{"id":7218,"date":"2014-04-07T18:47:18","date_gmt":"2014-04-07T22:47:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=7218"},"modified":"2026-02-16T14:36:55","modified_gmt":"2026-02-16T19:36:55","slug":"an-abigail-triptych","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=7218","title":{"rendered":"An Abigail Triptych (By sklamb)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Summary:<\/span>\u00a0 That pioneer of education in the Nevada Territory, Miss Abigail Jones, is featured in these three very short stories.<\/p>\n

Rated:<\/span>\u00a0K+ \u00a0WC \u00a05400<\/span><\/p>\n

An Abigail Triptych<\/strong><\/p>\n

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Although the redoubtable Abigail Jones<\/strong> may never have appeared to best advantage in the presence of Adam Cartwright,\u00a0other episodes suggest that\u00a0she had a strong and largely positive effect on the fast-growing community of Virginia City. For example, we know from “The Far, Far Better Thing” that she taught Indian boys alongside the children of settlers, and “The Fear Merchants” and “Look To The Stars” both seem to indicate that she was equally willing to teach Chinese children. (The bigoted attitude of\u00a0her replacement\u00a0in “Look To The Stars” was much more common in the mid-1800s; the shock and surprise Ben expresses on discovering\u00a0his prejudice suggests there hadn’t been any when Miss Jones was in charge of the school.)<\/p>\n

I’d like to present three very short stories that show Abigail Jones in a somewhat more positive light! While written for the 2013 summer Poker Tournament, two of them also satisfy the requirements for the Combined Pinecone\/C&S Superchallenge.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Round 1:<\/div>\n
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Author’s Notes:<\/span><\/div>\n
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My poker cards\u00a0for this round were: Bank Robbers, Cheese, Hold Up, Engagement, and Teacher.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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 <\/p>\n

Engagement with Brie<\/strong><\/p>\n

Folks called them the Cheese gang<\/strong>\u2014with someone named Cheddar and both the Brie brothers as members, it was almost inevitable. Not that the whimsical name meant this particular set of bank robbers were to be taken lightly. Any question of that was put to bed when they tore through Reno like a savage tornado, shooting the sheriff, three bank tellers and fourteen presumably innocent bystanders (no one had an opportunity to learn otherwise, since all of them were dead before the dust could settle) during the hold up. The lump of hardened jack one of the outlaws tossed down in the middle of the street as they rode off might have, under other circumstances, inspired stories by would-be Mark Twains. The citizens of Reno, shattered in spirit if not in sober cold fact, instead wrote lengthy telegrams to every settlement within a three days’ ride, warning of possible immanent disaster.<\/p>\n

Sheriff Coffee, who’d had his share of bad jokes about a name that looked more natural on a menu than an office door, treated the telegram that arrived in Virginia City quite seriously. He assembled not just his entire staff of deputies but also as many other men that he could trust on a posse as he could find to discuss the situation. Since the Cattlemen’s Association had held its annual meeting (and the attendant annual dinner) in town the night before, several of the ranchers from the surrounding area were mingling with the anxious townsmen\u2014chief among them, naturally, the four Cartwrights from the Ponderosa and their top hand, Hank Meyers, whose recent engagement was still the main subject of local gossip.<\/p>\n

Even with such a plethora of reliable men, it didn’t seem likely that the sheriff could do much to protect the town. There were so many potential targets\u2014not just the banks, but the ore trains, the stamping mills, even the local jewellers\u2014that placing guards on them all wasn’t possible. In any case the potential guards showed a marked reluctance to take on such a duty, and, given how trigger-happy the Cheese gang had been in Reno, not even Sheriff Coffee could blame them. Add to that the fact that the gang might come the very next day, or stay away for weeks, and defense began to seem hopeless.<\/p>\n

But eighteen deaths…even more than the potential financial suffering, that was an appalling prospect. One of the dead in Reno had been little more than a baby, and another a woman expecting her second child. No one wanted such things to happen in their own community, and so the discussion went round and round in circles, accomplishing nothing except making the participants steadily more frustrated.<\/p>\n

As the argument reached its height (or depth), a messenger brought Sheriff Coffee a second telegram. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention and announced, “Seems we may get a little advance warning after all. It says here that piece of cheese they left behind was bought in Reno’s general store the day before. If we have people watching for that kind of thing here\u2014”<\/p>\n

