Chapter 3

A.C. rode into the yard in front of the ranch house and dismounted. He was bone-weary after spending the day castrating calves. Thanks to Brandenburg’s attempts first to buy and then, when that didn’t succeed, to bribe government officials into allowing him to seize the Ponderosa, and the ensuing court case, they were late starting. To make up for the lost time, everyone had to work longer days. A.C. turned to the man who’d ridden in with him and said with a tired grin, “I’m stuffed, Josh.”

The other man looked at him and shook his head slightly. “Cousin, I’m gonna have to teach you to speak American.”

A.C. laughed and cuffed Josh on the shoulder before leading his horse to the barn. Dad is going to be so surprised when he gets my letter telling him that after all these years, Uncle Hoss’s child turned up at the Ponderosa. He doesn’t look much like the photos of Uncle Hoss that I’ve seen, but I remember Dad talking about how blue Uncle Hoss’s eyes were and Josh’s eyes are sure blue. And his smile is the same as Uncle Hoss’s in a couple of photographs.

As A.C curried his horse, he thought, From everything Dad has told me about Uncle Hoss, it’s kinda hard picturing him fathering a bastard. Except that Uncle Hoss and Josh’s mama were engaged, and I can understand how easy it would be to get carried away. If Uncle Hoss hadn’t died in that accident, Josh would’ve just been a bit premature.

“A.C., you got a letter today from Miranda,” Sarah said that evening as the four Cartwright cousins-A.C., Josh, Sarah and Benj-along with Bronc Evans and his foreman, Jacob, all gathered for dinner.

“Miranda?” Josh asked curiously since he noted everyone else at the table recognized the name.

“A.C.!” Sarah said indignantly. “Haven’t you told Josh anything about his other cousins?”

“Other cousins?” Josh asked, looking from Sarah to A.C.

“That’s right, Josh,” Benj replied. “You have three other cousins, A.C.’s sisters. Two of them, Beth and Gwyneth, live in Queensland with their husbands and children, but Miranda is married to a professor at Dartmouth College so she and her family live in New Hampshire.”

“I can’t believe you never mentioned your sisters to Josh,” Sarah said, shaking her head at her youngest cousin.

“Things have been pretty busy around here thanks to Brandenburg,” A.C. said defensively. “I just didn’t have time to tell Josh about my family.” He turned to Josh and said with a grin, “You’ll have a chance to meet them. They’re all still planning to sail here to visit Miranda, and since I wrote and told my dad about you, I’m sure they’ll want to come meet you.”

“That’s great news, A.C.,” Josh said, positively beaming with pleasure.

“When Sarah and I were small, Uncle Adam and Aunt Bronwen came to visit a couple of times,” Benj interjected. “Beth, Miranda and Gwyneth were all lots older but Penny was close to my age.” Benj’s voice faded away and he looked nervously at A.C.

“I had four sisters, Josh, but my youngest sister, Penny, died when she was twelve,” A.C. stated softly. “I was only five but I remember what a sad time that was.”

“There are some photographs of A.C.’s family in the bottom drawer of the desk,” Bronc said quietly. “Why don’t you look at them after we finish eating,” he suggested.

Sarah found the photographs and carefully got them out one at a time. First, she handed Josh a double frame. On one side was a photograph of a bride and groom flanked by two older couples. After careful study, Josh recognized the bald and bearded older man by the radiantly beautiful bride as his Uncle Adam, and deduced that the small slender woman standing next to him must be his Aunt Bronwen. The other photograph, he saw, was a family portrait. Standing with the bride and her parents were his grandfather and Uncle Joe along with several children. The bride was the loveliest young woman Josh had ever seen.

“These were taken at the wedding of A.C.’s oldest sister, Beth. We all traveled to Cloncurry for the wedding. I was the flower girl,” Sarah added with a happy smile.

“And I was the ring bearer and had to wear a Fauntleroy suit,” A.C. added with a grin. “I hated it.”

“Gosh, your sister is really beautiful,” Josh said and then looked nervously at Sarah, who smiled at him.

“Beth is beautiful,” she said. “She and her husband have four-no, five-children. Right?”

“Right,” A.C. replied with a grin. “Elen’s the oldest. She’s not quite fourteen, but she looks like sixteen. Huw and Dylan are next, and then their younger sister, Siân. Gruffydd is the baby. Three boys and two girls. And Beth is as beautiful as ever.”

Gesturing at the family portrait, A.C. said, “This is my sister Miranda, and this,” he said, pointing to a dark-haired girl who towered over all the other females in the photograph, “is my sister Gwyneth. She takes after Dad.”

“I can see that,” Josh said with a smile. “She’s married and has children?”

“Right,” A.C. replied. “Her husband is a mining engineer, and he took my dad’s place with Cartwright & Davies Mining Company. They have three sons: Jory, Benny and Little Adam. The youngest is their daughter, Morwenna.”

“Morwenna?” Josh said. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

“She’s named Morwenna Bronwen for her grandmothers,” A.C. replied. “The Pentreaths are Cornish and Morwenna is a Cornish name.”

“Wait a minute,” Josh said. “How many nieces and nephews do you have?”

“Let me see. Four nieces and seven nephews,” A.C. said proudly, and Josh whistled.

“This is Penny,” Sarah said quietly as she pointed to a little girl who bore a remarkable resemblance to A.C.’s mama.

