Summary: Adam and Joe leave the Ponderosa, perhaps for good, in the wake of tragedy and misunderstanding. But the danger only Adam knew about is still with them. Note: the backstory is filled in gradually, through a series of nonsequential flashbacks.

Rating–T. Contains some violence, mild language, a grisly murder scene and a couple of animal death scenes.  (105,500 words)

The Lilies Series:

The Lilies of the Field
The Lilies of the Valley
One Scarlet Lily
The Strawberry Roan

 

Warning #1: Murder and mayhem abound in this one folks! Contains a continuation of a WHI for “Forever,” a “WHL” for “Death at Dawn,” and a continuation of a “WHL” for “The Savage.”

Warning #2: This is the third story of a series and builds on the second story. If you haven’t read “The Lilies of the Valley” at the very least, you’re probably going to be lost. But if you want to try and read this anyway, here’s what you need to know.

• At the end of “The Lilies of the Field,” (#1) Adam married Virginia City’s “scandalous schoolmarm,” Tilly Hoffman, and he, Tilly, and Adam’s dog Lady departed for Europe.
• “The Lilies of the Valley” (#2) describes how Adam and Tilly were trapped in Paris during a war and eventually deported to a tiny prison island in the Pacific. During that time, Adam endured interrogation and torture that left him with grave injuries, both physical and spiritual.
• “The Lilies of the Valley” also recounts what happened on the Ponderosa during that time:
  • Although Ben mounted an investigation, he was unable to find any record of what happened to Adam and Tilly, leaving them presumed dead;
  • Hoss married a tall, blonde lady named Veralyn Mason (an OC);
  • Joe married Alice Harper (from Forever) and they had a little girl they named Bonnie Marie;
  • Ben found himself in a strange relationship with Beth Cameron (from Death at Dawn);
  • Ben, Joe and Hoss learned that unknown to Adam, his “marriage” to Ruth Halverson (in “The Savage” and “The Lilies of the Field”) had born fruit—namely a boy named Audun—and that Ruth was dead.
  • The three Cartwrights retrieved Audun and brought him to the Ponderosa.
• Everyone was reunited and the story wrapped up over Christmas 1873.

Warning #3: People heal abnormally fast in Bonanza. Whether the wound is physical (Honor of Cochise, anyone? I won’t even mention Little Joe…) or psychological, the guys are always hale and hearty by next week’s episode. Okay, in sandspur’s world, physical wounds leave scars and sometimes more; likewise wounds to the heart and head. All this to say you’ll see Adam and Joe do some strange things in this story, but cut them some slack as they’ve been through a lot.

 

One Scarlet Lily 

Chapter 1

April, 1875

 In the wee hours before dawn, Adam Cartwright sat on the porch, staring across the yard. Cochise and Sport were waiting at the hitching rail, saddled and carrying full bedrolls and bags. When Joe arrived, the two of them were leaving, and without any idea of when, or if, they’d be back.

He clenched his right hand into a fist, ignoring the pain from the two injured fingers. “Just be glad you still have them,” Paul had reminded him many times; so had Audun and the Chinese doctor, Kam Lee. He was getting tired of hearing about all the things he had to be grateful for.

A cold, wet nose poked his hand, and when he didn’t respond, a wide, wedge-shaped head followed, shoving against his hand until he loosened his fist, slid a finger under the dog’s ear and began to scratch.

Somebody still loves me, he thought as the dog bounded off to find a stick for him to throw.

**

Hoss Cartwright shifted miserably in his bed and looked at his father. “They need me…I oughtta be goin’ too.”

“Influenza is not something to be taken lightly. You take your medicine and concentrate on getting better.” Ben’s voice shook a little as he said it. There was no way he would say it out loud, but they both knew there were far too many gray marble slabs in that pleasant wooded area by the lake.

“I ain’t got the influenza,” Hoss muttered. This is no time for my body to go against me…

**

Tilly Cartwright was curled into a ball, forcing herself to breathe evenly. In the cradle nearby, Robin was contentedly chewing on his rattle, but it wouldn’t be long before he’d be bellowing for breakfast or climbing out to look for her. With any luck, though, she could pretend she was asleep until Adam left. But then…then, she’d have to wonder if he’d come back.

**

Adam rose to his feet and pulled the thick envelope from his coat pocket. He turned it over and over in his hands, and finally clenched his jaw, went back inside and swiftly walked to the downstairs guest room he and Tilly had shared for the last year and a half. He opened the door and stood still, looking. Tilly was curled up facing the wall, apparently asleep, but he had no doubt she was only pretending. It made him remember just how many other things she had pretended over the last two years. He swallowed and set the envelope on the table beside the bed. Without a glance at the chubby blond boy in the cradle, he turned and walked back out.

Ben was just coming down the stairs. “Adam…”

Adam stopped. “Have you seen Audun this morning?”

Ben looked down. “He left half an hour or so ago. I suppose he was going to the lake—he prefers it to Willet Creek.”

“That’s a fine sendoff,” Adam said in a voice devoid of tone.

“What was the point in staying?” Beth Cartwright asked, putting down her coffee as she rose from the settee. “He did everything in his power to talk you and Joe out of this last night, just like the rest of us.”

That wasn’t quite true, Adam reflected. It hadn’t been “the rest of us.” Tilly hadn’t said a word. Not that it would have made a difference. “Joe’s going,” Adam said. “He needs me.”

“You keep saying that, but you won’t say why,” Beth argued. Ben silenced her with a look.

“You’re right, of course,” Ben said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “He shouldn’t be alone. I’ll be counting on you to take care of him…we all will.”

Joe walked in from the kitchen with his hat, coat, and gun belt on. His hands had finally healed enough to wear gloves, but he hadn’t put them on yet. “If you still insist on coming, then let’s go,” was all he said. He walked past his father and straight out the door.

Ben blinked a couple of times. “Adam…take care of him.”

Adam nodded without expression and followed his brother.

He heard Beth’s indignant voice behind him: “What if they don’t come back?”

**

Once again a cold nose thrust itself into Adam’s hand. Blue eyes looked up at him in concern. Adam’s throat tightened. As Joe mounted Cochise, the dog rose up on its hind legs, licking urgently at Adam’s face. “No. Sit.” Obediently, the dog formed a perfect sit, looking up at Adam with pleading blue eyes. Lady’s eyes…disconcerting, that’s what it was, Adam thought for the hundredth time in a month…but then very few things about the last few months had not been disconcerting. “Stay.”

He walked over to Sport, untied him and swung into the saddle. “Stay,” he repeated, then wheeled Sport to lope out of the yard after Joe. A pair of woebegone blue canine eyes watched him go.

Chapter 2

April, 1875

Hearing the horses as they left, Tilly sat up and put on her housecoat. She looked at the letter on the table and wondered at the thickness of the envelope. Curiosity overcoming nausea for the moment, she opened the package. Inside she found more cash than she’d ever seen in her life, and a brief note containing more anger than she had ever thought to read from that hand. There was no salutation; it simply plunged in…and it must have been aimed to kill.

I could forgive you almost anything. But there are some things a man doesn’t forgive a wife, no matter how much he loves her—and I love you, as truly as a man ever loved a woman. Still, since your feelings haven’t changed, there’s no point in prolonging this.

I don’t know when I’ll be back, but it’s better for us both if you’re not here. I hear Bavaria is a pretty place. This money should be more than enough to get you there, and when you arrive you can wire the bank for another $25,000. The total sum, divided across the six years we’ve been together, will average to about $20 per night, which is about the price for any woman in town. Don’t be too offended; you were worth more than that to me, and I’m sure you’ll be treasured far more by the man you’ve given your heart to. Don’t worry about the boy; I expect he’s old enough now to do fine without you. You are free to go.

I don’t hate you. I’m stupid enough to still love you. I wish you well. But please understand that I never want to see you again.

Adam

Tilly re-folded the letter  and returned it to the envelope. She counted the stack of hundreds: $15,000. Certainly more than enough to get her to Bavaria—though why he would have thought of that destination was more than she could fathom. And…the man she’d given her heart to?

“Adam,” she murmured, “Your father’s right—sometimes your education really does get in the way of your thinking.” She looked over at the cradle, where the big blond boy was staring at her and waving his rattle. “Ma…ma…ma….”

“No.” She smiled weakly and shook her head. “Don’t say that.”

He held out his arms, and she picked him up, then cleaned, changed, and fed him. But as she took him downstairs, the smell of bacon and coffee overpowered her will. “Can you take him?” she asked Beth—and broke into a run.

She barely made it to the outhouse in time.

When she emerged, Beth was standing there, waiting for her with her overcoat. She shrugged it on and mumbled something that might have been “thanks.” Then: “Where’s Robin?”

“Ben has him. How long have you known, Tilly?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “A few weeks, I guess. Maybe more.”

“I thought nursing women couldn’t—”

“I always heard that, too. Audun says it’s wrong. Apparently he knows what he’s talking about.”

“You knew, but you never told Adam? For heaven’s sake, Tilly, he might have stayed!”

“Not for Cadwallader and all his goats, Beth.”

“But he had no business leaving you to go with Joe! If you had just told him…”

“And forced him to choose between his brother and me?” Tilly laughed aloud, but there was no humor in it. “When a woman marries a Cartwright, Beth, she marries the whole family. You should know that.”

Arrival Day—November, 1873

“I’m glad to meet you too, but what was all that about?” Veralyn’s voice made Alice look at her in surprise—apparently that no-nonsense tone was not one she was known for.

Tilly smiled an apology. “I shouldn’t have rushed you out of the room like that. I really have always wanted sisters, and I’m glad to meet you both. But right now, Adam needs to talk to Ben without us. I thought you all would know we were coming home; I sent a letter almost two months ago, and then a telegram last week from New York. Since neither of those reached you, Adam needs to tell Ben where we’ve been, and that’s not going to be easy for him in any case, especially not with women in the room. You know how delicate men think we are.” She rolled her eyes at that, and Veralyn and Alice giggled.

“Well, we do need to start getting all this food set up,” Alice said. “If you don’t mind helping…”

“It’s a welcome relief,” Tilly replied. “For the past couple of months I’ve either been bored enough to scream or taking care of Adam. Sometimes both.” She chuckled at their surprised looks. “Oh, come on. You’re married to Cartwrights too—there must be some law about how many days per year a Cartwright has to spend recovering from injuries. They’re the most accident-prone—”

“No,” Veralyn said with a smile. “Last time Hoss got shot the other fella did it on purpose.”

“That’s true,” Alice conceded. “They just draw injuries. Do you suppose they’re magnetic?”

All three laughed at that.

“Tilly, forgive our curiosity…but, where have you and Adam been all this time? We haven’t heard much about you…” Alice hesitated. “Everyone thought you were…well…”

“Dead,” Veralyn said flatly, and Alice gaped at her again. “There are some explanations to be made. And if Adam owes one to his father and brothers, you owe one to us. I don’t know about Alice and Joe, but I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent consoling Hoss for ‘letting Adam die.’”

“Too much,” Alice agreed. “I can’t imagine there wasn’t some good reason for it, but I also can’t imagine what it would be.”

Tilly acquiesced, shrugging. “I’m sure things here have been bad—but try to understand. We were taken from France and sent to a little island in the middle of nowhere, cut off from any communication or civilization and with no way to escape. It’s a very long story, and it would be better if Adam would agree to share it with everyone after dinner, though he won’t.”

“You’re his wife—can’t you persuade him?” Veralyn asked.

Tilly snorted. “You know, I still had hopes of it, half an hour ago. Then we got here. First thing that happened was Adam and Joe got into an argument, and when I stepped between them, Adam told me to mind my own business.” She shook her head with a bewildered smile. “Nearly five years of marriage, more than half that spent handling things for him, and taking care of him when he was ill—and first time I try to get between him and his brother I’m shunted aside like…like a stray cat.”

Veralyn and Alice exchanged another glance, and Veralyn chuckled. “We figured you’d know by now, Tilly. You don’t get between two Cartwrights. When you marry one, you’ve married the whole family.”

“Lord, I hope not,” Tilly shot back. “After my first night with just Adam I was fit for a Y-shaped coffin!”

Then she realized what she’d said, and her hand flew to her mouth. Alice’s eyes were about to pop out of her head; Veralyn’s lips were twitching. Suddenly Alice squealed, and both broke into wild laughter.

April, 1875

“You never get between two Cartwrights,” Tilly murmured aloud. “Other men leave their families when they marry. Cartwrights just graft on the new branches. That’s all we are, Beth, and sometimes I think grafting isn’t good for such old trees.”

“That’s the silliest thing I ever heard,” Beth snapped, and pursed her lips. “Tilly, it’s bad enough Joe setting off on this venture, but both of them going…and Hoss sick…doesn’t anyone think of what it’s doing to Ben?”

“Oh, poor Ben—” another wave of nausea hit and she rushed back to the safety of the outhouse.

Chapter 3

April, 1875

As they loped along the trail toward Carson City, Adam kept looking around…and wondering why. They were headed away from the lake. He wasn’t likely to see Audun. Besides, if he did see him, what would he say?

“This is not your affair, Father,” Audun had said the previous night. The boy had an obnoxiously self-assured manner at times, Adam thought. In fact, most of the time, he sounded obnoxiously self-assured. And yet…things between them had started so well.

Christmas, 1873

“It must be a rock,” Tilly pondered aloud. “It weighs a hundred pounds.”

“Close,” Ben admitted, watching her use Joe’s jackknife to cut the string. She removed the cloth to reveal a wooden crate. Ben handed her a claw hammer and then sat back, his arm around Beth.

“Well, I’m bewildered,” Adam commented. He was smiling, one hand on Tilly’s shoulder, the other on Lady, who was lying next to him on the couch. Ceirdwyn, on the floor next to Ben, and Bruce, on the floor next to Alice, gave their mother a resentful glance—they weren’t allowed on furniture. Lady didn’t bother looking at her long-forgotten offspring. Her gaze was only on Adam.

Tilly, with Joe’s help, now had the lid off the crate, and she reached in to produce a cast-iron skillet. She grinned at Ben and looked into the depths of the crate again.

“There are two skillets, two pots, and a kettle,” Ben told her. “I thought, since I donated Hilliard and all his kin to the soup kitchen while you were gone, you might have use for a skillet. Beth said we should give you a set.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Tilly said with a grin. “Haven’t cooked much in a while—and I certainly need to get my skillet-throwing arm back in shape. I don’t know how Alice and Veralyn have survived in the family this long without a good throwin’ skillet.”

“Oh, I have my own ways of getting my husband’s attention,” Veralyn said with a look at Hoss, who grinned back. Eyebrows were going up all over the room—Veralyn was NOT known for a bold wit—but Hoss didn’t seem to notice; he kissed Veralyn pretty boldly.

“On the other hand, I might want a couple more skillets,” Alice piped up with a smirk at Joe, who made a large production of holding his newborn daughter and stifling his own giggles.

“You’ll have to build up your wrists first,” Tilly observed. “I can help you with that, if you like.”

“What you can help me with is breakfast,” Alice said. “I promised Hop Sing he could sleep in today.”

“I’ll help, too,” Veralyn declared, jumping up, and the three of them hustled off, Tilly calling back, “Thanks again, Ben and Beth.”

“Where’s Audun?” Adam asked. “I never heard of a child sleeping in on Christmas morning.”

“He ain’t sleeping,” Joe replied, adjusting Bonnie in his arms. “Now that you’re better, he’s started his regular morning routine again.”

“What regular morning routine?”

“He rides out to Willet Creek and bathes,” Hoss said.

Adam’s mouth dropped open. “And you just let him?” He looked at his father. “How long has this been going on?”

“Hey, you’ve got to admit, it could be worse,” Joe cut in. “When he first got here he was goin’ out to the lake every day. At least the creek’s a little closer.”

“But don’t you remember—I nearly drowned up there. If Tom Wilson hadn’t—”

Ben made a great show of studying the pipe he’d been given by Hoss and Veralyn. “I’m pretty sure we all remember. But I defy you to get Audun to change his mind. I tried for a month. The boy has you beat for stubborn six ways to Sunday, Adam.”

Hoss nodded. “Pa tried explaining how worried we all were, and how we’d gone lookin’ for him, and he just gave us that look—and if you ain’t seen it yourself yet, you will—and said he’d be doin’ it every morning, and we were welcome to join him.”

“Pa told him no, the lake was too far—so Audun said he’d go to the creek.” Joe took up the story. “Pa said it was too dangerous with the fast currents and bears and wildcats…but it no matter. Pa tried givin’ him extra chores, making him do without breakfast—and then gave him a ‘necessary talk.’ Audun just took whatever he got and then did what he wanted to do. I tried goin’ with him for a while, but he jumps right in that freezin’ water—and he swims better’n a salmon anyhow.”

“Why does he do it?” Beth asked. “I’ve always wondered. I sure don’t mind him wanting to be clean—Lord knows, not many boys do—but why not a hot bath here instead of a freezing cold dip miles away?”

“It’s some kind of Nez Perce—forgive me, Nimiipuu—ritual,” Ben explained. “He never missed a day for the year we had him. Now I hope you know how much you mean to him, Adam—he barely left the house after you arrived and were so…ill.”

Adam scowled at the floor. Everyone looked at him, but he made no reply.

“Of course, you also persuaded him to do something all of us combined hadn’t been able to do in a year,” Ben added. “He cut his hair the night he met you. He refused to even consider it before.”

“Well,” Adam said thoughtfully, “if Audun wants to keep the customs and rituals he was raised with, I can hardly grudge him that. I won’t worry about the bathing. At least, I’ll try not to. In fact, when my back’s in one piece again, I may join him.”

They heard hooves trotting into the yard. “Reckon he’s back,” Hoss announced. “I hope you’re not going to fuss at him.”

“All I intend to say is ‘Merry Christmas.’” Adam promised. “I wonder if he minds keeping a few…um…Soyapo customs, too? I thought I’d try going to church this weekend, if I can stay upright long enough.”

“As long as you ride in the wagon, not on a horse,” Beth put in.

“I don’t think it will test any of Audun’s loyalties,” Ben said thoughtfully. “He’s read the ‘Spirit Law’ and knows we believe the Creator has a son. He doesn’t mind that—he may even believe it himself, but with him it’s hard to tell. But as for getting him to church this weekend, that may take some work. He’s gone to church with us once since he got here—for Joe’s wedding—and even then, he wouldn’t sit in the pews. He watched from the back.”

Hearing the horse outside, Tilly and Alice rushed in and opened the door just in time for Audun to stagger through. Tilly quickly closed the door against the cold blast blowing in behind him. Audun looked a little nervously at the assembled crowd. “Um…I’m sorry to be late. Father, Tilly said you like trout.” He tossed off the old fur robe he had wrapped around himself, and from his elk-skin leather carrying bag, he drew five fish. The biggest was a nine-pounder; the smallest couldn’t have been less than six pounds.

“How on earth did you carry all that?” Alice exclaimed, taking two of them.

“Well, my horse carried it most of the time, but I’m pretty strong,” Audun said. “I’ll get these to the kitchen now…happy birthday to the son of the Creator…and Father, do you plan to go to the church this weekend?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“Then I will go with you.” He headed to the kitchen.

Tilly looked over at Adam. “He didn’t even ask for his present. I’ve been saying all along he’s a forty-year-old in disguise, and this just proves it.”

April, 1875

Audun had tried hard, Adam thought. And that made sense—after all, he had promised.

December, 1873

There was something Adam had noticed about the relationship between Ben and Audun: an awkwardness about it, something strained. Almost, he thought, like the pattern Pa and I had fallen into the last few years before I left home. But Audun had only lived at the Ponderosa for a year. It had taken 33 years—and they hadn’t all been bad years—before things between Adam and Ben had become that bad.  He knew Ben loved Audun. Ben Cartwright was congenitally incapable of not loving his grandchildren. But it was a lot more obvious with Bonnie Marie.

That’s different, Adam told himself. She’s a baby. Audun’s 11 years old and thinks he’s grown; you can’t mollycoddle a boy the way you can a baby. But there was more.

He had asked Ben once if he’d gotten very close to Audun; Ben had hesitated, almost said something, and then given a helpless shrug. “He’s your son.”

Feeling a tugging on his arm, Adam yanked himself out of his thoughts. The way they treated him nowadays was almost like royalty—as if he needed servants to dress and undress. Tilly got his shirt unbuttoned while Audun removed the cuffs from his sleeves, then with one tug, slid both the coat and shirt off together. Adam looked down at Tilly and winked suggestively. “When my doctor leaves…”

“You’ll go to sleep without exerting yourself, just as he instructed,” she said with a smile. “I intend to heal you up properly; no more reopening old wounds.”

“You and the doc here make quite a team,” Adam sighed. “Tilly…can you go back out with the family for a little while? I need to talk to my physician.”

“Holler if you need me.” She slipped out.

Adam looked over at Audun, who had been making a large display of ignoring the couple while he hung up the coat and shirt.

“You have to take your trousers off and sit down,” Audun said. Adam obeyed, and Audun took the pants and placed them on a hanger.

“You may not be aware of this,” Adam said, “but in most places, it’s the parent who tells the child what to do.”

Audun turned and looked at him before hanging up the trousers. “In spite of your words, I think you’re making a joke,” he said, turning back. “This is right?”

“Yes, this is right. You know me pretty well, don’t you? You’re not in trouble. Yet.” He grinned, and Audun smiled back.

“I’m trying to learn fast, Father,” Audun came to stand in front of him. “I said I always wanted to know you. I meant it.”

“Me too,” Adam agreed, and Audun circled behind, looking over his father’s back with a critical eye before reaching for the honey poultice fixings.

“Do you want to know Tilly too?” Adam asked as casually as he could.

“I already do,” Audun replied as he worked. “She told me I could ask her anything, and unlike most Soyapo, she seems to mean her words. She answers every question I put to her.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Have you come up with a name for her yet?”

“I call her Tilly.”

Adam didn’t like that much, but then, he had always called Marie by her given name, too. “And how well do you know your grandfather?”

Behind him, he felt Audun stiffen. For a few minutes there was no response. “It’s hard.” He came around to look at Adam with troubled eyes. “Among the Nimiipuu, grandparents raise the children.”

“I didn’t know…I don’t know much about the Nimiipuu. But if the grandparents raised the children there, I would think that you and your grandfather here would be very close, too.”

“I had a grandfather among the Nimiipuu who loved me. Does it offend you, that I had my own family?”

He shoved the guilt he felt back into his gut. “I’m glad…I want to hear all about your family there, too. They were important to you, so that makes them important to me.”

Audun looked at him and then swallowed. “You are the first one here who has said that. My uncles wanted me to be a child as they know children, but I had never heard of the games they thought I should play. And my grandfather…” his voice trailed off.

“My father loves you, Audun.”

“Yes…” Audun refused to look at Adam. “But I had the feeling he loved me because he thought he was supposed to—because I was the son of his son. Not because I was Little Thunder—”

“Little Thunder?”

Audun shrugged. “To my mother I was Audun Cartwright, but among the Nimiipuu, my childhood name was Hinmimipelikt, Little Thundercloud. Here, I was the son of Adam Cartwright. As I begin to know your heart, Father, I see that is a good thing, to be your son…but I do not yet know how to be your son. I have only ever known how to be Hinmimipelikt. Everyone here wanted me to be the son of Adam. When I could not, they settled for wanting me to be white, and I failed again. I know my grandfather’s heart. He is a proud man, proud of his sons. He wants a grandson who will make him proud the same way, but…I’m different.”

“You mean because you didn’t want to be a…um…Soyapo?”

“When they came for me, my grandfather and my uncles, they told me you were dead. Among the Nimiipuu, no one speaks of the dead. Once my mother was buried and the shaman sent her spirit to the next world, I could not even say her name. But she had said it was different among white people. When my grandfather told me you were dead…I first thought, I will never know what he was like. I can never speak of him. And then I thought, but the Soyapo are different…they will let me speak of my mother and remember her…they will speak of my father and remember him to me. I can know him after all. It’s one of the reasons I came here, Father…I wanted to know you, and remember my mother.”

“Then what changed?”

A shrug. “On the way here they all questioned me, and I had the feeling that they didn’t like my answers. When I wanted to tell them about my mother, they had little interest. So I asked things about you…but the things I found out didn’t make sense. Some of it might have been just because Mother had not told me much of Soyapo ways, but when I came here, everything was strange, and my uncles laughed. I felt foolish. At first, my grandfather was kind. We talked of horses and collies. The collies were special, he said—you had brought them to the Ponderosa and made them family. I thought this was good, that he would talk much of you…but he didn’t. Neither did my uncles. They put me in your room, among your things, as if I could get to know you that way. Perhaps, if I had been raised white, I would have—but as things were, everything was another thing to not understand. They talked about Soyapo things…but not you. They would begin to talk of you, and then become quiet.”

“I expect it hurt them to talk about me, Audun. It’s hard to know someone you love is dead—but it’s harder still not to know.”

Audun shrugged one shoulder. “It may have been. But it was hard for me, too, and that seemed not to matter. My grandfather wanted me to become white, and it sat wrong in my stomach. He wanted me to go to school. The Nimiipuu don’t have schools, and though my mother had mentioned them, she told me but little. I wanted my grandfather to teach me, as my Nimiipuu grandfather had done, but he wanted me in school. I tried to please, but it wasn’t enough. I had to change the clothes I wore, too. Then he wanted me to get a haircut, and I would not.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter. But it made him angry. Then he lost interest in me, and got a new wife instead. I had decided to go back to the Nimiipuu…but things happened to prevent it.”

“Thank God for that,” Adam sighed.

“Yes,” Audun agreed with a little smile.

“Things are different now. I’m here, and I’ll be a father to you…if you’ll help me learn how. And Audun, my father is as good a man as I ever was. When I was younger, he and I had disagreements, but one thing I never doubted, and you must never doubt, is his love.”

“I’ll try,” Audun said, and went behind him again to work on his back.

“It’s always been hard for the Indians and the whites to understand each other because our ways are different. But my father has always been able to make friends among the Indians; he respects them and taught us to respect them. So if you and my father had trouble understanding each other, it wasn’t because he didn’t respect you. You have to believe that, too. You and I may have trouble understanding each other sometimes. But if we respect each other, we’ll work it out.”

“I’ll try,” Audun said again.

April, 1875

He did try, Adam admitted. For a while, anyway.

Chapter 4

April, 1875

Ben Cartwright sat down in the overstuffed red leather chair by the fire, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his fist. Beth came over and knelt in front of him. “Ben…what can I do? There must be something…”

Ben smiled absently and shook his head. “Go on to your store. Make a profit. I’m down three capable ranch hands, after all—one of us needs to earn some money.”

“But Ben…”

“Beth.” Ben’s voice came to her with studied patience. “You had nothing to do with any of this. There’s nothing you can do to fix it. It’s something I need to think about, not you.”

“But I’m married to you! Anything that affects you affects me!” She stood up again, and he could almost see the disappointment and disgust warring for dominance. “Do you know that since Adam’s been back this whole house has gone to—”

“Beth, this is not your business!” Ben roared. “And how dare you blame my son for things none of us could have prevented?”

Stamping to the door, Beth announced, “I married one man, not the whole Cartwright family. Even with Adam and Joe gone, it’s too crowded for me right now. I’ll be staying in town tonight.”

Ben shrugged. “Do as you think best.”

January, 1874

The gossip had started within hours of “the great return,” but while many people had seen Tilly here and there, Adam had not bothered to show up until church the first week after Christmas—and only for the service, at that. He’d left as soon as he could after it was over, with next to no polite socializing. But still, that gave the churchgoers a thing to talk about…as well as the non-churchgoers who saw him coming and going.

Granted, more than half of Virginia City didn’t remember Adam Cartwright; he’d left long before they arrived. In fact, he’d been gone for five years, and most of that time his family had thought he was dead. So seeing him was a shock—skinny as a scarecrow in that fancy Savile Row suit, and his equally skinny and too-pale wife who hardly looked the part of the scandalous schoolmarm.

And then there was that boy. They’d heard the rumors of an Indian kid living on the Ponderosa. Some said he was Adam Cartwright’s son. And they’d all seen the Indian kid sneaking into town to visit Dr. Martin or that Chinaman, Kam Lee. He never went anyplace else. Oh, he’d tried going to school, but had been chased out after being revealed as an Indian. And he’d been at Joe Cartwright’s wedding, skulking at the back of the church as if he knew he didn’t belong up front with decent white people.

Only here he was now, with Adam and Tilly…and he didn’t look like an Indian. Not with those short black curls like his old man’s. He was tall for a kid of eleven…his eyes were a peculiar smoky color that didn’t match anyone else’s in the family, but they certainly weren’t Indian eyes. He was a good-looking kid. The very spit-and-image of a younger Adam, said a few fellows who had known Adam way back when. Oh, no, not a patch on his father, argued most of the old hens and saloon girls. Audun? What kind of Indian name was that?

Well, Indian or not, Cartwright or not, good-lookin’ kid or not, he’d still broken Jake Lafferty’s arm last fall, and as such, there was no way the decent folk of Virginia City could allow him in school. Whatever the Cartwrights were saying.

**

“Sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Adam asked, indicating Ben with a jerk of his head—and wincing as the tender skin on his neck sent pain radiating outward.

Tilly frowned. “Time I can’t talk to a schoolteacher, they’ll cross my arms over my chest and put me in a pine box. And you quit making sudden movements. You know your back and neck won’t be healed for another six months. Dr. Lister said July was the best possibility.”

“Dr. Lister is wrong,” Audun said. “If we continue the honey-cinnamon poultices, and if my father can behave himself properly, he will be ready to ride a horse again by spring.”

“You’re kiddin’. That soon?”

“Your doctor doesn’t know how to fight an infection properly. A honey-cinnamon poultice is the best thing in the world for skin infections. Even Dr. Martin is beginning to believe it.”

Adam winked. “Not to mention it makes you smell irresistible.”

Tilly looked from Audun to Adam. “Smell notwithstanding, I’ll believe it come spring. But that’s nearly four months off—and I do believe the doctor here said it’s predicated on your behaving yourself.”

“I’ll behave,” Adam assured her—and Audun. “You go give the schoolteacher what-for. And Audun, you don’t break any more arms.”

“He hit first,” Audun protested. “I only fought back.”

“Let’s go,” Tilly cut in. “Beth’s waiting with the wagon. It’ll take us an hour and a half to get there, and I want plenty of time to talk to that nasty little man before school starts.”

“I hope you packed one of those skillets. Give him a wallop for me.”

Tilly crossed over to him and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“I could give you some ideas—but we’d have to clear the dishes off the table and get rid of all these people first,” he whispered.

“Hush.” But she gave him a tender kiss on the lips to take the sting away.

Ben sat down next to Adam as the door shut behind them. “Want more coffee?”

“No thanks—Audun says I can’t have more than one cup a day. And I have to drink my cod liver oil and eat an orange or he’ll fuss when he gets back.”

“Do you really take all his medical advice seriously?” Ben asked. Nearly two months after Adam’s return, it was still hard to figure the relationship between Audun and Adam. Audun had appointed himself Adam’s primary caretaker (a role Tilly had allowed more easily than Ben had) and he had something to say about everything Adam did, everything he ate, even how much time he spent sleeping. Both Tilly and Adam submitted to everything with little fuss.

Adam thought for a moment. “Both Paul and Kam Lee speak highly of him. Hop Sing trusts him. Shucks, Tilly trusts him, and I know she would never have allowed him near me—son or not—if she didn’t think he knew what he was doing. When I ask him questions about things he does, his answers make sense. Just because the bulk of his medical knowledge came from Ruth or the Nez Perce doesn’t mean it isn’t valuable knowledge.”

“But he’s only eleven.”

Adam eyed him. “By the time I was eleven, I was raising Hoss, changing Joe’s diapers, running our south trap line, and studying with a tutor. Have you forgotten? By the time I was fifteen I was speaking Latin, Greek, and French—and working geometry problems for fun.”

“I remember…distantly. But Audun hasn’t had your advantages.”

“Advantages…?” Adam sighed. “Well, he’s had his own advantages. Children among the Nez Perce are all raised to be quiet, respectful, responsible…and to love learning. Whatever they show an aptitude for, the old ones start teaching them. The leader of the big Nez Perce band in the Wallowa, Young Joseph, was sitting in meetings with his father and the other chiefs when he was seven years old because he was a natural leader.”

“How do you know this?”

“Audun told me. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. He tells me that among the Nez Perce, it’s the grandparents who provide the children’s instruction.”

With a guilty start, Ben realized he had brought Audun back to the Ponderosa expecting him to leave his past behind, and to only think of white ways. He doubted Audun had learned much from him—they’d spent too much time arguing.

For a while they sat silently, Ben wondering what Adam was thinking. It wasn’t a good sign when Adam got quiet. It meant he was trying to remember.

Ben cleared his throat, desperate for a topic of conversation. “People have been asking when we’ll throw a party to give you a proper welcome home.”

“Don’t.” Adam pushed his coffee away.

“But we’ve always—”

“No.” The word was simple; the tone, intimidating.

Ben cleared his throat again. “Remember Lex Truscott? Mutton Jim told me he was charged with killing a saloon girl.”

“Wonder if they’ll hang him.” Adam’s voice was distant; his eyes, cloudy and unfocused.

“Hang? Isn’t it a little early to think of that?”

“Well, they wouldn’t have arrested him if he hadn’t done it, would they?” Adam retorted, and Ben’s eyebrows shot up.

“Adam, a man’s innocent until proven guilty—remember?”

For a moment, Adam looked confused. Finally he replied in a hesitant voice, “Maybe here. But I don’t think they know that anywhere else in the world, Pa…and maybe they’ve got a point.”

“I hardly think so. Tilly told us you were arrested twice for things you hadn’t done…espionage against France? Trying to kill Queen Victoria? That’s absurd.”

Adam only looked more confused at that. Then Hop Sing appeared with the bottle of cod liver oil and a teaspoon, along with an orange, peeled and in segments. Adam gulped the medicine with a grimace and then set to eating the orange, but it was obvious that his thoughts were still far away.

And Ben wondered, not for the first time, what Adam had seen in his travels that Ben never had. The months of imprisonment on Grande Terre were a blank slate. Horrible things had been done to him, but beyond the physical evidence, no one knew just what…and worse than the physical damage was the damage to his mind. It was locked in his head somewhere; he dreamed about it still. And yet when he was awake, he couldn’t remember. It was probably for the best, Tilly said, and had not encouraged Adam to face it…but Ben wasn’t sure that was the proper course of action. Tilly also wasn’t open to negotiation about that; she thought it was best forgotten by everybody—but Ben could see it was there for anyone who paid attention, and it surfaced at times like these, when Adam said things that didn’t sound like Adam Cartwright.

April, 1875

Ben sighed. Beth was wrong, of course. This thing really wasn’t any of her affair. He wondered what she had meant about marrying a whole family. What a strange thing to say.

But she’d been right about one thing. Sending off Adam to protect Joe was a bad idea. Adam could barely take care of himself. He wasn’t in any shape to take care of Joe, not the state Joe was in…and although Adam had been back almost a year and a half, there were times Ben truly wondered about his oldest son. For a while, he had seemed to be getting better…and then sometimes he was worse than ever. Ben shook his head. “I should’ve gone with Joe myself,” he muttered. “Adam was so insistent, you’d think what happened was his fault.”

Chapter 5

April, 1875

Audun sat on a boulder looking over Lake Tahoe, but for the first time, he was not absorbed in the beauty of nature around him. He would never have thought he and his father could be in disagreement about anything…especially not so many important things. All his life his mother—and later, his father’s father and brothers—had told him how like his father he was. But if they were so alike, how could they disagree so often?

It hadn’t always been so. The memory of those first few months still held a soft glow for him. All his life he had worshiped the man, and finally meeting him was like a gift from the Old Man in the Stars himself. Being able to help heal him had been even better.

He would’ve done anything for him back in those days. He’d gone with Tilly and Beth to the schoolhouse, listening in something between awe and amusement at the way the two women had worked together like wolves to turn the dreadful teacher, Mr. Attaway, from a cougar into a calf separated from the herd. He remembered Tilly calling Audun her son—not stepson, but son, and how it had made him feel. It was Beth, the grandmother, though, who had made the death leap.

January, 1874

“I was a teacher here myself,” Tilly pointed out. “I sat right where you’re sitting now and I dealt with twenty-seven children from ages eight to fourteen every day. And I kept them under control. Audun is an intelligent, well-behaved boy who wants to learn. He broke that Lafferty boy’s arm because he was goaded into a fight—and it was two against one, at that. So how you can blame my son for that and overlook the real blame…”

Audun stopped listening, wondering whether he should feel guilty at how warm it had felt in his gut when Tilly had said he was her son. Mr. Attaway said something that Audun missed; it had something to do with Tilly’s questionable morality. This was news to Audun, but he considered the source and dismissed it.

“Beans for that!” Beth cut him off. “You tend to forget that of the seven people now on the school board, Ben Cartwright and I hold two of those positions, and that another two people on the current board, Dave Jordan and Frank Marsden, had children under Tilly’s tutelage and can vouch for her effectiveness as a teacher. Do you really want me to report at the next board meeting that a thin little reed of a woman could keep twenty-seven children in line, while a big strong man like you cannot control twenty-five? Do you really want me to drag out the test scores from five years ago and compare them to yours? Do you really want my husband and Dave Jordan and Frank Marsden and me to contend with, all because you’re too puny to control the children in your classroom?”

This new grandmother wasn’t such a bad warrior herself, Audun thought, and looked at her with newfound respect.

He was readmitted to school that same day, and for the next two and a half months he saddled the big blue roan mare Pepper Nell each morning and trotted off to school. He even did pretty well, especially since he no longer had hair long enough to pull. Some kids called him an Indian, but he saw no reason to correct them—or to fight—because he didn’t find the term insulting. He was only amused at the ignorance of the name-callers. He didn’t make any close friends, but he didn’t care. Peggy Dayton Cartwright, three years his senior, was a sort of cousin to him, and she was spoke to him. That was good enough, since his only interest in school was getting into college so he could be the kind of healer that Kam Lee had talked about; the kind his father would be proud of.

In spite of his efforts, though, it didn’t last. Mr. Attaway did not like him. That much was plain, and though Audun’s answers to questions were always correct, they both knew that Audun’s mere presence there was a testimony to the power of women, and Attaway didn’t like that one bit.

It might have been the glazed look in Audun’s eyes that day that prompted him to be singled out. It might have been the fact that he could usually be relied upon to know the answer, even if he had a different perspective—usually his thoughts made no sense to the teacher and little sense to most of the other children. In this case it was a combination of both, together with the obvious hope on the teacher’s part that the boy hadn’t been paying attention this time, and could perhaps be shaken out of what Attaway called “that Cartwright smugness.”

“Mr. Cartwright, please stand and tell the class what you have just learned about the Vikings.”

Audun Cartwright stood and looked silently at the teacher.

“We are waiting breathlessly, Mr. Cartwright,” Attaway prompted.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Certainly after the stories I have told you, you should have formed some opinion.”

Audun hesitated. “Yes, this is true. But what your stories have told me to learn, and the opinion I have formed, are different.”

Attaway obviously hadn’t seen that one coming. “Please elucidate, Mr. Cartwright.”

“I don’t know this word, ‘elucidate.’ But if it means to explain, then I think you want me to believe as you do, that the Vikings were great and mighty warriors. But that is not borne out by the stories you told. The stories you told showed a lot of thieves and cowards.”

“What?”

“They gained their fame raiding monasteries; this does not take courage. Holy men who spend their time writing books and making gardens are not worthy opponents; they’re not even warriors. These holy men had no training in war, but they held many valuables, so the Vikings killed unarmed men and stole treasure. The Viking raids were not conducted for honorable purposes. There were no blood feuds, no stolen horses, no wrongs to avenge. They even allowed themselves to be paid money called Dane geld to keep from attacking. It is the act of a coward and a bully to only attack the weak, and it’s worse than cowardly to be bribed.”

He didn’t listen to anything after, “Mr. Cartwright, I am the teacher, you are the student; it is not your place to disagree—”

He interrupted the teacher mid-sentence. “I will not learn things that are not true.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“My grandfather says one must wear the shoes that fit.”

“Don’t bring your grandfather into this—I will not be intimidated!”

“I don’t know this word, ‘intimidated.’ But if it means to shout and be generally annoying, you are already doing that.”

At that, Attaway produced a riding crop. “Come up here, young man.”

His grandfather had given him a couple of “necessary talks” back in the day, but even he had only used his hand. Audun shook his head. “You always think the way to make someone agree with you is to hit them. I’ve seen you beat your horse. It may make him submit, but he has no respect for you—and neither have I. Nor will I be whipped.”

That was when he’d been expelled. Again. He’d ridden home directly and arrived before lunch.

His father and Tilly listened to his recounting of the story with almost-straight faces, but he saw them struggling not to laugh. After lunch, Hop Sing hitched the team for Adam, and he drove into town with Audun to get the teacher’s tale. Attaway told his version of the story with a lot of things thrown in that weren’t true, and finished with, “Your son is stubborn and rebellious, Mr. Cartwright. I should have dragged him up to the front of the class room and whipped him till he bled for that kind of disobedience.”

“I have had some experience with unjustified whippings, Mr. Attaway,” his father replied. “You’re very fortunate you didn’t try. If he hadn’t knocked you galley-west himself, I would have done it for him.”

“You may very well think so, Mr. Cartwright, but I doubt it. I see now where your son gets this rebellious streak. In any case, he’s not welcome in my school again. Ever.”

“It’s just as well. If this is the kind of education my son is to have, I don’t want him in your school.”

“Sour grapes, Mr. Cartwright?”

“You don’t want to teach the boy to think for himself. You want him to repeat everything you say. My son may be stubborn and hard-headed, but I’d rather that than a parrot. And I’d rather have him rebellious than submit to a whipping he didn’t earn, by a weak man who’s only as big as the weapon he’s holding.”

Audun looked up at his father as they walked out of the schoolroom that day, his heart about to burst from pride, but aloud he only said, “Will Tilly be teaching me now, sir?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think she can handle me?”

Adam grinned. “The question is, can you handle her. I think you’ll both wear each other out.”

Chapter 6

May, 1875

They had ridden for weeks, yet never gotten more than 300 miles from home. When they first left, Adam had speculated to himself that Joe might head to San Francisco. After all, most lost souls ended up there. Before long, though, it became apparent to Adam that Joe had no destination in mind. He wasn’t going TO anywhere. He was only going AWAY—but he was going in circles.

Now they were in a place called Silver Peak, a little mining town in a dry lake bed nearly 300 miles from Carson City. If they had ridden straight there, it might have taken a week or so, but instead Joe had headed due east, then south, then east again. He’d ridden right into the low mountains that lay scattered across the state as if the gods had been playing with toy soldiers and forgotten to put them away. Joe seemed to deliberately pick the worst trail he could find through each pass, to delight in the hellish climbs over scree and scrub brush, looking on the gouges, scratches, punctures and scrapes he accumulated each day as badges of honor.

Adam never questioned his choice of routes, though he thought more than once that if Joe had operated on this logic back in their younger days, it was no wonder he’d always been late for dinner. He said nothing, of course, because whether he liked it or not, he knew exactly what Joe was doing. If he’d been in Boston and six years old, he would have been circling his home block time and again because he was running away from home but not allowed to cross the street. Joe was running away. He just had no place to go that would change the facts. Adam would follow him, because he owed his brother that much. Besides, he’d been there…he’d seen. There was always the chance that Joe would hear something, see something, and come to the conclusion that things hadn’t quite happened the way he thought they had…and if and when Joe found that out, there would have to be someone nearby to pick up the pieces. Someone like Adam.

Not that Adam wasn’t in pieces himself—but nobody knew that. As far as anyone else knew, he was always available to pick up the pieces for someone else. Last year this time, it had been Audun.

June, 1874

It was the second letter Audun had received since he had come to the Ponderosa. This time, thanks to Tilly’s tutelage, Audun had been able to read the French words by himself, but this time he had taken it to his father and said, “I want you to read this.”

Adam took the small package. “Out loud?”

Audun shrugged an impatient shoulder.

“My son Petit Tonnerre…oh. Little Thunder.” He looked at Audun, feeling a heavy, sharp-edged rock settle in his gut. “This is from Timothy, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Adam cleared his throat. “Since you never came when I sent my last words, I think you decided the white ways are yours after all. That, or perhaps those men who came for you will not let you leave. He doesn’t have a very high opinion of us, does he?” He chuckled, but the look on Audun’s face sent him quickly back to the letter in his hands. “If that is so, you may not care when you hear this. But Shmoqula is dying…Shmoqula. That’s your Nimiipuu grandfather?”

Audun nodded, wordless, his face expressionless, but Adam had learned to read his son well over the last eight months. He saw the tight way the boy held himself, and he knew suppressed grief when he saw it.

He reached out and gripped Audun’s shoulder for a moment, and then read on. “He got the spring sickness and now his lungs are full. His time is little, but you remember his strength. He will wait for you.

“We are leaving this ground soon and will travel north. You remember our village was dwindling. We have decided to join the other…I can’t make out this word, Audun.”

“It means the non-treaty band of Nimiipuu headed by Hinmahtooyahlatkekt.” He shook his head. “I’ve told you of him before—the Soyapo call him ‘Young Joseph.’”

“I can see why,” Adam muttered, wondering at the way the other strange word had simply rolled off Audun’s tongue. “We have decided to go to join the other…to join Young Joseph’s band in the Wallowa…what’s this word?”

“It means Wallowa Valley.”

“…in the Wallowa Valley. If you can get here before we go, you may be in time to send your grandfather to the next world with a light heart. He has worried much for you these last two years. We will only be here until…um, Audun, maybe you should have read this to me.”

“Q’oyxc’áal!” Audun shouted, and Adam couldn’t hide his surprise; he had never seen Audun lose his temper. With a visible effort, Audun calmed himself. “Khoyt-sal,” he repeated slowly and clearly. “It’s the Moon of the Run of Blueback Salmon. White people say ‘July.’ Look…Father…” He drew a deep breath. “You are my father. I won’t forget that; I can’t. But I can’t forget the Nimiipuu either, and I would be wrong if I did. For years they were my only fam—”

“Audun,” Adam broke in, standing up to grip him by the arms, “I understand. You can go. I’ll go with you.”

“You will?”

“Yes. Is this the same place where my father went to find you?”

“Yes—unless they have already moved when we get there; then we must catch them on the trail.”

“They wouldn’t leave if Shmoqula is sick, would they? We’ll find them. I’ll talk to my father and Tilly tonight, and you go ahead and pack your saddlebags and bedroll.”

“No…” Audun said as realization set in. “We must take a wagon. You’ve only been riding for three months, Father. You’re not ready to ride all day, every day, for nine days.”

“It’ll be longer than nine days if we take a wagon. More like two weeks.”

“Shmoqula will wait for me. But if you get on a horse you won’t admit it when you begin to hurt or even if you tear something and start to bleed. I won’t chance that. We must take a wagon.”

“A wagon it is, then,” Adam said, secretly relieved. With a wagon, he could even take Lady…provided the Nez Perce didn’t eat dogs.

“Father…will Tilly be upset? It’s only been two months…”

“I don’t think so—or at least, I think she’ll understand.”

Chapter 7

May, 1875

 Adam walked aimlessly down the main street of Silver Peak. “The devil finds work for idle hands,” he’d always heard, and he was beginning to believe it. This town had no theater, no library, not even a proper café. If you wanted to eat, you went to a bar. If you wanted music, you went to a bar. If you wanted entertainment…of any kind…you went to a bar. It would be fun to start a teetotalling society here, he thought, just to see what would happen.

There was a dog limping on three legs as it went down the street. Funny-looking dog. A hound, with large brown eyes, a broad snout, and long, floppy ears. Once, Adam had thought all dogs were hounds, terriers, or spaniels—or some combination of all three. There had been a time when he hadn’t known what a collie was. The first time he’d seen Lady he’d thought she was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen, with her black-speckled gray too-long fur, her tipped ears, her wedge-shaped head and sharp muzzle. Now other dogs looked abnormal to him since collies had won his heart.

He clucked to the dog, and it gave him a brief, disgusted look before continuing on its way. Without knowing quite why, Adam followed. At the end of the street, the dog turned across a hard-packed, grassless yard and hopped up to the porch of a dilapidated house, thrusting its nose into the hand of an elderly man who sat shirtless on a rocking chair.

“Nee’ sumfin’?” the man asked around a wad of chewing tobacco.

“I…uh…I just wanted to make sure your dog got home all right,” Adam said lamely.

“Ep,” said the man, spitting a brown stream into the tin can serving as his spittoon.

“He’s hurt, you know. That near hind leg’s givin’ him some trouble.”

“Don’ worry,” the man mumbled. “He ain’ got nowhere to go, no how.”

Adam smiled helplessly, turning back to town. “God, I miss Lady,” he sighed.

Early December, 1873

Adam gently slapped Lady on the side and heard a resounding thump. His eyebrows raised, Adam looked back at Joe. “You’re right; she’s gettin’ fat. I can’t think why, though.”

“Why d’you think I was so upset when I saw you and Tilly and her the day you got back?” Joe replied. “Pa was reading stories out of the Paris newspapers to us all the time. I kept thinking about how you were starving, maybe even eating your dog, since people were eating rats and—”

“We know,” Tilly put in. “We were there.”

“Didya eat rats?” Hoss asked.

Tilly and Adam exchanged a glance. “It was France,” Adam finally said with a lopsided grin. “Their idea of haute cuisine is snails. Rats aren’t that big a comedown, when you think about it. Besides, when Pa and I were crossing the country, we lived off squirrels. Not that much difference.”

“They taste like chicken,” Tilly added, and smiled at the skeptical looks.

Audun, who had been listening to the adults, suddenly grunted. “Lady is not fat.”

“Then how do you account for that belly?” Adam asked.

“She’s pregnant. If you move the fur aside and look at her nipples, you’ll see.”

Tilly blushed; Adam’s mouth dropped open. He looked at Hoss. “Who’s been teaching him those kinds of words?”

“Hey, it wasn’t us, Older Brother,” Joe protested. “He came to us with a ready-made vocabulary.”

Adam looked at Tilly. “Any idea how this happened?”

“He’s not my kid,” Tilly chuckled. “I only wish he were!”

“You know what I mean. Lady…”

Tilly shrugged helplessly. “She was only away from me once, and for just a little while. The day when you were still in the hospital and I had to go see…you know…” she coughed.

“Who?” Joe demanded.

“Queen Victoria,” Tilly mumbled. “Do you remember that, Adam?”

“No…”

“It was after…you know…you saved her life at the train station, and I got—”

“He did what?” Joe squeaked; Hoss’s jaw dropped, and Audun suddenly found an interesting speck of dust on the floor demanding his attention.

Tilly looked at Hoss and Joe. “It’s a long story. Don’t ask.”

“For what it’s worth, I’d like to hear how that happened myself,” Adam put in. “But one thing at a time. All right, you went to see the queen. Why’d you take Lady?”

“They wouldn’t let her stay in the hospital with you, and I couldn’t leave her alone, Adam. She’s become a holy terror left alone—she eats everything from clothes and books to tables and chairs. Besides, I knew Queen Victoria liked collies, so I hoped she wouldn’t mind. And she didn’t. She said Lady’s wounds were ‘scars of valor,’ and she was really nice about everything.”

“But….”

“Oh, no.” Tilly put her hand over her mouth. “Noble!”

“What?”

She moved her hand. “She had a bunch of collies—Gypsy and Noble and Oscar. She took me out to the gardens to walk around; the dogs came with us. I remember Noble was a big black and white dog with four white paws and a brown face. Lady seemed to like him, and they were running around and chasing each other….”

“And then they just…disappeared!” Joe extrapolated with a grin.

“Well, I’m embarrassed,” Adam murmured.

Tilly giggled. “I don’t see why. It’ll hardly be the first time royalty fathered an illegitimate child off a commoner.”

“Tilly!” Adam cried, exasperated, and jerked his head toward Audun.

“What’s this word, ‘illegitimate,’ father?” Audun spoke up right on cue. “Is it the same as ‘bastard’?”

Adam put his hand over his eyes. “This is your mess, Tilly. You clean it up.”

“Okay. Audun, have you ever heard of King Charles the Second?”

“No.”

Tilly grinned. “You’re about to get a real history lesson.”

“I didn’t mean ‘clean it up’ that way!” Adam growled. “Everybody get out. My fat dog and I are in dire need of our beauty rest.”

“About six months might do it,” Joe giggled as he made his way out.

**

Two days before Alice gave birth to Bonnie, Lady had a single puppy—although the poor dog was so big she could hardly walk. After waiting a full day, poking and prodding Lady all over, and watching as she refused to eat, Audun set his jaw and came in with a stack of newspapers and a bundle of some kind of rubbery apparatus.

“What in the world is that?” Adam, under the kitchen table with Lady, demanded.

“It’s a douching bag,” Audun replied with a dubious look. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. And you shouldn’t even be down there, Father. Your back is like shed snake-skin.”

“Don’t tell me about my back, boy—this is my dog. Where’d you get that—that bag, anyway?”

“Dr. Martin gave it to me—he didn’t have any enema bags to spare, but he said I could use this ‘in a pinch.’”

“Oh Lord.” Adam put a hand over his face.

“It’s all right—I’ll use a different tube. And I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

“Are you sure this is necessary?”

Audun raised his eyebrows. “Lady is big enough to have eight puppies right now, but I can’t feel any more inside her. That leaves only one other option I know of…here; hold this.”

A couple of hours later, Lady had regained most of her trim figure, and the floor—despite all the newspapers—needed a severe scrubbing.

Tilly held up the solo arrival; he was almost solid black, with the exception of four white paws, a white tail-tip, and a pitiful approximation of a white ruff that looked more like a dinner napkin tucked under his chin.

“Noble’s son. He has to be,” Tilly declared. “I guess that makes him a royal duke!”

When Duke’s eyes opened, they bore testimony that he had at least inherited one thing from his mother—the only thing he had gotten from her, physically. Otherwise, he had inherited her intelligence, her courage, and her total devotion to Adam and Tilly. Somehow it had never occurred to Adam that he would have some males in the “bouquet of lilies” that Lady and Tilly had begun, but when he looked over Audun, Duke, Tilly, and Lady, he decided he had nothing to complain about.

Not at that time, anyway.

Chapter 8

May, 1875

Ben Cartwright stared at the ledger, but even with his eyeglasses on, the numbers were blurred. He blinked and finally took the glasses off. This was no way to run a business. Thank God Mutton Jim was an honest man. He ran the cattle operation as smoothly as if he’d been born to it. Will Cartwright had taken over the timber business from Joe, but was still finding his way. Not that Joe had been in any shape to give anyone a run-down of the operation, of course.

Beth had been right. Maybe tomorrow he’d ride into town and tell her so. He shouldn’t have let Joe go off half-cocked like that, and God only knew what he’d been thinking, letting Adam go along. Something was wrong with Adam, but Adam-like, he did such a good job covering it up that everyone else just left him alone and let him work things out.

January, 1874

There were two things that convinced Ben to drop the idea of a party. Although the townspeople had clamored for it, Adam and Tilly had no desire for one, and Ben had already had doubts even before mentioning it to Adam.

New Year’s Eve had cast a lot of doubt on its own. Adam and Tilly were sitting on the sofa reading by the dim light of an oil lamp when Hop Sing had taken Audun outside for fireworks. When the first one had gone off, Adam gasped and threw himself across Tilly. He’d then realized what was going on and managed a sheepish shrug and apology. But at least he’d brought himself out of that one.

The following week they went to church. It was the second time, and Adam had seemed fine before. Of course, the first time had been in between Christmas and the New Year, and not many people had been there. This Sunday, the place was packed. The service had barely started when Adam began to shake all over. A moment later he dropped his hymnal and bolted for the door. Ben had thought it might be stomach woes, but Tilly and Audun disregarded his stern look and rushed after Adam. Ben sat rigidly still, wondering what in the world had happened. Adam did not reappear, and after another ten minutes, Ben gave Beth an apologetic glance and crept out himself.

He found Adam sitting on the church steps gasping, his collar open, a burlap bag across his nose and mouth like a mask. “Slower!” Audun was saying. “Try to count. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.”

“What’s the matter with him?” Ben demanded. “And get that cloth off his face before he suffocates.”

“That’s the problem—he was suffocating himself!” Audun snapped back. “Tilly has gone for Doctor Martin—you must sit down and be quiet or you’ll make him worse.”

Before he could slap the insolent child, he heard running footsteps and Paul Martin pounded up, carrying his bag. Tilly was nowhere in sight.

“He was gasping for air, breathing too fast,” Audun reported. “But his heart seems strong.”

“What’s the burlap for?”

“Dr. Kam told me if you breathe too fast like this, it’s bad for you. Breathing through a coarse weave slows him down.”

A minute later Tilly arrived, and she was panting too, but no one noticed. She took Adam’s hand; he squeezed hers so hard her eyes nearly popped out, but a moment later his breathing was slowing again. “I—I’m fine,” he stammered. “I j-j-just…it was too crowded in there. I couldn’t breathe. That was all.”

Paul listened to his heart for a few minutes. “It’s going like a locomotive,” he muttered. “But it’s regular. It’s not a heart attack.”

“Well, what is it?” Ben blurted.

“I don’t know.” Paul stuffed the stethoscope back into his bag. “I read a paper a couple years ago about a lot of veterans of the Southern Insurrection who had something like this…Da Costa called it ‘Irritable Heart.’ Chest pains, palpitation, breathing too fast…but instead of getting worse, like a heart attack, it goes away. Adam, were you and Tilly actually in the war over in Paris?”

Adam made a face. “You could call it that. But Tilly was there; she lived through as many shellings as I did, and she’s all right. I think…I think I’m just trying to get things back to normal too fast.”

“Yes,” Tilly said, gripping his arm. “Too much, too fast. That’s all. He needs to rest a while; he’ll be fine.”

Audun started to say something, but Paul shoved the bag into his hands. “Take that back to my office, Audun, if you would.”

Adam shuddered. “I’m all right, really. I just…it’s all right. I’ll work it out.”

May, 1875

Well, whatever it was this time, Adam hadn’t worked it out. Ben had seen the slight edge to the conversations between Adam and Tilly the last few months, heard a sharpness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. He’d seen the look on Adam’s face the night before he and Joe had left, the odd combination of anticipation and belligerence when he looked at Tilly, as if he hoped she would try to beg him to stay—just so he could leave over her protest. And he’d seen the almost ghost-like visage Tilly had presented as she sat in silence, never offering a word of resistance.

Ghost. It was an apt word. Alice, a few weeks before her death, had said it herself: the Ponderosa had become a ghost house. There was something wrong with Hoss—well of course there was, but it was even worse than anyone had expected. Something was festering deep in him. But Joe, oh Lord, Joe. Maybe that was why it was so easy to set aside Hoss and Adam. Adam hadn’t lost Tilly; he’d simply fallen out with her. Hoss…well, Ben understood all too well what had happened with Veralyn. But Joe…

It was such a small house, he thought, not for the first time. How had it managed to burn down all around her and her brother? How had they not managed to get out?

March, 1875

They’d left Bonnie Marie and Robin with Hoss and Audun that day. Tilly and Beth had things to get in town, and he’d taken them in the buggy. They spotted the familiar wagon right outside Cameron’s General Store (Beth had never changed the name of the place; too much legal wrangling), with Bruce sitting in the back; he barked once in recognition and jumped into their wagon so Tilly could pat him. Funny to find that wagon there, though, since Joe wasn’t supposed to be getting back till the next day, but he was inside Beth’s store, laying in enough supplies to tide him until summer. They kidded him a little about that, and he gave them that winning smile, saying, “My wife’s in a family way, Pa—I just figured it was time I act a little more like a family man. Tilly, do you mind keeping Bonnie with you a few more days? I’d kinda like to get acquainted with Alice again.”

Tilly laughed. “Alice will be happy to hear that. You have been a stranger lately, haven’t you?”

Joe had given her a funny look, but made no reply.

They ran into him again as they were leaving town, and since they were driving out the same way, Joe had suggested they all stop at his house for a quick cup of coffee before going home.

“Wasn’t Adam supposed to be going over today?” Tilly asked. “Maybe he’ll be there too.”

The little yellow house had been in a large field; Adam had commented wryly on his first sight of the place that it was next door to nothin’. Joe had tartly informed him that he liked being out in the open like that; nobody could sneak up on him that way. Joe was right; you could see the place half a mile out—but that day, what they saw was a thick plume of black smoke, and the little yellow house was engulfed in orange flames. And there was nobody outside.

“God—Alice!” Joe screamed, and laid the whip across the backs of his horses as if he could beat them hard enough to change what was happening. The team sprinted across the field, and Ben whipped up his own horses so hard that Beth tumbled off the seat and into the back of the wagon.

Joe was already off the wagon and dashing toward the house; Ben halted his team and ran after Joe, shouting back at the women to stay away. The heat was so intense Ben was sure he was roasting; he caught Joe beating on the door, trying to break it down, but of all things, the door was holding. Joe spun out of his grasp and ran toward the bedroom window, the only window low enough to get through, and plunged through the already broken glass, leaving Ben no alternative but to jump in after him.

The noise was deafening and the thick black smoke overpowering. He felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Somehow Ben grabbed human flesh; he only knew it was Joe because Joe was still trying to fight him off. “I’ve got to get to Alice!” he screamed, shoving Ben away, and as the house groaned and creaked around them, Joe bolted again, right into the thickest of the flames. Again Ben followed him, this time catching a glimpse of a man—oh God, Adam?—lying on the floor, flames licking about him. There was no time to see. Miraculously, he heard Joe screaming Alice’s name over the roar of the fire, and he blindly moved in that direction, grabbing Joe again. The floor near them was giving way, and he yanked Joe back just as it cracked open and whatever was left of Alice disappeared under it, flames enveloping her completely. Joe plunged that way, thrusting his hands into the heart of the inferno, but Ben grabbed him by the belt and pulled him backwards. With Joe fighting him all the way, Ben dragged him back to the window, threw him out and crawled after.

