PART TWO:

NOW:

As the sun rose its rays cascaded down to illuminate the homestead that was once known as the Running D.

The property was a far cry from what it once was, what it could have and should have been. The house and barn had been boarded up years ago, the busted corral left half-torn down. The land was well on its way to reclaiming them all. Clusters of thick weeds and wild grass had run amuck, growing tall upon ground that was once clean. The exterior of the buildings had gone unkempt, left to weather the brutalities of the changing seasons alone; their once vibrant paint had faded, chipped, and peeled. Though the homestead had been abandoned, it would never be truly forgotten. Too many things had taken place upon it for that to ever be allowed.

Standing in the distance between the barn in the house, the reins of his horse hanging loose in his fist, Ben Cartwright appraised his dilapidated surroundings and sighed. It was much worse than he anticipated it would be—although, not by much. He had not held high hopes for the condition of either the house or the barn. The corral he had known was beyond saving, because years ago, his nephew, Will Cartwright, had said as much.

"I've fixed that damn enclosure more times than I like to recall," Will had said, during the conversation that was destined to become their last. "I reckon I won't waste any more time doing so again."

And he had not, because the following day he was gone. He had left a letter behind, couriered by none other than Adam who, after his own short absence and one mammoth mistake, had finally found the courage to show his face at home. The letter from Will was short and simple. I'm sorry, it said. I'm neither who you think I am, nor can I be the kind of man you would like me to be. A man is either suited for things, or he's not. Please don't blame Adam for how things were, or are. He had no choice but to do what he did. And please look after the Running D until Peggy is old enough to decide what she would like to do with it.

The letter had been horrendous to read, and not just because the unfolding of the creased paper had followed the unfolding of something else. Adam had reappeared that evening, and then, just as quickly as he disappeared the first time, he was gone again. The only night that seemed longer than the one that came after their brutal argument would be the one that followed it, and then the next one, and the one after that. For weeks Ben had waited, his own vile words echoing in his mind and an apology lingering on the tip of his tongue as he hoped and prayed that Adam would come back.

But for a long time, he never did.

Then three months ago, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, Adam had walked through the family's front door like he had never left. The weeks that followed unfolded regrettably—to say the least—and nearly two months later Peggy and Noah arrived. And then, suddenly, it had not been the last six years Ben felt strong emotions about, it was the way he had acted over the course of the last six weeks.

He should have behaved better in the time that had passed between the night Adam had returned and the moment Peggy and Noah arrived, Ben knew that. He should have acted less from anger and more from love, and spent more time focusing on the future instead of losing himself in the past. But he was not the only one who had made mistakes. He had had no prior knowledge of his grandson, something both he and Adam knew could—and would— have changed his outlook and reactions. It would have softened him earlier on, made him more forgiving and amiable. It would have changed everything, and perhaps that was why Adam had not told him ahead of time. He had neither shared the existence of Noah, nor had he volunteered details about Peggy's whereabouts, and so Ben had reacted to him how he had, and now they were here, which, even in the most exasperating of moments, he knew was not an altogether terrible place to be.

In its current state, the Running D, however, most emphatically was a terrible place to spend any amount of time. Ben had not set foot on it since Will and Adam had left, choosing instead to delegate the very occasional once overs meant to ensure the outbuildings were still boarded up and had not become occupied by squatters, both human and animal, to either Hoss or Joe. He had not wanted to visit it today. Keeping in line with recently established conventions, it was yet another thing Adam's return had prompted him to examine.

His oldest son had not been the one to ask about the land, of course; it was not he who had taken the time to ride out the Ponderosa and all-but-demand an impromptu meeting to discuss the future of the property his father had been tasked with looking after. Adam was much too busy for such things, his attention was fixated and focused on his own affairs, none of which included the Running D—or any parcel of land for that matter. He was no longer a rancher; stepping outside of his father's shadow, he had left home, found his own identity, job, and life. He was a lawman now, a position he excelled at—and even Ben had to admit there was more to it than that. Adam liked his job; it suited him better than any position his father could have ever offered him on the Ponderosa.

