They headed north. Adam knew that where he and Clara had washed up on the river bank was the first place Cordell and his men would start looking. It was where the river had slowed and grown shallow; it was where two exhausted fugitives would have crawled out of the water. But perhaps—and Adam threw a glance upwards in supplication—perhaps the men would continue to follow the river south as it diverted course into the centre of the valley and beyond. Adam prayed Cordell would head towards Virginia City with the assumption that his prey would immediately head to home and safety.

Cordell wasn't entirely wrong; that was Adam's eventual aim. But for now, Adam pulled Clara north. There was little cover to hide in amongst the flat river lowland, so Adam knew their best hope was for speed. There was a wall of trees on the other side of the valley, about two hundred yards distant, and Adam fixed his eyes on his goal, splashing through the tiny streams that criss-crossed the plain to hide their trail. They only left the water to cross the grass when there was no choice, but whether in water or on terra firma, the going was tough. The stream beds were lined with pebbles that rolled and slipped beneath their feet, and the grassy terrain was uneven and pitted with unexpected depressions.

Clara was a dead weight in his hand. She tripped over the heavy wet skirts that flapped around her legs and went down hard several times, almost taking Adam down with her on a few occasions. He would haul her up—none too carefully in his haste to reach cover—and drag her along behind him. She struggled to keep up with his speed, handicapped as she was by a pair of dainty heeled boots and an outfit more suited to the wide avenues of New York than a river valley in the untamed West.

Halfway across the open stretch of land, she fell flat on her face for the umpteenth time. And as Adam attempted to heave her upright yet again, Clara rebelled.

Adam had his eyes on the valley behind them, scanning for men on horses, as he reached out to grab her elbow. But he was surprised by a hard slap knocking his arm to one side. Looking down, he saw Clara drop to her backside and cross her legs in protest, rubbing her arm and wrist where Adam had been gripping them so tightly.

He stretched out once more to grab her arm but she batted his hand away again.

"Clara, what are you doing? We don't have time for this."

"I don't care. I'm cold, I'm wet. And you keep hurting me."

Adam looked over her toward the river bank they'd not long vacated. A moment of guilt made his cheek twinge. He had been forceful with her, but it was only because he knew what was at stake. Clara's future depended on him keeping her out of Cordell's clutches. As the old adage said, he had been cruel in order to be kind. He brushed the guilt aside; it would do neither of them any good.

"Clara, I know this is hard but we have to get out of the open. Those men could appear at any—"

"I don't care. Right now, I'd rather be with them than with you!"

Adam dropped to his haunches, and couldn't stop his voice from rising in anger. "Well you should care. This is not what your mother wanted for you. She spent her life keeping you safe and away from your father, and that man, Cordell, he wants to take you back to him. Do you want to undo everything your mother strived for?"

His words were greeted with silence.

"Well?"

"No!" Clara shouted. She stared back at him with dark flashing eyes. But then the fire went out of her and her lips began to wobble. "I just want my mama."

Adam had no answer for her. He couldn't give her what she wanted. He sighed and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "Come on, it won't take us long to reach those trees, and then we'll get out of these wet clothes and—"

A flash of movement caught Adam's eye. It was a horseman on the river bank. He threw himself down next to Clara, pushing her down onto her back. He whispered, "Men—don't move," and lowered his head next to hers.

They lay in the foot-high grass and for once Adam was thankful Clara had tripped where she did. She had lost her footing where the ground had dipped and they were hidden by the grass in a shallow hollow.

Faint voices of men shouting to each other carried across the valley. Adam fought the temptation to raise his head and look, but it was too risky. He kept his head flat on the ground and turned towards Clara. Despite her earlier proclamation, it was clear she had no intention of returning to Cordell. She was breathing fast, her head jerking as she strained to see over her shoulder. Adam caught her eye and made a soft shushing noise as he held her attention. He lifted his hand to her shoulder to keep her calm. She was like a deer caught in a trap; her tongue flickering over her lips as she stared at him.

