Poltergeist II: Benjy’s Story
Part 4
By Kathleen T. Berney

“Father, PLEASE!” Dolores di Cordova begged, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You MUST come back with us and perform an exorcism for my grandson.”

An exasperated sign exploded from between Adam’s lips, thinned by his escalating anger and frustration, to a near straight line. “Dolores, we agreed— ”

“No, Adam,” she snapped, her voice filled with anger and desperate fear. “YOU agreed. You and Teresa. NOT me.”

“Dolores . . . . ”

Father Brendan Rutherford quelled Adam’s angry protest with a sharp glance. He sat behind the expansive mahogany desk in his study, with elbows resting on its surface, his emerald green eyes moving from Dolores di Cordova to Adam Cartwright, and back again over the tips of his steepled fingers. “Mrs. di Cordova, why do you believe your grandson to be possessed of an evil spirit?” the priest inquired in a quiet voice.

Dolores shot her son-in-law a look of smug triumph, then returned her attention to the priest. “This illness he has,” she replied. “The doctor told us himself that he could do nothing for the boy. He even suggested we consult with a priest.”

“I’m very sorry to hear your son is so ill, Adam,” Father Brendan said. “What, exactly, is the nature of his illness?”

“Doctor Martin told us that Benjy’s symptoms seem to be consistent with an advanced case of Saint Anthony’s fire,” Adam replied. “The only things missing are fever, rash, and gangrene in the extremities. The doctor also told me that he’s of the opinion Benjy’s symptoms are hysterical rather than physical.”

“I see. I trust the other members of your family are symptom free?”

Adam immediately nodded his head. “So far as I know, the only meals my son’s taken since he, his sister, and grandmother arrived, have been at the house. The week before that, they were on the road and ate at the way stations and inns, where the stage stopped.”

“Mrs. di Cordova, I trust you and your granddaughter are symptom free?”

“Yes, Father.”

“As are my father, brothers, sister, Hop Sing, and, as far as I know, the men who work for my father,” Adam added. “If Benjy did truly have an advanced case of Saint Anthony’s fire, we ALL would.”

“ . . . and you are certain your son has not partaken of food from a source apart from the other members of your family?” Father Brendan asked.

“As certain as I can be,” Adam replied.

“Yet this illness is killing him,” Dolores pressed. “It MUST be an evil spirit.”

“Mrs. di Cordova, I’d like a few words alone with Adam, if I may,” the priest said quietly.

“Certainly.”

Father Brendan rose and walked over to the closed door. He put his large, massive hand to the doorknob and turned. “Brother Algernon?”

The portly monk ambled in to the office. “Yes, Father?”

“Brother Algernon, you remember Adam Cartwright?”

Brother Algernon looked over at the eldest of Ben Cartwright’s sons and smiled. “Well, bless my soul,” he murmured softly, grinning from ear-to-ear. “It’s been a long time, Adam . . . too long, in fact.”

“Yes, indeed,” Adam replied, favoring the monk with a warm smile. “Dolores, Brother Algernon Wolfe tutored me in math to help me prepare for Harvard. Brother Algernon, this is my mother-in-law, Dolores di Cordova.”

“Good afternoon, Senora di Cordova,” Brother Algernon acknowledged the introduction in Spanish, with impeccable accent and grammar. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Gracias, Hermano Wolfe,” Dolores murmured graciously.

“Brother Algernon, I need to speak with Adam privately for a few moments,” Father Brendan said. “Would you mind escorting Mrs. di Cordova to the drawing room and serving her a light refreshment?”

“Certainly, Father. Mrs. di Cordova, if you would come with me?”

Father Brendan waited patiently until Dolores and Brother Algernon had left his office, closing the door behind them. “Adam,” he said, returning his attention to the weary, distraught man seated before him, “how are things right now with your family? By family, I mean you, your wife, and the children.”

“Teresa and I are doing just fine,” Adam replied. “The children on the other hand . . . . ” He sighed and dolefully shook his head. “To be candid, Father Brendan, things could definitely stand an improvement.”

“In what way?”

“Well . . . for openers, Benjy, who’s always bought home very high grades ended this school year with a very dismal report,” Adam began dolefully. “He has been passed to the sixth grade on probation because the teacher he had this past year knows he’s more than capable of doing the work. But he’s also made it very clear that if Benjy’s grades don’t improve during the first quarter, however, he’ll be sent back to repeat the fifth grade.”

“Adam, I remember you as being a very bright, very creative, very intelligent young man,” the priest began. “You had, and I would imagine STILL have, an eagerness . . . a willingness to learn, I’ve not seen in anyone else. You graduated with a degree in engineering from Harvard University magna cum laud, no less--- ”

“Father Brendan, are you trying to ask me whether or not I’ve placed demands and expectations on my son that he’s not capable of meeting?” Adam asked, with eyebrow slightly upraised, meeting the priest’s eyes with his own, unflinching.

“Yes,” Father Brendan ruefully admitted, while silently noting how much Adam, with that look on his face, reminded him of Ben. “I had to ask, Adam.”

“I might also add that my wife . . . the boy’s mother . . . was a school teacher, who had the rare privilege of getting a true classical education. As a result, she is quite fluent in Greek and Latin as well as English and her native Spanish,” Adam said, then paused momentarily, to allow the man seated across the desk to absorb the import of those words.

“To answer your question, Father Brendan,” he continued a moment later, speaking in a more kindly tone of voice, “I feel that while Teresa and I certainly expect our children to do their best in their school work and anything else they choose to undertake, I honestly don’t feel we’ve held either one to unrealistically high expectations. In fact we’ve tried our best to avoid that pitfall.”

“I take it Benjy enjoys going to school?”

“Yes . . . very much, up until now at any rate. If you’d ever had an opportunity to listen in on him discussing what he’d learned in school with Eduardo, his maternal grandfather . . . .” Adam managed a wan smile. “You wouldn’t have asked that question.”

“No trouble at school?”

“I just found out yesterday that some of Benjy’s classmates had recently been teasing him about his fear of horses toward the end of the school year,” Adam said ruefully.

“Oh?”

Adam nodded. “As you know, Teresa and I arrived in Virginia City . . . I guess it’s been going on six weeks ago now, so I could be best man for Matt Wilson.”

“Ah yes,” Father Brendan said quietly. A smile tugged hard at the corner of his mouth. “Virginia City’s Wedding of the Century.”

“That’s why I knew nothing about Benjy’s grades or of his troubles with the other children until recently,” Adam explained.

“Who watched over your children during your absence?”

“The di Cordovas . . . Eduardo and Dolores.”

“Am I correct in assuming that they’ve not deliberately sought to withhold any of this from you?”

“No.” Adam emphatically shook his head. “Dolores and I talked about all this yesterday. Neither she nor Eduardo knew about Benjy’s poor report card until the end of the school year. Mister Townsend, Benjy’s teacher, told me in a note included with the boy’s final report, that he had sent a letter home with him to let us know about his declining scholastic performance. Benjy never gave it to his grandparents.”

“What of his troubles with the other children?” the priest asked.

“Dolores told me THAT came out . . . from Dio . . . when the di Cordovas confronted Benjy for lying about having been invited to the birthday celebration of a boy who’s been his best friend since to two of them uttered their first words as babies,” Adam replied. “We’re pretty sure he didn’t want to attend the party because of the teasing from the other children.”

“You mentioned that the boy is afraid of horses,” Father Brendan said.

Adam told the priest about the incident that had taken place during the course of a procession in honor of Saint Francis of Assisi on his Feast Day. “Frankly, I can’t blame the boy for being frightened,” he said quietly. “Facing down a frightened horse bearing down on you can be a real terrifying experience.”

“Have you tried to help your son overcome his fear?”

“No, because neither Teresa nor I had any idea he WAS so terribly afraid of horses until yesterday,” Adam said, his voice filled with remorse and regret.

“Is Benjy a child who comes either to you or your wife when he’s upset about something?” Father Brendan asked.

“He’s always been a quiet child, very shy around people he doesn’t know,” Adam replied. “Sometimes he DOES come to Teresa and me on his own. More often than not, however, we notice that he’s being a little too quiet and end up asking him whether or not something’s wrong.”

“Is he forthcoming when you ask?”

“Yes,” Adam replied. “He has been . . . up until now.”

“Is there anything he else he’s not told you about?” Father Brendan continued. “Besides his report card, his troubles with the other children at school, and his fear of horses, I mean.”

“He’s had some horrendous nightmares since his arrival here,” Adam replied. “One the first night, two last night. He won’t talk about them. He claimed he had forgotten about the first two, but I knew he hadn’t. The third, when I asked him, scared him too much . . . so he claimed anyway.”

“You also intimated that things were not as they should be between him and his sister,” Father Brendan said quietly.

“There’s always been . . . probably always will be a measure of sibling rivalry until such time as they grow out of it,” Adam replied. “Pa’s remarked on many occasions how much they remind him of Joe and me. His observations are accurate.”

“I understand.” A small smile appeared on his lips upon remembering some of the arguments that had arisen in the past between the man seated before him and his youngest brother. The smile very quickly faded. “I take it the children’s relationship with each other right now is something of a nature beyond the sibling rivalry you and your wife are accustomed to dealing with?”

“Yes. Out in the barn yesterday for instance . . . to back track a little, my sister, Stacy, agreed to teach Benjy and Dio how to ride,” Adam explained. “We don’t keep a stable in Sacramento, therefore neither of them has had much opportunity to learn.”

“I take it all this was agreed upon before you and your wife found out that Benjy is afraid of horses.”

Adam nodded. “NOT knowing that, I had sent Benjy out to the barn where Stacy was getting ready to teach Dio how to stable her horse,” he continued. “From what Teresa and I have been able to piece together, the children had a very intense set-to out in the barn.”

“What happened?”

“Based on what the kids and my sister said afterward, Benjy corrected Dio’s grammar in front of Stacy, embarrassing her thoroughly. Dio, in turn, got very angry and ended up humiliating her brother by poking fun at his fear of horses.”

“I see.”

“After a heart-to-heart talk with Grandpa, Dio decided that Benjy didn’t realize how much his correcting her grammar hurt and embarrassed her,” Adam continued. “She told me she needed to apologize to her brother because she’d MEANT to be cruel. Not long after, Dio somehow got herself trapped in the barn. I haven’t been able to get a straight account of exactly what happened. I only know that she was badly frightened . . . and so were our horses. In fact, they still shy away from the barn door.”

“Interesting,” the priest remarked. “What about Dio?”

“She won’t go near the barn either,” Adam replied. “I can’t blame her . . . she was hysterical when we finally got her out. She insists that Benjy was responsible.”

“Was he?”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Any idea as to who WAS?”

“I have my suspicions, but no proof,” Adam replied. “My son’s apparently become acquainted with a boy, I assume to be around his age. His first name is also Benjy. No one seems to know this boy’s last name, and according to my son, he’s not been forthcoming.”

Father Brendan frowned. “He’s not the son of one of the men working for your father?”

“No. Nor is he a visiting relation.”

“Most curious,” Father Brendan mused. “Do you have any idea where this other Benjy came from? Who he might belong to?”

“Unfortunately . . . no,” Adam shrugged helplessly and shook his head. “I’d sure like to know, because we think this boy’s responsible for some other disturbing incidents last night and this morning.”

A quiet knock on the closed door drew Father Brendan and Adam from their conversation. “Please excuse me a moment, Adam,” the former said.

“Certainly.”

The priest rose to his feet, and ambled across the small room to the door. “Yes, Brother Algernon?” he queried upon opening the door.

“It seems you’re very popular this afternoon,” Brother Algernon said wryly. “Hoss and Joe Cartwright are waiting in the parlor. They insist on seeing you at once.”

“Really!” Father Brendan replied.

“Ordinarily, I’d have told those young bucks to be patient and wait their turn,” Brother Algernon pressed, “but Joe insisted it’s an emergency. Father . . . I dunno . . . something in his voice . . . . ”

“Please wait here, Brother Algernon . . . I’ll be right back.”

Brother Algernon nodded.

