INVICTUS

BY

KRYSTYNA

…………….

 

 

Invictus, meaning Unconquerable in Latin, is a poem by William Ernest Henley.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

“Well, what do you think?”

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“Heck, Hoss, if you don’t know, then what hope has he got?”

 

A deep sigh slipped from between Hoss’ lips and he shook his head thoughtfully from side to side before he scratched behind his ear.  Then he squatted onto his haunches and ran a gentle hand down Cochise’s trembling foreleg.  It was hot to the touch and the swelling was only too obvious to both men.  Joe was leaning forwards, staring down over Hoss’ shoulder at his horse’s leg as his brother slowly felt around the source of the injury.

 

“Well, what do you think?”

 

“I think it’s a bad sprain. It’s not broken—”

 

“Thank goodness!”

 

“Yeah, you can say that again,” Hoss said with feeling and slipped his hand beneath Cochise’s mane, scratching just where the horse loved it most. “I think the best thing we can do is keep him in his stall and treat it right away.”  He scowled slightly. “Dang fool horse…”

 

“Ain’t his fault, Hoss; it was that mare you got for Hester, made him think he was a frisky young stallion instead of what he is.”  Joe laughed, a mixture of mischief and relief seeping through the words and he ran his hand down his horse’s neck. “Poor Cochise…it’s not much fun, is it?”

 

“Being a gelding and being in love ain’t compatible, that’s for sure,” Hoss guffawed, and followed Joe into the stall where Cochise was carefully led, and then hand-fed some oats, “I’ll get down to seeing to his leg, Joe. You tell Hester I may be a smidgin’ late taking her into town.”

 

For  moment Joe stood against the bars of the stall watching as his brother once again felt the swollen leg of the black and white horse, then with a sigh he turned and began to leave the stable. He paused and turned back “You know, Hoss, I could take Hester into town, if you like?”

 

Hoss glanced over his shoulder at his brother and nodded.

 

“Sure, that would be good. It’ll give me more time with this here animal of yours and—”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don’t let her talk you into buying that fancy bonnet she saw last week; she’s been talking ’bout nothing else since she saw it.”  He gave a brief smile and returned to his work, his words now directed solely for the horse’s attention.

 

………

 

The flame of the match slowly ate its way towards Ben’s fingers; it wasn’t until its heat was close to scorching the flesh that Ben extinguished the flame, tossed the match into the fire and set his pipe back down onto the leather pouch which contained his tobacco.

 

He didn’t stir from his position at the sound of the door closing, but continued to lean against the mantle.  Distractedly his fingers toyed with the box of matches.  Eventually he sighed; the silence from the person who had entered the room forced him to turn and acknowledge Joe.  He gave his youngest son a rather rueful smile, and sighed.

 

 “Anything wrong, Pa?”

 

“No, no—should there be?”

 

“No, I haven’t been into town yet.”

 

Ben frowned as though the statement was to be taken seriously, and then he recognised the flippancy within the words and smiled slowly,

 

“If you’re going into town, you could do me a favour and send off this letter—” he leaned forward towards the table and picked the envelope up, looked briefly at the address and then held it out to Joe who had to come further into the room to accept it. He also looked at the address.

 

“You’re writing to Adam?”

 

“Yes, there were a few loose ends—things I hadn’t said before we parted.”

 

Joe’s hazel eyes looked into his father’s face and recognised the fact that his father was worried, anxious to the point of distraction.  But then, he surmised, it had been obvious that something had been bothering his father ever since he had returned from San Francisco a week earlier.

 

“He was alright, wasn’t he?”  Joe weighed the letter between his fingers. “I mean he was alright when he left you?”

 

“I suppose so.” Ben bit down on his bottom lip and raised his dark eyebrows. “You know Adam; he doesn’t reveal everything he feels if he thinks it may cause us any worry.”

 

Joe nodded, lowered his eyes and once again scanned the envelope’s address.

 

“Why do you think he has to go to Washington—I mean—had to go to Washington?”

 

“President Grant wanted to see him there, that’s why.” Ben shrugged as though they had gone through this so often already, why yet another time.  He sighed. “He was supposed to just get his orders and his ship and—” he waved a hand as though in dismissal of the whole thing. “Instead he gets a letter from the president’s office telling him to get to Washington immediately.”

 

Joe nodded; he knew this bit by heart now. Ben had laboured the point often since his return.

 

Joe slipped the envelope into his pocket. “I’ll post it off right away, Pa.”  He placed a hand on his father’s arm. “He’s alright, Pa, there’s no need in you fretting about—”

 

“Who said anything about fretting?” Ben snapped, his black eyes sparked, and his lips thinned. “I’m just—curious. That’s all.”

 

“Sure, Pa, of course,” Joe smiled, his lips thinned across his teeth, and he backed away. “Where’s Hester?”

 

“I don’t know,” came the taut reply, “She’s not my wife.”

 

Joe opened his mouth and then quickly closed it again; he turned upon his heels and quickly made good his escape into the kitchen.  Ben watched him and then with a slight shake of the head picked up his pipe and slowly took his seat in the big leather chair.

 

He sat a few moments turning the stem of the pipe between his fingers and thought back to the time he had spent with Adam in San Francisco.  It had been a pleasant journey; they had kept conversation light throughout and enjoyed each other’s company during the brief time they had together in the city. 

 

It was when Adam returned to the hotel after collecting his orders that Ben realised that once again his son was leaving them.   When he had told his father that he had been summoned to Washington and didn’t know where he was going to be sent, Ben also realised that there was a time when, possibly, his son would not return.

 

And it had been harder this time to say goodbye because they were not at home, at the Ponderosa in the comforting confines of familiar rooms, with Hoss and Joe nearby.  He had told Adam that he was proud of him, and had looked into the dark-eyed, tanned face and accepted the fact that this was no child anymore, no stubborn teenager or youth, but a mature man with lines creasing his skin with the fineness of a cobweb, and with the first slight touch of grey in his hair. 

 

Ben checked the bowl of his pipe, stuffed in more tobacco and then slouched back further into the chair.  When one could recognise the signs of aging in one’s own sons, then what did that say about oneself? 

 

He had travelled home with the memory of Adam’s tall figure standing on the steps of the hotel, a quizzical frown on his brow and a forced smile on his lips.  It was a sight that haunted Ben even now, as he saw his son raise his hand in farewell at the door.

 

……………..

 

 

 

Hester Cartwright smiled as her brother-in-law entered the kitchen, a smudge of flour across her brow and sprinkles of it dusting her apron and the sleeves of her dress. 

 

Joe became aware of the drifting smell of burnt plums in the room and  Hop Sing opening the kitchen door in order for the smoke to drift away; he looked over at Joe and shook his head, the words he wanted to utter imprinted upon the expression on his face.

 

“As bad as that?” Joe sighed.

 

“No, not really.  Just a few burnt plums.  Hop Sing and I got too engrossed in doing something else.” She smiled and glanced over her shoulder at Hop Sing who nodded, the blank look of benign besottedness once again upon his face.

 

“No plum pie tonight then?” Joe grimaced and Hop Sing nodded, while Hester shook her head.

 

“Sorry, Joe, but don’t worry; the pastry came out alright, didn’t it, Hop Sing?”

 

Joe frowned. For some reason during the past few weeks Hester had become a rather erratic cook.  Before her marriage the few meals she had rustled up had always been excellent, but just lately something had gone awry with her cooking methods.  Hop Sing was making his way to the stove to remove the offending burned pot and carried it carefully outside.

 

“Chickens eat if I get plum chiselled off pan.” he declared and left the room.

 

“He’s a good soul.” Hester smiled at her brother-in-law. “Where’s Hoss?”

 

“In the stable checking over Cochise.  He’s hurt his leg…”

 

“Oh no—is it bad?” Hester put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide, and the colour drained from her face. “I’d better go and see—”

 

“No, not Hoss. He’s checking Cochise, my horse; it’s Cochise has hurt his leg.”

 

“Oh, of course, I see.” She shook her head. “For a moment I was thinking you meant Hoss and couldn’t see why he had to stay in the stable.” She caught at an errant curl that had somehow detached itself from its pins. “Burning those plums has upset my equilibrium.”

 

Joe nodded. His own equilibrium had often been upset; he was quite sure of that, even if he wasn’t too sure what his equilibrium was, but he had heard Adam use that expression quite often so felt that he kind of understood what it meant, by proxy if nothing else.

 

“Hoss needs to stay with Cochise just now, Hester; he said I could take you into town instead if you wouldn’t mind?”

 

She smiled, her blue eyes twinkled, and she nodded, tucking the offending curl of hair behind her ear as she did so. “That would be just fine, Joe—sure you don’t mind?”

 

“Quite sure.” Joe smiled as the envelope in his jacket pocket crackled against his shirt, a reminder of the errand he had undertaken for Ben.

 

Hester turned to Hop Sing, smiled that wide generous smile of hers and whisked off the apron with a swiftness that proved how willing she was to surrender the kitchen to him.  As she hurried from the room the apron drifted across the back of a chair, and her voice promised not to be long drifted along.

 

Joe heard her say something to Ben and smiled to himself. Life had certainly changed since Hoss had married Hester and set up home with them at the Ponderosa.  Had it added richness to their lives?  He couldn’t say, but he knew that somehow or other he couldn’t imagine life here without Hester now.

 

Of course the first week or so Adam had been home with them, and they had all undergone the changes in those initial weeks of Hoss' married life. As Joe waited for Hester to get ready for town, he wondered how Adam had really felt about this change to life and routine, whether he felt divorced from such changes or glad of them.  He had made no comment either way, had ventured no opinion and only smiled at those offered to him.

 

The sound of Hester’s voice broke into his reverie, and he smiled as she re-entered the room. He tapped at his nose and raised his eyebrows, which, after a brief look answering of puzzlement eventually brought a laugh from Hester as she quickly dabbed away the offending smudges of flour from her face.

 

“Thank you so much, Joe.”

 

“It’s my pleasure.” He opened the door and waited for her to sail pass him.

 

“I’ve so much to do; you just can’t imagine.”

 

“I’m sure.” he turned as he was about to close the door and saw Hop Sing carefully measuring out more plums.  The two men exchanged conspiratorial nods as he left the building and walked by her side to the waiting buggy.

 

……………………….

 

 

Paul Martin studied the notes of the report he had carefully written down concerning Widow Macarthur’s gall bladder; he was so intent on his reading and jotting down several pertinent additions to the text that he did not hear the door open and close in the room adjoining his office.  It was only when a sharp staccato rap on the door burst in on the silence with the suddenness of a Gatling gun going off that he dropped the notes, adjusted his spectacles and stood up

 

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

 

He was saying the words even as he turned to face the newcomer who stood patiently waiting his attentions with his hands clasping the suitcase against his leg and his grey-blue eyes anxiously probing into the good doctor’s.  He smiled slowly as Paul looked him up and down.

 

“Hello, Uncle.”

 

“Uncle?” Paul blinked, pulled off the spectacles and leaned towards the young man, “Heavens, is that you—John?”

 

“The one and same, Uncle Paul.”  he stepped further into the room, his hand extended to shake that of the older man. “How are you, Uncle?”

 

“Ah, now then—is that question based on familial politeness and affection or by way of a professional diagnosis?” Paul laughed and slapped John Martin on the arm, “Well now, it is good to see you.” He laid too much stress on the ‘is’ for John not to appreciate just how much his appearance did mean to his relative.

 

“And you too, Uncle.” He smiled and set down the suitcase, looked around the office and then turned again to view the elderly doctor, “I always told you I’d come here one day to help you out.”

 

“Yes, so you did.” Paul nodded, the laughter still in his voice and his eyes twinkling. “I remember you as a child making that promise, but now—here you are, a young man—”

 

“A qualified doctor, sir.” John drew himself straighter, his smile beneath the blond moustache warm and sincere

 

“Yes.” Paul stepped back, nodded. “Yes, a qualified doctor. I got the letter from your father last year but—goodness me, a qualified doctor.” he shook his head now and his smile broadened, “It hardly seems a matter of years but—” he turned quickly, slipped the gall bladder report into a drawer and turned back to his nephew. “Come along, my boy. This calls for a celebration. How long are you staying here?”

 

He was pulling his jacket from the coat hanger, pushing his arms through the sleeves, and John watched, smiled, and nodded.

 

“Oh, I’m here for the duration, Uncle.” He followed Paul from the building, watched as the door was locked—on account of drugs, Paul told him—and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “It was always my ambition to come here and work alongside you, Uncle Paul.”

 

Paul said nothing to that, but pride filled his heart, and affection also, for he had denied himself a wife and family for the sake of his patients and profession.  Now here was his nephew, a young man in the prime of his youth apparently prepared to do exactly the same.  He swallowed the lump in his throat that had nothing to do with any of the signs of ill health, and ushered his nephew to Del Monico’s restaurant.

 

“You couldn’t have come at a better time,” he said, “My fellow doctors here have been hard pressed for years, as you know.  I’ll take you around to the hospital once we’ve eaten.  Here, John, come and sit down.” he ushered Andrew into a chair, and sat opposite him, the table was set in the bow of the window offering a grand view of the town’s main street. “Tell me about yourself, and your family?”

 

………………….

 

The room was darkened by the number of books that lined most of the walls, but dominating all was the large map. It spanned the complete wall space opposite the large window that shed spangled light onto the rich mahogany flooring and rugs.

 

A tall man, 5 ft 11” in his stockinged feet, who had been leaning against the window frame now detached himself and walked slowly towards the other men who were grouped by the large desk at which President Grant was seated.

 

No one stirred to pay him any attention, and he drew slowly upon the cigar he had been smoking, before he released the smoke into the air.  Grant glanced up, one eyebrow raised as though the lack of deference in the younger man caused him some offence.  There was, however, little point in getting annoyed, as George Custer merely continued smoking while paying scant attention to what was being said. Instead, his eyes roamed over the map across which was written in large print “Indian Territory.”

 

He was used to hearing the endless rhetoric from these men, politicians now, he mused, and full of the hot air one associated with such self-inflated egos.  He regarded them carefully…Sheridan—a man barely 8 years older than himself; Sherman from Ohio and his senior by nearly 20 years, while Grant topped that at 22 years seniority.  Secretary of State Hamilton Fish was leaning against the desk, his brow furrowed, as though the closer he got to the president the easier it would be to comprehend what was being said.  Custer had little time for Fish, but then there were few men for whom Custer did credit much time.

 

He sighed and received a black look from Sherman; he glanced back at the window and fidgeted, pursed his lips and was about to speak when the big doors opened and an aide came bustling into the room, approached Grant and whispered to him a name.

 

President Grant looked up from the desk upon which were scattered various maps and papers, glanced briefly at the aide and nodded.

 

“Ask him to come in now; no point in leaving him kicking his heels outside. He’s come some distance to be here,” he mumbled and pushed himself away from the desk, picked up his own cigar and rammed it between his teeth.

 

The other men stirred, moved away from the table and turned to face the door.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

George Custer’s eyes blinked rapidly and he actually paused a second before replacing the cigar in his mouth.  Every man there straightened up and turned to look at the man who had entered the room. Without a sign of self consciousness, without any indication that he was even aware of being present among the most important and influential men in America at that time, he walked across the room and towards the desk. 

 

Adam Cartwright kept his eyes fixed on the president until he saw the map on the wall.  His eyes then flicked towards that, lingered long enough to understand its significance, and then returned to look at Grant.  The President was smiling, a cigar burning between his fingers, his waistline more ample than Adam could remember and his face more haggard despite its fleshiness. 

 

“I’m glad you managed to make such good speed in getting here, Adam.  May I introduce you—” he looked now at the men assembled there, and pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, “I think you may know General Sherman, General Sheridan, Lieutenant Colonel Custer and Secretary of State Harold Fish.  Gentlemen, may I present to you Commodore Adam Cartwright.”

 

There were murmurs of acknowledgement from the men there before they turned towards Grant, who now took a seat behind the vast desk upon which countless papers and maps were sprawled.  It was Custer who spoke first, his words thinly veiled behind a smile, most of which was hidden by the overlong and untidy moustaches he considered fashionable at the time.

 

“Commodore, it’s a pleasure to meet you again, even if you are not inclined to afford us the courtesy of wearing your uniform at this meeting.”

 

Adam gave a brief inclination of the head in the direction of the speaker, slightly pursed his lips and raised his eyes to meet those of George Custer. “I have just arrived here; getting here in time for this meeting seemed more important than finding somewhere to change clothes.” 

 

Custer raised a shoulder as well as an eyebrow and glanced over at Sheridan, who turned to give a closer look to Adam’s dust-covered clothing.  It was Grant who stopped any further conversation.

 

“Gentlemen, if we may continue with what we are here to discuss.” He turned to Adam. “Commodore, this map here—” he turned to the vast map that covered most of the wall behind him—“covers the whole of the Indian Territories that it is our intention to subdue and settle.  Major General Sheridan as head of the Department of the Missouri and Plains has come with some plans that will enable us to resettle the Plains Indians—”

 

“Those that remain,” Sherman murmured sotto voce, at which Custer exhaled a plume of blue cigar smoke and raised a cynical eyebrow.

 

Adam’s eyes remained on the map. He listened to the words being spoken and noticed everything that was going on in that room.  There was the concentrated look on the face of the Secretary of State, the look of a man uncertain of what was actually happening in that room and even more unsure as to how it was going to be carried out.  Sherman and Custer were taking cynical sides against Sheridan, Little Phil as he was nicknamed, a man ruthless in carrying out his plans. 

 

It was Sheridan whom Adam found most worrying as the man stared at the map with fanatical idealism in his eyes.  This was the man who had ordered professional hunters to trespass onto tribal lands with the words “Let them kill, skin and sell until the buffalo are exterminated” with full knowledge that such orders would eventually lead to the starvation of nations of Indians. What, Adam pondered, would he now do to the innocent remnants of those people. 

 

He listened as Grant pointed from one part of the map to the other, saying the words that Sheridan had already put into his mouth, and as he heard the ruthless plans only one thought came to his mind—the mass murder of a people.

 

“Of course…” Grant was bringing his grand plan to a conclusion. “This can’t be done without someone taking the lead in the field—in this respect—the plains.” He glanced over at Custer, who promptly squared his shoulders, and then his eyes turned to Adam. “You have had dealings with the Cheyenne and Sioux, Commodore, and I believe are on reasonable terms with some of their chiefs?”

 

Adam’s mind slipped back some years, he saw faces, remembered names…and he cleared his throat.

 

“Most of the chiefs I knew are now dead.”  He frowned slightly, “I doubt if I could be of any use to you in this respect, Mr. President.”

 

“I’m not asking you if you think you will be of any use to me, Commodore,” Grant replied coldly, “The fact is that you have lived among Indians; you know how they think, about their culture.”

 

“No more or less than some others present, Mr. President.”

 

“Commodore, my generals are excellent tacticians, that’s true, and they have learned a great deal about the Plains Indians through war and through negotiation, but they have not lived since childhood among them.  Isn’t it true that you were closely involved with Winnemucca and his people?  That you befriended Winnemucca’s sons?”

 

“True enough.” Adam nodded, giving the briefest of shrugs and the slightest of smiles. “We lived on the borders of Paiute land, and my father was honoured to consider himself one of Winnemucca’s white friends.”

 

“And what about Thocmetony—” Sheridan said, “You must have known her?”

 

“Sarah?” Adams face indicated his surprise at this question; he glanced at Custer and Sherman, and then turned his eyes back to Sheridan, “What has Sarah Thocmetony have to do with this conversation?”

 

“Well, isn’t it true that you knew her, Commodore?”

 

“Of course I knew Sarah, as well as her sisters Emma and Mary—” he pursed his lips and his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Grant. “Winnemucca had a large family—er—no one’s really quite sure how many wives he has, but he has, since the battle of the Truckee and Pyramid rivers in the ’60s, always sought to live at peace with the white settlers, despite constant harassment from them for the mining rights on his tribal lands.  His daughters were all educated at San Jose in California.” He paused. “Again, I don’t know what Thocmetony has to do with your plans to subjugate the Plains Indians.  The Paiute culture and traditions are vastly different from those of the Cheyenne and Sioux.”

 

“Maybe, but they are still Native Indians and could be—er—coaxed into acting as interpreters for us—”

 

“No, they can’t,” Adam replied curtly. “The Wa-Sui or Was-o Paiute speak a completely different dialect from any other Nevada Indian.” he frowned and shook his head slightly, “No, Shell Flower—Thocmetony—won’t be coaxed by you to help subjugate others as her people have been.”

 

“Commodore,” Custer chose to speak now, “Seems to me you ain’t changed much since last time we met.  Seems you still are quite an Indian lover, ain’t’cha?”

 

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room until Harold Fish rustled some papers and broke the spell. He cleared his throat. “It seems to me rather incongruous that a seaman be asked to undertake any part in these matters.  I mean, Mr. President, his past history with the Paiute hardly has any bearing with his present—er—occupations at sea.”

 

“That’s irrelevant,” Grant snapped. “I wanted Commodore Cartwright to be involved because he has a unique ability and knowledge that could be used to help us bring about a more peaceable solution.  Otherwise, you know what those people are like.” Grant flung his arm in the direction of the map, thereby judging each native Indian soul there under one simple category—an enemy of the state. “Winnemucca ‘s people have lived in peace with the white men for years; his daughter, Sarah, champions the white people. She wants her own people to live in greater harmony with us.  She could be used—”

 

“Others have been used like her,” Sherman now spoke up, a deep-voiced man, a man who, after the Fetterman massacre in 1866, had spoken for the extermination of every Sioux living.  “It doesn’t work.  The only thing those people know is force.”

 

Grant looked directly into Adam’s face. Perhaps he had noticed the way Adam had flinched at the brutality in Sherman’s’ voice; perhaps he had realised that plans involving Sarah Thocmetony were futile. He stabbed out his cigar into a crystal glass ashtray and nodded. “Maybe you’re right; after all, what do I know?”  He looked appealingly at Adam. “I had hoped the time of fighting these people was over, that perhaps, with your help, we could bridge the chasm between our peoples …”

 

“There are others who could be of better use, Mr. President. There’s old Wau-sik-ie of the Shoshone; he’s kept his people peaceable for years, even fought the Sioux in defence of the whites, and there’s Major Wynkoop—” Adam paused, frowned. “He was Indian agent at one time.”

 

“At one time—” Custer shrugged, the action spoke volumes. “He ain’t no more.”

 

“Commodore—” Sherman approached Adam now and stood face to face with him, “You have younger brothers, still in Nevada, I believe.”

 

“I do.”

 

“Perhaps one of them would be prepared to help us, to act as an intermediary with Sarah Thocmetony.”

 

Adam’s hand tapped lightly against his thigh while he looked directly into Sherman’s face.

 

“Did you have any particular brother in mind?” he asked.

 

“Well.” Custer drew upon his cigar, taking a lungful of smoke before he let it drift through his lips, “I believe your youngest brother, Joseph, was on  friendly terms with the Cheyenne at one time.  Perhaps he wouldn’t mind acting for them now.”

 

Adam’s brows twitched slightly; he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words. He glanced at Grant. “I can’t speak for my brother,” he said.

 

Sherman merely smiled, shrugged and shook his head as though disappointed in the man whom so many referred to as “Grant’s Maverick.”  Well, he had certainly proven himself to be a maverick in this instance as he backed away from every attempt to be cooperative in Grant’s attempts to claim Indian Territory.

 

“The fact is, Commodore,” Custer drawled. “With or without you, peaceably or not, we will get that territory.  Do you know how much gold there is on that land?  More than a dozen Comstocks.  There are thousands of white settlers waiting to get their claims filed on land there; townships are already springing up around the borders, even since the last time you were there.  You can’t hold them back; they’re like flood waters that will just break down any dams you want built against ‘em.  We have every right, as freeborn Americans, to take that land—”

 

“Sir…” Adam’s voice was quiet, calm, and  deep. He slightly narrowed his eyes to look into the face of this younger man. “When we last met I told you then that if you were to try and take that land—by whatever means—you’d never leave it alive.”

 

“Are you threatening me, Commodore?”

 

“No; I’m just reminding you of a promise made to you years ago by the chiefs of the peoples you plan to drive from their lands.  You step foot in the Black Hills with an army, you won’t come out of them alive.”

 

“Who said anything about the Black Hills—” Sheridan blustered, going slightly red around the collar.

 

“I can read maps, Major General, and everything I see on that map points to you driving the Sioux and Cheyenne out of the Black Hills.”

 

“By thunder, man, you are an Indian lover, aren’t you?” Sherman muttered as he turned his back on them all and strode over to the window so recently vacated by Custer.

 

George Custer blew a perfect smoke ring into the air before he approached the desk, and stubbed out the butt of his cigar into the ashtray.

 

“The thing is, Cartwright, Sarah Winnemucca acted as an intermediary for her people in ‘66.  She and her brother, Natchez, went to Fort McDermitt to try and stop white raids on the tribe.”

 

“I know that,” Adam replied. “As a result, they ended up on a reservation.”

 

“It was for their safety. Old Winnemucca never made trouble over it.” Sherman murmured.

 

“No, he wouldn’t; he’d lost any fire he’d had and only wanted peace with the white settlers.”

 

“Which they have kept—commendably” Grant said.

 

“But if she is persuaded to work for us now—” Sheridan clenched his fist, and for a moment Adam thought he was going to strike the desk. Instead he slipped his hand into the small of his back. “She’s worked as an interpreter for the military at Fort McDermitt and Camp Harney since.”

 

“On behalf of the Paiute” Adam said softly, and he glanced over at Grant who appeared to have slipped into a reverie of his own.

 

Sheridan stared woodenly at Adam and then turned to Grant who continued to stare down at the papers on his desk.  Sheridan looked over at Fish, who cleared his throat.  “Mr. President Sir, is there anything else you wish to add?”

 

Grant raised his eyes to look at the men assembled there; he frowned and shook his head, then leaned back in his chair. “If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind giving me a moment with Commodore Cartwright—alone.”

 

They said nothing but left the room with as much dignity as they could muster, speaking in low tones to one another as they left as though to indicate to Adam that their opinions mattered even if they had been dismissed like so many errant schoolboys.  Adam bit down on his bottom lip and looked over at Grant, who waved a hand towards a chair.

 

“Sit down, Cartwright.”  He watched in silence as Adam took a chair, stretched out long legs and waited attentively for whatever the president had to say next.

“It was my suggestion to use you and Winnemucca’s daughter.”

 

“Really?  I’m surprised.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I’m a seaman.  The Plains Indians have no bearing on my life, or on Sarah’s.”

 

“You appear to be on name terms with her; is she a friend of yours?”

 

“Is such a thing permissible?”

 

“Don’t parry words with me, Cartwright.” Grant replied, although he smiled slowly. He picked up some papers from the desk. “She was born in 1844, about the same time as your youngest brother I believe.”

 

“Yes, that’s true, two or three years after to be more exact.”

 

“She’s married to a white man?”

 

“Divorced—First Lieutenant Bartlett was a wastrel and abused her. She divorced him and has since remarried.”

 

“You do know her well, Commodore.”

 

“So, apparently, do you, sir.” Adam’s eyes dropped to the papers in Grant’s hands.

 

“She’s an important figure to the Paiute; you have to admit that.”

 

“I have not denied it. She’s the granddaughter of Chief Truckee, therefore high ranking.” Adam’s brow furrowed slightly into a frown; he ran a forefinger over his top lip as though considering saying something further but waiting for Grant to speak first.

 

The president allowed the silence to run on a little as he took a cigar and lit it; through the whirl of smoke that followed he looked thoughtfully at Adam. “So— what’s she really like, this ‘Princess of the Paiute.’”

 

“Arrtactive, intelligent, articulate.  Whoever provided you with the information about her must have met her and told you that himself.”

 

“Yes, he did.”  He tossed the dead match into the ashtray and sighed. “Did you like her?”

 

“Yes, but I like her father too.  They’ve made great efforts to understand the white man’s ways; they were educated in California, worked in the homes of wealthy white families, speak Spanish and English.” He paused, pouted his lips slightly and looked over at Grant, who was regarding him with a slight smile on his face. “Which you know, and which makes her suitable for what you have in mind, I suppose.”

 

“I don’t want bloodshed over our rights to the Black Hills, Adam.” Grant said softly, and he frowned at the way Adam’s face hardened at his words. “You don’t think we have rights?”

 

“No, sir, I don’t.”

 

“Darn you, Adam, one of these days your conscience is going to see you dead.” He took a deep intake of breath before releasing it and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that—just that your conscience is going to bring you to ruination if you’re not careful.”

 

“I doubt it, Mr. President.” Adam smiled slowly, “I’d just like to say again that as a seaman I am of no use to you in this matter.  There are others who obviously are better suited.  Sarah Thocmotony has already split her own people in half about what she has done—some admire and respect her; others despise her as a traitor.”

 

“Isn’t that always the way when someone tries to act as the bridge between two nations of people?” Grant sighed.

 

“She told me how the Paiute always knew the white men would come one day to their land; they were prepared to greet them as brothers, because their legends talk about a family who were split from each other because of their colour. When her grandfather met the first white man he was happy; he thought the family would be reunited.”

 

“So what went wrong?  Truckee’s son, Winnemucca, fought in the ‘60s, didn’t he?”

 

“When Sarah was  small some whites attacked their village. To save them her parents buried their children, covering their faces with brush in order to give them air.  They were buried a whole day before they could be rescued.  But the whites had destroyed the village.  It made the Paiute realise that their white brothers didn’t love them as they had hoped, that the family was not going to be easily united.  After the ‘60s and with Natchez and Sarah acting as intermediaries, the fighting ended only when they were all put onto a reservation.”  Adam looked down at his feet. “Some of our land on the Ponderosa was once their land.”

 

Grant frowned, knocked ash into the tray with his little finger and regarded Adam thoughtfully. “We will get the Black Hills, Adam.”

 

“Yes, I know.  But it won’t be peaceably, and it won’t be with Sarah Shell Flower’s help.”

 

“Perhaps not; it was a shot in the dark anyway.” Grant rose to his feet, prompting Adam to do likewise. They faced one another across the desk. “They’re a bunch of murdering primitive people, Adam. I’m going to give Custer orders to make sure they leave the Black Hills for our people.”

 

“Murderous?”  Adam frowned, looked down at his feet, at the pattern of the rug on the floor. “Well, you know what happened to Fetterman in ‘66?”

 

“A massacre of good men.”

 

“A man who disobeyed orders, Mr. President.” Adam raised his eyes to look at the man opposite, to whom he knew he owed allegiance as his head of state. “The Cheyenne and Sioux call it the Battle of the Thousand slain, because that was how many of their people were killed that day.  Of course, the handful of white men who were killed would always be remembered; a thousand murderous primitives are quite easy to discount and forget.”

 

“Cartwright, you are stretching my goodwill too far—”

 

“Am I dismissed, sir?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Adam nodded briefly, saluted his superior officer and turned to leave the room, as he did so, Grant called for him to stop.

 

“Where are you staying?”

 

“At the Hotel Grammond.”

 

“Await your orders there.”

 

Adam nodded, looked at Grant thoughtfully once again and then left the room.

 

Once outside and in an antechamber he released his breath, raised his eyes to the ceiling, and shook his head.  No doubt about it, he had blown his commission out of the water, perhaps even signed his own warrant to be arrested for insubordination.  Grinding his teeth together, he replaced his hat upon his head and hurriedly left the building.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

“I’m sorry about the plums.”

 

Joe forced his mind back to the present moment.  He had drifted into thoughts of his own that concerned Cochise, his family, his future.  Now he had been jerked rather unceremoniously back to the present. He turned to look at Hester.

 

“That’s alright, I’m sure we’ll survive.” he smiled, and slowed the horses a little upon realising that the deeper he had immersed himself in his own private thoughts the more the horses had taken it upon themselves to gather speed.

 

Dust was settling upon them as the team slowed, and Hester brushed it off her clothes slowly before adjusting her hat.  She liked going fast in the buggy; even when riding her horse the idea of speed enthralled her. The wind in her hair, whipping against her face, making her eyes water.  It symbolised her life, her freedoms now.  She sighed.

 

“I didn’t mind you going faster than usual, Joe.”

 

“I know, don’t think we hadn’t noticed, Hester.  You give my Pa a heart attack every time you say you’re going out riding, you do know that, don’t you?” he grinned, although something lurking in the back of his eyes warned her to take care about how she answered.

 

“I can understand how you all feel, Joe.  Accidents happen, don’t they?”

 

“Yes,” he nodded and averted his face from her blue eyed gaze. “Yes, they do.”

 

Marie’s death, Hester sighed; it still pained them, even now, after all these years.  No one seemed to mourn the death either of Inger, or of Elizabeth in quite the same way as they did about Marie.  Perhaps because the legacy of grief was more far-reaching, a debt weighing down upon a small child and the other sons who had to live with the misery of that little boy.  She drew in her breath and slipped her arm through his, and leaned slightly against him, shoulder against shoulder.

 

“I’ll try to be more careful, but it’s hard, Joe, I just love riding and feeling the wind in my hair.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” He cleared his throat and gripped the reins tightly.

 

There was a morning a long time ago when a lovely woman dressed in a velvet green riding habit had swirled into the house with a laugh; her skirts had flounced around her ankles and the riding whip in her hand had nearly knocked over one of Ben’s favourite ornaments.  He could remember his own laughter as he had run to her and thrown himself into her arms.  This was his Mama, and she looked lovely in her new riding habit that Shaughnessy had made her.

 

“Ben, I’m going out riding.”

 

“Riding—dressed like that—”

 

Joe recalled looking at his father, wondering why he had spoken in that way, seen the twinkling eyes and the wide grin on his father’s face which had elicited more laughter from his mother as she hugged her little boy tightly to her.

 

“Don’t you like it?” and her voice had deepened; there was a little bit of laughter still there as an undercurrent in her words.

 

“I—think—you look too beautiful in it, Marie.”

 

“Oh, Ben, I love riding so much, and feeling the wind in my hair—”

 

Adam had been there; his voice had carried into the conversation from behind them. “Mind it doesn’t blow your hat away—” and that had brought more laughter, although Joe hadn’t understood why.

 

“Odd, isn’t it?” he sighed now and looked at Hester, who was watching the road as it snaked along its way ahead of them, “Sometimes you remind me of my Ma.”

 

“Do I?  Is that a bad thing?”

 

“No, not at all…” he paused, “Sometimes…”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Her voice had a catch in it; he looked down at her in time to see a tear trickle down her face before she had had time to brush it aside.

 

“No, there’s no need to be, Hester.  It’s just that there hasn’t been a woman in the house—I mean—a Mrs. Cartwright in the house since Mama.  You laugh and sing, you play the piano terribly badly, and you make Hoss happy.”

 

“Oh, yes—and does that make your father unhappy?”

 

Joe laughed and shook his head, “I think Pa still can’t believe that one of us actually got married, especially to such a beauty as you.”

 

“Oh, I’m not beautiful.” she sighed and sat in a more erect posture, leaving a slight gap between them.  “I’d hate to think I was causing your father, or yourself, any pain at all.”

 

“Pa just worries when you go out riding, sometimes he—”

 

“—he thinks of your mother that day of the accident?”

 

“Yes; she was an excellent rider, the horse was dependable, and—” he stopped, bit his lip. What was the point in conducting another inquest on it, after all these years? He shook his head. “He just worries.  It’s like with Adam, you see, he worries about Adam because having been a seaman himself he knows what kind of dangers there are for him out there.”

 

“I understand.  I promise never to catch a boat or go sailing on the lake.”

 

He laughed again, but his brow furrowed slightly.  He wished now that he hadn’t mentioned Adam as it unleashed other unbidden thoughts and concerns into his mind.  He bit his bottom lip and stared out at the road.

 

“I just don’t seem to be able to do anything right,” Hester suddenly said as they were about to take the curve on the track that led them over the bridge at Miller’s Creek, “I thought I could cook quite well until I came here, but Hop Sing—well, he has everything so under control that I’ve totally lost my confidence.  There’s so much to learn and adapt to, Joe, being married to Hoss and everything.”

 

“Everything?” Joe raised an eyebrow

 

“Adjustments to life—things like that.” She turned away to look at the water flowing beneath the bridge; the wooden planks clattered together as the horses and buggy passed over them, reeds bent to the currents of the water. “It’s not just being married to Hoss though—”

 

“You’d rather be living in your own place, like Ann and Candy?”

 

She blushed just a little then and bowed her head, her hands she folded neatly into her lap.

 

“I guess so. Then any mistakes I make are just between Hoss and me.”  She frowned, “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, or even to sound ungrateful, but that’s why I’m so clumsy at the moment.” She paused and chewed her lips for a second or two. “To be honest, I have always been clumsy to some degree, but at the moment I seem to be excelling myself.”

 

“Well, Hester, if it really worries you perhaps you should discuss it with Hoss.” He sighed, “I guess it would have been easier on you if I had married Victoria.”

 

“Not really.  Victoria could play the piano wonderfully—remember?”

 

They slipped into a silence then that lasted a further ten minutes and two miles.  She glanced over at him. “Have you heard from Victoria at all?”

 

“Just one letter a few days ago.” He rubbed the side of his nose self-consciously. “She’s settled into her job, enjoying life there, misses everyone…that’s all.”

 

“That’s all?” she echoed slowly.

 

“Yep, that’s all,” he said and slapped the reins down on the horses’ rumps so that they leapt forward into a faster gallop. 

 

From that Hester accepted the fact that the matter was closed.

 

………………

 

In the hotel room the sun sent shafts of light spangling across the carpeted floor that fell upon the man who sat at the desk reading through the letter he had been writing.  Satisfied with its contents, he now blotted it and put it into its envelope.  He held a stub of red wax to the flame of a candle and then watched as heavy globules of wax dropped upon the white paper.  The wax dripped like drops of dark blood upon the virginal vellum. Satisfied that enough had sealed the paper, Adam removed his signet ring and pressed it upon the wax leaving a perfect Ponderosa Pine imprinted upon it.

 

He leaned back in his chair and for a moment sat looking at the envelope he held between his fingers, tapping one corner slowly against the blotter as though perhaps he had not written enough, or maybe had written too much.  He turned it over in his hand and glanced at the address he had previously written there, and then nodded to himself, pursed his lips and set the letter down.  His father, he knew, would deal with the matter as he saw fit.

 

He had removed his jacket, leaving it draped over a chair, and now he began to unpack his uniform, which he placed in the rather elegant wardrobe.  He was in the act of removing his shirts when there came a knock on the door. Upon his calling “Enter” the door opened to admit a young man in naval uniform.

 

He had removed his hat and saluted as Adam turned to survey him, and then with a gesture that should have been heralded by at least half a dozen trumpets he produced an envelope from his pocket and handed it over to Adam.

 

“For your attention only, Commodore.”

 

Adam nodded. That much he had already assumed, seeing that only his title and name appeared on the envelope, in handwriting that he recognised.  He looked at the young naval attaché, who saluted and stood smartly to attention.

 

“Is the writer waiting for a reply?”

 

“No, sir, none was indicated. I daresay—”

 

“Very well, thank you.”  He turned away, heard the door close and glanced over his shoulder to ensure that he was alone.

 

He looked at the writing on the envelope and frowned slightly before he walked over to the window, and from there watched as the young naval attaché descended the steps of the hotel and proceeded to get into a cab which rolled its way out of sight.  Adam remained at the window for a while, loath now to touch the letter and to have its contents revealed.  He continued with his unpacking with such a lack of resolution that he found himself wishing more than ever that he had remained at home with his family.

 

Thinking so brought back memories of Hoss’ wedding day to Hester, the warmth of the sun upon their backs, the words said, and the love shown.  He sighed and bowed his head as he recalled the pleasure in his father’s and brothers’ faces upon seeing him there, and the way Hester had looked at him, half-smiled, unsure and uncertain, hoping for acceptance and waiting for him to show it.

 

Now he sighed again and resumed his unpacking.  His mind drifted over the possibility that he had been ordered to accept instant dismissal, to return home to his beloved Ponderosa, that there was no longer any need for a man like him who only served when it appeared to suit him.

 

He grimaced, a downturn of the mouth; after all it hadn’t suited him at times to be sent places where it was either too hot, or too cold, where he never knew who or where his enemies were, but he had accepted it all as his duty.  Blind duty some would say, but now he had said no and as a result—well—perhaps he could go home.

 

…………………..

 

Joe flexed his shoulders, looked up at the sky and then up and down the road.  Hester was talking to Ann, her cousin, both standing close to the milliner’s shop where bonnets seemed to flourish.  Engrossed in their conversation, neither woman seemed particularly bothered by bonnets, feathers and fancies, and Joe wondered if it was possible for them to end their conversation, go their separate ways and not even give the hats a moment’s notice.

 

He was watching them closely when he recognised Paul Martin walking towards him with a smile on his face and a stranger by his side.  Joe watched them approach with a grin, his hazel eyes warm as he waited to greet his old family friend and to welcome the newcomer.

 

“Joe, glad to have found you today, this is my nephew, Dr. John Martin.  John, this is Joseph Cartwright, the youngest son of Ben Cartwright of the Ponderosa.”

 

The younger men shook hands and took stock of one another, smiled and nodded, both feeling mutually pleased at liking what they saw of the other.

 

“Going to stay here long?”

 

“I hope so, Mr. Cartwright, I hope so.”

 

“Call me Joe, most everyone else does.” 

 

John smiled again and nodded, he glanced at his uncle and then once again at Joe.

 

“I heard from my Uncle that you and your brothers practically got his practice up and running with all the calls he had to make on you when he first moved here.”

 

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Joe laughed. “We owe your Uncle a lot, John, he’s been a loyal doctor as well as a good friend.”

 

“John, I helped bring this young man into the world—a mite early at the time as it happened.  He’s been impatient ever since.”

 

“Again—quite true.” Joe smiled and was about to speak when he was aware of Hester approaching them. He turned to her and took her elbow. “Dr. John Martin, may I introduce my sister–in-law, Hester Cartwright.”

 

John Martin removed his hat and shook her hand, bowing slightly over it.

 

“A pleasure, Mrs. Cartwright.”

 

“And a pleasure to meet you too, Dr. Martin.”

 

“John is Paul’s nephew,” Joe explained. “He’s going to stay and give Paul a hand here.”

 

“That is good news,” Hester’s smile broadened, “I am pleased, Dr. Martin; Paul has been hard-pressed for help for such a long time now.”

 

“I had noticed that the medical profession isn’t  well represented here in Virginia City,” the younger Dr. Martin said, and he frowned; a slight furrow appeared over his eyebrows and the grey of his eyes darkened. “The hospital seems poorly staffed.”

 

“A fine building though, you must admit that—” Paul said quickly, hoping that his nephew wasn’t going to ruin his good first impression by appearing pompous.

 

“Yes, a fine building, three stories high and able to accommodate 60 male patients and 14 females.  That’s quite a good ratio, although I think perhaps a few more doctors and nurses on the wards would be better for the town.”

 

“Shucks, when it was first built as the county hospital in 1865 it wasn’t used for quite a while; there just weren’t enough doctors hereabouts.” Joe smiled good-naturedly. “Dr. Pinkerton * was the visiting surgeon, but it was Paul who was the doctor we all called upon and relied on; isn’t that so, sir?”

 

Paul, caught in a reverie of past battles to get more doctors, nodded and smiled, then he sighed. “Most of our patients died before they even reached the hospital, John.  Life in a mining town isn’t like back home, as you’ll soon find out.”

 

John laughed, a good deep laugh, and nodded.

 

“Oh, I can see that already, Uncle, and looking forward to being of service.” He looked again at Hester, who was regarding him with a faintly bored look on her face. “I hope to see you again, Mrs. Cartwright.”

 

“Of course, I hope so also, Dr. Martin.”  She smiled, the deep blue of her eyes darkened and a wisp of golden copper hair trailed from beneath her bonnet; this she caught up and tucked behind her ear.

 

“You’re not from hereabouts, are you?”

 

“No, I’m from New York.” 

 

“I thought so.” He smiled again. “Well, I think my Uncle wants me to meet more of the populace, so—goodbye again.”

 

He nodded to them both and resumed his walk through the town.  For a moment Joe and Hester watched them, Joe with a vague smile on his face, and Hester with a slight frown.

 

“Well, that will help Paul’s workload,” Joe eventually managed to say, and then he turned to Hester, “Time to get back?”

 

“Did you post your father’s letter?”

 

“I did.”

 

“What about that jacket you were considering buying?”

 

“No, I changed my mind.”

 

“Oh, was it the wrong colour?”

 

“Mmm, I like my green one.”

 

“Oh Joe, that is getting a bit threadbare now,” she sighed and took his arm “If you get a new jacket then I can buy a—”

 

“No, you can’t—” Joe turned her around and began to walk her towards where the buggy was waiting, “What did you think of our new doctor?” 

 

“You’re changing the subject.” she laughed.

 

“I merely asked a sensible question, Hester.”

 

“Mmm, well, I don’t know him, do I?  On first acquaintance he seems a bit—well—a bit of a prig.”

 

Joe laughed. That wasn’t exactly what he would have said, but it seemed to sum up the doctor pretty well. 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

The letter had contained instructions to see ‘Mr. Smith’ later that evening.  It was written in ‘Mr. Smith’s own handwriting, the language was curt and to the point. Having only ever received one letter from ‘Mr. Smith’ before, Adam concluded nothing untoward from the way it had been written but returned it to its envelope and put it into his jacket pocket.

 

Prior to his appointment, he bathed, shaved and dressed in his uniform and ate in the hotel’s restaurant.  He was surprised, but should not have been, by the prompt attention he received from the hotel management.  The presence of a commodore in the United States Navy could only, after all, enhance the prestige of the hotel’s reputation.

 

The lateness of the hour did not appear to make much difference to the number of staff attending to presidential business.  As Adam was led through numerous corridors to the president’s study he was passed continually by anxious looking men, some in uniform, who were retained in order to keep the president’s finger on the pulse of America’s problems.  A soldier presented arms at his approach to the president’s personal chambers, and the door was opened for his admittance.

 

The room was empty.  Light shone from the various gas lamps that were installed from the ceiling and on the walls.  Shadows flickered in corners created by the large bookcases and heavy furniture.  As he stepped further into the room, a maid entered behind him and pulled heavy drapes across the window so that the reflection of the room and himself were suddenly brought to an end.

 

He walked to one of the bookcases and stood there with his hands clasped behind his back as he looked over the titles of the books there;  all mighty tomes on law and history, none of which appealed to him.  He turned and surveyed the room thoughtfully for a moment and was about to check the time by the ornate clock on the mantel when a door opened behind the desk, and Grant entered the room at last.

 

The door was not obvious: a well camouflaged detail cut into the wooden panels and made to resemble part of the wall.  It slid shut with a silence that indicated regular use and frequent oiling.

 

“I’m glad you came, Commodore.  Please sit down.”

 

Grant’s voice was less brusque, less defensive now.  He looked over at Adam as the tall, broad-shouldered officer took a seat opposite him.  He smiled; his eyes appeared conciliatory, and his whole demeanour was that of a man more comfortable with himself and his visitor.

 

“Are you alright?  Have you eaten?” he asked the questions even as he took out his cigar case and offered it to Adam, who declined with a motion of his head.

 

“Yes, thank you, I ate at my hotel.”

 

“And you are…alright?”

 

“So far as I am aware…yes, thank you, Mr. President.”

 

“Were you surprised at my letter?”

 

Adam paused and cleared his throat. “Well, yes and no.”

 

Grant smiled and went through the procedures necessary to get his cigar alight, then he looked at Adam through the haze of smoke and nodded. “I know what you mean.  You expected some kind of letter from the president but not one from Mr. Smith.”

 

Adam inclined his head, narrowed his eyes and surveyed Grant thoughtfully.  He wondered why Grant continued with this pretence of a Mr. Smith, and how many people knew of this alter ego and why it had to be manifested whenever he was in the vicinity.  He suddenly wished that his old friend Jeffrey Jamieson was alive and well and able to provide him with the answers to such questions.

 

“Adam, you have to understand that I am under a lot of pressure from my generals with regard to the matter of the Black Hills.  Since Custer was there last and spilled out about how much gold there is there to the press it’s been nigh on impossible to ignore him and the whole darn pack of them.  There is no possible way I can prevent my armies—America’s armies—from encroaching into Indian Territory.”

 

“I know, I realised that several years ago when I last met Custer.  The Sioux, Arapaho, Cheyenne and Kiowa they know it too.  They are no doubt already gathering together at the place they call the Pa’ha Sa’pa for what is to come sometime..”

 

“I doubt if it will be for a few years yet,” Grant replied. “But you think it will be sooner?” His eyes narrowed and he gave Adam a sharp look of appraisal.

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it were. Custer is a determined and ambitious young man, and—” he paused, pursed his lips and shook his head, deciding to abandon what he was about to say.  Instead he turned the subject to what had happened earlier and asked Grant why he had been brought in to discussions with the army about the matter.

 

“I couldn’t think of a better more qualified man than yourself to undertake the job, with Sarah Winnemucca as your interpreter.”  Grant frowned, drew hard on the cigar so that his face was obscured by the smoke, then he exhaled slowly. “But it was a feeble attempt to gain time really.  You mentioned about Fetterman earlier—”  he looked thoughtfully at Adam then sighed, “I got all the facts about that, and you’re right, there were far more  Sioux and Cheyenne killed there as a result of that man’s stupidity…or perhaps…his overconfidence.”

 

“They were still wanting revenge for what happened to their families at Sand Creek,” Adam explained.

 

“Yes, I am aware of that,” Grant nodded. “War is a messy business, Adam; the Civil War we’ve just passed through was particularly bloody, unjust, cruel.  Whether it should have been fought or not is now a matter for historians, not us.”

 

Adam refrained from speaking.  He had no wish to open up his heart to any man about his feeling regarding the Civil War.  That time had passed, and life was far different now as a result.

 

“Now then, the real reason I want you here, Commodore, is because I need you to undertake a favour for me.  It isn’t particularly dangerous, and I’m hoping that you won’t find it too boring—” he paused and looked down at the floor as though he needed to find the right words before speaking them. “However, it could lead to something important,  important, for us all.  It could even prevent a war.”

 

“With whom?”

 

“That’s the trouble, we don’t yet know.”  He put the cigar down and unlocked a drawer from which he pulled a folder.  He opened it and scanned some of the papers contained inside before looking at Adam again. “You know a young man named Laurence Willoughby?  An Englishman whom you met in the Kurils?”

 

“Yes, I do.  Is he involved in this matter?”

 

“Only by way of being a courier.  He’ll meet you at your hotel tomorrow morning, and from there you will go with him and board your ship.  You’ll know her well enough; it’s the Baltimore.”

 

Adam’s lips twitched slightly, and he inclined his head.

 

“Where am I to take him, Mr. President?”

 

“Initially to England.  I want you to keep close to him.  He will be your intermediary with the English connection in regards to this matter.  The main problem is that we know so little about things, groping in the dark really, and basing all our supposition and fear on rumour.  Unfortunately a lot of the rumour from that quarter has always been well founded and proven accurate in the past.”  Grant stood up and paced the floor for a moment before finally pausing at his desk and picking up the folder.  He then crossed the floor and gave it to Adam, who, already on his feet as etiquette required, took it. “There isn’t much information there.  It’ll be like groping about in a fog at first, but as matters get clearer you’ll know what to do.  You usually do.” He looked at Adam with a smile; his eyes flashed warmth and respect for the younger man and he gripped his arm tightly. “I’m sorry about this afternoon, Adam, but I really need you to help clear this matter up.”

 

Adam looked down at the folder and shook his head “I’m only a seaman, sir; I’m not a diplomat, or a politician.  Are you sure you’re sending the right man?”

 

“Yes, I am.  For one thing, you know Willoughby already, there’s some trust between you.  Secondly, you have a nose for trouble, and if there’s any truth in these rumours, then you’ll find it out.  You being a seaman, even if a high ranking one, will prevent anyone being suspicious of you, could even help—”  he paused, looked over his shoulder as though he had heard a noise, then he dropped his hand from Adam’s arm and returned to his desk. “Take as long as is necessary.  I have every confidence that you’ll know exactly what to do.”

 

He picked up his cigar, nodded and left the room in the same manner in which he had arrived.  Adam was left standing in its centre with the folder in his hands and perplexity in his mind.  But he eventually left the room.  The door was closed behind him by the soldier on duty outside, and another soldier led him through the maze of corridors to a side door where a carriage awaited to take him back to the hotel.

 

Two men watched him as he entered the cab and it drew away from the curbside.  They were looking down from a window some floors up from the road and said nothing as the cab threaded its way through the traffic, somewhat sparse at such a late hour. Secretary Fish smiled.  “Well, there he goes, our President’s tame maverick.”

 

“Don’t say that, Harold; there’s nothing tame about Commodore Cartwright, believe me.”  George Custer sighed and tugged at his beard thoughtfully. “I wonder where the president’s sending him.”

 

“I don’t know,” Harold Fish replied slowly, “No doubt we shall find out sooner or later.  One thing I can assure you; it isn’t to the Black Hills.”

 

 

Chapter 5

 

In the cab the light of the street lamps flickered through the windows, casting light and shade over the countenance of the man within.  Deep in thought, Adam stared out into the thoroughfare, noticing the movement of traffic and the slow pace of pedestrians.  In a strange way he noticed without seeing or registering anything for his mind was too busy going over the interview he had just had with Grant.

 

When the cab finally drew up at the Hotel Grammond and he had paid his fare, he had reached some conclusions.  Firstly, that the president had not told him everything that he knew for there had been far too little information given about something so important as an impending or threatening war.  If such a war was to be averted then why was it so necessary to go to England to  be told whereabouts the threat came from and why had Grant prevaricated on so many issues?

 

The second issue really was a foregone conclusion, and that was the war on the Plains Indians would go ahead at some time in the future but Grant did not want him involved.  A favour, Grant had said, a small favour, and then spoken about avoiding a war.  But that would be no small errand; it was something a diplomat should be sent to negotiate, not a seaman blundering in and hoping for some chance encounter that would put everything to rights.

 

He mounted the steps to the hotel feeling that respect for the president had worn thin, and that if the man respected him, Adam Cartwright, as a man of honour and integrity then he could, at least, have been more honest with him.

 

Adam was able to find an atlas in the hotel’s book room; the shelves were too empty of books to earn the title of a library.  For a while before turning in for the night he looked over the maps that bore a pale shade of pink, denoting that they were part of the British Empire.  His finger traced the lines of longitude and latitude over pages of lands that he felt would be of some concern to the American Government. 

 

As he closed the atlas for the last time, the only thing he felt he had learned, or rather, had confirmed, was that the British Empire really did reach from one end of the world to the other.  There had been an old saying that the sun never set upon it, and never had a saying been proven truer.

 

It still left him wondering which little pink spot was the one with the problem that could spill into trouble for America.

 

From the window of his room he could see the dark shadow of the Potomac River reflecting the lights from the moon, and the ships.  He slowly turned away and began to remove his clothing. “Sufficient unto the day,” so the Good Book said, but he knew this day had been a significant—even a strange—one, and it wouldn’t end until he was finally able to drift into sleep.

 

……………………

 

Rain splattered against the windows of his room and roused him from sleep early in the morning.  For a few minutes he remained  still, his arms folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as he went over the conversation he had had with Grant the previous evening.  After that he went over the time spent in Grant’s office with the generals and Secretary Fish.  He called to mind the way they had looked at him, except for Fish who had kept his eyes down on the papers Grant had left on his desk.

 

It was no good, he told himself yet again, going over what had been done and said yesterday was already too late as things were already set in motion for today.  With a sense of weariness he struggled out of bed and began his ablutions for the day.

 

So, he was going to have the Baltimore for use on this adventure.  He smiled slowly even as he lathered up the soap over his chin and jaw.  Perhaps Grant knew more than he had told him and the Baltimore was some form of bribe to keep his interest.  He shook his head and began to shave  slowly.  No, Grant wouldn’t play games, and he knew better than to try to bribe a man who was and had already proven his loyalty time and again.  The Baltimore was obviously the best choice, and perhaps the best available at this time.

 

He ran his hand over his jaw line and chin, satisfied at its smoothness, and rinsed his face free from any remaining soap.  Ablutions concluded, he dressed himself and went down to the restaurant for breakfast.  He could well have had the meal in his own room, but he was an inquisitive and gregarious person.  Months at sea left him with an interest in being surrounded with people when he had the opportunity.

 

A tall man stepped towards him with a smile and his hand extended in greeting. “Good morning, Commodore.  I hope the sight of me won’t put you off your breakfast?”

 

Laurence Willoughby had not changed much in the few months since they had parted.  He was smartly dressed, much more so than previously, and his hair was tidy, despite the fact that it still flopped heavily over his brow.  His smile was warm and friendly, and there was no denying the pleasure at seeing Adam again that gleamed now in his eyes.

 

“Good morning, Willoughby; it’s good to see you again.” Adam clasped the other man’s hand tightly, “Have you eaten yet?  Care to join me?” he gestured towards the restaurant where tantalising smells lingered and Laurence smiled, nodded and walked with the commodore into the room.

 

Laurence was helped by a valet with the removal of his damp coat which still shone like rhinestones from the raindrops.  Once freed from the cumbersome garment he sat down at the table and looked over at Adam,

 

“How are you now, Commodore?  I heard that you had been injured during your return trip home from the Kurils.”

 

“You heard right.” Adam smiled drily, “Our passenger—”

 

“Cassandra Pelman?”

 

“Yes—well, she tried to escape and shot me in passing.”

 

Laurence was quiet for a moment, then sighed, “I heard she was dead.”

 

“Suicide.”

 

“Oh.”  He bit his bottom lip; his blue eyes widened. “I didn’t know.”

 

Adam gave a slight shrug, and raised his eyes to look more closely at Willoughby.  It seemed  strange that the young man should be here in Washington when only a few months ago he had been in the Kuril Islands, and apparently, determined to stay there for some time.  Well…he shrugged again…no doubt there would be a good explanation to come but a crowded restaurant wasn’t going to be the place to receive it.

 

“She was  beautiful, wasn’t she?” Willoughby sighed wistfully.

 

“Yes, she was,  beautiful and  tragic.  Her whole life was—well—a mess.”  Adam glanced around the room. “She chose her own way of escape from it.”

 

There was nothing left for Willoughby to add to that, so he merely sighed again and concentrated on his meal.  Probably the only thing he would remember from it was that the coffee was excellent and that Adam had paid for it.

 

It was agreed during the course of the meal that they would talk on the Baltimore in Adam’s quarters.  Both men had their bags ready and waiting in the foyer and within minutes were joining them in the hansom making its way to the Baltimore.

 

……………………..

 

 

It was George Custer who was the first to mention the whereabouts of the commodore at the meeting of generals in the president’s office.  In a slow drawl he casually enquired whether or not the ”gentleman” would be joining them at any time during the morning’s discussion.

 

Grant released his breath slowly before looking around at each one of the men there, then lowered his head to continue reading the papers on his desk.  He knew every man there would give his life for him, but he also knew that each one of them could be trusted with only so much information about what really went on in his life.

 

Harold Fish entered the room and placed a letter on the desk which Grant  glanced at before pushing to one side. He leaned back in his chair and looked directly at Custer, who was staring out of the window stroking his moustache with the back of one hand.

 

“Commodore Cartwright won’t be joining us here today, nor any other day either come to that—” he noticed the way Custer’s shoulders tightened and then relaxed, the way the handsome head turned into his direction with a gleam in his eyes that was more revealing than anything he could have said, as he nodded and looked in Sheridan’s direction. “I had to send him on an errand for me.”

 

“An errand?” Sheridan frowned, “Whereabouts would this errand be exactly, Mr. President?”

 

Grant fidgeted, picked up a paper knife, and turned it over and over in between his fingers.  He could sense Custer leaving the vicinity of the window and glanced up to see the man walking slowly towards the wall where the map was hanging in all its glory.

 

“I can’t imagine the commodore being anybody’s errand boy…” his words were accompanied with a cynical twist to the corners of his mouth.

 

“He isn’t,” Grant snapped sharply, “I assure you, gentlemen, he isn’t—” he frowned, bit his lip and then reached out for a cigar. “As far as you are all concerned, Adam Cartwright will not be involved in what we are concerned about here.”

 

Each man there exhaled, relaxed, glanced at one another and gave hidden smiles to one another.

 

“What about Sarah Winnemucca?” Sherman said slowly.

 

“A delegation has been sent to meet with her,” Sheridan replied and looked over at Grant. “That is what you agreed, isn’t it?”

 

“I don’t think it will achieve anything, but yes, it is what I agreed,” Grant muttered and cut off the end of his cigar with the razor-sharp instrument designed for that purpose.  Just for a fraction of a moment he imagined it being a far larger instrument parked on Capitol Hill where certain heads could be cut off neatly; he brushed the picture from his mind and with a sigh and a certain gruffness he said, “No, I don’t think it will have much success at all.”

 

“Is that what Commodore Cartwright said or what you think?” Sherman ventured to say and looked directly into Grant’s face.

 

That, Grant thought, was the problem: he and Sheridan and Sherman had gone through too much together, they knew each other too well, and as a result could venture to speak out about things that others would not dare to even think.  He cleared his throat.

 

“An answer to that question is irrelevant.” He jammed the cigar between his teeth, struck a match and looked through the flame at Custer who had a slight frown on his brow.

 

“So the commodore isn’t going to be anywhere in the vicinity of the Black Hills, I take it?”

 

“He won’t be anywhere near America for some time to come,” Fish said softly, and his eyes flicked from the president to Custer. “Not from what I understand, anyway.”

 

Grant blew out the match and looked thoughtfully at Harold Fish.  It came into his mind that perhaps Mr. Fish’s head could be the first one to roll, followed closely by that of Glorious George.

 

“In that case, sir…” Custer leaned forward with a smile barely noticeable beneath the hair that adorned his upper lip. “May I suggest that we consider the possibility of employing the services of the commodore’s brother … Joseph Cartwright.”

 

 

Chapter 6

 

“Officer boarding!” The cry rang through the ship’s company and immediately the men left whatever tasks they were dealing with to form up in position on the main deck.  As Adam walked up the gangplank, the sound of the piping welcoming him on board was heard overhead.  He wondered if he would ever get used to the sound and the realisation that it was meant for him.  Behind him Willoughby raised his head and listened, paused, and then continued to step along behind the commodore.

 

The men saluted as soon as he made his way through the gangway, a salute that he returned while his eyes roamed over the faces for some that would be familiar to him.  He turned as his officers approached.

 

“Welcome on board, Commodore Cartwright.”  Lieutenant Aaron Hathaway saluted with a smile on his lean face. 

 

 

“Ship’s company all present and correct, Commodore.”  Another familiar voice and he turned to see second Lieutenant Myers with a smile on his face.

 

“Gentlemen, you may remember Lord Willoughby” he indicated the Englishman who stepped forward, both officers nodded, and then returned their attention to their first officer. “We have business to discuss and orders to read.  Meet me in my cabin in one hour’s time for a briefing.” He smiled. “It’s good to be with you both again.”

 

“That’s what we thought as well, sir,” Myers said promptly.

 

“Very good.  Dismiss the men and tell them to prepare to cast off before mid day.  I take it we have a full complement of men on board?”

 

“Yes, sir, everyone’s on board and prepared to leave upon your saying so.” Hathaway replied.

 

Adam nodded and made his way to the cabin, thinking as he did so that it had been his friend O’Brien’s domain only a few short months ago.  He paused at the entrance and glanced up for a sight of the sails.  He couldn’t hold back a sigh at seeing none, and had to accept the fact that that this was no elegant clipper, but the most modern steam ship in the American navy.

 

……………………

 

While his personal belongings were being brought into the cabin by two of the men, Adam checked out the room, peered through the porthole, glanced over the collection of books on the shelf and lamented the lack of decent prose and poetry, muttering under his breath that O’Brien was a barbarian.

 

As soon as the two men had gone there was a tapping on the door and a youth peered into the room, caught Adam’s eye and stepped inside with a smart salute. “I’m your steward, sir.”

 

“Good, perhaps you could get us some coffee,” Adam said more abruptly than he had intended. He softened the request by giving the young man a smile and requesting his name.

 

“Joseph Wesley Lloyd, sir.”

 

Adam nodded, waited for the door to close and then indicated that Willoughby take a chair while he himself brought another to sit opposite him.

 

“I thought you were going to stay in the Kurils for a while to carry on painting,” he smiled as he spoke.

 

“I had intended to do so,” Willoughby nodded. “Just a few days after you left, I was summoned to the governor there—you remember him, a little old chap looked a bit like a wizened up old goat?” 

 

Adam nodded slowly at the memory of the sad old man who was governor* of the Japanese territories of the Kurils.

 

 Willoughby continued, “He gave me a letter from my brother, the one in government I told you about—”

 

“Charles?”

 

“Yes, that’s the one.” Willoughby chewed on his bottom lip for a second or two, during which time there was another knock on the door. The steward, Lloyd, opened the door and brought in coffee, set it upon the table and waited to be told whether to stay or to leave. Adam indicated the door, and upon the steward’s departure he poured out the coffee.

 

“So what did this letter say?”

 

“I was to leave the islands at once and go to the American consulate in Tokyo.”

 

“You saw Mr. Bingham?*”  Adam passed the cup of steaming coffee to the Englishman who looked rather thoughtfully at the brew, glanced up sadly at Adam and sighed as he accepted it.  “I’m sorry, I guess you’d have preferred

some tea?”

 

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Willoughby murmured and smiled pleasantly up at his host. “I saw Bingham, who gave me a letter to give to your president. I did ask him why he had to haul me away from the islands and not send an American; I mean, for heaven’s sake, there were enough of them lounging around the place.”

 

“Perhaps so, but obviously not one that he could trust or use.” Adam leaned against the chair back and sipped the coffee. “Do you know what was in the letter?”

 

“No, but he said it involved both our countries.  I had to wait for orders from the president as to what to do once I had delivered the letter.”

 

“How long ago was it that you arrived here?”

 

“About five days ago. I’ve basically been hanging around the place kicking my heels until yesterday when I was told to meet you at your hotel and prepare for departure to England.”

 

Adam nodded thoughtfully and walked to the porthole again.  As he observed the activities of the men on the wharf side, he thought over all that Willoughby had said, and gave a half smile when considering how certain Grant was that he would accept this assignment.

 

“Have you been to England before, sir?”

 

He glanced over his shoulder at Willoughby and nodded. “Once or twice, but briefly and not for some time.”

 

“Commodore—” he paused and  frowned, then with a nervous hand pushed back the thick blond hair from his brow. “I should warn you that this journey may not be as easy as it first appears.”

 

“Really?  What makes you say that?”

 

“Well, there’s already been one attempt on my life since I got here.” He cleared his throat. “Someone took a shot at me when I was out walking two days ago.”

 

Adam looked at Willoughby now with keener eyes as though seeing him for the first time since they had entered the cabin. “You’re sure it was at you?”

 

“Definitely; the bullet passed through the sleeve of my jacket.”

 

“Just the one shot?”

 

“No, several, but that was the shot that came closest to doing any harm.”  The young man scowled. “Ruined my jacket.”

 

“What happened to the shooter, to the man who fired at you?  Did he get away?”

 

“Well, I wasn’t armed.  I didn’t think I’d need weapons here.  I just yelled and shouted. People were scattering out of the way as you can imagine, and then some chap came by and grabbed my arm, shoved me against a tree and told me to wait there.”

 

Adam smiled,  “How long did you wait for?” 

 

“Oh I didn’t,” Willoughby drawled, “I watched him run off in the direction of the gunshots, and then walked back to my hotel.  If they wanted me for information they’d know where to find me; that kind of person always does.”

 

“Yes, that kind of person always does,” Adam repeated the words softly and pursed his lips. “I hate working in the dark—” he paused “by that I mean, I dislike not having all the facts.” He stared thoughtfully at the wooden panels of the door for a moment or two, before looking again at the Englishman. “I can’t believe whoever shot at you would leave it at just the one attempt, do you?”

 

“Perhaps just a warning?”  Laurence quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe once he realised I wasn’t so easily intimidated he decided to leave me alone.”

 

“Perhaps.” Adam nodded, and poured them both more coffee, “Laurence, are you sure you don’t know what’s going on?  The last time I was sent off with secret papers, several good men got killed, and we nearly got into a war with Russia.”

 

“Oh I say.” Laurence’s eyes widened, “I can’t see this being anywhere near as exciting as that.”

 

“And you really were just delivering a letter to President Grant from Mr. Bingham?”

 

“Yes, that’s all.”

 

Laurence stretched out his legs and, noting the anxious look on Adam’s face, he smiled genially. “Look, old chap, there’s no need to fret so.  Charles could have easily written to the president himself, but for some reason Bingham had to be involved somehow.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “Anyway, I couldn’t come direct from the Kurils to America.  If I were going home I would still have had to go to Tokyo to get a ship to England.  It’s all one and the same thing.” he paused a moment before continuing “Anyway, if it’s all the same to you, sir, I think I’ll get the things organised in my cabin before we set sail, just in case I need something, then one of your men could go get it for me.” He smiled lazily, pleasantly, and left the room.

 

Adam frowned; he sat down in the vacated chair and stared at the coffee pot as though it held all the answers to all the questions ever asked in the world.  Instinct told him that Willoughby’s opinion regarding the dangers of the journey were correct.  For a moment he wished that Jeffrey Jamieson was still alive.  If anyone would have known what was going on, Jeffrey would, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to have warned his friends of the dangers involved as a result.

 

…………………….

 

For a brief moment the president of the United States was alone.  He stared thoughtfully at the map on the wall before he turned with a sigh and walked slowly towards the window in order to look out onto the formal gardens beyond.

 

In the background he could hear the hum of voices, footsteps, all the usual sounds of a busy and efficient administration in which every individual worked on behalf of the American people.  That was what he had thought once, he sighed, but his conscience plagued him with the knowledge that there was one individual whom he had disappointed, whose integrity and honesty he had not respected.

 

He looked thoughtfully at the ash gathering at the end of the cigar and wondered if Adam Cartwright had realised his president’s duplicity, and having asked himself that he had to be honest enough with himself to admit that yes, an honest man like Cartwright had an instinct when it came to another man’s lack of trust or truth.

 

He flicked ash from the cigar with the tip of his little finger and sighed.  Honest men were hard to find, and he had, with regret, perhaps lost the respect of one of them.  He turned from the window as the door opened with his mind pondering over Adam Cartwright’s reaction when he learned what plans they had made in connection with his youngest brother.  Even as he nodded acknowledgement to the newcomer he felt a slight shiver of approbation trickle down his back.

 

………………..

 

Adam was chewing on his thumb in contemplation when there was a light knock and Willoughby stepped inside the cabin and closed the door  carefully behind him.

 

“Well,” he said in his quiet cultured English drawl, “someone has been going through my belongings, and I don’t mean just to hang my clothes up in the closet.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Oh yes, perfectly sure.”

 

“Is there anything missing?”

 

“Yes.”  Willoughby nodded, “A letter.”  He smiled then, a flash of a smile, “Don’t worry, it was the right envelope, but the letter was just a list of paints I need to buy when I get to London.”

 

“And the original letter?”

 

“That’s still where it should be, thank goodness.”

 

Adam frowned, looked thoughtfully at Willoughby and shook his head.  In another hour they would be casting off to sea.  He picked up his hat and pulled open the door,

 

“I need to see my officers and give the men their orders.  Is our course set for London, Mr. Willoughby?”

 

“No, sir,” Willoughby said with a much firmer tone of voice, “Our course is for the Isle of Wight.  It’s an island situated two miles from the south coast of England in the Solent.”  He smiled. “The person we have to see will be there, at Osborne House.”

 

Adam gripped hold of Willoughby’s arm, and looked him coldly in the eyes.

 

“Mr. Willoughby, earlier I asked you for information about what you knew, and you said you knew nothing.  Within minutes you tell me about a letter you are carrying to a person whose location only you knew about.” he released him and stepped back. “Now, is there anything else I need to know before I leave this cabin?”

 

“Nothing more.”

 

“The name of the person?”

 

“I was told he would identify himself when we arrived.”

 

“And that is all?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“Where is the letter now?”

 

“Somewhere safe.”

 

“Can you guarantee that?”

 

“Not really.” Willoughby shrugged, “I mean to say by that, as I don’t know who is looking through my belongings, I don’t know how good they are at finding things, do I?”

 

Adam sighed and shook his head

 

“I can see why you’re the artist in the family, Willoughby.”

 

“I know; Charles says the same—often.”

 

“Perhaps it would be safer here, with me.”

 

“No, I don’t think so. I was told not to let anyone else take possession of it, except the person we meet in England.”

 

They glared at each other for a second before Adam gave a curt nod of the head and pulled open the door to be confronted by three officers awaiting their briefing.

 

Chapter 7

 

The third lieutenant was unknown to Adam and was a mellow thirty something year old from Ohio.  His name was Nathan B. Ross.  He was  hale and hearty, with a ruddy complexion and blue eyes.  He was balding prematurely and took care to make the most of the blond hair that remained. 

 

All three listened and paid attention to the briefing they received from Adam, after which the gunner was summoned. He was a man called Phelps, whom Adam remembered from his previous connections with the Baltimore, for the gunner was one of those posts held “in perpetuity”—in other words he belonged to the Baltimore as much as the Baltimore’s armoury belonged to him.

 

The sergeant of marines was introduced, a bluff Texan called Mike Burgess.  Adam told him that a guard was to be put at the door of Willoughby’s cabin and no one was to enter without the express permission from the Englishman or himself.  This led the Texan to assume the Englishman was under some form of cabin arrest, which meant time was taken out to explain enough of the situation necessary to quell that assumption.  Burgess left his captain’s cabin still not exactly sure of what was going on and treated Willoughby with suspicion throughout the voyage.

 

Once such matters had been dealt with, Adam went to the bridge and gave the helmsman his directions.  A light mist was falling due to the drizzling rain that had continued throughout the day combined with futile attempts at some sun shining through the clouds.  He looked at the sights of the capital laid before him and felt an alien, a foreigner in his own country, for his stay there had been brief, and memories of the visit were therefore intangible apart from the audience with Grant.

 

Time ticked by and he thought of the letter he had written in the hotel that was now hopefully on its way home.  Looking at the metropolis before him he thought that home would always be the Ponderosa, with his family, even though the sea might claim him one day, might even be his grave, it would never replace home in his heart.

 

Clenching and unclenching his fists clasped behind his back, Adam recalled to mind an evening he had spent with Hoss and Hester.  They had sat hand in hand on the settee in the big room, so comfortable with each other that Adam felt like an intruder, brought into their conversation only because he happened to be there.  As he looked back on that evening he realised that he couldn’t recall where Ben and Joe had been; perhaps it was later than memory served and they had already ascended to their beds.

 

He had eventually taken to his bed aware of great changes having taken place.  It was not just due to the rearrangement of furniture in certain rooms but also to do with the change in Hoss, all his qualities, of which he had so many, seemed now enhanced, imbued by the love that he felt for Hester.  She, in turn, showed herself to be so warm of nature and so genuine in her feelings for Adam’s “big” brother that he could not but feel a fondness for her.

 

The bell rang the signal for departure; he swallowed a lump in his throat and looked once more at the buildings, the people and all the sights pertinent to a bustling metropolis.  It was a scene now shrouded by the mist, and it seemed to him that the great ship was floating through clouds.

 

The Baltimore was a screw gunboat of 185 feet in length, with a beam width of 35 feet and was capable of a speed of 11-12 knots.  She had a complement of 190 ordinary seamen, marines, and officers.  Her armament consisted of one 11 inch gun, four 9 inch guns, and a 2.6 pounder brass Whitworth carriage gun mounted in a broadside.  She sported an iron hull and mahogany decks.  The initial propulsion was a horizontal direct acting steam engine with a Fowler steering mechanism.

 

He could feel the ship coming alive now; the thud of the engine made the decks tremble.  He turned to face his crew, standing to attention as the ship bore away from the wharf side.  The pilot navigated the Potomac River by means of buoys, but also by use of the permanent landmarks ashore that had been designed to make it possible for navigators to safely steer their ships to the safety of the river’s mouth.

 

He ran his hand along the smooth wood that complemented the bridge, and kept his eyes on the horizon, shrouded though it was by the mist and drizzle.  The helmsman turned and smiled.

 

“All’s well, sir,” he said and Adam smiled and nodded and affirmed in his deep voice that yes, all was well.

 

Hathaway and Ross stood by his side.  Neither man spoke, although Hathaway wanted to talk—he was a man talkative by nature and being under Adam’s command again had thrilled him considerably.  His memories of the adventure on the Kurils was now tinged with the rosy glow of nostalgia and he longed to be able to share some of the experience with Ross, a man as yet unknown and untried.

 

The dampness from the rain and mist was miserable.  By the time evening fell and they were well out at sea, the drizzle had turned to heavy rain that fell upon the ship as though intent upon causing as much discomfort as possible.

 

……………..

 

The first meal of the voyage was a chance to test out the cook’s abilities to serve a decent meal while at sea and to get better acquainted with each other.  Lloyd, the steward, served them and the wine refilled the glasses with a constancy that made Adam wonder if the stock would last the full journey.

 

“So what happened to all your paintings?” Hathaway asked as he lounged back in the chair, one hand gripping the stem of his glass. “If I remember rightly, you are an artist, aren’t you?”

 

“Certainly,” Willoughby nodded, but his mouth turned down in a rueful grimace. “I didn’t get much chance to do any painting when I got back to my dwelling place, which you may remember had been reduced practically to rubble thanks to the Russians attacking the village, and putting their boots through my canvases.  No, I wasn’t able to salvage anything from the work I had achieved there.” He looked thoughtfully into the blood red of the wine sparkling in the bowl of his glass. “But it’s all in my mind, the colours and sights of those islands.  I’ll get them onto canvas one of these days.”

 

Hathaway nodded thoughtfully and looked at Ross, who was refusing more wine with a wave of his hand.

 

“What about you, Ross, have you ever been to Japan or Russia?”

 

“No, not at all,” Ross sighed. “African coast mostly, Morocco and Egypt.”  He picked at some bread still remaining on his plate. “Fell in love with a girl in Morocco; beautiful she was, danced wonderfully well.”

 

“What happened to her?” Myers asked with a slight smile, and he winked over at Hathaway.

 

“Oh, she died.  She got some kind of disease, Beri-Beri or something like it.” He lowered his head and rolled the crumbs of bread into little balls which he dropped onto his plate. “She was the loveliest woman I had ever seen.”

 

“I am sorry,” Hathaway said sincerely. “It’s hard to fall in love and lose someone like that.  I am sorry,” he repeated and placed a gentle hand upon Ross’ shoulder—which was shrugged off with a vehemence that caught them all by surprise.

 

Stranger still was his next action, for he rose swiftly to his feet, looked at Adam with such a tragic face and begged permission to leave, which his superior officer promptly gave him.  The door shut with a dull thud, leaving the four men looking at one another with a furtiveness borne of guilt, but about what, none of them could have said.

 

“I—I didn’t mean anything—” Hathaway stammered.

 

“It must have happened quite recently,” Myers murmured. “We weren’t to know.”

 

Adam pushed himself away from the table and rose to his feet,

 

“Gentlemen, I think we should call it a night anyway.  Thank you for your company.”

 

The pleasure of the evening was gone.  As flimsy as gossamer it had drifted away into nothingness, and as the door closed behind the last of them to leave, Adam walked to the porthole and looked out onto a black, restless sea.

 

……………………..

 

 

Dear Pa, Hoss and Joe,

 

Odd how I had such a feeling of urgency to get this letter written to you, but now I find I can’t make sense of why I felt that way, and the words won’t or don’t come so easily to mind.

 

I saw the president today along with Generals Custer, Sherman, Sheridan and Secretary of State Fist.   The discussion was about Indian Territory; the determination on their part, was to claim it all, even the Black Hills.  I reminded Custer of a promise made a few years back that if he went into the Black Hills he wouldn’t be coming back out alive.  He didn’t seem bothered.

 

I feel apprehensive about all of this, as it seemed their intention was to use Sarah Winnemucca and myself as guides and interpreters to the Plains Indians.

Now, how can that be logical?  A seaman and a Paiute?

 

I think what sent my nerves jangling was the fact that Joe’s name was mentioned at one stage. Please don’t worry unduly.  I may be quite wrong about this, but I just felt instinctively that they would consider Joe useful to them due to his previous connection with the Cheyenne.  I believe Custer has already forgotten his own involvement regarding that connection.

 

I have to return later but I don’t know what is involved in that, whether more of the same dialogue or something different. 

 

Now I am still unsure as to whether or not to send this letter to you. I shall let you know of any further developments that may involve Joe.

 

Therefore I send it with my most sincere best wishes and regrets, my fond best wishes also to Hester.

Your ever-loving son and brother

Adam.”

 

 

Ben slowly passed the letter over to his son to read, and while Joe devoured the words, he himself stared blankly at the map on the far wall. After some moments had passed Joe returned the letter.

 

“Well, what do you think, Pa?”

 

“I don’t know what to think.” Ben sighed and rubbed his face with one hand while he re-read the words his son had so hastily written to him. “It’s a pity he didn’t add a post script so that we could know what happened at his following meeting with Grant.”

 

“Perhaps nothing happened, nothing that he considered important enough for us to be told about anyway.”

 

“Mmm…” Ben rubbed his chin and shook his head.  The dark brows beetled above his eyes in a formidable scowl, “I don’t like this reference to Sarah.  Nor to you.”

 

“Perhaps they mentioned me just to see if they could panic Adam into agreeing with them.”

 

“Perhaps—” Ben glanced up as the door opened and Hoss and Hester came in together and smiled at them; his smile in return to them was wide and generous, for  it always gave his heart a leap of pleasure at seeing Hester with his son, and Joe watched as the dark eyes of his father softened at the sight of them.

 

“There’s a letter for you here,” Joe called out to Hester and raised it above his head. “All the way from New York.”

 

“Oh, it must be from my brother,” she exclaimed and gave Joe a sweet smile as she took it from him. “Which isn’t before time.  He never wrote a word before we were married.”

 

“It’s a pity he didn’t come to the wedding,” Hoss said as he put down some boxes; obviously his determination to prevent Hester buying a bonnet had failed dismally.

 

She nodded in agreement and said something about it being such short notice and so far away and difficult to arrange even while she ripped the envelope open.  Her eyes widened as she read the short note and she went a little red in the face before covering her mouth with one hand.

 

“What is it?  Anything wrong?” Ben asked as he stood up from his chair to approach her.

 

“Nothing is wrong, it’s just a request to come and pay us a visit.” she smiled at them all, still a little pink in the face and her eyes rather bright. “He and his wife, Ingrid.”

 

“Well, you gotta say he is welcome.  Any friend or relative of yours is welcome.  Ain’t that right, Pa?” Hoss looked over at Ben, who nodded in agreement.

 

“Oh well—” she slipped the letter back and looked at Ben anxiously—“that’s good, as they will be arriving tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow?”  Ben’s eyebrows rose into peaks; then he gave a short laugh and put an arm around her shoulders. “Well, what does it matter, so long as they get here safely and the journey was a comfortable one, which, sadly, I doubt  much.”

 

“I shall have to get a room ready for them.” She sighed. “I wish they had given us more notice.”

 

“Is he always this impetuous?” Joe asked managing to change the ‘inconsiderate’ that had first come to mind in order not to hurt her feelings.

 

“He can be,” she replied somewhat slowly. “I think it’s a family trait.” She looked at her husband now and laughed.  Hoss leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

 

“I’ll come and help you get the room ready, dear,” Hoss mumbled and she cast him a warm, loving look as he picked up the boxes and followed her up the stairs.

 

Joe turned from observing his brother and sister-in-law and walked slowly to Ben’s side. after a quick thoughtful glance at Ben’s face he said, in a quizzical tone of voice

 

“You didn’t mention about Adam’s letter to Hoss, Pa; any particular reason?”

 

“Ah well, I didn’t think it necessary just now, Joe.  I doubt if Hoss will be worrying about Indian Territory for a good while yet.” Ben smiled and slipped the letter into the envelope, then he then looked back at Joe. “It may be a good idea to go and visit Sarah Winnemucca as soon as we can.  Just to put her on her guard in case the relevant ‘powers that be’ contact her.”

 

For a moment Joe was silent as he walked to the fire and looked down at the flames.  He thought back to the time he had ridden with the Cheyenne, had loved Little Moon, had so admired Crazy Horse of the Sioux.*  As he looked into the fire he found himself remembering the campfires around which he had sat and debated so much with George Bent* and others in the big tepees far away on the plains where the grasses whispered secret words in the winds.

 

He turned to his father and shook his head.

 

“They always said the white men would come and take the Black Hills. I promised them that it wouldn’t happen; the Black Hills are sacred, to both Sioux and Cheyenne, to Arapaho and Kiowa.  There’s going to be a war, Pa. It’s going to be bloody and horribly savage.”

 

“Perhaps,” Ben said, “but perhaps not.  With negotiation, a war can be prevented.  Both sides should know by now the power of the other …”

 

“It won’t make any difference.  Not when sacred things are involved. The Plains Indians may know that as far as manpower is concerned they are outnumbered, but that won’t be a consideration.”

 

“Joe.” Ben placed a firm but gentle hand on his son’s arm. “Joe, don’t do anything rash.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Promise me you won’t go there and get involved with this.”

 

Ben watched as his son struggled to keep emotions from showing too clearly on his face.  Then he sighed and turned away.

 

“It isn’t any of your concern, Joe, not now.”

 

“But if I can prevent it?” Joe’s voice was suddenly pleading and he hated the sound of his voice even in his own ears; it sounded like a whine and grated his nerves. “If I can prevent it, Pa, lives could be saved.”

 

“I doubt it.” Ben said and then bit his lip, shook his head. “Joe, Adam wasn’t sure about what was being planned.  Shall we just wait and see what happens?”

 

“He was sure enough to write that letter—”

 

“Yes, but things could have changed after he had written it.”

 

“Oh Pa,” Joe groaned, a long sigh of a groan and shook his head. “Custer won’t change; he had his eyes set on the Black Hills as soon as he saw them.  He won’t let go of any plans no matter how Grant may want him to; he’ll just beaver away at him until he can go marching over there and snatch all of it from the Indians.”

 

“Wait and see what happens,” Ben repeated himself clearly and firmly, and the grip on his son’s arm tightened. “You don’t owe them anything, Joe, so just wait.”

 

Chapter 8

 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

 

Hoss’ gentle voice came from behind her and she heard the door close, the sound of the boxes being dropped onto the bed, and she waited for his arms to curl around her, half turning, ready to be engulfed in his embrace.

 

“Are you unhappy about them coming?”

 

“Oh Hoss,” she sighed, “I just can’t understand why they had to leave it so late to let us know they were on their way.  There is a proper procedure after all—”

 

“Is there?”  He smiled down at her upturned face and kissed her nose. “I ain’t familiar with any of that kinda thing seeing how I’m just an ignorant cowboy.”

 

“No, Hoss, no, you mustn’t say that—” she placed a finger to his lips, which he kissed. She shook her head. “Don’t ever refer to yourself like that again, especially in front of Milton and Ingrid.”

 

“Shucks, sweet, you’re taking it a mite serious, ain’t’cha?”

 

“I don’t want them to look at you with anything but respect and admiration, Hoss.  I want them to see you as I see you, not as you see yourself.”

 

Hoss frowned, pursed his lips and shook his head.“Hester, I was just joking.”

 

“I know you were just joking, Hoss, but sometimes you just don’t realise how many times you put yourself down in front of people.  Darling,” she caressed his face and looked into the blue eyes of her husband with an earnestness that quite unnerved him, “Ingrid comes from a  wealthy and well-connected family in New York.  She’s—I hate to say it—but she’s proud and vain, and to be honest, she’s a snob.”

 

“A snob, is that right?”

 

“She made my life unbearable while I was living in my parents’ home with them. I told myself it was because they were newly married and she was anxious to do things right, but—” she paused and drew away from him and walked to the dressing table, “to be brutally honest she just didn’t approve of me.”

 

“Why shouldn’t she approve of you, darlin’?”

 

She clasped her hands together and shook her head, looked at their reflections in the mirror and smiled at Hoss. “I’m being a little bit silly, aren’t I?”

 

“Kinda skittish, I thought.”

 

“Did you?”  She turned to him and put her arms out to him. “Hug me close, Hoss.  I want you to know how much I love you, my darling.”

 

He held her tight, kissed her gently and caressed her face which he cupped between both his hands as he looked earnestly into her face.

 

“You know, Hester, this place is just a house made outta logs.  It ain’t no smart brownstone house packed full of expensive doo-dads, and if’n that’s what your sister-in-law is expecting she’s going to be mighty disappointed.  If she can’t see the love that went into the building of this house, then she’s missing out on a whole important piece of what makes this house our home.  Yours and mine, Pa’s, my brothers’.”  He curled a strand of her hair around his finger. “Fact is, if she don’t like what we got here then she don’t need to stay—does she?”

 

“No, she doesn’t,” she smiled and snuggled her head into the curve of his shoulder where it seemed to fit just perfectly.

 

“Feeling better now?”

 

“Mm, I guess so, but I’ll have to go get the room ready, pick some flowers—” whatever else she was going to say was lost in the kiss he placed upon her open mouth and whatever else concerned her at that moment was lost and deemed quite irrelevant.

 

………………..

 

“All’s well, sir.”

 

The words were spoken softly as the commodore entered the bridge.  He nodded in response to the other man’s presence and gazed out for the first sighting of England  to come into view.  He didn’t turn as a footstep came from behind him; he recognised it well enough and waited for Laurence Willoughby to join him.

 

Together they looked out across the dark waters to the tip of Land’s End, a mere shimmer on the horizon.  Willoughby sighed, and like Adam, stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

 

“Land’s End.” he murmured.

 

“You know it at all?”

 

“No, never been to Cornwall.” Laurence grinned, “I think Americans assume because their country is so vast and ours so small in comparison that everything is a hop, skip and jump in accessibility.”

 

“Cornwall, so I believe, has the best tin mines.”

 

“Well, practically the only tin mines.” Laurence’s grin widened.

 

“I know that the Cornishmen who came to Virginia City when the Comstock Lode was discovered turned out to be the best miners.” Adam smiled now and glanced at the younger man from the corner of his eye. “Are you glad to be coming back now?”

 

“Yes,” Laurence nodded. “Any Englishman worth his salt would say the same.”  He cleared his throat, “I wish I could remember some of the poetry I was taught at school.  I always feel like bursting into song or poetry when I know I am coming close my homeland again.”

 

Adam concentrated on looking towards the island as it slowly drew closer as the ship ate up the miles.  Yes, he understood.  Even now, he knew that feeling of exultation when he saw the Ponderosa and knew that soon he would be stepping over the threshold of his home again.  He sighed, and it was Laurence’s turn to glance sideways at him.

 

“What are you thinking, sir?”

 

“Thinking? Who? Oh—” Adam shrugged “I was thinking of what you had just said about wanting to quote poetry or burst into song.  To be honest, when I think of England, which I must admit I don’t do  often, the words I remember are those taken from Richard the Second by William Shakespeare.”

 

“Oh yes, quite.” Willoughby nodded and frowned, “How does it go?”

 

Adam smiled softly.  So like Joe.  Wouldn’t his young brother have said just the same and hoped that, just for once, his brother had forgotten the words anyway.

 

“This England...” he paused and then in quiet tones began to recite Shakespeare’s famous words:

 

             “This royal throne of kings, this sceptre’d isle,

              This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

              This other Eden, demi-paradise.

               This fortress built by Nature for herself

              Against infection and the hand of war,

,               This happy breed of men, this little world,

                This precious stone set in the silver sea,

                Which serves it in the office of a wall,

                Or as a moat defensive to a house,

                Against the envy of less happier lands,

                This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,”

 

They fell silent.  Even the helmsman, who had held his breath while listening, released it as quietly as he could.

 

“You should have been an actor, sir,” Willoughby ventured to say at last.

 

“Well, isn’t that what we all are anyway?” Adam replied with a slightly acid tone in his voice. “Aren’t we all playing the part assigned us by others mightier than ourselves?”

 

“I—I suppose so, although I hadn’t thought it quite like that before.”

 

“I think so,” Adam sighed and in a louder voice called to the helmsman, “Starboard, sir, starboard.”

 

“Starboard it is, sir.”

 

Above them sea birds wheeled and dived, the sound of their cries shrill in the air.  The two men stood together and remained silent.  It seemed that there was nothing else to say.

 

Chapter 9

 

There was always much to do when a ship entered another country’s territorial waters.  Adam had to make sure the necessary flags were run up, personal papers, clearance documents, crew lists written up and correctly placed in order.  Officialdom in every country loves forms and paperwork. Meticulous in his work, Adam had everything in readiness for when they reached the Solent and were to dock in the Island Harbour at Cowes.

 

The weather had turned to a misty drizzle as they made their way into the English Channel.  There was little wind, and Adam was once again reminded of the advantages of steam over sail, as there was nothing to prevent the Baltimore from making a slow but graceful progress pass Plymouth and on to Weymouth along the Dorset coast line.

 

Ships already berthed in those harbours sounded their foghorns in salute as she continued to make her progress towards Portsmouth Harbour.  They had been berthed for almost an hour, during which time they caught a glimpse of Nelson’s flagship ‘Victory’ in the dockyard, before the officials boarded.  The usual courtesy was extended to them as they checked names, lists, documents and other various papers before permitting them to make their way to the Island Harbour at Cowes.

 

It was mid-afternoon and with the sun finally breaking through the clouds the Baltimore finally berthed in the harbour.

 

……………………

 

Mr. and Mrs. Milton Buchanan arrived at the Ponderosa with their vehicle laden down with a variety of suitcases.  As it rocked to a standstill and the two horses pawed restlessly at the ground, the door of the house opened and Hester, with Hoss at her side, stepped out onto the porch to greet her brother and sister-in-law.

 

Holding her husband’s hand tightly, she waited for them to disembark from the vehicle. She had already told Hoss that he was NOT to remove the suitcases and take them into the house but was to let Pete, the driver of the buggy, to do that for them.  Behind them both, as though forming a rearguard, were Ben and Joe.

 

Pete, noticing the reticence on the part of any of the Cartwrights to take the luggage, mumbled and grumbled but carried out his duties well enough not to be considered too subservient by doing so.  Once the bags had been deposited in the house, Hester approached her visitors.

 

Neither Milton nor Ingrid had moved from where they had stepped down; they been so busy looking around and taking note of everything that if there were any lack of exuberance in the welcome Hester extended to them, they did not notice it.  Now it was hugs, pecks on the cheeks, hearty handshakes all round, and Ben, with a generous smile, beckoned to them to enter his home.

 

“My goodness, Mr. Cartwright, what a quaint place you have here.” Ingrid cried, the first thing apart from greeting Hester that she had said, and with a twirl of her parasol she followed the rancher into the house.

 

Hester turned to Milton and smiled.

 

“Was it a  difficult journey?”  she asked in a soothing voice as she slipped her arm through his and looked up into his face.

 

Milton Buchanan was tall and slim, and was fated to have inherited ginger hair and the pale complexion of the typical redhead.  Freckles were scattered over his face and his blue eyes were shaded by dark glasses.  At her question he smiled down at her.

 

“It was interesting.  Ingrid found it hard at times but then she is rather delicate, as you know.”  He turned as they stepped onto the porch and looked about him, smiled and removed his glasses. “It’s delightful, Hester.”

 

“I’m glad you think so.” She smiled at Hoss. “Hoss built it with his father and brother, didn’t you, dear?”

 

“Shucks, that was years ago.” Hoss grinned and nodded, then glanced anxiously over at Joe, who was standing in the background, “It was before Joe was born.”

 

“Really?”  Milton glanced from one brother to the other before settling upon Hoss, he nodded, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to attend the wedding, Hoss.  I would have loved to have come, as would Marlowe and his family, but unfortunately it was such short notice.”

 

“Sure, we understand that, Mr.—I mean—Milton.”

 

“It’s a  unusual name that you have, Hoss.  Is it some kind of nickname?”

 

Hoss ran his tongue around his teeth, he was surprised at how dry his mouth had become, he glanced yet again in Joe’s direction as though for help but it was Hester who answered for him.

 

“No, it isn’t, Milton; his mother was Scandinavian and it’s a name they give gentle, friendly men.  My dear husband,” and here she gave Hoss a hug and looked up into his face with a smile, “is well worthy of the name.”

 

“I can see that,” Milton said slowly and his smile was gentle, sincere, he extended his hand to Hoss. “It is good to meet you, Hoss.”

 

“You also—er—you did get to meet my little brother, Joseph, didn’t you?”

 

Joe stepped forward only too grateful that his brother hadn’t introduced him as Little Joe.  Milton and he shook hands, looked at one another warily and hoped that as time went by they would find something favourable to like about one another.

 

The door closed upon them as they entered the big room which, to Joe’s eyes, seemed to have shrunk to dolls house size.  Ingrid was in the act of removing her hat, the veil of which had covered her face to protect her complexion from the sun and the dust. Now she gazed around her and with a sweet smile placed the hat onto the bureau.

 

“It’s so—well—so rustic” she sighed as though overwhelmed by its ‘rusticity,’ and she looked at Hester. “Life must be so different for you here, Hester.”

 

Her sister-on-law swallowed words, and her eyes were wide with bewildered confusion.  That anyone could be so rude about her home, about the home of her dear husband and his family, and that that ‘anyone’ could happen to be related to her (even if only through marriage) brought her to the brink of tears.  It was Joe who stepped forward and picked up one of the suitcases.

 

“Hey, Hoss, pick up some of this, will ya, and give this peasant a hand to haul milady’s luggage to her room.”

 

Hoss pulled his hand free from Hester’s and picked up the rest of the luggage.  As the two of them mounted the stairs Hop Sing entered the room, bowed as was his custom and declared he had some tea for them.

 

“Couldn’t your servant have taken the luggage upstairs?”  Ingrid murmured casually as she sauntered to the settee and gracefully sat down while she watched Hop Sing bring in tea.

 

“Hop Sing happens to be our cook and our friend,” Ben said with slight steel in his voice, “And has been for many years now.”

 

Ingrid and Milton both turned to survey this ‘treasure’ with both incredulity and awe while Hop Sing blithely poured out tea according to their tastes.  By the time Joe and Hoss returned to the room the estimable cook/friend had shuffled his way back to the kitchen to consider the possibility of taking a slow boat to China as soon as possible.

 

Hester sat beside Hoss.  Her hand clutched at his as one would clutch at a life belt thrown during a storm at sea.   Joe cleared his throat and sipped his tea, grimaced and replaced the cup in its saucer.

 

“What—er—line of work are you in, Mr. Buchanan?”  he asked politely.

 

“Banking,”  Milton replied. “The Buchanans are known for their banking expertise, and we oversee the running of several banks.”

 

Hoss frowned; somehow he couldn’t imagine Milton standing behind a counter with a little grille in front of him dispensing money.  He drank his tea and listened as Hester explained, nervously, about the Buchanan family history, most of which he had never heard before because he hadn’t been interested in knowing it.

 

“My wife’s family, the Fitzgeralds, are in the same line of business so when we married,” Milton paused to take a sip of tea, “it was like bringing the two families together.”

 

“A business merger, in fact.” Joe murmured softly.

 

“Some may call it that,” Milton smiled tightly. “We prefer to view it differently, of course.”

 

Ingrid rose to her feet, which meant everyone stood up out of courtesy.  Never let it be said by Mrs. Buchanan that the Cartwrights didn’t know their manners.

 

“I really feel I need to lie down for a little while.  The journey was so tiring.” she looked at Hester. “Perhaps you could show me to my room.”

 

“Yes, of course, Ingrid.” Hester stepped aside to let her pass and then followed her; on the landing she took the lead to guide her sister-in-law to their room.

 

Once the door was closed behind her Ingrid turned to Hester and gripped hold of both her hands while looking earnestly into her face,

 

“Hester, my dear girl, we never realised that things were this bad.”

 

“What do you mean, Ingrid?” she pulled her hands free and stepped back, shaking her head in some bewilderment, “Nothing is bad, as you put it.  Nothing at all.”

 

“But this place, dear.” Ingrid threw her hands in the air in a gesture of horror. “It’s so primitive.”

 

“It most certainly is not,” Hester cried.

 

“You’ve no servants—”

 

“I don’t need servants.”

 

“Your husband is—well—so unrefined.”

 

“My husband is the dearest man in the world, Ingrid.  He’s brave and honest, and he loves me.”

 

“No doubt that he loves you, after all, you’re a Buchanan.”

 

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”  Hester’s breathing was coming in forced gasps; she knew that her face was reddening—not a pretty sight—and her hair was unravelling.

 

“You’re rich, Hester, from a wealthy family and—”

 

“Ingrid—” Hester stepped forward and put her hand up in a motion for silence. “Ingrid, the Cartwrights own a thousand square miles of land; they have cattle, timber, gold mines, and are sitting on top of a mountain of silver and gold.  You can’t compare what they have with what the Buchanans possess.  Now, please, take your rest.  I shall let you know when dinner is to be served.”

 

Tight-lipped and now quite pale she pulled open the door, and despite the doorknob coming away in her hand, managed to leave the room with true Buchanan dignity and regality.

 

Chapter 10

 

When Ingrid stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around at her surroundings she was surprised at the sense of peace that settled within her. Could it have been the atmosphere in the room, with the fire burning in the hearth, huge logs straddling the gridirons and the flames determinedly eating through the wood?  Perhaps the soft mellow glow of the fire into the room was further enhanced by the halos of light that came from the lamps that were carefully placed on the bureaus, the neat side tables which stood at the arm of every chair and the settee.  Candles glowed from the light fitting above the table and in silver candlesticks upon it.  The flames bounced off the gleaming cutlery and crystal ware.

 

The clock ticked the time away and provided a further peaceful ambience over the room, and while she stood there no other sound could be heard but the ticking clock, the snapping of flames and the hiss of wood sap striking hot embers.

 

The sound of footsteps roused her from her meditation and when she turned her head it was to see Joseph Cartwright coming in from the yard.  She observed him carefully as he slowly closed the door and advanced further into the room.  He was dressed smartly as would befit some special occasion or guests; his thick hair shone as the light from the lamps gleamed upon it.  It was the look on his face, one of melancholy and sadness that struck her most of all.  A handsome man such as this, she thought, was a man more used to laughter and gaiety, even perhaps, romance.

 

He looked up at that moment and saw her, seeming startled as his eyebrows shot up in a questioning manner before he obviously realised who she was and nodded in greeting,

 

“Good evening, Mrs. Buchanan.”

 

“Good evening, Mr. Cartwright.” She inclined her head and came further into the room. “Am I the first to get here?”

 

“I believe so.”  His voice had a note of caution in it, and he looked at her thoughtfully from the distance which separated them. “I hope you had a pleasant rest.”

 

“I did.” She nodded and looked around her. “The room looks beautiful like this, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes.” He sounded surprised and looked at her again, noticing the darkness of her hair and how blue her eyes were; then he remembered her family name of Fitzgerald and wondered if she had Irish blood. “It looks good to me anytime of the day,” he added in a defensive manner.

 

“Yes, I’m sure it must.”  She drew closer to the fire and looked down into the flames. “I have to apologise to you, and to your family.  My comments were  insolent when I came here. I am sorry.”

 

She still stood there, her hands clasped together in the lap of her skirts which shimmered in the firelight, her face downcast, the ringlets, as black as jet, falling across her shoulder.  Joe bit his bottom lip, and he cleared his throat; her beauty had touched a nerve, for there was no doubt about it, Ingrid Buchanan was an extremely beautiful young woman.

 

“I guess we shouldn’t be so sensitive.” He smiled and was about to say more when there were the sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs and when he turned he saw Hester descending towards them with Hoss close behind her. 

 

Ingrid turned towards them both and smiled, she extended an elegant hand towards Hester.

 

“Thank you for the lovely flowers in my room, Hester.  That was so thoughtful of you.”

 

Hester’s eyes narrowed but she had the grace to smile at her sister-in-law,

 

“Our pleasure, Ingrid.”

 

“It’s a lovely room.”

 

“Yes, we think so too.”  Hester glanced at Hoss. who was regarding Ingrid anxiously, much like he would a frozen snake that was beginning to thaw in the sun’s warmth.

 

Ben appeared now with an easy and relaxed smile on his face, always handsome but looking  debonair in his best suit and the grey silk vest he wore on special occasions.  He looked over at Ingrid, hesitated marginally, and then joined Joseph at the bureau.  Ingrid took a deep breath.

 

“Mr. Cartwright and Mr.—may I call you Hoss?”  When he nodded she smiled at him before continuing. “I just wanted to apologise for my rudeness earlier.  I spoke in a  patronising way about your home and I had no right to do so.  I’d like you to forgive me.”

 

“Shucks, Miz Buchanan, there ain’t nothing to forgive.  Folks like you from back East always need a mite of time to get used to being hereabouts; it’s jest different, is all.”

 

“Yes,” she replied slowly, “It is different.”

 

“Well then.” Ben smiled and glanced at the stairs as Milton made his entrance. “Let’s forget about it all and enjoy our meal.  I can assure you, Mrs. Buchanan, Hop Sing’s cooking will leave the best chefs in New York far behind—nothing beats his roast pork.”

 

As it happened they had chicken…

 

…………..

 

All the usual procedures had been followed to the letter and now Adam and Laurence waited for the arrival of the person who was to be the next link in this rather nebulous chain.  They were anchored offshore a small distance but close enough to see the wharf.

When a carriage drew up with the windows curtained off Laurence looked at Adam and raised an eyebrow,

 

“Do you think this could be him?”

 

“We’ll soon find out.” Adam’s reply held a trace of mockery.  At times Laurence appeared so naïve that it was like having a child on board.

 

He took out his telescope and trained it upon the carriage in an attempt to see the person or persons who were about to descend, but whoever it was preferred leaving the vehicle from the door that didn’t face onto the sea.  Finally, the telescope picked up the figure of a person in a long cloak who approached a skiff.  He passed the telescope to Laurence

 

“Any idea who it may be?”

 

“None whatsoever.”  Laurence sighed.  “Whoever it is doesn’t want anyone to recognise him, or so it seems to me.”

 

“Hmm, that’s what I thought.”

 

He took the telescope and watched as the skiff was rowed skilfully over to the ship.  Once it was midway and he was quite sure that it was coming to the Baltimore, Adam gave orders for preparations to accept a visitor on board.  The Jacobs ladder was lowered and the gangway opened for the person to come aboard where both Laurence and Adam awaited him.

 

“Commodore Cartwright?”

 

“Yes—-”

 

“You were told that you were to receive someone when reaching the Isle of Wight?”

 

“I was.”

 

The figure removed his hat and raised his head,

 

“I am that someone,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Welcome to England.”

 

 

Chapter 11

 

“O’Brien?”

 

Adam’s voice contained the surprise he felt at seeing Daniel O’Brien standing before him on the deck of the Baltimore.  As Daniel swept off his hat and revealed his smiling, handsome countenance, it was Willoughby who stepped forward first to shake his hand.

 

“Good to see you again, old chap.  Never expected to see you here of all places, thought I’d be seeing my brother Charles.” the Englishman laughed and then glanced over at Adam, who smiled and took Daniel’s hand, shaking it warmly,

 

“You’re a  welcome ‘someone‘, Daniel.  Welcome aboard.”  Adam glanced at Willoughby and then back to O’Brien. “Are we to come with you or is there time for you to have some refreshments with us?”

 

“I’m sorry, Adam, but this is pressing business.  You’ll have to come with me now.” He paused an instant, then smiled at his friend. “I don’t know everything that’s involved here, Adam, but if you don’t object to trusting me a while longer?”

 

“Any reason why I shouldn’t?” Adam asked darkly, and glanced uneasily over his shoulder only to see his officers standing at attention on the far side of the deck, giving them privacy to talk but available when needed.

 

O’Brien replaced his hat and descended the Jacob’s ladder back into the skiff.

 

“Hathaway, you have the ship,” Adam said sternly

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

The three officers saluted and watched as their Captain disappeared from view and entered the skiff below.  Instantly the vessel left the ship’s side and made its way to the wharf.

 

“Have you had any trouble on board at all?” O’Brien asked as soon as the opportunity arose. He looked at Willoughby “Any attempts to get at your papers?”

 

“Only the one when I was in Washington, but not since then.”

 

“Why do you ask?” Adam narrowed his eyes and raised his eyebrows.

 

“I just wondered.” O’Brien frowned slightly, and it was then Willoughby mentioned someone had searched through his belongings when he had first boarded and taken the envelope that could have contained the letters had he not switched them.

 

“But there’s been nothing since,” he added, “and I have the papers safely on me now.”

 

 O’Brien looked at Adam thoughtfully. “You’ve no idea what this is all about?”

 

“No real facts, just a rather grand reference to some war about to start which I have been sent to prevent.  Of course, where and how seem to have been neglected in the telling.”  Adam shrugged, and then a wry smile drifted over his lips. “I have a vague notion that it’s really to get me out of America at this moment; I think I have become an inconvenience for some to have around.”

 

O’Brien said nothing to that but glanced anxiously over at the Baltimore before looking at Adam with a slight smile. “How did you find the Baltimore?  Is she more to your liking now?”

 

“She’s a good vessel, “ Adam replied in the same manner as one would remark upon a visit to the dentist, “But nothing will replace a good clipper ship.”

 

“Despite the advantages of steam?”

 

“Progress isn’t always to a man’s advantage.” Adam smiled wryly.

 

“What about you, Willoughby, did you prefer the Baltimore?”

 

“Oh, leave me out of this,” Willoughby groaned, “They both go up and down and make me sick so what does it matter.”

 

“It was good to see that Hathaway and Myers were assigned to sail with you, but your other officer, I don’t know him.” O’Brien looked questioningly at Adam, who shrugged.

 

“I know  little about him, to be honest, but I think he is a sensitive man,” Adam said, thinking over the first meal they had shared with him, and how he seemed always to prefer to remain in the background.  

 

Adam looked once again at O’Brien.  The man had not changed during the few months since they had been apart.  He was, perhaps, a little thinner, even slightly more nervous for his eyes never seemed still, and his hands were constantly fidgeting.  Other than that he remained the handsome young man who had fearlessly stood at Adam’s side on so many previous occasions. 

 

“How’s your wife?” Willoughby broke the silence.

 

 “She’s well, thank you.”  O’Brien went slightly red and shifted position on the thwart, “I believe I shall be  a father when I return from this trip.”

 

“Congratulations, Daniel!” Both men shook his hand, smiled and looked suitably pleased for their companion. 

 

After a rather embarrassed silence—after all men don’t dwell on such topics as would women—Adam cleared his throat. “Is Maria also in England?”

 

“No, she’s with her family.”  O’Brien looked at Adam and then to where the Baltimore seemed to dance upon the water.  “I agree, Adam, a steam ship doesn’t have quite the same romantic appeal or appearance as a clipper, but at least you know you’ll never be becalmed.”

 

There was a brief silence. Willoughby shrugged and nonchalantly drew their attention to the fact that there was only so much coal that could be taken on board, which made Adam laugh for some reason.  Laurence wouldn’t know it but it was so reminiscent of something Joe would have said that the commodore almost felt like he was at home.

 

The remainder of the journey was made in silence.  Even when in the carriage, no one spoke.  With their minds so fully occupied everything else seemed to be irrelevant, and it was difficult to find the subjects upon which to indulge in small talk…something Adam found irritating anyway.

 

They passed along a rural road where an occasional cottage could be seen with colourful gardens.  There were thatched roofed cottages and the occasional villa. Several times they passed grander buildings that hid like shy children behind high walls.  Eventually the carriage turned into the wide driveway of Osborne House, the current home of the queen of England.

 

“Is the queen in residence?” Laurence asked.

 

“She’s always in residence, apparently,” O’Brien replied. “Since Prince Albert died she won’t leave the place.  There’s been lots of attempts to get her back to London, or even Windsor, but she refuses to go.”

 

They passed the Swiss Cottage where the royal children had played when small, imitating life as they thought it was lived by those beyond the walls of Osborne House. It was a pretty grown up doll’s house equipped with kitchen, scullery and dainty dining room. Adam sighed and passed a hand over his brow.  The journey seemed to be going on forever: O’Brien’s mysteriousness was getting on his nerves, and Willoughby’s constant ‘oh, look at that’ or ‘I can’t recall seeing that before’ was tearing his self control to shreds.  It was a relief to them all when the carriage rocked to a standstill at the back of the grand opulent home of the Queen of Great Britain.  At that precise moment she was actually taking tea with her prime minister.

 

……………….

 

The carriage delivered them to the back of the house where a black-suited man ushered them into a large room and asked them to wait.  The three men shot barely concealed glances of annoyance and irritation at the man’s retreating back themselves.  Laurence paced the floor, hands behind his back and head bowed; every so often one hand would sneak towards his jacket pocket as though to reassure himself that the papers were still safely there.

 

Adam leaned against the wall close to a window so that he could look out and view the grounds.  It wasn’t long before O’Brien joined him; he sat on the ledge of the window and after he had looked out at the grounds, he looked thoughtfully at Adam. “So how are you really, Adam?”

 

“In what way do you mean?” the dark brows scowled over dark eyes and the nostrils thinned.

 

“Did you get your wound attended to when you reached Virginia City?”

 

“Oh, that …” The scowl drifted over his face and then he smiled, “I arrived in time to see Hoss get married.  I didn’t contact them in order to give them a surprise. Instead I was the one got the surprise.” he laughed softly as though enjoying a great joke that had been played on him.

 

“And what did the doctor say about the wound?”

 

“Well, as you seem so concerned, O’Brien, the doctor said I would be  ill.  Then to prove him right, I was  ill for some few days.  He checked the injury and realised that some cloth must have remained in the wound, taken there by the force of the bullet and missed by Soames.  Once that had been removed I made fine progress to good health.” he placed a hand on O’Brien’s arm. “As you can see, Daniel.”

 

“Maria was worried—to be honest, so was I.”

 

Adam gave a slight shrug as though their concern about his health embarrassed him somewhat.  He glanced over at Laurence, who still paced the floor, although every so often he looked over at the door as though willing someone to come through it.

 

“Daniel, how did you get involved in all this?  I thought you were miles away.”

 

O’Brien nodded and leaned closer towards his friend in order not to be overheard by Laurence. “D’you remember when I last saw you?” Adam nodded, recalling the time  well, “I had my orders which were to be part of a small convoy of ships escorting or protecting some merchant ships to Argentina.  When we got there I had orders to make my way here immediately.”

 

Adam frowned and his eyes flicked over to O‘Brien  “Why?” he asked in a sharp tone of voice.

 

O’Brien shrugged and shook his head; he lowered his voice and turned his head as though looking out at the gardens. “I don’t know why.  I saw Willoughby’s brother, Charles, who asked lots of questions about myself, and you—”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes, they seemed  interested in you.” He smiled and looked at his friend, “They wanted to know a lot about Cassandra Pelman’s dealings with the Russians, whom she had spoken to, and what had happened.  Then they asked about Lebedev and wanted details of what happened there.”

 

“You keep saying ‘they’—who exactly are ‘they’?”

 

“Well, it was really just Lord Charles but he kept saying ‘we’ as in ‘we want to know—’ and ‘we would like you to answer—’  so I just refer to him as ‘they.’”  he grinned and Adam laughed, although not with mirth.

 

“Did you tell them everything?”

 

“I held back at first; after all this was our business, America’s business in fact.  He convinced me that he needed the information to add to his knowledge because what he or they would be expecting from us was our full co-operation as authorised by the president.  He showed me papers to prove it.”

 

Adam rubbed his chin, then tugged at his ear lobe. “It doesn’t make much sense though, does it?”

 

O’Brien opened his mouth to answer when the door opposite opened and the black-suited man apologised for keeping them waiting and asked them to follow him. 

 

They went down a long corridor.  Pictures were upon the wall, priceless objects d’art adorned small extravagantly gilted and gilded pieces of furniture. Windows followed one after the other all the way along the wall facing the grounds.  As they walked they could catch glimpses of trees, of the garden, and beyond that, the sea.  Finally, they reached a door which he opened and gestured for them to enter.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind waiting in here for just a little while longer.”

 

The door closed and they looked around the room and then at each other.  Adam sighed and strolled over to a window to gaze over the lavishly laid out gardens and to consider exactly what he was doing in such a place…a queen’s royal establishment; hardly what a son of the Ponderosa would have expected.  Laurence began to pace the floor, measured footsteps, Adam could catch the rise and fall of each one after a mere minute.  O’Brien came and perched himself on a chair, then stood up, feeling rather guilty, as though such gilt and brocaded pieces of furniture were not for the likes of him.  Adam smiled wryly at his friend before returning to look out at the gardens.

 

The door re-opened silently, evidence of frequent oiling, and a  smartly dressed man stepped into the room.  Laurence gave a wide smile and in two bounds was at the man’s side, shaking his hand.  That they were brothers was unmistakeable: the same thick uncontrolled blond hair, the wide eyes and broad smile confirmed their fraternal bond.

 

“Charles, good to see you again.”

 

“I’m more than pleased to see you, Laurence.”

 

O’Brien and Adam shuffled their feet and twiddled their thumbs and waited patiently for these greetings to be concluded.  Laurence stepped back and turned towards them. “Charles, may I introduce Commodore Adam Cartwright—I understand that you already know Captain O’Brien.”

 

“Indeed yes,” Charles nodded and a lock of blond hair flopped over his brow; this he impatiently brushed aside and then approached Adam, his hand extended. “Welcome to England, Commodore.  You must be wondering what on earth is going on here?”

 

His smile was broad and genuine, his eyes affable and pleasant, but Adam felt a worm of unease wriggle in the pit of his stomach.  He inclined his head and murmured a few irrelevant words to which Charles nodded before he turned to Laurence. “Have you some papers for me?”

 

“Yes,” Laurence nodded and pulled the envelope from his jacket pocket. “Here you are, Charles, all present and correct.”

 

“Have you had any problems in keeping them safe?”

 

Laurence told him of the two incidents which caused his brother’s brow to crease and his lips to compress.  Finally he nodded, then asked them to wait where they were; he would return, he assured them, within a few minutes.

 

 

Chapter 12

 

“Commodore?”  Lord Charles Willoughby stepped into the room and glanced over at Adam, who was leaning against the window frame with his arms folded across his chest.  Adam, turned his head over to acknowledge the Englishman who now smiled. “Could you come with me, please.”

 

Both O’Brien and Laurence stood up in preparation to leave the room, but upon receiving a slight shake of the head they resumed their seats, looked at one another and resigned themselves to wait. 

 

Adam followed Charles along a corridor that had windows facing the great landscaped gardens, a vast hallway which Charles described as a promenade, where the queen and her ladies would walk should the weather be too inclement for them to venture out.  A door was eventually opened onto a room. Charles murmured, “This is the Council Room” as though in apology for its grandeur.

 

It was magnificent, and when Adam raised his eyes to the ceiling he saw the painting of the Order of the Garter emblazoned there for all to see.  He glanced up and down the room and finally his eyes came to rest upon a man standing by a desk onto which streams of sunlight beamed down.

 

He was a man who demanded a second look, from his pomaded hair which glistened in the light coming into the room to  the large dark eyes that now looked at them and seemed to know instantly their most secret thoughts and fears, the large nose made the eyes appear sunken in their sockets while the wide mouth seemed stretched from ear to ear in an affable smile. 

 

“Sorry to keep you.” The man who had entered the room smiled once again, although the eyes remained dark and penetratingly sharp, one could even say, emotionless. “Commodore Cartwright?  A pleasure to meet you.”  he extended his hand which Adam shook firmly, “Benjamin Disraeli, sir.” and the prime minister nodded his head as though to make sure Adam knew exactly who Benjamin Disraeli happened to be.

 

Disraeli, still smiling, still in good humour, placed a familiar-looking letter upon the desk, then pulled out a chair and sat down, indicating to Charles and Adam that they could also sit.

 

“Commodore Cartwright, I know you have been, no doubt, confused about what is happening, but in these kind of cases there is always a most regrettable need for silence and secrecy.  The fact of the matter is that a situation has arisen that needs our attention…America’s as well as Britain’s.” He had taken the letter from its envelope  and begun to read it, then sighed, nodded and folded his hands over it, and his dark eyes looked at the Adam thoughtfully.

 

“I have heard all about your dealings with Lebedev in Alaska, and with Nikisch and Zhukov in the Kurils.  It’s because of those matters that we, President Grant and I, felt we should assign you this task.  It won’t be easy because it is based on rumour—and as you know, rumour is much like smoke, hard to take a grip on it.” He tapped his fingers on the desk, the paper beneath his hands rustling as he did so. “You ask no questions, Commodore? “

 

“If I knew more about what was happening, Mr. Prime Minister, then I would know what kind of questions to ask,” Adam replied in a quiet, respectful voice.

 

Disraeli nodded; he rang a bell and almost immediately the black-suited man stepped forward into the room.

 

“Ask our other guest if he wouldn’t mind stepping into the room.”

 

The drift of cigarette smoke came into the room, preceding as it were, the one who smoked it.  Adam tensed; the smell brought back memories of someone he had thought never to see again, and he turned his head, wonderingly, towards the door.

 

He half rose from his chair at the sight of the man.  Dimitri Doestov entered the room with the silent tread of an assassin, and once again Adam felt his blood run cold at the sight of the man and the memories of their previous encounter.

 

“Capitan, so goot to see you again.” the dapper, slim man approached the commodore and bowed his head. “You see, I, Dimitri Doestov, survive.”

 

“So it would appear,” Adam replied coldly and watched as the Russian approached the desk.

 

“Gentlemen.” Disraeli rose to his feet now, pulling a lace trimmed square of cambric from his pocket and touching his nostrils with it slowly, as though he also found the smell of Doestov’s cigarettes unpleasant. “I shall leave you with Count Doestov and Sir Charles Willoughby.  There are things that you all need to discuss, but I have some other pressing matters to pursue.”  He looked thoughtfully at Adam as though to imprint his face more firmly into his amazing brain.

 

As soon as the prime minister had vacated the room, Lord Charles Willoughby took to the desk and opened a folder.  He extracted some papers before looking at them both,

“Very well then, gentlemen, let’s get down to reason as to why you are here.”

 

Adam’s eyes turned to Doestov and he found it disconcerting to note that the man was staring rather cold-bloodedly in his direction.

 

Charles briefly read the letter that had been left on the desk and slipped it into the folder .  Doestov smoked his cigarette and every so often tapped the ash into a small silver box that he held in his other hand.  His face was bland, shut off, although his eyes roamed constantly around the room to settle upon each one, linger there and move on.

 

“Now then—” Charles frowned and looked at Doestov who was stubbing out his cigarette into the little silver box, before he continued, “Have you heard of Charles Pomeroy Stone?*  Raleigh Edward Colston,* Charles Chaillé-Long*?  Well, whether you have or not, hardly matters.

 

“These men are part of a cadre of Civil War officers who serve Ismail,* the khedive of Egypt as soldiers, diplomats and cartographers.  Forget any stories you have heard about Stone; some may be true, others perhaps not so true.  The fact of the matter is that he serves in an honourable position as major general to the khedive’s army.” He paused, looked at their impassive faces and then glanced over at Doestov who was now smoking another cigarette which he held in fastidious fashion between his fingers.  “Count Doestov will tell you his involvement in all this…”

 

“Please—” Doestov rose to his feet, dark, slender, and in a rather sinister way, even handsome.  He waved a hand in a languid movement as though for attention,.“I come here because of what I heard and as favour to British Government who are so amicable with Egypt.  You may know, from the matter of the Baltimore travesty, that my Czar may soon be at war with Turkey?  Da, so it is.  We need to know our enemies and our allies, perhaps even our friends.”  He sighed then as though the possibility of finding friends for Russia among the present company was rather forlorn.

 

“Now,” he continued, “While I am in Egypt in service to my Czar I hear mention of war in Egypt. But—there is no war? What then am I hearing?  A group of dissidents who wish to split the power of the khedive in Africa.  They want to be independent of Egypt and her authority.  Britain has the Suez Canal and that opens Africa to more ravages from foreign devils—excuse—their words not mine.” 

 

Lord Charles glanced around uncomfortably.  Adam’s impassive face, dark eyes and set mouth, seemed to tell him that the matter wasn’t really affecting him in the way that he, Lord Charles, would have liked.  He looked again at Doestov, who continued with his discourse.

 

“Your president is soon to go on a world tour, visiting different countries.  He is going to visit the khedive in Egypt.  He will go and—perhaps—not come back.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it is the intention of these dissidents to make sure he does not.”

 

“And they told you all this, did they?” Adam muttered with a slight sigh in his voice.

 

“Oh, you think I am not telling the truth perhaps?  Look, these peoples are big in number, they look for a leader and find one.  They send their leader to me.  What do they vant?  Vot could I possibly give them?  They see America, and British Empire, always they are in step with each other, always they give support to each other.  They see Americans in charge of army in Egypt, they see British in charge of consulates in Egypt.  So they look then at Russia.”

 

“And what do they want from Russia?” Adam asked with a slight edge to his voice now.

 

“Arms and men, of course.”

 

There was silence for a second and then Adam nodded. “Well, go on.”

 

“Vee are not long from Crimean war, and made losses.  Vee sell Alaska, and we made losses.   Vee have to tink long term.  Vor with Turkey is looming, vee need money, yes, but vee need support from other lands, lands like America and Britain and her Empire.  What good is it for us to sell needed arms to the khedive’s enemies ven we need them ourself; vee need no wars in Egypt.”

 

“And you think there would be a war if these dissidents succeeded in preventing the president’s trip.”  Adam’s dark eyes narrowed, the heavy lids hooded each eye and the black brows arched ominously.

 

“Oh you do not stop to think, Kommandre. They vant the president to visit Egypt, and they then plan to kill him.”

 

Adam tugged at his earlobe and looked disbelieving; he stood up to stretch his legs as though he were bored and then just stared at the Russian as though the man were mad.

 

“Where does Bingham come into this?” Adam said eventually and looked directly at Charles for an answer.

 

“Only to confirm whether or not he had heard anything about trouble in Egypt and Africa involving this foreign tour of the president’s.  To be honest I also used it as an excuse to get Laurence home to England.” Charles frowned, “Bingham had heard rumours—but there are always rumours, as you would no doubt tell me.  Africa is a country full of plots and counter plots, intrigue and everything else you can imagine. I know that as do you—”  he paused. “If these dissidents achieve what they want it would be catastrophic, for us and for America.”

 

Adam leaned against the window ledge and folded his arms across his chest. “So a group of dissidents are banding together to get rid of President Grant while he is taking a peek at the pyramids, or whatever—I can hardly see that happening.” the slight twist to his lips indicated the sarcasm that laced the words.

 

“We can’t take the risk of it happening,” Charles replied.  “These dissidents, as we have been calling them, are a well organised group of people.  They come from all over the subjugated lands of Egypt and their plan is to make it seem as though the khedive himself has undertaken this plot.”

 

“Go on,” Adam urged.

 

“We would lose control of the Suez Canal; there would be an embargo on goods being imported and exported from Egypt; there would be internal chaos within the country.  And do you think America would sit back quietly and do nothing?”

 

“Does the president know about this speculated assassination attempt?” Adam’s question was prompted by the memory of Grant in his office, acting as though this rumour, this smoke, were a mere bagatelle for Adam to “sniff out.”

 

“He does.  Well, to be honest he knows enough; the most recent details are being sent to him by courier.”

 

“In which case, surely the easiest thing would be to change his itinerary, or even skip the visit to Egypt.”  Adam rounded his eyes as though he couldn’t believe the solution to be so simple and thereby so easily overlooked by those in such high office.

 

The Englishman sighed; his shoulders slumped, and a strand of fair hair flopped over his brow, making him resemble his brother more than ever. “It has been suggested,  tentatively and delicately.  The khedive—if he were to know—would be so insulted that he would no doubt be the first in the queue to assassinate your president.  It’s all to do with their culture and pride.” He raised his shoulders to his ears and shook his head. “Impossible, I’m afraid.”

 

“Look, Lord Charles, to be honest with you, I can’t see how we fit in here.” Adam said with irritation loud in his voice, “We’re not politicians, and surely this American cadre you mentioned, surely they should be dealing with the matter, along with the khedive and his police and army?”

 

“I’m sure they are,” the Englishman said, “but Egypt is vast. Her territories in Africa are enormous.” He stopped there, and looked at Doestov, who merely shrugged and expelled smoke down his nostrils, he looked like an escapee demon from hell.

 

“Vell,” he said in that cool voice that jarred the nerves of his American listener, “ I have told you as it is, you must now do as you tink best for yourselves.” He rose to his feet and after a slight bow which was just slightly more than a nod of the head, he left the room.

 

Once the door was closed Charles looked at Adam and indicated that he take the seat he had recently vacated, he, himself, settled back into the one behind the desk.

 

“Russia’s worried about Bismarck; the Prussians are getting more and more powerful under his authority and the Mediterranean is getting crowded with their ships*.  A major political situation in Egypt could create mayhem.  It’s just the worst possible time for Grant to go hopping around the world on this tour of his…”

 

Adam rubbed his brow and shook his head. “Look, Lord Charles, I just wish you would tell us what we are supposed to do about all this.  Isn’t it something the politicians are supposed to handle?  Can’t you put a stop to it all?”

 

“We’ve tried as subtly as we could, but it’s been suggested that a strong American naval presence in the Suez Canal would be all that is called for, a military presence is one thing, a naval presence could be the thing to tip the balance of power in the right direction.”

 

“Excuse me from saying so, but couldn’t the president have told us this himself?”

 

“Well—perhaps—” Lord Charles looked down at his papers, “but maybe he didn’t want to. Doestov’s provided us with far more than he would give to the Americans.”

 

Adam said nothing; he bowed his head and sank his chin into one hand.  There just seemed to be something missing—perhaps it was the explanation as to the real reason why they were being sent there.  Charles smiled grimly, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes; he pulled some papers from the folder and passed it to the American. “I’m afraid your president has been considering home policy a lot lately.”  He looked obliquely in Adam’s direction as though to see whether or not the dart had struck home.  “Adam—” he paused and his eyes now narrowed. “Doestov—do you trust him?”

 

“Like a rattlesnake,” Adam said coldly.

 

“You know, he refused to tell us all he had heard until he knew you were coming.  He trusts you.  We have his account of what happened to the Russians in Alaska and how you saved their lives.”

 

Adam frowned more deeply, and merely crooked an eyebrow.

 

“Your president requested that you heard from us what we could tell you.  I know it’s a difficult time—home policies and such—” he bit his lip and yet his eyes didn’t move from watching Adam’s face. “He wanted you to find out what’s going on.  American as well as British policies are involved here, Commodore.  The Russians—well, they want our backing and are prepared to give us information for that, but a lot can change in the course of a week in politics.”

 

There was silence. Adam steepled his fingers together and tapped his mouth thoughtfully.  Charles cleared his throat. “You know that Britain bought the Ismail’s shares in the Suez Canal?”

 

“No, I know  little about Egyptian politics,” Adam admitted.

 

“War at this time in Egypt and the surrounding African lands under the khedive’s control would be disastrous if it involves America and Britain. You do see that, don’t you?”

 

“I perfectly understand that, Sir.” Adam looked up, surprised that his intelligence could be thus doubted. “I just don’t understand why I have to be involved.”

 

The Englishman nodded and shrugged. “You would have to ask your president that, although from the letters and the information I have gleaned from him, and others, you would appear to be the most suitable person to be involved.  Commodore, someone from the American cadre will contact you when you get to Cairo.”

 

“Cairo? I thought you said—”

 

“That was for the Russians’ ears—Port Said.  Once there someone will contact you and—and then we have to trust to your intuitive abilities to find out exactly what is happening.”

 

“So it’s more than smoke, a rumour?”

 

“Oh yes, sir, since you left America it has become far more than just a rumour.” Charles stood up, “Your president’s life is threatened, the khedive could lose control of his many districts in Africa, we could lose control of Suez and there could be a war. That’s it in a nutshell.”

 

Adam just ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth and surveyed the other man with dark eyes, then sighed and was about to speak when Charles stopped him and placed his hand on the officer’s arm and placed the folder in his hands.

 

“Read it when you get back on board.  Walls have ears—Russian ones,” he said in a  soft voice.

 

……………….

 

Hathaway greeted them with the news that all was quiet and nothing untoward had taken place.  The men on shore leave were all due back on board before the middle watch (mid-night to 4 a.m) and the Marines were already preparing to haul late comers back on board.

 

“Any further orders, sir?”

 

“None as yet, Hathaway.  Ask Lloyd to prepare a light meal for Captain O’Brien and me please.”  he paused and then half turned “I’ll send for you when I have something to tell you.”

 

“Yes, sir.”  Hathaway touched the brim of his hat and stepped back, making way for his superior officers to reach the commodore’s quarters.

 

Daniel observed his friend thoughtfully and then watched as Adam placed the folder upon his desk.

 

“Do I have to guess or are you going to tell me?” he prompted..

 

“You’ve been here all these weeks, Daniel, perhaps you could tell me what’s going on?”

 

Daniel shook his head, shrugged. “I’ve  been here, mostly on board my ship which left Cowes two days ago.  I’ve been asked questions, but I’ve been told nothing.  Then, today, I was told to come here and bring you and Laurence to Osborne House. That’s all I know.”

 

“Haven’t you been given any orders?”

 

“I was told that my commission on board the Quebec had ended two days ago when it sailed from here. I was to await orders from you.”

 

The two men looked at one another as though each were testing out the other. Then Adam smiled and walked to the table upon which some glasses and decanters had been placed, and he turned with a half smile to O’Brien. “Whiskey?” and he arched one eyebrow over twinkling eyes.

 

………………

 

The two officers spent some time reading through various papers and discussing the matter in which they were now involved.  They discussed foreign policy to the extent of their limited knowledge, and then finally Adam rose to his feet, half a glass of whiskey still in his hand, and walked to the window.

 

“What is it?” O’Brien asked anxiously.

 

Outside the cabin sea gulls cawed out to one another as they dipped and dived over the ships in the harbour, the water sloshed against the side of the ship—and even that sounded different to how it would wash up against the side of a clipper to Adam’s ears.  As it was he remained engrossed in deep thought, then sighed.

 

“I wonder who exactly we are supposed to be meeting in Cairo.”  He closed his eyes, but it wasn;t a land of pyramids and palm trees that he saw before him, he saw the mountains that ringed Virginia City and the snow reflecting the sun upon them, Ben’s anxious face as they said goodbye, the way his father looked at him that last time as though afraid he would never see him again.

 

Adam Cartwright shivered.

 

“You alright?”  O’Brien asked.

 

“Yes, just someone walking over my grave.” he said quietly but even saying that caused him to shiver again.

 

Chapter 13

 

There were several American ships berthed at Cowes, and it was not long before invitations to the evening meal were sent to Adam and O’Brien from the captain of the Avenger.  The officers from the Virginia and the Montana joined them for a few hours of pleasant food, good wine and relaxed chatter.

 

“When do you sail?”

 

Adam looked over the punch bowl on the table to smile at Captain Francis Dewey,

 

“In the morning—early,” he replied, and seeing Dewey’s eyes narrow with interest, he turned to the officer at his left side and began a conversation with him about the advantages of a clipper ship over the steamer.  This discussion gradually absorbed everyone’s attention, for the age of steamships was now under way, still young, still in its infancy, and opinions ranged to such a varying degree that any further comment about their time of departure and their destination could be easily sidestepped.

