NOW:
Noah's eyes were wide, brilliant blue orbs that sparkled with astonishment as he stared at the animals in the corral.
Standing next to the tiny boy, Hoss looked between Noah and the animals and smiled. "Ain't he ever seen a horse before?" he asked.
"Of course," Peggy said as she leaned against the wooden fencing separating them from Sport and Traveler. "But not like this." She tilted her head at the animals and looked at Hoss. "I thought Adam told you to let them go."
"He did," Hoss said. "And I tried. Funny thing is, as disinterested as Sport was in sticking around when Adam was gone, now that he's seen him again, we can't get him to leave. He lingers around the ranch yard in the area just beyond it and just… waits. And Traveler waits with him. The only reason they're in the corral today is because, well," he nodded at Noah, "sometimes putting large, unfettered animals and curious little kids together is an invitation for trouble."
"But you're gonna set them free again when we leave, right?" Peggy asked. "You're not going to contain them in this place forever."
"Of course, I'm going to let them go," Hoss vowed. "There ain't no purpose in keeping them here."
Sitting outside the house and in the company of Lil, Ben could not help overhearing the conversation. He could not keep his attention from drifting from the chess board set up on the table between them, and he could hardly focus on the game, not when Noah was so interesting to observe. Not when watching Hoss interact with his newly acquired niece and nephew was so heartwarming. He was so good with children. So gentle, present, and attentive. He would make a very fine father someday—so would Joe, for that matter. The jury was still out on Jamie, however, the teen still a little too impulsive and fiery, patience eternally a little too out of reach.
It was impossible to know what kind of man Jamie would grow into. A good one—Ben did not harbor any doubt about that, but what he would do or what he would want once reaching age was still anyone's guess. As a man, would he feel confident in the love and security of his adoptive family and embrace his place in the family operation? Or, like Adam, would he leave determined to find something of his own?
To say Ben had been surprised when Adam, in the company of both his children and Lil, showed up for Sunday dinner would have been an understatement. It wasn't until Adam appeared on the doorstep that Ben realized he had anticipated his invitation would go ignored. It wasn't until his eldest son sank into the chair on the opposite side of the table that he realized how nice it was to see him there.
With all the seats around the dining table filled, the meal had been jovial and companionable. The presence of Peggy, Noah, and Lil had certainly changed the family dynamic and tone of conversation. There was a superficial lightness to the things that were discussed, each member of the family, inadvertently or not, carefully dancing around anything and everything that could cause even the mildest of conflict. Adam did not speak to or look directly at his father, but at least he had come, and he had brought his family with him.
Ben was surprised at how natural hosting the group felt. There was an ease to it; it was casual, as, seemingly unconsciously, not even one of them had bothered to dress for dinner. They had all attended as they were. Peggy had not changed from her brawny apparel and even Lil had not bothered to don a different dress than she had worn earlier. No one was trying to impress anyone else. They were way past that now; the years that had passed between them had made them all family, and as such, they were to accept each other as they were or not at all. Given his son's reticent demeanor, Ben wondered if Adam had decided upon the latter, at least where he was concerned.
After dinner, the family had scattered, and Adam could not have left the house quicker had he tried. Seemingly taking note of his oldest brother's hasty exit, Joe had followed him out and suggested they take the air and an evening ride. It was an invitation that was not extended to yet still accepted by Jamie. Leaving Noah in Hoss's capable hands, Adam had agreed. Settling on the porch with Lil, Ben had watched three of his sons disappear into the distance.
Three, he thought absently, an unwelcome agitation settling into the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was never really destined to be four. Maybe the fates had only allotted him three sons, giving him Jamie because Adam had left, and now that he was back, it simply was not possible to have meaningful relationships with all four of his sons at the same time. Years ago, when things between Adam and him had been good, Jamie hadn't been a part of their family, and now that he was, things with Adam seemed destined to remain distant and strained.
Shaking his head, he dismissed the lurid feeling and thought. It was better not to think of such things. Perhaps, it was best not to think about anything at all.
