Summary:  A golden curl tied with a pink bow; a broken arrowhead; a crudely carved wooden horse; and a rough sketch of a two story log house… What do these things have in common? And what makes each one so special? Most people would say nothing, but to a mother’s heart, each of these symbolize something- or rather someone- very special.

Rating: K   Word count: 5,643

This story came to mind while reading over Pinecone challenge prompts from previous years. The prompt sentence was, “we shall never be again as we were,” which is the ending line in this story.

A Mother’s Treasures

Ben sighed deeply as he gazed at the picture inside the frame propped against the base of the tombstone, his hands lovingly tracing the delicate scrolls adorning the little box which he held. Looking up from where he knelt, his eyes landed on the name that had so carefully been inscribed on the tombstone: Marie De Marigny Cartwright.

The hand carved oak box in his hands had been one of the first Christmas presents he had given his new bride. Although it was a far cry from the elegant store bought music boxes she had admired in New Orleans, Marie had been thrilled when she had unwrapped it. And the fact that he had made it himself just for her delighted her even more.

“Oh, Ben! It’s beautiful!” She had exclaimed while throwing her arms about his neck.

Considering it one of her most prized possessions, Marie had insisted on keeping the contents of the box a secret, even from Ben. It hadn’t been until a long time after her death that he had been able bring himself to look inside.

Now he carefully opened the box and removed the single item lying inside, Marie’s last diary. Tears filled his eyes as he gently stroked the worn cover. How many times since his wife’s death had he turned to her diaries seeking the comfort and closeness they provided? Ben had lost count.

Opening the cover, the pages immediately fell open revealing items tucked between the pages; items only a mother would treasure. As he tenderly fingered each, his eyes landed on the passages Marie had so lovingly penned, preserving her memories of each treasured item for generations to come.

A golden curl tied with a tiny pink bow.

July 14, 1845

“She’s so beautiful,” I whispered as I gazed in awe at the tiny baby lying next to me. It was hard to believe she was actually mine. Having been born too early, she was much smaller than most newborn babies. But she was still the most beautiful baby girl I had ever seen. Wearily, I fingered her golden curls.

“Looks just like her beautiful mother,” my husband whispered, leaning over to tenderly kiss me. Our daughter giggled and cooed, an angelic smile on her little face, as if voicing her agreement with her father’s words. Her tiny hands gripped Ben’s index finger and he chuckled. “For such a tiny girl, she’s got quite a grip.”

Watching my husband interact with our daughter brought a smile to my face. Our daughter. It’s like a dream come true. A dream I didn’t realize I had until now. I still can’t believe how lucky I’ve been. I have a wonderful husband who loves me in spite of all my shortcomings, three handsome sons who are better than I could ever ask for, and now a beautiful baby girl. I can’t imagine being happier than I am at this moment. I said earlier I was lucky; well, I take that back. I’m not lucky; I’m blessed.

My pregnancy this time had been difficult. Due to an accident in the barn where Bessie the cow kicked me in the back, I began having abnormal pains. They were similar to contractions but I knew it was far too early for that. I worried that I might lose the baby and a visit from Dr. Martin confirmed the possibility of my fear. To our relief, the pains gradually decreased and when they finally ceased, the doctor informed us that the baby’s heartbeat was still present.

After coming so close to losing the baby, Dr. Martin had immediately ordered strict bed rest. I know Ben was worried. He tried so hard to hide his worry from me, but the lines across his brow and the dark circles under his eyes were evidence enough. He had lost his first wife during Adam’s birth, and that fear had never completely left his heart. When the doctor had warned us there was a possibility of the baby coming early, I wasn’t too worried. After all, Joseph had been nearly two weeks early and although he was small for his age, and likely always would be according to the doctor, he was perfectly healthy.

But what I had not expected was the baby to come as early as she had. Almost an entire month early. When the first contractions began, I too found myself afraid, not for myself, but for the life of the little one I was carrying. I’ve heard stories of babies who are born well before their due date; many of them are underdeveloped or simply just too small to survive on their own. Very few live longer than an hour.

I can’t recall much of what took place during the delivery. I remember Ben sending one of the hands for Dr. Martin once the contractions started but as for how long before he arrived, I don’t know. Considering the fact that the baby was much smaller, I would have thought the delivery to be easier. That, however, proved not to be the case. The pain was much worse than I remembered it being with either of my previous deliveries.

