Chapter 20

Sylvia sighed and lay her head on Adam's bare chest, her arm thrown across.

"Something wrong, Sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes closed in contentment. Sylvia always required being asked before she revealed a problem to him. At one time, out of frustration at trying to "guess" what was bothering her, he had asked why she just wouldn't come out and say what was on her mind but she couldn't really answer him. "I can't guess why you're upset, Sylvia, or if something's wrong—you have to tell me." But he still had to ask her whenever he picked up the subtle signs that she was upset.

"Some members of the Church Ladies Guild came out for a visit today?"

"Oh, and why was that a problem? Did we run out of tea and cakes to feed the old biddies?"

"It's not funny, Adam." She slapped him lightly on the chest.

"Did they tell us not to darken the door of the church again, return our donations? What?"

Sylvia sat up propped on an elbow but Adam didn't open his eyes. He was tired and warm and hoped she would just tell him what was wrong so that he could sleep; he could tell her not to worry about it but knew it wouldn't suffice.

"In a way they were."

"What?" Adam did open his eyes and sit up at that. "What do you mean?"

"You know last week in church they asked for help with the bazaar—helping with quilts and knitting baby blankets, mittens, socks and such, and I volunteered? I know how to crochet so I thought I could help. Well, today Mrs. Burgess, Mrs. Turpin and Mrs. Waverly, they came out and after chatting politely for a while over tea, Mrs. Burgess told me that since we lived so far out, it wasn't necessary for me to come to town Wednesday evenings and help. They appreciated my charitable nature-that's how she put it—my charitable nature—but it wasn't necessary. She claimed it would be a hardship for us."

"I see," Adam said quietly. He wasn't sure how she wanted him to answer but what Mrs. Burgess said made sense to him and he didn't read any subtle negative context in the words. "Well it would be a hardship—it is quite a long ride and while you sat with the Church Guild, probably pricking those lovely fingertips," he said while he took her hand, "for the two hours, I'd have to sit in the Silver Dollar and put away some beers. I might even get roped into a poker game and lose the Ponderosa. And even with the best scenario, we wouldn't get home until after ten at night." He kissed Sylvia's forehead. "Now go to sleep. It's not that awful a thing." He lay back down and pulled her to him again.

"Adam" she said quietly, "they don't want me." Her voice quavered and then broke and she began to cry.

He sighed. All he wanted was to sleep—his body was weary with having worked all day and then he had found his pleasure with her and now he just wanted to sleep, not deal with an emotional scene. "It doesn't matter," Adam said but the anger and frustration knotted in his chest. "And they didn't say they didn't want you—they were being kind and…" Adam held her closer; he couldn't utter what he knew she wouldn't believe and what he wasn't sure he fully believed. "Please, Sylvia, don't let them hurt you. Please—I can't bear it." He kissed the top of her head, the fragrant hair, so soft.

She made an effort to stop crying. Sylvia had told herself she wouldn't, that when she told Adam about what Mrs. Burgess had said to her, she would merely state the words and let Adam arrive at his own conclusions but when he seemed to lack understanding, it was more than she could bear.

"Adam, tell me what you think? Why do you think they don't want me? They don't know me that well and before I married, I worked with the Maidens' League raising money for books for the Indian schools. It's not you because you and I, well, you were squiring me to the dances and everyone talked about our getting married and they approved it. They would ask me if we had set a date yet. It was embarrassing to have them so interested but they were so nice about it and I had no other friends but the other women in the group. And now that I'm married, well, I thought…I thought I would join the guild but they don't want me."

"Sylvia, you're making more out of this then there is. Please, don't let it upset you. If you want, I'll go talk to Pastor Cleary and…"

"Adam, don't you dare!" Sylvia pulled away from him, sitting up. "I didn't tell you so that you'd go do something about it—I just told you because, well, because I tell you almost everything, not so you'd do something about it. I'm not a child."

Adam sat up and ran his hands through his hair. "I don't understand. If you didn't want me to do anything, why tell me at all?"

"Well, because…I just thought you'd want to know."

"Why? If you're going to tell me something that you know will upset me and then keep me from doing anything about it, just don't tell me in the first place." Adam rolled over turning his back to her and pulled the covers up.

