Summary:  This is the last story in the Circle of Family saga, but enjoying this one is not dependent on having read the others. Adam has been in Boston for a year and all his careful planning has done him well…until an accident while staying with Abel puts him flat on his back for a few days. It is during this time of infirmity that Marie’s Bible arrives along with letters from home. After reading them, Adam makes a heart-rending decision that leaves his grandfather reeling. This story has its comedic moments along with some sweet takes on Adam’s relationship with Abel and the family he left behind.

Rated: K+  WC  11,400

A Circle of Family Series:

A Circle of Family:  The Story of Joseph
A Circle of Family:  The Story of Benjamin
A Circle of Family: The Story of Hoss
A Circle of Family: The Story of Adam

Story Notes:

Adam’s Bible – his mother’s – was nearly destroyed in the Book of Joseph. In the Book of Ben, it was restored and Ben remembered an incident from the past involving a young Adam and Hoss as David and Goliath. The Book of Hoss dealth with the middle brother trying to find his place in the family with Adam gone, and the writing of 2 letters that are on the way to his brother – one tucked in the Bible and the second accompanying it, in hopes that it will arrive at the same time. Hoss’s first letter contained some harsh thoughts and although he’d changed his mind, there was no way to remove it from the Bible and the second letter tried to explain his feelings. We now move to Boston to see what Adam’s been up to for the last year…

***

The Book of Adam

Adam stretched, releasing a long, loud sigh while trying to refocus on the textbook resting on his lap. Several mild curses fired as the pillows behind his back dislodged with his movement—again—leaving him looking at the ceiling—again—instead of sitting up as he had been moments earlier. He could have maneuvered out of bed to reposition them as he had done a few times already, but was so stiff and sore that this time he decided to lie there and wait until his grandfather or the housekeeper came to check on him. This same ritual had been going on for two days now and he was so frustrated that he was reduced to deep sighs, head shaking and eye rolling whenever he thought about the “event” that brought him to this state of helplessness. He was using his time to study when he could concentrate enough to do so, but only when the pillows stayed put.

At this point he was sure of only one thing: that this was not how he had planned to spend his holiday!

 

When Good Plans Go Bad

Ben had always told his sons, “A good plan makes all the difference.” Those were the words Adam had lived by his entire life, and the habit had continued once he was relocated in Boston. He was a few months into his second year of college, where he was at the top of his class. It had been a hard first year, but he’d managed perfect grades so far as a result of his planning. He didn’t mind that he had to work harder and smarter than the others in his class who’d had the benefit of the fine preparatory schools in the East; he just planned time to compensate for it by putting in extra hours of study with tutors when he felt he was falling behind. Right now he felt his early plans had brought him to an even keel with the others.

 

Over the year-and-a-half he’d been in the Boston area, he’d planned as much time as possible with his grandfather so he could experience everything the old captain remembered about his father’s seafaring days and especially what he knew about Elizabeth. So far, the careful planning of his time in the East had provided many halcyon days with his grandfather and friends, amid the occasional darker ones where his heart ached to know what his father and brothers were doing back in Nevada. He had often sent a mental thank you to his father for instilling him with the lesson of what he privately called “planmanship.”

 

During this four-day weekend considered their “fall break” from school, Adam had carefully planned his time to include a two-day stay with his grandfather, followed by spending the remaining two days participating in a hunt hosted by Frankie Wadsworth’s family. He’d met Frankie early on when he arrived at school and they’d become fast friends resulting in several invitations to join in family events at the huge estate near Boston. The Wadsworths might have had old money, but they had new ideas and were impressed with Adam and fascinated by his life. They saw great potential in this Westerner come back East to his roots. During this trip to the Wadsworth home, Adam had planned to ride their woods and grasslands on a fine steed. And even though he knew it would have brought sidelong glances from his father and outright hysteria from his brothers if they’d ever witnessed him wearing it, he had planned to don a set of Frankie’s hunt attire, including a formal black coat over a white shirt with black tie, a top hat, and tight white breeches. Come evening he’d planned to indulge in fine food and conversation, and maybe take a moonlit ride with Frankie’s younger sister. Adam still wasn’t an expert with the English saddles they used, but he could at least stay well seated in one now—or at least well enough to keep from flying off during a jump—and he’d planned to do even better this time. As it had turned out, flying off a horse would have been the least of his worries…

 

On the second day of his stay at his grandfather’s, the older man had asked him to help cut back some pine branches that were brushing against the siding and windows on the second story, saying he’d managed the lower limbs but didn’t feel steady enough to climb the ladder that would be required to reach the upper boughs. Adam had been happy to help and had carefully planned that chore. He’d planned for Abel to hold the ladder as he sawed. He’d planned ahead by placing a tarp on the ground to catch the limbs as they fell so they would be easy to clean up. He’d planned so well that he had everything he’d need while up on the ladder, tied to his own belt, just as he’d seen loggers do at home. He’d planned that it would take a couple of hours to complete the pruning and then he’d planned to bid his grandfather farewell until the Christmas holidays, and head to the final days of his long weekend when Frankie’s carriage arrived in the afternoon.

 

What Adam had forgotten—until he was laid up at the Stoddard house—was that Ben had also quoted Robert Burns from time to time: “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.” As Adam had laid there observing his badly swollen knee, and moved around on his grandfather’s rock-hard bed trying to find a comfortable position for his aching bones, he realized he had just lived through a prime example of that quote.

 

Adam’s best-laid schemes had “gang aft agley” with the arrival of the shrill-voiced Mrs. Harworthy while he was standing near the top of the 20-foot ladder working on the offending branches. That fact alone hadn’t changed Adam’s plan at all. He’d simply tipped his hat and continued to saw while Abel held the ladder and talked to his neighbor. But Adam hadn’t planned on hearing another sweet, softer voice responding to his grandfather, and had made a quick glance downward to check on who had spoken. He had been surprised to see what seemed to be a lovely young brunette being introduced as Mrs. Harworthy’s niece. And what he really hadn’t planned for was that Abel Stoddard would release his hold on the ladder to doff his hat to the ladies with one hand, while taking Melinda’s hand in greeting with his other one, just as Adam had adjusted his stance on the rung to lean out from the ladder for a better view of the beauty below him. Adam had no plans of trying to fly that day, but as his weight shifted away from the unsupported implement, it began to arc away from the wall it had been propped against. Adam’s mind had zipped through the mathematics at play in that moment as he tried desperately to restore his center of gravity and push the thing back toward the house. A mortal curse had accompanied his realization that in trying to get as high as he could, he hadn’t allowed enough angle between the ladder and the building. Any previous plans or current schemes had become moot once Newton’s first law of physics had gone into play, this adaptation of the law being—: “A Cartwright in motion stays in motion.”