Outside Beth and Tilly had taken the two buckets from the nearby well and were making a pathetic attempt to put out the flames. Later, Ben would shake his head in a combination of wry amusement and admiration at the gallant, silly females with their little buckets, but at the moment he was too busy struggling with Joe to worry about them. Joe was still screaming Alice’s name and Ben had to hold him back from running back to the house; Joe tried to push Ben away, but his own blistered hands stuck to the fabric of Ben’s coat.

“It’s too late!” Ben shouted in Joe’s ear, but Joe wasn’t listening. He was screaming—then sobbing—Alice’s name. There was a massive cracking noise, and the frame of the house fell in.

A minute later Beth shrieked and threw a bucketful of water on Ben—the back of his jacket had caught fire and he hadn’t noticed. Already off balance, he toppled over. Somehow he got up, pulling Joe along with him, but all the fight had gone out of the man now; whether it was exhaustion or injury or just smoke inhalation, he collapsed like a storm-blasted stripling pine.

For a minute Ben just held the unconscious Joe, and the two women stared at the house. And then Tilly said, in a shaky voice, “Wasn’t Adam supposed to be here today?”

Ben dragged the catatonic Joe back to one wagon, and called Beth over. “Take Tilly home. I’ve got to get Joe to the doctor’s…and let the sheriff know.”

“What about Adam?” Beth asked.

He only shook his head, unwilling to consider that possibility. No. That was not Adam. It could not have been. God could never be so cruel.

**

“Mostly second-degree burns, just on his arms and hands,” Paul told him. “Some minor burns on his face—nothing that won’t heal. Could’ve been a lot worse. He’ll be in a lot of pain when he wakes up; I’ll keep him here for a couple of days. He’s lucky not to have worse, though. Diving into a burning house is…well, I’ll say daring, but you know I mean stupid, right? Good thing you were there, Ben—but judging from the looks of you I think I’d best examine you, too.”

“I don’t need—”

“No, Ben,” Roy said. “You’re lookin’ mighty peaked, and ain’t nothin’ for you to do nohow. My boys’re goin’ over that place with a nit comb. My new Deppity Jerry’s sharper’n a hawk’s beak.”

“Have you identified the…the man, yet?”

“Ain’t nothin’ to identify. Even his hair burnt up. Whoever set the fire knew what they were doing.”

“You think it was arson?”

Roy shrugged. “Sure seems like it to me. But we’ve got all the bones in the wagon, and later Paul can give ’em a goin’ over. Jerry says he reckons the man was a little under six feet, though, so it couldn’t a’ been Adam. I do wonder why he wasn’t there…Ben, did Alice have any enemies?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve met her. Who in the world could hate her?”

Roy shrugged. “Okay, I hate to ask this, but since you say Adam was supposed to’ve gone there…was he on good terms with Alice?”

Ben just stared at him. Finally he managed an indignant, “Adam was devoted to Veralyn and Alice both. He treated them like real sisters.”

“Well, I had to ask. Does anybody know why he didn’t go out there like he was s’posed to?”

Ben shook his head.

There was a clattering outside, and he recognized Mutton Jim’s voice, talking frantically with Jerry. Then the door opened and in he came. “Boss—Sheriff—sorry to intrude, but I thought you’d want to know. Adam’s back at the Ponderosa. He’s safe.”

“When did he come in?” Roy asked, and Ben stared at him with growing hostility.

“Just ’fore I left.” Jim dug his pocket watch from his jeans. “Around an hour ago. I knew you was worried since Adam was supposed to go out there today, Boss, so I thought I’d best tell you—and besides, you need to know anyhow. Somehow or other Lady got herself kilt. I think she musta fell off the rocks by the gorge, though, on account of Adam was pretty bloody himself. He said she died in his arms and he carried her up somewhere around the lake to bury her.”

“What?”

“That’s right. Adam said he never made it out to Alice’s on account of Lady. She died and he went to bury her. Said he figured by then it was too late to go. I told him about the fire. He looked pretty stove-in, Boss, but then the way he felt about that dog, he was lookin’ stove-in before I ever told him.”

“Well, that explains that,” Roy muttered.

“Thank you,” Ben snapped at Roy. Roy knew as well as Ben how Adam felt about that dog—most of Virginia City knew. Adam even took her to work out at Becker and Lloyd’s, and stories had gone through town about how the dog sat under the drafting table as Adam worked.

The deputies found a livery horse grazing about a mile away, with a wallet belonging to John Harper—Alice’s brother—in its saddlebags. John had visited Alice often, although even she had little use for him as he slipped deeper into debt, drink, and dissipation. Roy couldn’t let go of wondering how the two of them had managed to die in different rooms of the same small house. He also couldn’t let go the notion that they had been murdered, but having no evidence, no clear tracks to follow—the wagons and the subsequent posse had damaged the evidence too badly to see in the growing dark, and the following morning a thunderstorm destroyed what was left—he shrugged and said he wouldn’t push things. Joe was out cold for a couple of days, and nobody ever told him about the suspicious circumstances; people figured he had enough to deal with.

**

In the face of the greater tragedy, Lady’s death was laid aside. So was whatever had happened to Adam, once Roy was certain he wasn’t a murderer. (“Well I’m sorry, Ben, but you do have to admit he’s been actin’ pretty funny since he got back from that island.”) Joe had been unable to accept the truth for the first couple of days. By the third day he was barely holding himself together; he stood silent and cold at the funeral, his hands and arms covered in white gauze, bandages on his face, his hair unnaturally short since it had been scorched away. He said nothing to any of the well-wishers and nothing to his family, and sometime during the wake he disappeared. It was Ben who took his best guess where Joe might be, and found him at the ruins…Ben who listened in horrified silence while Joe—his voice little more than a croak—rambled on about Alice…Ben who held him in his arms while Joe finally let his grief manifest itself in great howling sobs of near-unearthly pain…Ben who guided him back to the wagon and took him home and put him to bed…and Ben who watched while the days went by and Joe’s grief took the form of a seething rage no Cartwright had ever seen before. It was Ben who sent ranch hand after ranch hand after him to watch and—he hoped—keep Joe out of trouble as he prowled through Virginia City, drinking too much, picking fights, and daring anyone to say something. And it was Ben who had finally sent Adam after him, and then, on their return, seen the two of them near a boiling point with neither listening to reason. Joe had said he had to get away, and Adam said he did too, and while Joe had made it plain Adam wasn’t welcome, Adam had made it just as plain that he’d be going along.

And then Hoss had gone to bed with a cough that Paul said might be flu, again, so there it was. Adam and Joe left, and there was nothing to hold them back…nothing, for that matter, to keep them from killing each other.

Chapter 9

May, 1875

Tilly couldn’t remember when her nightmares had started. She knew she’d had a few on the trip back to England, but Adam had been so sick then and her sleep so irregular, the whole voyage frequently seemed like one long bad dream. She remembered at least one on the steamship to New York because she’d felt a sudden pressure on top of her belly and thought, “No!” She’d reached for her coconut husking stick, but it wasn’t there. Fur covered her nose, forcing her awake, and she realized it was just Lady crawling across her, trying to get to Adam—who was thrashing through a nightmare of his own.

It made sense, when she thought about it. There were doctors now who thought nightmares were people’s ways of coping with bad things. All right, two men had, in two different situations, attempted to molest her. She had gotten away from the first one, and that whole incident played almost comically in her head when she allowed herself to remember. But the second, well, that had been Max. And she’d killed him. As he had had no weapon, she supposed some would even call it murder.

She still felt no guilt for what she’d done, though, and couldn’t fathom why it would continue to pop into her dreams—especially since they’d traveled over 10,000 miles and crossed three oceans since then. Especially since she had Adam back. Especially since there was no longer any danger to either of them, safe in her husband’s boyhood home. Especially since they were starting to put their lives back together. She had a husband who loved her as much as she loved him; they now had a beautiful son to care for; even Ben Cartwright seemed to be warming up to her. She and Ben had gotten off to a bad start; they both knew that, and between both their tempers and stubbornness, they always seemed to be at odds. But she was trying to stop reading insults into the things he said, and he was trying to remember that she was his daughter-in-law too, and however strange the circumstances had been, she and Adam were just as married as Hoss and Veralyn or Joe and Alice.

There were even times she thought he’d gotten over blaming her for taking Adam away from the Ponderosa.

Adam had healed—physically at least—as well as Audun predicted. By mid-April, a mere five months after their return, he was learning to ride again. By late April he had started working part-time at Becker and Lloyd, the architectural firm where he owned part of the business. And of course then it was June, and he and Audun had gone off together to Oregon.

By then, though, the world had begun to fall apart. And somehow it never had stopped. They’d been in a downward spiral now for almost a year, she guessed. Not just her; not just Adam. The whole family.

And those blasted nightmares of hers hadn’t helped; she was pretty sure, in fact, that somehow they’d been the last nails in the coffin.

“Nails in the coffin…” she shuddered, remembering hearing the men outside working on coffins that gray morning last May. And more recently, she recalled the men outside working on the coffins just a month ago in March…although they’d had precious little to bury, that time.

March, 1875

When he walked into the house Adam looked like death, and Tilly and Beth cried out in alarm. He was covered in caked dirt and dried blood, and holding a soggy shirt in his hand.

“I’m all right.” He brushed Tilly away, continuing into their room. She left an open-mouthed Beth behind and followed him, closing the door as he poured water into the ewer, soaping his hands and beginning to wash.

“Adam—you’ve got mud and blood all over. Were you at—what happened?”

“Lady,” he said tersely. “She’s dead. I…I just buried her.”

“Oh God.” Not Lady too. “Adam…”

He looked at her with little interest.

“Adam, I have to tell you…Alice is dead. There was a fire at Joe’s house and…and…”

Adam took the news without a word. She didn’t know if he’d already been told or if it was too much to take in all at once.

Finally, he nodded. “Where’s Joe?”

“Ben took him into town. He got some bad burns when he tried to get into the house to save Alice. He was half wild, Adam; it was awful.”

“What about Bonnie?”

She indicated the large cradle where Bonnie sat, curiously eyeing the sleeping Robin. “Seemed like the least I could do was keep watching her.”

Adam looked at her. “I guess so.”

There were layers and layers of meaning to that, she supposed, but she was too tired and miserable to try and sort them out. She’d only known Alice 17 months, but she’d loved her. They had been partners in grief after Veralyn’s death, and partners in childcare for the last year. And while neither Alice nor Adam had said anything, she had the feeling that they’d felt a powerful affection for each other, too; in a way, it was surprising that Adam was taking this so well. Or maybe he was just in shock.

And Lady dead too? God, she hoped Adam wouldn’t have any more nightmares about Grande Terre…or Peter Kane, whoever he was. Somehow they seemed linked together, though she had never known how. Poor, dear Lady…Adam’s first lily…It was too much to take in, too much to grieve in such a short time. Well, she was only a dog after all…the real grief has to be for Alice, right?

That night, nobody had gotten much sleep. Dozing at around three in the morning, Tilly had another nightmare of her own and woke up to see Adam, fully awake, looking at her.

He touched her cheek. “Tilly…after they separated us…were you safe? Did you…did you go to the Kunie?”

“Yes.” She stifled a yawn. God—he is thinking of Grande Terre again.

“Were you lonely?”

Managing a smile and wondering what this was about, she shrugged.

He swallowed. “Did you…want to tell me anything about that time?”

She thought for a moment. There was nothing she could tell him that wouldn’t bring on his too-responsible guilty feeling, activated far too often already, about protecting the ones he loved. She looked up at him and shook her head. “No…why?”

His face became remote then, and he turned away. “I didn’t think so.”

Chapter 10

May, 1875

“…but the other Sun was mean to his second wife the Frog, and made her sit on his eye. Coyote told the Sun, ‘you’re not very nice!’ So he took that Sun and made him the guardian of the nighttime instead, and his wife the Frog went with him. That’s why when you look in the sky sometimes at night you don’t see all of the Moon. You see the Frog sitting on the Moon’s eye.”

Bonnie clapped her hands in uncomprehending delight, and Robin burped.

“Don’t you have any studying to do?” Ben asked irritably, putting on his coat and gun belt.

“He’s already done it,” Tilly called from the kitchen. “Besides, I promised Hop Sing I would help him with dinner, and Audun’s watching the little ones.”

“Hoss will be home soon. He can watch the babies. Audun should be studying his math.”

Tilly emerged from the kitchen to put her hands on her hips. “Audun is already ahead of the math curriculum I laid out for him.”

“Then you must not have laid out enough,” Ben growled.

“Ben,” Tilly said, “for now at least, I’m in the position of mother to Audun. Either let me do it or kick me out of the house.”

A sigh. “You’re not making sense. What do you mean ‘for now’? You’re my daughter-in-law; I’m hardly going to kick you out of the house. And I only want what’s best for the boy.”

“You think I want him to be a drunken beggar? You know, I was a teacher at one time, and however evil I was thought to be by the populace, I was regarded pretty highly as an academic.”

“Must you always be so argumentative, Tilly?”

She gave a hesitant smile. “There’s no mandate for it, I guess. Must you always be so darned big and scary?”

He smiled back. “The ‘big’ part I can’t help…but maybe I can work on the scary part.”

“That would be nice.”

He looked down at Audun, on the floor with the two babies. “And you…at least give equal time to our religion. If you’re going to tell them Nez Perce tales, tell them a Christian story too.”

Audun thought for a minute. “Yes, sir.” He turned back to the little ones. “There came a day when the Creator looked down at the world and said ‘There are too many bad people down there on the earth. I’ll send my son and he will take care of things…’”

Ben seemed satisfied as he stepped outside. Tilly stayed where she was, listening as Audun went on, “So the Creator’s son Jesus went down to the world and told everyone they should be kind to each other. But bad people came and killed him, and so he went back to the Old Man in the Stars and said ‘Father, I don’t think it worked.’ And the Old Man in the Stars sat back and thought for a while, and then he saw where he had gone wrong. So he called Coyote and said, ‘My son gave things a try but he talked too much and didn’t kill the monsters. I want you to kill them now.’ And so Coyote came to the world to kill the monsters.”

Tilly could only thank the Creator that Ben had left before he heard the rest of the story.

January, 1874

The second time they’d gone to church after Christmas, Adam managed to sit through the whole sermon without having one of his “irritable heart” flair-ups. That made getting out a problem, since they had to leave at the same time as everyone else. With all the people still stopping the Cartwrights to welcome Adam back, it took nearly an hour to get away from the church, and Adam narrowly missed a few hearty back-slaps (only because Hoss stood directly behind him, grabbing and shaking the hands of anyone who got too close). But finally they were able to get to the door, only to be stopped again by Reverend Cook.

“I want to express again, Adam, my delight at your return—” The preacher’s smile was huge, and as he turned to envelope one of Tilly’s small, reluctant hands with both his giant paws, he beamed at her—“And of course you too, Mrs. Cartwright.”

Tilly mumbled something unintelligible as Adam put one arm around her.

Audun had edged behind Tilly in an attempt to make an unnoticed escape, but Cook’s big mitt clapped down on his shoulder. “Little Audie, right?” He didn’t seem to notice the winces this caused. “I remember you being here last spring for the wedding. You look almost civilized now.”

Audun looked up at him in confusion. “What did I look like before?”

“Like a savage,” the preacher laughed. “Adam, Ben, since you’ve got him dressed in human clothes, maybe you’ll let me make a proper Christian out of him now, too.”

“I was never an improper Christian,” Audun said firmly before his father or grandfather could reply. “My mother made me read the Spirit Law Book every night. I believe in a Creator in the stars, and I believe in his son on the cross. It is only that I believe there are guiding spirits, too.”

“Guiding spirits? Son, that’s superstition.”

“Why is it superstition to believe the one, and faith to believe the other?” Audun replied.

From the look on the preacher’s face, it was suddenly obvious to everyone that no one—certainly no eleven-year-old—had ever called him on this point before.

Ben cut in. “It was good talking to you, Reverend—we’ll see you next Sunday.”

“You too, Ben. And you, Audie—looks like we’ll need to see a lot of you.”

Audun looked puzzled. “Why—” but Beth had him by the hand and had tugged him away before he could finish the question.

“I think we should have stayed,” Adam said with a grin as they headed to the buggy. “I’d have liked to see that one go on for a while.”

“This is what I’ve been dealing with for the last year,” Ben retorted, matching grin for grin. “Speaking for myself, I’m just as glad to hand the whole thing over to you now. You might not think it’s so amusing after you’ve been on the receiving end of one of his arguments. I, on the other hand, will be quite happy to watch. The worst curse a parent can apply is to hope his grandchildren are like their parents, and Audun is just like you.”

As they got in the buggy, Tilly said, “You shouldn’t talk to the preacher that way, Audun.”

“Why?”

“It’s not respectful.”

“He called me a savage. Is that respectful?”

“Audun,” Adam cut in, “if you don’t respect the man, at least respect the position he holds. He is a leader of the community, whatever you may think of him.”

“Among the Nimiipuu someone like that could never be a leader,” Audun mumbled. “And he has no business telling me that for him to believe in this unseen son of the Creator is faith, but for me to believe animals have spirits is superstitious.”

“Animals don’t have spirits,” Ben said. “If they did, it would be mentioned in the Bible.”

“The Bible does not mention armadillos, either, Grandfather, and I have never seen one. Should I now doubt their existence?”

“I think he has you, Pa,” Adam chuckled. “But I’m starting to see what you mean.”

Chapter 11

May, 1875

Audun was telling Robin another story. Bonnie was asleep, sprawled across Duke, who was lying on the floor nearby. It was really nap time for Robin too, but he loved sitting on Audun’s lap and listening to him talk, so Audun held him and told him story after story each day. That day he was telling him the story of how Cut-Out-of-Belly Boy defeated the evil Air People.

“‘So YOU are the one who made me an orphan!’ Cut-Out-of-Belly Boy cried, and he grabbed Owl,” Audun told Robin, making grabbing motions at the chubby boy, and Robin giggled appreciatively as Audun went on, “Cut-Out-of-Belly Boy plucked the feathers from Owl’s wings. Then he said ‘The Real People are coming, and I will lead them against the Air People.’ Coyote heard the news and came to see for himself the boy who had been cut from his dead mother and yet had become the greatest warrior of the forest. Cut-Out-of-Belly Boy only had two arrows, but the foolish Air People attacked him in two straight lines, and so each of his arrows hit all the people in each line and they fell to the ground together.” The door opened, but no one noticed as Audun continued, “When the battle was over, Coyote stepped up to Cut-Out-of-Belly Boy and gave him a charm. ‘You’ll become a man, handsome and big,’ Coyote said, ‘And you’ll be a great warrior.’ And Cut-Out-of-Belly Boy did all these things, and he married a great many of the captured Air Women, too. And so he was avenged for the deaths of his parents…” And then Audun looked up to see his Uncle Hoss standing by the sideboard, his face looking as if it had been whitewashed. Audun gulped involuntarily. “Uncle…”

Hoss took off his gun belt, rolling it up with studied casualness. He swallowed a couple of times and turned back to Audun, forcing a smile. “That was a real nice story, Audun.”

“Uncle, I….”

“That’s one of them Nimiipuu legends, I reckon.” His voice sounded hoarse.

“Yes, sir…I told him because I wanted him to know he could be great too—”

“I know why you told him.” Hoss’s voice became almost a whisper. “I appreciate it…I do, Audun. You remind me of Adam takin’ care of Joe when he was little. He…he used to tell me and Joe stories too. Someday I expect little Rob and Bonnie there will be taggin’ along after you like me and Joe used to tag after Adam. Mind if I hold him for a bit?”

As if he understood full well what Hoss had said, Robin leaned forward and held his arms out.

“I could hardly mind,” Audun mumbled, and passed the chubby blond boy over to his father.

May, 1874

Audun had ducked into Adam and Tilly’s room, claiming he was behind on his studying, as soon as Alice and Veralyn had showed up, but after an hour of reading about the city-states of ancient Greece and their wars both with each other and with the Persians, his head was drooping. Sure, it was always interesting to read about warriors, but it seemed the Soyapo had spent their entire long history doing nothing but fighting each other. “And yet they say Indians are not civilized.” He closed the book. “I need a break.”

He headed into the kitchen for a glass of buttermilk, but while he seldom paid attention to the stories and giggles of the three women in the living room, he couldn’t help but listen in when they discussed their pregnancies—one could learn so much from that kind of discussion. He hadn’t been allowed to participate in the delivery of Alice’s little girl six months before and was still disappointed about that.

He took his glass back into Adam and Tilly’s room, only to prick up his ears when he heard Veralyn lowering her voice. He peeked out.

“I’ve been a little worried,” Veralyn said in a voice he could barely hear. “Dr. Martin said a week ago that the baby could come at any time. Yesterday I started bleeding. Do you think something’s wrong?”

Audun pursed his lips—didn’t they know the problems that could signify? White women seemed to know so little about their bodies.

Alice and Tilly looked at each other. “Does it hurt?” Alice finally asked.

“No; no cramps or anything. I guess that means it’s all right…?”

“It’s not all right,” Audun announced, walking into the room. “Veralyn, it could be very serious. How long have you been bleeding and how much blood is there?”

Veralyn blushed. “I had no idea you were listening in. You’re supposed to be studying.”

“I was, but when I hear serious things today I don’t care what happened at Thermopylae many years ago. I ask again, how much blood is there? More than you would lose in a moon time?”

“I’m not going to talk about that with you, Audun!” Veralyn said sharply. “I don’t talk about those things with men, and certainly not eleven-year-old boys.”

“Veralyn, he’s had a lot of birthing experience,” Tilly pointed out. “Maybe you should tell him.”

“Never mind,” Audun replied. “I won’t waste time in an argument; I’m going for Dr. Martin.” He looked sternly at Veralyn. “You must lie down on your back and not move. Lie down on the sofa and put your feet up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” Veralyn looked scandalized. “Lying right in the living room where everyone can see? I’ll go upstairs.”

“But—”

“I will not expose myself in public,” Veralyn said sternly. “Tilly, Alice, you can help me up to Hoss’s old room.”

Looking genuinely worried, Tilly stood up. “All right, but we’ll take it slow on those stairs.”

Veralyn rolled her eyes. “I don’t see what the fuss is about—it’s not all that much, really, and it doesn’t hurt at all.”

As the three women mounted the stairs, Tilly suddenly cried out “Ewwww!” and the others looked at her. She grimaced. “I think…I think my water broke.”

Audun charged up the stairs, sliding on the dripping mess. “Alice, get Veralyn into bed please, and hurry. Tilly, you must go to bed too. I’m going to send a ranch hand out for the doctor. I’ll be back in a minute to examine you.”

“You will not!” Tilly cried.

“What happened to ‘he has much birthing experience’? That hasn’t changed!”

“Audun, you’re my stepson. It just isn’t proper. I’ll lie down—you get the doctor.”

“Tranáni!” Audun swore. “Hop Sing, come and see if these women will at least be sensible for you!” And as Hop Sing appeared, Audun ran out the door, leaving the adults to their own devices.

Chapter 12

May, 1875

Eight days after their Silver Peak arrival, Adam was wondering if Joe intended to make this their permanent home. Every night he played poker until he nodded off at the table—except the one night he had hired company for the evening—and every night he lost. But Adam didn’t ask Joe just how long he planned to stay, because the response was always the same: “You can go back anytime you want.”

He didn’t have that much reason to want to go home, anyway. He’d sent Tilly packing, after all; his last real discussion with Audun—before Audun had told him he had no business going with Joe—had been an argument about the trip Audun himself wanted to take, and he knew Audun was still plenty steamed about that. His last big discussion with his father—before the fire—had been an argument, too. In fact, about the only person he hadn’t argued much with lately was Duke, and that was probably just because Duke wasn’t a talker. It made him wonder just how so many other people could be so consistently wrong, because of course he wasn’t wrong about anything.

All right, maybe I was been wrong about one thing.

Late March, 1875

Adam spat a stream of blood on the dirt road and grabbed a mounting rail to pull himself upright. “Joe, we have now been thrown out of every saloon in Virginia City except the Sazerac. Can we please go home now?”

“Damn,” Joe muttered. “I can’t believe I missed one.” He gained his feet unsteadily and wobbled determinedly in the direction of the Sazerac.

Adam sighed and staggered after him.

The day after Alice’s funeral, Joe had gone into town without a word to anyone. Mutton Jim, who’d been there that night, ended up putting his own money up to bail Joe out of jail and bring him home, and Ben had written a few bank drafts that cleared up the situation. From then on one of the hands had gone along with him, but the pattern did not change. Joe had made it a comfortable routine—go into Virginia City, bend an arm with the boys…and then when the whiskey hit, start a fight. Most of the men—even the meanest miners—were trying to avoid trouble with him, some out of consideration for his loss, some out of fear of Ben Cartwright and his many connections, and some out of fear of Adam Cartwright, who owned shares in three prominent silver mines. But Joe didn’t know when to quit. He wanted a fight.

In a way Adam understood. Joe hadn’t been grieving for Alice—it was too soon for that. He was just plain mad, and anger required a release. When you were that mad, just throwing glasses into the fireplace wasn’t enough. You had to beat the hell out of somebody. Problem was, Adam was pretty sure what Joe was really after was picking a fight with God—not that he didn’t understand that too, but God usually wasn’t too obliging.

Then one day Joe didn’t come back at all, and Ben sent Adam looking for him. He found him at the Bucket O’ Blood, tossing back specialty Brown-Forman at an alarming rate—at eleven o’clock in the morning, at that. Nor was he anxious to leave. In fact, when Adam told him he’d been tasked by Pa to take him home, Joe told him in no uncertain terms exactly what he could take, where he could take it, and what he could do when he got there. But since Pa’s directive (funny how, even when a man was 40 years old, his pa could give him a task and make it sound like a papal commission) had been a “with your shield, or on it” mission, Adam decided to stay in town. Joe would wear himself out soon enough.

Twelve hours later Adam had a few doubts in that direction. They’d been thrown out of the Bucket O’ Blood, the Silver Dollar, the Delta, and even that cheap new place, the Pomeroy. Now they were at the Sazerac, and he was watching Joe lose hand after hand of poker when the low, pleasant voice said, “Well, Mr. Cartwright…it has been a long time.”

He turned, and the woman smiled invitingly. She didn’t look right—she seemed way too uncorrupted to be a saloon girl, with her cherubic expression, innocent blue eyes, and curly dark brown hair. “I’m sorry; I don’t believe I know you,” he said coolly, lying even better than he’d known he could. Oh, he didn’t remember her name. But he remembered…well, he remembered the rest of her just fine. He remembered precious little of that January night in 1869, or the early morning before she’d left him…but what he did remember was burned into his brain as if with a fiery brand.

She dimpled as she smiled again. “No, I expect not. It’s been…what, five years? Six? I’m the girl back at the Bucket O’ Blood who knew who Persephone was.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said uncomfortably, worrying that he was about to find out what she meant. And he was right.

“You were famous, Adam.” She joined him uninvited, and took a sip of his expensive Bushmill’s right from his own glass. “You never went upstairs with anybody, or so it was said. But I got you that night. Of course, you married not long after, so I figured it was a last hurrah before you settled down. My name’s Florinda Robinson. Here in Virginia City they call me Flora. Still don’t remember me?”

Oh, he remembered. He just didn’t want to, that was all.

L’audace, l’audace, toujours l’audace. He grinned. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten, Flora. How have you been?”

“Can’t complain.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

She traced the moist rim of his glass with a delicate finger, making a low hum emanate, and looked up at him. Funny he’d forgotten how appealing she could look.

“I was wondering more if I could do anything for you?”

He took the shot glass away, noticing how her finger, damp from the whisky, slid along his hand. “Get your own glass,” he said, plunking a coin down. “And then we’ll talk.”

May, 1875

He wondered if that was what Tilly was referring to when she’d made that crack, during their final argument, about how anxious he was to throw stones. Of course she’d known the first time, but they hadn’t been married then. Did she really know about that last time, too? He wondered what she had heard. The whole story was pretty embarrassing anyway. Adam sighed and looked at the bottle in front of him. Then he pushed it away and glanced over at Joe’s poker game again.

The redhead in Joe’s lap was cheating; she was signaling the pockmarked guy across the table with winks, blinks, and yawns. Joe hadn’t noticed. Adam got up from his drink, made his way to the table, and bent over until his lips were almost touching the girl’s ear. “I could use some company,” he whispered. “There’s fifty in it for you.”

With that he headed to the stairs. He looked back to find the girl on his heels, and both Joe and the pockmarked guy scowling. He just grinned and headed up.

“Cowboy, I have been hopin’ to meet someone like you,” the girl said, taking a key from between her breasts to open the door. He glanced at where her hand went and sighed.

She pulled him into the room, but as her lips sped toward his mouth, he gently took the key out of her hand. Then he pushed her back on the bed. “Can’t you wait for me to undress?” she asked coyly.

“Go ahead,” he replied. And as her dress hit the floor, he said, “If I catch you cheating my brother out of his money again, I’m going to wring your neck.”

She just stared, nonplused, at him as he turned back to the door.

“Hey, what about my fifty?” she demanded.

He grinned and threw two quarters at her, and as her outraged scream split the air, he closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Trotting back downstairs, he dropped the key on Joe’s poker chips. “All yours if still you want her,” he announced, and went out for a walk.

Chapter 13

May, 1875

Audun led Buck and Pepper Nell into the barn and unsaddled them, then took them out behind the barn to the long T-shaped pole that served as a cool-down. He tethered a horse to each end of the cross-pole and started them walking in a large circle, leading Buck and occasionally glancing over at Pepper Nell.

Funny that his grandfather had such an aversion to cooling down the horses himself. He sometimes seemed to view the horses as mere transportation. Now that he thought of it, Audun recalled his Uncle Joe once saying Ben Cartwright didn’t think much of animals. Those who served some sort of purpose—food, transport, mouse-catching—he kept, and he took excellent care of them, but he’d heard that his grandfather had never loved a dog until Ceirdwyn came along. Not only that, but stranger still, Joe had said Adam once felt the same way himself. It was Lady who had broken through his defenses and found his heart. That was a good thing, Audun thought, since he didn’t think he and his father would have gotten on so well if they hadn’t liked dogs and horses…and for a moment he allowed himself to wonder what had happened to Lady—why Adam would never talk about it. Pointless, he told himself. Lady’s gone. My father is gone. Think about the here and now.

Maybe his grandfather liked the horses, but simply thought he was above things like cooling them down now, Audun thought. Maybe he thought that’s what hired hands and horse-loving grandsons were for. No, that couldn’t be it. After all, when he had first come here to live, it was his grandfather who had helped him take care of his six horses, and he had been kind to all of them. So his behavior now must mean he was just concerned about Beth.

After all, Adam had been right about Ben. Audun’s grandfather believed he knew best, and he had no knowledge or desire to be like the Nimiipuu, who were autonomous right down to their souls. But once you accepted that that was simply his way, and learned how to get around it, Ben was an easy man to like, and easier still to admire. In some ways Ben was like Shmoqula, his other grandfather…and Shmoqula had always walked his own horse, and always looked after his own wives. Always, even after he became the shaman of the Otter band of the Nimiipuu.

June, 1874

Lady, in the back of the wagon, let out a short, concerned “woof.” Adam turned and looked at her; she was sitting up, fluffed out half again her normal size, and straining forward, her nose reaching for some scent their eyes could not see. Adam patted her head and tried to make soothing noises, but he was as nervous as she. They had left the narrow dirt road and turned onto a trail, and the wagon was having difficulties, but at least they were within five miles of Dugout. And although they had yet to see any Indians, obviously they were close by. “You’re absolutely certain they don’t eat dogs,” Adam said, probably for the seventh time since they had set out.

“Father, I swear to you, the Nimiipuu eat neither dogs nor horses. I don’t know where you get this strange idea, but no civilized Indian eats dogs, and they would only eat a horse if they were starving.”

“But the Sioux, Cheyenne, and Apache all do.”

“Huh. I said civilized. Those tribes are all barbaric. You sure don’t know much about Indians, Father.”

“And you sure are a know-it-all, son.”

Lady growled.

“Do they know we’re here?” Adam asked quietly, and Audun nodded.

“They’ve been watching us for a few minutes. Four, maybe five young men. They’ve probably sent for warriors to approach us. Normally the only white men who come in wagons like this are settlers, but we have few possessions, no women, and no farming or mining equipment, so they’re puzzled.”

“But wouldn’t they recognize you?”

Audun snorted. “With my hair cut? Wearing these clothes and this hat? Father, all Soyapo look alike.”

His father gave him an odd little smirk, and Audun wondered what it meant.

“Any chance they’ll attack?” Adam asked.

“No. They still remember their promise to that Clark fellow. He and the other fellow Lewis, they promised the Nimiipuu that the Soyapo would always be their friends. Most of the Nimiipuu still believe it, although Timothy says they’re…I think the English word is naïve. Like babies.”

At that point, eight mounted Indians sprang out of the woods and surrounded the wagon. Audun shouted “Ohchorhynchus Kisutch!” and one of the horses moved forward, its rider gawking at Audun.

“Hinmimipelikt?” the man said. Audun jumped off the wagon, tearing off his hat as he did so, and the Indian slid off his horse.

Timothy Silver Salmon grabbed him by the shoulders. “You came! I thought the Soyapo would never let you leave…” He turned Audun’s face one way and another, and grunted. “Huh. You look like them. Smell like them, too. Ah, I guess it doesn’t matter. Even the People are eating cattle now.”

Audun inwardly thanked the Creator that Adam only knew a few words of Nimiipuutimpt. Outwardly, he smiled at his other father. “But you will love me anyway, won’t you, my father Silver Salmon?”

“If I must.” He grinned. “You brought one of them with you, but not one of the ones who came before. Who is he?”

“Take a good look at him,” Audun said.

Timothy looked up. Adam was still sitting stiffly in the wagon, looking at him with a tentative gaze neither friendly nor threatening, though one hand was precariously close to the gun on his hip. “He must be another…Cawwot.”

“He’s my father. Adam Cartwright. Don’t you think we look alike?”

Timothy looked back at him, and sniffed. “Among the Nimiipuu, a man dies and stays dead. These Soyapo can’t make up their minds. First that fellow who said he was the Creator’s son, and now Cawwot. Is he why you didn’t return before?”

“He was never dead—the others had put him on an island in the Big Water, and refused to let him go. He came as soon as he could and…Silver Salmon, it would make my heart sing if you and he were friends.”

Timothy laughed shortly. “You don’t ask much, son. I don’t remember their tongue—nor do I want to. Me, friends with a Soyapo?” He looked closely at Audun. “Well, I will try. Does he treat you properly?”

“He’s a good man. He insisted we leave the very next morning when he learned about Shmoqula. Is my grandfather waiting for me?”

“He is. He was convinced you were coming, too. Get back on that thing and we’ll take you to the village.” Timothy chuckled. “The Old Man in the Stars is in a funny mood, Little Thunder—he may even make Shmoqula well at this pass.” He looked up at Adam again, gave an exaggerated soldierly salute, then jumped back on his horse.

“I guess that’s Timothy,” his father said as Audun climbed back into the wagon.

“Yes,” Audun agreed, unable to stop grinning.

“Not very friendly,” Adam commented.

“You weren’t, either,” Audun replied. “But he promised to be your friend. It would make me happy if you would do the same, Father. I’ll introduce you properly when we get to the village.”

**

Of course, when they arrived in the village, despite Audun’s good intentions, Timothy and Adam’s introduction had been a bit abbreviated. “Ohchorhynchus Kisutch—my father, Adam Cartwright. Take me to Shmoqula now. What if he doesn’t know me?”

“He’ll know you—after he gets over having to smell you. Come. The Soyapo can come too, Little Thunder—I’m sure Shmoqula will want to know how it happened that someone who’s ‘dead’ under white law can magically come back a couple of years later.” He laughed and pushed both Audun and Adam through the flap door of the hide-covered lodge.

His grandfather was propped up by a variety of rolled-up hides, and drinking tea—which he set on the ground when he saw the new arrivals. “Come here, Little Thunder.” His voice was steady, if a little weak.

Audun restrained himself from jumping at his grandfather, walking forward to kneel beside him and take his hand. “You sound good, Pilác. When I heard from Silver Salmon, I thought you would be wheezing and sick.”

“Last night I dreamed you were here, and I knew you were coming,” Shmoqula said with a smile. “I knew I had to get better to talk to you. Couldn’t let you travel so far and then let you do all the talking. You’ve grown taller—Owd’nCawwot.”

“It’s been nearly two years, Pilác.”

“You found your father.”

“We found each other.”

“Bring him to me. We should meet. Silver Salmon, too.”

Audun turned, and noticed for the first time how awkward Adam looked, standing in the lodge entranceway as if afraid to come inside, holding his hat in his hands, with Lady—who had refused to stay outside—pressed against his leg. “Father, come—you must meet Shmoqula.”

Chapter 14

May, 1875

Keeping one attentive eye on Joe and one suspicious eye on the attractive blonde who was inching closer to Joe every moment, Adam tried not to let his mind wander, but it wasn’t working. Joe was a grown man, and he knew what he wanted. At the moment he wanted only to win a poker game, and if he wanted more than that from the blonde, Adam’s only function there was to take Joe’s money from him before he went anywhere. After all, he’d already had to save Joe from that obvious redhead once, and though the blonde was more subtle, this place had a reputation for guys going upstairs with lots of money and coming downstairs broke and with a headache.

A headache…Lord, didn’t he have plenty of experience with those. Even when he’d been innocent….

July, 1874

“You…not so bad for a…Nincompoop…Salmon,” Adam said slowly, a huge grin spread across his face. His Nimiipuutimpt was pretty slipshod, but Timothy didn’t seem to mind.

Timothy, looking equally silly, took his pipe back and clapped Adam on the shoulder. “It’s Nimiipuu. And you’re not so bad for a Soyapo, Ad’mCawwot. I am going now. When Little Thunder comes back from Shmoqula’s lodge, you tell him I was your friend today. We smoked the pipe together as friends, right?” And then in English, he said, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Adam said. He had no idea what his Indian friend had just said, but it didn’t seem to matter since he was leaving anyway, and Adam felt like eating an entire buffalo and taking a lengthy nap.

**

Adam groaned and put his head in his hands. “What was in that pipe, anyway? There’s a stampede between my ears.”

Audun held out his canteen. “It was only a pipe of friendship, Father.”

Privately, Adam wondered just how serious Timothy Silver Salmon was about this friendship business. He’d have sworn—now—that there had been a mischievous glint in the man’s eye as he’d handed over the pipe to the “Soyapo father.”

“Drink,” Auden commanded. “You just need water. You said you had smoked before.”

“My father’s pipe, yes, when I was younger. And I tried some Egyptian and Turkish cigarettes in Paris, but they weren’t like this.”

“I don’t know what the Egyptians and Turkish people put in tobacco, but the Nimiipuu only use stronger stuff if they want to encourage a vision—and no outsiders are allowed in those ceremonies.” Audun smiled lopsidedly. “No children, either. Just like now. Tranáni! I should be smoking the pipe too. I’m old enough.”

“You’re eleven. At eleven you’re only old enough to smoke rabbit tobacco out behind the barn—and you’d still get a thrashing for it.”

Audun looked at him almost pityingly. “Father, among the Nimiipuu, I’m almost old enough to be married. Do you know Chief Hinmahtooyahlatkekt took his first wife when he was fourteen?”

“I don’t care if Chief Hindermost jumped off a cliff when he was ten. Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you do it, Audun. I respect their ways, but I’d like my son to follow my ways.”

“But Father, this is how I was raised. I learned their ways before I ever learned yours—and I like their ways. I made my first kill before my mother died—a deer, a fine one. I gave the hide to old Alpatokate. The thing that keeps me from being a man is not age. Shmoqula said he knew as soon as he saw me that I had not found my wáyakin yet. Until that happens, I am not a man. I could see a thousand summers and still be a child.”

This sounded important, Adam thought groggily. “Okay, explain to me what makes you a man in the Nimiipuu world. Aside from making your first kill.”

“Making the first kill is important,” Audun agreed. “But you have to find your wáyakin to be grown up. Those who go and don’t find one will be the do-nothings in life. But if you don’t at least look, you’re not an adult at all.”

“It would help if I had some idea what a wáyakin was,” Adam said, rubbing his head. Of all times, the kid had to pick now, when my head is seceding from the rest of me, to be mysterious.

“It’s a guiding spirit,” Audun replied. “Usually it’s an animal, but some people have spirits from the earth—like mountains—and some have spirits from the weather, like wind. The chief I told you about before, Hinmahtooyahlatkekt, his wáyakin is thunder.”

“This is…this is the thing you were arguing with the preacher about, isn’t it?”

“Yes—and my other grandfather too. Your father said the Bible doesn’t talk about guiding spirits in animals. He was wrong, but if I told him that he’d be angry.”

“Where does the Bible talk about guiding spirits in animals, and how do you know?”

“My mother made me read the Bible every night, Father. What you call King James English is the first English I learned to read. Don’t you remember the story of Balaam, the prophet who tried to curse the Israelites? The Creator—God—told him not to, but he didn’t listen. So then God told Balaam’s wáyakin to talk to him. The story is in the book of Numbers, Chapter 22.”

Adam glared at him. “You’re telling me that the story of Balaam and his donkey is proof of wáyakins?”

“Sure. Father, a wáyakin is just a guiding spirit the Creator assigns to protect us. Didn’t the donkey protect Balaam from the angel who would have killed him? I’ll tell you another,” he went on enthusiastically. “Remember Jonah? His wáyakin was a fish. He protected Jonah from the sailors who wanted to kill him, and he made sure Jonah went to the place the Creator wanted him to go instead of trying to run away again. In the second book of Kings, the prophet Elijah was taken to the stars by his wáyakin, the whirlwind. And in the Psalms—”

“My head’s throbbing, Audun!” Adam moaned. “I can’t argue philosophy with you right now. Let’s agree that wáyakins are important, and if it means so much to you to find yours, then I’ll take you to look for it very soon. Right now I have to lie down.”

“But you can’t take me to look for it,” Audun protested. “I have to go alone.”

That was the last thing Adam remembered hearing, and God knew he’d have occasion later to wish he’d listened closer. But Timothy’s tobacco—old Alpatokate told him later Timothy had gotten it from the Apaches, who got it from the Mexicans, who made it from red hemp—left him with an enormous headache and very little memory.

Chapter 15

May, 1875

“Forever,” Joe murmured, enfolding Alice in his arms.

“Forever,” she echoed contentedly as he played with her hair.

He smiled, his eyes shut, his fingers running through her fine, soft waves.

How much time passed? A minute or an hour? He wasn’t sure…he only knew the sun was coming up because he felt its warmth through his closed eyes. Soon he’d have to leave for…where was he going this time? No matter; he’d think of that later. But for now…now, he was with Alice, and they had all the time in the world. “Hey, sweetie,” he whispered. “You could make me a very happy man right now if…”

“You want it French-style again?” said a nasal voice, and his eyes opened wide in shock. There was the little redhead who was so clumsy at poker signals, her rouge a smear and her eyelashes two black crescent-rolls of caked mascara.

“What are you doing here?” He pushed her away in disgust.

“You wasn’t asking me that when we come in a couple hours ago, cowboy,” she said, making a feeble attempt to straighten her hair.

“Get out.” His voice was hoarse with rage and revulsion.

“You sure? You paid for—”

“Get out!”

She got up, pulled her dress on, and left the room, spitting on the floor as she went, and he shut his eyes again and wondered why he couldn’t just die.

“Forever,” he whispered. “I promised you forever…oh, God, Alice, what happened? You promised back. I didn’t leave you…you left me. Why?”

“Sorry,” came the well-remembered voice. “I had a pressing engagement. I had to burn to death in that cheap, shoddy little house you built me.”

He opened his eyes. The room was empty, of course, and Alice would never have said such a thing anyway.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the sun rose.

November, 1874

“You’re packed already,” Alice said, her voice cool.

“Yes…” his voice trailed off as he realized he had not prepared a good speech. “Alice…I’m sorry, I just…Pa and I talked, and he’d really like to get this contract underway. I promise, I’ll only be gone a week this time.”

“It doesn’t matter. Go ahead and go…again. Bruce and Bonnie make great company, and Adam and Hoss come by all the time. Don’t think I’m lonely, Joe. I’m not lonely.”

“I’ll be back quick as I can.” He shut the door behind him, but stood for a moment with his hand on the knob. Long enough to hear her say “Forever” to the empty room.

Chapter 16

May, 1875

“Celare. Celo, celas, celat…”

“You’re going right down the line,” Tilly said with a shake of her head. “What fun is that? Give me third person pluperfect plural.”

“Um…celaverant.”

“Good. How about first person, imperfect, subjunctive?”

Long pause. “Celarem?”

“There you go. Loosen up your brain, Audun. Life is not lived in a matrix.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means in real life there are no verb conjugation tables. You have to think on your feet.”

Audun considered this for a minute. “But no one speaks this language anyway. I only want to learn it because Soyapo doctors use it to name their medicines and anatomy charts.”

“Sure, but before you get that medical degree, you’ll have to learn a lot of things that aren’t related to it. First you generalize, then you specialize.”

Audun thought some more, and then closed the book with a snap. “Tilly…do you think I am an adult?”

“What does that have to do with conjugating Latin?”

The reproachful look brought back painful memories of the looks Adam had given her the last few weeks. But he simply said, “You promised you would always answer my questions.”

Tilly sighed. “I think,” she said carefully, “that you are very mature. In fact, you’re probably the most mature twelve-year-old I’ve ever known. You’re also about the brightest youngster I’ve ever met. Your father and I had an English friend we met in France who was smart like you, and not much older—”

“I see no reason to deny that I am a fast learner. But a youngster is a child.”

“Well…Audun, it’s complicated. The law says you’re not a grown man in this state until you’re 18. That’s not a bad deal, really—that English boy I mentioned had to wait until he was 21.”

“That makes no sense. If you are grown, you’re grown. The laws of this state are silly. But it’s worse, because among the Nimiipuu, I should be a man already—and I’m not.”

Tilly recalled some of the things she’d heard and other things Adam had told her, and suddenly she realized what had sparked that bitter argument between Adam and Audun. A lopsided smile came to her as she put it together with the argument Adam had had with Ben just before that.

“Like father, like son,” she sighed.

December, 1874

“Pa, I’ve been living here for a year. I don’t understand why you’re so dead-set against Tilly and me having our own home. Hoss and Veralyn had one—”

“Yes, but Hoss is back here now—and if you and Tilly leave, what will you do about Rob?”

Adam gazed back, his arms crossed. “The boy is six months old; he can learn to drink cow or goat milk, and Hoss can try being a father for a change. Look, I’m not trying to be difficult. But living here, I feel like I’m a child again, asking permission for every move I make. I’m 40 years old; that’s just not right.”

“Adam, I’ve made every attempt I could to see that you felt like you were the head of your own family here. I don’t interfere with your decisions about Audun; I let you work all the schedules out for the ranch work, and you’re even handling the ledgers again as well as working in town at your own business. As far as I’m concerned, you are an independent agent. But…” Ben coughed delicately. “We both know—we all know—that you’re not completely healthy. You still have difficulty with your fingers; you still wake up screaming a couple of nights a month…you still have moments when you just drift away while you’re sitting with the rest of us. As long as you’re here, if something overwhelms you, Hoss and I can help. If you move into that house you’re building, you’ll be an hour’s ride from here OR town. What if you wake up again thinking whatever it is you think when you’re like that—and there’s nobody but Tilly and Audun? Be honest with yourself…you could hurt someone.”

He didn’t say “again”—he didn’t have to. By then Adam had figured out that he’d given Tilly the black eye right after their arrival, and that he was to account for the bruise marks on Joe’s throat two months after. Adam swallowed. “I haven’t gotten violent in nearly a year, Pa.”

“But you could.”

Long silence, finally broken by Ben in a desperate plea. “Adam, you are a grown man. Adulthood isn’t dependent on where you live. You’re just as much a man as—”

“Pa, Tilly and Audun are willing to take their chances with me. I think it’s really between us. This isn’t something you have a part in.”

Two days later:

“Audun, I already said I’m willing to let you go. I just want to go along.”

“No self-respecting wáyakin will come if you are hovering nearby. I have to do this alone.”

“You will do it alone. But—”

“I won’t be alone if you are there! Father, if this was a camping trip you wouldn’t mind.”

“If it was a camping trip I’d know you had food, water, and blankets—and a horse. As it was explained to me, for a wáyakin quest you have to walk into some high, lonely place, with no food or water—and then you spend four or five days piling up rocks and waiting to have a vision. Of course you’ll be hallucinating after that; anyone would. If you want to subject yourself to that, I think it’s crazy, but out of respect for your devotion to the Nimiipuu, I’ll let you do it. I just want to be within earshot. Think about it: if you’re attacked by a wildcat, you won’t even have a weapon to protect yourself.”

“If I carry food and weapons and have my father nearby, I’m only proving that I’m not ready to be a man. You were there, Father. You met them. For three months we traveled with them, ate camas with them; you even learned much of the language. Even though you were an outsider, they explained to you how important it is to me. I will never be a man without it, whatever the state of Nevada says. I should have done this thing a year or two ago already—some boys do it at age nine. I’ve just turned twelve. I’m old not to have a wáyakin. The reasons I postponed it so long were good ones, but I can delay no longer—I would be shamed.”

“Son…if you’re going to live in the white world, why does it matter?”

“It matters! Tranáni! If you don’t understand that, you never will understand me!”

May, 1875

“This has to do with your wáyakin quest,” she said soberly.

“I never said that, Tilly.”

“No…I believe the Latin would be ‘celas.’ You’re concealing what you want, in order to get me to ignorantly agree.”

Audun grimaced and looked down. “My father is gone. My grandfather is in town. All you have to do is keep silent when I leave. Uncle Hoss won’t miss me—not at first. I just need a few hours’ head start.”

Tilly considered this. “Look…I’m going to be baking tomorrow. I’ll be in and out of the kitchen. I can’t keep an eye on you and the babies during that time. If you go for a ride, it could be hours before I notice you’re gone.”

“It could,” Audun agreed soberly.

“But…” Tilly said slowly, “If you were to somehow end up without your horse, I expect your horse would probably come back here. If he does, the only way I’ll know you got off on purpose and didn’t fall off would be if you drew a map, maybe, or put a note on him, telling me the general area where you went. I wouldn’t be able to follow you since I have to watch the babies, and I’d probably forget to show the map to your Uncle Hoss—but if you aren’t back by the weekend, we must know where to begin the search.”

Audun smiled. “Why did my father never think of this? He’s supposed to be smart.”

“He is—but let’s face it, he also likes to protect the people he loves. With you, he has a lot of lost time to make up, so he may be overdoing it.”

“Do you not feel the same urge to protect?” His smoky gray eyes were fixed on her face.

“I do…but then, I’m also trying to win you over. You know what that means?”

A short chuckle. “It means if I’d known that before, I could have gotten into lots of trouble?”

“Probably.”

“But Tilly…” he looked down at the floor for a moment, and back up at her. “I think sometimes my father tries too hard to protect you. And don’t you try too hard to protect my father?”

She shrugged, and the humor went out of her voice when she replied, “I don’t think so.”

Audun made a chuffing noise. “Soyapo are funny people.”

Chapter 17

May, 1875

 Hop Sing was playing with the little ones, and Tilly was taking bread out of the oven. She had a grim sense of pride in her ability to do this, because the odor of baking bread was the last normal scent she had been aware of that awful day a year ago. It had taken months to be able to tolerate the smell, let alone consider baking it herself. This was her first attempt, and by God, she was not going to throw up. And she would not remember that other day. She would not…she would not…

May, 1874

It had been just like any other day; Hop Sing was baking, and she, Veralyn and Alice were sitting together doing their mending and discussing their families the way they did each Thursday. Although by that time Hoss and Veralyn had moved back to their own home and Joe and Alice had gone back to theirs, the three women had hit it off so well they often looked for any excuse to get together. Monday they met at Hoss’s house to do their washing together, since Hoss lived closest to the creek; Thursday they did mending at the Ponderosa; Saturday of course was still the “official” family day, and Sunday they saw each other at church. Now they were making plans to start a quilt together, using Joe’s house as the base of operations.

Tilly had only ever had one close female friend in her life before Alice and Veralyn, and that had been her cousin Charlotte, who—if she was even alive—was about as likely to move west as President Grant was to go to Heaven. So she now reveled in having two female friends who were just as mischievous as she was, even if they hid it better. Alice and Veralyn also enjoyed reading, and though neither would have admitted it, it was kind of lonesome not being able to discuss books with their decidedly un-literary husbands. Alice hated dime novels and liked Jane Austen and the Brontes; Veralyn’s guilty passion was a unique combination: the poetry of Robert Burns and biographies of military heroes. She seemed to know everything there was to know about Horatio Nelson and even more about Napoleon.

“My father loved reading military books,” she confessed to Tilly with a smile. “He didn’t mind my reading Burns, but he seemed to think military histories were inappropriate for me—which of course only made me more determined to read the things. I did it in secret until I was 19, and then I found out he had known all along and left the books out for me.”

“I think I’d like him,” Tilly chuckled.

“You would’ve,” Veralyn said. “He died last summer, though. Funny, Hoss was always scared of him. It was only fair, I would tell him, because Hoss’s father scared the stuffing out of me. When I heard the stories about you and…” she blushed. “Sorry, I hope that’s not a sore spot.”

“Not to me,” Tilly replied. “I can’t vouch for Ben, though.”

And all three women giggled.

“If it’s a boy,” Veralyn said with a thoughtful hand on her belly, “Hoss wants to name him Robert Benjamin. I’ve got my heart set on a girl, though. Lydia Phoebe.”

“If it’s a boy I’ll claim him for Joe,” Alice told her. “Joe’s already demanding another one, and with Bonnie not even six months old yet! I told him we needed to wait, but he doesn’t want to.” She sighed, grinning. “He doesn’t like to wait for anything.”

They all chuckled. “That sounds like Joe,” Tilly and Veralyn agreed.

“Sorry,” Veralyn told Alice, one hand on her knee. “You’ll have to do your own work if you want the payoff.”

“I figured. Just thought I’d ask,” Alice shrugged, smiling.

“I wonder what my toes look like,” said Veralyn.

“Me too,” sighed Tilly.

“Oh, you wonder what my toes look like?”

Audun had disappeared, claiming a need to study, almost as soon as the two women had arrived. Now he peeked out to ensure they weren’t paying him any attention, and sneaked into the kitchen for a glass of buttermilk. Veralyn, in a dramatic voice, spoke up. “Why do you suppose Audun sneaks off every time Alice and I come over?” she asked, Adah Mencken fashion. “Do you suppose he doesn’t like us?”

Alice smiled. “Maybe he’s like other men and thinks women are foolish.”

“No,” Audun announced, coming back in. “I only think you talk too much.”

“Thanks a lot,” Tilly drawled. “I’ll remember that next week when we start doing quadratic equations and you want me to explain the formula.”

“You’re lucky none of the menfolk are here,” Veralyn said with a wink at him. “Even Hoss would give you a tanning for that kind of talk.”

“But you asked!” Audun protested. “Why ask if you don’t want to know?”

Tilly shook her head. “Men will never understand us, just as we’ll never understand them.”

Audun sighed and returned to the guest room, muttering something about how he could no longer neglect Thermopylae.

“I’m so big my belly walks into a room five minutes before I get there,” Veralyn giggled.

“What are you complaining for?” Alice said with a grin. “Before Bonnie was born I could barely walk at all.”

“Ah, the veteran mother is going to tell us how to do it,” Veralyn said, her eyes twinkling.

“You can scoff.” Tilly smiled thoughtfully. “But Alice has, after all, done what neither of us could—so far—do.”

“Well, I’ve never tried before, Tilly,” Veralyn pointed out. “Have you?”

“This will be my fourth ‘try,’” Tilly replied, and the other two women sobered. “This is the farthest I’ve gotten…maybe everything will be all right now.”

That was when Veralyn had mentioned something about bleeding. Suddenly Audun was among them, looking worried and intently questioning Veralyn; a minute after that, with the odor of fresh-baked bread permeating the house, the world turned upside down.

Tilly, two weeks from her due date, went into hard labor as soon as her water broke. Veralyn, painfully climbing the stairs, began to bleed heavily. Even if the women had changed their minds and wanted to have Audun attend them it was too late; he was already gone. Alice came back to help Tilly, who seemed the least problematic of the two, and Hop Sing, who had marginally more experience, having delivered babies for two of his own countrywomen in recent years, stayed with Veralyn. Tilly’s cries were soon splitting the house, but Veralyn was getting ominously quieter.

By the time Dr. Martin and Kam Lee arrived—with Adam, who’d been at work in Virginia City, close behind them, most of it was over. Tilly was holding her baby, a perfect little girl with curly black hair…and a bluish tinge.

“She never even drew a breath,” Alice told them in a hushed, shaking voice. “I tried everything I could think of, Adam…she just wouldn’t breathe.”

Adam swallowed and approached Tilly. “I’m sorry, acushla,” he whispered as he knelt by the bed. “I’m so sorry.” He reached out to take the baby from her, but Tilly shook her head.

“Not yet, Adam,” she said quietly. Her eyes were dry. “Please, Adam—not just yet. I’ll have the rest of my life not to hold her. A little longer now won’t hurt.”

Chapter 18

May, 1875

 Hoss Cartwright rode slowly in from the logging camp, tired and sore all over. Seemed he got tired easier these days. Well, he knew why, even if nobody else did.

“We’re gettin’ old, huh boy?” he said conversationally as he pulled off Chubb’s saddle and began to rub him down. “Time was I’d have somebody to rub me down, too. I’ll tellya, Chubb, if Veralyn ever squeezed your withers the way she’d squeeze my neck and shoulders, you’d be able to put your nose through your front legs and grab your tail. That’s how relaxing it was. But that’s okay. She’s lookin’ down right now and squeezin’ my shoulders from up yonder. I know she is. She just has a little further to reach these days, that’s all.”

He swallowed, and grabbed a hoof pick. “Gimme yer foot. She was scared of you, y’know…didn’t like horses much, not to ride, anyhow. Liked dogs, though.”

He smiled and looked down at Gumbo, his black and tan collie. “You remember, don’t you? Remember when you and me sat up all night with her, the night before we buried her? And remember how you and me and Honey went all the way up to the lake to dig the grave the next mornin’…She liked it up there. It’s by water, like that poem she used to like…” He sniffed. He’d never visited her grave since the day he’d buried her—he knew where she really was, and it wasn’t a hole in the ground near a lake.

He’d started keeping a journal two years earlier…maybe he would read about her tonight….

May, 1874

Hoss and Joe were out at the logging camp when Audun galloped in, his horse covered in foam. “Somethin’ must be up,” Joe said. “That pony’s been ridden half to death.”

“Veralyn’s in labor,” Audun announced, throwing himself down. “I’ve been to town for the doctor already; he should be there by now. You’d better get back to the ranch, Uncle Hoss—and hurry. I’ll walk my horse back. Don’t wait for me.”

Something in the way he’d said it told Hoss there was a real problem. He rushed to Chubb and hurriedly put the saddle on. Reaching for the cinch, he looked back at his nephew. “Audun, what is it?”

“I…don’t know,” Audun replied, not meeting his eyes. As Hoss mounted, he repeated the question in a different tone, and Audun winced. “I think the afterbirth is in the way.” Before he had finished the sentence Hoss and Chubb were gone.

Hoss arrived to an ominously silent house. Ben took him aside. “Son…she died about half an hour ago. Paul and Kam Lee did everything they could, but she’d lost too much blood…I’m sorry. They were able to get the baby out. He’s a little weak, but you have a beautiful son.”

Hoss nodded without a word and calmly went up the stairs. He stood outside the closed door for a moment in an attitude of prayer…only to tear it off its hinges a second later when the knob stuck. He went into the room, propped the door in front of the yawning hole, and turned to the bed.

She was pale…bloodless, he thought, that’s what Adam would say. But otherwise, she looked asleep. There were three blankets and a quilt wrapped around her, covering everything but her face…probably to hide or just absorb the blood he knew would be there. But he wouldn’t think of that. He couldn’t think of that—he wasn’t going to remember her this way.

“…to bury them in the morning,” Ben was saying, and his voice sounded far away.

“You’ll want to leave now,” Beth said gently. “We have to wash and dress her.”

“No,” Hoss replied hoarsely. “I’ll stay here.”

Beth and Alice exchanged a glance. Beth put a hand on his shoulder. “You sure?”

“I said I’d stay.”

He heard them moving things around, rummaging in the wardrobe. Heard the water being squeezed back into the bowl. But he saw…Gumbo. And her.

October, 1869

He drove the wagon into town for supplies that day, with Gumbo sitting by his side. She was so proud to be allowed to come with him. She and Honey always followed him everywhere, but being allowed to come into town on the wagon was a special treat.

He’d hobnobbed with Mr. Cass for a little longer than he should have, he supposed, and hadn’t paid any attention to the clanking sounds from the alley behind the store—and when he returned to the wagon, Gumbo was gone. Must have been some children around, he thought. Collies couldn’t resist children. But then he heard the sharp voice in the alley and headed around the corner.

“I should thrash all three of you here and now!” Tall and proud the woman stood, like a queen before her throne. He’d seen her before at a couple of dances, but never realized her height. At the dances she always seemed stooping, and she slumped when she sat in church. Her hair was such a light blonde it was nearly white, and her eyes, now shooting sparks of anger, were a shade of violet that made his knees weak.

“I’d like to see you try, Miss Fancy Petticoats!” shouted Jake Lafferty. At 12, he was big for his age and just as mean as his father.

To his everlasting shock, he saw the woman grab Jake and twist his arm. “Unless you want me to break it, you little heathen, you will have your friends release the dog. Now.”

