed.” He couldn’t contain a proud smile. “Sweetheart, you have enough imagination for an army. I’ll be glad to help you if you’re unsure of your grammar or your vocabulary—but your imagination? If you had any more of it, we wouldn’t be able to take you out in public.”
 
 

BEN’S unsettled emotions gave him little respite the next morning. He’d enjoyed watching Aubrey and Julia hide their concern for him when he’d joined them for tea the previous afternoon, but later, alone in his bedroom, he’d wondered at their words. “Out of focus,” Julia had said … “drifting.” If they knew the half of it … He was relieved to face a full day of work, because the frenzy of activity kept his mind off his thoughts.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to put on a front for anyone. Aubrey had a meeting with a business associate in the hills beyond Oakland, and because the man’s wife was a friend, Julia accompanied him. And Adam departed with his new acquaintance Harold McPherson to see a house south of the city on the road to San Jose.

He himself had a dinner booked with a  purchasing agent to discuss Ponderosa mineral ore, which just suited his mood. By the end of the day, he was clearly focused on work—and it seemed that Lily’s prophecy was coming true: The meal resulted in a firm order for several tons of ore, to be delivered within the next two months. The only flaw in the evening came when they emerged from the restaurant to find that the storm which had been gathering since morning had arrived in full measure. He’d been apprehensive about it; the heavy atmosphere had announced one of those rare, violent gales from the south.

Thank God, he thought, for Peter, who’d brought the enclosed landau rather than the brougham, which was open in front. He scrambled inside, feeling guilty that the coachman had to brave the elements. It seemed as if all the force of the Pacific winds had descended on San Francisco. In the sheeting rain, the horses labored up the hill to the Van Dine home, and when Ben jumped out at the foot of the steps, he knew he would be soaked by the time he got to the porch.

“Mr. Cartwright, Mr. Cartwright, sir!” Samuel’s voice was edged with tension as he opened the front door.

Ben unfastened his slicker. “What is it, Samuel? Is something wrong?”

“It’s Madison, sir. He’s had a fever since early evening, and it’s not getting any better. I sent for the doctor, but you can see how bad it is out there.”

Ben couldn’t stop a faint ripple of alarm. He had always felt helpless in the face of illness—beyond rudimentary procedures, which very often had no effect, he knew nothing to do to combat it.

“Is it getting any worse?” he asked.

Samuel’s eyes darkened. “I’m afraid so. Mr. Cartwright, what can we do? I know Mr. and Mrs. Van Dine won’t return tonight, not with this weather.”

“Let me take a look at him.”

Samuel led the way to Maddie’s third floor bedroom. It was the first time Ben had seen it in the light, and for a moment, he felt as if he’d gone back in time. Clearly, the room had only recently been converted from a nursery; the colors were tans and greens now, decorated with sketches of sailboats and horses and dogs. In a large basket in a corner was a pile of wooden toys, a painted fire engine on top. It could have been Joe’s room, not so long ago.

Looking very small and vulnerable, Madison tossed restlessly in a narrow bed. In the flickering light of the lamp on the nightstand, he appeared flushed, and there was a surreal glow to his skin. Ben’s heart lurched. The boy looked dangerously sick. He cursed himself for not knowing more about children’s health. He’d been so lucky with his boys …

“Samuel,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended. “We need to get help. I’m going to ask Mrs. Mercer to come and see him.”

“Yes, sir,” Samuel replied. “I think a woman would be best. If I may say so, sir, I believe I once heard her tell Mrs. Van Dine that she’d nursed sailors on board her husband’s ship. I’m sure that was many years ago, but …”

Ben flung him a quick, appreciative glance. “At least it’s experience of some kind. I’ll be back—”

“Sir, if I could suggest—you might want to change your clothes. It’s fair nasty out there.”

“Damn the clothes,” Ben muttered. “I’ll be right back.”

Downstairs, he again wrapped himself in his slicker and ventured out. The storm was worse than ever; lightning was slashing across the sky and rain gusted powerfully down the street, nearly blowing him sideways as he struggled down the steps. Of all the nights—there was very little chance of finding a doctor while a storm like this was going on. They’d all be out treating the victims of accidents caused by such a rampage of nature.

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned up the street into a stinging fusillade of wind and rain. The brick sidewalk was like glass and the cobblestones in the street were just as  slippery. Several times he found himself grasping wrought iron bars and concrete posts—whatever was at hand in the passing properties—to keep his feet. His face was running with water when he finally pounded on the door of Lily’s brownstone and waited long minutes before a heavyset woman with grey hair appeared, carrying a lamp.

“I’m Ben Cartwright,” he said, shouting to be heard over the storm. “I realize it’s late, but there’s an emergency. May I see Mrs. Mercer? It’s about one of the Van Dine children.”

At the name “Cartwright,” the woman had begun to open the door. She urged him in and called loudly for someone named Wilson to bring towels.

“Sure now, you need to dry off, Mr. Cartwright! If you’ve already got an emergency, it won’t do to have another by taking sick! I’m sure Mrs. Mercer’ll be along to help you. Now you take care of yourself, and I’ll go and get her.”

Ben had mopped his face and was just combing his hair with his fingers when Lily arrived. She was wrapped in a long dark gown, her hair cascading down her back. “Ben! What’s happened? How can I help?”

“I’m sorry to intrude, Lily, but I didn’t know where else to turn. It’s Madison. Apparently, he took a fever earlier this evening. Samuel has sent for the doctor, but we’re doubtful that he’ll be able to make it tonight, and Maddie seems to be getting worse.”

“I’ll come immediately. Give me a moment.”

When Lily returned a few minutes later, she’d donned a day dress and her hair had been pinned up. As he struggled back into his slicker, she directed that Wilson assist her into a heavily-oiled cloak.

“I’m very sorry about this!” he yelled as they plunged out into the rain. The shock of the wind immediately blew her against him, and he wrapped one arm around her.

“Don’t apologize! If you’re worried about Maddie, I am, too! You had to know I’d come!”

A huge belt of rain blew over them, leaving their faces drenched, and Ben’s arm tightened around Lily as they fought the wind. It was as if the devil himself was abroad tonight, he thought. In all their spectacular Sierra storms, he’d never seen one like this, not since his days as a mate with Captain Stoddard. At least going downhill was faster and easier than his earlier trek. Before too long, they had gained the porch of the Van Dine house, and Samuel and a footman were relieving them of their sodden raincoats.

“Has there been any change, Samuel?” Lily asked as she hurried up the three flights of stairs.

“Not that I’ve noticed, ma’am, but he’s not in good shape. It’s very worrisome.”

Maddie’s eyes were closed when they entered his room, and his breath was raspy. He was moaning softly, obviously dreaming, and his little fingers clutched ineffectually at the bed covers. A thin layer of sweat shimmered on his cheeks.

“Samuel, can you bring a basin of lukewarm water and some towels, please?” She sat down beside Maddie, brushing a lock of damp hair off his forehead and taking one of his hands in hers. “Madison, it’s Lily …wake up, darling … I need for you to wake up.”

But Maddie just continued to toss fitfully. Lily threw Ben a concerned glance. “He’s burning up.” She glanced at the big window, with its heavy drapes, across from the bed. “We need to cool this room.”

Ben jerked back the curtains and heaved up the lower window as far as he could to admit the chilly night air without the driving rain. Privately, he wondered if cold night air was best; he’d always preferred it, but several authorities declared it positively lethal. He hoped they weren’t right.

As if reading his mind, Lily threw him a quick smile. “I know that goes against all we hear,” she said. “But trust me—when we were trying to bring down fever at sea, sometimes the cold night was all we had.”

“And it worked?”

“Sometimes.” The butler arrived with a basin of water just then, and Lily turned to him. “Has he been awake at all tonight, Samuel? Has he had anything to drink?”

“No, ma’am … not in the last three hours.”

“Are the other children all right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right as rain—or I guess tonight that’s a bad comparison, but they’re fine.”

“Good,” Lily replied absently, her eyes on Madison. “We need to bring Maddie’s temperature down, and before too much longer, wake him and see that he drinks something. He desperately needs water.” She threw back the bedcovers, now soaked with his sweat. “Ben, can you move him to that chair for a few minutes? Samuel and I need to change this bed—and Samuel, we need nothing more than a sheet and perhaps a light blanket for later. And could you let us have a clean nightshirt for him? The lightest one you have.”

“Yes, ma’am. But don’t you worry about changing the bed. I’ll take care of that.”

Ben lifted Maddie from the bed, appalled at how light and frail he seemed. When he held the boy upright so that Lily could remove the limp shirt, the child’s head lolled weakly against his shoulder. Madison didn’t wake up as Lily swiftly dragged a clean gown over him. She met Ben’s gaze with troubled eyes. Neither voiced the fear which could not be dismissed: Children often died of fever. And when they didn’t, they frequently suffered severe mental impairment.

“I think you’d better change into dry clothes,” she said. “It’s going to be a long night.”
 
 

Later, Ben would recall that Lily had simply assumed that he would help her with Madison. There had been no question of his considering a sickroom the private domain of a female, no question that he would be less than supportive of her. For Maddie’s illness, at least, they were a team … as he was with Adam, Hoss and Joe. As he hadn’t been with a woman since Marie. It was a comfortable feeling, even as the circumstances made it terrifying.

For what seemed like forever, there was no change in Maddie’s condition. The only temperature which plummeted was that of the room. Samuel had brought Lily one of Julia’s shawls, but Ben wondered if it was adequate.

“Are you sure you’re warm enough?” he ventured. He occupied a chair next to the bed, while Lily perched close to Madison, bathing his face with cool compresses.

“Oh, yes …” She flashed him a quick, tense smile. “I think I’m too worried to be cold. Ben, we need to make him drink again. Can you hold him for me?”

“Of course.” He moved to the bed across from her and raised the child in his arms. “Wake up, son … now, there’s a good boy …”

But Maddie whimpered nervously, as if even lifting him was painful. He managed to swallow the water tipped through his lips without coughing, but after a few sips, he twisted in Ben’s arms and flailed weakly.

“He’s hotter than ever,” Lily said, her voice shaking. “I’m so afraid we’re going to lose him before we even have a chance.”

Ben felt his insides tighten painfully, but he kept his voice even. “We can’t. We can’t lose him.”

She met his eyes and nodded. They both knew that mere words would have no bearing, but each took solace in the other’s determination. They waited out another hour, watching Maddie spiral further into delirium, the heat from his body palpable. And then Lily’s voice once more cut through Ben’s reverie. “I need you to hold him again.”

Again, she forced a few sips of water through the little boy’s dry lips.  After barely a third of a glass, however, he whined and moaned, and Lily nodded to Ben to allow him to lie back against the pillows. She bathed his forehead and folded her fingers against his cheek.

“Any change?”

She shook her head. “It’s so virulent. I wish I knew what caused this.”

He sighed. “I know that Adam and Hoss and Joe all went through things like this, but for the life of me, I can’t remember why. Or maybe we never knew. Children just become ill.” He patted Madison’s arm. “And I’m not sure any of my boys had anything this bad. It’s such a frightening thing.”

She glanced up at him and her eyes softened. “You impress me, Ben Cartwright. It’s not every man who would admit to being scared of a child’s illness—and yet, it’s only intelligent. Sickness can be deadly.”

“I’d rather fight an angry Paiute.”

“So would I.” She changed the compress on Maddie’s forehead and smiled at him, almost apologetic. “I have a hard time imagining you frightened of anything.”

“We’re all scared of something.”

“Yes, but you appear so remarkably competent.”

He sighed. “I’m beginning to think it’s a curse. Julia said something to me the other day about always being able to make things right. Believe me, it’s an illusion.”

“I suppose, really, it’s rather unfair to you. It’s so much to ask—and after all, you’re only human. … Do you ever mind that everyone seems to count so much on you?”

Ben inhaled deeply as he thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure anyone had offered him that consideration before, and if he’d ever weighed it himself, he’d quickly dismissed the idea before even giving it a sound reading. “I don’t suppose I mind,” he said carefully. “I’m happy to provide whatever service I can—but I do worry sometimes that I may not be as right or as certain as I ought to be. It’s not always easy, and the more faith someone puts in you, the more you want to measure up.”

Lily’s hands lay still in her lap. “Who does a strong man go to for help when he’s not feeling sure? What does he do when he needs help?”

Ben chuckled. “Well—on occasions like tonight, any man goes for the strong woman up the street.”

 “Yes, h’m … the strong woman up the street.” She regarded him sardonically. “You know, the longer I’m on this earth, the more I think that all of life is a simply a balance between our fears and our strengths. You must hope, when you’re consulting that woman, that you’re catching her on a day when she’s very strong—and not one when she’s terribly fearful.”

“And what makes a strong woman fearful?” he inquired curiously.

“Oh, heavens, I imagine the same things that disturb anyone! As you say, we’re none of us bulwarks of fortitude all the time.”

He waited, and when she said nothing more, observed, “Isn’t it the fears and the troubles that supposedly give us this almighty strength?”

“So they say.” Then she offered a little sigh and said in a chastened voice, “I don’t mean to be secretive or mysterious. Truthfully, very little really frightens me.” She folded back the sheet over Madison’s chest. “When you’ve weathered a storm like we’ve had tonight, but on board a ship in the south Atlantic, fear takes on a new meaning. I imagine you know what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, I do. But there’s quite a difference between physical fear and—and—” He did not mistake the answering gleam in her eyes.

“Ah, yes … the panic inside.”

His right eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly, but she seemed to understand the  question implied. When she spoke, her voice was hushed. “I’ll never forget the day I came home from Howard’s funeral. The house was so empty. It felt so foreign. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. I felt like a wild thing, locked in a cage and so terrified, it was batting its wings against the bars to escape.”

“Don’t you think that’s normal? You’d just lost a loved one. I felt much the same when each of my wives died.”

She nodded. “Yes, of course. But it wasn’t Howard himself I was missing—I’d come to terms with losing him during his illness. I suppose the thing that most terrified me was that my husband had been not only my friend, my life—but the framework of my day. He was my field of reference. Do you understand that? When you love someone, don’t you do that?”

“Yes, I did do that.”

“How do you carry on when it all ends? Everything—all that you’ve ever known, ever relied upon—changes.”

He frowned slightly. “I guess I can’t say. With the boys, there was always another field of reference. I couldn’t really think about it—I had to just go on … although I didn’t always do very well at it. Adam, unfortunately, bore the brunt of my inabilities.”

“I’m sure you were better than you give yourself credit for.”

“I did the best I could … but to this day, I wish I could have done better, for their sake.” He glanced up at her, his gaze interested and immeasurably kind. “What did you do? How did you recover?”

She looked away, considering her answer, and finally replied, “I did the only thing I could do. I started over. It sounds so simple … but it wasn’t.” For a moment, she busied herself with wringing out a compress and arranging it on Maddie’s forehead. “I’d been Mrs. Howard Mercer for so long that I wasn’t really sure who Lily Mercer was. When you’ve lived your life always relating to another person, it’s hard to determine first of all what you want.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever looked at my life with strictly my own desires in mind.”

“Well, I don’t mean it in a selfish sense. You always take into account what others need and want. It’s more a sense of knowing one’s self.”

“Yes, I understand.” His voice was reflective. “But life on the frontier—coming across the country as we did, fighting to settle the Ponderosa, that sort of thing—and raising three boys always just demanded what’s been necessary to get the job done.” His expression was thoughtful. “There always was someone else to bear in mind. I’m not sure I really know what it is to think only for myself.”

“That speaks a great deal for your character.”