Adam heard the sound of a rider approaching. He fixed his gaze on Clara and pointed first at her eye and then at his, and then laid a finger across his lips. She got the message, and didn't take her eyes from his as they flattened themselves even further into the ground. Barely breathing, he stretched his arm across her thin shoulders, feeling her heart beating wildly beneath his arm.

The rider slowed, and halted.

The two escapees lay huddled against the ground. Clara's lips were clamped together, her eyes growing wider in fear and she flicked her gaze away, straining once more to see where the rider was. Adam squeezed her shoulder gently, drawing her attention back to him. He nodded the tiniest of nods and a single blink told him she had calmed a little.

The horse snorted and its hooves stamped against the ground as it shifted position. The rider was close, too close. Dammit, would be ever move? In his mind's eye, Adam could see the horseman peering out across the valley, looking for any sign of the fugitives. He seemed to stand there for an eternity. But then Adam heard leather creaking and the jingle of metal and a horse being turned and ridden away. The beat of hooves on the ground receded into the distance.

Neither Adam nor Clara moved, though Adam released a long held breath. After a minute or two had passed, he dared to take a look. Raising his head, he squinted through the tall grass to see a distant group of horsemen gathered by the river's edge. Adam's vision was obscured but he could see they were talking amongst themselves and pointing in various directions. After a short while, they turned their horses to ride down the valley, following the southbound route of the river. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"We'll wait here a bit longer, until the coast is clear."

Clara lay quietly in the grass. She closed her eyes and Adam could see tears forming on her eyelashes. To her credit she did not cry, but she was hurting, badly. In the last couple of hours she had seen her mother die in front of her, been terrified out of her wits on a runaway horse and then nearly drowned in a raging river. And now, she had to lie quietly on cold damp ground whilst men hunted her down. She probably didn't know which way was up, thought Adam. His heart began to ache for her; he knew how she was feeling. But at this moment, right now, he had to concentrate his priorities on keeping her alive and away from Cordell. This wasn't the time for comfort, and just then, Adam hated himself. He turned away from her and surveyed the land around them. There was no movement, no sign of riders, so Adam decided they could risk it.

"Come on, we're sitting ducks out here. We have to get to cover."

He reached out to tug her to her feet, but then remembered her earlier words and the reason she'd rebelled. He had been too harsh, too unmindful of her abilities and hurt her as he'd dragged her along. Adam stood and waited until she looked up at him. Then with a sympathetic smile, he held out his hands. Returning a nervous smile of gratitude, Clara took them and let Adam pull her up off the wet grass. Then, with a soft tug of her hand, Adam urged her on beside him.

They were soon splashing through another low creek. They didn't move as fast as before, but Clara didn't fall this time, and in no time they had made it to the cover of the trees. Keeping one eye on the valley behind, Adam wouldn't let them rest until they were deep amongst the darkening forest, hidden amongst the shadow of the pines. And only when the valley was nothing more than strips of glare through the curtain of trees, did Adam stop and let Clara collapse on the soft pine bed at their feet.

She lay on her back for a few moments before sitting up against a tree, her arms wrapped tight around her knees. The pines grew so densely here that the sun barely broke through the canopy above, and it was not long before Clara was shivering.

"I'm cold, Mr. Cartwright."

Adam looked away from where he had been watching the trail they had made through the forest and crouched by her side. "We can't light a fire or we might be spotted." He paused. "And you can call me Adam."

Clara rested her head sideways on her knees and Adam could see her lips quivering with the cold. He circled her wrist with his hand.

"Can you walk a little farther?"

Clara raised her head.

"You see where the trees start climbing up the side of the valley. It opens out at the top, becomes rocky scrub. It'll be tough on the legs, but once we're through the trees we can hide amongst the rocks, and let the sun dry our clothes. I might even be able to set a snare to catch us some dinner."

He smiled but Clara merely stared back at him.

"You ready?"

