It's Just a Year - The Quiet of Uncertainty - A Lesson in Strength

by MissjudyK

After hearing about Adam's ill-fated gunfight at age 16, neighbors assume the worst and begin stopping by to offer their condolences. He may still be alive, but a Dr. has said there is no hope and he will pass in time. Still, the Cartwrights never give up and make Adam's days as normal as possible. A familiar character makes her first appearance to help.

This is the fourth in the It's Just a Year series. The first three are

It's Just a Year - He Said What!

It's Just a Year -The Castor Oil Caper

It's Just A Year – The Worst of Consequences. There's no need to read these to enjoy this story though.

A brief recap of what's happened so far:

One - Adam was preparing to leave for school in Boston when Marie died, leaving Ben floundering. He's regaining his focus and asks Adam to delay his departure for one more year. Adam is not happy, but after some soul-searching, he realized that he owes his father the time for many reasons, and stays home willingly.

In the second story, Adam is struggling with becoming one of the drovers. He's being hazed to prove that he's not a tattle tale, going home to daddy with his problems. Ben has worked out a way to get the ranch back on track, but it involves Adam splitting his time between the herd and home. On one return home, he finds Hoss sick from overeating, and ends up embarrassing his younger brother in front of the girl he's sweet on. Hoss retaliates by lacing the syrup on Adam's pancakes with castor oil to give him a "taste of his own medicine."

Three: After surviving the deadly castor oil incident, Adam finds that life is getting better, and all but one of the drovers have accepted him as one of them. Randall, the new crew member threatens Adam and tells him that he's going to kill one of the Cartwrights – just for the fun of it, and it can either be Adam or Ben. Adam suspects this might be another hazing attempt so he goes behind his father's back to take a spare pistol and face Randall in a gunfight. The last paragraphs of that story are used below as the prologue.

Prologue: These are the final paragraphs of the story leading into The Quiet of Uncertainty

News of the day's event had spread like wildfire through the crew and they looked up as Adam passed, giving him silent nods of understanding. They knew that the Cartwright family operated under a more rigid set of principles than most of their family's had, and they had no idea how bad a time Young Cartwright was in for.

Out of earshot, Ben exploded, "How dare you disobey me and put your life at risk?"

The young man met his father's ferocity head on. "I had no other choice."

Ben began pacing. "There are always options. You know that!" He shook his head and repeated, "You know that, Adam!"

"Most times there are. I made a choice, even if it wasn't the one you would have made, because.…" He didn't know how to say what he needed to without hurting his father more. "I had you shoot with me, and you were too slow, Pa. I knew you would never draw in time to take a shot. Randall was a gunfighter. He knew he could outdraw you… Even I could."

Ben's eyes were ablaze with anger, but they softened for a moment. "I tried to tell you the other day that speed isn't everything. It can be in a real gunfight, but from what Hugh told me, this man wasn't really what you thought he was. If you'd trusted me enough to tell me your concerns about my being too slow or old and feeble…whatever your fears were…I could have helped you figure that out."

"That's all hindsight, and everything makes more sense that way. Joe said something the other day that explains this. After I told him what all 'might have happened' when he fell in the water, he said he couldn't think of all that, because all he wanted to do was to catch a frog and did what he needed to do. I did what I needed to do too."

The anger returned. "Since when do you take advice from a five-year-old, and when did it become the right thing to lie and go behind my back?"

Adam was truly Ben's son, and he didn't back down. "I had to do it because you wouldn't listen to me. I told you I might need a gun to kill a wild animal. Randall was a wild animal and I had to at least try to save you from him just as surely as I would have stopped an animal from attacking Hoss or Little Joe." He had to sit down on a nearby rock. The shakiness he'd felt earlier was back and his heartbeat was throbbing in his neck and temple as sweat poured from his face and further wet the clothing under his jacket. With effort, he was able to complete his thoughts. "Hoss and Little Joe have already lost their mothers. They couldn't lose you too. If Randall was intent on killing one of us, it had to be me, and I prayed that I'd be good enough for that one moment to save us all."

Ben took a good look at his son, noting the rivulets of sweat running from his forehead, and wondered why he'd swayed briefly before sitting down. "How badly are you hurt, Adam? Hugh implied it only tore your skin."

"A flesh wound in my right should…" Adam's eye rolled as he slid down the rock onto his back, unable to stay sitting.

Ben rushed over while removing his neckerchief to dab away the moisture from the boy's face. He chuckled softly. "You never were one to like the talk of blood." He began to unbutton Adam's jacket for a look at the damage, and hollered toward camp for a lantern.

The group came running with Hugh in the lead. Ben and the foreman gasped as the lamplight revealed that Adam's clothing and jacket lining were drenched with dark red blood. The cloth covering the "nick" was soaked to saturation and when lifted, they found a steady flow of blood pulsing from a torn blood vessel.

"I thought you said it was a scratch!" Ben roared at Hugh.

"I swear it didn't even bleed at first. Maybe it got worse with him moving around."

Adam remained silent while still alert enough to realize there was a serious problem. He reached for his father's arm, holding on tightly. "Pa, you always took care of me; this time I wanted..."

Ben rested his shaking hand on his son's cheek. "Adam, I understand. Let's just get you fixed up. We'll carry you to the wagon and get that bleeding stopped. That's all you need worry about now."

"I can walk there." His strength built for the effort as used his good arm to push up on the rock behind him while several of the crew rushed over to support his ascent. He smiled when he was upright. "See?" The smile left along with the brief color that had risen in his cheeks with physical exertion. His head spun as the truth of Randall's earlier words whispered in his ear: "It don't matter… the kid's dead anyway." He spoke his torment through a final heavy sigh, "I'm sorry, Pa…" as he crumbled to the ground and entered unending darkness.

It's Just a Year

The Quiet of Uncertainty – A Lesson in Patience

"Thank you Mrs., ah…Mrs."

"Yarborough, Mr. Cartwright, Harriet Yarborough and my husband is Clem. Remember I said how we live at the boarding house. Clem would'a come with me today but he's helping to build a house for them two ladies who live there with us; the one of them teaches kids."

"So you said. Well, thank you again, Mrs. Yarborough. It was kind of you to stop out and bring us that wonderful cake."

"Just bein' neighborly at a time of sorrow, Mr. Cartwright. We was just sorry as all get out to hear about your son. He was a very nice young man and once helped Clem and me when we was stuck on the road with a missin' wheel." The woman's eye misted over as her bottom lip quivered. "It's just a shame what happens to good people. Ain't never the scoundrels who end up…"

Ben cut her off as he took her shoulders and turned her so she wouldn't see their ranch hand, Hank, coming out the kitchen door bearing the woman's towering cake to the wagon that was soon heading out to the camp." You should be leaving for home now, Mrs. Yarborough. I wouldn't want you on the roads after dark, and you know fast evening sets this time of year." Ben assisted Harriet up into her wagon once Hank had the cake out of sight, and bid her farewell. "Thank you again. I have many things I need attend to, so I will bid you adieu."

Hank came over to his boss as the woman pulled out of the yard. "I think I'm about ready to go, sir. Gotta say, I'm sorry over the situation, but the hands do appreciate all that home cookin'. Thanks for sending it our way."

"We're just glad it isn't going to waste. You go along and tell Hugh I'll ride out to check on things in few days."

Ben leaned against the hitch rail and sighed as the wagon left the yard. He had no idea how so many people, including so many he didn't even know, had heard about Adam and he wondered if the women of the territory had some sort of communication system that the men weren't aware of. Maybe it was a form of smoke signals they sent out the chimneys of their cook stoves. He smiled at the notion of those strong willed, pioneering females keeping each other informed through a series of gray puffs drifting skyward. The more reasonable explanation was that a few of the ranchers who'd helped with the cattle drive, had left camp the morning after Adam was shot and took the news home.

Ben was honestly amazed and humbled at the expressions of sorrow and wishes that had begun pouring in soon after the shooting—most often delivered in the form of food. He figured that edibles were considered the universal antidote to sadness. The greater the loss, the more food that was offered in tribute, and there had been so many casseroles, stews and bakery items delivered, that Hop Sing had soon run out of space and patience.

