Chapter 2
Placerville had a small mercantile and Adam stopped on his way through. It occurred to him that he could order the supplies he would need for Ezra there and not in Virginia City. Besides, he knew that should he order baby bottles in Brown's Mercantile, rumors would be flying within an hour. Adam wanted to inform his family about Ezra before he told anyone else—iif /ihe told anyone else. He didn't want to have to answer questions and saw Ezra as living proof of one boring afternoon's indiscretion.
Adam had gone to Placerville to search for the man who looked so much like him-Tom Burns. Tom found out that he could fool a close neighbor of Adam Cartwright's into thinking he was Adam Cartwright after the man had called out a greeting to him. Tom also found that he could even fool Virginia City's banker into letting him withdraw much-needed money from the Cartwright account; it was too easy. Of course, that wasn't his initial intent, but Burns had used it to his advantage and that infuriated Adam. He felt a fool having been used that way and that made him angry. But when Adam reached Placerville and went to the saloon to have a drink to clear the dust from his throat, he was set upon first by Ann the barmaid who was so happy to see "Tom" again that she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately—much to Adam's pleasant surprise.
But immediately after Ann's kiss, Adam was set upon by two men. He found himself in a bar fight, then arrested and thrown in jail by Placerville's sheriff who did so because he believed he was arresting Tom Burns whom he had told never to return. The identity confusion was soon cleared up, but Adam found himself mired in the intrigue of Tom Burn's life—the man had been murdered according to Ann, Ezra's mother, who had followed Adam to Lubbock and eventually convinced Adam to be an ally. The three of them Adam, Ann and the sheriff of Placerville, entrapped those who had murdered Tom Burns—his wife and a friend, her former lover. But before the plan could be set to action, he and Ann—whose last name he never even bothered to learn—wiled away an afternoon in a hotel room making good use of the bed. And although Adam knew that Ann was attracted to him only because he looked like Tom Burns, the man with whom she was truly in love, he nevertheless enjoyed an enthusiastic tussle in the sheets. It was only a few hours one afternoon and because of that afternoon and a few hours of pleasure, Adam Cartwright now had a child, or so Ann had claimed before she died.
Adam stopped by the local mercantilists' after he left Cassie's heading for the Ponderosa. Cassie had packed him some food and he had two filled canteens for the journey.
"Now make sure that you eat those biscuits and bacon sandwiches before they get too cold and I packed you some sugar cookies I made. I also put some cold sliced beef wrapped in that oilcloth and there's some sour dough bread."
"Thank you," Adam said as he patted his saddlebags that contained the packets of food. Cassie was a good cook, Adam had to admit. She baked as well and her rhubarb pies gave Hop Sing a run for his money. And when Adam turned to wave goodbye, Cassie stood on her porch with Ezra on her hip and Mamie jumping off the bottom step onto the bare ground and landing where the walkway prevented the grass from growing. Then Mamie would step up again and jump down again. But all he could think of was what he would need when he came to fetch Ezra.
"Baby bottles," Adam said to the spectacled clerk. "I need to know if you stock baby bottles," Adam felt himself flush. He felt like a damn fool standing at the counter and asking for baby bottles.
The man looked at him, puzzled. "You feedin' an orphaned piglet or calf or such 'cause if you are…" It was obvious to the clerk that the man before him was a rancher. He had the start of wrinkles around his eyes and his skin was tanned. He also wore the ordinary work clothes of a cowhand including the roush boots but there was an elegance about him too. His voice was cultured and he spoke well—a dichotomy from what the clerk expected from his usual customers.
"No, they're for a baby—a child. Do you have any?"
"No sir, but I can order them." He reached under the counter and pulled out a well-thumbed catalogue. The clerk looked at an index and then found the page. He turned the catalogue around so that Adam could see and there was a small drawing of a baby bottle. It had an artificial teat at the end of a tube, the other end snapped over the neck of the bottle.
"How long would it take to get them in?"
"Less'n two weeks," the clerk said. "They only come from a warehouse in Sacramento."
"All right, order some."
"They come as a dozen. You want the whole dozen?"
Adam was puzzled. He had no idea how many bottles a baby would need. "Yes. I'll take a dozen. How much?"
"Four dollars—that includes freight costs."
"And they'll be here in two weeks?"
"Yes, sir." The clerk turned the catalogue back around so he could see it. "I'll send out the order today for another two bits—the cost of the wire."
Adam placed five dollars in paper money on the counter. "Here—keep the change but they had better be here when I come through again because I need them."
"Yes, sir." Something about the man's demeanor let him know that he had better have the bottles packed and ready to go.
"And diapers?" Adam asked. "Do you carry them?"
"Yes, sir. Always have those in stock. I have hundreds of 'em."
"Good. Have those bottles here and waiting for me two weeks from today, understand?"
"Yes, sir. What's the name?"
"It doesn't matter. Just don't sell those bottles to anyone else or I'll be…displeased." Adam tipped his hat as a woman came from the back and joined the man at the counter. He then walked out and the couple watched him through the front window as he mounted his horse and rode off.
"What'd the stranger want?' she asked. "Directions?"
"Baby bottles. A whole dozen."
"Baby bottles? What'd he want them for? Does he have an orphaned pig or some such?"
The man made a sound of disgust. "Just like woman to be so nosy," he said and took out a pad to make out the order for the bottles.