"Are you ever going to make a move?" Lil asked.
Looking at her, Ben struggled to understand what she was referring to.
She nodded at the chessboard. "It's your turn."
Why Lil had decided upon chess was a mystery to Ben; he had never known a female to want to engage in leisure that required studious and calculated movements. Of course, he had never known a woman like Lil. She was quite good at the game. Her first few moves already seemed to declare her well-practiced, her skill superior to his own. She played the game like Adam had once played it, he realized, sometimes to teach, but always to win; he had never minimized his strengths or abilities, restraining himself because of who his opponent was.
Sitting in the company of Lil, Ben couldn't help noticing something else: he quite liked this woman when she wasn't peacocking around, playing covert games in order to push people together or tear them apart. Engaging in an actual, physical game with her was pleasant enough. He had no real complaints; although, he would have liked it if she were a little less practiced.
He looked at the chessboard and sighed. Fingertip settling on his king, he pushed the piece to the farthest space that he could, setting Lil up to win, no doubt. She had him cornered, anyway. Any other move would have just delayed the inevitable.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Lil asked.
Nodding, Ben reached for his glass of brandy and drained what was left in one sip.
Lil appraised the board. "It's checkmate then."
"Another game?"
"Only if a second glass of brandy is part of the deal."
"That can be arranged."
Rising from his chair, he collected their empty glasses and moved to procure his end of the deal. Entering the house, he strode toward the table which contained an array of liquor, then thought better of it and changed his course. He had a particularly fine bottle of brandy hidden away in the bottom drawer of his desk which seemed like the perfect accompaniment to another lost game of chess. He had stowed it away, concealing it from Hoss and Joe, as expensive bottles of anything had a way of disappearing a little too quickly when left out in the open to be shared among the three of them—or two of them, as more often than not, he would find himself left out.
Rounding the corner by the grandfather clock, Ben's lips curled into a smile, and then as his eyes set on his desk, his mouth fell agape and his eyes widened with shock.
Sitting in the chair, the ornate picture frame containing Elizabeth's portrait on the table in front of him, Adam appeared as taken aback as Ben was.
"I thought you went for a ride with your brothers," Ben said.
"We raced," Adam said, his voice sounding softer than Ben had heard him speak since his return. "I gave them the slip." He was visibly uncomfortable, oddly remorseful over being caught somewhere he felt he did not belong. "I'm sorry," he added. "I thought I had a little more time. I didn't think you were going to come in so soon."
Looking between the photograph and his son, Ben shook his head, the scene in front of him eliciting a unique pain in his heart. Ditching his brothers, Adam had snuck back into the house for the sole reason of looking at his mother's photograph. "You don't have to be sorry," he said. He lifted his hand in simple protest as his son stood. "You don't have to get up. You can sit and look at your mother for as long as you like."
Standing in place, Adam looked at the picture, his hands lingering on the desktop. "I couldn't remember what she looked like," he admitted softly. "It's been so long since I've…"
Brows knitting, Adam looked at Ben, his hazel eyes full of anguish and pain. Ben struggled to understand why his son was allowing such a thing to be visible. Adam never could have been accused of being comfortable with or in the habit of expressing his emotions in the best of circumstances. Having to endure a moment of emotional variability in front of his father now was bound to be unbearable. With all the things Adam was comfortable with withholding, why was this one he would allow to be shown?
"It occurred to me," Adam continued, his voice no more than a whisper, "that when my son gets older, he's going to forget what his mother looks like too. I'd never really thought about that before. Something about dinner, about sitting at the table, looking around and seeing everyone finally together made me think of it." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Something about being back in this house made me remember how things were when I was a motherless little boy. How it felt to know that someone who loved you, who really, really loved you from the very moment you began to exist was taken from you before you had a chance to love them back. Noah is so young. When he gets bigger, his memories of his mother are going to fade. She'll become someone who exists in the stories others tell about her, an image in a photograph, someone who can be so easily forgotten if the people surrounding him don't speak about her, or he doesn't keep a picture to look at regularly."
