Hop Sing placed a plate of chicken next to an expansive tray of muffins then paused, studying it. After a minute, he tweaked the plate, turning it to show its bounty at a better angle, and nodded. Good. Almost ready. Much food.

He glanced thoughtfully at the makeshift table of planks and sawhorses in the middle of the room, carefully draped in black and supporting the long coffin, gleaming softly in the firelight. Nicest one Sylvester have on hand. Pecan, he say. It look fine - quiet and elegant. Like Missa Adam.

His heart contracted painfully in his chest and he glanced up the stairs - heard the sounds of the Cartwrights preparing themselves for the evening. He moved to the coffin and placed his hand lightly on it. There was incense burning on the small altar in his room to create a celestial ladder for Missa Adam's climb to the next world. Should be high climb, he thought. Missa Adam good boy. Fine man. They would not have incense out here, of course - not a Chinese funeral - but Boss Cartwright had agreed to let him hang a Chinese funeral banner, wishing Missa Adam best luck in his next life.

He let his eyes drift along the neat Chinese characters. When Missa Adam was twelve, Hop Sing had shown him how to copy Chinese characters - to make fai chun - lucky banners - to celebrate Chinese New Year. Missa Adam had made very neat work of the characters - always asking what this one meant, what that one meant, but never quite able to read them. He had tried to teach Missa Hoss to make fai chun too, but Missa Hoss was more interested in New Year food and flowers. Tried to teach Little Joe, but Little Joe liked better the fireworks and the decorating of the altar. But Missa Adam had never grown tired of trying to understand the fai chun - every year after he had made them again, new ones, always asking for the meaning. Hop Sing felt his eyes grow damp. Good bye, Missa Adam. Maybe now you able to read them without Hop Sing. Maybe now you can read all the good wishes Hop Sing has for you.

He looked again at the table of food and frowned. In China, food was piled around the coffin to sustain the deceased on the heavenly journey. This was not a Chinese funeral of course, but…he looked a long time at the dishes, lain out and carefully covered with napkins until the guests should arrive. He lifted one in his hands and thought about it. Apple dumplings. Missa Adam very fond of his apple dumplings. Not seem right he feed Missa Adam all these years and then let him go hungry on most important journey of his life. Missa Ben understand, probably. Why take chance boy leave home hungry? Never, ever happen when he alive - should not happen now he dead. Bring terrible shame to Hop Sing. He picked up the plate and set it near the coffin.

That better. Wishes for a good journey. Food to sustain him. Celestial ladder - in next room, but - Missa Adam find. Always very smart boy.

He picked up the newly polished candlesticks with their candles from the sideboard and arranged them around the head of the coffin. To light Missa Adam's way. No reason to travel in the dark.

He had picked bunches of flowers - both late wild flowers from the meadows and some from his garden, and arranged them so that they draped across the coffin lid, spilling down the sides. Good. A little outdoors - a little home - for Missa Adam to take with him. Take a little old life along when starting new life. He looked again.

After a minute he went to Boss Cartwright's desk and opened one drawer. In the bottom, carefully wrapped in silks, was a framed daguerreotype of Adam his grandfather had had taken while he was in college in Boston. Very old, of course - long time since college - but since Missa Adam's coffin must be closed…one way to remember his face.

He carefully arranged the frame on top of the coffin among the flowers and looked again. The young, serious face looked back at him, the eyes alive with hope and fire, and his throat tightened. Oh, Missa Adam. What we do here without you? How your father manage without his number one son? Who remember with him the long journey west? Who remember with him Missa Hoss's mother? How he live now, carrying his memories all alone?

He set his chin hard. No time for foolishment now. This time Missa Adam's - last time ever with him. Must not waste. After a minute he returned to the desk and came back with something else in his hand. He placed the smaller picture, a painted miniature, next to the daguerreotype. He stepped back to look.

