NOW:

Just shy of three years old, Noah was an exemplary little boy with one very glaring exception.

He did not speak. Whether the boy had decided not to talk, or was unable to, Ben was not sure. He wanted to ask—he longed to know—but he could not summon the courage to allow the question to pass his lips. Maybe he was afraid Adam would take it the wrong way—as a slight against his parenting abilities in comparison to those of his father, or something worse. After all, Ben had raised three three-year-olds and every single one of them had begun speaking when they were supposed to, giving him the knowledge in which to compare the skills of one toddler to another. Or maybe Ben was afraid to know, so full of fear that this perfect, beautiful, little boy whose smile carved dimples into his cheeks and eyes were the deepest blue his grandfather had ever seen had been allotted a very serious flaw.

Noah was a stunning child, more striking than any of Ben's sons had been, the result of the combined attractiveness of his parents, no doubt. His looks and charming disposition were almost enough to distract from his lack of words. He was easy to look after, a joy to spend time with; his personality was one Ben had thought of as an unexpected combination of Hoss and Adam. Noah was affable and cheerful, thoughtful, and astute. He was humorous and friendly, unfearing of strangers at first glance; however, he did seem to take his time in deciding whether a newcomer should be liked and trusted, neither, or both. Given the current situation, Ben thought Adam was fortunate to have a toddler like Noah. He could have ended up with one like Joe.

Noah not speaking was not necessarily a complication now. In the future, it would be. If he had, in fact, been born mute then his life would be more difficult than most. Ben did not want that. Now that he had become acquainted with his grandchild—grandchildren if Peggy were to be included and, of course, she was—he wanted to make their lives as comfortable and unchallenging as possible. It was an objective that was more easily thought of than fulfilled, because apart from Ben's time, Adam was not amiable to accepting anything else from his father, a direction that unfortunately extended to his children.

After Adam had asked for his help, Ben had anxiously waited for his presence to be requested. One afternoon it eventually was. Peggy had ridden into the ranch yard, knocked on the door to the house, and told Ben Adam had sent her to request he come sit with Noah that night—and her, of course, she had added in a peeved fashion. Ben had not prompted her to amend her statement by including herself, and with Adam already proclaiming her unneeding of direction, he wondered why she would have.

Mounting Buck, Ben had followed Peggy into town. They left their horses at the livery, and then walked to the house on Kay Street. Opening the door, Peggy strode through, leaving it open for him to follow. It was the first time Ben had been invited to step into his son's house, the home Adam had obtained on his own. It was an odd detail to think about, odder it had not been thought of before. It was the first house Ben was aware of his son living in without his father and brothers, but how many others had there been? Had he had a home where he had lived with his wife and children? A place to return to when he was not tracking men down? Or had they set up house with her family to make things easier on her when he was not around? And how long had she not been around? This woman who had remained without an identity or name, the only hints of her existence being that of her son. These were the haunting questions that sprung to Ben's mind the first time he had come to his son's house, and he knew they would remain with him each time he returned. They were yet more that could not be asked, therefore would never be answered.

Ben lingered outside of the open front door, feeling like an interloper, a bothersome fly on a wall that had no business landing in the first place. The conversation facilitating this arrangement was another fateful one between him and his oldest son; it seemed to change nothing and everything at the same time. Nothing, because Adam was as obstinate as ever about not allowing Ben to grow closer to him. Everything, because he was allowing Ben to grow closer to his children. Even so, things were destined to change between them, even if only slightly. Ben had been invited to supervise his grandchildren, therefore was being allowed to have a slight glimpse into his son's world. The life Adam had found and created on his own.

Standing in place, Ben had the slightest, tugging notion that he should have resigned himself to remain on the periphery of Adam's life. When asked to look after his grandchildren, he should have said no. He should have made arrangements for someone else to come in his place. With all the good such a thing promised, it was destined to invite just as much struggle, just as much bad.