Ben felt a rush of sadness. He was uncertain how to reply. Adam's eternal obstinance left him wary to say anything. Given the state of their relationship, he did not know if words of comfort or condolence would be accepted, or looked upon unkindly and rejected. Not that there was anything he could say. He knew from experience he could not comfort his son; there was nothing in the world that would ease this kind of pain. The pain of losing a wife, the pain of knowing your child had lost their mother. There was no way to make a situation like this better. But he wanted to. Oh, lord, he wanted to so badly.
"I didn't want this life for you," Ben said simply. "I'm sorry. I had so many dreams for you; I had so many hopes for all the things you would experience. I never wanted this to be one of them. I never wanted you to know what it was like to lose a wife."
Or a child, he thought. The grief over losing a spouse he was acutely acquainted with; it was losing a child that he had no reference point for. He wondered how much of that story his son was preparing to tell. Maybe a little. Or none. He looked at Adam as his son stared back at him. Adam's eyes were full of pain, but his mouth remained closed. He was not going to speak further, it seemed.
"Losing a wife is a different kind of pain," Ben continued. Just because Adam had stopped speaking that did not mean he ceased listening. "You feel it in different ways. You hurt for yourself and you hurt for your children. Some days are awful and all the others are somehow worse. Nothing about anything is easy or fine. You keep telling yourself to keep going, to take step after step, but there really is no direction, because you can't go back and you can't go forward either. You're stuck in some strange in-between. Before you had so many plans and now you don't have any at all, because nothing matters the way that it used to. You try to tell yourself it does, but it doesn't, at least for a while."
Face frozen in an obscure mask, Adam inhaled a deep breath. He looked away from Ben, and then back at him again. The pain in his eyes had been hidden away, resignation had taken its place. "I shouldn't be here."
"Maybe you need to be."
"What do you know about what I need?" Adam asked softly. He sounded neither angry nor interested in how his father would reply.
"Judging by your words, I think you need a picture of your mother, and, if you have one, I think you need to frame an image of your wife for your son, just like the one I gave you. The one you will still find upstairs in your bedroom. I know things around here look different; I know they feel different too. I know I did not welcome you with open arms, Adam. I know I did not treat you the way you deserved in the weeks before you left or the weeks after you finally returned. Maybe someday we can talk about all of it, and I can apologize to you in a way that can heal the wounds I left etched in your heart. In the meantime, everything here is how you left it. You can have all of it, or some of it, or none at all. It's all up to you. You get to decide what you want back."
"I don't want this back." Lifting his arms, Adam indicated at the surrounding room. "I want what I had back. I want the life I found when I walked away from yours."
"I know," Ben said gently. "You can't go back, son. You can only keep moving forward. Trust me, I know, because I can't go back either. If I could, I would."
"What would you change?"
The question was unexpected. Still, given the chance, Ben thought he would have changed nearly everything where Adam was concerned. As a boy, he would have protected him better, and as a man, he would have held him back less. He would have listened better to the things he had said, and taken better note of the things he did not. He would have told him the truth back when his son still valued his opinion.
"All sorts of things," he said. "I would change how I acted toward you before you left years ago. I would change how I reacted to you the evening you finally came back. Had I not been such an old, angry, fearful fool then everything would be different between us now."
"Why do you want it to be different?"
"Why don't you?" Ben whispered, his emotions feeling a little too close to the surface. He still stood by his previous assessment, the conclusion both Peggy and Lil's sparse explanations had allowed him to infer. He did not believe Adam would have come back had he truly not wanted to. His son was not the type to be made to do anything he did not want to do. He wanted to ask Adam why he had come to dinner. What made this night different than any of the others that had come before it? Was it the things Ben had said earlier in the day? Or was it something else?
Adam's expression was painfully guarded, and suddenly it was not what his son could have said that Ben understood; it was what Adam was not saying combined with what he already had.