Most of the food offerings had come in the front door and gone out the back when the Cartwright cook sent them to the drovers at camp. He wanted no part of such gifts, feeling that he knew best what this family needed. There were no appetites in the house anyway: even Hoss had been reduced to nibbling at his food before pushing the plate away.

Ben leaned further back as his eyes were drawn upward toward the window above him—Adam's room—and the events of the past few days began to drive hot pokers into his heart once again.

He'd seen Adam at breakfast that last morning: that very ordinary morning when his son had been preparing to go help move the herd. Ben had a business meeting in town, and he'd planned to meet Adam out at camp later in the day. The boy had seemed fine when he'd left. But Adam had returned home once his father had gone too, and had taken the extra Colt pistol from under Ben's bed.

Hugh had met Ben when he'd arrived at camp that afternoon, with the news that Adam had been wounded in a gunfight. He'd laughed at Hugh, thinking he was joking, but as the foreman had laid out the details, Adam's betrayal had begun to burn in Ben's heart and gut. The boy had tricked him into practicing with the Colt to see who drew faster. The results of that experiment had convinced him to ignore his father's warnings, and he'd gone out to face a gunfighter alone.

Ben's chest clenched to the point of pain as he recalled Adam walking into camp with the full holster slung low on his hip in evidence of his disobedience. All he could think of at the time was how much his son was going to suffer for his lies and manipulation. He remembered thinking that if he'd heard that story about anyone but Adam, he would have thought it a cowardly act of going behind his father's back out of spite. It was only because it had been "this" young man that he'd listened closely as Adam had explained, and tried to understand why his son had acted so out of character.

Hugh had told Ben about the shooter, Randall: how he'd played an innocent young man into thinking there was only one way to save his pa and family. This had all added information needed for Ben's assessment of the situation; yet he hadn't been able to look past Adam's actions either. So he'd listened…after hollering, and his resolve had begun to soften in regards to the severity of the punishment. He wished Adam had come to him, but Ben had realized he would probably have handled the situation the same way when he'd been younger. Adam had been raised to "handle" things, and his oldest child had taken it upon himself to meet Randall head-on without telling anyone what had been bothering him. It was Adam's way; he was independent and brave in whatever he faced. His youthful invincibility had pushed him to the wrong decision this time, but Ben had decided that any punishment had to help Adam understand that seeking counsel in a case like this didn't indicate weakness.

None of his conclusions had mattered in the end. Adam had entered their discussion outside of camp seeming strongly opinionated and defensive—as Ben had expected he would. But had soon become pale, sweaty and so exhausted, he'd had to sit down. An involuntary shiver coursed from Ben's head to toe as he remembered what he'd seen as he'd opened the boy's coat to check the wound. Everything had been saturated with blood: dark red blood—so much blood that the thick white fleece lining of his coat had been dyed red with it. Adam had managed to stand one final time. The last words his son had spoken had been that he was sorry. Ben and Hugh had found a small nick on Adam's collar bone, and they'd assumed that it had splintered with the bullet's impact, and its rough edges had opened a blood vessel—probably as the boy had moved his arm while bringing the herd in. They'd cauterize the area, and that had stopped the bleeding. Their treatment had worked well, but it had been too late for it to matter.

Some of those who'd stopped by in the last two days had offered their "condolences." Someone hearing of the blood-soaked clothing and Adam's collapse had assumed the worst. Even Ben had an uneasy feeling that he might have witnessed his son's "death" in the cook-wagon at camp. He sighed and fought back the tears that were threatening to start again as he continued looking at the window above him. He faced the demon again that told him it was only his son's body in a bed up there, while his beloved Adam was already gone.

As they'd worked on him in camp, Adam had opened his eyes a last time and focused on his father. There'd been no fear: only a sad look that haunted Ben every time he'd closed his own eye since then. He'd used that bit of consciousness to tell his son of his love and pride in all that he'd done, and he'd ended with the encouragement not to worry: that everything would be fine. It had been his final parental lie: the kind a father tells his child to ease their fear. It was then that Adam's dark, amber-fired eyes had faded, taking his son's essence away while leaving a shell.

Ben looked down at his hands and began scrubbing them together. They'd been covered with Adam's blood by the time they'd finished that night, and he could still feel it there—warm and sticky with the life of his son.

To stem his misery, Ben went inside and made his way to Adam's side. He noted that his son's complexion matched the bleached cotton of the sheets that covered him. The wound had not bled further, but there probably hadn't been much left to escape, even if it had reopened.

Ben had sent for a doctor from Carson City, but after he'd examined the clothing Adam had worn—calculating how much blood had been lost to so thoroughly saturate them—he'd made the determination that the boy had no chance to recover. The doctor had said that there were signs of life evidenced by Adams heart continuing to beat, his breathing and even the fact that he'd sip water when a cup was held to his lips… But these were not signs of recovery. His explanation had been that the body has the ability to keep some functions going—to stay alive—even when the ability to "think' is dead.

Ben had witnessed that in battle. A wounded soldier had sometimes continued to "respond" even when there was a mortal injury. However, what Ben had seen as a soldier in the field, and what he could accept now as a father were two different things. Those men had been so horribly maimed that Ben had never questionedtheir deaths. But Adam had barely been injured. His body was perfect except for the small nick that had healed over already. He sat on the bed, and said Adam's name while gently shaking his shoulder. There was no response. The youngster looked peaceful as he always did when he was sleeping, and Ben petitioned heaven once again, asking that his son find his way home from the darkness. He remembered the doctor's parting words. The only encouragement he could give was to say, "Miracles are always possible." Ben hated platitudes, but in this case, he kept those words tucked in the shirt pocket over his heart. He'd adapted the doctor's words and breathed them now, "Where there's life, there's hope."

The tired father looked around the small room to find those things that gave witness to Adam's passions. There was a stack of paper on a shelf and Ben retrieved what must have been his son's first attempts at drawing the plans he'd presented to his father just a week ago when he'd told him that their house was too small. Part of the "business" Ben had seen to in town the day his son had been shot, had been to send the boy's renderings to an engineer in Sacramento, hoping to surprise Adam with construction specifications before he left for school. He'd also placed ads to find a lumbering crew to start hewing timber. Looking over Adam's rough drafts, Ben realized again what a talent the youngster had for... The truth was that he was pretty good at whatever he tried—with the exception of being a gunfighter. Ben's long-term plan had been to have the house finished by the time Adam returned from school in five years, knowing the college graduate would be excited at having a hand in defining the Ponderosa's imprint for years to come.

Ben spotted the crate of books from Boston tucked in the corner. A few tomes had been removed and were stacked neatly on the shelves, making him suspect that these were the books Adam had selected to review first. The boy was so organized in his thinking—always planning each step. That's what made all of what had happened so unbelievable. Ben knew Adam had considered each facet of what he'd done, applied logic and weighed all the options to decide how he'd go about it. In the end, his defeat had come from a rough edge of bone and a sense of obligation that wouldn't allow him to neglect his responsibility even after being wounded.

As Ben's focus widened, he realized that the house and yard seemed unnaturally quiet. He'd sent Hoss and Joe to Miss Jones despite the events at home, thinking they'd be better off away from the sadness hanging around the house like a shroud. They'd be home soon, but even then the house would remain unnaturally silent as the two younger brothers practically tiptoed and kept their voices hushed.

The stillness seemed to eat up the air in Adam's room until Ben thought he would suffocate. He diverted his attention by examining the books that Adam had set aside. After selecting a heavy text called, An Introduction to Earth Science, he pulled a chair next to the bed, and began to read aloud: "Typically Earth Scientists will use tools from physics, chemistry, biology, chronology and mathematics to build a quantitative understanding of how the Earth works. This comprehensive study will begin with an introduction to Geology: the study of the earth, the materials of which it is made, the structure of those materials, and the processes acting upon them…"

By the time he heard voices in the yard below, Ben had learned that James Hutton was viewed as the first modern geologist, and in 1785 he'd presented a paper entitled Theory of the Earth to the Royal Society of Edinburgh, explaining that the Earth must be much older than had been previously supposed. He'd also found out that the study of the materials of the earth could be traced back to ancient Greece.