 

Adam had awakened several hours later sporting an obvious knot on his head, and badly sprained knee. Abel’s housekeeper, Mrs. Daugherty, tending to him in those first waking hours had told Adam repeatedly—making the sign of the cross over her ample bosom each time she did—that she had seen him fall while looking out the kitchen window to see who was talking to Captain Stoddard. “You are lucky to be alive, young man. I thought my heart would stop as I watched you sailing through the air.”

 

Once awake, the doctor had given Adam “something” for the severe pain he was in, so he’d been woozy and heavily medicated at the time of the “tending,” and perhaps not monitoring what thoughts escaped his mouth as well as he should have been. He thought he’d heard a sardonic voice saying, “Your heart almost stopped? It was me flying through the air, not you.” He’d thought about that statement after Mrs. Daugherty left the room. Did I think that, or say that? Well, Mary Daugherty will know I wasn’t really being sarcastic to her, won’t she?  He’d had just enough clarity to realize he needed to apologize later, even if what he’d said had been true.

 

And there had been the matter of the poem he kept hearing while still under the influence of “the something” he’d been given. He honestly wasn’t sure if that had been his voice shouting it aloud or simply reciting it in his head.

 

Oppress’d with grief, oppress’d with care,
A burden more than I can bear,
I set me down and sigh;
O life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I!
Dim backward as I cast my view,
What sick’ning scenes appear!
What sorrows yet may pierce me through,
Too justly I may fear!
Still caring, despairing,
Must be my bitter doom;
My woes here shall close ne’er
But with the closing tomb! *

 

He was pretty sure he’d always ended that verse with the very loud request for someone to shoot him and put him out of his misery.

 

Oh, yes, he knew that there were definitely some apologies owed. The only question remained as to how many.

 

Adam could truthfully say that dying had not been in his plans that day, but when he was a little more “coherent,” Abel and the doctor had confirmed the reality of that possibility. It was the stuff of macabre literature, as they had explained that it was the luck of inches that landed him in the large hawthorn at the edge of the property, rather than coming down a few feet farther east, where the spear-like wrought iron fence posts separating Abel’s yard from Mrs. Harworthy’s would have impaled him.

 

The bump and sprain were obvious, but on further inspection Adam realized why he hurt over every inch of his body. A rainbow of bruises in reds, blacks, and blues, accompanied an assortment of cuts and scrapes covering his chest, abdomen and arms. He wasn’t sure from his angle of viewing, but thought he’d seen a few odd chartreuse hues as well. The damage had probably been sustained as he’d grabbed at tree branches when the ladder began to sway. That fruitless maneuver had been compromised even further when his carefully planned tool belt items become a mass of flying weaponry that remained attached to him as he fell. Fortunately, the armload of soft white pine branches being grasped to his chest had protected his face as he fell into the other tree. His grandfather had explained the stinging cuts to his lower legs and feet, saying that he’d “lost” his socks and boots as he had fallen through the needle-like spikes of the hawthorn that had “saved” him. Abel had also described the final insult when Adam had come to a stop hanging upside down as his head hit the trunk of the tree while his left leg remained up above, tangled in the lowest branches. This had explained why his head was pounding in rhythm with the ticking of the mantle clock while his knee was twice its normal size.

 

No, he surely hadn’t planned for any of that.

 

The injuries that had been painful enough on the day of his fall, had settled in mean and ugly over the next two days, leaving Adam in so much pain as to be unable to do even simple things—like rearrange pillows behind his back. In his dark mood, he had longed for the discomfort of saddle sores from proving to his friend that he could master the tack of choice at the Wadsworth house, instead of enduring the ache in his posterior caused by his grandfather’s lumpy mattress. He’d been confined to bed with illness in the past, but had never felt so helpless or grumpy about his situation. Not only had his carefully made weekend plans been wiped out, but he also wouldn’t be able to return to school for over a week, and then it was likely he’d be using a cane for an extended period as his knee healed completely. Any future plans for his time on campus would be curtailed by his need to catch up in his studies. Keeping up with his classes was hard enough; catching up was a disheartening proposition.

 

Abel had appeared at regular intervals to check on his grandson, each time wearing a look of chagrin at what his moment of inattentiveness had almost cost. Seeing his grandfather so upset had finally forced Adam to be less morose as he had tried to assuage the older man’s guilt. To end Abel’s repeated apologies, Adam had insisted on shouldering the blame equally. “It was my fault as much as yours, Grandfather. You weren’t expecting me to move around when I was up that high, so it shouldn’t have made any difference if you released the ladder for a moment. I caused the ladder to fall by hanging so far off of it to get a better look at…”

 

Abel had interrupted his grandson’s apology. “Yes we both know what you were trying to get a better look at. You are truly your father’s son! Before he courted your mother, Ben Cartwright was well known by all the beautiful women in our ports.” Once the laughing stopped and Adam’s color had recovered from its blushing glow at being caught in a bit of ogling, Abel had given his grandson a little encouraging news. “Melinda was very upset at your fall, and has been over here repeatedly, hoping to meet you. She even brought cookies early this morning.”

 

Adam was still grinning as he relayed his thanks for that bit of information. After further thought, he had inquired, “Did you say something about cookies?”

 

“I’ll have Mrs. Daugherty bring some up later, son. That’s if there’s any left then.” Abel had adopted a serious demeanor for his next comment. “I’ll have to tell your father about this.” Abel had been adamant about his need to confess to Ben. “He made me promise to watch you.” Then had added with a grin, “And I did just that. I watched you fly over my head on your way to a very hard landing.”

 

Adam had grinned again as he winked at his grandfather. “Perhaps what my father doesn’t know can’t…upset’ him? I’ll be right as a trivet soon, and there’s nothing he can do about it anyway. We both had a moment of bad judgment and maybe it should end there.”

 

Drawing the conversation away from his need for penitence and Adam’s hope that this incident could go unreported, Abel replied, “Ah, you are your mother’s son. She would have loved the work of Charles Dickens as well.”

