There But For The Grace Of God
Part 2
By Kathleen T. Berney

The front door opened. Joe entered, then Hoss, with Candy bringing up the rear.

“Uummm UM! Somethin’ sure as shootin’ smells good!” Hoss declared with a broad grin, as he divested himself of coat, hat, scarf, and gun belt. “I sure hope it’ll be ready soon, ‘cause I’m hungry enough right now to eat a whole corral full o’ horses.”

“You’re hungry enough to . . . I don’t believe it!” Joe’s jaw dropped almost down to his chest, and his eyes, though round with sheer, unimaginable comic horror, danced with an impish inner light. “Pa, you’d better send for Doc Martin right away. Big Brother here’s LOST his appetite.”

“Dadburn it, Li’l Joe— ”

“Boys, settle down,” Ben admonished, as an amused grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “We have company.”

“So we do!” Joe declared with a broad grin, as he walked over toward the settee, still occupied by Stacy and Rachael. “Good afternoon, Miss. Are you a new friend of Stacy’s?”

Rachael rose and smiled. “Well . . . yes, I guess you might say I’m a new friend of STACY’S, but I’m an old friend of the family, Joe.”

Joe studied her silently. A puzzled frown knotted his brow.

“I’m sure you remember Rachael Marlowe, Son,” Ben prompted.

Joe’s jaw dropped again, this time for real. “I . . . I . . . y-you’re . . . you’re Rachael M-Marlowe?!”

The last time he had seen her was two weeks before she had left for Oregon nearly five years ago. Though she stood nearly as tall as she did now, a thick layer of baby fat still sheathed her entire body, prompting her mother to place Rachael on a very strict, very limited diet, and her hair was a mass of unruly dark, wispy curls that blatantly defied even the tightest barrette. She was also very annoyingly cock sure of herself.

The young woman presently standing before him was tall, slender, with no evidence of discernable baby fat at all. Her hair was quite long now, long enough to have sufficiently squashed the natural wave. The way she had it pulled hack away from her face, and braided, suited her. Though she projected a calm, even poised outward demeanor, Joe sensed a lot of uncertainty boiling just below the surface. He attributed it to her having just left one way of life to return to another, wholly different, even alien after the passage of five years.

“Gee, Rachael, I . . . I’m sorry, I guess, well . . . I guess it’s been a long time . . . . ” The words poured out of Joe’s mouth like the rush of a spring flash flood.

“Grandpa, you’re babbling!” Stacy teased.

“Pa, WHEN are you going to teach this wayward child of yours to show a little respect for her ELDERS?” Joe demanded, glaring over at his sister.

Stacy responded by sticking out her tongue.

Rachael, noting the stern look in Ben’s eyes, tried very hard not to laugh.

Meanwhile, Hoss and Candy had already crossed the room from the front door, to the settee, where the rest of the family, and guest, were gathered.

“Rachael, welcome home,” Hoss said, smiling, “an’ welcome to the Ponderosa.”

“Good seeing you, Rachael,” Candy said. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Hoss . . . Candy,” Rachael said quietly.

“What Hoss and Candy said goes for me, too, Rachael,” Joe said. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you there for a minute.”

Rachael smiled. “It’s ok, Joe, I know it’s been awhile . . . . ” Her smile faded. “In fact, it seems like two whole lifetimes.”

“Mister Cartwright, dinner ready!” Hop Sing announced. “Everybody in dining room, chop, chop! Eat while hot!”

“It’s about dadburn time!” Hoss said eagerly, licking his chops. “I’m about to keel over from hunger.”

“I don’t think so, Big Brother,” Joe teased, as they made their way through the great room to the dining room. “You could live off the fat of the land there for a whole year at least.” He reached over and patted Hoss’ ample girth in the same way he might pat the head of an affectionate dog.

“Well at least I carry my fat around the stomach, instead o’ between the ears,” Hoss retorted, eliciting a hearty laugh from Stacy.

“Hey, Kid, you got no room to laugh!” Joe immediately rounded on his sister. “I can’t help but notice you’ve gotten a little broad in the beam this past winter yourself.”

“So have you, Grandpa.”

“No way!” Joe’s gesture brought the eyes of his father, brother and sister, Hop Sing, Candy, and Rachael to his abdomen. “I want you ALL to take a gander at that! A classic example of a washboard stomach if ever there was one.”

“Ok, Grandpa, let’s see ya EXHALE!” Stacy challenged.

“I’m breathing . . . HEY! Back up, Little Sister, I don’t like that look in your eyes!”

Before he could move to stop her or protect himself, Stacy was walking close behind him, mercilessly tickling his waist on both sides.

“H-hey! C-cut it . . . cut it out!” Joe giggled.

“Hey, Li’l Brother, where’d that washboard stomach go?” Hoss queried with a broad grin.

“From the looks of things, I’D say it just disappeared into those luu-uuu-v handles,” Candy teased.

“I do NOT have love handles!”

“Whaddya call THESE, Grandpa?”

“HEY! PA, SHE’S PINCHING ME!” Joe bellowed.

Rachael found herself laughing so hard, the tears began to pour from her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so uproariously, and with so much mirth.

“Boys . . . you, too, Stacy! Settle down!” Ben quietly admonished his high-spirited offspring.

“Mister Cartwright, are they ALWAYS like this?” Rachael asked, as she wiped her eyes.

“Pretty much,” Ben said with a smile.



Dinner that afternoon was a rich, hearty beef stew that had been slow simmered over a low fire through out the night, and into the morning. There was a generous amount of beef, so tender it literally melted in the mouth. Hop Sing had added potatoes, yams, dried peas, onions, and an assortment of vegetables he had canned during late summer and early autumn months. Biscuits, fresh and hot right from the oven, with fresh made butter and home made strawberry jam rounded out the meal. There was also coffee, milk for Hoss and Stacy, and peppermint tea for Rachael. For desert, there was chocolate cake, left over from supper the night before.

For Rachael, the healthy appetite that seemed to have deserted her upon leaving the Chinook at rifle point, returned suddenly, and with a vengeance. She quickly devoured the first bowl of beef stew, and asked for seconds, much to Hop Sing’s delight, along with three biscuits and two pieces of cake.

“Hop Sing, this stew is every bit as delicious as the venison stew Lammieh Towakh Moon used to make.”

Hop Sing grinned. “Thank you, Missy. Hop Sing thank you very much. Who ‘La-my-eh To-wa Moon’?”

“Lammieh Towakh Moon is . . . w-was . . . my Chinook mother, Hop Sing.” Rachael’s voice caught as she spoke the name of her Chinook mother.

Stacy quietly reached over and gave Rachael’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“Your Chinook ma must’ve been one real fine cook, if her venison stew was as good as Hop Sing’s beef stew,” Hoss said quietly.

“Hoss oughtta know, Rachael,” Joe said. “HE’S the family expert on good food.”

Rachael managed a small, sad smile. “You’re right, Hoss. Lammieh Towakh Moon was an excellent cook. She knew the seasoning properties of different herbs and plants, as well as their medicinal ones.”

“Did she teach you about their seasonin’ properties?” Hoss asked.

“She started to,” Rachael replied, averting her eyes to her plate. Stacy, seated next to her at the table, noted that her eyes blinked excessively.

“Stacy . . . Rachael . . . you’ve got time to get in a nice long ride, but you need to get a move on,” Ben said. “The days may be lengthening, but it still gets dark early.”

“You two mind if I tag along?” Joe asked, drawing a skeptical glare from Ben. “All my chores are done, Pa,” he added defensively.

“It’s ok with me, Grandpa, IF Rachael wants you along . . . and if it’s ok with Pa.”

“Sure,” Rachael agreed, “the more the merrier.”

“As long as your chores are done,” Ben agreed.

Rachael rose. “Oh no!” she groaned, looking down at her long skirt in complete and utter dismay.

“We have side saddles out in the tack room, Rachael,” Joe said, as he and Stacy also rose. “Little Sister here never uses them, so we keep ‘em for guests, mostly.”

“I got used to riding astride when I lived among the Chinook,” Rachael sighed dolefully. “I honestly don’t know if I could manage to ride side saddle anymore.”

“You and I look to be about the same size,” Stacy said thoughtfully. “Come on upstairs with me. I think I can outfit you properly.”



Within just under an hour, the trio, mounted on their horses, stood at the bottom of the hill leading to the overlook where Adam Cartwright once took Delphine Marquett, the wife of an old friend. Adam brought Delphine here to this overlook and the spectacular view as a brief respite from the terror and grief brought about by a loving husband who had inexplicably become violently insane.

“You g’won up first, Rachael,” Joe said smiling. “Stacy and I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

“Cartwright family tradition,” Stacy added by way of explanation.

Rachael urged her horse, a gentle mare named Guinevere, up the high hill looming before her. She thoroughly enjoyed their ride out to this place. After having spent weeks closed in, confined to small rooms, the cold fresh air, scented with the heady aromas of earth and pine, even horse, was gloriously intoxicating.

Stacy and Joe, with their horses, Blaze Face and Cochise respectively, waited a few moments before following at a slower pace.

Rachael and Guinevere reached the top of the rise within a scant few minutes, where she was treated to a vista of forest, lake, and snow, stretching across a vast valley toward the distant horizon, marked by a line of jagged, snow covered mountain peaks.

“Well?” The sound of Joe Cartwright’s voice coming from so close startled Rachael. She was so entranced by the awesome vista stretched out before her, she never heard Joe and Stacy coming.

“It takes my breath away!” Rachael exclaimed, her eyes and face shining with wonder and delight. “It just literally . . . takes my breath away.”

“Whenever we bring someone here for the first time, we let the person come up here first,” Joe explained in a soft, reverent tone. “This is the kind of view you need to see for the first time alone.”

“Yes, I understand,” Rachael said softly, her eyes greedily drinking in the patchwork of pristine white snow and dark evergreen forests spread out before her.

The three lapsed into a companionable silence made sacred as each contemplated the majestic vista spread out before them, extending from the base of the hill on which they and their horses stood, all the way to the mountains in the far distance, and saw in that vastness the divine touch of the Creator of All.

Memories of another time, another place . . . another life, rose like incense in the censor of Rachael Marlowe’s thoughts. The profound sweetness of those memories were almost beyond bearing. She averted her gaze to her gloved hands wrapped lightly around the reins of Guinevere’s bridle, as tears stung her eyes.

“Rachael?”

It was Stacy, speaking softly, reaching out to gently touch her arm. Rachael felt Joe’s presence, too, standing close by on the other side. His hand covered hers, and squeezed it gently, offering comfort and reassurance.

“I was married last year,” Rachael said quietly, astonished at how calm and even her voice sounded in her own ears, “in a wedding ritual to Aiak Enanamuks. His name translates into English as Swift Otter. On . . . I guess it would be the equivalent of a wedding night, he brought me to a place very much like this, except, instead of mountains, there was ocean.”

Rachael closed her eyes and saw Aiak Enanamuks’ face once again, smiling, his eyes glowing with the fire and warmth of his love for her. She felt his arms, strong yet so very gentle circling around her, and drawing her close to the warm hardness of his chest. His lips against hers, his hands moving through her long hair to gently touch her face, and caress her cheek . . . .

Then, suddenly, Aiak Enanamuks was gone. Rachael heard someone scream in agony. At first the sound seemed to come from a place, as far distant as the mountains, whose blue and white jagged peaks marked the horizon line. A scant heartbeat later, she realized, much to her astonishment that it was she, herself, who had screamed. Her chest heaved, and she felt herself suffocating, unable to draw breath. When she opened her eyes, she found her entire world blurred to a mass of molten whites, greens, and blues under a veil of hot tears. Her yearning for Aiak Enanamuks burned within her chest at the place of her heart.

Rachael cried out again, as a heavy shroud of hopeless despair closed in around her. It’s darkness, the absolute night of the abyss, overwhelmed and shut out all life and light.

“That’s right, Rachael!” Stacy’s arm circled her waist and held her close. “Just let it all out. Joe and I . . . w-were right here.” Rachael felt the wetness of Stacy’s tears falling on her cheeks, mingling with her own.

“Stacy and I are here, Rachael . . . . ” Joe promised, his own voice breaking. “We’re gonna STAY right here.”



“ . . . . Lammieh Towakh Moon also painted this,” Rachael said as she placed a stone, white quartz worn to smoothness by the waters of the river, on the coffee table. On the top of its smooth surface were painted two animals: a seal and a young white deer. Both were framed by a yellow halo. “She gave me this following the ritual of my adoption. My Chinook name, T’kope Mauitsh is White Deer in English. Olhaiyu Klutsma, the name of Lammieh Towakh Moon’s daughter, the one who died before I came translates as Seal Woman.”

“The yellow circle behind the seal and the deer . . . . is it the moon?” Ben asked.

“Yes, Mister Cartwright, it IS,” Rachael replied with a smile.

Ben pointed at the stone. “May I?”

“Certainly.”

Ben carefully picked up the stone from its place on the coffee table and studied it closely. “Beautiful . . . . ” he murmured softly. “The workmanship is . . . well to say it’s excellent is understating the matter. Lammieh Towakh Moon was truly a very gifted artist as well as healer.”

“Yes, she was, Mister Cartwright.”

“Was this gift Lammieh Towakh Moon’s way of saying that you and Olhaiyu Klutsma are now sisters?” Ben asked.