 

When they reached the Baltimore it was Myers who greeted them with a smart salute and the statement that there had been a visitor on board who had insisted on waiting for their return.

 

“He’s in your cabin, sir.”  Myers stepped back to allow Adam to pass. “He has not been left on his own, sir,” he said quickly. “It was considered wiser for him to have company.”

 

Adam nodded and looked at O’Brien, who merely raised his eyebrows as though in answer to an unspoken question.  As Adam put his hand to the door the familiar smell of the odious Turkish cigarettes so beloved by Doestov touched his nostrils,

 

“Good evening, Dimitri, I’m sorry if we have kept you waiting,” he said as he opened the door.

 

His greeting however was premature.  There was no sign of the Russian apart from the lingering smell of his cigarettes.  Adam turned to Ross who was now standing stiffly to attention

 

“Where is he?”

 

“He left a few moments before you came on board, sir.”

 

“Did he say what he wanted?”

 

“No, sir.  He just sat here smoking those horrible gaspers and then got up and said he couldn’t wait any longer.  He just wanted to thank you, he said, for the courtesy of having listened to him today.”

 

“There was more involved in his visit that that,” O’Brien observed dryly.

 

Adam nodded but before Ross could leave, asked the officer to get Hathaway and Myers in the cabin for a briefing.

 

…………….

 

“Does this mean we’re working on behalf of the British Government?” Ross asked once Adam had given them what information he felt was necessary.

 

“No.”  Adam shook his head, frowned a little then and looked at O’Brien, “No, Britain has vested interests in Egypt, as does America.  What affects us will also affect them.  This is what we would call a coalition.” He sat down at the desk now and stretched out his long legs, paused a moment and looked down at the maps, “It’s the Russian involvement that worries me more.” But he said it too softly for anyone other than O’Brien to have heard, and he merely frowned and turned to look thoughtfully at the spines of the books on the shelves as though they could provide a more satisfactory answer than any he could have given the commodore.

 

“And what if, in the future, anything we do to our government’s benefit affects British interests adversely?” Ross then asked.

 

“Are you a politician?” Adam laughed and a ripple of laughter trickled around the table. “We’re American citizens, gentlemen, and unlikely to forget it.”

 

“So we’re going to Egypt?” Hathaway said, looking down at the maps spread across the table. “Makes a difference from our last destinations.”

 

“Yes, we exchange seals and whales for camels and flies,” O’Brien replied with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

 

“Well, you won’t be far wrong there, sir, more camels and more flies there than you’ll ever see in a lifetime,” Ross commented without any humour at all.

 

………………….

 

Ingrid Buchanan reclined in her bath with her eyes closed.  The hip bath was pleasant enough and the smells from her oils were relaxing.  She needed time to think, and having a bath was one way for her to gain peace and quiet in order to do so  It seemed to her that life had become more and more complicated since they had arrived at the Ponderosa because this mad rush to visit Milton‘s sister had only resulted in various conundrums being presented to her.  What had, when Milton first suggested it, seemed an ideal situation that would give her some time to remove herself from a rather embarrassing problem now appeared to be presenting her with several different ones.  She ran through several scenarios in her mind.

 

The first one was that of her cousin-in-law, Ann Buchanan Canady.  There had never been much love lost between them before Ann had met Candy, and Ingrid could remember only too well the disputes between them when Ann had decided to look for her ex-husband.  Ann, as well as Ingrid, remembered too many details of those encounters for them to be comfortable with one another now.

 

There was also the fact that the Cartwrights were  wealthy,  wealthy indeed. Yet there was that talk in town about the time they had lost the Ponderosa because they hadn’t enough money to redeem debts and loans.  Someone, and no one knew whom, had purchased the Ponderosa back on their behalf, paying off all the debts and setting them up as previously.  Ingrid wasn’t sure what all this had meant except that someone else in town was obviously far wealthier than the Cartwrights and that they themselves were not as solvent as one had first been led to believe.  They had to work, and work hard, in order to retain what they had which, to Ingrid’s way of thinking, indicated they were lacking in the essentials…cash and gold in big safe deposits.

 

Hester had explained what she could about the situation, and laughed off Ingrid’s comment. “So, really they’re quite poor?”

 

“No, they’re not poor, it’s just different, that’s all.”

 

“But they’re not rich, not like the Buchanans?”

 

“No, not like the Buchanans, nor like a lot of other New York society folk.  Ingrid, this is a new world out here.  People are still working at the grassroots to get what others have had for generations back east.”

 

But Ingrid knew of some in Virginia City who had struck it rich and lived just like high society New Yorkers.  It puzzled her that the Cartwrights weren’t like them when to all appearances they should be even moreso, considering Ben had been one of the first settlers in the area.

 

She slipped out of the bath and pulled the towel close around her.  No, there were a lot of questions going unanswered, a lot of things she wished she knew more about and a certain person whom she would like to get to know better, much better than she did already.

 

…………………

 

Joseph Cartwright had put off visiting the Paiute in deference to his father’s request, but it had been at the back of his mind too long to ignore any further.  He had left the Ponderosa early that morning, having cobbled together a quick breakfast washed down by coffee before saddling a horse and riding away from the Ponderosa just as the early morning sun was beginning to turn the skies pink and orange.

 

The last person on his mind was Ingrid Buchanan.

 

……………..

 

Sarah Winnemucca was an attractive woman with dark eyes and long black hair.  She enjoyed the wearing of the bone and shell beads on her calf-length dress (kwasi) that caught the light and made them glitter as she walked just as she loved to feel the warmth of the sun upon her hair and body.  The fringes of her kwasi brushed against the well-shaped calves of her legs and the pendent shell earring that hung from her pierced ear touched her neck with a reassuringly light graze against her skin.

 

She stood  still as the rider approached her, and when she recognised Joseph Cartwright she smiled in welcome.

 

“Mike-tu-cubin,” she said although she remained quite still and waited for him to dismount.

 

“Noonie-tu-cubin, Sarah,” Joe replied as he approached her.

 

She nodded, the shells of her earring rattling  softly against her ear. “Iooie, iooie” she replied and indicated that he should sit on the blanket spread out before the entrance of her home.

 

“The Nu’ma know you well now, Joseph Cartwright; you ride back and forth among us as freely as though you were one of us.” She held out a gourd full of water for him to drink from, and her smile crinkled her eyes, an indication of the pleasure she felt in seeing him there.

 

Joe drank the water greedily; it tasted sweet and cool.  He removed his hat and brushed sweat from his brow onto the back of his sleeve.  It was interesting, he thought, that she should address her people by the name they had been known by long ago, Nu’ma—the People, and he smiled at her and nodded as though in an attempt to show his approval, not, he knew, that it would matter to her.

 

“I feel as though I don’t come here often enough,” he replied. “A lot can happen between the times we meet, Sarah Winnemucca.”

 

She merely smiled, and cast down her eyelids to observe the dust that was settling onto the brightly coloured blanket.  Slowly she brushed some grains away with her hand before looking up at him.

 

“Why do you come now, Joseph Cartwright?”

 

Joe glanced over his shoulder and noticed the attention this interview, if one could call it such, was receiving.  He cleared his throat and looked into her face and was pleased to receive a direct smile in return.

 

“We had news, my father and I, that soon the American government—”

 

“Your government—” she interposed and slightly,  slightly raised her eyebrows.

 

“Yes, our Government is about to re-settle the Plains Indians.  By that I mean, the Arapaho, Cheyenne, Sioux—”

 

“Yes, I know these nations of Indians, and by re-settlement do you mean that they are to be rounded up and corralled as we are, as the Nu’ma are?” a hint of colour had rouged her skin, her eyes were dilated and the words were spoken in a voice that was flat, toneless.

 

“Corralled?” Joe’s face dropped into an expression of dismay and once again he looked around him at the gathering number of men and women, among the crowd an infant wailed.  “Sarah—” he paused, bit down on his bottom lip, “You call the Paiute the Nu’ma, the people, but away on the plains there are tribes of Indians who also refer to themselves as The People.  They live in fear of the Hoop of Life being broken when they are driven from their own lands, from the Black Hills.  Sarah—there would be a lot of bloodshed that could be prevented.”

 

“Yes.  It is true.”  She nodded and various ones among the crowd grunted assent. “But why come to me?”

 

“I wondered if perhaps others had not already come to you.”

 

“Others?”

 

“Officials from the government?”

 

She sat back onto her haunches, her hands rested lightly upon her thighs and she looked at him more softly. “They came a long time ago and asked many questions about my future plans for the Nu’ma.  I told them that I would continue to speak out for their rights, for justice.  They will not control my mouth so easily as they think—” her lips firmed in determination and she shook her head, the earring of shells tinkled and one caught in her hair. “Joseph Cartwright, I have to speak for my people. I have to  be their voice.”

 

“I know that, Sarah Thocmetony, but perhaps others would like to use your voice on behalf of those other nations of people out there on the plains.”

 

She frowned and then shook her head again

 

“No one has asked and even if they did so I would not leave my people.  How can I speak on behalf of the nations who stood back and did nothing for my people when we needed them?  No, I shall not speak for them, or to them.”

 

“But if the government were to order you to do so?” he could feel little beads of sweat popping out beneath his hair line, irritatingly so.  “They may ask you or order you to go to the Cheyenne or Sioux and negotiate with them.”

 

“Why should they do that?” she laughed softly and shook her head again; the shell, released from its entanglement, returned to drift upon her shoulder. “My own people do not always listen to me when I negotiate, as you call it, on their behalf.  No, should any come from your government I shall not go, unless in a cage.”  She shrugged then and looked at him. “Have you anything else to say?”

 

“You definitely won’t go?”

 

“Never.”

 

He looked into her eyes and saw the dogged determination in them. He frowned  slightly,

 

“Even if they put you in a cage?” His lips smiled but the hazel eyes did not.

 

She saw in them the anxiety for her and was grateful, but her reply did not indicate such. “What difference does that make?  Am I not already in one?  The size of the cage barely matters, Joseph Cartwright, to those who are trapped inside one.”

 

He nodded and rose to his feet, bade her farewell, and after putting on his hat, remounted the horse.  He felt as though every man, woman and child watched him as he rode slowly from the camp.

 

……………….

 

Milton Buchanan held his sister’s hand in his as they sat side by side on the porch that looked over the yard and beyond that to the stables and outbuildings of the ranch house.

 

“Thank you for having us stay, Hester.”

 

She turned to him, her face registering surprise, for his words were spoken so softly that she could barely hear them.  She squeezed his fingers between her own. “It’s been a pleasure, Milton, you know that.”

 

“No—” he smiled, a slightly tight smile. “No, I know that it hasn’t all been a pleasure for you and your new family, who, by the way, I think are perfect for you.” he sighed, “No, I can well understand that it has been far from pleasant at times.  I don’t understand how it is, but Inger seems to upset people a lot. It’s just that she’s kinda forthright and direct; most folk don’t like that.”

 

“No, I don’t think they do,” she sighed and bowed her head.

 

“Hester, I think I should tell you the real reason why we left and came here.” He removed the dark glasses that he habitually wore and looked at her with his pale blue eyes.  With love he looked over every feature of her face, and then gently stroked her cheek. “You see, I’m going blind.”

 

She didn’t say anything to that, unsure as to what to say really as she had already surmised such an actuality.  She lowered her head. “I am sorry, Milton.  I really am.”

 

“I’ve been to all the best doctors back east, but they said it was progressive.  Something to do with the retina…” he shrugged.

 

“And—is that why you came here?”

 

He smiled and again squeezed her hand while with the other he replaced his glasses. “You’re  perceptive.”  A slight frown furrowed his brow. “No, there was another reason.”

 

He paused, and like her turned his head towards the sound of a horse approaching.  Behind them there came the creak of the door opening, perfume drifted on the air towards them.  Inger stepped closer to them, put her hand on Milton’s shoulder and looked with them in the direction of Joe’s return to the ranch.

 

Chapter 14

 

Joseph Cartwright dismounted and slowly led his horse to the hitching rail.  He had seen the three people watching him from the porch but had not acknowledged them.  Now he turned and forced a smile, removed his hat and walked slowly towards them:  Milton, seated in the old chair over which the Navajo blanket was always draped and Hester sitting by his side while behind them Ingrid hovered, one hand on her husband’s shoulder in a quite proprietary manner.  Hester rose to her feet and smiled at her young brother-in-law, while Milton turned his face towards him, the sun glinting from the dark glasses.  Ingrid merely stepped back a pace or two and remained in the shadow as though preferring to look on rather than to participate in what was to follow.

 

“Do you want something to drink, Joe?” This was from Hester, a smile still on her lips, although there was something lacking in her eyes.

 

“That’s alright, Hester, thank you.  I’ll just go in and see Pa.  He is inside, isn’t he?” He twirled his hat round and round, his restlessness conveyed to them by the action of his nervous hands. “’Morning, Milton, Ingrid—” he passed them without saying anything more.

 

Ben was checking figures in his ledgers, the frown on his face and the amount of dark scratchings on the paper a fair indication that he was in a losing battle.  He looked up and saw Joe, upon which his face creased into his generous smile which reached to the black eyes, making them sparkle.

 

“I wondered if you were getting back before lunch.  “Where’ve you been?”

 

“I went to see Sarah Winnemucca.”

 

“Aah.” Ben’s face lost its smile and his eyes narrowed; he looked sharply at Joe and frowned even more deeply. “I thought we would be going together.”

 

“I know, but there never seemed to be the right time, besides which I was getting more and more conscious of the fact that that was one thing we were running out of…“ Joe flipped his hat onto the bureau and sat down in the chair opposite the desk. Ben slowly returned to his chair and put the pen down,

 

“Well, what happened?”

 

Joe ran his fingers through his shock of thick hair, and then scratched the back of his head while a confused look settled on his face. “She said she would only speak for her own people.  She won’t be coerced to speak for or to any other tribe. She’s angry even at the thought.”

 

“You did explain to her that the government could well force her to act as their intermediary?”

 

“Of course, but that didn’t seem to matter much to her.  She only wants what is best for her own people, Pa.  The Souix, Cheyenne … they’re as much names to her as they are to most of the citizens in Virginia City.  Why should she go speak on their behalf?” once again he pushed his fingers through his hair and looked thoughtfully at his father. “I don’t think she will go, no matter what the government threatens her with, she’ll just stay where she is.”

 

“What if the government threatens her people, though?” Ben replied as he leaned back in his chair.  He twirled the pen between his fingers in a slow rotation as he stopped to consider some of the options that could be forced upon the young Paiute woman, then he sighed, shook his head and looked down at the ledger. “Look, Joe, just at the moment it isn’t our concern.  Let’s just get on with things here and see how things work out.”

 

“You said that before, Pa.”  Joe rose to his feet and pouted slightly, and Ben, looking at him, was once more reminded that one other of his sons was no longer a child, but a man to be respected.  “I don’t know if I can wait.”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

“Well, while I’m here hanging around waiting for something to happen, things could be happening and Little Moon’s people could be getting killed and—”

 

“—and it has nothing to do with you.  You won’t be able to stop it, Joe.  Stop and think, boy, just what could you possibly do to change the circumstances there?  Talk to Custer and ask him to turn around and go back home?  He won’t take any notice of you if the president has already given him permission to ride roughshod over those people.”

 

“I know that, Pa.”  Joe turned away, paused a moment and then looked back at Ben, “I just feel so useless.”

 

For a moment those words hovered in the air between them, then Ben stood up and came to his side, he placed a gentle hand upon his son’s shoulder. “Joe, I can’t begin to tell you how often I have felt just that way too, but I’ve found that, usually, something happens that makes it quite clear as to what I have to do.”

 

Joe nodded, looked at his father and saw the warmth, the love, in the old man’s face and forced a smile.

 

“I know, Pa,” he replied softly and without another word walked quickly away.

 

For a moment Ben stood  still, his eyes fixed onto the back of his youngest son, willing him to lose that air of despondency that now seemed to follow him like a dark cloud.  He sighed as Joe turned on the half landing and continued up the stairs

 

“Anything wrong, Pa?”

 

Hoss’ deep voice caused Ben to turn, and seeing his other son’s anxious face he smiled,

 

“Just a problem that Joe has to sort out for himself, son.”

 

“Sure there ain’t nothing’ I can do to help?”

 

Ben sighed, shrugged and glanced back over his shoulder to the stairs,

 

“I don’t know, Hoss.  I don’t think so, it’s—” he shook his head, shrugged again. “It’s something Joe will talk to you about sometime himself.”

 

……………..

 

Ingrid Buchanan slipped quickly into the chair that Hester had left vacant when she had gone into the house after her husband.  For a moment husband and wife, Milton and Ingrid, sat in silence, both facing out to the yard as though the sight of outbuildings, corrals and a lone horse were the most fascinating sights one could see.

 

“What were you talking about just now?” Ingrid asked in a low voice as she carefully tied a ribbon in her long braid of hair.

 

“I was talking privately to my sister.”

 

“About what?”

 

“I was telling her about—about my health, my eyes.”  Milton’s voice quivered.  It was a hard subject for him to discuss, after all, it had taken him this long to get round to telling Hester whom he loved more than anything, or anyone.  He would never admit it to anyone else but he loved her even more than his wife.

 

“Oh, I see.”  She didn’t, and the fact that her response was somewhat tactless never occurred to her, she sighed, “Milton?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you like it here?”

 

“Not particularly.  I prefer the city.  There’s too much dust and open spaces for me.”

 

“I was talking to Hester the other day, about the Cartwrights.”

 

“What about the Cartwrights?”

 

“Well, people often assume that because I am a member of a banking dynasty that I understand everything there is about money and economics—”

 

“You know how to spend money,” he said somewhat coldly.

 

“Yes, I know.  Thankfully there’s always plenty for us to spend.” She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, her fingers toying idly with her ribbons. “I didn’t realise that people could be poor even if they have a lot of assets.”

 

“The Cartwrights aren’t poor, Ingrid.” He said the words slowly, the way a teacher tries to convey a lesson to a tardy pupil, and she sighed.

 

“But they didn’t even have enough money in the bank to pay off their mortgage some while back, someone else had to—well—help them out.”

 

“It happens.  Anyway, it has nothing to do with us.  The Cartwright assets are as strong as any of your Fitzgerald holdings any day.” he turned to her with a slight frown. “Why so much interest in what you have always considered to be vulgar talk about money?”

 

“Nothing,” she snapped sharply, and turned her head away from him. “It has nothing to do with anything.”

 

“Then please don’t mention it again, leastways, not in my presence.”

 

She said nothing to that but rose from the chair and with a disdainful toss of her head re-entered the house.

 

………………..

 

Hoss Cartwright had one foot on the bottom step of the stairs when a warm hand slipped into his, and he turned, smiled, and squeezed his wife’s fingers gently between his own.

 

“You look sweet, honey.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

 

“Hoss, I want to talk to you…” she glanced to the study area where Ben appeared to be engrossed in totting up figures in the ledger.

 

“Sure, what’s wrong?”

 

She put a finger to her lips and glanced again over at Ben so that her husband nodded his understanding and allowed himself to be led by her from the main room, through the kitchen, and out into the gardens at the back of the house.

 

Here she slipped her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder as they walked together, step by step, into the rose garden that Marie had created so long ago.

 

“Milton told me today why they had come.“

 

“To see you and meet us, wasn‘t it?” He put his arm around her shoulders so that her head was cradled into his collarbone, the perfect curve for her to rest her head within.

 

“He said he wanted to come because—because he’s going blind.”

 

Hoss said nothing but looked out over the rose garden where the sun gleamed and created a blur of colour; close by was a perfect red rose: he could see each petal’s shape so clearly, and beyond that he could see where the apples and plum trees grew.  He narrowed his eyes and tried to pretend he was going blind and wondered what it would be like to suddenly be deprived of such a wonderful gift.

 

“Is it  bad?”

 

“He said he had seen doctors back East, specialists no doubt.”

 

“Can’t they do anything for him?”

 

“No, nothing at all.  He wanted to come here because he wanted to make sure I was alright.  He and I were always  close, Hoss.”

 

“I know, I could see that for myself.”

 

“There was something else, but he couldn’t tell me because of Ingrid—and then Joe came home.” she rubbed her face against his shirt, listened to his heart beating, how strong, how steady it was and she looked up into his face and smiled, “I love you, Hoss.”

 

“I’m glad of it, Hester, otherwise—”

 

“Otherwise?”

 

“Well, otherwise you’d be an awful unhappy woman, and I’d hate to be living with an unhappy woman.” He kissed her nose, then her lips, and then he kissed her lips again.

 

Hester gave herself willingly, lovingly, but at the back of her mind she told herself that Ingrid wasn’t happy, and nothing Milton did would ever make her so. 

 

Chapter 15

 

The day had dawned brightly and the sun had streamed through the porthole in the cabin to locate the commodore already dressed and seated at his desk, scanning through sheets of paper that he had taken from the folder Lord Charles Willoughby had given him the previous day.

 

He felt reasonably satisfied with life.  A letter had gone into the mailbag and taken to the other American ship that was heading home that day.  News would soon reach Ben and the family about his recent adventures, and he had even written a pretty little note to Hester containing a detailed sketch of the Council Room which he thought she would appreciate.

 

He began to read the notes about Charles Pomeroy Stone.

 

“Charles Pomeroy Stone born in 1824, Massachusetts.

 

1841—Entered U.S. Military Academy, West Point, graduated 1845—7/41 cadets.

 

1845—July. Apptd  brevet second lieutenant.

 

1846—Asst Ordnance Officer—Watervliet Arsenal, NY and Old Pooint Comfort, Virgnia.

 

1847— Mexican-American War.  Prom second lieutenant, serving under Maj.Gen Winfield Scott.

 

1847 —Sept apptd brevet first lieutenant for gallant and meritorious conduct at Molino del Rey

 

1847—Sept apptd brevet Captain

 

          Sept 15 fought in Battle for Mexico City, formed part of party to climb to the summit of Popocatepetl volcano and raise American flat thereon.

 

1848— “

 

 

The knock on the door roused Adam from reading further.  He raised his head and called out “Come in.” As O’Brien entered the cabin he shuffled the papers back into the folder.  He welcomed Daniel with a smile and rose to his feet. “Good morning, Daniel, I’ve been reading some of the files on the men who have been assisting the khedive of Egypt and—what have you got there?”

 

“Arrived just now for you.” Daniel placed the letters in his friend’s hand and smiled. “They both came by the same courier.”

 

Adam nodded and turned them over and over between his fingers, then sniffed at one and smiled before he raised the letter aloft. “I can guess who this is from, our friend Doestov.”

 

They shared a chuckle and Daniel walked to the table where the coffee pot still stood; as it still contained hot coffee he made himself a drink having ascertained that Adam had had enough already.

 

“Mmm, this is interesting…and will delay our departure.” Adam said thoughtfully. “Our friend Doestov wishes to meet us because he wants to discuss something important with us.”

 

“He’s coming here?” Daniel half-turned, his cup still in one hand and his eyebrows raised in question.

 

“No, he wants us to meet him on the island.” Adam frowned. “After 2 o’clock.”

 

“That’s a nuisance.  Do you think you should go?  We were going to leave this morning.”

 

Adam shrugged as he ripped open the other envelope.  His eyebrows rose and his mouth turned down in a slight grimace.

 

……………..

 

Leaving the Baltimore in the capable hands of Hathaway, the commodore and O’Brien were prompt in arriving at the hostel in East Cowes at the time required by Doestov.  The smoky interior of the hostel, with its dark-beamed ceiling made it initially difficult to locate the Russian who had selected a seat in a shadowed corner of the largest room where there seemed to be fewer clientele gathered to bother them.

 

As the broad-shouldered American made his way towards where Doestov sat, some young man stood up and pushed himself in front of him, barring his way.

 

“Well now, what have we here?” he smiled and made a wide gesture with his hands, the beer in his tankard spilled over his fingers, which he wiped down the rather shabby shirt he was wearing, “A navy man and not JUST a navy man but an AMERICAN navy man.”

 

“You’re drunk,” O’Brien said, edging his way between Adam and the local man, “If you won’t mind letting us through.”

 

“Oh, well—never let it be said I didn’t do my bit for cordial relations with the colonists,” came the answer, and with a low bow he stepped back to let them pass by, a motion that was unwise in his case as he lost his balance and staggered back, falling into the legs of other men who had been standing at the bar.

 

“Why don’t you just watch your mouth, Jackson,” someone yelled, a comment followed by various curses from sundry drinkers.

 

Adam looked at Doestov, who rose to his feet, gestured towards the table upon which were three glasses and a bottle of good white wine.  With a smile and a shrug of his shoulders Adam sat down, followed by O’Brien.

 

“A drink?” Doestov said immediately and uncorked the bottle.

 

“You seemed pretty confident that we would be coming then.” Adam took his glass and after taking some, nodded approval.

 

“Ah, I knew you would come.  I know you are like the cat—always curious.” Doestov smiled.

 

“So—here we are, and you want to talk to us about something?”

 

“Da, is true.  Your trip to Cairo, for example.”

 

Adam paused in the act of taking the glass once more to his mouth. He frowned, “Cairo?  Don’t you mean the Suez Canal?” he said.

 

Doestov shrugged and stubbed out the cigarette he had been smoking into his little tin, the lid of which he snapped shut.  He raised his glass, then looked defiantly at Adam,

 

“Cairo.”

 

O’Brien looked anxiously at Adam, and then at Doestov, who now shrugged his thin shoulders.

 

“Commander, you vondered perhaps vy I came to see you and didn’t stay for that purpose—da?  You see, I knew you vould go to Cairo, and ven I am alone—”

 

“Alone?” O’Brien snapped, “When were you alone?”

 

“In the cabin—for a few minutes only.  I make a request for water and the officer goes to get me some.  I see the papers on the desk and look.  I am like the cat also…alvays I am curious.”

 

“Perhaps a little bit too much so.” Adam muttered.

 

“No matter.  Look—” he pulled an envelope from his pocket and passed it to Adam, “I give you here some names.  You will find these men and they vill help you.”

 

“Why give them to us?  Why not to the British?”

 

“Nyet, no—not good idea.  British they are everywhere.  I give them to you, Commodore Adam Cartwright, because I trust you.  I owe you my life—” he paused and frowned slightly. “And the life of my countrymen.  You forget maybe that there were 13 men who survived because of you.”

 

“Doestov, after the way you acted on board my ship, I can’t help but feel that any thing you do has to have an ulterior motive.  You killed a good man that day when you went looking for those papers.”

 

“I regret.” Doestov shrugged, “Vot can I do?  I am Russian.  I have to put my country first before my finer feelings as a man.  I respect you. I did not vant to kill no one but it happened.”

 

They fell into silence and each man drank a little of the wine before Adam asked Doestov what exactly he had been given.

 

“A few names only.  These are the men I was in contact with when in Egypt.  They will know you, and contact you.  They will help you.  They are mostly good men.”

 

“Mostly?”

 

“Vell, they are good men, but some not so good as others.”

 

“That’s not much help, Doestov.”

 

“It is all there.” Dimitri tapped the envelope with his nicotine-stained fingers, “I have marked the ones you can trust implicitly, others you need to be a little careful about because they are—”  he shrugged—“you will find out.” He stood up, having pulled out a silver watch which he stared at before slipping it back into his pocket. “I go now.  Thank you, Adam. For my life.  For your help.”

 

He bowed, clicked his heels in the Russian fashion, and quickly left the hostel. 

 

“Shall I go after him?” O’Brien asked, but Adam grabbed at his arm and shook his head.

 

“He doesn’t have anything more to tell us,” he said, “Drink your wine and then we’ll make our way back to our ship.” he frowned thoughtfully. “He’s lying anyway. Those papers were locked in my desk, it was not possible for him to read anything.”

 

“Unless someone else had already been looking through them and hadn’t had time to put them away,” OBrien suggested with a rather perplexed look on his handsome face.

 

“I don’t want to think along those lines, Daniel,” Adam murmured as he rose to his feet, “I’d rather think that it would seem obvious to Dimitri that we would go to Cairo; after all, I’d imagine that is where most of his contacts could be found.”

 

O’Brien said nothing to that, but inwardly, as he reached for his hat, he hoped that Adam was right.

 

Chapter 16

 

Hathaway was on the main deck and saluted the officers as they boarded the Baltimore.  His murmured greeting and affirmation that all was well was greeted with a curt nod from Adam, who midway to his cabin paused and turned to his First Lieutenant with a raised eyebrow

 

“Would you ask Mr. Ross to come and see me immediately, Mr. Hathaway?”

 

“Yes, sir, of course.”

 

O’Brien checked his steps and placed his hand on Adam’s arm as they entered the corridor that would take them to Adam’s cabin.

 

“Ross?  Are you sure?”

 

“Well, Daniel, you didn’t seem to accept my version of events, so I thought I would give Mr. Ross the chance for him to tell us what his are—” he scowled slightly—“do you want to join me?”

 

Daniel frowned, then shook his head.

 

“No, thank you, Adam.  I think I prefer my own company just now.  That was bad wine and Doestov always gives me a head ache.”

 

They exchanged a smile and parted each to his own cabin.  Once in his, O’Brien tossed his hat to one side and fell across his narrow bed.  He wasn’t exaggerating his tiredness, for within minutes he was asleep.  Adam, on the other hand, entered his cabin and looked thoughtfully around it. He walked to his desk and stared at it thoughtfully, then tugged his earlobe, pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his temple in a circular motion with his forefinger. 

 

He was seated at the desk when Ross knocked and entered the cabin.  The lieutenant had his hat under his arm, and approached the desk in a respectful manner.  After a pause he cleared his throat upon which Adam raised his eyes from the letter he was swiftly perusing and looked at him with his dark eyes suddenly  dark indeed.

 

“Mr. Ross?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Ross cleared his throat again, “Commodore.”

 

“Last evening when the Russian gentleman came on board, where exactly were you?”

 

“I was on deck with Mr. Hathaway, sir.”

 

“Did you see Mr. Doestov arrive?”

 

“Indeed I did, sir; it was not dark at all then.  He came in a launch from the mainland and was alone apart from the pilot.”

 

“What happened when he came on board?”

 

“He asked for you.  Mr. Myers was close by and explained that you were absent from the ship and that Mr. Hathaway would deal with anything he wished relayed to you—” he paused as though going through his memory to ensure he had spoken correctly.

 

“Then what?”

 

“Mr. Hathaway then approached him and asked him if he would like to leave a message because there was no guarantee as to when you would be back.  The Russian gentleman insisted that he had to speak to you and would wait in your room.  There was a slight altercation then, Mr. Hathaway not wanting the gentleman here in your private room and the visitor insisting that as an old friend of yours you would not mind.”

 

Adam merely raised an eyebrow, and then nodded for Ross to continue.

 

“Well, as he passed me Mr. Hathaway told me to follow the Russian and not to leave him alone for an instant.  I did as requested and followed Mr. Doestov here.”

 

“Did he speak to you at all?”

 

“Not much, sir.  He asked me if I had been on the ship with you in Alaska and I said I had not, this was my first assignment with you.  He wasn’t interested in me after that, just sat down, started smoking those cigarettes of his and seemed to go into a sort of trance…more as though he was deep in thought and had nothing he wanted to say.”

 

“Did you at any time leave him on his own here?”

 

“Not at all, sir.”

 

“Did he ask for anything to drink?”

 

“No, sir, he did not.”

 

“He did not ask for a drink of water?”

 

Ross frowned, and then he nodded. “Yes, he did, sir.  It was the only conversation we had due to the fact that I poured him a glass of water from your own jug over there.” He indicated the glass container on a side table near the bookcase. “He asked if it was drinkable and I told him that we had the water hermetically sealed in our own ship tank on board the Baltimore. He asked me about it and we got into a discussion about water storage and I told him how the ship tank worked.  He got a bit bored after a while and that blank look came to his face again…” Ross shrugged and frowned. “After an hour he said he couldn’t keep the pilot of the launch waiting any longer and left the cabin.  I believe Mr. Myers escorted him from the ship.”

 

“And what did you do when he left my cabin?”

 

Ross went slightly red around the collar; he cleared his throat.

 

“I—er—I left as well, sir.”

 

Adam pursed his lips and ran the tip of his tongue around his teeth while he narrowed his eyes and looked at the younger man with a look that Hoss and Joe would recognise as meaning “Don’t expect me to believe that for a second…”

 

“Mr. Ross, I’ll ask you just the one more time—what did you do when Doestov left my cabin?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir.” Ross gulped, and beads of sweat popped out on his brow. “I replaced the glass after cleaning it first and then—” there was a pause; Adam kept his eyes fixed on the other man’s; the pause stretched for a second or two longer. “I noticed you had some brandy and poured myself just a small tot.”

 

Adam said nothing but leaned back in his chair; one hand picked up a pen while the other tapped on the desk.  Ross was now feeling panic rising in his breast, his mouth was dry and his heart was beating double time.

 

“Mr. Ross, while you were here in this room drinking my brandy, did you notice if there were any papers on my desk?”

 

“I don’t know, sir; I didn’t look.”

 

“Would you have noticed—or would Mr. Doestov have noticed—had you glanced in this direction?”

 

“I don’t know, sir, it tends to be in shadow.  I doubt if we would have noticed.  I certainly didn’t.”

 

“Mr. Ross, when we first boarded—Mr. Willoughby and I—did you at any time enter Mr. Willoughby’s cabin and look through his belongings?”

 

“Not at all, sir.”

 

Adam sighed, nodded, and observed the man carefully.  True, he was sweating but Adam could appreciate that Ross was anticipating some disciplinary action for taking the brandy.  That he was nervous was obvious, but it was equally obvious that he was telling the truth. Adam stood up.

 

“Very well, Mr. Ross; for helping yourself to my brandy you can relieve Mr. Myers of his dog watch and also do Mr. Hathaway’s.  Dismissed.”

 

Ross went slightly pale, saluted and left the cabin.  Adam listened to the footsteps fade down the corridor.  With a downturn of the mouth he rubbed his brow and then began to read the paper that Doestov had given him.

 

There was a list of names; some were familiar to Adam being on the same list given him by Charles Willoughby.  These names were connected to the cadre that formed the khedive’s American cartographers.  There were some Arab names. There were the names of some civilians against which Doestov had neatly penned “American,” ”French,” or ”Swiss.”

 

With a sigh Adam slipped the paper into the folder which he locked into his desk.  He next unrolled some maps and began to plot a course from the Isle of Wight to Newcastle, England.

 

………………

 

“Would anyone mind if I took one of the horses and went for ride this afternoon?”  Ingrid Buchanan glanced around the room, and smiled her loveliest smile. “It’s such a delightful day, and I don’t think I have seen as much of the Ponderosa as I would like to have done.”

 

“You can’t go on your own, Ingrid.” Hester cried anxiously, “You don’t know your way around well enough.  If you got lost or had an accident how would any of us know?”

 

Ingrid pouted and looked anxiously at those in the room. Her husband, Milton, was in conversation with Ben who had felt confident enough in the younger man’s abilities as an accountant to trust him with sharing the task of checking the ledgers.  Hester had been busy writing at her own little desk under the window at the far side of the room; she now looked at her sister-in-law with slight exasperation on her face.

 

“Can’t you wait until tomorrow?  I could ride with you then.”

 

“The weather may not hold that long.” Ingrid pouted and slightly shrugged her shoulders. “There’s no point in asking Milton, he knows the way around even less than I do.”

 

“Well, I suppose I could ask Joe,” Hester said slowly, hesitantly.

 

“Oh I don’t like to bother your brother-in-law, Hester.  He seems  melancholy just at the moment.  I wouldn’t like to make a nuisance of myself.”  She sighed and paced the room a little, trailing her fingers over the furniture as though even that was an effort.

 

“You’re right, he has been rather melancholy just lately,” Hester replied and rose to her feet. “I’m sure he won’t mind showing you around the Ponderosa.  I’ve never known it to fail to cheer him up.”

 

“Only if you’re really sure?” Ingrid said in a softly sweet voice.

 

Hester found Joe in the stable as she had expected and watched as he swept the curry brush down Cochise’s sleek neck.  As though sensing her presence, he turned and smiled.

 

“What brings you here, Princess?”

 

She laughed; he had been calling her that for some days now, and she rather liked it, although it was only Hoss who make her feel like one.  Joe had said he called her that because it suited her, and she had accepted it for what it was, a sweet and sincere compliment from the young man.

 

“Joe, I came to ask a favour of you, but would you mind taking Ingrid around the Ponderosa?  Some place she hasn’t been before…I think she is beginning to fall in love with it.”

 

Joe frowned, chewed on his bottom lip, and began to sweep the brush down across Cochise’s back with a more determined briskness to his arm.

 

“It needn’t be for long, Joe.”

 

“Alright, for you and one of your smiles.” he said and slapped his horse fondly on the back, before turning to her, “I’ll saddle up a horse for her.”

 

“Oh, Joe, thank you so much.” She blew him a kiss and turned away, running across the yard with a smile on her face and the breeze blowing her copper gold hair into tendrils around her shoulders.

 

……………

 

As Ingrid looked down at the lake and took in the view of the pine clad mountains that stretched as though on their tip toes to reach the sky above them, she couldn’t help but feel a stirring in her emotions that had long lain dormant.  Nature, she had decided long ago, did nothing for her; it held no interest and was thereby relegated to bottom in a long list of things not to do.  The material things of the world were what appealed to Ingrid, the things she could feel and see, touch and caress, add value to and enjoy the lustre.  Now here she was feeling her heart in her mouth because of a body of water reflecting mountains and clouds.  She shook her head disbelievingly.  “It’s beautiful, Joe.”

 

“One of our favourite places.  I like to come here when I’m feeling in the need of some beauty in my life.”  Joe leaned forward, his hands pressed against the pommel of his saddle and his eyes staring out over the waters.

 

She looked at him and edged the horse closer to his so that her knee brushed against him.

 

“You’ve been looking  sad lately, Joe.  I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong.  Is there anything that I could do for you, to help at all?”

 

“Help?” he looked at her with his hazel eyes narrowed. “In what way do you mean?”

 

“Well, would it help if you talked about it?  I am a good listener, you know?  I may not be able to wave a magic wand over your problems and get them to disappear but I can listen and…” she shrugged slightly and looked at him with sweet appeal in her eyes.

 

Joe looked at her again and this time noticed the blue of her eyes, the way her black hair was neat to her head, with just a few curls loose upon her shoulders.  He remembered how she had looked that evening when she had come down the stairs and looked around the room as though in wonder at something she had not noticed before…he had thought her beautiful then, the lamp and candle light so softening her face and form, making her seem as though she had stepped from the pages of a fairy tale book.

 

Now here she was sitting there looking so sweetly earnest at him, her blue eyes wide with appeal and her lips so red and moist, parted as they were to expose just the whitest of teeth.  He looked away and shook his head. “No, there’s nothing you can do to help me.”

 

“It’s a woman, isn’t it?” her voice was soft, the words jarred his heart however and re-opened the wound, he cleared his throat and turned Cochise’s head away from the view over the lake.

 

“I think we’ve ridden far enough, we should get back home.”

 

She followed him and for some minutes they rode side by side in silence.  He was aware now of her perfume, and when he turned her head she was there, beside him, and never had a woman looked more beguilingly beautiful.

 

“Joe—” she said his name and reached out with her hand so that it rested upon his,  gently, and he put his hand upon hers, covering it as their fingers interlocked.

 

He lowered his head as she raised hers to meet him and his lips touched hers, gently, so gently.  The shock of emotion made him jerk away.  His eyes looked into hers and he saw in them the warm passion that he felt within himself.  He was about to speak when he heard the sound of hoofbeats, and for an instant mistook it for the beat of his own heart.

 

“Hey, Joe!”

 

He turned, jerked Cochise’s head around and looked at Hoss as he galloped towards them.  His throat was tight and yet his heart was slowing to its regular beat.  Sense was dawning again, and he felt relief flood over him akin to shame.  As Hoss grew closer Joe thought of Milton and a shiver trickled through his spine.

 

“Hey, Joe—thought I’d find you here, Hester said you were taking Ms Buchanan—I mean—Ingrid—for a look around the place.”  Hoss looked shrewdly at them both and Joe knew without a doubt that he had seen, noticed and would remember the scene that he had intruded upon.

 

“It’s beautiful here, Hoss.” Ingrid said with a slight brittleness to her tone of voice, “Really beautiful.”

 

“Yeah, it sure is,”  Hoss nodded, and turned his horse into line with them.

 

The three of them rode back to the ranch with entirely different emotions struggling within them.  Each one said not a word the entire journey.  The only one who felt any sense of satisfaction was Ingrid Buchanan.

 

Chapter 17

 

Hester sat with her hands folded in her lap.  She was wearing one of Hoss’ favourite dresses.  The dark blue matched her eyes so beautifully that when he had seen it in the Emporium he had bought it straightaway and then what laughter when on trying the dress on it was found to be several sizes too large.

 

That was months ago now and several evenings of nifty needlework to whittle it down to her shape and size.  Although she was not a small nor dainty woman Hester had laughed the loudest at seeing the voluminous garment unfold from the box.  Now, however, was no time for laughter as she listened to what her husband was telling her.

 

“I tell you, Hester, I saw it, I saw it with my  own two eyeballs.”

 

“Oh dear, Hoss, I’m not sure what to say.”  She tweaked at a seam in the skirt of the dress and then looked up at his anguished features.  “You think Joe kissed Ingrid?”

 

“They was kissing, Hester.”

 

“I know, but exactly who was kissing whom?”  She sighed and reached out towards him so as to take hold of his hand, “There was a time once when you thought Adam was kissing someone you cared for, do you remember?”

 

“Sure, but this was different, a whole heap different.”

 

She just looked at him and so he gulped down a big breath into his lungs before he sat down beside her and took her other hand in his.

 

“Look, it don’t make no difference who was kissing who, whom or whatever…the fact of the matter was they was kissing.  Joe was kissing a married woman and a married woman was kissing him back.  I couldn’t face Milton over dinner, the thought of what he would feel if he were to know made me feel plumb awful.”

 

“Are you going to talk to Joe about it?”

 

“I don’t know.  Should I?  Do you think I should?” He looked at her anxiously, his blue eyes round and perplexed so that she had no other choice than to lean forward and kiss him on the nose.

 

“I think you should, darling.  If you don’t you could keep thinking wrong thoughts about him and that isn’t good, is it?”

 

“Shucks, no.”  His brow crinkled and he looked out of the window at the stars in the sky before he released a sigh, “Are you going to talk to Ingrid about it?”

 

“I think so,” she replied slowly. “When I get the opportunity to see her on her own.”

 

“Hester, she gives me a bad feeling deep down.” He shook his head. “She’s trouble.”

 

She stroked his hand and followed his gaze out of the window at the stars.

 

“I know, Hoss,” she replied, “And I shall ask her what happened, I surely will.”

 

…………….

 

“Alright, get it off your chest, big brother, say what you have to say and be done with it.” Joe muttered as Hoss closed the stable door behind them.

 

He had actually hoped that he could have some moments on his own to collect his rather scrambled thoughts and feelings.  With everyone in the big room appearing quite comfortable and happy together he had cautiously crept out of the house and to the stable where he could talk to his horse if he had felt the need to talk, or just busy himself with various chores that always needed to be done.  The sound of the door opening and closing had filled him with dread that either it was Ingrid or that it could be Hoss.  Of the two he decided that he was glad to find it was Hoss.

 

“Wal, I ain’t gonna say nothing,” Hoss replied slowly as he teased out some straw from the bale against which he was leaning. “You’re the one gonna do the talking.”

 

“Why?  What do you want me to say?”

 

“You know what.”

 

Joe ruffled at the back of his head making the thick hair stand on end as he did so.  Then he looked at the anxious face of his brother and nodded,

 

“I’m not sure how it happened, it just did.”

 

“Did she kiss you or did you kiss her?”

 

“I don’t know.” he scowled, and shrugged, “One moment we were talking and the next thing I knew I was kissing her. There—satisfied—I was kissing her.”

 

“Shucks, Joe, she’s a married woman.”

 

“I know that, Hoss.  We were just talking and it happened.  As soon as it happened I just felt so ashamed, I thought of Milton and how Hester would feel were she to know.  Have you told her?” and when Hoss nodded he groaned, “She must think I’m a real lout.”

 

“No, she just said I was to talk to you instead of thinking bad about you.  She’s more understanding that you give her credit for, Joe.”

 

Joe nodded, his hazel eyes looked briefly over his brother’s honest face, and he nodded again before he turned to Cochise and began to stroke the horse’s muzzle,

 

“I’ll make sure I’m not alone with her again, Hoss.  Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

 

“You ain’t got feelings for her, have ya?”

 

“No.”  Joe sighed, “Well, not the right kind of feelings anyway.”

 

“In that case you had better make sure you steer well clear of her, Joe.”

 

The brothers looked at one another briefly before Joe nodded again and Hoss, content with that, left him and returned to the house.

 

……………….

 

It was not difficult to get Ingrid on her own.  Milton tired easily by the end of the day and would retire to his bed leaving the two women and the Cartwrights alone.  Hester was surprised, in fact, when Ingrid suggested that they went outside to sit on the porch.  Perhaps a woman more suspiciously minded would have noticed that the request came after Hoss’ return from the stable where Joe still languished.

 

They sat in silence for a moment or two, although they both glanced from time to time to the stables where the light shone through the cracks in the door.  Eventually Ingrid began to speak, her voice was soft so that it didn’t carry far and Hester had to lean forward to hear her.

 

“Hester, something quite awkward happened today. I’m sure Hoss may have mentioned it to you already but in case he has not, I think—I thought—I should speak to you about it.”

 

“About what?”  Hester turned from her observation of the stable door and from willing Joe to remain inside, to observe her sister-in-law who was now looking at her with a slightly mollified look on her face.

 

“You know that your brother-in-law, Joseph, is a  unhappy man at the moment, don’t you?”

 

“Go on—”

 

“He was talking to me about it and I just said that anytime he wished to speak, if he felt I could help, I would be more than willing to listen to him.  I just reached out and touched his arm, you know how one does—” she sighed and leaned back in her chair, adjusted the drape of her skirt about her legs, “I was only trying to convey my sympathies, you see, and then the next thing I know, he kissed me.”

 

“And you kissed him back.” Hester said  softly

 

“I was caught by surprise, by complete surprise.  Hester, I’m a married woman and I never expected him to act like that.”

 

“But you kissed him back.”

 

“Why do you keep saying that, Hester?  I did not kiss him back—” she paused, and then again shrugged slightly, “Of course, I realise that Hoss may have thought I had, seeing it from his point of view, that’s understandable.”

 

“Well, he didn’t see you giving Joe a well deserved slap which is what he would have got had he tried to kiss me like that.”  Hester stood up, sighed and looked at Ingrid thoughtfully, “Ingrid, leave Joe alone.  I know you and Milton don’t have a happy marriage, but I’d like to think you would respect him and us enough not to get involved with another man here.”

 

“Hester,” Ingrid raised her pretty chin up in indignation, “Hester, I’ve already explained that it was not my fault.  He caught me by surprise…”

 

“I don’t think so, Ingrid.  You’re not the sort of woman who gets surprised by things like that.” And without another word, Hester turned. “I think we should return to the house.”

 

“If there was anything ulterior on my part, Hester, I would not have mentioned it to you.  I thought you would have been more understanding.”

 

Hester said nothing but merely waited for Ingrid to walk towards the house and go inside.  Only then did she follow her.  In the stable Joe extinguished the lamp and walked slowly back to the house.

 

………………..

 

“I was thinking,” Ben looked at them and smiled, the dark eyes twinkled and Hester thought once again what a handsome man he was;  she didn’t even add the words ‘for his age’ because that never came to her mind.  He was just, purely and simply, a  handsome man. “I was thinking it was about time we had a party here.”

 

“A party?”  Hoss looked surprised; the thought of a party was the last thing on his mind after the interview with his brother earlier.  He looked at Hester and then back at his father. “You have to have a good reason for a party, Pa.”

 

“Nonsense,” Ben laughed, “Everyone has been looking mighty gloomy lately, so I thought we would just invite some friends and neighbours round to enjoy some time together.”

 

Ingrid glanced over at Hester and shook her head.  Surely not!  A party!  She could only imagine the worse kind of scenarios and wondered if she could plead a headache.

 

“When do you want to hold this party, Pa?”  Joe looked up from the red leather chair into which he had arranged himself with an apple in one hand and a book in the other.

 

“This weekend.  I’ll give you a list of the guests to invite.” He smiled over at Ingrid, “It won’t be to the scale of your lavish balls back in New York, Ingrid, but it will be pleasant.”

 

“It’ll give you a chance to meet some of our friends,” Hoss said to the air above Ingrid’s head; somehow he couldn’t look her in the face now just in case their eyes met and if they did, he knew that he would blush.

 

“It sounds—” Ingrid drew in her breath, “charming.”

 

Hester smiled; true, the smile didn’t reach her eyes but it looked more like a smile than a grimace.

 

Chapter 18

 

Sometimes one can feel such apprehension about an event that when things start to unravel it almost feels that it was foreordained to happen.  That was how Hester Cartwright felt when Ann Canady refused to come to the party.  No amount of cajoling and coaxing would make her change her mind, which she insisted was solely due to her dislike of Ingrid.

 

“Hester, you don’t know what it was like when Father was alive and I was forced to leave Candy.  That woman sided with Father and agreed with everything he said.  She made my life intolerable.” 

 

Hester had said nothing to that;  she felt as though there was no way she could break down a barrier that Ingrid had made no effort to break down during the weeks she had been at the Ponderosa.  She picked up baby Rose and held her against her shoulder and tactfully changed the subject.

 

At the door of the Canady home she had half turned and taken Ann’s hand in hers and looked into the other woman’s pretty face,

 

“Will Candy be coming?” she had asked and Ann’s eyes had opened wide in startled amazement.

 

“Without me?  With Ingrid there and Candy alone?  Oh, Hester, haven’t you realised yet that—that woman is just plain trouble where men are concerned.”

 

 

The next person to refuse the invitation had been Barbara Scott Pearson who had smiled at Hester, plied her with cake and lemonade and then said  politely, ”No, thank you.”

 

“But why not, Barbara?  You and Andrew haven’t been to one of our parties since Hoss and I were married.”

 

“Dear Hester, to be honest, life is just so busy.  Apart from that little Peter isn’t well; I think he’s teething, but I’m just too tired to think of parties.”

 

“There isn’t any other reason, is there?”

 

“No, of course not.”  Barbara had smiled sweetly and looked away to watch her little son crawling towards his stepsister, Lilith, with grim determination on his chubby face.

 

So now Hester stood in the big room watching as Hoss and Joe pushed back furniture, rolled up rugs and festooned the room with bunting and streamers.  Wonderful smells were coming from the kitchen where Hop Sing and No. 1 cousin were working together to create marvellous things to eat.  At one table Ben, apparently oblivious to the anxiety and despair Hester was feeling, was carefully measuring out various concoctions which were being poured into the famous punch bowl.

 

The clock struck, which indicated that the guests would arrive within an hour.  With a sigh Hester made her way to the room to change into her best dress, the gown that she had worn for her wedding.  Most of the afternoon she had not seen either Milton or Ingrid, both of whom had remained ensconced in their own room.

 

Milton had asked to be excused in order to rest before the occasion.  He had assumed that the party was in their honour and therefore wanted to be at his best.  Hester had watched him mount the stairs with fear trembling at her heart, knowing that her brother was a  sick man, far moreso that he had led her to believe.  Ingrid was under no illusions as to whom the party was being arranged for and had merely smiled coldly when Milton kept declaring his delight and pleasure at being the guests of honour.  She had gone to her room in order to prepare herself for what; she had told Hester in an undertone, was going to be an ordeal of the worst kind.

 

“Then don’t come,” Hester had replied blandly. “You can always book a suite at the International.”

 

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Hester.”  Ingrid had scowled, “I’ll show these provincials how we do it in New York. That will keep them talking for some time to come.”

 

…

 

One by one the ‘provincials’ began to arrive.   Lewis Rice Bradley, * who had served two terms as governor and was currently mayor of Virginia City, arrived with his daughter Virginia* and his son-in-law, Charles H. Belknap*.  Dressed in the latest style, Mrs. Belknap arrived glittering not only with the latest fashion but with pleasure at being invited back to the Ponderosa.

 

“I just love it here,” she whispered to Hester as they made their entrance and kissed her on the cheek. “Papa used to bring me here to talk business with Ben and Adam and Mr. Barbour* while Joe, Hoss and I played hookey outside.”

 

The room began to fill with guests and the small band hired for the occasion managed to squeeze themselves into a corner and began to play soft music.  Sheriff Coffee arrived with William Wright*, better known as Dan DeQuille, the editor of the Virginia City Enterprise, who promised Hester that he would write only the most wonderful summary of the evening—which she took with a pinch of salt, knowing that his accounts were often flavoured with the same humour as that of his friend, Samuel Clemens*.

 

She walked to Hoss’ side and slipped her arm through his while at the same time looking up at his anxious face.

 

“I think it’s going to be alright,” she whispered.

 

“I’ve never known one of our parties not to be—” Hoss laughed gently and tweaked her nose—“Except for that time when that British actor came and caused a bit of ruckus...and then of course—”

 

“Hoss, hush up now, you’re making me nervous again.”

 

Joe came along and pushed a glass of champagne into her hand; he smiled his warm, generous smile and winked. “Pa’s warned me that the punch may be particularly lethal tonight, best stick to the champagne.” And he laughed.

 

As he laughed Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan made their entrance.  As she looked up at the stairs where the couple stood on the half landing Hester thought they looked the loveliest of couples.  Despite the haggardness of his features, Milton looked so handsome in his best evening suit, and hanging onto his arm was Ingrid.  Hester heard Joe as he cleared his throat.   She glanced over at William Wright  almost imagining the headlines printed in the next issue of The Enterprise and how it would consist of the most lavish praise for the beauty currently resident at the Ponderosa.

 

She did look beautiful with her black hair pinned back by diamond studs into curls and ringlets that trailed over one shoulder.  Her gown was black velvet, sculpted to her figure and adorned with diamante stars across the left hip that gradually trailed to a single star at her knee.  The long sleeves were saved from severity by the diamond bracelets that dripped from her wrists.  There was no doubt to anyone present that Ingrid Fitzgerald Buchanan oozed wealth.

 

The silence was a mere hiatus in the babble of noise and if the music had stopped for a beat no one had seemed to notice.  It was the  Mayor who approached her, his long beard fluttering over his waistline.

 

“Mrs. Buchanan, how wonderful to see you here.” he kissed her hand as elegantly as any courtier in London or Paris could have done.  “I met your father once, the late Mr. Fitzgerald.  It was in...” he babbled on, claiming her arm and shaking Milton’s hand while he continued to talk.

 

Joe sighed—released his breath to be more exact.  He had turned away from looking at her when the door opened to admit the last of their guests, Paul Martin and his nephew, John.

 

Perhaps Hester was the only one to notice the way Ingrid Buchanan had looked when John Martin entered the room.  Perhaps it was because she was at that time about to hand Mr. Bradley a glass of punch, while Ingrid had already taken a glass flute of champagne.

It was the  look on Ingrid’s face: the widening of the eyes, the gasp and the way the wine had spilled over her hand that made Hester turn her head.  Her eyes followed the direction that Ingrid had been looking in, and she saw the look of shock on the young doctor’s face, the colour mantle his cheek and then fade.  She saw him look away and talk to Joe, who had approached him with a smile on his face and a welcome slap on his back, and she had watched to see him turn, as though secretly, to look back at the woman who had now turned with her back to the door.

 

Hester kept the smile fixed to her face, laughed as she mopped up the spilled wine and filled her own glass with the punch.  Joe and John were talking like old friends; she saw John’s shoulders move as though in laughter, but she also noticed how he turned his head yet again to locate the whereabouts of Ingrid Buchanan.

 

“Are you alright, darlin’?”

 

She turned to look up at Hoss, who had his hand cupped gently under her elbow,

 

“Don’t I look alright?” she asked him, and when he shook his head and took the glass of punch out of her hand she leaned against him, “Oh Hoss, I’m so miserable.”

 

“No, you’re not, sweetheart, you’re the most beautiful woman here.”

 

“How can you say that, Hoss—look at Ingrid!”

 

“Why should I when I got you to look at?” he smiled, and hugged her close but it didn’t remove the chip of ice that had entered her heart as she watched Ingrid slowly moving towards John and Joseph.  She glanced around for Milton and saw him talking to William, laughing warmly at some anecdote or other and obviously, hopefully, unaware of the drama taking place only feet away.

 

‘I may have imagined it,’ Hester told herself, ’I may be seeing things that aren’t really there.  How could they possibly know one another?’

 

Then she remembered how John Martin had mentioned about her being from New York, and that he had studied medicine, if not practised it in her home state.

 

The music stopped; it was time to eat.  Hop Sing and Number One Cousin were standing by the laden tables, waiting to serve the food, and all Hester wanted to do was run upstairs and lock the door behind her and pretend that it was all over.

 

Chapter 19

 

Everyone continued in exactly the same mode as previously. Ladies were laughing and chattering together. Hairstyles, dresses and various other snippets of interest were gossiped over as the ladies piled food onto their plates. Milton met John Martin and shook his hand like old friends and suddenly, behind him, appeared Ingrid.

 

Hester watched them as they shook hands. Did they linger for just a fraction longer than necessary? Did their eyes look more deeply or more intensely at one another? It was Joe who now approached them and Hester was forced to turn away when Mrs. Hackett asked her a direct question about something irrelevant.

 

“John, this is Ingrid Buchanan, my sister-in-law’s sister-in-law.” Joe grinned, and his hazel eyes twinkled. “All the way from New York City.”

 

“Indeed yes, we have met before.” John replied and turned towards the table as though it was hardly newsworthy.

 

“You have?” Joe frowned and looked puzzled as he watched John put food onto the plate as though it were the most important thing in the world to be doing just at that moment in time.

 

“John was part of the medical team at the hospital I attended,” Milton said graciously, “although I have to admit, I didn’t realise he had moved here.” He turned to his wife and with an innocence that couldn’t have been feigned asked her if she had had any idea that they would discover their favourite doctor here in Virginia City.

 

“No, not at all,” Ingrid said with a smile and a slight rise of the shoulders as though it was hardly worth discussion.

 

“The world gets smaller every day,” Milton observed dryly and walked away with John by his side, both balancing plates while they continued with their previous conversation.

 

Ingrid watched them for some seconds before turning towards the table. Joe was still standing at her side, and she looked at him for a moment before picking up a plate.

 

“Now then, Joe, what would you recommend?” she said with a smile that barely touched her lips.

 

“You did know, didn’t you?”

 

“Know what? What do you mean?”

 

“That he was here. That John Martin had moved here.”

 

She looked at him as though he had taken leave of his senses and shook her head. “I think you are talking nonsense.”

 

Her tone of voice was cold; she turned her face away from him and quickly took a small portion of food before walking away towards where the governor’s party was grouped with Ben. Having made sure that Joe was not trailing along beside her, Ingrid relaxed a little and took part in the conversation, which after a little while became too boring for her restless mind. She made her excuses and made her way to the table where the drinks and the punch bowl had been positioned.

 

Paul Martin had joined his nephew and Milton in a small huddle and towards them she slowly gravitated, slipping her arm through that of her husband. Watching them one would have thought them the most charming and loving of couples. Hester turned towards Joe as he walked to where she stood by the table, and watched as he filled a glass with punch.

 

“She knew he was coming here. They were old friends,” he murmured slowly.

 

“Did she tell you that?”

 

“He did.” He sipped the punch and grimaced. “I need some fresh air.”

 

She watched him leave the room and sighed.

 

The tables were being cleared away, and people were laughing aloud at the story William Wright was telling them about a certain wayward prospector who had wandered into The Enterprise’s office to write various articles under the name of “Josh”* later to become the more famous Mark Twain.

 

As the laughter ebbed away the tables were cleared and the musicians began to play more robust music. Couples began to dance. The chatter was light-hearted and pleasant, interspersed with laughter. Hester was whirled into a dance with her husband and people sitting or standing nearby laughed and clapped as they passed them by.

 

Joe left the shadows of the house and wandered into the rose garden where he found the old bench and sat down… He was being a fool, he told himself once again. His heart was not touched by her but his passions were, and now he was in foment over some old friendship that meant nothing to either person involved. He gazed up at the sky, counted some of the stars, wished Adam were home to share this  unwelcome experience and give him a long lecture which would make everything right.

 

He saw a flash of light as a door opened and the silhouette of a woman as she re-entered the house. He knew without anyone there to tell him that it was Ingrid. His breathing came fast and shallow as he waited, just for some few minutes, for someone else to re-enter the house after her. When the door opened and closed behind John Martin it felt as though Joe’s world had imploded. He sat there without moving, with his hands clasped together and hanging limp between his knees while he stared fixedly at the roses just discernible nearby. There was nothing he could think about because words got muddled with feelings and pictures came into his head to remove thoughts from his mind.

 

After a while he walked slowly to the stable, struck a match and lit the lamp. The glass shade was warm to the touch and he glanced about him to see if anyone else was there, but he already knew that there would be no one. Whoever had been there had already re-entered the house.

 

……………..

 

As the clock in the big room struck 10 p.m. the Baltimore was nosing her way into the busy wharfs of Newcastle, England. It was 6 a.m. on a sombre Sunday morning and Adam Cartwright stood on the bridge of his ship beside the helmsman as he brought the great ship into her berth.

 

Chapter 20

 

“Er—alright for me to come on inside?”

 

Joe turned to look at Hoss and shrugged.  He pulled out several more pieces of straw and began to braid them together before looking up at his brother with a slight frown.

 

“Well?  You got something to say or what?”

 

“I jest came to see if you were alright, that’s all.  You bin gone a long time; folk are beginning to ask where you are.”

 

“Oh, sorry about that,” he tossed the straw into the shadows and rose to his feet. “Hoss, you sure hit it lucky when you found Hester.”

 

“That weren’t luck, little brother.” Hoss said, softly. “That was angelic direction.”

 

Joe looked at his brother in surprise before he lowered his head, stared at the straw-littered floor and shuffled some around with one foot. “You sure do love her, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, I do.  The miracle is that she loves me too, and when she says it, I know it, and I believe it.”  He frowned, “Ain’t never felt that way before; always used to think gals were just saying it because they wanted something other than just me.  You know what I mean, don’t you, Joe?”

 

“Sure I do.” Joe nodded.

 

“It’s like that little Indian gal you went after.  Remember how you felt about her?  Adam and I never knew you could feel so much for a gal, and we seen you fall for gals a-plenty in our time.”

 

“Little Moon was special—” Joe replied a trifle defensively.

 

“Yes, she was, ain’t no one been that special for you since.” He paused and shot a sidelong glance at his brother. “Has there?”

 

Joe shook his head. “No, there hasn’t been.”

 

“So—ain’t no point in staying out here then, is there?  Could be some pretty gal wanting you to dance in there and you out here missing all the fun.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”  Joe smiled slowly. “I was thinking about Adam, if he were here now and what he would say about, well, about things.”

 

Hoss shrugged and raised an eyebrow in a knowingly sly expression. “Oh, I think you know what big brother would have said, Joe.  Particularly about a certain person I reckon we’re both thinking about jest now.”

 

Joe gulped and then cleared his throat.  He gave Hoss a quick smile and headed for the stable door; it was left to Hoss to extinguish the lamp.

 

Milton was dancing with Hester and Ben was talking earnestly to John and Paul Martin. All three stood in one corner of the room nursing glasses of punch, and there was much nodding of heads and smiling at each other.  Joe cast a look around the room and saw no sign of Ingrid.  Hoss had disappeared from his side and ambled away in the direction of a table where some light refreshments had been placed. 

 

He looked up at the stairs for a moment and then glanced away to look over at John Martin, and then at Milton.  Both men looked relaxed and pleasantly happy.  Why, he asked himself, was he the only one to feel so wretchedly miserable?

 

“Hello, Joe.  A penny for your thoughts?”

 

He turned to smile at Lisa Chambers who, only weeks earlier, he would have been more than happy to have seen at the party this evening.  He smiled thinly. “Hello, Lisa.  You’re looking  pretty tonight.”

 

“Thank you, Joe.” she smiled, stood there a moment as though trying to think of something else to say, and then slowly turned away with a look of disappointment on her pretty face.

 

The music had started for another dance.  A young man came and asked Lisa to dance with him and rather grandly she swept past Joe with her head held high.  “Look at me, Joe Cartwright,” she was implying, “Look what you missed out on.”

 

Joe knew without even turning his head that his father was standing by his side.  For just a few moments they watched as the couples danced past them.

 

“Pretty girl,” Ben observed as Lisa was swirled around the dance floor.

 

“Yeah, she is.”

 

“She was asking after you a moment ago, Joe.  I thought for sure that you would be asking her to dance.”

 

“Oh—I—er—missed the opportunity.”

 

“Really?” He nodded and turned away, glanced up at the stairs, and this time it was Ben who cleared his throat.

 

“Mrs. Buchanan has a headache and retired for the night,” he said, and there was no mistaking the frost in his voice, or the sternness in his face.

 

Joe merely nodded as though he had heard but that it meant nothing to him.  He walked over to Hester and with a smile asked her to dance.

 

One by one the guests began to leave.  They faded away into the darkness by various modes of travel.  Girls’ young voices shrilled out their goodbyes and their thanks, the men hallooo’d and laughed.  The Cartwrights stood on the porch and listened to the voices as they gradually faded away into the night.

 

Milton was standing by the hearth with a glass of wine still in his hand when they re-entered the room.  He smiled at them as they wandered back to the harsh reality that the party was now over and only the debris was left to clear up.

 

“Thank you,” he said, “It was a  pleasant evening.  I’m sorry that my wife lacked the courtesy to tell you so herself although I’m sure she will do so in the morning.”

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Milton.” Hester walked to his side and slipped one arm through his, while with her other hand she stroked the smooth velvet of his jacket lapel. 

 

Hoss and Joe looked at one another; for some reason they both raised an eyebrow of mutual doubt and suspicion.

 

………………..

 

Apart from a brief time in his cabin to eat, Adam remained mainly on deck to watch the loading and unloading of the necessary essentials for their voyage.  The longshoremen, or as they were called in Britain, the dockers, were well disciplined, physically strong and obeyed orders implicitly.  The wrong knot, the misuse of dunnage and an over-casual attitude towards the loading of materials could so easily result in fatalties to sailors as well as the dockers, with expensive damage to the cargo and ship included, so utmost caution was essential.

 

The coal was shunted from ‘butty’ boats to the wharf side in large sacks, and several men humped the bags onto their backs to carry them into the ship’s hold.  It took time, and as Adam watched, so the cloud of coal dust rose and hovered over the deck.

 

He looked up to the sky where his beloved clipper ships would have had their proud sheets neatly reefed away until time came to leave their berth.  He hated the coal.  His frown grew ever more severe as the time passed by and thoughts of the steamer’s boiler, and the stokers below decks began to create demons in his mind.  He eventually left the bridge to Myers and stomped angrily to his cabin.

 

He was quite calm by the time O’Brien arrived with several local newspapers tucked under his arm.  Daniel smiled at his friend, who had his back to him,

 

“I see you’re not  happy today.”

 

Adam merely shrugged and tried to relax his shoulders in order to appear happier than he felt.  He turned to look at Daniel. “I’ve decided that I dislike steamers heartily, Daniel.”

 

“You mean you always disliked them but today confirmed the fact.”

 

“Exactly.” He gave a wry smile and looked at the newspapers, “Was there something in particular we needed to read?”

 

“It doesn’t do any harm to get a little local news.”  Daniel tossed a newspaper onto the desk. “We’ll be here most of the day so best make good use of our time.”

 

Adam shrugged and turned back to look out of the window at the ships in the harbour.  There were several beautiful yachts, a rather splendid man-of-war, and two clipper ships berthed close by.  One was French and the other was British.

 

He sighed before he eventually walked over to the desk and picked up a newspaper.  His eye ran down the headlines, he turned a page and then stopped.

 

“There’s a news item here from the Isle of Wight.” his voice held a note of urgency in it.

 

“Nothing serious?” Daniel raised his head and smiled blandly.

 

“I don’t know…” he read it through and then sat down, frowned. “Daniel, this is rather strange.  A body of a man has been found in Yarmouth, Isle of Wight.  The body has been identified as a Russian known as Dimitri Doestov.  It is not yet known whether it was suicide or foul play…” he frowned more then and glanced up at Daniel. “I guess that means murder?”

 

“Does it say how he died?”

 

“No, it is just a short paragraph.” Adam turned a page to see if there was a continuation of the story elsewhere. “A  short paragraph.”

 

“Do you think it has anything to do with this business in Cairo?”

 

Adam said nothing to that; he only folded the newspaper up and cast it aside.  For a moment he stood  still, his eyes fixed on the far wall as though he could see Doestov standing there with his cigarette in one hand and the little silver box in the other. The he shook his head

 

“We leave for Cairo as soon as possible, Daniel.” And without another word he strode out of the cabin, threw open the door and told his steward to get the officers immediately for briefing.

 

“It doesn’t look good, does it?” O’Brien muttered.

 

“Not for Doestov,” came the grim reply.

 

 

Chapter 21

 

 

It was hard to sleep.  Joe tossed about for a while before finally deciding that sleep was going to be elusive for a while yet.  He lit the lamp and carefully raised the flame so that his room was bathed in the soft glow by which he was able to see. Shadows leaped out upon shadows but they were familiar friends now and brought no fearful spectres with them.

 

He remained in the bed with his arms folded behind his head and eyes fixed to the ceiling.  He could hear the flame spluttering on the wick and subconsciously absorbed the fact that the wick needed trimming.  An owl hooted outside and there was the swish of the curtain drapes brushing against the floor.  He wondered how Hester could sleep through Hoss’ snoring and was just wondering what the time was when the old clock downstairs chimed three. 

 

The house seemed to sigh as though deciding it was time for it to rest, to fold up the bones of joists and timbers, of A-frames and stair treads.  He closed his eyes and tried to count sheep but all he could see were faces.  Lisa’s looking reproachfully at him, Ingrid looking wide eyed at John, Milton smiling by the hearth with Hester looking almost fearfully anxious for him as she stood by his side.

 

He wondered what Hester knew and concluded that by now she probably knew even more than he did.  His throat felt dry and he fumbled on the table for the jug of water and the glass into which he poured just enough to wet his throat but not enough to make him want to run outside to the “little house.”

 

Just a few walls away Ingrid slept beside her husband.  Joe wondered how she could do so with a clean conscience and whether Milton suspected anything at all about his wife.  Joe closed his eyes and struggled to sleep.

 

………………..

 

Hester stood at the window of the room she shared with Hoss.  Sometimes his snoring was even too loud for her to bear; sometimes it was so bad that she would have to go into the spare room or, if that was occupied, into Adam’s room.  But tonight she wanted to think and go over what she had seen and heard during the evening.

 

One thing she now knew was that her brother’s health was  delicate and it wasn’t just his eyes that were of concern to those who loved him.  Another thing she now knew was that Ingrid did not love Milton, but sought love elsewhere.  John Martin from New York, the ”favourite doctor” as Milton referred to him, was another moth fluttering around the flame.  And where did that put Joe?

 

She leaned forward so that her brow touched the glass of the window and cooled her skin.  She heard the owl hoot, the sound of whatever it was that the hunter had caught. It made her shiver and for an instant of time she thought of Ingrid who, like the owl, looked so beautiful, and was just as much a predator.

 

…………………..

 

Unable to even try to pretend to sleep Joe went to his cabinet and opened one door which revealed a small drawer.  This he now unlocked and took from it a small box which he opened.

 

The flowers that had been in Little Moon’s hair were now so fragile that he knew if he touched them they would smoulder into dust.  But the ear rings were still as lovely. He held them up to the light of the lamp and turned them round and round in his fingers.  It was so grossly unfair, he decided as he watched them spin and catch the light and glitter, so grossly unfair that the girl he had loved so much should have died while someone as devious as Ingrid could live to deceive and entrap so many.

 

With a sigh he replaced them in the box.  In the morning, he decided, he would go and visit Sarah Winnemucca.  Not for any particular reason, just so that he could go somewhere without being haunted by feelings that were now suffocating him.

 

………………….

 

The Baltimore slid from her berth and, accompanied by a motley crew of tugs to guide her out of the harbour, made her exit from Newcastle Upon Tyne, England.

 

A hansom cab, driven at speed, drew up at the wharf side and a man clambered out, almost stumbled in his haste to get out of the vehicle.  He ran down the length of the wharf, threading in and out between crates and lumber, ropes and bollards.  Panting, he finally came to rest at the harbour masters building and rapped on the door

 

“What d’you want?” the burly thickset overseer yelled through a partially opened window.

 

“The Baltimore—” the other fellow wheezed, “What berth ?”

 

“She ain’t ’ere, mate.  She’s already gone.”

 

“Gone?  What do you mean she’s gone?  She wasn’t supposed to leave until the morning!”

 

“S’right, but all the same she’s gone.”

 

“Did they say why?”

 

“No.  All the papers were correct, all the necessaries were in order and that’s as far as my concern goes for any Yankee ship.”

 

“How long ago?”

 

“Less than an hour.”

 

“Is there any way I can catch her?”

 

The harbour master laughed and the other man could hear him relaying what he had said to someone else inside his office, from which there was more laughter.

 

“You going to swim then?”

 

“Is she going to berth anywhere else in England?”

 

“Not to my knowledge.”

 

“So there’s no way I can catch up with her at all?”

 

“Sorry, mate, she’s big and she’s got a powerful engine on her.  There ain’t no other boat in harbour could match her for speed.  I’m afraid you’ve lost any chance of boarding her now.”

 

Laurence Willoughby’s shoulders drooped and he turned away with his head cast down.  It wasn’t just the fact that he had missed his chance to be involved in this latest escapade that distressed him, but also the fact that the letter he had been ordered to give to Adam would not reach him, and whatever its contents were, they would remain secret and sealed.

 

He sighed and walked slowly back to the hansom cab where he gave the driver an address before he hauled himself on board.  The cab slowly turned and the clip clop of the horse as it made its way over the cobbles of the harbour echoed over the myriad sounds that swallowed it up.

 

In a doorway cast in shadow, a lean figure with dark eyes and black hair lit a cigarette.  In one hand he held a small silver box, the lid of which he snapped shut as he watched the cab wend its way into the main thoroughfare of the city.

 

Chapter 22

 

The smell of a stable was one that was reassuring and comforting for Joseph Cartwright.  To him it typified solidity and unity for here it was that some of his first and best memories of family were borne.  Whether reinforced by the obvious repetition from other family members or tucked away as his own special preserve, Joe’s memories of the stables were there to dip into and enjoy as much as Hoss’ would be of the four men gathered around the breakfast table.

 

On this particular morning Joe pushed open the stable door and stood for a moment to savour the smell.  It was, as expected, somewhat ripe and steamy, but that was of no consequence.  With horses and stables such aromas were to be expected and mucking out stalls had been one of his tasks since he was knee high to—well—Hoss.

 

Cochise turned liquid brown eyes to his master and flared his nostrils in greeting before baring his teeth.  Towards him Joe went first, stroking the muzzle and then the smooth neck.  There was little doubt about it, but Cochise was getting old and Joe knew the time was fast approaching when his beloved friend would have to be weaned from every day work for a newer mount.

 

“Never be a friend like you have been though,” he whispered into the horse’s ear which twitched as Joe’s breath brushed against the soft hairs.

 

He was about to pick up a broom when there came the sound of horsemen.  He paused, straightened his back and turned his head towards the sounds.  Quite a large body of men, he surmised, and military at that, from the jingling sound of the harnesses.

 

He stepped out into the yard just as Ben and Hoss arrived from the house, both standing on the porch with hands on hips to survey the convoy of men who appeared to be acting as an escort for a buggy in which sat two  official looking men.

 

The two civilians, once out of the buggy, approached Ben with a certain amount of caution.  One had a leather briefcase tucked under his arm but both men removed their hats politely out of respect to the older man.  It was then that Joe joined his father and brother to face their visitors.

 

“Benjamin Cartwright?” 

 

“Yes—who are you?”

 

“Major Fleming and Captain Lancey,” came the snapped off reply.

 

“Well, good day to you both.  May I ask you exactly why you are here?”

 

“We’ve come to ask for your assistance, sir.”  The man called Lancey smiled, or rather, he showed a lot of teeth.  His eyes were gray, blank, and constantly moving from Joe to Hoss and back to Ben.

 

“Well, best say what you want then, either here or over a cup of coffee inside the house.” Ben smiled in an attempt to thaw his visitors into some form of good humour.

 

“That won’t be necessary, sir.” Lancey replied.  “Er—the major and I need to locate and talk to Miss Sarah Winnemucca.  We believe tell that your family and hers are on good friendly terms and would appreciate it if one of you could accompany us to her camp and act as a go-between for us.”

 

Ben glanced at Joe and then Hoss; he rubbed his chin with one hand while his other hand rested on the buckle of his belt.  He looked then at the major.

 

“What’s the interest with Sarah?”

 

“We just need to ask her about something quite important, sir.”

 

“By whose authority?”

 

“The president’s.”

 

Ben pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, before looking over at the soldiers

 

“Why not talk to her father, Chief Winnemucca.  Surely that would make more sense.”

 

“Perhaps we will, eventually.  At the present moment we need to see Sarah.”

 

Joe looked nervously over at his father and brother, then at the soldiers.  It seemed hardly any time at all since they had received Adam’s letter, yet here was living proof of just how right he had been to be concerned.  He drew in his breath. “I’ll take them, Pa.”

 

“And who are you?” the major looked at the youngest Cartwright with a slight wariness in his tone of voice but when Joe introduced himself he relaxed and even smiled, “Well then, that would be a good idea, Mr. Cartwright, and much appreciated.”

 

“Wait—” Ben stepped forward, “We’ll all come.  The three of us—” he firmed his mouth, thrust out his jaw, “Hoss, get our guns, Joe—saddle up the horses.”

 

……………………..

 

The ship rocked to the motion of the swell in the sea.  The waves were brisk, slapping against the sides of the ship’s hull, and Adam raised his eyes from the papers he was examining to look at the glasses and tantalus that were shunting back and forth on the table, saved from crashing to the floor by the decorative railing.  He sighed and put down his pen, stretched out his legs and turned his head to observe the sea from the porthole.

 

Sometimes, if he tried hard enough, the sea could look like the lake back home.  The fact that it just stretched out and beyond the horizon with no mountains, no trees, to prevent its endlessness made it difficult and today, with the sea in a slight foment, was one of those days.

 

He rose to his feet and paced the floor restlessly.  He had always been cautious but now he was worried that he had acted too precipitously.  Leaving Newcastle so quickly, before schedule was not something that he would normally have done and now he wondered why he hadn’t stayed for those few extra hours.  Had the news item about Doestov made him panic?  He grimaced and then tugged at his ear lobe.  He had not felt panic, just a sudden feeling that it was best to get out of England and on the way to Cairo.

 

He had searched through all the newspapers O’Brien had bought on board but found no other reference to the body being found.  Such a brief miserable little paragraph about a somewhat enigmatic little man.  He turned back to the porthole and looked outside to watch the waves foaming and the gulls and cormorants dipping and diving.  They were still near land, near enough to berth if need be, if he should so require it.

 

“Come in—”

 

The man who entered smiled, looked around the room and then nodded his head. “Alone, I see?”

 

“Quite alone, Doctor.  Is everything alright?”

 

“Everything is perfectly in order, Commodore.” The smile faltered. “You did say to report to you at this time.” He pulled out a handsome looking gold watch. “Yes, at this time.”

 

Adam rubbed his brow and frowned; he glanced over at the clock on the wall and then nodded, smiling ruefully.  “I am sorry, Dr. Mcpherson.”  A rather embarrassed laugh followed and he walked over to his desk and began to tidy away the papers there. “I had gotten so involved with my paperwork that time escaped me.”

 

Dr. Ewen McPherson smiled although his eyes looked a trifle wary.  He stepped further into the cabin and glanced around, smiled again as Adam beckoned him to take a chair.

 

“Well, now, Doctor—if I may call you Ewen—may I offer you something to drink before dinner is served and the rest of our company arrive.”

 

Ewen McPherson accepted both the chair and the drink, one being  comfortable and the other being most acceptable.  He glanced once again around the cabin. “I see you have a copy of Shakespeare’s historical plays, sir.”

 

“Yes, my particular favourite is Henry IV, Part One,” Adam replied as he walked to the book case and pulled out the relevant book, “I would have liked to have brought more along with me but my departure from America didn’t leave me much time to buy others.”

 

“I prefer his romances,” Ewen replied, “and some of his poetry.”

 

Adam smiled, nodded and was about to speak when there was a knock on the door and O’Brien, Hathaway, Myers and Ross entered the room, each one talking and laughing and filling the small cabin with noise and good humour.  Adam sighed, relaxed, and prepared himself for a pleasant evening.

 

……………….

 

There was a knock on the door and immediately the young man paused in his pacing up and down in the room.  He placed the envelope under a cushion and then opened the door.

 

The two men stared at one another without speaking.  Then Laurence blinked, frowned, and opened his mouth.

 

“Blimey, I thought you were dead.”

 

“I was,” the other man sighed. “But you see, once again I am resurrected.”

 

They remained standing on their respective side of the door before Doestov—for it was he—asked if it would be alright for him to step into the room.  With an apology Laurence stepped aside and closed the door immediately behind him.

 

“It is Dimitry Doestov, isn’t it?”

 

“Da, it is.”  The other man was obviously not in good humour and hurriedly approached the window of the hotel room to peer outside.  “I am hoping that I am not followed.”

 

Laurence swallowed; his Adam’s apple jerked, and he blinked

 

“Look here, Mr. Doestov—”

 

“Count—it is Count Doestov.”

 

“Sorry.” The young Englishman nodded apologetically and extended his hand. “Lord Laurence Willoughby.”

 

“I know.” Doestov replied with an air of dismissal, he coughed, a harsh racking cough, and Laurence hurried to pour some wine into a glass and hand it to him.

 

After he had emptied the glass the Russian put a match to one of his cigarettes and nervously began to draw great gulps of smoke into his lungs before he turned to Laurence.

 

“I saw you trying to get on the American ship earlier and followed you here.”

 

“Oh, really?  Well, to be honest with you, I was hoping to get on board, yes, quite.” He nodded.

 

“So also vos I.”  Doestov shook his head dismally. “It is unfortunate that he goes and I am still here.”

 

“Look here, old chap, how come you’re not dead?” Laurence perched himself on the arm of a chair, and poured himself some wine which he sipped as he watched the Russian once again approach the window.

 

“Because I escape the person who tried to kill me.” came the cool response.

 

“But it said there was a body found on the Isle of Wight.”

 

“Da, but it vosn’t me.  It might have been me, but I vos able to defend myself and so he died and I am here to tell you about it.  I did not murder him.” He glared at Laurence with dark eyes, as though daring the young man to make such an accusation.

 

“Well, if it was self defence —” Laurence shrugged.

 

“It vos such.” came the quiet admission, “But I leave my papers on his body to make my enemies tink it vos me.  Then I came to here hoping to find Commodore Adam but too late.” He spat out a curse in Russian, which Laurence ignored.

 

“Do you know who it was—I mean—the chappie who tried to kill you?”

 

“Nyet —a faceless tool only.  Your brother, Lord Charles, does he know you are here?” the eyes were bright, hard as black agate.  Laurence cleared his throat after swallowing too fast,

 

“Yes; he sent me here.”

 

“Ah, I see.”

 

Laurence said nothing to that, not wishing the Russian to realise that he personally saw  little that made any sense at all.  He finished his drink and reached out for the bottle but Doestov stopped him.

 

“You vant to go to Cairo?”

 

“Well, I was hoping to go with the commodore.” Laurence sighed.

 

“Goot, we shall go to Cairo together.  There are ways of getting there perhaps that will take longer but we vill be able to catch up vid him.”

 

“Good heavens, really?”  Laurence smiled, frowned, and looked rather anxiously at the clock before standing up “Well, in that case, perhaps we should get something to eat and discuss the matter further before we make any more decisions.”

 

Doestov nodded; he flicked ash into the silver case and then placed the cigarette back between his lips.  For a moment he wondered if Laurence Willoughby was as much of a fool as he was trying to make himself appear.

 

Chapter 23

 

 “Have I missed anything?”

 

The voice behind her made Hester jump, and when she saw Milton standing there by the stairs looking so fondly at her, she smiled and walked quickly towards him.

 

“Oh my dear, I am sorry. I had wanted you to rest in this morning.”

 

“I’m rested enough, dear sister,” he replied and held out his hand to her which she took within her own.  “Am I too late for breakfast?”

 

“Certainly not; Hop Sing has it all prepared for you and Ingrid.”

 

He gave a slight shrug then and raised his eyebrows.  “I doubt if Ingrid will rise so early.  She was not feeling too well last night so I have not disturbed her at all this morning.”

 

Hester nodded and felt secretly pleased that there would be a little time for her to spend with Milton.  He took his place at the table while she hurried into the kitchen, and while he waited for her to reappear he considered his morning so far.

 

Ingrid had been sleeping, or so it would have appeared.  He had been used to that for some time now so just carried on with his ablutions, lamenting the lack of a valet but managing well enough.  He had looked out of the window at the sound of the horses and noticed the cavalry, the two men in the carriage who had spoken to Ben.  When he was fully dressed he hurried down stairs to see Hester and Hoss standing together at the door.

 

He had paused a while to watch them.  Hoss had buckled on his gunbelt and slapped his hat upon his head, a hat that Milton found rather distressingly ugly but obviously functional.  Milton had watched as Hester had leaned in towards her husband, touched his hand, and then Hoss’ fingers gently caressing Hester’s cheek as he had leaned forward to kiss her nose but which she had fended off by raising her head and kissing him warmly on the lips.

 

Milton had touched his own lips with his fingers then, as though seeing such a tenderness between the couple had impressed upon him the length of time since he had experienced such affection himself.  When Hoss had finally left the room and the sound of the military convoy could be heard announcing their commencement of their latest assignment he had spoken and been pleased at her warm response.

 

Now they sat opposite one another at the breakfast table with the sun slanting across the red and white check table cloth, glinting upon the glassware and cutlery.  He smiled at her and received an answering smile in response. “Hop Sing certainly knows how to keep a good table.”

 

“Yes, I have practically given up pretending to be a cook now,” she laughed at that comment, recalling to mind how good she had once thought herself and the mishaps she had since experienced.

 

“Hester, there was never any need for you even to consider being a cook.”

 

She sighed then, and poured out coffee into their cups,

 

“My life changed when I married, Milton.  You know how much father and mother opposed my marriage to Mark James.  I had no choice but to run my own household and, to be honest, I quite enjoyed caring for him for the short while I had him with me.”

 

“I wish—” he paused then and laid down his napkin, took the coffee cup and sipped it. “I wish that I had been more helpful.  I feel that I let you down considerably.”

 

“Well, at least you provided a home for me later, when—well—afterwards.”

 

They were silent for a little while.  ‘Afterwards’ hung upon the air heavy and awkward between them.  ‘Afterwards’ had meant being a young widow among so many widows, being without parents as they had died so soon, and moving into the home of Milton and Ingrid, newly wedded and doing well in society.  She had been the poor relation and Ingrid had made sure she had known her place.

 

“This is rather like when we were children in the nursery, isn’t it?” she said suddenly, and he responded gratefully with a laugh.

 

“Marlowe, you and myself.  Yes.  We had a happy childhood, didn’t we?”

 

“Better than some,” she replied softly and reached out her hand to take hold of his. “Would you like to go for a picnic later?  Hop Sing makes wonderful picnic hampers and I know the perfect place.”

 

He squeezed her fingers gently within his own.

 

“That would be lovely, Hester, thank you.” He bowed his head then as a frown creased his brow. “I don’t think Ingrid need come.”

 

“I doubt if Ingrid would want to come, dear,” she replied softly.

 

He raised his eyes and the frown deepened as he looked into her face,

 

“You know, don’t you?” his voice was deep, troubled, and she blinked rather rapidly for tears had risen beneath her eyelids.

 

“Know what, dear?”

 

“That my marriage is a sham.  That Ingrid and I—”

 

“Don’t say anymore, Milton.” She rose to her feet and ran to his side, her hands upon his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “Oh Milton, there’s no need to say anymore.”

 

“Did you notice—” he continued on as though she had not spoken, “Last evening, when the doctors arrived, did you notice how she looked?  I had not seen her look like that for a long time.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like a woman in love,” he replied so softly that she could hardly hear the words.

 

………………

 

Ingrid Buchanan eventually roused herself from her bed and pulled back the curtains from the window.  She looked down at the sight of her husband and sister-in-law seated together in a buggy, and the size of the wickerwork hamper in the back of the vehicle was an obvious indication of them planning to be absent from the ranch for some time.

 

So, that meant that she was alone in the house except for the servant.  Well that hardly mattered to her, she had been raised with servants in the house and as far as she was concerned they didn’t exist.  Of course, she saw them scuttling about and bobbing curtsies when they saw her but they didn’t matter in her life so she didn’t see them as people with rights and lives of their own.

 

She walked from the bedroom slowly, as though still half asleep.  At the doorway she turned, ran her hands through her hair, did another turn and walked down the hallway.  She paused at the door that seemed to her more intriguing than any other, and that was solely because it was never opened.  She had asked Hester about it once and she had said that it was Adam’s room and that no one went in there.

 

She knew who Adam was because of the talk about him on the ranch, and in the town.  She had met that Barbara Scott Pearson once and mentioned him, getting a reaction as she had expected, she knew that they had been practically married.  She put her hand to the door knob and turned it slowly.

 

It was, after all, just a room.  She stood there and looked around it, noted the dark wood furniture, the big bed so neatly prepared as though its occupant was about to throw back the covers and go to sleep.  She walked in and opened the wardrobe doors…black shirts, black pants, black boots.  She frowned and touched one of the shirts, running her hand down through the material which she noted was good quality.  There were other clothes there, some suits for formal wear and some white shirts with the frills on them starched to Hop Sing’s stringent specifications.  She closed the door with a grimace; so much black clothing indicated, to Ingrid’s mind, someone with a melancholy disposition.

 

One by one she opened the drawers of the tallboy.  They disclosed little, so she moved onto the desk where there were heaped piles of papers, scrawled drawings of houses and buildings, even of ships.  She languidly turned the papers over before casting them to one side.  Obviously a man with too much time on his hands.  Scribbling like a child on paper just to be left so casually discarded.

 

She pulled open one of the drawers and found the red velvet box.  This she opened, and for the first time since she had entered the room, a smile drifted over her face. It was a beautiful ring.  She removed it from its cushion and placed it on her own finger, turning it this way and that to catch the light.  How it shone, how it gleamed.  Whoever had been offered this ring had been a fool to return it.  She pulled it off and carefully replaced it. 

 

“What you do here?  What you do?  You no right be in this room.”

 

She turned to observe Hop Sing, irate and red in the face as he stood on the threshold of the room with a broom in one hand and a clenched fist waving at her.  She pushed the drawer shut with as loud a bang as she could muster and turned back, brushing past him as though he didn’t exist.

 

Hop Sing watched the door to her room close and shook his head, then after a swift glance around Adam’s room, he closed the door.

 

Later he would tell Missy Cartwright that he had decided, he—Hop Sing—that the lady who was their guest was “big trubble.”

 

………………….

 

The convoy, with Ben, Hoss and Joe riding at the head beside the two civilians in the buggy, reached the encampment some hours later in the day.  The Paiute came from their tents to observe as the soldiers, with the Cartwrights, rode slowly through the centre of the camp, wending their way through the lodges.

 

It was Ben who drew a halt as he drew alongside a particular lodge, and as he dismounted, a tall handsome figure of a man stepped out into the daylight and greeted him.  Winnemucca spoke in English.  He was proud of his education and he liked to use it, especially in front of strangers, whites who did not expect a Paiute to be educated.

 

“Ben, it is good to see you again.”

 

“And to see you, Winnemucca.  May I introduce some men who have travelled a long distance to see you today?”

 

“Ah—to see me?” the chief smiled and his eyes twinkled with mischief, detectable only to his friend who also smiled.

 

“Major Fleming and Captain Lancey.”  Ben waved a hand to the two men, who were now making their way towards them, “They have come from the president of the United States to speak with you.”

 

“With me?” Winnemucca nodded his head as though  proud of being worthy of a visit from such grand men; he nodded at the other Paiute who were now crowding around to watch.  “I am really  greatly honoured by such a visit.”

 

“Major Fleming, Captain Lancey—this is Chief Winnemucca of the Paiute,”  Ben said with such dramatic effect that Joe felt the impulse to applaud the performance.  Both he and Hoss eased their bones to settle more comfortably into the saddle in order to watch further.

 

“Chief Winnemucca.” The two men shook the chief’s hand, and Winnemucca nodded and smiled at them both as though bestowing upon them a blessing.

 

“As Mr. Cartwright has explained we have travelled a long distance—from far away—to see you.”  The major paused, and looking into the wily Paiute’s face, he frowned. “To be honest, Chief Winnemucca, we primarily came to visit your daughter, Sarah Thocmetony Winnemucca.”

 

“Ah, mmm.”  Winnemucca nodded and grimaced; he looked down at the ground as though his daughter might be found there but then raised twinkling eyes to look at the two men. “Sarah is not here.”

 

“Not here?  But we were given to understand that she was here, that she would be here.” the major declared, looking around at the faces that were all pressing forward to see what was going on.

 

“No, sadly Sarah is not here.  She has gone.”

 

“Gone?  Where?  What do you mean, she’s gone?” Lancey demanded, getting the feeling that there was a big joke being acted out with the major and himself the butts of it.

 

“I don’t know.” Winnemucca raised his shoulders almost to his ears. “Nowhere, somewhere.  She does not tell her father where she goes.  She is, after all, a woman.”

 

There was a ripple of laughter, titters and giggles, and Ben raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

 

“I can’t stay standing now,” Winnemucca said suddenly, “I have much business to do, but if you wish to look for my daughter, then you may look for her.  If you do find her, please to ask her to let me know in future where she goes.”

 

Ben smiled at Winnemucca and nodded.  Winnemucca, considering to himself that he had done a fine job as his daughter’s emissary, nodded also and extended his hand to have it shaken by his visitors.  He then returned to the interior of his home.

 

The major looked around him for, as though by magic, every one of the Paiute had disappeared.  He strode over to Joe.

 

“You, Joseph Cartwright.  Do you know where she is?”

 

“Me?  No, sir.  She was here a few days ago.”

 

The major stared at Joe disbelievingly.  Then he gave orders, in a loud voice, for the camp to be searched and Sarah Winnemucca to be brought to him without delay.  Ben approached him thoughtfully

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Major.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because Winnemucca told you his daughter was not here.  If you search the camp you are tantamount to calling him a liar.”

 

“He said that—”

 

“No, he may have said you could search the camp, but he would never expect you to do so after he had told you she was gone.”

 

Fleming looked into the dark eyes of the older man, and then glanced at Hoss and Joe who were watching  carefully, and he nodded thoughtfully.

 

“I see.” he shouted orders to remount and assemble.  Within a few moments the convoy had wheeled around and was leaving the camp.

 

Joe glanced back over his shoulder with a slight frown on his brow.  He would have thought, as friends, that she would have told him she was going away.  The disappointment he felt did nothing to bolster his confidence and he rode the journey home feeling totally despondent.

 

Chapter 24

 

The convoy parted at the crossroads to Virginia City and the Ponderosa.  They rode away from the Cartwrights with a considerable amount of noise with jingling harnesses and rattling sabres amid a cloud of dust.  Ben watched them with a dark scowl settling upon his brow and his mouth compressed into a rigid line of irritation.

 

“They came a bit sooner than we had anticipated, didn’t they, Pa?” Joe observed as he pushed his hat lower to cover his eyes.  He leaned upon the pommel of his saddle as though to ease his back, “Do you think they’ll go back to the encampment?”

 

“Oh yes, fools that they are, they’ll go back.” Ben growled and then with a sigh and a twist of the wrist he turned Bucks’ head in the direction of the Ponderosa, “Well, I have more things to do than worry about wet-behind-the-ears army officials.  Are you two coming with me?”

 

“That’s alright, Pa, I have to check out the fencing on the north side so I’ll be back this evening.  Tell Hester not to wait dinner for me.” With a smile and a tip of his hat, Joe turned Cochise round and left his father and brother watching as he soon disappeared from sight in among the boulders on the higher ground.

 

“What about you, son?”

 

“Sure, Pa, I could do with something to eat.  Breakfast was a bit rushed this morning.” And Hoss grinned over at Ben who nodded in agreement.

 

They had gone a little way in silence when Hoss ventured to ask his father whether or not this latest military excursion onto Paiute land could lead to trouble, the kind of trouble they had had to deal with back in the 1860’s with the Battles of Pyramid Lake.*

 

“I don’t know, Hoss.  Winnemucca isn’t the angry chief he once was, and he’s kept a tight rein on his men since then.  Sarah and Natchez have done well in acting as spokesmen for the people, but no one can ever be sure just how far a man, or a peoples, can be pushed before they say ‘That‘s far enough.’”

 

Hoss ran a hand across his jaw and frowned. “I know this may seem an odd thing to say, Pa, but it’s at times like this I miss Adam more’n anything.”

 

“Yes.” the reply was blunt, just one short word but it was said with an emphasis that even Hoss could analyse easily enough.

 

…………..

 

Joe Cartwright rode at a gentle canter.  He felt no need to rush because checking over fencing was never a job he relished.  Even now he wondered why he had mentioned it, especially as he had brought no food along with him.  He paused once to take some water from his canteen and then urged his horse into a gallop.

 

Sometimes it was possible to ride oneself out of a mood.  He was by nature of a sunny disposition, and this current mood of lethargy and depression was beginning to have a treadmill effect on him.  As much as the moods irritated him, it appeared the more irritation the more deeply the moods became entrenched.  He began to muse over the morning’s proceedings and the fact that Sarah had not given him any hint of disappearing.  Logic told him that she had no reason to tell him anything, that she owed him no explanation of her plans for the future.  He searched his mind to try and work out why exactly he was feeling so offended and irritated.

 

He reached his destination and sat astride his horse staring at the long line of fence posts and wire.  His shoulders drooped and listlessly he walked the horse forwards, his eyes glancing at each post as he passed it.  He had gone only a few yards when he saw two people riding towards him.  Sarah Winnemucca was one of them, and her smile was wide and generous at the sight of him.

 

“What are you doing here?” Joe blustered once she had ridden down to his level for the area from where she had sprung from was rough wild boulder strewn land.

 

“I was waiting for you,” she replied with a slight shrug of the shoulders, “Don’t you remember how this was where we would all meet and climb and hunt during our childhood days?”  She laughed then and drew closer to him so that her knee chafed against his. “Joseph, why are you looking so surprised?”

 

“Because we’ve just been to your camp, and I didn’t know where you were.  I—this meeting—all this is just coincidence.” He smiled then and his eyes twinkled, “A  happy coincidence though, I must add.”

 

She nodded and looked over at the land that was spread out before them, a tableau of fields, scrubland, rocks and boulders.

 

“Once, many times ago, all this was the land of my people.  It is hard to imagine how easily it slipped from our fingers.  It was like water held between the palms of our hands and slowly, slowly, it all trickled away.” she sighed and looked at him, “This was long before you came to call this your Ponderosa.”

 

“Why weren’t you at the camp today?” he asked as though refusing to be sidetracked by any of her historical meanderings.

 

“Because I paid attention to the things you said to me, Joseph Cartwright.  When my good friend, High Hawk, came and told me the soldiers were coming.  I knew why because of the words you said to me the day you came and so I left my father’s place and came here.”

 

“I don’t think those militia men will leave here quietly, Sarah.  They’ll return.”

 

“Yes.  That is why I am going to stay away from my father’s home for a while.”

 

“Where will you go?”

 

She looked at him with dark eyes and he saw the little half moon frown appear between her eyes. “It is better that I do not tell you.  I know you and your father and brothers are good men, Joseph Cartwright, Numu-Taibo Wannnga’a.  It is not good for you to lie and to deceive the soldiers.  Remember me as your pune’e (little sister) and that I wish you to be safe.”

 

“Sarah Thocmetony, what if something happens to you?  How can I help you?”

 

“Wannnga’a, Joseph Cartwright, I have lived this long without you by my side every day of my life.  The seasons have come and gone, and nothing is changed.  My leaving here is best for all.  Will you say ‘goodbye’ to your pune’e?”  She laughed as she spoke bringing a smile to his face,

 

“I do wish you well, Thocmetony, little shell flower.  Let me know—”

 

She placed a finger on his lips now, her face was serious with no light of laughter in her eyes, and she shook her head.  “Hush.”

 

Then she looked over her shoulder at High Hawk who nodded; together they wheeled their horses around and away from the lone man who watched them go with a mingling of emotions in his heart.

 

……………….

 

Milton Buchanan bit into the cake and nodded thoughtfully at the question his sister had just asked of him.  ‘Where did it begin to go wrong?’ she had asked, and the answer needed considerable thinking upon.

 

He brushed some crumbs from his jacket and then tossed a few to a few birds that sat curious and pensive nearby,

 

“I don’t know,” he said in sombre tones, “I loved her, and I thought she loved me.  The Buchanans and Fitzgeralds had been friends for years, and it seemed natural for one of us to marry into the family of the other.”  He sighed and reached out for Hester’s hand. “I think it was one of the days when Ann came to visit us.  It was shortly after her father’s death, and she was telling us that she was going to look for her ex-husband.”  Again he paused, narrowing his eyes as though to concentrate on the memory of that meeting. “I asked her what she would do when she found him, and she replied that she would beg his forgiveness and ask him to re-marry her.”

 

“Why was that so significant?” Hester poured cold cordial into a glass and adjusted her bonnet, for the sun was hot.

 

“Because whereas I was thrilled at the romance of it all, at her loyalty and love, Ingrid was appalled—and without waiting for me to speak, she launched into a tirade of such arrogance that I could barely believe that it was MY wife who was talking such drivel.  I could see Ann was shocked.  She had come for sympathy and help and had received insults instead.”

 

“Didn’t you say anything?”

 

“It was the first time I had seen that side of Ingrid.  I didn’t know how to react to be honest, Hester.  I thought I would humiliate Ingrid if I spoke in defence of Ann, and so I kept quiet.  As you know,” he took a glass of cordial from her, “I was the executor of Ann’s father’s will.  He was a Buchanan and thought by many to be wealthy.” 

 

“Yes, I know.  It was his belief that Candy only married Ann for the Buchanan money.”

 

“Yes.  We know that nothing was further from the truth, of course.  However, when Ann came to me for financial help, I had to tell her that her father was not quite as wealthy as most of us had thought.  Oddly enough, my wife also thought he was far wealthier than he was and from the time of Ann’s visit, began making suggestions on how to—” he paused as though what he was about to say still pained him—“move some of his funds into our own account.”

 

Hester shrugged, shook her head and said nothing, although she began to draw patterns with her fingers on the blanket upon which they were seated.

 

“I made sure that what money was available for Ann was put into her hands, her own account, immediately.  Ingrid was furious.  We had a most colossal argument during which she told me she had never loved me; that her marriage to me was for the Buchanan funds and name.  Well, I tried everything to persuade her to love me…I bought her things: jewels, carriages. Clothes. I did everything—everything—” he clenched his fists and shook his head. “By the time you had left us any love we had for one another had perished.” 

 

“Oh Milton—”

 

“It isn’t that she is incapable of love,” Milton said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke. “Just that she doesn’t love me.  I have known her when she has fallen in love, and, all too obviously, I have known the men involved.  The passions she feels for them are always too hard for her to conceal, you understand.” And his voice was now brittle with his bitterness.

 

“And this doctor—John Martin?”

 

“An excellent man.  A wonderful doctor.  My illness was a great inconvenience to Ingrid. It annoyed her beyond measure, and then one day she met John.”

 

They were silent.  Hester continued to absent-mindedly draw patterns on the blanket, while he stared far off into the distance.  Eventually she asked him if that was the reason why they had come here, because Ingrid knew that John Martin was here.

 

“I didn’t think so.  I thought it was my own idea, to come and see you before—well—before anything happened to me. Hester,” he reached out a hand and took hers within it, “Hester, I haven’t much longer to live and to be honest with you, I have no great desire to live for much longer anyway.  My life is empty and meaningless, and my one joy is knowing that you are so happy here in this beautiful country with Hoss and his family.”

 

“Don’t talk so, Milton.  It makes me sad to think you feel that way.”

 

“Dear sister, I realised last evening when I saw John walk through that door that I had been manipulated yet again.  Oh yes, I wanted to come and see you, and I was so pleased that Ingrid was compliant to my request.  Now, instead of knowing it was because she may have been feeling some consideration for me again, I know that it was because she knew John Martin was here.”

 

“He would, perhaps, have mentioned it in honest conversation with her—” Hester replied.

 

“He is.  But I have known enough honest men to fall under her spell. I have even seen her trying to inveigle Joe into her trap.”

 

“Yes.” she nodded, “I had noticed.  Poor Joe.”

 

“No, don’t say so; say rather—Lucky Joe.” And he kissed her fingers gently and smiled.

 

……………………

 

The trees ahead afforded some shade, and rather than continue to roast in the sun, Joe galloped towards them so he could sprawl under the shade, drink some water and have a moment or two of deep thinking.  He wanted to clear his mind on certain matters that now seemed not only to cloud his mind but to have taken control of his moods.

 

He slowed his horse somewhat when he saw two horses nodding under the trees, and recognising one from the Ponderosa stables he smiled, assumed it was Hester, and dismounted. With his horse secured from wandering off, Joe walked slowly through the shrub and grasses to the trees and as he drew closer so he heard the murmur of voices. 

 

But it wasn’t Hester he saw, although had it been he would no doubt have been just as shocked at seeing the woman in the arms of another man.  A couple so deep in their embrace and so passionate with their kisses that they didn’t notice the young man who stood, frozen to the spot, barely yards away from them.

 

Joe, realising how exposed he was now took measures to hide himself, and ducked down into the long grasses.  He had seen enough, heard enough, to never want to see Ingrid Buchanan again.

 

Chapter 25

 

“Ingrid …”

 

Joe froze to the spot.  The word had projected itself so loudly into his hearing that he was sure that if he raised his head he would see John Martin standing over him and denouncing him as some kind of eavesdropper.

 

Tentatively raising his head he peered through the grasses to watch as John pushed Ingrid away, gently but firmly.

 

“Ingrid,” he placed a hand on her arm and then stepped away from her, shaking his head.

 

“What’s the matter?  What’s wrong?”

 

She didn’t run to him as many women would have, grabbing at their lover’s arms and hanging on to them while all the time begging for explanations.  Instead, from the heat of her passion she slipped immediately into chilling aloofness which obviously baffled John, for he looked at her with a strange expression on his face. “What’s wrong?  How can you ask that?  You must know what’s wrong?”

 

“Perhaps I do.  Perhaps I just need you to give me your explanation.”

 

“Ingrid—” he stepped forward and took her hand in his, despite her attempts to pull away from him. “Ingrid, why are you here?”

 

“Here?”  Now it was her turn to look confused. “I’m here because you left me a note asking me to meet you here.”

 

“No—yes—I mean—” he shook his head again and shrugged. “Why are you here in Nevada?”

 

“Because Milton’s sister is here and he wanted to visit.” She raised her chin defiantly, and John looked at her before he shook his head again.

 

“No, you wouldn’t be here for that reason.  Ingrid, you forget I know you; I know you  well.”

 

“So?” she shrugged and pulled her jacket back into some neatness. “What do you want me to say, John?  That I followed you here?”

 

“Would that be nearer the truth?”

 

They stared at one another.  From his covert in the grasses Joe could see John’s face and the whiteness of it, whereas she looked totally in control of herself. “John, why are you here?  Can you tell me honestly it was for purely medical reasons?”

 

“Ingrid, I told you when I saw you in New York that I was coming here to fulfil a promise to my uncle.  The time was right for me to come.  I had to make a decision there and then, and I chose to come here.”

 

“Because of me?”

 

“No.” He said that too quickly and she raised her eyebrows while the corners of her mouth turned up in a slight mockery of the word.  He shook his head once again, “No, not because of you, but because of Milton.”

 

“Milton?  What has he got to do with us?”

 

“For pity’s sake, Ingrid, he’s your husband.”  He leaned towards her, his hands outstretched as though pleading with her, “He’s your husband, and he’s ill.”

 

Ingrid frowned before she turned and walked a few paces.  Joe sidled a few feet further down the slope and wished he were a hundred miles away.

 

“Don’t you have any pity for him?  Ingrid, I couldn’t continue deceiving him as we were, he’s so ill and I know—I knew—that he was aware of our affair.”

 

“He wasn’t,” she busied herself with adjusting her hat, “Anyway, you needn’t worry about Milton any longer, John, he’s no concern of yours.”

 

“Yes, he is.  Now that he’s here, and I know his history, his medical history, then he becomes my patient.  Mine and my Uncle Paul’s.”

 

“I see.” she turned to face him now and her eyes were dark and brittle, like glass that had been crushed. “So why tell me now?  You could have told me this last night instead of—of what happened.”

 

“I’m sorry.  Yes, you’re right, I should have just ignored you last night, pretended that you didn’t exist and didn’t matter to me.  How could I do that feeling for you the way that I do?  Ingrid, believe me, I love you as much as ever, but—”

 

“But?”

 

They stood there and looked at one another until finally she turned away and walked towards her horse. 

 

“I don’t come with conditions, John.  You either love me or you don’t.  Start tacking conditions onto it, and so far as I am concerned, you don’t.  So that is it, then.” she turned to him, and saw that he hadn’t moved from his place, although his face bore traces of shock and distress. “Goodbye, John.”

 

She had mounted her horse and turned its head before he had even realised that she was going to carry out her intentions.  He hurried forwards but it was too late.  Even as he stretched out a hand to stop her, the horse bore her away.

 

Joe remained crouched in the grasses for what seemed a  long time although really it was barely ten minutes before John had paced the ground over and over and then decided to mount up and return to town.  As he rose to his feet Joe watched the two dust clouds, hurtling in different directions. 

 

He settled down with his back against the tree and his arms folded around his knees.  He thought of the young doctor and wondered what he would do with his life now.  Thinking about John led him to think about himself, and his own life course.  He looked up at the sky and watched as the few clouds there scudded over the blueness of the expanse above them.  He bowed his head and began to consider the options that lay before him.

 

Chapter 26

 

“Mr. Cartwright?”

 

As Joe was the only “Mr. Cartwright” present at the time, he duly turned round to face Captain Lancey, who smiled pleasantly at him.  Joe smiled equally pleasantly back. “Good morning, Captain Lancey.”

 

Dressed now in his dark blue cavalry uniform with all the buttons gleaming, the other man struck a handsome figure standing as he did at the counter of the Bucket of Blood saloon.  Joe cleared his throat and looked over at the bar man.

 

“Er—could I get you a drink of something, Captain?”

 

“No; thank you anyway.”

 

“Oh, on duty?”

 

“In a manner of speaking—yes.”

 

Joe frowned and turned to Sam, who had poured him a glass of beer.  He picked the glass up and raised it to his lips while his eyes stayed on the reflection of the cavalryman in the mirror.  After several gulps of beer he set the glass down and turned once again to Lancey who had, at least, removed his hat.

 

“Captain Lancey, is there something you want from me?”

 

“A few minutes of your time, sir.”

 

Joe sighed, glanced around and located a table in a far corner of the room.  He took his beer with him and led Lancey towards it.

 

“Well, what’s wrong?” he asked as he pulled his chair into the table.

 

“Does there have to be anything wrong?”

 

“There doesn’t have to be, but when you guys come around there usually is.” He sipped some of the beer and licked his lips before looking at Lancey again with narrowed hazel eyes. “You still looking for Sarah?”

 

“Yes.” the other man nodded and shrugged. “Can’t find her though.  Her friends on the reservation don’t seem too obliging and helpful in giving us any information either.”

 

“You mean you’ve been back?  Even after what my Pa told you?”

 

“We left it a few days.” Lancey said and slowly.

 

Joe shrugged.  He drank more beer and then folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Why exactly do you want Sarah?  She isn’t under arrest for anything is she?”

 

“No, sir, she is not.  Fact is, it’s because she’s an intelligent young woman with an amazing ability to talk well.  I heard her once speaking on behalf of her people at Fort Sills.  She was extremely articulate.”

 

“So is that it then?  Because she can talk?”

 

“She’s an Indian, isn’t she?  She speaks well for the Indian cause because she wants peace between our nations.  Not only does she want peace but she wants her people to live well, to be educated and healthy.”

 

“Nothing wrong with that so far as I can see.”

 

“There’s other tribes of Indians would do well to listen to her.  They may realise that just perhaps she knows what she’s talking about and do what she suggests.”

 

“Which is?”  Joe looked down at the stains on the table, and then slowly picked up his glass to drink the last of his beer.

 

“That they go peaceably onto the land designated by the United States government and enjoy the privileges that go along with it.”

 

“What privileges?”  Joe slowly put the glass down and looked thoughtfully at Lancey who smiled.

 

“Basic services, training, housing, food and supplies, guns and ammunition for hunting.  All they could ever wish for…and peace along with us.”

 

“Captain Lancey, I’ve seen a lot of people promised those things in years gone by, and you know what?  They never got them.”

 

“That’s unfortunate for them, but it doesn’t happen every time.”  Lancey now leaned forward, “We were wondering whether or not you would know where Sarah is.”

 

“I don’t know where she is; any reason why you should think that?”

 

“Just that you’re good friends.”

 

“Good friends don’t always tell one another everything,” Joe muttered and frowned as he resumed his study of the beer stains on the table.

 

“Perhaps, Mr. Cartwright, you might even think of helping us in another way.  You see, we heard a story about you that’s been going around for some time now.  About how you got friendly with a whole pile of Indians some years ago.  Stayed with them some time as well, and got mighty friendly with a Cheyenne girl.  Now, we were wondering if just perhaps you might like to do that tribe of Indians a real big favour…” he paused and looked at Joe warily as he sensed the tension building up in the young man’s body.

 

“What kind of real big favour do you mean, Captain Lancey?”  Joe said.

 

“Come with us when we go back and find them Indians.  Try and get it through to them that we want them to come to no harm.  You can talk the way they think, you were with them for long enough to do that, weren’t you?”

 

Joe rubbed his head and sighed. “I can’t help you, sir.  I’m sorry but all that happened a long time ago.  They won’t remember me and I don’t talk the way they think anymore.”  He stood up and paused. “To be honest with you, Captain, if you want them to leave the Black Hills, no one will be able to persuade them to leave peaceably—and I mean, no one.”

 

“Who said anything about the Black Hills?”  Lancey frowned as he stood up, tall enough to look down on Joe, who only shrugged.

 

“It was what they talked about most of all when I was with them.  What they would do if any white army came up into their sacred hills.  You see, if you push people far enough they end up only going where they feel safest, and that’s where you’ve been driving them all these years.  I won’t be any help to you, sir, nor would Sarah.”

 

He picked up his hat and after a brief nod of the head quickly left the saloon.  Cooch was nodding over the water trough but was swift in obeying his master’s command to gallop out of town.

 

Lancey stood at the door of the saloon watching the younger man go with a thoughtful expression on his face.  He turned slightly when Fleming approached.

 

“Well?  How did you get on?”

 

“He won’t help.”

 

“Did you explain?”

 

“Yes, sir, but it seems he already knew.”  Lancey frowned, “He already knew, and not only that, but so do the whole Sioux and Cheyenne nations.”

 

Fleming turned to look down the length of the main street where Joe was just beginning to disappear. He shrugged.

 

“Well, whatever his opinions, he’ll have to come with us.  Orders are orders, Captain. We tried the diplomatic approach, which leaves us with no other option but to try something else, perhaps, a little more aggressive.”

 

Lancey said nothing to that but his frown deepened and he sighed at the thought of what plans would be put in action to get Joseph Cartwright back to the Black Hills with them.

 

……………….

 

Laurence Willoughby placed the queen of hearts down on the table and looked over at his opponent.  Doestov frowned, observed his cards thoughtfully and shook his head. “I don’t understand this game you play.”

 

“It isn’t difficult, Dimitri.”

 

Doestov shook his head again and put his card down, which brought a sigh to Laurence’s lips as he tossed the hand of cards he held onto the table. “I’m surprised that a man of your social standing doesn’t know how to play poker.”

 

“Nyet,” the Russian stood up and selected a fresh cigarette which he brought to his nose and sniffed before putting it between his lips. “It is stupid to lose money with cards.”  He frowned, struck a match and watched the flame burn a little before applying it to the cigarette. “Tell me again what happened after you got the letter in Washington. You were shot at...”

 

“Yes, but it didn’t hurt me, just tore my sleeve.  Some chap came and told me not to move, then ran off.”

 

“You never saw him again?”

 

“No.”  Laurence gathered in the cards and shuffled them together. “No, not at all.”

 

“I tink maybe he was the man who shoot at you.  I tink he vos going to make you trust him and then give him your letter.”

 

“Well, it didn’t work.” Laurence smiled slowly. “Mind you, it was odd that my cabin was searched as soon as I got on board the Baltimore,” he shrugged. “Not that they found anything.”

 

“Did the commodore not suspect anyone?”

 

“If he did, he never said so. I thought for a while that he suspected me...” Laurence frowned as though he could barely believe the idea.

 

“He is not a man who trusts easily.”

 

“No, you can say that again.” Laurence murmured, “Anyway, as it happens the letter wasn’t really important, as you know, because you were there when Charles opened it.”

 

“Da, but vot vos important, Laurence, is that someone somehow knew you had some letter about something that was—secret.” He paused as though for dramatic effect, then drew in smoke from the cigarette which he held in his mouth for a while before slowly releasing it into the air.  “Alvays the intrigue, alvays the secrets.” 

 

“But isn’t that what this is all about, Dimitri?  This plot isn’t exactly common knowledge, is it?”

 

“It is not at all the common knowledge as you say, but it seems to me too many people already know about it.”  He frowned, “The man who searches your cabin, he may still be on the Baltimore.”

 

“He may have got off when we were in England.”  Laurence smiled. “Having failed—again.”

 

“True enough,” came the reply in a soft voice although the frown between the dark eyebrows deepened. 

 

Chapter 27

 

The sight of the buggy with its two patient horses standing in the yard did little to lighten Joe’s mood.  He dismounted from Cochise and ran a gentle hand down the neck of the horse before he reached the porch.  The murmur of voices close by caused him to turn before he had even touched the door and when he saw Ingrid walking beside Ben, her arm resting rather loosely within the crook of the older man’s. Joe felt something tight knot inside his gut.  He opened his mouth and was about to speak when Ben saw him and spoke first.

 

“Joe.  I’m glad that you’re here right now, son.”

 

Joes’ eyes swivelled immediately from his father’s face to that of Ingrid.  He swallowed the words he wanted to say, nodded and waited for Ben to continue to speak, which he did after looking thoughtfully at the woman by his side.

 

“I’m afraid that Ingrid will need your help.  Milton has been taken ill at Ann’s; Hoss has gone into town to get John or Paul but in the meantime Ingrid needs to be with her husband.  Would you take her?” 

 

There was a rather too long a silence as Joe looked at Ingrid and she, uncomfortable under his gaze, lowered her head and stared at the ground. It was Ben’s gruff “Joseph” that brought the young man to attention; he nodded and muttered something beneath his breath.

 

“I am grateful, Joe,” Ingrid murmured in a voice so contrite and sweet that Joe felt a shiver trickle down his spine. 

 

“It was quite sudden, Joseph, so be gentle with her.” Ben said  softly to his son, while Ingrid picked up her hat and fastened it with a pretty ribbon. 

 

“Just how bad is it, Pa?  I mean—he isn’t dying, is he?”

 

“Hopefully not.  I won’t be far behind you.”

 

Joe just cast his father an oblique glance before he walked to Cochise and tied his reins to the back of the buggy.  By this time Ingrid was standing beside him, waiting for his assistance in getting into the buggy.

 

Sitting beside her as they left the ranch house Joe felt a tangle of emotions.  After some moments he asked her how she was feeling after such news.

 

“Shocked, of course,” and she sighed and gazed forlornly away from him, her eyes on the distant mountains and looking demurely saddened.

 

“Why?  I mean, why are you shocked?  You knew he was ill, didn’t you?”

 

“Why, Joe, of course I knew he was ill; he is my husband, after all.”

 

Joe clenched his teeth together and stared ahead at the road.  The buggy bounced over a pot hole in the track and threw them closer together. The skirts of her dress pressed tightly against his thigh.

 

“You look  serious, Joe.”

 

“Shouldn’t I be, after all, this is a serious errand I’m on?  After all, Mrs. Buchanan, you could be a widow by the end of the day.”

 

“Why, Joe, I’m shocked!” she exclaimed and clutched her hands together against her breasts.

 

“I’m surprised now, Ma’am, seeing how I never thought there was much would shock you.”

 

Now one hand grabbed at his arm, and her eyes looked straight at him in a way that forced him to look at her. 

 

“What did you mean by that remark?”

 

“Just what I said.”

 

“You mean more by it than what was said, Joe, so tell me now, what did you mean?”

 

He slowed the horses so that he could concentrate more on the conversation without any risk of their running amok.  He turned and looked at her, the blue eyes looking so angry and bright, the mouth that ran a firm line above her stubborn chin, the flare of her nostrils.

 

“Well, as expected, not a tear in sight, although I expect there will be plenty of them when we get to Ann’s,” he growled in a voice almost unfamiliar even to himself.

 

“I’m not going to ask you again—”

 

“No, you don’t have to ask me again, Ingrid.  Let me just say it simply—I saw you the other day with John Martin.”

 

“I don’t understand what you mean?” she looked puzzled, her eyes dilated and she shook her head.  “When?”

 

“The day after the party when you kept your appointment with him.  Remember?  He left you a note to meet him beneath the—”

 

“It’s alright, you needn’t say anymore.  What were you doing there?”

 

“I wasn’t there with the intention of spying on you, if that’s what you mean.  I was there by accident and wish to God that I had not been.  I knew at the party that you cared about him, you made that all too obvious, but I didn’t think you would actually go ahead and deceive your husband here, as you did in New York.”

 

“You heard?”

 

“Yes, I heard.  I heard too much—”

 

“Yes, you did.” her voice was lowered, quiet, as though she were really speaking to herself.  “Joe, will you give me time to explain my side of the story?  Don’t cast me off as though I were a woman of such low morals as you obviously feel I am at the moment.  Let me explain.  Please.”

 

“There’s nothing to explain, Ingrid.  You have a husband who is dying.  You have been having an affair with his doctor.  What is there to explain?”

 

“Not everything is as black and white as it seems, Joe.”

 

He flicked the reins a little to urge the horses into a quicker pace and turned away from her.  Ingrid sat  still for a moment before she began to talk,

 

“My father arranged the marriage. The fact is that the Fitzgerald fortune was fast disappearing and he felt that the Buchanans would help the family out of the mess into which we were descending.  It wasn’t a love match, Joe.  Milton and I never loved one another.  He knows that—that I—” she paused and tried to think of a way to describe her feelings but then put her hand on his arm. “Joe, I’m not ugly, am I?  Some men have told me I’m beautiful.  You found me so not that long ago, didn’t you?”

 

“I don’t want this conversation to continue, Ingrid.”

 

“But it’s true, isn’t it?  Milton understands that, and he knows that men like me.  He knew about John and me when we were in New York. It was just an amusement, just something about which we would laugh together.”

 

“I don’t think so, Ingrid.”

 

“Milton and I understand one another.” 

 

The statement was delivered in a flatly calm manner and then she turned aside as though she had said enough.  Joe continued onwards with her words spinning around in his head and clashing against the memory of the words she and John had spoken to each other only days ago.  He felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw the house ahead and directed the horses towards it.

 

Hester was there looking pale and anguished.  She saw Joe and then turned towards Ingrid, who was walking quickly towards her.  Ingrid turned  to look at her sister-in-law

 

“How is he?” she asked with a slight tremble in her voice.

 

“He’s  unwell, Ingrid.”

 

“I know,” Ingrid curtly cut across what Hester was about to say and entered the house.

 

“He’s here,” Ann said  and stepped aside to let Ingrid whirl past her, and she looked over at Hester and rolled her eyes.  Little Rose clung to her mother’s neck, anxious eyes staring up into Ann’s face.

 

Milton could just about distinguish Ingrid’s shape approaching him as he reclined on the settee.  A blanket was wrapped over him but appeared to doing little to make him feel any warmer for his face was ashen, and even his fingers looked as though the colour had drained from them.

 

“Milton?”  She allowed a sob to break the word so that it trembled in the air a little, “Oh Milton, my dear, what happened?”

 

She was kneeling at his side now with one hand touching his, and the shock on her face at the coldness of the hand was genuine enough, for it caused her to look more closely into her husband’s face.

 

“Milton, say something, if you can.”

 

Milton still stared at her.  All that he saw was a rather misty figure, drifting as though it were suspended in the air and floating in and out of clouds.  He reached out to touch her face but she leaned away from him, unable to bear the thought of those cold waxen fingers touching her skin.  Slowly his arm dropped to his side.

 

“Ingrid?”  It was barely a whisper, “It is you, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, of course it is.” she looked hastily over at Hester who was now standing beside the settee.

 

“Ingrid, I loved you so much.”

 

“Hush now, I know, I understand.” she said, her voice soft.

 

“No, Ingrid, you don’t understand.”  He sighed before he closed his eyes. “You never did understand.  Love…”

 

“Yes, Milton?”

 

There was a long pause and it was Hester who leaned over towards him and put her warm hand to his face, stroked his cheek, and a wan smile drifted over his lips.

 

“Hester?”

 

“Yes, my dear?”

 

“You and Hoss—you’re good together—good together.”

 

“Yes, Milton, yes, we are.”

 

He reached up and she took his hand, the smile widened a little, just a little.

 

“Dear Hester, what fun we used to have as children.  D’you remember?”

 

“Of course, my dear, of course I remember.”

 

 

The door opened and Ben stepped inside, removed his hat and looked from one to the other of them.  Joe, standing beside Ann with baby Rose in her arms; Hester, Ingrid close to the settee where Milton lay.  He stepped  towards Joe. “How is he?”

 

Joe opened his mouth to speak but it was Hester who answered.

 

“He’s dead” she said, “He’s dead.” and her voice was immediately shaken by tears.

 

Ingrid stood still, her feet seemed like blocks of ice frozen to the floor and she stared at the dead man with a look on her face that was full of contrasting emotions…confusion, fear, irritation and even anger. 

 

The silence was broken only by Hester’s sobs and the ticking of an old clock tucked away in the corner of the room.

 

Chapter 28

 

The Baltimore slipped past the Balearic Islands in the Mediterranean Sea with calm waters causing no disturbance in her passing.  Adam had given the helmsman the co-ordinates for their next port of call as Latitude 40° 50', north. Longitude: 14° 14', East...

Naples.  This was in order to take on board fresh food and water, as well as coal and other necessities.

 

There was also the chance that there would be the opportunity to pick up mail from any other American ship berthed there, and if that were not possible, then certainly it gave the men the chance to get letters written and handed over to any ship returning to their home country.

 

As Adam stood on the bridge with the balmy breezes of the Mediterranean Sea cooling his face, he thought of the letter he had written to his family that was now nestling beside those of his crew.  All of them sending that frail life line of news to those they loved in the hope that memories would be revisited and affections touched in their hearts for the one who was absent from home.

 

“Well, Adam, not much longer now,” Daniel murmured as he entered the bridge and took his place beside his friend.

 

“Did you write to Maria?”

 

“Oh yes, and hoping that there may be some news for me soon.” he flashed a grin and his face softened at the thought of his wife and the child they were expecting, “I’m not a praying man to be honest, but I have said many prayers lately for the safe delivery of this child.  Maria was far more distressed over the loss of our first child than I had realised.” He paused and looked at Adam before following the direction of his friend’s eyes to see the Italian coastline appearing. “It’s not a natural life, is it?” he said suddenly in a  soft, solemn voice.

 

“What isn’t?” Adam turned his head to observe his friend with a puzzled look on his face, and then he nodded as though now understanding what Daniel was implying. “You mean being away from home for so long, away from family and friends?”

 

“A man should be with his family, protecting his wife and child, not miles away from them and, worse still, not being able to tell them where they are because, well, because everything is shrouded in mystery and secret.”  Daniel scowled. “I wish I knew why Doestov said that about Ross, about him leaving the cabin free.”

 

“I wish a lot of things in connection to that man,” Adam sighed. “But he’s dead now so there’s little point in gnawing over it like a dog with a bone.  Ross gave an explanation, and I don’t doubt him.  I tend to think that Doestov was just creating mischief, trying to instil distrust among us.”

 

“There was that incident with Willoughby.”

 

“What incident?”

 

“Surely you hadn’t forgotten?  The way his belongings had been searched when he first arrived.”

 

Adam said nothing to that but stood with his shoulders thrust back and his arms folded across his chest.  Finally he gave a single nod of the head. “I hadn’t forgotten.  I imagine it was the same man who had shot at him in Washington.”

 

“And still on board?”

 

“Maybe, maybe not.” Adam replied.

 

“Doesn’t it bother you?”  Daniel frowned as though puzzled at his friend’s lack of motivation in getting the matter sorted after all the days and weeks that had passed since the incident and nothing, nothing at all, had been done about it.

 

“Do you remember what happened in Alaska?  Those wretched so-called secret papers?  There was so much distrust and suspicion on board ship that we barely functioned.  Then that fiasco with Cassandra Pelman who did everything she could to breed disunity and chaos.  Well, I don’t want to go through that again.  I want this crew to work together in a disciplined and orderly manner; I want officers and crew to work together with trust and confidence.  Whoever wants the secrets that we do not actually possess now because everyone on board ship knows exactly where we are going—well, they will act when they think it’s worthwhile, and that will be that.” He shrugged and pursed his lips in a familiarly arrogant attitude.

 

“That will be that?  How do you mean?”

 

“Well, he’ll expose himself for who he is, won’t he?  The matter will, in effect, resolve itself.”

 

“But, Adam—”

 

“No ‘but’s’, Daniel, I just don’t want to be forced into thinking that there is any man on board this ship whom I can’t trust.”

 

“Very well.” Daniel said and stepped back a pace so that he stood in line with Adam but just a little apart from him.

 

Adam clamped his lips tightly together and stared out to the approaching coast line.  He thought of all the evenings and early mornings that he had studied the information given him by Charles Willoughby and Grant.  Names, histories, dates … all fixed firmly in his mind now.  Then there was the overlapping information from Doestov that he had checked over and cross-referenced and nailed into place.  He narrowed his eyes and the names trickled through his mind once again, names and information, origins, cultures, traditions and beliefs.  Everything was there just waiting for the living entities to put flesh to the words.

 

Daniel watched as the Baltimore began to slow down in speed.  He glanced up at the sky and for a moment felt a momentary pang at seeing the smoke from the stack instead of the billowing sails.  When he looked again at Adam, the commodore had a smile on his face and his eyes twinkled as deep dimples formed in his cheeks.

 

“Well, Daniel, what were you thinking of then?”

 

“I—er—was thinking of a night under the stars in Alaska when the sheets glistened with ice and the snow was falling,” he admitted with a slight rouging around his collar.

 

“Yes,” Adam nodded and then sighed. “Yes, I was remembering just the same thing.  It was all rather beautiful.”

 

“And  cold.”

 

“Definitely  cold.” And Adam laughed, a laugh that made O’Brien smile, then chuckle along with him.

 

Chapter 29

 

There was no mail drop for them on board either of the American ships berthed in the harbour, which was a disappointment for them all.  However, their own mail was accepted by the captain of the Californian, who also invited Adam and his officers on board for an evening meal and entertainment.

 

The captain of the Californian was a good–tempered, middle-aged man who obviously enjoyed company, as the officers from the American ship berthed alongside her and the Italian officers from another ship were also invited along.  Adam and everyone invited were promised an evening of wining, dining and entertaining that would no doubt make it an evening to remember.

 

They had arrived early in the morning, sufficiently so for time to be allocated to various members of the crew to go and see Naples.  With several marines on board the boats to ensure that everyone returned on time and conducted themselves in a suitable manner, the selected men cheered as they made their way to the harbour side.  Those left on board ship watched with mixed emotions as their companions saluted and waved once their feet were on terra firma.

 

The purser was left in charge of oversight of the food and drink being taken on board.  Adam heard the doctor urging the purser to make sure that the water was pure.

 

“I’ve heard it said that the water hereabouts is  suspect,” Ewen declared anxiously.

 

“No more so than it is in London, sir,” the purser replied politely. “But I’ll make sure it is clean.”

 

“Don’t mix it with the water already in the ship’s tank until that water is barrelled out and stored away.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

It was, Adam thought ruefully, a shame that there was no mail.  He had been particularly looking forward to receiving letters from home because the last letter he had sent to them must have been so confusing.  Not only that but he wondered if anything had happened since then that could have made his letter more explanatory.  Was Joe alright?  That was the thought that haunted him nightly…was Joe alright?

 

Sometimes he had had dreams about Joe that went back years to when he had been a child and sometimes the dreams had harkened back to the time when Adam had met Custer the first time.  He had even dreamt one night that it had been Joe sitting on the wall of that well and that Jacob Brown had fired and shot him down.  He had called aloud “Joe” and woken up as Joe’s body tumbled down and down the well shaft.

 

When he returned on deck the stevedores, as the Italians called their dockers, were busy taking on board fresh fruit and vegetables.  He watched for a moment before Hathaway approached him. “Are you going to the mainland, sir?”

 

“Yes,” he nodded thoughtfully as his eyes roved around the buildings crowded on the hills of Napoli, “Yes, I thought I would go and see the old city.  Would you care to join me, Mr. Hathaway?”

 

“Certainly, sir, thank you.”

 

Mr. Ross was left in charge of the Baltimore as Hathaway, Myers, O’Brien and Adam departed from the ship in the launch.  As many tourists know time passes quickly if interested in the sights available to see, and  slowly if one is not really interested.  In various moods they returned to the ship in time to prepare for their evening with the Captain of The Californian.

 

It was an evening much as had been anticipated with sufficient dining, too much wining and rather raucous entertaining.

 

Sleep came swiftly and along with it came dreams that left Adam tossing and turning most of the night. His trip to Naples muddled itself with Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”

 for that was the play Adam considered during his tour.  Caliban thundered and roared, “You taught me language, and my profit on't is I know how to curse” which was bad enough—but what made it worse that he looked like Hoss, and Joe was twittering away like an angst-ridden Ariel in the background.

 

He woke up with the words “We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep” ringing in his ears before he realised he was himself shouting them out aloud.  Forced out of his bed, he drank some water and looked out porthole to a view enshrouded by night and darkness and not even the faintest moon to soften the shadows anywhere.

 

………….

 

Adam Cartwright was awake before “day-blink”—that moment at dawn where from some point on the mast a lookout can see above low-lying mist. His steward had brought in some food and was setting it out on the small table.  He gave Adam a smile and a greeting.

 

“Lieutenant Hathaway sends you his greetings, sir, and would like to know when to give orders to cast off?”

 

Adam frowned, rubbed his face to make sure he was awake and this wasn’t part of another dream before asking that Mr. Hathaway be sent for, along with Ross and Myers.

