CHAPTER FOUR

The Cartwrights avoided Virginia City for a while to give the town time to settle down. Two weeks later, Little Joe returned to make a deposit at the bank for Ben and came home with a reply from their cousin:

"Hi everyone STOP Love Josephine"

They all had a good chuckle over the telegram while Joe handed out the mail he'd picked up in town: the New York Herald for Ben, Scientific American for Adam, and as usual, nothing for Hoss or himself. Ben's smiling face fell into a grim mask as he scanned the Herald's lead article.

Adam watched the evolution of his father's expression and asked what was wrong. Wordlessly, Ben passed him the paper.

"South Carolina threatens secession," Hoss read aloud over Adam's shoulder. "Well, so what? They been threatenin' that for years, haven't they?"

"Yes, they have," Ben confirmed, "but I'm afraid that in the wake of Mr. Lincoln's election, they may actually go through with it."

Adam continued skimming the news article. "It says here that Mr. Lincoln won only forty percent of the popular vote," he said. "That means a majority of the voters cast their votes for other candidates. The people of South Carolina feel they weren't adequately represented in the election."

"They can't just secede, though," Little Joe scoffed, but then his bravado faded. "Can they?"

Ben put a hand on the eighteen-year-old's shoulder. "You saw Virginia City the day the election results were announced. If they gather enough angry men with guns, they can, and they will."

The Cartwright men stayed as busy as possible over the next few weeks to keep their minds off the nation's troubles. By the time mid-December rolled around, Adam had repaired drafts both real and imagined on the house, barn, bunkhouse, carriage house, and every line shack and outhouse on the property. Hoss had rounded up and counted every head of cattle three times, Little Joe had created two woodpiles that rose halfway up the side of the house, and Ben had set enough traps in the alpine region to ensnare every small animal in the Utah Territory. They continued to avoid town, both for fear of bad news and to avoid the increasingly hostile tensions between the townspeople. Even Little Joe, who loved a good fight, was put off.

Three days before Christmas, Hoss could no longer avoid Virginia City. He and Adam had ordered a new saddle for Little Joe's Christmas present. One of them had to pick it up from the saddler, and Hoss had lost the coin toss. He set out early in the buckboard one morning, bundled up against the frigid December air. That afternoon, Adam sat next to the giant fireplace in the great room and read A Christmas Carol while he waited for Hoss to return. It had begun to snow, and Adam grew anxious. Hoss should have been back already. He caught himself reading the same paragraph for a third time and gave up trying to concentrate on the story. He tucked a battered playing card between the pages to mark his place and set the book on the coffee table. Hooking his thumbs in his pockets, he strolled to the window behind his father's desk and peered out. The snow was falling heavily now, increasing his concern for his brother. It was hardly a blizzard, but Adam knew exactly how cold a snowstorm could be.

"At least he dressed warmly," he muttered to himself. His thoughts drifted to another snowy December day eleven years earlier when he had so foolishly flown into the streets of Boston with no coat, hat, or gloves. This transitioned to the memory of sitting on a bed snuggled up next to Josie, still a little girl, as the two of them read books and ate candy. He smiled. What he'd give to return to that moment, even briefly. Provided he could skip the willow bark tea this time. Adam Cartwright had matured in many ways over the past decade, most notably as a shrewd businessman who now oversaw all the Ponderosa's mining and timber operations, but he still hated tea.

He was relieved just then to see a dark, hulking shape glide into the front yard, and he knew it was Hoss in the buckboard. He waited to open the door until Hoss clambered down from the wagon, pulled a large, blanket-wrapped bundle from under the seat, and turned the wagon over to a ranch hand. No sense inviting Old Man Winter in for supper. Hoss hustled through the quickly accumulating snow, thrust the bundle at Adam, and plowed into the house, where he dropped onto the enormous stone hearth with a loud "Whew!"

Adam sniggered.

"What's so funny?"

"You look like an overgrown snowman."

Hoss stood back up and glanced at himself in the mirror above the sideboard by the front door. Adam was right. All six feet four inches of him was coated in snow from the peak of his ten-gallon hat to the tips of his enormous boots. Even his pale eyebrows were frosty, creating a sharp contrast to his brilliant blue eyes, which were all that was visible of his face between his icy scarf and his hat brim.

"I'm meltin' fast, too," he said, observing the growing puddle around his feet. "Help me, would ya?"