Adam did not really want him here, and who could blame him for that? Ben had said terrible things to his son. Vile and bitter, they were as unforgivable now as they had been six years ago. He had allowed his fear, frustration, and anger to guide his tongue and the outcome had been devastating. He could hardly fault Adam for doing what he had; he could no longer blame him for being distrustful and angry, because it was he who had shaped the methods in which his son was willing to deal with him. It was he who had created this situation.

It was Noah who prompted Ben to eventually move. Appearing on the other side of the open door, the little boy tilted his head back and looked up at his grandfather, curiosity glistening in his eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments, stuck in silent stand-off.

Noah had a small, gray, knitted blanket rolled up and draped across his shoulders as though it was a scarf. The ends hung long, dragging upon the floor next to his stocking covered feet and the slightly too long legs of his pants. Ben recognized the blanket for what it was: a well loved item of emotional attachment, something the boy kept with him to provide comfort and security.

"Hello, Noah," Ben said, wondering if the child remembered him.

Their initial introduction had been so brief it hardly could be defined as an actual visit. Two days after Noah and Peggy had arrived on the stage, Ben, Hoss, Joe, and Jamie had come into town to be properly introduced. The visit had not gone particularly well—or horribly. It was quick, yet another thing expedited and rushed along because of Adam's position in and duty to the town. They had met at the sheriff's office and then they had scattered, Adam and Roy Coffee rushing to the other end of the small town to put an end to a building dispute, Peggy taking Noah home to look after him while he napped, and the rest of the Cartwrights returning to their various duties at the Ponderosa. Ben had wanted to offer to look after the children then—after laying eyes on Noah, he never wanted to pull them away—but it had not seemed appropriate to extend the offer at the time.

Nose twitching slightly, Noah must have remembered Ben, because, taking a single step forward, he extended his hand, held it in the air, and waited for his grandfather to grasp it. Ben did not hesitate and he quickly found himself being pulled into the house, purposely led forward by the determined tot.

The interior of the house was not how Ben remembered it, or how he expected it to be. It was the same house Sue Ellen Terry and her sister once resided in. Though years had passed since, it was a detail that could not be ignored, especially given Adam's history with Sue Ellen. She was yet another woman he had seemed fond of, but tragedy had struck. She had died before the two of them had been given a proper chance to discover if their mutual fondness could have equated to love. When she and her sister had lived in the home there had been a softness to the fixtures, an elegance to the decor that accompanied a woman's extended presence. Now, the interior was decidedly utilitarian, the sparse furniture simplistic and rustic; everything that had been acquired had a place and purpose. Nothing was garish or excessive—except for maybe the stacks of books laying in short, precarious towers in the center of the sitting area, and a trail of forgotten toys scattered around them. The books had been pulled from the twin bookcases arranged on either side of the settee, the toys emancipated from a sizable timber toy box settled in the far corner of the room.

Leading Ben to the book towers, Noah let go of his hand and extended his index finger, his lips curling into a wide, proud smile.

"I see," Ben said. "Did you make these?"

Noah nodded.

"All by yourself?"

Noah nodded again.

Hands settling on his hips, Ben's brows furrowed in an exaggerated manner as he pretended to closely inspect the towers. "Very nice," he said. "These have to be some of the best structures I have ever seen. You do very good work."

There was a chuckle behind them. Ben turned and found Adam watching them from afar. "An expert on towers made of books, are you, Pa?"

Ben smiled. "Well, I have seen a few in my time." He tilted his head at the books. "Nothing in terms of these, though. They are quite sizable for, well, his size. I think your son has a bright future where building things is concerned." It was an aggrandized compliment; still, he meant every word.

Corners of his lips curling upward, Adam's smile did not quite reach his eyes. He looked tired, Ben thought. A little more worn out than he had allowed his father to see him before—or maybe a kind of worn out he had not felt before, exhaustion and presumed heartache combining to form a mood that seemed intent on dragging him down. Or, maybe Ben was just imagining what he thought he saw. Maybe Adam was just tired, both his home and his professional life demanding a little too much at the current moment.

