Hunting for Memories

by MissjudyK

Ben must find for shelter after Adam is involved in an accident while the two men are on a hunting trip in the higher country of the Ponderosa. Adam has been home from school for a year, and Ben fears that the memories still alive in the place they're going might send his son away again.

Hunting for Memories

It had begun some years back as an opportunity for Ben and one of his sons to hunt their land together for a day or two. The Cartwrights had ready access to steak on the hoof and other tasty domestic animals to choose for dinner, so bagging wild game was no longer a necessity as it had been once. Now it was the ritual of being alone with each boy that Ben looked forward to. More often than not, the antelope wandered by unseen while the two clueless Cartwrights rode the deer-paths through the underbrush or reclined against their saddles around a campfire, talking about whatever "wandered" through their minds.

Ben sighed deeply as he sat atop Buck, taking in the endless landscape before him. It was Impossible to feel anything but awe and thanks for the many gifts in his life while viewing this panorama, and his mind and soul lifted with emotion. He took a moment to glance at Adam, who was sitting comfortably on his mount, one leg draped over his saddle horn while taking in the same display. His son's eyes were fixed in the distance and his mouth was set in a permanent "O" letting Ben know that his son was bathed in equal wonder. A thought presented in Ben's mind as he continued watching his child: these hunting trips may have started as "opportunities," but they had become far more to him. And this one, more than any in the past, was a "blessing".

Ben had begun these "hunts" with Adam, two years before he'd gone away for college. While his eldest had been in Boston, he'd continued the trips, first with Hoss, and then with Little Joe, when he'd gotten old enough. The outings had always been kept to a night or two, but this time he and his eldest had told those remaining at the ranch that they'd be back, "when they felt like it." In truth, that meant a week at the most, since winter was on the horizon.

And because Ben understood that things could go wrong when leaving part of his family and a business behind, he'd left a map for his foreman, marking the areas where he and Adam were headed. That gave the men a starting point to find them should an emergency arise at the ranch, or the duo out hunting not return in a reasonable amount of time.

Ben's thoughts fixed on why this year's hunt was so important to him. There had been no such trip taken last year—Adam's first fall home from school. Ben had looked forward to the outing the entire time the boy had been away, but the early arrival of winter last October had prohibited them from going. The delay had generated initial regret at the lost chance, but the more dominant sentiment he'd felt at the time had been relief. As Ben looked back on it, he reaffirmed that the 12-month delay had been a very good thing.

There'd been serious rough patches between father and son after Adam had gotten home, and those had still been in the process of resolution when last winter had arrived. He shuddered in recalling those awkward and uncomfortable months—especially since he'd been the cause of the situation. Ben had always known that Adam was smart, but when the boy had returned with a degree from Harvard tucked in his satchel along with his dirty clothes and memories of Boston, Ben had feared that his oldest son would no longer value his father's opinions, need his counsel or desire his company. That fear had so infected his treatment of Adam that he'd actually created the situations he'd feared. It had taken time…and a few near disasters before the two had talked…and argued…things out, and they'd begun to make the relationship adjustments necessitated when a child who'd left home had come back a man.

All was going well now. He'd accepted that Adam had good ideas and even better instincts. This had led him to take the young man along on spring sales calls to learn the art of the deal. The things Ben had feared most were now the things he appreciated most. He could trust his son's judgment and rely on his innate skill in negotiating. Adam had adapted so quickly to this role that he'd be sending his son out alone to secure the simpler contracts next spring. Instead of resenting this change, Ben now appreciated that he'd have time to pursue other projects.

Ben counted it as a sign of heavenly satisfaction with the hard work that he and Adam had done to get back on peaceful ground with each other, when the weather had remained mild into November this year. Once the last contract for cattle had been fulfilled, the remainder of the steers had been settled into winter pastures, and the fall shut-down chores they'd had to help with had been completed, they had packed their gear, food to feed a small army, and a couple of rifles that might never get fired, and left. Ben had decided that they had enough time to venture into higher country rather than somewhere near the house. They'd made the trek to the edge of the pine-covered hills by the first afternoon, and had camped there the first night.

The business of the ranch had recently begun to include bids for timber contracts, and Ben knew that with careful harvesting, the Ponderosa could make as much money in lumber to supply the growing markets of the West, as it did in beef. The wooded hillside he'd chosen for this hunt wasn't the one he'd selected for his first harvest, but he and Adam had noticed something their second morning when starting up the slope. The floor of this section of virgin pine was nearly dark because of the heavy canopy above them.

He'd had to agree when Adam had noted, "The seedling trying to get a toehold are spindly and need light, Pa. I know you plan to replace every tree you harvest, but if we'd do some selective forestry here, we could let nature provide some of the replacements."

He'd told his son, "I saw entire forests cut down for lumber when I was growing up in Ohio. I wish I knew more about how things work in nature, but it was easy to see how unnatural the land looked, and how differently the it functioned once the trees were gone. Flooding and mudslides seemed more prevalent on the hillsides where the roots were no longer soaking up water from the rain."

Ben had felt pride when his son had said, "I'm glad that left a shadow on you, Pa, and made you determined not to allow it to happen here."

Their hunt for antelope had become a different kind of hunt when the two of them had decided to do a survey of the area, marking trees that could be strategically felled to allow more light and moisture to reach ground level.

That delay had lasted two days, and they'd promised to return with a crew next summer to continue the survey and begin cutting efforts. They'd left the trees behind this morning as they'd ridden further up to observe the early snowpack in the peaks still high above them. Based on the sparsity of visible white on the highest points, they'd made a wager on how high the spring thaw would raise the creeks that fed the fields and ponds below. The bet was purely conjecture, but would give them something to anticipate when the warm sunshine of spring brought the valleys below back to life.

As they'd made their way up the rugged slope, they'd felt compelled to stop several times to enjoy the beauty of the land they held charge over. They were at such a standstill again, giving Ben time to absorb both the joy of the personal time he'd spent with Adam, and a chance to reaffirm the promises he'd made to this land and his Creator about caring for what he'd been given.

He knew though that Satan couldn't leave a happy heart untouched, and some concerning thoughts elbowed their way into his reverie.

Ben knew that his time with Adam was especially important since his son had received an invitation to spend the winter working in San Francisco with his college roommate, Frankie Wadsworth. The West Coast engineering firm the Wadsworths had purchased for Frankie to manage, was working on a huge project in Sacramento, redoing the business areas along the riverfront. They needed engineers to make final checks on the plans before the work began, and Frankie had extended an offer to Adam. His son had approached him about the opportunity with such eagerness that he'd been unable to refuse. As it stood now, Adam planned to leave for the coast the day after Christmas—weather permitting passage through the Sierras—and he'd be gone at least three months.

One of their recurring conversations during this outing had included his absence. Ben had looked away to smile a number of times while Adam had given his earnest and indisputable logic over the undertaking. Ben had wanted to tell his son that he was overselling the trip. But the fact that Adam was so excited had made Ben decide that the short diversion would actually keep his son on the Ponderosa rather than take him away. This son had always hungered for new experiences, and that hadn't changed when he'd become a man. A few months working on a different project would keep Adam active instead of enduring the isolation when snowfall stranded them at the ranch at times. Ben, Hoss, and Little Joe had come to value the quiet months, and they'd store up projects to keep them busy during the short days and long nights. But last winter—his first home after the hubbub of Boston—Adam had become moody and restless, and had made everyone else feel anxious as well when he'd gone dark and brooding. Ben had known that the uneasiness stemmed from a loss of the livelier and more action-filled time his son had experienced while away. The honest truth was that Adam was a chip off the old block. Ben had struggled with the quiet of life he'd experienced the first few years they'd been here: the same place he now cherished for its silence and solitude.

"Pa?" Adam waited a minute when there was no response before laughing and attempting a louder, "Pa," to bring his father away from his thoughts.

Ben looked up while a self-conscious blush crept across his features. "Did you ask a question?"

"I asked if you ever came this high with Little Joe or Hoss when I was away."

"This would have been too far to come in two days. I'll plan a longer trip with Hoss next year, but Little Joe…well…I won't be bringing him up here anytime soon. He's a good rider, and going uphill wouldn't be the problem."

Adam chuckled. "You're afraid he'd take on the downhill slope like a winter wind."

A nod. "A feat that neither your brother nor his horse are up to just yet. He'd probably end up flying over that mare's head and breaking every bone in that skinny body of his."

"I won't tell him you said that…about his horsemanship or his physique."

Ben laughed loudly. "Thank you for your loyalty, son, but I'm pretty sure I've told him that same thing many times. That boy will be a fine horseman one day; probably better than all of us. He'll need to get a horse with enough spirit to handle its rider, though." He looked at the horizon before continuing. "It sure is beautiful up here, but that far sky's beginning to look threatening. We should head down before rain makes the rocky ground slipperier." Ben nudged his horse forward, before looking back at Adam. "By the way, I've meant to say this for some time. I thought you'd have to readjust to life on horseback when you got back. But you showed no sign of rustiness."

"I wanted to avoid looking like a greenhorn again when I got home, so I rode as much as possible when I was out at the Wadsworth house." Adam squinted as he thought back to his time away. "I'm pretty sure I mentioned that in my letters."

"Yes you did. I think it was a matter of me not realizing how much it would help."

"The prospect of getting out to the stables for a day on the weekend kept me focused during classes and studying. But something else started happening early in my freshman year that bothered me. Making the quick walks across campus only to sit through lectures, and then going back to the dorm to sit more while studying, was causing changes I'd neither expected nor liked. I began to breathe hard just hurrying to a class, and my legs would start to quiver when I'd climb longer flights of steps. I knew that couldn't continue. When I was preparing to go to Boston, I studied hard, but I also worked physically hard on the ranch, so my body was as strong as my mind."

"That makes good sense. I think our bodies and minds must find balance."

"I started walking around campus in the evenings. It didn't take long for my legs to lose the wobbliness. But I missed riding. There's something about the posture involved in sitting a saddle and controlling a horse that helps my balance even when I'm on the ground."

"I know what you mean. You have to sit up tall to ride and I think that strengthens your back and stomach muscles."

Adam's nod was accompanied by a shy smile. "But I didn't just ride at the Wadsworth's; I mucked out the stall for the horse I used; helped the grooms and stable boys with their other chores, and took care of my own animal when I returned after a gallop." The smile continued. "There was another reason I did that, though. It reminded me of home. I felt nearest to all of you in those times." Adam met his father's gaze before pushing past the revelation of his homesickness. "Of course those Easterners did gentrified riding on English saddles. It's a different style of reining and control."

"I'm familiar with it." Ben grinned widely. "When I was a boy on the farm, we rode bareback—sometimes with a halter, but mostly controlling the big draft horses with their mane and our bare feet." The grin became a chuckle. "And often as not, my brother and I were set atop an ox to ride home from the field." He laughed heartily at his son's surprised expression. "Then there were years at sea where nary a horse was seen. I don't think I learned to ride comfortably until the wagon train. Of course I never told anyone I didn't know what I was doing. Luckily I never embarrassed myself…too badly."

