Summary:  A wedding cause two brothers to discuss the past, while the Cartwrights look to the future.
Rating:  Teen    Word Count:  10, 675

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The Brandsters have included this story by this author in our project: Preserving Their Legacy. To preserve the legacy of the author, we have decided to give their work a home in the Bonanza Brand Fanfiction Library.  The author will always be the owner of this work of fanfiction, and should they wish us to remove their story, we will.

FARE THEE WELL

Adam stepped outside the house and quietly shut the door behind him. Hoss stood a few yards away from him, chopping firewood.

He’d been at it for sometime now. There must be about two hundred bits of wood ready for the fireplace.

Was it just Adam’s imagination, or was Hoss heaving that ax as if he were decapitating his worst enemies?

Something was wrong. Hoss hadn’t spoken to him all day. Even when Adam asked his brother direct questions he responded with only grunts.

Well, might as well confront him head on. Adam took a deep breath and strode up to him.

“Hey, Hoss,” he said by way of greeting.

Hoss kept chopping.

“Looks like we’ve got plenty of firewood,” Adam commented.

Hoss shrugged—and continued chopping.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” he persisted.

Hoss set the ax aside. He wiped his brow with his hand and then turned to Adam. He didn’t say anything—he just folded his arms across his chest and waited expectantly.

That was not encouraging. Adam gave him an apologetic smile as he began talking.

“Hoss, I think I must have upset you somehow. But I don’t know what I’ve done. Would you mind telling me what’s wrong?”

Hoss sighed. He unfolded his arms and his whole body seemed to sag. “You ain’t done nothing, Adam. You just—well, you have a right to your opinion.”

Adam furrowed his brow. “What, ah, what opinion would that be?”

He watched his brother shrug and turn away. “It’s not important,” he said as he picked up the ax again.

“Hoss, two hundred pieces of firewood should be enough for tonight,” Adam told him as he stepped up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Now tell me what’s going on. The only thing we’ve been discussing lately is the wedding—does it have something to do with that?”

Hoss was silent for a moment but at length he nodded.

Adam felt his stomach tighten. “Do you have something against Antoinette-Charlotte?” he demanded.

“No!” Hoss said at once. “I like her.” He paused and managed a small smile. “But I think she and Little Joe have the same nose for trouble. She might keep you on your toes.”

“She will,” Adam confirmed with a small smile of his own.

Hoss paused again and his face grew serious. “You two might have a hard time of it, with her being a black Creole and all. But I don’t think you should have to keep it quiet. Dagburn it, Adam, if you buy her a home in town and just stay with her part of the week folks will think—”

“I know what they’ll think,” Adam interrupted as he guided his brother’s arm to make sure he set down the ax. “Believe me; I’d prefer to have everything out in the open. But Charlotte wants it this way—and I understand her reasons. The people who matter to us will know the truth.”

Hoss released the ax and took a step away from all the wood. He stared down at the ground and started drawing a circle in the dirt with his foot. “It’s crazy, Adam. Why are people more likely to leave you two in peace if they think things are like that than if they know that you’re married?”

“Well, it’s a mixed-up world,” he answered as he stepped back and leaned up against the house. “Is that why you haven’t been speaking to me today?”

Hoss sighed again and hung his head. “I wish that were the reason. The truth is—well, I’m ashamed to tell you. It’s something—it’s something that I shouldn’t care about.”

“Come on, Hoss. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Adam watched his brother take a deep breath and then look up at him. His blue eyes held a mixture of hurt and embarrassment.

“I overheard you talking to Pa this morning,” he said as a fierce blush spread over his face. “Adam, you told him that Joe was going to stand up for you at the wedding. And you said that it was an easy choice! Now I know that you and Joe are close—despite all the fights you get into. And maybe you are closer with him than with me. But—well, why was it easy?”

Adam felt all the tension in his stomach disappear. In fact, he had to bite back a laugh. So that’s what this was all about!

He smiled at Hoss. “It was an easy choice,” he said, “but I’d better explain. I spoke with Father Patrick yesterday—he said that because I’m not Catholic, Charlotte and I can’t have a wedding Mass. We’ll be married in the rectory. He also told me that both witnesses should be Catholic.”

Hoss stared at him. Suddenly comprehension lit up his face. “Oh!” he said. “And Joe—”

“Unlike you and me, Joe is Catholic,” Adam continued, still smiling. “At least nominally—Marie saw to that. I know he had some trouble in his catechism class over that caterpillar incident, but he did manage to make his Communion and confirmation.”

“That’s why it was an easy choice!” Hoss said, grinning broadly now.

“Yes,” Adam answered. “Otherwise, it would have been impossible to choose between you two. I love you both, Hoss. I’m not closer to one of you than the other.”

Hoss blushed again and stared back down at his foot. “I’m sorry, older brother. It’s just that when I heard you say that to Pa—”

“I understand. Tell you what—I’ll even prove my devotion. I’ll help you carry some of these two hundred chopped logs inside,” he said as he walked over to the pile and scooped up an armful.

Hoss laughed and followed suit. “Well, you might be grateful for all this wood. It could get cold tonight.”

“Sure,” Adam said, returning his laughter. “You never know with these July nights…”

*

Adam leaned up against the stone fireplace of the living room and allowed his eyes to rest on Charlotte and Little Joe. They were seated together on the settee. He smiled at Charlotte’s excitement as Joe began to unwrap the gift she had brought over for him.

Joe laughed as brown wrapping fell to the floor. “It’s a map of New Orleans!” he exclaimed. “Framed and everything. Look! It’s beautiful.”

“Here,” said Charlotte, “this is Rampart Street. That’s where both your mother and I were born. Your Aunt Thérèse still lives there. And Congo Square is right across from it. And this is where…”

She continued pointing out landmarks—some famous, some that had only familial significance.

Joe grew wistful. “I’ve got to go there,” he sighed.

Pa raised his eyebrows at him. “Best wait till after the war,” he advised.

Charlotte nodded. “Let’s just hope those wretched Yankees don’t ruin it by then.”

Adam cringed as the room fell silent. Pa and Hoss were looking in shock at Charlotte. He should have told them in advance that New Orleans’s gens de couleur libres—the free people of color—were largely loyal to the Confederacy.

But Little Joe, he noticed, was delighted by Charlotte’s opinion. Well, that figured.

“Miss Charlotte, you—you don’t like the Yankees?” Hoss managed.