That was when he saw Gumbo—a string of cans tied to her tail, one paw doubled and tied to her body, two others tied together—she had somehow hobbled back into a corner in an attempt to hide from her tormentors. He knew better than to think she would ever have hurt one of them, no matter how much they deserved it.

“Fellas, git ’er!” Jake cried, and the other two boys started for the woman.

“I don’t think so,” Hoss said then, and walked out into the middle of the alley. The two boys gasped and turned to flee past him, but he had them by their collars in an instant. People never seemed to realize just how fast he could move when he wanted to. He gave both the boys a good shake. “Be glad I don’t bang your heads together,” he snapped. “Lem Smith, I’m gonna let you go so you can get those cans off my dog’s tail. Deke Payton, I’m gonna let you go so you can untie her paws. Either of ya makes a break for it and I swear to heaven I’ll sit full down on yer backs and there won’t be nothin’ left of you but a little greasy spot.”

The blonde woman was still hanging onto the wildly struggling Jake Lafferty.

“You can let him go.” He looked into her violet eyes. “I’ll take care of him.”

Jake tried to rush past him when she turned loose, but he grabbed the boy easily and took him by the shoulders. “Listen here,” he said. “I know your daddy don’t care nothin’ about you, and he probably ain’t got the sense to give you a tanning. But there’s no reason for you to be as shiftless and mean as he is. You’re a smart boy, and you could make somethin’ outta yourself if you wanted to. You understand me?”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Jake mumbled, his eyes on the ground.

“Nope, I can’t. Your pa’s a bully, and if you want to follow in his footsteps, yer right, I can’t stop you. But here’s what I can do—you and your friends touch my dog again…or anything else I care about…and your daddy won’t have to give you a tanning. I’ll carry the three of you down to the city courthouse and stuff you right into the cannon. And then I’ll light the fuse. And ain’t nobody in town—including Poke Lafferty—big enough nor mean enough to stop me. You got that?”

Jake stubbed his toe into the dirt. “Yeah. You think you’re brave enough to try. I got friends.”

“I know I’m brave enough…and I don’t need friends to do my fightin’ for me, either. Brave people do their own fightin’. Now get—all of ya. I got no use for people who torture dogs. Out!”

The three couldn’t scramble away fast enough—and he turned back to her then, surprised to see how much smaller the woman suddenly seemed.

“I thought you were taller, Miss…” he said with a halfway smile.

She straightened up. The top of her head reached the bridge of his nose. With a sheepish smile, she put out one hand. “Mason.”

“That’s right, Robert Mason’s girl—Vera, is it?”

“Veralyn. One word, Mr. Cartwright.”

“That’s a pretty name. Well, Miss Veralyn, Gumbo and I both want to thank you for your kindness…and I think you’re pretty darn brave, too, if you’ll pardon the language.”

He’d found the courage somehow to invite her to the next dance with him…somehow they’d ended up at all the subsequent dances together, too…and then…

May, 1874

“Hoss,” Alice said softly. “Hoss, we’re leaving. Why don’t you come with us? We can sit up with you.”

“No, thank you kindly,” he said, his voice like sand blowing over granite.

They left him, but they left the door leaning to one side, and a few minutes later Adam came in, holding a swaddled bundle and looking a mirror image of misery. “Hoss…I’m sorry. I…”

He managed a pale imitation of a smile. “Things could’ve been worse. They said you mighta lost Tilly, too. I’m real sorry to hear about the baby, Adam.”

If anything, Adam looked even more forlorn. “I can stay with you.” He started to sit down, but Hoss waved him away. “You go on back to Tilly. She needs you.”

“But…”

“No buts. You know I’m right.”

“Do you want to take him?” Adam asked, holding out the bundle.

Hoss caught a glimpse of white-blond curls, like Veralyn’s, and his eyes were suddenly swimming again. He looked away. “Don’t think I can quite bring myself to just yet, Adam….”

Adam sighed. “I’ll send in Joe. I can’t leave you like this. Not in the dark, alone.”

Hoss looked up and smiled, his vision blurring. “I ain’t scared of the dark…and I ain’t alone. You know what Pa always said about memories.”

For a minute he thought Adam might cry too, but after a brief, agonized look and a convulsive swallow, Adam managed a smile. “They’re always there when you need them most.”

“Yup,” Hoss said. “And I’ve got a whole barrel full, and tonight I’m gonna go through every one of ’em.”

Chapter 19

May, 1875

It was the fourth argument in six weeks, and Beth Cameron Cartwright was fed up. She and Gordon had never argued like this. But then, Gordon had been a generally sensible fellow, one willing to listen to reason. He hadn’t been stiff-necked and stubborn like Ben…or Adam…or Joe…or even Hoss. The whole Cartwright clan was always convinced that they were in the right, no matter how wrong they were.

Three times now, Ben had allowed her to leave, then ridden into town the next day, spent a couple of nights with her at her old rooms above the store, and managed to talk her into coming back. This time would be different, she resolved. She wasn’t falling into those soft warm eyes of his anymore; wasn’t going to be influenced by that deep, reverberating bass voice that sounded like her idea of what Heaven must hear when God spoke. She was right; Ben was wrong. He had no business letting Adam run off with Joe—especially when Adam was acting guilty and like he had something to hide about the whole affair.

She’d always liked Tilly; she had no idea why Tilly was being just as stiff-necked and stubborn as any other Cartwright about the whole business, refusing to tell Adam of her pregnancy, refusing to beg him to stay—even Audun had said Adam had no business going off with Joe. But Tilly had been silent, looking at the floor and not saying a word.

April, 1875

Beth and Tilly were in the kitchen preparing dinner—Hop Sing seemed to be spending a lot of time away himself, lately.

She glanced over at her daughter-in-law. “Tilly…I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you married one cold fish.”

Tilly looked at her and gave her an odd little smile. “Is that what you think, Beth?”

“I want to like Adam; I truly do. But I just don’t understand him. His behavior back in the days when Sam Bryant had his father was just so arrogant—”

“You really believe all those rumors?”

“What rumors? I was in the jail with Adam when he was saying all that stuff about hanging Perkins. I listened to him. He sounded like he was playing a chess game and he was using his own father as a pawn.”

Tilly considered this in silence for a moment. “Well, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know. All I know is…you’re figuring him wrong, Beth. He’s not cold. Ask Ben, if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I’ll grant he seems to inspire people to defend him even when they should know better. Ben maintains to this day that Adam acted just as he would’ve. And now he says Adam was the perfect one to go with Joe wherever he went. But you and I both know Adam is still dealing with problems of his own, and he’s in no position to help anyone else until he’s straightened out.”

“Maybe that’s why he went…so he and Joe can straighten each other out. Haven’t you ever noticed the strange connection they have…like they’re two sides of the same coin?”

Beth’s eyebrows arched. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“I have.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ve noticed, Tilly. I know about him and Florinda Robinson. She buys things in my store sometimes, and I’ve heard his name come up more than once among her friends.”

“They shop in your store, really?” Tilly giggled. “Well, I guess scarlet women have to eat, too. You’ll have to point her out to me someday. We’ve never been properly introduced.”

“I couldn’t do that—you’d scratch her eyes out! Not that I’d blame you, but it would be bad for business.”

“Oh, I’m sure it would generate a lot of publicity, Beth. But no, that’s not on my list of things to do when I see her. What I’d like to do is just sit down and talk to her sometime.”

“Why?”

“I guess…I want to know if she’s ever looked into his eyes.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“I just wondered…and I’d like to know. That’s all, Beth. Honest. See…I have.”

And Beth had gone silent, because you couldn’t argue with a woman that besotted.

Beth also left unasked the question she’d had since she’d seen Adam come in on the day of Alice’s death in the fire. He’d been covered with mud and blood, and he looked like a ghost seeking a place to haunt. All these anomalies had been lamely explained by his dog’s death. But he had never explained, nor had she ever had the nerve to ask, why he smelled like smoke.

Chapter 20

May, 1875

It was raining in Silver Peak. Adam looked out the window in disgust. Joe had finally made a remark or two about leaving the place, but he’d gotten to where he never went out in the rain if he didn’t have to. That meant he’d likely spend the day playing poker and drinking again, leaving Adam nothing to do except try once again—fruitlessly—to make friends with that stupid dog that liked to hobble up and down the street.

If I just had even one book…but no, I’m gonna sit and do nothing again all day except think.

Silver Peak had no library. There were no books in the town’s only store. And he’d forgotten to bring anything when they’d left home. Too busy saying things I had no business saying to Tilly…even if they were true. If she left, it was because of what I said, and who could blame her…and if she didn’t leave, I couldn’t look her in the eye because she’s right about Florinda Robinson…I can’t believe myself sometimes…but good God, what do you do when your own wife turns you out of your bed in favor of her dreams…and someone else’s kid?

May, 1874

It was raining the morning they buried Veralyn and the baby girl Tilly had birthed.

Adam walked into his room to see Tilly curled on her side, facing away from him. She was awake, he was certain, but…well, obviously she didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He didn’t much blame her. He was functioning right now only because he had to. He kissed her cheek and went up to his old room. Audun wasn’t there, but the book he needed was. Finally he went to Hoss’s room, where Audun sat holding Veralyn’s baby and rocking him slowly.

“I have to go out for the service now, Audun. You’ll need to watch things here. Tilly’s not up yet, and Hop Sing’s making food for the wake.”

“Father, I need to talk to you first.”

He opened his mouth to say he didn’t have time, but something in the boy’s look held him still.

“Tilly’s milk will come in tomorrow morning—maybe even tonight.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Audun raised an eyebrow, and then explained as if to a child. “Tilly had a baby. Her mind knows the baby died; her body does not. Her body only knows she’s given birth. The first two days after a baby, a woman makes healthy water, and then comes milk.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Audun indicated the sleeping baby in his arms. “We’ve tried the alternatives. There are no women in Chinatown available to wet-nurse. Alice barely makes enough for her own baby, so she can’t help. Cow, goat, even mare’s milk…he won’t take any of them. It’s been a day and a half. He’s very weak.”

“I know.”

“Does nobody see the answer in front of you? You have a mother without a child, and a child without a mother. Why don’t you ask Tilly to nurse the baby?”

Well of course it had occurred to him—it had probably occurred to everybody—but the thought of actually asking her such a thing made the black hat drop from his nerveless fingers. “How can you ask that? She’s going through seven kinds of hell in there. This is the fourth child she’s lost—and this one was carried to term, for God’s sake. She held it in her arms and kissed it. Do you really think she wants to nurse someone else’s baby—even if it’s…Hoss’s?”

Audun looked at him.

Adam began to tap his fingers against his thigh. “And what if he dies anyway? How would she feel if she had to deal with that?”

“I think you won’t know unless you ask her.”

“Well, then, I won’t know. Some things you just don’t do, Audun, not if you have any respect for a person’s feelings. A baby’s not a library book a woman borrows and then sends back again. She’d get tangled up in her love for it, and start thinking it was her own…and each time Hoss would come and get him back, she’d be bereft all over again.”

“There’s a lot more at stake than feelings. There’s a person’s life. Besides, Father, if Tilly doesn’t nurse somebody once her milk comes in, she’ll soon feel even worse than she does now.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“I do.” Audun didn’t wait for a response. “I’ve been around enough women to know what happens after a child is born. The mother’s milk comes within a day or two; it’s the way of nature. If the mother nurses the child, then both are well and happy. If the child dies or is taken away, the milk comes anyway. It’s there; the woman’s body keeps producing it. With no way to be released from her body, it builds up and hardens inside. She may develop a fever. She’ll need to nurse something, Father, if only to relieve the physical pain. If we don’t do this, she’ll suffer for days before her body finally readjusts.”

None of that had occurred to him. Funny; he would have thought of it right away if it had been a cow. Every farmer, every cattleman knew about milk fever. But the vagaries of women’s bodies were things he seldom thought about. As long as a woman knew what was going on with herself and could take care of it, there was nothing for a man to worry about. These things weren’t discussed, anyway—it wasn’t polite.

Audun stood up. “I’m going to ask her.”

“You do and I’ll take a buggy whip to you.”

“Her child is dead. All our grief won’t bring it back. Veralyn is dead. All our grief won’t bring her back. We can save one life here—maybe. From the time I came to this place, I have heard the same thing. ‘We’re Cartwrights. We don’t throw family out with the potato peels.’ I asked Uncle Hoss once who said that. He said it was you. Do you no longer believe it?”

“Don’t you dare bring family into this,” Adam said again, but he couldn’t get anything else out around the lump in his throat. He looked up, his vision blurring as he saw himself, his own logic and common sense, staring him in the face. This was what it was like for the rest of the family when I insisted on being practical in the face of tragedy, he thought, and knew he was paying for it now.

He picked up his hat. “I’m going. Don’t do anything until I get back.”

“If we don’t at least try, you might as well save yourself a trip and bury this one with the others now,” the boy said. It was the last thing Adam heard as he slammed the door and walked out into the pelting rain.

**

“Did you…did you find it?” Hoss asked, joining him as he walked over to the wagon.

He held the book up.

“Adam, I sure appreciate it…”

Adam shook his head. “It’s the least I can do.” It was. After all, the most would be to do what Audun had said, and he wasn’t sure he could do that.

It was a graveside service; the ranch hands had come out of respect for their employer, and a few people from town, but not many. Well, at least Hop Sing had no need to worry about running out of food. As Hoss had once pointed out, the Ponderosa was close enough for a party, but too far for people to travel when there was death, injury, or work to be done.

Reverend Cook was there, of course. Adam didn’t really know this fellow; he’d come to town not long after Adam and Tilly had left. But he was the same fellow who had made such a large matter of Audun’s spiritual state, and while Adam didn’t give a lot of credence to Audun’s argument about armadillos, he found it downright insulting that the man should have called his son a “little savage.” It wasn’t as if he’d been wearing war paint and doing a Sun Dance around the altar, after all. Still, Cook was the leader of their church, so he rated a polite inclination of the head.

They buried the baby first, mainly because there wasn’t much to say. How could you eulogize a baby? And he didn’t bother listening to what the preacher did say, because there wasn’t a thing that could make him feel better about any of it. He kept his eyes on Hoss; that was where his real concern lay as the preacher began to talk about godly women of the Bible, and how a virtuous woman was worth more than rubies. Veralyn had been that, he was certain; but Hoss had loved and lost before, and he’d always gotten past it somehow. This time…something was just plain wrong, something even beyond Veralyn.

Hearing his name suddenly, he looked toward the preacher.

“…Cartwright will read a poem,” the man said, and Adam was fairly certain he heard a disapproving note. Well, Hoss had asked him to; he’d said Veralyn had some affection for Robert Burns, and although he didn’t know the poem’s title, he had known what it was about well enough to give Adam a description that made sense. “It’s about a man whose wife—well, Adam, they meet by the river and fall in love…do you know the one I mean?” Hoss had blinked a couple of times, his blue eyes dulled by a film of unshed tears. “By some flowers, I think…she loved that poem, Adam. If you could find it…”

He stepped up to the graveside and glanced from his father to Joe and Alice, then settled his gaze on Hoss. He gave him a half-smile and opened the book.

“…How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,

Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;

There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,

The sweet-scented birk shades my dear one and me…

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,

Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;

My dear one’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.”

He looked back at Hoss, whose face was wet. Might’ve been tears, might not—it was raining, after all, and wet was wet. Hoss swallowed and gave him ruins of a smile, then picked up a clod of earth. Ben, Alice and Joe followed, while Adam thought back to the distasteful conversation he’d had with Audun…and knew that like it or not, he’d have to ask Tilly. And like it or not, Tilly would have to say yes, because they were Cartwrights after all, and they didn’t throw family out with the potato peels…but he still cursed himself for originating that adage.

**

They came back to the silent house; Adam braced himself and went into the downstairs guest room to talk to Tilly, only to find the door shut. He opened it cautiously and went in to see her settled in the rocking chair, nursing Robert Benjamin Cartwright.

She looked up as he came in, and blushed. “I…I hope nobody minds. Audun brought him in since I hadn’t met him yet, and this little fellow started nosing around like a robin after a worm. I asked why he was hungry, and Audun said he wouldn’t drink cow’s milk…so I thought I’d give it a try, and Audun didn’t mind; he left us together and, well, you see it worked.”

The smile she gave him was so painfully radiant he wanted to ram his fist through the wall.

“I’m glad,” he said instead. “How are you?”

She half-shrugged. “It hurts, but I’ll get used to it…and he’s eating, so I’m happy. I mean…I hope you don’t think it’s forward of me, but when Audun said he hadn’t eaten anything yet, I just…I couldn’t think of anything but feeding him myself. You don’t think it’s wrong, do you?”

“Of course not,” he said quietly. “It makes perfect sense…and it’s very kind of you.”

“Kind, nothin’. I just didn’t want anybody else to die.” She looked away then, and when she spoke, it was to the wall. “Was it a nice service?”

He nodded, and looked at her sitting there so calmly, nursing his brother’s child, and wondered why it mattered to him. He’d been planning to ask her, after all.

“We’ll have to work something out for feedings…” Tilly went on, looking back at the baby. “Would you mind talking to Hoss about it? I don’t think I could. I guess he’ll want to bring that cradle up from his house, too. He’ll have to move back here for a while…”

“I’ll talk to him,” Adam said, taking off his soggy clothes and hanging them up. He put on a black shirt and a pair of jeans, and continued to watch.

“He’s a nice little boy,” Tilly murmured. “But…Adam, can we afford a gravestone for our baby?”

Stunned, he looked at her. “Yes, we can afford it. You want me to order one? What would it say?”

“Just ‘Lily’—after all, she’s one of your Lilies too; she’ll just have to do it from Heaven is all.” Tilly looked down at the boy. “Oh—and yesterday’s date…and maybe if you can afford an inscription, ‘Sleep in peace. God is awake.’ I think we all need that reminder.” She looked up at him with damp eyes. “Lord knows I do.”

**

Adam found Audun in the barn, rubbing down the wet horses. When the boy saw his father, he put down the cloth he’d been using and came out to the corridor between the rows of stalls. He had a riding crop in his hand, which he held out silently.

Adam half-smiled. “I said ‘buggy whip.’”

“I couldn’t find it,” Audun replied, and turned around to bend over a hay bale.

Adam tossed the riding crop to one side, grabbed his son, and hugged him, hard.

Chapter 21

May, 1875

“Have you seen Audun?” Ben asked, and Tilly, stirring the beef stew a little more conscientiously than was needed, mumbled something he didn’t understand before devoting all her attention to the floating carrots.

Ben tried again. “How about Hop Sing?”

Hoss wandered in then. “Hop Sing went into town, Pa. And no, I ain’t seen Audun, but his horse is here, so I imagine he ain’t far off.”

At that a chunk of turnip flipped out of the pot and landed on the floor; Duke, waiting hopefully under the table, darted out to grab it.

“Huh,” Ben grunted.

“I’ll take care of your horse, Pa, if that’s what you wanted,” Hoss offered. “But you’ll need to watch the young’uns. Tilly, you got any fatback?”

She turned and cut him a chunk, liquid fat dripping on the floor and bringing Duke out again. “Careful, it’s hot…”

“I’ll manage.” Hoss grinned.

“I just wanted to talk to him,” Ben said sheepishly. “I took care of Buck myself. I…wanted to thank Audun for all he’s been doing with the horses.”

“Did you, now?” There was a pleased note to Hoss’s voice, and when Ben looked up he caught a smile.

Ben shrugged. “He’s been helpful—the last few times I’ve come back from town I was a little distracted about one thing or another. I’ve just left the horses for him, and he’s always—”

“That’s nice, Pa, and I don’t mean to interrupt, but I gotta get back in the livin’ room with the kids. Soon as Bonnie gets a chance she climbs right outta that pen and starts eatin’ everything in sight, whether it’s meant to be et or not. Reckon she can share my fatback, though.”

Ben turned to follow him, not noticing Tilly’s sudden relieved slump against the counter.

**

She had slipped out to the barn that morning and heard the boy talking to the horse as he prepared to leave. Apparently all his thoughts were directed toward the task that lay in front of him; he never seemed to notice her standing just inside the darkened doorway.

“You have it easy, Falcon,” he was telling the horse as he curried him. “Where you used to live three years ago and where you live now are all the same to you. You go where the food is good. For me, everything is different. Such is the price of living in ‘civilization.’ I know now what forks are for, but these people worry about me even when I go out to the lake for a bath, and they only think about the spirit world on Sunday.”

He stopped abruptly and pulled the horse’s head around to look him in the eye. “I have a peculiar sense of humor. Everybody says so. Do you think my guiding spirit will be the coyote?” Falcon snorted. “Fine, ridicule me. I’m ambitious. I bet you an apple I’m right.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Tilly said, stepping into the half-light of the barn.

Audun looked at her with some displeasure. “You shouldn’t be here. I should be alone now.”

“Sorry. I’m not going to follow you, but I’m the closest thing to a mother you’ve got, and I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t at least give you a hug for luck.”

“I don’t need luck. I need a wáyakin.”

“And I hope you find one—or that a wáyakin finds you. Can I get that hug now?”

A little reluctantly, it seemed, Audun gave her a hug. “Next time I see you, I’ll be a man.”

“I know. And I don’t suppose men hug their mothers. Or stepmothers.”

Audun looked away.

Falcon came back alone a little after noon, while Hoss and Ben were out with the hands, branding the new spring calves. Tilly had caught the horse herself and led him to the pasture. She pulled the hackamore over Falcon’s head, disengaging the small rolled-up paper tied around the cheek strap and glancing quickly at it to be sure it was readable. Then she shut the gate to the pasture, wordlessly thanking Audun for riding bareback. The weight of that saddle would probably have brought on a miscarriage, although, considering her life of late, perhaps it was to be expected.

She hadn’t told Beth the entire truth that day when Adam and Joe had left. Beth had asked her how long she’d known she was pregnant, and she had said “a few weeks.” It had been closer to four months. Now she was into her sixth, although between the corsets she’d abandoned after their arrival home and the loose clothing she’d adopted in its place, she’d been able to keep it hidden. But she hadn’t wanted to say anything for the same reason she still had not told Ben or Hoss—or even Audun, although she was equally sure he already knew. Of the few things she was certain about, the main one was that she would lose this baby as well; it was only a question of time.

June, 1874

“Mrs. Cartwright!” Reverend Cook exclaimed in surprise as she entered the church office. He had just taken his hat and coat off the rack, and now he hesitated. “Um…I was just…um…going to lunch. Could you possibly come back in an hour?”

“No, sir,” Tilly Cartwright replied with an apologetic smile. “I apologize for barging in without an appointment. My father-in-law had to come into town for some business; I inconvenienced him by insisting on coming along, and I really have to be mindful of his schedule. If I could just talk to you for a moment…please.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh and motioned her to a chair opposite his desk, then sat down behind the desk and pulled a Bible and all six volumes of Matthew Henry’s Bible Commentary down from a shelf, piling them on the desk in three stacks like a barricade. “I didn’t see Adam or Audun in church Sunday.”

“They’ve gone out of town; they’ll be gone for several weeks.”

“Well, then…what can I do for you, Mrs. Cartwright?”

“Pastor, do you believe God punishes people for past actions?”

He harrumphed a little. “This is about your stillborn child, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but it’s just that this is the fourth child I’ve lost, Pastor. I lost the others while Adam and I were traveling. The others were never carried to term, but this one was…I had even started to let myself believe that everything might go well this time, but…I lost her too. There are things in my life that I’m not too proud of, and things I regret…but I’ve never deliberately done anything I believed to be wrong, well, maybe except one time, with cause…but…still…I…”

“Mrs. Cartwright, of course the loss of a child is a terrible thing to endure, but you’re hardly the only woman I’ve known to be unable to give birth to a living baby. Some women are simply meant to be barren.”

She looked sharply at him. “Do you think I’m one of them?”

“I can’t know that. Maybe your faith is being tested. After all, Psalm 66:10 tells us that the Lord ‘tries us as silver is tried.’ In Virginia City, of course, that means something.”

“In that case, Pastor, God has been doing nothing but testing my faith for the last ten years. I’ve lost both my parents, both my brothers—and I was engaged twice before I ever met Adam, and both my fiancés died too. When Adam and I married I thought I was done with loss, but…I went on a trip to Europe that ended in war and starvation….I spent a year confined on an island about a tenth the size of the Ponderosa with two thousand men whose notion of fairness meant waiting in line rather than pushing his way to the front to use a woman for his…needs. It was only through God’s grace and my husband’s force of will that I was saved from the fate of the rest of the women there. My husband was unjustly imprisoned, twice, and finally ended up in a dungeon, tortured past the limits of endurance.”

Behind the stacks of commentaries, Cook began to fidget. “That’s quite a list of grievances.”

“But I’m not complaining—really, I’m not. I’m just chronicling what’s happened. If all this was a test of faith, really, Pastor, I think I’ve proven myself. After all, here I am talking to you instead of lying drunk in an alley.”

“Hmmm. I see. Well, you know, people often have their faith tested intensely, over a long period of time. Think of Job. His friends actually told him he must have committed some grave sin for which he was being punished. But Job still believed. Job 23:10 has Job saying ‘But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold.’ And—”

“Pastor, Job’s own wife counseled him to curse God and die, but…I still believe. I’d be more impressed with all the gold and silver references if I had some interest in mining. If my faith is being tested, I should have gotten a pretty good test score by now, and I should be done with it!”

“You’re not terribly humble about it, though, are you?” he asked, and smiled at the look on her face. “Maybe your sin is simply one of pride.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed and wordless, so he pointed out, “Well, you are being a bit extravagant about your own accomplishments. If you truly want to achieve the humility that is so pleasing in a handmaiden of the Lord, stop boasting about your faithfulness and learn to accept with true grace whatever comes your way. Remember the wisdom in the Proverbs. ‘The fear of the Lord tendeth to life: and he that hath it shall abide satisfied; he shall not be visited with evil.’ The apostle Paul said, ‘I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.’ You know, he wrote those words from a prison cell, possibly much like the one your husband was in.”

“I doubt it. My husband didn’t have the luxury of pen and paper. He was kept alone and in the dark for weeks, not even allowed to talk to himself, and flayed by bullwhips with nails driven through the leather. Pastor, maybe I am proud, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m only grateful we survived. There’s no call to kill an innocent baby in any of that.”

“King David lost a baby.”

“Yes, but he was being punished for something! He stole a man’s wife and committed murder…” Tilly found her voice trailing off. “Pastor, do you think I’m a murderer?”

“I don’t know you that well, Mrs. Cartwright, although I have heard some interesting stories throughout town about your skills in throwing pots and pans. Have you ever killed a man?” From his grin, he apparently thought the question frivolous. He looked at his watch again. “I’m sorry, but I really must leave. I’d love to help you, Mrs. Cartwright, but you’re asking questions I can’t answer. The only way you’ll find out what it was all about is to continue enduring. I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear, but I have a standing appointment, and now I’m late.”

May, 1875

She hadn’t set foot in that church again. Her question had never been answered; there had only been more loss for everyone in the family. Putting a hand on her belly, she sighed, “I would have liked to know you,” and then added a little more salt to the stew.

 

Chapter 22

May, 1875

“I’m thinkin’ about pullin’ out tomorrow,” Joe told Adam.

“But I was gonna buy a house here!” Adam smirked.

Joe spat on the ground. “I’ve been tellin’ you—you can go back anytime you want.”

“So, where we goin’?”

“Don’t know yet…maybe south.”

“That’s desert.”

“So?” His tone carried more hostility than necessary, but Adam asked too damn many questions.

Adam held up both hands in surrender. “Hey, desert sounds good. We can be like the children of Israel, wandering in the wilderness.”

Joe turned away and went down to the saloon below their room. Maybe he’d get into the poker game today before he started drinking.

Or then again, maybe not. Things should’ve been different, he thought for the millionth time since Alice’s death. Things should’ve been different.

December, 1874

“Christmas?” Alice said, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Now you’re going to be gone over Christmas?”

He gave her his most charming grin, but she seemed immune. “Look, I’ll try to get back before. I’m just telling you it’s a possibility. You know San Diego is a make-or-break contract for us. The bids have to be submitted on the fifteenth, and I’ll have to be there to go over all the figures with Huntington’s board of directors. If everything goes smoothly, I’ll be out of there by the eighteenth, and as long as the mountains stay clear, the train will have me back in Virginia City by the twenty-second.”

Alice bit her lip in an obvious but losing struggle to hold back tears.

“Look,” Joe said roughly, “You don’t want to stay here, do you? This little shack in the middle of a field? Hoss and Pa and I threw it together way too fast just so you and I would have a place to start our lives together, but come April we’ll have been married two whole years. This isn’t where I want to be next year, Alice. Adam’s back now, and he’s even working in town with that architect firm. He can design us a nice place, like the house Hoss and Veralyn have…had…one in some trees. I don’t like being out in the open like this.”

“You picked this spot! And besides, I like this house just fine.”

“Well, I don’t. I’ve got a few higher ambitions in life than being here. Anyway, you’re going to have another baby come July, and I don’t want him to have to share with Bonnie.”

“It wouldn’t matter, not for a few years! What’s your hurry? I know you want to be a big success, but don’t you see I want you here? You could have George Eccles make the presentation for you.”

“No.” He couldn’t have explained it if he’d tried; he only knew he had to go. Just like he’d had to go to Reno for a week only the month before, and just like in February he’d have to go back to San Diego if they got that contract. He knew his father expected him to take an active role in the timbering operation, not just a “management” position. And besides, Adam was home, and Joe couldn’t have Adam thinking he was slacking off.

Adam was already the one who had pointed out to him the unsafe position (”Right next door to nothin’,” he had quipped like he was making a joke) and the dry, cheap wood he’d used for the house. Oh, he hadn’t said anything. He was too smart for that. He’d just raised his eyebrows a little and Joe had hastily explained that he knew the house was a bit substandard, but he had big plans…and Adam had listened and nodded, and Joe had known Adam wasn’t impressed. So he had to get out of that house and into a decent one—one that would impress Adam—as quick as possible. He couldn’t have Adam thinking he was still “the kid.”

Hoss had gone to him and offered Joe the house he and Veralyn had shared. “I got no use for it,” he’d pointed out. “I need to stick near Tilly until the boy’s weaned, and I’d need to leave him with Tilly or Hop Sing when I’m workin’ anyhow. Besides…I don’t think I could go back there anyhow, Joe. Too many memories. You and Alice could take the place and make some new memories.”

“No…Pa always said ‘no handouts.’ Besides, that’s your land. Someday you’n’ Rob’ll be workin’ your own herd there. No, I need to stay until I get us a place on my own. I’m savin’ up; I’ll be fine.”

“How much are you givin’ John Harper these days?” Hoss asked darkly.

Joe scowled. “I’m not givin’ him any more money after December. I already told him that.”

And that was just what he intended.

May, 1875

But nothing had gone according to plan. By the time he got home from San Diego it was two days after Christmas. For some reason he felt the failure as more than a failure to Alice—it was a business failure. That meant he had to work harder. And he had. But that had kept him away more; it was a vicious circle. And John Harper, Alice’s shiftless brother, had not ceased his demands either. In January Joe had given him $500 and said there would be no more—no matter what. At least that time he’d kept his word, but he couldn’t help wonder if John had come to the house that day for money, the day Alice had died. For all Joe knew, John might even have been the one who had caused the fire, although if that was so, he’d killed himself as well as his sister. But then, John had always been a few sandwiches shy of a picnic.

What good did it do? Any of it? he asked himself as he ordered his first drink of the day. All I did was upset her and leave her alone…and in the end she burned to death in that scrap-lumber house, without me there to take care of her…I should have insisted she stay at the Ponderosa. She would’ve been angry, but at least she wouldn’t have had only Hoss and Adam checkin’ on her.

That was probably one of the worst things of all—those last couple of months, Hoss and Adam had probably spent more time with Alice than her own husband.

Chapter 23

June, 1875

Ben Cartwright scowled around the table from Tilly to Hoss to Bonnie, who was in the special seat Adam had made for her, busily making a mess with her biscuit. Rob was in Hoss’s lap. For some reason everyone, even the babies, seemed not to want to look at Ben.

“All right,” he finally growled. “Where is Audun?”

“Don’t know,” Hoss replied promptly. “Ain’t seen him.”

“Me either,” Tilly seconded, a little too quickly.

Ben felt the steam rising in him, and he counted to ten. “This is ridiculous. He didn’t come to dinner last night; this is the second morning in a row he hasn’t done his chores. He has to be somewhere nearby. Hoss, saddle Buck and Chubb. We’re going to find that rapscallion, and when we do, I’m going to give him a piece of my…oh, no, no, you stop that! Not this morning, of all days!”

Robert Benjamin Cartwright seldom cried; he seldom had to. He had inherited his mother’s hair, but his eyes were pure Hoss: the largest, bluest eyes in the world. He also had the biggest bottom lip ever seen, and when his grandfather began to rumble like the proverbial volcano, little Rob’s eyes got wet, which made them even more impossibly blue, and his bottom lip stuck out about an inch from the rest of his face, while his chin quivered pitifully. Right now, seated on Hoss’s lap, he pouted, with his blue eyes fixed accusingly on his grandfather and his chin wobbling to an alarming degree.

“Now you done it,” Hoss muttered.

“I wasn’t even shouting!” Ben shouted—and the dam broke. Robin howled like an abandoned puppy, and Tilly leapt to her feet, grabbed him, and rushed him from the room.

“I told you he don’t like bein’ yelled at,” Hoss said.

“I wasn’t yelling at him! I was yelling…near him.”

Hoss sighed. “I’ll saddle the horses, but we ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til you go make up with Rob.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You were never like this, you know. I yelled all the time when you were little, and it didn’t bother you.”

Hoss smiled. “Never said it didn’t bother me, Pa. I just knew it wouldn’t do any good to yell back. But there’s a reason I spent so much time around little furry critters that didn’t make much noise.”

Ben sighed and pushed away from the table. Pouting babies, pouting children, pouting wives…Audun had been unaccountably moody the last few days, and now he’d gone and run away Lord knew where. Beth was back in town, and he was going to have to break down and fetch her back soon. Audun had warned him against it, but then again, if Audun had wanted to see Ben’s resolve, he should have stuck around.

May, 1875

Ben mumbled to himself as he put on his gun belt, coat and hat. Beth had been gone nearly a week; this was the fourth time since Adam and Joe had left that she had stormed out on him. She had maintained her apartment in town because sometimes she had to handle off-hour shipments and other business pertaining to the two stores she owned. Sometimes he even stayed with her, but this was a different situation: only a couple of hours after the unceremonious departure of Joe and Adam, she had steamed off the first time and hadn’t come back until he’d ridden into town and persuaded her. And then two more arguments…and now this time, she wouldn’t even talk to him when he tried to see her.

He met Audun on his way back to the barn, and the boy looked at him in surprise. “You said last night that you would relax today. Damp days like this are bad for arthritis. I’m making an ointment for your knees.”

He sighed. “I don’t have arthritis; I’m just a little sore.”

Audun just frowned and shook his head. “I suppose the diagnosis of a twelve-year-old still means little to you—but Paul Martin agrees with me, and he has said it to you.”

“He’s wrong. Besides, I have important business to take care of in town.”

“Grandfather, I may not seem to pay much attention, but I try to watch the things that happen around the ranch. You have no business in town right now—except maybe making sure your wife comes home, and you really shouldn’t do that.”

“My business is my own, boy, and you need to keep out of it or I’ll take you over my knee.”

“That would only make your knee even more sore than my bottom,” Audun pointed out with a smile. “I’ll saddle your horse for you, at least—if you will listen to a story while I do it.”

Well, that would help—he had never mentioned the soreness in his right shoulder, but apparently the boy had picked up on that, too. “Is this some Nimiipuu story?”

“Not a legend. Just something that happened to me when I lived there.”

“All right.” He sat down on a hay bale while Audun led Buck out.

“When Mother and I first went to the People, I was little, and scared of people I didn’t know. Only then Hinmahtooyahlatkekt—Young Joseph—held me, and Mother told me that I must have liked him, since I wouldn’t let go of him. And since I had no Nimiipuu ancestors, Hinmahtooyahlatkekt gave me part of his name. I became Hinmimipelikt—Little Thundercloud. Whenever our band made the trip east to join Hinmahtooyahlatkekt’s people and go to the Buffalo Country, I found Hinmahtooyahlatkekt and followed him everywhere…and I played with his daughter, Noise of Running Feet. She was around my age. But Hinmahtooyahlatkekt was an important man, a chief, so ’Feet was important too, and she was used to having her own way. When other children didn’t play the way she wanted, she would walk away, and the rest of us would follow her and plead with her to come back, and we’d play the way she wanted. My mother saw it and told me I was being silly to let the girl do that. So one day when ’Feet wanted to play digging for camas with me and I didn’t, I said no—and she said she’d go away. I told her to go ahead and go. She went, but I saw her peeking behind to see if I would follow. Instead I went to play with the dogs. Later, ’Feet came back and played with me, as if we had never quarreled.”

Ben listened, impressed primarily because Audun had never been much for long speeches. But while it was a nice story…“Audun, are you comparing your grandmother to a little girl?”

Audun leaned against Buck to pull the cinch tight, and then turned back to his grandfather. He shrugged. “Do you think all this running away is behaving like a grownup?”

“That’s not your business. Besides, she’s a woman, and if you haven’t already figured it out by now, women are different from men. All women, at times—”

“Oh, I know all about that,” Audun said smugly, looping the cinch. “But among the Nimiipuu when that time of month comes the woman goes to the Red Lodge, and she must stay there, far away from the men, until she’s all right again. I don’t know how you people survive it here, having women around all the time, even at those times—it’s not good for you.”

“Audun…good heavens!” and with that he pulled himself into the saddle. “You talk like that around the women, and we’ll never have peace in this house again!”

June, 1875

Maybe Audun had a point, Ben reflected as he walked out the back door looking for Tilly and Rob—not about that monthly isolation, of course, but possibly about refusing to play Beth’s game, waiting things out to see if she’d come back on her own. Of course, now with Audun missing, he needed to find him first. Then he’d worry about Beth.

Tilly was walking around the back yard near the chicken coop, with Rob tucked into her shoulder. He was no longer howling; only an occasional hiccup betrayed his former distress. Tilly gave Ben a one-sided grin. “Did you come to kiss and make up?”

Ben sighed. “Hand him over and let’s see how mad he is.”

Rob just looked at him as he forced himself into a more jovial mood. That was the thing about Rob—nobody could ever stay in a bad mood for long with Rob around. He was a perpetually happy baby—even Adam said looking at Rob was like listening to a banjo.

“Was Grandpa scary?” Ben said with a grin. “I didn’t mean to be. Here, sit with me for a minute.” He strode over to the bench under the big cottonwood tree and put the boy on his knee to bounce. Rob grinned back and put a finger in his mouth as Ben looked at Tilly. “Where is Audun?”

“I knew you couldn’t keep that benevolent act up for long,” she drawled.

“You know where he is. I can see it all over you.”

“Ben, I don’t know. I have only the most general idea—and I can’t even tell you that…yet.”

“Why not?” He tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but was not entirely successful, and bounced his knee a little harder to make up for it.

“I promised,” she replied calmly. “I’ll tell you on Sunday if he’s not back by then.”

Ben stopped and gave Tilly a milk-curdling look. “This is that Nez Perce hocus-pocus.”

“It isn’t hocus-pocus to Audun.”

“And you’re willing to risk his life so he can take this…this…rite of passage, or whatever it is? You understand, don’t you, that your own husband wasn’t willing to take that risk?”

Tilly’s chin came up abruptly, and Ben knew he was in trouble.

“I know Adam pretty well,” she said. “Well enough to recognize when he’s wrong.”

“Audun is twelve years old, and you expect him to spend a week in the wilderness with no food, no water, no weapons, and no horse? And it’s Adam who’s wrong for not wanting him to? Tilly, a timber wolf attacked Joe out there—a few months ago we shot a cougar in the—”

“I don’t care if you pulled a bear off Hop Sing yesterday,” Tilly replied. “Haven’t you seen that Audun’s feeling the pull? He’s a child of two peoples, whether he was meant to be or not, and the harder you and Adam try to drag Audun into the white world, the more he’s going to hang onto the Indian—and if Adam’s not careful he’s going to lose him.”

“I might believe that if his mother had been an Indian. But she was as white as you or I, and—”

“Skin color doesn’t matter. He’s still as much a Nimiipuu as he is a Cartwright, and you can’t destroy the Indian in him without destroying his love. Adam can’t see that either, and maybe I’m wrong to expect him to—he’s too weighed down with guilt to see anything clearly. The only way to resolve this is to let Audun make the choice himself, and all we can do is wait him out.”

The two of them had been too busy with their argument to notice the boy in Ben’s lap, but a loud grunt got their attention, and Ben stared at Rob to see him squinting and squirming. Then the baby opened his eyes with a delighted expression as the smell assaulted their nostrils. Ben rose to his feet with a grimace and silently handed him over to Tilly, who was sporting a grin far too broad for a woman with an unpleasant chore ahead of her.

“I thought you’d know better, Ben,” she called over her shoulder as she took Robin back to the house. “It never stops, after all. The bigger the boy, the bigger the mess to clean. And you might want to change trousers; you’ve got a big spot on your knee.”

Rob, Audun, Joe and Adam. Even Hoss and me. All of us with enormous messes to clean up. Tilly can be damned tiresome. He went in to change.

Chapter 24

June, 1875

Just when had the cracks begun to show? Adam wondered as he shifted to a different part of the lumpy straw mattress. The logical, detached part of his brain replied, You’ll have to be more specific. The cracks between you and Tilly? You and your father? You and your brothers? You and your son? Or just you?

“The cracks with Pa were always there,” he reflected aloud. “I just didn’t realize it until the last couple of years I was home. Pa always thought he knew what was best.”

“What in tunket are you muttering about?” Joe demanded sleepily.

“Nothing,” Adam mumbled. “Sorry.”

Guess I got used to having the room to myself. Joe hardly ever used it. I need to be quiet. Of course, I should be sleeping. We’re leaving in the morning.

I’ve lost Tilly. I know that…Oh, hell, I didn’t lose her; I sent her away. She’s gone now; I’m not going to think about that.

I wonder what Audun’s up to. Please God, let him still be there when I get home…and then I’m going to have to let him go find his damned wáyakin, whether I like it or not. If I don’t let him do it, I’ll lose him too.

August, 1874

“Gawd!” It was always the same; no matter how prepared he thought he was, jumping naked into the frigid waters of the Snake River brought new meaning to the word “gasp.”

“Head under again—and stop talking unless you’re very thirsty,” Audun admonished.

Adam ducked under again, staying for a minute or so. It didn’t help. When he surfaced he was still shivering. “Audun, there is no time on earth I feel as distinctly white as when I do this.”

“It’s only because you haven’t spent the last few years of your life doing it. When you first came home and were ill, I stopped for a while because I didn’t want to leave you, and it was hard to start again. But I think the lake is colder than this river.”

“I still don’t understand why it’s necessary.” Adam shuddered again, staying submerged to the neck in hopes that he’d go numb soon.

“Many reasons—it keeps you clean, it toughens your whole body to withstand the elements, it purifies your spirit and makes you more…I think the word is ‘virile’—”

“Virile?”

“Sure. Once your male parts can withstand the shock of icy water, they’re much more capable when it comes to simple things like breeding. Women aren’t nearly as cold as running water.”

Every available bit of bodily warmth Adam still possessed lodged in his face. He did not want to have this sort of conversation. Although, looking at the bright side, at least they’d never need to have the birds-and-bees talk. Audun probably knew more than he did.

He cleared his throat. “How does it purify your spirit?”

Audun laughed. “What was the first thing you said just now? All your thoughts were on the Creator then, weren’t they?”

“True,” he agreed.

“Body and spirit have to work together to make a warrior,” Audun lectured.

“I’m not a warrior.”

“That’s not what my mother told me. She told me my whole life what a brave warrior you were—and she never lied. She told me how you killed so many of the Shoshone who wanted to take her away, and—”

“I had to fight them, but I’m not proud of that.”

“No warrior wants war, but he never runs from it when it comes.”

Adam made a face and swam out to the deeper water. As it always did, his body slowly began to feel warmer, and he paddled around for a while, just enjoying himself.

“Don’t forget to wash,” Audun reminded him.

“Spoilsport,” Adam said. “Where are all the other men? I thought you said all the warriors do this each morning, but I only see us two.”

“They’ll be out later. Most of them take a sweat bath first; then they jump in the water. You’re not tough enough for that yet, Father. I hope to build you up to it before we leave, though.”

“Um…how long do you think we’re going to be here?” Adam asked, hoping he didn’t sound impatient. They had been with the Nimiipuu six weeks already, and not only was Shomoqula not dead, but he seemed to be getting better.

“At least until we join the Wallowa band up north,” came the prompt reply. “You must meet them, and I must see where they live. Silver Salmon—Timothy—cannot keep writing letters. Given the way the white people are behaving, I don’t think he will be able to count on favors from friendly whites much longer.”

That much was true, Adam reflected. He had been picking up some “Nimiipuutimpt” words and phrases in addition to what Audun had taught him on the way, and what he had been hearing was bad. In fact, one conversation he’d heard was so unbelievable he had asked Audun to correct him, but it turned out he had heard it right: an elderly Nimiipuu woman had recently been hacked to death with pick-axes by angry miners who had not found gold on their claim.

But Audun seemed determined to keep in touch with his Indian family. He was even talking about coming back for annual visits—not an idea that appealed greatly to Adam. Sure, Ben could get along without him and Audun for a few weeks, but Adam had a job in town now. Besides, he wasn’t sure Tilly would want to come on such a trip, and he certainly didn’t want to be separated from her for two or three months each year. As things were he had just barely avoided a few embarrassing situations, like the first night when Timothy sent over three women with instructions for Adam to pick one—or two if he wanted. Audun hadn’t told him about that custom, and it had only been resolved after explaining to the amused Timothy that white law only permitted a man one wife and no other women—and his wife was a jealous one at that.

“Do you really think Tilly would attack you with a skillet, as you said?” Audun asked him later.

“She’d come after me with two. And I’m pretty sure Ruth would have felt the same way.”

“But you married Tilly while my mother was alive.”

“I thought she was dead, or I never would’ve done it.”

“Huh,” Audun scoffed. “Nimiipuu men can have as many wives as they can support.”

“I don’t think I care for that custom.”

“I thought men liked to have lots of women.”

“Audun, one woman is sensible. Put two together and it’s a henhouse.”

“This much is true,” Audun mused. “But still, those three were sad to leave you.”

“Why? I would’ve thought they’d gotten out of an unpleasant chore.”

“Oh, no—they volunteered. Women never do anything against their will here, father.”

“Three of them…volunteered?”

“Well, the third one wasn’t exactly a woman, anyway—he-she was a berdache. Timothy sent him-her just in case,” Audun shrugged. “But yes, they volunteered. They probably wanted to see if it’s true about white people being closer to the bears than the Indians.”

“Closer to the bears? What does that mean?”

“There’s a story that whites are descended from dogs and bears, because of the amount of hair they have. I think you would have pleased them, Father. You look like a bear when you remove your shirt, and even more when you don’t shave for a few days.”

“Good Lord,” Adam drawled.

“Nimiipuu don’t shave. They don’t grow much hair on their faces. And…” he grinned and pointed to Adam’s slowly developing widow’s peak…“they don’t go bald, either.”

“Nope. But the warriors put their hair in styles most white women would pay to have. Timothy’s hair is almost what they call a bouffant over in France. Marie Antoinette had one.”

“Don’t tell Timothy,” Audun chuckled.

“Well, don’t laugh too loud or too long, son. You won’t be able to say ‘let them eat cake’ much longer. You’ll be twelve soon…and it won’t be long before you start growing ‘bear’ hair too.”

“Who, me?”

“That’s right. You only think you’re an Indian. Your body knows better. You’ll see.”

June, 1875

Those were the good talks. Of course he was happy…he was right. What he couldn’t handle was knowing he was wrong. That came on the trip home.

October, 1874

Audun was talking a mile a minute, now and again forgetting himself and lapsing into Nimiipuutimpt out of habit. Adam was barely listening, thinking of Tilly and wondering if she’d finally come out of the deep mourning she’d been trying so hard to hide…wondering if she’d be glad to see him. There were times when she seemed far away.

“Father, I asked you a question.”

“Huh? Sorry, Audun. What?”

“I asked how you got that scar under your left arm. It looks like an arrow or a knife wound.”

“It was an arrow. Happened a long time ago.”

“Who was it? Shoshone or Paiute?”

“Matter of fact, I don’t know. They were renegades who traveled with an outlaw.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Audun shrugged. “You can never trust either one.”

Adam coughed. “You mean there’s never been an honorable Shoshone or Paiute?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh really? Does my experience count for nothing, son? I grew up among the Shoshone and Paiute. I knew a lot of good men in both tribes.”

“The Paiute and Shoshone are all thieves. Even your father said the Paiute steal his cattle.”

“Only when they’re hungry. Audun, I hate to tell you this, but when a man’s children are hungry, he’ll go to most any length to feed them, whether he’s white or Indian.”

“They’re not hungry when they make war on the Nimiipuu. They’re not hungry when they steal our horses. They raid us for horses every couple of years. Timothy has often told me of this.”

“And you never went to the Shoshone to get horses?”

“Of course not. We breed our own.”

“That’s not what MeClark says.”

“MeClark? Oh, you mean Alpatokate.”

“He calls himself MeClark. And he told me the first Nez Perce horses came from the Shoshone—from trade.”

Audun huffed a little and did not reply.

“You know something, Audun? You’ve never known a single Shoshone or Paiute, but you think they’re all bad just because Timothy told you they were.”

“Timothy doesn’t lie.”

“Do I lie?”

Audun looked at him strangely. “I have never known you to.”

“Did your mother ever lie?”

“Of course not!”

“She loved the Shoshone. And I had friends among the Shoshone and the Paiute. If people tell you conflicting stories but they’re not lying, someone is mistaken. Think about it.”

Audun’s jaw clenched then, and he did not reply.

June, 1875

What else could I have said that day? He was wrong. Still…that was the first real disagreement we ever had, and after that, they seemed to get more frequent.

He finally got to sleep—just in time to hear Joe demand that he be ready to leave in five minutes.

Chapter 25

June, 1875

Adam sighed as he led Sport and Cochise from the livery stable. I wonder where Tilly is. Did she go to Germany? Or just back to Savannah? Why would she go to Savannah; there’s nothing left for her there. What she wants is in Bavaria—if he’s still alive after that pasting I gave him. And not nearly as good-lookin’ as he used to be, either…

At least that thought gave him some satisfaction. Sure, he remembered now. He remembered all of it…now. But things had been different once. Once there had been a time when he couldn’t remember anything, when he stayed confused about his time on Grand Terre.

He’d known, as far back as the voyage to Britain—once he became himself again—that something was wrong with Tilly. His memory of that time was still unclear, but he could remember bits and pieces…hearing mumbled conversations between Tilly and Liam, and repeated references to someone named ‘Max.’ The only Max he knew at the time was Tilly’s old friend, and they had only met once in Paris for a few rounds of drinks, insults, and song.

His memories of Scotland were dim and bewildering; Tilly had reminded him of an incident involving Queen Victoria and an Irish terrorist; his only recollections were of uniformed men sitting on his chest, and all his back injuries getting worse. He clearly remembered the last time he and Tilly had seen Liam, as they prepared to board the steamship that would take them to New York; he could envision with little difficulty the train trip across the United States…but things grew foggy again after his arrival home. The first few days had been a blur of pain and a strange mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces and voices.

Through it all, though, there had been Tilly, always knowing what was going on; where they were; when he needed medicine; how to get from one place to another. But, once, when she thought he was asleep, he thought he heard her crying. And he remembered—not because he wanted to, but because it was seared into his brain—her periodic murmurings of that name: Max.

October, 1874

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home!” She hugged him for the third time since his arrival: a little confusing, since she’d never been demonstrative in front of other people. Not that he minded, though—he hadn’t seen her in four months, and was feeling a bit demonstrative himself. Audun paused in his unloading the wagon to eyeball them curiously for a moment, and then shrugged and returned to what he was doing. Lady continued to run circles around them, stopping only to growl at her interfering son Duke, who was dancing in circles of his own.

Of course, then Pa and Hoss had showed up, and Joe and Alice, and Bonnie was pulling herself up on the coffee table and Robin wanted to be fed, and things went back to their usual chaos pretty fast. But every time Tilly wasn’t busy doing something else, she was attached to Adam like a burr, bombarding him with questions and hanging on every word.

By the time they went to bed that night he was convinced she was glad to have him back, and if he hadn’t been then, she had certainly proved it right after their door was shut.

The next day, though, Ben took him aside and informed him that Tilly had stopped attending church, and refused to even consider going back. “I’ve tried talking to her,” his father told him, discomfort glistening like perspiration on his brow. “She said not only no but hell no.”

“She said that to you, Pa? And you let her?”

“She’s your wife, not mine,” Ben said resignedly. “Besides…” he cleared his throat.

“She said something else, I take it,” Adam prompted.

Ben looked down and harrumphed again. “We were in the kitchen at the time, and when I told her that people in my house followed the rules of my house, she said she had no problem leaving, and would Beth mind nursing Hoss’s child from now on. And when I told her how unreasonable she was, she…well, she was holding a skillet, and she asked me if I wanted some iron in my diet, because she was going to feed it to me.”

Adam laughed more in shock than anything else. “And you didn’t turn her over your knee?”

“I don’t discipline other men’s wives. I expect you to handle it.”

**

Of course, Adam could have dealt with threats and shouting easily enough; they’d had plenty of those arguments. Funny, I don’t talk much and I don’t show my feelings much, so everyone assumes I don’t have any. Tilly talks as much as she likes, but she won’t show anyone how she feels unless she trusts them completely—so people assume she doesn’t feel much, either. But between the sheets…or when we disagree…well, I think a lot of people would be surprised at just how high our passions can run. In fact…he found himself smiling, because truth was, the occasional fight often led to some exceptionally good times between the sheets. Maybe this would be one of them. For the first time, he was looking forward to a fight.

But when he asked if it was true that she had refused to go to church, she said, “That man is there.” He had no idea what that meant, but he’d gotten no more than four words of his carefully prepared “an example for Audun” speech out when she burst into tears and said she’d rather eat rats again than set foot around “that odious man.” This was the third time in seven years that he had seen her cry. And he realized there was no use fighting about this one.

**

He noticed the neckerchief on the nightstand that first night after his return, and wondered what it was doing there, but it wasn’t important enough to start a discussion about. But one night, when he awakened from a dream that was threatening to become a nightmare, he happened to turn over and put his arm around her—and she flinched, shuddered, and slithered to the edge of the mattress. That was bad enough—but then in the moonlight he saw the neckerchief. It was tied over her mouth.

Why had the woman gagged herself?

He waited a few minutes, until he was sure she was sleeping again, then inched over to her and untied it, letting it fall away from her face. Just a few minutes passed before she began to shiver, and to make the whimpering noises he usually enjoyed hearing…and then she said softly, “no…” A few minutes later she said it again…and then came a shuddering sigh: “Max.”

The next morning, she was as loving as ever. He said nothing of the incident, and neither did she. The neckerchiefs also disappeared from the nightstand, although when he woke up in the middle of the night she was always wearing one, and now they were double-knotted.

Chapter 26

June, 1875

“Why’re we stopping here?” Adam asked as Joe turned off the dusty main road onto a smaller, dustier trail.

Joe shrugged. “I heard they’ve got work.”

“So now we’re gonna work on a ranch? Shucks, we coulda done that without leaving home.”

“Adam, any time you—”

“I know, I can leave any time I want to. Why do you need a job?”

“I’m broke.”

“I thought I got to that little redhead in time.”

Joe laughed. “Adam, I knew she was cheatin’. Next time, keep your interference to yourself.”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

“Huh? Who you callin’ a moron?”

“Never mind. You mean you really knew she was cheating? Why didn’t you get rid of her?”

A shrug, and Joe smiled a little. “She kept my lap warm.”

“Look, Joe—I went to the bank before we left; I’ve got money. You don’t need to get a job.”

“Not takin’ your money.”

“Why?”

“Because I can take care of myself. I’ll work for my own meals. And you don’t need to stay.”

“I’m stayin’.”

“Suit yourself. You think you can do it? Pa took it easy on you at home, and then you were in that office with fellas who didn’t know what blue sky looks like anyway.”

“I can do whatever I set my mind to do,” Adam retorted. “I figure you’d know that. You’ve seen me work before, and one thing I never was, was a shirker.”

“You were younger then, too.”

Adam just looked with resigned patience to the heavens.

The next day he was questioning his sanity. They had hired on just for the spring roundup and branding, for a payment of $25 each. The Ponderosa had always—even before the halcyon days—paid cow punchers $30 a month. In good times they paid $40. Accepting $25, Adam thought, settling into his lumpy bottom bunk, was almost like paying for the privilege of working.

But then again, Old Man Davis was in trouble. His whole spread could barely support the beef he had, and he didn’t have that much. Joe had muttered something like “I thought they made the Indians take all the dumps, but they musta missed this spot,” and Adam had to agree. Part of the place was situated in what Joe dubbed “the devil’s back yard.” There was a river a mile away, but it did little good for the supposed grazing land. Davis couldn’t afford fences, either; hence the necessity of a roundup.

It was silly, Adam thought. He could have made this much money in a single day at Becker and Lloyd; Joe could have returned to the Ponderosa, taken his job back at the lumber mill and made a hundred a month plus commission on sales. He could even have gone back as a cowhand and gotten fifty a month. But of course, Joe knew all this. There was no point in reminding him. Besides, Joe seemed to enjoy the physical labor. Adam had to admit there were times he did, too. It kept him too busy to think during the day and too sore and tired to think at night. Maybe that was what Joe liked about it. Lord knows we both have plenty we’d like to forget.

On their last day, though, when they each collected their wages, Joe came to Adam, dragged him away from the other men, and sat him down on a dangerously sagging corral cross-board. “I’ve got a proposal for you, Adam. Don’t say anything till I’m done talking.”

Adam crossed his arms and waited, praying to God this proposal would involve returning home.

“Adam…can you lend me a thousand dollars?”

That had not been in any of the scenarios Adam imagined. He had thus far imagined Joe getting himself into trouble with Old Man Davis’s pretty daughter; Joe finally beating the tar out of one particularly obnoxious hand who insisted on calling Joe “Old Man Joe” because of his hair; or even Joe tangling again with Pilcher, the foreman, over the correct age to cut the calves. (Pilcher held a ridiculous view that it should be done at six months; the Cartwrights had always done it at two. Pilcher said Joe was just angling for extra money.)

“Yes, I have a thousand dollars,” Adam said slowly. “What do you want it for?”

“Look, you wanted to give me money before. What does it matter?”

“I just want to know what changed your mind.”

“I want to fix up this place,” Joe replied, with a shadow of his former winning grin. “Think about it, Adam—remember when old Jedediah Milbank sent us all on those stupid errands? Later we talked about what had happened to us while we were gone…I remember you went out to some farm where you were supposed to evict the people; foreclose on their loan, or something…”

“Parley,” Adam recalled. “Yeah. I thought they’d just had some bad luck, so I helped ’em out a little. So what? You didn’t do your job either. Neither did Hoss, for that matter.”

“It’s what you did I’m talkin’ about. Seems to me like Old Davis here is in a spot like the Parleys were when you helped ’em out. You know enough about irrigation to draw up the plans to get water from the river over here; and maybe I don’t know that much about plans but I can by God dig a ditch all the way to Mexico if the notion hits me.”

“But are you sure nobody owns water rights to the—”

“Already asked. Not a soul. That water’s free for the takin’, just as God intended.”

“Still…I don’t know…the terrain’s pretty uneven. There’d be a good month’s worth of work just getting the land ready, and depending on the difference in levels, we might need to buy a couple of pumps to get the water to travel that far…”

“That’s what the money would go for. Machinery, equipment and labor to irrigate the land, maybe put up just a couple of proper fences. We could help these people, Adam.”

Adam thought it over. He doubted Davis had sense enough to make a go of it anyway, at least if he kept listening to the idiot Pilcher…but this was the first constructive thing Joe had wanted to do since Alice’s death. Hell with Davis and Pilcher; if this will help Joe straighten out I’ll give him the whole three thousand I brought with me.

“Sure, Joe. Let’s do it.”

Chapter 27

June, 1875

Hop Sing brought the team around just as Tilly came out. “You sure you don’t want me to come, Missy Tilly? I not—I mean, I am not—going to town today.”

“It’s all right, Hop Sing, really—I just want to put some flowers—”

“I know velly…very…well what you want do, Missy Tilly. But I worry you being alone so far away. Nobody with you if you hurt, sick.”

“Why on earth would I be hurt or sick? I’m healthy as a horse.”

“Missy Tilly, you carry Mister Adam’s baby. Does nobody else know this? I know. I cannot see how others here not know. You oughtta be in bed!”

“I stayed in bed with the third one, and it only made it hurt more when I lost it. I said then I was done lying in bed waiting for my babies to die. And…” Tilly thought for a moment. “You can’t come anyway. If you did, what would we do with the other babies? Bonnie and Robin couldn’t come with us, and while I trust Duke to watch them for a minute or two at a time, he couldn’t watch them for a couple of hours. Tell you what; I’ll take Duke with me, and if anything happens I’ll send him back for you; how’s that?”

“Okay,” Hop Sing said reluctantly.

“Hop Sing?”

“Yes?”

“Someday you must tell me where you go all those days you spend in town, and why your English is deteriorating.”

“I go in Chinatown, Missy Tilly. Maybe that’s why English not so good as you taught me.”

“Hmmm. You do realize, of course, that that’s not a complete answer.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you, Missy Tilly.”

She chuckled as he helped her clamber into the wagon. A few minutes later Duke bounded out of the house and with a single leap, vaulted onto the seat beside her.

