Chapter Seven

Back in his bedroom, Adam fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and trousers.

"Stupid brandy," he muttered, though he giggled as he said it. At length, he managed to stumble his way out of his suit and hang it in the wardrobe – a bit lopsided, but good enough. Pulling on his nightshirt, he pitched over onto his bed and climbed under the covers.

As he had done two nights earlier, Adam stared up at his ceiling and watched the firelight's shadows flit on the ceiling, though tonight he swayed his head back and forth with them and snickered. He heard Hannah and Jacob making their way up the stairs and the creak of Josie's bedroom door as they poked their heads in to see if she was asleep.

Josie.

Adam frowned at the ceiling, highly annoyed with his little cousin. He had done such a good job the past few days ignoring the desire to see his mother's resting place, and with one little sentence – "If you say so" – she had him questioning himself again.

"She's nine," he reminded himself.

He scowled at the ceiling, daring the flickering shadows to contradict him. They didn't, but his own mind turned against him. He had been so close that evening, probably no more than a few hundred feet. What kind of a son came that close to his mother's grave and did not stop to pay his respects? His thoughts drifted to his brother Hoss, whose mother was buried in an unmarked grave along a dusty trail in the middle of Nebraska. Hoss would give anything to be able to visit his mother, and here Adam was, less than a mile from his own mother and making a heap of excuses for not going.

"Aw, dammit," he cursed as he threw back the covers and got out of bed. Still swaying slightly from the brandy, Adam yanked a pair of trousers and a clean shirt out of his wardrobe and pulled them on. He jammed his feet into his shoes and cinched the laces before tiptoeing out of his bedroom and into the hall.

As he had hoped, no sounds emanated from the other bedrooms. Adam sighed softly in relief; this was a mission he wished to complete alone and with no questions asked. He crept downstairs, keeping close to the wall in case any of the risers had grown creaky in the middle, and into the kitchen, where he opened the larder. He knew there were a few oil wick lanterns stashed there, and he rummaged around as quietly as he could until he found one. He grabbed a box of matches and checked that the lantern's oil was full before heading to the hallway closet to retrieve his coat, hat, and gloves. He set the lantern carefully on the hallway floor as he buttoned his coat. Adam thought he heard a creak from upstairs, and he held his breath for a full ten seconds, listening intently. When he heard no other sounds, he finished buttoning his coat, stuffed his hands into his gloves, and settled his hat on his head. Listening once more for any signs of life from upstairs but hearing none, Adam grabbed the lantern, slipped over to the front door, and turned the knob. He gently eased open the heavy oak door and slid out into the night.

The gas streetlamps illuminated the street and sidewalk, casting everything in a hazy golden glow that glinted off the snow and the little puffs of air Adam emitted every time he exhaled. It had gotten even colder since they had left the church – well below freezing, Adam guessed – and he wished he had grabbed a scarf from the closet. Too late now. If he went back inside now, he might not come back out, and he was not sure if he could live with himself for that. Hunching down to get as much of his face inside his coat collar as possible, Adam scurried down the sidewalk toward Boston Common and the Granary Burying Ground.

It was nearing midnight, and Adam found himself quite alone on the streets.

"Everyone else has the good sense to be warm in their beds," he muttered, pulling the brim of his hat a little lower against the icy breeze.

Walking briskly, it took Adam just fifteen minutes to reach his destination. Nearly a dozen gigantic elms loomed above him, their naked branches rustling in the breeze. Adam estimated they must be nearly ten feet around. He stood and watched their numerous arms swaying back and forth, and he smiled as he thought how many ghost stories that trees like these could inspire Hoss to spin.

"Quit procrastinating, Cartwright," he scolded himself. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the box of matches. He struck one on the bottom of his shoe and lit the wick of his lantern. There were no gas lamps inside the cemetery, and Adam did not feel like stumbling around in the dark and knocking over headstones. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the stone gateway and into the graveyard.

"Northeast corner," he muttered, raising his lantern and starting toward the far end of the cemetery.

The burying ground covered two acres, so it took Adam a few minutes to pick his way to the back of graveyard.

"Mr. Hancock," Adam said, tipping his hat to the ornate obelisk marking the resting spot of the famous revolutionary. At last he found himself in the northeast corner, and he turned slowly in a circle, casting his lantern light on the surrounding headstones, searching for his mother's name.

"Warren, Otis, Adams, Lowell," Adam read aloud. "Norcross, Coffin – oh, that's ironic – Winthrop, Putnam-" He gasped as his light at last shone on the stone he was searching for. It was larger than he had expected, and a quick glance revealed why: more than one Stoddard shared a single marker. It made sense. Tombstones were expensive; better to buy one large one for the entire family than to shell out for a small one each time someone died. Adam read over the names and dates on the stone.