The young man cringed as he thought back to his own embarrassment during his first attempts on the Wadsworth thoroughbreds. "I wish I could have pulled that off, Pa. English riding, especially after learning on a bigger saddle, was not kind to me. I found new ways to fly or slide off that horse every week until Frankie got tired of laughing at me, and guided my horse while I got used to the feel of the saddle and the bouncier cadence. Then I worked in the paddock to learn how to rein and only after some time of practicing was I able to accompany the two Franks into the pastures." The cringe returned with his further admission. "And by accompany them, I mean I was always way behind. Frankie's father felt so bad for me that he finally bought a full saddle and had a horse trained to work with that tack. By the time I headed home, I was fairly competent in the English method." He winked at his father. "But you know which I preferred."

Ben tried not to exhibit the ache he'd felt growing in his heart as Adam had told his story. The pain was accompanied by a voice telling him that he'd missed some wonderful years when his son had been so far away. He was glad Adam had gotten to spend time with Abel Stoddard, and that he'd found friends and a family to help fill the time and loneliness. But occasionally, he wondered if his son might begin to miss Boston too much, and want to return. He shook off the feeling to concentrate on what was real instead of what might happen one day. "The one thing I notice is that you use a pretty short rein sometimes. I think that might be a holdover from the English style. Your horse responds well to you, yet I see him pull against the bit…a bit."

Adam laughed at the play-on words. "You might be right, Pa." His eyes were drawn to the darker clouds approaching from the west. "You might be right about the weather too. It's not cold enough for snow, but I'm not looking forward to setting up camp in the rain either."

The two rode single-file as they retraced their path down the steeper rise. The loose scrabble and rocky sections of the descent kept their attention focused out ahead to find the safest footing for their horses. After nearly an hour of a zig-zag course, they made it back to dirt-pack and a broader passage that allowed them to ride side-by-side.

They'd left a pack horse a few miles further down the path, but had rearranged their supplies to carry their canvas, bedrolls, extra clothing and some simple food with them. The two had decided that in the event of not making it back to their provisions, they would need these items more than a variety of edibles.

The wind produced by the approaching weather system was distinctly cooler, prompting both men to raise their coat collars to keep its frosty tendrils from slipping down their necks. Before long they pulled out the gloves they'd stashed in their pockets when the sun had burned away the early chill of the day.

"Jinx and our supplies aren't far now. We'll get there and head into the trees," Ben said as he pulled ahead of his son.

"I'll rig up the canvas to give us a wind break," Adam said as his father passed by. "With a good fire, we'll be pretty cozy for the night…unless it does rain." They'd ridden a few minutes when he caught up to his father and asked, "Why'd the men name our packhorse, Jinx? She seems like a kindly-natured horse, but I notice she's never used by the crews."

Ben slowed his pace as he looked over at his son. "She was born a couple of years before you got back. And a number of odd things happened around the same time. I know it's foolish to ascribe such events to a hapless animal, yet people want to find a cause to explain the unknown."

"I don't remember you writing anything about that. What sort of 'things' happened?"

"The mare died while foaling, and there was a storm during the birth. The heavy winds flattened the hay in the field, and the deluge flooded the pastures and crops. Then one of the men fell off the roof while making repairs and broke his leg. One of the hands had heard a story about a cursed animal coming into the world during a similar set of circumstances on a ranch in Texas. That made everyone suspect the poor little filly, and then nothing could happen—not even a hangnail—without it being blamed on her."

Adam snorted. "So what did the men think should be done with the 'poor little filly'?"

Ben leaned forward on his saddle horn, and grimaced. "They wanted to shoot her."

"What did Hoss think about that?" the older brother asked, even while suspecting the answer.

"Hoss slept with that colt every night for a week until the men left on a drive and there was no danger of them sneaking in and doing the deed. Nothing else bad happened that I remember, and the men just called her, Jinx. Even Hoss liked that. He's an optimist and figured the name might actually bring Jinx good luck, not bad."

Adam's brows rose along with the corners of his mouth. "So was she good luck?"

A rumbling chuckle floated away on the breeze. "None of the men that were with us at the time would go near her. Hoss gentled her when she got old enough, but to forestall any future stories, I decided she shouldn't be used as a saddle horse. We've had some turnover of men since then, and thankfully not many remember the legend of Jinx." Ben tugged his collar higher and reset his hat. "She's as close to a pet as we've ever had on the Ponderosa, but she does well as a 'beast of burden'." He shook his head. "Are you sure I never wrote about that?"

"You may have. I'd suspect that not every letter we sent got to its destination."

They rode on in silence until they saw Jinx in the distance munching contentedly on a few remaining blades of green grass. The dark clouds caught up to them and single, heavy pellets of rain began to fall as they lowered the ropes attached to the food bags they'd left hanging from the tree branch where they wouldn't attract animals. The raindrops were falling in greater numbers by the time they had the supplies secured on Jinx's back.

"There's a nice level spot to stay just across the creek," Ben shouted over the rush of wind signaling that the front edge of the storm had arrived. "Follow me." Ben grabbed the lead from Jinx's halter, and made his way into the water.

Adam waited until Buck had reached the edge of the far bank before easing his horse into the swift-moving current. He was riding the large, sturdy-legged, bay mustang he'd chosen when he'd first started working cattle at age 14. Hoss named the animals on the Ponderosa, and sometimes his creativity proved interesting. This fine cattle horse had received the name, Shoeshine, since his hooves were glossier than the other mounts in their corral. Adam had shortened the name to Shine.

The mustangs they'd capture and break were usually high energy animals, but that wasn't true of Shine. The horse had proved the perfect choice for Adam's early years in the saddle, but he'd gotten used to riding more agile and spirited horses in the East, and had kept his eye out for just such an animal at the sales he'd attended with his father since being home.

He'd seen the horse he'd wanted when they'd visited a ranch in California in mid-summer to sell some of their breeding stock. It was a tall, chestnut, broad-backed quarter horse-thoroughbred mix with a challenge in its eyes that Adam had been anxious to accept. The problem had been that the two-year-old gelding named Sport, hadn't been for sale. As they'd said their goodbyes before leaving, the owner had excused himself, asking them to wait. A few minutes later, he'd brought Sport out and handed Adam the lead rope, explaining that he hadn't been able to sell it to Adam because Ben had already purchased the horse for him after seeing it as a colt the previous summer. It had been a belated graduation gift.

He and Sport had spent the last couple of months working together, and the horse was living up to Adam's expectations of being an excellent mount having equal amounts of intelligence, stamina, and the same independent nature as its owner. Yet, he'd felt more secure taking Shine on this trip into the high country. Since Shine stayed outdoors, his coat was already thickening for the cooler weather, and his thicker legs and sturdy feet made him a good choice for the terrain they'd cover. This would be their last trip together though. Adam had already promised Shine to one of their new hands, and Jeb had said he was "Happy as hog in mud," about the transfer.

"C'mon, Shine." Adam clicked his tongue and gave the horse a gentle nudge with his feet to get him moving. Shine's nostrils flared, and his eyes widened as the wind caused a whirl of dead leaves and branches to fly past. His tail came around, swatting Adam's leg, and he raised his head to issue a loud snort. Adam leaned forward, patting the horse's neck. "It's gonna be just fine, Shine. Let's get moving." The horse gave a quick look back, and then stepped into the water.

Ben was heading up the opposite bank when Buck skidded on loose gravel. The shift made Ben grab the saddle horn for balance, and the rope to Jinx loosened in his hand. When a loud clap of thunder broke nearby, Jinx reared in fright, pulling the rope free. Adam could see what was happening and tried to stop, but they'd gotten too close to Jinx's rump to change course. Before he could back up, the strong and thoroughly spooked packhorse turned to bolt and collided with Shine.

The two horses were tangled in a mess of legs and rope, and as Adam tried to get control again, Shine's right foreleg slid into a softer area in the creek bed and the big mustang collapsed, dropping onto his side in the water.

Ben heard the ruckus behind him just as he'd made it safely to solid ground, and turned to see his son going down under the falling horse. He flew from his saddle as he realized that the spill had trapped Adam under water, and he struggled against the knee-high moving creek as he waded over to give assistance. Jinx moved past Ben in a panic as she fled and ended up bumping into Buck, causing the big yellow horse to take a nip at her. Ben made it to Shine, grabbed the reins and gave them a tug to encourage the animal to right himself and free Adam. It took a little doing, but Shine was finally able to roll onto his stomach and then stand.

Adam coughed and gagged as he sat up and rid himself of the water he'd swallowed during his time beneath the surface. He got his bearings, and looked at his father with a shocked stare. "Well I wasn't expecting that," he managed to choke out before experiencing another coughing fit.

"Are you all right?" Ben's worried expression turned towards a relieved smile when Adam nodded and then laughed.

"Maybe Jinx lived up to her name," the young man offered while looking around for his hat—finding it stuck between two rocks near him—before attempting to stand. His laughter turned to a pained yelp as he tried to bear weight on his right leg and he collapsed back into the stream.

Ben held his son's chin above the water as Adam fought back into a sitting position. "What hurts?" he asked as he returned to the worried expression.

"My leg, Pa. Give me a hand and I'll stand again and see how bad it is."

Ben got behind Adam, lending an upward heave-ho as the young man rose, and then quickly relocated himself under his son's right arm to serve as a crutch. "Can you put any pressure on it?"

Adam eased his right leg down until his foot was flat, and then equalized his body weight over both legs. "So far, so good." His leg held when he transferred more weight in the hopes of taking a step. "I don't think it's broken, Pa. Stay put though, I don't think I can make it through the current and uneven bottom of this creek without you as a third leg." He tried to relieve the tension by winking at his father, and together they inched their way to shore.

Shine followed them and Adam noted with relief that the bay seemed to be moving without problems. He grabbed the reins and pulled the big animal close enough to pet its nose. "I'm sure glad you're no worse for wear." Shine whinnied and nuzzled Adam's cheek before walking over to the two other horses.

Ben sighed loudly. "You're soaked from stem to stern, and so is everything you had on your saddle. I think we'll have to find shelter instead of a camp for tonight." He looked up as the dark clouds flew by above them. "We're lucky that storm didn't amount to much." Although he was most worried about Adam, he too was soaked from the waist down, and his upper clothing was damp enough to be wicking away his body heat. "Can you stand alone for a minute?" He asked after considering what he could do.

Adam pointed to a downed branch. "Can you grab that?" Once he was perched on the cane-like stick, he watched as his father began rummaging through Buck's saddlebags. Adam's shivering was making him shake like the leaves that had once populated the branch he was using, and making him long to change into something dry. Yet he knew that wouldn't help in the long run. "Pa," he called out as he realized what his father was looking for. "Didn't you say you planned to camp near here? If that's still true, I'd just as soon stay in these clothes until we get there. My saddle is wet so it would just soak anything dry I'd put on and then there'd be nothing to change into once we get a fire going."

"That makes sense. Will you be all right for say fifteen minutes of travel?" Ben saw Adam nod even though he didn't respond, and draped one of his bedroll blankets over his arm after fastening the saddlebags again. He grabbed Shine's reins and walked him over to his son. "I'll give you a hand up and we'll get moving."

With Ben lending support, Adam was able to get his left leg raised and his foot into the stirrup. His father tried to push him upward, but without being able to use his injured leg for a boost, he had to pull himself up and over the saddle. He groaned as his right leg fell into place against Shine's broad ribcage, and he grunted again as he worked his wet boot into the stirrup. The effort left him panting, with rivulets of water running from his temples. "How can I sweat when I'm shivering so hard I'm nearly cracking my teeth?" His question came out in the staccato of the chilled.

