Charlottesville, VA – Past

 

It was nearly midnight when Ben departed the ship in Northumberland County, VA. He stretched as he stepped off the gangplank, reveling in the feeling of once again having solid ground beneath his feet. He walked a short distance, acclimating himself to being on land as well as to the balmy climate. Finally, he called for a cab and asked to be taken to the closest hotel in the direction of Charlottesville. The driver laughed and dropped him off at a small boarding house a good ten miles down the road.

The next morning, Ben was on his way before dawn, and by nine o’clock that evening had arrived in Charlottesville. His first inclination was to head straight to the university, but common sense, coupled with exhaustion, made him seek out a room for the night. It had been a mildly cool day for mid-October, and he couldn’t help but think of the Ponderosa, wondering if the first snows had yet blanketed the mountain peaks. He thought of his two youngest boys and prayed they were doing all right; that they would understand. Little Joe had looked so forlorn when he’d left, and Hoss’s brow had been wrinkled with worry, though he’d never once questioned his father’s plans. Ben knew he’d left them in good hands, and Little Joe had already made friends with a young girl a few houses down from the Barrett’s. His boys seldom had playmates. Ben winced at that thought and tried to shake yet another reason for his feelings of guilt. Then his thoughts turned to his oldest son, the steadfast, serious little boy he’d always depended upon, the one who had grown into a man, strong and determined to make his own way in the world, the one that had so desperately and yet so cryptically called for his help. It was a long night as Ben tossed and turned.

Ben was at the university bright and early the next morning standing outside the dean of students’ office.

“Excuse me,” he said, tapping on the open door. “My name is Ben Cartwright. I’m looking for my son, Adam. He-”

Ben stopped when the man suddenly dropped his eyes and began shuffling papers on his desk.

“Your son is no longer a student of this university, Mr. Cartwright. He never enrolled for the fall term.”

“I see,” Ben said, watching the way the man pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Where can I find him?”

“Mr. Cartwright, I have enough to do keeping track of the students currently enrolled. I certainly don’t-”

Ben raised himself up to full height and stepped directly across from the desk the dean was seated behind. “I said, where can I find him?”

The slender man leaned back in his chair and swallowed loudly. “Last I heard he was renting a room at Mrs. Holden’s boarding house, out toward Ednam.

Ben held the man’s gaze a moment longer before he turned away. “Thank you.” It took another hour by carriage to arrive in the little town just outside of Charlottesville and another fifteen minutes to track down the small, rundown boarding house. Hurrying up the walk, he knocked on the faded blue door. An older woman answered.

“Got no rooms just now,” she said, eyeing him up and down.

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. My name’s Ben Cartwright. I’m looking for my son-”

“That’d be Adam. You’ll find him about five miles out of town at the Easton Prison.”

Ben nearly sank to his knees. “Prison? My son? What-”

“Goes there every day. Just sits outside. Glory, he loves that girl, never had a doubt about that.”

Ben placed a hand over his speeding heart. “Girl? I’m sorry. His wire didn’t explain much.”

“Her name is Cecily Dale. Your boy calls her Sissy though. She was Judge Vandem’s niece; they say she killed him. Shot him right in the head.”

Ben felt the world spinning again and collapsed onto the rickety porch swing near the door.

“Come a long way, have you?” the woman asked. “You look worn out. Why don’t you come inside for some tea and I’ll tell you what I know? Then you best get to your boy. He’s in a bad way.”

A short time later, it was with a heavy heart that Ben rode up to the prison. As directed by Mrs. Holden, Ben went around to the east side. It had been three years since Ben had laid eyes on his oldest son, and the sight before him nearly broke his heart. Adam, unshaven, with long, ragged hair and dirty clothes, was pacing up and down the length of the wall, occasionally stopping to glance up at the one window amid the bricks of the prison. Getting down off the large bay he’d rented, he tied the horse to the branch of a tree and approached slowly. He could hear his son mumbling to himself as he paced.

“Adam,” he said, and waited as his boy froze, then slowly turned to face him.

“Pa?” Adam’s face was a desperate mixture of hope and panic. “Pa. You’re here, finally! Now you can help me. We’ve got to get her out of there, Pa. We’ve got to get her out.”

Ben had to fight back his tears as Adam’s began to trace their way down a well-worn path across his own cheeks. Closing the distance between them, Ben embraced his oldest boy, instantly shocked at how thin he’d become. Adam held him tight for a moment and then pulled back suddenly. “Now listen, Pa. I’ve been thinking. I’ve come up with something that might work-”

“Adam,” Ben interrupted. “Let’s get you back to town first. You can tell me everything once you’ve gotten cleaned up.”

Adam’s eyes filled with apprehension. “But, you will help me, right? You . . . you have to. We have to get her out.”

Ben could hear the panic rising in his son’s voice, could see it beginning in his listless eyes. “I’ll do what I can, son. But I need to know everything, and you’re going to need a clear head, so let’s get back to town and get you freshened up.”

Adam’s eyes remained full of apprehension, and Ben reached out, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Look at me, Adam. It’s your pa. I’ve come, I’m here now. It’s going to be all right, son.”

More tears spilled from Adam’s eyes, but he nodded and followed his father. A few minutes later, they were headed back to the boarding house, and Ben’s heart was aching for the young man riding along beside him so silently. He’d promised his son he would do what he could, but a part of him already knew there was nothing that could be done. If Mrs. Holden was right, the girl had confessed to killing her uncle, and Ben knew she was lucky that she hadn’t been sentenced to hang.

Oh, Adam. I’m so sorry, son.