Charlotte glanced over at him, surprised by the question. But she gave him a charming smile. “Well, I make an exception for these two,” she said, indicating Adam and his father, “but I’m not partial to the rest.”

Hoss furrowed his brow. “But you’re—you’re—” he paused, too embarrassed to bring up her race. “I mean, you don’t approve of slavery, do you?”

“The war’s not about slavery,” she said reasonably. “It’s about the right of a state to secede from the Union.”

Little Joe laughed. “Amen,” he said. “I keep trying to explain that to older brother here.”

Adam sighed as Charlotte glanced his way. Her eyes were dancing at him, daring him to take up the gauntlet.

He smiled, unable to resist her bait.

“The war is over slavery,” he said. “The South wouldn’t have a reason to secede without it. They want to keep their ‘peculiar institution’ for another hundred years.”

“Lincoln said that he just wants to preserve the Union,” Charlotte pointed out.

“I know,” Adam replied. “I’m sure he’d prefer some form of gradual emancipation, but he’ll have to free the slaves outright—if only to keep England from siding with the Confederacy.”

“And to satisfy the abolitionists in his own party,” Pa added.

“Well, not to be selfish, but we gens de couleur are already free,” Charlotte said. “I don’t see how the Yankees can help us. They’ll more likely to destroy our way of life with their occupation.”

Adam shook his head. “If the Union wins this war, even the free blacks will benefit.”

“How?” she demanded.

“To begin with, they’ll gain the right to vote,” he answered.

Charlotte folded her arms across her chest and inclined her head at him. “Is that so?” she asked.

He nodded. “The Federal troops aren’t going to keep fighting just to preserve the Union,” he said. “Freedom—and subsequently, equal rights—is the only thing that will make this war worth while.”

Charlotte’s eyes were sparkling now. “Tell me this, Adam. Is Mr. Lincoln going to give me the right to vote?”

Adam stared at her. He was well aware that his family was struggling to bite back their laughter. And he didn’t blame them—he should have seen this trap coming.

“No,” he admitted with a reluctant grin. “The right for women to vote is another question entirely.”

Charlotte sighed. “And one that no men would go to war for. Oh well,” she said with a careless shrug. “C’est la vie.”

Little Joe regarded her curiously. “Do you want the right to vote?”

She shook her head. “No. Only bad women want that—like that wicked Mary Wollstonecraft. I got hold of one of her books once, but my mother burned it after she found out what that woman said about marriage.”

She paused and gave Adam a sly glance. “I mean to be a model wife and let all my opinions be guided by my husband.”

Adam grinned. “Except for your opinion on the Confederacy.”

“Except for that,” she agreed with a wink.

Everyone laughed and all the tension in the room evaporated. Joe even leaned over and gave Charlotte a kiss on the cheek.

“I think you’ll find a few more exceptions once you marry him,” he told her.

Adam watched as they turned back to the map. His little brother was right, of course—but he smiled anyway.

*

Little Joe stood outside of Adam’s door, poised to knock. His brother had just returned from dropping off Charlotte at the Widow Hawkins’ boarding house.

Hoss was already asleep and snoring. Pa was downstairs pouring over the timber contract—that would keep his attention for at least another hour. This was the perfect time to have a private conversation with older brother.

To Joe’s own surprise he paused before knocking on Adam’s door—he was more nervous about this chat than he had thought. But after swearing under his breath he forced himself to knock. There was an answering grunt, which he took as leave to enter.

He found Adam sitting up reading. He had sunk himself into the plump, overstuffed armchair that he refused to part with despite its worn fabric and misshapen cushions. He seemed engrossed in whatever book he held.

Joe walked up to the chair and crouched down so that he was eye level with the book. “Moby Dick,” he said as he read the title.

“Yup,” Adam answered, keeping his eyes trained on the page.

Joe grinned. “I read some of that. The first few chapters were a riot—Melville had me in stitches. Then I skimmed my way through the sermon—Catholics aren’t good at long sermons—but I lost interest once they were out to sea.”

Adam returned his smile. “This is my second time around with this book. I read it when it was first published, but I couldn’t decide what to make of it. ”

“And now?”

He shrugged. “Now I can tell that it’s brilliant—but I still don’t know if I like it or not.”

Joe laughed as Adam tossed the book aside and stood up. He got to his feet as well, feeling a little bit better about the question he was about to ask.

“What can I do for you?” Adam asked as he walked over to his dresser and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher that was sitting there.

“I, uh, I was wondering if you’d tell me how you found out about my mother’s past,” he managed. Then he held his breath—Adam had a heap of mixed feelings about Joe’s mother. He was drunk the last time he spoke of her at length. He might not be willing to discuss her sober.

He watched Adam set his glass down without taking a sip. At length he turned to face him. “Why do you want to know?” he asked.

Joe shrugged. “It’s so much to take in. I suppose I want to know why she confided in you when she wouldn’t dare tell Pa or me.”

Adam was silent for a long moment, but finally he sighed. “You probably remember the day she told me,” he said. “It wasn’t long before I left for college. In fact, I’m pretty sure you overheard part of our conversation…”

*

Adam stifled a yawn as he stepped into the house. He stripped himself of his jacket, his hat and his gun belt and then made his way to living room. He was looking forward to collapsing into a chair with his newest book.

“Cheri, is that you?” Marie called out. A moment later she appeared at the top of the stairs.

Adam swore under his breath. Marie’s habit of calling him ‘cheri’ never failed to grate on him.

“What can I do for you?” he asked as she rushed down the stairs. He noted—with disapproval—that she was wearing only her chemise and a silk robe.

“Come, sit down with me,” she said as she took his hand. “I must ask a favor of you, cheri.”

He resisted her attempt to pull him toward the settee. Instead he shook off her grip.

“Marie, don’t call me that. I’m your stepson, not your flirt.”

She gave him a mischievous smile. “There’s no reason you can’t be both—especially now that you’re grown. Look at you, almost ready for college! By the time you come back you’ll be one of my favorite flirts.”

“Spare me that honor,” he said dryly.

“Adam,” she said, rolling her eyes, “if you’ll do me this favor I’ll call you anything you please. Now come sit down.”

He had no choice but to follow her to the settee. She’d never leave him in peace until he heard her out.

“Well?” he said as they sat down.

She glanced down at her hands. “You have your own money, n’est-ce pas? I mean separate from the Ponderosa’s accounts.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Trying to touch me up for a loan?”

“Yes,” she admitted as she met his gaze. “I need two thousand dollars.”

Adam nearly choked. “Two thousand? What for?”

She took a deep breath. “An emergency. Please don’t ask any further. It is a very private and delicate matter. And, besides, explanations can be tedious.”

Adam stared at her. “Why haven’t you asked my father?” he said at length.

She shook her head. “You know he took Hoss on that hunting trip. They won’t be back on time. And I—I would prefer him not to know about this.”

Adam did his best to keep his voice even. “I’m not going to help you deceive my Pa,” he informed her.

She stood up at that and began pacing. “I might as well tell you, cheri—I mean, Adam—that the money is already spent.”

“What do you mean?”

“I borrowed it from the safe,” she confessed.

“You what? Marie, that was the payroll! And the money for the contract!”

She stopped pacing and turned to face him. She was standing by the desk now.

She gave him a tentative smile. “Well, if you have two thousand dollars you can cover it. And then I’ll pay you back—with interest, I promise.”

Adam stood up and clenched his fists. “Why would Pa even give you the combination to the safe?” he demanded. “Doesn’t he know better than to talk business with you?”

She bristled at that. “Are you saying that women can’t be trusted with business?”

He glared at her. “No. I’m saying that you can’t be trusted. Inger would’ve known better than to take the money. Hell, she could’ve handled all our finances!”

He knew how little Marie liked being compared to Hoss’s mother—so naturally he had made a career of doing just that. Therefore he wasn’t surprised when she threw her hands up in the air and went off in a torrent of French.

Adam had picked up enough of her language to get the gist of it. She was calling on the Mother of God and various angels to save her from her vicious, autocratic, unfeeling stepson.

He folded his arms over his chest as she went on. She soon calmed down enough to speak in English.

“Listen to me, cheri,” she said. “I’m tired of you throwing Inger at me. I hate this perfect stepmother of yours! I’m sick of being told how she crossed the plains heavy with child, healed the sick, fought Indians and no doubt changed water into wine. Mon Dieu, what didn’t this woman do?”

Adam raised his eyebrows at her. “She didn’t paint herself up,” he informed her. “She didn’t wear gowns cut so low that a prostitute would blush to wear them and she didn’t steal two thousand dollars from our safe.”

Marie’s eyes shot murder at him as she picked up Inger’s portrait from the desk and hurled it at his head. He managed to duck—but barely. The heavily framed picture went sailing over his head, crashing into the wall behind him.

He turned and stared at the shattered glass and broken frame. Then he turned back to Marie and walked purposely toward her.

She looked shocked at her action. But that shock was quickly replaced with fear.

“Adam,” she said as she retreated behind the desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or the picture—what are you intending to do?”

“What my father should have done ages ago,” he answered as kept marching toward her.

She wisely kept the desk between them. “If you lay a hand on me your father will have your hide,” she warned him.

“It’ll be worth it,” he assured her as he burst forward and managed to corner her.

“Let go of me!” she shouted in French as he took hold of her arm. “I’m still your stepmother!”

“Why should that stop me?” he asked as he dragged the chair out from behind the desk. “Consider this a form of flirtation.”

She slapped him across the face with her free hand. He ignored that as he sat down, fully intending to pull her over his lap. But he reckoned without Little Joe. That scamp appeared from the vicinity of the staircase. He hurled himself at Adam and screeched for him to let go of his mother.

Joe was only five so he couldn’t do much damage, but he was an effective diversion. Adam managed to fend him off, but then he sighed and released Marie.

It was just as well that Joe intervened, he told himself. Unfortunately he had no right to take his stepmother to task. He would have to apologize—and then force himself to show her a modicum of respect.

He glanced over at Marie. She looked ashamed and overwrought. He took a step toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She responded by leaning against him and bursting into tears.

Just then Little Joe decided to launch a second attack. Adam swore as the tyke managed to grab hold of his hand and bite it.

It was going to be a long night.

*

Adam cringed, convinced that he had discovered his own personal hell.

He had one arm around Marie, who was sobbing into his left shoulder. His free hand was clinging to the scruff of Little Joe’s neck, who was kicking his shins in an effort to escape.

Five more months till he left for college, he reminded himself. He just had to survive five more months.

“Let me go!” Joe shouted.

“Only if you stop attacking me,” Adam told him, keeping his voice even.

Joe’s response was a rude French phrase he had presumably picked up from his mother. Fortunately Marie intervened.

“Leave him be, mon petit,” she said. “He did not hurt me. I’m fine.”

Little Joe regarded Adam with suspicion but he stopped kicking him.

“Are you still angry with my Ma?” he asked.

Adam released Marie and crouched down so that he was eye level with his brother.

“Yes,” he answered. “But I won’t lay another hand on her. That was wrong of me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Now come here, buddy,” he said.

Little Joe flung himself into Adam’s arms, so Adam lifted him up and carried him upstairs.

“Why don’t you set up your fort and your toy soldiers,” Adam said as he set him down in his room. “Give me a few minutes with your Ma and then I’ll come up and we’ll have a battle.”

“Ok,” he answered. But he didn’t rush to set up the figures as Adam expected.

Adam scratched Joe’s head. “What wrong, Little Joe?”

Joe looked down at his feet and then back up at his brother. “Why do you hate my Ma so much?” he asked.

The question took Adam aback. “I don’t hate her, Joe,” he told him. “Why would you think that?”

“`Cause you’re always talking back to her and saying stuff to her. You make comments about her clothes and her perfume and the stuff she puts on her face—why don’t you think she’s pretty?”

Adam picked Joe up again and carried him over to the bed. He sat down with Joe on his lap.

“I do, Little Joe,” he said truthfully. “Your mother is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. But she would be just as beautiful in more modest dresses and without the paint.”

Joe sighed. “Yeah, but it’s not only that, Adam. If my Ma tries to help you with anything, you tell her that she’s doing it wrong. And you talk down to her—as if she doesn’t understand anything. And your voice always sounds nasty when you speak to her.”

Adam tried to respond to that—tried to defend himself. But he shut up as he realized how much truth there was to his brother’s words.

“And you always compare her to Hoss’s Ma,” Joe continued. “You’re so mean to her, Adam. I’ve overheard Pa and my Ma talking about it. He’s wanted to tan you good, but my Ma always stops him.”

Adam felt a sudden burning anger. He didn’t need Marie to protect him.

But his anger was tempered by shame. He knew how poorly he had treated her—right from the beginning. He promised himself that from now on he would show her respect.

No matter how he disapproved of her.

“You’re right Joe. I haven’t—well, I haven’t been kind to your Ma. I’ll try to behave better from now on.”

“I wish you would like her,” Joe said simply. “She likes you. She’s always saying how smart you are and how hard you work here. And she thinks you’re going to be real handsome.”

Adam managed to smile at that. “I need to go talk with your Ma,” he said as he set Joe back on the floor. “You get those soldiers set up.”

Joe nodded and set about gathering the figures that were strewn throughout the room. Adam got up and walked out. He shut the door behind him and then made his way downstairs.

Marie was curled up on the settee, staring into the fireplace. The flames cast a glow on her face.

Adam paused on the landing just to stare at her. Her hair was spilling over her shoulders and her face was glowing in the firelight. He could see the curve of her breasts through the silk of her robe and chemise.

He felt something catch in his throat. He had wanted her for as long as he had understood what it meant to want a woman. And all the harsh words he spoke to her and the cold treatment he subjected her to were just his clumsy attempts at fighting the attraction.

He forced himself to continue down the stairs and walk over to her. She didn’t look up at him as he sat down on the table across from her.

“I’m sorry,” he said at length. “That will never happen again. I won’t lay a finger on you, I promise.”

She didn’t answer him.

He sighed. “Look, Marie. I don’t need you to protect me from Pa. I’ve been brutal to you—I know that. If Pa wants to take me in hand over it he’s got every right to.”

She still didn’t look up at him—but at least she smiled. “I’m not about to say a word to him—not while I still need the loan from you.”

“You can have it,” Adam said at once. “I won’t ask you any questions about it either.”

“You don’t need to,” she informed him, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m going to tell you the whole story. But cheri, I want you to promise to keep it to yourself. You cannot tell even your father.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to make that promise. If you’re in some sort of trouble, Marie, there’s no one better than my father to get you out of it.”

She sighed. “Very well. I’ll tell you and then you’ll understand.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’m a quadroon, Adam.”

Adam stared at her. ‘Quadroon’ was a common term in her native New Orleans—it meant someone who was one-quarter black.

“My mother was a mulatto,” she continued. “But she was a free black—one of the gens de couleur. She was the mistress of a wealthy French Creole—a white man, of course. When I was born my father knew that I would be light enough to pass. And so he arranged for me to be brought up in the white world without anyone knowing my ancestry.”

It took Adam a moment to assimilate her story. Marie took hold of his hand as he came to terms with the information.

“You’re father doesn’t know,” she told him.

“He wouldn’t care if he did,” Adam said at last. “You must know that.”

She shook her head. “Nonetheless, cheri, I’m not going to tell him. And I don’t want you to tell him either.”

“Why should it be a secret?” he asked.

“Because of Joseph,” she explained. “You have no idea how difficult his life would be if people knew.”

Adam took his time about answering. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Marie. Little Joe should be told. It’s his heritage, after all. He deserves to know his ancestry.”

She smiled at him. “You’re growing up to be a good man, Adam—just like your father. And you’re an idealist, which I admire. But it’s easy to afford your ideals when you’re white.”

He looked away from her and thought that over. He was adult enough to realize that there was truth in her words.

“I won’t say anything to them,” he said. “Not now. But I won’t promise to keep quiet when Joe’s grown.”

“Thank you, cheri,” she said, giving his hand a light squeeze. “That gives me time to bring you to your senses.”

“What does all this have to do with the two thousand dollars?” Adam demanded.

Marie looked away from him. “One of my brothers came here today while you were out on the range. He needed it. And no, you may not meet him. He’s well on his way to San Francisco by now.”

“Was this charity on your part, Marie, or did he blackmail you?”

She smiled. “A bit of both. I send money to my mother when I can. My father was generous while he lived, you see, but he has been gone for some time. My brother is worthless, and my other brothers died of fever. But I have sisters as well. They’re all darker than I am—none of them could pass. One is married, but the rest still live with my mother.”

She paused and looked back at Adam. “I—I would like to know that they’ll always be looked after,” she continued. “In case anything should happen to me, perhaps you would be kind enough to send them funds from time to time? Nothing elaborate of course—I just send my pin money when I can.”

Adam nodded. “All right,” he said. “Give me their information. But Marie, if this brother of yours comes knocking at our door again, I expect you to tell me. I won’t have him coercing you.”

“Don’t worry, cheri, he won’t be back. I made that plain to him.”

Adam had his doubts on that score—if her brother had gotten money from her this time, why shouldn’t he try again?

And if she would just tell Pa the truth, she would be immune to his blackmail. But he didn’t point that out to her. He could tell that she meant to be stubborn on this issue.

But he was stubborn too. Someday he would tell Joe the whole story.

She released his hand and sighed. “The picture of Inger is fine—although I will have to replace the frame.”

“We’ll tell Pa that it was an accident,” Adam said.

She gave him a light, teasing grin. “Adam,” she said, “I know I’m a trial to you. I’m so very different from Inger. I don’t do all this tending the sick and fighting off Indian attacks. I’m sure if she were here she could run the Ponderosa by herself—but unfortunately you are stuck with me.”

“Well, Inger might be an impossible standard,” he admitted.

“She is,” she assured him. “But you are correct—she would not have taken that money from the safe. But then, she was also sensible enough to be born of two white parents.”

Adam laughed. “Don’t worry about the money—I said I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll pay you back, cheri. With interest.”

“There’s no rush,” he said.

She smiled. “You can be so kind when it pleases you, Adam. Thank you. Now how long do you suppose we can stay in charity with each other?”

He returned her smile. “An hour or two, at least.” Then his face grew serious. “Marie, I don’t mean all the cruel things I say to you. It’s just that—”

“I know,” she said, cutting him off. “You and I have learned too well how to bring out the worst in each other. But every now and then we bring out the best.”

“Every now and then,” Adam agreed.

He stared at her, wanting to say something more. But he couldn’t find the words.

She winked at him. “Go upstairs, cheri,” she ordered. “We must part now while we are still on good terms. Besides, Little Joe is waiting for you.”

*

Little Joe was silent for a long moment when Adam finished. Then suddenly he broke into a broad grin. “No wonder you fell in love with my mother’s little sister,” he said.

