NEW YORK

Calypso's Prisoner

"ALBANY!" The conductor's voice shook Ben from a half-doze, and he peeled back his eyelids, stretching his shoulders beneath his jacket. "Albany! Everybody off for Albany!"

Albany. He needed to change trains here for Boston. He rose awkwardly, squirming some of the kinks from his back and pulling his carpetbag down from the rack above. He saw Mrs. Chambers yawning and stretching in her seat across the aisle and scooped her small bag down as well. No doubt there was more substantial luggage in the baggage car and a husband in the club car, but he could offer this one small courtesy.

She saw what he had done and smiled at him, trying to bring some order to her hair. "Well, it's a LITTLE more comfortable than spending the night on a stagecoach."

Ben smiled in return. "Very little." He pulled out his watch and glanced at it. "7:30am. We made good time, though."

Mrs. Chambers nodded, straightening her smart traveling jacket. "Only fourteen hours. It's amazing, when you think about it." She took the arm Ben offered her and then let him precede her down the steep car steps and assist her onto the platform, breathing deeply as she looked around in the thin dawn light. "Real air. I'd almost forgotten what it smells like."

Ben inhaled the faint smells of coal and cinders and shook his head. "Almost real air. If you really want real air, you'll have to come to the Ponderosa."

Mrs. Chambers stopped trying to retie her bonnet. "I'd like that," she said simply. They stood looking at one another for a moment. "This is my stop," she added at last.

Ben dropped his head and nodded. "It has been - " he cleared his throat. "Your company has been - well. Wonderful. I want to thank you - "

"Piffle." Mrs. Chambers abandoned the bonnet strings to pull on a pair of crocheted mitts. "The pleasure has been all mine. I wonder if you'd be willing…" She trailed off, looking embarrassed.

Ben looked at her questioningly, and when she didn't continue prompted gently, "Anything."

Mrs. Chambers flushed a little, paying careful attention to the wrist button on one of her mitts. "Well, I wonder if I gave you my address if you'd be willing to drop me a line and let me know how you make out? You and Adam? I know it's presumptuous of me, but I can't help wondering…"

"Not presumptuous at all. After listening to all those long stories I think it's the least that I owe you."

Mrs. Chambers gave a low laugh, peeking up at him. "I had such a good time. I never would have believed it."

Ben nodded, his heart suddenly restless. "You're very good company. I'd almost forgotten myself how it could be…" He shrugged, glancing around. "Your husband wheeling and dealing again?"

"That's right." She stared at her mitts in exasperation as the button eluded her grasp and finally peeled them off again. "I wonder if I might impose on you one more time to watch my carpet bag for me while I freshen up? I honestly feel as if even my teeth are full of cinders."

Ben laughed. "Go on." He watched her walk away toward the small ladies' washing facility, feeling in his front pocket for his pipe and tobacco. He had time for a brief smoke before he had to board the train for Boston - might as well enjoy it. No time between trains for a telegram here, and at his next stop…he shook his head. He didn't know whether to feel relief or terror.

He tamped down the tobacco and coaxed it into a rosy glow and was just enjoying the first fragrant puff when a throat clearing behind him made him turn. Lyle Chambers stood there, looking uncomfortable. His eyes were bloodshot and his coat had absorbed the smoke of a dozen different club car cigars. Ben raised his brows in polite inquiry.

Chambers cleared his throat again, jerking his head at the small, neat bag next to his own. "That Katherine's?"

Ben nodded. "She's gone to freshen up a little."

Chambers nodded back, sliding the bag over his arm. "I - um - " he looked past Ben, as if studying something across the track and on the station wall beyond him. "I - know you looked out for her on the way - not that she isn't capable of looking out for herself - she is - but - I know she enjoyed talking with you. I - wanted to thank you."

Ben nodded again. "It was a pleasure. She's a very pleasant companion."

Chambers bobbed his head at the toes of his boots. "I know that," he said abruptly.

Ben shrugged. "All right."

Chambers head shot up. "I do know it. But business comes first. Katherine understands."

Ben puffed at his pipe. "I'm sure she does."

Chambers' face tightened. "Oh, yes - it's all very easy for you, isn't it? You with your three sons. Katherine told me. Three." Ben winced, praying inwardly that that was still true. "What do you know about it? A man needs something to pin his name on - something that will carry it into the future so his life doesn't end with his own. If he doesn't have children then he needs to have something else. It's worth making a few sacrifices for."

