Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


Smile

by faust

The memorial service was long. Far too long for her liking, even if it was held in honour of her father and two brothers—and the many other men who'd died in the horrid cave-in at the Silver Dollar Mine a week ago.

It seemed that nearly all of Virginia City's inhabitants were attending the service, and being the one who had suffered the biggest loss (as if one could measure the magnitude of grief by doing a head-count), she had been in the center of attention of nearly everyone. She had received well-meant handshakes from people she barely knew, kind but meaningless words of consolation, delivered in that clumsy way people have around those in mourning, and—looks. Pitiful looks, prying looks, taxing looks. More looks than Virginia City ever had bothered to spare her, an insignificant girl living an insignificant life on an insignificant patch of land.

She lifted her eyes from her hands, to where they had been locked from the beginning of the service, to look straight into Adam Cartwright's smiling face, just opposite on the other side of the aisle. He smiled—at her. She blinked, hardly believing that he actually smiled. At her. He smiled that warm, crooked smile of his, that made most of the town's girls' hearts skip a beat. But not hers. Not today. She looked down at her hands again, and then, on sudden impulse, back to him, at that smile; and she felt the corner of her mouth twitching.

Her eyes went down in a split second.

And then it was over. The priest had made his speeches, the parishioners had sung the hymns, spoken their prayers, said the eternal words Jesus himself had given us, and received the blessing. Now they were standing in row to give their condolences.

She didn't dare look into their faces: she didn't need more looks. She didn't listen to the words: she didn't need more platitudes. She concentrated on the hands she shook. Old hands, young hands, work worn, garbled hands, soft hands, male, female. And then a tanned, slender, long fingered hand, accompanied by a dark, tender voice.

"Smile, Carole."

Confused, irritated even, she looked up into his face: Adam was smiling again.

"What?"

"Smile. Crying won't bring them back, y'know."

"Smiling won't bring them back, either." She nearly spat it into his smiling face.

"No. But it will bring you back."

Me? She held his gaze and read in his eyes. He knew what he talking about, he'd been there.

Her smile was small and weak. But he smiled back, encouragingly, and finally the spark even reached her eyes.

She still smiled when she came back home. And when, at seeing the empty chairs at the kitchen-table, everything crushed down on her yet again, she still kept the smile through her tears. Me.

Many years later, when it was made known that Ben Cartwright had passed away, Carole put on her Sunday best and went to attend the funeral. It was a large gathering; many, many people wanted to bide the Old Man from the Ponderosa goodbye. As a complete outsider, Carole was among the last in the line to give her condolence. Her handshake was soft and steady, her smile was genuine, and she sought to hold his gaze.

"Smile, Adam."

He frowned at her, and then his eyes widened in surprised recognition and his grip tightened around her hand.

And Adam Cartwright smiled.

***fin***