There But For The Grace Of God
Part 3
By Kathleen T. Berney

“Carrie?! Carrie! Oh thank goodness, you’re back!” Hannah Adams greeted Carrie Blanchard effusively the instant she set foot inside the Adams’ Virginia City town house the following morning.

“G-good morning, Mrs. Adams, and . . . thank you,” Carrie said, taken aback by her employer’s enthusiastic greeting.

“I had Tina Gayle and Nancy Loomis in while you were out working at the Marlowes for the last three weeks, like you suggested, but . . . . ” Hannah exhaled a long, melancholy sigh. “They just plain don’t know how to clean a house like YOU do.”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Adams, however, I may be working at the Marlowes toward the end of next week. Miss Klein will be letting me know in the next couple of days, or so . . . I hope.”

Hannah’s face fell. “Oh dear, dear, dear! I hope you won’t be gone for another three weeks!”

“No, more on the order of three days,” Carrie smiled, and hastened to reassure. “I’ll be helping out with a small party Mrs. Marlowe’s giving in honor of her daughter, Rachael’s, home coming next Friday night.”

“Oh yes! Millicent’s been invited,” Hannah exclaimed with glee.

Carrie Blanchard cast a quick, furtive glance over her shoulder. “Before you accept for your daughter, Mrs. Adams, there’s something you really should know . . . . ”



Hannah Adams was still seated on the settee in the family living room, unmoving, her light blue eyes fixed on the flames of the wood fire leaping in the fireplace. “What could Clara Marlowe POSSIBLY be thinking of?” she wondered aloud, for at least the thousandth time. Though her own husband, Seth, adamantly decried their blatant ostentatiousness, AND it WAS true that Clara Marlowe tended to be snooty and wholly condescending about places and people west of the Appalachians, she had nonetheless ALWAYS been THE model of propriety and decorum. Most of the other ladies of their social position often looked to her as their example.

Hannah Adams felt heartily sorry for poor Rachael. Spending the last five years living like a savage must have been a terrible ordeal for one so gently born and raised. But to come home with child . . . Hannah shuddered delicately, trying to imagine the absolute horror that girl must have endured. Even so, Carrie Blanchard was absolutely right when she said that Mrs. Marlowe should be making plans to send the girl away, at least until the baby was born and could be adopted. THAT would be in Rachael’s best interests, not throwing a big party and inviting half the population of Virginia City.

The sound of someone knocking at the door, abruptly drew her from her troubled musings. Hannah automatically rose.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Adams,” Carrie said, as she passed by the open living room door. “I’LL get it.”

“Th-thank you, Dear.” Hannah sank back down onto the settee. “Carrie?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“If the caller is Myra Danvers, would you please show her in?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I will.”

A few moments later, Myra Danvers entered the room, her face aglow, and eyes shining with excitement. “Hannah, you’ll never guess!” she gushed. “It arrived by messenger, just this morning!”

“Pruella received an invitation to that homecoming party Clara Marlowe’s giving for her daughter?”

For a moment, Myra was completely taken aback. “Why, yes, how . . . oh! Of course, Millicent would have received one, too.”

Hannah nodded.

“You don’t seem very happy about it,” Myra observed, looking over at her friend, askance.

“Please, excuse my manners, I shouldn’t have kept you standing for so long, Myra,” Hannah said, rising. She gently took Myra by the arm and led her into the living room. “Please come in and sit down, I . . . oh dear, I’m so shocked right now, I’m just not thinking straight.”

“Oh dear!” Myra’s eyes went round with horror. “I hope you haven’t received any bad news.”

“No, at least none concerning MY family.” She gestured for Myra to sit down on the settee. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea, perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” Myra declined. “I came over to talk about the Marlowes’ party. Mrs. Marlowe’s so exacting, I . . . well, I don’t want Pruella to go improperly dressed, not knowing how to comport herself correctly.”

“Myra, I have to tell you straight out, that I intend to send Clara Marlowe my regrets on Millicent’s behalf,” Hannah said firmly.

Myra’s jaw dropped.

“It seems Clara Marlowe’s suffered an appalling lapse in comportment and decorum. I have it on VERY good authority that Rachael Marlow . . . . ”



Four days later, Clara Marlowe left home in the company of Marjorie Klein and Babette Dechard, her head housekeeper and personal maid respectively, bound and determined to hostess her planned party for Rachael, come hell or high water. It galled her the way Rachael STILL woke up feeling sick to her stomach every morning, despite Doctor Martin’s supposed pronouncement of good health. Tom had suggested they seek a second opinion on Rachael’s physical health, and that idea, Clara supposed, had merit. If Rachael was still waking up sick in the morning come the Monday following the party, she would call in another physician herself.

That, however, wasn’t the point! The real point was the all the fuss, bother and inconvenience. As it was, Clara, herself, ended up choosing the pattern, material, and trim because for some reason wholly beyond all rational good sense, Rachael just plain and simply couldn’t be bothered. She was sick, she was tired, she was always something that kept her from sitting down and making those crucially important decisions. Clara sighed, longing for the days to return when she and Rachael sat down as they used to, spending long hours pouring over dress patterns, material, giggling and sharing the latest gossip.

“Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Marlowe?”

The sound of Myra Danvers’ voice stirred Clara from her melancholy reverie.

“Mrs. Marlowe, I want to thank you so very much for the kind invitation you extended to Pruella for the party you’ve planned in Rachael’s honor next Friday night.”

“Oh, not at all, Mrs. Danvers,” Clara said lightly.

Myra smiled. It was a secretive, smug, cat-that-ate-the cream smile. “I’m afraid we must decline, however. Pruella and I have a previous commitment, that we simply can’t cancel or postpone.”

Clara’s face fell.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Marlowe. Perhaps another time?” Myra nodded and moved on.

“I don’t understand this,” Clara murmured, as she stared after Myra Danvers’ retreating back in complete and utter astonishment. “She’s . . . what of how many now?”

“She makes twelve who have declined now,” Marjorie stated matter-of-factly. “If too many more offer their regrets, you may be back to the intimate soiree after all, Mrs. Marlowe.”

“No!” Clara pouted resolutely. “I’ll invite others if I must, but I promised Rachael a party, and a party she shall have. Come along, Marjorie . . . Babette.”

“Clara, is that you? Good morning.”

Clara turned and smiled upon recognizing the voice of Elizabeth Lind, Jenny’s mother. Her personal maid, Clementine, followed deferentially behind, just a little to the right. On her left was a young girl, Clara had not previously met. “Good morning, Elizabeth.”

“Clara, I’d like to present my niece, Miss Alicia Lewis from New York,” Elizabeth said, favoring the young girl with a smile. “She and her older sister, Lucille, are visiting. Alicia, this is Mrs. Marlowe, an old and very dear friend of mine.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Marlowe? I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Miss Lewis, and I’m also very pleased to meet you,” Clara smiled at the girl, charmed by her outward show of perfect manners. “I hope to see you, with your sister and cousin at our home next Friday night.”

“Clara . . . . ”

“Yes, Elizabeth?”

“I, umm . . . sent one of the maids to your house with a message, but seeing as how we, uh . . . we’ve managed to run into each other, well . . . I may as well tell you in person, but . . . Jenny, Lucille, and Alicia won’t be able to accept your invitation on Friday night,” Elizabeth said haltingly. “We have a previous commitment.”

“Elizabeth, you of all people MUST know how important this is . . . for me AND for Rachael,” Clara whined. “Surely, whatever it is, you could postpone?”

“Clara, do you have a few minutes?” Elizabeth asked, with a sudden impulsive resolve. “I need to talk to you about something. Maybe YOU and I could go over to the International Hotel for a cup of tea?”

“Yes, I suppose I could have Marjorie and Babette finish things up.”

Elizabeth turned toward her maid. “Clementine, I’d like you and Alicia to finish up HER shopping. Have the shopkeepers put her purchases on my tab. I’ll meet you both in one hour at the post office.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Clementine nodded and ushered Alicia off.

Clara, in turn, instructed Marjorie and Babette to complete her business. “I’ll meet you both back here at Mrs. Darnier’s.”



“Miss Rachael?”

Rachael looked up from the book lying open on her lap. She reclined on the day bed in her sitting room, recovering from another bout of morning sickness, clad in nightgown and robe. “Yes, Annabelle?”

“Mister Jenkins asked me to tell you that Miss Snodgres is here, waiting downstairs in the drawing room,” Annabelle said haltingly. “She’s been here . . . this makes the fourth time since you’ve come home, Miss. Mrs. Marlowe’s had Mister Jenkins tell her the other times that you were out or indisposed, but today . . . Mister Jenkins says today, she’s most insistent.”

“Is Miss Snodgres alone?” Rachael asked.

“Yes, Miss.”

“Then go down, and tell Jenkins I said for you to show her up . . . HERE to my sitting room,” Rachael said with a touch of annoyance.

“But, Miss, you mother instructed— ”

“I don’t CARE what my mother instructed,” Rachael snapped. “Miss Snodgres is MY friend here to visit ME. You WILL tell Jenkins that MY instructions are for you to show her up.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.” Annabelle, with shoulders hunched, scurried out of the room.

“Of all the silly . . . just because Kate and Desmond— ” Rachael muttered as she angrily flung her book aside and ran to her dresser for a comb.

A few moments later, Annabelle returned with Kate Snodgres following close at her heels. Kate stood roughly the same height as Rachael, though more stolidly built, with honey blonde hair and blue eyes. Her clothing, a simply cut and tailored navy blue suit with a white ruffled blouse, was tasteful though not voguish.

“Oh, Rachael, I’ve tried and tried to see you . . . . ” Kate murmured as they embraced.

“I know, Annabelle just told me,” Rachael said with a touch of wryness. “Please sit down.”

Kate took the chair next to the daybed in Rachael’s sitting room. “Rachael, someone’s been spreading the most dreadful rumors about you,” she anxiously came to the point. “I had to come and warn you.”