I am told the doctor gave me something to deaden the pain once he arrived and though my memory isn’t very clear, that would explain the feeling of weightlessness that I remember. Perhaps I even fell asleep for some time as dreams of a little girl with wavy brown braids racing to keep up with her three older brothers drifted through my head. Why a girl was featured in the dreams, I hadn’t the slightest clue. Despite the old wives tales, there was really no way to know for sure whether the baby was a boy or a girl prior to its birth.

How long the labor lasted, I can’t say. I remember opening my eyes at one point to see Ben and the doctor conversing near the foot of the bed, my husband’s eyes red from crying and more tears still filling them while they spoke. I do not recall what was being said or maybe their tones were too hushed for me to hear. I must remember to ask Ben later when the time is right.

I wish I could’ve seen Ben’s face when Dr. Martin informed him he had a daughter. I can only imagine how shocked he must have been, not to mention the boys’ surprise once they found out. All during the pregnancy, neither Ben nor myself had really discussed the fact that the baby could be a girl. I guess after having three sons, the odds of the baby being a boy just seemed greater. We had decided to name the baby after Ben but once we discovered it was a girl instead, I knew we would have to find a more feminine name.

“She needs a name, Ben.”

“Well, we had decided to call the baby after me, but since it’s a girl I don’t think she would appreciate that,” my husband said with a laugh. “We could call her ‘Marie’.”

I studied the baby for a moment while considering his suggestion. True, she did have my blonde curls and some of her facial features were similar to mine, but I still wasn’t sure about the namesake idea. I wanted her to have a name all her own. But what suited her? I pondered names I had heard over the years.

Mary? No, too close to Marie. Susie? No, that one’s too common. Louise? That’s pretty, but for some reason it doesn’t seem right. Sally? Anna? Katelynn? Hannah? Emma? Rebecca? No, none of those fit. She needed a name as beautiful as her but nothing too girly. Growing up on a ranch with three older brothers, she most likely would grow up to be tough cowgirl. Whatever name we chose to give her needed to portray that character trait. A name that was just feminine enough for a girl but strong enough for someone raised in the mountainous backwoods of the Nevada Territory.

Wait a minute. Mountains. What was the name of those beautiful mountains I loved? The Sierras? Yes, that’s it. Looking down at the baby, I considered the name. Sierra. Sierra Cartwright. It fit perfectly.

“Oh, Ben, please let’s call her ‘Sierra’.” I heard myself begging.

“Sierra?” he repeated. I could tell he was slightly puzzled at my choice.

Nodding, I explained. “After the most beautiful mountains I’ve ever seen.”

“Sierra Cartwright.” He tested the name aloud and then with a nod, he agreed as I knew he would. He did, however, add one condition. “As long as we can add ‘Marie’ as her middle name.” 

Supposing that both the baby and I could handle that, I gave in. So Sierra Marie Cartwright it is. I have to admit that it does have a pretty ring to it. Hopefully our daughter will agree when she gets older.

A broken arrowhead.

 April 20, 1846

Today was the day the boys have been waiting anxiously for the past two weeks. Adam was taking his younger brothers to see the old Indian campsite. He and Ben had stumbled across it nearly a month and a half ago while looking over a section of land for the possibility of purchasing it. Since then, Adam has spun many wild tales for his brothers’ bedtime stories, igniting both of their adventurous young minds. After weeks of begging to be allowed to see source of their brother’s stories, Ben finally gave Adam permission to spend a day taking his brothers to visit the campsite.

Although Ben had given his permission, the longed for outing had been postponed due circumstances beyond his control. The weather these past few weeks has been stormy, and due to the abundance of rainfall, he’s worried about possible flooding in several areas of the ranch. While Hoss, though disappointed, understands the delay in their plans, Little Joe has been quite the handful. His tantrums are something I am desperately trying to put a stop to. But between trying to instill proper behavior in him, trying to keep him out of mischief and chasing after both him and the baby, I am usually exhausted by the end of the day. Hoss’ patience has been such a tremendous blessing, although I can tell that where his little brother is concerned, it is wearing very thin.  

I’m not sure who was happier to see this day finally come, the boys or myself. Early this morning, Adam swung Little Joe up into the saddle with him while Hoss proudly rode his new pony. Knowing ‘his’ boys would be away for the day, Hop Sing packed plenty of sandwiches and delicious treats for them to enjoy and from the looks of their saddlebags, I doubt the boys will go hungry today.

