Chapter 2

Over the next couple of days, the Cartwright family worked at reestablishing some semblance of normalcy on the Ponderosa. Adam started working around the ranch although he was under strict orders from his father not to overdo things. The longtime hands who'd been employed before he left, quickly sensed that he didn't welcome questions about the war. They treated him much the same as they always had, for which Adam was grateful. Some of the new cowhands who'd been hired on in his absence, found him a bit intimidating at times, but they all knew of the part he'd played in the war as a Union officer and they regarded him with great respect.

Joe and Hoss were happy to be working alongside their older brother again and while they both individually kept a watchful eye on him, they also began restoring their accustomed brotherly banter because they knew that it was what he needed most from them.

Adam's moods varied as he struggled to adapt to life on the Ponderosa again. The nights were still the worst. That was when he felt most vulnerable and when he couldn't escape the flashbacks of the bloodied battlefields scattered with bodies and wrapped in canon smoke. He would lie in bed and as he closed his eyes, he'd see the faces of the men he'd killed—some of them only a little older than Joe. And then there were the faces of the men who had been lost under his command. His men.

He stayed awake for as long as he could but eventually, when his tired body succumbed to a restless slumber, he would almost always wake up in a panicked cold sweat, thinking he was back at one of those grisly scenes. The only thing he could do then was to keep himself awake by spending hours in his room reading poetry and writing letters to his friends in the army.

A steady stream of letters arrived for him in return, sent from military colleagues stationed in different parts of the country. He read the messages with eager concentration, but afterwards he often turned glum, overcome by the sensation of complete detachment from the life he'd gotten so used to. The last thing he'd expected to feel upon his return to the Ponderosa, was lost. After years of wearing a uniform and being at war, it was oddly hard, wearing his western wear and herding cattle under the blue Nevada sky.

He thought about his men often. For so long they had been his responsibility, they'd followed his orders without hesitation—trusted him with their lives. He'd fought and bled alongside them. He'd also laughed with them and shared in their camaraderie to the degree he could while still being their captain. And now all that was gone. It had been with relief but also heartache that he'd handed over the command of his company to his good friend Captain Wills.

The other Cartwrights looked on in concern when Adam got absorbed in brooding thoughts. Ben remembered the dark places his oldest son had sometimes gotten caught up in even before he went to war. It pained the father to see his boy suffering so, but he knew that if Adam was ever going to talk about it, he couldn't risk pushing him if it was still too soon.

To Ben's joy, Hoss told him about the story Adam had shared that day at Silver Creek and Ben recognized that his eldest was trying. In fact, most days Adam would offer up small bits of information like anecdotes of life in the army camp and he even mentioned songs the soldiers had sung at night.

One evening in particular would never be forgotten by Ben and his younger sons, when Adam had described his participation in the Grand Review on May 23 and May 24. They had watched his countenance become animated as he told them about the two-day celebration which had taken place in the nation's capital. His eyes shone with open pride for his men, the company he'd led down the streets of Washington D.C. from Capitol Hill down Pennsylvania Avenue, as they'd marched beside their fellow soldiers, all part of the Army of the Potomac. The vivid descriptions of the thousands of spectators, the huge armies and the spectacular military parade—left Joe and Hoss gob smacked—and it was hard for their father to grasp that his son had been part of such a historic event.

It was then Ben knew that Adam didn't regret his decision to go to war. Only the moment ended far too soon when that dimpled smile suddenly faltered, and the hazel orbs sobered as some secret, painful memory returned to accost him.

That was what truly worried Ben. The horrors that were still left unspoken, festering, slowly wearing his boy down.

Like Hoss and Joe, Ben also tried to draw Adam out of his depressed moods but the change in him was taking its toll on everyone and the more he closed himself off, the worse it got.

On the night eleven days after he'd come home, Adam was sitting in his blue chair, staring into fireplace. There was no flickering fire hypnotizing his vision—the hearth was cold and flameless—but he continued staring, seeing things that had taken place in the past, thousands of miles away.