For more than twenty years there was a solitary grave up by the lake, she thought as she carefully climbed out of the wagon an hour and a half later. Now the place is a genuine cemetery.

Duke hopped down. “You get back up there,” she said, motioning to the back of the wagon. “Get the basket.” He looked around, picked the basket up by the handle, and brought it to her. “Good boy.” She scratched his ears and walked off, with Duke happily trotting in circles around her. It still took some getting used to, no matter how many times she’d been here; she sucked her breath in involuntarily at all the gravestones.

Marie Cartwright—In Loving Memory

Lily Cartwright—Sleep in Peace, God is Awake

Veralyn Cartwright—Disturb Not Her Dream

Alice Cartwright—In Quiet She Reposes

John Harper—Beloved Brother of Alice

She bit her lip and determinedly, methodically, began to pull up the weeds and empty the dead flowers from the little vases to refill with the new ones she had brought. John Harper…nobody knew much about him, but Joe had said Alice loved him, so there it was; he’d earned a place in the family plot, along with fresh flowers. And Marie, Tilly had never known. But her baby…and the two women she’d called her sisters…

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

February, 1874

“Happy birthday!” Alice and Veralyn shouted simultaneously as they burst into the house. The room was empty but for little Duke, and their voices seemed to echo as Tilly emerged from the kitchen.

“You’re early,” she said with a grin, and threw her arms around them both. “Thank Heavens! I think Hop Sing really means to make me help him clean the oven!”

“Missy Tilly!” came Hop Sing’s muffled voice, right on cue.

“We’ve got company, Hop Sing, I’m busy!” she shouted back. “Come and sit down. Alice, how much has Bonnie grown this week? Any bigger and her father’ll be teaching her to ride a horse!”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Alice replied cheerfully. “Joe has all kinds of notions of teaching her to ride and rope and even quick-draw!”

“Like father, like ‘wish she’d been a boy,’” Veralyn snickered.

“Oh, but he covers it well,” Alice said. “He insists all girls need to know these things too.”

“They do, if they want to protect themselves from wild boys like Joe used to be.”

“I have a hard time imagining him that way.” Alice shook her head. “I know you knew him a long time back, Veralyn, but whenever I hear stories like that, it just sounds like somebody else.”

Tilly couldn’t help a chuckle, but managed to keep her mouth shut. Veralyn, however…

“Hoss told me Joe even put the mash on Tilly when he met her.”

“What?” Alice cried, and looked at Tilly in alarm.

Tilly made a face and shrugged. “It didn’t come to anything. We met at a dance where we did a reel and a waltz together.”

“And then he asked to bring you to the next one,” Veralyn prompted.

Tilly rolled her eyes. “And I said no.”

“That’s not what Hoss said!”

“Tilly!” Alice cried.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Tilly threw her hands up in surrender. “When he insisted, I finally said yes. But can you blame me? I thought he was…”

“Of course you did!” Alice agreed.

“No, not like that. He was like…Come over here and look at this book.” She sat down and opened the huge, heavy book Adam had bought her in Italy. It had been wildly expensive, and she’d wondered at the time however he could have afforded it. It had been in the trunk they had shipped off with Liam; funny that their souvenirs had made it through in far better shape than the owners. They kept it on the coffee table nowadays since it was too tall for the bookcases.

She paged through to the glossy black-and-white plate she wanted and pulled up the onionskin covering. “Have you ever seen this?”

“He’s naked!” Alice covered her eyes.

“It’s David, by Michelangelo, isn’t it?” Veralyn asked. “So that’s what it really looks like. The American and English art books always put a loincloth over him.”

“I can see why.” Alice peeked out.

“But I don’t mean that.” Tilly half-shrugged. “In my younger days, I very much appreciated…a certain physical type. If you’d seen either of my late fiancés, you would have seen the resemblance right away.”

“You mean they didn’t wear clothes either?” Veralyn winked.

Tilly sighed. “I just mean they had that same kind of…I don’t know, that lithe grace that Joe has.  That was the only reason I ever paid Joe any attention. The problem was, I started talking to him at the second dance I went to—the one I went to with him—and, no offense meant, Alice, but we had nothing in common.”

Alice looked again at the picture, covering a portion of it with her shawl. “I guess I must like that physical type too.”

“I would think so—that’s what you married!” Veralyn chuckled.

“But that’s not true for everybody,” Tilly corrected. “I never appreciated Adam’s physical type in those days. I realized he was nice-looking in sort of an abstract way, but he was so dark, and there was just so much…hair…and he always looked a little sinister, at least until I got to know him better. The thing I appreciated about him was that he could talk about all the things I could talk about—in some cases he knew more than I did. I don’t think I came to appreciate the physical side of him until we were married.”

“That’s just strange,” Alice said.

“I don’t think so,” Tilly replied. “It was the same way with Adam, for me. He liked my eyes, he told me—they were really the only part of me he noticed. The rest of me, he said, was a bit ‘insubstantial.’ Turned out he’d always liked girls with meat on their bones. I remember once getting into an argument with him, and he referred to me falling on my not-so-well-padded backside. I coulda slapped…anyway, I think we both really came to physically appreciate each other a little later than some, but it’s all right—it worked.”

“I appreciated Hoss from the start,” Veralyn said. “Every bit of him—the way he looked and the way he moved, the way he talked…everything. And Tilly, if you tell me you’ve never realized, after all these years, the great advantages of being married to a man with a lot of hair, I’ll be ashamed.”

“Ewww,” Alice muttered. “I’m sorry, girls, really, but I’ve seen both your husbands without their shirts, and they look like woolly sheepdogs.”

“But Veralyn’s right,” Tilly insisted with a giggle. “You can pull it when they make you mad, and tickle it when they make you happy…”

“And the best part is when you spoon they make great back-scratchers,” Veralyn finished triumphantly, and soon they were all, as Joe said when he came in, cackling and squealing like a bunch of hens.

June, 1875

When Duke ran up, his blue eyes anxious and his forehead wrinkled in concern, she was lying on the ground, sobbing. He lay down next to her and pushed her arm aside with his nose so he could wriggle in closer and lick the tears. She threw both arms around him and wailed into his ruff, “It isn’t fair!”

His heavy fur absorbed all subsequent commentary.

Chapter 28

June, 1875

“…so then ole Clem pulled out his piece, and says ‘Y’all better get out while the gittin’s good!’ an’ out comes three of the most bedraggled little chickens you ever seen—durn if they wasn’t Bantams, at that!” Roy concluded, and Ben practically doubled over laughing.

He’d come into town mainly to get some flour, beans, and coffee, since he and Hoss would be heading out to look for Audun if he didn’t show up tomorrow. It was Saturday; the stores would be closed tomorrow, and he had no intention of losing another day. He knew Tilly well enough to know that she wouldn’t tell them an hour earlier than she had promised, and he didn’t doubt she wouldn’t break even under torture, though he was occasionally tempted to find out for certain. At any rate, he wasn’t wasting time. He was going after that boy and then he’d chain him to his own bed until Adam came back.

He hadn’t intended to stop off and see Roy, but it had put him in a better mood. He hadn’t laughed in far too long—hadn’t had much to laugh about, at that. Beth was still staying in town, and this time Ben had taken Audun’s advice and driven right past her store without stopping. Of course, from the look on Tinker John’s face when Ben had walked into VC Dry Goods, the news would be out all over town by tomorrow that Ben Cartwright was shopping at the competition while his wife was staying in town. Oh Lord, wagging tongues are a heavy cross to bear.

Someone banged on the door, and then a lady walked in. She was just about Tilly’s height, but her hair was an almost unreal shade of red-orange, and her face was mottled with freckles. “Are you the sheriff, or you?” she asked, looking from one to the other of them.

“I’m Roy Coffee, ma’am.” Roy extended a courteous hand; she looked at it mistrustfully.

“I didn’t ask your name. Are you the sheriff or not?”

“Yes ma’am, I’m the sheriff.”

“Where’s your badge?”

“Right—oh.” He picked it up from his desk. “Looks like the little pin thing’s busted, ma’am. Sorry. But I really am the sheriff. Sheriff Roy Coffee. Now what can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for two men, and it’s imperative that I find them. You seem to be the most likely person to know them.”

“What are the names of the men, and what are they needed in connection with?”

“I’m not sure…I think their initials are A and J. And they have the same last name—it’s Carter or Carton or Cassidy or—dadblast it, I can’t remember.”

Roy raised his eyebrows, but Ben stepped forward. “Could it be Adam and Joseph Cartwright?”

“Are you a deputy?” the girl demanded.

“Um, no—”

“Then I have nothing to say to you.” She turned back to Roy. “Just a minute.” She was carrying a carpetbag, which she opened and dumped out on his desk. About twenty books fell out, along with a smaller leather case, and, after a good fifteen minutes of excruciating searching, she finally produced a torn piece of paper.

“A and J Cartwright,” she read, and then looked suspiciously at Ben. “How’d you know?”

“I’m their father. My name is Ben Cartwright.”

“Prove it.”

“He is, ma’am,” Roy spoke up. “He’s lived here for thirty years; I know the whole family.”

She looked over at Ben again, as if to remember him from then on. “All right, I guess I’ll take his word for it. Where can I find these two, A and J, Adam and Joseph?”

“I’m afraid they’re out of town for an indefinite period, ma’am,” Ben replied; somehow her stance and demanding tone reminded him of old Abel Stoddard in the strangest way.

“Dammit!” she muttered, while Ben and Roy exchanged a shocked glance. “You’re their father and you don’t know when they’ll be back?”

“Perhaps if you could tell me the nature of your business with my sons, I could help you. When did you meet them?”

“Hell’s bells, Mister, I’ve never met ’em. I just got their names in this note.”

“One of them wrote you a note?”

“No!” she sighed, looking at him as if he were mentally deficient again. “I wrote this when I talked to the people back at Randolph. I’ve been looking for ’em for nearly a year.”

“Randolph?” Roy repeated, looking as bewildered as Ben felt.

“Randolph Home for the Insane,” she said, and Roy and Ben exchanged another glance, both wondering if perhaps this woman had been a patient there.

“Look here, Mister Cartwright,” she went on, with a too-obvious attempt at politeness, “if it makes you feel any better, they’re not in trouble. I just want to know their connection with my cousin, and if they can tell me if she’s alive and where to find her.”

“Your cousin…” Ben repeated helplessly.

“Yes, my cousin. Mathilde Hoffman. We called her Tilly.”

“Tilly!” Ben exclaimed. “She’s my daughter-in-law!”

The girl looked askance at him. “Is there anybody you’re not related to? I’m not jokin’ here—I’ve traveled about 7,000 miles to find her, and if you’re joshin’ me—”

“Tilly married my son Adam in February of 1869, and she’s lived in my house for almost two years,” Ben said. “Ask Roy.”

“How can I? You two could be covering each other six ways to Sunday. Describe Tilly.”

Ben sighed and glanced heavenward. “She’s almost your height, and about the same build; she has curly black hair and very blue eyes…she corrects everyone’s grammar…and I’m told she plays the piano. I know she sings passably well. She used to be a schoolteacher, and she speaks several languages. And I think she can quote every poem ever written.”

“Well, that does sound like Tilly…” She thought it over, then stuck out her hand. “In that case I guess I’m glad to meet you. I’m Dr. Charlotte Hoffman.”

His hand froze of its own volition. “Doctor?”

“Yes. Specializing in women’s complaints, but I’ve been known to cut open a few men as well.”

Ben found himself wondering if the men had been willing and anesthetized, but before he could form any definite questions, Charlotte Hoffman said, “Did I understand you to say Tilly’s married? And to a son of yours?”

“You did. She’s out at the Ponderosa now—do you want to see her?”

“I didn’t come halfway around the world to not see her. Where, and what, is the Ponderosa?”

“That’s my ranch. I can take you there if you like.”

“I assuredly do NOT like. Mister, I normally don’t even talk to men I haven’t been properly introduced to—I’m certainly not gonna ride off into the woods with you. You tell Tilly I’m here and am staying at the International House. I’ll expect to see her tomorrow after church.”

Ben nodded. “Is there any message I should give her?”

“I just gave it to you,” Dr. Hoffman said with some asperity. Shaking her head severely, she turned and left.

“You know,” Roy said as the door slammed, “I used to think Tilly was a little odd. Now I’m thinkin’ I owe her an apology.”

“Yeah,” Ben breathed, his eyebrows finally coming back down to normal.

 

Chapter 29

June, 1875

He was twelve years old…and ashamed.

Most Nimiipuu children his age had already gone on their wáyakin quest. They knew their names; they knew which spirit guided them. They knew who they were. They knew the ways of their fathers. They knew.

And he…hadn’t…and didn’t.

The name his Norwegian-descended mother had given him was Audun. It meant “deserted.” He knew now why he had that name, but if the things in her letter to his father were true—and his mother never lied—then the name she had given him was meaningless. He had never been deserted. Not voluntarily, anyway—his father had looked desperately for his mother, but his own health had failed him, and then his family had convinced him that she must be dead. Years later, she had managed to contact his family—and then she had left Audun behind to go to the stars. She hadn’t wanted to leave him. She had stayed longer than anyone thought she would, in spite of the pain it cost her, just because she didn’t want to leave him. So neither of his parents had deserted him.

Most Nimiipuu went alone into the mountains when they were nine or ten. But when he was nine, his mother was dying, and he would not leave her. She died just before he turned ten, and while he was still mourning her, his grandfather had come for him. He spent the next year trying to understand his grandfather, but few things about the Soyapo made sense. And just before his eleventh birthday, his father returned from overseas—but he was hurt and sick. Audun’s mother had been a healer, a good one. Audun had learned much from her and from the Nimiipuu shamans, and he had been able to help his father. With Audun’s care, and the help of the Creator and two Soyapo doctors, his father had recovered. Then other things had intervened; school, death, ranch work, more death. He had to think of those things.

But now there could be no more delays; Audun had to think of himself. He had been with the Soyapo nearly two years, but the Nimiipuu ways were ingrained in him just as much as the swirls on the skin of his fingers and toes. He had to make his quest. Otherwise he would never know. Thus…the deception. He didn’t much care for leaving them all with no word, but this meant something. Tilly was a good woman, and she had helped.

Now, he was where he needed to be, doing what he needed to do. He had been out here a full five days; he had built his mounds of stone to make him receptive to the spirits—and to make Coyote receptive to him. If he wanted Coyote for a wáyakin, he would have to get his attention. Finally, he had prayed to the Old Man in the Stars and waited patiently. He was still waiting, albeit less patiently than before. He had seen the sun, felt the wind, and talked to a great many animals…but none of them had spoken to him. He had not seen or even heard a coyote anywhere near. Either Coyote didn’t want him, or someone else wanted him more. But it had been five days, and one could bear hunger, thirst, heat, and sand only so long. It was the dizziness that made it really bad.

Still, he would not go back without a wáyakin. If he didn’t find one, he wouldn’t go back at all. Three men had already given him pieces of their spirits. There would be no fourth.

March, 1866

“I found him,” a man called, holding the baby up over his head. “He was running into the woods.”

“Audun!” the golden-haired woman shouted frantically, rushing up to grab the toddler. She bowed her head, and in halting Nimiipuutimpt said, “Honored chief…I…givingly thanks.”

“Owd…owd…” the chief tried to say. “Owd’n is his name? What does it mean?”

“It means he was left alone,” Silver Salmon snapped. “His father was no good.”

“No…no, I should not have made such a thinking,” protested the woman in her broken Nimiipuutimpt. “It is sorry for wrong thoughts. Not know your tongue sayingly my heart good, not yet.”

Hinmahtooyahlatkekt turned to the woman they had named Taxsnim Wiwayko—Bark of Willow Tree. “It’s unlucky for a child to have such a name, especially a child without a father or grandparents. And he is too small for his wáyakin to have manifested.”

Silver Salmon stepped up. “I will share my own with him, Hinmahtooyahlatkekt, if you and the woman will let me.”

The chief considered. “A salmon is a good wáyakin—it is determined and always finds its way home. This boy’s father never found his way home, so a salmon would help. But for a small child, he gets into too much trouble for a salmon alone to be his protector. I will share my wáyakin with him too.”

The chief’s second wife, Springtime, gasped. “With a Soyapo? Is it allowed for a chief to share his guardian spirit with a white child?”

“If it wasn’t before, it is now,” he said, gesturing to Silver Salmon. “We will have the ceremony now, before something happens to him.”

Silver Salmon cleared his throat. “Hear me, sky and stars; hear me, my brethren. I am Ohchorhynchus Kisutch, Silver Salmon, son of Yellow Dawn, grandson of Wounded Head of the Otter Band. My wáyakin is the mighty river salmon who fights his way home and feeds our people. My spirit is strong enough to share with this boy. He is now under the protection of the salmon.”

Chief Thunder grunted his approval and then raised his voice. “Hear me, sky and stars; hear me, my people! I am Hinmahtooyahlatkekt, Thunder Traveling Down the Mountains from Loftier Heights. I am chief of the people of the Wallowa. My spirit is strong enough to share with this boy. So is my name. He is now Hinmimipelikt, Little Thundercloud, and the thunder from the heavens will protect him.”

July, 1874

“Little Thunder…you must listen to me.”

“I am listening, Pilác.” Audun smiled at his Indian grandfather.

Shmoqula did not smile back. “I am going away tonight.”

“No, Pilác, you are stronger now than you were when I arrived. You are getting better, not worse. You will not die soon.”

“I said you must listen to me…Owd’n Cott-wight.”

Audun gasped.

“Ah, now I have your attention. If I had my will, I would help show you the path to manhood. But the Creator has chosen others for that honor. Your qalác and your tót will help you.”

“I don’t see how, Pilác. My qalác—my father’s father—and my tót, my Soyopo father, don’t know the Nimiipuu ways, and they don’t think I need to.”

“They may be right, once you are grown,” Shmoqula murmured. “I cannot see the future, and the Old Man in the Stars uses a different map for each of us. Soon you will go back to the Soyapo, and until you find out which path to take as a man, you need protection.”

“But I have it, Pilác—everyone knows the story of how Silver Salmon and Chief Thunder shared their spirits with me.”

“Yes, and it was good that they did, else you might not have lived so long. But you are old not to have a spirit of your own.”

“I’ll get one soon, I promise. If you will just promise me to get well, I’ll go in the morning.”

“You can’t go without preparation, Little Thunder…and I cannot stay. Nor do I want to. I’ve seen seventy-four summers here; I was a little boy when the first Soyapo explorers befriended us. They’ve been dead a long time…and I am ready now to see what the next world is like. You know the custom. The dying man picks the one to inherit his spirit. I have no children but you, my grandson. Give me your hand.”

Dazed, he did, and Shmoqula said quietly, “Hear me, sky and stars…I am Shmoqula of the Otter Band of the Nimiipuu; I am also called Laqa, the Pine Tree. My wáyakin is the White Pine, he who never forgets. I will soon travel to the next world. My guardian spirit I leave behind with this one, my grandson Little Thunder, who must never forget.”

June, 1875

He was twelve years old…and proud. He had achieved what he sought, surprising though it had been, for the spirit that wanted him was not what he had thought it would be. He owed his horse—and Tilly—an apple, for the coyote was not his wáyakin. But he was pretty sure he would never pay off that bet, because he was also pretty sure he was dying.

But he had what he had come for. He would enter the spirit world as a man.

Blood was running down his calf—unable to suck the poison out, he had sliced his leg open and squeezed, but he doubted it would do any good. Weakly, he stared up at the searing sun. “Ah, Creator,” he sighed, “Always you’ve shouted at me when a whisper would have sufficed. I wanted to be a healer; my father wanted me to be white. Dr. Martin always told me that among whites, a serpent means healing. Among the Nimiipuu, he means wisdom and rebirth. But, oh my Creator, did it have to be a rattlesnake?”

Chapter 30

June, 1875

Hop Sing was in the front yard unhitching the wagon when Ben rode in; the two toddlers were sitting on the porch with Ceirdwyn, stuffing their rattles into her ears. Hop Sing was keeping one eye on them and the other on the task he was performing, and as a result, he was not doing either very well. And the horses and wagon were all as muddy as if they’d been through a landslide.

“Where’ve you been?” Ben asked, joining in the unhitching.

“Nowhere. I stay here, watch babies. Missy Tilly go out. You better be careful, Mr. Cartl…I mean…Cartwright. She in mean mood. Come in house saying things nobody ever heard before; she doesn’t unhitch horses, doesn’t check on babies. Sit in front of fire and drink. Been home nearly one hour. Berate my English more. Drink brandy. Who knows? Crazy woman.”

Tilly had never been exactly predictable, but with Adam’s latest absence she’d been irritable and short-tempered. “Where’d she go?” He couldn’t think of anyone she would have gone to see who would have upset her—he couldn’t think of her going to see anyone at all, of late—but there was really no telling these days.

“Graveyard. She takes flowers up every week. You didn’t know? She usually comes back sad but today…whew, boy.”

“Maybe I’d better go see what she’s doing—and make her stop,” Ben muttered, leaving Hop Sing to finish the horses. He noticed the mud tracked across the porch and stopped Rob from eating it as he made a mental note tell Tilly to clean it up. They all had people they loved up at the little cemetery by the lake, after all; she’d had a year to grieve for her lost child. And this behavior was really unfair to Hop Sing.

He’d thought he was prepared for what he would find, but he was wrong. He had expected the mud tracked across the floor. But he didn’t expect to find her in his chair with a mostly empty brandy bottle—a bottle that had been unopened that morning when he’d left. He didn’t expect the mud on her boots to be crusted all over her dress, hands, and face too. He sure didn’t expect to find her singing Auprès de ma Blonde, the tavern song Marie had used to sing to lull Little Joe to sleep as a baby.

She gave him an unfocused grin and waved her glass at him. “Join me, Ben. They say drinking alone’s bad for you.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in his best Ben Cartwright voice.

She looked back, unfazed. “You are surprisingly unobservant for a man of your age. I just told you—I’m drinking all your brandy. See?” She waved again, and then he noticed the empty decanter between the chair and the fireplace.

“You’ve been here less than an hour, and you’ve already emptied almost two full bottles?”

“You can’t empty a full bottle. That is a classic oxymoron. A full bottle is, by definition, full. The question you really want to ask is, ‘have I emptied two bottles?’ And the answer is ‘not quite, but give me another moment—’ and there we go. Dead soldier.” She looked proud of herself. “Yes, you are now correct. Of course, one is the decanter, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t hold more than two-thirds of a bottle. Maybe only half—and if that’s the case I do feel gypped.”

With that she flung the bottle into the empty fireplace, where it crashed and made a few little wet streaks on the way down. She appeared to be preparing the glass and the decanter for the same fate when he grabbed them from her. “What are you doing?” he repeated. “Tilly, have you gone insane?”

“Don’t think I haven’t asked myself that,” she said with a chuckle. “If it was good enough for my father, why wouldn’t it be good enough for me? Oh, I know. We can have ‘brain fever,’ but madness isn’t allowed, not for ladies. And ladies mustn’t get drunk. Then we might be unwell. Unwell, see, because only gentlemen vomit. Regular guys just puke. But ladies are ‘unwell.’ We never become pregnant, either—we go into confinement. And we don’t grieve for all the children we lose; we trust in the Lord and are rewarded by having more dead children…we don’t pray for sisters and finally get them and then lose them again just that fast…and we never, ever sin. Ladies never take the lives of others and spend the rest of their own being punished…their husbands never hate them…‘Get thee to Bavaria.’ Not quite as good as ‘get thee to a nunnery,’ is it? Lacks the proper bite, though it does have a certain originality.”

His anger vanished just that fast. Adam would kill him if Tilly really went mad; he was certain of that, and nothing she’d just said in her little rant made the least bit of sense. He sat down on the bricks in front of the hearth and took one of her hands; it was freezing. “Tilly, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to get to your room and change; you’re drenched and filthy. I’ll have Hop Sing bring you some broth.”

“No,” Tilly said decisively. “I’m waiting for somebody and staying right here until he comes.”

“Who are you waiting for?”

“Death. Or Satan. I don’t care. I’ve got some words for both of ’em.”

“Tilly—” He stood and yanked her to her feet. “I’ve thought some bad things about you over the last seven years, but I never thought you were foolish until today. I don’t know what you’re talking about, nor do I want to.” He dragged her to her room and deposited her—none too gently—on the bed. “Get dried off and cleaned up or I swear to heaven I’ll take off my belt—”

“And your pants’ll fall down,” she giggled. “Now that’d be a sight. Is Matt Brady in town? I’d pay real money for a photograph of Ben Cartwright in his long-handles.”

His jaw clenched. “I’ll watch the children tonight. Obviously you’re not fit to be around them.”

“Well, where were you six months and two weeks ago?” she retorted. “If you’d been handy, maybe I wouldn’t have another one to worry about now!”

The blood drained from his face as her meaning set in. “Tilly…good heavens, woman, are you expecting?”

“See, I told you you’re not very observant. Did you think all this was ME?”

He stared at her, speechless.

“Yes, for the moment I’m expecting,” she mumbled, taking the pitcher and slopping water into the ewer. “Don’t worry, not much longer. I’m a fertile field producing withered crops.”

“You knew…and you still drank yourself into a stupor? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

She swallowed, her face chalky white. “Oh, Ben, what difference does it make? Even that jackass at church knew the truth. Some women were meant to be barren. Murderers get punished. I’m both.”

Before he could decode that riddle, she doubled over and—lady or not—vomited all over the floor.

Chapter 31

June, 1875

Joe banged his dusty hat against his pants as they walked back to the bunkhouse. “Susan’s pretty, don’t you think?”

“I s’pose, if you like that type.”

“I guess I do like that type.”

“I never saw a type you didn’t like.” Adam couldn’t help smirking.

“Well, she’s not a patch on Alice, but…what?”

“Nothing.” Where’s my poker face when I need it?

“You looked funny when I mentioned Alice. What were you thinking?”

“Nothing, dammit.” It was the first time Joe had mentioned her name since that day. “I had some sweat trickle into my eye is all.”

“You weren’t thinking about Alice?”

Adam just sighed. “Whatever answer pleases you, Joe. If I say no, you’ll think I’m selfish for not thinking about her, and if I say yes, you’ll think I’m jealous, same way you’ve always thought I was jealous of any girl you—”

“Aw, Adam, you talk too much. Just shut up, would you?”

Adam sank onto his bunk, not daring to look over at Joe, not so much for fear of what he might see as fear of what Joe might see if he looked back.

“This is not your affair, Father,” Audun had said, and he had been right. Thank God. But it had been close…uncomfortably close.

It was Joe’s fault, really. Why had he gone off for weeks at a time, leaving Alice all alone in that silly little house in the middle of nowhere? Why had he always demanded that Adam and Hoss look in on her?

It was Tilly’s fault, certainly. Why had she been hiding things from him? He’d never hidden anything from her. Well, I did a couple of times, but only for her own good. And why had she told him, so soon after his return from the Wallowa, that they had to be “careful” if she really still wanted him?

November, 1874

He was sitting on the bed, supposedly dressing for another day at Becker and Lloyd, but he was really just watching as Tilly fed Robin. He tried not to watch when she did that, because it always made him feel something was wrong. He’d never known exactly what it was, but he’d felt it the first time he saw her doing it, and every time since. And yet he had to notice.

She looked up; caught in the act, he half-smiled and shrugged. “Just remembering a time when those were my exclusive property,” he said with what he hoped was the proper note of wistfulness as he pulled on his boots.

She raised her eyebrows. “Think of it as squatter’s rights. Six more months and I’ll wean him; I’m sure by then he’ll be all right, and I know Hoss would like him back.”

Adam didn’t bother responding, but, no one was certain about that. Hoss held the boy often, and tried to smile at him, but even Ben, who had lost a wife to childbirth, had no explanation for the way Hoss behaved now. No one doubted he loved the baby, but he seemed at a loss to know what to do with Rob, or anyone else.

“Adam…remember on the island, you telling me we should be careful?”

Something in her tone got his attention fast. “I remember,” he said.

“I think we should be careful again—from now on. I…I don’t want to try anymore…I just don’t think I can stand it again.”

“But you said the doctors in Scotland—”

She sighed. “I had a lot more faith then than I do now. All I know is, if I’m going to lose every baby I have, I just don’t want to have any more. I guess I’m not as strong as I thought I was. My faith…isn’t as strong as I thought it was.”

There was something she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t know what it was—and obviously she had no intention of elucidating. A little coldly, he said, “It would have helped if you’d told me that last month, when Audun and I got back from Wallowa.”

“They say women can’t conceive when they’re nursing. I thought maybe we had a few months’ grace period…I was just warning you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I understand.” It seemed pretty obvious, after all.

“Adam, wait, that’s not what I meant. I’m not saying we can’t…have relations…”

“I need to get to work.” He stood up and walked out without kissing her goodbye.

Right after that Joe left for Sacramento, and for reasons no one understood, Alice refused to stay at the Ponderosa during his absence. Hoss and Adam began alternating daily visits, checking her grocery situation, making sure Bonnie was doing well, making sure no one was bothering Alice, making sure she was doing all right alone. Adam occasionally took Tilly along, and somehow they managed to look and act normal. Normal enough that, once when Tilly didn’t come with him, Alice had said out of the blue, “You know, Adam, I really envy you and Tilly.”

Long years of cultivating a poker face could be helpful at the strangest times. “Why?”

A shrug. “I don’t know…you know that Bible verse about coming through the fire and water?”

He nodded. “It’s in the Psalms.”

“Yes, that’s the one. ‘…We went through fire and through water: but thou broughtest us out into a wealthy place.’ That’s what I think of with you and Tilly—you went through so many ordeals together, but now you’re home and safe and rich, and you love each other so much. You’ve been through all your problems, and now you’re living happily ever after.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Was having a stillborn baby part of that?”

She gasped; one hand flew up to her mouth. “Adam, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—I…”

He sighed then, and went over to put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I still feel as if it was my fault.”

“Don’t. Nobody blames you, Alice. I just…I don’t think Tilly’s quite over it yet.”

“I don’t imagine she ever will be. It’s the worst thing that can happen to a woman.”

“Not really a blessing for a man, either,” Adam muttered, his jaw clenched.

“I’m not leaving you out, Adam. That was one of the ordeals I meant, you know, that you both went through…but the important thing is, she still loves you and you still love her. You two really have a perfect marriage.”

He sighed. “Nobody’s perfect,” he said, and turned and left the little yellow house.

December, 1874

He banged on the door a couple of times and hollered “Alice!” Then, discretion having been served, he opened the door and walked in to drop the bag of flour on the table. He turned around—and saw her sitting on the sofa, looking gray and drained, her large eyes bleak.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, coming over to sit down beside her.

“What isn’t wrong,” she sighed. “Oh, Adam, I’m expecting again. It’s too soon. Bonnie’s barely a year old and not weaned yet. Paul says I’m due in June. And Joe…he’s always gone. He’s the one who wanted another baby so soon, but he’s never around to see the one we’ve got. It’s all wrong…” She looked up. “I’m sorry. I’ve embarrassed you. I shouldn’t have said anything…please forget about it. I only just told Joe before he left; I was hoping it would make him stay. I had no business telling you.”

“It’s all right,” he replied automatically. “I wasn’t embarrassed, just a little surprised.”

“This could never happen with you and Tilly,” she sighed. “You’re so good to her. She’s always telling me about how wonderful you are.”

Well, that was news. Pity she hadn’t mentioned it to him. With him she was too busy thinking about Max.

“Don’t get unrealistic notions, Alice. You’d only end up disappointed.”

“I already had them when I married Joe,” she murmured. “But I think he’s cured me.”

“Joe loves you, Alice.”

“Then why won’t he talk to me anymore? Why does he leave every chance he gets?”

“He’s trying to build the life he wants you to have.”

“But it’s not the life I want! I’m happy with what we have now—I just want him around, and he’s not. Even when he’s here, he’s not, not really. He’s always thinking about the next contract, the next opportunity, the next house, the next baby—hmpf. He’ll be planning the next wife pretty soon, since obviously I’m not good enough.”

“Alice,” he said, “men want to take care of their wives. Let him do it.”

“I have this notion that the man and the woman should actually be together to take care of each other. You’re always with Tilly—you take care of her, don’t you?”

“Never try to turn real people into statues. You’ll spot the clay feet, and it’s embarrassing for everyone.”

“But you and Tilly—”

“Have problems just like everybody else.” It came out a little more harshly than he intended. He rubbed his jaw. “I…I’m sorry. I overstepped. I….”

With that he all but jumped to his feet and left.

The next time he came, the house had been freshly scrubbed, there was a pot of tea and a plate of cookies on the table, and Alice was smiling and wearing her Sunday best. She didn’t mention Joe’s name once that day, nor did they discuss Tilly. They talked about Bonnie and how fast she was growing, and about the architecture firm, Becker and Lloyd, in which he’d bought a partnership before leaving for Europe.

His stories seemed to delight Alice; she came back with a story of her own: a tale about her life back East and a women’s hat store she had owned until her brother gambled it away.

Joe came back then, but soon after that he’d left again, and February found Adam doing his duty once more and going to visit Alice every other day. Somehow he never thought to bring Tilly along, and Tilly never asked to be included. He would arrive to a smiling Alice, and they continued having tea and pleasant chats. Neither Joe nor Tilly had any place in these conversations. On the rare occasions Alice visited the Ponderosa, Tilly usually gave her a book or two, and when Adam came by, he and Alice would talk about the book for a while before conversation drifted into old stories about his trip westward with Pa, or her life back East before she’d ever thought of marrying.

Then came the last day of February, the day he’d come so close to botching it all—no, he had to admit, he’d come close to botching it all the first time he’d admitted to Alice that he and Tilly had problems. He’d had no business telling anyone that, and he knew it—especially not someone as vulnerable as Alice.

He came in that day with a smile and a pie Beth had made…and Alice, who had obviously been crying, looked up at him and said, “Adam…Joe’s going to be gone for two weeks this time.”

“I know. Don’t worry; Hoss and I won’t let you get lonely.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Of course,” he chuckled, and then realized she wasn’t laughing. He was standing just inside the door and had the oddest feeling that it might be better for everyone if he turned and walked out again right then, but he didn’t.

“Thanks for caring about me.” She was looking at the floor, her hands knotted in front of her. “I’ve been so miserable—you make it all bearable, somehow.”

“Alice…” he said, and then just sighed, unable to think of anything to say.

She looked up into his eyes again. “Adam…we can’t control our feelings.”

“No, we can’t,” he agreed—and the weight of the world settled firmly onto his head, smashing it down into his neck as he realized she was stepping toward him with her arms outstretched. For a split-second, he didn’t think the weight of the world could really be all that heavy—then his hands shot out of their own volition, caught her shoulders, and held her a safe distance away. “We can control our actions, though.”

He thought she was going to cry then—in fact, he was pretty sure of it. “Alice, listen. Don’t think I’m not flattered. But you don’t want me. You want Joe. We’d both be settling for less than we wanted. When you want oats and you settle for barley, there’s no good in it—I’ve done it before, and it hurts.”

“But…” the tears spilled over. “You’re right…but don’t expect me to love you for saying that. Now I’m miserable and humiliated. And confused. I have no idea what that crack about oats—”

“Don’t be confused; I was just being foolish. And don’t be humiliated,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You’re a lovely woman, Alice. If I hadn’t made a promise to Tilly, and it wasn’t my own idiot brother we were talking about, I’d take you in a heartbeat. Next time I see Joe, I’m going to pound some sense into his head.”

“Next time I see Tilly, I’m going to throw one of her own skillets at her,” Alice replied as he left.

June, 1875

Of course, she hadn’t seen Tilly again, and he hadn’t seen Joe in time, and two weeks after that conversation Alice was dead.

And he’d arrived just in time to see her murderers riding away, laughing.

Chapter 32

June, 1875

Amazing, Tilly thought distractedly at some point over the next few hours, just how much the human stomach really held. She’d recognized elements of meals going back to the previous morning’s breakfast. Those little sweet red peppers had tasted delightful going down…on their return, though, there was surprisingly little good to be said of them.

Ben had sent Hoss to get Paul, not that there was much Paul could do. She heard Ben say something about charcoal, and part of Paul’s reply: “but not at the rate she’s heaving…” She simply kept on until there was nothing left, whereupon she heaved some more…and some more.

“You probably will for a while,” Paul chided. “I thought you had more sense, Tilly. Haven’t you ever heard of alcohol poisoning? You’re lucky those bottles came as a gift from one of Ben’s customers. It’s only thirty-five percent alcohol. When Ben buys his own it’s the good stuff.”

Too exhausted from dry-heaving to do anything more than listen to him, Tilly just sighed, and Hoss, standing in the doorway, gave her a sympathetic look.

“Why’d you do it?” Ben asked in a voice he probably meant to be kindly, but which, at the moment, sounded like a mule being dragged through gravel.

“Adam told me once…” she started, and then couldn’t finish.

September, 1870, Paris

“Adam, I’m not going to lose the baby on a twenty-mile trip across the English Channel. We’ve got to get out of here. The Prussian Army doesn’t know or care that we’re Americans, and they’re winning the darned war.”

“You try to move, and I’ll sit on you,” Adam said, and despite the smile, there was steel in his voice. It was wrapped in layers of velvet, but it was steel all the same.

“I think sitting on me would work against your goal,” she reminded him, sighing. “I just feel so useless!”

“I’ll read to you.”

“Much as I love the sound of your voice, you sent all the books to England with Liam, so all we have are newspapers. And they have nothing but bad news—and besides, your French accent is not as enticing as you’d like it to be. Just tell me a story.”

“What kind?”

“Oh, I don’t know…how about a true story?”

“Hmmm. Well…once there was a boy. He traveled around the world with a wise old man….”

“I think I’ve heard this one,” Tilly said with a smile. “Is this the story where a dog teaches the boy what the wise old man never could?”

“Oh, you have heard it. That’s a shame; it’s one of my better stories.”

“True—but it loses a lot without Lady here to point to. Adam…there’s something else you could tell me.”

“Yes?”

“You understand how sometimes a question gets under your skin and festers until it’s answered?”

He leaned back in the chair and looked down at her hand, which was resting on his knee, and then slowly, he looked back into her eyes. “I have a feeling,” he said carefully, “that I’m about to be asked something I won’t much like.”

“But if you give me an adequate answer, I’ll never ask it again.”

“I’m definitely not going to like this question,” he observed. “All right, Tilly. We’ve been married a year and a half now. I’ve never lied to you and never kept a secret from you, and I don’t intend to start now. Ask whatever you need to—but only if you can stand an honest answer.”

“The first time you proposed to me, I said no…and you got all roostered at the Bucket o’ Blood…and then…”

He looked away, sighing.

“Why did you go with Flora Robinson?”

Involuntarily he chuckled. “You found out her name. That must really have bothered you. You’ve asked this question before, you know.”

“But you never answered. You said it wasn’t my business. I’ve never stopped wondering, though…why her, Adam?”

“Because I was drunk. Drunks are not known to exhibit good judgment. Tilly, you’re the kind who’ll nurse a single drink all day and all night. Until you get really, really—as you said—‘roostered,’ so roostered you can’t tell what time of day it is, so roostered you can’t tell black from white or whether you’re coming or going, you’ll never understand the strange form of logic that possesses your brain at a time like that and makes a bad idea seem completely reasonable, even desirable.”

“Why were you that drunk? I’ve never understood why people do that to themselves. It seems to hurt them more than it could ever help.”

“People get drunk to take pain away. Alcohol is an anodyne, or to use that new word from London, an analgesic. That fellow Marx had it wrong. The universal opiate is not religion; it’s alcohol.”

“Really?”

He looked at the floor. “No, not really—but what it does do is change your frame of mind so that you no longer give a damn if you’re hurting or not. Losing you was the one thing I thought couldn’t happen after everything else that had gone wrong…but I lost you. Ergo, I drank to excess, in hopes of taking the pain away. The drink affected my logic so I no longer cared that I was hurting, and in the process, it also made spending the night with little Flora seem like an excellent idea. And as long as I’m confessing, I don’t remember anything that happened once I left the bar. Never gave a moment’s thought to her after, either, except to hit myself over the head for settling for barley when I’d really wanted oats.”

“Barley and oats…? Should I ask?”

“It’s not important. Have I answered your question?”

“As much as it can be, I guess.”

“Good. Tilly…I have a feeling it’s that practical part of your nature that keeps you from understanding the whole appeal of alcohol. I hope you never do understand it.”

“But it worked for you, in a way. I mean…it stopped you worrying about the pain, right?”

“Did it?” Adam chuckled. “I suppose…in a way. For a while, at least.”

June, 1875

“You do realize you’re in a family way, don’t you?” Paul Martin asked, and Tilly nodded. He looked sternly at her. “That little stunt you pulled could have killed the baby or you. I realize Adam’s not here now and I’m sure he won’t want to come back only to find you dead.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Tilly whispered, and turned on her side to face the wall.

Paul shook his head and motioned to Ben. Shutting the door behind them as they left, Paul asked, “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

“No, but that’s not unusual,” Ben muttered. “She was jabbering a lot of nonsense when I walked in about being a murderer and losing all her babies and all her sisters, and Adam hating her. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I thought she was an only child.”

“No.” Hoss spoke up for the first time. “She had twin brothers. I remember that. No sisters, though.”

“She still has my book,” Paul said. “Maybe she needs to finally read it.”

“What are you talking about?” Ben asked.

“Nothing—just remind her that she still has my book, all right, and as long as she won’t be moving around much for a while, she might as well get some use out of it. And you two will probably want to split the night up and take shifts with her. She can’t be left alone right now.”

“I thought she got it all out.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Puking is the best thing she could have done, though I know you and your floor don’t agree. As it is, I don’t have any way of knowing just how much alcohol was absorbed, but it sounds like she ingested so much, so fast, that she just made herself sick straight off. I hope that’s what happened. But on the odd chance there’s anything left in her stomach, and she gets sick again—”

“She could choke to death on it. I know,” Ben muttered. “All right.”

“I’ll go sit with her a while,” Hoss said, and left them.

“Get some water into her, if you can,” Paul called after him. He turned back to Ben. “Where’s Audun, anyway? If he’d been around he’d have tied her hand and foot before letting her do something like this.”

Ben shook his head. “He’s gone crazy too. He’s run off to look for his spirit guide.”

“Oh, he finally did that. Well, he’s been threatening to long enough. When’s he coming back?”

“He should’ve been back by now,” Ben replied. “Tilly’s the only one who knows where he went, and she won’t tell yet.” He chuckled. “Guess I’d better make sure she lives, at that.”

“Ben…”

“I was only making a joke, Paul.”

Chapter 33

June, 1875

“Tilly,” Hoss said quietly, “You need to stay awake for a little while. How ’bout talkin’ to me?”

She turned over again to look at him. “Why don’t you talk to me instead? My throat hurts.”

“Pa said you were sayin’ things about losin’ all your babies. What did you mean?”

She looked away. “I’m in a family way, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I s’spect you’re nervous of losing it.”

“I’ve lost all the others. It’s starting to seem like a bad habit.”

“That don’t mean it’s gonna happen forever.”

“I can’t imagine it going any other way.”

“You’re bein’ silly. What did you mean by losin’ all your sisters? I thought you only had brothers.”

“Hoss—I don’t want to make you feel worse.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean Alice…and Veralyn.” Her voice quavered. “I never had any sisters. Closest I ever had was Uncle Johann’s daughter Charlotte back in Savannah, and I haven’t heard from her since I was nineteen. She probably died in the war. I just…when we came here I met Alice and Veralyn, and we were the three musketeers. Or the ‘tree musketeers,’ that’s what Veralyn used to say. She said women didn’t marry into the Cartwright family—they got grafted onto the Ponderosa pine. She and Alice knew so much I didn’t, I guess because they were here learning how to get along with Ben and you and Joe while the only one I was getting to know was Adam. So when I came back, they were the ones who showed me how to be a ‘Cartwright wife.’ I was so glad to have them…and I miss them…so much…”

He quickly produced a handkerchief for her. Funny, she’d never known he carried one.

“I miss ’em too,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I imagine so—probably more than I do. Hoss, tell me more about Veralyn.”

“You mean that?” he asked.

“I never knew a woman who made me laugh so hard or think so much, Hoss. Talk to me.”

His eyes brightened, and for the next couple of hours, he did talk to her. They both even laughed a few times. And at the end of it all, Hoss was smiling wistfully.

“Don’t think I ever talked much about her before,” he observed.

“I shouldn’t have waited so long to ask.”

“Oh, I dunno. I might not’ve been up to it till now, anyhow.” He swallowed. “All this time we thought it was just losing the baby that had you so down.”

“Oh, that’s been a part of it, sure. But honest, Hoss—Alice and Veralyn were sisters to me. While they were here, I kind of felt like I belonged. Now they’re gone, and maybe I should be too.”

“You were here before either of them,” Hoss said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just ’cause they’re gone don’t mean you should be. Bad enough Beth leavin’. I don’t know what’s goin’ on between her and Pa, but it ain’t gonna help matters none if you leave.”

“It might, seeing as how Adam doesn’t want me here.”

“Now that’s just plumb crazy.”

“Is it? He handed me my walking papers.”

“I don’t believe it.”

She pointed weakly to a drawer in the nightstand. “It’s right in there. In his own hand.”

“I don’t care. He might’ve said somethin’, but he didn’t mean it. And you know better, too—’cause if you thought he meant it, what’re you still doin’ here?”

She grinned. “I’m way too ornery to leave on the strength of a note. If he wants me out of here, he’ll have to say it right to my face.”

Chapter 34

June, 1875

Ben walked into the room and looked with some disgust at his only remaining daughter-in-law, who was fast asleep. “Guess I’ll spell you for a while, Hoss.”

“Thanks, Pa…but only if you’re gonna be nice about it.”

“I thought I just was.”

Hoss got up and pulled Ben back to the door. In a low voice, he went on, “I mean to Tilly. When she wakes up. She’s had a hard time of it.”

Ben clenched his jaw. “Seems to me she brought it on herself.”

“Pa.” There was a command implicit in the tone, and Ben looked at Hoss. Hoss seemed to come back to himself then; with a self-deprecating grin, he said, “This ain’t the first time a Cartwright ever tied one on. Don’t see how you can get all over her without gettin’ on Joe for the whole last month he was here.”

“Joe had an excuse.”

“So’s Tilly.”

“Hoss, I know she lost her child, but—”

“And she lost Alice and Veralyn, just like us,” Hoss had a quaver in his voice. “Never occurred to me that somebody else might miss Veralyn besides…I mean…” He shrugged again. “Remember Tilly come to us alone. She got Adam in the deal, but she also got two brothers, two sisters, and a pa. Now she’s lost her two sisters, one of her brothers, and Adam. She’s taken care of Rob since he was born like she was his own mama, even though I know every time she looks at him she has to wonder why he lived and her little girl didn’t. And I know you don’t think what she did with Audun was right, but I think if she hadn’t done it, he would’ve gone back to the Indians sure as shootin’…and if anything happens to him she’ll have that on her head, too. She’s alone in the world; there’s just me and you left. I ain’t such good company these days myself…and she thinks you don’t like her anyhow.”

Ben did not reply. He might have argued one or two of the points, but they would have been weak arguments at best—and the last point was dead-on; he had heard it from Tilly herself.

January, 1875

“Alice, I wish you’d reconsider,” Tilly urged. “Joe’s gone for such long stretches of time, and living alone so far away from anyone…”

“It’s not that far,” Alice replied. “Besides, I put in my time here already. It’s your turn.”

They were on the upstairs landing of the Ponderosa house; Alice had mentioned a book she wanted to read, and Tilly had taken her up to Audun’s room to get it.

Tilly looked at her, puzzled. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I mean while Joe was building our house, we lived here. It was just a couple of weeks, but I didn’t like it. I love Ben and Beth and Audun, of course, it’s just…well, you know. You don’t want other people—especially not parents—right down the hall.”

Tilly burst out laughing. “But you’ve been married nearly two years now! Surely you’re not self-conscious anymore—and besides, I just mean why can’t you stay here while you’re alone?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tilly. You and Veralyn and I—well, we were a little closer together in age, and with you two here it was always fun, but somehow…Ben’s always been kind to me, but when you’re around he makes me nervous. Veralyn was afraid of him too, you know—especially after you came back. Joe used to say his father knew Veralyn and I were shy, and that’s why he was gentle around us…but then you showed up and he got loud again. And I can’t believe the way you back-talk him all the time.”

“The pressure’s on me, not you,” Tilly shrugged. “He’s never liked me anyway. But if it’ll make you visit more, I’ll be on my best behavior with him, and maybe he won’t yell as much. All right?”

Alice did not reply.

“Don’t you wish you had help with Bonnie? If you stayed here, we could work together and—”

Alice sighed. “Tilly, I can’t. You don’t understand, but…when Veralyn was alive and it was the three of us, I couldn’t wait to be here. I didn’t mind all the times Joe and I stayed over then. But then your baby died, and I couldn’t save it…”

“But that wasn’t your fault. She was born that way.”

“—and Veralyn’s gone, and I just can’t get over thinking she died right in that room over there…and remembering that night when Beth and I had to lay her out. You weren’t there, Tilly—you don’t know what it was like. I knew then that I never wanted to see that room again; I didn’t want to see this house again. I shiver every time I come here now. Hoss never complains, but he’s so quiet, he’s like a ghost. He doesn’t know what to do with himself or even with his own son; he just leaves him with you all the time. Everything’s wrong, and every time I’m here, I see it. Joe sees it too, and it worries him to death because he wants to fix it. I know it can’t be fixed, and it just scares me to be around it. I’m sorry, Tilly…I just can’t.”

“All right.” There was a long silence; then Tilly swallowed. “I didn’t know you felt that way. It’s just…I guess I’m being selfish, but with Beth always at the store and Adam down at Becker and Lloyd, I’m here all the time with Robin. I love Audun, but he studies dutifully and then runs outdoors and can’t be found for the rest of the day…Hop Sing has started going into town a couple of times a week to stay all day…I guess I’m just lonely.”

Alice sniffed. “Try being nicer to your husband; maybe he’d stick around more.”

June, 1875

Ben had never meant to hear that exchange between Alice and Tilly, and it still bothered him that he had. He’d been up in the attic looking for something he’d wanted to give Joe for the new baby when he heard the women talking, and their voices carried even to the corner he was in; he had found himself cringing, and he wasn’t sure whether he was flinching because he was hearing a private conversation, or because of the subject matter itself. He wondered which part of it bothered him the most: knowing that Alice had regarded his home as haunted; knowing she had verbalized what everyone had seen but not said about Hoss; knowing that Tilly still thought Ben disliked her, and worse, she seemed resigned to it; or just knowing that Alice had for some reason been sniping at Tilly about Adam, and Tilly hadn’t even noticed.

He was sitting on the chair by the bed, looking at his daughter-in-law. Married to his eldest son six and a half years, she was still more a stranger to him than Veralyn or Alice had ever been, that much was true. But he didn’t exactly dislike her. Sure, they’d gotten off to a bad start, but that had been mostly his fault, not hers. Looking back on their initial meetings, he now admired her spunk.

So what was it? That she’d dragged Adam off to Europe? No—Adam had been itching to leave the Ponderosa before she had ever showed up. She had merely provided a graceful exit. Yes, she’d gotten them stuck in Paris during a war—but Tilly hadn’t wanted to stay; Adam had. And Ben knew that in Adam’s shoes, he would have made the same decisions Adam had made.

So what was it? That she made witty and occasionally unladylike comments? No; so did Beth, and while he was usually embarrassed, he wasn’t hypocritical enough to deny that both women could be darned funny.

Paul said Tilly’s six months along. Good Lord, how did I not know? I never look at her, that’s why. But when I look at her, she looks right back…and it still feels like a challenge, every time.

That was part of it—she seemed to challenge him constantly. From their first meeting they had been adversaries. The day she had come with Ben to the Ponderosa because Adam was sick and asking for her, she had turned Ben’s apology against him; she had refused to apologize for her own part in the misunderstanding; she had even said flat-out that he’d better get used to her behavior. After she and Adam married, they hadn’t really been around long enough for Ben to get to know her any better—and then, after being gone almost five years, she’d brought Adam back to the Ponderosa hurt again, maybe dying, and hadn’t explained what had happened; she had just set about taking care of him. She’d overridden Ben’s authority with Audun immediately and demanded that he be allowed to examine Adam. The next morning she had jumped into the conversation with Paul to insist she was the one who would make decisions about Adam’s care. She had even overridden him and Adam both to let Audun venture out alone into the wilderness.

But even with all that, she had usually had reasons for the things she did. What had prompted this idiocy today, he would never have known, if Hoss hadn’t told him.

She’d been asleep ever since he’d come in—although she was apparently having some kind of dream; she was whimpering and moaning and repeating some name he couldn’t quite make out. He remembered, now that he thought of it, that she had had a lot of nightmares right after Adam and Audun had left to see the Indians. After Beth had asked her about it, her room became silent as death each night. She had never answered Beth’s question, either.

Hmmm. There she went again. Wait; he recognized that name. “Max.” Tilly had mentioned him once as an old friend who had been somehow responsible for Adam being tortured.

Tilly giggled in her sleep. She turned over on her back, whispering that name again. Again she giggled. And then a low, hateful, “Adam…bastard…”

What?

He grabbed one shoulder and shook it. “Hey. Tilly. Tilly, you can’t sleep on your back. Dr. Martin said you have to lie on your side.”

Tilly’s eyelids fluttered and she looked blearily at him, uncomprehending.

“You have to sleep on your side,” Ben repeated.

“I don’t want to sleep at all,” she muttered, and struggled to push herself up.

Ben stuffed a few pillows behind her. “You’re probably a little weak. Here, drink some water. Paul said alcohol and sickness are a bad combination—they pull the water right out of a person.”

Obediently, she drank the water. For a moment she sat, just looking at him and holding the empty glass. “You’re being nice to me. Lord, I must be dying.”

Ben snorted. “I’m going to give you a choice. You can either go back to sleep, or you and I can have a conversation that you’re guaranteed not to enjoy.”

A strange smile crossed her face. “Well, that’s a little more like it. Do your worst, Ben. Like my hero Lizzy Bennet, ‘There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.’”

Ben wasted no time in wondering about Elizabeth Bennet. Certainly he knew no Bennets in Virginia City, anyway. “Tilly—who is Max?”

“Max,” Tilly said, and laughed softly, but her hand shook when she replaced the water glass. “My sins have found me out, eh? Max…is who demons dream about in their nightmares. And thereby hangs a long and gruesome tale.”

“I’ve got all night,” Ben replied.

“You’ll hate me too. Adam does, and you’ve already got a head start.”

“Tilly, despite what I heard you tell Alice one day, I don’t dislike you.” Briefly, he allowed himself to enjoy the look on her face. “And I wouldn’t be too sure about Adam.”

Chapter 35

June, 1875

Audun licked his dry lips and stared at the moon. Something told him to just lie down and accept his fate, but something else pushed him on. His father…oh, his father would be angry if he didn’t at least try to get home.

His father, Adam Cartwright. Not Timothy Silver Salmon.

Surprising, now that he thought of it. Wasn’t it for Timothy, Hinmahtooyahlatkekt, and his late grandfather Shmoqula that he had come out here? But for Adam Cartwright, he must get back to the Ponderosa. Then he could die.

July, 1874

Loud Tortoise shook his head, and Shmoqula’s wives, Magpie Smiling and Lost Deer, set up a keening wail as they rocked back and forth on their knees. Everyone went into motion: some people began to chant, others to wail or cry. But Audun just sat there, dazed, and Adam looked at him in concern.

In a way, it was a shock—the old man had seemed to be getting better. But the day before, he had asked Audun to visit him, and he had said “I am going away tomorrow.” And he had gone, just as he’d said. Now there were things that needed to be done, and Audun knew he was in the way. Yet he could not move. Someone nudged him; he realized it was his father. Then his father took him gently by the arm and pulled him from the lodge.

Women outside were wailing, too—some men were chanting, and a few even had tears in their eyes. Of course, it wasn’t polite to notice if a warrior should cry, so no one said anything, although Adam seemed surprised.

Audun looked up at him through tears of his own. “Father…promise me you’ll never die.”

Adam half-smiled. “Not willingly, I won’t.”

Audun hurled himself into his father’s arms and sobbed then. A part of him felt foolish—and worse, childish—for doing it. The other part didn’t care. Without a wáyakin, he was a child; he could get away with acting like one.

The next day, wearing his finest clothes and holding his medicine bag, Shmoqula returned to his mother the Earth. After the grave was covered, his favorite horse, decked out with its best riding gear, was led up to the mound. Timothy Silver Salmon, standing next to the new shaman, watched for the sign—and slit the horse’s throat. Adam Cartwright squeezed his eyes shut as the horse collapsed over the grave. The shaman said a few more words, sending Shmoqula on to the next world and forbidding him to return. He and his horse would ride among the spirits now.

As everyone returned for the ritual feast and distribution of Shmoqula’s possessions, Adam said, “You didn’t tell me they were going to kill it.”

Audun looked up in surprise. “I told you it would take him to the afterlife. Father, a man has to have a horse. In this world or the next.”

“Sorry, son—I respect their customs, but….”

“The horse was willing. Timothy asked him. The Nimiipuu love horses; I thought you knew. That was the best horse of…the man who isn’t here now. The horse wanted to be with his master.”

Timothy Silver Salmon was walking on Audun’s other side and seemed to have picked up much of the conversation, although it had been in English. “It’s necessary,” he said in Nimiipuutimpt. “How could that good old man cover the vastness of the spirit world without a horse? Besides—” and Audun, for a moment, thought his Indian father was leering at his white father—“it is part of…finalized estate.” He said the last two words in English. Then he grinned at Audun’s open-mouthed expression.

“I didn’t know Timothy knew any English,” Audun muttered.

Adam smiled. “You don’t know your other father very well. Why do you think he also has the name of ‘Timothy’? He was raised in one of the Christian Nimiipuu bands and educated at the Spaldings’ mission school—at least until his parents pulled him out. He remembers the alphabet and some of the words, but he can’t read or write English anymore. His wife grew up in a French Jesuit mission—that’s why she has a Soyapo name and speaks French.”

Audun thought on that. It made sense. Still, it was strange. His white father had come among the Nimiipuu, made friends, learned much of their language and culture—even learned Timothy’s history—in just six weeks. Yet Audun, who had lived most of his life among them, had never known any of it. He looked up at Adam, walking in quiet dignity beside Timothy, and felt respect for his white father washing over him anew.

June, 1875

He fell again, and too exhausted to rise this time, he managed to turn over on his back. There was the cruel Moon laughing at him, just as he’d laughed at his wife the Frog.

Audun closed his eyes.

Chapter 36

June, 1875

A sliver of pink inched its way above the windowpane. Tilly hadn’t heaved in hours; she and Ben had had the longest talk they’d ever had, and neither had produced a gun or a skillet. It was, she thought, a small miracle—but these days she would settle for miracles of any size or any shape.

“Tilly, in all the excitement I nearly forgot to tell you. There’s a lady in town who claims to be your cousin.  Her name is Charlotte Hoffman.”

Tilly felt her heart rate double as her head jerked up. She was positive she had never mentioned Charlotte to Ben, and she couldn’t fathom a situation in which Adam would’ve told Ben about Charlotte. So how did Ben know, unless he had really met her?

Still…she cleared her throat. “Ben, don’t. For a minute there I thought we were becoming friends. Don’t tease me.”

Ben huffed. “I thought your cousin was the most suspicious woman I’d ever met, but I do believe you may have her beat after all. In all our little tiffs, do you ever recall me lying to you or teasing you?”

“But…Charlotte died in the war. Uncle Johann, too. That’s what everybody in Savannah thought. That’s what they all told me…”

“Tilly, you of all people should know how easily people disappear in a war. We thought you and Adam died in Paris, remember?”

“But…how did she come here?”

“I’m not exactly sure. She said something about a home for the insane, and how they told her where to find Adam.”

Tilly closed her eyes, tight. But when she opened them, Ben was still there.

“I don’t guess you have any notion that you’ve turned into a fairy godmother, do you?” she whispered.

“Um…no,” Ben replied. And then, with a mischievous look, he added, “But I hope you won’t go spreading it around. I wouldn’t look good in a dress.” Before she could laugh, though, he went on, “I told you your cousin is very suspicious. She told me to bring you to meet her after church, but you’re obviously in no shape to go to town. If you could write her a note…”

“My hands have been shaking for the last couple of hours,” Tilly said. “Oh, Ben, you’re right—I was an idiot. Is Hoss up yet?”

“I heard him going downstairs a little while ago…why?”

“I’ll have him go fetch Charlotte. I’ll give him a message she’ll recognize…and if she doesn’t agree to come, he can just pick her up and carry her back.”

“But—you don’t want me to get her?”

“No,” she said, and made an attempt at a smile. “I reckon you’d best go find Audun.”

 

Chapter 37

June, 1875

…Thy Mind so perfect by thy Maker fram’d,

No vain delights can harbor in thy heart,

With his sweet love, thou art so much inflam’d,

As of the world thou seem’st to have no part;

So, love him still, thou need’st not be asham’d

’Tis He that made thee, what thou wert, and art:

’Tis He that dries all tears from Orphans’ eyes,

And hears from heav’n the woeful widows’ cries…

Adam Cartwright blew out a deep breath in disgust. He was supposed to be trying to forget Tilly. So why was he remembering Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum?

For a man who loved reading, Adam had found himself without books during many long stretches of his life. On Ile des Pins, he hadn’t had a book for over a year. That hadn’t been so bad, though—he and Tilly had memorized Bible verses, poems, and large sections of their favorite stories and plays, so having nothing to read, they frequently recited to each other. When he’d been taken away to Grand Terre, and they threw him into that dank, dark dungeon, he had recited everything he knew, along with as much as he could remember of the things Tilly had taught him, for hours on end. Aloud at first, but then his captors had started gagging him. Probably one of the tortures Max had dreamed up. Max had known all kinds of tricks for isolating people physically, mentally and even spiritually.