"Fine. I won't tell you anything again!" Sylvia made a great show of turning her back to him and pulling at the sheet and blankets to cover herself. She stared at the wall in the dark. She fumed. Marriage wasn't as wonderful as she thought it would be and especially to Adam. He was stubborn, could be snide and bitter and didn't always take her problems seriously. And then there was Ezra. Initially, Adam had told her that whenever he looked at the child, he still thought of the fact that Ann may have tricked him into accepting the child that wasn't his but as time passed, Adam mellowed and he became fonder of the boy and now seemed to think more of Ezra then he did of her—at least sometimes it seemed that way. And Ben, Hoss and Joe fawned over the child as well and all were pleased that Fiona did such a good job taking care of him. Sylvia knew that she couldn't do better than Fiona in tending to the child's needs and that made her jealous—and then she was ashamed of herself for being petty; what did it matter who took the main care of him as long as Ezra was healthy and happy and loved—and there was no doubt that Fiona loved him with a fierceness as well as the whole family. And in the evenings when Adam would dandle Ezra on his knee and sing silly songs to him, Ezra would laugh and Sylvia would smile at the scene. But she always felt a bit left out, especially when he would take Ezra upstairs and had him over to Fiona to put down for the night.

Sylvia felt insecure in her position. Her mother had advised her to let Fiona go and take on her duties as mother, wife and lady of the house but Sylvia knew she wasn't able to; she lacked the knowledge and feared harming Ezra and her marriage to Adam. So she found herself becoming offended by the smallest things and then when Mrs. Burgess rejected her—or what she saw as rejection—she wanted sympathy but Adam's sympathy was inadequate. He infuriates me. He can say things like that to me and then roll over and go to sleep. And I have even more things I wanted to tell him—tell him about Fiona and the argument we had over Ezra and how Hop Sing asked me to leave the kitchen and how I'm not wanted here at all and now it doesn't even bother him that people from the church don't want me…

Sylvia wiped away a silent tear when the mattress shifted and she felt Adam's arm go around her and pull her toward him. She shrugged and tried to free herself.

"Just leave me alone," she said and tried to shrug off his arms—she wouldn't give in that easily.

He kissed her neck and whispered that he was sorry. "Let's make-up," Adam said. "I don't want to go to sleep with you angry with me. I'm sorry for what I said. Okay? Forgive me?" He kissed her neck again and she felt his hand begin to pull up the side of her nightgown. He ran his hand up her thigh and she felt the warmth begin to rise within her, to fill her. For her answer, she rolled over in his arms. "You are wonderful," he said, "and I don't tell you that often enough. I'm so used to dealing with men all the time, my family, Hop Sing, the ranch hands, railway men…I forget how to deal with a woman and since you're the most important person in my life, well, I need to remember that you have more delicate sensibilities. I'm sorry for forgetting that. It's just that when you've been hurt, I want to do something about it—I don't like feeling helpless, weak, and so I get angry. I'm not really angry at you—I guess it's with myself." But before she could respond, before she could tell him she understood, his mouth covered hers and she knew she had given in, lost another argument and let him break another barrier. Adam always won but for her, it was such sweet surrender.

Fiona smiled as she watched Ezra toddle after the chickens at the far side of the house, his arms out as he chased them. He laughed as he reached for a chicken which quickly darted away, squawking. The chickens would scatter and then stop and peck again, looking for insects or a stray bit of grain from their earlier feeding by Hop Sing. Some had fluttered to the top rail of the fence and nervously watched. Fiona stood with her hands on the hips and watched the child shriek with joy whenever one of the chickens fluttered. And then she felt a heavy hand clap over her mouth and another around her waist and she was pulled, resisting, a few feet into the shadows of the nearby trees.

The hand was removed and she was spun around to look into the sparkling blue eyes of a slightly familiar, grinning face—and then it came to her. "Darby!"

"I thought it was my little sister on the Ponderosa. Now give me a hug." Fiona hugged her brother Darby who spun her around before planting a kiss on her cheek. "Which one of those rich sons who lord themselves over all us ranch hands put a babe in your belly?"

"None o' them. He's Mister Adam's son—or so they say." Fiona knew she should keep quiet, not let her brother know about Ezra's questionable parentage but she couldn't seem to help herself.