Josh looked at the smiling face of the little cousin he never had a chance to know before looking for Sarah in the photograph. “Is this you?” he asked her, and she nodded. “And this has got to be A.C.,” he added with a chuckle as he gazed at the little boy with the shoulder-length dark hair dressed in a black velvet Fauntleroy suit with an enormous lace color. “Oh, and this must be you, Benj,” he said, pointing to a fair-haired boy standing by a lovely blonde woman. “And that’s your mother?” he asked, indicating the blonde woman.

“Yes, that’s our mama,” Sarah replied, her tone wistful.

“Now, I remember this photograph,” Benj said as he reached behind Sarah and pulled the next photograph out of the drawer. “It was taken to commemorate A.C.’s christening.”

“How come the dog is always in the photograph?” Josh asked with a grin as he gazed at the younger versions of his cousins, aunt and uncle.

“‘Cause Lady was part of our family. We got her about a year before I was born and she didn’t die until I was almost fourteen. She was a good dog,” A.C. said with a sad smile as he looked at the photograph. “Her pup, Duchess, was my dog. Mama wrote me that she died a month before I quit school.

Sarah pulled out the last photograph, which was also a double frame. On one side, Josh saw his grandfather, surrounded by his granddaughters and daughters-in-law. If things had turned out differently, my mama would be standing there with Aunt Annabelle and Aunt Bronwen, Josh thought sadly. The other photograph in the double frame showed his Uncle Adam holding baby A.C. on his lap while Uncle Joe and Grandpa stood on either side and a very young Benj stood in front of Uncle Joe. Josh felt a rush of sadness and envy as he looked at the photograph because in spite of what his cousins had told him about their relationships with their fathers, both his uncles looked proud and happy as they posed with their sons.

“How old was Uncle Adam when you were born?” he asked A.C. curiously.

“Dad was fifty-one when I was born. I was a surprise; I know that,” A.C. stated. He smiled as he said, “I never really thought about Dad being older than my mates’ dads. He taught me how to ride and cut cattle and how to shoot, how to swim and how to fish. When I was little, he’d play catch with me, and later, he taught me and my mate, Robbie, how to row. He could do everything my mates’ dads could do, and some things they couldn’t do.” With a big grin he added, “I think the only thing Dad didn’t teach me was how to play cricket. My Uncle Rhys taught the game to both of us.”

“Uncle Rhys?” Josh said, looking puzzled.

“Mama’s brother,” A.C. explained. “He and Dad were business partners and Uncle Rhys, Aunt Matilda and my cousin Llywelyn lived next-door to us. Llywelyn was more like an older brother than a cousin.”

Josh couldn’t help feeling envious of A.C., who’d been lucky enough to grow up with both his parents, older sisters, plus an aunt, uncle and cousin right next-door. He doesn’t understand how lucky he is, Josh thought. Then he glanced at Benj and Sarah, and realized they were thinking the same thing he was.

“I’m stuffed-I mean I’m tired-and I think I’m going to go to bed,” A.C. said, yawning. “Where’s Miranda’s letter?”

“Here it is,” Sarah said, picking it up off the desk and handing it to him. “Be sure and give her and William, Jon and Laura my love.”

“Too right I will,” A.C. replied with a smile.

As soon as A.C. opened the door to his bedroom, he was immediately reminded of his dad. Dad’s old stand-up desk cum draftsmen’s table stood in a corner and there were still rolled up drawings propped up against the wall beside it. Dad’s first guitar stood in another corner and then there were the empty bookshelves on the wall. A.C. sat down in the comfortable chair and pulled off his boots before opening his sister’s letter. He’d sent Miranda a telegram when he first arrived at San Francisco, explaining about Dad’s recurrence and the trip being delayed for around a month while he recuperated. A.C. had meant to write Miranda with more details, but things were so hectic that he’d forgotten. Now Miranda wanted more information about what was happening at the Ponderosa since she’d read in the Boston papers about a land war.

A.C. opened one of the drawers in the stand-up desk, looking for some paper he could use to write a reply to Miranda. He saw a stack of stationary in one drawer and took the sheet off the top of the stack, only to discover underneath it was not more paper but an old book. Curious, he took it out and opened it, discovering not a printed page, but one covered in his dad’s neat and precise handwriting.

I wonder if it could be another diary, A.C. thought as he sat down and began to read. This one is even older than the one Sarah found. Judging by the date, Dad was about my age. I wonder what he would have written about.

June 11, 1856

I decided this is the perfect time to begin keeping a journal again. Already I can see that this summer with Thomas’s family is going to be quite different from last summer with Aaron’s. Staying at the Wharton farm was almost like being back home since I had barn chores every day and I helped with the haying. I can tell that staying with the Collingsworths is going to be more like my time in San Francisco with the Townsends. However, the Collingsworths are even wealthier than the Townsends. I’m not very comfortable about having a servant taking care of my clothes and polishing my boots, but I guess I’m going to have to get used to it since Mr. Collingsworth’s valet is going to be looking after Thomas and me.

I suppose I should give my first impressions of Thomas’s family. Mr. and Mrs. Collingsworth are polite but they are very formal. I do feel welcome but Mr. and Mrs. Wharton treated me just like Aaron and David, while the Collingsworths treat me as a guest. Maybe that will change, but somehow I doubt it.