“Watching where?” someone at the back interrupted. “Ain’t we got three general stores here, plus that new one just sells cold cuts and deli food?”<\/p>\n

“All of ’em, o’ course,” Sheriff Coffee explained. “Just get a hold of anyone from out-of-town who buys a big lump of cheese, and bring him here so’s we can figure out what to do next.”<\/p>\n

Unsurprisingly, it was Adam Cartwright who pointed out all the flaws in this scheme, starting with the fact that just because they’d left cheese behind on one hold up didn’t mean they’d bother again, and even if they did no one in Virginia City knew the entire gang by sight\u2014although the Brie brothers were familiar enough faces. Not to mention that someone buying a hunk of cheese still didn’t help them guess when the gang’s attack was coming, let alone what it would target….<\/p>\n

“Anyone got a better idea, then?” the sheriff countered, sounding more hopeful than annoyed.<\/p>\n

No one did, of course\u2014not even Adam Cartwright. Meekly he and the rest of his family signed up for their share of the stakeout.<\/p>\n

XxXxXxX<\/p>\n

For a few days the novelty of keeping watch for unfamiliar cheese-purchasers kept people interested in the sheriff’s plan, but it didn’t take long before most of them stopped bothering to remember their assigned times. The Cartwrights did, of course\u2014they never neglected their civic duties, especially when those duties provided an excellent excuse to spend extra time in town with a glass of beer to hand\u2014but with only four of them to keep watch over every supplier of cheese in town it had to be admitted the odds favored the Cheese gang making their purchase (assuming they made one at all) unobserved.<\/p>\n

Only it wasn’t just the four of them. Hank Meyers was spending just as much time as his bosses in town, even if cheese (or the Cheese gang) had very little to do with why he was there. He had wedding bells on his mind, and his redoubtable fiancee was hard at work purchasing material for her trousseau. Joe Cartwright\u2014the only member of his family at all comfortable in the lady’s presence\u2014was providing moral support for his employee as the happy couple debated options for the nuptial gown one morning several days after the disturbances in Reno.<\/p>\n

Why it was the elder Brie boy who showed up in Virginia City’s largest general store that same day is a mystery that may never be explained. It should have been obvious to his fellow gang members that someone not from the area was a better choice for making an unobtrusive purchase. The Bries had been Joe’s schoolmates, had attended church with their widowed mother, had become nine-days’-wonders in the town when they took up their life of crime. In fact, quite a few people suspected that if their mother hadn’t been so fond of overwrought romantic poetry, neither of the boys would ever have been driven from the straight-and-narrow. Chief among those was their former teacher, who still spoke of them, as she did all the rest of her ex-pupils, in tones of mildly condescending disapproval that they’d escaped the bounds of her authority.<\/p>\n

All might have gone well if Hank Meyers hadn’t been shown so many kinds of lace and fabric during the short time he’d been in the store. However, his nerves were well frayed by the time he recognized the new customer coming through the door, and somehow in the ensuing fracas a gun was drawn, turning a spirited confrontation into a very tense, if slow-motion, showdown. Hank and Joe had reluctantly slid their guns along the floor towards their opponent and were raising their hands in surrender when the store-keeper’s daughter and Hank’s fiancee came in from the back room, arms laden with more fabric. Sally Cass dropped her burden with a stifled shriek, but Abigail Jones took in the situation at a glance and, in her most piercing chalk-on-slate tones, exclaimed, “Why, Hildegard Brie, you put that thing down\u00a0this instant!<\/em>”<\/p>\n

For the briefest of moments a small boy’s fear flickered in the gunman’s eyes\u2014just long enough for Hank Meyers to launch a devastating uppercut at his jaw and Joe Cartwright to leap for his gun hand.<\/p>\n

The rest was anticlimax, to say the least. After three completely peaceful days, Sheriff Coffee was forced to release young Brie; there was, as everyone had to admit, no law against attempting to purchase cheese, and if everyone who ever drew a gun in Virginia City was put in jail for that there’d be precious few people left to do any work. Hank Meyers and Abigail Jones completed the plans for their wedding in peace. Nothing more was heard of the Cheese gang until, several weeks later, they blew up a bank in Placerville. It was noteworthy, however, that they never again returned to Nevada soil, as far as anyone ever discovered.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
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Author’s Notes:<\/span><\/div>\n
\n