“It’s funny. When you described returning to the empty house, I had the strangest sense of how you felt. I know that’s how it will be after the third wedding. The house is certainly going to be quiet, with just Hop Sing—that’s our cook—and me rattling around.”

“You know your boys and their families will be there often.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Maybe, but you know …” Her eyes danced. “You might even find that you enjoy a bit of solitude. I do now.”

“I hope you’re right.” His fingers smoothed a wrinkle in Maddie’s nightshirt. “Times change. My boys are older … I know—or at least, I’m trying to accept—that they won’t always be coming to me for advice and decisions.”

“Aren’t we back to our starting point?” Her voice betrayed a hint of humor. “A strong man may, eventually, be given a respite.”

His eyebrows rose skeptically. “I really do think you give me too much credit.”

“I’m sorry, but I call it as I see it. And here’s another thing I see: I think your sons will always come to you. They respect your opinion, your knowledge of things.”

“Perhaps. But it will be different. … I see such strength in Adam. I don’t see it so much in Hoss and Joe yet, but that’s not because they’re less capable; it’s just that it takes a certain amount of experience to become ‘strong,’ for lack of a better word. Before you live long enough to get that, what you think is strength is really more like bravado, because you don’t even know what you’re up against—what life is throwing at you. Adam’s not only lived longer than they have, he’s lived through much more.” He shrugged. “But it’ll be that way for all of them soon, Hoss especially. Getting married will give him a whole new outlook.”

He chuckled at himself. “I wish I didn’t have this silly wish to put that off. No matter how much I tell them to sit up straight or to look at me when I’m speaking to them, they’re not my ‘boys’ any longer.”

“How does all this make you feel?” she asked quietly.

His eyebrows joined pensively and it was several seconds before he answered. “A little confused, I suppose. I want to be whatever I can for them … but I do see that over the next few years, things are bound to change.”

“Children do have a way of growing up,” she agreed wryly, and then reached over to cover his hand with hers. “You’ll get through this fine—if for no other reason than because you have to. You’ve taken care of them all your life, and you’ll do it again because it’s what’s expected of you. Even when that final service is letting them go.”

He smiled in response to her touch. “I hope I will. But I don’t know what I should be, what I should do. I don’t even know if they’ll really need anything from me,” he admitted, and surprised himself by adding, “and I wonder, if you’re not really needed, can you be strong? Can you be strong if there’s no reason to be?”

“Are you asking me, or just thinking aloud?”

Ben stopped short. In fact, he had merely been musing to himself, and was more than a little uncomfortable with his revelations. But when she asked him if he wanted her help, in a calm and matter-of-fact voice, he realized that he did—very much. “I’m asking you.”

“Then the answer is yes. It’s different and it’s not easy—good Lord, it’s not easy—but you have to be strong for yourself.”

He looked directly into her eyes. “And that’s what you’re learning.”

“Yes … I hope.”

For a moment, their gazes locked, and then Lily turned again to Maddie, dipping a rag into the basin of water and bathing the boy’s face.

“Well …” Ben cleared his throat. “Now I know who to come to for help.”

She smiled faintly. “At your own risk. I warn you, whatever strength I have is—fragile.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Somehow I can’t believe that.”

“Well, it’s definitely day-to-day. I still awaken some nights, remembering how terrified I’ve been from time to time, and I tremble at the very thought of it.” The tone of her voice told Ben that she was not speaking lightly, and he could see the momentary stiffening of her body. Then she turned practical. “Can you help me with him again?”

Ben raised the child off the pillows and held him steady while Lily gently woke him and angled a cup of water between his lips. Neither spoke until Maddie was again resting against his pillows. He seemed a little quieter—still unnaturally hot, but his tossing and moaning had diminished.

Lily pushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes and glanced at the clock. “It’s nearly three o’clock … how are you holding up?”

“I’ll make it.”

Ben stood up and walked to the window. The damp chill was like a cool caress against his face. Outside, the storm had abated into a steady, soaking rain, and the city had the particular expectant hush of late night … or early morning, he thought irrelevantly. Behind him, the golden light of Madison’s room was like a little world of its own. Comforting, Ben thought … in spite of its temperature, it was warm and welcoming. Because, he realized, it contained a woman and a child. It was familiar.

And then Maddie whimpered. He spun around. It was not warm and welcoming. It was a sick room, where a little boy lay desperately ill. He choked, deep in his throat, and the fears returned. Maddie could die …

“Lily.” He returned to the bedside.

“It’s all right, Ben. He’s just uncomfortable. But he’s not quite so hot, and he’s gotten down a full glass of water in the past hour. I think we’re winning.” She glanced up. “I hope we’re winning. … Perhaps you could ask Samuel for another nightshirt?”

“Yes—yes, of course.” He was glad to be able to move, to have something to do. He found the butler, procured another cotton gown, and held Maddie securely while Lily bathed the flushed little body and slipped the new garment over his head.

“Now we’ll let him rest for a while before we try more water,” she said. “He’s sleeping a little easier.”

Samuel appeared just then, bearing a tray with a tea set and a decanter of cognac. “I took the liberty,” he said. “I thought perhaps you might need this. If there’s anything else you’d like—”

“Thank you, Samuel,” Lily said. “You’re a gem.”

“And the child?”

“Doing a little better, we think. Keep saying your prayers.”

“I certainly will, Mrs. Mercer. Just let me know if you need anything else.”

Lily left the bedside to pour a cup of tea for herself and a glass of spirits for Ben. “Waiting is the hardest part,” she said tiredly.

“That and staying awake,” he agreed. “I … ah … I want to thank you for everything you’ve said tonight. It was kind of you to give me the—perspective—that you did. I have a lot on my mind at the moment, and you’ve helped me with it.”

She colored faintly. “I don’t know how I could have helped, but you’re welcome.” She looked back at Maddie. “If it makes any difference, there’s something I’d like to add.”

He nodded, his face curious.

“Whatever frightens each of us may be different, and much of it we may manufacture ourselves.” She allowed an ironic smile. “That’s just our nature! Tiny little human concerns …” She met his eyes squarely. “But this sickness of Maddie’s—that’s frightening.  And that demands our strength. We will be strong for him. No matter what—no matter how strong you or I may or may not be—we will give this fever a fight.” Impatiently, she brushed at a wisp of hair that had worked free and strayed close to her eye.

He exhaled a long breath. “You’re very wise.”

“The only wise thing I know to say to that is, ‘no, I’m not.’” She gazed at Maddie and then back at Ben. “I have an awful memory for quotations, but there’s a wonderful verse in Hebrews that reads something like, ‘Therefore, with all this host of witnesses encircling us, we must run our appointed course with steadiness.’ Very simple, h’m? I may not always know what my course is, but this one—this one is very clear.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Ben knew his face was etched with weariness; hers was as well, but it didn’t dim her loveliness. He realized absently that her beauty had little to do with the deep blue of her eyes, the rich auburn of her hair, or her clear, pale skin. It was in the warmth of her expression, the kind cast of her gaze. He could see who she was in her face.

“Yes. I suppose so.”

And so the hours ticked on until morning. They made Samuel retire, reminding him that he would have to be functional when Aubrey and Julia returned, and Ben fetched basins of water for Lily to use in bathing Maddie’s flushed skin. Conversation ebbed and flowed sporadically, but as the night inched through its blackness and finally into the first false streaks of grey, the room fell silent. Each dozed fitfully now and then, only to wake with a start. They coaxed Maddie into drinking another glass of water and changed his nightshirt again, until finally, it became clear that his pink face was not as warm, and his thin little chest rose and fell more normally. His breathing quieted, and he no longer moaned and whimpered in his sleep.

“I think the worst is past,” Lily said at last. “Assuming there’s been no harm to his mind, he should be all right.”

“Thank God. Thank you.”

“Thank God.”
 
 

THE MORNING ROOM was silent when they came downstairs just after sunrise. The whole house was hushed, literally the calm after the storm. It was as if all the tension and fear of the night had fled with the dawn light.

Samuel had risen and set up a tray of coffee, and Ben went to pour a cup. A heaviness was invading his muscles; he could only imagine how Lily was feeling. Her back was to him as she faced out the window, gazing at the garden behind the house, and he glanced up just in time to see her shoulders begin to shake. With quick strides he was beside her, turning her to face him.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears, which as he watched, brimmed on her lashes and spilled over down her cheeks.

“He almost died, Ben,” she whispered. “My God, what would we have done? He almost died.”

Automatically, he gathered her to him. “Lily, he didn’t. He didn’t die … thanks to your efforts. You saved his life.”

But that didn’t seem to penetrate her thoughts. She buried her head on his shoulder, and her whole body shook with sobs. They were tears of relief, he realized, tears of exhaustion. Tentatively, and then with more assurance, he stroked her hair with one hand as his other held her securely against him.

“Good ahead and cry,” he crooned softly. “Let the feelings out … Lily, darling, it was such a long night. You were magnificent. Just cry it out.”

He heard the endearment and realized that he had no right to use it. But it was so natural. After last night, it seemed that there was nothing more fitting than for him to be standing here, holding this woman, trying to absorb some of her fear and spare her its pain. Against his cheek, her hair was silky-soft.

At last she raised her head. Without releasing her, he reached for his handkerchief and dried her face.

“You’ve a right to cry, you know,” he said quietly.

“I’m making a fool of myself,” she mumbled.

“Not that I noticed. I just watched one of the strongest women I know take a moment to reorder her emotions. Pretty intelligent, I’d say.”

She offered a watery smile. “I don’t think you’re very objective.”

“Maybe not. But I’m right.”

She seemed to notice then that she was in his arms, and a wave of color flooded her cheeks. He kissed her forehead before he let her go.

“I think perhaps you should get some rest,” he said. “Aubrey and Julia will be back later this morning. Don’t you think it would make sense for you to stay here?”

She nodded, the fatigue she had denied now taking over. “Samuel can make up a—”

“That would take too long,” he replied, and guided her to the entrance hall and up the stairs. “I’ll wait for them in the library. You can use my room.”
 
 

Lily sat down on the bed as the door closed behind Ben. At long last, she could admit to her drowsiness and rest for a few minutes. But perversely, her mind wouldn’t settle down. It was the room, she decided—Ben’s room, even though it wasn’t really his. She could feel his presence all around her.

Her eyes were drawn to the high dresser, with its shaving mirror and the line of silver-backed brushes. The brushes were so like him—solid and classic, and lined up precisely. On the other hand, the black silk tie from his dinner outfit the night before had been tossed carelessly nearby … not too prim and proper.

On the table next to the bed was a Bible and a copy of Robert Browning’s Men and Women. She wondered if that was what Julia had placed there for her guests, or if Ben had taken her suggestion and given one of the Brownings a try.

She was getting so sleepy; she had almost stretched out when she caught sight of a small framed daguerreotype of three young men, and even if she hadn’t noticed Adam, she would have known they were his sons. She picked it up to study it more closely.

The boy on the far right had to be Joseph, with his merry eyes—despite the photographer’s likely telling him to be serious—and his delicate features. He was almost pretty in a masculine sort of way. It was not hard to picture him getting into scrape after scrape with every comely girl east of the Sierras. What a handful he must be!

In the middle was a giant of a man, with kind, gentle eyes and a mouth which simply wouldn’t be stern. There was an openness in that face, a friendliness … she liked him immediately. You could trust Hoss and count on him, she thought. He would be the one to notice the bird with the broken wing, or the homeless child. She prayed that his fianceé knew how valuable he was.

And on the left, very handsome and the only one completely serious, was the one she knew—Adam. You could read nothing in his eyes, although his arching eyebrows were quite expressive. There was a remoteness about him, a distance … and yet, a strength very much like his father’s. If she hadn’t met him, conversed with him, she never would have guessed the warmth of his personality and the depth of his intellect. She was beginning to understand the unspoken closeness that was obviously there between the father and his oldest son.

She set the picture back on the night table, unable to fight her exhaustion any longer.  Thoughts of the past night, Maddie’s illness, her discussions with Ben Cartwright, Ben Cartwright himself, tumbled over each other in her mind, and she lay back on the bed, pulling the light blanket over her. Soon she drifted into sleep.
 
 

The streets of San Francisco were fresh-washed when Adam returned to the city just after dawn. The weather had been less destructive away from the ocean, and he and McPherson had avoided much of it simply by lingering after dinner with their brandies. He’d stayed the last of the short night in the architect’s Mission Dolores rooms, and arrived at the Van Dine house to learn from Samuel what had happened in his absence.

“Your father is dozing in the library,” the butler told him. “Mr. and Mrs. Van Dine have not yet returned.”

“I see. Well, don’t wake him.” Over Samuel’s shoulder, Adam made out Michaela at the head of the staircase. “Don’t worry about me, Samuel. I’ll take care of myself. If I need breakfast, I’ll let you know.”

When the butler had departed, Adam sprinted up the stairs. Still dressed in her nightgown and robe, Michaela was trembling, her eyes wide. She chewed on her lip to steady her jaw.

“Maddie?” she whispered.

Adam sat down on the top step and folded her into his arms, one hand steady on her back while the other guided her head to his shoulder. She sniffed and brushed the tears from her eyes.

“He’s all right, Michaela,” Adam said softly. “He was sick, but he’s better now. You don’t have to worry.”

“Are you sure? Everyone was so scared last night. Ted and I could hear them coming and going, but we didn’t want to ask … to bother them.”

“It wouldn’t have been a bother,” he replied, using the same low, reassuring tone.

“Maddie’s your brother. I’m sure if they’d known you two were awake, they would have told you what was going on. How’s Ted?”

“I don’t know. He’s not awake yet. But he was really upset last night. He kept saying he was the man of the house, what with Papa gone, and how could I tell him he wasn’t big enough?”

“What did you do?”

She looked dissatisfied with herself. “I just told him he had to be brave for me because I needed him. I didn’t really, but I told him I did, because it’s pretty hard for Ted. Papa expects so much from him, you know, because he’s the oldest boy.”

Adam pushed a wave of hair back from her face. “So …” he said slowly, “You were afraid for one brother and took care of the other one the best way you knew how. I’m proud of you.”

“What if anything had happened to Maddie, Adam?”

“But nothing did, sweetheart. Samuel says my father and Mrs. Mercer took care of him. He was in pretty good hands, don’t you think?”

She nodded. She was a remarkably intelligent child, Adam reflected. It was almost like having an adult around. He tried to focus on taking her mind off her brothers. “Are you the only one up?”

“Yes. Just Samuel and the maids.”

It occurred to him suddenly that it was Friday and a little smile played on his lips. “Then let me be the first to wish you a happy birthday.”

She returned the smile shyly. “Thank you. My party isn’t till Sunday, you know.”

“I’ll tell you what—with your mother and father not home yet, and Maddie’s having been sick, I’d say there’s a good chance you and Ted’ll miss school today. How would you like to go for a ride?”

“Really? Just you and me?”

“Just you and me. It’s beautiful out after the storm. It would be a fine way to start your birthday.”

“I’d love it.”

“Then go get dressed. I’ll meet you back here in half an hour.”

When Adam told Samuel what he and Michaela had planned, the butler was of the opinion that under the circumstances, Mrs. Van Dine would approve a missed day of school. He even sent the cook’s young son to the stable to have Peanuts and Trifle saddled, so that when Adam and Michaela met in the hall, Peter stood outside with their horses.

Adam was laughing as he threw Michaela up into her sidesaddle and adjusted the stirrup leathers. “Just a warning, Miss Van Dine. When you come to the Ponderosa to visit us, you’d better know how to tack your own horse. There’ll be no Peter to do it for you.”

She dimpled. “Are we spoiling you, Adam?”