He'd enjoyed reading to his son, and thought he'd seen a response, although couldn't actually describe what it had been. Maybe it was that Adam's expression had changed just a breath, or his complexion had brightened with a brush of pink…or maybe it was all in his own imagination. Whatever it was, it gave him hope and he resolved he would continue to read to him as often as he could.

The initial hours of uncertainty regarding Adam's condition had stretched on for more than a week. Although there seemed to be small changes, a visit from the doctor brought little encouragement.

Dr. Fredericks examined the patient, noting that while Adam's color was better, there was little else to indicate improvement. He gave his assessment matter-of-factly: "This is a very odd case, Mr. Cartwright. The damage caused by the gunshot was so minimal that he should have made a speedy recovery…if only he'd noticed the bleeding sooner…" He'd sighed deeply. "But he lost so much blood… He was a strong, healthy boy; I can see that…and in some ways that makes this sort of thing much worse."

Ben's eyebrows knit in confusion. "How can being healthy make this worse?"

Dr. Fredericks could see how much this father wanted to hear good news, but there was none to give. "It's a matter of degree, I suppose. If your son had been severely hurt, the blood loss would have caused catastrophic failure, and he would have died immediately." The man saw Ben nod, and he appreciated that this seemed to be practical man who could accept information without the complication of emotion. "But since the wound itself wasn't serious and your son was in vigorous condition at the time it happened, he managed to continue working even as he bled, and even now his body continues to fights on."

Ben's face brightened. "That would seem to be a good thing."

"'Seeming' and 'being' are two different things. The body's mechanisms may continue to work, but his lack of response indicates that your son's brain suffered irreparable damage."

The pallor returned, "What does that mean?"

"From what I can see, your son's life is being controlled only by those things that require no conscious effort. A mind is different than a brain, Mr. Cartwright. I told you last time that your son's brain would continue to make his heart beat and cause him to breathe and respond to some stimuli. In fact, he can actually live a number of years in this state."

"This state? You're telling me that his body will be alive, but his mind is dead—or at best in a sort of permanent limbo?" Ben sat, unable to support the emotional weight that was pushing him down. This sentence was worse than death for Adam. He'd be alive but without the capacity to learn or to express his thoughts… He dropped his head to his knees fighting to keep from fainting, bringing the physician to his side.

"Mr. Cartwright, this is too much for you. I can see that you are doing a fine job of caring for your son, but you operate the largest ranch in the area and have two other children who need you as well. You will sicken yourself if you continue the pace you've set, and as things are, there's no answer as to when this might conclude."

Ben locked a steely glare on the man next to him. "First off, I'm not doing this alone. Hop Sing is largely handling Adam's physical care, while I and my other two sons spend time with him. We read to him and try to never let him alone, and he seems to know when we're in here."

Dr. Fredericks touched Ben's shoulder. "You're all doing a fine job, although I doubt that any of what you're doing can penetrate enough to make a difference. I often find that families do such things as you mentioned…at least at the beginning, thinking them to be helpful. But the efforts fade when there is no response. I'm not saying that you should stop, but I advise that you be ready to face that it will bring no better outcome." The doctor was surprised at the snort directed his way over what he thought were words of comfort, and he hastily prepared to leave. "I doubt you want to hear what I have to suggest right now, but it is something that must be considered. If I were you, I'd enlist the help of a woman from the area to provide nursing care and sit with him so that you and your other boys can get back to your normal activities. And if there is no improvement in a reasonable amount of time, you will have to consider institutionalizing the boy so that he can have proper care. "

Ben edged toward anger. "I understand that you're trying to be helpful, doctor, but my family is operating 'normally'. Adam is part of this family. It wouldn't be normal if he wasn't here. And what will an institution provide that we can't."

"There would be a 24-hour staff to tend to him…to feed him and change his bedding and clothing when he soils himself."

Ben nearly shouted, "Stop! Such places are little more than warehouses for those who won't recover. That's not my son, and if I have to strap him to my back and carry him with me while I run this ranch, I will."

The doctor's lips pinched into a peevish pout. "I understand that's how you feel…now, and I pray that your son's case will 'resolve' before you'll need to make such a repellent decision, but I've seen these things happen often enough to know that time and uncertainty can alter many an assured position. I'll stop back in a few weeks to see how you're all doing and ask that you inform me should his condition change…either way."

Ben knew the doctor wasn't being intentionally unkind. He was just offering a plan that had helped others move past their fear and uncertainty. Ben wondered if it would have made a difference had this doctor known Adam prior to the incident so that he could understand that this patient was special beyond comprehension: that he couldn't be treated like "others." As the physician neared the door, Ben said, "By the way, doctor, my son's name is, Adam."

"Pardon me," Dr. Fredericks looked back.

Ben laid a hand on his son's cheek. "I said; his name is Adam."

The doctor's expression showed that he still didn't understand.

"Even though you were aware of my son's name from the time you first time you entered our home, you continue to call him, 'he,' 'the boy,' 'him,' 'your son'…everything except his actual name. So let me introduce you. Dr. Fredericks, this is Adam Cartwright. He's 16, unbelievably intelligent, and one of a kind. I wish you could have known him the way he was rather than as he is now, but I will no longer allow you to speak of him as though those things don't matter anymore. He's still the same even if you can't see it. I will do everything in my power to make sure he's properly cared for, and that he knows we will never forget who he is."

After the doctor was gone, Ben selected a book on botany and began to read. He was more convinced than ever that Adam was different when someone was reading or speaking to him. His breathing became steadier and his facial features relaxed rather than exhibiting the tightness that pulled his eyebrows together and pinched the corners of his mouth. The entire family was now taking turns reading. Even Little Joe had wanted to contribute, and Ben had encouraged him to read from his school primer.

He checked the time at the end of a chapter and found it was still a few hours until the boys would be home from school. Ben found Adam's Bible, deciding he'd read from that instead of text books for a while. As he paged through looking for the first chapter of Luke and the story of Elizabeth, he recalled peeking in this room last night and seeing Hoss reading to his brother from Psalms while wiping away tears that were wetting the younger boy's cheeks.

Hoss and Joe had cried when Adam had been brought home, but they'd approached his recovery with such surety that even though their concern had kept them quieter than usual, they'd moved past tears. He'd stepped in the room and asked, "What's wrong, Hoss? Are you worried about Adam?"

The eleven-year-old had turned to his father with agony washing his face as surely as the tears were. "Sure I'm worried, Pa. But I overheard somethin' earlier when some of the hands were by the house. Is it my fault that Adam won't be gettin' better?"

The crew had begun taking turns riding to the homestead for updates. Ben would often hear a tentative knock and find a burly ranch hand standing nervously by the front door, or he'd come outside where a drover held watch on the window on the second floor. They'd grunt their inquiries as to Young Cartwright's condition and then be off again. But he couldn't imagine what any of them would have said to imply that Hoss had anything to do with what had happened. "Tell me what you heard."

"Hank and Tom were outside yesterday when I was up here, and I heard them talkin' about what a shame it was that Young Cartwright was in such bad shape. Them one a them wondered if maybe if him being so sick is summer was makin' it harder to get better now." More tears had rolled. "The only time Adam was sick was when I made him that way. I tricked him into taking the castor oil that hurt him, and maybe it's still hurtin' him like those guys said."

"That isn't true, Hoss." He wrapped an arm around his son and held him close. "Adam was just fine before this happened. I think we're all trying to find reasons for this and there just aren't any good ones. There's only one person to blame for Adam's condition."

His comments had soothed Hoss, but Ben knew that there was plenty of blame being shared. Hugh blamed himself for keeping Randall on, and for not pressing Adam for the truth the day of the gunfight. Ben served up his own portion of guilt for not recognizing that his son was troubled, and each ranch hand felt they'd betrayed one of their own by not keeping a better eye on "the snake" that day.

He'd pushed those thoughts aside and had read the first few verses from Luke when he heard a gentle tapping on the outside door. He smiled. "There's someone at the door, Adam. It's probably the hands wanting an update. I'll be back." He'd made up his mind that no matter what the doctor had said, he was going to continue to include Adam whenever he could.

Hugh was at the door, holding a revolver out for Ben's inspection.

"Thought you might like to see the gun that shot Adam."

"Did Randall come back?"

"Nah, we got it off a drifter who came this way from Carson. Said he found a dead man by the side of the road and buried him, then took what little the man had and headed west again. Of course we recognized Randall's horse as soon as the guy rode in with it."