 

He was dressed and ready to take the bridge by the time his officers arrived in the cabin.  After looking at them and recognising the fact that each one of them looked as bleary eyed as himself, he asked if the ship’s company were all on board.

 

“We had to send the marines out to pick two of them up, sir,” Ross said. “They were drunk and disorderly.”

 

“They are on board now though?”

 

“Yes, sir.  All present and correct.”

 

“Then we can leave within the hour, Mr. Hathaway.  We head for Said, 31°16'N, 32°18'E.”

 

“Yes, sir.  Any further orders?”

 

“None.  Thank you.”

 

He leaned back in his chair as the door closed upon the three men.  He frowned thoughtfully as it occurred to him that it wouldn’t be long now when the secrets, if there were any, would be revealed.

 

Chapter 30

 

The reaction of Milton’s death on John Martin was bewildering to those who knew him but knew nothing of his association with Ingrid. When he had arrived at the house with Paul to be told that Milton had died, he had gone as pale as death itself and staggered back as though he had been struck.  His groan of distress was such that his uncle had looked at him in amazement and told him, rather brusquely, to pull himself together.

 

Ingrid had risen from her chair upon their entrance, and with clasped hands holding a dainty scrap of lace-trimmed silk, she dabbed at her eyes.  Nearby, Hester was weeping  upon Hoss’ shoulder as he stroked her back and made comforting noises because he had already run out of sympathetic things to say.  Ann had busied herself making drinks for everyone and stopping every so often to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

 

As John strode past her, Ingrid sank back down upon the chair and followed him with her eyes as he and Paul went to check on Milton. It was Paul who did the swift examination, while John stepped back with his body half turned away from the mortal remains of the innocent man he had betrayed.

 

“I’m surprised,” Paul said softly as he stepped away from the settee. “I thought he would be able to return home next week quite well enough.”

 

“Milton was going to go home?” Ann asked with a slight frown. “But he said nothing to us about that.”

 

“No,” Paul sighed and folded the dead man’s arms gently across his chest.  He looked down at Milton with a sad look on his face, and then sighed again, “No, he told me in confidence.  He knew he was dying but wanted to return home to put his affairs in order.  There were some changes he wished to make, I presume, to his will.  I asked him if he had been happy here and he had smiled, said how happy seeing Hester again had made him, and Ann with little Rose, but that was all.  He just smiled...” he paused as John made a little groan, and he shook his head as though surprised that his nephew was showing such a weakness at the sight of a dead body. Surely he had seen dead bodies by the score by now. 

 

“Well,” Hoss said in a gruffer than usual tone of voice, “He’ll be missed by us, that’s for sure.  Didn’t know him  long but he was a fine person.”

 

He placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder—only to be surprised as John trembled beneath him. He hurried back to Hester and observed John, frowning.

 

“He’ll be buried on the Ponderosa, of course.” Ben said, “After all, he was Hester’s brother.”

 

Hester smiled through her tears at Ben, which was sufficient thanks, but he did look over at Ingrid and said  that, of course, was if she didn’t have any objection.

 

“Why should I?” she replied with a weariness in her voice that was the nearest indication of grief she had shown throughout the hours since Milton had died.  “I need to get back to the house, if you don’t mind.  There are letters to write, people to inform.”

 

“Oh Ingrid, rest awhile, those matters can wait,” Ann said kindly as she stepped towards the other woman with a look of concern on her pretty face.

 

“No, they can’t wait,” Ingrid snapped and looked around the room at the men standing there. “Well, won’t one of you have the courtesy to take me home?”

 

No one moved.  Finally Hester rose to her feet and, holding Hoss by the hand, said that she would go home with Ingrid, if Hoss didn’t mind.

 

“Ingrid is right, after all,” she said softly. “There are letters to write and things to arrange.”

 

It appeared to Ingrid that her life, her world, had suddenly spun out of her control.  It seemed inconceivable that Milton should die now, so soon, so much sooner than she had anticipated.  And John Martin?  What on earth was wrong with John Martin?  This was their chance now, perhaps their only chance, to start a new life together.  Once the will was read and the Buchanan estate settled upon her then life would start afresh, and it would be wonderful, quite wonderful.

 

She sat beside Hester and said not a word, remembering every so often to dab at her eyes, and if she trembled at all, then let them think what they wished, but it was certainly not out of grief.  Life without Milton but with all that property and money made her shiver with excitement. The anticipation of the things she would be able to do, the places she would be able to go—goodness, she had to clench her hands so tight that her nails dug into the flesh in order not to laugh out aloud.

 

……………….

 

“What was the matter with you, John?” Paul Martin asked in a kindly manner as the buggy jogged along the way to Virginia City.  “Is that the reaction I’m to expect from you every time we go to examine a dead body?”

 

John looked anxiously at his uncle before shaking his head. “No, of course not.  But I have known Milton for a long time, and the sight of him—” he paused; bit his bottom lip. “He was a friend as well as a patient.  I didn’t think he would die as quickly as he did.”

 

“Well, he was a weak man,” Paul said. “Weak from his illness, I mean, although perhaps weak with regard to his choice of wife as well.”

 

“Why do you say so?”

 

“Well, it’s obvious, she’s a much stronger personality,”  Paul said with that smile so familiar to his friends. “I should imagine she didn’t exactly treat him with the patient love that he deserved, and should have had.”

 

“Yes, I think you are right, Uncle,” John sighed, and for reasons best known to him he promptly changed the subject.

 

………………….

 

‘Pa, I saw Captain Lancey in town.”

 

Ben paused in the act of putting his foot in the stirrup and looked at Joe with a scowl, then shook his head as he mounted into the saddle.

 

“Well, what did he want?”

 

“He wanted to make sure I didn’t know where Sarah had gone.”  Joe waited for his father to catch up so that both men could canter from the Canady house together.

 

“You don’t know where she is, do you, son?”

 

“No.” Joe replied with a melancholy look upon his face, “No, I don’t , Pa.  I did see her, after we went to the camp that day.  She told me she wouldn’t tell me where she was so that I wouldn’t have to lie.  She’s a good friend.”

 

“A lovely girl; a pity there aren’t more like her.”

 

Joe nodded and remained silent. ‘Little Moon was like her,’ he thought, ‘she was brave and dignified, clever, intelligent, all those things that would have made her the most wonderful wife.’

 

“Joe?”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“I thought for a moment you had gone deaf.  That was the third time I called your name.”

 

“Sorry, Pa.”  He gave his father a lop sided grin and shrugged, pleased to see the smile on his father’s face.

 

“Did Lancey say anything else?”

 

“Asked me to go with them.”

 

“What?  To the Black Hills?”

 

“Yes.  I told him that I wouldn’t.  There was no point, there was or rather is nothing I can do to prevent the inevitable.”

 

“True enough.”

 

“It’s Grant and Custer need talking to, not the Indians.  But since they won’t listen, what’s the point in even trying?”

 

Ben nodded.  He took off his hat as the wagon with Milton’s body on it trundled past them on its way to the Undertaker’s in town.  Not the most dignified exit but it was hardly fair to leave Milton in Ann and Candy’s best sitting room.  He sighed. “John Martin took Milton’s death hard, so it seems to me,” he remarked as his eyes followed the wagon, and he urged his horse into a faster speed.

 

“Oh, that’s something else I wanted to mention to you, Pa.”  Joe frowned and wondered whether or not having said that, he should perhaps have kept silent.  It was too late now, for Ben was waiting to hear what he had to say about John Martin.

 

 

Chapter 31

 

At times a cabin, even the commodore’s cabin which is larger than most and totally private, can become claustrophobic, particularly to a man who is used to riding the wide open spaces of the Ponderosa.

 

There were times when, in order to keep his sanity, Adam spent most of his days on the upper deck, or pacing along the bridge, or even sitting there with books to read or letters to write.  He would watch the men going about their tasks and enjoy the moments when they were relaxed and sharing time sociably together.  On occasion he would go down to the boiler rooms and speak to the men he most pitied on board the ship, the stokers, trimmers and greasers. 

 

Trimmers were the crew members who would rake and clear the ash from the boilers; the ash would be cooled with water and then carted to an area where it was fired into the sea by a high pressure of water.  The greasers were the men responsible for greasing the machines; this work was done while the boiler was working.  If the machinery was warm they knew everything was working well, but the danger came when it all got too hot.

 

Watching the men at work in the heat of the boiler room was often enough to give Adam a sleepless night as he wondered how they would fare during a storm at sea.  O’Brien would remind him of the number of seamen who had lost their fingers when they had frozen to the iced-over sails of the clipper ships, or the men lost from the crow’s nest as the sea pitched them up and over.  But Adam would just shake his head at his friend and lament that progress had created an even more dangerous world, and even their small world on board ship had its own hell hole.

 

The weather was continually warm and pleasant with the Baltimore slicing through the water as smoothly as a warm knife slices through butter.  Adam had taken the necessary notes as to their whereabouts and was pleased to inform Hathaway and Myers that soon they would be passing close to Tripoli.  They were all three checking the maps and readings when Ewen McPherson approached them with an anxious look on his face.

 

“Commodore, may I have a few moments of your time?”

 

“Certainly—what’s wrong?”

 

Ewen opened his mouth and then closed it again as he glanced at the two officers standing nearby.  Sensing his need for more privacy, Adam drew him to one side and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Commodore, I have five men seriously ill in sick bay.”

 

“Five?”  Adam frowned, “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with them?”

 

“I’m almost too frightened to tell you what I suspect.”

 

“Well, best spit it out, man, so that we can get on and deal with it.”

 

“It could be typhoid…” Ewen whispered so that when Adam lowered his head he had to repeat the dreaded word and then watch as the commodore’s face went pale “or typhus.”

 

“Can’t you tell which?”

 

“It isn’t easy to identify which at this stage,” Ewen replied rather cautiously.

 

Adam looked at him thoughtfully at this statement and then released his breath  slowly. “Have you dealt with either illness before?”

 

“I hate to admit it, but no, I have not.”

 

“So you don’t know the difference or how to distinguish the difference?”

 

“Commodore, only from the text books.”

 

“Then I suggest that you study your text books  carefully, sir, and when you have done so, re-examine your patients and report back to me immediately after you have a proper diagnosis.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“When did this start to happen?”

 

“The day after we left Naples.”

 

Adam looked at him long and hard, he remembered overhearing the caution the doctor had advised about the water.  He bit down on his bottom lip. “This is not the best of news, Doctor.  You should have informed me much sooner.”

 

“I hesitated to do so due to my own ignorance but—” he paused and looked thoughtfully at Adam—“Have you or any of the officers felt unwell at all?”

 

“No one has complained of being unwell,” Adam replied slowly, then shook his head. “This is really the worse news you could bring at this time, Doctor.”

 

“I’m aware of it, sir, and apologise, but the men appeared strong enough, hearty enough, that I didn’t think it anything too serious at first.  But I shall let you know—”

 

“Do so!” Adam said abruptly and walked away quickly towards his fellow officers, who were standing with anxious faces, having witnessed the altercation between the two men.

 

……………………..

 

Ingrid Buchanan had watched in silence as her husband was laid to rest on Ponderosa soil.  She had looked upon the faces of the mourners and wondered why each of them was there, apart from Hester and Ann who were both Buchanans themselves, bidding their last farewell to a beloved brother, a dear cousin.  They had stood side by side, arms interlinked as though supporting one another even though their husbands stood on either side of them. 

 

She had seen Joe and Ben Cartwright stand with dignity by the side of the grave, hats off and heads bowed.  Then there had been Paul and John Martin, silent, stolid, and so serious of face.  Apart from murmured consolations and sympathies they had spent little time talking with her.

 

Now she sat in the office of a grim-faced lawyer who had arrived at the Ponderosa only an hour after the funeral—bearing with him, he claimed, the Last Will & Testament of Milton Buchanan, signed and witnessed in his office in Virginia City only a week previously.

 

Chapter 32

 

The room shone from the sun that filled it, bringing colour to the flowers that Hester had picked earlier that day.  Now she sat with her hands neatly folded in her lap and her head bowed while beside her, Ingrid sat ramrod straight with her face a mask devoid of emotion.  A stranger would wrongly interpret Hester as the grieving widow, were he to chance by and glance into that room. 

 

Ann was also present with Candy, who stood beside Hoss, both of them standing as though forming a rearguard to protect their beloved ones from any unwarranted attack.  There was no necessity for Ben or Joe to be present, so they had strolled outside with those friends who had come to pay their respects to the deceased and his family: Paul and John, Roy, Barbara and various others who had their hands shaken and thanks spoken into their ears as they made their leave.

 

The lawyer, Mr. Jacob Somersby, was a young man but well used to handling such matters as wills, for there were sufficient deaths in the locality to ensure his regular attendance at such functions.  He looked anxiously at them all and took his seat.

 

They watched as though mesmerised by the sight of the papers neatly tied together with the usual legal ribbons and such that he held in his hand and now placed upon Ben’s desk. 

 

“Now, if I may just make sure of who is present—Mrs. Buchanan, the widow of the deceased—” he looked at Ingrid, who stared blankly at him; he cleared his throat and moved on. “Mrs. Hester Cartwright, sister?”  and he smiled at Hester who nodded and smiled back through her tears. “Mrs. Ann Canady, cousin?”  Ann nodded, gulped, took a deep breath and glanced over at Candy.  “There is another brother … Mr. Marlow Buchanan?”

 

“He ain’t able to git here,” Hoss said as though he were the only one present apart from Somersby still with a functioning tongue in his head.

 

“Very well, we’ll proceed.  This Last Will & Testament was drawn up by the behest of Mr. Milton Buchanan on the 12^th of this month.  It was witnessed by me and my clerk, Mr. Thomas Henry, and a Mrs. Clementine Hawkins, who happened to be in the office at that time and was willing to be of service.”

 

No one commented on that although all except Ingrid thought a lot about the fact that Widow Hawkins had happened to be “in the office,” and her willingness to be of service not one of them doubted for a single moment.

 

“The family house in Albany, New York, will remain in the possession of the Buchanan family. As there is no issue between Mr. and Mrs. Milton Buchanan the property will pass into the hands of Mr. Marlow Buchanan and his family.”

 

Apart from a rosier glow on Ingrid’s cheeks nothing had changed. Somersby cleared his throat and relaxed a little.  That was one hurdle over without any problem.

 

“The property in Paris—Number 12 Rue de Monmatre will remain the possession of Mrs. Milton Buchanan.” He glanced at Ingrid, who merely lowered her eyes to look without expression at the rug on the floor. “The furniture and all pictures, carriages, horses, et cetera, will remain with the property for Mrs. Buchanan to divest of as she wishes.”

 

There was silence.  Hester and Ann were both feeling a trifle giddy but remained quiet and dignified, as did Ingrid.  Somersby glanced over at the two men who stood resolute behind their wives.

 

“To continue…” and continue he did, recounting various bequests to certain servants who had proven loyal over the years; there was a large sum of money settled on Ann and her child, Rose, and any further issue, which caused Ann to weep and protest that she really didn’t need it, but thank you all the same.

 

“The bulk of Mr. Buchanan’s estate and assets will, of course, go to Mr. Marlowe Buchanan. There is a gift of $20,000 to Mrs. Hester Cartwright with thanks from her brother.”  He smiled at Hester who nodded and smiled back before glancing up at Hoss who now placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

 

“Wait a minute—” Ingrid stood up as Somersby began to fold the papers away—“that can’t be all, what about me?”

 

“Madam, you have the property in Paris.  Mr. Buchanan said that you were particularly fond of the house and he had purchased it for you on your insistence several years ago.”

 

“Yes, I know, but—”

 

“The furniture and all its contents are yours.  I believe you chose all the items yourself, most carefully?”

 

“Yes, I did.  Milton said it would be our retreat when we went to Europe.” Ingrid said slowly, and Mr. Somersby nodded and smiled,

 

“Quite right, Mrs. Buchanan, that is how your husband described it, although he did add the rider that he had, as yet, to visit.”

 

“The fact is, Mr. Somersby or whatever you call yourself, a house can’t be run without funds.”  She frowned, “You must have omitted some mention of any money coming to me. I’m his widow, I’m entitled—”

 

“I’m sorry, Madam, you’re entitled only to what Mr. Milton Buchanan wished to leave you.  It’s all here in the will—”

 

“Give it to me—” she snatched it out of the young man’s hands and tore it open, while her eyes devoured the names and the words following each bequest.  She looked up, her eyes were round with panic. “My name—it’s not here.”

 

“Yes, Madam, here it is—” and he pointed to the clause in which her name was included with regard to the house, chattels, carriages and horses to which he had already referred.

 

“There must be something more?”

 

“Maybe it will be explained in this letter...” Somersby pulled out a letter and passed it to her; the red wax seal was intact, and her name was written clearly in her husband’s handwriting.  He passed another similar-sized letter to Hester.  “If there is nothing more for me to do here, then I had better get on my way.”

 

They stepped aside to let him go, murmured their thanks in his passing.  Somehow the sun seemed much duller, and the flowers had lost their beauty.

 

“It’s ridiculous,” Ingrid said in a voice so bereft, so sad that Hester actually felt sorry for her. “How can I run a house like that without money.  How could he have been so stupid?”

 

“Why don’t you read your letter, Ingrid?” Ann said coldly. “Perhaps Milton can explain it for you.”

 

To that there was no reply, Ingrid just stared at the square piece of paper in her hands and was quite unaware of Ann, Candy and little Rose leaving the house.

 

Chapter 33

 

As he paced the floor of his cabin the commodore’s face bore all the signs of a man over laden with the burden of bad news.  Nothing, nothing at all, could be worse than this threat from an enemy so lethal and so insidious as disease.  Typhoid or typhus…he could feel perspiration breaking out on his brow just thinking about it.  The yellow ‘Q’ flag was already flying from portside, in clear view of any approaching vessel. The officers had been briefed and had discussed the matter fully between them.  Adam couldn’t recall without his stomach churning over their looks of horror, followed by staunch stoicism, when he had first related to them the gravity of their situation.  A seaman anticipates drowning at sea, or being blown apart during times of warfare, but disease on board ship with its confined space, the lack of hospital conditions, the horror of such a slow death far from loved ones, all combined to make it the most nightmarish of horrors.

 

He had ordered that rats be killed, flea bites shown to the doctor’s assistants, anyone feeling in any way unwell to report to the sick bay immediately and bypass the binnacle list.  If it was typhoid fever, however, then that could only mean their food or water supply was contaminated.  If that were the case they would need the help of others beyond the ship, and currently there was nothing in sight.

 

None of the officers admitted to feeling unwell, for which he was feeling some measure of relief.  Typhus, known often as “gaol fever,” could spread like a prairie fire out of control on board ship, and who could know the survivor at the end of it. The memory of the typhus outbreak in the mining camps in Virginia City some years earlier had seen whole families wiped out of existence.  Paul Martin had said the only thing worse would have been cholera.

 

As he continued to pace the floor, all the while clenching and unclenching his fists, Adam tried to think of some solution to the matter, while at the same time telling himself that this was not an enemy to be outwitted or outthought by logic. 

 

When there came a rap on the door, he yelled out “Enter!” so loudly that the word seemed to bounce around the room, and Ewen stepped into the cabin looking terrified.

 

“Well, what’s the news?” He turned to face the doctor so abruptly that Ewen swallowed the words he was about to say and had to rethink them.

 

“It’s typhoid.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Definitely. Typhoid fever doesn’t start as swiftly as typhus, which is why there has been this delay from the time we left Naples until they reported sick.  Every feature of the illness as mentioned in the medical books is to be found with each man in sick bay at the moment.”

 

“Do you anticipate more?”

 

“More patients?  Well, it is possible, although unlike typhus, typhoid  rarely passes from person to person.  It’s caught by contaminated water or food.”

 

“That’s what I was worried about, the water we got from Naples in the ship’s tanks could all be contaminated.”

 

“Yes, possibly.” Ewen’s brow furrowed. “The water we are currently using is what we had left from our previous collection point.  The water from Naples is still stored separately in barrels.  It hasn’t been touched.”

 

Adam looked at Ewen sharply, his eyes narrowed, and he frowned before looking away to stare at the bookcase.  “Yet the water in the ship’s tanks has been clean, there’s been no problems with it at all.”

 

“None, sir.”

 

“Could you give me a list of the names of the sick men, please, Ewen.”

 

“I have it here, sir.”

 

“And can you deal with typhoid?”

 

“Yes, sir.  It’s—well—it’s not a pleasant illness and—” he shrugged as though preferring to pass over the details—“but it does have in its favour that it won’t spread through the ship’s company in the way typhus would have done.”

 

Adam nodded and took the list from the doctor; he scanned it and frowned. “You said there were five men ill, but I see here eight are mentioned.”

 

“Yes, sir, two more were admitted an hour ago, and one other not long after I saw you about it on the bridge.”

 

Adam nodded thoughtfully, and when he saw that Ewen lingered, he asked the man if there was anything further he wanted to say.

 

“I just wanted to apologise, sir, for my apparent ignorance earlier.  I’m afraid that I totally lost all confidence in myself because—because I was frightened to put it into words .  But now I know definitely what it is, and I won’t let you down, sir.”

 

“I know that, Ewen.” Adam smiled slowly, “I want you to know that I have seen and known excellent doctors who have been unable to identify an illness or have made the wrong diagnosis at times.  You aren’t alone in your profession to have done that.”

 

“Well, I just needed to say it, sir.”

 

Adam merely nodded and returned to looking down the list of the eight men in sick bay.  He looked up again, however, when he realised that he was still not alone but that Nathan Ross had stepped into the cabin as Ewen had left it.

 

“Mr. Ross?”

 

“Commodore—” Ross stepped into the cabin and closed the door, he gave the briefest of smiles and removed his hat, “I’ve been thinking.”

 

“Congratulations, what about?” Adam leaned against the desk, stretching out his legs and folding his arms across his chest, and he smiled at Ross to encourage him to speak up.

 

“The doctor showed me the list of names of the men who were taken sick.”

 

“I have it here—” Adam raised a hand in which he held the paper containing the list of names.

 

“Well, it struck me that I could remember those names from another list I had seen quite recently.”

 

Adam inclined his head, there was little point in telling Ross to hurry up, one had to just wait because eventually, one did arrive at the conclusion.

 

“They were all on shore leave the day we were in Napoli.  Two of them—Maguire and Jackson—were brought in by the marines drunk and disorderly.”

 

Adam straightened himself and the briefest of smiles drifted over his lips,

 

“Get the names of every man who was on shore leave and then get them to sick bay right away.  It’s just possible—” he paused—no, best not even dare to hope, but he nodded over to Ross, “Well done, Nathan, good thinking.”

 

“Thank you, sir.  I’ll keep you informed.”

 

Adam nodded, slightly absent-mindedly, but with a lighter heart for all that it mattered.

 

Chapter 34

 

When Ingrid looked around, she found herself totally alone.  The murmur of voices came from outside the house, and from within, there was the sound of plates and cutlery being moved about, just a clattering from far away in the background.

 

The envelope with the letter from her husband was burning her hand, and she hastily ripped it open before caution prompted her to wait.  She looked from right to left, saw that she was quite alone, and then hurried upstairs to the room she had shared with Milton during their stay at the Ponderosa.

 

She pulled the letter from the envelope and unfolded the paper, smoothed out the lines across it and looked at the writing.  There was no doubt about it: her husband’s familiar loops and swirls greeted her, and she stared at the letter for some while before blinking her eyes to focus on actually reading its contents.

 

“Dear Ingrid,

 

You may be surprised at the will I have had drawn up here in Virginia City.  Obviously it has been read out; otherwise you would not be now reading this letter and wondering why I had bequeathed so much to some and so little to others.

 

I know you well enough, Ingrid, to understand your frustration and anger at not having much more than has been left to you already.  I know that, although I paid for the house in Paris and for all its contents, for the horses and carriage etc, you felt it was all your private property. I did not wish to disabuse you of this thought, as I am sure that you will wish to ‘entertain’ many more in the style that you have ‘entertained’ them in the past.

 

I could not bear to think of the Buchanan family home being in your hands and in the hands of your family.  I want Marlow and his family to enjoy it, he, being the eldest brother anyway and with children of his own, deserves it.  I don’t want my home to become fouled by the conduct you have indulged in over the past few years and the repute of which is quite common knowledge.

 

Ingrid, do you think I am stupid because I love you?  It’s because I love you that I know you so well.  It’s because I have loved you that I give you only what I have given you.  I know you love the house in Paris, the jewels you possess now, etc., so keep them, enjoy them, be happy. 

 

I don’t know if Dr. John Martin will fit into Paris life  well; perhaps some other of your paramours would be better suited.  My advice to you is to leave him alone and allow him to progress as a fine and worthy doctor.  You see, I am not quite as stupid as you think.  At first I let love blind me to your ‘other life’—it was easier to pretend then that you had loved me when we married.  But time and various incidents took place to remove the scales of love from my eyes and I could see you for what you are…and nothing I did could replace the scales and blind me to the facts anymore.

 

I am dying, and you know it, but you could not even pretend to show sympathy or pity.  You took so much from me, and gave so little in return.  Even now, I love the memory of the girl I thought I married.  Even now, I loathe the woman you have become.

 

Milton Buchanan”

 

………………………

 

Hester sat by the side of her husband on the bench in Marie’s rose garden.  Hoss had his arm slipped around her waist and she leaned into him, feeling warm and secure just knowing he was there. They smiled at one another as they withdrew the letter from the envelope and when she recognised the loops and swirls of her brother’s writing she smiled again and a soft sigh slipped from her lips.

 

“Dearest sister, Hester.

 

I wish I could have given you more.  I have carried a heavy burden of guilt for not being more sympathetic and kindly towards you when Mark James died.  These past weeks, however, have eased that burden so much because of the way you are, dear, your sweet nature and gentleness towards me have been like a healing balm upon a much troubled and sore heart.

 

The greatest joy was seeing the happiness you have with Hoss. I would have left you the deeds for the house in Albany, but what would be the point?  You and Hoss fit together like a hand in a glove, and your home is here, the Ponderosa, with him.

 

Enjoy the gift … set it aside for your children … just be happy.  You always were such a joy to know; even as children, my happiest memories are the ones with you in them.

 

Your loving brother

Milton.

 

p.s. Ingrid may not be  happy just now, not because of my death, but because of what she will have received from me.  She has to make her own way in life now, Hester.  I am sure she will succeed without any help from you, dear sister.   M x”

 

“He anticipates us having children then?” Hoss muttered softly into her ear.

 

“He always loved children,” she replied, wiping away a tear, “Does this mean that he doesn’t want us to help Ingrid?”

 

“I think that’s exactly what he means; he wasn’t such as fool as she tried to make him appear.”

 

“Oh no,” Hester turned to him with wide eyes. “No, Hoss, Milton was no one’s fool, unless he chose to be.”

 

He said nothing to that but drew her closer to him so that her hair brushed against his face and he had to wiggle his nose a little to stop it from tickling and making him sneeze.  He began to think that perhaps he should start drawing up a list of names, boys and girls.  He smiled slowly, remembering how his romance with Hester had all started with him writing down a list of names.  But that was then, when he was wife hunting.

 

Upstairs in her room, Ingrid re-read the letter from her husband.  She slowly lowered herself into a chair and sat there with it in her hands.  The sun retreated from the room and the sky darkened but still she sat there as though quite unable to think, to feel.  Life had just suddenly become unbearable.

 

Chapter 35

 

The light tapping on the door roused Ingrid Buchanan from the lethargy into which she had slumped.  Never had she felt so abandoned or as alone as she did now.  Throughout her pampered life there had always been someone who would lift her morale and strengthen her resolve; there had always been money to dip into and spend; she had never known such desolation of heart.

 

Again the tapping on the door, and rallying herself, she called out, ”Come in, it isn’t locked.”

 

“Ingrid, are you coming down to eat with us this evening?”

 

It was Hester who looked at her from the doorway with a gentle smile on her face and looking so content with her life that Ingrid had to clench her fists in order not to pick up the cut crystal glass on the dressing table and throw it at her.  She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

 

“Ingrid, I’m so sorry about today and—”

 

“I don’t want to hear—” she raised a hand and turned her face away from Hester’s gaze—“I don’t want you to say another word.  Please leave me alone.”

 

“But, Ingrid.” Hester stepped further into the room and held out her hand towards her sister-in-law. “We want to help you where we can.  Please come down and—”

 

“Go away.”

 

Hester looked at Ingrid long and hard, then turned and left the room without another word but closed the door  carefully behind her. 

 

Ingrid waited for the footsteps to fade away and once there was silence again she slowly began to undress and prepare herself for bed.  The day had exhausted her and she needed to sleep.  In the morning the vague nebulous scheme that was permeating into her brain would be clearer, give her more direction as to how to proceed, now that there was some chance of freedom from a miserable marriage and the restraints put upon her by the Fitzgeralds.

 

…………

 

The night passed and she slept.  She was unaware of the time that Joe went to his bed, or that Ben finally emptied out his pipe and mounted the stairs to his room.  She didn’t hear Hester and Hoss as they stopped at her door and gently knocked on it, waited a little while and then continued on to their own room.  She slept the sleep of the innocent and when she woke up she stretched like a cat before remaining awhile to stare up at the ceiling and consider what was to be done that day.

 

Hop Sing was accustomed to serving the guest when everyone else had eaten and left for their respective chores.  Even Hester had plans that took her from the house that day, and she left a message on the table for Ingrid to explain her absence.

 

It hadn’t taken long for Ingrid to dress and pack away her clothing.  Her jewels she locked into their casket and once everything was in its proper place, she went down to eat. 

 

“Hop Sing, are you going into town today?”

 

“Yes, Hop Sing take in laundry.” He hovered by the table with an empty plate in one hand and the coffee pot in the other.

 

“I need to go into town as well.  I shall go in with you.”

 

“With me?”

 

She stared at him, and then nodded before she continued with her meal.  She had read Hester’s little note and screwed it into a ball which she tossed into the coal box.  Then she went up the stairs and carefully opened the door to Adam’s room.

 

Hop Sing was surprised to see her in her outer coat and smart city hat; as she pulled on her gloves she ordered him to collect her cases and put them in the wagon.  With alacrity that did him credit Hop Sing sprang up the stairs and did as he had been told.  It took hardly any time at all to have the cases on the back of the wagon and her seated by his side.  The journey began and ended in silence.

 

……………

 

Mr. Weems listened to the plea from the beautiful Mrs. Buchanan and felt pity touch his heart.  He was a bank manager but he had a heart and he felt  much for this poor, recently bereaved widow.  However, heart or no heart the fact remained that the Buchanan account had been frozen.  His sympathies were manifold and genuine, but there was nothing he could do to release Milton’s assets and transfer them into funds for her.

 

She left the bank with nothing but the bank manager’s  best wishes given sincerely as he had shaken her hand in farewell.

 

Mr. Coutts was a jeweller who had been buying and selling jewellery since he was a young boy and had even acted on behalf of the French royal family.  Now he took the ring box Ingrid offered him and slowly raised its lid.  He looked at the ring and then at Ingrid. “This must have cost a pretty penny.” He screwed the eyeglass into place and carefully held the ring to the light so that he could scrutinise every facet for flaws.  “It’s never been worn.  There’s not a mark on it.”

 

“My husband bought it for me shortly before we came here.  It was his last gift to me but with recent events…” she lowered her head, dabbed at her eyes, and sighed.

 

“I am so sorry, Mrs. Buchanan, I quite understand.  Please accept my most sincere condolences.”  He hoped that he sounded sincere although really he didn’t care a jot about her husband nor about her.  But the ring, ah yes, that was quite a different thing altogether, and he studied it even more closely. “A beautiful piece of work.”

 

“He had it made specially, an individual piece; there isn’t another one like it anywhere,” she said softly.

 

“When do you need the money?”

 

“How much can you give me?”

 

He looked at her and frowned, he named a price and she stared at him as though he were mad and extended her hand in order to take back the ring.

 

“You know it’s worth twice that amount,” she said coldly and he baulked, nodded and named another price which she accepted with a nod of the head.

 

………………..

 

John Martin was about to open the door to the surgery when he heard his name called, and turning, he saw her standing there before him looking more beautiful than he could have imagined.  He shook his head in an attempt to dispel the feelings that now filled it “Ingrid?  Are you alright?”

 

He made no move towards her, no hand was stretched out to give her any indication of the feelings he felt for her.  Even now he found her the most desirable and beautiful woman he had ever known.  Her presence there was intoxicating and he wished more than anything that this was another place, another time.

 

“Yes.  How are you, John?”

 

“I’m—I’m as you see—busy,” he stammered, went slightly red around the neck and his collar felt tight. He cleared his throat. “Milton’s death—”

 

“I’ve not come to discuss that with you, John.  I’ve come to tell you that I’m going away.”

 

“Away?  Where?  Back to New York?”

 

She smiled slowly and shook her head, one delicately plucked eyebrow twitched derisively. “No, not back there.” she looked at him thoughtfully, sighed, lowered her head as though she needed a little time to think before she raised it to look at him again. “I’m leaving here on the noon stage, John. If you want me, then come with me.”

 

“Come with you?  But where?”

 

“If you’re not on the stage by noon, then—” she shrugged, a delicate rise and fall of her shoulders. “Then this will be goodbye.”

 

He said nothing, but watched as she turned away and walked with a deliberate stride down the sidewalk towards Del Monico’s.  He watched as she opened the door and stepped inside the restaurant and snapped the door shut behind her.

 

“John?”

 

He turned and looked at his uncle who smiled at him, his head slightly to one side while the kindly eyes regarded him thoughtfully.  John Martin nodded.

 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Uncle,” he said  and hurried into the cool confines of the surgery, exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

John opened his eyes and glanced over at the clock on the wall.  It was 11 a.m. He had just an hour. Just an hour.  His eyes turned towards his uncle who had his back turned to him and was discussing the notes concerning one of their patients.  Once again his eyes turned to the clock and he asked himself—“Is this what I really want from life?  Is it?”

 

…………….

 

The stage coach rocked a little on its suspension and then rolled forwards.  Amid a swelter of dust and grit it left Virginia City, on its usual route to San Francisco.  There were several passengers: an elderly couple on their way to visit their daughter, a young man about to start college, and a  beautiful widow who kept her face concealed from them by covering it with a black veil.  She didn’t look out of the windows but stared ahead of her as though she never wanted to see anymore of the township than was necessary.

 

Mr. Coutts placed the ring in its ring box on display in a glass cabinet.  Very neatly and precisely he printed out the price and smiled to himself, knowing that if he managed to sell it at that price then he would have made a tidy profit.  He knew from the glint in the woman’s eyes that she was well pleased with the money she had received from him, in fact even thought that she had beaten him down.  But it took a rogue to recognise one, and Mr. Coutts knew a rogue, pretty though she was, when he saw one.

 

Adam Cartwright’s ring twinkled under the glass of the display cabinet.  It was beautiful and flawless.

 

Chapter 36

 

Ewen McPherson’s sickbay was as spotlessly clean as he could possibly maintain it. His orderlies were quiet and unobtrusive, getting on with their business of tending to the sick with a gentle but firm confidence that in turn made the patients feel more convinced that they would “turn the corner” and beat the illness.

 

As Adam stepped into the sickbay, removing his hat, he was struck by the difference there was in the young doctor’s approach to his patients in comparison with Soames, his previous medical officer.  He glanced from left to right and noted the men being attended to and that some were already delirious and in a high fever.  Ewen approached him. “Thank you for coming, sir.”

 

“I’m impressed, Ewen.  This is just about the tidiest sickbay I’ve ever seen.”

 

Ewen smiled shyly and went slightly pink but glanced away as though self-conscious with the praise.

 

“My uncle in England served in the Crimean War, sir.  He learned a lot there about the importance of cleanliness in the sick room.”

 

“Oh, of course, the crusading nurse…I read about her.” Adam frowned; he might have read about her but her name escaped him.

 

“Miss Nightingale, sir.  Yes, my uncle worked along with her, said she was quite a tyrant.”

 

“Well, they’re usually the ones that get their voices heard in the right places,” Adam replied while his eyes wandered from one patient to another.

 

“She certainly did.  My uncle had the highest respect for her although he personally did not like her  much.”  He slipped a pen back onto the desk and rubbed his hands together as though cold, “I’ve examined most of the men who went to Naples on shore leave, almost all of them are perfectly well and fit for duty.  Several have the secondary symptoms of typhoid but were too frightened to come forward.” He frowned and pulled a folder from a drawer, opened it and ran a finger down the list of names written upon the papers it contained. “These men all went on shore leave but these men went together to one area in particular.  They are all those exhibiting symptoms of typhoid.”

 

“That narrows things down quite a bit,” Adam looked at the names marked with red ink, he pointed to several with a little cross in green marked beside them, “What does this indicate?”

 

“No chance of recovery.” Ewen said  softly.

 

“I thought typhoid was always fatal.”

 

“It was at one time, but caught early enough, like most diseases it can be beaten.”

 

Adam cleared his throat and frowned, he looked at the names again, and then nodded,

 

“I believe it was the gunner’s mate, Brian Chapman, who asked to see me?”

 

“Yes, that’s right.  He was  insistent, became distressed when we tried to persuade him to stop asking as it was hardly likely—begging your pardon, sir—that you would be able to spare the time.  Then he said it had something to do with the Russian gentleman.”  Ewen nodded thoughtfully. “I wasn’t sure what he meant by that but knew you had had dealings with Russia, so thought it best to inform you.”

 

Adam nodded again; he pursed his lips thoughtfully and frowned a little as he followed Ewen to where the gunner’s mate was tossing and turning feverishly.

 

“Chapman, Commodore Cartwright is here to speak with you” Ewen said in a loud voice and stepped back for Adam to come closer to the sick man.

 

Chapman was extremely feverish, the rash was  obvious on his body and face, and his eyes were rolling in their sockets.  An orderly came and wiped perspiration from around his neck and throat, and raised him gently, which caused a fit of coughing, harsh and deep, leaving the wretched man gasping for breath when the spasm was over.

 

“Mr. Chapman, you wished to speak to me about something important. It’s Adam Cartwright here.  Can you understand me?”

 

The sick man blinked, screwed up his eyes tight before opening them to look in the direction of the commodore.  He opened his mouth and after panting for breath for a few moments asked Adam to come closer.

 

“In my—possessions—papers—” he stopped, closed his eyes although his mouth still worked nervously as though needing to speak but unable to find the words to say.

 

“What papers?”

 

“Yes, s’right, papers.” Chpman tried to nod, but the coughing started again.  “You’ll know what it’s about, Commodore.  Wait for contact.”

 

“What contact?”

 

“Suez…”

 

“What about Suez?”

 

“Don’t go—danger for you—wait for contact.”

 

Chapman raised a hand and his fingers clutched tightly to the lapel of Adams jacket; his mouth still worked as though there was more to say, and saliva slobbered from its corners, but no sound came now.  It was the orderly who pulled the man’s hand away and dropped it gently to his side.

 

“He’s  ill, sir.” the orderly said, stating the obvious in such a reassuring way that Adam felt something of an idiot for not saying it first.

 

“Are his personal possessions here?”

 

“No, sir.  They’ll be in his trunk.”

 

Adam nodded, looked back at the gunner’s mate and shook his head sadly; there was no doubt in his mind that Mr. Chapman would soon have a little green cross inked in beside his name.

 

Nathan Ross was standing by the door of the sick bay and it was to him that Adam gave instructions for Chapman’s personal trunk and possessions be brought to his own cabin.  Then Adam looked around and beckoned to the marine standing nearby,

 

“You were one of the men who brought the two men back from Naples?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“You didn’t drink anything while on shore?”

 

“A glass of wine only, sir, when we were not on duty.”

 

“Nothing else?”

 

“No, sir, definitely nothing else, nor any of us, sir. We never touched anything but a glass of wine.”

 

“Where did you find the men?”

 

“Nasty place, sir, dirty it was.  Brothel.”

 

“Oh…” Adam nodded, pulled a face and asked if the men had mentioned eating and drinking there.

 

“They had certainly drunk a lot, sir,  drunk they was.”

 

Adam turned as Ross appeared with two marines bearing the trunk.  It had a  bright new padlock which was one of the first things Adam noticed; the other thing was that Mr. Ross obviously had a flair for delegation. 

 

 

Chapter 37

 

Charles Willoughby ripped open the package that had arrived from Naples in the diplomatic bag.  His brother’s untidy scrawl was barely recognisable but brought to Charles the first hope that something tangible was coming out of the mess caused by Laurence’s literally missing the boat.

 

He sat down at his desk to read the letter more closely and to consider its contents in a more dispassionate manner.

 

“Dear Charles

 

This is written in haste as we are still playing chase with the Baltimore. We are less than a day behind her now.  The captain of this tub has promised to put every effort into catching her up, which means leaving sooner rather than later.

 

I have not yet learned much from Doestov.  I have to admit that because of his history and background what he does tell me I take with a large bag of salt.  However, he insists that he is co-operating with us and that was why there was the attempt on his life which left the assassin dead.  This is his story—he believes that the man had seen him give papers and information to Adam Cartwright and then followed him from the inn.  He was subsequently ambushed and forced to go with this man to another part of the island where he was forced to hand over his papers.

 

While the fellow was checking through them another man came and joined them.  There was a discussion between them in another language which Doestov claims he didn’t understand because they were too far away from him, but I don’t believe that for a moment.  I think he knows who it was and it worries him because he gets rather excited, nervous, when he mentions it.

 

Well, they then decided they would chop up Doestov.  One of the men then spoke in bad English and Doestov heard mention of the Baltimore.  This man then left the other to deal with Doestov, who actually ended up dealing with him. He decided that he would leave identification on the body to mislead whoever was behind this murder attempt.

 

He hurried to reach the Baltimore to locate the other man, but was unsuccessful. Hence he is now my cabin companion.  Not much else to tell you.  He considers me a typical English nincompoop and keeps asking me why I wanted to join up with Adam Cartwright. I keep telling him that it is because we are friends and friends stick together.  He isn’t satisfied with the answer but isn’t going to get any other…

 

Apart from that he is like a clam; I have little hope of getting any further information from him than he has already given.  However, time will tell…

 

Regards L. W.”

 

It so happened that although Laurence’s letter was despatched in good time, the “tub” did not.  It developed some mysterious engine problem which left Laurence and Doestov in Naples for another 24 hours.

 

…………….

 

“Dear Pa, Joe, Hoss and Hester

 

We have now reached Naples.  Beautiful architecture and a busy place.  The journey is proceeding well and although I much prefer the clipper ships to these steamers we do at least manage to keep going despite weather conditions.  However, my heart sinks at the prospect of further progress.  Now, Pa, that will make you laugh, I think, considering the arguments we have had in the past.  Remember the fuss over the windmills?

 

Now then, constantly at the back of my mind is this worry about Joe.  Days tick by and each day makes me wonder if Custer has made any move towards getting Sarah and Joe to the Indian Territories.  It’s amazing how ignorant of American affairs the press here in Europe are. I have trawled through their newspapers for any mention of news from back home but there is nothing.  I shouldn’t expect it, of course, but I hope.

 

There is little more I can tell you except to say that you are all often in my thoughts.  Not sure when exactly you will get this letter but when it does arrive I hope that it finds you all in good health and most importantly, safe.

 

Your son and brother

Adam…”

 

Ben sighed and smiled, frowned and sighed again. The letter was too brief, said far too little and gave him no reassurance to his son’s safety at all. 

 

Joe picked it up and scanned it, then smiled slowly.  “Well, guess Big Brother’s worries about Custer ain’t necessary.  There’s been no sign of the military around here for days now.”

 

Hester said nothing but looked over at Hoss, who was now reading through the letter, his brow furrowed as though every word bore some significance only he could see.

 

“Seems to me that our brother ain’t  happy on that thar boat of his,” he murmured as he carefully folded it and slipped it back into the envelope.

 

“Nothing can replace a clipper ship,” Ben sighed dreamily. “I’m glad that I never had to make the change from one to the other.” He grinned and rose to his feet. “Well, boys, we have work to get on with.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Joe sighed and stretched his arms high to the ceiling, “I’m going into town so I’ll meet you later, Pa.  Hester, do you want to come into town with me?”

 

“No, Joe, thank you.  I have plenty to do here today.”  She smiled and lifted her face to accept Hoss’ kiss. “Take care, all of you.”

 

Hoss smiled, pinched her chin  gently and kissed her again.  He still couldn’t believe that he had been so blessed with this woman as a wife.  He sighed as he picked up his hat and gunbelt and was still smiling as he left the house.

 

…………..

 

The trunk belonging to Brian Chapman, Gunner’s Mate, wasn’t too difficult to get open, despite the brand new lock (which Adam declared with a grimace was rather extraordinary really).

 

“Our Mr. Chapman seems a man of limited intelligence,” he said as they lifted the lid to survey the rummage of clothes presented before them. “If there was anything to hide, then putting a shiny new lock is tantamount to inviting curiosity, especially onboard ship.”

 

He pulled aside clothes and stockings, some books which indicated that Mr. Chapman enjoyed rather lurid and risqué tales—these were tossed rather contemptuously onto the floor.  After some moments Adam rose to his feet.

 

“Nothing.” he shook his head with a scowl, and O’Brien was about to suggest a further search when there was a knock on the door to which Adam called for whoever was there to enter.  A young man stepped inside, glanced at Adam, O’Brien and the open trunk with its scattered contents, and then saluted.

 

“Excuse me, Commodore, for intruding but when I saw you take Chapman’s gear, I thought I should come and see you about something.”  He cleared his throat, identified himself as Hiram J. Grimshaw and put his hand in his jacket pocket to produce a letter. This he handed to the commodore

 

“Where did you get this?” Adam asked  slowly as he looked the letter over  carefully.

 

“Er—it’s like this, sir. That Chapman is an odd character, secretive like…” he frowned. “Well, this particular day when we were leaving home—”

 

“Washington?” O’Brien asked.

 

“Yes, sir.  You came on board, sir, with an English gentleman.”

 

“Go on.” Adam leaned against the desk and watched the young man’s face go from blushes to dingy grey and back to the blushes again.

 

“Thompson noticed it first, how Chapman was hanging around the gent’s cabin and then as soon as it was empty Chapmen went inside.”  He paused. “I went up after a few minutes and yelled to him ‘What you doing in there, Chappie?’ and he scuttled out all nervous and pretended like he was helping with sorting things out for the Limey.  Anyway then we saw the marines being put on guard and knew there was something up.”

 

“Did Chapman have anything in his possession when he left the cabin?”

 

“No, Commodore, nothing at all.  Just that he was nervous and then when the Russian gent came on board Thompson and I noticed how he was really fidgety and made sure he worked amidships for that trick.”

 

“You mean, he was avoiding the Russian?  Did this man seem to be making an attempt to see him?”

 

“Well, I don’t know, sir.  Thompson and I decided to keep an eye on Chapman for a bit; he was acting odd.  Good at his job, sir, but odd for all that, and secretive. That new lock for instance, had that put on in Naples.”

 

“Were you with him on shore leave?” Adam asked and then frowned, “No, I don’t suppose you were—”

 

“No, sir, thankfully.”

 

“So how did you get possession of this letter?”

 

“Well—” Grimshaw licked his lips and cleared his throat—“Thompson and I were really curious about what was in that trunk. That new lock just about screamed out to be picked …er… unlocked.  He—Chapman started getting ill and then went to sick bay, so we thought we would look around and see what was going on and report back to you.” His eyes flickered over to Adam nervously. “That is, if the matter was important enough.”

 

Adam bit his bottom lip and frowned while O’Brien folded his arms across his chest and lowered his head. Finally Adam cleared his throat and asked Grimshaw to carry on with his story.

 

“Well, at first we thought it was just the dirty books that Chapman wanted to hide from us, not that we ever saw him reading anything…” he looked nervously from one man to the other. “But then I found that letter.  I knew it was important because of the picture on it—I mean—that black eagle and then, of course, it being written in foreign writing.”

 

“So—you stole it from him?”

 

“No, sir.  Not exactly.  I would have replaced it right away but with him ill, and that looking so important and Thompson said that it all looked  strange to him, so with you taking the trunk before we could put the letter back I thought I had better bring it to you.”  He gulped and then pulled from his pocket a leather pouch. “Found this as well, sir.”

 

Adam took the pouch, similar in size and shape to one of his father’s tobacco pouches, and opened the neck to look inside.  His eyes flicked up to survey Grimshaw.

 

“Have you looked inside?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Take anything?”

 

“No, sir.  Honestly, sir.”

 

Adam nodded, tossed the pouch onto the desk, then looked at Grimshaw.

 

“Mmm, well, Grimshaw, I’m really not sure what to do with you…I don’t tolerate theft on board this ship, and I rather suspect that theft, and not patriotism, was behind your taking these things from Chapman’s trunk.  Are you sure you’ve brought everything to me?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And your associate, Mr. Thompson—what did he take?”

 

“He didn’t take nothing, sir.”

 

Adam tapped his fingers against his thigh while he surveyed the young seaman thoughtfully, his dark eyes staring into the reddening face as though to worm out his deepest secrets, then he nodded.

 

“Dismissed.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

The relief was evident, Grimshaw saluted efficiently and proudly and hurried from the cabin.  Once the door was closed Adam emptied the pouch onto the table, twenty golden coins tumbled thereon, and it was O’Brien who picked one up to look at it.  Adam in the meantime was scanning over the letter the language he could recognise although not read, the most pertinent thing about it was the black insignia at the top of the letter of the black eagle with the two heads, one pointing to the east and the other to the west.

 

“I think we need to talk to Mr. Chapman,” he said slowly. “Perhaps he can explain what this is all about and what his connection with Prussia could be.” he passed a hand slowly over his face and frowned, “I think, Daniel, that this matter is far bigger than we realised.”

 

Chapter 38

 

“What do you think this is all about?” Daniel asked as he sat perched on the corner of Adam’s desk, casually tossing one of the gold coins from one hand to the other.

 

“Well, it’s a power game, isn’t it?” Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a fraction of a second before opening them to look at the letter again. “This is the Prussian Eagle—” he tapped the coat of arms that was embossed on the paper with his forefinger—“and it was mentioned when we were in England that Russia was worried about the buildup of Prussian ships in the Mediterranean.  I’ve seen German written before and this is definitely German.  It’s just that I can’t read it.”

 

“You’ll have to find someone who can.” Daniel smiled and then slipped the gold coin into the pouch with the others, “Are we concluding that Chapman took a bribe?”

 

Adam sat down behind his desk and scowled at the paper before him.  His eyes roved over the clothing scattered around the trunk, and then rested upon the pouch of gold coins.

 

“It seems like it.  Grimshaw and his friend Thompson obviously were hoping to be cut in on the deal, hence their keeping quiet after seeing Grimshaw in Laurence’s cabin.  Wretched men.”  he tugged at his ear lobe now and then leaned back into his chair, “Otto von Bismarck, German Chancellor, negotiated an agreement with Russia, Germany and Austria/Hungary.  That was only a few years ago if I recall rightly.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered the political fallout from such an alliance.

 

“Then surely Doestov’s plea for assistance from Britain and America falls short of the truth if in fact Russia has such strong allies to back her up.”

 

Adam laughed rather derisively and shook his head. “You don’t really believe anything Doestov tells us, do you?” He sighed and rose to his feet. “No, this is getting too complicated. I think we’ll have to get Chapman to talk.”

 

“If he can…” Daniel said.

 

“Well, he’s a good Catholic, Daniel. He’ll be wanting to clear his conscience before he stands before a much higher authority than me.”

 

“Oh, how’d you know that?”

 

Adam said nothing but held up the rosary he had taken from Chapman’s possessions.  Then with a backward grin at his friend he led the way out of the cabin.

 

……………………

 

“It is Joseph Cartwright, isn’t it?”

 

The woman’s voice stopped Joe in mid-stride and he turned, removed his hat and then looked at the young woman who was smiling up at him.  He smiled back, eyes twinkling. “Yes, ma’am, Joseph Cartwright at your service.”

 

She laughed then and her blue eyes twinkled with mischief.  Joe frowned, sure that he knew her, but couldn’t put a name to the face.  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, guess you to the advantage over me, Miss—Mrs.—”

 

“Miss.” she said with that smile still on her mouth. “It’s alright, Mr. Cartwright, I quite understand. It’s been a few years and I don’t think you ever saw me laughing  much at the time we spent together.”

 

“We spent time together?” Joe blinked; surely he would remember spending time with this pretty young woman.  “We weren’t at school together, were we?”

 

“Oh, Mr. Cartwright, I don’t go as far back as that…”  she bowed her head coyly and then looked back up at him “My name is Mary Ann Hornby.” She lowered her eyes, large grey eyes, and for just a second or two stood there as though she had said something  profound.

 

“Mary Ann Hornby,” Joe said in a gentler tone of voice, “Of course, I remember you.  I remember—” he bit his bottom lip and frowned. “Yes, I remember all about when we last met. I am sorry, Mary, I should have—I mean—I should not have forgotten; it’s just that you look so different.”

 

“Older, and wiser, I think.” She looked at him and again she smiled. “The last time we were together I was always frightened, always crying.”

 

“You had good reason for that,” he replied and glanced over his shoulder to judge how close he was to the restaurant before inviting her to join him for something to drink. “Would you like to join me for something—” he indicated Del Monico’s with a flourish, but she smiled and shook her head.

 

“No, thank you, Mr. Cartwright, it’s rather too grand for me.”

 

“But there must be someplace where we could talk—” he paused and grabbed at her elbow. “Come on, Mary Ann Hornby, you look just fine to me.” And he laughed and put his hat back on his head in a jaunty fashion.  “Last time I saw you, you were in a buggy riding down the main street of a town called Calico with a handsome young doctor by your side.  Hoss and I thought for sure you were going to marry him.”

 

He stepped aside for her to enter the restaurant and followed her in.  He then  protectively took her elbow and led her to a table where he pulled out a chair for her.  She looked up at him and smiled, the grey eyes, large and luminous, shone up at him.

 

“Oh, no, that never happened, Mr. Cartwright.  He was pleasant enough, but not the man I wanted to marry.”

 

Mary Ann Hornby.  Joe sat there and looked at her as though he had never seen her before in his life.  He remembered the pretty young girl who had approached him and Hoss that day and shyly asked if they would help her and her brother, Frank, get to Calico.  He remembered her fears, her tears, the terrible night when Frank was killed, and then the horror of that Indian attack when they were trapped in the cave.  He had never seen a pretty young girl change so much in so short a time as he had during those few days with the Hornbys.

 

“Did you stay there—at Calico?”  he asked once coffee and some delicacies had been brought to the table.

 

“For a few years.” she replied shyly, “The town grew and everything did  well.” She ladled sugar into her coffee and stirred it slowly. “Frank’s buried there, you know.”

 

“I thought, perhaps, he would be.”

 

“It was a strange time, wasn’t it?”

 

Joe nodded and looked at her thoughtfully, then he shook off the memories and asked her how it was that she was now in Virginia City.

 

“I’m the new schoolteacher,” she said with a twinkle of the eye. “I applied for the transfer here.”

 

It was Joe’s turn to laugh now. He told her tales about a schoolteacher called Miss Abigail Jones who had been in love with his brother, Adam, and how life had been a constant war with her, and he told her of how the school was first built even before Virginia City had got its name.  She sat there drinking her coffee, nibbling at the delicacies and laughing along with him, as he related some of his many misadventures during his school days.

 

“How are your brothers?  I often remember them and how brave they were.” she poured more coffee into her cup, slowly added cream and sugar and stirred it all together before looking up at him, “They are both well, aren’t they?”

 

“Hoss is married,” Joe said in answer to her question, wondering even as he did so why it was that he had never given Mary Ann Hornby a second thought once they had left her in Calico.

 

“And Adam?”

 

“Adam returned to sea,” Joe sighed and looked uncomfortable; he fidgeted in his chair a little and glanced out of the window. “I miss him.  I sure wish he were here, back home, with us.”

 

She said nothing at that but looked at him thoughtfully, as the sadness in his voice touched that same emotion in her own heart at the memory of a lost brother, and for a moment only silence existed between them.

 

Chapter 39

 

The gunner’s mate was less feverish than previously and watched the commodore approaching without any indication of fear or anxiety, but rather of relief and peace of mind.  He was breathing more easily and the orderly assured Adam that the man would be able to speak, if only for a short while.  Adam had already noted the little green cross by Chapman’s name on Ewen’s list as well as several others recently added.  It seemed that the disease was not in fair mood that day and was prepared to be unrelenting in its claim to more victims.

 

Adam pulled up a stool and sat by the man’s bedside while at the same time he placed the rosary in Chapman’s hands.  The light of joy in the man’s eyes encouraged Adam to think that, perhaps, now, he would get some sensible answers to his questions.

 

“Mr. Chapman, when I saw you earlier you were talking about some dangers to be faced when we—if we—get to the Suez Canal.” He paused as the man seemed to be struggling to concentrate. “Do you understand what I am talking about, Mr. Chapman?”

 

“Yes, sir.”  Chapman clasped his rosary tightly in his hands and his eyes flickered towards Adam, noting the resolute features and dark eyes. “My trunk?”

 

“It’s safe in my cabin along with its contents.” Adam took the letter from his pocket and smoothed it out so that Chapman would be able to see it, “This is German, isn’t it? The Prussian coat of arms?  What does it mean, Chapman?”

 

“Nothing.” Chapman frowned, sighed. “Commodore, I’m just a small cog in the machinery.  Just like you are really.  We get orders and we do as we’re told, isn’t that right?”

 

Adam, who didn’t like to be considered a small cog in anyone else’s machinery, could not but fail to admit the man was right.  He lowered his eyes and pursed his lips briefly. “What does this letter say?”

 

“By order of the undersigned I am ordered to follow Laurence Willoughby, collect information, give what information I have to a contact.  Those are my orders, Commodore, nothing more.”

 

“You were well paid for it—” Adam remarked dryly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You sold yourself to Germany and betrayed your own country.  You know that makes you a traitor?”

 

“No, sir, no.” Brian Chapman stared intently at the rosary which dangled from his fingers, “No, sir, I’m not a traitor to my country. I’m German by birth.  I came to America only ten years ago. My mother taught me English from infancy, she being English herself.” he paused, a spasm of coughing racked him and perspiration dewed his face.  It was Adam who gently wiped it away with the wet flannel that was in a bowl beside the bed. “I love my country, just as you love your own.”

 

“Chapman—” he paused—“I presume that isn’t your real name?”

 

“No, that’s my real name—” he pointed to some words in the letter.

 

“When did you start on this errand of yours?”

 

“You want me to betray—” he coughed again, sputum flecked from his mouth which Adam carefully wiped away. “No, it’s right, after all, what does it matter for me?  Soon I’ll be dead and—” he reached out and took the letter from Adam’s grasp to stare at the coat of arms and the contents again, “Please, give the money to my wife?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“I was to follow Willoughby, in Washington.  Get papers from him.  Someone shot at him, it happened too quickly for me to prevent it and I didn’t know where it came from but after seeing that Willoughby was safe, I tried to find the gunman.  It was the Russian—Doestov.”  He paused now, wearied by talking and his breathing became laboured.

 

Doestov—Adam frowned, forced himself to keep his face impassive and patiently waited beside the man until Chapman had gathered his wits together.

 

“Doestov—he’s one of the Russians you despise, never know which side he’s really on, slippery, like an eel.” The gunner’s mate frowned, and then he smiled briefly, a smile that was strangely cruel. “He won’t bother anyone anymore, not now.”

 

“Because he’s dead?”

 

“Aye, he’s dead alright.”

 

“How can you be so sure, Brian?”

 

“I followed him from the inn when he gave you that information.  Then I took him to where I meet up with my contact.  Beat him till he gave some information, not much, not enough.  I had to go to get back on board ship but my contact, he was going to deal with him.”  He frowned again, “I went into Willoughby’s cabin when he boarded ship, hoped to find some papers, some information, but there wasn’t anything. Was disturbed anyway, that stupid Grimshaw.  Then Doestov came on board; I knew why. He wanted to get rid of me, so I hid.”

 

“Why would Doestov want to kill you?”

 

“He knows me.  That’s enough for him, no other reason ‘cept that…” he closed his eyes now, and sighed. “I’m just a small cog, Commodore.  I did what I was told, that’s all.  When you get to Suez I was to get information…” he frowned, “I don’t know anymore.”

 

“Russia and Prussia are part of an alliance, aren’t they?  Why is Russia trying to get so much support from America and Britain when they’re in such a strong position with their other allies?”

 

“Commodore—I told you—I don’t know about things like that. I’m a German and proud of my country.  Russia will one day be a  strong country; Prussia needs her as an ally.  That is—” he struggled to speak, again his breathing became laboured. “That is just a poor German’s point of view, only.” 

 

For a moment Adam said nothing, he looked thoughtfully at the man who had his eyes closed now and from the way his fingers rolled over the beads of the rosary and his lips moved it was clear that prayer was more important to him that disclosing any further information to his commanding officer.  Adam put his hand on the other man’s shoulder, a reassuring gesture which elicited no response from Chapman at all.

 

………………….

 

O’Brien listened to what Adam told him and shook his head. “So, really, he’s right, Adam.  We are just little cogs in the machinery really.” he crooked an eyebrow and smiled over at his friend who was seated at his desk with the German’s letter in his hand, “Whatever Prussia and Russia are involved in doesn’t really concern us.”

 

“I know you’re right,” Adam said with a half-hearted smile as he slipped the letter in with the other papers in the folder. “It’s just frustrating knowing that whatever we do won’t tie all the pieces together, will it?”

 

“Our concern is to make sure that our president will be safe when he visits Egypt next year.  What Prussia and Russia do mustn’t interfere with us.”

 

“But why then are they so interested in us?  Why the German on board our ship dogging Laurence, and why Doestov pleading for our help?”  He slipped the folder into a drawer and locked it. “I wish we could just turn this ship round and get back home.  There’s so much happening there, so much about to happen—” he paused then and walked to the porthole to gaze out upon the waters. “Sometimes I think I was sent out here just to be got out of the way.”

 

“Out of the way from what?”

 

“Oh, what some call Home Affairs.” he shrugged, broad shoulders stretching the jacket across his back, “I should be back on the Ponderosa, home with my brothers and father.” he sighed, “You must be thinking much the same, Daniel, wondering how Maria is and everything with your family?”

 

Daniel said nothing to that but turned his head away.  His silence said more than words and Adam sighed, stared out over the water and began to tap his fingers impatiently against the wall.

 

Chapter 40

 

Looking at the clock on the wall brought Joe’s mind back to the reason he was in town so he smiled at Mary.

 

“Guess I had better be getting along now, Mary.  If I don’t meet up with Pa there’ll be trouble.” He slid from his chair and gently assisted her to her feet. “I’m really pleased that you decided to take up the vacancy for schoolteacher here.  I guess I even envy the kids going to school now.”

 

He paid for the coffee and then opened the door for her to step back into the main street.

Strange how quickly they had started referring to one another by their first names. So simple, so easy.  The sun was hot, prompting him to lower his hat and Mary to raise a hand to shield her eyes before she turned towards him,

 

“I learned a lot on that trip to Calico, Joe,”  she lowered her eyes and bowed her head, “All thanks to you and your brothers.”

 

“It was a tough lesson you had to learn though, Mary, and I’m sorry that you had to suffer so much through it.”

 

“Well, you were suffering quite a bit yourself at the time.” Her voice was  soft and she glanced up at him with the kind of look in her eye that a woman gets when searching for more than the obligatory answer coming her way.

 

She noticed how his jaw line tightened; his eyes had a yearning look in them before fading into that misery that only comes to those who have lost someone dear to them. 

 

He sighed. “Yes, I guess I had,” he admitted honestly, and then smiled at her, banishing the misery and pain away by taking her by the elbow and steering her towards where his horse was nodding over the hitching rail.  “When do you start work as schoolteacher, Mary?”

 

“In a few days.  I’ve seen the school, met the children.” She glanced over towards the Emporium. “I have a few purchases to make and things to do before I start.”

 

“Well, I’m due some time off tomorrow afternoon.  This weather looks like it’s going to hold for a while; perhaps we could go riding?  I could show you the Ponderosa?”

 

“That would be good.  I’ll look forward to it.”  She nodded briskly and smiled at him; her grey eyes seemed to be smiling at him too and Joe had to clear his throat before nodding and saying, “Right, tomorrow then.”

 

He watched as she walked away without a backward glance.  Perhaps he did watch her a little longer than usual, but his mind was drifting back to when they last met, and all he could think now was that she had changed, definitely, and for the better too. His mouth slipped into a dreamy smile as he turned and mounted his horse, turning its head with a swift flick of his wrist.

 

Captain Lancey and Major Fleming watched as he rode from town.  Fleming then turned to watch the girl walking now into the Emporium.

 

“We could use the girl.” Lancey said softly beside him, his own eyes still on the back of the young man on the piebald horse.

 

“Use her?” Fleming frowned, then shook his head, “No, we don’t want more civilians involved than necessary.  I know what bait to use for this particular fish, don’t you fret none.”  He stepped into the road with Lancey following close beside him, “She’s a pretty girl, you’re right about that, but Cartwright needs something tougher to bite on.”

 

Lancey said nothing to that, he merely turned his head to watch the girl enter the store and get swallowed up into the dark interior beyond.

 

…………………

 

 

Dimitri Doestov enjoyed a game of chess.  As he and Laurence Willoughby engaged in yet another battle over the chessboard he thought how much like a game of chess life became.  One move here and all would be well, move elsewhere, then disaster.

 

He thought back to his time on the Isle of Wight when that German clunk head who had got himself on board the Baltimore had forced him to a confrontation with the other Prussian.  Fools that they were talking about the Suez Canal and with every word showing how little they knew.  He could have told them the plans had changed, the British Intelligence—pah, he could spit every time he thought of them—deciding that Port Said was safer.  But no, he had kept calm and relaxed, taken the blows they dealt him and waited his chance.

 

Now here he was playing a game of chess with the Englishman whom he had made at least one attempt to kill so far.  A likeable idiot who bumbled on about the Kuril Islands and meeting Adam Cartwright there, and how he loved his art.  Ah, to be a great artist then he should move to Russia and see the beautiful art there.

 

He paused to move a rook forwards to counter Laurence’s clumsy attempt to block him.  Then he sat back to see what Laurence would do next; he already knew where he would go, but then he always liked to be just that one step ahead of his opponents. He smiled and tapped ash from his cigarette into the silver box that was on the table next to the chess board.

 

The British had fallen over themselves to accept his story because it had contained enough of the truth to be believable.  Russia did need allies because relations with Prussia were not stable and with war looming with Turkey, mother Russia needed to know there would be a contingency put into place in the event of Prussia failing her.  Doestov was convinced that Bismarck had no intention of giving his support. 

 

He shook his head as Laurence made a fatal error with his next move.  The game was drawing to a close.  Dimitri smiled to himself and moved once again; he raised his eyes and saw the calm look on Laurence’s face, the blue eyes twinkling unsuspectingly.

 

It was strange that they were allies at present.  Laurence had nothing to offer him, no information, no clue to anything.  He wanted adventure, he was young, he wished to be with two men he admired and who had befriended him; that was all.  But yet…he sighed and sat back, inhaled the cigarette smoke deeply, held the smoke for a moment in his mouth and slowly released it in a cloud that hovered for a while over the chess board.

 

Laurence Willoughby smiled to himself; how easy it would be now to make his move and declare checkmate.  It was obvious Doestov hadn’t even noticed the danger he had placed himself in.  He glanced quickly at his adversary and noticed the smug, complacent look on his face.  It was tempting, so tempting to flick the chess piece over and say ‘Check mate’ but Laurence was not a fool, not the idiot Doestov thought him to be. 

 

During the days of this voyage Laurence had got to understand Doestov  well. He knew that were he to declare the game his now, even though it were just a chess game, he would reveal something to the Russian that was best kept hidden.  To allow Dimitri a glimpse into the fact that Laurence was not quite the fool would create problems that he didn’t yet want to countenance.

 

He frowned, scowled, muttered under his breath and moved his next piece.  Doestov nodded, smiled once again and flicked over the piece.

 

“Checkmate—game over, my friend.”

 

Only it wasn’t really. The game, the real game, had only just begun.

 

Chapter 41

 

“You’re joshing me, Joe?”

 

Hoss narrowed his eyes and looked once again at the smiling countenance of his younger brother.  There was no mistaking the twinkle in Joe’s hazel green eyes and the light cheery smile on his lips, and the way he tossed his hat onto the bureau made Hoss wonder that perhaps this was no tom-foolery on Joe’s part after all.

 

“No, I ain’t joshing you, Hoss.  True as I’m living, Mary Ann is now the new schoolteacher.” he picked up an apple as he passed the table and scrubbed it down on his jacket, “And I’m taking her out for a ride round the Ponderosa tomorrow.”

 

“You are?”

 

“Sure,” Joe bit into the apple and then sat down with a bounce, he sprawled out a little and put his feet up on the table while he chomped on the apple with the same determination his horse would have done.

 

“Fact is—” Hoss settled his rear on the arm of the settee, “from what I recall of Miss Mary Ann Hornby she was always in tears about something or other.  She ain’t your regular kind of gal, Joe.”

 

“She is now.” Joe paused as he was about to bite into the apple again and frowned. “Her being a schoolteacher isn’t so bad after all.”  He glanced over at Hoss, “Anyway, when you look back on what took place then she had reason for all that squalling and wailing, what with the renegades attacking us and killing her brother, and then the Indian attack.” He nodded, as though to himself. “Remember how she looked after that Indian that was wounded?  She was doing pretty well by then considering -.”

 

Hoss nodded and reached out to grab at an apple as well.  He bit into it. “She was a pretty little gal, if I recall right.”

 

“She IS a pretty little gal, Hoss.” Joe sighed and leaned back, closed his eyes, “Funny I didn’t notice it so much back then.”

 

“Wal, it weren’t long after you lost Little Moon, if’n you call rightly.”

 

The smile on Joe’s lips wavered; he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling as though it mattered a lot to know what was up there.  He nodded then, sighed and sat up. “That’s right, so it was.” 

 

“Anyhows, I s’pose that means you’ll be taking her on a picnic?”

 

Joe shook his head, bit into the apple and once again closed his eyes.  For a moment he wanted to think of someone else, remember her face and the sound of her voice.  He smiled slightly and was about to speak when the door opened.

 

“I thought you two boys were going to come down to the north pasture to help with the fencing.”

 

Joe removed his feet from the table and tossed his apple into the fuel box. Hoss rose to his feet and turned to face his father, who was pulling off his gloves to toss into his hat.  Ben turned, looked at them both, and frowned. “Something going on here that I ought to know about?”

 

“No, Pa,” Hoss replied and shoved the apple back into his mouth.

 

“No, Pa, not really.”

 

“What does ‘not really’ mean?”  Ben paused in the act of unbuckling his gun belt. “You boys cooking up something ?”

 

“No, Pa, I just met an old friend in town, that’s all.”

 

“A female friend, Pa.” Hoss added and winked.

 

“The new schoolteacher, Pa.” Joe smiled.

 

“Schoolteacher? Not—no—not Miss Abigail Jones?”

 

“You mean, Mrs. Abigail Myers, don’t’cha, Pa?” Hoss chuckled.

 

“It isn’t her, Pa,”  Joe said, and walked towards the window to look out at the view beyond. 

 

Behind his back Hoss and his father glanced at one another, raised their eyebrows, smiled a little and chose the path of discretion by saying nothing at all.

 

……………………

 

Barbara Scott Pearson enjoyed the brief time she spent with the other ladies who joined her at her home to do needlework and quilting.  The quilt they were working on at present was going to be a gift to the next young couple to be wed in Virginia City. 

 

She glanced over at Hester, who was busy with her needle, her head bent low as she carefully stitched on her square of pale pink cotton with a lovely rose and forget-me-not pattern in its centre.  Barbara was worried about Hester, who had been extremely quiet and melancholy since Milton had died and Ingrid left.  It was obvious from the conversation they had shared not long afterwards that everyone was more than pleased at Ingrid’s departure, just not  pleased at the way it took place.

 

The ingratitude of the woman, Barbara thought as she smiled over at Joanna Pettit and took the reel of silk from her.  She pulled out a strand, snapped it off with her teeth and began to thread her needle.  How could people be so unkind and inconsiderate, she mused, and promptly pricked herself with the needle.

 

“Are you alright?”  Bethany Pettit, Joanna’s daughter, leaned forward to show her concern for the woman who not so long ago had been her schoolteacher.

 

“Yes, I wasn’t concentrating.”

 

Barbara smiled at Bethany for whom, she suspected, this quilt was being made.  Such a sweet girl and everyone was waiting for the announcement of her engagement to Mitch Allen.  It would be perfect, Mitch was so wealthy from his mining connections, and Bethany was so sweet and unworldly. 

 

“Let me see?”

 

Barbara extended her hand, the small drop of blood hung delicately from the puncture wound and Bethany, with rather a flourish one has to admit, took the hand in both of hers to look at it and sympathise.

 

“Oh my goodness,” exclaimed Clemmie Hawkins, “Where did you get that ring?  D’you mean to tell me that that rascal has proposed to you at last?”

 

Bethany simpered.  Now that attention was drawn to her hand she just had to show the ring off.  It was so perfect, everyone exclaimed over it—the size, the shape, the colour, the way it gleamed when she turned her hand this way or that way. 

 

“It’s beautiful.”  breathed Hester, who loved her own ring that Hoss had bought her but still, could admire this one with true sincerity. 

 

“It’s not new,” Bethany said  as she looked down at it admiringly, twisting her hand this way and that way, “Mr. Coutts bought it from someone who had never worn it, ever.  Just imagine that?”

 

“Can’t imagine any woman not wanting to wear a ring like that, duckie.” Widow Hawkins said as she snipped the thread from the piece she had just finished sewing onto the quilt.

 

Barbara said nothing as she sat there and stared at the ring.  Surely it couldn’t be, just couldn’t be, the ring that she had returned to Adam?  True enough she had never worn it, but oh how often she had taken it from the box to admire.  He had said there was only one of its kind, having commissioned it to be made especially for her.  She smiled, nodded, agreed it was lovely and began to frantically sew the little patch of blue material onto the quilt.  What difference would it make anyway, after all, she had never worn it, had returned it to Adam, it wasn’t hers to regret, to wish—well, that didn’t matter either, not now.

 

“Where did Mr. Coutts get it from?” Widow Hawkins asked, “I can’t imagine any woman in Virginia City wanting to sell a rock like that.”

 

“I don’t know,” Bethany said shyly, “He never said, except that he only got it  recently.  As soon as I saw it I knew—just knew—that I had to have it, and Mitch didn’t mind, even though it was SO expensive.”

 

Yes, thought Barbara, it would be expensive.  I know it would be expensive …

 

…………………..

 

“Commodore?  Sir?”

 

Adam turned as the seaman addressed him and then saluted him before waiting for him to speak, then he gave his name, Jonas Appleby, and his ranking, orderly in the sickbay.

 

“What is it, Mr. Appleby?”

 

“Dr. McPherson said to tell you that Mr. Chapman died just moments ago.”

 

Adam nodded, sighed, but when Appleby remained standing he raised an enquiring eyebrow, to which the orderly promptly replied, “Dr. McPherson said that you wanted to know if anyone on board ship spoke or read German?  Well, sir, I do …Ich spreche Deutsch.”

 

“Can you read it?”

 

“Yes, sir, fluently.”

 

“Be in my cabin in ten minutes.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Adam watched the black clad orderly hurry back to the sickbay where he would no doubt have to inform McPherson that he would be absent for a while.  He glanced from left to right and watched the men at work, and then without a word hurried to his cabin.

 

He had the letter ready for Appleby’s attention by the time the orderly arrived.  He looked at the other man and asked if he were German or had German connections.

 

“None, sir.  I’m a citizen of the United States through and through.  I learned to speak German during the war when I was billeted with a seaman who spoke it fluently.  He taught me to speak it, as well as read it.  It helped pass the time.”

 

“What you may read here is confidential material not to be mentioned to anyone else outside this cabin; do you understand?”

 

“I do, sir, thank you for having the confidence in me to be of service.”

 

Adam nodded and then slipped the letter across the desk to the orderly who glanced at it, frowned and looked up. “Do you want to write down what I read, sir?”

 

Adam nodded, picked up pen and dipped it into the ink; it hovered over the clean paper as he waited for Appleby to translate.

 

Chapter 42

 

Inevitably the mystery of the letter was a disappointment to Adam, although he realised that it would be important to those whose life work was to keep account of the activities of various factions.  He said not a word as Jonas carefully translated and he wrote down the information, dipping his pen into the inkwell every so often and his frown deepening along with it.

 

The letter confirmed that Brian Chapman was a German national whose real name was Brian Lehmann.  His instructions were the main content of the letter—to gain information, to follow Laurence Willoughby, to continue in his work as gunner’s mate on the Baltimore, a position he had held since she had been built and which had made Adam pause for a moment, realising that this same man might well have been one of those incarcerated with O’Brien in the caves on the Kuril Islands.

 

There was the name of a contact in England, the one, Adam mentally noted, responsible for dispatching Doestov.  There were also the names of contacts in various other locations, one of which was Naples and another at the Suez Canal.

 

The Prussians had obviously done their homework but were not up to date, as there was no mention of any contacts in Cairo, or awareness of that being the Baltimore’s destination.  Adam sighed as he wrote down the last word, remembering how Charles Willoughby had whispered “Walls have ears, Russian ones.”  Perhaps he could have been grateful knowing they were not also Prussian.

 

“That’s all, sir.” Jonas replied.

 

“Thank you, Appleby.”  Adam looked at him for a moment as he put away the pen and flicked over the lid of the ink pot. “How long have you served on the Baltimore?”

 

“Since she was built, sir.  I worked under Dr. Soames last trip out, with Mrs. Pelman.” He frowned. “I heard tell the lady died.”

 

“Yes, she did.”

 

“Very beautiful but sadly not right in the head, if you know my meaning, sir?”

 

Adam nodded and then dismissed him with his thanks.  When Appleby had closed the door of the cabin he looked down at the letter in his hands and sighed, well, he asked himself, what had he really expected? 

 

He folded his translation together with the original into an envelope and wrote down the address.  When he reached Tripoli he would hand this over to the relevant people and it would be sent, by diplomatic bag, to Washington.  Doestov’s assassin would be among those whose employment would suddenly come to an end.

 

………………

 

“What exactly do you do, Dimitri?”

 

Laurence was struggling to tidy the knot in his tie, scowling at his reflection in the mirror and yet watching the Russian through the reflection within it.  He saw Dimitri’s eyebrows rise, the thin lips curl, and the shoulders’ slight shrug.

 

“I do not understand?  You ask vot exactly?”

 

“Well, are you a farmer’s boy or a schoolteacher?  You could be a shop keeper or a landowner for all I know.  You must have another life apart from this one.”

 

“Dis vone?”  Dimitri frowned; again he shrugged. “Dis is my life.  I go where my masters send me.” His face was blank, his eyes inscrutable.  “You are an artist, da?  I enjoy art; ven I go to the cities of Russia alvays I go see the art.  But I am not an artist.  You come on this journey to be with friend?  I unnerstan’ that, it is goot to be with friend.”

 

“Well, they’ll get a surprise when they see me.” Laurence grinned, “I’m like the bad penny that turns up when least expected.”

 

Dimitri nodded, his face bland, he had no idea what Laurence meant by referring to bad pennies.  He pouted slightly. “You tink perhaps I am the bad penny?”

 

“No, no—” Laurence laughed, although at the back of his mind he was thinking ‘oh yes, indeed‘.  If Adam and O’Brien had read about Dimitri’s death then they were in for a shock when they saw him again, as large as life and twice as ugly—an expression his nanny would use whenever he returned home for school holidays.

 

“I am from a goot family in Russia.  My grandfather was cousin to Queen Katerina.” He shrugged. “It is long time ago now.”

 

Laurence nodded, frowned and straightened back his hair, an unruly lock of which had fallen across his forehead.  Little by little he was discovering more about this elusive and rather difficult man, and one thing he had learned was that he was dangerously ruthless in the pursuit of his own ambitions.

 

……………….

 

Ben Cartwright’s heart sank when he saw Clemmie Hawkins bustling up towards him. He turned to Hester for help, but she had quickly disappeared into one of the stores, leaving him wide open to attack…he straightened his shoulders and prepared for the onslaught.

 

“Benjamin, I am so pleased to see you.”

 

“Er—thank you, Clemmie, and how are you today?”

 

“Mystified.”

 

“Ah—not a word I would associate with you, Clementine.” He forced a smile; Widow Hawkins was constantly mystified over one thing or another, she had a memory like a steel trap and anything that appeared at variance with anything she remembered would ‘mystify’ her until she had it solved, sorted, rummaged through and duly relegated into its proper place.

 

She smiled, fluttered her false eyelashes in what was, she thought, a feminine artifice but which looked more like two spiders having a fight.

 

“You know young Bethany Pettit is now engaged?”

 

“Hester mentioned it.”

 

“Did she tell you about the ring she was wearing?”

 

“Who?”  Ben’s head was already aching; why on earth would he be interested in a ring Bethany or Hester would be wearing?

 

“Bethany Pettit’s ring.  Well—” Clemmie slipped her arm through his and wheeled Ben around so that they were suddenly both strolling down the sidewalk while she talked, and he, captive audience, had no choice but to listen. “I recall one time overhearing a conversation between Adam, your son Adam that is, and his brother Hoss.  They was talking about a ring and from the way your boy was describing it I got to thinking it was going to be a thing of beauty.  Any’ow he noticed I was standing close by and grinned, like he does that naughty boy, and ’e winked at me.  So’s I said, “what’s this ’ere about a ring?’”

 

Ben sighed, she was obviously talking about the ring Adam had had made for Barbara before he made that ill-fated trip to Alaska.  He cleared his throat and opened his mouth but Clementine Hawkins continued on regardless, leaving Ben floundering like a holed boat.

 

“So any’ow your boy pulls out a little box, proud as a peacock ’e was I could tell, and he showed me this ring.  ’Course I didn’t know then he was thinking of getting married or anything like that and he didn’t any’ow so I never gave it another thought until I saw it again on Bethany’s finger.”

 

“It couldn’t be the same ring, Clementine. Adam always kept it safe back home.”

 

“Well, it ain’t back home, Benjamin, it’s on that gal’s finger as large as life.  You know I’ve got a good eye for jewels, duckie, and ain’t likely to be fooled, I know it was that ring your boy got for his gal.  I ain’t sayin as ’ow I know which gal it was, now, am I?  Just that it IS that ring.”  She frowned then, although her eyes twinkled with mischief, “And let me add, there was one in the party who looked proper flummoxed at seeing it I can tell you!” She lowered her voice and whispered, “P’raps she’d seen it before an’ all, dearie.”

 

Ben shook his head, released his arm and made his excuses, with some difficulty, before returning to his previous destination.  He shook his head: Clementine Hawkins and her silly little insinuations and her big mouth, of all the stupid women in the world. He paused in mid-stride, and shook his head—the fact was, of course, Clementine Hawkins was not stupid; she had proven that time and again.

 

……………….

 

 

George Custer twisted the last button of his vest and frowned thoughtfully as he watched the face of President Grant and the face of the man to whom Grant was speaking.  When his wife, Elizabeth, drifted to his side he posed the question uppermost in his mind,

 

“Who is that man?” He nodded over to the tall blond young man speaking earnestly to Grant. “By the cut of his suit I’d say he’s an Englishman.”

 

“Well, dear, I’m hardly likely to know more than you, am I?” she replied and laughed, but turned with twinkling eyes to the man who suddenly appeared at their side, “Harold, who is that man over there?  My husband and I have a little bet on whether he is an Englishman.”

 

“Yes, he is,” Harold Fish replied dryly and his eyes flicked from her to George. “Interesting developments really.”

 

“In what way?” Elizabeth asked as she turned to look once again at the Englishman who was now in earnest conversation with someone else while Grant had disappeared.

 

“Oh, just interesting.” Fish cleared his throat and crooked an eyebrow.

 

Custer gave his wife a little shove of the elbow and she took the hint well enough and strolled over to another lady to chatter over things of far more important to themselves.

 

“So?  Who is he?”

 

“Interesting fellow,” Fish said softly. “From England, name of Charles Willoughby.  His youngest brother is a friend of a friend of ours.”

 

George looked blank and tugged at his moustache, which he had lovingly groomed earlier with his sandalwood comb to ensure it retained its blondness.

 

“You do have some friends, don’t you, George?” Fish laughed at his own joke but stopped when Custer scowled at him. “Adam Cartwright,” he whispered.

 

“Cartwright?” 

 

“Shush.”

 

They both glanced guiltily around and then sidled off towards the corner of the large ballroom.  There was much mingling and chattering going on; music was playing in the background, but at this point of time there was dancing.  Custer snatched at a glass of wine from a tray borne along by a bland-faced lackey, and over the rim of the glass asked Fish what was going on.

 

“Intrigue—and your Adam Cartwright is up to his neck in it.”

 

“Firstly he is not my Adam Cartwright. I loathe the man.”

 

Fish looked at Custer thoughtfully and smiled, although his eyes looked as cold as any fish could be. “Apparently the commodore is on course to—well—somewhere hotter than his last expedition.  You should have more respect for him, George; he’s a brave man.”

 

“I know a lot of brave men—” Custer replied dully.

 

“Well, of all the brave men you know he’s the only one the president has entrusted on this particular task.  I don’t envy him either—”

 

“Do you know what it is about?”

 

“No, not enough, not yet.”

 

“So why is he here—this Willoughby ?”

 

“Lord Charles Willoughby, British Intelligence, and  concerned about matters of state.  Now, that’s all I’m prepared to tell you, George.  It’s too—” he tried to think of the word but ended up just shaking his head.  He walked away, leaving George alone to drink his wine and think over what had been said, and to fill in the blanks for himself.

 

 

Chapter 43

 

The music became louder and now couples were drifting into the dancing. As Elizabeth  “Libbie” Custer turned towards her husband she saw him approached by Sheridan, their heads together for an instant before both began to walk towards the door that Grant had used earlier.

 

She sighed and turned back to the chatter of the woman beside her.  A pretty woman, intelligent, the daughter of a wealthy and influential judge, she had been used to tragedy in her life time as her mother and three siblings had all died before she had reached the age of 13*.  Doted upon by her father she was similarly adored by her husband, a man who was the whole centre of her life, George Custer.

 

Now she let the flow of murmuring voices filter around her. She watched her husband enter the other room and the door close, shutting her out and leaving her to alone with her thoughts. A solitary figure even while surrounded by these chattering people.

 

Grant was standing with his back to the desk as Custer, Sheridan and Sherman entered the room.  Harold Fish was nowhere to be seen although Custer had a vague impression that the Secretary of State was talking to the Englishman, obviously in an attempt to inveigle more information from him.

 

Grant now turned towards them and Custer was struck by the fact that the president had aged, the toll of his position was obviously having an effect on him, for he looked haggard and weary.

 

“Well, gentlemen, while we have the chance to be together before we go our separate ways, what’s the latest information about the Black Hills expedition?”

 

No one spoke; the minutes hung on the air, heavy and embarrassing.  Grant raised his eyebrows.  “Well, let me tell you what I know—Sarah Thocmetony has disappeared.  Somehow she must have got wind of what was going on. From what we have been told she has gone away because she doesn’t want to be involved in the ravages about to be inflicted upon the sacred ground of the Cheyenne.” He glowered at each one of them. “Any of you know how this could have got to her?”

 

“Perhaps Adam Cartwright—” Custer ventured.

 

“That’s enough of that, George,” Sheridan respond brusquely. “Your personal vendetta against Cartwright has nothing to do with this.” He turned to Grant with a frown. “We have men on the situation there, Mr. President, and it’s gone slowly because of the trouble we’ve been having with the Comanche.  You heard about the situation at Adobe Wells*?”

 

“I did—I thought we had a treaty with these people?”

 

“Yes, sir, the Medicine Lodge Treaty in 1867 was meant to effect peace with the Kiowa, Comanche and Southern Cheyenne. Like most of our treaties with these people it’s always fragile and—”

 

“And?” Grant growled

 

“And I guess the Peace Policy you offered has failed with them.  Isa-Tai of the Quahadi Comanche wants war and he’s inciting others to join with him.”

 

“Are you offering this as an excuse for not getting the job done with the Indian Territories in Dakota?”

 

“No; it isn’t an excuse, sir, it’s a fact.  The other fact is that there’s a lot of to-ing and fro-ing going on between them and the Cheyenne at present.  The matter of attaining Joseph Cartwright’s help is well underway due to this current situation.”  Sheridan permitted himself a small smile of triumph. “It’s just taken longer than we had first thought.”

 

“Keep me informed,” Grant said with a coldness not typical of him, and each man there felt uneasy as a result.  He looked at Sherman, “This situation with the Comanche—do you feel it’s under control?”

 

“We have good men dealing with it, sir.”

 

“Good.  I don’t want the momentum lost due to any trouble with some irritated Comanche and Kiowa—understand?”

 

They understood, nodded and fidgeted.  Now dismissed, they trailed their way out of the office. Custer paused at the door and turned towards Grant.

 

“Have you heard anything from Commodore Cartwright, sir?  It seems quite some time since we saw him here.”

 

Grant looked at Custer thoughtfully, the silky tones of the officer didn’t fool him, but he noted that the others had turned, curious as to what the answer could, or would, be to the question.

 

“Commodore Cartwright is well, thank you, gentlemen.  He’s doing something of great importance to this country.”

 

“Really?” Custer’s lip curled contemptuously, “Such as…?”

 

“Making sure the life of the president is kept safe,” Grant growled, and his eyes flashed dismissal as he strode from the room.

 

……………………

 

“She was a pretty little thing,” Mr. Coutts said slowly as he carefully polished the glass counters behind which jewels glittered beguilingly.  He paused and looked thoughtfully at the rancher who was almost appearing to fill the room with his presence. “A widow.”

 

“A widow?”  Ben’s voice boomed.

 

Mr. Coutts swallowed, grateful for the fact that there were no other customers in the vicinity.  He nodded.  “She said the ring had been bought by her husband shortly before his death. She had never worn it and—” he cleared his throat as he saw the colour of Ben’s face turn red, then pale, and then went a strange mottled colour, “as a result she desperately needed money.  Cash.”

 

“Which you gave her?”

 

“Of course.  She suggested a price and as it suited us both I gave it to her.  It was such an unusual ring, the gold entwined perfectly around the ruby and I quite honestly couldn’t resist it.  I knew it would sell quickly because—”

 

“Mr. Coutts, did the lady give you a name?”

 

“She didn’t have to, Mr. Cartwright. I already knew her; it was Mrs. Buchanan, the lady who stayed with you on the Ponderosa with her husband.”

 

Ben, to Mr. Coutts’ eyes, seemed to swell like one of those toads one often reads about, but then the rancher released a great deal of hot air from his lips and slowly nodded. “As I suspected…” he said, thumped the glass counter with his fist and strode out of the shop, setting the bell ringing crazily and Mr. Coutts busy with his duster to remove the imprint the blow had administered to his pristine glass.

 

…………………….

 

“And do you still miss her?”

 

The question was asked with sincere honesty and gentleness; there was nothing that Joe could take offence at unless he was going to be a totally insensitive idiot. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Well, yes, I do.  But she doesn’t haunt me anymore.”

 

“Haunt you?”  Her eyes widened, a small pucker appeared above her eyebrows, and then she smiled, “You mean, she doesn’t seem to be everywhere you look any more?”

 

“That’s right.” He smiled as though relieved that she understood.  “I guess that’s why I was so touchy when we first met. I was still trying to convince myself that she wasn’t dead, that it was a mistake, that perhaps I would find her if I went back.”

 

“But you didn’t go back, did you?”

 

“No; every day of that journey was taking me further from any chance of turning back.  Another reason why I was so unpleasant at the time: I was finding it hard because I felt guilty over not protecting her from what happened.”

 

They slipped into silence for a moment while they thought over what had been said.  She looked over at the lake and then raised her eyes to the sky.  It seemed as though the few clouds there hovered delicately upon the tips of the mountains.  When she lowered her eyes she met with lush grass and daisies; paintbrush in red and yellow decked the fields along with phlox and Hooker’s balsamroot.  Joe plucked one and swirled it between his fingers before passing it to her to sniff.

 

“What is it called?”

 

“It’s Hooker’s balsamroot, you can tell it ain’t arrow leaf balsamroot because the leaves are serrated—see, here?” and he held it in the palm of his hand so that she leaned forward to look more closely.

 

He could see the curls growing at the hairline on her neck, chestnut coloured and as glossy as could be.  Her jaw line was smooth and firm, her nose neither too long nor too short, and he watched her smile, the dawning of dimples in her cheeks.

 

“How do you know so much about flowers, Mr. Cartwright?”

 

“We kids learn about them hereabouts, Ma’am,” he said in mock teasing tones. “Most of ’em are used for healing and such.”

 

“I’m afraid I’m  ignorant about such things.” She frowned. “I’ll have to get the children to teach me when it comes to botany classes.”

 

“I’ll always be pleased to teach you, Ma’am, anytime you wish to choose, let me know.”

 

She laughed then, and looked into his eyes, such expressive hazel green eyes, so expressive in fact that she had to turn her head away.

 

“What flower is that?” she pointed to some a little distance away and he sprung to his feet immediately to collect it for her, but she caught at his hand, “No, don’t pick it.  It’ll die if you do. It’s too pretty …”

 

And then his mouth was upon hers, and her eyes closed because it seemed as though the sun, sky and clouds had all merged into one vast swirl of colour to lift her up and leave her gasping for air.

 

“I’m sorry—” he said, sitting a little away from her, “It was just that—” he gave his head a slight shake, as though he couldn’t believe what he had done himself. “Shucks, Mary, I just couldn’t stop myself.”

 

She looked at him with a blank expression on her face as she wondered what to say to him.  To say or hint that she had liked it, and yes, please, some more would be  nice would make her appear cheap and wanton, like those painted up women in the saloons.  To act coy and silly would be a lie about herself, she was not a coy or silly woman. To appear angry and affronted would also be a lie because she felt neither of those feelings.

 

“Do you forgive me?” he looked at her, deep into her eyes, smiled so that the corners of his eyes crinkled and the green in them shone.

 

She turned away from him to look over the lake and at the mountains again, she brushed aside the sweet flowers with the tips of her fingers and then glanced back at him, saw the puzzled expression in his eyes.

 

“Of course, Joe.” She rose to her feet, swirling the little balsamroot flower between her fingers. “I think we should ride home now, don’t you?”

 

He nodded, picked up his hat and followed behind her with a frown still lurking upon his brow.  He licked his lips as though the taste of her was still there, and then she turned, and smiled. “Will you take me riding again, Joe?  Soon?”

 

“Anytime you wish, Mary.”

 

She extended her hand to him and he took hold of it, her fingers intertwined with his and tightened, just a little, and then, somehow, she was in his arms and she was kissing him.

 

It was a strange thing, Joe thought to himself as he rode home beside her, their horses matching their strides each to the other, but when she had kissed him it was as though the feeling it evoked within him wiped out or away the feelings he had once felt for Victoria, and was like sweet balsam ointment to the pain in his heart from losing Little Moon. He was healing at last, in a way, and with someone quite unexpected.

 

Chapter 44

 

Hoss paused in his polishing the saddle and looked thoughtfully at his brother.  Joe, recognising the look, shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant.

 

“Look, Hoss, don’t you be looking at me like that—”

 

“Like what, Joe?”

 

“Like what I did I shouldn’t have done, that kinda look.”

 

“Wal, seems to me you shouldn’t have gone and kissed her like that, not when it was the first time you were out together.”

 

“You forget, Mary Ann and I went through a lot together a few years back awhile, Hoss.”

 

“Yeah, and you seem to forget that it weren’t so long ago that you were planting a kiss on Ingrid!”

 

Joe sighed and shook his head. “You would have to bring that up, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Wal, fact is, you did, didn’t’cha?”

 

“No—I mean—kinda.”

 

“From where I was watching you were, and that’s my final say on the matter.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good—you just about said too much anyhow.”

 

“I ain’t even started yet and—” Hoss clamped his mouth shut and rolled his eyes.

 

For a moment there was silence as Joe watched Hoss polish the saddle.  He pulled some straw from a bale close at hand and twisted it around in between his fingers, and then he sighed. “Fact is, she was kissing me back.”

 

“I tol’ ya, I ain’t saying nothing more.”

 

“She wanted me to kiss her, Hoss.”

 

“Seems like so did Ingrid.”

 

“Yeah, yeah—” Joe tossed the straw to one side and strolled to the door of the stable to look over at the house.

 

Hester was sitting on the porch with the sun twinkling down at her.  He watched as she sat with her head bowed over one of Hoss’ socks that she was busily darning.

 

“Didn’t you want to kiss Hester as soon as you saw her?” he asked slowly, dreamily.

 

“Nope—” Hoss picked up the saddle and hoisted it on the top rail of the stall. “I didn’t.”

 

“But you said to me once that as soon as you saw her you knew she was the one for you.”

 

“Joe, that’s whar you and I are different.  See, I saw Hester and felt like I knew she would be right for me, but I didn’t know her, so I had to go and get friendly with her first, and then the kissing stuff came later.”

 

He smiled slowly and his blue eyes softened as he stepped to the stable door and glanced over to his wife. “I guess the thought did cross my mind that she sure was kissable …” he said, clearing his throat. “But not the first time I took her out.  That weren’t respectable.”

 

“Well, guess you’re just a respectable kind of guy, Hoss, not like me.”  Joe said with a twinkle in his eyes.

 

They were both silenced by the arrival of Ben, who dismounted, nodded over at them both and hurried towards the house.  They watched in some curiosity as Ben acknowledged Hester with a hasty greeting before he slammed into the house.  Hester turned to look at the door as the knocker still trembled from the force with which the door had been closed.

 

“What’s biting him?” Joe murmured and stepped forwards closely followed by his brother.

 

Ben’s first action upon entering the house was to go to the safe and open it.  He pulled out documents and letters, the cash box, the velvet box within which nestled Adam’s medal, and after that, to make sure there was nothing left inside, he groped about into all the corners just in case he had missed something.

 

“What’s wrong, Pa?” Joe asked as he peered over his father’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the action.

 

“Nothing,” Ben grunted.

 

Hoss scratched his head and raised his eye brows. “Don’t seem like nothing to me, Pa.  What have you lost?”

 

“Who said I’d lost anything?”

 

Ben put everything back into the safe and then looked at his sons before switching his black gaze upon Hop Sing, who had had the misfortune to step into the room with a hot pot of coffee.

 

“Hop Sing—that day you saw Ingrid in Adam’s room, did she take anything from there?”

 

“No, hands empty.”

 

“What was she doing?  Just remind me of what you said.”

 

“She just looking in wardrobe and drawers … she not say nothing, not take nothing.”

 

“Did she go in there again?”

 

“Hop Sing not see her go in again.  But—” he shrugged his shoulders—“Hop Sing not always here when lady was here on own.”

 

Ben said nothing to that, but watched his old friend put the coffeepot down and scuttle off to the haven of his kitchen.  Ben now turned to look at his sons. “Adam’s ring—the engagement ring he had made for Barbara—do you know what happened to it?”

 

“Shucks, Pa, Miss Barbara handed it back to him.”

 

“S’right, Pa, she gave it back and he put it away in his drawer.”

 

“In his drawer?  That was a darn stupid thing to do; why didn’t he put it in the safe, for Pete’s sake.”

 

“Well, you know Adam—the value of the ring was the pleasure it would have given to Barbara. Once that was gone he just shoved it away and wanted to forget it, I guess.”

 

Ben looked thoughtfully at Joe, nodded and rubbed his jaw. “Well, the fact is some other woman has the pleasure of it now.  It was stolen from Adam’s drawer and sold to Coutts.”

 

“Are you sure, Pa?”  Hoss looked at his father anxiously; it had been some since he had seen Ben this riled, he put out a hand as though to reassure him. “Look, ain’t it best to go up and check for yourself?”

 

“I will, but you can bet your bottom dollar that it won’t be there.  Clementine Hawkins recognised it on Bethany’s hand—and Coutts admitted buying it from Ingrid.” he frowned, “I’m surprised that Adam would have shown it to Clementine.”

 

“Yeah, well, weren’t nothing else he could do seeing as she’d seen him showing it to me.  If she’s going to shoot her mouth off best she tells the truth than what she assumes … anyhow, he was that proud of it.” Hoss’ voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat. “Let’s go and make sure it is missing, Pa, just in case she made some mistake.”

 

“Coutts didn’t—”

 

“Yah, but Ingrid had a lot of jewels, Pa, could be she did sell one of her own.” Joe said softly although he looked as though he didn’t even believe what he was saying.

 

………………..

 

Lancey watched as the convoy approached him and his detachment of men.  The cumbersome cage being pulled along by several horses drew the attention of him and his men as it emerged through the dust cloud. 

 

“What in tarnation have they got in there?” he asked Fleming, who decided that he wouldn’t show his own ignorance by bothering to answer.

 

The officer in charge of the approaching convoy of men now raised a hand to halt them before proceeding towards the two officers who were waiting for his arrival. He saluted before handing Fleming an envelope. “Your orders, Major.”

 

Fleming nodded and tore the envelope open.  From the jerk of his Adam’s apple, Lancey had an idea that what he had read he didn’t particularly like, but he nodded and saluted the newcomer.

 

The letter was handed to Lancey who read it, coughed as though to clear his throat, and handed it back.

 

“They sure mean business, don’t they?”

 

“Seems so.”

 

They wheeled the horses round in order to return to where they were billeted, their own detachment of men fell in behind them, followed by the newcomers along with the cage in which were shackled several men.

 

…………….

 

They were approaching Tripoli at last.  As Adam surveyed the natural harbor, flanked as it was on the western shore by the small, easily defendable peninsula, he could clearly see how the Americans had lost so much during the first Barbary War in 1805.  He had read about that war, as well as the second Barbary War in 1815, and had spoken to some seamen, old ‘seadogs’ who could recall tales being told to them of their forebears’ battles against the pirates that controlled the seas and how the 1815 war ended—or was supposed to have ended.

 

Algiers, Tripoli and Tunis, known collectively as the Barbary States, had united under the Ottoman Empire’s control to fight against American and European dominance over the seas.  When it came to an end in 1815 it also put a stop to the American practice of paying tribute to the pirate states and helped mark the beginning of the end of piracy in that region.

 

He stood on the bridge and observed the ships, magnificent clippers, sailing ships, yachts, steamers, all collected together under a benevolent sun.  He was on the way to Cairo now, and arriving here was putting him on the threshold of what was to come.

 

Protocol and procedure had to be followed, and this took time.  Information regarding their yellow flag indicating sickness on board had to be communicated to the authorities and dealt with, which took more time.  Eventually he and Hathaway were able to take the launch and proceed to harbour where documents were signed, passed over and discussed.

 

Now he could deliver his mail and was more than delighted to be handed a well-filled mail sack for the Baltimore.  So much to do under the dictates of Port Authority, but in time they were able to return to the ship and distribute the mail, after which they sailed into the harbour to take up their berth.

 

It was always a good feeling to hand out the mail.  Adam watched as the men received mail from home; he saw the faces of those with letters from home, he saw their joy sometimes turn to sorrow, he saw their pleasure turn at times to ecstasy.  There were those who received nothing and for them he felt sympathy.  The greatest treasure after many weeks at sea was the letters from home.

 

The ship berthed, arrangements made for fresh food and water to be taken on board, but just for the time being, there were letters to be read, enjoyed, and memories to dwell upon.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 45

 

When work was done those with letters settled to read them.  From the bridge, Adam watched the men as they did so, and the quietness of the ship fell upon them like a comforting blanket to provide warmth because all were swept into the womb of nostalgia.

 

Adam’s face softened as he watched his men, his ship’s company, huddling together in groups or finding a private place in order to hide away the emotions.  They had been a long time without news.  Ewen had taken the letters for those men who were ill in the sick bay, although some would never be read.  Brian Chapman’s letter was retained by Adam and slipped into his pocket along with those waiting to be read in the privacy of his cabin.

 

After a while, when his patience could no longer be stretched any thinner, he hurried to his cabin, shrugged off his jacket and loosened his collar.  Then he pulled out his letters and carefully placed them on the table … Pa’s letter…Hoss’…then Joe’s—and, oh, an official one.  He cleared his throat and pushed that to the far corner of the table to be read at some other time.  Chapman’s letter he placed alongside the official one.

 

He looked at them with the same hungry longing look on his face that he had seen on the faces of his men and the feeling in his heart. He wondered, for a moment, if any one of them could have felt that same way or if it was selfish of him to suppose that only he could feel that pressure in his chest—the dread to find bad news, the excitement at reading good.

 

He poured himself a glass of whiskey and took it to the table, pulled up a chair, stretched out his legs and put his feet up, and picked up Ben’s letter.

 

“My dear son,

 

It seems as though already you have been gone far too long.  Perhaps it’s because time passes so fast and yet I know it is beyond my control, and my time is getting too short.

 

Well, Adam, I left you with a heavy heart in ‘Frisco, and when I read your letter today my heart grew even heavier.  Joe and I discussed this matter long and hard; it all seems  vague and  confusing.  How could Joe help anyone in this situation?  It just seemed to me at the end of it all there is a hidden agenda.

 

I am becoming more suspicious with age and experience.  Your experiences over the past few years has taught me a cynicism that I had wished not to have, but now, your letter warning Joe and Sarah about Custer and Grant’s plans makes me boil up inside.

 

Joe, I know, will eventually go to see Sarah; he’ll discuss things with her and hopefully they will resolve something. She’s is a more rational creature than he…after all, he is your brother, and although you found him so much more mature on your last leave, beneath the surface he is still tempestuous Joe.

 

Enough of these concerns. Hester had a letter today from her brother, Milton, who informed us of his intention to visit us with his wife, Ingrid.  The letter was late in arrival and they, if punctual, will arrive tomorrow.”

 

He read on, smiling at little anecdotes about old Thurber’s bull getting loose and creating havoc again, the success of the last cattle run to the fort at Yuma.  He ended reading the letter with an ache in his heart and the feeling that somehow he should be home, with his father, who for the first time in any letter had referred to his age. 

 

He sat for some time holding the letter and just staring at the bold dark handwriting and feeling a dread growing in the back of his mind in the way a thundercloud gathers on the top of the mountains.

 

“Put it aside, don’t dwell on it,” he told himself and picked up Hoss’ letter, the date of which was several days after Ben’s.

 

“This here Ingrid is sure some lady, ’cepting she acts like no lady I ever seen before.” So wrote his brother about their visitor and went into a lengthy description of various situations concerning Ingrid that made Adam laugh, banishing away the black cloud of despair he had felt at reading Ben’s letter.  Hester had written a little post script sending her brother-in-law her fond love, and Adam smiled, mentally congratulating Hoss for his choice of wife.

 

He had almost finished his glass of whiskey when he opened Joe’s letter; the brash handwriting of his youngest sibling took up several pages and only once did he refer to Adam’s letter and the “Indian problem.”  It was referred to in such an offhand manner and so glibly that Adam felt reassured that his brother was safe, that no one had come to him, nor would come to him.  For that he was grateful and when he concluded the letter, he gulped down his whiskey and leaned back with his feet up on the table and his head full of memories.

 

Riding home on Sport through the tall grasses along the lake, with the sun on his back and the sky blue overhead.  He closed his eyes and smelt the pine and the sweetness of spring flowers.  There was the wind in his face, soft and warm, caressing and gentle. There was Ben standing at the door of the house, a smile on his face, dark eyes welcoming.  There was fun and there was laughter, the teasing and the jesting. There were the crazy horse rides, that mad time when he and Hoss had bought a hay burner of a horse and lost the race, but Joe hadn’t.  He smiled, opened his eyes and saw O’Brien looking down at him.

 

“Adam—I’m a father.”

 

He blinked, shook his head, wondered if he had fallen asleep, then smiled and got to his feet.  This was a time of celebration, slapping of backs and drinking whiskey.  He summoned his steward to tell the cook to prepare a special meal—which would never be as good as Hop Sing’s, not in a million years—to invite the officers and Dr. McPherson to the table.

 

O’Brien was father of a son … Patrick Adam O’Brien. 

 

Chapter 46

 

Ingrid Buchanan looked out window and gazed upon the city sprawled like a giant canvas before her.  She smiled slowly, contentedly.  Like a hunting tigress that had found her prey and been sated, she was now purring.  She turned away and walked to the door, paused and glanced over her shoulder as though to make sure the room was there, just as she had seen it a moment ago, just as it had been when she had first been introduced to it.

 

She heaved a sigh of satisfaction and walked along the landing to the stairs which led down to the large reception rooms of the house.  A tall thin man walked across the marble floor, glanced up and smiled as he saw her. “Mrs. Buchanan—Ingrid—you look beautiful.”

 

“Thank you.” She laughed a musical sound that tinkled through the hallway as she descended the stairs and walked into his arms. “Dearest Philip, I’m so glad to have found you.”

 

He kissed her then, stroked her cheek and smiled.  To think he had almost missed the stagecoach that was bringing his nephew to San Francisco.  The lad had been despatched off to continue his next stage of the journey to college, but he had taken Mrs. Buchanan, recently widowed and defrauded of her rightful possessions, so she said, to lunch at the finest restaurant in town.

 

That had been some days ago now, and she had cancelled her booking to France while she got to know Mr. Philip Manson a little more “intimately.”  In a few more days’ time they were going to move to France together, to occupy the house in the Rue de Montmartre, Paris. 

 

They always say no matter how far the fall, a cat always lands on all four legs.

 

…………….

 

Adam weighed the letter in his hands, tapped it against his chin, turned it round and round and finally put it down on the table.  With a sigh he rose to his feet and walked to the window out of which he watched Tripoli fading from view.  Above his head he could hear the sounds of activity.  The ship was moving through the calm seas with ease; he could smell her, hear her. With another sigh he bowed his head, pouted a little and frowned.

 

Well, no need to say anything just yet, he thought; there was nothing immediate, nothing urgent that had to be conveyed until they reached Port Said.  In the meantime he would act as normally as possible; after all, it would be to everyone’s advantage to do so.

 

………………

 

“Pa, are you going to eat breakfast without too much fuss?” Joe looked at his father anxiously, memories of the previous evening and his father’s ill temper too recent to forget.

 

“I’m not making a fuss,” Ben insisted as he flapped out his napkin and placed it over his knee, “But I can’t let Coutts get away with theft, nor that young lady go around thinking that ring is hers when it isn’t.”

 

“It is in some ways,” Joe replied, languidly forking bacon onto his plate. “After all, Mitch paid a hefty price for it.”

 

“Coutts should be ashamed of himself.” Ben snorted and poured out coffee, then looked over at Hoss and Hester, “You’re both  quiet.”

 

“Wal, I was just thinking of that little gal, is all.” Hoss muttered and glanced at his wife, who was watching Ben thoughtfully.

 

“I was thinking of Bethany too,” Hester said, “and to my mind I don’t think she’d like to have someone else’s ring on her finger.” She shrugged slightly, “I mean, she would be totally humiliated if someday someone were to recognise that ring and mention it had belonged to Adam, or Barbara.”  She buttered some bread slowly. “I think it might be a good idea if I rode out there today to see her and just have a little chat with her.”

 

“And explain what happened to her?” Ben asked, relief mounting in his eyes, before they went dark again, “Then I’ll go and see that Coutts and have him arrested for accepting stolen goods.”

 

“He didn’t know it was stolen, Pa.” Joe reminded him and grinned over at Hoss.

 

“That’s no excuse,” Ben snapped, “and as for Ingrid.  I’m sorry, Hester, she may be related to you but that woman is a—” he paused to think of a word.

 

Hester quickly interrupted, “I know what she is, Ben, and thankfully, now that Milton is dead, she is no relative of mine.”  She frowned slightly. “Do you think she would have gone to France, to the house in Paris?”

 

“Where else could she scuttle?” Hoss asked dourly.

 

“Well, I’ll  leave that to you,” Hester smiled at Ben and rose to her feet. “Now, if you will excuse me, I shall get ready to go and visit Bethany before anyone else does.”

 

The three men glanced at each other and nodded agreement, the spectre of Clemmie Hawkins doing a “good deed for the day” trip to Bethany Pettit’s rising formidably before their collective eyes.

 

Hester was a prudent woman, and without any preamble she told Barbara Scott Pearson what had happened and asked her to accompany her on the trip to see Bethany.  In her gentle voice she reminded Barbara that she had been Bethany’s teacher and friend for some years, while she, Hester, was a comparative stranger to her.

 

“How much better it will be for her to know about the ring from you, Barbara, especially as you have a connection to it.  Better than having Clemmie Hawkins or me telling her.”

 

“But, Hester, it places me in such an awkward situation, after all, Adam and I—” she paused and sighed; after all, there was no “Adam and I” now, and she lowered her eyes and nodded in agreement. “Just give me time to get ready.”

 

So it was that Barbara and her little boy, with Hester accompanying them, knocked on the Pettit’s rather imposing door, and  reluctantly, hesitantly, told Bethany the truth about the ring.

 

“But Mitch paid so much money for it.” Bethany protested as she removed it from her finger and placed it back into its box which she handed to Barbara. “It’s such a lovely ring; I don’t know how you could have parted from it, Mrs. Pearson.”

 

Barbara smiled and held the little box tightly in both hands.  Hester explained to Bethany that Mitch would be fully reimbursed and another ring, she was sure, would soon be gracing Bethany’s pretty little finger.

 

Back in the buggy and on the journey home Barbara opened the box and looked at the ring as it caught a shaft of light upon one of the facets.

 

“I never thought I would see it again,” she sighed.

 

“It is beautiful, Barbara; he must have—” she paused, turned away and concentrated on the road ahead.

 

Barbara sat still, holding her son close, and stared blankly ahead of her, yes, she thought, he must have loved her after all.  She sighed, shook herself from her daydreams, and pressed the box into Hester’s hand,

 

“Keep it safe; perhaps, one day, he’ll find he’ll need it for another.”

 

Hester’s fingers closed around the box and she slipped it into her purse.  Perhaps, she thought, perhaps he will, one day.

 

……………….

 

 

The matter was  tidily settled, though not satisfactorily in some quarters.  Mr. Coutts was most annoyed to find himself the victim of a theft.  He forgot that in the back of his mind he had suspected the beautiful young lady of some roguery, only protesting now his innocence and ignorance.  Ignorance, Roy Coffee, had snorted, was no excuse in the eyes of the law; Coutts was, legally, the purchaser of stolen goods, and he had benefited by such theft.  Quaking in his highly polished patent leather boots Mr. Coutts paid Mitch the money and watched in dismay as the young man put it in his wallet and promptly left the store without another glance at the beautiful rings on display there.

 

In the evening Hester sat down to write a letter to her sister-in-law, addressed to the house at Rue de Montmartre, Paris, France.

 

Chapter 47

 

Ezra Deacon pulled his horse up to a halt so abruptly that it had no choice but to rear back.  Pulling his hat down to shade his eyes he looked down at the column of soldiers threading their way through Ponderosa land, hauling along with them a large cage containing what seemed to be human beings.

 

His eyesight, which was never good after a few drinks at the Sazarac, failed him somewhat now but was adequately sharp enough for him to know army men when he saw them, and he knew for sure that they were on Ponderosa land because he was on it too, only he had a right to be there as he was one of Ben’s hired hands.

 

“This ain’t right,” he muttered as he watched one of the soldiers raise an arm to halt the column. “Nah then, what’s going on here?”

 

He dismounted clumsily, cursed his legs for being slightly wobbly, and began to make his way through the rocks until he could hide behind a large boulder and watch.  It didn’t take him long to register the fact that the convoy was making camp there in an efficient and militia style manner.  When he saw the officer in charge signalling for men to act as guards he silently withdrew back to his horse and galloped in the direction of the ranch.

 

Ben was standing in the yard with a cup of coffee in one hand while he balanced the saucer in the other.  As Ezra galloped into the yard Ben turned, coupled cup to saucer and waited for Ezra to dismount. Ezra complied in a hurry, nearly tripping over himself as a result.

 

“You been drinking again, Ezra?”  It was Joe who spoke, coming from the stables. Ezra jumped in surprise—he hadn’t known Joe was there—and turned towards Joe with a scowl on his face and a denial on his lips.

 

“What’s the hurry, Ezra?” Ben’s voice didn’t have that mocking tone that Joe’s carried, and the other man turned towards his employer gratefully.

 

“I jest saw a whole convoy of soldiers on Ponderosa land, Ben.  They weren’t just crossing over either, they stopped and made camp, set up guards as well.”

 

“Soldiers?” Joe frowned, “On Ponderosa land?”

 

Ezra looked at Joe and nodded; sometimes he wondered if Joe was a little simple in the head the way he had to keep repeating things.  He turned back to Ben. “Look like they reckon on staying, Ben.  And—” he cleared his throat, “they got some kind of infernal cage with them.”

 

“What sort of cage?” Ben asked and Ezra felt some reassurance that he had done the right thing by the serious tone of Ben’s voice and the way the rancher was looking at him.

 

“It’s big, got some men in it.”

 

“Well, guess they could have come across some deserters.  It isn’t unusual for these transportation cells to be used when taking prisoners across country,” Ben mused and looked over at Joe. “You stay here, Joseph; I’ll go with Ezra to see what this is all about.”

 

“That’s alright, Pa, I have things to do anyhow.”  He waited for Ben to return to the house in order to get his gun belt and hat before he turned to Ezra. “Whereabouts is this army column, Ezra?”

 

“Beecher’s Flats, close to the box canyon there.”

 

“I know the place,” Joe nodded thoughtfully, then walked back into the stable with a slight niggle at the back of his mind.

 

“Joseph—”

 

Ben’s voice summoning him and he turned to stand at the entrance of the stables with a duster and tin of polish in his hand. “Yes, Pa?”

 

“Where do you intend to go today?”

 

“I’m going to see Mary Ann.”

 

A straight answer to a straight question; Ben looked into Joe’s eyes and then nodded,

 

“Very well, make sure you don’t go anywhere near that army convoy, do you understand?”

 

“Sure, Pa, but I don’t know why you’re so worried; it won’t have anything to do with us.”

 

“They’re on Pondorosa land.” Ben growled as he buckled the belt, “I can almost smell that Major Fleming and Captain Lancey.  Just stay away—”

 

“Alright, Pa.” Joe smiled innocently and turned back into the stable. He finished the polishing of his leatherwork and thought over the conversation he had had with Ben.  Well, he had other more interesting things on his mind than a convoy of soldiers, and he smiled to himself as he carefully buckled up the cinch strap on his horse. 

 

…………………..

 

Captain Lancey watched the two men riding towards him with a thoughtful expression on his face.  He was not by nature a war faring man, more of a diplomat and tactician than anything else, and this assignment was not really one for which he had much stomach. He was, however, the product of a family line of army men, going back to when one of his ancestors was wielding a buckler and claymore against the English at Culloden.

 

“Not our man there, Major,” Lancey said  to Major Fleming, who was seated on a chair in front of a large tent.  To his comment he received a shrug of the shoulders.

 

Ben rode directly towards the tent, and noticing the way Fleming remained seated at the entrance of the tent, he decided that he would not dismount. “Major, what’s the meaning of this?  You’re on Ponderosa land.”

 

“The army has the right to cross this land, Mr. Cartwright, without hindrance from yourself or anyone else,” Fleming drawled.

 

“With my permission—”

 

“Or without it.” Fleming did now rise from his chair and look at Lancey, who pulled some papers from his jacket to show Ben. Ben gave it a swift glance over before scowling darkly at them both.

 

“Mr. Cartwright , my men will be staying here for a while yet.  I’m afraid you will just have to get used to them.”

 

“For what reason?”

 

Fleming looked at Lancey to supply the reason, looking directly at him with such a cold expression on his face that the Captain had to turn away from him to look at the rancher. He nodded. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright, but while there are hostiles in the vicinity of the Ponderosa we have to remain in order to round them up and return them to their reservations.”

 

“What are you talking about?  What hostiles?”

 

“Kiowa, some Cheyenne, Comanche.” Lancey listed them off while keeping his eyes fixed on Ben’s face. “They’ve been causing trouble along the Panhandle in Texas and—”

 

“—and came down here to start stirring things up with your friend Winnemucca.”  Fleming added, shoving the Captain back with his shoulder as he moved towards Ben. “That day we went looking for Sarah Winnemucca, we found ourselves a real treasure trove of hostiles.  The government’s policy is to round them up and return them to their reservation.  If they resist—” he shrugged, “they get shot.”

 

Ben’s dark eyes flicked from Fleming’s face to Lancey’s.  From there he looked over the camp to where the cage was situated. “Is that the reason for that cage?”

 

“Precisely.  It is quite legal, Mr. Cartwright; it’s used for transporting prisoners and deserters from one place to another.” Fleming looked up at Ben and saw the distaste in the rancher’s face. “We have our duty to perform, Mr. Cartwright.”

 

Ben said nothing, although words churned around in his head that he couldn’t put into any sensible structure, and which he knew would fall on barren soil—for Fleming was an ambitious man, and this small assignment could be another rung up the ladder, should he succeed in it.  Ben shook his head. “I want you and that contraption off my land as soon as possible.” he barked and wheeled his horse around to return to the Ponderosa.

 

He could feel their eyes boring into his back and felt an utter failure.

 

…………….

 

“Do you remember that time in the cave?” Joe asked Mary as they sat at the table in Del Monico’s, “When we were down to our last bullet?”

 

Paused with her fork suspended in mid-air towards her mouth, she lowered it slowly.

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget it,”  she said, “You asked your brother, Adam, what to do with me, when you were down to your last bullet.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t think you would have heard that,” Joe lowered his own fork, the meat slipped back into the gravy.

 

“I heard.” She looked up at him, large grey eyes wide, a trifle moist as though tears threatened to fall. “He said that as you had assumed responsibility for me, you had to make up your own mind about it; after all, I was a human being.”

 

They were silent a moment, and he reached out his hand and took hold of hers, their fingers entwined. “I wouldn’t have let them take you, Mary.”

 

“I know, and I thought that there was no way out for me at all, either you would shoot me or the Indians would take me. I just prayed and prayed, Joe.” She smiled then, the dimples in her cheeks appearing. “That young man got shot and then everything seemed alright, didn’t it?”

 

He smiled slowly, and then released her hand. “I watched you care for him and thought how brave you were.” He looked down at his meal and sliced through some meat. “You were brave, Mary Ann.”

 

“Was I?  Well, I had you and your brothers as good examples, Joe.”

 

She smiled again, lowered her eyes and continued with her meal.  Yes, she thought to herself, she had had wonderful examples of courage, kindness and familial love those few days on that journey.  She had also realised when the three brothers had ridden away that there would never be anyone to match them for those qualities, not if she were to live to be a hundred.  As time had passed she had become more and more resolved to find them, particularly one, the one she had given her heart to so many years ago.

 

………………..

 

Hester Cartwright opened the door of the doctor’s office and looked around her thoughtfully.  She heard the sounds of someone in the inner room and coughed loudly enough for whoever it was to emerge.

 

“Be with you one moment.”

 

She recognised John Martin’s voice and frowned, waited a moment and then turned and left the building, closing the door behind her.  For a moment she stood there on the sidewalk, before she stepped forward with her mind made up; she would go to the Emporium and buy some material instead.

 

“Hello, duckie.”

 

Two words to instil fear in any citizen’s heart, especially when in a hurry, and particularly when standing outside the doctor’s as she was.  She turned and smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Hawkins.”

 

“You are alright, aren’t you, dear?” Clemmie batted her eyelashes, and Hester widened her smile just in case the elderly woman hadn’t noticed through the spiders’ webs.

 

“Perfectly alright, thank you, Mrs. Hawkins.  I was just on my way to the Emporium to buy some material.”

 

“Oh, I see.  I just thought, seeing you going into the doctors and then coming out so quickly that something was wrong.”

 

“Nothing’s wrong, Mrs. Hawkins.” she put a hand out to reassure the woman and was about to make her escape when the door opened and John stepped onto the sidewalk.

 

“Er—did either of you ladies come into the office just now?  I thought someone was there but—” he looked from one to the other of them, and they looked at one another and then looked back at him.  No one spoke. Clemmie smiled at him; John shrugged,

 

“Well, I guess I had better get back to dealing with Max’s abscess.”  He sighed. “I hate doing them, messy and rather bloody—”

 

That was when Hester fainted and was saved from hitting the ground by John moving quickly forward to catch her.

 

 

Chapter 48

 

Adam had weighed  up the rights and wrongs of whether or not to open Brian Chapman’s letter.  On the one hand he felt he would be invading the personal rights of the dead man, especially as the writing was in a  feminine hand; yet on the other hand there was the possibility that the letter contained important information that would help him later. 

 

It was O’Brien who had nudged him into opening the envelope and extracting the letter: as Daniel had so succinctly put it, what harm would it do Chapman now, he was dead after all?

 

It was, however, all in German, written in elegant script, and the few words that Adam did understand in the language were terms of affection: “Mein geliebter Ehemann, Brian” introduced the letter and the phrase “Ich liebe dich” was repeated several times.

 

He slipped it back into the envelope and after a moment’s hesitation he put it into Chapman’s personal effects.  There had been other deaths since leaving Tripoli and burial at sea had taken place leaving a sombre mood among the crew.  As he picked up his jacket he saw the other letter peeking from the inner pocket and frowned slightly. Then he pulled the jacket on and buttoned it as he made his way to the bridge.

 

They were going at a steady speed and Ewen had reported no further cases of typhoid. It had been well contained among those few who had frequented the brothels of Napoli and tasted the fouled waters in that area.  It was sad to think that a man to whom a woman wrote in such endearing terms as had been in the letter would have gone to such a place. Adam wondered if, had he lived to return home, Brian Lehmann/Chapman would have taken home some rather undesirable gift to his wife, a result of his Neapolitan liaison.

 

The waters of the Mediterranean Sea were beautifully clear and blue.  It was possible to look down and see the fish as they swam close to the surface; there was not a cloud to be seen in the sky, as blue as the sea itself. 

 

Near at hand a seaman began to whistle a jaunty song, and it wasn’t long before another joined him.  Adam leaned forward, hands clasped together, and watched the men at work, the mood caused by the funerals now lifted as someone began to sing the words to the tune, and he smiled a little before turning to the helmsman.  “Are we on course?”

 

“Yes, sir.  All’s well.”

 

He turned to Hathaway who was now standing at his side. “Inform engine room to increase speed.”

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

He stood at the bridge with the sound of the breeze drifting by, felt the slight shift of the ship as she changed speed vibrated through the decks, and sighed.  It wouldn’t be long before they were in Port Said; one more day and they would be there. He stared down at the men on the deck below and quite envied them their simple life even though hard at times.  Everyone had to obey some master or other, and with that thought in mind he walked to the port side of the ship to stare out at sea.

 

“Something’s bothering the commodore,” the helmsman said to the officer on the bridge and Hathaway nodded, his eyes on the back of his commanding officer.

 

O’Brien came and joined Adam as he stood staring out to the far horizon. “You look  thoughtful.  Are you worried about what’s going to happen when we get to Port Said?”

 

“Concerned,” Adam answered truthfully, and his brow furrowed just a little, although he didn’t shift his gaze from the sea.  “About this time at home they’ll be having supper, I should think.  Hop Sing will have cooked his pork roast, perhaps; you never had that when you stayed with us, did you, O’Brien?”

 

“No, I don’t think I did.” Daniel smiled. “Maria is a hopeless cook; to be honest, I shall no doubt have to hunt one down, a good cook, I mean, once I get back home.”

 

“What if you don’t?”

 

“Don’t?  Don’t what?”

 

“Well, what if you don’t get home?”

 

Daniel frowned now, and raised his chin defiantly, it wasn’t something a man thought of when out at sea, or, if thinking about it at all, certainly didn’t dwell upon it.  He cleared his throat and fidgeted a little.  “I don’t like to think about that,” he admitted.

 

“No; best not to, isn’t it?” Adam replied, and turned to Daniel with a smile, one that didn’t really meet his eyes. “I think we’ll have a good banquet tomorrow.  We should eat just as we sight Port Said, what do you think?” and before he got an answer, “Tell the others.”

 

O’Brien watched as Adam walked away, his back straight and hands clasped behind his back.  He saw as Adam stopped to talk to one of the crew, obviously some commendation from the way the man’s face lit up.  Well, he mused, something is obviously worrying the commodore and we won’t find out what it is until tomorrow.  Hence the feast.  Daniel stood there on the deck feeling anxiety trickling through him, and the sudden fear that all was not well became nearly overwhelming.

 

“Is he alright?”

 

Hathaway was standing beside him, and Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know.  Whatever it is, we won’t find out until tomorrow.”

 

“That long?”

 

They looked at one another and each of them recognised the anxiety in the eyes of the other.

 

In his cabin Adam removed his jacket, slung it across the back of a chair and waited for his steward to bring in some coffee.  He wanted to sit, read, drink coffee and think, perhaps just wallow a little in nostalgia.  He opened the door to the steward, thanked him, poured out coffee and walked over to the window with the cup in his hand. 

 

They would be sitting down at the big table now, he mused, perhaps with a bunch of flowers in the centre because Hester was that kind of woman; she liked flowers.  They would be talking and laughing together; Hoss would eat as though he had not eaten for a week, and Joe would be joking about something totally irrelevant while Ben would listen, nod, join in here and there, and Hester…well, she would be sitting there serving the food, and listening and smiling and looking adoringly at Hoss. 

 

It must be wonderful, he mused, to have the love of a woman who would gaze at one adoringly over the meal table.  He smiled.  Perhaps Joe had found someone to love now, and when he returned home—he paused—well, if he returned home—perhaps there would be another sister to get to know.  He sipped his coffee and gazed out to sea; perhaps there would be, time would tell.

 

Chapter 49

 

Pa?”

 

“Yes, son?”

 

“I was thinking—”

 

“Ah-ah?”

 

“The new schoolteacher, Mary Ann—er—Miss Hornby—”

 

“What about her?” Ben kept his eyes fixed on his newspaper, and his lips compressed tightly so that he wouldn’t slip into a smile.  He could almost feel the tension in Joe, the bubbling excitement within him, and at the same time knew that Hoss and Hester were listening and waiting and suppressing their own laughter. 

 

Joe’s inability to keep his feelings to himself was a secret to no one but himself.  His attempts at being non-committal about his friendship with Mary Ann Hornby had fallen on barren ground.  Even though the renewal of their acquaintance was so brief there was no denying the feelings evidently on display whenever her name came up in conversation.  The fact that the only person to bring up her name so often was Joe only confirmed his attraction to her.

 

“Pa, are you paying attention?”

 

“I am. Say what you have to say and get on with it before I fall asleep.”

 

“Well, I was thinking that just perhaps we should have a party for her, you know. Welcome her to the community and all that kind of thing.”

 

“Oh, I see.  And where shall we hold this party?”

 

“Here, of course.  At the Ponderosa.  Folks in town mostly know her now, but it’s the folk hereabouts that don’t.  We could ask—”

 

“Hold on, slow down.” Ben put his paper down and looked at Joe seriously, although it was with some difficulty as he was anything but serious inside. “When exactly do you intend holding this party?”

 

“This weekend.”  Joe glanced at the three of them and his face fell into dismay at the expressions on each one of them. “What?”

 

“Well, weren’t we supposed to be going to Ann and Candy’s place?” Ben said gently and shook his paper straight in order to continue reading.

 

“We could always cancel and have them come over here instead.”  Joe suggested, giving a slight shrug of the shoulders as though to say it was of no real consequence.

 

“That wouldn’t be fair,” Hester explained carefully, “Ann has already been baking.”

 

“She could—”

 

“No, Joe, we can’t jest change arrangements like that, Miss Ann’s gone to a lot of trouble and such.” Hoss shook his head and frowned.

 

“Huh, Hoss Cartwright, I never thought I’d live to see the day you put off having a party hereabouts.  Shows what married life does to a man.” Joe huffed, and looked at the three of them. “What about the following weekend.?”

 

Hoss stood up and rubbed the back of his neck, stretched high as though his back was stiffening, and decided to go and check on the horses.  Hester fondly watched him go and then picked up some sewing.  Joe watched her bend her head over the material and ply her needle.  He sighed and looked at Ben, who was now busy stuffing the bowl of his pipe with tobacco.

 

“So—what do you say, Pa?”

 

“What about?”

 

“Aw, forget it.”

 

With a scowl Joe left the house, slammed the door and strode out to the yard.  Seeing the light in the stables he trundled over there and stepped into the warm interior.  Hoss looked up and grinned.

 

“Give up, did ya?”

 

“No one seems interested.” Joe sighed, and sat down looking dejected. “I thought it would be a good idea.”

 

“Yeah, sure, it was,” Hoss continued to rub some liniment into Chubb’s back leg, “Fact is, Joe, it weren’t so long ago you were engaged to Miss Victoria.  You were all over in love with her, if’n I recollect right.”

 

“I thought I was in love with her,” Joe said, “Yeah, I did think so, but she had the good sense to realise I wasn’t.” 

 

“So, what’s the difference?”

 

“How’d you mean?”

 

“How’d you know that Mary Ann is the real one for you, when you thought it was Miss Vicky last year?  You can’t turn love on and off like a tap.”

 

“I know that.”  Joe rose to his feet and walked over to observe Chubb. “How’s the leg?  Any better?”

 

“I hope so.  Guess Chubb’s getting so’s carrying me about ain’t as easy as it used to  be.” Hoss sighed and wiped his hands on a cloth, before stroking his faithful friend’s neck and smiling thoughtfully, “I reckon that liniment should just about do the trick.”

 

He looked at Joe thoughtfully and grinned as he walked over and draped his arm across Joe’s shoulders.  “P’raps it would just be better if  you invited her round here for a meal, so’s she could meet the family.”

 

“Huh, yeah, sure.”  Joe raised his eyebrows. “You sure your social diary ain’t too full?”

 

Hoss laughed at that and gave Joe a slight shaking before picking up the lantern. “I’ll have to ask my wife,” he said rather grandly and strolled out into the yard.

 

Joe smiled and watched as his brother crossed to the house.  Who would have thought the day would come when Hoss would say such a thing, that he would have a wife and she would be such a lovely woman.  He closed the door carefully behind him and followed his brother back to the house.

 

……………

 

Hester brushed her hair carefully, teasing out the knots and tangles, and leaving it to fall loosely around her shoulders and down her back, a mass of coppery golden curls.  She looked over at her husband, who was pulling off his shirt with a slight frown on his face.

 

“What’s wrong?  Are you worried about something more than just Chubb’s leg?”

 

He glanced over at her and smiled; leaving his shirt open and loose he came and stood behind her, stroked her hair and curled a strand of it around his finger. “Hester, I sure do love you.”

 

“Thank you, Hoss; I love you too.”

 

“I sometimes find myself wondering how it was that I managed to live so long without you.  You’re so important to me, Hester, that I get kinda scared jest thinking how I’d manage without you.”

 

“Oh, are you thinking of sending me anyplace soon?”

 

“No, no—” he shook his head and leaned down a little so that he could look into her eyes through the mirror, “I just get scared that I could lose you like—for any reason.”

 

“I suppose that’s only natural, Hoss.  If you love someone so much—” she paused and turned around, took his hands in her own. “I get the same fears sometimes, Hoss.”

 

“You do?  Shucks.”

 

“I just have to put them out of my head as soon as they pop in; otherwise I get really scared.”