When he couldn’t speak aloud, Adam had recited things in his head, but it was surprising just how easy it was to lose one’s train of thought that way. Especially when there were things that just couldn’t be reconciled. In prison, he had found it necessary for a time to persuade himself that Tilly was a dream—a preferable alternative to listening to Max describe the intimacies he and Tilly were now sharing—but how in the world had Adam memorized Salve Deus if Tilly was really just a dream? They didn’t put much emphasis on obscure women poets at Harvard. Did that mean Tilly was real, after all? No, she couldn’t be, because that would mean what Max was saying might be true.

Of course, she had been real…and now, he knew she’d had a passionate affair with Max even while Max was torturing Adam in prison. And now, when he was trying to persuade himself that forgetting her entirely and moving on with his life and his son was the best thing he could do; now, when he was a couple hundred miles from home and Tilly was in Bavaria with that evil man she loved…she was intruding into his mind again. Damn Amelia Lanyer anyway. Her poetry isn’t even that good; Tilly admitted it. But then it was his own fault. Of all the things to forget to bring on an extended trip away from home, how could he have forgotten to bring a single book? Maybe if I hadn’t been in such a rush to run away, I would have thought to bring a book along.

“According to your original calculations, the trenches you and I have been digging ought to come together within the next day and a half,” Joe said, walking up with his shovel over his shoulder. “When the water starts flowing, I want to get out of here.”

Of course. He should’ve known. Joe had never been one for patience. “That’s fine with me, as long as we can stop off at a town somewhere along the way—a town that sells books.”

“I don’t want to be around people right now,” Joe said shortly.

“You were sociable enough in Silver Peak. And with the Davises—especially Susan—”

“Adam, I’ve told you fifty times. If you don’t like my social calendar, go home.”

“Come with me, and I will.”

“My home burned to the ground, and my wife with it. I’ve got nothing to go back to!”

“You have a daughter! She’s growing up without her mother—that’s bad enough, but does she have to grow up without a father too?”

“You’re a fine one to talk. Audun grew up nearly eleven years without you, and you barely got to know each other when you left him again. Not to mention, since you seem to have forgotten, you have a wife.”

“I d—” he cut himself off. He wasn’t about to tell Joe he didn’t have a wife any more than Joe did. The only difference between Tilly and Alice was that Tilly was still breathing, but she certainly wasn’t Adam Cartwright’s wife now. She’d doubtless taken the train to New York and booked passage on the first steamship headed to Europe.

End of March, 1875

“Tilly, we need to talk.”

Alice had been dead for two weeks, and during that time Adam had barely spoken a word to Tilly, so perhaps the simple fact of his beginning a conversation accounted for her look of surprise. She said nothing, but stopped scratching Duke’s ears and turned to look up at Adam.

He gazed back: the flat, level stare that had made so many men back down over the long years, but one he had seldom employed with her. “You said you did what I told you and stayed with the Kunie while I was in prison.”

She looked confused. “I did.”

“Then how’d you and Max got together?” She might have flinched at the mention of Max’s name, but the funny thing was that he had made the accusation, and she had not noticed.

She looked puzzled. “He looked for me. He brought his troops to the Isle of Pines and came over to see me—several times, I don’t recall how many.”

He swallowed. “And when I asked you before if there was anything you wanted to tell me about that time, you said there wasn’t. Is there now?”

She stood and faced him. “Whatever’s on your mind, why don’t you get it out in the open?”

“All right…why did you do it?”

She went pale at that, and her reply, when it came, was so soft he could barely hear. “Because it was necessary.” She took a deep breath. “You weren’t there, Adam! I had to protect myself!”

He could almost believe it; perhaps Max had threatened her too. She didn’t look ashamed. But Max said she had come to love him—he hesitated a moment. “And…you still feel that way, then? About Max?”

“More than ever.” There was venom in her voice.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“When could I? When you were still denying my existence? When you were so sick the mere act of standing up made you ill? When touching your back the wrong way opened bleeding wounds? When Veralyn and my baby died? When you got all standoffish just because I was nursing Robin? Or when you were off visiting Alice constantly because she couldn’t be left alone for a single day?”

“I was still your husband, dammit! I had a right to know!”

“And I’m your wife, and I had a right to know what was going on back at the prison colony when you decided I shouldn’t go to the commune ever again, too!”

“I was protecting you!”

“What did you think I was doing? I was protecting you!”

“Protecting me? From what?”

Her voice faltered then. “From…the memory of Max.”

“Really,” he said. “When you called out to him in your sleep and whimpered and whined and writhed on our bed? My bed? The one you didn’t want me in anymore?”

She seemed to realize something then, for her expression changed. Her eyes had never seemed so blue…but he’d never seen her face so white. Then her chin came up, and she looked at him. Somehow he had never known silence could be so powerful a weapon.

“Even now…” he said. “Nothing to say?”

“My father always said it was beneath me to defend my actions,” she snapped. “I have nothing further to say about anything, except maybe you should think twice about throwing stones when you’ve got some pretty big windows yourself.”

Chapter 38

June, 1875

Ben led Buck out of the barn and nodded to Hoss, who was about to drive out in the buggy. “Good luck, son.”

“Me? You’re the one goin’ out to look for Audun. You’ll need it more than I will.”

“You haven’t met Tilly’s cousin yet.” He swung painfully into the saddle. He’d forgotten to put Audun’s ointment on his knees the previous night and was forced to admit he could feel its absence.

“If you’re not home by tonight, I’m comin’ out myself in the morning,” Hoss called after him as Ben put his heels to Buck’s sides.

Sometimes it was wonderful to have a spread that really was a spread. On the other hand, there were sizable disadvantages. Those thousand square miles covered every form of terrain available, from flat prairie to bleak desert, from rolling hills to craggy mountains. But none of those places had been good enough for Audun. He’d headed northwest, off the ranch and into the one place nobody ever went anymore—the low crags below Sun Mountain.

Ben had never had much use for Sun Mountain. After the trouble Mark Burdette and Early Thorne had started between the Paiute and the settlers, all the Ponderosa beef and goodwill in the world hadn’t been enough to stave off a conflict. It had only been a couple of months before Mike Wilson and his equally worthless brother had stirred up a full-fledged war. The settlers, with the help of the cavalry, had run the Paiute out…and then discovered the mountain was one of the few in that area that wasn’t made of silver. So they had tried farming instead, but the rocky, dusty terrain wouldn’t support either cattle or the crops they had planted. Ben had tried to tell them that, but they accused him of being a greedy cattle baron who only wanted the land for himself, so he kept silent after that and watched as the winds blew the thin, plowed-up topsoil away and the hills eroded to barren rock.

What made Audun pick this area? And as surely as if “the Old Man in the Stars” had given him the answer, he knew: it couldn’t be anyplace on the Ponderosa, no matter how remote or inaccessible. It couldn’t be on any Soyapo land. Sun Mountain had been Indian land for centuries; the Soyapo who had tried to live there hadn’t lasted past the first year. It was a desolate place, fit for no Indian now, and certainly no white man. Nobody could ever say Audun had tried to take the easy way out. The child was more Nimiipuu than the Nimiipuu.

He remembered when Adam and the boy had returned from the Wallowa, how he had listened to their tales—and more importantly, watched Audun’s face while the stories were being told. Audun had preferred to let Adam tell the stories, and most of them, Adam had told in his usual manner, with a great sense of fun, drama, and flamboyance. But there was one story Adam had begun in such a dry, bare-bones manner that a frustrated Audun had jumped up and said, “Father, if you’re too shy, I will tell it myself.” And Adam had shrugged and leaned back as Audun began…

“You see, Grandfather, Hinmahtooyahlatkekt—the fellow the whites call Young Joseph and we of the Nimiipuu call ‘Chief Thunder’— is the head of the Wallowa band. He greeted all the Otter people when we arrived. He remembered me—he was the one who had named me ‘Little Thunder,’ and I still carry a piece of his spirit. But my father had no…no credentials…that could impress a Nimiipuu in the Wallowa Valley. His Nimiipuutimpt was worse than a four-year-old’s. He was dark enough to pass as a Nimiipuu, but he was covered with hair like a dog. Timothy said, ‘Not like a dog—like his own dog.’ Some of the men joked that it was just as well he did not take a woman. In the dark she might mistake his ugly dog for him…”

September, 1874

Still, Adam had at least lived among the Otter band long enough to smell like them (except when he shaved his beard off each morning using white man’s soap). He was a good rider and a decent gambler, and the men respected those things about him. But he dressed strangely—although he wore a breech clout and leggings, he insisted on keeping his black shirt and he wore it un-tucked, with a Nimiipuu belt. It gave the Nimiipuu something else to smile about. They smiled about him a lot, at first.

It was Alpatokate who became Adam’s best friend. He liked white people, and as the Nimiipuu agreed, why shouldn’t he? He was half white himself. It wasn’t obvious at first glance. He was dark-skinned and black-haired. It was just that his eyes were blue, and unlike the other Indians, who occasionally had to pluck the hairs that sprouted from their chins, this warrior had to shave. If he didn’t, he would grow a full beard and mustache…of a strange, almost brick-red shade.

During the Lewis and Clark expedition, a great many of the men had befriended Indian women. In this instance, one of the Soyapo, a man they had dubbed “Daytime Smoker,” left behind a surprise with a Nimiipuu woman, Tomsis. She gave birth to a son eight months after the men’s departure. The little boy was dubbed “Son of Daytime Smoker,” or Alpatokate—but he started calling himself “MeClark” as soon as he was old enough to talk. He was the son of William Clark, and proud of it.

For all Timothy tried…in his way…to be Adam’s friend, he was too busy to teach him much. More than that, he had too much mischief in his spirit and mistrust in his heart to ever be close to a Soyapo. Alpatokate, however, was 68. He had plenty of time and patience to teach Adam, and the two were soon inseparable. He gave Adam one of his own horses, a black pony called the Crow. The two men hunted and fished together. And the rest of the Nimiipuu looked on, laughing, as “Scratch-Back Man” and his ugly dog went everywhere with old Alpatokate.

But one day there was no laughter…and after that day, there was only respect. On that day, Adam Cartwright proved to be the hunter and warrior Audun had always known he was—and Alpatokate was so proud you’d have thought he was Adam’s father.

On that day, some of the men and older boys went on an elk hunt. Alpatokate stayed behind with the women; he would come when it was time to butcher the kills. But since Audun had expressed a firm intent to join the men, Adam went along. The men had been hesitant, but Adam was insistent. (That his bow and arrows were of Paiute design was not in his favor, but he was a good enough shot to almost make up for it.) They left it up to Chief Thunder and his brother Ollokot to decide, since they were accompanying the hunters, too. Ollokot grudgingly allowed Adam to come, but Lady, in a horrifying breach of protocol, had followed them. Adam sent her back twice, and Yellow Wolf threatened to shoot her, but Adam spoke firmly and everyone thought she had finally given up.

It was early in the rutting season, a good time to hunt. All the bull elks were prancing, displaying themselves and fighting. Two young bulls had squared off, which made them excellent targets. However, the first hunters’ arrows only wounded the angry elks, which separated and charged the nearest Indians.

One of the nearby Indians was Chief Thunder. The bull’s huge antlers caught his horse in the flank, and the horse crashed down, its rider having no time to jump free; he lay trapped by one leg under the horse, struggling to get away. The elk turned again, intending to trample the helpless man and the horse, but five arrows from five different directions struck almost at the same time, sending it to the ground. There was no time to celebrate, though—the other bull was charging. By this time Chief Thunder had managed to get his leg out from under his horse and haul himself to his feet, but there was the elk, bearing down on him. Another barrage of arrows assaulted the elk, but he kept coming.

A black blur flashed by then: Adam Cartwright, wearing an expression no Nimiipuu had ever seen and spurring his black pony like a madman, swooped toward Chief Thunder, one long arm stretched out; Thunder grasped his arm and swung up behind him; the horse never even slowed, but sprinted toward the safety of the other hunters. The charging elk’s antler went harmlessly through the horse’s tail, and at just that moment, the Soyapo man’s big, ugly—and very disobedient—dog shot from behind the trees and grabbed the elk by the nose. She only clung there a minute before the elk was able to fling her off, but she had slowed it down enough that the elk became an easy shot.

And as the men all laughed and congratulated each other, and the women butchered the two elk, old Alpatokate pointed out that of all the arrows in the first elk, the one lodged squarely in its carotid artery was of Paiute design.

That day Adam Cartwright became known to the Nimiipuu as Háatyata’qanin’—“Wrapped in the Wind.” And his ugly dog was still just a “cíq’a·mqal,” but the Indians said she could follow them wherever she liked after that. They gave her part of the elk’s heart and liver, just as they gave part to Adam, because they were both hunters and warriors.

The next day, Audun and Adam came to the men’s sweat lodge, and after the greetings, Chief Thunder motioned Audun over. “Your father is a man to respect,” Hinmahtooyahlatkekt said.

June, 1875

Ben remembered Audun’s shining eyes as he had told the story.

“And Grandfather,” Audun said, looking at him significantly, “It was just a little disrespectful, but you know, I told Hinmahtooyahlatkekt ‘I already knew that, and I know it now even better than you do!’”

But, Ben thought, Audun should have remembered those words of Chief Thunder. “Your father is a man to respect.” If Audun had just thought of his father…

And then he chuckled in surprise as he realized the truth.

By Audun’s convoluted logic, he was thinking of his father. His father had never even gone on a spirit quest, but he’d gotten a wáyakin anyway, the day he had won a name from the People. Audun’s only names from the Nimiipuu had been gifts from other men. If his father, a stranger to the Indians’ ways, had come to them a nobody but then won respect and a name all his own, how could any son who respected his father do less?

Chapter 39

June, 1875

Charlotte Hoffman—insistently lugging her own heavy carpetbag—came down the stairs of the International House right behind the messenger boy, to find a huge cowboy waiting at the front desk. Tilly, however, was nowhere in sight.

She stomped over to the big cowboy. “Who are you, and where’s Tilly?”

The big fellow grinned harmlessly. “Sorry, Miss. My name’s Hoss Cartwright. Tilly’s my sister-in-law. She’s sick this mornin’ and couldn’t come into town.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Um…she had somethin’ that didn’t agree with her stomach.”

“Is she under a doctor’s care?”

“Doc Martin saw her last night, ma’am. He said with a little rest and drinkin’ lots of water, she’d be all right.”

“So when will she come to town?”

“Well, ma’am, she sorta thought you might come to see her at the Ponderosa. You’re invited to stay, if you like.”

“But I don’t know you! We haven’t been properly introduced. If you really know Tilly, I can’t believe you’d make such an offer. She knows that’s not proper.”

“Um…ma’am, Tilly’s exact words were, ‘hell, damn, and spit on propriety; if my cousin’s really here, she will remove her hide to the Ponderosa at once’—or I’m to carry you there on my shoulder.”

“Not likely. I’ll be returning to my room now. Tell Tilly—”

“Ma’am,” said Hoss, turning beet-red, “There’s more to the message.” He removed a small piece of paper and said, “Please ’scuse me if this sounds funny, but I copied it from what she said. Um…” Looking most unhappy, he began to read. “Fain would I wed a fair young man that day and night could please me…um….”

Charlotte gasped and grabbed the paper from his hand, rapidly scanning down. “…Yet I would not die a maid, because I had a mother/As I was by one brought forth I would bring forth another…oh dear God, this is from Tilly! There’s no time to waste, man—take me to her!”

With that, she headed out the door.

As they drove out of Virginia City, he timidly asked, “Can you tell me what all that was about, Ma’am?”

Charlotte laughed. “We both hated that poem. Campion was a pig. He thought women lived only to get married and have babies.”

“Oh,” said Hoss, just as lost as before.

“Tilly wanted to get married, but more than that, she wanted to be a teacher. I didn’t want to get married, and I wanted to be a doctor,” Charlotte explained.

“Oh,” Hoss said again. “Are you a doctor?”

“I am. Is Tilly still teaching, or did she have a lot of babies?”

Hoss scratched his head as he clucked to the horse. “Well, yes and no. She still teaches, but not for a job. She teaches Adam’s son. And well, she had a baby…but…um…”

“Ah. I’m sorry. Tell me about Tilly’s husband—your brother, I guess. Does he look like you?”

Hoss chuckled. “Not even a little bit, ma’am.”

“I reckon you can stop calling me ma’am. If you’re really Tilly’s brother-in-law, that makes you my cousin. Call me Cousin Charlotte.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you married too?”

Hoss looked at her in surprise, and then turned his attention back to the road. “Not anymore, Miss—er, Cousin Charlotte. My wife died.”

She had heard something about a Cartwright wife who had died not long ago. “I’m sorry. Was she the one in the fire?”

He glanced at her briefly and clenched his jaw. “No, Cousin Charlotte. That was my brother Joe’s wife, Alice Cartwright.”

She’d heard a joke in town that the quickest way for a woman to die was to marry a Cartwright, and now she half believed it. No wonder Tilly was sick—at this rate she was lucky to be alive. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and for half an hour they drove in silence. “When will we reach this ‘Ponderosa’?” she asked at length.

“We’re on it,” he replied, “but if you’re askin’ when we’ll get to the house, that’s another hour and a half or so at this gait. It’s pretty big.”

She considered this. “And how long have Tilly and Adam been married?”

“Six years last February.”

“But…they didn’t live here the whole time. They went to Europe at some point.”

“No, ma’am. I mean, yes ma’am.”

“Are you always this forthcoming with information?”

“Huh?”

“I mean you don’t give out much. I’m trying to find out about my cousin’s life since the last time we met.”

“When was that?”

She slapped the wagon seat. “Good Lord a’mercy, before the war—1859. She was leavin’ for Europe and I was just about to go to college. I knew she was going to get married, but I thought it would be to Harold. Adam Cartwright was a name I never heard before, not until I heard about Uncle Rheinhard’s funeral.”

“Tilly’s pa died right around Christmas, 1868,” Hoss offered. “Adam paid for the headstone. How come it took you so long to come lookin’ for Tilly?”

“Well, I graduated college. My pa had a doctor friend who had gone to Connecticut, and I went to his place to train in medicine and get licensed…but it was right before the war began. And then I couldn’t get back to Georgia.”

“On account of the war?”

“Yep. Afterwards, I came back to Savannah, but Ma and Pa were dead; Aunt Tilly—Tilly’s ma that is—was sick with somethin’ contagious…”

“I thought you were a doctor. Don’t you know what she had?” Hoss asked.

“Lord, take your pick!” she exclaimed. “Measles, typhoid, cholera, dysentery—there were dozens of diseases floating around the city after the siege. I was never told what she had and I wasn’t allowed to see her. And Tilly’s pa’d been institutionalized. Nobody knew anything about Tilly, so I thought either she was dead or had stayed in Europe. She’d been s’posed to marry a boy named Harold Baker, but the Baker family that I knew in Savannah had all died in the siege, and I didn’t know where to find Harold.”

Hoss gave her a compassionate look. “Sounds like you was pretty alone yerself. Didn’t you have any sisters or brothers?”

She shook her head. “Tilly and her brothers were the closest I had to family. I got a letter from my doctor friend in Connecticut saying since I had my license he’d let me nurse for him, so I went back North for a while…but it wasn’t home, and I didn’t like nursing, not when I’d trained to be a doctor. Problem was I couldn’t work at any hospitals, not as a doctor. So I applied to St. Bartholomew’s, in London, and they accepted me. I went there three years ago. While I was there, I made friends with an English boy who had some odd notions—I knew he’d never be a doctor. Maybe a medical examiner…his name was Sherlock Holmes—”

“Adam and Tilly had a friend by that name,” Hoss realized. “Only she called him Liam.”

“That’s right. Somehow we got to talkin’ about America when we were cutting up a cadaver, and he told me I was only the third or fourth American he’d ever met. Said he was great friends with an American from Montana: Tilly. I told him I’d had a cousin named Tilly, and pretty soon we realized my cousin and his friend were the same person. He didn’t mention she was married, though. Said she lived in a place called Virginia City. One day he left, and I never saw him again. Heard he’d run off to Paris to look for some papers or something; his brother was always getting him to do strange errands like that. So when I finished up at Bart’s, I went looking for Tilly again—in Virginia City, Montana.”

“Adam and Tilly said that Holmes boy was smart, but I wonder,” Hoss observed. “Montana, my eye.”

“It’s not a nice place. I’d already had enough unpleasant experiences being a woman traveling alone, but that whole area’s…well, it’s bad. A lot of mean miners, that’s all, and I will NOT talk about them anymore. I stayed nearly two months, looking for Tilly, and then I gave up and went home to Savannah. I was hoping maybe Aunt Tilly—that is, Tilly’s mother—had gotten better, but she’d died, and so had Uncle Rheinhard. I found out where they were buried, and who had paid for Uncle Rheinhard’s funeral. When I learned these Cartwright people were in Virginia City, Nevada, I knew that silly Sherlock fella had met the right person, but thought of the wrong place. I came here as soon as I could.”

“That’s a heck—’scuse me—of a journey.”

“It’ll be worth it to find Tilly.”

“Reckon so,” Hoss agreed.

“You sure are polite, Hoss. But I’m not used to quiet men. Don’t you talk?”

“Not as much as I used to,” Hoss said.

Chapter 40

June, 1875

 

“I’m not going to meet her lying in bed, Hop Sing!” Tilly raged. “I haven’t seen her in 16 years, and I’m not gonna—”

“You are. Mr. Cartwright say—said—you lie down, so I make you lie down if you don’t be sensible. You not…you are not…the only one who knows how to throw a pan, Missy Tilly.”

“But I need to take care of the babies…”

“Fine time to think of it!” Hop Sing retorted. “Where were you yesterday when they put mud pie in Duke’s ear?”

Tilly looked at her hands. “You fight dirty, Hop Sing.”

He sighed. “Babies downstair in corral.”

At least that made her smile. “The corral” was a little fence Hoss had built, smooth-polished and padded, its rails too close together to allow slipping out, and vertical to discourage climbing. They had moved the coffee table to make room for it, and that way the babies could play together without fear that they’d get into something dangerous. Usually, Bonnie and Robin played and amused themselves pretty well together, although a few weeks before, Bonnie had discovered how much fun it was to hit Robin over the head with whatever toy she had at hand. Robin thus far had not minded, but Tilly couldn’t help wondering what would happen if Robin ever decided to hit back. Fortunately Duke, Ceirdwyn, and Bruce were all on duty as babysitters, too.

She suddenly realized Hop Sing was talking again.

“Someday soon, I will leave this house, and then everybody here can make self sick if they want to. That’s the only reason I stay here so long, everybody gonna die without ME to take care of white people. But I gotta life to live too. You wanna die, Missy Tilly, you do on your own time, not mine.”

Too shocked to reply to his tirade at first, Tilly sank back into the pillows and looked at him. “Would you really leave us, Hop Sing? You’re right—the house will fall apart without you.”

“Cartwrights gotta learn to take care of self sometime,” Hop Sing replied philosophically.

“But why would you leave? You know everyone here thinks of you as part of the family.”

“No, Missy Tilly. Used to think so, but it’s not true. I pack basket, but don’t go on family picnic. I cook dinner but eat alone in kitchen. I watch babies…but don’t have my own.”

“Neither do I,” Tilly mumbled.

Hop Sing patted her hand. “You have soon. I know. But me—no. How can I have baby without wife? Mr. Cartwright, all sons and wives, very kind to me, pay well, help relatives, make people in town treat us better—but we are not family. I am more than a servant, but I certainry…ly…am less than family. I work for Cartwrights 27 years, Missy Tilly. I want my own restaurant. Maybe a family of my own too.”

“Good Lord, Hop Sing…I had no idea.”

“Why? Did you think I have no dreams?”

“Heavens, no! I just meant you never gave any indication of dissatisfaction!”

Hop Sing shook his head. “You say Chinese are ‘inscrutable.’ It’s not so, but we are very polite. Good servants don’t tell dreams. Good servants stay invisible. Now I gotta make pie. Excuse, please.”

“Wait a minute! Are you really getting married? Do you have a bride already picked out?”

“No…it’s difficult.”

“Why? Tell me.”

“Normally, relatives in Hong Kong would pick a wife for me…but few women want to make such a long journey to meet a man my age who has only been a servant all his life. And the women here…I have spoken to some people, but…the parents have high hopes for their daughters.”

“You’re a good man! How could anyone object to you?”

“Not objection, but they want their daughters to marry better than another servant. Still…I have hope.”

“But if she loves you, wouldn’t a girl marry you anyway, even if her parents said no?”

Hop Sing’s eyes widened. “Of course not! What kind of girls do you think the Chinese are?”

“I’m sorry! I…well, you know, our ideas of marriage are a little different.”

“I forgive bad manners. Now I make pie. You want anything before I go?”

“Um…yes, please—could you hand me a book? The one on the dresser will do.”

He did so, and then left quickly—too quickly for her to say that she’d meant the other book on the dresser. She had forgotten there were two books there, and the awful other book was one of them. Now her Bible remained happily on the dresser, and she was holding the last book in the world she wanted to hold.

December, 1874

No one seemed to notice the layer of permafrost that had settled over Adam. He was polite to his wife, took his usual pains to see to her care and comfort, and he accepted with equanimity such affection as she was willing to bestow. But the long talks they had once known were replaced by brief logistical discussions, and the late nights they had used to keep were replaced by Adam reading alone in the living room until he thought Tilly was asleep.

She wasn’t, of course, but had quickly learned to fake it. She still put the gag on herself once she was sure he was sleeping, but now and again she would awaken with it untied, and she always wondered if the knot had come undone on its own or whether it had had help…and she wondered what Adam had heard. Whatever it was only seemed to increase his aloofness. Before long, though, he had other things to worry about. He’d told her, not long after his return, that he had had only had one or two nightmares while he and Audun had been away, and he really hoped they were over and done with. But in early December he’d awakened, screaming, and it took Tilly and Lady both to settle him down.

At the time, he’d been working on plans for their own house. His father had objected, of course, but Adam had gone ahead with them. Maybe he’d hoped, as Tilly had, that getting out on their own would allow them to grow close again, and that they and Audun could be their own family.

But then had come the day it all came crashing down, right on her shoulders too, for it was well and truly her fault.

She had gone to see Paul Martin that day, and they had a long talk. She told him of her fear of any future pregnancy, of the clockwork-regular nightmares that left her skin crawling and her soul defiled; she told him—although she stopped just short of telling him why—that she was afraid she deserved her childless state because she must have committed some unpardonable sin.

“I’m not the one you’d want to talk to about sin,” he replied with a smile, “but I can tell you you’re not the only woman to ever feel this way. I’ve seen an even dozen women with similar complaints in the last five years. Most of ’em felt that way because some drunken lout had taken advantage of them. Not to be indelicate, but is there any chance of that having happened to you?”

“Oh no,” she replied with a forced laugh, for Max hadn’t been drunk, and neither of the men who’d tried had succeeded. “But are you sure I’m not…I don’t know, could I possibly be…my father went insane, Paul. I’ve heard it can be hereditary. Is there any chance…do you think I…”

“Tilly, you are far too hard-headed to go mad,” he said. “However, from the look on your face, I can tell you don’t believe me, so…” with that he plunked a heavy book onto his desk: Medical Inquiries and Observations upon the Diseases of the Mind, by Benjamin Rush, MD, 1812. Paul shrugged. “It’s old, but it’s still the definitive work as far as I’m concerned. Why don’t you borrow this—I don’t need it back anytime soon—and read it, and I’m pretty sure you’ll see that you’re all right.”

“Oh, Paul, now I think you must be insane! I couldn’t take this home. If Adam saw it—”

“Still sensitive, is he? Well, read it in town then. Go have lunch and look through it for a while.”

So she did; she took a quiet corner in a little out-of-the-way café on B Street, ordered a bowl of stew, and began to peruse the pages. She’d known, of course, that Adam was at Becker and Lloyd’s, and that Becker and Lloyd’s was near Piper’s, just at the end of B Street. But she was on the other end of the street, and it was a steep climb…and it wasn’t quite lunchtime yet.

When he came in, she saw him and involuntarily shrank against the wall, hoping he wouldn’t see her. But he noticed her immediately, and changed course to join her. “Howdy, stranger,” he said, sliding into the opposite chair. “What brings you into town, and however did you escape the little eating machine?”

“Robin’s with his grandpappy for a while,” Tilly said with a smile she did not feel, laying her napkin over the book. “I had some business to take care of.”

“You should’ve told me. We could’ve come into town together.”

“I—I didn’t plan to be here that long.”

“If you want to come over to the office, I can show you the plans for…what are you reading?”

“Oh, just some of Lanyer’s poetry; I know you don’t care for her but—” she was prepared to lie herself into hell, if it would keep him from looking, but he’d already moved the napkin aside and turned the book around.

“Those who walk and talk in their sleep…” He looked sharply at her, and then back at the book. “…vibrations of nervous influence…scarcely any memory…dreaming is a transient paroxysm of delirium…” He took a deep breath and took her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Nice reading for lunchtime, but just which of Lanyer’s works is it?”

Funny how she’d looked into those eyes millions of times over the last six years—first wondering what color to call them, then wondering what lay behind them, and then being allowed to see into them on a few occasions, learning of all the love and hopes and fears and courage and dreams crowding about, jostling for supremacy. Now there was a veil over them; she looked desperately and saw nothing.

He stood up. “Enjoy your book,” he said quietly, and turned on his heel.

She cried out after him, “Adam, it was for me—” but by then his long legs had carried him away.

She returned the book to Paul and went home. That night, Adam came in smelling of alcohol and carrying the book. “Borrowed it from Paul for your continued reading pleasure,” he said, dropping it on the dresser with a thump. “Never knew how much he appreciated Lanyer.”

Chapter 41

June, 1875

Ben’s eyes were constantly sweeping the thin sand, looking around the scrub brush, searching for anything that might resemble a twelve-year-old boy. But his mind was oddly detached, thinking over that conversation with Tilly and wondering what she hadn’t told him.

A few hours earlier

“No, Max wasn’t my friend. I was a barely more than a child in Paris and with the exception of Uncle Blake, I had known only good people. It never occurred to me that there were other men in the world just as wicked as Blake; especially not handsome young men in Paris.”

“When did you discover that Max was the one torturing Adam?”

“Not until I got to Grand Terre. I’d had my suspicions all along, though. He was playing a game with me, telling me all kinds of conflicting stories about Adam and trying to get me to…to…to leave Adam for him.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t accommodating.”

“What do you mean, conflicting stories?”

Tilly shook her head. “Too many to remember or keep straight. He could get the governeur to stop torturing Adam if I was ‘nice’ to him. He had no power at all to help Adam, but he could get me out of the Pacific entirely—things like that. Once he actually told me Adam was dying or dead, and his last wish was for Max to take me to safety. I refused. I was staying with the natives, and had made an agreement with them that if Max or his troops tried to take me away, the Kunie would shoot me.”

“What?”

“By that time I’d started putting together all the stories about Max and not liking what I knew. When I knew him in Paris he had a habit of proposing to well-off girls and availing himself of their money. Then he’d break the engagement. He proposed to a couple of not-well-off girls, and they ended up…in a fix. Alain told me bits and pieces of it while Adam was in prison in Paris, but I didn’t believe it…too much like my mother, I guess. She never believed anyone she liked could be a bad person, either. I knew Max was flighty and bad with money or I might have—well, I was silly and had a head full of romance back then—thank God I’ll never be that young again. Once I got to really know Max, on the Isle of Pines, I hated him and was terrified of him, more for Adam’s sake than mine. I was afraid he would use me to get to Adam—I was surprised he never did. But now I think he used me to get to Adam, even without using me.”

Ben nodded. “You think Max lied to Adam about you, the same way he lied to you about Adam.”

Tilly sighed. “But it never occurred to me that Adam would believe him. I never did.”

“But you were free. It was Adam whose mind was being preyed on. Didn’t you tell me he was starved, deprived of sleep, kept alone and in darkness for weeks at a time? You told me that when you found him, he didn’t even recognize you. In a situation like that, I could imagine his sense of reality becoming distorted. Tilly, do you remember your dreams about Max when you wake up?”

“I don’t want to—but yes, most of them.”

“Are they always the same?”

“No, not exactly. In some he starts off mean and stays mean; in some he’s good and kind, and woos me like any number of the nice boys I used to know…but always, he ends up trying to…to take me by force. I whimper and beg him to stop, and I scream but it only comes out as little muted whines; I squirm and cringe, trying to get away from him, but I can’t. Thank God it’s just a dream.”

“Did he try that in reality?”

Tilly swallowed. Her cheeks crimsoned and her fists clenched. He covered her hands with his.

“What happened, Tilly?”

“I got away,” Tilly mumbled, freeing her hands. “He didn’t get me. Liam showed up with the British Marines, and the soldiers had to let me go.”

“But what happened to Max? Didn’t he try to claim you were his prisoner?”

Tilly drew her bed shawl tightly around herself. “I told you, I got away.”

“Tilly,” Ben said firmly, “I thought you were going to be honest with me.”

“I have been!” she retorted. “I told you what you asked, and I swear on my mother’s grave, it’s true. I did not do anything with Max that I’m ashamed of, and I will say that to God on Judgment Day. And even if I had…fought him off…Adam’s fought with plenty of people too, so why would he be angry at me?”

He thought for a while and then sighed—apparently Tilly and Adam were well-suited, at least in the stubbornness department. “Does Adam know any of this?”

“Nothing but whatever he thinks he knows from Max.”

“The dreams…is Adam ever in them?”

“He’s in most of them.”

“What does he do?”

“Not a bloody thing. I have to get away by myself—or I don’t get away at all in some of them—and Adam just watches and smiles.”

At that, Ben could scarcely think of a reply. He settled for, “Oh.” He risked looking at her, and thanked God she wasn’t crying. “Tilly…” he finally said, “Do you hate Adam?”

He could see her bristling. “Of course not—why would I?”

“I don’t know—maybe for not protecting you from Max.”

“That makes no sense—he wasn’t there.”

“You know that when you’re awake. But…” he shrugged. “Maybe when you’re asleep, you don’t know. Maybe that’s why he’s watching but doing nothing. And then you wake up and you hate him.”

She seethed for a moment; then, with a visible effort, calmed herself. “I guess if Adam can think that—and he does seem to—it’d be even easier for you. You’ve had your doubts all along.” She swallowed convulsively. “Let me allay your fears, Ben. I know some people can do it, but I can’t love somebody and hate ’em at the same time. I love Adam like a drought-stricken land loves the rain.”

“Then why did you never tell him about Max? He seemed to want to remember—why didn’t you allow him to?”

“I was trying to protect him.”

“Paul Martin says sometimes remembering is the first step to healing.”

“I doubt Paul Martin ever spent a few months being tortured.”

“You’re probably right, but…will you allow that I might know Adam better than you?”

“No.” She smiled a little. “I might allow that you’ve known him longer.”

Ben sighed. “All right, I admit our relations with him are on a different level than yours.”

“The ‘royal we,’ Ben?”

He looked over at her and, possibly for the first time, realized that there was mischief in her face, but not malice, so he smiled back. “No—I mean Joe, Hoss and myself. I understand you know him in a different way. But has he ever talked to you about Peter Kane?”

A shadow crossed her face. “No…but I know he has nightmares about him now and then.”

“‘Now and then’ is quite an improvement. When we—Hoss, Joe and I—found Adam wandering in the desert, towing Kane’s body on a travois, Adam was a…a shipwreck.” Ben managed a crooked smile of his own. “He bottled up the story of Kane and wouldn’t tell us what happened until he’d been driven half mad by it. Then he managed to talk about it…a little…and the nightmares began to fade. Tilly, he needs to remember what happened in that prison, and he needs to remember Max. He needs to get at least a little of it out. Otherwise it’s like confining yeast: it rises until it breaks the container.”

“Maybe.” She looked unconvinced.

“The next time you see Adam, I want you to tell him about Max—and don’t hold back, even if you think it will hurt him. Even if you think he won’t forgive you.” He played his wild card. “And one more thing…when you do tell him the whole story…I want you to ask him about Ross Marquette. And demand that he tell you the whole story, too.”

“Who’s Ross Marquette?”

“Ask Adam.”

“You do love being mysterious.” She laughed a little. “You know, Ben, my father told me once, when I was little—I was a dreadful crybaby then—he told me never to let anyone know my thoughts. He said it was death to let others see your thoughts, and I should never care if anyone told lies about me. He said the people who believed such things of me weren’t worth my time, and the ones who were worth my time would never believe a lie. I’ve lived my life that way—it’s why you and I have had so many little tiffs.”

Ben took her hand for a moment, warming it with his own. “It’s funny—I’ve always told my boys something similar. I wish I’d known your father—it might have saved you and me some fighting.”

“But Ben…Adam knows all this. Why is he forgetting now when I need him to remember?”

“Maybe you need to remind him—he’s the one who needs to remember a lot of things. I don’t think he’ll ever heal from what happened on that island until he faces it.”

As he left the room, he heard her mutter under her breath, “Max, you’ve been burning in hell for two years now and you’re still ruining our lives.”

June, 1875

Ben skirted an outcrop of jagged boulders, wondering if his suspicion was correct, and deciding he’d best resign himself to not knowing. If Tilly had really killed the man, she obviously had no intention of confessing it. Why, he could not fathom—if her story was true, any woman with an opportunity and gumption would certainly have killed him.

What the…

He thought at first it was a bundle of rags in the distance. But it was Audun.

Chapter 42

June, 1875

Adam scraped his dusty hat across his sweaty forehead. “I told you, dammit! Simple mathematical calculations, that was all, and just like always, you had to do things the way you wanted. You can’t make your own rules when it comes to math, Joe!”

Little Joe looked in consternation at the two ditches. He had started digging at the near end of the field, and Adam had started digging a hundred feet from the river bank. If the two men had followed the lines Adam had plotted, the two trenches should have met halfway. Instead, only thirty feet from the midpoint, they were looking at two lines some forty feet apart, each running parallel to the other, and with all the scrub brush in between, the two men had almost missed seeing it and kept right on going.

Adam swore a few more times and murmured something Joe didn’t bother to listen to. Instead, he muttered something himself in response.

“What did you say?” Adam demanded.

Joe sneered. “I said you’re a tin-plated Napoleon!”

“You’re the one who couldn’t follow directions!”

“I know what the directions were, and I was close enough! You make everything so complicated, Adam—it was just a simple matter of area and water pressure—”

“And friction and energy and angles and gravity and—”

“Oh come on! It’s not like building a bridge over San Francisco Bay, for Pete’s sake!”

“Yeah? Then how come we got two trenches running parallel to each other? If you’d been in charge of digging the transcontinental railroad they would’ve needed two Golden Spikes, one for Promontory and one for Salt Lake City!”

“Oh, hell, go exaggerate some more, Professor Cartwright. Couldn’t possibly be you screwed up your precious calculations, could it?”

“That’s about as likely as you waking up without a hangover on a Monday morning!”

“What business is it of yours what I do with my weekends?”

“None, but when it affects your work Monday—”

“Then it’s Pilcher’s job to keel haul me, Older Brother. Not yours!”

“Look, this was your idea, Joe. Any ideas for salvaging the situation? Or should we just each keep digging parallel trenches and hope Davis sells out to the railroad?”

“I’ll think of something. Go on, Adam, I’m sick of lookin’ at you.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Hey, any time you want to leave—”

“Don’t try that now.” Adam shook a filthy finger. “You’re into me for twenty months at Ponderosa wages, and if you think I’m leaving before I recoup my investment—”

Joe retaliated by shoving Adam in the chest. “I thought we were doin’ somethin’ beneficial! That’s what you said!”

“That was before you decided you were too good to follow instructions!” Adam shoved back—and Joe fell into the trench behind him. Uh-oh, Adam thought, just before the green blur shot out of the ditch, and for a moment it was just like old times, as they rolled on the ground and pummeled each other the way they had when Joe had been a hot-headed youth.

But only for a moment—Adam’s sudden shriek of pain shocked them both.

“What happened?” Joe demanded, grabbing Adam’s arms. “Is it your back?”

Adam yanked himself away from Joe. “I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone.”

“Let me see.”

“I said I’m all right, dammit!”

“You sounded like somebody shoved a corncob up your—”

“Just leave it,” Adam mumbled, feeling his back gingerly, and Joe went behind him and pulled his shirt up anyway.

Adam heard him gulp—and then try to bury it in a harrumphing noise. “No bleeding. There’s a good scratch on one of the wider scars, though. Must’ve hit a rock or something. Do you need anything on it?”

“No. Sorry to cause trouble; I’m fine.”

“Hey.” Joe circled around to the front again and grinned a little. “You were causin’ trouble before your back went out, you big galoot. Look, if we backtrack a little we can straighten out the trench. It was my mistake, so I’ll fix it.”

“I’ll help; it’ll be faster.”

Joe started to argue, but a look into his brother’s eyes convinced him otherwise. “Yeah, let’s get this done. We’re too close to quit now.”

Nine hours later they shook hands.

The next morning they double-checked the calculations and dug the final hundred feet to the sluice gate Adam had put up at the riverbank. While Davis looked on, Joe raised the gate, and water splashed into the main irrigation ditch. Pilcher the foreman muttered, “It’ll never work.”

They watched as the water ran down the main trench and then flowed into the dozens of narrow channels crossing the field, and Joe whooped and pounded Adam on his bruised and sore back as the water went exactly where it was supposed to. Davis and his daughter Susan hugged Joe, and Pilcher spat on the ground and stalked away.

With a meaningful look at his brother, Joe shrugged off Davis’s thanks and winked at the daughter. “We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning,” Adam told Davis, and then headed to the bunkhouse for a well-earned rest.

“They’ll be okay now,” Joe told his brother emphatically as he caught up.

“I think so,” Adam agreed.

“Yup.” Joe fell silent then, thinking.

Adam said nothing. Nor did he dare to glance at his brother from the corner of his eye. But he was pretty sure he knew what was going through Joe’s mind.

Joe, you can’t bargain with God. I know; I’ve tried. You can fix other people’s lives up all you want, but it’s not going to fix your own. You’ve got to do that yourself, buddy, and nobody else can fix it for you. Not Pa, not Hoss, and for sure not me—I can’t even fix mine.

But from the look on Joe’s face as they got to the bunkhouse, Adam realized Joe had probably just figured all that out for himself. He opted not to say anything—Joe’s tolerance for more tangled philosophical questions had never been high, anyway, and now…well. Besides, Adam had no idea what to say. He tumbled into his bunk and was asleep before Joe had taken off his shirt and boots.

The next morning Adam woke just before daylight. He stretched painfully and sighed, wondering where Joe would want to go today, and how soon they’d leave. Poking the top bunk and getting no reply, he stood and reached out to rouse his sleeping brother. But there was no one there.

Pilcher was in the barn talking to two other hands when Adam arrived.

“You seen Joe?” Adam demanded.

Pilcher just looked at him. Then he spat a stream of tobacco juice and said, “He took off last night about an hour or two after that great demonstration you and him put on. I figured you was probably goin’ with him, or that you at least knew about it.”

“Do you know which way he went?”

With an impatient frown, Pilcher said, “He don’t work for me now, so I don’t know or care which way he went. And since you don’t work for me now, I’d appreciate it if you’d get outta here your own damn self.”

Chapter 43

June, 1875

By the time Hop Sing brought in the tray loaded with finger sandwiches and tea, most of the crying and other female silliness was out of the way and the two women were bringing each other up to date with their lives.

“You didn’t!” Tilly exclaimed as Hop Sing walked in.

“I certainly did. We were married for almost two weeks. Long enough to actually get to know him and be horrified at the thought of spending the rest of my life with him. A man that handsome, face chiseled out of marble…and then turned out his brain was made of marble too.”

“But where is he? You didn’t just leave him!”

“Well, I think I would’ve, but he saved me the trouble and tried to rob a jewelry shop. I told you he wasn’t too bright. Police shot him dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too—but don’t get the wrong idea. I’m sorry he’s dead, but not that he’s not around me anymore. I guess I should be a widow now—but I never changed my papers over to his name, and when I found out he was dead, I didn’t bother—especially since the gendarmes were sniffing around as if I was part of his criminal life! When I thought about it, I realized he probably married me for a ticket out of France—he was already wanted by the law. I guess you could say I had the best part of the marriage, since he died before the honeymoon was over.”

“I can’t believe you did that! You were always the one who was worried about propriety!”

“Heavens, Tilly, I was in France! And he was a Galician, anyway.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Ages. Before I went to St. Bart’s. I had to go before a board to be allowed in—they weren’t keen on women students, even though they’d let in a few before. So one of them—pompous windbag—said, ‘Really, Miss Hoffman, are you sure you can cope with seeing the full, unencumbered male anatomy?’ I said ‘Why don’t you take off your clothes and we’ll find out?’”

“NO!”

“Well, they let me in,” the cousin said. “I think I proved to ’em I wasn’t going to faint, anyhow, although I thought that windbag was gonna faint himself.”

Tired of waiting for a break in the silly conversation, Hop Sing called, “Tea on platter! Food on platter! Missy Tilly, you gonna eat or do I carry out Mr. Ben threat and force it down?”

“What did you say?” the cousin snapped at him.

“Please, people—I’m eating, I’m eating,” Tilly giggled.

Amazing, Hop Sing thought, just how much color had come back into her with the arrival of her rude cousin. He left the room satisfied…but had no time to remain that way as he heard the galloping hoof beats skidding to a halt outside, and Ben’s voice shouting, “Hop Sing!”

He rushed downstairs, wondering which Cartwright had been shot this time.

**

Well, this was a nice change, Tilly thought. She and Ben were in the same room, but this time both were standing together, and it was her cousin Charlotte in the hot seat. Not that Charlotte seemed to know it. And Hop Sing wasn’t even yelling at Tilly for being out of bed.

Ben said, “It’s not that I don’t believe you’re a doctor. I’d just like to know your qualifi—”

“Let’s just say I’m more qualified than you,” Charlotte replied serenely, and bent over the couch where Audun lay.

“This is no time to voir dire.” Tilly pulled Ben back. “Why didn’t you go to Virginia City?”

“I did.” Ben sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. “I knew Paul wouldn’t be there, but I thought Kam Lee might be available…and then found out he went with Paul! I—”

“Mr. Cartwright, tell me something useful,” Charlotte said over her shoulder. “If you can’t, then hush and let me listen to the patient.”

“I like you,” Audun said faintly.

Charlotte smiled. “I like you too. What’s your name?”

“His name’s Audun, and he’s twelve,” Ben spoke up. “He claims he was bitten by a rattlesnake two days ago.” He sighed and looked helplessly at Tilly. “He also says the rattlesnake is his best friend, and it spoke to him and told him he’s immune to venom.”

“More likely it was a dry bite,” Charlotte muttered. “Audun, did your leg swell when—”

“Not till I cut it with my knife.” Audun sounded chastised. “I was foolish. I panicked.”

“Hell’s bells, boy, I would’ve panicked too,” Charlotte said with a grin. “Lie back now. Hey, Chinaman! What’s your name again, Hopsy? Just give me one name, not two.”

“My family name is Hop,” Hop Sing replied, standing straight and stiff, and Tilly, mortified, resolved to talk to Charlotte at first opportunity about her manners.

“Okay, Hop, I need you to bring me a big pitcher of water, along with some baking soda, salt, sugar, and…have you got an orange or a banana?”

Hop Sing bowed and headed to the kitchen.

“You think it’s…just dehydr…” Audun began coughing.

“As a matter of fact, I know,” Charlotte replied. “So you know what ‘dehydration’ is, Audun?”

Audun sighed, “Of course.”

“Well, I don’t!” Ben snapped. “Is this a medical term?”

“Yes, it’s a medical term.” Charlotte looked back at him. “It means he doesn’t have enough fluid inside to keep his body going. Now I’m thinking you’ve probably had a heat stroke, too, boy, but we’ve got different words for that. And you need to lie still and keep quiet.”

“Ah,” Ben said, looking at Tilly. “I guess I do know what dehydration is. So do you.”

“All right, all right.” Tilly waved an impatient hand. “What are we going to do about it?”

“I’m going to mix up a solution to replenish his fluids,” Charlotte replied. “It’s better than just drinking water, but I’ll warn you, Audun, it’s going to taste like horse pee. But you’re going to drink it anyway, or I’ll get a syringe and put it into you that way.”

“I will drink it,” Audun said, his voice hoarse. “I have been silly enough for the time being.”

Ben looked at Tilly with wide eyes. Tilly managed to raise her eyebrows back at him, but neither could answer the other’s question.

“Grandfather,” Audun said, and coughed again.

“Hey, I said you need to be quiet,” Charlotte admonished. “And lie back.”

“In a minute—” he painfully cleared his throat. “Grandfather…”

Ben stood unsteadily and leaned over the couch to take Audun’s hand. “I’m here, Audun.”

“I know,” Audun said, managing an Adam-like smirk. “You always have been, whether I knew it or not. Thank you.”

Chapter 44

June, 1875

“I think he’ll be okay,” Charlotte said as the two of them looked down at the sleeping boy. “Who is he, anyway, and how does he know so much about medicine? And what the dickens was he doing wandering around the desert?”

“He’s my son, Audun. Well, stepson. By his account he’s been a healer most of his life—and since he’s been here he’s been studying medicine with both the town doctors.” Tilly took her arm and guided her back into Ben’s study, where she pointed to the photographs on the wall. “Recognize anybody?”

“Well…” Charlotte considered the photos. “The boy—Audun—looks a lot like this fellow here—” and she indicated Adam—“but I thought for sure you’d have married this one…” and she pointed to a picture of Joe. “I remember you always liked the pretty ones.” Then they found themselves standing in front of Adam and Tilly’s wedding photo. “But this lean, dark guy…he’s really Adam?”

“That one’s Adam.”

“Hmmm. I guess people’s tastes can change, but that’s quite a difference.”

Tilly shrugged. “And my son the doctor over there…” she waved. “Audun was the one who healed Adam—in four months—of a skin infection that Dr. Joseph Lister said would take six to eight months to heal.”

“I’m impressed, I guess. But where is Adam? And the other one—your father said they left town. Some roundup or something?”

“No…Joe’s wife died recently, and Joe…well, he needed to sort himself out. Adam went along.”

“And left you pregnant and with that little monster who likes to run off into the desert? This sure isn’t the romantic ideal I remember you describing in our youth, Lily Tilly.”

“I got over my obsession with the romantic ideal a long time ago,” Tilly chuckled. “And don’t say ‘pregnant’ in front of Ben; he’ll faint.”

“You sure married into a strange set of people—I heard things in town that’d turn a woman’s hair white.”

“There are families, and there are the Cartwrights. They’re everything a normal family is—only more so.” She looked Charlotte in the eye. “Do you understand?”

“Not at all.”

“All right…I’ll explain it.” She took a deep breath. “They have their quirks, like any family, but most of theirs are good quirks. Prime rule in the Cartwright world is, they may fight each other from time to time, but they’ll band together to fight the world. They’re probably the closest family I’ve ever known. Second rule: you don’t come between one Cartwright and another. Never, ever.”

“All right, if you say so.”

“And since any Cartwright rule pretty much extends automatically to Hop Sing, Charlotte, you and I are going to have what my father-in-law would call a ‘necessary talk.’ Following that, you will apologize to my friend.”

“Huh? The Chinaman? What are you talking about? I told him to bring me some stuff and he brought it.”

“I’m talking about Hop Sing, a loyal friend who has given twenty-seven years of his life to the Cartwright family. He’s usually treated like dirt by people in Virginia City, but it will not happen here.”

“What do you mean? He talked to you like you were…did you not hear what he said to you? He threatened to push food down your throat!”

“Hop Sing cares about me, which is why he talked that way. I’m flattered that he values me so much. He talks to all the Cartwrights that way.”

“Tilly, he’s a servant. Servants work for people; they don’t love ’em. You don’t bow and scrape to servants, and servants keep to their place and don’t threaten their employers, even if they’re fond of ’em.”

“You spent too much time in England. Hop Sing is also from a culture that’s thousands of years old, one that knows things about medicine that few whites know even now. He’s no slave or servant. He’s stayed with this family for years instead of following his own dreams just because he loves these people. I won’t have you treating him with disrespect. I mean it.”

“I’ll blame your overreaction on your condition,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not overreacting. You will apologize to Hop Sing.”

“He’s a foreigner—”

“He’s lived in this country longer than you or I have been alive, and he is very much a part of the family. He is a kind, wise man—Audun adores him, and they call each other by Chinese names that mean ‘big brother’ and ‘little brother.’ I love you, Charlotte, and I’d hate to lose you again right after all you went through to find me, but if you want to stay here, you will make things right with Hop Sing—and you’ll never again treat him the way you did earlier today.”

“If it means that much to you, I will,” Charlotte muttered. “But it’s hardly unique, you know. I’m rude to all men. Ask your in-laws; I was rude to them too. Men are all asses, and I have no use for ’em.”

“Well, get ready for a change. The men here are special.”

“Fine,” said Charlotte, her voice in disagreement with the word. “But first I want to check your baby.”

“Huh?”

Charlotte produced a stethoscope like Audun’s. “Just a quick listen. I won’t even pull up your gown.”

“I should hope not,” Tilly muttered. “We’re in the middle of the living room.”

Charlotte moved the stethoscope around for a moment and then settled on one spot, listening. “Hmm.” She looked surprisingly sober. “Do you really feel all right?”

“I guess I do. Has it died on me yet?”

“Oh, it’s definitely alive!” She bit her bottom lip.

“Well, what is it then? Obviously something’s wrong with it.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because something’s been wrong with the last four before this one; they all died. And because I had a stupid moment yesterday and drank enough brandy to kill a moose.”

“Moose, maybe, but you’re okay and so’s—” she waved her hand. “Got names picked out?”

“No. I won’t name this one unless it lives for at least three days.”

“Tell me what happened before.”

As briefly as possible, Tilly listed each loss.

Charlotte thought for a moment. “You ready for the good news and bad news?”

Tilly tilted her head.

“The first two likely didn’t get a good grip on your womb. They have to be firmly attached or they’ll come loose. I expect the doctors in Scotland told you that. The third one, probably the same thing. Tipped uterus, Tilly—even lying down won’t help much when it’s that bad. But you lasted a little longer that time.”

“I lasted the whole way for the fourth one.” Tears were in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “What happened to her?”

“Without having been there, I couldn’t say for sure, but if her skin color was blueish, she suffocated. My money’s on meconium aspiration. That means the baby swallowed some amniotic fluid—the liquid babies float in—that contained waste; it happens more than you’d think. Sometimes you can fix it and sometimes you can’t. Audun might’ve known more of what to do for it than Alice, though. You should’ve kept him around.”

“Oh, God.” Tilly’s face went pale. “He wanted to stay…I sent him out.”

“Well, like I said, sometimes you can’t do anything anyway,” Charlotte backtracked hastily. “I don’t know. I just think he would have known more things to try than Alice did, unless Alice was a midwife. People who don’t deliver a lot of babies seldom come across a situation like that, so it’s normal that you and Alice didn’t know what to do. Look, every baby is different, and every pregnancy is different. You sit down and think long and hard about that…and I’ll go find your Chinaman and make nice to him.”

Chapter 45

July, 1875

It took more than two weeks of searching before Adam found Joe—in an effort to lose his brother, Joe had abandoned his circular pattern and headed southwest. It probably wouldn’t have taken as long if Adam had had Hoss along; Hoss wouldn’t have made stupid assumptions; he would have spent a few hours searching for tracks. Adam, stiff, tired and only half awake, simply headed back toward Silver Peak, but found out soon enough he’d been wrong. His learning of Joe’s location was as unplanned as anything else on the trip so far; he fell in with a couple of fellows just coming back from Shingle Springs who had encountered a fellow on a “coffee-drinkin’ paint cayuse.” “Mean little cuss started a fight with us,” they reported, “an’ all we did was ask ’im ’bout his horse’s bev’age pref’nces.”

Adam found him—drunk—in Pizen Switch jail for threatening to set fire to the saloon’s thatched roof if the dancing girls didn’t do a can-can. Adam managed to placate the sheriff and pay the bail. The next morning Joe was released and without waiting for Adam, he left again. This time, however, Adam had learned from his mistakes. He slept in the livery stable with Cochise, and as soon as Joe came in he woke and followed. Joe sighed in resignation, but said nothing and rode on. Adam sighed too, wistfully looking at the rugged mountains in the distance. Carson City lay just beyond them. But Joe was heading south into the desert. Again.

For a week they rode in near silence; Adam thought at one point they had probably crossed into California, but he wasn’t sure, and his mention to Joe only brought a cross look and “you gonna be a tour guide when you grow up?” Adam retreated into silence again, wishing more than ever for a book. Pizen Switch had been a farming community, and nobody there seemed to have so much as a Bible for sale.

**

There was a dead coyote lying just off the trail, dried blood caked in its stiff gray fur. This far from any human population, it didn’t seem like it would’ve been much of a threat, but someone had shot it. The reason—if there had been a reason—would never be known. Adam reined Sport in and stared. His months with the Nez Perce had been full of legends about Coyote and his antics, games, and tricks; the Nez Perce regarded coyotes with kinder eyes than whites. But then, Young Joseph’s band had only just begun to breed cattle; their relationship with the mythical tricksters would probably be altered forever once the coyote became an earnest rival for food.

He stole another glance at the dead predator. Most coyotes he had seen were shades of brownish-yellow, but this one had white belly fur and a silver-gray coat. He turned away, his gorge rising as he remembered that day only four months ago when he’d lost Lady.

Joe saw what Adam had been looking at, shrugged in disgust, and kept going. But Adam sat, flexing his right hand and thinking back to a time when all the fingers had worked properly. If it hadn’t been for Max, those fingers might still work, and he and Joe might have been at home. Oh, it wouldn’t have changed what had happened to Lady…or Alice…but at least Alice’s death could have been avenged; Lady wouldn’t have died for nothing. But…he couldn’t blame his fingers. They hadn’t worked well that day, but then his mind hadn’t worked too well either.

He dismounted and leaned against Sport for a minute, but with the smell of blood in his nostrils, Sport was fidgety. Adam backed him up a few feet, then pulled out his short-handled spade and went to work as Joe disappeared in the distance. Joe had never heard what happened to Lady—nobody at the Ponderosa had. God willing, they never would.

As he dug, Adam permitted himself, just for a moment, to wonder what would happen if Joe ever learned about Lady, because if he found out about Lady, it followed that he would find out about Alice. The least of it would be that Joe would never speak to him again; he was certain of that. At the most…well, he supposed Joe would kill him, and maybe he’d be right to.

Months of questions had been answered that day, all in the space of two minutes. The mystery of John Harper’s debts. All Adam’s Grand Terre memories thought forever lost. All the questions about why Tilly moaned each night for Max and called Adam a bastard. But the cost, oh God, the cost….

March, 1875

Joe had come to the Ponderosa before leaving again, but this time he brought Bonnie along and asked if he could leave her with Tilly. Alice had been having a lot of sickness of late, he explained, and he didn’t know if it was part of her “confinement” woes, or something contagious. Adam had agreed, of course, because he already knew Tilly would say yes…although he personally felt it was bothering her more than she let on, always taking care of Hoss’s and Joe’s children, and even Adam’s child, all the while knowing she would never produce one of her own. He took the baby to Tilly, who hugged her delightedly and then set her on the floor to play with Rob. Bonnie immediately whopped him over the head with her rattle, but this bothered Rob not at all; he took the rattle away from her and began chewing on it.

“Bobbin, me!” Bonnie said.

Rob just looked at her and continued to chew, and Bonnie decided to find a different toy to play with, so Adam walked with Joe back to the horses.

“I’ll be back day after tomorrow,” Joe told Adam. “Tell Tilly we appreciate it.”

Adam watched as he left.

Adam had done his best to avoid Alice since that embarrassing incident two weeks earlier, so he persuaded Hoss to go and check on Alice the first day Joe was gone. The morning after that—the day Joe was supposed to come home—Hoss looked peaked and began to cough. Ben told Adam that Becker and Lloyd could do without him that day. “Family comes first. You know that.”

Not in the mood for a lecture, Adam snapped back, “If she’s family, she might try living here when Joe’s off serving Cartwright and country. God knows you force everyone else to, Pa.”

His father had looked duly chastised at that, but made no reply, and Adam sighed and went to saddle Sport. Lady slid out the door just before it shut, and followed him as she always did. He stopped in the yard to pat her. “You oughtta stay here,” he said. “That’s a long run, and your leg’s been bugging you.” She ignored his words and licked his hand, and then began to dance circles around him as if in a deliberate attempt to prove him wrong. Finally he pushed her away. “I have to get moving—you stay here, okay?”

Of course she followed him to the barn, and while he took his time saddling Sport, he looked for a way to make her stay home without actually commanding it—she always looked so hurt when he ordered her to stay behind. Well, maybe if her leg starts to ache, she’ll turn back, he finally concluded. She’s only nine years old…why would Audun think she’s getting arthritis?

Nine years. She’d been two, nearly three, when he got her; she’d traveled to Spain, Italy, and France with him and Tilly, then spent a year and a half with Liam in London during the European war and Adam’s Pacific exile. She’d stayed with Adam, even sleeping with him during his long, slow recovery, often crawling over Tilly to console him during his nightmares since. She’d visited the Nez Perce with him and impressed everyone from the children to the chief. It had never occurred to Adam that she was getting older, that she might have to slow down, but now that he really looked, he suddenly realized the tip of her remaining ear—which had always been black—had gone white.

Nine years. How long did collies live? How long did any dogs live? He’d never had one before and never really known.

As Adam led Sport from the barn, Duke rushed up. Well, he could definitely order Duke to stay home. Lady had always graciously allowed Adam to share his love with Audun and Tilly, but she drew the line at Duke. So Duke ended up lying forlornly on the porch and watching him, Sport, and Lady disappear around the barn and into the naked trees.

