What would have happened if Mary never contracted scarlet fever and lost her sight—but still met Adam? DISCLAIMER: I don't own any part (sigh) of Little House.

"All aboard!"

The conductor's voice rang out across the dazzling blue sky enveloping the bustling train station. Fifteen-year-old Mary Ingalls Barton turned to her parents and younger sisters, filled with both apprehension and excitement.

"Well, this is it," Mary said, biting her lower lip, her blue eyes shining with anticipation. She was traveling to Dakota Territory to meet her husband, Seth Barton, who now owned a homestead and had thrilled Mary when he announced that was where they would begin their new life together. After the wedding, he had traveled out alone to settle things while Mary finished earning her teaching degree. Although now, that didn't matter… Mary thought it would be fun to be a teacher, but she knew her life still held great things in store for her.

This wasn't the first time she had been on a train, but she would be traveling alone. Her stomach twisted at the thought. Who would she sit next to? And what if she made a dreadful mistake, like getting off at the wrong stop?

Charles wrapped his eldest daughter in a hug. "You'll always be my little girl," he whispered fondly. Mary smiled and kissed him. "I sure hope so."

Next she said goodbye to Caroline, who sent her off with a package of ham sandwiches and a heartfelt kiss on the cheek.

Laura was the hardest, though, Mary realized, as she ran her hand over her spunky sister's auburn braids. She would miss sharing a bed in the loft, whispering secrets and laughing at the silly things they'd done when they were little.

Both of their eyes moistened with tears as they bid farewell.

"Good luck," Laura said. "And don't forget to write."

"I will," Mary smiled. "Every day."

"All aboard!" the conductor called again, and Mary grabbed her bag and scurried up the metal stairs into the number three train compartment. She looked back one last time to see her family waving as she rode away.

Nervously, she took a deep breath. The train was loud and smelly, and there weren't many spare seats. Finally, she chose an empty one a few aisles down, next to the window. She pulled out a book and her glasses, and soon she forgot all about the train as she lost herself in its rich pages.

She glanced up just in time to see a train attendant talking to a young man with wavy brown hair and laughing blue eyes. She marked her place in her book and took off her glasses.

"Here, why don't you take this seat. Right by a window, and a lil' lady there, too. Pretty lil' thing, if I do say so myself."

She shifted uncomfortably, not exactly thrilled that she was receiving a riding partner. But the train was pretty full, and the man looked nice enough. Handsome, even. He settled himself into his seat as the attendant walked on. Mary uncertainly considered speaking first, wondering if, being a married woman now, it was improper.

But luckily, he initiated the conversation. "Well, hello there. Guess we're stuck with each other for the trip." Humor flecked his eyes—which, she noticed, were oddly focused somewhere between her neck and left shoulder—and Mary knew that he was joking. And at least he was friendly.

"Hi," she replied. "I'm Mary Barton. Where are you heading?"

"Adam Kendall. I'm on my way to Winoka—Dakota Territory—to open an academy for the blind."

"Oh! I'm going to Dakota, too. So you're a teacher?" She suddenly took it all in—his eyes, his mannerisms, his fingers resting lightly on his cane. Pity entered her gaze, and she had the odd sensation he could feel it. She blushed.

"Yes. It's very rewarding."

She smiled. "I can imagine. I actually enjoyed studying for my test."

He laughed, and for some reason, the sound made her stomach flip again—only this time in a good way. She tried not to think about how Seth's laugh never made her feel that way. "It's a passion, not just a profession," Adam continued.

She didn't know quite how to respond after that. Once again, her stomach ached with a raw yearning to teach. If only a woman could balance a home and a career!

Awkwardly, she found herself staring at Adam. She couldn't imagine what it was like to be blind. How horrible! She wondered if he saw only blackness, or simply nothing at all. If he used to have sight, or if he had been blind from birth. How he managed. How he seemed so full of life and unafraid. There was something admirable about it, really. But she deemed it extremely impolite to ask.

He smirked, as though reading her mind. "Go ahead, Mary. Ask. It was an accident when I was ten years old."

Her face burned with color. "I, uh, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine. A lot of people are curious."

"I know, I just—I didn't want to be rude."

He leaned forward in his seat, but the sudden jerking of the train threw him back. "But I'm used to it. Really. I mean, it was nine years ago. I've come to be pretty accepting. And besides…" he sighed, "I'm happy." His voice was wistful, as though he wasn't sure whom he was convincing.

"Well," she declared, ready to change the subject. "I'm starving." She pulled out the paper-wrapped sandwiches from her bag, then looked up at him. "Did you bring anything?" Without waiting for a response, she continued, "No matter. My ma packed more than enough. Try one, they're good."

He reached toward her, and she placed the ham sandwich in his palm. Something pleasant shivered down her spine as their fingertips touched.

She watched his fingers, thin and quick, travel assuredly across the paper. After he had peeled it off, she opened her own as butterflies danced guiltily in her chest.

Again, that knowing smirk flashed across his face. She fiddled with the thin ring on her fourth finger, wishing Seth were here. She was terribly awkward at making conversation with strangers. She was never impolite—just unsure of herself. Taking a bite of her sandwich, she had a feeling this was going to be a long ride.