"Did he know how Randall died?"

Hugh's voice carried a tinge of pride. "I think I might be responsible for that. The drifter said Randall's hand was swelled up more'n twice normal size and looked black. I figure that's the hand I plugged when he shot at Adam and it must have gone bad." After a moment of reflection, he added, "Can't say I'm sorry it happened and in some ways wish I could'a been there to watch the pain he was in, not that it makes any difference to nothin'."

"I suppose it doesn't, but it's good that he won't be bothering us or anyone else after this. Thank you for letting me know."

Hoss and Joe returned home as Hugh was riding out and the youngest came flying toward his father waving a slip of paper. "Pa! Hoss and me don't need to go to school for two weeks. It says so in this note!"

Ben thought of correcting Joe's grammar, but read the note instead. Dear Parents, Four of your children's classmates are going to be away for a time so I am suspending school for two weeks. Please return on Monday, October 10th."It seems like you're right Little Joe. You and Hoss can give me a little extra help around here. I think I'll appreciate that very much."

Hoss's face fell. "Chores ain't exactly what I was hopin' we'd be doing, but I guess that's fine, Pa."

Ben looked up as he raised his axe to split another piece of firewood, and saw a dust cloud approaching the house. "Looks like we're in for another round of company, boys," he called to Hoss and Joe who were helping to stack the split logs near the kitchen for Hop Sing's stove. "Better knock some of the dust off your duds and wash your faces before they arrive."

Hoss gave an audible groan as they finished their dust-off and came to their father's side just as the wagon began to wind its way into the outer section of the yard. "Dad burn, it's Miss Jones! Wonder what she wants out here?" To Hoss' way of thinking, the presence of their teacher could only mean bad news. "I thought we was to have a few days off, but maybe she's changed her mind since yesterday."

"Hush now; mind your manners, Hoss." Ben could see that the wagon was occupied by two women, undoubtedly Miss Jones and her mother, since they did everything together.

Ben watched the women with interest as the wagon pulled to a stop. Mrs. and Miss Jones had been in the area about a year now. They'd come west with Mr. Jones, who was an assayer thinking he'd find great opportunities in California. But the patriarch had died on the trip, leaving his wife and daughter to fend for themselves. They were supposed to spend the winter in town and find a driver for their wagon so they could complete the trip, but the ladies had decided to stay put. Mrs. Jones did sewing and Abigail had set up a little school in the boarding house. As far as Ben could tell, money wasn't a problem, and the two were having a home built at the edge of town.

His first impressions at meeting the pair made him think that Mrs. Jones was a nice woman who held a very tight rein on her daughter, Abigail. To see the two next to one other, one would have guessed them to be sisters rather than mother and daughter. In most instances this comparison would mean that the mother looked young for her age, but it was Abigail who dressed much like her mother and wore her hair in the fashion of older women, making her seem matronly. Ben figured Abigail was no more than 19 or 20, but he wasn't sure.

At first he'd felt sorry for the young woman, thinking that perhaps she was forced to live as an old soul and stay in the shadow of her mother. He'd soon changed his position as he came to understand that she stood up for herself just fine, and began to suppose that rather than not having had the opportunity to be young and lighthearted, her mannerisms indicated who she truly was. Ben remembered meeting Abigail for the first time and making the mistake of calling her Abby. She'd responded curtly, "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Cartwright. You may call me Abigail or Miss Jones: either is fine, but Abby is simply unacceptable."

Ben smiled as he approached the wagon to help the ladies down, and was struck again by the severity of Abigail's looks. Her mother's features were softer, and brightened when the woman smiled, but Abigail was all points. It wasn't that she was homely, but there was a sharpness to the cut of her nose, cheekbones and jaw, that made her appear to squint, and pulled her lips into a constant crease implying she had something sour in her mouth. He wondered if she'd look different with her hair worn loose or curled around her face as younger women usually did.

Reaching for Mrs. Jones's hand, Ben asked, "What brings you ladies all this way on this fall day?"

Abigail spoke first. "It's good to see you, Mr. Cartwright." She looked over at her two pupils and added, "Hoss and Joseph, it's good to see you using your free time to help with chores, but perhaps you could go into the house and tend to your studies while I speak to your father."

The boys didn't wait to be told twice and disappeared after extending their greetings. They liked Miss Jones but she didn't put up with any horseplay and was strict with the children she taught. Hoss didn't like school, but it wasn't that he minded learning. Marie had taught him to read and do arithmetic and he enjoyed all of that; it was being penned up in a room all day that drove him to distraction. He figured he'd learn so much more if he could just do things instead of listening to how others had already done them.

After Marie had died, Adam and Ben had tried to take over where she had left off with teaching the younger boys, but there was always so much to do that home schooling usually got pushed to the bottom of the heap. Since the town wasn't in a position to support a public school, there weren't any other options. Adam had met Abigail at Cass's store and the two had developed a friendship based on their shared admiration of education. Once Adam found out that Abigail had earned her teaching certificate back East, he'd spoken to his father about making an offer to pay her to take Hoss and Joe on as pupils. Will Cass and a few other families had heard about the offer and decided that it seemed a sound plan as well. Abigail Jones now had 8 children attending classes.

The younger Cartwright brothers often made fun of Miss Jones's voice or mannerisms, but they knew they couldn't get away with doing it in front of their older brother. Hoss had once made the mistake of mimicking her and saying how plain she was, and received an upbraiding from Adam, who'd told him, "Any woman who uses her mind is beautiful, Hoss. It's not fair to judge a person on looks. It's what's in their heads and hearts that's important." Hoss understood that was true, but he also knew that his brother wasn't quite as open-minded about the absence of a pretty face as he claimed to be.

Once the boys were in the house, Mrs. Jones said, "We are so saddened to hear of young Adam's plight. You must be devastated."

Ben fully expected a dish of stew to be presented at any moment, but instead, Abigail took up the conversation.

"Hoss and Joe have told me that Adam remains in a sort of constant sleep."

"That's a pretty accurate description."

She tipped her head in a pose that from any other young woman might have seemed to convey concern, but on her, just made her look ill at ease. "They also told me that you've been reading from the textbooks Adam received from Boston, but that with all the work you do during the day and then with trying to stay by your son's side through the night, you often fall asleep…." A soft giggle escaped as she added, "sometimes in mid-sentence."

A red tinge brushed Ben's cheeks as he thought about the talk he'd have to have with his younger sons about not carrying tales of their home life to school. "It embarrasses me to say so, but I'm afraid my young magpies are correct."

"Well then…about those books. I was wondering if you would let me have…"

It suddenly became clear what Miss Jones wanted, and Ben stopped her. "I think you're a little premature, Miss Jones. Adam isn't done with his books just yet, but should he not have further need…then I may let you have them." What is it about this woman? She seems so mousey, yet here she is, asking for Adam's books before he ever had the opportunity to use them. How dare she? She was just like everyone else who was waiting for his son to die…worse really, since she already had plans for his most cherished possessions. And that voice of hers: like metal rubbing against metal, her words clipped in a style that made him grit his teeth.

Ben had second thoughts about his outburst however as he waited to deal with the tears he was sure would come when the rebuke he'd just given her began to register. He was gratefully surprised as his words seemed to have no impact on the woman. In fact she began to titter in that metallic voice of hers.

"Oh dear, Mr. Cartwright, you must let me finish."

"Forgive me, Miss Jones. It seemed you already had."

"I wasn't asking to have Adam's books, but I would love to have the opportunity to read some of them. As you know, I will be free for the next two weeks and thought that mother and I might come out here each day so that I can read to Adam while you go about your ranch work. I assure you that it would be a far greater kindness to me than a service to you. It would be wonderful to actually explore and share books that I might otherwise never experience. I do hope you will accept my offer."

He was speechless. How would Adam respond to this stranger at his bedside? Would he find her voice grating as he did, and cringe in whatever world he lived in now? Or was it as the doctor had implied: that it wouldn't matter anyway since Adam wasn't aware enough to draw any conclusions. His heart was touched by this young woman as he realized that she had listened to Joe and Hoss, assessed that his family was in need and offered assistance to them in a way that would mean a great deal more than a plate of cookies. The choice was easy: Adam liked Abigail and shared a love of learning with her that overcame any negatives Ben could come up with.