She sighed but then nodded, and together they began the long hard slog up the mountainside, scrabbling on their hands and feet to haul themselves up. Clara kept losing her footing so Adam moved behind her, placed his hands on her waist, and pushed her up, pointing out roots to grab and low lying branches to use hand over hand like a rope. They were both sweating heavily through already wet clothing, panting from the effort involved. The pine needles beneath their feet would slide treacherously and keeping a foothold was difficult as the ascent became ever more perilous.

It seemed nothing more than minutes since she had last fallen, but when Clara's skirts once more snagged on a scrubby bush, Adam decided enough was enough. He braced himself with one knee against the slope and ripped the whole lower panel from her skirts before Clara had a chance to react. She stared down at her stockinged knees, her eyes wide in shock.

"Don't worry, Clara, there's no one around to see you like this." And pushing her up in front of him, and wrapping the torn remains of her skirt around his waist like a cummerbund, they resumed their arduous climb.

~8~

It was another hour before they reached the edge of the forest, and by then the sun was at its highest in the sky. The glare bouncing off the white rocks was blinding after the dappled shadow of the woodland. Adam moved them along. Up, up they climbed, weaving through man-sized boulders, clambering over smooth granite ledges, shinnying over waist-high rocks, until Adam halted them a short way from the top. Several boulders had formed a natural barrier around a large flat shelf. Adam could look out between them and observe the valley and forest below. One of the rocks had an overhang providing shade and shelter for when the sun grew unbearable, and the heat beating off the stone would dry their clothes in no time.

By this time they were both starting to grow thirsty, having drunk nothing since a last mouthful of water from a valley stream before they entered the forest. Looking out over the river glinting in the afternoon sun, Adam felt like his tongue was covered in a layer of fur. But finding water would have to wait, at least until he had managed to get Clara dry.

Still embarrassed by the unexpected revealing of her legs, Clara was loath to remove any more clothing until Adam promised he would remove himself to the other side of the boulders and not return until she was fully dressed again. And so it was Adam found himself sitting on a natural shelf, looking down on the valley, his shirt and vest stretched over one rounded rock, and his pants, socks and boots on another.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the rock and for the first time in, he couldn't recall when, Adam felt his mind relax. He knew he shouldn't feel this way, not in the situation he and Clara were in, but it was years since Adam had felt this much at ease. He opened his eyes, squinted against the glare, and suddenly realised what it was. He was home. This land was home. The dusty rocky bluffs and boulders; the rivers which created green oases in the midst of high dry mountain terrain; and the pines…Ah, he was in the pines again, smelling that wonderful sweet aroma like Hop Sing's cookies fresh from the oven. Adam knew then the land was in his blood, that he couldn't be anywhere else and be content with his life. The land sung to him in the same way it called to his father and brothers. He found a smile creeping over his face because the familial bond he believed he had broken, all of a sudden felt stronger than ever. The desire to get home was overpowering, but Adam knew he would have to rein it in; his young companion would never be able to keep up with his pace.

The sun was hot on his skin, his torso and arms already bronzed from days of shedding his shirt at the first sign of heat. He smiled at the sight of the pale skin on his legs, and his thoughts turned to the girl hidden behind the rocks. Her fair complexion would soon burn if she didn't stay covered. Adam frowned at the unexpectedly paternal nature of his concern, but shook it off as he turned in her direction.

"Clara? Are you under the overhang like I told you?"

There was silence.

"I know it'll be a little cooler but you need to stay out of the sun. Clara?"

She still didn't answer, and Adam rose to his feet. The sun-soaked rock burned his soles as he padded towards the opening to their hideaway.

"Clara?"

"Don't come any closer!" Her voice wavered in fright. "It's not seemly for you to see me like this."

"Well, why didn't you answer me?"

She was quiet again and Adam rolled his eyes.

"Clara, for pity's sake."

He heard a sniff, then another one, and Adam realised the girl had nothing else to do but think, and miss her mother, and mourn. He laid his hands against the rock that separated them, pushing his chest close to the smooth, creamy stone.

"Clara, I…I know how you're feeling."