Father Brendan quietly closed the door, and turned his attention back to Adam. “Brother Algernon just told me that your brothers are here. They said it’s an emergency . . . . ”

Adam blanched. “Oh Dear Lord, I . . . I hope nothing’s happened to Benjy. You’d better ask Brother Algernon to show them in . . . and Dolores, too.”

Brother Algernon returned a few moments later with Dolores di Cordova and the two younger Cartwright sons in tow.

“Hey, Adam, what’re you ‘n Mrs. di Cordova doin’ here?” Hoss asked as he followed Joe, Dolores, and the priest’s housekeeper into the room.

“I was getting ready to ask you two the same thing,” Adam said soberly, rising to his feet. “Has something happened to Benjy?”

“No, not since we left,” Hoss replied.

“Then what, may I ask are the two of YOU doing here? Especially you, Joe!” Adam demanded with an anxious frown. “Pa’s going to skin you alive when he finds out you’ve come into town . . . if I don’t beat him to it.”

“You and Pa will hafta get in line,” Joe said tersely. “Mrs. Wilkens has first dibs on that pleasure. Adam . . . . ”

“What?”

“We . . . Hoss and I . . . KNOW who Benjy’s new friend is . . . or rather . . . who Benjy’s new friend WAS.”

“Was?!” Adam’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Was,” Joe reiterated.

An exasperated sigh exploded from between Adam’s lips. He turned to face his mother-in-law, who had just seated herself primly in the chair he had just vacated. “Dolores, so help me . . . if you’ve put these brothers of mine up to running some kind of a . . . a . . . fool’s errand--- ”

“Adam, I didn’t put your brothers up to anything . . . nor do I have the slightest idea as to what they’re talking about,” Dolores defended herself in a tone of voice, dripping with icicles.

“Hoss . . . . ” Adam turned to his younger, bigger brother with baleful eye. During the course of their growing up years, Hoss, by his own admission, couldn’t lie his way out of a burlap sack. Adam hoped and prayed that hadn’t changed in the years he had been away.

“Mrs. di Cordova’s right, Adam,” Hoss declared, with a glint of steel in his eyes and a fierce determined look on his face. “She’s got nothin’ t’ do with why Joe ‘n me are here.”

Adam saw, with a touch of dismay, that Hoss told the absolute truth. “All right . . . . ” he acquiesced with a weary sigh, “why don’t you begin by telling me who Benjy’s new friend was?”

“His name’s Benjy Menken, Adam.”

Adam’s scowl deepened. “Hoss, that’s NOT funny.”

“Adam . . . do you see either one of us laughing?!” Joe demanded. He folded his arms across his chest and met his oldest brother’s angry glare with a defiant one of his own.

“Who are the Menkens?” Dolores asked.

“The Menkens owned a farm that was located where Ben Cartwright’s house and barn now stand,” Father Brendan quietly answered. “If memory serves, their house was where the barn is . . . more or less. They had six children, Benjy being their second child and the oldest boy.”

“Where are they now, Father?” Dolores asked.

“The children died many years ago of Saint Anthony’s fire.”

“ALL of them?!” Dolores gasped. “All SIX of them?!”

Father Brendan nodded.

“Dear God!” Dolores murmured softly, as she quickly, furtively crossed herself.

“Benjy was the last of the Menken children to die,” Father Brendan continued. “After burying their son, the Menkens . . . the children’s’ parents and paternal grandparents . . . sold the land to Ben Cartwright and left. No one’s seen or heard from them since.”

“I knew it!” Dolores crowed triumphantly. “I KNEW there was an evil spirit in that house, I just KNEW it.”

“Oh great!” Adam muttered, thoroughly exasperated. “This is just great!”

“Mrs. di Cordova, please . . . forgive my bluntness, but Benjy Menken is NOT an evil spirit,” Joe said tersely. “He’s a boy . . . just a boy . . . a sad, frightened, lonely, angry boy . . . who led a very unhappy life the few years he walked this earth, and died before he had much of a chance to change things . . . or . . . or to make something of himself. Adam . . . . ”

“What?” Adam coldly demanded.

“You remember the strange occurrences that happened just after my thirteenth birthday . . . when Billy Caine told me that Pa wasn’t my pa?” Joe demanded.

“Yes, I remember,” Adam said stiffly. “What does that have to do with my son, or for that matter, with Benjy Menken?”

“It was the spirit of Benjy Menken who came after me then,” Joe explained. “I’m sure of it.”

“Joe, that’s ridiculous!” Adam hotly protested.

“No, it’s NOT! Think about it, Adam,” Joe urgently pressed. “At the time, I’d honestly come to believe that the men I’d always thought were my father and my brothers. . . weren’t. I can’t begin to tell ya how scared . . . how desperately lonely . . . and yes, how angry that made me feel. Benjy Menken picked up on all that, because that’s the way HE felt then . . . and that’s the way he STILL feels now.”

“All right,” Adam said stiffly. “For the sake of argument, let’s say we ARE dealing with the spirit of Benjy Menken. I have to admit . . . reluctantly . . . that you make a good case as to why he would have come for you when he did. That DOESN’T explain why he’d come for Benjy CARTWRIGHT.”

“I think it DOES, Adam,” Father Brendan said quietly.

“Excuse me?” Adam demanded, sparing no pains, no energy to conceal his growing ire and frustration, priest or no priest.

“Think back on everything you just told me,” Father Brendan kindly, yet very firmly suggested. “The similarities between Joe’s situation then . . . and your son, Benjy’s situation now . . . will become clear.”

Adam set aside his fears for his son and all the exasperation, anger, and frustration he felt toward present company, and gave grudging thought to the priest’s words. “Yes . . . . ” he finally said in a voice barely audible, filled with great remorse. “Yes . . . I . . . I see . . . . ”

“Thank God!” Dolores breathed a genuine, heartfelt, if brief, prayer of gratitude. “Then you’ll come, Father? You’ll come and bless the house? Drive out that boy’s spirit?”

“I’ll come, Mrs. di Cordova . . . if Adam, Hoss, and Joe also agree . . . but as Joe so aptly pointed out . . . Benjy Menken is no daemon, or evil spirit,” Father Brendan said. “Though his body died many years ago, he is still a human being . . . and like ALL human beings . . . possesses free will.”

“Are you saying you WON’T do the exorcism, Father?” Dolores demanded, indignant, not fully comprehending.

“No, Dolores,” Adam said gently. “I think the good father is trying to tell us he can splash holy water, say the words of exorcism, even burn sage as is the custom of some of the Indian tribes who make their homes here, until . . . until the cows come home as my brother, Hoss, here would say . . . but none of it’ll do one bit of good against a sad, frightened, lonely, and angry boy . . . who doesn’t want to go.”

“Then . . . what’ll we do?!” Dolores wailed.

“Father . . . . ”

All eyes turned toward the open door between Father Rutherford’s office and the small ante room just beyond. An elderly woman stood at the threshold. She had pulled the long, wispy strands of snow-white hair back away from her gaunt face, and secured them with a plain wooden barrette. Her pallid complexion, the dark, half-moon shaped circles under her eyes, the slight tremor in both hands, and the way her clothing bagged on her slight, emaciated frame bespoke of a lengthy illness from which she had very recently begun to recover.

“ . . . perhaps I might be of assistance?”

“Mrs. Smith!” Father Brendan exclaimed, astonished and deeply concerned for her well being. He shot right out of his chair and barreled around his desk, narrowly missing a head on collision with Hoss, who stood next to the chair, occupied by his younger brother. “Dear Lord in Heaven!” he murmured softly as he crossed the room. “Mrs. Smith, you . . . you really ought to be in bed. Let me call Brother Algernon--- ”

“Father, time is precious and fleeting” Lee Smith said in a very firm, no nonsense tone of voice that carried within it a subtle note of urgency. “We must leave for the Ponderosa at once.”

Adam stared at the woman, whom the priest had just addressed as Mrs. Smith with a perplexed frown. He had met her before, he was certain of it, but try as he might, he simply could not remember where or when.

“ . . . uhh, Ma’am?” Hoss ventured hesitantly, eyeing her gaunt, emaciated frame apprehensively.

Lee turned her attention to Hoss, but remained silent.

“Ma’am, it’s a long way out t’ the Ponderosa, over some real bumpy roads,” Hoss continued. “I hope y’ won’t be embarrassed none by my plain way o’ speakin’ but from the look of ya . . . you just plain ‘n simple ain’t up t’--- ”

“They . . . uhhh, they call you . . . Hoss . . . right?”

“Yes, ‘m.”

“I appreciate your concern, but there’s no need,” Lee continued in a very calm, matter-of-fact tone of voice. “BENJY’S the one who matters now.”

“Mrs. Smith, please,” Father Brendan begged, “rest assured we’re going to do all we can to help Benjy . . . Cartwright AND Menken. You . . . risking injury . . . possibly your life--- ”

“Father, nothing . . . least of all a buggy trip from here out to the Ponderosa over a few bumpy roads . . . can inflict any lasting harm on me any more,” Lee said firmly. There was a glint of steel in those deep sapphire blue eyes the priest had not seen in a very long time. “But, we need to leave now . . . right now, this minute . . . in order to save Benjy. I just hope and pray we aren’t already too late.”

“Father Brendan . . . . ”

“Yes, Adam?”

“I left our buggy and horses tethered to the post outside,” Adam said briskly. “Would YOU be good enough to drive it, and take Mrs. Smith, my mother-in-law, AND my youngest brother with you?”

“ME?!” Joe yelped.

“Yes, YOU, Little Brother,” Adam replied.

“How will YOU get back, Adam?” Dolores ventured, hesitant and uncertain.

“I’ll ride back with Hoss . . . on Joe’s horse,” Adam replied.

“Aww NO!! Doggone it, Adam, I’m perfectly capable of making it home on Cochise--- ”

“No, you ain’t,” Hoss said firmly.

“Hoss---!”

“We ain’t got time for me t’ be arguin’ with ya, Li’l Brother, so I’m givin’ ya a choice. You can ride back in t’ buggy with Father Brendan ‘n the ladies . . . or you can ride on Chubb with me,” Hoss said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument, no further discussion of the matter. “Now which’ll it be?”

“All right . . . all RIGHT! I’ll go in the buggy,” Joe said, glaring murderously at both of his brothers.

Ben Cartwright, meanwhile, sat before his desk, with both elbows resting on either side of an open ledger book, gingerly massaging his temples against what promised to be, if not the worst headache he’d ever suffered, then something awfully close to it.

Sadly, the only changes in his grandson’s condition continued to be for the worse. Teresa had moved the boy upstairs to the room she and Adam shared, with Hop Sing’s able assistance, earlier that day, after the family had eaten breakfast.

“ . . . what there was of breakfast to eat,” Ben muttered just under his breath.

“Hop Sing said it’s the warmest room in the house,” his daughter-in-law said, by way of explanation, “and . . . Adam and I both can stay close. If you’d rather we DIDN’T move him--- ”

“If moving him upstairs will help make him more comfortable, then by all means, go ahead,” Ben readily assented.

She had nodded her thanks, then turned to leave, to go back to her son, hers and Adam’s, who clearly to one and all . . . even if no one spoke of it . . . was in fact lying on his deathbed.

“Teresa . . . . ” he very gently called to her.

She stopped and waited.

“I’m very sorry all this has happened . . . . ”

“It’s not YOUR fault, Ben,” Teresa said. Though she spoke calmly, her eyes were unusually bright, and blinked to excess. She turned again, with the intention of returning to the bedroom downstairs, where Hop Sing worked at getting the still insensate boy ready for the move upstairs. “Ben?” she queried, pausing at the closed door, with her fingers loosely wrapped around the knob.

“Yes, Teresa?”

“I want you to know that I don’t believe for one minute you have an evil spirit haunting this house,” she said firmly, with anger now mingling with worry and grief. “I . . . I’m sorry if Mother--- ”

“You needn’t apologize for your mother, Teresa,” Ben said kindly. “You’re NOT responsible for her thoughts and opinions . . . and if this will help ease your mind . . . . ” As much as her mind could be eased given the circumstances. “I’ve come to realize that people sometimes ascribe to beliefs I personally have difficulty understanding let alone believing in myself, but, by and large, I don’t take offense.”

He was gratified to see a small measure of tension leave her body. “Thank you, Ben,” she said very quietly, before disappearing inside the room. “I appreciate that.”

