A/N: Okay, I guess references to Elizabeth, My Love and Inger, My Love appear throughout, so it is helpful if you've watched them. But again, not necessary.

INDIANA

Odysseus and the Ghosts

Ben stared over the rail into the bottomless blackness of the water. He had no idea what had woken him, but sleep had been restless lately anyway: elusive. Irritating, in a way, since on these long voyages it was sometimes the only way to pass the time. But this was better than the stagecoach had been. Smoother. Faster. And being on the water still held a deep sense of connection for him - of peace. He smiled a little into the darkness. Once a sailor…

There was no one else about except for the crew, who would no doubt be disconcerted to find a wayward passenger wandering the boat at this hour, so he kept quiet and out of the way. The only sound was the slap of the water against the side of the boat - the only light the pilothouse, a soft beacon of warmth and brightness. He knew what it would be like in there on a night like this - hot coffee and tall stories shared - the distinctly masculine companionship of those who made the water their mistress. He had thought himself one of them, once - had never imagined replacing that love of a boat and the water with that of a flesh and blood woman. Then he had met Liz and all of that had changed: like following one of the dozens of different eddies that branched off of the river, his life had taken a different path.

He looked again at the pilothouse and for a moment considered joining them, then changed his mind. No. All that was behind him now. He no longer belonged there. In truth, maybe he never had, for the call of the land had always been strong for him, too - stronger, possibly, than the voice of the sea. Maybe Elizabeth had just helped him to hear it more clearly.

He gazed into the inky depths below him. The loss of his first love would always be a tender spot - one that had hurt so deeply and for so long that he still approached it a little warily, expecting that crippling twist of anguish that had accompanied it so reliably for so many years.

It had dominated his days endlessly - he suspected, looking back, that it had made him more impatient, quicker to anger, than he had wanted to be. It was a bit of a blur now, but it had always troubled him some. He had often wanted to ask Adam about it - to apologize, maybe - but he knew Adam would have none of it, would tell him it was fine, that he was fine. He shook his head. A bad habit he had never been able to break him of. Things hadn't always been fine - he knew that all too well. But Adam had a protective streak where his father was concerned - would defend him from all comers, including himself.

Well, they had had a long partnership together - longer, oddly, than he had shared with any of his wives. No wonder the last couple of years without him had seemed so odd - so out of kilter. Still found himself looking around for him some days - expecting to see him coming down the stairs, sitting at the big desk in the Great Room, riding in after a long day. He wondered if Adam felt the same at all - their partnership had, after all, encompassed his whole life. His letters never hinted at it if he did, but then, Adam was stubborn. He'd fought so hard for this chance - he would never admit to any doubt now or distress his father with his troubles when he was so far away and unable to help. He sighed a little. And he was young - adaptable. Chances were he rarely even thought about his old father among the excitement of Boston and Harvard. He smiled at the thought. So much for him to love there. He would give a lot for a glimpse of Adam enjoying Boston.

He leaned his elbows on the ship's rail and rested his head in his hands. And maybe he would get that. Maybe. Adam was a strong boy, not just in body, but in mind and spirit, too. He wouldn't give into this any more easily than he had ever given into anything else that threatened to slow him down. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. Of course, Elizabeth had been strong, too. Of spirit, anyway. But there were things that even the strongest spirit, the most stubborn will, couldn't overcome.

"Y'all right there, sir?"

Ben started and glanced up at the shadowed face of the watchman peering curiously at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Certainly. Just couldn't sleep. The river is beautiful at night."

The watchman pursed his lips and frowned speculatively out into the stygian gloom where river and sky ran together as one and shrugged. "Yes, sir," he agreed doubtfully.

"You - wouldn't happen to know our whereabouts, would you?"

The watchman's expression compressed into one of deep reproach. "I should hope I did," he said indignantly. "Just left Illy-noy behind us. Now you've Kentucky on your right and Indiany on your left. Should make Loo'ville late tomorra, barrin' any trouble."

Ben nodded. "And Cincinnati?"

"Next day, most likely, all things bein' equal."

Ben nodded again. In Cincinnati there would be a telegraph office and an update from Abel. He would be able to send one on his own progress as well. The watchman lingered a minute, as though expecting him to go inside, then shrugged again when he didn't and returned to work. Barely over a week to make his way from St. Louis to Cincinnati. It seemed impossible. It had certainly taken him longer to travel in the other direction all those years ago. Of course, that had been somewhat different - earning his keep as he went, and with a small boy in tow. Ben leaned back against the railing and this time sought out the stars.

Heavy cloud cover. Couldn't see much. Nothing to orient himself by. He squinted into the darkness, trying to imagine the bank on the other side.

