BOSTON

He smoothed the telegram once more with a hand stiff and a little gnarled now from the years of salt spray, and reread the date.

Three days ago. From St. Louis. At the very fastest, he would reach here in another twelve. If all went well.

So far nothing seemed to be going well.

He gazed sightlessly at the steady shimmer of rain against the window. A fine caretaker he had turned out to be. He wouldn't blame Ben a bit if he packed Adam right up and bundled him back to the Ponderosa. Once he was well, of course. Always assuming…but those thoughts helped nothing.

He turned away from the window and rested his eyes again on the still figure in the bed nearby. The fever was as high as ever, but he no longer thrashed about and muttered to himself. Too weak, the doctor said. How long could a man - even a young and strong one - remain in such a fever? The doctor had said eight weeks wasn't unusual in these cases. Longer, with complications. It had been almost five already.

He dropped himself heavily into the rocker by the bed and glanced about the room.

He should have moved Adam. What on earth had possessed him to put him in here? Even giving up his own room to him would have made more sense. At the time it had seemed like a good thing, a good place for a boy to get acquainted with the mother he had never known, but now, watching him struggle for his life in the same bed where his mother had breathed her last was almost unbearable - terrifyingly reminiscent. What would it do to Benjamin to see it?

How he wished he had thought of it sooner. Now, of course, Adam was too weak to be moved. He reached out and took hold of the lax hand. It felt hot and dry in his own. Fleshless. And he'd thought him thin when he'd arrived.

He remembered waiting to meet him down at the wharf, nervous as moon calf at his first dance. He remembered the long figure, taller than himself or Benjamin but still boyishly thin - a jumble of long arms and legs, silhouetted against the horizon.

In that poor light there had been nothing familiar about him - just another gangly boy caught on the bridge between youth and manhood. It wasn't until Adam had caught his eye and given him a tentative smile then dropped his eyes in a brief spate of shyness that his heart had nearly bounded out of his chest.

Good Lord.

Benjamin had tried to tell him, but nothing - nothing could have prepared him for this.

The handshake he offered was firm and strong - just like his father's - and for a moment Abel had been almost swept away in a tidal wave of memories. He had felt a quick rush of tears and to cover it had boomed out, "Well, laddie, look at you! Nothing but skin and bones! Doesn't that father of yours ever feed you?"

There had been only the slightest shift in the dark eyes but it had taught him something that he would never forget again - no criticism of his father would be tolerated, even in jest.

Ah, well - and that was a good thing. A boy should be loyal to his father. But it had also underlined the fact that, even though a continent no longer lay between them, even after fourteen years of faithful correspondence, they were virtual strangers. Much as he may resemble her, this was not the daughter he had known. This was the grandson that he really didn't know at all.

The first weeks had been excruciating in their awkwardness - Adam had been faultlessly pleasant and endlessly polite - oppressively so - careful not to be in his way, keeping his belongings neat and contained. He was always respectful of his grandfather's wishes, solicitous of his comfort.

Abel thought it would drive him mad.

How could this boy have his daughter's face and yet none of her sass - her spirit? Oh, he knew he wasn't Elizabeth's child alone, but even Ben had never been this serious - this - this - damned proper!

He was being unfair and churlish - he knew he was - but it was torture to have the beloved image transformed and alive before his eyes and yet so far away and unfamiliar. He pushed sometimes - he needled - and sometimes he saw a flash of something that he thought might actually be temper, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared and he was sure it had just been wishful thinking. He put it down to Adam's restlessness, for he haunted the small house like a ghost, swinging his arms as though hunting some kind of physical release, looking for something.

His brothers, most likely.

And it would be hard for a boy accustomed to physical labor to suddenly find himself confined to the close quarters of the city. And so he went for walks - long walks, God only knew where. Sometimes Abel went with him, matching his long stride. It was on one of these that he had first seen a different side of his grandson.