 

Being equally glad to move away from the subject of his father, Adam had picked up on that thread. “I was so fortunate to have a grandfather with connections to the English ships that docked in Boston. You always sent me things that were available in England long before making it to the United States and especially to the edge of nowhere, where we lived. But you never mentioned how you managed to get a copy of the Pickwick Papers from that British captain.”

 

Abel put his finger to his lip. “That’s a secret, son. You know I’d have done anything to provide you with the newest literature, but as for a price, let’s just say blackmail is a powerful currency.”

 

Just When You Think Things Can’t Get Any Worse

 

So far, such moments of interruption in his two days of tedium were few, and Adam had settled into a routine of studying, stretching and finally napping, when left supine after his back support failed. In this installment of the routine, his heavy text slid from the bed as the young man dozed and jerked while dreaming of breaking wild mustangs using a tiny brown saddle with short stirrups and no horn to hold onto. He kept launching off as he lost his grip on the smooth leather and ended up at the bottom of a spiny cactus. He was mumbling and crying out in his sleep when Abel walked in to find out what had made the heavy clunk he’d heard downstairs. The older man returned the book to the stack on the table next to the bed as Adam began to stir.

 

Realizing he wasn’t alone, he looked up and smiled at his grandfather. “Was I talking in my sleep again?”

 

Abel chuckled. “No; I came up when I heard a thud and thought perhaps you had fallen out of bed. Thankfully it was just your tome, so I won’t have to relay any further injuries to your father.” He quickly ran the back of his hand over the young man’s forehead checking for signs of fever. Despite the many injuries and lingering disability, Adam was recovering well and quickly. “I see your pillows failed again.”

 

“They do seem to have a mind of their own. But it doesn’t matter since I dozed off anyway.” Adam noticed that Abel had laid something at the foot of the bed, but in his current position, couldn’t make out what it was. “What’s that?” He indicated the object with a grimace as he lifted his arm to point.

 

“The doctor said you could begin to move around today if you were up to it. I brought one of my canes for you to use.” Adopting a look of devilment, Abel added, “But I suppose you like it here in bed so much that you probably don’t want to make your way down the steps.”

 

Adam was suddenly energized, pushing up on one elbow, even while groaning audibly, and began to move his body toward the edge of the bed with the agility of an arthritic crab. Abel often used nautical references to explain his thoughts and did so now as he worried about the boy standing up for the first time since being hurt. “You know son, a good sailor ensures that his ballast is even and his sails are at the ready when leaving harbor to face the turbulence of the sea. Best to steer a straight line while letting things stabilized a bit before adding full sheets.

 

Adam could usually figure out the sailing references, but wasn’t concentrating enough to do it this time. He thought about it, but finally resorted to, “Huh?”

 

“Take it carefully, son. Stand up slowly and take your first steps with caution, or you might fall on your face.”

 

“Oh. Aye, aye, Captain.” He gave his grandfather a quick salute as he grabbed for the man’s arm and the cane to help him stand upright. “There, that wasn’t so hard. Thanks for the cane, Grandfather. It seems just right. You said this was yours?”

 

Abel observed the tall young man standing next to him, realizing that he towered almost a half-head above him. “I guess I used to be taller. You lose a lot as you age, Adam.”

 

Adam’s arm wrapped around Abel’s shoulder to support his weight as he set himself to walk. “You may have lost an inch or two, Grandfather, but that’s all you’ve lost.”

 

Was it gratitude or pride that reflected in Abel’s eyes? Adam wasn’t sure, but he knew he loved his grandfather and considered that maybe this change of plans wasn’t such a bad turn of events after all.

 

It took some time for Adam to dress in a loose shirt and a pair of Abel’s baggy pants that fit over his swollen joint, and then limp down the narrow stairway with Abel’s help, to finally settle in a large, comfortable chair with his leg resting on a pile of pillows atop Abel’s footstool. The young man’s mood had brightened considerably with the change of scenery, and Abel’s estimation that the lovely Melinda would stop by after lunch.

 

The two men ate together in the parlor while the old salt spun yet another tale of “Ben Cartwright: Ship’s Mate.” This time Adam was regaled with the story of the incapacitating seasickness that almost kept his father a landlubber instead of becoming a brave seafaring man. “They called your father, Ben ‘LaPort,’ at first, because he’d always run to the port rail as he exited the crew’s quarters when his stomach did a heave-ho.” The echo of Abel’s laughter lingered as he became reflective. “You are so much like your mother, Adam. You have her looks—especially her eyes—her kindness and quick intelligence. But you are also much like your father. Overcoming seasickness is a mindful proposition. You have to decide that you will get past it because if you have that physical predisposition, it never really goes away. That’s exactly what Ben did. He fought through it until he could tolerate his body’s reaction to the movement of the sea. I always admired that dogged determination in your father toward everything he attempted. Of course he is very intelligent too, but your father’s legacy to you is his grit and you have every bit as much fortitude as he did. Adam, you’ve used both your parent’s best gifts to become a remarkable young man.

 

Adam was accustomed to praise although he never solicited it. His efforts meant he excelled at most things he tried and even though Ben Cartwright was not a verbal man when it came to such things, he had ways to let his son know of his satisfaction and pride in what he did. But to hear such high estimation from his mother’s father deeply touched Adam’s heart. He quickly changed the subject after a quiet, “Thank you.”

 

The grandson was in the midst of a story about Little Joe when Mrs. Daugherty interrupted to hand him a package that had just arrived with the day’s post. Recognizing his father’s scrawling script, he tore into the string and thick brown paper with relish. The boy had received few letters from his family since arriving in Boston, so this promised to be a real adventure. He was amazed to find Elizabeth’s Bible under the wrapping and held it reverently. The last time he’d seen it, the Bible had seemed ruined. There was little thought of it after he left home, since remembering brought too great a loss. He was speechless at the incredible restoration.

 

Abel had watched his grandson with curiosity. “Is that your mother’s Bible, Adam?”

 

“Yes, Grandfather.”

 

Ben had once written of Adam’s unbreakable connection to this book from the time he was old enough to understand that it had belonged to Elizabeth, and Abel wondered why Adam had left it behind. “Did you forget to bring it with you, son?”

 

Not wanting to indict his youngest brother for the condition that had made him leave it behind, Adam replied that it had been damaged and was being repaired at the time he left.  He caressed the softened leather and was amazed to find that even the interior pages were no longer as brittle as they had been when they had begun to dry after the mishap. His mother’s writing on the family journal pages was slightly blurred, but not so much that he couldn’t read what she had written. The final entry was his name and birth date in his father’s hand. Elizabeth hadn’t been able to make that last notation, but all her other entries were still there ensuring that her child would know his history.

