Chapter Four:

"The Orphans"

The next few weeks passed like a dismal nightmare.

The ten-month-old baby slept less and cried more. No one could say whether it was caused by the loss of his parents, the tension in the household, or something as natural and normal as teething pain. Whatever the real cause, he would no longer let Victoria out of his sight without setting up a howl. It was sometimes all right for her to put him down while he was awake, but if he suddenly realised he couldn't see her, he would set up a howl that Buck claimed could be heard through ten miles of desert.

If he woke and found her gone, he fussed until she came to check on him or until it became obvious she wasn't going to, in which case the fussing would turn into a wail.

In desperation, she moved his bed out of its usual room and into her own so that he wouldn't disturb the entire household at night.

John was not pleased with the arrangement, to say the least. He was firmly of the opinion that a baby should be taken care of when it actually needed something, and left to cry itself back to sleep the rest of the time. Running to Johnny every single time he made a noise just made him expect that treatment, and therefore cry even more often.

Victoria disagreed.

In fact, she disagreed quite fiercely, and at great length. In the end, she simply put her foot down and said, "Either we move his bed in here, or we take him into our bed." So John gave in, none too graciously, and the crib was moved into their room.

Daisy scarcely seemed to care whether her brother shared her room or not. Indeed, whether she even noticed his absence was a matter of opinion.

At first Victoria thought they would want to be together, so she tried moving Daisy's cot into her room as well. But the little girl would have none of it. She refused the cot no matter which room it was in, and took to sleeping in her father's bed. Even when she was awake she was often to be found there, crying into his pillow.

Over and over again she would demand to be allowed to see her daddy. Eventually, something of the truth of the situation got through to her and she stopped demanding. In fact, she all but stopped communicating entirely. If she had been quiet and withdrawn for some weeks after her mother died, after Ben's death she became a shadowy ghost of her former self.

Physically she was fine. She had a surprisingly good appetite, drank plenty of milk, even played quietly by herself. But she was very much not the Daisy they were used to. Victoria was worried enough to fetch the doctor, but after a thorough examination, his professional opinion was that the child was suffering from nothing but plain, old-fashioned grief.

A few days after Ben's death, Victoria stripped down all the beds and washed the sheets. She thought little of it at the time; just a matter of routine.

But the next time Daisy climbed into bed and snuggled herself into the pillow, all hell broke loose. Instead of the lingering remnants of her father's comforting scent, she found only the smell of soap flakes, bluing, and fresh air. Her screams of rage brought Victoria running upstairs, certain she was being kidnapped or murdered.

She tried to pick her up to comfort her, but Daisy slapped her hands away. "No!" she shrieked.

"What's the matter, little one? Did you fall? Have you hurt yourself?" Victoria stood the girl up on the bed and checked her all over, but she found no obvious sign of injury or damage. She reached out to give her a comforting hug, but Daisy strained away from her embrace. She struck out at Victoria with her fists, and gave her a surprisingly solid kick on her thigh.

"Daisy!" she said, shocked. "Why would you do that? You must never do anything like that again to anyone!"

Daisy stopped lashing out, but the hysterical crying didn't stop. Victoria finally managed to sit beside her and pull her into her lap, where she sat and howled into Victoria's ear. "What's wrong, mija?" she asked, rocking her back and forth. "What's wrong? What has upset you so?"

Wind, hearing the commotion as he passed the window, came up to see what it was all about. "What's the matter, Mrs. Cannon? Did she hurt herself?"

"I don't think so. Wind, would you bring me the baby, por favor?" Because of course Johnny had been awakened by his sister's outburst and was now crying loudly in the next room.

Wind quickly did as he was bidden. As he approached the bed to give her the baby, the scent of the freshly washed sheets hit his nose and sparked something far back in his memory. "Is this the bed that Ben slept in?" he asked. Victoria murmured a distracted assent. "And you washed the bedding this morning, didn't you?"

Victoria looked up, puzzled. "That's right, Wind. You saw me. Why do you want to ask?"

He shook his head slowly, trying to pinpoint the image in his head. "It just reminded me of something. When I was very little, when my mother had to leave me to go and do her work, she used to give me her old shawl to wrap myself in. So I wouldn't miss her, she said. It reminded me of her, and that always comforted me. It smelled the way she did."

She finished the thought for him. "And Daisy has been sleeping in her father's bed because it smelled like him. At least it did until I washed the scent away! Oh, dios mio, poor little girl. Is that why you're upset, Daisy? Because your bed no longer smells like your father?"

By this point, Daisy's howls of rage had turned into loud, gulping sobs. She was far too upset to even listen to Victoria, much less comprehend the question.

Victoria looked up at Wind. "At least I haven't washed his clothing. Go and bring me his shirt from the closet."

"It's worth a try," he said, and stepped towards the wardrobe. He wrapped the shirt around Daisy himself, as both of Victoria's hands were occupied in holding the children, then sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed to wait and see if it was going to do any good.

It took a little while to get through to her, but eventually the heartrending sobs settled down. She pulled the collar of her father's shirt close and buried her face in it.

"That's my girl," whispered Victoria. "I think she will be all right soon. Thank you, Wind. To you and your mother and her shawl."

He nodded and slipped out of the room in his usual silent way.

Baby Johnny settled down almost as soon as his sister was quiet, and was perfectly content to lie on the end of the bed where Victoria put him. Thus freed, she held Daisy across her lap and rocked her gently till she fell asleep. The child made no protest when she was finally tucked in between the offending sheets, but she held on tightly to the old shirt.

Victoria, her work forgotten, sat watching her sleep for a long time.


Dinner was late and there was a fight going on in the kitchen. Mostly one-sided from the sound of it. All they could hear was a shouted mix of Spanish and English from Victoria, a few strangled protests from John, and the occasional banging of pots.

"What in the world was all that about?" Buck asked as his brother came stomping back into the living room, shaking his head.

John looked back in the direction of the kitchen. "I wish I knew, Buck. I just went in to ask why supper's not ready yet and she bit my head off."

Manolito snorted. "Ah, what did you do to her this time, John?"

"Not a thing. Apparently she had a bad day with the children or something." He sighed. "Oh, I wish their uncle would hurry up and get here."