A cold, hard knot began to form in the pit of Rachael’s stomach. “What is it, Kate?” she asked woodenly, fearing she already knew the answer.

“I overheard two of our upstairs maids talking this morning, Rachael. They were saying that you’re— ” Kate’s pale face flushed a deep crimson. “They said you were in the family way,” she finished quickly, averting her eyes to the floor.

Rachael, much to Kate’s surprise, burst into tears.

“Rachael?”

“Kate, it’s true,” Rachael sobbed. She haltingly told Kate of her marriage to Aiak Enanamuks, and how much she still loved him.

“Oh, Rachael . . . I . . . I’m so sorry,” Kate murmured with genuine sympathy, as she placed her arms around her shoulders. “If there’s ANYTHING I can do . . . . ”

“There is,” Rachael said, as she dried her tears on the edge of her robe. “Did you come in your buggy?”

“Yes . . . . ”

“Kate, I haven’t told Mama yet,” Rachael said quickly. “I’ve been afraid to because I . . . well, I just . . . don’t know WHAT she’s going to do.”

“I understand,” Kate said sympathetically. “What can I do?”

“Can you wait for me to get dressed, then drive me out to the Ponderosa?”

Kate looked at her askance.

“Ben Cartwright has been a friend of our family for a long time,” Rachael explained. “I’ve already told HIM everything I just told you. He told me to come to the Ponderosa if I needed to, and . . . I think I need to, if only to just talk to him, maybe between the two of us figure out HOW I’m going to tell Mama.”

“Figure out how you’re going to tell Mama WHAT?”

Rachael and Kate looked up, and saw Clara Marlowe standing framed in the open door, her posture ramrod straight, and arms folded tight across her chest. Her face was pale, and her eyelids red and swollen.

Clara turned and glared at Kate with murderous intensity. “KATE SNODGRES, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” she screamed. “WHAT, WHAT I ASK YOU, DO I HAVE TO DO TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN THIS HOUSE NOT NOW, NOT EVER AGAIN?!”

“K-Kate . . . m-maybe you better g-go and . . . . ”

Kate nodded, adroitly picking up Rachael’s unspoken message. “I will.”

“MARJORIE!”

Marjorie Klein immediately appeared in the doorway, behind the enraged Clara. “Yes, Mrs. Marlowe?”

“See that bag and baggage OUT of my house right now this very instant!” Clara ordered, thrusting her arm and pointing finger square at Kate.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Marjorie looked up at Kate with a cold, jaundiced eye. “Miss Snodgres, if you’ll come with me.”

Kate hesitated, unwilling to leave Rachael alone with the angry shrieking demon that seemed to have possessed Mrs. Marlowe’s body.

“Go ahead,” Rachael urged.

Kate nodded, and reluctantly followed Marjorie.

“I have never . . . NEVER . . . in all my life EVER . . . been so HUMILIATED!” Clara sobbed, turning the full force of her wrath on her daughter. “Everyone! EVERYONE, Rachael! Everyone in Virginia City . . . the area surrounding . . . probably everyone in the entire State of Nevada knows about your delicate condition! Everyone, except ME! ME! YOUR OWN MOTHER!”

“M-Mama, please . . . . ” Rachael involuntarily took a step backward, instinctively raising her arms as if to protect herself from physical blows.

“You slut!” Clara growled as she moved into the room. “You’re nothing but a common WHORE!”

“I was married, Mama.”

“MARRIED?!” Clara shrieked. She balled her fist and struck Rachael hard across the face, with enough force to knock her daughter off her feet. “Marriage, Rachael, is a CHRISTIAN sacrament, that can ONLY take place in a CHURCH . . . WITH a minister. Period! Those . . . those damn’ heathen savages who kept you prisoner know NOTHING about the sanctity of Christian marriage! NOTHING! How COULD they? How could they POSSIBLY?! They’re no better than ANIMALS! DO YOU HEAR ME, RACHAEL? ANIMALS!!”

Clara, her face contorted with murderous rage, loomed menacingly above her daughter’s head. Rachael tried desperately to scuttle out from under her mother, to no avail. For every foot she moved, Clara seemed to move three. Within less than a minute, her back bumped up against a corner of the room.

“Mama, please?” Rachael whimpered fearfully, as she drew her legs up protectively toward her abdomen. “Please listen to me!”

“So NOW you want to talk!” Clara raged. “All those times, I asked you . . . I BEGGED you to talk to me . . . to tell me what was happening . . . to tell me what you did. I wanted so badly to hear then, Rachael, to hear everything, but YOU didn’t want to talk, not to ME anyway!”

With the wall so solidly behind her, and her mother raging over top and all around her, Rachael’s eyes darted from one side to the other, desperately seeking for some means of escape.

“You talked to Stacy, you talked to Ben, you talked to the Martins, you talked to your father . . . you even talked to that Snodgres bitch! You talked to everyone, Rachael! Everyone except ME!” Clara ranted, clearly on the edge of hysteria. “Do you know how that makes me FEEL, Rachael? Do you have ANY idea at all?”

Rachael tried valiantly to fight back the swift rising tide of panic within her.

“How many did you lie with? Five? Was it ten, Rachael? The whole tribe?”

“No! Mama, it wasn’t like that! We were . . . ARE . . . husband and wife.”

“DID YOU ENJOY IT, RACHAEL?” Clara demanded, thoroughly repulsed. “DEAR GOD . . . DID YOU ACTUALLY ENJOY LIVING LIKE AN ANIMAL?!”

Terrified and in fear of her own life and that of her unborn child, Rachael silently and fervently prayed for Kate and Ben to hurry. She curled tightly in fetal position, and braced herself for the expected physical violence soon to rain down upon her.

Suddenly, there was silence. Rachael found that even more terrifying than her mother’s hysterical ranting and raving. She slowly, fearfully opened her eyes. Clara stood, her posture ramrod straight, and arms held rigidly at her side. Her face was an impassive mask, with not the slightest trace of the rage, waxing so hot mere seconds before, remaining.

“You’re going away, Rachael.”

Rachael stared up at her mother, dumbfounded.

“It’s for your own good. You’re going someplace where you’ll be properly cared for, until your baby’s born. Then you’ll be moved to a sanitarium.”

“A . . . a s-sanitarium?!” Rachael echoed, stunned. “But, I . . . I don’t need a sanitarium.”

“I’m afraid you DO, Darling,” Clara said with a touch of sadness. “Your behavior since you’ve come home has been most disturbing to say the least.”

Rachael could feel the walls moving, closing in on her rapidly. She stared up at her mother, numb, horrified, the way a doomed mouse stares up at the snake poised, ready to deliver the fatal strike.

“The suffering you endured, it’s completely unhinged your mind. I see that now. To be honest, I . . . I knew all along you weren’t yourself, that something was dreadfully, desperately wrong, but I wanted to have you back so much, Darling. I wanted more than anything to have you back, to have things back just the way they were, I was selfish. Selfish and blind!”

Rachael, her eyes fixed on her mother’s placid face, slowly shook her head in denial.

“Your father and I love you very, very much, Darling, but we’re just not up to the task of caring for someone so . . . so mentally unhinged. I should never have tried.”

“What . . . what about my baby?” Rachael could barely manage to utter the words.

“Your father and I will see that it’s placed in a good foundling home, Rachael.”

“NO!” Rachael very suddenly and very forcefully found her voice. “No, Mama, you can’t do this!”

“It’s for your own good, Rachael, and I won’t let ANYONE stop us from doing what we need to do now, to help you. Not even Ben Cartwright!” With that, Clara turned heel and walked briskly toward the door. Rachael could only lie there and watch helplessly as her mother stepped out of her room, and resolutely closed the door behind her. The faint sound of a key turning in the lock fell on her ears like the dull thud of a casket lid being closed for the last time.

Possessed by the sudden, desperate vitality of her own rising panic, Rachael leapt to her feet, and bolted across the room toward the door. She turned the doorknob, pounded and shouted for someone to come, free her from the dark abyss in which she found herself. Minutes later, her energy all but spent, she slowly turned toward the window.



The vigorous, desperate pounding shook the front door of the Cartwright home on its hinges, prompting a string of colorful Chinese invectives from Hop Sing as he ambled in from the kitchen to answer the front door. He threw the door open, with every intention of giving the individual standing without a piece of his mind. The sight of Kate Snodgres’ pale face, her eyes round with fright, strangled the words before he could utter them.

“Please . . . . ” Kate wheezed breathlessly. “Mister Cartwright . . . I need to see Mister Cartwright right away!”

“Missy come in.” Hop Sing gently took her by the arm and drew her inside. “MISTER CARTWRIGHT!”

Ben immediately appeared at the top of the stairs. “What is it, Hop Sing?”

“Missy here. Must speak with Mister Cartwright. Urgent, right now!”

“Mister Cartwright,” Kate half sobbed as she ran across the room to the landing. “I’m Kate Snodgres, a friend of Rachael Marlowe’s. She asked me to come get you. She needs your help! Desperately! I . . . Dear God, I only hope we’re . . . that we’re n-not too late . . . . ”

Ben, with heart in mouth ran down the stairs. “Hop Sing!”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright?”

“If Hoss and Joe return from Valhalla before I get back, send them to the Marlowes right away. I’ll probably need them!” Ben looked over, his eyes meeting and holding Kate’s. “Let’s go, Miss Snodgres.” He paused at the door, just long enough to put on his gun belt, and grab his coat scarf and hat. “Miss Snodgres, do you ride?”

“Yes,” Kate immediately replied.

“Good. We can make better time on horseback than by buggy.” Ben bolted out through the front door and tore across the yard toward the barn, while buttoning his long, fleece lined jacket. Kate Snodgres trotted at his heels. “CANDY! BOBBY! KEVIN!”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright?” Candy responded, as he stepped out of the bunkhouse with Kevin Hennessey and Bobby Washington sprinting close behind.

“Saddle my horse,” Ben ordered, “and saddle Guinevere for Miss Snodgres.”

“Miss Snodgres, do you prefer to ride side saddle or astride?” Bobby asked, turning his attention to the distraught woman standing alongside his employer.

“I can ride faster astride,” Kate replied.

“Pa?” It was Stacy. She stepped out of the chicken yard, with the empty feed tray in one hand and a basket filled with eggs in the other. “Pa, what’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the Marlowes, Stacy,” Ben replied. “Rachael’s in trouble.”

“Pa . . . I know I’m on restriction, ‘n all, but . . . may I go with you? Please?” Stacy begged.

“Have you finished feeding the chickens and gathering the eggs?” Ben asked.

“Just finished,” Stacy replied.

“Alright,” Ben acquiesced. “You get those eggs in to Hop Sing and get your horse saddled. I have a real strong feeling that Rachael’s gonna need all the real friends she has right now . . . . ”

Rachael, her face set with grim determination, threw up the sash of the window facing her bed, and stepped out onto the roof. A strange, numbing calm stole over her entire being as she adeptly made her way over the roof, shading the verandah stretching across the back of the house. She moved as Lammieh Towakh Moon taught her, silent and swift as her namesake, the deer. Rachael reached the far end of the roof and climbed down the rose trellis, dropping lightly to her feet on the ground below.

She bolted across the yard toward the barn, aware of the cold, yet impervious to it, despite the woefully inadequate protection her thin nightgown, wrapper, and silk slippers offered. Rachael opened the barn door and stepped inside, pausing momentarily to glare at the three stable boys seated on milking stools, huddled around a small, wood burning stove for warmth. “YOU!” she shouted, thrusting her finger at the tallest. “SADDLE MY HORSE!”

“M-Miss Rachael?” he murmured fearfully, shrinking away from his employer’s daughter, standing over him, glowering down at him menacingly, her hair flying in all directions like Medusa’s snakes.

“I SAID . . . SADDLE MY HORSE!”

The three boys stared up at her dumbfounded, unable to move.

“Of all the damned stupid idiots!” she raged. “I’ll do it myself!”

Rachael, possessed of an insane, desperate strength and vitality, led her horse from its stable, slipped on the bridle, blanket, and saddle, as the stable boys watched with a fearful, morbid fascination. She then threw open the large barn door, mounted her horse, urging it to a hard fast gallop.



“Hey, Joe . . . that looks like Rachael Marlowe!” Hoss pointed toward the horse and rider crossing the road up ahead, galloping at breakneck speed.

The two of them were returning from Valhalla, a small, but lucrative spread owned, managed, and operated by a woman named Brunhilda Odinsdottir. She and Hoss had come to be very good friends over the past few months. Joe and Stacy, also, often accompanied Hoss on his visits to Valhalla ostensibly as chaperons. More often than not, however, the pair of them ended up keeping company with Olaf Erikson, Brunhilda’s chief cook and bottle washer, in the kitchen, over a big plate full of fresh baked oatmeal raison cookies and a glass of his home made ale, leaving Hoss and Brunhilda to enjoy each other’s company in the relative privacy of her formal parlor.

“You’re right, Big Brother!” Joe said, with an anxious, bewildered frown. “That IS Rachael Marlowe. I wonder what she’s supposed to be dressed for?”

“I dunno, Shortshanks,” Hoss said grimly. “But, she’s gonna end up catchin’ her death if she stays out f’r too long in that get up. Come on.” Without further preamble, he urged Chubb to a fast gallop, then set off across the snow-covered meadow after Rachael.

“Let’s go, Cooch,” Joe murmured softly as he deftly turned his pinto, then set off behind Hoss and Chubb.



“I’m very sorry, Mister Cartwright, but Mister Marlowe is away, and not expected to return until late this evening . . . VERY late this evening,” Jenkins said in a firm, succinct, and faintly condescending tone of voice that set Ben’s teeth on edge. He made a point of ignoring Stacy and Kate, who stood on the doorstep with Mister Cartwright, flanking him on either side.

“Mister Jenkins, I am NOT here to see Mister Marlowe,” Ben returned stiffly. “I’m here to see Miss Rachael Marlowe, at HER request, I might add.”

“Again, Sir, I am terribly, terribly sorry,” Jenkins responded without missing a beat. “But Miss Marlowe is quite indisposed and is NOT receiving visitors.”

“Indisposed, my a---!” Stacy exclaimed, her face darkening with rage. Her words came to an abrupt end upon catching sight of the withering glare on her father’s face; the one Joe wryly referred to as “The Look.”

Satisfied that his daughter would, for the moment at least, hold her tongue, and behave herself, Ben returned his attention to Jenkins, still standing framed in the open front door of the Marlowes’ grand and glorious home. “Mister Jenkins, my patience is at an end,” he said, endeavoring to keep his voice calm and even. “One way or another we ARE going to see Miss Marlowe. Now, you can either stand aside and let us in, or I can personally MOVE you aside. It’s entirely up to you.”

Jenkins opened his mouth with every intention of daring Mister Cartwright to follow through on his threat to forcibly move him aside. The ferocious scowl on Ben’s face, however, gave him due cause to reflect and reconsider. His mouth snapped shut, as he grudgingly stepped aside.

Ben bolted into the foyer beyond, with Stacy and Kate Snodgres running close behind him. “RACHAEL?” he bellowed. “RACHAEL, IT’S BEN CARTWRIGHT!”

“Pa, this way!” Stacy called out, as she turned and bolted toward the stairs, leading up to the second floor. “Rachael’s room is this way.”

“We’re right behind you, Young Woman,” Ben replied, as he and Kate turned and followed.

At the top of the staircase, they found Marjorie Klein waiting. She stood stiffly erect, with arms folded defiantly across her chest, and her face set with grim, angry determination.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Mister Cartwright, but the way out is back the way you came,” Marjorie stated imperiously, punctuating her words with a dramatic thrust of her arm toward the front door at the bottom of the steps.

“Miss Klein, Rachael Marlowe asked me to come,” Ben said through clenched teeth.

“She’s indisposed,” Marjorie said primly. “QUITE indisposed like Mister Jenkins just said.”

“Then I’ll tell YOU the same thing I told him, Miss Klein,” Ben said. “Miss Marlowe herself asked me to come. I am NOT leaving until I see her!”

Stacy feinted to her left. When the housekeeper moved to block her, she quickly sidestepped and ran past before the woman could even think of trying to stop her. “Pa! Miss Snodgres! This way!”

“HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE— ” Marjorie protested, in tones of righteous indignation. Her first thought was to pursue Stacy. To that end, she pivoted and took a single step, opening up a space with plenty of room to allow Kate and Ben egress. The easily slipped past the housekeeper and continued down the long, dimly lit hallway after Stacy.

Marjorie, meanwhile, turned and ran the other way, screaming for Jenkins at the top of her voice.

Stacy led Ben and Kate down the entire length of the corridor before them, turning left at the end. She bolted up the backstairs, taking them two-by-two, up to the third floor, when the family members’ bedrooms were located. She tore down the hall, stopping at a door half way down, on the right. “RACHAEL?” she cried, pounding on the closed door with all her might. RACHAEL, IT’S ME! STACY! PA AND MISS SNODGRES ARE WITH ME, TOO!”

There was no answer.

“RACHAEL! PLEASE OPEN UP! IT’S OK . . . PA, MISS SNODGRES, ‘N ME ARE HERE TO HELP YOU!”

“Stacy, let me,” Ben said softly as he moved in along side his daughter. Kate and Stacy exchanged worried glances, while Ben’s fingers closed around the glass doorknob. “It’s locked!” he muttered through clenched teeth, after trying several times to turn it.

“Yes, it is, Ben, and it’s going to stay locked!”

Ben, Stacy, and Kate turned and found Clara standing a few feet away, her calm placid tone at frightening odds against the rigid set of her jaw, and her eyes wide, and staring intensely.

“Clara, what’s the meaning of this?” Ben demanded, as he instinctively moved himself between Stacy and Kate on one side, and Clara Marlowe on the other. A dark, angry scowl knotted and deepened the lines of his brow.

“Ben, you and Stacy were told that Rachael is indisposed,” Clara said. “As for YOU, Miss Snodgres, I thought I made it abundantly clear to that your presence in this house is NOT welcome.”

“What have you done with Rachael?” Kate demanded.

“My daughter’s welfare is none of your business.”

“Clara, Rachael sent for me,” Ben said, taking great care not to allow his own growing anger to get the better of him. “I’m not going to leave here until I see her.”

“Ben, you’ve been very kind to my daughter, and I appreciate it far more than I can say,” Clara said. “I don’t how what Rachael may have told you, but judging from the look on your face, it must have been pretty horrible. But, the truth of the matter is, it’s all a pack of dreadful lies told you by a young lady who’s completely lost her mind.”

“Clara, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull . . . . ” Ben growled.

“I’m not trying to pull anything, Ben. I’m just plain and simply facing the truth, painful though it may be.”

“ . . . and what truth is that?” Ben demanded.

“That Rachael’s ordeal living among those savages in Oregon has completely unhinged her mind.”

Ben, Stacy, and Kate stared at Clara, stunned.

“That’s why we’re taking Rachael away.”

“YOU’RE the one who’s lying, Mrs. Marlowe,” Stacy said, her entire body trembling now with rage and fear for Rachael’s well being. “There’s NOTHING wrong with Rachael! Nothing at all . . . and YOU bloody damn well know it!”

“Really, Ben!” Clara exclaimed, with righteous indignation. “It’s bad enough you allow that child to run around looking like a . . . a . . . like one of your field hands. But this . . . this is simply outside of enough!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s right, Clara,” Ben countered, as he placed a restraining hand firmly down upon his daughter’s shoulder. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with Rachael . . . and YOU know it.”

“You’re wrong, Ben,” Clara said, her voice filled with sadness. “There IS something wrong with Rachael . . . terribly, terribly wrong. That’s why she’s going away. Tom and I are going take her someplace where she’ll be properly looked after, and cared for.”

“ . . . and the baby?” Ben asked.

“The baby will have to go to a foundling home, of course. Heaven knows Rachael’s not fit to care for it properly, and Tom and I . . . . ” She shrugged with an air of supreme indifference. “Well, at our age, we just plain and simply DON’T have the wherewithal to cope with the demands of caring for and raising another child. Far better for everyone concerned that it go up for adoption, or at the very least it be placed with people who are equipped to take care of it, raise it properly.”

The image of Lucinda McGuinness, appearing as she did in the photograph, slammed hard into Ben’s thoughts, her lifeless body hanging from the rafters in her bedroom. Next, he saw Stacy, as the young woman she had become, galloping across country on Blaze Face, laughing, her hair flying free in the breeze generated by the forward motion of her horse. Rachael Marlowe stood at the crossroads, the proverbial fork on the road between those two possibilities. With that realization, the iron clad will Ben had exerted to keep his temper in check, finally shattered.

“Go ahead, Clara!” Ben rounded on her furiously, his voice filled with scathing contempt. “Go ahead! Get rid of ‘em! Lock your daughter . . . your only child . . . away for the rest of her natural life in a sanitarium somewhere then place her baby . . . your grandchild . . . the ONLY grandchild you and Tom will ever have, like as not . . . in a foundling home. That’ll make it all the easier for you to forget all about them.”

“How DARE you, Ben? HOW DARE YOU?!” Clara angrily stamped her foot. “Do you honestly think this is EASY for Tom and me?”

“Yes, Clara, I think its VERY easy for Tom and you,” Ben returned in an ice-cold tone that sent a shiver running down the length of Kate’s spine, and raised the fine hairs on the back of Stacy’s neck. “In fact, it’s only TOO easy for Tom and you! You don’t give a damn about Rachael, do you.”

“I LOVE RACHAEL!” Clara screamed, with tears running down her face. “I DO! I LOVE HER WITH ALL MY HEART! I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS . . . I HAVE NO CHOICE! CAN’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?! I HAVE NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER! NONE!”

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Ben said, his voice filled with bitterness and rancor. “Not of you want to keep your lives and your so called reputation neat, clean, and tidy.”

“That’s enough, Ben.”

“Oh, Tom! Darling, Darling, thank God!” Clara sobbed and she turned and ran to the safety of her husband’s arms, now opening to receive her.

“Ben, you, your daughter, and Miss Snodgres will do as my wife has asked immediately,” Tom Marlowe said as he took Clara into his arms and held her close.

“Tom, I’m gonna tell YOU the same thing I told your wife, your housekeeper, and the man who answers your door. Rachael herself asked me to come. I’m not going anywhere until I see her,” Ben stubbornly held his ground.

“Mister Jenkins AND Miss Klein both have already told me about the three of you pushing your way in here, and badgering poor Clara,” Tom said in a tight, angry voice. “Mister Jenkins has gone into town to fetch Sheriff Coffee, at MY request. If you aren’t gone by then, I WILL have all three of you jailed for trespass.”

“Did Mister Jenkins and Miss Klein also tell you about Clara’s plans to have Rachael placed in a sanitarium?” Ben demanded, glaring over at Tom.

The initial anger on Tom’s face gave way to complete and utter shock.

“Well, Clara? Aren’t you going to tell your husband about the arrangements you’ve made to send Rachael away?” Ben’s voice dripped with acid sarcasm.

“Tom . . . Darling, I WAS going to tell you, tonight, after supper. Honest and truly, I was!”

“I don’t understand, Clara? Tell me . . . what?!”

“It’s all for Rachael’s own good, Darling,” Clara turned to her husband, her tone wheedling, every shred of the raw fury present seconds earlier, gone.

“Go ON, Clara. Tell Tom about the arrangements you’ve made for Rachael to be placed in a sanitarium and her child to be placed in a foundling home,” Ben said in a cold, angry tone.

Tom looked from his wife to Ben, then back to his wife. “Clara, what’s Ben talking about?”

“We’ll discuss this later, Darling, after supper . . . after we’ve been able to relax from this horrible ordeal we’ve suffered . . . at the hands of . . . of people I thought were our friends, and— ”

“Why wait?” Ben demanded. “Why not discuss it right now?”

“Oh, Darling, Darling, Darling,” Clara whined, “you KNOW how disturbing poor Rachael’s behavior’s been, surely you of all people can see— ”

“Tom, Rachael sent for me,” Ben said earnestly. “RACHAEL asked me to come.”

“Mister Cartwright’s telling the truth, Mister Marlowe,” Kate said in a small, quiet, yet very firm voice. “Rachael asked me to ride out to the Ponderosa and ask Mister Cartwright to come.”

“Tom, all I ask is to be allowed to see and talk with Rachael.”

“Since it would appear that Rachael herself sent for you . . . your request is not unreasonable,” Tom murmured very softly.

“No, Tom . . . NO! You CAN’T!” Clara protested. “It’s completely and utterly OUT of the question!”

Tom stepped past his wife and made his way to the fast closed door to Rachael’s room. He knocked discreetly. “Rachael? It’s Papa. Mister Cartwright, Stacy, and Miss Snodgres are here to see you.”

No answer.

Tom tried the door. Finding it locked, he looked up, his eyes meeting those of his wife. “Clara, may I have the key?”

“Tom, no! Rachael’s much too ill— ”

“Clara, the key.” Tom held out his hand expectantly. “Please.”

“No, Tom! No! This is all been very distressing for me!” Clara whined. “Very distressing indeed! I will not have poor Rachael exposed to all this sordid— ”

“Clara, if you don’t give me the key, I am going to stand aside and let Ben break the door down.”

Clara’s jaw dropped. “Tom, no! You wouldn’t!”

Tom stepped aside. “Go ahead, Ben.”

Clara exhaled a long sigh of exasperation. She reached into the pocket of her dress, drew out the key and angrily slapped it into Tom’s outstretched hand. “I did everything I could for Rachael, honest and truly!” she stated in a sullen tone of voice. “I tried very HARD to protect her, to be patient with her, to . . . to understand . . . surely . . . surely you can see that!”

Tom slipped the key in the lock and turned it while Ben, Stacy, and Kate looked on anxiously. He eased the door open, and stepped inside, with his unwanted visitors following close at his heels. Clara very slowly, very reluctantly brought up the rear.

“It’s awfully cold in here!” Kate declared, rubbing her arms to generate warmth.

“Oh for the---!! Honestly!” Clara groaned, angry and exasperated upon seeing that the only window in the room stood wide open with the sash pushed all the way up, and the curtains thrust aside, allowing the sun to stream in. “Is it any wonder that girl has been so sick ever since she came home?!” she groused, as she strode across the room, moving at a brisk pace. She paused just long enough to shove Kate out of her way with force sufficient to sent the girl toppling to the floor in an ungainly heap.

“Clara!” Tom cried, bewildered and astonished, while Stacy ran to help Kate back up to her feet.

“Tom? I . . . I don’t think Rachael’s here,” Ben quietly observed, as the ever present sense of foreboding within him suddenly intensified.

“Don’t be silly, Ben,” Clara angrily admonished him, as she stepped before the window. “She’s here!” She reached up and seized hold of the sash with both hands. “She’s hiding somewhere in this room, watching . . . laughing at us behind our . . . b-behind our . . . our . . . . ” Her words died away to a stunned, fearful silence.

“Clara?” Tom queried, as he and Ben exchanged uneasy glances.

“No . . . . ” Clara moaned, wagging her head slowly back and forth. She stood before the open window, unmoving, with her hands still gripping the sash. “Oh no . . . no . . . oh no, no . . . no . . . . ”

“Dear God . . . . ” Tom murmured, watching his wife through eyes round with terror. At the same time there was an air of fatalistic resignation in the way he spoke and in the way he stood, with shoulders slightly stooped and arms hanging down at his sides. “Ben, it’s . . . it’s like the last time. Just like the last time.”

“Last time?!” Ben echoed, with a bewildered frown. “The last time . . . what?”

“The day we found out the stage on which Rachael was riding had been robbed, and . . . and all the passengers killed,” Tom said mournfully, his eyes glued to his wife. “All except Rachael, who . . . who was no where to be found.”

Stacy, meanwhile, had silently made her way to the window. She eased her way around Clara, taking care not to startle or disturb her any more than she had been already. She stole a quick glance at Clara’s face, then followed the line of her vision.

“Pa?”

Stacy’s voice, filled with apprehension and utter bewilderment, drew Ben’s attention from Tom and from his own troubled thoughts. He lifted his head and glanced over at his daughter now standing before the window along side Clara Marlowe.

“Pa . . . I . . . think . . . you and Mister Marlowe oughtta come take a look at this . . . . ”

Ben gave Tom’s shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze before walking over to the window. Tom followed slowly, shuffling across the floor, wringing his hands in complete, and utter despair. Kate Snodgres silently fell in behind Tom.

“What is it, Stacy?” Ben asked as he moved in behind his daughter.

“Look.” She pointed to the gently sloping, roof that sheltered the wide veranda that ran the entire length of the back of the house.

Ben’s eyes followed the line of Stacy’s extended arm and pointing finger. There, in the snow covering the back verandah roof, were human footprints.

“You want me to trail ‘em, Pa?” Stacy asked, as she followed the line of footprints down the length of roof, stretching away from the open window in Rachael’s bedroom, all the way to the end, where they appeared to turn the corner.

“If she’s indeed gone around the corner . . . as that line of prints seems to suggest . . . at the very end of that roof, there’s a rose trellis,” Tom said, speaking very quietly, his voice a bland monotone. “It’s not sturdy by any means, but it might hold someone light on her feet . . . able to move quickly.”