Ben looked down at his pipe, not drawing on it now, letting the embers flicker and fade. "It's true," he said slowly after a minute. "I don't know what it's like not to have children - not to have that stake in the future." After a minute he upended the bowl of the pipe and ground the ashes into the platform. Chambers nodded abruptly, turning to leave. Ben hesitated, then said it anyway. "Mr. Chambers - "

Chambers paused, waiting and truculent.

Ben wondered why he'd stopped him, rubbing his hand over the pipe to cool it. "I - do know something about loss, though. I know - I know one thing. One thing." He looked at his pipe as if wondering how it had gotten into his hand and tucked it away in his pocket again. "I know that sometimes - you can become so focused on your loss - on what you don't have - that you lose sight of what you do. You can have some idea inside that that's something you will never lose - that it's sort of guaranteed - because you've lost so much already. " He smiled sadly. "I know that's not so. There are no guarantees - no limits to loss. Losing or being denied one thing does not safeguard another. You can still lose that other precious thing - and the next. And even the next. So make sure to pay attention to the precious thing you already have. Because some day you may not. That's all I'm saying. Just friendly advice. " He shrugged. "Take it or leave it."

Chambers studied him, opened his mouth to speak.

"Oh, there you are, Lyle!" Ben glanced over Chamber's shoulder, saw Katherine approaching with her bonnet and mitts neatly in place. She kissed Chamber's cheek and held out her hand to Ben, a piece of paper in it. "My address. You won't forget?"

Ben took the paper and slipped it into his vest pocket, brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them lightly. "Forget? You? Never." Katherine laughed, and he squeezed her fingers gently before releasing them. "I hope you enjoy your visit to Albany. Meeting you has been a pleasure."

"I feel the same."

"BOSTON! All aboard for Boston!"

Ben glanced behind him at the train growling to life there. "Well, I'd better board. You two take care." He had lifted his carpetbag and turned toward the conductor when he felt someone catch at his sleeve.

"Cartwright - "

He turned back, saw Lyle Chambers offering him his hand. He took it tentatively, was surprised by the firmness of the grip.

"God speed," Chambers blurted, then, in a lower tone, "I - I won't forget either."

Ben smiled slightly and made his way to the line of boarding passengers.

"Boston! Last call for Boston! All aboard!"

Boston. After all this time. There lay his past - and part of his stake in the future.

He turned to look out the window, watched the station sign for Albany grow small in the distance. Scenery crowded the windows now, moving past them slowly, then faster - blurring. New York had been like that for him, he remembered, those near two decades ago - like that scenery - blurring past. Schenectady, New York, to be exact. The end of the Erie Canal. Oh, technically Albany was the end, but the canal between Schenectady and Albany was longer than the stage road, so most passenger traffic stopped in Schenectady. Shipping went on to Albany. Pretty Dutch cities, both, he remembered, with herringbone brick for streets and breathtaking views of the Mohawk and Hudson.

He had rented a comfortable set of rooms overlooking the canal, he remembered - the canal was an engineering marvel, called the wonder of the century, and a rich source of employment, especially for a man with seafaring experience. He had found work immediately, helping to stock and inventory a Chandler's Shop. He had even taken their books home to work on at night - a good source of extra money. Even better because he hated doing books - Elizabeth had done them for their Chandler's Shop in Boston. There was a spiteful, angry pleasure and pain to forcing himself to struggle through them without her.

The Chambers had long since disappeared from the window's view - the station was a tiny speck in the distance. Ben rested his head against the window and thought about those days, slipping past soundlessly and indistinctly as the train scenery; like something outside of time.

He remembered so little about them. Sensations. Anger. Despair. A deep, burning pain that defined his days and hovered over his nights. The specter of a beloved face and the echo of a beloved voice - he would sit for hours over those miserable books pretending to work them, really recreating her in his mind - her smile, the sound of her laugh…the way she drew herself up when she was angry…the soft light in her eyes when she looked at him. She might be gone but she was not gone - he would not let her be - she would be with him always. Always. God may try to take her away, but God would not win - not while Ben was alive. He would reconstruct her - rebuild her in his mind's eye - every waking moment and every sleepless night.

He did, too. Faithfully. Vividly. Mrs. Callahan kept their small household and looked after the baby while Ben brought home money and kept Elizabeth alive, sure that if he ever missed even a day of remembering she would disappear from him forever. And then everything good that he was would disappear, too.

How long had they stayed in Schenectady? That was a blur, too. One winter? He thought so. Had Adam's first birthday been there? No - further down the canal somewhere - Syracuse? Rochester? He couldn't remember now. The train rocked him, the wheels singing along the tracks.

