Okay, so…Pennsylvania is just plain long. I remember thinking that when writing it.

You have been warned.

PENNSYLVANIA

Scylla and Charybdis

(Part 1)

"Not till six?" Ben glared through the grey curtain of rain.

The boatman shrugged indifferently. "That's right, mister. Not afore. Has to make its way back from Buffalo first. Then we got to clean her up some and refuel - "

Ben waved his hand to interrupt what promised to be a lengthy catalog of steamship preparation. "And there's no faster way to get as far as New York?"

"Faster?" The man stopped chewing on his cigar long enough to look amused. "Mister, just a couple of years ago you couldn't get there anything like this fast. Boat'll have you over in Buffalo by nine tomorra morning. Downright mirackalus, I call it. Couldn't get there faster w'thout wings. You could take the road, a course, but that'd take much longer, 'specially in this rain. If I was you and in a hurry, I'd hang on fer the boat. Get myself a bite to eat and relax until six."

Relax. Ben automatically touched the latest telegram nestled inside his breast pocket. How could he relax? The train had been slowed first by a broken switch, then by the weather, until it arrived three hours late. Not that that would have mattered much in a normal way - he knew the boat to Buffalo wasn't due until six - but somehow he had been nervous, impatient, uneasy - cooped up too long in the train, perhaps, with too much time to think, despite Mrs. Chambers efforts to distract him. Then he had arrived here to find his telegram…he needed to get to Boston! He couldn't afford to be marooned here on some miserable shore, waiting for some confounded boat to come in!

The tension and exhaustion of his travels and the days of alternating hope and despair seemed to catch up with him all at once, sweeping over him and weighing him down as surely as the cold, grey waters of Lake Erie before him. He wanted to pray, but found his heart empty and cold as well - barren of words.

He hung his head. "Thank you," he managed at last, wishing he meant it. He would find someplace nearby to wait - someplace where he could watch for the first sign of the boat landing. Someplace out of the dull, enervating rain. Not that it didn't suit his mood. A hand touched his arm, and he actually jumped.

"I'm sorry, Ben," He recognized the warm, mellow tones immediately. "You looked like you could use some company. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Ben was embarrassed by his reaction, and his courtesy seemed to go the way of his optimism. "Mrs. Chambers," he said abruptly, looking over her shoulder and finding her alone. "Where the devil is that husband of yours now?" He was mortified by his tone, but it was too late to take it back. He felt himself color like a boy, ready to stammer an apology.

She looked unexpectedly unruffled. "He met some potential business associates in the Club Car on the train and is pursuing a deal with them. Thinks it could be very lucrative." She smiled and shrugged. "Don't be too hard on him, Ben. It's a big disappointment to a man to find he'll never have children - heirs. Lyle compensates by burying himself in business. It could be worse."

Ben ran a hand over his face, rubbing it free of rainwater only to have it instantly drenched again. "I'm - sorry, Katherine," he continued more quietly. "I had no right…"

She chuckled. "Oh, now, I don't know about that - since you've been left to baby sit me this whole trip I'd say you had every right. I was determined to leave you alone this stop, but you looked so…like you could use some company." She saw his hand press unconsciously against his breast pocket and frowned. "Have you had bad news?"

Ben rubbed his face again. "Not - not exactly, I just…" he grimaced.

She slipped her hand through his arm. "What do you say we get out of the rain? Then you can tell me all about it. Or not, of course, if you prefer."

"No, no…I just…" he let her steer him toward a collection of small shops set up to accommodate travelers. They moved under a bakery awning, and he was surprised to find he felt better just to no longer be pummeled by the rain. He made himself smile. "You have it all wrong, you know - I'm very sure it's you who have been baby sitting me."

"Ah, but I'm just trying to make it seem that way. Very clever of me, don't you think? Mmm…smell that cider! I could do with a cup - nice and warming. How about you?"

Ben shook himself. "Oh, of course - I'll fetch - "

"No," she touched his arm lightly. "Let me this time. Please."

He nodded dully, too weary and disheartened to resist, and found them a space at a bar that ran two sides of the shop. "No seating, I'm afraid," he apologized.