Adam set the saddle on the floor by the burgundy-striped sofa and took his brother's wet outerwear as the large man peeled off his hat, scarf, gloves, and coat. Adam draped them to dry over a grate he set in front of the fire.

Hoss rubbed his arms vigorously. "I'll tell you what, Older Brother. Next year, we either have to order Little Joe's present earlier—say, September—or you get to be the one who drives through a snowstorm to fetch it."

Adam grinned. "Agreed. And speaking of our darling baby brother, you better take that saddle upstairs before he comes in and ruins the surprise. He's got to be nearly finished helping Brady blanket the horses. You go on up and put on some dry clothes. I'll meet you in your room after I mop up Lake Cartwright here." He gestured to the mushrooming puddle of melted snow that was now spreading dangerously close to their father's prized Oriental rug.

Hoss agreed, picked up the still-wrapped saddle, and headed upstairs while Adam dashed to the kitchen to ask Hop Sing for some dishrags. He knew precisely where the dishrags were, but Hop Sing had no tolerance for any of the boys, as he still called them, messing around with his kitchen, particularly when he was cooking supper. All four Cartwright men knew that asking Hop Sing for what they needed was much less painful than taking it for themselves. Hop Sing was known to strike out with whatever cooking implement was nearest to hand. Hoss claimed to still have nightmares of Hop Sing's heavy wooden rolling pin from an incident five years ago.

Adam sopped up the erstwhile Lake Cartwright, tossed the sodden rags in the laundry, and bounded up the stairs to Hoss's room.

Hoss heard the footsteps outside his door. "That you, Adam?"

Adam confirmed it was, and Hoss invited him in. Adam slid into his brother's bedroom and secured the door behind him. Hoss was sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling thick woolen socks over his feet. Behind him was the new saddle, its polished mahogany surface gleaming in the yellow light of the oil lamp on Hoss's night table. The musky scent of new leather hung heavily in the air as Adam ran an admiring hand across the seat.

"Josh sure does beautiful work," he said, his eyes never leaving the saddle.

"He sure does," Hoss agreed. "That man's a regular arteest."

The craftsmanship of the saddle's structure was the highest quality, but it was the engraving on the fenders and saddle jockeys that caught the eye. On both sides, Josh had carved stunning portraits of the Sierra Nevada peaks, complete with ponderosa pines so intricately designed in the foreground that Adam was surprised he couldn't smell their familiar crisp scent. He generally wasn't interested in material possessions apart from books, but he caught himself thinking that perhaps it was time he bought a new saddle for himself, too.

"He done a real purty job with Lil' Joe's name, too," Hoss observed.

In an elegant script across the cantle, Josh had engraved "Joseph." It was the one detail on which Hoss and Adam had disagreed.

Adam shook his head at the monogram. "I still contend it's ostentatious."

"Course it is!" Hoss said. "And that's precisely why Little Joe's gonna love it. Ain't no Cartwright ever born been flashier than that boy."

Hoss was right, of course. If there was one thing Joseph Francis Cartwright enjoyed more than a good fight, it was drawing attention to himself, especially if young ladies were nearby.

"You're right," Adam agreed and rose to leave. "Come on, we better wash up for supper."

He turned to go, but Hoss caught his elbow. Adam turned back, one eyebrow raised.

"Adam." Hoss's brow creased with concern. "Something I ain't told you yet about my trip to town."

Adam raised his other eyebrow and waited.

"Some news come in across the wire. It's South Carolina, Adam. They've seceded."

Adam dropped heavily onto Hoss's bed, nearly sitting on the new saddle's left stirrup, which Hoss snatched away just in time. Adam drew one hand slowly across his mouth in an unconscious gesture Hoss recognized as Adam's way of keeping his composure while he processed difficult news.

"Oh my god," he breathed, staring across the room to Hoss's closed door but seeing nothing. "It's happening. It's actually happening."

"Would appear so." Hoss was concerned that all the color had drained out of Adam's face, and he laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. Adam found Hoss's heavy, broad hand reassuring. It was solid, familiar, and reliable.

"Maybe it won't be so bad, though." Hoss forced optimism into his voice. "Maybe if we let South Carolina go real quiet-like, everyone'll simmer down, and this whole problem will just go away."

"It won't just go away," Adam said. "South Carolina will want to take control of federal forts in their state, and the government can't let them do that. They can't allow hostile forces to seize United States property. This is going to end in a fight."