It could not be denied that during his time away Adam had come into his own. He had established himself. He had found what he needed to find to become the temperate, sagacious man he had become. Quickly becoming a fixture as Virginia City's sheriff, his future seemed all-but-determined.

Peggy Dayton's future, however, remained much more ambiguous. It was she who had come to call at the Ponderosa the afternoon before. It was her who had declined Hop Sing's eager offering of cookies and milk. Though she had not been rude with her words, Ben clearly saw the indignance in her eyes. I'm not a child, those eyes declared, and she was not—not anymore—but she was far from a grown woman either. On the verge of fifteen, she had embarked into a terrible time of in between. She was old enough to make plans for the future, but still too young to enact them. Or so one would assume.

It had not taken long for Peggy to fall back into tomboyish habits. She dressed plainly in a plaid shirt, jeans, and boots; beneath the brim of her dark, black hat she wore her long hair in a single side braid which hung loosely over her shoulder and nearly to her waist. Ben figured the girl was trying to appear unassuming; in reality, she was anything but. Though her apparel was undoubtedly familiar, it was distinctly different than what any of the young women in Virginia City donned. It was bound to do the opposite of what she intended it to, drawing more attention rather than less. She might have been small and short, but she was developed, and pretty. Adam was going to have a very difficult time keeping interested suitors at bay—if he was not already.

Peggy had stood before Ben, her shoulders and jaw squared stubbornly. "I want my land," she had said.

"Does your father know you're making this request?" Ben had asked.

Scoffing, Peggy's eyes narrowed as she appraised him as though she was trying to discern if he was slow-minded. "Mister Cartwright, my father is dead. He's buried on that land with my mother and my unborn sibling. If by father, you mean Adam, then, no. He does not know I came out here, or that I came back with the intention of reclaiming my home."

Lord, she was feisty, something Ben immediately deemed good—especially given her arduous plans. But, given her answer, both the meeting and the request were bad. Very bad, indeed. He shifted uneasily. "Don't you think this is something you should discuss with him first?"

"No. Trust me, it's much better to wait."

"Until when?"

"Until I have a plan, and all the details sorted out."

"Peggy, I can't give you the land," Ben tried to explain.

"Why not? It is mine."

"I'm not disputing that."

"Then what are you disputing?"

She had a lip on her. If she would have been his own child, if it would have been Jamie speaking to him in this tone, well, history had proven the boy would have been sent to his room. Ben could not send Peggy anywhere; and he could not give her what she was asking for—at least not without giving Adam an opportunity to provide his consent. He was her guardian, after all, the closest thing to a parent she had, the only person with the authority to make decisions about her future and her involvement with her family's land.

Given the past, Ben had promised himself he would not interfere with or interject himself into Adam's child-rearing habits—especially where Peggy was concerned. If Adam wanted advice or help, he would ask for it; Ben resigned to keep quiet on all matters until either of those opportunities presented themselves. They had not thus far, but with Peggy's sudden insistence about the land, who knew what the future would bring.

Taking a deep breath, he was careful with his reply. "Young lady, I will not be made into a guilty party. If you want the land, that is fine. But you are still too young to take charge of it yourself. So, unless Adam agrees to take hold of it for you, then I will continue to oversee it until you reach proper age."

"And what exactly is this proper age?"

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen!"

"Talk to Adam," Ben said. "If he's amiable to the notion, then you can have it back now."

Peggy had scoffed again, her eyes glistening with bitter disappointment. "He's never going to agree to that."

"Then I guess you have no other choice but to wait. Three years is not such a long time," he said, his voice softening. "After all, it'll give you plenty of time to think over those details, come up with the plan you were talking about."

This statement marked the end of a conversation that had not left either of them particularly pleased. But it was what had prompted Ben to revisit the property that had gone unwanted by anyone for so long.

Looking upon the remains of a place that once held so much love and promise, it was difficult to think anyone would choose to return to it. Not after the gruesome nature of what had happened here. Not after the way everything had been so abruptly left. It did not seem logical that Peggy would want to come back to the place where her mother had died, or right for her to want to hold onto something as broken as it currently was. And it did not seem likely that Adam would grant her permission to. Even so, Ben felt guilty for not looking after it better and allowing it to fall into such disarray. After both Adam and Will had left it had been too difficult to set foot upon it, the property itself somehow becoming a painful physical reminder of how much they had all failed.

