Author's Notes

Hello everybody! I hope you've all had a great start to 2019. Thank you very much for the reviews on the last two chapters, they were like wonderful little Christmas gifts to me :)

I thought it was interesting to explore the tension between Adam and Paul, and more of this will be coming.

I'm a bit nervous but also excited to be back with another chapter. I realize it's been a while, and I apologize if it makes it difficult for you to stick with the story although I do understand. The events in each chapter are so closely connected. I can only hope you haven't lost interest...

Well, this chapter takes place a few days after chapter 37. We're still at the Cartwright house, Adam is still dealing (quite unsuccessfully) with his inner struggles, tensions have been running high between him and the good doctor and he and Madeline are, of course, still very much in love. I really hope you like this. The next chapter will be up in a couple of days. (If you do enjoy this, I suspect you'll want to know what happens next) :)

I hope you are all well.

Chapter 38

Madeline sat on the upholstered stool at the vanity table, wearing only her white linen chemise, a pair of silk stockings and drawstring drawers that ended just below her knees. In slow, rhythmic strokes, she drew the bristle brush through her hair, easing out the tangled knots that hid in the mass of her deep brown locks. She tipped her head to the side, considering herself in the mirror. Without makeup on her face, there was no rosy blush on her cheeks to break over the natural paleness she'd inherited from her fair-skinned mother. Her eyes were brightly green, almost shimmering in the first few rays of light trickling in through the window to her left. Her lips seemed fuller the way they fell in a thoughtful droop, but she didn't feel sad today. Just reflective.

It was Friday. She'd spent a week at the Ponderosa, and for the last four days, this had been her morning routine.

She smoothed out the last mussed curls before laying the hairbrush down on the dressing table. Her hair hung like a veil over her bare shoulders as she ran her fingers over the polished marble top.

It had been Ben's idea, bringing the vanity table up from the cellar for her. He'd seemed apologetic about not thinking of it sooner and excused his forgetfulness by joking that he'd gotten too used to living with a bunch of roughneck sons who required only a splash of water, a cursory shave and a fresh shirt in the mornings. A five-minute trip to the washroom might be enough to ready them for the day, but he'd insisted that a lady should certainly have a proper dressing table available to her. Madeline had naturally asked him not to go to such trouble and assured him that the dresser and long mirror in her room were perfectly suitable for her needs. But to no avail. Disregarding all her objections, Hoss and Joe had headed to the cellar while Ben reassured her it was really no trouble at all.

If she hadn't guessed it already, she would have known the minute she laid eyes on the vanity that it had belonged to Marie, Joe's mother. The only Mrs. Cartwright to have lived in this house. Back when she'd first met Adam, she had already learned enough of the Cartwright family's history to understand his reluctance to talk about his childhood, particularly about his mothers. She'd never pressed him on the matter, but in the rare instances he had decided to open up to her about that part of his life, it was Marie he'd spoken most about. Perhaps that was because he had more memories of his third mother or perhaps, speaking of Elizabeth and Inger was just too difficult for him. In any case, Marie Cartwright was a woman whom Madeline had heard a great deal of and not just from Adam but more so, from her uncle and Ben. And as Hoss and Joe had carried the vanity table into her room, she found that the furniture fitted exactly with the image she had in her head of this well-bred lady of French Creole descent from New Orleans.

With utmost care, they had placed it against the wall opposite her bed and she noticed Ben's sudden silence because she had already been looking his way, worried for him. She had laid a careful hand on his arm then, fearing that his kind gesture to her would stir up painful memories for himself. But he'd quickly donned a smile and patted her hand. As he'd begun to wipe the white marble top free of dust, he humbly said that it probably wasn't as fashionable as the dressing tables she'd been used to having at her disposal. Her response to that was to give him a long, knowing look. Because she had known after one short glimpse of the vanity, that this was something extraordinary. In fact, it was the type of dressing table that one would only find in the homes of the privileged.

Hand carved from mahogany and finished in ivory paint, the vanity displayed smooth curves and quite a brilliant combination of floral and regal design. It had S-curved legs and four drawers adorned with intricate carvings and rose-shaped brass knobs. In addition to the central oblong mirror, there were two smaller mirrors on either side, angled slightly inward so as to give a lady a convenient view of her priming efforts. Finally, the ornate French style was completed with gold gilding details along the mirror frames and drawer fronts. Yes, one would have had to be very well-off indeed to own such a beautiful piece . . .

