BEFORE:
Charlie was gone. Eddie was gone. And in so many ways so was Adam. In Peggy's eyes, he swore he could sometimes see the sad, silent acknowledgement of his glaring inadequacies, inadequacies that, in very rare moments when he forced himself to look upon his actions honestly, he had no choice but to acknowledge too. It didn't happen often; honesty was rare these days—at least where his life was concerned. There were so many things he did not want to see, so many unpleasant truths he did not want to consider, and too much pain associated with everything to allow him to properly see or consider anything at all.
Miles outside of Virginia City, Adam had nearly beaten his cousin, Will, to death. Sitting on the porch stairs outside of Lillian Manfred's home in San Francisco, he administered a hefty pour of whiskey to his morning coffee and drank deeply. It took another cup of coffee and three more generous amounts of alcohol before he allowed himself to wonder if killing Will would have been such a bad thing. Brow furrowing, he frowned bitterly. No, he had not killed Will in Nevada. He had attacked him, pummeled him into oblivion, and then, instead of leaving him for dead, he had saved him.
Throwing his battered cousin over the back of his horse, he had packed Will back to California. During the tumultuous journey, he had frantically prayed Will would survive the trip. Now, weeks later, Adam silently cursed his cousin for daring to, because things would have been so much easier if Will had just died. No, not easier, he silently qualified. It would not have made his actions easier to justify or live with. It would not have rendered the result of their volatile interaction morally correct. However, if Will had died it would have made things a hell of a lot more convenient.
If Will was dead, Adam would be able to leave San Francisco to search for his wayward wife. He would have the freedom to return to marshaling, something that, considering how things had gone between him and his missing wife, was becoming more alluring with each passing day. It was impossible to think of doing such things now, not with Noah and Peggy to look after. Not with the secret he had no choice but to protect. So far, both his children and his secret had required their fair share of lies to appease. None of the falsehoods he had told slipped easily from his mouth, none would hold forever, and each came with their own set of complications, consequences that would only become clear with time.
When Eddie went missing, Adam told Peggy she had departed upon a planned trip and would return. Judging by Peggy's dubious expression, the explanation had not been believed. Even so, he was determined that, at least for the time being, Lil would remain the only other person privy to the truth about his wife. He would have liked to have protected Lil from having to harbor the bitter knowledge too, but he hadn't been given the chance. Adam was the one who had awoken to find Eddie absent from his bed, it was Lil who had confirmed to him that her daughter had gone, and together they had decided to keep the truth from Peggy. There was no reason to worry the girl, lest Eddie come to her senses and return, and there certainly was no reason to go spreading the truth of the matter around town.
The topic of wives running out on their children and husbands was not something discussed in polite society. Folks neither took kindly to nor were tolerant of such things. While he and Eddie may have had their differences and difficulties, the last thing Adam wanted was people thinking his wife was a trollop, derelict, or deserter. He didn't want her absence to affect his children any more than it already had. If her unexpected and mysterious departure became public, it would harm Noah and Peggy. Folks would treat and view them differently; the scandal would follow them throughout their lives.
In his darkest of moments, Adam was not certain what would become of his children if Eddie never returned. Lil, conversely, never faltered in her belief that no matter what future her daughter chose, Noah and Peggy would be well taken care of and profoundly loved. Adam clung to his mother-in-law's certainty, her steadfast support, unwavering faith and fondness. He found solace in her maternal presence, comfort in the knowledge that the truth about Eddie was a secret they shared. But Adam harbored another secret that he wouldn't dare share with Lil or anyone else.
Will Cartwright was still alive—and still a problem.
Bringing Will to San Francisco, Adam was met with few options. He couldn't turn him into the authorities because his cousin was not linked to or wanted for any known crimes. He couldn't accuse him of any because he had no solid proof. He couldn't let him go, for fear of what he might do. And so, in a seedy building located in a clandestine section of the city, Adam had rented a room where his cousin could be kept indefinitely. When securing it, he told the lodger Will was mentally unsound; a danger to himself and others, he needed to be kept behind lock and key. He had warned that any accusations Will could wield about his current predicament, Adam's actions or intentions for him, were nothing more than the paranoid ramblings of a lunatic. He had not suggested or encouraged this man to ply Will with opium to keep him quiet, dulling his loud, supposed manic ramblings to nothing more than scant, pallid, nonsensical murmurs. Adam hadn't wanted him to do it; he hadn't known it was going to happen until it had already begun. It was wrong and shameful. It could not be allowed to continue for long.
