BOSTON

(Part 2)

He smiled slightly at the memory. He'd lost track now of how many times he'd stopped by Adam's room nights to make sure he wasn't studying too late, only to find him asleep with that ledger splayed open on his chest. Such a small thing to cling to - he wished he had more to give him. Adam had brought Elizabeth back for him in so many ways - he wished he could return the favor.

This grandfatherhood was surprisingly pleasant and he took to it - not that he hadn't to fatherhood, Elizabeth had been his very joy, especially after Meg had died, but he couldn't say he'd really had much hand in her upbringing, gone to sea for months at a time as he'd been. She'd romped on his ship when he was in harbor, imitated him barking orders to the crew, played with him and, later, taken care of him, but there was no doubt that it was her mother who'd had the raising of her. Of course, it was Ben who'd had the raising of Adam, but he felt as if he was having a small part - showing him life in the big city - the city where he was born.

He liked having him about and preened himself a little on his tall, handsome grandson. He normally wasn't one for frequenting teas and soirees and dances but couldn't resist the urge to show him off and, telling himself that he was just giving Adam the opportunity to meet people, he accepted an invitation for both of them to a soiree planned in support of the Fund for Indigent Seamen. Of course, that meant another delicate dance around that pride of his.

He broached the subject casually one evening while he was pretending to peruse the Globe and Adam was burying his face in one of those books he was so fond of.

"So," he began casually. "Have you met the Lawrences?"

Adam shook his head without lifting his eyes from his book. "I don't think so. Who are they?"

"Oh, fine folk. Known them since Meg and I were a young couple. They're having a musical soiree next week. Thought you might fancy it."

There was the smallest hesitation. "Whatever you like, Grandfather."

"Never mind what I like. I was thinking that you might like it. They're having a harpist or some such nonsense. Sounded like something you might enjoy."

"A harpist?" Adam dropped his book to let it dangle from his hand. "A real one? I've read about harps, but I've never heard one."

Abel suppressed a pleased smile. "Then this would be your chance." Now came the tricky part. "Have many parties out your way at home?"

"Some." Adam got up and refreshed his grandfather's coffee and then his own. "Barn raisings and hoe-downs, mostly. Barbeques."

"Hm." Abel cleared his throat, trying to decide how best to approach this. "Sound like fine times. Soirees are all right - a bit high toned, though." He stirred sugar into his coffee and sipped. "You know the kind - ladies in big skirts and gloves and the like."

Adam nodded, stretching his long legs out on the ottoman at his feet.

"Company manners. The whole bit."

Adam nodded again, propping his book up in his lap.

"Lots of bowing and handshaking…men in monkey suits..."

Adam let his eyes drift back to the page. "Pa had one made for me in San Francisco before I left. If that's what you're asking."

Abel shot him a glare of annoyance. "Now, if you knew what I was asking why the devil did you let me go on like that?"

Adam grinned.

Abel tried to scowl. "Miserable boy. Is the suit heavy enough for Boston weather? Winter's coming on."

"I'm sure it's fine, Grandfather."

"Maybe a new weskit, then, just to keep out the cold."

"The one I have will do just fine."

"Now, how do you know that? Have you ever been to Boston in winter before? I think I should have a look at it."

"Grandfather, you are NOT going to buy me a new vest!"

"Now, surely a grandfather has the right…"

"And don't start that again! Pa's right - if you keep this up I won't be worth anything when I get home!"

The words hung between them in the air, startling both of them - Adam with a sudden wave of homesickness and Abel with the terrible realization that this time would eventually come to an end. They were both silent for a moment, torn by their thoughts.

Abel finally got himself in hand. Never mind that now - more important to make the best of the time they did have. Pushing the feeling aside he reached resolutely for his coffee again, eyeing Adam with assumed casualness over the cup rim. "I know where there's some fine haberdasheries," he said slyly. "Don't go in much for finery myself, but I know one or two." This time it was Adam's turn to look exasperated. "We should ask Mrs. Longworth about color and style and such. She used to be a dressmaker."

"Grandfather - "

"Oh, indulge me, lad," his voice lowered. "I haven't that much time with you."

Adam hesitated, then sighed, then laughed. "All right," he turned his eyes to his book again. "For someone who supposedly knows nothing about instruments you sure know how to play me."

"Well, I've had plenty of practice."

Adam looked up quizzically.

"Your mother, lad. You're - very like her."

Adam was quiet a moment. "Pa says that." He paused and added, a little shyly, "How?"

"Oh, that tongue of yours, for one. Disrespectful, the both of you. Shameful."

Adam smiled faintly. "Oh."

"Those books you're always lugging everywhere. And your smile - well." Abel swirled his coffee. "Lots of things. Little things. Things I'd almost forgotten."

