Ben’s eyes focused on his son’s hands as Adam placed an extra dollop of honey onto the already covered surface of his morning biscuit. The additional load caused a slow-motion avalanche of sticky liquid onto Adam’s tapering fingers. A swift moment brought the sweet-coated fingers to a swiping tongue. “Your mother licked honey from her fingers. Abel said your grandmother tried endlessly to break her of such an unlady-like habit, but she always did it.” Ben’s voice turned Adam’s eyes immediately to his father’s face and then locked him into stillness. “Lord, the sweet tooth she had.”

“She did?” Adam’s inquiry was voiced softly and hesitantly. He wanted to ask a dozen more questions but was afraid additional inquiries would jerk the rest of Pa’s memories from his tongue.

Ben’s eyes were focused on something beyond the dining room table where they sat, and his voice held a wistful tone. “She never ate a biscuit without drowning it in honey or molasses, and pancakes, well, I always teased that hers floated because of all the syrup.”

After a few seconds of silence, Adam ventured, “She loved sweet things as much as I do?”

“She always wanted the cake with the most icing or the donut with the most sugar. I could barely get her to bake me ginger cookies; they weren’t sweet enough for her.” Ben sighed and then straightened, his eyes fixing themselves once again on his eldest son. “You come by it honestly, son.”

“I do?” It was half-question and half-acknowledgement. “I always thought it was because. . .” Adams eyes dropped, and he left his thought unfinished.

Ben’s brow furrowed slightly. Then he said softly, “You thought it was because you never had much sweetening when you were little. You licked your fingers then so as not to waste the least bit.”

Adam could hear the regret in his father’s voice. “It was no doubt for the best that my own sweet tooth wasn’t indulged,” he offered lightly and patted his stomach.

Before his father could comment, the door slammed, and Hoss Cartwright strode into the house. He scanned the dining table and then announced, “I might’ve known that boy would still be upstairs. I’m gonna have to go up there and haul him out of that bed!”

A door slamming upstairs stopped Hoss halfway to the stairs. Seconds later, Little Joe clattered his way down mumbling, “I’m up. I’m up. A body couldn’t hardly sleep with you slamming around down here.”

“You best just be worrying about where I might be slamming you if you don’t get yourself to that table.” Hoss said loudly but without a trace of vehemence.

Hoss and Little Joe joined Adam and Ben at the table and talked turned to plans for the day. Ben pushed his memories once more into the background of his mind, and Adam tucked one bit more of his mother away in his heart.