"That's a most kind offer, Abigail. I'm sorry I, ah, snapped at you a moment ago." Ben felt a little of the weight rise from his shoulders with this woman's generosity, and thought he should share the concerns that had prompted his harsh response. "You see, for a moment I thought you, like others who've stopped by, had come to the conclusion that Adam will never recover. Even the doctor has said that this all makes no difference: that even though Adam lives on, his mind has ceased to function and he can't appreciate what we're doing for him. So I ask you to respect that we believe Adam is still whole, even though he might be a little lost right now."

Abigail moved directly in front of the grieving man and touched his arm. "Adam was one of the first people I met when we came here. I was sad at my father's passing, and I never expected to find a person of such intelligence who appreciated the beauty of words as much as I did. Your son encouraged me to tell him about the books I love, told me about his studies, and recently mentioned that he was expecting that crate of books that I've heard so much about from the boys. Adam has such an eager mind that no bullet could have erased that, Mr. Cartwright. I believe that as long as he lives, that part of him must live on as well. By reading to him I will be able to return the kindness he showed me when I too, was a little lost."

The young woman arrived at 10 on Monday morning as promised, accompanied by her mother who wished to avoid any hint of impropriety at Abigail being alone this house of men. Mrs. Jones bade the Cartwrights a good morning, looked around the living area and then stationed herself in the comfortable blue chair with a basket of needlework at her side.

Abigail asked to be shown to Adam's room, and on entering, ceased to be the reserved schoolmarm as she drew herself up in an air of confidence. Walking to the bedside, she touched Adam's hand, speaking directly to him. "Adam, it's Abigail Jones. I'm most thrilled to be here today. Your father has given me permission to peruse your textbooks as I read to you. I'm sure I won't understand everything, but there should be much that we can enjoy together."

Ben was amazed at this transformation and touched by her ability to so easily include Adam in her conversation. He watched as she moved to the shelf of books, chattering excitedly about the titles she found, but when nothing there seemed right, she looked through the crate until exclaiming, "Ah, here's the one: The Sonnets of Shakespeare."

As she made herself comfortable, Ben gave her a few details of where she would find things around the house, made sure she knew that she and her mother were invited to lunch with them, and then left the two bibliophiles together.

After exchanging a few pleasant words with Mrs. Jones, Ben begged his leave. He was nearly out the door when he remembered that he'd left his coat in his room, and headed back up to retrieve it. He could hear a voice reading one of the sonnets. His only question was whose voice was it? Glancing in Adam's room, he saw that it was indeed coming from Abigail Jones. Gone was the metallic twang; her voice was melodious and rich. Ben had heard such vocal changes before as those who had trouble speaking their own thoughts let themselves be transported by words that they didn't have to create. He reasoned that perhaps Abigail's nature made her try too hard when she was being herself, but when reading the beautiful words others had written she was freed of any self-consciousness.

When Ben answered the light rap on the door the second morning, Abigail flew past him into the house and up the steps with a prim smile and "Good morning, Mr. Cartwright," tossed over her shoulder. He was impressed by her enthusiasm and felt encouraged by her presence.

Ben and the boys spent that morning cleaning the barn and returned to the house only when their stomach's indicated it was lunchtime. The three hungry males stopped in their tracks as they entered the kitchen and saw Mrs. Jones with a huge towel wrapped around her as an apron, while she stood over the stove ladling soup into bowls.

The woman was humming and on noting the trio standing in the doorway, she beckoned them in, pointing to the table. "Everything's ready: sit! Eat! I've already had mine, so I'll keep peeling apples while you three dig in. There's fresh bread on the table along with some apple butter I made with your cook this morning. Try it!" When no one moved for a moment, she commanded, "Hurry now; it'll get cold."

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones. Everything sure smells good." Ben motioned the boys to the table as he asked, "Um, where is Hop Sing?"

"He took soup up to Adam and is sending Abigail down for her lunch. But it's taking longer than I expected so I'll go see if there's a problem."

After she disappeared up the steps, Hoss commented just loud enough for the others to hear, "If I wasn't sure that was Mrs. Jones, I'd say it was Hop Sing wearin' a dress!"

Little Joe giggled. "She sure talks just like him, don't she?"

Ben had to keep himself from laughing too. "Mind your manners boys and eat your soup. I'm going to have a quick talk with our cook." Thankfully he met the ladies as they were coming downstairs, and figured he'd have a few minutes of privacy with Hop Sing to find out what was going on.

Adam was propped in a sitting position while taking sips of the broth Hop Sing put to his lips. Ben was struck by how it looked like any other time one of the boys needed tending when they were ill. What took his breath and made his heart ache each time he saw these very normal activities was that he knew they weren't normal at all. He was finally able to shake away the sadness to ask, "How was his morning?"

"Had cereal for breakfast, now soup. Do good. Maybe like Miss Abigail's reading." He snickered, "Much better than father snoring before he get two sentence done."

"That's probably true. Have you heard her up here? Her voice is so different when she reads; doesn't even sound like the same person." He watched a bit longer, willing his son to look at him: to open his eyes and see what was around him. Adam's eyes had opened from time to time over the weeks, but there had been no recognition, and Ben had assumed it was more of what the doctor had explained about Adam's brain sending signals his mind couldn't interpret.

"Oh," Ben remembered why he'd come upstairs. "I noticed that Mrs. Jones is working in the kitchen. She's a guest in this house and I don't think she should be doing chores for us."

Hop Sing stopped to look at his boss. "That what I tell her. No help! Sit. Be guest."

"And yet, she's working."

"Say she tired of sitting while everyone else busy. Not good for her to feel 'useless' and want to help too. I say no again, but she pick up knife and ask how I like apples cut."

Ben smiled. Evidently his cook had met up with a powerful force. "I'm still surprised you didn't tell her to leave. You don't like anyone in that kitchen with you."

Hop Sing's eyes grew large. "I say again she no help, but she say if she can't help, she not come anymore. And if she not come, Miss Abigail not come either. Then stood with hands on hips and ask for towel to cover clothes."

"That was pretty sneaky. You couldn't refuse. Are you getting along and being nice?"

A smile brightened the cook's face. "She very nice lady! Always ask before doing so I tell her how I like. Good cook too. Show me new recipe for preserves call apple butter, and say we do same with pumpkin later in week. Mr. Hoss will like much. Also show how to make apple pie filling to put up. No work later when use it!"

Ben nodded. "Well I'm glad it's working out. You could use a little help around here too." Before leaving, he walked to the bedside laying his hand on Adam's shoulder. "I'll see you later, son."

Lunches became feats of culinary excellence over the next three days as the two compatriots of the kitchen exchanged ideas and recipes. Everyone seemed a bit sad as the week drew to a close, knowing there'd be a gap over the weekend until the two women returned on Monday.

Joe and Hoss stayed out of the house as much as possible while Abigail and her mother were there, but Miss Jones did round them up for studies at least once a day while she let Adam rest. Even then, Hoss didn't mind because it reminded him more of the days when Marie would sit with them at the table to go over his lessons and then make up problems to help him remember.

Hoss had told Miss Jones about Marie and how she'd taught them, and he was so "doggoned excited" that Abigail had made up a few homespun problems herself. He told his father, "She weren't so good at it as Mama was, but she tried, Pa, and that was sure nice of her."

The second week continued as the first had ended. Hop Sing and Mrs. Jones's camaraderie increased. It was a side of his cook that Ben had never seen before. He knew there was no romance going on, just the closeness that develops between people with common interests and talents. The bond had grown so secure that Ben had been shocked by a jaw-dropping conversation he'd overheard when he'd entered the house quietly to sneak a piece of cake for himself and the boys as an afternoon snack. It was a chocolate nutty thing that had never graced the Cartwright table before and all three of them agreed that it was worth risking Hops Sing's wrath to sneak a second piece. Hop Sing and Mrs. Jones were outside the window folding sheets and he'd heard Mrs. Jones begin the conversation.

"It certainly has been pleasant spending these days out here. I haven't felt this useful in a very long time and I'll be sad to leave on Friday."

