NINE

oooooooooo

They started in the kitchen. There were several places Ben knew his cook kept personal items. It wasn't that he'd paid much attention, but now and then Hop Sing would open a drawer or cupboard and he couldn't help but notice. He sent Adam to check out the drawers while he headed for the personal shrine Hop Sing kept in the back. Ten years before he had given him a copy of Marie's portrait to keep there. Ben knew Hop Sing prayed every day. His friend's unique mix of Chinese ancestor veneration and Freewill Baptist beliefs made him smile at times. He knew the shrine contained another portrait, as well as momento mori such as a smudge pot, dried flowers, and at least one small box. On a table below it were half a dozen candles of various sizes and a shallow gilt-edged dish for burning incense. The rancher stared at the dish for a moment.

It had been a gift from Marie.

Ben lit one of the candles and raised it so he could see into the shrine. It was made of wood painted red and shaped like a Chinese pagoda . The roof was ebony. There were doors and a bit of ornamental fencing on both sides to hold the precious items in. Within the enclosures were a few sprigs of pine. The rancher drew in a breath as he shifted a branch and came face to face with his late beloved wife. Marie stared at him with disapproval. He couldn't blame her. He felt as if he was violating his friend's trust.

But then, his sons lives were at stake and he had no choice.

When Ben shifted Marie's portrait to one side, his hand encountered another. It was of an older man and his wife. He remembered that Hop Sing had told him the painting was of his grandparents. Behind it was an object that glinted in the light. At first, he wasn't sure what it was, but then the rancher realized it was a chain. Tugging at it, he brought it and the object attached to it forward and into his hand.

"What's that, Pa?" Adam asked.

He looked at him. "Nothing in the drawers?"

His son shrugged. "Bills of sale. Letters from his family. Oh, and one or two from a woman named Clare. Those were post-marked back in the thirties."

Ben gazed at the locket he held. It was obviously a woman's. The piece was roughly rectangular in shape and made of gold. The open-work case was studded with five diamonds – one on each corner and another in the middle. The chain was just as elegant. Alone, the price of it would have purchased a fine thoroughbred.

Adam let out a whistle. "How do you think Hop Sing came by that?"

He had no idea. As he'd said, when he hired Hop Sing the Asian man had been poorer than a church mouse.

"Are you going to open it?"

The rancher went to the kitchen table and sat down. Adam followed and did the same. Once there, the older man puzzled over how to open the locket. It was the type with a hidden clasp.

"Try pressing the stones, Pa. I remember Marie had one like that." At his look his son grinned. "It drove Little Joe nuts."

He remembered that now. Thoughts of his missing boys vied for his attention, but Ben pushed them aside and concentrated on the puzzle at hand. He tried the center stone first as that was the obvious choice. It didn't work, of course. Neither did the other four. Then he noticed a bit of raised work toward the top on the back and pressed that. The locket popped open to reveal the portrait of a beautiful young woman.

A beautiful young white woman.

Adam was twisting his neck to see, so he showed him the image.

He whistled. "She's stunning."

And obviously a child of wealth. Whoever she was, the young lady was attired in an off-the-shoulder dress, but had demurred and added a modesty scarf. She wore a fashionable dimity cap with French lace that barely managed to contain a mass of spiraling golden curls. She was very young, most likely under twenty, and had a beautiful, intelligent and serene face. Ben tried to divine the thoughts in her head. If he had been hard-pressed, he might have said she had the look of a caged lark – content, but longing for freedom.

"Yes," he muttered as he turned the locket over in his hands.

"Who do you think she is?"

Ben was pressing the locket in other places. Marie's had a secret chamber in the back. Finally, his fingers found the spot he was looking for and it popped open.

Inside was a tiny slip of paper.

Ben unrolled it and read the words aloud, 'Tonight at Maiden Lane. I await. My love, Clare.'

He handed the paper and the locket to Adam who stared at them a moment before speaking. "Do you think…?"

No, he didn't think – he knew.

Clare was the woman Hop Sing had loved.

oooooooooo

Night had fallen. Hop Sing watched from his place of concealment as a fine vehicle rolled into Sebastian Stephen's elaborate carriage house. A moment later the man mounted the steps and went inside. Where he came from in China, such a building could have housed his entire family – and many honorable cousins. When young, he and his father had visited the home of a wealthy man. While there, his bàba told him to remember that the downfall of a man began with pride. 'Pride goeth before destruction', the preacher in the Baptist church would say. Sebastian Stephens deserved such a fall.

God had appointed him to make sure it happened.