You never change, Adam had said. Everyone else is growing and evolving, but not you. Never you. You remain the same as you ever were. Ben had thought he had understood the meaning of the accusatory statement, but now he wondered if he had. He didn't change; he never changed—Adam had said it time and time again. He had assumed the words were representative of Adam's anger and hurt. Now he wondered if they had been indicative of something else.
Was there comfort to be gleaned from this fault? A strange sense of predictability? Stability even?
Adam had lost a wife and child; he had left the job and the place he had called home for the last six years. In struggling to negotiate the drastic changes to his own life, had he decided to seek out the one person he believed would not and could not change? Was that why he was averse to speaking about the past, or accepting an apology? Not because he did not want or need to hear one, but because he simply could not entertain the thought of what such a thing would require. Sorting through the past would change things—they both knew that—long term for the better, but what would it do in the short term? It would demand they both change. That they find a new way to have one another in their lives. Fighting and disagreeing was easy; they had always been so good at that. It was often finding common ground that was difficult, because someone always had to give in and lose for that to happen. There was never really a time when they both were allotted what they wanted. Adam was always so anxious to learn and to leave, and Ben had always tried to hold on to him.
"I'm sick of change," Adam said softly, unconsciously reinforcing his father's supposition. "I didn't want to come here, but I found myself stuck. I couldn't go back and I couldn't go forward, just like you said. I didn't want to leave San Francisco, the things I had there—the things my children had there—but one day I just woke up and I couldn't stand to be there anymore, not when everything still looked the same but was so different than how it was supposed to be after..." He paused, seemed to think twice about what he had almost said, and then did not continue.
"I understand," Ben said. And he did, maybe now more than he ever had before.
Adam nodded and finally stepped away from the desk. "I need to go," he said.
Ben wanted to ask him to stay, so they could remain in this gentle moment of peace and clarity for the remainder of the evening. He didn't, because he couldn't. In an instant, Adam was gone as he rounded the corner and headed toward the front door. The moment had passed. Still, it was one Ben would not soon forget. The empty glasses he had intended to refill for Lil and himself, however, were. They sat untouched on the end of the desk as he turned and followed Adam out of the house, finally doing what he should have done years ago, when Adam walked away from another difficult conversation. Ben had not had the wisdom to follow his son then, but he did now.
Exiting the house, Adam nodded at Lil as he walked past, his purposeful, heavy footsteps bringing him closer to where Hoss, Peggy, and Noah stood in front of the corral. He lifted his hand when he was halfway there, stuck his thumb and index finger into his mouth, and emitted a loud whistle.
Turning around immediately, Noah smiled broadly, his hands raising to clench excitedly at the blanket draped around his shoulders as he took an impulsive step forward. His attention set on his son, Adam lifted his hand, holding his fingers extended and pressed together as though to indicate to Noah that he should remain where he was. The boy stopped and stayed put as Bingo quickly rounded the corner of the house, emerging from wherever he had been instructed to stay; long, swift strides brought the Appaloosa to Adam's side where he fell into a leisurely pace behind him.
"Boy," Hoss commented absently. "That's a neat trick."
"It is," Peggy agreed. "You know, when I was little, he was the one who explained to me how to teach Traveler to shake hands."
"Traveler can shake hands?" Hoss asked.
"Sure can. Or at least he could back then."
Adam finally lowered his hand and Noah broke into a lumbering run. His strides were short, his pace and balance impeded by the ends of the blanket hanging from his shoulders and the unevenness of the ground. His body swayed slightly back and forth, each step seeming more unstable than the one that came before it.
Watching from afar, Ben held his breath as he watched the child. It was only a matter of time before Noah would trip, his pace and sloppy footing sending him to tumble hard upon the ground, and eventually he did, but, quickening his pace, Adam was there just in time to take hold of him, hoisting high into the air.
Noah's smile was electric and contagious as he flew up and then back down to be caught again. Adam held onto him the second time, settling him upon his hip as he closed the gap between Peggy and Hoss.
