BOSTON

(Part 1)

Be there in five days… he splayed his hand open on the calendar, looking. Five days would be…the fingers curled into a loose fist. May fifteenth. Just three days before Adam's birthday.

He leaned back in his chair and blew out his cheeks. His twenty-first birthday, to be exact. Elizabeth had never quite made it to hers. Now, there was a morbid thought. What was that about?

He knew, though. Almost twenty-one years ago in this very room Adam's life had begun…and Elizabeth's had ended. History seemed to be caught in a disturbing, repetitive cycle.

He heard a sound from the bed and pushed himself up from the desk to look. Adam's eyes were open, but glassy and unfocused - Abel had no illusions that he could actually see him, or even that he knew where he was. He had been through all this before. He touched his face. Hot. Not quite as hot as it'd been, but he wasn't fooled by that either - the fever rose and fell with monotonous regularity, never really releasing its death grip.

He soaked a cloth in the ewer by the bed and held it to Adam's mouth. Adam sucked at it automatically, then his eyes dropped shut again. He had gotten rather deft at getting liquids down Adam while he was mostly unconscious. He was not quite as good at it as Mrs. Longworth, of course - she was a master. But then, she hadn't been joking when she'd said she'd had plenty of practice. Abel reached for another cloth and rested it on Adam's face, hoping to infuse some moisture into the arid skin.

Mrs. Longworth and Adam had become good friends - had hit it off from the first. In fact, he occasionally felt a little excluded by the way their mutually quieter, self-contained natures seemed to mesh. Only occasionally, though – most times it pleased him to see the boy with a woman in his life – he suspected that he missed his stepmother much more than he was willing to talk about, or even admit to himself. He sighed, turning the cloth over and pressing it gently against Adam's cheek to extract any remaining moisture from it. It was one of those subjects that seemed to be almost taboo – whenever he tried to introduce it, Adam deftly slid the conversation elsewhere. He wondered if Alice had had any better luck.

Abel knew Adam often used the pre-dawn hours to study, wandering down to the kitchen eventually to greet Mrs. Longworth as she arrived to fix breakfast, firing up the stove for her and setting the table. He knew this because he had found himself unable to sleep one early morning and had almost walked in on them, stopping just in time with his hand on the kitchen door and pausing unabashedly to listen. He briskly excused his eavesdropping by telling himself that it was his duty as grandfather and temporary guardian to find out everything he could about his grandson, and positioned himself against the wall by the door out of sight and got comfortable.

"…no reason at all why you have to start the fire for me. I've been doing it for years. You must have studying you'd like to be doing."

"Already did. I like starting the fire. Can't quite get over wood just arriving at the door, all cut and everything, I guess. I wrote to Hoss and Joe about it, but I don't think they know whether or not to believe me. If it's true, I think Joe is planning on moving out here himself. Filling the wood boxes is his job."

Abel didn't hear Mrs. Longworth's response, but he could picture her smile.

"Eight," Adam's deep baritone carried better. "Hoss just turned fourteen, but he was almost as tall as me when I left. He's gonna be big. Of course, Inger was tall."

He made out a murmured question - for Lord's sake, speak up, woman! - then heard Adam's half-shy answer, "Hoss's Ma. She was my first - um…"

Abel noticed him trail off and winced. Ah, dear. So many nasty ruts and bumps for him to accidentally put his foot in. Did he really think anyone would blame him for loving the woman he could actually remember? It didn't mean he'd no feeling for the one he didn't. He frowned to himself. At least, he hoped that wasn't the case - Elizabeth deserved better. No, of course it wasn't, he'd seen it wasn't…still. Hard for a woman people told you about to compete with one who had actually held you in her arms. He scratched at his beard thoughtfully.

"…Marie." Damn. He'd lost the thread of the conversation now. "She was Joe's Ma." He could almost see the sentence hang poised in the air as it always did, as if there was so much he wanted to say, but nothing he dared say. Come on, Alice - you were a mother yourself - worm it out of him! Mrs. Longworth's voice remained unintelligible. He really needed to talk to her about this dashed mumbling of hers.

"…almost two years ago now." Adam again.

Abel did the calculations quickly in his head. Her death, then? Maybe.

