Harbor Lights 

Revised Sept. 2005

                 

By Sadie Spinner                                                                                                                           

 

Part One

 

He stood at the window and looked out over the tops of the buildings; it was night, and he could see the harbor lights twinkling. The notorious fog had rolled out just as quickly as it had rolled in. The beacon was still shining its powerful beam out over the harbor; however, the foghorn no longer sounded. There was a peaceful lull as the city around him drifted off to sleep. The harbor lights brought Ben Cartwright back to a different port city, a long ways away and long years ago.

 

 

******************************************

 

It had been a very warm, spring day. The school master had suddenly taken ill and the children at the small school boisterously bounded out the door, not really wanting poor Mr. Tooly to be ill, but an unexpected day off on such a beautiful, spring day was just too good to not be greeted with the utmost delight and enthusiasm.

 

As they all grabbed their lunch buckets slates and books, they bounded down the steps chattering like a flock of magpies. Some of the older boys had jobs and headed for them. The opportunity for putting in a few extra hours and still have time to themselves was a bonus they rarely enjoyed. Some of the younger children just raced out happy, glad to be free and heading home. Some were not quite sure what to do with this sudden vacation even if it was, only one day. The younger children had been instructed to go straight home, as their parents were not aware the school had closed, and there were many dangers and opportunities for mischief abounding for little ones on such an occasion.

 

“Well, Ben what cha’ wanna’ do?” The small red headed boy asked as he and his friend stood on the top step of the school. The mass of children had swarmed pass them in their exodus.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I axked ya what ya wanna’ do?” Charlie scuffed the step. He was a happy, easygoing child with bright blue eyes, always open to adventure.

 

The child next to him was a contrast. They were both the same age, but where Charlie was a little stocky, the other boy was a few inches taller and had the promise of being a big man with broad shoulders, and a strong frame. He was already used to working with his hands. His deep chocolate eyes with thick, dark lashes peeked out from his soft brown hair as it fell over his forehead. His brow creased with a slight frown. He had a problem. He was trying to run all the possibilities in his mind to use this unexpected free time to come up with the one that suited him best and would lead to the fewest problems. He was a serious little boy most of the time, but had a quick wit and was not one to let a chance for fun get by if he could help it.

 

“Well?”

 

“Well what?” Ben snapped, bothered at being interrupted in his planning. He glanced at his friend, annoyed.

 

“Yer gonna get yerself in trouble, Ben Cartwright. I know that look, an that funny squinty thing ya do with yer eyes.” Charlie shook his head. When his friend Ben got that look, there was a good chance trouble would follow.

 

“What’s that spose’ ta mean?” Ben grouched. He hated it when Charlie read him like this.

 

“Nuthin’ I guess.” Charlie paused. “You goin’ home?” He continued. Charlie never liked to make Ben mad. He was his very best friend, but boy oh boy, did he have a temper when crossed.

 

The surrounding area was now completely empty. Even the old man who cleaned the building had shuffled home.

 

“Maybe . . .”

 

“Ut oh. You ain’t  . . . thinking ’ . . .  bout’ goin’ down  . . .  ta the wharf  . . .  by yerself?” He suspiciously stole a look at his pal then looked straight ahead.

 

“I might.”

 

“But . . . but . . .” Charlie gasped, wide eyed. He and Ben both loved the harbor and the wharf. So many things were going on; there were so many people from all over the world, the cargo ships, the swift sailing vessels, the sailors with their colorful stories and vocabulary.

 

Many of the sailors would be more than happy to entertain a couple of little boys who had that wistful look in their eyes and longed to see the world. Most of the sailors had the same look at that age. Some sailed for the love of the open sea, the adventure, and the freedom to roam the world. Some sailed for the money needed by their respective families. Some of them were really scary and mean tempered. They made it known they did not like little nuisances under foot on the docks or around the wharf.

 

“Ben Cartwright, why’d ya gotta be like some ole’ lop eared mule. Don’t ya  ‘member what happened last time?”

 

Ben drew himself up and stuck out his lower lip, a sure sign he had already made his choice.

 

“Okay, Okay, I know. But Ben, what about yer Mamma? She . . . she’s  . . .” Charlie was a little embarrassed. He was an only child and rarely had dealings with ladies in that condition.

 

“Leave my mother ‘lone. I know, she  . . . It ain’t the first time. I'm the oldest, ‘member?”

 

“Yeah, and ya still ain’t, sposed’ to go near the wharf.” Charlie complained. He could see where this was leading.

 

Ben sat down on the steps with a disgusted sigh. He absently scratched the side of his nose then pulled at his ear. Something he did unconsciously when he was unsure of himself.

 

“I jes’ wanna see the new ships.” He mumbled as he played with his fingers and chewed on his thumbnail, another sign he was bothered. “An  . . . an  . . . maybe, catch some fish. My mama likes fresh fish, and father says I’m a good fisherman.”

 

“Yeah . . . and  . . . your father said ta stay way away from the docks an wharf  . . . alone.” Charlie reminded him, putting great emphasis on the words “father” and “alone.”

 

“I ain’t no baby, I know lotsa’ stuff  ‘bout the wharf an where ta get the best fish. An my friends, the sailors, help me.” Ben jumped up in defense of himself. Grabbing his books and lunch bucket, he marched down the steps.

 

“Well, I sure hope ya know what yer gettin’ in ta. Maybe I’ll see ya tomorra, or maybe you’ll be on some ole ship headed fer China!” Charlie gathered his things, and patting Ben’s stiff back, he headed home. He wanted to go to the wharf too, but he was just not as brave or foolhardy as his young friend was, or perhaps the sea fever did not burn in him quite as deep or hot.

 

“Sheesh, on a ship ta China? Think I don't know  ‘bout that?” Ben snorted. For an instant, a hint of doubt flittered across his mind. Raising his head, he looked up at the sun. It was still early, not even near noon. Fingering the ever-present string, cork and hook hidden deep in his pocket a satisfied smile danced over his face.  If he hurried he could catch a whole bunch of fish and still be home at the usual time, and his mother would be pleased. He could tell her he met one of the fishermen and helped him push his cart and the man gave him a few fish in thanks. It sounded pretty fair. He mulled it over in his head as he began to walk in the opposite direction from his home.

 

In truth, Mother was very tired lately. Ben scolded himself. It was his job to help her all he could, especially with John, who was four, and Aaron who was two. Now there was going to be another. Ben loved his brothers but he was not particularly fond of always having to keep them busy. He had other things to do, man things. He found less and less time for reading. As his brothers grew, they demanded more from him. He was to be responsible. Father had told him on many occasions, he was the oldest and the man of the house when his father was not there. Ben defiantly scrubbed at his eyes as he walked determinedly down the narrow street. His only problem might be in the fact that someone would tell his parents' school had let out early. He’d think about that later.

 

The sun shown down and sparkled on everything. The closer he came to the harbor, the stronger the smell of sea air became. It filled his lungs and quickened his steps. Soon he was fairly flying, dodging carts and people as he dashed towards the wharf, the docks and all the bustle and hum of thrilling activity. Ben turned his face up and shaded his eyes as he watched the gulls zigzag around the sky crying, scolding and calling with their mocking laugh. He loved that sound. He thought it the most wonderful sound in the world. He would never get tired of it, would never go any place where there were no sea gulls. Ben Cartwright had all the enthusiasm a seven-year-old could contain as he reached the docks and wharf. He was in luck. There were new ships in port. One was sleek, and by her lines, very fast. One was a big old tub, creaky and well seasoned. There was also one he had never seen before, and he stood spellbound by her beauty and the majestic height of her towering masts.

 

“Now, that’s what I call a real ship.” He stated out loud, eyes glued to her every curve and line. He devoured her with awe and envied the crew who sailed her.

 

“Da ya think so, matey?” A gruff voice of an old sailor, who knew all the ropes, startled him.

 

Ben drew up his shoulders in defense and swallowed hard; he had not realized he had spoken out loud or that someone was that close to him.

 

“ Aye,’ She’s a thing o’ beauty to be sure.” The man commented.

 

Ben looked up into tired, faded blue-gray eyes of an old sea dog, along with a face weathered and somewhat akin to an old barnacle. The sailor’s scratchy cheek whiskers were just a tad past gray, hinting white. His appearance gave testimony to many years at sea with a bright gold earring hung from his left ear, his sailor’s cap tilted back on his shaggy head and his faded tattoos. His hand that held his pipe was gnarled from hauling ropes in all kinds of terrible weather, from searing heat to killing cold, but his eyes still held the mystery and love of the sea that burned so passionately in the soul of the little boy in front of him.

 

Ben found himself embolden by this man and the initial fear was swept away by the sea breeze, call of the gulls and sunshine sparkling on the water. “I’m going to be a sailor too, someday.” He declared as positively as he could to sound sure and grown up.

 

“Aye, Matey, that so?”

 

“Yes sir!” Ben stole a glimpse up at him to see if he was teasing. The sailors he had come to know often teased him, but he knew it was in fun. Ben drew himself up. The man studied him with a sharp, hard look; there was something in this child’s eye he remembered way back in his mind.

 

“Think yer tough ‘nuff? Got the makin’s of a real sailor? Do ya Laddie?” The old sailor drew a few puffs on his pipe waiting to see the response.

 

“I'm tough alright.” Ben assured the man with bravado. “But there’s lotsa’ more stuff to sailing than bein’ tough. Ya gotta know ‘bout the stars, an stuff, an how ta tell where ya are when ya can’t see no land round’ ‘cause yer in the middle of the ocean an how ta tell when a storms comin’ by the clouds and the smell in th’ air.” Ben began to feel exhilarated as he proudly displayed his ‘wealth’ of knowledge about the sea.

 

The man’s eyes lit up as he watched the little face. Clearly this boy was bitten by the fever, and would, indeed, go to sea; more than likely, he would make a very good sailor, but not for a long time yet. He wondered how long the boy could stand it before he left home for the freedom of the sea. She was a hard mistress. She beckoned unmercifully until you bent to her will and heeded her call. He hoped this lad had people who cared for him and held him back for as long as they could, for the life of a sailor could also be an unbelievably harsh very lonely life. Not wanting to hurt the boy, he changed the subject a little. “So, mate, what brings ya to the dock? Playin' a little hooky, are ya?”

 

“No sir, Mr. Tooly, the school master, he took sick today so we got to have a free day, and I'm spendin’ most of mine right here.”

 

Ben was not looking at the man but feasting his eyes on the great ship as she gently rolled and bobbed on the surface of the water, her rigging clanking with what he felt was the most beautiful music to his ears. He ran his eyes over her sleek black hull, studied the gilded, elaborate trim that wrapped around her bow, the beautiful figure head of a lady with long golden hair, the tightly lashed sails. He studied her and let his eyes roam aft to the great wheel. He could picture himself as her captain bringing her into far away ports. Everything about her made his heart sing. 

 

He ears took in the various ships bells as they moved slowly in and out of the harbor. The gentle lap, lap as the water ran in to kiss the pier and wharf then slipped back to return almost immediately in its endless game of tag. The creek of the ropes, the smell of fresh fish being unloaded, the sight of huge crates of cargo as they were swung off a ship, even the throngs of people, made Ben smile broadly; this was the life for him. He just knew it.

 

The old sailor smiled also, a small wistful smile. He watched the sun play on the white of the tightly lashed sails of the great ship. He understood the sound of the breeze whistling through the rigging tugging at the ropes gently rocking her back and forth in her berth, pleading with her, teasing, coaxing her back into the open waters.

 

“Would ya be wantin’ ta get a mite closer to her, mate?”

 

Ben gulped. He knew not to trust strangers. His father, on many occasions, had made this painfully clear. His father was a very strict man and there were few things he tolerated less than direct disregard for his word. “Umm . . . no thank you sir. I'll look from here.” Ben looked down at his feet so as not to let the man see the hint of a tear in his eyes. He bit his lip to stop himself from amending his statement to “ Oh, Yes!”