"Thank heavens," she answered bluntly. "After all that sitting on the train! I'm dying to stretch out a little!"

She set a steaming cup of cider in front of him, and he was surprised at how good it smelled. He took a sip and tried to force another smile. "You can't have children, then?"

"No," Mrs. Chambers wrapped her hands around the cup to warm them. "Probably why I find yours so interesting. Oh, don't look so grim - it was a big disappointment, of course, but I've grown used to the idea. Lyle, on the other hand…" she sighed. "Hurts a man, I suppose, to think there will be no one to carry on his name."

Ben gave a grunt. "But it doesn't hurt a woman?"

Mrs. Chambers' forehead wrinkled, but she shrugged. "It's a pity. You would have made a wonderful mother."

"That's kind - but we'll never really know, will we?"

"You would. You're patient and giving and open-hearted - all the right qualities. Some days I can't for the life of me figure out what the Almighty is up to."

"Like today?" The voice was very gentle, but Ben winced anyway. He nodded briefly. "Is Adam…?"

"He's alive." Ben stared mindlessly at his cider, his eyes unexpectedly full. "The doctor says…he'll reach a point of crisis…sometime soon, he thinks. Today, perhaps - who knows? I couldn't bear it if…to come all this way and then…"

"That won't happen."

Ben laughed abruptly. "Mrs. Chambers, you are very kind, but you know nothing of the sort. No one knows better than I do the vagaries of God's will - how inexplicable and random…" He pulled his wet hat off and pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to grab for some smidge of composure. "I'm very worried, that's all." He blotted at his eyes with the back of his hand and struggled hard to smile. "But here we're talking of me again, and I wanted to talk about you for a change."

"Oh, mercy - there's nothing of interest about me!"

"Of course there must be - such a charming lady."

"A very dull one, I'm afraid! Let's talk about…oh, more about your journeys if you don't mind. Were you and Adam ever in Cleveland?"

"Cleveland? No…" Ben gazed out at the misty grey harbor. "We bypassed Cleveland. Entered Ohio a little farther south, from western Pennsylvania…" he trailed off with a frown.

"Really? My sister lives in Philadelphia - we're stopping for a visit on the way back. Did you pass through there?"

"No," Ben's voice grew quiet. "Not that far south."

He could feel Mrs. Chambers' questioning eyes on him. "I've done it again, haven't I? Reminded you of something awful?"

"Awful? No, no…" Ben bent his head to take a long, slow draught of his cider. "I haven't thought about Pennsylvania for years, though. That was…well, a difficult time…I made a lot of decisions then - some bad ones, some - I'm not sure to this day. Suppose I'll go to my grave wondering about them, though."

"What kind of decisions?"

Ben cocked his head at her. "Are you really sure you can stay awake for another of these stories?"

"It is only courtesy that prevents me from twisting your arm for one."

Ben laughed, and was surprised to find the ache in his heart ease some. "You're a very good woman, Mrs. Chambers."

She smiled in return. "Well, if by that you mean that curiosity is a virtue, then I must be positively saintly."

Ben settled his elbows on the counter, huddled over his cup, and got comfortable. "I told you that we lost Adam's nurse - Mrs. Callahan - about that time…" She nodded, and he continued. "She wasn't well. She kept with us as long as she could, but finally I had to send her to her sister - " he smiled at her, "also in Philadelphia. Traveling was just too hard on her. She was heartbroken to leave us - especially Adam - but there was nothing else to do. Of course, I had to see that she had comfortable accommodations and good care for the trip - she had been so good to us, always. I would have liked to have escorted her to Philadelphia myself, but there wasn't enough money for more than one adult, so I found a kind woman who was also going that way and willing to look out for her and sent her on her way with many tears. That left us a little short of cash, so I thought it would be a better idea to take the money that remained and buy a sturdy horse and some gear and to go cross country rather than along the more expensive main roads and towns - hunt and fish for food. I'd heard there was plenty of game in central Pennsylvania…." He paused.