"Oh, you mean his wife's a loose one, is she? The babe looks like the man—he's a son-of-a-bitch with his grand ways, always talking down to us from the back of that long-legged horse-no wonder she's lookin' for a real man who'll do her right. Maybe she'll be spreadin' her legs for me once she gets a look at my handsome face—that is if I ever do anything else but sit on that mangy beast they call a horse and watch them damn cattle to keep the wolves and bears from pullin' 'em down. I'll give her a blue-eyed bastard or two."

Fiona decided not to clarify the point that it was Adam who had fathered the child on another woman before he was married—Darby didn't need to know-better he thought that Sylvia was a whore; it made Fiona feel a bit better but she didn't know why. "What're you doin' here, Darby? I know you, remember? I know, as darlin' as you are to me, that you're up to no good no matter what?"

"Oh, I hired on about four days ago and all I been hearin' from them Cartwrights is to shape up or I'll be receivin' my measly pay and told to shove off."

"Did they ask you about your name, Flanagan? Did they make any connection?" Fiona hoped they hadn't; she loved her brother but knew that he was a thief at heart even though his talents at purloining items had benefitted them as children.

Darby laughed. "Them grand Cartwrights don't even know my name—Christian-given or otherwise. That foreman of theirs, that Reno with his thinkin' he's so splendid, hired me and a few others and they don't give a bloody thruppence what our names are. We've been sleepin' out on the ground and eatin' beans and bread and pissin' and shittin' in the woods—they owe me more'n a dollar a day. I saw you the other day but couldn't be sure it was you so I took off hopin' to have a chance to see if it was you and sure enough, it is. So what're you doin' here if you're not warmin' a Cartwright bed?"

"I'm carin' for the boy." She turned her head to watch Ezra.

"So you went from one bondservant to another, eh? Why you're old enough to be married and to have a few of them puling brats of your own."

"What is it you be wantin', Darby?" Fiona was suspicious; she knew Darby well enough to know that despite his always having looked after her and their younger brother and sisters, Darby thought of Darby first. On their trip over, Darby had stolen chunks of bread from some of the other less alert passengers in the steerage compartment, always sharing with her. Nevertheless she reprimanded him for taking from children and old men and women.

"We've got to live, sister. Take what's given you and don't complain or I'll eat the whole thing myself." And Fiona would silently eat the hard, dry pieces of black bread but they filled her empty belly along with the boiled potatoes and the thin, oily gravy they were served.

"So suspicious, Fiona. All I want is to be reconciled with my sister, my blood." Darby grinned and his blue eyes flashed. He was a handsome, charming man, Fiona had to admit.

"You're a liar, Darby Flanagan," she said. He laughed.

"That I am, sister, that I am." Darby drew in a deep breath and looked at Ezra who was sitting in the dirt, exultant, as he had caught a chicken and now held her by the tail feathers as she squawked loudly and struggled to be released. "Best go see after your charge. Meet me here tomorrow at about this time and I'll tell you what I want."

"I don't know that I can as it's the child's birthday tomorrow and there's to be some festivities. I may be needed inside and there's talk of lanterns being strung out here…"

"I don't care. Meet me here tomorrow at the same time, understand or I'll be knockin' on that grand door and askin' for me sister?"

Fiona considered and then nodded and Darby, grinning again, walked a few feet off and mounted the horse he had tethered to a tree. She watched for a few seconds and then turned and rushed to Ezra, gently detangling the chicken's tail feathers from his fingers as the fowl desperately tried to escape, much to Ezra's protestations. But Fiona was too worried after seeing her brother, too worried to care much about the child's disappointment as the chicken scuttled off. She turned her head as she heard her name being called and picked up Ezra who struggled, reaching out, wanting to get down to the chickens again.

"Fiona!"

Fiona came around the corner, holding Ezra. "You called me?" she asked. It was Mrs. Cartwright, the beautiful Mrs. Cartwright and suddenly all the resentment for every beautiful, well-to-do women whom she had ever seen came back as quickly as her brother had. He had brought back their childhood and the memories of how she and her brother would be sent out to buy a few scraps of meat or some withered, dry potatoes with a few farthings and would come back with a nice piece of brisket and potatoes free from black rot. Their mother never asked, just remarked that God provided. Once Darby had received a sharp smack because he had said that it wasn't God that provided for them, but him and Fiona who did.

"And you best be prayin' for forgiveness and confess your sins to the Father," their mother had scolded, gesticulating with the wooden spoon she had been plying in a pot of cubed potatoes.