Thomas hadn’t known his sister, Dorothea, was going to be spending the summer with us. He’s never talked very much about his family except to say he’s much younger than his siblings. I don’t think he can be that much younger than Mrs. Lowell. Dorothea. What a lovely name for a lovely woman. It’s sad that’s she’s a widow. Thomas said her husband died four years ago but she still wears the black of heavy mourning. He said his sisters and his mother cannot get her to wear colors again even though a widow is only to wear mourning for two years. She must have loved her husband very much. I think if men wore mourning clothes as women do, Pa would still be wearing black for Belle-mère. It does seem a shame though that a woman as young and beautiful as Dorothea should be alone. I suppose I shouldn’t think of her as Dorothea, but I just can’t make myself think of her as Mrs. Lowell. That makes her sound as if she’s old enough to be my mother.

We’re leaving for the Collingsworths’ cottage on Martha’s Vineyard early tomorrow so I’d better stop for now.

June 22, 1856

I see nearly two weeks have gone by without my making an entry in my journal. I’ll start by saying that the Collingsworths’ cottage on Martha’s Vineyard is nothing like I expected. I thought a cottage would have no more than three bedrooms and expected to share one with Thomas. This cottage has five bedrooms! I have my own, and I think the servants must have rooms in the attic. My room is large with a window overlooking the ocean but the attic rooms must be tiny and cramped. This “cottage” also has a large parlor and a formal dining room as well as a room for bathing. I never realized how tiny our cabin is until visiting San Francisco, Cambridge and now, Martha’s Vineyard. I am absolutely determined that when I return to the Ponderosa, I am going to convince Pa that we should build a house. I have some ideas but I need to learn more about how houses are designed and constructed. I do know I want each of us to have his own bedroom, and I think Hop Sing should have a good sized kitchen with a stove he can use for cooking and baking. I think I’ll build a spring house as well. The root cellar works well for vegetables and fruit, but a spring house would be much better for eggs and milk and cream.

But, to return to my holiday with the Collingsworths: Every morning after breakfast, I go for a ride on their private beach. Usually Thomas accompanies me and sometimes Dorothea. They keep several horses and I’ve chosen a chestnut Morgan gelding, a real beauty. Dorothea is an excellent horsewoman and she rides a bay Morgan mare-a spirited animal that suits her. After our ride we often play tennis or croquet, although sometimes we go our separate ways and I use that time to read. In the afternoons, we either go for a swim or go sailing on the Collingsworths’ yacht. I still don’t want to be a sailor like Grandfather or Pa, but I can better understand the pull of the sea. It’s hard to explain, but there is an excitement in pitting oneself against the elements of water and wind. I’m still a novice, but Mr. Collingsworth says I’m learning so quickly that he’s not surprised to learn I come from seafaring stock. (I must remember to write Grandfather about that. He will enjoy the comment.)

In the evenings, the Collingsworths entertain or we are invited to one of their friends’ homes. After dining, we usually play cards or sometimes there is entertainment. Mrs. Collingsworth has asked me to sing a few times and Dorothea accompanies me.

Life here is vastly different from my life at home. I think what I like best about my time here is when I spend it with Dorothea. She is very different from the girls I encountered at cotillions and balls in Boston. She is well-read and knowledgeable in many areas. I can actually have an intelligent conversation with her. She doesn’t flutter her eyes and simper. She is also one of the loveliest women I’ve known.

July 1, 1856

I thought when I lost Julia that I would never love another woman, but now I’m not sure. I don’t know if what I feel for Dorothea is love; I only know that I can’t get her out of my mind, and I dream about her the same way I used to dream about Julia.

I don’t want to feel this way. I know she would never return my feelings. She is still in love with her late husband, and I can tell she only views me as her little brother’s friend. And yet, sometimes, I’ve caught her looking at me in a way that makes me wonder if she finds me attractive.

I can imagine what Pa would say if he knew how I feel about Dorothea, but I can’t stop my thoughts or dreams.

July 14, 1856

I haven’t done a good job of keeping my journal, but the days here all seem to run together. Until today. Today was the most wonderful day of my life because Dorothea and I made love. Just thinking about it excites me. I never dreamed anything could be as wonderful, as powerful as making love with her. I know what we did is supposed to be a sin, but there can’t be anything wrong in something that feels so marvelous.

I still can hardly believe it happened. I had thought she was so calm and refined, but she wasn’t then. She told me I was wonderful and she would come to me tonight. At dinner and supper, I had to act as though nothing had happened between us. That was so difficult. I hope she comes soon.

July 19, 1856

I have never been so happy, so alive. We’ve been together almost every night. I can’t believe I lived for nineteen years and never experienced anything so incredible. I can’t get enough of her. She says I’m insatiable, but the way she smiles when she says it, I know that she feels the same way about me. I only wish we didn’t have to skulk around. It makes it seem that what we share is tawdry, and it’s not. It’s glorious!

I do wonder how we’ll get together after this summer. I suppose we’ll only be able to be together on weekends, and that will be very hard. How will I study when all I’ll be thinking about is making love to Dorothea?

July 29, 1856

She is gone. Last night after we made love, she told me that we shouldn’t see each other anymore. She said I needed to be spending time courting girls my own age. I told her I would rather be with her but she wouldn’t listen to me. She even said she had corrupted me. I told her that she had introduced me to something wonderful but she just looked very sad. She told me that when I fell in love and married, I would see that what we shared didn’t even begin to compare. This morning when I came to breakfast, she wasn’t there. Thomas and I went for a ride, but she didn’t come with us. Then at dinner, I learned she and her maid returned to Brookline.