My poker cards for this round were:\u00a0 Appendix, Abigail Jones, Loneliness, Walter, Empathy.<\/p>\n

The story also includes the C&S words for July (Bang, Report, Crackle, Hummer, and Whistle). It’s a What Happened Later for the episode “The Wooing Of Abigail Jones” and\u00a0is 1713 words long, so it also satisfies the requirements for the July C&S\/Pinecone#14 double challenge.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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 <\/p>\n

The Lady And The….<\/strong><\/p>\n

Once the dust of the departing stagecoach had settled,<\/strong> and the flurry of excitement it had aroused died away, the shaggy dog behind the livery stable heaved a massive sigh and levered himself to his feet. The Ponderosa’s supply wagon, on which he had ridden into town that morning, stood in plain view only a few blocks away, but the dog turned his back on it to amble in the other direction. For one thing, the wagon’s massive driver\u2014the dog’s temporary caregiver\u2014was still cooling himself off with a beer in the saloon, where the dog couldn’t attract his attention. For another, the dog wasn’t ready to give up and go back to the ranch just yet.<\/p>\n

Not that there was anything so very wrong with staying at the Ponderosa, where the big one waited on him hand and foot with exemplary attentiveness, and the others were at least respectful. Even the black-haired one, so aloof and unsympathetic at first sniff, had unearthed a rubber ball and spent half a morning proving how well he understood what “a ball” could provide as social entertainment for those of the canine persuasion. It had been almost a return to puppyhood, perhaps for both of them. Remembering how the man had blushed and hidden the ball behind his back when the youngest of the family had discovered them, the dog let his tongue hang out just far enough for a pant of revisited amusement.<\/p>\n

Still, amiable as they all might be, they weren’t Obie, and it wasn’t home. However ridiculous to admit for a dog of his age and abilities, he was lonely and homesick…and restless.<\/p>\n

The sound of laughing children in the nearby schoolyard drew his attention. His session with the black-haired one had reminded him of the fun to be had with such little, active people; his gait speeded up fractionally as he drew nearer to them. On the other hand, they would have no respect for his dignity, wisdom, and occasionally achy joints, and it would never do to be seen sporting in such a public place; he had a reputation to maintain. Tempting, all the same. It had been so long since he’d dealt with a whole group of people, and groups of people were much more interesting than ones and twos. There was quite a group at the Ponderosa, of course, but they weren’t really good subjects for the dog’s private research into the practical applications of Machiavellian theory.\u00a0 Now, that bunch of outlaws who’d pestered Obie so much…but they’d been gone for some time. No hope of seeing them again, he supposed.<\/p>\n

Indeed, a quick survey of his surroundings revealed no signs of the scruffy trio, only an older woman, sitting very upright in the exact center of a park bench overlooking the schoolyard, gazing at the children with an expression of mingled loneliness and regret. Deciding that she looked like he felt, the dog abandoned all thoughts of bounding into the schoolyard. Instead, he padded over to the bench and settled himself beside her. After a moment, he cautiously ventured to rest his head on her lap.<\/p>\n

XxXxXxX<\/p>\n

It seemed poor Suzi Miller had “run into a bedpost” again, the woman thought. Probably trying to protect her mother; with all Alf Miller’s faults, he wasn’t one for child-beating. And at least they were still letting her come to school\u2014even with the black eye. Perhaps the last talk she’d had with the Millers had done some good after all.<\/p>\n

But Anton-with-the-unpronounceable-last-name was thinner than ever. Did that new teacher ever notice how little always was in the boy’s lunch pail? Did he care?<\/p>\n

Probably not. Once again, the woman wondered why she’d been in such a hurry to relinquish her position here. Of course, she’d always known that married women did not work outside the home, but she had assumed that, once she had a man for whom to care, she’d be very happy to give up any other obligations. Well, and she\u00a0had<\/em>\u2014these children weren’t mere obligations. Even the\u00a0 rowdiest boys like Joe Cartwright or the most empty-headed and idle of the girls had only been…challenges. Trials, perhaps even, but certainly not\u00a0obligations<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Children of her own might ease her regrets, but even in her most romantic fancies the woman hadn’t strayed\u00a0that<\/em>\u00a0far from what was probable. She was old to be carrying a child at all; older still to be doing so for the first time. Not that she wasn’t trying anyway, now she had the opportunity, but she wasn’t going to tempt fate by daydreaming about the patter of little feet. You never knew when that might get cut short, anyway.<\/p>\n