Dio had undergone a dark transformation from the happy, eager, and rambunctious child who arrived at the stage depot in Virginia City a day and a half ago, to a sullen child, more quiet and withdrawn than her older brother had ever been, fearful of letting her mother out of her sight. Ben had tried to interest the child in a game of checkers several times throughout the day, and after dinner, he had invited her to partake of a big tall glass of lemonade with him outside on the porch, in the hope of giving mother and desperately ill son upstairs some much needed breathing space. Dio, however, would have none of it.

“Pa . . . the worst thing ‘bout all this . . . worse, even than comin’ home that day n’ . . . n’ . . . f-findin’ out she was dyin’ . . . was knowin’ I couldn’t be WITH her.”

Hoss’ words, tearfully uttered a few days after Emily Pennington , a young woman he had come to care for very deeply, had left with a wagon train for San Francisco . . . .

. . . to die.

In a hospital, presumably.

Alone.

“Perhaps it IS for the best if Dio stays with Teresa and Benjy . . . . ” Ben reluctantly decided, sure in his own mind things couldn’t possibly get any worse . . . .

. . . that was, of course, was before he had stopped by Joe’s room, to check up on HIM, after Teresa and Hop Sing had gotten Benjy settled in upstairs, and found him no where in sight. Worse, Hoss was also gone. The only child of his that he was able to locate . . . finally . . . stood out by the corral, ostensibly watching their horses, looking guiltier than sin . . . .

“All right, Young Woman,” Ben Cartwright addressed his daughter in a very low, dangerously quiet voice, as thought and mind returned to present time and place, “you and I are going to go over this once more FROM the beginning.”

Stacy stood in front of the desk, with hands loosely clasped behind her back, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“THIS time,” Ben continued, seething with anger, all but consumed with frustration, worry, and grief, “I expect you to tell me the truth . . . the WHOLE truth . . . pure and simple . . . WITHOUT. embellishments. If you don’t, we’ll continue this discussion . . . OUT IN THE BARN.” He lifted his head, and favored her with a dark scowl, as he uttered those last few words. “Do I make myself clear?”

Stacy swallowed nervously. “Y-Yes, Sir,” she replied.

“Good,” Ben said, satisfied that from here on out, she would level with him and tell him exactly what was going on between Joe, Hoss, and herself. “First question,” he snapped. “Where have your brothers gone? By brothers, I mean HOSS and JOE.” This last he added wryly. “And I don’t want to hear any more nonsense about Joe running off half cocked, out of his head, and Hoss going after him.”

“They, ummm . . . they . . . w-went to . . . to, uhhh . . . . ”

“Spit it out, Girl,” Ben growled.

“They went to Virginia City, Pa--- ”

“They . . . WHAT?!” Ben roared.

“They went to Virginia City, Pa,” Stacy said again, very quickly, with healthy doses of fear and trembling.

“When was THIS?”

“I’m not sure . . . an hour, maybe a little less . . . before Hop Sing told us dinner was ready.”

“ . . . AND YOU DIDN’T SEE FIT TO TELL ANYONE?!”

“Pa, Joe said he HAD to go into town immediately if not sooner, because Benjy’s life depends on it.” Stacy’s words tumbled out of her mouth, one after the other, in a disconcerted rush.

“Stacy . . . . ”

She swallowed nervously once again upon hearing all too clearly the threatening note in her father’s voice. “That’s the truth, Pa. Honest! It IS!” she said again, this time with a pleading note in her voice. “Joe told Hoss and me he had to go into town and research something. We offered to do it for him, but he told us he didn’t have time to tell us what he needs to know.”

Ben folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back in his chair. “You KNOW what Doctor Martin said earlier,” he said slowly, in a tone of voice too even, too carefully measured.

“Yes, Sir,” Stacy responded warily, with fast sinking heart. Whenever her father spoke thusly to her or her brothers, it was almost always a very bad sign.

“Then I trust you have some idea as to how dangerous it is for him to be gallivanting about all over the country side,” Ben continued, his voice rising.

“Y-Yes, Sir . . . . ”

“Then WHY didn’t you tell me that he had gone?!” Ben demanded. “Or . . . perhaps MORE to the point . . . why didn’t you and Hoss stop him?”

“H-He said something about a . . . a strange incident that happened when he was thirteen years old,” Stacy said.

This drew a sharp, penetrating glance from her father.

“I have no idea what he meant by that, Pa,” Stacy said nervously, with a helpless shrug. “I-I’m pretty sure Joe wasn’t talking out of his head or anything like that, because Hoss seemed to know about . . . whatever . . . whatever it was . . . . ”

“What . . . exactly . . . did Joe say about that incident?” Ben asked, lowering his voice. His eyes darted momentarily toward the stairs.

“He told Hoss the spirit that plagued him then is plaguing Benjy NOW,” Stacy said, unconsciously taking her cue from Ben and lowering her voice as well. “I tried to ask questions, Pa, but they told me they’d explain it all to me later.”

“I . . . I thought that . . . that thing . . . had been exorcized . . . laid to rest,” Ben muttered angrily, through clenched teeth.

“HOSS said that, too,” Stacy said, “but Joe told him . . . that he . . . that he had stopped it then, but— ”

The sound horses galloping at full speed into the yard, cut Stacy off mid-sentence and drew her attention, and her father’s to the front door.

“Stay here!” Ben tersely ordered his daughter. He quickly rose to his feet and beat a straight path toward the front door. “Sooo . . . help . . . me . . . . ” he angrily muttered under his breath. “Soo-oooo-ooo . . . HELP me . . . if that young scallywag’s just galloped that pinto of his into the yard, banged up as he is---!”

The front door burst wide open a split second before Ben would taken hold of the latch. Acting entirely by instinct, he sidestepped, just before his oldest son barreled headlong into the house. Hoss followed his older brother close behind, moving at a brisk, yet more decorous pace.

Adam froze upon catching sight of his father, his entire body tense, and pressed tight against the credenza, gazing over at him through eyes round with shock and astonishment.

“Pa?! Pa, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you w-were . . . that y-you were--- ”

“It’s all right, Adam,” Ben said in as calm a voice as he could muster. “I’M all right . . . no harm done.”

Adam closed his eyes and slowly exhaled the breath he had been holding.

“Were you and Dolores able to speak with Brendan?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Adam replied, nodding his head. “Father Brendan’s coming . . . he and the others should be along in a few minutes. Pa . . . . ”

“Yes, Son?”

“Where’s Teresa?”

“Upstairs,” Ben replied. “She and Hop Sing moved Benjy up to your old room. Dio’s with them.”

“Do me a couple of favors?”

“Of course, Son.”

“I think it best if I talk with Teresa privately,” Adam explained. “I’m going to send Dio downstairs. Would you mind looking after her?”

“Not in the least.”

“You can enlist Dolores’ help when she arrives with Father Brendan,” Adam continued. “She can be quite the handful, as you’ve seen . . . and that WILL occupy Dolores while I talk with Teresa.”

A grim task Ben for which didn’t envy his son one bit, if that argument between Mother and Daughter earlier was any kind of indication. He also found himself silently wishing to high heaven Dio WOULD prove to be a rambunctious handful, but sadly knew that such wouldn’t be.

“Don’t worry about Dio or Dolores either, Son,” Ben said. “I’ll make sure they’re kept occupied. You’ll let me know when it’s all right to send Father Brendan upstairs?”

“I will, Pa . . . and thank you.” Adam, then, turned and bolted up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.

“Young Man, if you know what’s good for ya . . . you’ll stop right where you are,” Ben growled, after Adam had gone upstairs. He knew without looking that Hoss was half way through the dining room, on a path that would take him though the kitchen and right out the back door.

“ . . . uhhh, Lordy,” Hoss groaned very softly.

“That’s better,” Ben observed in a tone of voice deceptively calm, gratified to see that his middle son had literally halted in his flight mid-stride. “Now why don’t the two of us g’won over and join your sister, who’d BETTER be waiting beside my desk.”

“Yessir,” Hoss reluctantly surrendered to the inevitable.

“On the way, you can tell me where Joe is,” Ben invited.

Benjy Cartwright knelt down beside his sister and peered into the tear stained face with a smile of immense satisfaction. She sat on the floor, near the foot of Mother and Papa’s bed, with her arms clasped tight around legs drawn up close to her body, and head resting heavily upon her knees. Her eyelids, upper lip, and cheeks were red and swollen, painfully so by the look of them. Tears flowed unchecked from her eyes, down her cheeks, all the way to her chin.

“I tol’ja she’d be sorry . . . . ”

He raised his head and found his friend, Benjy, standing over him and Dio, clad in a pair of well-worn overalls, with no shirt. The unruly tangle of curls on top of his head looked as if they hadn’t felt the business end of a comb for at least a week . . . maybe even a whole month. He smiled triumphantly.

“ . . . and SHE’S gonna be the sorriest one of all,” he continued with grim relish, “because they’re gonna HATE her.”

“They . . . who?”

“Everyone,” the other Benjy replied, speaking with the bland matter-of-factness of one who knows absolutely, beyond any shred of doubt whatsoever, “your mother ‘n father, your grandmother, your grandpa, your uncles and aunt . . . even the China man. He’ll hate her, too.”

“No, they WON’T!” Benjy said in a sullen tone of voice, as he replayed the events over the past few days.

“Yes, they will.”

“They won’t!”

“They WILL, I tell ya . . . . ”

“No!” he said bitterly. “They WON’T! It’ll be just like all the other times she said and did mean things . . . or she wouldn’t sit still, ‘n do what she was told. Something happens . . . something ALWAYS happens! She gets sick, or she cries, or . . . or does other things, and they forget.”

“Well, they won’t forget THIS time,” the other Benjy insisted.

“How do YOU know?” he demanded.

“I just know,” his friend smugly assured him. “THIS time, they WON’T forget when she was bad, or the mean, nasty things she said and did . . . and they’re gonna remember all the lies she said about ya, too,” his friend assured him. “I seen it happen. Not lots o’ times, but enough t’ know it does.”

“You have? Really?”

“Yep . . . ‘n you know what else?”

“What?”

“The biggest reason why they’re gonna hate her is . . . they’re gonna think it’s HER fault you got so sick and--- ” He suddenly broke off and looked away.

“ . . . they’re gonna think it’s her fault I got sick and . . . what?” he asked, trying to ignore the uneasiness that had just begun to gnaw deep within the pit of his stomach.

“Nothin’!” the other Benjy snapped, then brightened. “Come on. Let’s go out ‘n play.”

“What ELSE were you going to say?” he pressed.

“I tol’ja! Nuthin’!”

“Was SO!”

“Was NOT!”

“YES, IT WAS!” he yelled, then braced himself for a reprimand from Mother, who sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hand tightly between both of hers.

“She can’t hear you, Stupid, Stupid Head,” the other boy taunted him, his voice filled with cruel scorn and derision.

“Benjy, I’m NOT gonna go outside and play with you unless you tell me what ELSE you were gonna say,” he declared as he rose to his feet, bound and determined to have his way in this. He was getting sick and tired of the other Benjy calling him stupid head, and he wasn’t real sure he particularly cared for the way he bossed him around all the time.

“I CAN’T, ‘cause whatever it was . . . I forgot,” the other Benjy said in a sullen tone of voice. “Now come on--- ”

“No.” Though it was lots of fun when it started, he was fast growing bored and uneasy with this dream about running around invisible to the eyes and ears of everyone around him, everyone that is except the boy who yet loomed high over him and Dio like a vulture, waiting.

He had no regret about making Dio sorry, and making everyone else hate her. That was nothing less than what she deserved, especially after the way she made fun of him about his fear of horses in front of Aunt Stacy and later, when she lied and said he had been the one to scare her so badly in the barn.

But the others . . . .

. . . memories rose of the stories Grandpa Ben told of all the strange and wonderful places he’d visited, and people he’d met many years ago when he was a sailor, serving as first mate to Great Grandfather Stoddard aboard a ship called Wonderer. The words and the wondrous pictures they invoked all crammed into his head at once, filling it to near aching, just the way his stomach felt whenever he ate too much.