 

“Well, honey, I don’t reckon on going anywhere without you.”

 

They looked at one another, smiled and kissed tenderly; then he wrapped his arms around here and held her close. “Hester, I don’t want you to ever leave me.” he whispered and his breath tickled her ear, and some coppery gold hairs wafted around her neck.

 

“I won’t, Hoss, I won’t.” she whispered back and held him  close, “But I have to tell you something, sweetheart, something important.”

 

He stepped back from her and looked at her anxiously, frowned. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong, Hoss.  It’s just that we’re going to have a baby.”

 

For a moment the words made little sense to Hoss.  He looked at her, a little puzzled, and then saw her face, and as he saw the tears start in her eyes the import of the words hammered like nails into his head.  A baby.  They were going to have a baby.

 

“A baby?” he said softly.

 

“Yes.”

 

She couldn’t say anymore than that because the look on his face made her want to cry.  Joy, and disbelief, and love, all shone from him and when he took her into his arms again it was with a different kind of tenderness and the kiss he gave her was so gentle that it was like feather down.

 

“I have to tell Pa…and Joe…”

 

She put a hand to his mouth and shook her head. “Not yet, Hoss; let’s just keep it as our own secret for a little longer.”

 

He looked at her, smiled, held her close.  A secret. A baby. A miracle.

 

………….

 

“Hey, big brother, how’re you doing over there in that tin tub of yours?

 

I guess this must be the umpteenth letter I sent to you since you left here and jest the one little one from you.  Can’t you organize the Navy so that they get better postal service that that?

 

Fact of the matter is, that I gotta tell someone the news, and I promised not to say a word to Pa or Joe about it, so I won’t, but I gotta tell you, because I always tell you everything first off.  Didn’t I tell you about Hester before I told anyone?

 

Well, this is the news, shucks, Adam, I can barely believe it myself.  I’m going to have a baby.  Sure, Hester told me just now.  Can you believe that?  I can’t believe it myself.  Did I just say that already?  Do you realise that I’m going to be a daddy and that means you’re going to be an Uncle.

 

That means, brother, you jest gotta git home quick.  I want you to be here when this baby is born, you hear?

 

Your brother—Hoss”

 

……………………

 

Work on a ranch never stopped and no matter how light hearted Hoss felt or how ‘in love’ Joe happened to be, there were still fences to be repaired, water holes to be cleared and cattle to be checked over and rounded up.

 

Joe trotted over the familiar land towards Beechers when he noticed the spiral of smoke a few miles to the horizon.  He checked his horse and paused for a moment, looking around him as he did so.  There was no one in the area, he was totally alone.  He pulled his hat lower to shade his eyes and looked once again at the smoke, before noticing that there were in fact two spirals.  Squatters?  Then he remembered—the army.  Of course, Ben had been to see them and to tell them to ride out but from the look of it, they hadn’t taken any notice.

 

Joe clamped his teeth together and scowled, he pulled at the reins and turned his horse in the direction of the camp fires.  Perhaps he should go and check this out for himself and make sure they leave the Ponderosa.

 

Chapter 50

 

It wasn’t a particularly hot day, in fact, it was pleasantly warm but even so Joe felt sweat prickling under his arm pits as he approached the camp.  As always, once he had set his mind on doing something he never found a good reason to turn back or change his mind.  This was just such an occasion where good sense was nagging him to high tail it back home but stubbornness urged him onwards.

 

As Cochise galloped towards the box canyon Joe glanced anxiously over his shoulder as though he fully expected to find the way back blocked by some unknown force.  His eyes scanned the rock face that reared up from the ground on either side of him, as though he could sense that behind those rocks would be armed men waiting to stop him from turning back.  He clenched his lips firmly in an obstinate line and rode onwards.

 

“Rider coming, sir.” Lancey addressed Fleming who hurried from his tent and looked in the direction of the horseman, the appearance of whom brought a smile to the soldier’s lips,

 

“Young Cartwright, come to pay his dues no doubt.”

 

“Curiosity I guess…” Lancey murmured and frowned slightly as he pulled his hat lower and watched Joe come nearer.

 

Joe could see the cage now as he rode further into the camp; he could also see that there were several men there, but his curiosity as to who they were and why they were there was yet to roused sufficiently to distract him from his errand.  He drew up in front of Lancey and Fleming and glared at them both.  “I was told that you’d been ordered off this land.”

 

Fleming frowned and removed his hat, he looked up at the younger man and shook his head. “Now, young man, is that any way to speak to an officer who is, may I add, only doing his duty.  Why not get down off that horse and come into my tent, we can discuss the matter sensibly over a glass of something that will cut the dust from your throat.”

 

Joe’s eyes flicked into the direction of Lancey who was remaining quiet, obviously preferring silence to saying anything that could incur Fleming’s wrath. 

 

“My father asked you to leave here, Major Fleming, so why haven’t you gone?”

 

He sat well in the saddle, one hand rested on his thigh and the other gripped the reins.  His hazel eyes ranged around the camp until it settled upon the cage and he frowned. “What’s that and why is it here?”

 

“We -er—unfortunately found some hostile Indians at the Paiute camp that day we went to see your friend Sarah Winnemucca.  As I explained to your father, the Government has issued orders that hostiles be arrested and taken back to their reservations.  Those men have been involved in the fighting in the Red River war down in Texas, and they came here to stir up more trouble with the Paiute.  We’re doing you a favour rounding them up and taking them back to where they belong.”  Fleming coughed as though he had spoken for too long; he smiled and brushed the back of his hand along his moustache. “Now, come on, Mr. Cartwright, come and have this drink with me.”

 

Joe wasn’t sure if he was imagining it but it seemed as though the soldiers had drawn closer, hemming him in more or less.  He hoped it was out of curiosity rather than anything else, and once again cast a glance over his shoulder.  He sighed, and then dismounted slowly, his eyes flicking from one direction of the camp to the other.

 

“That’s good, come on in.” Fleming smiled and led the way into the tent which held some of the heat, making it feel warmer inside than out.

 

Joe followed him inside, removed his hat, and noticed that Lancey was close behind him.  He sat down in the chair that Fleming pointed to and crossed one leg over the other in as nonchalant a manner as he could while he watched Fleming pour a glass of wine for him.

 

“Here you are, sir, a good Madeira.” Fleming handed the glass to Joe and then poured a little more out for himself and one for Lancey.  “I’m glad you came, Joe—you don’t mind me calling you Joe, do you?”

 

“Not at all.” Joe tasted the wine; it was good, unspoiled by the journey and the heat.

 

“The thing is that we’re in a difficult situation here what with finding these hostiles in Winnemucca’s camp.  Could make it unpleasant for him…” Fleming lowered his eyes as though he was thinking about the matter and anxiously wishing for a solution to come to mind that would cause fewer problems for all concerned. “Do I stay with those I already have and try and locate more, or do I leave with the ones I’ve got?  You do see my problem, don’t you?”

 

Joe just raised his shoulders and tasted more of the wine; he looked at Lancey who was standing by a makeshift desk holding his glass as though it was so fragile it would shatter in his fingers if he were even to twitch. 

 

“Do you think there are any more hostiles—as you call them—in Winnemucca’s camp?” Joe finally asked when the silence began to get too heavy.

 

“Can’t be sure.  And, Mr. Cartwright, they are hostiles, believe me.  A few of them were involved in the fighting at Adobe Wells last year.  You do know about that, don’t you?”

 

“I read about it.” Joe replied.

 

“Yes, sir, mostly Comanche but some Kiowa and Cheyenne come down to help their red brothers.  They sure don’t know when to give up…” he darted a look at Joe and smiled. “You could help us here.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“Well, you could do what we asked of you and Sarah, you could talk to them …”

 

“I don’t know any Comanche.”

 

“You do know the Cheyenne though, don’t you?  Rode with them for a while too, didn’t you?  Got so they trusted you and you liked them.  People like you could be  useful to us now, and to them, could save bloodshed later.”

 

“Later?”

 

“When we take the Black Hills from them.”

 

Joe put the glass down on the desk and stood up, he shook his head,

 

“No, sir, I can’t help you.  I should imagine government policy has already decided on what is to be done there; you’ll find your negotiators among yourselves.  You won’t need me, and I don’t intend to be used to try and persuade them to give up what is sacred to them.”

 

“What makes you think government policy has been already decided upon, Joe?  We ain’t said anything about that, have we?”

 

Joe frowned, bit down on his bottom lip, and then shook his head.  He reached out for his hat and slipped it back onto his head. “Well, thank you for the wine, Major.  I think it might be a good idea if you left this area as soon as possible.”

 

He turned and walked away, leaving the major staring after him.  As he stepped out of the tent he looked in the direction of the cage and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. 

 

“Do you think you’d know any of them?” It was Lancey, standing now by his side and looking at the cage with a frown on his face. 

 

Joe shrugged.  “I doubt it.”

 

“Do you want to see in case you do?”

 

Joe hesitated, too many feelings churned around inside him. He accepted that prisoners were taken across country in these makeshift cells on wheels, and he also accepted the fact that if these men had been involved in war and had taken lives then it was better for them to be returned to their reservations.  But past loyalties and fond memories tugged at his emotions too, and walking past those men was like an act of betrayal to those he had befriended.

 

He just naturally turned and walked by the side of the officer to the cage and peered inside.  There were six men, all of them shackled, and all of them looking dejected but defiant.  They were thin, exhausted relics of a fighting band of men with only the light of battle still in their eyes to indicate what they had been not so long ago.  Joe swallowed hard, the taste of the Madeira on his tongue.  He sighed, and turned away,

 

“What will happen to these men?” he asked somewhat tentatively,

 

“They’ll go back to their reservations.”

 

“What then?”

 

Lancey didn’t say anything to that, he merely turned his head and looked away.  Joe shook his head and looked again at the six men in the cage only this time one of them looked back at him, rose to his feet. “Joseph Cartwright?”

 

Joe stepped back, then leaned forward. “Stalking Horse?  What in tarnation are you doing here?”

 

That was when the daylight got switched off and he saw myriads of stars before everything went black.

 

………………….

 

Reports, Adam surmised, were quite accurate about the Prussian presence at sea in the Mediterranean.  The Baltimore swept past countless numbers of ships, but the buildup of Prussians caught him by surprise.  He stood on the bridge with his eyes constantly moving from one ship to another,

 

“They’ve built up quite a flotilla, haven’t they?”  O’Brien murmured.

 

“I can see why the Russians are worried.” Adam replied and shook his head thoughtfully. “I think there’s a whole lot going on under the surface that we’ll never know about for years, Daniel.”

 

“True enough.”  O’Brien nodded and glanced towards the horizon. “Looks like Port Said ahead of us, sir.”

 

“Then let’s halt the ship and have some time for a celebration, Daniel.” Adam smiled and left the bridge, walking with a straight back to his cabin while behind him O’Brien gave the necessary instructions for the ship to drop anchor. 

 

It was a good meal; the ship’s cook had indeed surpassed himself, and the best wine was served alongside it.  Captain O’Brien, Lieutenants Hathaway, Ross and Myers, Dr. McPherson, and Commodore Adam Cartwright comprised the company at that meal. There was laughter, jokes and anecdotes, serious discussion about various topics that hardly anyone recalled later, and some singing. 

 

The night sky had arrived with stars glistening overhead and a benevolent moon shed a silver light upon the ship, making the Baltimore look lovelier than she did during the day.

 

Eventually Adam rose to his feet and called for attention; it took a while coming but eventually silence descended upon the company and they looked at him with affection and respect.  Perhaps, in some way, the manner in which he looked caused them to become more sober, for they all felt a sudden apprehension trickle through them as they looked at him, standing at the head of the table.

 

He waited for a moment and then took a letter from his pocket,

 

“Gentlemen, I have an announcement to make to you…” he swallowed, cleared his throat, looked at each man there, and smoothed out the paper, “These are orders from the president himself, and are to be obeyed to the letter.” He looked at them all again and nodded as though assuring himself that he had their attention. “As from this moment in time Captain Daniel O’Brien will take command of the Baltimore.  Once Commodore Adam Cartwright has left the ship Captain O’Brien is to turn the Baltimore and return to Washington immediately.  Order is signed…” he reeled off some names, which included the president’s, and then handed the letter to Daniel, saluted and smiled. “The ship is yours, Captain.”

 

 

Chapter 51

 

The announcement had been greeted by stunned silence followed by a babble of questions amid exclamations of dismay and disbelief.  He waited for a while until order was resumed before speaking again.  Standing at the head of the table he looked at each one there before he commenced to speak. “I can’t answer questions when I don’t know the answers myself.  The fact is that our orders come from the highest authority and we, as seamen, have to comply with those orders.  I know that each one of you will serve your captain just as well as you have served me.  I have been  privileged to have known and served along with each one of you.”  He again looked at each one there and smiled. “Well, I think it’s time to end the evening now.  Good night, gentlemen.”

 

They each one shook his hand as they left.  Ross said something about wishing he had known him longer; Ewen said the same and thanked him for having confidence in him during the time there had been the panic about the typhoid.  Myers just shook his hand  vigorously and looked embarrassed, but the expression on his face spoke the words for him and Hathaway shook his hand and expressed the hope that he could serve with him again, one day.

 

Daniel didn’t leave but walked to the table and poured out two glasses of port which he brought over to the chairs. He sat down after handing Adam a glass while he cradled the other and waited for his friend to occupy the opposite chair.

 

“Did you know this was going to happen?”

 

“No; only after Tripoli.”  Adam sipped some of the port and then swirled it around in the bowl. “I was told not to mention it until now.”

 

“In case I refused?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, as if you would refuse a direct order?  No; just because, that’s all.”

 

“I don’t understand why, though.  Why turn the Baltimore back?  You may well need our help.”

 

“I suppose when you think about it they must have known you would be the best man to captain the Baltimore; after all, you were appointed her commanding officer on her maiden voyage, weren’t you?” he smiled and Daniel grimaced. “I did wonder why you were not ordered off the ship and back to your own command when we were in England.  Well, this is the reason, and I know you’ll do a good job of it and—”

 

“Shut up, Adam.  I don’t need to listen to that kind of talk from you.” He swigged back more of the port, shook his head and looked grimly at Adam. “They’re turning her back to Washington…”

 

“I can understand why, Daniel.  The Baltimore is the most modern ship in our fleet.  With all the tension there is at the moment, to have her berthed in Port Said, or Port Suez, wouldn’t help ease tensions, would it?”

 

“Ah, do you have to be so darn logical about it all the time?  What’s going to happen to you?  Who’s going with you?  Do you know?”

 

Adam didn’t say anything for a moment or two but looked down into the blushing liquid and swirled it round and round, then he looked up and saw Daniel’s anxious face and frowned. “Well, it is rather strange, isn’t it?  And I have to be honest and say that—” he paused, and shook his head, “I’m not sure how I feel about it really.  No, no one has been assigned to go with me.  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do once I reach the mainland.” he paused again and raised his eyebrows in his usual quizzical manner as he looked at his friend, “Daniel, you’ve covered my back on many occasion in the past, and I have appreciated it  much.  I’ll miss not having you there this time.”

 

“If I—”

 

“No ‘ifs,’ Daniel, you have your orders.” Adam smiled gently in order to soften the effect of the words.  “Think of it this way, you have a son you haven’t seen yet; now you’ll be able to see him sooner than you thought you would.  That’s worth something, isn’t it?”

 

Daniel said nothing to that but lowered his head, then slowly drank more of the port. “Heck, Adam, what do you know about Cairo?”

 

“Nothing.  Well, not much.  Camels and pyramids, scorpions and flies.” He smiled and shrugged. “Look, I need you to do something for me …”

 

“Just say?  What? Anything.”

 

“It’s not much, just that you post my personal things to the Ponderosa.  Address it to me so that my Pa doesn’t get the wrong impression and panic.” He gulped down more port then, as though words failed him.

 

“I’ll do that; of course I will.”

 

“I’ll leave it here …”

 

“Yes, alright.”

 

Like so many friends who have so much to say at a time when their roads were diverging, they suddenly found themselves with little or nothing to say but wanting to hang onto the company of each other for as long as possible.  Finally Adam stood up. “Well, I have to enter the log …”

 

“Of course.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

Adam smiled, shook Daniel’s hand and when the younger man hesitated as though he were going to embrace him in a Hoss-like hug he stepped back.

 

“Take care of yourself, Daniel.” And then he turned to the desk as though he were thinking of what to write in the log and dismissing his friend from his mind.

 

The door closed.

 

…………….

 

Several hours passed and the night was totally dark.  Adam was on deck when there came a soft whistle from below; he looked down and returned the whistle, upon which the light of a shutter lantern was revealed.  Stealthily he lowered the Jacob’s ladder and descended into a small boat, the shutter was closed and darkness fell upon all the occupants seated there.

 

“Commodore Adam Cartwright?” a voice whispered in the dark.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Very good.  Silence now.”

 

The only sound was that of oars dipping in and out of the sea until they reached the side of a felucca, one of many that had been seen by the crew of the Baltimore that day.  He followed the lead of the other men and mounted the rope ladder to the vessel’s deck where once again the shutter was opened to reveal some light.

 

“Come with us, Commodore.  We have a cabin for you ready.  You need some rest—yes?”

 

Adam nodded; yes, he needed some rest, but he also needed some answers.  He had to admit to overwhelming curiosity that quite dispelled any fear on his part as he followed the guide to a cabin that was towards the stern of the boat.

 

“Sleep well, Commodore.  We shall sail early in the morning.”

 

The heavily accented voice was deep and warm, inviting trust.  Adam nodded, looking around at the cabin which was shrouded in semi-darkness, and once he had located the bed he settled down upon it and was soon asleep. 

 

Chapter 52

 

Daniel O’Brien passed a nervous hand across dry lips and when the door opened, just for a second, he hoped to see a familiar figure stroll into the cabin.  A familiar figure did so, but not the one he had hoped for, and so he rose to his feet and looked at Hathaway, who only shook his head.

 

“I lost him…”

 

“Any idea where he could possibly have gone?  Did he see you?”

 

“He was too engrossed in what was happening.  I don’t think he even cared if we had seen him because—” Hathaway shrugged, exhaled and shook his head all in one movement, “because he knew he had to go.”

 

“What did you see, Aaron?”

 

“I didn’t actually see much, heard more than saw… the splash of oars, Adam adjusting the ladder down the side and then his footfalls as he went down.  There was just the glimmer of a light, so faint—” he looked at Daniel. “He was a good friend to you, wasn’t he, sir?”

 

“Yes.”  Daniel nodded, “From the moment I first met him I thought of him as though he were my brother.”  He cleared his throat, “So?  He got into this boat?  What then?”

 

“They rowed in among some dhows and feluccas. I don’t know which one he went to, or even if he went to one. They could have taken him straight to the mainland.”

 

“Pour me a whiskey, will you?”  He paused, frowned. “And yourself one as well.”

 

Aaron did as he was asked, paused a moment to look at a package with Adam’s name on and sealed with red wax bearing the insignia of a Ponderosa Pine.  He glanced over at Daniel, and then resumed his task of pouring out the whiskey.

 

“You’ll be glad to be getting back though, won’t you, sir?  You have a son and wife now, something—someone to return to.  It’s almost like fate, isn’t it?”

 

Daniel frowned, looked thoughtfully at Aaron and then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.  Probably carefully arranged…” He smiled slowly. “I wouldn’t put that past him, making sure I got home safe to see my son.  I can just imagine him pulling strings and…” He frowned, glanced at Hathaway and shook his head. “Take no notice of me, Aaron, I’m just rambling.”

 

“That’s alright, sir.”  Aaron sat down in a chair not that long ago occupied by the commodore, “Do you think he would have done that, Dan?  Tweaked a few strings to make sure you got home?”

 

Daniel didn’t reply; how was he to know for sure?  He licked his lips and sipped some of the whiskey. “I always thought that where he went I’d be right there with him, thought that was my assignment on this mission too.  He said, though, that—that he wondered why I hadn’t been reassigned a ship when we were in England.” He stared down at the glass. “I don’t know, Aaron.  I just know that had he said to go with him, I would have gone.”  He shook his head. “The thing is, this is now, this is the reality.  Marie and the baby…it’s like they belong to a completely different world, somewhere else, somewhere out there…” he waved his hand to one side and then slumped back into the chair. “And yet, I so want to see them.”

 

“He never married, did he?  The commodore, I mean?”

 

“No; almost, but not quite.  Perhaps, the way things happen, that’s a good thing.”

 

Aaron frowned, he drank more whiskey and looked at the captain. He smiled slowly,

 

“Well, looks like you’re in charge of the Baltimore again, Dan.  At least she’s a familiar ship to you.”

 

Daniel O’Brien nodded, but his mind was on other things, memories of a snow swept plateau, of Alaskan skies and a ship that sailed through a frozen sea looking like she had been dusted with sugar icing.  He remembered the man standing by his side, the smile on his face, dark eyes bright and laughter.  Strange, all the things they had done, said, gone through, he remembered the laughter most of all.

 

…………….

 

Adam Cartwright woke up after a mere few hours of sleep.  He could see the outline of the few things in the cabin and was able to make his way around them.  He slipped  up onto the deck of the felucca and made his way to where he could see the Baltimore, her outline dark among so many other dark shades.  Her lights, necessary for navigational purposes at sea, shone to indicate her presence.  His eyes moved from bow to stern, located the area of his own cabin. 

 

Shortly it would be dawn, a new day.  In the shadows he would watch her slip away on her journey home.  He turned at the sound of movement nearby and narrowed his eyes at the sight of a man approaching him.  It was still too dark to discern who he was and of what nationality, but he walked as one who knew his way around the deck of this boat.

 

“Commodore?  I greet you. To a new day.”

 

“Thank you.” Adam replied, “And you are...?”

 

“Ibrahim Abdullah Aziz.” He bowed in the customary manner and noticing Adam’s glance back to the American ship, he nodded. “You wait to say your farewells to your ship?”

 

“Yes, I guess so.” 

 

Ibrahim narrowed his eyes and nodded, as though he understood such emotions although it was not so much to bid a fond farewell to the ‘tin tub’ that bound Adam to the shadows of the boat upon which he was a guest, more to ensure that his friend would obey the orders given to him and not be swayed by false loyalties that could lead him into danger.

 

“You are an unusual man, Commodore.”

 

“Oh?  Really?”

 

“You are not curious?  You ask no questions?  You came obediently to what could have been—your death.  You do not fear—death?”

 

Adam frowned, smiled slightly and shook his head.  The Baltimore’s lights were showing more now, life was taking place there, the ship’s company would be busy and soon they would find they had a new skipper. 

 

Ibrahim stood by his side when the sun rose and burst open a new day, he stayed there with him until the Baltimore moved slowly round and began a stately move in the direction from which she had come.  He sensed the relaxing of tension in the American and looked at him with renewed interest. “You are, indeed, an unusual man, Adam Cartwright.” he said once again, and then he clapped his hands, “Come, we must eat, and then we set sail for Port Said.”

 

Adam nodded, glanced back to watch the Baltimore and smiled.  He wondered if whoever had watched him as he left had reported his departure to Daniel…well, it didn’t matter now.  He followed Ibrahim along the deck to where there came the smell of fish and garlic and other food cooking and he wondered, just for a moment, what life had in store for him now.

 

Chapter 53

 

The felucca, a wooden sailing boat with a rig of two lateen sails, slid through the waters with a gentle grace that seemed to calm Adam’s restless mind.  Facts and questions were teeming within his brain, but the instinct to stay quiet, to watch and to listen, suppressed the need to speak. He stood in his cabin by a small window and watched as the waters slewed past them.  Other vessels mingled within their wake or sailed swiftly past them leaving them to bounce in their wash.

 

Overhead on the deck he heard the thud of bare feet as the two men handling the vessel did what they knew best, there was the sound of their chatter, laughter, sometimes a burst of song.  He stood and listened and waited.

 

Eventually the door opened and Ibrahim entered, carrying in his arms a pile of clothing.  This he placed upon what passed as a bed. “You must change your clothing.” He pointed to the garments. “It may be a good idea that you grow your beard.”

 

Adam looked at him, his dark eyes moved from head to foot of the other man as though gauging him worthy of his trust.  Finally he nodded,

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

“To Port Said.”  Ibrahim’s near-black eyes were like olives sunken into his sallow skin, his beard was grey but neatly trimmed, his hair was dark except at the side where it was more white than grey.  Adam judged him as younger than his own father by perhaps ten years.  “That is where you will meet your next contact, who will explain far more to you than I can.  In the meantime, you must regard me as your shadow.  For your own protection, of course.” He bowed, one hand on his breast, “I shall return with some refreshments for you.  Now you must change…your clothing is there.”

 

Adam nodded, waiting for the door to close.  He picked up the clothes and smelt them, they were clean, smelling of pomegranates and oranges.  After  a moment’s hesitation he removed his own clothing and began to dress, first the long tunic called a gallibaya, over which was a kaftan, a full length garment like a coat with long wide sleeves open in front; around this he tied a fabric belt.  A djubbeh, a long wide-sleeved gown which reached to his feet was the last garment.  Everything was made of fine linen, soft and flowing.  When he had finished Adam felt rather overdressed and decidedly self- conscious.

 

Aziz pushed open the door just as Adam had completed buttoning the djubbeh. He was carrying a tray with glasses and a carafe of sweet local wine which he placed carefully on the table.  Now he turned to look at Adam, and he nodded approval. “Yes, it is  good.  You look like a man of the desert and not like an American seaman.  Now, the kufiva.” he picked up a large square of black cloth, which he draped over Adam’s head, then a circlet of camel hair called the ’iqal.  He nodded, “When we go from the cabin you must cover your lower face like this…” and he showed how Adam was to do this, then he nodded. “Yes, that is how you must go now.”

 

He stood back again and once more regarded Adam: the look of approval was somewhat gratifying to the American who despite the layers of clothes felt rather “exposed.”

 

“Come, sit, and let us drink some wine.  I have to teach you some words and customs so that you can pass easily through these people.” he frowned, “You are not knowing anything of Eygpt?”

 

“Only its history—pyramids, pharaohs and camels.”

 

“Oh...” Aziz shook his head, muttered something in Egyptian that Adam rightly assumed was a plea for help from some higher source and then smiled at Adam. “Very well. This is your first lesson.”

 

“One moment, Ibrahim.  Do you know why I am here?  What is the reason for my being here like this?”

 

Ibrahim paused, shook his head. “I know only that I must keep you safe and lead you to Cairo.  I am your shadow, but for a while I must be your leader also.”

 

“Do you know who my next contact is?  Who the men are who I have to see?”

 

Ibrahim shook his head, and smiled. “I think you must learn your first lesson, Adam Cartwright, and that is ‘patience.’”

 

Adam sighed, tasted the wine, and then waited for Ibrahim to speak.  Patience, he thought, heavens above, man, I could teach you a lesson or two in patience.

 

Chapter 54

 

Laurence Willoughby brushed aside several flies that the perspiration on his skin was attracting and walked slowly along the wharf side to where Dimitri Doestov was sitting.  He shrugged. “Well, old boy, looks like we’re up the creek without a paddle.”

 

Dimitri observed him sourly.  Why, he asked himself, did this idiot Englishman have to speak in riddles all the time and look so stupid.  He turned his head away to observe the horizon for some moments before he could find the words to speak. “I do not want to go up the creek, I want a sheep to take me to Cairo.”

 

“Well, that’s the problem. There isn’t a sheep—I mean—ship, available.  Not even a fishing boat.”

 

Dimitri shuddered and ran a finger around his collar. A fishing boat?  Nothing could smell worse than a fishing boat!  Idiot! Fool!  Laurence turned his back on the Russian and gazed up at the sky, which was odd considering that he was to all intents and purposes searching for a boat, any vessel that would take them to Port Said.  The Russian was becoming increasingly nervous as each day passed and since they had been deposited in this quiet corner of the world his agitation was palpably obvious.

 

“I thought a dhow or felucca would be available at some time today, but apparently the fishing has been good, and there just are none available until this evening.” Laurence said.  “I have hired a felucca which will take us all the way to Port Said from here at dusk.”

 

“Ah—why you didn’t say so before?” Dimitri sprung up, the relief on his face so obvious that Laurence stepped back in case the man attempted to kiss him.  He had done that once before during their journey when Laurence had done something he approved of—not in the way of any amorous intentions, but part of his culture and tradition as an expression of praise or gratitude.  He had not been impressed by Laurence’s look of disdain.

 

“Come, we go find a place to eat.” He declared and looked around him, “I need more cigarettes.”

 

Laurence said nothing to that but squared his shoulders and thought of how far they had come, how arduous the journey had been and how unfruitful.  Twice they had missed the Baltimore by mere hours, and then lost more time because of being unable to hire another vessel.  He had managed to send one message to his brother by rather dubious means and had received only one reply from him when they were in Tripoli.  The message had contained a single word: “Continue.”

 

He glanced up at the sky once more and watched as pigeons wheeled about and flew overhead.  Pigeons, he thought to himself, were  good for sending and receiving messages.  He wondered if any had been sent relating to himself and the Russian, although he couldn’t really think of any reason why there should have been.

 

During the intervening days he had found out little more about Dimitri and this strange obsession to be near the commodore.  He, the Russian, had talked about Russian and Prussian politics at such length that Laurence’s head had spun, although it all seemed to boil down to centuries old rivalries and jealousies that still existed despite their “Entente.”  Seeing so many Prussian ships in the Mediterranean had caused Dimitri to be particularly vitriolic. 

 

But one important thing Laurence had discovered was the fact that the Russian and Prussian tug of war had little to do with what was happening now.  It seemed more than apparent that the matter was on a far more personal level, and the outcome important, or so Dimitri thought, to the future of Russian and American/British relations.

 

…………………..

 

The cage had rumbled away from the Ponderosa amid the convoy of soldiers following the command of Major Fleming and Captain Lancey.  Joseph had been unconscious for some hours by the time they had reached the borders of Ponderosa land and ridden on over it.  When he had opened his eyes he had found himself staring into the dark eyes of an old friend, Stalking Horse of the Cheyenne, a shaman and warrior.

 

He wasn’t able to speak, his mouth being too dry and his tongue swollen in his mouth. The few drops of water that Stalking Horse poured into his mouth were welcome but still didn’t enable him to speak.  He merely stared up at his friend, and waited.

 

“Why you come?” Stalking Horse whispered. “This was not the safe place for you.”

 

Joe frowned, the words made little sense, he put a hand to his head, then felt the back of his skull, and when he felt the slickness of blood on his fingers he wasn’t surprised to find them stained red.

 

“Who hit me?” he finally asked through a mouth that seemed full of dry rags.

 

“One of the soldiers.  Then they bring you here and put you with us.” Stalking Horse passed him a canteen of water, from which Joe drank a little. “Why did you come?”

 

“They were on Ponderosa land—my father told them to go but—” he paused, frowned, and then looked at Stalking Horse again, “Why are you here, Stalking Horse?  You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

 

The Cheyenne nodded and squatted down onto his haunches.  He looked at Joe thoughtfully, then glanced at the other Indians who were watching the two men carefully although trying hard not to appear too obvious in doing so.

 

“You know that Roman Nose is dead?”

 

“Yes, I read about it.”  Joe nodded, and bit his bottom lip. Roman Nose had been one of his heroes in the time he had ridden with the Cheyenne.  He swallowed, “Crazy Horse?”

 

“Tashunka Witko* rides with the Sioux and Cheyenne in the Pa’ha Sa’Pa. Tatanka Yotanka* (Sitting Bull) talks of war to come soon with the white government.  But many of the young dog soldiers are impatient, they want to fight the white soldiers first, not wait for them to come to us.”

 

“Why come here, to the Paiute?”

 

“Ah.” Stalking Horse frowned and shook his head.

 

Joe closed his eyes and settled back into the straw.  He knew from experience that it would take a while for Stalking Horse to speak and hoped that when he did his own head would be capable to understanding it all. 

 

“Talk came to our camps of Isa—Tai (White Eagle)* and his fight against the white soldiers.  Many of the young men from our villages wanted to come and fight with them.  Perhaps we could kill enough of them to stop them coming to the Pa’ha Sa’Pa.”

 

“I thought you were a shaman, Stalking Horse?  You’re supposed to talk sense into their heads not encourage them.”

 

“Am I not also Cheyenne?  Am I not also a warrior?  I do not want the white soldiers coming into the Pa’ha Sa’pa.  I rode with my people and we fought with Isa-Tai.” he paused and frowned, obviously wondering how to talk about the defeats to this white friend and make them sound like near victories. He shook his head. “The white soldiers were under the command of Bear Coat Miles.*  The soldiers came from their forts, and they came in five directions.” 

 

With his forefinger he drew a sketch in the dust of five arrows, indicating* the columns of white soldiers, crossing the land to converge and conquer the Indians.  He looked up and shrugged.

 

“So?  Why come here?”

 

“Some returned to our villages in the sacred hills, and others scattered with the Comanche to continue the fighting.  We came here—” the shaman rubbed his chin as though once again lost for words, “because we had nowhere else to go.  The soldiers from Fort Concho* chased us down here.”

 

Joe sighed, closed his eyes again and allowed his body to relax.  He knew he should have been up on his feet, rattling the bars, demanding a hearing—but he also knew that he would have been ignored, or, worse, given another thump on the head.  He decided to bide his time and be patient, a course that his eldest brother would have warmly recommended.

 

………………..

 

“Shucks, if Joe don’t turn up soon …” Hoss thumped one clenched fist into the palm of his other hand and turned to pace the floor, “I done spent a whole afternoon trying to find him.  That scrawny brother of mine would do anything to get out of helping me with the fencing.”

 

“I take it you didn’t find him then?”

 

Hoss turned to the door where he saw his father wearily taking off his hat and beginning to remove his gun belt.  The older man looked tired and anxious and the dark eyes looked around the room thoughtfully as though, just possibly, Joe may have sneaked into the room and be hiding in some corner, something he often did as a child.

 

“No sign of him anywhere, Pa.”  Hoss bit down on his bottom lip, then rubbed his chin with his hand “I done searched for him everywhere.”

 

“He hasn’t been to town.” Ben said, “I asked around but there was no sign of him. I even introduced myself to Miss Mary Ann just in case he had decided to play hookey and visit her, but she had not seen him either.  She was  concerned about him.” he smiled then, not one of his generous smiles that would light up his whole face, but one that softened the anxious lines of it now. 

 

“Did she give any indication of where he might have gone?” Hester asked as she stood by the window of the dining area, and Ben turned to look at her, and then shook his head,

 

“No, he hadn’t said anything that would give us a clue.  He said he was going to look forward to seeing her again once he had done some fencing.  She had been expecting to see him again last evening.”

 

“Tarnation, where the dad burned blazes could he have gone?” Hoss began to chew his thumb, his face screwed up with anxiety.

 

There came a couple of thuds on the door which then opened and Candy stepped into the room, looked at them all and grimaced as he removed his hat.

 

“I’m sorry, I haven’t got any good news for you either.” He looked at each one of them, saw the anxiety in their faces. “He didn’t ride over to see us, and he hasn’t been in our locality.  No one I’ve spoken to has seen him at all.”

 

Ben sat down in his red chair and shook his head, the frown deepening the lines on his forehead. “Well, he can’t have disappeared from the face of the earth.  In the morning we widen out our search.”

 

Hoss merely nodded and sighed.  It seemed to Hester that with the disappearance of her young brother-in-law, a large cloud of despondency had fallen over the house, and as she looked at the men she loved she wondered if the young man had come to any harm.  She moved from the window wringing her hands as she imagined him fallen from his horse, unconscious somewhere in that vast territory of the Ponderosa.  What if he had fallen from one of the cliffs, his body broken by the rocks and torn by the buzzards?  What if he had slipped into the river and the current taken him downstream, hurling him over the rapids, pulling him down into their depths? 

 

The sound of her sobbing roused Hoss from the hearth and he hurried to her side, swept her into his arms,

 

“Hey now, don’t fret none, we’ll find him.” he whispered, “We’ll find him.” and he stroked her back gently, and didn’t mind one bit that her tears were soaking into his shirt.

 

“I thought tomorrow I might go to the Paiute camp.” Candy said. “He was talking to me the other day about them, and how—”

 

Ben sat up, once again the frown deepened and the dark eyes lit up. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that’s it.  He’s gone to see Sarah…”

 

“But I thought she’d left her father’s camp, Pa?  Weren’t she worried about that thar Major Fleming nosing around?”

 

Ben sighed, nodded and lowered his head again. “Yes, she was.  We’ll try there tomorrow anyway.  After that …” he paused, “Well, we’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

 

………………..

 

The hotel room was still in darkness but only because the curtains were still drawn across the windows and not allowing the bright sunlight to intrude upon the room.  She stretched, one leg overhanging the bed as a result.  Her hair, black and wildly tousled, was scattered over the pillows and across her face.  She stretched again and then rolled onto her back, smiled and opened her eyes.

 

It had been such a wonderful few weeks here in San Francisco. The journey to Paris had been postponed several times but today they would be loading their luggage onto the boat and they would be sailing away.  It was such a good feeling.  Philip—well, he wasn’t the most handsome man in the world, but he was amusing and in many ways that appealed to her,  interesting.  She sat up and ran her hands through her hair, twisting it into a knot upon her head, and then she got up from the bed and pulled on a negligee.

 

It was quiet, apart from the hum of traffic outside on the street and the sounds of voices drifting upwards from the pedestrians.  She went into another room to consider her toilette.  The world was a beautiful place for Ingrid Buchanan.

 

Not far from the hotel the man to whom she had attached herself was happily stuffing his wallet with money.  His valise and travelling case was by his side.  A hansom cab drove up and he entered it while the driver picked up his belongings and put them into the trunk.  He gave directions and leaned back against the leather padded seat of the cab and considered the decision he had made that morning.

 

To be honest he had decided what to do some time earlier, days ago in fact when Ingrid was beginning to really irritate him.  But he had put on more of the charm and the attention, lavished her with gifts and enjoyed what she gave freely in return.  But today he had decided enough was enough.  He had quietly collected all her jewellery, the title deeds to the property in Paris, and while she still slept (amazing what too much champagne could do) packed them carefully away in his valise.

 

Now most of the jewellery was in the hands of the best jewellers in San Francisco, and each one of them had been most happy to pay him a  substantial sum of money for each item.  The decision he had now made was whether or not to go to France and take on the responsibility of the house in Paris, or whether to travel to New York.  He had decided that France would be just the best place and was now travelling to take up his berth on the ship sailing at noon. He smiled to himself; it had been a little deception, he knew, but he had to take steps to ensure that she wouldn’t arrive at the same ship as he. So had booked onto a different ship.

 

He chuckled now, wondering what her reaction would be when she found that she really had  little money left now.  He had, out of courtesy, paid the hotel bill for up to that day.  And he had cancelled the other booking on the boat so that she would not incur any debts there.  But apart from that…he gazed out of the window as the hansom cab rolled along its way to the harbour.  Life for Philip was looking  rosy indeed.

 

Chapter 55

 

The sun was as hot as it had been at this time of day for many years, and the walls of the buildings reflected the heat so that the streets trapped it and it seemed as though there could be no escape from it.  The sky was clear and blue with no sign of a cloud anywhere.  In the streets the people mingled, brushing past one another without seemingly to notice.  Women walked with jars of water carefully balanced on their heads, men strode purposefully on aimless journeys, and children played semi-naked near to their homes.

 

On the flat roof of a particularly grand house a man stooped down to collect the bird that had sought out its coop.  He carefully untied the little canister tied to its leg and then dropped it close to where a bowl of seed had been placed. A worker, even a little bird, was worthy of its hire.

 

The man now hurried to a large room in which the windows had been opened wide and the air within was being circulated with the aid of a fan affair in the ceiling worked tirelessly by a little man who sat in the corner of the room and pulled the ropes that kept everything in motion.  Several men were in the room; some wore traditional Egyptian clothing, two were in European suits although their countenances indicated that they were also Egyptian, and one wore the garments of a man from Darfur. His skin was darkest of all.

 

One of the men was talking, stabbing at a map with his forefinger and scowling at them.  It was difficult to know whether he was scolding them or recommending them for the lines of his face were so deeply entrenched they appeared etched there permanently.  He turned as the man entered the room and took the canister, opened it and removed the message it contained.  His eyes opened wide, and then he shook his head. “The Baltimore has turned and is heading back towards Tripoli.”

 

“Why?” asked the man from Darfur, his deep voice boomed into the silent room, and he instinctively placed his hand upon the shaft of the dagger that was thrust in his belt.

 

“I don’t know,” the other shrugged, “It says nothing here about why.”

 

“It’s strange they should leave Tripoli to continue the journey to Suez, and then suddenly turn back.” another volunteered with a softly accented voice, “Have you heard nothing from Lehmann?”

 

“I do not think we will hear any more from Lehmann,” the first man said softly, “I am informed that there was typhoid on the Baltimore and he was one of the victims.  His last message to us came from Naples, where he contracted the disease.”

 

“He was never reliable.” another said with a shrug of the shoulders, “What about his associate?  Von Richman?”

 

The first speaker raised his eyes and stared at the other but it was the man with the accent who answered,

 

“We have not heard from him since he went to England.  The last we heard from him was that Commodore Cartwright was taking the Baltimore to the Suez.  He also told us that the informant, Doestov, was there and had spoken to the commodore privately.  You must remember that, surely?”

 

“I didn’t ask for a resume of what he had done, merely whether or not we had heard further from him,” came the reply in silky tones, the venom in which was not concealed.

 

“Thankfully Doestov won’t be able to give any more information. Von Richman saw to that for us.  Lehmann sent the newspaper reports before he left England.”  This was said with a soft chuckle.

 

“Doestov was a clever man, Abdullah; I give him credit for that.”

 

The man called Abdullah merely shrugged. 

 

Yaccoub Djounga, the man from Darfur, walked to the window and stared out into the street.  The white garments in which he appeared to be swathed contrasted strongly with the darkness of his skin, and the sun caused him to appear like a blade of shimmering light to any who happened to have glanced up at that moment and seen him standing there.  He turned and walked back towards the table,

 

“Where was the American ship when she turned?”

 

Adjo Ahmose, he of the scowl, pointed to an area on the map and here each man stared, muttered together, and it was Djounga who spoke again, giving them his opinion that the ship had turned because it had accomplished its purpose.

 

“Its purpose was to get to the Suez Canal and meet with the American cadre there,” Adjo said haughtily.

 

“I think not,” Djounga said, “I think the commodore disembarked from his ship and will arrive at Suez by another route.  They must have been warned not to proceed.”

 

The other men shrugged, but one of the men who wore the European suits asked whether or not they knew what the khedive was currently involved in?

 

“Busy.” Baruti Biti replied, “He is excited about the coming visit of the American president.  That seems to be more on his mind that anything else, even the Darfur situation* he isn’t really interested in.”

 

“That’s because he is leaving so much of that to the Americans to deal with.” And Ebo Funsani spat eloquently on the floor.

 

“Since Chaille-Long *discovered Lake Kyoga* and navigated the unknown section of the White Nile,* the khedive gives these men more and more honours, more and more privileges,” Yaccoub said, his fingers trailing across the map. “The fact that he was sent on a diplomatic mission to Mutesa* of the Buganda, speaks for itself.”

 

“A privilege you should have had, my friend,” Ebo Funsani murmured, placing a sinewy hand on the other man’s shoulder.

 

“They have too much influence,” Abaker Terab said and then resumed his study of the map, “This area is known for good fishing.  There would be many boats plying their trade there. Not difficult for a seaman to hire one and journey down to the Suez from there.  He is a big man, this Commodore Cartwright, and I hear he is arrogant too, like all Americans.  We will soon be able to locate him.  He will stand out  clearly among the locals.”

 

“The sooner he is removed the better,” murmured Yaccoub Djounga said.

 

“It suits our purposes to keep the khedive busy planning for this visit from President Grant,” the spokesman of the group said, dismissing Djounga’s threat irritably. “It distracts him.”

 

The soft patter of feet running towards them caused them to fall silent.  They waited for the canister to be opened and for their spokesman to tell them its contents.  With a grave face he looked at each one of them,

 

“Doestov has been seen—alive—and only a few miles from Tripoli!”

 

“How can that be possible?  The Prussians killed him in England.”

 

“The Prussians,” Djounga smiled coldly, “obviously failed.”

 

……………………….

 

Adam repeated the phrases diligently, each time Ibrahim nodded approval, waved a hand, then would correct some syllable that hadn’t sounded quite “right.”

 

“You are a good student, Adam Abdelkarim,” Ibrahim smiled, the pseudonym they had given Adam slipped from his tongue smoothly, he was pleased, and he was pleased also at the way in which Adam conducted himself.

 

The American ate whatever was placed before him without questioning what it was, or dismissing it and demanding something different.  He drank water or the sweetened wine without requesting anything other than that.  He never went on deck without covering his face.  Ibrahim found that with every passing day the first thing he had said to Adam when they had met was proving more and more true.  Adam Cartwright was indeed a unique man.

 

The best part of the day was when he could go on deck and watch the waters tumble by, or when the felucca came to rest and the Egyptians took time to fish and he would sit, Arab style, carefully going over and over in his mind all that he was learning.  The phrases he could speak, the customs he must adhere to, the information he already had gleaned from the folders given him by Grant and Doestov from all those weeks ago.

 

By nightfall he would sleep on the cushioned bedding and sleep soundly, until early morning when dreams came and he would see the faces of those he loved so clearly.  One dream had been particularly disturbing when he had seen himself walking beside Regina, her quiet calm face smiling at him as he pointed to something on the horizon, and he had kissed her in his dream and her eyes had smiled so sweetly at him that he had awoken and felt, for an instant, that bereft grief of having lost someone loved.

 

He didn’t object to anything they brought him to eat, although some of it looked  dubious.  But he could have told Ibrahim of the childhood he had endured, when food was so scare he had eaten grass to stay alive, and Ben had roasted snake, lizards, anything he could catch, over the camp fire to fill his little son’s empty belly.  There had been meals eaten at Indian feasts, Cheyenne, Sioux and Paiute, meals consisting of ingredients not found in the normal American housewife’s larder.

 

He watched as the land slipped away as they passed it.  Soon he would be in Port Said, Adam Abdelkarim, and as such he would have to turn his eyes away from the things that an American tourist would find disturbing, he would have to remind himself that as Adam Abdelkarim his eyes would have seen these things many times over.  He sighed, and wondered just how good an actor he would turn out to be.

 

Chapter 56

 

With the lower half of his face covered and keeping to the shadows Adam waited for Ibrahim to signal that the time was right to leave the felucca.  He had watched the tourists leaving the boats and being led to where the barouches waited to take them to their hotels.  He had watched them disperse in a chattering gaggle of sameness, heading for the barouches or the donkeys, and been half reminded of Mark Twain’s book ‘Innocents Abroad’ of which he had the vaguest of memories having read it shortly after the author had visited Virginia City some years ago.

 

Port Said was busy with people, overcrowded with ships and boats of every kind.  It took him barely minutes to walk down the gangplank of the felucca and mingle with the crowd of locals, keeping well away from the tourists and striding down the road that was crammed with traffic and people as though he knew exactly where he was going and what he was doing.  His eyes, however, never strayed from the figure of Ibrahim Aziz who walked ahead by several metres.

 

A black man of the same build as Hoss strode down the street, his hand on the shaft of his knife and his dark eyes glaring into the faces of the people who passed him.  His white garments were a vast contrast to the colour of his skin, but he was a man from Darfur and it was commonplace to see men such as Yaccoub Djounga around the ports where the ships were berthed.

 

His shoulder brushed against Adam’s but neither man broke their stride.  Adam, with his eyes on Ibrahim, would not have known that the man who had walked so rudely past him was a man who would have willingly killed him on the spot had he realised it was the man he knew as Commodore Cartwright.

 

Adam slipped into the courtyard of a house and heard the door close softly behind him, shutting out the sounds and sights of the streets and bringing, for a brief few hours, a time of peace and quiet.  He saw Ibrahim waiting for him by some stairs and crossed the courtyard to follow him up the steps and into a cool large room.

 

“I recognised a man here,” Ibrahim said, stepping over to the window and glancing down at the street before bringing down the shutters. “Yaccoub Djounga. He is from Darfur and one of the men involved in this scheme to bring about a revolution.  He, thankfully, did not recognise me, otherwise I’m afraid he would have killed me.”

 

He came into the room, clapped his hands and then gestured to Adam to sit down.  It seemed that almost as soon as Adam had done so several young men and women entered the room to provide food and drink.  There was a whispered conversation between one of the men with Ibrahim, before the two men were left alone.

 

“It would seem that Djounga is on his way to Suez Canal,” Ibrahim said as he settled himself on some cushions, “That is good; it means that he and his associates still think that is where you are going.  It also means that perhaps some of his people are here in Port Said, so we shall have to be on our guard.”

 

“If I recall rightly you were saying that Darfur had been annexed quite recently* by the khedive .  Would this be another reason for so much unrest hereabouts?”

 

“Yes, it is.” Ibrahim answered slowly as he dipped bread into the communal bowl. “This food is  good; you must eat, build up your strength. Tomorrow we shall be leaving for Cairo.”

 

Adam nodded and followed Ibrahim’s example of eating, dipping the bread into the bowl and taking it to his mouth.  Ibrahim was right; the food was delicious, not something Adam had ever enjoyed previously.

 

……………………

 

The tracks of the horses led away from Beecher’s Gap, and Ben felt mixed feelings upon seeing them.  Hoss had run a hand over the ashes of the camp fires and confirmed that they were days old.  Perhaps Fleming and Lancey had gone after he had been to see them, which would have been highly commendable, but on the other hand, perhaps they had waited a while and taken someone else with them. 

 

The anxiety at the back of his mind made him reluctant to leave the scene although Hoss seemed quite satisfied at going not having made any connection with the Army and Joe.  As they rode from the box canyon together Ben tried to go over any conversation he had had with Joe about the militia being there.  Had he given his son any idea of where they had been?  Had he mentioned Beecher’s Gap at all? 

 

“You’re  quiet, Pa.  What’s on your mind?”

 

He turned slightly towards Hoss, slowing his horse as he did and casting a glance over his shoulder to where they had just been, then he rubbed his chin with a gloved hand while shaking his head,

 

“I’m just a little bit concerned that Joe may have been here.”

 

“Well, if he has, he obviously left some time ago,” Hoss replied. “Ain’t no sign of him hereabouts that I can tell.”

 

“You know your brother, Hoss.” Ben scowled and shook his head. “Tell him not to do something and guarantee that he’ll do it.”

 

“You told him not to come here?  Any reason why not?”  Hoss pushed his hat to the back of his head and looked at his father thoughtfully, he narrowed his blue eyes and crinkled his nose, “You holding back on telling me something, Pa?”

 

“No, I don’t believe so,” Ben replied as he walked Buck away from the campsite.

 

“You sure?  Fact is, I don’t recall you saying much to me about this here militia and what they wanted?  I don’t even know for sure why Joe had to be in such a durn hurry to go see Sarah and why she’s hightailed it outta here.”

 

“Mmm, I can’t recall not telling you about it, Hoss.  Fact is the government wanted Sarah and Joe to go to the Black Hills and talk some sense to the Plains Indians there.”

 

“You joshing me, Pa?  They wanted JOE to go talk sense to them thar Indians?  Our Joe?”

 

“One and the same.”  Ben narrowed his eyes, “Are you sure I didn’t mention this to you before?”

 

“First I heard tell about it.”

 

“Well, they seemed pretty insistent for some reason or another.  Obviously the Joseph Cartwright they know down there is a different one from the one we have living under our roof.”  Ben grinned, tried to make light of it, but his eyes were anxious and Hoss knew his father too well to respond by grinning back.

 

“He was there with them some while, Pa.  They had a lot of respect for him.”

 

They rode on a while and then Hoss slowed Chubb and frowned. “That’s a funny thing.” He pointed to the prints in the soil, “Don’t that look like Cochise’s hoof print?”

 

Ben sighed, looked at his son as though his son should have known better than to have asked him, and then dismounted.  Together they both walked over to where Hoss had noticed the distinctive hoof print.

 

“Your eyes are better than mine, Hoss, which hoof print are we looking at?”

 

“This one here,” Hoss said and described the print with his forefinger, “I’ve shoed that horse for so many years now I can tell his print from among hundreds of ‘em.”  He frowned again and carefully walked along with his head down “Here’s another of  ‘em.”

 

“How sure are you that that is Cochise’s print, Hoss?  There’s a whole mass of horses passed along here.”

 

“Yeah, there are…” Hoss thumbed his hat forwards now to shade his eyes and enable him to see the print more clearly, “See here, Pa, this here horse is going to lose a shoe anytime now…and here’s another got a split in it…soon as you start seeing individual differences in a horse’s shoe you git to recognise them among a crowd as easy as I could tell your face in a crowd of folk at the Silver Dollar.”

 

Ben licked his lips. They were dry, as was his throat; he looked up at the sky, which showed signs of a day about to draw to a close. “Well, let’s get back home now.  Tomorrow we’ll come back here early and have a further look these tracks.  I think we need to have a talk with those militia men.”

 

Hoss looked at his father and frowned. he still had the notion that his father was holding something back from him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it could possibly be.  They turned their horses in the direction of the Ponderosa.

 

“Why would they want Joe now, without Sarah?” he asked his father.

 

“I don’t know, Hoss, all I know is that for some reason General Custer wants Joe to—”

 

“Custer?  How come he’s involved?  How’d you know that?”

 

“Something the major said—” Ben replied slowly, he shook his head and almost nervously urged his horse into a faster pace.

 

Ezra took the horses into the stable with the anxiety gnawing inside him along with the guilt that perhaps he had done wrong in telling Joe about the soldiers camping in Beechers Gap.  He could tell from their faces that both Ben and Hoss were worried, and from what he had overheard Ben say to Hester as they went into the house it concerned the soldiers.

 

He saw to the animals’ needs and then walked to the ranch house with the same feeling in his insides as a man would have had were he to be mounting the steps to a gibbet for a hanging—his own.   When Ben opened the door and smiled, Ezra nearly dropped his hat.

 

“Ben, I got something I need to tell you.”

 

“Very well, Ezra, spit it out, man.”

 

“Remember the day I told you about seeing those army men with that cage?”

 

“I do.” Ben put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes as he scanned the anxious almost tortuous twisting of Ezra’s features.

 

“Well, Joe asked me whereabouts they was and I told him.”

 

“I thought I told you not to mention it to him.”

 

“Well—I—yes—but…”

 

The two men glared at one another and said nothing; it was Hoss coming up from the rear that broke the silence.

 

“Hoss, Ezra told Joe about Fleming being at Beechers.  I can guarantee that he went there, and they’ve taken him.”

 

“Taken him?” Hester cried and sat down quickly in a chair as her legs went weak from under her. “Taken him where?”

 

“That’s what I aim to find out,” Ben replied. He looked up at the sky and shook his head. “I’ll ride out tomorrow.  I may be gone some days.” He scowled at Ezra who mumbled an abject apology, “You’d best see that a pack horse is ready for me first thing tomorrow, and get a horse saddled up for yourself; you’re coming with me.”

 

“Hey, hold on thar, Pa.” Hoss placed a large hand on his father’s chest, as though holding him back from making some impetuous move. “Ain’t you forgetting someone?”

 

“Like who?”

 

“Like me?”

 

Ben’s face gentled; he looked at Hoss and smiled, then he walked towards Hester.

 

“Look, the two of you, I may be gone some time, or I may be away no time at all; after all Joe could be anywhere, and we may be making a big error assuming he’s with the militia.  Whatever the case, Hoss, you have to be here now; you have a wife to care for and—” he pinched Hester’s cheek tenderly—“she needs looking after.”

 

“What makes you say that?” Hester said with a blush to her cheeks and her eyes filling with tears.

 

“My dear girl, I have had three sons…and I know they didn’t come by way of a stork.”

 

Hoss and Hester exchanged a look, and then Hoss wrapped her in his arms and hugged her close. “We were going to tell you, Pa,” he said in his usual honest hearted manner.

 

“Mmm, I’m sure you would have got round to it eventually,” Ben laughed, and kissed Hester. “Now then, the two of you, I’ll have to leave the Ponderosa in your hands so be gentle with her.  For the time being—” he glanced over at the clock—“it must be nearly supper time.  Let’s enjoy this evening together…”

 

Chapter 57

 

Adam had many reasons to be grateful to the intense instructions he had been given by Ibrahim Aziz. From the moment he came face to face with the camel that had been delegated to him to the time he entered the building in Cairo’s medieval citadel, he had to rely on the information and strategies put forward by the redoubtable Egyptian.

 

When first confronting a camel, Ibrahim had informed Adam, show no fear. Always remember that it is merely a means of transportation.  If it looks as if it is going to spit at you, then spit first.  If upon mounting it shows signs of wanting to cast you from the saddle, bite its ear.  Confronting “She Who Must Be Obeyed” was probably the only time Adam experienced real panic.

 

They left Port Said before the day had dawned, a small caravan of travellers that had been happy to take along the obviously wealthy Egyptian and the, who could doubt it, fearless Bedouin whose dark eyes seemed to pierce their souls and whose hand was never far from his dagger.  The merchants looked to the Bedouin to protect them with his strength and courage, and the Egyptian to pay a king’s ransom to anyone who was prepared to stop and rob them. 

 

Often during the journey as he swayed from side to side in the saddle of his mount, Adam thought of the history of the land through which he was travelling.  Perhaps, he mused, he could return one day as one of those tourists idly passing the day looking at the ancient monuments without a care in the world.  He pondered on the people who over countless thousands of years had made this journey, some as slaves, and some as conquerors with great armies.  His romantic soul dredged up the histories he had read of Cleopatra and Caesar, or biblical accounts of Pharaohs who defied the Almighty God.  His logical mind tried to work out the logistics of how the pyramids were built and whereabouts did they get the materials from and what system of building structures would they have used.

 

It was not until they were on the outskirts of the city that he turned his mind back to the reason for this journey and set his mind revolving over all the information that had been stored away over the weeks.  “She Who Must Be Obeyed” walked with swaying dignity into the throng of the city taking her passenger into its centre where he disembarked, paid his dues and followed Ibrahim into the narrow streets.

 

There were many sights that he had to tell himself not to react to…the cries of young women and children as they were hauled to the slave market in chains, children crying for their mothers and young girls weeping for their lost maidenhood.  Young men, strong men, attractive women were all hauled in a long line in their fetters to the market.  It was obvious from their faces that some were still in shock over what had happened, walking as though in their sleep and their eyes blank; others reacted, yelling and shouting curses, shaking their chains in despair.

 

“From Darfur,” Ibrahim said. “It is one way to subdue a nation.”

 

Adam’s heart quavered and he stopped beside his guide, waiting for the human mass to go by them.  A woman, young in years, caught his attention, her black eyes strained upon his face, and she grabbed at his djubbeh and fell upon her knees,

 

“Help me, help me, master …” she cried and for her pains received a crack over the skull from the handle of the overseer’s whip.

 

Adam clenched his teeth and turned his head.  Shame burned through him, to ignore the plight of the woman, of them all, distressed him even as he pulled his djubbeh free from flailing fingers and hurried away.  He was not the American, he told himself, he was not the commodore of a ship … he was Adam Abdulkarim, and such scenes he would have seen countless times before.

 

The number of beggars defied description, their obvious ailments made him feel wretched, the fact that Ibrahim had told him that many injured themselves deliberately in order to get a ‘good living’ from their begging did little to settle his stomach or his conscience as he strode past them, his long robes flying and brushing over them.

 

The poor hanging around the streets with large eyes and ragged clothing; the stalls set out to sell their wares with food and fish, great slabs of meat, many varieties of sea foods, all attracting flies that no one seemed bothered to brush away as lazy stall holders sat in the gutters smoking their pipes or seemingly dozing the day away.  Ibrahim had told him, “Don’t buy anything for the poor, don’t give any one of them anything … you give to one, you must give to all, and you will find, all of them will be instantly swarming around you like bees to honey.  Attract attention and our cause is lost.”

 

He continued on his way close by Ibrahim to the building that was the headquarters of the khedive’s American Cadre, and to the men who would, he hoped, finally explain what he had to do and why.

 

The building was large but not ostentatious.  Sited in the medieval Citadel Major General Stone directed his cadre of Civil War officers to rebuild Egypt’s military power*.  From here he directed expeditions in the khedive’s expanding world, making discoveries that would achieve more for Ismail that any army possibly could have done. 

 

Adam mounted the steps and passed through the cool open terraces to the door that led to Stone’s own apartments.  Here the door swung open and he, with Ibrahim, was admitted into the presence of the man himself, Charles Pomeroy Stone.

 

Charles P. Stone turned as the doors swung open and looked at the two men who had entered the room.  The elderly man in the smart European suit, with his sallow skin, dark eyes and smartly trimmed beard and moustache smiled and advanced towards him,

 

“General, it is good to see you again.” Ibrahim gave him the traditional greeting and extended it to the other men in the room.  “May I present my nephew, Adam Addulkarim.”

 

Stone looked with a slightly confused expression at the man now walking towards him, as he took in the dark eyes regarding him from the gap between the kufiva and face covering.  The black flowing robes that girded the over six-feet tall stranger made Stone grope carefully for the drawer that held a pistol just in case this was going to be an assassination attempt. 

 

The dark eyes glanced from Stone to the other two men in the room, then Adam Abdulkarim bowed, and made the traditional Bedouin greeting.  Stone glanced from him to Ibrahim. “I thought you were bringing Commodore Cartwright here.” he said coldly, “I wasn’t expecting any relative of yours to come instead.”

 

“I am sorry, Major General, I know the disappointment must be considerable.  Things happen at sea as you know.” Ibrahim sighed and bowed his head while his ‘nephew’ narrowed his eyes as he glanced from one man to the other.

 

Stone turned to the other two men both of whom were scowling rather heavily at Ibrahim and the stranger, but one of them shrugged and muttered something under his breath while the other walked to the window and leaned against it with his arms folded, and his eyes on Adam as though to convey the message to him that he was under close scrutiny.

 

“Why isn’t the commodore here?  Grant sent me news confirming that Cartwright was on his way.”

 

“The Baltimore was sent subsequent orders to turn back shortly after leaving Tripoli.  There was no explanation given.” Ibrahim said in soothing tones, “But it would seem that some of those men who are planning this coup were in Port Said.  Yaccoub Djounga actually passed us on his way to get the boat to the Suez.”

 

Charles P. Stone was a heavily built man with a flowing beard to match his overlong hair.  He wore a uniform well, and he still wore his U.S Military Academy ring on the little finger of his right hand.  As Adam looked at the man, the military commander of the khedive’s American cadre, he was reminded of the facts he had gleaned about him—perhaps the one that would haunt the man was his having been under a cloud for suspected disloyalty and treason and being arrested and imprisoned at Fort Lafayette*.  Although released six months later he was never officially pardoned, but it was Grant himself who devised the man to be sent to serve the khedive in Egypt along with other Civil War Officers, most of whom had fought for the Confederacy.

 

Stone sat down and pulled some papers towards him as though mentally placing a barrier between himself and the two newcomers.  He seemed reluctant to speak now, and glanced over to the man at the window, who now stepped forward. “Ibrahim, it’s good to see you again.” he gave a courtesy bow to the Egyptian and then to Adam who greeted him in similar fashion. “You may not remember me, Samuel Lockett*.”

 

Adam turned to regard this man in order to put a face to the information he had about him, and saw a finely built man who looked like one who would prefer to sit at an easel and sketch all day than fight, for he had been a colonel in the ConfederateaArmy and had designed the defences of Vicksburg.  He was a good-looking man, but bore the traces of a recent illness that had yet to be shaken off.  He turned to the third man. “I don’t think you have met Mason, he’s here en route to taking up an assignment in Equatoria.*”

 

Alexander Mason, a descendent of George Mason, Father of the Bill of Rights, greeted the newcomers. A onetime naval officer in the Confederacy, he looked uncomfortable in their presence and after greeting them stepped back into the shadows. 

 

“I prefer to see who I’m speaking to,” Lockett now said with a polite bow of the head in Adam’s direction, “No offence meant, but if we are to confide in you, I do think it best that we can recognise you the next time we meet—should such an occasion arise.”

 

“No offence taken,” Adam replied, and putting one hand to the kufiva, he let down the face covering. “I hope you’ll forgive the masquerade, but Ibrahim and I thought it best.  My name’s Cartwright, Adam Cartwright.”

 

Chapter 58

 

The three men merely nodded for they were well used to subterfuge in their world of Khedive Ismail’s ambitions. 

 

“Pleased to have you aboard, Commodore, and congratulations on your—er—choice of dress.” Stone said.

 

“It was necessary.  Everywhere there is the whisper of the American commodore who comes here; there was nothing to be done but this ruse in order to get him here alive,” Ibrahim murmured as though dissatisfied at the reception they had received.

 

“That was one of our major concerns, Ibrahim.  We knew that if we could rely on anyone getting him here safely it would be you,” Lockett said immediately and smiled as though he quite understood the Egyptian’s ire.

 

“How much do you know about this situation, Commodore?” Stone asked, deciding that there was little time to waste on trivial chatter. His eyes that were ringed with the dark tinged sacs beneath them indicated his weariness, but nevertheless he looked  keenly at the other man, and waited patiently for Adam’s reply.

 

“To get right to the point of the matter as to why I’m here—” Adam narrowed his eyes as though to challenge Stone’s incisive glare—“there’s a plot to kill President Grant when he comes here on his tour.”

 

“That explains, not why you’re here, but what is planned to occur,” Stone replied.

 

“I took it for granted that by some means or another I’m supposed to prevent it happening.” Adam shrugged.  “However, along the way there appears to be a lot of politics involved.  Men have already been killed over this …”

 

“What men do you mean?”

 

“A German by the name of Brian Lehmann.  A Russian by the name of Dimitri Doestov.” Adam replied, “An attempt on the life of an English friend of mine, Laurence Willoughby.”

 

“Dimitri Doestov is still alive,” Lockett said calmly, “He has been sighted alive and well in Tripoli, apart from which we have received a communication from him.  The man who died, and was assumed to be Doestov, was a German who, to all intents and purposes, was hired to kill Doestov.”

 

Adam said nothing to that, although the thought that Doestov was still alive came as a surprise.  He hoped that his face didn’t betray what he thought but he nodded curtly as though he understood everything. “Politics—especially middle eastern politics—aren’t high on my list of priorities, sir; as I told the president some weeks back, I’m merely a seaman, nothing more.”

 

“You’re a whole lot more than that, Commodore.”  Mason said, “The president thinks you’re some kind of magician.  As for the politics…well, they’re always there to get in the way of things.  The Prussians resent American and British control here in Egypt.  As a result they are providing the revolutionaries here with their support. Russia, with whom they are allied, needs our support to go into war with Turkey, and has been giving us information as a means of proving their sincerity.  As a result, their politics have spilled over to the situation we have at the moment.”

 

“Why are they going to the lengths of wanting to kill President Grant?  After all—”

 

“After all he represents the United States here,” Lockett interrupted Adam impatiently, “What bigger blow to our national pride?  It would signal to all the dissidents here in Egypt and the countries under the khedive’s control that they can be a power to be reckoned with; it would light the fuse to their own ambitions, and everything the khedive has attempted to do will blow up in his face.”

 

Adam regarded Lockett thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded, “Of course, if that happens your stay here would come to an end.” he observed.

 

“Despite all the discoveries we have made and the advances we have helped the khedive make to his country, we don’t count as much to the people, we just represent something they want to be rid of.” Mason said. “There are constant little insurrections going on in this country, but what these insurgents are after is a bringing together of all those factions and overturning the power of the khedive.”

 

“Using President Grant’s assassination as the fuse to set it all off?” Adam raised a dark eyebrow and then looked at Stone, “With them knowing that I am here and wanting to kill me off as soon as they can, what good am I?  I don’t speak the language and the customs are really unknown to me.”  He paused and frowned. “It seems you know some of these men; why not pick them up and get what you need from them.”

 

“We could, and have done so in the past.  The person who is in control of everything is the man we want…strike at the head and the body will scatter,” Mason said in a soft voice, and he smiled. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

 

“If you know what you’re looking for,” Adam replied.

 

“So far what we have found out isn’t  pleasant, it—well—it tends to lead us in the direction of our own people or an Englishman.”

 

Adam pouted slightly and tapped his lips with his fingers,

 

“I see; that’s why Charles Willoughby was involved.”

 

“Can you imagine the chaos if it was known that an Englishman had gotten the president of the United States killed?” Stone intoned heavily. “The repercussions would ripple through the world for generations to come.”

 

“It would certainly bring about a few changes—” Adam agreed drily, and he once again looked at the three men. “How do I make contact with you?”

 

“Through Ibrahim.  They may want him dead but he’s influential in this area, and a wealthy man in his own right.  At the moment they are hoping he’ll fall in line with them and be useful to them, while they think that, he’s safe,” Stone replied.

 

Adam nodded and rose to his feet.  He replaced the face covering and made a gracious bow, Bedouin fashion, before turning and leaving the room with Ibrahim by his side.

 

“Where do you start?“ Ibrahim asked as they walked through the narrow alleys together.

 

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Adam answered, his lips tightened and his brow furrowed. “But if they know I’m here it won’t take them long to find me.”

 

As he walked to the Egyptian’s home Adam thought he could hear the hollow laughter of George Armstrong Custer following close behind him.  It made him realise, yet again, that he was many miles away from the Black Hills, from Custer, and from any means of helping his brother.

 

Chapter 59

 

The horses maintained a good steady gallop as Ben and Ezra followed the trail left behind by the cavalry.  It was tempting for Ben to spur his horse on faster but he had only his instinct to provide him with the thought that the army had left, with Joe, on the day of his disappearance.  That meant several days had been wasted giving them a good lead which seemed never to diminish.

 

Everything was so vague, so nebulous.  The vague warning in Adam’s letter, the requests of Fleming and Lancey for Sarah and Joe to go to the Black Hills with them , everything just seemed far too unreal for Ben’s logical mind to accept.  If only there had been another letter from Adam spelling out exactly what was required.  If only Joe had been more honest in telling his father what had transpired between him and Sarah. The “if onlys” mounted up each day on that journey.

 

“Are we getting any closer to them, Ben?” Ezra asked as they stopped by a stream .

 

“I think we’re gaining on them, Ezra.  That last part of the journey seemed to force them to renegotiate and double back on themselves.  We could stand a chance of coming upon them by tomorrow morning.”

 

Ezra sighed and slumped; a lot could happen during those precious hours; and he glanced up at the sky before wiping his brow on his sleeve. “Sure is hot,” he murmured.

 

“It’s going to get hotter before the day’s over,” Ben agreed and stooped to fill the canteen with the clean water from the stream.

 

The water was cold as it trickled over his fingers and he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Joe. Had he been taken by force?  Well, surely that was the only possible explanation as to why there had been no word from him to explain his absence.  Or had he been shot, killed perhaps?  What would he do if that had happened?  How could he prove that he had been if the soldiers denied it?

 

As the water filled the canteen his mind wandered next onto his other son, Adam.  Out there, at sea, who knew where?  There had been nothing from him for weeks, nothing at all.  What if he were dead too?  How was he to know?

 

“You alright, Ben?”

 

“Sure, sure I’m alright.”  He fumbled with the canteen and plucked it from the water, slapping the stopper in tight.

 

“I jest wondered, you seemed to look mighty anxious for a moment.”

 

“I am mighty anxious,” Ben growled, and gave the poor man a scowl that had Ezra gulping back spittle. “I’m worried for my boys.”

 

“Sure you are, Ben, sure you are…”

 

He stood there watched as the big rancher mounted his horse, then hurried to his own animal who looked as tired of the journey as his rider.

 

“You reckon it’ll be tomorrow then, Ben?”

 

“Yes, tomorrow…” Ben said, and he said no more as he turned the horse in the direction of the trail.

 

………………….

 

Elizabeth Bacon Custer looked up from her sewing to regard her husband thoughtfully.  She had married him within just over a year of meeting him, and despite her family wishing her to have married someone more on her social standing. She had lived as any other army wife, moving from fort to fort as her husband’s assignments had required it. 

 

As she watched him, his furrowed brow and hooded eyes, she wondered what he was thinking.  She adored George Armstrong Custer and had followed him devotedly.  She had borne the disappointment of not having had children, and had suffered the indignity of rumours about George’s ‘marriage’ in 1868 to Monaseetah*, the daughter of a Cheyenne Chief called Little Rock.  Further indignity and distress had been heaped upon her when it became common knowledge that her husband had fathered two children by the woman. * 

 

She had spoken to him just once, listened to his denials, to his explanation that the children had been those of his brother, Thomas.*  Whether or not she believed him in the depths of her own heart, no one was to know.  Now here they were at Fort Abraham Lincoln in the middle of Indian Territory and she could already sense his restlessness, his

Longing to be doing something other than just sitting there waiting for orders to come from his superiors.

 

“George, are you worried about being here?”

 

“Should I be?” He looked up at her, his eyes registering amazement at such a question, and the large moustache that hid the small mean mouth (of which he was not proud) seemed to bristle.

 

“You seem restless and anxious, my dear.”

 

“I assure you that I am not,” He smiled at her now and reached out to take her hand.

 

“When we were in Washington last—” she paused and glanced down at her sewing, smoothed out some silk and smiled at the result of her labour, “I overheard some mention of Adam Cartwright.”  She looked up at him with innocent large eyes, “I asked them if it could possibly be the gentleman we had known a few years ago, a sea man, with two brothers.”

 

“Really?  And what did they tell you?”  Custer’s eyes lost their lustre and he released her hand, returning his gaze to the book he had been reading.

 

“Oh they said he was a  brave man, that the president held him in high respect.  I did ask if they knew where he was, and if he would be there, I would have liked to have met him once again.”  She frowned. “They said he was gone away on a long voyage, and that you probably knew more about it than they did.”

 

“Really?  Well, my dear, I can’t think why they should have said that—”  Custer looked at her and smiled. “I can’t even recall ever having seen him since that time.” he frowned, and shook his head, “No, not at all.”

 

“How strange.  So unlike Mr. Fish to be mistaken—” she murmured, and bent her head once again over her sewing.

 

Custer scowled. Even here, in his own home, Adam Cartwright had to cast his shadow.

 

…………………..

 

Joseph Cartwright sat in the straw along with the other captives.  His wrists were manacled, as were his feet.  He sat with a bowl of watery stew between his hands which he struggled to eat.  Now and again he would raise his eyes to meet those of Stalking Horse.  A chance for escape had to come soon, he groaned within himself, and his head lolled forward.

 

“You must eat.  Get strength.” Stalking Horse said fiercely.

 

“I know.”

 

He wished he had some strength.  After that last attempt to escape had gone wrong the beating they had meted out to him had left him as weak as the proverbial kitten.  He ate some of the stew and waited for it to settle in his stomach.  Overhead the sun was burning down upon them with the promise of getting steadily hotter.  It added to their misery and lethargy.  He ate more of the stew and watched the soldiers; some of them were younger than he, and just as weary.  He could tell from the stoop of their shoulders and heaviness in their legs that the men were exhausted from the travelling and heat.

 

……………

 

Hoss opened the door to the sound of horses galloping into the yard and was brought to a standstill at the sight of Candy bringing Cochise along on a leading rein.

 

“Where’d you find him?” Hoss exclaimed as he hurried across the yard to look at the horse, run his hand over his body, his withers, down his forelegs.  “He don’t look much the worse for wear, does he?”

 

“He was grazing some miles from Beecher’s Gap,” Candy replied, removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow and the sweat band within it.  “Seemed quite content.  Not a scratch on him either.”

 

Hoss now checked over the saddle, just in case there was some telltale sign of injury to his brother, but there was, again, nothing.  He looked at Candy and shook his head.

 

“Kinda odd, ain’t it?”

 

“He must’ve broken loose from whoever had him.”

 

“Or been released so’s no-one would know he’d been taken, along with my brother.”

 

They looked at one another, and then back at the horse as though willing him to answer the unspoken questions but Cochise merely nudged his head into Hoss’ shoulder as though to assure him of his pleasure at seeing him again.

 

“Well, you’d best come on in, Candy.  Let’s have something to drink and consider what to do next.”

 

 

Chapter 60

 

Hoss gave Cochise a thorough examination once the horse was back in his stall and greedily snuffling through his feedbag.  Candy stood to one side with his arms folded and head lowered as he leaned against the bars of the stall and watched Hoss for some moments. “No clue, huh?”

 

“No, nothing.  He looks fine, as though he’s just been sauntering his way home from wherever he’s been.” Hoss sighed, “I was sure he was among those horses riding outta Beechers.  Lots of horse sign there …” Hoss frowned, and raised each of Cochise’s hoofs in order to check his shoes, he nodded affirmation each time he recognised a familiar shoe, “He was there…”

 

“So what do you think that means, Hoss?”

 

“It means that Joe and Cochise were at Beecher’s Gap as I said, and that Joe must still be there.”  Hoss scratched the back of his head, and looked at Candy as though expecting him to provide some solution.  But, Candy wasn’t Adam, or even Pa, and looked as bewildered as his friend.

 

“That is where Ben was headed though, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, it is.”

 

“Then, in that case, he’ll no doubt find him.  Ezra’s a good tracker, almost as good as you, Hoss.”

 

Hoss nodded, although he wasn’t convinced.  Ezra was good to have around, but he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box.  He sighed, ran a hand down the length of Cochise’s neck and left the stall. 

 

“Have you heard from Adam lately?”

 

Hoss glanced at Candy, unprepared for the question but then seeing how the man had looked over to Sport he could understand what had prompted him to ask.  He shook his head, and thrust his hands into his back pockets.  “Nah, nothing for some time.”

 

“Guess you must wish he were still here, huh?”

 

“Yeah, I sure do.  We all do.  When Adam leaves home it always feels as though something has been plucked right out of it, and it don’t feel right until he gits on back here.”

 

Candy said nothing to that, although he could understand to some extent what Hoss meant, for he had never known as family where the bonds were so tight, so close.

 

“It’s a pity he ever left here in the first place,” he said softly.

 

“Yeah, he shouldn’t have gone.  We shouldn’t have let him go.” Hoss agreed and closed the door of the stable firmly behind him.

 

“Well, I’d best get back.  Thanks for the coffee and everything, if I can think of anything I’ll ride on over and let you know.”

 

“Thanks, Candy. You’re a good friend.”

 

Hoss stood aside to let Candy mount his horse and then raised a hand to wave him off.  With slumped shoulders he returned to the house, closed the door behind him and looked around the big room.  He listened to the clock ticking so ponderously loudly in the silence when he heard footsteps and looked up to see Hester approaching him with an anxious look on her face.

 

“You were gone a long time, Hoss.  Was everything alright?”

 

“I was just checking Cochise over, making sure he was sound.  Candy’s gone home now.”  He smiled, and put his hand on her arm, “Hester, I’m sure worried about Joe.  There’s just such a wrong, bad, feeling about all this, it just don’t make no sense.”

 

She looked at him thoughtfully, the troubled blue eyes, the way his scant hair seemed to be standing on end exposing the scalp beneath, the firm tautness of his lips.  She knew that there was nothing she could say or suggest that would remove those furrows from his brow, and the anxiety that was tearing into him, so she placed her hand upon his. “Would you have preferred to have gone with your pa, Hoss?  I wouldn’t have held you back, my dear.  I know how much you love your brother and want to make sure he is home safe.”

 

“Time’s are different now, Hester,” he said softly. “Pa and Ezra will do all they can to find him and bring him home, that’s for sure.”

 

“Don’t stay here on my account, Hoss.  If you feel you need to be with your father, then go and join him.  I’ll be alright here.”

 

He shook his head, and his face softened into a look of gentle love that she always evoked within him.  He touched her face, ran a finger gently down to her chin and then kissed her.

 

“I can’t leave you here on your own, Hester.  Shucks, Joe’s a full grown man now, and Pa’s old enough to take care of them both together.  No, my place is here, with you.”

 

She smiled, just a little anxiously, wondering whether he really believed the words he had just uttered.  Rather than have the doubt confirmed she slipped her arm through his and led him into the study area. “Well, in that case, you had better help me with these ledgers.  I promised Ben we’d have them all done by the time he got home.”

 

…………….

 

The small dust cloud that the soldier’s horse kicked up as he approached the column was soon noticed and it was Lancey who raised an arm to halt them.  In the cage, Joe watched the soldier with the same amount of curiosity as the officers displayed,  for such urgency could give rise to any number of situations occurring—an Indian attack being one of the first things to take into consideration.

 

The soldier drew his horse to a halt and saluted the major and Captain Lancey. “Just saw two riders approaching, sir.”

 

“Just two?  Any idea who they could be?”  Lancey asked.

 

“White men.  Hard to tell if they are strangers or not from this distance.”

 

Fleming turned to Lancey with his eyes bloodshot from the grit that had blown into them and his mouth dry, and he nodded. “Take a glass and check them out.”

 

Lancey nodded, turned his horse about and galloped to a point that he could scrabble up and take a good look at the riders through the telescope.  The dust cloud coming rapidly closer was easy enough to see, he trained the glass upon it and cursed beneath his breath.

Remounting his horse he returned to Fleming’s side.

 

“Looks like Ben Cartwright and one of his men.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“As sure as I can be—” he leaned forward—“he’s obviously realised we’ve got his son with us.”

 

Fleming looked at Lancey and scowled, narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder towards the cage. He could see Joe clearly standing up now, hands clasping two of the bars and craning his head forward as though he could hear every word they were saying.

 

“Take him out of the cage and hide him.  There are enough boulders hereabouts to conceal him.  Don’t let him out of your sight.”

 

Lancey saluted, and moved his horse towards the cage.  His thoughts were in turmoil.  He knew as a soldier he had to obey orders, but at the same time he was an honourable man and the way he saw it, things weren’t being done in a way that was honourable.  He watched as the cage was unlocked and Joe was pulled out of it by two of the troopers. It was Lancey who unlocked the shackles and tossed them back into the cage before the door was closed and locked again.

 

“Where are we going?” Joe asked as he was forced to step forwards by the gun prodding his spine.

 

“Over there—” Lancey replied and jerked his head towards the rock face, “Don’t make a fuss about this, Mr. Cartwright.  Just do as I ask.”

 

“Ask?  You call this asking?”  Joe’s hazel eyes widened and his lips compressed into an almost bloodless line. “Why don’t you just tell me what this is all about, huh?”

 

“Just come along with me, Mr. Cartwright.  Don’t make any trouble— please.”

 

Joe frowned—something about the officer puzzled him—he shrugged the other soldier’s hand away from him, and walked slowly behind Lancey’s horse.  The officer finally dismounted, and looked over the rocks, seemed satisfied at what he had seen and beckoned to Joe to join him.

 

“Just sit here, Mr. Cartwright.” he took the canteen of water from his saddle and passed it to Joe, “Here, have something to drink while you wait.”  He frowned, shrugged. “While we all wait.”

 

Joe glanced wildly around him, but there was nothing to be seen except the soldiers dismounting and preparing to make camp.  He couldn’t even see the cage from the direction in which he was concealed.  He meekly accepted the canteen of water and gratefully unstoppered it, and drank the cool liquid.

 

By the time Ben Cartwright and Ezra reached Fleming the column had come to a halt.  Fleming looked up as they rode closer and rose to his feet as though surprised to see them, he removed his hat and actually smiled.

 

“Mr. Cartwright?  A pleasure to see you again.”

 

Ben glanced over at the mounted men; not a quick cursory once over, but a long lingering look that took some minutes.  Then his near black eyes returned to Fleming’s face, at the easy smile and red rimmed eyes of the officer. “I wondered if you had seen my son, Joseph?”

 

“Hereabouts?  No, Mr. Cartwright, I haven’t.  This isn’t Ponderosa land now, is it?”

 

“No, you passed the boundary line some miles back.” Ben agreed, and leaned forward his hands folded over the pommel of his saddle, easing his back while doing so, “My son rode down to see you at Beecher’s Gap.  He’s not been seen since.”

 

“He may have ridden down to Beecher’s Gap, as you call it, but we never saw him there, nor anywhere else, come to that.”

 

Ben frowned, pursed his lips and rubbed his face with his hand, then he shook his head,

 

“I think you did.  His horse was among those that rode out of that box canyon.”

 

“Well, Mr. Cartwright, feel free to take a look around and see for yourself.  If the young man’s horse is among ours then—” he shrugged and grimaced, “then I can’t give you any explanation as to why or how it came to be there.”

 

Ben nodded and urged Buck forward, slowly the big horse walked forward and around the camp.  As Ben rode around and looked at the horses, at the cage where the Indians stood, shackled, watching him, he felt as though the tension in the air fairly crackled.  He noticed the soldier’s eyes following him as he rode slowly around the camp.

 

Hidden among the boulders Joe saw the broad shouldered figure of his father ride pass, just a few feet from where he was hidden.  He half rose, his mouth open to shout out but Lancey put the gun to his head and a finger to his lips.

 

Joe watched as his father slowly circumnavigated the camp, saw him until he receded from view.  He turned to Lancey

 

“Why, you—”

 

“Hush.” Lancey said.

 

The one word had the effect of silencing Joe, it was so totally unexpected. Lancey frowned, swallowed and cleared his throat.  “Look, I don’t understand what this is all about.  Something’s not right about this…before you do anything, take the gun, shoot me. No, I don’t mean, kill me, either—”

 

“It’s alright, I know what you mean.” Joe said grimly and took the gun, brought his fist across Lancey’s mouth which sent the other man staggering back against the boulders but still upright upon his feet.  Joe then fired several shots in the air, then clubbed Lancy across the head so that the officer fell, dazed, to the ground.

 

“Pa, I’m here—” he yelled and without thinking ran from the cover of the rocks towards where Ben had turned towards him.

 

Several shots rang out, from which direction no one could be sure.  Joe felt something thud into his shoulder, and then into his leg. He staggered forwards, fired a shot into the air as his finger jerked against the trigger of the gun which fell into the dust just as he followed.

 

Lancey, holding his head from which blood was streaming, managed to run to Joe’s side, turn him over and looked down at the young man’s face.  He looked up and over at Fleming who was walking towards them, his gun drawn.

 

“He’s dead.” Lancey said coldly. “Dead.”

 

Ben wasn’t sure where the cry of anguish came from, somehow it seemed to come as though ripped out of the heart of some poor soul, and then as he knelt by his son’s side he realised it came from within himself.  He put out a hand to touch Joe, and had his wrist seized by Lancey who stared into his eyes

 

“He’s dead.” Lancey said with such a look in his eyes that Ben was startled, held back from touching Joe, and was forced into silence.

 

“What happened?” Fleming said looking from Lancey to Joe, and from Joe to Ben.

 

“He saw his father—” Lancey said and put his hand to his head, then looked at the blood on his fingers as though to signify to his superior officer that what had happened was quite obvious.

 

Fleming frowned and then looked at Ben, who was kneeling at the side of his son’s body.

 

“My most sincere apologies, Mr. Cartwright, this was most certainly not meant to happen.”

 

“Then what was meant to happen, Major?” Ben asked in a voice that trembled so much that he could barely get the words through his mouth, “Why deny he was here, when he obviously was? What was the reason for all this?”

 

Fleming bit down on his bottom lip and bowed his head as though in deep thought, then he squared his shoulders and shook his head. “I don’t know enough to give you all the answers, sir.  Only that I had my orders to bring Mr. Joseph Cartwright, by any means available to me, into custody.”

 

“Custody?” Ben stammered, and looked down at the body of his son, at the blood that was soaking into the dry dust of the ground upon which it lay.

 

“Yes, sir.  By General Custer’s orders.”  he paused, “If you have any further questions, you will have to apply to the general himself.”

 

Ben put a hand to his brow. He wanted to get out of there, he was suffocating from the emotion he felt, he wanted to get his son home, and the words were bouncing about in his head and making no sense.  He took a deep breath. “When I saw you first you said that Joe was required—with Sarah Winnemucca—to go with you, to negotiate terms with the Plains Indians?  Isn’t that what you said?”

 

“Yes, sir.  That was what my orders contained.  If they did not come voluntarily then I was to—detain them.”

 

“General Custer’s orders?”

 

“Yes, sir.”  Fleming looked at Lancey who was now trying to stem the blood from his own wound with a handkerchief, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright.  This really wasn’t how it was meant to be.”

 

Ben said nothing but knelt down again by his son’s side.  He put a hand to his son’s chest and closed his eyes and bowed his head.

 

He stayed there for some time.  Waiting for them to leave.  The rattle and jingle of military harness seemed to fill his ears and go on and on, tearing at his nerves and gnawing into his vitals.  Finally he could bear it no longer and with a heart rending cry raised Joe from the ground and into his arms.

 

 

Chapter 61

 

The dust from the ground kicked up by the horses was beginning to fall when Joe opened his eyes and gave his father a rather tenuous smile.

 

“I’m alright, Pa,” he said in a voice just barely a whisper. “I’m alright.”

 

Ben just stared at him for a full minute as though to really appreciate the moment, the fact that his son was alive, and that somehow what Lancey had tried to convey in those last moments had been interpreted correctly.  So many questions teemed through his mind and boiled away edging his temper to full blown rage.  Carefully he checked Joe’s wounds, a flesh wound through the arm that was quickly washed clean with water and then padded and bound up.  The leg wound was a little more worrying, but had seemed to miss any vital arteries and was merely messy.  This also was washed and then bound up. 

 

By the time Joe had been carefully tended to by his father, the young man was sitting propped up against some boulders with a canteen of water, and the knowledge that his father was expecting a lot of answers to questions of which he knew and understood  little himself.

 

“How’re you feeling now, son?”

 

Joe smiled weakly, nodded and took a gulp of water from the canteen before plugging in the stopper.  He turned to the direction of the receding dust cloud and frowned. “He didn’t exactly hang around to explain things, did he?”

 

“No.  He didn’t.”  Ben’s voice was crisp, curt and revealed a little of the rage he was feeling inside. “What’s been going on, Joe?  What’s he talking about, this Fleming?”

 

“I don’t know, Pa, what did he say to you?”

 

“Young man, if you’re hiding things from me, and—why we’re about it—didn’t I tell you to stay away from the army?  I told you—”

 

“I know, Pa, I’m sorry.”  Joe sighed, and looked contrite. “Fleming is bound by rules and orders and discipline.  If his superior says ‘jump’ Fleming is the sort that asks ‘How high?’  He had orders to get me to go with them to Custer, wherever he may be, and then on to the Dakota plains to negotiate with the Cheyenne.  When it looked like I was dead, then I guess he felt it best to just high-tail it outta here.” 

 

“And what went on with the other officer, this Lancey?”

 

“I don’t know, Pa.  Suddenly he turned out to want to help me escape, as though he couldn’t go through with it.  He’s not cut from the same cloth as Fleming, that’s for sure.” Joe bit his bottom lip; the wounds may not have been serious but they were painful.  He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to subside a little. “He didn’t intend for me to get shot though.”

 

Ezra stepped forward now, eager to say his bit.

 

“I saw what happened, Ben.  It was one of them soldiers, just fired off at ya, and then that officer, Fleming, took the gun off’n him.  Reckon he’ll be in mighty big trouble later, seeing how he killed ya.”

 

“Well,” Ben chuckled at that comment, “Lancey certainly turned that to our advantage, thank goodness.  He made sure that I got to understand just how dead you were for Fleming’s benefit.”

 

“Yeah, well, that worked out well,” Joe sighed, “I feel sorry for Lancey, and that soldier. Fleming will make sure that they take the rap for this alright; he won’t want to take full blame for failure when he has to face Custer.”

 

Ben frowned and rose to his feet; he removed his hat and turned it round and round between his fingers as he thought of the man so far away who could give orders that would have such a far reaching effect on them.  It seemed even the Ponderosa was not beyond Custer’s reach. “Well now,” he said with a slight shrug, “the best thing to do now is get you back home.”

 

“They released Cochise once they realised that he would be a dead giveaway to my being with them.  Not that it stopped you coming along, did it?  You turning up here must have been the last thing on Fleming’s mind.”

 

“Good; I hope it disturbs his sleep for some nights to come yet.” Ben smiled slowly although his eyes remained dark with suppressed anger.  “Come on, son, let’s get home.”

 

…..

 

“Hoss?”

 

Deep from within Hoss Cartwright came a long and loud rumble

 

“Hoss?”

 

The urgency of his name being whispered and his shoulder being shaken finally roused Hoss from sleep.  He blinked rapidly for a second or so and then turned bleary eyed to his wife, who was looking anxiously at him.

 

“Wassamarrer?”

 

“Hoss, you were shouting out in your sleep, and you took all the covers.”

 

“I did?  Shucks, I’m sorry.  What was I saying?”  He asked this as he sat up and carefully adjusted the bed coverings so that Hester was suitably wrapped up.

 

“You were shouting for Adam to come back and you were telling Joe to leave the horse alone.”

 

“Oh, sounds like I had a good dream then?”

 

“It sounded more like a nightmare.” She sighed and plumped up her pillows, snuggled down and sighed again. 

 

Hoss bounced about a bit as he got comfortable, thumped the pillow, and eased himself back into the hollow of the mattress.  He closed his eyes and was about to slip into sleep when Hester shook his shoulder again. “Hoss, you know what I told you about Ann telling me how pregnant women have cravings for strange things to eat...”

 

“Uh-huh.” he was nearly there, nearly asleep, his breathing was getting deeper.

 

“Well, I think I’ve got one.”

 

“Uh—one what—huh.” he opened one eye and closed it again.  Outside through the window he could see stars were still twinkling.

 

“A craving.  I really do, Hoss, I really do have a craving.”

 

“Oh—” he rubbed his eyes, rubbed his face, and turned towards her. “What kinda craving?”

 

“That cherry pie Hop Sing made … do you think there’s any of it left?”

 

Hoss frowned, thought about it, nodded slowly.  Cherry pie.  Lovely.  Perhaps he could develop these cravings too.  Cherry pie would do  nicely right now, considering he was wide awake.

 

“Do you want some cherry pie, honey?”

 

“Oh yes, Hoss, that was just what I would like most of all.”

 

“Yeah, come to think of it, so would I.”

 

“Really, Hoss?”

 

“Yeah, really.  I think I’m getting cravings too.”

 

“And pickled walnuts?”

 

“What?”

 

“Pickled walnuts,” she sighed. “Cherry pie and pickled walnuts...”

 

“Wal, jest you wait here, Hester, and I’ll git you some right now.” he patted her cheek, looked at her thoughtfully and frowned, “This craving thing, does it last  long?”

 

“I don’t know—”

 

“Hmm,” he hauled himself out of bed and shrugged himself into a dressing gown, pushed his feet into his slippers and shuffled his way out of bed.

 

All this craving thing, everything was so new, no one had ever told him anything about cherry pie going with pickled walnuts at 2 a.m. in the morning.  He grumbled and mumbled his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

 

The cherry pie was barely touched; he cut a slab and ate it while he was looking around for the jar of pickled walnuts.  He couldn’t find them, so settled for pickled gherkins instead.  He cut another slab of cherry pie and carefully put it on a plate, then another piece of pie on another plate, the jar of pickled gherkins in between them.  He almost dropped the whole lot when a ghostly spectre appeared at the door, only to be revealed as Hester herself in her white nightgown standing just where the moonlight shone upon her.

 

“I just thought, Hoss—perhaps a glass of milk as well.”

 

“Shucks, Hester, I ain’t gonna be able to carry all that upstairs, I got my hands full as it is.”

 

She sighed, and looked around the kitchen thoughtfully, found the milk and hugged it to her,

 

“We can eat it in the other room.” she declared and led Hoss to the dining table where the jug of milk was set down, followed by the tray which Hoss  carefully placed on the table, mindful of Hop Sing’s liking for everything to be in the right place.

 

They sat side by side in the dark with just the moonlight showering down upon them, nibbling cherry pie and pickled gherkins, which Hoss discovered to be quite a good combination.

 

“Hoss?” 

 

He turned to her, saw the smear of cherry pie on her lips, kissed her, took her hand in his. “Yes, hon?”

 

“I do love you.”

 

Hoss thought he was the happiest pregnant person in the world.

 

 

 

 

The sound of a horse and buggy pulling up outside the house brought Hester to her feet.  She had been busy polishing one of Ben’s treasured statues, old newspapers spread out on the floor and the duster and polish plus statue taking pride of place in the centre.

 

Wiping her hands upon her apron she quickly opened the door to see the smiling countenance of Dr. John Martin and the rather anxious face of a young woman whom she had never seen before.

 

“I thought I should call in and see my favourite patient,” John said cheerfully, “and while I was about it brought Miss Mary Ann Hornby along as she was most anxious to see if Joe had returned just yet.”

 

Hester looked from John to Mary Ann who was now looking more wistful than concerned, and John had removed his hat, so she stepped back and smiled.

 

“Do come in.  It’s good to meet you, Miss Hornby, Joe and Hoss have talked a lot about you.  It’s good to see you again, Dr. Martin, although I really didn’t need a visit from you just yet.”

 

“Probably not, but I was coming along this way and thought I would stop by,” he smiled then and looked a trifle embarrassed, “Er—I see you’re busy?” he indicated the statue and polish, and then sighed, fumbled with his hat and cleared his throat, “Is Hoss anywhere about?”

 

“Right here—” Hoss declared with a smile in his voice as he came into the house, having more or less followed them in, “Wal, Miss Mary Ann, didn’t ever expect to see you agin.”

 

“Hello, Hoss—” she smiled, her pretty face dimpled into a smile that was altogether charming with its warmth and sincerity, “I took advantage of Dr. Martin coming this way to bring me along too.  I wanted to see you again, meet Mrs. Cartwright and see if—if Joe was alright?”

 

“That’s real nice.” Hoss smiled at Hester. “and if I may say so, you’re looking real purty, Miss Mary Ann.  Considering how you looked last time I saw you—”

 

“Hoss,” Hester cried, “That’s not polite.”

 

“It’s true, though,” Mary Ann laughed, “I looked a regular fright, Mrs. Cartwright. Your husband was so kind and so patient with me.  You know, he carried me for several miles when I got so I couldn’t walk anymore.” She looked at Hoss again. “I never did thank you properly, not any of you.”

 

“Shucks, it weren’t nothing.” Hoss said with a blush mantling his cheeks.

 

“I’ll go and get some refreshment organised,” Hester said with a glance over at Mary Ann and then at John. “Hop Sing’s gone into town, and Ben—” she paused and looked at the other young woman thoughtfully, “He’s gone to find Joe.” 

 

“Oh, so he isn’t back yet?  You’ve not found him?”  Mary Ann cried, and her grey eyes went rather moist, she blinked rapidly and bowed her head as she fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief.

 

“Pa will find him, don’t you fret yourself none.” Hoss declared and looked anxiously at Hester who was hurrying into the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea, some cookies and a pot of coffee for their impromptu guests.

 

“Hester—I mean—Mrs. Cartwright—” John stepped into the kitchen behind her, “I’m sorry if I made you jump.  Here, let me help—” he took the kettle and placed it carefully on the stove. “I’ve had a—a communication from Ingrid.”

 

Hester, busy counting spoonfuls of tea into the pot, fumbled, lost count and then stared at him,

 

“From Ingrid?”

 

“Yes, she’s got herself into some kind of trouble.”

 

Hester frowned, stared at the tea pot, and then at the spoon in her hand, she counted one—two—three—one for the pot—in her head and then looked back at him,

 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Martin, but whatever trouble Ingrid is in, has to be her own concern, not mine, nor—” she paused, well, she had no right to tell him that it was none of his either.  She shook her head and several curls of golden red hair tumbled down her neck.

 

“I know.  Apparently someone has stolen all her jewellery and money.  She has only her clothes and a few small trinkets left to live on.”  he approached her side and put a hand on her arm. “She’s asked me to beg you to help her.”

 

“She hasn’t asked you then?”

 

“No, she hasn’t.” John rather surprisingly smiled, “For which I am truly grateful.”

 

“You should be, Dr. Martin; I’m afraid that Ingrid is—” she tried to think of a suitable name but none came to mind so she shook her head as though to toss away the thoughts about her sister-in-law that were now crowding into her mind.

 

“I know what Ingrid is, Mrs. Cartwright.  She’s the exact opposite of all that you are, more’s the pity for her.” 

 

The kettle was steaming and he poured the hot water into the pot. 

 

“Where did she say she was staying?” Hester asked  as she put the lid on the tea pot with the realisation that she had left out some important part of the ritual “Oh, I forgot to warm the pot first.” she said sadly.

 

He laughed, a warm chuckle that did more to assure her that his infatuation for Ingrid was over than anything else that could have been said, he took the tray from her and carried it into the other room, saying over his shoulder, “She’s in some boarding house in Genoa.” And then he carefully settled the tray upon the table.

 

Mary Ann had been in the middle of telling Hoss her recent plans, how she was looking forward to becoming the schoolteacher in town, and she accepted a slice of cake with a  pretty smile at Hester; John took a slice also, a rather large one, Hoss noticed with some dismay.

 

“Miss Hornby was telling me about her adventures when she first met you and your brothers, Hoss.  It sounds quite a terrifying ordeal for a young lady to have endured so soon after leaving the safe confines of home back east.” John mumbled through crumbs.

 

Hoss nodded; he took his slice of cake with an apologetic smile at Hester, and then looked over at Mary Ann. “You were  brave through it all, Miss Mary Ann.  We were all mighty impressed and sure glad that we got you safely to Calico.”

 

“Mrs. Pearson—Barbara—she was the schoolteacher here not so long ago,” Hester said. “Have you seen her to speak to?  I’m sure she can give you some sound advice on how to handle the students there.”

 

“Yeah, reckon big brother Adam could too,” Hoss chuckled and launched into the tale of how Adam was schoolteacher for a short while when Barbara had hurt her arm, and how Adam’s love for history and the people who had once lived on that land had caused more harm than good.

 

John and Mary Ann listened intently, for Hoss could tell a good story as well as write one.  Hester listened too, smiling at her husband contentedly; she sipped her tea and listened to his voice drawl out the story to its conclusion.

 

“Poor Charley,” Mary Ann said softly. “After so many years of keeping everything hidden away, then thinking he was going to get justice for his people—” her pretty mouth drooped at the thought.

 

“Yeah, Adam felt real bad about it all.  Made him feel he should never have bothered in the first place.”

 

“Sometimes when a principle is involved, one has to push forward regardless of the cost,” John observed.

 

“That’s what Pa said too—” Hoss replied slowly, his mind going back to that time and he shook his head, “Didn’t do much to help Adam though, he kept right on punishing himself until he got it outta his system.”

 

“I’d like to meet this brother of yours,” John observed, “It’s a pity he isn’t here now.”

 

Hoss smiled rather thinly and glanced over at his wife who was sitting quietly on the other side of the hearth. She looked up, caught his eyes and smiled, understanding exactly how he felt at that moment in time.

 

When the doctor and Miss Hornby finally left Hester slipped her arm through that of her husband and looked up at him. “That was pleasant, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,  much so.” Hoss grinned and patted her hand as though she had been a good little girl really.

 

“I liked Mary Ann.”

 

“She’s a great gal.” Hoss nodded in agreement.

 

“Hoss—Ingrid is in Genoa.”

 

Hoss stopped, looked down at her and frowned. “Ingrid?  Genoa?”

 

“Yes, Dr. Martin had a message from her.  She wants to throw herself upon our mercy.”

 

“She can go throw herself where she likes, but it ain’t going to be here or on our mercy.” Hoss declared with a vehemence that was so unlike him that Hester slipped her arm from his and stared at him open mouthed.  “And that’s final.”

 

Chapter 62

 

The smell of the pines drifted into the room where the young man slept, at last relaxed and comfortable after an agonising ride home.  A journey of two days had drifted into three as Joe’s wounds had worsened due to the heat, lack of medication and unsanitary conditions, to say nothing of the mode of transport.  A high fever had developed by the end of the second day which had caused Ben a considerable amount of heart ache as he had constantly redressed and rewashed the wounds.

 

Now he was home, in his own bed with a good dose of laudanum inside him and his wounds properly examined, cleaned and redressed by John Martin.  The fever was lessening and he slept with his face turned towards the window where the sun shone into the room and the familiar smell of pine trees would greet his waking moments.

 

Hester had sat with him for the first hour, holding his hand in both hers and wiping his face gently with a damp cloth.  When John had arrived to attend to Joe she had left the room with tears in her eyes which she dabbed away at seeing Ben and Hoss looking so grave in the big room.

 

So they had sat in silence, Hoss and Hester on the settee holding hands, Ben pacing the floor and scowling at the clock because the hands didn’t make the minutes move faster than they did, and scowling at the stairs because John didn’t appear to tell them anything quickly enough.

 

“Should’ve sent for Paul,” he growled more than once.

 

“Pa, jest calm down a mite.”

 

“All this waiting—”

 

At last the door upstairs closed with a soft click and John’s footsteps were heard coming along the landing and down the stairs. They all turned to face him and waited for news.

 

“Well, I didn’t expect to be here again quite so soon.” He smiled cheerily. “Joe will be alright. He’ll sleep the rest of the fever out of his system, and there’s some laudanum for him to ease him through any excessive pain, although I prefer the doses to be light and given only if necessary.” He looked at them kindly and then at Ben, “Mr. Cartwright, would you mind if I recommend that you receive a prescription from me also?  You’ve had a tough few days and I think you need some medical attention yourself.”

 

“WHAT?” Ben exploded; he raised his hands to heaven as though to offer supplication for help from a higher source and then slapped his brow. “What do you think I am? Some feeble minded clerk who spends his days over a desk scribbling for a living?  I’ve spent more time out there in the wilderness fighting wolves, and mountain cats, and mountain men, too, come to that, than you have—than you have had hot dinners, young man!”

 

John sighed and shook his head, he looked at Hester and Hoss, then passed them a piece of paper.

 

“Your father’s prescription.  If you need me just let me know.”

 

“Your uncle can come next time—”  Ben bawled at the young man’s retreating back. “Humph, young know it all.  Thinks he knows everything because he’s just out of college.”

 

“Pa—calm down.” Hoss sighed. “Shucks, there ain’t no need to carry on so.  Joe is going to be alright, you heard what the doctor said, didn’t you?”

 

Ben sighed, sagged a little at the shoulders, then rubbed the back of his neck regretfully.

 

“Yeah, of course I did.  I’m sorry, Hoss, I’m a bit of a bear at the moment.”

 

Hester came back into the room after having seen the doctor off the premises, with a chuckle it had to be admitted, and she came into the room with a smile still on her face.

 

“Young lady, I can see that young whipper snapper has charmed you, but in future I want Paul here, I feel safer with him being here.”

 

“Because he wouldn’t dare give you a prescription, would he?” Hoss chuckled.

 

“Huh, like to see him try.” Ben grunted and slumped into the red leather chair and groped for his tobacco pouch and pipe, “Ah, well—” he began to absent mindedly fill the bowl with the tobacco while his eyes looked at the stairs, “I guess I’m just—” he paused and frowned.

 

“Just what?” Hoss prompted gently.

 

“Just seething mad.  That Major Fleming rode off with never a thought towards the fact that my son had been shot, announced dead.  The soldier who shot him won’t be punished. If he is, how would I know?  The whole thing’s a disgrace. No, it’s worse than a disgrace, it’s disgusting.”

 

Hoss nodded, narrowed his blue eyes and surveyed his father thoughtfully,

 

“Pa, you’ve had a few days dwelling on it all, with Joe gittin’ worse by the minute, it ain’t no wonder you’re madder than a hornet about it all, but there ain’t nothing you can do about it now.”

 

“Isn’t there?” Ben growled, and rammed the pipe stem between his teeth, “We’ll see about that—”

 

“I think,” Hester said gently as she placed a gentle hand on her father-in-law’s shoulder, “that you should take the doctor’s prescription first.”

 

“Hester, if you force me—”

 

“All he says here is:  Take a long hot bath, eat a good meal, have a glass of whiskey, relax with your kith and kin—” she smiled at Hoss—“that’s us, sweetheart.”

 

“Yeah—” Hoss basked in the glory of her smile.

 

Upstairs Joe slept on.  At one time he opened his eyes in time to see a shadowy figure walk across the room to close the window a little and draw across the curtains. The moonlight fell across her form as she stood there for a moment, looking out towards the mountains and then she turned to look at the figure in the bed.  Joe’s heart almost stopped beating; he raised a hand. “Mama—is that you?”

 

It was just a whisper, a few words only, but Hester felt the tears well up in her eyes as she walked to the bedside and sat beside her brother-in-law.  “No, Joe, it’s Hester.”

 

Joe smiled, looked at her and for a moment just stared at her face. “You know, Hester, Hoss sure is lucky getting a girl like you?”  He reached out his hand and she took hold of it, held it gently until he finally slipped back into sleep, “Really lucky.” he sighed.

 

From the doorway Hoss looked on. When Joe was finally asleep and Hester rose from the chair, he came into the room and took her into his arms.

 

“Doggone it, luck had nothing to do with it,” he whispered. “Nothing at all.”

 

“How’s your pa?” she said softly, her head cradled in the niche of his shoulder.

 

“Enjoying his whiskey and trying to work out how to ruin Major Fleming.”

 

“Poor Major Fleming…” she whispered as her lips met his and there was no more time for talking.

 

…………………

 

Morning dawned on a new day and Hoss opened his eyes to find find the sun streaming into the room, his wife’s head resting upon his shoulder, her hair, as bright as the sun, scattered over the pillow.  The soft mound of her belly was soft beneath the white linen of her gown and he placed a gentle hand upon it. His hand warm and calloused from the work called upon in the day to day tasks of the ranch was so tender, so soft, and yet she felt it and placed her own hand upon his and lay there, silently content.

 

At his desk Ben Cartwright dashed down words in cruel black ink, words that spilled onto the paper with the fury that had welled up within him minute by minute as he searched for his son, found him, brought him home.  His lips were a grim line of contempt for the man who had ridden away without a thought for them, because he was obeying the orders of a man whom Ben already detested.  He stabbed at the ink well to fill the nib and wrung out further words upon the pristine white envelope which he sealed. 

 

Joe Cartwright opened his eyes later that day and turned his head in the direction of the window.  Perhaps he had dreamt it after all; perhaps it had not been real at all, just a brief hazy memory of a woman standing there in the moonlight.

 

He stirred carefully mindful that too sudden a move would bring about pain and he sighed, looked towards the door and smiled as the woman walked into the room.  “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

 

“I saw Dr. Martin in town, he told me you were home.”  She smiled at him, “Mrs. Cartwright said I could come and see you.  How are you, Joe?”

 

He didn’t speak, but looked at her thoughtfully with her grey eyes and her bright chestnut hair neatly pinned up with a pretty little bonnet perched upon it.  He remembered how she had torn her petticoats into strips to bind up the wounds of a wild young Cheyenne buck when they were down to their last bullets, and he reached out a hand towards her

 

“Hello, Mary Ann.  I wondered when I would see you again,” he whispered.

 

 

Chapter 63

 

Fort Abraham Lincoln echoed with the sound of horses, the clump of marching feet, the rattle of sabres and military harness.  At the window of her sitting room overlooking the parade ground, Libbie Custer watched her husband accept a slip of paper from the sutler.  She knew every shade that fell across his face.  She adored him.  She knew from the way he tugged at his beard and shook his head as though in an attempt to set aside some hard thoughts that he had not received good news. 

 

“Get the general a glass of his favourite brandy ready for when he comes in, will you?” she asked the servant, and walked to her chair where she sat and picked up some sewing so that when he entered the room she would be there, calmly doing her embroidery and his favourite beverage waiting for him.

 

She waited some minutes before he showed her the cablegram, brief and to the point. She returned it with a slight frown on her brow. “Joseph Cartwright was the youngest brother of Captain Cartwright if I recall rightly.” She didn’t look up at him but continued to sew, stabbing the needle into the material and waiting for his response.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why did you want him brought here?”

 

“I thought he’d be useful. He’s lived with these Indians for some years …”

 

“So have a lot of other ‘squaw-men’ and hunters, my dear.”

 

“Cartwright was different”

 

She said nothing to that, only sighed. She thought back to the time she had known the three brothers and then set the embroidery down in her lap with a wistful look on her face. “I remember he was  young,  angry all the time.”

 

“Huh, everyone was angry at the time. There was a lot going on. There still is and now that fool Fleming has bungled the whole thing.”

 

“Fleming? Oh yes, I remember him,  disciplined and  proper.”

 

“Proper indeed!” George Armstrong Custer frowned and screwed up the cable before tossing it into the fire, “All he had to do was get Cartwright here and that Paiute woman.

The woman’s gone and disappeared and the Cartwright boy killed.”

 

She shook her head and looked at him with the saddest of expressions on her face, realised that her husband did not feel the same so picked up her embroidery, sighed again. “He was  young.” she observed.

 

“Soldiers younger than him die every day.”

 

“I know. But it is sad; his brothers will miss him so much. They were  close, weren’t they?”

 

He looked at her, and was about to ask her to repeat what she had said, but knew he didn’t have to do that, he knew exactly what she had said and yes, Joseph Cartwrights brothers had been  close,  close indeed.

 

Half an hour later a cable was being sent to Mr. Harold Fish, Secretary of State in Washington.

 

…………………….

 

Hester opened the letter  cautiously, as though having recognised the handwriting, she anticipated something evil sliding out of the envelope.  She was alone in the big room, with Hop Sing in the kitchen and Joe upstairs, resting and hopefully recuperating after his recent ordeal.  As she read the letter her face went pale and then blossomed into a blush red with anger and her breathing became heavy.  She crumpled the piece of paper between her fingers and was about to throw it away when she remembered there would be no fire and Hoss could  possibly find it.

 

She sat down at the table and re-read it, trying not to let her feelings for the writer cloud her reaction to what she was being told. 

 

“Is everything alright, Hester?”

 

She hadn’t heard the door open or seen Ben’s approach as he came near; he had looked at her face and the letter in her hand and realised that some internal war was being waged within the young woman’s mind and heart.  She looked up at him gratefully, and passed him the letter. “What do you think I should do, Ben?  She was Milton’s wife, after all.”

 

“In name only, from what I heard,” Ben replied, his eyes scanning the words on the paper.

 

“Would she be welcome here, Ben?”

 

“No one is ever turned away from the Ponderosa, Hester,” he said slowly as he occupied himself by unbuckling his gunbelt. “But I always remember one of Aesop’s fables that Adam was particularly fond of quoting, for some reason, as a child—he had taken the lesson to heart.  It concerned a poor man who had found a snake, frozen in the ice of winter.  He took pity on it and put it in the folds of his clothing, near his heart so that the ice would thaw and perhaps the snake would live again.”

 

“And did it?”

 

“Oh yes, it did and in gratitude it bit the man and then sidled away, leaving the man to die.”

 

“A sad reward for a kind action.” she said softly.

 

“Well, the moral of the story was that a snake is a snake, and will act as a snake does.  Pity, compassion, call it what you will, wouldn’t change the nature of a snake.”

 

He looked at her meaningfully before turning to the stairs and saying as he did so that he would just go and check on Joe.  She watched him as he disappeared from view and then turned her attention back to the letter.

 

After a short moment she went to her little writing bureau and put pen to paper.

 

“Ingrid

 

It pains me to have to put my feelings into words in this letter to you.  I do not recognise you as a Buchanan.  Your treatment of my brother, Milton, was appalling. It caused him intense heartache and may well have accelerated his premature death. 

 

It is not that I can’t forgive you. I do.  But I know that you will never change; you can never change.  We know that you lied to us, cheated on us, and stole from us.  How could you dare to steal the ring that belonged to someone who was not here to reclaim it for himself?

 

What has happened to you is merely a reversal of fortunes or, one could say, what you have done to others has come to rest at your own door.  No, I cannot help you.  You must work things out for yourself now.  Perhaps it may even make a halfway honest woman of you.

 

Hester Cartwright.”

 

She looked at it thoughtfully for a moment before folding it and carefully slipping it into an envelope.  When Mary Ann came for her afternoon visit she would ask her to post it upon her return to town.

 

……………………..

 

Major Fleming paced the floor of the ante-room to the commanding officer’s room. He had given his report of all that had happened and now anxiously awaited the outcome.  This was just a halfway stage to his journey to Dakota and there was still quite a distance to travel before he reached Fort Abraham Lincoln, but he had wanted to put forward his complaints against the behaviour of his fellow officer, Captain Lancey, and the rookie soldier, Philip Ranshaw.

 

He had deliberated about the matter for some time during the trek from the Ponderosa to Fort Concho.  He knew that in times of war one of the best forms of defence was offence, so when the necessary stopover for stores, provisions and fresh horses came he went immediately to the C.O. and reported what had happened, entirely from his own perspective and relying totally on the fact that he who spoke first was the one most believed.

 

The clock ticked ominously loudly in the small room.  He paced the floor, chewed the fingers of his gloves, bit his fingernails.  He became more nervous when Lancey was called into the C.O’s office and then Ranshaw.  He sat down to go over and over in his mind the way he had set out the matter to Colonel Jackson.

 

Darkness fell before he was summoned back into the office.  Jackson looked at him and then read a letter aloud to him, a letter that had fierce black writing scrawled across the white page and was signed “Ben Cartwright.” 

 

“The man’s lying, sir.”

 

“I see—” Jackson frowned and leaned back in his chair. 

 

Fleming was aware of the slightest sound, the creak of the floorboards as outside the room a soldier walked from the door to the window, the flutter of the casement as the breeze blew against the shutter.  He cleared his throat and blustered on, “He was upset; obviously he would write a letter, when emotional, it’s to be expected.”

 

Jackson nodded and picked up a cablegram which he also read out to Fleming.  He saw the man’s face go pale, and when the name George A Custer was read out Fleming went into a quite deathlike pallor.

 

“I’m sorry, Fleming, I have no choice but to demote you to the rank of Captain.  Consider yourself fortunate that there isn’t a court martial to look more closely into this matter…”

 

“Do I have the right to appeal?”  Fleming stuttered.

 

Jackson looked at another letter, the one that had accompanied Ben Cartwright’s and had the signature of a member of the government; he looked at Fleming and decided the man would be quite unable to handle another blow from so high a position.  He shook his head. “My advice to you is to keep your head down and don’t get noticed by Custer in a long while.”

 

Fleming bowed his head and bit down on his lip; he struggled to breathe for an instant and then nodded, saluted his superior officer and left the room.  Jackson heard the man’s footsteps on the boards outside.  He could tell by the way the footsteps faltered that the man’s spirit was broken, and he shook his head: how Fleming would fare now would be entirely upon his own strength of character.

 

Chapter 64

 

The wounds were healing well now, and John Martin agreed with Joe that the time had come when he could at last leave the confines of his room and enjoy sitting on the porch in the sun.  It niggled on Joe’s nerves that John hadn’t given him the go-ahead to get on with life. Mostly, he supposed, it reminded him of the time, not so long ago, when he was confined to a wheelchair and having to learn to eat a lot of humble pie along with a good dollop of humility.

 

He smiled now at the sound of the buggy arriving in the yard and waited for Mary Ann to step down and walk towards him. As he had expected, a big smile spread over her face when she saw him sitting there, his injured leg propped up on a stool, a table with a big jug of Hop Sing’s lemonade with some glasses at his elbow.

 

“Oh Joe—” she exclaimed and stood there for a moment as though to capture the sight of him sitting there in her mind forever. “How lovely to see you out of that room at last.”

 

“You can’t imagine how great it is for me,” Joe laughed and put out a hand, which she took in her own, “It’s good to see you again, Mary Ann.  I thought you were starting school this week?”

 

“Tomorrow morning.” She smiled and pulled up a chair to sit beside him, while her grey eyes lingered a little more upon him. “You look pale.  I guess you find it hard to sit there and not be riding right now?”

 

“Yeah, it is.” He looked at her again and realised that her eyes had a subtle shade of green in them, a reflection of her green  suit which became her so well.  “You look pretty today, Mary Ann.”

 

“Thank you, Joe.”  She poured out lemonade which she handed to him and then poured out a glass for herself. “Where is everyone?”

 

He didn’t answer right away as he thought back to the time when little Peggy Dayton had been the one sitting beside him that last time he had been injured.  He smiled to himself, little Peggy, she had been a good companion and now Mary Ann was here instead. He turned and looked at her again and smiled,

 

“Around and about,” he murmured and held out his hand to her which she took with a smile at him, “I’m glad you came, Mary.”

 

……………….

 

Old Jake Merrigrew was a miserable old man who had grown grumpier each year of his life.  Had he bathed or washed regularly it would have been seen that he was not really so old as people thought him to be, and had he shaved at all he would have proven quite a handsome man.  He pushed the door open to the surgery and looked around. “Hey, Doc, you thar?”

 

It was John who came in from the inner room and smiled at Old Jake, who had been in for several minor reasons since John had first arrived in town.  “Good morning, Jake, what’s wrong with you this time?”

 

“How’d I know?  Ain’t that the reason why you’re the doctor so’s you can tell me?” he flung himself onto a chair and scowled, “I got a pain, right here—” he pointed to his groin—“And it pains real bad.”

 

John nodded, looked thoughtful and approached Merrigrew with trepidation. “When was the last time you had a bath, Jake?”

 

“Now why ask a question like that?  What’s that got to do with the pain I got?”

 

“Well, the saying that cleanliness is next to godliness isn’t exactly meaningless, Jake.  We’re finding out more and more about the importance being clean has to our physical well being all the time.”

 

“Are you going to treat me for this pain or not?  I can go someplace else.  Or demand that your uncle treat me!”

 

John sighed and began to examine the irascible fellow.  Jake withstood the probing fingers and the looking down his throat well enough, but once John had concluded his examination and had returned to the desk to write out some notes and a prescription Jake declared in a bold voice, “Oh, you bin to the Sazarac recently, doc?”

 

“No, one of those places my uncle and I prefer not to frequent, Jake.”

 

“You should, you know. There’s an old friend of your’n working there now.”

 

“I doubt that  much, Jake.”  John scribbled his signature and handed over the slip of paper. “Make sure you take this morning and evening.”

 

“She said to tell you she would sure like to make your acquaintance again.”

 

“She?”  John’s brow furrowed.  “Who exactly do you mean?”

 

“Wal, she calls herself Lisa at the moment, but said you knew her by a different name.”

 

“Did she tell you what that name was?”

 

“No, doc, just that she’s a mighty pretty lady, long black hair and Irish blue eyes.” He looked at the prescription carefully. “Can’t make this out—what’s it fer?”

 

“Just hand it over at the pharmacy, they’ll understand what it is, it’ll shift your problem quickly enough, believe me.”

 

“So I do have a problem then, doc?” Jake looked pleased, it would be good to go back and tell those laughing coyotes back in the Sazarac that he was really ill, not just making a fuss over nothing.

 

“Yes, Jake; it’s called constipation.”

 

Jake nodded, looked pleased as he processed the word in his brain, and went out of the surgery smiling.

 

For a moment John stood by the window watching the prospector as he crossed the road and lumbered into the pharmacy.  His day had suddenly taken a deep dip as he contemplated just who this Lisa could be; then, picking up his medical bag, he called out to his uncle that he wouldn’t be gone long, and left the building.

 

He hesitated some minutes outside the Sazarac before finally entering. The saloon was open for business but there were  few customers there, although it seemed to John as though the place was packed full as their eyes followed him making his way from the door to the counter.  Sam the barman approached with a frown. “Morning, doc, what can I get you?”

 

“I’m not here for that, Sam, just came to check on your wife and her gall bladder.”

 

“My wife?”  Sam looked surprised, “She’s doing just fine thank you, doc. Dr. Martin, your uncle that is, gave her some really good medicine and it’s been working well.  Thank him for us, won’t you?”

 

“I will; that’s good to know.” John nodded, smiled in a tight lipped kind of way and looked around the room.

 

“You looking for anyone specially, doc?”

 

“No, no , I just came to see about your wife.”

 

“We did pay our bill, you know.”

 

“I know, that’s good, thank you.”

 

He was stammering, his collar felt too tight, and he just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.  He gave Sam a cheery smile and managed to get out of the building without too much indecorum.  His hands were sweating though and he had to take off his hat and wave it in front of his face to get some air.  The relief that she hadn’t seen him and the disbelief that she could actually have had the effrontery to return to Virginia City vied with each other.  Lisa—huh—he would recognise Ingrid Buchanan no matter how many layers of paint she put on her face or how short her frou frou skirts were …no man forgot Ingrid that quickly.

 

Chapter 65

 

Cairo totally fascinated the commodore with its haphazard old buildings and narrow streets in the Eastern quarter, its proximity to Giza and the pyramids, the smells and the sounds of the ancient city were as enticing as the history that permeated every brick.

 

He had made it his habit to go to the market areas in the old part of the city, and then to venture out on some of the days with the tourists.  The smells of spices and more earthy aromas swirled around his nostrils with allurement now, and the shrill cries of the stall vendors as they hawked their wares on the open streets, the insults they threw each other, the way fruit and spices, herbs and vegetables jostled alongside large slabs of meat which were often covered in flies, became a familiar and enjoyable part of his day.

 

He would hire out “She Who Must Be Obeyed” to ride to the pyramids with the tourists who were enthralled at the thought of having this black robed mysterious Bedouin riding with them.  The sound of a familiar language helped him handle the fact that he was looking for something, someone, in an area about which he knew nothing and listening to a language which he didn’t understand.

 

It was more than frustrating to be part of this intoxicating cocktail of a city and yet to be no real part.  In his black robes he would walk through the streets with a confidence that dwindled daily as time ticked by without any result.

 

“Who is that man—”

 

The tall figure looking from a window of a large house close to the market addressed someone lurking in the shadows, but who now came to stand beside him to look down at the broad shouldered man dressed all in black, and he shook his head. “Ah, him.”

 

“Yes, him.  He comes here every day as though with great purpose, and yet he is restless.  His eyes look with a keenness that makes me wonder what that purpose actually could be.”

 

The other man nodded slowly,

 

“It is Adam Abdulkarim.  He is the nephew of Ibrahim Aziz, the silk merchant.”

 

“Ibrahim Aziz Abdullah?”  he raised his eyebrows as the other man nodded, “Very interesting.  Does he still have dealings with the Americans?”

 

“I should think so, the Americans and their wives love the silks and the kelims Ibrahim sells.”

 

“Did you know that he had a nephew … an Arab nephew?”

 

“No, no one knew that.”

 

“Ah, look, now he leaves as always through the old archway, and disappears from sight.” he frowned and the heavy brows lowered over black eyes, “Abaker, get someone to follow him. I want to know more about him.”

 

Adam Abdulkarim paused a moment to look at the people thronging the streets.  Any one of them could be the man for whom he was searching.  When found, he pondered, what then?  He walked on and as usual found himself at the horse auction.

 

He would stand there a silent and dark figure with one hand on the hilt of his dagger and the other tapping impatiently against his thigh with long fingers.  Here the rich Sheiks came, and the wealthy Egyptians in their smart European suits, and the Arab.  He would listen to them bartering for the horses as they were paraded before them and wonder where these people got so much money.  The horses were beautiful; one of the main attractions of coming to the market each day was to watch them prance by with their heads so high and regal.  He smiled at the recollection of the mustangs back home, and would look with renewed respect at the beautiful Arab horses as a result.

 

In the evening as they ate their last meal of the day he told Ibrahim that he felt things were not proving  successful.

 

“It’s all well and good looking the part, Ibrahim, but I don’t understand what’s being said, and I could be missing things we need to know.”

 

“Do not worry, my friend, all is well,” the Eygptian replied as he folded the bread and dipped it into the communal bowl. “Your ears and eyes have told me that there is another who now watches you closely.”

 

Adam frowned, he knew well enough the men who followed him from Ibrahim’s establishment each day, ‘his’ ears and eyes.  He cleared his throat. “When did he appear?”

 

“Shortly before you went to the horse market.”

 

Adam nodded, going back in his mind over where he had been prior to that time. He pulled off some bread, folded it into the form of a scoop and dipped it into the stew. “I was thinking today that we really need to get hold of Dimitri Doestov.”

 

“Ah no, my friend, you do not wish for that to come true.  He is a  horrible little man.”

 

Adam smiled at his friend’s description of Doestov and nodded. “Well, he may be, but he was approached by these people; he could tell us more about them.”

 

“I think not.” Ibrahim shook his head, “The Prussians have helped the rebellious ones, but Doestov only made empty promises.  They will be happy to dispose of him as soon as the Prussians give them the order to do so.”

 

“Perhaps the Prussians don’t know he is alive yet.”

 

“They will know.  Men like Djounga are everywhere, and will do anything for their masters.” Ibrahim frowned, “Would you want us to take this man who is following you so that you can question him?”

 

“No.” Adam shook his head. “No, it might just be a good idea to have someone tail him.”

 

“Tail him?”

 

“Follow him.  We could be on the way to finding the man we are looking for …” he took more food and ate it slowly while he considered what was now happening.  He smiled, a slow smile, one of relief.

 

…………………

 

 

Laurence Willoughby pulled off his boots and slumped back upon the bed.  He was in a dingy hotel room tucked away in the eastern part of the old city and despite the netting over the bed several mosquitoes had already managed to make their way inside and buzz about his head. 

 

Looking across the room he noticed Dimitri taking considerable care to fold over his clothes and belongings, a ritual he went through every evening, and one he followed in reverse order the following morning.  By this method he ensured that he still remained reasonably dapper and neat throughout the journey.

 

“So, Dimitri, what do we do now?”  Laurence asked casually, taking care to have as lazy a tone of voice as possible, for he had learned quite swiftly that Dimitri closed up like a clam if he felt he was being interrogated.

 

“Ve look for the commodore, of course.  Wasn’t that the whole reason ve come here?”

 

“If you say so, old boy.”

 

Dimitri frowned, and then carefully eased himself into the bed.  This was not a good hotel; there were many smells he disliked eddying about the place, and the way the old woman had looked at him as they came to this room made him feel uncomfortable.

 

“We start the looking tomorrow.  But we separate I tink … it is not vise to go together.”

 

“Oh really?  Well, if you say so …” Laurence yawned and stretched.

 

It had taken too long to get here, all due to Dimitri’s fussiness and upsetting some of the men who had been willing enough to use their dhows to bring them to Cairo.  He thought over the journey and shook his head, a total waste of time, but he stuck to his orders, which were to stick with Dimitri Doestov and keep going.

 

He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he wasn’t sharing his bed with several mosquitoes and who knew how many fleas.

 

 

Chapter 66

 

The tall man stood looking down from the window of the large room and watched the comings and goings of the people.  He waited for another ten minutes, staring down at the crowd until the person he was waiting for arrived with the self confident walk of man who appeared to own the world.  He glanced at the sun and smiled.

 

“He is here, as always,” he addressed the people in the room. “Now what will he do today, I wonder?  See, he never comes until after the slave auctions are over.  He haggles over something but he doesn’t purchase anything.” he twisted the ring that was on his forefinger and walked to the large desk at which he sat down, “Well, what have you found out about this enigma?  Anything?”

 

There was momentary silence before one of the men stepped forward.

 

“He is the son of Ibrahim’s half-sister, long forgotten due to a family argument.”

 

“Ah,  useful these family arguments,” the master of the house murmured.

 

“It was a bitter feud, but the nephew has now returned to make peace.  He is a solitary man, apparently, and enjoys his own company.  He speaks little; they say he has taken a vow of silence owing to some recent bereavement.”  The speaker paused, and frowned. “But he has been heard to speak at length with Ibrahim when they are alone.”

 

“Can you trust the informant you tells you all this?”

 

“Indeed yes, Excellency.  She is my wife’s sister.”

 

More minutes of silence followed and the man addressed as “His Excellency” returned to the window to watch as Adam Abdulkarim strolled through the market.

 

…………………

 

The large building that comprised Ibrahim’s business empire was a mere twenty minutes’ walk from the marketplace, and Adam reached it in good time to share some refreshments with his friend.  It seemed to Adam that Ibrahim quite relished having custody of him, of being caught up in the intrigue of setting a spy upon a spy and to discuss it at length in the evening.  When Adam walked into the building and made his way through the different departments of the factory and then up the stairs to the offices he found Ibrahim pouring over his ledgers with the same concentrated look on his face as he would often find upon his father’s.  The memory of Ben brought a vague smile to Adam’s lips and he looked more affectionately at the older man as a result. Ibrahim looked up, smiled and nodded. “You join me for some refreshment, my friend.  Come, sit.  You do not go to journey with the peoples from the hotels?”

 

“No.”  Adam shook his head as he removed the face covering and sat down, “No, I won’t go again. I’m afraid I was too much the tourist, the man tailing me would notice the difference between me and others: I don’t ask for bucksheesh, for a start—” he smiled at the memory of the constant demand, in shrill voices, for money from the tourists by their guides and from Arabs already waiting for the unwary. “And I hang around listening to the things they are talking about instead of insisting I help drag them up to the top of the pyramid in order to see Egypt.” 

 

“Ah, yes,  poor show. My people must earn money, too many poor people with too many loud voices.” Ibrahim sighed and wrung his hands as most prosperous Egyptians did. “Now, Adam, your ‘eyes and ears’ has seen the other who follows you, and he has set out to watch this obstinate fellow in order to find out who is the one sends him.  That is where the trail begins…”

 

“Yes, perhaps.” Adam nodded slowly and passed his hand over his neatly trimmed beard.

 

“Also we have other news—” Ibrahim leaned forward—“That horrible little fellow, the Russian, he has been seen in Cairo.”

 

“Doestov?”  Adam’s eyes widened and he looked at Ibrahim in amazement, “Here in Cairo?  What is he doing?”

 

“Nothing, just yet.  He sits at the mataan for a little, eats a little ghada, drinks shay, and then retires to his room.  Always he smokes his cigarettes.”

 

“You really don’t like him do you?”

 

“No, he is a  horrible little fellow.”

 

Adam smiled again, Doestov was taller than Ibrahim by a good few inches, and Ibrahim was over five feet and a half.  He was about to speak when there came a clattering of feet up the steps to Ibrahim’s office and one of the clerks, after a brief knock, rushed in,

 

“Come most quickly, Master, we have a  important customer.  His Excellency Sheik Said el Hassim wishes to see you.”

 

Ibrahim rose to his feet, looked thoughtfully at Adam and shook his head,

 

“It is wise that you stay here,” he said in a low voice and then to the clerk ,”You must take the Sheik to the other room where I want refreshments brought…hurry, hurry.” He clapped his hands and turned again to Adam. “This is unusual for him to come here; usually if he wants anything he summons me.  There may be something important to learn here.  I shall come back quickly.”

 

Adam watched Ibrahim leave the room and then, minutes later, he left the room also. Standing in the shadows, he watched as Ibrahim did a low obeisance to a tall, thin man who had arrived with an entourage of several men and two women.  This sheik was dressed in an expensive European cut suit, and the women were certainly not Egyptian: their colouring and style of dress proved that for a fact.  He watched them enter a room, and then, before he could step from the shadows a tall, thickset man, armed with a dagger at his belt, stood on the landing by the door preventing anyone from entering or leaving.

 

Adam had no choice but to return to the other room and wait for Ibrahim’s return. 

 

……………..

 

The door of the room opened slowly; Ibrahim entered looking thoughtful with his eyes downcast until he saw Adam, upon which he closed the door behind him.

 

“Well, it seems his Excellency would like to meet with you.  He has heard of the nephew of Ibrahim Aziz Abdullah the rich silk merchant.  He has heard that you like the horses and go often to the sales.  It seems he has heard a  great deal about you.”

 

“Do you think he could be—”

 

“No, no, do not even think it.  His Excellency is a cousin to the khedive, a  excellent fellow indeed.  Very loyal.  But he does not interest himself in politics.  He is wealthy and indulges his lifestyle; that is his only interest.” He smiled with retrospective thought and nodded. “He withdrew from the court of the khedive when his wife died…his favourite…she left him a son though, and he felt he wanted to spend life here with him, and his other wives of course.”  He nodded as though to himself, and sat down thoughtfully to look at the ledgers.

 

“Well, it’s going to be a bit awkward, isn’t it?  My not speaking the language, I mean. I won’t understand him, and certainly won’t be able to hold a conversation.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Ibrahim, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

 

“It is not a good idea, you are right.  However, when His Excellency makes this invitation I am not one to refuse it.  No one would refuse it.  It would be an insult and—” he shrugged and waved his hands as though expressing bad things could happen. “So we must go.”

 

“The two women, who are they?”

 

“Ah, one is his second or maybe his third wife, and the other lady is her sister.”  Ibrahim smiled, “They are not Eygptian.”

 

“And she doesn’t mind being a wife?”

 

Ibrahim looked at Adam, shrugged, and shook his head.

 

“It appears not.” 

 

Adam said nothing to that, but not because he wasn’t thinking about it. He was, and he had to admit to himself that he found it all  confusing.  “Is she American?”

 

“Yes.” Ibrahim nodded and smiled. “You will meet them tomorrow.”

 

Adam made no comment to that, but the fact that an American woman would submit to being the second or third wife to an Eygptian caused him a considerable amount of concern.

 

Chapter 67

 

After a restless night Adam rose early and left the building far sooner than he usually would have.  The thought that Doestov was in Cairo intrigued him, and during the night when he had been churning myriads of thoughts over and over in his mind, he had come to the conclusion that Doestov was the key to the whole matter.

 

He took no notice as to whether or not his “eyes and ears” was following him, but hurried through the narrow streets that were already alive and busy with people preparing for a new day.  He walked quickly; the robes of his black djubbeh billowed about him and his hand clutched nervously onto the hilt of his dagger.  When he reached the hotel he paused, and stepped into the shadows to observe for a while and to gather his thoughts.

 

If Doestov was in Cairo and spending the days merely sitting in a restaurant the first question on Adam’s mind had been…why?  The second question arose from the first because it meant the answer to the first was that Doestov was waiting for someone to contact him, and then one had to ask…who? 

 

If this was the case, Adam decided, then once he knew who Doestov was in contact with perhaps there would be some solid conclusion to be drawn from it all, and surely that was the person they sought?  He steadied his breathing as Doestov came into view, took a seat and ordered a drink and some food.  He watched as the Russian lit a cigarette and then set a small silver box on the table by his side.  Mentally he nodded to himself; yes, Ibrahim was right, there was something rather unpleasant about Doestov, something that made his hair stand on end.

 

After a while he walked to the restaurant and sat down at a table some way behind Doestov and in the shadows.  A boy came to him and bowed, and Adam requested water, mayya, bread aish, and olives zeitun.  Then he settled down to wait.

 

In the shadows and further back Laurence Willoughby also           observed Doestov.  He ate a typical breakfast washed down with plenty of shay (tea), but his eyes were constantly on Doestov, who had earlier seen Laurence strolling away from the hotel and was, Laurence hoped, totally unaware that he had returned and was seated only yards from him.

 

He noticed the arrival of the tall, broad-shouldered Bedouin but dismissed him as just another of the hotel’s clientele.  There were others now coming to take the early morning meal: European, American, Arab and Eygptian.  He remained totally vigilant in his observation of the Russian.

 

The coming of the other diners did not disturb Adam unduly.  Their chatter and babble, along with the shrill cries of the waiters and hotel staff, and the yells and sounds of the people walking about in the streets did not matter; he had grown used to it and now able to shut it out as he concentrated on watching Doestov.

 

A thin man in the robes of an Arab approached Doestov’s table. He wore a white djubbeh and his turban was white with one part pulled across his face so that only the eyes could be seen.  Both Adam and Laurence in their separate places felt the same disappointment.

 

The man bowed and made the traditional greeting to Doestov, who nodded and indicated a chair.  There now arose a heated discussion between the two, much waving of arms from the Arab and  cold disdain and contempt from Doestov.  Eventually they calmed down and shay was brought to their table along with food stuffs and sugar.  The Arab did not touch anything; the face covering remained in place. Although Doestov made a show of insisting they shared the food, he ate alone.

 

The discussion that followed was conducted in Russian, of the two men who watched only Laurence understood some of what was being said, having learned a rudimentary Russian while on the Kurils.  Eventually they parted; Doestov rose from his seat and shook the Arab’s hand.

 

A flicker of movement caught Laurence’s eye and he watched as the tall black clad Bedouin rose from his chair and left the hotel.  He frowned, and just for a second wondered what it was that struck him as familiar, but then he turned his attention back to Doestov, who was smiling to himself, stabbing out the cigarette into the silver box with one hand and stroking his beard with the other.

 

After some minutes had passed, the Russian rose from his seat and sauntered out into the street, closely followed by Laurence who slipped into a side street. When he emerged again he approached Dimitri with a startled smile on his face.  “I say, old chap, I didn’t think you would be coming this way!  Care if I join you?”

 

Doestov shrugged. “It would be better if we remained unseen together.  I do not tink it a goot idea.” 

 

“Well, if that’s the way you want it.  Although I can’t see why, it doesn’t seem as though the commodore is here now, he must have gone on, perhaps to the coast?”

 

“Nyet, he is here, I feel it in my bones.” Dimitri smiled, and he nodded slowly to himself—a man with a secret, but then, Dimitri Doestov lived in a world of secrets.

 

……………..

 

Adam followed the Arab at a discreet distance, stepping into side streets, slipping into the shadows, but always with the white-clad man just ahead of him.  He wondered if he were aware of being followed but there seemed to be no sign of such as he walked confidently ahead of Adam.  They were approaching the market place when some Arabs came hurrying forwards, running alongside a wagon which was being pulled along by a large ox.  The wagon, ox and men came between Adam and the man he was following, and by the time they had passed, the Arab in the white djubbeh had disappeared.

 

Adam walked along the street with his eyes constantly searching for the man in the white head gear and djubbeh.  At each archway that turned away from the main street he peered cautiously, hopefully, but there was no doubt about it: he had lost his prey. 

 

He returned to Ibrahim’s with a lot of things to think about, only to be reminded by his friend that they were to be at His Excellency’s later that day.  It was an invitation that Adam wished with all his heart had not been accepted, and the fact that Ibrahim was so excited and happy about it really irritated him.  But for Ibrahim, to be invited to a meal by His Excellency was such a big social event that he was beside himself with joy, and for the time any thought of the project upon which they were embarked  had simply been put to the back of his mind.

 

…………………

 

There was still time to go to the horse sales. Only here could Adam get the feel of being at home. The smell of the animals and the pleasure at seeing them brought back memories of the “bronco busting” in which they had partaken, he and his family, over the years. He watched the magnificent animals and thought how Ben would have loved them. Their awesome beauty and grace could be seen to such advantage here where the breeders displayed them for sale. The Arab’s strong lungs, encased in its broad, deep chest, make it ideal for long distance riding. Hardworking, loyal animals; oh, the fascination of the beasts. Adam smiled behind his face covering and relaxed a little to watch the few horses available that day as they were brought forward.

He overheard one of the sheiks explaining to some American tourists about the horses he was selling. In his thickly accented tones he told how it was believed that Arabians had a sixth sense: they valued human company, being touched and embraced by them. They were creatures that would be completely devoted to the person who handled them. Adam listened and observed the horse now being brought into the ring.

 

A horse would be brought out on a leading rein held by its handler, and paraded around a wide ring.  Adam noticed that there were few buyers this particular day, although those present appeared to be influential and wealthy.  A few bids were called out, some haggling, the horse paraded around once again.  Then taken off to its new owner.

 

The next horse. Jet black with a bold eye and a hard mouth.  It snorted and tossed its head and the handler had difficulty holding it.  Adam leaned forward, his eyes narrowed as he watched the beast being circled around the ring.  Some bids were being called, cautious ones; like himself the bidders were wary of this particular animal.  The handler kept a grip on the rope and reached out to grab at the bit, in order to control the horse’s head but it was held too far out of his reach—and then in one bold movement the horse reared up, plunged down and tossed the handler to one side as though a mere straw.

 

Mayhem broke out, only adding to the animal’s fury and confusion.  There seemed to be a myriad ofhandlers swarming into the ring towards the horse, which was rearing  and kicking now, bringing the onlookers down from their seats closer to the ropes that separated them as they eagerly watched this unexpected display of fireworks.

 

The handlers in their long white tunics and red hats shouted and screamed, making a cacophony of noise that created more panic in the horse.  He plunged forwards, leapt the ropes easily and scattered those standing close by, sending them falling like so many ninepins  beneath its feet.

 

Adam waited but a moment as the horse neared him, then, hoping that he could manage the feat successfully in the now cumbersome robes, he leapt at the animal’s neck, grabbed the rope and somehow succeeded in vaulting onto its back.  When he thought back on the incident he was never exactly sure how he managed it but so many cries of “Allah be praised” were being screamed from all sides that he thought perhaps it was more due to someone with greater power than himself than to his own agility and prowess.

 

It took a few minutes for the horse to accept the fact that the man on his back knew what he was doing.  He gradually calmed, and allowed Adam to ride him back towards the ring.

 

 

Chapter 68

 

A group of tourists blocked his way so that the quick exit he hoped to make was slightly curtailed.

 

“Hey, bud,” a man in a loud check suit said in a thick Bronx accent, with one hand firmly fixed against Adam’s chest, “I heard tell you Bedouins were good horsemen, but that just about took the cake.”

 

Adam bowed as a ”good Bedouin” would, hand to his brow and a murmured “Shukran,” (thank you) and turned to move away, but another now stepped forward to delay him and compliment him on his swift actions. “You saved folks from getting hurt there, buddy.”

 

“Ahlan beka” Adam murmured, joining both hands together in the traditional bow once again while thinking to himself that if they wanted to see good horsemanship they should see Joe and his agility with a horse.

 

A group of Arabs and Egyptians were now heading towards him and as usual accompanied with the shrill yells and jabbering that seemed to accompany any event in that strange, almost mystical world.  He continued hurriedly upon his way and disappeared into a throng of on lookers who were pushing and shoving at the entrance in an attempt to see what was going on.

 

He walked faster as he heard footsteps behind him and then slipped into a side alley, waited and then reached out to grab at the man who had been following him. His “ears and eyes” grinned hugely and bowed before babbling a torrent of words that went too fast for Adam to understand sufficiently—he raised a hand, and the Egyptian stopped with a wide grin which exposed several missing teeth.

 

“Int betetkalem inglizi?” Adam asked and received a nod of the head in reply.

 

“Yes,  good spik!” he assured Adam with much bobbing of the head. “I come say you—Sheiks say you good rider, you ride horse for them in race, win, make much bucksheesh.”

 

“Mesh mum ken,” Adam replied and shook his head before adjusting his face covering and walking quickly onwards.

 

His “ears and eyes,” however, was reluctant to part with him and followed him closely, giving him a running commentary on some of the races he had seen and the amounts of money that the Sheiks exchanged in the form of bets.

 

“Many American, English, they go to races and make much bucksheesh.”

 

Adam shook his head again and turned quickly into the Ibrahim’s building where the coolness of the interior greeted him and he paused, turned to the other man and bade him goodbye, “salaam,” to which the Egyptian replied with a rather sad tone of voice ‘salaam,’ leaving Adam to assume the man had already made plans to place his bets and now saw the chance to make a lot of money disappear like smoke.

 

Time was running out and the visit to The Excellency would soon arrive.  He hurried to his room and closed the door behind him, bowed his head and tried to think of a way to avoid the meeting and as he did so his eyes fell on a small pile of envelopes that had been placed carefully upon a table.

 

Nothing mattered now; thoughts of the dreaded meeting fled from his mind as he picked the letters up and recognised the handwriting.  He opened the envelopes and read each one, devouring their contents avidly and then reading them once again.

 

So he learned that he was to become an uncle, and Hoss’ bashful delight came through in the words he had chosen to write to his brother.  It made Adam smile at the thought of an infant in the house, the first since Joseph had graced them all with his arrival.  Then there was the news from Joe, full of Mary Ann Hornby and various things that had taken place there with just a small note that made Adam’s stomach tighten just a little.

 

“I saw Sarah Winnemucca recently when she said good bye.  She is going to leave the area in order to avoid doing something that she feels is against the interests of her people and herself.  Not that I can blame her, I would disappear myself if I were her.”

 

He read through the letter in the hope of finding some other reference to Winnemucca or the reason why Sarah had left the Paiute but there was nothing, no hint at all that Joe had been contacted by any government official or army personnel.  He slipped the letter back in its envelope with a feeling of irritation gnawing at the back of his mind, accompanied by frustration at being caught up in a situation that was as confusing now as ever.

 

Ben’s letter was more helpful.  In this letter Adam was told about the first encounter with Major Fleming and Captain Lancey, and how they had successfully ‘managed to send them packing’ as Ben gracefully phrased it.  Joe, Ben told Adam, was totally confident that without Sarah Winnemucca available they would now leave him in peace. So far, they had heard nothing from them. The only words that seemed at all important to Adam were “so far.”

 

He read about the pleasure Ben felt at Hoss and Hester’s news, on how he felt at the thought of becoming a grandfather “never thought I would live to see it happen as you boys always managed to avoid getting married to any girl that had taken your liking.” He also read Ben’s views on Hester’s family. “Milton, her brother, was a really pleasant young man and I felt  sad for Hester, and Ann for the loss of such a fine person, but sadly his wife lacked all the qualities that he possessed.  Thankfully she decided to pack herself away.  Hopefully we will not see her around these parts again as I believe she is en route to Paris.”

 

He carefully placed each letter back in their envelopes and put them in a drawer of the bureau, which he then locked.

 

In the gardens of his palatial home, Sheik Said el Hassim listened expressionlessly to the report by one of his servants.  The servant tried to read the sheik’s face as he spoke, but was forced to wait until His Excellency spoke to him.

In his white clothing Ebo Funsani stood out among the greenery that grew so profusely in the well watered gardens; he stood by one of the palm trees and waited for el Hassim to turn his attention back to him.  The servant, once gone from sight, left the two men alone, and Ebo waited for the conversation to resume,

 

“This is an annoyance,” El Hassim muttered as he turned and walked to one of the seats that were strategically placed throughout the garden. He sat down and arranged his robes carefully. “I had thought, perhaps hoped, that the man I kept seeing in the market was the Commodore Cartwright, but it seems I am mistaken, he is just a Bedouin after all.”

 

“Just a Bedouin?” Ebo’s voice was soft, silky, with the subtle undertones of a snake.

 

“Have you ever known a seaman with the ability to ride a horse, let alone to vault onto the back of one that has gone crazy?”

 

“I am sorry, Excellency, you will have to explain?” the thin face seemed to go slightly more yellow.

 

“The man went to the horse sale as usual today, and one of the horses sought to escape, plunging into the onlookers and sending them scattering.  The Bedouin leapt upon its bare back and brought it under control.  As you know only too well, the Bedouin are the best riders in the world.” He paused and frowned. “A man who has risen to the rank of Commodore in the American navy may well never have seen a horse in his life, and to ride one—pah, never.” He snapped his fingers and immediately a servant came running, listened to his orders and retreated.

 

“But, Excellency, they have horses also in America.”

 

“Yes, I know that—” El Hassim replied haughtily. “But not on board their ships.”

 

The servant reappeared with refreshments that were placed upon a table; Ebo, at the motion of the Sheik’s hand, now sat on a seat opposite his master and waited.

 

“It means that we must keep on looking—”

 

“But the report said the commodore would be going to Suez.  Djounga and some of the others have already gone there.”

 

“Why should he go there?  I never believed it.  Not when Stone and Lockett are here, and remain here too.  You know that Doestov is here in Cairo?  Ah, I thought not—you see, it is all coming together now, Doestov and the commodore.  They are both here.  We must keep searching.  Doestov, of course, will find us.  We must find the commodore.”

 

………………….

 

In a  expensive hotel room in Hartford, Connecticut, President Grant read the letter sent to him by a Colonel Jackson from Fort Concho.  He folded it over carefully and then slipped it beneath a folder on the desk. 

 

He was due to address the House of Representatives in the Connecticut State Capitol, which housed the Connecticut General Assembly, the State Senate and the House of Representatives, as well as the office of the lieutenant governor.  His speech was fixed firmly in his mind, plus several ad libs that he would add here and there.

 

His secretary came into his room and stood waiting for the president’s order, a slight smile on his face. He was an ardent admirer of Grant and his new appointment as the president’s secretary meant more to him that the wages he was paid; he now waited for Grant to address him.

 

“When I get back remind me to write a letter to Ben Cartwright of the Ponderosa, and also to send a letter of condolence to Commodore Adam Cartwright on the loss of his younger brother, Joseph.”  He clenched his fist, tightened his lips and shook his head which was full of expletives at the incompetence of some of his officers and the ruination of some of his plans.

 

It meant that things had to be changed with regard to the Plains Indians and the Black Hills in Indian Territory.

 

Chapter 69

 

Ibrahim had sent one of his servants to lay out clean garments for Adam to wear at the meeting with the Sheik. After he had washed, checked that his beard and hair were sufficiently clean, Adam quickly donned them.  A change from the intensity of black for the gallibaya was a soft cream-coloured cotton with silk embroidery; the kaftan was blue as was the djubbeh.  His head covering remained the usual black, and this he wrapped around his head with some dexterity, fixing it firmly and bringing the face covering over his nose and mouth. 

 

He looked at himself in a mirror and frowned, although with slight amusement as he wondered what his father would say at the sight of him now.  He thought of Joe and Hoss ribbing him endlessly for wearing a “dress.”

 

The barouche dropped them off at the sheik’s premises and they were admitted immediately, giving Adam the impression that the man at the door had been ordered to ensure the guests were not left waiting for a second.  They walked into a wide corridor that led into the terraced garden in the centre of which was a fountain.  It was a small oasis of colour and greenery, refreshing to the senses as soon as the eyes saw it. At the entrance of the house they removed their shoes as was the custom.

 

They were led to an upper chamber where the sheik welcomed them with wide open arms and great exclamations of delight at seeing them both. “Marhaba, ez zayyak, Ibrahim?” he exclaimed and shook Ibrahim’s hand, then he turned to Adam  Saadot belkakسعدت بلقائك ?” and shook his hand, again as was customary, with direct eye contact and a big smile.

 

Adam bowed also, so far he understood the greetings, ‘nice to meet you’ and as close to the translation that was offered to him; he made the response that Ibrahim had taught him.  The gift he had been carrying he now offered to El Hassim, who nodded, smiled. “Ma Esmok?ما اسمك؟”  the sheik asked and Adam replied that his name was Adam Abdulkarim.

 

“Adam Abdulkarim—” the sheik repeated the name slowly and then smiled, nodded, and beckoned to them to follow him.  “Hal anta motazeweg? هل انت متزوج؟”

 

Adam smiled beneath his face covering: had he a wife. And the answer was plain and simple no, nor children, and the sheik laughed and muttered something to Ibrahim which prompted a smile, a nod of the head, and a chuckle from the older man.

 

They entered into another room, within which was a large spread table with servants placing dishes upon a pristine white cloth.  Above the table, kelims swished to and fro to keep the area cool and free from flies; these were controlled by ropes manually used by two servants seated on opposite sides of the room. 

 

It was a beautiful room, and Adam paused a moment to enjoy it, these houses had brought him, from the  first, in touch with fables and myths and legends of the Near East that stirred the romance and poetry in his heart.  He was straining his ears to listen to the conversation between the other two men in the hope of understanding something when he became aware of others in the room.

 

Two women had entered from an arched door behind him, and now approached with welcoming smiles.  One was dressed in the garments of a wealthy Egyptian woman, decked out with gold bangles and necklaces, heavy gold and silver earrings and ornaments in her dark hair.  She gave both visitors the traditional bow and then addressed her husband who nodded, smiled and spoke in a hushed tone to her. She now turned to Adam.

 

“Int betetkalem inglizi?”  she smiled, rouged lips parting to show  white teeth.

 

“I do.” Adam replied, hoping that his imitation of Ibrahim’s soft lilting English accent would last the evening, but with a sense of relief so great that he could have kissed her.

 

“My sister does not speak Arabic except the  basic sentences,” she replied, “My name is Anna, and my sister is Rachel.” She turned and smiled at her sister who now approached Adam with a look of anxiety on her face which lessened when Anna told her that their visitor could speak English. “You will have to speak a little slower than usual, Rachel, so that he can really understand what you are saying,” she explained and then turned to smile again at Adam.

 

“We heard about what happened at the horse auction today,” Rachel said immediately. “It was a  brave thing to do.”

 

“Shukran,” Adam replied with a slight bow of the head and both women laughed a little before following the sheik to take their seats.

 

Rachel was dressed modestly but in European dress and she wore little jewellery, only a ring of gold on her right hand that had the motif of some antiquity on it.  Adam took his place and removed his face covering. 

 

Time ticked by with a relentless slowness, the women were quiet while the sheik talked with breath taking swiftness, although thankfully in English as his wife had requested. Adam remembered all he had been taught about etiquette, he didn’t add salt to the food (which would have been an insult), he took second helpings, he expressed his appreciation for the food and used his right hand only.  Rachel proved to be a fussy eater, but no doubt the sheep’s head, and eyeballs in aspic were not to her liking.

 

“Abdulkarim,” El Hassim said with a sudden new warmth to his voice, “We have been talking of you.  Your great expert act today with the horse?”

 

“Ah—huh” Adam nodded, shrugged.

 

“Tomorrow there is a big race.  I could enter you. People are already making big promises to bet on you to win.”

 

Adam raised a hand and shook his head; he looked at Anna and Rachel who were watching him. Both smiled and then continued eating.

 

“We shall talk more about this—” El Hassim laughed and was about to say something to Anna when footsteps were heard, and turning his head, Adam recognised the man in the white djubbeh.

 

After a courteous bow to El Hassim’s guests, the man begged the sheik’s indulgence, saying there was a need to speak to him in private.  “I have, as you see, visitors,” El Hassim replied haughtily, but he sighed and rose to his feet, bowed and begged they accept his excuses. “It will be for a moment only…” he assured them.

 

Apart from a brief sidelong glance at him, the man in white appeared to have little interest in Adam, hurrying alongside the sheik while murmuring in a voice that was a soft cadence until it faded out of earshot.

 

The meal was over and Anna ordered the servant to provide drinks outside in the garden where she now led her guests.  She walked by Adam’s side and smiled up at him, for she was slight of build and not tall. “Adam Abdulkarim, I do apologise for my husband having to leave so suddenly. It is quite unusual but—sometimes—”

 

“Do not worry, I quite understand,” Adam assured her, and he smiled, his cheeks dimpling and eyes twinkling.  “You are American?”

 

“Yes.  From Illinois.”  She smiled. “Although I don’t suppose that means much to you?”

 

“America is a big country.” Adam smiled again, feeling it safe, at least, to admit that much.

 

“My father was an archaeologist; he loved Egypt and would come here on excavations—oh, for as far back as I can remember.  He was  good about our not being boys, wasn’t he, Rachel?  He always said we were born with trowels in our hands so was happy enough about that. We are both  keen archaeologists, and that was how I met Said.”

She sat on the edge of the wall of the fountain and dipped her fingers in the water, “He’s a kind man, and when his wife died he was quite bereft.  Then we met …” she looked up at the quiet hazel eyes that were steadily regarding her and laughed rather shyly. “Goodness me, Adam Abdulkarim, this would hardly be of interest to you. I do apologise.” 

 

“He is a good man, your husband?”

 

“Yes, he is,” she sighed and looked back to the building and up at the window of a room from which lights shone, “I just wish that awful Ebo Funsani wouldn’t keep coming here; he is constantly around lately.“

 

Adam turned his head and looked up at the window at which she was staring.  The shadows of three men flickered across the aperture, and then he saw one man standing looking down at the garden.  This man wore a white suit, and smoked a cigarette with one hand and in the other held a small silver box. 

 

For a second Adam felt a shiver trickle down his spine; he turned his head away as though to look at the roses blooming nearby, and then looked back at the window where he saw Funsani and the Russian together, but with their backs to the window. 

 

Had Doestov seen him?  Adam felt the palms of his hands going clammy, and he took one of the filled glasses and drank it slowly while he wondered what could be the repercussions of the Russian recognising him.

 

He put the glass back down, and as he raised his eyes he saw Rachel watching him, her blue eyes looking intently into his face. Then she smiled, probably one of the sweetest smiles he had seen on a woman for a  long time.

 

…………………..

 

Outside Sheik El Hassim’s palatial building a young man stood in the shadows with his eyes trained upon the door.  The day was drawing to a close now; soon night would drop, and the temperature with it.  He hugged against the wall where the warmth of the day’s sun lingered.

 

Doestov had done everything possible to escape from Laurence Willoughby, and he had left the hotel later than he had intended, knowing full well that Funsani would not be pleased at the enforced delay.  He had made his way through the narrow streets without realising that Laurence was following close enough to keep him in sight.  Hardly daring to breathe, the young Englishman remained in his selected position and waited for Doestov to leave and return to the hotel.

 

Close by two opportunists lingered.  Brothers by flesh and partners in crime they added to their daily earnings as camel owners taking tourists to the pyramids by petty thievery.  One of those chance encounters was about to take place now as they saw the dark shadow of an Englishman lingering near the rich sheik’s home.  What better?  Everyone knew that the English and the American tourists were always loaded with money, and what right did this traveller have to be hanging around the sheik’s home so suspiciously?

 

As the shadows lengthened and night crashed down over Cairo the two men crept closer to their victim.

 

Chapter 70

 

The two men were silent as they watched the sheik return to his guests.  Doestov drew heavily on his cigarette before stubbing it out in the little silver box and snapping the lid shut.  It was Funsani who spoke first. “Well, how reliable do you think our friend is?”

 

“Reliable enough, so long as you keep him tinking that he vill be the next Khedive.” Doestov replied and turned to the window to observe the garden. 

 

“Let us go down there, I don’t like being here in this room, El Hassim has too many servants with flapping ears.”  Funsani murmured.

 

………..

 

El Hassim returned to his guests with effusive apologies, bowing and smiling, shaking their hands.  He returned to the subject of the horse race, to which Adam made no promises although he did admit to having taken part in quite a few in the past. 

 

“Ibrahim, I hear you went to the Americans not long ago.  You saw the General Stone, perhaps?”

 

“I did, Excellency.” Ibrahim bowed; there was little point in denying the fact and being called a liar, and even worse, to know that was exactly what one was, “I saw him, and there were two others with him.”

 

“We owe a great deal to these American officers.  My cousin, the khedive, has done well in taking the President Grant’s men, they have discovered much about our country.  But—” he frowned, the attractive face looked pensive—“I fear that my cousin, the khedive, will soon be bankrupt.  Do you not also fear this?” He looked at both his guests earnestly, and the two women made their excuses and left the room.

 

“I see the possibility of it happening, Excellency,” Ibrahim admitted, “The many good things that the khedive has done for Egypt have brought expensive loads upon his shoulders.”

 

“The English are  powerful in my country,”  El Hassim said  as he picked up his glass, filled it with wine and drank from it.  He looked now at Adam. “Do you not agree, Abdulkarim?”

 

“The Suez Canal has been a good thing for Egypt,” Adam observed carefully and striving to maintain the slightly sing song lilt of a typical Egyptian speaking the foreign language.

 

“Yes, but my cousin paid dearly to the English for that.” El Hassim refilled his glass, and rose to his feet. “The Americans have done our country much good.  The lands we have in Sudan and Ethiopia, they have been mapping with great expertise.”  He walked to the window and glanced down into the garden, scowled slightly at the sight of the two men lingering near the fountain and obviously deep in conversation, then turned to the guests, and for some time lauded the Americans a while longer while casting the role of the khedive as the saviour of his country into some doubt.

 

When Ibrahim and Adam left the building niether man had any doubt about El Hassim’s obvious dislike of his cousin and the English, or his admiration of all things American.  For Adam it added yet another strand of mystery to the equation.

 

As they slipped on their shoes and left the building Ibrahim murmured softly into Adam’s ear how little seemed to escape the sheik and how in future they would have to be more careful in their visits to the American cadre.

 

………….

 

It was the arrival of the Egyptian merchant’s barouche that sent the two men scurrying away back into the dark side alleys from where they had come, and saving Willoughby from a further beating.  He had held his own for as long as he could but had just buckled at the knees and fallen onto the cobbled streets when the sound of the horses approaching had brought the attack to an end.

 

When the door to the sheik’s walled premises opened and Adam and Ibrahim emerged, the driver was bending over Willoughby with a flaming torch in one hand which immediately drew the attention of both men to the injured man’s side.

 

Ibrahim murmured. “A fool to be loitering hereabouts without protection.”

 

“Maybe, but I happen to know this particular fool,” Adam replied softly. “May I ask permission for him to be brought to your home?”

 

“He is a friend?”

 

“Yes, he is a friend.”

 

“Then come, bring him to my home.  He will be cared for as he is your friend.” And Ibrahim placed a gentle hand on Adams arm as though in reassurance of the truth of his words.

 

………………

 

Anna and her sister, Rachel, had not made their way to their private apartments as may have been assumed but had decided to take a walk through the gardens instead.  They had lingered by the rose garden and had been about to discuss the evening and their guests when they heard the murmur of voices coming their way.  Both women withdrew into the shadows, becoming like shadows themselves.

 

“Ebo...” whispered Anna. “Why is he here?”

 

“Who is the man with him?” Rachel whispered back.

 

“No, I have seen him before, he is Russian.”

 

They said nothing more but huddled close in the darkness afforded them by the night and the thickly overgrown pergola by which the two men had paused to talk.

 

“Is it safe to speak now?” Ebo asked and glanced around him, “I never feel safe in this house.”

 

“All Eygptians are overly suspicious of the least thing.” came the soft voiced response, and Dimitri shrugged, “I think the sheik’s pro-American feelings are good for us. So long as he keeps funding our cause and we keep him in ignorance of what are our intentions then all shall be well.  The khedive is well on the way to bankruptcy and will be more dependent* than ever upon the English to come to his assistance.  When our plan succeeds there will be such horror...” He paused and smiled, as though in his mind’s eye the mental vision was already a reality, an enjoyable one.

 

“Tell me, Dimitri, why are you showing so much more interest now?  I thought Russian opinion was to step back and leave us to ourselves.”

 

“Bah, nonsense.” Dimitri shrugged again; he fumbled in his pocket to withdraw the cigarette case from which he took another cigarette. “We have to counter Prussia’s influence here. It is all politics.” He said this dismissively, as though his voice spoke for all Russia, and Prussia was a mere nuisance.

 

“Your request for help in Turkey then, fell on deaf ears in America?” A smile, sly and cruel, could be felt in the words and Dimitri turned to regard the Egyptian with cold disdain as a result.

 

“Grant has too much to consider now. America is still a young country struggling to come to terms with her own power, and her influence in Europe is still raw.” He plucked a rose from a bush, which made the two women hidden so nearby cling closer together, “No, the English were far more helpful, although they are anxious that our plan should not succeed.  They do not know of my connection, of Russian interest—even though I have one of their faithful dogs—a puppy rather—dogging my every move.” He tossed the rose aside and busied himself with his cigarette; a flame flared from the match, revealing his dark saturnine features to the women as it did so.

 

“He has not followed you here?”  Ebo asked nervously

 

“No, last time I saw my friend he was busy talking to a pretty young woman in the hotel.  Another of the tourists.” The material of his jacket rustled as he shrugged thin shoulders. “He will not notice my having left the hotel, even.”

 

“El Hassim hopes to become the next khedive, you realise that?”

 

“Yes, and his marriage to the American woman is good.  He will be seen as pro-American and after the debacle of what has happened, people will never suspect him.”

 

“Well,” Ebo laughed coldly, “Why should they?  He has no idea that his money is funding our enterprise.  He thinks only of it as being a means to an end, the end of Ismail.”

 

“Good, let him continue to think it; it has been  useful.”

 

A moment’s silence before Ebo broached the next subject that concerned him, whether or not the commodore was in Cairo.

 

“He is here,” Dimitri replied, “The English puppy looks as earnestly for him as I do, he is a friend and admirer of this man.”

 

“And yourself?  You know him, this commodore?”

 

“Oh yes, I know him. I also admire him  much…but he is no friend of mine.”

 

The voices trailed away as the two men made their silent way back to the building and at last Anna and Rachel could release their breath, and each other’s hands, to which they had been clinging throughout the conversation.

 

“Did you understand that?” Rachel whispered.

 

“Yes, I understood it.” Anna replied and wiped tears from her cheeks, for the knowledge that her husband was being duped for Ebo’s purpose really did upset her.

 

“What should we do?”

 

Anna didn’t reply at first, then she looked at her sister and gripped her hand tightly.

 

“We must find the commodore first, before they do.”

 

……………….

 

When Laurence Willoughby opened his eyes he found himself looking up into the face that was at once familiar while at the same time not, which caused him to doubt whether or not he was actually seeing his friend, Adam Cartwright.  He closed his eyes instead and waited for something to be said or done to indicate his first instinct to be correct.

 

“Laurence, what in heavens name are you doing here?”

 

He opened his eyes and managed a smile, groaning a little as it caused pain to his eye and mouth.

 

“Where did you spring from, Adam?”

 

“Don’t answer a question with a question, Willoughby.”

 

Laurence struggled into a sitting position and then looked again at Adam, then nodded slowly to himself. “I thought so. You came to the hotel once, didn’t you?”

 

“You’re doing it again.” Adam replied tersely.

 

“I’m here to find you, and to keep track of Doestov.  The little rat—” he frowned—“He was in with that Egyptian, Ebo Funsani.”

 

“You know the man?”

 

“Saw him talking to Doestov one time, and managed to get his name.” He put a tentative hand to his brow and groaned. “I tried to get on board the Baltimore but you sailed early.”

 

“Mm, yes.”

 

“Well, I had a letter from the government for you…then Doestov appeared; he was hoping to get on board the ship as well.  So we joined forces…I think he was keeping an eye on me as much as I was on him.”

 

“Any idea what the letter contained?”

 

“A warning that Doestov was alive—and to watch your back.”

 

“That was all?”

 

“I haven’t read it all—” said plaintively.

 

“Where is it?”

 

“At the hotel.”

 

“Then we had better get you back there—”

 

“Would be a good idea, I don’t want Doestov to suspect I saw him going into that sheik’s place.”

 

“Has he said anything of interest to you at all?”

 

“Nothing, as shut as a clam.”

 

Adam sat back and sighed, then he shrugged and stood up to collect Laurence’s clothes and hand them over to him,

 

“You have a cracked rib and a few bumps and bruises.  It shouldn’t be too painful; my brother Joe gets them on a regular basis and survives.” He grinned and tossed the jacket over to the Englishman. “You should have stayed at home, Laurence.”

 

“Duty calls and all that—” Laurence grinned and got to his feet. “Don’t happen to have some bucksheesh on you, do you?  Those thieves have cleaned me out.”

 

 

Chapter 71

 

It took little time to get Laurence back into the barouche and to the hotel.  The manager, a discreet man, assumed that the Englishman had overindulged and was being assisted to his room by a passing Arab.  He saw them and then dismissed them from his mind as Adam, his arm around Laurence’s waist, and supporting him as best he could, took him to his hotel room.

 

“Do you think Doestov will be here already?” he whispered to Laurence as his friend groped for the key, at the same time groaning as pain from his injuries trickled through his body.

 

“Don’t know, shouldn’t think so.”  Laurence dropped the key, which Adam quickly retrieved and inserted into the keyhole, “Doesn’t matter if he is, it will seem more likely than ever that I got into bad company—”

 

“You did.” Adam smiled and pushed the door open.

 

“Oh yes, I suppose so.” Laurence moaned as his friend half carried him across the room and to the bed.

 

Adam carefully deposited Laurence on the edge of the bed, and looked around the room,

 

“Where’s the letter?”

 

“In the drawer.  It’s hidden in the Bible, book of Ecclesiastes,” Laurence whispered as he attempted to pull off his jacket.

 

Adam rummaged through, frowned and then picked the Bible up and shook it. “It’s not here.”

 

“That means that rat must have found it. I’m sorry, Adam, perhaps I should have read what it said and then eaten it.  Thought they only did that in stories …” he groaned and struggled to get to his feet, only to have Adam push him back, help him with his jacket and then lift his legs up on the bed.

 

“It hardly matters; we don’t need a letter to confirm what we know anyway.  Have you been in contact with the British Consulate?”

 

“No, Charles said not to, unless in great danger.”

 

“Do you want me to get you a doctor?”

 

Laurence’s eyes were closing, his head spinning; pain was eating into his body like red hot pokers.

 

“No, don’t want to draw more attention to me…us…Doestov would be curious…” He sighed, mumbled something unintelligible. “Sorry, Adam.”

 

“Don’t be; I’m just glad to know I’ve got a friend here to cover my back.  It was getting—well—lonesome.”

 

“You’d better go—before—”  his voice drifted into a groan and he raised a hand which he flapped feebly towards the door.

 

“I’ll see you later, Laurence; you know where I am, don’t you?”

 

His friend was just able to muster up a smile as Adam left the room.

 

…………………

 

Sheik El Hassim had removed his outer garment when the door opened and Anna entered, pausing for a second as though unsure as to whether she should continue or not.

 

“I didn’t summon you.”

 

Anna paused for a moment longer and then stepped into the room with a determined look upon her face.  Said El Hassim shook his head, a look of pride and obstinacy settled upon his handsome features, a look that she knew indicated his intention to dismiss her.

 

“I must speak with you about something important, my dear husband.”

 

Inwardly the Sheik groaned.  If a lovely woman, who is one’s wife, enters unbidden into ones bedchamber it is thought to be for one simple reason only, and perhaps, for that reason, one would unbend on procedure.  To talk? He shook his head and waved her away.

 

“Said El Hassim, I must talk to you about something of great importance.  You are in great danger—please let me speak.”

 

She was halfway across the room now and her eyes, beautiful eyes that he loved dearly, were full of tears.

 

“Danger?  You are speaking nonsense, wife, you have had a bad dream.”

 

“No, it’s no dream.” she said looking at him anxiously for she had noticed the flicker of interest in his dark eyes, “Said—is it your intention to become the next Khedive?  To take Ismail’s place by force?”

 

His face dropped in confusion, and she saw before her eyes a little boy caught as it were as though his hand were in the cookie jar and he had to think of some way to excuse himself.  She put a hand on his arm. “My dear, please—is it true?”

 

It was so hard for her, an independent American woman, to have to act like some medieval submissive wife who was only there to do her husband’s bidding.  As much as Said El Hassim loved her, and respected her American ways and appeared to admire her country, he was still a man steeped in Egyptian culture and tradition.  He was a pampered rich man related to the royal house of Egypt and at times the lessons she had to learn as a result of that were  difficult.  None more so than now and she looked at him earnestly, as though to beg for his time and attention.

 

“My cousin Ismail is ruining our country.  If something isn’t done soon then it will be ruined totally, bankrupt, and then the English will control* all of Egypt.  I have to do something, Anna, to save my country.”

 

“You are giving people money to fund a revolution.”

 

He put a finger to her lips and glanced around the room as though suddenly afraid that others would be there, listening.

 

“What have you heard, woman?”

 

That imperious tone of voice that she hated, that riled her American inner self, could have sealed his fate had she not loved him so much.  She told him everything that she and Rachel had overheard, and then looked at him and waited.  For a moment neither of them spoke; it seemed they did not even breathe, and then he sighed and placed a gentle hand on her face, and looked tenderly at her. “You heard all this?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And what do you think they plan to do?”

 

“I don’t know what they plan to do, my dear.  I know by instinct that they will point the finger at you if their plan fails.  It is YOU they say gave them the money, and the men, to fight or achieve what they intend to do.  They will drag you down with them if it fails.”

 

“But what if it does not fail?  Whatever their plan—if it does not fail, they will make me khedive?”

 

“No, no—they don’t intend that at all, my dear.  You are being fooled into believing that, so that they can get the money from you.”

 

He said nothing to that, but he couldn’t disguise the confusion, the misery on his face. She stood for a while waiting for him to speak, but it seemed as though he couldn’t find any words, so they stood together in silence for a while until she spoke.  “Who is this commodore they mentioned?”

 

He roused himself, shook his head, shrugged. “I don’t know.  An American.  They say he will ruin their plans—our plans—” he bowed his head now, as though ashamed. “I thought he was our enemy, but now I am not so sure.”

 

“And you don’t know who he is?”

 

“No, only that he is in Cairo,” he sighed and walked over to the window to stare over the darkness that covered the market square. “I thought he was Ibrahim’s nephew, the man who came to dinner this evening.”

 

“Abdulkarim?”

 

“Yes.  It was a feeling I had, but I was wrong.”

 

“Why? What makes you think you were wrong?”

 

He shook his head and sighed again, before walking towards the door of his sleeping chamber, he looked back at her. “Anna, you are so American.  I do love you.”

 

She looked at him, her face troubled, but he didn’t beckon to her to join him and so she remained where she was, standing alone in the big room as the door to his bed chamber closed behind him. 

 

………………….

 

The two Americans welcomed Adam with a warm shake of the hand and offers of hot coffee and some American style food.

 

“We’ve just finished breakfast,” Stone said heartily and then looked at the younger man with a frown. “You’d be more than welcome.” His voice trailed off and he glanced over at Lockett, who was observing Adam thoughtfully.

 

“You’ve had some developments?”

 

“For what they’re worth,” Adam replied carefully. “Doestov is hand in glove with a man called Ebo Funsani.  Do you know him?”

 

“Seen him about,” Lockett admitted with a nod of the head.

 

“He’s a close associate of Sheik Said El Hassim.” Stone added.

 

“Well, they were both at El Hassim’s last night.  They went off into another room to discuss business.” He watched them both for a moment. “Look, I want to ask you something, and I’d like an honest answer.”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“Why am I here exactly?  Whatever I have done—could have been done by anyone of you here.  I’ve felt—uneasy—from the moment I took on this assignment.  The vagueness of it all, and this charade of—”

 

“No, it isn’t a charade,” Stone replied firmly, raising a hand as he spoke in order to stop the flow of words. “You were necessary because Grant trusts you.  He doesn’t trust many, and for good reason.  He probably doesn’t trust many of us here, but we are doing all we can to establish good Egyptian-American relations.  We’ve achieved a whole lot here, Commodore, that we can’t risk losing right now.  The khedive is an ambitious man; he’s long sighted, wants a lot done for his country—but he doesn’t have a limitless purse.”

 

Lockett walked to the desk and, perching himself on the corner, he looked at Adam and frowned. “You’ve already achieved more than we could have hoped.  We’ve only got vague rumours, and here in Egypt there are rumours and plots going on all the time. It’s difficult to know which lead to follow up and which to ignore, as well as getting on with our own work.  You were an essential part of getting this resolved.

 

“We now know that Russia is involved as well as Prussia; they seem to have allied themselves together to achieve their plan.  We didn’t suspect El Hassim though, he’s always been so excited about our being here,  Pro-American, he even married an American girl.”

 

“Yes, I met her last night, and her sister.” Adam said.

 

“I can’t believe that he would be involved in any plot to kill Grant and destroy American relations here, as well as plunging the whole world into chaos.  Prussia and Russia, of course, are like two buzzards waiting to feast on the remains.” Stone leaned back in his chair and tugged at his beard, “No, I’m surprised about El Hassim.”

 

“Any chance at all of your getting back into the house and having a chat with him … see if he knows what’s going on?” Lockett suggested in a slow drawl as he looked pleasantly at Adam, an almost innocent look of appeal on his face.

 

………………

 

“Look, he is there—” El Hassim whispered to his wife, and they both looked down on the tall figure in the flowing black robes as he strode through the market place. They watched as he continued on, and the sheik frowned. “Usually he doesn’t walk through the market place, but stops awhile.”

 

Anna said nothing but turned to look at the other person in the room.

 

“Follow him, and if possible, bring him here.”

 

 

Chapter 72

 

Walking as swiftly as he could without arousing undue suspicion Adam thought over the situation, knowing as he did so that there were various aspects to the case about which he knew nothing.  This annoyed him more than anything else, and the fact that the letter addressed to him had been removed from Laurence’s possessions annoyed him even more.

 

He entered the hotel without the manager noticing him, and made his way to the room where Laurence had been taken the previous evening.  He knocked, waited, and on receiving no reply tried the door handle.  The door swung open easily and for a moment he just stood in the doorway,

 

“Laurence?” 

 

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him and then carefully made his way through the shambles that remained of the room.  He called Laurence’s name once again but there was no reply and after checking that his friend wasn’t hidden beneath the beds, or locked in one of the upended cupboards he quickly left the room to find himself face to face with the manager.

 

The torrent of words accompanied by much waving of hands that resulted from this meeting were a complete quagmire as far as Adam was concerned, he frowned, nodded, muttered the odd phrase or word that he hoped would be suitable and then raised a hand and said loudly that he had heard enough and walked away with, he hoped, the haughty disdain a Bedouin would show.

 

He stood outside the hotel for a moment to go through the ramifications of what had just taken place and tried to pick out words that were familiar to him now.  But whatever the manager said would not explain to Adam exactly what had happened in that room since he left Laurence there, that was left to his imagination based on the knowledge of what he already knew.

 

He walked away with his mind in turmoil, his head down and a scowl furrowing his brow.  The one thing that he had to accept was his own stupidity in letting Laurence return when he was injured; that had been not only stupid, but in Adam’s eyes, unkind and disloyal.  His friend had been injured and he should have insisted on Ibrahim sending for a doctor and countless other things that he thought up to torment his conscience even further.

 

“Excuse me—Mr. Abdulkarim?”

 

He paused in mid-step as the woman appeared at his side, then bowed his head and gave her the traditional greeting; she smiled and nodded, and when he was about to walk on she stopped him again by calling his name. “Mr. Abdulkarim, my name is Rachel Forster. I met you at my brother-in-law’s home last evening.”

 

He narrowed his eyes and nodded; behind his face covering he had smiled having recognised her from the start, he nodded again and instinctively put out a hand to her arm to draw her closer to the wall of a house as several men strutted down the street.  She smiled up at him.

 

“You’re not Bedouin, are you, Mr. Abdulkarim?  You’re not even Egyptian … no man would have done that to a woman, after all, what would they care if a woman was knocked into by anything hereabouts.” Her face moved into a slight grimace. “I would have understood it more had I been a camel or a horse, naturally, but your kindness to a woman—”

 

“Miss Forster, I am in a hurry,” Adam murmured softly. “Why are you here?”

 

“I came to ask you if you would come with me.  My sister and her husband really need to see you; it’s  urgent,  urgent indeed.”

 

Adam sighed, glanced back at the hotel as though, just perhaps, Laurence would appear, and then he returned his gaze to her.  She wasn’t exactly jumping up and down with impatience but it was obvious that she was finding his reticence to move rather irksome.

 

He said nothing but indicated that they move on, leaving the vicinity of the hotel and any prying eyes there to reach the sheik’s home and enter it through a different entrance to the one he and Ibrahim had used previously.

 

Rachel led him through the gardens and into the building where they slipped off their shoes and silently mounted the stairs to the large room where the sheik and his wife were waiting for them.

 

“Sabah el-kheir صباح ال” Adam replied in a low voice as he looked from one to the other. “You wished to speak to me?”

 

Anna looked at her husband as though fearful that he was going to change his mind about speaking to this stranger, but the sheik had no intention of turning back now.  He stood up and shook Adam’s hand, and indicated a chair for him to sit upon.

 

“You are the one called the commodore?” he asked in his excellent English.

 

“Am I?” Adam frowned. “I’m a commodore in the American navy, Sheik El Hassim. My name is Adam Cartwright.”

 

“Commodore, there has been—” El Hassim paused, looked down at the floor as though to admire the brilliant shine on his shoes. “I have recently discovered that I have been fooled into providing money to fund a—a situation—” he faltered, shame and pride fought together—“to overthrow the khedive.”

 

“The khedive?” Adam sat back against the chair, and then slowly removed his face covering; his dark eyes looked thoughtfully at the Sheik who was twisting the rings on his fingers nervously.  “My cousin, Ismail.” El Hassim’s lips trembled as he said the name and he glanced over at his wife who sat with head lowered and her hands clasped together in her lap.  “I ask you for your help.”

 

“For my help?”

 

“Yes, for many weeks now the men who—with whom I have been involved have sought out this man they called the commodore.  If they are looking for you, then it must be because of some important reason, so perhaps you could help...” His voice trailed away as though he realised that what he was saying was futile. “I am ashamed, Commodore Cartwright, for being so foolishly used.  I have provided much money to these men to assist them—”

 

“Did they give you a reason for needing this money?  I mean, you must have been aware of what the money was going to be used for?”

 

El Hassim opened his mouth, closed it again and fought an internal battle.  He had schemed various reasons for providing the money from funding hospitals to supporting the Russo-Turkish war that was brewing and soon to break forth. His mouth ran dry, and he shook his head. “My cousin is a  clever man, Commodore Cartwright, but he is ruining Egypt.  I—for the sake of my country—was talked into thinking—” he bowed his head, struggled again to find words, “I was led to believe that I would be a better leader for my people, and unite the lands that my cousin has usurped.”

 

Adam was unsure now as to what to say as the sheik and his wife looked at him as though he would provide them with the answers.  He shrugged and shook his head.  “I can’t help you, sir.  I’m sorry, but I came here on another matter entirely.  Your internal problems are really for you to deal with yourself.”  He paused. “Were Ebo Funsani and a Russian called Doestov involved in this scheme?”

 

“Yes.  Ebo Funsani and I were in England as students at Eton and have long been friends. Doestov promised Russian support if I pledged Egypt’s support for the coming war with Turkey.”

 

“Well, they’ve certainly been busy—” Adam muttered as he passed a hand over his face and scratched through his beard, “When was this coup to take place?”

 

“I do not yet know.”

 

“Did they ever mention anything about the visit President Grant is making to this country next year?”

 

“At times.  As the new khedive—” he paused, shook his head as though in disbelief at his error, “Pardon me, Commodore Cartwright, I allowed myself to become prideful.”

 

“So they did mention the president’s visit?”  Adam pressed further.

 

El Hassim nodded. “He was to come here, to Cairo, and we would hold a great feast in his honour.”  El Hassim stood up now and walked over to the window, “There would be fireworks, and much for him to enjoy.”  He looked fondly at his wife, “I am  proud of our friendship with America.  It is something that has been good for our country.”

 

“And who suggested that this should take place here?”

 

“Why, Ebo Funsani—” the Sheik replied as though in surprise.

 

“Where does he live, this Ebo Funsani?” 

 

The Sheik looked doubtful now, he shook his head. “He is my friend, Commodore. It is not right to betray a friend.”

 

“I agree, but when a friend abuses his friendship, betrays it, for his own purposes, Sheik El Hassim, should he still be thought of as a friend?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I really need to know,” Adam replied in a slow measured tone of voice, “A lot depends on this, and it could be that if we act quickly enough, lives will be spared.”

 

“Lives?”  Anna’s face went pale, “What lives?”

 

“Your husband’s for a start … after all, sir, your cousin may not feel you’ve been acting particularly loyal towards him recently.  What did you intend to do with him if this coup to have taken place, which it wasn’t going to do; would you have allowed him to live?”

 

“The khedive—” El Hassim stammered; his face was paler than usual and his eyes bulged slightly in their sockets.

 

“Let me tell you something, El Hassim,” Adam stood and for a moment paused to collect his thoughts, “The coup against your cousin was never going to take place.  Your money was funding something far bigger than removing him and setting you up in his place.” He frowned, thought a little more and then looked at Anna. “The sheik’s marrying you must have made it easier for Ebo Funsani to arrange for the president to come here, and yes, there would have been fireworks alright, but not the kind about which you are talking.”

 

“The president would never have come to harm here, never—” El Hassim cried and the colour mounted in his face.  “No, you are wrong, what you are indicating is quite wrong.”

 

“I wish it were,” Adam replied calmly, and the deep voice as he said the words made the sheik stop protesting and go deathly still.

 

“I know where Funsani lives,” Rachel Forster said now. “I’ll take you there.”

 

Adam turned to her, smiled, and put a hand on her arm, a gesture that made her smile again and she looked up at him with bright blue eyes and rather a mocking light in them.

 

“No, just tell me where to go,”  he replied

 

“Commodore—what should I do?” El Hassim asked as Adam replaced his face covering and prepared to leave

 

“Well, perhaps you should see your cousin, tell him about what was being planned and get his support to round up the others involved in this intended coup.”

 

“But—” El Hassim stopped, his face frozen in a grimace of fear and panic. He turned to his wife. “Ismail will kill me or put me into prison.”

 

Adam said nothing to that. Not even looking back at them, he quickly left by the way he had come.

 

Chapter 73

 

Adam had just stepped into the courtyard when he heard footsteps behind him and as he turned he saw a man in the sheik’s livery hurrying towards him.  He paused, put his hand to his dagger and for a fraction of a moment wondered whether the sheik had sent the man to assassinate him.  The poor fellow stepped back and raised a hand.  “men fàDlàk من فضلك “ he said, and then spoke in such haste that it could have been said in hieroglyphics for all it meant to Adam, who gleaned more from the gestures and waving about of the hands than from what was said.

 

He acted on his intuition that he had to follow the man and retaining his grip on the hilt of his dagger, he did so.  The smell of stables greeted him eventually, heralding the sight of several horses being swiftly saddled. The servant turned, pointed to the horse and then to Adam while nodding his head energetically.  As the reins of one of the horses was held out towards him he heard the sheik’s voice addressing him in English. “Ebo’s residence is a long walk from here; it will be quicker by horseback and—” he sighed as he paused and took the reins of the other animal—“there will be no questions asked of us when we get to the gate.”

 

He had cast off the elegantly embroidered djubbeh that he had worn during the interview with Adam and now wore something more suitable.  He mounted into the saddle with the confidence of a man well used to doing so, and then looked at Adam with a nod of the head. “Just follow me.”

 

As they galloped out of the wide archway that led into the main cobbled thoroughfare the man who had been Adam’s “Ears and eyes” for so long stared for some moments at the retreating men and then turned to run all the way to report the latest developments to Ibrahim.

 

………………..

 

Laurence Willoughby had never thought he would experience quite so much pain as he was feeling at that moment.  The injuries he had gained from the beating with the two thieves paled into insignificance compared to how he felt now, and if he could have raised his head without everything inside his skull clanging from one side to the other, then he would have done so.

 

Dimitri Doestov looked at him thoughtfully and shook his head.  He had taken the young Englishman to be a fool, the foppish younger son of the aristocracy who had come along to while away the time and “have an adventure.”  He sighed, and felt in his pocket for his cigarette case.  Since finding that letter it had changed things altogether, and he had seen his fellow traveller in a quite different light. When he had thought back over their journey, there had been some clues—but to give Laurence his due, they had not been many and not that obvious.

 

He found a cigarette and held it between his fingers as he put the case back in his pocket and stared at the young man.  He wasn’t sure whether this was the right method to use on the Englishman, but Ebo loved violence; he loved to hurt people, whether watching others inflict pain or doing so himself…Dimitri shook his head. It was not something he himself enjoyed.

 

“You are getting nowhere, my friend,” he said in Russian, “I know this man well by now, if he had anything to say, he would by now have said it.”

 

“He must know more than he has said; he is a fool to not tell us what it is,” Ebo hissed, and looked at the poor broken body sprawled on the flagstones. 

 

“Well, I think if you try to beat anything else out of him, you will kill him and be none the wiser.”

 

Ebo shook his head and raised his hand in which he held a short handled whip. “You—English infidel—tell me just how much your government know?  Tell me—” he drew back his arm and would have brought the whip down across Laurence’s back had not Dimitri grabbed at Ebo’s wrist and tightened his hold just as there came the sound of voices from the room above followed by the scampering of feet upon the stairs.

 

“Sheik El Hassim—” the servant announced and bowed,. “He waits.”

 

Dimitri placed the cigarette between his lips and nodded as Ebo turned to him,

 

“You go,” he said, “I shall stay here with this fool.”

 

Without hesitation Funsani did as suggested, tossing the whip towards Dimitri, who stared at it with disdain and allowed it to fall upon the floor, where it clattered down and slid into a corner. As soon as he was alone with Laurence he went to his side, knelt down and raised the youth’s head, then signed over to the man who had been administering most of the torment to bring water, which, rather amusedly he did.

 

“I am sorry, Laurence.” Dimitri whispered as he wiped blood from the cuts and weals. “You should tell him what you know.”

 

“I don’t know anything.” Laurence replied in a series of gasps, “And what I do know—I don’t understand—things changed— you changed.”

 

“At Tripoli, my young friend, you got orders from your brother, and I—from my superiors.  Politics—” he spat on the floor in contempt and shook his head, “It has killed more and better people than you or I for centuries—Russia and Prussia are now allied in this scheme now.  But—”

 

“To kill the president?”  Laurence tried to focus on the three faces that were swimming before his eyes.

 

“Yes, now that England has shown herself unwilling to support our cause.”  He frowned, “I am Russian, my friend, but I am human being too.  Be brave now—”  he wiped more blood from Laurence’s face and poured a little water into the bruised mouth before rising to his feet.  “Be brave.”

 

……………….

 

Ebo Funsani entered the room in which Adam and El Hassim had been waiting and bowed in respect of the sheik’s superior position before walking towards him with a smile and outstretched hand.  He then turned to Adam and asked El Hassim who it was that he had brought with him.

 

The Sheik turned towards Adam and smiled, and then turned back to observe Ebo.

 

“My friend...for you are my friend, are you not?”

 

“Of course.  Why, Said, why do we speak in English?”

 

“Because I want my friend here—” he indicated Adam with a sweep of his jewelled hand “to understand what is being said.”

 

“Ah—and who is this person, this new friend of yours, Said?”

 

“It is the man you were looking for, the commodore.”

 

“Ah—” Ebo’s eyes lit up in delight, and the over generous mouth split into a wide grin. “So?  You have him?”

 

He stepped forward as though to grab at Adam but then fell back a pace when he saw Adam’s hand resting upon the hilt of his dagger,

 

“Armed?”  the smile drifted from his face, “What is this, my friend?” he looked uneasily at the sheik. “you do not bring him as your prisoner?” he asked now in Arabic and seeing  El Hassim’s set features he laughed, not from mirth, a cruel laugh. “Let me think now!  You have had a change of heart perhaps?” 

 

“Ebo, loyalty to a friend is like loyalty to one’s brother—for many years you have been like my brother, you do know that, don’t you?”

 

“And as my brother what are you planning to do now?”

 

“I have learned that you have not been a loyal friend to me, Ebo, nor to our country.  You have lied and betrayed my trust; you have taken my money and betrayed my position.  In the eyes of my cousin and my people you have made me a traitor.  But YOU are the one who is the traitor.”

 

“You’re a fool if you believe that!  Listen my friend, you have allowed your American wife to addle your brains.  She has lied to you, deceived you. Come—you can be the next khedive.  Think about it, my friend, when Ismail is gone, you will take his place and restore order to Egypt.  While the English and American infidels tear at each others’ throats we can become a mighty power once again.”

 

“No, Ebo, say no more before these men because you only condemn yourself further.” Sheik El Hassim said softly and Ebo glanced around the room, puzzled, as he looked upon the men who had served him faithfully for some years.  “You look confused, my friend.  Let you remind me who supplied you with these men?  Remember too that their oath of allegiance was—not to you—but to me.”

 

“Perhaps some while ago, but not now.”

 

Ebo’s voice had thickened as fear had mounted, and he struggled to control that fear by bluster and bravado. He clicked his fingers. “Kill them.”  And approaching Adam he pulled aside the face covering and looked into Adam’s face, “I like to look into the face of my enemies,” he hissed.

 

“Likewise—” Adam replied coldly and withdrew his dagger.

 

Ebo stepped back, looked at El Hassim, then at the men who had remained stationary in their positions in obedience to a signal from the sheik. 

 

“You always were a fool—” he hissed as he passed Said El Hassim and with a movement so swift that the action was blurred he brought out a dagger and plunged it into the body of his erstwhile friend.

 

Adam was already leaping onto the man in order to bring him down, but Ebo, although the slighter in build, was sinewy and tough, and with one blow struck Adam across the throat and then another across his face so that Adam staggered back, his hold weakened and Ebo pulled himself free.

 

He rose to his full height, looked around, saw that his way through the two doors was now blocked and made haste to descend the stairs that led to the room in which Laurence and Dimitri had been, but his foot had just touched the top step when Adam was upon him again and together with their robes unfurling around them the two men rolled together down the flight of steps.

 

Adam was first on his feet and grabbed with one hand at Ebo’s throat while with the other he held the dagger against the Egyptian’s chest.  Using all his body weight he pushed the man backwards until Ebo could go no further, and could only feel the cold wall behind him with his hands.

 

“Adam—behind you.” Laurence yelled—or thought he did for it sounded loud in his ears although was more of a mumbled groan in reality.

 

The two men rushing towards Adam converged together, brought their knives aloft and thrust them forwards just as Adam swung around with Ebo still in his grip.

 

Ebo’s eyes widened, he stared at Adam in disbelief and opened his mouth to speak.  He grabbed at Adam’s clothing, pulling at it as he slowly crumpled down to the floor, and with his dying eyes he watched the two men who had struck him down—even though unintended—were taken hold of by the men who had shown themselves loyal to the sheik and had followed Adam down into the lower room.

 

Now Adam saw the body of his friend sprawled out on the floor, manacles on his wrists, clothes and flesh torn and bloodied.  His eyes moved around the room, saw the outline of an archway with a door and then returned to Laurence who was struggling to smile over at him but with great difficulty.

 

“Laurence—”  he knelt at the other man’s side, and took hold of his hand, felt for the pulse at his wrist, and forced a smile, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Nothing to be sorry about—” Laurence wheezed, “My fault. Came for the adventure, didn’t I?”

 

“I left you on your own—I should have kept you at Ibrahim’s.”

 

“I insisted—” Laurence whispered. “Don’t forget that… I insisted.”  He smiled and his fingers tightened around Adam’s hand.  “Doestov—” he turned his eyes towards the door in the wall. “Through there.”

 

“It doesn’t matter about Doestov just yet, Laurence.”  Adam looked around the room, and asked in a loud voice if anyone there spoke English.

 

“I do, Commodore.”

 

El Hassim stood at the bottom of the stairway, pale, but resolute, and in some way different.  Adam recognised what it was, he had seen it often enough in other men who had lost their way and grabbed at the chance to find it again and in the process, found themselves.  Blood stained the sheik’s clothes from the thrust of Ebo’s dagger but he appeared steady enough on his feet. 

 

“My man has sent for a doctor.” he said, and then, weakened, he sank gratefully down to sit on one of the stairs, “We shall wait for him—together.”

 

Adam said nothing to that, but his mind drifted to times when his father would say in his beloved deep voice, “Send for the doctor”…“Get Paul Martin”…“Don’t die, son, you’ll be alright, we’ve sent for the doctor.”

 

He cleared his throat as emotion seemed ready to choke him.  What he wouldn’t do to be hearing his Pa right there and then, to be in that big room with the fire roaring away and Joe lounging in the big chair with his feet up on the table, and Hoss prodding the fire and telling them the events of his day. He’d rather face a crowd of angry Paiute than have to sit here and wait, like this, and he looked down at Laurence who appeared to have drifted into sleep.

 

Chapter 74

 

There was a silence that settled upon the household as Sheik Said El Hassim returned, bloodied but proud, not in the way of vanity because he had been humbled.  He had looked at himself and found himself lacking, but now he could look again and see for himself the man with whom Anna Forster had fallen in love.

 

He saw her standing by the window with the sun falling in spangled patterns through the lattice shutters that she had pulled across the aperture.  Her head was bowed, and her eyes closed, while her hands were clasped as though in prayer.  He stood to watch her even though the desire to run to her was strong.  He instinctively knew that this moment she needed to share with her God.

 

It was Rachel who saw him and her gasp aroused Anna so that she paused, turned to look towards the door and saw him. 

 

“Said...” and her voice was just a whisper, like dry leaves that rustle across the marble floor and yet it seemed to thunder loud in his ears so that he stretched out his hands towards her “Oh Said …Ana ohebak أنا أحبك “  and she took several steps towards him, saw the blood on his clothes, and cried again his name.

 

“Anna,” he murmured as she folded herself into his embrace, “Anna, sweet flower, there you see, I am here now, all is well.” He stroked her hair, and then looked over at Rachel who was hovering close by with her hands clasped together. “Rachel, we have an injured man here, will you tend to him? 

 

“But you’re hurt, Said?” she murmured as she passed him and placed her hand upon her sister’s arm. She looked into the near-black eyes of her brother-in-law, who only smiled and shook his head as though by saying nothing he could protect his dear one from being further upset.

 

“The doctor has attended to my injury; it is nothing, nothing.” he said. “The Englishman has need of care now. He was badly hurt and the journey to bring him here from Ebo’s home was difficult for him.  Make sure he is comfortable, sister.”

 

………….

 

Ibrahim Aziz Abdullah entered the room as silently as possible, giving Adam a brief nod of the head in acknowledgement of his enquiry.  No words were spoken; a mere lift of an eyebrow and an inclination of the head, and that had been sufficient.

 

Adam left the room with Ibrahim.  He had stood by as others had placed Laurence on the bed and tended to his needs.  He had watched as the young man, greased with pungent ointments and bandaged so well that the art of mummification could be said to be well and truly every modern doctor’s favourite past time.  Rachel had drifted in, checked the arrangements, and then gone again.  Now Adam closed the door gently and looked across the room to where Rachel was standing. 

 

“How is he?” she asked, while with one hand she indicated the food and drinks that had been brought to the room for them, “Is he going to be alright?”

 

“Yes; he’s strong, young,” Adam answered. “He will be a trying patient though, do you think you could handle him here long enough for him to fully recover?” He smiled as he spoke and the dimples appeared through the beard, relief that his friend would be well, eventually, made him appear relaxed, more so than she had previously seen him.

 

She poured coffee for him, and tea for Ibrahim who bowed his head upon receiving it and then waited for her to leave, but she didn’t. Instead she remained standing between them as though waiting for something to happen. 

 

He stood with all the wisdom of centuries of wise men contained within him, a man who was wealthy as a merchant in silks, but not outstanding in anything, not by great deeds or long speeches.  When Adam looked at Ibrahim he saw a man who lacked the ostentation so beloved by many wealthy Egyptians; he saw a man who cared about others, a humble man who was willing to grasp a principle, a moral, in life and to hold onto it with tenacity.  He saw Ibrahim’s love for Egypt and for all that she stood for, the old world as well as the newly emerging one.  For that reason he had been prepared to work alongside the Americans and English to discover the evil that was working like a worm within the centre of Egypt’s progress.

 

“The sheik will recover also,” Ibrahim said finally when the silence had become overly prolonged.  “The wound he received was not serious, messy with much blood, enough to make him feel a hero.”

 

“Don’t judge him too harshly,” Rachel said softly, “Said El Hassim is a good man; he trusted others, and if anything bad should be said against him, let it be that…he trusted his friends.”

 

“Child, I am not the one who judges him or any man.” Ibrahim smiled as he spoke and looked at Adam who was putting the cup back on the table, “Now that we know Laurence Willoughby is going to be safe we should leave.  The other one is still out there; we must find him before he causes more trouble.”

 

“Miss Forster—”

 

She turned towards him as he addressed her and he paused, frowned as though for a moment he had to think about what it was that he had meant to say, then he smiled again,  “Miss Forster, there are a few things that I need to know from El Hassim before we leave.  Is it possible that we could see him for a few moments?”

 

She nodded, said nothing but quickly left the room, her bare feet padding against the floor until they ebbed into silence.

 

Ibrahim stepped closer towards Adam.  “We cannot leave this for too long—”

 

“I know, but there is more we need to know, Ibrahim.”  He nodded as though assuring his friend that he knew what he was doing. Ibrahim stepped back and said no more, but walked a little distance to the opening in the wall that exposed the courtyard beyond.  It was quiet, with only the soft splashing of water from the fountain to ripple through the silence.

 

El Hassim listened to Adam’s questions without a change of expression on his face; he then turned to Ibrahim and looked into the patient face of the older man with the gentle eyes before he once again turned to observe Adam.

 

“I have the names of all the men who were involved in this.  Commodore, what do you suggest I do?”

 

“Sheik El Hassim, if the situation were reversed, what would you advise me to do?” Adam asked, his deep voice making the words more meaningful to the man whose conscience troubled him so much.

 

For a moment Said could not reply, he placed a hand to where he had been wounded, for the pain of his injury was equally as tormenting and he looked into Adam’s eyes and shook his head as though unable to find an answer.  They waited a moment more.

 

“I know what I must do.  I shall go to my cousin—” he cleared his throat, “Does he know of what—of this—” he stuttered to a halt, and lowered his eyes.

 

“I don’t know, Sheik El Hassim.” Adam looked at Ibrahim who stepped forward.

 

“The khedive knows nothing,” Ibrahim put in. “There are many situations in which he is involved, you understand. This world that is emerging now it is not without its troubles, and the khedive has been  busy.  When you tell him of what has occurred here, he will be  surprised, I think.”

 

“And it is true?  This plot to kill the president was not a wild story from a madman?”

 

“It’s true.” Adam nodded.

 

“I knew nothing of that—” again he turned to Ibrahim, the older, the wiser one, and Ibrahim bowed his head in acknowledgement of the statement.

 

…………….

 

Rachel Forster watched the two men leave the home of her brother-in-law and wondered if she would ever see the American again.  As the door closed behind him and he was swallowed up into the world beyond the walls of El Hassims residence she wondered if it really was true, that people could fall in love at first sight.  She smiled to herself, and then she shook her head … oh silly, silly, of course not, things didn’t happen like that, not to her anyway, just—well—just in stories and novels.

 

Even after she had thought that, she returned to look down at the courtyard just in case he had forgotten something and returned.  He had not, and the disappointment she felt turned her stomach over and gently squeezed her heart so that it beat just that much faster.

 

…………….

 

A man ran towards them and jabbered at Ibrahim while his arms seemed to spin like windmills about his head, Adam stood in silence trying to pick out some of the words but they were being spoken at such speed that he eventually gave up and patiently waited for Ibrahim to translate.

 

“Doestov was seen leaving the old city and going into the desert.”

 

Doestov—everything seemed to lead back to that wretched man.  Adam looked at Ibrahim, mustered up a smile which was more like a grimace and turned to follow him back to the merchant’s house.  There were preparations to be made before this journey was to be undertaken and this time Doestov wasn’t going to slip through his fingers.

 

Chapter 75

 

General Stone received the letter addressed to him with some trepidation.  He always found his stomach sinking when a letter was delivered from the diplomatic bag and written in the strong handwriting of the president of the United States.  Somewhere in the back of his mind lingered the constant awareness that he had not been pardoned for the ‘crime’ for which he had been put into the Lafayette prison, and that sooner or later the powers that be would remember, and haul him back.

 

He turned it over and over in his hands before opening the envelope and withdrawing its contents.  He was looking at these when Lockett and Mason entered the office, looked at him and then at one another before taking their seats and waiting for him to address them.

 

“Well—” he cleared his throat, and his eyes lingered on their faces a moment as though aware of their curiosity. Even now, none of them knew whether or not they would still be there the next day, “A letter for Commodore Cartwright from the president.” He held the envelope between his fingers ,

 

“I think he’s still at Ibrahim Aziz Abdullah’s; do you want me to get a boy to take it to him?” Lockett suggested and reached out to take it from Stone, who then shook his head.

 

“No, according to President Grant this is not to be handed to him until after the matter—” he looked at the letter addressed to himself and modulated his voice to imitate the president’s.  “Until after the matter in which he is currently involved has been satisfactorily resolved.’”  He then shrugged and grimaced before he placed the letter to Adam Cartwright into a drawer of his desk and turned the key.

 

“One thing I hate is getting letters from Grant,” Lockett murmured, “I get this foreboding in the pit of my stomach and wish to heaven that I was somewhere in Darfur or Ethiopia.”

 

Stone looked at him and nodded his head thoughtfully; he twisted the ring on his finger round and round nervously before he took his seat with the realisation that they were all alike under the skin, all wishing that Grant did not cast such a long shadow.

 

Before he could speak one of Ibrahim’s runners appeared at the doorway, politely waiting for admission.  Stone beckoned to him to enter and at once Hajji Mohammed launched into the message Ibrahim had instructed be given to the Americans.  They listened attentively to the fact that the Englishman had been injured (“What Englishman? Heck, did any of you know about an Englishman being involved in all this?” Mason had demanded); Sheik El Hassim had admitted to being involved in buying support for a coup against the khedive,and Ebo Funsani, the prime instigator of the whole thing, had been killed. 

 

There was a babble of questions while the poor man paused to take a breath, and seemingly dismissing the questions he continued with his narrative.

 

“Commodore Cartwright and Ibrahim Aziz are in pursuit of a Russian called Dimitri Doestov, Sheik El Hassim is preparing to attend on the khedive.  He was wounded in the foray so shall begin his journey in the morning.”  Hajji bowed, “That is all I have to tell you, masters.”

 

“Will they need assistance?” Mason rose to his feet, “More men?”

 

“I can’t go, I have to leave for Khartoum later today,” Lockett groaned. “Does this mean Cartwright has got this situation under control?  Darn, we did nothing but sit here and it was El Hassim all the time.”

 

“I’m more to thinking that Funsani had a greater hand in this matter.  I wish I had known, that snake—” Mason growled.

 

The Egyptian looked at them, bowed, and with the slightest of shrugs of his thin shoulders he left the room.

 

…………………..

 

A runner reached the two men just as they were leading the camels in preparation for departure.  In quick hurried tones he informed Adam and Ibrahim that the Russian had been seen on horseback and heading for Alexandria and was alone.

 

Alone?  Adam pondered the word as he got “She Who Must Be Obeyed” to kneel. No man travelled alone unless he was en route to meeting others.  The probability that this was so made him grateful for the gun snug in its holster hidden beneath the voluminous black robes he wore.

 

“She Who Must Be Obeyed” had become quite fond of Adam during his sojourn in Cairo. Her red dyed cotton bobbled fringe that ornamented her broad brow to prevent the flies from clouding around her eyes had little golden pomegranates sewn here and there by her master, and even though she was constantly masticating something between her large teeth she had given Adam a whiskery hairy kiss, nuzzling his face as he had held her harness.

 

Now her long knobbly knees began to concertina down so that her legs were tucked beneath her and Adam was able to mount into the saddle. He leaned back and prepared for her to launch herself forwards and up again, walking down the street with a sashay to rival the best saloon girl in the west.

 

Alone—and Adam glanced up at the sky and realised they had only a few hours of daylight before night fell, and the temperature would plummet and it would become cold,  cold.  He thought of Doestov again, tried to get into his mind and think the way the Russian would in order to understand his reasoning for riding out into the desert on his own.

 

……………………..

 

In his private apartments El Hassim sat writing a lengthy missive.  He had dismissed his secretary, preferring privacy and the chance to think about what he was going to write to his cousin.  He was profuse in his apologies, honest in admitting his error and vanity, humble in accepting whatever punishment his cousin would mete out to him.

 

He paused and looked around the room thoughtfully. Already the shadows were creeping in towards him as though hungry fingers were seeking to clutch and devour him.  Foolish thoughts, he dismissed them from his mind and dipped the pen into the ink.

 

“Only, I beg you, Excellency, not to bring any harm to my dear wife, Anna.  She and her sister are free of any blame for this foolish plan.  I ask that you care for her and keep her safe all her days for she is precious to me.”

 

He wrote a few more brief lines, and then attached his seal and signature before reading it once again and rolling it up, to seal it once again.  He would carry it on his person when they left Cairo in the morning and would deliver it to his cousin.  He rose from the desk now and paused a moment to look down at the letter which seemed to be accusing him by its  presence of the enormity of his crime.  He wondered, with dread, exactly what punishment the khedive would give him…confiscation of his properties, of his assets and perhaps even death awaited him.

 

…………………..

 

Hester Cartwright stood by the door of the ranch house and watched her husband and father-in-law as they stood together in the yard.  Hoss was listening, his face attentive and patient, as his father talked.  She enjoyed the moment looking at them like this, the two men so alike and yet so different.  The sun shone behind them and formed a crown around Hoss’ head, a trick of the light, but one that she enjoyed watching as the sun motes danced around them.

 

“What are they talking about now?” Joe asked as he walked towards her, and then stood behind her and looked at them with a slight frown on his face, “It’s a strange thing, isn’t it, the tricks time plays on us.  We get to an age where we think we’ll be forever young and take all manner of stupid risks, and then suddenly you realise you’re mortal …” his voice drifted into a sigh and Hester turned to look at him.

 

“What brought that to mind, Joe?”

 

“Oh, just looking at them, Pa and Hoss.  The light shining on Pa like this makes him look so young, smoothes out all the creases, if you know what I mean.”

 

She turned to look at Ben more closely, and wondered what it was her brother-in-law was seeing that she could not.  She shook her head and wiped her hands slowly on her apron before turning back into the room.  Life was full of changes, and people changed all the time.  She glanced back at Joe who still stood staring over at his father and brother and she shook her head again, wondering why it seemed to matter so much.

 

Today Hop Sing had left her in charge of the kitchen.  Once a week he did this, and she appreciated the kindness he showed her in allowing her this independence.  She opened a cupboard and took out the ingredients for the meal she was going to prepare, and looked at them on the table with a smile.  Today her family were going to really enjoy their meal. After all, she was a good cook, not in Hop Sing’s league to be sure, but she was good enough to bring a smile to her husband’s face.

 

She brought out a dish that would constitute the main ingredient and lifted the lid.  She looked down at the red meat swimming in its own juices and time stood still as it seemed her feet were suddenly hammered into the floor and her legs were heavy so that she could not lift them and her stomach moved in all different directions while her head filled with everything but common sense.  She swayed back and forth; the lid clattered to the floor and within seconds she was joining its slow descent to land with a thud upon the smooth floorboards.

 

It seemed a long time before she opened her eyes again and when she did she found herself stretched out on the bed with a blanket covering her.  The curtains had been drawn across the windows shutting out the light so that the room was cool and dim.

 

She felt a hand take hold of hers and then she looked up and saw Hoss looking down at her, and she smiled because he looked so worried and she knew she had to smile in order to reassure him that all was well.

 

“You fell. Collapsed.”  He pulled up a chair and sat down, then took both hands in his and she could feel the hard skin of the callouses beneath her fingers.

 

“It was the sight of the meat...it made my head go swimmy.”

 

He kissed her fingers, gentle soft lips that touched her skin with an almost reverential touch, then he held them against his face.

 

“Joe heard you fall and called for me.  He looked after you but couldn’t lift you.”

 

“Of course not,” she closed her eyes  and imagined the scene, she saw herself as big as a beached whale and Joe, dear Joe, so slim and slight of build struggling to get her off the floor, she smiled.

 

“It weren’t funny,” Hoss cried. “Pa’s sent for John.”

 

“There isn’t any need,” she whispered and looked at him. “I’m alright.  It’s just the baby, that’s all.”

 

He looked at her then with a tenderness that always made her feel unworthy of so much love.  He released her hands then and lowered one of his so that he could gently touch the mound, still slight, beneath her skirts.  “Shucks, I sure wish he would hurry up and get on outta there.” He grinned over at her and then frowned, “Well, I think he heard me—”

 

“He did?” she laughed, a soft laugh, but one so weary that she couldn’t raise her head from the pillow but closed her eyes and covered her face with her arm.

 

“Yep, I could feel something move in there—”

 

She didn’t say a word, she was just so tired; his voice came from a long, long way as though from the far end of the room, and then it drifted and was gone.  He kissed her brow, adjusted the blanket, and sat down in the chair beside the bed to resume his vigil.

 

…………………..

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

He hadn’t meant his voice to sound so brutal and cold, but the sight of her standing in the doorway made his stomach turn over and his body go hot and cold.  He tried to dismiss her as he turned to pick up his medical bag but when he stepped forwards she blocked his way and stepped further into the room.

 

“You haven’t been to see me yet,” she said in a low voice, husky and soft. “I was expecting you weeks ago.”

 

“Then don’t.” he replied, “I don’t want you to expect me, Ingrid, because I won’t be coming to see you.”

 

“I realised that,” she raised her hand and placed it gently on his back, let it slide slowly down his jacket where it covered his spine, “I thought—well—best go and see him as he won’t come to see me.”

 

He turned quickly, took a step to one side to avoid her and reached for his hat. She watched him with her blue eyes and smiled that secretive little smile that always made him wonder what it was that she knew and would reveal about him.

 

“I have to go—”

 

“Oh, someone important?”

 

“Yes.”  He pulled open the door, and because Hester was so much the opposite of Ingrid in possibly every way, he said confidently, “Hester Cartwright.”

 

“Hester?  Oh, how is dear Hester?  I must ride out and see her one day.  I heard she was—er—expecting a visit from the stork soon?”

 

He gave her a scathing look and hurried from the surgery towards the battered old buggy that Paul had been using for years.  He glanced over at her as he passed the building, saw the look on her face, the way her eyes gleamed and the black hair shone.  He saw her cheap flouncy skirts that stopped short above her knees and he felt disgust so strong that it was like bile in his throat.  He realised as he urged the horses to move faster that he hated her, really hated her.

 

Chapter 76

 

Hester Cartwright stepped from her bath and reached for the towel.  It had been a little private time in which to relax and unwind, to wallow in the warm oil scented water with the window open just a little to allow balmy breezes to drift into the room—just such a perfect time to think about the past and to dwell for a while on the future.

 

Now as she hugged the towel around her she looked at her reflection in the steam covered mirror.  How different she was now from the woman Hoss had married.  She had always been tall; her hair had always been that burnished copper gold colour and her eyes always that blue, but her light skin had freckled and burned to a soft pleasing tan; her nose no longer peeled, her cheeks had filled out and her body was no longer ‘all skin and bone’ as she had once lamented to her cousin, Ann.

 

She couldn’t feel her hips anymore; she had filled out as a result of the pregnancy and she had now the pleasure of feeling those fluttery movements that indicated the baby was now on the move.  Her experience of the previous day had been what John Martin referred to as ‘the quickening’; when at 4 months the baby makes its first turn and begins to move.  A lot of women felt ill when it happened and it was not uncommon for them to faint. 

 

She dressed herself, picking up one garment after another slowly as though not wanting to dispel the charm of the moments she had to herself.  Although she left a lot of cooking and house chores to Hop Sing, there was still a lot that she undertook herself during the day, so these were indeed precious moments.  Dressed and now comfortable she brushed her hair; it crackled with electricity as she passed and re-passed the brush through the damp tangled curls and then caught them up in a ribbon at the nape of her neck.

 

The day was hot, and as she stepped into the other room the heat wrapped her up like a warm blanket, smothering and uncomfortable.  She unbuttoned the top of her blouse and walked to the door, which she opened.  The house was quiet, and as she looked out into the yard, she felt as though she were the only person alive on the planet.

 

………………….

 

Riding a camel was vastly different from riding a horse. Adam didn’t find it necessarily more comfortable but there were good reasons for preferring a camel for desert riding, and he pulled his face covering tighter across his nose and mouth as they rode onwards and the sand blew into his face.

 

Ibrahim rode by his side and seemed to have merged with the beast, comfortably perched in his saddle and well covered by his garments and turban, with only his eyes peering from above the cloth.  He was hunched into the saddle, one leg hooked over the pommel, his body moving in tune to the animal’s swaying from side to side.

 

Night would fall soon, Adam thought. It would plummet down and end their journey; the only good thing was that it would also put a halt to Dimitri’s.  He licked his lips, felt their dryness; his skin felt as though it were being stretched. He glanced over at Ibrahim.  “How far before we get to someplace with water?”

 

“One hour, perhaps.”

 

Adam nodded.  That meant nothing at all to him, one hour was good, but tagging ‘perhaps’ on the end meant anything up to another two.  He found himself thinking about home, and wondering what they would be doing now.  There was, he estimated, ten hours’* time difference between them, here he was approaching the night but back home they would be starting the day.

 

He thought of Ben in his study, totting up the ledgers, scowling and muttering under his breath.  Hoss would be mending fences, his shirt undone, flapping in the breeze while he hammered in the posts, wiping his brow on the back of his arm. Joe would be there, drinking water and watching Hoss, giving orders, picking up a plank and handing it to Hoss…he sighed, and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as he switched his thoughts from fantasy to what could be facts and it all went back to Ben’s letter and reference to the military.  What exactly had happened since that letter had been written?

 

His thoughts were interrupted by Ibrahim swinging his camel around and signing that they would make camp.  He looked around; there was no water hole in sight, no huddle of tents, and no township.  Just the desert, great swathes of sand.  His camel grunted and began to concertina herself down so that he could dismount.

 

By the time a fire was made it was dark and the stars shone so brilliantly that he could almost have reached out and plucked one from the sky.

 

…………………

 

Doestov the Russian huddled under blankets in the tent of some Bedouins who had camped near the water hole.  They had been slightly bemused at the sight of the well dressed, dapper gentleman on the horse approaching them in rather a regal manner.  But it had amused them enough to offer hospitality and a bed for the night.  Doestov didn’t grumble.  He smoked his last cigarette for the day, and then burrowed into the bedding.

 

Would they have followed him?  Was Ebo alive or dead?  Well, what did it matter anyway, if he had survived the khedive would soon despatch him, and all the other rebels because El Hassim was sure to—how did the Americans put it—spill the beans.  Doestov did not care one way or the other.  He had had no particular fondness for anyone involved in this affair. He had been given his orders and had done what he could; now all that he could strive to do was get out and retain as much dignity as he could for when he returned to his homeland.

 

The Russian/Prussian alliance would stand firm even though the Egyptian venture had not worked, but as he had warned his superiors at the time, were it to work it could well have been more trouble to the alliance than it was worth.  No, the familiar status quo was quite adequate and reliable…and he was quite prepared to forget the fact that Prussia had sent out two of their men to kill him.  There was little point in holding a grudge, after all, both men were dead now.

 

He wondered if Laurence were alive or dead.  The thought that the young man could be dead disturbed his sleep; the memory of Ebo’s face as he tortured the Englishman seemed worse now than it had been when he had been forced to witness it.  Over the weeks of travelling he had got to like and respect Laurence, even if he were English.

 

His mind returned to the thought of his being followed and he wondered who would be following him.  He fell asleep wondering…

 

………………..

 

The knock on the door was light, even timid, and rather hesitantly another knock followed.  Hester opened the door, blinked against the sunlight and then stepped back in surprise at the sight of Ingrid Buchanan standing before her.  For a moment they stood facing one another without speaking, and then Ingrid smiled and held out a bunch of flowers.  “For you, Hester.  I was so pleased when I heard that you were—” she smiled and raised her eyebrows as though it were difficult to say the word. “Well, you know what I mean.”

 

Hester took the flowers as though in a dream and then looked at Ingrid who was still waiting with a sweet smile on her face, an air of expectancy hanging about her as she waited to be invited into the house.

 

“It’s too hot to stay standing out here, Hester—” she murmured sweetly.

 

“Come in then—” and Hester stepped to one side and let the other woman into the house.

 

Hop Sing had already brought in a jug of lemonade, and she poured some into a glass and handed it to Ingrid as the other woman sat down.

 

“Thank you, that’s so kind of you.  I remember how lovely and fresh Hop Sing’s lemonade always was…” Ingrid smiled over the rim of the glass and took several swallows before setting the glass onto the table.

 

Hester took a seat and looked at her sister-in-law: demurely dressed, her hair modestly styled. Hester cleared her throat, and rather coldly asked Ingrid the reason for her visit.

 

“Why?  But to see you, of course.” she smiled, the blue eyes under delicately plucked eyebrows looked anxiously and fondly at Hester. “I only heard about your condition when I saw John yesterday.”

 

“You saw John?”

 

“Yes, only briefly.”  She sighed and ran a finger along the arm of the chair as though her mind was already on other things, “Are you keeping well?”

 

“Yes,  well, thank you.”

 

“You always were as strong as a horse.” Ingrid laughed, “You had more strength in your whole being than Milton and Marlow had together.”  She paused and frowned. “Have you heard from Marlow?”

 

“Yes, they have moved into the house back east.  Ingrid, I thought you were going to Paris...?”

 

“I was but—” she bowed her head; a tear trickled down her cheek which she dabbed away with a lace-trimmed handkerchief, “I had everything stolen from me—my money, jewels, and even the deeds to my property.  I am so wretchedly poor now, Hester.” She turned to her sister-in-law with another tear falling perfectly upon her smooth porcelain cheek. “Oh Hester, I am so desperate, you can’t imagine how difficult it is for me…”

 

“Is that why you’re here?  To ask for our help?”

 

Ingrid clasped her hands together fervently, blinked her eyes so that two more tears slipped from them to fall upon her cheeks. “I know I don’t have the right to ask, I know that—” she put the handkerchief to her nose, was silent as though struggling to quell her emotions, “Oh Hester, I’m so sorry for how I acted before, but—”

 

“You stole from us.” Hester said in a voice that shook a little with suppressed anger.

 

“No, I didn’t.” Ingrid snapped back, her head suddenly erect and her back rigid. “Who said I stole anything from you?”

 

“We know that you did, Ingrid.  You stole a ring that you found in Adam’s room.”

 

Ingrid stared at her; she had two options now, two directions to choose from.  She chose the one she felt would best succeed with her soft hearted sister-in-law.  “I’m sorry, you’re right, I did take the ring.  Oh I am SO sorry.  I was just so desperate, so shocked by the will, and I was frightened, Hester.  I just didn’t know how much money I would be able to survive on.  I haven’t got what you have, Hester; Milton didn’t love me, not as Hoss loves you.  Now look—you are going to have a baby, and I?  What do I have—nothing, nothing at all.”  She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and bowed her head. “Will you forgive me?”

 

“Ingrid, I—”

 

“Please let me stay here with you, Hester.  I’ll look after you, and when you have the baby I’ll look after it for you.  I’ll do whatever you wish, just please, let me come and stay here.”

 

Hester sighed, put her hand to the top button of her blouse nervously and was about to speak when someone cleared their throat,  loudly, and they turned in unison to see Hoss standing and watching them.  How long he had been there neither of them knew.

 

 

Chapter 77

 

Lemonade slopped over Ingrid’s fingers as Hoss stared at her with a coldness in his eyes that she would never have expected from a man whose gentleness and kindness she had labelled hid some kind of fool, a buffoon to laugh at and gently mock behind his back.

 

“What are you doing here, Mrs. Buchanan?” Hoss now asked as he walked purposefully into the room and stood behind Hester’s chair, his hand resting on her shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled as though recognising in him her knight riding forth to save her from the dragon.

 

“I—I c came—” Ingrid paused, frowned, and then looked at Hoss with the most pitiful expression she could muster upon her face, tears once again moistening her eyes. “I came to ask you if you could show me some kindness now, Hoss.  I’ve no money, no home, and  few friends from whom I can expect any kindness.”  She rose to her feet. A nun could not have looked more demure or saintly as she bowed her sleek head and a dark curl fell across her smooth white brow. “I’m so sorry that I took that ring; I really thought that no one—oh—but that doesn’t excuse it, does it?” She looked at them both with anguished eyes and wrung her hands, “Please, please, forgive me and let me come and live here with you?”

 

The clapping of hands from the doorway broke the following silence and they all turned to see Ben and Joe now standing in the room, and it was Ben who was applauding, his face cold and stern, and his dark eyes black.

 

“An excellent performance, Mrs. Buchanan.” 

 

“I meant what I said…” she stammered, looking appealingly at Joe; surely he would have some feelings for her—he had, after all, shown her some tenderness.  “I really did, I AM sorry—”

 

“Ingrid.” Hester rose to her feet now, and sighed as she looked at her sister-in-law. “Your family ties ended when Milton died. You have no connection, no rights to expect any family loyalties to be extended to you by Mr. Cartwright, Hoss or Joe.  You are NOT family, Ingrid.” 

 

Ingrid blinked rapidly; she put a hand to her mouth and then shook her head as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

 

“What am I expected to live upon?”

 

“From your earnings in the Sazarac?” Joe replied rather bitterly, “I hear you’re  popular.”

 

Hester looked at Ingrid then with a shocked expression on her face, then shook her head, “For heaven’s sake, Ingrid.”

 

“What else was I supposed to do?  I’ve no training for anything—” she paused, bit her bottom lip and shook her head again. “It’s not work I enjoy doing.”

 

“Then don’t do it; do something decent for a change,” Hoss replied

 

“Hester—please—”

 

“No, Ingrid.” Hester raised a hand as an indication that as far as she was concerned the conversation was over. “Please go away.”

 

Ingrid remained standing for a little while longer, long enough for each one of them to wonder if she was going to have to be forcibly removed and who was the one going to do the removing.  Eventually she nodded, a strange final nod of the head, and turned to leave the room.

 

She paused at the doorway as though about to say something and then hurried out.

 

“Ingrid?”

 

Ben’s voice, deep, firm, and not altogether hostile, stopped her just as she had reached the hired buggy. She turned and tried to look calm and dignified, two things she lacked entirely in her personality.

 

“Yes, Mr. Cartwright?”

 

“You know that I could have you arrested for theft, don’t you?”

 

She stared at him, raised her chin in defiance.  “You need witnesses for that.”

 

“I have witnesses.”

 

She blinked, lowered her eyelids and put a hand to her mouth. Then she looked up at him again.  “Yes, well, are you going to arrest me then?”

 

“No.  But I am going to do what I can to help you.”

 

“You are?”  Hope leapt into her eyes, and a blush appeared upon each cheek, rouging them prettily and making her eyes shine.

 

“I don’t like the thought of you working in the Sazarac; the kind of work—” he paused, looked at her sternly “that kind of work doesn’t sit well with me.  I’m prepared to put in a word with a friend who will give you some employment in Genoa.”

 

“GENOA!?”

 

“It’s honest work, Ingrid.  I’ll give you the money to get there, and to pay for your keep for a week, while you settle in.”

 

“But, I don’t want to go to Genoa.  For heaven’s sake, it’s—it’s like the end of the world there.”

 

“Very well, how about New York?  I’ve connections there, it’ll cost me more to fund you, but if it gets you away from here, away from my family and Hester—”

 

“Is that why you’re prepared to help me, Ben?  To keep me away from your family?  Not because you really want to help me?”

 

Ben raised his eyebrows, gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. “I thought I was showing concern for you as well as for my family, Ingrid.”  He grabbed her arm as she tossed her head and moved closer to the buggy. “Look, my dear, I’ve seen other women who have worked at the Sazarac every bit as pretty as yourself, and within months they’ve been abused, beaten by men who don’t care about a pretty face because their interest is only in one thing…and yes, I want you away from my family, because I know you have the ability to hurt them.”

 

She pulled her arm free, glared at him, blue eyes that were clouded over with anger, and then she clambered into the rig, and left without another word.

 

‘Hurt them,’ Ingrid thought over the words, mulled them over in her mind, ‘Hurt them?’ she hugged her hatred to herself, let the words that had been spoken that day drip into her heart like poison to embitter her even more than she had already been before she had even stepped through the doorway.  Oh, yes, she thought as she urged the horses into a gallop, yes, I’ll hurt them alright, every bit as much as they have hurt me, I’ll do twice as much to them.’

 

………………….

 

Several things occurred to Adam as he attempted to get some sleep: one, which was of little importance in the scheme of things, was that camels did smell, horribly so; and two, which was more important, was that getting Doestov was really not so imperative after all.  What could he say or do to change or improve matters, or even add to the information they already possessed?  What could they do with him once they had hold of him?  Arrest him? 

 

The thought of the Russian caused him loss of sleep mainly due to the aimlessness of it all.  The khedive—well, Adam knew that Ismail would not be interested in this Doestov.  He had other matters to deal with now, and getting Doestov involved would mean a confrontation, however polite or impolite, with one, perhaps, two of the major powers orbiting Egypt at that time.  No, Ismail would do nothing with Doestov, and the Russian would merely slip away back home.

 

Adam sat up, wrapped his arms around his knees and stared into the campfire.  The silence was disturbed only by Ibrahim’s light snoring and the sound of the camels…not  polite or pleasant sounds.  He thought of the times he had camped with his brothers, when there had been chatter and laughter, joking and teasing around the fire, the sound of wind in the trees, horses cropping at the grass, the cries of the coyotes far off.

 

He sighed, lowered his head to rest his chin upon one knee and stared into the feeble flames.  Doestov would, perhaps, give them some explanation, even some more names but that was all that he could do...and even that depended on the kind of mood he was in. 

 

He stayed for some time in that position as he struggled to work out some solution to the puzzle of Doestov, but there was really only one, and having reached that conclusion, Adam wrapped his djubbeh around him more closely and fell into a light sleep.

 

……………..

 

“Is it morning yet?”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“I’m Rachel—Rachel Forster.”

 

“Oh, I see.”  he frowned, raised a hand and touched his brow and felt the rough texture of cotton against his fingertips, “My head?”

 

“It isn’t broken, Mr. Willoughby.”

 

“Oh, well…that’s good.”  He sighed deeply. “Have I got my eyes open?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is it meant to be dark?”

 

“Yes.” There was a smile in her voice and he heard the rustle of clothes as she moved, then suddenly there was a light, small and being carried towards him, then immediately a brighter light as a lamp flared into flame.  She turned towards him and smiled. “Is that better?”

 

“Much better, thank you.” 

 

They lapsed into silence, momentary and light.  He had closed his eyes again; his breathing became shallow as he drifted into sleep. Then he jerked as pain trickled through his body and his eyes flew open and he gave a groan; his fingers clenched and unclenched, and for a moment he was left breathless in his attempt to stifle the pain...such pain.  Her hand was cool upon his arm, and from somewhere a strong arm lifted him and poured something down his throat. He heard, as though from a long way away, some man say, “He’ll sleep now, he’ll be better...”  He shivered; his body trembled in a spasm of agony, and then the pain ebbed away to be replaced by a physical euphoria in which he drifted, floated, almost as though on clouds, so he fell into a deep sleep with the memory of an angel smiling at him.

 

Chapter 78

 

Adam awoke the following morning with a much clearer thought pattern in his head. He had fallen asleep with so many muddled ideas it was hardly surprising that he dreamt of Widow Hawkins sitting  by the fire with ’Arry’s pink pantaloons on the wall while she knitted, and while she was knitting, complaining because all the balls of wool were different colours tangled and knotted together.  The dream seemed to fill Adam’s mind and he could hear himself saying throughout “This is just a dream; I’ll wake up in a minute.”

 

He woke up just as his father was saying in his deep brown voice “A job ain’t done until it’s finished, son.”  As he yawned, stretched and stared up into the blue sky, he knew what he had to do before he could say he had finished the job.

 

…………………..

 

Ingrid stared at her reflection in the mirror and closed her eyes tightly before opening them to stare yet again so that she could absorb the shock of seeing herself as she was now.  The chemicals she had used to dye her hair had left it coarse and dry, the colour of it a rather unbecoming and cheap yellow blonde that made her skin look sallow and old. 

 

‘Never mind’ she told herself, as she bit down on her lips, ‘I’ll show that Ben Cartwright a thing or two.’  She pinched her cheeks and the colour made her look more like a doll than ever.

 

She took a key from the chain around her neck and opened her case, inside which was a blue swathe of velvet. She carefully unrolled it and looked at the jewellery there; the only pieces she had left to her after the theft because she had been wearing them at the time.  She fingered each piece before returning them to their hiding place.

 

Downstairs in the saloon she could hear the sounds of men, loud shouts, braying laughter, the tinkling of a piano, the clatter of glasses and the thud of boots upon the wooden floor.  She stood at the doorway while her mind revolved around the incident that had taken place at the Ponderosa earlier that day.  Mentally she ticked off her grievances, and one by one listed the people who would be her targets for revenge.

 

“You coming down?” Rosie said as she passed her by with her skirts bustling and tugging at her bodice to make sure that all the flesh she possessed was neatly tucked in.

 

“In a minute—” she replied as she crossed the landing to lean against the banister rail that ran along its length. 

 

A man looked up, caught her eye and winked at her.  He wasn’t too bad looking, and seemed reasonably clean, so she winked back.  She couldn’t smile, her mind was too full of things that needed to be done, and the people to whom those things would be done.  Eventually she took to the stairs and walked down them slowly, one by one, and her short skirts rustled and bounced at each step, and when she reached the bottom she wasn’t surprised to find the young man waiting there for her.

 

……………..

 

Ibrahim said his prayers with the diligence of a man according to his faith.  Adam said his own, private and heartfelt.  Ben had always said that the best friend a man ever had was his Creator, that there was a vast difference between one who is created and the one who did the creating.  Now in the vast emptiness of the desert and hearing the murmur of Ibrahim’s prayers, Adam’s mind turned to a time when he was a child, before Inger and Hoss came into their lives and he and his father travelled mostly alone, often in fearsome conditions, always together.

 

“Why are you praying, Pa?”

 

“Because I need help, son, and a man needs to talk to his best friend at times like this.”

 

“Is it God?  Is he your best friend?”

 

“Yes, Adam, my friend, and my father.”

 

Adam remembered how small he was then; he could, if he thought hard enough, even smell the smoke from the camp fire, feel the rough cotton of Ben’s shirt against his face.  He remembered looking up at his father and seeing the stubble bristling Ben’s face, and the sweat that was beading in the furrows of his father’s frown. 

 

“I can’t see God.  How do I know he’s there?”

 

Ben had looked down at him, his son’s lack of faith at that moment just another straw loaded onto a whole bundle of them.  He ruffled his son’s hair, black hair that curled as a result, and he nodded with a smile. “He’s always there, son.”

 

It wasn’t the answer Adam had wanted then, nor understood, and he had glanced into the shadows over his father’s shoulder and seen nothing but the horse cropping the grass and the shadows lengthening from the shrubs and trees about them. “Can he see me?”

 

“Yes, he can see us all and better still, he can see right deep into our hearts and minds.  He knows exactly what we need even when we think we know better…”

 

Adam smiled now as he remembered how a shiver had trickled down his back at the thought of someone unseen being able to do that, and he had hoped as a little boy that his thoughts had not been so  bad that day, and that his heart was just ticking along well enough.

 

He stood up when Ibrahim had finished and put away his prayer mat.  The meal was frugal and spare and he put forward his thoughts to the older man who listened with grave attention, and then placed his hand upon his heart and bowed.

 

“As you wish,” was all he had said.

 

So they had mounted the camels, and turned the animal’s heads in the direction Doestov had taken, the lightest imprints of his horses hoofs still visible in the sand.

 

……………….

 

Dimitri Doestov was eating with the Bedouins when the cry came from a boy stationed outside that there were more riders coming.  He continued to eat while his mind turned over the possibilities that this would be those men looking for him.  He placed some torn-off bread into his mouth and chewed on it slowly, masticating it round and round in his mouth and waiting to hear the sound of a familiar voice that would confirm what he had suspected.

 

“Dimitri?”

 

He nodded, his back still to the entrance of the tent and to the men who had entered.  He wondered how many there were who had given chase after him, when really, all it had needed was the one man. He rose to his feet now and turned slowly, saw the black-clad Arab and the other standing close behind him.  That they had been travelling for at least several hours was obvious from the amount of sand on their clothing, and even as he surmised that fact Adam removed his face covering, and then the ’iqual, and the kufiva.  He stood before Dimitri Doestov bareheaded and with his brown eyes displaying nothing more than curiosity.

 

“Commodore?”  Dimitri paused, swallowed the last of the food in his mouth and glanced at Ibrahim, whom he acknowledged with a bow of the head, “So?  I did vonder if any one vood follow me, but then I ask myself, vy vood they bother.”

 

“Perhaps for answers to some questions, some information, names.”

 

Doestovs brow furrowed and he shrugged. “Alvays you are the same, Commodore, alvays you vant ze answers and to make the things tidy—da?”

 

Adam allowed the slightest smile on his lips and turned to the entrance indicating that perhaps it would be better to talk outside, not to take advantage of the home of the family who stood around wondering what was going on.

 

The heat beat down upon them but Adam did not put on the kafiva which he held loosely in his hand.  Together he and the Russian walked some distance from the tents where Ibrahim had remained, accepting the invitation of sweet shay with the Arabs from their ancient samovar.

 

Dimitri observed the younger man thoughtfully; the style of dress suited him along with the beard and the longer hair that glistened from the rays of the sun upon it.  He wanted to talk about normal things, subjects that would show him having the desire to be a friend to this one, but he knew that wasn’t what Adam wanted so he waited.  Finally they found some where they could sit, each facing the other.

 

“Just explain to me what this is all about from your point of view.” Adam said. “So that I can understand.”

 

“Politics.” Dimitri shrugged, and put a hand in his pocket to withdraw the silver case before remembering he had smoked the last cigarette the previous evening. He sighed. “It’s all about politics, my friend.  You will never understand it, anymore than I do.  I am told to do something; I do it as best I can.  I get told to do something else, and I do that also, because—” he dipped his fingers into the sand and watched as it trickled through them, drifting over their clothes as it did so—“ because I love my country.”

 

“You came to us wanting help for Russia—”

 

“Da, is right.” 

 

“You gave us information about the plan to kill Grant when he comes here next year?”

 

“Is true.”

 

“Information that Sheik El Hassim gave you?”

 

“Nyet, El Hassim knew nothing about it.  He was—innocent—but Ebo Funsani wanted money and the vay to get it voz to pretend to El Hassim that he would become khedive.” He shrugged. “It is possible that vood have been true, if Grant was killed then perhaps Ismail would have been too.  But El Hassim foolishly trusted his old friend and gave him money.”

 

“So why did you change, why give Funsani Russian support?”

 

“In Tripoli I got new instructions…It was not good to cause division between Prussia and Russia.  I must work now for both.”  His fingers ran along the smooth softness of the case in his pockets and he longed for a cigarette; his shoulders slumped. “Sometimes I do what I am told, but it does not mean I am happy to do it. Inside my heart I am far from happy.”

 

“Funsani nearly killed Laurence Willoughby.”

 

“Da, dat was bad.”

 

“You stood by and let it happen?”

 

“Da,” Dimitri nodded, bit his lip and sighed. “I wanted to help him, but I could not do so.  My orders were to support the coup, to be helping Funsani and if the coup was successful to help the new khedive so that Russia and Prussia would replace England and America in Egypt.”  He shrugged, “It failed, so now I return…”

 

“Have you any names I can take back to the khedive?”

 

Dimitri put his hand to his pocket and withdrew a list of names which he handed to Adam; he smiled slowly as Adam reached out to take it.

 

“I write this last night.  It is—” he drew in his breath, shrugged yet again. “It is all the names I can tell you.  It is because I am sorry for what happened that time in your ‘sheep,’ when the man died and it was my fault.”

 

Adam felt humbled; he had not expected Doestov to act with such magnanimity nor to remember that ill-fated fight during which Abbot had been killed.  He put the paper in his pocket and extended his hand. “Thank you, Dimitri.”

 

They shook hands, and Doestov smiled “So, vot you do now?  Arrest me?”

 

“What for?  The khedive isn’t interested in you, or Russian politics, he has problems on his own doorstep to work on.  Who would want you anyway?  Your people have already arranged for your departure from Alexandra—” it was his turn to shrug now and he smiled, his brown eyes turning the colour of warm melting caramel toffee, “Goodbye, Doestov.”

 

“Dos vedanya, Commodore.”

 

They shook hands again, and then Adam walked away, replacing the kafiva and ’iqual as he went back to the tent.  From a distance Dimitri Doestov watched him, a broad shouldered tall man with the black robes blowing in the breeze around his long legs.

 

…………………..

 

The tension in the home of the sheik was such that Rachel Forster found herself in tears more than once as she saw Anna hugging her husband close.  She had whispered several times during the course of the morning that everything would be alright, but Anna’s face had shown that she was not convinced.

 

Laurence Willoughby had regained his senses now; a good sleep with the help of the powerful drugs he was given had helped, and a further dose that morning had deadened the pain enough for him to be able to lie in his bed almost floating on air.  He looked at the young woman anxiously, at the moist eyes and the constant use of a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

 

“I don’t suppose those tears are for me,” he said suddenly and Rachel jumped, startled, and looked at him. “After all we’ve barely met.”

 

“I’m sorry, how awful of me…” she said, and her voice was quiet, soft.  “How do you feel now, Mr. Willoughby?”

 

“To be honest, I don’t feel a thing.”

 

“I suppose not, they gave you some powerful drugs.”  She walked away from the window where she had been overlooking the garden, watching El Hassim and Anna as they sat and talked together close to the roses. “Would you like something to drink?”

 

“If there’s some water?  Is the commodore here?”

 

She paused in the act of pouring the water into a glass and half turned her head to look at him. “No, he isn’t here.  I think he will be here soon, though.”

 

“That’s good.” He allowed her to lift his head and then took some water from the glass. When he had finished, she returned to the window and looked down, but El Hassim and Anna had gone, returned to the house.

 

“Do you know him  well, the commodore?” She sat down on a chair which she had pulled closer to the bed and looked at the poor battered face.  She wondered whether or not the man behind the bruises, bumps and bloodied stitched up cuts was good-looking.  She was sorry to think that if he liked the shape of his nose, he would now have to get used to a different one.

 

“Well enough. Not that well actually, just that he makes you feel as though—as though one has.”  Laurence felt himself drifting away. He sighed. “You’ve met him then?”

 

“Very briefly.”

 

He closed his eyes so the room would stop spinning.  She watched him, wondering if he had drifted off to sleep, and was about to get up from the chair when he opened his eyes again, looked at her and smiled. “Tell me about yourself, Rachel—it is Rachel?”

 

“Yes, I’m Rachel; my sister is Anna, and she’s married to Sheik El Hassim.”  He continued to stare at her and she shrugged, a slight lifting of one shoulder, “There’s not much to tell.”

 

“It’ll help me…if you told me”

 

She didn’t bother to ask how it would help him, but started to talk in that soft voice, slightly husky.  She told him that her father was a famous archaeologist, particularly in the Egyptian field.  When her mother had died she had gone to live in London where she studied in her own field, whereas Anna had preferred to follow in their father’s footsteps. 

 

“I didn’t like the pyramids,” she admitted. “Father was sure that somewhere around here there’s a wonderful burial chamber, something that would be worth all the discoveries they have ever made anywhere in the world.  Anna thinks so too…but…I prefer to do my scratching around back home.” She smiled at the memory of verbal battles fought in their front parlour between her father, sister and herself.  “I never even bothered to learn Egyptian, although I can speak Russian and French fluently.”

 

“And what about your husband?”

 

“I—I don’t have a husband.”

 

“What?  Never?”

 

“No, never.”  She laughed softly, who would have thought she could be laughing today?  “What about your wife?”

 

“I don’t have a wife.” He sighed and closed his eyes.

 

“Does the commodore?”

 

“No, only in a manner of speaking.”

 

She blushed a little, “What does that mean, if it’s not too indelicate to ask.”

 

“It’s—it’s a ranch, 1000 square miles of mountains and trees, called the Ponderosa.”

 

She leaned back in her chair and sighed, then looked at him. He was smiling, his eyes shut, the even rise and fall of his chest indicative of his sleeping.  Softly she laid a hand on his chest and felt the gentle thud of his heart beat against her hand and then turned to the servant standing against the wall. “Let me know when he wakes,” she whispered and quickly left the room. 

 

 

Chapter 79

 

There were times when the view over Lake Tahoe even took Joe’s breath away and he had seen it countless times during his life.  Today it looked as though it was wearing its  best colours, the waters were smooth like a mirror, reflecting the hills and clouds, and even the birds that skimmed its surface had their reflections.  Flowers bloomed more profusely than ever, a result, so Hoss said, of the cold winter they had had that year.  Whatever had caused it, the smells, the sights, the colours, everything was perfect.

 

Hester stood for a moment to look over the lake, and then smiled up at her husband who put his arm around her shoulders and gazed fondly down at her before kissing the tip of her nose.  Close by, as she straightened the corner of a blanket that was to serve as sitting area and tablecloth, Ann looked at them and smiled before glancing over at Candy, who blew her a kiss.

 

Mary Ann was walking towards them with her basket over her arm, full of the cake and dainties that she had made herself earlier that morning.  She paused at the sight of Hoss and Hester, and saw Candy blow a kiss to his wife.  For a moment she wondered if she would ever be loved, secure in that kind of love, as they appeared to be.  Little Rose saw her and clapped chubby hands together, showing off her new tooth and gurgling, and now Ann turned and smiled over at her. “Glad you got here, Mary.”

 

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

 

“You’re not late at all, we’ve not even got ourselves organised yet.” Ann laughed and began to take her basket from the rig and carry it over to the blanket.

 

Hester had set her blanket next to Ann’s, and was placing food from her basket upon it.  She glanced up and smiled at Mary, then looked over to where Joe was hurrying up from the banks of the lake with a welcoming smile of his own for the young schoolteacher.

 

“It’s such a lovely day—” she said as she passed the basket into his hands and he nodded,

 

“Yes, made lovelier by your presence.” he replied

 

Everyone nearby laughed and said ‘Ooooh’ in a teasing manner, which made Joe laugh, and MaryAnn blush.

 

“Don’t mind them,” Joe said while his hazel green eyes twinkled at her, “They have  simple minds; anything that takes them from the usual routine of their day causes this strange reaction from them.”

 

“Yes, don’t mind us, Mary Ann,” Hester smiled and slipped her arm through that of the other woman’s, “We’re going to have such a great picnic.”  She sat down onto her blanket and surveyed the food, “Hop Sing has done us proud.”

 

“It all looks wonderful.” MaryAnn sighed, and sat down beside Hester, feeling less intimidated by her than anyone else there. Although she liked Ann a lot, they lacked that bond, having seen each other far less.  “Thank you for inviting me.”

 

“Oh no, don’t thank us, Joe wanted you to come.  Thought it was time you were exposed to spending time with the family,” Hester replied and dug deep into the basket to produce some slices of ham. “Hop Sing’s best cured ham, you’ll love this.”

 

“With pickles,” Hoss cried, rubbing his hands.

 

“Yes, here are the pickles.” Hester pulled out a jar with the aplomb of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

 

Rose was reaching out for something to eat too, but she toppled over, banging her nose against the blanket and beginning to wail.  She was instantly picked up by her doting father who tossed her in the air until her tears turned to laughter as she waved her arms over his head in delight.

 

“It won’t be long now before you have your baby, will it?” Mary Ann looked to Hester who smiled shyly and nodded. “You must be excited!”

 

“Well, a little scared too, to be honest.”

 

“You’ll be fine,” Ann assured her, licking her fingers clean after handling some sticky jar of relish, “You have two Doctor Martins to look after you, don’t forget.”

 

“Well, so long as it doesn’t decide to arrive in the same way yours did…” and Hester laughed and leaned forward to pinch Rose’s plump cheeks.

 

“Isn’t Mr. Cartwright coming to join us?” Ann asked now, looking around her as though only now realising that someone was missing.

 

“No, he has work to do tying up that deal with Jacob Wells.” Hoss replied, taking Hester’s hand in his own. He surveyed the “table” and said hopefully, “Do we eat now?”

 

Mary Ann looked at Joe shyly when he came and sat down close by her side, her shoulder actually rubbed against his arm as he leaned forward.  She could smell him, his clothes, the pomade he put on his hair, even the masculine body smell of him and she thought back to the time when she had first met him, grieving as he was over Little Moon, and herself, so naïve and silly, being so self righteous.  She wondered, as he passed a plate to her and smiled into her eyes, whether he ever thought of the little Indian girl now.

 

“Try this, Mary Ann, it’s Hop Sing’s best ham,” Hoss cried and slapped a slice onto her plate.

 

“I made the bread,” Hester volunteered. “I’m sorry it’s a bit dinted in the middle; I took it out of the oven too soon.”

 

“It tastes great with the butter—”

 

Mary Ann watched them without realising how they were also busily observing her and each one wondering about the other.  After they had eaten Joe reached for her hand.

 

“Would you like to go for a walk now, I know the perfect place—” he started to say and Hoss laughed and told her not to go as she would no doubt end up in the lake.  “Take no notice of him, I’ll keep you safe.” Joe laughed as though he hadn’t a care in the world, and he didn’t release her hand either.

 

“She’s nice,” Ann said forgetting to put the crumb of cake into Rose’s mouth so that it hovered above her daughter’s open mouth and didn’t realise until the child began to cry.

 

“Oh, she’s better than nice.” Hester said softly, “She’s really a genuinely pleasant girl. I think she cares about Joe  much.”

 

“She must if she came here all the way from Calico to take the post as schoolteacher to be near him.” Candy looked over his shoulder and watched the couple as they strolled hand in hand towards the shore, and smiled. “Maybe this is the one.”

 

“Now that would be nice,” Ann said and looked baffled when they all looked at her and laughed, “Well, it would be—”

 

“More than nice,” Hester said, “It would be quite delightful, perfect, in fact.”

 

……….

 

Joe leaned against a rock and looked at her as she stood in front of him, obscuring his view of the lake, but then he didn’t really want any other view than the sight of her.  He liked the way she blushed a little when they were alone like this, and how she lowered her eyes and waited for him to make the first move, and he liked the way she spoke in her light voice which sometimes trailed away into a laugh.

 

“I’m glad you came today, Mary. Hey, you didn’t mind them ribbing you, did you?”

 

“They were ribbing us both, really; no, I didn’t mind.”  She smiled, looked into his eyes and then turned away. “I’m glad I came.  I enjoyed it.”

 

“Mary, you’ve come to mean a lot to me.  Even before I was hurt and you came visiting so much, I was thinking about you probably more than usual.  I wish I could turn the clock back and take back some of the things I said to you back then, when Frank died, and when we were stuck in that cave.”

 

“Oh Joe, I was thinking the same thing earlier about how I had acted. I was such a stuck-up prig.”

 

“No, you weren’t.” He smiled and trailed a finger along the shape of her face, across her mouth, “No, you weren’t.  You were  brave.” And then he pulled her gently towards him and kissed her.

 

It was a tender, gentle kiss, one that promised others to come, and one that showed both of them the true nature of their feelings.  No shy holding back on her part, gentle awareness of her situation on his… and when they parted they looked at one another and knew that they had found the other part of themselves.

 

……………………..

 

Ingrid lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, coughed, and coughed again.  The woman sitting opposite her shook her head. “You shouldn’t get into the habit of smoking them; stunt your growth they will.”

 

“Don’t be so stupid, I’m already fully grown.”

 

“It’s a disgusting habit.” one of the other women muttered as she pulled a ribbon through some lace edging for her bloomers, “You’ll smell like them. Perfume won’t disguise the stink.”

 

“Just because you don’t smoke, doesn’t mean we can’t,” Ingrid pouted and rose to her feet, walked across to the window and looked down into the street.

 

Ben Cartwright was walking down the street his back straight, shoulders so broad, no one would think to look at him that he was in the ‘elderly’ category.  A handsome man, even now.  She followed him with narrowed eyes in the same way a hungry mountain cat watches its prey before it pounces.  She watched and a small secretive smile played about her mouth.

 

“You won’t be walking down the street looking so high and mighty soon, Mr. Cartwright,” she thought to herself, “Not much longer now and I’ll have you begging on your knees.”

 

“Who are you looking at?”  One of the women asked, and Ingrid sensed her coming closer to see for herself.

 

She turned, shrugged, said it was nobody and left the room.  The two women looked at one another. “Did you notice her face?” the first said. “She looked as though she hated whoever it was down there.”

 

“Did you see who it was?”

 

“Could have been anyone of a dozen people.”  She frowned, shook her head. “She’s a strange one, she is, makes me feel cold all over to look at her at times.”

 

The other girl decided it was wiser to say nothing.

 

……………….

 

The picnic ended with everyone saying how lovely it had been, and yes, they just had to do it again sometime.  Crumbs fell from the blankets as they were shaken and packed away, leftover food was carefully wrapped in napkins and placed back into the baskets and Rosie, who had fallen asleep, snored so softly that it made them laugh.

 

“I’ll take you home, Mary,” Joe said  as he walked with her to the rig, her basket in his hand. He placed it on the back seat, and then he swung her up onto the front seat as he squeezed her hand “I’ll just get Cochise.”

 

She waited while he tied Cochise to the back axle and then clambered aboard. They smiled at one another as though they had discovered a wonderful secret between themselves, and then there were waves of the hand and farewells being shouted out as the three buggies went their separate ways.

 

Joe didn’t hurry the horses to get to town. Mary Ann leaned against him and allowed her head to rest upon his shoulder, and they talked just every so often, kissed just a little bit more often, and spent the rest of the time in some kind of a dream, where reality was nonexistent, and anything was possible.

 

“Joe, can I ask you something?”

 

“Of course.” he looked down at her, smiled, and exhaled softly, content in his world and happy to be with her.

 

“Do you ever think of Little Moon now?”

 

He didn’t reply at once and she wondered whether she should have waited for another time, but then who was to say was the right time to ask?  She was about to apologise for asking when he began to speak.

 

“Yes, sometimes.  It used to hurt when I did think of her, hurt a lot.  I loved her, and, to be honest, I still do.” he paused, “I think how I felt for her stopped me from loving Victoria.”

 

“Victoria?”

 

“Yes, the daughter of our lawyer” he stared ahead, the smile gone from his lips and a faraway look in his eyes, “I wanted to stop being haunted by the memory of Little Moon, Mary, and this girl came along and so I thought, perhaps I could love her instead.”

 

He wondered if he had imagined it, but had she shrunk back a little, was she holding herself aloof just a fraction.  He turned to her and smiled, took one of her hands and raised it to his lips.

 

“The fact was, simply, that I didn’t love her. Victoria, I mean.  She left here and I realised that it didn’t hurt to think about Little Moon anymore, she didn’t haunt me as she had, I no longer thought of her as real.  It was like being healed.  You know, Mary, love can do that, it can heal a person as well as crush them”

 

“I wouldn’t know; to be honest, I’ve never been in love—before,” she whispered.

 

“I was talking to my Pa about it, you know he had three wives?” he glanced at her, and she nodded. Looking into his face and seeing the earnestness there, she hugged his arm close against her, instinctively aware that he needed that reassurance of her understanding, “He told me what it was like to love a woman, lose her…then to fall in love with someone else.”

 

“I’m glad he was there to help you, Joe.”

 

“Mary Ann, I love you,” he said  softly. “I know you’re a schoolteacher but I won’t hold that against you.” and she could feel his lips smiling beneath hers so that she smiled too, and then they were laughing.

 

“What have you got against schoolteachers?”

 

“Oh, best ask my brother Adam about that, he’ll tell you all about me and schoolteachers.”

 

They laughed and chattered all the way to where she was staying, and he escorted her into the boarding house, kissed her as they parted company, and then watched as she mounted the stairs to her room, the wicker basket in her hand.

 

It had been a perfect day.

 

…………….

 

Night fell and the full moon shone down upon the young man as he rode home.  Silver light gilded the outline of the man and horse turning him into a living centaur.  It shone upon the white patches of the piebald, making Cochise look young and spirited as he stepped out so boldly towards home.

 

“Not far now, Cooch,” Joe said softly and ran his hand over the horse’s neck, beneath its mane. “You can have oats tonight, fella.”

 

A soft whicker and then a crack, and instinctively Joe ducked, but as he put his heels into the horses flanks to urge him into a faster gallop, the horse fell, toppled like a young tree in its prime and Joe just had time to get his feet from the stirrups and roll himself free as the body of his horse, his beloved Cochise, crashed into the dust.

 

…………..

 

“Is it done?” she asked.

 

“I shot his horse from under him.”

 

“You mean, he’s still alive?”

 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t shoot Joe; he’s a Cartwright.”

 

“And you’re a fool.”

 

The door slammed and the young cowboy stood there, confused, then turned and slowly returned to his horse, and rode out of town.  He rode in the opposite direction from Joe, so didn’t pass the distraught young man sprawled on the road home, with his arms around the neck of his horse, the  best friend on four legs he had ever known.

 

 

Chapter 80

 

Laurence Willoughby slept soundly under the influence of the medication he had been given. The warmth of the room and of the fever that still fought for control over his body had settled him into a deep sleep, beyond that of dreams or nightmares.

 

Anna El Hassim looked into the room and seeing her sister sitting by the patient, hurriedly entered and in silence walked to Rachel’s side. Her sister closed the book she had been reading and stood up, reached out a hand to take that of her sister and pulled her into a close embrace.

 

“Isn’t Said with you?”

 

“No, the khedive wants more information, and Said doesn’t have it.” She sank down upon the chair her sister had vacated and rubbed her hands together as though she were cold; her eyes looked up at Rachel with such anguish that Rachel had to bite down hard on her lips to prevent a sob involuntarily leaving her mouth.

 

Her sister had always had this effect on her even as a child. If Anna had fallen then Rachel would be crying by her side as the wound was cleaned and bandaged, if Anna was broken-hearted because of some failed romance then it was Rachel who raged and swore vengeance on the heartless lad, and now that Anna was involved in this strange, crazily turbulent world with its lopsided politics, then it was Rachel who wanted to weep for her and demand justice.

 

But then to demand justice would mean seeing her brother-in-law punished for treason, and she could never have borne that and the ensuing agony it would bring her sister.

 

“Rachel, what shall we do? The khedive has kept Said with him, and is demanding that he tells him who else is involved, what was going to happen next.” she broke off and put her hands to her face, shuddered, tears leaked through the gaps between her fingers, and Rachel could only stand and watch, wringing her own hands miserably, “Ismail said he would use the bastinado if the information isn’t given to him within 24 hours. My poor Said, he hates violence of any kind, and although I love him dearly I don’t think he has the courage to withstand torture.”

 

Rachel walked to the window and looked down at the garden. She could smell the flowers, their perfume hung heavily on the warm air, but now their beauty just seemed a mockery. The bastinado—where the victim was caned continuously on the soles of their feet—could often leave the person crippled. The pain was beyond torture. Two men taking turns with the thin bamboo canes—Rachel shivered, turned away from the beauty below to look at Anna who now sat wringing her hands, and she thought of Said, so gently reared, so kindly, unable to withstand stubbing his toe without creating mayhem. She looked at Laurence, who had stirred restlessly on the bed.

 

“Was anything said about Ebo Funsani?” she asked

 

“Ismail couldn’t believe it. That Funsani had devised the plan to overthrow him and install Said as khedive, no, he said it wasn’t possible, and that Said was accusing him because he was dead and couldn’t defend himself.”

 

“So he knew Ebo was dead?”

 

“Only when Said told him.”

 

They both looked at the bed now as Laurence mumbled in his sleep, and Rachel put out a hand and touched her sister on the shoulder, indicating that the sick room of the Englishman was probably not the best place to talk.

 

……………….

 

Adam and Ibrahim rode directly to the palace of Khedive Ismail Pasha. It seemed the most logical place to go. The khedive had been educated in France* and had enjoyed bringing the influence of the French court to his own country. His various reforms had been on a grand scale, not only on the commercial side but also in the building where he had greatly expanded Cairo building on its western edge a city modelled on Paris. He spent lavishly on the arts, opera, and theatre and as a result taxation on his people was severe.

 

His anger at the disclosure his cousin had brought to him of a plot to remove him from power had sent him into a rage, and Adam with Ibrahim, was denied an audience, along with various others who were kicking their heels in the ante chambers of the palace. It was only when General Stone appeared and came to their side to speak to them, that any chance of seeing the khedive seemed possible.

 

“He summoned me to come here,” Stone said gravely, “I think it is to discuss this matter concerning El Hassim. I’m afraid he is furious about it.” He gave Adam an encouraging smile as his name was called. “I’ll try and get you inside to see him.”

 

Twenty minutes later the great doors swung open and the servant called their names; the two men had to push their way through the clamouring crowd that had been waiting even longer than themselves for an audience. The doors closed behind them with a rather ominous clunk.

 

Ismail was a heavyset man, neatly bearded, wearing a suit cut in the French style, and he wore the red ‘fez’ upon his head. The shape of his face, heavy and oval, led to his appearance resembling that of a large upside down boiled egg in a red egg cup. His jacket was festooned with medals awarded him, and his plump hands bore the weight of numerous rings. Within seconds Adam had recognised a man who saw himself one with unlimited power and authority, proud and vain, and ruthless in the pursuit of what he wanted.

 

After acknowledging their presence the khedive sat down. “So, is it true what General Stone tells me, that there has been a plan to overthrow me? That my cousin, Said El Hassim had plotted to see me dead, along with the President Grant?”

 

Ibrahim stepped forward, bowed yet again, and in a soft, gentle tone of voice stressed the fact that El Hassim knew nothing about the plot regarding President Grant. He had been misled by Ebo Funsani and various others into believing he would be a fine ‘successor’ to the khedive, and on this basis had been coaxed into providing the rebels with money.

 

All this was said in Arabic and only a few words were understandable to Adam, who stood impassively by the Egyptian’s side.

 

The discussion went to and fro between the two men for what seemed an inordinately long time. At times Ismail was nearly shrieking with anger, his face mottling with his rage, but still the smooth soft voice of Ibrahim Aziz Abdullah pacified him with the answers he was given.

 

Ibrahim finally turned to Adam and informed him that the khedive would be grateful to see the list and information that Doestov had given him. With a bow to Ismail, Adam pulled the papers from his pocket and handed them to Ibrahim.

 

Ismail looked down the names, starting several times as though in surprise; anger brought the red hue back to his face and once it looked as though he would shred the paper in half, but eventually he finished reading and put the paper onto a table. He looked now at Adam, Ibrahim and Stone; the dark eyes were like black stones within his face, now pale and resolute.

 

“So, you all three agree that my cousin is not guilty of planning this coup?”

 

They all three agreed that was the case and Ismail scowled, sat back to consider before he reminded them that El Hassim had, however, provided a lot of money towards it.

 

“Unwittingly, sire,” Ibrahim cried. “A foolish gesture made to a man more cunning than he had realised.”

 

Ismail said nothing to that, he rose from his seat and left the room, waving them away in the manner of the potentate that he was.

 

………………

 

It was Rachel who was the first to meet Adam at the home of El Hassim. She had resumed her patient care of Laurence, and as he was Adam’s primary concern, it was to his room that the commodore had come. She rose to her feet immediately while she watched the American stride into the room, his head bare so that for the first time she could see exactly what he looked like and from the soft blush to her cheek, she certainly liked what she saw.

 

“How is he?”

 

“Sleeping. He’s slept most of the day. The drugs are  strong to help his body to heal.”

 

He smiled at her, nodded an acknowledgement of what she had told him, and then looked down at the young man.

 

“He already looks better than he did when we left him here,” he remarked casually and ran a hand wearily over his face before turning to look at her. “Thank you, Miss Forster.”

 

She said nothing—there was little point after all—and she walked over to the window to look down at the garden from where she had heard the mumble of voices. She could see Anna sitting among the roses and Ibrahim standing before her, talking as her sister patiently listened.

 

“How did it go with the khedive?”

 

“I couldn’t tell you, to be honest. He’s a difficult man to get the measure of—” Adam frowned. He would have liked to have said that when a man is treated like a god, he thinks he is a god, and then what he was really like as a man becomes rather obscured. “We gave him the facts as we knew them, along with some information Doestov gave us, and now we have to hope that he is merciful. Some gods are…” he concluded with a mirthless twist of the lips.

 

“Ismail isn’t a god.” she smiled at him, eyes twinkling.

 

“No, but he thinks he is.” and he allowed his own eyes to twinkle back.

 

He looked down at the rose garden now and noticed the way Anna wrung her hands at what Ibrahim was telling her, he turned now to Rachel,

 

“Why did she marry him?”

 

“Because she loved him.”

 

“But he has other wives beside her, doesn’t he? Doesn’t a woman want to be loved for herself alone?”

 

“Anna—” she paused and looked down fondly at her sister, smiling sadly. “My father loved Egypt, Commodore. We had books, statues, even several mummies, oh, everything in the house was purely all about Egypt. My sister soaked it up; she loved it all. She went on expeditions with him, and came back more in love with it than ever. When Father died she took on his mantle and when El Hassim declared that he loved her, well, it just seemed perfect to Anna. Her  own Egyptian prince.”

 

“She didn’t mind the other wives?”

 

“He only ever had the one. He was a widower when he met Anna and he’s a Coptic Christian, not Muslim.”

 

“Oh, I see.” He frowned, absorbed the information, then shook his head, “But you don’t like Egypt so much?”

 

“What makes you say that?” she trailed a finger along the dust that had formed along the cill and then glanced at him, blushing a little at the way he was looking at her,

 

“You didn’t bother to learn how to speak Egyptian.”

 

“That’s true,” she smiled. “And you’re right, I don’t like Egypt  much. I think from the time I was a small child I always felt that it was me against them, me versus Egypt. I never seemed able to get beyond their love for all things Egyptian. I think I was jealous.” She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “So I rebelled and I went elsewhere on my digs.” She turned to him now and with her head slightly to the side surveyed him, smiling. “What about you, Commodore? Do you love all things Eygptian?”

 

“No; I’ve grown rather fond of a camel, but apart from that I look forward to getting home.”

 

“Another ship?”

 

“Possibly.”

 

“And where is home?”

 

His face softened; she saw it unguarded, the eyes dreamy and the smile soft, then the defences went up again and he shrugged. “Oh, someplace you’ve never heard of in Nevada.”

 

“I’ve heard of Nevada.” She smiled.

 

“The Ponderosa.”

 

“I’ve even heard of the Ponderosa.” And she looked at him with innocent blue eyes, because she wasn’t going to admit only having heard about it for the  first time from Laurence.

 

“Ah well—” he shrugged and smiled, glanced down at the garden, and saw that Ibrahim had left Anna alone. “I think your sister needs your attention, Miss Forster.”

 

“Yes, so I see.” She pulled a strand of hair back into her snood and smiled at him. “I hope we get to talk again before you—before you go home.”

 

“I hope so too.”

 

She was glad to leave the room, the masculinity of him was leaving her breathless and as she hurried down the stairs she went over and over in her mind the way that he looked, the colour of his eyes, the shape of his mouth, the way his hair curled over his neck. By the time she was back in the garden she was just beginning to get her breath back. She glanced up to the balcony but he had already retreated back into the room.

 

Chapter 81

 

It was not until the following day that she saw Adam and it caught her by surprise to see him not only clean shaven but in the casual clothing one usually saw on American tourists.  He was talking to Laurence when Rachel came into the room with a bowl of flowers which she thought would be pleasing to the eye as well as smelling sweet.

 

She had almost blurted out ‘Who are you?” when first seeing him seated beside the bed, but stopped at the sight of the brown eyes and the smile, the dimples in his cheeks.  He had risen to his feet as soon as she had entered the room, his hat held loosely between his fingers.

 

Laurence was sitting almost upright, supported by several plump pillows. He smiled at Rachel and looked at Adam with a wink of the eye. “Best looking nurse this side of Alexandria”

 

“I’m not going to argue with you about that,” Adam’s voice had a warm chuckle in it, and the way he looked at her, his head slightly to one side, his eyes twinkling, made her look down at the flowers and blush.

 

“I didn’t realise that you were here, Commodore.” she said. 

 

“I came as soon as I heard the news...” he paused, raised one eyebrow. “Or haven’t you heard?”