They were walking about the Common. Abel was talking in loud, boisterous tones because that's what he did when he was nervous and Adam was answering in those brief and maddeningly polite pleasantries that made Abel long to shake him. Because he was used to carrying the bulk of the conversation it had taken him a minute to notice when Adam was no longer with him. He had slammed to a halt in surprise.

Well, this was a new wrinkle. This might almost be considered…rude.

He turned to squint back through the crowds, spotting his grandson's tall dark head easily above the throngs that jammed the sidewalk. He retraced his steps and stood behind him, about to speak, then pausing instead to follow his gaze to the plate glass window before them.

A bookstore. What the devil was so entrancing about that? Well, from the lad's rapt expression, something, evidently. His heart softened. Elizabeth had been fond of books - was always at Benjamin to read aloud to her. He studied his grandson's profile, then cleared his throat.

Adam actually jumped, then flushed.

Abel chuckled. "We could go inside," he suggested gently.

Adam looked at the sidewalk, then at his grandfather.

Abel chuckled again. So it wasn't impossible to ruffle his composure, then.

"No, that's all right."

"Oh, come along. It's cold out here anyway. Let an old man warm up." That worked as well as he thought it might and he led the way into the store.

Adam forgot him almost immediately, wandering from shelf to shelf, fingering the book bindings, pulling them out to look at them and flip through the pages, studying the color plates inside.

Abel leaned against the counter, his eyes following him. Not a statue after all, are you, boy? he thought, folding his arms over his chest and watching the intent, absorbed expression settle and deepen on his grandson's face. He wasn't sure how long he stood and watched - until Adam seemed to remember where he was, carefully closing the large book he was perusing and easing it back on the shelf.

He looked embarrassed. "Sorry - I - didn't mean to take so long. Are you warm now?"

Abel pushed himself away from the counter, eyeing him with raised brows. "Aren't you going to choose one?"

Adam turned his eyes resolutely away from the shelves. "I'll have my college reading list in a few days - I'd better wait for that."

Abel blustered. "Nonsense, boy! Those books are for learning! I meant one for pleasure!"

Adam carefully dragged his gloves back on. "Maybe another time."

Abel squinted at him.

Of course. Money.

Must have cost Benjamin a packet to send him and keep him here - couldn't be much left over for fripperies. "The devil!" he burst out brusquely. "Choose one you like! I'll get it for you - a welcome to Boston gift."

There was only the slightest pause in the drawing on of the gloves. "Thank you," he repeated, with one of his most civil smiles. "But I think I should wait for my reading list."

Abel wanted to kick him and then himself. Damn, he should have known better. Trust the son of Benjamin Cartwright to be stiff-necked with unreasonable pride! Why, the look on his face had reminded him exactly of - he choked a little.

Oh.

Well, he supposed he could have gotten it from both sides of the family. There were those who felt that he had a bit more than his share of pride as well. What was it Benjamin had called him that time they had fought over the Chandlers Shop? He snorted at the memory. Well, this was different. A grandfather should be able to give a gift to his only grandson without him stiffening up all over the place. Damn, he'd buy him the whole blasted book shop without blinking and count it cheap if he could only keep him looking the way he had a few minutes ago. He brooded about it all the way home, a cold and silent walk.

He was still brooding about it when they arrived, the words of remonstrance hovering on the tip of his tongue. He was a direct man, not given to subtleties, and couldn't help feeling that a good, rip-roaring fight would do them a world of good - well, himself, anyway.

Adam opened the door and let him enter first - another of those damned courtesies. There was a stack of letters on the tray by the door and Abel flipped through them briskly. At least two addressed in Benjamin's strong, decisive hand - one for him and one for Adam - another one for Adam labeled in a boyish scrawl. He plucked Adam's free and held them out to him, caught the look on his face from the corner of one eye.

Eh, damn, he cursed himself. As bad as that, was it? And what kind of a fool was he not to think the lad might be awash in homesickness? Too old and stupid to be allowed the stewardship of a young man, he was - too callused of heart and hard-shelled from years of fighting the sea and almost everything else in his path. Of course the boy was lonely. What kind of company was an old man - a stranger - to someone who was used to the companionship of two young brothers and a father? And what could he do about it? There had to be some way to ease his path here - maybe rent him a horse in the park on weekends - or there were other pleasures the city had to offer that he might enjoy - the Opera, the theatre, the museums.

