Adam had a talent with the guitar, having clearly practised often. Many of the songs he played, the rest of the family sang along with vigor. I hadn't counted on the memories that singing and hearing certain songs would bring, though. When Adam began playing 'Annie Laurie', tears welled up in my eyes.

All of the sudden, I couldn't bear to hear another note. I pushed myself from the chair and ran for the front door. Adam's playing came to an abrupt halt as I wrenched the door open and bolted out into the dark. I grabbed onto the first thing I could -a porch post- and clung to it as I sobbed.

A moment later, a pair of hands came down on my shoulders and turned me away from the post. "You just cry until you have no tears left," Mr. Cartwright said, his deep voice soothing. He pulled me into an embrace, my face pressing up against his chest. "It will do you no good to try holding it in."

His kindness was too much and I cried until I felt weak. Ben Cartwright held me through the whole, murmuring encouragement, and rubbing my arms. "I'm sorry," I said, lifting my tear stained face. "I thought-I thought I had mourned my father."

He let me step away. "That's the funny thing about grief, Rosemary," he said sadly. "It can creep up on you unexpectedly. I've been married three times and I've had the misfortune of putting them all in the ground before their time. I miss each of them every day, and I have no doubt I will continue to miss them for the rest of my life."

Three wives? How could one man keep going in spite of such tragedy? He offered a sad sort of smile when I asked him. "I have my sons," he said simply. "They gave me reason enough to keep living. You're a survivor, Rosemary. You kept yourself going when others would have given up, and you'll keep living."

"If he hadn't been so set on mining silver, this wouldn't have happened," I said softly. "We would be safe in San Francisco now. He would be grading papers and I would be cleaning up from our meal. I am so angry at my father and I shouldn't be. But I can't help myself and then I feel so guilty."

The last two sentences burst from me before I could stop them. Mr. Cartwright nodded though. "You wonder why you lived and he didn't," he said, his tone understanding. "That too will pass. I cannot know what prompted your father to decide on searching for silver, but he was following his dream. Never judge a man harshly for doing that."

Sniffing, I rubbed at my face. "You go and get some rest," Mr. Cartwright said. "The boys will understand."

I was exhausted, my grief having sapped my strength. "Goodnight, Mr. Cartwright."

"Now, none of that. You can call me Ben."

Turning to go to my room, I paused a moment and looked over my shoulder. "Mr...I mean, Ben? What will happen to me now? My father was my only family."

"Don't you worry about that. You will stay here until we can figure something out."

"And if there is a fight for your land?"

My question seemed to surprise him and he was silent for a moment. "Hopefully, it won't come to that," he finally said. "But if it does...we'll make sure you're safe."

Oddly enough, it wasn't the answer I wanted. Still, I gave a nod and hurried to my room at the end of the bunkhouse. This family of men had taken me in when they knew nothing about me. They had clothed me, fed me, treated me with respect, and sheltered me.

Despite what Ben had told me, I didn't think I could possibly bear to lose this family so soon after losing my first.

The next morning, I was awake in time to join the family for breakfast. Joe was barely coherent until he drank a couple cups of coffee, a fact which Ben chided him about. They discussed what they were going to accomplish that day, though Hoss' task went unmentioned and he didn't come to breakfast. Adam and Ben were going to oversee some horse breaking, while Joe declared he had work close to the house that needed seeing to.

This was, I suspected, a ruse, and his older brother's expressions were just as disbelieving as I felt. When the other three rode off, he turned to me with a grin. "Want to go fishing?" he asked, his hazel green eyes alight with mischief.

"Fishing?"

"Don't tell me you've never been fishing before!" he exclaimed. "That settles it. You and I are going to go fishing."

Quicker than I could follow, he had talked Hop-Sing into packing a picnic lunch, he had collected everything that was apparently needed for fishing, and had two horses saddled. He faced me, no doubt to help me mount the pretty brown mare.

"I don't know how to ride," I blurted out.

A frown creased his forehead for only a moment. "There's nothing to it," he said cheerfully. "Just put your foot in the stirrup and I'll boost you the rest of the way up. Then, you'll sit in the saddle and I'll lead Belle. Easy as pie."