 

“Ah ha. The lad has had a good up-bringin’. That’s clear ‘nough.” He thought, as he quietly puffed a few more times on his pipe. “As ya like,” he said, and then offered, “Ya do much fishin’? Ayah! Us sailors does lots a fishin’ ta pass the time.”

 

“Yes, sir. I sure do.”  The light came back into Ben voice.

 

“What say we go to the end o’ th’ pier and see what’s runnin’?” The old man gently offered.

 

Ben was momentarily unsure. He hesitated. “You'll end up on a boat ta China!” He heard Charlie warn. Ben, however, felt he could trust this man. He did not feel like he was someone out to do him any harm so he pushed the thoughts out of his mind and nonchalantly agreed.

 

“Okay?” But just in case, he offered up a quick, silent, little prayer. Ben and the old sailor ambled slowly down the wharf towards the pier that extended into the harbor. Ben chatted easily, listening with great intensity at all the old sailor told him. He asked many questions, all of them serious and quite grown up for a boy of seven. When they reached the end of the pier there were a few people fishing. One was a man Ben recognized as a friend of his father’s. Ben was not sure if he wanted to be seen, but before he had a chance to decide, the man looked up, a little surprised, looking around, he squinted at the boy.

 

“Where’s your daddy, Ben?”

 

“Ummm. He’s at work, Mr. Walters. This is  . . . my friend  . . .” Ben froze. He did not even know the man’s name.

 

“Ahoy, mate, Stovy’s the name. How’s the fishin’ goin’? Catch anything interestin’?” He took a few puffs and wrinkled up his face, tilting his head just a fraction in the boy’s

direction. The man on the piling nodded slightly.

 

“Ahem. Why yes indeedy, the flounders in. Caught me a right smart pail, ayah.” His voice had that unmistakable New England accent. He lifted up the pail to show them his haul.

 

“Boy! Mamma would love ta have some of them!” Ben piped up, then blushed. He was not supposed to take part in grownup conversations unless spoken to. This day was starting to go down hill. Both men gave him a sharp look but then did their best to hide amused smiles from him. Ben hung his head, shoving his hands in his front pockets, letting his schoolbooks and lunch bucket drop to the boardwalk at his feet.

 

“Say, aren’t you supposed to be in school young un’?”

 

“Mr. Tooly took sick.”

 

“I see. So you decided to take a little trip down here to see what’s going on?”

 

“Sorta,’ I guess.”  Ben shrugged then looked out to the bay. A beautiful schooner was just coming into view, her sails full as she leaned into the wind skimming across the water with swanlike grace. Ben’s face took on a look of wonder. Both men followed his gaze.

 

“Looks like the Fairy Queen is back from the islands. Short trip this time around.” Mr. Walters noted as he stood to get a better look.

 

“Ayah, she’s a fair beauty, that one. Know her well, do ya?” The older men fell into deep discussion on the ship and her owner, excluding Ben. However, with his curiosity piqued, he listened for a time, then started to look around the pier at all the other fish being caught and watched carefully how every one fished.

 

******************************************

 

For Martha Cartwright, it was a lovely spring day. Her friend and neighbor Lucy stopped by to see how she was managing. Martha’s time was getting close. Both being good mothers, the conversation naturally turned to their children. Lucy, seeing how tired Martha looked, commented that it must be a relief that she would get an extra break as school was unexpectedly closed early that morning at 10:00 A.M. Martha’s heart jumped into her throat. Her mind spun out of control.

 

“Lucy, what ever are you saying?” She quivered as she rose laboriously and unsteadily to her feet.

 

The clock on the mantel, as if on cue, struck 1:00 P.M.

 

“Gracious! Whatever is the matter? You are white as a sheet!”

 

“Ben . . . never came . . . came home!” She spoke as she grabbed her shawl at the same time lifting Aaron from his high chair.  “John, come here quickly.” She called.

 

“Wait a minute. Where are you going?”

 

“To look for my son. He can’t be far.”

 

“You certainly can not go out racing around the streets, not in your condition!”


”What condition?” Martha demanded her eyes flashing.

 

“Look at yourself!”

 

Martha looked down, and then she looked up to roll her eyes towards heaven impatiently.

 

“Yes. I am having a baby, and right now I need to find my eldest son. That’s what is important, not what I look like. My condition has nothing to do with this, Ben is missing.” And she was out the door.

 

Martha hurried down the narrow streets as best she could. She was heavy with child. One arm held her two-year-old perched on her hip the other pulled a reluctant four-year-old along behind her. Her gray eyes searched the streets and alleys. She tried to ignore the stares and whispers. With her thick chestnut hair pulled back in a tight bun, wispy strands now fell around her strained, flushed and tired face. Her eyes flared between fear and fury as she sought her eldest son. “I just don’t know about that boy sometimes!” She crossly complained. Many blocks from home, her steps were slower; she had to take a minute and rest against a low, stone wall.

 

“Where’s Ben Mamma? I’m tired n’ hot”.

 

“I know, John.” As she patted his small hand absently, Aaron squirmed in her arms; he was getting restless and cranky.

 

“No, Aaron, you can not get down here.”

 

Fatigue played on her emotions. She felt her eyes fill with hot tears. Ben was so stubborn sometimes, so single-minded. When he got an idea into his head, he inevitably lost all track of time. Martha pushed her hair off her damp face.

 

Joseph Cartwright was summoned from work in the middle of the day by Lucy who was worried about his wife Martha who had gone off frantically searching for Ben. He found her shaking and weeping a few blocks from the house, resting against a stone  wall with John standing at her side and Aaron in her arms squirming to get down. He had gently wrapped her in his arms, his own eyes filling. He took Aaron from her. Holding Aaron on one arm, he then put the other comfortingly and protectively around her shoulder.

 

“Come, Martha,” He gently coaxed. “You are in no condition to be wandering these streets, and don’t worry.”

 

“Don’t worry!”  She attempted to push him away her fierce scowl suddenly vanished, “But what if  . . .” She had looked up pleadingly into his eyes.

 

“Now, now. Ben’s a smart boy. He’s all right I promise you (Until I get my hands on that little scamp). I’ll find him. Come along.”

 

“Where could he be? He’s been gone so long.” Despairingly she whispered.

 

John looked up at his parents, tugging on his mother’s skirt.

 

“Fishin,’ Mamma.” He stated, wondering just why everyone was so excited.

 

“What did you just say?”

 

“Ben’s fishin,’ ” He repeated still surprised no one had figured this out except him. Quite surprised by his parents reaction, he looked curiously at them.

 

“How do you know this, son?” Joseph bent down to look John in the face with Aaron still clinging to his neck.

 

“I jest’ know.” Raising his brow, his eyes wide John shrugged with perfect four-year-old logic.

 

Joseph looked up at his wife and whispered, “Fishing, of course. I should have known. The wharf  . . .” Then to his small son, “Thank you, John, for helping us.”

 

“Kay.” He smiled happily, feeling very grown up. It wasn’t often he got the best of Ben, yet the look on his father’s face worried him. He looked at his mother; she was crying again. Ben had scared their Mamma and made her cry and that made John mad. They made their way back to the house where Lucy was anxiously waiting.

 

“No sign of Ben?” Martha shook her head. Lucy took Aaron, who was by now quite cranky having missed his nap. Joseph left immediately and headed for where he knew Ben would be, by now very frightened and his anger boiling up like steam, ready to blow him apart.

 

After settling Aaron down, Lucy came over to her friend. “My lands, you look awful. You just rest while I see to things.” Martha’s pale face was terror stricken at the visions running rampant in her head.

 

“Is father gonna’ find Ben?”

 

“Yes, John, of course he will, and they will be back here in no time at all, and Ben will be safe and sound.” Lucy reassured him. John went to the window to keep watch for them.

 

Lucy turned her attention to Martha. She had made some chamomile tea and handed her a cool cloth to relieve her sweaty face. To keep busy Lucy made John a slice of bread and jam to go with a glass of milk, telling him to sit at the table. He did so reluctantly; he had wanted to be the first to see when Ben and their father returned.

 

******************************************

 

At that moment on the pier, Mr. Walter’s line began to pull down the tip of his thick pole. Ben watched for a few minutes. He wanted to tell him but Mr. Walters had moved off a way with the old sailor and was not looking in Ben’s direction. For another moment Ben debated, opening and closing his hands, then he walked over and picked up the heavy pole hoping to stop the fish from getting away. His good intention almost sent him headfirst into the bay. Fate stepped in just at the last second he managed to sit down with an “Ooof!”

 

With exaggerated effort Ben hauled up on the line. This action was quick to draw the attention of others; it didn’t take long before he had more then a few onlookers as he struggled with the pole and what ever was on the other end. A few offered words of encouragement, a few chuckled as he groaned growing red in the face as he fought. He had his tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he concentrated all his effort.

 

“Com’on, boy. Heave, lad, heave!”  Ben pulled with all his might. At this point he had quite a little crowd gathered around him, Mr. Walters and Stovy among them. A few silently questioned the wisdom of letting a little one deal with what was so obviously too much for him to handle. His fierce determination and expression however kept those thoughts hidden.

 

************************************************

 

The stir at the end of the pier caught the attention of a young man around thirty who had an anguished look on his face. He was a big man, well built, with dark brown hair. His dark hazel eyes seemed to be searching for something. In a very agitated state, he stopped all passers by and asked is they had seen a young boy of seven. Most shook their heads and hurried on their way. Just then, a small opening appeared in the crowd at the end of one of the piers. The distraught young man hooded his eyes to see better. Staring for an instant at what he saw, he shook his head and looked again. The focus of the crowd was a little boy fighting with all his might to keep hold of a fishing pole that was threatening to yank him into the bay at any moment.

 

Joseph William Cartwright saw red. He strode forward, hands clenched tightly at his sides, his jaw muscles straining; the veins in his neck standing out in purple lines throbbed ominously. He made it to the end of the pier in record time.

 

Ben Cartwright was having the time of his life. He was in his glory, the center of attention. Grown men where cheering him on: he was getting hot and sweaty it ran down his now bright red face. His little hands ached, the sweat making it harder and harder to hold onto the heavy pole. Hold on he did refusing to relinquish his fight he held on with all his might; his little arms were starting to tremble as he valiantly did battle with what ever was on the other end of the line. With an impressive effort he got to his knees, eventually regaining his footing, slowly, he began to back up and make some headway. The crowd parted as he dug his heels in and pulled.

 

Suddenly . . . Out of nowhere, the pole was torn from his hands as he felt himself yanked off his feet and propelled backwards through the air.

 

"Benjamin William Cartwright!!!! WHAT IN BLUE BLAZES DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING???????" The shattering roar right next to his ear bounced around in his head. He found himself looking into the now beet red face of the one person he did not want to see, his father. The merry, cheering crowd had instantly vaporized including Mr. Walters and Stovy. Ben found himself clenched in the vice like grip of his father, suspended at least three feet off the ground, as his father was 6 feet tall.

 

“Ffffish (Gulp) ing,’ Fffather.” He stuttered. The thunderous look on his father’s face made Ben queasy.

 

With supreme effort and sheer will Joseph Cartwright placed the boy back on the pier. He straightened up taking a great, deep, calming breath, and took the child by the hand.

 

“You are coming home with me now. I do not want to hear a peep out of you until we get there.” His voice was deep, very calm and very low.

 

Ben nodded, never taking his eyes off his father; he reached down and gathered his book strap and lunch bucket. Staring straight in front of him, he trotted alongside his father’s long, angry strides. Wildly he sought some sort of explanation that might soften what was obviously going to be a rather uncomfortable confrontation when they reached home.

 

Ben Cartwright was getting tired trying to keep pace with his father’s strides. He still did not have the courage to look up. Reaching the door, his father pushed it open letting Ben in first.

 

“Upstairs young man. I shall deal with you after dinner.”

 

Ben went directly up the stairs never looking at anyone in the room. Once in his room he shut the door quietly behind him.

 

Lucy, understanding took her leave.

 

Ben stood in the middle of his small room desperately pondering the fate that awaited him until his pride got the best of him.