Deciding it was time, the Asian man spoke softly to his horse. He told him to be patient, that he would not be long, before starting across the street. It was quiet. Most who lived in the settlement had gone inside and, those who worked late, were occupied. His own father was busy in his laundry, washing and ironing the clothes of rich men such as Sebastian Stephens. His path had been different, and yet the same. Upon arriving in America he'd found employment with a friend and worked in Lee Chen's apothecary shop. Their clients were the common people of Yerba Buena. One day a man of wealth came into their establishment. His daughter suffered with headaches. Often, she would lay in the dark for days unable to eat or speak. The white man's doctors could do nothing for her. A friend of this man, who had traveled in the East, suggested he seek a cure in Chinese medicine. Hop Sing was surprised when his friend suggested that he accompany the man to his home. Lee Chen was older – wiser . Chen told the man that he had a special kind of magic in his hands and called him a healer.

This one, deeply humbled, left his post grinding herbs and followed Sebastian Stephens to his home.

The house Stephens had in Yerba Buena was as out of place as the one in Gold Hill. There were few structures there, and most were humble. This house sat on a hill overlooking the bay and was large and impressive. Upon their arrival, the wealthy man puffed his chest out like a Sage Grouse and told him how he had beaten out every other man in the area to become the richest among them. He owned ships and used them to move goods from place to place. Stephens did not tell him how he had ruined these men to get what he wanted, or of the cruel joy it brought him.

This he would learn later.

He was told to wait in the front hall while the wealthy man went up a tall stair to the next floor. While he waited many servants came and went. Most were Mexican women. He was later to find out that the men Stephens employed worked out-of-doors for he did not trust them with his daughter. Sometime later a well-dressed Spanish woman in her fifties appeared. She ordered him to follow her and took him up the stairs. At the top there was a large room with a great window that looked out onto the water. The curtains were pulled back and the dying sun was the only light in the room. To one side was a bed, separated from the rest of the room by a muslin curtain. On the bed lay a young woman whom he assumed to be Mister Stephen's daughter.

His jaw tight; the words forced from between his lips, the wealthy man said, "Help her."

Stephens departed then, leaving him alone in the room with the two women. The Spanish woman, whose name was Maria Theresa, went to sit by the window. He was later to find out that she had been with Stephen's daughter from her birth and served as her mother since her own had died. Maria Theresa would chaperone them while he tended her.

The young woman's name was Clare.

Hop Sing shifted and looked up. A lamp had come to life on the upper floor of the great house in Gold Hill. Sebastian Stephens had retired to his private quarters.

It was time.

The Asian man clung to the shadows as he moved to the yard between the stable and the house. Through the window he could see Lu Lin. She was speaking to her brother. Her face was animated and her hands flew; the gestures she made both challenging and condemning. He would have to wait until they finished to approach her. He did not want to wait. Every minute that passed, each breath taken brought death closer to those he loved. Retreating to the garden, Hop Sing took up a post from which he could watch the side door. Above his head there was an arbor; the worn latticework held together by a network of vines whose blossoms had long since died.

As had Sebastian Stephens daughter.

Clare stirred at his approach. A trembling hand pulled back the muslin curtain, revealing a heart-shaped face fresh as the first morn. Her skin was white as the dove. Her spiraling hair, golden as the beams of light it rode. Her eyes startled him, for the black centers were far too wide within their sea of azure blue.

"I am Hop Sing," he said as he bowed. "Honorable father has asked that I provide relief for your headaches."

"Thank you for speaking softly," Clare said as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the meager light spilling in the window. Her voice was weary as it was lyrical. "Father always shouts."

"Do you desire the curtains to be drawn?" he asked.

Clare turned her face to the side. "Father won't allow it. The doctor said the air was good for me."

"But the light is not.

"No."

"I will close them.

A smile touched her lips as she turned back. "Father will be angry."

"I do not believe so. Your father has given you into my hands."

"A Chinese man?"

Hop Sing bowed again. "Forgive this one for being forward. He did not ask leave to attend you. If you would not have one such as I…"

"No. It's not that," she answered. "Father hates the Chinese. I am just…surprised he brought you here."

"Necessity can change a lion into a fox," he replied.

"And a fox into lion," Clare replied as she turned her head away from the light again.

"I will close the curtains."

Maria Theresa watched him as he went to the window and did just that. The older woman smiled and nodded as if she approved. As she returned to her needlework, he returned to his patient. Sitting in the chair beside her bed he said, "Tell me of these headaches. Have you always had them?"

"Since I was a little girl," she sighed.

"Was there an incident when they began?"

Clare glanced at him. "Like an accident?" When he nodded, she said, "No."