Joe’s little yellow house sat in a clearing—“five acres of nothing,” Adam had thought the first time he’d seen it—so you could see it a good half-mile away. Lady, well familiar with the trail, was far ahead of him already. Adam had been watching her run, envying the joy the dog took in something as simple as running through a field, but seeing her stop and begin to growl, he looked up toward the house—and his eyebrows came down in consternation to see five horses standing ground-tied in the yard. Something was not right.

He’d only been walking Sport, since his back had been a little achy that morning; now he kicked him into a gallop just as four men emerged from the house. Sport stumbled but quickly recovered, and Adam stuck tight although his eyes were on the men. Two of them were smeared with blood; one looked somehow familiar, for all he was only partly in view—and he was carrying Alice’s music box. The last man was giggling maniacally.

“Lady, get them!” Adam shouted without thinking, and Lady responded without hesitating. The three men already on their horses took off at a gallop as Lady hurled herself into the air and landed squarely on the back of the giggler, knocking him away from his horse and grabbing his right arm in her jaws. Wolf-like, she slashed his arm to ribbons and then went for his throat; Adam threw himself off Sport and charged into the house…only to trip over some broken crockery and crash to the floor, his hands outstretched helplessly.

He pushed himself up to his knees and suddenly everything took on a bizarre, almost dreamlike quality: he saw Alice, or rather, what was left of Alice, literally decorating the kitchen. Her entrails had been draped all around the room like a popcorn string on a Christmas tree…various other body parts never meant to see the light of day were strewn across the blood-smeared floor, the counter, the stove; the baby was in the dishpan…it was a morbidly artistic arrangement. Alice’s eyes were wide and empty, the pupils dilated, the blood around her mouth smeared into an elaborate and obscene Cupid’s bow; her throat had been slit and a necklace arranged over it. Her dress had been cut from her and spread neatly across the table. As he reached a shaking hand to close her eyes, he found himself distracted, hoping all the horrendous artwork had been done after she was dead. And the part of his brain that never stopped working, no matter what, coldly informed him that those men had wanted this to be seen. For some reason, they had wanted Joe to see it.

He heard a gun go off outside, and he reached for his Colt in its holster as he staggered back out, but his sore fingers caught on the edge of the holster, slowing his draw. The man Lady had attacked was again attempting to mount up, and Lady was lying on the ground, panting. The oddly familiar man with the music box was sitting motionless on his horse a little way off, smiling as the smoke wafted from his gun. “Next time a debt is due, Cartwright, pay up,” he called with a smile.

Adam had his Colt raised about halfway when he saw the man’s smooth face and dark blond hair. He looked like…he looked like…oh God, he looked like…Max?

Max…who’d mercilessly supervised Adam’s torture for four months, while pretending to be his only friend…who’d told him all kinds of stories about how he’d complied with Adam’s wishes, had taken Tilly away to safety, and how she had turned to Max for comfort and stayed for passion…Max, who’d taken a personal interest in seeing just how far he could break a man by adding psychological elements to the physical torture even when he knew there was no information to be had. Max, whose enjoyment of hurting people bordered on madness…Max, who particularly enjoyed hurting Adam, although he remained sickeningly polite the whole time…

And Adam’s knees gave out; he dropped to the ground from pure shock just as the man fired his gun again. Thinking the bullet must have reached its target, the man holstered his weapon, turning to ride off, while his injured compatriot followed as fast as he could.

Still lying on the ground, Adam looked over at Lady. Panting faster and louder than he’d ever heard, she had her eyes fixed on him; he reached out to her as he saw the blood spreading through her thick, stiff gray fur, and he laid his hand on her cheek. She looked pleadingly at him, and then the loud panting stopped; she shuddered, and was still.

He remained kneeling there for moment, his mind a blank, unable to let the enormity of it all sink in. He got up, wondering what to do now. Surely he had to do something. Alice was dead; he was pretty sure of it…yes, yes, Alice was dead…Lady was dead…Max had killed them. No, Max wasn’t here, but—he wasn’t, was he? Of course it hadn’t been Max, but…who was he? And why was Alice dead? He got up and went back into the house. He would not look in that dishpan again…and who knew what else had been done to Alice? And why had any of it been done? Alice was the least harmful person he’d ever known; she hadn’t deserved this. And why was she just lying there like it didn’t matter? Didn’t she realize she was dead, and how wrong it all was?

And then, at about the time he took the dress from the table and covered her, the reaction finally set in. He began to shake all over, and for the third time in just a few minutes, found himself on his hands and knees. It seemed his stomach suddenly realized just how much was wrong with the universe then, too, and he began to retch uncontrollably.

His shaking did not stop, even after the heaving did, but somehow his mind began to return, and he began to wonder why there had been five horses outside when there had only been four riders. Had they intended Alice to leave with them? No…think, dammit! You’re supposed to be the smart one! Why is my brain locking itself in the outhouse when I need it? There must have been someone else with them…someone who’s still here… He got up and drew his Colt, wondering why he bothered, since whoever else was here must also be unable to move or they would already have shown up.

In the little living room, just in front of the bedroom door, lay a dead man, shot through the heart at close range—the powder burns were plain through the blood on the white shirt. The man’s face seemed somehow familiar, and then Adam saw the resemblance. This must’ve been Alice’s brother. Hoss had warned Adam that if “that no-count John Harper” ever showed up, Adam should never give him money. “He thinks Joe’s flush, Adam, so he takes ev’ry opportunity to suck him dry like a tick. Doesn’t know Joe’s makin’ his fortune by building the lumber business. Prob’ly wouldn’t care if he did. He’s come around me and Pa lookin’ for handouts too. Don’t give him a dime. I dunno how a thoroughbred girl like Alice got saddled with such a deadbeat cull for a brother.”

He went through the man’s pockets until he found a wallet that identified him. I need to take this to Sheriff Coffee. Please God, I’ll just hitch the wagon and get Alice to the undertaker—and get that mess out of the kitchen before Joe sees just what’s been done. No one should look on his worst enemy like that—a man should never, ever in this life have to see his wife that way.

He made his way weakly out of the house and then heard a whinny from the barn a short distance away. He went to the barn and opened the door. The wagon was gone, as was the team of matched bays…but Cochise was there.

Joe had ridden Cochise out of town two days before, hadn’t he? So Joe had returned earlier than expected—probably last night. Then he’d gone out this morning with the wagon and team, maybe just to town. Good God. He might be on his way back right now…but…he can’t see this! He can’t see her like this!

That was the only clear thought in his muddled mind—he had to protect his brother. Even Hoss had only seen Veralyn after she’d been swaddled in pretty quilts; he’d never seen the mess on the bed or the rug underneath. They’d cleaned all that up before he got home. No self-respecting older brother could allow his baby brother to see his wife like this; to see his unborn child like…oh God, Paris…no, by all that was holy, Joe would never go through that. So what if it meant letting the killers get away. Adam had plenty of time to find them, and find them he would. He knew what they looked like, and at least one of them had been badly mauled. Lady had been the kind of dog who could be poked and prodded by a curious child, but she would gladly tear an intruder apart. That man’s arm had to be hanging in strips.

Logic, motive, and method combined when he saw the barrel of oil on the back porch. Gotta work fast. Joe might be back any time, and he must not find out what Max has done.

July, 1875

Adam shoveled another spade of dirt over the grave. No wonder Tilly thinks I’m insane. I’m tearing up over a dead coyote. Why?

Maybe because he’d never cried over Lady, he realized as another silent tear slid down his face.

March, 1875

The oil had been spread throughout the house and Alice had been doused with it. He began striking the matches: one on the living room curtains, one on the bed—cloth burned like kindling and would ensure the blaze was big enough to eat into the surrounding wood. He remembered the first time he’d seen the house; Joe must have taken his silence for disapproval, for he’d instantly yammered off some blather about the support beams being good quality, even if the siding was a little old—he didn’t plan to live in this house too long, anyway. He was going to build a nice place for Alice just as soon as he got the lumber business going. Adam wondered at the time why Joe was being so defensive, but had said nothing. Now he only prayed the siding was really as dry as Joe feared it was; he needed this place to burn like the fires of hell. Joe must be protected at all costs. He pushed the bar across the kitchen door, bolting it, then grabbed another blanket to guard himself against broken glass before jumping out of the back window.

He stayed around just long enough to release Cochise from the barn—couldn’t take a chance on sparks, after all—and to make sure the house was well and truly ablaze. Once he’d planted John Harper’s wallet in the saddlebag of the ground-tied horse, he wrapped Lady in the blanket, picked her up—his back screamed in protest but he ignored it—and caught Sport. Sport shied and reared at the bloody bundle, but Adam persisted.

He led John Harper’s horse off a safe distance and let it go. It was a livery horse; if it went home, they’d check the bags and identify the owner; if it was found nearby, easier still. It wouldn’t make Alice any less dead, but at least Joe’d been spared the sight of her, and when they found two bodies in the wreckage, Joe would know the other man had only been Alice’s brother. He wouldn’t have to wonder why some other man had been in the house. There was peace in certainty, Adam thought. He guided Sport up to the lake, bearing Lady’s body over the saddle and knowing he couldn’t put her in the family plot where Alice would soon lie…at the least, Pa would look on it as sacrilege to put a dog there…but by God, she had died for the family… she had been family, whether Pa liked it or not. She had loved Adam when no one else had; she had earned the place she held in his heart, and now she’d have her own little spot near the lake; she’d earned that too.

Chapter 46

July, 1875

In two weeks Audun was ready to be up and around again, but he found four adults in a united front against him. Hoss was so distracted he might have been easy enough to fool, Audun thought, and if Tilly was still trying to win his approval and his latest adventure hadn’t frightened her too badly, he might have chanced her as well. But Charlotte called herself a doctor, and despite Paul’s telling him women didn’t make good doctors, she seemed competent, much as his mother Ruth had been. And his grandfather…well, he had circumvented him before, but lying out in the desert near death had given him a lot of time to reflect on many things…including Ben Cartwright. And some of those revelations had showed Audun that perhaps the laughing Moon wasn’t the only one who could be cruel. He knew it for certain when he woke up in his grandfather’s arms sometime during the ride home, and later, when he had seen the moisture in the man’s eyes as his grandfather took his hand and said “I’m here.”

So maybe for now he would just stay in the house and do as he was told. For now, he would let them fuss over him. It was nice to get a little fussing over now and then, he thought. And sure, he was a man now, and sure, the Nimiipuu let no one, not even the chief, break their autonomy—but the warriors at least listened when the chief asked for their cooperation, and they usually cooperated.

Thus, each day for the remainder of the week he submitted to being carried downstairs and spending the day on the sofa, trying not to listen as Tilly and Charlotte made women-talk, trying to amuse himself by watching Bonnie and Robin. Hoss and Ben were gone much of the time, and he hadn’t seen Hop Sing for a couple of days. Eventually he grabbed a nearby book from his father’s bookcase and took that in an attempt at entertainment…but the book was terribly boring. All except one brief passage near the bottom of page 103…

He looked up when he heard “doctors” being mentioned.

“You know, Lily-Tilly, I can’t stay out here forever. But I’ve been thinking, if Virginia City’s only got two stable, in-place doctors right now, I might open my practice there. I’d like to stay around you if you don’t mind—you’re the only relative I’ve got left. So I’ve been thinking either Virginia City or Carson City; one’s about the same as the other to me. But since the Cartwrights seem to have such sway around this part of the country, maybe I could get away with it.”

“What do you mean ‘get away with it’? You mean because you’re a woman?”

“Well, you know how men can be,” Charlotte shrugged, and Audun mumbled something in exasperation.

“With Paul and Dr. Kam both in San Francisco right now, it might be a good time, at that,” Tilly observed. “Injuries and illnesses don’t stop just because the men went out of town.”

“San Francisco,” Charlotte murmured with a smile. “Well, it does make things easier for me.”

“I don’t see why you think Dr. Martin and Dr. Kam will be so opposed to your presence,” Audun put in. “They’re both overworked. Other doctors have passed through before, but no one ever stays for long, though many have tried to persuade them. If you’re a good doctor, Dr. Martin and Dr. Kam will want you in town.”

“You’re a nice boy, Audun, but you’re awful naïve,” Charlotte chuckled. “Yeah, you’d think fellow professionals would want to help, especially considerin’ just how overworked the docs would have to be in a place like this—but men never want to share.”

“Perhaps Dr. Martin would have to give the matter some thought, but he would agree once you prove yourself. And Dr. Kam would not mind,” Audun protested. “He thinks my mother was a great healer.”

“Did he ever help her set up a practice?”

“He never met her. He thinks she was good because she trained me.”

“See? It’s easy to respect someone from a distance.”

“But he helps me all the time.”

“Sure. But you are a kid. You’re also a male kid. Men always help each other. And they like to help women when it comes to crossing a street or picking up a parcel. But you show me any man in Virginia City who’s ever helped a woman to start a business….”

“You’re in the house of one,” Tilly cut in. “Ben Cartwright went to the bank and told them if they didn’t let Beth Cameron have the money to expand her store, he’d pull out his own money. Beth told me all about it.”

“But didn’t he marry her?”

“Those were completely unrelated events,” Tilly insisted.

“Says Ben,” Charlotte muttered. “Men always have ulterior motives. Okay. If you and Desert-Wandering Monster here are sure you’re all right, I’m going back to my room. I need to do a little accounting and see if I can afford to spend anything right now. Then I’ll need to find myself an office to set up, and a few soiled doves to put the word out that women can come to one of their own if they have a complaint.”

“You make it sound as if you’re a soiled dove yourself—whatever that means,” Audun said. “And my name is Audun—not ‘Desert-Wandering Monster.’ Once it is time for the winter dances, I will have another name, because I am also not the ‘boy’ or ‘kid’ you have called me. I am a man now.”

“Says you. I like my version better. And as for soiled doves…ow! What the—” she jumped and glared at Audun, who had held his book out to her as she passed, but accidentally poked her in the leg with it.

“I’m sorry.” Audun laid back and shut his eyes. “I thought you might want to take this with you—it belongs in my room upstairs, and I was going to sleep.”

“All right.” She took a deep breath. “Sorry I fussed at you.”

“You sure are jumpy,” Tilly commented to Charlotte, then picked up Robin and sniffed. “I thought so. What a little stinker you are. C’mere.”

“Speak for yourself, fuss-budget,” Charlotte replied. “And what in the dickens is this boy doing, reading this book?” She waved the offending volume.

“It’s one of my father’s books,” Audun protested, opening his eyes again. “I’ve been encouraged to read all his books, ever since I came here.”

“What is it?” Tilly asked from the floor, with a large safety pin in her mouth.

“The Scarlet Letter!” Charlotte brandished the book almost under her nose. Tilly took it away from her, primarily to safeguard her nose, as Charlotte went on, “Do you know what this is about?”

“Well…” Audun contemplated. “I think it means the woman in the book is now a soiled dove.”

“Ulggghhh!” Charlotte retorted, and flounced out of the room.

Once she was safely out of earshot, Audun looked at Tilly. “Doctors shouldn’t be so squeamish.”

Tilly thought for a minute as she pinned on the fresh diaper and sent Robin on his way to waddle across the room again. “Remember a while back, when I told you I thought you were very mature? I don’t think Charlotte’s used to boys as mature as you. This is a grown-up book.”

Audun considered this. “I’m not sure why she would make such a fuss, though. The writer hints and hints, but will not make his point. You know, in spite of all the consternation over this letter ‘A,’ he has never yet used the word it represents.”

“Well…” Tilly blushed. “I think he wanted people to figure it out on their own.”

“But it’s simply ‘adultery,’ isn’t it? Is this another Soyapo rude word?”

Tilly nodded.

“I think this is one of those white customs that will never make sense to me,” Audun muttered. “Among the Nimiipuu, the woman would have had her nose cut off, but then it would never be mentioned again, and her children would certainly not be considered bad.”

“Indians cut off a woman’s nose for adultery?”

“The Nimiipuu would. I only speak for them. I don’t know what other tribes do. But I will tell you this, Tilly—among the Nimiipuu adultery almost never happens. They are smart enough to know that sometimes a marriage doesn’t work, and when that happens, it’s easy to break it. There’s nothing to forbid a divorce, no matter whether it’s the man or the woman who wants it. So I don’t know why…Tilly, you look sick. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Tilly smiled weakly. “Are you…um…going to finish the book?”

“I guess so. Someday my father will come back, and I want to read a few of his books so he will know…” and he found he didn’t know exactly how to finish the sentence.

“You might not want to let your grandfather see you reading it, though,” Tilly said. “He might react like Charlotte.”

“Oh, but Tilly, I have to tell him—look on page one hundred and three! He has to see it!”

She skimmed over the page but nothing really caught her interest until—“Oh. I see. You must mean this part about Dr. Chillingworth…?”

Audun chuckled, and then recited, “In his Indian captivity, moreover, he had gained much knowledge of the properties of native herbs and roots; nor did he conceal from his patients that these simple medicines, Nature’s boon to the untutored savage, had quite as large a share of his own confidence as the European Pharmacopoeia. I memorized that part just so I could tell him. Won’t my grandfather appreciate that? He told me if he ever found a white doctor who thought the Indians made good medicine, he would believe it.”

The look on Tilly’s face warned him that she had some doubts, but he went on, “And I must laugh a little at the notion that it was the pale Soyapo preacher who was the other party to the birth of the little girl. I think, next time I see Reverend Cook, I will have to ask him if he has read this story.”

Chapter 47

July, 1875

A scream split the darkness around the campfire. Adam bolted up to see Joe, eyes shut, wailing and waving his arms wildly. “Oh, God,” Adam whispered, and jumped up, but it was too late. Joe was thrusting both hands right into the fire.

“Alice! Alice!”

Adam grabbed him from behind, yanking him away from the fire as Joe fought against him, screaming for Alice.

**

Joe stared sullenly into the very fire he’d been lying in only moments before while Adam, kneeling by his side, covered his hands in honey and wrapped them with thick cotton strips. They hadn’t listened to most of the family’s protests before leaving the Ponderosa, but Hop Sing had caught Adam before he left. “Audun says you must take this with you.” The way he’d said it had sounded like a command—and, more importantly, it had nothing to do with leaving or staying—so Adam had put the package in his saddlebag. It had turned out to be an emergency medical kit, Audun-style, complete with honey and cinnamon for treating burns and wounds.

“Joe…” Adam began, unsure what he was going to say next.

Joe waved one bandaged hand. “Don’t wanna hear it, Older Brother.”

“This is the fourth time since I caught up with you. I had thought you were getting—”

“Was I not speakin’ clearly? If you don’t like it, don’t pull me out next time.”

“You’re not the only one who has nightmares,” Adam muttered.

“Well, don’t I know that? How many times did you try to strangle me…or Tilly…right after you got home? I’ve done more than my share patching you up, Adam. If you don’t like payin’ it back, then go home.”

“Why do you keep telling me to go home?”

“I thought it was obvious. I wanna be alone. It’s all I’ve wanted for months. For someone who’s supposed to be so smart, you musta never looked up the definition of ‘alone.’ It means ‘by myself.’ It means nobody else is around. In case you ain’t noticed, you’re always around! Even when I got rid of you, you came after me!”

“Joe…I miss her too, you know.”

“You bastard!” Joe shouted, taking a wild swing that missed him by six inches. “Everybody misses her, don’t they? But everybody wasn’t married to her! I’m the one who lost a wife, all right?”

“You’re not the only one who ever lost a wife!” Adam yelled back, knowing it would make things worse but past caring. “Hoss lost Veralyn just a year ago. And in case you forgot, our own father lost three wives!”

“He didn’t lose Alice,” Joe retorted in such a tone that Adam lost anything resembling sympathy for him.

“You’re pathetic,” he muttered.

What Joe said then was something that, past thirty or no, Pa would have tanned him for, but Adam was in no shape to provide a tanning, and he knew it. He settled for putting out the fire.

**

Joe sat Indian-still, staring into the darkness, while Adam doused the fire and resumed his makeshift bed. Guess I deserve to sleep cold after that, but I bet Adam’s the one who wakes up stiff come the morning. I probably shouldn’t have tried to hit him, even if he deserved it. He probably means well. But he just doesn’t know what I’m going through, and I’m damned if I’ll tell him. He’d never understand anyway. How could he? He’s got Tilly and Audun waiting for him. God only knows how he could leave them. He’s an idiot; I’d never do such a thing…

But I did, didn’t I? Even if my motives were good, I was gone and it made Alice feel bad…and hell, here I am now leaving Bonnie at home. Ah, she’s just a baby, she doesn’t even know I’m away. What does it matter? If she knew the truth she wouldn’t want me at home anyway. I built a shabby little shack for Alice to live in and it killed her and it’s my fault.

If I’d just built the house better…or gotten there half an hour earlier…if I’d left Bruce with her, he could have warned her…if I hadn’t gone into town at all…if I’d stayed there that day…oh God. She wanted me to. She was so happy when I got back early, and for a change, she really seemed glad I was back at all…we went to bed and loved each other like it was another honeymoon. First time in a long time, too…oh, Alice, honey, it was like the first time but even better…why didn’t I stay home?

But I only went to town; I didn’t even bother picking up Bonnie. I needed the time with Alice. I’d hurt her, I never quite figured out how, but I knew something was eating away at her. I guess I finally understood that she wanted me more than the trappings of success—one of the few women I ever knew who felt like that; maybe that’s why it took so long before I understood. I told her I was going to cut the trips out, that I wasn’t going anywhere again for months…that I’d finally figured out she was more important than teaching Pa and Adam that I was grown up…I just wanted to lay in some food and then we could hole up for a month, if she wanted, just the two of us. She didn’t want me to go into town. I did…and somehow, our house burned down, and she couldn’t get out…she nearly did, I saw part of her dress close to the door before Pa got me out…it was my fault. If I’d just built the house better…if I’d just left Bruce there instead of taking him in the wagon…if I’d just stayed home that day…oh, Alice….

Chapter 48

July, 1875

The door opened, and Hoss stuck his head in. “I’ve got the buggy ready to go, Cousin Charlotte.” He shut the door again.

Charlotte looked at Tilly. “What’s really wrong with him? I’ve been here more’n two weeks, and I don’t think he’s said three words the whole time.”

Tilly shook her head. “I told you. His wife died.”

“But it was over a year ago.”

“The first month was so bad I don’t know how he survived. I had to bring out Grossvater Hoffman’s deep-fried bacon recipe just to get him to eat again.”

“Well, that was a good recipe,” Charlotte acknowledged. “But I still don’t get it. I lost my husband and I lived. Hell’s bells, I knew a fellow in England whose wife died and he spent the next week talking everyone’s ears off—not to mention he had another wife before two months had gone by.”

“I tried to tell you, Charlotte, the Cartwrights are different.”

“Just like any other family only more so. Because that makes all the sense in the world.”

Tilly smiled. “It will, after you get to know them…and after you stop trying to find some selfish motive for everything they do.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Charlotte gave Tilly a quick peck on the cheek. “Hey, Audun, I’m told you have a stethoscope and you know how to use it. Is that true?”

“Sure. Dr. Martin had one of the first binaural stethoscope I ever saw, and my grandfather got one for me as a gift.”

“You know how to listen for a baby’s heartbeat?”

“No.” His face darkened. “I was never allowed to—the women said it was not proper.”

“Well, I’m a doctor and I want you to monitor your mother for me.” Charlotte looked at Tilly. “Any questions, Tilly?”

Tilly sighed. “All right.”

“Quick, before I leave—let me show you how.”

A moment later Audun looked soberly at Charlotte. “It sounds like an echo—”

“Just as it should. Check her at least once every week,” Charlotte said, her face stern with a warning Tilly could not understand. Then Charlotte gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Come into town when you’re up to it. I’ll send word where to find me. You can be one of my first respectable patients.”

Tilly murmured an answer, sounding uncertain. As the door closed behind Charlotte, Tilly turned to Audun. “Do you think she’s a good doctor?”

Audun thought, walking around the room. “She knows a lot. I wonder if she is as…brusque…to women as she is to men, though.”

“I have a feeling she’s not,” Tilly admitted. “Charlotte doesn’t seem to care much for men, not lately.”

“No. I think she’s been raped, but I don’t think she would like if I asked her.”

“What? Why would you think that? And how do you know…about that?”

“It happened several times while I lived with the Nimiipuu—usually white men would come upon a group of women digging for camas roots and force themselves on any women who couldn’t get away. My mother would treat the women, after. I was not allowed to stay, and I didn’t understand why since she let me assist at births. Maybe she feared I wouldn’t like white men if I heard such stories; I don’t know. But since I wanted to be a healer too, I…well, I found ways to listen to the talk.”

“You make me nervous sometimes, Audun. You know way more about women than a boy…um…than a young man should.”

“But I told you, my mother was a healer, and I wanted to be one. I watched and listened as much as I could.”

“How do you know, though—I mean, how do you know what women acted like afterward?”

Audun shrugged. “I watched them. Healers always watch the patients after a treatment. They were always different after such things. They were…jumpy…not liking to be touched by surprise…like Charlotte. Like you. Did it happen to you, too?”

Tilly gasped. “What? I was n—that’s not your business!”

Audun looked reproachfully at her. “You once said you would answer any question I asked.”

“Sure, but I had no idea you were going to ask the kinds of questions you ask, either.”

“Yes,” Audun grunted. “I see the difficulty now between Soyapo and Indians. When an Indian says ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ it means ‘yes’ or ‘no’. When a white person says it, it’s conditional. Tilly, I don’t ask you hard questions because it makes me happy. I ask because I need to know.”

“Why do you need to know about something that doesn’t concern you?”

“Because it does concern me. You said once that you would like to be my mother. My own mother was raped, long before she ever knew my father. She told me this, after she found out I knew about the Nimiipuu women who had been attacked. She tried to explain; it was not an easy thing for her to say—and I was younger then than I am now. But she told me because it concerned me—she thought my father had healed her from the hurt of what had happened to her. This thing with you concerns me, too. You can’t see it? You have nightmares about it; we have all heard you cry out in the dark. It affects the way you treat my father. I think it’s one reason he left with my Uncle Joe—because he thought you no longer wanted him. And when he left you, he also left me.”

“Audun, your father went with Joe because Joe needed him.”

Audun smiled, but it was a hard, grownup smile. “And because you did not? Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t feel like talking right now…I’ll think it over and talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tranáni! Tomorrow is a possibility, not a promise. You said you wanted to be my mother. My mother never lied to me and never put me off. And she left my father, but only to save his life, and she never lied to him. You lied to my father and now you’re lying to me.”

“I never lied!” The tears were of anger, not grief, but they sprang to her eyes too fast to stop. “Not telling is not the same as lying.” It took a few gasping breaths to get herself under control again. With a distasteful look, Audun handed her a handkerchief. She took it, wiped her eyes, and glaring wetly at him, set her jaw. “Audun Cartwright, you ought to be slapped.”

“Do it, if it will make you feel better. But my father never should have left. I told him that, but you said no word to him. He was already angry, and it was to do with you. Your movements around each other were always stiff and awkward those last weeks, and you barely spoke. I know you love my father. I can see it in your face. But he left because of you just as much as because of Uncle Joe.”

“Maybe,” Tilly finally said. She lowered her voice. “Audun, I was never…molested.”

“Raped. White people always try to find pretty words for bad things. It makes no sense.”

“I was never raped. But a couple of men did try, back on that island. I got away from them…barely. I had to fight them off. Sometimes…sometimes in my dreams, they try again, and in the dreams, I don’t always get away.”

“And you never told my father this,” he said.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I was trying to protect him!”

He was standing next to the grandfather clock, and at that he whacked it hard enough that a dull chime vibrated through the room. “Did it ever occur to you that most of the fights between you and my father—between my father and grandfather—between my father and me—even between Uncle Joe and the others—involve unnecessary, unwanted protection? The things you do to each other in the name of protection hurt more than whatever it is you’re trying to protect us from!”

The tears were back, and she smashed the handkerchief against her hot eyes. “Oh Lord…You’re right.” When she managed to take the soggy cloth away again, Audun was sitting next to her.

“You can slap me now,” he said, looking at the floor.

“I should.”

“If you’re going to, then do it quickly, because after that I must hug you.”

She burst into startled laughter. “You must?”

He looked as serious as she’d ever seen him. “Yes…Mother.”

Chapter 49

July, 1875

After nearly a month of wandering in the wilderness like the children of Israel, avoiding every town he saw, Joe rode into Placerville with Adam still at his side.

They’d spent most of the time riding through the thick forest near the Rubicon, following the general course of the river. Once, in a fit of evil humor, Adam had said to Joe, “You scared to cross it? You know that once you do, you can never go back.” Joe hadn’t gotten the joke, hadn’t known or cared what Adam meant, and had just looked through him as if he wasn’t there.

Adam had thought he would jump for joy at hearing, “I’m stoppin’ in Placerville for a while.” Placerville had a newspaper; the dry goods store usually had a few books. He didn’t care if it was something he’d already read. He didn’t care if it was something he’d read and hadn’t liked. At this juncture he didn’t care of it was the label of a tin of condensed milk. Anything was better than the dreary company of his thoughts right now, because his thoughts were doing their best to drive him mad.

How could you be with him, even if you were ‘just trying to survive’? How did you manage to come to love him along the way? Didn’t you know what he was doing to me? How could you leave him, if you loved him…and how did you manage to act as if you still loved me for such a long time? It was only in your dreams that the truth came out. Why were you reading that book? Did you really think I’d lost my mind? And if you lied so often, why didn’t you have the kindness to lie when I asked if you still felt the same way about him? At least then I could have forgiven you…and why do I want to forgive you now, even knowing what I know? How did I lose you, Tilly?

A year ago this time he’d thought he wanted to remember what had happened in the prison on Grand Terre. Now, he couldn’t forget, no matter how he tried. He remembered when the soldiers took him away from Tilly…he remembered his friend, Henri Rochefort, and wondered if he’d managed to get away…he remembered the weeks in the cell, going without food, occasionally going for days without water…he remembered being stretched from a chain that hung from the ceiling, his toes barely touching the floor, and the only way to keep his arms from being slowly pulled out of their sockets was to stand on tiptoe for hours at a time…then they had decided he didn’t need to sleep, and had kept him awake for endless periods…he never knew how long and was so far below ground he couldn’t differentiate day from night. He remembered the bullwhip—“I call her Frieda,” Max had told him, caressing his face with the handle. “Because I once knew a girl by that name. She grew her nails quite long, you see, like these nails that I’ve punched through the leather here and here. Clever, no?”

“…soon as we get there,” Joe was saying.

“Sorry, what? I didn’t hear you.”

“I said, I’m gonna find a poker game as soon as we get there. You can get us a room, all right?”

“Sure.”

Joe’s expression softened momentarily. “Thanks,” he said.

“For what?”

“Um…for havin’ the good sense not to nag me about the poker this time.”

“Your money,” Adam shrugged. “I got no stake in it.”

Placerville had changed since the last time he’d seen it. Of course, the last time he’d been there had been…what, seven, eight years before? He’d heard the city wasn’t doing so well—Pa had told him it had unincorporated and wasn’t even a city anymore—but seeing it now was like seeing a ghost town. Half the buildings had fallen into ruin. There was still a hotel, still a couple of saloons, still a livery stable. Still a bath house, thank heaven—he was in desperate need of a scrubbing. But what passed for a dry goods market and general store was such a wreck that he found himself wondering if he’d be able to find any books after all.

At the first saloon they saw, Joe dropped from Cochise and tossed the reins to Adam. “See ya later,” he said curtly, and went inside. Adam took the horses to the livery and returned, weighted down under the two heavy sets of saddlebags. He stopped in at the hotel long enough to register and drop off the saddlebags in the room they’d be sharing, then grabbed his spare set of clothes and headed off to the bath house, wishing he had one of Hop Sing’s copper scouring pads. Months in the wilderness were not conducive to cleanliness.

Feeling mostly clean and human again, he emerged from the bath house and threw out the threadbare, filthy duds he’d been wearing. Then he headed to the dry goods store for another set of clothes and—he hoped—a book.

As he walked, he thought of Joe. It seemed those nightmares were becoming more frequent, not less. He didn’t dare leave his brother alone now. Joe sometimes slipped and said things out loud, too, things like “I should’ve used greener wood” or “it was such a small house…why couldn’t she get out?” and of course the omnipresent blame: “I should have been there.”

If he’d been there, I don’t doubt they would’ve killed him too—he would’ve had no chance against four of them. Then…well, in that case they probably would’ve set the house on fire to cover up the evidence. As things were, they were sending a clear message that he still owed them money, and they expected to collect. They must have been watching him in Virginia City the first couple of weeks after Alice died, waiting for a chance to get him alone—but they never could because Pa made sure someone was always with him. How long until they come looking for him? Or how long before they go for Pa? Pa’s the one with the real money. They don’t know me; Joe hasn’t built the business up that much yet, and he hasn’t been doing it long enough to have a lot of money on his own. I should’ve told Pa.

What am I thinking—he’d have had a heart attack if he learned I was the one who torched the house. But what choice did I have?

The day only got worse as he went through the town. The very last copy of the weekly newspaper had been sold; the next edition wasn’t due until the 14th. And the dry goods store was out of books. “We only had five this month, sir, and somebody bought ’em all. Sorry.”

Disgusted, Adam went into a little café next to a saloon and stared at the menu scrawled above the counter. At least that was something to read.

He hadn’t had steak in a long time. Idly he wondered, as he placed his order, if it was Ponderosa beef. Pa used to sell to Placerville, he remembered. Funny, though—he only knew on paper the markets the ranch dealt with these days; he had done little ranch work since coming home. From the time he’d arrived, he had made it clear he would be working at Becker and Lloyd. Pretty funny since Pa seemed to want him so desperately at the ranch, and Becker and Lloyd made it clear that they had no desire to work with him. They had told him that his architectural knowledge was outdated, that he had no idea of all the changes occurring in the field these days, and they simply couldn’t use him. In the end, he had said “Then pay back my investment plus thirty-three percent of the profits you’ve made ever since I bought into the firm. We have a contract, remember?” They’d had to give in, because they hadn’t had the cash on hand. Not that they’d had to worry; he had not worked there much. Four months after beginning he’d had to leave with Audun, and after he returned only five months had gone by before he’d left with Joe. And there had been the assorted days off in between, during one or another family bereavement. There had been so many.

He sat down at a table with his steak and potatoes, and looked up to notice a woman coming into the place. She was a saloon girl—it was obvious, even in the daytime. Lips and cheeks just a little too red, and her dress, though plain blue and in good condition, was old, a dress that had been in fashion before he and Tilly had left for Spain.

She sat down at the table next to his, and then noticing that he had been looking at her, she got up again and indicated the empty chair at his table. “Hi, cowboy. Mind if I join you?”

“If you like,” he said cautiously.

“I don’t bite,” she said with a tired smile. “Or at least, not unless I’m paid to.”

He gave her a lopsided grin of his own.

“Look,” she said, “Mister, I don’t want to pain you if you’re in no mood for company. Truth is, I’m hoping to drum up a little business. I’m tryin’ to get home, see.”

“Um…no, I don’t see…”

“Well, I’m from Knoxville. Tennessee.”

“I’ve heard of it. Long way from California.”

“Yup. I come out here after that damned Longstreet feller attacked the town. Back then I thought I couldn’t get far enough away. Now I wish to God every night that I was back.”

Adam nodded. “Ma’am, I thank you for your honesty. Let me be honest with you in return. I appreciate your offer, and I wish I could help, but I’m not looking for company. In fact I’d just about pay you to leave me alone.”

She laughed shortly. “Well, I reckon that’s your business. I won’t intrude any more, then. Too bad, though—I saw you when you first come into town, and then after you come outta the bath house. Dang, you cleaned up a lot nicer than I thought you would.”

She stood up—and dropped her handbag on the floor, spilling its contents. Adam barely noticed the laudanum bottle, the crocheting needle and partially finished project, or the empty bill clip, because in the midst of those things was a leather-bound volume. He sucked in his breath at the sight.

She hastily stuffed everything back into the bag and started away again, but Adam said, “Miss, if you’re serious about wanting to make some money, I think I can help you.”

Chapter 50

July, 1875

Adam was speeding back to the hotel with his newest acquisition in the pocket of his light jacket. He didn’t even know what book it was, and he had never paid so much for a book in his life. Well, he didn’t care. Finally…something to read.

“Mister, you don’t even know what this is, and you want to give me fifty bucks for it? Are you outta your mind?” she had said with a laugh. He still had no idea of her name.

“Why are you arguing? That would pay your train fare at least halfway to Tennessee, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but…Mister, this book ain’t just any ordinary book. It took years…”

He barely listened to her. “I don’t care if it’s Chaucer in Chinese. I’ll take it. Fifty dollars isn’t enough? How about a hundred?”

She’d still argued with him, until he said “five hundred—take it or leave it.” At that she gasped, “You’re plumb crazy, Mister.” But she handed him the book. “And you can’t change your mind, ’cause I’m goin’ from here to the train station!” She must have done so—she was out of the restaurant in two seconds flat.

He hadn’t opened it even then. He’d put it in his pocket, and now he was going back to the hotel to stretch out on his bed and savor every page. He’d left most of his steak behind just so he could get back. The meat was overcooked anyway. Devouring a book would be way better.

“Well,” said an unfamiliar voice behind him. “Fancy running into you here.”

He turned back and stared as a million tiny pinpricks of horror rippled through him. “Max?”

The man looked oddly at him. “My name is Damion. Let’s talk, Mr. Cartwright. Joe Cartwright, I believe? May I call you Joe?”

Adam found his throat closed too tightly to respond. Somehow it had never occurred to him that they would think he was Joe. So that was why they hadn’t moved on Joe before. They hadn’t been watching Joe in Virginia City; they’d been watching him, and he seldom went anywhere. Finally, he managed to say, “No, you may not.”

“Pity. I had hoped we could be friends,” Damion said with a leer. “Do you know, I said the same thing to your lovely wife. Oh…not so lovely now, is she? I misspoke, of course. I do that sometimes when I’m excited.”

Both Adam’s fists had clenched, but before he could draw one back, he found his arms yanked behind him and held tight by an unseen force.

“Now, where can we speak? I try not to conduct business in alleyways. Ah…step in here.”

Adam found himself being propelled into the saloon he had passed. The man behind Adam let go just as Damion pointed at the nearest table and said softly, “You can sit down of your own volition, or Mr. Hanley can break your clavicle. Believe me, it requires little effort on his part, and he can make it look entirely accidental. And do keep both hands on top of the table. Mr. Hanley gets nervous when he can’t see people’s hands.” Adam sat down—and felt the blood leave his face when he saw Joe across the room at the corner table. Joe gave him an uninterested, fleeting look and looked back at his cards.

Adam glanced at “Mr. Hanley”—a forbidding figure, about the size of Hoss but lacking something…maybe it was Hoss’s geniality. No, it went deeper than that—the soulless eyes, the hands, ready to wreak havoc. This was the one, he was sure, who had emerged from the house smiling and covered in blood. Hanley stared back at him with a look devoid of any emotion, unless perhaps hunger was an emotion. Adam forced himself to keep looking at Hanley as Damien sat down. He had no desire to look at “Max,” and he couldn’t risk looking at Joe again.

“Mr. Cartwright,” Damion said politely, “You must realize things cannot go on as they have. Your brother-in-law borrowed five thousand dollars from me and then lied and misled me as to the payment schedule. I am a simple businessman, sir, but I have exquisite tastes which must be fed, so I cannot afford charity. When I make a loan, it must be repaid. Now that the good Lord has called home the spirit of John Harper, and unfortunately poor Alice as well, you are my only link to the money that is rightfully mine.”

“The good Lord had nothing to do with John Harper’s ‘passing’—and you may as well know that John Harper was nothing to me,” Adam said tightly. “I had nothing to do with him, and any debts he had to you were his responsibility, not mine. If you wanted him to pay you back, maybe you shouldn’t have killed him.”

Damion smiled. “Keep your voice down, Mr. Cartwright. Harper’s death was unfortunate. So was your poor wife’s.”

“Unfortunate? That’s what you call it when a woman is gutted like a fish?”

“Oh, but you make it sound so unrefined.” Damien gave Hanley a sympathetic look. “Mr. Hanley was once in surgical training. But I digress. Please examine this promissory note. You see the amount borrowed, and the date—almost a year ago. I think I was very patient. With the interest Mr. Harper agreed to, the repayment now owed me is $15,000. When can I expect the full amount?”

“When the sun rises in the west and the bird of paradise flies up your—”

Suddenly Mr. Hanley’s boot was covering his own foot, smashing down in a way that would have been excruciatingly painful even if he’d never had the bones broken before. He nearly screamed, but then the pressure was removed again, and he managed to pant a few times before squaring his shoulders and looking back at Damion.

The smile had never left Damion’s face, and now his light-blue eyes traveled up and down Adam for a moment. “You’re a handsome enough man, in your own dark way, Joe Cartwright.”

Adam just looked back at him.

“But imagine what Mr. Hanley’s skills could do for your appearance.”

Adam reflected on his life of late, and then leaned forward. “Mr. Damion, I’ve lost my wife. I’ve lost my son. I just spent my last few dollars renting a room. I have no money for you and no fear of anything you could do to me, so do your worst.”

“That doesn’t wash, Joe. I did a little research on the Cartwright name before I ever came out to visit your house, you see. I know about your family’s land holdings, your mining, timber, and cattle operations. There isn’t a bank in the West that wouldn’t love to give you money. I also know you have two brothers, and that there are other women on that ranch of your father’s; I’m sure they’re some relation to you. Then there’s your father, that kindly old gentleman with the silver hair. Ben, I think he said his name was. He told me when I called before that you had gone out of town on business, but as long as it’s taken to find you, I can’t fathom what business it could be. Now, maybe you don’t mind losing your life, Joe, but just imagine that nice father of yours. When I left Virginia City, I left a few men behind to keep an eye on your family. One telegram, and I fear the Ponderosa is in for a run of bad luck.”

Adam refused to show the sudden lurch of fear that shivered through him. He looked at Damion. “I guess you did need to leave a man behind. My dog tore his arm off. You may be surprised to learn that dog was one of about a dozen, all with the same temperament. They don’t like intruders. You send one of your men into my ranch, he’d better bring along a supply of prosthetics.”

Damion shrugged. “Not that fellow. Unfortunately, he was too badly injured to be of further service to me…he found himself, um, retired. You’re right; that was a formidable animal you had. But even that dog was not bullet-proof. Most dogs are not, or so I am informed. I’m not really a dog lover. My, Joe—once you begin talking, there’s just no silencing you, is there? You see, I’m not as limited as I may seem; you only saw four of us that day, but there are others who work for me. For the most part, they share a few characteristics with Mr. Hanley, here. So, here’s my offer. You owe me $15,000. Either have it for me tomorrow, or I’ll have your mother subjected to the treatment poor Alice received, albeit by a less-skilled practitioner.”

“My…mother?” Adam repeated dumbly.

“Did you forget? Strange. I heard in town that the one who had no feelings for his family was the brother called Adam, not Joe or Hoss. I further heard that the Cartwright ‘philosophy’ is that ‘family is never thrown out with the potato peels.’”

Adam found himself laughing, half-hysterically. “Who in hell told you that?”

Damion thought a moment. “One Will Cartwright, whose ranch is devoid of dogs and whose wife and daughter are…at the moment…lovely to look upon, although I can have my men play with them a while before the final cut. Sooner or later, Joe, I’m bound to arrive at someone you do care about, even if you aren’t worried about yourself. I’ll meet you here tomorrow at noon. Don’t bother trying to leave town. I know where to find you. I’m closer than you think.”

With that, he and Hanley stood up, nodded politely, and strode out. Adam slumped in his chair, hoping to God Joe hadn’t paid any attention to their conversation, and suddenly discovering that reading was the last thing on his mind.

 

Chapter 51

July, 1875

Tom Dudley, the Western Union telegrapher, looked up as the tall, black-clad man tramped in and pushed his hat up. “I need to send two wires,” the stranger said. Tom, not much for talking, grunted and handed him two forms.

The black-clad man wrote carefully on the two forms and then handed one back. “Send this first.”

Tom took the first form, his eyes widening as he scanned the content.

Sheriff Roy Coffee. Virginia City Nevada. Reference talk 0404. Some men currently near VC possibly watching Ponderosa. One probably dead. Two others in Placerville. Names Damion and Hanley. Am being watched. Cannot contact sheriff here. Wire Placerville sheriff to arrest. Adam Cartwright.

Tom tapped the message out carefully, realizing as he did that the black-clad man was listening, and from the intent expression on his face, he might even know Morse code.

He started to put the message form on the spike that held all the sent messages, but Adam Cartwright shook his head. “Hand it back to me. I’ll be keeping that one.”

“But Mister, we keep a message log.”

“That’s fine.” He snatched the form from Tom’s hand and placed the second message in front of him. “This is the one for your log. Don’t send it—just put it in your log as the file copy. I want you to forget you ever saw the first message.”

“But I can’t—we charge by the word, and—”

“They’re both the same length.”

Tom counted out the words in the second wire. Sure enough, they were both 42 words.

Cyrus Hanks. VC First Bank. Virginia City Nevada. Careless with my cash this trip. Need to advance me fifteen thousand dollars from ASC129. Staying at James Inn Placerville. By all means keep private. My father does not need to know. Joe Cartwright.

“Well, you’re right, Mister, but…I don’t think this is legal.”

Cartwright produced a fifty-dollar gold piece.

Tom considered this. “Okay, but if there’s any trouble…”

Adam…or Joe…Cartwright held up his Colt and looked enigmatically at him over the barrel. “If there’s any trouble, you were held at gunpoint and forced to do things this way. Right?”

“Right.” He took the gold piece, enjoying its weight in his hand. Cartwright holstered the Colt and walked out of the office as Tom pocketed the money.

Two hours later, as Tom hung the “closed until six” sign on the door in preparation for the shift change and brought all the books up to date, two men walked in. “I’m closed,” he called out, but a closer look at the big fellow prompted him to gulp and say, “how can I help you?”

“I’d like to see the telegram forms for the day, please,” the smaller man said pleasantly while the big one behind him glowered at Tom as if daring him to say the wrong thing.

“Sir, I can’t do that—we got confidential—”

The man sighed. “I’ll ask once more. If you remain uncooperative, I’ll have to ask my friend here to persuade you.”

Other men might be heroes; Tom had never had any use for them. He handed over the heavy envelope into which he had just stuffed all the sent wires for the day. The smaller man looked through them, finally finding one that seemed to please him. “The man is smarter than I thought,” he commented, and dropping the envelope and its contents on the floor, he turned to leave, with the larger man trailing in his wake. Trembling a little, Tom watched them go, then went to pick up the telegrams.

On the top of the messy pile was the telegram he had never sent. The one from “Joe” Cartwright.

Tom replaced everything and devoutly hoped he would never see Adam Cartwright (or Joe Cartwright, whichever he was) or those other two men again…and then found himself wondering if those two men were the ones Cartwright had referred to in the first telegram.

If they were, he thought, they were in for an unpleasant surprise.

Chapter 52

July, 1875

His stomach still roiling, Adam returned to the hotel, trying to get his shaking under control. It wasn’t just Damion; it wasn’t even Hanley, although his shoulders were still sore from the way they’d been yanked half out of their sockets by the brutal giant. It was everything they represented. They represented Alice, looking up at him with unseeing eyes, her insides decorating the kitchen of the little yellow house; Paris, where he’d abandoned his tiny unborn son; and somehow most of all, Max, who meant prison and torture and the mental games that Adam had never learned to play. Funny, on closer inspection Damion did not look that much like Max, but still, he could not separate the two in his mind: Damion had taken away the precarious illusion of normality Adam had built after his return home…and Max had taken away Tilly, the only person he had ever thought of as unfailingly his, the wife he loved and cared for, even as she loved and cared for of him.

Only he hadn’t taken care of her, had he? He’d gotten himself taken away and left Tilly alone. And of all things, he’d delegated Max to take care of her. Max had taken care of her good and proper, with the result that she didn’t want Adam anymore.

And of course, now that he’d finally started to get used to the thought that he would never see her again—now this fellow showed up to remind him of what he’d gone through and everything he’d lost.

Hell…to remind him of everything Joe had lost.

Well, the situation was resolved now. Roy would send a wire to the Placerville sheriff, and he’d arrest those two. Somehow, Adam was going to have to get Joe out of town first thing in the morning—he didn’t intend to stick around. Sure, without him to give evidence to the sheriff, the two murderers would be released, and they’d doubtless come after him. But the Ponderosa would be safe; Roy would send someone to watch it. And once Adam and Joe got out of town, he’d rig a quarrel. It shouldn’t be hard to do; Joe was plenty quarrelsome himself. They’d split up, and he’d double back this way to wait for Damion and Hanley. They didn’t even know who Joe was; Adam was the only one in danger, and he had nothing to lose. Oh, he’d give them a chance; he’d never backshoot anyone, not even them. But they needed to die. Only God knew how many other people they had killed.

Maybe I’ll give them a Christian burial, but they’ll get no trial. They already confessed, anyway. Well, Damion did, and from the look of satisfaction on Hanley’s face when Damion spoke, he certainly didn’t disagree. They had already had more of a trial than I was ever allowed.

Good God, am I really thinking about deliberate killing? Me, the biggest proponent of law and order to ever walk into a courtroom? But is it murder…or is it just somehow evening the scales, bringing balance back to the universe?

And with a bitter half-smile, he realized he had no idea what constituted “balance” anymore. Innocent people shot down like dogs in the streets of Paris; babies left in dishpans and garbage heaps; men’s backs flayed open with nail-studded whips; women disemboweled and left on display in their own kitchens. Balance? What is that?

He had lost all interest in the book in his pocket; at the moment he just wanted to get back inside the hotel where Max—no, no, Damion—couldn’t see him. And then, maybe he’d cry or scream or hit himself in the head with his boot heels or something…anything to get all those images out of his brain.

He walked into the room and there was Joe, curled on one of the narrow beds, sobbing. Oh, God. He turned and started back out, remembering a time when Joe would have wanted a little brotherly comfort and wisdom, but now it was best to pretend he had seen and heard nothing.

Joe’s muffled voice reached him as he was making his exit: “Adam…don’t go.”

Adam stopped, carefully closing the door. He made a great show of taking off his hat as he walked past Joe to the other bed, keeping the hat between him and Joe. Still keeping his face averted, he slowly took off his jacket and hung it on the bedpost. He took off his gun belt, but instead of hanging it up he kept the holster within easy reach. Finally, hoping he’d given Joe enough time to put himself back together, he turned around and casually sat down on the bed. “Pretty hot outside,” he commented. “Good thing we got into town when we did.”

Joe scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. “Adam, do you think I’m losing my mind?”

Good God, does he really want to talk now? After almost five months of silence? And to me? Joe wants an opinion on sanity—from me? When Tilly thinks I’ve lost my mind, and she may be right?

“I don’t think so,” he said at last. “But you’ve been through hell. People who go through bad things…can change some. Doesn’t mean they’re wrong. Or insane.” Would I know if you were? Would I know if I was?

“I was playin’ poker…you saw me, right? You didn’t stay long. Who were those fellas?”

“Couple of guys I met once before. Can’t recall where; might have been Becker and Lloyd’s. Nobody important. I didn’t stay long because I remembered an errand I had to run.”

“What kind of errand?” Joe’s glance was half puzzled, half suspicious.

He thought fast, then pulled the leather volume from his pocket. “I wanted to buy a book.”

“Oh. Of course.” Joe giggled, managing to sound simultaneously boyish and hysterical. “Adam, I think you’re the only person in the world who never changes. Nice to know there’s still things I can count on.”

“Never mind me. Why are you worried about yourself?”

Joe sighed. “All these months…Oh, Adam. I couldn’t believe it when it was plain in front of my face…I was so mad I wanted to kill somebody, but somehow I couldn’t…all I can think about is all the things I did wrong with Alice, all the time I was gone, or thinking of other things even when I was home…all I wanted was to be a good husband for her, to make her certain she’d picked the right fellow…and I messed it up so bad. And I was going to fix it…and…and now I never can. I was down at the saloon and right after you left I won a hand—a big one, three hundred dollars—and I just thought, why am I doing this? What’s any of it for? I could win a million dollars and I wouldn’t care. I could lose it all and I wouldn’t care. Nothing matters anymore.”

“But Joe—”

Joe held up one hand “Let me finish. I folded, right then. Came up here and tried to pray.” He sighed. “Nothing. Nary a word. Not even a Bible verse to run through my head. And then, while I was praying…I dozed off. Just went to sleep…and you know what I heard?”

Adam shook his head.

“Music.”

“Music,” Adam repeated.

“Music. Remember that big old music box Pa gave Mama, back when I was a baby? With the jewels…and that pretty little tune…?”

Oh yes, he remembered. Damion had been carrying it out of Joe’s house the last time he’d seen it…

“Adam, I heard that tune clear as day.” He looked down at the floor. “I gave the box to Alice…I even remember when. It was the day you and Tilly came home again. Anyway…I’d swear I heard the song from that music box. I thought either I must be going insane, or maybe…just maybe…Alice was trying to tell me something. And I woke up and started to…to cry…like a silly kid. Alice is dead. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I would’ve cried too,” Adam said solemnly.

“Adam, do you think it was a message from Alice in heaven?”

A message? Yeah…just not one from where you think. Not from heaven—from hell.

“Maybe…” he cleared his throat. “Maybe Alice is telling you to go home to Bonnie, and take care of her. You’ve still got Bonnie, right?”

Joe shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes again. “I barely even thought about her, Adam. All I could think of was what I didn’t have. And I’ve still got Pa, and Hoss…and I’ve got you. I can’t believe you’ve been following me all this time, just waitin’ for me to come to my senses.”

“So we’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Adam said calmly. This would mess up his plans, but it wasn’t something he couldn’t circumvent.

“Yeah…yeah, let’s do that. I…I want to go home, Adam.”

Chapter 53

July, 1875

Sheriff Roy Coffee held the telegram in both hands like a priceless pearl as he stared into the distance.

“Pretty strange, huh, Roy?” said Clem, taking it from his hands and reading it again. “‘Talk oh four oh four.’ What in thunder does that mean?”

“I reckon I’ll figger it out,” Roy mumbled, turning his attention back to Clem with difficulty. “Not too strange at that. I gotta send a wire myself, Clem…be back in a little while.”

April 4, 1875

“I want to thank you for comin’ down, Adam,” Roy said, laying a hand on Adam’s shoulder for a moment before continuing to his desk. “I know it’s been hard times up to the Ponderosa fer a while now.”

“Pa said you had questions to ask me.” Adam’s voice was cool and detached, his eyes flat.

“Just a few, iffen you don’t mind. The day Alice died…I’m tryin’ to get all the facts straight in my mind, and they’re not…they’re not lining up. I was hopin’ you could help me make sense of it all.”

Adam just looked at him with those flat, dead eyes.

“Now, yer Pa told me you were supposed to go to Joe’s house that day. Everybody thought Joe was still out of town, and you and Hoss had been ridin’ out to keep tabs on Alice.”

Adam did not respond.

“Well?” Roy asked.

“Well, what? You haven’t asked me anything.”

“Is it true you were supposed to go?”

“Yes.” Adam looked down at the black hat in his lap and began tracing the perimeter of the crown.

“Did you?”

“I was on the way there…but Lady died.”

“I heard about that. I’m sorry; she was a real smart dog. I still remember back when you showed me how smart she was, back with them train robbers.”

Adam continued tracing the hat, and said nothing.

“How’d she die, Adam? Yer foreman Jim Coleman says you come home all covered in blood.”

Adam stopped tracing the hat and looked back at Roy. “Someone shot her.”

“Hmmm. That’s not what Jim said. He said she must’ve fell off the rocks over to Willet Crick.”

“Jim wasn’t there,” Adam said tonelessly. “I’m not responsible if he gave you bad information.”

“’Twasn’t bad information at all, Adam,” Roy replied. “It was wrong information, sure. But not all bad. You wanna tell me who shot Lady?”

“I don’t know who shot her!” Adam snapped and resumed tracing the hat. “Roy, are you charging me?”

“Now, dang bust it all, Adam, why should you be charged with anything?”

“I was supposed to go to the house, and I don’t have a witness for my alibi.”

“Alibi? Did I say you needed one?”

“That’s how you’re acting.” There was emotion in his eyes now—black anger. “Dammit, Roy, I didn’t kill Alice. She was…” he swallowed, and looked away. “She was dear to me.”

“Like a sister,” Roy prompted, but his eyes were questioning.

“Of course like a sister! She was my sister. If you think I killed her…”

“I never said you killed her,” Roy said gently. “Who’d ever think a thing like that about you, Adam? I just hoped…maybe, somehow, you’d have some information about whoever did.”

“Why would you think that?”

“’Cause…” and Roy opened the top drawer of his old desk and began to rummage through it. “First off, the window Joe jumped through had the glass busted in, but there was another window in the baby’s room, and that one was broke too. But the glass was all outside, like somebody broke it from the inside, maybe jumpin’ out. And the door…” he gave Adam a lopsided grin, with his eyebrows drawn together. “Ben told me how Joe tried to bust in the door first and he couldn’t believe how it held, so I checked that out. In the ashes, where the door was supposed to be, was a metal bolt. Meanin’ somebody inside set the place afire, bolted the door, and jumped out the window.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Just this…aside from that bolt, the only dadblamed physical clue I’ve found in this infernal situation was a horseshoe, about a quarter mile from Joe’s house in the direction of the Ponderosa. Half covered with mud, it was…” He produced the shoe from his desk drawer. “Found it myself after the storm. And the mornin’ of the funeral, I made a point of talkin’ to one of your ranch hands, Eb’s his name, the one that helps Hoss with the smithin’. He said your big red gelding Sport had thrown a shoe from his off hind leg on the day of the fire, and he shod it again the mornin’ after. And this shoe I found was the exact shape of Sport’s off hind.” He leaned forward and looked Adam in the eye. “You still wanna tell me you didn’t go to Alice’s house?”

**

Roy poured another cup of coffee for each of them, and then stirred in a healthy topping of Cascade sour mash. “Adam, you served as my deputy once. You know plenty ’bout the law. You had to know this could make you an accessory after the fact. At a minimum it’s obstruction of justice.”

“What would you have done? Let your brother walk into his house thinking all was right with the world? I told you what I found in there. And I had no intention of obstructed justice; I was going to go after them myself. Can’t you understand that?”

“I reckon I do, but I’m not sure a judge and jury would, and we can’t hardly keep it from ’em.”

“That’s if it ever comes to trial. I’ll take that chance, Roy—but we have to find them first. There were four men. One oughtta be easy to spot. Lady sliced the fella’s arm open from shoulder to elbow before Max shot her.”

“Adam, you told me you didn’t know any of the men. Who in tunket is Max?”

Adam closed his eyes and took a long, shuddering breath. “That’s not the man’s real name. I don’t know his real name. He just…just looks like…Max. Max was the man who tortured me in prison. The man reminds me of him…he’s younger, and his hair’s darker, but…”

“So you’d recognize this man again?”

“Oh yeah.” He drank a deep draught from the coffee cup and managed a pale, humorless smile. “I’d know him if he wore a burlap bag over his head, Roy.”

Roy ignored the jab. “You saw him clearly, and you got a pretty good look at the one Lady bit. But the other two, you didn’t see?”

“Not from the front, and they were a couple hundred feet off anyhow. I can tell you one of them rode a bay and the other was on a big strawberry roan. The man on the roan looked a lot bigger than the other three—almost as big as Hoss—and when he came out of the house he had blood all over his shirtfront. But I couldn’t be more specific.”

“Well…” Roy looked through his notes. “I’ll wire the doc in Carson, as well as all the sheriffs and town marshals within two hundred miles, but this is pretty slim stuff, and the men have a sizeable head start, what with you not comin’ forward before. This Max fella, whatever his real name is…about five-ten, blue eyes, dark blond or light brown hair…you can’t tell me any more than that?”

Adam frowned. “Broad face, sharp chin…I’d know him.”

“Yeah. Even with a burlap bag. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Yes.” Adam shoved the coffee cup to one side. “Roy, there’s an easier way to do this. Joe…well, you know he hasn’t taken this well.”

“I know. Had him in here a couple times, you recall. Wouldn’t hardly expect him to take it well, though. That’s boy’s always acted thirty percent head and seventy percent heart.”

“Well, he says he’s leaving. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going with him.”

“Why’d you want to do that? And don’t give me that Cartwright nonsense about he’s your brother. I’ve heard it for nigh onto thirty years.”

Adam spread his hands. “You’ve been saying all along it looked like murder. But you never said it around Joe, and I think he’s so caught up in his misery that it hasn’t even occurred to him. Sooner or later, though, it will. I need to be there…I guess to help him through it.”

“But how does this fit into some plan?”

“I imagine Joe’s being watched. We know John Harper was in debt and desperate for money; these were the men he owed. Their leaving Alice and John in the house like that was a warning to Joe—they want him to pay. They’ll look for him when they find out he’s left town. Sooner or later they’ll make a move on him, and then we’ll have ’em.”

“And assuming you and Joe live through that…”

“They want money from him. They won’t kill us yet.”

“They won’t kill him yet. They might kill you, just to make a point—like they did with Harper and Alice.”

“No; from what I heard about the way John Harper pestered Joe and Hoss, the fellow must have given a few warnings before he carried out his threats. I think he’ll threaten first.”

Roy looked at him long and hard. “And when he does, you’ll wire me or talk to the nearest sheriff, and we’ll arrest him—but then it goes to trial, Adam. And then Joe’ll find out the whole thing.”

“I’ll…I’ll make him understand somehow. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. First we draw the killers out.”

Chapter 54

August, 1875

“You’re eight months along, Tilly,” Ben said, looking away from her. “A trip into town is not a good idea.”

“I told you last night I was coming with you, and I am,” Tilly said shortly.

“You should know better than to try to persuade her, Grandfather,” Audun put in from the floor, where he was giving Robin a ride on his back. “She is more stubborn than practical.”