Adam returned his smile. “Her much younger sister—do you realize that Charlotte is only a year older than you?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, it’ll be easier to think of her as my sister-in-law than as my aunt,” he owned. “But what do you expect? It seems that my grandmother started having children when she was sixteen and didn’t stop until she was in her forties.”

He paused to shake his head at Adam. “I’m still amazed that you went all the way down to New Orleans to meet my family before you headed east for college.”

“I’m glad that I did,” Adam said, still smiling. “Even though she was only seven at the time, Antoinette-Charlotte managed to steal my heart. Kevin predicted that I would marry her, despite the fact that I’m eleven years her senior.”

Joe raised his eyebrows at the mention of Kevin’s name. He knew all about Kevin Doyle, an Irish rogue that Adam had met in New Orleans. He and Adam were the same age and they both loved books and music, so they quickly became inseparable. In fact, the Irisher accompanied Adam first to Boston and later to New York.

But he died in a brawl in Five Points—Manhattan’s infamous slum. While Kevin was alive, Adam’s letters from college had been full of their joint exploits. But Adam clammed up after his death. He wrote about it in a stark, abrupt letter just before he came home and then rarely mentioned Kevin again.

In fact, Adam was even less willing to talk about Kevin than he was to talk about Joe’s mother.

“How’d you meet that Irisher?” Joe asked, hoping that he’d break his long silence.

But Adam shook his head. “Not tonight. I’ve spent enough time dwelling on the past. Besides, we both need some sleep.”

Joe sighed, knowing better than to press his brother. He gave him a brief, impulsive hug instead and then made his way to his own room.

He had just crawled into bed when he heard Adam’s door open and someone—presumably Adam—slip down the hallway.

He slid out of bed himself and pressed his ear to his door. He even cracked his door open as he heard Adam head down the stairs and then out the front door.

Puzzled, Joe pulled off his bed gown and got back into his trousers, shirt and boots. Then he went to follow his brother.

He stepped outside without a lantern. As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight he noticed a light inside the barn. He headed over there, but he paused outside of it as the sounds of his brother’s guitar met him.

Adam was singing a lively Irish tune. Or at least he was aping an Irish brogue as he sang. That meant that he was reminiscing about old Father Ronan or, more likely, Kevin Doyle.

Joe stood just outside the barn, tapping his feet to the song:

Farewell to Princess Landing Stage
River Mersey, fare thee well
For I am bound for Cali-forn-i-ay
For to find my share of hell

So fare thee well, my own true love
When I return united we will be
It’s not the leaving of Liverpool that’s grieving me
But my darling when I think of thee

Well I’ve signed on a Yankee Clipper ship
The Davey Crockett is her name
And Burgess is her cap’n aboard
And they say that she’s a floating shame

So fare thee well, my own true love…**

Joe shook his head as he stood there, wishing he could read his brother’s thoughts. He’d bet all the money he’d lost on the flapjack contest that they were back in the Five Points of Manhattan.

He listened for a minute more and then turned back to the house. Someday Adam would be ready to share those memories.

*

Kevin and Adam were uniting their voices, pausing only to quench their throats with the worst beer to be had in New York. They were taking turns drinking from the rusted, beat up tin cup that Kevin refused to part with.

Adam was somehow managing to keep up with the chords of the song, despite the fact that Nora—one of the Irish whores—had her arm around his shoulders. She didn’t seem to notice that she was hampering his ability to play the guitar.

But it was no hardship to have her pressed up against him. Besides, she was adding her sweet soprano to the song. So he didn’t complain, he just kept singing:

Well, I’ve sailed with this Burgess once before
And I know the bastard well
And if a man is a sailor he can get along
And if not, he’s in a floating hell!

Everyone at the bar joined for the chorus:

So fare thee well, my own true love
When I return united we will be
It’s not the leaving of Liverpool that’s grieving me
But my darling when I think of thee…**

As they sang a black man jumped up on the bar. One of the Irish fiddlers quickly joined him and together they began that strange new ‘tap dance’ that was growing out of the Irish jigs and the black shuffle dances.

Adam grinned as he tried to pay attention to his chords, the song, the girl and the dance all at once. For all its filth and squalor, there was something to be said for the Five Points.

“We’re going to get ourselves murdered there sometime,” he remarked later as the three of them—Kevin, Nora and himself—made their way home to the cramped flat that he and Kevin shared.

As he spoke, he wondered how Kevin had convinced him that they should share Nora’s favors. It must have been his argument for practicing economy…

Nora laughed. “Aren’t you two darling? Keep bringing that guitar and you’ll always find welcome.”

“Aye, but he’s afraid of being murdered for that guitar,” Kevin explained with a twinkle in his eyes.

Adam grinned. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Well, aye, that might happen,” Nora owned.

“Never mind, it’s well worth the risk,” Kevin opined. “Make your confession, Adam—you’re grateful to me for dragging you down there. Wouldn’t it have been a shame not to have met Miss Nora here?”

Nora snorted. “Ha! I’m just angling to make enough coin from the pair of you to get me out of Five Points,” she informed them, giving each a calculating look in turn. “Adam here will polish up me up and then I’ll leave you both for the first rich old man that dangles his wallet at me.”

Adam laughed as Kevin pretended to be devastated. “Don’t you want to seduce me into marrying you?” he demanded.

She smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think that I’m the marrying sort. And if I were, I wouldn’t set my cap on either of you. You’re an artist, Kev, and you’ve only money when some paper or other buys your pictures. And as for this one—”she paused to indicate Adam—“well, he plans to spend the rest of his life out in the territories.”

Adam grinned at the inflection she put on ‘territories.’ In Nora’s mind Nevada might as well be Antarctica.

“You have a point,” Kevin owned. “Poor Adam will spend the rest of his days breaking his back on that ranch of his father’s.”

“You might break your own back,” Adam retorted. “Don’t you mean to accompany me to the Ponderosa?”

Kevin winked at him. “Only if I live long enough.”

“Well, that’s another reason not to fall in with you, Kevin Doyle,” Nora put in. “I’m staying right here in New York.”

Kev sighed dramatically. “I’ll try to recover from your cruel rejection,” he told her. “But as for Adam here—I’m afraid you can’t have him anyway. He’s on reserve for a little girl in New Orleans.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Kev here is convinced that he has the sight,” he explained.

Nora laughed. “Holy Jesus, so is every other Irishman. I never believe any of them.”

*

Adam set down his guitar as he remembered his time in the city. Nora found her rich old man—in fact, she found a slew of them. She was still living quite happily on their largesse.

But Kevin—well, Kevin didn’t live long enough to come to the Ponderosa after all. Adam hadn’t let himself dwell on his friend for years, but when Charlotte came back into his life she had brought Kevin’s memories with her.

Adam shook his head, wishing Kev hadn’t been fool enough to get drawn into that brawl. He should be here now—he should be here to see the wedding and to know that his prediction had come true.

He sighed. “And if wishes were horses,” he said to himself. Then he forced himself to get up and take the advice he’d given to Little Joe—it was high time for bed.

*

About a week later Little Joe found his own way to the Widow Hawkins. He groaned as he lay on her settee—but he shut up almost as soon as he started. The groaning only increased the pain in his split lip.

He settled for a sigh instead as Charlotte pressed one cold, damp rag on his mouth and another over his right eye. That eye was probably a violent shade of purple by now.

Charlotte swore in French as he flinched from her hand. “Keep still!” she admonished. “Mrs. Hawkins has gone to the ice house. She’ll bring back a bucket full and we’ll try to get the swelling down.”

Joe nodded as he sighed again. Well, at least Allen Brooks looked worse.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was frowning down at him. “I know you were defending my honor, Joseph, but you mustn’t pick fights on my behalf. I don’t want you getting in trouble with the law, no matter what that man says to you.”

Joe cringed, remembering the scene in the Bucket of Blood. It started innocently enough. The barkeep just asked him where he was off to when he paid his tab.

“To visit Miss Charlotte,” Joe told him.

“Ain’t that your brother’s girl?” the barkeep asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Joe nodded. He wanted to correct the man, to say that she was Adam’s fiancée—not to mention his own blood aunt—but he minded Charlotte’s wishes and kept quiet.

That’s when Allen Brooks opened his mouth. “I’ve seen your brother’s little blackbird around town,” he said from his place at the bar. “She’s mighty pretty. You sure he don’t mind you calling on her?”

“Adam don’t mind,” someone else called out. “Their Pa taught them to share.”

The laughter that followed that remark was too much for Joe’s temper. He slammed his fist into Allen’s face, sparking an out and out brawl. A surprising number of men came in on his side, but they all ended up in the sheriff’s office.

Charlotte herself appeared to pay the fine for disturbing the peace. Sheriff Coffee released the lot of them and Little Joe managed to walk to the widow’s boarding house.

He collapsed there and submitted to Charlotte’s ministrations.

He never did find out how she heard about the whole mess. Word traveled fast, he supposed.

“I don’t like that look on your face,” Charlotte continued, snapping his mind back to the present. “I can tell you don’t mean to ignore men like that.”

“I can’t,” he managed, despite the pain in his lip and the taste of blood in his mouth. “I’m not going to let folks insult you.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Do you think I care what some no-account poor white man thinks of me?”

Joe laughed despite himself. He was learning that his aunt was inordinately proud of her French Creole bloodlines. She considered herself superior to most of the white citizens of Virginia City—even if she didn’t go around saying so.

“Does Adam know that you’re a snob?” he asked.

“He suspects it,” she answered with a saucy smile. “But I’m a very good-natured snob. Besides, he’ll enjoy taking me down a peg or two—and I’ll enjoy letting him.”

Joe wanted to laugh again but it was just too painful. So he lay quietly instead and allowed Charlotte to keep pressing down on his lip in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

He sighed once more. He was hurting too bad to sleep—it was going to be a long, restless night.

He just hoped that his face looked right before the wedding. There were only two weeks to go.

*

Hoss smiled at his older brother as he watched him fidget with his cravat. This must be about the tenth time he’d fussed over it—and they hadn’t even left the house yet.

“Nervous, Adam?” he asked.

Adam managed a grin. “How can you tell?”

“Don’t you worry. You’ll be fine,” he assured him.

“Yeah, calm down, older brother,” Joe said. He was standing right next to Adam, waiting to help him into his frock coat. “I don’t want you fainting away on your bride.”

Adam ignored that. “Do have the rings?” he asked.

Hoss watched Little Joe roll his eyes. “For the twentieth time, yes.”

“All right, all right,” Adam said. “I’ll stop asking.”

After one last adjustment to his neckpiece Adam allowed Joe to assist him into the coat. Hoss grinned as Joe looked their older brother over.

“You’ll do,” he said, nodding with satisfaction.

Adam gave Joe a playful slap on the cheek and then the threesome made their way outside, where Pa was waiting with the carriage. But Adam stopped short on the threshold.

“Just a minute,” he said. “I forgot something.”

He rushed back into the house and returned a moment later with an old, battered tin cup in his hand. He held it out to Hoss.

“Would you hold onto this during the ceremony?” he asked.

Hoss eyed the cup wearily. It was rusted, stained and corroded—in fact, it was a wonder that it was still in one piece.

“Ah, this looks like it’s seen better days, Adam,” he pointed out.

Adam smiled. “I know, but hold onto it all the same. It’s got, ah, sentimental value.”

Hoss took it by the thin handle and shrugged. “If you say so.”

*

A short while later Hoss was standing in the rectory of St. Mary’s in the Mountains. Adam and Little Joe were up talking to the priest—he was probably going over the ceremony with them. Pa was sitting with Roy Coffee and Doc Martin and that nice Irish girl who was going to stand up for Charlotte.

Hoss sighed. It was such a small crowd. But so many people wouldn’t approve of the wedding because of Charlotte’s race—so only the Cartwrights and their closest friends were present.

Hoss started fidgeting with the tin cup. There wasn’t much to do except wait for Charlotte to show. She should be arriving with the Widow Hawkins any minute now.

The ceremony would be right here in the rectory. Adam and Charlotte couldn’t have a regular wedding Mass because Adam wasn’t Catholic.

Hoss was secretly relieved that there’d be no Mass. He always felt intimidated by all that Latin. Yeah, you could follow the translation along in one of those Missal books, but he always lost his place.

And that reminded him. There’d probably be a few prayers and they’d probably do that sign of the cross. Now how did that go? He never went to Catholic services—except once a year for Marie’s memorial Mass.

Hoss switched the tin cup into his left hand and frowned in an effort of memory. First you touched your forehead, then your heart—then was it your right shoulder followed by your left? He made the motions with his right hand, trying to figure it out.

“You touch your left shoulder first and then your right,” someone whispered in a lilting Irish accent.

He turned toward the voice and found himself facing a stranger. It was a young man—Hoss reckoned him to be about Joe’s age. He was about the same build as Joe and he had hazel eyes like him too. His hair, however, was a dirty blonde.

Those hazel eyes were sparkling with laughter. Hoss gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks,” he said. “I can never remember.”

The stranger returned his smile and looked him up and down. Hoss might have imagined it, but he would swear the fellow glanced fondly at the old tin cup.

“You must be Adam’s middle brother,” the young man said.

“I am,” he answered as he held out his right hand. “Name’s Hoss.”

Before the stranger could accept his hand there was a commotion at the front of the rectory. Charlotte had arrived.

Everyone rose to look at the bride. Hoss let his hand drop as he thought how beautiful and happy she looked.

Her dress had that yellowed look that silk gets with age, but Hoss thought it made her mocha skin glow. And that hoop skirt sure did show off her figure.

Well, he shouldn’t be surprised. She was a modiste, after all, so she should know a thing or two about making flattering dresses.

The young Irishman let out a low whistle. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he whispered. “Antoinette is all grown up.”

Hoss was about to correct him, to tell him that her name was Charlotte. But then he remembered that Antoinette really was her first name—she just preferred her middle one.

He turned his attention back to Charlotte. There wasn’t much of an aisle for her to walk down, but she crossed toward Adam and smiled up at him, allowing her hoop skirt to sway gracefully in her wake. Hoss almost got choked up as he watched his older brother take her hands and beam down at her.

He sighed. “Maybe Adam should have converted,” he said softly. “It would have been nice for these two to have a real church wedding.”

The Irisher grinned. “No, Adam would take the Church far too seriously. Right now, don’t you see, he can dismiss all our foibles and idiosyncrasies with a tolerant shrug. But they’d annoy him to no end if he had to deal with them as a parishioner.”

Hoss considered that. There was probably something to the young man’s words. He wondered how this fellow knew his brother so well.

Just then the priest started the service. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” he began.

Hoss forgot about the fellow as he successfully crossed himself and turned his mind to the ceremony.

*

The service was short and sweet. Hoss sighed again and shook his head when it was over. That’s when he remembered the stranger. The fellow was still standing at his side.

“I can’t believe that my brother’s a married man,” he told him.

The stranger smiled. “Oh, I knew he’d marry Antoinette. Even when she was seven she could challenge him and amuse him. And she adored him from the first. I can remember her trailing after him wherever he went.”

Hoss stared at him. This fellow must have known Adam and Charlotte in New Orleans all those years ago.

“I never did catch your name,” Hoss ventured, wondering why the young man’s eyes held such a fond, bittersweet look as they rested on his brother.

“It’s Kevin,” he answered as he took a step toward the rectory door. “Well, my friend, I’ll be on my way. Tell Adam—well, won’t you tell him I was here?”

Hoss opened his mouth to ask him to wait just a minute. But suddenly he found himself engulfed in Little Joe’s arms. He turned to accept his brother’s hug and by the time he turned back the stranger had vanished.

The next thing he knew Adam and Charlotte were in front of him. They were looking for hugs too, but Charlotte gasped when she saw the tin cup he was holding.

She laughed and turned to her new husband. “Adam, that’s not that vile cup that Kevin always insisted on using?”

He grinned. “I’m afraid it is. Kev refused to part with it—despite the dents and the stains and the rust. It only seemed right to keep it for him after he died.”

She laughed again and rolled her eyes as she hugged Hoss. “Why don’t you come with us into the Church?” she invited. “We’re going to light some candles for all the people who couldn’t be with us today. And I want to leave a bouquet for the Blessed Mother.”

Hoss nodded dumbly and then she was moving onto the Widow Hawkins.

Come to think of it, he did remember Adam writing about a Kevin back when he was in college. But that couldn’t be the same fellow!

The one Adam told them about in his letters was dead. Hoss remembered the story.

Adam met him in New Orleans just before he went to college and the fellow traveled east with him. A few years later he got caught up in some brawl in New York. He ended up bleeding to death in Adam’s arms.

Adam must have sensed that something was wrong. “What’s up, Hoss?” he asked.

Hoss stared at his feet. “Wasn’t your friend Kevin an Irisher?” he asked.

He felt Adam place a hand on his shoulder as he answered. “Yes, he was. What of it?”

He shrugged and continued to look down. “I don’t know. What did he look like?”

“Well, I’d say that he was about Joe’s build.” He paused and Hoss could hear a fond smile in his voice when he continued. “And, like Joe, he had a pair of hazel eyes that were brimming with mischief. His hair was blonde, though–sort of a dirty blonde. Why?”

Hoss couldn’t bring himself to answer.

Adam sighed. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said at length. “Look, Kev’s one of the people were going to light a candle for. Why don’t you come?”

“I will,” Hoss managed. Then he forced himself to meet Adam’s gaze. “I—I reckon your friend would like that.”

*

The clerk at the International House cast an anxious glance around the foyer and then wrung his hands together. He wished that Adam Cartwright would hurry up about signing in and paying for his room.

He stared at the girl Adam had with him. She was dressed up as if it were her wedding day. That was a silk gown for certain.

He shook his head. She was a taking little thing. He could understand what Adam saw in her. But why did he have to bring her here?

It wouldn’t do the hotel any good if word got around. What would people think if they found out that a woman of color was staying here? Well, thank God it was only for one night.

Despite his misgivings the clerk kept his tongue inside his head. No point in refusing their business. He didn’t want the Cartwrights to stop recommending the hotel.

He sighed. No, it was better to give Adam and his mistress the best room available and then get them out of sight.

*

Adam watched with concern as Charlotte struggled to take off her pearl choker. It was a beautiful piece that she had inherited from her mother. But she was too angry to treat it with the delicate touch that the clasp demanded.

“Here,” he said, taking a step toward her. “Let me get that for you.”

“Don’t you come near me,” she said, shooting him a warning glance. “It’s your fault that we’re arguing on our wedding night!”

“We’re not arguing,” he corrected. “We’re just going around in circles.”

“Well, that’s your fault too,” she informed him.

He sighed. It had been only half an hour since he brought her into the room. How had they managed to get into a fight already?