Abandoning his towers and his grandfather, Noah walked to Adam and lifted his arms, a silent request to be picked up. Adam obliged, hosting up the child, holding him on his hip and close to his chest. Ben could not help wondering who the hold was benefiting more: Noah, or Adam. The boy did not seem to need reassurance or bolstering. But, holding his son, Adam's expression brightened.

"Thanks for coming," Adam said. "Sorry for the short notice. I didn't really expect the day to go the way that it has."

"It's no problem," Ben said. "I'm happy to be here."

"Well, I'm not happy you're here," Peggy said suddenly as she settled her weight against the corner of the wall where the entry to the sitting room met the hallway.

Closing his eyes, Adam took a deep breath, and then turned around. "Peggy," he said evenly. "Be respectful."

"That's not the rule," Peggy disagreed. "You have to show respect to have respect shown to you."

"You're right," Adam said. "And right now, you're not giving anyone a reason to respect you, so maybe you should think a little bit more about what you want to say and how you want to say it."

"So, what? If I don't have anything nice to say then I shouldn't say anything at all? I should silence my opinions and beliefs just because some people might find them hard to hear?"

"No. In this particular instance, the details of which I know I do not need to explain, if you do not have anything nice to say then you can go to your room. You're old enough to glean the inappropriateness of certain things you may want to say and think better of them before they're said."

"You can't silence me."

"Oh, I'm not trying to silence you," Adam assured. "Lord help the man who ever tries to do that."

"Then what are you trying to do?" Voice and expression softening, Peggy appeared slightly hesitant to hear an answer that was destined to remain unvoiced, the question itself reflective of so much more than the current conversation.

"Just be kind, okay?" Adam asked. "If you can't do that then take yourself somewhere else until you can."

"Fine," Peggy said.

Even Ben knew it was not. Something was most emphatically the furthest from fine as it could possibly be. He did not know what it was. He wondered if, even given time, he ever would.

Turning back around, Adam cast his father a guarded look as he seemed to hold on to Noah a bit tighter than before. It was almost as though he did not want to let him go. As though whatever impetuous, compassionate feeling had led him to request his father's presence had waned as quickly as it had been thought of and now the truth of the situation was becoming clear. His father was in his home, and he was going to entrust him with the safekeeping of those he held most dear.

"I would advise you not to misplace his blanket," Adam said. "Or you'll be in for a rough evening."

"I will make sure it stays within reach," Ben said.

"He isn't going to use his voice, so don't expect him to. He can tell you what he wants, or needs, you just need to watch closely."

"I understand."

"And bedtime can be a little—"

"He'll be fine," Peggy interjected. Ben was not sure if she was referring to Noah or himself. Seemingly intent on soothing Adam's concern, she stepped forward, stood next to him, and extended her arms, inviting Noah to escape his father's hold in favor of her own. She held onto the boy briefly, then set him back down, and took his hand in her own. "If he's not, then I'm here. I'll be kind and think better of the things I want to say while you're gone, I promise."

Noah looked between Peggy and Adam, then at Ben, and then he nodded, seemingly deciding upon something unbeknownst to the rest of them. Letting go of Peggy's hand, he took a step forward, grasped Ben's hand, and pulled him back over to the books to, with his grandfather's help, carefully unstack, and restack them again.

"Goodbye, Peg," Adam said a moment later.

On the sidelines of the interaction, Ben thought the farewell decidedly more serious than and unfitting of the situation, or their rapport. Adam was returning to his post, not leaving the territory. He would be back too soon to imagine such a statement required for his departure. Certainly, I'll be back soon, or see you later would have done the job as well.

"Goodbye."

Peggy's word seemed equally unapt as she threw her arms around Adam and hugged him tight. Ben caught Peggy's gaze as she and Adam pulled from the hug; neither she nor Ben looked away from each other or spoke until Adam had left the house.

"You think it's strange, don't you?" she asked Ben knowingly.

"What?" Ben asked.

"That we say goodbye to each other."

"Oh, no, I don't think it's strange—"

"Yes, you do."

Peggy seemed to be looking right through him; she seemed to already understand what he was not willing to say. Ben could not help wondering what else she understood. What else did she know about the past or the present, how integral her existence had been to what had happened between Adam and himself? It was not her fault, and he would never blame her. But who did she blame? What did she know?