“Which is probably why the two of you get along so well,” Ben replied, but he smiled as he said it. “Audun, if you’re coming, you need to stop being a horse and come along.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” He handed Robin to Hoss, who was already holding Bonnie Marie. “You won’t forget to check their diapers?”

“I’m not as good with little folk as I am with colts, but I’ll get there,” Hoss replied.

Audun was waiting in the back of the wagon when Tilly and Ben got outside. Ben helped Tilly onto the seat. “Why couldn’t Charlotte just come out here?”

“How would that lend credibility to her practice?” Tilly replied. “Ben, I’m trying to show the respectable women of the town that they can trust Charlotte.”

“Yes,” Audun put in. “She is not merely ‘an old crone with a sharp stick for the soiled doves.’ What are you looking like that for, Grandfather? That’s what Charlotte said.”

“Young man, you and I are going to have a very long conversation after we get home about the proper way to speak,” Ben said as he clambered onto the wagon.

“Will it involve a tanning?”

“It just might, if you don’t take the concepts you learn from it and apply them.”

Audun sighed in relief. Grandfather was still good at making threats, but he seemed surprisingly reluctant to follow through with them these days. And that was a good thing, since Grandfather didn’t seem to understand that Audun was a man now, and men weren’t supposed to get tannings.

“Remind me why you’re coming with us anyway,” Ben called back as he nudged the horses forward.

“I want to talk to the preacher,” Audun said earnestly.

Ben didn’t notice Tilly’s wince. “Huh,” he said. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

**

Tilly watched as the wagon lurched off to Tinker John’s VC Dry Goods. Audun was walking toward the church down the street. She wondered if the poor preacher had any idea what lay in store for him—and then decided she didn’t care. Instead she crossed the street and mounted the board sidewalk in front of 289 C Street.

Charlotte was in the outer office talking quietly with one of the four women in the waiting room. “Go on in,” she waved, “I’ll be in in a minute. Got one just coming out.”

Tilly had no idea what that meant, but she headed into the small consulting room anyway. Behind that room lay another door: the examination room, Tilly supposed. She wondered what sort of patients Charlotte already had. No men, certainly. And the four in the waiting room looked more like the “soiled dove” type than any other “type” she knew.

She sat down in front of the desk and waited—and the door to the exam room opened. In walked a woman about her own height and build, but with brown curls descending halfway down her back. Now this one did not look like one of the “doves”: her eyes were wide and blue and innocent, her face unlined; her smile seemed genuine. “Oh, you startled me,” she said in a pleasant voice.

“Sorry,” Tilly said. “I was told to wait here; I didn’t know there was already—”

“That’s all right, Mrs. Cartwright, I was just leaving,” said the woman. “Nice to see you.”

“Um, nice to see you, too,” Tilly replied, wondering how this person knew her.

The woman walked out just as Charlotte came back in.

“Any more back there?” Tilly asked, pointing to the exam room.

“Not this time—goodbye now, you take care, Miss Robinson,” Charlotte called—and Tilly gasped.

“Florinda Robinson?”

“Flora. Why?”

“I’ll come back later,” Tilly said, and sped out the door.

**

“Ben! Ben, I need to see you!”

Ben turned at the commanding voice behind him. “’Mornin’, Roy. What’s the matter?”

“I got a telegram last night and I need to talk to you about it. I woulda ridden out there last night, but it was nearly dark and I don’t see so good at night.”

“I wouldn’t tell any of the city council about that,” Ben muttered, but he followed Roy back to his office.

**

Flora Robinson shut the door to her room, and Tilly, blushing fiercely, handed her twenty dollars.

“First time ‘upstairs,’ I take it,” Flora said with a bitter grin. “I still remember mine, too. Some things a girl doesn’t forget.”

“I don’t want polite conversation,” Tilly retorted.

“Neither do most of the men.” Flora agreed.

“And I don’t want you laughing at me!”

“The men don’t like it either.”

“I paid for your time, Miss Robinson. I don’t consider the time started until I get to speak to you.”

“Then say what you’ve come to say.”

“I want to know what…what’s been going on between my husband and you.”

Flora’s eyebrows rose. “Adam Cartwright…and me?” She laughed suddenly. “Well, client confidentiality aside, that’s a question I never thought I’d hear.”

“I don’t really care what you think about, or whom…as long as it’s not my husband.”

Flora smiled. “So if I said he was mad for me, that wouldn’t make your day at all, then.”

Tilly hesitated. “That’s not true.”

“I just thought I’d ask.” Flora seemed quite amused with herself.

“Miss Robinson,” Tilly began, at first wanting to pull all the exalted words out of her mind’s closet, but this was no time for pretension. “This may be funny as hell to you, but I’m not laughing. Somehow I’ve lost Adam. I just need to know…if I’ve lost him to you. I know you’re the one he turns to when he turns away from me.”

Flora whirled; she walked over to the bed and knelt down by it. Tilly shut her eyes, trying not to picture Adam on that bed. When she opened them, Flora was standing in front of her, holding a leather-bound journal. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

January 6, 1869

I threw my last diary away. Since I’ll never see him again, there’s no point in keeping it. A list of stupid, silly schoolgirl dreams, that’s all. The here and now is simpler. In this town of fools I’m the biggest one of all. Somehow that wretched O’Reilly woman has gotten everything she needs to destroy me. She’s spoken both to the seamstress who employed me and the new woman who boarded me. She told them about me: I was never married, and now I never will be. He doesn’t even know where I am. I have a daughter to take care of. It’s all so simple now. I only have one alternative short of killing myself…and I’d do that if not for Ruby.

January 10, 1869

Well, all my customers should be so easy to please. And this was my first! They say you never forget the first; I’m sure I’ll never forget him, even if not for the reasons everyone thinks. I heard Adam Cartwright is impossible to lure, but I got him on my first try. Or at least, I got him upstairs. Not my fault he passed out in the bathtub and nearly drowned. Not my fault he was unconscious all night long. And it’s certainly not my fault if he doesn’t remember any of it now and is looking as guilty as…as O did when I told him I was carrying his child. They say Cartwright has a woman, a schoolteacher. Good luck to her. Maybe she’ll keep him awake. I sure couldn’t. Easiest twenty dollars I ever made—not to mention the five-dollar gold piece his brothers gave me this morning to keep this quiet!

August, 1875

Unable to speak, Tilly looked up into Flora’s innocent blue-gray eyes.

“Not exactly a banner evening,” Flora said nonchalantly. “My next customer was a lot more…sprightly.”

Tilly found her voice at last. “But…you’ve seen Adam since then.”

“Only once—and believe me, that was nothin’ to write home about, either.”

“Do you really write down accounts of all your…your customers?”

“It started off as a diary,” Flora replied. “It turned into an account book later. Most of us keep accounts, nowadays. They started back when Julia Bulette died, before I came here. In some cases it makes judges less likely to prosecute if there’s trouble…and if we end up dead, our accounts leave entertaining reading for the lawmen to peruse.”

Tilly swallowed. “I’d like to see your account of…of my husband’s other…visit.”

Flora shrugged. “Just a minute.” She returned to the bed and reached under the mattress, pulling out several more books. “Here we go.” She brought one back and took the old journal from Tilly’s hand. “Sometime in March, I think. Men kinda run together after a while, but somehow, Miz Cartwright, that Adam stays in my memory.” As Tilly began thumbing through the book, Flora began stuffing the others under the mattress.

March 30, 1873

He is here! How did he find me? My God what will I

August, 1875

“Oh—wrong book, wrong year.” Flora hastily grabbed it from her hand, and produced another book. “Maybe I better help you. Oh, wait, here it is.”

March 30, 1875

Adam Cartwright. $20 for night.

March 31, 1875

I’ve seldom seen a man so determined to be unfaithful to his wife, and so incapable of it. Unless, of course, since he was about that lively in his previous visit, he may just be like that all the time, in which case no wonder the gals back at the Bucket o’ Blood said he was a cold fish. All he wanted to do was talk—and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he only wanted to talk about his wife! And then he spent a good hour telling me how he got all the scars on his back, and about some ass named Max, who gave them to him…

August, 1875

Flora gently pried the book out of Tilly’s viselike grip. “First time I’ve ever been glad I kept notes of these things. I doubt you would’ve believed me if I had told you.”

“No,” Tilly whispered. “I don’t think I would’ve.”

“Well, did I earn my twenty?”

Tilly nodded, swallowing.

As they walked back toward the door, Flora said, “You know, if I ever had a chance to marry, I could think of worse fellas than yours. I don’t think you need to worry about him being unfaithful.”

“That’s not it…exactly.” Tilly stood still, her hand on the doorknob. “But he told you about our problems. He didn’t even tell me some of the things he told you. He told you about Grand Terre; he never told me. He said he couldn’t remember.”

A shrug. “He’s just tryin’ to protect you is all. Men are like that with their wives. Now girls like me, the ones who get paid, men come to us because we don’t need protecting.”

Sick of the whole notion of protectiveness, Tilly looked hard at Flora. “Even from ‘O’?”

Flora whitened, but her voice remained even. “That was…just a bit of foolishness when I was young. Left me a daughter to remember him by.”

“Oh…Ruby.” Tilly managed a smile. “I take it she doesn’t live here. That must be hard for you.”

“I get to see her on my day off.”

“But now O’s here in town—that’s what your journal said. Do you ever see him?”

Flora moved one shoulder. “The people of Virginia City would hardly approve of that. I’d just as soon leave town, start all over somewhere else, and not think about him anymore…if I could ever keep enough of the money I made, I would. Folk like you always think folk like me are rich. Truth is, I keep twenty-five cents out of every dollar I make—the rest is for room and board here. And that little percentage I make mostly goes toward Ruby’s upkeep.”

A sudden, wicked thought flitted through Tilly’s mind. “I think I can help you with that…if you really want to leave this life—and leave this town.”

**

Ben Cartwright looked like a ghost, Roy thought. Never, not even when Marie died, had Roy ever seen him look so sick.

“Ben, lemme pour you a shot here. I know that was a lot to take in.”

Ben just sat there as if he hadn’t heard.

“Ben? You okay? Should I call Doc Martin?”

“Roy,” Ben finally whispered. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He didn’t tell anybody. I wouldn’t know now if he hadn’t been forced into it. He thought…thinks…he’s protecting Joe.”

“Protecting?” Ben laughed crazily. “My God, Roy—this kind of protection could kill us all! He’ll get Joe killed—he’ll get himself killed. He hasn’t been right in the head since he came back from overseas…this just proves it. And I’ll tell you something else. I don’t think Adam sent that telegram just because he saw those men. He had to have spoken to them—how else would he have known their names? And if he spoke to them, there must have been threats made. I’ve got to get everyone back to the Ponderosa, and I want you to ride out and talk to Will. His family may be in danger too.”

“Will Cartwright? Why him?”

“Roy, a man fitting the description you gave came to the Ponderosa just a couple of weeks after Joe and Adam left. He said he had been talking to Joe about a lumber deal, but that he couldn’t locate Joe now. I told him Joe was out of town, and somehow we got to talking…he seemed to have heard of every Cartwright in the area, and wanted to know if we were all related. And I told him. I had no reason not to—Will’s been handling the lumber business since Joe left, anyway. So we’re all in danger, but he’ll go after the defenseless ones first. The women, the children. Will’s away; Laura and Peggy are alone.”

“Adam said he wouldn’t do that. Said he’s just after money.”

“But…his way of getting money is to hurt Joe until he pays. Joe’s daughter is at the Ponderosa right now. And if someone’s watching us in Virginia City…my God, I’ve got to get to Beth…find Tilly and Audun…I really think Adam must have lost any sense he ever possessed, because what he’s done…” he shook his head “…is insane.”

Chapter 55

August, 1875

Someone was knocking on the hotel door. Joe opened his eyes blearily. Didn’t people in this town have any respect for people’s sleep? He heard Adam getting up.

“I’ll get it; go back to sleep,” Adam’s whisper reached his ears, and he closed his eyes again as he heard Adam’s bare feet padding to the door. Adam slipped out, and Joe heard low voices outside. Now what did Adam have going on that was so dad-blasted private…and so dad-blasted important…as to wake someone up in the middle of the night?

An unfamiliar voice in the hall said “…deputy…” and Joe wondered if Adam was under arrest.

“…identification…no—my brother…” Adam’s low voice became even lower.

“Well, he’s put away right now. As I understand it I need ’em both, though, and a third….”

“No…he’s….”

“And you’re sure it’s outright murder? The telegram wasn’t….”

Adam’s voice could barely be heard “…shot…disemboweled…”

“Well, I’ve got a posse out there. You come around in the mornin’.”

“All right.” Adam said something else, but it was too soft to hear, and then he stumbled back in.

“What was that about?” Joe covered a yawn.

“Nothin’ important. Go back to sleep.”

Joe did…for an hour or so. But other calls were too urgent to be denied, so he awoke on his own the next time. As he put the chamber pot away, the other “call” came back to him, and he found himself fully awake, wondering what it had been about.

“Adam. Adam, wake up.”

“Hmmm?”

“Who was at the door?”

Adam sounded drunk, groggy. “Uh…sheriff’s deputy.”

“What’d he want?”

“I dunno. Wrong door.”

“That was a long conversation for a wrong door.”

“Joe, for once…in your life…lemme sleep.”

Joe thought a while longer. Shot and disemboweled. Adam had said that; what did he mean?

He put his trousers and shirt on, and pulled on his boots, mentally reviewing the little snatches of conversation he had heard and trying to put them together with the last four months. Certainly Adam hadn’t witnessed any shootings or disembowelings since they had left the Ponderosa in April. So who….

A tendril of fear like ice-cold water suddenly ran down his spine. He couldn’t remember; had never really paid attention. Adam was supposed to have gone out to check on Alice that day, wasn’t he?

“Adam, wake up and tell me what three men the sheriff’s looking for.”

“Two,” Adam mumbled. “The other’s….”

“The other’s what?” His confusion was rapidly congealing into something else: something ugly and suspicious and implacable.

The silence across the small room was not one of peaceful sleep—it was the silence of a man suddenly wide awake, knowing he’d said too much.

The bed creaked as Adam sat up. “Look, Joe. It was—”

“It was Alice,” Joe said breathlessly. Something was crushing his chest: he felt paralyzed, and he wondered if he was dying.

“Joe, I—” Adam stood up then. His voice had gone to that flat monotone he always used when he was desperate but not about to let anyone else know. “Yes. Alice and John were murdered.”

“By…?”

“A man John owed money to. His name’s Damion.”

“And who was arrested?” I am calm…I am calm. All those years Adam and Pa told me to be calm, to be patient, and now, when I’m finding out the one person I thought I could trust with my life is a liar, I’m perfectly, icy calm.

Adam sighed. “Damion. They couldn’t find the other one.”

“And when did you plan to tell me this? At the trial?”

“Once we had them both in custody, Joe. I was going to tell you. I didn’t want to keep it from you, but I didn’t know who the murderers were until yesterday.”

“But…how did you know any of this?”

Adam lit the lamp on the stand between their beds, and gestured for Joe to sit down.

Funny how civilized he is…every time we’re in town he wears that faded old red and white nightshirt, Joe thought as he sat down. Well, we’re civilized men. Sure, I can wait for him to tell me whatever it is. If he didn’t know until yesterday, then he wasn’t lying to me. Maybe he was just suspicious, and went to Roy. Maybe he’s been waiting for Roy to get in touch with him.

His civilized composure evaporated at Adam’s next words.

“I knew because I found them, Joe.”

“What?”

“Alice and John. I found them. I told Roy; gave him descriptions of the men I’d seen leaving the house. Lady attacked one of the men; that’s how she died. The others got away, but one’s back in Virginia City watching the Ponderosa. As soon as I got names I wired Roy and had him contact the sheriff here, and…”

“You…found…Alice? But then why didn’t you put out the fire? Or get her out of it?”

“I…it wouldn’t have mattered, Joe; they were both dead.”

“But how could you be sure?”

“They just were, dammit!”

Joe leaped up to grab Adam by the collar of the old nightshirt. “But I could at least have buried her properly! If you had put out the fire—”

“There was no fire!” Adam burst out. “I set the damned fire!”

That was the last thing Joe heard clearly; his former calm had exploded into red-hot rage, and he backhanded Adam across the mouth. “Liar!” he yelled as he hit him again. It never dawned on him that Adam had not raised his hands to defend himself; he minimally registered his fist glancing off Adam’s temple, and then he was running from the room, hearing behind him the cheap wooden nightstand splintering, the glass in the lamp shattering, and the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.

Chapter 56

August, 1875

“Ben—are you all right?” Tilly had never seen such a look on her father-in-law’s face before; not the day he’d brought Audun home from his wáyakin quest, not even the day she and Adam had returned from their long exile and Adam had collapsed.

“Do you know where Audun is?”

“Yes, but—”

“Find him and get back to the wagon immediately. I left it in front of the jail. Roy will take you and Audun home.”

“But what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I have to see Beth.”

“Ben Cartwright, we’ve been on speaking terms for less than a month. Talk to me!”

“Why are women incapable of trusting men who only want to take care of them?”

“Why are men incapable of letting women know about unpleasantness? It’s over-protectiveness that caused all of this mess.”

“Not all. Mathilde Cartwright, if you don’t want me to take you over my knee, you will take my grandson and get him to safety right now. Roy will explain it all to you. Right now I have to see Beth, and she probably won’t want me to take care of her any more than you do!”

Without another word he pushed past her and strode off in the direction of Cameron’s General Store—and as Tilly looked after him, he removed the Colt from its holster and checked each chamber in the cylinder.

The wagon was where Ben had said it would be—and Audun was already sitting there, with a red splotch across one side of his face.

“What on earth happened?” Tilly demanded as she took his chin and turned his face to look more closely at the mark.

“Nothing. It’s of no consequence.” He yanked his head away from her.

“No consequence, my eye! Who hit you?”

He glared sullenly at her. “I will not tell you.”

“Audun—”

He looked significantly at her. “I was rude to a Soyapo, that’s all. I am a man now. I handle my own affairs.”

“Was it that preacher? I’ll—”

Audun looked straight ahead. “You will do nothing. If you accuse him without proof, the whole town will know, and you’ll humiliate the Cartwright family. If you accuse him falsely, the whole town will know, and you’ll humiliate yourself. If you accuse him and it’s true, the whole town will know, and you’ll humiliate your church. I will not say who it was. I am a man now, and I need no women to fight my battles—not even my mother.”

It was at that moment that Roy trotted up on his bay gelding, along with two deputies. “Howdy, Miz Cartwright. Howdy, Audun. We’ll be seein’ you-ins home. Can one of you drive this wagon?”

“Of course,” Tilly said indignantly. “We both can. But I’m not prepared to move until somebody tells me something!”

Roy gave her a reproachful look. “You want to hear it in the middle of the street where everybody else can hear it too, and I’ll have to repeat it all to Hoss when I get you home anyway, or do you wanna be a sensible lady?”

Tilly’s ears fairly smoked. She glowered at Audun. “You heard the sheriff—boy. Drive.”

**

It was a short walk to the store, but to Ben, trudging up C Street, it felt like miles through the desert. He hadn’t seen Beth in two months. Right now he wondered why he’d followed Audun’s advice in the first place—marital counseling from a twelve-year-old?—except that at the time, it had seemed to make sense. After all, Beth was clearly wrong.

None of his other wives had given him this much trouble; not even Marie had dared publicly separate after any of her little temper tantrums. But Beth had her own place in town, and her own source of income. She’d been a respected, well-off widow when he married her, the only wife who hadn’t been “rescued” from something or other, and more independent than the other three put together. She’d never liked Adam at all, though it hadn’t seemed to matter back in those days, since when he’d married her he had thought Adam was dead. Now that he thought about it, most of the disagreements they had had since Adam’s return seemed to center around Adam—and sometimes he wondered if she took some perverse delight in tormenting him with Adam, as if Adam didn’t torment him enough.

He turned his head at the sound of his name, but it wasn’t someone calling him. He looked around to hear the singsong voices of a bunch of children, and saw them up the street a little way—a group of children playing jump-rope, singing a song…and they had given him a new form of immortality.

Cartwright, Cartwright, cattle eater

Had a wife and couldn’t keep her.

One lived to leave, but I heard tell

The other three have gone to hell.

Ben almost groaned aloud. Another time he might have rounded up the children and taken them to their parents for a lesson in manners, but some distasteful things were more important than other distasteful things.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Cartwright,” called Miranda, one of the girls Beth employed for clerking. Beth made a point of employing young women—teaching them to take care of themselves, she had told him. At the time he had applauded; now he wished Beth would be a little less independent; then he could keep her at home where he could look after her. “Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

“True, Miranda—is Mrs. Cartwright around?”

“She’s in the warehouse lookin’ at a new delivery. You can go on back if you like, sir.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t a warehouse, not really—just a big empty room that periodically filled up with wooden crates, then emptied out again. Beth was there with a pencil and an account book, looking at the numbers on a crate. She hadn’t heard him come in, and she jumped when he called her.

“Ben, you gave me a start,” she said in a flat tone of voice that he had learned the hard way meant she was still mad.

“Sorry. I needed to talk to you.”

“Hmph. You’ve been giving your business to Tinker John and VC Dry Goods the last two months, and suddenly you need to talk to me? I’m busy. Make an appointment with Miranda.”

He took her elbow before she could flounce away, but dropped it at her look. “Please. It’s important, Beth—life or death important.”

She raised a dubious eyebrow and frowned.

Ben went on quickly: “I’ve just learned that Alice was murdered—and that one of the murderers may be in Virginia City, watching us.”

He could see her taking in the information, but somehow she didn’t seem surprised. “Is Adam back in town?”

“What…what does Adam—what do you mean?”

“I mean Adam came home the day of the fire all covered with blood and smelling of smoke. Tilly and I were the only ones home; she didn’t seem to notice, but I did. Adam was at the house that day, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” he replied unwillingly, and then looked her in the eye. “What of it?”

“I never knew just what his involvement was, but it didn’t seem to matter to you, since every time I tried to bring it up you didn’t want to talk about it; Adam was someone for you to worry about, but not me.”

“Adam is my son, and yes, I worry about him. We don’t have time to stand here arguing, though. Adam has sent word that we’re being watched by at least one—maybe more—of Alice’s killers. I want to get us all back to the ranch where we’ll be safe.”

“I have no intention of going to the ranch—or anywhere else—with you. I’m staying in town. You go on home. I can take care of myself just fine. I did for a whole decade, you know.”

“I know, Beth,” he said softly. “It’s one of the many things I’ve always admired about you…but the problem is, since we…the town…got rid of Farmer Perkins and Sam Bryant, you haven’t had to worry about murderers coming after you.”

“And why would I worry about murderers now?”

“Because they’re after our entire family—and you’ve become part of that family. Someone is out to hurt Joe, and the best way to do it is by hurting the people Joe cares about.”

“Well, I expect I’m safe enough, then. Joe doesn’t care beans for me. You know it.”

“I’m not going to stand here arguing with you, Beth. Not now. The point is that they know we’re a family. They know you’re a part of the family—and that makes you a target. We have to stick together on this or we’ll be picked off one at a time. Look, if we leave now we can catch up to Roy and his deputies. They’re escorting Tilly and Audun back to the ranch and I’d feel a lot safer if we were all together.”

“I’m not going, Ben. No murderer in his right mind is going to attack me in my own store, and I really don’t want to be included in a family that I don’t feel a part of, anyway. I’ll tell you what—I’ll put a sign on my door saying ‘Attention, murderers: I am no longer a Cartwright.’ How about that?”

“All right,” Ben replied calmly. “If you won’t go with me, I’ll stay with you.”

“Why? You have at least one son and three grandchildren at the ranch. I don’t need you here.”

“You’re my wife. No matter what you say, I’m staying with you.”

Beth made a little huffing noise. “Fine. There’s a wagon out back; you can help unload.”

Chapter 57

August, 1875

Roy finished his story and rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment. Watching him, Tilly wondered if he was thinking of running out before the shocked silence changed to a chaos of questions.

But the chaos did not come. Hoss, who had raised the mere act of looking distracted to an art these days, looked paler than before. He nodded, reaching down to pet Honey and Gumbo, who sat flanking him. “A lot of things fit together now that didn’t,” he observed. “Guess if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own troubles, I woulda seen it afore.”

Audun said nothing, but stared intently at the floor, where Duke, Ceirdwyn and Bruce were sprawled sleeping. As Tilly watched, he slid off his chair and joined them on the floor, pulling Duke across his lap and ruffling his ears. Adam used to do the same thing to Lady when he was feeling troubled.

Her mind was still split—part of it was reeling in shock from the tale Roy had spun, the other part observing and recording the day-to-day bits of information like Hop Sing bustling about in the kitchen and bringing out coffee. She had no doubt he had heard everything Roy had said, and he was probably in shock as well, but of course, he wouldn’t show it…he had neither the luxury nor, as he had reminded her, the right.

She still hadn’t found her voice; she was remembering the day Adam had come in, covered with blood not his own, and for some odd reason she’d never registered, smelling like smoke. Now she knew why. Now she knew how Lady had died—and that as bad as that must have been, it hadn’t been the worst thing that had happened that day. Although Roy had tried not to tell much of what Adam had found in Joe’s house, Audun had looked up sharply and demanded, “If he didn’t take a pulse, how could he be certain both of them were dead?” And Roy had hemmed and hawed a bit and mumbled that according to Adam, John Harper had a hole clean through his heart, and that Alice had been “cut up pretty bad with a knife.”

“When will you talk to Will Cartwright?” Audun asked suddenly.

“I’ll stay here tonight, Hoss, if y’all don’t mind, and I’ll ride over and see Will in the morning. I sent Clem out there tonight with orders to keep watch, but I want to give Will the particulars.”

“That’s fine,” Hoss said.

“It is not fine,” Audun spoke up again. “Will went out of town two days ago—Peggy told me. That means his family is in as much danger as ours—perhaps more—and Clem is no match for these men.”

Roy looked thoughtful, but did not reply.

Hoss stood. “I’ll go out to the bunkhouse and talk to the fellers. I’m postin’ a guard on the house from now on. And listen up, Tilly and Audun—an’ Hop Sing, I know yer eavesdroppin’, so you listen too: from now on we ain’t leavin’ the house but in pairs, and we go armed, all of us. Tilly, can you shoot?”

“I’m pretty good with a rifle. I’ve never used a pistol.”

“Then you’ll carry a rifle.”

“But Will’s family—” Audun said.

Roy smiled down at him. “I’ve always admired your spunk, son, but don’t worry—I’ll handle ever’thing.”

Audun turned his gaze downward again, and said no more, but Tilly saw his jaw harden in an Adam-like stubbornness, and she resolved to keep a close eye on him.

**

One of Audun’s chores was feeding the dogs. Since Bruce, Honey, and Gumbo were staying at the Ponderosa house, along with Duke and Ceirdwyn, who lived there, a lot of food was needed. When the leftovers were sufficient, Audun divided them in pans among the dogs; on the days there were not enough leftovers, he would kill a chicken and split it among them. Throughout the day, when the five were not doing their regular jobs (Ceirdwyn collected the eggs with Hop Sing; Bruce, Honey and Gumbo worked with the hands whenever necessary for the cattle, and Duke watched the babies or trained with Mutton Jim), they hunted toads and lizards, both for the fun of it and to supplement the food the humans provided.

That night Tilly noticed Audun was taking his time feeding the dogs, and she moved quickly to the back porch. Audun was sitting motionless on the step, watching Duke, Ceirdwyn and Bruce lope away. Honey and Gumbo sat flanking him, disappointment making their long faces even longer.

“What did you do?” Tilly asked, and Audun turned to look up at her.

“I told them to go get Peggy. Duke is carrying a note warning her to stay inside, and to keep the dogs with her until tomorrow.”

“I hope Laura doesn’t panic.”

Audun snickered. “I also told Peggy not to tell her mother. I guess you’ve noticed the lady is not very smart.”

“She’s smart enough. But she’s something else. Maybe an alienist would have a word for it, but I don’t know what it is. Anyway, does this mean you’re going to follow instructions and stay here, since I’m sure the dogs will take care of Peggy and family?”

Audun shrugged. “I suppose I will. But only because you asked, and not because of Sheriff Coffee. He is a good man, but sometimes he puts his faith in the wrong people. Are you as distressed as you look, Mother? I meant it when I said I wouldn’t go.”

“Just worried about your father.” She managed to sound calm.

“Huh. Much is now explained about his behavior before he left.” He rose to his feet with that effortless air she admired, and she restrained herself from hugging him, settling for a pat on the arm.

“Thanks for not giving me anything else to worry about,” she said.

“I told Grandfather I had caused enough trouble for a while, and I have given you my word. But Peggy is my cousin, and I like her. She needs to be protected from these men. It’s not right, staying here and asking the dogs to do my job. Just as I should have been here the day you nearly died.”

“It’s not your job to take care of me—it was my job to take care of myself, and I didn’t do it. And it’s not your job to take care of your cousin. That’s your father’s thinking getting to you—he thinks everything is his job, including taking care of Little Joe. That’s another reason why he left.”

“If you’d told him you were pregnant, he might not have gone.”

“That’s what Beth said. But I don’t think you understand Adam as well as you think. Yes, he probably would’ve stayed—and it would have made things between him and me even worse, because he would’ve resented me coming between him and his brother.”

Audun considered this and then reached down to the nearest dog, stroking her head. “Soyapo are funny people, and Cartwrights, stranger still…” he sighed. “I am both Soyapo and Cartwright, and yet I’ll never understand them.”

 

Chapter 58

August, 1875

He felt as if he was swimming through cotton, but his desperation to surface did not affect things one bit. His head felt as if it was ripping itself apart, and when he finally managed to open his eyes it hurt more; the nauseous feeling hovering at the edge of his consciousness increased as well.

So did the feeling of déjà vu. How many years had it been since he’d awakened in a wash of pain and sickness, his head pounding, vision blurred…only then Joe…yes, Joe had been sitting in a chair by the bed, masking his concern by reading some silly dime novel and joking about taking bets on just how long Adam would sleep.

When had that happened? He remembered it like yesterday—better, in fact, for he had no idea if he’d even been conscious yesterday. How long had he been here, anyway? No, that other time was far clearer in his memory…Lady had saved his life, but Beauty had died. Joe and Tilly had found him and brought him home, and then taken shifts watching over him. Now Lady was dead, there was no one to bring him home…no Tilly to greet him if he ever made it back…and certainly there was no Joe lurking nearby. He and Joe had argued, he remembered that much, but as to what had happened next, he could only guess.

“Well, you’re awake,” said an unfamiliar voice. “About time, I must say.”

He looked at the blurry features and found his voice—such as it was. “You a doctor?”

“This town’s had one doctor the last five years, and he went off to San Francisco for a medical convention and never bothered to come back. I’m the closest thing we’ve got to a doctor nowadays. I’m a veterinarian.”

Sounds like my luck is holding steady, he thought but didn’t have the energy to say. He settled for mumbling, “Wha…happen ta me?”

“Oh, that there’s another story. Let me go get Sheriff Long, and he can tell you all about it. Then maybe you can tell him a few things, too, since there’s a lot of confusing tales going ’round.”

Before he could ask what that meant, the doctor—veterinarian—was gone. Adam sighed and dozed off again.

Someone was shaking his shoulder. He mumbled irritably and woke again. It was the sheriff; he remembered him dimly from the night he and Joe had quarreled.

“Mr. Cartwright…we need to talk.”

With difficulty, Adam focused on him. “How long was I…out?”

The veterinarian put in, “You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness just over two weeks. Didn’t think you’d make it for the first few days. And today’s the first time you’ve stayed awake more than a minute.”

“Where’s my…my brother?”

“Joseph Cartwright is in jail,” Sheriff Long said impatiently.

“Why?”

“Aside from putting you into a coma and setting the hotel afire, no reason at all,” the sheriff shrugged. “I came here to talk to you, Mr. Cartwright. Do you want to press charges?”

“Against who?”

“Against Joseph Cartwright. He’s already been charged with arson by the hotel. If you want to…”

With great difficulty, Adam raised one hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. Joe…was upset. With cause.”

“What kind of cause? I haven’t been able to get a word out of him.

“Look, he didn’t mean to hurt me. And…I’m damn sure he didn’t mean to set the hotel afire.”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? It burned just as hot. And you nearly died. Not to mention he’s hardly been a model prisoner in my jail. The first day he went after Damion himself.”

“What happened to Damion?”

“Aside from a sore jaw and a broke nose, not much. I’ve had to keep Cartwright in an isolation cell ever since, though, since he and Damion didn’t seem to get along.”

“Hell’s bells!” Adam shouted, then grabbed his bandaged head to keep it from busting wide open. Finally, he went on, “How d’you think you’d get along with the fellow who murdered your wife?”

Long took a deep breath. “Point taken, Mr. Cartwright. Anyhow, Sheriff Coffee started extradition proceedings against Damion. Everything got approved yesterday, after the doc here said you’d probably live. You’re the only witness, you know—so if you kicked off, Damion would’ve gone free. This morning four of my deputies left, escorting Damion…they should be met at the border by Coffee’s deputies.”

“And then what?”

“I imagine it’s up to the state of Nevada, after that. Unless you die, of course.”

“And Joe?”

“The hotel has asked for two thousand dollars for damages. Three rooms and a lot of furniture were destroyed, you know. If your brother can come up with the money—”

“I’ll pay for it. I have money. Or at least I had some. Did my clothes burn up?”

“Yeah, sorry. Whoever dragged you out didn’t think about clothes. But your saddlebags made it.”

“Fine…the cash was in my saddlebags anyway. Take what’s there and wire Virginia City for the rest. I’ll pay hotel costs and Joe’s bail. There’s no charges from me. Find out how much the hotel wants to drop charges on Joe and I’ll pay that too…he hit me and I’m pretty sure I’m the one that hit the lamp and started the fire. Tell me, was the room adjacent to ours on the east damaged?”

“No—that’s where Damion was staying, though. Or did you already know that?”

“I suspected. Did you search the room?”

“Yep—didn’t find nothin’ but a big old music box, though.”

“That’s evidence, if it’s the music box I think it is. About this size—” he showed the dimensions with his hands—“dark brown with several jewels in the center. It played Schubert’s Serenade.”

“All right—like I’d know it if I heard it—”

“I’ll hum a few bars,” Adam said. “Once you’ve identified it, can you ship it back to the Ponderosa? It’s the only concrete evidence there is tying Damion to the house.”

“Yep—there’s a stage goin’ to Virginia City in the morning. I can send it to Roy Coffee. He’ll need it for the court case before it goes back to your home.”

“Perfect. Joe and I will follow right behind.”

“Hardly. It’s going to take time before you’re ready to ride again. I’d suggest you take the stage back home—and wait at least two more weeks. You’re in no shape to ride now.”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “Whatever you want; just let me go back to sleep now.”

Chapter 59

August, 1875

“You sure he’s your brother?” Sheriff Long asked as Joe Cartwright gave Adam a look that carried icicles of loathing.

“That’s him,” Adam said.

“Ain’t too friendly.”

Adam snorted. “Oughtta see him on his bad days.”

Long’s eyebrows climbed a little, then restored themselves as he jerked his head toward the desk. “That paper you signed means he’s your responsibility till you get him back to Virginia City. Anything else he busts up, sets fire to, that sorta thing, you pay for. I just need to know you both understand that.”

“I got it,” Joe snapped. “Let’s go.”

Adam looked at him mildly. “Considering I just got vertical after you knocked me flat for two and a half weeks, do you think you can contain your enthusiasm until I can haul my tired—”

“I’ll haul it for you.” Joe punched his left hand into his right. “If that guy’s already in Virginia City, I want to get back there fast.”

“What’s your hurry? They can’t start the trial without me.”

“Yeah, and that’s the only reason I’m makin’ sure you get there alive.”

Long eyeballed Joe for an eerie moment. “Son, I’d hate to carry you back in there so soon after lettin’ you out, but you threaten anybody else within my hearing and I’ll do so.”

“I didn’t threaten anyone. In fact, I promised he’d get home alive.”

“Sheriff, how long ago did your deputies get back from Nevada?” Adam put in quickly.

“Yesterday.”

“And the prisoner didn’t give them any trouble?”

“None that they reported.”

“And have you heard from Roy Coffee about our family?”

“Not a peep. But I figure if anything had happened, he’d’ve wired, so maybe no news really is good news. And since the main troublemaker—” Joe sent a murderous glance Long’s way, but it seemed to bounce off him—“is in custody of Genoa’s deputies, doesn’t seem to me like there’s much to worry about.”

“Genoa? I thought Roy was sending out deputies.”

“Yeah, me too.” Long rolled his eyes. “However, Sheriff Peabody over t’Genoa is one to prize his jurisdiction. He wired me that he wouldn’t let Coffee’s deputies escort anybody through his territory, so he was sending out his own men. I imagine they’ve met up with Coffee’s fellers at the county line by now, though, unless the sheriff over in Carson City wants to be a landlord about it, too; I think there might be one road running through his territory, after all.”

“Uh-oh.” Adam risked a glance at Joe, who was still looking sullenly at the floor. “All right, forget the stagecoach. We’re riding back, and fast.”

“You’re in no shape to ride, and I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Long protested. “Damion’s still in pain from his nose and jaw, and Hanley’s probably lost without someone telling him what to do. From what I’ve heard, he’s a mute, and not too smart, either, so he’s not likely to come to the rescue.”

“How many deputies did Genoa send out?”

“Two.”

“There’s trouble,” Adam said. “Joe, we’d better get going.”

**

Adam still felt shaky and occasionally saw things floating through his eyeballs that weren’t really there, but he was damned if he’d admit it to his brother. Joe was still not speaking to him, which made for a silent day and a half ride to the border. The following morning, barely an hour into Nevada, they smelled trouble even before Adam’s sudden gasp. He halted Sport to an impatient dance in place; Joe saw it, too, then, and stopped Cochise. He looked back at Adam. “They can’t still be there.”

“Maybe they’re not; maybe they went on to the Ponderosa. But I’m sure this is a message I’m supposed to find.” Adam drew his Colt and nudged Sport ahead. Joe rode alongside with his own weapon drawn. Nothing was said; there were no glances exchanged; having seen the circling buzzards above, they no longer looked up, but around. No matter how bad his expectations, Adam still nearly fell out of his saddle at the sight. It was hard to tell, at first, just how many bodies there were, but the two Genoa Sheriff’s Department badges had been thoughtfully pinned to a nearby scrub brush.

“What in God’s name…” Joe’s voice trailed off.

“God…had nothin’ to do with it,” Adam muttered. He fired a single shot that scattered most of the birds; one of the more aggressive ones tried to ignore him and suffered for it.

“But…” Joe still couldn’t comprehend what he saw. “Even the Shoshone never…”

“No,” Adam agreed. “But the Shoshone are human.”

They buried the body parts and took the badges into Genoa, where Sheriff Peabody came uncomfortably close to charging them with the murders. Placerville’s Sheriff Long had wired him that the Cartwrights were underway, however, and even Peabody was forced to admit—once Genoa’s doctor rode out and exhumed the remains—that the two deputies had been dead more than a week before Adam and Joe ever showed up.

“Adam,” Joe said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued, “what they did to those men…was that what they…did to Alice?”

And Adam replied, his own voice sounding like Satan cast out of heaven, “No.” But the look on his face prevented Joe from asking for clarification.

**

A little asking around in Genoa proved that not only had the deputies’ murderers been in town, but they had also stayed at the best hotel and sent a telegram before leaving. “But the one fellow was a real gentleman,” the desk clerk reported. “And his servant didn’t talk, but he seemed real devoted to his boss. They were as nice a pair as we’ve ever had here.”

A few threats from Sheriff Peabody influenced the Western Union employee to produce the log and copies of the sent wires from the days Damion and Hanley had been there. The telegram that caught Adam’s attention was signed by “George Smith” and sent to “John Smith,” in Virginia City, saying only, “Two knaves for three ladies.”

Chapter 60

August, 1875

The fellow was called John Smith, a newcomer to Virginia City with unspecified business matters at hand but who spent most of his time in the saloons. Today his business took him first to the telegraph office, as it had each day he’d been in town. On this particular day he received a five-word telegram: “Two knaves for three ladies.” Joking with the clerk about his brother’s gambling problems and enigmatic communiques, he left the office as quickly as he could and sought out another fellow who was currently using the name Bob Jones. After a brief discussion they parted, never to see each other again.

John Smith won the draw—Will Cartwright’s place. It was a small spread fifteen miles from town, and the man of the house—some kin to the powerful family, but not close enough to rate property like theirs—was away on lumber business. Smith’s assignment was to kill the two women bearing the Cartwright surname: Will’s wife Laura, and his daughter Peggy. Peggy was nearly 15; Smith had seen the pair in town before and had also ridden out to look over their house. He decided Peggy would be his first victim. She was as pretty as her mother, but she was smaller and lighter; she didn’t look much like someone who could fight. She was also most likely inexperienced with men, and that made the idea of taking her more fun. He’d hold his knife at her throat to keep her quiet—it had always worked like a charm with other women—and when his pleasure was over, he’d finish by slitting her throat. If he was quiet enough, he’d have time to have a little more fun with the mother before taking the knife to her.

He watched the house from twilight until long after the pale sliver of a moon had risen. No one had gone in or out the front door; no one had come around the back of the house. It was now close upon two in the morning; the house would be asleep.

As he approached the window he knew opened into the girl’s room, he readied his oft-used speech—“Keep quiet, girl. I just wanna have a little fun with you and then I’ll leave, if you’re nice to me…if you’re not nice, both you and your mother are gonna get it…”

The window wasn’t locked. He heard a low vibration as he slithered over the window sill. Then he heard it again; amplified, from multiple directions: growling noises.

He never knew what hit him; he was suddenly being torn apart. His screams brought running footsteps and Peggy Cartwright burst through the door with a lamp in one hand and a crow bar in the other. Laura was right behind her, shrieking for help. That was the last thing he saw before the crowbar glanced off his skull. His shrinking away from the three dogs had also deflected the worst of the blow to his head, so he did not die, but he did lose consciousness for several hours, long enough for what happened next. He woke up lying across the back of his horse, his hands and feet bound, just outside Virginia City’s jail with two burly ranch hands flanking him and the sheriff, holding his head up by the hair to look into his eyes. He wondered briefly what had happened to his cohort Jones, and decided he didn’t care.

**

Ben sighed, struggling to find a comfortable sitting position on the lumpy sofa. He had never protested after their marriage when Beth insisted on keeping the little rooms above the store. The alternate residence had come in handy when Beth’s work kept her in town late and he was not around to bring her home; it had also provided a respite when the Ponderosa got too noisy. And with two not-quite-toddlers at the place, along with more dogs than anyone had a right to, the place did get noisy.

But the rooms were not a respite now—they were a reminder. How long had he been away from the Ponderosa, after all—and to swap his ranch for work as a warehouse boy…?

After all, when one worked steadily for days to unload wagon after wagon of goods, and enduring with silent obedience Beth’s barked orders about what materials should be unloaded, in what order, and in what places they should be put, after such time was done, a man was ready for a hot dinner, a hotter bath, a warm bed, and a warmer wife.

He had gotten none of them, on any night. “I’m on a budget when I live in town,” she replied when he suggested sharing a meal. “I have my dinner at midday and the most I ever have for supper is a sandwich.”

The bath was likewise out, because Beth had no intention of going to the bathhouse and he had no intention of leaving her.

And the bed—as well as anything else—was out because no sooner had they reached her rooms above the store each night than she went into her bedroom, slammed the door in his face, and locked it.

It was just as well, he thought. If she’d been friendlier he might have forgotten the reason he was here. It was better to be uncomfortable—that would keep him awake, alert, and ready to protect her. He was still thinking that when he nodded off, his hand slipping from the butt of his gun to the knotty cushion. He was still dozing a few hours later and didn’t hear the click outside as the window lock was disengaged, or the grating noise as the window slid up.

But when the boot heel clunked on the wooden floor, he heard that. He leapt up, turning and drawing his gun at the same time, but his first shot missed, and he didn’t get the chance to fire another; the answering shot from the assailant smashed into his thigh. Ben cried out involuntarily and fell, he and his Colt hit the floor at the same time. The man laughed softly and took his time aiming his second shot.

The bedroom door burst open, and a massive explosion from the twin barrels of a shotgun stopped the laughter and blew the man out the window. Beth Cartwright tossed the shotgun aside and screamed, as shrilly as ever, as she ran to her husband. “Ben! Ben, tell me you’re all right!”

“I’m fine,” Ben lied, his voice hoarse. “Beth…I love you.”

“Oh God, Ben, not now—you need a doctor!”

“No. Beth…the boys.”

“I’ll have them sent for.”

“No—the boys…and you…”

“What about them?” she grabbed the cushion from the sofa and held it hard against his thigh. “Oh, I know you love them more than me…I didn’t mind, really, I just didn’t—”

“No, dammit!” Ben roared. “Not more. Just…longer. I’ve loved them longer…but not more. If you hadn’t run away you’d have seen that.”

“I believe you.” she took his hand and put it over the cushion. “Keep the pressure there and don’t you dare pass out on me. I’m going for the doctor.”

He tried to obey, but couldn’t.

Chapter 61

August, 1875

“Bet you never thought you’d hear me say this, Ben,” Tilly said, “but it sure is good to see you.”

Ben Cartwright grinned. “It’s good to see you too, daughter. And I know you never thought you’d hear me say that.”

“You had us worried f’r a while, Pa,” Hoss put in. “Beth said you dang near bled to death.”

“I love the woman, but she can’t help but exaggerate. I also have to admit, Tilly’s cousin took excellent care of me.”

Hoss’s eyebrows went up. “I heard Cousin Charlotte doctored you. How’d that happen? I thought Kam Lee and Paul were back.”

“Yes, but Charlotte’s office—and her room above it—is barely fifty yards away, and Beth was in a hurry. She did tell someone on the street, who eventually went to wake up Paul, but by that time Charlotte was already here and had overcome all my protestations. She’s a competent doctor—something else I’m sure you never expected to hear from me—but she has no notion of natural modesty.”

Tilly raised an eyebrow. “When natural modesty gets in the way of trying to stop the bleeding, I can hardly blame her.”

“Don’t know if I could let a strange woman look at my nekkid leg,” Hoss mused.

“Well, Charlotte is pretty strange,” Tilly said with a waggling eyebrow, and Hoss blushed, but laughed all the same.

Someone knocked on the door. “I’ll get it,” Hoss said, and left in a hurry.

It was Hop Sing.

“Will wonders never cease,” Ben said with a short laugh. “Is this what it took to get you out of Chinatown? I should’ve got myself shot before!”

Hop Sing only looked at him for a moment, then approached without making a sound.

“Have a seat,” Ben told him. Tilly moved over on the couch and patted the seat beside her, but Hop Sing did not move.

“Sir,” he finally said, “I would speak to you.”

“Since when did we need such formality?” Ben asked. “Hop Sing, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Mr. Cartwright,” he replied, and Tilly, watching, could see him mentally rehearsing each line before mouthing it, ensuring that his English was as perfect as an Oxford scholar’s. “It is only that, while I rejoice that you will recover, I came here with another purpose. I did not know at first that you were hurt. I was looking for you to give my notice.”

“What the—Hop Sing!” Hoss cried. “You can’t do that!”

“Hoss…Tilly…give us a moment,” Ben said.

“It is not necessary,” Hop Sing replied. “Miss Tilly has assured me—as you have many times, Mr. Cartwright—that I am a member of the family. It is therefore appropriate for other family members to hear. We have come to a parting of the ways; I must leave your employ.”

“But why?” Ben’s answer was hushed, as if he’d heard the proverbial still, small voice.

“I have long desired my own situation,” Hop Sing said. “And my own family. I now have the opportunity for both.”

“Your own family?” Hoss repeated. “Ain’t you got one with us?”

Tilly half-dreaded what he would say, but the smaller man smiled up at Hoss. “I have been told many times that I am ‘honorary Cartwright,’ Mister Hoss. But I desire to have real children, not honorary ones. And I would like to run my own restaurant. Mister Ben has known this since we met, though I think he has tried to forget.”

“You found a girl to marry,” Tilly murmured. “What did her family say?”

“Su Ling has no family,” Hop Sing replied. “She has lived with Doctor Kam’s mother for many years, but—”

“Su Ling?” Hoss gasped. “That little slave girl—the one Gen’ral Tsung wanted? The gal who lived with us? That was years ago; you mean she never married?”

“No,” Hop Sing answered. “She never married, for the same reason I never married. Family and ancestry are all things to the Chinese. Su Ling had no family and was only a slave. No one wants to marry a slave. I had no family—only cousins—and was only a servant. No one wants to marry a servant. But we decided we are in America now, and in America, ancestry does not determine one’s future as much as hard work and determination. Su Ling and I are both hard workers. She has worked at Doctor Kam’s hospital these many years, but while she was good at it, it was not what she wanted. And I worked for the Cartwrights these many years…and please believe that you are the best honorary family I could ever have, but I also wanted more.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Ben said, “but…do you love Su Ling?”

The little man smiled. “I understand. It has been so long. You think we are desperate and could only find each other. But no. Sometimes you do not see that which is in front of you. This is how it was for us. For a long time, we did not see each other, although we visited every day. Then one day we saw each other…and having seen, we wished never to be separated again. Do you think this is love, Mr. Cartwright?”

“It sounds purty durn good to me,” Hoss muttered.

“Are you opening a restaurant?” Tilly asked.

Hop Sing bowed his head a little. “There is a café on B Street that is closing. The owner wants to sell. I am going to the bank this afternoon to ask them.”

Tilly and Ben exchanged a thoughtful glance. American banks did not readily lend to foreigners.

“Hop Sing,” Ben said, “you tell Cyrus that if he doesn’t make you a loan, I’ll make the loan myself—out of the money I get when I close my account. Be sure you tell him I said that.”

“Mine too,” Hoss seconded, his face fierce.

Tilly held up one hand. “And tell him that I’ll be in to close Adam’s account if he tries to make that loan at anything over the standard interest rate.”

“Thank you,” Hop Sing said, his voice soft. “You do not have to do this.”

“How can we not?” Ben said. “You’re family.”

**

After Hop Sing left, Tilly thought for a moment. “Ben, can I take it this means that once you’re well enough to travel, you and Beth will be returning home as a couple?”

“I hope that’s a safe assumption.” Ben smiled. “She hasn’t left my side since it happened. She only went down to the store this morning because you and Hoss came.”

Hoss returned then, followed by Reverend Cook.

“Ben, I’m glad to see you—” Cook began, and Tilly got to her feet.

“I’ll be back,” she said, kissed Ben on the cheek, and left, with the three men looking after her in dismay.

**

Tilly was halfway to Charlotte’s office when she heard running footsteps on the wooden sidewalk behind her, and then someone grabbed her arm. She jumped backwards in fright, and found herself looking at Reverend Cook. Her jaw tightening, she wrenched her arm away. “Touch me again, and you’ll find out how I got the reputation for being good at throwing heavy objects.”

“Mrs. Cartwright, I have to talk to you.”

“Really? Do you want to insult my son again, or just slight me?”

Cook examined his shoes for a moment. “I deserve that. But I still need to talk to you.”

“Don’t expect my consent just because you agreed. A year or so ago I remember saying the same thing to you. But you couldn’t spare me any time because you had to go to lunch! And then my son Audun went to talk to you just a week ago and came back with a bruise on his face. Exactly what could you possibly say to me, short of an on-your-knees apology?”

He backed away, looking down at the planks they stood on. “There may have been some wrongs done, Mrs. Cartwright, but I’d say you’ve avenged yourself pretty well on me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t want to know.” Tilly turned away, only to have him clutch at her arm again.

“For the love of God, Mrs. Cartwright…you’ve called me into account, haven’t you? My sin is something I can no longer deny…I’ll never see either of them again.”

At that, she stopped and faced him again. “Have you been drinking?”

“I wish I had.” His face was flaming red. “I know you hate me, Mrs. Cartwright. I have no idea how you found out, or how you got her to leave, but I’ve been suffering the tortures of ten thousand hells. I know I was a little brusque when you came to see me, and I’m sorry, but if you’d only understood what that time meant to me…and when that boy told me about The Scarlet Letter and gave me that little smirk, I knew you were in it together. Then I got the letter…she’s gone, and taken Ruby with her.”

Ruby.

With that, everything clicked into place as she remembered. “O.” Reverend Oliver Cook.

“You were Flora Robinson’s lover? The little girl is yours?”

Shoulders hunched, Cook looked around as if she had bellowed it for all Virginia City to hear. Then he swallowed hard and straightened his back with a visible effort. “Please…may we talk in my office?”

**

“You have to see how it was,” Cook said. He was sweating, piling the books that covered his desk into their familiar stacks, but this time he pushed them to one side, rather than barricading the space between Tilly and himself. He leaned across his desk toward her, his hands out in appeal. “We met when I was in seminary. She was in a girl’s school nearby—a Catholic school. Her parents wouldn’t let her marry me. God help me, I even swore to abandon my calling and become a Catholic myself, but her parents couldn’t stomach the idea of a Church of England seminarian courting their daughter.”

“Reverend, I don’t need to hear this—”

“But you do! No one else in this town knows—well, that wretched O’Reilly woman knows part of it, but not all. If she knew I was Ruby’s father I’m sure I’d have been ridden out of town on a rail when I first arrived!”

“Please, Reverend Cook,” Tilly said. Anger still sparked from her eyes, but her voice was under tight control. “None of this has anything to do with me.”

“Doesn’t it? The cork’s off the bottle now.”

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound, sir?”

“I am ridiculous,” he muttered. “And I have been for years. Graduating seminary was a sham. Florinda and I were mad for each other. We met in secret…we planned to run away together, to come out to the great Western territory, where everyone was the same and there wasn’t enough religion for our differences to be bothersome. But then she told me…” His eyes fell, and he clasped his hands.

“That she was going to have your child.”

“Neither of us knew much then, and…well, I thought she knew how to prevent it…”

Tilly scoffed. “Yes, of course. Women are always supposed to prevent that sort of thing. Lord knows men seldom think of it.”

Cook just looked at his hands. Finally he spread them in a helpless gesture. “I was wrong. I would have told her, but she by then was gone. Her parents sent her off to some home where she was supposed to give the child up for adoption. But she wouldn’t…she came here instead. She got a respectable job as a seamstress and took a room at Mrs. O’Reilly’s…and that old crone steamed open the mail.”

At that, Tilly felt a glimmer of sympathy for the couple. After all, she’d boarded at O’Reilly’s place herself, and the rumors the woman had started about her and the Cartwrights were still floating about Virginia City, years later.

“A letter to you or from you?”

“Neither; it was to her parents, telling them she’d had the baby and wouldn’t be coming back to them. And her parents wouldn’t tell me anything; I didn’t know where she was. I tracked her here; it took forever. More than two years I looked for her, and I finally found her…she’d been kicked out of all the decent boarding houses and had resorted to selling herself to strangers. She kept my daughter with a family in Carson City. We developed this routine. Every Wednesday afternoon, I would go to Carson City. She would meet me there, and we would play with Ruby and talk together…and yes, that’s it. We just talked. And then we’d separate and each return to our respective…professions. The day you came to see me, I was on my way to see them. You have no idea how much those visits meant to me.”

“You could’ve taken them both and gone somewhere else as soon as you found her,” Tilly said. “Why didn’t you?”

Refusing to meet her eyes, he began fingering one of the books on the desk.

Tilly slammed her hand down on the book. “She’d become a whore, so she was unworthy?” The silence was answer enough.

She got up to leave, but he blurted, “It never occurred to me that she’d leave me! I was a fool, I admit it. I settled for one day a week because I was afraid of a lifetime. But I know what I’ve lost now. If I could find her, I’d beg her on my knees for forgiveness. And yes, I know I sound more ridiculous by the moment. But to lose them both…to lose them permanently…Mrs. Cartwright, I went to see your father-in-law, but not as part of my duty to visit the sick. I went to him to beg him to talk to you for me—only there you were, so I followed you instead.”

Tilly’s lips were pressed together tight enough to churn out diamonds. He finally looked up at her. “The letter she left said you gave her the money for a ‘fresh start.’ But she didn’t say where she was going. Will you tell me?”

She shook her head. “I promised not to tell anyone.”

“I see.” He continued to play with the pages of one book. “Will you at least tell me what your connection is with her? I know she’s always admired you; I never knew why.”

Tilly found herself hard-pressed not to answer that question with a question. She had never known Florinda Robinson admired her, and the only connection they’d ever had…was Adam. “In some lopsided way,” she murmured, “I think I reminded her of the way things could have been for her.”

“Why?” Cook asked.

“I was one of Mrs. O’Reilly’s targets, too. But Adam couldn’t have cared less about the rumors—or the truth. He didn’t care about my past or my reputation. He married me.” And in some rambling speech, probably not too different from this conversation we’re having here, Adam told Florinda that she looked like me.

“And that was enough for you to finance her ‘fresh start’? Why?”

Tilly shrugged. “I happened to have the cash on hand, and I saw a chance to be helpful.” Forgive me, Lord, for not being altogether truthful with this man. Or for not being altogether altruistic with Flora.

Cook’s voice broke in on her thoughts. “Then are you still in contact with her?”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“If I write a letter…” he blushed furiously. “…a letter detailing my previous stupidity, begging forgiveness, and asking her to marry me, would you send it to her?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to be a party to breaking her heart all over again, knowing all she’s been through. Can you really forgive her for what she’s done?”

“There’s nothing to forgive! What she did, she did to stay alive—to keep our child alive. She had nowhere else to turn for help—and please don’t tell me that nothing has changed; that it was just as true three years ago as it is now. I’m the one who has changed, Mrs. Cartwright. I’m the one who was blind. Now…well, I guess now I can see. Don’t you think my telling you all this is proof?”

“Oh, I dunno, Reverend. Why don’t you stand up in front of your congregation and tell them the same thing?”

“If it’s the price of postage, I will. And you needn’t call me ‘Reverend’ anymore. I’ve already resigned my position. If Florinda agrees to have me, I’ll get a job in an office somewhere. I used to clerk in my uncle’s bank; I’m sure he’d write me a reference. He never thought I had the temperament for making sermons, anyway.”

Tilly chuckled. “Forget it—the confession, I mean. I just wondered. I’ll send your letter. And I won’t even steam it open first.”

There was one other thing she didn’t tell the good reverend, because she didn’t want him to lose his incentive for finding a job, or marrying the lady…but Flora was in no hurt for financial support. Tilly had given her the full $15,000 Adam had left in his own farewell letter, and she regarded it as money well spent.

She said a polite “Good afternoon” to the preacher and headed out the door, toward Charlotte’s office.

A soft voice called after her, “Mrs. Cartwright…thank you.”

Chapter 62

September, 1875

“They ain’t been reported in Virginia City,” Sheriff Peabody said. “I’ve sent wires to every sheriff and marshal in the state, and Long’s doin’ the same in California. One marshal’s wired law officers in Utah. But your family was attacked, although the fellas who did it were unknowns.”

Strangely, Joe did not seem surprised by this. “Was anyone hurt?” he asked quietly.

“Ben Cartwright was shot, but the fella that shot him is dead. One other attacker was caught at Will Cartwright’s place before he could do any harm, but he ain’t talking.”

“How’s…how’s my father?” Joe asked. “Hoss wrote me in jail; said Pa was sick. He didn’t say anything about him bein’ hurt.” It sounded strange, Joe saying that—it made Adam realize just how long it had been since he had thought of his father at all.

“He’s alive,” Peabody shrugged. “More than that, I couldn’t tell you. The wire from Coffee just said Cartwright was shot and wounded but was recuperating.”

Joe looked torn.

“Maybe you should go on home,” Adam said. “He’ll get better quicker with you around.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going after Damion and Hanley.”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

“Not much point in it.” Adam looked away. “I’m the one they’re after, Joe—they don’t even know you exist. And I’m the one who got a good look at them both. Did you even see Damion’s face before you broke his nose?”

“Not well,” Joe admitted. “I just jumped him because he was the only one in the cell. And I don’t suppose Damion knows me; he only knows I’m a Cartwright. I don’t think my first name ever came up, not from the sheriff. And I was hardly in a conversational mood.”

Adam looked doubtful as Joe went on, “But with his nose spread across his face, he shouldn’t be that hard to find. Anyway, I’m not going home without you. Tilly’d never speak to me again.”

Adam stared at his boots.

“No sense in both of you tearing off after them anyhow,” Peabody said. “Already told you, every law enforcement agent between San Diego and Salt Lake City is on the lookout. At some point those two’ll come up for air, and we’ll be on ’em like ducks on a June bug.”

“Assuming they’ll head for civilization,” Joe muttered.

Adam’s fingers twitched on the brim of his hat. He’d played with the thing more in the last year than in the rest of his life.

“Where else would they go?” Peabody asked.

“Someplace where we wouldn’t,” Joe thought aloud. “Maybe…”

Adam nudged him with his foot. “Never mind. We’ll be going home now, Sheriff…thanks for your, uh, help.”

“What an idiot,” Joe muttered as they walked back to their horses.

“Don’t say anything more until we get out of here,” Adam said, keeping his voice low. “That idiot is entirely capable of arresting us as long as we’re in his town. He let his men get killed because he was more concerned with his territory than their lives; didn’t take a warning seriously, so he had the killers parading right down Main Street in front of his office…no telling what he’ll do to us if we keep talking about finding them.”

As they rode out of town, Joe turned to Adam. “So where are we lookin’?”

“Right where you were thinking about. Somewhere we wouldn’t normally go. Maybe that new Paiute reservation on the Walker River. The tracks near the spot where the deputies died—remember, they did lead southeast.”

“That’s miles and miles of heat…at a dead gallop, changing horses regular, we’d get there in two or three days. We can’t do that, so it’ll take a week at least. Most of that country’s nothin’ but scrub and scree.”

Adam crossed his arms. “And what did you have us ridin’ through when we were goin’ in circles around Silver Peak?”