Look at little Timmy…no, Willy. The boy had been Willy.<\/p>\n

She’d known him only a few days, several years ago\u2014that was why she’d almost forgotten his name. She didn’t like making excuses for such a lapse of memory, but in this case it was simple if unpalatable truth. It was also, perhaps, why she hadn’t been sure at the time that he was truly unwell, instead of just playing along with some scheme of Little Joe Cartwright’s. But there had been something about Little Joe’s anxiety that spoke of real fear, and when she’d glanced out of the corners of her eyes at Mitch and Sara, who were more trustable (or less gifted at acting), Mitch had looked confused and Sara almost as concerned as her friend. Hoping she wasn’t making a fool of herself, she’d had Little Joe and Seth Pruitt help her carry Willy to the nearest doctor’s office. Dr. Martin, at least, had seemed to think her anxiety anything but foolish, even after the boy’s hastily-summoned mother dismissed her son’s pains as a stomach-ache caused by eating green apples and insisted on taking him home.<\/p>\n

He’d never returned to school.<\/p>\n

It turned out he’d died later that evening of what Dr. Martin had identified as “an inflammatory process of the right iliac fossa\u2014in layman’s terms, an ulcerated appendix.” The doctor had even complimented her on recognizing the seriousness of her pupil’s condition. When she’d admitted that Little Joe had been the one to insist Willy needed help, Dr. Martin had managed a sad little smile. “I believe he thought his friend had colic\u2014several horses have died of colic at the Ponderosa lately, and I understand he’s been very upset about that.” The momentary amusement vanished as he went on, “All the same, I remain very impressed by your conscientiousness.”<\/p>\n

“There’s more to teaching than wiping runny noses and hearing recitations, Doctor.”<\/p>\n

“I can see that,” Dr. Martin had answered, and from then on her reports to the Virginia City School Board were invariably endorsed by at least two sympathetic and supportive members, rather than just one.<\/p>\n

Back then, of course, she hadn’t been thinking about the future, or the Board. She’d made her way back to her desk in the schoolhouse, rested her head in her hands, and suddenly begun to cry\u2014not even noticing that one of her students was still in the schoolroom with her.<\/p>\n

“Don’t cry, Miss Jones,” Joe Cartwright had said kindly. “It wasn’t your fault. Pa says\u2014” but then he’d decided not to continue repeating Ben Cartwright’s undoubtedly pungent observation. Instead he’d patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, rather like she was patting the head on her lap now, and gone away. And suddenly she’d been sure that Little Joe Cartwright was going to turn out just fine. She still thought so, even though he had yet to outgrow his tendencies to idleness and mischief….<\/p>\n

Gradually she became aware of what, precisely, was nestled against her as she patted it. Under other circumstances, she might have screeched and recoiled on discovering that she’d allowed a hairy, damp-smelling dog to drool on her second-best dress, but for the moment she was far too dispirited to care.<\/p>\n

XxXxXxX<\/p>\n

Recess was over, the dog noticed; the children were going in. As the schoolhouse door closed with a bang behind them, large warm drops began to moisten his fur. The dog flicked one ear in protest, but the deluge didn’t stop.<\/p>\n

Meanwhile, a big-boned man with a face the dog didn’t recognize\u2014though his odor was vaguely familiar\u2014was advancing towards them both, humming under his breath. The dog, being well versed in gathering information without appearing to do so, gave him a quick once-over out of the corner of one eye, decided the man was, at the least, mostly harmless, and returned his attention to the weeping female.<\/p>\n

The hummer came quietly up behind the back of the bench, changing his tune to a cheerful whistle. When the woman still didn’t look up, he finally broke into a resonant chorus of “Early One Morning.”<\/p>\n

“Hank!” And without paying any more attention to her furry comforter, the woman leapt to her feet and flung her arms around the new arrival. “You naughty, naughty man for frightening me so! And where have you been all this time? I’d almost decided you’ve abandoned me!”<\/p>\n