I've told you how little experience I had with children up until then?" She nodded again. "Yes. Well. That will explain why I didn't actually realize what a terrible idea that would be for someone traveling with a two year old. It sounds preposterous to me now." He stopped and took another mouthful of cider, his eyes distant. "Adam was no longer being bottle fed, of course, but he was still young enough to require some of the normal civilities like milk and bread, and his young digestive system wasn't really geared to deal with a steady diet of game yet. Mind you, we were well into the mountains and far away from any cities before this dawned on me." He stared ahead at the misty lakefront. "I also hadn't really thought about the effect of the elements…of course, children and their little bodies do not retain heat the way adults do - and while the open air is very good for them when the weather is nice…" he shook his head. "Mrs. Callahan had taken care of this sort of thing up until now. It shocks me, looking back, how ill equipped…how do other parents learn? I remember thinking that over and over. Women learn from their own mothers, I suppose, and if you have younger siblings…I had none. I was the younger child. Children really need to come with instruction booklets." He looked into his cider, finally sipped it. "I don't need to tell you, of course, that the weather got bad?"

"It's always like that, isn't it?" she murmured sympathetically.

"It certainly seems to be." He straightened suddenly. "You know, we have several hours to go, and if I'm going to bore you to death the least I can do is treat you to some more cider. And maybe a couple of those current buns?"

She chuckled. "That sounds lovely. What time of year were you there?"

Ben considered. "Spring. So it seems churlish to complain about the rain, hey?" He left a coin for a basket of buns and refilled their cider from the urn on the counter. "And, of course, we had no shelter. I had my slicker, that was all, and constructed what coverings I could, as needed. But it was not ideal. To make matters worse, I found it very difficult to convince a two year old that he was to stay under my slicker for his own protection and that we were not actually playing an elaborate game of peek-a-boo." He paused to frown at her. "None of this is nearly as funny as you seem to think."

Her eyes sparkled. "No, no, of course not - very serious. Adam - er - refused to stay under the slicker?"

"Yes….first because he thought it was a game, then, when I got sterner, because he was stubborn. He liked to see out as we went along, and he had reached that two year old stage…" he smiled a little, remembering. "I was beside myself - was sure he was going to get pneumonia. I kept asking myself over and over what on earth God had been thinking to entrust a helpless child to the likes of me."

Mrs. Chambers broke off a piece of bun and buttered it leisurely. "Somehow I have trouble picturing your Adam as helpless, even at two."

Ben laughed abruptly. "You'd be right about that. Truth was he was taking it all much more in stride than I was. Well, needless to say, we were drenched, and needless to say, I was frantic. I'd a good sense of direction after all those years of navigating on the sea, and I could tell we weren't even close to any large towns I knew about and wouldn't be for some days…you can imagine my surprise and relief when I heard music from somewhere up ahead. A church, I thought. No - not that sort of music. A tavern, perhaps? Even better - we could spend the night…I had no idea how I would pay for it, but perhaps I could work for a couple of nights' lodgings. Surely they wouldn't turn away a man with a child…" He broke off thoughtfully, watching the rain sheeting the glass.

The rain had been very much like this. It had been about this time of year, too. Despite the rain, Adam had dropped off to sleep leaning back against him and was peacefully napping when Ben finally caught sight of the brightly lit windows through the trees. He remembered it vividly - remembered breathing a prayer of thanks and swinging out of the saddle, carefully holding Adam in place. The movement and the sudden absence of Ben's presence at his back had woken Adam, and he had blinked at him, rubbing the rain away from his eyes.

"House," he offered sagely, looking about him.

Ben lifted him down from the saddle, trying to wrap the rain spattered slicker around him. "No, not really a house, I don't think."

Adam ground his fists in his eyes and looked again. "B'ding," he suggested.

"Yes, a building of some kind. One with a stove, anyway, and that's all that matters right now."

Adam pushed his fingers into his mouth and sucked. Ben sighed. Adam had a peculiar habit of sucking on his three middle fingers with his palm turned outward. Ben had seen children suck on their thumbs before, but this was a new one for him. He reached up to ease the fingers out of Adam's mouth. He wished he had some idea how old was too old for this sort of thing. Was he too old now, at two? Next year, maybe? "Just can't do things like other children, can you?" he breathed as he tugged the fingers loose.

Adam frowned at him. "Doh," he answered indignantly.

"Hm. Is that "no" to the fingers or "no" to doing things like other children? Leave that over your head now, it's very wet out here. We don't need you catching cold."

"Doh," agreed Adam, determinedly sticking his fingers back into his mouth.

Ben sighed. Well, maybe it was all right for now. He must be hungry.

He unfastened their small bag of possessions from the saddle and tied the horse where he would at least get a little shelter from the weather under the overhang of the roof, then, hefting Adam in one arm and the bag in the other hand, he lifted the door latch and stepped inside.

The room seemed dim despite the cast iron stove and the warm globes on the rustic chandeliers, and he took a minute to let his eyes adjust. His lungs filled with the scent of old cigar smoke and cheap liquor, and he made a face. Not his first choice of places to bring a toddler, but at least it was dry. The sound of a tinny old piano pierced the air around him. Adam pushed the slicker off of his head and looked around with interest.

"Well what have we here?" A figure appeared in front of him from out of the low-hanging miasma of smoke, displaying such an expansive array of cleavage that Ben automatically averted his eyes. She must have noticed, because the tobacco-stained smile she presented to him was amused. "Nice weather, we're having, huh? Look like you've been out in it fer a bit."

"Yes, for a couple of days. We were badly in need of shelter when we saw your building – "

She seemed to notice Adam for the first time, and the smile broadened into a grin. "Well, lookee, here! How are you, little Sport? Will you come to Lillibelle?"

Ben was about to explain that he was shy with strangers when Adam astonished him by reaching out his hands and hopping from Ben's arms into the woman's.

Ben felt heat rush up from his collar to his forehead. He thought of his Elizabeth with her refined, dainty ways and gentle upbringing. What would she think to see their son in the arms of this rough woman with the chaw stuffed in her cheek, the scent of liquor in her hair and her air of uncertain virtue? He carefully but firmly took Adam back, ignoring his squawk of protest, and held him tightly. "I apologize – he misses his nurse, so I think he thinks all women…he's usually quite shy."

"Well, that's all right, he just knows a friend when he sees one – don't you, Sport?" She ran a friendly hand over Adam's hair, and Ben tried to resist the urge to pull him away. "Look at them curls. I bet your Mama cried the day they cut them short."

"His mother is dead." Ben felt his face grow redder when he realized how abrupt that sounded.

If Lillibelle noticed his sharpness, she gave no sign. "Now, ain't that a shame. And where's this nurse of his gone off to, then?"

"Philadelphia. She had to leave us. She wasn't well." Ben touched Adam's hair himself and winced at how wet it was. Just as well it was short now, though Mrs. Callahan certainly would have wept if she could have seen what he had done to the carefully kept curls. But one of the first things Ben had discovered when he became Adam's sole caretaker was that he had neither the time nor patience to lavish on long hair. The first day after putting Mrs. Callahan on the stage to Philadelphia he had spent nearly an hour struggling to comb the tangles out. Finally, with Adam in tears and his own nerves in shreds, he had pulled out his sharp knife and done away with the ringlets, cutting them as close to the scalp as he could manage. Adam had seemed more relieved than otherwise. "You don't have a towel or a blanket I could rent or borrow, do you? And I was hoping we might be able to get a meal and a room for the night…"

Lillibelle slapped her forehead dramatically. "Now, where the heck has my head gone, letting you stand here and drip? We keep a mess a soup on the back of the kitchen stove all day for the miners, and you're welcome to some of that - Henry's got a space in the attic I'm sure he'd let you use for the night pretty cheap. And I'll bet you could use a cup of coffee."

Ben glanced down at the puddle forming at his feet. "I could."

"I'll get the blankets and see about the soup." She tickled Adam on the cheek, and he grinned at her from around his fingers. She let out a hoot, spitting with neat precision so that the stream of tobacco juice rang off the side of the spittoon like a clanging bell. "Get a load of them dimples! Ain't you gonna be the little heart breaker! You wanna come with old Lillibelle to get the blankets?"