He sent her a “What do you think?” glance, one eyebrow cocked, and went around to take Trifle from Peter. The skittish grey looked at him dubiously, and sidled a few steps when he swung up into the saddle. She mouthed the bit and refused to stand still, arching her neck and dancing playfully.

“Is she anything like the horse you ride at home?” Michaela asked as they turned away from the city and started out toward the milk ranches beyond the park.

“Some. Sport has a mind of his own, and he likes to express his opinion. But I can count on his intelligence—he knows when not to be an idiot.”

“Don’t count on Trifle being very smart,” Michaela returned bluntly.

He laughed. “Thanks. Now come on—think we’d get in trouble if we lope a little here?”
 
 

Ben heard the scuffle of footsteps and voices which had awakened him, and he rose stiffly. He should have known better than to fall asleep sitting up, he mused. But it was rather pleasant knowing that Lily was sleeping in his bed at the moment, and on that count, he didn’t regret his sore muscles a bit.

Samuel was in the hall when Ben emerged from the library. “Mr. and Mrs. Van Dine just arrived, sir,” the butler said. “They’ve gone to see Madison. Should we waken Mrs. Mercer? I could send a maid, or perhaps you …”

Ben flashed him a smile. Samuel was really invaluable; somehow he’d managed to make the idea of his awakening Lily sound perfectly commonplace, instead of the near-scandal it represented. His eyes began to twinkle and Samuel’s returned the favor.  “Thank you, Samuel, but I’m sure your maids are occupied at the moment. I’ll see to Mrs. Mercer.”

“Very good, sir.”

Ben allowed himself a careful stretch to ease the kinks in his muscles, and then smoothing his shirt, went upstairs to his suite. He tapped lightly on the door, but there was no response.

When there was no answer a second time, he cracked the door and peered in cautiously. Lily was asleep on the bed; that was a relief—he was not disturbing her as she adjusted her clothing … or worse.

“Lily …” his voice carried into the room as he entered the small foyer. Still she did not move. That was understandable. She was exhausted.

He couldn’t resist taking a moment to look at her. Lily lay on her back, the blanket drawn up to her waist. Her face was turned to one side on the pillow, her features relaxed, her long lashes so dark that her peaches-and-cream complexion seemed translucent. One arm curved up on the pillow as well, her fingers extended and incredibly graceful. Her other arm curled around her midriff, just below her breasts. His breath caught in his throat. This was perhaps not, after all, a good idea. But he could hear a maid in the hall; he couldn’t retreat now.

He took a moment to calm himself and then advanced into the room. “Lily …” he said softly, and leaned down to touch her shoulder. She came awake in an instant.

“Ben …” For a moment her eyes glowed, and then as she suddenly realized where she was, she sat upright, flushing. “Oh!”

“It’s all right,” he returned swiftly. “I just came to tell you Julia and Aubrey are home.”

“Thank heavens.” She avoided his eyes, but leaned back against the headboard.

He longed to sit down on the side of the bed, to be near her, just to talk … to enjoy her company, her nearness. It seemed so normal—as if she were … but she wasn’t, he reminded himself. She was only a friend.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone if you’d like to freshen up.”

She smiled up at him—gratefully? He wasn’t sure. It was almost as if there was a hint of regret in her eyes, too. As if she would not have minded reestablishing the intimacy of the long night. “Thank you, Ben. And thank you for … well, for everything.”
 
 

Michaela’s birthday passed uneventfully. With the family anticipating a celebration on Sunday afternoon, Friday was given over to Madison’s recovery. As Lily had surmised, his fever had indeed broken in the hour before dawn and by ten, when he finally awakened, he was feeling only tired, weak and hungry. To everyone’s relief, he appeared to have suffered no lasting injury.

Lily was just leaving when Adam and Michaela returned, exhilarated from their morning ride, and with a shrewd look at both of them, she inquired if they’d like to do her a favor and take out two of her horses the next day.

Michaela’s eyes glowed. “She has really nice horses,” she confided to Adam. “I wouldn’t have to ride Peanuts. You wouldn’t find it nearly so easy to beat me if we race!”

“Don’t be so sure,” he retorted, and assured Lily they would be happy to oblige.

And so Saturday morning saw them astride a couple of well-bred chestnuts, viewing the ocean from a bluff near the Golden Gate, when Adam suggested they rest for a few minutes. He swung out of the saddle with practiced ease, looping his horse’s reins on the branch of a fallen log. Then he reached up to lift Michaela from her mount, realizing once again how little she weighed. She was very small for a ten-year-old.

“If you’d grow a little, I could call you Rosalind,” he remarked, just to get her attention.

“Why? Do I look like one?” She was so perplexed that he couldn’t help laughing.

“What do you think a Rosalind looks like?”

“You’re teasing me! How would I know? Ooooh—” She made a face. “There was a Rosalind at school last year. She was very pretty, but she had a vile temper! If you don’t mind, I’d rather not be a Rosalind.”

“Even if it meant you were very pretty?”

“Even then.”

He noted with satisfaction that there was not a hint that she thought looks would excuse poor manners, or of uncertainty at the implication that she wasn’t pretty. She was in fact very attractive, but he wasn’t sure she knew it, and he suddenly wanted to find—and correct—all the small weak points that tore at her sense of self.

“Well, that’s good.” His eyes twinkled. “You’re beautiful enough already; I don’t want you to get a big head. Nor do I want you to develop a vile temper.”

“I’ll try not to. But why do I look like a Rosalind?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say you did. I said if you grew, I could call you that. From Shakespeare’s As You Like It—Jaques asks Orlando, ‘What stature is Rosalind?’ And Orlando replies, ‘Just as high as my heart.’”

“I like that.”

“Good. And speaking of that, As You Like It was based on a story by someone else: Rosalynde, by Thomas Lodge. Shakespeare did it better, of course.”

She sighed. “I guess this means we’re talking about my writing, h’m?”

He did his best impression of a Cheshire cat. “We ran out of time the other day. I didn’t run out of interest.”

“Oh … well. Well, in that case, um, I think you need to know that I got down one of Papa’s volumes of Shakespeare once, but I couldn’t make any sense of it.”

Adam found a flat space in the grass and stretched out. “Give yourself time. At the risk of offending you, you’re way too young at the moment for Shakespeare.”

Michaela sat down next to him, crossing her legs under the skirt of her riding habit. “You’re not offending me. … Adam, what do I do with my imagination?”

“What do you what?” He bit back a smart remark, suddenly wondering if she’d been cautioned about being too fanciful, as she had been about being too funny. When creativity occurred as naturally as it did for Michaela, and she seemed not even to know it—let alone use it—the suggestion that she was stifling herself came to mind. A gnawing annoyance rose in him; of course, Aubrey would have meant his strictures for the best. He was suiting Michaela, even at this young age, to be a perfect, docile lady who would attract a man to take good care of her, little knowing that his daughter had exceptional intelligence and potential.

Just as quickly, Adam reminded himself that Michaela was Aubrey’s daughter, not his, and that he was treading on dangerous ground if he undermined her father’s teachings. And Aubrey had a point; not many men valued high intelligence in their mates. But on the other hand … would Michaela be happy if she didn’t use the mind God had given her? There had to be a middle ground somewhere.

“Honey, why don’t you just pay attention to it?” he said. “Develop it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ah … well, maybe make notes when you come up with ideas like you did the other day—your descriptions of the horses. And you could do what a lot of writers do. As you see things going on around you that interest you, write them down … like—ah—what the ocean looks like today … how Peanuts acts when he’s in a good mood … what it feels like to love your brother, to worry about him when he’s sick … all sorts of things. Whatever happens in your life.”

“You mean so I’d have it all for later?”

He nodded. “M’m-h’m … and I’d be willing to bet that you’ll learn a lot about yourself as you go along.”

She sat silently, gazing out at the sea, and he could almost see words forming in her mind. “Okay. But I’m going to write down quotes that I love, too. I’m going to write down your Rosalind quote. I’d like to be as high as your heart.”

He smiled and lay back in the grass, closing his eyes and enjoying the warm sun on his face. “You’re already there, you know. In my heart. Doesn’t make any difference how tall you are.”
 
 

Michaela’s birthday celebration began after church at the new Grace Cathedral, a few blocks away. When everyone returned from the morning service, the big park drag was brought around from the stable and loaded with picnic supplies and presents. While Doyle held the reins of the four Cleveland Bays and Peter stood at Roland’s head, Samuel helped the family and one of the maids into the coach, and then scrambled up on top. Adam gave Lily a leg up on a slender black mare, and cautioned his father on Trifle’s eccentricities before climbing up to join Samuel on top of the coach. With great fanfare, the little procession set off on the hour-long trip to a stretch of land overlooking the bay, and for once, San Francisco’s unpredictable weather cooperated, with warm temperatures and unlimited sunshine.

To Ben’s relief, Lily suggested they jog on ahead of the coach almost immediately. At first he thought it was to avoid the fine filter of dust which rose around the big vehicle, but he soon realized that she’d noticed his growing annoyance with Trifle’s nervous capering. Letting the horse stretch her legs eliminated some of his frustration. By the time they slowed, well down the road in a quiet area of pastureland, he was beginning to forgive the grey mare’s behavior.

“How do you like her?” Lily asked, her eyes dancing.

He cocked an eyebrow with mock exasperation. “Let’s just say we wouldn’t feed her at the Ponderosa,” he replied, but his eyes twinkled. He nodded at her mount. “Is she one of yours?”

“No—Aubrey must have forgotten to tell you, with all that’s gone on. She’s a birthday present for Mickey.”

Under the guise of examining the mare, Ben enjoyed a lengthy study of Lily. She rode well, sitting the sidesaddle naturally, her posture straight but relaxed, her hands low. Her navy habit fit her like a glove, and its matching hat, accented with a pheasant feather, was tilted fetchingly to one side. Her face was flushed and her eyes glinted with pleasure.

“She’s a beauty,” he said, pleased at his private double entendre.

“You’ll like her all the better when I tell you that Aubrey thinks Michaela will want to ride her back. Julia brought her habit, so I’d say that’s a certainty. In that case, don’t you think Adam’ll want to ride with her?”

“If he doesn’t, he will when I’ve finished with him.”

She laughed—and Ben reflected that one of the things he liked best about her was her laugh. It was no polite titter, as he so often found on women; when Lily laughed, you could feel her whole body behind it, see the happiness in her face, hear her genuine amusement.

By some miracle, Trifle settled down for a while and they were able to walk restfully, talking, until they heard the rumble of the coach behind them, and the handsome park drag came into view. It was not much longer before the road ascended a hill and ran along a wide golden meadow that was scattered with twisted live oaks. Then Lily indicated a weedy track that cut across the expanse of grass and Doyle carefully turned the horses into it. The big coach lurched and swayed, but under a steady pull, safely crossed the field to an opening among the trees. Farther on, the clear blue of the ocean glistened in the sun. Doyle brought the team to a stop, and Peter leaped down to hold them as the family piled out.

While Adam and Peter secured the coach horses, and Samuel and the maid Annie unloaded the picnic supplies, Ben hobbled Trifle and turned to help Lily dismount. She was calling an answer to a question from Julia when he came alongside, and she grimaced distractedly when she realized that her boot had stuck in her stirrup.

“Hold on a minute,” he admonished her mildly, and grasping her ankle, slipped the sidesaddle’s stirrup free. Without its support, her leg dropped unexpectedly, his fingers running up her calf under her skirt, only the thin cotton pantalette between his hand and her skin. Ben felt his cheeks flame, and he avoided looking up at her—not only because he was sure she was blushing, too, but also because he wasn’t one whit sorry to have felt the smooth curve of her leg against his palm.

He took a deep breath and reached up to grasp her waist. She quickly kicked her other leg over the saddle horn and set her hands on his shoulders. But just as he lifted her free, the black mare shifted, swinging her hindquarters and knocking her rider sideways so that Lily plunged downward, flat against Ben for the length of his body. Reflexively, he braced himself and caught her, holding her steady and registering every sensation from the soft push of her breasts to her thighs pressed familiarly against him. A shot of adrenaline coursed through him.

“Oh, my, I’m sorry—how clumsy of me—” she said breathlessly, her cheeks crimson.

“My fault. I apologize,” he muttered. “I should have been paying attention.”

Belatedly, he released her and they stood awkwardly for a moment, until he said as normally as he could, cursing a hoarseness in his voice, “I’ll take care of your horse. Why don’t you—”

“I’ll help Julia.” She darted away.

“You okay, Pa?” Adam was behind him.

“I’m fine—give me a hand with this horse, will you?”

“I’ve got the hobbles right here. You sure you’re all right? You’re looking a little—”

“I’m fine.”

Adam’s brows rose eloquently and he whistled under his breath. “Right—well, here you go.” He handed his father the hobbles. “I think I’ll just go help Lily lay out the blankets.”

It wasn’t long before the little glen was a patchwork of blankets and table cloths, with even a low table and a few large pillows. Samuel and Annie unpacked baskets of food, while Aubrey uncorked a couple of bottles of wine. When everyone sat down to eat, Ben was relieved that it seemed natural that he and Lily selected the same blanket, their earlier embarrassment forgotten.

“Isn’t it beautiful out here?” Lily marveled. “Everyone likes the green grass of springtime better, but I love how gold it is in the summer and fall.”

Ben gazed around him. “It’s quite extraordinary.”

“However—” Her voice was purposeful as she set down her plate and began to unbutton the close-fitting, waist-length jacket of her riding habit. “You don’t get this heat in the spring!” She peeled off the offending garment and opened the collar of her white blouse, revealing a short space of her throat and the gold necklace with a tiny cross that rested between her collarbones. She fanned impatiently with her napkin, dislodging a strand of hair which had come loose when she’d removed her hat earlier. The curl rose briefly in the breeze.

Ben cleared his throat and took the opportunity to remove his own coat, which had been uncomfortably warm for the previous hour. Then he yanked loose his tie and unfastened the top few buttons of his heavy linen shirt. So intent was he on rolling back its full sleeves that he didn’t catch Lily’s covert glance, as she catalogued the curls of grey hair in the open front of his shirt, and the muscular forearms revealed beneath his cuffs.

Other than the morning he’d come to awaken her in his room—a time when she was hardly paying attention to appearances—she’d never seen Ben without his jacket. It was the first time she’d noticed how the drape of the shirt highlighted his powerful chest, and how his body tapered like a triangle from the broad expanse of his shoulders through his waist and hips, to the long legs that now crossed lazily as he lay back on the blanket. He glanced up to note only the last of her observation, and when her cheeks colored slightly, he smiled straight into her eyes.

“Do you know, I’m really enjoying spending today with you,” he said. “I’m grateful to Michaela for having a birthday, and a picnic at such a pleasant spot … and for sharing it with you.”

“What a lovely thing to say!” She reached out to cover his hand briefly with hers. “I’m enjoying it as well. I’m glad you came to San Francisco.”

Before he could reply, Aubrey announced that it was time for his daughter to open her presents, and while Samuel brought the brightly-wrapped gifts from the coach, Annie collected the empty plates and glasses.

“Good timing,” Ben murmured. “I don’t think I can move.”

“Here—” Lily grasped one of the pillows and arranged it behind his shoulders, against the trunk of a tree.

He leaned back, propping himself on one elbow. “You know all the comforts, Mrs. Mercer ...”

“I try, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Where shall we start?” Aubrey continued gaily. He offered Michaela a large, flat box which had been painted with childishly-drawn figures. “How about this one? It’s from Maddie and Ted.”

The decoration might have been a little haphazard, but the present itself drew high praise. Michaela loved the large set of watercolors and brushes, and hugged both of her brothers gratefully.

