NOW:

Riding into Virginia City, the sound of nails being pounded into wood filled Ben's ears like a vexatious symphony.

Adam had obtained his trees. He had employed a group to erect the gallows in the center of town—two things which promised to further corrupt the townsfolk's general opinion of him. The gallows were as tall as any Ben had ever seen before; the group building them were shorter than they should have been. A gaggle of boys had been hired to complete the job; a trio of varying ages and height formed a group of troublesome teens Ben recognized as the "friends" Jamie had chased around with earlier in the year. He did not know their names or those of their fathers. He only knew they had been trouble. Watching them labor away, toiling under the sun, he wondered if Adam knew they were trouble, too, if that was why they had been prematurely picked for an undertaking normally reserved for fully grown men.

Even though he had been warned of the situation, seeing it for himself was still slightly shocking, the idea that Adam could have facilitated such a thing almost more so. Surely, Adam knew how inappropriate it was to employ mere boys to complete such a troubling and grotesque task, and how downright unsettling it was for folks to see. Ben had been alerted to the latter when he had been summoned into town, first to look at the situation for himself and then to decide along with his fellow town council members whether it should be allowed to continue. If Adam should be allowed to continue being the sheriff, given how swiftly things had changed since Laura Dayton's diary resurfaced, breathing new life into old rumors, accusations, and falsely-held beliefs.

People had once believed Adam had killed Laura and the unborn baby that had resulted from their reprehensible and clandestine union, and, over six years later, they still believed it. Ben only wished he could say he did not understand why. He wished he could have said a lot of things. That he had stood behind his son years ago when the rumors first began. That he had not allowed his secrets regarding the past to tear them apart. That he had gone after Adam when his son had taken Peggy away from Will and left. That he had been present and knowing of when Adam and Eddie were first married and each time they welcomed a child into the world. That he had been there to support them both when Charlie had been so tragically lost.

Ben did not know what had happened—either to the boy or—between Adam and Eddie, but given Eddie's sorrow-filled statements it was not difficult to form a fragmentary picture. In a marriage, slight anger and small resentments could always exist, lingering in the periphery of the most peaceful of relationships only to rear their ugliness during the most inopportune times. Grief and loss had a way of making difficult situations feel much worse; they could guide a person's tongue, making them say things that they did not mean and others that should never have been shared. Married or single, no person was happy every minute of their lives. Everyone harbored discontent and regret.

From what Ben could glean, it was an argument intensified by the pain of losing their son that had driven Eddie and Adam apart. Still, even if a couple had endured a great loss and traded a series of harsh words that did not mean they did not care for each other. Even if a woman decided to run away from her family and grief, that did not mean her permanent place was somewhere other than her husband's side—especially when there were children involved, one of whom had yet to be born.

Dismounting his horse, Ben looked around the thoroughfare and nearly sighed. Despite current circumstances, there was so much good in life to look forward to. It was a shame all anyone seemed intent on hanging on to was the bad. A small crowd had gathered in front of the youths as they toiled. With motions that were slow and taxed, two of the boys struggled to cut the trees into long, linear pieces that could be added to their towering construction as the other hammered on. The incessant noise prevented Ben from deciphering the mumbling of the townsfolk as he walked past them—not that he wanted to. He did not need to hear the things that were being said to be appraised of them. He did not need anyone in the crowd to tell him what he had already heard from someone else.

The people of Virginia City wanted Adam gone—not just stripped of his badge and his position but tossed out of the town. They thought he was nothing but trouble. A malefactor masquerading as a lawman. The oldest son of a very prestigious man, who had used his father's accomplishments and influence to disguise his faults and force his way into his profession in order to harm others and protect himself. Though they traded their whispers, no one seemed to be able to settle on what exactly it was Adam was protecting himself from. It was something that, given recent events, Ben could not seem to decide upon himself.