The other two exchanged a look. Buck cleared his throat and said carefully, "Y'know, John, Victoria's gonna be mighty upset when he takes them kids away from her."

"I know it. And I'm concerned about her, but the fact of the matter is, the longer they're here, the harder it'll be for her to give 'em up when the time comes."

"Mebbe when he gits here, you oughtta … I dunno, see if he'd maybe let her keep 'em?"

"Buck, that is the dumbest idea I've heard outta you in quite a while, and that is sayin' somethin'."

"I don't know, amigo. Buck might have a good idea for once. Ben said his brother has many children of his own – perhaps he doesn't want more. He might think it's a good idea for you to adopt them."

"Yeah, John, it wouldn't hurt nothin' to ask."

John scowled at the pair of them. "I don't want to adopt them, Mano. And I don't intend to ask him, and I certainly don't want either one of you to mention any part of this idiocy in front of Victoria. Those children belong with their family and that is that. They can't stay here."

"Well, we're kinda like their family now. They knowed us a long time now, and they ain't even met their uncle before. You know, that Daisy even calls me Uncle Buck already."

"Half of the territory calls you Uncle Buck," John pointed out. "I heard Pedro say it out in the yard not two hours ago; d'you want me to adopt Pedro, too? Now I don't wanna hear another word about it."


Early Friday afternoon, two riders rode into the compound.

John walked over to meet them as they reined in and got off their horses. "Hullo," the older of the two greeted him. "You John Cannon by any chance?"

"That's right, and you're Frank Galbraith. We've been expecting you for a while now."

The family resemblance was strong enough to pinpoint his identity right off. Frank was a good deal older than his brother, probably in his middle thirties, and the same basic lines of his face had had time to mature and harden, giving his appearance character that Ben's youthful face had never had the opportunity to develop.

"That's right," he said, as they shook hands. "This is my oldest boy, Tom. He's been excited about the prospect of visiting a real big ranch, haven't you, boy?"

John said, "Well, Tom, why don't you run off and explore the yard? One of the men'll be glad to show you around."

The boy's eyes lit up. "Really? Thanks!" He ran off towards the corral.

"So. Ben around anyplace?"

"No." A shadow crossed John's face. "No, I'm afraid he's not. Why don't you and I, uh, go in the house and talk. Oh, this is my wife, Victoria," he added, as she met them at the door. "Victoria, this is Ben's brother, Frank."

She greeted the newcomer with a look of kind sympathy and went to make fresh coffee. While she was gone, John sat him down and gave him the bad news.

Frank's face went white. He sat stunned until Victoria came back with the coffee, accepting the cup from her in the same bewildered silence. She and John exchanged a look.

"Mr. Galbraith? Would you like a little brandy in your coffee?" she asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh, sure, if it's not too much trouble. Thank you." He drained the cup without waiting for the brandy or noticing its absence, and held it out automatically for a refill.

Victoria obliged, and told him. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Galbraith. I thought very much of Ben."

"Yes, he was a good man," agreed John. "Honest and hardworking."

"Yeah, that's Ben, all right. Last time I saw him he was about eighteen, or nearly. He'd been doin' a man's work for two years by then. More than ready to support a family, but Rita's parents wouldn't hear of it. Not till she was eighteen. That's the only reason he didn't go west with us, did you know that?"

Victoria nodded. "Yes. He told me that."

"If he had, he'd probably… Well, no use thinking that way. Water under the bridge." He sighed deeply and looked up at Victoria with a smile that was utterly false. "How are the kids, Mrs. Cannon? I mean, do they understand much of what's happened?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I think perhaps Daisy understands that her father isn't coming back, but it's too much for her to really make sense. They should both be awake from their naps soon if you want to see them."

"I'd love to. Never actually seen 'em, you know. Though I almost feel like I know 'em, Ben bragged on 'em so much in his letters."

"Well, he had every right to. They're wonderful children. We have grown very attached to them, haven't we, John?"

"Oh, yes. Yes. Quite attached."

In a little while, Victoria went upstairs to see if the children were awake. She returned carrying a very spiffed-up Daisy. Her face was washed and her hair was clean and brushed till it looked like fresh cornsilk. She wore the nicest of the dresses that Victoria had made for her – bright blue to bring out the blue in her eyes.

She looked at the stranger with her usual suspicion. When Victoria tried to give her to him, she pivoted and reached out her arms to John instead. He laughed and took her, standing her up on his lap to face her uncle. "Daisy, this is your Uncle Frank. He's your father's brother."

Frank reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled it away from him. "Oh, you're a shy one, huh?" he laughed. "Well, that's all right. You'll get to know me. You're a very pretty little girl, just like a princess in that blue dress."

She wasn't having any of it, but when he mentioned having a little girl only a year or so older than she was, she began to reconsider her position and thawed a little bit towards her uncle. "Will she play with me?" she asked finally.

"She'd love to play with you. You have a lot of cousins out there in California who'd love to play with you. Two girls and six boys."

The word California, often spoken in her hearing, pinged something exciting in her memory. "Caffornia!" she exclaimed. "We're gonna go Caffornia and live there and go see Daddy!" John quickly tightened his grip on her waist protectively as she hopped up and down on his knee, overjoyed at the prospect of finally finding her daddy.

The three adults exchanged a somber look. John turned her around to face him. "No, Daisy, now we explained all that to you. Your father is dead. You won't see him in California or anyplace else." Her face crumpled and she began to cry. He patted her back in an awkward attempt at comfort. "There, there. Don't cry. It won't bring him back."

Victoria threw up her hands. "John, how many times do I tell you? You can't talk to her like that, like she is an adult. She doesn't even know what you're saying. Give her to me." She took the child from him and sat down on the far end of the sofa, cradling her in her lap and speaking softly to her, raising her face often with one finger under her chin to make eye contact.

John gave a sigh. He looked at his guest and lifted his hands in a brief shrug of hopeless resignation.

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Cannon," Frank told him. "It's hard to make little kids understand a lot of things, especially stuff that we can't really understand ourselves."