 

“No, I’ve not heard anything yet.  Anna went to the khedive this morning to plead for Said and—”

 

“And he’s coming home.” he said, pulling the chair away from the bed so that she could sit down, which she did quite suddenly as her legs had gone weak. “Ismail was quite pleased with seeing several names on the list that he had been longing to get rid of for some time. It kind of balanced things out with regard to Said.”  He took the flowers before they fell to the floor, “Would you like something to drink?  Water perhaps?”

 

They laughed over that because there was only water to offer, but he poured her some into a glass and handed it to her.

 

“I’m sorry; it’s just that I feel so relieved.  Does that mean Said is free?  Ismail has forgiven him?”

 

“Ismail—” Adam shrugged. “Well, who can say with him. He pulls strings and expects everyone to jump through hoops.  I think he will never forgive your brother-in-law, but intends to keep him close, under observation.  At present Said is free, but he’s going to have to be a  subservient subject from now on.”

 

“That won’t be difficult for Said,” she said. “He’s naturally  compliant and gentle.”

 

“Adam,” Laurence broke into the conversation, his voice weak, and his eye lids heavy as though he had not slept for weeks. “When do we go back home?”

 

“You’ll be going back as soon as you’re well enough.  I’m sure that your family would prefer to see you looking better than a wrung-out rag.”

 

“I’ll be alright,” he sighed and closed his eyes, “Just can’t seem to keep my eyes open for five minutes without wanting to get some sleep.”

 

Rachel smiled at him, rearranged the bedding and then placed the roses into a bowl, and all the time aware of the dark eyes that were watching her.  She was rather relieved when he walked to the balcony and looked down at the garden.  She joined him there after a few minutes by which time Laurence had once again fallen asleep,

 

“I hardly recognised you without your beard.” she still held a rose between her fingers. “You look quite different now.”

 

“Not worse I hope, if I do then I shall re-grow it immediately.”

 

She just laughed, shook her head and looked down at the rose before raising her eyes to look more intently into his face. “You’re a long way from your Ponderosa, Commodore.  Do you prefer the sea to your ranch?”

 

The question caught him unawares. He pursed his lips, and she noticed the scar on his upper lip more clearly.

 

“It’s a difficult question to answer, Miss Forster.”  He had picked up his hat, twisting it between his fingers pensively. “I don’t think I can give you a straightforward reply, either.”

 

“Then you must be a  complicated person to know, Commodore.”

 

“Do you think so, Miss Forster?” 

 

His brown eyes looked deep into hers, dark blue they were, fringed by long lashes which, considering her fairness, were surprisingly dark.

 

“So do you know when you’ll be leaving?”

 

“Not yet.  I’m going to visit General Stone later today to find out if I have any orders from my superiors.”

 

They were walking along the corridor now, side by side, down the steps into the garden.  Roses brushed against their legs and petals scattered beneath their feet. Once or twice her arm knocked into his, and once he put his hand upon her shoulder to brush away the petal of some errant flower that had fallen there.

 

Their conversation was disturbed by the entry of El Hassim and Anna, a rather subdued man in his crumpled clothing and anxious eyes, while Anna was clinging to his arm, eyes shining and lips smiling.  Perhaps only El Hassim really knew and understood the punishment his cousin had meted out to him; at the present moment he could only reach out his hand to shake that of his guest and utter his most heartfelt thanks.

 

……………….

 

A whole day had trickled by and everyone was aware of the tension within the house.  The anger that had boiled over at the shooting of Cochise had subsided, settling into a niche in the corner of their hearts, waiting like a coiled cobra for something else to happen, some revelation, so that it would spring forth anew and strike down the coward who had robbed them of such a precious, loyal, friend.

 

It seemed to Joe as though the day would never end.  Some part of himself, his childhood, was wrapped up around Cochise and now that part had been torn away, cast off, no longer of any use.  He moped about like some lovelorn, wet-behind-the-ears youth, found thoughts of Cochise that would touch the wellsprings from where tears sprung, and was grateful that no one had said “Well, after all, it was just a horse.”

 

It had been Ben who, riding home from his business lunch in town, had come across his son and Cochise.  Perhaps the best person in the entire world to have been travelling along that road to find them.

 

So now the day had ended at last, and night had fallen, sending each one to their bed. As he struggled to get to sleep, Joe found his thoughts returning time and again to the shooting, to that moment of impact, the way he had pulled free, the falling of the horse.  Why, he thought, why would anyone deliberately kill his horse?  Unless the bullet had been meant for him all along.

 

An hour later and he was standing in the stable by Cochise’s stall, a lantern in his hand and the loss of the horse stirring the anger within him.  His eyes glanced over at the other horses stabled there, at Buck, Chubb and Sport in particular, and then they were pulled back to look at the empty stall.

 

“Do you want to talk about it, son?”

 

He didn’t turn round, although his head drooped a little upon his chest. “No, Pa, it’s alright.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Not really.”  He coughed slightly to clear his throat. “It just—” he stopped himself for a moment so that he could think out the right words rather than blurt out anger and bitterness in a senseless babble. “Someone meant to kill me.”

 

Ben nodded; his eyes flicked over to the empty stall, and he walked across it to where Sport was watching them, his handsome head held high and the liquid eyes observing them as though he too were taking part in this conversation. Ben rubbed the horse’s neck fondly before he turned to look at Joe. “Any idea who you could have upset lately?”

 

“No, I haven’t really been in town much.” He pushed some dust and straw about with his foot, “When I haven’t been working around the Ponderosa I’ve been—I guess—I’ve been courting Mary Ann.”

 

“And you don’t know of any relatives or thrown over boyfriends of hers that would want to see you dead?” Ben smiled, not with humour, but anything to divert his son’s thoughts from Cochise.

 

“No.” Joe smiled in return and now approached Sport; he stroked the soft neck beneath the mane, and leaned his face against the horse’s cheek.”Hey, boy, missed your master haven’t you?  How about putting up with me for a while, huh?”

 

The animal flared his nostrils, tossed his head free as though he needed to get back to the business of getting some sleep, then nudged Joe with his great head.

 

“There was just the one shot, Pa.” Joe resumed his chain of thought which Ben had thought he had successfully diverted. “Just the one.”

 

“Strange that he didn’t come over to finish you off, or even to make sure that Cochise was dead.”

 

“Unless he was quite sure that he had got me with that first shot.”

 

“Well,” Ben draped an arm across Joe’s shoulders as they began to leave the stable, “Let’s leave it to the law for now.  At least we’ve been forewarned and know to keep our eyes open for anything in the future.  I think you should try and get some sleep, young man.  Fretting isn’t going to do any of us any favours.”

 

Little Joe would have bitten his father’s head off for that, but Joe was a young man now; he had learned to keep his mouth shut and to say far less than he would once have.  He closed the door and slipped the latch.  Somewhere an owl hooted and there was a swoosh of wings; other than that, there was complete silence on the Ponderosa.

 

Chapter 82

 

Whenever Adam thought of Rachel Forster, which he found himself doing more often than even he thought logical, he found himself comparing her to those other women whom he had loved and sadly, one way or another, had lost.

 

Her colouring he likened to Regina’s, and the thought of that quiet, dignified woman brought a feeling of regret over him as he pondered on the what-might-have–beens, had he bent her will to his...and then he shook his head and told himself how she would never have respected him had he done such a thing.  She would always be lovely…beautiful…in his memory.

 

There were others, each one he had loved, or thought he had loved, for something that appealed to him, something that had touched his heart, his sensitivities, and pulled him towards them, perhaps to protect them.  He accepted the fact that to protect the women he loved was always a predominant quality in his feelings for them, and upon looking back he realised the one woman who hadn’t needed his protection had been Regina.

 

Why was that?  Had it been because of her upbringing and faith?  Something rigid inside herself that made her more capable and stronger than Laura Dayton could ever have been?  Even Ruth, for all her courage, had been vulnerable.

 

Musing in this fashion passed the time quickly and in no time at all he found himself at the building where he was to leave his report and get his orders.  He had a light smile on his face as he took the steps to the office where Stone and Lockett would be waiting for him. 

 

He had written out the report as thoroughly as possible, although keeping it brief and to the point.  Maintaining a ship’s log was good practise for this kind of thing, and he had signed the bottom of it with some satisfaction. He had the feeling that the matter was now solved, finished.  He could turn his mind to home.

 

“Well done, Commodore.”  Stone shook his hand and nodded appreciatively. “We heard from the khedive satisfactory things about the whole matter.”

 

“That’s good.  I’m relieved to hear it—”

 

“Sit down, Cartwright.”  Stone offered him a cigar which Adam refused, although he accepted a glass of whiskey into which Stone had splashed some water.  “He’s sent out his police to arrest the instigators.  That list you gave him was  comprehensive.”

 

“A gift from Doestov.” Adam murmured and smiled at the look on their faces. “A gift for old time’s sake.”

 

“You knew him in the past, didn’t you?” Lockett perched himself on the edge of Stone’s desk and looked at Adam thoughtfully. “Some years back wasn’t it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Seeing that he wasn’t going to get any further information from Adam, Lockett removed himself from the desk and walked over to one of the windows in the room.

 

“Ismail has more or less pardoned El Hassim, although he’ll give the poor wretch a hard time for a while.  They practically grew up together, like brothers, and fortunately for Said El Hassim the khedive has fond memories of their childhood.  Good thing really, El Hassim is well respected and without him balancing things out in Cairo the khedive would have a lot more domestic problems to handle.” Stone stood up, straightened his jacket and pulled out some papers from a leather wallet, these he handed to Adam. “Do you know your orders once this assignment was completed, Cartwright?”

 

“To return to Washington and await orders.” Adam finished his drink, looked thoughtfully at the empty glass and placed it carefully on the desk. “As of this moment, I am on leave.”

 

“Chaille-Long wouldn’t mind another officer to go along with him.  He’s navigating the Coja river at present—” Lockett smiled dreamily, “I’d give anything to go, to be perfectly honest with you, but I’ve got work to do on a project of my own.”

 

“Which is?”

 

Lockett looked slightly abashed, but he was an outstanding cartographer and had already surveyed the region of Eritrea between Mesewa and the escarpment of the Ethiopian Plateau. He now told Adam with great modesty that he was now working on the Great Map of Africa*,  which would include all the discoveries the American officers had made on behalf of the khedive during their time in Egypt.

 

Adam listened with interest, and thought it fascinating that not so long ago these men fought on opposite sides with their own countrymen, and now were accomplishing so much in the services of a foreign potentate.

 

He finally rose to his feet and shook their hands, folded the papers and slipped them into his jacket pocket and was about to leave the room when Stone called out, “I forgot, Commodore, my apologies…a letter came for you marked Private and Confidential from the president.  I am sorry, I completely forgot about it.”  He took a small key from his pocket and inserted it into a drawer of the desk, and pulled out the letter that had arrived so long ago.  This he now handed to Adam. “I do apologise…what with everything that has been going on.”

 

Adam smiled, accepted the apology for what it was, and took the letter.  He recognised the handwriting immediately, but said nothing, forcing his face to retain the smile as he bade them his farewells and left the room.

 

He walked down the stairs more slowly now, turning the envelope over and over in his hands and wondering what it would contain.  Another assignment as vague and miserable as this one?  Another commission, perhaps?  He eventually slipped it into his pocket along with the other papers and decided to open them all when he reached the room provided him by Ibrahim.

 

…………………

 

The pounding on the door roused both John and Paul Martin from their sleep.  Encouraging his uncle to get back to bed John pulled on his dressing gown and hurried down the stairs, a candle flickering in the sconce he carried.

 

“Alright, alright,” he yelled and pulled open the door.

 

“There’s been a fight over at the Bucket of Blood, doc.  One man dead and the other pretty badly hurt.”

 

“Give me just a moment.” He turned, set the candlestick down in order to exchange his dressing gown for his jacket and to pull on some trousers, grab at his medical bag and hurry from the house.

 

It was dark, not many stars in the sky. He stumbled over something in the road, but finally reached the saloon where the lights were blazing and some men were leaving, others waiting for the doctor to go about his business in attending to the living and the dead. He stifled a yawn, having been busy since midnight the previous day what with babies being delivered and broken legs on rash young lads to be straightened and so much travelling to do.

 

“Where is he?” he demanded. They led him to the living person first, hoping it would give him some chance to survive his injuries—no point on wasting precious moments on those already dead.

 

The man clutching at his wounds with the warm blood trickling between his fingers was young; he looked at John with mild surprise and then fear, his mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping when taken out of the water, and John put a gentle hand on his shoulder, looked into his eyes and asked his name

 

“Jim—”

 

“Alright, Jim, now I’m just going to take a look at what’s hurting you here.  Just loosen your hold now.” 

 

Jim’s eyes widened; his grip on the bloodied shirt front tightened.

 

“I can’t help you if you don’t let me look at the wound, Jim.  Just loosen your fingers a little.  Trust me, Jim.”

 

“I could give him a thump on the jaw, Doc, if it’s any help?” Sam Brockett offered, clenching his fist helpfully but Jim groaned aloud enough to confirm that he was still  “compos mentis,” and John shook his head and asked everyone to move back.

 

“How did it happen?” he asked even while he was tearing the shirt back to examine the wound which Jim had finally decided he could, “Knife wound  … Mmm”  he shook his head which caused Jim more alarm and a frightened groan, “It’s alright, Jim, we can deal with this.” 

 

So the knife had been thrust in from a close body to body fight, rammed in to the hilt by the look of the wound.  He placed padding on it and strapped it then gave orders for Jim to be carried off to the surgery.  He then went over to the other body, and turned him over so that he could see the man’s face and check over the wound.  Another young man;   John groaned and for a moment just knelt there beside him, while he thought about the waste.

 

“The undertaker’s here, doc.”  someone said, and he nodded, rose to his feet and turned to the other man.

 

“He’s all yours, Mr. Colston.” he said quietly, and turned away to walk quickly to the surgery.

 

Later he would write out a death certificate for Peter Allen, aged 21 years, stabbed in the heart by a knife, with some considerable force behind it.  Later still, after he had done all he possibly could to stem the blood and close the wound, he wrote out another death certificate for one Jim Humphries, aged 19, stabbed forcibly by a long thin knife that had pierced the liver. 

 

He adjusted Jim’s jacket so that he would be ready for collection by Mr. Colston, and checked through the pockets for personal details so that next of kin could be notified. He found some letters, but he also found a delicate piece of jewellery, too fine a piece for a youth to own.  He walked over to the window where the lamp shone and looked at it more carefully.  It was beautiful: opals and diamonds, a swirl of gems on a leaf of gold.

 

He sat down, put it on his desk and rubbed his face with both hands.  Then he put the clasp into a drawer and locked it.  He had seen that piece before somewhere, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where it had been or who had worn it.  He turned, picked up the lamp and stumbled his way up the stairs to bed. 

 

 

Chapter 83

 

Adam hadn’t gone far into the old city when there came a commotion from behind him.  He immediately turned, saw the body of men pounding down the street—all armed and in the uniform of the khedive—and flattened himself against the wall of the nearest building.  Women were screaming and plucking their children out of the way of the tramping feet as though they knew from past experience that they were unlikely to halt should a child get in their way.  Stall holders saw their goods knocked over and ruined; they added their howls of distress into the babble of noise that was all around them.

 

Across the street and keeping herself well away from the people around her, Rachel Forster clung with one hand to her hat and to the other to her purse.  Only when the dust had begun to settle did she peer around her and venture to step back onto the street.

 

“Good afternoon, Miss Forster.”

 

He stepped towards her, smiled and then glanced up and down the street as though expecting another horde of men to come hurtling towards them. She waited to hear what else he was going to say, and when it seemed as though he were not going to comment further she asked him if he was going to a certain café. He said he had not intended to, but if she would be going then he would be delighted to join her.

 

“They’re rounding up the men on that list, and everyone who is known to be associated with them,” she whispered. “There’s going to be a lot of unhappiness in a lot of homes in Cairo tonight.”

 

“If you play with fire you have to expect to be burned,” Adam replied softly and took her elbow in the cup of his hand to guide her to a vacant table.

 

“I was thinking of the wives and children of the men involved.”  She gave a slight shrug of the shoulders and looked at him. “You look  smart in your uniform.”

 

“Thank you.  I had to put in my official report so thought I should look the part.”

 

“I really don’t know which of the three persona I prefer…the mysterious Arab, the casual American tourist or the illustrious commodore.”  She ordered coffee when the waiter appeared at her shoulder, and smiled over at Adam as he ordered the same.

 

He just smiled at her, shrugged, and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me a little about yourself, Miss Forster, and why you are wondering about the streets of Cairo unescorted?  Isn’t that rather a dangerous thing to do…for a woman I mean?”

 

“Probably so,” she replied slowly while a small frown appeared on her smooth brow. “It’s usually safe; I have an escort somewhere, one of Said’s men.” 

 

“What are you going to do with yourself, Miss Forster?  Are you going to stay here or return back to America?”

 

“Well, I don’t know if that is any of your business, Commodore.” she replied sweetly, and looked up at him to see the dimples appearing in his cheeks as he smiled at her response.  “I’m sorry, that was rather rude of me, wasn’t it?”

 

“On the contrary, it was rather rude of me to ask such an impertinent question.”

 

“Now you’re teasing me.”

 

“Not at all; after all, we’re not even on first name terms yet.”  He took a sip of his coffee, and ladled in some sugar before taking another.  When he glanced up at her she was laughing at him, behind her gloved hand.  “What?”

 

“Oh, I was just thinking.” She picked up her cup and sniffed the aroma. “My name is Rachel, by the way.”

 

“Adam.” he put his cup down and held out his hand which she took, and they solemnly shook hands before returning to their cups of coffee.

 

“Adam—what will you be doing now?  Have you a ship waiting for you somewhere?”

 

“I don’t know, I have to check my orders.” he tapped the pocket where the papers were kept and raised his eyebrows at her over the rim of his cup.

 

“Oh, I see.”

 

“What do you see, Rachel?”

 

“That you can’t really commit yourself to any other arrangements until you have read your orders.” she sighed and pushed the cup away, “Do you like Egypt?”

 

“You asked me that before, and the answer remains the same.”

 

“Oh yes, you’re fond of a camel but that’s about all.”

 

“Oh, maybe not, some things could change my opinion about the place.” 

 

He turned now slightly in his chair to watch the column of men marching back to the palace, several men in chains being dragged along and behind them some women wailing and waving their hands in the air as they beseeched help from their God to intervene and show mercy.

 

“I don’t like it here,” Rachel said with sudden vehemence. “I hate the way people treat each other, the way they treat women.  I don’t like the way everything smells so hot, dirty, and old.” She sighed, and rubbed her brow with her fingers. “Once everything settles down again, and Anna is happy, then I’ll return to America.”

 

“Anna has a husband to make her happy—” Adam pointed out gently and she looked at him with a startled expression on her face; she blinked and shook her head.

 

“I know, but I’ve always been wherever Anna needs me to be, and right now she needs me here.” Her face had a pleading expression now, as though she really needed him to understand, then she smiled and the blue eyes resumed their usual sparkle.  “Do you have any sisters, or brothers?”

 

“Two younger brothers.”  And mentioning them reminded him that one of those brothers was going to become a father sometime soon, so that he smiled at the thought.

 

“You care about them?”

 

“Very much.”

 

She didn’t reply, whatever she was going to say she chose to remain unsaid, thinking it a little insolent, presumptuous.  She rose to her feet and extended her hand to him, which, after he had stood up, he took,

 

“I hope I see you again before you leave, Commodore.  Laurence would want to see you.”

 

“Thank you.  I’ll no doubt be in to see him tomorrow sometime.”

 

“You‘ll know what your orders are by then, won‘t you?” 

 

“Yes, that’s right, I will.”

 

She gave him a rather penetrating look, nodded, and then left the café, aware as she did so that he was watching her walk away.

 

……………….

 

Mr. Coutts the jeweller examined the piece  carefully, before placing it onto the counter and shaking his head. John wondered what caused that, but was afraid to ask.

 

Eventually Coutts exclaimed one word. “Exquisite.”

 

“Is it  valuable?”

 

“My dear doctor, what a thing to ask.  Of course it’s valuable. Very much so.  Are you thinking of selling it? I know just the person who would love to buy such a piece as this, and at a good price.”

 

“No, I want to find out who owned it.”

 

Mr. Coutts looked blank; he shook his head. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there, Doctor.”

 

“I thought perhaps you could.” John frowned, “I wondered if you would put it on display in the window.  Someone would be sure to see it and ask after it, wouldn’t they?  Well, then, you could tell me who it was and then it could be returned to its rightful owner.”

 

“You mean these are stolen goods?”

 

“I don’t even know that yet.  It may have been a gift to the person who last had it, but anyway, it would be a great help, Mr. Coutts.”  He pursed his lips and frowned, “I have seen the sheriff about this; it was his idea.  No doubt he’ll be checking up about it as well.”

 

Mr. Coutts said nothing to this, he only nodded dutifully while he tried to calculate how much he would charge for this beautiful piece to whoever came enquiring about it.

 

……………

 

It seemed to Joe that Roy Coffee had been old ever since he first knew him.  He’d always worn those spectacles and had those faded blue grey eyes, his moustache was always grey and spikey, and he always had that slow ‘I’ll get there in a minute, jest you wait now’ voice.  He’d retired himself twice now in so far as Joe could recall, but here he was, still one of the sheriffs of Virginia City. 

 

He smiled over at Mary Ann who was seated in the blue chair, the one Adam had always favoured, as Roy told them the story of the two young men who had fought to the death the previous night in the Bucket of Blood saloon.

 

“What was the fight over, Roy, do you know?” Ben asked from his position by the table where he was pouring out coffee for them all, except for Hester who seemed to prefer hot water.

 

“A woman, as always.” Roy grunted, and fished a tattered note book from his back pocket, ignoring the smiles Joe and Mary Ann flashed at one another. “Here now—one witness said the two men were good friends, came in together for a drink and took themselves off to a quiet corner. Next thing there was raised voices; they fought, stabbed each other.”

 

“Nothing in thar mentions a female.” Hoss said challengingly and he quirked one eyebrow.

 

This elicited a “Humph” from Roy, who licked his thumb in order to turn over some pages. “Sam Brockett was sitting at the table next to them, said they were laughing and joking one minute and then he heard Jim say, ‘She did, I tell you.’  And the other lad jumped up and said ‘No, she wouldn’t have asked you to do that, Jim.’”

 

“Do what?” Hester blinked and frowned. “Did I miss something?”

 

“No, Miss Hester, you ain’t missed nothing, because that’s what I gotta find out.  Who is this ‘she’ person and what did she ask Jim to do that was so almighty annoying to young Pete. They’d been friends for years, school friends in fact, more like brothers.” He thumbed back another few pages, “Now—” he pouted so that the moustache bristled out and then he sucked at his teeth, frowned. “Nah, not that page, now, where’s it gone  … Ah, here it is—another witness, Jake Purcell.”

 

“You can’t believe everything Jake Purcell tells you, Roy” Joe said with a grin, “Half the time he’s drunk and says anything that comes into his head, and the other half he’s sober and denying every word.”

 

“He was sober when I spoke to him and you mind your manners, young man, or I’ll be telling your Pa to give you a bit of discipline in the back shed.”  Roy said, pointing the stub of his pencil over at Joe, which made everyone laugh.

 

“Alright, Roy, so what did Jake Purcell tell you?” Ben asked in a more sober manner.

 

“He heard them talking about a gal, new in town that they both liked. Jim and Pete started by saying she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, Pete agreed and said that she was a—” he stopped, looked over the rim of his glasses at Hester and then Mary Ann. “Well, she was good at what he said she did.  Anyhow, Jim said that this gal had promised him something special if he did her a favour.  Pete got kind of annoyed at that and wanted to know what the favour was and what she promised Jim.  The lad wouldn’t say, said it was a secret and he hadn’t meant to say.  That led to the shouting and the killing.”

 

They said nothing to that, just stared at the older man and slipped into thoughts of their own. It was Joe who asked if Roy had any idea who the girl was, but Roy shook his head, and admitted he hadn’t a clue who it was but had the deputies out looking.

 

“I wonder what the favour was—” Mary Ann wondered..

 

“Could have been anything,” Joe replied and stood up, looking at her.  She got to her feet, excused herself from their company and followed Joe out of the house.

 

“Ain’t that sweet.” Hoss grinned, his eyes all of a twinkle, “I reckon them two are in love.”

 

Hester said nothing, sighed, looked hopeful and then asked Roy to tell them one of his stories of when he had been sheriff and the Cartwright boys had been—well—just boys.

That made Roy stop and think for a bit, because after all, he had so many of them tucked away in the back of his memory.

 

Chapter 84

 

Ibrahim greeted Adam immediately with a friendly bow and assurances that some refreshments would be brought up for him.  He watched the tall American mount the stairs to the room above with respect and affection, having seen over the course of the weeks together how well Adam had conducted himself during this strange affair. Probably the most respect he held for Adam came from the way the American had embraced their life, the Arab life, and integrated so well with the customs of Ibrahim’s people.

 

He snapped his fingers and called out orders to his servant for some refreshments to be sent up to Commodore Adam, and went into the cool interior of his own offices to deal with business of his own.  Life was again ‘normal,’ no more intrigues and no fear of Djounga suddenly appearing to cut his throat as he had feared so often, nor of that ‘horrible little Russian’ creeping about and making life difficult.

 

Up in his room, Adam removed his jacket and then paused, remembered the papers and letter he had put into the pocket and withdrew them, before draping the jacket casually over the arm of a chair.

 

There was a calm over the city, the usual racket and bedlam had mellowed into a hum of background noise, there was the smell of some plants growing up against the wall that tantalised the senses and with the papers in his hands he walked to the balcony to look over the city.  Perhaps before he left he would visit the pyramids again, take his camel and be a tourist.  He smiled as that reminded him of Rachel, what a strange young woman, young/old, and he wondered for a fleeting moment just how old she would actually be.  Perhaps, despite her dislike of all things Egyptian, she would enjoy some time visiting the pyramids with him.  He decided to ask her in the morning.

 

He looked at the envelope and frowned. He had recognised the handwriting when in Stone’s office, and wondered what ‘Mr. Smith’ could be writing to him now.  He had thought that the letter would contain further orders, but now, as his eye glanced down at the papers in his hand he could see what his orders were, and he had anticipated some leave?  He sighed, put the letter down on a side table and leaned against the rails of the balcony to scan through his orders.

 

Simple enough—take command of the Virginian and sail her home to Washington.  Then report personally to Grant before being sent to some area in the China Seas.  His heart dropped, he had hoped for some respite, some time to enjoy with his family.  He sighed, put the papers to one side and picked up the envelope.

 

The knock on the door interrupted his chain of thought and he watched as the old man put down the tray containing sweet Egyptian tea (shay) and some things to eat. Olives, figs, cucumber and some sweet pastry.

 

He poured out the tea and returned to the balcony, leaning against the railings again and thinking over his orders, sipping tea slowly and wondering if he could defer boarding the Virginian in any way.  Once he had emptied his cup he replaced it on the tray and picked up the letter, Grant’s letter.

 

He weighed it in his hand and frowned.  It was odd the way Stone had given him it, locked away in the drawer and separated from his orders.  He looked at the letter again and realised the envelope was marked private and confidential.  Well, that would explain that, obviously Stone trusted the staff there as much as—well—as far as he could throw them as the colloquialism went.  He raised his eyebrows and without a further thought or doubt or worry slit open the envelope and extracted the letter.

 

 

“Dear Adam

 

This is a hard letter to write to you, my friend, and it is as a friend that I do write, Adam, not as your president or superior.”

 

Hmm, Adam frowned, that sounded ominous, even coming from Grant.  He bit down on his bottom lip and read on.

 

 

“I received news today from one of my couriers that there was an incident between a convoy of militia under the orders of Major Fleming and some Indians, during which altercation your brother, Joseph Cartwright, was injured and died of his wounds.”

 

Adam’s heart beat faster; he lowered the paper, paused for a moment to catch his breath, and raised a hand to his head.  He blinked rapidly.

 

 

“during which altercation your brother, Joseph Cartwright was injured and died of his wounds.”

 

No. 

 

No, it wasn’t true.  It couldn’t be, couldn’t possibly be.  His breathing became laboured, his hands shook, he gulped back a sob and pressed his hand against his mouth. The paper was shaking before his eyes and he forced himself to re-read and continue reading:

 

“during which altercation your brother, Joseph Cartwright was injured and died of his wounds.

 

Adam, my heartfelt condolences.   I know without having to see you face to face that this news comes to you suddenly and cruelly. I know that you are far away and that is because of your duty to me, to your country. I feel so much regret that it had to happen like this, during your absence when you are so far from home.

 

As a means of consolation, your father was also present at the time, and with your brother.  I know that is little if any comfort, but it is always good to know our loved ones die in the arms of those they loved.”

It was too much.  Too much.

 

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, gasped and swallowed down gulps of air to stop the grief from totally submerging him.

 

Joe. Joseph Cartwright. Little Joe. Buddy. Short shanks.  Oh how must Hoss be feeling now?  And Pa? I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.

 

Read it through again, just in case there’s been a mistake.  No, it wasn’t a mistake, but read it anyway to see if it feels more real.  It can’t be real.  Please, God, don’t let it be real.

 

Don’t let it be real.

 

A sob convulsed him.

 

 

 

Chapter 85

 

The light was fading from the room by the time Adam could pick up the letter and re-read it.  He had sat on the edge of his bed for an hour, just sitting with his hands clasped under his chin while he stared out and tried to capture moments in his life with Joe. Sometimes his mind blanked out and he couldn’t remember anything, and he’d realise he was crying.  At other times he could remember and the memories came so bright in his mind that he could smile at them until his lips trembled and he had to switch his mind to some other memory, some other time.

 

So often they thought that wild land would claim one of them as it had claimed so many others.  They got so that they took it for granted that when they rode out from the house they would return, despite all the hundred and one things that could go wrong…a fall from a horse, a bullet from some crazy hot-headed fool, Indian attack, disease…and even when things did happen, they recovered, and Pa would be there praying and waiting by the bedside.

 

It was the reminder that Joe had died in Ben’s arms that roused Adam from his stupor to pick up the letter and continue reading it.  He shook his head first as though to banish away the emotions so that he could deal with whatever else was going to be disclosed.

 

“In view of the fact that you are engaged on a sensitive assignment I have asked that this letter and information be withheld from you until it is completed.  It seemed grossly unfair of me to ask you to perform your duty when under so much emotional distress. I hope that you will understand why I have made this request.

 

As soon as you return to Washington it is my hope that you will attend on me, and whatever details I possess about the matter we can discuss together.

 

Your friend.

 

U.S. Grant

President.”

 

 

He let the paper drop to the ground.  Then he fell back upon his bed, and turned his face into the pillows.

 

It was dark now.  The cold night air crept into the room but the man on the bed seemed oblivious to both.  All he felt was the pain of his grief and his loss.  Life, he felt, could never be the same again.

 

………………….

 

John Martin looked over the street to where Roy was standing and wondered for a moment why it was that this relic from the past was still allowed to practise law in such an up and coming town.  He smiled to himself as he crossed the road to join the old sheriff, who was leaning against a post watching the comings and goings of the townspeople.

 

“Well, Sheriff, have you found out any more about these two lads and this mystery woman over whom they were fighting?”

 

“Well,” Roy sighed, glanced at John and then up at the sky before he frowned and shook his head, “Nope.”

 

“Nothing at all?”

 

“Seems young Jim was sparking a young gal called Bessie, the daughter of a Mr. Simpson Jones.”

 

“Triangle J ranch.” John grinned, “I delivered a baby there two weeks ago.”

 

Roy looked worried. and John laughed and assured him it was not Bessie’s, but her mother’s.  Roy nodded. “Wal, seems this young Bessie was more keen on Jim than Jim was on her.  But even though that was the case she didn’t have much to do with Peter, thought he was a mite stuck up and thought too much of hisself.”

 

“Apart from which she isn’t new to town, is she?”

 

“S’right.”

 

“Found out anything else, sheriff?”

 

“Nope.”  Roy looked at his nails and began to dig some dirt out from one of them with a studiousness that intimated to John that he wasn’t going to get any further information from him.  He bade the sheriff goodbye and walked over to his buggy, then paused and made his way to the jeweller’s,.

“Any news, Mr. Coutts?”

 

“Widow Hawkins was  interested in the jewels, wanted to add them to her collection.” Coutts replied in a bored voice. “I’ve told the sheriff.”

 

“Oh.” John frowned. By no stretch of the imagination could he see Peter and Jim fighting over Clemmie Hawkins, no matter how much sarsparilla tea she pumped into them. “No one else?”

 

“Several ladies showed interest—window shopping, nothing more.”

 

He left the jeweller’s and disconsolately made his way towards the buggy.  He stopped when his way was blocked by Ingrid who stood in front of him so determinedly that he had no choice but to stop or step into the road and be knocked down by a passing horse.

 

“Hello, John.” she smiled, her eyes, always so blue, seemed more so since she had dyed her hair, and they reflected the dress she was wearing, over which she was wore a black Spencer jacket with jet beading.  “How are you?”

 

“Very well, Ingrid, how are you?”

 

“Fancy you asking, I thought you were no longer interested.” She batted her eyelashes, and smiled at the curl of distaste that twisted his lips, “Dear me, you have gone so sour, John.  You’re almost as much of a prune as your old uncle.” She leaned forward and touched the lapel of his jacket, stroking it sensuously. “And you always showed so much promise.”

 

He stepped back, and without a word hurried to his waiting vehicle, aware that her eyes followed him every step of the way.

 

She smiled and swirled her parasol lazily behind her before resuming her walk down the street.  It was her afternoon free from work, and she enjoyed mingling with the crowds. She looked into various shop windows until eventually she came upon the jeweller, Coutts’.  She frowned: the little weasel who had caused the problem with that ring.  She stopped to stare in at him but he was no longer in the front of the shop.

 

Her gaze dropped down to look at what was on display and it was then she noticed the opals and diamonds clasp.  She looked at it with amazement.  Surely there could not be more than one of them?  She remembered handing it to that stupid cowboy as a reward for a job she had asked him to do for her, the way his sweaty hand had grabbed it and he has asked her if it was worth  much.

 

Now as she looked at it she felt that if she were to see him again she would strangle him with her bare hands.  Was it worth  much?  The idiot—only a king’s ransom.  And now here it was for everyone to see and he was probably enjoying the money he had got for it.

 

She put her hand on the door handle and then stopped: what was the point in enquiring about it from that wretch of a man?  She could never afford to buy it back now, and if she asked too many questions Coutts would be curious as to why.  She stepped away from the store and retraced her footsteps. The pleasure in the day was gone; now she had to think about what to do next.

 

…………….

 

“Do you like it?”

 

“Mm, it’s lovely.”

 

“I thought you would.”

 

“Can I have more relish, though?”

 

“Sure, honey, here—” Hoss ladled more of the tomato and chutney relish onto the open sandwich that he had made for his wife, then he sat down and smiled over at her.  “Sure is nice you having these cravings so early in the morning, Hester.  Suits me just fine too.” He took an enormous bite out of a beef sandwich, the thickness of which would have dismayed Hop Sing.

 

“I love to share things with you, Hoss.” She reached out to take hold of his hand and smiled at him, and he reached forward to wipe relish from the corner of her mouth.

 

“Do you think it’s the real thing this time, this romance between Joe and Mary Ann?” She whispered after some moments had passed and their sandwiches were practically all consumed.

 

“I hope so.  I’d like to see the little guy settled down and as happy as we are…” he paused and looked at her. “D’you want anything to drink?”

 

She frowned, then nodded. “Some milk, with some honey in it.”

 

He pushed himself away from the table and looked at her with a smile on his face. No doubt about it, he loved her more now that he had when they had married.  He leaned on the table to reach over to her and kiss her.

 

“Wouldn’t it be lovely if they got married?” Hester murmured later as she sipped her milk. “She’s a really nice girl.”

 

“Better than nice.” And they shared a chuckle together, “D’you know, she’s changed a lot since I first knew her, toughened up in some ways, but more understanding in others.”

 

“Life is a good teacher.”

 

“So’s she—so I heard anyhow.” Hoss grinned and Hester laughed at how quickly he had picked up the connection between Mary Ann and the word teacher. 

 

“Do you think they’ll live here?”

 

“Dunno, probably.  For a while anyhow.” 

 

He swallowed down his milk and was about to speak when there came a light knock on the door, light but persistent.  Hoss grumbled as he got up and tightened the belt around his dressing gown,

 

“Who the heck can that be this time of night,” he muttered, and just as a precaution, he slipped his gun from the gun belt lying on the bureau by the door before slowly opening it. “Alright, whoever you are, what do you want?”

 

Sarah Thocmetony Winnemucca looked startled at the sight of the gun barrel that was pointed at her, but when she realised that Hoss was now embarrassed as well she only smiled and waited to be asked into the house.

 

“Anything the matter, Sarah?  You alright?” he whispered as he slipped the gun back into its holster.

 

“I don’t know.  I need to see Joseph, I have a message for him from a friend.” was her reply and she stood there, hands clasped before her as she stood in the centre of the Cartwright’s big room.

 

Chapter 86

 

 

It went without saying that when Hoss went to rouse Joe, he felt compelled to awaken his father also, with the result that Sarah was soon greeted with the sight of two Cartwright men lumbering down the stairs yawning, or scratching their heads, or tying up the belts to their dressing gowns.  Once he was downstairs Hoss went straight over to sit with Hester while Ben and Joe stood at the bottom of the stairs blinking like dazed owls at Sarah.

 

“I am sorry.  I come at bad time for you.” 

 

“Don’t mind us,” Ben dredged up his courtesy and smiled, “Hoss, as you’re more awake than any of us, rustle up some coffee, will you?”

 

“I’ve already got that started, Ben.” Hester smiled over at her father-in-law and made her way to the kitchen to continue with “‘rustling up coffee.”

 

“What’s wrong, Sarah?  Where’ve you been?” Joe’s eyes looked anxiously at the woman who stood before him.

 

She had lost some weight and looked more careworn than previously; her clothing looked the worse for wear and she wore her hair in two long braids rather than her usual carefully prepared coiffure.  She looked at him with large eyes, eyes that seemed too big for her thinner face.  “Joseph, I have a message for you from your friend Stalking Horse.”

 

“Stalking Horse?  You’ve seen him?” Joe sat down suddenly, and then shook his head while a frown furrowed his brow. “I feel as though I let him down.  I should have done something to get him out of that cage.”

 

“I remember Stalking Horse,” Hoss said, “He was the shaman...saved Adam’s life, didn’t he?”

 

“Yes, that’s right.  I let him down—” Joe sighed and bit his bottom lip, “Tell me though, Sarah, where did you see him?  Is he in the Dakotahs?”

 

She was seated now and gratefully drinking some coffee, but in answer to Joe’s question she stood up, in order to give her words greater authority.

 

“I left you and went to the Dakotahs.  I thought the white Government people will not look for me there, right where they wanted to take me in the first place.  They will think I am far away from there and I would be safe.   One day the camp where I stayed was attacked by white men. They killed a few people, but mostly they killed all the horses—184 of them—they took all the food and what food they didn’t take they trampled on.  There was nothing left for the people there.  We travelled to the camp of Two Moons of the Cheyenne.”

 

“I remember Two Moons,” Joe nodded thoughtfully, and waited for her to continue speaking.

 

“Later we were searching for some children that had been lost in the panic of the attack.  We were looking and saw coming some soldiers with men in cages.  We saw our friends, Kiowa and Sioux in the cages.  The soldiers were attacked and our people were freed.  It was then that I learned that you had been killed, Joseph.  I was much grieved.  Stalking Horse told us how you had been taken by these men, and how you were—killed.  Later we learn that you were not killed at all, but wounded, so unable to help your friends.”

 

“The officer in charge of this convoy, what happened to him?” Ben asked by way of interest and she shrugged slightly,

 

“He was killed.  He turned his horse and tried to get away, he left his men and his charges, so he was killed.  Most of his men were unharmed.  It was the other officer who told us about Joseph not being killed after all.  It was an idea he had to save Joe’s life.”

 

“What about Stalking Horse?  What message did he give you?”  Hoss now asked, his voice gruff—a sure sign he needed to get some sleep.

 

“He said to Joseph Cartwright that his people are being killed by the white settlers, the white soldiers. They try to escape them but cannot, sometimes they even meet other Indians running from the white men in the opposite direction from them—they are all running from the white men.”  She paused a moment, her brow furrowed. “They know that soon they will die, their camps are being destroyed and the buffalo are being killed.  The children are taken from them and put into schools to be taught the white man’s ways.  They do not want this, but when they speak to the white soldiers in the forts no one hears.  The words are blown about on the wind and scattered.  Even Pa’huska, the Gold Hair, the one you call Custer, does not listen, not even to the plea of his Indian wife, Monaseeetah.”

 

“How can I help, Sarah?  After all, this was the  thing that caused you to leave here and me getting myself caught by those soldiers in the first place.”

 

“Then it was planned by white government that we speak to the Indian for peace.  But Stalking Horse and Tashunka Witko(Crazy Horse), they want you to go to speak to the men at Washington and to tell them to stop.”

 

“And if they don’t stop?”  Ben asked.

 

“I think there will be many killed in battles to come.  The Sioux shaman, Tatanka Yotanka (Sitting Bull), is their war leader now.  The Golden Hair, Pa’huska, has set his flags all over the Black Hills even though it was written in the Treaty of 1868* that no person, or persons, will be permitted to settle upon or occupy any portion of the territory.”

 

Her dark eyes looked straight into Joe’s face; she saw the small frown furrowing his brow, the green that shone in the hazel eyes, but he said nothing.  She knew him enough to know that he would think about what had been said.  It was enough; she had said what she had been asked to say now she would return to her people.

 

……………….

 

The man in the uniform of an officer in the American navy was admitted into the house of the Sheik El Hassim without question, and while he made his way to the room where Laurence Willoughby lay, a servant ran to inform Rachel that there was a visitor.

 

Laurence’s injuries had been severe, and instant recovery, although much desired, seldom happened.  The medication he was on subdued the pain but also kept him in a state of deep sleep most of the time.  Adam leaned over the bed and gently touched his shoulder.

 

“Laurence?  It’s Adam—Adam Cartwright.”

 

The young man’s eyelids fluttered, there was a struggle within, deep within, to open his eyes, eventually he did so and looked up into the commodore’s face. “Adam?”

 

“I wanted to see you, Laurence, I came to say good bye.”

 

Laurence narrowed his eyes as though it took all his concentration to absorb those few words. He closed his eyes for an instant before opening them again.  “You are leaving?” the words were laboured.

 

It seemed to Adam that his condition had deteriorated since he had since him only the day before, so he stepped away from the bed and just gently kept his hand resting on Laurence’s shoulder until the soft breathing indicated he had fallen back to sleep.

 

He turned at the sound of footsteps and left Laurence in order to meet her halfway.

 

He smiled, although his eyes failed to do so. “He’s worse?”

 

“Yes, one of the wounds became infected.  The doctor has seen to it, and he should rally again by tomorrow.  He was  badly injured.”

 

“I wasn’t sure if he would be well enough to talk or not, so I have written him a letter to explain what’s going on.  Would you be so kind as to give it to him, please, Rachel?”  He took an envelope, a small white square of vellum, from his pocket and passed it over to her.

 

She looked at it, her eyes noted the strong masculine handwriting on the whiteness of the paper, then she looked up at him.

 

“Are you leaving?”

 

“Yes, I have orders—” he paused. “I only found out last evening.  It’s all rather rushed.”

 

She looked at him again, and got the impression that she was seeing yet another facet of this man, another persona. She wondered which slot she could place him in this time.

 

“Where will you be going?  Are you able to tell me?”

 

“To Washington, I have to see the president first and—and then—get further orders.” he balked at mentioning the China Seas, but then there were other more pressing matters he wanted to discuss with Grant before any further assignments were mentioned.

 

He looked at her and realised that her eyes were  blue and that she was looking at him in rather a strange manner.  He frowned. “Is there anything wrong?”

 

Rachel blinked, cleared her throat, shook her head.  For him to have asked such a question then obviously there could be nothing wrong, nothing wrong in his leaving so suddenly, and any hope pinned on their brief conversation the day before—forgotten?

 

“It seems that I’ll never get to know you properly, Commodore Adam Cartwright.” she smiled at looked at him again, forcing herself neither to blush nor to weep, “I shall miss you, and I know that Laurence will, once he realises you have gone.”

 

“I am sorry, Rachel.” he took hold of one of her hands and held it within his own; he smiled, but again the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I was enjoying your company and had hoped to take up a little more of your time today, but—” he sighed and shrugged, releasing her hand. “I’m afraid, duty calls.”

 

She said nothing but followed him from the room and down the stairs, during which time neither of them spoke a word.  They had reached the courtyard now, and he glanced, almost wistfully at the garden, and sighed.

 

“Is there something wrong?” she said instantly. “Has something happened?”

 

“I had some bad news yesterday,” he blurted out, as though grateful to be able to tell someone. “My youngest brother was killed.”

 

“I am sorry,” she said involuntarily, and then stopped herself, realising how trite her words were, she reached out a hand and placed it gently upon his chest, “Was it recently?”

 

He looked at her vaguely then and frowned slightly, then sighed, shook his head, shrugged. “I don’t know much about it, to be honest.  All I know is that I wasn’t there to—” he stopped, his shoulders slumped, and he pursed his lips, inhaled deeply. “I wasn’t there to protect him. I promised his mother, when he was born, that I would take care of him and here I am all these miles away and he—he gets killed.”

 

She waited for him to finish, garnering from the things he said that his youngest brother’s mother was not his own, that as the eldest he had felt overly protective and now felt that he had failed.  It seemed that to Adam Cartwright, his word was indeed his bond.

 

“Adam, you can’t—” she was going to say, “you can’t blame yourself,” but refrained, because it would not have made any difference to how he was feeling now.

 

She turned towards the garden and sighed, “I had a brother once; he was the eldest. I’m the one in the middle, and Anna is the youngest.”  She frowned, then plucked some flowers from the border and twirled them around between her fingers. “He went on tour with Father, to Egypt, around about here to be exact.  He wrote to me from here, asked me to look after Mother and little sister...and that was the last I heard from him because he died on the boat back to America.  Mother died not long after, and that left me to look after Anna.”

 

Adam looked at her thoughtfully, then turned his eyes away to observe the flowers in the garden. Once again silence fell between them.

 

“I think that, along with the mummies that seemed to be stuffed into almost every corner of our house, was part of the reason why I hate Egypt.  Roland was a lovely young man; he had his whole life ahead of him.”

 

Adam cleared his throat. Well, wasn’t that true of Joe? Wasn’t Joe also a lovely young man who had his whole life ahead of him, and now…no life at all? 

 

She turned, forced a smile and looked into his face. “That’s why I stay here, to look after Anna.  You see, if Ismail had taken El Hassim away, executed him even…what would have happened to her then?”

 

Several thoughts skimmed through his head, words that he would have said but couldn’t. He turned away and together they walked through the courtyard towards the rear exit of the house.  “Laurence will need a lot of attention and care, would you prefer that he was moved to Ibrahims?”

 

“Oh no, El Hassim would never permit it.  You and Laurence are honoured visitors here, he wouldn’t dream of having it any differently.”

 

He sighed heavily, bowed his head.  Realised that he should be bidding the sheik goodbye as well, he looked at her. “Are they at home, your sister and El Hassim?”

 

“No, they’re at the palace with Ismail. I presume that will be the usual routine for a while.”

 

“I see.  You’ll be on your own a lot then?”

 

“I shall look after Laurence.  Once he’s stronger I’m sure he’ll be much livelier company.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure he will be.  He’s an artist by profession and enjoys poetry.”

 

“That’s good; so do I.” She smiled at him, and was relieved when he smiled back.

 

Inwardly Adam felt irritated, then annoyed at being irritated. He had to accept that Laurence and Rachel were of a similar age, and anyway, this was neither the time nor the place.  He cleared his throat, and she looked at him with a query in her eyes but didn’t speak; her hand was on the latch to the door.

 

“Which ship is it ?”

 

“The Virginian.”

 

“I’ve seen it; it’s a lovely ship.”

 

He smiled, nodded. “Thank you for all you’ve done for Laurence and—” he looked at her, lowered his head as she raised her own, and their lips met in the gentlest kiss. 

 

Perhaps this was not the right time, nor the right place, but who was to know?  He stepped back and looked at her, smoky brown eyes met denim blue, both looked as though suddenly aware of something but not sure what, so they bowed their heads towards each other once again, and their lips met, touched, held.

 

“You know where I am—” he said  softly.

 

“Yes.”

 

He looked at her again, freckles over her nose, blue eyes, blonde hair and an oval face. He smiled, his eyes twinkled, and he leaned down and kissed her nose.

 

“Take care, Rachel.”

 

She didn’t watch him walk away into the street, but closed the door and latched it securely.  She felt her lips, looked up at the sky and held onto the moment.

 

 

Chapter 87

 

Talk in the Sazarac that evening centred about the two young men who had been killed, friends who had stabbed each other to death.  No one said exactly the cause but intimated that the argument was over a woman.

 

“He used to come in here quite a lot, didn’t he?”  Julia Hayes muttered as she pulled on her stockings.

 

“Who?” one of the other girls asked and pouted so that she could paint a cupid bow on her lips with the garish red paint.

 

“That lad, the one called Jim.  He was the one died last of all.  Poor boy.”

 

“The other lad was only a kid too.”

 

“He didn’t come here though, did he?”

 

Julia Hayes lowered her voice, whispered something with her eyes  moving from right to left to ensure that she wasn’t being watched. The other girl said “Oh!” just like that, “Oh!” and looked startled, glancing over her shoulder as though afraid of the shadows behind her.

 

They left the room in a state of disarray as always—a scattering of odd stockings, spangles and sequins, ribbons all over the floor, on the tables was spilled powder and crushed rouges, perfumes that left a trail of vapour about them.  Ingrid stayed concealed in the corner of the room, and carefully wiped away the paint from her face.  She stared at her reflection and then slumped back into her chair.

 

So the boy was dead. In this case, how did the jewellery get into Coutts’ shop?  He must have sold it to the wretched man for money, perhaps that was the real reason they had fought, those two lads, because one had too much money and the other hadn’t enough.  She could see their faces now, eager for the favours she gave them, and always wanting to do something to encourage her to be just that bit more generous.  So she had given Jim the jewellery and asked him one big favour…

 

She hurried out of the dressing room and leaned over the balcony to where the other girls were circulating among the customers.  She called over to Bonnie, one of the girls about to go down the stairs, and asked her to tell Tom that she wouldn’t be able to work this evening; she was unwell and had to get to her bed.

 

She was cold and shivering; she wished she could stop the nightmare and turn back the clock so that she was that pretty Mrs. Buchanan who could twist any man around her little finger.  Mrs. Buchanan, who was married to that boring young man who had loved her.  Now look, she was nothing more than a cheap saloon girl who had planned to murder a Cartwright.  She sat bolt upright when there came a knock on the door and Mrs. Tilley peeked around the door.

 

“They said you was ill?”

 

“I am,” she whispered, “I can’t stop shivering but I’m so hot.”

 

“Do you want the doctor?”

 

“Yes—please.”

 

“You pay for doctors’ visits out of your own money.”

 

“I know, thank you.”

 

She fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “Please,” she prayed, “please let it be John who comes, please.”

 

 

The doctor who did attend on Ingrid was the one Lowry and Mrs. Tilley would always send out for; one who was used to “looking after” the girls and their “conditions.”  After a  short time with Ingrid he came down the stairs looking decidedly disgruntled.

 

“She’s alright, just one of those you need to keep an eye on, Lowry.” he grunted as he swung out of the saloon, his medical bag bumping against his leg.

 

“She’s probably upset about that cowboy getting killed,” Julia muttered, and Lowry, overhearing her, leaned forward and demanded to know what she was talking about. “It was that cowboy, Jim whatisname.  He used to come here to see her ‘upstairs.’  I suppose hearing that he got killed like he did has upset her.”

 

“I thought she was seeing Peter, Jim’s friend,” Mrs. Tilley said as she passed by the counter on her way to collect the empty glasses.

 

“Well, she did, sort of.” Julia shrugged her shoulders and turned her attention back to the miner who was appearing  obliging in parting with his money for her time and a few drinks of good whiskey.

 

Deputy Thomas Dundy had been in the Sazarac for his evening check over, his hand on the butt of his revolver and his eyes looking over the customers to make sure no one was being overly rowdy.  He got the nod from Lowry that all was well, and left the saloon, taking with him a small nugget of information that he couldn’t wait to pass on to Roy.

 

The sheriff was pouring stewed coffee into some mugs when Dundy arrived back from his night rounds; he was young and eager to get attention and that eagerness showed in the way he swaggered into the office and unbuckled his gun belt.  Roy had seen it so often before, young deputies wet behind the ears, keen to become marshals within a few weeks.  He pushed his spectacles further up his brow-line, or where his brow-line used to be, and waited.

 

“Got something interesting to tell you, Roy.”  Dundy was almost panting with excitement, and the other deputy, older and more experienced, glanced over at Roy and gave a slightly wry smile.

 

“Wal, ain’t no good you keeping it to yourself, best get it over with and tell it straight.” Roy pushed a mug of the coffee towards Dundy and then sat down; he pulled out his notebook, licked the nib of his pencil, and looked up, “Wal?”

 

“Seems there’s a saloon girl in the Sazarac, took ill on account of her hearing about Jim and Peter gitting killed.”

 

Roy looked at him thoughtfully, nodded and glanced over at Deputy Hinman, who nodded as well.

 

“What’s her name?”

 

“Er—I don’t know.  But they said Jim was always around there seeing her, and so was that Pete.”

 

“What’s she look like?”

 

“I didn’t see her.” Dundy sighed, hot air drifting from him as quickly as from a burst balloon.

 

Roy sucked on his teeth and pursed his lips, the spectacles dropped back onto the bridge of his nose of their own accord, and he picked up his cup, sipped some coffee. “We’ll go check her out tomorrow,” he muttered but didn’t give Dundy any commendation; that would come later, depending on whether his “nugget” proved to be gold or plain old iron pyrite.

 

…………………………..

 

The Virginian was a steamer, clean-lined, fairly new.  For once Adam didn’t stop to mourn the loss of the clipper ships he so loved.  He saw the vessel as the means to get back to America, and being a steamer, then it would mean a quicker voyage.  He was piped on board, the officers saluted and he shook their hands and saluted them in return.

 

When he got to his cabin he threw his meagre belongings into a corner and then went to the desk and glanced over the log book left there by the previous captain.  He realised that he couldn’t remember the names of his officers nor their faces and wondered how that could have happened.  He pulled off his jacket and was about to sit down when there was a knock on the door.

 

“Your orders, Commodore?”  A pleasantly fresh-faced young man stood before him, chest out, back straight, cap under his arm and chin at the regulation angle. 

 

Adam cleared his throat, and fingered the corner of the log book. “Is everything in order?”

 

“Yes, Commodore.”

 

“Fresh water?”

 

“Yes, sir, also fresh fruit and all stores sufficiently replenished.”

 

“Any of the ship’s company on shore leave?”

 

“All returned pending your arrival, sir.”

 

“You were expecting me today?” He glanced up, one eyebrow raised and the dark eyes sparking with interest.

 

“We’ve been here two days, sir.  Orders to Captain Waitrose were to wait your arrival no matter how long it took.”

 

“Where is Captain Waitrose now?”

 

“He took command of the Navaho, sir.  Sailed yesterday for the Suez Canal.”

 

“And left you in charge?”

 

“As first officer, yes sir.”

 

Adam nodded, stared at the desk for a moment the raised his eyes to look at the blank face of the other man.

 

“Remind me of your name?”

 

“Munnings, sir.”

 

What, Adam wondered, was going on in the mind of this man called Munnings, who stood before him now looking so formidable and rigidly correct.  Did he have a wife, family?  Had he ever suffered loss or pain?  Behind that blank exterior was there anything of emotion going on there?

 

He cleared his throat again, nodded. “Very well then, there’s no point in hanging about, Mr. Munnings.  Tell the helmsmen to set his co-ordinates for Latitude: 32°54'8″N.  Longitude: 13°11'9″E.  We’ll refuel there.”

 

“When shall we leave, sir?”

 

“Within the hour.”  He rose to his feet. “Thank you.”

 

Munnings saluted and promptly left the cabin, leaving Adam with the feeling that he was rather disappointed in his new commanding officer.  He walked to the porthole and looked out at the bustling port and bowed his head. Thoughts of Joe crowded in immediately and just as promptly his anguished brain cried, ‘No, I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it, it isn’t true.”

 

and then there was nothing, just a blankness, dark and empty.

 

Another knock on the door and he called out “Come in” in a perfunctory manner, and his steward appeared and stood there for a moment until Adam turned to look at him. Then he saluted. “I’m your steward, sir, Jeremy Coxon.”

……………

 

It was good to be back on the waves, out at sea.  The air was fresh and blew cobwebs from his mind.  He busied himself with work, overseeing the men from the bridge, familiarising himself with the officers and crew.  As was customary the first evening was spent in the captain’s quarters: a good meal, good wine, and an opportunity to get to know one another.  The second mate was also new to the ship’s company, the previous officer having been taken ill.

 

When they had gone and Adam had taken his last walk on the bridge, checked with the helmsman that they were on course and the men were in position for the dog watch for the night, he returned to his cabin. 

 

He re-read Grant’s letter, then he found the letters from his father, Hoss and Joe.  Hadn’t there been some reference in one of them about the military coming to the Ponderosa or had he imagined it?   He scanned through Hoss’ not expecting any information and, as expected, finding none, then his father’s and nothing except that fleeting reference that his own warnings had been quite unnecessary, and then Joe—the sight of his brother’s handwriting made his heart beat faster, he could imagine Joe writing it, hurrying to get it over and done with, he never liked writing at the best of times.  He licked his lips and prepared himself to read only to find it disappointing in that the reference again was nothing substantial.

 

However, there had been a reference, and Adam sat there, his brother’s letter in his hand, his head resting in the palm of his other hand while he stared unseeing at the letter…and all he could think about was Joe, dear, crazy, hot-headed Little Joe.

 

 

 

Chapter 88

 

The breakfast was always the  best start to any day, but the day after Sarah’s visit definitely started with a dark cloud hovering over it, and when Ben asked Joe if he had given any thought to what Sarah had spoken about, he was rather dismayed when his son informed him that he had.

 

“Do you think you can give any credence to what she was saying though, Joseph?  You need to be sure if you are intending to act on what she said.”

 

“Sarah doesn’t lie, Pa.”

 

“I wasn’t intimating that she was, Joseph—only that some things may appear far worse than they really are.  There’s always two sides to every question and that’s why I’d rather you made sure of the facts before you decided on getting involved in any way whatsoever.”

 

“You saw those men in the cages, Pa!  What does that tell you?”

 

“Well, it—”

 

“It tells you that the government still think of the Sioux and the other Plains Indians are just one level above being animals.  They want to kill them, exterminate them.”

 

“That’s pretty strong language, Joe,” Hoss murmured. “No government’s going to try to exterminate them.”

 

“Have you forgotten what Wynkoop told us that time we were staying at his place when Custer first came on the scene?”

 

“Well, no but—”

 

“Yeah, I thought so; you were more interested in feeding your face than listening to what he said, and why he was resigning his post there as Indian agent.”

 

“What did he say, Joe?” Ben asked in a more conciliatory manner and smiling over his son’s head at Hester who was pouring him some coffee.

 

“He said that the government’s policy was one of genocide.”  Joe thumped his fist on the table, making the cutlery jump and rattle. “And it’s happened before, whole nations of Indians moved from their lands, and forced to march hundreds of miles to lands alien to them.  Some tribes have already died out altogether and—”

 

“Joe,” Ben raised a hand, black brows beetled above his eyes, “Calm down.  That visit from Sarah’s got you all fired up and—”

 

“No, it hasn’t.  I’ve been all fired up since I saw Stalking Horse in that cage. It was only because I was injured that I didn’t do anything about it then, and—” his voice softened, and he sighed, “And seeing so much of Mary Ann.”

 

“Just how serious are you about that little gal, Joe?” Hoss looked over at Hester and winked, and smiled when she gave back her reassuring smile .

 

“I want to marry her,”  Joe frowned. “Trouble is I can’t do both, it has to be one thing at a time.”

 

“That’s usually the best method, Joe.”  Hester smiled over at him, and handed him a plate with ham and eggs. “Now, why not eat your breakfast and think about what you intend to do first.”

 

Ben shot her a grateful look and resumed his own meal, while Joe concentrated on his and thought over the decisions that confronted him now.  He sighed, rose to his feet and shrugged.

 

“Guess I’ll go over and see Mary Ann first thing.”

 

“That’s good, Joe.  I may see you later in town; I’m going in with Ann.  We thought we would do some shopping—” she smiled over at her husband. “That is alright with you, isn’t it, Hoss?  You hadn’t anything else planned, had you?”

 

“I was going to check over the bridge near Miller’s Creek, noticed there was some loose planking there.” Hoss replied, stabbing at another slice of ham and sliding it onto his plate.

 

“See you all later then,” Joe yelled and the next thing they heard was the slam of the door.

 

“Reckon he’s going to propose?” Hoss lowered his voice, although he one person he wouldn’t want to hear being discussed had already left the house.

 

“I hope so—” Hester sighed. She placed one hand on her skirts where an obvious mound was beginning to show. “She may succeed in getting him to drop this idea of going to see Stalking Horse.”

 

“Let’s hope so,” Ben grunted. “Last time he went to sort out anything to do with the Indians he got caught up in a war.”

 

“Practically started it all on his own,” Hoss guffawed, which wasn’t  comforting for his poor father to hear.

 

As Joseph Cartwright waited for Mary Ann to come to the door of her house he nervously cleared his throat, shuffled several pebbles from the pathway and twisted his hat round and round in his fingers.  He had been thinking over the conversation he had had with his father and Hoss at breakfast during his ride into town.

 

For the life of him he couldn’t see how anything he said or did would make any difference in Washington.  If they had formulated a policy then they were going to go all out to enforce it, and a jumped-up nobody from Nevada going in telling them how wrong they were wouldn’t change anything.

 

“Good morning, Joe, you’re early.”

 

He nearly dropped his hat and then laughed at himself for doing so only he had been so immersed in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the door open, now he leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek and take her hand in his. “Mary Ann—can we go for a walk, somewhere nice and quiet?”

 

“I’ll just go and get my bonnet.”

 

She emerged several minutes later tying a ribbon beneath her chin and then slipped her arm through his before smiling up at him. “You looked really deep in thought when I came to the door, Joe.  Is anything wrong?  Hester’s alright, isn’t she?”

 

“Yes, she’s fine.” He slipped his hat over his thick hair and pushed open the gate, stepping back to let her through and then taking her hand in his as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

 

“Then what’s wrong?”

 

He frowned, shrugged, then looked down at her. “Nothing; nothing’s wrong, Mary Ann.  I just want to spend some time with you and—” he paused and took a deep breath. “Let’s go over to the park.”

 

She said nothing, but smiled and followed his lead.  She was, however, quite certain that there was something bothering the young man for she had addressed him twice before he had realised she was standing at the door.  In silence they made their way to the newly formed park, built courtesy of the Town Council only a few years earlier.  He led her to a bench and once she had sat down, plunked down beside her.  It was a pretty area; he glanced around to observe the trees and the flowers, then looked at her.

 

“Mary Ann, I—”  he paused, looked into her face, saw the trust and the love there, so he took her hand. “Mary Ann, I love you, you know that now, don’t you?”

 

“I think so.” she smiled.

 

“I want to ask you something.”

 

“Yes?”

 

She blushed just a little in anticipation of his question, and looked at him thoughtfully as he seemed to struggle to find the words.  She squeezed his hand, and he raised it to his lips and kissed her finger tips. “I’m going to ask you a question and—” he paused again, took a deep breath, “Mary Ann, I love you, will you marry me?”

 

He was blushing.  He could feel the heat curling above his collar and up his neck, and she laughed, leaned forward and kissed him.

 

“Yes, of course I will.”

 

He kissed her again, held her close just to make sure that she was real, everything about Mary Ann was—well, so right, so good.  He wanted to hold her and kiss her and…and just be with her.  Safe.  That’s how she made him feel, safe, just like his Momma had made him feel all those years ago, except that this was not Momma but the woman he wanted to share his whole life with—forever.

 

“I have to explain something to you,” he said, holding her hands in both of his and looking into her eyes. “I have to go away for a while.  I shouldn’t be long, but—”

 

“Joe,” she put a hand to his face, “Don’t struggle to tell me whatever it may be, just say it.  It’ll be alright.  I’ll still be here; I won’t go anywhere without you.  I’ll wait until you come back, I promise.”

 

He stroked her face, her lips he traced with his fingers; he kissed her again.

 

“I have to go and help some friends.  I doubt if I’ll be  successful, but I have to know that I’ve tried, they have to know that I tried.  Do you understand what I mean?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s a long way from here, a long way—” he paused and wondered if he had been fair to expect so much from her and bowed his head.

 

“Joe, I love you.  If you were going to go to the moon, I’d wait until you came back and then—then whatever you wish of me, I’ll do.” She didn’t say that she had already waited some years for this moment to happen, so what would a few more matter.

 

He smiled, suddenly the light shone from behind the clouds, and he rose to his feet, took her hand and drew her up beside him. “Come on then, I’m going to buy you the best ring in town.” And he grabbed her around the waist and twirled her around until he put her back onto her feet and kissed her.

 

Two people strolling saw them, smiled and looked at one another, remembering the time when they had once been young and in love.  Two children trailing behind them hooted and whistled and received a laugh from the young couple as they ran, hand in hand, to the main street to buy their  special ring.

 

………………

 

Roy was studying some wanted posters that had arrived in the early morning mail.  With his brow furrowed and eyes squinting through his spectacles he slowly read through each words, nodding every so often when he reached the end of the sentence. 

 

“Roy, I got that information for you,”  Dundy announced breathlessly, and closed the door behind him.

 

“Thought you might.” Roy muttered without moving his eyes from the poster in his hands.

 

“Her name’s Lisa Faulkner.  She came into town several weeks back.  Came from Genoa.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Saw her too,” he pulled out a chair and turned it round, straddled it and folded his arms across its back, “She’s a real good looker, got class too.”

 

“She has, has she?”

 

“She may have dyed her hair, you know how some women are about their hair…not that you’d notice that unless you were real close up.”

 

“Oh, how close up did you get to her then?”  Roy frowned and looked at Dundy sternly.

 

“Oh, I didn’t—” the younger man blushed—“One of the other girls told me.  But all the same she sure is a good-looking woman.”

 

“And got some class you say?”

 

“Yeah, you can tell that by looking at her.”

 

“Enough class to possess some real expensive jewellery?”

 

“I don’t know about that; could be though.  The girl I spoke to said the girl, Lisa, didn’t seem to have much in the way of money, always borrowing from them, promising to pay it back but never actually doing so.  She’s got expensive clothing though.  They reckon she was well off at one time, then lost it all.  Either that or she stole the stuff from someone she used to work for at some time or another.”

 

Roy didn’t answer; he grunted and pursed his lips, but his eyes were fixed back on the poster so Dundy sighed, rose to his feet and decided to talk to one of the men locked in the cells, anticipating a better conversation from him than the one he had elicited from the sheriff.

 

A few moments later Roy put the poster down and strolled outside.  He walked about a little and then leaned against a post, watching people coming and going.

 

He saw Joe and Mary Ann disappear into the jeweller’s and smiled. He’d always been  fond of Joseph Cartwright, a lad who had got into more trouble, and caused more trouble, than anyone he had ever known.  As for the young lady, well, she was turning out to be a really nice schoolteacher and pretty to look at as well.

 

He raised his hat to the two ladies who drove past him a few minutes later.  Ann Canady and Hester Cartwright sat side by side on the wagon seat and smiled down at him as they went their way.  He heaved in a deep breath and then exhaled; seeing young Hoss Cartwright’s wife like that brought back all kinds of memories, and the hard fact of the matter was that he was getting old.

 

He glanced across to the Sazarac when a movement caught his eye.  He lowered his hat a little to shade it from the sun, but there was no mistaking the elegant figure of—Lisa Faulkner.  She was standing on the sidewalk looking up and down the street, and then across at the wagon which had pulled up nearby.  Watching her Roy got the distinct impression that Lisa Faulkner was none too happy at seeing Ann and Hester together. He now turned to look at the two women clambering down from the wagon, smiling and chatting together.

 

The direction they chose to take meant that they would have to pass the jeweller’s, and like many women, they paused to peek inside through the window.  Roy noticed Hester pointing to something and speaking to Ann who was nodding her head and looking anxious.  Within minutes they had gone inside the shop.

 

Roy straightened his shoulders and his back; from the corner of his eye he could see Ingrid (Lisa Faulkner) crossing the road.  She walked close to the jeweller’s shop and glanced inside but didn’t stop.  He followed her with his eyes and watched as she stepped off the sidewalk for a moment as several men walked by, taking up all the room and not prepared to step back for a lady to pass along. 

 

Dr. John Martin was almost right behind them, and Roy watched as she stepped in front of him, smiled and said something which brought a shake of the head from John before he strode onwards, his face controlled but Roy could tell simmering anger when he saw it.

 

He waited a while longer until she had gone from his vision, then deciding he had seen enough, he returned to his office and put the coffee pot on to boil.

 

Chapter 89

 

Mr. Coutts turned to see who was entering the store and seeing Hester and Ann gave Joe an apologetic smile,

 

“If I may just go and see to these ladies, Mr. Cartwright?”

 

“Oh yeah, sure, we’ve got plenty of time…” Joe drawled and looked at the tray of rings and then at Mary Ann, took hold of her hand and smiled at the pretty pink in her cheeks and the way her eyes beamed up at him. He turned his head at the sound of a familiar voice, and seeing Hester, called over to her, “Hey, Hester … I didn’t think I’d see you in here!  You buying Hoss a little something special?”

 

“No, not really,” Hester replied with a rather anxious expression on her face, and then she saw Mary Ann and her eyes went from her face to Joe’s and then back to Mary Ann.  “Oh, Joe, are you buying Mary Ann a little something special?”

 

“Are you, Joe?  Is it congratulations?” Ann piped up, and laughed.

 

Seemingly whatever had caused their anxiety and prompted them to enter the store was now forgotten, or put to one side, as they waited for Joe and Mary Ann to speak.  Mary Ann glanced at Joe and smiled, he squeezed her fingers between his own and then grinned at Hester and Ann. “We’re looking at rings.” he muttered, “Mary Ann and I are going to get engaged.”  Then he nearly fell backwards as Hester flung her arms around him and hugged him as best she could, and then she hugged Mary Ann. “I take it you’re pleased?”

 

“Oh, Joe, yes,  more than you can imagine.  Mary Ann, how lovely…” Hester heaved a sigh, and kissed the other girl on the cheek. “I’m so happy for you.”

 

“So am I.” Ann said, hugging them both. “It’s going to be lovely.  Are you going to have a party?”

 

“Oh—I should think so,” Hester cried, “Oh, you must have a party.”

 

“Well, I want to find the perfect ring first, and then tell Pa, and—” he turned to Mary Ann, “and I have to write and tell Adam my news.  He’ll just be so pleased, I know how much he respected and liked Mary Ann”

 

“It’s lovely news,” Ann clasped her hands together and rose up on her tip toes with delight, “Have you found a ring yet?”

 

“No, I can’t seem to see anything I like yet.” Mary Ann said  at which Mr. Coutts immediately appeared at their elbow.

 

“I’ve some more rings over here, if you’d care to come this way.” he looked at Hester. “Er—about the matter you came in to see me about, Mrs. Cartwright, I can’t really help you, I’m afraid.”

 

Hester sighed, she and Ann exchanged a glance between them and thanked Mr. Coutts for his trouble before they left the store. 

 

Once outside they both stood at the window and looked at the little piece of jewellery again.

 

“Ann, I’m sure it’s the same piece, there can’t be a duplicate because Mother had it made especially for her.”

 

“Weren’t there earrings to match?”

 

“Yes, that’s right, the complete set was this clasp, a necklace, and the ear rings.”  She peered closer, so much so that she bumped her head against the glass. “I wish I could have looked at it more closely.”

 

“She gave the set to Ingrid as a wedding present, didn’t she?”

 

“An engagement gift.  I remember Ingrid’s mother turning her nose up at them; she said opals were bad luck.”

 

“Nonsense.” Ann frowned and together they turned and made their way to the Emporium, both deep in thought. “It must have been stolen from Ingrid.”

 

“She did say that everything had been taken from her.  Oh, poor Ingrid, I shouldn’t have been so harsh on her, Ann.”

 

“You weren’t, you were completely right in everything you said and did.  Hoss wouldn’t have wanted you to have acted towards her any other way.”

 

“Should I go and see Roy about it?”

 

Ann was already distracted by a little dress that would look just so cute on Rose; she paused and shook her head. “No, let’s wait and see if the other pieces turn up.  Perhaps Mr. Coutts has the other pieces as well.”

 

“Oh, Ann, do you think he realises he’s handling stolen goods…again?”

 

Ann looked at her cousin in dismay; the last thing she wanted was her shopping expedition ruined now, especially an afternoon spent without a hot and sticky baby being carried around.  She slipped her arm through Hester’s and led her towards the dress.

 

“Don’t you think that would look lovely on Rosy?” she sighed in rapture.

 

Hester looked at it thoughtfully, smiled and nodded, then her smile widened at the thought that the little girl could wear it at Joe and Mary Ann’s engagement party.  After mentioning that to Ann it was just a matter of handing over the money and seeing the dress wrapped up in pretty paper for them to take away.

 

Joe was passing money over as well; his future bride was busy looking at her hand with the ring on her finger.  She smiled at Joe, and then took it off and handed it to him,

 

“It’s beautiful, Joe.  Thank you so much.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

 

“Aren’t you going to wear it?” He looked hurt, and gazed down at the ring as though suddenly wondering if she really liked it that much after all.

 

“Not here.  Let’s go back to the park…” she whispered and slipped her arm through his, and smiled up into his face. “You can put it on my finger there and then we can talk about any future plans you have—will that be alright?”

 

Hester and Ann left the Emporium with several bundles in their arms.  Laughing and chattering together they made their way to the wagon and put the items into the back.  Then they strolled off to the little restaurant where they had something to eat, a few sandwiches and cake washed down with tea, and in Hester’s case, hot water.

 

In the park Joe whispered his proposal to Mary Ann and sealed it with a kiss, then slipped the ring onto her finger.  It was a beautiful day, the scent of roses was a memory he would keep in his mind of that moment, just as she would keep the memory of his kiss upon her lips and his hand gently pressing against her back.

 

Roy was strolling towards the jeweller’s again as Hester and Ann passed him with more parcels in their arms.  If Hester hesitated a moment, Roy gave no indication of noticing, his attention being drawn to the sight of the woman he knew as Lisa Faulkner walking slowly on the opposite side of the street and looking over at the two women every so often as though she were making up her mind as to whether or not she should cross the street and speak to them.

 

Ann took the reins and flicked them and the horses lurched forwards pulling the wagon along behind.  Roy watched them go, turned and saw Ingrid stop and watch them leave in the direction of the road that would take them to the Ponderosa.  When Ingrid turned to return to the Sazarac, Roy was about to step into the street to follow her but Mr. Coutts called for him to come into the shop, he had something to tell him.

 

Chapter 90

 

Roy followed the jeweller into the shop and waited patiently while the fussy little man turned the sign on his door to ‘Closed’.  Then he waited a little more as Coutts locked the door to make sure those who couldn’t read wouldn’t intrude on the conversation that was to follow.  He took a deep breath.

 

“You were right, Sheriff, it is a woman behind all this, but—” he shook his head, “I can’t believe that it’s Mrs. Cartwright.”

 

“Mrs. Cartwright?”  Roy blinked; it still took him some seconds to register that Mrs. Cartwright referred to Hoss’ wife and not Ben’s.  He sighed. “Mrs. Cartwright?” he repeated in a more neutral tone of voice.

 

“S’right, came in here and wanted to know where I got the clasp from, but I didn’t need to say anything because I had other customers here at the time.  She said she would come in and see me some other time.”

 

Roy gave Coutts a long stare from his pale blue eyes and then nodded slowly, sighed again.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Coutts, that’s  interesting information, and I appreciate it.  Keep your ears and eyes open now.”

 

“I shall do, sir.”  Coutts nodded and bustled over to the door which he slowly unlocked and opened. “Surprising, isn’t it? Who’d have thought it would have been Mrs. Cartwright?”

 

“Who indeed?” Roy paused at the door and leaned in close, so close that Coutts could smell the coffee on Roy’s breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this, it could hinder progress if you do.”

 

“I won’t say a single word, sir.”

 

Roy nodded, doubting  much if Coutts meant a word of his assurance of silence and anticipating that he would be disclosing the information as soon as he had a listening ear.  He glanced over at the Sazarac and sighed, glanced up and down the road to see what was going on, and was about to step into the road when his eye caught sight of something lying in the dirt.

 

He picked it up and stared at it for a moment, then stood up and glanced down the street.  He scowled, looked at what was in his hand and then at the wheel ruts where the wagon had been positioned and then he was hurrying back to his office.

 

“What’s the hurry, Roy?” Joe asked as he saw the sheriff rushing anxiously along the sidewalk.

 

“For Pete’s sake, Joe, git on that horse and ride on after your sister-in-law, git her to stop the wagon.”

 

“Stop the wagon?”  Joe frowned, and stepped into the road in order to mount up on Sport.

 

“Don’t waste time, git moving.”

 

Joe pulled Sport round and urged the big horse into a gallop, scattering housewives and children as he went.  Roy hurried on; saw Paul Martin about to clamber into his buggy.

 

“Paul—Paul!”

 

Paul frowned, paused, turned to look after his old friend and raised a hand, smiled and waved, and was about to resume getting into the buggy when Roy shouted, “Get into that buggy of your’n and follow Joe.”

 

“Follow Joe?”  Paul stood slack mouthed and stared at Roy in confusion.

 

“Just follow him, and hurry.”

 

……………….

 

Ingrid was shaking as she closed the door to her room.  The impulsive action that she had just performed was rash and dangerous, an action that could lead to a prison sentence if nothing else.  She began to wipe her hands on a cloth; axle grease left its smell and she longed to have some sweet soap to wash her hands with but in her cramped quarters such luxuries weren’t so freely available. 

 

It had been so easy to loosen, just to twist the screw head a few turns and loosen the nut and bolt that attached the wagon’s singletree to the apparatus on the horses’ harness.  Someone had recently greased it well and she had been surprised at how quickly it had turned just by a few movements of her fingers.  The best part of all was that no one had noticed, it had been that quick, that deft.

 

But fear was upon her now.  It was one thing to attempt to bribe an infatuated cowboy into committing murder, but to perform an action that could actually lead to someone else’s death was quite another thing altogether.

 

She paced the floor for a few moments and then made her decision.  Pulling clothes from drawers and cupboards she began to fill her case once again, carefully putting the last of her jewels at the  bottom.  There was a stagecoach leaving in less than an hour; she didn’t know where it was actually going, but she was certainly going to be on it.

 

……………

 

Hester was laughing as she sat beside Ann on the journey home.  Their talk had been about Joe’s engagement to Mary Ann, and about the ring which was “beautiful” “darling” and “perfect.”  They discussed the party they would hold for the couple and what they themselves would wear, and Hester was lamenting the fact that her clothes made her look so fat now.  The horses were trotting along and she had every confidence in Ann’s control of the reins. 

 

The wind was light, loosening her hair so that strands of it flew across her face and she closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the freedom of moments like this. “Barbara won’t have minded having Rose for so long, will she?” she murmured.

 

“No, she’s fine about it.  There’s no school today so Lilith will be playing with Rosie, she just loves tha—”

 

Hester still had her eyes shut when she heard Ann’s sharp cry of alarm; her cousin clutched at her arm, yelled something about the brake and the next thing she knew, the wagon was lurching out of control and the horses were running with their harness and lines trailing behind them.

 

They were on a section of the road that was reasonably flat, for which they were both  grateful as the wagon had less chance of rolling backwards or hurtling forwards had they been on either an incline or drop in the road.  As it was it was moving erratically under its own momentum along the track.

 

“Pull up the brake—” Ann cried

 

Hester did so, aware that if she jerked it up too sharply the wagon could back up on itself.  She was applying herself to the task when the nearside front wheel struck a rock which pushed the wagon back into the road where it teetered for a moment before coming to a shuddering halt.

 

“What happened?” Hester whispered, and seeing Ann’s face so white and shocked, she felt a wave of nausea sweep over her.

 

“We could have been killed,” Ann whispered and promptly burst into tears.

 

Hester stared ahead at the road, and then she turned and hugged her cousin close, and was about to speak when there came the sound of hoofbeats.  Turning she saw Joe on Sport, and sagged with relief; her whole body felt light at the realisation that they were not alone and help had come.  She was further reassured when Roy cantered up, his fatherly face openly anxious and then just as openly showing his relief and pleasure at seeing them unhurt.

 

“You could have been killed,” Joe was saying as he dismounted and hurried over to the wagon.

 

He assisted them both down, and when Ann looked as though she were about to pass out he helped her to sit down on the grass, while he got water from the canteen.

 

Roy dismounted and hurried over to them, was reassured that they were both alright and then walked over to the wagon.  Joe joined him, and together they stood and stared at the wagon as though in its silent and stationary state it would be able to tell them something they didn’t know.

 

………………

 

The door closed  behind the elderly doctor and he placed his bag carefully upon the table, before turning to look out of the window with a contemplative air.  John, who had been busy writing out some prescriptions, glanced over at him. “Anything wrong?”

 

“I was just thinking...” Paul observed. “Watching those people going about their business, we just don’t know what’s going on in their minds do we?  Who would think that perhaps that dear old lady over there—Mrs. Cunningham in fact—was actually planning to put arsenic into her husband’s meal tonight, or that Mr. Jackson was considering ways to dispose of his mother and run off with one of the saloon girls from the Bucket of Blood.”

 

John gave a short snort of laughter and turned the chair so that he was facing his uncle.

 

“What on earth has brought this on?  Are you becoming delusional, Uncle Paul?”

 

“No, sadly not.  I’m just speaking my thoughts aloud about the way humans can appear to be so ‘normal’ when actually considering the most evil deeds imaginable.”

 

“Alright, I accept that fact,” John nodded. “But what has brought you into considering that now?”

 

“Someone tried to kill Mrs. Canady and Mrs. Cartwright,” Paul said  and now removed his hat which joined his bag on the table. “Roy hasn’t said much but I think he has a good idea on who it was.”

 

“What happened?  Has someone tried to shoot them?”

 

“No, no—” he shook his head, “That would require planning, I think.  This was, in my opinion, a spur of the moment thing, an impulse.” He told his nephew how the two women had narrowly avoided death in the wagon incident. “Had they been going uphill or downhill, the matter could have been disastrous.  I would have arrived too late to have saved either of them.”

 

“What makes Roy think it was attempted murder?”

 

“He found an important piece of evidence lying at his feet in the road—just outside Coutts the Jeweller’s.”

 

John stared at him for a moment, cleared his throat and asked where the two ladies were now, and was told that Joseph Cartwright had been nearby and had managed to catch the horses, get the wagon re-hitched, and the ladies returned to the Ponderosa...apparently unscathed but certainly shaken.

 

“Did you know,” Paul further went on to say, “that an attempt had been made on Joe Cartwright’s life some time back?  His horse, Cochise, was shot dead as a result.”

 

“Cochise?  But Joe loved that horse!”

 

“Love doesn’t prevent a bullet from killing those we love, John,” Paul sighed. “I can remember when Joe got that horse, it was an incredibly beautiful animal.”

 

“Does Roy know who—who tried to kill him—Joe, I mean.”

 

“He has his suspicions.” 

 

…………….

 

Ingrid had her fingers on the door handle when it moved and the door was pushed open from the other side.  Stepping back in surprise she almost fell over her own case. “John?  What are you doing here?”

 

“I could ask you the same question. In fact, I think I did ask you when I first saw you back here in Virginia City.  Why did you come back, Ingrid?”

 

He had closed the door behind him and leaned against it, then having noticed her bags packed and ready for her departure, he shook his head. “Running away, are we?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean.  Leave me alone; John, let me go.”

 

“‘Leave me alone, John,’” he snarled. “Well, that’s rather a different tune than the one you’re usually playing, isn’t it?  Why do you want me to leave you alone, Ingrid, particularly now?”

 

He stepped forward and grabbed at her, and when she ducked away, seemingly terrified by his touch, he stopped and stared at her as though confused.  Then he nodded and stepped back again. “Did you try to kill them, Ingrid?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Hester and Ann.”

 

“I don’t know what you mean, John.” She swallowed noisily; her face, always beautiful, now wore a look of tragedy upon it—had she been portraying Lady Macbeth she would have been magnificent. 

 

“Alright, then let’s get back to my first question…where are you going?”

 

“Away from here.  I’m taking Mr. Cartwright up on his offer and moving away.”

 

“Ben Cartwright made you an offer?  To do what?”

 

“I’ve just told you—to leave here, move away.”

 

John shook his head and smiled, he folded his arms and leaned against the door,

 

“Oh no, my dear, you aren’t getting away with things that easily.” And if the look on his face appeared a little self-satisfied and smug, perhaps one couldn’t really blame him.

 

 

Chapter 91

 

“I saw you by the wagon, remember?”

 

This statement by John made Ingrid go white; she could feel the colour drain from her as she wondered who else would have seen her so close to the wagon.  She recalled how she had actually spoken to John, tried to draw his attention away from the jeweller’s and noticing that clasp, the one she had worn several times when with him.

 

She clasped her hands together and began to pace the  room nervously while all the time casting quick glances over at him as he remained standing by the door; eventually he shifted his position and stepped further into the room, picked up her bag as though to open it and look inside.  She stopped her pacing and just froze to watch him, but he did nothing more than stand by the bed with his hands resting on the bag’s lock.

 

“So, tell me, Ingrid, how did you do it?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“How did you manage to remove the pin from the wagon so that it would pull free during their journey home?  Did you think, while you were doing it, that you would kill them both, and the baby? Did you give a thought to the harm you could have done?  What if they had survived, with broken bones or perhaps, been permanently paralysed … did you think of that?”

 

Ingrid stared at him and drew herself up haughtily.  Oh yes, she had thought all of those things afterwards.  Everything he had mentioned she had thought about, but while it had frightened her, at the same time she had felt triumphant.  Revenge, as they say, can be sweet.

 

“You’re talking rubbish.” she said softly, “I don’t know anything about a wagon…you haven’t even explained what it is you’re talking about.”

 

“I don’t have to explain, Ingrid.  What about the night Joe was shot at…someone meant to kill him; was that you?  Who did you pay to kill him?”

 

“You’re being ridiculous.  I never thought the day would come when I would think of you as being so stupid, John.” She paused, turned away and walked to the window where she moved the curtain slightly to one side. “Why should I want to kill Joseph Cartwright?  Or harm Hester and Ann?”  She turned to face him, “John, you loved me once, or said that you did, couldn’t you look back to those days and remember what we talked about, and how much you said you cared and would do anything for me?”

 

He shook his head and turned away from her, as though the sight of her and the memory of those days shamed him.  She leaned forwards towards him. “John, I loved you then; couldn’t you find it in your heart to help me now?  If people think I did these—terrible—things, they won’t give me a second chance, especially if the Cartwrights are against me too. Help me, John, help me now.”

 

“The only thing I’m going to do now is take you down to the sheriff.”  John scowled. “You can talk your heart out to him.”  He turned towards her. “Ingrid, you forget how well I know you.  I know you so well that I can see right down into that black heart of yours, and if you think that denying what happened today will make me trust and believe you, then think again.”

 

She said nothing to that, but turned away from him and stared at the dressing table and into the mirror.  She was beautiful, why couldn’t he believe her?  Time was running out and she had to get that coach.  She turned again, he was still standing, his back to her now as he seemed interested in the other bag on the floor.  She had picked up some scissors from the dressing table, left there by some accidental chance, and she walked towards him. 

 

He heard the rustle of her skirts and turned towards her. His face, handsome and distinguished with that gentleness so obviously inherited from his Uncle Paul, looked into hers; she smiled, her lips trembled and tears spiked her eyelashes. “Very well, John.  If you wish—but—just one last embrace?  For old time’s sake?”

 

He hesitated, then stepped towards her and she, all exultant, plunged the scissors into his body.

 

…………….

 

Candy tugged at the button on his vest anxiously; his blue eyes turned from Hester to Ann, and he shook his head and sighed as the two women told their family what had happened. “It was my fault,” he said, “I meant to tighten that fitting before you left.”  He put a hand to his brow, as though to shield his eyes from their surprised gaze. “I greased it well, and realised then that it needed to be tightened.  Anyone could loosen it, even a child.”

 

“No one’s saying it was deliberately loosened, Candy,” Hoss muttered. “’Cause if it were then that would mean someone in town was deliberately wanting to hurt or kill Ann and Hester.”

 

“I’m just so sorry,” he whispered, and fell onto one knee and grabbed at Ann’s hand, kissed it, and held her close. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

 

Hoss and Hester glanced at one another: the look said the words and he walked to her and placed one hand on her shoulder while the other took her hand in his.

 

“You both showed great presence of mind,” Ben walked towards the hearth and stared down at the logs as though they could unravel the mysteries of what was going on around them, “If someone was deliberately attempting to hurt you—”

 

“Why would anyone want to do that, Pa?  There ain’t nobody would want to hurt Hester or Ann,”  Hoss protested.

 

“I didn’t think there was anyone in town wanted me dead, but obviously there was someone.” Joe muttered from his seat in the corner, the blue chair, one leg crossed over the other, and as they looked at him he shrugged. “Any higher and that bullet would have been in me.  You could say that Cochise’s last act on earth was to save my life.”

 

Candy was feeling too miserable to accept this explanation. He pushed his fingers through his thick hair and shook his head. “No, I’m solely responsible for what happened today.  The fittings were loose, the vibration of the movements of the wagon loosened it still more and the lynch pin fell free when it was stationary in town.  That was down to me; it was my fault.

 

“Roy did find the lynch pin,” Joe said, “But I still think someone deliberately loosened the fitting.”

 

Candy looked at Ben, then shook his head. “Well, whatever you think, I contributed towards the accident.” He looked now at Hester, “I’m so sorry, Hester.”

 

“That’s enough talk about it now,” Hester said taking hold of his hand and leaning forward to kiss his cheek, “By God’s good grace we were kept safe, Joe and Roy came along to help us, and even Paul arrived to patch us up and care for us.  Now, let’s not talk about it anymore.” 

 

She and Hoss walked out with the Canadys and stood side-by-side to wave them farewell, then Hoss took Hester into his arms and held her close; she could feel his hot breath against her neck,

 

“I don’t think I could have lived without you, Hester, if anything had happened to you or the baby…”

 

“Now then.” She stepped back and looked at his face, the tears in the blue eyes a testimony to his love for her. She kissed him, “Now then,” she repeated. “No more talk about it. We’re safe…we’re together.”

 

Ben closed the door after seeing the Canadys depart, and Hoss and Hester embracing, he turned and looked over at Joe, who was staring at the logs in much the same manner that he had done earlier.

 

“Anything wrong, Joe?”

 

“No, sir, nothing,”  Joe mumbled

 

They said nothing for a few moments and then Joe cleared his throat.

 

“There is something, actually, Pa.  I got engaged to Mary Ann earlier this afternoon. 

I’d sure like to arrange a party for her this weekend if it’s all the same to you?”

 

Ben’s smile was warm and generous, his eyes gleamed from the pleasure he felt at knowing that his son had found someone to love, someone who would respect and love him in return.  He was shaking Joe’s hand when Hoss and Hester returned to the room, and with the merry talk about weddings, engagements and parties the horror of the day’s events were neatly tucked to one side.

 

………………..

 

It was some hours later, as night was descending, that there came a knock on the door.  Hoss was the one to open it and step to one side as Roy entered the room, sweeping his hat off as he did so.

 

“’Evening Ben, boys, Miss Hester.” His eyes roved around the room, and seeing no one else there he hesitated and waited for Ben to order him to sit down.

 

“What brings this late night visit, Roy?.  Anything serious?”

 

“Wal, yes, Ben, I reckon on it being serious.” He sat down and thanked them for the seat, and then frowned, the bushy eyebrows almost obscuring his eyes. “Fact of the matter is that Doctor John Martin was injured today.  He was stabbed by Mrs. Ingrid Buchanan…that’s your sister-in-law, Miss Hester.”

 

Hester nodded and grabbed at Hoss’ hand, she cleared her throat. “Why did she stab John?”

 

“Because he was trying to prevent her from getting out of town.  She was all packed up and ready to go, but he tried to stop her, so she stabbed him.”

 

“Is he—is he going to be alright?” she asked

 

“It was touch and go; good thing Paul was still in town and not gone to the Pritchards’ to deliver that baby of theirs.”  Roy sighed and accepted the drink that Ben passed over to him; he sniffed, said something about being careful not to fall off his horse on the way back to town, and took a decent-sized gulp.

 

“What exactly has been happening, Roy, can you tell us?” Ben asked in a cautious manner.

 

“Well, it’s like this…” He paused, reached for his back pocket, then thought different, and took some more whiskey. “Mrs. Buchanan changed her name to Lisa Faulkner and worked at the Sazarac.  She claimed she worked there because she had no money and her work brought her into contact with certain people, some were young, impressionable men whom she used, so it seems, to do something for her.”

 

“Such as?” Joe stood up, his back to the hearth and hands clasped behind his back.

 

“Well, we found some letters in Jim’s pockets, you remember Jim, he and his friend Peter got killed in a fight some nights ago.  Dr. John Martin found some letters in Jim’s pockets, along with a piece of  expensive jewellery.  He told us that he had seen that jewellery before but couldn’t think where, so we put it in Coutts’ window on display to see who would enquire about it.

 

“I noticed Mrs. Buchanan show some interest in it, but she didn’t go inside, probably worried that Coutts would recognise her because of that ring fiasco some time back.”

 

“Go on, Roy.” Hoss urged.

 

“Then Miss Hester, you recognised it today, didn’t you?”

 

“I thought I did.  It was a piece from a bespoke set made for my family.  My mother gave it to Ingrid as an engagement present.  I went in to enquire from Mr. Coutts as to where he had got it…”

 

“S’right, so you did, and he told me.  I thought then—there could only be one person that could connect the jewellery to you and that was Mrs. Buchanan.  However, it didn’t explain how it got into Jim’s pocket.  After all he could have stolen it.”

 

They waited as he paused to take another gulp of the whiskey, then he stared ahead at the table leg for a moment to collect his thoughts. “A few hours ago I had a visit from a young lady who had been sparking with young Jim.  She thought it was going to lead to them being married and he said quite recently that he would soon have the means to pay for a wedding, if she would just be patient.  But then he started cooling off in his attentions to her and she found out from Peter, his best friend, that Jim had been seen spending a lot of time with a saloon girl called Lisa.”  He sucked at his teeth then before he continued. “One of the letters in his pocket was addressed to her, and she brung it to the office for me to see.”

 

“Well, go on, Roy, what did it say?” Joe prompted.

 

“It was a confession from the lad, said he was too ashamed to come courting her now as he had done something real bad.  A ‘friend’ had given him something that he could turn into a lot of money in return for which he had to kill Joe.  Seems that Jim was the one killed your horse, young feller.”

 

“Ingrid?” Hester whispered.

 

“Seems like it, though of course this is all not solid evidence…guess you’d call it all circumstantial.  Like what happened today…”

 

“What about today?” Hoss asked, one brow raised and his head craned forward as though determined not to miss a word.

 

“That what happened to the wagon was no accident … she was the one took the chance to loosen the fittings. I saw her step back against the wagon at one stage, when some idiots passed by and pushed her off the sidewalk.  She hadn’t probably thought about it before, so it wasn’t premeditated, nothing like that, but she took the opportunity to loosen it…perhaps she felt it was already loose, or loose enough for her to work free.  I found the lynch pin on the ground, knew for sure what it was doing there, and who had done it.” 

 

“She wanted to kill us?” Hester groaned softly and buried her face in her hands, “I should have helped her—”

 

“She’d have bitten your hand off, had you tried, my dear,” Ben said gently and sighed as he looked at Roy. “So where is she now?”

 

“On her way to Placerville.  I’ve cabled ahead to the sheriff there to apprehend her.”

 

“And John?”

 

“He remembered seeing her by the wagon this afternoon when Paul told him about the accident, and then he remembered where he had seen that jewellery before, so he went to her room to stop her from going anywhere.  He was bringing her to see me when she stabbed him.”

 

“And he is going to be alright?” Joe asked now, wondering whether this was a good time to suggest that they all had something stronger than coffee to drink now.

 

“Yes, hopefully so.”  Roy rose to his feet, “Anymore news I git, I’ll bring along to you folks.”

 

He refused another glass of whiskey, smiled at them, although sadly, and left the house.  In the silence of the room they could hear the sound of his horse leaving the yard.  For a while no one could think of what to say as their minds were too full .

 

Chapter 92

 

As the stagecoach had left Virginia City Ingrid Buchanan had sat in the corner of the vehicle in an attempt to make herself as small as she possibly could, and thereby go unnoticed.  It was bad enough that the clerk at the ticket counter had recognised her from the Sazarac, for when she had gone for the ticket he had cheerily addressed her as Miss Lisa “How you a-doing, Miss Lisa?” and had given her the gawkiest grin imaginable,  which had totally repelled her.

 

Three other people had boarded the stagecoach and none of them had known her.  As the coach left the town and the buildings had fallen away into the background until they had disappeared altogether, Ingrid had remained silent, eyes downcast, her bonnet lowered over her face and her jacket buttoned up to the neck.

 

Her fellow passengers had been a young man, handsome in a quiet, rather stern way, and a young married couple who had spent most of the time whispering and giggling together. They were not going  far, having made a prior arrangement with the driver that they would be dropped off midway between town and way station so that some relative would pick them up in his wagon and take them to their new home some miles further to the east.

 

They had reached the way station at the time Roy was leaving the Ponderosa.  They had not spoken, although they had glanced at one another throughout the journey, tentatively smiled, nodded and resumed their contemplations.

 

It had seemed to Ingrid that if she removed her gloves the whole world would scream at her “Murderess;” the blood would still be there, John’s blood, staining her hands and in her fingernails.  She wondered what the young man would have said if he had known he were sharing the vehicle with a woman who had killed a good, decent, lovely young man and ridden away without getting any help for him.  She huddled further into the corner and wondered if John were still there, curled over in a foetal position on the floor of her room with the blood seeping through his clothes.  She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the scene from her memory.

 

The way station had proven warm and comfortable.  Mr. and Mrs. Mueller had prepared a good hearty meal and strong coffee and tea.  Seeing the whiteness of the female passenger’s face and the smudged darkness under her eyes, Mrs. Mueller had assumed Ingrid was ill and encouraged her to sit closer to the fire. “Come, dear, take off your jacket and bonnet and gloves, relax now and let me fix you something to eat.”

 

“I’m not hungry.  Just something to drink.”

 

Her hands were clean.  She stared at them and turned them over and over.  No grease, no blood but as white as they could be, and she leaned back and closed her eyes and felt weak with relief.  She drank a little and even ate some bread, still warm and crusty with butter and cheese. 

 

She sat there getting some comfort from the fire when she was aware of the young man standing next to her. As she looked up, he smiled.

 

“May I join you here?”

 

“If you wish,” she knew her reply was far from gracious, but it was said before she could think and she watched him as he took a seat opposite her.

 

“My name is David, David McArthur.” He extended a hand, strong and masculine, and he gripped her firmly

 

“Ingrid Buchanan.”

 

“Forgive me for being intrusive but I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be  sad about something.  Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

“What are you, some kind of pastor?”

 

“No, not really, although I have a lot of respect for the Bible.”

 

“Well, either you are or you aren’t,” she said and gave a slightly derisive shrug of the shoulders, turned her back to him, and gazed into the fire.  That was all she needed, someone to spout religion at her.  She closed her eyes and saw John’s face looking at her…cautious, anxious, pitying.  Why did he look at her with pity?

 

“I suppose you believe in heaven and hell?  A God who forgives and then condemns…” she said, and was surprised that she had even bothered to prolong the conversation.

 

“Well, he is a forgiving God,” the young man replied rather slowly, as though cautious as to how to reply.

 

“How bad do you have to be before he stops forgiving?”

 

He just stared at her for a moment.  In all honesty he had never seen anyone so beautiful; she looked like an angel, the kind one saw in coloured glass on the church windows, all golden hair and so lovely to look upon that one didn’t dare touch them but just stared at them in awe.  Her dyed yellow hair had loosened and some curls trailed over her shoulder, and when his silence had become too long she glanced at him from over her shoulder and smiled.

 

He gasped, oh yes, she was beautiful, beautiful! She had that agonised look about her seen in pictures of the saints.  He cleared his throat and looked down at the book that was resting on his knee.  If he read some of the verses there perhaps he wouldn’t be thinking some of the things that were crossing his mind right now which were certainly not about anything spiritual.

 

“You don’t know the answer, do you?  That book doesn’t  have the answer, does it?” Her voice was soft and even though the words were not what he wanted to hear, being derisive of something he cared about, the way they were spoken was like music to his ears.

 

“Yes, of course it does.”  He licked his lips and frowned in concentration. “There’s the example of Manasseh, a King of Judah.  He opposed God; he even sacrificed his own sons to foreign pagan gods...he did  wicked things.  But he humbled himself and asked for mercy and was forgiven.  I think he was one of the most wicked men in the Bible …” he frowned, obviously not quite so sure.

 

She sighed and leaned her head back against the chair, the fire was dying down and the flare of the flames that remained cast soft shadows across their faces, the lovely young woman and the handsome young man.

 

“Do you believe in God?” he whispered timidly and stretched out to touch her, just her hand, that was all.

 

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” she said in a voice of cold contempt and he pulled his hand back as though his fingers had been burned, not by flame, but by ice.  She rose to her feet. “Is there a room for me to sleep in?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Mueller hurried towards them, a candlestick with a guttering candle in her hand. “This way, Ma’am.”

 

In the room she put down the candle and slumped down on the bed.  Her head hurt her and her throat ached.  She hadn’t wanted to harm John, why had he come, why couldn’t he have left her alone?  She rolled onto her back and stared up at the shadows of the ceiling above her head.  Was there a God who could see through the roof of this dirty building? Could he see into her heart?

 

 

In the morning David McArthur took his seat at the breakfast table and smiled, thanking Mrs. Mueller for the breakfast she had provided.

 

“Is the lady joining us?” He looked over at the door to her room, eager to see this angel in the daylight.

 

“I did knock on the door earlier,” Mrs. Mueller said. “Heard her moving about in the night; she was  restless.”

 

“I thought I heard someone go outside,” Mr. Mueller said and put more wood into the fire.

 

Pete the driver looked over at Jake, the man who rode shotgun, and raised his eyes to heaven.  That would mean a delay; no doubt the female was spending time to pretty herself up to make herself more attractive to this young man who already looked besotted.

 

“That’s strange; she’s not there,” Mrs. Mueller announced after having peered into the room. “Nor is the candlestick.”

 

“She must have taken it with her to see her way outside.” Mr. Mueller said, “What’s her name again?  I’ll give her a call…”

 

“It’s Mrs. Buchanan” McArthur volunteered the information anxiously and rose to his feet, “Do you think she may have got lost?”

 

“You can’t get lost here,” Mrs. Mueller said with a short laugh, and then shivered, perhaps people who didn’t know their way around could get lost, it hadn’t happened but…just possibly it could.

 

“There’s wild cats about, had problems with them lately,” Mueller muttered and took his gun from the rack before going outside.

 

They heard him calling out for her.

 

Pete and Jake went out eventually and called for her as well, they began to search the place in case she had fallen or got lost.  All the horses were accounted for, nothing had been taken.  Her luggage was still in the trunk of the stagecoach where it had been left.  It was Jake who found a foot print and later, found another.

 

Then they found Ingrid Buchanan, only she didn’t look like Ingrid Buchanan anymore: just like a broken doll, shattered and smashed.

 

During the night she must have needed the outside amenities, so they surmised, but taken a wrong turning, she had fallen forwards, perhaps tripped over her long skirts.  She had fallen into a slight incline filled with boulders and rocks.  It hadn’t been  steep, she had not travelled far in her fall, but the rocks had put an end to the life of Ingrid Fitzgerald Buchanan, and had snuffed it out as easily as the night breeze had snuffed out the candle flame she had been holding in her hand.

 

Chapter 93

 

The Virginian seemed to glide into her berth at Tripoli harbour.  It was one of the smoothest manoeuvres Adam had seen performed and he congratulated the helmsman warmly.  Now it was a case of all hands on deck to throw out the ropes, tie and secure them to the bollards lining the wharf side and setting the gangway in place so that all their papers could be checked over and stamped by the necessary authorities.

 

He stood on the bridge and watched as his crew worked together like a well oiled machine, each knowing his place and doing his job excellently.  It made him realise that during the days he had been on board he had taken little time to get to know his men. Seeing them in action gave him reason to give credit to the commanding officers who had preceded him and trained them into being such an efficient and highly organised ship’s crew.

 

He had been so immersed in his misery over the loss of Joe that he had found it difficult to climb out of the pit of despair he had fallen into since receiving Grant’s letter.  He had sought his own company apart from when he had to perform his duties and have time with the officers and crew.  Now, seeing them in action, he felt that he had neglected his duties; he also felt incredibly alone, and for Adam Cartwright, that was quite an unusual feeling.

 

The ship’s company formed up and Lieutenant Munnings saluted him as he, with Lieutenants Dalziel and Kent left the ship. At the harbour where he was greeted by a secretary from the American consulate.  Dalziel and Kent took all the paperwork to the necessary authorities to be dealt with by them.

 

It was customary for a high-ranking officer in the navy to be provided with a fine lunch at the consulate, and Adam fell in line with what was traditional although he was aching inside to retreat back to his cabin.  He was asked various questions, which he felt he was not at liberty to answer until he had spoken to the president, and because of his reticent mood he was considered to be aloof and taciturn.  The ladies found him handsome and attractive but distinctly inattentive, and after several attempts to draw him into their chatter they drifted away to form little groups where he was freely discussed between them all. 

 

Eventually the ordeal was over, hands were shaken, pleasantries exchanged and he was able to return to quayside where Kent and Dalziel were waiting, patiently kicking their heels. 

 

“Everything in order, Mr. Kent?”

 

Mr. Kent assured the commodore that all was in order, and Mr. Dalziel proudly held aloft a mail bag that had been handed to him by an officer from a ship that had been awaiting the Virginian’s return to Tripoli.

 

“Letters from home, sir,” he announced with a broad beaming face and Adam smiled and nodded, and wished that somewhere among them there would be a letter for him.

 

He glanced up at the vivid blue sky. To his left was a clipper ship, its sails furled and its masts pointing like so many fingers into the blueness.  They were boarding the Virginian now and were piped on board; he saluted First Officer Munnings, who made some comment about the lunch which he responded to with a detached politeness before he made his way to his cabin.

 

He walked to the porthole and looked out at the clipper ship leaving her berth.  The sails were unfolding and he watched as the breeze caught them so that they billowed out and carried her away.  He sighed and bowed his head. Perhaps he loved clipper ships because they reminded him of the nights with his father, alone in the wilderness somewhere, sometimes afraid to light a fire in case enemy eyes saw it, or perhaps crossing the empty spaces of desert, and all the while his father would tell him about the ships he sailed on, Grandfather Stoddard’s ship the Wanderer bringing his father back to Elizabeth. 

 

He turned at the knock on the door “Come in,” he said disconsolately and nodded as Coxon came in, saluted and held out some envelopes towards him. “These came for you, sir.  Mr. Humphries from the consulate meant to give them to you earlier; they arrived in the diplomatic bag and have been waiting for your arrival here in Tripoli.  He tried to catch your attention at the luncheon today but you left before he had time to get to you.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Coxon.” He turned the letters over and stared at the writing...his father’s writing.  He had to clear his throat several times before he could repeat his thanks and if Coxon noticed that the commodore’s voice trembled, he never mentioned it.

 

…………………….

 

Roy seemed to have an uncanny knack of arriving just after the meal had been eaten and everyone had settled down to enjoy some conversation, some coffee or perhaps something stronger.  He took off his hat as he entered the big room and nodded over at Ben, who rose to his feet and smiled.

 

“Whiskey, Roy?”

 

“Coffee would be better, thanks, Ben.”

 

Joe paused in the act of trouncing Hoss in a game of checkers; he frowned. “Bad news?”

 

“I’m afraid so.” He looked at Hester who stopped darning and sat there, needle poised in mid-air. “I had a cable from the sheriff in Jacksonville.  Your sister-in-law died while en route there, during the night, sometime, at the way station.”

 

“Mueller’s Way Station?” Hoss murmured, already standing at Hester’s side and taking hold of her hand.

 

“Yes.”  Roy cleared his throat. “The only other passenger raised no objections to her body being taken in the stagecoach.  Sheriff Garvey said there was no suspicion of foul play, probably an accident.”

 

“What happened, did he know?”

 

“That’s all he said.”  Roy tugged at his moustache as though he wished he could have told them more, he looked at their faces and then shook his head, shrugged, “Anything you’d want me to do now?”

 

“How’d you mean, Roy?” Ben glanced at his sons, at Hester, and thought that in one way this death was quite a blessing, like a curse being lifted or a thundercloud blown away so that the sun could shine through for the remainder of the day.

 

“Body has to be formally identified, permission for burial, and so forth.”

 

“I should go,” Hester sighed, “She was Milton’s wife after all.”

 

“You can’t go, Hester.” Hoss looked at Joe who nodded. “Joe and me, we’ll go.  There ain’t no use in pretending that we’re sad about it. Ingrid was not the easiest person to care about and she was—well, she was what she was , I guess—”

 

“Did the sheriff not say how she died?” Hester broke into her husband’s ramblings. “Was it suicide?  You said it was an accident?”

 

“That’s all he said, Miss Hester.  He might tell Hoss and Joe more when he sees ’em.”

 

“How’s John?” Joe asked now. “Any news about his progress?”

 

“It’ll be slow, but he seems to be getting much better. Paul reckons in a few weeks he’ll be getting on his rounds again.”

 

Hester looked at Hoss now and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes, but when he asked her why it was she was crying she could only shake her head and repeat over and over “It’s just such a waste, it’s so sad” until she had to excuse herself and retreat to the refuge of her room upstairs.

 

He found her there a few moments later and took her gently into his arms, stroked her hair and waited for the weeping to subside. “I know she did a lot of bad things, Hoss, but if I had helped her more perhaps none of this would have happened.”

 

“Sweetheart, you did all you could to help her; she was the kind of gal would only keep on taking and expecting more and more from you.  She’d have never been grateful.”

 

“Oh Hoss, I feel so guilty.  I have so much and—”

 

“—and she could have had just as much if she had been content to be loved by Milton, and settled down as a good wife to him.  Hester, don’t blame yourself for her death.”

 

“Do you think she committed suicide?”

 

Hoss thought about that for a moment; his brow furrowed, then he shook his head. “No, she wasn’t the type to commit suicide.”

 

Hester just wrapped her arms around her husband and snuggled into his embrace, allowing the warmth of his body to be her security while in the back of her mind she wondered who really was “the type” who would kill themselves?

 

…………………..

 

Adam sat at his desk with the two envelopes facing him.  He knew the handwriting on them both and dreaded opening either.  The thought of his father’s anguished words to describe his son’s death cut Adam to the heart.  He picked the envelope up and held it between the finger and thumb of both hands by its corners.  It wasn’t  thick, not one of his father’s longer letters where Ben had spent several hours rambling on some evenings in an attempt to draw his son closer to him even from a distance. 

 

Adam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before sweeping his hand over his face.  There was no point in holding off the moment, whatever his father had to say had to be read, and perhaps there would be some comfort in the words penned there by a man who had held his son in his arms as he had lain dying.  Perhaps and anyway, could he possibly feel any more miserable than he did now?

 

 

 

Chapter 94

 

Two letters, two little white squares of paper concealing…what?  Adam put them down on the surface of the desk and then buried his face in his hands.  After some moments had passed he walked over to where the alcohol was kept and poured himself a glass of whiskey.  He took a gulp and returned to his desk, sat down, and picked up the first letter.

 

Joe’s scrawl greeted him more harshly than last time; he glanced immediately at the date upon which it had been written and then quickly read through it, his eyes scanning for any information that would indicate that Joe had been in some trouble with the army, or had not.  All he read were the raptures of a young man who had realised he had found someone to love, Mary Ann, and that because of what had happened with Victoria, Joe was hesitant in furthering the romance.

 

Then there were a few complaints about several of the hands Ben had recently taken on who were obviously all out for as much pay for as little work as possible.  The branding had been slow that year; they had lost more calves because of some unseasonal flooding, and boy oh boy, had anyone told him yet about Ingrid Buchanan?

 

“It’s strange, brother, but this woman was like a glass of bad whiskey.  She is just so beautiful that it hurts the eyes to look at her and yet you want to so much.  I found it hard to resist her at first but suddenly, just like bad whiskey, I found I couldn’t bear her.  She gave me the shivers.  You know her husband, Hester’s brother, died and what happened then?

 

“She stole your ring, Adam, remember the ring you got for Barbara?  Well, shows what kind of low down that Ingrid was because she stole it and then sold it to the jeweller in town.  We’re all mighty glad she’s gone, we think to France.”

 

Adam read the letter through twice and then slipped it into its envelope.  This was probably the last letter Joe had ever written to him and he wished it had contained some clue as to what had happened.  Then he groaned to himself: how anyone could have done that? No one knew when or how they were going to die, Joe obviously hadn’t.

 

His mind returned to this mysterious Ingrid Buchanan and the ring that Joe had mentioned.  It hardly mattered, why should it now?  Joe must have been bristling with anger, or some such feeling, to have bothered to mention it in his letter, and Adam closed his eyes again, trying to gather together all the pieces of life that Joe had referred to within it.

 

He drank more of the whiskey. As he felt it burn down his gullet to his stomach, he was reminded of cold winter nights sitting by the fire with his family. Keeping this thought in mind, he walked to the window and watched his crew busy themselves getting the stores replenished. He stood for some moments thinking of the fresh water slopping into the tanks, and coal being loaded into its bays. 

 

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he groaned inwardly and then emptied the glass, “Read the letter and get it over with.”

 

He picked up Ben’s letter now and sat on the more comfortable arm chair, slit open the envelope and pulled out the paper within.  His eyes turned to the date and his breathing suddenly became deeper and faster.  If he took in the time it would have taken for news of Joe’s death to reach Washington then this had to be the letter with the news of Joe’s death, it had to be….

 

“My dear son, Adam

 

A lot has happened since my last letter to you and not much of it  good, I’m afraid.”

 

Adam sank back into the chair and closed his eyes, bowed his head and put a hand to his face as though to shield it from the news to come.  His heart was beating faster now, and he steeled himself to continue….

 

“Do you remember mentioning the plans Washington was taking upon itself to get Joe and Sarah Winnemucca involved in their schemes to remove the Plains Indians from the Black Hills?  At first I dismissed it; it all seemed rather farfetched to my way of thinking, and even when the militia arrived here demanding Joe’s leaving here with them, I still thought it ridiculous.

 

“Of course, then Sarah disappeared and for a while it seemed that everything was well. Joe saw a Captain Lancey in town who made tentative enquiries about his leaving with them to help them out, but Joe declined—without getting into a scrap, which was admirable—and we didn’t see them again.”

 

Adam rose to his feet, paced the floor, and poured himself another drink.  How could his father write it all out as though it were a mere entry into a journal or log book?  Perhaps that was the only way he could deal with it, putting it down word for word as it happened.  He sat down again. “Come on, stop making a meal of this, get it read and over with.”

 

Ben’s letter rambled on; he told about the cages with the Indians in them, how Joe had been taken captive, the meeting up with them and how Major Fleming had stood by as Joe had been shot, and then ordered the column of soldiers to leave.

 

“I had Joe in my arms, apparently bleeding to death and trying to work out why Lancey was saying ‘He’s dead’ to the major when I could still feel Joe’s heart beat beneath my hand.  Fear and anger, trepidation and relief all flooded over me.  It was mostly fear however, my son could be dead within minutes and there was this ’game’ being played over my head while I remained an outsider to it, with Joe going grey and even if he wasn’t dead, by all appearances he could have been.”

 

Adam heaved in a deep breath and re-read that paragraph; now his own heart was beating so fast against his ribs that he could barely breathe—his hands were shaking—he cleared his throat and blinked rapidly, before continuing on.

 

“I thought at the time, when Joe opened his eyes and clung to me, that it was just like that terrible time when we found you in the desert.  You may not remember, son, how you had hauled that Peter Kane on a litter for so long and then collapsed in my arms.  It is an indelible memory, burned into my brain, and so would this moment be, the moment when Joe opened his eyes and looked up at me and asked me what was going on.

 

“It took a while to get him home, but he well, Adam, although he had lost a lot of blood and was weak and, as always, a  poor patient.  I’m afraid poor Hester was run off her feet looking after him.  But, thank God, the boy was safe, and the army has trundled away from here thinking him dead.  I have Captain Lancey to thank for that, of course.  His quick thinking saved us a lot of worry and who knows what else, because I would never have let that major take Joe away without a fight.  You could well have lost a father and brother that day, Adam.”

 

He let the pages fall from his hands, flutter to the floor, and buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

 

 

Chapter 95

 

Orville Babcock*, President Grant’s personal secretary, closed the door behind Captain Lancey and looked thoughtfully at the First Minister.  He had served in the capacity as private secretary to Grant since 1869 and knew more about the scandals and bribes that were going on in the administration than anyone else in the White House.  His finger, as history would later prove, was in some quite important pies.

 

At this point of time, however, he was interested in observing Grant as he paced the floor with a scowl darkening his heavy features.  Eventually Grant stood still and regarded  Babcock with a more thoughtful look settling over his face. “Whereabouts do you think Commodore Cartwright would be just about now?”

 

Babcock frowned and, thinking on his feet, he cleared his throat. “I should imagine the Virginian would be approaching the Bay of Naples, sir.”

 

“Very good, I need to send him an urgent communication.” He rubbed his chin with one hand and bowed his head so that his chin rested upon his chest, “I need it to reach him before he gets here.”

 

“To Washington, sir?”

 

“To America.  I feel guilty enough as it is—” he scowled over at Babcock and shook his head. “I wish you had made more of a search into that matter with the Cartwrights and Major Fleming.”

 

“Major Fleming IS dead, sir.”

 

“I know that—but he wasn’t at the time we were informed of Joseph Cartwright’s death, and now I’ve been properly informed that the young man wasn’t dead at all!  If Cartwright got that letter I sent—” he shook his head, unable to continue with his show of sackcloth and ashes. “Look, get a telegram or something sent to Naples to be given to Commodore Cartwright immediately after he berths.”

 

Babcock nodded and waited for the president to commence dictation.

 

“‘Adam—greatly pleased...’” he frowned, shook his head. “No, start again.  ‘Adam—my apologies at passing on misinformation.  Now understand that your brother is well and healthy.’” he tapped his fingers on the desk “Change ‘apologies’ to ‘regret having passed on misinformation—’”

 

“Don’t you think that may appear as though we don’t really know what’s going on, sir?”

 

Grant awarded Babcock a cold glare, leaving the secretary with the impression that keeping his mouth shut would be a good idea for the foreseeable future. 

 

“The fact is, Babcock, that we don’t always know what’s going on and this is a classic case to prove it.  Continue—” he cleared his throat “‘Have heard from khedive that you did a superlative job and all is well.  May I suggest that upon reaching Washington you go on leave for several months?  You deserve it.  Present yourself here for discussion in six months…’ and all the rest you know what to put.” He waved his hand and nodded, confident that Babcock would conclude the communication satisfactorily.

 

“Is that all, Mr. President?”

 

“Yes, get that sent off right away.  I don’t want Adam Cartwright thundering through the White House threatening blue murder at me; anyhow, he deserves better than that.” He smiled and sat down, pulling his chair closer to the desk. He stroked his chin and looked at Babcock, who was looking at him thoughtfully, “Go on, get that letter done.”

 

The door closed and Grant sighed, rose to his feet and walked to the window.  The burden of office was a heavy one and he smiled at the memory of the day he had “trespassed” on Ponderosa land and Hoss Cartwright invited him home to dinner.

 

……………

 

The sound of booted feet resounded loudly in the corridors of power and Captain Lancey found himself thinking over the conversation he had just engaged in with the president.  It had confirmed something in his own mind and as he strode towards the exit of the building he felt as though a weight had fallen from his shoulders at the decision he had just made.

 

He was smiling to himself as he walked through the doorway and was about to take the first step down when he heard his name hailed and upon turning found himself looking at the immaculately groomed George A. Custer.  His resolve failed him for a moment, before he rallied and he nodded, removed his hat and shook the extended hand offered him,

 

“You’re looking well, George.”

 

“Thank you, and, if I may say so, you were looking mighty pleased with yourself just now.  What have you been up to lately?”

 

“Oh, not much.” Lancey shrugged and smiled again, “What about yourself?  How’s Libby?”

 

“Libby is happy being here again, for a while.  She hates frontier life, but you know that anyway I should imagine.”

 

Lancey gave a brief nod. His connection with the Custers went back a long way; he was related to Libby through his mother’s kinship with her father, and he had been a student with Custer at West Point.  Over the years his respect for Custer had diminished just as that man’s star had appeared to rise higher in the eyes of the people.

 

“And yourself?” Lancey asked again and Custer smiled, shrugged.

 

“Just itching to get on with things.” He gave Lancey a friendly tap on the shoulder with his gloves. “Are you going to come along and join with me?”

 

“No, not at all, in fact, after this last venture I’ve been on, I’ve decided to resign my commission and retire.”

 

Custer’s mouth went slack, his eyes widened and he shook his head in disbelief. “But you can’t, you’re a good soldier, a fine officer— what on earth made you even think of doing such a thing?”

 

“In two words—Major Fleming.”

 

Custer stepped back, shook his head again and then glanced around him as though he didn’t want people seeing him talking to someone whom he considered less worthy of his time.  Lancey made a move as though to walk onwards, to be prevented by Custer resting his hand upon his arm.

 

“Reconsider, Lancey.  Come and join up with the Seventh, I’m in command of them, and we’re going on campaigns against the Plains Indians that will set the fire burning in you again.”

 

Lancey gave Custer a rather twisted smile and shook his head. “No, thank you.  I’ve seen enough of these so-called campaigns to be thoroughly sickened by the whole thing.  George, be careful.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Don’t let Sheridan or Sherman push you into something you don’t want to do.”

 

Custer stared at him then laughed, a shout of laughter that drew the attention of several men passing by, he slapped Lancey on the arm.

 

“For heaven’s sake, man, you don’t know how hard it has been for me to get this organised.  I’ve been constantly looked over by those two and only recently have they even considered giving me this command.  I’ve had to fight every inch of the way to be involved—they preferred Reno over me, can you believe that?” He looked amazed even as he said it, as though the whole thing was so outrageously ridiculous.

 

Lancey said nothing; he merely shrugged his shoulders and looked over Custer’s shoulder rather than admit that he had heard how Custer’s popularity with the media had soured his superiors opinion of him.  He put out a hand. “Well, I wish you all success, George, but to be honest, I wish you were not going.”

 

Custer merely shrugged; his handshake was less warm and he left the other man feeling disappointed  and somewhat irritated.  Lancey, however, continued with his journey, feeling relieved more than ever now.  Memories of discussions he had held with Stalking Horse and other captives sifted into his head.  He remembered how adamant they were not to surrender the Black Hills; he thought over the time he had helped Joseph Cartwright to escape and now was bemused at the amount of interest that President Grant had shown in that particular account. 

 

He sighed long and hard as he reached the sidewalk, and stood for a moment as though undecided as to which direction to take.  It was like life, he mused: one reaches a point where there was a fork in the path that required major decisions. As far as he was concerned he had reached such a point, and the decision had been made.

 

…………….

 

The undertaker at Placerville stood to one side as the two men stepped into the Chapel of Rest.  They had removed their hats and stood respectfully by the door and waited for the man to indicate that they could advance to the bier.  The young woman lying there could not have looked more beautiful and both of them looked down at her with a mixture of emotions churning over and over inside them.

 

“She looks like an angel.” Hoss breathed as he looked down at her and, indeed, the undertaker had obviously gone to great pains to make her look just like that, with the marks from her fall skilfully masked by cosmetic paints.

 

“Makes me think of that poem Adam used to recite…the lady of Shalott,” Joe whispered, and he shivered. “Come on, Hoss, let’s get out of here.”

 

They left the small chapel, both casting a last look at the remains of Ingrid Buchanan as they did so, and murmuring their thanks to the undertaker for his care.

 

“It’s not often I get a chance to work with such a beautiful cor—er—er—um,” he stammered to a close, and sighed. “If you would sign the papers that you have identified her and about her burial…?” he ended on a question and looked at them both.

 

Joe cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. “Bury her wherever you like, but nowhere near Virginia City.”

 

Mr. Ingrams looked startled to the extent that he dropped the pen and caused a blot on the paper; he looked at Hoss for confirmation and received a curt nod of the head.

 

“I’ve a location in the local graveyard where she can be placed—” he said  slowly, looking from one to the other. “If you’d sign and pay me right now, then.”

 

They did so, slapping the money down as though it was unclean and they wanted it disposed of as quickly as possible. Anything to do with Ingrid felt tainted.  Ingrams took the money and signed a receipt and then said that the burial would be the following morning.

 

“We only came to identify the body, not bury it.” Joe said, “We’ll be heading for Virginia City on the afternoon stage.”

 

It was obvious that Mr. Ingrams was at a loss for words, such a beautiful angelic looking creature receiving such callous treatment by the Cartwright brothers left him dumb struck.  Joe closed his wallet and mustered up a vague smile. “I know it seems odd to you, Mr. Ingrams, but—well—just remember that the Bible mentioned about a beautiful angel, the most beautiful of them all and you know who that turned out to be, don’t you?”

 

“Good gracious, Mr. Cartwright, that lovely lady in there hardly compares to the devil…”

 

“You don’t want to go by looks, Mr. Ingrams,” Hoss muttered and followed Joe out of the building, leaving Mr. Ingrams casting a rather fearful glance over his shoulder.

 

The sheriff was waiting for them and asked them to sign for Ingrid’s possessions.

 

“Seems she must have stumbled over something during the night,” he said as he watched Joe sign his name on the bottom of the paper. “Fell heavily on them rocks and that was it, Doc said some people have  thin skulls, all it takes is a slight knock and they’re goners.”

 

Joe nodded and took the bag and case.

 

“Seems she wasn’t as good as she was good looking?” Davidson observed as he walked with them to the restaurant where they were going to eat before catching the next stage out of town, “Roy’s cable sounded pretty urgent, I was expecting to arrest someone—well—someone not as lovely to look at.  I’m glad I didn’t have to arrest her.”

 

Hoss gave him a swift look, and frowned, he thought of the outcome of the arrest, the trial, imprisonment, perhaps worse.  He nodded “So’m I, sheriff, odd as it may seem this may have been the best way out for her.”

 

Later when they had cause to look through Ingrid’s possessions they found only a few letters, and several photographs, but nothing of any significance.  The jewels she had carefully tucked away, and of which Joe and Hoss knew nothing, had gone.  David McArthur had struck gold, in a manner of speaking, but he had already gone, en route to Sacramento, with Ingrid’s jewellery safe in his briefcase jostling against his Bible.

 

Chapter 96

 

The lights shone like many multi-coloured twinkling little stars adorning the building’s exterior, welcoming all the visitors who came to celebrate the engagement of Joseph Cartwright to Mary Ann Hornby, the schoolteacher.  Everyone, especially the younger females, resolved NOT to mention the engagement party they had attended the previous year when Joseph Cartwright had got himself involved with Victoria Shannon who later departed,  suddenly, back east.  If Mary Ann noticed some rather sidelong glances and whispers between girlfriends behind hands, she was sensible enough not to mention them.

 

As it was, Joe and Hoss only just arrived in time to attend and look clean and tidy.  No one would have guessed they had only returned from Placerville an hour or two before it all began.  As soon as they had stepped foot into the house, Hester and Hop Sing were hustling them into the back room and into tubs of steaming water where soap and towels were thrown at them, the door slammed to, and preparations for the party recommenced.

 

It really turned out to be the best thing possible, as there was no time to have a conversation about their trip or the purpose behind it.  When Mary Ann stepped into the room, escorted by Paul Martin, any thoughts about Ingrid Buchanan flew out of the window so far as Joe was concerned. 

 

He looked good and hard at her as she stepped into the room, glanced eagerly around and then saw him.  For a moment he wanted to see her as though he had never seen her before, and then confirm that something in his heart that told him this was the one, the beloved, who would be his complement, his wife, for the rest of his life.

 

She wasn’t as pretty as Victoria Shannon; her nose was too big for a start.  But her eyes had a magic quality about them, like the waters of the lake on a misty day washing over the pebbles beneath.  He had never seen eyes like them before, and they reflected colours so wonderfully well.  She wasn’t tall and she wasn’t well built in the same way that Hester was, but what would a man of Joe’s build want with a woman like that anyway?  Her chestnut coloured hair had sun streaked lighter strands running through it, and it curled naturally about her face.  No, she wasn’t pretty and doll-like, not like Victoria, but she was, in Joe’s eyes, just perfect.

 

They danced together, danced with others.  He danced with Hester and they both laughed because she kept tripping over her own feet and saying that her centre of gravity was off due to the bulge.  Hoss watched with a besotted look on his face, protective and loving, and Joe hoped that in a little while he would be looking the same and who would know, but for the same reason.

 

Andrew and Barbara Pearson were there, for Mary Ann had formed a good friendship with the older woman who had once been the town’s schoolteacher.  Joe still felt a pang of irritation whenever he saw Barbara, but realised that the time had come for such pettiness to be put to one side.  He filled a glass with punch and carried it over to her. “If I remember rightly, Barbara, you used to like Pa’s punch quite a bit?” he smiled, his eyes were warm and friendly, and she accepted it with a smile

 

“Yes, I’ve been trying to coax the recipe from him but he won’t tell me what it is.”

 

“Ah, a family secret.” Joe winked and stood by her side, watching the dancers. 

 

Mary Ann passed by in the arms of Paul Martin and smiled, her eyes luminous, and her cheeks flushed. He smiled just at the sight of her enjoying herself so much and then he realised that Barbara was watching him.

 

“Anything wrong?”

 

“No, nothing. Just that this is the first time you have actually spoken to me of your own accord since—well, since I started courting Andrew.”  She sipped some of the punch and glanced over to where Andrew was chatting to Candy and Ann.  “Do I take it that I’ve been forgiven?”

 

He frowned, something of the old feeling surged up inside him, but he suppressed it well and cleared his throat. “I didn’t have the right to be so unkind. I hope you forgive me, Barbara.”

 

“Oh I did that a long time ago,” she smiled charmingly, but he could sense the brittleness of her words and looked at her with a slight frown on his face. “I couldn’t understand it, to be honest. After all, it was between Adam and me and really had nothing to do with you.”

 

“That’s true, I know,”  Joe said, “But I wanted Adam to be happy and married.  I guess I always felt you were the best woman he could possibly have chosen as a wife, and when you stopped loving him enough—” he paused “I guess I felt you had betrayed him.”

 

“You thought I was being selfish?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“I think you were being selfish, to be honest with you.  You wanted him married so that he would stay here instead of going away so often.”

 

“Possibly.” and he took a deep breath in order to keep his temper from rising.

 

“Have you heard from him lately?”

 

“No, not in a while.”

 

“Your father must be worried.  I remember how anxious he used to be whenever Adam went away.”

 

“Yes, he is, but I think he’s realised that there’s nothing he can do about it.” he smiled slightly. “A man can die tripping over his own feet and falling down the stairs of his house.”

 

She nodded and looked around at the people assembled there, then emptied her glass and nursed it for a while between her hands. “She’s a lovely girl, Joe.”

 

“Yes, she is.” He felt pride stir within him at the words and watched as Mary Ann started to dance with Hoss.

 

“What does she really think about you going away from here soon?  Before the wedding I believe?”

 

He shifted the weight of one foot to the other slightly and compressed his lips, but she was looking intently at him as though expecting an answer, so he nodded. “She doesn’t mind.  She understands why I’m going.”

 

“And you expect her to be here when you return.”

 

“Of course.”

 

She merely shrugged a little then, and looked down at her empty glass.  Joe felt the old antagonism returning and turned to face her. “What are you getting at, Barbara?  Do you think Mary Ann won’t be here when I come back?”

 

“I don’t know, it’s between the two of you to sort that one out, surely?”  She put the glass down on a table behind them. “You see, Adam never committed me to him when he left. He said it wouldn’t be fair to do that; he trusted me to know exactly how I felt by the time he came home…and I did, I knew I didn’t love him enough to put up with his being away from home so often.”

 

“Are you saying I’m not being fair to Mary Ann?”

 

“I’m not saying that at all, Joe, I’m just trying to get you to see how it was—for me, and for Adam.”

 

She looked at him then, her eyes fastened to his, and then she excused herself and walked over to join her husband.

 

“What was that all about?” Hoss muttered as he handed Joe a glass of wine. “She looked all fired up.”

 

“She was, but it doesn’t matter.” Joe sighed and then smiled. “Not much longer now, Hoss, and you’ll be bouncing a baby on your knee.”

 

“Shucks, I know,” Hoss blushed and ran a finger around his collar. “I feel more nervous about that than when I got married.” His generous mouth split into a wide grin. “Say, don’t take too long in fixing the day for your wedding, will ya?”

 

“I won’t,” Joe laughed as he walked towards Mary Ann, took her hand in his and led her across the room. “Let’s steal a moment together,” he breathed into her ear, and with an answering smile from her they slipped outside.

 

The night air was refreshing. It kissed their cheeks and cooled their skins and brought with it the sweet smell of the roses and honeysuckle.  He took her hand and tucked it through his arm as together they strolled towards the garden at the back of the house.

 

“It’s lovely here, Joe.” She leaned against the fence and looked at the shadows where the flowers grew, just touched softly by the moon’s rays.

 

“I can remember coming here with my Ma; she loved her garden.  I used to sit beside her playing with the worms.  Fascinating things…” his voice trailed off, and he turned her to face him. “Mary Ann, tell me honestly, do you mind—” he stopped, frowned. “Well, what I mean is, getting engaged now and having to wait until I get back from Montana. You don’t mind that, do you?”

 

“I would have told you before now, if I did, Joe.” She leaned towards him. “Look, I’m not a child, I’ve had to grow up and fend for myself all these years since Frank died.  I’ve seen what happens to those people you care about—remember?  And I know how you felt when—when I first met you.”  Her hand rested lightly upon his chest; she could feel his heart beating beneath her fingers, “Joe, I want you to go.”

 

“You do?” he frowned, “Why?”

 

“Because if you don’t go you’ll have it locked up inside here—” she pressed against his chest, where his heart beat. “It’ll eat you up, like some acid, or poison.  You’ll think about how you were disloyal, broke your promise to them, to Little Moon, and—and you won’t feel free to live your life with me.  I want you to go, Joe, so that when you come home, and we get married, you will have gotten it all out of your system.”