“Yes! How did you know?” Rachael exclaimed, surprised and delighted.

“Some things . . . be they words or images . . . need no translation,” Ben said quietly. “Did Lammieh Towakh Moon have any other children besides Olhaiyu Klutsma . . . and YOU?”

“She had three sons, one of whom died the same winter Olhaiyu Klutsma did,” Rachael replied. “Skookum Tumtum Leloo, the oldest of Lammieh Towakh Moon’s three sons . . . he was in the village the day . . . the day the cavalry came. He died trying to save our mother and me. The other was away . . . with the other men hunting.”

“What does Skookum Tumtum Leloo mean in English?” Joe asked.

“Brave Wolf,” Rachael replied. “The day I . . . I became his sister, he gave me this.” She removed an abalone shell from her bag. It was a small shell that fit in the palm of her hand. The outside of the shell was rough, hued in varying shades of gray and brown. By contrast, the inside was an iridescent display of rainbow colors.

“It’s beautiful,” Stacy murmured, awestruck.

“Skookum Tumtum Leloo was one of the few who knew a smattering of English,” Rachael said. “He was one of the few I spoke with during that first year with the Chinook.” A sad, wistful smile spread slowly across her lips as she remembered her Chinook brother. “I had a shell collection once. Every year, when Mama and Papa took me to the beach, I added to it . . . and whenever Papa traveled to ANY place near water, he always brought me back shells, sometimes even coral for my collection. I told Skookum Tumtum Leloo about it . . . that’s why he gave me this.”

“Where did he find it?” Stacy asked. Ben noted that her eyes were unusually bright, and that they blinked excessively.

“He found it when he was a boy. Before he became a man, he and some of the other youths, boys mostly but a few girls, too, used to dive down and bring up abalone for the men to eat while THEY cleaned and butchered the whales they harpooned.”

“Rachael, what’s in this pouch over here?” Hoss asked, pointing to a small, unadorned leather drawstring bag that had taken from the larger medicine bag earlier on.

Rachael opened it, then taking Hoss’ large hand in her own small one, she carefully poured the contents, an assortment of beads, carved from shell, coral, and stone, two kernels of corn, and several small shells, all gleaming with their own natural luster, into his palm. With Hoss’ hand still cradled within both of hers, she stared down at the beads, shells, and corn kernels for a long moment.

“I had forgotten about . . . about these,” Rachael murmured at length. “Lammieh Towakh Moon had been teaching me her ways of healing . . . ways that have been handed down from m-mother to . . . to daughter for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. The beads and the shells would have b-been used in the . . . in the birthing of my first rattle to be used for healing.”

“Aww, dadburn it . . . Rachael, I-I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to upset you,” Hoss immediately apologized.

“Hoss, you haven’t upset me,” Rachael hastened to assure him. “You’ve . . . ALL of you . . . h-have helped me so much by . . . by just letting me . . . remember— ” She broke off, unable to continue. She felt Ben’s arm around her shoulders and Stacy’s hand on her forearm. Rachael closed her eyes and leaned back against the settee, grateful beyond measure for the comfort and reassurance both offered in a simple touch.

Hoss carefully returned the beads, shell, and corn back to the smaller bag from which it came.

“Rachael?”

She opened her eyes. “Yeah, Joe?”

“You, uh . . . feel up to answering a question?” he ventured hesitantly. “I promise, it’s not personal or anything like that . . . . ” He frowned. “At least I don’t THINK it is . . . . ”

“What do you want to know?”

“What did you mean just now when you said the beads and shells were for the BIRTHING of your first rattle?”

Rachael offered Ben and Stacy a reassuring, if still tremulous smile, then took a deep breath. “Lammieh Towakh Moon taught me that everything we make, whether it be drums and rattles used in sacred ritual or the pots we use for cooking already exists in spirit,” she explained. “When we make it, we give it birth here, on earth.”

“I’m gonna think about that next time I sit down to do a little whittlin’,” Hoss said thoughtfully.

“One thing I . . . I regret very much is . . . that Lammieh Towakh Moon’s ways of healing have, well they’ve died with her,” Rachael said sadly.

“Did she teach her ways of healing to her sons and . . . and to her other daughter?” Joe asked.

“By tradition, the ways Lammieh Towakh Moon learned in healing are passed from mother to daughter,” Rachael replied. “She DID teach Olhaiyu Klutsma, who I later learned was a great, powerful healer in her own right . . . and she started to teach ME.”

“As long as YOU live, Rachael, the ways Lammieh Towakh Moon taught you continue to live,” Ben pointed out.

“But, I will never have an opportunity to use them . . . not now,” she said, her voice heavy with despair, “and by the time I have my own daughter, I’ll probably have forgotten all the things Lammieh Towakh Moon taught me.”

“No, Rachael, you’ll remember,” Ben insisted in a gentle, yet very firm tone, “just as Stacy still remembers the ways her Paiute foster mother, Silver Moon, taught HER.”

Rachael looked over and favored Stacy with a wan smile and squeezed her hand. “You let Stacy remember, Mister Cartwright,” she said, then added, half embarrassed with a touch of rancor, “You saw for yourself h-how Mama feels about . . . about me remembering.”

“Rachael, whenever you need to remember, you’re welcome to come here, anytime, no invitation necessary,” Ben said quietly.

“Can I? Really?”

“Anytime you want,” Ben reiterated.

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright.”

“I’d also like you to remember something else, as a favor to me, but also for your OWN sake . . . AND your mother’s.”

“What’s that?” Rachael asked warily.

“Please try and remember that five years ago, a young GIRL, not much more than a child, got on a stage to go to Oregon to visit family,” Ben said quietly. “Three days ago, a young WOMAN came home. Your mother, through no fault of her own, couldn’t be there to see, maybe help guide that child into becoming a woman. She has a big adjustment to make, too, Rachael.”

“I . . . to be perfectly honest, I hadn’t considered things from that perspective, Mister Cartwright,” Rachael said slowly. “But . . . the cruel, horrible things she says . . . I just wish I could somehow get through to her that the Chinook didn’t hold me prisoner.”

“Maybe you WILL, if you can somehow meet her half way,” Ben suggested.

“Y-you . . . really think so, Mister Cartwright?” she queried dubiously.

“I can’t give you any absolute guarantees, Rachael, only that it would be worth the while to TRY. I know it won’t be easy.”

“Nothing that’s really worth while IS ever easy,” Rachael said ruefully. “Lammieh Towakh Moon taught me that, too. But I promise you, Mister Cartwright, I’ll at least TRY.”

“Mister Cartwright, supper ready ten minutes!” Hop Sing announced.

“Thank you, Hop Sing! All of a sudden, I’M hungry enough to eat a bear!” Rachael declared.

“Come along, we’d best get out to the kitchen and wash up,” Ben rose, and urged his offspring and guest to follow suit.

“Well, I’m hungry enough to eat a whole twenty-mule train!” Hoss countered with a grin. “Mule skinners ‘n all!”

“Eeewww!” Stacy’s grimace was comically grotesque.

“I’m glad to see Big Brother here’s got HIS appetite back!” Joe quipped, punctuating his words with a playful elbow jab to Hoss’ rib cage. “I hafta admit, the thought of eating mule skinners kinda takes MY appetite away though . . . . ”

“That’s ok, Li’l Brother. I’LL eat yours,” Hoss offered, grinning from ear to ear.

Rachael, meanwhile, fell in step beside the Cartwright daughter, as they entered the kitchen. “Stacy?”

“Yes, Rachael?”

“Can I . . . can I see what you have in YOUR medicine bag after supper?” Rachael ventured hesitantly.

“Y’ know? Now that Rachael mentions it, I don’t think you’ve ever shown US what’s in your medicine bag, Stace,” Joe remarked.

“You haven’t!?” Rachael favored Stacy with a bewildered frown.

“I . . . don’t like looking into it very much,” Stacy said, her voice tremulous. “Whenever I do? I think about that last time I saw Silver Moon, and I— ” She broke off, unable to continue.

“Oh, Stacy, I’m so sorry,” Rachael said quietly, as she slipped her arm around Stacy’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean to bring up old wounds.”

“I’M the one who should be sorry, Rachael. It’s been five . . . going on SIX years . . . I should be OVER this by now!”

As he stepped up to the kitchen pump, Ben was surprised, not so much by the grief he heard in his daughter’s voice, but by the depth of anger, most of which seemed to be directed toward herself . . . .



“Blip, blip, blip, blip, BLOP!” Joe gloated triumphantly as he circled the checkerboard, leapfrogging over every last remaining piece belonging to his opponent. “Winner and STILL undefeated champion!”

“I still think you’re cheatin’ somewhere,” Hoss declared with a scowl.

“He didn’t this game, Hoss,” Rachael said. “I watched him the entire time like a hawk.”

Joe thumbed his nose as his brother, then turned his attention back to Rachael. “How about ANOTHER game, Rachael?”

“You betcha,” she agreed, “except THIS time, I get the red pieces.”

“Your wish is MY command,” Joe agreed, as they began to divvy up the checkers.

After a leisurely supper of beef stew, left over from dinner, with dumplings, and the remainder of the chocolate cake, Ben had retreated to the red leather easy chair next to the fireplace with a good book, while his sons, daughter, and guest set up the checkerboard. Rachael sat in the middle of the settee, flanked on either side by Stacy and Hoss, while Joe perched himself on the edge of the coffee table.

“This time, I’LL get to move first,” Rachael said as they set up for the next game.

“It won’t do ya any good,” Joe countered. “Whether I go first or second, I’ll still win ‘cause I’M the better player.”

“I STILL say it’s ‘cause ya cheat!” Hoss said.

The grandfather clock struck the hour of nine.

“I had no idea it was so late!” Ben gasped. He placed a scrap sheet of paper in the book to mark his place, then snapped the book shut. “Rachael . . . Joe, I think your rematch is going to have to wait.”

“Rachael, I’m ready anytime YOU are,” Joe said, rising.

“Ditto that sentiment,” Rachael quipped.

“Until next time,” Joe took her hand in his, bowed with a flourish and kissed it, prompting a sarcastic roll of the eyes from both siblings.

“Until next time,” Rachael agreed.

“Uh oh . . . I, uhh, think we’d better get you out of your riding clothes,” Stacy said, suddenly realizing that Rachael still wore the clothes she had borrowed for their riding expedition.

“Oops!”

“Come on, YOUR clothes should still be upstairs on my bed,” Stacy said, taking Rachael’s arm.

Rachael and Stacy ran quickly up the stairs to the latter’s bedroom. There, Rachael quickly changed back into her skirt and blouse, while Stacy neatly folded the pants she had loaned to their guest.

“Stacy?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you do me a favor?”

“Sure, Rachael.”

“Please keep my medicine bag here with yours,” Rachael asked, as she carefully placed her bag in Stacy’s hands.

“Rachael, I’d be more than happy to keep your medicine bag here with mine,” Stacy said, clearly taken aback by Rachael’s request. “Are you SURE you don’t want it with you?”

“I’m afraid to take it back home with me, Stacy,” Rachael said sadly. “After what my mother did to my buckskin dress . . . . ” She looked up at Stacy earnestly, her brown eyes meeting and holding Stacy’s blue ones. “I know it will be safe here, in your keeping.”

“I understand.”

“ . . . and I was also thinking that maybe, if I didn’t return home with it . . . well, maybe it would help us meet somewhere half way, like your father said earlier.”

Stacy nodded. “If you want or need your medicine bag or anything from it, just let me know.”

“I will. For now, though, I just want to know that it’s in good hands for safe keeping.”

Stacy stepped over to the massive chest of drawers, against the north-facing wall running perpendicular to the wall with the window. She opened the top drawer, and placed it in beside the small jewelry box her father had given her last Christmas, that contained several pieces of antique jewelry that had belonged to his mother and maternal grandmother. “It’ll be right here, Rachael.”

“Thank you, Stacy,” Rachael said gratefully.

“Rachael?”

“Yeah?”

“I hope everything turns out ok with you and your mother.”

“I . . . I hope so, too, Stacy. Thank you.”

“STACY! RACHAEL! BOTH OF YOU, SHAKE A LEG! WE NEED TO GET A MOVE ON!” Ben bellowed from downstairs.

“COMING, PA!” Stacy yelled back in response. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Stacy?”

“Yes, Rachael?”

“Thank you for inviting me to come here today,” Rachael said, her voice catching on the last word. “I wish I could find the words to tell you . . . how wonderful today’s been for me.”

“Words aren’t necessary!” Stacy, acting purely on impulse, slipped her arms around Rachael and hugged her.

Rachael smiled and hugged back.



“Oh, Tom! Tom! Darling, guess what?” Clara turned from the living room window, clapping her hands with excitement.

“What is it, Clara?” Tom asked. He was ensconced in his favorite easy chair for the evening with a glass of port in hand and a copy of the latest edition of the “Territorial Enterprise,” on his lap.

“Rachael’s home! Oh, Darling, Darling, come quick! Come see!” Smiling, her dark eyes wide with delighted astonishment, Clara turned back to the window and watched as Rachael and Stacy walked together up the front walk together. Ben followed a few steps behind them. The two girls seemed to be in very animated conversation, and Rachael was actually smiling for the very first time since she got off that stage three days ago. Best of all, she didn’t have that filthy animal bag with its shells and heathen images.