“Stacy, I know where that rose trellis is,” Kate said. “Would you be able to trail Rachael from there?”

“Yes,” Stacy replied. “With all the snow on the ground, trailing her should be very easy.”

“Let’s go,” Kate urged. She, then, lifted her long, heavy skirts, and bolted across the room, beating a straight path toward the door, still standing wide open. Stacy silently followed.

Ben started after Kate and Stacy, moving across the room at a brisk pace. Upon reaching the door, he paused briefly. “Tom?”

“What NOW, Ben?” Tom queried with asperity as he moved across the room in the opposite direction, toward the window, where his wife yet remained.

“You coming?”

“No,” Tom replied very quietly, as he reached out and very gently took Clara into his arms. “I have to see to my wife.”



Stacy and Kate, meanwhile, had, in very short order, followed Rachael’s trail from the rose trellis, by which she had climbed down from the roof over the verandah, around to the large stable, set behind the house directly across a small expanse of yard from the kitchen door.

“Yes, Miss Snodgres . . . yes! She’s b-been here . . . . ” the eldest of the three stable boys replied to Kate’s stern questioning. All three were still visibly shaken from their encounter with Rachael Marlowe less than an hour before.

“ . . . and you didn’t stop her?!”

“Sp-speaking for myself, Miss, I . . . well . . . . ” Two spots of bright scarlet erupted on each cheek, standing out in stark contrast against his pallid complexion. The young man immediately dropped his gaze to his booted feet. “Speaking for myself, Miss Snodgres,” he said very quickly, in a voice barely audible, “I . . . I w-was afraid she’d . . . that she’d KILL me, if--- ”

“If that isn’t the most ridiculous---!” Kate sputtered, incredulous, angry, and worried sick.

“YOU didn’t see her, Miss,” the youngest of the three boys stoutly declared, as he leapt from his stool by the fire to his feet. “That look on her face---” He shuddered. “It wouldda scared off the very devil himself!”

“It looks like she went THIS way,” Stacy quickly interjected, before Kate could respond to the remarks made by the youngest of the three stable boys. Finding Rachael before she injured herself, whether intentionally or by accident, or froze to death was paramount. There would be ample time and opportunity for calling the three stable boys out in the carpet for what they did . . . or failed to do . . . later.

“Yes. Yes, she did, Miss Cartwright,” the eldest boy confirmed, as his gaze followed the line of Stacy’s extended arm and pointing finger toward hoof prints in the snow that lead around the other side toward the front of the house and the roadway beyond.

“Stacy?! Miss Snodgress?”

It was Ben. Stacy glanced up sharply upon hearing the sound of his voice. He had just stepped down off the verandah and started across the yard toward the stable. Stacy turned and ran back across the yard, meeting her father half way.

“The stable boys said Rachael took her horse and headed off that way,” she reported, pointing out the trail and the direction in which it led. “Pa . . . . ”

“Yes, Stacy?”

“The trail looks pretty fresh,” she said. “If I go after her now on Blaze Face, maybe . . . just maybe I can get to her before . . . before she--- ” Stacy abruptly broke off, unable, unwilling to complete that dire thought.

“Go ahead,” Ben readily gave his permission. “Miss Snodgres and I will be right behind you.”

Stacy nodded, then turned heel and tore around to the front of the house where their horses remained tethered to the hitching post in the driveway.

“Ellis, Miss Marlowe’s in a bad way right now.” Kate, in the meantime, had returned her attention to the eldest of the three stable boys, addressing him in a tone of voice far more kindly than she had a few moments before. “Mister Cartwright and I need to borrow the phaeton.”

“Yes, Miss Snodgres.” Ellis immediately jumped up from his own stool by the wood-burning stove, yanking the middle boy to his feet. “We’ll have if done for ya in a jiffy.”

“Thank you,” Ben murmured softly, drawing shy smiles from the two older boys. “I have a job for you, too, Young Man,” he continued, as he turned his attention to the youngest.

“Yes, Sir?” the boy queried.

“I want you to go around front and get our horses . . . mine and Miss Snodgres’,” Ben said. “You’ll find them tethered to the post out front.”



Stacy, meanwhile, urged Blaze Face to a fast gallop, upon reaching the main road. The trail, left by Rachael Marlowe and her horse, stood out with surprising clarity against the snow, the mud, the hooves and wheel ruts of any number of horses and other vehicles, including a large freight wagon, loaded to full capacity, judging from the depth of the furrows, left behind to mark its passing. At the bend in the road, situated roughly a quarter of a mile from the spot where the entrance to the Marlowes’ extensive property, Rachael’s trail left the road, and continued across a wide meadow toward the mountains.

When she and Blaze Face turned from the road toward the meadow, Stacy saw the tracks of two horses following after Rachael’s. Both sets were fresh . . . very fresh. For one brief, heart-stopping moment, she feared that poor Rachael might facing terrible trouble.

“Come on, Blaze Face . . . . ” With an angry, determined scowl on her face, Stacy again urged her horse to a fast gallop, heedless of the consequences. She caught sight of the two riders a scant few moments later.



Hoss and Joe respectively brought Chubb and Cochise to a complete stop the instant their sharp ears picked up the sounds of a lone horse and rider coming from behind them.

“He’s comin’ up on us mighty fast, whoever he is,” Hoss grimly observed. His hand automatically dropped down to touch his revolver.

Joe turned Cochise slightly, to get a better look at the horse and rider closing in on them. He frowned. “Hey, Hoss . . . that’s no he . . . that’s a SHE . . . and is SHE gonna be in deep trouble if Pa catches her.”

“What’re you talkin’ about, Li’l Brother?” Hoss demanded, as he gently turned Chubb. “Oh!” he murmured softly, upon recognizing the horse and rider as Blaze Face and Stacy. He left Joe and started back across the meadow, heading on an intercept course with his sister. “HEY, STACY!” he yelled. “WHERE ARE YOU OFF TO IN SUCH AN ALL FIRED HURRY?!”

Rachael had no destination in mind when she had set out from her parents’ home, so was mildly surprised when she found herself at the place Joe and Stacy Cartwright had taken her five days ago. Yet, it was fitting. She quickly dismounted and sent her horse on its way with a firm slap to its hindquarters. The peace, the like of which she had never known before, that had come over her once she had made her decision, mushroomed and grew during the long ride from her house to this place, permeating, even possessing her entire being.

Rachael slowly approached the edge, her eyes locked on the far distant horizon. She felt the presence of Lammieh Towakh Moon standing beside her, as real, as palpable as she had been in life. One by one, like stars appearing in the night sky, she began to sense the others who had also died that dreadful day, encircling and surrounding her.

“I should’ve died with you,” she murmured haltingly, in the language of the Chinook.

In her mind and thoughts, she heard a sound swelling, growing, rising in pitch and volume. At first, Rachael thought it was the wind, but very quickly saw that the tree branches were still. The sound continued to rise, forming words. No, not words, a single word. Wik! Chinook for no.

“Wik, T’kope Mauitsh.”

Rachael heard Lammieh Towakh Moon’s words just as clearly as if she stood her in front of her speaking them.

“T’kope Mauitsh, it’s not your time. You and your little one have much to do yet.”

“I don’t belong here, Lammieh Towakh Moon . . . Mother! I don’t belong here anymore, not with them. They want to lock me in a cage and take my little one away from me.”

“T’kope Mauitsh, it’s not your time.”

Wik . . . . the spirits of her adopted family, her tribal community, cried aloud on the winds of the great and powerful storms that churned the waters of ocean and river. She could feel those winds buffeting her from all directions, though not even the slenderest of pine needles stirred, and the sky remained clear, with not even the slightest trace of cloud to obscure or soften its intense, brilliant azure blue.

“NO!” A voice, a man’s voice cried out with all the grief, the fear, and the anguish, she heard in the spirit winds . . . in the cries of the ghosts of those who died when the cavalry, the men in blue, came. This lone voice came from a time and place very far removed from the precipice where she stood, surrounded by a magnificent visa of trees, mountains, lake, and sky, wholly at peace with the decision she had made.

“Oh my God . . . Rachael, NO!”

For but an instant, less than the space between one heartbeat and the next, she had thought that voice crying out to her from the land of the living was Aiak Enanamuks, her beloved, the man she had come to love more than life itself, and her heart leapt for joy.

“No, Rachael . . . please . . . . ”

No. That wasn’t Aiak Enanamuks, after all. It was Joe Cartwright. With that revelation, her heart plunged from the soaring heights of joy to the bleak depths of hopeless despair. Rachael slowly, reluctantly turned from the edge and, much to her chagrin and dismay, saw Joe, Hoss, and Stacy ascending the steep path, leading up to the precipice, where she stood at the threshold between the world of matter and of earth, where her body yet lived, and the world of spirit, for which her heart desperately longed. “Stay back,” she warned. “Stay back, or . . . or else I’ll . . . . ”

The three of them froze dead in their tracks.

“Don’t do it, Rachael,” Hoss begged. Keeping his eyes glued to her face, he very slowly slid his left foot in her general direction, then brought his right even with the first. “Please . . . DON’T do it.”

“Don’t come any closer, Hoss . . . or so help me--- ”

“Alright, Rachael . . . alright . . . . ” Hoss said, speaking to her in the same low, gentle tone he used when approaching an animal that was sick or injured, and frightened out of its mind. “I’m gonna stay put right here.” He paused just long enough to close his eyes take a deep, ragged breath. “But, Rachael?” he continued. “I want ya t’ listen. Please! Can y’ do that?”

There was no response. Without uttering a sound, she simply turned her face again to the magnificence spread out in the valley hundreds of feet below her.

“Rachael, I . . . I don’t know what’s troublin’ ya, but whatever it is . . . this AIN’T the answer,” Hoss continued, laboring valiantly to keep his voice calm and even.

“It is for me,” she replied, her voice a dead monotone.

“No it ain’t,” Hoss warily pressed, with heart in mouth.