 

“An, an, I almos’ got it. It was gonna be big! Stovy said so. Really big!” He pouted, remembering the enormous fight he had with the fishing pole, he looked down at the deep red marks still visible along his palms where his fingernails dug in.

 

“Ww-why’d he haf’ ta do that!” He whined pitifully. After his initial shock he had become very embarrassed by his father.

 

“Now everybody’s gonna laugh an say I’m jes a little kid.” Ben’s seven-year-old mind defended his wounded pride.

 

“I almos’ had it!” He grumbled.

 

Ben could just about hear his parents downstairs in the kitchen; he was sure, as a boy could be topic of conversation rested on his head. He just wished he knew what was being said, and by whom. The words were muffled but Ben got the feeling his father’s voice was one he had come to know and it boded no good for him. Turning, he went to his mirror and peered at his reflection.

 

“I think maybe, Ben, you made a big_ mistake ta’day” He finally admitted. It was too late to change things now; he just wished it would get over with. He hated the waiting.

 

“John, go play in the yard please and do not get into any mischief or leave the yard . . . Understand?” Joseph had sternly advised him. John slid off his chair and nodding, hurried out the door. Boy was Ben in trouble. He wandered around the yard a little trying to make up his mind whether to be mad or worried for his brother, or both.

 

Bored with the yard John had tiptoed to the kitchen window, and then smirking went into the house by the back door and stole up the stairs to his brother’s room. John opened the door and let himself in. With an air of superiority only a four-year-old could have when he had something on his older brother he announced. “Yer in biiggg trouble!”

 

Ben was standing at the window staring out.

 

“Sez who!”

 

“Father an’ Mamma,” he continued, "Father’s reeally cross with you. An me tooo.”

 

John folded his arms; his light, brown eyes and curly, sandy hair set him apart from Ben. Ben turned to give him an angry frown.

 

“You made Mamma cry, Ben.” He accused hotly. Ben turned back to the window; he felt his eyes sting. He never figured this into his plan. In fact he was very sorry for doing that; he felt terrible about it.

 

“That’s bad. Yer really gonna get it!”

 

“Mind yer own business.”

 

“Father is really, really cross,” John kept up, emphasizing “really.”

 

Ben tried to appear not the least bit worried or even interested.

 

“Wanna’ know?” John asked as he hopped up on Ben’s bed.

 

“Know what?”

 

“What’s gonna’ happen.”

 

Ben already had a pretty good idea but he was not going to let his little brother get the best of him, or for that matter, admit he was worried himself. His pride just wouldn’t allow him to do that.

 

John watched. He wanted to see if Ben was going to react. When Ben remained aloof and silent, he could hold it in no longer.

 

“Fathers gonna’ take a switch to ya!”

 

Ben’s eyes went wide; he tried to hide it. He felt himself pale. The fact that he was in for some strict form of punishment was a forgone conclusion, but this little tidbit of information caught him off guard.

 

“He is not!”

 

“Is toooo.”

 

“How do you know?” He menaced his brother with his fiercest scowl.

 

“Uh-huuuh. I heard him tell Mamma he wuz gonna see ta ya after dinner.”

 

“That don't mean nuthin.’ ” Ben arrogantly replied.

 

“Well, he said it. I heard him!!!!” John slid off the bed.

 

Arching his brow John sauntered to the door. Reaching the door, he took one last, satisfied look back at his brother. To his dismay Ben was leisurely flipping through his spelling book as if he was bored. Inside, however, Ben was trembling; the nerves at the base of his spine were beginning to tingle.

 

“Go back down stairs.” He demanded. “I got homework.” Ben had a bad feeling he’d better sit and get this done now, as the chances he may not sit again soon seemed to be growing by the minute.

 

Earlier Martha had tried to talk Joseph out of such stern punishment but he had been adamant.

 

“That boy will learn once and for all. I mean what I say and when I tell him not to do something, he will obey!!” He had fumed.

 

“Joseph, he’s only seven.”

 

“Exactly my point. He is only seven. When I think of what could have happened, how close he came  . . . to . . . to . . . of, what  . . .” He physically shuddered.

 

“Yes, I know.” She softly agreed. Her own mind refusing to even acknowledge what might have happened. “But he . . .”

 

“Now, don't you go defending him.” Joseph turned to face Martha, his own handsome face pale and tired. “You’re his mother. I understand you do not want him hurt. It's your job to protect him, comfort him, nurture him.”

 

Martha nodded in agreement as he spoke. A glimmer of hope sprang into her eyes. Joseph almost chuckled, thinking he knew all too well where his son inherited that charming, disarming smile.

 

“And,” he firmly continued, “I_ am his father. It is my job to see he grows up to be an honest, hardworking, responsible young man, one who respects people, respects himself, who's word means something. When you give your word on something, you keep it! Whether it means missing out on something or not. A man can not go off on a lark every time it strikes his fancy!” He angrily stated.

 

“Oh, Joseph . . . You know Ben's not like that at all.”

 

“No, not yet, and I intend to see to it he will never grow to be like that,” he paused. “End of discussion.” He stated in a tone that meant just that. “This issue is between Benjamin and myself.” Then tilting his head and raising his one eyebrow he wagged his finger at her. “And don't you go coddling him afterwards. He needs to feel the consequences of his actions today! Long enough to make a strong impression!” Joseph's eyes grew dark.

 

Martha nodded again. He was right, of course. Ben had to learn what would happen when he let his stubborn streak and pride rule his actions and his life.

 

“Don't look so worried. He will get over it, eventually. And maybe, just maybe, he will think twice before he takes himself down to the wharf and docks alone again.”

 

Dinner at the Cartwright house that evening was a solemn affair. Ben had remained in his room until he heard his father call him. Quietly and with as much confidence as he could dredge up he walked down stairs.

 

“Have you washed up?” Joseph’s hard tone further unnerving Ben.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

His father nodded. Ben slid into his place at the table. Martha entered carrying a big tureen of thick, creamy chowder. John stole a peek at Ben then their father as Joseph said grace. After a few strained, silent minutes Ben summoned his courage. With his head down, he began.

“I  . . . I  . . . I'm s-s-sorry, Mamma,” his cheeks flushed.  “I- jj-j-jes—wanned’ ta’ see some ships an . . .”

 

“Benjamin, we do not want to hear from you at this time.” His father curtly cut him off. Ben’s head came up; he could not believe his father was not going to let him explain.

 

“B . . . but  . . .”

 

Joseph’s eyes flashed a dangerous warning. John watched in fascination as Ben set his jaw, drawing his lips into a thin line, his little fist gripped tightly around his spoon, his left fist balled determinedly in his lap.

 

“I . . . I was . . . was, jes’ tryin’ ta’ pologise’ an splain’ ta Mamma, I . . .”

 

His voice had a stubborn ring he had not intended. His eyes darted to his mother who was concentrating on getting Aaron to eat. She dared not acknowledge his effort. Ben flicked his eyes back to his father. The warning was reaching the flash point.

 

“W . . . w . . . well I was.” He half muttered and played with his spoon, but it was too late.

 

“Young man. You leave this table at once. You and I already have a long list of things we shall be addressing at length. Do not add to it with disrespect and insolence. And another thing, your diction and grammar are becoming deplorable. We shall have to see to that also. Now, go to your room and wait until I come for you.” Joseph harshly growled pointing to the stairs.

 

Ben was ready to explode, but he fought for control. Sliding off his chair, eyes downcast lest his father see the fire in them, he answered, “Yes, Sir,” as politely as he could, and went quickly to the stairs and back to his room.

 

Martha turned to her husband with a pleading expression on her face, but said nothing. John wisely kept all his attention on his own dinner. When father got this angry it was best to be quiet and as unnoticeable as possible. Joseph Cartwright gripped his own spoon fiercely, a terrible scowl on his face; he said nothing more while attacking his dinner with barely contained fury.

 

Upstairs Ben waited and waited. His stomach growled; he had not eaten since breakfast, but he had no desire to eat. After what seemed like years he heard footsteps. He instantly froze but they passed his door. Then he heard mummers as his father put his brother John to bed in the room next to his. The footsteps passed his room again. Ben let out a breath unaware he had been holding it. The house grew quiet. Ben knew Aaron was already asleep, as he had heard his mother’s heavy steps as she carried his youngest brother to their room. He imagined he could hear her whispers as she settled him in his crib. For a moment it seemed she hesitated outside his door, then she was gone. Still Ben waited. The sky outside his window was becoming streaked with orange and red as the sun slowly slid out of sight. Soon the harbor lights would be blinking on. Still Ben waited. He had managed to write his spelling words and do a few arithmetic problems but his concentration just wasn’t there. Finally it came, a firm knock at his door.

 

With the two younger children settled, Joseph headed up the stairs to escort his son to the library where the discussion was to take place. “Benjamin.” His father opened the door. “Come with me please,” he stated in a very low, unmistakable tone. Ben jumped turning from the window. Glancing up at him, he nodded, replying in a small voice “Yes, sir.” 

 

His father led the way down stairs to the library across from the parlor where Ben caught a glimpse of his mother sitting in her rocker by the fireplace. She was thinking about what was to become known as that famous Cartwright stubborn streak and pride, which was, even at age seven, unfortunately, already in place. Sighing, Martha absently rubbed her swollen belly. “Well, maybe this one will be a girl, a nice, sweet, quiet, gentle girl.” She thought to herself.

 

Ben was such a handsome boy, even at seven, with beautiful expressive deep brown eyes that could say so much. Once an elderly lady at church had referred to them as chocolate. His beautiful broad smile could, when he wanted to, charm even the coldest heart. His manners and actions were, for the most, part exemplary. He was a serious child. He took his position as eldest son to heart. He was a good big brother, and how he fussed over her, worrying and watching. Why just last week, he had insisted she looked so tired, he pulled her to her rocking chair and forced her to sit, checked in on his sleeping baby brother Aaron, then taking John by the hand, he led him into the kitchen where they made her some tea. He sent John into the garden to pick a flower, and putting it all on a tray, he had carried it to her.

 

“Here, Mamma.” He had proudly stated. “Rest time.”                     

 

His dark eyes beamed with pleasure as he pushed his dark wavy brown hair from his forehead, then frowning, his eyes grew even darker.

 

“W-w-what’s a matter Mamma?” He anxiously studied her face. Her eyes were all watery; she quickly covered it up with a laugh.

 

“Must have gotten a speck of dust in my eye.” She had softly said, wiping at them, not wanting him to know how deeply he had moved her. It would have embarrassed him in front of John; he could be so sensitive at times. He had patted her hand, his touch so very gentle and soothing, even for a child.

 

“Com’on, John. I'll read ta’ ya so Mamma can rest.”

 

“You can't read.” John had protested, not wanting Ben to get all the glory. Ben’s stubborn streak and pride rose to the challenge.

 

“I can too, and yer comin’ with me. Right now!” He had declared with such determination and authority, standing there with his hands on his hips, as tall as he could, glowering at John. He was the perfect image of his father.

 

*************************************

At the library door Ben hesitated for a second; their eyes met. His mother’s eyes held an expression of love and warm sympathy. He went into the room as his father closed the door firmly behind them.

 

It started off quietly. Joseph Cartwright wanted his little boy to understand the harsh reality and terrible dangers that lay in wait for children who ventured to the wharf alone. He quietly and sternly began to lecture Ben on them, which led into how very disappointed in him he was. Joseph also stressed how Ben had frightened his mother, how upset she had been at not finding him. This rang a bell in Ben's mind; then again his stubborn pride kicked in.

 

The image of Martha shaking and weeping by the stone wall a few blocks from the house with John standing at her side and Aaron in her arms squirming to get down reinforced Joseph’s anger.

 

“Look at me when I am talking to you, boy.” Joseph commanded. “Are you listening to anything I am saying, Benjamin?”

 

Ben appeared to not be paying attention and this further infuriated his already very angry father. His fathers’ respect was uppermost in Ben’s mind, but sometimes, just sometimes, he couldn't help himself and he forgot to think it through. Ben stood in the middle of the room, hands behind him, staring at the rug. Joseph walked around him to his desk rubbing his temples then pinched the bridge of his nose before he began. He drew in a slow deep breath as he stared down long and hard at the little boy before him.