“But then we were walking and trotting.”

“Look, you do what you want,” Adam said. “I’m going.”

“Oh, I’m coming with you,” Joe replied. “After all these months of you following me around when I didn’t want you, I figure turnabout’s fair play. Besides, you’re responsible for me. So if I happen to kill these guys accidentally, you’ll have to apologize for me.”

They were an hour out of town when Adam began listing to the right, and if Joe had not bunched Cochise right into Sport and grabbed Adam, he would have fallen off. “Dammit, Adam, you look like flour paste!”

“I’m…fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He helped his brother dismount. Then he set up camp right where they were. “I bet you left before that doctor said you could, didn’t you? How long have you been sick, and what is it you’ve got?”

“A bad case of little brotheritis,” Adam retorted, and went to sleep.

**

They stayed where they were for two days, until Adam could keep his stomach more or less settled, and could ride more than five miles without falling off. The third day they left, but only made ten miles before having to stop. Joe was careful to hide his impatience, since the only time he said anything about moving on, Adam grunted, “Why do you even want to be with me? You’ve acted like you hated me ever since we left Placerville.”

“And I still do,” Joe replied with the same innocent look he’d worn a few years back when asking for security on a wager. “Is there something you want to ask me, Adam?”

“I just did ask you. I’ve got no patience for games, and you should know that better than most.”

“And yet you played games with me.” Joe’s voice sounded like charred pine knots. “All this time, lettin’ me think it was my fault she died in a fire. All this time I’ve been torturing myself for cuttin’ a corner or two when I built the house…”

“What are you talking about?”

“You oughtta know! After you and Tilly came home…when I took you out to see my house…you stared at it like it was cheap and I was still the baby brother who didn’t care what he was doing. You made me—”

“I didn’t make you do anything,” Adam sighed. “You damn fool.”

“Why does it make me a fool? You looked like you thought—”

“Why didn’t you save yourself some trouble and ask me what I thought? I was surprised to see you living in a house that was out in the open and painted yellow. Don’t you remember Edelweiss? That was your place; I thought that’s where you’d be—a hermit’s cabin. Not in some cheerful clapboard place that looked like it was crying out for kids and crops.”

Joe stared at Adam, his eyes swimming. “You didn’t think I was slacking?”

“Why would I? Ever since I’ve been back, you’ve been the one Pa’s turned to for information, for action, for anything that needed doing. I was thinking my leaving was probably the best thing in the world—you and Hoss grew up.”

“But Adam…” Joe’s voice broke. “I was just tryin’ta prove…”

“And that is the first childish thing I’ve heard you say since I came home.” Adam rolled on his side, facing away from him. “You had nothing to prove to anyone, Little Brother…least of all, me. You’re not the one who failed.”

**

As they rode the next day at a moderate, energy-maintaining trot, Joe asked, “What did you mean last night…the one who failed?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Not really. It sounded like you thought you failed somehow. Look, I won’t lie—I’d gladly jack-slap you all the way to Boston for letting me believe a lie all this time, but I don’t blame you for what happened to Alice. Hell, I blame myself for going into town that day.”

“And I blame myself for not being an hour earlier,” Adam said. “But the truth is, Joe, if either one of us had been there, we’d probably just have been killed too. There were four of them there that I saw, and I got the idea that they enjoyed killing. That Hanley fellow, I don’t know if he can’t talk or won’t talk, but he’s got a language all his own when it comes to murder.”

“Well, we’ll shut ’em up—all of ’em.” Joe looked into the distance. “And then we’ll go home. It’ll be good to see the Ponderosa again. Bonnie’s probably half grown by now. Lord knows what mischief Audun’s into, and Tilly oughtta bean you with her skillet for goin’ off and leavin’ her for so long. Even I never left Alice that long.”

“I may not go back to the Ponderosa,” Adam said. “I was thinkin’ of going to San Francisco.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Tilly won’t be there, Joe. I sent her away when I left. And after the last argument Audun and I had, I doubt he’ll be there either.”

“What the—that’s the biggest pile of horse sh—”

“And I’m not in the mood to talk about it, so drop it.”

“Oh, after five months of ‘Joe, talk to me’ suddenly you’re the one who loves the sound of silence? To hell with that and to hell with you if you can’t take a little bit of goose ’n’ gander, Older Brother. Why in the name of God did you dump Tilly?”

“She loved somebody else.”

“I always knew that stuff about you being smarter than the rest of us was a lot of road apples. And now you just proved it.”

Adam did not bother to respond.

“Seriously,” Joe went on in his best goading voice. “I imagine when Lady died you thought she did it on purpose just to piss you off, too.”

“You weren’t there that day and you don’t know what the hell happened to Lady, so why don’t you shut—”

“I won’t shut up because I know better,” Joe snapped. “When you and Tilly came back after all your travels, she loved you more than when you left for Europe. If she fell for some rounder in Carson City it’s only because you wouldn’t give her the time of day, and everybody on the Ponderosa knew it. I don’t know what happened to you with Audun’s Indians, but not long after you came back you turned into the same sourpuss you were the last year you lived here—before you even met Tilly. Everybody noticed it.”

“I don’t know how you could’ve noticed anything,” Adam replied. “You were always gone. Everybody noticed that, too.”

“Well, at least when I was around I loved my wife! And I’ll tell you something else, Mr. Scholar. If Alice fell for somebody else because I was always gone—or any other reason—I’d’ve fought for her. She was worth enough to me that I wouldn’t’ve just cut ’er loose with a ‘goodbye and good luck.’ I’d’ve got down on both knees and begged—”

“Easy to say,” Adam said. “Didn’t have that problem, did you?”

“Shows what you know. When I came back after my last trip Alice told me there was some other fella. Said he was good-lookin’ and hung on every word she said. Wouldn’t say who he was. Puzzles me to this day, since I thought she was only seein’ you and Hoss while I was gone, but he was apparently hangin’ around a good bit. Did you ever see anybody?”

“Nope.”

“Well anyway, she said she’d give me one last chance to straighten up, and you better believe, I swore then and there my travelin’ days were done. And if I’d found out who that fella was I’da knocked every tooth out of his head, too, but that never came up again. Look, I ain’t tellin’ you this for fun—I’m tellin’ you because if you love your wife, you’ll fight for her, not just wave your hanky and quote poetry.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Adam said. “She’s gone now.”

“Not last I heard.”

Certain that he had misheard, Adam managed a faint, “What?”

“Hoss wrote me while I was in jail, like I said. Said Pa was sick, and Audun went looking for his wáyakin…and that Tilly had been sick too. So it sounds to me like she didn’t leave.”

At that, Adam’s thoughts went into such a whirl that the only thing he remembered later was to wonder what he’d look like with all his teeth knocked out.

Chapter 63

September, 1875

The next day Adam threw caution to the wind. When they broke camp, he spurred Sport into a hard lope that made the smaller Cochise struggle to keep apace. They reached the Walker River just before sunset on Saturday. Adam had long-since retreated into silence. His head was pounding, and the normal sounds of the outdoors were bombarding his ears like the Krupp artillery guns back in Paris.

You have no one to blame but yourself, he thought, and even his thoughts were fuzzy. That veterinarian said not to push myself, but I did, and I’ve been payin’ for it ever since. And I’m stuck with Joe; I’ll never get rid of him now that he knows. Which means we’ll have to capture these guys alive and take them to Virginia City…and go to court…and everyone will know…and it still might not be enough to get them on the gallows. The French were right, it’s so much easier…

But he couldn’t remember what it was that was easier. His ears were roaring now, and his stomach was lurching as if it wanted to jump out of his body.

“We have to stop,” he finally said.

“But the river’s just ahead—we get across that and we’ll be on the reservation. We—”

“I’m stopping!” Adam snapped, and made it off Sport just before the little that was in his stomach abandoned him.

“Ohhhh…kay,” Joe said, dismounting and unsaddling Sport and Cochise before leading them down to the river for a drink. When they returned, Adam was asleep—or whatever passed for sleep with him these days. His head was pillowed on his saddle, but he was sweating and twitching and murmuring, “Cochon…cochon…” Joe’s eyebrows rose at that, and he half-grinned, wondering just who Adam was confronting in his dream, and if they were getting the worst of it. And then the smile disappeared as the thought of Damion pranced through his mind. No, surely Adam would have a better insult than that for him.

He meant to ask if they should take turns on watch, but figuring his brother was feeling far more fragile than he’d ever admit, he decided to take the watch himself, and for the night. It was a bad decision. Sometime past three a.m., his head began to nod, and a few minutes later he was sound asleep.

**

The dreams were the worst of it, keeping him from getting any rest while he slept. He was back in France, standing against the blood-spattered wall and shouting insults at his firing squad. Max was in command; he and Tilly were arm in arm, with brandy glasses in their free hands. “Let’s get this over with,” Tilly sighed. “I don’t want to stay at the Ponderosa longer than necessary.”

The dream repeated several times through the night, with slight variations each time, but always the same in essentials. Sometimes he woke, but he was never sure whether he was really awake or still sleeping and dreaming that he was awake. Thus, when he heard the voice of Damion he paid little attention to it—until a Hoss-sized hand closed painfully on his shoulder, twisting him around.

He didn’t even think. One booted leg shot upward, the toe catching Hanley in the fleshy part of the arm. The giant’s grip went momentarily slack, and the old Colt came up and out of its holster, almost of its own volition. Hanley dived on him, but Adam pulled the trigger. For a minute Hanley seemed unaffected. Then, looking puzzled as the blood spurted from his chest, he stared at Adam. It was the closest Adam had ever seen to a flash of humanity in the man’s eyes…just before he keeled over backwards.

“Impressive,” Damion said with no discernible emotion as he looked at what was left of his former associate. “But what happens now?”

He sounded almost mischievous, standing behind Little Joe, left arm across his neck, the gun up against Joe’s right temple. “You might be able to shoot me, but then I might twitch. Animal reflex, you know.”

“What makes you think I’d care,” Adam said in a voice bereft of feeling.

“Shoot, Adam!” Joe shouted, his voice shrill. “Shoot through me! I don’t care, just as long as I take him with me!”

“Adam?” Damion repeated—manfully keeping his grip on Joe’s neck—“You’re Adam Cartwright?”

“Disappointed?” Adam replied, as casual as a Sunday stroll. “Yeah, you might not want to kill him. He’s the one you want the money from. And I’m the one who has no feelings for his family, remember?”

“But you said you’d lost your wife and son.”

“Son?” Joe repeated so faintly Adam almost didn’t hear him. “My son?” One elbow rammed backward into Damion’s gut; the gun tilted crazily and discharged into air as Adam rushed them both. Joe somersaulted away and bounced to his feet as Adam landed on Damion. Damion’s gun went off again before flying across the sky to land on a boulder fifteen feet away. Joe ran over to find Adam sitting on Damion’s chest, his knees grinding Damion’s arms into the sand and his hands on Damion’s throat.

“You made a mistake, Max,” Adam said, his voice soft and breathy. “You already confessed your crime—hell, you boasted about it. Full admission of guilt. And there’s no law out here. No judge, no jury, no technicalities. Nothing but me.”

Damion struggled uselessly, rasping, “It was Hanley! He was an animal—all I did—”

As if Damion hadn’t opened his mouth, Adam went on pressing the man deeper into the ground; his hands tightened further on Damion’s neck. “No lawyers, no plea bargains…it’ll take at least two days to die…you’ll be jealous of your friend over there before it’s done…you’ll be begging for the mercy of the quick death he got. But I’m not going to let you go that easy. You’re going to pay for Alice…for her baby…for Lady. I’m going to watch the life drain outta you like the last sludgy mess of coffee oozing out of the pot…and I’m gonna smile.”

“Adam,” Joe’s voice came into his head slowly, as if fighting its way through cannon wadding. “Adam, listen to me. Adam! Dammit, Adam, look at me!”

Adam, distracted, regarded Joe, who knelt down to look into his eyes. “Look, Adam…are you talking to him, or are you talking to yourself? Do you really need that much convincing? I’ve seen you kill men before, and you never gave ’em a speech. You just did what needed doing, as quick as you could, because it wasn’t something you enjoyed.”

“But this will be,” Adam murmured. “I can enjoy this. They were right—don’t waste time arresting the innocent. You go after the ones you know are guilty, and you give them what they deserve.”

Joe’s voice sounded terrified as he leaned over, staring into Adam’s burning eyes. “What you sound like…isn’t like my brother. I need you the way you’re s’posed to be, Adam.”

“Tell me you don’t want to watch him die, Joe,” Adam grunted, his gaze locked on Damion’s terrified eyes.

“I do,” Joe said. “But after he’s found guilty by a judge and jury. Just the way you taught me things should work. So many times, when I was playing it like this. You were the one who set me straight. Remember?”

“But it’s not the way the world works! What happened over there—”

“Was wrong! It wasn’t the way civilized people work, Adam! What happened to you wasn’t civilized. When people have to eat rats to survive, when people spend months getting tortured, it’s not civilization. But we’re better than that. We’ll be civilized. Even with this—this yellow excuse for a man!”

As an anemic autumn sun struggled over the rocky horizon, the light of reason returned to Adam’s eyes. He swung a carefully aimed fist that connected hard against Damion’s broken nose, and then just because he wanted to, he did it again. And as Damion screeched, Adam got up, looking weak and tired. “Tie him up and let’s get outta here.”

 

Chapter 64

September, 1875

Dear Mrs. Cartwright,

Please give Oliver my address. Doubtless you will think I am mad, but I believe the things he wrote me. I appreciate your reservations, and I have some of my own, but the truth is I have always loved him and always will. That love, and my affection for my little girl, kept me from falling apart during the dark times when I wanted to die.

When I was in school the nuns never suggested I try reading my Bible. They always said I couldn’t hope to understand it. In fact, one of my teachers spent more time talking about Greek and Roman mythology than the Bible. The nuns at the home where I was sent told me I was evil and that God would certainly send me to hell for my actions. Sometimes I believed them. Only when I ran away and came out here did I pick up a Bible for myself, and I found in my reading that for a God who is so anxious to send people to hell, he spent an awful lot of time and inconvenience to make sure we didn’t have to go there. I asked Oliver about this when he came to Virginia City. He said that in fact God was not at all anxious to send people to hell and that he would happily forgive anyone who was genuinely sorry for their sins. He also told me, however, that people were less forgiving than God, and that was where most of the trouble came in.

One of the things Oliver’s letter said was that if God could forgive me for the choices I have made, then Oliver could do no less, and that if God could forgive Oliver for his own foolishness, then I should do the same.

No one knows Oliver here; no one knows me here, either. He says that if I agree, we’ll be married as soon as he arrives. Maybe I am naïve, but I believe we’ve both made foolish mistakes and learned from them; we’ve both forgiven each other and now we can start again. I believe if God offers second chances, we’d be more foolish not to accept them.

I’m fairly certain that you got me out of town more to get me away from your husband than to help me, but I won’t hold your motive against you if you don’t hold my former profession—and connection to your husband—against me. I never figured out exactly what Adam meant when he was talking to me about you, but I have the notion that you and he need to forgive each other for something too, so maybe you’re not that different from Oliver and me. I hope we can continue our correspondence, Mrs. Cartwright. Maybe we’ll actually have good news for each other someday. I continue to hope.

Sincerely,

Florinda Robinson

“Be sure your sins will find you out,” Tilly murmured. “The girl’s a smart one, I’ll give her that.”

She left the post office and seeing Audun loafing nearby, called him over. “Did you not find Dr. Martin?”

“No—he’s gone out of town. The sign on his door says he’s gone fishing.”

“Well, he’s taken about two fishing trips since I’ve known him, and one of them was interrupted,” Tilly said. “So you can’t blame him for that. And Dr. Kam isn’t around?”

“He’s with a patient—a Chinese man who was beaten by some white people. Hop Sing and Su Ling are with him.” He shook his head. “You know, the Nimiipuu can’t tell the difference between Chinese and whites. The slight difference in eyes and skin color is not important enough for them to notice.”

“That could be a good thing or a bad thing,” Tilly observed.

“How?”

“It’s good if it means we shouldn’t think a person’s skin color is important when judging their character. It’s bad if Indians think all whites—including the Chinese—are exactly alike.”

Audun grunted. “My father said something like that.”

“Why not come with me to visit Charlotte? I’m sure she’s doing something medical.”

He grimaced with distaste. “The office is always full of women—and they all tease me. They tell me they’ll take their clothes off ‘for free’ just for me.”

“Egad and little fishes! Okay, we won’t go to Charlotte’s.”

“You certainly will,” he said. “Supposedly it’s why you made me bring you into town anyway. You are late, by my calculations, and the heart—”

“I have something else to do first; it’s important.”

“No one else can do it for you?”

“I have to talk to Reverend Cook.”

“The man you said you would never speak to again?” Audun chuffed. “That does not sound so important to me. Write the message and I’ll carry it to him. You go see Charlotte.”

She considered for a moment, and then drew the letter from Florinda out of her reticule. “All right—just take this to him. And don’t talk to him about any Nathaniel Hawthorne books.”

“This is a letter to you,” he observed. “Do you want it back?”

“After he gets what he needs from it.”

Audun mumbled assent and took off down the street.

Tilly waited a few minutes to allow a group of dusty cowboys to ride past; wistfully she looked after them, but Adam and Joe were not among them. She sighed, wondering if they would ever come back, and dreading what she would have to say to Adam if he did. Well, if Reverend Cook and Florinda Robinson could make things work, surely she and Adam could get past this. She stepped out into the street, heading toward Charlotte’s office, just as one lagging rider shouting “Hey fellers, wait fer me!” barreled up, the shoulder of his big bay bashing into her and knocking her to the ground.

**

Charlotte heard the commotion outside, and went out to her waiting room to see the preacher and Audun Cartwright carrying in her cousin, Tilly. She gave an involuntary squeak, and then the eerie calm settled over her that always happened during a crisis.

“Everybody out,” she told all the waiting women. “I’ve got an emergency here. Audun, you and the preacher take her into my examination room.”

She followed them in. “What happened?”

“Run down by a horse on C Street,” Cook said. “Audun and I both saw it.”

“What sort of damage? Any head wound?” She began to look for herself as Audun spoke.

“No broken bones that I saw; if there’s a concussion I think it’s minor. But I think it brought on labor. There’s a lot of fluid, but not much blood. I think her water broke.”

“Yep. You wash up, Audun—I’ll need assisting. You never told her about the heartbeats, did you?”

“Of course not; she was already terrified,” Audun replied. “What do you think her—and their—chances are?”

“That’s up to the good Lord, and he ain’t tellin’.” Charlotte looked grim.

Oliver Cook regarded Tilly for a moment, and then turned to Charlotte. “May I wait outside? I can ride out and tell Ben—I’m sure he will want to know…”

“And so will you,” Audun said, staring right through him.

“Yes, so will I.” He stood a little straighter. “She’s a good woman, and she’s been a good friend to those I care about.”

Chapter 65

September, 1875

Adam didn’t even remember the book in the pocket of his coat until he looked for his spare neckerchief, and by then they were nearing home. The slow pace necessitated by Damion had at least given Adam time to build his strength back, but the trip itself had been disgusting. Once Damion had stopped pissing himself and figured out that however many hate-filled glances Adam shot him, he would not murder him, and that Joe’s venomous looks were likewise harmless, he had become intolerable. First protesting his innocence (“Hanley was in charge…I was just along for the ride, and I had no control over him…”), he moved on to the impossibility of proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. And his constant whining and complaining about their injustices to him would have tried the patience of a milk cow. That night Damion threatened them with a prestigious lawyer who would not only ensure that “I’ll never see the inside of a prison, but you’ll both go to jail for slander.” This finally prompted Joe to ask if Adam had a spare neckerchief…which became the gag Joe shoved into Damion’s mouth.

But finding the book reminded Adam of how desperately he had wanted something to read. He wondered if he’d finally get a chance to look it over, now that they were finally nearing Virginia City. Ten days in Damion’s company was worse than a year with most of the murderers Adam had known.

“If we ride hard, we can be in town before noon,” Adam said as he built the fire.

“You think Drippy Pants there will let us?” Joe responded.

“I’ll tie him to the saddle,” Adam replied, dumping some streak o’lean into the skillet and looking through his pack for the beans.

Damion tried to shout something, but whatever it was came out as “Mfkrsh” and a string of other unintelligible ramblings.

“Keep it up, and you won’t get any dinner,” Joe told him. “We have to bring you in alive. But people can go without food for weeks. Just remember that. Hey Adam, I shoulda thought of that before. He mighta been more docile if we forgot to feed him now and then.”

After everyone had eaten, Joe replaced Damion’s gag and got into his bedroll. “Ain’t you gonna sleep?” he asked Adam, who was fingering the unopened book.

“Soon,” Adam said, and finally opened it, scrunching near to the fire so he could read.

The first thing he remembered, after he saw what it was, was the woman’s protest, “this book ain’t just any ordinary book. It took years…”

She was right. It must have taken years to collect it all. The book was a lined journal, made into a hash of newspaper articles (some about the war, others of more local interest), client lists and accounts, sermon notes, songs, journal entries, recipes, and even lines of copied poetry. He recognized Tennyson’s “Maud” straightaway: “Come into the garden, Maud, for the black hat, night, has flown…” and found himself laughing. “It’s not hat. It’s bat.”

“There’s no bats around,” Joe mumbled. “And I’m tryin’ to sleep here.”

Five hundred dollars he’d paid for this book, and she hadn’t even copied the poems correctly. The story of my life.

He paged through two pages copied out of Shakespeare’s A Winter’s Tale, pausing to frown over “…many a man there is, even at this present/Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm/That little thinks she has been sluiced in’s absence/And his pond fish’d by his next neighbor.” Now why on earth would she have wanted to remember that?

It made him stop, though, and wonder about Tilly. If she was still at the Ponderosa—why? No, he couldn’t let himself think about her; he’d drive himself mad. So he pored over a recipe for stewed turnips, remembering how Tilly had loved turnips. He smiled at a recipe for mincemeat pie that Tilly would also have liked…and then wondered what Audun would think of “Baked Indian Pudding.”

He thumbed through the book a little further: newspaper articles about Nathan Bedford Forrest and the battle of Fort Pillow pasted across several pages, followed by Longstreet and the battle of Fort Sanders.

More journal entries: the woman’s decision to leave home and escape all her troubles; an excited entry about train travel. A few descriptions of the terrain she had passed through: “I never saw anything like those mountains. We got our own in Tennessee, but they are pretty tame compared to this western stuff.” And a few pages later, the discovery that while she might have escaped the war, she’d brought all her real troubles with her and even picked up new ones. A couple more recipes, probably never tried. A painful account of the man she’d met and fallen for—and who had left her. “Nobody decent will ever want me again.” And right after that, a detailed and sordid description of her first night as a “working girl.”

He read on for a few more pages, finding—to his surprise—more sermon notes, alternating with client accounts. He thought her new “profession” would have discouraged going to church, or her church visits would have discouraged her profession, but no.

More sermon notes—this one must have meant something to her. Gomer, the wife of the prophet Hosea. Wasn’t she the one who was a prostitute? “Go, show your love to your wife again, though she is loved by another and is an adulteress. Love her as the Lord loves the Israelites, though they turn to other gods.” Yeah, that would certainly be a provident course of action. “We shall always be forgiven, provided we forgive all who sin against us. If we do that we have nothing to fear: if we don’t, all else will be in vain.”

He found his lip curling into a sneer, and stopped just to prove to himself that he could.

But even that brought memories of Tilly; he could still see her standing in the little schoolroom looking up at him, mad clear through and ravishingly lovely: “I think it’s pretty presumptuous of people to assume that everything that happens is both God’s will and God’s fault. It is not God’s intent to make you as miserable as possible and then kill you.”

The woman who sold him the book had never told him her name, but he wondered suddenly if it was Mathilde, for it seemed most everything in the book reminded him of his wife he thought he’d lost, yet was apparently still back at the Ponderosa. Why?

A tear-splotched page with another poem, unattributed, though Adam recognized it immediately as part of a Petrarch sonnet:

From him among you, who has felt love’s pain

I hope for pardon, ay, and pity’s smile…

Maybe that was what made her decide to go home, he thought, but then he turned the page only to find a recipe for cornbread and three pages of “clients”—dates, payments, but thankfully no services listed.

A recipe for three-bean soup—didn’t this woman ever eat meat?

Another journal entry, from May—but this one nearly made him howl. “D. tried to give me a music box tonight, but I wouldn’t take it when he told me how he got it. That poor woman. I knew D. had killed people before, but never that he enjoyed it. I’d go to the sheriff but that man scares the stuffing out of me. I’ve got to get away from here. At least I don’t know any murderers in Knoxville.”

With a chill, he wondered again about the woman’s name—she could have corroborated his testimony, and he’d let her get away.

He thought about that for a while. Just how strong a case did they have? No doubt Roy would tell him, but he didn’t think he’d like the answer.

He gritted his teeth, looking back at the beginning of the book. Nothing helpful; no name, no address. No way of finding her. He’d spent five hundred dollars on a book that could’ve been worth a million…but he’d let her get away.

A sigh as he returned to looking through the text.

Another tear-blotted page—“If I don’t get out of here, I’ll die or go mad. Maybe they won’t let me back in the house, but I have to try.”

The last page was mostly blank. Just one little piece of copied poetry—the last item in the book. The author’s name was illegible, and it was a poem he had never seen before.

I took a day to search for God

And found him not, but as I trod

By rocky ledge, through woods untamed

Just where one scarlet lily flamed

I saw his footprints in the sod.

Adam closed the book, and with a long, shuddering sigh, curled into a ball and tried to pray.

Chapter 66

September, 1875

They made Virginia City late the next morning, but if Adam and Joe had any illusions of simply handing over the prisoner and heading home, they were cured as soon as they walked into the sheriff’s office, where a woman with hair between the color of a carrot and an angry sunset was shouting at the sheriff that a man was not allowed to walk into a doctor’s examination room and drag a woman out, even if he was married to the woman in question. At the same time a man they did not know was shouting that women were not doctors, and so whatever rule there was—if indeed there was such a rule—did not apply in this case. At that, the freckles on the woman’s face darkened as she shouted that she had medical licenses from England, France, Connecticut, and Nevada—“And if that’s not evidence enough,” she yelled, her blue eyes shooting sparks, “How about I perform an autopsy on this fella right now?”

“I ain’t dead!” the man roared.

“I can remedy that!” she retorted.

For the first time in months, Adam and Joe found themselves grinning, but then the woman saw them. Somehow, she seemed to know them both. She straightened to her full height—she barely reached Joe’s shoulder—and said, “Well, it’s about time you two got back.” She looked from one to the other in contempt. “You should be ashamed,” she told Joe. She turned her withering gaze on Adam. “And you should be shot.”

With that, she flounced out of the office.

“Who in tunket was that?” Joe asked Roy.

Roy shook his head. “I don’t think y’all are ready to know that yet. So who’s this?”

“Damion,” Adam said.

“The man who murdered my wife,” Joe added.

Roy looked at Adam.

Adam shrugged. “You wanted it out in the open. It’s all out in the open.” He went into the events in Genoa, including the deaths of Sheriff Peabody’s deputies.

“What’ve you got to say for yerself?” Roy asked Damion.

“I’ll do my talking when my lawyer arrives,” Damion said, sounding smugger than he looked.

“Huh.” Roy took him back to a cell and emerged a moment later. “Siddown, fellas.”

Joe dragged a chair over; Adam leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.

“You know this is gonna be a long, hard row to hoe, right?” Roy asked.

“What do you mean?” Joe responded.

“Where do I start?” Roy muttered. “There’s just not all that much evidence…not the kind a judge and jury like to see. To get a feller hung, you need to prove beyond all doubt that he murdered somebody. Everything I see is disconnected. Juries like a clear chain of evidence with one piece linked to the next.

“Let’s start with Alice’s death. We have one witness: Adam. He didn’t see her die, but he says he saw four men coming out of the house after Alice died. He’s positively identified only one. Sounds like at least one of ’em is dead already, if the feller Beth Cartwright shot was there…”

Joe and Adam exchanged a glance.

“…and I’ll lay odds that Damion and that feller in the cell down the hall can alibi each other six ways to Sunday that they wasn’t even in Nevada when Alice died.”

“But Damion confessed,” Adam said. “He and Hanley sat at a table with me while Damion told me that Hanley did whatever Damion told him, including murdering Alice. Hanley didn’t say anything, but—”

“I don’t doubt you, Adam,” Roy replied. “But we still need corroboration, and you ain’t got any. And where’s Hanley?”

“He and Damion attacked us down by the Walker River. I shot Hanley. I can show you where I buried him; it’s pretty shallow, so it ought to be easy to spot.”

“Uh. We can get Damion for attackin’ you; at least.”

“He held a gun to my head and threatened to kill me,” Joe put in.

“Well, good, that’s solid too.”

“You have the music box!” Adam snapped.

“What music box?”

“Alice’s—the one that Damion was holding when he left the house. Sheriff Long said he was going to send it to you. It’s evidence; it belonged to Alice and was found in his hotel room.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, but you know, a smart lawyer could say that someone put the box in that hotel room when Damion wasn’t in it. Damion wasn’t arrested in the hotel, y’know—he was down the street eatin’ a steak.”

Adam pulled out the journal and pointed to the next-to-last page. “I bought this book off a saloon girl.” He held his breath as Roy read it.

“You in the habit of buyin’ books that contain murder accounts?”

Adam let his breath out explosively. “I thought it was a real book!”

“Where’s the woman?”

“Probably in Tennessee by now,” Adam admitted.

“And what’s her name?”

“I have no idea.”

Roy gave him a sour look. “All right; the book’s useless too. Then there’s the attack on your father. He’s fine, by the way, ought to be back in the saddle in another day or two—and we have a telegram that looks strange enough that it could’ve been a coded order to kill somebody. It’ll be hard to prove, though, since the only living attacker—in the cell three doors from Mr. Damion—says he don’t know what I’m talking about and he’s just a mixed-up burglar who picked the wrong house to rob. And he attacked Will’s family, not Ben.”

“What about the two Genoa deputies?” Joe asked. “They were hacked from stem to stern, and—”

“Yeah, but again, seems Hanley was the one who did all the hackin’, although you can’t prove that either. I’m willin’ to bet Damion puts on his Sunday best in court and says he doesn’t know how he survived bein’ around that awful man Hanley—and people will believe him.”

“But he—”

“Has no criminal record,” Roy went on. “He’s been suspected of things before, down in southern California, but nobody could ever prove anything. He has a registered business in California with an office in Nevada, so he’s not a drifter with no right to be here. And his business is bringin’ in whiskey, not operatin’ a loan company at usurious rates. And whatever he admitted to in private, if he didn’t admit it again in front of Joe or someone else who can corroborate what you say, Adam, then you could come outta this lookin’ the worse for wear.”

Adam’s eyebrows swooped down. “How?”

Roy looked embarrassed. “It’s your word against Damion’s, and while he could always say he never heard of Alice afore, he could also say he was there with his pal ‘John Smith,’ but the two of ’em left Alice alive and they saw you headin’ to her house while they was leavin’. And you did spend an awful lotta time with her, and they say most murders ain’t done by strangers, but by other family members.”

Adam stood up straight. “He killed her, Roy.”

“Knowin’ it and provin’ it’s two different things, Adam. If we could get a confession, we’d have a good chance, but as things are—”

Joe jumped in. “The only thing we can get him for is attempted murder, or attempted kidnapping? And John Smith is just a burglar? What if we went back to the Walker River and dug up Hanley? I took a scalpel and a butcher knife and some other things off his body when we searched ’em.”

“That’s fine, but we’ll have a hard time provin’ Damion was in on what Hanley did.”

Joe sighed. “Damion turned yellow after we caught him, too,” he mumbled. “Said it was all Hanley, that Hanley was a beast and would’ve killed him too.”

“I ain’t surprised,” Roy acknowledged. “Sorry, fellers.”

“Wait a minute.” The notion just rolled over Adam like a freezing wave in the Snake River. “When we searched him, Damion had a note…‘Tucker and McCallum VC.’ What if John Smith is…you said you have Smith and Damion separated? If Smith was at the house that day, he knows me—but he doesn’t know Joe. Roy, will you deputize Joe?”

**

Roy and Joe, the latter thoroughly schooled by Adam, walked into John Smith’s cell. Smith, who had been silent as a stone for most of his term so far, merely looked bored at their arrival.

“Don’t believe you know my deppity Joseph Francis, do ya?” Roy asked. “He’s the one who brought in your pal Damion a little while ago.”

“Don’t know no Damion,” Smith said, uninterested.

“This is one of ’em, for sure,” Joe declared. “Tucker, right? The telegram was picked up by you, as John Smith?”

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I reckon you do,” Roy said gently. “See, Howard down to the telegraph office done identified you as pickin’ up the telegram sayin’ ‘Two knaves for three ladies.’ And Damion’s already done his singin’. Like a little yeller canary when he got done.”

“Yeah, he told us about the telegram,” Joe said. “So you and McCallum were authorized to ‘play with’ the ladies as much as you wanted before you killed ’em, is that so? Oh, and he told us all about Mr. Hanley’s little medical school debacle.”

Tucker had gone pale, but again he began: “Dunno what—”

“Dunno what we’re talkin’ about, right,” said Joe. “Well, we’ve got the music box, and really we only need one testimony. Damion’s the one with the fancy lawyer anyhow, so he’ll blame everything on you and make it stick. Personally, I don’t mind a bit. Just so long as we got somebody to hang, I don’t care which of you it is.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Tucker said. “What do you mean by that? I didn’t kill anybody at that house you’re talkin’ about. Hell, I didn’t even kill the people I was supposed to.”

“Then why don’t you tell us your story?” Roy asked.

“Damion will kill me.”

Joe smiled. “Not if he’s swingin’ from a rope. Or in jail…forever.”

The man looked from him to Roy and back again.

“Damion shot Harper,” Tucker began. “But it was Fenton—”

“Never heard of Fenton.”

“That’s ’cause he’s dead, ya dingus. He’s the one the dog bit; the dog that Damion shot. And he held the woman so Hanley could slit her throat. I had nothin’ to do with any of that. All I did was case the house for valuables. I gave Damion the music box, but I couldn’t find anything else of value. And you won’t find Fenton either; Damion killed him because he was stupid enough to get bit. He was slowin’ the rest of us down.”

Joe’s face went white at the mention of slitting Alice’s throat, but aside from making a fist that would’ve crushed granite, he did not react. “What about McCallum?”

“He wasn’t even there. Damion sent for him when the Cartwrights left town. But you didn’t catch McCallum, did ya?”

“No—he was killed by one of the Cartwrights,” Roy said, and a little more of the bluster left Tucker’s voice.

“Him and me, yeah, we were supposed to kill the women. Damion’s orders. We knew better than to argue his orders, I’ll tell ya…he proved to us in California what happened to guys who didn’t take his orders…”

And Adam, listening behind the wall, smiled, thinking that now and then things did go right after all.

Chapter 67

September, 1875

It was long after dark by the time Tucker signed his confession, and there was no point in two drained, weary men riding back to the Ponderosa on their equally exhausted horses. They stayed in the International House that night, first taking long, hot baths and having a good meal for the first time in months. Then Joe—to Adam’s surprise—went to the nearest saloon. Adam took the expensive book he had purchased and sat reading for a while before going to bed.

He couldn’t get “One Scarlet Lily” out of his mind. He had no idea who had written it, or if there was more to the poem than he had seen, but what was there made him shiver every time he read it. It seemed to him he’d been looking for God—even some proof that there was such a being—all his life, and had yet to find any.

He had pretty much given up all notion of religion after Marie’s death. Tilly’s beliefs were so firmly fixed—and she was always ready to defend them—that he had almost allowed himself to start believing again…until everything had fallen apart. Tilly had believed, miscarriage after miscarriage, that everything would be all right—and the reward had been a full-term, stillborn baby. No wonder she’d lost her faith. No wonder she didn’t want him anymore. She’d left Max and come back with him out of duty—he was sick and weak, so she’d had to. She’d pretty much told him that. She’d stayed because of the baby. Why she’d stayed after, he wasn’t sure. And why she was still there…well…God only knew.

He laughed at the thought.

The next morning Joe was hungover and bleary. Adam shook him until he came to and then said, “Hey—I’m going now. See you back at the ranch, all right?”

“Later. Turn down the lamp—my eyes hurt.”

“We call that ‘lamp’ the sun,” Adam advised. “It’s daytime. See you at home, right?”

“I guess.”

“Dammit, Joe, don’t forget you wanted to come back—you’ve got a daughter waiting for you! I expect to see you home soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Soon.”

Adam, on the other hand, had no idea what he was going back to—he would not dare hypothesize further about Tilly. Audun was still there too, but he had no idea how that would go either. If the boy had really had a successful wáyakin quest, he probably thought he was a man now, and entitled to do as he liked without a father’s input at all…and if that was the case, there was only more trouble waiting down the road.

He heard horses approaching as he neared the turn-off to the lake—and the little family cemetery—and slowed Sport down. The big chestnut tossed his head; he knew he was going home and he was impatient to get there. Adam wished he felt the same way, but…

Ben and Audun appeared then, and Adam sucked in his breath at the sight. Ben and Audun seemed taken aback, as well; they stopped their horses and just looked at him for a moment. Ben smiled, a hesitant, uncertain sort of smile, and nudged Buck forward. Audun followed on his flashy Appaloosa, Falcon, but he looked as stern as a father about to apply a necessary talk.

“Welcome back,” Ben said, extending a hand. “Where’s your brother?”

“He’s at the International House. We stayed in town last night.” Adam swallowed. “I, uh, heard you’d been shot. Glad you’re all right.”

Ben smiled as Buck danced nervously. “I recovered in typical Cartwright fashion, as you used to say. I’m fine. What came of…your adventures?”

“We captured one of the men responsible for Alice’s death. Another is dead. The one who tried to kill Laura and Peggy confessed last night and implicated Damion. If Damion doesn’t hang, he’ll probably get life in prison; I think any unbiased jury would find him guilty.”

“I’m glad to hear it—but how are you and Joe?”

Adam shrugged, shushing to Sport as the big gelding tossed his head. “We’re all right. I’m on the way home, as you can see. And Joe should be along soon as he wakes up.”

Somehow, Ben looked disappointed, but he did not pursue the topic any further as he reined the fidgety Buck around again. “Well…if you’ve just come from town, you’ll have heard all the news. We’re going there ourselves—Audun, did you want to stay?”

“I will catch up to you, Grandfather, after I speak to my father.”

“All right. Oh—Adam, about Tilly…”

“Where is she?”

Ben pointed toward the lake road, and Adam felt the blood drain from his face.

“What happened to her?” his voice sounded muffled; he heard the Krupp guns in his ears again.

“She said she just needed a few minutes of peace and quiet,” Ben chuckled. “She’s had a hard few months since you’ve been gone, and the last couple of weeks especially. Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Huh? Wait, she—she’s not dead, then?”

Ben tilted his head. “What? No; good Lord, what did you hear in town? Is the Widows’ Brigade at it again? They were spreading rumors after the accident that she had died, too.”

“I just thought—you were pointing at the cemetery.”

Ben chuckled. “You let your education interfere with your thinking. Again. Lord, son. Look, I wanted to tell you where she was so you could talk to her. From what she’s told me, the two of you need to have a long, long talk…well, anyway, I’m glad you’re back. I’m sure you’ll have more to say at home. Wait until you see—”

“I’ll see Tilly first,” Adam snapped. “Anything else will wait till I talk to her.”

“All right,” Ben said, looking doubtful. He turned his horse and cantered away.

Adam looked at Audun, and felt himself shrivel at the look on the boy’s face. He forced himself to be calm. He could handle a twelve-year-old. “You’ve gotten taller,” he said. “And I think you need a haircut.” The black curls covered his ears and almost reached his shoulders.

“You were gone almost six months,” Audun replied. “Plenty of time for me and my hair to grow. Will there ever be a time, Father, when you actually stay where you are needed?”

Adam sat a little straighter in the saddle. “I was where I was needed. Joe needed me.”

“My mother needed you, too. And so did I.”

“Your mother?” Adam swallowed as age-old doubts surfaced again. “I told you—”

“My mother—Tilly. She needed you here, and you left. Did you ask the Creator for wisdom this time, to know whose need was more urgent? Or did you run away? Because it looked to me like you were running away. My mother nearly died twice after you left.”

“What’s this about an accident?”

“She was knocked down by a horse.” Audun looked at the ground. “My cousin and I took care of her. She is all right now…but tired. The babies demand a lot of time, of course. And now I have answered your question, while you have yet to answer mine.”

Funny how you could be proud of someone—his mind, his practicality, his honor—and hate him at the same time because he was calling into question those same virtues in you. “All right,” Adam said. “Joe needed me. And I ran away. With regard to Tilly—that’s between us, and will be settled between us. And as far as you needing me…I didn’t think you did. You seemed pretty determined to follow your own path, no matter what I said.”

Audun thought it over. “Maybe this is so. I did not mean it to be.”

“Neither did I.” Adam cleared his throat. “Did you find your wáyakin?”

“He found me. The others at the house know, sort of…for reasons beyond my control. But I will announce him at the winter dance.”

“Are you going back to the Nimiipuu, then?” How calm he sounded, when suddenly he wanted to scream.

“The first snowfall always brings a dance. I don’t have to be with the tribe to do it. I will dance here. I have told the family and friends. You may watch, too, if you like.”

“I would like that.”

For the first time since they’d seen each other, Audun looked uncertain. “Father…do you think I look more like a man now?”

Adam cleared his throat again. He was going to need to drink half the lake at this rate. “I think you do,” he said, his throat feeling like it had been sandpapered. “You carry yourself well.”

“My mother is taking a little while to relax,” Audun volunteered. “She’s been busy with little help—Beth is at the store, and Uncle Hoss just came back from a week in Carson City. She’s tired, so Uncle Hoss watched the babies today and let her rest a while. Hop Sing is in town…he’s getting married, you know.”

“I didn’t! Our Hop Sing?”

For the first time, Audun smiled. “Her name is Su Ling—she works for Dr. Kam. You must not have been in town long; everyone is talking about it. But surely you heard about…”

Adam stared up the lake road, in no mood for town gossip. “I guess I’d best go up and see Tilly. Did you want to come?”

“No; Dr. Kam is teaching me about acupuncture. I need to go, and you need to talk to my mother. Father…” Audun sat tall. “It is between the two of you, yes. But I must give you some advice. Man to man.”

For a moment, Adam thought he might laugh—and break the trust he was working so hard to restore—but he managed to keep his face neutral. “What’s that?”

“My mother and I talked about you, and why you left. Protection is fine for babies and children. But not for adults. For adults, truth is best, no matter what.”

“I’ll, uh, remember that.” He watched in puzzled silence as Audun leaned forward a little, and his black-spotted pony switched his tail and took off at a brisk lope. Then he frowned and turned Sport toward the lake road. Sport, thwarted in his plan to go home, tossed his head and laid his ears back, but Adam insisted, and Sport blew out a snort and trotted up the trail. A large dark shadow appeared ahead, and suddenly Duke was running toward him, barking with joy.

“Well, hello there!” Adam cried, leaning down to pet the jumping, cavorting dog. My father still loves me; my son still loves me; my dog still loves me. And where Duke is, Tilly can’t be too far off…maybe there’s still hope, after all. He saw Pepper Nell grazing in the distance, and knew Tilly was nearby. He ran down the list of things he had in mind to ask her, to tell her—and then he saw her.

Chapter 68

September, 1875

Tilly was clad only in a chemise, sunning herself on a rock Adam remembered as a diving spot when he and Hoss and Joe had come here as youngsters. She sat up in surprise and grabbed her dress, covering herself—until she recognized him. Then she dropped the dress and rose to her bare feet, jumping down nimbly and crossing her arms. Her face flushed, she fixed her unwavering scrutiny on him—and everything he’d had in mind to say suddenly evaporated, leaving him staring at her without a thought in his head.

“I expect,” she said slowly, “that you decided to beard me here because I was certain not to be carryin’ a skillet. But there’s at least three good rocks within reach, and if you tell me some half-baked piddle like what was in that note you left, I’ll throw all three before you can run.”

He said the only thing he could come up with: “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“But I thought you wanted to go…”

“You thought like Lit. Not for the first time.”

Well, he’d heard her say that before; he knew what it meant, and he might have raised his voice if she hadn’t gone on: “If you want me to leave, Adam, I’ll go. But only if you don’t love me. Not because you got some silly idea stuck in your head and let it eat away at your insides.”

“You mean about Max?” He stayed in the saddle, hooking one leg over the horn. The way this conversation was going, it might not be safe to dismount. “Didn’t seem that silly to me, especially not when you confirmed it.”

She half-smiled. “Please be so kind as to tell me exactly what you think you know about Max. Don’t spare my delicate sensibilities. I don’t need protecting. Make believe you’re down at the Sazerac talking to Flora.”

“You talked to Flora?” he blurted.

“Right before I persuaded her to leave town,” Tilly said. “Now, what’s this about Max?”

Adam refused to look at her. “You were in love with him. That’s what he told me. And after Alice died, I asked you if your feelings about him had changed, and you said no.”

“No, my feelings haven’t changed. I hate him as much now as I did when I killed him.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Her tone was placid. “I killed him. Not the way a good Christian oughtta feel, I know, but on the rare occasions when I think of Max, my liver turns into a brick. He spent weeks lying to me about you, trying to make me go away with him. I wouldn’t. Then one day he marched in and tried to take me—physically. By force. I rammed a coconut husking stick through him and was glad to do it.”

“You…what?”

“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You killed Max?”

“Yes…but killing him didn’t make him go away. I don’t know what your nightmares are about, Adam, but Max is usually in mine. He still visits me a few nights every month. And in the dreams, sometimes I kill him; sometimes I run until I can’t breathe anymore, and sometimes I fight but it doesn’t do any good. That’s what I dream about. And I wake up feeling soiled, like a…a murderer, and a whore.” She looked up with a sardonic smile. “Someone Adam Cartwright surely wouldn’t want, someone even God couldn’t love.”

He wasn’t quite sure when all the air left his lungs, but he found himself deflated: what do you when an idea you’ve held in your head for so long that it’s taken root in your heart suddenly turns out as worthless as a three-legged horse? “But…Tilly, I…”

“Now tell me to leave,” Tilly said. “But know this first: it doesn’t matter to me that you’re the most mule-headed, obstinate, and sometimes outright hateful man I ever knew. I loved you from the first time we danced together. I imagine I will stop loving you someday. Probably when I’m buried over there, beside Lily. But I won’t ever leave you unless you make me go.”

He gulped a little. He wanted to remove his foot from the stirrup, jump down, and gather her into his arms. What he did was jump down with the toe of his boot still caught in the stirrup and land on his face with a yelp and a curse, and had Tilly not grabbed the reins, Sport would have dragged him back to the Ponderosa.

Managing at last to extricate his foot from the stirrup, he got slowly to his feet and drank her in, knowing suddenly how those Israelites had felt wandering in the desert for forty years. He’d only done it a few months, and he’d nearly driven himself mad.

“You’re gonna have a black eye,” she said, laying a soft, cool hand on his face. “And everybody’ll think I gave it to you.”

“I deserve it.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You’re right. Can you forgive a mule-headed, obstinate, sometimes hateful…and occasionally very stupid, man?”

She pulled him to her, stretching herself up like a sunflower reaching for the morning sky. He kissed her, marveling that some things never got old, no matter how often you did them, and that it might be fall, the season of death—but for him, Tilly was always spring, and life.

**

“Who is Ross Marquette?” she asked as they sat on the rock, looking out over the lake, with Duke squashed between them, licking their interlocked hands.

“A friend of mine…who died a long time ago,” he responded, looking puzzled.

“Your father told me to ask you about him. Somehow…” She blushed. “Somehow I wasn’t able to tell him what I did to Max. But I think he figured it out. He told me I should tell you the whole story of Max, leaving nothing out…and that I should ask you about Ross.”

“My father is also a mule-headed, obstinate, and occasionally hateful man—but he can be incredibly perceptive. I never told him the whole story about Ross, either, but I think he figured it out.” Adam got up, reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s take a walk.”

She smiled. “Let me put my dress back on first; people will talk.”

He grinned back. “When did that ever matter to you?” But he waited, while Duke ran an enthusiastic circle around him.

“Tell me about Ross,” Tilly said as they walked.

He stopped for a moment, near Lily’s grave, and looked thoughtfully at it. “It would take days.”

Her lips upturned a little. “We’ve got a little time.”

He turned and headed into the woods, pulling Tilly along. Duke followed, his ears pricked forward in curiosity.

“Well…I called him ‘Skinny’ because that’s what he was—he could eat all day and never gain a pound. We got into all kinds of trouble when we were kids. I was so serious back then I’d make Audun look like a clown; Ross was the one who brought me out of my shell.” He shook his head. “And then he fell in love, but he didn’t have the nerve to tell the girl. I finally bet him my horse that she liked him, too. Well, you remember my horse, Beauty—Ross really wanted him. So he asked Delphine to dance, and nearly died when she said yes. What he didn’t know was that Del had asked me if Ross might like her, because she sure liked him. I stood best man for him when he married her. I thought they made a perfect couple…they adored each other.”

He fell silent, and Tilly prompted, “But something changed.”

“He got sick. I don’t know what it was…it was like one of those diseases in that book you got from Doc Martin.”

“Adam, you should know—I got that book because I was worried that I was losing my mind. Not because I thought you were losing yours.”

“Maybe we both were.” Adam looked down. “Maybe what Ross had is something anybody can get. Maybe it just requires enough hate in a heart to feed it, to eat away at us.…Anyway, I don’t know, but whatever it was, Ross got violent…fell in with a gang and ended up turning worse than the rest of them. He attacked Del. I found her. She died in my arms. I knew then that he was as mad as a rabid dog. And I knew I’d have to stop him. Whether it was putting him out of his misery or just keeping him from killing another innocent…we went looking for him, supposedly to take him in, but don’t you believe that. I went off alone, and I knew before I left the house that I was going to kill him—shoot him like a rabid dog. And I did.”

“I knew before Max came that day that I was going to kill him, too.”

“But you had to; he would’ve hurt you otherwise.”

“Just like you had to kill Ross, but I bet knowing that doesn’t help you. I wanted to kill Max, and I did. When I lost Lily…I thought maybe that was why.”

“You know better.” His tone was sharp. “I’m the one who doesn’t believe in anything. You’re the one who told me God doesn’t work that way.”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking right for a while…maybe you’re right about all that hate eating away at us. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

“I…I know I’m not quite right yet.” He looked at her, and she saw that time-ravaged soul again. “Do you think if we stopped hating, we’d mend?”

“Seems like we’ve both got no place to go but up, and no way to find out without trying,” she said. “Ross and Max are both dead. At best, it seems foolish to waste our time letting their hate hurt us. And without the hate, maybe there’d be more room for love.”

“There’s a thought,” he said. He turned then, leading her through a narrow gap in the trees that might have been a trail.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I want to see Lady’s grave.”

“You buried her up here? I wondered where.”

“I knew I couldn’t put her in the family plot, but if Roy told you what happened—”

“He did.”

“Then you know she deserved a place near the family.”

“I would’ve thought so anyway…what’s wrong?”

His gasp and sudden stop made her freeze in something between curiosity and fear; his ragged breathing made her wonder if his heart was failing him. “Adam, what is it?”

He took another step and fell to his knees by the crudely carved marker at the head of the little grave. She looked over his bowed, shaking shoulder…and saw a single scarlet lily bursting through the dull brown pine needles.

Adam turned toward her. “You…wouldn’t…believe…oh, Tilly!” Clutching the folds of her skirt, he took another shuddering breath. She dropped to her knees beside him and held him, and Duke licked away the tears.

Chapter 69

September, 1875

He was still a little unsteady when they made their way back to Sport and Pepper Nell, and surprisingly silent as they mounted and turned back toward the house. “Are you all right?” she finally asked him.

“Yeah…look, what happened back there…”

She looked down. “What happened back there is between you, me, and Duke. And I’m pretty sure Duke won’t tell.”

“He has a lot of Lady’s finer qualities,” Adam agreed.

“And her worse ones. He also likes bathing in what Audun cleans out of the horse stalls.”

He smiled, but sobered quickly. “It’s all been so strange, Tilly. These last few months…Damion…Max…I don’t know, maybe I really am losing my mind.” He laughed. “You know, there was a girl—never saw her before in my life, a red-haired woman in town—walked up to me and said I needed to be shot. I dunno about that, but maybe I do need to soak my head in cold water—”

“You met Charlotte!” Tilly said, clearly delighted. “My cousin—I got hurt a while back, she doctored me and delivered…hey, did she tell you anything else?”

“I kinda thought that was enough.”

“Wait, you met Ben and Audun on the way here…didn’t they mention anything special?”

Adam considered. “Audun said Hop Sing’s getting married.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s all he told you? I thought for sure they would’ve said…”

“What else was there to tell?”

She burst out laughing. “Well—a lot happened while you were gone, and it appears you don’t know it. I thought someone would have told you; Lord knows they’re gossiping enough.”

“I know about Pa and Beth getting attacked. I know about the fella who tried to attack Laura and Peggy.”

“Besides that.”

“Well, I guess that’s all I know. Except that…well…” he flushed from his hat to his shirt. “I know you promised you’d wean Rob when he was a yearling, and you haven’t done it yet.”

“As a matter of fact, I did wean him. He’s even sleeping in Hoss’s room now, and he’s drinking goat’s milk from a little cup that Hop Sing made for him.”

“But…” he sighed, and seemed to steel himself. “Who have you taken pity on now?”

“Nobody.”

“But you’re…you’re nursing a baby now.”

“No, I’m not.” She gave him a smile Mona Lisa would have envied. “I’m nursing two.”

“What? Whose are they this time?”

“Yours. Race you back to the house.” She dug her heels into Pepper Nell’s sides, and the roan mare flicked her ears and broke into a gallop.

**

He was standing in the middle of the living room, looking from one to the other of the twins in a moment of absolute wonder…

…broken when Tilly handed him the birth records.

“How dare you?” Adam roared, his voice reverberating throughout the Ponderosa like Ben Cartwright on a rampage, and Tilly looked back with complete equanimity as the babies began to squall.

“It’s your own fault,” she said.

He hurled his dusty hat across the room. “You named my son Pierre Gustave Beauregard Cartwright? You named my daughter Varina Davis Savannah Cartwright? You named my children after a major Rebel general and Jefferson Davis’s wife?”

“Well, if you’d wanted them named after Yankees, you should have bloody well stayed here.” And with that, she marched into the kitchen, taking them along.

“How was I supposed to know if you didn’t tell me?”

Her voice floated back: “You might have seen if you’d bothered looking!”

He swung to face Hoss. “How could you let her do this? How could Pa let her do this?”

“Pa didn’t much like it…but I was on her side,” Hoss replied calmly. “You an’ Joe went off and left me like a dead leaf. I been doin’ nothing but workin’ cattle and takin’ care of babies and listening to Nimiipuu legends for six months. It’s a wonder my head’s still on straight. Don’t expect sympathy from me.” His voice softened. “If it helps you any, we don’t call ’em by their whole names. The boy is Beau, and the little gal is Button, on account of she has your nose.”

Adam stared at him a moment before he sighed and picked up his longsuffering hat.

“I reckon I’ll let you and Tilly work things out here,” Hoss said. “I’ve about had it with Joe stayin’ drunk all the time, too. You ain’t been able to cure him of it, and it’s just as obvious that Pa ain’t gonna be able to either, but I by-God can and I’m by-God gonna. I’m goin’ into town now, and I’ll bring Bonnie Marie her daddy if I have to rope him and drag him back.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Adam said with a grin. Then he followed Tilly into the kitchen.

“Button and Beau, huh?”

Her smile would have made the sun look dim. “Would you like to hold them?”

Chapter 70

September, 1875

Joe waited patiently while the cards were dealt. Yeah, he’d moved heaven and earth to get home, but having gotten back to Virginia City, he suddenly had no desire to go. And yeah, Adam had said “see you there,” and yeah, Ben and Audun had come by to visit and tell him of his daughter’s latest antics. But truth to tell, he was terrified of the very notion of the Ponderosa. Going back meant remembering that he had left. Going back would be returning to the place where everything he loved had been taken away. And he knew Bonnie wouldn’t remember him; worse, she always cried when strangers picked her up.

Better to stay away. Here in town they knew him, liked him. Didn’t hold it against him that he’d been something of a jackass for a couple months. They understood. And poker players didn’t mind anything he did; as long as he didn’t cheat at cards, they’d accept him. Yup. Here, he was safe.

“Ante up,” said the dealer.

“Open with twenty,” said the man to Joe’s left.

Joe looked at his cards. “Call.” He tossed in two chips.

“Call,” said the next fellow, following with his chips.

“Raise ya five,” said the fourth player.

“Hell. Fold,” the fifth one snapped.

“Well, I’m in,” said the dealer. “And let’s make it interesting—I’ll raise ya ten.”

The betting went around the table again, and Joe heard the doors swing open behind him but ignored it. He wasn’t here to fight, and everyone seemed to know it; the place was quiet as a tick burrowed into a fat, furry dog.

Then a soft voice behind him said, “Fold, Joe.”

That was the one thing he hadn’t counted on hearing. “Well, Hoss.” He didn’t turn around. “Didn’t know you were up and around again. Glad you’re okay.”

“I’m givin’ you one last chance to fold,” the soft voice said. “Then I’m decoratin’ this table with your teeth.”

Joe considered that. Hoss usually wasn’t one to bluff, but lately, he’d been kinda puny.

That was the last thought he had before the ham-sized fist grabbed his jacket collar and hauled him up. The chair crashed to the floor, and Joe would’ve followed it but for the hand holding him up by the collar, like a puppy lifted up by the scruff of its neck. Another tug and he was fully upright, looking into his brother’s uncompromising face.

“You’re needed at home,” Hoss said.

Red-faced, Joe tossed his cards down and stepped over the chair.

“Awwww,” said one of the players. “Does mommy miss her widda boy?”

Joe turned back, but before he could say or do anything, the fist was on his collar again, and Hoss said, “No, his daughter misses her daddy. And if any you fellers got anything to say about that, yer teeth’ll look just fine on the table, too.”

The man who’d spoken suddenly found himself with nothing more to say.

“She won’t even know me!” Joe protested as Hoss dragged him out.

“Then you’ll both have things to learn, won’t you?”

Epilogue

November, 1875

Five collies were chasing each other around in the back pasture, pouncing, growling, and nipping until Tilly called them. Then Honey, Gumbo, Bruce, Ceirdwyn and Duke reluctantly came and sat down. They didn’t know what was going on, but from the silent sense of anticipation from the humans, it must be something special, so the dogs sat in a quiet line and looked outward.

The moon was in its last quarter, the Frog sitting on its eye. The stars you could see through the gaps in the clouds were bright with the spirits of warriors who had long ago journeyed to live in the night skies; Tilly was certain Shmoqula was among them. She suspected Ruth was watching too; there was one distinctly proud-looking star giving off a pink-tinged light. But she didn’t point it out to Adam, standing next to her—he needed to keep his concentration on the rhythmic drum beats he was playing. Fringing off further to the left she could see Paul Martin shivering in the cold, and Kam Lee stood a few feet away, looking as peaceful as a verse of “Silent Night.” Hop Sing and Su Ling stood at her other side. The restaurant—Hop’s Mulligatawny—would be opening next week, and they would all be there for Hop Sing, as befitted members of the family.

And the snow came down, as softly as the footfalls of angels.

Little Joe Cartwright—stone cold sober, as he had been for nearly two months—was inside, holding Bonnie Marie on his shoulders so she could see out the window. “See that? That’s snow.”

“No,” said Bonnie.

“Sure it is. It’s cold and it’s white and it falls outta the sky, and your cousin Audun is about to dance in it so he can get pneumonia.”

“No.”

“Do all babies go through a time when they only say ‘no’?” Joe asked Charlotte.

“Yup,” Charlotte replied. “But not everybody who dances in snow gets pneumonia.”

“No,” said Bonnie.

“We’ll hope fer better than pneumonia, anyway,” Hoss said, at the window holding Rob.

Outside, Audun whooped once, then leapt into the air.

Charlotte was holding a twin in each arm, but they were sound asleep and uncaring of the ritual they were missing, as she grumbled on, “He runs off to the desert in the middle of the summer, and dances in the snow in winter. I’m thinkin’ that child didn’t get enough whippin’s when he was little.”

“Wouldn’t’ve made no difference,” Hoss mumbled. Ben and Beth, holding hands and looking out the next window, murmured an agreement.

The drum was Paiute, but by this time Audun was ready to accept that which could not be changed. He had no drum; the Paiute did. Adam had given them a cow in exchange for the drum. The rhythms, at least, were Nez Perce; Adam had heard plenty of those and could play them well. And all around the huge bonfire built in the pasture near the house, the first snow of the season fell and Adam kept time while Audun danced. Audun bounded toward the cruel moon and swooped back to Earth, his voice ranging from its own rapidly changing alto to the baritone it might one day become and up to a squeaky falsetto as he whooped and chanted and whirled.

Finally he came to a halt, and his voice rose to the heavens and floated through the ranch house windows. “Hear me, sky and stars; hear me, my people far away and my people close to me! I am Audun Cartwright…and I am Páyos Haykátic, the Eyes of the Serpent. My wáyakin is the Rattlesnake, and his wisdom will become mine.”

Hoss looked at Joe. “Did our nephew just say his name is Snake Eyes?”

“That’s what it sounded like to me,” Joe giggled.

“Well I’ll be danged,” said Hoss. “Think we oughtta teach him to shoot craps?”

“He might have an unfair advantage,” Ben said, his voice sober…but his eyes smiled.

Next Story in The Lilies Series:

The Strawberry Roan

 

Tags:  Adam Cartwright, Ben Cartwright, Family, Hop Sing, Hoss Cartwright, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright