NOW:

Gray ash fluttered around him, filling the air as Adam stared at the charred, blackened remains of the house on Kay Street. Though there was a stream of perpetual activity surrounding him, the only sounds that superseded the high-pitched ringing of his ears were the ceaseless wailing of Sam and Ellie.

Dear God, would they ever stop crying?

Such a thing didn't seem likely. Not with the house in shambles. Not with the violent way in which they had been rescued from the burning building. Not with the smoke, which had blackened their skin and filled their tiny lungs. No, he needed to be thankful for the crying. Crying was good—that was what Doc Marten had said. It would work that smoke out of their bodies. Remind those around them that, with all that was lost, the things of most importance were saved. Of course, that had been Billy Buckley's doing and Roy Coffee's, too. If it hadn't been for the fast actions of both men, then neither child would be alive. It was they who had burst into the house, made their way to the infants, and liberated them from their mother's arms.

"Adam," Ben gently prompted. Grasping his son's forearm, he tried and failed to guide him away from the smoking wreckage. "There's nothing left to be done here. So, let's focus on what we can do."

Adam refused to comply; he refused to even register the request. His heart was racing, but his mind was empty. Clear. The adrenaline that had once rushed through his body and prompted him to spring forth into impetuous action was beginning to fade, making way for a distinct, tired numbness to set in. His breaths were beginning to slow, the ringing in his ears finally overwhelming the cries. If he were a weaker or wiser man, then he might have joined Ellie and Sam in their wailing. He might have dropped to his knees right then and there and cursed God, fate, the universe, and Eddie for the bleak and vile reality the morning had wrought.

This… This is the calm before the storm, Laura?

He pressed his lips firmly together, in fear that something unseemly, unkind, or unhinged might escape him. He couldn't be caught cursing Laura aloud. He didn't want to think of her at all. Not here. Not right now. But that could be helped. With all the things she appeared to him to say, it was maddening that this was one she had chosen not to warn him about.

Take hold of the moment you have been presented with. Laura's voice resounded, rising above the ringing in his ears. Reclaim what's yours.

Well, Laura, he thought snidely, that's a pretty damn difficult thing to do when you don't have anything left to call your own.

"I'm sure it isn't what Buckley and Roy think," Ben tried again. "Adam, son, I'm sure that something else happened than what they've described."

His own troubles and distrust aside, Adam was painfully certain that both Buckley and Coffee were telling the truth. Because who else would have had the motive? Who else hated the house, her husband, and her two youngest children as much as Eddie did? Her animosity toward him and the house was not a surprise; it was her seemingly sudden venomous malfeasance toward the infants that took him by surprise, rocking him to his very core.

"She's always been so protective of them," he whispered, his voice laced with shock as he tried and failed to understand Eddie's actions. No, that wasn't true. He understood why she had done it; what he couldn't seem to do was summon compassion toward her because she had done it. There wasn't enough grace in the world that could be extended to make such a devious thing less serious. Less callous or cruel. "She never even let me hold them. She never let anyone touch them other than her."

Ben squeezed his forearm. "Adam."

"I know she and I have had our differences lately; I knew she was having problems of some kind, but I didn't think... I never would have thought..."

"Son."

What kind of woman was so vindictive and hate-filled that she would set fire to the house her husband provided her? What kind of mother tries to kill her own children?

A sick one.

Eddie was sick; that was what Doc Marten had assailed during his quick examination of the situation, in the brief time in between the moment he had arrived to help her and the one in which he had whisked her away for further treatment at his office. By that point, Adam had not needed Doc Marten to futilely declare such an obvious fact. He himself had arrived on the scene a lot sooner than the doctor. He had witnessed Eddie's screams, watched helplessly as she fought—first Roy Coffee's, then her mother's, and then eventually his hold as she ceaselessly struggled to free herself.

Eddie had wanted—had been so damn determined—to run back into the scorching flames consuming the house. Not because she wanted to rescue anything from the inferno, but because she wanted the flames to consume her. She wanted to die, but she did not because Adam had refused to let go of her. Taking hold of her writhing form, he pressed her back to his chest, crossed her arms in front of her body, and held on to her wrists with damaging force. He hadn't allowed her to run back to the fire. She had neither been short nor indirect with how his actions had made her feel.