“Hoss . . . Joe . . . and you, especially, Stacy . . . I know that you . . . and your father . . . WANT to help, but you CAN’T. No one can.”

“Yes, we C-CAN!” Hoss replied, his voice and his heart breaking upon hearing the deep, hopeless despair in her words and the terrible resignation in her voice. “We CAN, Rachael! All YOU gotta do is let us.”

“No.” She took a step closer to the edge of the precipice, towering nearly a thousand feet above rock strewn earth lying directly below, covered with a deep layer of snow and ice. “No one can help me. No one.”

Hoss couldn’t remember a time when he felt more helpless, frightened, and alone. “Rachael, you can come back to the Ponderosa . . . right now . . . with Joe, Stacy, ‘n me, if you’re of a mind.” A terse, urgent note had crept into his voice. “You’ll be safe there . . . . ”

“No. I won’t, Hoss. They’ll come for me there.”

“They . . . who?” Hoss asked.

“Mama,” Rachael replied, taking another step closer to the edge. “She wants to put me in a cage, Hoss. She wants to lock me up in a cage for the rest of my life, so she can take my baby away, and put him in a foundling home.”

“B-Baby?!” Hoss echoed, stunned to the very core of his being.

“She was married, Hoss,” Joe quietly informed his brother, his own voice breaking as her anguished scream again echoed in his ears.

Stacy silently nodded, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Is he---?!”

“She . . . oh Hoss, she doesn’t know,” Stacy sobbed.

“Dear God,” Hoss murmured, reeling under the onslaught of a myriad of intense, conflicting emotions.

“I can’t let that happen,” Rachael continued. “No one will adopt my poor baby because his father is Chinook and his mother a white woman . . . and no one will love him. This is the only way.”

“No, it ain’t, Rachael.”

“Yes, it is, Hoss.”

“Who says so?” Hoss demanded.

“Mama,” Rachael replied. “Mama told me that I was going to be put in a sanitarium, and my baby in a foundling home, after he’s born . . . and there’s nothing I or anyone else can do to stop her.”

“Rachael, you listen t’ me . . . ‘n you listen good, y’ hear?” Hoss exhorted, with tears flowing freely down his cheeks, his chin and jaw line set with grim resolve. “You are NOT gonna be locked away in . . . in some sanitarium somewhere . . . and that child o’ yours AIN’T gonna grow up in no orphanage or foundlin’ home! He’s gonna grow up with his mother, who I know for fact loves him ‘n wants him . . . more, I think, than just about anything in this whole wide world.”

Rachael slowly turned away from the precipice, and stared over at Hoss, incredulous, yet with a glimmer of hope. “B-But Mama said--- ”

“Don’t matter none WHAT she said,” Hoss stubbornly maintained, “ ‘cause we’re gonna find a way t’ stop her.”

She knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt whatsoever, she KNEW that he, his brother, and his sister believed in the words he had just spoken. She saw it in their eyes and in their faces, with their mouths, the lines of their jaws and chins set as firm as the high, lofty mountains surrounding them all. She wanted to trust them . . . to believe in their words . . . words that Hoss had just spoken for the three of them. She wanted it so badly, her body ached for the desiring of it, as it had ached for Aiak Enanamuks once upon a time, so very long ago

For a moment, she wavered . . . .

“You’re going away, Rachael.”

It was the voice of Clara Marlowe, the woman who had given her life, who had brought her into the world. She was her mother once . . . .

But that was so long ago; a whole lifetime ago. Clara Marlowe’s daughter, Rachael had, for all intents and purposes, died on the day the stage in which she traveled was held up by robbers.

“You’re going away, Rachael. It’s for your own good. You’re going someplace where you’ll be properly cared for, until your baby’s born. Then you’ll be moved to a sanitarium.”

“What . . . what about my baby?”

“Your father and I will see that it’s placed in a good foundling home, Rachael.”

“NO!”

“It’s for your own good, Rachael . . . . ”

“NO!”

“ . . . and I won’t let ANYONE stop us from doing what we need to do now, to help you. Not even Ben Cartwright!”

“No, Mama,” she sobbed, as she slowly, resolutely turned her back on the Cartwright brothers, and the final chance of life, of light, and hope they offered. “No, Mama . . . I can’t . . . I WON’T . . . let you do this . . . . ”

Though she still felt the presence of Lammieh Towakh Moon and the others very keenly, their cries and the winds upon which they had been borne from the realms of the dead into the lands of the living, had died away to a silence so thick, so palpable, she felt as if she could actually reach out and touch it. She allowed herself a moment to gaze one last time upon the magnificent vista surrounding her. Then, with a beatific smile on her face, and with arms open wide to accept, to embrace . . . she stepped forward.

With a scream, born of denial, of rage and grief, Stacy leapt in the same moment Rachael stepped off the edge of the cliff. The momentum of gravity’s inevitable downward pull, brought Stacy crashing down hard against rock, snow, and ice, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She fought for breath and to tighten her grip on Rachael, who continued to slip though the loop of her arms toward the valley lying thousands of feet below.

“Rachael, t-take my hand, please,” Stacy begged, barely able to find sufficient breath to utter her plea. Her words fell on deaf ears. Rachael hung, suspended between life and death, with her eyes fixed to the distant line of mountains delineating the boundary line between earth and sky. She made no move to save herself. As Rachael’s body slipped through the circle of her arms, Stacy lunged, grasping blindly. Though she managed to get both hands tight around Rachael’s wrist, her movements brought her sliding inexorably toward the edge.

“Hang on, Li’l Sister, I gotcha!”

Stacy almost sobbed with relief as she felt the weight of Hoss’ body over her own, holding her fast. “Rachael, please . . . give me your other hand. Hoss can pull us both up, please . . . . ”

There was no response. Rachael continued to stare straight ahead, giving no sign that she had even heard Stacy speak.

“Stacy, can you grab her arm further down?” Joe asked tersely, his own stomach lurching against the sheer drop inches from his feet.

“No,” Stacy replied. “If I let go to do that, she’ll fall. I . . . I’m afraid I didn’t get too good a grip on her.”

“You did good enough, Kid,” Joe said, steeling himself. “You just hold on. I . . . I think I can move out on the cliff, and get under her . . . push her up. You two be ready.”

“Take your time, Li’l Brother,” Hoss cautioned him.

Joe, his face set with grim determination, sat down and eased his way over the ledge one leg at a time. He could hear Stacy and Hoss trying to coax Rachael to help herself, but their words fell on deaf ears. Rachael stared straight ahead, beyond knowing or caring. Joe froze as panic seized him. He closed his eyes, and forced himself to take slow deep even breaths. As his breathing slowed to its natural rhythms, he slowly opened his eyes and forced his gaze away from the sheer drop to Rachael’s inert form, still dangling from Stacy’s tenuous, uncertain grip.

Joe slowly eased his way down, testing hand and foot holds along the sheer face as he moved, focusing not only his eyes, but his very thoughts on Rachael. “Rachael,” he whispered aloud, “Rachael. Think only of Rachael.” He whispered the words over and over as a mantra against the terror surrounding him on all sides, waiting like a prowling mountain lion to pounce and seize him once again. “Think of Rachael. Think of Rachael. Think of Rachael.”

He slowly eased his way toward Rachael, her face still firmly set toward faraway places lying somewhere beyond the distant line of mountain and sky. He half feared she might be dead already, from exposure. Even though, thankfully, there was no wind, the thin nightgown and wrapper were scant protection against the freezing cold. The brief intrusion of wind into his thoughts raised the all too real specter of falling. “Rachael!” he spoke tersely to the panic rising in him again, threatening to inundate him completely. “Rachael!” His breath came in painful, ragged gasps.

“Think of Rachael. Think of Rachael!” He squeezed his eyes shut again and forced himself to repeat his mantra.

Another voice, Stacy’s, soft and reassuring joined him, speaking the same mantra, but different words. “You can do it, Joe. You can do it.”

“Think of Rachael,” Joe chanted firmly, resolutely as he drew upon the strength offered through his sister’s voice.

“You can do it, Joe.”

“Think of Rachael.”

“You can do it, Joe.”

“Come on, Li’l Brother.” Hoss’ base drone harmonized with Joe’s spoken melody line and Stacy’s descant.

“Think of Rachael. Think of Rachael.” Buoyed by the surge of strength and energy coming from his brother and sister, Joe was surprised to suddenly find himself on the cliff face along side Rachael. “Think of Rachael, think of Rachael.” Carefully, balancing his feet side by side, Joe wrapped the fingers of his right hand firmly around a thick, exposed piece of tree root.

“Up you go, Rachael,” Joe said, wrapping his left arm around her waist.

“J-Joe?”

The sound of Rachael’s voice, and her eyes round with horror, boring into his own with such intensity, seemed to sear his brain. His fingers automatically released the root onto which he had been holding. A strange inevitable calm stole over him as his body began to pitch backward over the yawning abyss below.

“I’ve got you.”

Joe felt Rachael’s arm firmly around him, her fingers grasping the material of his jacket. Next thing he knew, he and Rachael were up and over the edge of the cliff, back to safety, courtesy of the enormous strength of his biggest brother.

“Thank G-God!” Stacy half sobbed, as her arms wrapped tight around Rachael and Joe.

Joe, feeling his own eyes suddenly stinging with tears, wrapped one arm fiercely around Stacy and Rachael and the other around Hoss.

“So stupid . . . . ” Rachael leaned against Stacy, openly sobbing with regret and remorse. “How . . . h-how could I h-have been so . . . so stupid?”

“It’s ok, Rachael,” Stacy sobbed along with Rachael, hugging her closer.

“Come on, we . . . we gotta git Rachael outta th-this cold,” Hoss said, his voice none too steady either.

“Oh, dear God . . . Joe! I almost KILLED you! . . . and Stacy, too!”

“You didn’t Rachael. You didn’t!” Joe said in a gentle, yet firm tone. “And, thank God, you didn’t kill yourself, either!”