"Here; Put this over your shoulders," Ben ordered as he handed up the wool blanket. While the clouds hadn't produced much rain, they had ushered in much cooler air. The day had started balmy with a gentle breeze. Now there was a steady wind that had dropped the air temperature by at least 20 degrees. What poked at his fatherly worry was that he had seen the effects of a cold wind on wet clothing both at sea and on the journey west. Nothing robbed a body of its ability to warm itself more than the situation his son was facing, and the effects were rapid and deadly. Ben wasn't worried for himself as much. His saddle was dry so it would create a pocket of warmth as he sat on it. His jacket was damp on the outside, but the clothing beneath was still dry. The second blanket from his roll would keep him comfortable enough that he'd be in good shape when they made their destination.

Despite his willingness to forego changing until there was a fire, Adam was glad for the added windbreak provided by the blanket. He pulled the edge up over his head, securing it with his soggy hat, and then fanned the remainder around himself like a nun's veil. "I'll take the name, Sister Mary Cartwright, when I get to the convent," he muttered under his breath as he nudged Shine forward.

The cold was taking a toll on Adam's concentration, and he wasn't sure if they'd been riding for two minutes or two hours. His only focus was staying in the saddle long enough that he'd make it to warmth. He finally let Shine follow the horses ahead of them and looked around the wooded area they'd entered. He thought his father had mentioned camping near where the mishap had occurred, but he was pretty sure they'd been following a trail that bordered the creek for however long they'd been moving. The trek had brought them through woods, then a small clearing, and now trees again. But now there were stumps mixed in with the taller trees: lots of stumps in fact, and he tried to concentrate on why that would be. He did know that they were far away from where they'd begun harvesting.

A knowing smile began to brighten his face as his mind suddenly flooded with memories. He was nearly 25 now, and he guessed he hadn't been in this section of the Ponderosa for at least fourteen years. The dullness from being cold was falsifying his perceptions, yet he could feel the pull in his shoulders that he'd experienced when he'd helped his father cut these trees and strip their branches to make logs. He could feel the searing heat in his legs created as he'd run these hills chasing after Hoss to keep him occupied while their father had worked on their cabin. He even felt the exhaustion from the endless trips back and forth to bring materials to their building site, and then stuffing the spaces between logs with moss they'd pulled from the side of the nearby creek—the one he'd just been swimming in a few miles upstream. He'd been barely eight at the time; his brother just two, and full of the insatiable wonder and increasing abilities—without the accompanying increase in intelligence—associated with that age. It had been the hardest of times, and yet had produced some of the memories he held most sacred in his heart.

Another thought clouded the pleasurable memories. Could there be anything left? Wouldn't nature have begun to reclaim what they'd worked so hard to build? He found himself hoping that his father wouldn't be too disappointed if they ended up camping in the vestiges of their early home. He figured that the fireplace would remain, and right now, Adam would be happy with any sort of shelter and the chance to feel actual heat rather than the remembered kind. Fog had started forming as the cool air had touched the warmer ground and the wind had diminished, obscuring what lie ahead. His worry and wondering ended as they neared another small clearing. The cabin was still there, and from his vantage point, looked to be in good condition.

Ben slowed and motioned Adam to his side. "Did you know where we were headed?" he asked with a smile.

"Not at first, but those stumps got me thinking. It looks pretty good for being abandoned so long."

A look of pride washed over the older man's face. Building a cabin had seemed nearly impossible when he'd brought his sons to this area. They'd set up a sort of base camp in the spot where their present house now stood, living in the wagon while he cut enough nearby wood to make a lean-to that housed their equipment and animals in that area. But he'd known that his income would have to come from the abundant natural resources of their land at first. It had been the only way to produce enough cash to purchase more acres, cattle, and the equipment needed to begin a real business operation. The answer to his money woes had come from the bountiful commodity that had always provided income for early explorers: pelts.

Midway through the first summer, he'd headed up to the higher woods and creeks. He'd hunted for meat, and begun trapping. He'd respected the order of nature, never over-harvesting the areas of fur-bearing animals, and he'd been highly rewarded for his efforts.

Ben had always looked forward. Yet he never forgot where he'd started from. He looked over at his eldest; his mind awash in the memories of those first years. "It's not so abandoned as you might think." He chuckled at his son's questioning look. "I usually come up here once a year to make repairs and clean the place a little. I figured it will come in handy when we start cutting this area…and…I." His voice trailed off.

Adam completed the thought. "And you need to remind yourself where our traveling ended and how our new life began."

"You know me well. I hadn't planned to come here during this trip because I wasn't sure how fondly you'd remember this place. Now it seems that fate and necessity have intervened."

Adam's brows and lips drew to the center of his face as he contemplated why his father would think there'd be a problem with how he recalled their first home. There was no time to give it further consideration. His father was already dismounted and at his side, ready to help him down.

"Give me a second, Pa," Adam groaned as he tried to straighten his sore leg. "It probably didn't take long to get here, but, it was long enough for things to really tighten up." He leaned against his father while bending his knee and ankle until the joints loosened enough that he could place his foot flat on the ground. "Ok, let's go."

Ben could feel the violent shivers coming from his son as he helped him limp towards the door. He secretly wished he could move the pace along before the young man froze solid, and was washed in relief when he could finally reach for the latch. He chuckled softly and said, "Welcome home," as he led the way inside.

Two

Adam limped to the center of the room with the help of the stick they'd put into service as a cane, and leaned on a chair. The gray daylight coming through the open door couldn't reach the edges of the dark room, but his memories of living in the small cabin came rushing back, and he knew what he'd see if he could. The far wall to his right was lined with wooden bins where they'd kept the root vegetables they'd grown in the summer. The logs making up the cabin insulated the room against the worst of the cold. But since that wall was farthest from the fireplace, there was enough coolness to keep their fresh food from spoiling too soon. The wall opposite that one was dominated by a large stone fireplace that heated the room, or at least a good sweep of it. The bed they'd all used was set against the wall near the hearth so the bedding could warm before they'd turned in. The rest of the furnishings were sparse: a few shelves to hold utensils and clothing; a small cabinet with a thick wooden top where they'd kept their supplies and prepared their meals; a table with 3 chairs; a large rocking chair where Pa had sat in the evenings, and a small bench that he and Hoss had pulled near the fireplace on cold evenings while they'd played simple games or he'd read to his younger brother. He smiled as memories drifted back from the long-ago, and he glanced over at his father who'd gone to check the wood supply by the hearth. "This is a bit…cozier than I remember."

"If by cozy, you mean small, then I'd have to agree. But you were smaller back then too, so it seemed bigger."

"Wasn't there a window?"

Ben shook his head as he began to lay logs in the fireplace grate. "Once we get some light in here, you'll see what you're thinking of. There was no way to get glass when we got here, and I hadn't the foresight to a tuck a window in the wagon when we left Missouri, so I made two sets of shutters we opened when it was warm outside or we needed to air the place out."

"I remember now!" Adam said enthusiastically. "There's an interior and exterior set made out of half-logs. They're hinged so they open away from each other, but fit together like folded hands when they're closed so they'd be as thick as the wall and we wouldn't lose heat." He looked around more as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. "There's a lamp on the table. Toss me a match; I'll get it lit."

Ben pulled a match from his pocket and tossed it in a steep arc so it was easy to catch. "Once you get that one going, you'll see the others and you can hobble over to them if you're so inclined. Then you need to sit down."

Adam struck the match on the wooden table and got the wick adjusted to cast a glow that allowed him to see what he'd already imagined. After warming his hands over the chimney for a few seconds, he extended his palm. "Give me a couple more of those matches, Pa." His leg hurt as he moved around, and yet not as much as he'd thought it would. "I'm more cold than anything right now, so let's get it warmed up in here, change clothes, and then I'll worry about sitting." He took a few more limping steps without problems. "It's easier to walk in here because the floor is flat." His lips drew together in a pucker as he recalled moving into this house. "We had a dirt floor to start, didn't we?"

"Just the first winter," Ben replied as he thought back. "We got the trees felled and the main structure up and tucked, but I had to saw the logs into floor planks. That took some time."

"You did a good job. I'm surprised it's as even as it is considering the tools you had." The second lamp brightened the room even more, and by the time he got the third one going, the fire was blazing and the room was starting to warm. Adam grabbed the last lamp he'd lit and took it over to examine the contents of the shelves. "Didn't we use candles at first? I remember having one lamp, but that was it."

"Your memory is pretty good, son. It was difficult to purchase lamp oil, and the wagon trip west took a toll on the fixtures we'd brought along. By the time we got here, we only had pieces left to make one full lamp, with a few spare parts left over." Ben laughed as he thought about it. "Between the river crossings, the rough ground that jarred our bones and axels, bad weather, and the horrible winds in the plains, I'm surprised we got to our destination with anything in one piece."

"Could you get candles at the trading post?"

"We could get wicking string at the post, and we rendered animal tallow and used that for candles."

Adam's face took a decidedly sour look. "It's funny how you can remember smells. When you mentioned rendering tallow, I got a whiff of something in my mind. It wasn't pleasant." He laughed. "They didn't smell much better when they burned, did they?"

"We opened that shutter every morning just to let fresh air in—even when it was cold outside. We made our candles in jars and tins, but I remember when I was a kid, my mother made them in candle molds and the tapers would drip over everything as they melted. The holders would be covered in the stuff, and one of my chores as a boy was to scrape them out. My folks could have afforded better candles, but we used every resource we had, and tallow was one we had plenty of."

"Seems like you learned that lesson pretty well, Pa. We used everything to its best purpose too. I always admired that." Adam held the lamp higher to give broader illumination. "I see you've got extra blankets stocked here. Maybe I should strip down and cover up with one of those."

Ben's cheeks blazed as hot as the fire he was stoking when he noticed the staccato in his son's voice as he began to shiver again. "Sorry, son. I got involved with this and forgot that you need to change. I'll bring in our saddle bags and the supplies from Jinx, and we can see what we have to work with."

Adam's voice took a serious tone. "Would you take a look at Shine's legs and ribs, Pa? He seemed fine, but he might be showing some signs of stiffness now if he was hurt."

Three

Ben and Adam looked each other over and started to laugh. There hadn't been much left dry to work with as clothing went, but they'd managed to find a full set of Ben's long-johns and a shirt for the son, and dry pants for the father.

"I'm glad you always bring extra socks, Pa. At least we each got a dry pair of those."

"You should probably sit down now," Ben suggested with a little more force in his voice than earlier. He'd seen the line of blackening bruises extending from his sons' waist to his ankle when he'd been changing. He assumed the weight of the horse had crushed the outside of Adam's leg against the rocky bed of the creek. Although miserable looking, Ben felt relieved that it was only damage to the tissue rather than a cracked leg bone, a wrenched knee or even a broken hip or back. While this injury looked horrible, it would heal fast compared to mending bones.

Adam began draping wet clothes and blankets over logs they'd set on end near the fireplace to use as drying racks. "I'm still doing fine. Let me get this stuff laid out while you finish with the horses, and then maybe we can fry up some bacon and potatoes. It's been a long time since breakfast." He snorted. "I was hoping we'd be frying up some antelope steaks, but bacon will do nicely."