“Darling, it’s Rachael! OUR Rachael! Our Rachael’s back, Darling! It’s her, she’s back!”

The near hysteria he heard in his wife’s voice brought an anxious frown to Tom Marlowe’s face. “Of course our Rachael’s back, Clara. You told me when I came home this evening that she was visiting Stacy at the Ponderosa.”

Clara laughed, a soft melodic laugh with a hard steel knife-edge. “Silly, Tom! You don’t understand! It’s OUR Rachael! OUR Rachael, Darling, back just the way she was!”

Jenkins, the chief butler, stepped to the open door to the family living room, located on the second floor of the Marlowes’ home, and coughed discreetly before entering.

“Yes, Jenkins?” Tom inquired blandly, while folding the newspaper. Clara, smiling, clasped her hands together, expectantly. Her eyes darted rapidly from her husband to Jenkins, and back to her husband.

“Mister Cartwright and his daughter have returned with Miss Rachael, Sir. I have taken the liberty of showing them to the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Jenkins. Please escort them up here.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jenkins inclined his head slightly, then withdrew.

A few moments later, Ben entered the room followed by Stacy and Rachael. Tom rose, and placed the folded newspaper on the end table next to his chair. “Hello, Ben,” he greeted his old friend with a tired, yet welcoming smile. “Please, come in and sit down.”

“Thank you, Tom, but Stacy and I need to be getting on back,” Ben politely declined the invitation to stay and visit. “I’m sorry we’re so late getting Rachael home. After supper, Joe insisted on teaching Rachael how to play checkers, and we ended up losing track of the time until the clock in the living room struck nine.”

“Did you enjoy yourself, Darling?” Clara asked, as she slipped her arm around Rachael’s shoulders.

Rachael’s entire body stiffened against her mother’s touch, but tonight, she didn’t pull away. “I had a wonderful time today, Mama.” She turned and smiled at Ben and Stacy. “Thank you again, very much for inviting me today, Stacy . . . and you, too, Mister Cartwright.”

“It was our pleasure, Rachael,” Ben said sincerely.

“You’re welcome to come out any time you want,” Stacy added.

Rachael left her mother, to walk over and give Stacy a big affectionate bear hug. “Thanks again, Stacy.”

“You’re welcome, Rachael.” Stacy hugged Rachael back with equal affection.

“Come on, Stacy, you and I need to move along,” Ben urged his daughter gently.

“Ben, you SURE you and Stacy can’t stay, even for just a little while?” Clara asked, punctuating her words with a pout.

“Not tonight, Clara,” Ben said. “Hoss, Joe, and Stacy, will be getting up early tomorrow morning to take feed out to our winter pastures. Perhaps another time.”

“Oh, Ben, surely you don’t have a delicate young lady like Stacy doing back breaking chores like your boys?!” Clara was aghast.

“In the first place, Mrs. Marlowe, the Ponderosa’s a family operation, which means the entire family pitches in,” Stacy said, glaring venomously at Clara. “That includes ME! Second, I may be young, but I’m NOT delicate by any stretch of the imagination, and--- ”

“Stacy, we’d best get a move on,” Ben said again, this time with the intention of keeping his daughter and Clara from coming to blows. “Good night, Everyone.”

“Good night, Rachael . . . you, too, Mister and Mrs. Marlowe.”

“Ben . . . Stacy, I’ll see you to the door,” Tom said. “I’ll be right back, Clara.”

“So tell me ALL about your visit with the Cartwrights, Darling.” Clara seated herself primly at the edge of the living room settee, and pulled Rachael down beside her. “I want to hear everything.”

“Dinner was ready when we arrived, pretty much,” Rachael began. “It was delicious, Mama.”

Clara’s face fell. “I . . . see,” she murmured softly. “What did you have?”

“We had beef stew, with potatoes, sweet potatoes, peas, corn, tomatoes, onions,” Rachael rambled on, oblivious to her mother’s increasing dismay. “Hop Sing also made up fresh biscuits, and we had chocolate cake for dessert.”

“Beef stew?” Clara echoed, incredulous.

“Mama, it was so good . . . the beef just melted in your mouth, literally— ” She frowned, noting the dismayed grimace on her mother’s face. “Mama? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, uuhh, nothing’s WRONG, Darling, not really, I suppose . . . . ”

“But . . . . ?”

“Well . . . no, Darling, it’s too silly, actually . . . . ”

“Please, Mama, what is it?”

Clara looked over at her daughter, her smile wavering. “It’s just that I . . . I asked Cook to fix all your favorite dishes, Darling, you know . . . for your homecoming,” she said hesitantly. “Just for you, to . . . well, to try and make you feel welcome.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“No need to feel sorry, Darling.”

“The food Cook fixed was delicious,” Rachael added quickly. “Honestly, it was . . . it’s just that . . . those sauces were so rich, I . . . well, I guess I’m not used to that . . . now.”

“I see!” Clara snapped.

“After supper we played checkers, while Mister Cartwright read,” Rachael continued, taken aback by her mother’s sudden change of mood from warm and friendly, almost conciliatory to cold and angry. “Joe beat everybody.”

Clara, once again smiling warmly, linked her arm through Rachael’s and huddled close. “I’m glad you remembered your manners and let HIM win,” she cooed. “You know how fragile the male ego is.”

“Actually, I DIDN’T let him win, Mama. Hoss accused him of cheating a time or two, but Joe didn’t. He won fair and square all by himself.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Clara chortled.

“Yes, he did. I KNOW because I watched him the entire time.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Different things, Mama,” Rachael said evasively.

“Tell me!” Clara demanded, lowering her voice to a confidential level. She began to squirm impatiently on the settee next to her daughter. “I told you I want to hear everything!”

“Well, I . . . found that Stacy and I have a lot in common.” Rachael replied, her voice a wooden monotone. She suddenly felt like a trapped wild animal by her mother’s close proximity. “I . . . I want to see more of her.”

“That can certainly be arranged, Rachael.” It was her father, returning from seeing the Cartwrights out. He smiled. “Ben and Stacy just got through telling me again how much they enjoyed having you . . . and that they’d like to have you come back very soon.”

“I’d like that, too, Papa,” Rachael said quietly. “I’d like that very much.”

“But, what did you and Stacy and the others all talk about, Darling?” Clara wheedled.

“It was mostly things that . . . that, well . . . that Stacy and I have in common, Mama,” Rachael said stiffly. “Nothing YOU’D be interested in particularly.”

“Clara, stop badgering the girl,” Tom chided her gently. “I doubt very seriously that Stacy keeps up with the latest gossip, anyway.”

“I . . . see.” Clara immediately unwrapped her arms from around Rachael’s arm, and stiffly slid as far as she possibly could to the other end of the settee. Her daughter’s reluctance to recount her conversations with the Cartwrights, coupled with her husband’s chiding stung, like an entire hive of wasps, or yellow jackets---thousands of them all able to sting once, then circle around and come back to sting again and again.

“Joe and Stacy took me out riding, too,” Rachael continued. “They showed me some really beautiful places on the Ponderosa. One place, there was a hill. They made me go up first.” She smiled. “Stacy said it was a Cartwright family tradition. The view up there . . . . ” Her eyes misted dreamily, and her smile faded. “Papa . . . Mama . . . it was magnificent! They . . . Joe and Stacy . . . told me it’s the kind of place you need to see for the first time alone. They were so right.”

“I’ll have to ask Ben to take ME out there,” Tom said thoughtfully, “when the weather warms. I haven’t the stamina to go out in the dead of winter, like you young folks seem to have.”

Clara moaned, and buried her face in her hands.

“Clara?” Tom prompted, looking over at his wife anxiously.

Clara lifted her face and looked over at her daughter. Rachael flinched against the intensity of her mother’s gaze. “How could you possibly have gone riding?” she demanded. “I . . . I know Ben keeps side saddles around, for guests, but . . . you didn’t take your riding costume with you.”

“Stacy loaned me a pair of HER britches, Mama. Except for her being a bit taller, we’re roughly the same size.”

Clara moaned and buried her face in her hands once again.

“Mama?”

Tom walked over to the settee, and gently placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Clara, what is it?”

“R-Rachael . . . she went out riding . . . wearing a pair of . . . of britches like some common ranch hand,” Clara sobbed, “and in front of Joe Cartwright, too.”

“Clara, I think the night you and I went to the Ponderosa for dinner is the second, maybe third time I’ve EVER seen Stacy wear a dress at home,” Tom said with a bemused look on his face.

“Stacy Cartwright’s NEVER known how to dress properly,” Clara wailed. “Why Ben so adamantly refuses take a firm hand in the matter . . . I can’t even begin to fathom!”

“Mama . . . Papa . . . . ” Rachael rose from the settee, then turned to face her parents. “It’s been a full day today, and I’m feeling very tired. I’d like to go on up to my room now, and get ready for bed.”

“Of course,” Tom nodded. “Good night, Rachael. I’m glad you enjoyed your visit with the Cartwrights today.”

“Thank you, Papa, I did. Good night.” She turned to face her mother, still seated on the settee. “Good night, Mama.”

“I . . . yes, w-well . . . g-good night, Darling.”



“I have TWO bones to pick with you, Young Woman,” Ben said as he and Stacy rode back to their home in the enclosed buggy.

“Oh?”

“The first has to do with Miss Klein’s skirt.”

Stacy swallowed nervously. “ . . . uh oh . . . uhhh . . . what, exactly about Miss Klein’s, ummmm . . . skirt, Pa?” She had all but forgotten . . . .

“Their butler, Mister Jenkins, came into the drawing room while I was talking with Mrs. Marlowe. He told me that Miss Klein’s skirt was torn when she took you upstairs to Rachael’s room,” Ben said. “Miss Klein seems to be under the impression that it WASN’T an accident.”

“Pa, I . . . I’m afraid, ummm . . . Miss Klein’s under the, ummm . . . right impression?!” Stacy admitted, with a healthy dose of fear and trembling. Owning up to the truth might save her tender hide from what Hoss and Joe wryly referred to as a “tanning you’ll never forget,” but she STILL wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for the next few days. The thought of spending the entire next day in the saddle after a trip to the barn . . . .

She winced, then shuddered.

“I trust you have a good explanation for what happened to Miss Klein’s skirt?” Ben queried, his scowl deepening.

“She made me mad, Pa!” Stacy replied, her own face darkening with anger upon remembering the incident.

“I sincerely hope that’s not the best explanation you can come up with,” Ben said with a touch of wryness.

Stacy angrily recounted the mostly one-sided conversation with Marjorie Klein as they walked up the stairs to Rachael Marlowe’s room. “It was when she told me that . . . well, that things would have been a lot better all the way around if . . . if Rachael had just plain turned up dead, instead of . . . of coming home an ignorant, heathen savage.”

“She ACTUALLY said that?!” Ben asked, thoroughly appalled.

“She didn’t actually say the part about Rachael coming home an ignorant, heathen savage,” Stacy replied, “but she DID say it would have been better all the way around if Rachael had turned up dead!” She turned and looked into her father’s face, her eyes meeting his, boldly, without flinching. “Pa . . . that was a horrible thing to say! If she had been a man, I . . . I . . . so HELP me, I would’ve belted her one!”

“For Miss Klein to say that everyone would be better off if Rachael had died WAS a terrible, cruel thing to say,” Ben wholeheartedly agreed. “Even so, that still doesn’t excuse what YOU did, Young Woman. We’ve had quite a number of discussions about your temper before.”

Stacy nodded warily.

“Do you remember what I told you?”

“You said I hafta learn to NOT let it get the better of me,” Stacy replied, “and I did, Pa. Instead of belting her one in the gob like I wanted to do, I . . . I, ummm . . . ripped her skirt . . . . ”

“While I AM glad you refrained from in your words, ‘belting Miss Klein one in the gob,’ the willful destruction of her property is NOT a suitable alternative,” Ben admonished her sternly.

“What else COULD I have done?”

“You could have done one of two things, Young Woman,” Ben replied. “You could have simply changed the subject of conversation yourself, or you could have told Miss Klein that you didn’t want to talk about Rachael long before she ended up wishing the poor girl dead.”

“Oh,” Stacy murmured, rueful and contrite.

“Are you sorry you did what you did?”

“I . . . want to say yes, Pa, but the truth is . . . I just plain don’t know,” Stacy replied, resigning herself to a trip out to the barn when they arrived home. “I AM sorry I didn’t even think of doing what you just said, but I’m NOT sorry I took up for Rachael.”

“I can’t fault ya for taking up for a friend,” Ben allowed. “As for the other . . . I told Miss Klein that I would pay for replacing the skirt you damaged, AND for two more skirts in addition to that. I, in turn, will withhold your allowance until all three skirts have been paid in full.”

“Yes, Sir,” Stacy murmured.

“Furthermore,” Ben continued, “you will be responsible for doing ALL of the barn chores . . . morning and evening . . . for the next two months.”

Stacy grimaced, but said nothing.

“You will also be responsible for feeding the chickens, gathering the eggs, AND keeping the kindling box full.”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” Stacy responded with fast sinking heart, all the while silently telling herself if could be a lot worse . . . .