The day passed slowly and I have to admit I was ready for the boys to return; after being used to Little Joe’s constant chaos for so long, today had proved to be just a little too peaceful. I think Sierra was missing her big brothers too. So when the sound of hoofbeats was heard in the yard, I scooped her up and hurried outside.

Little Joe was still seated in front of Adam, his hands flapping with excitement as he chattered to his brothers; Hoss interjected where he could while Adam seemed content to simply listen, an amused smirk on his face. I noticed the saddlebags weren’t bulging and knew Hop Sing would be pleased his efforts weren’t wasted.

Hoss noticed us first, and he waved happily before climbing down from his saddle. “Hi, Mama! Hey there, Shortcakes!” He called out while looping his pony’s reins around the hitching rail. Sierra squealed, holding her hands out to him and he obliged her by swooping her into his arms. She giggled and clapped her hands in delight when he swung her up on his shoulders and began ‘galloping’ around the yard, neighing and making various other horse sounds.

“Be careful, Hoss.” I couldn’t resist warning, though I knew he would be. He nodded, adjusting his hold on her to ensure she didn’t fall.

“Mama!” Little Joe squealed as Adam lowered the squirming four year old into my arms before dismounting. After hugging me tightly, the boy held out a dirt covered palm to reveal a broken arrowhead. “Look what I found, Mama! Buried treasure!”

“Aw, Little Joe, that ain’t no buried treasure,” Hoss said as his gallop came to an end. “It’s just an old Indian arrowhead. There’s tons of ‘em lying around all over. ‘Sides, that one’s broke.”

“But that’s why it’s ‘pecial,” Little Joe said. “There weren’t no more that looked like it so that means it is buried treasure.”

“If it was ‘buried treasure’ then you’d ‘ve had to dug it up and you didn’t,” Hoss said. “You’s just picked it up out’a the dirt.”

Little Joe’s face crumpled and tears filled his eyes. “It is buried treasure, Hoss. It is!” Turing to his eldest brother, he pleaded, his expression so serious it was obvious to me Adam had to force himself not to laugh. “Hoss says it’s not buried treasure, Adam. Tell him that it is. It is buried treasure.”

“If you say it’s buried treasure, little buddy, then that’s what it must be.” Adam gently soothed the child with a smile as he ruffled his brother’s dark curls.

Hearing his brother confirm his belief, a toothy grin lit up Little Joe’s face as he whirled around to face his other brother. “See, Hoss, I told you. It is buried treasure.” Then turning back to me, he again held out his hand, revealing the prized possession. “Here, Mama, I want you to have it.”

I smiled at the sweet gesture and hugged him. “Thank you, mon cherì. That’s very sweet of you. Mama will take very good care of your treasure.”

“Promise?” he asked.

I nodded. “I promise.”

Satisfied, he wriggled till I set him down and immediately raced into the barn after his older brothers. I looked down at the object in my hand and couldn’t help but smile. I knew then why my methods of disciplining him weren’t working; his boyish charm had me, as well as most other people, wrapped around his little finger. Despite his volatile temper and mischievous tendencies, one look at those puppy dog eyes and angelic smile of his melts my heart every time. I’m

A loud crash in the barn followed by Hoss’ shout of “Dadburn you, Little Joe!” reminded me that my source of chaos was once again into mischief. Shaking my head in amusement, I hurried into the barn to fetch my hyperactive tornado named Little Joe.

A crudely carved wooden horse.

March 20, 1847

Today is my birthday! I really can’t believe how much my life has changed; within a few years I have gone from a sad and lonely widow working in my cousin’s gaming establishment to a happily married rancher’s wife with four wonderful children.

Unfortunately, my birthday happens to fall right in the middle of spring round-up. Feeling guilty about having to be away, Ben suggested that perhaps he could postpone it until after my birthday but I assured him that it was all right; I understood. Besides, we needed the money the sale of the cattle would bring. My husband smiled, kissing me tenderly before promising a grand celebration upon his return. Knowing we could ill afford a big to do, I soon convinced him that a simple family supper is all the celebration I desired.

So now it’s been two weeks since Ben and Adam departed, along with most of the hands. I know Hop Sing has planned a little something special for supper tonight, though I’m not exactly sure what. I hope he doesn’t go through too much fuss. After all, it will only be me, Hoss, and the little ones.

