NOW:

Joe returned to the Ponderosa early the next morning; Hoss, however, did not.

"I have to talk to you, Pa," Joe said, his voice serious and expression grim.

Grabbing Ben by the forearm, he guided him away from the breakfast table and toward the front door. If Jamie, Peggy, or Noah were surprised by Joe's absence the evening before, or his sudden appearance now, they gave no indication. With both Adam and Lil gone, they were a gloomy group, the quietness of the normally gregarious teens rivaling that of the eternally silent tot. Still determined to remain unseen by her children, Eddie refused to join the family for breakfast. Unbeknownst to anyone in the household other than Ben and Hop Sing, she remained in her bedroom.

Pulling Ben from the house, Joe guided him to stand in front of the empty corral. He cast a careful look behind them, his green eyes settling on the closed door of the home they shared, as he planted his hands on his hips and expelled a hearty breath.

"What's wrong?" Ben asked worriedly.

"Everything," Joe said. "Everything is wrong. Hoss and I didn't plan on staying in town last night, but after we got there, there wasn't anything else we could do. Hoss stayed with Lil at Adam's house on Kay Street, and I stayed with Adam at the sheriff's office."

"Because the townsfolks' attitudes toward Adam have devolved enough to necessitate such a thing."

"No. Well, yes," Joe qualified. "But that wasn't necessarily the problem last night."

"Then what was?"

"Adam. Adam is the problem. I don't know what's going on here, Pa, but something is."

"What makes you say that?"

"He fired Roy Coffee as his deputy; it was the first thing he did when he got back. He didn't do it privately either. Roy was in the hotel having dinner, and Adam made a scene. He said Roy was either with him or against him, and with the way things were going, he believed he knew what side he was on. Hoss tried to talk Adam out of it, and afterward, we both tried to talk some sense into him; we told him he needs somebody to watch his back, especially now. He wouldn't listen."

"That's why you and Hoss stayed in town."

"We couldn't leave. Not after hearing the talk floating around about Adam before he reentered town or what he did when he finally returned to it. Like I said, Hoss stayed with Lil to make sure nobody was going to mess with her, and I stayed with Adam for the same reason. He didn't talk much, but what he did say was enough to make my stomach turn and my skin crawl." Pausing, Joe sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and chewed it.

"Out with it, son."

"He wants trees, Pa."

"Trees?"

"For gallows he intends to build in the center of town." Joe's expression became grim. "My whole life, I've known that man. In the past, we didn't always see eye to eye. We fought, like a lot of older and younger brothers do; some fights were worse than others, and as bad as they sometimes were, I don't think I ever really doubted Adam's intentions. I never thought he'd actually hurt me or anybody else. I never was afraid of him, or what he could do. Now, I think maybe I am. Adam wouldn't say who the gallows are intended for, but that doesn't change the fact that I think he knows. I think Roy Coffee was right: Adam knows a whole lot more than he's talking about. He knows who tried to kill him, and he knows what he's going to do to them when they're found. He's different now, Pa. I can't explain it, because outside he's as calm and cool as he ever was; you talk to him and he says all the right things, but there's something about him that feels different, that seems different than it was before he got shot. He's… formidable. Dangerous. You come across men like that sometimes. You know the kind, the ones that don't necessarily say or do anything to declare themselves vicious or menacing, but one look at them, tells you the truth. There's just something about the way they carry themselves, there's a glint in their eyes that warns you to give them a wide berth, because all they need is a reason to unleash themselves upon you and it doesn't even have to be a good one."

Taking a deep breath, Joe shook his head sadly.

"I never thought I'd look at Adam and see that kind of man staring back at me," he admitted quietly. "Now I think maybe I do. Hoss stayed with him this morning. He always had a way with our older brother, an understanding that allows him to talk a little more honestly than Adam will allow me to. I'm hoping that maybe his interpretation of the situation is a lot different than mine, because I'm telling you, Pa, something is wrong here. Adam said he wanted his kids to stay with us because they weren't safe in town, and that may be true, but I don't think the opinions or actions of the townsfolk are what he's trying to shield Peggy and Noah from. I think he's trying to protect them from himself. The things he wants to do and the ones that he eventually will, he can't do them in front of his children, because that's a side of himself he doesn't want them to see."