First Julia and now, Dorothea.

A.C. snapped the book shut. I owe you an apology, Dad, for reading your private journal. I didn’t realize you would actually write personal things, but I guess I don’t really know you at all. It looks like we may be more alike than I realized. Mama tried to tell me that I shouldn’t hold something you did as a very young man against you. The fact that you didn’t always live up to your ideals doesn’t mean you are a hypocrite; it only means that you’re human. After reading this, I realize she’s right.

A.C. was so tired he decided he would put off replying to Miranda’s letter for one more day. He undressed quickly and crawled into bed.

The next evening he sat at his grandpa’s old partner’s desk and wrote to Miranda. When he finished, he went in search of the crusty old cook. “Buckshot, are you going to town tomorrow? I need to mail this letter to my sister.”

“I’ll see it gets mailed,” the walleyed cook replied in his gravelly voice as he took it. “Did I hear your pa and ma are still comin’ for a visit?”

“Right,” A.C. replied, grinning. “And my sisters and their billy lids, uh, children. It’s gonna be pretty crowded.”

The cook nodded, growling, “I don’t want no kids underfoot in my kitchen,” but A.C. saw his lips turn up in a little grin

When A.C. got upstairs, he took off his boots, quickly stripped off his clothes, and slid beneath the sheets. As he was lying in bed, he happened to glance in the direction of the desk, and he thought of the old diary. He knew he should leave it alone, but he kept thinking of how close he’d felt to his dad when he’d read it last night. He threw back the bedclothes and walked over to the desk. Once he had the diary, he lit the lamp on his bedside table, moved the pillows behind him, and opened the book.

November 15, 1856

Oh God, I had the worst hangover! Aaron, Thomas, Fred, Rob and I decided to celebrate my birthday at the Warren Tavern. We saw some other friends there and we all drank too much rum. Thomas said they should give me a birthday present, and someone-I can’t remember who-said he knew the perfect gift: They’d take me to the best brothel in Boston. It had been so long since I’d been with a woman and I was drunk enough that it sounded like a fine idea. Aaron said he was going back to the dormitory and the rest of us jeered at him.

All the women were sitting in the parlor wearing nothing but their corsets, drawers, stockings and garters. Their faces were so painted you couldn’t tell what they really looked like. I found myself remembering what Pa had told me back when I was just a boy about how many prostitutes had been seduced and abandoned by men, and then could only support themselves by selling their bodies. The men who paid to use them were often diseased, and they infected the women, who in turn infected other men. I seemed to hear Pa’s voice in my head reminding me that there is no cure for the disease, which is always fatal. I remembered what it had been like with Dorothea, and then I looked at those pathetic creatures with their grotesque painted faces and all desire died. I also saw that Thomas and Rob looked as if they felt just as uncomfortable as I did. Some of the others were telling me to hurry and make my choice. When I told them I had changed my mind, they made fun of me, but I ignored them. I walked out and Thomas, Rob and Fred came with me while the others called us vile names.

We didn’t say much on the way back to the dormitory. Aaron didn’t look surprised to see me back so soon. I was starting to feel the effects of the rum so I drank some water and went to bed. One thing I vow is that I will never, ever, visit another brothel.

The more I read, Dad, the more I realize I don’t really know you at all. I thought of you as dull and thought all you did when you were at Harvard was study. The reality is proving quite different. You faced the same temptations I do. I am glad to know that sometimes you did live up to your ideals.

A.C. turned back a few pages and began reading.

September 15, 1856

Aaron and I, along with Thomas, Fred and Rob, were invited to join The Hasty Pudding Club! I was hoping we’d all be invited. Being involved in writing and producing theatrical productions should be great fun.

Stone the crows! Dad involved in writing and producing plays? I just can’t picture it!

It doesn’t look as though we’ll have much other time for socializing. Classes are more challenging each year. This year I don’t have to take Hebrew, thank God! I’m taking an advanced class in calculus instead. I thought about taking German, but since I’m reasonably fluent in Spanish and French, I decided that was enough languages. I’m looking forward to mineralogy while Aaron is dreading it. We both think we’ll enjoy chemistry.

Dad, only you could look forward to advanced calculus and mineralogy! But I’m with you about studying Hebrew. That sounds flaming awful!

He decided to skip ahead until he was about three quarters of the way through the diary.

I’ve done it! I’ve earned my bachelor’s degree and graduated summa cum laude. I’m looking forward to going home but at the same time, I’m a little sad to be leaving. I’m going to miss meeting my friends for a drink at the Warren Tavern or challenging them to a game of billiards at Ripley’s in Temple Place. They’ll be no more no more rowing with my crew in a race or just rowing for pleasure to the Spring Hotel where we’d all have supper before rowing back to Cambridge. And I’m really going to miss walking to the Corner Bookstore to see what new books have come out. Most of all, I’m going to miss the friends I made here, and Grandfather. Oh, we’ve promised to write, but it’s not the same. With the exception of Aaron, who’s going back to the family farm, their lives will be so different from mine. Even Aaron’s will be unlike mine since he and Elsie will be getting married in one week.