“And this one …” Aubrey produced a box wrapped in deep purple paper, with a small note signed “Ben and Adam.” Julia winked at Ben when her daughter exclaimed happily over a collection of art paper to go with her new watercolors. The girl jumped up to throw her arms around Ben and Adam in turn.

Next came a tiny emerald velvet pouch, tied with a gold ribbon. “From Lily,” Aubrey proclaimed.

Michaela shot Lily a curious glance as she loosened the bow and dispensed a small leather box into her palm. Popping it open, she grinned so widely that there seemed no room left on her face. “Lily! Oh my, Lily, it’s just like yours!” Michaela leaped up and ran to Lily, nearly collapsing at her feet. “Oh my, thank you! Will you put it on for me?”

Ben watched with interest as Lily extracted a small gold cross and chain from the box, and sweeping back Michaela’s waves of dark hair, fastened it around the child’s neck. Then she kissed her on the cheek and said softly, “May God be with you, Mickey.”

Michaela buried her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I love you, Lily!” she whispered.

When she jumped up to run back to her father, Lily turned to Ben, her eyes swimming. Without thinking, he reached out to brush away a tear, his thumb gentle at the corner of her eye, his fingers curled against her cheek.

“Do not let me look like an idiot!” she murmured urgently.

He grabbed his coat, finding a handkerchief in its breast pocket. “I believe that’s an impossibility, my dear.”

She sniffed her thanks and carefully mopped her cheeks.

“And finally,” Aubrey exclaimed. “From your mother and me.”

This time, the package was a large, irregular shape wrapped loosely in a muslin sack. With a puzzled expression, Michaela plucked at the string tie to reveal a black sidesaddle, its leather smooth to the touch. She squealed with delight.

“Ooooh, thank you! My old one is so small and uncomfortable!” If she thought that black was an unusual color for a red chestnut pony, she did not say so, and scrambled from one parent to another, hugging each and delivering big, sloppy kisses. “I love my presents! I’m so lucky!”

With no mention made of the new black mare, Ben threw Lily a questioning look, and she mouthed, “Later.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased, Mickey dear,” Aubrey said, and grunted as he hoisted himself to his feet. “And now, after that meal, I feel the need for a constitutional before we cut the birthday cake. Jule?”

Samuel helped Julia up and she took Aubrey’s arm for a stroll to the edge of the bluff and a view of the ocean. Ted and Maddie started to go with them, but before they were even out of earshot had initiated a make-believe game and disappeared in another direction. The somnolent hum of crickets hung in the warm air as Ben noticed Adam, reclining on a blanket not far away, ask Michaela to bring his jacket from the coach.

“Watch,” Lily said in an undertone, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

Michaela retrieved the coat and dropped on to the blanket beside him, her full skirt blowing out around her. She giggled at his accusatory glare. “It’s my birthday! I don’t have to be ladylike!”

From the glimmer in Adam’s eyes, both Ben and Lily could tell that he was not really critical of her, and even seemed to enjoy her sassiness.

Extending from the jacket’s pocket was a package which hadn’t been there when the party had begun. It was about five inches by seven, wrapped in a heavy, gilded paper with a peacock feather design. When Adam handed it to Michaela, her laughter died on her lips and she looked at him with wide eyes.

“Open it,” he said quietly.

“It’s from you?”

He nodded.

“But I—”

“In addition to what Pa and I gave you. This is between you and me.”

Tears were forming again in Michaela’s eyes. Carefully, she pried about the edges of the paper and removed a leatherbound book, embossed on its spine with an intricate gold design. The pages inside were pristine cream vellum, innocent of type.

“For me?” she breathed. “To write in?”

Adam nodded again. “For you. To begin a lifetime of writing.”

The tears overflowed down Michaela’s cheeks and she threw herself forward against Adam. His arms went around her, his hands gentle and firm on her back.

Across the clearing, Ben was struck with his son’s incredible care for the child. He couldn’t take his eyes off Adam’s hands—graceful and strong, very like those of Michelangelo’s David, he thought, and so infinitely kind. He shook his head in bemusement, and met Lily’s eyes.

“They’re very good together,” she said in a low voice. “He’s so nurturing with her, and she needs it.”

“Where did he find that book? How did you know?”

“He asked me where he might buy a journal—a very fine one, he said—and I told him Paolo Bartolucci’s in North Beach. Paolo is a craftsman of the old order; he creates beautiful things.”

“Lily …” Ben levered himself up to meet Lily eye-to-eye. “Only one thing concerns me about this. Adam is not Michaela’s father. Aubrey is—”

“I don’t think you have to worry,” she returned calmly. “Aubrey loves Michaela, but you know him; he treats all women, even his daughter, as if we’re rare, exotic birds. He means well, but he hardly knows how to deal with her, and truthfully, I don’t think he’ll ever change. Mickey needs more than that—she needs understanding, someone to indulge her intellect, guide her, inspire her. I think Adam does that.” She glanced back at the man and the little girl across the clearing. “Adam will never advise her to do anything that would hurt Aubrey or Julia. With any luck, as her trusted friend, perhaps he can explain to her what they feel and want when she can’t understand on her own. He might just deflect a lot of the pain that could result from Aubrey’s not quite comprehending Michaela.”

“I hope you’re right.” He watched his son hug Michaela to him, and then wipe away her tears. Again, that intimate, loving expression was on Adam’s face, and in some ways, Ben felt as if he was viewing his eldest for the first time. It was certainly the first time in a new light, and he was suddenly anxious to see Adam with a child of his own … to see such scenes as these any time, and not just with someone else’s daughter.

“They’re beautiful together,” Lily murmured.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I—suddenly—” He shook his head, exasperated at his own lack of words, and finally blurted, “I can’t wait to see Adam as a father—and I don’t mean some time in the future. I mean now.”

“That’s quite a change for you,” she replied softly. She didn’t say that any normal father would feel that way, or laugh at him for the complete turnaround he’d just made. She simply acknowledged the magnitude of what he’d said.

“Yes, it is …” He took her hand to make her meet his eyes. “I think I have you to thank for it. What you said the other night …”

“No. No, you have your son to thank for it.”

“Yes, undoubtedly … but Lily, you’ve—” He stopped. “All right … perhaps some things are as well left unsaid … But I’ll always be grateful.”

“I’m just glad you feel the way you do.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off hers, and locked in the warmth of her gaze, he felt the subtle shift in the moment as it evolved from his personal discovery to a single-minded focus on her. If they’d been alone, he would have pulled her back on the blanket beside him. The little flare of her nostrils sent a faint thrill through him, and his glance dropped involuntarily to catch the rise and fall of her breasts in the form-fitting blouse.

But they weren’t alone, he reminded himself. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against it. “Have dinner with me.”

She exhaled a long breath, enough to let him know that she was as moved as he. “All right … when?”

“Wednesday night. I’m afraid Aubrey has us booked for Monday and Tuesday.” He didn’t add that they were scheduled to leave on Friday. He was already trying to figure a way to extend their stay.

“Wednesday night … I’ll look forward to it.”
 
 

The afternoon ended almost anti-climactically with the surprise presentation to Michaela of the black mare. Ben could see why her parents had waited—the little girl was hardly still from that moment on. Only the proximity of the beautiful animal kept her calm when she went to make friends with the horse; the rest of the time, she was a whirling blur of excited action. She changed into her riding habit in the privacy of the coach’s interior, danced around the clearing, and demanded a ride immediately. Ben and Lily found themselves laughing like children themselves at her antics.

The sun was drifting toward the horizon when Aubrey pronounced that it was time to go home. Samuel and Annie had packed the coach, and Doyle and Peter re-hitched the four Cleveland Bays. Adam ran a friendly hand over Roland’s face as he went to bridle Trifle.

“She’s all yours,” Ben assured him disgustedly. “May you enjoy her. She reminds me of Sport.”

“Ah, Pa, you just don’t know how to handle her,” Adam joked. “But just the same, I might have to demand satisfaction on Sport’s behalf.”

Ben relented. “You’re right, son—about Sport, anyway. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

Adam directed an articulate glance at Lily. “And deprive you of your pleasure? I wouldn’t think of it.”
 
 

IN THE END, it was Julia who solved Ben’s problem of how to extend their visit in San Francisco. “You simply can’t go,” she told them over breakfast on Monday. “Lily’s having a party on Saturday night, and I was supposed to invite you long ago. I had no idea you’d be leaving so soon.”

“Julia, we’ve been here for nearly two weeks,” Ben pointed out. “But of course we’ll remain for Lily’s party.” He did not so much as glance in Adam’s direction, and he didn’t set another date for their departure.

So it was with a lighter heart that on Wednesday night he borrowed Peter and the landau and called for Lily. He’d chosen a new restaurant called Passetto on Washington Street, at the edge of the Barbary Coast. In the twilight, the gaslights were flickering atmospherically, and Ben knew that the district’s shop fronts, sleepy and deserted by day, would now be coming alive. Behind the guarded doors, the click of the dice and the calls of the croupiers were beginning to sound against the boisterous patter of upright pianos.

“Once when I was here, I was very nearly shanghaied,” he recalled. “That’s a benefit of age: I doubt they’d be after me now.”

Lily gurgled with laughter. “Ben, I hate to tell you, but the shanghai agents were—or I guess are, except that the police have driven most of them out now—only interested in able-bodied seamen.” She teased him with a mocking appraisal. “I’m afraid you still qualify.”

“And that, my dear, just won you my undying gratitude. In fact, if I come to owe you any more, it’ll be next year before I can ever pay off my debt. I may never get home.”

“You’ll get no sympathy here. I’m not at all anxious to see you leave town.”

Ben enjoyed a surge of satisfaction … flirt, Adam had said. Savor the exhilaration of a woman’s company. What wonderful advice that had been! He differed with his son in only one way, and that was that his attention was not without intention … although even he himself was unclear about what that intention was.

Ristorante Passetto proved as superior as Ben had been led to expect. He loved their evening. He loved Lily’s high spirits, her beauty, her enticing femininity. The dinner was lavish and romantic—and five minutes after they’d left the table, he couldn’t have repeated what they’d eaten. But they were both full to bursting, and elected to walk a few blocks to settle the meal, stopping here and there to listen to a street band or an orchestra in one of the higher-class hotels or restaurants. At last Ben signaled to Peter, who had been following at a discreet distance, and handed Lily into the carriage for the short trip home.

Alone with her in the velvet darkness, he was suddenly very aware of everything about her. Tonight, he realized, it was time either to declare his interest or step back and indicate that friendship was all that was available to them. Even as his rational self argued for a platonic friendship, given the differences in their lives, his innermost self held out for more. Absently, he reached down to clasp her hand, and she didn’t pull away.

Before he had time to give it further consideration, the landau halted in front of Lily’s brownstone. He stepped out and helped her to the sidewalk.

“Will you come in for a brandy?” she asked—a little hesitantly, he thought. Perhaps she understood the importance of tonight, too.

“I’d love to,” he said, and called up to the coachman, “That’ll be all, Peter. I’ll walk home from here. Thank you.”

Wilson opened the door for them and greeted Ben politely. “Will you be using the drawing room, Mrs. Mercer? I should stoke up the fire.”

“Ah, no, Wilson.” She turned to Ben. “Let’s use the study. The drawing room is big enough for a political rally. Would you like brandy or cognac?”

While the footman coaxed up a sizable blaze, Lily poured a cognac for Ben and a tiny stem of crème de menthe for herself. Then Wilson disappeared, and the only sound in the dimly-lit chamber was the low hiss of the fire as a piece of wood caught a spark.

Ben looked around with interest; on his previous visit, he had hardly had time to note anything about Lily’s house. This room was not large, and from the deep red Persian rug to the heavy velvet drapes and the mahogany bookshelves, it personified a secure haven. Near the front window was a brass-fitted telescope on a stand, and on various tables, several navigational instruments and French equestrian bronzes. His eyes were drawn to the magnificent seascape that hung over the mantel. All in all, it was a comfortable room, a room in which a man felt at home.

They sat down together on the settee that faced the fire, and the stillness lengthened amicably until finally Ben said, “You are the most remarkable woman. One moment you have me laughing like a child, and the next you make even the longest silence easy.”

“Sometimes talk isn’t necessary. I enjoy your company, Ben.”

“And I, yours. I wish I didn’t live three days away.”

She glanced away, into the fire. “Why don’t we agree not to talk about that tonight?”

“Good idea. I wouldn’t want anything to spoil the evening.”

They did speak, in hushed tones, about many topics, and Ben again found his hand straying to hers, stroking her long, slender fingers. And as the night advanced, he became ever more lost in the sense of her nearness. It was not until the clock struck midnight, in bell-like chimes, that he acknowledged the need for a certain propriety.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” he said, rising and setting the empty snifter on the mantel. “I can’t thank you enough.”

She stood up as well and joined him by the fire. “It was my pleasure—and it was a lovely evening.”

The flames snapped as a log burned through and settled into the ashes. She was so close; one short step would erase the gap between them, and he wanted to touch so much more than just her fingers. His senses began to reel as his careful control on his feelings crumbled and he could no longer deny that he wanted Lily Mercer very badly.

He closed the space between them and rested his hands on her shoulders. When she looked up, he nearly drowned in the deep blue of her eyes, delighting in the flicker of welcome he found there. He tried to still his fingers, simply hold her in place, but his palms slid down her arms, from her shoulders slowly to her wrists, and then back up again, his eyes never leaving hers. Her lips parted slightly with her in-drawn breath.

“Lily,” he whispered.  With his thumb, he tipped up her chin and lowered his head to kiss her gently, so mesmerized that he scarcely knew what he was doing. His lips caressed hers, tenderly asking if she felt the same way he did, and he almost stopped breathing when her hands came to rest lightly on his chest.

Despite the slow, restrained beginning, Ben could feel the blood beginning to pound in his veins. He straightened again, thrilled to see that Lily’s eyes had closed for his kiss, and that when she opened them, they reflected his own sense of loss. His arms closed around her, pulling her to him, and he kissed her again, this time more forcefully.

For a moment Lily just absorbed his embrace, and then her hands slipped up and around his neck, her fingers combing through the silver hair that brushed his collar. Ben groaned softly and gripped her more tightly, reveling in the soft warmth of her body pressed so intimately against his. Her breasts were beginning to set his chest on fire.

When at last he broke the kiss, he did not release her. He drank in the sight of her face in the burnishing firelight, her eyes rising to his in a haze of need. The air around them seemed charged with their emotions.

“I have to go,” he said thickly.

“Yes, you do,” she replied with the faintest hint of laughter.

He kissed her lightly. “I want to see you again.”

“I should hope so.” She reached up to run her finger across his temple, down over his ear, and for a moment he was aware of nothing but the warm, delightful feel of her in his arms. “This has been a beautiful evening, Ben.”

“For me, too, Lily.” He released her reluctantly, and then leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Good night.”
 
 

Samuel had fueled the fire in the Van Dine study when Ben returned, and two leather wing chairs had been pulled up before the hearth.

“A fine woman, Lily Mercer,” Aubrey said, snipping the end off of a cigar and motioning Ben to sit down.

“That she is.” He debated a smoke, but decided in favor of another cognac. The room was inviting and he needed to settle down.

His host drew on his cigar before chatting on. “Y’know, you’ve never asked, but do you wonder how old she is? Natural, if you do.”

“I don’t know that it matters, Aubrey,” Ben replied. He hadn’t actually stopped to think about it. She was undoubtedly younger than he was, but she seemed ageless.

“Prob’ly not … but early forties, I’d expect. Recall Howard sayin’ somethin’ about a fifteenth anniversary, oh, five years before he died. … But hell, she could be older’n God, and you wouldn’t know it.”

“Yes. … She’s very …  different.” He heard the overtone in his own voice.

“Like her, do ya?” Aubrey chuckled appreciatively. “Julia said you did … Got to say, you prob’ly couldn’t do any better, an’ that’s goin’ a long way, since you could prob’ly have about whomever y’choose.”

“I don’t know about that. But I do agree that she’s something special. Very nice woman.”

Aubrey snorted, and Ben realized that his friend’s indulgence in the cognac had left him in an expansive mood. “Very nice woman, indeed! Hell, she can set your blood on fire, and that’s without doin’ much o’ anythin’ a mother superior wouldn’ do.”

Ben chuckled.

“Now, don’t tell me you haven’t already thought o’ that, Ben. Good grief, man, you’re red-blooded. You might not be the youngest buck on the range, but ya haven’t given up the herd yet.”

“No … no, I haven’t ‘given up the herd.’”

“So?”

“So what? What do you mean?”

“What’s holdin’ y’back? Are ya afraid to do a little courtin’ because she’s a friend o’ Julia’s and mine?”

“No, Aubrey, I don’t have any fears about that. But I do wonder where I would go with it. San Francisco is a very far cry from Nevada.”

“Lookin’ ahead to California or Nevada—don’t borrow trouble. Who says you got t’think about that now?”

“Lily’s not the type of woman that you treat casually.”

“No, ya wouldn’ want t’do that.” Aubrey pondered the situation. “Gettin’ nervous?”

“About what?”

“About … you know … bein’ with a woman—woman younger’n you.”

“Aubrey, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you weren’t one of my oldest friends in the world.”

“‘Oldest’ is the critical word, Ben. Man doesn’t know what you’re feelin’ till he gets a little age on him. Till he’s not out doin’ his manly duty on a regular basis.” Aubrey contemplated his cigar before going on, “I had a few doubts not long ago. I’m not as young as I used t’be, and Julia, hell, Julia’s only thirty-three—Adam’s age, for Lord’s sake. Wanted t’make sure I was keepin’ her happy.” He lapsed into silence.

“And? What did you do?”

“Got over it. Applied myself to makin’ sure she enjoyed herself an’ then I didn’t have t’worry. Now, maybe if you’re seein’ women that are just out of the schoolroom, you should take another look at yourself an’ your own abilities. But otherwise, if you’re makin’ ’em happy, they aren’t countin’ your years.”

Ben settled back in his chair. The conversation embarrassed him, but Aubrey had touched on a fear that had crept into his thoughts on occasion lately.

“I don’t think I’ve forgotten how to do it,” he said slowly. “I know how to take care of my physical needs with a woman. But I haven’t actually made love to anyone since Marie.”

“Y’mean someone y’might have strong feelin’s for?”

“You might put it like that.”

Aubrey sighed. “An’ Lily Mercer is someone a man could have strong feelin’s for.”

“Ye-es. I guess that’s it in a nutshell.”
 
 

Ben woke with a start. He could hardly catch his breath and his forehead was covered in sweat. A dream—a wild, fascinating fantasy—flooded back through his thoughts, and lying on his back, contemplating the ceiling, he groaned.

In his dream, he’d been making love to Lily. He could see her clearly: beautifully, erotically, magically naked beneath him, her breasts pressed against his chest, her eyes glazed with desire. Her breathing had been rough as her hips rose urgently toward his. She’d been ready to cry out …and her hair, that glorious dark-auburn cloud, had been spread across an immaculate white pillow.

My God, she could excite him. His heart was pounding, and lying there in bed with only the thought of her, he was fully aroused. His arm muscles clenched, his legs stretched in protest. Every inch of him seemed on fire, his nerves taut with a need for her. He hadn’t felt like this in years, and the depths of his passion seemed unfathomable. He had wondered if he could ever feel this way again, and now he was dizzy with it.
 
 

As the week drifted on, it became apparent that Ben was not going to set a date of departure, even though the contracts under negotiation were being concluded one by one. Meetings had been held with prospective buyers and many looked promising, but for the foreseeable future, all that could be done had been done. Adam had observed his father, kept his speculations to himself, and taken to riding with Michaela every afternoon when she got out of school.

“Where do you want to go today?” the child asked as they walked to the stable on Friday. They’d already covered much of the northern peninsula in their excursions. “I thought maybe a building site would be nice.”

“A building site?” Adam’s eyebrows rose in surprise and he realized suddenly that he hadn’t been out to look at architecture in days.

“Yes. I wouldn’t mind. Don’t you miss doing that?”

“To tell you the truth, I hadn’t thought of it.” He heard himself in amazement. Between work and Michaela, he hadn’t had any time and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Well, I don’t want you to miss it, so I thought maybe we could do that today.”

He smiled and ruffled her hair. “It’s nice of you to think of it, and I appreciate it. Especially since we’ll be going home soon and it’ll be next spring before I get to see any more good design.”

Michaela fell so silent that after a few minutes, he glanced down at her in concern. Her face was set in a frown, her eyes averted, her lower lip protruding.

“Is something the matter?” he inquired.

“You’re going home.”

“You knew it had to happen sometime.”

“It doesn’t have to happen now.”

“Are you pouting?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “Have I ever told you that of all the habits I detest, pouting is first on the list? Followed closely by whining.”

She couldn’t help looking up to see whether or not he was joking, and when she did, she couldn’t tell. “That’s too bad,” she ventured in a put-upon tone of voice, “because I’m very good at both.”

“Really? Do you know what I do to little girls who pout and whine?”

“No.”

He spun quickly and took a swat at her backside, but she twisted inches away from his palm. Then finally catching the gleam in his eye, she shrieked with laughter, her pique forgotten. “You have to catch me first!”

She bolted down the street and Adam leaped after her. He was bigger, stronger and faster—but she was quick and agile, and skimmed just beyond his reach, three steps ahead of him when they charged through the open gates of the stableyard.

“I won! I won! You can’t touch me here!” Michaela shouted, doubling over with giggles.

“Oooooh, no! I set the rules in this game!” Adam scooped her up under one arm, as she flailed and wiggled and kicked. “I say, Doyle, what would you do to a pouter and a whiner?”

Doyle, his eyes twinkling and his chin quivering to fight a laugh, allowed that he didn’t know anything bad enough for a pouter and whiner, but they’d both better calm down because he wasn’t going to have his horses excited.

“Well, what do you think I should do with the prisoner?” Adam persisted, Michaela still face down under his arm.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir. Perhaps let her off with a warning this time?”

“I think that sounds fair.” He glanced down at the struggling child. “Does Miss Van Dine understand that she’s being let go on the understanding that she will not pout and whine again?”

“Yes! Put me down, you big bully!”

He set her right side up on the cobblestone yard, secretly worried that she might really be angry. She adjusted her clothing and regarded him huffily for a few seconds, and then an irrepressible grin lit her face. “Just to be technically correct, I never did whine,” she smirked. “I only told you that I could. And”—she drew herself up triumphantly—“you completely forgot sulking. So I still have choices.”

“Sulking!” Adam groaned.

She smiled winningly. “But don’t worry. I won’t sulk today.”

“Thank you.”

“Yer horses are ready to go,” Doyle said as Peter led out Trifle and the black mare. “But Miss Michaela, you watch that Fashion now. She was right nippy with Peter this morning.”

“I’ll watch her, Doyle,” Michaela replied. “I think she’s just a little nervous and head-shy. Maybe her last owners were rough with her.”

Doyle beamed at the girl’s perception. “I wouldn’t be surprised but what yer right, Miss. Now don’t you give Mr. Adam any trouble—you mind your manners and do what he says.”

Adam stifled a grin and thanked Doyle for his support. Then he tossed Michaela up on her horse, mounted Trifle, and they trotted out of the yard, turning north toward Russian Hill.

“Where’re we going?” Michaela asked.

“I thought maybe a new house being built for a man named Horace Hargitay. It’s a little out in the country, not too far.”

“What’s so special about it?”

“It’s a completely new style, at least for San Francisco. I think we’ll see more of it before long.”

“What’s new about it?”

He reined in Trifle and pointed to a large home on their right. “See that? You see a lot of houses like that around here, right?”

“Yes.”

“What do you notice first about it?”

“That it’s kind of squarish.” Michaela studied it intently. “No, I mean, rectangular. It’s like lots of rectangles. The roof is even flat—except for that thing—that—”

“Cupola.”

“Well, even it’s a square, which is pretty close to a rectangle.”

He nodded approvingly. “It’s based on what’s called Italianate design. The inspiration came from villas in the north of Italy.”

“Have you seen houses like this in Italy?”

“Not exactly like this, but the types that they were patterned after, yes.”

“So what’s new about the one we’re going to see?”

“Wait and see,” he suggested, and touched his heels to Trifle.

They cantered up Taylor for several minutes before they turned west and headed out into the country. Finally, Adam pulled up at a wide lot on the north side of Lombard. Several brawny men swarmed over a structure that was about three-quarters finished.

“Now what do you see that’s different?” Adam asked.

“The roof, for starters,” she answered immediately. “It’s—um—it’s not flat. Well, I mean, it’s flat on top I guess, but then it has two sides before it hits the rest of the house. I mean, it slopes twice. Does that make sense?”

“It certainly does. That’s called a ‘mansard’ roof, after the Frenchman François Mansard.” He regarded her with approval. “You have a good eye.”

“And we’re going to see more of that here?”

“Probably. It’s becoming fairly common back East.”

“Lily says Paris is really pretty. It must be a good thing if we’re going to look like that.”

Adam smiled. “It’s just one of many places that’ll influence San Francisco before it’s done.”

Michaela sighed, twisting in her saddle to look at him. “It’s nice to live in such a beautiful city,” she said solemnly. “If I couldn’t live here, I’d want to live someplace beautiful in nature, like the Ponderosa.”

“They both have their attributes,” Adam nodded.

“Mama says we’re coming for Hoss’ wedding. I can’t wait to see it.”

He smiled at her. “And I can’t wait to show it to you. … Now, I don’t want to bore you on your first architectural tour. Would you like to go for a run in the country?”

Michaela hesitated. “Maybe in a little while. Do you know the—what do you call him? The man who built it.”

Adam checked Trifle in surprise. “The builder? It’s Barrett Crowe. He’s over there by that tree.”

“Do you think he would let us go inside?”
 
 

The sun was dropping over the horizon when Adam and Michaela turned their horses back into Clay Street.

“Your mother’s going to have my hide,” Adam said. “We’re late for tea.”

“That’s all right. Doyle’ll skin us first for making the horses late to feeding.”

He smiled lazily. “Well, if I have to get killed, I can’t think of a better comrade in arms.”

“Me, either. I had fun today. Thank you.”

“Thank you. I’m going to miss our rides.”

She grimaced. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“Sorry.”

The stableyard loomed into view.

“Is it okay if I write to you?”

“I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”

“Will you write me back?”

He winked at her. “Try and stop me.”
 
 

WILL you hurry up? Anyone would think you didn’t want to go to the party!” Julia’s voice sounded in the cool darkness of Saturday evening. “It’s after nine-thirty already! Everyone else will be there!”

That could certainly be true, Ben thought, as they walked up the street. The intersection was congested with carriages and horses, disembarking passengers, and pedestrians on their way to Lily’s party. He stood on the curb and gazed at the big brownstone which was aglow with oil lamps and chandeliers of candlelight. Its front door stood open to admit a throng of people, and over the sound of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves, he could hear the lilting strains of an orchestra—fiddles, a flute, a piano, an accordion, even harps in some of the songs. Through the open windows, they could see that the furniture in the drawing room had been pushed back and guests were dancing a Virginia reel.

When they finally gained the crowded foyer, Wilson told them that they would find refreshments in the dining room, waiters would bring them drinks, and Mrs. Mercer was “somewhere over there in that crowd,” greeting her guests.

Surrounded by people inching their way toward their hostess, Ben enjoyed watching her as she shook hands and replied to remarks that were addressed to her. Her russet silk dress was only a few shades lighter than her hair, and he loved the way it bared her shoulders and skipped lightly over the tops of her breasts. Dangling filigree earrings set with topaz swayed whenever she smiled, and a thin chain of matching stones encircled her throat and dangled one strand toward that provocative neckline, which despite its promise revealed nothing inappropriate.

At that moment she glanced up to catch him staring at her and a soft look of welcome flickered in her eyes. How, he wondered, did she manage to look so pristine and so wicked at the same time? And how could it show only in her glance at him? Even as she nodded to him, she maintained her discourse with a little old lady and an elderly gentleman, until presently they passed on and she greeted Julia and Aubrey. Then she stood on tiptoe to kiss Adam on the cheek, and turning to Ben, awarded him the same treatment, adding an unobtrusive squeeze of his hand.

The only problem with the party, Ben realized as the evening unfolded, was that it required Lily’s full attention. He had expected that, but it made it no easier to endure. She worked tirelessly—within the first two hours, he saw her subtly insert the mayor into conversations with four different groups, and introduce Adam to no less than half a dozen young ladies without appearing to have made any effort whatsoever. During her periodic intervals with him, she initiated three discussions for him with businessmen who showed promise as potential clients, and he did not doubt that she performed similar services for many others at the gathering. She also danced with what seemed like scores of men.

And so it was a pleasant if not perfect evening, made tolerable by his ability to observe her in action. He would, he promised himself, ask her to dance, and he enjoyed the ripple of anticipation which ran through him at the thought. He looked up to find her eyes on him, even as she carried on a conversation with a stocky young gentleman who was clearly lobbying for some cause or other. Over the man’s shoulder, she dropped Ben a slow, amused wink, and he sent back a small smile of understanding.

It was nearing midnight before they were able speak again. He was standing with Aubrey, Julia and another couple when she made one of her recurrent checks to see that they were entertained, slipping one arm through Ben’s and the other through Julia’s as she joined the group.

“Of course we’re entertained, Lily,” Julia exclaimed gaily, “but don’t you think it’s about time you declared this party a stunning success and just enjoyed it yourself?”

“Heavens, Julia, I’m having a marvelous time! Being the hostess gives me an excuse to dance with every man in the room. Why, Aubrey and I have even taken a turn around the floor!”

“I haven’t seen you dance with Ben yet.”

She eyed him saucily. “Only because he hasn’t asked me.”

“That can be easily remedied,” he responded, setting his glass of champagne on a nearby table. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Mercer?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Cartwright.”

The band was calling for a waltz as Ben took Lily in his arms. Immediately, he felt better, more animated, more alive, even with the expected twelve inches of distance between them. That was the only flaw in the moment; he’d have preferred to hold her against him. But just her touch on his shoulder and her hand in his were enough to transport him, as the violins launched into the latest Strauss creation from Vienna.

No matter what happens, in all the cold winters of my life, I will remember this dance, he thought—the floating melody, the palette of colors in the ladies’ dresses, the golden light from the chandeliers … and the heady feeling of Lily close to him, caught in the music and the symmetry of their dancing, her eyes bright with affection for him. They were both flushed with pleasure when it ended.

“I was beginning to think that I was going to have to ask you to dance,” she teased him in a low voice.

“Now, you have to forgive me—I was just being polite,” he protested. “In case you haven’t noticed, the men are standing in line to take the floor with you. I certainly didn’t want you to neglect your other guests.”

“Polite!” she snorted elegantly. “Benjamin, sometimes your manners are entirely too correct!”