 

Abel watched Adam’s face as he perused the book, and felt that there was far more “damage” than Adam let on. He couldn’t know that his next words would impact his grandson so harshly. “You’ll need to be more careful with it, Adam. It is too important not be treated with greatest respect.”

 

Even as his mind screamed his innocence, Adam remained silent other than to remark, “I’ll do that, sir.”

 

Abel watched the turmoil that passed over Adam’s face at his comment, but decided that whatever had disturbed him would have to be offered rather than be fished for. A younger Abel Stoddard had watched a similar look pass over his son-in-laws face the time he’d tried to maintain his dignity after finding out that in a drunken moment of weakness, the Captain had nearly ruined everything Ben had worked so hard to build. Abel figured that Adam was protecting someone just as Ben had done with him in that very dark period of his life.

 

Adam forgot his grandfather’s comment in his excitement at finding several letters tucked inside the pages of the Bible. From the handwriting on the envelopes he figured there was one from Hoss, his father, Hop Sing and even one with “Adam” written in a the early block letters of a six-year-old’s uncontrolled hand. The letters remained waiting in his hand as he returned his attention to his grandfather who was saying something about the doctor stopping by later. Although he tried to control it, Adam found his eyes and mind drifting back to the treasure he wanted so badly to open.

 

Noting Adam’s look of longing, Abel excused himself to take a walk, leaving his grandson alone to read.

 

***

 

Hop Sing’s offering included his personal wishes in the form of Chinese symbols that Adam knew to mean happiness, health, peace and prosperity. To Adam’s great delight, there was also a page written by one of Hop Sing’s younger cousins, telling of the ancient processes used to restore his mother’s Bible to near perfect condition. It was obvious that this family had taken great pains to bring this irreplaceable treasure to back to life, and he couldn’t imagine how to thank them.

 

Next he read Joe’s one line letter, wishing him well. When he’d left the Ponderosa, Joe knew his letters and numbers, but was having trouble getting them into useable order. The child was a quick study, but not always willing to slow down enough to apply what he’d learned. Adam was impressed that he had written the entire sentence, even though he figured his father had been looking over Joe’s shoulder the whole time.

 

Following that, he opened Ben’s overstuffed envelope that held several pages of the journaling he did each day to help his son remain connected to his family. Adam eagerly read about life on the Ponderosa and felt transported over time and space to watch his family go through their days, with particular concentration on the antics of his brothers. He released a sigh of great satisfaction as he finished the final page that included a personal note from his father encouraging him to keep them abreast of his plans. Adam laughed as he read that.Plans? Those haven’t been working out so well lately, so any reply I make to Pa will stick to action rather than plans—without mention of any daring feats of flying.

 

He’d saved Hoss’ letter for last, hoping there’d be some interesting facts from his middle brother that Ben might not have chosen to share. Adam’s life had been permanently connected to his brother the moment Hoss’ tiny pink fingers closed around his as Inger made him promise to always watch over her baby. They had become co-sojourners through a land of loss and promise. There was connection to Little Joe when he was born, but he’d had the luxury of his mother’s love: at least for a few years before he joined them in the journey. But Adam knew Hoss would hold nothing back from him and figured that this would be the best way to finish; before going back to reread each page one more time.

 

A permanent smile etched Adam’s face as he’d read each of the letters, and he ripped Hoss’ envelope open in great anticipation. That smile was soon lost as he read it through. Surely I’m missing something. He reread the paragraphs looking for some clue as to what.

 

Dear Adam,

I got just one question for you. Why’d you have to go away? Pa and Joe are sick and I been taking care of them. But they don’t want me. They want you and you ain’t here. I wish I could be somewhere else too, but I have to stay here and take care of things since you run off and left us.

 

I wished you well when you left and thought I could do a good job when you was gone, but Pa and Joe don’t think that’s so. After all you always did everything just right so who can ever live up to that. A couple weeks ago, Pa was telling us about some really poor guy in Italy that did all sorts of nice thing for people and critters. They called him Saint Francis of Assisi. I’m thinking that maybe I should call you saint Adam of the Ponderosa, because you’ve always been perfect and saint-like yourself, ain’t you?

 

I hope you’re having fun where you’re at, because I sure ain’t. We’ll probably make it fine without you, but sure could use the extra hands around here. Things ain’t going so well as you might think. Pa and Joe miss you something awful and I won’t never be your replacement. That’s all I got to say.

 

Your brother,

Eric

 

Adam kept wondering if this was some sort of joke, but Hoss didn’t kid around like that. Adam flinched at Hoss using his given name and could only wonder at the message there was in that. Have we gotten so far apart that he no longer sees himself as Hoss to me? Am I such a stranger that he wants me to call him, Eric? His middle brother’s good humor was renowned, and was never sarcastic or bitter, as this letter seemed to be. He meant those words all right, and that worried Adam. If Hoss, with his even temperament and spirit was complaining about Adam’s absence then it was obvious that his father was simply sparing his feelings by keeping silent. While still trying to make sense of this, his head and knee began to throb unbearably. He realized how tired he’d become sitting up after the days of being in bed, and longed to have a bit more of that medicine the doctor had given him the first day. Feeling like a drunken sailor would be far more palatable than the mental and physical pain he was experiencing. He mind continued to spin as he heard footsteps at the front door, and realized that his grandfather had returned from his walk. Blinking and taking several quick deep breaths, he tipped his head back to keep the flood that had formed in his eyes from heading downhill, knowing his grandfather would not approve of a show of weakness.

 

It took only a moment for Abel to realize that this was not the pleased young man he’d left a mere hour ago. Not wishing to intrude, yet knowing that something was obviously wrong, he did a bit of gentle exploration. “Is there bad news from home, son?”

 

Adam had to wait a moment longer to make sure his voice would sound normal, and busied himself refolding his letters. As the tightness in his chest eased, he finally tucked them into the Bible and faced his grandfather. “No,” he lied. “Just a lot of information to absorb in one reading.”

 

“Mmhmm.” Abel nodded toward his grandson. “I suppose it is.”

 

He could feel his grandfather’s stare. “I was hoping you would help me back upstairs when you returned. Guess I’m not as recovered as I thought.”

 

“Might you hold off just a bit longer, son? I saw Melinda as I arrived home and she is on her way over for that visit.”