"I'm sure Traveler can still shake hands," he said as he winked at Peggy. "A pony never forgets a trick like that."
"I don't know," Peggy said skeptically. "He was pretty dumb, even back then."
"I think gentle is the term we liked to use," Hoss said. "Little Lady, that pony may not be the smartest animal in the bunch, but he sure has a good heart. There ain't nothing you could ever want to teach him that would outshine his God-given good nature."
"I don't want to teach him anything," Peggy said ruefully. "I'm too big to ride him now.
Hoss looked at Noah, then at Adam, his lips curling into a wide grin. "I know who's not."
Adam adjusted his grip on his son, seeming to hold the boy a little tighter and closer than before. "Oh, no," he protested. "Don't even start with that."
"Why not?" Hoss asked.
"He's still too young yet."
"Not really." Hoss shrugged. "Me and you weren't more than his age when pa started teaching us to ride."
"That was different."
"Why?"
"Because the circumstances were way different for us than they are for him. There's a purpose, a certain necessity to teaching young children growing up in the midst of wagon trains to ride early."
"And city kids don't need such skills," Hoss provided doubtfully. "Older brother, you better take a good long look around. In case you've forgotten, there's land out here for as far as your eyes can see. I know you live in town, but Virginia City ain't exactly a sprawl. No, sir. Noah is a country boy now, and that means he needs himself a pony. And ain't he just about the luckiest kid ever, because we just happen to have one, the very same one you handpicked for Peggy when she was a mite smaller than she is now."
Looking at Adam, Peggy's expression contorted with surprise. "I didn't know you hand picked him. I thought you said you just had him hanging around." Transferring her attention to the pony that was lingering on the other side of the fence, she extended her hand and rubbed Traveler's forehead fondly. "I want Noah to have him," she added. "He's my pony. I should be able to decide what happens to him." She cast Adam a petitioning gaze. "Please, Pa. What's the harm? I mean, Traveler is just about the gentlest creature you could ask for."
"Yeah, Pa," Hoss echoed. "What's the harm?"
"That pony's been running wild for the last six years!" Adam protested.
"Well, five if'n you want to be specific," Hoss said.
Adam cast Hoss a frustrated look. "Five, six, what's the difference?"
"Ohh," Hoss sighed exaggeratedly, "about twelve months, I'd say." He smiled, his blue eyes gleaming with humor. "Brother, with all your education, one would think somewhere along the line you woulda learned that."
Peggy giggled. The quip was lost on Adam, however. It seemed the mere thought of Noah being taught to manage even the gentlest of creatures was a little too threatening to allow such enjoyments. Though Noah seemed oblivious to his involvement in the conversation, he did not share his father's apprehension. He began to squirm in Adam's arms, a clear request to be put back down that was quickly abided, and the boy rushed to stand next to Peggy, his small hands reaching into the corral to carefully stroke the pony.
"Watch his fingers, Peg," Adam warned. "Don't let him put them next to Traveler's mouth."
"I know," Peggy said.
"Of course," Hoss said, continuing the previous discussion as he shifted his attention to the other animal behind the circular fencing, "the real issue isn't what we should do with Traveler. It's what should happen with Sport."
"I thought he wanted to be free," Adam said, following his brother's gaze to look upon the horse. Standing in the middle of the corral, Sport's attention was rooted on Adam. Unlike their previous reunion, he did not make any effort to approach. He seemed to be waiting for Adam to make a move.
"So did we," Hoss said. "Ever since he saw you were back, he isn't interested in wandering anymore. He spends his time waiting instead."
"For me." It was more statement than question, the hint of regret in Adam's voice distinct and unignorable.
"For you," Hoss affirmed. "I don't reckon it's too kind to allow him to continue on that way. You may have gone and found yourself a new horse, and trained him well, but Sport ain't ever going to let another person ride him. Brother, I'm sure you don't want to, but I reckon eventually you're gonna have to choose."