He felt a twinge of conscience. Of course, he had promised Ben not to spoil him. Ben had been very emphatic about that - had repeated it in more than one letter as they were trying to agree on arrangements. Don't spoil him, Captain, I know you…he'll have to make his own path one way or another after this is over, so you won't be doing him any favors…promise, me…

And he'd promised - a little insulted, even, that Benjamin thought he could be so lily-livered - such a - a - woman. Well, maybe he was, then, after all, just a bit - but he was ready to don a skirt if it would get a smile out of the lad. A real smile - not one of those mannerly reflexes of the lips he was given to.

He continued to brood about it and worry it in his brain as the days passed. Perhaps the start of school would fix things - he'd be busy enough then and there would be young people to become acquainted with. He watched him anxiously, pretending to be jovial.

I'm as bad as he is, he thought. He's pretending not to be homesick, I'm pretending not to be worried. There's a pair of us.

He was thinking about it hard when he returned home unexpectedly early from the Chandlers Shop one day. He had started to push his way into the house when he heard a peculiar sound and stopped to listen.

Whistling.

He worried his lower lip, drinking in the sweet, melodic treble notes. Unable to resist, he cracked the door an inch more and peeked through.

Yes, it was Adam, with that same intent, absorbed expression he'd had in the bookshop, studying drawings on some large pieces of paper spread out all over the table and whistling contentedly to himself.

Abel paused, suddenly feeling foolish. What was he doing, spying on the lad in his own home? Maybe he should just sneak away and pretend to arrive again. But he knew that when he did the papers would be instantly swept away and upstairs, out of sight. And the boy seemed happy - such a rare thing these days. He hated to drive him back to the cautious courtesy that characterized him in his grandfather's presence.

He eased himself carefully away from the door and back to the stoop. Let the youngster have the house to himself for a time - he needed a walk anyway.

He walked for a long time and as he did he was thinking. He couldn't transport Benjamin or the two younger boys here - he couldn't fetch the Sierra Nevadas. Sending him home was not an option - winter was on the way, and besides, he was almost certain he'd refuse to go. He had started this course and, barring unforeseen circumstances, he was committed to it. But there must be something he could do - something.

Eh, Elizabeth - I don't know what to do. Yer mother took care of these things when you were a girl and I was away at sea. Perhaps it's just a matter of time, but I can't bear to see him so unhappy. If there's any way - anything I can do to help make yer laddie more comfortable here, then show it to me.

He stopped with a sigh. Almost dinner time. Time to get back. He made a move to turn, then stopped, gaze narrowing.

Right above eye level swung a store placard - Conway's Music - fine instruments, repairs and sheet music since 1812.

He frowned, remembering the whistle, and remembering something else.

Elizabeth, my girl, you always were one with a quick and cheeky answer.

The bell jangled as he made his way inside.

The interior smelled of wood polish and rosin and he sniffed deeply, looking about. Possibly this came under Benjamin's heading of "spoiling"…eh, who was he to tell him how to handle his own grandson? Young upstart. He wasn't here, was he?

The store clerk approached him. "Can I help you, sir?"

He cleared his throat. "I need one of those - those guitars. You carry those?"

"Certainly, sir. Any special kind you'd like to see?"

"Devil if I know - a good one. One with good sound." Devil take Benjamin, anyway. He knew what he was doing.

"Certainly, sir. If you'll just step over here…"

He obediently followed the clerk to a collection of instruments hanging along one wall. All looked the same to him.

"Now, this is a nice one…"

Ben's dictums echoed in his brain and he frowned to drown them out.

Damn it, he wasn't spoiling him, he was spoiling himself. Surely he had a right to do that. What was the point of having his grandson come all this way after all this time and then not even get to hear him play and sing? Ben had said he was good - he would like to hear for himself.