Adam held out his arms, but Ben clung firmly to him. "He's very wet," he offered by way of explanation. Adam frowned at him with lowered brows. Ben met his gaze unwaveringly. "I said "no", Adam."

Lillibelle shrugged, chucking Adam under the chin. "Adam, is it? Well, never you mind, sweetheart. I'll be right back, and maybe your Daddy will let me feed you, huh?"

Ben closed his teeth hard to keep back a protest. Adam watched wistfully as she walked away. Ben felt his small body shivering against him and moved closer to the stove.

There was a man seated in front of it with his legs stretched out and a cup of coffee wrapped in his hands. From the smell coming from the cup it was more whiskey than coffee, but it looked warm, and Ben found himself glancing at it as wistfully as Adam had at Lillibelle.

The man took a swig and, without actually looking at him said, "So ye, mister - where you hail from?"

"Boston," answered Ben trying to squeeze some of the water out of Adam's hair. Adam batted his hands impatiently away.

The man gave a low whistle. "Long way, that. What you doing away out here?"

Ben gave up on Adam's hair and held him closer to the stove. "Don't touch, though," he instructed. "Hot. I'm looking for work, actually, if you know of any."

The man looked at him keenly for the first time. "This here's mining country, mister. And you ain't no miner. What kind of work do ya do?"

"I was a sailor, but I'll do about anything. I'm strong and able. How can you tell I'm not a miner?"

The man laughed. "Yer hands, fer one."

Ben looked at one of his hard, callused hands and raised his brows. The man grinned and held one of his own out for Ben to see. Ben studied the black lines that edged every furrow of the man's palms and nestled around his nails. "See that? Them's miners hands. Life among the coal'll leave'm that way forever. Ain't never comin' clean. And then there's yer face."

"Now, mister, I'm sure there's no more coal on your face then there is on mine."

"Naw, not that - it's yer color. You're colored by the sun. Look at me - as pale as them vegetables that grow underground. Spend the daylight hours underground and this is the color you end up. Yer no miner, not you."

Adam was still shivering, and Ben ran his hand up and down the small back to warm him. "I could learn. I learn quickly."

The man tilted his head at him. "Mining's skilled work. Takes a lot of learning. Most of our best miners are imports - Wales, mostly, where they know what mining is. There's some unskilled jobs, o'course - loading coal and such. Pay's not bad. You look like you've a strong back."

Ben nodded eagerly. "I have. How much is the pay?"

The man shrugged. "You'd need ta talk to MacNamara 'bout that. Could take ya to him tomorra."

"I'd appreciate that," Ben felt Adam shift in his arms and remembered something. "I can bring my son, can't I?"

The man studied Adam over his cup rim and snorted a laugh. "Mister, we start 'em young in the mines, but even we don't take 'em as young as that! There's a mess a young girls down in the village that would look after him along with their own brothers and sisters - always lookin' ta pick up a extra penny."

Ben remembered the last time he had left Adam with a caretaker and winced. "No," he said reluctantly. "I need to keep him with me."

The man frowned. "Suit yerself, but not down there. Dangerous place. No place for a little 'un."

"I can keep an eye on him."

"Mister, now I know you're not a miner or you wouldn't even be thinkin' of it. MacNamara'd 'bout have a conniption fit just seein' him there. Sorry, but you can't have it both ways."

Ben felt his heart sink with disappointment. "I need to earn money."

"Here you go!" Lillibelle returned carrying a mug and two bowls and followed by a boy of about ten clutching two blankets in one arm and a lidded pot in the other. "Why don't you give him to me and put this around you - " Before Ben could object, she lifted Adam from his arms and settled herself on a stool next to the mining man with Adam in her lap. Ben started to say something, but the boy shyly held out a blanket to him and after a minute, he took it and wrapped it around himself instead. Lillibelle was vigorously drying Adam's hair and Ben watched nervously. He heard Adam giggle as she ceased her ministrations and watched his head pop out from under the towel. He smiled faintly, recalling their frustrating game of peek-a-boo with the rain slicker. "There you are!" Lillibelle's voice was filled with hearty good cheer. "Now, why don't I get some soup down you while your Daddy eats?"