Ben thought the revelation a little too apropos. Sport was part of the life Adam had said he did not want back, and Bingo was a part of the one he had found. He could keep them both, of course, but he could only remain loyal to one. He was no longer a rancher. He lived in town and boarded his and Peggy's horses at the livery. Sport was not the kind of animal to be amenable to such conditions; he was a little too stubborn, a little too set in his ways. Bingo, it seemed, was amenable to just about anything.
The sound of approaching riders dissolved Ben's thoughts and halted the conversation of the group. Everyone seemed to watch as Little Joe and Jamie quickly approached. Pulling their horses to a stop a slight distance from the corral, Jamie was the first to dismount.
"No way!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, waiving his hands around the air animatedly as he looked at Adam. "Me and Joe both outpaced you in the beginning, how did you win?"
Hopping out of his saddle, Joe held tight to reins tethering him to Cochise and rolled his eyes. "I already told you, little brother. He cheats."
"He would not!" Jamie protested. "He's a— "
"A hero," Joe finished. "Yes, I know, because I'm sure you have told me hundreds of times, and out in the world he might just be that, but around here he's something else."
Watching from afar, Ben saw Adam's demeanor change. Shoulders becoming rigid, he looked slightly troubled, uneasy of how Joe would choose to finish his assessment. The townsfolk of Virginia City once quietly accused Adam of being an adulterer, a murderer too. Whispers traded behind closed doors told an alluring tale full of heartache and romance; they detailed Adam as a slighted lover, pitted him against his cousin, Will, and declared Laura Dayton as the prize. But in the end, she was not a prize, Ben was doubtless about that, because the things she had written about his son were vile. Though she died years ago, the memory of her factitious tale still lived on in the minds of some. Adam was still whispered about.
"What?" Adam asked.
Joe looked at Adam curiously. "What?"
"What am I out here?" Adam asked soberly.
Joe shrugged cavalierly. "Our brother." He looked at Jamie. "Your older brother as a matter-of-fact, and I hate to break it to you, kid, I really do, because I know you think quite highly of him, but when it comes to a little competition between brothers, Adam is sneaky, sometimes he cheats."
Jamie was scandalized. "No," he said. "He would never—that isn't true." He looked at Hoss to disprove the claim. "Hoss, you know. Tell Joe that isn't true."
Eyebrows raising, Hoss chuckled. "Little brother, I'm afraid I do know."
"See?" Jaime said triumphantly to Joe.
"Oh, I see, Jamie," Joe assured. "I think you're the one that doesn't."
Jamie looked at Adam, his eyes pleading for him to dispute the claim.
Adam shrugged. "Sorry, buddy," he said simply.
Eyes wide with genuine surprise, Jamie's mouth fell agape as his brothers dissolved into laughter.
Taking hold of Noah's hand, Peggy pulled him away from the corral and towards the house. "Wow," she whispered as they walked past Jamie. "Hero or not, nobody's perfect, you know."
And then, suddenly, with Peggy and Noah gone from the group, the only people left were Ben's sons. All four of them. He looked upon them in awe as they stood together, the three older laughing at the youngest's expense. Despite Jamie's exasperation, his disappointment over having his most fervently held belief discredited, Ben thought it was a beautiful moment. Damn near perfect, and everything he had longed to see.
In the days that followed this one Ben would find himself clinging to this memory. The recollection of this perfect moment would begin to feel like a gift in comparison to all that would come next. With all the things he had been wrong about, there were a few that would always be true: there was viciousness to the things that had taken place between Laura and Will at the Running D. Rumors, misgivings, and blatant lies did not go away just because a man wanted them to. Sometimes the past had a way of coming back up, setting new events into motion, the results of which were so much worse than anything that had been endured before.
Looking upon his four sons, had Ben known then what was going to happen, he never would have allowed the moment to end. He would have kept his sons in the ranch yard forever. He would have walked over and joined them, pulled Adam into his arms, and never let him go.
He never should have let Adam go.
TBC