Indiana. What did he remember about Indiana?

They had lingered for a while, he thought - one of their stops to earn money. It was before they had purchased the horse and wagon and everything had gone slowly - he had walked and an old, swaybacked mule had carried Adam and their few supplies. Well, for a while. Until Adam had gotten it into his head that if his father could walk, he could, too.

How old had he been - four, maybe? Ben had tried to reason with him - to explain that he was no real burden to the mule, but Adam had gotten that set look on his face that Ben was to grow so familiar with over the years and had slid off anyway.

Ben had wanted to scold - a habit of obedience was important to Adam's survival - but Adam had looked so pleased that he'd lost the heart to be strict about it. Well, what did it matter, anyway? He couldn't possibly be any slower than the mule was. In truth, it was pleasant to have him trotting along by his side, studying the flat green land before them with serious, curious eyes. Adam was happy. The mule was happy.

"Pa," he said after a while, "is that a town?"

"Yes, son. Probably we'll stop there for a while."

"How come it never gets any closer, no matter how much we walk?"

"It is closer, Adam. You just can't tell because it's further away than it actually seems. It will take a long time and a lot of walking before it seems closer."

Adam was quiet a moment, turning this over in his mind. "But we'll be there when we get past that group of trees?"

"No, son - that group of trees only looks like it's close to the town. It's actually very far away. You'll see when we get closer." Ben expected him to whine a little, prepared to put him back on the mule, but he looked more intrigued than anything.

"The last place," he said at last, "you didn't see things 'til they were close."

"I suppose you didn't."

"How come?"

"Well…" Ben thought about it. "Because it was hilly there - you couldn't see far ahead. Here it's flat and you can see for a long way - makes things seem closer and piled up on each other, but they're not. That's called perspective."

Adam eyes widened. "Say it again," he demanded.

Ben was amused. "What - perspective?"

Adam nodded, repeating it haltingly after him.

Ben chuckled to himself. Never knew what was going to take his fancy next. From his face you'd think he'd just been given a new toy. He sighed. Just as well, too, because it was the only one he'd be getting for a while. Funds were low. Hopefully there'd be work for him in this town. They had a while before the cold weather set in, anyway. He'd better put a little away for that. No telling where they'd be by that time and he'd heard the winters could be fierce out this way. He felt a small hand slip into his and glanced down, his worry easing into a faint smile. "What is it, son?"

"Pahspective," repeated Adam contentedly. "Pahspective."

Ben chuckled out loud this time. "That's very good. And very sound advice."

Even Ben had misjudged the distance, though, and the town had bounced tantalizingly ahead of them for hours like a desert mirage, never seeming to get any closer. A thin drizzle started to fall and he felt Adam's hand begin to drag in his and hefted him into his arms. No point in putting him back on the mule now - he was half-asleep and would probably just fall off. Besides, the mule looked almost as tired as Adam did. Too bad. He'd been hoping to trade it for a few dollars or supplies in town. The way it looked right now he'd be lucky if he didn't have to pay to have it shot and carted away.

The sun was getting low on the horizon when they finally reached the first buildings of the town and he scanned them for a general store. Tomorrow was Sunday by his calculations, and everything would be closed. As much as he would like to find a room to rest and put Adam to bed he would have to get his supplies now or go without until Monday morning. And by then he hoped to be working. He spotted what he was looking for and made his way up the steps, past the bags of feed and grain piled outside, out of the drizzle and into the cool, dimly lit interior.

The man behind the counter looked up from the scratchings he was doing on a piece of paper and smiled. "Can I help you, sir? Looking for a place to stay?'

"Well, yes, that's next - right now I need some things." Ben maneuvered Adam with practiced ease and pulled a short list from his pocket.

The man studied it and nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard. Looks like you've come a long way."

"Long enough," Ben answered evasively.

"Bet you're pretty glad to be out of the weather."

Ben shifted Adam a little closer for warmth and nodded.

"Mrs. Kittwell's place is nice enough and she likes young'uns. Plumb tuckered out, ain't he?"

Ben made a non-committal response. Probably the man was only being friendly, but he always felt faintly reproached by such remarks. He watched in silence as the storekeeper fetched items from the shelves.

"Lucky thing you came when you did - we'd be closed in another half hour. The missis has already gone home to fix supper. Let's see what we've got here, now…" he began to list figures in a painstaking row on the paper in front of him. "That's a nickel even…two cents…three more…ten for the feed…rope's another seven…fine quality, though - got those new…soap is three for six, but if you only want one, let's see, that's…"

Ben stopped listening. Adam murmured something in a sleepy voice and he reached up and smoothed the dark curls at his nape soothingly until he settled down again. He glanced down at him. His ankles hung below the hem of his trousers already. Seemed like he'd just replaced those, but Adam was growing fast. Something else he should see to while they were in town - new clothes.