 

He looked down at the ground then, and drew slightly apart from her. “You don’t think I’m being selfish?”

 

“Some people may,” she replied honestly, “But I don’t.  That’s because I know you so well, and I know your family and how they feel about loyalty and promises.  If anyone is being selfish, Joe, then it’s me.”

 

“You? But how?” he took her hands in his and looked into her face; those strange eyes looked up at him, warm and glowing in her face, the moon’s light made her appear luminescent.

 

“Because I don’t want to share you with anyone, not even with Little Moon, or her people.”  she kissed him then, “You see how selfish I am?  I am still jealous of her…” a tear fell upon her cheek and gently Joe brushed it away with his finger,

 

“You don’t need to be, Mary Ann”

 

“Just come back—” she whispered as her lips touched his, and never was there a more lovingly given kiss given between them.

 

“You’ll still be here—” he sighed as he nestled into her neck.

 

“I’ll never leave you, Joe, I’ll always be here.”  She kissed the back of his neck, “I love you, Joe, where else would you expect me to be?”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 97

 

The men huddled close together, hands fixed to the mugs containing hot coffee laced with rum, although they were shivering so much that most of the liquid was spilling over their fingers and in a way easing the cold that numbed them. 

 

“Did we lose anyone?” someone mumbled.

 

“No.  Not a soul.”

 

“Dalziel nearly went over the bulwark, saw him myself, tried to grab him—”

 

“Dalziel?  When was that?”

 

“Right at the heart of the storm.”

 

“Nearly ain’t the same as having gone over though,” The first speaker shivered, his teeth chattering against the rim of the mug. “I seen him five minutes ago, large as life and twice as ugly.”

 

The attempt at humour fell on stony ground. “He’s a good man, is Dalziel”

 

“Yeah—wouldn’t want to lose him anytime.”

 

Silence and each man there strained his ears to catch the sounds about them.  The engines were labouring, but they were working, and they could  hear the sound of the pumps relentlessly churning at the water that had collected in the bilges during the storm.  The ballast had shifted as the water had poured in; once the pumps had done their work the men would reposition the ballast back into place and the Virginian would regain a more dignified posture on the waves again.

 

“We did well to get through that little lot—” one of the men finally muttered.

 

“Call this a little lot?” a youngster chipped in, his first voyage and his first storm at sea.

 

“You were wanting to experience a storm at sea, Lofty, so don’t complain now.”

 

They laughed. The rum had warmed their innards and loosened their tongues; fear was being replaced by dark humour, and they shuffled in closer together so that they could get warmer.

 

“This ain’t nothing, you need to be in the North Atlantic to really know what a storm’s like.”

 

“Or go round the Cape.”

 

They mumbled together, and more coffee was poured into the mugs until the pot was empty.

 

“They say he’s a Hornier,” the first man muttered. “The Commodore—heard ’em saying that time back along before he came on board.”

 

“Well, it doesn’t surprise me,” one of the older men said. “If it hadn’t been for him we would have lost some men, probably more damage to the ship as well. The Virginian’s a good old girl, but the fact is, she is showing her age.”

 

“You said you didn’t like the commodore when he first come on board,” Lofty muttered unwisely.

 

“Shut your mouth, I never said no such thing,” the other man growled and stood up, arching his back to get the kinks out. “I said he was a bit dour, didn’t seem to say much.  Didn’t seem to live up to his reputation.”

 

“Well, all credit to him, he’s proved his worth.”

 

“Ay, he has that—”

 

A chorus of ayes and some thudding of mugs on the table followed before they returned to their drinking.  Before anything else could be said, Munnings appeared sloshing through the water that was ankle deep in the companionway, he looked around at them and frowned. “What are you lot doing skulking here?  Work to be done up aloft…shift it, men.”

 

The sick bay reeked with the stench of sea water, blood and bodies, sweat and the heat generated from the exterior temperatures and the number of people closeted within.  The doctor, stooped over and grey looking, glanced up as Adam entered.  He lowered his eyes and continued with the task of stitching an ugly open wound in Seaman Teddy Finch.  Around him other men worked in patient silence as they tended to the wounds of the men.

 

“How is everything here, Doctor?”

 

“As you can see—” came the terse reply.

 

Adam pursed his lips and slightly raised his eyebrows but chose to ignore the offhand manner of the other man in consideration of the intolerable conditions under which he was working and the number of men to whom he had to attend.

 

“How many walking wounded?”

 

“Most are—”

 

“As soon as you’ve finished with them send them to their cabins.  This place needs—”

 

“I know what it needs.” Gilbertson replied, “I’m sorry, Commodore, if it doesn’t meet with your exacting requirements and it doesn’t compare with the Baltimore, but the fact is that this is what we’ve got and this is what we have to get on with.” He looked up at Finch. “You heard the commodore, you can go to your cabin.”

 

“Aye, thanks, Doc.” Finch passed Adam, saluting as best he could. “Thank you, Sir.” And he meant it, he knew that some cabins had suffered less water damaged than most and his was among them.  He went off feeling grateful to be out of sick bay, a “hell-hole” as he described later it to some of the other seamen on deck.

 

“Alright, everyone.” Gilbertson turned to face the men and found himself confronted by shadows and darkness. The storm light swaying above them did little to stop a man from thinking he was stepping into a nightmare when he entered the sick bay. “Any of you whom we have already attended, if you are able to walk out of here, do so now, and return to your cabins.”

 

Within a few minutes the majority of men had gone, taking with them the stench of wet clothing, the few that remained were being attended to by the orderlies.

 

“Who have we got here?”

 

“Lieutenant Dalziel.  Broken leg and concussion.” 

 

Adam paused by the cot upon which Dalziel was stretched out with his leg neatly bound in splints. Adam nodded and was about to walk on when the man opened his eyes, saw him and grabbed his wrist. “Commodore?”

 

“Oh, it’s you, Dalziel; feeling better now?”

 

The young man nodded, smiled and looked up into the face of the man who had earlier saved his life. He was still unsure how Adam had achieved it, all he knew was that one moment he was being swept down into the open mouth of the cavernous wave when he saw Adam, felt him grab at his arm, heard him shouting to hold on and he had, with as much strength as he could have mustered. 

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

Adam said nothing, he gave a wry smile and then walked on, listening to the list of names of the injured, and of their injuries.  Only one man appeared to be so seriously ill as to be considered near death.  Gilbertson and Adam stood at his bedside and looked down at the young man, a midshipman called Murdoch.

 

As he looked at the greying features of the youth Adam felt a surge of pity well up inside himself.  He thought of those who had loved this lad, those who would soon be receiving a letter from him, and who would be grieving. He remembered his own grief when he had thought Joe lost to him.  He wished with all his heart that he could restore strength and power into the boy, just touch him and say something that would empower him. 

 

They moved away. Adam glanced around and then looked at the doctor.

 

“Some men will come in and clear this all up for you, Dr. Gilbertson.”  He paused as the other man studiously started to put away his instruments, “I’ll get the steward to bring you all something hot to eat.  It’s best that you get up on deck and out of here for a while.”

 

Adam mounted the steps that led to the upper deck and looked around at the devastation that had resulted from the storm.  It had lasted almost two days with no letup at any time.  The first he had known of it was when he had been flung out of his bed and across the floor in his cabin, and glanced over at the barometer which was falling all the time even as he looked at it.

 

He had pulled on rubber boots, oilskins over his thick woolen sweater, and then battled out the door only to find Coxon staggering his way towards him. “You’re wanted up top, sir.  We’re heading into a storm.”

 

Munning had saluted, stepping back to allow the commodore to take command.  Another glance at the barometer; it was still falling.

 

They were just a day out of Tripoli, and from a perfectly calm and warm day this storm had been born and unleashed its unmitigated fury at them.  The decks constantly tilted at their feet as the Virginian rolled, ducked and dived with the waves.  Huge waters had flung themselves over the bulwarks; men were sucked down as though to their deaths only to slide back onto the deck; water streamed through the hatches, down companionways and not one person remained bone dry within ten minutes.

 

Occasionally they caught sight of other vessels struggling to survive the tumult.  Some had been rushing to the shelter of the harbour at Tripoli, others were not so fortunate as they, like the Virginian, were going in the opposite direction when the storm struck with no hope of turning back.

 

The heat of a new day was beginning to seep into their bodies now, and Adam, who had forgotten what it was like to be warm, raised his face gratefully to the sun for a few moments before returning his attention to matters to be dealt with on the ship.

 

“What condition are the bilges in now?” he asked as Seaman Phelps approached him, wiping his hands on a bloodied cloth, but saluting and quick to report that all the water was out now.

 

“There was a good twelve inches in there, sir, but the pumps did well.”

 

“Get shovels and level out the sand, and move the ballast as quickly as possible. We don’t want her to keep listing at this angle.”

 

“Ay, sir.”

 

“Well done, Phelps; tell the men down there there’s an extra ration of rum for them when the job’s done.”

 

“Many thanks, sir.” Phelps grinned, a flash of white teeth in a face bleached by the amount of salt water that had soaked it constantly over the past two days and Adam wondered whether he was looking exactly the same.

 

“Commodore.  There’s a vessel approaching—”

 

A French corvette, limping through the waves, was signalling to them, and Adam, after reading the signals, told Peterson to signal back by means of the shutter lamp that they required no help and thanked them for their courtesy.

 

They worked as an efficient team, water was cleared and swabbed up on deck and below; carpenters repaired windows and hatches as well as the decking and parts of the bulwark that had been torn away.  In the engine room the men greased and oiled and sweated in their toil.  They worked with a will knowing that yet again they had beaten old Davy Jones and life was good.

 

In his cabin Adam sat down at his desk and wrote down the entry for the log book.  He had calculated that they were now quite a few miles off course; it would take another half day to regain it and make way, once again, for Naples.

 

He pulled off his boots and upended them, letting the water in them add to the pools still on the floor.  Everything was wet.  He slowly, painfully, pulled off his oilskins and then closed his eyes and just fell back, his head gratefully hitting the damp softness of his pillows.

 

Chapter 98

 

When they reached Naples the crew of the Virginian had mainly recovered from their injuries, Adam had written his letter to Murdoch’s family enclosing his personal effects along with it and placed the package into the mail bag.  It would be weeks before the family received the news as it would travel with the Virginian back to Washington before being posted.

 

The Virginian had cleaned up well after the deluge she had endured during the storm, and more than once Adam had wondered how the Shenandoah or Ainola would have handled it.  His respect for the steam ships was growing but his love for the clippers remained strong. 

 

They reached Naples just after four bells in the morning watch, slowing from 12 knots  and once again Adam had to commend his helmsman for the smooth entry he achieved into harbour.  Munnings had wondered why they had gone off course for Naples and hadn’t bothered to ask; since the storm his respect and admiration for the commodore had grown to such an extent that he wouldn’t have questioned him even if Adam had ordered him to jump into the mouth of hell itself.

 

Adam’s first task, once all paperwork had been correctly dealt with by the authorities, was to assign shore leave for the crew.  Once that had been done he took his leave and got a cab to the American Consulate in the old city area.  It was one of America’s oldest Foreign Service posts.  It was here he had been told to attend on his homeward journey in order to collect any communication from the president and/or the prime minister of Great Britain.  The U.S. Consul at the time, James Armsby, * greeted him warmly

 

“Congratulations, Commodore.  It’s good to see you again.  I understand that everything went  well in Egypt?”

 

“It did, thank you, sir.” 

 

“And you are now on your way to Washington from here?”

 

“That’s my intention,” Adam replied a little more slowly and he cleared his throat and waited, quite sure that there was more to come.

 

“Commodore, there is a letter for you here from the president himself. It arrived yesterday.  I do hope that you will honour us by staying for lunch?”

 

Adam nodded, smiled and took the letter which was handed him. This he slipped into his jacket pocket.

 

It seemed the hours just dragged by. Eventually he said his farewells, thanked his hosts, and flagged down a cab to take him back to the ship.  The letter from Grant was burning a hole in his pocket and he tore it open as soon as the opportunity arose in the cab.

 

“Commodore

 

My deepest regret in sending you my previous letter which contained grave misinformation.  I now know that your brother Joseph Cartwright is, thankfully, alive and well.

 

Sincere congratulations and thanks for all you have done on behalf of your country.  At present I am sure you would wish to be with your family upon your return to America in which case I hope you take for yourself six well deserved months of leave.

 

U.S. Grant

President”

 

He returned it to his pocket and slumped back against the padded seat of the cab; his eyes surveyed the buildings as they passed but his brain didn’t register them.  A slow smile drifted over his lips.  Six months’ leave?  Wonderful.  He would enjoy nothing more than saddling Sport and riding over the Ponderosa again, taking in old haunts, favourite places, up into Papoose Peak and over towards Sun Mountain.

 

He was piped on board and received a warm salute of welcome from the officers still on board, two of them having been granted shore leave.

 

He had time only to remove his jacket when Coxon knocked on the door. “Commodore, the captain of the Baltimore is here to see you, sir.”

 

He turned, saw O’Brien grinning at him from the doorway, and laughingly ordered him inside.  They shook hands warmly, slapped one another on the back and then stood back to look at one another.

 

“Well, you don’t look a day older; I would say camel riding suits you  well,” O’Brien chuckled.

 

“Sit down, you old liar, and here, let me pour you a drink.”

 

“How was it, Adam?  Anything like what you expected?” O’Brien took the glass from Adam and looked over at his friend with a smile. “Or was it worse?”

 

“Well, more of a mixed bag,” Adam replied slowly as he lowered himself into a chair, “I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do except be some kind of sitting duck for any crazy rebel to take a pot shot at, and once they had done that the powers that be would then realise who the enemy was and take them apart!” He stretched out his legs and loosened his cravat, then looked over at O’Brien “Well, how’s fatherhood?  How’s Maria?”

 

“Maria is as beautiful as ever, and my son is the most handsome boy in the world.” O’Brien leaned forward “Well now, tell me about Egypt—the bits you are permitted to tell, anyway.”

 

Adam stared up at the ceiling and in his deep voice told O’Brien about Doestov and Laurence (which gave him a sudden pang when he realised that he hadn’t given the poor young man a second thought since leaving); he had O’Brien laughing over the camel rides and second guessing at the mention of Rachel Forster.  Finally he ended his seeming monologue and looked at O’Brien. “So why are you here?”

 

“I’m to sail to Suez and continue where you left off, in that I am taking some diplomat there to discuss certain matters with the khedive.”

 

“Very interesting, don’t tell me more about it, I’m not interested.” He waved the subject of Egypt away and emptied his glass. “How about another?”

 

“I’ll not say no.” O’Brien smiled, relaxing a little more into the chair. “I’ve some letters for you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, mail drop…they knew our paths would cross here so gave me the mail bag. I left it with Munnings—is that his name?”

 

“Yes, Munning, a good seaman and a first-rate officer.  I’m recommending him for promotion when I get back.”

 

O’Brien nodded, took his second glass of whiskey and thought back to the time he had first met Adam Cartwright, it all seemed so long ago now.  He had emptied his glass and risen to his feet when seven bells tolled to confirm his suspicions that time was passing fast and he needed to return to his own ship.  They shook hands again.

 

“Why not come aboard the Baltimore tonight, Adam.  Bring your first officer with you. I don’t want this to be just a passing visit.”

 

Adam accepted with pleasure, shook his friends hand and promised to be there before the first dog watch had ended.

 

………………….

 

There is no feeling better than the anticipation one felt upon receiving letters.  He found one from Hoss, two from his father and three from Joe.  At one time the most prolific writer had been Hoss, and he smiled now as he read through his brother’s news, and how much information he gleaned about Hester from it.  There were times his brother’s unique style of writing brought tears to his eyes—from laughter—and as he slipped the letter back into its envelope he was once again reminded of how often in the past he thought Hoss should have been an author.

 

His father’s news contained information about the ranch, new contracts.  The first letter mentioned, briefly, what a bad patient Joe had become and how poor Hester had to run about after him.  There were a noticeable number of references to Mary Ann Hornby, and Adam surmised from that fact that his father had prepared his mind to accepting another female into the family.

 

He was more than delighted to read through Joe’s letters, that dashing bold writing now brought, not foreboding, but sheer joy to his heart.  Coxon had brought in coffee and Adam enjoyed drinking that as he read his brother’s letters.

 

“You can’t imagine how boring it is for me to be stuck in bed all this time with hardly any company” was one lamentation. “Mary Ann came today.  Adam, this young woman—whom you probably can’t even remember—is the woman I am going to marry, if she will accept me of course.  I still can’t work out how one woman can suddenly become so important, above all other women.  How does that work?”

 

Adam shook his head and smiled—it was one mystery he had failed to understand himself, and thinking about it made no difference whatsoever.  For some reason he had a picture of Rachel Forster flash into his mind and he paused a moment to try and recapture it, but it slipped away, out of his mental reach.

 

“Adam, I have promised Stalking Horse that I will do everything I possibly can to help. I don’t know how, and I don’t know what it will be, but I have to help. I owe it to him, to his people, to Little Moon.  Once I am well enough I am going to Montana.  I need to find the People, talk to them and find out what they need me to do so that I can help them somehow.

 

“I have not discussed this with Pa yet, although I have mentioned it to Mary Ann, after all, it’s only fair as it will affect our short-term future.  I need to do this, Adam, I owe them so much and I need to prove to them that there are some white men they can trust.  Do you understand?  I sure hope so.

 

After what Major Fleming did to me I realise that there’s no justice or impartiality when it comes to the Plains Indians.  He told me himself that there’s a genocide policy against them now, and he’s a friend of George Custer’s.  Well, I’m not going to let them get away with it, Adam, I’m not.”

 

Adam re-read the letter, cleared his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose while he closed his eyes tight.  What was wrong with his brother?  Did he have some kind of mental imbalance that drove him to suicidal situations?  He opened the last letter which was dated some weeks later.

 

“I’m up and about now.  Things have been odd around here.  Cochise was shot from under me the other day. Of course, no one saw anything, no one knows anything, Roy’s trying hard to find out what’s been going on but I know, Adam, that that bullet was meant for me.  The sooner I leave here the better.  I’ve borrowed Sport for now, I hope you don’t mind. When I leave here though I’ll take another mount, couldn’t take Sport into the unknown.

 

I’m going to marry Mary Ann. I’ve made up my mind, but it will have to wait until I get back.  You might be home by the time of the wedding, in which case I would be  pleased if you would be my best man.”

 

Adam dropped the paper on the floor and covered his face with both hands.  He could go back in his memory to previous years when Joe was a little boy and would cause him to do exactly the same…oh, Joe Cartwright…what’s to be done with you?

 

…………………..

 

Mary Ann Hornby stood on the porch beside Ben, Hoss and Hester as Joseph Cartwright came out of the house.  He looked at them and smiled, a shy smile as though he were a little boy again and needed their approval before he set out to do something.  He buckled his gunbelt and turned to say his farewells. 

 

Candy, Ann and little Rose arrived in their buggy while he was hugging Hoss, he kissed Hester, patted the bulge affectionately, and then bade his father farewell.  He took Mary Ann’s hand and held it tightly, looked into her grey eyes and saw clouds floating in them, and leaned forward to kiss her.

 

“I’ll be back in two shakes of a dogs tail,” he whispered and stroked her face gently, then kissed her again.

 

Candy came up from behind him, and he turned to shake his friend’s hand, and then turned to shake Ann’s before kissing her cheek, picking Rosie up and tossing her in the air and laughing at her shrieks of delight.

 

“’Gain, ’gain!” she cried, clapping her hands but he set her down carefully and then turned to them as they stood grouped together on the porch as though only by huddling close could they handle this departure.

 

“Joe, take care now, son.”

 

“I will, Pa.”

 

“Write or cable as often as possible.”

 

“Sure, Pa. Sure, I will.”

 

“If you need funds at all, wire me immediately.”

 

“I know; I will…”

 

Ben stood there, he watched Joe walk away and Mary Ann by his side.  Somehow Ben felt diminished, smaller, lost.  He had wanted to go with his son on this journey but Hoss had reminded him of what had happened before, and Joe had told him it was better for him to stay especially when there was so much to look forward to with the baby arriving soon.  It seemed to Ben that suddenly he was being treated as the child, being told what to do, where to go and the awful thing was that he knew they were right, there was no point in fighting against it. But he didn’t like it…

 

Hester clung close to Hoss, and felt the comfort of his arm around her.  She didn’t solely understand why Joe was leaving, not when he had the chance to marry Mary Ann now.  But Hoss had explained as best he could, even though it had been with quite a few pauses as he stopped to mull over the possibilities of the dangers facing Joe.

 

“Jest hope he ain’t gonna try and tackle that Custer,” Hoss had muttered more than once.

 

As Joe mounted his horse, and leaned down to kiss Mary Ann, George Custer was the last thing on Hester’s mind.  She knew that the Ponderosa was going to settle into a sadness when Joe rode out, something special was leaving them and she prayed with all her heart that he would soon be riding back home.

 

They stood calling out their goodbyes, smiling fixed smiles on their faces, eyes wet and moist with tears they refused to let fall. 

 

When he was finally out of sight and there was no chance of seeing him again, they turned to go back into the house.  Mary Ann stood for a few moments more, just in case, just in case he turned back, or she would see him, even a little glimpse of him as he passed by into the pasture.  But there was nothing, and she let the tears fall down her cheeks and when Ben came and stood beside her and put his arm around her shoulders she turned into him and held him close, and wept.

 

 

Chapter 99

 

Rose petals were falling in the garden, and their musky smell rose like a perfume to the room above.  A wide veranda with an ornate balcony overlooked the garden, and seated on a comfortable day bed a young man reclined and enjoyed the scent on the air, the warmth and the company of the young woman seated by his side.

 

Lord Laurence Willoughby had his eyes closed, not in sleep, but in concentration.  The girl was reading to him from Dickens’ novel The Tale of Two Cities and he listened intently as her voice rose and fell to the cadences contained within the words she read:

 

“If you hear my voice” she read, “—I don’t know that it is so, but I hope it is—if you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that once was sweet music in your ears, weep for it, weep for it! If you touch, in touching my hair, anything that recalls a beloved head that lay on your breast when you were young and free, weep for it, weep for it! If, when I hint to you of a Home that is before us, where I will be true to you with all my duty and with all my faithful service, I bring back the remembrance of a home long desolate, while your poor heart pined away, weep for it, weep for it!”

 

 

“Poor wretch,” he sighed as she paused as though in her own mind she could see the cell in which the poor man languished, the shoemaker lamenting for what was lost. 

 

“Some prisons are better presented,” Rachel Forster said. “Do you want me to finish here for the day, Laurence?”

 

“Yes, thank you, Rachel.”

 

He heard the book close and the rustle of her skirts as she stood up.

 

“Are you leaving me now?”

 

“Only to get you a drink and myself for I have to admit my throat is quite dry.”

 

“I’m a selfish brute, aren’t I?  Forgive me—” and he held out his hand towards her which she took in her own. 

 

“Rachel, you look so lovely standing there like that with the sun shining behind you.  When I am strong enough I would  much like to paint your portrait. Would you let me do that?”

 

She laughed and pulled her hand away from him, then leaned over the balcony rail and looked down upon her sister, Anna, and waved.

 

“Laurence, the doctor said you are getting stronger every day.  In a few weeks’ time you will be able to leave here and return home.” She went to a table and poured out some lemonade, a glass for each of them, which she carried to the table that stood between his day bed and her chair.  “Wouldn’t you prefer to do that than stay here and paint pictures?”

 

“Not really.  Not at the moment.”  He raised himself up a little so that he was sitting more erectly, “I quite like it here.”

 

“That’s because you are still a semi-invalid, once you are up and able to get about you will soon be longing to get away from here and into your own environment.”

 

He laughed then,  rather a low mocking laugh, and picked up the lemonade which he drank thirstily before placing the empty glass down. “Rachel, I’m an artist.  I’m free to be wherever the muse sends me.  When I am strong enough to paint, then I would like to paint you.”

 

She lowered her head and smiled, a faint blush on her cheeks. “I’m not a Botticelli model, Laurence.”

 

“No, you’ll be my model.  Much better.”

 

“What would I do with a painting of myself?” and she shrugged and twisted a loose strand of hair around her finger, she looked questioningly at him and then turned her head to watch the flutterings of a butterfly as it skimmed among the flowers set here and there upon the balcony.

 

“You could send it to—” he paused and frowned, then shrugged.

 

“To?” she turned to him again, and frowned, “Go on?  You were saying?”

 

“To whomever you wish to send it.” He laughed, although his eyes were watchful, and when he received no answer he continued. “Or I could keep it to remind me of my stay here, with you.  A beautiful young woman—”

 

“Don’t tease, Laurence, you know I don’t like it.” She turned away again and her eyes looked for the butterfly.

 

“I’m not.  You are lovely, Rachel. I wish you could see that for yourself.”

 

She shrugged then and sighed, raised her eyes to the sky and remembered once when she stood here on the balcony and talked to the strangest of men, a man who was all manner of men, and she remembered the last time he had come and had kissed her.  She placed her fingers to her lips and sighed.

 

“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”

 

“Who?  What on earth are you talking about, Laurence?” She had been startled when he spoke; his words broke into her memory and the words he said had shaken her into realising that her secret was, perhaps, not so secret after all.

 

“The man you care about, of course.” Laurence leaned back and closed his eyes, “I’ve noticed it ever since I first became really conscious.”

 

“Noticed what?”

 

“That there are times when you go into a private world, and I can see on your face—”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Longing; yes, a longing for someone.  I’ve only ever seen that look on the faces of women in love.”

 

“Not men?”

 

“No.” he laughed then and opened his eyes to look at her, “I’m right though, aren’t I?  There is someone you love and wish was here, with you?”

 

She stood up and walked to the balcony railings again, leaned down a little to pluck a flower from among those growing up the wall. 

 

“Aren’t you going to tell me who it is?” Laurence asked anxiously.

 

“You’re imagining it, Laurence.” Her voice was brisk now; she turned towards him and threw the flower at him, which he caught deftly in his good hand, “It could be you.”

 

“No, I know it isn’t me,” he said with a note of wistfulness in his voice, “I’ve been here all these weeks and never once have you been anything but friendly, kind, like a sister.”

 

“Well then, if you are so clever, perhaps you can guess who it is.” she leaned against the railing, her face looking at him, a smile on her face slightly teasing, slightly wistful and sadly longing.

 

“I think it is one of three people.”

 

“Three?”

 

“Certainly three—”

 

She shrugged and returned to her chair, picked up the book and opened the page, then looked at him again, arched one eyebrow and said coyly, “Well?”

 

“It could be a certain Bedouin called Abdulkarim.”

 

“Oh Laurence, you are a fool.” And she laughed; her head rose so that the line of her face and throat were clearly defined against the backdrop of white walls shining in the sun.

 

“Very well… what about the commodore?”

 

“Silly…as if?” she mocked him and turned her head away to look at the far wall although she couldn’t stop the faint blush on her cheeks.

 

“Alright, what about an American called Adam Cartwright?”

 

“Now, you’re being  silly and I won’t read any more to you today.”

 

She rose, without looking at him, and turned away from him, her back straight.  He listened to her footsteps fading from the room, then settled back into the cushions.  He wished that he had been wrong, all three times.

 

…………….

 

“If you would come this way, please, Commodore.”

 

Babcock led Adam along the corridor towards a different room to the one he had been used to being taken.  He had paid off his crew, said his farewells to them all, and to the Virginian, had his belongings stowed into a hotel room, and cabled his father.  As he walked down the corridor and their footsteps echoed along the way he thought over the words he had used:

 

“Greetings Pa—stop—in Washington—stop—All  well here—stop—where is Joe is now——stop—letter on the way—stop—ADAM”

 

The letter hadn’t been written yet.  He was hopeful of a reply waiting for him when he left here, hopeful that Pa had been in Virginia City when his cable had arrived there, hopeful that Joe had not yet left…oh, hopeful of so much.

 

The door opened and he banished such thoughts from his mind and entered the room. It was a homely room, a pleasant room in which to sit and be at ease, but which had the reverse effect on him, making him feel edgy and trapped.

 

“Do take a seat, Commodore.  Something to drink?  Tea?  Coffee?  Whiskey?” Babcock paused. “Rum?”

 

“Coffee—thank  you.”

 

Babcock pressed a button in the wall and a rather severe looking young man appeared; there was a brief consultation and he left the room.  Adam spent the time hiding a yawn, looking around the room, staring at some pictures and placing them in their various locations.  He had just decided that one picture was that of a courting couple strolling along the Embankment in London, England on a foggy evening when another door opened and Grant appeared.

 

“Welcome back, Adam.” 

 

Hale and hearty, bluff and welcoming, Grant extended his hand and shook Adam’s vigorously. He had a cigar in the other hand which twirled grey blue smoke over their heads.

 

“I’ve heard good reports about you, Adam.  Glad to be back no doubt?”

 

“Very much so.”

 

“Looking forward to seeing your family?”

 

“Yes, I am.”  Adam looked at Grant then with a curious expression on his face that made him feel quite uncomfortable. He glanced away, paying attention instead to the man who had entered with the coffee things.

 

He looked over at Adam once the coffee had been poured and placed on the table where the cups could be reached. “I’m sorry about the misinformation I sent you, I was told about what had supposedly happened and rather sentimentally wanted to convey my condolences, instead I should have had the facts examined before I wrote.”

 

“Thank you, sir.  I appreciated the spirit in which the letter was written…” Adam replied and drank some coffee in order to keep his mouth shut and to prevent more being said on the subject.

 

“Tell me all about Egypt…” Grant asked and from there the conversation was easy, more relaxed. 

 

Adam told Grant all that he thought the president would want to know, answering the relevant questions honestly, and the more he talked the more Grant relaxed.  They talked for half an hour, refreshed their coffee cups, talked a little more.  Then Babcock opened the door and approached Grant, murmured something and withdrew.  Grant sighed and rose to his feet. “I have another appointment.  I hope to see you soon, Adam.  What do you intend to do now, return home?”

 

Adam had his hat now in his hand, and squared his shoulders.  In his dress uniform he looked extremely smart, a tall broad shouldered man with his dark hair and dark eyes offset by the white of his cravat.  It was a moment when Grant hoped more than ever to retain the friendship of this quite outstanding person despite any problems existing at present.

 

“It depends on what my father answers in his cable…” Adam replied thoughtfully. “If it’s the answer I would like, then yes, I shall be going straight to the Ponderosa.  But if it’s the answer I’d prefer not to have, then I’ll be making my way to Montana.”

 

“Montana?” Grant said slowly, his cigar halfway to his mouth, and his eyes narrowed.

 

“Yes, Montana…there are some people I want to see there.” He paused. “I do have six months’ leave, if I remember rightly.”

 

“Yes, you do…” Grant drawled out the words, although his brain was working overtime trying to think of what ship needed an officer in charge right at that moment.

 

“Good.”  He turned, saluted. “Thank you for your time, Mr. President.”

 

“Wait—one moment—what do you intend to do in Montana?”

 

“Find some answers, perhaps prevent a war,” he shrugged, “Perhaps not, it may already be too late, but it won’t be without trying.”

 

Grant jutted out his jaw, his beard bristled and the dark eyes went like stones, then he nodded. “I wish you every success, Commodore.”

 

Adam smiled briefly and left the room, the door closed behind him and he strode with quick steps down the corridor.  President Grant listened as the footsteps faded away, and then rammed the cigar down into the ashtray with a deep frown furrowed his brow; he uttered one word, an expletive, and left the room by another door.

 

Chapter 100

 

The town simmered in the heat of a late summer’s day as the Cartwright family rode into town.  Hoss sat with Hester on the wagon seat and helped her down just outside the doctor’s surgery, and then went to the hardware store with a list which he pulled from his back pocket as he crossed the road.  Ben had ridden on ahead and dismounted outside the sheriff’s office, but by the time he had stepped onto the sidewalk Roy was already coming out to meet him,

 

“Everything alright, Ben?”

 

Ben fingered around his collar a little, glanced at the sky and then nodded, so that Roy wondered exactly what his friend was implying; he squinted his eyes a little more to get Ben in focus, and wished that he had remembered to put on his spectacles,

 

“Yeah, you don’t look like you’re alright?”

 

“Well, to be honest, Roy, since Joe left the Ponderosa some weeks back I’ve only had one cable from him.  It makes me nervous to think too much about what could be happening to him out there.”

 

“I can imagine,” Roy intoned and sighed, having had experience of Joe since he had been a small child he often thought that the boy’s shenanigans caused Ben most of the white hairs on his head, “Fact is, there ain’t much you can do about it now.”

 

“No, wasn’t much I could do about it then. Even with Mary Ann in his life, he still was determined to go.”

 

Roy was about to say something else when Tom, the clerk from the telegraph depot, came running across the road waving a slip of paper in his hand and calling out to Ben.  It was almost like a scene from a play, and he had been waiting his cue to appear, making as much drama from it as possible.

 

“Mr. Cartwright, this jest came over for you, thought you’d want it right away.” He slapped the piece of paper into the rancher’s hand and waited expectantly. “He’s wanting a reply as soon as possible, sir.”

 

“Oh, he is,” Ben smiled and thanked Tom before looking down at the cable, and then his face mantled with colour, his hand shook just a little, and he had to take in a sharp gulp of breath.

 

“Bad news?” Roy groaned.

 

“Quite the reverse,” Ben smiled widely, “Adam’s back; he’s in Washington and waiting for me to let him know where Joe is right now.”

 

“Good news then,” Roy nodded and looked at Tom who nodded as well, the pair of them waited expectantly for Ben to speak.

 

“I can’t wait to tell Hoss.”

 

“But, Mr. Cartwright, He’s waiting on a reply.”

 

“I know, but I want to tell Hoss first.” Ben cried and hurried to the hardware store to find his son.

 

Hoss was thumbing through some dollar notes and slamming them down on the counter when Ben entered the store with such force that the bell above the door jangled, drawing everyone’s attention towards him.

 

“With you in a minute,” Jacobson yelled and then looked at Hoss, “Fifty cents more.”

 

“Fifty cents?” Hoss groaned and began to count out his loose change, dropping it all on the counter where the coins rolled in all directions as Ben slapped him on the shoulder, “Pa, dang it, why’d you do thet fer?”

 

“News from Adam—he’s back home.”

 

“He is?  Shucks, how’d you find that out?”

 

“He sent a cable—”

 

“From home?” Hoss wrinkled his nose.

 

“From Washington.”  Ben looked at Hoss and wondered why his son was looking so confused, then continued, “He’s wanting to know where Joe is—you know what that means, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, sure I do.”

 

“Right, and he’s waiting for a reply—”

 

“Yeah?” Hoss raised his eyebrows, then turned to sweep up the spare coins still on the counter, “”Why didn’t he jest come on right home?”

 

“I don’t know.  He said he’s sending a letter; no doubt that will explain it.”

 

Hoss frowned, and walked with Ben out of the store and along the sidewalk with a perplexed frown on his face.  To his way of thinking it would have been so much better if Adam had just returned straight to the Ponderosa and—well—just been there.  He glanced at Ben, who was looking thoughtful. “So, what do we do now?”

 

Ben looked at Hoss thoughtfully, “We cable Adam and tell him where Joe is right now, or where he said he would be in the cable he sent on to us.”

 

“Sure wish he had jest come straight on home so’s we could have talked this all out.” Hoss grumbled.

 

“What would have been the point of that, Hoss?  You know it would have made you feel worse—”

 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

 

Hoss stuck his hands into his pockets and trudged alongside his father.  When Joe had ridden away from the Ponderosa it had taken all the love he had for Hester not to have been with him.  It was only the second time in Joe’s life that Hoss had let him ride off anywhere without him or Adam by his side, and Hoss felt guilty for that fact.  He knew that it wouldn’t have helped had Adam returned home and then gone on after Joe, he would have been relieved on one hand, glad to be with Hester but…and it was the ‘but’ that irritated him more than anything else.

 

Ben’s emotions were jumbled.  The joy and pleasure at knowing Adam was safely home were muted by the fact that he was as far away as Washington and that he wasn’t en route to the Ponderosa.  The underlying relief however, knowing that the enquiry concerning Joe must mean that Adam was intending to go in search of him, made him feel less worried about Joe; for some reason his total confidence in his capable and protective eldest son was like soothing balm to his nerves.

 

Tom was waiting for them when they arrived.  Licking the stub of his pencil, he waited with it poised above the pad; he looked alternately from Ben to Hoss, and the air of expectancy was almost tangible.

 

“Right then—” Ben bit down on his bottom lip and frowned, “It will take Adam longer to get to Indian Territory from Washington than it will Joe—”

 

“He’ll go by train quite a bit of the journey, Pa.”

 

“True enough…”  Ben sighed, “Alright, Tom, send this:  Adam glad to know you are safe back.  All are well here.” He grimaced a little as he tried to put all he wanted to say in cable language, “Joe last cabled from Logan, Utah.”

 

“Tell him Joe’s heading into Indian Territory by horse—”

 

“He’ll know that already—”

 

“Wal, I jest thought—”

 

“Let me think, will you, Hoss?”

 

There was silence and Tom licked the stub of his pencil again.

 

“Next destination was going to be a town called Jedbrough Springs.”

 

“Tell him we hope to see him soon.”

 

“Shush!”  Ben sighed, looked at the ceiling for a second. “We look forward to seeing you both  soon.  Pa, Hoss. Hester.”

 

Tom nodded, totalled it up and took the money and began to tap out the message.  Ben sighed, looked at Hoss and smiled. “Let’s go and get a drink” he said, “Hester will be meeting with Mary Ann, so I doubt if we’ll see her anytime soon.” He turned to Tom. “Let me know the minute there’s a reply.”

 

…………….

 

John Martin pushed his chair to one side and rose to his feet. He smiled at Hester, a smile that if he but knew it was becoming more like his Uncle Paul’s every day.

 

“Everything is fine, Hester.  From the way things are progressing it looks like you’ll have a healthy little baby there.”

 

“I hope so,” Hester said as she adjusted her clothing after the examination. She looked at John then and noted the shadows under his eyes.  He had lost weight, too. “How are things with you, John?  Are you completely recovered from what happened?”

 

“Yes, I’m alright, perfectly healthy.” He glanced over at her and then returned his attention to the prescription pad, “I want you to take one a day, Hester.  It’ll keep your blood strong, a lot of women don’t realise how much having a baby depletes the blood.  Make sure that Hop Sing cooks up lots of beef stews, oxtail soups.”

 

She buttoned up the last one on her blouse and took the slip of paper from him, glanced at it and frowned. “This is all new, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, indeed.  Medicine’s progressing all the time; we’re learning more and more about so much now, Hester, and I want this surgery to be completely up to date with everything. I’m afraid Uncle Paul is a little out of touch with things.”  He grinned wryly, knowing that she would realise he wasn’t meaning to be overly critical, but merely stating facts.

 

“I’m sorry how things were, with Ingrid—” she hesitated, and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders, “She was always a strange girl; I remember my mother telling me she was concerned for Milton but my father was convinced it was a marriage made in heaven.”

 

“Well, your mother was right, she had every reason for being concerned.  I felt so guilty about Milton, he was a good man and—and I feel quite ashamed of the part I played in making his ill health so much worse when I should have been the one caring for his welfare.”

 

Hester picked up her purse and shawl, looked at him thoughtfully, and was about to say something when the nurse knocked on the door and whispered something to John, upon which he rose to his feet and told her he had an emergency call.

 

She left feeling that something more should have been said, but she wasn’t sure which of the two of them should have been the one to say it.

 

Chapter 101

 

The knock on the door interrupted Adam’s writing and rather slowly he put down the pen and walked to the door.  A tall man stood there in civilian clothes but with a rather military bearing, he was a good-looking man, not  old, and the look on his face was one of concern, anxiety and caution.  Adam raised his eyebrows. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

 

“Commodore Cartwright?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m Captain Lancey, or rather I should say, ex-Captain Lancey. You are Joseph Cartwright’s brother from the Ponderosa?”

 

“I am,” Adam nodded,  “You had better come in.”

 

“I’m sorry for disturbing you like this but—” Lancey glanced around the room and saw the clothes neatly packed away in a suitcase awaiting the last item to be added before the lid came down.  “You’re leaving?”

 

“As soon as possible.”

 

“Well, I saw your name on the register and wanted to come and pay my respects.  I also wanted you to have the chance to know what really happened with regards to your brother…”

 

Adam narrowed his eyes and looked more closely to Lancey, then nodded, “Joseph?  Well, what did happen?”  He removed his gun belt and holster from a chair and beckoned Lancey to sit down, “I haven’t heard the full story as yet.”

 

“I doubt if you’ll ever get the full version from official quarters, Commodore.” Lancey smiled slowly and sat down. “You know that the commanding officer in charge of the convoy which apprehended your brother has since been killed in action?”

 

“Major Fleming?  Yes, I heard from my father about that—” Adam rolled the tip of his tongue over his teeth as though ruminating a little further upon that matter, and then he shrugged. “Well, Captain Lancey, go ahead and tell me your version of the event.”

 

Lancey frowned, “I suppose to you it may seem just another version, but it’s the truth, and I suppose I felt I needed you to know it for purely selfish reasons, I wanted to be exonerated from the situation.”

 

“Well, we all do things for purely selfish reasons, Captain, from time to time,” Adam replied and took the chair opposite the other man. “Now, please, go ahead.”

 

Lancey spent some time going into the details about the point of their mission, about Fleming’s character flaws in general and how only his contact with Custer had given him the position he had held.  He explained at length about the capture of the Cheyenne and Kiowa, and then of Joseph, until finally he brought the matter to a conclusion by telling Adam about the shooting that had injured Joe.

 

“It was some green rookie who fired the shots, he didn’t really know what was going on except that Fleming had said to shoot down any one who attempted to escape. Perhaps he was hoping to gain some credit with Fleming by acting faster than anyone else.  As it was Fleming was demoted as a result of what happened, and eventually he was killed in the skirmish on the borders of the Black Hills.” 

 

“And you resigned?”

 

“Yes; I was at West Point with Custer and he wanted me to go along with him, to join up into the 7^th Cavalry, but I couldn’t do it.  It’s going to be a blood bath, Commodore, and I don’t want to be a part of that kind of life anymore.”

 

“Whereabouts is Custer stationed now, do you know?”

 

“When he’s not currying favour here with the president or the press, he’s with his wife at Fort Abraham Lincoln.”  He got up from the chair and extended his hand, “Thank you for seeing me, I’m sorry if I held you up from urgent business.”  He paused then. “How exactly is Joe now?  Is he well?  Have you heard?”

 

“I had several letters from him while he was on his sick bed…he was  impatient to get up and about then, and—well, he’s  active now, and in good health.”

 

“I’m glad about that—thanks again.”

 

They shook hands and Adam walked with him to the door, opened it and stepped back for the ex-officer to leave,

 

“What will you do now, Captain?”

 

“I’m going to be a journalist,” Lancey replied. “I start work on Monday.”

 

“Well then, every success, sir.”

 

“Thank you, Commodore.”

 

As Lancey made his exit he passed one of the bellhops, who was bringing up a cablegram for the commodore.  Adam paid the necessary charges and tip, and then closed the door to step back into the privacy of his room.

 

His father’s words made him smile. He mused a while over the communication and then took out a map which he spread out over a console table.  After a short while he knew exactly where he was going to go and how.  With a satisfied nod of the head he resumed his letter to his father, including within it the information he had received from Lancey and details of his future movements.

 

In less than an hour he had replied by cable to his father as well as posted off his letter.  The majority of his belongings were stored in the hotel’s basement. Then he was on his way to the train station for the first step of his journey.

 

……………

 

The announcement that there was a visitor to see Lord Laurence Willoughby was greeted with some surprise by his hosts and with a flutter of excitement in the heart of one person in particular.  Rachel was on her feet with her heart beating frantically when the visitor stepped into the room, and even though he looked immaculate and handsome in his naval uniform, it wasn’t Adam Cartwright. Her feelings of disappointment were so obviously written on her face that Laurence, had he possessed a mean bone in his body, which he didn’t, would have laughed.

 

“O’Brien—” he shook Daniel’s hand vigorously and then introduced the officer to Said El Hassim and Anna, and then to Rachel who had now recovered herself and acknowledged him sweetly.  “Captain O’Brien is a close friend of Commodore Cartwright,” Laurence explained. “And a good friend of mine also.”

 

“Then, please, Captain, favour my home and be welcome.”  Said replied. “I was not aware of your coming to Cairo?”

 

“No, sir, my ship was berthed in the Suez Canal for some time while the ambassador held talks with the khedive.  I  believe you were present during some of them?”

 

“I was indeed.” Said replied and then looked at his wife. “We have to leave you, perhaps you would prefer to speak to your friend alone.”

 

The three left the room, although Rachel cast a glance over her shoulder to see a little more of the American as he stood, looking rather uncomfortable, in the centre of the room.

 

Once they were alone the two men shook hands again, and Daniel relaxed enough to take a seat. “How are you, Laurence?”  He leaned forward to look more closely at his friend. “That scar across your cheekbone looks quite amazing.  Who would expect an artist to carry a scar like that?”

 

“Only an artist who hadn’t carried out his commission properly perhaps,” Laurence laughed. “How did you get to hear about me?”

 

“Adam told me all about it.” Daniel smiled. “And I heard a few more details from the khedive himself.  He thinks it is all wonderful, of course.”

 

“I daresay.”  Laurence sighed and stretched out his leg, which was aching despite its being so well healed now.  “So you thought you would just call in for a visit, huh?”

 

“You didn’t really expect me to just sail on by, did you?”  Daniel laughed, “I’m still captain of the Baltimore.  I just wondered if you wanted a lift home.”

 

Sheer delight sprung up into Laurence’s face, “Do you mean that?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“I’d like nothing better, old chap.  Fact is, this place is getting to be quite boring.  I’ve things to do in life better than lying around on cushions all day baking in the sun.”

 

“And—er—what about the lady?”

 

“What lady?”

 

“Miss Rachel?”

 

“Ah well, yes.” Laurence bit down on his bottom lip and then shook his head, “Not sure, old chap.  Have to test the water first...just to make sure, you know?”

 

Laurence got to his feet and beckoned Daniel to follow him into another room.  It was cooler there, and had obviously been used by the young man as some kind of studio.  He took a cloth away from a canvas that was resting against the wall. “What do you think?”

 

“Is it her?”  Daniel leaned forward and stared at the portrait of Rachel Forster with admiration, not only at the subject matter but also at the skill of the man who had accomplished the paintwork.  “She’s lovely.”

 

“My best piece,” Laurence admitted, and after a few more minutes he lowered the cloth.  “But you saw her just now, Daniel—”

 

“Yes, I thought her quite striking even though she didn’t appear too happy at seeing me.”

 

Laurence laughed, “That, my friend, was because the announcement was that an American naval officer wished to see me…her hopes were raised.”

 

“—and dashed?”  Daniel quirked an eyebrow. “I see.”

 

“When do you leave here, Daniel?”

 

The American paused, shrugged, and admitted he was only in Cairo for another day, then he would be en route to America.  Laurence nodded thoughtfully and limped over to the balcony upon which he leaned. Rachel was there, alone and deep in thought, so he called out to her, and when she looked up at him and smiled just for a second or so he couldn’t—didn’t want to—speak, but he did, and asked her to come up and join them.

 

Chapter 102

 

The home of the sheik was of some interest to Daniel, who spent the time waiting for Rachel to join them with looking around and admiring the art work, the design and the airiness of the rooms.  He told Laurence that it was a far better place for him to have been convalescing in that the place he had on the Kuril Islands, which made Laurence laugh at the memory of such a hovel.

 

Rachel entered the room followed by a servant carrying food and drink for them.  She smiled at Laurence and then looked at Daniel, then extended her hand to him,

 

“Hello, Captain O’Brien, I’m sorry, my earlier introduction to you was rather hurried.”

 

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Forster, I’ve heard quite a bit about you from a mutual friend of ours.” he smiled as he shook her hand and looked into the blue eyes, he felt just a little guilty at having referred to her in this manner, as the reference to her from Adam had been slight, and her reaction indicated that she may have thought it was far more than that. He cleared his throat. “I met up with Commodore Cartwright in Tripoli—”

 

She blushed prettily and turned her attention to pouring out drinks for them all, while the servant placed bowls of sweet candies and dainties on tables for them.  She then raised her face to look at O’Brien, and gave him a smile that made him realise that she had indeed assumed the conversation about her had been more than a fleeting reference.

 

“Was the commodore well, when you saw him?”

 

“Very well and glad to be getting back home.” Daniel replied, he sipped the spiced drink and nodded, then ate some candy which was delicious, “By that I mean home to the Ponderosa.  He misses his family a lot.”

 

“Have you been to his home—this Ponderosa?”

 

“Yes, I have, in fact.” He smiled and glanced over at Laurence who was watching her carefully; it seemed to Daniel, a romantic at heart, that perhaps there was a lot of affection for her in that quarter, and he began to feel rather awkward with the conversation being so centred on Adam Cartwright. 

 

“What is it like?  It’s part of America that I have never been to.” She turned now to Laurence, “Have you been there, Laurie?”

 

“No, I’m English, remember?”

 

She laughed then, as though used to being teased by him, and then looked at Daniel,

 

“Tell us about it, Captain, please.”

 

Daniel gave her a mock bow with a cup in one hand and a tasty morsel of candy in the other. “As Madam wishes—” and with a smile he finished the candy, washed it down with the drink and then proceeded to tell them about the Ponderosa, and how things had been on his  first visit there with his cousin Jotham.

 

His description of the attack by the gunmen as they rode through the Ponderosa, how Jotham had been shot and then out of the blue had come help from some unknown saviour who had actually been Adam had Rachel clasping her hands in excitement and poor Laurence groaning inwardly.

 

“That was wonderful, what an adventure,” She exclaimed, and then looked at Laurence with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m afraid it rather makes a fox hunt sound rather dull, Laurie.”

 

“Yes, I was afraid you would say that,” Laurence replied and shrugged his shoulders, while he gave Daniel a roll of the eyes as the only way to express his annoyance at him.

 

Daniel took his cue well and stood up, explained that he was due back to his ship in an hour and needed to leave.  He looked at Laurence meaningfully, a little nudge towards making it known to Rachel that he would be leaving with Daniel the next day, but Laurence was preoccupied with other thoughts clouding his mind and didn’t notice.

 

“Shall we see you again, before you leave Cairo?” Rachel asked the captain as she walked with him to the door.

 

“I hope so, Miss Forster.” he glanced over at Laurence. “My ship leaves at midday.”

 

Laurence gave a start, as though just realising that Daniel was telling him something significant, he limped over to join them both.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Daniel.”

 

He didn’t look at Rachel to see if there was any reaction to his statement from her, just looked at Daniel, who nodded, shook his hand before turning to Rachel. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Forster.”

 

“Thank you, Captain.”

 

Laurence waited for some moments for Daniel to actually leave the premises before he turned to her, saw the set look in her face, the wariness in her eyes.

 

“He mentioned that I could go back with them, if I was ready by tomorrow.” he murmured as he limped back to where he could sit comfortably.

 

“Why didn’t you say something while he was here?” she said with a touch of anger in her voice.

 

He retorted sharply, “Because you spent all the time he had available talking about that blasted Ponderosa!”

 

She looked at him then, tossed her head in the air and walked away from him to the balcony.  He was instantly by her side, and placed a hand on her arm.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to speak so sharply, it’s just that the opportunity has come for me to return some way back to England with a friend, instead of having to wait to make other arrangements.  It—well—there just wasn’t time to talk to you about you, surely you can see that?”

 

“Yes, of course.”  She bowed her head and ran a finger along the length of the railing in front of her, “But what about me?”

 

“What about you?”  He smiled and turned her to face him, “You’re not going to pretend now that you’ll miss me?”

 

“I shall miss you, Laurence.  I’m not pretending either.” she sighed, “You’ve become a good friend, more like a—”

 

“—brother?”

 

“Yes, more like a brother.  You don’t mind my saying so, do you?”

 

“Yes, of course I mind.” He lowered his head and dropped his hands to his side, then turned to look down from the balcony at the garden beneath them, “Of course I mind,” he repeated. “You must know that I care about you, Rachel?”

 

“I thought perhaps you were getting fond of me, Laurie, but—”

 

“Fond of you?” he shook his head and sighed, “I wish I were merely fond of you, it would make leaving you much easier.”

 

She said nothing. She could have said “Then stay,” but what good would that have done either of them?  He would have felt daily fonder of her, and then the parting would have been harder for them both.  She thought of Adam and bowed her head under the weight of her own feelings. It was a travesty really, she thought, she in love with someone who didn’t really know her at all, and unable to love Laurence who stood by her side, longing for her to return his affections.

 

“I’m sorry, Laurie.” She sighed, and looked at him, her face crumpled a little with the sadness she felt. “I wish I could love you, instead of—feeling the way I do for someone I may never see again.”

 

“It seems rather a waste of life, don’t you think, Rachel?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Living here with your sister, in a land you dislike so much, while loving a man who—”

he paused, and looked at her, then turned away. “Well, I think it best that I leave tomorrow, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, I do.” 

 

He didn’t want to hear her say that, and the words hurt him, cut him to the quick. A shiver went down his back, and he walked into the room, leaving her standing on the balcony.

 

“Laurence—don’t walk away from me.” 

 

He heard the sound of her skirts brushing against her legs as she hurried to follow him. He summoned all his willpower to banish the feelings he had for her from his mind so these last hours would be spent in the kind, loving friendship they had always had. Thus,  when she put her hand on his arm he was able to turn and smile down at her. “I’m sorry, Rachel, I didn’t mean to be impolite.”

 

“I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to be so blunt.”

 

“It’s better to be that way really.” He smiled, and placed his hand on top of hers. “Are you really going to stay here?”

 

“I could come with you—tomorrow?” she looked into his face. “Couldn’t I?”

 

He said nothing for a second or so, just so that he could look at the piquant little face gazing up at him, then he shook his head. “No, you would need too many papers to be rubber stamped for approval.  It would take time which Daniel doesn’t have; besides, sailors are superstitious fellows. They don’t like women on board.”

 

Her disappointment was apparent, but she gulped back anything she felt like saying so he led her along to where they could sit down.

 

“The last woman who was on board the Baltimore was a prisoner, taken on board by Adam for treason.  She twice tried to kill him, nearly succeeded the last time.” He poured out the shay (tea) and handed it to her. “Her name was Cassandra, and she was beautiful to look at, really beautiful.”

 

“You knew her?”

 

“Yes, I knew her,” he sighed. “She was not so beautiful inside though…rotten through and through in fact.”

 

“So, what you’re saying is that sailors don’t like women on board their ships, and this experience with this Cassandra woman rather proved the point?”

 

“Quite right, my dear.” He smiled down at her.

 

“So how am I going to get back to America?”

 

“You really want to leave here?”

 

“Yes, I do” she looked at him and smiled. 

 

“Best book passage on one of the cruise ships.  Said will help you, he knows all there is to know about the business.”

 

She nodded and relaxed a little while her mind buzzed with plans and ideas, she glanced over at Laurence who now seemed immersed in thoughts of his own.

 

“Laurie, will you see Adam again?”

 

“I don’t know.  I never thought I would see him again after the Kuril affair, but politics threw us together.  I won’t be going to America, Rachel; I’m only going part way with the Baltimore, then getting a ship to take me the rest of the way home, to England.”

 

“Oh, I see.” She frowned, and then stood up. “Captain O’Brien might see him again though, might he not?”

 

“Possibly.”

 

“If I write a letter would you give it to Captain O’Brien to send on to the commodore?”

 

He looked at her intently for an instant, as though weighing up the pros and cons to such an idea, then he nodded and smiled. “I’ll give you something you can send with your letter, Rachel, something for him to remember you by…” He smiled and she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

 

“Thank you, darling Laurie.”

 

How he would have loved to have taken her into his arms and held her close, kissed her lips and told her over and over that he loved her.  But he smiled, nodded, released her hand and watched her as she hurried from the room to write her letter.

 

For some reason the last words of Sydney Carton echoed eerily in his mind:

 

“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”

 

Chapter 103

 

When Rachel reached her room she paced the floor for some time in an attempt to control her emotions.  She was unsure what was causing her to feel so anxious, so disturbed. Was it possible that she was fooling herself into thinking that Adam Cartwright could possibly have any feelings for her whatsoever?  A few brief meetings, during which she had not done anything spectacularly significant, snatched conversations that were neither witty nor sophisticated, a brief kiss at a time when she was feeling emotional anyway, and he could, perhaps, just have been feeling sorry for her.

 

She wrung her hands and then stopped, annoyed at being so feeble as to do such a thing.  Had she imagined something that was not there because she had desperately wanted it to be?  All the weeks that had passed there had been no communication from him, and even the allusion that Daniel O’Brien had made led nowhere as whatever was said the Captain did not repeat to her. 

 

She sat at her desk and pulled paper and pen towards her, and for a while just stared at the blank sheet.  Its whiteness gave her a sense of panic; it seemed to be saying “Well, what are you waiting for?  Write a sonnet?  Write a declaration of love.  Write something!”

 

She picked up the pen and dipped it in ink and wrote down the date.  This oh-so-important letter had to be perfect and already she had blobbed ink onto the paper. Her hand was shaking.  Stupid, stupid woman.  She put the pen down and pressed fingers into her temples.

 

Was she in love with a man or a memory?  “Come on, Rachel, this is the time to be honest with yourself,” and she reached out for the pen once again.  “Are you in love with Adam Cartwright or just in love with the thought of being in love?”  She put the pen down.  “There’s a man in the other room who loves you, really loves you…look at the painting he made of you. Only a man in love could have done such a beautiful painting from such insipid material.” 

 

She stood up and walked from the room and into the other room where Laurence was carefully emptying a small cupboard of his possessions, frugal though they were as they had been bought piecemeal during his recuperating at the El Hassim’s. 

 

“Laurence—”

 

He paused and turned to look at her; he had some paint brushes in his hands, and it reminded her of the days she had spent posing for the portrait. They had been pleasant days during which they had joked, teased and laughed the hours away.  He lowered his head and put the brushes into an oblong box which he then placed into his case.  “Yes, Rachel, what can I do for you?”

 

He was detaching himself from her, from them.  She could sense it already and felt regret about losing something that had been so special.  She stepped further into the room. “Laurence, I am sorry—”

 

“What about?”

 

“The thing is I don’t know if I am being incredibly stupid or not.  Do I love him?  Or do I just want to love him and be loved by him?  How do I know?”

 

“It’s difficult, isn’t it, when the person isn’t here to tell you, or show you.”

 

“Yes.  I’m hanging onto a memory of something and I’m afraid that over the weeks I’ve given myself a false impression.”

 

He heaved a sigh, his shoulders sagging, and he looked wistfully at her before looking away. “I am sorry, Rachel.  Unfortunately there isn’t much I can do to help.”

 

“I’m frightened of making a mistake.”

 

“Such as what?”

 

“Leaving here and travelling all that way to find that he’s already married…”

 

“He isn’t married.”  His voice was dull, flat. He placed the box more snugly into a corner of the case.

 

“Or that he’ll look at me and wonder who I am.”

 

“He’ll know who you are—” he looked at her. “He’ll have these to remember you by.” and he held up the sketches that he had made in preparation for the portrait, preliminary sketches taken of her from every possible angle.

 

“But he may think it was stupid of me to have gone there, he’ll laugh at me and—”

 

“He wouldn’t do that; he’s one of the kindest men I know.”

 

“I don’t know if he loves me.”

 

“You won’t know if you stay here.”

 

He was rolling the sketches up  carefully now and then he slipped them into a cylinder.  He glanced at her. “I’ll put your letter in here when you have finished it, and then seal it.” 

 

She nodded then and walked slowly back to her room, picked up the pen and began to write.

 

“Dear Commodore Abdulkarim—Adam,

 

It is a while since we parted in Egypt, yet I find myself constantly thinking about you, and wondering, still, who you are and which of the three men you could possibly be.  Perhaps you have already forgotten your time here, and those of us still here at present.  I would like to think that you have not, that you have some fond memories of us all, and of one, in particular.

 

I am hoping that  soon I shall be in America again. Laurence is leaving for England tomorrow; he is going to sail on the Baltimore with Captain O’Brien who came here today and told me much about your Ponderosa.

 

When I was young and my brother died, I wandered into the rural areas around our home.  I sat beneath a tree and thought of the people who had once lived there.  The tree was  old and I imagined, perhaps, times when children played beneath its branches.  Or lovers sat whispering their promises to one another.  I got to wondering about these people and began to do some digging around and among the artefacts I found this ring—you may have noticed the ring I wear?  I found it with some other possessions that must have belonged to a young woman, wealthy, and I have worn it ever since. 

 

Please keep it as a memento of someone you thinks often of you, dear Commodore Abdulkarim.

 

Rachel Forster

Cairo Egypt.”

 

……………….

 

In her room Mary Ann Hornby lit the lamp; its soft glow was warm and comforting as she placed it upon the dressing table.  She sat down and looked at herself in the mirror, and then untied her hair and let it fall over her shoulders.

 

Again she looked at herself in the mirror, and saw the anxious eyes peering back at her.  He had been gone just a few weeks and yet it seemed as though he had been gone for—oh so long.  She picked up the picture of them both that Joe had insisted on getting taken a short while before he left. She had placed it lovingly in a silver frame.  She now looked deep into the eyes of the young man in the picture, as though by doing so she could see the love that had been there for her every time she had looked at him.  She kissed the glass, and then for a moment sat there with the picture in her hands, wishing with all her heart that he was there now.

 

“Oh Joe, I’m not  brave, not without you here.  I’m not good enough for you, darling; I’m silly and weak, and I feel lost when you’re not here.  Keep safe, please come home soon. I miss you.” She kissed the glass once again, “I love you,” she whispered and set the picture back down so that the light shone down upon it and showed to the world two happy people, a lovely couple, a man and a woman in love.

 

Chapter 104

 

Jedbrough Springs was a town in the middle of nowhere that gave the impression that it had sprung up overnight during a desert storm.  Joe’s horse went at a steady walk down the main street, and Joe felt as though he had ridden through a hundred similar towns and that the people walking along the wooden sidewalks had just been lifted up from one town to continue exactly the same lives as they had lived in the previous one.

 

He was tired, his back ached and his legs felt heavy, so he was more than relieved to see the hotel sign straight ahead.  He steered the horse forwards, taking it slowly as he looked around at the buildings, and the people.  Several children ran down the sidewalk, old enough to be at school but obviously not so he assumed it to be Saturday.  He knew it couldn’t be a Sunday because the shops were open and the children wore their everyday clothes and there were no bells tolling.  He’d lost track of the days sometime ago.

 

He dismounted, paused and straightened his back while wondering when it was that he had become so old.  Surely he would never have felt like this some few years ago.  He thumbed back his hat and tied the reins to the hitching rail, unbuckled the saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder,  before stepping onto the sidewalk, removing his hat as two young ladies strolled towards him, they simpered and giggled and passed on with a backward glance at the young man who was not entering the hotel.

 

The clerk was thin and stringy with a mop of yellow hair and looked at Joe as though he had committed some mortal sin merely by walking into the building.  Joe frowned and removed his hat again.

 

“Anything wrong?” he asked by way of curiosity.

 

“Should there be?”

 

“No, I guess not.”

 

“What can I do for you?”

 

“I’d like a room.”

 

“Single or double?”

 

“Single—thanks.”

 

The register was pushed towards him and as he signed the key to the room was tossed onto the counter, he picked it up and looked at the clerk with a frown. “Are you happy in your job?”

 

“What’s it to you?” came the surly response as the clerk turned the register around to look at the name written on it.  “Joseph Cartwright…that’s you, huh?”

 

“You saw me just sign it…” Joe’s voice trailed away in disbelief.  He took the keys and slipped them into his pocket. “Is there a bath room in the hotel?”

 

“Next door to your room.”

 

Joe said nothing more but made his way up the stairs, pushed open the door to a small but clean room, and walked over to the window.  He glanced up and down the main road. Traffic was sparse; most of the people on the streets were women and children.  He flipped his hat onto the chair, dropped the saddle bags onto the floor and then dropped himself onto the bed. 

 

He fell asleep within minutes.  The sounds from outside his window were muted until they faded completely away.  When he eventually opened his eyes it was dusky outside and the sounds of the town were different.  It was winding down from its daily life and gearing up for night time noise and brawls.

 

Mindful that he hadn’t tended to his horse he made his way downstairs again and led him to the livery stable.  The livery owner was a fat, round greasy-looking man with a bald head, he didn’t speak but answered in nods and winks of the eye as he took the horse and led it into its stall.  When Joe asked how much it would cost to keep the horse stabled there his answer came with a jerk to the thumb which meant he had to look at a board to see the prices. 

 

He shrugged, paid a sufficient amount to cover the cost for the next two days, and then left the horse eating its head off with some good oats.  Once again he was impressed by the cleanliness of the property.  He stood for a moment wondering what to do next and then strolled over to the telegraph office, which had a light flickering through the window.

 

The door was locked.  He shook it just in the hope of the proprietor taking pity on him and opening it but no one came so he walked away and headed for a small eaterie on the corner of the street.  The bell above the door jangled pleasantly when he stepped inside.

 

“Is it too early for something to eat, ma’am?”  He smiled and removed his hat, only one other occupant sat at a table waiting to be served.

 

“Take a seat, Mister; what would you like?”  The woman smiled as she handed him the menu and took in at a glance that the young man was handsome, had perfect teeth—which was not common—and looked as though he had ridden a long way.  When he ordered beef stew and dumplings she wasn’t particularly surprised; he looked the kind of guy who would prefer good substantial home cooking.

 

“Come far?” she asked after she had bellowed the order through to the kitchen and was pouring him the obligatory coffee

 

“Far enough,” he stretched out his legs, “Nevada.”

 

“That is some distance.  Where you headed?”

 

“Oh, just keeping going, I guess.”  he slipped his hat onto the chair and looked around him, “It’s pretty quiet in here?”

 

“Yes, the rush hasn’t started yet.” she smiled again, “What part of Nevada d’you come from, Handsome?”

 

“Virginia City.”

 

She nodded, thought for a moment and left him to his coffee, a few minutes later she returned with the beef stew and dumplings which she placed carefully in front of him.

 

“Staying here long?”

 

“Not really, just passing through.  Thanks, this looks really good.”

 

“Hope you enjoy it.  Apple pie afterwards, if that’s alright?”

 

“Be more than alright, ma’am, thank you.”

 

She smiled and returned to the desk by the door, the bell jangled and several more people entered and were taken to their tables.  It was a small town, just like so many others, but as far as Joe was concerned, it was the best beef stew and dumplings he had eaten in a long while.

 

……………………….

 

The train seemed to go so slowly at times that Adam felt the strongest of desires to get out and give it a push.  He got out to stretch his legs every time the train stopped at some depot or other, but also to get rid of the nervous tension that was building up in him from being forced to a state of inactivity for days at a time.  He found himself twitching with impatience, tapping his hands on his knees, or his fingers on the arm rest or window frame. 

 

The journey seemed never ending.  Whenever possible he sent a cable to his father to let him know that he was inching closer to Jedbrough Springs and on one occasion he also sent Joe a cable asking him to stay there until he arrived.  This was a shot in the dark in the hope that Joe would not have arrived before the cable, and galloped off into Indian Territory.

 

Sometimes he was engaged in conversation with fellow travellers who found the journey every bit as tedious, but passengers were not exactly bountiful and most seemed to be in different compartments from his own.  Once or twice he had to change trains which meant frustratingly long delays to the journey while he waited for another connection.

 

His brain whirled with memories, recent events, past events, faces that now meant nothing and belonged to people whose names he had long forgotten, remembrances of those he had loved who were now dead, or long gone away.  This great repository of many sundry strands to one’s life he found himself dipping into frequently during the journey. 

 

He wondered how Laurence was getting on, which led him to think about Rachel. He could see her face clearly, those amazingly blue eyes and the way she tilted her chin.  He wondered what ever would become of her.  He regretted he hadn’t taken up the Sheik’s offer of a horse race; he would have enjoyed having that memory to linger over.

 

At last the train drew to a screeching halt.  He clambered down the steps onto yet another depot and dropped his bag on the ground, looked around him, and nodded.  He was now on the outskirts of the lands he understood so well, the mesas, the sprawl of dry earth, and the drifting sands.  He looked around him and entered the depot, glanced at the dust-covered clock and asked the clerk where he could get a horse.

 

“Ain’t cha waiting for another connection?” the clerk peered at him from under his glossy black peaked cap.

 

“No, I’m heading out to Jedbrough Springs.”

 

“Oh, ain’t no train heading that away, Mister.”

 

“That’s why I need to get a horse,” Adam explained calmly as he slowly buckled the gunbelt around his waist. He had not felt the need to wear it while on the train, but now he felt exposed and vulnerable in this raw new town that had sprung up because of the trains.

 

“Take the main street, turn left—you’ll see the sign for the livery.  Ol’ Manson will see you alright for a good horse.”

 

“Any hotel here yet?”

 

“Sure, Mister, just across the way.”

 

Adam nodded and picked up his bag, then he stepped out through the other door of the depot into the heavy heat of the main street of Drysdale.  The hotel, its paint already blistering from the previous summers, was, as the clerk had said, just across the way.  He crossed the street, and entered the building through the pretentious glass doors.

 

The receptionist was a woman and smiled at him, noted that he looked tired and was obviously not inclined to chatter. She passed him the register and watched him sign it, then handed him the key.

 

“Up the stairs, first landing, turn left, second door along.”

 

“Thank you.”  He turned to mount the stairs but was prevented from doing so immediately when she called out that there was a restaurant in the hotel and if he wanted a hot meal there would be one served in just an hour’s time.

 

With that information tucked under his belt Adam mounted the stairs and found his room, closed the door behind him and dropped his bag on the floor, flipped his hat onto the chair and dropped onto the bed. 

 

In his estimation, if the horse was strong and healthy, he would reach Jedbrough Springs within two more days.

 

Chapter 105

 

In the morning Joe ate a hearty breakfast washed down with several cups of strong coffee. The clientele were as numerous as the previous evening, and he watched them casually as he chomped through his bacon, eggs and rye bread. The day was beginning, and for them it would be the same as the previous day and the day before that, he wondered what had brought them to this dry and dismal settlement and where they had begun their journeys.

 

Still, he mused as he paid the woman, every journey started someplace; his own Pa was testament to that fact. He smiled at her as she gave him some change.

 

“How long has this town been here?”

 

“About 18 months.” She returned his smile with one of her own which was charming in itself. “It kinda sprung up because there was talk of the railway line coming through this way. Should be here in about a year I reckon.  That’s what will happen all along through Indian Territory, young man; you can’t stop progress.”

 

He looked at her thoughtfully and then left the building. Progress. He slipped his hat onto his thick hair and pulled it down to shade his eyes. Was that what they called it? He could remember the last time he had ridden this way. There had been no trains then. He glanced around him, and gulped at the realisation that he was all part of this progress. He had taken part of the journey here by train, but last time it had been pack mule and horseback. There had been a magnificent sweep of wild desert land, high plateaus, the mesas, and there had been wildlife along where the river flowed.

 

He kept his eyes down as he walked to the Telegraph Office and pushed open the door. He was early, the first there but he was greeted with nod of the head and a smile,

 

“Anything I can do for you, Mister?”

 

“Anything for me? Joseph Cartwright?”

 

“Jo—seph Cart—wright.” He pulled down the spectacles that had been perched on his forehead and peered at the rack, then nodded. “A whole bumper crop came for you, Mister.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, sir, and one just arrived only a few minutes ago.”

 

Joe smiled; his eyes twinkled and he pushed his hat back and took the envelopes from the other man with an eagerness that made the clerk grin back at him. “Been travelling long?”

 

“Long enough.” Joe replied as he walked to the window so that the light fell across the papers he was reading.

 

There was one from Mary Ann, urging him to be careful and reminding him of how much she loved him. He sighed a little over that and went into a little daydream, imagining her wondering whether or not she should mention her feelings for him in front of Tom, the clerk there in Virginia City who would be sure to broadcast it to the whole world. The next cable came from his father, and he nearly he dropped it as though it were a red hot coal because the news was so unexpected. Adam was in America—and not only that, he was en route to join up with him. His exclamation of surprise and delight didn’t fail to impress the clerk, who asked him if he was alright.

 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, thank you. Just some good news.”

 

“Want to send a reply?”

 

“Yes—thank you, I will.”

 

“I done finished writing out the message that jest come over for you…do you want to reply to that one as well?” He held the slip of paper over. Joe took it with a smile on his face, which broadened as he read.

 

“Joe—stop—here in Drysdale two days from you—stop—will leave mid-day meet you at Jedbrough Springs—stop—don’t proceed without me—stop Adam”

 

“More good news?” the clerk asked

 

“Yep, more good news.” Joe grinned and stuffed the papers in his pocket

 

“Don’t you want to send replies to them thar other messages?”

 

“Yes—yes, of course.” he leaned against the counter and creased his brow as he thought of what to say to Mary Ann and to Ben.

 

“Of course, I’ve only got all day to stand about and wait, y’know?” the clerk smiled as he spoke but it made Joe laugh and he hurriedly wrote down the messages, the assurances of his love for her, and his safe arrival and the message received from Adam for Ben.

 

He listened as the clerk tapped out the messages that would buzz along the lines all the way to their destination. This was progress too; communication like this would normally take weeks or months and now the wonders of the modern age. He frowned again; it came with a cost though.

 

“Where did you come from, to live here?” he asked the clerk as he scribbled down a reply to Adam

 

“Pittsburgh.”

 

“Do you miss it?”

 

“Some things.” The clerk took the paper from Joe and scanned it through and then began to tap out the message, “Some things I’m glad to be rid of, and it’s good to know I’m at the start of a new beginning here. A new life in a new town. Not many get that chance, you know? How about yourself?”

 

“Just passing through.”

 

“Well, won’t be long before there will be townships being built all over this territory. Seems odd to think it was just where Indians and buffalo roamed before.”

 

“Do you have any trouble with Indians?”

 

“No, they retreated back to the hills, heard tell they were all trekking to be together there. They leave us alone because there ain’t no point in them staying here anymore.”

 

“Why not?” Joe frowned, “This isn’t such a large town, it could be wiped out easily enough, you’ve no cavalry to defend you.”

 

“Yeah, but there ain’t no buffalo, are there?” he shrugged. “No buffalo, no Indians. As simple as that.”

 

Joe’s heart sank. So this explained Stalking Horse’s words about the food being taken from their mouths, the mouths of his people. No buffalo.

 

“Where’ve they all gone then—the buffalo?”

 

“Don’t you read nothing where you come from?” The clerk turned round and rested his elbows on the counter and his chin in his cupped hands, “The government paid the buffalo hunters to kill ’em all. Shipped hundreds back east, then when folk didn’t want the meat they just stripped the skin and heads off’n ’em. I’ve seen them so high on the train wagons you wouldn’t believe.”

 

“But what about the meat ?”

 

“Just left to rot where they fell. Hundreds of them. I saw ’em as we travelled here, boy, vast numbers of them, rotting and black, just there where they fell.” The memory was obviously not a happy one; he sighed and shrugged. “It worked better than a fight. Starved ’em away.” He turned away to check his paperwork as though embarrassed by the admission he had made. “You going to wait for a reply?”

 

Joe shook his head. He left the building and stood on the sidewalk, a solitary figure with his head buzzing with information. He felt more than ever that his journey to the Black Hills was justified.

 

…………………..

 

Adam leaned on the corral rails and watched the horses as they trotted about the enclosure. He wanted a good strong horse, and one nimble on its feet. He didn’t want any broken winded old hack either, which was what Mr. Manson seemed intent on wanting to sell him. Eventually he started to walk away, which prompted Mr. Manson to ask if he wanted a horse or not?

 

“Of course I want a horse, just not one of those.” Adam shrugged, and raised one eyebrow.

 

“I got a few more in the stalls. Care for a look at them?”

 

Adam nodded and turned back, following Manson into the stables. Several horses, good-looking ones, continued eating, pulling at the hay bags as they both passed. Adam raised his eyebrows.

 

“These are good looking animals.”

 

“The best I’ve got.” Manson replied with some pride.

 

Adam took his time to check them over, looked into their mouths, checked their teeth, then ran his hands over their withers, noted their chests and the then asked on to lead one of them out. He watched it as it pranced free of its stall and followed the livery owner out into the sunlight. He asked for another and then another, checking them and noting them. He nodded eventually and decided to take the first horse. Manson clenched his teeth and said nothing, feeling sure that had he said a single word of complaint the wallet would be returned to Adam’s back pocket and he would walk away.

 

By midday Adam had his horse, it was complete with saddle and bridle, and had a new shoe on its left back hoof just in case. He didn’t involve himself in any discussions, he checked with the telegraph office whether or not he had received any reply to his cables, there were none. Deciding that it was unnecessary to wait around for them he mounted the horse and turned its head towards Jedbrough Springs.

 

…………………….

 

By nightfall Adam had made a comfortable camp. It was good to sleep under the stars again, a fire burning nearby, the horse hobbled safely and his gun close to hand. He had ridden all day with the sun on his back, and a slightly cooler breeze blowing in his face. It seemed as though Jedbrough Springs would never come into sight and he placed the coffee pot carefully into the fire while the rabbit he had caught earlier sizzled over the flames.

 

How often had he thought of nights like this when wrestling with sleep on that narrow bed on board ship. The cabins never felt big enough, high enough or light enough. Now he had all of God’s wide spaces all around him and only the soft sigh of the breeze sifting through the shrubs to disturb him.

 

He reached out for some of the meat which burnt his fingers causing him to drop it into the fire. He didn’t know whether to blow on his fingers to cool them or to forage for the lost meat and was about to do one or the other when there came the sound of a soft footfall nearby. He tensed slightly, and reached out for his gun with one hand, rising carefully as he did so.

 

“Heck, Adam, I could have shot you a dozen times over by now.”

 

The slight tremor in the words told their own story, and Adam was standing and turning to look in the direction of the voice even as Joe came hurrying towards him. They smiled, wide grins on their faces, eyes wide and excited.

 

“Where did you spring from?” Adam exclaimed.

 

“Does it matter?” Joe laughed.

 

“I can’t believe it—”

 

“I couldn’t hang around in that town knowing you were so close—”

 

“Joe—” hand to mouth, gulp back the emotion, arms spread out “Joe—it’s great to see you. Come here, brother—”

 

They hugged as brothers should, slapped one another on the back, exclaimed at the fact that they could have missed each other on the road. Adam called Joe an idiot for not staying where he was but then, whenever did Joe do what he was told? Joe laughed and said his brother was getting deaf, he’d been standing there five minutes before he made his move.

 

Then they couldn’t say anything more, but looked intently at one another as though to mark the changes and to note the same familiar things and to just enjoy the moment. There was more to come, yes, much more to come.

 

Chapter 106

 

It took little time for the brothers to slip into the pattern they would have gone through whenever work or leisure caused them to camp out.  Joe saw to his horse and hobbled it close to Adam’s, unbuckling the saddle bags and saddle and bringing them close to the fire.  Adam, in the meantime, checked the rabbit, the coffee and built up the fire a little more; his face creased into a wide smile when Joe carefully unwrapped a perfect loaf of bread from his bags and explained it was courtesy of the restaurant owner in town.

 

“Well, how are things…”

 

“Whereabouts did you…”

 

They chuckled, Adam poured coffee into their mugs while Joe ripped the bread in half, handing one half to Adam as Adam passed him his mug,

 

“Where did you go this time, Adam?”

 

“Egypt.”

 

“Really?”  Joe widened his eyes. “Like in the Bible Egypt?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Pyramids?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Joe buried his nose in the coffee, and then sipped some, he frowned slightly. “Why there?”

 

“The President’s due to go on a visit there...heard talk about an assassination attempt being made on him…”  Adam pulled meat from the charred carcase that was dripping fat into the flames, he folded it between some bread and stuffed it into his mouth.

 

“So why did you have to go?  You’re a sailor, not someone who has to work out who’s going to shoot who.”

 

“Oh, it was a bit more involved than that.” Adam washed his mouthful of food down with the coffee and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “To be honest, I felt as though I was just being set up as a decoy.  Anyway, it worked out in the end.”

 

Joe frowned, shrugged slightly and stared into the fire before reaching out to pull meat from the rabbit which promptly fell into the flames amid a showering of sparks. Adam laughed and left Joe to retrieve what he could.  

 

“Did you see the pyramids?”

 

“I did.  From an architectural and engineering point of view they are a marvellous achievement.”  He ate some more and stared into the flames, which were settling down again after the flare from all the rabbit grease. “It was interesting. I got to ride a camel.”

 

“Shucks, you did?”

 

“Hhm.” He nodded and licked his fingers. “How about you, Joe?  How are things with you, and how’s Pa and Hoss, and Hester?”

 

“Well, it’s getting difficult to know which of the two are expecting this baby, to be honest.  Hoss is eating for four I swear—” he grinned slightly and then nibbled at the meat on the bone. “This is a skinny rabbit, Adam.”

 

“Best I could do; wasn’t expecting guests.” Adam replied, and stood up to check over the horses. “How’s Pa?”

 

“Pa’s fine, just fine.”  Joe frowned, and concentrated on eating for a moment, no point in mentioning that Pa was getting older, because that was a fact of life, they all were, “Any girls in Egypt?”

 

“Of course—” Adam grinned, returned to the fire, and sat down. “Hundreds of them.”

 

“Pretty ones?”

 

“Very.”

 

“Any in particular?”  He glanced over sharply to see Adam’s initial response knowing from experience that those first seconds were always the best before the shutters went up. He wasn’t disappointed, “What was she like?”

 

“Oh,  pretty.”

 

“Is that all you’re going to tell me about her?” Joe grinned and wiped grease from his face. “I mean, you did like her, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes,  much so.”  Adam frowned a little uncomfortably and stared into the fire. He shrugged. “But she’s a long way from here, and unfortunately, a lot younger than I am.”

 

Joe laughed then, and tossed a bone into the fire. “Wouldn’t have worried you at one time.”

 

“Well, it does now.”  Adam cradled the cup between his hands and then drank some more coffee. “Tell me about Mary Ann.”

 

“Mary Ann?”  Joe’s eyebrows shot up as high as his grin was wide  “Well, once I get home I’m going to marry her.  We got engaged before I left.”

 

“She didn’t mind you leaving her behind, then?”

 

“No, not at all.  She understood that I needed to come here.”

 

Adam looked over at his brother and saw the emotions flitting across his face; he pursed his lips and shook his head.

 

“Well then, perhaps you’ll explain why we’re here then. I mean, I know why I’m here, but why are you here?”

 

Joe’s face settled into a more serious look now, he picked some bread from the half-loaf and rolled it in between his fingers for a second. “You heard about what happened with that Major Fleming?”

 

“You told me, so did Pa, and so did Captain Lancey.  Ex Captain Lancey, rather…”

 

“Oh, you’ve met him?”

 

“Yes, in Washington, he’s also an ex-friend of General Custer’s.  Fleming’s dead and Lancey chose to quit.  So—carry on—” he poured more coffee into his mug, as though by doing so it would put Joe more at ease to collect his thoughts. He was right. In a few minutes Joe was telling him how he felt about the promise he had made to Stalking Horse.

 

“I know there’s no point in going to Washington to see Grant; my voice won’t mean anything to him, and I know that whatever I do won’t end what’s going on. It’s obvious the war between the white man and Indian won’t last much longer anyway.  You know that they’re killing the buffalo?”

 

“I know.  I saw enough of their bones as we drove through…”  Adam sighed, remembering the mounds upon mounds of bones. “Some well-informed idiot on the train told me that a man called William Cody earned the nickname of Buffalo Bill by killing 4,280 buffalo in eight months a few years back.”

 

“Apparently some big shot back East—”

 

“It’s Sherman who initiated it. Kill the buffalo and you destroy the Indian, put an end to the Indian wars and open up the land for the white men and their cattle.”  He stared into the flames and picked up a twig to stir the embers and send the sparks skywards. “From a white man’s point of view it makes sound sense.”

 

“And from the Indian’s point of view?”

 

“Ah well, brother, they ain’t allowed to have one.” Adam smiled derisively, “You have to see, Joe, that a man who can lay siege to Atlanta and then burn it won’t worry about destroying the culture and traditions of the Plains Indians.  They’re an obstacle. He’s found the best way to get round them. Just as Atlanta was an obstacle to winning the war, once that was destroyed the hopes of the Confederacy fell, optimism in the North rose and Lincoln was easily re-elected.”

 

“And you go along with all that?”  Joe’s voice had a slight edge to it; he had stopped eating and stared at his brother with his face stiff lines of antagonism.

 

“No, not at all.  It’s bloody, and it’s cruel, and positively inhumane,” Adam replied slowly. “It sickens me to the stomach, the waste of it all…the lack of concern for the people who will suffer as a result.”

 

Joe relaxed, he bowed his head and watched the sparks for a moment as they caught onto a piece of wood and marched along it like so many red fire ants.

 

“I know leaving the Ponderosa was no doubt not the wisest move, but I promised Stalking Horse that I would do something.  The trouble is I don’t know what to do, Adam, except go there and let him know that I’m supporting him and his cause.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“When you’ve seen them and told them that you support their cause, what do you intend to do?”

 

“Try and stop the fighting,” Joe replied lamely and he shook his head. “I don’t know, Adam, all I know is that I want him to know that I didn’t let him down. I want him to know that some white men can be trusted.  I just want to prove to them that I’m a friend to them and I condemn what government policy has determined.”

 

Adam released his breath in a low sigh, and folded his hands together between his legs, shaking his head. “It won’t accomplish much, you know.”

 

“I guess not.”

 

“Could even get yourself killed…and me too, come to that.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Does Mary Ann know that?”

 

Joe swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, then shrugged. “Maybe. I didn’t mention it, but she’ll have taken it into account.”

 

“She must love you a great deal, Joe.”

 

“I know.” He sighed, and now it was his turn to stand up. He paced up and down for a moment before coming to a halt. “I have to see them, though; I have to see this through.”

 

Adam nodded, he removed the coffee pot and then slowly built up the fire, he looked over at Joe. “D’you think you’ll sleep alright now?”

 

“Yeah, we’ve got a long way to go tomorrow.”  Joe smiled and then stretched out his hand which Adam took with both his own. “Thanks, Adam. Thanks for understanding.”

 

His brother merely smiled, shook his hand and then slapped him on the shoulder.  Without another word they set out their blankets and rolled their bodies into them, placed their heads on the saddles and waited for sleep to provide an escape for them both from the rigours of the day.

 

Chapter 107

 

School had closed and the children ran from the building with whoops and yells, scattering at the bottom of the yard and spilling into the main street on their way to their various homes.  Barbara Pearson waved to Mary Ann as she picked up Lilith and drove away in the buggy, and not for the first time since meeting her, the schoolteacher wondered exactly what had happened between Adam and the rather tight-laced Mrs. Pearson.

 

She collected her books and locked the door of the school house behind her, then hurried down towards the boarding house where she had her room. She was hugging the books close to her when she saw John Martin about to get into his buggy. He turned and smiled at her, removing his hat as he did so.

 

“All your charges released now, Miss Hornby?”

 

“Yes, thank goodness.  How are you now, Dr. Martin?”

 

“Very well thank you.” he paused and then with a quick glance up and down the street leaned towards her, “I’m on my way to the Ponderosa right now.  Would you care to come along with me?”

 

“Oh, has something happened?  Has Hester—”

 

“Very likely so.  Uncle Paul went there earlier this morning and hasn’t returned. Of course, he could have gone to see the Pritchards but I’ve a feeling that it’s something more than that.”

 

“I won’t be in the way, will I?”

 

“I’m sure Hop Sing will find you something to do if you are.” John laughed and swung her up into the buggy before clambering up himself.

 

They rode along in silence for a while, and it was only when they had got out of the town and onto the open road that John asked her if she had heard from Joe recently. She nodded and looked down at the books she was still clasping tightly against her.

 

“Yes, about a week ago.  He said he and Adam were heading into open territory now, and I may not hear from him for a while.”  She shivered, not just because of the cooler air. “I get scared thinking about it.”

 

“A good thing he isn’t alone, then.”

 

“Yes, I’m  grateful that Adam met up with him.” She looked thoughtfully at the doctor before turning to look at the road ahead. “Why did you come all this way, John? You had a wonderful career in New York, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes, I did.” He nodded and frowned, and when she apologised for being so curious he shook his head. “No, no, don’t think I’m offended for a moment. It’s just hard to remember sometimes that I had another life beyond this one.  I know I’ve not been here  long but it seems as though I’ve achieved more in this short time than at any other time in my life.”

 

“Were you always close to your uncle?”

 

“I always admired and respected him.  I remember telling him when I was a small boy that I would come and work with him among the Indians and cowboys.  He used to laugh at me but I think it was the spur that kept me going with my medical studies.”

 

“Then you met Milton and Ingrid?”

 

“Yes, Milton was a patient of mine.” His voice went a little thick, as though memories here were sensitive, and just when Mary Ann was about to change the subject he began to talk more about it, “He was a  good patient, a good friend too.  Ingrid, on the other hand, was like no one else I had ever met before in my life. She was almost too beautiful to be real.”

 

“Yes, I think I can understand what you mean,” she replied, thinking back to how envious she had been of the lovely Mrs. Buchanan when she had first seen her.

 

“I was flattered beyond measure when she singled me out for attention.  I never even stopped to think of the consequences to Milton and—” he paused and shook his head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be speaking like this in front of a young lady like yourself.  I let my tongue run ahead of me.”

 

“It was my fault, I brought the subject up.”

 

They continued on in silence for a while, and when he asked about the first time she had met Joe she was only too happy to tell him all of the adventures that had befallen them, of her brother’s death, the fear and hate she had felt for the Indians, the compassion for Towasi, the injured young chief.

 

“I learned a lot during that journey,” she said. “About myself as well…”

 

“Life is full of journeys like that.” He smiled at her, and then sighed. “I thought I could escape from Ingrid but couldn’t, even here.”

 

“Do you think you’ve escaped her now?  I mean, I know she’s dead but—”

 

“I know what you mean,” he replied without looking at her. “Yes, the feelings I had for Ingrid died a long time ago.  I was able to see what she was really like when I compared her with someone of true quality.”

 

“Oh, you mean, Hester?”  That popped out of her mouth before she had even thought about it, or the implication that could have been  behind it.

 

“Yes, Hester Cartwright.  Oh, don’t worry, I’m not making a practise of falling in love with other men’s wives.” He chuckled. “Just that she stands out in comparison to Ingrid, and helped me over a  stupid infatuation.”

 

She relaxed a little, and looked about her for something else to discuss before she waded into more deep waters.  She shivered again. “It’s getting colder.”

 

“Yes, we had a really long summer this year right on into the fall; no doubt we’ll pay for it with a hard winter.” He frowned, knowing that a hard winter would mean a double load of work for the doctors in town.

 

“Dr. Martin, John, I mean, do you know anything at all about Indian Territory?”

 

“No, I’m afraid not.” He glanced down at her, “Worried about Joe, aren’t you?”

 

She nodded, but that was where the conversation between them had started and now it had gone full circle.  She sat still, and thought of other things, like Hester and Hoss and the great event that was taking place now in their lives.

 

“I hope it’s a boy.” she said breathlessly.

 

“I hope it’s a girl.” he smiled, “Girls, for some reason, are tougher and survive more. If there is a hard winter ahead, I would rather they had a little girl than a boy.”

 

She nodded, not that she knew anything about it but he was the doctor, after all, so who was she to argue?

 

……………….

 

Paul Martin came downstairs with his face looking resolute but tired. He glanced at Hoss, who had sprung up out of his chair with the speed of a fire cracker, and then at Ben, who stopped his pacing back and forth. From the kitchen Hop Sing appeared with an alacrity that indicated he had been hovering close by waiting for the doctor’s reappearance.

 

“How is she?” Hoss whispered, barely able to speak through lips that had gone numb from fear. “Is she alright?”

 

“Hester’s a strong young woman, and healthy too, you’ve no need to be worried about her.”

 

“And the baby...?” Ben asked, seeing in Paul’s eyes an anxiety that didn’t appear to fit with the words he had spoken.

 

“That’s the problem; the baby is in the breech position.  Usually a baby is delivered head first, but your baby has chosen to be born presenting its posterior.”

 

Ben and Hoss looked at one another, and for a moment Ben had a mental image of another time, another place, and the loss of his dear Elizabeth. He rubbed his chin with his hand and bit down on his lip.

 

“What can we do to help?”

 

“Well, keep calm and don’t worry.  Hop Sing, some raspberry tea would do Hester some good.”

 

“I make now—” Hop Sing cried and promptly vanished into the other room.

 

“Can I go and see her?” Hoss asked after some moments had been spent while he chewed his knuckles.

 

“For a few minutes.” Paul frowned, “Just talk to her, keep calm, don’t let her see you’re worried.”

 

“Shucks, how’d I do that?” Hoss groaned as he mounted the stairs.

 

As the door to the bedroom opened, so did the door to the house and John Martin, followed by Mary Ann, came in. Ben noticed the look that passed from uncle to nephew, the raised eyebrows, and nod of the head.

 

“I’ll go and see how she is,” John muttered and hurried upstairs while Mary Ann stood in the middle of the room looking rather lost and uncomfortable.

 

“I hope you didn’t mind my coming,” she said to Ben. “I promise I won’t get in the way.”

 

Ben smiled and put his arm around her shoulders, assured her that it was good to have her there and then returned to the pendulum that was swinging in his mind, from the past to the present, the same fear, the same anxiety.

 

Hester tried hard to hide the pain when Hoss stepped into the room, but the perspiration that soaked her nightgown and hair was clear indication of her distress.  He leaned down and kissed her brow, keeping his eyes fixed upon her face and trying to tell himself that his Hester was safe, was alright, and just to make sure he kissed her again.

 

“It’s alright, Hoss, really, it’s alright,” she whispered and gripped his hand tightly, so much so that even he winced.

 

“Hoss, I think you should leave now,” John said from the direction of the wash stand where he had been washing his hands.

 

“Hester, I don’t want to leave you like this—”  Hoss groaned

 

“Don’t worry, Hoss, just make sure that you’re alright.” And then she gave a cry, a low long cry, her back arched and she scrunched up her eyes and clamped her teeth tight to hold back the scream that seemed to be going round and round in her head.

 

“Hoss, get my uncle here, will you?”

 

Paul arrived just as Hester went into another contraction, he checked her pulse and counted and John waited and then began to concentrate on delivering the baby.

 

He carefully probed until he had a finger crooked around one leg, and then the other, at that moment Hester pushed and the legs appeared amidst the blood and other bodily fluids, he now  gently placed his hands under the legs and pulled until the shoulders came into view.

 

The difficulty now came with the shoulders; he had to turn the tiny body a little for one shoulder to appear followed by an arm, and then twist again and the other arm came followed by the shoulder, and then, carefully,  gently the head came through.

 

Swift action to clear the mouth and nasal passages, get it to breathe…

 

In the big room downstairs the sound of the baby crying galvanized Hoss and Ben into action, Hop Sing dropped the chinaware onto the floor while Mary Ann stood motionless by the fireplace. 

 

“Hester—”  Hoss cried as he leapt up the stairs two at a two swiftly followed by his father.

 

Paul opened the door to them with a smile. Excitement calmed, the two men tip-toed into the room, although the noise the infant was making made their caution totally unnecessary.  Hester could barely lift her head from the pillows; she turned to Hoss and smiled. “Hoss, we have a baby …”  she whispered and reached out to take his hand.

 

“Yeah, what is it?  Boy or girl?” he whispered back, dropping a kiss on her forehead and glancing over at John who was wrapping a squalling bundle of arms and legs in a towel.

 

“I don’t know, Hoss, it’s a baby…” his weary wife replied in exasperation

 

“It’s a girl.” John announced “Hoss, Hester, you have a daughter.  Ben, congratulations, you’re a Grandpa.”

 

 

Chapter 108

 

The two brothers had been riding through the country together for a week since leaving the last township behind them.  They had purchased winter coats, extra blankets and provisions to not only provide for themselves but to barter with should the need arise on the journey.  Both of them had taken advantage of the telegraph depot that existed in a rather ram shackle shed affair, and sent messages home.  Neither man commented on what was said in the replies they received back although Adam surmised from the mournful look on Joe’s face that the one he had received from Mary Ann had created that longing to have her nearby.

 

“Look here,” Joe murmured one morning, pointing around. “There was a camp here sometime back—”

 

“Not a large one, though.” Adam steered his horse slowly around where the yellow circular patches of grass indicated tepees had once stood, and the blackened earth where the fires had burned to cook food.  Evidence of people having left in a hurry was seen by the items left behind them …an overturned cooking pot, broken shards of pottery, a broken necklace with the beads still brightly painted.

 

They didn’t hurry through; both felt it would have been sacrilegious to have done so, and a lack of respect to the people who had been there.  Adam stooped at one stage to pluck a skilfully decorated piece of leatherwork that might have been from the fringes of a dress; it swayed in the breeze from a branch.  He looked at it, smelt it and grimaced. “It wasn’t so long ago, Joe.  This is from a garment, isn’t it?” he passed it to Joe, who fingered it gently for the beadwork was so fine and delicate upon it. He imitated Adam by raising it to his nose and smelling it.

 

“Not as long as I had thought.” Joe grimaced. “Look—” he turned it over as he handed it back—“Looks like blood.”

 

Adam looked at it and nodded.  He stopped his horse and looked around him, then dismounted. Joe did likewise, both of them pulled their rifles from their scabbards and then cautiously began to walk around the camp’s environs.  After a while they met up again by the horses.

 

“About twenty tents.” Joe said, “A hunting party.  They wouldn’t have found much around here except what’s already dead.”

 

Adam nodded in agreement as from the beginning of the journey they had encountered what could have been a mountain of dead flesh if all the carcasses were piled upon one another.  He squatted onto his haunches and brushed aside some dry dust and then stood up to show Joe what he had found, a woman’s earring.

 

“Well, they sure did leave in a hurry.” Joe said  as he turned it over and over in between his fingers.

 

“You don’t think the hunters came here, do you?  Maybe thought—”  he turned to look around and then shook his head. “I guess they’d have burned the tents down, wouldn’t they?  Shot the people here?”

 

“I guess so, Adam.  Perhaps they threatened them, made them feel that if they didn’t move on they’d end up dead too.”

 

“Hmm,” Adam compressed his lips, nodded and narrowed his eyes, “It stinks, Joe.”

 

His brother nodded, looked at the earring and slipped it into his pocket,

 

“Reckon it’s Arapaho by the look of what we’ve found here.”

 

They walked their horses on leading reins behind them; their steps slow and careful as they trod among the remnants of the camp, their steps took them down past the river which was fast moving now, the waters running with a burbling sound over the stones and rocks.  It was here they stopped short, looked at one another,

 

“Alright, I think we can see now why they left so fast.” Adam ran the tip of his tongue over dry lips, and shook his head, “This was probably just a warning to the others.”

 

“Or maybe they came back, thinking it was safe?”

 

Adam didn’t reply but was walking towards the bodies of several men, left sprawled half in and half out of the water.  He turned one over onto his back and shuddered, swiftly turned his face away and let the body fall back into its original place.

 

“Arapaho.” Joe said as though the bodies confirmed what he had previously thought, “We’ll have to leave them here, no point in burying them, their people will come back eventually for their remains.”

 

Adam said nothing but walked with head down deep in thought.  He glanced over at Joe who was stepping out determinedly by his side. “We’ll probably see more of this,” he said.

 

“Yeah, I guess so.”  Joe shivered, “Let’s get out of here, Adam, leave this behind and find a place to camp…”

 

They didn’t look back as they rode on their way, they had seen enough and there was nothing worth looking back at now.

 

Conversation was not forthcoming as both men were deep in thought about what they had seen, and both were wrestling with the fact that they had left the bodies of the three men unburied.  Eventually Joe rode his horse closer to his brother so that their knees brushed against each other.

 

“There wasn’t any point in burying them—the Christian way I mean.”

 

“Sure, I know.” Adam frowned and his mouth puckered into the familiar pout Joe knew so well, “It just seems so negligent on our part to just leave them there like that…even at sea we do something for the dead.”

 

“Yeah, but they have a different form of burial from us, Adam.  If we put them under the ground that would have been terrible for them, they believe in returning to nature…we left them as they would have preferred, believe me.”

 

Adam nodded, flashed a smile at Joe who grinned, without humour, back at him.  He knew that eventually some brave souls would return for the remains which would be given the traditional ceremonial treatment. 

 

A light rain began to fall, and they turned towards some trees and shrubs where they dismounted.  They had ridden several hours from the village and both were tired and hungry.

 

Seated around the fire and protected from the rain by the canopy of branches over head, they made coffee and ate jerky and the last of some now stale bread.  Adam leaned back against a tree trunk and watched as Joe fed the fire with more sticks, memories of that fateful day when he had been misled into believing his little brother dead returned and the emotion he felt stuck in his throat.

 

“I’m glad you’re alright, Joe,” he said gruffly, feeling the need to say something, anything that would lay that particular ghost to rest.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Joe grinned back at him; good natured and easy tempered as ever, he poured out more coffee and stood up, glanced up at the sky and shrugged, “Should ease off soon.  It’s never heavy in these parts.”

 

“Good, the last thing we need is a flash flood.”

 

Joe laughed at that and came to sit close by his brother, and for some moments they just stared into the flames.

 

“I wonder what they’re doing at home. Do you ever think of us at all, when you’re on that boat of yours, Adam?”

 

‘If only you knew,’ Adam sighed inwardly. He nodded. “Yeah, sometimes.” He smiled and bit into the jerky, chewed it for a while. “A lot.”

 

“We’re always talking about you; of course, it doesn’t help when we never know where you are.”

 

“True enough, sometimes it’s difficult to keep in touch.” Adam nodded. “When’s Hester’s baby due?”

 

Joe counted on his fingers; Adam could hear his mumbling dates under his breath, so he waited.

 

“Guess it should be pretty soon.”  He frowned. “Wonder if we’ll be back by then.”

 

“Doubt it,” Adam shrugged.  “Could be your turn next…once you’re married to your Mary Ann, Pa could be bouncing another baby on his knee by next year.”

 

Joe laughed; a little pleasure touched the laughter and Adam smiled again. Life sure was changing fast, he thought: wasn’t so long ago that Marie was birthing Joe, and life on the Ponderosa was never the same after. 

 

“You should have got married by now, Adam.”  Joe announced after a little while, “How about that Rachel you mentioned, didn’t you feel like marrying her?”

 

Adam pulled at his earlobe and looked up at the dappling sky, wondering how to reply to such a question, he shrugged. “I told you before, she was too young.  Very sweet, and probably had I been in her company longer, I could have—” he paused, could have what?  The fact remained that he was much older than her, and sometimes things were just not meant to be. “Well, I could have grown  fond of her.  She was  pretty, —well— nice.”

 

Joe laughed again, and shook his head, “You should have married Barbara Scott after all, Adam, that would have sorted you out.”

 

“How is she?”  He was grateful to have the subject changed, to switch from Rachel to Barbara. Perhaps the conversation could peter out after that. After all why were two single men talking about marriage anyway?

 

“Oh, she’s alright, I guess.” Joe tossed the dregs of his coffee aside and looked up at the sky. “It’s stopped raining. You want to ride on a little way before making camp?”

 

Well, Adam thought, at least an inquisition about his relationship with Barbara didn’t happen, and he gratefully got to his feet.  The horses were fresher now after their own respite; they killed the fire and tidied the area, remounted and continued their journey deeper into Indian Territory, although Adam was already getting the impression that it was no longer that at all.

 

He remembered hearing the words of a Cheyenne called Dead Eyes* who had declared mournfully, “You have put all our heads together and covered them with a blanket, that hill there is our wealth and you have been asking it from us…You white people, you have all come in our reservation and helped yourselves to our property and you are not satisfied, you went beyond to take the whole of our safe.”

 

The words echoed in Adam’s mind now, even though he could not recollect how or where he had heard them.  But it seemed as though Old Dead Eyes’ words had been merely a prediction, and that now, riding through this land, they were seeing their fulfilment.

 

Chapter 109

 

 

It was as though he were coming from out of a dream and for an instant, just a moment, he lay there with his eyes closed, wondering if the popping sounds were still drifting in his head from the dream.  His hand quite instinctively crept to his gun, his fingers curled around the handle but still he lay there, his breathing  shallow.

 

Only the rustling of leaves overhead, the occasional snap and crack of a burning piece of wood falling in upon itself.  Still in a state of near sleep it took no time at all to fall back into the comfort of slumber.

 

It was early when he woke up; the dawn was just rising streaking the sky red and orange and pink resting against shades of lavender and purple.  He rubbed his jaw, felt bristles rough against his fingers, and yawned.

 

By his side Joe slept on, snoring every so often, little snorts barely loud enough to be heard.  Adam smiled, put the kindling on the red hot embers and blew them softly until they caught, then he gradually built the fire up until he could put the pot on to boil. 

 

By the time Joe was awake Adam had washed, shaved and had coffee ready for drinking. He passed a mug over to Joe.

 

“Sleep well?”

 

“Yeah, kinda—” Joe rubbed his face and blinked, yawned and sagged like an old stuffed sack, yawned again. “I had a dream.”

 

Adam squatted on his haunches and jiggled the pan over the flames; bacon sizzled and he wished there was bread to go with it. The smell was tantalising and he grinned over at his brother. “About Mary Ann?”

 

“Wish it was…” Joe yawned again and straightened his back, “Thought I heard gunfire …but then I thought it was my dream.”

 

“YOU thought you heard gunfire?  During the night?”

 

“Yeah, but it was a dream, I think I was chasing cattle rustlers.”  He rolled out of his blanket and stood up, drank some of the coffee, “There was music too.”

 

“Music?  What kind of music?” 

 

“Oh, I don’t know.  It was—” he rubbed his forehead as though trying to force memory back into his mind, “It was just kind of hovering about, soft, it drifted into the dream.”

 

Adam stared at the bacon: it was crisping up, spitting fat.  He flipped a few pieces over and licked his fingers, enjoying the salt taste.

 

“So the music was in your dream while you were chasing cattle thieves?”

 

“No—” Joe shook his head, swallowed more coffee. “I suppose so.”

 

“I woke up during the night thinking I heard gun fire, then fell back to sleep thinking I had dreamt it,”  Adam said slowly. “Didn’t hear any music though.”

 

“Well, I did.” 

 

Joe swilled his mouth with the coffee and spat it out, then walked over to his canteen. His eyes ranged the view through the trees and then he paused, frozen.

 

“Adam?  Come here.”

 

His brother walked over, chewing bacon and looked at where Joe was staring.  Smoke rose to the sky, obscuring the colours, hanging like a black pall.  He stopped chewing and just stared, his eyes roving back and forth, one —three— five separate fires all located in the same place.

 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered rather sombrely.

 

“What does your bad feeling tell you?”

 

“I—I don’t want to say but I think we had better hurry up and take a look-see.”

 

………………

 

The colours in the sky were fading, and Adam glanced upwards  every so often to watch and wonder that so much beauty could still be shown during times of tragedy and sorrow.  He steered his horse towards the smoke and kept level with Joe all the way until the sounds came…he had heard those sounds before, many times, in different places, but it was always the same, and it always made his blood run cold.  He looked at Joe and saw his brother’s face lose its colour, and his arm come up across his eyes as though to brush away tears. The sounds heralded the sights to come.

 

The keening wail of anguish that rises from the breasts of those who have lost loved ones, seen slaughter before their eyes that the mind can’t interpret or understand, who feels the hatred and bigotry that passes comprehension.

 

He had seen it first on a wagon train when he was an infant and his father had held him so close in his arms that he thought he was going to suffocate.  Even now he felt as though he were suffocating.  Then, the ones crying and weeping had been white men and women, children, who had seen their loved ones cut down during an attack by Indians who didn’t want the white man on their land.  The next time he had heard that sound was when it came from his father’s own mouth, mourning over Inger, and Hoss had been a baby in his arms, and he hadn’t wanted to cry and add to that sound himself, because it frightened him, instead he just let the suffocating feeling well over him like a blanket.

 

They slipped from the saddles and crawled on their bellies through the grass to look at the scene of devastation before them…women cradling their young, some men walking dazedly from burning tent to burning tent, women holding onto other women, blood and misery splattered wherever the eye turned. 

 

“We have to help them…” Joe whispered and when Adam just shook his head he grabbed his brother’s arm, “What do you mean?  We’ve got to do something!”

 

“There’s nothing we can do here, Joe.  We can’t help them.”

 

Joe large hazel anguished eyes stared up into Adam’s face, but he resolutely refused to look down at Joe because he felt ashamed.  He wanted to help them too, but there was nothing, nothing that they could do here. Joe grabbed his arm and shook him, forcing him to look down.

 

“Adam, we have to help them!”

 

“How?  Tell me how?” He shrugged his arm free, then turned to look into Joe’s face. “What do you suggest?  Two white men?  Do you think for a moment that they’re going to thank you for dropping by?  Are you going to bandage their wounds, bring their dead back to life, say sorry for what’s happened?  Do you honestly think they’ll listen to you?”

 

“I can try.”  Joe inched away from his brother and was about to get to his feet when Adam’s hand grabbed him by the ankle and brought him face down into the dirt. “Let go of me, Adam, let go.”

 

“Think, Joe, think for a moment.  Those people are scared witless, they’ve suffered, and the cause of their hatred is US!  Can’t you see?  Hate breeds hate, fear feeds on that and if you stick your head out there they’ll liable to shoot it off your shoulders.”

 

“They’re Cheyenne, Adam.”

 

“Maybe—” Adam bit down on his bottom lip, “Maybe, but the fact remains that you’re white.  You’re the enemy.”

 

“I’m their friend.”

 

“They won’t see you as that, Joe, they can’t see beyond their own grief and shock right now.”

 

“Let me at least try?” he whispered now, his voice broken, the tears welled up in his eyes, and when he saw that there were tears in his brother’s eyes as well he lowered his head upon his arm and buried his face there.

 

Adam was watching as a woman carried her infant in her arms, she was staggering under his weight, not because he was heavy but because she was wounded herself, blood stained her tunic and weakening her.  She was crying out in a shrill high pitched wail and her dark eyes seemed to fill her face with the agony of her loss.

 

He was about to speak to Joe when he realised that Joe had gone, and when he turned he saw Joe walking into the camp, unarmed, his hands held away from his waist and calling out to them some words in Cheyenne 

 

Adam closed his eyes an instant as though it was too much to bear looking at the sight of his brother walking into the horror, a dark figure against a backdrop of vermilion flames, black pluming smoke, and moving figures that seemed to sway, ebb and flow, with the heat.

 

Joe walked on and for a while nothing happened; he was talking in their language to the best of his memory, words that he had learned from Little Moon’s people, and no one took any notice, too shocked, too grief stricken. 

 

He leaned forward to help a woman who was kneeling on the ground, swaying back and forth, he put his hands on her shoulders and said ‘Let me help?’ in the language of her people, but she looked up, terrified, saw the hazel eyes looking down from a white face, and screamed.

 

A stone struck him on the brow, and he staggered back, another stone and another, an old man and some children shouting words of hate at him, a young man ran towards him with a coup stick raised and his face distorted with fear, horror and hate.

 

…………………………

 

When he opened his eyes Adam was wiping his face clean from dried blood.  There was blood staining Adam’s collar from some wound and Joe wondered if Adam had been hurt.

 

“What happened?” he whispered.

 

“They nearly tore you apart.” Adam replied.

 

“Why?”  Joe looked up at his brother, confused, “I only wanted to help.”

 

“Oh Joe.” Adam shook his head, and brought his hand across his face as though to wipe away the sight of his brother falling beneath the onslaught of terrified Cheyenne.

 

“Why didn’t they let me help them?” Joe whispered and slipped into unconsciousness.

 

Adam rose to his feet and scrunched up his eyes, and then walked a few paces away from where Joe lay.  Several men looked at him before one, Young Man Afraid of his Horses,*  the son of Old Man Afraid of his Horses*, approached him.

 

“He will be alright now?”

 

“Yes, I think so.  Thank you for coming to our rescue.”

 

“We saw the troopers, saw them and heard them—” the young man’s lips twisted in contempt, he glanced over his shoulder to where the smoke still rose into the skies although they were now some distance away, “then we came as soon as we could to help our people.  We didn’t expect to find two veheo’s (white men) here—”

 

Adam nodded, his throat sore and jagged from screaming Joe’s name so loud over the mayhem that had ensued when his brother had been attacked. 

 

“Thank you,” he said again, and the Sioux looked at him and then tossed his head towards Joe.

 

“I remember him, he was our friend.”

 

“He still is—”

 

“Times have changed.”

 

“He still is your friend.” Adam stressed and the Sioux nodded, shrugged and walked away.

 

They were reservation Sioux, a form of police that the Indian Agents used to enforce peace.  The band of Sioux mounted their horses and Adam stood still, legs slightly apart, and watched as they galloped away.  He pursed his lips, lowered his head and stared down at the ground, and considered the fact that had they not arrived when they had, both he and Joe would have been two more bodies sprawled out amid those in that camp.

 

Joe muttered something and called out, drivng away Adam’s reverie; he turned and walked back to where his brother was regaining his senses, and struggling to sit up.

 

“What hit me?” he whispered, taking the cup of water from Adam and looking into his brother’s face.

 

“Common sense, I hope,” his brother retorted shortly, and without another word walked away to try and gather his own wits together again.

 

…………….

 

They stayed where they were for the rest of the day to recover from their injuries.  Adam told Joe what had happened, how he had gone after him into the camp, received much the same treatment but with less vigour because the Sioux could  be seen approaching and to them the Cheyenne had turned for help, detracting them from their sense of outrage against the two white men who had blundered in obviously for some evil reasons of their own.

 

“The music you heard during the night—was it this?” and he  softly whistled a tune. Joe listened and nodded, admitting it sounded familiar. “It’s an Irish tune, Eoghan’s Garrai.  The story goes —and it is just a story—that Custer heard one of his Irish troopers whistling the tune one night around a camp fire.  He liked it. Understandable really, it carries the beat like the rhythm of galloping horses.  He adapted it as the regimental tune. I remember hearing him brag how he had his men play it as they attacked Black Kettle’s camp at Washita.”

 

Joe nodded; he raised a hand as though by doing so he could prevent the pain searing down his neck, and he closed his eyes. “I thought they would remember me,” he muttered.

 

“Why should they remember you, Joe?  You’re just another white man to them now.”

 

Joe said nothing to that, but his eyes strayed to the low fire, and for an instant he thought he saw Little Moon’s face in the flames.

 

 

Chapter 110

 

Since the encounter at the Cheyenne village the brothers made sure that a watch was kept during the nights when they made camp.  Joe had slipped into an uneasy frame of mind; the change from his usual buoyant self was so obvious that Adam was at a loss as to how to help him.  For a man of Adam’s intensity and depths he found it difficult to find a way to remove the depression into which Joe had slipped.  The saying “Doctor, heal thyself” was never less true than when asking a man always searching for answers within himself to find the answers for another who had plunged into the whirlpool of disillusion and despair.

 

For Joe the whole situation went round and round in his head.  He remembered conversations with his father in which Ben told him so often that there was nothing that he, Joe, would be able to do to help the Plains Indians.  The matter had gone beyond help.  He recalled Hoss telling him the same thing in different words, and always at the back of his mind he had told himself, “no, it won’t be that bad.  I can do this, I can help them, somehow…”  Except now he was at a total loss of how he could ever possibly have thought he could be of any help, and the reality of that was like cold water dashed into his face.

 

How could it have happened?  How could it all have happened so quickly?  Why hadn’t he known—but if he had known would he have been able to change things?  It was while thinking along those lines that he had a good look at himself and decided he was either extremely naïve or profoundly arrogant.  Surely there had been greater men than he who had protested, loudly, about this matter?  Yet their voices had been silenced.

 

They rode together with their winter coats pulled close around them as the chill wind drifted in to sift down their necks and find places to remind them that winter was near.  One morning when they had toiled their horses up a steep incline they found themselves overlooking what had been a  beautiful area, in some places it still was, but now there were wagons, buildings, sluices and other mining paraphernalia being set out, and a number of men and women could be seen working together, the voices of children at play drifted up towards them.

 

Adam glanced over at Joe and then leaned forward, resting his hands upon his saddle horn. “Reminds me of Eagle Station when we first got there—” he murmured, his eyes flicking from one place to another, and not receiving any reply from his brother he turned to look at him, his brow creased with worry. “It’s a fact of life now, Joe; it isn’t going to go away.”

 

“I know that, Adam,” Joe sighed heavily, “I wish with all my heart that it could.”  he swallowed hard, Adam could see the jerk in his throat. “This was where I first got to know Little Moon, the camp was down there—” he pointed to where some wagons were set side by side with horses grazing close by, “I was injured and she nursed me, George Bent and his wife, Magpie, had their tepee thereabouts, and when I was strong enough we walked down to the river—” his eyes drifted to the river now, where children splashed and some men were panning for gold.

 

“I’m sorry, Joe.” Adam wished he could say more but found there was nothing more he could say. He turned away from the sight of his brother’s sad features to look down at the community below, “Don’t blame them, Joe, they probably feel they’re perfectly entitled to what they have down there, may even think that they’re creating a whole new beginning to life hereabouts.  They’ve probably paid money down for the land too.”

 

“Let’s get away from hereabouts, Adam, I can’t stand the sight of them.”

 

They turned their horses round and walked them back down the incline, Adam a little behind now, leaving Joe to take the lead as he knew the territory so well from his previous time there.  After some while they paused to drink some water and chew on some dried meat, some berries they had plucked en route, and Adam glanced around him and then up at the sky. “Isn’t there a fort nearby here?” he swilled his mouth with water and spat it out, then drank some more which he swallowed.  He hadn’t realised just how dry his mouth had become during the days trek.

 

“Should be—” Joe nodded and looked up at the sky, some buzzards were wheeling about, cawing, ducking and diving.  “Wonder what that’s all about?”

 

Adam said nothing, another shot out burned down Indian village was not a sight he wanted to see again in a hurry, but when Joe turned into the direction where the buzzard activity indicated life and death was being carried out, he followed.

 

It seemed the buzzards had been optimistic in their presumption that a meal was imminent.  As the brothers rode up a rifle bullet whistled over their heads and a voice yelled out to them to approach no further unless they threw down their weapons.

 

“I can see you…best do what I say.”

 

They glanced at one another and then slowly tossed their guns onto the ground, and when ordered to throw down their rifles as well they reluctantly did as they were told. 

 

“Can we see who we’re talking to now,” Adam asked loudly and was left to wait some minutes before two men scrambled from the rocks and confronted them, their own rifles resting in the crook of their arms,

 

“Who are you two?”

 

“Adam Cartwright, my brother, Joseph.  We’re from the Ponderosa, Nevada.”

 

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t’ you?” one of them muttered

 

“From your accent I would say so were you,” Adam responded with a slight edge to his voice and he looked from one to the other of them with some annoyance. “What are you doing here?”

 

“What’s it to you?” the younger man raised his chin challengingly and stepped forward a pace, but the older man restrained him by grabbing at his shoulder and pulling him back.

 

“We could be in a position to help you, that’s all,” Adam replied.

 

The two men looked at one another, and then the older one nodded,

 

“You might at that.” he frowned, glanced around at the other who merely shrugged. “We’re looking for Judd Parker’s place.”

 

“Never heard of Judd Parker,” Joe said. “What do you want him for?”

 

“Ain’t none of your business, Mister.”

 

“Well, I’m making it my business,” Joe’s answer was snapped out, short and sharp, and he rode his horse forward a few paces only to be stopped when the older man brandished his rifle at him.

 

“We’re riding on to join up with him.  Several wagons of us taking the Thieves Road to Parker’s mining town.  We were told that it was around these parts but ain’t seen nothing of it yet.”  the old man came towards them and put out his hand, “Luke Philby.” he jerked a thumb over at the other man, “My boy, Jamie.”

 

The two Cartwrights nodded over at the younger man, and Joe wondered if the younger Philby was as irritated at being referred to as Jamie as he used to be when referred to as Little Joe. 

 

“Best collect your hardware and follow us, we were about to settle down for our main meal, you’re more’n welcome to join us.”

 

Jamie cast a dark look at the two Cartwrights and led the way to where three wagons were concealed among the boulders.  Two other men stepped aside to admit them, and here the four of them dismounted.

 

“Have to be careful, we’ve already lost one family to them red hellions,” Luke muttered. “And we were warned to look out for them, they’re out for blood alrighty.”

 

“Why do you call it the Thieves Road?” Adam enquired as he carefully tied his horse’s reins to a ring on a wagon.

 

“That’s what everyone calls it now,” Luke said unabashed by the admission, “Since Custer *led the way in and said we could come claim all the gold there was here, folks ain’t waited for the Indians to say we could have it, so we just come.”

 

Adam frowned and grimaced, he looked over at the women who were cooking the meal, at two children sitting patiently waiting to be fed, he shook his head.

 

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

 

“What’s that?” Luke scratched his head,

 

 “That it’s known as the Thieves Road?”

 

“Why should it?  It’s just a name.  We paid down our deposit for the land we’re going to settle on, it’s all honest and above board.”

 

An elbow in Joe’s ribs stopped him from lunging forward to make some smart retort to that comment, he bowed his head, clenched his teeth and listened to Adam and Luke talk some more.

 

“Legally it still belongs to the Plains Indians…” Adam replied carefully, “You can’t buy what isn’t for sale.”

 

“Look,” Luke frowned, “I got papers to prove that I own land hereabouts.  It’s only a matter of time before them red heathens realise they got to hand over the land.” He turned his back on them before they could say anything else and called over to a woman to prepare for two extra mouths for the meal.

 

“Who do you buy the land from?” Adam asked, popping up at Luke’s side just when the man thought to have got rid of him.

 

Luke sighed, removed his hat and pushed his fingers through thin greasy hair. “The government, of course.”

 

………………………..

 

Both brothers were silent as they continued their ride towards the fort.  The meal had been tasty enough, and the company pleasant except for the bitter knowledge that they both felt they were in some way condoning grant theft.  In the conversation over the meal the settlers made it clear that they had been told the forts had been built for their protection, and to keep the Indians restricted to their reservation.

 

When Joe mentioned that they had ridden upon two Indian camps that had been attacked with fatalities, the people had looked uncomfortable but declared it had nothing to do with them, and had they, the Indians, remained on their reservations they would not have gotten into such trouble.

 

Once or twice Joe pulled up his horse to gaze, almost longingly, at the land around them.  Adam knew from the look at his face that his brother was recalling the last time he was there, probably with Little Moon and her people.

 

“Joe?”

 

“Yep?”

 

Joe looked up at Adam as his brother approached him with some wood in his arms.  They had stopped by a small creek to make camp for the night, and darkness was already settling comfortably around them.  Night noises were taking place now, and in some ways it helped Joe to have the darkness blanket itself around him, to shut out the sights he had thought about for so long and peopled with the ghosts of his past.

 

“How do you feel now that we’ve met up with those settlers?”

 

“I don’t know.” Joe shrugged. “How should I feel?” He frowned and watched as Adam slowly fed twigs to the fire. “Heck, Adam, I feel so churned up inside I don’t know how to feel.  How can they buy land from the government when it still belongs to the Indians?  I just don’t understand it and it—it kind of makes me angry, bitter, and to be honest...helpless.”

 

Adam sighed and sat down beside Joe, his arm resting on a raised knee while with the other hand he twirled a twig round and round between his fingers.

 

“I wondered if you would feel that way. I remember when I felt like that too.”

 

“You did?  You mean you don’t now?”

 

“Mmm, to a lesser degree than you.”  Adam sighed and leaned back, the fire was smoking but it was pleasant to watch the little flames eating into the wood, he bit down on his bottom lip for a moment “Remember Young Wolf?  Well, we were good friends once upon a time, when we first came to the Ponderosa.  I guess he never expected so many white folk to flood over the land that had been his people’s for so long…one day we talked about it and I saw how it was for his people, because in a small way I saw it happening around us…the way Eagle Station just kept growing and growing.  We thought we were alright because we were friends of Winnemucca and his father, but suddenly we realised that the flood of white men had practically eaten up all the land and pushed them into a corner.”  He frowned and shrugged.

 

“So, what’s the point of this not-so-charming story?” Joe asked, tossing some wood onto the now blazing fire.

 

“I got angry about it, saw it as unfair, I saw all the things then that we’re seeing here now.  I went a bit wild to be honest; Pa had a tough time on his hands trying to keep me from doing something stupid.”

 

“I don’t remember you being like that…” Joe gasped, looking at his brother with somewhat dubious admiration.

 

“Mm, well, as I say, it didn’t last long.  Pa talked to me one day, tried to get me to see sense but I couldn’t, it didn’t make sense to me.  Young Wolf severed his friendship with me because he said that, after all, I was white, I had taken their land from them too.”

 

“How’d that make you feel?”

 

“Wretched.  Angry.  I loved that land, and we had worked hard to make it what it was to become…” his voice halted. “But I felt guilty; I felt guilty for a long time.”

 

“Nothing can change it now, can it?”

 

“No.”

 

“It’ll be the same here, won’t it?”

 

“Yes, it will.”

 

Chapter 111

 

The fort had not changed much since the last time they had been there.  The timbers had weathered more, the buildings had a slightly careworn appearance about them and the soldiers paraded about with just as much efficiency and noise as ever.  As Joe tethered his horse to the rail and glanced around the parade ground he half expected a dozen soldiers stream out of the guard house and thrash him for being an Indian lover.

 

He stood for some moments looking around and then realised that his brother was doing the same, they caught each other’s eyes and grinned sheepishly.

 

“Not  good memories here, are there?”  Joe muttered as he stepped up onto the sidewalk. “Jacob Brown, Custer and all those goings on.”

 

“I was thinking the same, Joe.  Not happy memories.” Adam removed his hat, and held it loosely between his fingers before glancing skywards, then he lowered his eyes again and looked at Joe. “Are you alright?”

 

“I guess so,” Joe replied and nodded over towards the telegraph depot. “Shall we cable Pa?”

 

“Yes, and then we’ll go and get something to eat.”  Adam twitched his shoulders, “It’s getting colder.”

 

Joe smiled and nodded, his mind was already on what he wanted to say to Mary Ann, and suddenly something warm glowed in the pit of his stomach which gave a little lurch.  Mary Ann.  He had a future.  He had a woman in his life whom he loved, and who loved him.  Adam had his head bowed as he walked towards the telegraph depot so when he raised his head and saw his brother striding forward with his usual bounce in his step he was intrigued, spent a few paces thinking about it and by the time his hand was pushing the door open was able to smile at his brother and award him a wink.

 

It was exuding warmth and stale mustiness in the telegraph depot, and the clerk looked bored and disinterested, he passed them the message pad and the stub of a pencil.

 

“Do you want a reply to your messages?”

 

“Yeah, we’ll hang around until one comes,” Joe said with pencil poised and brow furrowed.

 

“You may have a long wait.”

 

The brothers exchanged glances, then looked at him. “That’s alright, just go ahead.  We’ll come by later.”

 

Joe slipped his paper over the counter and then concentrated on his next message.  He went into a little bit of a daydream while writing it, and his face wore a smile when he passed it over to the clerk.  The little key clicked and tapped the message over the wires as he imagined it winging its way to Mary Ann, and he felt strangely less lonely.

 

“Your wife?” the clerk said as he tapped out the words.

 

“Not yet; soon though.”

 

The other man shook his head as though he couldn’t believe the folly of youth.

 

Adam wrote out his message to his father, Hoss, and Hester; he smiled at Joe and passed it over, and then slipped another message over to be tapped out.  The clerk looked, stared, and then looked up at Adam

 

“You serious?”

 

“Yes, why?  Is there a problem?” and he placed both hands on the counter and leaned forward, his face inches from the clerk. “Just send it.”

 

Joe glanced at Adam and frowned, then looked at the clerk, who was shaking his head and rather doubtfully reading the message over.

 

“What’s the problem?”

 

“There isn’t one.” Adam replied tersely, and the clerk shook his head, Adam raised his eyebrows, and then with a weak smile the fellow began to tap the message out, sending it winging on its way to Washington.  “I’m not expecting a reply,” he said  as he slipped his hat on his head and left the office.

 

The clerk wiped his brow and then stared at the slip of paper with the message addressed to the president of the United States.  The addressee was just one problem; the content of the message was the other and for a moment or two he didn’t know whether to report it to the C.O or to leave it be.  He decided, as there was no reply expected, to tear the original into pieces and cast it into the bin.

 

“Do you remember how Hoss loved Tilly Brown’s cooking?” Joe said as they walked towards the mess hall.

 

“Doubt if she’s here now; she was going to go back to New York.” Adam replied, “Can’t blame her, either, after what happened.”

 

“Well, I’m all for some good food right now.” Joe pushed the door open and stepped inside, sweeping off his hat as he did so.

 

The air inside the building was warm, damp with condensation caused by food cooking and damp clothing steaming.  They found an empty table and sat down, glancing around carefully, just in case there was someone there who would recognise them and ask a few too many questions as to why they were there again.  They shrugged off their coats and hats, and Joe leaned forward to speak when a woman came by with two mugs of coffee which were placed at their elbows.

 

“Beef steak or beef stew…which?”

 

They ordered the beef stew and watched her saunter away as several soldiers drifted in and called after her “Hi Maggie,” “Looking pretty today, Maggie.”

 

Joe drew in a deep breath and once again leaned forward, his eyes narrowed, his face determined, he was so close to Adam when he started to speak that his breath warmed Adam’s face.

 

“Well?  Do you think your cable to the president will get through?”

 

“Who said it was to the president?” Adam replied calmly, leaning against the back of his chair and cradling the coffee in his hands. He looked at his brother and then smiled. “Of course, I forgot, you learned how to do the telegraph, didn’t you?”

 

“Yeah, and I reckon that message you sent Mr. Grant ain’t going to make him none too happy.”

 

“It’s not meant to, but it might make him think.” Adam sighed.

 

“Why bother to send it, if he’s given people carte blanche to walk in here and just help themselves to the land?”

 

“Well, it’s difficult to explain, but—” he paused when there came a shriek from nearby and everyone turned to see what had happened.

 

A fat woman with alarmingly red hair was bearing down towards them with arms outstretched.  Her ample bosom was encased in a crisp-starched white apron and she wore army pants tucked into boots. 

 

“Who the heck…?” gasped Joe.

 

“Captain.  Captain Cartwright, bless my soul, and Joey.” 

 

Adam half rose then sat down, and then found himself clasped firmly in a strong embrace and practically smothered against the woman’s burgeoning “assets.” Joe leaned back in the hope of avoiding such a fate but such was not to be…Tilly Brown was alive and well, and twice the size she was when last they had seen her.  She sidled into a seat next to them.

 

“Never thought I’d live to see the day when I’d clap eyes on you two again,” she exclaimed.

 

“I—we—thought you were going back to New York, with your sister?” Adam stammered.

 

“No, didn’t work out.  After Jacob—well—after his death the boys here insisted I stay, they said how they were my family now and would look after me.  So—” she shrugged, plump shoulders rose and fell. “And it was the makings of me.”

 

“Yes,” Joe nodded. “I can see that.”

 

“How’s Hoss?  How’s my Cuddly Bear doing?”

 

“He—he’s alright, thank you, Tilly.  He’s married now.” Joe said remembering now how fond Tilly had become of Hoss.  “Happily married.”

 

“I am glad, he deserves the best.”

 

“Well, he’s got it, Hester is one of the nicest ladies I know.”  Joe stammered, “Present company included.” He frowned, not sure whether he had phrased that right and seeing Adam’s raised eye brow now convinced he hadn’t.

 

“Well, why are you here?  Thought you’d not want to step foot in this fort again, either of you.”

 

“Needs must—” Adam murmured and shrugged; the girl, Maggie, placed two bowls of beef stew and a pile of bread in front of them before disappearing.

 

“You must see quite a few changes,” Tilly said, looking at them both thoughtfully. “Far more forts all along what was Indian land—”

 

“Still is, I believe—” Adam snapped and Tilly nodded, scratched her head with a long fingernail.

 

“Yeah, it still is sort of—”

 

“It either is or isn’t.” Joe dipped his bread into the stew before looking around, and lowering his voice as he noticed the soldiers nearer to him suddenly getting quiet and appearing to be showing some interest in their conversation.

 

“Well, boundaries change all the time.” Tilly said in a low voice, “Be careful what you say around here, boys. These men adore their Commanding Officer and you speak a word against him and you’re liable to be found in need of a doctor.”

 

“Is he here?” Adam looked into her faded blue eyes and when she shook her head, he shrugged and continued to eat before asking her if she knew where he was now.

 

“Fort Abraham Lincoln.  He’s out on manoeuvres a lot though, best person to ask is the Agent, Mr. Saville.”

 

 

“Where do we find him?”

 

“At the Red Cloud* reservation.”

 

“Red Cloud?  Here?”  Joe looked amazed and Tilly nodded.

 

“Yeah, he moved onto the reservation a while back.  Once he got his own way about Fort Phil Kearney and got the Bozeman Trail* closed down, he kind of lost his spirit and he and his people moved to the reservations here.”

 

Adam said nothing, but his mind was racing as he thought back to the time when Red Cloud’s war was the talk on everyone’s lips.  There was the horror of the so-called Fetterman massacre,* and atrocities committed on both sides in order to get the white men and Custer out of the Sioux lands.  He had won his fight, and his people had seen the fort burned down to the ground; yet, at the end of the day, he had turned and retreated back to a reservation, for the handouts from government officials, honest and dishonest.  Joe ate his stew in silence. He had heard firsthand many accounts of the fight back then, when Crazy Horse had first started to make a name for himself.

 

Tilly talked a little more before being called back to the kitchen. Adam and Joe finished their stew and drank more coffee before paying at the counter and leaving, with the eyes of a number of soldiers following them as they went their way.

 

“I get the feeling we should get out of here as soon as possible,” Joe observed to his brother as they retraced their steps to the telegraph depot.

 

“I agree.”

 

The clerk glanced up and with a smile passed them two cablegrams—the news of the arrival of their niece, Hannah, was greeted with a cheer and laughter, they shook each other’s hands in delight. 

 

“She’ll have Pa eating out of her hand in no time,” Joe laughed and then read the other cable. “It’s from Mary Ann.”  His cheeks rouged slightly and he smiled and nodded, and then looked rather bashful at realising he was under scrutiny from his big brother. “Aw, well, she loves me.” he mumbled.

 

“So she should, obviously a  discerning girl.” Adam grinned and slapped him on the back.

 

They stepped back to the cold air and scudding black clouds overhead. Joe looked at Adam thoughtfully. “No reply to your cable to Washington then?”

 

“I didn’t expect one.”  Adam said  as they fell into step together and hurried towards where they had left the horses. “I think we should check the horses with the blacksmith and get them a good feed before we travel on, Joe.”

 

The blacksmith was a big man with a generous smile. He checked the horses over and put a new shoe on Joe’s horse, and fed them both oats and hay from the hay bag.  The pack horse was equally well looked after and by the time Adam and Joe had returned with fresh supplies the three horses were looking quite smug and pleased with themselves.

 

“You look thoughtful,” Joe observed to his brother and Adam nodded.

 

“There’s a lot to think about but—” he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I understand now what Dimitri Doestov meant when I asked him to explain about something, he just replied ‘Politics’.”