If Roy Coffee and Lil were to be believed, then Adam was a dog who had become a wolf. If Eddie's sudden appearance and condition were to be considered, then Ben found himself wondering if the former was not somehow true.

Seeing her daughter for the first time in Ben did not know how long, Lil was immediately relieved. Then, becoming privy to Eddie's sensitive condition she was angry; her words were sharp, her reaction fierce. In her quick fury, Ben immediately recognized fear was the true emotion guiding her response to the seemingly happy news, and then, when the truth about Eddie's past difficulties birthing children was quietly shared with him, fear about the baby's impending arrival was a sentiment he shared.

Surely, having already taken one of her children, God would not see fit to take Eddie and her new baby, too? Adam had already lost one child. How could he endure losing another? His wife? Or both? Such a thing was just downright unacceptable, impossible to accept—or control. They all knew that. Armed with the knowledge of his own experiences, Ben was acutely aware that the existence of past tragedy did not excuse one from experiencing more. There was no limit to the number of losses a person could be forced to endure in their lifetime.

Entering the hotel and making his way to the back room, Ben knew he had no control over what would happen with and to Eddie. Adam's appointment as sheriff, however, was one thing he was determined to ensure his son did not have to lose.

Despite the threat of Eddie's condition, Adam had remained in Virginia City, and despite her worry for her daughter, Lil had followed her son-in-law. Ben was unsure if it was Lil's difficult feelings toward Eddie, or the difficulties facing Adam in town that had kept the woman in the company of his eldest son. Maybe with so many people surrounding Eddie on the Ponderosa, Lil had assumed her daughter would be well-taken care of, and with a shortage of friendly faces surrounding him in town, perhaps she had gleaned that Adam would not be.

Sitting in the small room in the company of the other town council members, Ben could not help noticing that while Roy Coffee had been invited to attend the meeting, Adam had been excluded. Whether this was a purposeful decision, he could not be sure; still, he had his suspicions—and his doubt in the man sitting across from him.

Casting his old friend a mournful look, Roy Coffee did not greet Ben formally. Settling into their seats as quietly as they entered the room, none of the men bothered with niceties.

The mustachioed blond-haired man, sitting forever at Ben's right in meetings such as these, was the first to speak. "I suppose we all know why we are here," he said, looking among the group.

"Yes," Ben affirmed as he appraised Roy Coffee darkly. "We do."

The blond man nodded. "Good. Shall we continue with general discussion, or move forward with the vote?"

"I'd like some discussion," Ben said. "After all, isn't that why Roy Coffee is here? So he can answer our questions and repeat his accusations about my son?"

"I didn't make any accusations," Coffee said.

"Didn't you?" Ben pressed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought it was your claims that facilitated this meeting."

"It's the general tone of the town that facilitated this meeting," Coffee said. "I'm just tossing in my two-cents to the powers that be."

"And what might that be?" Ben asked the question, though he was certain he already knew the answer. Coffee was afraid, both for Adam and the town. Ben could not fault his friend for that; what he would leave the meeting faulting him for remained to be seen.

Coffee was responsible for bringing Adam back to Virginia City to serve as sheriff in his place, and now, if this meeting went the way Ben had been warned it would, Coffee would be instrumental in relieving Adam of the office with which he had been entrusted.

"A concern for the general well-being of the town," Coffee said. "As well as the continued safety of your son. You ain't deaf or blind, Ben. You see the way folks are lookin' at Adam and you hear the things they've been saying about him. This town is sittin' on a powder keg of gossip and the like, and your boy's walking around like a god-damn match, giving light to every little thing they have to say. He's firing them up something fierce with those gallows and the boys he's got building it. Now, that ain't right, you and I both know that, and Adam, I reckon, he knows it, too. But he don't care, because he's past the point of worrying about what folks think or say."

"Fitting characteristics for a lawman," Ben said. "A man in his position must be capable of making decisions that others may not be fond of. He has to stand tall and firm in the face of criticism."

"Under normal circumstances, I'd agree with you."