 

 “Well?”

Joseph's voice crackled with foreboding. It was not intended as a question, it was a statement.

 

Ben glanced up briefly.

 

He knew he was not expected to answer.

“Do you have any idea, any idea at all of the amount of trouble you managed to create today with this little holiday of yours?” Ben shook his head, no.

 

“No?” Joseph repeated scornfully. Again Ben shook his head. “Then perhaps I should explain.” He launched into a long detailed account punctuated by stern gestures as he paced back and forth. “Would you like to let me know just what you were thinking?” He growled deeply.

 

“I wasn’t think . . .”

 

“Right!” his father snapped.

 

“You were not thinking, at least not about the trouble you were causing. You were thinking, however, about you - Ben - what Ben wanted to do! You were not thinking about what you were supposed to be doing, what you knew you should be doing. How is it that all the other children in your grade did as they were told?”

 

Ben felt himself bristle, the need to defend himself called out. After all, Father had no way of knowing he was the only one who did not go directly home. He was unfairly singling him out. Therefore before he could stop himself he blurted out, “Father, that’s not fair! Y . . . y-y-you don’t know that!”

 

The roar that it elicited startled his mother across the hall.

 

“WHAT???”

 

Martha bit her lip as the discussion behind the library door escalated. She closed her eyes and could see him, not really defiant, but ever ready to defend his actions and decisions, standing there with his pride not letting him give in without, at least, making an effort to get his point across.

 

Ben ducked in his head. How could he have been so dumb as to say such a thing? His father, for a brief moment, was left speechless and could not respond.

 

“I . . . I was . . . jes’ gonna’ get Mmomma some f-fish,” Ben quickly offered, well aware his last outburst was unforgivable. “Mmomma loves f-fish,” he continued “An..  .  an-I- I thought I could get home by the same time.” His tendency to stutter when nervous or frustrated compounded his stubborn refusal to see the error of his ways today.

 

He looked up twisting his hands in front of him in supplication. Joseph had his back to him trying to keep some kind of self-control. Ben fell silent for a few minutes then added, “I almos’ got a big one  . . . too.” He shook his head in disappointment at the way it had turned out.

 

“You almost . . . went into that bay . . . head- first!!!” His father rounded on him with a bellow.

 

“No. No, I-I-I didn’t.” Ben indignantly snorted.

 

“I saw you!” At this point Joseph was right in front of him, towering over him, glaring down furiously, hands on his hips.

 

“But, but, I  . . . I didn’t.” Ben stubbornly contended.

 

 “And what if you had?”

 

“I can swim! Real good!” The words flew out before he could stop them.

 

“You can swim?” Joseph barked. “Not if you hit your head or got tangled in the lines, and you are most certainly not strong enough to fight the tides!”

 

Ben felt his temper start to rise. Hands at his sides, he clenched his fists.

 

“I didn't fall in!” he restated through gritted teeth. “I held on ta’ th’ pole . . . I'm strong.”

 

“Oh, really!”

 

“Yes!” Ben replied his back going ridged his shoulder set.

 

Joseph could see this was fast headed for a stalemate with his obstinate child. If Ben thought he was in the right about something, no one and no amount of persuasion would make him back down.

 

“Benjamin, this is not about what you almost did or did not catch! This is about what you deliberately did!”

 

“Huh? What?” Ben asked, caught off guard, truly puzzled.

 

“Did I not tell you on too many occasions to count right now, that under no circumstances were you to go down to the docks, wharf and or piers alone?”

 

“Oh.” Came the little voice.

 

“Oh?” His father echoed, nodding. Ben was finally getting the picture. The little boy drew in a deep breath and sighed, he knew at this point he had no defense to offer.

 

“I am glad to see that you at least agree on this.” Joseph replied.

 

“Father, are-are you gonna’ (Gulp) s . . . spank me now?” Today had held such promise but now, he just wanted this day to be over.

 

His father looked at him long and hard.

 

“No.”

 

Ben’s head came up; he couldn't believe he’d heard right. Then John’s warning popped back into his head.

 

“No, Benjamin,” his father was saying, “It seems that just a spanking has not made a strong enough impression on you. Therefore, I am forced to take stronger measures. I take no pleasure in what I am about to do, believe me.”

 

Ben’s eyes widened. Joseph turned and picked up a small hickory branch from his desk. Ben felt himself trembling. Facing the boy again, he said with a deep sense of sadness in his voice. “You have left me no choice. This time, my son, you will learn to obey me.” He tapped the switch against his leg. “I do not want to have to use this again.”

 

Ben felt the panic start to rise in him; he licked his lips nervously and rubbed his hands up and down the sides of his britches. His stomach began to churn.

 

“I  . . . I –w-will. I  . . . I w-will.” He nodded never taking his eyes off the switch.

 

“Yes, I am sure you will. Come over here, son. I do not want this to take any longer than it has to, and you are to apologize to your mother before you go up to bed.”

 

Ben was nodding in agreement. His eyes started to water; he blinked trying to clear them.

 

“F . . . father?”

 

But Joseph just shook his head. Desperate, Ben tried once more to get his father to relent. The problem was his father was the exact mold from which Ben was cast.

 

“I’m  . . . I’m jest’ a little kid. I'm ooonly seven,” He hopefully pointed out.

 

“Yes and seven is old enough to know the difference between right and wrong? Old enough to know better, isn't it? And another thing, you will be spending the next week in your room. That should give you enough time to study your grammar and diction.”

 

Joseph pointed to the chair a few feet away. It was becoming all too clear to Ben that he was not going to escape his father’s wrath so easily this time. So, he straightened his little shoulders, set his jaw, and walked slowly to where his father was pointing, determine not to give his brother John the satisfaction of being right and crowing about it.

 

Swallowing hard he stood in front of his father, ready to take his punishment like a man. Ben’s determination and resolve dissolved about one minute later as his father sat down and said sternly, “Come on boy, don’t make this any harder. Over!” pointing to his knee.

Ben drew in a long shuddering breath and did as he was told. His feet left the floor as his father’s left arm came over and behind his shoulders. This effectively prevented him from reaching back, at the same time holding him firmly in place.

 

“Benjamin this is going to hurt both of us.” With that he brought the switch whistling sharply down on Ben’s bottom. Ben’s courage deserted him instantly. The intensity of the sting was too much for him. Hot tears burst from his eyes. His head came up.

 

“Owwwww nooo, father. Please!  . . . ”

 

Martha was drawn out of her warm little memory by a distinct sound. Hot tears filled her eyes as she unwillingly found herself counting the number of times her husband brought the switch down on Ben. She winced at each one. “Oh, Benjamin,” She whispered tearfully. “If you could just learn not to argue with him so.”

 

“I'm afraid it’s a little late, boy!” Joseph brought the switch down again a little harder. Ben squirmed frantically in spite of his intentions, and cried. “Oowwwwww!” Again, his father brought the switch down. “Owwwww!”  Again and again, after the forth lick, Ben was wailing woefully. Joseph gave him two more licks to be sure he understood the seriousness of his actions. By this time he was sobbing wildly and uncontrollably. Joseph stood him up; Ben couldn’t see through his tears. His bottom stung so badly he was dancing up and down.

 

“Go and apologize to your mother.” Joseph told him in a low voice.

 

Ben fled the room. Joseph snapped the switch in half dropping it on the floor. Placing his face in his hands, shaking his head he wept softly.

 

Ben had managed to stutter through his apology to his mother between sobs then escaped to the safety of his room. Once inside, he fell on his bed burying his face in his pillow. He flailed his arms and kicked his feet to vent his feelings; finally he just cried quietly. When he ran out of tears he slid gingerly off the bed and began to get undressed. He undid his shirt, and as he did so, he told himself that when he grew up and got to be a father, he was never going to be so mean to his boy. He was never going to punish his boy like his father had just punished him. Never! Ever! No matter what he did!

 

And the tears started again as he slid out of his britches. The sting had yet to ease up. Ben was beginning to think it would never go away. He was as sure as a seven-year-old could be that he might not be able to sit ‘till forever. He slid his nightshirt over his head, a deep sob catching in his chest. He pulled his sleeve across his eyes, as he gingerly tried to rub the sting away. But rubbing it didn’t help. Not one bit. He walked to the window where he could see it was dark now. The harbor lights blinked invitingly on and off in the distance.

 

“I-I’m g  . . . g . . . gonna’ be . . . be a s-sailor I am!” he whispered softly between sobs, “An- an g  . . . go f . . . far a away an, an.” He did not finish. The tears flowed again as he stood rocking back and forth trying to escape the stinging.

 

There was a bright moon emerging; the stars were growing brighter in the sky as young Ben Cartwright resolved to be the best, most understanding, caring, loving, never too strict father ever to walk the earth.

 

As the stinging refused to let up,  the thought typically entered his mind. He wanted to get even with John. He did not know that as his father put John to bed, his little brother pleaded his case for him.

 

“Father, please don’t switch Ben.”

 

“That, young man, is none of your concern and how do you know I am going to take a switch to him?” John gave him an innocent shrug.

 

“You would be wise to mind your own behavior and learn from this yourself.”

 

“Yes, sir.” As his father reached for the door he called softly, “But, father, Ben’s my big brother.”

 

“Yes, and as such, he is supposed to be setting a good example for you and Aaron, and what happened today is one example of how not to behave. Is it not?”

 

John nodded sadly; he really tried to stay awake to be sure Ben was ok but after all, he was only four and he had a hard day.

 

Feeling so despondent and alone Ben leaned his face on the window to bemoan his troubles. (Why, oh why, didn’t father see how much he loved the sea? Didn't he know how Ben felt? Didn’t he care? Father was a sailor part of the time. How come he didn’t see,) he wondered sadly.

 

 If he got to have a boy, he would see. He would care if he had a boy who loved the sea and wanted to go places an, an, see things all around the world.  He would not tell him he couldn’t go, or try to get him to change his mind, or anything, he would be happy for him . . . He would! An, he  . . . he wouldn’t not let him catch big f-ish. Softly he repeated, "I would.”

 

A few hours later as Ben slept his father quietly slipped into his room. Ben never felt the soft kiss on his forehead or the gentle touch as his father brushed away the last tear from his cheek. “I do love you Benjamin, more than you could ever know, my son. Tomorrow we shall start over, with a clean slate I promise.” Joseph whispered tucking the covers around him.

 

The harbor lights twinkled in the distance as if waiting and asking what was still to come.

 

 

Part Two

 

Ben, against his better judgment, had taken Adam on this trip to San Francisco. Marie, his third wife, had been fretting over her eldest son. The boy obviously idolized his father. He was a very bright child; he was also just about the most stubborn exasperating child she had ever met. His pride had already brought him much grief with his father, and as he approached these next few years, she could see it escalating quickly. So as Adam’s 14th birthday approached she had suggested, as an early present, Ben take Adam with him. When Ben resisted, she pleaded, begged cajoled and down right blackmailed him into agreement.

 

Adam had been working so hard, trying to be a man; he had such good grades in school. Maybe some time alone together would help them. Ben was so pressed for time lately with the expansion of the ranch and all the timber and cattle contracts, she felt this might ease the way into this next most turbulent and vexing stage in Adam’s life.

 

Adam was rarely outright rebellious, that would have been down right foolhardy. His father would never stand for that. Adam had always been good at pushing his father’s patience to the limits, and lately, the battle of wills had been heating up at an alarming rate neither of them were readily willing to back down. Now she had her own little son who was proving to be just as much a challenge, quite possibly going to meet if not surpass both Ben and Adam in Cartwright stubbornness.

 

Marie felt this opportunity, while proving a small hardship having them both gone at the same time, was too good to let pass. Her husband was just reluctant to face the fact that Adam was on his way to growing up.