 

Abel took the Bible from Adam’s lap, placing it on the table near the stairs as he went to let Melinda in. He made the introductions between the two young people and was surprised to see the absence of any spark in Adam’s eyes as he took in the vision before him. Melinda might be related to the woman next door, but she obviously didn’t inherit her looks from that side of the family. Seeing Adam’s lack of interest in his visitor gave Abel the distinct feeling that his grandson had gone on a long journey west and had left his spirit there.Perhaps it truly was just too much at one time? The older man could only hope that was the truth.

 

From Adam’s point of view, he was impressed with the lovely Melinda but couldn’t concentrate on her beauty or her conversation. He’d laughed appropriately at her version of the “Flying Cartwright” saga, but his face instantly returned to its granite-like stare.

 

Before long, neither Abel nor their guest could ignore the look of agony on Adam’s face, and Melinda made her exit, promising another visit when the patient was feeling better. Grandfather and grandson made their way back up the steps, stopping only to retrieve the Bible from the table. Adam declined the offer to change into bedclothes and asked only to lie atop the covers for a brief rest, assuring Abel he would be back in good spirits in no time.

 

That assessment was premature. As Adam lay there, Hoss’ letter continued to crush around his heart and mind. He could only come to one conclusion: It’s the truth. That’s what it is: the absolute truth. They’re all upset that I’m gone, but were too polite to say so; except for Hoss. Pa didn’t tell me that the ranch work and raising two youngsters is too much to handle alone; but Hoss did. Little Joe couldn’t say that he is still shaken by the absence of both his mother and me from his life; but Hoss told me. Hoss wasn’t too nice in saying any of this, but he is as he has always been: truthful. What do I do? Do I go home to reclaim my title as St. Adam of the Ponderosa and try to help my family, or do I stay here and have my own life as Adam the Vile, of Boston?

 

In the end, the decision was easy even though the process was not.

 

There was a visit from the doctor during his rest. Adam’s knee was bent and torqued to make sure all muscles and ligaments were still working; his eyes were examined and his chest was thumped and palpated for signs of unseen injury still lurking. All the thumping and prodding produced assurances that he was progressing toward health, after which the doctor made a hasty exit to speak with Abel privately. Away from Adam, he inquired if the young man had perhaps been more injured that he was letting on, noting that there was more fire in the boy two days ago than there was now. “He should be able to return to most of his activities in a few days, Abel, except that he’ll use the cane—yet he seems less recovered than I expected him to be.”

 

The doctor was an old friend, but Abel Stoddard did not share family matters with friends—even old ones. “Perhaps he’s a bit homesick. It can’t be easy being so injured while far away from his father.”

 

A nod of understanding, and the doctor was off to his next call. “Let me know if his condition should worsen. Otherwise bring him to my office in a week.”

 

Unbearable silence settled on the Stoddard house after the doctor left. When Adam had first arrived in the East, he’d stayed at his grandfather’s home while going through his testing and then waiting for placement in the next term. Abel had immediately noticed the noise in having a young person around again. It wasn’t that Adam was noisy: it was just his exuberance. He bounded up and down the stairs rather than walking. He burst into rooms with obvious excitement straining on his face and showered Abel with his thoughts. And the boy sang! His rich baritone echoed through the halls as he washed up in the morning. He sang while he did chores and helped Mrs. Daugherty with the dishes. He sang next to Abel at services and hummed as they walked. Abel felt as though he had been blessed with a fresh gentle rain that nourished his withering life and made him feel young as he became accustomed to his “noisy” grandson. He held his breath now, listening for some sign that this life was truly still in residence, and heard nothing. The unbearable silence grew as the evening shadows hid the day.

 

Abel was thinking that he should go to help his grandson downstairs, when Adam hobbled into the dining room just before dinner, dropping into his chair, while still wearing a mask of exhaustion. His stony expression testified to the fact that whatever had bothered Adam earlier, was still moving with sails at full. Abel asked, “Are you feeling better now, son?”

 

“Yes, thank you, Grandfather.”

 

They ate mostly in silence with Adam responding to questions and nodding as Abel told him of his appointment at the doctor’s office.

 

Finished with as much as he could force himself to eat, Adam cleared his throat. “I’ve come to a decision, Grandfather.”

 

A brief smile turned the corners of Abel’s mouth. This young man, so serious and honest, was truly his father’s son. There was no preamble, no small talk: just his statement that he had made a decision. He remembered Ben saying much the same thing. “I’ve come to the decision that I wish to marry your daughter.” Now Abel was extremely curious to know what his grandson had decided.

 

A deep breath: “When I’m able to return to school, I shall ask to accelerate my studies for the term so that I can return home as soon as possible.”

 

The fork dropped from Abel’s hand. Had he heard correctly? “What are you saying, Adam?”

 

His voice cracked as Adam repeated, “I must return home as soon as possible.” Returning his napkin to the table, Adam rose, stopping only to engage his cane, and headed for the steps without further comment.

 

Abel didn’t follow him. He was too stunned to say anything and was left to wonder what had been in those letters! Surely it was something of such consequence that the boy would willingly leave what he so clearly loved, to return to what he clearly loved more. The old man aged four years in those few moments.

 

When Ben had written of Adam’s desire to study in the East, he said the boy would be in the Boston area about five years. He would need a place to stay at first and Ben hoped that after that, Abel would continue to host him during vacations and holidays. The old captain was overcome with joy at the prospect, while simultaneously fearing that the young man would find nothing of interest in his grandfather’s life, and would come to resent being tied to him for that length of time. It had taken over a year for Adam to make the trip, and within days of his arrival, Abel had relaxed with his grandson and began to covet their time together. His life had come to be measured in the timeframe he would have Adam in it. He had received the blessing of five years with this boy! There was no need to tell every story or every memory at once. He had five years! He had five Christmases, five Easters, five summers to relish and enjoy the freshness that had entered his life. He had five years to tell him everything he should know. One year was already gone, but Abel had comforted himself with the fact that there were four years to go. He was to have four more years to finish what they had begun! But tonight’s announcement had chopped that timeframe down to months—perhaps only weeks—and Abel could not bear the thought of losing his grandson so soon.

 

He allowed himself a moment of anger. Had Ben waited all these years to pay him back for his mistakes 20 years ago by sending for his son? He gave that some thought but realized Ben Cartwright looked you in the eye when he was angry, and told you what he thought and what he was going to do about it. It had to be that something was so wrong that Adam didn’t feel comfortable sharing. His body felt stiffer, older and less alive as he rose from the table and made his way to the stairs. Mrs. Daugherty called to him, but he could only raise his hand to wave her off as he began his ascent. His mind was too heavy to deal with household problems and his only thought was of getting to his bed. But in passing Adam’s door, he found it open—and paused to look in.