"It was just over twenty-four years ago I lost my son and husband." Mrs. Longworth must have moved closer to the kitchen door, because she sounded very clear now. Abel drew back a little, his own heart pinching at the memory of that time. "Lost them in the same epidemic that took your grandmother and left your Mama motherless. Sounds like she was about the same age as you were when your stepmama died."

"She was?" Adam's voice was edged in surprise. "I didn't - nobody ever talks about my grandmother."

"No? She was a very good friend of mine - a good woman. Did a fine job of raising your mother. Your mother was heartbroken when she died - your grandfather, too. We lost a lot of good folk, all over Boston, in that epidemic."

"So my mother knew what it was…I never thought of that."

"Oh, yes - she had a hard time of it, poor thing. She had been going around with Richard - that was my boy - at the time, too. Oh, not in love, I don't think - not like with your father, that was the real thing. Just calf love. But they'd grown up together - it hit her very hard. And her mother had always been the one thing she could count on, what with Abel off at sea for months at a time. They were almost inseparable. You'd see them walking along the beach together, or sitting on a blanket with their needlepoint or both their noses stuck in books. Or one reading aloud to the other. Meg loved to read aloud. When we had sewing bees she was always the one to read while we worked - just as well, too, as she wasn't much of a needle woman."

He heard Adam's short burst of laughter. "My grandmother liked to read?"

"Oh, yes - that's where your mother got it from. Mercy, you don't think she got it from Abel, do you?"

Abel glowered at the door. Woman had a smart mouth. Liked her better when she was mumbling.

"I - never thought about it."

"Your grandmother was from toney Mayflower stock - went to Finishing School and all the rest. Came out as a debutante - was quite a hit that season. Not a conventional beauty, but - she had something. Charm, I suppose. You have her nose and mouth, you know. Elizabeth did, too." Abel heard the sound of a stool scraping across the floor and figured Adam was settling in for a good chat. "And of course, she stood out with that hair. Had the most beautiful red hair."

"My grandmother had red hair?"

"Oh, my, yes - was quite famous for it in society circles. I can't believe no one ever told you this."

"I don't know - if my father knew. Go on - please?"

"Well, let's see…she had very progressive ideas about women and education and made sure Elizabeth had access to any books she wanted. Wasn't hot tempered, for all that red hair - well, can you imagine her surviving with your grandfather if she had been? But had very definite ideas about things. Stuck to them. Never knew anyone like her for digging in her heels when she thought she was right."

Abel smiled to himself. Aye, wasn't that the truth! There was no moving Meg once she was set on a course.

"That's how she ended up marrying your grandfather - not that there was anything wrong with marrying a sea captain - quite respectable, really - but her father had larger ideas for her - she was so pretty and lively and smart and came from such a good family - had his mind set on a pedigree, I think."

Abel leaned into the corner behind the door and closed his eyes. That was true, too. He'd almost forgotten it himself, it was all so long ago. His Meg; his bright, particular star. He had been besotted, persistent - and she had been single-minded, unyielding. Faced down her father. Fought for him. Won, too. Then had settled into keeping house for him, just as if she hadn't grown up with a dozen servants…what a woman. They'd broken the mold with her, they had. You'll be a lucky man if you ever find one half so fine, Adam.

"…think there's a portrait of her somewhere in the old house…probably went to your cousins."

"I have cousins?"

"Well, second cousins, really - Meg was an only child. Like your mother. And like you - well, you aren't either, exactly, are you? But childbirth never came easy in that family."

"Why did they do it, then?"

Abel winced slightly at the question.

"Why? Well, if you knew your mother you wouldn't ask that. Only needed to tell her there was something she couldn't do to have her determined to do it. Sound like anyone you know?"

"Yes,"

Abel smiled at the dry tone in Adam's voice.

"My brother Joe."

Mrs. Longworth laughed.

Abel raised his brows. Couldn't remember the last time he'd heard a laugh out of Alice.

"That wasn't exactly who I meant."

"That's only because you haven't met him."

"Yes. Well. She wanted children - she and your father both - a house full of them." There was a silence full of…something. Abel wished he could get a glimpse of Adam's face. "You can put those around on the table now, if you insist. Breakfast is almost ready."

Abel had beat a hasty and strategic retreat back to his bedroom. He had meant to get dressed, but he sat instead on the bed for a long time, thinking of things he hadn't in years - his courtship with Meg, the birth of Elizabeth, the years of housekeeping they'd had together. He'd been lonely since Elizabeth's death, he realized - so busy that he'd barely noticed, but lonely nevertheless. He had a pleasant enough life, but something had been missing, and now Adam seemed to fill an ache he'd barely been aware of. He pulled on his shirt and fastened the collar. He should find some way to show him how happy he was to have him there - how grateful. Oh, not too much, of course - no point in letting the boy get a swelled head…he glanced at the calendar.

Well, his birthday was coming up - he should plan something. The first one he'd spent with his grandson since that very first day of his birth. The first one he didn't have to plan for months in advance in order to send something to some god forsaken territory. That would be Ben's problem for a change this year. He smiled at the thought. He would ask Mrs. Longworth to help him plan something - she would be sure to have some ideas about it!

"Pansies…"

Abel only heard the barely breathed sound because he was ever vigilant. "What's that, laddie?" he asked gently. Not that he expected an answer.

"…for thoughts."

Abel caught the words as they rested on the faint edge of a sigh. He patted the transparent hand on the coverlet. "I know, laddie…you told me. I know."

Adam's lashes lifted just slightly. "Pa?"

Abel sighed this time. "No, Adam. It's me - your Grandsire." He wasn't sure if the answering breath was meant as a response or not, but Adam's lids had sealed themselves again. He patted the hand a second time. "Just five more days, lad - if all goes well. Now you hang on for him or he'll be disappointed…and I know you hate to disappoint him." Five more days. Eight more until Adam's birthday - so different from the one last year. Not that that had been exactly what he had expected - well, what ever was?

Mrs. Longworth had proved to be an excellent co-conspirator. While he had been debating the merits of a party crowded with people over the charms of a small family supper she had firmly cast her vote for the family supper, insisting that Adam would prefer to spend his first birthday here alone with his grandfather. Abel had been a little disappointed to lose the opportunity of a splashy party teeming with his and Adam's friends, but in the end the words "alone with his grandfather" caught like a hook in his heart and would not be dislodged. The idea of having Adam all to himself for their first birthday celebration together came to seem like a precious thing. Well, almost alone - for Mrs. Longworth must be there, of course - she demurred some, but he insisted. He knew Adam would be disappointed to have it otherwise.

And so they went from debating the merits of the type of party to arguing about the best food to be served. Abel was insistent on seafood - lobster, perhaps, or crab - something not easily obtainable in Nevada Territory. Mrs. Longworth pointed out that Nevada was not all that far from San Francisco and so Adam was probably not a stranger to the fruits of the sea. Abel had replied that she was an uppity know-it-all kind of woman and should serve whatever she wanted as long as it bloody well wasn't beef. Mrs. Longworth had added insult to injury by laughing at him. He smiled faintly at the memory.

With the worries about the food out of his hair and in her capable hands he turned his mind to the proper gift. He had sent Adam many things over the years - books mostly, bits of clothing that would only be available in Boston, novelty items he thought might appeal - but now it seemed so different. This gift he would give him face to face, and it had to be perfect. He mulled and wondered and worried and fought with himself, and then finally decided. It was nothing new or flashy, but he knew Adam well enough by now, he thought, to know what he would treasure most. As for himself, well, it was nothing he had ever really considered giving away - not while he was alive, anyway - but meeting his grandson had taught him, above all things, that time moved on and changed things whether you were ready for it or not. Time had moved on - he understood that now. Other things should move along with them.

Gifts arrived from the Ponderosa only a few days before the auspicious day, and Abel breathed a sigh of relief. Adam wouldn't have said anything he was sure, but Abel knew it would have marred the day for him - left a tinge of homesickness - not to hear from his family on his first birthday away from the ranch. And Abel was determined that this celebration be absolutely perfect. He fingered the lumpy packages neatly bound in homespun curiously, trying to guess what they contained. Not much, he suspected. Ben must be feeling the pinch with Adam gone. He finally gave up trying to identify the gifts and secreted them in his room, far out of sight.

Adam's birthday dawned a crisp, fresh spring day, with a touch of early morning frost in the air. Abel could hardly contain himself at breakfast. He hadn't said anything to Adam about the plans for the little party, wanting instead to surprise him. He smiled to himself when he found Adam unusually subdued and quiet at the breakfast table. No doubt he thought they'd forgotten what day it was. Well, he'd be in for a surprise, he would. It was all he could manage to keep himself from shoving Adam out the door to school so that he and Mrs. Longworth could begin preparations.