He remembered the stories Papa told, too, of all the places he’d been, the adventures he’d had before he met and married Mother.

The best stories of all though, were the ones Papa and Grandpa Ben told of the years they’d spent traveling thousands of miles across this land of their birth, all the way from Boston to Nevada. He enjoyed hearing stories about Grandma Inger, too.

Remembering all those stories began to stir anew his own secret dreams of visiting the places Papa and Grandpa Ben had spoken of, and seeing them for himself.

A bark of derisive laughter turned his remembering and the feelings they stirred within him from things that had seemed so solid, so real, he could reach out and take hold of them, to wisps of cloud and smoke that rose out from between his fingers to be scattered by the wind.

“Just a bunch o’ nuthin’!” the other Benjy snorted with disdain. “Nuthin’ but a bunch o’ lies ‘n tall tales made up by drunk ol’ men who ain’t got nuthin’ better t’ do . . . ‘n they’re always tellin’ ‘em t’ folks that got better things t’ do than sit around ‘n listen to ‘em. That’s what my pa says . . . . ”

“I don’t care WHAT your pa says!” Benjy said defiantly.

“You better watch what you say ‘bout my pa,” the other boy warned.

“Why?” he hotly demanded. “Why should I watch what I say about a man who’d go off and leave his boy, and not come back? Your pa doesn’t sound like he’s a very nice man . . . ‘n he’s a liar!”

“Oh, no he ain’t!”

“HE IS SO, TOO!”

“HE AIN’T!”

“HE IS!”

“TAKE IT BACK!”

“NO!”

“TAKE IT BACK, OR ELSE!”

“OR ELSE WHAT?!”

“OR ELSE I’LL . . . I’LL . . . YOU BIG, DUMB, STUPID, STUPID, STUPID! STAY HERE IF YA WANT TO! I’LL GO PLAY BY MYSELF!”

“WELL YOU CAN JUST GO RIGHT AHEAD!”

The other Benjy just stood there, glaring at him with a mixture of anger, surprise, smugness and something else . . . something he couldn’t recall ever seeing in the other Benjy’s face before.

Fear.

“Big dumb stupid head!” the other Benjy growled in a voice low and menacing, before turning heel and fleeing across the room, beating a straight path to the door.

As Father Brendan maneuvered the Cartwrights’ buggy around the barn and on into the yard, Dolores di Cordova, exhaled a long, slow sigh of relief upon seeing Doctor Martin’s conveyance nowhere in sight. The priest brought the horses to a stop in front of the hitching post next to the house, then clambered down, with an ease and agility, not commonly seen in a man of his years.

“Joe, you stay put for a moment,” Father Brendan sternly exhorted the youngest Cartwright son, as he ran around the back of the buggy to the passengers’ side of the front seat, to give Dolores a hand in getting down. “I’ll be around to help you and Mrs. Smith as soon as I see to Mrs. di Cordova.”

With a soft groan, Joe glanced up at the heavens, silently demanding of anyone who just might be listening, “Geeze Loo-weeze, why ME?” He sighed, then grumbled aloud, “Just because a guy has a couple o’ black ‘n blue marks on ‘im--- ”

“In YOUR case, Joe, I think it would be more accurate to say a couple of black and blue marks ALL OVER him,” the priest retorted, as he reached up and lifted Dolores from the buggy and set her down on Terra Firma.

“Oh, fuuu-uuuuhhh-neee!” Joe groused. “A few bruises does NOT mean I’m an invalid.” He grabbed hold of the back of the driver’s seat for support, then gingerly eased himself from the buggy to the ground, grimacing against the agonizing protest of stiff joints and bruised muscles. Once both feet were planted firmly on the ground, he took a deep breath, then reached up a hand toward Lee Smith, who had ridden out from Virginia City in the seat next to him. “Ma’am, if you need a hand getting d-d-d-uuuhhh--- ”

Joe’s words died away to stunned silence when he looked up and saw only an empty seat. Lee Smith was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, Benjy, why?” Teresa silently agonized for the thousandth time. “Why?”

She sat on the edge of the bed, holding Benjy’s cold, flaccid hand sandwiched between both of her own, occasionally rubbing them in a desperate, valiant attempt to will warmth and life back into it.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day she and Adam had left Sacramento to come here, so that he might be the best man in the wedding of an old friend. They, her parents, her youngest brother, Miguel, Benjy, and Dio were gathered at the stage depot to see them off . . . .

“Teresa . . . Adam . . . don’t you DARE worry about a thing,” her father, Eduardo di Cordova, exhorted with a reassuring smile. “Benjy and Dio will be just fine here with their grandmother and me.”

“I’ll look in on ‘em, too,” Miguel promised, “and make sure Mother and Father aren’t spoiling ‘em too rotten.”

“Uh oh . . . . ” Adam groaned. “Teresa, I think you and I’d better change our plans again pronto!” He turned and favored Miguel, the youngest of his three brothers-in-law, with a withering, jaundiced glare. “If there’s anyone . . . anyone at all in this world who spoils our children worse than your parents and my father . . . it’s YOU.”

“Mea culpa!” Miguel quipped with that saucy grin of his. “But, hey! That’s what indulgent uncles are for.”

“Stop that, Miguel,” Dolores chided her youngest son, “before Adam and Teresa really DO change their plans.”

“Adam . . . Teresa . . . you have MY solemn word that the children WILL attend to their school work . . . though there’s never any problem with Benjy in that regard . . . and they WILL go to bed on time,” Eduardo promised. “In return, I want the both of YOU to have a good, safe journey and, for heaven’s sake, enjoy yourselves.”

“We will, Eduardo,” Adam promised.

“ . . . and one more thing, Adam . . . . ”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Please give my regards to your papa?”

“I certainly will. I’m sorry you won’t be accompanying Dolores and the children later.”

“As am I, Adam. I was looking forward to seeing Ben again, and your brothers. We’ve not seen THEM since the wedding.”

“Not to mention my sister, who I’M going to be meeting face to face for the first time.”

“Unfortunately, some pressing business has come up . . . . ”

At that juncture, Teresa remembered turning her attention to the children. Benjy, as usual, sat on the bench over next to the stage depot building with nose firmly entrenched in book. Dio, a veritable tornado packed into human form, skipped in circles around her exasperated, weary grandmother, much to the great delight of her uncle, Miguel.

“Dio . . . and, you, too, Benjy . . . . ”

At the sound of her voice, her daughter halted mid-stride and her son glanced up from his book.

“I expect both of you to be on your best behavior for your grandparents. That means doing your school work when you first come home, minding what they say— ”

“I’ll be good, Mother, I promise,” Dio said in a very solemn tone of voice.

Benjy smiled a small, Mona Lisa kind of smile, nodded assent, and returned to his book . . . .

All had SEEMED well that day . . . .

Teresa wracked her brains, searching the memories of her son in the weeks before, going back to the day she and Adam had decided to come a month early, searching desperately for something . . . anything, no matter how small or insignificant, that might have been an indicator of the events that had finally led them all to THIS impasse. She couldn’t decide which would be the most heartbreaking, should the unthinkable come to pass . . . .

Seeing a sign of something NOW that she had missed seeing then?

Or find absolutely nothing.

“Teresa?”

She turned slowly at the sound of her name and found herself gazing up into the pale, weary, frightened face of her husband.

“How is he?”

“The same,” she replied listlessly, turning her attention back to their son, his pale skin alarmingly translucent, his eyes closed. “Where’s Mother?”

“She’ll be along in a few minutes,” Adam replied, then turned to his daughter, still seated on the floor near the foot of the bed. “Dio . . . . ”

The child glanced up sharply. “Y-Yes, Pa?”

“I want you to go downstairs and visit with your grandpa for a little while,” Adam said. “I need to speak privately with your mother.”

“No,” the girl adamantly shook her head. “I don’t wanna go, Pa. I wanna stay here, with you, Ma, ‘n Benjy.”

“Do as your father says, Dio,” Teresa said sternly.

“No, Ma . . . please. I wanna stay here,” Dio whined.

“Dio . . . . ” Adam said sternly, his brows coming together to form an angry scowl.

“No, Adam, please! Let her be,” Teresa sighed. “We can step out in the hall for a few minutes.”

“All right,” Adam reluctantly agreed. “Dio . . . . ”

“Yes, Pa?”

“I need to speak to your mother privately for a few minutes,” Adam said. “We’ll be right outside in the hall. I want you to keep an eye on Benjy.”

Dio very solemnly nodded her head.

“Am I correct in assuming that the priest you and Mother went to see is coming?” she asked, after she and her husband had stepped out into the hall closing the door behind them. There was a sharp, angry edge to her tone of voice.

“Yes, but ONLY to pray with our son and . . . and with anyone ELSE who wishes it,” Adam replied. “He may also bless the house, if Pa gives him permission, but he is NOT going to perform an exorcism.”

“Do I have your word on that?”

“Yes, Teresa. You have my word.”

Teresa nodded, satisfied. Though wary of Mother Church and her priests, she did trust her husband. “When they come, you may invite them up,” she said. “As I told Mother before, I have no objections to anyone saying prayers.” She turned with the intention of going back into the bedroom.

“Teresa . . . . ”

“Yes, Adam?”

“There’s more . . . . ”

Adam closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Teresa, I want you to promise me that you’ll listen to what I have to say . . . to everything I have to say . . . without argument or interruption,” he began.

Her face immediately darkened with anger. “Adam, you promised me . . . you PROMISED me . . . that the priest wasn’t going to do an exorcism--- ”

“He’s NOT,” Adam said curtly. “Teresa, please--- ”

“All right!” she snapped. “I’ll listen.”

“ . . . without argument or interruption?”

An exasperated sigh exploded from between her lips. “Without interrupting or arguing,” Teresa promised through clenched teeth.

“First of all,” he began, “I want to assure you that I don’t believe for one minute that Benjy’s illness is the result of his being possessed by an evil spirit.”

The scowl on Teresa’s face deepened. She folded her arms tight across her chest, and waited, determined to honor the promise she had made, no matter how difficult.

“However . . . I . . . DO believe that he’s come under the influence of a ghost,” Adam continued, “the ghost of a boy, whose name is . . . WAS . . . also Benjy, who died when he was a little older than our Benjy is now.”

“Adam, surely you don’t believe in--- ”

“Generally speaking, no. I DON’T believe in ghosts,” Adam replied. “MOST of the time, if you look hard enough, there’s a logical explanation. This, unfortunately, it NOT one of those times.”

“Adam?”

“Yes, Teresa?”

“Before you continue, may I ask you one question?”

“All right . . . . ” Adam replied warily.

“Did MOTHER tell the priest---?!”

“No, Teresa. Dolores said nothing about ghosts,” Adam immediately replied.

“If SHE didn’t bring up the subject of ghosts . . . then, who DID?” she asked, suspicious and wary, yet curious in spite of her best intentions.

“Joe,” Adam replied.

“Joe?!” she echoed, astonished. “What was JOE doing in town? Didn’t Doctor Martin---?!”

Adam nodded. “Yes, Doctor Martin DID order Joe to stay in bed for the remainder of the day, and to take things very easy,” he replied, “but when my baby brother gets a proverbial burr under his saddle . . . . ” He raised his face to the heavens, with a wry roll of the eyes. “Joe was . . . and IS . . . convinced that Benjy, OUR Benjy’s life depended on him getting into town and doing a bit of historical research about the family who lived here before us . . . and, upon finding out what he did, paid Father Brendan a visit--- ”

“ . . . in order to find out what to do about it,” Teresa finished. “Adam, to be absolutely honest, I don’t WANT to ask this next question, but I must . . . mainly because Joe, although young and . . . and very much like Miguel in many ways . . . . ” She shook her head, perplexed and bewildered. “If HE believes there’s a ghost . . . not that I’m completely ruling out the possibility of a good sound LOGICAL explanation somewhere . . . . ” This last she added very quickly, with a touch of defiance.

“I understand, Sweetheart.”

Teresa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What . . . exactly, did Joe tell you about this other Benjy . . . this supposed ghost of a boy who died when he was just a little older than our son now?” she asked reluctantly.