 

The young man was holding his mother’s Bible; the letters now scattered on the bed. He looked up to acknowledge Abel in the doorway. “I guess that was quite the canon ball I fired across your bow, Grandfather. I’m sorry it came out so abruptly.” He gathered up his mail and indicated that Abel should come sit next to him.

 

“Is there trouble at home, son?” Still not wanting to pry, Abel needed to know why his four years were being taken away.

 

“Not that I can pinpoint.”

 

“Adam. I don’t mean to poke away here, but you are obviously upset, and getting information out of you is like pulling porpoise teeth.”

 

A chuckle bubbled up from the boy at his side. “Do porpoise have teeth?”

 

“Sure they do. They just don’t like having them pulled.”

 

The ice was broken.

 

“Now tell me, what has changed your mind about school.”

 

Silence

 

“Adam, even Moses was told that he didn’t have to face his trials alone. God said he had to trust others to help him. I won’t say that I can help, son, but I can listen.”

 

A new kind of sigh: this time reflecting his resignation. “There’s nothing in particular.” Adam wasn’t about to single out Hoss, so thought how best to describe his concern rather than details. “It’s just a feeling; an intuition that maybe Pa is having a hard time with me away.”

 

“Was it something your father wrote?”

 

“No.”

 

“But, you know it anyway?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Porpoise teeth, Adam.”

 

“Maybe it’s more what wasn’t said, Grandfather. Like invisible ink: it’s there but you can’t see it unless you know how to find it.”

 

“I see. And this invisible ink is telling you to return home?”

 

“I think it best.”

 

“Indulge me, Adam. Please wait until you are well to make this decision. Perhaps the ink will tell a different story when you are feeling better. If you still feel as you do when you are allowed to return to school, I will help you in any way I can. Would you agree to that?”

 

“I suppose a few days won’t make a difference.” Saying it didn’t mean it was true. Adam knew he wouldn’t change his mind. He was on his way home and silenced any voice that cried against it. Seeing how sad his grandfather looked made Adam’s heart ache as well. Is there anything I can decide right now that won’t hurt someone? “I’ll come back and finish my degree when Hoss and Little Joe are older and can better fend for themselves. I promise that.”

 

“I know you will.” Abel knew no such thing. If Adam left, there were no assurances he could or would ever return. It was obvious how strongly tied he was to his father and brothers. If he returned home now, he might never leave again. Abel reached over to pat the young man’s hands before excusing himself. “We should probably both get some rest. Maybe things will look better in the morning.”

 

Adam didn’t turn in, choosing to reread the letters, including the one from Hoss. As his leg began aching enough to pull his attention from what he was doing, he thought again how he couldn’t possibly have planned for the events that had befallen him these last few days. Handling Elizabeth’s Bible with care, he found Proverbs 19:9: A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps. It was all he could hold onto now. Ben had always said their lives weren’t just their own: that they were all tied together through God’s plans directing man’s. Since the plans he had devised weren’t working so well, he had to trust that what was happening would all work for good in the end.

 

He had to believe that.

 

Saving Grace With a Beautiful Face

 

They were water and sponge their remaining days together: Abel reminisced, while Adam soaked up as much as he could hold about his mother. With returning mobility, they walked together along the waterfront. Abel described the various ships moored in the harbor along with their purposes and possible cargo or destination. They ate in the dockside pubs and sang the sailing songs that others were croaking out. Both men wished to tighten the reins on their days to hold back their time with each other as long as possible. But it was inevitable that time would pass, and the appointment with the doctor was kept as scheduled. Adam was given the go ahead to return to school the next day, and he steeled himself to move forward.

 

Walking home, Abel broached the topic they both had foremost in their minds. “You are planning to return home?”

 

“Yes. I’m sorry. I will miss you very much.”

 

“As I will you, son.”

 

The duo stopped on the way to arrange transportation for Adam’s return to school the following day. How long he would remain in Boston was up to the professors and whether they would allow him to move ahead with his work and complete his final tests before the others in his classes. Always practical, Adam felt he couldn’t leave without finishing, and would stay through the term if he wasn’t allowed to accelerate. Ben had spent a good deal of money for the courses, and it seemed a waste of those resources to walk away without something to show for his efforts. If he could return to Boston some day, he’d have that much more under his belt and that much less to finish. His current plan—even though his planning of late was not turning out so well—was to send a letter to Nevada once he knew an approximate date for his leave taking.

 

Reaching home, Abel excused himself to go indoors and finish his correspondence, while Adam remained outside to enjoy the beautiful late-October day. The fall had remained clement, and the prognosticators were calling for a warmer than normal winter. Adam thought ironically that at least his plans to get out of town could go well. If he was released from school soon enough he could still sail this fall. Ships would leave to sail toward waters that were slightly less treacherous during the South American summers as long as the Boston harbor remained free of ice. A tinge of apprehension—no, it was fear—niggled at Adam’s brain and stomach as he thought about the long sea voyage ahead. He’d sailed with his father in the past, but was so much younger then that he couldn’t remember much about it. Perhaps it was that he was putting it out of his mind rather than forgetting it, since Adam felt sure that he had inherited the same “physical predisposition” toward seasickness as his father. He’d come by land to Boston and that was hard enough. Long days of rumbling wagons, soggy river crossing and a sooty train passage had put him safely in Boston with little more than rattled nerves and an aching back. But he would be traveling alone going home and doing it by ship made the most sense. A sad smile played the corners of his lips as he thought to the name he might come to own on the trip: maybe Saint Adam of the Emptying Stomach, or Starboard Adam, since he would run to the starboard rails rather than portside?

 

It was much to consider, and without really planning where he was going, Adam found himself behind the house. He hadn’t been back there—had not even observed it from the windows—since his fall. Nothing had been cleared away and he realized that it was probably as hard for his grandfather to face what had nearly happened as it was for him. Branches were strewn over the tarp while the ladder still leaned onto the hawthorn where it had come to rest after dumping its cargo.