"Stoddard," Adam mumbled, not realizing he was reading aloud. "Abel, 1784 – 1846, His beloved wife Ruth, 1786 – 1823." He paused, staring at the stone. "Hello, Grandfather," he whispered. "Sorry I got here too late to see you again. I would have liked to have known you." Had he thought about it, Adam would have been ashamed of himself for talking to a tombstone – hadn't he told Josie it made no difference? – but some deeper instinct had taken over his logic, and speaking aloud seemed to be the right thing to do.

He looked at the space beneath his grandparents' names, searching for his mother's, but it was not there. He furrowed his brow, wondering why she was not listed, when his eyes drifted to the smaller tombstone just to the right of his grandparents'. It was nearly concealed by the snow, so Adam set his lantern down and bent to brush the snow away.

"Sacred to the memory of Elizabeth Stoddard Cartwright, February 11, 1810 – May 18, 1830. Daughter of Abel and Ruth Stoddard. Beloved by her husband Benjamin and son Adam."

Adam was so startled to see his own name on the stone that he dropped to his knees, not caring about the snow seeping through his trousers. Suddenly, seeing his and his father's names carved there in the stone, Elizabeth no longer seemed like a mythical creature. Her humanity and the reality of her existence pierced Adam like a bullet. For the first time he understood the true depth of his loss.

"Hello, Mama," he breathed, instinctively using the moniker Josie used for Hannah.

He knelt there staring for several long moments before the words began tumbling out, seemingly of their own accord.

"It's Adam. I'm sorry I haven't been to see you before now. I didn't know you were here until two days ago, though as everyone keeps pointing out, I probably should have guessed." He paused, wondering what he should say next.

"Pa's done really well," he continued at length. "You would be proud of him. We have one of the biggest ranches west of the Rocky Mountains. Pa named it the Ponderosa. And I've got two little brothers, too! I hope you don't mind Pa married again. Twice. Both those ladies died, too. Pa really has the worst luck. But you'd like my little brothers. Hoss – he's thirteen now – he's the biggest kid you've ever seen! He was nearly as big as me when I left home two and a half years ago, and I expect he's surpassed me by now. But he's the kindest, gentlest person I've ever known.

"Then there's Little Joe. He's seven, and he can get into so much trouble that sometimes I think he has a secret twin stashed away someplace. There's no way one child can make so much mischief." Adam chuckled, remembering some of Little Joe's most notable escapades. "But he makes up for it with the world's brightest smile. I like to make him laugh just so I can see it.

"I'm at Harvard now. I've been spending my holidays with Uncle Jacob and Aunt Hannah. They got married, you know. They have a little girl. Josie. She looks so much like you, Mama. Everyone says so, and people are forever assuming she's my little sister. I don't mind. She feels like my sister. I'm sorry you never got to meet her."

Adam's voice began to falter.

"I'm sorry for everything." He fought to keep his voice steady. "Everyone says your death wasn't my fault – even Aunt Rachel says that – but it still feels like it sometimes. My god, my birthday is on your tombstone! Maybe I wasn't directly responsible, but the truth is you'd still be here if not for me. I see Uncle Jacob and Aunt Hannah together, and I think of all those years I stole from you and Pa, and I don't know how he forgives me for it. I'm going to be twenty next year. The same age you were, and I feel like I haven't even gotten started with my life yet. Is that how you felt? As you lay dying, did you think about how unfair your circumstances were? Oh, Mama, I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to-" Adam buried his face in his hands and broke down sobbing. He knelt there in the snow and the golden puddle of lantern light and cried, a boy alone in a vast cemetery, grieving for the mother he had never known.

"What was the point?" he asked at last, lifting his dripping face from his gloved hands and looking skyward. "What was the purpose of bringing her into the world at all if she was just going to be ripped away again so soon?" Fresh sobs tore from his throat, and he pulled the collar of his coat up over his face, not caring if he misshaped the wool.

"Adam?" a tentative voice called out from behind his grandparents' tombstone.

Adam hollered in surprise and fell backward. A wispy figure, cloaked in the shadows thrown by his lantern, slipped out from behind the headstone and stepped toward him. Adam scrabbled backward on his hands and feet like a crab, eyes wide and heart pounding.

"Adam!" the voice, thick with concern, called again as the phantom rushed toward him with one hand outstretched.

Adam nearly lost his hat as he continued to scramble backward through the snow until he bumped against another headstone and could go no further.

"Adam, it's all right!" the specter cried as it fell to the snow next to him. "It's me!"

For a brief moment, Adam thought he was hallucinating as he saw his mother drop to her knees at his side. Then it dawned on him that the figure was much too small to be a fully grown woman, and there was something very familiar about the white-mittened hand reaching toward him. He shifted to his left to get his eyes out of the direct glare from his lantern. As his pupils adjusted, the figure came into focus.