I still can’t believe Elsie’s family has refused to attend the wedding because she’s marrying a farmer. Aaron feels bad about the rift he’s caused between Elsie and her family, but Elsie’s told him that if her parents won’t accept him as a son-in-law, then it’s their loss. At least Elsie’s older married sister and her husband are going to be there. In fact, her sister is going to be Elsie’s matron of honor and Aaron’s brother David is going to be his best man. His little sister Docia will be a bridesmaid and I will be a groomsman. I haven’t seen Docia in three years. I guess she’s about fourteen now. I remember how she used to follow me around all that summer I stayed with the Whartons in Shelburne Falls, and Aaron and David teased me about my ‘sweetheart’. She’ll have outgrown that calf’s love, thank goodness.

I have to stop for now because it’s going to be a busy day with all the commencement activities. Tomorrow morning Aaron and I both leave for Shelburne Falls and Thomas, Rob and Fred will meet us there the day of the wedding.

A.C. dropped the book on his stomach and crossed his arms behind his head. You know, Dad, reading this makes me remember all the good times I had at college with my mates. I did like college, except for studying all those boring textbooks. It wasn’t the studying that I minded either; it was those god-awful classes. If I had been studying something interesting, I wouldn’t have minded. He sighed deeply. I really need to think about what I want to do with my life. I definitely don’t want to be an engineer and now I don’t really believe I’d be satisfied with life as a stockman, or cowboy as they call it here. But I do want to stay here on the Ponderosa. What I need is a job I enjoy that I can do here. Bronc says Josh and I are going to be repairing fences and that’ll give me time to think.

He picked the diary up again and flipped over a page or two.

We arrived at the Wharton’s farm yesterday afternoon. Everything seemed pretty much the same except that David is taller. Then I saw Docia. I just never realized how much a girl could change in three years. She’s not a woman yet but she sure isn’t a little girl either. In some ways, she’s still the same Docia. The first thing she said to me was, “Oh, I forgot how pretty your curls are.” I could feel my face getting hot and Aaron started to laugh.

A.C. started chuckling. Oh Dad, I wish I could have been there. I know Miranda has a daguerreotype of you when you were at Harvard, but I just can’t picture you with a full head of curly hair. Still chuckling, he flipped over a few pages.

Aaron and Elsie are now man and wife. I’ve only been to one other wedding and that was when Pa married Mama. I don’t remember anything about the ceremony, only how happy I was that Miss Inger would be my mama. This wedding was nice. Elsie was absolutely radiant. Aaron was so overcome when he first saw her in her wedding dress that he cried tears of joy. I wish I could find a woman I could love like that. I won’t even have a chance to meet any young women unless I can spend time in Sacramento or San Francisco. I’m not going to think about that now though.

Poor Dad! You had no idea you would have to wait about fifteen years before you’d meet Mama. But I know that you’d say she was worth the wait. He smiled then, thinking of his parents. I met some nice girls in Sydney and Cloncurry, but I knew none of them was the woman I wanted to spend my life with. I want a marriage like yours where we’ll grow closer as the years pass. Like the lines from that poem. How does it go? ‘Grow old along with me! / The best is yet to be’. That’s what I want. Then he yawned wide enough to crack his jaw and decided he’d better stop for the night. Yawning again, he put the diary back on the desk.

The next morning he was the last one to the breakfast table.

“Thought I was gonna have ta come drag you outa bed,” Bronc said dryly, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

“Say, A.C., when will your family arrive?” Josh asked eagerly between bites of biscuits and gravy.

“Dad wrote that the doctor wanted him to rest for a couple of days in Sydney and then in San Francisco, so they’ll probably get here around the first week in August,” A.C. replied, grinning at his cousin.

“Oh, we need to decide where everyone is going to sleep,” Sarah said.

“I’ll move to the bunkhouse while they’re here,” Bronc stated.

“I think we should put Uncle Adam and Aunt Bronwen in the downstairs bedroom,” Sarah said slowly. “Then Beth and Gwyneth and the babies should have Grandpa’s old room,” and she smiled at Bronc who was giving it up. “Siân is still so little that she and Elen and I can all share my room.” She frowned as she added, “But that still leaves Huw, Dylan, Jory, Benny and Little Adam.”

“Why don’t you share my room, A.C.,” Josh suggested. “I bet the boys would like sleepin’ in their grandpa’s old room.”

“Too right they would!” A.C. agreed with a wide grin.

“But they can’t all fit in the bed,” Sarah protested.

“Two of them can sleep in the bed and the others can sleep on swags-uh, bedrolls-on the floor. They’ll love it,” A.C. replied. “Trust me,” he added, seeing Sarah looked doubtful.

The next few nights A.C. was so tired that he fell asleep almost before he could pull his boots off. As he’d worked on repairing the fence, he’d been thinking. He’d considered all the jobs he’d ever done and what had given him the most satisfaction, and in a flash of insight, he knew what he wanted to do. It’ll be a big help here at the station, and I think Dad will be pleased.

He realized he would have to tell Bronc that once the fence mending was finished, he’d need some time off. I just hope I won’t be away the day everyone arrives here. But if I am, they’ll understand when I return and share my news.

The night he and Josh finally finished the fence repairs, he was stiff and sore as he trudged wearily up the stairs to his room. As he was unbuttoning his shirt, his eye fell on the diary that he’d left on top of the standup desk. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up the book and sat down to read.