"I wish - " Adam broke off, dropping his eyes back to the book in his lap.

Abel put down his cup and sighed. "I know, laddie," he said simply. "I wish, too."

He wished for a number of things, more with every passing day. Watching the dark head bent over the books every Saturday he found himself wishing, almost against his volition, that that was something that he could count on not only this year and the three after, but for many years into the future as well. A pleasant thought - to be able to hand his business over to his only heir - to have Adam slide as neatly into his future as he had into his life. And who was to say? There was a lot in Boston to tempt a young man of Adam's ilk. He promised himself that he wouldn't hint or push - that the decision would be Adam's alone - but there was nothing that said that he couldn't hope. And with every passing day his hopes grew a little more.

But that had been before, of course. Now he didn't care if Adam chose to stay in Boston or on the Ponderosa or in Timbuktu - as long as he stayed alive. Horrible enough to outlive your own child - to outlive your grandchild was obscene. Like history repeating itself…He noticed he had crushed his toast and abandoned it impatiently, tapping an indifferent spoon against the egg.

The soiree had been a revelation. Adam had looked very handsome, he thought, in his charcoal suit with the new dark red vest Mrs. Longworth had selected, his silver watch chain stretched across it. Oh, possibly he was a bit biased, but he didn't think so. He felt justified in his small sin of pride when he saw more than one lady glance their way as they were received at the entryway.

"That's enough, lad!" he had scolded brusquely as Adam tried to help him out of his coat. "I'm old, after all, not enfeebled. Why don't you go get us a couple of glasses of punch and I'll introduce you round?"

He heard Adam chuckle softly behind him and felt him surrender the coat.

"All right." He looked around the room with interest.

Abel watched him as he made his way to the refreshment table at one side of the room. He was surprised at how poised he seemed. Oh, there was a definite measure of reserve in his manner, but he had expected more shyness. He saw him hold his hand out to one of the guests at the punch table - retired Captain Starbuck it looked like from here - then saw them both glance his way. He smiled and nodded in return, smoothing down the sleeves of his dress uniform. Damn, but he hated getting rigged out for these affairs. Still, he had a feeling he was going to enjoy this one. He swaggered over to the pair and hooked his thumbs in his lapels.

"Evening, Jonah," he said jovially. "I see you've met my grandson."

Captain Starbuck nodded. "Abel. Indeed I have! Elizabeth's boy, hey? Doesn't seem possible it was that long ago, does it? But if he's grown that much then I suppose we've been getting older too." He laughed heartily at his own joke. "Stayin' with you for a spell?"

"That's right. He's here to go to university. Taking his course at Harvard."

Starbuck raised his brows. "Well, now, that's something, isn't it? What are you studying - Adam, wasn't it?"

Adam opened his mouth to answer but Abel interjected smoothly, "Oh, it's a double course - engineering and architecture."

"Eh, that so?" Starbuck eyed him keenly. "Can't make up your mind what it is you want to do, young fella?"

Adam opened his mouth again, but Abel swept in, "Eh, well, it's difficult to narrow down your choices when you're talented at so many things."

Adam shot him a speaking glance and he blinked back serenely.

"Must have been a long trip for you - living somewhere way out west in the wilderness, aren't you? Doesn't your father have need of you?"

"I - "

"Yes, well, he does, but Adam's on scholarship, don't you know. Couldn't say no to a thing like that, so Benjamin gave his blessing. You remember Benjamin, don't you? Fine a first mate as I ever had."

Adam cleared his throat. "Actually, Captain Starbuck, it's a partial - "

"Did I mention that he was musical?" Abel interrupted cheerfully. Adam's stare grew pointed, but he ignored it. "One reason we're here tonight. Young Adam is partial to music. Plays himself."

"That so?" Starbuck turned to squint at him.

Adam gave him a weak, embarrassed smile. "Well, I - "

"You should hear him," Abel continued blithely. "Beautiful. Isn't that right, lad?"

The look Adam gave him spoke volumes.

Abel beamed at him, unruffled. "Well, I expect we'd better run along and mingle some. Pleased to see you, Jonah."

"Nice meeting you," Adam agreed faintly. He fell into step beside Abel. "Is this what it's going to be like all evening?" he hissed through his teeth, sotto voce.

Abel smiled innocently. "What's that, lad? Meeting people? Aye, of course - that's the whole point. Well, that and the music."

"Do you think that you could tone it down just a little?"

Abel opened his eyes in limpid surprise. "Tone what down, laddie?"

Adam folded his arms over his chest. "The - I don't know - gushing?"

Abel's eyes twinkled. "Now, laddie-mine. Is there a single word I've said that hasn't been true?'