"No! No, you don't!" Her shout echoed around the hill. "You don't know anything about how I'm feeling. My mama is…My mama..." She burst into tears and Adam wanted nothing more than to go to her and comfort her, but all he was wearing was a pair of under-drawers, and Clara would be clad in nothing more than a thin strip of material, and propriety and manners and everything that was an obstacle at this moment, stopped him from moving.

He looked at his fingers pressed across the stone like a salamander's feet.

"I do know," he said softly. "My mother died a few hours after I was born."

Adam kept certain aspects of his past buried deep. It's not that he couldn't talk about them, more that they were nobody's business but his own, so he wouldn't. He learned a long time ago talking about his mother or his two step-mothers prompted questions he either couldn't answer, or didn't want to.

His own mother, Elizabeth, was nothing more than a photo on his father's desk, a shadow made perfect by his father's tales. What could he say to anyone who asked what she was like? He didn't know. And not knowing was more painful than he'd ever admit.

His step-mothers were different. They had been flesh and blood to him. He had known them, lived with them, experienced their lives. And they had both died in front of his eyes. Perhaps he shied away from talking about them, unwilling to allow long-buried and unbidden emotions to see the light of day. How could a six-year-old Adam, and his later eighteen-year-old self, not be affected by what he had witnessed on those two fateful days. How could he not be forever altered? So Adam pushed emotions he did not choose to deal with deep within him. And if asked about Marie and Inger, he would answer, but soon change the subject.

Clara deserved more, though. She was in the same situation he had been in twice before, and Adam knew, to help her through what she was suffering, he would have to be completely honest about his own experiences.

He sighed and pushed away from the rock, turning to look out over the valley below. Lowering himself to the ground, Adam leant back against the warm granite surface, and waited. There was a moment of silence, then...

"Was she shot? Like my mama?" Clara spoke so quietly that Adam had to strain to hear her. He raised his eyes to heaven, sad that should be her first thought.

"No." He looked down at his hands. "My mother was not strong. Giving birth to me took all the strength she had, and…" he sighed, "she simply faded away."

After a pause, Clara spoke again. "Do you miss her?"

Adam turned his head towards the gap in the rocks, towards Clara. "Every day. You might ask, how can I miss someone I don't remember, but I do. She was my mother and I think about her even without knowing it. She's always there, in the back of my mind."

There was the sound of movement, the rustle of material, and when Clara spoke again it was much closer, from behind the rock.

"Do you feel sad?"

Adam considered the question.

"I used to, but I don't anymore. Now I feel grateful she lived, that she made my father happy, even if it was only for a short time."

"I don't think I'm ever going to stop feeling sad, for as long as I live."

Adam scratched at the scab on his temple.

"I know it seems that way now. But if I told you I watched both my stepmothers die in front of me; that the pain of losing them, of seeing my father and brothers grieve, cut deeper than anything I'd felt before, well, surely you'd ask how am I still standing and able to go on."

Adam waited, to see if she would respond. He didn't have to wait long.

"You had three mamas? And they all died?"

"My first stepmother, Inger, was killed by Indians. I saw it happen, right in front of my eyes. She was fighting to protect me and my younger brother."

Adam looked out over the view, but all he could see was the look of unrestrained anguish on his father's face as he held the dying Inger in his arms. Adam might have been young, but the memories of that day so long ago were ingrained in his memory and remained fresh.

"Marie, my father's third wife, died when her horse fell in our yard." Adam could still hear the crack as her neck broke. He shook his head to dispel the memory and shifted around to face the gap in the rocks.

"Don't stop grieving, Clara. You're gonna hurt and hate the world and everyone in it. But it will get better. I know you can't believe it now, but believe me, it will."

There was a long sigh and Adam swore he could hear her brain working as she thought about what he'd said. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. "Check your clothes; they're probably dry by now. I'll try and catch us something to eat." Adam turned to walk back to where his clothes were laid out but paused, angling back to where the girl was.

"You'll be alright, Clara, I promise."

And leaving her lost in an impenetrable world of sadness, Adam dressed and went in search of a meal.