Madeline slid her fingers over to the top drawer on her right and pulled on the brass knob. Deep in thought still, she picked up her tortoiseshell comb and set about parting her hair down the center. She had a vague idea of the up-swept hairdo she wanted to wear today but couldn't quite focus enough to envision it as she usually did. There was something about this vanity table. It was almost as if she had started to feel a profound connection to its owner—the woman with whom she shared her Southern roots. Not only that, she had also found herself reminiscing over times now long gone.

Having been raised in a wealthy, upper-class family in Augusta, Madeline was no stranger to extravagance. She had grown up with a mother who had a taste for luxury—a true lady of society—and a father who was highly successful in the then growing textile industry—a businessman of great distinction. With such parents, she had enjoyed all the benefits of a privileged upbringing. Good food, elegant clothes, extravagant jewelry—she had wanted for nothing. Lavish gifts were given frequently in her family, always adding to the splendor of their household and her parents entertained often, thus having plenty of opportunities to show off their fineries. It was what all their acquaintances did as well at the time and Madeline had been very content with playing the part of the dutiful daughter who mingled and smiled. Just as she had tried so very hard later to be a dutiful wife.

When her thoughts took that turn, she lowered her eyes from her reflection. Absentmindedly, she continued working the comb through her hair, thinking how much her life had changed since then.

Here she was now, staying at a ranch in Nevada with no servants or maids—hundreds of miles from the nearest big city—the only lady in a household full of men. She was a working woman, and she had fallen in love with a cowboy who had served as a soldier of the Union. Had her mother lived to know that this would be her future, she surely would have fainted.

Despite the wistfulness stirring in her, Madeline smiled a little at that thought. She remembered her delicate mother with much fondness, even her tendency towards drama. Her smile faded just as quickly as it had appeared though. In her heart, she hoped that both her parents would have been happy for her. But if she were completely honest with herself, she knew they wouldn't have understood her decisions. Rather than happy, she expected they would have been disappointed. Perhaps even ashamed. Because she had done something that went against all they believed in, all she had been brought up to be. She had deserted her husband. A bad husband, but her husband, nevertheless. And now he was gone. As were her parents. The fact was that she had no more ties to her old life; she was no one's daughter, no one's wife, but a woman raised in one world and now living in another. It was at times like these when pensive thoughts overcame her that she worried how someone like her could even fit into this rough lifestyle of the frontier. She was still adapting to this new way of living. While she no longer had any desires for luxury or stately possessions, she was still a lady in every sense. She did carry herself in a certain way, she couldn't help it. And she appreciated fine things. Fine things, such as this ivory vanity table.

Her expression turned thoughtful as she looked down and once again admired the fine craftsmanship before her. The vanity was like a link to her past; a piece of extravagance and a reminder of the life she'd once had. Good and bad. It was as just as splendid as the dressing table she'd been given by her grandmother as a girl. Although, not quite as grand as the one she had owned as a wife.

That one had been a wedding gift to her from Ray. On their wedding night, it had stood ready for her as a surprise in the bedroom she was to share with her new husband. At first, she had thought it to be a very thoughtful gift, and she'd thanked him. She had then expressed her concern for the cost of it as he'd stood behind her, smiling at her in the mirror. He had explained that the dressing table was sort of an investment. He expected her to keep up her appearance so he would have the most beautiful wife in all of Augusta. It's a matter of self-interest my dear, Ray had said. And without further ado, he had started to undress her.

The next morning—the first time she had sat at her new vanity table—the mirrors had shown her his violence upon her for the first time.

During their marriage, she'd spent hours on end at that dressing table and she had come to hate it, bitterly. After the first few months, she had even convinced herself that this must have been planned by him—that his gift to her would be a constant reminder of her agony, of his dominance. Even when he wasn't physically there. Then, one evening, on the night of their second anniversary, he had thrown a brandy bottle at her and missed. It had struck the dressing table instead and smashed the great mirror into tiny shards . . .