The small cabin felt humid when Ben returned. The wet clothing and blankets near the fire were steaming as they began to dry, and the smell of wet wool filled the air. Adam had found a knife and the potatoes, and was slicing them up along with an onion. He had bacon stretched out in the cast iron pan, and he'd managed to set up the cooking tripod over the logs. A pot of coffee was bubbling on a small pile of embers off to the side of the main fire. The smell of wool vanished near the center of the room, and Ben took in the aroma of the freshly brewing balm. "You got a lot done while I was out. It looks like we're going to have a feast."

"A feast it shall be. Hop Sing outdid himself with our supplies. I found cake with the toasted coconut topping I like, another full can of biscuits, a slab of butter, and tins of jelly and cookies in the food pack we hadn't opened yet." A low chuckle became a laugh he couldn't contain. "I just had another memory of our time in this cabin, Pa. You were not a good cook." His father's laugh encouraged him. "The oatmeal was always dry and burned on the bottom, and most other things came out pretty charred."

"I was always in a hurry, and cooked over a flame instead of waiting for coals. I've learned some things about cooking from Hop Sing since then." He sent his son a knowing look. "And I was out with you a few times when you tried your hand at campfire cooking, and your results weren't any better than mine." He indicated the food waiting to be cooked. "Maybe if we work together, we'll get this done without making a burned offering out of it." He sniffed the air. "If I'm not mistaken, that coffee is ready. Wanna cup?"

"I sure do." Adam continued chopping potatoes. "You were outside quite a while. Was everything all right?"

Everything's fine. I should have told you right away. Shine seems right as rain: no limping or favoring that side."

"You forget…he had a cushion under him when he fell!"

"I'd say that was true…." Ben set a cup of steaming liquid on the table next to the chopping operation. "Except you would have proved a very bony cushion. I'm sure ranch work will start to fill you out more, but right now you're pretty thin." He nudged Adam's shoulder. "You probably weren't even aware of it, but Hop Sing's tried to fatten you up since you've been home." A glance from his son made him chuckle. "He camouflaged it, but he managed to give you extra portions without it looking any different from ours. You even mentioned a few times that it was strange that Hop Sing was making up our plates instead of putting out serving bowls."

"I didn't notice it on my plate, or here." He straightened and patted his stomach. "Everything still fits the same."

"He gave up on it when Hoss complained, but with you working so hard, your appetite increased on its own."

"Maybe it's just all gone to muscle." The young man flexed his arm, producing well-defined musculature visible through the fabric of his shirts. He shook his head as he squinted towards the bed. "Wait, didn't I do this when I was a kid? I stood on the bed and made a muscle to show you how strong I was getting."

A nod ended with a smile, but no comment. The smile changed to a silent sigh and a frown when Ben turned away and went to stoke the fire. Using the poker, he got a sizable bed of embers deposited under the tripod before glancing over back his shoulder. "I think we have enough coals to start the bacon."

He usually enjoyed thinking about living in this cabin with his boys. But there were other times—like now when Adam had brought up a memory—that Ben's own memories of the same scene poked at his gut and produced embarrassment and sorrow. He'd always tried his best with his boys…and yet he knew that Adam had shouldered a weight of responsibility far beyond his years. It was worse than that though. He was left wondering how often he'd squashed the boy's enthusiastic displays of childhood as he had the day his son had just mentioned.

He could picture Adam showing off his muscles as he'd stood on their bed. But instead of thanking his son for all he'd done to earn those bumps, he'd hollered sharply at him to get off the mattress before he bunched the ticking or broke a rope on the frame. He could still see the hurt in Adam's face as he'd immediately sat, slid quickly off the bed, and ran outside.

His thoughts and memories swirled like the dancing flames consuming the logs in the fire as he wondered whether Adam was remembering the same conclusion. When nothing more was said, Ben angled himself so he could see what his son was doing. His heart swelled with love and pride as he watched Adam go about the preparations with no apparent concern for how that moment in his life had ended. This child of his and Elizabeth's had grown fine and strong, and seemed unaware of his father's concerns about the past. Can it be this easy, he thought. Do children forgive and then forget the shortcomings of their parents, or will Adam's less happy memories reassemble now that he's here again. And from there will they build into resentment that will make him leave for good?

Ben Cartwright usually faced things head on. Right now he wished he had the nerve to sit Adam down and ask the questions he'd just pondered. But in this one thing, he admitted his cowardice.

The two of them had been together from the day Adam had been born. He'd never shrunk from raising his first son alone. They'd moved around for nearly five years before actually heading across the Mississippi to parts west. Adam had grown in those years to be intelligent and resourceful. He'd seemed older than his years, yet he'd had a respectable early childhood…of sorts. In fact that was one of the reasons Ben had slowed their journey. He'd taken time to learn the skills he'd need to start a homestead, and that had benefited Adam. The little boy had played with other children when they were available, and he'd always been under the watchful eye of an older woman at the boarding houses where they'd stayed. Those wonderful ladies had doted on Adam. They'd let him get away with a lot of mischief, but then Adam was not often in trouble. He loved to play in the dirt and mud, and was always building things out of whatever materials he could come by. It hadn't surprised Ben when the young man had chosen the path of engineering, and shown a gift for architectural design.

Those had been rough years of skimping and saving to have enough to take on their dream at full sails. And after Inger had committed to being a willing participant, they'd left Hannibal with sails at full and smooth seas ahead. The seas had risen in waves they hadn't been able to control though, and Inger had been lost in a storm of retribution. He'd become a widower again with a six-year-old and a baby. So much had changed that day, and for Adam, it had meant his childhood had ended. There'd been no other choice. Ben had to rely on his older child's advanced sense of responsibility. Adam had taken on his role willingly. But he'd still been a child, not a miniature adult. And as a child, there had been times when he'd acted like one. The image of Adam jumping on the bed returned, bringing a shiver. His reprimand had come from thinking that the boy should have known better, and should have set a better example for Hoss, because what if…

That had been the problem: The what-ifs. What if Hoss had followed suit and then fallen off the bed…. What if Adam had broken that piece of furniture or hurt himself… There'd been no supplies to make repairs. Everything they'd possessed had been purposed and repurposed until there was nothing left but scraps. They'd eked through those times by being careful, and Ben hadn't been able to abide carelessness.

Ben shook his head, trying to clear his doubts about his ability as a parent, but a final barrage of thought hit him. How different might those years have been if I'd have enjoyed my children a little more, and worried a little less about the furniture?

He had continued squatting next to the fire as he'd remembered some of the reasons why he hadn't been anxious to bring his grown son to this cabin. Adam's voice next to him made him look up too fast and he toppled backward. He managed to catch himself before he fell completely and he looked up sheepishly.

Adam tried not to laugh—without success. "You were sure deep in your thoughts, Pa. Sorry I startled you." He held out the loaded skillet. "Didn't you say you were ready for the bacon?"

The two Cartwrights pushed their plates away. "I'm stuffed," Adam declared before belching loudly; starting them both laughing. "I suppose we'll have to clean things up. Isn't that the problem with having a good meal? There's always more work."

"That's the truth of life, not just of a meal." Ben said thoughtfully. "But we don't need to rush."

Adam looked around the room again, and sat forward. "You did a lot of work those first years! We lived in the wagon at first, and brought it up here so you could build a cabin before winter." He glanced around again. "How did you get this done in a couple of months?"

Ben's mind trailed back over the years, and grinned. "Having two children who would have frozen if we hadn't had shelter and a fireplace, was strong motivation. And you may not remember, but you helped a lot."

"Some of that came back when I saw the tree stumps on the way here. I remembered digging moss, and helping you hook up the horses to the logs…oh and watching so Hoss didn't get underfoot." Another moment of recollection made Adam's brows pinch. "Wasn't there a trapper in the area who helped us?"

A vigorous nod. "Trapper John was what he called himself. Said he'd worked the backwaters of the Mississippi, La Crosse, and Black Rivers in Wisconsin for the first part of his life, but left when it got too crowded." Ben chuckled. "He came here because he thought it would be free of people. We were probably the only ones to ever see him in these parts. I asked about him at the trading post and they had no idea who he was, so I'm not sure where he took his pelts and traded for goods." He sighed as he thought further of the man who'd helped them. "After helping us on-and-off for a year or so, he said he was moving on again, giving the same reason as before: it was getting too crowded."

"We were the only people in these parts. There was the trading post and a boarding house in town, but that was a piece away from here.

"He meant us, son. I suspect he was kidding…some. He was a loner, but I do believe he liked being with us. He even stayed inside a few times when the weather got really bad. Earlier you mentioned the floor in this cabin. He's the reason we got boards sawed, and the siding made for the lean-to we built down below so we'd have decent shelter in both places we stayed. The interesting thing was that he asked for nothing in return other than to share a meal when he helped. I think he got nervous when he stayed in one place too long."

"I can see him in my mind," Adam said as he closed his eyes. "He was tall and burly; with hair so matted and twirled together it looked like he had a pile of brush under his hat. I mentioned the memory of smells before, and I remember he smelled like the skins he wore. Then there were the stories he told about the beautiful country in Wisconsin."

Ben nodded. "He came into our lives at the perfect moment. I'd learned a lot on our long journey out here, but he taught me so much more about the wilderness and survival. He cared a great deal about you and Hoss too. He lamented about not having a son, but said that no woman would ever have wanted to live the way he did. Before he left he told me, 'You go on treatin' this here land like you do them two youngens of yourn, and it'll give itself to you willin' like. Them trees will keep growin' tall and strong just as your boys, iffen you don't take more than they can give back. And them fur-bearin' critters will always provide you with pelts if you harvest them with respect."

"Those were great words to live by." Adam became quiet as he reconsidered Trapper John's caution, and started to laugh. "I remember once asking you why Hoss talked the way he did, and you said it probably came naturally. But think about that quote you just used. Who talks just like that?"

Ben frowned as he thought. "Hoss was pretty young when John was around."

"Yes he was, but he was learning to talk then, and he was with John a lot. I'd hold the planks in place for you to hammer, and John was off a pace planing the next board, telling Hoss stories about all the critters in the sloughs along the Mississippi. Hoss usually ran around like a headless chicken, but he sat quietly when he was with John. My memories aren't exact, but I remember he had a soothing voice, and he always peppered his stories with missin' g's and colorful idioms." Adam snorted. "I always figured that's how they spoke in Wisconsin, but then I met people from Milwaukee when I lived in Boston, and they sure didn't talk like that."

"I thought it was 'baby talk' at the time Hoss started doing it, but he never did grow out of it." Ben's chuckle was long, continuing into a laugh. "A family mystery solved. Oh well, it suits him. I do find it interesting that even Abigail Jones couldn't change him. She's a nice young woman, but she even corrects my grammar."

"I thought sure Abigail would make Hoss recite proper sentences and word endings until he'd dream in proper tense."

"That had more to do with Hoss than Abigail. For him, it was like he'd slip on a well-fitting suit so he'd look nice in class and Abigail would think she was turning him into a well-spoken gentleman, but he'd change back to his comfortable clothes…and ways of speaking…as soon as he walked out the schoolhouse door."

Adam sat forward. "Hoss is smart, Pa. I mean really smart. I know he hated formal schooling, and his simple way of speaking along with his easy-going nature camouflage how intelligent he really is. He remembers everything I tell him, and usually ends up using that information to do things I'd never have thought of trying. And he reads a lot." He chuckled. "Granted, the books are about animals, farming, and things he likes, but it still speaks to his active mind." A knowing look met him when he looked directly at his father. "But I suspect you know all this."