“I’ve been getting a little something to celebrate our anniversary…a little patch of land the far side of Sun Mountain. We’re going to have a ranch of our own, just the way you’ve been egging me on about. The Cartwrights are even going to sponsor me into the Cattlemen’s Association!”<\/p>\n

Hank swung the woman around so vigorously her feet couldn’t touch the ground, and the dog had to scramble in a most undignified manner to keep his paws safe from the man’s boots. When he set her down, gentle as if handling a china doll, they went off together, still chattering at each other, the woman downright draped over the arm the man was providing for her support.<\/p>\n

XxXxXxX<\/p>\n

There were plenty of lessons to be learned from this brief encounter, the dog reflected. Don’t be afraid to seek out unfamiliar situations, for example.<\/p>\n

Likewise, if you want a job done right, do it yourself….<\/p>\n

The dog rose stiffly to his feet, revolving fresh plans in his mind. It would be best to act quickly, he decided; otherwise, judging by the way the hairs along his back were starting to crackle and twist, he might get trapped outside during the unusual summer thunderstorm that was beginning to brew.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
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Author’s Notes:<\/span><\/div>\n
\n

My poker cards for this round were:\u00a0 Cast iron pan, Hotel, Greasing axles, Breaking horses, and Faust.<\/p>\n

The story also includes the C&S words for August (Atomic, Chemical, Elements, Iodine, and Periodic) and two of the September C&S words (Lucifer, Housewife), as well as having a reference to a Tin Badge and\u00a0being 1973 words long.\u00a0It\u00a0thus fulfills the August C&S\/Pinecone #16 double challenge.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u00a0This is not\u2014not really\u2014a poker-story. No exchanges of randomly drawn elements, no cleverly played wildcards, lie behind this simple tale. You will find below no casual references to inky atomic iodine, or any mystical tin badge, whether shining-new or dulled by the weary disappointments of age. No wedding night spent in Virginia City’s best hotel; not even the moment when a newly-married man walks into the kitchen to discover his wife with a book in one hand and a cast-iron frying pan in the other. No explanations about how the author of that book (to wit: one Miss Catharine Beecher) is, indeed, a sister of the better known lady who penned\u00a0Uncle Tom’s Cabin<\/em>, or how surprised the wife is when her husband makes that connection for himself. No references to how much extra work the periodic greasing of axles creates for the women of a ranch when compared to the seemingly more strenuous breaking of untamed horses, since dirt, sweat, and muck will all pass away after time and much labor by laundresses\u2014that being part of their natural chemical properties\u2014but axle grease remaineth forever. None of those truths are further discussed below. This is not a poker-story; not really.<\/p>\n

It is nothing but a story presented for your pleasure, and perhaps (if it should be so fortunate) your more serious consideration.
\nThe Moment Not Eternal<\/strong>
\nIt was no use; she couldn’t sleep.<\/strong><\/p>\n

And really, she didn’t much want to. Not with something she’d been hoping to read for years finally tucked in the drawer of her nightstand. It had made the last part of its long journey from Boston only that afternoon, along with a wagonload of supplies. She’d barely had time to unwrap it before hurrying back to the kitchen; the ranch’s needs came before her pleasures, after all. But the ranch didn’t need her at this hour of the night, and neither, it seemed, did she need her sleep. She struck a lucifer and relit her bedside lamp, carefully adjusting the shade so it only lit her side of the bed, and drew the slim volume from its hiding place. With eager fingers she opened it to the title page and sighed with satisfaction.<\/p>\n

CONVERSATIONS WITH GOETHE<\/p>\n

IN THE LAST YEARS OF HIS LIFE,<\/p>\n

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN<\/p>\n

OF<\/p>\n

ECKERMANN.<\/p>\n

By S. M. FULLER.<\/p>\n

It wasn’t, she knew, what she ought to be trying to read. Ralph Waldo Emerson, the Sage of Concord, and that indefatigable translator Margaret Fuller would both have encouraged her to try something by the scholar-poet himself,\u00a0Wilhelm Meister<\/em>\u00a0perhaps or\u00a0The Sorrows of Young Werther<\/em>. Despite the enthusiastic recommendations of those two, however, her courage had failed her. Instead she had settled on this lesser work, the great man’s perceptions filtered through a more ordinary mind, one closer to her own. Nevertheless, this might well be the first step on a glorious journey, with places undreamt-of awaiting her…she turned the page and began.<\/p>\n