Adam hesitated. "Not - not specifically, but - "

"But what, then?"

"Well, I think you could go a little easy on the butter."

"Now, Adam - " Abel adopted his most sincere expression. "Would you deny an old man the pleasure of introducing his only grandson around?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Oh brother."

Abel beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. "I thought not. Eh, look over there - Captain Reginald Thomas. Let's go introduce you to him."

Adam groaned.

Abel couldn't remember when he'd last enjoyed himself so much, at least at first - he got as much wicked enjoyment out of Adam's discomfort as he did out of his own bragging. But as the evening whiled on he noticed something else that began to wear at his pleasure. He had at first observed the fairer sex's subtle and not so subtle responses to his grandson with pleasure and pride, but as the night continued he felt a creeping sense of alarm and began to wonder more and more if this had been such a good idea after all. It came to him suddenly that he had no idea what Adam's experience with women was - if indeed, he had any - especially with the more sophisticated types that Boston had to offer.

The possibilities of the problems this could present and his absolute unpreparedness to deal with them almost made him dizzy and throughout the harp recital he found himself less and less focusing on the music and more and more on his growing concerns. What on earth had ever made him believe that he was equipped to handle this? Who was he to guide a young man through the rocky shoals of one of society's romances?

The sound of tinkling laughter mixing with Adam's baritone caught his ear and he glanced to his left to see the Widow Davenport with her gloved hand resting lightly on Adam's arm as she laughed up into his face. He frowned. Good God, the woman was at least ten years the boy's senior - what on earth was she thinking? Never mind - he had a pretty good idea what she was thinking. He glared meaningfully at her and made it a point to corner her at the punch table.

She smiled at him like a lazy cat. "My goodness, Abel - they certainly grow them big and strong out West, don't they? Maybe we should send all our young men out there."

Abel stared hard at her without the smallest glimmer of a smile. "He's a boy and my grandson, Lydia - I'll thank you not to forget either."

She smiled benignly. "How old did you say he was?"

Abel harumphed. "Nineteen," he growled.

"Hm…" Lydia set her fan in languid motion. "Hm."

Abel watched her glide away, skirts swaying. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the wisest course would be to take Adam back to the house and lock him up there for four years, releasing him only for classes.

Coward, he chided himself. You were happy enough to parade him around before you realized the consequences - now what? Write to Benjamin, "Women are looking at your son - your son is looking back - what do I do? Please hurry reply?" No doubt that would give Benjamin a good laugh at his expense. Not that he couldn't survive that, but any advice would probably get here too late to do any good anyway.

The implications and possibilities left him brooding so deeply that Adam made his way to his side and asked under his breath if he felt all right.

Abel seized the opportunity. "A little tired is all," he suggested feebly.

"Then let's go home," Adam insisted, frowning. "I'll get our coats." Abel followed him meekly, feeling like a traitor. Outside on the sidewalk he noticed Adam peering at him anxiously. "I'll wave down a cab," he said firmly.

Abel flushed, feeling his own duplicity. "Nah, laddie - just need some fresh air. Let's walk."

Adam hesitated, ready to protest.

Abel insisted, setting the pace. "Will do me good. One of those stuffy old cabs will only give me a headache and it's a beautiful night. Look at those stars. Your father ever teach you about them?"

Adam nodded, still watching him, his expression troubled.

Damn. Abel tried to think of a way to distract him. "Did you enjoy the music, now?"

Predictably, Adam's face changed and he nodded again. "I've never heard anything like it."

"Aye, liked it myself. It's no wonder they write about angels playing harps. Did you enjoy yourself?"

Adam nodded one more time, but shot him a probing glance.

Abel was grateful for the sporadic lighting offered by the street lamps, keeping them half in shadow. He paused on the bridge over the Charles, trying to think of what he wanted to say. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he offered weakly at last.

Adam leaned on the railing next to him and gazed out over the water, silvered with moonlight. "Yes," he said quietly at last. "I've grown to love it."

Abel nodded in the darkness, struggling with himself. "Adam," he said at last. "Can I ask you something?'

His tone must have warned him because his answer sounded wary. "All right."

"Have you - known - many women out your way in the territories?"

Adam shrugged non-committally. "There aren't many to know. Indians and saloon girls, mostly."

"I see." Abel felt very much like he was drowning, but he pressed on. "Well. And has your father - ever - had occasion to - make himself clear on certain points of - of - "

The pause hung heavy in the air.

"Of?" Adam interjected politely after a moment.

"Damn it, you must know what I'm trying to say!"

Adam chuckled. "Well, I don't, exactly, but - if it's what I think it is then I can assure you that the process of breeding animals makes such mysteries unmysterious at an early age."