He spent only a few hours at the Chandlery that morning - an unproductive and distracted few hours, until his chief clerk asked him bluntly to please go home and get out from underfoot. "And tell Adam happy birthday from the rest of us," he finished more kindly, to take out the sting. Abel had returned an embarrassed half smile.

He walked home briskly, stopping to pick up some of the last minute purchases Mrs. Longworth had requested. He shook his head and laughed at himself when he realized he'd passed the flower booth for the second time without stopping. "You're a fool, Abel Stoddard," he scolded himself, torn between amusement and disgust. "As jumpy as a flying fish. Eh, but you've almost twenty years of special times not had to make up for - so perhaps you can allow yourself some foolishness this once. Deliberate foolishness, that is - Lordy knows you've been a fool in any number of ways over the years without meaning to."

He glanced at the list in his hand again and shook his head impatiently. Drat that woman, did she need to send him for the whole of the market? He needed to get home and make himself presentable. Probably didn't need a blasted thing on the list and just wanted to get him out from underfoot, like Clemens, his clerk. Oh, he was onto her and her sneaky ways! Still, just to be safe, he stopped next at the egg booth as the list instructed.

When he finally entered the small house with his burdens he was greeted by the rich, savory smell of chowder. He followed his nose back into the kitchen, breathing in the fragrant steam that rushed out as he pushed in the door. "Well," he said smartly. "Here are your things. I see you decided on a New England dinner after all."

"I didn't say I wouldn't," answered Mrs. Longworth serenely. "I said that you should leave the menu to me. That way I could check what looked nicest at the market this morning. Walk lightly - I've a cake in."

"Can barely smell it under all that chowder. Anything I can do to make myself useful? Besides getting out from under foot, which is principally what everyone else seems to want of me today."

Mrs. Longworth's mouth quirked and she handed him a copper bowl. "Yes - you can put your muscles to good use and cream that butter for me. What time do you expect Adam back?"

"Five or so - just in time for dinner. What else is on the menu?"

Mrs. Longworth pushed at a stray lock of hair with the back of her hand. "Capon. And I found some of those small rock lobsters. A little rich, I suppose, but I thought…well."

"You thought right." Abel settled himself on a stool and applied himself to the butter. It had been a long time since he'd actually sat in the kitchen. It gave him a warm, homey feeling. "The flowers you wanted are on the table. They didn't have a lot of selection, I'm afraid. Been a cold spring."

She settled the lid back on the pot and frowned. "Did they at least have the roses, for the cake?"

"They had the wild kind. Looked pretty enough to me. Plenty of lilac, too."

"What color are the roses?"

"Color? Pink, if I recall right. I didn't study them, just asked fer 'em."

"Hm. I suppose it'll do - pink just doesn't seem very masculine."

"I don't think he'll be any less masculine for having a few pink roses on his cake." He frowned, suddenly disturbed. "You think I should go out and look for some others? White, maybe? No – those are too much like weddings and funerals. Purple? Damn, I think that seems more girly still. Maybe we should leave the flowers off all together."

"Don't be ridiculous. Pink will be fine. I'm sorry I brought it up. Here – taste for me – "

Abel took the mouthful of hot chowder and rolled it around in his mouth. Delicious. Tasted like – home. Ah, Benjamin – how could you stand settle so far away from your beginnings? To travel on the sea was one thing, as long as you could always return to that sweet, safe spot with the sounds and tastes and smells and people you knew and loved best. He winced a little, recalling in a sudden rush other homey days spent in this kitchen, accepting a taste of chowder from another, much loved hand. The people. On the other hand, without the people you loved, home lost a great deal. Perhaps running away from the memories and starting over was the wiser choice. He found his eyes unexpectedly damp. "Needs salt," he said gruffly, to cover his moment of weakness.

Mrs. Longworth seemed not to notice his sudden awkwardness. "I thought so myself," she answered simply.