Seeing as Ben was away, I didn’t expect today would be different than any other day when I awoke this morning. So when Hoss approached me just after lunch I was quite surprised.

“Mama, I made something for you,” he said as he shyly held out a small wrapped present. The brown paper was slightly crumpled and held in place by hay twine tied at the top in a boy’s attempt of a bow. It was decidedly a sad looking package, but knowing it came from the nine year old boy’s heart brought a smile to my face.

“A present for me?” I asked.

 He nodded. “It’s for your birthday. Adam helped me wrap it.”

“You both did a very fine job,” I said, carefully unwrapping the present. Inside the crumpled paper lay a little wooden horse. By itself, the figurine was nothing special; in fact, most would say it was very poorly carved. But it had been made with all the love a young boy could give and that, to me, made it the most beautiful gift I could have received. “Hoss, it’s lovely! Did you make this?”

“Yes ma’am, Pa’s been teaching me how to carve.” The boy proudly informed me, before his expression turned timid. “Do ya like it, Mama?”

I couldn’t help but smile. That was Hoss’ way. He put his whole heart into everything he did; asking nothing in return. No, actually there was only one thing he asked for- love. I had known that from the moment I had first seen him. Having no memories of his own about his birth mother, the five year old was overjoyed at the thought of actually having a mother figure in his life. Immediately, he clung to me and I saw the silent pleading in his eyes, “please love me.” And that was exactly what I did. I have never thought of him as my ‘step’ son; he had captured my heart right from the start and the love I feel for him has always equaled that of Little Joe or Sierra.

“Oh, mon cherì, I love it! Thank you for such a beautiful and thoughtful gift,” I said, pulling him close to me in a hug only a mother can give.

“I love you, Mama,” Hoss said with a grin as he planted a light kiss on my cheek. “Happy birthday.”

A rough sketch of a two story log house.

 February 13, 1848

My relationship with Adam has always been delicate. From the moment Ben introduced me as his wife as well as the boys’ new mother, Adam determinedly shut me out of his life. I can’t say I’m surprised, however. After all, the young teen has already lost two mothers. It had been six years since Hoss’ mother’s death and since that time, he has been his father’s right hand. My entering the picture has changed the entire family dynamics.

As time passed, Adam made it very clear he had no intention of accepting me as a mother or even a stepmother; in his eyes I was destined to only ever be his father’s wife. However, despite how he feels about me, I am his mother by marriage and I found myself loving him as much as little Hoss. But it seemed the more love I showed him, the stronger the walls he built around himself. Due to several ‘necessary talks’ with Ben, he was respectful when his father was present, but often that same respect vanished when his father was out of earshot. Though I tried not to show it, Adam’s constant indifference hurt.

I did understand his reasons, whether he himself was consciously aware of them. The boy was afraid he would be hurt again. He had already been through so much in his young life. His own mother had died at his birth, then later he had seen his second mother brutally killed in front of him. I knew I had to be patient with him and hopefully, in time, those walls would eventually crumble.

Little Joe’s birth, was the real turning point in our relationship. I’ll never forget the expression on Adam’s face when I placed the tiny infant in his arms. His face was alight with a mixture of awe and love.

“He’s going to look up to you a lot as he grows,” I quietly told Adam. “I’ll be very proud if he turns out to be anything like his oldest brother.”

With eyes filled with pride, the twelve year old met my gaze and the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile at my praise.

Two weeks later, my patience and love was finally rewarded. Ben was tucking both Hoss and the baby into their beds and probably telling Hoss a bedtime story as well. Glancing up from my knitting, I smiled as I watched Adam reclined on the floor in front of the fireplace. Lines of concentration furrowed his brow as he studied the papers lying on the floor in front of him, his pencil occasionally making small markings.

“What are you working on, Adam?” I said.

Not looking up from his paper, he said, “Nothing really.”

“Is it schoolwork?” I asked. Adam’s love of learning was no secret.

He shook his head. “No ma’am, just some sketches.”

Intrigued, I couldn’t help inquiring further. “What are you sketching?” 

“Just an idea really,” he said then paused as if contemplating whether or not to continue. Deciding to wait him out, I kept quiet and it wasn’t long before he spoke again. “Pa’s planning on building us a new house come spring so I thought he might could use some help with the design.”

“Do you mind if I see them?” Though I really did want to see them, this had also been a test to see whether he would allow me to share in his hopes and dreams as every mother desired. I sincerely hoped he would.