He studied the instrument the clerk handed him. A pretty thing. He could picture Adam with it. He remembered the experience in the bookshop and hesitated.

Damn. What if his confounded pride got in the way again?

"I need a nice one, but not too expensive," he added hastily. "Good, but not showy." He glared at the clerk, daring him to think him cheap. It's not me, he thought at him. It's that blasted stubborn, hard-headed boy of mine.

But the clerk merely nodded and reached for another instrument. "This is a good one. Very rich sound, but reasonably priced. Would you like to hear it?"

Abel shook his head. "If you say it's good I'm sure it is - they'd all sound the same to me. I'll take that one. I'd like it sent round - today, if you're able."

"Our boy is out doing some deliveries now, but I'll have him take it round as soon as he gets back. Would you like to write down the address?"

Abel had written it down hastily under Adam's name, his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn't been this self-conscious about a purchase since he'd bought his Meg her engagement ring. He fled the shop as though he'd been caught committing a crime.

All the way home he'd felt both excited and uneasy at the same time. In his mind he could see that sassy daughter of his laughing at him. "This was your idea, you know," he told her sternly. "Just in case Benjamin ever finds out." He smiled to himself. Not that it would worry her. Elizabeth had always known her way around Benjamin. He wondered if Adam did.

He was late for supper and jumpy and nervous throughout the meal, speaking volubly to cover it. He saw Adam glance curiously at him from time to time. Probably thought he had run mad. Well, it was better than all that politeness anyway.

The door knocker sounded in the middle of the meal and Adam got up to answer it, shooting him one more inquisitive look as he went by.

Abel ducked his head guiltily, listening intently to the voices at the door. Adam was protesting, then arguing; the delivery boy repeating his answer with rote inflexibility. He held his breath as the voices got louder, then heard the brisk click of the door closing. Then silence. He waited, trying not to peek and then peeking anyway.

Adam stood in the entryway between the front door and the main room with the cloth-wrapped instrument in his hands, held gingerly in front of him as though he thought it might explode at any minute. His face was dark as a thundercloud, as though he might explode at any minute as well.

Abel raised his brows. Oh, yes - that was definitely temper. Well, well, well.

"The delivery boy," Adam began in carefully measured tones, "says this belongs to me."

Aye, big temper, too. Definite storm lurking beneath all that calm.

"Does he, now?" boomed Abel breezily. He pretended to keep his eyes on his plate, but looking through his lashes he saw Adam narrow his gaze at him.

"Mm hm." Adam leaned his shoulder into the entryway frame, staring at him, eyes smoldering.

Aye, this was better now. Definitely a fight brewing.

"Thing is, I don't remember ordering it. "

Abel nodded, slicing briskly at his ham. "That's because you didn't, I expect. I did." Couple of young upstarts, him and Benjamin both. Teach them to think they could tell him how to run his household.

"Grandfather - " Adam took a deep breath, looked at the guitar, looked back at him. "I - I appreciate the thought, but I am not supposed to - "

Abel beetled his brows at him. "Supposed to what?" He was amused to see Adam flush.

"I'm - supposed to - do this on my own. It's important."

Abel nodded, gesturing with his fork. "And that there guitar, it keeps you from doing that somehow, does it?"

Adam glanced down at the wrapped guitar in his hands, the flush spreading to his ears. "Well, no, not - That's not the point and you know it. Pa - "

"Eh, yes, yer father. It was all right fer me ta send you gifts now and now when you were on the Ponderosa and for some reason it's a problem now that you're here. Well, as it happens that's not a gift for you, it's a gift for me - I don't suppose even yer father could object to that? He told me you play and I'd a fancy to hear it. Seems to me the least you could do for an old man seeing as you're living under my roof." Oh, yes - he had him now - he could see it, see the battle in his face! The first time he'd seen him nonplused. Terrible how much he was enjoying this.

Adam looked again at the guitar. Abel noted how gently he held it, even in his confusion and irritation. "Well, of course it's not that I wouldn't be happy to…I'll do anything you like, Grandfather, but - " he trailed off.