 

Getting around with a cane might look dashing from an observer’s vantage point, but for Adam it was a necessity that slowed his maneuverability. From recent experience, he knew that his knee was prone to give out and had already dropped him to the ground in a most unceremonious way more than once. At his appointment earlier, the doctor told him that he needed to strengthen the muscles supporting the joint so that it would be less wobbly. Until he could feel that it was stronger, using the cane was a must. In spite of that limitation, Adam began limping his way around the yard gathering the boughs and branches. Blood still speckled some of the branches beneath the hawthorn, and Adam relived his experience with a shiver. He couldn’t help but feel it was a portent for what had come a few days later when his life in Boston had tumbled to the ground just as he had. His plans had begun to change the morning of the fall, and hadn’t stopped changing since.

 

The cleanup proceeded—not speedily—but steadily, with perseverance and purpose. Adam managed to gather most of the downed wood; pushed the ladder to the ground where he was able to drag it beside the shed, and was in the process of folding the tarp when he noticed a shadow fall across his path. Being so engrossed in his task, he hadn’t noticed that the lovely Melinda had made her way into the yard and was now standing only feet away. “Hello, Melinda.” His smile was genuine and appreciative. “Beautiful day isn’t it?”

 

“That is certainly true, Adam. I was glad to see you outside. You seem to be feeling much improved.”

 

“That’s certainly true as well. I’ll be leaving for school tomorrow.”

 

As Melinda stepped closer, Adam could smell her lilac scent hovering like a halo around her shining hair, and breathed deeply, committing it to memory. He was glad for the company but couldn’t help but sense from her posture and the set of her face, that she was uneasy. “I’m afraid my mind was, um, elsewhere the other day when you visited, Melinda, and am truly sorry for that. Did you say you work in Boston?

 

“I’m a governess for a family here. They’re in New York attending a funeral and took the children with them. The nanny accompanied them, but they felt there wouldn’t be time for classes and left me behind. My aunt gets so lonely that I decided to stay with her while the family is away.”

 

“That’s very kind of you.”

 

“She’s been very kind to me, Adam.” The conversation stalled while Adam finished folding the tarp and put it in the shed. When he returned, Melinda continued, “Adam, do you know much about my aunt?”

 

“Only that she’s been my grandfather’s neighbor for many years and they’ve remained cordial.”

 

“Then your grandfather hasn’t told you much. Aunt Lynne is what might be called, ‘flighty.’ She is kind and generous, but sometimes seems to live in a dream world where she finds it hard to handle her own affairs. It’s gotten worse the last few years and my family isn’t certain how long she will be able to live alone.” Noting Adam’s concerned expression, she hurried her explanation along. “I’m only telling you this so that you won’t feel too harshly toward her.”

 

“Why would I feel harshly toward her?”

 

“For this.” Melinda handed over a stained envelope that smelled faintly of old fish and coffee grounds. “I’m so sorry, Adam.”

 

Dumbfounded, Adam inquired, “What’s there to be sorry about?”

 

“I found that in the trash this morning, just as Mrs. Cavendish was getting ready to burn it. Something made me notice it and I recognized your name. When I asked Aunt Lynne about it, she said the letter was in with her post last week. She didn’t recognize the name and didn’t pay attention to the fact that it was Captain Stoddard’s address rather than hers and finally threw it out, thinking it to be worthless.”

 

Holding the smudged envelope in the sunlight, Adam could read his name written in Hoss’ poor penmanship. He wasn’t sure what to think. What more could his brother have to tell him that hadn’t already been said? “Thank you, Melinda. It’s a letter from my younger brother.”

 

A sincere smile greeted Adam when he looked back at the young woman. “I suspected it was from home. My parents and sisters live in Hartford and I am always ravenous for news when their letters arrive. If you don’t mind, I’ll just sit on the porch steps while you read it, and then maybe we can take a walk or just sit in the garden and talk. I don’t get to spend much time with people my own age these days. I’m either with the children that are my charges or Aunt Lynne. So if you’re up to having me linger a bit, I’d appreciate staying.

 

Adam had to admit that Melinda’s company was very much appreciated and told her so, thanking her for giving him the chance to read Hoss’ letter. Not sure of what this latest letter would yield, Adam felt compelled to find a place to lean and chose the trunk of the tree he and his grandfather had attempted to trim a week earlier. The oldest Cartwright son had always leaned. He could remember being told countless times to stand up straight, yet leaning was so much a part of who he was that being told to stand straight was like telling a river not to flow or a bird not to fly. As his index finger found a weak spot in the envelope flap and worked to tear through the paper, he glanced up, thinking that he hadn’t checked to see how much they’d managed to prune before his unplanned flight. Remarkably, the branches touching the house were gone. He could only remember cutting the first two, but on closer inspection, many of the branch ends were not carefully sawed, but rather snapped off.

 

The letter was now free and yet his mind refused to focus on the words as he continued to muse about his unintentional pruning job. The branches that had been attached to the ragged, wounded limbs had been taken down when he grabbed at them while falling. Well, that’s one way to trim a tree.  He couldn’t put it off. Snapping the paper taut to smooth the wrinkles, he brought his eyes to the greeting and continued on…

 

Dear Older Brother,

I’m ashamed to admit it, but earlier today I done something I ain’t never done before. I got really mad. I was so mad I wrote you a mean old letter saying how things were a mess since you left. Luckily, I’m gonna get that letter and throw it away so you won’t never have to see them awful words. Can’t say I meant a single one I wrote, except that I was feeling badly about Joe missing you more than wanting me.

 

Pa and Joe were real sick today but they got better. Pa said I should think of them as critters and help Joe the way I would one of them, and I did. I even washed sheets! It weren’t much fun while I was doing it, but, brother, it felt good to know I could take care of all them things just like you would of, and made Pa and Hop Sing proud of me. Even Joe said I did just as good a job as you would of done. So how’s that sound? I bet you’d of been proud too.

 

And here’s something else you should know. Adam, you were right. I got my first kiss today. Maddy Smyth came by and was so darn nice that I went to kiss her on the cheek before she left. She must have figured out what was I was doing and turned just as I swooped in, and kissed me back—on the lips! It was a fish kiss, just like you said it would be; mostly pucker, but I sure ain’t ever known nothing sweeter. Glad you weren’t here to see me blushing. Hop Sing and Pa thought maybe I was getting sick and never caught on, but you would have.

 

Pa and me been keeping a calendar, marking off the days you been gone so we know when you’ll be coming back. We figure about 4 years yet. That seems so long, but Pa says you need that much time to bring home a degree. I don’t know what that is, but I sure can’t wait to see it.