“Do you think so?” This was no good, he reflected—how was he going to let her go back to dancing with other men when she was looking at him like that? He glanced around to see if they were being remarked, and then stared into her eyes. “Well, without those manners …” His voice lowered, turning husky. “What would you have said to a man who wants all of your dances, and not just one? All of your time, not just a few minutes?”

She paused, her lips parted. “I would say that if that man were Ben Cartwright, I would be delighted.”

For a minute they stood still, as all the action and confusion of the room went on around them. And then he said softly, “Would you care for a breath of fresh air?”

“I would, indeed.” She caught his hand and led him through the milling crowd to the foyer, and then down a hall to the back of the house. “I don’t believe you’ve ever seen my conservatory.”

At the back of the home in the corner was a large, round, glass-paned area filled with towering palms and huge pots of greenery. A glass panel in the ceiling admitted a stream of moonlight, revealing a small lily pond, and beyond that, french doors which led to a garden. The only sound was the muted splash of a fountain.

Lily released his hand and took his arm. Without speaking but supremely aware of each other, they walked slowly to the fountain, adjusting to the change from the festivity of the party. But when they’d attained the marble lip of the pond, Ben turned her to face him. Automatically, he reached for her, his hands sliding over her waist to rest on her hips, stroking absently as they held her in place.

Lily’s breath caught and then escalated. There was something incredibly exciting—and at the same time comfortable—about the feel of his hands on her hips, holding her so close, and yet with a whisper of space between their bodies. So much was implied, so little demanded … and suddenly there seemed to be so much she wanted to give. She could not take her eyes from his face, from the reassurance of his gaze. Her hands slipped under his jacket, up the cool front of his waistcoat to rest on his chest, thrilling to the rhythm of his heart under her fingertips.

“Kiss me,” he commanded hoarsely, and lowered his lips to hers.

This time there was no tentative inquiry. His hands moved up her back, crushing her against him as his lips demanded a reply—and in a rush, Lily knew beyond doubting that the attraction between them would not be denied. All of her wanted to answer him. Flushed and giddy at the pressure of his hard chest against her breasts, she slid her arms around his neck, and when his tongue ran ardently along her lips, she opened to him, reveling in his strength and certainty. Her heart was hammering out of control as she molded her whole body against his. She had no thought of propriety, no real idea of what was happening; she knew only that everything in her mind and body was focused on this one man, and she could not get too close to him.

He raised his head to trace her brow with his lips, then caress her jawline and stroke her throat, before returning for another insistent kiss.  A little moan of pleasure escaped her when he explored the warm hidden recesses of her mouth, and her hips pushed hard against him, even as his hands dropped to hold her there. She kissed him with such passion that Ben knew the full capacity of his physical response, and for several racing minutes, they remained entwined with each other in a whirl of desire.

They were both panting when he at last raised his head. “Lily, I need you …”

“Yes, Ben,” she breathed back. “I—”

A piercing shaft of light cut through the magic darkness. “Mrs. Mercer, ma’am!” Hannah Trask’s voice sounded alien, loud, unwelcome. “The mayor’s getting ready to leave, ma’am, and would like to say good night.”

For a few seconds, the only sound was the irregular splash and drip of the fountain, and then Lily called shakily, “I’ll be right there!”

The door closed, leaving them in their own small world. Lily dropped her head against Ben’s chest, her lungs heaving as she tried to return her breathing to normal. His arms held her securely, and she could feel his cheek against her hair. He kissed her temple and his hands stroked her back, trying to help her regain her equilibrium, even as his own emotions ran rampant through him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He issued a low chuckle. “Sorry? Darling Lily, you have nothing to be sorry for. We could have timed it better, but—” He leaned back and tipped up her face, searching her eyes as best he could in the dim light, his expression kind. “Speaking for myself, I am the most fortunate man alive.”

“Oh, Ben!” Lily felt tears rise on her lashes. “I think you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever known!”

He smiled as he pulled her closer, kissed her lightly and released her. “You can call me anything, as long as you fly no farther than the next room. I’m just starting to get to know you, Lily Mercer, and I’m not giving you up.”

“Of course!” In the chaotic interlude, Lily was not surprised that her next inclination was to giggle. Not get to know him? Was he crazy? She would die—honestly, truthfully, she was not sure she could survive—if she did not get to know him. She was falling in love, and she knew it. Julia and Aubrey had been right; Ben Cartwright’s amazing charm was formidable, but what was irresistible was the strength of his character behind it. She felt as if she were spinning somewhere out of control.

“Lily.” His voice was soft. “The mayor.”

“Oh, yes!” She burst out laughing. “Ben, you have totally destroyed my thinking.” She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and then fled. For a second, as she opened the door, another shaft of light beamed through the trees and plants, and then the room was again dark.

Ben turned to the fountain, his thoughts rebounding wildly, making any kind of rational analysis impossible. He was blindingly aware of one fact: If he and Lily had been in a bedroom instead of a conservatory tonight, he’d have been unable to stop himself. Or at least, restraint would have required more effort than he’d ever found necessary before. He’d always known that coupling was much enhanced when one loved a woman—but he was unprepared for the overwhelming impact of his caring for Lily.

“I probably had more sense when I was a young man,” he berated himself disgustedly, even as his heart seemed to say Lily with every beat.
 
 

It was several minutes before Ben left the conservatory to rejoin the party, and it took every ounce of his will to appear normal when he located Aubrey and Julia. They were watching Adam dance with an attractive brunette, and welcomed him with a smile.

“Where have you been?” Julia inquired, absently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I wondered if you’d gone home.”

“Ah … No, I was just seeing some of the house. It’s quite impressive.”

“Yes. Lily says it’s way too big for her now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she sells it sometime soon.”

“Smart idea,” Aubrey observed.

Julia nodded. “As long as she doesn’t move far away.”

Ben seized a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. He was so distracted that he wondered if he could hold a coherent conversation. It was a blessing when the dance ended and Adam nodded his thanks to the young lady as she was claimed by another partner.

“Hey, Pa, thought we’d lost you.”

“He was out looking at the house,” Julia supplied.

“It’s quite interesting,” Adam commented.

“Yes—yes it is, son. You’ll have to have Lily take you on a tour before we leave.” At Adam’s surprised glance, Ben felt his cheeks flame, realizing that he’d just practically admitted he’d been off with Lily. “And—ah—I’d be glad of a tour myself. I only saw a few rooms, but what I …” He let his voice trail off and was grateful that the orchestra resumed and the need to talk diminished.

When the next song ended, Julia announced that as wonderful an evening as she’d had, it was time for a sedate mother of three to retire, and she asked Aubrey to retrieve her cloak. “You two stay here as long as you like,” she told Ben and Adam. “I’m sorry, but I’m just exhausted.”

“No, I’m about ready,” Adam said. “If I meet any more women tonight, I’ll probably start mixing up the names. Pa?”

“Mmm … I think I’ll stay a little longer. You go on along.”

Adam’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Whatever you say.” He seemed to enjoy that Ben’s eyebrows knit in exasperation at his tone.

They had been gone only a few minutes when Lily reappeared at his side. “Would you consider it dreadfully forward if a lady asked for a dance?”

“Not this lady,” he replied smoothly, and took her in his arms.

This time they simply enjoyed the dance, by mutual consent restraining whatever emotions they were feeling. Then they repaired to the dining room for plates of cold roast beef, aspics and relishes, and joined a table of her guests for a lively discussion on city growth. The clock in the entry was chiming one o’clock when they returned to the drawing room, where the dancing was still going on. Ben could see that the party would last into the wee hours, and as more people were leaving, Lily would be occupied with bidding them farewell.

“I think perhaps I should call it a night,” he told her. “You need to tend to your guests, and I’m afraid I’d very much want to be in the way.”

“Quite noble of you, sir. You would certainly tempt me to neglect my duties as a hostess.” She suddenly smiled. The orchestra had stopped to retune their instruments and was testing the first few notes of the coming number. “But before you go, I want you to hear something. It’s not really important—it’s just a little Irish piece—but it happens to be a favorite of mine and it sounds like it’ll be next. Would you mind?”

Something about the tentative preparation sounded familiar. “Of course not. I’d be delighted.”

And so he was listening attentively when the two harps gently set forth a melody he hadn’t heard since his youth, a delicate, haunting tune that as it grew seemed to combine classical elegance with a folk composition. Before long, a flute began to carry the top notes and then the fiddles joined in, reinforcing its theme.  The music filled the air around them, and suddenly he was in the past and the present at the same time, as the sensitive piece evoked memories of his childhood, his friends, of life as he knew it then … as he once had hoped it always would be.

He might have been eighteen; the room could have been that little hall in south Boston, where the air was smoky from the old men’s pipes and the floor shook with the cadence of the dancers. The musicians might have been Declan and Martin, Kevin and John, and it could so easily have been that summer before he met Elizabeth, when he’d been home from a voyage … when all the wide world had been his from the deck of The Wanderer.

He listened, entranced, as the melody floated, soaring and dancing, until the harps carefully noted the themes one final time, and the room reverberated with the stomp of the musicians’ boots as they pounded out the closing rhythm.

“I don’t know why I love it,” Lily mused as they both applauded. “I just do.”

“‘George Brabazon,’” he murmured.

Her eyes flew to his. “You know it! I can’t believe you do! But how? Where have you heard it?”

“I had a lot of Irish friends,” he said with a faint, evocative smile. “On Saturday nights they’d gather to play music. And  …”

“Yes?”

“That was my favorite, too.”

“It was written by a blind Irish harpist.”

“For his patron.” He stared into her eyes, which were so vibrant that he wondered if he could ever look away. George Brabazon had been there when he’d become a man … and now, after so many years, here it was again. “Lily, I’ll never hear that song again that I won’t think of you.”

“Or I, you.”

For a few seconds, they just looked at each other, and then Ben became aware of the shifting throng around them. Inevitably, someone would want her attention. He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Thank you. It’s been a beautiful evening.”

She nodded, unable to speak, and he turned quickly, schooling his expression and glad that the crush of people made it impossible for him to do anything else.

Outside, the air was crisp and cool and damp with sea air. The moon was nearly full and the sky glittered with stars. He jammed his hands in his pockets and walked down the sidewalk with full, swinging strides. At this very moment, he felt at home with the world, as surely as he had on the open sea all those years ago, as he did now in the hills above Lake Tahoe. If he hadn’t been expected at Aubrey and Julia’s, he could have walked all night, a long-forgotten Irish melody echoing in his head.
 
 

The lamps in the library were burning low when conversation lulled and Adam suddenly became aware of Michaela standing in the doorway. She was dressed in her nightgown, a flannel robe belted around her waist.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I couldn’t sleep.”

She advanced into the room, her gaze darting from her father to Adam. Aubrey hrm’phed and appeared about to speak when Adam nodded to Michaela and shifted his position, inviting her to approach more closely.

“Michaela, m’dear, it’s not—” Aubrey began.

“It’s okay, Aubrey,” Adam cut in. He gathered her up and set her on his lap, leaning back into the big chair and letting her rest against his shoulder. She cuddled in closer to him, her slender body molding against his chest and her arm curling around his neck.

“Adam, now, you don’t have to be bothered—”

“It’s no bother,” Adam replied sharply, but Aubrey didn’t seem to notice his tone. His hand tightened on Michaela’s shoulder. He knew that her father had no idea how his words must be cutting into Michaela’s fragile self-confidence, but he was angry nonetheless. What was she to think? That she was some unwelcome burden? An intrusion? He set his jaw.

Just then they heard Samuel open the front door, and a moment later, Ben came through the archway from the entrance hall. Adam was struck by the expression on his father’s face; outwardly poised, there was a certain exhilaration just beneath the surface.  He smiled to himself, his temper improving. Ben was surely in a better mood than he’d been when they’d arrived.

“Cognac, sir?”

“Thank you, Samuel.”

“Adam and I were just discussin’ Jeremiah Bermondsey,” Aubrey told him. “He said you’d had a good long talk with him at Lily’s party. Bless ’er for introducin’ you.”

“Oh—oh, yes. Interesting proposition he had. I’m sure you’ll be able to make something out of it, Aubrey.” Ben took a sip of his cognac and settled into a large chair near the fire.

“Well, I don’ mind tellin’ you he has a cartload o’ money—made enough out o’ the mines t’buy most o’ the west coast. If he’s in’ersted in shippin’ timber t’Japan, we need t’ take a look. Adam, are you sure Mic—”

“Very sure, Aubrey.” Adam stroked Michaela’s hair  She sighed and closed her eyes, and presently he became aware of her steady, even breathing.

“Ben—what exac’ly did Jeremiah say? Did he mention when he wants t’do all this?”

Ben was staring at the fire. “What? Oh … no, I don’t think so.”

“Well, didn’ you ask him, man?”

Adam stifled a grin. He was beginning to think it was probably amazing that his father recalled the encounter at all.

“Ah … no, Aubrey, I don’t believe I did …”

“Well, good God, did you not ask anythin’ a-tol?”

“I’m sure I did, Aubrey,” Ben replied calmly.

“An’ Adam, where were you when this was goin’ on?”

“That would be a little difficult to say, as I’m not sure exactly which conversation it was. In fact, I’m not sure exactly which of the men Pa talked to was Jeremiah Bermondsey, but my guess is that I was dancing at the time. Strange, I know, but after all, it was a party.”

“Smart young pup—”

“I think it’s about time some of us went to bed,” Ben intervened. “We’ll think about this in the morning.” He rose and set the cognac on the table beside the chair.

“You’re goin’ to bed—Michaela’s come all the way down here t’fall asleep—what’s this world comin’ ta?”

Adam recognized the opportunity to escape Aubrey’s glare and rose with Michaela in his arms. “I think that’s a fine idea, Pa. We’ll join you.”

“Adam, you sure—”

“I’ll take her up, Aubrey. Good night.”

“Aubrey’s in some humor tonight, isn’t he?” Ben remarked as they climbed the stairs.

Adam scowled. “Maybe a little too much cognac on top of the champagne.” He exhaled grudgingly. “Even so, he doesn’t miss a trick when it comes to making money. It’s easy to see why he’s such a good agent.”

Ben chuckled. “That it is.”

Once again, Adam was struck with his father’s relaxed geniality. After his moody silences of the past weeks, it was a heartening change.

“She’s quite a girl, isn’t she?”

He came out of his thoughts to realize that Ben was indicating Michaela. “Yes, she is.”

“I’m glad this has happened for you, son. I’m sure it means a great deal to Michaela, too.”

“I hope so.”

They reached the landing and bid each other good night. As Adam disappeared up the next flight of stairs, Michaela’s sleepy voice drifted back. “Do we have to go to church in the morning?”

“We do. And there’ll be no dozing during the sermon.”

“I always doze through the sermon.”

“Not tomorrow, you won’t.”
 
 

THE SUN was well up in the sky and the tiny jeweled clock on her nightstand read 10:15 when Lily awakened on Sunday morning. For a moment, she wondered how she’d slept so late, how Hannah Trask could have let her. And then the memory of her party flooded back—a beautiful evening, but the last guest hadn’t departed until after four. She groaned lazily and snuggled back into her bed, suddenly very aware of the deliciously-soft feather mattress and the cool lace on the linen sheets. Just how perfect could one life be?

She laughed to herself. My life, perfect? What a monumental  transformation … and she knew right away what was different. The only thing new was Ben Cartwright. Since she’d gotten to know him, it seemed as if everything had changed—was changing. Almost as if to regain her balance, Lily gazed around her room, examining it as if it belonged to someone else, trying to see whether she—this new self—fit there now.