Adam told Teresa everything he knew about Benjy Menken, and about the strange, frightening incidents that had centered around Joe at the age thirteen. “At the time, Joe honest and truly believed that Pa wasn’t his father and that Hoss and I weren’t really his brothers,” Adam continued. “The things Joe felt then . . . are very close to what our son has been feeling . . . starting from around the time you and I left Sacramento. Those feelings have apparently roused Benjy Menken’s ghost from its slumber . . . when JOE was thirteen AND now . . . because BENJY’S grief stricken . . . lonely . . . frightened . . . and very angry.”

Teresa silently mulled over and digested everything Adam had just shared with her. There was so much to take in. “ . . . so much,” she mused silently. For so long, for as long as she could remember in fact, she had believed as her father did in the things that could be seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and touched, leaving things of the spirit to her devout mother and her oldest brother, Ricardo, the mystic in the family.

“Teresa?” Adam gently prompted, at length, as his wife began to pace slowly in front of the closed door to his old room, with head bowed and arms folded tight across her chest. “Teresa, please . . . talk to me?”

She stopped, and when she turned, he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears. “Adam,” she sobbed, “ever since . . . ever since that set-to between the kids in the b-barn, and . . . and finding out about Benjy’s dismal report c-card, I . . . I’ve been wracking my brains trying to find a sign . . . something that w-would’ve indicated that . . . that something was t-terribly wrong . . . . ”

“Did you find anything?”

Teresa vigorously shook her head, unable to speak.

“I haven’t either,” Adam said very quietly, drawing a sharp look of surprise from his wife.

“Oh, Adam, I . . . I’ve n-never . . . in m-my whole life ever . . . f-felt so . . . so helpless,” she continued, weeping piteously, “I-I’m like a . . . a b-boat cast adrift . . . with no rudder . . . n-no mast or s-sail . . . not even a single star in the n-night sky to . . . to guide me . . . to tell me where I am . . . where I . . . where I might b-be heading . . . . ”

“I know exactly how you feel, Sweetheart,” Adam said softly, his own voice breaking, as he gathered his wife into his arms, “because I . . . I feel the same way.” He felt her pressing very close, her arms tightening about his waist with strength born of terror and desperation.

“Adam?”

“Yes, Teresa?”

“I . . . most of the t-time I . . . I have a l-lot of difficulty believing in G-God,” she sobbed. “You think m-maybe . . . YOU c-could believe . . . f-for the both of us?”

It was a concession of great significance on her part. “I’ll d-do my best,” he promised, his voice shaking, “but there’s one thing I . . . that I want you to remember, n-no . . . no matter what happens . . . . ”

“What’s that?” she asked very softly, her head dropping down onto his broad chest.

“That you and I are in this together,” Adam replied. “I’m here, Sweetheart . . . and I’m going to stay . . . right here . . . f-for better or . . . or for worse.”

He turned away from his parents, standing in the hallway outside their room, clinging to one another, as if for dear life. He wanted to cry, would have given just about anything at that very moment to be able to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.

“Don’t believe them,” a cold, angry voice said. It was Benjy. The other Benjy. He stood right in front of him, with a pair of tight fists planted firmly on his hips, with a defiant scowl on his face. “It’s an act, Stupid Head. Can’t you see that?!”

“How do YOU know?” he demanded.

“Awww fer---!! It don’t take a genius to see what’s what, you dumb stupid,” the other Benjy responded, punctuating his words with a long-suffering sigh and a sarcastic roll of the eyes heavenward.

“Go away,” he growled, weary of this game, this dream, this . . . whatever it was, weary of his new friend deriding nearly everything he said or did as stupid.

“Let’s play!” the other Benjy said, all sunshine and light, every last trace of the anger and disdain so present a moment ago, now gone.

“No.”

“Come on . . . please?” the other Benjy wheedled. “I’m sorry I called you stupid head . . . . ”

“No. I don’t want to play because . . . because this game’s not fun anymore,” he told his new friend, his voice filled with remorse.

“You SAID you wanted to make ‘em all sorry . . . . ”

“I know . . . and I did,” he admitted. “I wanted to make my sister the sorriest of all, but I didn’t. I . . . I think I’ve made ME the sorriest one of all.”

The other Benjy laughed. “Tag, you’re it!” he cried, tapping him on the shoulder. He pivoted and ran down the long hallway toward the top of the stairs. “Catch me if you can,” he taunted.

A part of him longed to chase after the other Benjy, but another part, one just as strong, wanted to stay here with his mother and father, with grandpa and grandmother, and yes, even with his hated sister, Dio.

“Benjy . . . come ON!” the other boy urged . . . .

“What in the world is taking Adam so LONG?!” Dolores softly fretted, as she paced back and forth in front of the staircase, casting an occasional furtive glance up into the dim hallway above the top landing, wringing her hands in dismay. “Time is of the essence! I thought Adam KNEW that . . . . ”

“Pa . . . . ” Joe groaned very softly. He threw aside the Indian blanket covering and tried to rise from his place on the settee.

“Oh no you don’t, Li’l Brother,” Hoss said, weary yet very firm. He gently placed both hands on Joe’s shoulders effectively restraining him, while Stacy retrieved the Indian blanket from its place on the floor.

“But--- ”

“You’ve done all y’ can, Joe,” Hoss said.

“But, if I added MY two cents to what Adam’s tryin’ t’ say, maybe . . . just maybe . . . he and I could move that conversation along a bit,” Joe argued, while struggling mightily to pry Hoss’ hands and fingers off of his shoulders.

“ . . . ‘n you MIGHT just as easily stall that conversation by doin’ or sayin’ somethin’ t’ get Teresa’s back up,” Hoss wisely pointed out. “The rest of us have just plain gotta stay put right where we are, ‘n trust Adam enough t’ let HIM do what he’s gotta.”

“Hoss is right, Grandpa,” Stacy said very quietly, as she placed the blanket back over Joe, “and besides . . . the three of us are clear up to our necks in hot water already, without . . . one of us charging upstairs after Pa told us all to stay right here.”

“But Dolores is right about time being of the essence,” Joe argued, throwing off the blanket once again.

“I know, Li’l Brother,” Hoss replied, “but I also trust Adam.”

“I don’t know Adam very well yet, what with having just met him six weeks ago,” Stacy added, “but I think I’ve gotten to know him well enough to trust him right now, too.”

In the meantime, Ben had risen from the leather upholstered port wine chair next to the fireplace with a sigh and walked over to the fearful, distraught woman, still pacing before the bottom of the stairs. “Now, Dolores . . . . ” he began in a calm, placating tone of voice, “Adam’s doing the best--- ”

“I’m sure he is, but Teresa . . . that daughter of mine can be more stubborn than all the mules making up a twenty mule train put together,” Dolores sputtered angrily.

Ben wisely refrained from making an observation about mother and daughter being cut from the same bolt of cloth in that regard.

“I’ve got a good mind to go up there myself and--- ”

“Dolores, that’s not going to help one bit and YOU know it,” Ben said, hoping against hope to forestall a long, heated diatribe, “and you pacing up and down, back and forth, like . . . well, like a caged wild animal isn’t going to hurry things along either. Now . . . . ” He gently took her hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his arm. “ . . . why don’t you come on over here with the rest of us, and--- ”

“Don’t you patronize me, Ben Cartwright!” Dolores exhorted in a lofty, imperious tone of voice, raised a few notches higher in volume than was normal. She snatched her hand well away with a dramatic, sweeping gesture, then for a moment, stood, unmoving, favoring Ben with a withering glare that would have sent any one of the servants, she and Eduardo employed back home in Sacramento, scurrying for the nearest cover. “Don’t you DARE patronize me!”

“Dolores, Teresa needs time,” Ben pressed. “All this business of . . . of the ghost of boy many years dead looking for someone to keep him company . . . well, for a woman, very practical and very much down to earth like Teresa, it’s a lot to take in.”

“ . . . and while SHE’S so busy trying to take it all in, MY grandson lies upstairs DYING!” Dolores declared with a curt nod of her head for emphasis. “Ben . . . so help me . . . if she’s up there stonewalling--- ” She immediately turned heel and started up the stairs, with back ramrod straight, and a fierce, angry, determined look on her face.

She was nearly half way to the middle landing when Ben caught up with her.

“Ben, get OUT of my way!”

“Dolores, please . . . . ” Ben pleaded, though he did not move.

“I am NOT going to let MY grandson die because . . . because my daughter insists on being proud and stiff-necked at a time she should be humble, and down on her knees,” Dolores raged.

Ben reached out and seized firm hold of her forearm. “In case you’ve
forgotten, Benjy’s MY grandson, too,” he reminded his eldest son’s mother-in-law in a tone of voice harder than steel, “and, perhaps more important . . . he’s TERESA’S SON . . . Teresa’s and Adam’s.” He closed his eyes, and forced himself to count to ten.

“Dolores, I know exactly how you feel,” he continued, “because, I’M feeling the same things myself.” It took nearly every ounce of strength he possessed to speak to her in a calmer, more subdued tone of voice. “I’m deeply concerned about Benjy, but I’m even more concerned about his parents. Right now my son and your daughter are facing the prospect of losing a child. I’ve had to face that many times with all three of my sons, and with my daughter, too.”

“As have I,” Dolores said, her voice colder than ice.

“Well if you can think back, remember what you felt . . . what you went through all those times, maybe you can summon from within yourself a measure of what that frightened, bewildered, and grief-stricken mother and father upstairs need from us most right now,” Ben replied, unable to quite keep back all of the impatience and anger now rising within him.

“ . . . and what might that be?” she demanded imperiously.

“Compassion.”

“Ben? Mrs. di Cordova?”

Dolores silently, inwardly groaned. It was Father Rutherford. She had entirely forgotten he was even there. The priest stood at the bottom of the steps with his hand lightly resting on the finial atop the newel post, his face schooled into a mask of stoic calm. Shamefaced, she snatched her arm from Ben’s grip.

“ . . . if I might offer a suggestion?” Father Brendan continued.

“Of course, Father,” Dolores murmured softly, unable to quite bring herself to look him straight in the eye.

“I’m listening, Brendan,” Ben said stiffly.

“Mrs. di Cordova, I’ve often found prayer to be of great comfort and assurance, most especially in times, places, and under circumstances when I knew I had nothing to offer, that there was nothing more I could do, as a priest or as a human being,” Father Brendan said. “I would be honored if you would consent to join me?”

“Yes,” Dolores readily agreed. “Yes, I would like that very much, Father. Thank you.” She edged her way past Ben, and started back down the stairs.

“Ben?”

“Yes, Brendan?”

“Can you suggest a quiet place, free from distractions, where Mrs. di Cordova and I might go?”

“Yes . . . the porch out back, overlooking Hop Sing’s garden,” Ben immediately replied. “It’s quiet back there . . . VERY quiet, and peaceful.”

“Thank you, Ben,” Father Brendan said quietly. “You’ll let us know when Adam and Teresa are . . . . ”

“Yes,” Ben promised. “I’ll let you know.” He waited, allowing Father Brendan and Dolores ample time to traverse through the kitchen and find their way out into the vegetable and herb garden, Hop Sing maintained out back. “Hoss . . . Joe . . . Stacy . . . . ”

“Yes, Pa?” Hoss responded. The other two merely looked up at him, expectant, and waiting.

“I’m going to go upstairs and look in on your brother and sister-in-law,” he said quietly. “I expect the three of ya to remain right there. Understood?”

A soft, barely audible chorus of “yes pa,” followed in response.

Satisfied, Ben turned and walked resolutely toward the stairs.

Joe waited until Ben had finally reached the top of the stairs and disappeared from view into the hallway beyond. “Stacy . . . Hoss, come on,” he urged, his voice not much above the volume and decibel of a stage whisper.

“Wherever it is you THINK you’re goin’ . . . forget it!” Hoss said. He slowly folded his big, well-muscled arms across his chest, and from the high vantage point given him by his height, he favored his younger brother with a menacing glare. “Pa told us to wait right here, and that’s EXACTLY what we’re gonna do.”

“Hoss is right, Grandpa,” Stacy, seated on the coffee table, said morosely. “The three of us are in more than enough trouble right now as it is.”

“Please!” Joe begged. “There’s something we . . . something I’VE gotta do, but I . . . I can’t do it by myself.”

“You’d better not be thinkin’ ‘bout another trip to Virginia City,” Hoss warned. “ ‘Cause if you are, Li’l Brother, so help me--- ”

“No, Hoss . . . behind the barn, inside that circle of trees.”

Stacy shuddered. “You want to go out to THAT creepy place?!” she demanded, incredulous.

“Stacy . . . Hoss, they’re out there,” Joe pressed. “They are, I KNOW they are.”

Stacy and Hoss exchanged glances filled with apprehension and dread.

“ . . . uhhhh . . . WHO’S out there, Li’l Brother?” Hoss ventured, not wanting to ask, yet afraid of not asking.

“Benjy Menken and . . . Benjy Cartwright.”

Hoss stared down at his younger brother with mounting dread, fearing that Joe had taken complete leave of his senses. “Joe, listen to me . . . please,” he begged, “Benjy Cartwright . . . our nephew . . . is upstairs . . . in Adam ‘n Teresa’s room.”

“His BODY is,” Joe argued. “But his spirit? Soul? Whatever it is that makes Benjy Cartwright . . . his own man . . . ok, for now BOY . . . that part of Benjy Cartwright is outside with Benjy MENKEN in that circle of trees.”

“Joe, that’s crazy talk!” Hoss declared, convinced now that the bump on the head had left his brother permanently unhinged.

“No crazier than anything ELSE that’s been going on around here lately,” Stacy hastened to point out.

Hoss silently mulled the whole matter over, in light of his sister’s words. “Yeah,” he said at length. “Yeah, you’re right about THAT, Li’l Sister.”

“Grandpa, how do you know Benjy Cartwright and Benjy Menken are out in that tree circle behind the barn?” Stacy asked as she and Hoss gently helped ease Joe from a sitting to a prone position. “Did you see ‘em?”

“From talking to Mrs. Wilkens and Mrs. Dennison, I . . . to be honest, Stace, I don’t know this for absolute certain, but I think Benjy Menken’s body lies buried out there.”

“Hmmm. Maybe that’s why that place has always seemed so creepy.” Stacy shuddered again.

“I’ve never liked that place, either,” Joe said, “and I’m sure you can’t help BUT notice the way our horses give that place wide berth.”

“Well . . . now that I think about it . . . drowning in hot water’s no better or worse than being scalded by it,” Stacy sighed, resigning herself to the inevitable.

“I don’t know ‘bout that,” Hoss countered soberly, “but, if it means the difference between whether Benjy Cartwright lives or . . . or not . . . . ”

As Ben drew near to the closed door at the far end of the hallway upstairs, he was surprised to find Dio sitting on the floor, huddled in the dim shadows, just to the right, with her face pressed tight to her knees. He quickened his pace slightly, and upon reaching his granddaughter, he knelt down in front of her.

“Dio?” Ben called to her very softly, hoping not to unduly frighten or startle the child.

Dio gasped. She raised her head and for a moment peered up at him through eyelids red and swollen. “Oh,” she finally sighed, relief evident in her voice. “It’s . . . it’s y-you, Grandpa . . . . ” she half sobbed.

“What are you doing out here?” Ben asked, as he settled himself on the floor beside the distraught little girl.

“I’m scared,” she replied, in a voice barely audible.

Ben placed his arm around Dio’s shoulders and drew her close.

“It’s MY fault, Grandpa,” Dio sobbed as she nestled in close to her grandfather. “It’s all MY fault Benjy’s sick ‘n he’s . . . he’s . . . h-he’s gonna die . . . . ”

“Now who said anything about Benjy dying?” Ben asked, speaking with far more confidence than he felt.

“He IS, Grandpa . . . the mean boy said so . . . ‘n he told me it’s all MY fault ‘cause I . . . I . . . . ” Dio turned and cast a quick, furtive glance at the closed door to her parents’ room. “Oh, G-Grandpa,” she lowered her voice, to just barely above the volume of the softest whisper.

Ben leaned over, straining to hear his granddaughter’s next words.

“ . . . it’s all m-my fault ‘cause I . . . I wished Benjy dead, ‘cause he’s been so mean!”

Ben could feel his blood boil within him. He knew that children could be cruel, but telling a little girl that she was to blame for her older brother falling ill, and . . . possibly . . . dying . . . in his humble opinion, that went ‘way above and beyond the pale. He silently vowed that should the mean boy his granddaughter had just spoken of turn out to be a living child, rather than the ghost of a boy long dead, he would give that child and both of his parents the tanning of their lives.

“Dio,” he said, in as calm and steady a voice as he could muster, “first of all, though we know Benjy’s very sick, we DON’T know that he’s going to die, and second . . . even if he . . . even if he does, heaven forbid! . . . it’s NOT your fault.”

“Yes, it is, Grandpa,” the child tearfully insisted.

“Why? Because you wished him dead?”

Dio very solemnly nodded her head.

“Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me . . . and pay very close attention to what I have to tell ya,” Ben begged. “Promise me you’ll do that?”

“I promise.”

Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You just got through telling me that you’d wished Benjy dead because he was being mean,” he began. “You must’ve been pretty mad at him.”

“Yeah . . . I s’pose I was . . . . ”

“Dio, often when people get mad at each other, they say things . . . terrible things, sometimes . . . that they don’t really mean,” Ben tried desperately to explain. “After they get over being mad, they feel bad about the things they said. Now, I know . . . deep down, I KNOW . . . that you love your brother very much. You said what you did because you were mad at him, but I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, yes, I did,” she replied.

“Are you sorry now that you thought and said those things?”

Dio nodded. “I t-told that mean boy so, but . . . h-he said ‘cause I w-wished Benjy dead . . . he’s gonna die, and it doesn’t matter none that I’m sorry.”

“This . . . mean boy, whoever he is . . . lied to ya, Sweetheart,” Ben said. “We don’t know why Benjy’s sick . . . where he might’ve caught the germs that’ve made him sick, but I . . . WE . . . do know this. Benjy is NOT sick because of something you wished for in the heat of anger. Promise me you’ll remember that?”

Dio wiped her eyes against the heel of her hand. “I’ll try, Grandpa.”

“Good.” Ben rose to his feet, then turned and offered the girl his hand. “Now why don’t the two of us go look in on your mother, father, and brother?”

“Ok, Grandpa,” she agreed, as she also rose to her feet and slipped her tiny hand into Ben’s much larger one, “but the mean boy won’t like it.” She edged closer to her grandfather, and cast a quick, furtive over her shoulder.

“Dio, right now, you need to be with your family . . . and they need you there, too,” Ben said, “and if the mean boy doesn’t like it . . . that’s his tough luck.”

“Benjy? Benjy Menken? I want to talk to you,” Joe called out in a firm, clear voice as he limped into the circle of tall, ancient ponderosa pine trees out behind the Cartwrights’ barn. Hoss followed close at his heels, with Stacy slowly, reluctantly bringing up the rear. “I KNOW you’re out here.”

The gentle breeze, wafting through the pine branches scant seconds ago, suddenly stilled. An uneasy, all pervading silence descended upon them all. Joe, Hoss, and Stacy instinctively moved in closer to one another.

He turned at the sound of his name, his whole name first and last, in shock and astonishment. It was the little one, the one from before, who treated him badly, worse than his own pa had treated him. He had yelled at him, told him to go away.

“That’s Uncle Joe,” his new friend and playmate said. “Uncle Joe, Uncle Hoss, and Aunt Stacy. I wonder what they’re doing here?”

“Go away,” the other Benjy said, his anger rising. “Go away and leave us alone. We don’t want you here.”

“I’m NOT going to go away, Benjy Menken,” Joe said, as he moved in toward the center of the circle. “Not this time.”

“We don’t want you here.”

“Benjy Menken may not want me here, but what about Benjy CARTWRIGHT?” Joe demanded.

“I TOLD you to GO AWAY!” the other Benjy said, his rising anger fueled now by fear. “I don’t want you here! I HATE you.”

“Benjy . . . Benjy Menken, I’m sorry,” Joe said, as a chill shot down the entire length of his spine. “I’m sorry you . . . that you had to die so young . . . . ”

Benjy Cartwright looked over at his friend through eyes round with alarm. “Y-you’re DEAD, Benjy?” he asked.

“No.”

“Uncle Joe just said you were.”

“He’s LYING.”

“No,” Benjy Cartwright resolutely shook his head. “Uncle Joe wouldn’t lie to me.”

“He is so too lying. Don’t listen to him.”

“ . . . I’m also sorry you’ve been so terribly lonely for all these years,” Joe continued, “and for my not understanding when you made your presence known before. It’s not fair that you had to die so young, before having had the chance to know very much of life . . . . ”

“SHUT-UP!” Benjy Menken yelled. “SHUT-UP, DO YOU HEAR ME? SHUT-UP!”

“Benjy, I . . . I don’t want to die,” Benjy Cartwright said, staring over at his friend through eyes round with terror.

“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM,” the other Benjy rounded on his companion giving full vent to the rage, the frustration, and the fear within him. “HE’S LYING!”

Suddenly, a strong, powerful wind began to blow within the circle of pine trees, a chill wind, steadily rising in volume and intensity.

“IT’S ALSO NOT FAIR TO TAKE BENJY CARTWRIGHT BEFORE HIS TIME,” Joe shouted that he might be heard above the roar of the wind. “DO YOU HEAR ME, BENJY MENKEN?!”

“SHUT-UP, SHUT-UP, SHUT-UP! ” Benjy Menken shouted, trying to drown out Joe’s words and the truth that lay within them. “SHUT-UP AND GO AWAY! WE HATE YOU! WE HATE YOUR LOUSY, ROTTEN, STINKIN’ GUTS!”

“BENJY CARTWRIGHT, I KNOW YOU’RE HERE AND I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME,” Joe continued. “BENJY, PLEASE . . . DON’T GO WITH HIM. NOT LIKE THIS! IT’S NOT YOUR TIME. DO YOU HEAR ME? IT’S NOT YOUR TIME!”

“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM!” Benjy Menken yelled. “DON’T LISTEN TO HIM.”

“But . . . I don’t WANT to die.”

Benjy Menken, his face contorted with a mixture of rage and fear balled his fist and punched Joe in the stomach hard, with all his might.

Joe groaned and dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Stacy was at her brother’s side within less than a heartbeat, watching in horror as another bruise appeared on his cheek and red welts, forming the rough horseshoe shape of human teeth suddenly appeared in his hand. She gathered him in her arms and held him close, trying to shield his body with her own as much as possible.

“BENJY MENKEN, YOU COWARDLY ****!!” That last word was one of the more vile Paiute obscenities. “LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE! YOU HEAR ME?” she shouted, her face darkening with anger. A hard punch to her stomach drove the wind from her own lungs. Gasping for breath, she edged closer to Joe, trying desperately to shield him with her own body. A rain of rock hard, angry, invisible fists pummeled her back and shoulders.

Hoss, upon hearing Stacy cry out, immediately rushed over toward his brother and sister. “ALRIGHT, BENJY MENKEN, YOU LISTEN T’ ME ‘N YOU LISTEN REAL GOOD!” he shouted as he dragged his stricken brother and sister into the protective circle of his own massive, strong arms. “I’M SORRY FOR YA . . . I AM! BUT Y’ GOT NO RIGHT T’ TAKE BENJY CARTWRIGHT . . . ‘N YA GOT NO RIGHT T’ HURT MY BROTHER ‘N SISTER.”

The response to Hoss’ words was a hard punch in the eye, with sufficient force to knock him off his feet. He fell to the ground hard, landing on his backside, taking Joe and Stacy over with him.

“Benjy, no! Stop it! You hear me? Stop it!” Benjy Cartwright begged. “Leave them alone!”

“I HATE them! I hate them ALL!” the other Benjy sobbed.

“Why?”

“Because I do.”

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE,” Benjy Menken shouted. “JUST BECAUSE.”

“Benjy Menken, beatin’ up on my brother, my sister, ‘n me ain’t gonna change things,” Hoss pressed. “You hear me?”

“NO!” Benjy Menken clapped his hands tight over his ears.

“ . . . ‘cause you’re still gonna be dead, ‘n Benjy CARTWRIGHT’S gonna be alive.”

“NO! Benjy Cartwright’s gonna stay here with me.”