"I can feed him," Ben interjected quickly.

Adam frowned at him again. "Doh," he said flatly.

"Adam," Ben's voice brooked no nonsense. "We'll have none of that here. Come to me."

Adam's lower lip protruded. "Doh," he repeated.

Ben sighed. "He does know other words, you know, but for some reason that's the only one he seems to want to use lately."

"Reached that stage, has he? They all go through it…" Lillibelle had placed the bowls on top of the wood stove and let the boy pour soup into them.

Ben brightened. "Do they? I was beginning to think…are you a mother?"

Lillibelle gave a crack of laughter. "Land, no! Not me! But I was the first of fourteen and sure did my share of kid keeping before I left home to make room for the rest. Never met one who didn't say nothin' but "no" fer a while. Open up for Lillibelle, sweetheart…" she gestured with the spoon, and Adam opened his mouth like a baby bird. "You better eat yours, too, mister, while it's hot - I slipped a little something else in your coffee, too, to take the chill out." She saw Ben hesitate and filled another spoonful. "You can sweep the place out later to pay for it if you've a need."

Ben nodded, something inside him relaxing a little. He kept his eyes glued to his son, but he took a sip of coffee and nearly choked on the infusion of spirits. It burned all the way down like fire, but left his insides warm.

"Soup," Adam pointed out as Lillibelle scooped up another spoonful.

"That's right, darlin' - open up now."

"Hot," Adam advised helpfully, pointing to the stove.

"Is that so? Well, I'll be careful then. Here's another for you."

Ben dug into his own soup. Adam must be warming up if he was starting to look around. He saw him rub at his ears and stare around the room, puzzled. Ben sighed. What did he see? What sort of memories would his son have of a night spent in a ragged old tavern filled with smoke and noise and rugged, raucous men? None, he hoped.

"Down," said Adam suddenly.

"Now, sweetheart, I think you'd better eat a little more."

Adam shook his head. "Down," he repeated stubbornly, squirming to slide off of her lap.

Ben put down his spoon. "Come to Papa, then, Adam."

Adam shook his head vigorously. His little feet hit the floor with a thunk, and he was moving almost before he landed. Ben half-rose. He would never be able to get used to the idea that something so small could move so fast.

Lillbelle waved him back down. "Eat your soup - he'll be all right. Land, where's he gonna go? Nobody'll hurt 'em."

Ben hesitated. "I'm sure your patrons don't need a child underfoot."

"Heck, half of 'em are so drunk they won't even know he's there." She laughed uproariously at her joke, but Ben closed his eyes for a minute. What on earth was he doing? What sort of way was this to raise a child? "So, where were you headed when you got caught in the rain?"

Ben stirred his soup, trying to keep his eyes on Adam's progress. It wasn't easy in the dimly lit room. "West," he answered briefly.

She raised her brows. "Ohio?"

He shook his head. Adam seemed to have found what he was looking for - he was stopped by the rickety old piano, watching in rapt fascination as the piano player's fingers banged up and down on the keys. His three fingers crept back into his mouth. He seemed to be occupied for the moment. "No, California."

"California?" Lillibelle's voice cracked with incredulity. She followed his eyes to where Adam was standing, staring. "With him, or you leaving him somewhere?"

Ben's brows lowered. "Of course with him. He's my son."

She shook her head slightly. "Mister, you're plannin' on going all the way to California with a baby in tow? You're either the bravest or the craziest man I ever met."

Ben looked at her, then back at Adam. "Let's hope it's bravest, then," he said tartly.

She shrugged. "Let's hope."

"If you know of anywhere I could get work around here, I'd appreciate it. I need to get a little financially ahead before we move on."

"There's the mines. They can usually use a few extra hands."

"They tell me it's no place for Adam."

"Lord, I should think not! But you could leave him with me. Told you I'm used to the little ones."