The images from the memory gradually blurred and dissolved. When her mind came back to the present, Madeline saw her reflection staring back at her. Lowering her hands from her hair, she let the curls fall free and brought her fingers to the blemishes around her neck. The last visible traces of him to mark her. They were fading now and no longer painful to her, not in a physical sense anyway. Every morning she was seeing less of him and more of herself. Soon, the bruises would be gone completely and there would be nothing of him left, nothing to see. But she would never forget. Deep down, she wondered if she would ever really be free of him. She could only hope for such freedom. And she prayed that whatever was there to greet her in the mirror every morning would be enough. Enough for herself and for the man she loved. For Adam.

Madeline closed her eyes, letting her thoughts go to him. Once she'd conjured a clear picture of him in her mind, she opened them again.

"Adam . . ."

She said his name aloud, watching her lips move around it. She saw twinkles begin to appear in her eyes with the thought of him. That was the power he had over her—just thinking of him could allay her worries and bring out a smile. Just saying his name could give her that fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. A feeling of sweet anticipation rose in her heart with the knowledge that he was so close by—that all she needed to do was to get dressed and then she could go and be with him. Although it was still early, she was sure he would be up. She hoped he'd had a decent night. If he had, he would probably be downstairs with his brothers, having his first cup of coffee of the day. If not, he might be on his own either in his room or out in the barn. It was typically in the mornings and the evenings that solemn moods overtook him . . .

Her thoughts now solely focused on him, Madeline decided she'd done quite enough pondering for today. She needed to get ready so she could go and see him.

With sudden enthusiasm, she picked up where she'd left off with her primping. She styled her hair into a partially up-swept hairdo, letting a few loops hang free to frame her face and then using two hair-clips lined with emerald green rhinestones to keep the coiffure in place. Next, her attire. She rose from the stool and stepped over to the closet where her clothes were neatly stored. There really wasn't much for her to choose from. She'd been rushing and panicking when she'd packed her valise and she had never expected to be away from her uncle's house for this long. But she was tired of wearing the same white blouses and plain skirts. Today she would wear a dress. One garment in particular seemed to call out to her, so she pulled it from the closet and held it up. A plaid day dress in green and red with ribbon-trimmed sleeves and a high, white lace collar. It was elegant in an understated sort of way, and perfect for what she wanted today. She draped it over the foot of the bed and went to put on her petticoats and corset already laying ready for her. Managing a corset without the help of a maid was still a challenge for her occasionally, but she eventually got it tied to her liking. Once she'd slipped into her dress and had it all buttoned up, she felt quite pleased about her choice of attire. Hopefully, Adam would too.

She did a last check of her appearance in the mirror and gave her final approval. About to head for the door, she suddenly remembered opening the window earlier and walked over to close it. The sheer curtains waved lightly as she pulled them aside and looked out. The sun hung just over the horizon, like the fiery-red center of an explosion of color. She lingered there for a moment, enjoying the cool air and the sight of the early morning sky painted in pale yellow, red and blue—the shades constantly changing, gaining brightness. On the roof edge above her, the same little mountain blue bird bounced around as if impatiently waiting for the sun to climb the sky—singing to her the same playful melody it had awoken her with half an hour earlier. It was truly a wonderful morning. Suddenly, heavy footfalls somewhere beneath her diverted her attention. She glanced down to see Hoss stepping from the porch down to the yard, carrying a bundled blanket under his arm. Bracing her hands on the window frame, she leaned outside.

"Good morning Hoss . . ."

The big man startled and jerked his head from side to side. Madeline covered her mouth with a hand to stifle a laugh, then called again.

"I'm up here!"

He spun around, looked up and grinned broadly when he spotted her.

"Hey there, Miss Madeline!" He took his hat off. "Good morning to you too, Ma'am."

She smiled down at him. "I do wish you would just call me Madeline."

"Uh, yea, I . . ." He ducked his head and she thought she detected a little extra color in his cheeks. "I guess I just keep on forgettin' Ma'am. Ah, Madeline."

"It's all right," she said easily, knowing they would probably have this conversation many more times before he got used to calling her by her first name. "Are you already at work? You haven't had breakfast yet, have you?"

"No, not yet and this ain't work exactly, I just uh . . ." He awkwardly held the bundle up in the air. "I just had to put some things here in the barn."