"Hop Sing much grateful for help. Learn many new things."

"My only regret is that Adam has not improved while we've been here. Perhaps the doctor is correct and he simply won't recover…although it pains my heart to even entertain such a thought. But one must wonder how long he can go on sipping only broth…" Her voice trailed off with a poignant sigh.

"You wrong. Mister Adam get better all the time. Look better, stronger. He wake up any day now. You see."

"The Cartwrights are very fortunate to have you. And I hope that you're correct about his progress. You know…" She paused as if checking to make sure they were truly alone. "After I met Adam and saw how taken my Abigail was with him, I got to thinking that she might make a suitable wife for him."

That comment had sent Ben's jaw plummeting, and he stood dead still so as not to give his position away before hearing Hop Sing's response.

"You mean that?" the cook asked.

"Well, yes. What makes you ask?"

"Mister Adam just 16 now, much young to marry. Need school first."

It had been Hop Sing's final thought though that helped Ben understand the trust these two strangers had developed as they'd worked together.

"Miss Abigail nice girl. Very smart. Pretty, but Adam marry beautiful woman like father did. All Mister Cartwright's wives beautiful. You see pictures inside. Son marry like father."

Ben expected that Mrs. Jones would be defensive over such thoughts, but her answer surprised him.

"I suppose parents tend to see only the good things about their children and I'm no different. I've encouraged Abigail to dress in prettier, more youthful dresses and wear her hair differently, but she tells me that she's satisfied with who she is and won't change just to please a man. Yet because she is this way young men are often unkind to her. Adam was different. He made her feel happy about herself. But I believe that you're right. He will want a woman with a good mind, but one who will wear her beauty as easily as she wears her clothing, and be graceful in social situations. That's not my Abigail."

"Miss Abigail find good man to marry. Be very happy. You see."

The eavesdropper completed his mission and headed quickly out the front with his three slices of ambrosia so as not to be discovered. He'd learned a great deal about both people out there folding clothes. Hop Sing had a heart as big as the Nevada Territory and wouldn't be dissuaded from his hope that Adam would recover. The man had also been honest with Mrs. Jones about the likelihood of Abigail and Adam being a couple.

On the other hand, Mrs. Jones allowed herself to see Abigail realistically enough to know that her daughter might be more comfortable with a quieter life than Adam would offer. Overall, he was grateful that Hop Sing had helped the mother remove her expectations from Adam's future.

That expectation was soon back in play as the younger member of the Jones family made her feelings clear in another conversation Ben "overheard." He was beginning to feel like a fly on the wall, but reasoned that he couldn't have removed himself from either eavesdropping session without making matters worse than simply standing by quietly.

Adam had become very restless the previous night, keeping Ben awake at his side. There had been other times when the boy had thrashed—had even seemed to be speaking to someone as his lips had moved in silence. Such times gave Ben hope that this was an indication of Adam's fight to find his way back to them. However, as the night had waned, the fighting had ceased with a return to that calm look of slumber. Ben's frustration had bubbled over as he'd hollered at Adam, "Fight, son! Conquer this once and for all! You can't go on this way forever!" Even now he shuddered as he recalled the harshness in his tone. And the worst part was that as he'd pronounced his frustration verbally, he'd begun to think that perhaps Doctor Fredericks would be proven correct after all. Ben had begun to ask himself some hard questions: Was he truly losing his patience and beginning to doubt that anything they were doing would pay off? Was Adam's condition too difficult to deal with by themselves? And was he losing faith that Adam would ever be whole again?

Toward dawn, Hop Sing had entered, and after giving father and son a quick assessment, had whispered, "Bad night?"

"You could say that."

"Bad for you, or bad for son? You look worse. Go sleep. I stay here now."

It hadn't taken another prompt for Ben to move to his own room where he'd dropped onto his bed and slept as images from the night plagued his mind. Yet within the torment was a soft voice telling him to forgive himself—for all of it: not stopping Adam from taking the gun, not being there when he was shot, not recognizing that the boy was in serious peril as he demanded an explanation for his actions, and finally for his impatience in Adam's recovery. The voice had told him to rest, and then promised that Adam was fine and just needed a little more time.

He awakened hours later and checked his clock to see that the morning had already passed to mid-day. As he recalled the dream that had lulled him into sleep, he realized again how complicated the human mind truly was. In his anguish at hollering at his son, his own mind told him what he needed to hear, but in a way that he would accept it: it was Elizabeth's voice he'd heard, and with her kind words he had rested fully for the first time in weeks.

As he'd readied for the remainder of the day, he heard another voice: this time it wasn't the beautifully toned Abigail as she continued to read about Roman history, but rather her own voice as she spoke haltingly. A few words drifted in through his door as he realized that this was a very private conversation. Yet if he moved or exited, she would know that he'd heard and would be embarrassed, so he stayed put and tried to think of other things. The harder he tried to not listen, the more he heard…

"This is my last day here, and it has been a most wonderful two weeks, Adam. I can't help but wonder what you think about as you sleep. Do you know that I'm here? Have you understood the books that I've read to you?" Abigail paused. "I know that we're very different people, but since I first met you, I've wondered whether you could ever think about me in any other way but as a friend. I suppose it doesn't matter, for when you awaken, you will leave for school, and I will remain stuck in a colorless and lonely life without you here. But if you should ever wonder whether I care for you, Adam, the answer is yes."

Ben waited until Abigail had settled back into reading from the history text before he slipped silently from his room and headed outside. As he thought about what he'd just heard, he felt that Hop Sing and Mrs. Jones were right about Adam. Ben could not foresee a time when he would choose a girl like Abigail Jones—not because his son was overly concerned with looks—but because Adam would choose a woman who was more secure about herself than Abigail: an equal in all ways. Ben's sympathy went out to Abigail for he knew that somewhere in her heart she wanted a fairy tale ending that would never be.

He appreciated the help the Jones women had given his family, but he knew it was time for them to move on. He applied that same reasoning to himself as well as he began to make plans.

Doctor Fredericks arrived at the Cartwright house in the third week of October, and after examining Adam declared him to be in very good shape. He'd added, "This doesn't mean I hold any hope of recovery, Mr. Cartwright. It's as I've always said; he nearly bled to death and the toll it took on his brain will remain." He smiled sadly after sharing his opinion and changed to a conversational tone of voice. "Have you continued reading to your son?" he asked of Ben, before correcting his statement to, "I mean, have you continued reading to Adam?" The doctor chuckled as he noted, "I remember what you told me about using Adam's name, and it made me pay attention to how I was speaking to other patients too. I'm afraid physicians often forget that the person they're treating is more than a list of symptoms and responses, and I suppose we become frustrated and distant when we can't find the answers to make things better. I apologize for speaking 'about' Adam instead of to him.

Ben was gratified by the confession. "Thank you, doctor. I think I've had time to think about a few things you said as well, and some of them do make sense."

"Such as?"

"I still believe that including Adam in our daily lives is important, but you were correct: it takes a lot of time and we're all getting worn. I try to stay with him all night, but sleeping in a chair isn't restful. During the day I'm often short with everyone, making them think I'm angry when I'm really just tired."

"Have you decided that Adam should be placed in a hospital? There is a good one in St. Louis as well as one run by a religious order in San Francisco."

A look of horror flashed over Ben's face. "That still isn't an option. We're nearing fall roundup and once that's done I'll have more time again. But I've also sent inquiries to a hospital in Sacramento, asking them to find an orderly who would come and stay with us. Hop Sing can't keep caring for Adam and the household, and I need to spend more time with the boys and catch up on the ranch paperwork. We'll manage until we can find someone suitable, but for now I've decided that Adam can be alone through the night. It'll be hard…on me, but if I truly believe that things should feel normal to him, then sitting at his side every night has to stop."

"You've put a great deal of thought into this. It's important for you to rest, and since your room is near, you'll hear anything that seems out of the ordinary. It won't be easy, but you'll come to understand that you're not abandoning Adam by taking better care of yourself and your obligations."