Frank Galbraith sat alone in the Cannons' living room, nursing his second glass of whiskey and thinking dark thoughts. The bottle of whiskey was Buck's contribution, handed over in a gesture of wordless sympathy.

The dark thoughts were entirely his own. He couldn't help thinking mournfully of his little brother, of course. It was only natural. In some ways Ben had been more of a son to him than a brother. Twelve years difference in age would do that, but Frank and his wife had raised Ben from the time he was eight years old, when their father went off to the war and never came back. Frank had gone, too, later on, but he'd made it home practically without a scratch. Just like he and his family had made it most of the way across the country completely without incident. Somehow he'd always assumed his brother would have the same sort of good luck.

Caught up in his own memories, Frank looked up in surprise as the front door opened. John came in, wiping the dust off himself.

"Whew," he said. "Wind's really pickin' up out there. Blowing sand all over everything."

"Yeah. S'pose we were lucky not to run into anything like that on our way here," Frank said absently.

John sat down in his favourite chair and accepted the glass Frank offered him, though he was not much of a drinker at the best of times. He finished about half of the shot while they continued to talk about the weather.

"I know you're probably not ready to think about plans right now, and I don't blame you for that, but I want you to know that you are welcome to have a couple of my men ride with you on your way back to California. My brother's already volunteered to go. 'Course he's just lookin' for any excuse to spend a little time in California, but I think it's a good idea nonetheless. The children know him, like him. Probably be easier for the both of 'em if he was there."

Frank was silent for a long moment, staring into the fireplace. "Your whole family's fond of the kids, aren't they, Mr. Cannon?" he said at last.

"Yeah, I'd say so," said John, smiling as he thought about little Daisy and her antics. "Not that they're always perfectly well behaved or anything like that, but they're good kids. I think you and your family will be crazy about 'em in no time."

Frank fell silent again. Just as John was about to excuse himself to go upstairs for the night, he spoke up, his voice and expression both serious.

"Cannon, I don't know quite how to say this, especially to a stranger. And there's no way I won't come off lookin' like a heartless monster, so I'll just say it straight out. I can't take those kids."

John stared at him. "What? What do you mean you won't take them? You're their uncle; they're your responsibility."

"I know it. But I said can't, not won't. I'd give my brother's children a home in an instant if there was any practical way to do it, but I just cannot manage it. Not without their parents. I had misgivings when I heard that my sister-in-law was dead, but now that Ben is … there's just no way we can do it."

"You mind if I ask you why not?"

"No. Under the circumstances you have every right to ask." Frank twisted the empty glass between his hands. "You remember earlier when I said that it was gonna kill Esther to hear about Ben? Well, that was just a figure of speech. But I'll tell you in all honesty that it's no figure of speech when I say it would mean the death of her to take on two extra kids, especially ones that young."

John considered that. "Ben did say that your wife had been poorly."

"Mm hmm. She has a heart condition. The doctor thinks it might be from having rheumatic fever when she was a girl. We didn't know about it till after Amy was born. Doctor said she shouldn't have any more children, of course. And we didn't, not for three years. And then, well, you know. Ever since the last baby her health has been a lot worse."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Well, this last winter we got a letter from Ben and Rita, complaining about the blizzards on the prairies and how they envied us our nice weather out in California. Seemed like the perfect solution to all our problems was to have 'em come out and join us. Ben could work for me and Rita could help care for the house and the children. Oh, she would have been a godsend," he sighed. "Of course the kids do what they can to help their mother. Too much, really. But the older boys are out helping me when they're not in school, so they're not around to do much of the heavy lifting. Sure woulda been a help if the girls had come first instead of last."

John nodded sympathetically. "Could you hire a woman to come in and help your wife?"

"We do – when we can afford it. A lot of times, though, it's more a matter of deciding between food and the payments on the business. I know that probably doesn't make sense to you, big ranch like this and all, but—"

He didn't want to say outright that his brother's children would be two more mouths to feed, but the implication was there and John had no trouble recognising it.

"Yeah," he said. "You ever heard the expression 'land rich and cash poor'? I may have a lot of land, but I made payments on it for years. And there were quite a few times we might not have eaten at all if we'd been in any other business but cattle."

"Maybe I went into the wrong business," Frank said, making a lame attempt at a joke.

John laughed. "Time to time I think the same thing myself." Then he grew serious and asked, "So, if you won't take the children, what exactly do you plan to do with them? The nearest orphanage is in Yuma, but the nuns there aren't exactly over-funded, either."

"I don't want them in an orphanage, not if there's any way to avoid it. I had kind of actually thought, well, that you and your wife might consider…"

"No," John told him flatly. "I had a feeling that's the alternative you had in mind. But I'll tell you right now, Galbraith, I have no intention of adopting your little problem just so you can ride on back home with a clear conscience. I'm fond of those kids. I am. And I haven't minded giving them a temporary home when they were in need of it. But I'm not their kin, you are. They're your family and they're your responsibility," he repeated.

Frank nodded, accepting the rebuke. "You're right, they are. And I'm sorry. I know I have no right to ask such a thing of a complete stranger. It was just that your wife seems so devoted to them both, and what with her having no children of her own, it seemed the ideal solution for everybody."

"Not everybody," said John.

"I don't suppose you happen to know some nice couple who can't have children, do you?"

"Not offhand, but I suppose there must be. Is there no other family?"

"Not on our side. I seem to recall some mention of my stepmother having a brother at some point, but I don't think we ever had any contact with him. I'm not even sure I can remember what his name was. Rita had a couple of older sisters, but they got married and stayed in the old country when the rest of the family came here. You surely aren't suggesting we ship the kids to Sweden?"

"No. But I am saying we have to look for any other family before you go looking for adoptive parents for them, or talking about orphanages."

"All right," agreed Frank. "But that'll all take time. Would you be willing to keep the kids with you just a little while longer, till it's settled one way or another?"

John opened his mouth to say no, but before he could utter a word, he heard his wife's voice from the top of the stairs. "Of course we will keep them for a while longer, Mr. Galbraith. As long as it takes."

John gave a weary sigh. He wondered how long she'd been standing there, and how much of the conversation she'd overheard. "Victoria…" he said plaintively, and then said nothing else. There was no point.


Some of the bright yellow paint and a good deal of the gold leaf embellishment had flaked off the wrought iron crib in the past few decades, but it still looked like a bed created for the children of a rich man, or at least a man who was well on his way to becoming one. Victoria and Manolito had both slept in it as babies. No simple wooden cradle would have done for the children of Don Sebastian Montoya; they would have only the newest, the best, the most fashionable.

By rights it should have come to the High Chaparral several years ago. Don Sebastian had promised that his daughter should have it in time for the birth of her first child, but given the tragic outcome of that birth, the crib had remained hidden away in one of the many rooms of Hacienda Montoya until just a few weeks ago.

The bed and cot in the children's room were being used by Frank and his son for the duration, so Daisy shared the crib with her baby brother. The expected tantrums thankfully didn't materialise, and both went down without a fuss.

"Little angels," Victoria whispered, as she stood with her hands on the railing and watched over them as they slept. She reached out one finger and brushed it along Johnny's cheek, then stroked Daisy's hair. "My little angels. How could anyone deny you a home?"

John opened the door and stepped into the room, moving quietly so as to not wake the children. He hung up his gunbelt safely and sat down to take off his boots. Then he stood and crossed the room in his stockinged feet, standing close behind his wife. His hands rested on her shoulders lovingly.

"Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, nuzzling her hair.

Victoria smiled at the compliment, reaching up to touch his leathery face. "I wish I could have given you children," she said.

"I wish I could have given you children."

Her quick intake of breath made him instantly wish he'd never spoken. She turned in his arms and looked up at him with a rapturous expression. "But you still could, John, don't you see? Ben's brother—"

John shook his head. "No. Victoria, don't get your heart set on some ridiculous idea of us keeping these two. Now, he's had a bad shock. He's grieving, not thinking straight. He'll come to his senses before long, and when he does he'll change his mind. You mark my words, Victoria. He'll leave out of here in a few days with both those kids."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. But if he doesn't…"

"He will."


But he didn't.

Not that he didn't waver; he did, many times. Every time he saw his nephew try to pull himself up to his feet, he'd think, He'll be walking before long. I'd love to be there when he takes his first steps, since his daddy can't be. Every time he saw his niece "helping out" or cuddling up with one of the Cannons, he thought of his own daughters and how well she'd fit in. Daisy and her cousin Amy would be like adorable bookends, one dark and placid, the other fair and a little … less placid.

He knew how Esther would cry when he came home without those children. She'd been so looking forward to their arrival. Eight of her own, and she couldn't wait to get her hands on two more, even knowing their mother wouldn't be there to help out. They'd talked about the hardship that would be for her, but they figured with Ben around earning a living they'd be able to hire a woman to help out. But without him… She was more than willing to risk her own health to care for them, but Frank wasn't. Every time he found his resolve weakening, he'd think of his wife's drawn face and the way it would go suddenly grey when she'd have one of her spells. He hardened his heart and stubbornly went on with what he thought was right.

Every day he prayed that Victoria Cannon was as stubborn as she seemed to be, and could talk her husband into keeping those two kids. They were both clearly attached to them, any fool could see that. So the rancher might not be as prosperous as he seemed, but he was doing all right for himself. He could give Daisy and Johnny a far better life than they'd have otherwise. Not just materially, but in more important ways. He could provide them with the best adoptive mother they could hope for, a woman who was made and meant to rear children. A woman who already loved them as deeply as if they were her own.

Frank carefully sorted through all of the scant possessions in his brother's wagon, deciding what he should keep and what he should leave with the children. There were a few letters from back home. Those he handed over to John, so as to provide a starting point in looking for the family members that Frank knew didn't actually exist. All avenues had to be explored, though.

He sold one of Ben's horses – John probably paid him more than the thing was worth, but he accepted the money with gratitude anyway – and hitched the other one to the wagon alongside Tom's. One would ride, one would drive, taking it in turns until they got back home.

Before they left, there were several stops to make. John and Buck took them out to the foot of the mountain, where they'd buried Ben next to his wife. He paid his final respects to his younger brother, then silently put his hat back on, climbed aboard the wagon and headed on into Tucson.

While their supplies were being loaded, John and Frank walked over to the lawyer's office. When they came back, almost half an hour later, there was no trace of their companions at the general store. The loaded wagon was waiting in front, but of Buck and Tom there was no sign.

Unsurprisingly, when they tried the nearest saloon, there was Buck standing at the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Tom stood beside him, shoulders hunched in an approximation of the Buck's way of standing. There was an empty shot glass next to his hand.

John strode over to his brother and caught him by the shoulder. "Buck, just what the devil do you think you're doing? That boy is fourteen years old."

"Relax, Brother John. It's just sarsaparilla."

"In a shot glass?"

Buck shrugged. "Well, it's what he wanted, din't ya, Tom? Makes him feel all grown up to be drinkin' outta a real whiskey glass in a real saloon, I guess. Even if it ain't real whiskey he be drinkin'. You know."

John didn't know, and just rolled his eyes at the foolishness of the pretense. Frank understood, though, and gave his son a pat on the back as he moved up next to him.

Buck looked over at him. "You look like you could use a shot of the real thing, there, amigo." He signalled the bartender for refills, and gestured to Frank and John.

"Appreciate it, Buck," Frank said, and held up the glass of Red Eye in salute. "We gotta head out soon, but it sure wouldn't hurt to have just one. Guess it was a little harder than I thought it was gonna be to just sign away every legal right I have to my own brother's kids."

"Still not too late to change your mind, ya know, Frank," John reminded him.

Tom looked up at his father, hope shining in his eyes. "Yeah, Dad, that's right. We'd only be another day later. We could go back to the High Chaparral for the kids and set out first thing in the morning. Buck here will go with us to California, won't ya, Buck?"

"I sure will, Tommy, if that's what you want me to do."

John raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

For a brief instant Frank was tempted. Then he swallowed the whiskey in one gulp and banged the glass down on the bar. "Better be goin' now, son. This time of year it gets dark a little earlier every day, and we wanna get as far west as we can before then." He reached out to shake John's hand. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for my family, John. Write and let me know what happens with the kids, all right?"

"I will. And we'll look after 'em, don't worry."

John was hard at work in his office, ledgers and other paperwork spread out all across the desk as he cross-checked contracts and balance sheets.

Victoria rapped on the door briefly and came in. "Sam brought this telegram home from Tucson just now," she said.

He didn't look up from his work. "Hm. Read it for me, will you, Victoria?"

She opened it up and read, "'Confirm Edgar Goss died without issue 1859.' Who was Edgar Goss?"

"Oh, that was Ben's uncle. And according to Frank, the only other relative on that side of the family."

"And Rita has no family in this country at all, Ben said. So that means—"

John put down his pencil and looked up at her gravely. She was entirely too excited about this development. "Well, we don't know that for certain. Her sisters or whatever may have come over later on. We still have to find out."

Victoria shook her head. "No. Ben would have mentioned that to me. Oh, John, this means we're one step closer to being able to keep the children permanently!"

Her stunning lack of logic left him bemused. He got up and put his hands on her shoulders, adopting a patient expression. "Victoria," he said. "We are not keeping those children, no matter what."

"Surely you'd rather keep them than see those two beautiful little niños end up in that orphanage in Yuma. You don't want that, do you?"

"No, I don't especially want them to go to an orphanage. Now, Frank said he wants them to be raised by a nice couple who can't have children of their own. There must be—"

She reached out and twisted one of the buttons on his shirt, and gazed up at him with a cajoling look on her face. "We are a nice couple who can't have children."

John ran his hands down her arms and shook his head. "You know, I've been wise to that little trick of yours for years now."

"What little trick?" she asked, innocent as could be.

"That little trick you're doing right now, playing with my buttons whenever you want something. I know just what you're up to."

"Of course you know, my husband. But you still enjoy it, and I still enjoy it. Is that not so?"

He laughed in spite of himself. "Yes, I do enjoy it," he said. "And I enjoy your company a whole lot more than this paperwork. But it still has to be done, and I can't concentrate on it with you here. I'll see you later, all right?"

"All right," she said, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.


November 18, 1877

Dear Frank,

We're glad to hear that you made it home safely and that your wife took the news so well. I hope this finds both of you in good health.

Received confirmation that your uncle, or rather step-uncle, passed away in '59. He had no children. So far we've had no word about Rita's side of the family.

For the moment the children are still with us. Victoria says to tell you they continue well and happy. We have talked to two couples about the possibility of taking them in permanently, but without success. Mr. and Mrs. Summers of Tucson were the unfortunate victims of one of Daisy's temper tantrums and found themselves unable to deal with the situation. In my opinion, a person who can't deal with a child acting stroppy has no business being a parent in the first place. Mr. and Mrs. Richards own a small spread east of Tombstone. They lost their little girl in the measles epidemic this past summer. They seem like a good prospect, but Mrs. Richards really only wants Daisy and not Johnny, although her husband is willing to take both. I'm sure you'll agree with my wife, as I do, that the children shouldn't be separated if such a situation can be prevented.

Right now the ranch demands most of my time and energy getting ready for winter. When the season is over, I will have time to investigate further.

Yours sincerely,

John Cannon,

High Chaparral.


The desert nights were turning chilly. Joe Butler threw a piece of wood into the stove in the bunkhouse, and reached for the short piece of log on the table.

"Hey, no. Not that one, Joe. I'm workin' on that." His brother stepped back to the table and laid a restraining hand on the log.

Pedro laughed. "What's that you got there, Sam, your pet log?"

"Nah, I'm just makin' something, is all." Sam turned the log over and showed them the big notch he'd carved out of the top, taking up about a third of the length.

"So what is it supposed to be?"

Sam concentrated on sanding the notch smooth. He answered without looking up, "I'm making a rocking horse for the little girl. Christmas present, maybe."

Joe laughed. "But Daisy don't like horses."

"Eh, this one's just her size. Nothing big and mean about it. And when she outgrows it her brother can play with it."

Pedro frowned. "Yeah, but what if they're not still here by Christmas? The boss keeps looking around for somebody to adopt them."

"They can take it with 'em, then. Whatever family takes 'em in oughtta be glad to have something for them to play with."

"Yeah, and all those clothes Mrs. Cannon made, too," Joe said. "They won't be out much on 'em for a couple of years."

"I don't know why Mr. Cannon don't just let her keep them," Tommy said. "It's gonna break that poor woman's heart to let those kids go."

"Yeah," someone else said. "It's not right to take 'em away from her after all this. Anybody can see how crazy she is about them." There was a general murmur of agreement.

Pedro laughed. "Oh, she's crazy about all kids. And I mean crazy like loco sometimes. You remember that old man's grandson in the desert, Sam?" He rolled his eyes and whistled.

Ramirez, the new guy, asked, "How come she don't have any of her own?"

"She had a baby once," Joe said. "Long time ago. But—"

Sam slammed his hand down on the table. "That's enough outta you guys," he said, raising his voice. "I hear one more word of gossip about the boss, or about Mrs. Cannon, then you can just start lookin' for new bosses to talk about."


The bedroom seemed larger without the crib taking up most of the space between the bed and the wall. Quieter, too. John looked over at the empty space and breathed a sigh of relief.

"So far so good?" he asked Victoria when she came in.

"So far." She took off her robe and slid into bed next to him. "He's been much better about letting me out of his sight lately. If he wakes during the night, perhaps he will go back to sleep on his own."

"I certainly hope so," said John. "But if he wakes up crying, you just let him cry himself back to sleep for once."

Victoria frowned at him. "Well, I will, John, but if he doesn't cry himself back to sleep, I will get up and go to him whether you like it or not."

"All right, all right. I'm not arguing with you. Just give him time before you do, that's all I'm asking. You've spent the last several weeks jumping up and running to that baby the second he makes a sound, and he's—"

"John Cannon, what else would you say you are doing if you're not arguing with me?"

He looked a bit sheepish. "Well. Now that you mention it, I guess I am arguing with you, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are," she said, and they both laughed.

John patted her hand. "My apologies, Victoria."

"I accept them."

"Sure feels good to have our room to ourselves again," he said.

Victoria picked up on the hint of suggestion in his voice and added a little of her own. "Oh, yes. It does," she said, leaning against his side.

John smiled down at her and took her in his arms, holding her tight against him. He brought his mouth down on hers and felt her immediate response, ardent and loving at the same time. It was the kiss of two people who'd had far too little time together lately.

Their marriage had suffered from a distinct lack of intimacy ever since the baby had taken up residence next to them. A baby of their own, in their room from the day it was born, wouldn't have mattered but for some reason the presence of a foster child was more inhibiting. With him there they were both perpetually on edge, unnaturally conscious of every sound they made, fearful that the slightest creak of the bedsprings would wake him. Lord knows he woke often enough anyway.

But tonight, at long last, they had time and they had privacy and they had every intention of making the most of it.

They broke the kiss finally, looking into one another's faces with love and longing. Victoria lay back on her pillow, reaching one hand up to gently caress her husband's cheek. When she withdrew he followed, stretching out next to her and playing with her hair, twining it around one finger and watching the way it gleamed blue-black in the lamplight. Words of love were murmured between kisses, touches grew increasingly intimate. John reached out to undo the buttons at the throat of her nightgown, and she drew in a shuddering breath.

"Oh, John," she said. "It seems like such a long time."

"Much too long," he agreed, and kissed her again.

She froze suddenly and then pulled away from him, listening intently. "What…?" he asked. Then he heard it. A fussy whimper that had become all too familiar over the last few months. With a sigh of irritation, John lay back and waited for her to jump out of bed and run to comfort the baby.

To his surprise she didn't, at least not immediately. But her body was taut, ready to spring into action the instant the fussing should show any sign of intensifying.

"Let him be," he told her. "He's plenty old enough to get back to sleep on his own."

"Yes, I know, but perhaps it's too soon. He hasn't been able to go to sleep without me there, and this is his first night back in his own room…"

"All right," he grumbled, seeing that she was far more upset than the baby at this point. "Go on."

She was gone only a few minutes, but the lights were out when she returned. She slipped into bed quietly, trying not to wake him if he were asleep.

He wasn't. "Was anything the matter with him?"

"No. He was just a little bit lonely, as I said. He's not used to getting to sleep without me."

"He never will get used to it if you keep this up."

"Oh, I know," she said. "I'm aware of that. But he needs time to adjust, and I don't wish to rush him."

He yawned. "Well, you may have to rush him. The longer you keep running to him like this, the longer it'll take for him to settle into his new home."

"He has no new home, yet."

"Don't think I'm not well aware of it. But he will sooner or later. They certainly can't stay here forever."

Victoria rolled over on her side and gave her husband a hard stare. "Why not, John? Why can't they stay here with us? You never have told me that."

"Well, for a start they've been disrupting the entire household ever since they first got here."

"Households are supposed to be disrupted by children."

Sitting up, he said, "Yes, Victoria, but not other people's children. Look, I didn't mind taking in the Galbraiths when they were hungry and sick and had no place to stay except their wagon. I was more than happy to give Ben a job when he needed one. I didn't even mind you taking care of the children for a little while after he died. But their father's been dead for two months now, and they're still here, getting more and more settled in by the day. I simply did not sign up to be a permanent orphanage."

"You would prefer them to be in a real orphanage, is that it?" Victoria sat up in bed as well, angry now.

"No, I would not prefer them to be in a real orphanage. I've told you that."

"Then where would you prefer them to be, John?"

"With their family," he said firmly. "Their real family."

"And if they have no real family?"

Without hesitation he answered, "Well, if they really do have no family, then they belong with a young couple who can give them a home and the sort of life they would have had with their own parents."

Victoria took hold of his arm. "We could give them all of that," she said, pleading with him. "They already have a home here, and they already know us and love us. It would take very little else for us to be parents to them, John."

"I said young parents."

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. "And are you feeling old since your birthday, my darling?" she teased.

"Not particularly, no," he said with dignity. "I still feel plenty vigorous and energetic."

"I would say you're vigorous and energetic, yes." She rubbed his arm, and rested her head against his shoulder.

John put his arm around her. "But that's now. What about in a few years from now? Victoria, do you realise that if I should chance to still be alive by the time that boy turns twenty-one, I will be eighty years old?"

That gave her a momentary shock. He was more than twenty years her senior, well into middle age when they married. But in all the years since, he hadn't seemed to age very much. His hair had gone a good deal greyer, it was true, but other than that he didn't look much older than he had when they first met. The idea of John growing truly old – or, inevitably, worse – was unthinkable.

She held on to him tightly for a few minutes, taking comfort in the warm, solid feel of his body against hers. At length she said, "You know, if some miracle happened and I were to conceive a child now, you'd be older still. Would you object to that as well?"

"You know I wouldn't, but a child of our own would be a different matter." He was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "Think about their parents, what they would have wanted. Do you really think Ben and his wife would want to see their children brought up by people old enough to be their grandparents? To see them grow up in the middle of a dangerous wilderness where they can't even go out into the yard with any guarantee of safety? Or would they prefer to see them grow up in a town, with other children nearby, where they can go to school and be near a doctor if they get sick?"

"In the first place, John, I am hardly old enough to be their grandmother. And in the second place, I knew Ben far better than you did. I know that more than anything he would have wanted his children to be brought up by people who love them."

John considered. "Yes, I'll give you that. I admit you knew him much better than I. But I knew him well enough to be able to say that there wasn't a single thing in this world more important to him than the welfare of his family. And I don't think this arrangement that you're so set on is in any way the best thing for those kids. It's certainly not the best thing for us, that's for sure."

Victoria stared at her husband in disbelief. She could imagine nothing better for any of them than for the Galbraith children to become members of their family. The little niños could have parents who loved them, and devoted uncles to spoil them. Why, Buck was so much more cheerful now than he had been at any point since Blue had left for his art school and not come home again. He wasn't precisely his old self, but since the children had come his whole outlook had brightened considerably.

And John had so many regrets about his relationship with his son, going back so many years. This would be like a fresh start for him. He'd have another chance with another son, a chance to avoid the mistakes he'd made with Blue. Perhaps Johnny would be more like him, easier for him to understand.

And Daisy – oh, he adored her, that was obvious from the way he smiled whenever she was around. She'd had him wrapped around her little finger for months, from the first time she'd climbed into his lap. He should always have had a daughter. Little girls brought out the best in John, brought out that gentle, loving side of him that Victoria knew so well. A few years ago, they had played temporary hosts to ten orphaned Apache children, including a little girl of about Daisy's age who had been irresistibly drawn to him. He'd been so good with the child, so kind and gentle and patient, that it had hurt to think he'd never have a chance to share that with a little girl of his own. And now there was Daisy, who could be his own if only he weren't so stubborn. So convinced he was right when he couldn't be more wrong.

She wasn't sure what hurt the most; the thought of what her pig-headed husband was doing to himself, or the knowledge that this would almost certainly be her last chance to be a mother. It was all she'd ever wanted out of life, denied her over and over. If he took this chance away from her…

"How can you say that?" she objected. "You know that's the one thing that has been missing from our marriage for all these years. The only thing that has ever made me unhappy."

John nodded, his eyes full of sympathy. He knew.

"And here we have two beautiful children who need us, who have no one else in the world to care for them, and you want to give them away to strangers just because they might be younger or live closer to town. John, you are turning your back on a gift from God.

He blinked. "A gift from God?" he said, completely nonplussed.

"Yes, a gift from God. We were meant to bring up these children. Otherwise, why would their family have become stranded in Tucson? Why would Ben have come to look for work here of all places? Why would both of their parents die within such a short time?"

"Why do I even try to talk sense to you when I know you're just gonna bring up a lot of cockamamie nonsense like that? For heaven's sake, Victoria, all that is is a string of meaningless coincidences and bad luck, not a sign from on high."

She looked at him, defiant. "Then how do you explain their names?" she challenged.

"Well, now ya lost me with that one. What about their names?"

"The names of both of the children. Have you not thought about that before?"

"Daisy and Johnny?" he said. "You couldn't find any more common names if you looked over half the world. Maybe if her name was Mary it'd be more common, but that's about the only way."

Even in the dark he could see the brightness of her eyes as she implored him to understand. "Yes, but her name is not Mary," she said. "It's Margaret. I told you that once before."

"So it's Margaret. So is about every tenth girl or woman you meet, at least."

Victoria clasped his hand tightly. "Yes. Including our daughter. Including your own mother. And her brother has the same name as you. These two children who have come into our lives, who need us so badly, have the exact same names our own children would have had. How can you explain that away as coincidence?"

"With names that common, I wouldn't even go so far as to call it a coincidence at all."

"No, because it is a gift from God, as I said."

"Oh, Victoria."

She lay back down and turned to face the wall. "Just think about that, John," was all she told him. "Just think about what I have said."

John sat there in the dark, listening to her breathing. She wasn't crying, but she wasn't sleeping, either.

He worried about her a lot these days. Worried about the way she was overworking herself looking after the children, worried about how distraught she was going to be when they left. Worried about these completely impractical and silly plans of hers about keeping them permanently.

This "gift from God" of hers had taken every single bit of her time and energy from the moment they'd arrived. She'd only been to Tucson once in the past six months, on that nightmare of a trip to take the children to meet some potential adoptive parents. She hadn't even been to Mass since September. She'd spent almost the whole summer with much less ventilation in the house than usual, for the safety of the children. She went to the trouble of feeding them an early dinner, separate from the adults'. She'd lost sleep when they'd woken in the night.

The strange thing was that he'd never seen her happier.

It almost made him wish that he could just give in to her, but there was so much wrong with that idea it was just ludicrous. Anyway, there must be family out there somewhere. What would happen if he went against his better judgment and said she could keep them, only to have an unknown aunt or someone show up wanting them? What would happen if one of the children were to get hurt or sick, hours away from the nearest doctor?

Worst of all, what would happen to Victoria if she were suddenly left a widow with two toddlers to bring up on her own? He lived a very dangerous life, after all. And like he'd told her, he felt fine but he wasn't getting any younger. He should be thinking about grandchildren now, not starting all over again and with somebody else's children at that.

No. It wouldn't work. They'd all be better off not risking it.

John sighed and lay down next to his wife. He laid a kindly hand on her shoulder and leaned over to speak into her ear. "Victoria," he said quietly. "Victoria, I would give a great deal to make you happy, but I cannot give you this."

Victoria shut her eyes and pretended to sleep.


John handed over the holiday shopping list to the wife of the general store proprietor.

She scanned the long list and nodded. "I think we can handle this. I'm surprised not to see Victoria with you today, Mr. Cannon. In fact, I haven't seen her for ages. I hope she's feeling well?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, she's fine. She's just awful busy these days, what with those children that've been staying with us. She never seems to have any time to herself anymore."

Mrs. Patterson shook her head. "Well, that is a shame. I feel for those poor little mites, I really do. To lose both their parents one right after the other like that. Your wife is a good Christian woman to take them in the way she's done. Maybe you'll find them a nice new home before long."

"I hope so, Mrs. Patterson, and thank you. I'll be back after while to pick up the order."

He took the mail with him and headed over to the saloon. He exchanged the usual pleasantries with the patrons, then took his beer over to an empty table in the corner to read the mail. It was the usual mix of business letters and personal correspondence, plus holiday greetings from his mother-in-law, Annalee's stepmother. Two letters with Minnesota postmarks stood out from the rest.

Curious about what news he was about to find, he opened those first. The letters couldn't have been more different, though they contained essentially the same information.

One writer used a lot of exclamation points and sentimental rhetoric to convey her distress at the deaths of the young couple, and to say how she wept for their two tragic orphans. She went on to refer to Rita Galbraith as a "tragic orphan" as well, having lost her mother a year or so earlier and her father a couple of years before that. The poor girl had been left all "alone in the world except for her husband". The statement did answer his question, but John wasn't sure if that were the point or if it was simply more indulgence in histrionic grief.

The other wrote with a businesslike precision of which John approved highly. She expressed her sorrow succinctly, mentioned her great regard for the couple without undue sentimentality, and then addressed the question of other relatives.

"At your behest," she wrote, "I spoke to Pastor Franzon at the church attended by the Lindstroms. He confirmed what I had believed to be the case. Rita was the only one of the Lindstroms' children to have immigrated with them to the United States, and he has no address for the ones who remained in Sweden. They were completely without kin in this part of the world, though they had many devoted friends."

John sighed as he put the letter back in its envelope. Well. So that was that. It was to come down to his decision after all.

He sat by himself for quite some time, occasionally taking a sip of the beer. Once in awhile someone he knew would come over to say hello and then quickly retreat, rebuffed by his curt response.

Generally speaking, he'd never been one for putting off anything that needed to be done. He believed in quick, decisive action.

Obviously the most sensible action would be to get up from this table and go and talk to every clergyman he could find. Surely one of them would have some idea of a family who would be happy to adopt two fine, healthy children. That would be the best thing for everyone in the long run.

Why, then, was he still sitting here in this bar trying to talk himself out of doing what he knew was right?

He thought about what life had been like at home the last couple of weeks. He and Victoria were barely speaking to each other these days. Ever since the night they'd had it out about their conflicting viewpoints, they hadn't argued about the children at all. In fact, they hadn't argued about anything. They were coolly polite to one another, almost the way they had been during the chilly first days of their marriage.

On the surface everything was so polite, so civil. But the anger was there, all right. Oh, was it ever! It simmered beneath everything like a coal vein fire, ready to flare up in an instant if the wrong word was spoken.

Sometimes they went to bed angry with one another, made love angrily, and went to sleep angrier still … all without a cross word between them. Other times their eyes would meet and the sadness of the situation would overwhelm them both, leaving them with nothing to do but hold each other in a silent embrace, a momentary break in that impenetrable wall of cool civility.

For the past two weeks, John had been trying to make himself believe that things would improve once the situation was settled, one way or another. Now he knew that wasn't going to be the case. If there had been relations willing to take the children, Victoria would have been left heartbroken, but she would have coped. She always did. But he had no faith that she would be able to cope with her own husband imperiously taking away the children she loved and giving them to complete strangers.

In a moment of rare clarity, he realised that she would never forgive him. The relationship between the two of them would mend in time, but the betrayal would always be there, for the rest of their lives.

So, for one of the few times in his entire life, John Cannon found himself unable to choose the rational decision over the emotional one. He got to his feet and left the saloon, not even seeing his own brother as he passed him in the doorway.

He stepped into the lawyer's office and tossed the two letters onto the man's desk. "Edd," he said, without preamble. "You know those two kids we've had staying with us out at the Chaparral?"


The excitement of Christmas Day left both children exhausted, and the adults in not much better shape. When Daisy actually fell asleep on her little rocking horse that Sam had made for her, Victoria carried her upstairs. It was still before bedtime, but she thought the child would sleep through the night anyway.

When she came downstairs, she found her family assembled in the living room, ready to exchange their own gifts now that the children were out from underfoot.

John thanked her for the new shirt she'd made for him, then ruined it by adding, "I'm surprised you even had time to sew it."

"My time is not so completely burdened by the children as you seem to think it is," she said.

She started to undo the string on the flat package that was her husband's gift to her, but John reached out a hand to stop her. "No. Not yet. Save that till the very last."

With an indifferent shrug, she laid it aside.

When every last gift had been exchanged and commented on, he indicated that Victoria should open hers. She picked it up again and carefully undid the wrapping.

Inside was a thick sheaf of papers, folded in thirds with only the blue backing sheet visible. She looked up at John. "What is this?"

"Just read it," he told her.

"Ohh," breathed Manolito, who had figured out what the legal papers must mean without even seeing them. Buck, who hadn't yet, watched the proceedings with a curious expression.

Victoria unfolded the papers and scanned the first sheet quickly. Her breath caught as she read the words Application for Adoption. She looked up quickly, not quite daring to believe it.

"Oh, John," she said. Then, because all other words failed her, she repeated it. "Oh, John."

He reached across and laid his hand on her knee. "Well, it's not official yet. You still have to sign several places, right below where I've signed. Then we'll take the papers in to Edd in a few days so he can file them. Shouldn't take more than a few weeks to make it final, and that's just because it'll take the circuit judge that long to make it back to Tucson."

"You did this for me?"

"Well, you're hard to buy for," he said, trying to keep his tone light and not really succeeding. "You've already got everything you could possibly need. So I couldn't think of a better present than your … son and your daughter."

She moved next to him on the sofa and threw her arms around him, crying tears of sheer joy. She rained kisses onto his face and neck. "Oh, I love you!" she cried. John laughed and hugged her, rocking her back and forth. His eyes were suspiciously shiny, too.

Buck reached over and patted his sister-in-law on the back. "Congratulations, Victoria. Mano, what'd you think o' that? We's gonna be uncles!"

"We are uncles, compadre!" Manolito exclaimed. He jumped to his feet and pulled his best friend up from his seat and into his embrace. They were loudly exultant, hugging each other and laughing as they clapped one another on the back. "Tío Manolito," he said in awe. "What do you think of that?"

He let go of Buck and reached down to give Victoria a hug. "I'm very happy for you, my sister. John … well done, amigo."

"Hey, John," Buck said. "I feel like celebratin'. You mind if we go on out and tell the boys?"

"I don't see any reason why not," John told him, without raising his eyes from his wife's face.

When they were gone, Victoria said, "Tell me the truth, John. You couldn't bear to see them go, either, could you?"

He thought about how nice it had been having them around today. He pictured the baby with his new wooden blocks, alternating between playing with them and putting them in his mouth, and pictured Daisy with a stick of candy in her mouth, rocking on that little horsey for what seemed like hours.

"Well, I guess when you get right down to it I really couldn't," he admitted. "But I'll tell you one thing, Victoria. Now that they're gonna be staying, I want you to hurry up and hire a woman to help out around here. You used to have help in the house, after all, and you'll need someone to look after the children when you go to church or go into town."

She looked thoughtful. "I think it's time I should take Daisy to church with me."

"If you think you can get her to sit still in the buckboard, not to mention that long Mass."

"Mass is only twice a month. Besides, she will have to obey her mamá." She thrilled a little as she said the word for the first time. They were going to have a wonderful life with their children.