"Oh, I see." Her mouth quirked again. "I'll see you at breakfast then."

"Yea, alrighty, Miss—" He grimaced. "Madeline."

He turned and headed across the yard and Madeline's smile remained as she drew back into her room, closing the window. She really was fond of Hoss. Since coming to stay at the ranch, she'd had the great pleasure of getting to know him better. He was obviously still very shy around her and she wasn't blind to the little smirks Adam and Joe sometimes exchanged when he got flustered, so she had aimed admonishing looks at the pair of them more than once. She would have to try and think of a way to help make him more comfortable around her.

After throwing a sweeping look about the room to check that everything was tidy, she walked to the door. Complete quiet met her as she stepped out into the empty hall, closing the door behind her. The silence surprised her because her room was at the corner, near the staircase, and she had expected to hear a rumble of deep voices in conversation downstairs. But there were no sounds save for the soft drag of her skirts as she moved to the top of the stairs.

At her first glance of the room below, she didn't think anyone was around, but then she noticed Ben working at his desk in the alcove. With one hand hoisting her skirt up and the other resting on the banister, she descended.

"Good morning Ben," she called, her voice bright.

He looked up from his paperwork. "Well, good morning!" A grin stretched his lips wide as he rose from his chair. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I was well rested when a delightful little bird came to my window and announced it was time to rise." She took the last step down and walked towards the alcove, smiling cheerfully. "I can't think of a better way to wake up in the morning than to the sound of birdsong."

"Mmh, I'm so used to it, I hardly ever notice it anymore."

As she stopped in front of his desk, Ben crossed his arms, studying her with an appreciative eye. "My dear, has anyone ever told you that you bring sunshine into the room when you enter?"

"Oh Ben, please," she said, dipping her head. There was certainly no doubt where Adam had gotten it from.

Chuckling, Ben gestured to the high window behind him. "See for yourself."

She turned her face up and gazed at the morning sunbeams pouring in, casting streaks of light onto the dark mahogany of the big desk.

With some amusement, she quirked a brow. "As flattered as I am by your words, I'm quite sure the sun would have reached you regardless of my presence."

"Okay, perhaps." He lifted his hands in acquiescence and nodded at the chair opposite him for her to sit. "But you do look very wonderful this morning."

"Thank you, Ben." She smiled and seated herself. "I also wanted to thank you again for letting me use that beautiful vanity table while I'm here," she said, watching him as he sat back down behind his desk. "It really is magnificent."

"You're very welcome, Madeline. It's nice to see some of Marie's things be put to use again."

She held his gaze for a few seconds to emphasize her sincerity. "It has . . . meant a great deal to me. More than you know."

He set his paperwork aside and a warm glow crept into his eyes, matching his lowered tone of voice. "I'm very glad to hear that."

They shared a long, silent smile. Madeline felt a pleasant warmth spread through her chest. There was no mistaking his fondness for her, it showed so openly on his face and she knew her own expression must look much the same. It made her intensely happy that they got on so well with each other. Not only because he was one of her uncle's dearest friends, but more because he was Adam's father.

And that reminded her . . .

"Where is everyone this morning?" she asked, looking around the room. "I thought you all would be up at this time?"

"On a normal working day, we usually are," Ben said as he leaned back in his chair. "Hoss went out to the barn a few minutes ago. I've got no idea what on earth he's up to. Yesterday he spent all morning out there too and the barn chores still needed doing when he came back into the house."

At his puzzled look, Madeline hummed quietly but didn't comment. This wasn't exactly news to her, she'd seen Hoss sneaking out there from her window a few times now.

"Joe must still be asleep," Ben went on. "He's unlikely to leave the comfort of his bed before the smell of breakfast starts wafting through the house. Hop Sing is just beginning in the kitchen now." He paused and steepled his fingers near his chin. "As for your uncle . . . I wouldn't be surprised if he's still sleeping too. I think your little chess tournament tired him out last night."

Her lips lifted as she remembered the previous evening."Yes, it did get rather late, didn't it . . ."

It had been such a long time since she'd seen her uncle so happy. He'd had the most delighted look on his face for hours and there had been much teasing and joking around—in between all the appropriate threats of retribution for the games he lost, of course. She'd loved every minute of their time together.