“ . . . and finally,” Ben concluded, “to make sure you have ample time to complete those extra chores AND keep up with your school work, you’re restricted to the house, the barn, and the front yard. The only exceptions will be the trip back and forth to school, when that resumes . . . and helping your brothers take feed out to the herd.”

“Yes, Pa,” Stacy replied. “Is it, ummm . . . alright if I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“How come you umm . . . weren’t so hard on me when I . . . well . . . when I accidentally started that fight in the Silver Dollar Saloon last summer, the night before The Wedding of the Century?” she asked. “The saloon was a lot more demolished than Miss Klein’s skirt . . . . ”

“Whenever the Silver Dollar gets busted up in a fight, the men responsible more often than not pay for the damages,” Ben explained. “Once in a while a man serves thirty days in jail because he can’t . . . or WON’T pay, but most of the time they DO pay. Sam is also well able to make due until broken windows are repaired, and broken tables, chairs, and tables can be replaced.

“However, most women in Miss Klein’s position have limited means. VERY limited means,” Ben continued. “They have very little to spend on clothing. Now I can’t tell ya for sure whether this applies to Miss Klein personally or not, but a good number of women, who, like her, who work as servants for wealthy men and their wives, are lucky if they own ONE skirt and perhaps a half dozen or so blouses.”

Ben immediately saw that his words were a new revelation to his young daughter, judging from the look of astonishment he saw in her eyes, now round as saucers, and mouth slightly open.

“Pa?”

“Yes?”

“You pay the men who work for you a decent living wage . . . you mean to tell me that . . . the Marlowes . . . that they DON’T pay Miss Klein a decent living wage, too?”

“Wealthy people like the Marlowes more often than not provide room and board,” Ben replied, “and pay a small wage over and above that. People like Miss Klein have to use what little money they have to buy their own clothing, and . . . other things they need. Now, if the skirt you damaged ended up being the only skirt Miss Klein owned . . . . ”

“Sorry, Pa. I didn’t know,” Stacy said, in a voice barely audible, filled with remorse.”

“Now that you DO know, I think it might also be a good idea if you wrote Miss Klein a note, apologizing for what you did,” Ben suggested.

“I will,” Stacy immediately promised, “and next time, I’ll try to do what you said.”

“I know you will,” Ben replied in a kindlier tone.

“What’s the OTHER bone you want to pick with me?” Stacy asked, mentally bracing herself.

“It’s not a bone exactly,” Ben said quietly. “It’s just that I noticed that you were awfully quiet through out the evening. Is everything alright?”

“I guess,” she replied, punctuating her answer with an indifferent shrug.

“You feel up to talking about it?”

“Pa, did Rachael tell you that she was married?”

“No,” Ben shook his head.

“She told Joe and me, when we were out riding this afternoon,” Stacy said sadly. “The place where we took Rachael reminded her of a place where Aiak Enanamuks, her husband, took her.”

That statement of fact, softly spoken, brought with it all of what she and Joe felt, when Rachael released the grief, the sadness, and longing she had kept bound up inside. But, it wasn’t the imagined faces of Lammieh Towakh Moon and Aiak Enanamuks that rose within Stacy’s thoughts. It was the remembered faces of Silver Moon, Chief Soaring Eagle, Leaping Antelope, her blood brother . . . .

. . . and Jason O’Brien, whose family had been close friends and neighbors for many years. He had been courting her ever since the Independence Day race, under the watchful eye of her father, her brothers, and Hop Sing. The thought of being parted from him . . . with no hope of ever seeing him again . . . .

“When were Rachael and Aiak Enanamuks married?” Ben asked, noting Stacy’s sudden, valiant struggle not to burst into tears.

“She said— ” Stacy broke off, unable to speak.

“Has it been very long?”

“Last year.”

Ben’s heart went out to Rachael, separated, perhaps forever, from someone she apparently loved so deeply. He silently resolved to do what he could to not only help her, but maybe help her parents understand when they learned that their son-in-law was a full-blooded Chinook.

Ben relegated Rachael, and his own resolves concerning her to the back of his thoughts, and turned his attention to a growing concern closer to home. He strongly suspected that being with Rachael, the inevitable sharing of their lives and experiences among Chinook and Paiute, had stirred up Stacy’s own feelings of grief and loss that almost certainly accompanied her forced separation from Silver Moon and her Paiute Family. From the first day she took up residence on the Ponderosa, Stacy had freely talked about Silver Moon, and shared the knowledge and wisdom given her by her Paiute foster mother. Ben, Hoss, Joe, and even Hop Sing, actively encouraged this. Yet, in all that time, he couldn’t remember a time when she actually mourned the loss of her Paiute family.

The buggy pulled into the yard a few moments later. Candy and two of the younger ranch hands, new hires learning the ropes, appeared to take charge of the conveyance and two horses.

“Stacy?” Ben queried as they entered the house together.

“Y-yeah, Pa?”

Ben walked over toward the settee facing the fireplace, where a warm and welcoming, if waning, fire still burned. “Come on over here and sit down for a minute,” he invited.

Stacy paused at the door to remove her hat and jacket, before walking over and taking a seat next to her father on the settee. She said nothing, just looked up at him, waiting.

“Stacy, I’ve never asked you this straight out, but . . . . ” Ben turned and gazed earnestly into her face and eyes. “Do you regret parting company with your Paiute family?”

“No, not since I’ve come to live here with you. Silver Moon told me early on that I had been placed into her care as kind of a trust, until the time came for me to leave her to go with my father. She said Great Spirit showed her that in a dream, so . . . all along, she and I both knew I would leave them someday. But the WAY we had to part company . . . .

“They had us at the fort, Pa . . . rounded up, bunched together . . . like cattle. Silver Moon had her arms tight around me, holding on for dear life. For just about the whole time I was with her, I never knew her to be afraid of anything. But, that day in the fort, I knew she was afraid . . . and THAT frightened me, more than just about anything.”

Ben quietly placed a comforting, paternal arm around her shoulders. He felt her slide across the settee and nestle close in the crook of his arm, as she haltingly told him the rest . . . .


A man wearing dark blue uniform had come and literally ripped her from the protective circle of Silver Moon’s arms. Stacy kicked and screamed with all her might in a valiant effort to free herself. Silver Moon, her face contorted with anger and fear, for herself and for the young girl placed in her care six years before, broke from the ranks, and surged toward Stacy and the uniformed man struggling to hold her.

Another uniformed man took hold of Silver Moon, then another. The Paiute woman with the easy superhuman strength born of desperation, shook herself free of the first man to grab her. She continued moving toward Stacy Dancing Colt, the child she had come to love and cherish as a daughter. Another man replaced the first man, and a third quickly stepped in, struggling with the others to stop Silver Moon.

While her foster mother valiantly fought against the men struggling desperately to keep them apart, Stacy, with a hard, sudden wrench, twisted in the grip of the man trying to restrain her, placing her mouth close to his bare hand. She opened her mouth and clamped her teeth down hard, breaking skin and drawing blood. The man screamed in pain and let her go. Stacy ran, only to be snatched again before she could run three paces.

In the end, it took four big men to finally subdue and drag Silver Moon away . . . .


“First, they took me away from the only real, honest-to-goodness family I had ever known. Then, they took away the name Silver Moon gave me, and insisted on calling me by my grandmother’s name. She wasn’t a very nice woman, and I still can’t shake the feeling that she hated me. Then, they locked me up in a jail cell . . . . ”

“A jail cell?!” Ben queried, feeling terribly sick at heart and very angry.

“They kept me there until they took Silver Moon and the others away. They were afraid I’d escape.”

“Stacy, I had no idea . . . . ”

Ben remembered Erin O’Donnell, a young woman who almost certainly would have become his daughter-in-law, had the fates been kinder.


“Mister Cartwright, there’s something I have to tell you . . . . ”


He heard her voice again, speaking softly in a very calm, almost bland monotone, devoid of all feeling, as she showed him the scars on her wrist left behind by the manacles used to bind her when she was arrested and jailed in the Dakotas, for fighting with the Sioux against the army.

Her facial features mirrored the blood chilling bland placidness in her voice, as she recounted the details of her arrest and imprisonment for himself and for Hoss. She was manacled to a cot in a hospital storeroom, comprised of four walls, no windows.

“No sunshine . . . no air . . . . ”

Erin O’Donnell’s words again echoed through his thoughts, and his memories as clearly as they had the evening she had spoken them.

“No wonder she can’t stand being closed in,” Hoss had observed, after she had left the table abruptly, to seek a measure of solace in the barn.

No wonder indeed! What Erin endured went beyond the bounds of solitary confinement to the lonely darkness of the grave. The thought of Stacy, not much more than a child, being literally torn from a loving family, then jailed, suffering all that Erin had, left Ben feeling heart sick and deeply angry.

In the three days that followed her forced separation from Silver Moon, and subsequent incarceration, Stacy, frightened and despondent, had refused to eat. Major Baldwin, faced with the very real prospect of the child literally starving herself to death, struck what amounted to a devil’s bargain. IF, and ONLY if Miss Stacy Louise solemnly promised to eat the food set in front of her, he would allow her to see Silver Moon one last time, to say good-bye.

“You should have seen her face, Pa. Her eyes were coal black with no life, no light in them. It was as if some part of her had died. That . . . that w-was the last time I . . . I ever s-saw her . . . . ” Stacy suddenly burst into tears.

Ben gathered her in his arms and held her close as she wept. He had fully expected HER anger and grief, even the tears, but not the profound anger the knowledge of what Stacy and her Paiute family suffered at the hands of the cavalry men stationed at Fort Charlotte, had aroused within himself.

“Oh, Pa, I’m . . . I’m sorry, I . . . . ”

Her apology, and the depth of regret and remorse her heard in her voice initially shocked and surprised him. Then, suddenly, he saw and understood something that he had never known before. Something that had never even occurred to him, until this very moment!

“Stacy . . . . ”

She looked up at him expectantly, the tears still flowing freely down her cheeks.

“I wish to heaven I had thought to tell you this, earlier on,” Ben said, his voice filled with regret, “but there’s no need for you to be sorry. You CAN be happy here . . . with Hoss, Joe, Hop Sing, and me . . . and still miss Silver Moon, Chief Soaring Eagle, and the other members of your Paiute family . . . at the same time.”

“I . . . I can?”

Ben, keeping one arm firmly around Stacy, reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. “Yes, you can,” he said quietly, placing the clean handkerchief into her hands.

“After I f-found out they were . . . they were going to let me c-come with YOU? Mrs. Crawleigh told me I . . . that I c-couldn’t love Silver Moon and the others . . . that I-I shouldn’t even think of them anymore because . . . because it would be d-disloyal to you.”

In that moment, if Ben could have but one wish, it would be that one Mrs. Vivian Crawleigh could be turned into an a fine strapping individual, by the name of VICTOR Crawleigh, who stood at the very least, a whole head taller and weighed in at a good thirty pounds heavier . . . so he could personally pound his face into the ground.

“Stacy,” Ben said, thrusting those delicious fancies aside. “I want to tell you something. If you never listen to anything else I ever say, I want you to hear this,” he said earnestly.

She peered earnestly into his face, her own blue eyes meeting and holding his dark brown ones.

“You’re NOT going to stop loving your Paiute family, because you’ve joined your family here on the Ponderosa,” Ben’s tone was gentle, yet with a touch of firmness. “I would NEVER ask or expect it of you, and neither would your brothers. Loving Silver Moon, Chief Soaring Eagle, and the others . . . and missing them ISN’T an act of betrayal or disloyalty toward me, your brothers, or Hop Sing . . . nor does it mean that you love US any less.”

Stacy felt the stinging of fresh tears in her eyes. “Pa, I . . . I hope you know that I love you, Adam, Hoss, Joe . . . and Hop Sing . . . very much.”

“Yes, I know,” Ben said slipping his other arm around her. “Just as I hope YOU know that we love you, too. . . very much. Nothing can or will EVER change that!”

“I do miss Silver Moon, Chief Soaring Eagle, and Leaping Antelope,” Stacy said haltingly, without remorse and without guilt for the first time. “Sometimes . . . Pa, sometimes I miss them so bad, it hurts— ” The words not yet spoken were suddenly drowned, swept away in the flash flood of tears and agonized weeping, as her heart began to finally release some of the pain and grief borne of the loss of her Paiute family.

Later, after the worst of the storm, generated by the release of her pain, grief, and anger, had passed, Stacy rested quietly in the protective circle of her father’s arms, drawing comfort and reassurance from his loving presence.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“When Silver Moon left that day, the last time I ever saw her? She thought she had failed to honor the trust g-given her. I . . . . ” She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes once again. “I wish there was SOME way to let her know that she DID honor her trust . . . that I AM with my family.”

“You said Great Spirit told Silver Moon that you had been given to her as a trust,” Ben said quietly. “I’d like to think that Great Spirit also found a way to let her know that she DID honor her trust and that you’re with your family.”

“I hope so.” Stacy somehow managed to get her arms around Ben’s waist and give him a big, bear hug. “Thanks, Pa.”

Ben smiled and returned her hug with equal affection. “For what?”

“For not forcing me to give up the ways Silver Moon taught me.”

“I could never in a million years do a thing like that. The lessons and the ways Silver Moon taught you are a very important part of who YOU are.”

“They are?! Really?”