 

I miss you, Adam. More than I can rightly say. But hope you have lots of friends and like your grandaddy. Maybe you can mark off a calendar too. That way you’ll know when to come home. Hey, Pa says you remember me every morning when you shave since I gave you the scar on your lip you got to be so careful shaving around. I’m purely sorry for that, but like the idea of you thinking about me just the same, because I think of you every day too.

 

Sincerely,

Hoss

 

A rousing whoop broke the silence of the October afternoon. Not understanding that it issued from happiness rather than pain, Melinda ran for Adam to inquire what had happened. Adam grabbed her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Thank you Melinda!”

 

Her eyes rounded in surprise as she responded the best way she could. “You’re welcome, Adam. But could you tell me what I did to earn such gratitude?”

 

“You rescued a letter from the garbage which in turn saved me from the biggest mistake of my life.” Leaning toward her soft cheek, he kissed her again. “There, the first one was from me, but this one’s from my brother who recently got his first kiss and wrote me about it.”

 

“Are all you Cartwright boys this exuberant about what happens to each other?”

 

“Yes, Melinda, we absolutely are!” Adam took Melinda in his arms and began to dance to a tune he hummed—until his knee buckled—sending them both sprawling on the grass.

 

The sound of their laughter greeted the figure that had come to the porch to call his grandson inside. “What’s this about?” he asked of the pair sitting on the ground.

 

Melinda’s cheeks began to blaze. She couldn’t see Abel’s facial nuance that indicated he was enjoying this display of youthful playfulness. But Adam could, and sent his grandfather a huge, toothy smile. “We fell,” was his only response.

 

“I can see that. The question would be, how?”

 

“My knee gave out again.”

 

“When?”

 

“When we were dancing.” A wink from the older man made Adam wonder if he hadn’t inherited that trait from Abel Stoddard. He too always winked when he wanted to convey humor or understanding, and had done so ever since he could remember. There was so much he still needed to find out about his mother’s side of his family, and he now sighed with gratitude that he’d have four more years to keep mining his grandfather’s memories.

 

“I hate to interrupt you two, but we need to go over a few things before you take leave tomorrow, Adam, and I would appreciate it if you’d meet me in my study after Melinda leaves.” The older man turned back to the house, relieved that his grandson had somehow found a moment of pure fun before facing the journey before him. He felt he would always be able to picture Adam sitting in the grass next to Melinda, laughing in the joy of youth. It would be one more good memory to hold onto as his four years were taken away.

 

Adam saluted his grandfather and promised he’d be in as soon. He then turned back to Melinda, taking her hands. “I’ll be back at Christmas,” Adam confided. “If you visit your aunt then, perhaps I can call on you?” With a wink, he added, “After all, I did already fall pretty hard for you.”

 

Melinda groaned at the pun, but then smiled sweetly. “I’d like it very much if you’d call on me then. Just promise you’ll stay off ladders and out of the trees.”

 

Adam answered Melinda by putting his practice over the years, into action. Leaning toward the lilac scented beauty, he found her parted lips waiting for his as he kissed her. He promised he’d stay on the ground next time they met and would be most impatient for the holiday to arrive. Their lips met again until a shrill, “Ma-lin-da!” intruded on the moment, sending Melinda instantly upright, brushing the dried grass from her skirt. Bending down, she gave Adam one last quick peck on the cheek before running back to her aunt’s house. As she slipped through the gate separating the two properties, she called back. “I’m really glad your brother got his first kiss. See you in two months.”

 

Adam watched her go as he touched his lips, agreeing with Hoss that there was nothing sweeter.

 

Gratitude

 

Abel was stunned with Adam’s latest news: happily this time. The boy hadn’t shared exactly what had happened, only that there had been a misunderstanding over what had been written that was cleared up by the second letter.

 

Adam had privately considered the events leading to his receiving Hoss’ first letter as well as the second. His mind could picture Hoss’ procrastination over replacing the new letter for the old and being too late to accomplish the task. He could hear his father refusing to alter his plans by opening the prepared package, thinking both letters would arrive together. But they hadn’t and he’d experienced his younger brother’s angry side. When he thought about it, he knew Hoss got frustrated, but it always fused quickly, then blew up, and abated just as quickly, so one could easily forget that he was just as liable to be as angered or hurt as anyone else. What was new was that Hoss had put his feelings in black and white. Adam was happy that his middle brother was learning to express his thoughts. Hoss might still need to figure out how best to say what was bothering him, but he had tried and that was okay. Adam thanked God for Melinda’s keen eye in spotting the second letter in her aunt’s trash. The thought that a ripple of mishaps starting in Nevada and ending in Boston had almost cost his education, made him feel slightly seasick. He wasn’t angry, just relieved that all had ended well, and was reminded how imperative it was to keep faith that there is a greater power in charge. In the end, he could plan all he wanted, but had to accept that his steps could be directed in variant ways at any time.

 

Great is Thy Faithfulness

 

As Abel watched Adam’s carriage pull away from the house the next morning, he reflected back to another time when he had sent his grandson away in a similar conveyance. He’d known in his heart that the child would return someday in want to know of his mother, and had waited patiently for that day to come. He now had nearly four more years of watching a carriage leave with its precious cargo, until he would bid a final farewell. But those four years had been returned to him, and he was going to enjoy them. An icy October wind had replaced the warm sunshine of the day before, yet Abel was warmed by the love of his daughter’s child. He felt his life was as full as it could be and returned to his silent house. But in the silence were memories of singing, talks and laughter. There was the lingering scent of the boy’s shaving balm and the feel of the books left waiting for his return at Christmas. There was peace. Elizabeth’s son had returned to him just as her Bible had returned to Adam. The circle of life had come full round.

 

In the carriage, a young man released a sigh of hope, thankful for the reminder that while human plans can be made with the best of intentions, they are still subject to God’s will and grace. He’d been through a test, which had forced him to decide what was most important in his life—using only the facts he had in hand. In the end, he had made that decision based on love alone. He now knew he could give up anything—without regret—if his family needed him and that gave him great peace. On his lap was the Bible that had been restored—just as his plans had been. He turned the smooth pages until he found Lamentations…

 

And I said, My strength and my hope is perished from the Lord:

Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall.

My soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me.

This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope.

It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.

They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.

The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him. **

The End 

*Robert Burns Despondency, an Ode.  Final Stanza

**Lamentations 3:18-24 KJV

End Notes:

Many thanks to Sandspur for her help and encouragement.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.