Summary: A moody portrait of a man seeking grace amid grief.

Rating: T   Word Count 793

 

Twilight dissolved to deep indigo as a sliver of light pierced the top of the window and dropped to the floor. Moonlight and shadow engaged in a playful dance coaxed by a whispering wind. Someone lit a lamp; the shadow retreated and the moon seemed to follow. Coffee steamed from a cup on a tray with ham and freshly baked bread. There were footsteps and murmurs, the distant chime of a clock.

Though present in body, Ben Cartwright was hardly aware of these things, if at all. Grief was like death without dying; in a way, worse because there was no release. He’d come back from the dead twice before. That was enough for any man. He wasn’t sure he had the strength or the will to do it a third time.

They had quarreled the day before. Something silly at first that suddenly veered into territory they had for a time managed to avoid, unearthing hurts that lay like bones in a shallow grave. She was too independent for her own good, he warned her, stubborn to the point of willful disregard. And he was tired of it. What made her think she could just do whatever she pleased whenever she wanted?

“As your husband, I expect you to stand by me and respect what I say, instead of making a fool of me!”

“You don’t want me to stand by you, you want me to stand behind you! I haven’t changed; you knew what you were getting when you married me! Or maybe you didn’t, and that’s the problem!”

She was right about one thing. She was the same fiery, enigmatic woman who had captured his imagination during their first encounter on the Rue Royale and stolen his heart in the weeks that followed. She hadn’t changed; he’d been a fool to think she would. And he did know, all too well. It was fear that fueled his words as much as fury. Deep down, he had known the day would come, and that he would be powerless to stop it.

If there was any consolation, it was that it came without bitterness between them, by grace. They had declared a truce that night, tenderly binding each other’s wounds through the sacred, secret intimacies known only to a man and wife. In that regard they were ardently compatible, in spite of their other differences. They knew how to please one another, and love-making could cover a multitude of sins, at least temporarily.

He dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes, draped in memories, moments lost, where life was full of promise and it didn’t hurt to breathe. And she was there, where he longed to be.

“Pa?”

His brow furrowed at the intrusion; he grunted in response.

“I’ve put Little Joe to bed, but he’s asking for you.”

Ben sighed, still slumped in the chair. “Tell him… tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

Adam remained in the doorway, silent, though the implication was clear as their eyes met. He was being judged and found wanting. And it wasn’t the first time. ‘You’re here, but you’re not here.’  That was what Adam had said yesterday, admittedly more harshly than he intended. The awkward reversal of roles resulted in a mumbled apology and a promise to do better, offered mostly from guilt and met with a mix of hope and skepticism.

Ben was proud of his oldest son, yet irritated. He thinks he understands, but he doesn’t. None of them do. Couldn’t they just…?

Perhaps, but they shouldn’t have to, a voice in his head chided. They were still only boys after all, motherless at that, who needed their father now more than ever. What was he thinking?

He frowned, knees groaning as he pushed himself up. Adam stepped back into the hallway and turned toward Little Joe’s room, and Ben followed.

He would remain in Little Joe’s room all night, soul-weary and wrestling with demons. The dismal prospect of future days dogged him like a relentless enemy, preying upon his every weakness, intent on destruction.  How easy it would be to turn his back and give ground, as he nearly had. But retreat would mean defeat, and not for him only. With his youngest son nestled in his arms, fingers curled in sleep around the lapel of his robe, Ben felt the rhythm of each breath drawing him back toward life, in all its fractured glory. Even though the odds seemed stacked against him, he had three cherished reasons to stand and fight.

For their sake, he knew he would find the will, and the way, even if he had to crawl in the dark. He’d done it before. He would do it again. By grace.

 

END