 

The first part of the trip went amazingly well. Adam listened quietly to the adult conversations; his manners at the stage stations were impeccable. Ben began to feel immense pride in his son and deeper powerful love for his bright, beautiful and oh so wise, young wife. Marie had taken such pains to make Adam happy, to show him she loved him in spite of his surly attitude and aloof cool behavior towards her; slowly she was winning the fight, thanks in part to the fact she was the only one more stubborn then all of them put together.

 

Ben and Adam had been in the city three days. Adam willingly accompanied his father on all his business meetings sitting quietly, listening very intently to all the discussions, while watching in his studious manner. Taking it all in with his dark expressive eyes, he never missed a thing. Each night as they walked back to their hotel, Ben would ask his opinion or for a comment; Adam always thought his answer through completely before he responded. Ben was impressed with his observations and input. So after he finished his paperwork each evening, he devoted his time solely to Adam and his wishes, delighting in how animated he could be, how handsome he was becoming, how he was growing. It thrilled him inside to see that sparkle, that irresistible smile, the one that went all the way up and into those dark hazel eyes, which danced. That irresistible smile displayed his wonderful dimples. That smile had been a rare sight indeed these last years and there had been even fewer smiles in the last three months.

 

“So, Adam, are you enjoying yourself? Tell me the truth, now. Are you sure you aren’t being bored to death with all this business talk?” Ben asked as they strolled along one of the wharves, watching the majestic tall ships sway and roll in the breeze, the rigging clanking musically. The gulls floated on the surface of the water, and zigzagged across the evening sky and out over the bay.

 

“Do you ever miss the sea, Pa?”

 

The question came out of the blue, startling Ben. He looked down surprised at Adam who was watching him intensely with deep interest.

 

“Oh, well, yes, sometimes, I guess,” he softly answered somewhat wistfully. “It gets under your skin, gets into your blood. I suppose it never really goes away.”

 

Ben paused, and then a broad smile creased his handsome face.

  

“But I would never want to change the way my life has turned out, never give up what I might have missed had I not given up the sea. Then again, there are times when you and your brothers drive me crazy. Then I do sometimes think about running away and going to sea, to be a sailor again and see the world!”

 

Ben tousled Adam’s hair laughing, his deep brown eyes glowing with love and pride. Adam pushed his hand away, an embarrassed frown on his face.

 

“Hey,” he complained smoothing back the ruffled locks. “Besides, you already got to be a sailor!” Surprisingly Adams voice was tinged with a child’s envy. It wiped the smile from Ben’s face instantly.

 

“Adam.” But he could not explain, not right here, not right now, not tonight, so he sighed, “Come on son,” he gently urged, “Let’s head back. It's getting rather late.”

        

Adam turned slightly away from his father, looking out over the bay to the open sea and what lay beyond. Nodding, he followed, now suddenly subdued. Ben wondered how things changed so quickly. Adam walked a step or two behind his father; Ben hesitated for a moment to let Adam catch up. He reached back. Adam shied away but Ben caught him. He threw his arm around Adam and pulled him close.

 

“Don’t worry, Adam, the world isn’t going anywhere with out you.” He promised in a lighthearted, encouraging tone.

 

Adam looked up into his father’s face, a warm, inviting, understanding face with deep brown eyes that shone with patience and sympathy for a young, eager heart, and love, above all, great love.

 

“I guess so,” he shrugged, a sheepish smile quirked his lip, and quick little laugh escape.

 

As they approached the last pier that jutted out into the bay, there was a small disturbance near the end.

 

“Hey, I wonder what that’s about?” Ever curious and eager to know things, Adam stopped and followed the noise with is eyes.

 

“Humm . . . dunno.” Ben mused, his attention now drifting to his upcoming meeting in the morning, the last one, he happily thought. Then he and Adam could spend one whole day together; just the two of them, doing whatever Adam wanted.

 

“Pa, Look, Pa!” Adam was pulling at his sleeve impatiently. Ben came back to the present.

 

“What, Adam? What is it?”

 

“Look, Pa! Down on the pier. Something’s happening. Can we go see?”

 

Ben followed where Adam was pointing. “I don't think so. Not tonight.”

 

“Awww but Pa., its right there! And besides we”re right here!” he whined pointing, his face becoming flushed.

 

“Adam, I already said no.”

 

“You said you didn’t think so. Not, no!”

 

“You know perfectly well what I meant. Don’t twist it to your own advantage.” Ben’s tone told Adam no further argument would be tolerated. Adam threw up his arms in defeat, and rolling his eyes, he headed off towards the hotel, muttering furiously to himself.

 

Ben raised his one brow tilting his head as he watched Adam stride along in front of him deep in conversation with himself. Ben was sure he was the subject. Shaking his head, he drew in a deep breath.

 

“Patience. Patience and understanding.” Marie’s voice whispered in his head “I’m trying, my love.” He thought to himself.

 

By the time they reached their hotel, Ben began to feel slightly guilty so he suggested they stop in at the restaurant for warm pie and cream. Adam loved apple pie.

 

“What say we splurge on ourselves before we turn in?” He coaxed. Adam tried to stay angry but he just couldn’t so he broke down and grinned.

 

“Okay. Sure Pa probably wasn’t much to see anyway.”

 

“You're more than likely right, son.” Ben patted Adam on the shoulder as they went in. The pie was wonderful. Ben and Adam had found firm ground again.

 

Afterwards as Ben went to speak to the desk clerk about the account and the possible need to stay one more day, Adam wandered aimlessly around the small lobby. A trio of obviously tipsy and quite merry sailors, stumbled into the bar off to the left; they were babbling about some kind of big, big fish caught off the pier a while ago and how all them landlubbers were going to try to catch them from the end of the pier. Adam carefully crept as close to the bar entrance as he dared, so he could hear better, glancing once to be sure his father was still busy.

 

What Adam managed to figure out between the laughs and the noise from the bar and the slurring accents of the sailors, was there were lots of these big fish in the bay and harbor and it was causing quite a to do. Their excitement was catching. Adam suddenly really wanted to go see and maybe even get a chance to catch one himself. He had never caught a really big fish before.

 

“I’ll have to figure out a way to get Pa to let me try this.” Adam’s mind began to form a plan, to calculate, by the time they reached the room; he already had a plan worked out, and his mind made up.

 

Yawning loudly he announced, “I  . . . I think I’ll turn in, Pa.”

 

“Feeling alright, son?”

 

“Yes. Sure. I’m just not, um, used to all this walking we did, I guess.” It was lame, and he knew it; by his father’s expression, he knew it too.

 

“I see. Well good night, Adam.”

 

Ben was standing at the window, his back to Adam, looking out at the harbor lights; something about them kept stirring up his mind. Adam quickly changed and climbed into bed. They did not have a great deal of extra cash, as this trip was more expensive because there were two of them. This hotel was a little off the beaten track, in a noisier section closer to the wharf and thus slightly less expensive. It was small but adequate and clean. The fact there was only one bed was not a problem. Ben and Adam had shared many, many beds over the years.

 

Adam pulled the covers up to his neck and closed his eyes. As Ben heard Adam slip into bed, he turned and put out the lamp; he was used to changing in the dark.

 

Morning came and Ben rose to get ready for his business meeting. Adam appeared to still be sound asleep. Moving with accustomed silence Ben finished washing, shaving and dressing, to let Adam get a little more shuteye.

 

“Hey, sleepy head rise and shine.”

 

“Huh?” Adam groggily muttered. “Oh,” He yawned as he faked a grimace “Hi, Pa.”

Ben instantly reached for his forehead, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Dunno jes feel kinda tired.” He mumbled.

 

“Hummm . . . Well you better stay in bed then.” Ben rearranged the covers back over him. Ben had no reason to doubt Adam’s word. The boy had already spent more time alone in boarding houses all across the country then most adults.

 

“I’ll try to hurry back, and on the way out I’ll arrange to have them bring you up some tea and toast, son.” Ben’s face held a worried frown as he gathered up his papers and things.

 

“Uh n . . . no, Pa. It’s ok. I’ll just get a few more hours sleep, then I’ll be right as rain,” Adam assured Ben as he leaned up on one elbow.

 

“Are- are, you sure? I mean  . . . I  . . . ”

 

Adam grinned at him. “I’ll be fine. I have had lots of practice at this.” It came out all wrong. Ben’s face fell. Hand on the doorknob he replied, “Yeah, yeah, I guess you have, at that.” He went out feeling just a little hurt.

 

“Darn. I didn’t mean for it to sound that way,” Adam muttered, slightly sorry. Then he settled back, hands behind his head to finalize his plans for the day. The sun was streaming in; the room felt warm. Because it was still early, the streets outside had not yet sprung to life. It was still quiet. The bed was surprisingly comfortable given the setting.

 

“Guess I could sleep just a little more. I really am a bit tired.” He mused. Besides, he rationalized it made him feel he had not out right lied to Pa. He would never be that stupid. The results would be disastrous.

 

Comfortable that he had justified his plan, Adam drifted back to sleep and slept soundly for about two more hours. It was his stomach that roused him; he stretched comfortably. Grinning, he lay still for a moment more then rolled lazily out of bed. So far so good, he ambled over to the window and looked out. The glorious sunshine fit his mood perfectly. Adam’s stomach growled yet again. He quickly washed and dressed, slipping his hand into his pants pocket. A satisfied warm flooded over him as he drew out the little crumbled wad that had been tucked secretly away just before they left.

 

***************************************************************************

 

“Come here, Adam,” Marie had whispered as she cornered him outside his room. “Here son, I want you to have this.” She slipped the bills into his pocket despite his effort to stop her and his protest. “Shussh.” Her beautiful, emerald green eyes sparkled with mischief and conspiracy. “Now don’t you let on to your Pa, this is a little something, just for you, a sort of holiday bonus. Oui' Cheri?  So don’t let on to your father. You spend this only on _yourself.” Marie held his chin. “I mean it.” Winking, she took a chance and brushed his cheek with her soft hand. He blushed crimson; looking away, he nodded, “Okay.”

 

Adam knew it was not easy for her to get this much put aside; she had obviously been squirreling away for a long time to be able to present him with such a treat. Two whole dollars, just for him. “I umm. Th . . . th- thanks, uh-m-m-ah- o- Marie.” He scooted past her, not sure how he was feeling at that moment. Marie straightened her thick curly brown hair; a sly smile spread impishly across her face after he left (Honey is better than Vinegar.)

 

***************************************************************************

 

Adam stuffed his treasure back in his pocket. Pa had also given him a treasure, a silver dollar to use as he chose. Adam was on top of the world, unaware he was headed for a ruinous down hill slide. He slipped quietly into the hall then strolled nonchalantly down the stairs; he passed a young maid half way down. She was puzzled by the sudden embarrassed look on the child’s face, as if she had caught him doing something wrong. She shrugged it off and went about her job.

 

Adam reached the lobby crossing to the dinning room entrance where he hesitated.

 

“Better not go in there.” He was not sure he had enough to spare for breakfast in the hotel, and he did not want to embarrass his father if he came up short. Adam was sure he had seen some other place where he could get something less costly. Standing up tall, he sauntered out into the bright, warm, golden, California sunshine.

 

Stopping briefly to get his bearings, he filled his lungs, then, smiling with great anticipation headed down the street towards the wharf. As he strode along, he could see the streets becoming more and more congested as the day progressed. Adam found his way to an open farm market where he began leisurely making the rounds of all the stands and all the wonderful things for sale. At last he settled on a big, sweet California orange, a rare treat indeed. Eating as he walked, he felt the juice trickle down his chin; he wiped it away absently on his sleeve. When he had finished, he shook the sticky juice from his hands, wondering how he was going to wash them. A few blocks further his problem was solved; he came to a horse trough. Adam rinsed his hands and wiped his face then, shaking off the excess, he wiped them dry on his pants leg. As he stood there, his nose caught the scent of fresh baked goods; he followed the scent to a tiny bakery, and there in the front window were the biggest ginger snap cookies he had ever seen.

 

“Hey, why not? Marie said spend it on me, so this is what me wants,” He announced to himself as he entered. Adam came out a few minutes later, munching on a cookie and with two more safely held in a small paper sack. Continuing to munch, he proceeded towards his destination, quickening his slow easy pace just a little. Adam was feeling quite pleased with himself, as so far his conscience had not kicked in. Besides he had conveniently rationalized his actions earlier. It did not take him long to reach the wharf area and see the pier he wanted.

 

Stopping to best decide how to go about his plan, he knew he did not have a rod or one of those special reels he had seen in some of the fishing stores they had passed. He had no bait and very little money. Oh well, maybe if he was very polite one of the fishermen would take pity on him and let him fish for a little bit, with one of theirs. It was worth a try, Adam came to a wide four-corner plaza off the wharves; it teamed with trolleys, and heavy wagons laden with goods being unloaded and things to be loaded on the many cargo ships anchored there.  Everywhere around him people where scurrying, calling or yelling, raising his energy level at each step Adam had to zigzag and dash between them to get where he wanted to go.

 

On one corner stood a big man dressed in a blue uniform. He immediately recognized the man as a police officer, that’s what they had in cities, not sheriffs like back home. Adam had learned this from his father. The very wise and observant officer had already spotted the lad, and the fact he was by himself and a stranger to the docks. His keen eye told him a lot as he strolled across the plaza to intercept Adam. He was able to tell as he approached, the boy was likely, no more than thirteen or fourteen at most. It was very clear he wasn’t one of the street kids who hung around the wharves to see what they could steal. This also piqued his interest further.

 

“Well, hallo there! Good mornin’ to you, young fella.” He cheerfully greeted the boy.

 

Adam stopped in is tracks, shifting just a little nervously. “Good morning, Sir,” Adam politely replied. His energy heightening at each passing minute, he had come too far to stop now. “I . . .I was looking for the pier, sir.” He spoke up brightly. He was usually so reserved and shy with strangers.

 

“I see. Might I be askin’ which pier an’ why, Son?” Donald O’Dougle rocked on his heels patiently waiting to see what else this boy would say or do.

 

“I  . . . I’m, umm . . . W-want to watch them  . . . fishing.”

 

“So. It’s a big fishin’ fan that ya are, is it now?”

 

“Oh, yes, sir. My Pa says I am a very good fisherman!”

 

“Does he in fact? And just where and who would your father be?”

 

“His name is Ben Cartwright. My name is Adam; we’re here on business,” he puffed up trying to sound confident.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes, we’re from Utah territory; my Pa has a ranch there and we are here to sell timber to the ship yards, and sell some cattle too.”

 

The officer nodded seriously. “Very impressive if I do say so,” he agreed.

 

Adam was beginning to feel a twinge of guilt.

 

“My Pa had a meeting this morning. B  . . . b  . . . but I was a little tired; mostly I go with him.” He offered trying to sound important.

 

“Yer feelin’ a might better now, I’m guessin?”

 

“Kinda.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Not knowing what else to say, and anxious to be on his way, Adam added offering up his bag. “Would you like a cookie, Sir?”

 

O’Dougle smiled knowingly and warmly. “No, you keep them. But I thank you kindly. Would you mind if I walked along with you? I would love the company; that part of the wharf and pier is part of my beat anyway, and seein’ as it’s quiet here, I suppose I better check out all the doings going on down there.”

 

“No, sir. Not at all.” Adam answered.

 

They started for the pier. O’Dougle kept a sharp eye out for the roving band of street kids he thought just might find this boy an easy target. He would have been mistaken. As they got closer, there were indeed a great number of people already jostling for a position to throw in their line.

 

“Well fer the love o’ Mike.” Donald pushed his helmet back and scratched his head in wonder. Adam fell in step behind the robust policeman as he parted the crowd effectively. Reaching the end of the pier, Adam stood wide-eyed.

 

He had never seen such big fish, nor had he ever seen such flat fish. They sure were different. They had both eyes on the same side of their head.  Boy, would Hoss have loved to see them.

 

His eyes roved over all the people. He sighed; there was not a one who looked like he would be willing to share and certainly not with a boy his age. O’Dougle saw the deep disappointment cross the boy’s face.

 

Without hesitation O’Dougle cupped his hands around his mouth and called. “Callahan? Hey, Callahan!” One of the people fighting for his spot was a small freckled face man. His head came around at the sound of his name as he searched for who was calling him. Spotting the officer, he grinned widely.

 

“O’Dougle?”

 

O’Dougle led Adam over to Callahan, indicating the boy with a wink of his merry sea-green eyes. Adam stood rubbing the palms of his hands up and down his pant leg. He watched eagerly and hungrily as the men hauled and reeled in the lines coming from the rods. He had never seen this type of rod used. It fascinated him; he was just bursting to give it a try but remained silent remembering his manners. Callahan caught Adam’s eye. It would have taken a blind man not to see how the boy was just itching to get his hands on one of those rods.

 

“So, ye be a friend o’ ole’ Donald's here?”

 

Adam had a hard time pulling his attention away.

 

“Huh? Oh, yes sir.” No longer able to hold back, unabashed he shot out his questions in rapid fire. “How do you work them?” he pointed. “And, what kind of fish are they? Are they hard to catch?”

 

“Them are Halibuts, boy.  Never seen one o’ them before?  Funny things them Halibuts, powerful good eatin’ though.” Callahan saw how Adam watched the reels work.

 

“Ya never used a reel before have ya, Laddie?”

 

Adam shook his head, still staring at the men as they worked their lines.

 

“No, sir. The only fishin’ I do is with a pole sometimes and some string.

 

“Like to give it a try?”

 

Swallowing, eyes wide, deep hazel glinting with amber, Adam whispered. “Oh, yes. Please sir. Very much.” The two men smiled.

 

“And so ye shall.” Callahan pushed his way back into the crowd to his spot hauling Adam with him. When he got room, he lifted the heavy wooden rod from the pier handing it to Adam showing him how to fasten the bait onto the huge hook looping it in and out. Adam wrinkled his nose; the bait was really smelly. Callahan showed Adam how to hold the rod with two hands and toss the line with its heavy lead sinker and bait out into the water and wait until he felt it hit the bottom, then reel the little handle to take up the slack. He was supposed to hold one finger, with the slightest amount of pressure, carefully on the line just in front of the reel. Adam gently pulled back now and again just as he had been shown. He reeled in the line a few more turns to retrieve the excess keeping in time as the ocean movement carried it back towards the pier.

 

“Think ya got it, Laddie?”

 

“Yes,” Adam nodded.  “Yes, sir. Thanks so much.” His beautiful dark hazel eyes spoke volumes to the man; his face beamed with excitement. Looking back to the spot where his finger rested on the line, it only took moments for him to become totally absorbed. Adam intently watched his rod for any sudden movement. He had already forgotten about his cookies; they lay at his feet. For a very long time nothing happened; everywhere around him people were pulling in all these huge flat fish. Adam became impatient; he did not have all day. O’Dougle and Callahan had stepped back a few feet to get out of the throng. Adam turned to see where they went. When they saw his expression, they came right over.

 

“Why...why haven’t_ I caught anything?”

 

“Patience, Laddie.”

 

“I know, but . . . I- ” He seemed so downcast.

 

“Sure now, we’ll try th’other side o’ the pier.”

 

Nodding, Adam began to reel in his line feeling very discouraged. This was harder than he figured.

 

Suddenly the water surface exploded in a broiling, splashing, hullabaloo. The rod jumped and lurched in his hands. Adam grabbed it tighter and hung on for dear life.

 

“Whoa!” He yelped in surprise as he saw the water begin to churn and bubble exposing the slightest glimpse of a sleek body with telltale dorsal fin, black crossbars and round black spots, it shinny silver belly glinting as it rolled and broke the surface thrashing wildly.

 

“Hey, everybody, the kid’s hooked himself a Leopard shark!”

 

“Shark!” The cry went up and all eyes turned. Adam momentarily forgot what he was doing; he looked around wondering who it was? The rod took a nosedive in his hands and suddenly he was well aware whom they were yelling about  . . . HIM! (Gulp!)

 

From everywhere there were people slapping him on the back making it that much harder to hold on and keep his balance. They were giving him all kinds of advice until it all ran together in his head with dizzying volume. O’Dougle and Callahan stared at one another uneasily. Should they interfere?

 

“It won’t be no shame, lad, if ya was ta give er’ up.” O’Dougle said softly when he finally managed to wedge himself in beside the boy.

 

Adam looked up, shocked.

 

“Give it up??” And he set his jaw. O’Dougle caught the look that came over his face. He knew this was going to be a contest of wills, a real battle. It was plain this lad had a great amount of determination and a stubborn streak about a mile wide; his pride was going to take him all the way, come hell or high-water.

 

“Okay, Lad, but remember, it ain’t no shame; it ain’t necessary.”

 

Adam had already stopped listening, now channeling all his energy into the job at hand.

 

*****************************************

 

Randall Wolf let Ben into his office. A very shrewd businessman, he had thoroughly checked out this relatively newcomer who would be a fresh source of timber for his shipping line. He had been pleasantly surprised at what he found

 

“Well, well, come in Mr. Cartwright.” He looked past Ben.

 

“Call me Ben. Please.” He held out his hand wondering who the man was looking for.

 

Caught, Randall Wolf smiled, slightly chagrined.

 

“I . . . I was under the impression you had a business partner with you.”

 

Ben blinked then let out a little chuckle. “Oh yes, my son, Adam. Well I hate to disappoint you but it seems I have rather worn him out. I have a feeling he won’t be so quick to insist he accompany me in the near future.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I left him to get some extra sleep.”

 

“Of course, then let’s get right down to it so you can get back to him.”

 

“Oh, please don’t let it worry you; Adam is very responsible. He, uh, has had a great deal of practice waiting for me.” Ben found himself blushing slightly. “We  . . . we came across the country together while he was still quite small. Sometimes I had to leave him to get work for food and expenses to continue our trip west.” Ben was never comfortable speaking about those days.

 

“Well I’m sure he is, and besides time is money.”

 

Ben and Randall Wolf hit it off right away; they both liked what they saw in each other. They came to a mutually beneficial contract agreement much faster than either had expected. Ben and Randall shook hands one last time at the door.

 

“Well, I will be pleased to do business with you again anytime, Ben, and next time I'll be expecting to meet your partner.” He winked.

 

Ben laughed; his face beamed. His dark eyes shone. What luck! He now had an entire half a day more to spend with Adam; the boy would surely be pleased. Waving one last time he sprinted off with a spring in his step.

 

Ben reached the hotel, taking the steps two at a time all the way to the room. Opening the door eagerly, he stopped short, confused for a moment. Adam was nowhere in the room. He looked around to be sure; it was a small room. He could not have missed him. Adam’s clothes were gone.

 

“Oh,” Ben sighed, “Maybe he went to the water closet. Or down to get something to eat and I missed him in my hurry to get up here.” Ben checked his pocket watch, 1:00 P.M.  Snapping the watch shut, Ben turned and went to ask the desk clerk in the lobby about the boy.

 

“Excuse me, young man. Has my son come down?”

 

“Can’t say, sir,” The desk clerk dismissed him airily.

 

“But, I . . . ”

 

“Sorry, sir” He responded dryly.

 

Ben pursed his lips his eyes drilled into the desk clerk. This was an exceedingly rude young man. If he were not so concerned over Adams absence, he would most definitely have had words with him on respect for your clientele and your elders. A young maid heard the conversation. She made a face at the clerk.

 

“Pardon me, sir, but I think I saw him.”

 

Ben turned to her; a deep frown creased his dark brow. It almost made her change her mind. She had a feeling the boy was not supposed to have gone out.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Is  . . . is he about thirteen or fourteen with dark hair and very handsome?”

 

“Yes.” (Very handsome?)  Ben cocked his head, his brow raised in that way of his. He was getting a very uneasy feeling about all this, beginning to think perhaps he had been hoodwinked.

 

She watched the expressions as they crossed his face; his resemblance to the boy was unmistakable even though she had only barely looked at the boy. She smiled sympathetically both for this father, who evidently was extremely worried, and the boy who, she was sure, going to be in a great deal of trouble when his father caught up to him.

 

“You saw him? Where? When?” Ben’s voice was getting tighter with a deep sharp edge as he spoke.

 

“Well, I think it was him; he left somewhere around eleven or so.”

 

“Do you know which way he went?”

 

“No, sir. I’m sorry. I didn’t take notice.”

 

Ben thanked her, as he took off his hat. He ran his hand through his hair as he made a quick mental note of the various possibilities. Placing his hat firmly on his head, he strode out the door and down the steps stopping to think once more. With that, a band of young sailors came around the corner. It was clear by their recently scrubbed faces that they were fresh off a long stint at sea ready to have a high old time on the town. Then it came to Ben. “The wharf and the pier.” Shaking his head in anger, he strode off in that direction. “How many times over the years have I told that boy to stay put!  Stay put I said. And to think I just assured Randall Wolf what a responsible young man he was. Well, this very irresponsible young boy is about to find out what comes of you not being responsible. Facing the consequences for your actions.”

 

Ben’s mind was a jumble of thoughts, anger, fear, frustration; his eyes searched every ally and building as he made his way down to the wharf. It took him far less time then it had taken Adam. Ben went to cross the last street, having to wait as trolleys and heavy wagons pulled away from the docks and headed down the crowded streets. For just an instant, a funny feeling fleeted over him like a pale shadow. Finally he had a clear path; his pace quickened. There seemed to be a crowd whooping and hollering at the end of one pier. A young man came hurrying past him. Ben snagged his arm.

 

“Hold up there young fella. What’s all the fuss?” Ben asked, his tone verging on desperate.

 

“Hey, mister, lemme go.” He yanked his arm free.

 

“Wait, I just want to . . .”

 

“Look, mister, some kid just hooked a beauty of a shark!” He called over his shoulder, “An I’m on my way to the paper to get a reporter,” With that he sped away.

 

“Shark!?”  You did not spend as many years at sea as Ben had and not have your skin crawl at the mere mention of the word, or conger up terrible visions of those ungodly, blood thirsty monsters.                                             

 

Ben swallowed turning his attention back to the end of the pier, shading his eyes against the bright sun to get a better look. He stared, blinked, shook his head and looked again just as the crowd opened up to let Adam start to back his way up the pier.

 

Adam had already tasted the sting in the first few minutes of his fight as the shark took the line singing off the reel before he could move his fingers away. It left a red welt. Adam was out of breath and his arms were beginning to feel heavy from the constant effort of pulling back on the heavy rod and cranking the reel furiously. He took a moment to catch his breath during the lull in the battle. Shaking his right hand out, he realized his thumb and his knuckles had been rapped more than once when the handle slipped out of his sweaty, aching fingers and came back with a savage spin as the shark got the better of him. Both his hands ached. His shoulders burned. His legs threatened to buckle under him. His hair had fallen forward clinging to his damp forehead. 

 

He barely had time to think when, out of the blue, the line took off again with the speed of lightning. One of the quick-thinking onlookers knocked his hand away from the spinning handle at the last minute. The line was traveling almost fast enough to make it smoke. With a powerful jolt, the line ran out. In the blink of an eye, the reel was empty.

 

 With a loud “YIIKKKKSS!” Adam went head over heels executing a perfect somersault off the end of the pier, the rod sailing out of his hands. He disappeared under the surface with a giant splash sending a great wall of water back up and over the stunned onlookers. Adam found himself doing somersaults under the water as the tides and undertows vied for him. Then he popped back to the surface, just as a wave rushed him back towards the pilings. At the last second before he smashed into them, Adam felt himself snatched up and out of the water, his feet once more firmly on the pier.

 

“Whooeee!” He shook his head sending great droplets of salt water splattering in all directions.

 

“Boy! That’s salty!” He spat out the water and laughed.

 

O’Dougle and Callahan were stunned by his reaction.

 

“Sorry about your rod, Sir!” Adam went to look into the water for the rod, which had disappeared with the disgruntled shark. The sun chose, at that moment, to hide behind one of the few clouds around. As if he suddenly caught a chill a shudder rippled along his spine. Adam shook his hands out and ran them through his hair to help dispel some more water; then pulled a few errant strands of seaweed from his shirt.

 

Ben gasped. His heart skipped a beat. That dark hair somersaulting off the pier then disappearing could not be denied. He stood frozen to the spot. A moment later he was running as fast and hard as he could. No words on earth could express how he felt at that moment.

 

Above the din, he detected the ring of Adams laughter. Officer O’Dougle, and Callahan had seen him coming, seen his stricken face. The resemblance was iron clad. This had to be Adam’s father, who breathlessly came to a halt. With partially contained rage in his eyes and his every fiber, he stood behind the boy clenching and unclenching his fists. Ben fought the hot tears welling in his eyes, his first instinct was to scoop Adam up and hug him  . . .Yet.

 

With that Adam spun round and found himself inches from his father’s chest. Reality came crashing down around his head. His bubble of excitement burst. Smiling weakly, he pointed to the end of the pier.

 

“I . . . ah-ha. I-uh-Oh boy! I . . . ah-al-almo’... most caught a. . . a. . . a sh-sh-.shar –K, Pa.”

 

Finishing feebly with “S-sorta’ went for a dip in the ocean  . . . too! Hey . . . boy! That-that water s-s-ure taste’s salty.” He was rambling in desperation until his voice trailed away leaving only the sound of water drops as they fell from his shirttails and hair hitting the pier and waves washing in and out under it.

 

 Ben still said nothing; he just stared, hands on his hips. Adam lowered his eyes to study his feet and the puddle surrounding him. Then he twisted the ends of his shirttail, wringing out yet more water drops that fell like those before joining the interesting stream that flowed away and down between the planks and back into the sea below. Needing something else to do, he pulled at his ear, and cleared more salt water from his throat with a little cough.

 

Ben’s gaze went up and over his head at the great expanse of water, then glanced at the people milling around. The fun was over. They were drifting back to their own business. O’Dougle and Callahan gave Ben a sympathetic nod then opened their mouths to offer an explanation. One look let them know, it was quite apparent by the man’s expression he was not the least bit interested in anything anyone on that pier had to say.

 

Suddenly Ben reached and snatched Adam by the hand. In a deep, low voice he spoke.

 

“You are coming with me now, and I do not want to hear a single peep out of you until we reach the hotel room!”

 

That shadowy feeling passed over Ben yet again, running down his neck and back as he stormed off tightly gripping Adam by the hand. Adam found he had to trot to keep up. He felt his own temper rise as his father pulled him along like a small child. He felt his face grow red as he heard some of the people chuckle, or snicker, or a few out right laugh.

 

“Hey, Kid. Looks like you got caught steada’ that shark!” Came one taunting voice. Hot tears blurred his vision; he pressed his lips and made an attempt to dislodge his hand.

 

Ben stopped, and not looking at him, stated very quietly, “I would not do that if I were you.”

“You don’t have to hold my hand,” Adam pouted.

 

“I told you not to speak, and for your information, I do have to hold your hand as it obvious to me you are not old enough to follow instructions by yourself!” Ben growled.

 

Adam paled, swallowing loudly; he nodded. Ben continued to lead him by the hand back to the hotel. The brisk pace, the warm sun took away some of the water, leaving them soggy, salty and clinging to him. His shoes still squashed and squeaked. Adam stole a glance at his reflection in a window as they passed. His hair was standing up in places, stiff from the salt in the water. He smoothed it with his free hand as best he could. They reached the lobby none too soon for him. There were a number of guests in the lobby as Ben marched in with a very soggy, damp, very disheveled, very disheartened Adam in tow. Quite a few brows rose. The haughty desk clerk “Tisked” distastefully.

 

On the way up to the room they passed the young maid. She shook her head sadly, she had been right. Now that his father had found him, by the looks of things, this handsome boy was in a peck of trouble.

 

Upon reaching the room, his father let Adam in first, shutting the door firmly behind them. Ben pulled off his hat, suit coat, and tie, tossing them furiously to the chair off to the side. Still he said nothing, did not even look at Adam who stood in the middle of the room with his eyes closed. Ben poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher to help him calm himself down. Silent minutes ticked by, and when he thought himself in control, he addressed his son.

 

“What in heaven’s name, were you thinking, boy!”

 

Adam took a big deep breath; he knew he did not have much to offer.

 

“I . . . I was f-ish-fishin’?” Was the best he could do.

 

“Fishing?”

 

“Do you know how close you just came to killing yourself with . . . with- that- that . . . ” Ben shook his head throwing his hands up.

 

“Killing myself? No, sir.”

 

“You told me this morning you were so very tired and I believed you.”

 

Adam opened his mouth but then shut it.

 

“You told me you could take care of yourself,” he continued. “I believed you,” he spoke in a deathly quiet voice, his words slow and deliberate. “I just spent the better part of the morning proudly telling Mr. Wolf how responsible and dependable a young man you were.” The volume was rising.

 

Adam cringed.

 

“I . . . I  . . . ” Ben walked to the window and looked down on the street, tightly gripping the sill.

 

“I told him how proud I was of you. He even expressed interest in meeting such a smart, intelligent, responsible boy.”

 

Now he was shouting in Ben Cartwright’s famous fashion. Then gaining control one more time stated. “Well, I guess I was mistaken, wasn't I?” his voice full of quiet fury.

 

“Yes, sir.” Adam muttered.

 

“Do not mutter at me, boy! You lied to me, Adam. Didn’t you? Look at me!”

 

Adam felt his face flush.

 

“No, not really, Pa.” He replied, biting the side of his mouth and pulling on his ear nervously, damp hair falling over his face, his clothes suddenly becoming uncomfortable. He wriggled his toes in his soggy shoes.

 

“Not really?” Came the sarcastic voice.

 

“W . . . w . . . well, I was, I was tired, see, then, then I slept an . . . an, I wasn’t tired anymore.”

 

“I see. So you took it upon yourself to go out on your own, in spite of the fact you were not supposed to leave with out my permission. Is that right, Adam? You’re not looking at me. I told you to look at me when I am speaking to you.”

 

Adam did, only to quickly look away.

 

“Very well.” Ben sighed looking Adam up and down sternly. “Take off your cloths. They’re all wet. And get into your nightshirt.” He ordered.

 

“My nightshirt? But it’s the middle of the day.” Adam pointed out incredulously, his pride smarting.

 

“This day, young man, is close to being over for you. It would be in your best interest to do as you are told. Do not add defiance and insolence to your list of transgressions.”

 

Pouting, Adam snatched the nightshirt Ben had picked up out of his father’s hands the glare it brought made him instantly sorry.

 

“Sorry, Pa.” He offered in a small voice.

 

Ben raised his brow and let out a deep breath. Adam went to the bed; sitting he pulled off his shoes, his sodden sox clung to his feet. Standing, he peeled off his shirt and pants, if the situation was not pointing to disaster he almost quipped about the bits of seaweed he uncovered. He hesitated for an instant before tugging his soggy under drawers off. After slipping into his nightshirt, he tried in vain to comb the salty knots from his disheveled hair. Gathering his courage and wet cloths, he turned to his father who was still at the window.

 

“Um . . . w-what shall I do with these?”

 

“Put them on the floor over there. I'll see to them after  . . .”

 

Adam did not want to know after what, but found he had to ask, “After what?”

 

“After you and I finish a very necessary discussion on responsibility and honesty!”

 

“Oh no,” he groaned  “Pa. I’m (Gulp) . . . I’m almost fourteen!” it sounded peevish and mortified.

 

 

‘Meaning precisely what? What happens to little Joe when he deliberately disobeys my word?”

 

“You spank him.” He cringed cheeks flushing red.

 

Adam swallowed; he hated to answer these types of questions. They inevitably led to an unpleasant end. Adam felt his anxiety building; he licked his lips.

 

“Would you say it is a fair statement that your behavior today mirrored more that of someone Joe’s age than someone your age?”

 

Adam cringed again, as his father forced him to examine his actions and his conscience.