"But what?" Abel pressed his advantage.

Adam swallowed. He had no idea.

Abel grinned. "Then why don't you unwrap the bloody thing and we'll see how it sounds?"

Adam hesitated. He wasn't really ready to give in, but he couldn't quite remember what he was holding out for. He looked again at the package in his hands, then went over and, resting it on the nearest chair, proceeded to carefully unwrap it, a troubled frown creasing his brow.

Abel watched the frown soften and gradually smooth out as the mellow glow of the instrument's wood appeared. He watched him pluck delicately at a string and saw a smile lift one corner of his mouth. "So - are you going to play something or not?"

"Needs tuning." Adam pulled away the rest of the wrapping and plucked at another string, listening.

"So tune it, lad! But come finish your dinner first."

Adam hesitated, looking at the discarded wrappings.

Abel saw the look. "Eh, leave 'em for now! Criminy, aren't you ever untidy?"

"No," answered Adam bluntly. "Not really."

He gave his grandfather a shrewd look and Abel found himself flushing this time. He cleared his throat noisily. "Come, come, lad - food'll be cold as a polar bear's nose in another minute."

0

So after dinner Adam had tuned the guitar and played for his grandfather - that evening and nearly every evening that followed.

After that, things seemed to change. Not big things, but small ones. Not all at once, but gradually.

Instead of being marshaled efficiently back upstairs, textbooks were found splayed open here and there in the main room. The occasional roll of drafting paper was left tucked near the dining table. The front door closed now and now with an indecorous slam and school friends started to find their way home with Adam.

Looking at Adam on the opposite side of the fireplace one evening Abel noticed that even his posture had changed - instead of the rigid, both feet on the floor stance of early days, he sat slumped comfortably with one leg thrown over the arm of the chair. Abel felt a warm glow of smug pleasure that his strategy had worked. Eh, maybe it would have happened eventually anyway - but he was willing to take the credit. He looked up from stuffing his pipe.

"So, lad - " he said jovially. "Are you going to play something for me tonight?"

Adam nodded and turned a page without lifting his eyes from his book. "Sure."

"Maybe you could play that Annie Laurie. Or Barbara Allen. Though that one gets me all choked up."

"Whatever you say, Grandfather."

Abel couldn't resist rubbing it in a little. "So buying that guitar seems to have been a good idea of mine after all. Don't you think?"

"Yes, sir," Adam agreed politely, turning another page. And then, more quietly, but loudly enough to be sure he was heard, "Conniving old seadog."

Abel's brows twitched together and he squinted one incredulous eye at him. "Laddie-mine," he said cautiously after a moment, uncertain he had heard correctly. "Did you just - sass me?"

"Me, sir?" Adam's voice was innocent and faintly shocked, one eyebrow rising quizzically, though his eyes stayed fixed on his book.

Abel stared hard at him, then saw the telltale smirk sink into the corner of Adam's mouth.

A laugh rumbled deep in his chest. "You watch yerself, lad," he admonished sternly. "I'm not so old yet that I can't take you."

Adam nodded mildly. "You could try. Sir," he agreed sweetly.

Abel settled back in his chair and puffed his pipe, his heart light with merriment. "I've been thinkin'…" he continued pensively, studying the embers glowing red in the pipe bowl, "of buying a piano. For myself, of course."

Adam's head shot up, eyes wide with alarm, then he caught the teasing expression and his face relaxed into a mock-glare. "Well, that would be nice," he agreed dryly. "Then you could play for me for a change."

Abel grinned evilly at him and bit his pipe stem.

Eh, Elizabeth, girl - I knew you had to be in there somewhere.

Not that it mattered now. By now he had ceased to love Adam as Elizabeth's child and had come to love him as himself.

Abel closed his eyes in pain at the memories and moved his hand so it rested instead on the pale, broad forehead, radiating heat like a boiling kettle.

"Eh, lad," he said softly. "This is one way I'd rather you didn't resemble your mother. You hang on, now. Come back to me."

TBC