Ben didn't even have his book in his hands anymore, he was just observing Adam as if he would be able to visualize the young man's disturbing thoughts if only he concentrated hard enough. After a while, Adam's hand moved to lay gently against his right side. It was a subconscious movement that had become a familiar sight to his family over the last few days.

"Adam?"

Ben had learned that it took an average of three calls of Adam's name to break down the invisible wall his mind seemed to put up whenever he got like this. This time it took a fourth before he blinked and turned towards Ben.

"Are you all right, son?"

"Yea, I uh"—Adam glanced over at the empty settee—"did Hoss and Joe go to bed?"

"Yes, they went up twenty minutes or so ago. They wanted to be well rested for the county fair tomorrow."

"Oh."

Ben waited for some further response but when none came, he leaned forward in his seat.

"Can you tell me about it?"

"I don't think so Pa . . ."

The ghost of hesitation in Adam's voice sparked a hope in Ben and he considered his words carefully.

"How about this then. I ask you a few things and you can answer as you please or choose not to and I will return to my book?"

Adam was quiet but eventually gave a little nod. Ben took a moment, trying to work out the best way of approaching the conversation. When he spoke, his voice was soft but strong.

"You were thinking about something just now. Was it a particular event?"

"Yes."

Ben looked him over. "It's been bothering you all day, hasn't it? I saw that your light was on in the middle of the night."

"Yes, I . . . I didn't get much sleep last night. It was a little hard to settle . . . with, well . . . because of memories."

Adam stared down at his hands and Ben watched him, feeling a tugging at his heartstrings. He grasped the arms of his chair, holding on tightly to keep himself from getting up and going to his boy. It wasn't the right time, not with Adam. Eventually, Ben risked asking the one worded question that had been on his own mind for the last week.

"Gettysburg?"

Adam's posture stiffened.

"Yes, Gettysburg."

The quiet conformation made a little shiver shoot down Ben's spine.

"Were you wounded there, Adam?"

". . .During the four years there were a couple of close calls but this . . ." Adam closed his eyes. "This was . . ."

"The worst?"

"Yes. This was the worst."

Throughout his life, Ben Cartwright had experienced a few moments of unadulterated, earthshattering fear. The kind of fear that seemed to make a person's heart stop beating completely. Hearing about the great battle of Gettysburg—that had been one of those moments.

News of the battle had quickly spread through Virginia City and reports on the sheer number of casualties, wounded and dead, had left the whole town in shock. Ben had known that Adam was in that area because he'd gotten a letter from him only weeks earlier. It was the most frightened Ben had ever been for his son and in his heart, he'd felt that something terrible had happened. It had seemed like he could sense Adam's pain even from across the country.

After one and a half months of living with the hell of not knowing, Ben had finally received a letter from Adam in which he'd stated where he was being sent next. But the short message had held no mention of him being wounded. So, Ben had thought that his own worry had gotten the better of him and that he must have been mistaken; perhaps because he desperately wanted it to be so. But now his fears had been confirmed. Adam had been wounded, and it must have been bad.

"Pa," Adam suddenly said, bringing Ben back to the present. "I just don't think I can. Not right now . . ."

"It's all right, Adam. It was a start."

Ben regarded him with warmth and affection, doing his best to conceal his inner sorrow.

"You look tired. Maybe you should try and get some sleep? I hope you'll at least consider coming with us to the county fair tomorrow . . ."

He wasn't sure which one of his two suggestions elicited the grimace that briefly crossed Adam's visage. Probably both, he guessed. With an air of resignation, Adam rose from the chair.

"Okay, I'll think about it. Goodnight, Pa."

"Goodnight."

Adam disappeared up the stairs and an unbearable quiet settled in the room around Ben. Suddenly, his eyes shot heavenward as he sucked in a breath, feeling an impossible ache in his chest. It had been a long time since he'd prayed as he did then. He prayed for guidance to help his son, to somehow relieve the pain that Adam carried around.

Ben had no way of knowing that in a strange twist of fate, his prayers were about to be answered, and that the next day would change Adam's life forever.