“Yes, really! To take away what Silver Moon gave you is to take away a very important part of the beautiful young woman you are.” Ben looked down at her, and smiled. “And to do THAT would be unthinkable because I love you very much the way you ARE.”

“Thanks, Pa.” She hugged him again, and held tight for a moment. “I love you, too.”



The following morning, Hoss Cartwright paused by the open door to his sister’s bedroom, and glanced in. He was surprised to find the old, well-worn overalls, and plaid flannel shirt that she wore when she did the barn chores, lying neatly folded on the seat of the hard-backed chair over next to the window.

“Stacy?”

“Over here, Hoss.”

She was seated crossed legged on top of her bed, clad in fresh clean clothes, gazing intently at an assortment of objects spread out in across the drawn up quilt in front of her.

“I thought it was MY turn t’ do the barn chores this week,” Hoss said, his eyes momentarily drifting to her work clothes on the chair.

“Nope. I’m afraid it’s MY turn to do the barn chores . . . AND feed the chickens . . . AND gather the eggs . . . AND keep the kindling box filled . . . for the next two months,” Stacy responded with a melancholy sigh.

“Hoo boy!” Hoss groaned. “Sounds like YOU’VE been a bad girl.”

“I’m afraid so,” Stacy replied in a disparaging tone of voice. She told Hoss about the incident involving Miss Marjorie Klein’s skirt, and the conversation between herself and their father on their way home from the Marlowes’ last night.

“Can’t say as I blame ya for getting mad at Miss Klein,” Hoss said quietly, “but Pa’s right all the same.”

“I know . . . now, anyway.”

“I guess that means you won’t be able t’ go with Joe ‘n me over t’ Valhalla t’ see Brunhilda.”

“I’m afraid not. The only place I can go with you ‘n ol’ Grandpa is out to the winter pasture when we take feed to the herd,” she sighed with genuine regret. “Hoss?”
“Yeah?”

“Willya tell Brunhilda hello for me?”

“I sure will,” Hoss promised. “Hop Sing sent me up here t’ tell ya that breakfast’s almost ready . . . . ”

“I’ll be right there, Hoss.” She began to carefully gather up the pieces spread out before her and return them to the open fringed leather pouch sitting next to her, on the bed.

“What all y’ got there?” Hoss asked, his eyes falling on the assortment for the very first time.

“Come and see, Big Brother,” Stacy invited.

Hoss entered the room, stopping at the side of her bed. “Hey, ain’t that the stuff y’ brought home with ya from Fort Charlotte?”

“Yeah.”

Hoss recognized the heart shaped gold pendant, engraved “Stacy Louise.” It was Stacy’s only connection to her life before the Paiutes. Because the small pendant and chain had so obviously been crafted for a child, the officers at Fort Charlotte had erroneously assumed the necklace belonged to Stacy herself, when in fact, it had been given to her maternal grandmother when she was a child.

“I had no idea you had such a treasure trove hidden up here, Li’l Sister,” Hoss said with a smile.

There were two stones . . . river stones . . . both white quartz, made round and smooth by the river from which they had been taken. There were animals, too, carved from wood and stone. Among them, a buffalo, carved from turquoise, greenish blue laced with brown striations, the same color brown as the aspen leaves that have lost their brilliant gold hue and fallen to the ground. Though the piece was small enough to easily fit in the palm of Stacy’s open hand, it powerfully conveyed the stolid massiveness of the animal. It was decorated with three tiny beads, one white, two red, and a single feather.

Stacy smiled. “Buffalo reminds me a lot of YOU, Big Brother.”

“Oh yeah?” Hoss queried, returning her smile.

“The buffalo’s a mainstay,” Stacy explained. “Hides for tipis, clothing, blankets, meat for food, bones for tools, the innards for bags, even hooves for glue. Silver Moon used to make a pretty tasty soup, too . . . from the blood.”

Hoss found a chair and drew it up beside the bed. “Sounds like you’da been pretty much lost without Buffalo.”

“Just like we’d be pretty much lost around here without YOU, Hoss.”

Hoss smiled. Two spots of subtle color appeared on his cheeks. “Well, I ain’t so sure ‘bout THAT, Li’l Sister. Pa built the Ponderosa ‘n still pretty much runs it.”

“ . . . and he watches over her . . . and US, too. This is more how I see Pa.”

Stacy picked up an eagle and placed it in the palm of his hand. It was carved of dark brown stone, generously laced with pyrite that seemed to catch and hold the sun when Hoss moved it into the shaft of sunlight streaming through the window in her room.

“Eagle is the totem spirit of . . . of my Paiute family,” Stacy began.

Hoss smiled, realizing that this morning was the first time he had ever heard his young sister refer to the tribe who had raised her as HER family. “What, exactly is a totem spirit, Li’l Sister?”

“In this case, the totem spirit is the spirit who leads, guides, watches over, and protects the entire family. That’s why, when my grandfather was made chief, he took the name Soaring Eagle.”

“Kinda like a guardian angel?”

Stacy nodded.

“Pa’s been, and still IS every bit o’ that for all four of US,” Hoss said thoughtfully, as he gazed down at the eagle lying in the palm of his hand, “and the Ponderosa, too.”

“There’s more. Silver Moon also told me the Eagle is also a messenger of Great Spirit. THAT reminds me of the strong faith Pa has in God, faith strong enough to move mountains, in the words of his sacred book.”

“Yeah, he does at that,” Hoss said thoughtfully, as he reflected back on what he knew of his father’s life: the years he had risked his life to sail the seven seas, starting from the age he would have been old enough to serve aboard ship as a cabin boy; the four women he had loved, cherished, and tragically lost; the strength and courage to take on the daunting task of raising three sons, and now a daughter, alone . . . .

. . . and the dream, he had nurtured and sustained over the course of many years, that lead him, Hoss’ mother, Inger, and his two oldest children on the long, often arduous journey that stretched all the way from Boston to Nevada.

“Like Eagle, Pa is the spirit and guardian of this family and the Ponderosa. But, YOU, Big Brother, like the buffalo, are the bounty . . . and the heart . . . that sustains us all of us, even Pa.”

Hoss placed the eagle back down on the bed and started to hand her the buffalo. Stacy took his hand and gently closed his massive fingers around the turquoise piece. “It’s yours, Big Brother.”

“Mine?”

Stacy nodded, still holding his hand in both of hers.

“Thank you, Li’l Sister. I’ll always treasure it.” As she would always treasure him. Hoss saw that plain as day in her eyes. Smiling, he placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed it gently.

Hoss’ gaze wandered over the other animals spread out on the bed. There was a bear, carved from a piece of jet-black stone, polished to a glossy shine. She, and she was very plainly a she, was asleep, hibernating. The gentle slopes and curves of her body formed a near perfect sphere. She had been adorned with white beads and a small white feather, shaped long and slender. He also recognized the stone shapes that so clearly formed beaver, fox, cougar, owl, turtle , antelope, howling wolf, otter, coyote, and hummingbird.

The doe, like bear and buffalo, also caught and held Hoss’ attention. She was carved from white stone, tiny ears cocked forward, her head and neck rigid, listening. Her entire streamlined body and slender legs seemed poised, ready to run, to leap away in less than the wink of an eye. A circlet of tiny turquoise and blue beads circled her neck. Attached to the deer’s necklace was a tiny hawk’s feather, and a string of beads carved from stag’s antlers.

“Li’l Sister, if Pa’s an eagle, an’ I’m a buffalo, then this critter’s YOU!” Hoss smiled and pointed to a horse, whittled from a piece of wood, lightly hued. “ ‘Specially the way the pair o’ you can run like the wind, nigh on forever, it seems.”

“That’s how I got my Paiute name. Silver Moon told me she named me Stacy Dancing Colt because I was a bundle of energy, never wanting to sit still for a minute.”

“Ok, Kid . . . . ”

Hoss and Stacy turned and found Joe, standing in the open doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest.

“ . . . if Pa’s an eagle, Big Brother here’s a buffalo . . . though the animal I have in mind right now’s probably a better description of ol’ Hoss here . . . . ”

This prompted a dark glare from Hoss.

“ . . . what kind of animal am I?”

“I can tell ya right now, Li’l Joe, that the kind o’ animal YOU are . . . AIN’T in this collection.”

“How do YOU know?” Joe demanded.

“ ‘Cause I don’t see no jackasses among Stacy’s animals.”

“Oohh, you’re sooo-oooo funny, Big Brother, har de har har!” He pivoted, grabbed one of the pillows from Stacy’s bed, turned and hit Hoss over the head with it.

“Grandpa, I think you may be THIS animal.” Stacy reached into her bag and pulled out another horse, carved from black and white onyx. This horse had been carved, rearing up on its back legs. Its elongated, thickened tail formed the third point of the carving’s base. She placed it in the palm of Joe’s open hand.

Joe held up the tiny stone carving, and smiled. “Hey! He kinda looks like Cochise!” he exclaimed, surprised and delighted. He held out the carved pinto, intending to return the piece to his sister.

“That’s YOURS!” Stacy said.

“You sure, Kid?”

“I’m sure, Grandpa.”

“THERE you are!”

Three heads rose and turned toward the open door to Stacy’s bedroom in unison. They found their father standing, framed in the open door, just on the other side of the threshold, with arms folded across his chest.

“You three had best get moving,” Ben admonished his offspring sternly. “Your breakfast is getting COLD, and Hop Sing getting HOT!”

“Sorry, Pa,” Stacy murmured contritely, as she began to quickly gather together the contents of her medicine bag, “it’s all MY fault.”

Ben’s eyes were immediately drawn to the carved animals, the feathered hairpieces, the jewelry, the two river stones, and a familiar heart shaped pendant on a gold chain. Intrigued, he unfolded his arms, and stepped into the room. “Is that the contents of your medicine bag, Young Woman?”

“Yeah,” Stacy nodded. “Like I told Hoss when HE came in, I . . . well, for the first time since leaving Silver Moon and my Paiute family, I felt like I wanted to go through the bag and take a look at everything.”

“She’s got some real pretty things in there, Pa,” Hoss added with a smile.

“ . . . which I hope you’ll show ME later on this evening,” Ben said.

“I will, Pa,” Stacy promised.

“WHERE EVERYBODY GO?! BREAKFAST ON TABLE, GET VERY COLD, EVERYBODY TURN INVISIBLE! HOP SING QUIT! GO TO SAN FRANCISCO, HELP NUMBER NINE COUSIN IN RESTAURANT.”

“Stacy, you can run up and put away the contents of you medicine bag AFTER breakfast,” Ben said. “Right now, I think the four of us had better get ourselves right down to the table, pronto.”



Rachael Marlowe was aroused from a sound sleep by the rapid-fire percussion of human knuckles striking the fast closed door of her bedroom. She slowly opened her eyes, then closed them, dismayed by the fast closed drapes, shutting out the morning light. For the last three days now, since her visit to the Ponderosa, she had asked, ordered, screamed, threatened, pleaded, just about everything short of dropping down on her knees and begging, for maids to raise the shades and part the curtains. Every time, her mother countermanded her requests.

“Yoo hoo, Rachael Darling, are you awake?”

Rachael groaned.

“Darling, please? I’m so excited I’m about to burst.”

“Just a minute, Mama . . . . ”

Without further preamble, the door opened and Clara waltzed into the room, properly garbed in a stunning yellow print morning dress, with hair coiffed, and make-up applied with precise perfection. “Darling, I WAS going to tell you at breakfast, but I’m so excited I just couldn’t wait.”

“What is it, Mama?” Rachael asked warily.

“Next Friday night, your father and I are going to have an intimate little soiree,” Clara said, her eyes glittering with excitement. She dashed across the room, squealing with pure delight. “What do YOU think, Darling?”

Rachael opened her eyes and looked up at her mother, standing beside the bed, smiling broadly, with hands tightly clasped at her throat. Her eyes and face glowed with excitement and anticipation.

“Well?”

“Who’s coming?”

“I thought I’d invite a few close friends.”

“Are you going to invite the Cartwrights, Mama?”

A tiny frown knotted Clara’s brow as she gingerly seated herself on the edge of Rachael’s bed. “Well, noo-ooo . . . . ” A sunny smile suddenly broke out on her face. “You silly, silly, Darling. I want to invite YOUR friends.”

A puzzled frown knotted Rachael’s brow. “Aren’t the Cartwrights my friends?”

“Well, Ben, your father and I have all been friends for a good number of years, of course, but, Rachael Darling, this soiree is for you and YOUR friends.”

“I . . . I don’t understand,” Rachael murmured, raising herself up to her elbows.

“Jenny Lind, Angela Griffith, Susan Murphy, poor thing, I swear! She grows plumper by the DAY! Millicent Adams, snooty piece of bag and baggage though she IS, Lee Mayhew, Kirk Sutcliff, Greg and Roger Sherwood . . . . ”

Those were the names of people who belonged to another lifetime that died in the aftermath of a stagecoach robbery along a lonely road somewhere in Oregon, nearly five years ago. These were no longer the names of friends and acquaintances, but rather the names of strangers. “Mama?”

“Yes, Darling?”

“Aren’t you going to invite Stacy Cartwright?”

“Of COURSE not!” Clara snapped, then smiled once again. “Darling, Stacy’s a little YOUNG, don’t you think? She’s ONLY sixteen years old, after all, and a very IMMATURE sixteen at that! Don’t you agree?”