Nothing about the current state of affairs could continue for long. Eventually, the lies that had been told would weaken, the truth would come out, and then everything would change. Peggy would discover the truth about Eddie if she did not know it already, and Adam could not keep his cousin hidden forever. When enough time passed with no sign of Eddie, Peggy would question what she had been told. The man looking after Will would begin to question things too. Or maybe he would not. With as much money as Adam was paying him, it was not likely he would sabotage such a lucrative arrangement. Still, Adam would question everything. His faults. His sins. His intentions. His motives for keeping Will secret and not doing the right thing when he still had the opportunity to.
But what exactly had been the right thing?
Telling Eddie the truth about his father, Will, himself, and Ohio before those stories were shared with her by someone else? Allowing Will to remain free to kill another prostitute because there was no tangible evidence to hold him responsible for the vile things he had already done? When Eddie left, should Adam have washed his hands of the situation entirely and remained in San Francisco with Noah, Peggy, and Lil instead of seeking Will out again? Would any of those paths be better, easier, or more noble than the one he had chosen? Adam didn't know.
Trading his now empty coffee cup for the bottle of whiskey stowed in the breast pocket of his shirt, he drank deeply. If Will was to be held responsible for his wrongdoing, then Adam knew he himself would be too. If he had been tasked with ensuring Will was held accountable, then who was going to hold him accountable?
The door of the house opened, and Peggy quietly strode past him. School books in hand, she hesitated a few steps down, turned, and cast Adam a percipient gaze. "Careful with that," she quietly warned, nodding at the bottle in his hand. "Drinking isn't going to bring back what's been lost. Keep it up and you're going to wake up one day to find yourself resembling him."
Throat tightening, Adam did not dare reply. Regret sat heavily in the pit of his stomach. She was likening his recent fondness for drink to that of Will, and he hated the comparison. He didn't want to do anything that would lead others to correlate his behavior to that of his cousin. He wanted to think he was a stronger man than Will had ever been, wiser and more virtuous too. But what was the difference between them now? Will had done wrong and Adam had too. Their respective sins were as different as they were alike; even so, both were still wrong.
Adam cast his gaze on the steep pathway which lined the front yard and gave way to the jagged stairs that led to the street. Peggy was gone. It was not long before the remainder of his whiskey was gone as well. He remained on the front steps, his eyes glassy and unfocused, staring absently at the road on which he currently lived. He was unsuccessful in escaping his previous, tortuous thought.
Who was going to hold him responsible for what he was doing?
Even if he could hide Will indefinitely, it wouldn't help the hurt that had already been done. It wouldn't stop the pain. There was just no preventing it. Not with Charlie buried in the ground. Not with Eddie gone. Not with the strength of the whiskey which surged through his veins, thinning his blood, clouding his thoughts, and awakening within his heart a vigorous ache.
What had happened to him? What kind of man had he allowed himself to become?
Staring at the pathway, Adam was taken aback as a familiar form slowly came into view. It was not until the man was standing in front of him that either of them spoke. It was not until he heard his familiar, lazy drawl that Adam realized this person was not a figment of his imagination.
"Adam Cartwright," Roy Coffee said easily. "It's damn good to see you again."
Adam was dumbfounded. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I came to talk to you, of course."
"How on earth did you find me?"
"A man of your specific profession ain't that difficult to track down. A man of my specific profession just has to know in what circles to ask."
"And what specific concerns led a man of your specific profession to those circles to track down a man of mine?"
"I was worried."
"Worried?" Adam asked.
"You were in such a hurry to leave after I came upon you and your outlaw, I reckon that didn't sit real well with me after the fact."
"Because I was in a hurry?"
Coffee nodded at the space next to Adam on the step, a silent request to be allowed to sit down. Adam shrugged indifferently, overlooking the empty whiskey bottle and coffee cup that currently resided in the space. Coffee picked up both; the coffee cup he placed on the step below as he sat down; the empty bottle he kept, turning it in between his calloused hands.
"Do you recall how old you were when we first met?" he asked.
Adam snorted, taken aback by the question. He considered it momentarily and found he couldn't place the specific memory of meeting the man next to him. "Nine?"
"Eight," Coffee corrected. "Lord, you were a quiet, little thing. Everyone always gave Joe so much guff because that boy didn't grow for the longest time, but what most people don't know is neither did you. When we met, you were eight and Hoss was three, and even at the time there was nothing little about your little brother."