"Ten - no - eleven…hm. Went wrong someplace. Let's see."

Ben shifted his weight, trying to seem patient. Hopefully this boardinghouse would do. Hopefully it was someplace he could feel comfortable leaving Adam during the day while he worked. Maybe he could afford a slate for Adam, too, and he could work on his letters while Ben was away. He'd like that, and it would keep him occupied. "Do you have any slates here? And chalk." It was probably extravagant - probably he shouldn't - but it was a good, constructive way to pass the time and would keep Adam out of trouble. Not that he was much trouble, really.

"Hm…yes, we do…penny for the chalk and three cents for the slate. Hmph. Have to start over. Let's see, that's five and two…three…then ten then seven…two for the soap…a penny and three…" he gave Ben an apologetic smile. "I ain't much of a head for figures, I'm afraid. Usually the missis does 'em, but like I say, she's gone for the day. Too bad. She's the brains of the operation." He laughed.

Ben smiled in return. "I know what you mean. My wife - " he stopped, his heart suddenly constricting painfully.

The storekeep didn't seem to notice. "They're a wonder, ain't they? Your wife waitin' outside?"

"No, she's - " Ben swallowed suddenly. "No."

The shopkeeper looked up in surprise, sudden understanding dawning. "Oh. Oh, now that's a shame. Let's see what we got here…forgot to carry somethin'…hm…there's five and two…" he droned back into his monotonous recitation of prices.

Adam turned his head on Ben's shoulder and muttered something. Ben reached up to stroke his hair again, making shushing noises. "We'll have a room soon, Adam."

The shopkeeper looked at him curiously. "What did he say?"

Ben laughed a little. "I don't know. Probably 'perspective'. He's been practicing it all day. Once he gets a word in his head…"

"No." The shopkeeper shook his head, looking back down at his numbers. "No - that's not what he said. I'm pretty sure he said - thirty-three. And I think…" he carefully checked the column of numbers. "I think he's right."

Ben stared at him. "What are you saying?" He glanced at the heavy head on his shoulder and put his mouth close to the small ear. "Adam? Adam, did you want to tell me something?"

Adam sighed and muttered again.

Ben frowned. It did sound like thirty-three. "What, son? What's thirty-three?"

Adam opened one eye at him and yawned. "Five and two and three and ten and seven and two and one and three…"

Ben glanced over to watch the storekeeper check off each number in turn. He swiveled the paper so he could look at it more closely and added them himself. Thirty-three. He looked back at Adam, whose eye had slid shut again.

"Looks like you owe me thirty-three cents, mister."

Ben wordlessly reached in his pocket, his eyes on the dark head snuggled into his neck.

"He do that a lot?"

"No, of course not. He's only a little boy, he - I'm sure it's just a coincidence."

The storekeeper shrugged. "Pretty big coincidence, if you ask me."

"Don't be absurd. He couldn't possibly…" he trailed off. It was a big coincidence. And Liz had had a knack with numbers.

Afterwards, in their rented room as he peeled off Adam's wet clothes and poked his arms through the armholes of his nightshirt, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He pulled down the nightshirt, noticing the spots that had worn thin with age - this would have to be replaced, too - maybe after summer was over - a new flannel one for winter - and pulled down the clean, worn blankets so Adam could crawl under them.

"Adam - " he finally ventured as he pulled the blankets up over him, "did you add up those numbers in the store?"

Adam rubbed sleepily at his eyes. "Yes, Pa."

Ben let his hand rest on Adam's chest, studying him curiously. "All those numbers? Who taught you to do that?"

Adam stopped rubbing his eyes to blink at him. "You did, Pa."

Ben laughed shortly. "I did not! Well, of course I taught you one and one is two and two and two is four…"

Adam frowned drowsily. "It's the same thing. Isn't it, Pa?"

Ben paused. "I - I suppose so…but…"

Adam yawned. "Did I do something wrong, Pa?"

Ben leaned over and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "No, no - of course not - it's just…" How to explain? "It's just that most people can't add up numbers in their head like that, son."

"Oh." Adam snuggled down, thinking about this. "How come?"

"Well, because…" Ben paused again. "I don't know. They just can't."

"Oh." Adam pondered for a moment. "Are you going to tell me a story, Pa?"

Ben reached over and stroked the hair off his forehead. "A story? Adam, you're barely awake."

Adam set his jaw mulishly. "I'm awake enough for a story. " His father's hand dropped to his shoulder and he nestled under it. "Tell me about the clipper ships."

TBC

Thank ypu, Susan! There's lots more to come!