"I hate you!" Eddie had thundered, her voice cracking painfully. "Just let me go! Just let me die! I would rather be dead than here!"

If the flames of the fire devouring the house on Kay Street had demanded the attention of what now seemed like every person in the whole territory than Eddie's screaming had. A growing collection of people had gathered to watch the situation unfold. They did not cover their ears as she shrieked; they did not avert their eyes when her frantic, crazed, and damning screeches finally gave way to deep-chested sobs. They seemed to care little that this was one situation where ogling was not only unseemly and unsuitable but downright criminal. The whole town watched as Eddie fought and screamed, bearing direct witness to a crazed woman who had finally lost what little remained of her resolve and given into the depths of madness.

Eddie had fought Adam hard, her feet swinging through the air, hitting his body with surprisingly effective force, hammering his ankles and shins as she thrust her body forward and then back, her back thudding against his chest with punishing force. He endured her vicious and unpredictable movements, a kick of adrenaline allowing his own body to remain immune to the pain of her actions and the seriousness of what had and was taking place. But now that Eddie had been stripped from his grasp and the adrenaline had run its course, pain was all Adam could think about. There was no denying the seriousness of his wife's destructive actions; there would be no escaping the kind of things that folks were bound to say. They would call Eddie crazy; they would call her mad. They would accuse her of being a heartless monster of a mother. And they would be right.

"Adam."

"There's no coming back from this, Pa," Adam whispered. "There's..." he faltered, reaching for words that refused to come. He frowned, turning around as Ellie and Sam's cries seemed to intensify. Roy Coffee cast him an exasperated look as he continued to helplessly shush and gently bounce the infants he held in his arms. Adam felt a rush of fresh frustration mixed with the slightest hint of anger; it was enough to smother his stupefaction and dampen his sorrow. "Why didn't Doc Marten take them with Eddie?"

Ben took a deep breath. "Adam," he repeated.

"Pa, I swear, if you don't stop repeating my name and start saying something valuable, I'm going to lose it, too."

"Don't," Ben began awkwardly and then paused. "Do that," he finished lamely as he became the primary focus of his son's furious stare.

"Do what?"

"Pretend you don't know what Doc Marten did or said. Eddie is very ill. There's something wrong with her moods and her mind. Thank the heavens," Ben began and then stopped, seemingly considering the things he had left unsaid. "I seem to be repeating that statement a lot today," he finally continued. "Even with what's been lost, I think it prudent for us to take a deep breath and find peace and solace in all that we still have. Thank the heavens Eddie was rescued from the house, as were Sam and Ellie. Noah is safe at the Ponderosa, and you're standing right here with me. So, even though the house is gone, you have not lost anything that cannot be replaced."

Adam thought of Eddie's mental volatility then—something he was certain his father had not intended. "I wouldn't say that," he said.

"Adam?" A new voice asked.

Adam turned around and found Billy Buckley standing a few paces away. The other man looked between him and the house, his expression pinching with a sentiment Adam was neither accustomed to nor prepared to see.

"Look, man," Buckley continued, awkwardly grinding the toe of his boot into the dirt. "I'm sorry about your house and your…wife." He ended his declaration clumsily and slowly. It was as though he was as unwilling to offer his condolences as Adam was to hear them. But offer them he had.

Frowning, Adam was not certain which he was most affronted by: the pity gleaming in Buckey's eyes or the fact that the man dared approach him at all. Suddenly, he was angry; the events of the day finally caught up with him. He was downright furious with Eddie, shocked by the things she had done, and disgusted with himself. Why couldn't she have said something to him? Why did she have to set fire to the house? Surely whatever she was thinking and feeling could have been sorted out in a different way. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, if only he knew she was in the right state of mind to hear them. Damning things. Cruel things. He couldn't talk to Eddie because she wasn't here, and even if she were, he knew she wasn't mentally stable enough to endure them. But Billy Buckley was.