July 23, 1858

Pa, Hoss and Little Joe were all waiting for me when my ship docked. Pa saw me first and ran to me and we hugged. It was so good seeing him. I felt about ten feet tall when he told me how proud he was of me, graduating third in my class. His hair is completely gray now, but otherwise he seems the same.

But Hoss and Little Joe have changed so much over the last four years. I knew they would, of course, but it was still such a shock. Hoss just turned sixteen and he’s already at least an inch taller than I am and burly. Thank goodness those years rowing crew developed the muscles on my arms and chest so at least I don’t look like a skinny scarecrow next to him. Hoss’s voice is deeper than mine now, bass like Pa’s. That I wasn’t expecting, although I don’t really know why I should be surprised. One thing hasn’t changed-his smile. It’s just as warm and friendly as ever.

Now, nothing could have prepared me for how much Little Joe has changed. He looks so much like Belle-mère–I had forgotten how much he resembles her. I thought Hoss was going to break my ribs with his bear hug, but Little Joe just held out his hand. He’s been polite, but he’s hardly spoken a word to me all day.

Pa had written me that we would be spending the night at the Townsends’ before traveling back to the Ponderosa. I arranged to have my trunk, containing most of the clothes I wore in Boston, and the two crates of my books delivered to their townhouse, and then the four of us went for a walk so we could talk.

Pa and Hoss had so much to tell me about the ranch. Pa told me how they’d just bought a McCormick reaper since he was so impressed with the one our neighbor Mr. Johnson has. (I guess Pa forgot I’d recommended he buy one before I even left for Harvard.) Hoss told me how Will Reagan is now our foreman and we’ve hired a couple more vaqueros and our herd has grown to about 800 head.

We stopped at Mrs. Ghirardelli & Co so Hoss and Little Joe could get a chocolate bar. While they were getting the candy, I took the opportunity to ask Pa how Ross and Mr. Marquette were doing. (I’ve written to Ross, but he’s not much of a correspondent. Pa had written me that he and Mr. McKaren were both worried about Ross and his pa after Betsy died of rabies and Mrs. Marquette hanged herself.) Pa looked grim but he said they seemed all right. He told me that Ross would still join all of our neighbors on Sundays. When the men and boys would ride over to the bowling alley the miners at Sun Canyon built, Ross would come and bowl a few games. Pa said that Mr. Marquette keeps to himself though.

We arrived at the Townsends’ house about an hour before dinner. I have my old room and Hoss and Joe are sharing the room across the hall while Pa has the room next to mine. That morning I’d dressed in a corduroy jacket, brown checked shirt and my old canvas work pants that I’d bought at Levi Strauss & Co here in San Francisco just before I left for Harvard. I remembered the Townsends dressed for dinner so I changed to the black dress coat and pants I’d had made in Boston and one of my dress shirts and a black silk cravat. When I joined my brothers, they both started to laugh.

Hoss said between chuckles that if I’d been wearing such fancy duds that afternoon, he’d never have recognized me. Hoss’s laughter is definitely infectious so I found myself chuckling, and just then, Pa came out of his room, wearing a black frock coat and pants. Hoss and I really started to laugh then at the look of surprise on Little Joe’s face.

It was wonderful seeing Mr. and Mrs. Townsend, Davy and Mr. Atherton. Mr. Atherton said he wasn’t surprised to learn I’d graduated third in my class, and then Mr. and Mrs. Townsend congratulated me. Davy told me that he decided he wanted to attend Yale and study law so he asked me lots of questions about what college is like. We also discussed the Supreme Court’s decision the previous year in the Dred Scott case and last year’s “panic” and ensuing “revulsion”. Mr. Townsend’s bank was one of the few in San Francisco to survive. Pa and I lost a good deal of money in the panic, but we were luckier than many since some of our investments remained sound. I told everyone about the many men and women who worked in factories back east that lost their jobs since people no longer had the money to buy the goods the factories produced. I explained that I believe our government needs to make the tariffs higher on foreign goods so people will be more likely to buy American goods and thus create jobs for Americans. (Looking back on it, I realize my family didn’t say much at dinner.)

After dinner, we gathered in the music room. We sang lots of our old favorites and Mrs. Townsend asked me if I’d learned any new songs in Boston so I sang “Kiss Me Quick and Go” and “The Mermaid”. Little Joe could hardly keep his eyes open by then, so we thanked the Townsends for a pleasant evening and retired.

August 5, 1858

I’m home. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, writing by the light of the tallow candle on the bedside table. It’s a lucky thing Hoss and Little Joe are such sound sleepers.

The journey from San Francisco over the Sierra Nevada was a hard one. When I was at Harvard, I had few chances to go riding, and so for the first few days I would ride for a few hours, and then I would change places with Pa and drive the wagon. I made sure I didn’t say a word about how sore I was those first days because I’d seen the scorn on Little Joe’s face when I’d asked to trade places with Pa. I know I shouldn’t have let it bother me. He’s just a kid after all, and I know that I’m a good rider, but it did. By the time we reached Sacramento, I was accustomed to riding all day and Little Joe’s expression of smug superiority was gone.