After hesitating only a moment, he nodded and passed them to me. Setting aside the sweater I was knitting for Little Joe, I carefully studied the drawings. Despite Adam’s youth, I had known they would be good. That was just Adam. He excelled at whatever he put his mind to and if he didn’t understand how to do something, he searched until he found his answer either from a person or book. But as I looked over the sketches, I was impressed with their clarity and well thought out appearance.

It seemed he had planned the layout very carefully; the exterior was designed so it blended perfectly with the landscape surrounding it. Inside the lower level of the two story house consisted of a roomy kitchen connecting to the spacious dining room, sitting room and an alcove for Ben’s office. Several large bedrooms comprised the upper story.

“Adam, these are really good!” I said. As I glanced up, I caught the hint of blush in his cheeks.

“They’re really not anything fancy, ma’am,” he said, though I knew he was secretly pleased at my praise.

“I do have one question though.” I paused for a second to study the drawings again before continuing. “Why so many bedrooms? If each of you boys has your own room, and with your father and my room, that only requires four rooms.”

“Well, I thought we could use a few extra rooms in case guests drop in,” he said. Then his cheeks darkened once again and saw a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And besides, we may have occupants for those extra rooms someday.”

I blushed slightly but couldn’t hold back a smile at his playful teasing. I had witnessed this side of him with his brothers and his father many times, but only when he thought I wasn’t around. The fact he was teasing me caused my heart to leap for joy. Perhaps there was hope for our mother/son relationship yet.

“Have you shown these to your father?” I asked receiving a shake of his head in response. “You ought to. I think he would be pleased to have your help and these are really good.”

Adam merely smiled as he took back the papers.

“You have a very special talent,” I said. “Have you ever considered going to college one day?”

“Yes ma’am, I’ve thought about it, but I just couldn’t leave Pa. He needs me here to help him run the ranch.”

“Well, by the time you’re old enough, your brothers will be older and able to help out. I think it would be a shame to waste talent like yours.” I paused a moment before offering,“I could speak to your father about it, if you’d like?”

A small smile appeared on his face.“Yes ma’am, but like you said, it will be a while before I’m ready.”

“I’m sure your father would be willing to allow you to attend college once the ranch is on its feet,” I said. “With a college education and your natural talent, you could do great things, mon cherì.”

The smile still on his face, Adam returned to his previous spot by the fireplace. Though he again bent as if studying his sketches, I could tell his mind was elsewhere by the furtive glances he sent my way. Puzzled, I pretended not to notice, hoping he would eventually share his thoughts. Once again, my patience was soon rewarded.

Standing slowly to his feet, Adam nervously approached the settee. When I made no attempt to acknowledge him, he cleared his throat. Looking up, I tried to pretend that I had just noticed him standing there.

“Adam, is there something wrong?”

He hesitated a second. “Not exactly.”

Setting aside my knitting again, I patted the empty place next to me. “Why don’t you sit down and you can tell me about it if you’d like?”

Nervously, he accepted my offer, though it was several moments before he finally spoke. “I’ve been thinking.” He began, stopping to clear his throat again. “Maybe I should start calling you something besides ‘ma’am’. I mean, Hoss calls you ‘mama’ and with Little Joe in the house, it might be confusing to him hearing me calling you ‘ma’am’ all the time. If you don’t mind, that is. I know I’m not really your son and I haven’t been the most respectful and pleasant towards you, so if you’d rather I didn’t, I understand.” Finishing his rush of words with a deep breath, he stared at his fingers fidgeting in his lap.

For a moment I sat in stunned surprise. I had been longing to hear him say those words for so long; it was hard to believe he had actually spoken them. I smiled as I studied the nervous twelve year old in front of me.

“Adam, look at me, please,” I said. When he obeyed, I continued. “I would be delighted to have you call me ‘mama’. You don’t know how proud that makes me.”

“Are you sure? I’m not your real son after all,” he said.

“Now you listen to me, young man. It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re my son by birth or by marriage, I love you and Hoss just as much as I love Little Joe and I always will,” I said as I studied his face trying to read his thoughts. “I know I’ll never take the place of your real mother or Hoss’ mother, and I’m not even going to try. But I want you to know one thing, I promise I’ll do my best to help you become the best man you can be. To make sure you have all the tools you need to follow your dreams.”

