CHAPTER ONE
Ben Cartwright sighed, his thoughts drifting along with the balmy night air that carried the fragrance of honeysuckle from the north and the sweet smell of sage from the west. Stars dotted the blue-black sky, winking at the earth as she settled her daytime symphony of life and prepared for her nighttime celebration. A simple, short puff on his reed-stemmed pipe released a hazy cloud of sweet-smelling smoke that mingled lazily with the rich odors already present. Nearby, the crunch and snap of tiny feet against the thirsty underbrush announced the arrival of a critter of the dark foraging for his next tasty morsel. Behind him, muffled footsteps brushing over the floorboards announced the imminent arrival of another Cartwright struggling with insomnia on that warm summer evening. Ben turned to see his eldest son, Adam, illuminated by the twinkling stars, clad in his black pants and slippers, as he approached the empty porch chair next to his own.
"Can't sleep, son?"
"Haven't tried just yet. I've been reading," he replied as he rotated his stiff, muscled right shoulder. "Thought I'd get a little fresh air before I turned in."
Adam plopped heavily into the old wooden rocker and propped his slippered feet, ankles crossed, atop the edge of the rain barrel. "You?"
"I've just been enjoying the relaxing night sounds."
"And a few puffs of your favorite tobacco, I see."
Ben lifted the ornate clay pipe, regarded it affectionately and nodded as he placed the tip in his mouth. Adam smiled, remembering the day years ago when he, Hoss and Joe had presented the pipe to Ben on his birthday. Now, he watched as his father inhaled deeply and then blew several billowy smoke rings, a feat that in years past had never failed to earn giggles from Little Joe and sounds of awe from Hoss. The first ring floated effortlessly, drawn upward by the slight breeze. It shone eerily in the moonlight, the ring's dance pulling and shifting until its shape was an abstract version of the breath that created it. A soft chuckle crept from Adam's mouth as he recalled another day years ago when, alone in the house, he'd tried smoking the pipe, determined to replicate Ben's smoke-ring performances. Adam had removed the pipe from its box, filled the chamber with tobacco and only then remembered he'd forgotten to bring a match. He'd carefully set the pipe on the table next to its box, run to the kitchen for a match and returned, his pulse racing with anticipation. After striking the match with ease, he'd lifted the pipe to his mouth and touched flame to tobacco. One very large inhale later, Adam had choked and sputtered as he ran out back to empty the evidence of his failed attempt to emulate his father. He hadn't been caught, nor had he ever tried the pipe again. And now, that night, as he once again watched his father's execution of the art, Adam was reminded that although he felt that he and his father were very much alike in many respects, they were each unique, their talents varied.
The creaking of the front door interrupted the moment. Joe, dressed in his night pants, his thick, wavy hair uncharacteristically disheveled, lumbered toward his father and eldest brother, scratching his head and gradually focusing his droopy eyes.
"Can't sleep?" Adam quoted the obvious.
"Real observant, Older Brother," Joe mumbled sarcastically as he dropped down heavily into the only empty chair.
"Hoss is snorin' somethin' awful tonight! The sound cuts plum through the walls! Pa, we gotta get thicker walls," he whined, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.
Adam snorted as he rocked backward, balancing on the very back of the rocker runners, his hands clasped behind his neck.
"It's not funny! You try sleepin' in the room next to him. One night, I had my pillow jammed so far into my ear I fell outta bed tryin' ta pull it out!" Joe complained.
Luckily for Adam, he was able to right the tipped chair before his laughter tossed him off balance.
Ben's face shone as he grinned, shaking his head at the thought of Doc Martin being summoned to remove a pillow from his son's ear. As he took one last puff from his pipe, a slight breeze temporarily cooled the humid air on the porch. Ben looked at the old oil lamp hanging near the barn door as it swung from left to right with the gust of air. A large, low hanging branch swayed back and forth into the open road leading from the Ponderosa. His memory flashed to a night six months ago. A night he'd spent on the same porch, longing for Adam to ride into the yard and wish him a happy birthday. A night spent praying that his son was alive and would soon come home.
Adam's return from his three-year-trek had been anything but the joyous occasion Ben, as well as his sons, had dreamed about. Instead, he'd found his way back to the Ponderosa by chance, with no memory of his past, no recollection of his name or his family, and injuries, both physical and mental, that would require time and endless patience to heal.
Ben's heart ached for his eldest son. Having struggled through and survived the loss of three beloved wives, he'd become a master at disguising loneliness, paralyzing sadness and the agonizing guilt of survival. Watching Adam over the past months, Ben recognized, maybe more than Adam himself, the deep, unending love Adam had for the young woman who'd tragically perished in the orphanage fire. Just as painful to observe were Adam's eyes as they turned cold, almost dead, when he spoke of the three children who'd so deeply touched his life and then vanished along with the woman in the flames.
And now here they were, six months later. Adam, Hoss, and Joe, together under the same roof, still sharing tales and tragedies but most importantly, healing the miseries and pain of the past few years.
As the breeze caressed his cheeks, deep-seated guilt washed over Ben. During Adam's absence, he'd unknowingly allowed his depression to overwhelm him. As he looked back on those months, he thought of Hoss and Joe, faced with the possible loss of their brother. Ben's sadness had given them a father weakened, nearly crushed by his refusal to cope with the trauma of a missing son. And although, at the time, no one had known of Adam's plight, the knowledge that he had endured such a trauma and struggled against the odds to regain his memory and return home now left Ben feeling ashamed. Humbled by few things in life, his conclusion that he'd failed all of his sons during that time was a disgrace that could only be healed by his own heart's capacity to love.
Lost in thought, Ben was jolted to reality when Joe's continuing descriptions of Hoss's nightly torment sent Adam into a fit of laughter the likes of which hadn't been heard on the Ponderosa in years. Watching as his eldest and youngest sons shared the moment was precious to Ben, and his glum façade was quickly transformed into a contagious belly-laugh that carried across the yard like a comforting spring downpour.