They fought again when it came to arranging the flowers – really, blasted woman thought she knew everything – no idea why he even put up with her – until she finally shooed him out to fetch wood for a nice fire in the fireplace and to pull a few garnishes from the small, tidy kitchen garden just off the back step. He returned with his arms full of wood and his hands crowded with greenery, grumbling to himself and wondering if he was to be allowed to participate in his own grandson's birthday celebration after all. Should've sent everyone else straight to the devil and taken Adam out to dinner, now that he thought about it. No idea why that hadn't occurred to him earlier.

He dropped his greenery on the kitchen table and shouldered his way through the kitchen door with those very words poised on his lips. He stopped in his tracks, suddenly silent. And blinked.

Somehow, the nondescript collection of spring flowers he had lugged home from the market had taken on a fairy tale quality – overflowing from a vase in the center of the table, festooning the breakfront, gathering up the draperies. Meg's good silver – he'd forgotten they even had that still – shone like jewels under a fresh coat of polish. Candle branches were everywhere, waiting to be lit. He coughed to clear a sudden lump in his throat. "Looks like a demmed Opry-house," he managed hoarsely, after a pause. "You're gonna blind the boy with all those candles."

Mrs. Longworth reached out to pluck an unacceptable, drooping bloom from the center arrangement. "I knew you'd like it. Build up that fire now, so you'll have time to get yourself ready. I'm just going to see to my cake, then I'll tidy up, too."

Abel laughed at himself again as he got ready. "You'd think you were going courting," he told his reflection, amused and bemused at once. "What would Adam think if he knew he could get his old grandfather into such a state?" But he wanted tonight to be perfect – to make up for all the imperfectness that had marked their relationship through the years – its inauspicious beginning, the long separation, his many, many failures and disappointments in his history with his daughter and son-in-law. Second chances came so rarely, and this seemed like that – no, not that exactly – a new chance all together. A fresh start. He fumbled with his cravat for the third time and, in irritated resignation, sought out the kitchen and Mrs. Longworth to set it right for him.

He found her tucking the last pink rose into a ring around the middle of the cake. She looked up with a smile and he was surprised to notice how sweet she looked in a simple, wine colored evening dress with her hair freshly smoothed.

"Little fumble fingered tonight, are we?"

He glared in response to her immediate and accurate observation, wondering how he could have ever thought her sweet, even for a moment. "Blasted thing keeps slipping about."

She wiped her hands on her apron and reached out to tie it for him. "Much better," she decided, studying it judiciously. "Now the cake is done and it's nearly five - you'd best settle in and wait for Adam."

"Aye, well -" he hesitated, not really sure what he wanted to say. "I think we need a toast," he blurted at last.

Mrs. Longworth raised her brows. "Before the birthday toast?"

Abel nodded, avoiding her eyes. "A toast to - well, to all your hard work here. I - I do thank you. Couldn't have managed without you"

Alice removed her apron, folding it neatly and hanging it on a rack by the stove. "That's my job."

"It's not and you know it," he scratched at his beard. "Or it's that you do it exceptionally well, then. You take good care of him. Of - of me, too. I'm grateful." Mrs. Longworth's brows rose another notch and he felt himself redden. "Well, if you're just going to stand about staring then I'll get the glasses."

That brought Mrs. Longworth to life. "You'll do nothing of the kind - after all the time I spent polishing that crystal! We'll use kitchen glasses and a little of the sherry I keep for cooking. Leave the brandy for after supper."

"Bossy," muttered Abel.

She lined up two jelly glasses on the counter and splashed a measure of sherry into each glass, then held one out to him. "So you've mentioned before." When he took hold of it, she kept her grip on the glass for just a minute. "I've - enjoyed it," she admitted.

Abel tried not to smirk.

"Oh, don't look so smug. It's just been…well, almost like…"

Abel sighed, letting the liquid swirl up and coat the sides of the glass. "Almost," he agreed.

"So, then," she became brisk again. "What are we toasting?"

Abel squinted thoughtfully. "To old friends," he said at last. Then he remembered those last moments in his room. "And fresh starts."

Alice nodded approvingly. "I can drink to that." They clinked glasses and sipped.

Abel grimaced. "Vile stuff."

The mantel clock chimed five.

"Oh, good Lord!" Mrs. Longworth abandoned her glass on the table and went to check her oven.

Abel chuckled to himself. Well, well, well. It was nice to see her every bit as flustered as he was.

TBC