Sadly, Miss Fuller’s preface was not ideal reading at the end of a long and laborious day. After her third unsuccessful attempt to make sense of its opening page, the reader flipped impatiently to the end of the book, to see if there was something waiting there that justified so much preparation. Her eye settled on the final paragraph….<\/p>\n

The morning after Goethe’s death, a deep longing seized me to look yet once again upon his earthly garment. His faithful servant, Frederic, opened for me the chamber in which he was laid out. Stretched upon his back, he reposed as if in sleep; profound peace and security reigned in the features of his noble, dignified countenance. The mighty brow seemed yet the dwelling-place of thought. I wished for a lock of his hair; but reverence prevented me from cutting it off. The body lay naked, only wrapped in a white sheet; large pieces of ice had been placed around, to keep it fresh as long as possible. Frederic drew aside the sheet, and I was astonished at the divine magnificence of the form. The breast was so powerful, broad, and arched; the limbs full, and softly muscular; the feet elegant, and of the most perfect shape; nowhere, on the whole body, a trace either of fat or of leanness and decay. A perfect man lay in great beauty before me; and the rapture which the sight caused, made me forget, for a moment, that the immortal spirit had left such an abode. I laid my hand on his heart \u2014 there was a deep silence \u2014 and I turned away to give free vent to my tears.<\/em><\/p>\n

Oh, my. She found herself fanning her warm cheeks, wishing she could do the same for the rest of her overheated body.<\/p>\n

She and her husband had always been…shy with each other. They’d been intimate many times, and both enjoyed it\u2014much to the lady’s embarrassed surprise\u2014but always in the dark, after the lamps were turned not low but off. She liked wearing her nightgown, with all its tucks and frills and lace, and not just because she didn’t dare wear something so romantic and impractical at any other time. She saw no reason why her husband should have to learn that his beloved\u2014she was beloved, surely?\u2014wife was far less shapely by night than she was by day.<\/p>\n

But she’d seen engravings of enough Roman statues that she could easily enough envision what this Mr. Eckermann was describing, knew why he found it so impressive in an eighty-year-old man’s body. She suspected her husband, unclothed, fell far short of such superhuman beauty, just as she was no Aphrodite when stripped of her corsets and unmentionables. And yet there were bodies, things of real flesh and blood, that measured up to that standard (or higher still, because not yet eighty years old).<\/p>\n

Joe Cartwright, for example, was often to be seen shirtless during the warmest part of summer, or whenever hard work had roused him to a sweat\u2014and his nether garments left very little more to the imagination. For those who preferred not to be vulnerable to accusations of cradle-snatching, his father Benjamin’s broad shoulders and powerful torso compared favorably with the rippling muscles of the famous statue of Laocoon struggling with the serpents sent by Minerva to silence the Trojan priest of Neptune. The middle Cartwright son, Hoss, was a little too much of the titan to suit the classical model, but he was awe-inspiring nonetheless. And as for Adam, the eldest of the three younger men….<\/p>\n

Well, it was Adam’s body, as she’d always imagined it, that took, in her mind’s eye, the place of Goethe’s as the disciple admired the earthly garment of his departed master.<\/p>\n

Book folded around her hand, one finger keeping her place in it, the former teacher drifted into reverie, and thence into something deeper….
\n“I can give you,” the shaggy-coated water-dog said, “the pure essence of supreme heart’s-bliss; the holiest moment of highest satisfaction, lasting for eternity. Would this not be worth the trifling little service I request from you in return?”<\/p>\n

She knew, somehow, he was not deceiving her, or at least was telling her no lie. Such apparent impossibility was quite within his powers; he needed only her consent. It did not puzzle her, in that moment, to find such abilities held within the unremarkable beast she’d seen before from time to time on the streets of Virginia City, usually accompanied by an aging but spry miner whose claim was not far from the Ponderosa. The dog was alone now, watching her with eyes almost hidden by long, wavy hair. They glittered, those eyes, in a way she’d never noticed before.<\/p>\n

But so, perhaps, did hers, at the prospect he offered her. Because she had once experienced a moment of such transcendent happiness, though it had faded almost as swiftly as it had come. She had known what it was to have her heart’s dearest wish be granted. To experience that joy again, and eternally…would be worth any price she could pay.<\/p>\n

