Ben sat up in bed with a start, trying to remember what had woken him. The darkness seemed for a moment a mere extension of his dream and he blinked, trying to orient himself. After a moment his heart slowed its frenetic thunder and he took a deep breath, narrowing his eyes at nothing. Good God. It had been so real.
He threw back the covers, fumbling for his dressing gown and slippers, and pulled open his bedroom door. The hall was empty and quiet. Well, of course it was – Hoss and Joe would be in bed asleep, like sensible people. Tugging at the belt of his dressing gown, he marched slowly past first Joe's room, then Hoss's, then paused outside the next door. He hadn't set foot in there since…he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
He wasn't sure what he had expected to see. Maybe part of him had thought he'd find Adam in his bed, sound asleep, but another part, the reasonable part, had known better. He looked around the room, so quiet and peaceful – the guitar against the wall and the book lying face down on the table by the bed as though he might return to them at any moment. After a second's hesitation he entered, ran a finger down the spine of the book.
What were you reading before you died, Adam? Ah. George, Lord Byron. Always good company. Bad, mad and dangerous to know, someone had once said. Like so many of Adam's friends, he thought ruefully. He sank down onto the bed.
I swear, Adam, I hear you calling to me – as clearly as if you were alive and in this room, I hear you – just like I used to when you were sick and called for me in the night – I keep trying to reach you, son, but I don't know how. I feel like you're not really gone at all, but are here somewhere, just out of my reach, if only I knew how to find you. How do I find you? Tell me, please.
That brought back his dream full force and he shuddered. What a strange thing to dream about after all these years. Maybe he really was losing his mind. He saw the music box tucked behind the book and touched the lid impulsively. Always before, all through Adam's life, he had asked for Liz's help whenever their son was in trouble. It had become as automatic as breathing. He let his hand rest there for a moment. Is he with you now, Liz? Are you looking out for him? He frowned, suddenly unsettled. He felt so…he lifted his hand slowly from the box, pushed himself off of the bed. Was she trying to tell him something? And if so, what? He let his eyes roam the room once more, soft and silvered with moonlight, looking for…what? Adam? Why did he seem so much more here than gone?
"Just out of reach…" he murmured out loud. "Just out of…" He shivered. He needed to think - that was it. Needed some time to think and a nice hot drink to keep him warm. Half-reluctantly, he moved to the door, pausing in the doorway to look once more. "Are you here, son?" he whispered. "Are you here?" The silence almost seemed like an answer.
He pulled the door carefully closed behind him and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, heading for the stairs. A little coffee, maybe, to warm him up. No - then he'd never sleep. Tea, then. Hop Sing always had all those teas of his lined up in the pantry. Surely one of them would do.
The moonlight helped to light his way to the kitchen. Not that he needed it. He knew this house like he knew the back of his hand. He paused just inside the kitchen door, though, to feel for the lantern Hop Sing always kept there. He turned the key carefully, keeping the flame low. Shadows danced along the walls. The fire was banked, but a few sticks of kindling had it crackling to life in no time. Now he just needed that tea…he went to the pantry and stared at the shelf holding a bewildering array of ceramic jars, all carefully labeled in Chinese. Good Lord. Were those ALL tea? He selected one at random and lifted the lid. A pungent aroma assailed his nostrils. What was the difference between them? Well, never mind, surely this one would do as well as any other. He turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Hop Sing!" he gasped, when he could feel his heart start beating again. "You scared a year's life out of me! How long have you been there?"
Hop Sing didn't answer, just studied him with that disconcerting gaze of his. "You no sleep?"
Ben made a face. "Not really. Thought some tea might help."
Hop Sing took the jar from his hand and looked, then shook his head. "Not this tea – you sit. I find good tea." He shooed Ben toward a chair and rummaged through his jars. "You dream more?"
Ben rubbed absently at the left side of his chest. "Yes. Not – like before. A memory, really. Very strange."
Hop Sing found a tea he liked and put it on the table, measuring water into the teakettle. "Memory of Missa Adam?"
"That's right. Funny. Hadn't thought it about that in years." He watched as Hop Sing precisely set out two cups and saucers. Hop Sing didn't say anything, and somehow Ben felt that as an urge to continue. He turned one cup lightly in its saucer. "When Adam was a little boy, he used to have a terrible habit of wandering off. I can't tell you how many times he gave me a fright with that. No matter how many times I lectured him, it seemed the minute my head was turned something would catch his eye that interested him and the next time I looked, he'd be gone." He contemplated the mark on the bottom of the cup. "Looking back, I suppose it was pretty boring for a child to be left standing around so much while I took care of things…especially such a curious child. But no matter how hard I tried…just the minute I turned my head, it seemed."
