First I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews and apologize for the delay in finishing posting this. About two years ago, mid-posting, I started a new job that took all my focus for a while. A few months ago I tried to continue posting this story, but my email address had expired due to lack of use, so I couldn't access my account. I emailed support for help numerous times over the months but never received a reply, so the only thing I could think of was to open a new account and start over. I did email them to let them know what I was doing and to ask for other suggestions. Anyway, I will post the first parts of the story over the next couple of days so it will all be in one place, then I will begin posting the remaining sections. Again, thank you to everyone who left me feedback for your kindness, patience, and support.

I actually started this story right after "The Rubicon", so I have been working on it for at least two years - probably longer, but I won't depress myself by counting. I stopped to write "Love's Labours", then "Dragon Dance", then "WHN Vengeance" and any number of chains and other projects in between. It required such an endless and tedious amount of research at every turn that I almost gave it up numerous times, so no one is more surprised than myself to see it finally finished.

A few things you should know: since this is a piece of Bonanza fanfiction and has no pretensions as a work of historical fiction, where Bonanza history and American history clash, I have been true to Bonanza history. Where no Bonanza history was established, I have been faithful to American history. The incident that takes place in Fernley, PA in the story is based on an actual occurrence in a real mining town, and Ben's chapter titles are borrowed from Robin Lister's translation of Homer's "The Odyssey". References to the Marie/Adam history are based on Vicki Christian's vision as shown in her lovely stories. For those who like to know such things, I assume Ben as about 25 when he married Elizabeth. The rest is pretty easy to figure out from there.

The list of people I owe thanks to is almost as long as the story itself. Special thanks to Thomas T. Taber, Administrator of the Railroad Historical Resource Center in Pennsylvania, who, in answer to my question of how long it would take to get from St. Louis to Boston by train in 1851, told me that the only way to get there was to combine train and steamship travel and worked out two potential routes for me, then sent me copies of actual period timetables. They were more than helpful. Many thanks also to Gwynne Logan, my tireless editor, not only for her keen editing work, but for her inspiration regarding Adam's "adult toys" - I now cannot imagine the story without them; to Vickie Batzka, who asked to see what some of Adam's and Abel's old correspondence looked like; to Liz Sisson, for her faithful research into Pennsylvania coal country; to Jenny Guttridge for lending me her silver and ivory teething ring, introduced in "Peace on the Ponderosa"; to Debby Warren, for her encouraging beta work; and to the group who read along and kept asking "How's "Odyssey" coming?" You never have to ask again. L.B.

ODYSSEY

By Lissa Brown

(October 2002)

ILLINOIS

Blown by the Winds

"Beautiful country, isn't it?"

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

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

The man accepted the proffered hand. "Ben Cartwright. Yes. It is."

"Travelling on business, Mr. Cartwright?"

"Personal business."

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

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

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

"Yes." Ben nodded. "Me too."

"Then you've passed through Illinois before?"

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

"My, that's a long time not to see family!"

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

"My! Harvard! Your son must be very bright!"

"Very." He smiled faintly. "Very bright."

"Still, it must be hard to have him so far away."

Ben nodded silently.

"Is he your only son?"

"No. I have three. Two younger boys at home in Utah Territory."

"Utah! You've traveled a long way already."

Ben nodded again. "It'll be faster now. On the steamboat. And the train."

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

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

Mrs. Chambers didn't think it was her he was trying to convince. "Is your other boy graduating?"

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

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

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

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

"His mother is dead."

She blanched. "I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I beg your pardon?"

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

"You married again, then. After your first wife died."

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

"The one who is fifteen."

He smiled. "You're a good listener."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ain't nothing special fer me ta do here."

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

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

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

Hoss looked at him guardedly. "Uh-huh."

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

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

Hoss nodded numbly. He swallowed his tears. "Pa - what if Adam - "

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

But he was a fool. Because he knew nothing of the kind.

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

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

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

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

"…all right? Mr. Cartwright?"

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

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

He smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I'm poor company."

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

He gazed at her, bemused. "Mrs. Chambers - "

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

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

TBC