 

“W-well.” His pride got the better of him. “No, Pa. I know how to take care of myself.” Without realizing it he snorted indignantly. “You're not being fair!  You can’t compare me to Joe . . . He, he’s . . .  I have never done!  . . .  Any . . .”

 

“Don’t raise your voice to me.”

 

“But!  .  . .”  Adam wisely shut his mouth and bit his tongue at this point; he had already dug himself a nice little hole. Unfortunately for him, an uninvited thought popped into his head at that instant. “I al-almost got him, you know.” He disgustedly commented. “I was real close. Real, real close.” Adam’s voice rang hard, dripping with disappointment.

 

“You, boy! Were, real . . . real, close to being drown or eaten by a shark or both!" Ben erupted with a roar that bounced off the four walls and reverberated all over the room.

 

Adam pulled in his head twisting his nightshirt in his fingers; he had surly done it now.

 

“Adam, you have no idea what almost happened to you!” Ben shut his eyes for an instant. “You are . . .” He stopped, exasperated, his stomach rebelled, not really sure he wanted to tell Adam the gruesome facts.

 

“You are really, really lucky to still be standing here.” (And standing is what you are going to be doing when this is over.) Ben thought.

 

“You have never seen a shark or what they can do to a grown man, never mind a little boy.” he shuddered.

 

“I’m not a little boy!” Adam countered.

 

“You most certainly are just that, a little boy! A shark could have ripped your leg off in a snap.” He showed him with his fingers. “Or your arm  . . . or  . . .” Ben swallowed. “Bitten you right in half!” He finished softly, his eyes misting over at the terrible carnage he had seen sharks inflict.

 

“But  . . . but, maybe  . . .” Adam was determined to defend his actions, and convince himself in his own mind that what his father had presented could not have happened.

 

“Pa,” He insisted. “You_ don’t know it was a shark. Maybe, maybe, it wasn’t one at all!” He ventured.

 

“You stop right there, boy!” Ben’s voice thundered with a father’s fear for his child. Only when he simmered down a notch or two, he was able to say. “Okay. I have tried to explain to you, but you seem intent on behaving like your little brother, therefore I shall treat you as I would treat your brother.” This stalemate with his obstinate, mule stubborn son could only end one way, when Adam got this way, almost nothing would budge him if he felt he was right or justified in his mind.  “Come here Adam!” He pointed to the spot right in front of him. “And look at me.” He commanded.

 

Adam raised his eyes, set his shoulders and walked slowly over to where Ben was standing.

 

Ben took him by the arm.

 

“Adam!”

 

Adam hesitated for just a minute, to delay what was coming.  Jaws clamped tight, eyes refusing to meet his father, obediently did as he was told leaning over his father’s knees. As he did so, he ruefully thought of his decision to remove his damp drawers. Ben braced Adam against his knees then brought his hand down hard. Adam flinched. His resolve not to cry like his baby brother was wavering. He gritted his teeth and tried not to squirm. He was loosing his will quickly.

 

“Owwww, I’m s-sorry Pa, owwww. P-p-please, PA! Oowww-oww.”

 

He squirmed and twisted. Ben spanked harder the more he squirmed.

 

“Paaa-Oww (Gulp)-Ooww, sniffle, Pa? -I-I-! Ooohhh”

 

It had only lasted two minutes. Ben was satisfied he had gotten through to him. Adam was, in spite of his determination, in tears.

 

“If you continue to act like a little child, you can count on being punished like a little child. Is that clear, Adam?”

 

Adam nodded, desperately trying to control his tears.

 

“Alright. Its over, get up.”

 

Adam slid off and stood up, his face red and splotchy from embarrassment and his tears. He turned away, angry that he was crying. Ashamed at being reduced to appearing to be just a little kid he bit his lip.

 

“Don’t hide your tears, son, they are not a sign of weakness.”

 

Adam raised his arm to pull his sleeve across his face, fighting for composure, resisting the urge to rub his bottom and try to make the sting go away.

 

“Adam, look at me.”

 

Ben was still sitting. He turned the boy back to him.

 

“I said look at me.”

 

Adam fought back a sob. Eventually he managed to look into his father’s face. Although it was still stern, some of the anger had been replaced. In direct contrast to what he expected to see, the deep disappointment was not there.

 

“I thought I had lost you today, boy. Do you have any idea how terrified I was?” The confession was husk and full of emotion.

 

Adam shook his head no, crying softly.

 

“Probably more terrified than I have been in a very long time.”

 

With trembling fingers he pushed the locks from Adams face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. Unable at this point to go any further as his throat threatened to close up, he managed to gently tell Adam, “Go to sleep now son.”

 

Adam nodded, trying to hold onto his shredded dignity, walked to the bed, pulled back the covers to gingerly climb in face down. His shoulders jerked as he sobbed into his pillow. This was not how today was supposed to end. He was so wrapped in his misery that he did not know his father slipped out.

 

Once in the hall Ben looked down at his right hand, the palm stung. He rubbed gently at it with his left hand. Turning he headed down the hall and out, the smell of his own fear choking him, he had to find a way to think this out. Ben wandered the streets, his mind in turmoil until he came to a small park. Stopping, he sank down onto a bench. It was late afternoon. The sun cast glorious golden shadows as it began its decent into evening. Ben, however, never noticed. He sat, arms resting on his knees, head in his hands, weeping softly. (Oh Liz, help me, should I have done that? He is so much like you, and God! I really thought I had lost him, I don’t know if I could stand it. Every time I look at him I realize he is all I have of you. I love him more than he will ever know. Tell me, please, that I was right). How long he sat there he wasn’t sure, but it was getting cool. It was early September; a damp misty fog was beginning to roll in. Dusk was falling. Ben rose heavily, and slowly made his way back to the hotel. He stopped in at the restaurant to have their dinner sent up, then trudged downheartedly to the room.

 

Adam had awakened and finding himself alone, he crawled out of bed. A deep thirst made him pour a glass of water and down it in a few gulps. Refilling his glass, his eyes felt gritty and swollen. He gently rubbed his bottom. Taking his glass, he went to the window where he watched the sun set. The sky grew orange and rosy, and then everything began to be enveloped in a soft gray mist as the San Francisco fog rolled over harbor and city.

 

“Why, oh why, won’t Pa ever give me a chance?” He sorrowfully asked out loud. “He . . he just doesn’t understand. Why does he always think I’m a kid? I-I-.” His breath caught. “I just w...wanted to...(Gulp) to see the pier and c-catch one of those big fish. I was bein’ careful, I was. I bet it wasn’t even a shark. It coulda’- a- been a mistake. Grownups . . . can  . . . “S  . . s . . . some d-day I . . . I  . . .” The tears came again; he angrily wiped them away. “I-I’ll b-bet he . . . he- n-never did an . . . any, th’-thing really dumb in his whole life!” Adam sniffled, pouting he still tried to rub the sting away. Somewhere deep inside him, Adam always knew he was drawn to the sea, that one day he would return to it, somehow, somewhere.

 

Adam jumped at the sound of the door opening. Ben was not really surprised to see him at the window.

 

Adam turned, and keeping his head down, quickly made it to the safety of the bed.

 

“I ordered our dinner to be sent up,” Ben said softly. “I figured you might be hungry by now, and not feeling quite up to going out.” He wasn’t apologizing for his earlier actions; just giving Adam a way to save face, and, at the same time, let him know he was forgiven. The pearly mist outside the window caught his eye. Ben smiled a thin smile. “Ahh, the San Francisco fog,” He thought.

 

Adam was curled up with his back to his father not ready to forgive him for what he had done. Ben let him have his chance to recover but he was not going to be subject all night to Adam’s famous pouting or sulking.

 

Dinner arrived shortly. Adam grudgingly admitted he was indeed starving. He very gingerly managed to partially sit on the edge of the bed on a plump pillow. Ben almost let a little chuckle out, but he would never deliberately add to Adam’s embarrassment. The waiter had also brought up a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle. With dinner over, there was an awkward silence. Adam softly asked to go to the water closet. Ben nodded from the chair by the window where he was reading the paper. Adam returned a few minutes later with a small, “G-night, Pa,” he crawled back into bed. His insides and heart twisted until unable to stand it he lifted his head. “Pa.” The lamp cast a yellow glow around the room. “Yes son.”  Elusive shadows from the window curtains fluttering taunted his senses. With great effort Adam forced himself to finish, “I-I’m s-s orry, I apologize.”  Heart pounding he buried his face once again, having to admit how he was wrong always took so much out of him. “Apology accepted,” came the quiet reply. Ben chose not to make any more of it.  It took him a while to get comfortable and relax enough but the weight lifted, relief let Adam slowly go back to sleep.

 

Night fell in earnest. Ben put his paper down; getting to his feet, he stretched, turning he lowered the wick and blew out the lamp. He turned to the window. That vague odd shadow passed over his mind again.

 

**************************************

 

Like the ebb and flow of the very tides themselves, the past faded back into the recesses of his mind. The present resurfaced. It brought with it a bittersweet smile to Ben’s face. Quite unexpectedly it had just become astonishingly apparent what had drawn his attention so hauntingly to the twinkling of the harbor lights, sound of sea gulls and smell of the salt air.

 

**************************************

 

As the bittersweet smile fleeted across Ben’s handsome face, he was suddenly overwhelmed with the fervent wish his father and mother had both lived to meet his handsome firstborn who was so stubborn and bright. How they would have chuckled at his single-mindedness, the way he set his jaw, or cocked his eyebrow. Ben could almost imagine hearing his father’s deep, warm baritone voice saying, “Serves you right, Benjamin! I told you your stubborn streak, pride and temper would come and haunt you.” His dark hazel eyes would sparkle with parental amusement.

 

Ben’s gaze went from the window to the young boy in the bed. The breeze coming through the slightly open window brought the scent of salt air and the faint clank of the rigging on the tall ships anchored out in the harbor. There was a soft mumble as the boy moved in his sleep; he sighed deeply then came a sound like a soft whimper as he rolled onto his back then rolled over again.

 

The room was dark. He could not see his son’s face. However he knew the expression that was there just the same, a small pouting frown. Ben himself sighed deeply. This day had not gone exactly as he had planned either. Turning once again to stare out at the night, shifting slightly, his shoulders hunched, he slipped his hands into his front pockets. The harbor lights twinkled on.

 

Shaking his head ruefully, he left the window to change and go to bed. Slipping in as carefully as he could so as not to disturb the sleeping boy, he had just begun to settle in when Adam softly muttered again in his sleep; rolling over, he threw his arm around Ben’s neck. Nestling his head on Ben’s shoulder he snuggled up as close as he could rubbing his cheek into Ben’s chest, he sighed deeply. A huge lump sprang into Ben’s throat; his eyes stung. He wrapped his arms around the boy, his little boy. After all, Adam was still just a little boy who needed his guidance and protection for another while yet, even if it was from Adam himself. Ben gently hugged; shifting just a little, he bent his face and kissed the top of Adams hair.

 

“Sleep well, my son. Tomorrow is a brand new day. And first thing, Adam, bright and early, you and I are going down to that pier for a little fishing, just the two of us. Maybe, just maybe, I might let you in on a little secret about another little boy and the big one that got away,” he whispered.

 

“Ummhum.” came the muffled reply.

 

Ben reached around and tucked the covers in closer. The soft sound of Adam’s breath, the warmth of his son so close, was a pleasure he had not enjoyed in too many years, and he feared he would not get many more chances as time was racing by. The harbor lights twinkled in the distance as if waiting and asking what was still to come.

 

The End.

 

Authors Note: Every time I watch Ben and his boys I see all the traits Ben must have had as a boy, when ever they get into some kind of Mischief, so I thought I would explore them. I hope you like my explanation.

 

Also, I spent a great deal of time with my Dad fishing down at the New Jersey shore. I drew on these memories in describing fishing from a pier or from the beach in the surf. The big heavy rods and reels along with some fairly cantankerous fish, left me often as not with sore hands and aching muscles. I also did research on the time frame of fishing rods and reels.

 

Cheryl/Sadie

 

 

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