Ben could neither deny nor affirm his son's suspicions. He would not attempt to do either. With Eddie's arrival, things were about to become very complicated. "Time will sort everything out," he said, unsure if the reassurance was meant more for Joe or himself.

How could it?

When everything felt so up in the air, intent on falling back into all the wrong places. What would Adam do when he finally saw Eddie? What was it she wanted to say to him before allowing anyone else to know she was here? It was a reunion Ben would not delay facilitating.

"I want you to have breakfast," he said. "And then I want you to take Jamie, Peggy, and Noah fishing."

"Fishing?" Joe frowned. "Pa, I have about six other things I need to do today, and besides all that, someone needs to mark trees for the order Adam put in."

"You let me worry about the trees and your brother. Please, Joe, just do as I ask."

Though visibly confused, Joe adhered to his father's request. After breakfast, he held Noah tight as he sat in his saddle and led Jamie and Peggy away from the ranch house. Watching them ride away on their respective horses, Ben was taken by a glaring detail he should have noted a lot sooner. Returning to Virginia City, Adam had taken Sport with him. Bingo had been left behind, housed in a stall opposite the horse Eddie had rode in on. If the teens or Joe were confused by the presence of this foreign horse, they gave no indication. It seemed their attention was too focused on Ben's insistent request to heed anything else.

Ben sent a ranch hand into town to request Adam return to the family home. Sitting at his desk, he tented his hands and prayed it was a petition that would not be ignored. Surely, Adam would recognize the importance of such a request. He would know his father would not have watched him leave, harboring intentions to trick him into returning the next day. He hoped Adam would glean this request served a specific purpose and respond favorably, because how he would respond once he found his wife in his father's company simply could not be predicted or known.

The first hour Ben spent waiting seemed to pass too quickly; the second seemed to pass too slowly. He checked on Eddie and found her still unwilling to remove Adam's jacket or herself from her room. He returned downstairs and paced in front of the fireplace, his worry consuming him.

What was he going to do if Adam refused to come back? What was he going to do if Eddie refused to leave her bedroom? He could not hide her forever. He did not want to. It was unfair for him to harbor such an important secret, to withhold a mother from her children—even if she did not seem to have any desire to see them.

The sound of an approaching horse chased away the questions and prompted him to abruptly stop in place. He stood immobile in front of the fireplace as Adam entered the house. He walked slightly gingerly, the effect of two taxing rides on his still-healing body in as many days, no doubt. He did not remove his hat or gun. His clothes were the same black garb he had dressed in the morning prior; he had not bothered to change but he had taken the time to shave. Coming to a stop behind the settee, he cast his father a questioning look.

In Adam's eyes, Ben saw the glint Joe had spoken about. He was right: something about him was different—something about his presence felt strange, dangerous, and formidable.

"You have a visitor," Ben said evenly. "Upstairs, second room on the right."

Adam stared at him for what felt like eternity, his expression obscure. He did not seem confused or intimidated by the information. Ben wondered if it was ambivalence that was holding his son in place. Then, as he heard footsteps thudding in the hallway upstairs, he wondered something else completely.

Hesitating at the top of the staircase, Eddie still wore Adam's yellow jacket as she cast him a meager look. Adam appeared neither happy nor sad to see her; he did not speak or move as she slowly made her way down the stairs.

Ben had a fleeting feeling that he should leave the room and give the pair privacy to greet one another and discuss their affairs. Even so, he found he could not move. He could barely breathe as he stared at the pair, questioning his son's indifference to the woman who now stood directly in front of Adam on the other side of the settee. For several long moments, neither of them said anything. With her back turned to Ben, Eddie finally unbuttoned and opened the coat. If she had been expecting a surprised reaction from Adam as she grabbed both lapels and held the jacket open, finally revealing whatever lurked beneath it, she would have been disappointed.

"I see," Adam said. His words were pragmatic, his obscure expression unchanging. "And you left San Francisco, alone, knowing this?"

"No," Eddie said.

"You don't have to lie. I think you and I are well past the point of needing to protect each other from the truth."

"I'm not. Truly, had I known then I would have told you. I would have done something, anything other than what I did."