Hop Sing spooned tea into a small mesh bag. "Takes only second for child to slip away. No one can watch every second."
"No." Ben put the cup carefully back in the saucer. "No, I suppose not. Certainly used to scare me, though." He bent over and opened the stove door to poke up the fire. "Anyway. This one time – the time I dreamed about – Adam must have been four or so – not quite five, anyway, because it was before Inger…we had stopped in a little town somewhere in Indiana – to buy supplies and sleep in a bed for a change – maybe see if I could make a little money to buck up our finances…" He sat up as Hop Sing's kettle whistled, watched him pour a stream of steaming water into the pot. "I remember I was talking to the storekeeper about a man who was looking for a little help. Adam was asking me questions, I think, about something – you have to understand that, with Adam, asking questions was like breathing – if he was awake and with you, he was probably asking questions."
Hop Sing smiled faintly. "Missa Adam always have great hunger to know things."
Ben nodded. "Yes. He – yes." He stared at the fire glowing through the slats in the stove door. "I - wasn't paying a lot of attention at that moment. I was writing down the particulars about the man who might being willing to hire me…when I looked up – Adam was nowhere in sight." Hop Sing set the kettle on the table to steep and Ben's eyes followed him, but he wasn't really seeing him. He was remembering. "At first I wasn't worried – I thought maybe he'd gone outside to sit on the store boardwalk and watch the people. But then I didn't see him outside, either. I called his name – nothing. Here I was, a complete stranger to this town – I didn't know where to look or what to do or who to ask for help." He felt his chest tighten as it had all those years ago – as it had all over again in his dream just a little while ago. Hop Sing tipped the teakettle over his cup and a soothing fragrance drifted toward him. He took the cup and blew on it, tested a sip. It spread warmth throughout his chilled limbs. "Of course, people did help me, stranger or not," he continued at last. "People are generally kind, I've found, especially where children are concerned. We searched for hours – everywhere anyone could think of. I must have described Adam a thousand times. But – nothing. I was sure I'd lost him for good this time – was sure he was gone forever. Couldn't imagine what God had been thinking to trust someone as careless as myself with a child."
Hop Sing pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. "But you did find."
Ben nodded again. "Yes. Yes, we did at last. Somebody spotted a stray dog sniffing around an old well back behind the store – had been boarded up long ago - over grown with weeds. Sure enough the boards had rotted and Adam had fallen through. Luckily, there was enough water to cushion his fall, but not enough to drown him. A miracle, really. Took us a while to get him out – the well was too narrow for me, but one of the town boys let himself be lowered down and brought Adam back up. He was wet and scared and scraped up, but not badly hurt. I could tell he had been crying, but when they handed him to me he looked at me and said, 'Pa, I was waiting for you to find me! Where were you?' Almost as if he were scolding me. I suppose I should have scolded him instead, but I was so relieved and thankful, I think I actually apologized." He smiled a little at the memory, took a slow sip of his tea. "You know how they are at that age – think that you can do or fix anything – that if they're lost, you'll always find them, if they're hurt you'll always make it better. You, of course, are horribly aware of how fallible you really are." He put down his tea and sighed, suddenly sleepy. "A funny dream to have. A funny thing to remember. I was so sure he was gone, and all the time he was just waiting for me to find him."
Hop Sing tilted his head at him. Ben's eyebrows jumped, suddenly startled at the sound of his own words. "Hop Sing – you don't think…?" Hop Sing waited. Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. "But – we – buried him." He looked at Hop Sing for confirmation, but Hop Sing was just watching him, waiting. "We – saw his clothes – his things…" he trailed off, the unsettled feeling he'd had earlier growing inside him, expanding to fill his chest cavity. He stared and stared, watching his dream play out again behind his eyes. "Hop Sing, I – thank you for the tea, I – have to – go think, or…"
Hop Sing waved him away. "Go, go – I clean up. Go listen to your thoughts."
Ben nodded, standing slowly, the idea so new and yet, he realized now, the same one that had been lurking at the back of his brain all along – the one he had barely dared look at, barely dared fan to life. He took the stairs like a sleepwalker, turned to go down the hall to his room, then stopped. After a brief hesitation, he opened the first door he came to and stood there, looking some more. Closing the door carefully behind him, he went to the bed again and seated himself, picking up the music box and feeling its weight in his hand. After a second, he lifted the lid and let the little melody escape.
"So, love," he said quietly at last. "If he isn't with you, then where is he?"