“I-I think the cold’s starting to freeze my brain,” Stacy said, her teeth chattering. “I hear horses.”

Joe frowned. “If it’s freezing YOURS, Little Sister, it’s freezing mine, too, ‘cause I hear horses.”

“HOSS! JOE! STACY!” A familiar sonorous voice bellowed from the bottom of the hill.

“UP HERE, PA!” Joe yelled back, suddenly feeling giddy.

“IS RACHAEL WITH YOU?”

“YEAH, RACHAEL’S HERE! WE’RE COMIN’ DOWN,” Hoss yelled back.

Ben and Kate quickly bundled Rachael, shivering and weeping, into the buggy between them. The horse that Rachael had ridden out to this place was hitched to the back of Kate’s buggy. Kate whipped off her coat and wrapped it around Rachael, then held her close, as Ben took the reins in hand.

“Hoss, you’d better ride into town and fetch Doctor Martin,” Ben said, noting that of his three offspring, Hoss seemed to be the one most together emotionally. “Joe . . . Stacy, you two ride ahead, and let Hop Sing know we’re coming.”

“Sure, Pa,” Joe replied.

Stacy nodded.



Paul Martin spotted the members of the Cartwright family seated next to the fireplace. Joe and Hoss occupied the settee, Ben the red chair, with Stacy seated on the coffee table next to him. They looked up sharply and the sound of his footfalls on the stairs. They rose and turned their anxious faces toward the doctor expectantly, Ben first, followed by Stacy, then the boys.

“Rachael Marlowe’s a very, VERY lucky young lady, Ben,” Paul said, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, where Ben now stood, waiting. “Physically, she’s going to be fine. All she needs is to rest, keep warm, and eat.”

“Her baby?” Ben asked.

“Her baby’s fine, too,” Paul said gravely. “I am very concerned about her mental state, however . . . . ”

“Paul, you have a few minutes?”

“I suppose.”

Ben took a deep breath, then shared with Paul the details about Rachael’s altercation with Clara, as Kate and Rachael herself had related them during the ride back to the ranch house. He also gave a brief account of his own confrontation with Clara when he and Stacy accompanied Kate Snodgres back to the Marlowes.

“Rachael was momentarily blinded by desperation and despair,” Ben said quietly. “ANYone would have been, given the circumstances, including you and me.”

“I certainly can’t disagree with you on that, Ben,” the doctor said softly, shaking his head.

“In any case, Rachael deeply regrets what she tried to do,” Ben earnestly pressed his point. “She knows that she’s safe now. No one’s going to commit her to an insane asylum or force her to put her child up for adoption. She has some big decisions to make, a lot of things to think through, but I’m reasonably certain she won’t try to kill herself again.”

“She’s also more than welcome to stay here on the Ponderosa with us, too, Doctor Martin,” Stacy said stoutly. “Right, Pa?”

“Absolutely right!” Ben agreed, placing his arm around Stacy’s shoulders.

“Stacy ‘n Pa speak for me, too,” Hoss said.

“Yeah! What Hoss said!” Joe added.

“Well with the four of you and that young lady upstairs in her corner, I pity anyone who even thinks of trying to harm Rachael in any way,” Paul said with a tired smile, “and that includes Rachael herself.”

“Can we go up and see her?” Stacy asked.

“She’s sleeping, Stacy, and that, I think might be what she needs most of all right now,” Paul replied. He turned his attention to Ben. “Rachael’s friend . . . . ”

“Miss Snodgres,” Ben supplied the name.

“Miss Snodgres insists on staying with her,” Paul said. “I think her presence will do Rachael some good.”

Ben nodded. “Stacy . . . . ”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“Would you mind going up and letting Miss Snodgres know she’s welcome to stay the night? We can send one of our hands with word to her family.”

Stacy nodded and started up the stairs.

“If there’s any problems, don’t hesitate to call me, Ben, though I don’t foresee any. I’ll drop by sometime tomorrow evening and see how she’s doing.”

“Why don’t you bring Lily with you and stay for supper?” Ben invited as he and the doctor ambled from the bottom of the stairs toward the door.

“Sounds good to me, Ben, and I don’t think Lily’ll raise any objections either.”

“Good!” Ben politely opened the front door, then stood aside. “Paul, I’d like to ask a big favor of you?”

“Sure, Ben.”

“Would you mind stopping by the Marlowes on your way back to town?” Ben asked. “I’m sure Tom’s anxious to get word about Rachael, and Clara was in a very bad state when Miss Snodgres and I left.” He fell silent. “I’d go myself, but under the circumstances, I’m probably about as welcome there right now as the plague.”

“I understand, Ben,” Paul said gravely. “I’ll be more than happy to stop by.”

“Thanks, Paul.”

“See you tomorrow night, Ben.”

Ben nodded, then closed the door behind the doctor with a heavy heart.

“Pa?”

Ben turned at the sound of Joe’s voice and found himself staring into the anxious face of both his younger sons.

“You all right?” Joe asked. “For a minute there, while you were closing the door, you looked like you had just lost your last friend.”

Ben smiled wistfully. “Not my LAST friend, but certainly one of long standing.”

“You did what you had to do, Pa,” Joe said quietly.

“I know, Son.”

“All ain’t lost yet, Pa,” Hoss said as they returned to their places near the fireplace. “Maybe, once he knows Rachael’s gonna be alright, he won’t think quite so badly about ya.”

“Maybe,” Ben said slowly. “We’ll see. . . . ”



A black Victoria, complete with bonnet top, hitched to a magnificent pair of large, well muscled black horses, rounded the corner at the barn of the barn and entered the yard, moving at a stately, decorous pace across a field of mud. Most of the snow had melted, except in the high mountains. The surrounding aspens and cottonwoods were covered with tiny yellow-green leaves, still tightly curled, and across the yard a thin, translucent film of newly sprouted grass overlaid the muddy dark browns of earth. Inside, under the shelter of the rounded bonnet top, Tom Marlowe rode alone.

Carlton eased the horses to a full stop in front of the house.

“Please wait, Carlton,” Tom said, as he alighted from the Victoria. “I won’t be long.”

Carlton nodded, then settled himself more comfortably in the driver’s seat.

The front door opened as Tom stepped up onto the porch, and there, standing framed in the open portal stood Ben, smiling, yet surprised to see him.

“Tom, please . . . come in!” Ben invited him eagerly. His smile faded. “I’m sorry you missed Rachael. Joe and Stacy took her in town to see Doctor Martin for her monthly check up.”

“How is she?” Tom asked, as they entered the house together. “How is she, really?”

“Why don’t you stay and see for yourself?” Ben invited. “They should be back in another hour or so.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t stay, Ben.”

Ben’s smile faded.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Tom snapped.

“Sorry, Tom, I wasn’t aware that I was looking at you in any particular way.”

“Ben, I have a lot to do. I have business to conclude, loose ends to tie up . . . I really can’t stay more than a few minutes.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Tom bristled. “We’re leaving Virginia City in two weeks,” he said in terse, clipped tones, “for good.”

“Oh?” Ben was completely taken aback.

“Clara and I are moving to New York.”

Ben silently noted that Rachael was very conspicuous among her immediate family, by her lack of mention.

“Rachael’s of age now, Ben, as YOUR lawyer, Mister Milburn so succinctly spelled it out, three weeks ago,” Tom said with a touch of rancor, as he accurately discerned the unspoken content of his old friend’s thoughts. “It’s high time she was off on her own.”

“Why New York, Tom?”

“Clara’s always wanted to visit there,” Tom explained, much relieved by the sudden change of subject. “She’s delighted by the prospect of actually living there. I’ve already purchased a house, with a garden so she can take walks . . . get some fresh air.”

“Tom, how IS Clara doing?” Ben asked, with a touch of wariness.

“She’s doing very well, Ben. She’s lively, she’s happy, her appetite’s back, she’s her old chatty self . . . she even has Rachael back with her.”

Ben felt like he had just taken a hard sucker punch to the solar plexus.

“Rachael’s exactly the way she was, before that trip to Oregon.”

“Tom, I’m so sorry . . . . ”

“Don’t be, Ben!” Tom shook his head. “Clara’s perfectly happy.”

“Maybe, once you and Clara get yourselves settled, you can get her to someone who can help her,” Ben suggested hopefully. “In New York, there’ll be a lot of fine physicians to choose from.”

“No. I intend to keep Clara at home, engage the best people I can to help look after her, but I’m NOT going to take away her delusions. It would be too cruel.”

“Clara’s living a lie, Tom.”

“Maybe so, but it brings her a lot of happiness. In fact, I haven’t seen her this happy since . . . well, since we got word that Rachael had been found. I won’t take that away from her, Ben.”

“I see,” Ben said softly.

A strained silence fell between them.

“I know you feel SORRY for Rachael, and while I’m not asking for your pity or your sympathy, I AM asking that you not think too badly of Clara and me?”

“You’ve got it wrong, Tom. I’ve known Rachael since she was a baby, and I care about her very much,” Ben said. “But, I don’t feel the least bit sorry for HER. If I feel sorry for ANYONE, it’s you and Clara.”

Tom favored Ben with a bewildered frown. “Y-you feel sorry for . . . for Clara and me?! I don’t understand.”

“In the five years she lived among the Chinook, Rachael’s grown and matured into a lovely young woman, with an open heart and generous spirit. I feel very privileged for having had the opportunity to get reacquainted with her.”

“Your point, Ben?”

“Alright! My point is I feel sorry for you and Clara because neither one of you will ever allow yourselves the chance to know your own daughter or your grandchild,” Ben said with an angry scowl. “You’re so worried about appearances, about what people may or may not think, so blinded by prejudice and misconception, you’re turning your backs on Rachael and walk away without sparing so much as a second glance. In addition to all that, Clara clings so hard to the past that she’d rather have a daughter formed by her own delusions, who exists nowhere, save within her own mind, than a loving daughter of flesh and blood.”