He could still see those rooms, though, if he closed his eyes - a sunny parlor with large windows overlooking the canal - some kind of dark burgundy wallpaper: his desk was there, a sparse kitchen marking the opposite wall, a small chamber at one end of the room for himself, a slightly larger one next to it that Mrs. Callahan shared with the baby's crib. Mrs. Callahan seemed very attached to the baby and that was a relief - she saw circumspectly to all his needs and left Ben free to chase his ghost.

He remembered sitting in that parlor one evening, the candles gutting low in their branches, drowsing over his pretense of doing the books with Elizabeth shimmering mistily before him in the shivering light. It was like that sometimes - he could almost reach out and touch her, she became so real. If he worked at it long enough and hard enough, maybe he would be able to someday. He would try.

He was entranced by his vision - so much so that it took him a long time to become aware of another sound - not Elizabeth's ghostly laughter this time - filtering into the parlor. He blinked and frowned, more than a little irritated at being interrupted. What on earth was that? It was familiar…oh, yes. The baby. He had heard it before, but usually Mrs. Callahan took care of it fairly quickly. She would again. He settled back into his imaginings.

The sound did not abate - grew louder, in fact - disruptive. He glared at the plank door to the second bedroom as if his disapproval would stop the sound. Really, she was taking a long time about it tonight - was it that teething again? It sometimes took quite a while to quiet the crying down when there was teething. He sighed and thought about going for a walk until the crying was over and Mrs. Callahan could get things back in hand…then suddenly remembered that Mrs. Callahan was not here. She had asked permission to go to a sewing bee held in honor of families of War veterans. She had given him some sort of rambling instructions but had assured him that he probably would not need them - that the baby usually slept through once he was settled down for the night. He looked back at the door, uneasy and irritated. Well, he certainly didn't seem to be sleeping now! And if any neighbors were hoping to sleep, it was a sure bet that they weren't either. He should probably…do something.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and strode to the plank door, determined to put an end to this nonsense. The wall lamp in the room had been left burning very low, and he turned it up higher so that he could locate the shadowy crib in the dark. The crying stopped. Ben let out a breath of relief. Good. He turned the lamp back down and started to pull the door closed behind him. The crying started up again. Ben braced himself against the door frame. Damn.

He opened the door all the way and turned the light back up. The crying stopped. Hm. Maybe it was the light he wanted. Maybe it was too dark for him. Pleased with his own ingenuity at solving this little problem so quickly, he turned to leave. The reaction was immediate - and loud.

Ben threw up his hands in exasperation and went back in. "Listen, young man," he began in what he thought was a rather good imitation of his own father's stern voice. "It is night and you are supposed to be asleep. Now lie down and go back to sleep, and Mrs. Callahan will take care of whatever you need when she gets back."

The crying stopped.

Well, thought Ben, that's all he needed, then. Just a little discipline. His father had always been a great believer in discipline, and evidently he had been right. He turned to leave. The crying started again - louder and more insistently this time. Ben wanted to tear at his hair.

What were those things Mrs. Callahan had explained to him about? What were the things she was always checking for?

Hunger was one. There was pap in a bottle in Mrs. Callahan's little window box of supplies, keeping fresh and cold, but didn't it have to be warmed up first, and how on earth did you do that again?

Wetness. Lord, he hoped it wasn't that one - he had seen Mrs. Callahan take care of that and had no desire to try it himself.

Teeth. That had been a big one lately…He spotted the old ivory and silver teething ring that the baby had inherited from Elizabeth and a long line of Stoddards before her lying on the small maple dresser and seized it, holding it out gingerly in two fingers and approaching the crib cautiously.

"Here you are…is this what you want?"

There was a faint snuffling sound, then a small, round hand poked through the bars of the crib and curled around the proffered ring.

Ben held his breath. Mercy, but those were long fingers for such a little hand - had they always been that way? The hand shook the ring, but made no move to adjust it mouthward. Well, no matter - as long as he was entertained. Stealthily, he began backing toward the door again. He had almost reached it when the snuffling escalated to whimpering, then built to a wail. Ben shut his eyes and prayed for patience.

He paced back to the crib, his mouth set. "Are you wet? Is that it?" he demanded, shaking his head at his own foolishness. Not as if he could really answer, was it? After all, he was only…he paused. How old was he now? Six months? No - nine? Well, certainly not a year yet. And children didn't start talking until…when did they start talking, anyway? And when on earth was Mrs. Callahan due back? "Can you hold out for just a little longer, do you think?"