"What do you care?" Adam demanded, his frustration overriding all rationality and sensible thought, sharpening his tone and his words as he advanced on the other man.

"Adam," Ben warned as he stepped forward to stand between the two.

"Come on," Buckley groaned. "Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Don't pick a fight with me. Not now."

"Hey, man, you're the one who decided to talk to me."

"Only because I wanted to let you know that I don't intend to press charges."

"Charges?! Who said anything about charges?"

"I did."

"Against whom and for what?"

"Your wife, for burning the house down."

"It's our house," Adam scoffed. "We own it; therefore, I don't see how it's any of your business what my wife or I choose to do with our possessions."

"You're right, the house was yours, and the fire was Eddie's. If it hadn't been contained to just your house, if it had spread, then that would have been her responsibility, too. But since that didn't happen and your house was the only one that was affected, then I'm going to do you and your wife a kindness and let this situation slide. I reckon maybe you've lost enough today, and she's got rough enough road ahead of her now."

"How gracious of you," Adam said sarcastically, bitterly.

Buckley seemed to ignore his barbarous tone. "Come on, Adam," he said, his voice painfully calm. "You're better than this. Smarter too. Don't come at me hard just because you're pissed off and I'm making you think about something you want to ignore. You may not want to see what happened here, but believe me, the rest of us do."

"And what exactly is that?"

"The way I see it, the way I'm choosing to see it as the law in this town," Buckley clarified, "is that straight-up arson is one thing; what happened here today is something else entirely. Your wife set fire to your house and then barricaded herself and her children inside. Now, a woman attempting to take her own life is one thing, but trying to take the lives of her innocent babies is… something else."

"And what would that be?" Adam demanded, his voice carrying a deep and dangerous edge. Don't say it. Don't you dare—

"Oh, come on, Adam." Buckley was slightly exasperated. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Try to start a fight with me because I'm brave enough to stand here, look you in the eye, and speak the truth. You and I ain't friends; that's a well-established fact. We have some history wedged between us—a score that needs to be settled, but not right now. Right now, you have a family that needs you." He nodded at Roy Coffee, who still held the wailing twins. "The way I see it, those two need their father in the right frame of mind. They don't need him to get all pissed off and go off half-cocked, looking to fight with the one guy who, under normal circumstances, would have been happy to give it to him. I ain't going to give you a fight today, and I'm not going to press charges against your wife. The way I see it, what happened is a private family matter, and I'm gonna allow you to treat it as such."

"Thank you," Ben said, finding the wisdom to say what Adam would and could not.

"Ben," Buckey said as he looked him in the eye. "If I were you, I'd get those kids and your son out of town as soon as possible. You know how folks like to talk."

"I'm not leaving Eddie here," Adam protested.

"Well, I reckon you don't have much of a choice at the moment," Buckley said. "Besides, she's in the best place she could be right now."

"You're not pressing charges," Adam said. "That means that I'm free to take her wherever I see fit."

"It doesn't mean that. Besides, do you really think it's wise to keep her around the children whose lives she just tried to take?"

"I don't think it's any of your goddamn business what I decide to do."

"Save your energy," Buckley said, lifting his hands in surrender. "I'm not the person you're going to need to convince."

"And who is the right person?" Ben asked, calmly inquiring before his son could utter another furious word.

Buckley shrugged as though the answer were obvious. "Doc Marten," he said simply.

XxX

"I do not believe that is the prudent choice." Doc Marten looked warily at Ben. "Even if I thought she could sustain the ride, I wouldn't recommend it."

"Paul," Ben said. "She can't stay here."

Sitting aside Eddie's cot on the other side of the room, Adam did his best to ignore the interaction and set his attention firmly on his unconscious wife, something that was proving to be difficult as the conversation between his father and the doctor evolved.