My first view of our cabin was a shock. After four years of living at Harvard, I’d forgotten how tiny it is. And I hadn’t thought about the fact I’d be sharing a bed not only with Hoss, but with Little Joe! Little Joe didn’t look too happy at the arrangement and neither was I. Hoss and I are both big men and that bed was built for two boys to share. Little Joe came right out and suggested I should sleep in the bunkhouse with the vaqueros. I was willing, but Pa didn’t look too happy with Little Joe and announced this was my home and where I would be sleeping. Hoss quickly added that there weren’t any empty bunks anyhow.

We got back right about suppertime so the Reagans, José and Diego came to greet me. They said they’d feed and water the horses and mules for us and unload the supplies Pa’d bought in Sacramento and my trunk and crates. When we went inside, there was Hop Sing. He looked exactly the same as when I’d left. He bowed deeply to me and said he was glad to see Number One son safely returned to his family. I told him it was good to be back and good to see him. Then I grinned and told him I hadn’t had biscuits as good as his since I’d left home, and I was really looking forward to them. He smiled at me and said he’d make a batch for supper. While we waited for supper, I had a chance to look around. Everything was just as I remembered. The red calico curtains Belle-mère had sewn and the rug she’d braided, the plain wooden settee, the washstand by the door with the earthenware pitcher and bowl, the kitchen dresser, rectangular table and chairs. All the furniture except Mama’s dresser was very plain, rather crude even, which wasn’t surprising since Pa and I had made it ourselves, learning as we went along.

Yes, everything was the same, and yet, somehow different.

Hop Sing’s cooking was every bit as delicious as I remembered. He’d prepared my favorites so we had pot roast with potatoes, carrots and onions, and he’d even made a pound cake to celebrate my return. We shared the cake with our vaqueros. José is getting some silver mixed in with his coal black hair while Diego has grown an enormous mustache, perhaps to compensate for the thinning hair on the top of his head. Carl has grown some, but I’m still a bit taller. He asked me if I’d met many pretty girls in Boston. I’d told him I’d met plenty, but they all tended to be as prim and proper as they were pretty. That made him grin and say he always liked a challenge so I asked him if there were any pretty girls in these parts now. He said there were a couple in Genoa and Placerville and a couple of new families in the valley had pretty daughters. Trouble was their daddies were free with their shotguns. We shared a laugh and he invited me to attend the next grand ball the miners on Sun Mountain host. I asked him if there any women at the balls. He said not many and they weren’t much to look at, but they were female and they’d rather dance with good lookin’ young men like us than a bunch of scruffy old men.

Pa introduced me to the three new vaqueros: Tex, Billy and Frank. They shook my hand but then they kind of hung back, although they joked with Carl some while I was talking with José, Miguel and Diego. I asked Pa if I could ride over and see Ross and Todd tomorrow. He smiled and said they’d be busy harvesting their hay. They would all be coming here on Sunday and were looking forward to seeing me. Then he asked me if I would rather help Hoss with the haying or round up strays for the cattle drive. That was an easy choice since I wanted to see how the reaper worked firsthand and I wanted to spend time with Hoss.

If I’m going to get up at dawn, I’d better turn in.

August 8, 1858

It’s late Sunday evening. Pa is working on his ledgers and Little Joe asked Hoss to play checkers, so I have a chance to write in my journal. First, I have to say that I forgot how much plain hard work goes into ranching. Every day stalls have to be mucked out and wood has to be chopped so there’ll be enough to last us through the winter. The McCormick Reaper really makes a huge difference in the amount of time and labor required to harvest the hay and oats though. Hoss and I working together, taking turns driving the reaper and raking the cut hay or oats from the platform, cut as much in one day as we used to in three or four. What an amazing invention!

When Little Joe asked Hoss to play checkers with him, Hoss suggested he play with me instead. But Little Joe said he wanted to play with Hoss. It didn’t bother me, but I could see Hoss was unhappy that Little Joe didn’t want to play with me. I understand that Hoss would like us to be as close as we were before I went away-first to San Francisco and then to Cambridge-but we’ve all changed over the past four years. I think we will be close again, but first Little Joe and I have to get to know each other.

We leave on the cattle drive Tuesday morning, and ever since I’ve been back, Little Joe has been pestering Pa to let him come on the drive. Hoss and I did the same thing when we were his age, not that it ever did us any good. My jaw dropped so hard it nearly came unhinged when this morning I heard Pa tell Little Joe that he could be Diego’s helper on the supply wagon. Then I had to snap my mouth shut before I said something. I can’t believe that Pa would give in that way. He hasn’t changed entirely though. Today all our neighbors came to visit, and when I was answering everyone’s questions about my life in Cambridge, Little Joe kept trying to interrupt. Pa finally sent him up to the loft. I think that may have had something to do with his refusal to play checkers with me this evening.

While we were eating supper, Pa announced that he was having me and Hoss ride swing on the drive. Pa, Hoss and Little Joe all looked at me as though I was loco when I said I thought it would be better if I rode drag. I explained that I wasn’t looking forward to eating everyone else’s dust, but I hadn’t been on a cattle drive for five years so I belonged in the greenhorn position of riding drag. Hoss then said he’d ride drag with me. That made me feel good. Pa smiled and said he’d rotate riding flank and riding drag but he’d start us off riding drag until I felt I was ready to ride flank.

I actually had two reasons for starting off riding drag, and the second one is that I figured any vaquero who normally rode swing would resent Pa’s putting me in his place.