As Adam had traveled the familiar way from Placerville, he planned various ways that he would break the news to his family—his father especially. He knew that his father wouldn't be outright disapproving but he also knew that he would be able to see it in his father's eyes; he would be disappointed—and hurt. He just hoped his father wouldn't say as he had to Joe and Hoss upon occasion, "I thought I had raised you to know better. I see now I failed." That would cut to the quick of his soul if his father said that to him
Adam, despite his seeming indifference, cared deeply for his father's opinion of him. He was the eldest and he had spent the first five years of his life with his father; they had been each other's only companions those years as they traveled west. Some nights when Adam had trouble sleeping due to fear of Indian attacks or some other phantom of dread that raised its head, Ben would lie down with Adam and Adam would say, "Tell me again, Pa, about the dream." That was what he and his father called their quest to start a ranch out west—the dream.
And Adam remembered one special night when they were in Indiana. He had been left alone in a small rented room almost the whole day while his father had worked loading bricks to be taken to a building site. His father was especially weary and had eaten little of the bread and cheese he had brought home for dinner along with a small tin of milk. At bedtime, when Adam was tucked in, he had asked for the story of the dream.
"Wouldn't you rather hear about Jack and the Beanstalk?" Ben reached over and ruffled Adam's hair. Such a beautiful boy. Women always commented on his son's beauty, his sweet mouth and dimples and his intelligence. Adam learned things quickly, picked up on calculating sums at his young age and had the ability to visualize abstract ideas. And the boy was pragmatic and logical—just like his mother, Ben thought.
Elizabeth, his mother, also had a talent for peeling off the trappings of a problem and seeing the core and then approaching it with logical resolve. Adam had the same talent and many times Ben felt inferior to his 5 year old's visionary ability. But when it came down to it, Adam was a child and he needed the comfort of his father's strength and the knowledge of his father's love.
"All right, Adam, but you have to promise me that you'll go to sleep right after. Promise?"
"I promise, Pa."
"All, right." Ben lay down on the narrow bed next to Adam and stared at the ceiling. "Out west is an unexplored land and men can make claim to the land if they have the money to buy it."
"That's why we save every penny we can, isn't it, Pa?"
Ben chuckled and glanced over at Adam. "Yes, that's why we save every penny we can. And the land is beautiful and there are mountains with white caps all year round that kiss the blue sky."
"That's snow. It's because it's colder the higher you go and even when the snow melts on the ground, there's still snow on the mountains. But you know, Pa, that doesn't really make sense. If you're higher, shouldn't you be closer to the sun? Shouldn't it be hotter?"
"Well, it seems as if it should but it isn't—I don't know why but it isn't."
"When I find out, Pa, I'll tell you."
"Thank you, Adam. I'm sure you will. Now, the land is green as far as the eye can see except for the area where there's a desert. That's why we're going to northern Nevada where there are lakes and tall pines. We'll carve out a place for us and…"
"For us and any brothers and sisters I might have. Right, Pa?"
"That's right, Adam. We'll have the most beautiful spread for miles and miles—as far as the eye can see and it will be ours."
"Pa? Are you going to marry again?"
"What?" Ben was surprised at Adam's question. "Why are you asking that?"
" "Cause you always say the land's also for any brothers or sisters I might have but you need to marry for them, right?"
"Well, yes. A man marries the mother of his children."
"Pa, what about that woman in the last town we stayed, Sally, the one who watched me while you worked that short time at the mill? How come she had a baby but wasn't married? If a man is supposed to marry the mother…"
"Adam," Ben said sitting up and swinging his legs to the floor, "there are a lot of reasons why people don't have husbands or wives and yet have children. Look at us. I have a son—you—and I'm not married, am I? Now, I'm really tired and tomorrow is more of the same work as today. Do you mind if I go sit for a while and smoke my pipe?"
Adam sat up and placed a small hand on his father's shoulder. "That's okay, Pa. I can hear about the dream another time."
"Adam," Ben said, "you could tell me about the dream, you've heard it so many times." Ben held Adam's face in his hands and kissed his forehead. "I love you, son." Ben rose to leave.
"Pa?"
Ben sighed in exasperation. "What now, Adam?"
"Are you glad I'm your son?"
"Gladder about it than anything else in my whole life."
"I'm glad you're my pa too?'
Ben smiled and then told Adam goodnight and shut the door behind him. But that night Adam had lain in the dark for quite a while and thought about the dream, of the land ahead and also about brothers and sisters and maybe having a mother and a father unlike Sally's baby, so he had said a silent prayer that one day he would, that one day he might have both a mother and a brother or sister; he wouldn't be so lonely then.
And now, surrounded by miles of emptiness, Adam's heart broke for the child he left behind at Cassie's who didn't know a father's love, didn't know the comforting depth of a father's voice or the feel of strong arms supporting him—just as Sally's baby of so long ago hadn't. But then Adam was struck with the thought that the child, Ezra, might never know a mother's love either and it caused him to catch his breath. He himself had wanted both a mother and a father and every child deserved one.
As he rode, Adam again considered that night so long ago and the hollowness of need and he felt pangs of guilt for not wanting the child but then, there was the question of whether or not Ezra was really his. There was no sure way to know and that was the point—the point that drove into his heart.