This…This is the calm before the storm? He silently wondered again, yearning for insight and wisdom, it seemed he was destined to never glean. He had no house to return to. Eddie's two youngest children had been whisked away to be temporarily looked after in the home Lil and Sam shared. And with the way his father and Doc Marten's conversation was unfolding, Adam wondered when his wife would be allowed to leave the man's office and if she should be allowed to. Because she had set fire to the house on Kay Street; she had destroyed it; and she tried to kill herself, Sam, and Ellie, too. Oh, God, he was not prepared for this. He was far from equipped to deal with the situation.

"I would not, under any circumstances, put Eddie in the same vicinity as those infants," Marten warned. "At least not for the time being. She needs quiet and rest, and, once the sedative I administered wears off, a little time to allow her mind to clear. Or remain mixed up. We won't know the severity of her mental condition for at least a few more days, and it will take more than a few days after that for the proper course of treatment to become clear."

"You mean you don't know what to do for her now?" Ben asked.

"I'm sorry, Ben." Marten shook his head. "This is just one of those things that is going to take time. Time to assess, time to treat. Or not treat, whatever the case may be."

Adam's anger toward Eddie had momentarily cooled; it was eradicated the moment he laid eyes on her unconscious form. Her skin was darkened by soot; her dress was blackened, stained, and burned. There was a scratch on her cheek, and bruises circled her wrists, red, angry, swollen, and condemning. He didn't know what had happened to cause her cheek to be grazed; he knew he was the one who had bruised her. Or maybe it was she who had bruised him—at least originally. She had been the one who had left him in San Francisco, and she had been the one who had spontaneously reappeared, her sudden presence only serving to unravel what little of his life he had finally begun to put back together. Both of these decisions and events had smarted, wounded him in their own unique way. He had not wanted her to leave him in San Francisco any more than he had wanted her to come to Virginia City. He hadn't wanted her here. He had never wanted her here. Not with the past so painful and haunting, looming over him like a dark gray cloud. Not with the whispers of the townsfolk. With his history with Laura. With Will. With that goddamn diary still floating around, making its calamitous rounds around the town. He should have tracked down that book when he had a chance and burned it before it fell into the wrong hands. Eddie had read it, and he suspected that perhaps Peggy had, too, because he hadn't done anything to prevent such a thing from happening. He hadn't done anything at all. So, what exactly had he expected to come from building his life out of sticks and straw? Of forcing his wife and children to reside in a house where the foundation was rocked and unstable. Oh, Lord, Eddie had asked—pleaded with—him so many times to move; she hated the house. She did not want to live there. And yet, he had forced her to remain.

Why didn't I let her go? He agonized. Why did I keep her here?

"With as much as you are saying, Paul, there seems to be an awful lot you're keeping to yourself," Ben said to Doc Marten.

"I don't want to worry you unnecessarily," Marten said.

"It's a little late for that now."

Adam thought his father's assessment was the understatement of the century. There was plenty to worry about, and he knew that his father's list of concerns—like his own—was growing by the moment. Ben was deeply concerned about Eddie, and he was nearly as worried about his son as he was about his daughter-in-law. Adam knew that his current behavior was far from soothing. There was something deeply disturbing about a man who refused to speak directly to the doctor who was treating his wife. Who would not pose a single question about her condition. It was not that Adam did not want to ask; it was more that he was not eager to be provided with answers.

"I don't want to speak about the worst outcome only for time to prove the reality of the situation to be much less severe than what I forewarned it would be," Marten said.

"Leave alone, Pa," Adam said, finally acknowledging the conversation between the two.

"But—" Ben tried.

"But nothing. Doc Marten said we need to give her time; that's what we'll do."

Ben looked helplessly between his son and the doctor before eventually deciding to join Adam at Eddie's bedside. "And what will we do in the interim?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"What we always do. Work hard. Don't give up."

"Forgive me, son, but I'm not sure that such sentiments are appropriate or applicable to this situation."

"Well, I'm not going to give up."

"On Eddie?"

"On anything." Adam shook his head. "What a day this has turned out to be," he whispered, unable to suppress the hint of sorrow that seeped into his tone. "This morning, I…well, I chased a ghost into an alley, then I took Noah to see you, and then I fled a conversation I didn't want to have. Someone took a few pot shots at me, and now my house has been burned to the ground, and my wife is the one who set the fire. Christ, Pa, if you've been waiting for me to hit rock bottom before I finally decided to turn things around, this just might just be the moment you've been anticipating."