"Peggy—"

"We don't have too many rules in our house," Peggy said. "There's the usual ones, like: be respectful and kind, pick up after yourself, and go to bed at a reasonable time. And then there's the one you just witnessed. When you leave, you always take time to say goodbye."

"Alright," Ben said.

"Because if you don't say goodbye then that means you aren't planning on coming back. It means you won't come back."

The rule was as interesting as the tone in which it had been communicated. Expression serious, Peggy stared at Ben for a moment before looking away and setting her attention on one of Noah's stacks of books.

"Nice job, buddy," she said, extending her finger to indicate the book resting on the very top. "Can I have this one?"

Looking between her and the book, Noah's face contorted as he seemed to think a great deal about the question. He nodded finally.

"Thanks," Peggy said. She took the book and settled upon the sitting chair in the corner of the room. Kicking off her boots, she sat cross-legged, the newly opened book placed in her lap, as she began to read, looking up every few moments to quickly glance at Noah.

Noah played happily, unstacking, and restacking the books to build bigger and bigger towers. Ben thought the tot needed a toy that could be stacked, something that packed a much lighter punch should they be accidently knocked over and fall.

"You need a set of blocks, Noah," he said, the statement a nearly inaudible musing, meant more for himself than anyone else.

"He has blocks," Peggy said. "He doesn't like them."

"Really?"

"He's fond of books; there's just something about them, I guess."

Ben smiled. Like father, like son, he supposed.

"Speaking of not liking things," Peggy said. "Jamie's doing poorly in math."

It was an interesting transition. Ben wondered how the girl was privy to such a thing, and why he himself wasn't. "What do you mean?" he probed.

"I mean, he's failed his last three math exams."

"How do you know?"

Gaze unwavering from the book in her lap, Peggy sighed as though the question was as tedious as voicing the answer. "Because we attend the same schoolhouse," she said.

"I thought you were too intelligent for that school."

"I am."

"Then why are you attending it?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

Looking up at him, Peggy's eyes narrowed. "Look, this conversation isn't about me. It's about Jamie, and I'm just telling you what he's too afraid to tell you himself."

"You're tattling on him," Ben deduced.

"No, I'm not. I'm not saying this because I want you to punish him. I want you to help him. He needs help, and he's not going to ask for it, so I am."

"I see."

"No, you don't."

"Then help me."

"I don't want to help you," Peggy said. "I want to help Jamie."

"By telling on him?"

"No, with math. I'm quite good at math. So good, in fact, that it was going to be my course of study next year. It was what I spent my time on before I came here."

"Your course of study?"

"At Georgia Female College."

"College?" Ben repeated dumbly. "You're going to attend college."

"Was. Now, I'm going to stay here, look after Adam and Noah, and take control of my land."

"Adam isn't going to allow you to have that land." Ben hated to say it, but he had to. If the notion had not seemed like an uphill battle before, then it was downright impossible now. "He values education too much to allow you to waste such an opportunity."

"I know," Peggy said. "That's why you and I are going to make a deal."

"A deal?"

"I'll help Jamie, if you help me."

"Peggy, I cannot get involved in matters between you and Adam."

"What you mean to say is you won't, but you're already involved. You've been involved from the very beginning."

Ben's stomach turned. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?" Peggy scoffed, her eyes flickering with condemnation. "You should be happy. After all, isn't that what you always wanted? Me to remain exactly where I belong."

Opening his mouth to speak, Ben did not have any words. Yes, at one time that was what he had wanted. He had wanted things to be so much different than what they had become.

"Just so you know, I know more than you think," Peggy said. "And you don't know half as much as you think you do." Closing the book, she tucked it under her arm as she stood, extending her hand in Noah's direction. "Come on, Noah," she said, her voice softening. "It's time to get ready for bed."

Noah complied easily, and Peggy cast Ben a look over her shoulder as the pair strode from the room. "You can help if you want to," she said.

Ben knew she was not talking about readying his grandson for bed.

TBC