Adam, her dearest love, singing of his love for her beneath her window. Adam, wonderful Adam\u2014hers. Forever.<\/p>\n

So why did some tiny, crawling worm within the unfolding rose of her heart cry out that she had to refuse? How could something that filled her with such delight and desire be anything but good and holy?<\/p>\n

Well, cruel pedantic memory could supply one reason, perhaps.<\/p>\n

“I made a fool of myself,” she whispered miserably, and then, a little firmer because she knew how much more it would matter to a proud man like Adam, “I made a fool out of him.”<\/p>\n

“What if you did? It would all be forgotten.” Oh, and what a blessing that would be…that voice, that face, those warm strong arms around her always…but no, her nagging prosaic inner voice could not\u2014quite\u2014be silent even now.<\/p>\n

“He went away.”<\/p>\n

This time there was a pause before the smooth confident voice replied\u2014this time with…was it a touch of irritation? “He would be happy with you. So happy he’d never want anything else….”<\/p>\n

“But then he wouldn’t be Adam.”<\/p>\n

It came out weak and quavering, but as soon as she heard the words all her unruly desire, all her yearning after promised bliss was gone. Truth could do that to delusions, and this was rock-solid, well-considered truth. No woman could have held Adam in Nevada for much longer than he’d stayed\u2014otherwise Mrs. William Cartwright would have a different husband and be living in a beautiful, new-built house on the Ponderosa instead of settling for a fresh coat of paint on the old Dayton place. Adam had truly wanted to be the happily married man he’d promised her he would be, if only for little Peggy’s sake. It wasn’t that Laura couldn’t manage to hold onto him; Adam himself hadn’t been able to break his frantic soul to harness.<\/p>\n

Hitching her wagon to such a wandering star might be happiness for some women, no doubt, but not for one like Laura Dayton. Not for one like the former Abigail Jones, either, truth be told. Abigail loved her hearth and home, loved having her familiar, treasured possessions around her, loved most of all being where she could watch the children she’d once taught grow up into fine young men like Mitch Devlin and Joseph Cartwright.<\/p>\n

Better by far to cherish a moment’s innocent foolishness for the fleeting thing it was than to turn it into an iron-barred cage and entrap two helpless souls. “Begone, foul spirit!” she snorted at the Father of Temptations, and banished him with a splendid flick of her hand\u2014which somehow ended up hard against the burning-hot chimney of her reading lamp, threatening to knock it off the nightstand. Fully awake again, she scrabbled to steady the lamp, terrified she’d break its glass or spill its burning oil and in the process disturb the other occupant of her bed.<\/p>\n

There was, after all, something important she’d forgotten in the bedazzlement of temptation\u2014that she had a husband, a man who could link the author of a book of advice for the housewife with the nation’s most famous novelist, and who had promised he was going to read Emerson’s\u00a0Essays<\/em>\u00a0with her that coming winter. Was going to sing for her again\u2014even if he needed to have his favorite mare nearby for courage’s sake. Going, she knew, to spend many long years ahead working himself harder than he’d ever dream of working his horses, or his hired help, to make the best home he could for the woman he loved.<\/p>\n

To give her a life that kept on twisting and climbing and turning into something new, instead of binding itself to one single moment, however seemingly perfect.<\/p>\n

“Good night, my love,” Abigail whispered to the softly snoring Hank. And then she blew out the lamp.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Disclaimer:<\/span>\u00a0All 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.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

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<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summary:\u00a0 That pioneer of education in the Nevada Territory, Miss Abigail Jones, is featured in these three very short stories. \u00a0<\/p>\n

Rated:\u00a0K+ \u00a0WC \u00a05400<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":36,"featured_media":57036,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"template-full-width-post.php","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[23,61],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7218","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-drama","category-missing-scene","wpcat-23-id","wpcat-61-id"],"a3_pvc":{"activated":true,"total_views":903,"today_views":0},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/1999\/12\/Screenshot_20250529_032257_YouTube.jpg?fit=565%2C605&ssl=1","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":17842,"url":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=17842","url_meta":{"origin":7218,"position":0},"title":"A Little Excitement Goes A Long Way (by pantina)","author":"patina","date":"June 1, 2018","format":false,"excerpt":"Summary:\u00a0 \u00a0There's never a dull moment with Little Joe around. 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All is not as it seems in this version of the story. 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