"These are not normal circumstances," the blond man said. "Sorry, Ben, but that's just the truth. Adam's past has become a distraction, a danger to him and others."

"Adam's past," Ben repeated gruffly. "And just what specifically are you speaking about?"

"You know what I mean. You can't put a man like that in a position of power."

"A man like what?" Ben asked. He would not say it; although, he knew what was being carefully implied. After all, Laura Dayton-Cartwright's diary had resurfaced and made its way around the small town.

The blond man appraised Ben briefly before averting his gaze. "Don't make me say it," he said. "You knew the truth about your son all along. It's bad enough we elected him, going against your better judgment. You voted against him, because you remembered then what the town is recalling about Adam now. After all, a father always knows his son better than anyone else."

"That's right," Ben agreed. "He does. So let me tell you a thing or two about my son. Adam is a good man. He is a father—"

"To a daughter he stole," the blond man interjected. "After engaging in a tryst with her mother, a woman who was married to his cousin."

"Adam did no such thing."

"I don't know why you feel the need to deny it. The whole town knows what happened between them. They've all read the diary. They all know that poor woman was with child when she died."

"Will's child," Ben said. "The only man that woman laid with after her marriage was her husband."

The blond man tilted his head. "Did you read her diary?"

Forehead wrinkling, Ben's brows knitted with anger. "Years ago, yes," he admitted, though he did not want to.

He had not wanted to read the diary any more than he wanted to know the truth about the physical relationship Adam and Laura had once shared. Of course, the diary had not really shared with him anything he had not already assumed. Adam and Laura had been engaged, and Adam had spent a fair amount of time at the Running D during their engagement. There had been evenings when Adam had not returned to the home he shared with his father and brothers until very late, and there had been the very occasional night when he had not returned at all. Though Ben would not have dared ask his son outright, he was not ignorant to the situation. Prior to reading Laura's diary, he knew she and Adam had shared a certain level of intimacy, and after reading it, he was appalled at the level of detail Laura had retained regarding their coupling and the way she had chosen to document it, embedding a shameful truth among a disgusting narrative that was composed of blatant lies. Adam may have been intimate with Laura, but he had not done so when she had belonged to Will. He simply had not been capable of it—physically or otherwise.

"Then how can you be sure?" the blond man pressed.

"Because I am," Ben said firmly. He had always known the story told in the diary was a lie; he only wished that years ago he could have found the words to express his support of his son, rather than just his grievances. Of course, that was then, and this was now. "I know my son. He would not have done—"

"He was the one who discovered her body, wasn't he?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"From what I was told, the man who murdered her was never found."

"How dare you sit beside me, regurgitating old rumors and lies, using a book of fiction to accuse my son of something he did not do," Ben fumed. "Adam did not kill Laura. If you were recalling those events from memory rather than gossip, you would know that. It was decided that she had taken her own life."

The blond man appraised him sadly. "No," he said. "It wasn't."

Ben cast Coffee a questioning look. "It was found that Laura took her own life," he said. "Wasn't it?"

Appearing physically uncomfortable, Coffee cleared his throat. He did not answer the question.

"Roy?"

Ben's stomach turned as his friend refused to speak further. Coffee was so fond of Adam; surely, he had not given credence to the old, heinous rumors, adding it to his list of reasons why Adam should be relieved of his duties. The tide of the town had turned against Adam, surely Roy Coffee had not been caught up and swept away in it, too.

"My son is not a murderer," Ben added, just in case anyone was harboring any lingering doubt. "No matter what people choose to believe, or the accusations they choose to write on the wall of the sheriff's office in his blood. He did not kill Laura. He did not engage in a torrid affair with her when she was alive and married to his cousin."

"How can you be sure?" a council member seated on the far side of the room asked.

"Because he is my son," Ben said. "I raised him. I know what he's capable of and what he is not."