Skeptical, I nonetheless grabbed the pommel and out my foot in the stirrup exactly as he had directed. A moment later, his hands were at my waist pushing me up. Then, I was sitting in the saddle. With a squeak, I tightened my grip on the pommel.

"You're fine," Joe said, making sure my feet were secure in the stirrups before he mounted himself. He guided his horse closer and grabbed Belle's reins. "See? Now we're just going to walk. You just relax, Rosemary. You're in the best hands."

Relaxing was beyond me, though, and I spent the entire journey clinging tightly to the pommel. I was never more thankful than when we reached a small stream and Joe helped me to the ground. "There," he said with infuriating cheerfulness. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I think I'm going to need practice."

"Not a problem," he said, waving his hand. "I'll teach you while you're here. It's not like I have anywhere better to be."

He led the way to the stream, explaining every step of what we were going to do. Joe baited the hook of my pole and showed how to cast it into the water. Then, he settled onto the ground and lounged against the log I was sitting on.

"Aren't you going to fish?" I asked.

"I think you've got it well in hand," he said, pushing the brim of his hat to cover his eyes. "If you think you have a bite, just let me know."

Clinging to the pole with both hands, I sat there as tense as could be. Silence stretched on, making the minutes feel like hours. Finally, Jo heaved a sigh and sat up. "Look, you've got to relax, Rosemary," he said. "That's the whole purpose of fishing: to relax and enjoy the day."

"This is not my idea of relaxing," I admitted, forcing my fingers to relax their grip. "I would much prefer a book."

Tilting his head, Joe bestowed me with an astonished look. "You're as bad as Adam," he said. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised given that your father was a schoolteacher."

I held the pole out to him but he shook his head. "You're doing fine."

With a sigh, I adjusted my seat so that I too was on the ground, resting my back against the log. I found myself relaxing more as the sun rose higher. "Why did you bring me out here?" I asked.

"It's no fun being cooped up in one place," Joe responded. "Besides, with everything going on, taking some time to relax is a good thing."

"What exactly is 'going on?'"

Joe was only too delighted to explain the current trouble the Cartwright family was involved in. A judge in Virginia City was dealing under the table with a railroad company that wanted Cartwright land. Men had been sent out to survey, ignoring the No Trespassing signs that lined the border of the Ponderosa. And now there were warrants out for the arrest of the Cartwrights because they defended their property from intruders.

"We could have killed them, but we took him back alive," Joe concluded. "Our only hope to avoid an all out war is if we can make sure Billington isn't re-elected as judge."

"And that's what Mr. Clemens plans on helping you with? With his newspaper article?" I asked, remembering what I had overheard the night before.

Scoffing, Joe nodded. "He thinks the pen is mightier than the sword."

Any defense I might have made for the written word was cut off by a tug on my pole. With a yelp, I tightened my grip. "Joe!"

Scrambling up, Joe reached around me to grab the pole. "Hey, you actually caught something," he said. He jerked suddenly on the pole and pulled a fish up from the water. Amazed, I watched as he made quick work of detaching the fish from the hook. He strung it on a line and put him back in the water. "Good job. Ready to go again?"

Without even waiting for me to say yes or no, he began putting the bait on the hook. "Are you going to make me do all the work?"

"Not work. This is fun, remember."

But he picked up the second pole, baited it, and cast the line into the water. He started whistling 'Sweet Betsy From Pike' but stopped when I glanced at him. "Sorry," he said, his tone sincerely apologetic. "I don't want to upset you."

"It won't." He didn't keep whistling though. After a moment, I kept talking. "My father loved all of those songs, especially the older ones. He'd say 'Rosie girl, we need to keep singing the songs. Otherwise they'll be forgotten.'"

"It sounds like your father was a good man."

The solemn tone sounded odd coming from him. "He was, thank you."

After a moment, Joe grinned, breaking the solemnity. "I bet you I will catch a bigger fish."

How could I turn down a challenge like that?