Adam’s eyes were shining with unshed tears and I knew I had correctly interpreted his fears. Motherly instinct told me to pull him into a hug, but I knew Adam’s pride. So I settled instead for resting a loving hand on his knee. Blinking back the unwanted tears, his dark eyes met mine and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.

“Thank you,” he said.

I returned the smile. “Now, it’s getting late. Shouldn’t you be getting to bed?”

Within minutes, he had gathered his forgotten papers and headed towards the room he shared with his brothers. Pausing outside door, he turned back to me. “Good night, Mama.”

 “Good night, mon cherì. Sweet dreams.”

As I think back to that night five years ago, I can remember my excitement following our conversation as clearly as if it happened yesterday. I never fooled myself into thinking everything would be smooth sailing. He was a young boy who was rapidly growing into a man, and like all men do one time or another, he was bound to make mistakes and plenty of them. But I knew progress had been made.

I kept my promise and discussed Adam’s desire for a college education with Ben. After much persuasion, he finally gave his consent. Now I can hardly believe in just a few short months, I will stand on the depot platform, watching as the train takes my oldest son nearly three thousand miles away. Though I hate the thought of saying goodbye to him for four long years, I know this is Adam’s first step to full filling his dreams. This is a mother’s most important job; to train up her children to become upstanding adults, all the while encouraging them to pursue their dreams to the fullest extent of their potential.

At twelve, young Hoss’ dreams all seem to focus on the ranch and the animals on it. I just can’t see him desiring further schooling once he graduates, though if he did, I would wholeheartedly stand behind him. As for five year old Little Joe, well, there’s no telling what he’ll choose to pursue when he grows up. His desires change from day to day, and sometimes more often than that, depending on whatever he’s in the mood for. Then there’s the baby. At nearly two, Sierra is much too young to have expressed her dreams for her future. However, whatever each of them chooses to do with their life, I have every confidence they will excel greatly, just like their eldest brother.

Yes, Adam Cartwright, you are destined for great things indeed.

Ben smiled at the memories as his eyes returned to the picture in the frame. This had been her last entry before the riding accident the next day would claim her life. The day of the accident had been Valentine’s Day, and Ben had planned a very special celebration for the two of them later that night, but it had never taken place. If only he had heeded his gut feeling and celebrated a day early rather than waiting. There were so many things he regretted over the years; opportunities missed and little moments he had taken for granted. He had been privileged to have her for five years; a much longer time than he had been allowed with either of his previous wives but it had still been much too short. There was no doubt that his lovely French bride had left her own indelible mark on the family she had left behind.

“Hard to believe it’s been 13 years, Marie,” Ben said, a tone of sadness filling his voice. “Our baby girl has indeed grown into a beautiful yet feisty young lady, just like her mother, and Little Joe’s still the spunky, adventurous lad he was back then. Hoss, he’s the kindest, gentlest bear of a man there ever was. And as for Adam, well, Marie, it seems you were right.”

The soft sound of footsteps behind him notified Ben he wasn’t alone anymore.

“Mind if I join you, Pa?” A hand rested on his shoulder.

“Adam?” his father said, looking up into his son’s dark eyes. “Sure, son, sit down.”

Both sat in silence for a moment.

“Remember this?” Ben said as he passed the paper to Adam.

Adam’s eyes widened, realizing what it was. “You mean she kept this?”

Ben nodded.

“I’d forgotten all about it. I wonder why she’d want to keep something like this. It’s just a sketch and a pretty rough one at that,” Adam said.

“She believed in you, Adam,” Ben said quietly. “She was so proud of your talent. ‘Ben,’ she’d say, ‘that Adam is destined to do great things one day.’”

A smile played at the corners of Adam’s mouth at the memory of his stepmother’s praise. “I remember her saying that. She was the one who convinced me to go to college.”

Ben chuckled softly. “She was the one who convinced me to allow you go to college in the first place.”

Adam smiled and then sighed as another memory surfaced, dredging up regrets. “I am what I am today because of her. Wish I had told her how much she meant to me.”

Ben patted his son on the back. “Don’t worry, son; she always knew.”

Glancing again at the stone, both silently read the words inscribed below her name- Beloved Wife and Mother; Because we have been privileged to know you, we shall never be again as we were.

Special thanks to my wonderful beta reader, Belle, without whose help this story would not have become what it is.

Tags:  Ben Cartwright, Marie Cartwright, Sierra Cartwright, Sister