"Josie!" His little cousin knelt before him, her face etched with worry, her hand still stretched toward him. Adam sprang to his feet, suddenly furious. "Josie! What are you doing here?!"

The child remained kneeling in the snow, startled by Adam's anger. She had been certain Adam would be overjoyed to see her. She hauled herself to her feet and gazed up at him with wide eyes. "I- I followed you," she admitted.

Adam stared back down at Josie, still incredulous. "That was very wrong of you, Josephine!" he scolded. Josie shrank back, but Adam blustered on. "Not only was it dangerous to run off in the middle of the night by yourself, but it was an appalling invasion of my privacy! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Ashamed, Josie could no longer meet her beloved cousin's gaze. She hung her head. "I guessed you were coming here," she whispered. "I was afraid you were sad, and I didn't want you to be alone if you were sad. I'm supposed to take care of you." One fat tear rolled down her cheek and dropped to the ground, burning a tiny shaft through the snow.

Adam's livid expression softened as he gazed down at Josie and Hannah's words from two nights ago came back to him:

"Jacob and I fell in love that night he came by the house to offer his condolences to the family for Elizabeth's death. Had she not died, Jacob would not have visited, and my life would have turned out very differently."

"Yeah, mine, too," Adam muttered aloud.

Josie looked up at him with curiosity at this nonsensical reply, and Adam marveled again at how strongly Josie resembled the portrait he had of Elizabeth. As he gaped at Josie, Adam heard in his head, as clearly as if the words had been spoken aloud, a woman's gentle voice saying, "If you are looking for a purpose, dear heart, you have found it."

Tears coursed down Adam's face again, and he opened his arms wide to his cousin. "Josie, come here."

Josie sailed into his arms, and Adam lifted her and hugged her tightly. He buried his face in the soft wool scarf she had had the good sense to put on before leaving the house and let his tears flow. Josie was crying now, too, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I love you, Adam," she whispered.

"I love you, too, Josie," he replied, swallowing hard to regain control of his voice. "And you've done a good job taking care of me. Better than anyone else could have."

From behind them, the Park Street Church's clock chime twelve.

Josie smiled through her tears. "Merry Christmas, Older Brother," she said.

"Merry Christmas, Little Sister. Come on, let's go home."

Shifting Josie to his right hip, Adam stooped to pick up his lantern and then turned and strode out of the cemetery, his mother's parting gift to him clutched tightly in his arms.

Ponderosa Ranch
Nevada Territory
December 25, 1861

Adam smiled as he watched Josie, Hoss, and Little Joe playing with the huge Irish Wolfhound puppy he had given Josie for Christmas. The three of them sprawled across the wooden floor of the ranch house's living room as they worked to teach the young dog to sit on command. Though the house was well proofed against the winter weather and there was a fire roaring in the enormous fireplace, Adam had a quilt wrapped around his shoulders. It was a blue-and-white patchwork quilt – the same one he and Josie had snuggled under to read A Christmas Carol together all those years ago. Josie had discovered that Adam's mother had sewn the quilt and had coerced Rachel into giving it to her. She then passed it along to Adam as his Christmas gift.

Josie had made hot chocolate for everyone, and she now rose and collected the used mugs to take into the kitchen to wash up. When she reached for Adam's, he snatched it away, insisting he would wash his own cup.

"Don't be so stubborn, Adam," Josie said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "It's Christmas. Let me take care of you if I want to."

Not wanting to incur his cousin's wrath, Adam capitulated and let Josie take his mug. As he watched her amble toward the kitchen, her long, black braid swinging pertly behind her, Adam again remembered their Christmas together in Boston and how Josie had insisted on taking care of him then, too. Draping his quilt carefully across the back of the settee, he rose and followed Josie into the kitchen.

When Adam arrived, Josie had already pumped some water into the sink and was about to plunge the first mug into its bath.

"Hey," Adam said softly.

Josie turned and saw him leaning on the doorway as he so often did. She smiled at him.

"Hey yourself," she replied cheekily. Adam just stared at her with a fond smile, and Josie raised one eyebrow, wondering what it was he wanted.

"Come here," he said at last, striding across the kitchen to her. He took the mug from her hand, placed it on the counter, and gathered Josie up into a tight hug. Surprised by this seemingly random and unwarranted display of affection, Josie initially stiffened but then relaxed and hugged him back.

Adam held onto Josie a long time, much longer than he usually allowed hugs to last. When he finally released her, he left a hand on each of her shoulders and gazed at her from arm's length.

"Merry Christmas, Josie," he said.

"Merry Christmas, Adam," Josie replied, the bafflement clear in her voice.

Adam kissed her forehead and strode back out of the kitchen, leaving Josie shaking her head.

"What in the world got into him?" she asked the empty room. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned back to the sink and began washing the mugs, humming Christmas carols to herself as she worked.

The End