The tiny, long-fingered hands wrapped themselves around the crib spokes and tightened and a small head popped over the top of the railing. Ben stood still. Why, he was standing up. When had he learned to do that? He felt a bit of an unexpected glow. Was that normal? It seemed very clever to him. He inched a little closer.

The diminutive figure gnawed on the railing in front of its mouth, gazing at him unblinkingly.

Ben considered him with misgiving. "Well, maybe you're hungry then, but your food is cold, and I'm not certain about warming it up. Perhaps you wouldn't mind it cold, just this once…?"

The infant stopped chewing and cocked his head at him.

Ben's heart did a slow somersault.

It was…it was almost like his visions…that same look, that same…he took another step closer. More real than his visions, actually - flesh and blood. How could he have missed…? One more step forward, his hand hovering in the air over the downy head, then dropping to his side without touching. He swallowed slowly. "You have," he remarked, his voice shaking a little, "your mother's ridiculously long eyelashes."

The eyelashes went up and down like twin fans as the baby blinked at him.

Ben stared, his heart tightening now within him. Had he ever really looked at the baby before? Not the baby, he corrected himself - his baby. His son. Adam. He moved to lean against the crib, studying him as if he'd never seen him before. Which, upon reflection, was not far from being the case.

He could remember that first glimpse, Elizabeth staring into the cradle, constantly pulling back the draping and remarking on the newborn, begging Ben to notice this and that. He remembered feeling paralyzed, potential joy snuffed out by almost certain grief when he saw Elizabeth's grey and drawn face, transparent in the sunlit bedroom. He pretended to look - made some foolish remark, he thought - something about the baby making a fine looking man. He shook his head slightly. Elizabeth would have teased him mercilessly about that one if she had…he rubbed a hand over his face.

He had had eyes only for the face of his beloved - as though staring at her - fixing his eyes on her - would somehow keep her with him, in this world. And then afterward…afterward. He dropped his eyes.

Afterward, he hadn't wanted to look. Had shied away from that thing - that painful reminder of what had been meant to be such joy and had turned instead into such sorrow. That important thing that Elizabeth had so yearned for and rejoiced over and in the end, had had such little time to savour. Oh, he had seen to his child's care - had hired a good nurse, made sure he was fed and clothed and warm. Kissed him goodnight every night when Mrs. Callahan brought him to him. Surely that was enough? Wasn't that what a father did? It was what he remembered his father doing.

He reached with a cautious finger and ran it along the tips of hair that stood up on the little scalp. Black, he marveled, like his own. Curling, like Elizabeth's. The baby (Adam, he corrected himself mentally) shook his teething ring companionably at him and broke into a grin at the light touch, dimples popping out in either cheek. Ben found himself grinning in return.

"Now, where did you get those?" he asked, flicking a finger over one round cheek. "I don't remember any in my family. You could actually hide something in those, they're so deep." His skin was so soft. Were babies always so soft? He touched a fingertip to the velvety line of black brow that traveled across his forehead, then ran it lightly down his nose. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd almost think those were your mother's eyes looking back at me…" The words caught in his throat, and he let his hand fall to his side.

Well, Elizabeth, I'm looking now…a superb joke, that while I have been desperately trying to keep your image with me you had provided me with a living remnant - if only I'd done what you asked and looked.

The clock chimed in the parlor, and he gave a start. That late already! "You are supposed to be asleep," he enjoined hastily, "and I am supposed to be working."

Adam politely offered him the teething ring.

Ben took it doubtfully. "Well, thank you very much, but this is not the point. You lie down and go to sleep now, like a good boy."

Adam stared at him.

"Lie down…" Ben gestured with his hand to indicate lying prone.

Adam gnawed thoughtfully on the crib rail.

Ben sighed. "Well, all right, then. You can stand. I'll leave the light up for you if that's what you like, but you have to be quiet and go back to sleep." He turned and made for the door. He recognized the warning signs of a rising wail before he was halfway there.

He spun on his heel. "Now, see here, young man - "

The wailing rose to howls.

Ben winced, rubbing at his ear. "You can NOT make that noise at this hour! Are you wet? Is that it?" He reached between the crib bars and, delicately, as though he was afraid the child might explode in his hand, patted the diaper. Dry as a bone.

The crying stopped.

Ben pursed his lips and sighed deeply. "I don't know what it is you want of me," he confessed, "but I DO know that I have a great deal of work that I need to accomplish by tomorrow. And I know that you need your rest. So I am going to leave this room, and I do not expect to hear any more crying - is that clear?"