The bedroom followed no special trend or style; it was simply a collection of furnishing and fabrics which had pleased her. A restful mix of creamy yellows and muted greens, it featured a massive bed and an armoire in a rich mahogany, and a settee and chair which were overstuffed and comfy. She supposed it was somewhat feminine; she’d had it redone after Howard’s death. But it wasn’t frilly or lacey or fanciful. The artwork—mostly botanical prints she’d collected in Holland or Mr. Audubon’s work—had a sort of scientific quality. It was, she decided, comfortable. And even with her new perspective, it still felt like home.

I’m wondering if Ben Cartwright would like this room, she reflected guiltily. God help me, so much for my good character, that’s exactly what I’m doing. As if Ben would enter into an illicit liaison—as if she would! And then she sighed … she might. She might, that is, if Ben Cartwright wanted to. She leaned back thoughtfully. She’d never slept with any man except Howard, but once, on her trip east, she had come close. Desperate to recover, to find herself, she’d had her head turned—she could admit it; she’d had her head turned. She’d felt all those butterflies of response when a man had held her and kissed her. Not like last night, not like with Ben, but enough to awaken physical sensations she’d imagined long since dead.

She was a widow, she’d told herself, a free woman. Why shouldn’t she do exactly as she pleased, as long as she was discreet? But old habits, as in so many other ways, died hard. As much as she’d tried to fool herself, she’d known deep down that neither she nor the gentleman in question cared for each other beyond a rather quicksilver summer flirtation. She had broken off the relationship.

Ben was different. Ben was genuine; she knew it instinctively. Alone in the quiet room, with only the tasteful furnishings to hear her, she moaned softly at the memory of his touch, of his lips on hers and more than that, the long, hard expanse of his body holding her close. Even as her mind enjoyed an indulgent laugh at herself, she slipped free the silk ribbon at the throat of her nightgown, parting the thick folds of lace. Suddenly, it had grown uncomfortably warm.

She tried to clear her head, but there was a problem. As easily as she imagined him there beside her in an ill-defined haze of desire, she could see him propped up against the headboard … clothed in a heavy nightshirt, with a pair of spectacles on his nose, checking through a sheaf of business papers or perhaps reading a novel … stopping patiently to listen to her as she told him something from her day, or shared a problem, or simply offered to bring him a late-night drink. She wondered what his bedroom at the Ponderosa looked like. She wondered if she would fit there.

“Oh, stop it!” she scolded herself aloud, and threw back the covers. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself!” But she was glad that Ben would be calling today, later in the afternoon, when everyone had had time to rest up.

She treated herself to a happy little dance step and whirled to the armoire. What should she wear? She pulled out one dress and then another, flinging each to the bed indecisively. It made it all seem more real to be selecting what outfit she would wear, but nothing measured up … until she came to the newest one, a pale cocoa-taupe, with trim the color of her hair. Yes, this was the one. It had shoes that matched the trim, and a little purse, too, should they decide to go out, perhaps walk in the park.

There was a light knock on her door and Hannah Trask entered. The housekeeper cast a practiced eye over the disorderly pile of clothes on the bed and watched Lily with amusement. “Good morning, ma’am. I wanted to see if you were awake yet, and it appears you’ve been up a while now.”

“No, Hannah, just a few minutes.”

“I’ll ring for your tea.” She tugged on the bell pull next to the door, and then began to sort through the dresses on the bed, hanging them up one by one until only the new one was left. “I take it you’re going to wear this one for Mr. Cartwright this afternoon?”

Lily laughed delightedly. “You do know me, don’t you Hannah?”

Hannah stood back and sighed contently. “It’s so good to see you this way again, Mrs. Mercer. It’s been such a long time.”

Lily was touched by her housekeeper’s tone. “Yes, it has,” she agreed. She crossed to the chair upon which she’d flung her robe and wrapped herself in the cream silk garment, running her fingers over the lace of its lapels. She felt so feminine—as if every womanly nerve was on alert. As if she’d been only half-alive before.

She sat down at the dressing table by one of the windows and examined herself in the looking glass. Her hair was disheveled, waving over her shoulders, down her back. But her cheeks were pink, her eyes simmering with excitement. If I don’t settle down, I’ll be exhausted by this afternoon, she told herself with a little chuckle. Oh, my—she did have to get a hold on herself.

Just then a maid arrived with a tray of tea and rolls, which Hannah arranged on a small table near the fireplace. “Will you be having your bath after you’ve breakfasted, ma’am?”

“Yes, Hannah, thank you.”

Lily sat down as Hannah closed the door behind her. The tea, a delicate jasmine her cook procured from a Chinese merchant, smelled almost like perfume. She ran her fingers lightly over the porcelain tea pot, in her heightened sensibility seeing it as if for the first time, tiny pale rosebuds on translucent white, with a thin gilded border on the top and handle. She sighed and made herself pour out a cup, take a sip; she just wasn’t hungry or thirsty. The rolls went untouched.

What would Ben say when he arrived? What would she say? What would they do? The magic of the night before seemed so far away, and yet so close. Would he kiss her? Probably not … that sounded so forward. But we’re not children, she protested to herself. We’re grown—we know ourselves, we’ve known life, we’ve suffered, we’ve endured … why can’t we be left alone to do as we like? Who would we hurt?

“Ohhhhh,” she moaned in frustration. At this rate, she would be a wreck by the time he arrived. She couldn’t remember acting this silly even when she’d been a girl, after her first beau, a young planter from Brunswick, had come to call. She pushed aside the tray and went to summon the maid and request her bath. Perhaps a long, hot soak would help.

The bath did calm her, as did a nap and a relaxing hour with a volume of Tennyson’s poetry, carefully chosen because her favorite, Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese, would have finished off what little was left of her mind. At last it was after three, and she called for Hannah to come and put up her hair.

Gazing into the looking glass over Lily’s shoulder, the housekeeper smiled fondly. “You’re more beautiful today than I’ve ever known you,” she said. “I thought I’d never see this again.”

Tentatively, Lily smiled back. As the hour of Ben’s arrival approached, she was growing nervous with anticipation. “I suppose all of life goes on,” she said quietly.    Hannah gathered up the heavy auburn hair and secured it with a fastener before she began winding it into a roll. “Mr. Cartwright seems like a fine man. He’s so impressive looking, and I hear his holdings in Nevada are immense. He’ll not be after you for your money.”

Lily giggled. “No, that he won’t. Ben Cartwright has no need of my money or my friends or anything else I could give him. So I suppose that means he’s here because he likes me, h’m?”

“Oh, Mrs. Mercer! As if that were something unusual! Why, the men would line up two deep to be with you, if only you’d let them. The difference with Mr. Cartwright is that he’s the first one you’ve wanted around.”

“You’re too kind to me, Hannah, and you have to admit, your opinion is a little bit prejudiced!”

Hannah Trask just shrugged and made a little face before she sighed and turned dreamy again. “It’s lovely, it is … be especially nice if Mr. Cartwright would move here. It’d be just like when Mr. Mercer was alive.”

Lily froze. Without warning, the room started to spin. It was as if someone grasped her heart with a giant hand and squeezed murderously. She nearly doubled over in pain—and yet, unbelievably, she didn’t move and she could tell by her reflection in the mirror that very little showed on her face. A black cloud seemed to be invading her vision, and suddenly she realized that she’d stopped breathing. She made herself start again, in great, heaving gasps.

“Mrs. Mercer! Are you all right?” Hannah stepped back in alarm, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” Lily managed to whisper. “I’m fine, Hannah—I just, uh, swallowed wrong.” She braced herself against the dressing table and waited until her breathing returned to normal, but it didn’t really, because her heart hammered like a locomotive in her chest.

“Just like when Mr. Mercer was alive.” No. No, it cannot be. I can’t do it. Not now. Not yet. Maybe never. But certainly, certainly not now. I’m just getting better, I’m not ready, I can’t do this. Not again. Not now. How could she have imagined that it would be any different? When you gave your heart away, you opened the door not just to joy, but also to pain. It was as simple as that—it was like opening Pandora’s box. In the space of seconds, Ben Cartwright became not a joyous discovery but a threatening, utterly terrifying force in her life.

She didn’t know how she sat up straight, her face set in a complacent mask, as Hannah finished styling her hair. On some level, she just wasn’t there. It was as if she stood aside and observed herself, moving in a silent, detached world. She forced herself to go through the motions, rising and allowing the housekeeper to cinch in her corset, and then drop the cocoa-colored dress over her shoulders and lace it up. Then she shooed the solicitous woman from the room, closing the door behind her and falling back against it.

Oh, my God. What have I done? she thought mournfully. And what am I going to do now? She ordered her breathing, establishing a measure of calm, and with iron control walked to the window. She forced herself to breathe evenly and think. Think. She cared for Ben—she knew she did. But she could feel the fear rising again in her, and before she had even joined battle with it, she knew that she had lost.

She didn’t know how long she stood by the window, her thoughts random, her emotions quieting after a while but never really subsiding. Disappointment tasted like sand on her tongue … she could hardly fathom giving Ben up, but she couldn’t even conceive of keeping him in her life. He could hurt her as Howard had. Coming to love him could so easily lead her back to that abyss into which she’d sunk after her husband’s death. What if he didn’t feel the same, or if he died or was killed—or anything? She could not do it.

I fought so hard to love my life again, she thought. I can’t give that up. She gazed miserably down at the brick sidewalk where, in a matter of minutes, Ben would be walking … coming to see her. In the late afternoon of mid-October, the thin sunshine which once might have cheered her simply looked inadequate and very bleak.
 
 

“Mr. Cartwright is here, ma’am.”

Curled up on the settee, Lily started as if coming out of a trance. She hadn’t even heard Hannah Trask knock and enter.

The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Are you all right, Mrs. Mercer? Look at your pretty gown, now! You’re getting it all wrinkled!”

“I’m fine, Hannah,” Lily managed to say. She rose and swiped at the skirt, shaking out the folds.

“He’s in the study, ma’am,” the housekeeper said.

“I’ll go down,” Lily told her in a subdued voice. “And Hannah—we won’t want to be disturbed.”

Another time, Hannah might have teased her, but this time she only nodded, worry evident on her face.

Ben had his back to her when Lily came through the big double portal from the entry hall. He was examining the seascape over the mantel and only turned when he heard her close the doors behind her.

His eyes, coming to rest on her, were velvet-brown and vivid with regard for her. I’ve waited all my life to have a man look at me like that, she thought. Not even Howard had ever seen right into her … not like this. It was too much, so intensely perfect that she quailed.

“Ben,” she whispered, and manufactured a smile.

He didn’t notice her discomfiture, and took both her hands in his. “Lily. Honestly, your beauty makes that painting look dim.”

She smiled shakily and withdrew her hands. “Thank you … it was done by a passenger of ours, years ago—a nice young man named Haydon Young. I believe he’s quite highly admired in Europe now.” She didn’t look at him; she was sure he was a little surprised at her hesitation.

“Well, he’s very talented.” Ben’s voice was bracing. “Was this scene done from his voyage with you?”

He was giving her a chance to adjust, no doubt believing that after their romance of the night before, she was a little shy.

“Yes … yes, it’s Cape Horn. We encountered a storm there … I believe this is his memory of it.”

An awkward silence fell. “Um—won’t you sit down?” She gestured at the settee, and immediately her mind went back to the interlude they’d enjoyed there not so long ago. She tried to swallow and found her throat nearly closed. She had to get this over with; she had no idea how long she could last in his presence without breaking down.

“Lily?” His voice was concerned. “Are you feeling all right? Are you tired from the party last night?”

“No, Ben, I’m fine. I just have a little on my mind, that’s all.”

He started to rise, hesitant now himself. “Perhaps another time would be better—”

“No—no, Ben. I think we need to talk … about … about what’s happened between us.”

She saw his eyes light. Of course he would want to talk about what was between them—he’d want to admit their feelings, enjoy the exhilaration, explore the future. She felt familiar tears begin to heat her eyes and forced them back.

He smiled … so kindly. He was calm, supportive; she almost relaxed into his gaze. But she couldn’t.

“I’d like that,” he said. “What’s happened between us has become very important to me.”

“You know, when we met, I never—I never expected—” She was beginning to tremble and she concentrated on her hands, folded in her lap, but clasping the fingers tightly together didn’t seem to help her composure at all.

“I never expected anything, either,” he said gently. “I never counted on meeting you, or coming to care for you as much as I do.” He covered her hands with one of his. “I didn’t think I’d ever again care for a woman as I do for you.”

She looked up in terror, her eyes filling with tears.

“Lily, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“Nothing, Ben. Don’t mind me—I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

“Lily …” He took her hands again in both of his, making her look at him. “Lily, you’ve done nothing to be sorry for. What’s this all about?”

“Ben, you don’t need to care for me. You shouldn’t care for me.”

He shook his head, his eyes warm, offering her a little grin. “In fact, Lily, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Ben, don’t! Because I can’t!” She was pleading with him, and for the first time she detected surprise and uncertainty in his expression. “It’s not that I don’t care for you,” she rushed on. “I do, I won’t lie about that, and anyway, I don’t think you’d believe me. I do care about you—but I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t make a commitment—”

“Lily, I’m not asking you to make a commitment. I’m not—”

“That’s just it, Ben. You don’t have to ask me. That wouldn’t be the problem. The problem would be that I would—I would make a commitment to you. And I can’t.”

It was if she had slapped him in the face, and she died inside. He sat back, his eyes going blank, and then she could see him struggling to understand.

“Lily … the fright that you told me about … how you learned to live again after Howard died. Is that what we’re talking about here?”

She nodded.

His voice was still calm, reassuring—but behind it now, she could hear his anxiety. Knowing Ben, she reflected painfully, that anxiety was as much for her as for himself.

“Something’s made you revisit those fears … what is it?”

She tried to keep her voice steady. “Not something, Ben. Someone. You. You’re not the kind of man a woman can take lightly—at least, not this woman.”

He sighed, a long, tense exhalation that tore at her as she watched him try to fight what was happening.

“Ben, look—this isn’t something you’ve been through. I have—and just recently.  Perhaps you should allow me to think for us. With your sons grown and getting ready to—well, you’re in something of the same situation I was, not as bad, I realize, but you’re facing a change in your life. It’s disquieting; you know that. It’s quite likely that you’re not really falling in love with me at all. Listen to me—I know how a person’s mind can play tricks on them. I could seem like an answer, like a port in a storm. In fact, I wonder if that’s not what I was doing with you. Everything was so comfortable …”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“It may not be real. Sooner or later, we’ll regain our sense of self. We’re both strong people. And what—or who—looked so appealing now might not fit at all.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Ben, darling—trust me. I know what I’m talking about. You don’t know how easily it can happen. Instead of gaining your own strength, you’d just be finding something—someone, me in this case—to distract you from being alone, from finding another role to play in your sons’ lives. I’d be just—just a mistake you made in a moment of fear.”

Or perhaps it’s real after all, but in any case it will end sometime, her mind added. And that would be devastating.

Ben sat silently for a long minute, and when he looked up at Lily, she wondered if she were seeing a stranger. His face was set, and while his eyes were not hostile, they did not glow with warmth either. They were simply calm, resting on her as a teacher’s would a student, and his words were measured. “Lily, that may well be what you’re doing. But it’s not how I feel. I love you. I know enough about myself and what I need in a woman to know that I’ve found it in you—improbable as it may seem, unexpected as it may have been. But I know how I feel.”

After that she couldn’t look at him. She bowed her head, fought the tears, and felt herself fall apart inside.

He stood up. “I won’t try to argue you out of this,” he said, his voice husky. “If you’re going to love me, that’s something you must come to on your own.”