"I've heard stories of a time when you were not so sure," the man said. "Years ago, he left, and you let him. You did not speak of him when he was gone. You were angry when he came back. After all, were you not skeptical of his intentions when he returned? Did you not avoid him as though he had contracted a plague? You were against his appointment from the start, and now you sit among us, defending his past to make sure he maintains it?"

"It doesn't make sense, Ben," the blond man said. "Surely, you can see that."

"Do you want to know what I see?" Ben asked gruffly. "I see a collection of grown men who have been entrusted to make decisions for this town, sitting around trading a bunch of salacious tittle-tattle like a gaggle of gossip mongers in a women's sewing-circle! The past is the past. It is what it is. It can't be changed, or, sometimes even properly explained. If Adam was guilty of something back then, then he would have been charged. He would have come forward and admitted the truth himself, because that's the kind of man he is. He's good-hearted, strong, and his moral compass is truer than any of ours will ever be. Men like you don't deserve a sheriff like him, and I don't deserve to have him as a son. Guarding this town, Adam was shot. He was the victim, and you're all treating him like he's a criminal."

"He ain't a criminal," Coffee said quietly, becoming the focus of everyone in the room. "But the events of the past have become a dangerous distraction. Whether Adam's guilty or not, it doesn't matter anymore. Folks in this town have their opinions and beliefs about what happened years ago. They ain't going to cotton to him remaining sheriff. I'm sorry, Ben. I really am. I wish things could have been different, but they ain't. It's only a matter of time before some idiot kid or pissed off wannabe gunslinger takes issue with him, and they set their mind on taking his badge away in a more permanent manner. Like you said, Adam already took one bullet. What happens when he takes another? You and I both know that being scandalized and relieved of his duties is a lot different than being dead." His eyes gleamed knowingly. "And, given recent developments, we both know that boy needs to stay alive. He has people who need him more than this town ever will."

"This is what is going to happen," the blond man said to Ben. "We are all going to cast our votes. Based on the things you've said, you are going to vote against removing your son from his appointment. The rest of us, however, are going to vote in favor of it. With or without your support, your son will cease to be sheriff of this town today."

"My support," Ben repeated, shaking his head in a cynical manner. "I've supported this town for a long time. My boys grew up in these parts, Adam included. Over the years, a lot of things have happened in this town because of my support. I'm sure I don't need to remind any of you who I am, what I own, or the developments this town has enjoyed because of my prominence and successes. I had a hand in building nearly every secular building; I donated nearly all the money to build the church. My business ventures have bolstered this community, transforming it from a tiny mining camp into what it is today. I'm the largest employer for nearly a hundred miles. I give a lot to this town, and the people in it. Carson City is not that far away. As a matter of fact, from my home on the Ponderosa it's nearly the same distance from here."

The blond man frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that if you're against my son, then you're against me. If you want to fight him, then you fight me."

"Ben—" Coffee tried.

"And if you vote my son out of this town," Ben continued, "then I'm out of this town, too. Think it over, gentleman."

Standing, he placed his hat on his head, and did not wait for an answer or rebuttal. He was confident the impending vote would fail. Exiting the hotel, he paid no mind to the townsfolk ogling the gallows as he walked purposefully to the sheriff's office. Coming upon the small building, he did not hesitate to enter.

Sitting at his desk, Adam leaned back gingerly and cast his father an inquisitive glance. "Well," he said. "Do I still have a job?"

They had not spoken about the council meeting, or the topic at hand. In a town as small as the one surrounding them, Ben did not need to wonder if word of the impending vote had gotten back to his oldest son.

No one was hiding their opinions about Adam. Not anymore. It was hard to be an outcast, standing alone under the most difficult circumstances or in the most vigorous fights; Ben could not imagine how lonely and isolating it was for his son now. In Adam's eyes he saw the glint that had unnerved Joe, a slight flicker advising to give him a wide berth. Adam was formidable and dangerous, but he had always been. Of course, he had always been other things, too: moral, loyal, and steadfast in his beliefs. He was always so strong, so willing to stand up to adversity no matter the cost.