“NO!” Benjy Cartwright shouted. “NOT IF I HAVE TO DIE! I DON’T WANT TO STAY WITH YOU, IF I HAVE TO DIE, TOO.”

“You better,” Benjy Menken turned on Benjy Cartwright. “You better stay with me, or else.”

“Or else WHAT?”

“Or else THEY’LL die. All of ‘em! Your two uncles, your aunt, your ma and pa, your grandma and grandpa, the Chinese man, even your sister. I’ll kill them all, if you don’t stay with me. I’ll kill ‘em all!”

Benjy Cartwright stared over at the other Benjy Menken, horrified.

A smug, triumphant smile spread slowly across the other Benjy’s face. “I can do it, too,” he continued. “Don’t think I can’t.”

“Benjy, that’s ENOUGH.”

Hoss and Stacy turned. There, standing behind them at the edge of the pine tree circle, stood an old woman. She strode into the circle of trees, moving at a brisk pace, her posture straight and tall.

“Hoss . . . Joe . . . who’s THAT?” Stacy queried with a bewildered frown.

“That’s Mrs. Smith,” Hoss replied. “She’s spent a whole lotta years keepin’ house at the convent . . . helpin’ the nuns with their hospital, ‘n all . . . . ”

“I thought Molly and Susannah told me she was sick . . . very sick,” Stacy said.

“She’s gotten better . . . obviously,” Joe said. “She rode out in the buggy with Father Brendan, Mrs. di Cordova, and me . . . then disappeared. I was wondering where she’d gotten herself off to . . . . ”

Lee Smith passed Hoss, Joe, and Stacy, without sparing so much as a glance, or a nod of her head to acknowledge their presence. She strode resolutely toward the center of the circle. “Benjy, did you hear me? I SAID that’s enough.”

Benjy stared up at the woman through eyes round with complete and utter astonishment. She had red hair when he saw her last, and the lines and planes of her face, though weary, had always been set so firmly with the fierce, stubborn pride that had lent her strength enough to do anything. Absolutely anything. Now the fierceness, the pride was gone, replaced by a profound sadness that permeated her entire being.

“Benjy,” the woman addressed Benjy Menken in a far kindlier tone. “It’s time to go.”

“No.” Benjy Menken drew back in terror.

“We don’t belong here anymore.”

“No! I don’t WANT to go. I want to stay here.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“WHY do you want to?” Lee demanded.

The deep, aching sadness in her voice made Benjy Menken feel like crying himself. “I . . . . I have a friend to play with now,” he said.

“Benjy, I told you. I don’t want to die,” Benjy Cartwright reiterated his wishes.

“I thought you were my friend,” Benjy Menken pouted.

“I am. I WANT to stay and play with you, but not if I have to die.”

“I hate you, Benjy Cartwright. I hate you, I hate you, I HATE you.”

Benjy Cartwright winced upon hearing the other Benjy’s voice catch on the last ‘HATE,’ uttered with such vehemence. “I’m sorry you died, Benjy,” he said. “It wasn’t fair you had to die when you were just a kid. I’m sorry because of all the years you’ve been here by yourself . . . because no one could see you or hear you. I’m . . . I’m also sorry they had to go away and . . . and j-just leave you here. But, I still don’t want to die, and it’s not fair for you to make me.”

“Your friend needs to go back, Benjy,” Lee said firmly. “He needs to go back to his family, his friends, his whole life.”

“What about ME?”

“Your brother and sisters are waiting. I will be there, too. You will never, ever be lonely . . . not ever again.”

“I don’t wanna go. I’m afraid.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Lee smiled and held out her hand. “We can go together, Benjy. You and me. You take my hand and hold on real tight, and we’ll go together.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“P-Promise you . . . you won’t let go?”

“I promise. I’ll be holding on to your hand very tight, Benjy.”

Benjy Menken took the woman’s hand in both of his and clung as if for dear life. She smiled and slipped her arm about his shoulders and drew him close. With an agonized, heart wrenching cry, he buried his face against her chest and held on for a very, long time.

Stacy saw them, through the eyes of mind and heart. The barefoot boy, with brown curly hair, clad now in a pair of overalls, clung desperately to the white haired woman. She embraced him fiercely in return, bending her head toward his, finally resting her face upon the crown of his head. Stacy remembered then, the day they laid her mother, Paris McKenna, to her final rest not so terribly long ago. She had not only lost her mother, but came very close to losing her father as well. Not to death of the body, but to the guilt that overwhelmed him.

Her own eyes burned with tears, remembering how she and Pa had held onto one another in the woods surrounding the lake near the place Paris McKenna was buried, with the same fierce desperation she saw Benjy Menken and the woman, her brothers had identified as Lee Smith, now holding onto one another.

Joe watched, with tears streaming down his own face, as the woman pressed her lips against the top of Benjy’s head.

“I’m here, Benjy.”

Joe heard the woman’s words very clearly, very succinctly, as if they had been spoken aloud.

“I’m here, Benjy. I will always be here. I will never, ever leave you again.”

The woman’s words, spoken clearly in a very gentle, very sad voice, reminded Joe of another night, and of another little boy with brown, curly hair, and “eyes that can change color,” to quote Mrs. Wilkens. That little boy’s mother had died seven going on eight months ago.

Less than a month after she had been laid to her final rest, Pa was gone, too.

“Why, Adam? Why did Pa leave us? Don’t he love us no more?” he demanded that terrible morning he woke up and found that Pa had left on what, from all appearances, promised to be a very long trip.

“Of course he loves us, Little Buddy,” Adam stoutly declared. “But, Pa needs some time alone right now to . . . to . . . . ”

Adam frowned, trying, no doubt, to find the words to form an explanation for their father’s abrupt departure in the middle of the night, that his five-year-old brother could understand.

“Papa need time by himself,” Hop Sing said very quietly. Neither he nor Adam had any idea the Chinese man was there, standing in the shadows, listening. “Papa need time, get over being so terrible sad.”

The look on Adam’s face was one Joe now recognized as being full of deep, profound relief, and gratitude.

“When’s Pa gonna come back?” Joe tearfully asked, looking from Adam to Hop Sing, then back again to Adam.

“I don’t know, Buddy,” Adam replied, “but he WILL be back. That I promise you.”

He remembered that Pa had communicated with them regularly the first couple of months he was away, by wire mostly, and the occasional letter.

Then, nothing.

Adam had written a letter and mailed it to the last known address Pa had been living. The envelope came back, unopened, with “return to sender” stamped boldly over the address. His oldest brother had also dispatched wires to a few people his father knew. Only one had the courtesy to respond. Short and to the point, it read, “Ben Cartwright gone. Left no forwarding address. Sorry.”

As Joe’s sixth birthday approached, Pa had been gone nearly eight months, and despite Adam and Hop Sing’s declarations to the contrary, he had begun to doubt that his father would ever return home again. He remembered going to bed early the night before his birthday, and waking up from one of the worst nightmares ever.

But, it wasn’t Adam or Hop Sing who came to him that night . . . .

It was Pa, filled with remorse and deep regret, with tears streaming freely down his cheeks. Joe stiffened and tried to pull away when Pa reached out to gather him in his arms.

But Pa held fast. “I’m sorry, Little Joe,” Pa sobbed. “I . . . know I hurt you . . . and your brothers by . . . by leaving the way I did. If you c-can’t forgive me now, I . . . I understand, but I want you to know I . . . that I’m here now. I’m here NOW, Son, I’m here now . . . . ”

The next thing Joe knew, his tiny arms were wrapped tight about his father’s waist, clinging for dear life, as Benjy Menken now clung to Mrs. Smith.

Finally, after what had seemed an eternity, yet was merely the passage of but a few seconds, Benjy Menken and the white haired woman separated. The latter, still clinging to the former’s hand, turned toward Benjy Cartwright. “I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m glad we could be friends for a little while.”

“Me, too. Good-bye, Benjy . . . . ”

A strange vision played itself out within Hoss’ mind. He saw the woman take the hand of a frightened, lonely young boy, barefoot, dressed in overalls, with no shirt. His hair was brown and curly, so very much like his younger brother’s. Together, hand-in-hand, woman and boy walked toward the center of the circle, toward a brilliant ball of silver-white light. As they drew near, the light seemed to grow and expand, surrounding them, as a mother or father wraps their arms around their newborn baby. Lee Smith and Benjy Menken slowly merged with the light, until finally, they and the light disappeared.

Unable to move, barely daring even to breathe, Hoss remained, kneeling on the ground, with his arms wrapped tight around his younger siblings and eyes riveted to the spot where the ball of light stood in the center of the circle. “Hoooo-wheee!” he murmured softly, reverently, when at long last, he had recovered his voice. “That was some dream.”

His words drew a look of surprise from his sister. “Y-You m-mean . . . you saw it, too?”

“Too?”

Stacy nodded.

“Yeah, I saw it, too, Li’l Sister,” Hoss replied.

“S-So did I,” Joe groaned in a voice, barely audible.

Upstairs, Benjy Cartwright opened one eye, winced, then squeezed it shut for a moment.

“Ma? Pa?” It was Dio. Her voice sounded choked somehow, as if she had been crying.

“What is it, Dio?”

“It’s Benjy, Pa. I thought I saw him move.”

“Benjy?”

Upon hearing the sound of his mother’s voice, he turned and slitted his eyes open. He knew from the angry red cheeks, the swollen eyes lids and upper lip, and the redness under her eyes, that she had been crying.

“Benjy!?” Teresa called to him again, her voice filled with great trepidation edged by a small measure of hope.

“M-Mother?” Benjy responded, surprised and frightened at how weak and hoarse his voice sounded in his ears.

Teresa immediately gathered her son in her arms and hugged him tight, as tears streamed freely, in great profusion, down her cheeks. “Oh, Benjy, Benjy, thank God!” she sobbed. “Thank God.”

“Welcome back, Buddy,” Adam said, his own voice breaking. He gathered his wife and son together with one arm and held out the other to his young daughter. With a heart-wrenching sob, Dio threw herself into her father’s embrace.

Ben wiped the tears from his own cheeks on the sleeve of his shirt, then rose, and crossed the room to the open door. As he stepped over the threshold between bedroom and hallway, he noiselessly closed the door behind him, leaving his oldest son alone with his wife and children.

A few moments later, he stepped out through the back door, onto the small porch overlooking Hop Sing’s vegetable and herb garden, and found Father Brendan Rutherford and Dolores di Cordova seated on the old bench set up against the house.

Dolores immediately shot right to her feet the instant she heard Ben’s footfalls on the porch. Father Brendan turned and glanced up. Dolores’ pale, weary tear stained face filled with dread apprehension presented a stark contrast to the near serene expectancy mirrored in the priest’s eyes and face.

“Benjy’s awake,” Ben said favoring his eldest son’s mother-in-law and old friend with a weary smile.

“Oh thank God,” Dolores murmured, vastly relieved and with deep, heartfelt gratitude. She started toward the kitchen door, moving at a surprisingly brisk pace, given a woman of her years.

Ben immediately moved toward her on an intercept course. “Not yet, Dolores,” he said quietly, placing restraining hands on both of her shoulders.

“But . . . . ”

“For the time being, I think they need to be together . . . by themselves . . . as a family. You and I can go up and look in on Benjy later.”

Dolores nodded. “All right, Ben,” she acquiesced reluctant, but seeing the wisdom in her host’s words. “In the meantime, I’d like to go upstairs to my room and perhaps rest awhile?”

“Of course,” Ben replied.

“I am pleased to have met you, Mrs. di Cordova, though I would have preferred better circumstances,” Father Brendan said with a smile.

“Agreed, Father,” Dolores said. “I hope we meet again soon.”

“I’m scheduled to celebrate The Mass every Wednesday morning for the next month or so,” the priest said. “You are more than welcome.”

“Thank you,” Dolores replied, before taking her leave.

“Well, Ben, it looks like you didn’t need my help after all,” Father Brendan said with a smile, after Dolores had gone back into the house, closing the door behind her.

“I’m a firm believer in the importance and the power of prayer, Brendan,” Ben said. “By inviting her to pray with you . . . that gave her something special to do, that served in keeping her well away from what was happening upstairs. After that set-to she and Teresa had earlier . . . . ” He shuddered.