“She IS high spirited, Mama,” Rachael said, smiling as she recalled the lively banter among Stacy, her brothers, and Candy, as they prepared to sit down to dinner the day before. “So are Hoss and Joe, but in a GOOD way. I don’t see that as being immature, in fact, from what I saw of Stacy yesterday, I think she’s one of the most mature people I know.”

“Well, come on, Darling,” Clara urged, blithely rambling on as if Rachael had not spoken. “We’re going straight into town to Madame Darnier’s!”

“M-Madame Darnier’s?”

“Of COURSE, Silly. You need a dress for next Friday’s soiree. Come, come, Rachael Darling, we simply MUST move along.”

“Mama?”

“Yes, Dear?”

“I was just wondering, instead of going to all the trouble of putting together a big soiree, could we maybe, just have a simple dinner and invite the Cartwrights?” Rachael asked, as she reluctantly rose from prone to sitting position.

“Perhaps another time,” Clara said in a dismissive tone.

Suddenly, Rachael’s stomach lurched.

“D-Darling?” Clara noted her daughter’s suddenly pale face with alarm.

“M-Mama, I . . . I think I’m going to be sick . . . . ”

Clara bolted out of her daughter’s room, screaming for Marjorie. A few moments later, a dreadfully long eternity to Clara, Marjorie appeared, with bowl in hand. She immediately took charge of the situation, asking Babette, Mrs. Marlowe’s personal maid to kindly escort the distraught Clara back to her room. She dutifully held Rachael’s head, seeing her through a wrenching spasm of largely dry heaves. After the worst of Rachael’s distress had passed, Marjorie bathed her face with a cool, soothing cloth, then settled her back into bed.

Marjorie walked down the hall to Mrs. Marlowe’s bedroom, and there knocked resolutely on the closed door. Babette, a thin woman with hair a shade of red not normally occurring in nature, cracked open the door and peered anxiously into Marjorie’s face.

“Is Mrs. Marlowe . . . . ?”

“She is lying down,” Babette said, with a heavy and pronounced French accent, “with . . . ache of head. But she keeps asking me how is Miss Rachael. Come in, s’il vous plâit. Please.” She opened the door further, then demurely stood aside, allowing Marjorie to enter.

Marjorie found Clara Marlowe lying on her bed, with an ice pack pressed to her forehead. “Mrs. Marlowe?”

Clara impatiently threw aside the ice pack and bolted upright, from prone to sitting. “Marjorie, is Rachael . . . . ?” she stammered, peering up into Marjorie’s face intently.

“Rachael is in bed, resting comfortably for the moment.”

“I . . . don’t suppose she’ll be able to go into town now,” Clara pouted morosely.

“No, Ma’am, I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Oh, this is just AWFUL! She’s been sick every single morning since she’s come home,” Clara wailed, wringing her hands. “How am I EVER going to get that dress made?”

“Well, seeing as how you’ve got your heart so set on it, why don’t YOU stop by Madame Darnier’s and ask if she’d be willing to come here and take Miss Rachael’s measurements,” Marjorie suggested. “If she is, you could pick out a dress pattern and material while you’re there.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Clara exclaimed, delighted that her planned trip to Madame Darnier’s dress shop need not be necessarily postponed after all. “Oh, Marjorie, I simply don’t know WHAT I’d do without you sometimes.” Suddenly, her face fell. “But, what about Rachael?”

“She’ll be alright, Mrs. Marlowe,” Marjorie hastened to reassure. “Annabelle’s with her now, and knows to ring me, if Miss Rachael should take a turn for the worse.”

“Oohhh! I’d so hoped that spending the day at the Ponderosa, in all that nice clean fresh air might cure whatever’s ailing her,” Clara pouted.

“I’m beginning to think a visit from Doctor Martin might be in order,” Marjorie said thoughtfully.

“I don’t know, Marjorie, doctors make me so nervous.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious, Ma’am, but all the same, it wouldn’t HURT to have Doctor Martin come out and check her over, and who knows? He just might have something in that little black bag of his that’ll fix Miss Rachael right up.”

“Well, alright,” Clara agreed reluctantly. “Send Annie. Cook can do without her for a few hours.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Marjorie murmured, then took her leave.

“Babette.” Clara’s pouting face abruptly evaporated into a sunny smile. “Fix my hair, it’s gotten mussed since I’ve been lying down. I’m going to town.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Oh, and call Jenkins. Tell him to have Rogers bring ‘round the phaeton.”

“Yes, Ma’am . . . . ”



“BEN! YOOO-OOOO! BEN!”

He turned at the sound of his name and was delighted to see Clara Marlowe, rosy cheeked and smiling, stepping out of Madame Darnier’s dress shop. “Good morning, Clara,” Ben smiled, and politely tipped his hat. “Nothing like having a new dress made to lift the spirits, eh?”

“The dress in question’s not for ME, Ben,” she said, falling in step beside him. “It’s for RACHAEL.”

“Oh?”

“We’re having a soiree next Friday night,” Clara chattered happily. “Nothing big and elaborate, mind. Just a small, simple, intimate gathering, with a sit down dinner and musical entertainment. Oh, Ben, this is so exciting, Tom’s going to arrange for Mister Clarence Tolliver to come.”

Ben frowned for a moment, trying to recall the name. At length, he shrugged and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Clara. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of this Mister Tolliver.”

Clara stared over at Ben, crestfallen, for the length of time it takes to blink once. “He’s a concert pianist, up and coming, from New York,” she said condescendingly. “Mister Tolliver has been giving performances all week in Carson City, but it just so happens that a very good friend of Tom’s actually KNOWS Mister Tolliver’s manager— ”

“W-what does Rachael have to say about all this?” Ben asked, taken aback by news of the soiree.

“Oohh! She’s a little nervous and reluctant, but once she’s back among her friends . . . her REAL friends, I mean, well, the ice will be broken, she’ll be right back to her old vivacious self, chattering away like a regular little magpie.”

Ben shivered as an ice cold shadow passed over and through him. He glanced upward, figuring a cloud had passed over, briefly obscuring the light and warmth of the sun. He was mildly surprised to see a cloudless bright blue sky. “I, uh guess Rachael’s still in with Madame Darnier?” he asked anxiously.

“No, she’s NOT, Ben.” There was a touch of exasperation in her voice. “She didn’t come to town with me today, I’m afraid.”

Ben frowned. “Oh?”

“She woke up feeling a mite poorly again this morning.” Her tone was light, carefree, and dismissive. Clara looked up at Ben and smiled. “The next time my Rachael comes out to the Ponderosa, you’ll simply have to make sure you don’t do anything too strenuous, like she did yesterday. My little darling-darling has a very delicate constitution, you know.”

“I’m sorry Rachael’s not feeling well, Clara,” Ben said, privately nursing grave doubts as to her blithe assessment of Rachael’s constitution. “Please, tell her I asked about her.”

“I will, Ben, I promise you,” Clara said quickly.

“Clara, about that soiree you’re planning— ”

“Well, I’d simply love to stay and chat, but I have a million things to do.”

“I need to push on myself. It was good talking with you, Clara, and I’m glad to see YOU’RE feeling better.”

“Thank you, Ben. It was lovely chatting with you, too.”



“Doctor Martin, are you absolutely sure?” Rachael asked, following a complete and thorough examination from Paul Martin. His wife, Lily, was also present, seated on the edge of the bed next to Rachael.

“Given what you’ve told me and my examination, there’s no doubt at all in my opinion,” Paul said quietly. “I’d like to begin seeing you once a month to start.”

Rachael nodded.

“May I ask you a personal question, Rachael?” Paul asked, noting the sadness deeply etched into the lines and planes of her face. “You don’t have to answer it, of course, but it’s certainly something you need to think over . . . given your present circumstances.”

“Wh-what is it, Doctor Martin?”

“Do you want the child?”

“Yes, I do,” Rachael said immediately. “I loved . . . LOVE . . . this child’s father very much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone— ” She broke off unable to continue.

Lily Martin edged closer, and placed her hands comfortingly on Rachael’s shoulders.

Rachael, taking comfort and a measure of reassurance from Lily Martin’s loving and kind presence, wiped her eyes on the edge of her sleeve, and took a deep breath. “Aiak Enanamuks, the father of my child to be, and I WERE married, Doctor . . . Mrs. Martin. It was a tribal wedding ritual, but for me no less binding than a church wedding for you.”

“I understand,” Paul murmured. Looking into his eyes and face, Rachael knew that he DID understand, or at the very least, he made an effort to TRY and understand.

“What about Aiak Enanamuks, Rachael?” Lily asked, treading very carefully.

“I . . . I don’t know whether he’s alive . . . or dead,” Rachael said haltingly.

“I’m so sorry,” Lily murmured sympathetically.

“Thank you.” Rachael reached up, covering Lily’s hand still resting on her shoulder, with her own. “Telling Papa won’t be easy, but I think I could manage that if it was . . . well, if it was just him. But the thought of . . . of having to tell Mama . . . . ” She shuddered.

Lily Martin’s heart went out to the young woman sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. She knew all too well how capricious Clara Marlowe could be, even on the best of occasions. She found herself shuddering along with Rachael.

“Rachael, Lily and I can break the news to your mother, if you wish,” Paul offered.

“ . . . or, if you want to be the one to tell her, we’re more than willing to be with you,” Lily added.

“Thank you,” Rachael said gratefully, looking from one to the other. “Perhaps Stacy and Mister Cartwright, too.” She told the Martins about visiting the Ponderosa the day before. “I told Joe and Stacy about my marriage to Aiak Enanamuks . . . I-I ended up getting very emotional, but bless their hearts, they were right there . . . crying along with me.

Rachael sighed, then smiled wistfully. “You know . . . it’s kind of funny in a way. Stacy had not long ago joined the Cartwright family when I started out on that trip to Portland. I kinda thought of her a wild little kid whose main reason for living was horses. Me . . . I was a lot like Mama, always looking ahead to the next party, the next new dress, trying to keep up with the latest gossip, and the latest in fashion.

“Back then, I never, in a million years, ever, could have imagined that the likes of Stacy Cartwright and I would have anything in common. Now . . . well, she’s NOT a little kid anymore, and . . . she may be the only real friend I’ve got.”

“There’s one thing I’ve come to know about the Cartwrights, Rachael,” Lily said with a smile. “You make friends with ONE Cartwright, you’ve made friends with the whole family. Paul and I sure found THAT out when we first came.”

“Your parents and Ben have been friends for a number of years, too,” Paul added. “If you need moral support, there’s no doubt in MY mind, he’ll be more than willing to give it.”

“Thank you, Doctor Martin.”

“If you need the doctor or me for anything, Rachael, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Lily said kindly. “We were there when you came into this world, and we’re both here for you now, anytime you need us.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“Unless you have any questions, I’ll see you next month, in my office,” Paul said.

After saying good-bye to the Martins, she rang for Marjorie and asked her to see them down to the front door. “I’d like Annabelle to come . . . with pen, paper, and envelope.”

“Yes, Miss Rachael.”

Annabelle, her personal maid, timidly entered the room a few moments later, with the requested stationary in hand. Rachael took the pen and paper and scrawled a hasty note. “I want to get this out to Mister Ben Cartwright at the Ponderosa,” she said, as she signed her note and stuffed it in the envelope. Rachael wrote ‘Mr. Cartwright’ across the face of the envelope, then as an after thought, added, ‘and Stacy.’ She sealed the envelope and presented it to her maid.

“Miss Rachael, I . . . I can’t possibly leave now . . . Miss Klein asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m feeling better now, Annabelle,” Rachael said firmly. “If I need anything while you’re gone, I can ask Marjorie or any of the other maids in this house. I want that note delivered to Mister Cartwright as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Miss.” Annabelle curtseyed, dipping her knee slightly and inclining her head, before leaving.

“ . . . and, Annabelle?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“I’d rather you did NOT tell my mother, Miss Klein, or anyone else where you’re going and why,” Rachael added as an after thought.

“The good Lord oughtta strike y’ down with lightenin’ good ‘n proper, Miss Marjorie Hepzibah Klein, for spreadin’ around such lies!” Grace O’Leary, the Marlowes’ chief cook declared indignantly. She was a short woman, standing just under five feet tall, stocky, with white hair and sharp, piercing blue eyes. Grace stood in front of her stove, with arms folded resolutely, defiantly across her ample chest, glaring murderously up at Marjorie.

“It’s no lie, Mrs. O’Leary!” Marjorie stated primly. “I heard Doctor Martin say so myself, word for word.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed. “You was actually . . . really ‘n truly in the room when t’ doc said it?”

Marjorie’s pale complexion suddenly flushed pink.

“Well?” Grace pressed. “Was ya?”

“ . . . uuhhh, no!” Marjorie admitted very reluctantly.

“Then how could ya have heard it with your very own ears?”

“That’s easy, Mrs. O’Leary,” Carrie Blanchard said. Aged in her mid-thirties, widowed, with two daughters and an elderly mother to support, she cleaned the houses of Virginia City’s well to do. Three weeks ago, she had been hired on at the Marlowes as extra help to prepare for Rachael’s homecoming. “Miss Klein, like as not, had her ear plastered to Miss Rachael’s door the entire time Doc ‘n Mrs. Martin were there.”