“I’m not wholly turning my back on Rachael, Ben,” Tom said stiffly, as he reached past the lapels of his long black overcoat, into the inside pocket. He withdrew a plain white envelope, made thick by its contents, and slapped it into Ben’s hand open hand. “Please give this to Rachael, Ben. It’s twenty-five thousand dollars, in cash.”

“I’ll see that she gets it, Tom.” Ben’s tone dripped icicles.

“CLARA’S the one who needs me now.”

Ben nodded mutely.

“I’ll be sending all of Rachael’s things over within the next day or so,” Tom said. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Fine.”

“ . . . and please, DO give Rachael my regards. Tell her I was here asking after her.”

“I’ll tell Rachael you were here, and Tom . . . . ”

“Yes, Ben?”

“I honestly and sincerely wish both you and Clara well.”

“Thank you, Ben,” he replied in a cold, hollow voice. “I’d best be going. I still have to make arrangements for having OUR furniture and other things shipped east, and I need to see my lawyer about selling our house here.”

“Please feel free to come by again, before you leave, to visit with Rachael, and to say goodbye.”

“I’ll try, but . . . I don’t know, Ben. I need to make arrangements for Clara, too. If I DON’T see you before Clara and I leave . . . . ”

Ben knew then and there, that neither he nor Rachael would see Tom before he and Clara left for New York.

“ . . . I’ll keep in touch.”

Ben also knew from the look in his eyes, and the halfhearted way in which his promise had been spoken that he would neither see nor hear from Tom Marlowe again. Their long-standing friendship, that stretched over the better part of the last thirty years had simply ceased to be, as if it had never been. He was saddened by the thought.

Ben silently watched as Tom crossed the porch, and climbed into his Victoria, without pause, without looking back. Carlton nudged the horses to a walk, then a trot.

Ben remained on the porch watching, until the Victoria disappeared around the edge of the barn a few moments later.

“Goodbye, Tom,” Ben said quietly . . . .

Epilogue



Rachael Marlowe, clad in white flannel nightgown, and a heavy woolen robe, dyed a deep pinkish-rose, stood before the massive, gray stone fireplace, gazing down into the glowing, dark red embers, with the poker loosely clasped in her right hand. The robe hung open, with the untied sash laced through the half dozen loops encircling the waist. For the better part of the last couple of weeks, the robe, if properly closed had become an uncomfortably snug fit across her belly, courtesy of the little one nestled there. At the rate he seemed to be growing lately, it wouldn’t be long before her nightgown, also, became too small. The morning sickness was all but gone, however, something for which she was profoundly grateful; and three days ago, Doctor Martin had given his ok for her to travel.

“I had no idea insomnia was contagious.”

Rachael turned and found Mister Cartwright standing on the middle landing, clad in nightshirt and a robe the color of a deep, full-bodied port wine. “I didn’t either,” she sighed wistfully. “I . . . I hope I didn’t wake you . . . . ”

“Not at all,” Ben hastened to assure her. He turned and started moving down the stairs at a slow, yet steady pace. “I ran into Father Rutherford in town this morning . . . . ”

“Oh?”

“He told me to thank you again . . . very much . . . for all the clothing you donated to the ladies’ charity drive,” Ben said, as he stepped down onto the great room floor. “The ladies were quite impressed by the quality AND the quantity.”

“They couldn’t help BUT be impressed by the quantity, I suppose,” Rachael quipped with a wry smile. “I hafta admit to being pretty impressed by the quantity myself.”

She remembered again the day Tom Marlowe . . . her father, had brought all of her things out to the Ponderosa. There had to have been half a dozen buckboards, at the very least, all piled high with box after box after endless box, stuffed to the brim with blouses, skirts, dresses, hats, and shoes. The more personal articles of clothing, which included a plethora of nightgowns, with matching robes and slippers, stockings, and various and sundry undergarments, took up nearly half the space in one of those buckboards alone.

Rachael remembered some of the pretty outfits, among them the deep red riding costume. But many of those outfits she had never seen before, including a white dress with tiny puffed sleeves, tastefully bedecked with lace and tiny seed pearls around the collar, with a note attached, penned in the very neat, very precise, and very tiny hand instantly recognizable as belonging to Clara Marlowe. “Darling Rachael,” it read, “For your society debut. Your Loving Mother.”

“Did Mama actually have clothes made for me all the years I was away?” she wondered silently, not for the first time. The thought saddened her greatly.

“Your mother was most distressed at the thought of you not outfitting yourself properly,” her father said, by way of explanation, while Hoss, Joe, Hop Sing, and Stacy lugged all those boxes from the buckboards into the Cartwrights’ downstairs guestroom. “She asked me . . . TOLD me, actually, in no uncertain terms . . . . ” At this an indulgent smile spread slowly across his face. “ . . . that I should make you promise . . . cross your heart and hope to die . . . that you would dress properly while you’re here visiting the Cartwrights.”

“Tell Mama I promise,” she said quietly, omitting the ‘cross your heart and hope to die’ part.

Tom and Clara Marlowe had finally left Virginia City for New York a little over a month ago now, with out a word or even a note to say good-bye. Though not something wholly unexpected, for their daughter . . . their little girl, Rachael . . . had, for all intents and purposes, died the day robbers set upon the stage en route to Portland . . . deep down, it rankled.

“I’m glad all those clothes will be going to people who can use them . . . and maybe appreciate them a little, too,” Rachael said with a wan smile, her thoughts returning to present time and place.

“I’m a little surprised you didn’t keep a few things,” Ben remarked as he settled himself in his favorite chair, the dark red one, next to the fireplace.

“My needs and my tastes are a lot more simple these days,” she replied, still half mortified by the excess despite Hoss’ cryptic remark about Stacy’s crazy uncle STILL having her beat by a mile. “I . . . hope you don’t mind me giving Stacy my shell collection. With all the traveling Papa did over the years, it’s got to be every bit as extensive as my old wardrobe.”

“Not at all,” Ben replied with a smile. “Shell collecting can be every bit as educational as it is fun. The four of us have had a wonderful time going to the lending library and doing research on the shells you gave Stacy.”

For a time, Ben and Rachael lapsed into a companionable silence, broken only by the very soft, slow, measured ticking of the grandfather’s clock, set against the wall next to the front door.

“Rachael?” Ben queried softly, just after the clock struck the half hour.

“Yes, Mister Cartwright?”

“I heard that you got a letter from your grandmother the other day . . . . ”

“Yes, I did,” Rachael replied. “Gram’s invited me come live with her and Aunt Sarah. Me AND my baby . . . said ‘it’s been ‘way too long since I’ve heard the pitter-pattering of tiny feet around the house.’ ”

Though Ben had never had occasion to meet Rachael’s maternal grandmother, he found it hard to believe that she and Clara could possibly be actually mother and daughter, based on things he had heard second hand from not only Rachael, but from Clara as well.

“Have you given thought as to what you might like to do, after the baby’s come and you’re back on your feet?” Ben asked.

Rachael took a deep breath, and as she turned to face him, drew herself up to the very fullness of her height with posture straight and shoulders back. “I want to return to the place of the Chinook and look for my husband,” she replied in a tone of voice, firm and resolute. “I have to find out for certain whether Aiak Enanamuks is living or dead, and . . . and if he IS dead, I want to know the story . . . the circumstances that led to his death.”

“I understand,” Ben said immediately. “I have friends who live near the place of the Chinook. If you’d like, I can write you a letter of introduction.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright. I’d appreciate that very much,” she replied, turning her attention back to the dying flames. “I . . . must confess . . . I half expected that you would try and talk me out of it.”

“No.” Ben shook his head. “I think I know a little how you feel,” he said remembering again the desperate search for his oldest son when he had fallen into the hands of a mad man named Kane , and facing to all-to-real prospect of never knowing. “I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you,” Rachael murmured softy. She reached into the midst of the glowing, deep red embers and gently stirred the accumulation of ashes and wood, burned and charred, with the poker still in hand. “I’ve also decided to go to Portland . . . to be with my grandmother and my aunt,” she continued. “I’ll stay with them until them until the baby comes . . . and I’ve sufficiently recovered. After that . . . . ” she shrugged and replaced the poker in its place with the other fireplace tools. “It will depend on what I find out about Aiak Enanamuks.”

“You’re more than welcome to remain here . . . with us, for as long as you wish,” Ben said. “I want you to know that.”

“I do, Mister Cartwright,” she replied with a smile. “In the time I’ve already been here, not once has anyone ever made me feel that I’ve overstayed my welcome, and I’m grateful . . . so grateful, that simply to say thank you seems woefully inadequate, but it will have to do.”

“You’re very welcome,” Ben replied, returning her smile.

“My grandmother . . . my aunt . . . and I . . . we’re all the family we have, now that Mama and Papa have gone east to New York,” she said, her smile fading. “I know it would mean a lot . . . to all of us . . . if they could be with me when my baby’s born.”

“Yes, it will. I was with my son, Adam, when both of HIS children were born, and looking back . . . I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Have you decided . . . . ?”

“Now that Doctor Martin has told me that it’s alright for me to travel, there’s no point in putting things off,” Rachael replied. “I found out that Miss Braun will be leaving for Portland next Monday morning on the ten o’clock stage. She’s already invited me to go with her.”

Miss Heidi Braun was a nurse who had worked with Doctor Martin extensively, and daughter of Gretchen Braun, an old friend of the Cartwright family, who ran the restaurant at the International Hotel.

“I’ll sit down and write that letter of introduction to my friends first thing when I get up,” Ben promised, “that way, you’ll have it with you when you’re ready to begin your search for Aiak Enanamuks.”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright.”

“In the meantime, Young Lady, I think we’d best g’won up and try to salvage what sleep we can before sun up,” Ben said, rising. “The next few days are going to be very busy.”



The End
April 2003
Revised October 2006

RETURN TO LIBRARY