“Then, I’m glad I COULD be of service. Unless you need me for anything else, I’d better find Mrs. Smith, and head on back to town.”

“There IS one more thing you can do for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t be such a stranger,” Ben said with a warm smile. “It’s been awhile.”

“You’re right. It’s been too long,” the priest agreed. “Maybe you could have me over for supper some night after all your company has left.”

“We’ll do that,” Ben promised. “Come on, Brendan, I’ll walk you out.”

Upon reaching the front door, Ben opened it and was astonished to find his three younger children standing on the doorstep. “Wait a minute! What are you three doing HERE?” he demanded, suddenly remembering. “I thought I told you to— ”

His words, his entire train of thought, was rudely severed as Joe and Stacy moved forward and embraced him fiercely. Ben, though utterly dumbfounded, placed his own arms around them and held them close. He was even more surprised to feel the moistness of tears still on the cheeks of the son and daughter who filled the circle of his arms.

“Hoss . . . . ?!” As he glanced up at the biggest and most gentle of his offspring, Ben was astonished to see HIS blue eyes shining with the brightness of tears, yet unshed. “Wh-What’s . . . what’s wrong?”

“Ain’t n-nothin’ WRONG, Pa,” Hoss said, his voice breaking. “Everything’s . . . everything’s right now . . . everything’s all right.”

“B-Benjy Menken’s . . . gone,” Joe sobbed. “He’s . . . finally at peace.”

“ . . . and . . . OUR Benjy’s gonna be ok,” Stacy said, keeping one arm firmly about her father’s waist, and wiping her eyes with the heel of her other hand.

Ben took note of his daughter’s bruised and swollen right cheek, and the ragged bite on Joe’s hand with dismay. “What . . . what HAPPENED to the both of ya?”

“L-Long story, Pa,” Joe replied, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes and cheeks on his sleeve. “Can we tell you later?”

“I s’pose . . . . ” Ben murmured softly. “Now . . . wait a minute . . . where’d Hoss go?”

“We’ve got company comin’, Pa,” Joe replied. “Hoss went to see who.”

“More?”

Joe nodded.

“Be that as it may,” Ben sighed. “In the meantime, Young Fella . . . YOU are going back to bed where ya belong.”

“Aww, Pa . . . . ” Joe groaned.

“Don’t you ‘aww, Pa’ ME, Joseph Francis,” Ben said sternly. “I’ve got a real good mind to tell Doctor Martin about your trip into town earlier . . . . ”

Joe blanched. “Y-You wouldn’t!”

“Try me!” Ben challenged. “As for YOU, Young Woman,” he continued, turning his attention to Stacy. “You and your brother . . . your BIG brother that is, get to do Joe’s chores while he’s recovering as consequence for your part in allowing him to, in your words, ‘ride off half cocked.’ ”

“Yes, Pa,” Stacy replied, grateful that he hadn’t decided to haul the three of them out to the barn for a round of hard lessons from Pa Cartwright’s Board of Education applied to the Cartwright offspring’s tender seats of learning.

“ . . . and you can wipe that smug grin off your face, Young Man,” Ben turned and admonished his youngest son, as he, with the help of his daughter, dragged him over the threshold into the house. “ ‘Cause after YOU’RE fully recovered, you’re gonna be doing Hoss’ and Stacy’s chores, until I say otherwise.”

“Yes, Sir,” Joe gulped nervously, the smug, cat-that-ate-the-canary grin instantly evaporating.

Hoss, in the meantime, held Brother Algernon’s horse, while the portly monk dismounted, breathless and saddle sore from his long, hard ride from town.

“Thank you, Hoss,” Brother Algernon gasped, the instant both feet touched terra firma. “Father Brendan . . . is he . . . is he still here?”

“I’m right here, Brother Algernon,” the priest announced himself, as he crossed the small patch of yard lying between the front porch of the house and the hitching post near the trough. The sight of the monk’s red face and lathered horse brought an anxious frown to his face.

“Mother Catherine sent me after you,” Brother Algernon said, coming right to the point of his visit. “It’s Mrs. Smith.”

“I know,” Father Brendan said quietly. “She’s . . . well, I can’t in all honesty say she’s made a full, complete recovery once again, but she seems to have survived the worst well enough to have accompanied Joe, Mrs. di Cordova, and myself out here.”

His words drew a look of shocked astonishment from Brother Algernon. “F-Father, I . . . I don’t know who . . . or what r-rode out here with you . . . but I know it wasn’t Mrs. Smith.” He paused briefly to try and collect some small measure of his wits. “Father, Lee Smith died this afternoon . . . shortly before you left.”

Three days later, Ben Cartwright and his three younger children, Hoss, Joe, and Stacy, gathered at the Virginia City Cemetery with Georgianna Wilkens, Jenna Lee Dennison, and Father Brendan Rutherford. Joe stood between his father and sister, with his biggest brother standing directly behind. Though his wounds had begun to heal, and his bruises fade, he still experienced occasional bouts of lightheadedness. He was grateful beyond words for his father’s arm draped protectively across his shoulders, his sister’s wrapped securely about his waist, and for the massive, granite like presence of his big brother standing behind him. Georgianna Wilkens and Jenna Lee Dennison stood together on the other side of Ben.

Before them lay seven graves, newly opened, the smell of fresh turned earth still scenting the air. Seven coffins, ranging in size from adult to not larger than an infant or perhaps a toddler rested on the ground to the right of each newly opened grave. Father Brendan silently moved among the simple, pine box coffins, solemnly sprinkling each with holy water and blessing them with the sign of the cross. He then stepped behind the head of the largest coffin and opened the missal in his hands, as he turned to face the small gathering clustered together at the feet of all seven coffins.

“Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine,” the priest reverently, with sadness, intoned the final words of the Mass for the Dead, “et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace. Amen.”

“Amen,” the six gathered to mourn murmured very softly.

“Anima ejus, et animae omnium fidelium defunctorum, per miseric ordiam Dei requiescant in pace. Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Grant unto them eternal rest, O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon them,” Father Brendan ably translated the Latin into English. “May they rest in peace. May their souls, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Father Brendan nodded to the gravedigger, standing with shovel in hand a discreet distance from the mourners. The gravedigger nodded back the priest, then moved forward toward the seven coffins resting on the ground next to the opened graves.

“Father, you did a wonderful job, as always,” Georgianna said with heartfelt sincerity, as she and Jenna Lee, in turn, shook the priest’s hand. “That poor woman! All these years . . . . ”

“I’m just glad them poor children finally got a decent burial,” Jenna Lee declared with a dark angry scowl.

“Amen to THAT!” Georgianna voiced her wholehearted agreement.

“Would you folks like to return to the rectory with me and share a bottle of brandy?” Father Brendan asked.

“I’d love to, Father, but I’m afraid Jenna Lee and I must decline,” Geogianna said with much reluctance. “I thank you very much for the invitation. Perhaps another time?”

“You can count on it, Mrs. Wilkens . . . and you, too, Mrs. Dennison,” Father Brendan promised, before turning his attention to the Cartwrights. “Ben? How about you, Hoss, Joe, and Stacy?”

“Sorry, Brendan. Thank you for inviting us, but we need to be getting back home ourselves.”

“Father Brendan?”

“Yes, Hoss?”

“Now lemme make sure I have all this straight. Mrs. Smith . . . the rectory housekeeper . . . was really Mrs. MENKEN?!”

Father Brendan nodded. “After Benjy died, the Menkens sold their farm to your pa, and left,” he explained. “They didn’t get very far, however. Their wagon went off the road just above Montpelier Gorge. The two women, the elder and the younger Mrs. Menken were found by Mother Anne Catherine . . . at the time she was the mother superior at the convent . . . on a return trip from visiting her sister in San Francisco. They were lying at the bottom of the gorge, amid what remained of their wagon and meager possessions. The elder Mrs. Menken was dead, and the younger, Mrs. Leah Menken, was ALMOST dead. Mother Anne, fortunately, had many, many years of nursing experience. She and the other nuns at the convent cared for the younger Mrs. Menken and nursed her back to health.”

“What happened to the Menken MEN?” Stacy queried.

“That . . . no one knows, Stacy, not for sure,” Father Brendan replied. “Mother Anne told us that both of the horses were gone and the men nowhere in sight. By all appearances, they had gone away, leaving their wives for dead.”

“They didn’t even stop to make sure?!” Stacy exclaimed, incredulous.

“As much as it pains me to say this, not stopping would have been in keeping with their character,” Father Brendan said with a sigh. “The Menken men, to put it very diplomatically, were very much wrapped up in themselves.”

“THAT being the case, Mrs. Smith . . . I mean Mrs. Menken was well RID of ‘em,” Joe declared, his face darkening with anger. “I’m sorry she had to loose her children and everything else.”

“Father Brendan, why did Mrs. Menken change her name to Smith?” Hoss asked.

“She feared what people would think,” Father Brendan replied. “As her children died, one by one, a lot of ignorant people swore up and down that the poor woman was cursed. Others went so far as to suggest that she may have been directly responsible for their deaths. Since the experience of watching helplessly as her children died one by one had turned her hair snow white, no one recognized her as being Mrs. Menken. The only ones who knew were myself, Mother Anne, may God rest HER soul, Mother Catherine, and a handful of the older sisters who were here at the time.”

“I know you, Mother Anne, Mother Catherine, and the sisters at the convent, gave her a good life with you,” Ben said quietly. “She was able to live out her days peacefully, looking after the people who had cared for her with love. No one could have given her a finer gift, Brendan.”

“Thank you, Ben.” The priest smiled. “Now, I like to think that she’s in Heaven, reunited with her children.”

“She IS, Father Brendan,” Joe said with a knowing smile. Hoss and Stacy nodded in agreement.

“Ben . . . . ”

“Yes, Brendan?”

“It was very generous of you to pay the funeral expenses for having Mrs. Menken and her children interred here . . . properly.”

“My regret is that I . . . well, that I didn’t do something to help Mrs. Menken with her children’s funeral expenses back then,” Ben said ruefully.

“Had you offered, she almost certainly would have turned you down. That woman had an enormous amount of pride, Lord love her,” Father Brendan said. “Just asking you to help her bury the children had to be excruciatingly humbling in and of itself.”

“So THAT’S how you knew where the Menken children were buried,” Joe said. “Jenna Lee told us you’d know, if anyone did.”

“It didn’t surprise ME any to find out that the area inside those trees was actually a cemetery,” Stacy said with a shudder. “I’ve always thought that spot to be kinda creepy.”

“Well it’s not anymore,” Joe said reassuringly. “It feels a lot different, more peaceful, somehow. I went out there this morning for a little while, before breakfast.”

“That’s a novelty, Son . . . YOU rising BEFORE breakfast,” Ben teased good-naturedly.

“Funny, Pa,” Joe retorted with a broad grin. “I even took Cochise into the circle, and he came right along, without the slightest hesitation.”

“Joseph, I thought Doctor Martin told you— ”

“I didn’t RIDE Cochise, Pa,” Joe said very quickly. “I didn’t even saddle him. I just slipped on his bridle and led him into that tree circle.”

“All right, Young Man,” Ben said severely, “but until Doc Martin gives the ok, I don’t want you anywhere NEAR the tack room. You understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m sorry Adam wasn’t able to join us,” Father Brendan said as he and the Cartwrights reached the cemetery gate. “Is Benjy . . . . ?”

“He’s still a little weak yet, but his recovery’s been nothing short of miraculous,” Ben replied. “Adam and Teresa took the kids and a great big picnic basket down to the lake this morning, with Paul Martin’s blessing. It seems you gave Adam a lot of food for thought the day he and Mrs. di Cordova came to see you. He and Teresa told me that the four of ‘em need time together . . . as a family . . . to talk about and work through some of the things that came up during his conversation with you.”

“I know they’re going to be all right, Ben,” Father Brendan said with confidence. “Adam, after all, learned about being a father from one of the best, if not THE best. As for Teresa . . . I have a feeling SHE learned from one of the best, too, her mother’s histrionics not withstanding. Please tell them I wish them all the best?”

“I will, Brendan,” Ben promised.

The End

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