"Ah, well, animals." Abel snorted. "They're honest and straightforward about it, no doubt. Women aren't, I'm afraid. Not all women anyway."

Adam looked at him questioningly.

Abel sighed. "I don't know how to tell you what I want to say, lad. Except to warn you that for some women love and conquest are no more than a game. Be on your guard." He glanced at him to see if he was listening and the moonlight showed that his expression had sobered. "Ever been in love, lad?"

Adam shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"Well, then. I suppose I'm telling you not to mistake the bauble for the real thing. Women smell good and they're soft and warm and it's easy for a man to get confused when they're close."

He watched the clean profile as Adam gazed out over the water.

"How do you know?" he asked at last. "I mean, when it's the real thing?"

Abel scratched at his chin. "I don't know how to tell you, laddie. I wasn't in love but once in my life - with your grandmother. All I can tell you is that it makes you strong where you never had been and brave where you thought you couldn't be and patient where you thought you never would be. Love with the right woman is about the nearest we come to heaven here on this earth, I suppose. With the wrong one, well - I'm guessing that's about the closest we come to hell."

Adam nodded thoughtfully. "How long were you married?"

"To Meg? A good while. Your mother was almost seventeen when she died. A good girl she was, too - looked out for her old father. Thank God I had her - don't know what I would have done if I hadn't. Like to have lost my mind, I suppose." He saw Adam shift, frowning a little out over the river at the shadows of the buildings on the other side. "Now, what is it you're thinking?"

"Hm? Nothing. I was just…"

Abel studied his expression in the half-light. It was taking him a while to learn how to read Adam, but then it had taken him a while to learn how to read the ocean, too. Both were changeable and inscrutable, but eventually gave up their mysteries to the practiced eye. "It was," he said finally. "The same for your father. If that's what you're wondering."

"It's a little different, I think. I was just a baby and he was traveling west - I was a lot of work for him."

"Doesn't matter." Abel leaned against the rail beside him. "Every day he thanked God for you. I know. You don't."

Adam fixed his eyes on the low hanging moon. "It was so hard on him," he said finally, his voice very soft. "Every time. It hit him so hard. I didn't know my mother, but I did see how losing her affected him. And then Inger…" he paused painfully, "and Marie…" He shook his head. "It always changed everything. Sometimes I think it would be better…"

Abel raised his brows. "Better to - what? Not fall in love?"

Adam shrugged.

"Then you'd be wrong, lad. And you'd miss a great deal. What would my life have been without Meg? And then Elizabeth? Yes, I lost them both, but not to have had them at all? Nah - unthinkable."

Adam turned to look at him. "Did you resent him? When Pa came to take my mother away?"

"Resent him?" Abel paused, wanting to remember, to be honest. "I don't think so. He was a good man, like a son to me, and he made your mother so happy - I couldn't find it in my heart to resent him. And of course - " his eyes twinkled. "They moved in with me, so he didn't take her very far. There were other things I resented, surely, things I wish I'd done differently…but no - I never resented that."

"What things?"

Abel looked startled. "Surely your father's told you?"

Adam shook his head.

Abel was silent. He had often wondered what Benjamin had told Adam of it. Nothing, then. A generous man, Benjamin Cartwright. Not one to carry a grudge, never mind pass one on. "It's not a time I'm especially proud of, lad," he said at last. "I could have done better by your mother and father in those days. I'll tell you about it sometime - I promise. But not tonight. It's late and we should be getting home."

Adam pushed himself away from the railing. "All right. But you don't have to."

"Aye, but I want to. Get it off my chest, like." He draped an arm around Adam's shoulders and turned him in the direction of home. "And then maybe you can tell me some things, too. Like instead of talking about how losing his wives affected your father, maybe we'll talk about how it affected you."

He sighed at the memory. They never had found the time to talk about it and it hung over him now, as grey and dampening as the clouds that sealed out the sky. "I have a lot to answer for," he murmured, mostly to himself. "You don't know."

"I think you're being a little hard on yourself."

He had almost forgotten Mrs. Longworth and glanced up at her where she had paused in her shaving.

"I'm not. You don't know." He picked up what was left of the mangled toast and dabbed it mindlessly at the egg.

Twenty years ago he had left Elizabeth sickening in that same bed for no better purposes than his own foolishness and pride, aye, and had dragged Benjamin from her side, too. By the time they had returned - that is, by the time Benjamin had tried his hand at fixing the mess he'd made and had been able to return …he let the toast dangle from his hand, unnoticed.

Well, not this time. This time, if Ben had questions, he would be able to answer them, be able to tell him he had been there.

History may repeat itself, but it had taught him something, too. This time he was sticking, come what may.

TBC

END OF BOSTON 2

Thank you, Tauna! Yes, it was a lucky find for Adam!