"Can you describe how they feel?"

She thought a moment before replying. "As if I am lost in the fog. I…cannot find my way. I know that if I turn, I will fall and, if I fall, I will never land."

"Do you feel pain?"

Again, she thought about her answer. "Yes…and no."

"Can Missy Clare elaborate?" he asked.

"Missy Clare," she mused. "There is a stabbing pain. It runs from the base of my neck to behind my eyes. It is a pain…with no substance. It does not come and go. It simply is."

"Do you see lights?"

"Oh, yes," she exclaimed. "They are beautiful and deadly. Like fire and ice."

How poetic was her soul.

"Clare?" a young voice called softly from the doorway, interrupting the interview.

Clare lifted her hand. "That's Ethan," she said.

"Father asked me to look in and see how things were going?" The young man walked into the room. In form, he was handsome; slender and willowy as a young pine. His hair was golden as his sister's and his eyes were the same.

Hop Sing realized with a start that they were twins.

"How are you doing, Kitten?" Ethan asked, though his eyes were on him.

"I don't know yet," she replied with a little pout. "Doctor Hop Sing is still working on a diagnosis."

"Permit this one to remind Missy Clare that he is not a physician," Hop Sing said. "This one comes with humble knowledge and skill – "

"Then you are certainly not a doctor. Humility is the last thing in their bag!" Ethan remarked as he sat on the side of the bed and stretched his hand out. As he touched his sister's forehead, he asked, "Does it hurt, Kitten?"

"Mm-hm."

Ethan turned to him. "Can you help her?"

"It is this one's belief that he can."

"Are you going to use Chinese remedies?"

"Yes."

Ethan slapped his knee. "Man's alive! That will wake the snakes with the old man," he declared.

"Etty, please," Clare moaned.

"Sorry, Kitten," he whispered as he kissed her on the cheek. Then Ethan stood and turned toward him. "Clare's been plagued by these headaches since we were children. Usually has them once or twice a year. Recently, they've become more frequent."

"This humble one will do his best to alleviate your sister's suffering."

Ethan placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, old chap. It's hard to see her suffer."

A noise brought Hop Sing's attention back to the present. The side door to the house opened and Lu Yin stepped out. He was wearing a light coat and carrying a hamper. Yin headed for the stable and in a short time, reappeared on horseback. With a last look at the house, the young man disappeared into the night.

It was time.

oooooooooo

Ben Cartwright returned to the great room to await his son's return. They'd risen with the sun and, as soon as they'd finished breakfast, he'd sent Adam out to round up as many of their men as he could to join in the new day's search for Hoss and Little Joe. It was midday now and he expected Roy Coffee to appear any minute with even more from the settlement. The Ponderosa was vast and, as they had no idea which direction to head, they would have to head in all directions. He'd put his best tracker on the hunt for signs, instructing him to begin at Joseph's window. The man had returned a short time ago to inform him that there was nothing to find. No boot or hoof prints. No wagon wheels.

Nothing.

It was as if his baby boy had been secreted out of his bed by faeries and disappeared into thin air.

The rancher glanced at the box he held in his hand. His search had taken him into Hop Sing's room and he'd found it under the bed. He had yet to open it. It seemed so great a violation of his friend's trust that he hesitated. The Asian man was intensely private about his personal affairs. He'd met Hop Sing's father, brothers, and countless dozens of cousins. He'd worked side by side with him for nearly a dozen years, and yet of the man himself, he knew very little. Whenever curiosity reared its ugly head he would beat it down with sensible words, telling himself a man had a right to his privacy and what was in the past should remain in the past. He wouldn't want his sons to know everything he had done in his wild and misspent youth, and he certainly wouldn't want to be held accountable now for the man he had been then.

But this was his sons.

Ben took a pen knife, inserted it in the handle of the lock that dangled off of the box's catch, and pried it open.

Propriety be damned!

The wooden box fit roughly on his lap. It was a thing of beauty, made of cherry with mahogany and ivory inlays. It put him in mind of the chest Marie used to keep her jewels in and he wondered briefly if it had belonged to a woman. It was filled almost entirely with letters and papers. A quick glance told him that most of the papers were of a business nature and dated from the eighteen-thirties; from the time before Hop Sing had come to work for him. As he rifled through them, one in particular caught his eye.

It was a warrant for Hop Sing's arrest.

"Pa," Adam said as he opened the door and poked his head in. "Deputy Roy's here with the men from the settlement."

Ben raised a hand in acknowledgment.

"What's that?" his son asked as he entered and crossed the room to his side.