“I most certainly and assuredly did NOT!” Marjorie declared, outraged. “I dropped my handkerchief in front of the door to Miss Rachael’s room. Of course I bent down to pick it up. When I did . . . . ”

“Aggh!” Grace snorted derisively.

“That’s the pure God’s honest truth!” Marjorie snapped.

The others, which included Catherine Hyde and Cindy Fletcher, two of the upstairs maids; Annie Jones, Grace O’Leary’s assistant; Patty Moorehead, Carol Hill, and Josephine McRainy, the kitchen maids, and Edward Jenkins, tittered and exchanged knowing looks among themselves.

“Well, it is.”

“If you say so, Miss Klein,” Edward Jenkins said in a condescending tone of voice.

“Well, if it’s true . . . . ” Grace turned and glared pointedly at Marjorie, “and I ain’t sayin’ it IS, mind, we oughtta feel sorry for her.”

“Oh, Miz O’Leary, you don’t think poor Miss Rachael was . . . attacked . . . do you?” Patty queried, her eyes round with both eagerness and a morbid fascination.

“Agh, y’ read too many o’ them penny dreadful novels, Girl,” Grace snorted. She exhaled a short, curt exasperated sigh, then shook her head dolefully. “I was more thinkin’ o’ Miz Marlowe . . . how SHE’S gonna be when she finds out.”

“Mrs. O’Leary, I wouldn’t feel too sorry for Mrs. Marlowe, or Miss Rachael, either, for that matter,” Carrie Blanchard said. “They’ve got more ‘n enough money to send the girl away to, ummm, visit Aunt Petunia?! . . . ‘til the baby’s born ‘n given up for adoption. When she comes back in a year or so, the matter will be all but forgotten. The Marlowes got enough money to see t’ THAT, too.”

A murmur of complete agreement spread through the crowd of servants gathered in the kitchen.

“Well . . . . ” Carrie Blanchard rose, and stretched. “I need t’ be pushin’ on if I’m gonna get back to Virginia City before dark.”

Marjorie reached into the pocket of her apron and drew out a plain white envelope with “Mrs. Blanchard,” scrawled across the surface. “Your wages,” she said as she placed the envelope into Carrie’s outstretched hand. “Mrs. Marlowe MIGHT need you next week, from Thursday evening to Saturday morning, to help with that soiree she’s putting together for Miss Rachael. Would you be available then?”

“Sure,” Carrie shrugged indifferently. She took the envelope from Marjorie’s out stretched hand, and stuffed it into the pocket of her coat, lying on the kitchen table along side her handbag. “Just let me know.”



The insistent knocking at the door, roused Ben from the task of sorting through the mail he had picked up at the post office in town, earlier that day. He rose from his desk, and walked over to the front door. Upon opening it, he found himself looking down onto the stricken face of a petite, diminutive young woman, not much more than a girl, looking up at him through green eyes, set in sockets round as saucers.

“M-M-Mister Ben Cartwright?”

Ben smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Yes, I’m Ben Mister Cartwright. What can I do for you?”

“Miss Marlowe asked me to bring this to you.” Annabelle removed the envelope from the folds of her shawl and offered it up to the Cartwright clan patriarch looming so high above her head.

“Thank you, uuhh, Miss . . . . ?”

“Annabelle, Sir.”

“Why don’t you step inside for a moment?” Ben invited, as he slit the envelope open, with his thumb.

“I’d best not, Sir.”

Ben removed the note and read it’s brief message quickly:



“Dear Mister Cartwright,

Need to see you as soon as possible. Matter urgent. Stacy welcome if available.

Many thanks,
Rachael Marlowe.”



Ben folded the note and placed it back in the envelope. “Annabelle . . . . ”

“Y-yes, Mister Cartwright?”

“Please tell Rachael I’ll be along, as soon as I get my horse saddled, but I’ll be coming alone. Stacy and her brothers aren’t back from taking feed to the winter pastures yet.”

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to tell her,” Annabelle said quickly, before turning heel and fleeing back across the yard to Manuel and the big gelding waiting.

Ben, meanwhile, dropped the envelope, containing Rachael’s note, on the credenza next to the front door, before removing his heavy fleece lined jacket from its peg on the wall over the console. He quickly slipped it, his hat and scarf on. Next, he grabbed his gun and holster, followed by his gloves.

“HANK!” Ben bellowed as he crossed the yard between house and barn. He fastened the gun belt around his waist, and slipped on his gloves.

“Yes, Mister Cartwright?” Hank responded as he stepped from the barn, bundled up against the cold.

“Please saddle Buck.”

“Sure thing, Mister Cartwright.”

“ . . . and when my sons and daughter return, would you please tell them I’ve ridden over to the Marlowes to see Rachael.”



“Miss Rachael, Mister Cartwright will be along directly,” Annabelle reported sotto voce, “but he said to tell you he’s coming alone. Miss Stacy and her brothers aren’t back from the winter pastures yet.”

“Thank you very much, Annabelle,” Rachael said gratefully, as she finished combing her long hair.

“Miss, I can braid that for you, if you’d like.”

Rachael smiled, graciously refraining from telling the young maid that she could do that herself, in fact had been during her time with the Chinook. “Perhaps later, after Mister Cartwright has left,” she said.

“Yes, Miss.” Annabelle shyly returned Rachael’s smile.

Rachael had risen, after sending Annabelle off to the Ponderosa, washed and quickly dressed herself in a skirt the reddish brown color of richly stained cherry wood and a plain white long sleeved blouse. “Mama would no doubt be absolutely appalled by MY woeful lack of fashion sense,” she groused wryly, in silence. Since returning to her parents’ home outside of Virginia City, she found that her own fashion sense preferred simplicity.

A knock on her closed bedroom door, soft and discreet yet insistent, scattered Rachael’s nebulous thoughts. “Yes?”

“Jenkins, Miss.”

“Annabelle?”

“Yes, Miss.” Annabelle moved quickly, covering the distance between the full-length mirror, where she had been standing with her mistress, to the door on the other side of the room, in less than half dozen giant strides. She silently opened the door, allowing Jenkins to step inside.

“Miss Rachael, Mister Cartwright is here to see you. I have taken the liberty of showing him to the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Jenkins. Please offer Mister Cartwright refreshment and tell him I’ll be there directly.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Rachael quickly pulled her long hair back and secured it at the nape of her neck with a plain silver clip.



Rachael entered the drawing room, a scant few moments later. Ben set aside the cup of coffee and saucer, and rose from his place on the settee, noting her pallid complexion with dismay.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” she said gratefully. “Please . . . sit down. To, umm get right to the heart of things, I need your help, Mister Cartwright. Doctor Martin and his wife were here to see me two hours ago.”

“I ran into your mother in town earlier,” Ben said gently. “She told me you weren’t feeling well. I . . . hope it’s nothing serious.”

Rachael favored him with a wry, if wan smile. “Common ‘ailment’ actually, one that’s come upon most women at one time or another since Eve. I . . . I’m going to have a baby, Mister Cartwright.”


“Stacy told me about your marriage on our way home last night,” Ben said kindly. “What . . . about your husband?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know whether Aiak Enanamuks is alive or dead,” she said sadly. “Most of the men, my husband among them, were away on a hunting trip when the cavalry swooped down on our village. Every last one of the people in the village were killed, Lammieh Towakh Moon among them. I— ”

Ben quietly reached over and touched her hand, resting lightly on the arm of her chair.

Rachael looked over at Ben, her eyes meeting his. She placed her other hand over top his. “It wasn’t a battle . . . or a war . . . it was a slaughter!” she forced herself to continue. “Women . . . children, some of THEM babies . . . a few of the elders, all very old men . . . every last one of us unarmed, Mister Cartwright. They rode in and murdered everyone they could lay hold of. The only reason I was spared is because I’m a white woman.

“I don’t know if the cavalry men engaged our hunter-warriors BEFORE they killed everyone in the village or if they lay in wait for their return. They may have decided not to even wait around for the warriors. In any case, I was taken back to their barracks at gunpoint. I was AFRAID to ask them about Aiak Enanamuks and the others. If they hadn’t encountered the hunter-warriors, well . . . I didn’t want the soldiers to get any ideas about looking for them.”

“Rachael, I have a couple of well placed friends in Oregon who owe me at least a dozen favors. I can write to them and ask them to make inquiries, if you wish.”

“Would you, Mister Cartwright? This . . . not knowing . . . . ”

“I understand.”

Looking into his eyes and face, Rachael knew that he spoke truly. “Thank you,” she murmured with heartfelt gratitude, then added ruefully, “I hope Stacy and Joe are all right. When I told them about Aiak Enanamuks yesterday, I’m afraid things got very emotional . . . for all of us.”

Ben noted the increased brightness of her eyes, exacerbated by the sunlight streaming in through the drawing room windows, and the quivering lower lip. “Rachael, Stacy and Joe openly wear their hearts on their sleeves, and they’re very sensitive to the feelings of people they care very much about,” he said. “That’s one of the things that endears both of them to me. They’re fine.”

Rachael nodded, unable to speak.

“There’s something else I want to tell you,” Ben continued. “You were talking about not having the opportunity to practice the healing ways Lammieh Towakh Moon taught you.”

“Y-yes . . . . ”

“I want you to know that being with you yesterday, talking about the time she lived with the Paiutes, seeing the contents of your medicine bag opened Stacy’s eyes . . . and MINE . . . to emotional wounds she has been carrying since her time at Fort Charlotte.”

“Really?”

Ben nodded, then shared with her Mrs. Crawleigh’s parting words to Stacy. “All that time she couldn’t allow herself to grieve for Silver Moon and the others because of what that woman said! Had it not been for our time with YOU yesterday, Stacy might have gone on for another six years, or worse, might never have been able to allow herself to mourn Silver Moon’s loss.”

“Lammieh Towakh Moon told me time and time again that when we loose someone, we can’t come to a place of healing until we take time to mourn our loss,” Rachael said slowly.

“Thanks in large part to you Stacy will be able to reach that place of healing . . . in time.” Ben smiled. “This morning, when I looked in on her, she was showing the contents of HER medicine bag to her brothers . . . for the first time. She told Hoss that today was the first time those lovely stone carvings Silver Moon gave her brought back a lot of good memories of her Paiute family, without a lot of the sadness or worse, the guilt.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright. I’m happy to know I’ve been a small measure of help for Stacy and you, too.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Rachael, last night was no SMALL measure,” Ben said. “Your presence yesterday turned out to be a healing balm for Stacy. I’m sure Lammieh Towakh Moon taught you about the powerful healing that can come with talking, and listening.”

“Yes,” Rachael nodded, “she did. That was one of the first lessons she taught me.”

“I hope you can find a way to practice the methods and the ritual Lammieh Towakh Moon passed on to you, Rachael. It would be a shame to loose that. But, if you can’t, you CAN still be a very powerful healer by practicing the arts of listening and talking, as Lammieh Towakh Moon ALSO taught you.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright. I . . . I hadn’t even considered THAT possibility.”

“In the meantime, what can I do to help YOU?”

“I— ”

“YOOO-OOO, YOOO-OOOO! RACHAEL DARLING, I’M HOME!”

Rachael’s heart plummeted to her feet.

A moment later, Clara burst into the drawing room, her face flushed and eyes sparkling with excitement. “Good afternoon, Ben, Jenkins told me you were here,” she gushed. “What-in-the-world-EVER brings you out to THIS neck of the woods?”

Ben rose politely. “When I spoke to you in town, you told me that Rachael wasn’t feeling well. I thought I’d stop by and visit, if she was up to it.”

“I AM feeling a little better now, Mama.”

“That’s most kind of you, Ben.” Clara flounced into the room and squirmed her way onto the settee between Ben and the chair occupied by her daughter. “So! What WERE the two of you talking about before I so rudely interrupted?”

“Nothing, Mama . . . really,” Rachael’s voice trailed way to silence.

“We were just talking about some of the things Rachael and Stacy talked about last night, that’s all,” Ben put in quickly.

“Humph!” Clara pouted. “Isn’t THAT a fine how-do-you-do! You’ll tell MISTER CARTWRIGHT what you and Stacy were talking about, but you won’t tell your own mother!”

“Mama, I already told you . . . what Stacy and I talked of wouldn’t interest you in the slightest,” Rachael said defensively.

“Well, you and Stacy HAVE always enjoyed riding, I suppose,” Clara said in an airy, dismissive tone. “But, Darling, the NEXT time you visit the Cartwrights, you simply MUST take your riding costume with you. It’s in the attic, packed in one of the cedar chests. I’ll ask Marjorie to get one of the maids fetch it down and air it out, so you’ll have it, Darling. Anyhooo . . . to the more practical matters in hand, Rachael Darling, I’ve picked out several dress patterns and materials, and Mrs. Darnier will be out tomorrow to take measurements, and— ”

“Clara . . . Rachael, if there’s nothing else . . . . ?!” Ben looked over at the latter meaningfully.

Rachael mournfully shook her head.

“Rachael, if you’d like to come out to the Ponderosa tomorrow, I, ummm think Stacy’s anxious to show you the things she was showing to her brothers this morning, and I KNOW Joe’s eagerly looking forward to that rematch,” Ben said rising.

“Rematch?” Clara echoed, looking from Ben to her daughter, and back again.