August 9, 1858

I can’t write too long but I wanted to set this down. After supper, Pa asked me to play my guitar while we sang songs. It was fun and reminded me of how we used to sing in the evenings before I went to college. Belle-mèresang and played her guitar, too. It didn’t make me sad to think of her because it was a happy memory. It was that way with Mama. At first, I missed her so much that thinking about her made me cry. In time that changed, and now when I remember Mama, I remember all the good times and how much she loved me.

Hoss suggested that we sing the song about ‘the drunk sailor’. ‘We were all laughing as we sang and when we finished, Little Joe smiled at me and said he remembered singing that song when he was little.

August 27, 1858

We’re back from the cattle drive. I’m writing at the table downstairs because I’m tired of sitting on my bed, writing while holding my journal in my lap. At the same time, I’m not really comfortable writing my private thoughts where anyone could walk by and read over my shoulder.

I can’t believe I ever begged to go on a cattle drive. Spending two weeks without being able to bathe or shave and being surrounded by other men who are just as filthy and malodorous is not pleasant. Oh, and I mustn’t forget the dust. It covers your face, coats your mouth, and gets in your eyes so they burn. And there’s the noise. I’d forgotten just how loud the hooves of five hundred head of cattle and around a hundred horses would be.

Still, the drive wasn’t all bad. I liked sitting around the campfire with the other vaqueros eating johnnycakes, sow-belly, and red beans, and drinking Diego’s strong black coffee. Afterward we’d talk and sing. The first night I reminded Miguel of how he’d saved my life on my very first drive by shooting that rattler. He smiled and said that he’d forgotten it. I said I never would, and Pa spoke up and said he’d never forget what he owed Miguel either.

Little Joe found out that cattle drives are not much fun. Diego really made him work. Diego is usually pretty easygoing so I suspect Pa is behind it. It seems to be a good strategy; I don’t think Little Joe is going to be pestering Pa to come next year.

I was right to start off riding drag, but I surprised myself by how quickly my old skills came back to me. Third day out, Pa had me and Hoss switch positions with Billy and Frank and the four of us rotated between riding drag and flank the rest of the drive. I felt like I’d proved I was a real vaquero even if I had spent four years back East going to school.

When we got to Placerville, I told the others I’d meet them at the saloon because I had something I wanted to do first. I took a bath, shaved, and put on the clean clothes I’d packed in my saddlebags. I felt like a new man when I walked out on the street. When I got to the saloon, I saw Carl having a drink with the prettiest girl in the saloon. She looked me over when I walked to their table, and I could tell she liked what she saw. Carl saw her reaction, too, and he wasn’t happy. I asked if I could join them. Carl was all set to say no, but she invited me to sit down before Carl got his mouth open. She flirted outrageously with both of us but whenever Carl tried to kiss her, she’d duck out of the way. I decided to see if I’d have any better luck, and sure enough, she let me kiss her. I enjoyed myself, but I have to admit I enjoyed making Carl jealous as much as the kisses. When we left, Carl was in a bad mood. From the way Tex, Billy and Frank were laughing at him, he isn’t used to having any competition where women are concerned. That’s going to change.

The ride home was much easier. Of course, now that we’re home, it’s time to butcher a pig and a steer and then we have to finish chopping enough wood to last us through the winter. I remember this time of the year is really hectic. I won’t have any chances to read until the first snowfall, but once winter sets in, and especially when we have blizzards, I’ll have time to read.

It’s night now and I’m writing by candlelight, sitting on the edge of my bed. I need to go to sleep but I wanted to write this down.

We only had this one evening to relax before all the chores begin. Pa was sitting at one end of the table, working on his ledgers and I was writing at the opposite end. Little Joe and Hoss were getting ready to play a game of checkers using the middle of the table, and I would play the winner. While Hoss was setting up the checkerboard, Little Joe walked over by me and wanted to know what I was writing. I don’t want anyone else to read my journal, especially my kid brother, so I knew I had to make him lose interest in it. I told him I wrote about things like how much dust I’d eaten on the drive, and how loud Hoss and Diego snore, and about the pretty girl I met in the saloon in Placerville who let me steal a kiss. Little Joe made a gagging noise at that, which is amusing since I know in a few years his feelings about girls are going to alter radically. I just happened to see Pa looking at me with one eyebrow raised, and I winked. I know Pa will respect my privacy. Little Joe started to walk back over to Hoss and I realized that I was letting an opportunity to grow closer to Little Joe slip through my fingers.

I quickly closed the journal, saying that I had something up in the loft that I thought Little Joe would find interesting. He looked skeptical but followed me up the ladder. I told him that while I was at college, I’d designed a house for us, one where each of us would have his own bedroom and his own bed. I got the drawings from my trunk and spread them out on our bed. Little Joe immediately wanted to see where his room would be, and his face just lit up when I showed him. He yelled down to Hoss and Pa to come see the drawings of the house I’d designed for us. Pa asked me to bring them down so we could all look at them. When I spread the drawings on the table downstairs, Hoss was as excited as Little Joe. Pa didn’t say anything at first, but he studied them carefully. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and smiled at me, saying he could see I had real talent and he was proud of me.

A.C. slowly closed the diary. Maybe I shouldn’t have read your diary, Dad, but I’m not sorry I did. I think I do understand you better now. Before, I only knew you as a father. Now, I know you as a son and a brother, and as a man. I see that we have more in common than I realized, and I’m proud that you are my dad.