Fall roundup was upon him much too soon, and as uneasy as he felt about being gone a few days, Ben knew that he had to help bring the herd down from the high country and get them into the south pasture for the winter. He'd made things easier for Hop Sing by sending Hoss and Little Joe to stay with the Smyth family, and thankfully the move would bring the beef closer to the house each day instead of moving farther away as they sometimes did. Ben lingered at Adam's bedside on the first morning of the drive. "I sure wish you were coming along, son. The men keep asking about you. They miss you being out there with them; they miss your songs too. Hugh says they try to make up their own words like you do, but no one can do it as well. Your brothers will be staying with the Smyths so they can get to school, but Hop Sing will be here with you. He's even promised to read to you in Mandarin, and I know you'll enjoy that. I'll be gone four days if all goes well, and then we're pretty much ready for winter."

Dropping to one knee, he touched his forehead to his son's. "I have to go now, Adam." His voice cracked as he added, "I'll see you in a couple of days."

Ben accepted the concept of premonition, and at times "felt" things more than knew them. He wasn't prone to live his life in fear of such forewarnings—believing that you made your own fate with good decisions and consideration of the facts. Yet as he descended the stairs, he was enveloped by a certainty that things were about to change. He stopped briefly as he looked around his home one last time, then shook off the odd feeling that a voice had whispered in his ear, and headed out the door.

The foreboding that had chilled Ben at his departure was borne out on the third day of the drive.

They'd reached grazing land that was a short ride to the ranch and Hugh had suggested, "Why don't you head home tonight, Mr. Cartwright. I know you're itching to check on Adam. We'll get along fine without you."

Ben had gratefully accepted the suggestion, and was going over a few last items with Hugh when they saw a horse approaching fast from the direction of home. The rider was small, dressed in gray, and the two men looked to each other as they said, "Hop Sing."

Both Hugh and Ben ran to meet the wild-eyed cook as he brought the horse to a halt and began talking a mile-a-minute. "Everything fine this morning. Take care Mister Adam like always. Everything fine still. But go check now and he gone!"

Hugh looked to see how Ben was handling the news, ready to lend a shoulder to lean on if the man needed one. He saw his boss pale before drawing himself up and setting his face in the "all business" look that he wore when he was facing a problem head on.

Ben took a deep breath, and replied, "Thank you, Hop Sing. I'm just about ready to head home, so why don't you go on ahead. I'll finish up and be along in few minutes.

The cook reiterated his earlier news. "But Mister Adam is gone! You come now!"

"I heard what you said, but I'll be able to deal with this better once I know Hugh and the men can finish up without me returning. I'd ask you to wait, but I'd prefer to make the ride home alone."

Shrugging his shoulders, Hop Sing muttered a reply in an unintelligible mix of languages, turned his horse and took off toward the house.

Ben rode into the yard no more than 15 minutes after Hop Sing. His eyes were drawn to where they had focused for the last six weeks: the window above him. He knew he would continue this ritual for some time to come even though the reason had changed from hope to despair. He sighed heavily as he dismounted and headed inside.

Hop Sing stood at the top of the stairs motioning for him to hurry. The grieving father entered the room, and saw the tangled mess of covers…and nothing else. "You moved him already? Where did you take him?"

Pointing toward the empty bed, Hop Sing explained again, "I not take him anywhere. He gone, like I say."

"What?" Ben roared as he shook his head to clear it. "What do you mean, he's gone. I thought you meant he died!"

"He just gone. Come up to give water and he nowhere. Check house, barn. Look everywhere, but he gone."

The color drained from Ben's face as he sat on the bed. "Who would do such a thing?"

"No one come. Hop Sing in house or just outside all day. Hear if horses come to house. No one come. This crazy!"

"That's one way to describe it! If you didn't hear anything, then they must have come quietly, maybe watching until you were busy with something before sneaking inside." Ben shook his head, repeating, "But who would do such a thing or be that cruel?"

"Hop Sing have no answer. No see anything."

"Let's approach this rationally. Is there anything missing?"

The cook eyed his boss skeptically. "Seem to be missing son. That pretty big anything."

Ben's lips pinched in a line of frustration as his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps something besides Adam? Maybe something in here or downstairs? "

"Not notice. No find son, look quick around house and yard, then go find you."

"Let's search the house first and move on from here."

The two looked through the other bedrooms, moving down to the lower room without finding evidence of foul play or the missing boy. Ben hit pay-dirt when he checked outside the front door and found bare footprints in the dust. His breathing came in short bursts of hope as he considered that perhaps Adam had actually exited the house on his own two feet since there were no other prints to indicate that he was accompanied by anyone.

"Looks like he went toward the barn." There was no containing his excitement as Ben took off in a run with Hop Sing at his heels. The evidence disappeared inside the door. Ben laughed nervously. "Now I wish I hadn't had the boys sweep the boards in here yesterday." He took Hop Sing by the shoulder and pointed upward. "You look in the loft and I'll check down here."

Ben saw nothing unusual as he made a hasty search and was about to move to the shed when he caught sight of something he'd missed on his first pass. He saw a streak of red peeking through a bulky, double wagon harness hanging over a saw horse in the far end of the empty stall where Adam's horse was normally kept. Looking more closely, he could make out that the color was that of a striped nightshirt.

His mouth was so dry he could barely speak as he approached. Adam was sitting deep in the straw, his head leaned back against the wall; his knees pulled up and secured by his arms…and seemingly still in the state of sleep he'd been in since the injury. His footprints gave proof that he'd walked, leaving Ben wondering if the boy was now capable of wandering in his sleep. Crouching next to his son, Ben touched his shoulder, and said, "Adam, can you hear me?" The continuing silence his heart plummeting. He looked away to call, "Hop Sing, come down here. I've found him and we'll need to get him back to the house." As he heard the cook walk across the boards above him, he turned toward Adam again and nearly toppled backward in shock. His son's eyes were open! "Adam?" He grabbed the boy's shoulders. "Adam, do you hear me?"

The boy began to shiver as he responded in staccato, "Sure…I hear…you, Pa. Why did…did…didn't you wake me up this morning?"

Hop Sing grabbed blankets from the tack box, tucking them around the boy.

Once he could speak more easily, Adam began a litany of questions and accusations that flowed like lava down a hillside. "What's going on? Where is everyone? Why didn't someone wake me up? And where are my clothes? I couldn't find anything to wear and someone's been in my room going through my things..." Those thoughts hung in the air as a look of fear replaced his growing confusion, and his voice broke in a strangled sob, "Pa, What's wrong with me? I'm so tired and I can't figure anything out?" Reaching for his father's arms, he lamented, "I don't even know why I'm sitting out here."

Hop Sing offered, "You two talk. I go inside. Warm food and tea; fix bed."

Ben sat next to his son and wrapped an arm around Adam's shoulder, drawing him close. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Adam thought for a moment. "I woke up and wanted to get dressed, but I couldn't find any clothes. I thought maybe the rest of you were still sleeping, but both bedrooms were empty so I went back to my room and noticed that things were rearranged so I went to see if Hoss and Little Joe had been in my room without asking. There was no one there either. I must have come out here then."

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here, and I think you must have just missed Hop Sing. He was probably looking for you while you were looking for him. Do you remember anything from before today?"

Adam reached for his shoulder, "I got shot yesterday, didn't I? I was explaining to you why I'd taken the gun…and then…it's a blank. It wasn't much of a wound." He rubbed his shoulder. "It doesn't even hurt" Looking back at his father, he continued, "I must have slept hard last night. I had some odd dreams…and everything still seems fuzzy. My mother was reading to me…you were too. It felt like I was lost in a dark canyon. I could hear voices in the distance that I recognized—yours, Hoss, Joe, Hop Sing…and I tried to walk toward them. But the faster I walked, the farther away your voices seemed. I tried not to be scared, Pa, but I couldn't wake up,"

Ben drew Adam into another quick embrace before retrieving the clothing the boy had been wearing the night his journey into the dark canyon had begun. He'd meant to discard it, but had left it in the barn all this time, perhaps knowing it would be needed later. "I know this will be a lot to take in right now, but here's what's been happening. You were shot just as you recall, but it was a month and a half ago, not last night. The bullet caused a sharp edge of bone to cut through a blood vessel while you moved your arm working the herd. You must have had your jacket on when you began to bleed heavily. This is what you were wearing." Ben gave Adam the blood-stiffened shirt, and the jacket—with its heavy sheepskin lining dyed a deep amber-red with his blood. "Hugh and I figure that this lining absorbed so well that you didn't even realize what was happening, and by the time you got to camp that night, you'd bled so much that…well let's just say it was a miracle you survived long enough to make it there."