Without a word, he handed the warrant to him.

Adam perused its contents quickly, and then went back and read it again more slowly. "Do you think the woman it mentions is the one in the locket?" he asked as he handed it back.

A woman was dead. Hop Sing had been sought in connection with the crime. "I don't know," he said as he began to rifle through the rest of the papers. There were a good many letters at the bottom. Most seemed to be from the same period of time.

"You fellers ready?" Roy Coffee asked as he stepped into the house. "We got us a plan for coverin' all the Ponderosa, but it will take every man we got."

Ben stopped what he was doing and looked up. While the papers and letters in the box were interesting, they had little to do with their present dilemma. Or at least, he didn't think they did. Later. Later, after his sons were found, he would return to them and explore this facet of the man he called 'friend'.

A man he was beginning to believe he had never known.

"On our way, Roy," the rancher responded as Adam headed for the kitchen and the saddlebags they had filled with supplies in preparation for several days in the saddle.

He had his coat on by the time his son reappeared,

"I got me a feelin' in my bones, Ben," Roy said as they headed out the door. "We're gonna find those boys of yours today. I just know it!"

Ben nodded as he reached for his hat. "God willing, Roy. God willing."

Once outside he spoke to his men. Most of them were old hands who had watched Hoss grow from a boy to a budding man and they were keen to find whoever had taken him and make them pay. There was a deep burning ember of hatred within them for the boys' kidnappers and for what they had done to Jeb Wilson. Thanks to Paul Martin, Jeb was going to pull through, but the man's recovery would be lengthy due to the nature of the injury and his advanced age. Ben took time to look each one in the eye, letting them know he meant it when he said he appreciated their willingness to volunteer and that he wanted them to abide by the law. He reminded them that there were two boys whose lives depended on them not losing their heads or doing anything rash. Roy stepped up then and spoke. He'd deputized a dozen men. He stressed that the volunteers in each party needed to let the lawmen with them take the lead if they came across anything, and that they were to send word back to him or Ben before taking any action.

The rancher closed his eyes as his friend spoke. He was only half-listening. A fear had taken root in his heart as his gaze moved from one anxious face to the next, including Old Henry and Phillip Chase. For all he knew, the men who took Hoss and Little Joe could be in the crowd surrounding him. If they felt threatened – if they feared exposure and possible capture – they might just cut their losses and run. Little Joe and Hoss could be lost; abandoned and left behind.

Or, their abductors might simply kill them.

"Pa?"

He looked at his son. "Yes, Adam?"

"We're ready to ride out."

Where, Ben wondered? Where would they go? Just how did you begin to search an area when the area you were searching was literally the size of a small state?

"Robert Olin's back," his eldest said. "He's taking a party of men and heading into the desert. Roy thought we should start here since we know the land best, and work our way toward the settlement. Maybe head for some of the old abandoned mining towns." When he said nothing, his son asked, "Pa? Are you all right?"

The rancher shook his head. "No, son, I'm not all right, and I won't be all right until both your brothers are safely home. I'm worried for them both, but my chief concern is for Little Joe. I think it's safe to say that his kidnappers will give little thought for the boy's welfare."

"Joe's tough, Pa. Tougher than you know."

"He's such a sensitive boy…."

"If I know Little Joe, his last thought will be for his own welfare. He'll be worried about Hoss." Adam's lips curled with an affectionate smile. "I imagine Joe's hard at work figuring out a way to escape right now."

"Your brother can't walk."

"That won't stop Joe trying." Adam placed a hand on his shoulder. "Trust him. Trust both of them. They'll fight as hard as they can to come home safe to you."

Ben nodded as he briefly covered his son's hand with his own.

"You ready, Ben?" Roy Coffee asked.

The rancher looked toward the Heavens.

Let He who hath the steerage of my course, direct my sail.

oooooooooo

Hop Sing watched as Lu Lin closed the door behind her and walked down the short flight of steps leading from Sebastian Stephen's house. She lived with her brother in a small house in the area of Gold Hill known as Chinatown. He had watched her grow from a child to a beautiful young woman in the time he had lived with the Cartwrights. It saddened him to find her working for such a bitter man as Sebastian Stephens. He was sure the wealthy man paid her well and this, most likely, was why Lu Lin remained with him in spite of his harsh treatment of her.

Leaving the shadows, the Asian man blocked her path.

"Honorable Lu Lin," he said. "This one must speak with you."

Her eyes darted back to the house. "Most honorable Hop Sing, it is not wise."

"Wise or not, this one must." He indicated the arbor behind him. "I would ask you to join me."