Ben set his jaw hard and tried not to sound uncivil. "I'm sure you have your own - work - to do."

"Oh, well, yeah - but that's mostly nighttime work and you'd be back by then."

"Miss - "

"It's Lillibelle. Just Lillibelle."

"Miss Lillibelle. I don't mean to sound - ungrateful - it's a very generous offer, I'm sure, but…well, you're really a stranger to me, and I haven't had very good luck with some of Adam's caretakers. I only take work now where I can keep him with me."

She raised her brows at him and shrugged. "Well, then," she glanced over at Adam again for a minute, then stood and tucked in some loose strands of hair. "Well, I suppose Henry could use you to tend bar and throw out the rowdies…wash up at the end of the day. Pay's not great but there's a roof and food." Ben swallowed hard in surprise. "Bout the best you'll do around here, mister. It's a patch town - exists just to support the mines."

"I - I accept. Thank you." He was going to say more, but just then he saw Adam's free hand creep out and press experimentally on the piano keys. "ADAM!" he called sharply, but he was too late. A discordant sound exploded through the room, interrupting the rollicking tune. Adam's eyes grew huge, and he yanked his hand away as if he'd been bitten. "Adam - " Ben was across the room in three strides, snatching him up.

A roar of laughter rose from the men ranged along the bar. "Hey, don't stop him mister - it's gotta be a improvement on Barney's playin'!"

Ben flushed, glancing apologetically at the piano player. "I'm sorry - he's never seen one before. Adam, apologize to the man." The piano player shrugged indifferently, without pausing in pounding his melody. Adam leaned way over Ben's arm, trying to reach the keys again. Ben pulled him away. "No, Adam, the man is playing now, you don't touch. It's called a piano."

"'Nano," Adam repeated, leaning forward once more to see if he could make the sound happen again.

Ben pulled him firmly back up. "If you can not restrain yourself from touching things and you don't want any more to eat then I think it's time for you to go to bed."

Adam looked from him to the piano. "Doh," he said flatly.

"Yes, I'm afraid. Say you're sorry to the man now and come along."

Adam looked from the keys to the man. "'Nano," he explained importantly.

"Yes, it's a piano. If you're not going to apologize we're going to bed right now."

"Doh," repeated Adam obstinately.

Ben counted to ten in his head. He was acutely aware of the amusement he was providing the entire bar and wished with all his heart that Adam had not chosen this particular moment to act up - that he could try out his fledgling attempts at child rearing in private. How was he to convince anyone that he could handle a job keeping this bar in order if he couldn't even handle a two year old?

"That was not," he said at last, "open for discussion." He nodded to the piano player. "I'm sorry," he repeated again. The piano player shrugged again. Adam let out a wail of protest as Ben carried him away from the piano and went to retrieve their carpetbag. "Another sound," he told him sternly, "and you'll be having a little talking to."

Adam eyed him speculatively. Ben returned the look, waiting.

Lillibelle came back from wherever it was she had disappeared to, dusting her hands off briskly. "Talked to Henry and you're all set. We keep late hours round here - you won't start till afternoon, but you'll go until the small hours. Attic's at the top of those stairs. Second floor's for - um - Henry's - other - employees. I left blankets - you should be fine." She looked from him to Adam in faint surprise. "One of you boys havin' a tantrum?"

"We are having a disagreement about a couple of things. Isn't that right Adam?"

Adam pushed his lip out, but didn't say anything.

Lillibelle shook her head, absently patting Adam's cheek. "I can see. Just a regular chip off the old block, ain't he?"

"Yes," agreed Ben tiredly. "He's just like his mother."

Lillibelle raised her brows, shifting her tobacco chaw in her cheek. "You say so, mister. Right up those stairs, now."

Ben's eyes followed her, puzzled, then returned to Adam, trying to see what she saw. He saw what he always saw – Elizabeth's lustrous, long-lashed eyes and straight little nose, her Cupid's bow mouth and elegant bones. Then he looked again, taking in the lowered brows, the set jaw and the stubborn lip, and he blinked.

For a moment it was just like looking in a mirror.

TBC