“Checkers, Mama,” Rachael explained. “After winning something like three games out of three, we were setting up for a fourth when we suddenly realized it was nine o’clock.”

“Oh,” Clara murmured softly, dubious and uncertain.

Rachael rose, with the intention of seeing Ben to the door. “Mister Cartwright, your invitation to come back and visit sounds wonderful, and I’M just as eager for a rematch myself. I’d love to— ”

“Perhaps AFTER the soiree next Friday night, Darling,” Clara said immediately. “Before that is just absolutely OUT of the question.”

“Mama, I don’t see why . . . . ”

Clara glanced up sharply, eyes round with a mixture of shock, bewilderment, and anger.

Rachael shuddered, and involuntarily took a step backward. For one brief, horrifying instant, the walls in the drawing room seemed to grow, reaching upward and inching closer. A memory from early childhood flashed before her eyes, vivid and crystal clear, as if it had happened moments, rather than YEARS ago . . . .


She was out watching the family’s gardener, an elderly man she had always referred to as Grandpa Garth, while he cleared the flowerbeds in preparation for the coming spring. He had just finished digging out a circle of especially tenacious weeds. Their roots and foliage had grown into a thick, lush, nearly impenetrable mat. Though Grandpa Garth finally managed to dig out the stubborn weeds, it had proven a mighty struggle, leaving him drenched with sweat and exhausted. What she saw, after the weeds were removed, shocked and frightened her to the very core of her being. It was a daffodil, its growth stunted and body parts of leaf, stem, and petal twisted into something almost beyond recognition. The parts that should have been a lush deep green color were a sickly greenish yellow.

“Don’t worry, Li’l One,” Grandpa Garth said. “It’ll right itself now that it can reach the sun and git what it needs from the earth, but ya gotta watch them weeds. Let ‘em go too long, like what almost happened here, they choke the very life outta the flowers . . . . ”


Rachael squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden, rising panic within, that threatened to wholly inundate her. She focused all of her thoughts on her breathing. Slowly. In, out. Keep the flow even.

“Ben, it was very kind of you to stop in and see Rachael today.” Mama’s voice penetrated the thick veil that had surrounded her thoughts and feelings like the slice of a sharp dagger. “Marjorie, if you would see Mister Cartwright to— ”

“I’LL see Mister Cartwright out, Mama!” Rachael’s own voice sounded far away in her own ears, almost as if spoken by someone else.

“Darling, I’ve just asked Marjorie to— ”

“It’s all right, I’m already up.”

Clara frowned, then shrugged indifferently. “Go ahead, Rachael, but please do, DO hurry! I just can’t wait to show you these dress patterns, and the material. All the very latest thing, Darling. Please, hurry, hurry back.”

Rachael and Ben left the drawing room together and crossed the vestibule in silence.

At the front door, Ben turned, and cast a quick glance behind over Rachael’s shoulder. “Rachael, if you need me for anything . . . anything at all, please, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said, taking great care to keep his voice low. “You can send Annabelle if you need to.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright,” Rachael said gratefully.

“I ALSO want you to know if things get unbearable for you here, you’re more than welcome to stay with us at the Ponderosa.”

Rachael smiled, seeing the truth not only in Stacy’s promise of friendship, but in the words spoken by Lily Martin a short while ago. “Thank you, I’ll certainly keep that in mind.”

“RAAAAA-CHAEL! DARLING, COME ON!”

“I . . . guess I’d better get back to her, Mister Cartwright,” Rachael said ruefully. “Thank you again for responding to my request so quickly.”

“I will again, if you need me,” Ben promised.



Rachael reluctantly entered the drawing room a moment later. She found her mother seated on the settee, squirming while arranging and rearranging pattern pictures, swatches of material, and samples of various trims, buttons, and notions spread out over the surface of the coffee table in front of her.

“Darling, whatever is wrong with you?!” Clara pouted. “It’s simply NOT like you to dawdle so, especially with a brand new dress in the offing.” The pout suddenly evaporated into a bright, sunny smile. “Come see, come see!”
Rachael walked over and sat down next to her mother on the settee.

“Aren’t these lovely, Darling?” Clara, her eyes and face shining with excitement, gestured to the five dress patterns she had picked out. “And Mrs. Darnier absolutely and positively assures me these are the very latest in fashion, direct from Paris, no less! Pick one for now, Darling, for the soiree. If you like any of the others, we can have them made up later, at our leisure.”

“Mama, these look more like . . . well, like party dresses,” Rachael remarked casually. “I thought you said this was going to be an intimate soiree, with just a few friends.”

“It WAS, Darling, I swear it was, but . . . well, you know how these things are! When Marjorie and I started putting together the invitation list, well . . . I started thinking, I couldn’t very well invite Millicent Adams without inviting the Danvers girl.” Clara sighed and grimaced. “The pair of them have been in each others pockets for quite sometime now, and even though the Danvers girl is wholly beneath our station in life, it would be most impolite to invite Millicent and NOT invite HER, after all.

“I also just went ahead and took the liberty of inviting Jenny Lind’s cousins, Darling. The one’s younger, fourteen or fifteen. They’re visiting the Linds from back east, New York, I think, or was that perhaps Baltimore or Philadelphia? You know how place names escape me, Darling, they always have, and in any case I couldn’t very well invite Jenny, and NOT invite her guests, especially seeing as how they’re all around your age.”

“Mama, you told me this morning that you didn’t want to invite Stacy because SHE’S too young!”

“Well, she IS, Darling.”

“But, you’re inviting Jenny Lind’s younger cousin, who’s even YOUNGER than Stacy?!”

“That’s different!”

“Why?”

“Oh, Darling, HONESTLY!” Clara chortled. “Jenny Lind’s younger cousin’s from back east, one of those big cities. People there are exposed to so very much more in the way of refinement and culture that . . . well it simply stands to reason Jenny Lind’s younger cousin’s BOUND to be far more mature and sophisticated than the likes of Stacy Cartwright . . . . ” Clara sighed and grimaced, “don’t YOU agree?”

“No, Mama, I don’t!” Rachael said sullenly.

“You will, Darling, believe me! You WILL . . . after you’ve had the chance to meet and talk with Jenny’s younger cousin!” Clara lightly dismissed her daughter’s words with a careless wave of her hand.

Rachael lapsed into a melancholy silence.

“Now where was I? Oh yes! Kirk Sutcliff will probably bring along that girl HE’S seeing now, even though she’s not much above a saloon girl from what I’ve heard,” Clara happily resumed her rambling. “Still, young men must sow their wild oats, that’s the nature of the beast, Darling, but even so! That means Poor Susan needs an escort! It would be too, too cruel seeing her former beau here with another, and not having another herself . . . don’t YOU think so, Darling?”

Rachael averted her eyes to the coffee table, trying desperately to tune out her mother’s endless flow of gossipy chatter.

“Darling?” Clara suddenly noticed Rachael’s lack of enthusiasm.

“Mama, how many people h-have you invited next Friday?”

“Taking into account all OUR social obligations, of course, visiting guests, who’s escorting WHOM these days, who’s speaking to whom . . . . ”

“Mama, how many did you invite?” Rachael wailed.

Clara frowned. “Darling, I simply couldn’t get away with less than fifty people. I just plain and simply couldn’t!”

“Oh no!”

“Why don’t I show you the guest list?” Clara suggested brightly. “If there’s others you’d like to invite, we can! The invitations haven’t gone out just yet.”

“Mama, you’ve really got your heart set on this party haven’t you?” Rachael could feel the walls moving again, edging inexorably closer.

“Darling, this party’s not for ME . . . it’s for YOU!”

“Then, can’t we just invite the Cartwrights here for dinner? I had such a wonderful visit with them yesterday . . . . ”

“ . . . which you’ve told me next to nothing ABOUT!” Clara snapped.

Rachael pointedly turned away, training her eyes on her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.

“Oh, Darling, please . . . don’t get me wrong, the Cartwrights are wonderful, wonderful people,” Clara said in a more conciliatory tone. “Your father and I have been good friends with Ben Cartwright for many, many years now, but . . . well, even YOU must admit they, ummm . . . ARE a little rough around the edges.”

This drew a sharp glare from Rachael.

“Well, they ARE, Darling, that’s the plain and simple truth of it,” Clara declared, emphatic yet very much on the defensive.

“I don’t know what you mean by a little rough around the edges, Mama,” Rachael said, her anger rising. “But yesterday, I found them to be very kind, very caring, and very gracious people.”

“Well, of COURSE they are, Darling, but— ”

“If money and breeding are all that matter to you, the Cartwrights have plenty on both counts,” Rachael said sardonically. “It’s common knowledge that they’re quite wealthy, and Mister Cartwright came here from Boston. I remember Papa saying so once, before . . . before I left.”

“I’ll thank you not to be so vulgar!” Clara rounded on her daughter with a sudden, ferocious rage. “And I don’t think you’d be so quick to say they’re such a good family, if you knew the whole truth about Miss Stacy Cartwright.”

“For your information, I DO!” Rachael turned on her mother in stout defense of her newfound friends. “Both Stacy and Mister Cartwright were very forth coming, not only about Stacy, but about her mother, too.”

“They should’ve kept it quiet! Ben had already legally adopted the poor waif, he should’ve just left things at that.”

“No!” Rachael protested. Her voice broke as her own escalating anger pushed her to the edge of tears. “Like Mister Cartwright said yesterday, the truth has its way of making itself known. So they decided to tell the truth themselves sooner rather than later instead of having someone else tell the truth for them.”

“I thought Ben’s attitude was horrendously naive and I’ll have you know I flat out told him so, straight to his face, Rachael. NONE of them even stopped to think of the repercussions! NONE! Not even Ben, which to be honestly frank, surprised me, Darling. Ben’s usually so knowledgeable about human nature! In any case, when it DID become known that Ben and Stacy’s mother never married, well! A lot of people cut the Cartwrights dead socially, Dear.”

“Not their REAL friends, Mama. Mister Cartwright told me yesterday that those who were their real friends before, REMAIN their friends now.” Rachael paused to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse. “As for the others, well, in the interests of NOT being vulgar, I’ll just say, Stacy expressed it very well.”

Her defense of the Cartwrights having been made, Rachael braced herself, mentally and emotionally for the full brunt of her mother’s wrath. Clara’s fury, however, had dissipated, as abruptly and as quickly as it had initially manifested itself. She smiled at Rachael, and once more turned conciliatory. “Please, Rachael, I don’t want to fight with you. Tell you what, Darling. We WILL have the Cartwrights here for dinner.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Rachael murmured gratefully.

“ . . . sometime AFTER your party next Friday night!”

Rachael groaned.

“Darling, are you alright?” Clara eyed her daughter apprehensively. “What did Doctor Martin say when he was here?”

“He said I’m perfectly healthy,” Rachael said. Her valiant labor to keep her voice measured and even produced a dead monotone. “He wants to see me in his office in a month or so.”

Clara frowned. “Whatever for, Darling?”

“Just to make sure, Mama. It’s been awhile since I had a proper check up, he just wants to make absolute sure I’m ok, that’s all.”

“That makes some sense, I suppose, but I’d much, much rather HE come HERE, Darling. That way Marjorie and I can be with you.”

That was the very last thing Rachael wanted. “Mama, he can’t give me a complete and thorough check up HERE, and besides . . . Mrs. Martin will be with us.”

“But, Darling, I’m your mother.”

“Mama, I AM a big girl now. You don’t need to hold my hand for everything.”

Clara felt as if Rachael had just slapped her hard in the face. “But, Rachael Darling, I’m your mother. I WANT to be there, to hold your hand.”

Rachael closed her eyes and forced herself to turn away from the stricken, horrified look on her mother’s face. “Mama, please? I need to do this BY MYSELF.”

“Well!” Clara murmured, stung.

“Mama, can I look at these dresses later? I’m feeling kind of tired right now, and I’d like to go to my room, and lie down.”

“Of course, Darling. We can look at these tonight, after supper.”

Clara sat on the drawing room settee, unmoving, her eyes riveted to her daughter’s retreating back. Rachael’s odd behavior disturbed and frightened her. She found her daughter conversing easily enough with Ben Cartwright when she had come upon them a few minutes before. But when SHE entered the room, Rachael suddenly had nothing to say. Worse, the prospect of playing checkers, of all things, with Joe Cartwright . . . .

Clara moaned softly, and shook her head in complete and utter bewilderment. Joe was a nice enough boy, and good looking, too, in his own way, but a very far cry from the kind of young man she had envisioned as the proper sort of husband for her daughter.

. . . and that a return visit to the Ponderosa, playing checkers, and who knows? . . . another ride with Joe and Stacy Cartwright to some other remote, God-forsaken place on the Ponderosa would hold more allure than a wonderful party and a brand new dress . . . .

Clara sighed and shook her head once again, feeling hurt, angry, and bewildered.

“Perhaps Rachael IS tired as she said,” Clara murmured to herself as she gathered up the patterns, material swatches, buttons, and samples of the laces and trim Madame Darnier had sent along home with her. She smiled suddenly, and her entire face lit up once more with anticipation and excitement. “Rachael will be feeling more the thing after supper, I’m sure of it. We’ll have a wonderful time this evening pouring over those beautiful dress patterns and all these lovely dress materials . . . just like before. We will, I just know it! I can’t wait!”

End of Part 2

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