They failed themselves, each other, and most of all Peggy.

"You made it sound as though you were actually taking care of it," a voice stated bluntly from behind.

Looking over his shoulder, Ben found Peggy sitting atop an unfamiliar horse. She appeared neither angry nor pleased as she jumped down from her saddle and cast a guarded gaze upon what had once been her home.

"Why aren't you in school?" he asked.

"I am far too intelligent to be expected to attend that school."

"According to who?"

"According to whom," she corrected. "And everyone."

"Does Adam know you aren't in school?" Ben countered wryly.

"Adam is well aware of my intellectual capabilities."

"That's not what I meant."

She shrugged indifferently. "I know that's not what you meant, but that's what I chose to say."

"Did you at least tell him you were planning on coming out here? Or is this another trip that you decided upon taking on your own?"

"I chose not to tell him about this one either." Peggy cast him an inquisitive glance. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What are you going to choose to tell him?"

Ben thought about the question. "I don't see how I won't tell him," he said.

"I don't see how you will," Peggy said. "After all, it isn't as though the two of you speak with any regularity."

They both knew it was a statement that could not be countered, and Peggy did not seem to expect a reply. Attention set on the boards covering the windows of the house, she began striding purposefully toward it, the reins tethering her to the horse she had rode becoming taut in the space between them as the animal refused to move. "Ah, come on," she said. Turning in place, she pulled on the reins in effort to implore the animal to move. The horse remained unconvinced, intent on remaining where it stood. "Please?"

"He doesn't look interested," Ben commented.

"Well, yesterday neither did you and now here you are."

"I did not come out here because I changed my mind about your request."

"Then why did you?"

Looking away, Ben pursed his lips. He was not certain he knew, though that was not a response he was going to share. "Why did you?" he asked.

Giving up on the horse, Peggy looked at the ground. At first, Ben suspected the question had dissolved her girded outlook, then as she finally looked up again, he realized she had been considering what she wanted to say.

"I suppose," she began, "I just wanted to sit alone, so I could remind myself of how things were and think about how they are, so I can make sense of it all. I think if I can remind myself of how bad it really was, then maybe it'll help me to believe that things really aren't that bad now. Things always have a way of feeling much worse than they actually are, at least that's what Adam says when he sticks around long enough to say anything of real value."

Smiling, Ben thought little of the slight criticism. If anything was a mark of a fine father, then it was a visibly well-taken care of albeit occasionally disgruntled child. Disagreeing with a parent was part of being a teenager; being critical of a parent's actions, at least in the way Peggy was expressing it, was an indication of her confidence in her bond with Adam. They loved each other. They always had and they always would. A few poorly chosen and misplaced words would never be enough to change that.

Of course, he thought as his smile faltered, he had once believed the same about the bond he and Adam had shared. There was a time when he would not have thought it could be broken. He could not have believed things could possibly be how they were. That was not to say things between him and Adam were necessarily bad—or good. Their relationship was another thing existing in some strange in between. They did not fight or disagree, because they rarely spoke. Rarely saw each other, in fact. Family members and Roy Coffee aside, the circles in which they traveled simply were not comprised of the same people.

Being the head proprietor of the Ponderosa was a time-consuming endeavor. Most of Ben's time was spent on the ranch in the company of his three younger sons and their various ranch hands. Adam's position as Sheriff of Virginia City was equally—if not more—time consuming. He spent most of his time with delinquents and lawbreakers, and what little was left over was reserved for his children. There were always Sunday evenings, those few precious hours when the whole family gathered for dinner. Though the invitation had been extended long ago, Adam had yet to attend, the timing of such a thing just eternally off, consistently conflicting with the demands of his job. Still, he had graciously offered for both Noah and Peggy to attend despite his absences, but the children had yet to make it out to the ranch for the occasion. Ben could not fault them for not coming. Why would they want to spend an evening among strangers, when time with their father was so difficult to come by? Noah and Peggy spent nearly as much time at the sheriff's office as they did in their own home—something Ben tried his best to overlook and not judge.