Maybe you finally meet her, hey, Missa Adam? Maybe she wait to greet you? You both wait long time. So maybe not all sad? Maybe some happiness, too, yes? He looked at the smiling face with the eyes just like the ones in the daguerreotype next to it, and after a minute he returned to the desk again. He looked at the two other frames in his hands and slowly placed one at the side of the coffin, by the candles.

You see her again, too, yes? She maybe thank you for you take such good care of her little boy? I don't know how this boy go on without you, Missa Adam, though he very big boy now - always need his big brother very much, it seem to me.

He set the last frame next to it, turning it at a pretty angle.

And this one - this one not always so peaceful with you, yes? But what happiness you bring her. What happiness she bring you, once you allow her. She running to meet you, too, yes? Fine welcoming committee you have, Missa Adam - maybe not lonely at all where you are now. His hand lingered on the picture. But her little boy - he be very lonely without his eldest brother. Who he fight with now? Who he push himself against, testing his strength, now you gone? I do not question the Immortals, Missa Adam - maybe they ready to have you - maybe you ready to join them - but here - we not so ready to let you go. Here, we still need. What Hop Sing do without his boy? Who paint his fai chun for him for New Year? Who play sly jokes on brothers and make him laugh and, yes - who stand up to father? Who be not just son to father, but friend?

There was the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs and Hop Sing turned his back on the coffin and walked hastily back to the food table, needlessly turning the dishes this way and that. He heard the footsteps stop somewhere behind him, but he did not turn to look.

There was a long silence. "Hop Sing - " the catch in Missa Hoss's voice made him glance at him. He was standing very still, his eyes taking in the three portraits and resting on the daguerreotype. Even in the fading light, Hop Sing could see the moisture glistening in his eyes. Joe was standing quietly just behind him, tears running down his face. Hop Sing hoped he had the fresh handkerchief he had just starched for him handy. "Thank you, Hop Sing. It's - it's jest beautiful. Perfect."

Hop Sing nodded briskly, touched, and returned to fussing with his plates of goodies.

Hoss cleared his throat. "We was - comin' down to light the candles - figured - we could each light a couple - each one in the family, you know? And think of Adam sorta as we did - think of what we wish fer him, now that - " he stopped, his face working, and dropped his head. He struggled for control, pushed a hand across his eyes. "Shoot. Now I'll get the matches wet and it'll be jest like that dirty trick Joe and Adam always used to…" his voice caught in a sob.

Joe gently took the matches out of his hand, struck one. "I'll go first." He closed his eyes and stood for a minute, thinking to himself, then he touched the match to a series of candles and stood, his palm resting lightly on the coffin. "Your turn, Hoss," he whispered at last.

Hoss took the match from him, tried to light it. It snapped in two. He took another one - it crumpled uselessly in his hand.

Joe lit one and handed it to him. Hoss gave him a watery, grateful smile and closed his eyes for a minute. Then he carefully lit another set of candles and gently laid his hand on the casket as well. He saw the apple dumplings, and his shoulders shook for a minute. "Hop Sing - "

Hop Sing straightened. "Missa Adam get hungry on journey, maybe!" he said sternly. "Who understand better than you? Not let Missa Adam go hungry!"

Hoss nodded bleakly. "I know. I ain't - ain't what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that Pa - " he closed his eyes and swallowed. "Pa ain't - ready - yet. And - well - somebody ought to light the rest of the candles. Oughta be family. Hop Sing, would you…?"

Hop Sing felt his heart throb and tear. He carefully wiped his hands on his apron.

"Hop Sing very happy to do." He took the match from Hoss and closed his eyes, also letting one hand rest on the coffin.

Good journey, Missa Adam. Safe and loved. We miss you very much. Miss us, maybe, sometimes, too. He lit a set of candles, doused the match. Missa Hoss reached out and clasped his free hand. After a second, Little Joe curled his free hand around the both of theirs. They stood, one hand clasped in a three layered fist and the other on the coffin, as if that was a way to hold Missa Adam's hand too, and watched the candle flames catch and climb. The smoke spiraled up and up.

Just like incense, Hop Sing thought. Missa Adam's celestial stairway to heaven.