"It wouldn't have made a difference either way."

"Yes, it would have," Eddie insisted. "You don't understand. It would have changed everything before, just like it's going to change everything now."

"I don't understand," Adam repeated the claim flatly. "You left. How could such a thing possibly be misconstrued?"

"You're right: I did. I ran away, but when I finally stopped, I waited for you. Day after day, I hoped and I prayed to see you again. You never came."

"You made it pretty clear that was not what you wanted."

"Since when do you care what I want? Maybe if you would have…" Eddie stopped, losing the nerve to finish the sentence she began. "This isn't your fault," she added, a moment later, her voice a low whisper. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make it sound as though it is."

Adam chuckled, a deep and humorless sound. "Isn't it, though?" He looked around the room, his eyes eventually finding his father's. "I take it you don't know," he said. "There's no way you could be standing there, doing nothing if you did." He looked at Eddie again. "I'm assuming your mother doesn't know either, seeing as there's no way she would have allowed you to venture out on your own had she been aware of the situation."

"No," Eddie said. "She doesn't know, but I suppose she will, seeing as how she is here with you."

"You were gone. What did you expect her to do?"

"Nothing other than what she did. I'm glad she's here, really, I am. I'm glad you're here, too; that you brought the children here like I asked."

Adam shook his head. "I didn't come here because of you," he said gruffly.

"Of course not."

"Nothing I am doing right now has anything to do with you."

"I know."

"No, I don't think you do."

"I do," Eddie said earnestly. "I left, and you came here. You became sheriff of the town you grew up in, solicited the help of both our respective parents to help with the children, and you shaved your beard, which probably means something I'm sure I do not want it to."

"You took off your ring long before I shaved my beard."

"I know," Eddie said softly. She was quiet for a moment, seemingly picking and choosing the things she wanted to say, or summoning the courage to ask a question she was afraid to hear the answer to. "So," she added, her voice a low, whisper, "tell me, where does that leave us? What do we do now?"

Adam's cool demeanor did not waiver. "You're the one who left," he said. "You tell me."

Shaking her head, Eddie shrugged weakly. "I was scared. I was hurt. Confused and grieving our son. I was in so much pain that I couldn't do anything. I couldn't think about anything other than getting away from the place in which we lost him. He was born in that house and then he died in it. Can't you understand how difficult of a thing that is to reconcile?"

"I understand," Adam said evenly. "I know why you left. What I can't seem to glean is why you are here."

Eddie looked down. "I would think such a thing should be obvious to you now."

"I'm not talking about that."

"We really should. Such things can't be ignored forever."

"Why are you here?" Adam repeated. "How long do you intend to stay?"

"For the rest of my life. That is, if you'll still have me."

"I wasn't the one who left."

"For good," Eddie corrected. "You weren't the one who left for good. You were always leaving, Adam. You were gone more than you were home; even when you were there you weren't really present. Your thoughts always belonged to something else, the next go around and trail, the next chase. Tell me, what really upset you the most: the fact that I left when I did, or that I left before you had an opportunity to?"

"I never left you. No matter how long I was gone, I always came back."

"And now I've come back, too. You can't tell me that doesn't mean anything. You can't say that you don't know the pride I had to swallow to do what I've done. So please, tell me: can I still have forever? If I stay, do I still have a place with you?"

"You can have whatever you want," Adam said coolly. "You can stay or leave. You have to decide what you want to do. We share children, Eddie. If we're both going to be in the same place, we have no other choice but to claim each other."

"Publicly, you mean," Eddie said. "We can claim each other publicly; present ourselves as husband and wife. But how we act toward each other privately is going to be something else completely now, isn't it?"

"Like I said, you need to decide what you want. I would appreciate if you remain out of town until you do. No use in giving people any more to talk about then they already have."

"And where will you be?"

"I don't see how that should make a difference to you. You and the children will be taken care of, no matter my location."

"Then what you mean to say is that I can have a life here, but I can't have one with you, not really. Not anymore. I can live near but not alongside you. You don't have to protect me, Adam. You can say what you mean outright."