Adam held the coat out to examine it, but pushed it away as visions of what transpired that day played on the edges of his memory. He asked. "Six weeks ago?"

"Closer to seven actually."

"What have I been doing?"

"It seemed like you were sleeping, but it wasn't something we could wake you from. The doctor who's been here a couple of times was pretty sure you'd never wake up because he thought your brain had…stopped working because there wasn't enough blood to give it oxygen." Ben swallowed hard as he realized that he'd been right all along, and he was actually talking to his son. "But we all held out hope that you'd find your way back."

"I don't know what to say." The young man reached out and touched his father's face. "I still feel like I'm in that dream, like this is all just another part of it. I want to believe this is real…that it's over…but it's all illusive." Adam's hand fell back to his lap as his voice dropped to little more than a whisper, "I still don't know that this is real, Pa."

Ben wrapped his arms around his son and pulled him close. "It's real, Adam. Don't worry any more. You can feel the warmth of my hand against your cheek. You shivered at being cold, and I'm guessing you'll sneeze soon since you've been sitting in this hay. You don't experience things like that in a dream. You're safe now."

For the first time in many years, Adam laid his head on his father's shoulder and held on as he began to regain his own strength from the power he found in the arms that enfolded him. He asked without raising his head, "Pa, if I've been asleep for weeks, why am I still so tired? And I must have missed so much, yet it seems like I know things that happened—not just what was happening in the dream, but actual things. It's so hard to figure what's true and what isn't."

Gently breaking away, Ben raised Adam's face to address his child's concerns. "You weren't really sleeping, son. It think it was a type of sleep that allowed your body to start healing. But you ate very little and have to regain your physical strength now. As to your other question, there might be a reason you're aware of what's been going on.'"

"What's that?"

"We all talked to you while you slept. We read to you, and kept you up on all the changes and activities around here. I always assumed that you were more alert than your condition indicated."

"I remember my mother reading to me, but that can't be, so maybe I'm putting parts of that dream together with the other things you did."

Ben chuckled as he explained, "Your mother may have come to you in your dreams, Adam. In fact I dreamed of Elizabeth myself while you were ill. But the voice was probably Abigail Jones reading to you. She has a lovely reading voice and spent two weeks here going over some of your textbooks. Your brothers told her what we were doing, and she wanted to help. Mrs. Jones came along too and she and Hop Sing became friends."

Adam smiled. "That was nice of Abigail. It is strange how different she sounds when she reads, isn't it? She worries and frets over everything when she speaks, while her voice rises to a nearly offensive pitch, but when she reads or teaches, her words come from a different place…especially if she's reading a love story." Adam noted that a look of sadness washed briefly across his father's face. "What's wrong, Pa?"

Ben smiled. "Nothing's wrong. I had pretty much the same thoughts about Abigail. She has so many fine traits, yet it's the abrasive ones that others tend to focus on, and that's a shame. I worry that she'll have trouble finding someone who can appreciate the good things enough to overlook the others."

"I'm not sure who that someone will be or when he'll get here, but I know one thing for certain…"

"What's that?"

"It won't be me." Adam chuckled. "Now if we could just find someone who's a knight in shining armor; a prince disguised as a commoner, or a minstrel who'll sing songs of love to her…like in her favorite stories, she'll be happy."

While Ben offered no more to the conversation, he did chuckle along with his son, relieved to hear his remarks concerning the lady, Abigail. "Are you sturdy enough to head inside?"

"I guess so… Pa, is Randall dead? I dreamed that I saw a grave marker with his name, but it seems real that he's dead."

"As far as we know, he is. I told you that Hugh met a man that said he'd found Randall dead on the side of the road: probably from an infection in his hand."

The exhaustion of trying to sort out what was real or simply dreamed caused Adam to begin shivering again.

Ben rose and helped the boy to stand using his strength to shore up the little that Adam was able to muster. "Let's get you inside. I'll answer everything you want to know once you've warmed up. It's late October you know, and too chilly to be roaming around outside in your nightshirt." He wrapped the blankets around his son again and gathered him to his side to help him walk.

As they began the journey, Adam countered, "There's a good reason for me being out in my nightshirt, Pa: where are my clothes?"

"They're in a box under my bed. We didn't want Miss Jones to be uncomfortable in the presence of your personal things."

"I can see Abigail being a little uneasy looking at my long-johns." Adam's voice turned serious again, "Pa, about that other thing that was under your bed… I honestly can't remember much from that night right now. Had we come to an understanding about that?"

"Six weeks is a long time to think about things, son. I didn't want you to have the Colt because I was afraid of what might happen: and it did. You showed disrespect in going behind my back and risking your life. Through all this time, I kept thinking that none of this would have happened if you'd trusted me."

Adam nodded as Ben continued. "On the other hand, as you said that night, I was offering way too many 'what ifs' while you just had to act with the information you had. You'd decided you had to stand alone and I don't think any amount of reason would have dissuaded you from that. It's just who you are, son, and perhaps…you're a little too much like me."

Ben stopped and turned his son to face him. "There's no way you should have survived what you went through, and yet, here you are: a little worse for wear, but whole. Your life is a gift…to both of us, so I'm not going to waste time being angry. I don't ever want you to lose your fire, Adam, but I do think you have a lot to learn about using it safely."

Adam realized he'd been holding his breath during his father's explanation. As he breathed out he asked the question that was most important to him, "Pa, will you ever forgive me?"

"Will I forgive you?" He laughed. "Adam, I forgave you the moment I saw you walk into camp that evening."

Ben could see Adam's face relax with the admission. "Hugh helped me see that you acted in the way you thought was expected of you in the circumstances. I didn't agree with that reasoning at first, but when I saw you standing there, looking somehow older and wiser from the sadness that follows such an experience, I realized that I was looking at myself. I'm afraid I'm just as impulsive, head strong and willing to risk everything to make things right. You made some good decisions and some really bad ones, but you made them from a place of goodness. You had to balance your betrayal of my trust with the greater good you thought you could accomplish.

"I'm sorry, Pa. Going behind your back was the one thing I couldn't get around, but I couldn't tell you what was happening until it was over: I had to do it on my own."

Ben finished his thoughts as they resumed their progress, "I can't wait to see how that singular resolve of yours will play out in your life. There are two things I'm certain of: one is that you'll never be shaken from your principles and convictions, and the other is that we'll butt heads over that many times to come."

As they neared the door, Adam asked one last question. "Pa, you said that I shouldn't have lived after what happened, so did you believe I would survive? When I first woke up and couldn't find anyone, and my clothes and horse were gone, it felt as though I didn't have a place here anymore: like I was a ghost walking where I used to live—that you'd removed the evidence of me having been here because of what I'd done. I'd never felt so alone."

"You were never alone through any of this, and now you're back, at least for five months, and we'll all praise the heavens for your return."

Adam made it inside and collapsed in his mother's chair. His face had brightened with his father's last comment. "I'd forgotten about that. You have no reservations about letting me go after what's just happened?"

"I have hundreds of reservations, but you're a man now, and you will do what you need to do. But…let's agree that in the time you're still home, you'll refrain from taking castor oil or getting shot."

Adam's smile was broad as he saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain. I shall keep my nose in my books, my shoulder to the grindstone…and out of trouble." As Hop Sing entered the room with a tray of food, Adam quickly added a solemn, "Thank you, Pa."

The clatter of dishes as Hop Sing set the tray down, followed by the barrage of orders to his charge to eat and drink, gave Ben a chance to head upstairs where he grabbed the box of Adam's clothes from under his bed. As he rearranged heavy text books on the shelves to make room for the clothing, the father was struck again by the silence in Adam's room. But he sighed in thankfulness as he realized that it was now the silence of promise. One heavy tome tipped as he work, sending a picture of Elizabeth flying from the shelf. He reached out and caught it and smiled while touching the image of his first wife, saying, "Maybe you were here reading to your son after all, my love. I miss you so much when I have to face Adam's peril alone, but I think I miss you most when I can't share my joy with you. All I know for sure is that this child of ours is a most precious gift."

The End