"Hoss was always big for his age. When he was a child, his largeness often skewed the basis for comparison, at least where Joe and I were concerned."
"That's probably true. Still," Coffee smiled fondly, "I do recall you being small back then. You and Ross Marquette were the same age, and he had a good four inches on you."
"Ross was always tall."
"He was. You eventually caught up to him; though, it took a handful of years." Coffee looked at Adam. "Anyway," he sighed, "I reckon, I didn't come all the way out here to talk about how small you were as a boy, not when there's so many other things to discuss. You were eight when I met you," he repeated. "You were a quiet kid. Intelligent. Small but tough. As I watched you grow up, I saw you go through all sorts of things. I was there when you got into your first fistfight, when you got shot for the first time, when you lost Marie, and when you had your first real, big fallin' out with your pa. I watched you weather all sorts of bad times, challenges that would bring any grown man to his knees, and throughout it all there was one thing I never saw you do."
"What's that?"
"I never saw you cry. But, weeks ago, when I stumbled upon you and your busted up outlaw, you cried the minute you recognized me. You clung to me as though I was the only thing standing between you and something truly terrible. I do hope you'll forgive me for speaking about such things now, but you have to understand, you were there, crying in a manner I have only ever seen the most despairing of men do, and then you were gone. You may have left me in those woods, Adam, but my memory of that moment hasn't left me, and neither has the question I failed to ask at the time. Something has gone terribly wrong for you, hasn't it?"
"You came all this way to ask me that?"
"Not really. The question is more a matter of convenience, I suppose. I'm really here to proposition you."
"Proposition me?"
"There ain't no sense in the two of us dancing around the topic, tryin' our best not to say what we both know. You're a lawman, Adam. I know your father won't exactly be proud or happy to see what you've become but I sure am.
Adam looked at the whiskey bottle in Coffee's hands. "You shouldn't be," he said.
"Well, I am," Coffee said simply. "It suits you."
Shaking his head, Adam stood. "It doesn't." He looked at Coffee warily. "Are you going to tell me why you're really here?"
"I already told you; I've come with a proposition."
"Which is?"
"I want you to come back to Virginia City."
It was such a ludicrous prospect; Adam laughed.
"You see," Coffee continued, "I've got my mind set on retiring. I need a good replacement."
"You hold an elected position. I'm sure the townsfolk will decide upon the right man to succeed you."
"That's the thing, though. I'm in the middle of my term, which means I get to choose the man who takes my spot."
"No," Adam disagreed. "It means that you are allowed to make a recommendation for the town council to vote upon. You don't get to just choose."
Pleased, Coffee smiled. "Exactly," he said. "See? You understand the rules, that's why you're a wonderful candidate."
"Does my father still have a seat on the council?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm a horrible candidate."
"Why? Because you think he'd deny you the job if you came back?"
"You're a fool if you think he won't."
"He won't," Coffee assured.
"Given the past, how can you think that?"
"Given the present, how can you not?"
Mouth hanging slightly open, Adam's stomach turned as he wondered what Coffee was not saying. What did the man know—or what did he think he knew—that he hadn't yet shared?
"Like I said," Coffee continued, "a man of my profession can always find a man of yours. Adam, I'm sorry, but when I was looking for you, I couldn't help talking to folks, and now that I've found you, I can't ignore the things that they said."
Thinking of the events of the last few months, Adam's stomach turned. What if Coffee knew about the dead prostitute back East? What if he knew about Will? "What kind of things?"
"I know you're a family man now. You kept Peggy and married your wife. You have two sons, but one of them was…lost recently." Coffee's expression was laden with sympathetic sadness. "That's the kinda thing a man don't take easily. I suppose, a woman don't either. Your wife couldn't bear it. She left." He looked at Adam. "Your boy died, and your woman left, and that's why you're here, losing yourself in a bottle before the day's really had a chance to begin."
"That's funny," Adam said, his voice flat and humorless. "And here I was thinking that Lil and I were doing a banner job of hiding the fact that Eddie left town." Rubbing a hand across his beard, he sighed tiredly. If folks around town knew about Eddie, then that meant Peggy knew too.
Abandoning the whiskey bottle, Coffee stood. "Adam," he said seriously, "I really think you oughta take me up on my offer and come back to Virginia City. I think coming home might do you and your children a world of good. Now, I know there's some guff between you and your pa. I also know that what happened between you two isn't anything that can't be worked out. Think about it, Adam. What I'm offering you is a chance to come back as your own man. You wouldn't have to work for your pa if you didn't want to. Of course, once he understands the whole story of what's happened over the last six years, I'm not saying he ain't going to be begging you to reclaim your place in the family fold."