Adam drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the worn arm of his seat. "Well, you know about me. What's your life story, Mary Barton?"

She swallowed her bite of ham and bread while pondering the question. "Nothing that exciting, really. I was raised in a small town, Walnut Grove, here in Minnesota. I planned to be a teacher, but last month I got married. That's why I'm going to Dakota Territory—Seth bought a homestead."

"Oh." He lowered his sandwich. Stupid, stupid, stupid! he silently chastised. Why wouldn't a girl as nice as her be married? And how would you have a chance, anyway?

Mary suddenly felt she had said something wrong, and she talked quickly to reverse the unknown effect.

"What about you—where's your home?"

But that question didn't ease the tension, either. His tone was strained. "Uh, New York. But then I went to school in Iowa, where I also became a teacher. I took the train here, to Minnesota, first because it's actually a shorter ride going to Winoka. With trip schedules and all that."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense." She fidgeted, her sandwich now gone. She picked up her book and flipped through the pages, savoring the wafted scent of glue mingling with stale ink.

His head followed the sound. "What are you reading?"

Her gaze, clouded with perplexed surprise, rose at his words. "How did—"

Adam's tone told Mary he was laughing at her, and enjoying it all the while. "I'm not deaf, you know. And I've always loved the smell of a nice, old book."

"Oh. Me too." She turned the cover over. "It's Paradise Lost, by John Milton."

He grinned. "One of my favorites."

Again, the surprise. "You've read it?"

He shook his head, pulling a stack of heavy, seemingly blank paper out of his bag. "Oh, Mary. When will you ever learn that there's more than one way to see?"

After that, there was no more awkwardness, and they talked the rest of the afternoon and as late as they could into the night. They were what Mary's pa would have called "kindred spirits;" they read each other's minds, and spoke the other's words. When the light in the compartment decreased, the warmth did, too. Upon hearing Mary's shivers, Adam passed her his brown jacket. She fell asleep peacefully, draped with the scent of sweet-smelling soap and a hint of hot cinnamon.

When she awoke, he was gone. Panic beating against her heart, she looked fervently for him from her seat. He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye, would he? She now considered them friends. Cold relief drenched her fears as he finally appeared from the water closet, his nimble fingers counting the seats he passed.

"Scared me," she said as he sat down. "I thought the train had stopped and you'd left."

He shook his head. "We still have about twenty minutes. And good morning."

"Good morning, yourself. Want another sandwich?"

He nodded, and as she handed him his breakfast he brushed against the smooth coldness of her wedding ring. It smothered most of his happiness remaining from the previous afternoon.

"Thanks," he said weakly. He tried to imagine her smile. He wondered what color her hair, her eyes, were. It was hard to keep his fingers focused on the sandwich, and not straying over to her face.

She pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing a letter to Seth, although she knew she would be seeing him very soon. Sometimes, writing letters was just comforting to her. But after "How are you?" there seemed to be nothing left to write.

Stop it, she scolded herself. You love Seth. You two are going to have the perfect life together!

As perfect as Adam made you feel yesterday? a little voice countered.

Shut up. We've just been apart for awhile. I'll feel differently when I see him within the hour. Now, I'm done. Goodbye.

But after she had snapped back into the real world, she crumpled the letter, letting it fall to the ground. It was almost as painful as finishing it.

Adam sighed as the train rumbled into the station and the tires screeched against the massive weight. Their ride ended with a painful jolt. Mary handed him his jacket, and he thanked her.

"For wonderful company, and for two even more wonderful ham sandwiches," he joked, picking up his bag.

"You can thank my ma for that," she smiled, moving closer to him. His fingers fluttered, grasping her elbow. Together, they walked onto the sun-streaked platform.

"Mr. Adam Kendall?" an older man in a gray suit asked.

"The one and only," Adam replied.

"I'm Mr. Ames, the administrator for the new blind school. Welcome to Dakota."

"Thank you, sir, it's good to be here," Adam smiled, shaking his hand.

Meanwhile, Mary scanned the crowd for Seth. He bounded up to her, his brown hair flying behind him in the wind. He kissed her softly.

"Oh, Mary, I can't believe you're really here."

Adam, still talking to Mr. Ames, stiffened.

"Me neither, Seth," she whispered. "Me neither."

"Come on. I can't wait to show you home. Oh, Mary, it's perfect. Absolutely perfect."

"Alright, darling. Bye, Adam. Good luck."

"You too, Mary." And with that, she was gone, leaving only an irrevocable, perpetual loneliness searing his chest.

By the time Mary and Seth were halfway to the homestead, she realized she could still smell the lingering scent of cinnamon and sweet soap. And it was perfect.

Their crop was good that year, as were many more after that. Mary gave birth to two beautiful baby boys, and every day she reminded herself how blessed she was. How much love she was given by her husband and children.

But every day, she remembered that train ride, remembered the perfect Adam Kendall. And every time, she wished she could erase the biggest mistake of her life.