"Playing chess late into the night has become a little tradition of ours," she said, eyeing Ben. "I think Uncle Paul was very pleased to revisit it."

His brows raised just a fraction, Ben smiled in a knowing way. "Oh, I think you're quite right about that."

She wasn't surprised by his perceptiveness. Nothing went by Ben Cartwright.

"So . . ." She began, running a fingertip along the edge of the desk. "My uncle is asleep . . . as is Joe and you say that Hoss is in the barn. That leaves . . ."

Glancing up, she saw Ben observing her expectantly, sparkles dancing in his coffee eyes.

"Mmh, that leaves . . .?"

Smiling, she shook her head at him, too impatient to play games.

"I believe you have another son?"

He snapped his fingers. "Oh, him!"

She gave a little laugh, then asked softly, "Where is he?"

"Well, my firstborn showed himself briefly earlier. We talked a bit, but he retreated back upstairs," Ben said, glancing towards the staircase. "He must be in his room . . ."

Madeline absorbed the words as well as the subtle change in his tone. A sense of misgiving rippled through her and her cheerfulness shriveled to a knot of worry.

"Oh, all right," she said carefully.

Suddenly, Ben faced her head-on. The mirth had left his eyes completely and instead, a glint of something else flickered in his dark pools. For a moment the two of them just looked at each other and although they were quite silent, much was said through their locked gazes as some unspoken understanding flowed between them. Ben broke the connection first.

"Well, at least things between him and Paul seem to be getting better," he said, talking around the mutual concern they didn't need to voice. He folded his hands over his chest. "It's about time they cooled off. I don't know how you've been putting up with them, the way they've been behaving."

She nodded delicately, studying her hands. "I suppose they have been a little . . ." Pausing, she searched for the appropriate words. "Caught up in themselves. But I'm sure they mean no harm really," she finished, well-mannered as always.

"There's no excuse for how they've been going at each other and with you caught in the middle. You've been more than gracious in your handling of it all." Ben shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Hmff, the pair of them, constantly ruffling each other's feathers . . . like two roosters caught in the same barn, they are."

A very apt description. Madeline bit back a smile. "Yes, well, it definitely wouldn't harm them to show one another a bit more patience and understanding."

"That's putting it mildly." With a snort, Ben threw up a hand. "They've shown about as much sense as twelve-year-old school boys, Madeline. I almost want to put the both of them over my knee despite their size and age."

She stared at him in surprise, startled by his bluntness, but then as the inevitable images of such a scene took form in her mind, a soft peal of laughter escaped her.

After a second Ben joined in, his booming voice coming alive with laughter. "It would be a first with Paul, of course," he said as his hilarity died down. "But Adam would object. I'm sure he remembers how unpleasant it was for him even though it's quite a few years ago I've disciplined him for misbehaving."

"Oh?" In a move that defied her ladylike manner, Madeline planted one elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her palm. "Was he very mischievous when he was younger? He doesn't strike me as the type of man who would have gotten into much trouble as a child . . ."

The amusement faded from Ben's countenance as a new expression, mild and wistful took over. "No . . . no he wasn't really. He was so rarely carefree enough to be mischievous." She heard the regret behind his words, and it tugged at her heart. "No, Adam was a quiet boy," he said. "Quiet and smart . . . a thinker."

An absent smile crossed his face and she guessed Ben must be visualizing a little boy with dark curls and dimples. Then his eyes cleared and settled on her.

"He never got into much trouble when he was a child, but there did come a . . . let's say an interesting time of transition when he grew from boyhood to manhood. What I refer to as his rebellious years."

"Really?" Another word she wouldn't usually associate with Adam. Intrigued, she prodded, "In what way was he rebellious?"

"Oh, in the ways young men who start to discover themselves typically are. This was just before he went to West Point. Now, during the day, he never shirked his responsibilities," Ben said, holding up a finger to stress that point. "He worked hard along-side me and took care of his brothers. But at night, he used to sneak out and ride to town to visit the saloons with his friends—rough friends whom I didn't particularly approve of."

"Oh my . . ." Madeline touched her fingers to her lips. "Did you catch him doing that?"