"I don't want his pity."
Coffee nodded as though the response had been expected. "No," he agreed. "But you do need his love."
Adam would neither confirm nor deny the claim. There were just some things in a man's life that were destined to never change, no matter how much he wanted them to. "How are…?" he began, hesitated, and then opened his mouth again. "Hoss and Joe?"
"Hoss and Joe are just fine. Doin' as well as ever, I suppose."
Adam cast Coffee a serious glance. "What about him?" he asked cryptically. "Is he still the same as he was?"
"Your father," Coffee thoughtfully mused. "I don't know. I ain't gonna lie to you, Adam. A lot of things have happened since you left. Some things have changed; I don't reckon your father is one of them."
"Men as stubborn as him don't change, not really."
Tilting his head, Coffee smiled fondly. "Neither do the sons they raise."
"All the more reason for me not to go back."
"No, sir." Coffee shook his head. "All the more reason for you to. Just something for you to think about."
"I don't have to think about it to know I can't do it. I'm sure six years have done a lot to calm the Virginia City rumor mill, at least where my name is concerned, but I can't imagine folks will ignore my sudden reappearance and whatever my father has to say about it. He's going to be furious, Roy. We weren't on good terms when I left. I can't imagine that'll change now. If I return and he decides to be angry and bitter, if he chooses to hold my absence against me…" Faltering, Adam knew his father's rejection would destroy him—or what little was left of him now. He couldn't bear to endure his father's fury. Not now. Not with his wife missing, his firstborn son buried in the ground, and the burden of Will.
"Things with your Pa will work out," Coffee soothed.
Shaking his head uneasily, Adam did not believe the claim. "It's not really him or me that I'm thinking of," he lied. "I can't take my children to Virginia City. I won't force Peggy to endure the things that are going to be said about me, or her, for that matter. Years ago, folks believed I killed Laura Dayton because she was carrying my child. There's just no telling what they're going to have to say about things now."
"Talk is cheap."
If Adam had been a younger man, then he might have been able to take solace in the statement. As it was, he was old enough to know it was the kind of thing people said when they didn't want to acknowledge how much words hurt them. There was a time when the townsfolk of Virginia City could not find a single kind word to say about him; there was a time when it seemed his father could not either.
"Not to a little girl," he said.
"Not to a grown man neither," Coffee surmised. "I can't control how your pa chooses to conduct himself, or the kind of clumsy talk folks toss around to entertain themselves. I'm not going to lie to you and say that if you come back things are gonna be easy. In fact, I know that it's gonna be damn hard." Extending a comforting hand, the elder man rested it on Adam's shoulder and squeezed. "Adam," he quietly urged, "I am dead set on resigning my position as Sheriff and I'm choosing you to replace me. I need you. Virginia City needs you, even if the folks who live there don't know it yet. You're the perfect man for the job—"
"I am the worst man for the job," Adam said, his deep voice wavering with emotion he couldn't suppress. "Roy, you don't know the things I've been through. You don't know the things I've done or will do. You don't know me anymore, and you don't know my father as well as I do. I can't do it, not with the way things are. I don't have it in me to go back to that town and stand alone."
"You won't be alone, not as long as I'm around. No matter what you've been through or done, no matter what the future brings or demands from you, you have me. I will always stand in your corner or by your side. If you're intent on thinkin' that you've lost your father's love for good, fine, but I at least want you to know that you won't ever lose mine. You have me, boy. No matter what, you will always have me."
Adam snorted sadly, tears springing quickly to his eyes. Coffee could not have known how affecting his statement would be any more than Adam could have known how much he needed to hear it. Or maybe Coffee did know.
"Think about it," the older man urged. "If you decide that the real reason you can't come back is because it ain't the right choice for your family, your mother-in-law, children, and such, then so be it. But if you come to realize you don't want to come back because you're afraid of facing up to your pa, then I think you know what your decision should be." He squeezed Adam's shoulder again. "Think about it. I'll come back 'round in a few days and then you can let me know what you've decided to do."
Coffee smiled as he took his leave, beginning his slow descent down the steep stairs lining the pathway to the street.
Clearing his throat, Adam swiped his shirtsleeve over his tear-filled eyes. Damn the whiskey, he thought, for stripping him of control over his emotions. And damn Roy Coffee for unexpectedly showing up to say the right thing at the worst time.
TBC
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