"Don't misunderstand my words," Peggy said. "I'm not clinging to some foolish notion that the past is worth hanging onto. It's just… difficult to let go of sometimes. People don't come back after they're really gone, but inside of us the memories of their voices live on. They ask us to do things for them so that they won't be truly forgotten." She expelled a hearty sigh. "I really wish you would give me this land back, Mister Cartwright."

"I did not say I would never give it back."

Ben appraised her thoughtfully. The astute nature of her melancholic statements only served to reinforce the veracity of her previous one. She was a very intelligent girl, indeed. Wise beyond her years, if not suddenly seeming a little too serious. In a way, she reminded him of how Adam had been as a teen; the circumstances of his tumultuous childhood had rendered him into a strange combination of both man and boy, a youth who knew so much and so little at the same time.

"You know, there was a time when you used to call me Papa Ben," Ben added, trying to lighten the sudden grimness of the moment.

Head tilting, Peggy's brows rose and her eyes glistened with disaffection. "That was a very long time ago," she said. "Things were very different back then. I was a little girl and my mother was still alive, and Adam was going to be my father." She looked thoughtfully at the house, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I used to climb those pillars out front. I'd make myself as tall as I could so that I could see as far as I could, and then I'd wait, and eventually Adam would come and sweep me into his arms." Her smile faded, her voice suddenly becoming cold and hollow. "I felt love all around me and then it was gone. A moment in time was all that was, so unsteady and fleeting. Mommy married Will and Adam stopped coming around, but I still climbed those pillars, made myself tall, and waited for him to come back and take me away from this place."

Frowning, Ben felt uneasy. There was something about the girl's tone and expression that alluded to a much darker story than the one currently being told. Of course, he should not have been shocked by that. Not with the way Laura had died. Not with the way Will had left. There was a viciousness to the things that had taken place on this property—deep down, he had always known that—so why was the thought that Peggy was privy to those things so startling?

She had lived here with both her mother and Will; she would have seen much more than anyone else, but it was not until now that Ben realized he had been hoping she had not. He had always wanted to believe she had been protected from knowing the true depth of her parents' mistakes. Looking at her now, it was obvious she had not been; it was clear she knew so much more than she ever should have been allowed to. Suddenly, Ben found himself clinging to the hope that the love Adam and the rest of their family could bestow upon her would be enough to make up for any harm that had been done. Still, even as soon as it occurred to him, he knew it could not be. There were just some things that could not be undone.

"And then one day Adam did come back," Peggy continued. "He scooped me up and took me away. Even back then I think we both knew it was already too late."

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head, seemingly clearing it of the thoughts that had compelled her to speak so freely. Hooking one boot into a stirrup, she grabbed the horn and swell of her saddle, and mounted her horse. Sitting atop of the animal, she cast one last look at the house, before directing the horse to turn around.

"You'll never give me this land back," she said, her voice becoming normal once more as she gazed at Ben knowingly. "You say you will but you won't. Another three years aren't going to make a difference. It isn't going to change Adam's mind. He doesn't want me to have it, so you won't dare give it back, not with the way things are."

"Why wouldn't he want you to have it?" Ben asked. He wanted to ask what she knew about the way things were between him and Adam. And if so, had Adam told her himself? Or had she heard the gossip that seemed destined to never die down in Virginia City? Or, so obviously intuitive and intelligent had she gleaned it herself? All options seemed as likely as they were lamentable.

"Because he knows the truth," Peggy said.

"And what truth is that?"

"Memories can hold as much pain as the moment they were born from. There are some things that are destined to never improve with time, because the wounds they carved inside of a person's heart are too deep to ever be allowed to heal."

They stared at each other a moment before Peggy nodded and directed her horse away. Blunt and befitting, her words seemed to hang in the air around Ben as he wondered whose wounds the statement had been intended to draw attention to: Adam's, her own, or both?

TBC