But what was his current grandstanding supposed to accomplish? What would it cost all of them in the end?

If Adam was standing rigid and tall, maintaining his position in Virginia City despite the overwhelming criticism of the people surrounding him, then he had to have a good reason. There had to be purpose in remaining where he was. Ben did not know what this was, but he did not need to in order to know on which side he should stand.

"Yes," Ben affirmed. "You still have a job. Just so you know, you have something else too."

"What's that?"

"A lack of friends in this town. Not a single person wants you to be where you are, son. It doesn't bring me any pleasure to say that aloud, it's just something you should know. I want you to know something else, too. You do have something the people surrounding you do not have. You have me. You won't stand alone in anything from here on out, because I am here. Come hell or high water, I intend to stand beside you no matter what."

It was too little, too late—Ben knew that—but he was still relieved when Adam's expression softened.

Adam nodded. "Okay."

"Okay," Ben repeated.

They stared at one another for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Ben wanted to say more, but he could not think of anything that would not be perceived as judgmental or smothering. He worried about Eddie and the children being away from Adam; he worried about Adam being so far away from the people who loved him. After all, he was still healing. The gunshot wound had left hints of exhaustion etched upon his features that had not yet dissipated. He could not move as quickly as he would need to if someone took serious issue with his authority. He did not move at all as his father stood before him.

Ben did not want to worry, but it was a difficult sentiment to avoid. "You be careful with the folks outside," he said. "You let your brothers and I know if you need any help." He lifted an authoritative index finger. "You remember where your family is. I expect to see you on Sunday for dinner. If I don't see you before."

It was yet another pronouncement Ben did not wait for a rebuttal to. Nodding in farewell, he turned to leave.

"Hey, Pa."

Turning back around, Ben watched Adam's lips curl into a slight smile.

"Considering your stanch intentions, have you thought about a career as a lawman? I need a good deputy, and lord knows you aren't going to take a shot at me, at least not with your gun."

"Don't tempt me, son," Ben said. "You have no idea how hard it is for me to leave you here alone."

Adam stared at his father momentarily. "Then don't," he said simply. "Go to my house, take Lil to the Ponderosa to stay with Eddie and the kids, and then come back and stay with me. You don't have to wear a badge, but I'll swear you in, if you're dying to have one."

Ben did not know how to reply. Was this a cruel joke, a strange test, or was his son serious? "Adam—?"

"You can't do it, can you? You've been against your sons wearing badges and living by guns their entire lives. It wouldn't be seemly for you to pin a star to yourself, no matter the circumstances. How the hell would you explain such a thing to Jamie? How would you prevent him from following in my footsteps when he was old enough, especially if you had walked a mile in my shoes yourself?"

"You can't be serious."

"I am. Are you? You can say you are going to stand by me, but your words are meaningless if when presented with the opportunity you turn around and run from it."

"I'm not going to run."

"Then what are you going to do?"

Ben did not think about his reply. "I'm going to talk to Lil; then I'm going to come back, and I'm going to remain here with you. I'm going to do whatever you instruct me to. After all, you are the law in these parts, and the sheriff of this town."

Even as Ben said the words, he knew something about them was wrong; something about everything was wrong.

Walking to the house on Kay Street, he could not help but wonder if he was making a mistake. If standing with Adam against Roy Coffee—a man who seemed to know so much more about his son then he did—if he had made a mistake. After all, did they both not want the same thing? For Adam to remain safe? Was his son's seemingly gracious offer a consequence or gift? Leveraging his status in town to ensure Adam kept his appointment, was he protecting or enabling him?

Ben was not sure. Still, grimly, during his lonely walk, he realized that if Adam was shot again, if someone took issue with him and his life, then his son's blood would be on his hands. Good or bad, he alone would be responsible for whatever the future was destined to bring.

TBC

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