He picked up his hat from where he’d tossed it on the settee and walked to the double doors, sliding them open. Hazily, telling herself that she must at least have enough social grace to show him out, Lily rose and followed him into the entrance hall, to the front door. He opened the heavy glass panel and turned back to her, his eyes once again kind as he regarded her stricken face.

He tipped up her chin with his thumb. Had he kissed her then or taken her in his arms, she might have capitulated. But he didn’t. He simply said softly, “You’ll always be in my heart.”

A second later, he was gone.
 
 

The wind was blowing off the bay when Ben walked away from the big brownstone. Clouds were scudding across the sky like so many little racing ships, and it seemed as if each one carried a piece of him. He could hardly tell who he was, how he felt—and he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Less than half an hour ago, he’d walked up Clay Street, feeling stronger and happier than he had in a long, long time. And now … well, there was no way he was happy.

He sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t go back to the house yet. He had to get a handle on this … figure out how he felt, what he would do. He realized dejectedly that there was nothing he could do; a woman had just given him his walking papers. And it wasn’t that he was above begging—God, if he’d thought it would do any good, he’d have damn near groveled. But it didn’t work that way with love, at least not any love he’d ever valued. If both parties didn’t bring every ounce of their strength to the project, it would fail. It was just that simple. One person might carry the load at any given time, but not as a fundamental premise of the relationship. Lily had to know that she loved him as he did her, or there was no point in pursuing anything.

He strode past the Van Dine home, heading for the park. It was deserted in the late afternoon and the weak sunshine threw the shadows into high relief. The breeze was damp with salt, and he was assailed with memories from across the years, almost as if he could feel the spray of the ocean as it crested up over the side of a ship. It took a special kind of man to look out at a vast expanse of empty sea—perhaps a younger man, he thought; there had been a time when he’d rejoiced in it. Maybe he’d just lived and experienced too much, because right now the very thought of it, and everything else that had gone on in his life since those days, just reminded him that he was lonelier than he’d ever been.

That’s silly, he told himself. Until three weeks ago, I didn’t even know Lily Mercer existed. I have three sons and I’m about to acquire a daughter-in-law, and undoubtedly, in a year or two, a grandchild. I’ve loved—truly loved—three women, which is three more than many men can claim. He’d known heartache, it was true, but he’d been blessed beyond belief.

Blessed beyond belief. He’d been blessed to know Lily, too. He swallowed hard, his throat for some reason constricted. How ironic—just when he knew he was ready for a woman in his life again, the one he wanted wasn’t available to him.
 
 

It was nearly dawn when Ben woke the next morning. For a moment he lay disoriented, and then, as if some part of him were waiting for it, a cold stillness crept over him. He set his jaw grimly; right when a few extra hours of sleep could provide a welcome reprieve, he was wide awake.

He got up and splashed his face with water from the pitcher on the washstand, then took his time about dressing. He felt as if he’d gone fifteen rounds in a boxing match with a champion prizefighter. Retrospectively, he wondered how he’d gotten through the night before. He could clearly remember Adam’s face when he’d come through the door to the drawing room, where the family was gathering before an early Sunday dinner. Despite his best effort to conceal his upheaval, he knew that his son realized something was amiss. Nothing had been said, and somehow he’d made the necessary small talk through the meal before he’d pleaded letters to write—a flimsy excuse that might have satisfied Aubrey and Julia but certainly didn’t fool Adam—and retired to his room.

The house was quiet when he came out into the corridor and started downstairs. He had no clear plan of how to spend the time before the family got up, but finally settled at a table in the library, studying a modern atlas of maps from the Royal Geographic Society. The sun was just coming up when Samuel found him there, tracing an old route of The Wanderer.  Without saying a word, the butler brought him coffee.

It was just after seven when Ben again became aware that he was not alone, and looked up to find Madison staring at him from the doorway.

“Good morning, Maddie. What gets you up this early?” he asked.

As if given leave, the little boy skipped into the room and jumped up into the chair next to Ben’s. “Couldn’t sleep. We’re studying the Boston Tea Party today in school.”

“The Boston Tea Party, eh? And what makes that so special that you’re up early for it?”

“I just think it sounds like great fun to throw tea into the ocean. I mean, history’s usually dull.”

Ben chuckled in spite of his low spirits. “You see, Madison, when the Boston Tea Party was happening, it wasn’t history. It was just what people were doing.”

Maddie scrunched up his face. “I never thought of it like that. It’s so stuffy, you know, in books.”

“You have to imagine it not in books, but living and breathing as it once was. I lived in Boston, you know. You can go down to the harbor there and see where the colonists went on board the British ships, and where the tea leaves floated ashore over the days that followed.”

“Did they have a real party? Did everyone drink the tea?”

“No.” Ben reached out and turned Madison to face him. The boy’s shirt, hastily donned, was buttoned unevenly, and as he spoke he refastened the front. “No, the Boston Tea Party refers mainly to the colonists’ protest over being taxed without having anything to say about it. You’ve heard of taxes, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Papa complains about them every year. It’s the money the government makes us pay on all and sundry items.”

Ben refrained from asking if Maddie had any idea what sundry items were. “Well, at least here, your father is able to vote, or to have people he’s elected to represent him vote, on most of the taxes that are levied against him. A hundred years ago, when our country was part of the British Empire, we weren’t allowed to have any say in how we were taxed, and that’s not right. So to let the Crown know how upset we were about it, a group of Americans went on board ships that were carrying tea and threw all the tea overboard.”

“So Boston Harbor became one giant tea pot?” Maddie inquired, his eyes round as he tried to picture the strange event.

“You might say that. It was our way of saying we’d go without tea altogether rather than pay unfair taxes on it.”

“Cooooeeee. My mama wouldn’t have liked that.”

“I’ll bet she’d have been the first to support it, son,” Ben told him. “Colonial ladies led the boycott of tea. A boycott is when people refuse to use something, as the colonists refused tea.”

“Did the fellows who threw the tea in the water get caught?”

“No, they escaped.” Ben smiled. “Actually, quite a crowd of spectators stood on the docks and watched them do it. And, I should add, there were quite a few other issues involved, but I doubt you need to know that today. You can learn that part another time.”

“When did all this happen, Uncle Ben?”

“Ninety years ago, in December of 1773. It was one of the first times that a colony took a stand against England, and some other colonies supported them.   That’s one reason it was so important. Within two years our Revolution began, and if they hadn’t stood together, you and I would be British subjects today.”

“Not me.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you, too. We wouldn’t be the United States of America.”

“And all that happened on account of the Boston Tea Party?”

“Well, the Tea Party was an important part of it.”

Madison sat back silently, considering what he’d learned. “Uncle Ben, history’s fun.”

“It certainly can be.”

“I like it, the way you do it.”

“Just remember—whatever you read in history books first happened to real, live people. That way, it’s not nearly so dry and dull.”

At that moment, Adam came through the door to the library. “Maddie, I think your mother’s looking for you.”

Madison slid off the chair. “Oh, okay. Thanks, Uncle Ben!” They heard his steps retreat through the hall and up the stairs.

Adam glanced down at the maps in front of his father and then said casually, “More nightmares?”

“No.” Ben sat back comfortably, peaceful for the moment. “No, history lessons.” Adam’s brows rose, but Ben chose to ignore his obvious inquiry. “Well, what do you say we head home before long?”

“Any time, Pa. I think we’re about done for this trip.”

“I was thinking that, too. Aubrey has everything under control and there’s no real reason to remain any longer.” He chuckled. “I imagine Hoss and Joe would figure we’ve had our fun.”

“Yeah.” Adam seemed to debate whether to question his father, but again said nothing and Ben volunteered no information. “Okay. Well, then, I’ll book passage. Tomorrow all right with you?”

“Fine, son.”
 
 

Adam found Julia in the morning room and let her know that they’d be leaving on the morrow.

“We’ll miss you!” she exclaimed. “I knew it had to come soon, but truly, Adam, it’s been especially fun having you this time. Would you like me to see if Lily will dine with us tonight? She and your father did seem to become friends.”

Unprepared for the suggestion, Adam hoped his face didn’t reflect his hesitation. “Oh, I don’t know, Julia. Why don’t we just keep it family?”

He could tell that she was surprised by his answer, but she only looked at him thoughtfully and didn’t pursue it. “That’s fine. Let me just go and tell Samuel.”

Adam turned to follow her, only to find Michaela standing in the doorway as her mother passed. “You’re going tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes.” He studied her face. “I’m sorry. I’ll miss our time together.”

“Me, too.” She met his gaze bravely. “I’m not going to pout or whine.”

“Or sulk?”

“That either.”

“Good girl.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. “What about it, one last ride this afternoon?”

“I’d like that.”

They went back to the hill where they’d taken Lily’s horses. It was an overcast day, with the breeze whirling around them in fits and starts. Far below them, they could see whitecaps on the bay. The temperature was dropping, and neither felt like dismounting; they just sat and watched a large ship coming in through the Golden Gate, its full complement of sails extended in the wind. Even in the distance, they could see the graceful way its long, majestic bow sliced through the water.

“It’s splendid,” Michaela breathed. “Is it a clipper?”

“Yes. Technically, a medium clipper.”

She grinned. “How do you know that?”

“I grew up with a father who was a seaman.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “And I happen to know she’s the Glory of the Seas, due in this afternoon. We’re shipping timber on her when she goes out.”

“Well, it’s—she’s—beautiful.”

“That she is.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

He was silent for a minute. Resting with his elbow on the saddle horn, he’d simply been enjoying his time with her. He hadn’t stopped to think that tomorrow, and the next day and the next, he wouldn’t have it. He sent her a small, private smile. “I’m going to miss you, too, sweetheart.”

“I’m glad we’re coming to the wedding. It’s easier to think that I’ll see you in a month rather than waiting till next year, or whenever you come back.”

“A month from now, I’ll be showing you the Ponderosa.”

“That’ll be fun. Mama says we have to do our studies before we’re allowed to play, but I’ll make sure I’m quick.” She paused and added as an afterthought, “Of course, I know you’ll have to work.”

“Nope. Not while you’re there. Or at least, we won’t be working full schedules.” At her surprised look, he continued with a crooked smile, “What? Work, while my best girl’s in town?”

Michaela’s face flushed with pleasure.

He picked up Trifle’s reins. “Now, come on. It’s getting cold, and we’ve got next month to ride together. Let’s surprise your mother by getting home on time.”

She giggled and spun Fashion before he knew what she was doing. “Beat you to the corner!” she cried.

Left flat-footed, Adam jerked Trifle around and squeezed her hard with his legs, but fleet as the grey mare was, they couldn’t catch Michaela. Down the hill, across the meadow, out to the road and down to the intersection by the big oak tree—the child was there before him, laughing uproariously.

“We won! We won! We beat you!”

“Finally. It stands to reason you had to win once.”

“And don’t you dare try to tell me you let us win!”

Adam shook his head ruefully. He’d been going to do just that. “No, you won fair and square. Good riding.” He came up beside her and they let the horses walk to cool down before they got home.

“When I visit, I want to ride Sport.”

“No. Not on your life.”

“Yes. I’ll talk you into it.”

“No.”

“I’ll earn it.”

“We’ll see.”

“I knew you’d give in.”
 
 

It was late when Ben came upstairs to bed. He, Adam, Julia and Aubrey had sat up talking, reminiscing already about their visit and making plans for Hoss’ wedding. He was tired when he finally reached his room and he hoped that would mean he could sleep.

The trunk had been filled and removed, and he’d already packed his carpetbag. Only his nightshirt and his suit, shirt and socks for the next day were out. He crossed to the window and flung up the lower sash, enjoying the cool night air. The lamps of a few houses shown in the darkness and the moon—that deceptively romantic moon—was brilliant in the heavens.

It was time to go home. He missed the sharp scent of the pines and the dry sun on his face. Most of all, he longed for the wide, vivid image of Lake Tahoe in the morning light. And as much as he enjoyed the pampered ease of Aubrey’s household, he was more than ready for the simpler comfort of the Ponderosa. He missed saddling his own horse and riding till he was exhausted, and he yearned for the satisfaction of doing a full day’s labor, bending every muscle to carve out a way of life … his way of life.

It was always like this, he realized; the last night in San Francisco, he always wished for home. The elegant food and gracious entertainment were all very well—who wouldn’t enjoy that sort of thing occasionally? But it was not what counted.

He tried not to think too much about what he would be leaving behind. It wouldn’t do to reckon his time on this trip lost … What was it, a lesson learned? Lily had said all of life was a balance between strengths and fears. Strength, he reflected, was a funny thing; you think you have it, and then you don’t. Or perhaps—you think don’t have it … and then you find out that you do. The trouble was, you just never knew until the time came.

He put down the window and went to bed.
 
 

The wind was blowing across the hills of San Francisco when they were ready to leave. The trunk had been sent on to the boat and the landau stood before the Van Dine house, Roland and Caesar tossing their heads to be off. There was not a cloud in the sky, and in the distance, Ben could see the choppy waters of the bay. The scene was so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at it.

Amazing, he thought. Despite the yawning void in his life, he stood ramrod straight, and there was not a moment of doubt in him—such a far cry from how he’d felt when he’d arrived. Now he could feel his own energy roiling within him. He was by no means happy. In fact, just the thought of leaving the city without Lily made his stomach churn. But a deep-seated anger, a strength in itself, drove him forward. He wasn’t angry with her; he could never be angry with her, despite his disappointment that she did not have the courage to test their love. It was that something inside him rebelled against his former uncertainty with all the force of his character. He knew who he was once more, and he was never giving up that knowledge again.

“Pa? You ready?” Adam was watching him with interest.

“What? Yes, of course.” Ben turned to Julia and enfolded her in his arms. “Julia,  it’s been a wonderful visit. And we’ll expect you at the Ponderosa for Hoss’ wedding.”

“Count on us.”

Julia’s eyes had misted over. Ben wondered fleetingly what was causing the tears; as far as she knew, this departure was no different from any of his others. But there wasn’t time to dwell on it. He shook Aubrey’s hand while Adam kissed Julia’s cheek.

“G’bye, Uncle Ben! G’bye, Adam!” Madison’s shrill voice rang out from the porch. Even Ted, normally so shy, waved heartily, his eyes blinking earnestly behind his spectacles.

“Good bye, Madison! Ted, Mickey! Behave yourselves, and I’ll see you soon!” Ben called back, and added softly, “Good kids …”

“They are, that,” Adam agreed as he held the carriage door for his father. Ben had just settled in his seat when Adam turned back. He looked up at the porch, where Michaela stood quietly, gazing down at him. A little smile curled on his lips. Without a word, he stepped past Aubrey and took the stairs two at a time, stopping three down from the top, eye-level with Michaela. For a moment, they just stared at each other, and then slowly, the little girl’s face brightened, her eyes beginning to shine. Adam covered the last few steps in a leap, catching her up in his arms and swinging her around, her skirts billowing away from them and their laughter carrying like music down to the street.

Ben etched into memory the picture of his son with the little girl. What an unlikely, but beautiful, friendship they had. … He relaxed in his seat, wondering if he would ever see a more satisfying sight.

Then Adam came back down the steps, shook hands with Aubrey and swung up into the carriage. The vehicle rocked suddenly as Doyle called to the horses and they lunged forward in unison. They trotted up Clay Street to Mason, turned right and started out across the top of the hill, the sound of their wheels rumbling on the cobblestones.

Through the window on the left side of the landau, Ben watched the houses drift by on Clay, then across his vision as the carriage made the turn. He had to get used to this; it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t be coming back. Lily’s great brownstone was there … silent, with no activity. As he watched, Hannah Trask came out of the front door and started across the porch. Then they were past and it was gone. He did not turn around to look again.