Ben placed a comforting hand on Adam's shoulder and squeezed. "I'm sorry, son," he said.

"Don't be sorry. You didn't create this situation. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You don't know how much I wish that were true."

Adam understood how his father was feeling, what he was thinking, and how he was connecting the moment Adam had been forced to take Peggy away from Will to this one and feeling a deep sense of pain, ineptitude, and loss. Everything would be different if that one decision had not had to be made—if Ben would have been honest with his son and himself about Will—but that one decision had been made, and nothing, no amount of pain, shame, regret, or fear would change the reality they were facing now.

"If you have to let the past go, then that means you do, too," Adam said. "You know that, right?"

"I know."

"If I can't cling to it, neither can you. We're both sorry; we both apologized, so that's the end of it."

But it wasn't the end of it, not really. Adam knew that, just as he knew his father knew it, too. The pain of the present was rooted in and spurred on by the past; the complications and difficulties they were facing were begotten by mistakes and missteps that could not be changed now. They couldn't take them back—they couldn't have them back, all that time, all the moments that had been overlooked or missed. It was maddening how the absences of some really could help a heart grow fonder, and it was unnerving how the absences of others could only bring pain. Charlie and Will were both dead. But Eddie was alive, and so were Ellie and Sam. That meant there was still time to change things. To decide upon a different path than the one they were on.

"I'm going to fix this," Adam said, surprising even himself with the strength of his voice. "I'm not going to stand aside any longer and watch as what's left of my family is slowly destroyed. I'm going to figure out what needs to happen, and I'm going to do it."

Squeezing his shoulder, Ben smiled slightly, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of sadness and relief. The emotions seemed so incompatible with one another, but that did not prevent them from existing or from seeming a little too congruent and befitting of the events of the day. Lord, Adam was so tired, so sick of having people look at him that way. He was so weary of provoking so much worry and concern. He couldn't change that in a single moment. He couldn't change much of anything right now. But he could do something. Something he knew would only evoke relief.

"Pa," he began, and then hesitated. For an instant, he was uncertain of what he intended to say and how the inevitable acceptance of his request would make him feel. He had been fighting the notion for so long. Probably still would be if it weren't for the devastating events of the morning.

Take hold of the moment with which you've been presented. Laura's voice resounded in his ears, a secret message for only him to hear. Don't allow dissonance, anxiety, or pride to overcome rational thought.

He took a deep, steady breath, swallowed his pride, and allowed himself to accept and seize the simple comfort the day had forced upon him. "Pa," he repeated. "I would consider it a great act of kindness if you would allow my family to live at the Ponderosa for a while."

Ben's hand drifted away from his son's shoulder to the back of Adam's neck. He smiled as he squeezed reassuringly. "Oh, Adam," he said. "Of course you can, but I hope you know that you didn't need to ask. You are my son; the Ponderosa will always be as much yours as it is mine. My home is your home for as long as you need or want it to be."

"Peggy isn't going to like it," Adam warned.

"She'll just have to make peace with it," Ben said resolutely. "You are her father, after all, and it is time she learned that sometimes, when you can't have what you think you want, you have to make peace with the things that you do have."

"With the way you say that it could lead a man to believe that you have forgotten how fickle the emotions of teenagers can be."

"How could I forget? I've been living with two of them. Besides, Jamie may be a year or so older than Peggy but believe me when I say that those two have more in common than either of them wants to believe. They're both difficult in their own ways. They both think they're more capable than they are; they both think that they are superior to the wisdom of their fathers."

"They both buried their real fathers," Adam said bluntly, knowingly. "And that's why they struggle with the authority of the men who stepped forth to take their place. They need us more than they will ever want us. Dealing with that boy will become easier once you accept that."

Brow furrowing, Ben's hand fell away from Adam's neck as he considered the statement. "Did you know him?"

"Who?"

"Jamie's father."

Adam was not certain how to reply. "Oh…I—"

"Adam?"