"It isn't you I'm protecting. After all, isn't that the real reason you came here? So that others would become aware of your condition and I would be forced to insist you remain with me. Well, if that's the case then you're going to be awfully disappointed. You may be the mother of my children, but I have no power over you. I never really did, because our life together was a lie. You know that as well as I do."

"It wasn't all a lie. Some of it was real."

"Not the parts that really mattered."

"I still love you despite everything," Eddie whispered. "What happened doesn't have to matter so much if we don't allow it to. I haven't changed my mind about you. Please don't tell me you've changed yours about me. You still love me, don't you?"

Adam did not answer the question.

Exhaling a thickened breath, Eddie nodded solemnly. Shrugging her shoulders out of his jacket, she offered it to him. "I'm sorry I took it. I know what it means to you. The luck it's brought over the years. I suppose that's why I took it when I left. I was hoping some of that luck might rub off on me, too. Looking at you now, I know that it hasn't. I'm sorry for the things I said and did. You're a good man, Adam, and a fine father. You didn't deserve to be treated the way that you were, especially by me."

Accepting the coat, Adam hung it over his shoulder, opened his mouth to respond, then nodded and looked at his father instead. "You'll look after her until she decides what she wants?" he asked.

"Of course," Ben said. He wanted to ask who was going to look after Adam. If Lil was even up to the staggering task. Had he found himself engaged in a peculiar trade, exchanging with Lil the care of his son for her daughter? If so, how long would it last? The things Adam said and the glint in his eyes hinted the arrangement was much more permanent than any of them wanted to believe.

"I'll tell your mother you're here," Adam said to Eddie. "She will be quite relieved to see you. The kids will be, too. If you have not seen them already. Please be careful when you present yourself to them. Be understanding of Peggy's anger toward you, mindful of Noah's age, and your future intentions. He did not fare well the first time you walked away. He isn't going to understand if you do it again."

"I'm not going anywhere," Eddie said. "Now that I am here, I intend to remain with my family."

"I hope for Peggy and Noah's sake that is true." With that, Adam left the house as quickly as he had entered it.

Turning around, Eddie cast Ben a regretful gaze, and Ben looked upon what his son had already seen. Her stomach was rounded, protruding beneath the material of her gray dress; she was with child. Why she would conceal such a thing, Ben did not know. Why Adam and Eddie did not seem more pleased about the development, he could not be certain. Was it the pain of losing one child that was keeping the pair from celebrating the impending arrival of another? Or was it something else? Something more sinister and biting?

"That could have gone worse, I suppose," Eddie said.

Ben frowned, etching deep lines of dissatisfaction on his face. What kind of man reacted to the reappearance of his pregnant wife in the way Adam had? Without so much as a smile or a hug. Didn't Adam understand that there were just some occasions in life that rendered the past unimportant? Eddie was going to give him another child; if there was ever an occasion to let go of the past in favor of the future this was decidedly it. The reunion could have been worse, but it should have been a lot better than it was.

"Please, sit down and relax," he said. "I will be back."

"Be kind to him," Eddie warned as he strode toward the door. "Don't scold or try to force him into saying things he doesn't want to. Let him accept the situation in his own way. He's a good man; he will come around. He just has to make peace with his shock and anger first."

Ben did not have an opportunity to adhere or ignore her instruction. By the time he exited the house, Adam was gone.

Ben thought about going after him and then dismissed the idea. He did not know what to say—or do. Any question he would pose was bound to be met with resistance. Doing anything other than what Adam had asked of him promised to do much more harm than good. And there needed to be good—at least right now, because Eddie was here, and she was with child.

Adam could hold on to his hurt and anger for the time being but babies had a way of assuaging old wounds, nullifying the events of the past—or lessening them somehow. New life had a way of soothing the pain of life lost. Of bringing people closer.

Or tearing them further apart, Ben thought grimly. He was quick to dismiss the thought as he returned to the house, intent on following the advice he had given Joe that morning—for the moment, at least. All that was needed was a little time. Adam would reestablish his footing among the townsfolk; he would come to embrace his wife's return and the child she was carrying; and together, these things would soften his outlook, making him less formidable and harsh.

Time would sort everything out. Would it not?

Suddenly recalling the firing of Roy Coffee and his oldest son's determination to build gallows in town, Ben torturously wondered how the passing of time could help anything.

TBC