"No, but I figured it out and I told him what I thought about it. But I didn't outright forbid him from going. I wanted to let him assert a little independence and put my trust in him. I didn't think he'd be able to keep it up anyway—staying out so late and then working through the day with little to no sleep." Ben halted, stroking his chin as three thoughtful wrinkles lined his forehead. "But then there was this one incident . . . a big brawl broke out at the Silver Dollar. All his friends ended up in Roy's jail and Adam went right along with them."

She gasped. "Sheriff Coffee put Adam in jail?"

Slowly, Ben's mouth tugged into a smile. "No, Roy was out of town at the time. Thank God. And Adam was only behind bars for a short while. Actually, it was your uncle who went over there in the middle of the night and talked Deputy Miller into letting him out. The old deputy was fuming, naturally . . . but you know how persuasive Paul can be. He took Adam home with him and got a message sent to me. Needless to say, I was pretty much fuming myself when I arrived at your uncle's house."

"Goodness," Madeline murmured, sitting back in her chair. She would never have pictured Adam in such a situation. She also wondered why her uncle hadn't ever mentioned this. "Did he get into serious trouble for what happened?"

"No no," Ben quickly said, waving a hand. "Some witnesses came forward and it turned out Adam hadn't done anything wrong. He'd only stepped in to defend someone and got caught in the middle of the fighting." Ben threw a glance heavenward in excellent exasperated-parent fashion. "Of course, the foolish boy didn't say that because his sense of honor, loyalty—call it what you will—told him he should go down with that wild bunch of friends of his."

At that, Madeline had to smile. This was something she could imagine Adam doing.

She tipped her head to the side. "So, did he stop sneaking out after that then?"

Thinking on it, Ben leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. "He stopped sneaking. But he still went out, though at more sensible hours. And I had to accept, or try to accept that he wasn't a kid anymore . . ." His voice trailed off and she saw again an almost regretful look chase across his features. "He did find new friends—better ones—which was a relief," Ben picked up again. "And then, with the way the girls took to him, there was really nothing I could do to—"

He stopped talking and shot Madeline a sidelong look as if unsure whether he should be sharing this information with her. She feigned a shocked expression.

"Mr. Cartwright, are you implying that your quiet little boy grew into a lady's man?"

Her following teasing smile made Ben chuckle and relax. There was no doubt in her mind that Adam had been popular with the ladies when he was younger, just as he was at present. She knew how the single women of Virginia City felt about him—and some of the married ones, for that matter. It didn't bother her much. Not when she knew how he felt about her.

"Anyway, a lot has happened since all that," Ben said in quiet conclusion. "He's different now to how he was. A lot different . . ."

"Yes, I imagine so."

She looked down at her lap and they both fell silent for a few beats. Until Ben spoke again.

"I hope you know that you make him very happy, Madeline."

A strange tone had come into his voice, one she'd never heard from him before and it made her look back up. He was watching her with an expression she couldn't place—soft yet penetrating.

"What you bring out in Adam . . . it's remarkable," he mumbled. "We all see it—how different he is when he's around you. You're very important to him. He needs you. Especially now." Dropping his head, Ben suddenly expelled and audible sigh as he lifted a hand to rub his brow. "I realize he can be difficult. And at the moment, he certainly is. But he doesn't mean to be . . ."

As the soft-spoken words crawled over her, Madeline felt her throat grow thick and tight. Gently, she reached out and touched Ben's arm. "I know he doesn't . . ."

The dark eyes lifted to meet hers. A few seconds passed, then Ben gave a faint nod. "Good."

His mouth turned up slightly and the ache in her chest eased. She smiled back, withdrawing her hand.

"Well." Ben cleared his throat as he shifted his attention to his desk. "I suppose I should get back to all this paperwork. I'd like to get through these figures before breakfast if I can."

"Yes, of course." She rose from the chair and smoothed down her skirt. "Perhaps I should assist Hop Sing in the kitchen then . . ."

In spite of her words, her gaze drifted to the staircase.

"You could do that . . . or go up and see Adam," Ben said behind her. "I think he could use your company."

Her heart turned over. She flicked him a tentative glance. "You do?"

"Yes." Ben picked up his pen and peered first at the stairs, then at her. "In fact . . . I think he needs it."

xXXx