“You’re going to break that if you’re not careful,” he advised her.

“It’s not going to break,” she insisted, “I know how to—”

Adam cringed as he caught the almost inaudible ‘snap’ of the whole strand severing. It was followed by the ‘ping, ping’ of tiny pearls hitting the floor.

Charlotte gasped. She looked down in horror at the pearls that were now littering the floor. Then she looked up at Adam and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

Adam crossed his arms over his chest as she flung every foul French word in her vocabulary at him. What did she think—that he had somehow willed the strand to break?

He raised his eyebrows at the names she called him. There were a few he didn’t recognize, but he could guess their meaning from context.

He bit back a smile. Her French was every bit as thorough as Marie’s had been.

“Are you done?” he asked when she paused for breath.

She made a face at him. “I can’t stand it when you stay calm like that. Why aren’t you screaming back at me?”

He smiled outright at that. “Because I’m planning to wash your mouth out with soap instead.”

She glared at him for a moment but Adam could see an answering smile tugging at her lips. She gave in and laughed despite herself.

“Voyou!” she said, calling him a much gentler name than the ones she’d just used. “Help me pick these up. Do you think it can be fixed?”

“I’m sure it can,” he answered as he knelt down to collect the strays.

She tried to kneel too, but she paled and got right back up again.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“My stays are too tight,” she told him. Her voice was a little breathless. “I had to make my waist infinitesimal to fit into this dress,” she explained.

He shook his head at her as she started to unhook her gown and pull it off. He was just beginning to understand the lengths that Charlotte would go to for the sake of fashion.

“It took Mrs. Hawkins forever to lace them!” she continued as silk skirts and muslin petticoats muffled her voice. “She had to pull and pull and pull.”

Adam rolled his eyes at her. “Joe warned me that you were vain and arrogant,” he commented.

“Not vain and arrogant,” she corrected. “Vain and snobbish.”

He laughed as she set her gown and her hoopskirt aside. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her in just her chemise, her stays, her pantalets and her stockings. Then he tore his eyes away and found a cup to place the stray pearls in. Kevin’s old tin cup would do.

When that was accomplished he stood up and stepped behind her. He turned his attention to her stays and began to loosen them.

“Thank you!” she said. “Now I can breathe again.”

She paused and sent him a mischievous glance over her shoulder. “Now kindly explain why my sister Thérèse is leaving New Orleans. And why you wrote her that she could live with me!”

“Are we going to go back around in circles?” he asked as began to unlace the stays altogether.

“Adam, she shouldn’t leave. It’s not safe—there’s a war on!”

He sighed. Apparently they were going to go back around in circles.

“You left during the war,” he pointed out. Again.

“Yes,” she said, repeating her own words and gestures. “And I risked it because I wanted to get away from her! Now I’ll have to put up with her and her spineless husband.”

“Charlotte, I’ll be dividing my time between Virginia City and the Ponderosa. I don’t like the thought of you living alone while I’m at the ranch—and neither does Thérèse. That’s why she’s coming.”

Charlotte stomped her foot in frustration. “I won’t live with her, Adam! I can stand only one tyrant in my life at a time. And I’d much rather it be you.”

“Thank you very much,” he said dryly.

She shook her head impatiently. “If I can admit to being vain and snobbish, you can admit to being a tyrant. You’ve already threatened to wash my mouth out with soap!”

“It wasn’t just a threat,” he assured her.

“You won’t want to kiss me tonight if I taste like lye,” she retorted.

“That’s true,” he owned as the last of the lacing came undone. “I’ll have to spank you instead.”

“Well, first promise me that I won’t have to live with Thérèse.”

He grinned as he removed her stays and tossed them onto the bed. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against him.

He kissed the top of her head. “Would you try it first?” he asked. “We’ll find you a large house where you can set up your shop and still have plenty of room for the three of you.”

She made a ‘hrmmph’ sound. “And if Thérèse and I come to blows?”

He shrugged. “Then we’ll find her a home nearby.”

“How about Carson City? That’s nearby. Or better yet, San Francisco.”

Adam turned her around to face him and then kissed her soundly. “No more going around in circles,” he said as they broke apart. “Will you try to get on with Thérèse?”

She made another face at him. “I’ll try,” she promised.

“Good,” he said after kissing her again. “Now let’s forget about her—I’m sure we can come up with something else to talk about.”

She laughed as he lifted her into his arms. “It’s our wedding night,” she reminded him. “I’m sure we can do something other than talk!”

*

A long while later Adam kissed the top of Charlotte’s head as she nestled into the crook of his arm. She gave a contented sigh.

“I suppose I’ll have to forgive you for inviting Thérèse the Terrible here,” she informed him.

He grinned. “Thérèse isn’t the monster you think she is,” he assured her.

“You only lived with her for a couple of months,” Charlotte pointed out. “If you had stayed in New Orleans longer you would know the truth. Besides, she despised you and Kevin for most of that time.”

“True—until we proved ourselves useful.”

She chortled at that. “You certainly did—taking me off of her hands while Monique was ill. Oh, you two must have hated me following you everywhere! What do two eighteen year olds want with a seven year old child in their wake?”

“Shhh,” he said, stroking her hair. “Neither of us minded. You were easy enough to keep in line.”

She glanced up at him and furrowed her brow. “Was I? I’ll have to work on that.”

Adam laughed. “Brat,” he said fondly, kissing her again.

She returned his laughter as she nestled even closer. But suddenly she sobered.

“Do you still miss Kev?” she asked.

He sighed as he rested his head on top of hers. “Every day.”

“I could swear I felt him with us tonight,” she whispered. “I know you think I’m superstitious—but I believe he really did have the sight.”

“Well, you might not think so if you’d heard some of his other predictions,” Adam said dryly.

He paused as his wife smiled and shut her eyes. He smiled too and kissed her one last time before shutting his own.

“But I’m glad he was right about this one,” he finished softly.

Charlotte answered with a peaceful snore. Adam yawned and thought of his friend once more as he drifted off to sleep.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he could almost hear Kev’s tenor:

Oh, the sun is on the harbor, love
And I wish that I could remain
For I know it will be some long, long time
Before I see you again

So fare thee well, my own true love…**

Adam shook himself in an effort to shake the voice out of his head. But he couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

“Fare thee well, my friend,” he murmured.

** Traditional Lyrics