"I do. I also know what he doesn't want to do, and I'll encourage his work with the stock and fields instead of trying to train him in the business of the ranch. He'll catch onto that one day too, but he'll never be a negotiator like you, or a fast talker like Joe is. He's rooted in the earth."

The companionable silence lingered as both men sipped at their whiskey-laced coffee. Darkness blanketed the world outside, and inside the cabin, eyelids were beginning to droop when Ben finally forced himself to stand and gather their plates. "Don't think I haven't seen you shifting on that chair to your uninjured…cheek…for the last while. You're in pain and it's time for you to rest. This time there'll be no backtalk or stalling."

There was no argument from the opposite side of the table. Adam tried to rise fluidly, but groaned as he realized how stiff he'd gotten again. "I think I need some of that whiskey; this time without the coffee."

"I've got something better for tonight." Ben grabbed his saddlebag from the third chair and put it near the lamp to look inside. "There's liniment in here. I used some on Shine earlier when I got him settled."

"Horse liniment will dissolve my skin by morning." The younger man's laugh was pained.

"It's not horse liniment, Adam." Ben laughed as he set a tall, narrow bottle on the table, and then pulled out another dark, shorter one. "But if that's the result you want, I can probably find something out in the shed to use—like turpentine or pine tar." The son sighed and shook his head before his lips turned downward into frown. Ben grabbed the smaller bottle, and grinned widely while he went to get a spoon from the cupboard. The pout on his son's face was the same expression Adam had used as a child anytime he didn't like what his father had said. Adam had grown into a strong and self-sufficient man, but at times like this, Ben could still see his little boy. "I brought the liniment to take the ache out my joints from sleeping on the cold ground." His lips drew to the left in a one-sided smile as he took another playful jab. "Who knew you'd need it before I did."

The pout eased into a laugh. "I think I'll stick to lubricating myself from the inside out instead of the other way around. Where'd you put that bottle of fermented mash medication?"

Ben made the two steps necessary to return to his son, and extended the midnight-blue bottle and spoon. "This might work better than whiskey. I know you don't like taking laudanum1, but…maybe just for tonight…it would help you sleep, and that will help you heal."

"I know it has its purpose, Pa, and that we've always kept it in our trail kit. Many an injured drover has needed it, and luckily its taste usually keeps it from being used any longer than necessary." Adam leaned hard against his chair to relieve the ache rippling along his leg from hip to ankle, and considered his options. "The alcohol will wear off faster, so I think I will try your poison…just for tonight." He took the bottle, holding it near the lamp to read the directions, and then poured the first part of the dose into the spoon.

It was Ben's turn to try not to laugh, but the sour look on his son's face and the deep shiver that seemed to start his neck and move toward the boy's stockinged feet made him chuckle knowingly. "It really is awful stuff." Adam's nod preceded the final spoonful of the vile liquid. Ben grabbed the medicine and spoon, and pointed toward the bed, ordering, "Lay down."

"Canteen!" Adam choked out as he indicated the canister hanging on the extra chair. He took a long drag of liquid after his father handed it to him, and washed down the last remnants of medicine. He still needed a deep breath and another shiver before recovering enough to talk. "I'd truly forgotten how bad that is." His face was still set in a sour scowl as he attempted a smile to accompany his salute. "I will dutifully head to bed now, but might I receive permission to leave the cabin for a few seconds to relieve myself before doing that…sir."

Ben handed his son the makeshift cane while shaking his head. "Smart Alec kids," he growled under his breath; the exasperated, three-word sentence, conveying the exasperation felt by every parent.

"Overbearing parents!" Adam shot back as he limped out the door.

By the time Adam returned, his father had covered the mattress with a flannel sheet and tucked blankets in at the foot. Adam also saw that a pillow and blanket were sitting on the rocking chair. "Why don't we pull the bed away from the wall, and then we can get in and out without crawling over each other."

"I'll sleep in the chair, son. It's a pretty small bed, and I don't want to disturb you."

"I remember that all three of us slept in it when we lived here. Hoss and I took up about as much room as a second adult, and I don't want you having to use that liniment tomorrow because you slept in a chair. After all, Shine needs it more than you do." The pillow from the chair sailed unexpectedly past Adam's head and landed on the bed, making him laugh. The blanket followed.

"I'll join you after I finish cleaning up, and read from my Bible. But you get resting now. That medicine will kick in shortly, and I don't want you fighting it." The father grinned devilishly. "And just know that if you snore, I'll stick a wet sock in your mouth."

Adam had gotten comfortable during his father's response. The warm bedding closed around him like a cocoon, and he let the laudanum have its way with his brain. "That's fine, Pa," came out sounding far away and slurred to his ear. He opened his eyes a last time and noticed a scorch mark on the floor between the bed and the fireplace. He suspected he should know why it was there, but he had no interest in pursuing the trail of thoughts necessary to lead to the answer. The world behind his eyes darkened as he drifted to sleep.

Four

Ben found a square of old toweling that Hop Sing always included in their gear for cleaning up, wet it, and wiped out the dishes and cooking pans, leaving them on the table to dry. It was his custom to read a section of the Bible each night before bed, so he moved the rocking chair nearer the lamp on the table in preparation. A soft moan from across the room delayed his plan as he went to check on his son. He removed damp clothing from one of the cut logs and sat on it next to the bed. Adam was sleeping, but restlessly, evidenced by a slight twitching around his eyes, the jerking of his limbs and sporadic, plaintive muttering about a test he was late for. Yet there were no signs of physical discomfort. He thought back to his son's early years, remembering that he had always chattered in a fidgety sort of sleep when he'd gotten over-tired. His "grown boy" should have rested when they'd first arrived. But just as when he'd been a child, Adam had fought it until he'd been dead on his feet. Ben tucked the blanket tighter around his son's shoulders and did a quick palm to forehead check for fever. As he withdrew his hand, he paused and leaned forward again to stroke Adam's hair—a gesture that had always settled him as a boy. The power of touch amazed Ben. He'd seen it soothe wounded bodies in the midst of battle; relieve wounded hearts and spirits when all hope seemed lost, and in this case, ease the agitated sleep of his bone-weary, injured son.

It hadn't taken long for Adam to begin resting more comfortably, but it had been long enough sitting on the uncomfortable, uneven log that Ben had to stifle a groan when he stood. It took all his effort to straighten out and inch his way back to the table and the bottle of liniment. The recollection of his rescue efforts in the creek and the cold ride to the cabin gave credibility to the ache in his joints.

He'd checked on his wet long-johns earlier and they'd been dry, but he'd left them near the fire to stay warm until he would put them on for bed. He grabbed them now, and between shedding his current clothing and slipping into the undergarment, he applied a liberal spread of the liniment on his knees, elbows, shoulders, and as far up and down his back as he could reach. As he set the bottle down again, he whispered, "I don't have to tell the kid a thing about this."

The effects of the unguent and the warmth of the fire-dried clothing enveloped him, finishing the soothing that the whiskey and fine evening with his son had started. The rocking chair felt like an old friend as he slid into it and grabbed his Bible from the table. The onion-skin paper was shiny where the oil in his fingers had deposited over the years. This sacred book was as comforting and appreciated as the chair he was relaxing in, and as much a balm to his soul as the liniment he'd applied to his body. He couldn't recall just how many times he'd turned these same pages, but there was always something new to be found in a journey through.

His marker was sticking out from the chapters of Job, but he wasn't in the mood for the judgments, incriminations, and self-examination of that Book. He'd been doing enough of that already today, so he paged ahead to Psalms. He'd managed to relax from his earlier fears about his children holding him responsible for his parental shortcomings as the evening with Adam had recalled sweeter memories. Yet this cabin was filled with shadows: some light and transparent with the enjoyment and reassurance they brought, while others loomed dark and disconcerting, leaving him breathless with regret.

He decided again to leave that worry behind and he concentrated on the first Psalm: Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.2

Ben stopped to think about these verses. He'd like to believe that his faith had allowed him to head into a valley of the unknown, and plant his family like a tree by the river of life. Wasn't arriving in the territory and building this cabin next to the creek a perfect example of that? And in that faith, hadn't they given their best efforts, morally and physically, as they'd begun to prosper? All the sacrifice and loss they'd endured had brought forth fruit that had allowed them to live well and help others.

Perhaps that was too literal a translation of these verses, but it felt good to know that the bounty of his life was far greater than anything he'd ever dreamed of.

He set the chair in motion, putting his head back while other, darker thoughts crowded around him and whispered that perhaps in his striving for his dream he had put his needs ahead of what would have been best for his children. The thought from earlier seized his heart. Everything between him and Adam seemed fine again. It had been a pleasant night, but would being in this place eventually stir the embers of less pleasant memories for him?

He tried to read again, but he had difficulty keeping his mind on the print in front of him as exhaustion overcame him. Within minutes, the rhythmic movement of the chair ceased; his head fell forward onto his chest, and the cabin became silent except for the snoring of the father, and the occasional murmur of the son.

"What in tarnation!" Ben grumbled as a high-pitched screech floated out the open door of the cabin. The screech was followed by a wail. This was not an unusual development for the father of a three and nine-year-old son. His boys played hard, and while Hoss was strong for his age, he still had the clumsiness of a toddler and regular tumbles from tripping over his own feet left him very unhappy. Ben knew he didn't have to check on things just yet. Adam would tend to the scrapes if there were any; soothe the bruised ego if that was more the case, or call for his father's help if it was outside his ability.

A thumping noise inside the house replaced the vocal assault as Ben continued to prepare his equipment. Winter had passed without any shutdowns from heavy snow, and he'd continued trapping near streams kept free of ice by moving water. But there'd been a touch of spring in the air lately—the warm sun melting the deeper snow and the ice cover from backwater pools—and he'd decided it was time to position the rest of his traps. A return to colder, snowier weather might shut down his routes to these. He could collect a good number of pelts if the weather held, or none at all if it didn't. It was worth the effort regardless of the outcome.

He tossed traps and snares onto the sled he used to transport his gear, and went back to the shed to grab the leather strips and stakes he used to secure them to the ground. The shed already housed a good-sized pile of pelts that had been cleaned and stretched from the harvest he'd made during the winter. He planned to sell some of those for staples from the trading post, but he had bigger plans for the rest of these, along with the majority of what he'd harvest over the coming year. This was his nest egg; a large selection of top quality fur he'd soon take to New Orleans to sell for a substantial sum he'd use to purchase more land, and finally the cattle that would graze the vast acres of his ranch.

Ben smiled as he observed his stash, and allowed himself to dream of having cash to hire men to begin a responsible thinning of the pine around them and ride the herds grazing in the fields. With this new prosperity, his boys would have a real house, and his dreams would become reality instead of some future event. It seemed odd to speak of dreams, but they'd gotten them this far. It hadn't been easy, but he and Adam had accomplished so much. Hoss was still young, but he'd soon be able to help as well, and the three of them would build a legacy. Three things: time, money, and manpower still held them in the starting gate of this race to complete the dream that had begun like a wave at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean and had carried them across prairie, desert, and mountains on its crest, to deposit them here.

There were never enough hours in the day. He'd promised Elizabeth, Inger, and himself that his sons would be educated. That wasn't easy when so much of their time was spent in physical labor. But he was helping Adam through textbooks he'd received from a teacher in their wagon train, and he was already considering a plan to leave the boys with a former teacher-turned-homesteader when he made his trip to Louisiana. This was one promise he couldn't renege on even if they lived minute-by-minute, putting one foot in front of the other to ensure they had shelter and food.

He thought next of the cash he'd need to propel his dream to a successful conclusion. Money never lasted as long as the list of needs, but they were doing better now. Having their own resources to use for cash took more from their bodies, but less from their pockets.

Manpower was a different problem. He'd been able to plant roots in this new land with the help of his oldest son, but he knew that they'd soon need hired men. That was a concern since the Cartwrights were one of a few families that inhabited this territory. People passed the trading post on their way north or west, but only a few stayed. He'd known there was potential here—felt it soul deep, and that's why he'd remained despite the constant weariness and occasional wariness he'd faced.

There were times when his fear of not having men to assist him when the time was right was a nagging concern, and yet he had to believe that God would provide the answer. He knew this because there had been angels on his journey—God sent helpers, he assumed—who'd come through his life when he'd needed them most. He considered the many people who'd helped and encouraged him along the way to Missouri. And after Inger died, there'd been his fellow travelers who'd stepped in to assist with his boys and bolster his spirits. Inger remained the greatest of these angels, and that sturdy toddler inside the cabin had been her eternal gift.

Most recently, a miraculous helper had appeared: had walked out of the deep woods like an apparition. John was his name. He said he'd been trapping for a few years on the back waters of what the native tribes called the Salmon or Trout River. He lived off the land and showed Ben and Adam how to use every resource around them. He introduced them to the Indians who inhabited the area, and taught them where to find food in nature when their supplies ran low and what native herbs to use for illness or injury. He'd helped Ben to spot the best places to trap, and how to preserve the pelts so they'd bring the highest dollar. He'd doted on Hoss and kept him entertained while Ben had worked, and he'd told both boys incredible tales of his life. The most helpful thing John had done had been to help him finish the house they'd use on the lower ground where they gardened and worked the land in the summer. With that done, John had helped him saw and plane enough boards to finish this cabin's floor. The old trapper had disappeared as enigmatically as he'd come and they hadn't seen him since.

These thoughts had barreled through his mind in a matter of seconds while he finished his preparations, and he was about ready to hitch up the horse when he heard Hoss again. This time he wasted no time in heading toward the house. He tried to imagine what was would make the youngster scream the way he was. Everything had gone smoothly that morning, but what he heard made him fear that the day had taken a dark turn.

Just some minutes ago, with the promise of a sunny day ahead, Ben had set Adam to getting their bedding outside to air. They'd also opened the shutters and door to bring the fresh, sweet air inside. He'd figured that setting the traps wouldn't take long, so the boys could remain at the cabin. Hoss was an active boy, but he listened well enough, and would entertain himself with the wooden animals John had whittled as a gift for the child's third birthday, while Adam did chores.

Ben's march to the house stalled as the smell of something burning assailed him. He sniffed deeply to figure out where it was coming from, and his eyes followed a swirl of curling smoke into the cabin. He lost his breath as he wondered if Hoss's screams might indicate that he'd tripped and fallen into the hearth.

The smell strengthened as he charged to the door, but he stopped abruptly as he entered to assess what needed to be done first. He followed the sound of Hoss's hysterical screams to see him hiding in the far, dark corner of the room. An orange glow off to his left made his head snap towards the fireplace.

Adam, clothed only in his short underwear, was standing in the midst of a flaming pile of fabric that stretched from the hot embers of the hearth out into the room. He was swatting at the tongues of fire with a pillow. But the blaze was being fanned by the draft between the open window and door, and it was growing faster than he could put it out.

Ben covered the gap between them, grabbing another pillow as he passed the bed. His bigger size and harder swing snuffed the larger flames quickly. He pushed his son out of the way with more force than he'd intended, sending Adam flying against the bed frame. With the majority of the fire out, he could stomp the remainder into submission, and he was finally able to separate the charred items from the rest. He'd had no clue what was burning when he'd first seen it, and had worried only for his children. But now the realization of what it was and how it had probably started on fire, spurred his anger.

He looked over with his steely glare and told his youngest son to, "Hush!" Hoss complied before tucking his head down as he hugged his knees. With the noise of the screaming child and the roar of the fire ended, the room became eerily silent. Ben's gaze moved to the child who was rising from where he'd fallen. His words were uttered slowly and laden with accusation and barely controlled fury. "What happened here?" When Adam remained silent, he hollered, "Tell me what happened or so help me…" He had to calm himself before he acted on his rage. He was thankful that his boys seemed unhurt, yet the magnitude of what might have happened had his heart and mind racing.

The child's first attempt to explain was barely audible, and Ben told him to speak up. "I was doing like you said, Pa. I took the bedding off and put it in a basket to take it outside. Then I took off my nightshirt and started to get dressed, but Hoss…well I smelled something burning and looked around and saw the stuff on fire."

Ben moved closer, looming over the child. "Stuff? You call our blankets, stuff, like it's not important? Don't you mean you carelessly left the edges hanging out of the basket and set it too close to the fire?"

Adam's head moved side-to-side. "I wasn't careless, Pa. It was just that Hoss…"

"Hoss is on the other side of the room. How could he have had anything to do with this?"

"Now," Adam whispered.

"What did you say?" Ben demanded. "You better not be getting smart with me."

"I said, now." The boy stared up into his father's dark eyes. "Hoss is in the corner now."

"It's not like you to shift blame to someone else for your mistake, Adam. At least I think that's where this is going. Now I'm not only angry about your carelessness, but I'm ashamed of you."

"I'm not blaming him, Pa. It's just that he…"

Ben cut in again. "I don't want to hear it." He bent down and held up the remnants of what had been saved. One blanket was unaffected, but only a small portion of the second one remained undamaged. A quilt made from the canvas of their wagon covering a third blanket was missing the center portion. "Look at this!" he commanded when Adam turned his head away. "There's only one usable blanket left, and winter isn't over yet. How do you suggest we stretch these…pieces…to cover the three of us?"

It hadn't been a question and Adam knew it. He kept silent and looked down.

"You know we don't have extras. The blankets are gone; there's no more canvas, and…I suppose we'll have to sleep in our clothes, which means those will wear out faster too."

"I'm sorry, Pa." The child's eyes remained focused on his bare feet.

He wanted to reach out an embrace the child in front of him and tell him everything would be all right: that accidents happened sometimes, and he hadn't meant to sound as harsh as he had. But he didn't. Instead he tossed the blankets back on the pile and ordered Hoss out from his hiding place. "Adam's going to get you dressed and you'll come with me today." Turning to Adam, he said, "Make sure he's got warm things on. It's nice now, but it'll get chilly once the sun goes over the hill." He stopped for emphasis and wagged his finger in Adam's face. "And while we're gone, you will deal with this mess. I want the cabin clean, what bedding is left aired out, and that frozen rabbit meat cooking for supper." He touched Adam's shoulder. "I know you're sorry, but apologies can't replace what's been destroyed, son. I don't know if you were careless because you were angry about having to stay home to do chores and watch your brother, or if your mind was off on one your mental adventures. In the end it doesn't matter: the damage is done."

When Ben returned, Adam had Hoss bundled up and the youngster had a bag he said his older brother had stuffed with food and toys.

"Let's get going then," he'd said as he directed the younger son to the door. Ben looked back and saw that Adam was pulling his boots up, but the boy continued staring at the floor when he finished.

After getting Hoss safely settled in a spot he'd cleared on the sled, Ben's gaze drifted to the house where he saw Adam standing in the doorway. His wave garnered one in return, but his son's face was blank; his lifeless eyes staring into the distance. A shiver coursed through Ben's body, having nothing to do with the cold. He understood that his rapid trial and sentencing of his oldest son had taken a heavy toll on the boy's trust. Yet he'd been justified, hadn't he? Adam's carelessness all but destroyed something vital to their survival. He decided that a day alone with plenty to do might just reinforce his need to try harder.

"It was the right thing to do," he muttered as he headed the horse and sled toward the stream. But if he was so right—so justified in his response—then why did he feel so empty? A whisper told him that he'd just used his son as a scapegoat for all his frustrations. A different whisper claimed this wasn't the case at all. He needed to teach Adam responsibility and this was the way to do it. The warring whispers slowed his pace until he stopped. Other images of times when he'd "disciplined" Adam swirled like a tornado in his brain, and he felt a wave of nausea as he asked himself how many times he could do this before he broke his son's spirit. That wasn't what he wanted at all. Spirit was what kept them all going, fighting, and making progress. What he wanted to instill was more thought towards the consequences of their actions.

He looked up to view the progress of the sun, and although he wanted to go back and make amends, daylight hours were still short, and he had to move forward. He soothed his heart by telling himself that he was making too much of what he'd done, and everything would be fine when they returned.

It had taken longer than he'd thought it would, and it was dusk by the time Ben and Hoss neared the house. Hoss had remained quiet all day, but Ben figured the little boy had been muzzled by the anger he'd seen his father display with his older brother. The youngster had fallen asleep curled on the sled in the afternoon, allowing his father to do more than he'd originally planned. The delay hadn't bothered him since he had to admit he hadn't been in a hurry to get home and face his son. The hollow look on his Adam's face as the boy had waved goodbye had continued to haunt him throughout his labors, and he used the time to assess how he might fix the rift he'd opened.

"Wait, son," Ben told Hoss when he tried to jump off the sled as they entered the yard. "You can hold the horse while I put things away." The horse was a docile old mare that would have stood for hours without being held, but he wanted Hoss as his buffer when he entered the cabin. He wasn't sure what Adam had accomplished, and after his blowup earlier, he wasn't sure the child would ever feel the same about him again. He'd relived their conversation many times throughout the day, hating himself for not saying the most important things. Things like thanking Adam for keeping Hoss safe from the flames or asking if he was all right. And above all, he hadn't allowed his son a chance to tell what had actually happened. This, after hearing a tearful admission from Hoss during the day, had turned out to be his biggest failure.

He unhitched the sled and carried the things they'd brought back—a few traps to fix and several pelts to take care of—into the shed while wondering if Adam could ever reclaim the respect he'd had when they'd gotten up this morning. Would this incident make him weary of chasing a father's dream—something he'd been conscripted into, not enlisted to do? Ben had come to think of it as a family dream now, but was it? The painful truth he'd faced repeatedly today in answer to his prayers was that Adam was a nine-year-old…who bore the workload and responsibility of an adult.

Ben handed Hoss a brush once the horse was in its stall, and told him to do the belly as far up as he could reach.

"You gonna give Mazie her supper, Pa?" the little boy asked.

"She'll have some grass and water." Ben grinned as he pulled some of the dry grass from the stack at the corner of the shed. "Is that what you want for supper too?"

The little boy's eyes widened. "I can't eat grass!" His nose wrinkled. "Seems like my nose smelled rabbit cookin' for some time comin' home."

Ben took the brush and quickly finished currying Mazie as she munched contentedly. After he'd taken a look around to make sure everything was set for the night, he took Hoss's hand. "C'mon, son. Let's go see if your nose was right."

It was fully dark by the time they headed for the house and the candle and lamp light cast a welcoming glow when they entered the cabin. A thorough look around the room while shedding his coat brought amazement. Ben mentally ticked off the things his older son had accomplished in their absence. The place was tidy and orderly. The bed was made, there was a pot of something bubbling on the hearth grate, and the table was set. His eyes were drawn to one area of the floor. It had been scrubbed clean of ash and soot, but a dark streak remained where the wood had been darkened by the fire.

He wondered how anyone could hide in such a small room, and yet he hadn't seen Adam during his initial sweep. A relieved smile softened his face as he saw his son rise from where he'd been squatting, pulling something from their cupboard. "There you are," he said lightly. "The place looks great. You must have had a very busy day."

"I saw you looking at the floor, Pa." Adam's words were hesitant and his head bowed. "I scrubbed as hard as I could but that mark won't come out."

"It's not scorched deep enough to affect the strength of the board, so we'll just consider it a touch of character." Ben had hoped his positive words would relieve the tension he could see in his son's posture, but the boy only stood more rigidly while still looking down. This wasn't like Adam, and he hated that he'd hurt the child to the point where he was acting… The truth was he wasn't sure what Adam's posture and lack of eye contact indicated. It could be hate. Yet that was the least worrisome of the possibilities. Ben figured all children had moments when they hated something their folks had done or said. Childhood hate was reversible.

His realization that Adam was displaying fear was far more disquieting. He wanted his children to fear the consequences of bad behavior; to have a reasonable expectation of discipline from a fair father who set realistic boundaries, not a father who used his authority to cow them into submission. He'd seen families where children lived in terror of an abusive parent. They cowered at the adult's approach, and their eyes were always furtive, waiting for the next physical or verbal assault.

Ben wanted his children's respect. Respect was necessary; they needed to know that someone was in charge, but he wanted the foundation of their respect to rest on knowing that he loved them more than anything else in his life. He'd destroyed Adam's trust earlier and his chest ached as he realized he'd crossed a line when he'd been fueled by anger and burden.

He knew what he was facing now, but he wasn't sure if he could fix it. An apology would be a start, but that wouldn't change the circumstances. He'd condemned his son without hearing the evidence, and Adam had fulfilled his sentence of hard labor. This child had done more in a day than most men were capable of accomplishing. His heartbeat began to throb in his temples, making his head hurt and leaving him dizzy, as a deep realization hit. An apology might set things right again, but the sentence of hard labor was permanent. He would continue to expect that Adam be an overly responsible and vigilant child. That couldn't change because if either of them became slack, they wouldn't survive in this place on the edge of nowhere.

Ben's spirit twisted within him. His dream…his dream…had sentenced them all to this life of constant work. He'd taken Adam as a baby from a solid home, the love of his grandfather, and the comforts of civilization, and brought him to live in the wilds where everything had to be scraped from the land and fashioned by hand. His dream… Had it been leading to this all along? This moment when his son realized that his father had no clue how to make things better for them, and in his own frustration, had become a tyrant. It would account for the fearful looking, submissive-acting child across the room.

He took a deep breath and released it as he replaced his thoughtful scowl with a warm smile. "You did a lot today, Adam. Thank you." Adam nodded, but said nothing as he walked toward the bed. It was then that Ben noticed the boy was in his nightshirt and socks. "Are you ill, son?" In response to the furtive, questioning look sent his way, he pointed to the child's clothing. "You aren't usually ready for bed this early. I thought perhaps you weren't feeling well."

Adam's response was toneless. "My clothes smelled smoky, so I hung them out to air too." He motioned his father toward the bed. "I hope what I did will make up for the blanket that burned. I stitched two seed bags into the quilt where the hole was." He made brief eye contact with his father, but then looked down again. "My sewing isn't good, but I think it'll hold for the rest of the winter."

Ben inspected the repair. "I couldn't have done better."

"I couldn't find enough pieces to fix the other blanket, so…" He pulled the cover back to expose the inside of the bedding. "I lined the mattress with pelts before I put the sheet over it. Don't' worry," he added hastily, "I didn't use your pelts. These are the ones I snared and prepared. You had the tools with you, so the best I could do was connect them with one stitch, but I'll add more when I have the plier and leather punch. They won't shift as much then."

"That was good thinking, son. In fact, it's better than anything I could have thought up," Ben admitted honestly as he moved his hand over the bottom layer of bedding. "This does feel comfortable, but it couldn't have been easy pushing a needle through hide."

"I used the tip of a knife to make a hole."

Ben considered how difficult it was to sew through the full thickness of a leather pelt even using a plier, and he began to realize why his son had been keeping his arms tucked into the opposing sleeves of his nightshirt. "Let me see your hands."

"They're fine."

"Let me see." When Adam finally complied, Ben saw what he'd feared. The boy's fingers were raw; chewed up by the effects of the needle digging into soft flesh as it was forced through the burlap and skins. He cupped his son's small hands within in his own and brought them to his chest. "Does it hurt?" The nod was barely noticeable, yet that gesture let Ben know how bad the pain actually was.

Hoss had shed his coat and gone to the table to wait for supper, but he got down and moved his chair to the shelf to stand on while getting a crock his father told him to get it. "This the one?" he asked as he brought the heavy brown container to the bed where his father and brother were sitting.

"Thanks Hoss. You can go back to the table now. We'll eat shortly." Ben placed the jar of Trapper John's ointment next to him and laid Adam's open hand on his lap as he massaged the honey and herbal mixture into the cuts. "I know this stuff stings a little, but it does do wonders. Trapper John should have been a doctor." The nod made a brief reappearance. "It's sticky though, so we'll cover it." Ben stood and rummaged through the meager pile of clean clothing stacked on a shelf near the bed. "These will do for now." He slipped a pair of clean socks over Adam's hands. "It won't be easy to eat this way, but you'll manage. And you'll take it easy for the rest of the evening and all day tomorrow."

The concerned father noticed something else when he'd tipped Adam's chin up while issuing his decree. The boy's cheeks were rosy. "It looks like you got some sun today. Were you outside without your hat?"

The wordless communication continued as Adam's answer was given in a side-to-side head movement.

"Well, you did a lot, so you're probably just tired." Ben sniffed the air. "Your brother said he could smell rabbit, and I think he's right. Is that stew cooking in the pot?" He blew a silent breath from the corner of his mouth to relieve his tension when Adam's answer was given with another nod. "If it's ready, we should probably eat or Hoss will die of starvation. Is there anything else to get ready?"

"Biscuits and apples."

"Sounds like a feast. I'm hungrier than I thought. Go to the table with your brother, and I'll things set out."

Dinner would have been silent except for Hoss's chattering about what he'd done during the day. Ben's youngest son didn't have the vocabulary or sentence structure that Adam had possessed at the same age, but what Hoss lacked in descriptive words and phrases, he made up for in volume and gestures. An encounter with a beaver was told as a harrowing saga of meeting "A big ole' fuzzy monster with a tail the size of our table and teeth like ax blades." Hoss's slip and fall on an icy patch had been regaled as "swooshin' half-way down the hill before Pa catched me." Ben had watched Adam's response to the story, and the father's concern had deepened. There'd been appropriate smiles and questions, but then the downcast eyes and silence had returned.

He'd disciplined Adam before and sullenness had followed, but never like this. He'd always been able to strike up a conversation that the boy couldn't resist, and the dark mood had fled easily. Ben had tried to bring Adam into the conversation at dinner, but such efforts had elicited only the physical answers he'd been using since they'd gotten home.

Both boys had seemed exhausted and his suggestion of bedtime had been accepted without an argument. Ben had settled into his rocking chair to read from his Bible once the two had dozed off. He laid the book in his lap after having a hard time concentrating on the words of scripture. Thoughts and worries intruded into his reverence, and he gave up reading to talk directly to the author, beseeching Him for answers on how to fix things with his firstborn.

There was something going on with Adam; something beyond the hurt and doubt he'd expected to find when he'd returned. The boy's silence tore at him, and he prayed that the new day would bring the opportunity to talk about the incident. His instincts—along a sense of concurrence in answer to his steady prayers throughout the day—had kept him from making amends immediately. Something had told him to "Wait," with such efforts because Adam wasn't ready to listen yet, and such overtures would be fruitless. He had waited, and now he prayed for guidance for what to do next.

His eyes were drawn to the bed when he saw Adam pushing the covers away. The niggling concern that had taken residence in Ben's gut all evening got louder when he went over to replace the blanket. He got the lamp from the table and held it nearer. The bottom edge of Adam's nightshirt, and his socks were damp. Had the boy wet himself? Yet he was on his stomach, so it was unlikely the bottom back of his gown would be wet if that were true. This theory was confirmed when he slipped his hand under the child's midsection and found everything dry. His heart raced as he withdrew his hand, and he moaned when he lifted the cotton fabric of Adam's gown and saw the cause.

The truth hit him with the force of a felled tree landing on his head. It was all clear: every bit of it. The reason Adam's cheeks were red, the reason he was in his nightshirt and socks; the reason he'd been so quiet and picked at his food. It hadn't been sullenness. The child had been in pain, and afraid to tell his father about it; probably expecting further admonishment if he'd revealed another result of his "carelessness." Ben relived running into the cabin that morning and seeing Adam standing barefoot and unclothed in the middle of the burning blankets, trying to extinguish the blaze. Yet he'd been so angry at the circumstance that he'd forgotten everything else—every kindness that a parent should have extended to a child who'd risked their life trying to save their father's "dream".

Ben gently rolled one sock down to reveal the same weeping, blistered skin on the boy's heels as was present on the back of his lower legs. Tears stung at his eyes as he thought about what to do. Adam didn't awaken at the disturbance, making Ben even more fearful.

Two things were necessary: helping one son while not disturbing the other. Ben knew that if the Hoss awoke it would make tending Adam far more difficult. A plan formed along with his actions. He found enough water in the bucket for his needs and brought that, along with clean towels to the table. The remaining water in the pot he'd boiled to do dishes had some heat left and he added that to the bucket to make a lukewarm mixture. His next mission was to get his own heavy wool coat from the hooks by the door and he laid it open on the table. He finally returned to the bed and scooped Adam into his arms.

The child opened his eyes sleepily and said, "Pa?" before drifting away again.

Ben placed Adam on his stomach inside the coat that covered the table, and pulled the front sides up to keep his son warm. He ran back for a pillow to put under Adam's head and then tugged on the coat and its cargo until the boy's legs extended over the edge of the table. He'd positioned a chair far enough away so he could rest Adam's ankles on its back and expose the damaged skin for him to clean. Looking around, he realized he still needed a pan, and grabbed the one they used for dishes, placing it on the seat of the chair.

With everything ready, he plunged a towel into the water, letting it saturate before lifting it out and letting the liquid rain down over the blisters on his son's legs and heels. The shock of the cool water hitting raw skin brought Adam out of his stupor and he pushed himself up on his elbows—his eyes rounding in surprise, and his mouth forming a silent "Owe," before he cried out in pain.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he sought his father's face, and he asked, "What?"

Ben wrung the remainder of water from the cloth into the bucket and dabbed at Adam's fevered face. "You should have told me you were hurt. You should have been resting today instead of working. You should have…" He didn't know what more to say, so he pulled Adam to his chest, letting his own fear and pain escape in hot tears. "I'm so sorry," he whispered again and again until he felt Adam's arms encircle him. They held onto each other as Ben moved back-and-forth in a rhythmic motion that had soothed his son as a baby.

When he finally felt Adam relax, he settled him back on the pillow. "I know you're uncomfortable, and I know this is going to hurt, but some of those blisters have broken and we need to clean them so they don't get infected. We'll let them dry a bit and then I'll put on some of that ointment and you can go back to bed."

Another nod, but this time Adam followed it with, "All right, Pa."

Ben began the lavage again, and decided he should talk to keep the child's mind off the pain. "This happened fighting the fire?"

"Unhuh."

"And then you got dressed and the friction of your pants and boots rubbing against the burn made it blister and open?

This time the answer was given in a shrug instead of words.

The cleaning and ointment application seemed to take hours, but was accomplished in a relatively short time. Ben sat while applying the last of the balm, and his knees felt weak as he stood to clean up the mess from his doctoring. He helped Adam sit up on the edge of table. "You stay there a minute and then I'll get you settled in bed. We'll have to figure out a way to keep your lower legs up though. I don't want those sores to weep and stick to anything. The best way to do that is for you to sleep on your stomach, but you usually do that anyway." He chuckled quietly. "Yet it won't feel as comfortable as usual because you'll have your legs propped on a pillow."

The boy nodded, and Ben began to wish that Adam was more verbal like his younger brother. "You're mad at me aren't you, son?" The boy's eye popped open but he said nothing. "You think I was unfair today, and I was. I should have listened instead of hollering, and I should have let you explain."

Adam looked down, and released a long sigh.

"You should know that once your brother realized I wasn't so mad anymore, he described what he'd done." Ben tipped Adam's chin up, and grinned at him. "In the midst of the whirlwind tale of him 'thinkin' that basket of stuff had to be jumped in,' I got him to admit that he'd done just that, and in his exuberance, he tipped the basket of blankets into the fire, and you not only pulled him from the danger, but managed to rescue the things that hadn't been set ablaze." He saw his son's face relax for the first time. "The only thing you did wrong was in not calling me right away…and not telling me you were hurt."

"You didn't ask, Pa, and I figured you didn't care, because I hadn't gotten the fire out in time to save our blankets."

The answer stunned Ben into silence. The self-loathing he'd felt returned full force as he looked into the eyes of this remarkable child. When he could speak, he whispered, "Would you believe me if I told you that I was just scared, and sometimes when parents are afraid they seem angry?"

"I was scared for Hoss like that."

"I'm sure you were. I'm sorry that you have so much to do; so much responsibility, and so little time to be a kid…" Ben decided it was enough for tonight. Adam's eyes were drooping and the day was heavy on his shoulders. He carried his son to the bed, helping him to turn onto his stomach. His own pillow became a wedge that he placed under Adam's ankles. "You can use my jacket as a blanket tonight so there's nothing over that raw skin." The boy was still wearing his sock mittens from earlier, and didn't look comfortable, but with as tired as Adam looked, Ben figured it wouldn't matter. "Hopefully you'll heal up quickly and you can sleep normally by tomorrow night.

With things as settled as he could get them, he returned to the rocker and lowered himself into its embrace. This piece of furniture, along with the table and chairs had belonged to Inger, and had made the long journey with them. He'd been grateful for having them, and moved them between their two shelters. They had become more than furnishings to him. They reminded him of Inger, and they represented the civilized life he'd left behind and dreamed of having again.

His eyes had already drifted closed when he was startled by a noise. When he forced his eyes to focus, he saw Adam standing in front of him holding the jacket and a pillow. "What's wrong?" He took his son's hand. "Are you feeling sick?"

"I'm all right."

"Do you need something?"

"Not exactly."

Ben tipped his head and furrowed his brow, waiting for clarification. He was touched by how young Adam looked. The boy's eyes were half-closed in sleepiness, and his hair was drooping down his forehead and curling around his face. It called to mind the little boy who'd been at his side in the early years of their trek. "You should get back to bed." He reached up and pushed the hair back from his son's face as he checked again for fever. The skin was cooler now, and he breathed a relieved sigh.

Adam continued to stand where he was, shifting from foot to foot. "I was thinking, Pa, that maybe I could sit with you for a while?"

"I think that could be arranged. But let's move this rocker a little closer to the fireplace so we stay warm." Ben reset the chair, added more logs to the fire, and sat down again, placing the pillow at his side. "Grab the other pillow, son," he directed while getting seated comfortably.

Ben pulled his son onto his lap and turned him sideways so his knees rested on the pillow and his lower legs hung over the arm, exposed to the air. He angled the second pillow under his arm so he could support Adam's back, and then fanned the jacket out over both of them. "Is this what you had in mind?"

Adam wiggled until he got settled and then wrapped one arm around his father's back and the other across the man's broad shoulder. "Pretty much."

Ben started to rock gently as he stroked Adam's hair and hummed a ballad his mother had sung to him as a child. He couldn't remember the words, but the tune had always remained.

So many thoughts hit him at as he held his son. Relief was the first to arrive, and he sent thanks for the opportunity to talk to Adam about what had happened. Further thanks were given over his son's return to trusting him and needing his strength. But an earlier concern also returned bringing confusion and doubt. The years of childhood were limited. This absolute produced a decision and he smiled as he stopped the chair's motion. "Once we can travel this spring, we'll pack up and head back home, Adam. This land can wait a few years until you and Hoss are older."

The boy sat up and looked directly at his father. "Home, Pa?"

"Yes, son, we're going home. Or at least to a city where you can have a normal childhood."

The child's nose wrinkled and his lips pulled into a pucker. "But…"

"Pa? Pa!"

Ben woke up with a start and saw Adam standing over him. He had to shake his head to clear the memories that had been keeping him company in his sleep. "Is something wrong?"

"Not with me, but you were having a dream. You were talking and rocking." The grown man grinned. "I was afraid you were going to fly right out of that chair."

"I'm sorry I disturbed you. Is Hoss still asleep?"

The grin vanished. "Hoss isn't with us. He's at the house with Little Joe and Hop Sing."

The older man's cheeks shaded to bright pink as he laughed. "I was having a dream about when we lived here at the beginning. Hoss was just three then." His eyes drifted past his son to the dark mark on the floor.

Adam followed his father's line of sight and spotted the burned board he'd seen as he'd been falling asleep under the influence of the laudanum. "Were you dreaming about the fire?"

"You should get back to bed. It can't be morning yet."

"I didn't look outside, but I think it's pretty early yet. The medicine has worn off though, and I'm wide awake. I stuck a few logs on the fire, and wouldn't mind hearing about your dream if you'd want to talk about it. It seemed to be causing you some…" Adam broke off. He didn't know how to tell his father that he'd look so sad that he'd finally awakened him just to put an end to whatever had been haunting his sleep.

"First tell me how your leg is."

"It's stiff, but not as wobbly. It only hurts when I bump it." To prove his point, he walked around the room with only a slight limp, stopping at the cupboard to grab the whisky bottle and brought it and two cups back to the table. He poured each of them a few finger's worth and handed one to his father as he pulled a chair out and sat. "Now tell me about the dream."

Ben chuckled. "How much do you remember about the fire?"

"I saw the mark last night and knew it was something I should remember, but I was pretty foggy right then. I thought about it again when I saw you looking over there." He took a sip from his cup. "Our blankets caught fire, and I tried to put them out." He looked over and grinned at his father. "And you were not happy about it."

"I'm assuming that's a nice way of saying that I laid into you, didn't listen to your explanation, and missed the fact that you'd been burned?"

A grin. "Well now that you mention it... It was pretty doggoned frightening though, and you told me later that you were more scared than mad."

"That was the pure truth. Unfortunately the anger was all that showed." Ben forced a breath out between his teeth, making a whistling sound. "That episode was a turning point for me. I had to face the sad truth that in pushing so hard to make a life for my family, I'd forgotten the people who made up that family. And in letting my anger over the loss of material things take precedence, I stood to lose what I loved most."

Adam's serious look turned to a questioning smile. "Is that why you said earlier that you weren't sure I'd want to come back here? Do you think my memories of living here are that bad?"

Ben nodded. "The way I treated you that day made me decide to scrap the Ponderosa and go somewhere you and Hoss could have had a normal life for a while. I'd promised you we'd leave in the spring."

"I'm sorry you felt that way. It wasn't that long ago, yet a lot of my memories about those times are missing, or tucked away so far that I have to dig them up. I suppose I've had so many new memories to take their place in the last few years. But everything I do remember is good, Pa."

"I feared that you would both grow up shouldering responsibilities that should have come much later, and you'd come to resent me and this ranch."

"I didn't mind the work." Adam grinned. "At least not usually." He took a reflective pause. "I remember that things did change, and I guess it was around that time. You declared we'd take Sundays off. We went fishing or took a ride, and did nothing for a few hours after you'd read to us from the Bible and talked about what the passage meant. And it wasn't more than a year or so later that you convinced a couple of trappers to hire on and help build our first real house while you took the pelts to New Orleans." He thought again. "Did you really promise that we'd move? I don't remember that." A nod from his father made him ask, "What changed your mind?"

"Everything seemed as clear in my dream as it did the night it happened. I'd told you that we were going to move 'home' until you and Hoss got a little older. It would have delayed our work on the ranch, but I was determined that you boys should come first." Ben closed his eyes as he recalled how that conversation had ended. "But then you said, 'Pa, how can we 'go' home? We're already home. And I don't want to leave."

The two men smiled at each other in silence, each taking a long sip from their cups. Adam finally broke the moment as he smiled and poked his father's arm. "I really was a smart kid."

Ben laughed as he walked toward the door. "Your words made absolute sense. I knew then that this had become our home, and instead of changing locations, I had to change my perspective." He pointed to the charred floor plank. "That mark was a constant reminder that my decisions should include what would be best for you two above all else, and then the rest would fall into place. I will always appreciate how much you did…and how much you understood at such a young age."

The silence settled in again as father and son embraced what a son's truth and a father's change in direction had meant for the Cartwrights.

Ben finally opened the latch and peeked outside. "The horizon is getting pink, so dawn's not too far away." He returned to the table. "I suppose we should get you home today so you can rest better."

The young man rose stiffly, groaning loudly to add to the effect. "I am pretty sore yet, and I don't think I'd do well with that long ride to the house. Maybe we should stay here a day or two longer and take short trips to hunt. Who knows, we might just bag a few more memories while we do that."

"I could use some warm mittens for winter, so maybe we could snare some rabbits instead and have a pair made like we used to do. The fur and leather ones kept my hands warmer than the wool ones I purchase at the store."

"I'd like a pair of those too." Adam looked over at his father and chuckled as he lifted his empty cup. "I usually have more than whiskey for breakfast, so maybe we should put on a pot of coffee and fry up more of that bacon." He limped to the cupboard, grabbed the empty pail, and handed it to his father. "We're out of water, and I don't think I can hobble out to the stream without hurting myself.

Ben gave his son a sidelong glance and a false snarl before taking the pail, slipping on his coat and boots, and heading for the door again. He turned before exiting, shaking his head as he growled, "Sons!"

Adam managed to respond, "Fathers!" before the door swung shut. He shook his head, laughing at the exchange, and then looked upwards. "I guess I really should thank You. As far as father's go, you gave me one of the best."

The End

1 Laudanum was an over-the-counter medication widely available and used for an analgesic in the Victorian era, with 10% of it made up of opioid alkaloids suspended in alcohol. It was extremely addictive, yet wasn't recognized as having that property until much later.

2 Psalm 1:1-3