"Bollocks!" Darby had said, his face turning red with fury. "Father Brennan can kiss my arse!" And Darby just managed to dart from the kitchen in time to escape an enraged swat with the wooden spoon and an excoriation from his harried mother.

Those days and the memories of her and her brother standing on a street corner, imploring the grand ladies and the wealthy Englishmen for a few ha'pennies or whatever they could spare, came flooding back and her anger rose. Her humiliation at being treated as a mere street urchin and of having to distract the butcher while her brother stole a cut of mutton or beef, filled her fresh. Mrs. Cartwright suddenly made her feel like that child again, the one who had to scrape and bow to the grand British men and women just to be tossed a copper coin to buy the meagre food to fill their bellies to keep them alive to beg again.

"Yes," Sylvia said. "It's time for Ezra's lunch. Oh my goodness, what's he fussing about?" Sylvia went to take Ezra from Fiona but she shifted him in her arms, pulling him away from Sylvia.

"He's just been playin' in the yard and chasin' after the chickens. He even caught one." Fiona pulled a remaining piece of downy feather from between his fingers. She then kissed his small, chubby hand.

"Give him to me and I'll take him in and wash him." Sylvia put out her arms for the child.

"I'll take 'im in," Fiona said and walked past Sylvia who looked surprised that Fiona would defy her.

"Fiona, I said to give him to me."

Fiona stopped even though Ezra was struggling and fussing mightily to be put down. "My goodness," Fiona said as she adjusted her grip on Ezra, "but you have your father in you—you're as single-minded and determined as he is."

Sylvia felt a chill. "You're far too familiar, Fiona." Sylvia stood as straight as she could, expressionless, but her heart was thumping.

"Pardon me, ma'am?" Fiona said the "ma'am" with a slight sneer.

"I said you're too familiar. Mr. Cartwright and I are your employers and you will not speak of either him or me in such terms. You do not know Mr. Cartwright well enough to remark upon his character or personality. If you do so again, I'll…I'm afraid I'll have to let you go. And as far as Ezra, give him to me," Sylvia put out her arms again. "Now. Ezra is not your child, remember? It's just your duty to watch him when I can't."

Fiona handed Ezra to Sylvia and smiled slightly at the trouble Sylvia had controlling the wriggling child who was yowling and trying desperately to get down so that he could continue to chase after the chickens, the few who had come around to the front of the house, scratching for bugs.

"No, ma'am, he's not my child—I know that—but then he's not really yours either, is he?" Fiona saw the stunned look on Sylvia's face and Fiona immediately regretted what she had said, not because her comment had stung Mrs. Cartwright—that was her intent-but because it might result in her firing. And yet, she felt a thrill of exultation; she had finally spoken her mind to Mrs. Cartwright. After all, Mrs. Cartwright was about three years older than she was, not so much older that she should be able to lord a position of authority over Fiona.

While Mrs. Cartwright stood speechless, Fiona turned and quickly went in the house and up the stairs. She knew that Mrs. Cartwright would most surely tell her husband and that Mr. Cartwright would call her to answer for the comment. He would look at Fiona with his dark eyes and then dismiss her with the mouth she longed to feel on her skin. But Fiona was sure that she could put a positive spin on it. Besides, she also knew what he had said when Sylvia had complained about her once before. Fiona had stood by the open door and listened knowing she shouldn't be doing so. But she justified it by thinking that if she was going to be sacked, she wanted to be prepared. "I would think you'd appreciate having someone like Fiona who doesn't drink or curse and who loves Ezra, to take care of him. Think of all the tedious chores in raising a baby she's saved you from doing—and uncomplainingly. Do you really want to be the one to sit up with a fussing baby nights, get up with him at the crack of dawn and change wet diapers and wipe him when he shits in them? And don't give me that look, Sylvia—that's the word that fits best. Most mornings, Fiona's up and feeding Ezra right along with the rest of us eating breakfast and you're still sleeping. Maybe you should count your blessings. Fiona allows you to be a lady of leisure."

Fiona, standing outside, had smiled at that because it was all true. Mrs. Cartwright was spoiled and indulged by her doting husband and not only that, he touched her and kissed her and pleased her in their bed and she still found fault with him on occasion. To Fiona, the Mister was perfect. It was Miss Sylvia who needed to watch her step, not herself.