The dark eyes fixed on him.

He nodded approvingly. "Good."

With great military precision, he swung back toward the door and marched to it. His hand was on the latch when he heard a small sniff. He waited.

No crying, but another tiny sniff.

He stood frozen in the doorway, wondering fiercely at his inability to move.

Another sniff - very small, but distinct.

He turned around slowly. And cringed.

Elizabeth had never been much of a crier - had never been one of those women who used tears as a weapon. Despite that, or maybe because of it, he had always found himself curiously unable to deny her anything when she looked at him with wet lashes and full eyes. He found himself no more resolute when gazing at those same eyes in another face.

He walked slowly back to the side of the crib. "Well…" he fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief and dabbed awkwardly at the upturned face. "Well, I suppose you could come and keep me company while I work for a bit - would that keep you quiet? But you have to be back in bed before Mrs. Callahan gets home."

He pictured the way Mrs. Callahan picked the baby up in his mind's eye and maneuvered himself to where he could slide his hands under the little nightgowned arms. There was an uncomfortable moment where Adam dangled from his hands like a sack of feed, then he moved him against his chest where he could get a better grip on him.

Immediately, Adam's hands wrapped themselves in Ben's shirt at the neck, his head nestling into the crook of his shoulder.

Ben stood stock still, the oddest feeling around his heart.

It was well over an hour later when Mrs. Callahan bustled in, full of apologies for her lateness and stopped suddenly at the sight before her. "Oh, Mr. Cartwright, I'm so sorry - has he been restless? Usually he's so quiet once I put him down…"

Ben glanced up from the books he was working on, putting down his pen and pushing the old quill Adam was waving around out of his face. "No, that's fine, Mrs. Callahan - Adam was just helping me out with the books. How was your sewing bee?"

"It was - well, we got a lot - excuse me, Mr. Cartwright, but perhaps he is wet? I should probably - "

Ben ran a finger down his column of figures, checking. "Believe me, Mrs. Callahan, I would know if he was wet since it's my lap he's sitting on. He's fine. Did you ladies get a lot of sewing done?"

Mrs. Callahan blinked. "Well, yes - yes indeed - a record amount, they said, what with - pardon me, Mr. Cartwright, but maybe he is hungry? I could heat up a little - "

Ben grasped the quill and shifted it slightly as Adam slapped it on Ben's page of figures, crowing happily. "No, not hungry - I tried that. You'll have to show me that heating up again - I don't think I have the trick of it. Can't believe he really eats that stuff - it looks nauseating. Are you sure it's good for him?"

"Oh, yes - " Mrs. Callahan hastened. "The very BEST pap recipe - been in my family for years. You just make sure you don't put it directly on the stove, but in a pan of warm water…um…excuse me, Mr. Cartwright, but what is that in his hand…?"

He saw her eyes drift nervously to the quill and disengaged it from Adam's mouth. "Don't worry - I cut off the end. He can't hurt himself on it. A record amount of sewing, you say?"

"Yes - " Mrs. Callahan twitched. "Yes. Two whole quilts and just dozens of little…you know, he may be cutting a few new teeth. That does make him restless. I could get some paregoric…"

Ben gestured to the abandoned teething ring on the desktop, gently but insistently moving Adam's quill to the other side of the ledger. "Why don't you take care of that page, Adam, while I work on this one? He doesn't seem to be teething, though he chewed a little on his crib.

Well, I'm sure you made some families of veterans very happy tonight. You should get out more, Mrs. Callahan - it's good for you."

Mrs. Callahan opened her mouth, closed it abruptly. She clasped and unclasped her hands. "Well, I'm so sorry you were disturbed, Mr. Cartwright," she stuttered feebly at last. "Usually he's such a good boy - I can't imagine what's wrong with him."

Ben lifted Adam's hand carefully from the ledger and gently turned the page before putting it back. Adam grinned a four-toothed grin at him and he smiled.

"There's nothing wrong with him," he said simply, picking up his own pen again and dipping it. "I think he just wanted his father."

"BOSTON!"

The jolt of the train stopping threw Ben forward and back into the present, his eyes popping open in surprise.

"Boston! Everybody off for Boston!"

He rubbed at his sleep-gummed lids, blinking. When had he fallen asleep?

"BOSTON!"

Boston.

He stared out the window at the track sign swinging slightly in the wind.

He was here.

TBC

And now our timelines finally converge...