Adam and Ben looked at the foot of Eddie's cot in unison and found Lil. When she quietly entered, how long she had been standing there and how much of their conversation she had overheard was anyone's guess. Judging by the grimness of her expression, Adam theorized she had been standing there for quite some time. In her hands, she held his worn saddlebags, a curious thing considering they should have been destroyed in the fire that had consumed the house.

"Why do you have those?" Adam asked, nodding at the saddlebags.

"Eddie," Lil said. "She made me take them with me when I left her this morning." Her face contorted, her blue eyes filling with tears. "Oh, honey," she whispered. "I am so sorry. I didn't know Eddie had decided to—had I known this morning what she intended to do to the house, those babies, or herself, I never would have left her."

"I know," Adam said. "Lil, what happened today isn't your fault."

"Then whose fault is it? I am Eddie's mother; if I can't see through her and glean her true intentions, then who can?"

Ben at Adam and then back at Lil. "Sometimes things happen that no one can foresee or predict," he said. "Sometimes there really is no one to blame."

"The town is going to blame her," Lil whispered mournfully. Tears spilled from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks as more sprung forth to take their place. She made no effort to wipe them or to conceal her devastation.

"She won't be remaining here," Ben said to Lil. He titled his head at Adam. "He intends to bring his family to the Ponderosa for the time being. Lil, I know that Sam is firmly rooted here with the Silver Dollar, but I want you to know that the invitation is open to you as well."

"And you really think that will be enough to protect her from what is yet to come?" Lil asked, her gaze locked on Adam. "After everything that you've endured, that this whole family has endured, do you really think that will be enough to protect her—to protect your children and yourself from condemnation?"

"If I have a say it will be," Ben said. "Trust me, I have no intention of allowing things to devolve the way they have in the past."

"And what about you?" Lil asked Adam, her voice wavering. "What will you say or do when you find that the tides of this town have turned not only against you but against your wife as well?"

Adam looked at his father and then back at Lil. "I'm with him," he said. If this was the calm before the storm, he was not certain he wanted to know what the real storm was. He questioned if he—or any one of them—was truly prepared to endure it. "I promise you, Lil, I won't allow things to get worse than they are at this moment. If this is rock bottom, then from here there is nowhere left to go, nothing left to do but to rise." Rise from the ashes. To the occasion. To fight for the future he knew Peggy, Noah, Ellie, and Sam all deserved.

Lil extended the saddlebags and offered them to Adam. "You should take these then," she said. "You're going to need them."

"For what?" Ben asked. It was obvious that to him there was little distinction between the old and well-worn saddlebags and any other his son could acquire.

"Whatever comes next," Lil said simply.

For Ben, the explanation was far from enough, but for Adam it was sufficient. He accepted the saddlebags with a nod and ignored his father's confusion. "You have Ellie and Sam?" he asked Lil.

"For the moment, yes," Lil said.

"Can you keep them?"

"For how long?" Lil asked, visibly concerned.

"Just for the time being."

"Son?" Ben asked, seemingly sharing Lil's concern.

"Just for the time being," Adam repeated, looking between the pair. "Just until Eddie comes out of the stupor of whatever medicine Doc Marten gave her, and she and I have had a long discussion about things. Just until I've gleaned exactly what that next move is."

"I thought you were coming home," Ben protested.

"I'm not saying I'm not," Adam said.

"And that doesn't mean that you are," Ben said, his voice rife with disappointment.

"It doesn't mean that I'm not either," Adam said. "Look, Pa, you already have Peggy, and I want you to keep Noah—"

"And you want Lil and Big Sam to keep Ellie and Little Sam," Ben finished. "So, where does that leave you and Eddie?"

"Right here," Adam said. "To face whatever is or is not to come. She and I need to talk. Recent events notwithstanding, that is not something that has changed."

As far as explanations went, Adam knew it was far from sufficient. But it would have to do. It didn't have to be enough for forever; it just had to be enough for now. And looking at his father, he thought that it could be. When Ben finally nodded, he saw that it was.

TBC