Lu Lin looked extremely nervous. He knew she feared her employer, but sensed there was more to her agitated state than simple fear. Her beautiful face was pale; her cheeks sunken and her eyes rimmed with red. She hesitated and then nodded and preceded him into the shadows.

Before he could speak, she said, "I know why you are here."

"Then perhaps, you will tell me."

Her lips parted, but she shook her head. "I cannot."

"Cannot, or will not?" he asked.

Lu Lin winced. Tears glistened in her dark eyes. "I do not fear for my own life, honorable Hop Sing, but for the life of one I love."

"It is for the life of those I love that I have come to you," he countered. "Perhaps you can explain to this one how one life can be worth more than another?"

The young woman closed her eyes and dropped her head. "This one is ashamed."

Hop Sing reached out. He took her chin in his fingers and lifted her head. "What has Sebastian Stephens threatened?"

"My brother," she began, "he has brought dishonor on our house. He has…stolen from the man who owns him. If I…speak, Mister Stephens will turn Lu Yin into the law and they will hang him."

"How will he know?"

Her eyes grew wide. "He is a devil."

The Asian man nodded.

So he had learned long ago.

"What is that you are doing?" Clare's light voice asked.

Hop Sing turned toward her. Sebastian Stephen's beautiful daughter was in her bed; her back propped by many pillows. He was sitting at a table by the window, its surface illuminated by a single shaft of light.

"I am preparing willow bark," he replied. "Since before the Christ was born, it has been used to treat headaches. The bark crushed is good for pain and inflammation. I am making a tea for you to drink."

Clare was silent a moment. "Are you a Christian?"

He rose and headed toward her, carrying a pot of steaming water and a cup filled with the preparation he had made.

"The man whose home I live in is a Baptist." He smiled shyly. "This one listens when he talks."

She smiled as well. "Not preaches?"

He shook his head as he placed the cup on a bedside table and slowly poured boiling water over the leaves. "Lee Chen does not preach. He speaks and answers when I question."

Clare leaned back against the pillows, her arm languidly thrown across her forehead. "There are a few churches in Yerba Buena. They're all Catholic, so Papa says we cannot go. He has a man who comes here to conduct services." The beautiful young woman pursed her lips as if she had tasted something sour. "All he does is preach."

"True faith is confirmed by the heart, confessed by the tongue, and acted upon by the body," he said as he picked the cup up and handed it to her.

"What does it taste like?" she asked, looking at it from under her arm.

"A life without pain," he replied.

Her lips curled. "In other words, awful." She made a face as she sipped the liquid it contained.

"Bitter herb often brings sweet fruit," he replied with a hint of a smile.

The young woman took another sip, this time making less of a face. A moment later she handed it back empty.

"Thank you," she said.

"Thanks are not necessary. It is my duty to heal."

"So, caring for me, it's just a matter of duty? You find no pleasure in it?" Clare looked directly at him. "I think I've been insulted."

He did not know how to reply. His experience of women – other than family – was limited, and of white women was practically non-existent. He knew some were what men called 'teases', while others were vain and found it necessary to have men approve of them. Meeting Clare's gaze, he did not think she was either of these things.

"It is my pleasure, Missy Clare," he said. "This one is honored to be allowed to care for you."

Her face broke into a smile, brighter than the beam spilling into the room. Clare reached out, offering him her hand. He took it, because he felt he must, though he knew he should not.

"Dear Hop Sing, you have it wrong," she said. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Xué hǎo sān nián, xué huài sān tiān," he said softly. "It takes three years to learn well, but only three days to forget."

In other words, you must choose to do good or evil will have its way.

Lu Lin hung her head again.

"Where is your brother?"

It snapped back up. She looked startled.

"I watched him ride away half of an hour ago. Where does he go?"

Her voice was small as a mouse. "I do not know."

He didn't believe her, but he let it pass. "But you know what he went for."

She shook her head. "I do not know…for certain. When Lu Yin comes in the house, he and Mister Stephens go into the study and lock the door. It is there they speak."

"And you have listened?"

"Only once."

"Did he catch you?"

She nodded.

Hence the bruise on her cheek.

Hop Sing thought a moment. "Do not speak. Simply nod. Did this conversation have to do with Mister Cartwright's sons?"

A hesitation, and then another nod.

"Does Mister Stephens know where they are?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"And does your brother tend to them where they are?"

Tears flooded her eyes. Again, there was silence and then a soft, painful sigh. "As do I."

He reached out to catch her wrist. "Lu Lin. Are they well?"

Her dark lashes fluttered, sending tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Honorable Hop Sing must hurry."

oooooooooo