 

“Which means nothing to me. Everything I see hereabouts is because of greed and exploitation.”

 

“Yes, but I was thinking more about President Grant, and how he would view things.  He gives the Indians the impression that it is his determination to prevent all invasion of this territory so long as law and treaty means it is secured by the Indians.  But then—”

 

“He changes the laws?”

 

“He has Custer who tells everyone about the gold here, and there’s a stampede.  Grant gets under pressure from him, Sherman and Sheridan.”

 

“He’s the boss-man, he should refuse to do what they say.” Joe replied bluntly and shrugged.

 

“But he can’t, he needs them, and the whole thing boils down to the fact that to keep in power, to keep his presidency, he needs votes.”

 

“You thought that all out by yourself did you?” Joe smirked, his eyes twinkling, “Well, so it’s alright for him to have the forts built and people killed just so that he can get votes?”

 

“Votes keep him in power,” Adam replied slowly and with that thought in mind he turned to look behind him, and gave a wry grimace at the sight of the fort slowly disappearing from view.

 

 

 

Chapter 112

 

The cabin was shrouded by trees which cast long shadows making it less than welcoming.  This was the home of the Indian Agent, Mr. J.J. Saville*, and the last time Joe and Adam had entered the building it had been the home of Major Wynkoop, a man of humanity and vision.  Both Joe and Adam had a feeling that Saville would have neither of those qualities.

 

Saville viewed the two men with a singular lack of curiosity but welcomed them into the building, saying that it was always good to have company from outside the reservation,

 

“Ain’t come with any complaints, have you?” He walked into the interior of the building as he asked the question and didn’t even look at them as he pushed the coffee pot further onto the stove.

 

“No, why?  Are you expecting some?” Adam’s voice was clipped as he glanced around the room and remembered the warmth of it from Wynkoop’s time. “Had some trouble here have you?”

 

“There’s always trouble here.”  Saville gestured to some chairs which his guests accepted, placing their hats on the floor by their feet, “They’re a disorganised rabble.  I tried to get a census of how many reservation Indians there were here so that things could be distributed to them on a fair level, but they kicked up and complained.  Then the non- reservation Indians come trickling back, thinking no one would notice, and expect the same handouts and complain because there isn’t enough to go round.  What do they expect, for heaven’s sake?”

 

“I—er—guess it could pose a problem,” Adam replied dryly and accepted the coffee with a sidelong glance at Joe who was looking around the place with a distracted air. “My brother and I were here some years ago when Major Wynkoop was the agent here.”

 

“Ah, Wynkoop.” Savill’s downturned mouth was sufficient evidence of his opinion of his predecessor. “Created chaos and disorder, all his attempts to appease these Indians just impeded progress.”

 

“Progress?  With regard to what exactly?” Joe asked, swilling the bitter coffee round in his mouth and wondering if it were safe to swallow.

 

“Proper respect, for a start.”

 

“You have to earn respect,” Adam replied sharply, and he placed the cup back on the stove and rose to his feet. “Well, it’s good to have met up with you, sir.  Thank you for the coffee.”

 

“Yeah, thanks—” Joe placed his cup beside that of his brother’s and picked up his hat. “We’ll be here for a while, if that’s alright with you?”

 

“Do as you please, just don’t start any trouble.”

 

Adam glanced at Joe and raised his eyebrows before leaving the cabin, followed closely by his brother.  They walked back to their horses and looked around. Several Indians in the area watched them with a little curiosity before melting away into the trees.  Joe shook his head. “Something’s not right; it didn’t used to be quite this bad.”

 

“Well, seems Saville has his way of doing things; he obviously likes method and order. He likes to run a tight ship.”

 

“Is that what it’s called?”  Joe grinned and together they began to stroll along a well worn track that led to the building where the Indians could trade for goods or, if they had the necessary papers, get food and other essentials.  Several Oglala Sioux were already there looking over some items they had been handed.  They were obviously not  impressed by the quality. One Indian  held a blanket up by its corner and branded it under the trader’s nose.

 

“Not good.  Not good.”

 

“You take it or you leave it.  There ain’t nothing else I can give ya.”

 

“I give fur—you give good blanket.”

 

“You’ve got a good blanket.  Now, go on, get out of here.”

 

The men mumbled among themselves and then looked over at the brothers before deciding to leave.  As they left the building one purposely jostled against Joe’s shoulder, forcing him to step back several paces.

 

“Not  happy customers,” he observed to the trader who was refolding the blanket and putting it back into its place on the counter.

 

“They always want something for nothing,” the other man grumbled, and swore under his breath as he walked towards them. “Now, what can I get you two gents?”

 

“Coffee.  Beans.  Bacon.  A blanket.” Adam said and turned to stare up at the ceiling. “I think that should do.”

 

“Sorry, blankets are government issue for them out there—” he tossed his head towards the door. “You have to have a requisition form to get one.”

 

Joe was walking up and down the counters.  He said nothing but watched as the trader packed away what Adam had requested.  Adam paid what amounted to top dollar for each item.

 

“Saville was saying you had trouble with some kind of census being drawn up?”

 

“Yeah, he wanted to know exactly how many reservation Indians there were, helps us keep an eye on who exactly deserves the provisions.  Right about now we’ll get a whole lot of men who went out hunting in the spring coming back and expecting handouts.”

 

“Was there much trouble?” Joe asked, fingering one of the blankets thoughtfully.

 

“Enough, but—” the trader removed the stub of pencil from behind his ear and wrote something down on a piece of paper—“there are quite a few here now who don’t want trouble.  They’ve got used to being reservation Indians.  Red Cloud does his best to keep his people in order, but to be honest, he’s lost touch with his young men. They’re spoiling for a fight.”

 

“Do you think there will be one?” Joe leaned on the counter and the trader placed his elbows on the counter and leaned on it as well.

 

“Between you and me—there’s going to be a real big explosion one of these days.  These Indians—let’s see—you got Cheyenne, Northern tribes and Southern, you got a whole host of Sioux...Hunkpapa, Minneconjou, Oglala...Not a good combination, if you ask me.  Then you got Comanche. Arapahoe. Kiowa.  Nah, it’s all boiling up to a big fight alright.  The tensions boiling up under the surface hotter than hells fire.  Since Custer brought all those men along and built all those forts…no good telling them here that it’s for their protection when they see the army escorting wagonloads of white folk across their land.”

 

“Is Crazy Horse here?” Joe asked casually.

 

“No, he’s at Fort Robinson.  The young warriors look to him as a hero, one of the few left.”

 

“We rode upon a hunting camp earlier, been attacked, some killed.  There was a Sioux came and helped us,—Young Man afraid of his Horses.  Is he here?”

 

“Sure he’s here.  One of the best, so far as you can trust any of them.  He’s one of their main chiefs, but he likes a quiet life.  He’s kinda like chief of police, if you could call it that…but to be honest, if there’s trouble he’s the one will get things calmed down.  No good going to Red Cloud or Sitting Bull.”

 

The sun was still lazily shining through the trees as they left and Adam slipped his provisions over the saddle horn.  He shook his head thoughtfully.

 

“Poor quality supplies, no wonder the people here get angry.”

 

“Huh, the blankets are too thin, wouldn’t keep a child warm in winter.”

 

Joe removed his hat and then looked up at the sky. It seemed to him a useless exercise, coming here just to have some facts confirmed—facts he didn’t really want to have to accept, but which proved the culpability of the government in their lack of care for the Indians on the reservations.

 

“Joseph Cartwright?”

 

He turned at the mention of his name, his hand instinctively lowering towards his gun, but then his face creased into his usual smile when he recognised the handsome appearance of his old friend, Stalking Horse.

 

“So you came?”  The Cheyenne strode forward, followed by several others. “You and your brother?”  He turned to Adam who greeted him warmly. After all, this was the man who had saved Adam’s life those years ago, and whose herbal remedies had kept him sane on those occasions when the pain could well have killed him.

 

It seemed the most natural thing to follow them as they strolled further into the interior of the camp, two white men with five Cheyenne, and if either of the white men had any fears as to their safety they did not show it.

 

Eventually they reached an area that revealed a good view of the reservation, of the hundreds of tepees lined up wherever the eye could see.  It occurred to Adam that should they decide to rise up en masse, then the white people in that area would have a great deal to fear. The fact that they had not yet taken the law into their own hands indicated to him that their spirit was totally broken, that they had now become so dependent on the handouts due to the lack of buffalo and game that the spark of fighting spirit was at low ebb.

 

“You saw the White Father?” Stalking Horse asked Joe and the young man shook his head.

 

“No, Stalking Horse, I did not.  The White Father listens to eagles; he would not hear the chirping of a sparrow.”

 

“Could not a sparrow fly onto the shoulder of the White Father and whisper in his ear?” the shaman replied with a sage smile.

 

“Not this one, I’m afraid.” Joe smiled and shrugged, “My brother and I have travelled many miles to come here, Stalking Horse.  We came to see what you needed and how we could help.”

 

The Cheyenne glanced at each other, and straightened their backs.  It seemed to Adam and Joe that they were making some kind of collective decision as to whether or not trust them further.  Adam glanced over to Joe, who just looked trustingly into Stalking Horse’s face.

 

“Star Chief Custer—the one they call Pa’huska—rides through our land with many wagons, and many soldiers.  He builds his forts and flies his flags over our land.” Stalking Horse said bitterly.

 

“This land is sacred to the Cheyenne and to the Sioux,” another young man said, and looked at the two brothers thoughtfully, “What would you do if the great Sioux and Cheyenne Chiefs rode over your land and took it from you?”

 

Neither Adam nor Joe spoke in reply, although Adam’s brow furrowed and he pursed his lips, realising that somewhere or other this conversation was going to lead to something that would, perhaps, compromise them if they were not careful.  Joe shook his head. “Well, we have seen for ourselves what is being done here, but—”

 

“You want to help your Cheyenne brothers?” Stalking Horse asked, raising his chin now and narrowing his eyes, black eyes that darted from one brother to the other.

 

“Yes, tell us what we can do to help,” Joe replied eagerly, perhaps too eagerly.

 

“You have money—you buy guns—many guns.” Stalking Horse lowered his voice, but the words were spoken with an urgency that carried above a whisper.

 

“No.” Adam replied immediately.

 

“Guns, rifles—you get many of them for us and then we can fight the Pa’huska and his armies, then the White Father will see that here there are still eagles flying that must be heard.”

 

“No, Stalking Horse.  No, we can’t do that—”

 

One of the Cheyenne spat on the ground and shook his head as though in disgust. Another shouted “Hah” and stalked off, head held high and shoulders taut, his hand on the hilt of his knife.  Stalking Horse leaned in closer to Joe, who stepped back and felt the reassuring body of his brother behind him.

 

“You must help us, Joseph Cartwright.  Little Moon’s people are dying here.  Would you want her to see this happening?”

 

“Little Moon wouldn’t want you to fight anymore, Stalking Horse.” Joe gripped the Indian’s arm, but his hand was shaken off as the other man stepped away from him. “It’s not the way.”

 

“You talk like Young Man Afraid of his Horses, and Red Cloud,” one of the other Cheyenne said. “But we are standing here and seeing the veheos coming into our land like flood waters.  There is no stopping them.  We have to fight.”

 

“You don’t have to fight,” Adam pointed out. “There are other ways.”

 

“You—white man—you talk of other ways.” The Cheyenne tossed his head and his bold eyes seemed to burn in his face. “Talk, is that one of your ways?  Perhaps we come to your land and take it…will you talk then?  How many years of talk have we listened to as your white chiefs whispered poison into our ears.  Promises.  Empty promises.”

 

Stalking Horse nodded. “Promises on pieces of paper that they are the first to tear up.” He scowled darkly. “The chief of all thieves has made the road through our land. Then we will use this road to be rid of him.”

 

“Stalking Horse—” Joe stretched out a hand as though to placate his old friend but the other Cheyenne had reached forward  and pulled Joe’s gun from its holster and before Joe was able to say another word he had pulled the trigger.

 

Adam felt the scorching heat clip across his temple; stars spun in the air in front of his eyes, and Joe’s face faded into a blur of white that exploded and died into blackness. He didn’t feel a thing when his body hit the ground, bounced slightly, and then rolled onto his back.

 

Chapter 113

 

There was nothing Joe could do, nothing, he just froze and during that second he saw Adam fall, blood gush over his face, the body land and bounce and sprawl out as though already dead.  He saw faces turn into a blur of colours, and sounds from all around him of voices, a child crying, another gun fired and all he could do was stand and it seemed as though it had taken an hour before he could get his mouth to open, and his body to move.

 

But it had only been moments…from the moment the gun went off and Adam began to fall Stalking Horse and his companions were overwhelmed by other Indians as they suddenly appeared from the shadows and totally engulfed them and bore them away. By the time Joe was able to coordinate thought with action at least sixteen Sioux warriors were disappearing down the track leaving him to turn his attention to his brother.

 

As he knelt beside Adam, the sound of a child wailing still rang in his ears.  Glancing upwards he saw a young woman with a small boy standing close by with a look of utmost horror on their faces.  The boy was howling, the terrible drawn out sob of a child who had seen something too awful for him to comprehend and Joe could only imagine that it was not so much the shooting of the white man that had affected him but the memories of far worse now having to be confronted.

 

“It’s alright—” he cried, raising a hand towards them but the girl cried out something in Lakota and grabbed the child and ran.  “It’s alright—” he whispered and then bowed over the body of his brother .

 

Hands now came and grabbed at him, and words were whispered into his ear, words he had understood at one time but which now seemed a gabble of sounds only.  He was pulled to his feet and several Sioux surrounded him.

 

“Adam—”

 

As he called his brother’s name, one of the Sioux placed a finger on his lips and shook his head.  A hasty look over the man’s shoulder and he saw his brother being borne away by six warriors.

 

“Where are you taking him?”

 

“To Red Cloud.” the man replied, and then a frown settled upon his face, “Ah, you—again.”

 

“What d’you—” he paused, opened his eyes wide and nodded, “Yes, I‘m sorry, but—”

 

“Come, words can be spoken later.  Let’s go from here before the agent gets to hear of this and makes his enquiries.”

 

Joe nodded; he stooped to pick up Adam’s hat and quickly followed the tall Indian down the track towards where they were carrying Adam.  The Indian he had recognised as the leader of the band that had descended upon the Cheyenne camp, the Lakota Sioux they called Young Man afraid of his Horses *(his name should be more correctly translated as, “his enemies are even afraid of his horse”).

 

“What happens now?” he asked, realising that the haste with which they were moving indicated an anxiety to get as far from the agency as possible.

 

“That depends on you, and your brother.” Young Man replied, although he didn’t look at him at all but kept his eyes fixed upon the body being carried along further up the track.

 

Joe said nothing to that, but glanced over his shoulder and then fell into step with the Sioux whom he vaguely recalled from his previous association with the Cheyenne and Sioux. He struggled to recall anything that could serve as a reference point with his companion as they continued on past tepees, through trees and shrubs and on to a wide space where Red Cloud had his lodging, and he watched as Adam was swiftly carried inside.

 

“You ride with Crazy Horse, don’t you?”  Joe said suddenly, as memory flooded his brain and he recalled the two young men, almost inseparable, constantly galloping through the camp and devising new tricks to play upon the white men.

 

“I did but no more—we ride separate paths now.” Young Man turned to Joe and frowned, “Are you the one who was George Bent’s friend?  You who were in love with the maiden, Little Moon?”

 

“Yes, yes, that’s right, that was me.”

 

“Ah, well, times have changed since then, my friend, and, as you see, not for the better.”

 

“I can see that...”

 

Young Man Afraid of his Horses looked at Joe intently, as though by doing so he would be able to see right into his heart. He said nothing but indicated that Joe should go and see to his brother.

 

…………

 

The soft ebb and flow of movement led Adam to believe that he was on board a ship.  His confused brain tried to remind itself that possibly it was the Ainola, but then surely it couldn’t be so it had to be the Shenandoah.  His lips moved silently, his breathing so shallow that it was impossible to see his chest moving at all.  If he was on board the Shenandoah then it wouldn’t be long before O’Brien would step through the door and give him the ship’s bearings.  He forced his eyes open, looked up, saw nothing he recognised, and closed his eyes again.

 

‘Don’t worry, it’s just a dream.’ 

 

He opened his eyes again, raised his hand to touch where it hurt most and was surprised when someone grabbed at his wrist and pulled his hand down.  Someone was gently bathing his brow.  

 

‘Just bear with it; if it’s not a dream then it has to be real and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

 

He heard voices, a language he didn’t understand, and just for a moment he wondered if he were back in Egypt and struggled to remember the Arabic for hello or thank you.  He opened his eyes and looked up and saw anxious hazel eyes looking down at him.

 

“Joe?”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

He raised a hand to his temple and felt the tackiness of blood, he looked around him, and saw over Joe’s shoulder a tall, distinguished old man, a young woman, and a man a little younger than himself.  They all regarded him with some curiosity and a lot of anxiety.

 

“What happened?” he asked and struggled to sit up, swayed and took a deep breath. “Joe?”

 

“This is Chief Red Cloud*, Adam, and one of his daughters…and you may remember Young Man Afraid of his Horses, we met him a few days ago.”

 

Adam didn’t nod, he’d suffered enough similar injuries to be able to recall that it was not the wisest of things to do, but he thanked the old chief and the young girl for taking care of him before he turned to Young Man Afraid of his Horses.

 

“Perhaps you could tell us what this is all about?”

 

A brief look passed between the two Indians, the girl disappeared from the tent, its door flap was pulled over, and in the gloom they approached the area where Adam lay.

 

“I remember you as the man who saw Custer and stopped him from attacking our camp—you wore a uniform but were not one of them,” Young Man said cautiously.

 

“That was some time ago. Who, exactly, are you?”

 

“Thašúŋke Khokípkapi,” the Indian replied.

 

“Then, explain what’s going on here.”

 

“A fool fired a gun, the bullet grazed your head, and we have cared for you—”

 

“And?”

 

Red Cloud approached now, a chief who had confronted many great white chieftains and beaten them down.  He looked at Adam with a black gaze and shook his head.

 

“It is better—perhaps—that Agent Saville does not know what happened.  Too much can be made from a small thing.”

 

Joe opened his mouth and then closed it again quickly.  A small thing?  His brother could have been killed!  He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, looked over at Adam and realised immediately the implications that were now only too obvious. 

 

“Of course.” Adam was touching his head, looking at the blood but agreeing that it was nothing, nothing that the agent needed to know about anyway.

 

“It is difficult—you understand,” Young Man said.

 

“What will happen to Stalking Horse and his friends?” Joe asked, “I came all this way to help him as best I could, but find that instead—”

 

“Yes, it often happens like that—” Red Cloud said in his thick voice, and the dark eyes softened as though with amusement. “White men want to help, but it does not seem to be  helpful when they do.”

 

“We shall deal with Stalking Horse; it is a matter for the Agency Police.” Young Man said.

 

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea.” Adam said  and struggled to his feet, swayed slightly and reached out for his hat which Joe handed to him. “It would no doubt be a good idea if we rode out of here.”

 

Red Cloud shook his head “No, that is a bad idea.  You must stay here and recover, and we would wish to offer you hospitality.”  He placed a firm strong hand upon Adam’s shoulder and pushed him back onto the bed, “Now, Adam Cartwright, you must rest.”

 

Adam Cartwright decided that to surrender was not only the sensible thing to do, but also the honourable thing.  He did as he was told and lay back on the bed, while Joe had his own resting place pointed out to him.  When the two men had left them and closed the door flap upon them, Joe sidled over to where Adam lay.

 

“Does this mean we’re prisoners?” he whispered to his now half conscious brother.

 

“I don’t know—they’re your friends.”

 

“Aw, heck, Adam, how’d we get into this mess?”

 

Adam just rolled his eyes and decided to keep quiet, leaving Joe chewing his nails and wondering what to do next, although even that didn’t take too long as the door flap was opened and a young woman stepped inside with something cool to drink for them both, a warm and friendly smile, and much nodding of head.  For some reason he felt more optimistic about the outcome of the “hospitality.”

 

 

 

Chapter 114

 

The sound of a voice louder than the mumble of others caught Joe’s attention and he quickly went to Adam and shook his shoulder in order to awaken him. 

 

“Adam?  Wake up!” he hissed into his brother’s ear. This prompted his brother to open his eyes and glare at him before sitting up, swaying slightly and demanding what on earth was going on. Joe shook his head. “I’m not sure, but it sounds like that agent, Saville.”

 

Adam wrinkled his nose as though the name itself brought with it a bad smell.  He sighed, and rose to his feet, lowered his head and allowed the dizziness to pass. “Perhaps he wants to invite us to dinner,” he said  and led the way out of the tepee.

 

A large number of Indians, mostly Sioux, and a handful of Cheyenne were assembled in a semi-circle with Red Cloud in its centre confronting an irate reservation agent who was talking loudly at them as though if he spoke in a softer voice they would not be able to hear him nor understand what he was saying.  Adam and Joe stood by the entrance of the tepee, listening intently.

 

The agent was not alone; several soldiers bearing rifles flanked him on either side, their bodies tense, prepared for action.  The Indians, on the other hand, mostly seasoned warriors and old women, stood impassively by listening with some respect but mostly with some amusement. 

 

“…and if I don’t receive an honest response to this enquiry I swear I’ll half your rations.  Do you think I care particularly about that?  No, I don’t.  By the authority vested in me by the government of the United States I can get that store locked up and you’ll not step inside it again until Kingdom comes.”

 

Adam cleared his throat, twice, before Saville realised he was there and spun around to face him and Joe.  The agent, puffed up with his own self importance, now seemed to swell a little more at seeing the victim of what he had been told was a malicious and criminal shooting.

 

“Mr. Cartwright, I came as soon as I heard, let me promise, no, assure you, that this matter will be looked into, and the culprits caught and punished.”

 

Joe and Adam said nothing, they looked at the faces of the Sioux and Cheyenne, perhaps some now looked resigned, as though they knew the game was up; others had tensed, waiting for the obvious. After all, what white man denied another white man what he wanted, especially when the word of the Indian was in doubt? 

 

Red Cloud, tall and dignified, stepped forward. “Agent Saville accuses us of shooting you and keeping you a prisoner here.”

 

“What did you tell him about that?” Adam asked immediately, his dark eyes looking thoughtfully at the other man who nodded slowly.

 

“I told him that you were not shot in the way he has spoken about and that you are our guest, not our prisoner.”

 

Saville opened his mouth to protest and was silenced when Adam nodded.

 

“Well, there you are, Mr. Saville, that’s the way of it.”

 

Saville looked a little taken aback and frowned; he looked at Joe who only raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

 

“I heard two shots,” he muttered, stressing the words with an emphasis that denoted his anxiety for some support from them. “I heard two shots fired and was told that you had been injured.”

 

“There were two shots fired,” Adam agreed, nodding his head as he spoke, and he shrugged, put a hand to Joe’s holster and pulled the gun free.  Saville stepped back in alarm; the soldiers closed ranks, and then relaxed when Adam spun the gun so that the handle was held out to Saville for his inspection.

 

“Both shots came from my brother’s gun.” He raised his eyebrows as though surprised that Saville had not yet taken the gun from him for examination “Two bullets—two empty chambers—you can smell it for yourself, it’ll confirm that it’s been recently fired.”

 

The Sioux were looking now decidedly stony faced, dark eyes were growing harder and lips were thinning as Saville examined the gun, and then rather hesitantly handed it back to Joe.

 

“So it just proves me right…two gun shots…by whom?”

 

“Me,” Joe stepped forward as he slipped the gun back into his holster “I was telling my brother that there were some things I couldn’t tolerate, and cheats and fraudsters rated top of my list.”

 

Saville’s eyes narrowed, he looked at Adam, then again at Joe.

 

“And you shot your brother?”

 

“I was being stupid, Mr. Saville. I was—er—showing off a left-handed technique to my friends here  and—”

 

“And I was stupid enough to step in his path, and the gun went off and creased me, that was all.”

 

“There were two shots …” Saville hissed

 

“Yeah, well, your Indian Police are really sensitive about any trouble around here, Mr. Saville.  One of them came by and grabbed my arm and tried to yank the gun out of my hand, but I still had my finger on the trigger and it went off.”

 

“After which they brought me here to clean me up and offer us hospitality,” Adam concluded. “Nothing really to worry about—”

 

“Nothing to worry about?” Saville cried. “Do you really think I’m going to believe that ridiculous story, because story it certainly was—and you talk of fraudsters and cheats, sir, just who were you accusing of cheating and defrauding here?”

 

“Well, I’m sorry you don’t believe what we’ve told you, Mr. Saville.  You can see we are in honest company here as no one has stolen our hardware from us,” Adam replied, and then glanced over at the rifles still in their sheaths, “nor even stolen our rifles, which I am sure would be greatly appreciated by some of them; they could go hunting and catch a rat or two.”

 

Saville’s feet fidgeted uncomfortably, he looked from the brothers to the rifles, and then back again. “I shall be contacting my commanding officer and reporting that there was a fracas here and you were both involved.  You will both remain here until he comes, and you will stay and answer his questions.  Any Indian who touched a weapon—”

 

“Now, wait a moment there—” Joe cried

 

“As I said, any Indian who—”

 

“One moment.” It was Adam this time, and he stepped forward with his hand raised for attention, as well as for silence. “Mr. Saville, who is your commanding officer?”

 

Saville fidgeted again, the person he took orders from was not necessarily his commanding officer.  To acknowledge that he took orders from Custer rather than from the secretary for the Bureau of Indian Affairs placed him on difficult grounds.  Adam and Joe waited.

 

“Mr. Saville,” Joe said, “We’ve explained what happened, there’s no need for you to bring in anyone else.  My brother and I intend to leave here in the morning, and we don’t intend to be hanging around any longer than that…”

 

“You’ll stay here until I tell you when you can go,” Saville snarled, becoming angrier than ever and as a result losing his self control. The fact that such a lengthy discussion was taking place in front of the Sioux Chief, Red Cloud, and such prominent men in the tribe as Old Man Afraid of his Horses and his son, Young Man, was beginning to make him feel demeaned and embarrassed.  “I could order you to be placed under arrest.”

 

“I’d like to see you try,” Joe promptly snapped back.

 

“Sergeant Jackson, arrest these men!” Saville ordered immediately.

 

“One moment,” Adam said once again, and slowly put a hand to the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew an envelope. “You recognise this insignia?”

 

Saville glanced at it, swallowed, nodded.

 

“Yes, what of it?”

 

Adam turned the envelope around. “Note to whom it is addressed.”

 

“Commodore Adam Cartwright,”  Saville went slightly paler and his eyes flicked over to Adam, “That’s you?”

 

“That’s me, and I believe I out rank or at least am of equal ranking to your commanding officer.” He withdrew the letter, and folding it carefully so that only the concluding part would be readable, he held it in front of Saville. “Recognise the signature?”

 

“Yes.”  Saville heaved in a deep breath. “The president, Mr. Grant.”

 

Adam nodded, slowly slipping the letter back into its envelope, knowing that Saville couldn’t have missed reading the salutation at the end of the letter. “Your friend … U.S. Grant.”  Saville looked as though he were about to have an attack of apoplexy.

 

“Now, Mr. Saville, I shall be seeing President Grant in a few months’ time.  I am sure he will be  interested to hear what I will have to tell him about the way this agency is run under your—stringent—controls.”  The cold way the words were delivered left Saville in no doubt that the report would not be favourable; he darted a look at both brothers and then rallied, drew his shoulders back,

 

“Very well, have it your way. Good day, gentlemen.”

 

Adam pursed his lips and watched Saville and his men march away, then looked at Joe, shaking his head. “Cheats and fraudsters, huh?”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t lie about that … I don’t like ’em.”

 

“Who does?” Adam smiled, his eyes hooded with heavy lids, and he turned to Red Cloud, “Thank you for your hospitality, Chief Red Cloud, and for the care you have given me.  I think I am well enough now to travel on.”

 

Red Cloud shook his head, held up both hands.

 

“You have been invited as our guests, you must have hospitality, come—you stay a while.”  And he smiled; the dark eyes were warm and kindly.

 

…………….

 

They provided a feast of food, things they had kept for that special occasion, food that was precious because of its unavailability, meat hunted down and therefore illegal for several reasons, but no one was going to ask what the reasons were now as Adam and Joe sat and ate along with them.  Red Cloud’s hospitality was renowned, and because he and his people had shoddy food and goods supplied didn’t mean their guests went without good food.

 

There was music, and there was dancing.  Young women came and danced as the fires’ flames roared into the skies, they danced the old way, chanting and ululating to the moon, their hips swaying provocatively, and their dark eyes lit up by the flames and the excitement of the freedom of the dance.  Then the young men came leaping into the centre of the ring, and the flames shone on their greased bodies and made them look like wild animals joyful at the chance to take part in this random feast of merrymaking.

 

“I remember when you came before,” Stalking Horse said, offering Adam some meat from the carcase of some creature sacrificed for the feast, “We thought Star Chief Custer would kill us with his big guns, but you rode down with the big man, your brother, even though we thought you would drop dead in front of him and he would ride over your body anyway.”

 

“Mmm, well, Hoss and I thought much the same thing.” Adam replied, washing the meat down with some water. “That was some time back, Stalking Horse. You saved my life then.”

 

The other man nodded and looked away, still feeling some shame at the earlier incident and his part in it.

 

Young Man Afraid of his Horses watched, listened and then leaned forward to speak. “How can I persuade my young men not to go and fight? Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse will not be persuaded to come to the reservations; they want to fight, and many of our young men go and join them.  How can we win against the white men?”

 

“Yes, how can we win?” Stalking Horse now demanded. “Unless we fight, there is no hope for our people. We shall be trodden into the dust until we become just the same, grains of dust blown away by the wind.”

 

“If you fight and die, that’s what you’ll become anyway, only sooner.” Joe said matter-of-factly.

 

“He’s right, you know,” Adam sighed and drank more water.

 

“Then tell us what to do!” Stalking Horse hissed, grabbing at Adam’s arm in his eagerness for an answer.

 

“Well,” Adam paused and looked around at the faces there, and narrowed his eyes against the rolling clouds of smoke from the fire that drifted towards them, “Well, if you carry on fighting, you won’t win.  You know that, don’t you?”

 

“How can we sit back and let the white men take our land?  Haven’t they taken already so much?

 

A Sioux by the name of Shunkaha Napin* leaned forward. “I never want to leave this country, all my relatives are lying in the ground, and when I fall to pieces I am going to fall to pieces here too.”*

 

As Joe and Adam continued to eat, neither of them sure of what to say, another Indian came and squatted down before them. “You—white man—what would you say to your friends ?” his dark eyes bore into Joe’s face, and then into Adam’s. “Don’t you know that you white people have torn out our hearts?  They push us away from our lands. In great trails of tears we have walked, and this is where our feet now rest.  We must fight the white man and get back the lands he has stolen from us.”

 

There were enough grunts of approval at this comment to make Joe and Adam feel uncomfortable, Joe even had a momentary feeling that this could be a feast similar to the last meal of the condemned man.

 

“I still would tell you not to fight.  Listen to Red Cloud; he has proven himself a wise leader,” Joe urged and glanced over at Adam who leaned forward to listen. “He won against the Government over Fort Bridger, didn’t he?”

 

“Look.” Adam leaned towards them. “The only way you can beat Custer, and all the other eagle chiefs who come against you with their cannon and armies, is to survive.”  He frowned, “Survival for you will need strength, great power, great power.” He stressed the words and caught Red Cloud’s eyes, and the older man nodded as though he understood.

 

“To eat their worm-filled bread and beg for their crumbs?” Stalking Horse spat angrily. “I thought you would say words wiser than that.”

 

“I have just come back from a land far away on the sea, a land that takes many moons to reach from where the sea begins on this land.”  Adam watched their faces, for like children they loved stories, especially ones that touched on their own lives. “There is a great chief there—”

 

“Another white chief?” Crow Feather (Kangi Wiyaka) smirked.

 

“There are white chiefs everywhere,”  White Ghost (Wanigi Ska) laughed, and there was a chorus of chuckles from that comment.

 

“No, this is no white chief, he is the chief of this vast land, bigger even than here—” Adam frowned, remembering the pompous fat man, the khedive Ismail. “But he wanted more land, more than he had a right to—”

 

“Ah”   “Well, isn’t it always so—”   “White men will be here somewhere…”

 

He let the mumbles trickle away. 

 

“Every day in his big towns he sells the people of this land, he sells them so that they become the property of other men like himself.  For them there is nothing left, no families, no tribes, no country.  But they will survive … just as you must survive.”

 

“How?”  Young Man Afraid of his Horses asked.

 

“Go to their schools, let your children go to their colleges, teach them the white man’s laws…”

 

“We do not want to lose what is ours, who we are, what we are…” lamented White Ghost.

 

“You won’t have to; you will merely learn the tools the white men use when they want something but cannot fight for it.  You have to learn their language, their laws…”

 

Some shook their heads, already determined to spill their blood and that of the white men, others shook their heads because they were afraid to change, but there were those who looked intently at the two brothers, nodded thoughtfully and walked away to think about what had been said.

 

As the fires died down and the dancing ended, Joe and Adam were led to a tepee for guests. It was comfortable and spacious, and gratefully they closed the entrance flap and slid down onto the beds.

 

“What do you think they’ll do?” Joe whispered.

 

“What do YOU think they’ll do?” his brother whispered back.

 

“Oh, most of them will fight.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” Adam sighed and rolled onto his side, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

 

Joe on the other hand remained awake for some time as he mulled over in his mind what had been achieved on this journey.  By the time he fell asleep he had to admit to himself that it had all been without purpose, because there was really no answer to the matter, none that he could see clearly enough for the people he loved so much, and yet who had caused him so much grief.

 

 

Chapter 115

 

The garden was still beautiful despite the heat blazing down upon it.  Petals drifted softly down to earth and carpeted the paths, yet there always seemed to be a new rose or a new blossom to marvel over and enjoy.

 

Hand-in-hand, the sisters walked through the garden, their skirts brushing against the sleeping shrubs that instantly woke and poured forth their sweet perfumes.  Rachel wore the summer dress of an American woman, and her hair was twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck caught into a snood; soft curls touched her brow and cheeks.  Her sister, Anna, wore the dress of an Egyptian woman, indicating not only her love for the culture and people, but the fact that if married to an Egyptian she should wear the clothing he would prefer.

 

They walked in silence as though both had much on their minds.  Once or twice Rachel sighed, and when she did so Anna pressed her fingers as though to express some understanding, although Rachel had never disclosed to her sister the cause of her lack of spirit.  Her lethargy had become noticeable even to Said El Hassim who had asked his wife to speak to her sister to find out what they could do to help her.  Anna was therefore on a mission and Rachel, well, she was just miserable.

 

“Let’s sit here; it’s hot and I need to rest.”  Anna sighed and settled down on the seat beneath the rose arbour; she turned to her sister and smiled. “You look so pretty today, Rachel.”

 

“Do I?” her sister looked surprised and looked down at her dress and then shrugged. “Well, if you say so.”

 

“You should pay more attention to how you dress, dear, you used to…” her voice trailed away and she glanced anxiously at Rachel who was staring at a butterfly with almost painful intensity.

 

“Oh well, I see little point to it now.”

 

“But you should; Said has so many young men coming and had hoped that by now you would have found someone to care about. They all admire you  much, and it would take  little to encourage one or two of them to become more than just admirers.”

 

“Anna, that’s the last thing I want.” Rachel groaned and rose to her feet. “I don’t want to talk about such a stupid subject.”

 

“It’s not stupid, it’s important—”

 

“To you maybe—”

 

“No, to us all. Said wants you happily married as we are, he wants you to enjoy life as you should after all—”

 

“Go on, ‘after all?’”  she quirked one eyebrow and her blue eyes fastened upon her sister’s face, then she shook her head, “After all, I’m not getting any younger?  After all, I will soon lose my looks?  After all…? What?”

 

“After all, you can’t keep dwelling on the past, even the recent past.”

 

“That’s funny, coming from an archaeologist to another—” she grinned without humour and shrugged. “What recent past do you mean anyway?”

 

“Well, I was thinking that you have been unhappy like this ever since he left here…it was obvious that there was something between you, the way he looked at you, the way you acted when he was around.  It isn’t a coincidence that you have been feeling so unhappy since he left, is it?”

 

Rachel was silent for a moment and then turned to survey her sister with a strange expression on her face, before she said she hadn’t realised her feelings were so transparent.

 

“To those who love you, darling, of course they were.” Anna took hold of her sister’s hand and stroked the long fingers. “You gave him your ring, didn’t you?”

 

She pulled her hand away and clasped both of them in her lap, frowned a little, and then looked at her sister again, with warily. “Who exactly are we talking about here?”

 

“You, of course.”

 

“No, I mean…who exactly do you think I—” she hesitated and drew in her breath.  Even now she found it hard to admit to herself that she had felt so much for a man who had drifted in and out of her life and of whom she had heard nothing since.  It was, she told herself more than countless times a day, just an illusion, a wish borne from her need to be loved and to love in return.  “Whom do you refer to?”

 

“Why—Laurence Willoughby, of course.  You and he got on so well together, and, Rachel, there’s no doubt about how he felt for you.  Every time I look at the picture of you that he painted I get the feeling that each brushstroke was put there with love.”

 

Rachel bowed her head, and the sun caressed her neck and back and made her tingle all over with its warmth.  She stayed silent for some time, enough time for Anna to exclaim angrily that it was just a waste of time talking to her…

 

“You have always been like this, Rachel, stubborn and secretive.  Papa never could understand you, he’d ask you a direct question and you would just sit there, head down and not answer.  He would get so annoyed by that, some answer, even the wrong one, would have been helpful.”

 

“I—I just wanted to find the right answer,” Rachel replied hesitantly, “Not the right answer for me, but for him.  I never seemed able to do right for Papa after our brother died.”

 

“He expected much more from you, Rachel.  Oh, my dear, you’re so sweet and clever, but—”

 

“‘But,’ always ‘but.’”  She rose to her feet, “I’m only two years older than you, Anna, but sometimes you treat me as though I were ten years younger or fifty years older.  I am not old, for heaven’s sake, I am just 25 years of age—” she paused, looked at her sister and shook her head. “I thought of Laurence as my brother...he was—he was sweet and funny and clever.  I didn’t and I do not love him.  He did say, however, that he loved me but—”

 

“Oh Rachel, you didn’t refuse him, oh, of course you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.  How silly of you—”

 

“Silly?  Why?”

 

“He’s nobility, Rachel.  He’s rich and handsome, young and English.  Think of what life would be life for you in England, my dear?  There would be balls, and hunts, and there would be—”

 

“Everything I hate.  Don’t talk about anymore, Anna, you’ll make me angry and upset.” she frowned, “He did say he would wait for me, if that gives you any peace of mind.”

 

“The most ardent lover can become impatient with waiting, Rachel.”

 

“Laurence won’t.” She smiled, a fleeting memory of the young man’s face drifted into her mind and she knew that Laurence Willoughby would wait and wait. She turned to her sister. “Anna, I’ve made up my mind. I’m leaving Egypt. You don’t need me here now, probably you never did, I just told myself that you did because I wanted to be with someone who cared about me.  I am so stupid at times—”

 

“Hmm.”  Anna raised her chin and looked at her sister with uplifted brows.

 

“I have to leave as soon as possible.” she rose to her feet, “I may already have left it too long and he will have forgotten all about me.”

 

“He?  Who do you mean, for heaven’s sake, girl?”

 

“Oh, someone you don’t know—” she smiled, looked at Anna and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You are such a sweet sister, Anna, thank you so much.”

 

“What on earth for?”

 

“For talking to me about it.”

 

“About what?”  Anna shook her head and stood up with her hands pressed to her face, “I mean—is it Laurence?”

 

“No, no, it’s dear Adam Abdulkarim.  It’s always been him, I thought if I waited long enough the feeling would fade, surely if it were just a fleeting fascination it would have gone by now?” She looked into Anna’s puzzled eyes, and then smiled, “But it hasn’t gone, it’s just got stronger.  I need to leave for America as soon as I possibly can, Anna.”

 

“Who’s Abdulkarim?”

 

Rachel smiled and looked sadly at her sister, shook her head and sighed. “Have you forgotten him already, Anna?  I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to forget Adam.”  She shrugged slim shoulders. “He saved your husband’s life and—”

 

“You mean, Commodore Adam Cartwright?” Anna gasped. “But—but, Rachel, he’s been gone for a while now, surely you can’t think he could—” she blushed a little when she realised what she was about to say and closed her mouth, then saw the secretive little smile on Rachel’s lips. “You really mean you’re leaving us?”

 

“Yes, he said I would know where to find him…so I’m going. I need to find him; I need to know if—if it were possible for him to love me.”

 

…………………….

 

Hannah Cartwright observed the world through solemn blue eyes.  Everything was still rather hazy and sometimes when certain noises happened they made her jump and cry out which brought her a lot of attention as she would be immediately picked up and held, crooned to, pinched and poked, and generally bounced around.  She didn’t mind one bit; any attention was better than no attention, although of course her cousin Rosie would tell her later that wasn’t always the case!

 

Hester Cartwright watched the rain lashing the windows as she paced up and down the big room. Every so often a gust of smoke would billow into the room from the chimney, and she would turn her back to it to make sure the baby didn’t breathe any of it.  She looked at her daughter with wonder in her eyes…how ever had she managed to produce such a beautiful child?  Hannah was obviously a miracle, and even though babies were popping out all over the world every minute of the day no one would ever convince Hester that her daughter was the most beautiful of them all.  She was, after all, her mother so one can make excuses for her.

 

She had heard a horse galloping into the yard and waited for whoever it was to appear.  She knew Hoss had been into town for various reasons, and Ben had ridden over to see Candy about some timber contract.  Since Joe had left the Ponderosa a lot of the timber responsibilities had fallen upon Candy’s shoulders.  Hannah yawned, a delicate yawn that succeeded in making her eyes disappear into the back of her head.  Hester promptly began to sing:

 

Hush, little baby, don't say a word.

Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing,

Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring

 

And if that diamond ring turns brass,

Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass

 

And if that looking glass gets broke,

Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat

 

And if that billy goat won't pull,

Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull

 

And if that cart and bull fall down,

You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town

 

Hannah’s bottom lip trembled, quivered, and she promptly burst into tears.  This seemed to happen a lot when Hester began crooning to her child, for some reason, Hester had still not worked out a good reason why!

 

The door opened and Hoss stepped into the room, and as the rain had not started raining until he was almost home he was not too wet or dripping raindrops everywhere.  He smiled over at Hester and pulled off his hat, jacket and began to unbuckle his gunbelt.

 

“Pa back yet?”

 

“No, not just yet.”

 

“Shucks, is there anything to eat?”

 

“Hop Sing’s about to get it ready now.”

 

He came and kissed her cheek, and she kissed him although she was more curious about what he was holding than being kissed, and he laughed at her, then peered at Hannah who stopped crying.  She often did this when Hoss appeared to look down at her, a blurred moon with two blue stars in it.

 

“What have you there?”

 

“Oh, some mail.”  Hoss replied casually, and began to pull more letters from his pocket. “A letter for you from your brother Marlow”

 

“Did you read it?”

 

“As if I’d dare?”

 

“Anything else for me?”

 

“No, sorry.”

 

“Then—who is this for?  What is it?”

 

They both observed the cardboard tube, sealed  well at both ends, and with a London postmark.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Didn’t you open it to find out?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it ain’t ours, it’s addressed to Adam.  It rattles too.”

 

“Rattles?” her brow furrowed.  “I wonder what it is?”

 

“We’ll find out soon enough.” Hoss replied and sat down on the settee, grabbing her free hand and pulling her down by his side. “He’s got another package as well…a smaller one.”

 

“Oh, who from?”

 

“Looks like something from the president, I saw a similar one some years back …” he fished the package from his pocket and held it towards her, she took it and looked at it with curiosity, turning it every way up she could, then she shook it, “Yep, it rattles as well.”

 

“It’s really annoying that he’s not here to open these.” She laughed and put the package on the table.  “Still, it’s reassuring too, it makes it feel as though he’ll be back home soon, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yep, and Joe as well.”

 

“Mary Ann will be pleased about that…the sooner they get home the better.” And she leaned over to plant a big kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Hoss Cartwright.”

 

………………..

 

Barbara Scott Pearson sat  still as Paul and John Martin finished their examination of her little boy, Peter Andrew.  She looked at their faces and saw the concern there, the furrowed brows and she tried to hear what they were saying but they had stepped over to the far side of the room so that they couldn’t be heard. 

 

She waited with the fear growing tighter within her, and her hands held onto the little boy so tightly that he squirmed and wiggled and then began to cry, rubbing his face and looking at her as though not understanding why she would hold him so tightly like this.

 

It was Paul who came to sit beside her, and John stood behind his chair and watched her, the concern on his face frightened her more than ever.

 

“Barbara,” Paul started and then placed a hand on her arm, “You are right to be concerned, I’m afraid Peter is deaf, to what degree we won’t know until he is older, but at the moment, we both feel that it could be profound.”

 

She sat there and just looked at their concerned kindly faces.  Then she looked at her son, her own darling little boy with his blond curls and big eyes, and now the mouth parting in a smile for her although tears still spiked his lashes.

 

“So, he really is deaf?  Why didn’t we know before?  How is it that we never noticed?”

 

Paul shook his head, sighed, and it was John who spoke, explaining how a baby doesn’t know it’s different from anyone else, and from birth other God-given senses would be brought into play, used to a degree a hearing person would never need because it would be compensating for the lack of hearing. 

 

“When you would walk into a room he would have felt the floor vibrate, perhaps through the crib or chair, he would know you or someone had entered the room so would turn, look at you, smile…you would see that and just accept it as any parent would, that the child had heard you and turned to greet you.”

 

“Yes, he would do that, it was just that he—he seemed so unable to speak and—and sometimes didn’t turn when I called his name.” she bowed her head and placed a hand over her face but the tears came nevertheless. She struggled to prevent them falling, but they did, and John pushed a handkerchief into her hands and waited for her to wipe her eyes.

 

“We’ll do everything we can to help you, Barbara,” Paul said as she got to her feet, hugging her son  tightly as though he had doubled his weight in gold.

 

“Yes, of course, I know you will,” she mumbled the words; they sounded incoherent even to her own ears.  “Thank you.”

 

Somehow she stumbled out of the building and stood there looking around her.  Life went on just as normal, for everyone else, but not for her, nor for Peter.  Peter wasn’t normal.  She shook her head and looked at her little boy who was now smiling at her, that strange all-knowing but unknowing look he would give her, and she kissed him, held him close.

 

“Oh Peter, Peter…” she whispered and then hurried over to the buggy reminding herself that no matter how often she called his name, he couldn’t hear her.

 

 

 

Chapter 116

 

Joe finally fell asleep with the sound of song echoing in his ears...

 

“Ha ti wa-ka I at-ra-ha   ha  ---- re  ra

 

Ku—ra  ra  wa—ku—e -ru  at  — ra —ha-- re  ra  at -

 

Ra—ha --- re  ra    at-ra —ha -- re  ra  at-ra—ha  a re  ra

 

Ra u—ra  we ri -- ku  sa at—ra’—ha  ha—re  ra  at

 

Ra—ha  -- re  ra  at-ra—ha -- re  ra  at-ra—ha  a re—ra”

 

(Listen, he said, yonder the buffalo are coming,

These are his sayings,  yonder the buffalo are coming.

 

They walk, they stand, they are coming

Yonder the buffalo are coming.)

 

And even in his sleep the drum beat seemed to reverberate round and round in his head, so that when finally the morning arrived he was still groggy from lack of sleep.

 

Adam looked over at his brother and frowned. “Didn’t sleep so good, huh?”

 

“No, had too much to think about.”

 

“That’s not good, Joe. “

 

 “Why not, you always told me before to think a bit more before I act, so, I’m thinking and...”

 

“This isn’t something we can spend time thinking about, Joe, because it’s a riddle, and it’s one that won’t get solved in our time.  Now...” He tapped his brother on the knee. “Let’s get ourselves organised and leave as soon as we can.”

 

“We’re leaving just like that?”

 

“Even sooner if possible.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because—” Adam frowned, pursed his lips and shrugged, “Because I don’t trust Saville.”

 

“Well, he can’t arrest us—can he?”

 

“I don’t know; he may try.”

 

“Nah, he won’t—”

 

“I don’t want to test him out on this one, though.”  Adam stretched, yawned and twitched his shoulders. “Come on, let’s eat and say our goodbyes.”

 

……………

 

The people were already busy with their early morning rituals, the men sitting around or walking from one to another to talk, and the women preparing the food, getting water from the river, grinding meal on the grinding stone, nursing their young.  As the two white men emerged from the tepee they were greeted with friendly nods of the head in acknowledgement, and were provided with food and drink from Red Cloud’s daughter.

 

“You are leaving now?” Stalking Horse asked as he squatted on his haunches to join them in their meal.

 

“As soon as we can...” Adam muttered.

 

Young Man Afraid of his Horses joined them and leaned on his lance.   He looked at their food,”You are wise to do so“ he said. “You should have eaten with us; this is poor fare.”

 

“It’s sufficient, and we’re grateful for it.” Joe replied, knowing that Red Cloud’s weekly rations had no doubt provided the meal they had all enjoyed the previous evening.

 

“The Agent Saville has been speaking on the singing wire…when you travel, look behind you often.”  Another warrior cautioned, leaning forward and picking up some meat which he sniffed before eating. “I would think you wise to leave soon.”

 

“We intend to do just that,” Joe replied and stood up. There was no point in long drawn-out farewells. They stepped back to let them pass by, and it was Stalking Horse who stopped them.

 

“This is my gift for you—” and he gave them each a rather wicked scalping knife—“You may need it.”

 

Adam and Joe took them, nodded their thanks, and knew that this was his way of apologising for the fracas he has caused the previous day.  Red Cloud came and stood by them, watching as they mounted their horses.

 

Adam leaned down towards him. “I will see the president soon, and when I do I’ll speak to him about what has happened here.  But, like yourself, Red Cloud, he has many men who whisper in his ear of other things. It may take time for him to do anything at all about this matter, but I promise you, he will do something.”

 

Red Cloud nodded, but Adam knew from the expression in the old man’s eyes that he had long given up on white man’s promises.  They turned their horses from the camp and in silence rode away.

 

……………

 

That same day Agent Saville ordered a lone pine tree to be cut down, and when asked for what reason, he told Red Cloud it was in order to fly the American flag over the reservation.  Red Cloud and others protested that they had already seen too many American flags flying over their land, and as they spoke, young warriors appeared with axes and started to chop the tree to pieces.*

 

As Adam and Joe made their way from the camp, a lone rider from the reservation was riding, on Seville’s orders, to Fort Robinson requesting help from the militia.  Realising what was about to happen, the warriors painted up, armed themselves and mounted their horses for a confrontation.

 

Twenty-six soldiers led by Lieutenant Emmett Crawford* rode into them. Without showing any fear they continued on towards the reservation even though the warriors tried to unseat them by riding their horses into them.  When it looked as though the situation would actually end in bloodshed, Young Man Afraid of his Horses appeared with a band of agency Sioux, formed a protective wall around the military and escorted them through to the Agency.  Old Man Afraid of his Horses stayed with others to try and calm the young men down.

 

An attempt was made to burn the stockade down, and Seville appealed to Red Cloud to stop the men from doing so, but he refused.  Finally in disgust the Sioux dismantled their tepees and returned north to join Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse*; they were never to be seen at the reservations again.  They had turned their back on Red Clouds leadership, preferring to ride with those who had never taken the white man’s handouts.

 

The sound of many horses made Adam and Joe turn in their saddles with some alarm, their hands reaching towards their rifles ready to withdraw them and hope that somehow they would be able to stay alive.

 

“Sioux—” Joe shouted and pointed to the columns of Indians riding towards them, so many that they looked like ants spreading out over the land and covering it.

 

“Too many of them—” Adam cried and pulled his horse over into a gully, followed promptly by Joe.  They dismounted and pulled the horses down, then lay on their bellies, rifles at the ready.

 

Onwards the columns of Sioux, with some Cheyenne and Arapaho, kept coming.  The two brothers felt their hearts beating against their ribs and their breathing was becoming laboured as a result.

 

“They’re slow about attacking us,” Joe whispered as if his voice would be heard above the clamour of the mass of horsemen approaching them.

 

Adam peered over the gully’s edge and then tapped Joe on the shoulder so that both were a witness to the exodus of the Indians from the Red Cloud Reservation.

 

“They’re moving out.” Joe observed with a frown. “They’re travelling at the pace of the oldest and frailest, that’s how they travel. Where do you think they’re going?”

 

“Not to another reservation, that’s for sure.”

 

“No, I think you’re right.  To Crazy Horse?”

 

“I should think so—” Adam grimaced, and shook his head. “This isn’t good, Joe.”

 

“No, no, it isn’t.” Joe shivered, and looked at the vast numbers of Indians riding through and so close to them.

 

They were standing now, watching the men, women and children as they rode or walked the long way to where they thought freedom awaited.  The Indians took no notice of them, no more notice than if they had been flies buzzing around the carcase of a dead buffalo.  Even Stalking Horse passed by them without a flicker of an eye, a lance in one hand, a buffalo hide shield strapped to his back. 

 

The brothers stood and waited until the column had passed, but for a while they remained standing.  Adam finally turned to Joe.

 

“Remember the last time we saw this happen?  Roman Nose was their leader then...”

 

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.  He’s dead now.”

 

Joe shivered, he felt as though the last bonds to these people had been severed; his promises to Little Moon, and to Stalking Horse were now void.  He looked at Adam.

 

“Best be getting home,” he murmured and walked, straight-backed, to his horse.

 

Chapter 117

 

The buckboard was stationary and standing off the track so that the horses could graze the sweet grass and wild flowers that grew so lushly on the land bordering the lake.

 

Ben had noticed it as he rounded the bend coming from Candy’s house, and was momentarily puzzled as to why it was there, then realised that it didn’t even belong to the Ponderosa.  The horses he recognised as those belonging to the Pearsons, in which case, he told himself, they were a long way from their own territory.

 

He slowed his horse to a walk and proceeded slowly towards the vehicle, the horses pricking their ears up at his approach. There was no movement.  He found it empty.  Puzzled now, he stood in his stirrups in order to see further and looked around for some glimpse of the Pearsons…perhaps one of them had been taken ill while on the way for a visit to see Hester and Hoss and the baby.

 

He pushed his hat to the back of his head before pulling the brim back down to shade his eyes, and it was only when he turned the horse’s head to return to the trail that he noticed a flash of pink close to the shore.  Keeping his eyes fixed upon this, he walked Buck slowly down until he could see that the person sitting among the flowers was Barbara. She was watching little Peter, who was happily content pulling up grass in his chubby hands and raising them to the sky before letting the grass tumble down again.

 

“Barbara?”  Surely she had heard him approach. “Barbara?”

 

She turned to look at him, then lowered her head “I’m sorry, Ben, I hope you didn’t mind my coming here.  I used to come here with Adam, and I needed to come somewhere, to think, to get things clear in my head.”

 

“Of course I don’t mind you coming here, my dear.” he dismounted immediately and walked over to her, realised that she wasn’t going to stand up to talk, seemed in fact quite unable to move herself but just sat there, twiddling a stalk of some grass between her fingers and staring into space, not even watching over her little boy who was now attempting to stand up, rather wobbly, and promptly falling back down again.

 

He removed his hat and placed it over the saddle horn and then lowered himself down to sit by her side.  Amazing how far down the ground seemed to be now that he had grown older. He moaned to himself, but he was soon settled and watched the child for some minutes before looking at her. “What’s wrong, Barbara? Has something happened?  Is Andrew alright?”

 

“Yes, he’s alright, for now.”

 

Ben sighed, that sounded ominous, he bit his bottom lip, and shook his head.

 

“How do you mean?  Is he ill?”

 

“No, Ben, he isn’t ill.”

 

She always had this rather steady way of talking, rather flat really, he looked at her again and noticed that she had been crying, her eyelids were swollen and puffy, even now a tear leaking out and trickling down her cheek. She didn’t move to wipe it away.  It seemed to Ben that she had cried so many tears that she now had no interest or strength to bother with them. 

 

“Barbara, why not tell me about it?  Perhaps I could help—”

 

“You can’t, Ben, no one can help,” she sighed. “It’s Peter.  He’s deaf.”

 

Ben turned his gaze from her to her son, now contentedly pulling petals from a flower and letting them drift from his fingers, seemingly unaware of his mother’s tears, even of her presence.  Ben turned to Barbara again and placed a gentle hand upon hers. “I am sorry, Barbara—”

 

“That’s what people will say to me now, isn’t it?  Poor Barbara, her little boy’s deaf. I am sorry. Then they’ll look at me with that sorrowful look on their faces and then walk away knowing there is nothing that they can do or say to change things.” She shook her head now and fiercely dashed away the tears as though talking had renewed some spark within  her.

 

“Barbara, it’s not what other people think that matters, it’s you and Andrew and Peter.”

 

“I know.” She sighed and bowed her head. “I haven’t dared tell Andrew yet.  He’ll—he’ll not understand.”

 

“I’m sure that he will, my dear.”

 

“He thought Peter was perfect, absolutely perfect.”  She lowered her voice now and ran her fingers through her hair. “I came here to think, to get away so that I wouldn’t see Andrew and have to tell him.”

 

“Well, you have to tell him sometime, Barbara.”

 

“You’d never guess, would you?  Just looking at him, I mean, looking at Peter…you’d never know that there was anything wrong with him.”

 

“There are other doctors you could go to, specialists—”

 

“We can’t afford them.”

 

Ben sighed, and looked again at Peter who was sitting  still, sucking his thumb and with drowsy eyes, looking as though he was wanting to go to sleep.  He was looking at Ben, so when Ben smiled and called his name, he saw the familiar shape of the mouth. Peter crawled through the grass and onto Ben’s lap.  He snuggled into the rancher’s jacket, put his thumb back in his mouth and was soon asleep.

 

“Did you never suspect at all?”

 

“No.”  She smoothed the child’s hair down and then ran a finger softly down his cheek, “He looks so peaceful, doesn’t he?”  She sighed and then turned her face towards the lake. “He was ill during the winter; so was Lilith.  It was when there was all that snow.  We couldn’t get to town because we were blocked off.  They were both fine afterwards but I wonder now if that was when it happened.  I’m so sure that he was able to hear us when he was first born, until—until recently.”

 

“I’m sure John or Paul will be able to give you the help you need, Barbara, the name of some people in San Francisco or back East who could help.”

 

“I told you already, Ben, we can’t afford it.  It would be different if he were Adam’s son, but he isn’t.  That’s all that can be said about that—” her lips firmed into a rigid line, and she looked away from him as though his face was too much to bear. “I can see the pity in your face, Ben, it’s not what I want to see.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Why is life so difficult for some and for others it’s so easy?  People will look at me and think—poor Barbara, there was all that trouble with her uncle, Major Scott and then, of course, she didn’t marry Adam Cartwright but chose Andrew Pearson instead and now she has a deaf son. Poor Barbara.”

 

“I think, my dear, you’re thinking more about yourself than you are your son.” His voice was  soft, gentle, and his hand on her shoulder was comforting.  She reached out and placed her hand upon it, and smiled, nodded.

 

“Yes, you’re right, I’m feeling sorry for myself.  Wretchedly sorry. Looking back and thinking of all the things I did wrong when I thought I was doing everything right.”

 

“Barbara, let me help  you.  I’ll do what I can to pay any bills you get, just so long as you have someone to look at Peter.”

 

She shook her head,

 

“No; Andrew would never allow it.”

 

“But why not?  If you can’t afford it, then let those who can come and help you.”

 

She shook her head again and stood up, leaned forward and took Peter from his arms. She cradled him close and kissed the top of the child’s head. “No, Ben. It’s kind of you to offer, but Andrew would never accept it from you.”

 

“But why ever not?”

 

“Because—because you’re Adam’s father.”  She looked him in the eyes, and then walked away back to her buckboard.

 

Ben didn’t follow her. He waved a hand as she drove away but she didn’t wave back.

 

……………………

 

Andrew Pearson was listening to Lilith reading from her primer, a little story that she almost knew by heart so didn’t have to work too hard at remembering the words.  He stopped her when he heard the buckboard entering the yard, and by the time Barbara was clambering down and reaching inside for Peter, Andrew had the door open and was standing on the doorstep waiting for her.

 

“Where’ve you been?”

 

“Not far.  I was just close by with Peter.”

 

“I looked for you everywhere. I was worried that something had happened to you both.”

 

“You needn’t have been; I’m perfectly capable of driving the buckboard, Andrew.” She continued into the house and then gently lowered Peter onto the settee, draping her shawl over him and looking fondly down at him. 

 

Lilith clambered down from her chair and ran over to show her the primer,

 

“Look, mommy, I can read this whole page now.”

 

“Clever girl, I’m  pleased with you.  Why not go and draw me a picture now.”

 

“What about, mommy?”

 

“Oh, about anything, your favourite toy perhaps.”

 

Andrew watched as his wife walked rather absent-mindedly towards the sink, and she paused, as though distracted and forgetful of what she was doing. 

 

“Where did you go?” he asked, walking up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down and kissed her neck, smelling her hair as he did so.

 

“Not far.”

 

“I can smell tobacco—”

 

“What?” she turned to him with a frown, a look of amazement on her face, “What are you talking about?”

 

“On your clothing, tobacco and something else—”

 

“Don’t be so silly, Andrew.” She lowered her voice, and glanced over at Lilith who was watching them anxiously. “If you must know I saw Ben Cartwright.”

 

“Saw him?  Just saw him?  You must have been standing pretty close to him to have picked up the smell of his tobacco.”

 

“I was with Peter and he saw us, and came to speak to us.  We were sitting on the grass, Peter was playing, and he just sat and we chatted.”

 

“What about?”

 

“Oh, nothing in particular.” She glanced over at Lilith again, head bent over her drawing but body tense, “Just nothing of any importance.”

 

“Oh, he wasn’t telling you the latest news about his hero son?  What is he now, Admiral of the Fleet?”

 

“I don’t know what or who you’re talking about.”

 

“Of course you know who I’m talking about, Barbara, who else but?” he pushed her away from him so that she fell against the table, the lamp tottered in the centre but didn’t fall; Lilith looked with wide eyes, and then bent her head to scribble furiously on her paper.

 

“We were NOT talking about Adam Cartwright, Andrew, we weren’t.”

 

“Well, that makes a change, doesn’t it?”

 

“Oh, Andrew, I don’t want to discuss this anymore, please don’t talk about it—let me just get on with preparing dinner.”

 

“Go ahead—” he snapped angrily and picked up his jacket. “Do what you like; I’m going into town.”

 

“But why?  What are you going into town for, Andrew?  Please don’t—”

 

She had grabbed at his arm, made an attempt to pull him back but he shrugged her off, pushed her away, and once again she stumbled against the table.  He didn’t look back, but pulled on the jacket and slammed the door behind him.

 

“Is daddy angry, mommy?” Lilith whispered.

 

“He’s upset.” Barbara said, and stroked the little girl’s hair gently. “He’ll come home happier, you’ll see.”

 

…………….

 

The Bucket of Blood saloon wasn’t too full when Andrew arrived in town.  He went to the hardware store and paid off one of the bills that was outstanding, and agreed to pay the other one within the next few weeks.  Head down and wondering where he was going to get the money for that bill, he headed towards the saloon, made his way to the counter and asked for a beer.

 

A few men were playing a game of poker in the corner, but gambling had never appealed to Andrew; he watched for a moment and shook his head when one loser got up, threw his cards down on the table and slumped out of the saloon.

 

“A fool and his money—”  John Martin said with a smile as he joined Andrew at the counter. “How are you, Andrew?”

 

“Ah, now then, John, this isn’t a private consultation, is it?” Andrew laughed, “Can I get you a drink?”

 

“A beer would be  welcome.  Thank you.”

 

They stood side by side in companionable silence for a while, Andrew paid for the beer and John tasted it, nodded approval and then asked him how Barbara was.

 

“She’s alright,” Andrew replied rather guiltily. He sighed and gulped down more beer, “She seemed alright when I left home, anyway.”

 

“How’s Peter and Lilith?”

 

“Both well.”

 

“She told me that they had been ill during the winter, when there were some heavy snows.  I think she thought that may have been the cause of Peter being deaf now; of course, I couldn’t say that she was right because she didn’t know what illness it was. Some children’s ailment I presume.” He paused and looked at Andrew who was staring at him in confusion. “Anything the matter?”  He blinked and put the glass down. “For heaven’s sake, she hasn’t told you, has she?”

 

“No—she—she hasn’t said anything about seeing you—when—I mean—” Andrew wiped his mouth with his hand. “No, tell me again, what did you say, about Peter, I mean?”

 

“I’m sorry, Andrew, I’m really sorry, I thought she had told you—”

 

“Just tell me, when did you tell her?  About Peter?”

 

“Last week.”

 

“Last week you told her that Peter was—was—what did you tell her about Peter?”

 

“That he was deaf, Andrew.  There was no way of knowing for sure but we did some tests on him and—and they proved positive.  Andrew, she’s in a state of shock herself, she’s trying to—”

 

“I don’t want to know,” Andrew pushed John aside as the doctor had grabbed at his arm, “Don’t touch me, I don’t want you to—to come anywhere near us, do you hear?  Don’t come anywhere near me or my family—ever—”

 

John Martin stepped back while his mind raced over what had been said, trying to find some way of taking back some of it.  He could see the batwings swinging to and fro from the fury of the other man’s exit.  With slumped shoulders he hunched over the counter and dragged the beer towards him and wished, not for the first time, that he could turn the clock back.

 

Chapter 118

 

The moon had looked down on far worse atrocities and far greater heartache than that which took place in the Pearson household when Andrew returned from town.  It had turned its face into the clouds during whole scale massacres of innocents; seen thousands killed in war, and continue cruising on despite the cries and pleas from the dying.

 

A man boiling with anger, shame, pride and jealousy was liable to erupt, and for Andrew, who had been holding in so many emotions for so long, the fact that others had known about Peter before he had been told, or rather, had found out, added more fuel to the fire. By the time he reached his home he was beside himself with rage.

 

Lilith was in bed asleep, and Peter in his crib.  A fire burned in the hearth and Barbara sat beside it with a shawl over her shoulders while she carefully sewed the hem of a new dress for the little girl.  When she heard the sound of the horse in the yard she paused, held the dress close and waited in anticipation for her husband to throw the door open and re-commence his tirade against her.  Her heart beat so fast that she could barely breathe.

 

How long did it take for a man to unsaddle his horse and take it to its stall?  She watched the clock. It would take so long to do this, then he would have to do that, adding more time, and perhaps he would do such and such which would take the time to just another five minutes!  She stood up and packed the sewing away, hid the scissors behind a cushion and then put the coffee pot on the stove. 

 

He came into the house stealthily, closing the door firmly behind him and standing there to look around the room.

 

“Where are the children?”

 

“In bed.  It’s late, they were both tired.” she watched him like a mouse must watch a cat, fascinated by what it is doing even though ultimately it would have to pounce. There was no way out now. He was walking towards her, his face  stern, the blue eyes she loved were like cold marble.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about Peter?”

 

She swallowed bile. It had surged up to the back of her throat without her even noticing but the acid stung as she gulped it back; she turned away from him, struggling to find an answer that would not send him into a rage. “I wanted to make sure my fears were correct before I mentioned it to you, Andrew.  I knew how upset you would be…”

 

“You knew, did you?”

 

“I wanted to be sure, Andrew.  What was the point in you being distressed for no reason if I were wrong?”  She clasped her hands together, and looked at him. “How did you find out?”

 

“Your precious doctor told me.”

 

“Paul told you?”

 

“No, the other one, John.  He thought you would have told me by now, seeing how you knew all about it last week.”

 

“I’m sorry, Andrew.” She was sorry, sincerely sorry, and she prayed that he would see that and accept it. After all, he appeared calm and rational enough to do so.  “I’m so sorry but I was—I was trying to hold on to the—the thought that perhaps it was a mistake, he’s so young, I didn’t want to believe what John and Paul had told me.”  She stepped towards him, “I thought if I told you, or anyone come to that, then it would become real. That would mean having to deal with it; I just wanted to pretend it would all go away.”

 

“All?  Does that include me?”

 

“No, of course not.  I meant all the trouble that comes now with knowing about Peter.”

 

“Which makes me wonder how long you really did know about him—before you decided to take him to the doctor.”

 

She looked at him carefully as he stood there, appearing quite calm, rational, although pale and his eyes extraordinarily bright. “I just kept noticing things since the winter, when they had been ill…I had my fears and hoped I was wrong.” she was wringing her hands now. Something was not right: he was too calm, too rational, standing there as he was it made her nervous.

 

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

 

“How could I when you had so many other worries on your mind at the time?  It seemed unfair to burden you with something that may have been quite wrong.”

 

He stared at her and she realised her mouth was dry, she stepped back again feeling the heat of the stove behind her.  His hands were clenching and unclenching now, and she couldn’t take her eyes from his face, she felt the tension rising inside her so much that she wanted to scream so when his hand eventually did reach out and grab at her the scream was smothered in her throat to fade into a sobbing cry, a plea of “Don’t, please, don’t,” which he totally ignored.

 

……………

 

The light in the window indicated that they had not yet gone to bed, so John dismounted and after tying the reins to the rail walked to the door, rapped upon it, and waited.  He glanced up at the moon which had slid behind a cloud, coward that it was, hiding there unwilling to show its face and shine down upon the scene that John was about to stumble upon.

 

He knocked again and called out; heard a muffled sound, so he knocked again and called her name. The sound came again, a cry, then the sound of something moving across the floor.  Instinct made him push the door open; he had to push hard as it jammed for a moment from the table that stood partly in its way. 

 

The light shone dimly, not reaching into the furthest corners of the room, but what it did expose was enough to make his nerves jangle.  He thrust the table to one side, picked up a chair and moved it away, other things he just trod on or over, until he was at her side and went down on his knees, felt her pulse at wrist and throat, called her name several times, and when there was no answer he got up and went to the sink where he dipped his handkerchief into water and returned to her side. 

 

Now he bathed her face,  carefully, and from the way the blood washed easily away he knew that the attack had ended not  long ago.  She was regaining her sense, her eyelids fluttered, her lips trembled.

 

“Barbara—Mrs. Pearson?”

 

Heavy breathing as though each breath was a struggle, the eyes opened and fixed upon his face, then widened with fear, a scream gurgled in her throat.

 

“It’s alright, Mrs. Pearson; it’s me, John Martin.”

 

The scream subsided into a sob, and then she began to weep turning her face into his jacket and one hand clutching at the lapel.

 

“It’s alright, now then, it’s alright,” he said, still wiping away the blood and now the tears from her face. “Where’s Andrew?”

 

She looked up and her eyes widened in terror, then moved frantically from right to left and then right again as though searching for him, terrified that he was still there. John held her close and then  gently lowered her back onto the floor.  As he moved around the room he put the table and chairs to right, picked up things from the floor, took cushions from the settee and brought them to her to place beneath her head, and then the shawl he placed over her.

 

Dare he move her?  He felt he couldn’t; he could only make it a little easier for her, and then remembering his medical bag he hurried outside to bring it in.  Something white gleamed upon the path and when he leaned down to pick it up he saw that it was a child’s sock, small and white.

 

It was some time later, hours in fact, and the morning sun just rising over the hills, when she opened her eyes and felt the pain trickling through her.  Her first thought was for the children and she struggled to rise to her feet, moaning with the pain as she rolled into a sitting position and grabbed at a table leg to haul herself up, then hands came and held her and upon their touch she screamed.

 

“No. No. Please not again…”

 

“It’s alright, Barbara, it’s me…John Martin.”

 

“I—I thought it was Andrew,” she sobbed and buried her face into her hands, before looking up in alarm. “The children, where are the children?”

 

“I’ve looked upstairs for them, Barbara, but they aren’t here, and he’s taken the buckboard.”

 

“He can’t have taken them.” She rose to her feet, swayed a little, and then tried to step forward, but had to lean upon his arm. “I—I think something’s broken.”

 

“Several ribs.  You may even have a concussion.  You got quite a beating.” His voice was kind, and he led her to a chair and carefully lowered her down upon it. “I’m going to make you something to drink and eat; then I’m going to give you some medication and put you to bed.   Will you promise me that you’ll sleep?”

 

“Sleep?  How can I sleep when my children aren’t here?  He’s taken them…” She grabbed at his hands as though to prevent him from doing anything other than to be near her. “He’s taken them from me, he said I wasn’t fit to be a mother—” tears streamed down her face and when he pulled his hands away she covered her face with them and began to cry loudly, a keening, wailing sound that tugged at John’s heart.

 

“We’ll find the children, Barbara, I promise you we will find them.  Now just drink this, and I’ll help you upstairs to your bed.”  He frowned, “I’ll ask someone to come and sit with you as well.”

 

“Oh no, no, I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” she moaned, but he shook his head and forced her to hold the cup in her hands and to drink from it.

 

 

Chapter 119

 

The persistent knocking on the door eventually roused Candy from his bed, and after fumbling about for his slippers and dressing gown hurried, yawning, down the stairs hoping that he would reach the door before Rosie woke up and started to cry. 

 

The scuffling noises outside on the porch concerned him for a while as he pulled back the bolts he wondered if his late night caller had a large dog which led him to think about which of his friends possessed one anyway.

 

“Who is it, Candy?”

 

“Just going to see now.” He turned to look at Ann, who was holding a lamp aloft and rubbing her eyes, and then the door opened to reveal Andrew Pearson with Peter in his arms and Lilith peeping from behind his legs. “Andrew?  What in Pete’s name—come on in, don’t just stand there—Ann, get something to drink for Andrew.  Lilith, hello, darling, here, come here, sweetheart.” He bent down to pick the little girl up and was surprised to find her still in her nightdress with a coat loose about her, she was wet and had obviously soiled herself which he discovered once he had her in his arms. 

 

Gently he stroked her back and walked into the main room with Andrew following behind him like some lost soul caught up in a nightmare.  Peter was asleep and Ann took him from his father and held him close; he merely murmured, snuggled in against the warmth of her body, sucked his thumb more vigorously for a moment before settling into deep sleep again.

 

But it wasn’t so easy for Lilith, she clung with her arms around Candy’s neck and moaning softly as she nestled her head into his shoulder, he looked over at Ann and raised his eyebrows, to which his perceptive wife nodded.

 

“I’ll take Peter upstairs so he can sleep in our bed, it’s still warm,” she said  softly to Andrew, who was standing with a glass of brandy in his hand staring into the fire.

 

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he intoned “I couldn’t stay, couldn’t leave the children there with her.”

 

“With her?  Barbara?”  Ann looked confused, then shook her head. “I’ll see to Peter and then get Lilith settled.” She paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned towards the little girl, who was still moaning, her eyes shut tightly, clinging to Candy as though determined never to let go of him.  “Lilith, do you want to come with me?”

 

The little girl opened her eyes, they were wet with unshed tears, and her peaked little face showed so much misery that Ann’s heart went out to her, and she reached out her hand towards her. After looking at Candy as though for his consent, Lilith ran to Ann, grabbed at her hand and followed her up the stairs.

 

“Sit down, Andrew, before you fall down.”  Candy scratched his head and then decided to pour himself something to drink, all the while watching Andrew to see what he was going to do.

 

The other man stood for some more minutes in the centre of the room clinging to his glass of brandy, and then suddenly he swigged it back in one long gulp, coughed and wheezed, blinked and then sat down.

 

“What happened, Andrew?  Is Barbara—alright?”

 

Andrew released his breath as though he had been holding it in for a long time, which he had obviously not, he looked up at Candy. “I didn’t know where else to go, Candy.  I had to get the children somewhere safe, you were the only ones I thought I could rely on.”

 

“Tell me what happened,” Candy said. “There’s no rush, just take your time.”

 

Andrew watched as Candy sat in the chair opposite, and then he bowed his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and stared down at the floor.

 

“Adam Cartwright built this house, didn’t he?” he suddenly said without looking up.

 

“Yes, he did, quite some years ago now.”

 

Andrew rubbed his face with both hands, then stood up. “I have to get going, I can’t stay here.  Candy, look after the children for me, will you?”

 

“Wait there a moment, Andrew, you’ve some explaining to do—”

 

“I know, but I can’t go into it just yet, I’m sorry, but—will you do that for me, look after the children?”

 

“Andrew, are you in some kind of trouble?”

 

Andrew nodded slowly and Candy stood up, paced the floor and shook his head. “Then why on earth didn’t you let me know?  I would have helped where I could—”

 

“No, you don’t understand.” Andrew shrugged. “It’s not like that—I mean—yes, I’ve got some problems financially, but this is because I’ve done something stupid, really stupid.”

 

“Such as?”

 

Andrew rubbed his face, licked his lips and then shook his head as though trying to deny what had happened but trapped by his own words, his shoulders slumped. “Peter’s deaf.” He shrugged at Candy’s intake of breath and again shook his head as though not wanting to hear what his friend had to say,  “She knew a week ago, but didn’t tell me.  She keeps secrets from me all the time, but this—this was important, Candy, really important, she should have told me, shouldn’t she?”

 

“She must have had a good reason for not telling you, Andrew.  She’s too sensible, too caring not to have held back for some reason.”

 

Andrew frowned, looked at Candy with surprise. “You’re taking her side in this?”

 

“I didn’t realise there were any sides to this, Andrew,” Candy replied slowly. “Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

 

“I found out when I was in town, the doc told me.  Just slipped it into our conversation as though it were the most natural thing in the world.  It was like my insides were ripped out, Candy, to hear him talk about Peter like that, and then to find that she knew for all that time, and no doubt had told Cartwright about it.”

 

“Ben?”

 

“Yeah, she saw him earlier today.  I asked her what had they talked about and she said nothing, but she told him, she admitted it when I confronted her about it just now …” he looked down at his knuckles and so did Candy who saw the grazes and blood for the first time, and felt the dread of awareness and foreboding trickle through his nervous system.

 

“Andrew, what have you done, for heaven’s sake, man?”

 

“She’s a hard woman, Candy, too intelligent for her own good, but she didn’t tell me and she should have.  It was her own fault; she should have told me.  What would you have done if you had found out that Rose was deaf, huh?  What would you have done if Ann hadn’t told you, talked to you about it?”

 

“Calm down, Andrew, I’m here to help you, not judge you…just tell me what’s happened to Barbara?”

 

“She made me do it, Candy.  I had to do it, I had no other option.  I hit her, had to, she came at me with the scissors, for heaven’s sake—”  he looked at his hands, the bleeding knuckles and shook his head. “I had to do it.”

 

“Look, Andrew—”

 

“Just keep an eye on the children for me, will you?  I have to go, get things straightened out with Barbara.”

 

“Do you want me to come with you?”

 

“No, I’ll have to see her on my own, she’ll understand what happened … she knows it was her own fault.  She’s always—always—no, it doesn’t matter… it doesn’t matter…”

 

“I’m coming with you, Andrew, you can’t go on your own.”

 

Candy turned but Andrew grabbed at his arm. “I’m going alone.  You stay here and look after my kids.”

 

……………..

 

“How are they?”

 

Ann looked up from where she was kneeling beside the bed, stroking back Lilith’s hair from her forehead while the little girl lay  still, big eyes staring into her face while by her side Peter slept soundly, making little snorting sounds and quite content.

 

“He said Peter was deaf, Barbara hadn’t told him and he lost his temper and in an argument he hit her, she pulled some scissors on him…” he put a hand on her shoulder. “Poor little girl, she looks terrified.”

 

“I don’t understand, Candy, they were so happy together.  How could that have happened?”

 

“She didn’t trust him enough, she didn’t tell him about Peter or talk about it at all, and he felt betrayed. Angry.  Then tonight he found out by accident and lost his temper.”

 

She stood up, slipped into his arms and held him close to her. “Candy, Barbara loves Andrew, really loves him.  If she didn’t tell him about Peter before then there was a good reason for it.”

 

Candy just stroked her hair, rested his cheek upon the top of her head, but remained silent.  In the distance they could hear the sound of Andrew’s horse galloping away from the house. 

 

“You need to change your clothes, you smell,” she whispered suddenly.

 

“I know, Lilith had messed herself.”

 

“I know, I had to clean her up.”

 

They kissed tenderly, held onto one another and looked at the little girl who was fighting now to stay awake but finally lost the battle, closed her eyes and slipped into sleep.

 

………………..

 

When Barbara opened her eyes the next morning it was Hester who was sitting beside the bed, nursing little Hannah.  Downstairs the aroma of food cooking drifted upwards, and for a moment or two Barbara wandered if she were really awake, until she realised Hester was looking at her anxiously. “What are you doing here, Hester?” she murmured slowly.

 

“Dr. Martin came and asked us to help.  It’s alright, dear, it’s no trouble.  Hop Sing is cooking you something to eat.”

 

“I’m not hungry.”

 

“You will be…you need to eat.”

 

Barbara turned her face away and stared out of the window. Tears fell from her eyes, trickling down the sides of her face and into her hair.

 

“He’s taken the children—”

 

“They’re quite safe, Barbara, they’re at Candy and Ann’s.  Andrew took them there last night.”

 

“Where’s Andrew now?”

 

“I don’t know; Hoss and Candy have gone looking for him.”

 

“Oh Hester, he was so angry. I’ve never seen him like that before … he hit me, I grabbed at the scissors but he got to them first, he said he was going to—to kill me but I screamed and then Lilith came down and tried to stop him. He dropped the scissors and she got them, ran off with them…oh Hester, Hester…what am I going to do?”

 

“You’re going to have something to eat, something to drink, then take the medicine John left for you and get some more sleep.  Don’t worry, Barbara—”

 

“Don’t worry?  Of course I’ll worry.   Hester, my baby is deaf!  Lilith is—is terrified of what has happened, and…and I love Andrew but I’m so frightened of him.”

 

“Oh Barbara, you were so happy…”

 

She said nothing that but stared up at the ceiling for some minutes, reliving those wonderful halcyon days of early marriage, the joy of having Peter and everything so wonderful between them.  She couldn’t remember the first time that he had hit her, the shock of it, the terror that had seized her, and then his abject apologies, the flowers, the kindnesses.  And then a little later some small thing…of course, the ring…

 

“It was the ring, Adam’s ring.” she said softly, “I told him about it, and how it had been stolen, I told him how it had been mine but I had returned it because of our being engaged.  Then he found out how much the jeweller had paid for it, all that money…he was furious.  I hadn’t realised we were so much in debt, he hadn’t told me, but when he found out that the ring had been mine and we could have sold it for all that money he—he just went berserk.  Oh Hester, it was awful.  I was so sorry that I hadn’t kept the ring, I told him I was sorry, but he just kept hitting me.”

 

“I didn’t know he was financially in trouble, we would have helped somehow had we known.”

 

“He wouldn’t have taken help from you; he hates the Cartwrights.  That’s my fault … because of Adam.  I love Andrew, Hester, that’s why I married him.  He was good, kind and loving.  But he was always jealous of Adam, and after a while he began to ask questions about him which, of course, I answered. But I didn’t realise it was just making him angrier and angrier.”

 

“I am sorry, Barbara.”

 

“What do I do now, Hester?  I love him, I want him to come back and be how he was before…what shall I do?”

 

Hester looked down at her own sleeping baby and stroked its little fingers, shaking her head at her friend’s question. “I don’t know, Barbara, perhaps we shall just have to wait and see what happens.  Time has a way of showing what the answer will be…”

 

Chapter 120

 

The kiss on her cheek was as light as a feather so she opened her eyes and when she saw Lilith leaning against the bed and hovering close to her, she smiled as best she could and reached out to touch the child’s face.

 

“Oh Mommy, I was so frightened for you.” 

 

Barbara’s hand hovered a moment over her step-daughter’s head, and then wearily she let it fall by her side, grateful when the child’s fingers slowly folded over hers.  She turned her head away and looked out of the window, then memory flooded back, and she gave a cry. “Where’s Peter?”

 

“It’s alright, Mommy, he’s playing with Rosie downstairs.”

 

Barbara relaxed. They were safe, oh thank God, they were safe.  She couldn’t cry; there just didn’t seem to be any tears left now.  She wondered what she looked like now, she knew her lip was split but thankfully her teeth were still intact although they ached.  Everything ached.  She looked at her other hand and saw that it was bandaged … of course, she had tried to stop the scissors coming down across her face and her hand had been slashed instead.  So much happened in such a short time that it was still jumbled and muddled in her head.

 

She could hear children laughing and the thought that one of them was her little boy made her heart swell with love and she squeezed Lilith’s fingers in hers, and turned to look at her. “Thank you, Lilith.” she whispered the words, knowing that if it hadn’t been for the child perhaps far worse would have happened: the vague memory of the little girl standing in the room, screaming, and then the blur of things that took place, her falling down and banging her head. “Thank you, sweetheart.  Go and play with the little ones now.”

 

“No, I want to stay here with you, I want to keep you safe.”

 

“I’m alright now, darling, I’m alright now I know you are both home.”

 

But Lilith shook her head and sat on the chair by the bed, folded her hands in her lap and just waited, her face determined and her lips pursed.

 

Barbara must have dozed off for a little while for when she woke up she found Mary Ann coming into the room with some food on a tray. There were flowers in a vase by the bed, and everything looked clean and fresh. A light breeze ruffled the curtain at the window.

 

“Hop Sing insisted you have some of his soup.” Mary Ann smiled at her, and set the tray down on a table while she turned her attention to the patient, helping her to sit up and plumping up the pillows behind her, and then setting the tray down in her lap, while a napkin was placed under her chin.  “The children are eating downstairs, none the worse for their ordeal.  Dr. Martin is coming to see you later, Barbara, to make sure that you are going to be alright.”

 

“Have they found Andrew yet?”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

“What day is it?  Shouldn’t you be at school?”

 

“It’s Saturday, no school today.  Come, eat this soup.” 

 

“Who’s with the children?”

 

“Ann and Hester.”

 

“All the family then?” Barbara smiled vaguely, and blinked, surprised when a tear rolled down her face, just when she thought there were no more left to shed.

 

“I’m so sorry you had to suffer this,” Mary Ann said in a lower tone of voice, “It’s so unfair that women have to put up with this kind of treatment.  I’ve known several mothers who get beaten by their husbands, Barbara …”

 

“Are you telling me this to make me feel better?  The ‘You are Not Alone’ advice?”

 

“No, I’m just saying that there should be a law to protect women against brutes like that.”

 

“Andrew isn’t a brute, Mary Ann.” She dipped the spoon into the bowl of soup and tasted it. She smiled, “This soup is  good.”.

 

Mary Ann nodded, smiled, and walked to the window to look out over the hills. “Andrew blames you for what happened, you know.”

 

“I—I suppose he’s right.  I should have told him right away.”

 

“Then why didn’t you?”

 

“Because—because I was frightened that he would be angry.  He loves Peter so much, and we all want perfection in our children, don’t we?”  She winced as her hand hurt, and she transferred the spoon to the other instead, “You don’t understand, Mary Ann, you’ve not been married yet.”

 

“I know that most marriages don’t consist of men beating their wives when they feel they have a right to do so, Barbara.  The few that do— well, as I said, there should be a law against it.  One day, when women have a voice in politics, there will be.”

 

Barbara laughed then, the bowl on the tray wobbled and slopped soup, but the laughter became a little hysterical so that Mary Ann had to remove the tray and then hold her in her arms until it finally faded away,

 

“Oh my dear,” Barbara finally stopped, wiped away her tears and then accepted the tray back, she shook her head. “Oh Mary Ann, we don’t even have the vote yet.”

 

“Well, we will one day.  I’ve read Lucretia Mott* and Margaret Fuller’s* book “The Great Lawsuit :  Man vs. Woman.” More men should read it and—” she paused, and then laughed herself, a low soft chuckle, “Oh, Barbara, I am sorry, lecturing at you when you’re—so unwell.”

 

“It’s alright, you did me a power of good, I just love your naiveté and youth.” Barbara smiled and her eyes actually twinkled. “I used to think the same, in fact I can remember discussing that  same book with Adam.” She swallowed the soup then and coughed; that was the kind of thing that would happen in conversation with Andrew, and she would see his face go red, and sometimes he would make a flippant comment which warned her not to continue the conversation. She lowered her head, the mirth of the moment passed and she was back to shaky ground once again.

 

There was movement from the doorway and they both turned to see Ann standing there, with large eyes and pale of face. “Barbara, I found these in Lilith’s coat pocket—” and she placed the scissors on the table  “She said that she took them from Andrew because she thought he was going to kill you.”

 

Barbara stared at the scissors, and looked at her bandaged hand. “Yes, I thought he was going to kill me too,” she said. “I remember Lilith being there, I didn’t realise she had taken them from him.”

 

Ann nodded and looked over at Mary Ann before turning to leave the room, saying, as she went, that they would be leaving in a moment or so.  Barbara looked down at the empty bowl and smiled at Mary Ann. “There you are, Matron, all gone!”

 

Mary Ann was looking at the scissors as though hypnotised by them, then she looked at the woman in the bed, forced a smile and took the tray, promising to bring coffee up in a moment.

 

In the bed Barbara leaned back and looked out of the window again.  She recalled the look on Mary Ann’s face when the scissors were placed on the table, the horror and the realisation and she knew what they had been thinking, but it wasn’t true, Andrew would never have killed her, he loved her.  He told her so all the time, it was just that—sometimes—he couldn’t control his temper, and that was usually because of something she had done.  When he came home it would all be alright again, she’d make sure that she never mentioned Adam Cartwright’s name again, never.

 

Downstairs Mary Ann looked over at the children playing together, although Lilith was sitting alone, a book in her lap, and appearing to read.  Hester smiled. “She’s a lovely child, isn’t she?”

 

“Too quiet, and too good.” Mary Ann replied, “Hester, Andrew could have killed her last night…he could have killed Barbara and Lilith.”

 

“I know.  I thought that as well.”  Hester placed the dirty dish into the bowl and washed it carefully, then handed it to Mary Ann to dry. “But he didn’t, thank goodness.”

 

………………

 

Andrew Pearson watched as the two men rode towards the bluff. He had seen their dust for some time and taken the turn off the road, carefully brushing away the prints with a broken branch from a shrub.  He could see them puzzling over where he could have gone, even stopping at the turnoff he had taken, and talking between themselves.  He saw them turn the horses round and ride back on themselves, defeated and beaten.

 

He sighed, it was a shame that they had got involved in this matter, it wasn’t as though he had killed anyone, and he had the right, as a husband, to exercise his headship over his wife when she misbehaved.

 

He waited until it was obvious that they would not turn back on themselves and then remounted his horse.  He would go home soon, he loved Barbara and his children.  He’d go back once he felt that he had forgiven her for what she had done.  After all, it was her fault that Peter was deaf, and it was her fault that she hadn’t told him.  What kind of wife was she to have done all that to him?  Life, he concluded, was just so unfair, but then, one never really knew a person until one was married to them.

 

………………….

 

“Joe, I think we’ll have to make a detour to the next fort; seems to me your horse is about to lose its shoe.”

 

Adam was looking down at the ground as he spoke, and Joe followed the direction of his gaze, and then nodded. “You’re right, it seems to have a problem with that leg too.” He dismounted and felt the animal’s leg, running his fingers down the cannon bone from the stifle, the joint corresponding to the human knee, down to the fetlock, “Huh, that feels hot.” 

 

“The nearest fort is about—” Adam scrunched up his eyes as he calculated the distance—“about three miles distant from here.  Think he’ll be alright if we go slow?”

 

“Yeah, should be,” Joe stroked the horse’s neck and looked over at Adam, “Sure wish Hoss were here, he just seems to be able to touch a horse and make it feel better.”

 

“Huh, take more than Hoss’ magic touch to cure that leg, I’m thinking.” He smiled, memories of Hoss and stables now conjured up in his mind, good times, happy moments.  He sighed, pulled his hat lower to shade his eyes and pulled up the collar of his coat; the sun was bright but the wind cold. “Let’s not waste time here.”

 

They turned from the track they were taking and road towards where a well worn track could be seen leading to the fort ahead.  Further to the south a column of horsemen were making their way to the same fort, a detachment of the 7^th Cavalry out on manoeuvres and led by their commanding officer, George A. Custer. Also riding with them was George’s brother, Thomas*, one of the rare men to have been awarded the Medal of Honour twice*.  Wounded at the Battle of Washita, he was now a captain in the 7^th Cavalry and rode close to his brother’s side.

 

 

Chapter 121

 

The farrier ran his hands down the horse’s leg and nodded as though in agreement with something someone had said, although no one had actually said a word.  He sighed deeply and then straightened himself up, looked at Joe and shook his head.

 

“Not good.  I’m sorry but this horse ain’t in any condition to take you anywhere for a while.”

 

“I was afraid of that.” Joe frowned. “How long do you reckon it will take to recover?”

 

“He ain’t going to recover any too soon.” He rubbed his chin with the back of gnarled work worn hand “If you’re in a hurry to travel on you’d be better to get a new horse.”

 

“Can I buy one from here?”

 

“Yep, I’ve a corral full out back, jest come along and take your pick.”

 

“Thanks, I’m mighty grateful.  Can I have a look-see now?”

 

“Sure, follow me.”

 

Joe grinned over at Adam, who was leaning against the bars of one of the stalls and chose to remain there while his brother walked behind the farrier to the corral.  He looked over the horses and nodded.

 

“Pretty good looking horses you’ve got here.”

 

“Yep, guess they have to be. Captain Custer doesn’t like buying any old broken down nag.  Your horse will be alright in a week or two, and then it can join in with these.”

 

The two men were silent for a while as Joe looked at the horses with a careful eye, then he picked out one which he liked the look of, by which time Adam had joined them,

 

“What do you think, Adam?”

 

“Looks pretty sound to me,” Adam agreed and watched as the farrier went into the herd and cut the horse out. Looping a rope around its neck, he led it towards the two brothers where a closer inspection ensued and both agreed the animal was fine for what was needed. 

 

“I’ll draw you up a bill of sale…” he tied the rope to a post and slapped the horse on the neck, then returned to the interior of the shop where the heat from the brazier warmed them as they waited for the paperwork to be completed. Joe paid over the money and the exchange was finalised.

 

It didn’t take long for Joe to remove the tack from his horse and to carry it through to where the other animal was waiting. The farrier followed, wiping his hands on his apron. “Its name’s is Wichita,” he said watching as Joe buckled up the girth strap. “Where you two from anyhow?”

 

“Nevada.”

 

“Nevada—” he stroked his chin, his hands so rough that they could hear his bristles scraping against the callouses—“Any place near Virginia City?”

 

“Could be—” Joe replied cautiously, glancing as he spoke at Adam who crooked an eyebrow.

 

“I know someone who went there some years back; I worked with him down Arizona way. Candy Canady?  Know him?”

 

“Yes, pretty well.” Joe smiled, “He’s a married man now, settled down on a ranch called the Ponderosa.”

 

“Is that so?  Never thought he would git married, he spoke so much about the gal he was hitched to at one time. Fancy that—” he spat tobacco juice into the ground and frowned. “Hey, if you see him give him the regards of Sam Collins.  He owes me a beer.”

 

“We’ll do that—” Joe led the horse from the paddock and it followed obediently enough. 

 

“Any place we can eat around here?” Adam asked and Sam pointed over to a building where soldiers were coming and going, “Thanks.” he paused and turned towards Sam, “You referred to Custer as Captain .. But I thought he ranked higher than that?”

 

“Oh, you’re thinking of George Custer, commanding officer of this here 7^th Cavalry.  I was referring to Tom, his brother.  Yep, Tom Custer, captain of C Company, 7^th Cavalry.  A brave young man too, the only man living with two Medals of Honour awarded during the Southern Insurrection.  He nodded thoughtfully. “Quite a family affair nowadays, General Custer got two brothers, a brother-in-law and a nephew in the 7^th Cavalry” he frowned and clicked his fingers “Yeah, but, Boston Custer, he ain’t in the military, he’s a civilian contractor, and works as the forage master for the 7^th.”

 

Content with having imparted such news, Sam left them to find their way to the eating place, returning to his forge, and the sound of the bellows reheating the coals followed them as they led their horses away from the building.

 

The gates were still open and as they were tying the reins of the horses to the rail a large number of men galloped through. Custer in buckskins rode beside another man in cavalry uniform.  Adam and Joe turned to watch them assemble, dismount and then after shouted orders to stand down, lead their horses away. 

 

Adam looked at Joe “Best leave here as soon as possible; the last thing I want is to meet up with Custer—” he frowned, “Any of them…”

 

“Aren’t you glad you haven’t got all your family on board ship with you, Adam?” Joe chuckled and slapped Adam on the back as they stepped up onto the sidewalk and made their way into the building.

 

Custer entered the C.O.’s office ahead of his brother Tom; he tossed down his hat and gloves and sat down, scowled and stared ahead of him as the other man began to rifle through some papers on the desk.  It was Tom who passed George a cablegram which brought about a groan from his brother.

 

“That’s the last thing I wanted—” and he tossed the paper onto the desk, pushed back the chair and walked to a cupboard where he kept the whiskey and some glasses.  He poured out two fingers for each of them, handed one glass to Tom and then walked over to the window to overlook the parade ground.

 

“What’s the matter? It was from Saville, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yes, a lengthy dialogue about some trouble there—”

 

“That’s nothing new,” Tom shrugged, and pulled off his hat. He was a handsome, fine-featured young man showing in his colouring and bone structure the German heritage inherited from Paulus and Gertrude Kuster*, among the first immigrant German families to North America.

 

“He also says that Adam Cartwright and his brother, Joseph, are in the area, and caused most of the trouble.”

 

“From what you’ve told me about Adam Cartwright and his brothers trouble seems to follow wherever they go.” Tom smiled and pulled out a chair, he sat down and swirled the whiskey around in the glass.  “They can’t cause any harm here, Auty*; they’re probably miles away.”

 

“Joseph Cartwright’s an Indian lover…rumour has it he married a Cheyenne girl some time back.”

 

“Well,” Tom drawled, staring into his glass, “People in glass houses etcetera …” and he took a deep gulp of the alcohol. “You forget you have two children of your own that are half Cheyenne*.”

 

George Custer’s face reddened, had it come from anyone else but Tom there would have been a verbal explosion followed by some tough discipline, but Tom was as much George’s hero as he was to his brother, so he drew in his breath and continued, in silence, to stare out of the window.

 

“Fleming was supposed to be bringing Cartwright and the Paiute girl, Sarah Winnemucca, here to try and see the practicality of selling the Black Hills to the government—”  George sighed. “They refused to come.”

 

“I thought Fleming was dead?”

 

“He is—” George Custer narrowed his eyes and watched as two men stepped out of the cook house, “Thanks, in part, to Joseph Cartwright.”  His eyes followed the two men until they had taken a turn towards the soldiers’ quarters.  He turned around and picked up the cable again. “Saville’s trouble, he goes out for trouble—” he re-read the message and shook his head. “Idiot man.”

 

For a few more minutes the two brothers discussed their most recent reconnoitre, placing a pin on the map and considering where the next foray would take place.  Once again, as though his nerves were attached to some kind of string, Custer went to the window to look out over the parade ground.  When Adam and Joe stepped out of the Mess Hall and into the full light of a bright autumnal sun he nearly dismissed them as a figment of an overwrought imagination.  He watched them for a moment or two before accepting the fact that they were real, the Cartwright brothers, right there before his eyes.

 

“Tell the adjutant to get those two men in here—” he demanded of his brother who promptly took his feet off the desk, and hurried to the door to give the adjutant his orders.

 

He remained at the window watching as a trooper marched over and spoke to Adam and Joe. Obviously what was said was dismissed as either inconvenient or irrelevant because Adam shrugged and turned his back on the man, and Joe just began to walk to his horse.

The trooper was persistent, he beckoned to two other troopers who promptly aimed their carbines at the two men, who had little choice but to follow them to the C.O’s office.

 

Adam was first to step into the office; he removed his hat as he did so, scanned the two men with his dark eyes and pursed his lips slightly before nodding acknowledgement of George Custer who had risen from behind his desk rather than have the commodore look down at him.  Joe came almost immediately afterwards, taking off his hat as he did so, and flicking a bold glance around the room at both men, he then fell into step with his brother, so that both men stood side by side.

 

“You’re a long way from sea, Commodore.” Custer said bitingly, “Commodore Adam Cartwright, my brother Captain Thomas Custer.  Joseph Cartwright.” 

 

The introductions made, Adam raised his eyebrows

 

“My brother and I were just passing through, General.”

 

“Were you?  From what I’ve heard you’ve already caused enough trouble, Commodore. In fact, I could have you both arrested for causing an uprising of Sioux and Cheyenne at the Red Cloud reservation, and the withdrawal of about a thousand braves from there…”

 

“We saw them; they’re on their way to open territory to join with Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull.  They’ve decided meagre rations and threadbare blankets doled out by an uncaring government insufficient inducement to remain.”  Adam’s lips twisted bitterly as he spoke, and he raised an uncompromising eyebrow in defiance of Custer’s threats.

 

“I could still have you arrested…”

 

“Nonsense.  If anyone should be arrested it’s Saville, probably a number of others as well in the Indian Agency back east.”

 

Custer now turned his attention to Joe who was staring at the maps and noting the pins carefully inserted in it. “So—you got here after all, Mr. Cartwright.  Pity you didn’t come when requested, it would have saved a lot of trouble.”

 

Joe said nothing; he looked at Custer, gave a slight shrug of the shoulders and continued to look at the map.

 

“We came across some of your recent—hmm—the remains of your most recent forays, General.  Women and children?  It seems to me you’re quite eager for an out and out war, aren’t you?”  Adam glanced at them both, and noted how Tom glanced over at George, a look of deference and respect, even though as holder of two Medals of Honour he was obviously the better and braver man. 

 

“Negotiations don’t get anywhere with these savages.”

 

“I’d hardly call the poor wretches we saw savages—” Joe instantly retorted,  “Is that your plan, to break their spirit first, and then shepherd them to another territory where they can really starve to death?”

 

“I only work under the auspices of my governmental orders.”

 

“Exactly—” Joe snorted with rising anger.

 

Custer shook his head, and Adam continued to stand looking at him with scant regard. “General, a few years ago when I saw you here before, I warned you about what would happen were you to enter the Paha Sapa. That warning is still valid.”

 

“Nonsense.” Tom spoke now; he looked at his brother as though surprised that George would stand there and take it, “The Black Hills are ours for the taking… our forts and our flags fly over it already, it’s just a matter of time before those Indians give up and go.”

 

“Oh, they’ll go alright,” Joe snapped back, “but not without a fight.  Let me tell you right here and now that when they fight for this land it won’t be just a handful of starving Indians, it’ll be thousands.”

 

“You talk as though we were novices at this job,” George yelled, and thumped his fist on the desk. “But let me tell you that we’re not, and if they want to come up against us in their thousands, let them.  They can come up in their tens of thousands for all I care but we’ll face up to them, and beat them back.”

 

“Somehow I doubt that,” Joe growled, stepping forward in his anger and only prevented from going nose to nose with Custer by Adam’s hand on his shoulder pulling him back. “I doubt  much that even you can defeat the Indians that you think you’ve got backed into a corner right now.”

 

Tom stepped forward, his face curious, the blue eyes lazily indulgent. “So what would you suggest, Mister Cartwright.”

 

“Close your forts, remove yourselves back across the border, leave the Indians alone.”

 

“Then what would happen?” Tom shrugged, “Do you have any idea of what would happen if we did that?  Who would feed all these thousands of Indians now that there are no buffalo?  Who would stop the prospectors and the miners and the gamblers from rushing right into this territory to build their towns and mining camps?”

 

“You don’t seem to be doing much of a good job stopping them now, so it seems to me.”

 

“We send them back,” Tom replied slowly, perching himself on the corner of George’s desk, “But they keep returning.”

 

“Of course they will, when they see how the army defends them by killing women and children and old men.”

 

“Commodore,” George rose to his feet, and straightened his shoulders. “I suggest that you take your little brother out of here before he talks himself into big trouble.  Best take yourself and him as far from here as you can…”

 

“I intend to do just that,” Adam said calmly, “But let me just say this, General Custer, don’t rely on the generals to back you up when the time comes, and don’t think for a moment that Joe’s wrong in what he’s saying, because he isn’t .  If you value your life, you’d be wise to leave here.”

 

“And I suggest that you get out of here and go play with your boats.” George snarled.

 

Adam cast one last quizzical look in George Custer’s direction before turning and leaving the room, closely followed by his brother.  The door closed sharply behind them.

 

“So that’s the great Commodore Cartwright, huh,” Tom sneered, and he strolled over to the window to watch as the two brothers mounted their horses and rode slowly out of the compound.  “He didn’t really have much to say for himself, did he?”

 

“He doesn’t have to say anything to make my skin crawl.  Fact is, he’s right, Tom.  I have to fight tooth and nail to get what I need; Sheridan and Sherman refuse to agree to all I want.  I know for a fact that when it comes to the big initiative they’ll prefer Reno or someone else over me.”

 

He walked around to the window, hands clasped behind his back and watched as Adam and Joe rode through the gates and out into the open countryside.  He stood for some minutes watching the empty space they had left behind before turning and asking Tom to bring the adjutant in for further orders.

 

Chapter 122

 

Thomas Custer stood with his arms folded across his chest and a frown on his face as he listened to his brother’s orders to the adjutant.  He said nothing, knowing that as the general’s brother, any criticism in front of a subordinate was greeted with greater sensitivity than if it came from anyone else. 

 

Even though he was well aware of his brother’s unease, George continued with his instructions, stabbing a finger at the map and at a point on it marked by a pin and a red circle.  He then drew a line from the pin to somewhere in the territory between the fort and the nearest township.  Just once he turned to give Thomas a glare as though to say “I know what you’re thinking but…”

 

Jackson Melville was a good officer, but as a human being he was a bully and a thug who had risen up the ranks due to broken bones along the way as well as some merit as a soldier.  He nodded when given his orders, and after saluting both officers, he turned and left the room.

 

Once the sound of his footsteps faded and the door was heard to snap shut, George turned to his brother and raised his eyebrows. “Well?  You were practically breathing fire down my neck, so say what you have to say…”

 

“What’s the point, George, you seem to know it already.”

 

“Sometimes things have to be done, we don’t necessarily like it …”

 

“In this case I think you do like it because you dislike Cartwright so much.  Can’t see it myself, they both appeared to me  reasonable and likeable.”  He took the chair opposite his brothers and placed his feet up on the desk. “So what’s the problem with Cartwright? Considering how often he’s away at sea it’s not as if he’s under your nose all the time.”

 

“He galls me, that’s all.”  George threw down his pen onto the desk and shrugged. “Can’t stand him.”

 

“There has to be a reason …”

 

“Do you know how long it took me to get this command?”  George asked in an icily cold voice. “It took months of my badgering the generals, and then Grant.  I went to the offices daily for an appointment and got the brush-off constantly.  Yet he—” he waved his hand at the door as though the embodiment of his nemesis bodily stood there “he just has to step into the building and he’s whisked off to see Grant right away.”

 

“I see—” Thomas intoned, and sighed.

 

“It isn’t even as if he’s ever in agreement with any of us anyway.  He’s always—well?  Say it!  What is it this time?”

 

“Well, it just seems to me that you’re jealous.  The problem ain’t with him, it’s with you, brother.”  He rose to his feet and saluted. “Duty calls, Sir.  See you later…”

 

…………………..

 

“Adam?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“You’re mighty quiet.”

 

“I was thinking the same thing about you.”  Adam grinned, his brown eyes flicking over to observe his brother before turning back to the road.

 

“Did you notice that map, with all those pins on?”

 

Adam paused a moment before he nodded, “I did.”

 

“What did you notice about it?”

 

“Pins.”  Adam grinned again.

 

“Yeah, I know that—” Joe sighed in exasperation, “But some pins had red circles round ‘em and some had green circles and some didn’t have any circles at all…  what did you make of that?”

 

“More to the point, what did you make of it?”

 

Joe frowned, lowered his hat a little to shade his eyes“I was thinking that pins with green circles coincided with Indian camps that Custer would say have been dealt with, seeing as two were the places we’ve already come across.”

 

“Uh-huh, and the red circles?”

 

“Ones that they’ve noticed on their reconnoitring journeys and intend to deal with in time.”

 

“Hmm, that’s my way of thinking too.  The other areas are deep in Indian Territory and as yet only known about but not confirmed, too bad for them when they are …” Adam frowned, “I guess you would say Custer was doing a thorough sweep and clean up of this territory.”

 

“Ain’t no mining camps or settlements marked on the map…”

 

“That’s not Custer’s problem though is it?  His job isn’t to move them on, although we’re supposed to swallow that story, but, fact is, it is just a story.”

 

“He doesn’t like you, does he?”  Joe frowned, although his eyes twinkled when he recalled the tension between the two men in that office.

 

“No, but the feeling’s mutual.  He’s—” Adam paused, shrugged, “I don’t like his way of going about things.  I liked his brother though … two Medals of Honour, huh?  Speaks for itself really. I bet deep down George really resents that …”

 

They rode on a little further before Adam reined in his horse and glanced over his shoulder. He looked at Joe and then indicated that they ride up onto higher ground.  Once there and able to overlook a beautifully laid out view of the surrounding area he dismounted and took his telescope from the saddlebag. “Joe, look down there—”  he passed the telescope to his brother who after a moment returned the telescope to his brother.

 

“Looks like a camp, mostly women and children, and only a few men.”

 

“Seems to me it’s the next camp along on that map, what do you think?”

 

“Yeah, I agree.”  Joe  breathed the words softly and then looked at Adam, “What do we do?  Go down and tell ’em to clear out?”

 

Adam didn’t speak for a moment but turned the telescope in the direction of the way they had come while Joe waited on pins to find out what his brother was looking for. It took a while but eventually Adam nodded, as though something he had expected to see had suddenly come into view.  He trained the telescope onto the area for some seconds longer before handing it to Joe.

 

“Can’t see a thing,” Joe grumbled

 

“Between the trees, can you see them?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Joe!” Adam groaned and waited until Joe put down the telescope with a puzzled expression on his face. “Well?”

 

“Soldiers. Don’t know how many because of the trees but they had a howitzer.”

 

“No prizes for guessing where they’re headed.”

 

Adam scanned the area again and then looked sombre as he put the telescope away. He shrugged. “Looks like we’re caught in the middle.”

 

“Yeah.  How’d you mean?”

 

“Custer’s got you labelled as an Indian lover, and he’ll expect you to go down and help those people.”

 

“He ain’t far wrong in both instances.” Joe retorted hotly, his nostrils pinched and the green in his hazel eyes almost glowing.

 

“Calm down just a fraction, Joe.”  Adam chewed on his bottom lip and his eyelids hooded his dark eyes as he considered the situation. “He’s expecting me to join with you.”

 

“Well, you are, ain’t’cha?”

 

“No.”

 

“WHAT!”

 

“No, I can’t. that’s what he wants us to do, then we either get killed with them and he gains another triumph in more ways than one, or he can arrest me for aiding and abetting the enemy.”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

Adam laughed, a deep low laugh that made Joe smile and ask again ‘So?”

 

“I can’t go down there, Joe, I’m not a private civilian like yourself.  How far do you reckon that village is from here?”

 

“About an hour’s ride.”

 

“And if you don’t take your time?”

 

“Like I said, an hour.”

 

“Try and make it shorter than that…warn them to get out.  Joe, if they argue and stay put don’t stay with them.”

 

Joe’s lips thinned and his eyes sparked a little but he saw the determination in his brother’s face, and glanced away.

 

“When you’ve done that take the route from the camp back to the fort, you’ll have to do a sharp ride, Joe, but you shouldn’t be seen.”

 

“Why back to the Fort?”

 

“Because I want you to invite Sam for a drink of beer and in the morning we can have breakfast together in the mess room.”

 

Joe looked blankly at his brother and shook his head doubtfully.

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“Nothing much, just ride back slowly to the fort and complain about the horse we bought.”  he held out the reins of his horse to Joe, “Take my horse, I know her worth, she’s got a real good turn of speed on her.  By my reckoning the soldiers are at least three hours distant, plus another hour. That gives them three hours to get clear and you plenty of time to be headed back to the Fort.”

 

Joe mounted into the saddle of Adam’s horse and looked rather doubtful as Adam mounted Wichita. “What are you waiting for, Joe? If you want to save lives, you best move now!”

 

The younger man needed no second bidding, one brief look at Adam and a twist of the wrist on the reins and he was hurtling down the trail in the direction of the Indian camp.  Adam watched him for a moment or two and then looked at Witchita, stroked its sleek neck and raised its hind leg to examine its shoe; he checked all four shoes and then  carefully loosened one while the horse, patient and forebearing, stood calmly still.

 

…………..

 

Jackson Melville raised a hand to stop the convoy as the horseman rode towards him.  He frowned and his deep set eyes more or less disappeared as he narrowed them to make sure he was only seeing one horseman and that another wasn’t actually in view.  His horse shifted nervously beneath him, and he yanked at the reins to hold it still.

 

“Lieutenant,” Adam nodded and touched his hat as he passed.

 

“Hey, you…where you headed?”

 

“Same place you came from. That farrier of yours sold me a horse with a loose shoe. I want to get it fixed before I injure the beast.  I’ve got a long way to travel yet,” and he gave Melville a hard glare, which the officer returned.

 

“Where’s the other one?”

 

“Other one—what?”

 

“Who!  I mean- where’s your brother?”

 

“My brother?  Oh, he’s ridden on ahead, promised Sam a beer if we were ever to meet up with him again, and—as you can see—it looks like we will be so Joe just went ahead, I didn’t want to injure the horse so just—you know—took my time.” He shrugged, looked innocently at Melville and was about to proceed when Melville reached out a hand to stop him.

 

“He didn’t pass us.”

 

“Well, you weren’t exactly on the track, were you, Lieutenant.  Hidden away among the trees and all that…he probably passed you without you noticing.”  He shrugged again, “Joe’s a good rider, fast if you know what I mean.”

 

Melville shook his head, looked behind him

 

“Anyone of you see a horseman pas along the track?”

 

A rumble of  ‘No, sirs’ came from behind but Adam was still smiling and looking blankly at the officer, when Melville was about to challenge him once again Adam rose in the saddle as though curious about something himself. he grimaced.

 

“Going hunting, Lieutenant?  That’s a howitzer, ain’t it?  Now, where exactly are you going with that?”

 

“That ain’t none of your business, Sir.”

 

“No?” Adam raised his eyebrows, then touched the brim of his hat again. “Well, good day to you, Lieutenant.”

 

“Wait a minute—”

 

Adam drew rein and Melville turned to the officer by his side. “Check that horse over.”

 

The officer dismounted, nodded at Adam as though in apology for the intrusion and then checked the horse’s hooves, he then reported to Melville that the left back foot was about to lose its shoe.

 

“You got a bill of sale for that horse?”  Melville said, clutching at straws and knowing it.

 

“Are you deliberately going out of your way to insult me, young man?” Adam straightened his back, and set his face into the stern lines that could even make Joe think twice about annoying him, “If you want to check my credentials I suggest you do so when you get back to the fort.  I’ll be there …”

 

He rode slowly along the line of soldiers, his eyes sweeping over them and noting the weapons, the howitzer, but most of all he noticed how many of the men had obviously not long been back from manoeuvres before having been called out on this misadventure. A hurried affair cobbled together on the spur of the moment.  He didn’t look back but when the column moved on he released his breath into a sigh of dismay intermingled with relief.

 

…………………

 

Evening was falling when the convoy returned—a long line of weary dust covered men only too grateful to disperse to their barracks.  Melville wearily reported to the commanding officer who listened to the report with growing indignation.

 

“No hostiles?” he snapped

 

“No, sir, none at all.”

 

“But they were there earlier.”

 

“Looked like they had left in a hurry, Sir.  We didn’t have orders to pursue them so returned back to Fort.”

 

“The Cartwrights—they must have warned them.”

 

“Couldn’t have done, sir.  They were back here—”  Melville frowned in an attempt to juggle the events in his mind, “They weren’t aware of any Indian camp anywhere, sir, they came back here.”

 

The farrier was a kindly man. He enjoyed his beer, was most apologetic about the loose shoe, and didn’t charge them for seeing to it.  He offered the stable to bed down for the night, an offer that the brothers willingly accepted.

 

“How did they react when you told them to move on, Joe?” Adam whispered as they settled down for the night.

 

“One of their scouts had seen some movement, what I said only verified it.  They had started putting down the tepees by the time I got there.”  Joe sighed contentedly, and folded his hands behind his head staring up into the shadowy gloom above him. “I can’t wait to get home now, Adam.  I want to see Mary Ann, and get hitched as soon as possible.”  He sighed again, “Then there’s Hoss and Hester and the baby…and Pa.  Sure miss Hop Sing’s cooking.  Could just eat one of his steaks and mashed potatoes.  Oh, and apple pie.  Sure could eat one of those right now.  I wonder if Hester has learned to cook better now.”

 

He received no answer, only the dark shape of his brother huddled into his blanket in the straw reassured him that Adam was still there.  He smiled, closed his eyes and drifted into dreams.

 

Chapter 123

 

“Are you leaving us so soon, Commodore?”

 

Adam turned from tightening the girth strap and straightened up to find himself looking into the smiling face of Mrs. Custer.  She was accompanied by another woman, who stood shielding herself from the sun by a bleached parasol and more conscious of the threat of freckles than speaking to these two men who had just left the mess hall after a substantial breakfast.

 

Both men removed their hats and Libby Custer turned to Joe, and smiled warmly

 

“I remember seeing you before,” she extended a hand which Joe shook with a  smile on his face.

 

“I am sorry, Ma’am,” Adam said in his deep voice. “I was under the impression that you and your husband had made Fort Abraham Lincoln your home.  I didn’t expect to see you here.”

 

“Oh and why should you indeed,” she laughed. “I’m visiting my good friend, Mrs. Collingswood.  Emily, may I introduce Commodore Adam Cartwright and his brother, Joseph.”

 

Mrs. Collingswood smiled at them both and wished more than ever that she had dabbed vinegar on her face before coming into the sun. It was cold, the breeze was fresh, but the sun still shone vigorously. 

 

“And, to be honest, I never expected you here either, Commodore.  You’re a long way from the sea and your ship.  Whereabouts did you go this time?”

 

“Egypt, M’am”

 

She nodded and looked at her friend, then at the two men who were obviously anxious to be gone, the way they were fidgeting with the reins of their horses and shuffling their feet about was a sure sign that they wanted to be anywhere other than there, she looked at her friend who was obviously wishing to be sitting by the fire toasting her toes.

 

“Commodore, Mr. Cartwright, why not come and join with me for some coffee.  I’m sure Mrs. Collingswood would love to hear of your adventures.  We’ve never been to Egypt, nor even to the Ponderosa, where you come from, isn’t that right, Mr. Cartwright.”

 

Both brothers immediately had the same thought flash into their minds, she either had a fantastic memory for detail, or had taken on board her husband’s most recent tirades against them.  Both smiled. “We really have to leave, Ma’am” Joe said brightly, “We’ve left it later than should be anyway.”

 

“We had to return to the fort, my horse had a loose shoe,” Adam added rather lamely, and he flicked the reins into his free hand as he glanced anxiously around the buildings, and she frowned slightly and stepped a little closer to them, a slight frown furrowing her brow.

 

“I know that you think my husband a brute in hunting down these Indians, but that is his duty and his assignment in order to make this land safe for everyone.”

 

“‘Everyone’ meaning the white people?” Joe murmured gently.

 

“Which is what you are yourself, sir, although I know your opinion must be prejudiced by the amount of time you lived among them.”

 

“You seem to know a great deal about us, Mrs. Custer.” Joe scowled and glanced at Adam who raised his eyebrows in a sign to him to be cautious.

 

“I know it is people like yourself who propagate the romantic idea of les Sauvages Noblesses, but the fact remains, sir, that they are, indeed, savages and not at all noble.”

 

“As you say, Mrs. Custer, although—” Joe began but she fixed him with a glare and a bold tilt of the chin.

 

“Let me tell you of a morning when I was with my husband, I saw something then that made me realise how cruel these so called noble savages are.  A white man staked out on the ground, disembowelled,* sir,” she shook her head, her face a little paler than it had been, “But as though that were not bad enough, there were hot embers from the fire heaped upon his body.*  After that my husband forbade us to walk out, but it is a sight that I shall never forget, never.”  She now placed a hand upon Adam’s arm and looked earnestly into his face “Please, Commodore, don’t make an enemy of my husband.”

 

She gave neither of them the chance to say another word but turned and walked quickly away leaving them both standing by their horses looking back at her and the faithful Mrs. Collingswood who marched resolutely beside her.

 

“Couldn’t have been pleasant for her,” Adam remarked as he swung himself into the saddle.

 

Joe said nothing but turned his horse towards the gate of the fort where the troopers on duty saluted them both as they passed through, once outside both of them urged their horses into a gallop as though the need to put as much distance as possible between them was of imperative importance.

 

………………..

 

The knocking on the door of the Pearson’s home was certainly  determined. If one could judge the temperament of the caller by the knock on the door, then Barbara could tell that her visitor was certainly persistent.  She opened it to see Mary Ann standing there well wrapped up in muffler and mittens and a warm hood covering her hair,

 

“Oh Mary Ann, I wasn’t expecting you, come on in—” she stepped aside for her visitor to enter and quickly closed the door behind her, “Come closer to the fire, you need to warm through.  Have you heard from Joe?”

 

“Yes, I have, thank you.” Mary Ann smiled, her cheeks reddening and not only from the effect of the fire, but from the message that Joe had sent her prior to boarding a train home. “He should be home  soon now.”

 

“I’m sure you must all be  relieved to know that, and—and—” she paused and glanced anxiously over her shoulder, but they were alone except for Peter ,who was busy playing with a toy. “I mean, is he coming alone?”

 

“Oh no, Adam will be coming home too.”  Mary Ann beamed and thrust her hands towards the flames. “It will be lovely to see him as well, Ben is as pleased as a dog with two tails.”

 

“And will there be a wedding soon?”

 

“Yes, Joe actually told me to get my wedding dress ready.” Mary Ann laughed now, and hunched up her shoulders as though hugging the news to herself, then she looked at Barbara and her face softened. “How are you now, Barbara?  Is everything alright with you and Andrew?”

 

“Yes, thank you.”  Barbara moved the coffee pot away from the stove and poured out the hot drinks into two mugs which she carried over to the table. “Do sit down, Mary Ann, and tell me what the real reason is behind this visit.”

 

She looked at Mary Ann with a serenity that rather caught Mary Ann by surprise.  Apart from a slight scar on her cheek there was now no mark on her to remind anyone of that brutal assault only a few weeks earlier, and she sat with such composure that it was difficult for Mary Ann to know where to start the conversation.  She looked into the muddy coloured brew swirling around in the cup and then glanced up at Barbara with a serious look on her young face.

 

“I’m concerned about Lilith.”

 

“Lilith?” 

 

“Yes, she hasn’t been to school since—well, since the time you were hurt and I wondered if she were alright.”

 

“Lilith is well,” Barbara replied steadily with her eyes wide and clear. “She doesn’t want to come to school anymore, and now that winter is close upon us I thought I would spare her the journey in such bad weather.  Anyway, as a teacher myself I thought I would teach her at home.  She’s doing  well.”

 

Mary Ann frowned and said nothing, then looked over at Peter, who was chewing his sleeve with a determination on his face that made her smile. Barbara promptly got up and went to her son, lifted him into her arms and turned to look at Mary Ann, the pride she felt for the boy shone from her face causing the younger woman to smile even more warmly.

 

“He’s a handsome little boy, Barbara, are you teaching him at home too?”

 

“Yes, I’m teaching him to lip read and to understand signs—you know, pointing and gesturing to make himself understood.”

 

“And did you think any more about Ben’s offer to help you find a specialist who could help him?”

 

“No, after all, there would be no point in doing so, Mary Ann, no point in even mentioning it.” She lowered her eyes as she set Peter down on the ground and stroked the top of his head.

 

“John Martin asked me to tell you that he would like to see you when you get into town next time.”

 

Barbara said nothing to that, only her brow creased a little as though perplexed.  She was about to speak when the door opened and Lilith came into the house, looked at Mary Ann and smiled before she hurried over to Barbara and clung to her skirts.

 

“I’m not coming to school anymore, Miss Hornby.  Mommy’s teaching me at home.”

 

“So she told me. I shall miss you, Lilith.”

 

“I know, but don’t worry, Miss Hornby, I have to stay and look after Mommy.” She smiled up at Barbara, a wide beaming smile, then she looked again at Mary Ann. “I do all my lessons properly.”

 

“I’m sure you do, Lilith.  You always were one of the most diligent pupils in class.”

 

Lilith nodded and smiled and then ran to a shelf to pull down a book, a dictionary, and as Mary Ann made her goodbyes she could hear the little girl spelling out the word ‘diligent’ and reading out the definition.  With a sigh she walked to her buggy and heard the door close behind her.

 

………………..

 

Ben listened attentively to what Mary Ann was saying, nodding every so often and looking over at Hoss and Hester as though to make sure that they were paying attention. 

 

“Seems to me she should have left that place altogether,” Hoss grumbled, “It was the wrong move to take Andrew back, much as I liked him before I ain’t got no respect for him now.”

 

“Was he there when you called, Mary Ann?” Hester asked calmly as she plied the needle in and out of a little garment she was making for Hannah.

 

“I don’t think so, I never saw him.”

 

“And Lilith, she was alright?”  Ben asked with his dark brows scowling above the black eyes.

 

“Yes, but no—she was so clingy to Barbara, as though she couldn’t bear to be away from her side.”

 

“It was a mistake,” Hoss moaned, “She should never have had him back.”

 

“Well,” Ben shrugged, “You have to remember that Barbara didn’t have an easy life with her parents; she was  loyal in caring for them. Remember too, that incident with her uncle, Major Scott, she didn’t walk out on him either. She was  loyal to him until he died, and I know for a fact that he was far from kind towards her at times.”

 

“She seems to attract bullies—is that what you mean?” Hester asked, looking over at Ben thoughtfully.

 

“Perhaps—I know her loyalty to her uncle was one of the qualities that endeared her to Adam so much.”

 

“Well, be that as it may,” Hester said with a flourish of the little garment, “she wasn’t  loyal to Adam, and now look where it’s got her.”

 

Ben said nothing to that although he sighed heavily, and turned to pick up a book that he had been reading earlier.  Mary Ann bowed her head, and in deep contemplation considered the visit once again. It was Hester’s voice that eventually broke into her reverie and she looked over at the other woman as though just coming out from a dream.

 

“Do you think Barbara is safe there, Mary Ann?”

 

Mary Ann had to think about that for a moment, then she shook her head. “I don’t know.  She was remarkably calm and  composed.  It’s Lilith I’m more concerned about, but I can’t really explain why.”

 

 

Chapter 124

 

Lilith Pearson coloured the painting in  carefully and made sure that not only did she not paint over the edges but that not a speck of paint found its way onto the table.  Barbara had covered it with old newspapers so that Lilith didn’t have to worry about it but she had to make sure herself.

 

The sky was blue in her painting and the sun was shining. A tree grew in the garden and here and there flowers were daubed in all different bright colours.  She had painted Barbara wearing an apron, and she was standing by the tree with Peter (well, a blob of colours being that it was so small a shape and the colours had run) in her arms.  She had painted Andrew on the other side of the house and in the sky was another lady with a smile on her face.

 

Barbara passed the table and looked down, kissed Lilith on the top of the head, and then peered closer,

 

“That’s a lovely painting, darling. How pretty the garden looks. Everything looks so lovely when the sun shines.”

 

“I know,” Lilith sat back primly. Her hair was in braids with green ribbons; she looked up at Barbara and smiled, and said, “I haven’t painted me in the picture yet.”

 

“I thought you had—” Barbara frowned and pointed to the figure that appeared poised in the sky “Isn’t that you, all grown up and looking so smart.”

 

“No,” Lilith shook her head and sighed, “No, that’s my other mommy.  I remember her when I dream about her so I put her in the picture.”

 

Barbara nodded, although she felt her spirits droop as this wasn’t the first time Lilith had mentioned her mother recently.  She looked at the picture again. “Where are you going to paint yourself?”

 

“Just there.” Lilith pointed to a position close to her, by the tree.

 

“That will be nice, dear.  When you finish we’ll have a drink of something warm and then we’ll do our math lesson.”

 

Lilith nodded and leaned forward, concentrating hard to draw in the shape of a little girl standing close to her mommy while her real mommy was there to protect them.  She put a smile on the little girl’s face, and then frowned, and sat back to look at it more closely.

 

Perhaps a smile was wrong because inside herself she didn’t feel like smiling, only now when they were alone, but soon that time would be over and it would be back to the stomach churning, aching feeling she got whenever Daddy came home.

 

Even thinking about it made her feel tense, and she glanced over at the door.  The wind outside was buffeting against it making it rattle now and again.  She looked at Barbara, who was making the drinks and who looked up now, saw her and smiled.  Peter was eating some bread and looking thoughtfully at one chubby finger which had some bread and butter stuck to it; he obviously wasn’t sure whether to lick that off first or finish the piece still in his other hand.

 

Lilith looked at the picture again.  She tried to paint out the smile on the little girls face but it just blobbed, and then the paint trickled down and merged with the dress and became a mess.  She shook her head, picked it up and screwed it into a ball.

 

“What are you doing, Lilith?” Barbara asked anxiously and Lilith shook her head.

 

“It went wrong.”

 

“But it was a lovely picture, Lilith.  Why not leave it for now and later we can smooth it out and put it right again, and then you can show Daddy.

 

“No”  Lilith clasped the screwed up ball tighter in her hands, “No.  Don’t show Daddy.”

 

Barbara frowned a little and then set the cup of milk down on the table by the fire. “Very well, come here and have your drink and then we’ll do some math.”

 

Lilith relaxed. She went to the chair by the fire and threw the screwed up painting into it;  she watched as the flames consumed it bit by bit, the outline of her mother in the sky the last to burn up, and somehow, to her, that seemed  fitting indeed.

 

“It was a lovely painting, Lilith. Perhaps you can do another tomorrow.”

 

Lilith nodded and sipped her milk.  Barbara watched her from over the rim of her cup; it seemed like such a long time ago when she had ridden out to join Andrew and Lilith for that picnic and played ball among the flowers and grasses, so much had happened; so much had changed in their lives. 

 

Lilith finished her milk and put the cup down, she walked over to Barbara and put her arms around her neck, and just for a moment they stayed together like that, with Barbara’s arm around Lilith’s waist and the child resting her head against her shoulder.

 

“Mommy, I won’t—”

 

“Won’t what?”

 

Lilith sighed “I couldn’t help my real mommy before, that’s why she’s in the sky.” then she kissed Barbara on the cheek, and hurried away to collect her books for the next lesson.

 

……………..

 

Hester pulled the hood closer around her neck in a vain effort to blot out the draughts and wind that blew down her coat and shivered their way down her body.  She had put in her order for the groceries and the boy was carrying out the heavier sacks and bags, but the package she was carrying was making it difficult to keep her hood over her head.  She really needed an extra arm.  Thank goodness that Hop Sing had been able to look after Hannah at home.  She moved the package to the other arm.

 

“Here, Miss Hester, let me help you there…”

 

She looked up and gave a slight start perhaps of alarm, surprise or some other such, she just wasn’t sure as she looked up at Andrew Pearson smiling down at her with his blue eyes so kindly and concerned. “You look like you’re struggling a little with that package.  Where’s your wagon?”

 

“Just over there.” she pointed to where it stood and blinked, had she just said that or was it still reeling about inside her head.  “Thank you, that was kind of you.”

 

Was she to say Andrew as previously or call him Mr. Pearson to be neighbourly, or just not address him at all?  She forced a smile at him as he placed the package along with her groceries, the boy from the store gave her a sharp look and then darted a glance over at Andrew, as though to make sure that everything was in order.

 

“Thank you, Jacko.”

 

“That’s alright, Mrs. Cartwright.” he tipped his hat and hurried back to the store, glad to return to the warmth although he decided to look through the window and make sure no harm came to the lady.

 

Hester frowned and realised by Jacko’s actions the town must know all about the Pearsons’ recent problems, and when she looked up at Andrew she could see by the tension in his jaw muscles that he realised it too.  She wanted to speak naturally, as she would once have done but something made her throat go tight when she tried to do so, and it was he spoke first.

 

“Miss Hester—you don’t mind me calling you that still, do you, Ma’am?”

 

“No, of course not.”  She wanted to smile but her lips were stiff and not just from the cold.

 

“Well, Miss Hester, I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for looking after Barbara as you did after what happened.”

 

“That’s alright, I didn’t do much compared to Ann and Mary Ann.”

 

“I’m mighty obliged to them both.” He had taken his hat off now and held it loosely between his hands, then looked at her again, “I’m a  placid person most of the time but I just felt—well—I just felt really pained that Barbara didn’t tell me about Peter, our son, but she told others before me.  It hurt my pride.  A man’s pride can be a mite tender when things go against it and what with all the troubles I’ve had lately in keeping the—” he stopped himself from running on, and bit down on the rest of what he had wanted to say; instead he replaced his hat. “Thank you for letting me explain, Miss Hester.  I promise you, it won’t happen again. I really love Barbara—”

 

Hester glanced over his shoulder and saw Widow Hawkins, Mrs. Shuttleworth and Miss Gaines all watching from across the road.  She felt embarrassed now, and bowed her head, forced a smile and thanked him  much before he had even finished speaking.

 

When she went to mount up the step to the wagon he cupped her elbow with his hand and gently helped her to her seat, once again she smiled at him, nodded, and thanked him.

 

“Please believe me, Miss Hester, it won’t happen again.”

 

She gathered her courage, looked at him straight in the eyes and told him in as cool a manner as possible that it had better not happen again, that a man who raised his hand to a woman wasn’t worth knowing.  He nodded as though he had received a lesson from the preacher, and tipped his hat. “That’s quite so, Miss Hester.”

 

The wagon rolled away and Hester shivered inwardly, she no longer felt cold but hot, hot from embarrassment and from nerves, and perhaps, for some reason, a little bit afraid.

 

Andrew watched the wagon trundle down the road. He said nothing and his expression revealed nothing about how he felt regarding their conversation. He merely stood there a moment or two before turning back to the store to collect his own groceries.

 

………………..

 

The house looked exactly the same as it had when they had left it some years earlier.  A little like a museum that had been closed to the public for a long time.  Furniture and fittings were covered with sheets and in the dim light that shone from the windows everything look rather ghostly. 

 

Rachel put down her luggage and walked through the hallway to the small sitting room at the back of the house where the covers had been removed by Mrs. Prendergast, who had also lit a small fire in the grate.  She stood in the middle of the room and looked around her at the shelves lining the walls full of her father’s and his father’s books.  Statues with their blank eyes stared down and at her, gleaming eerily in the half-shadows.  She jumped when someone spoke close by and turned to see who it was.

 

“I’ve prepared something for you to eat, Miss Forster, and prepared your bed room for the night.  How long will you be staying here, so I know what food to get in?”

 

“Oh, Mrs. Prendergast, that’s  kind of you, thank you.  I think I’ll be here for at least two days.”

 

“Just two days, Miss?”

 

“At least, at the most may be a week.”

 

“I see.” Mrs. Prendergast nodded, and then glanced around the room. “Is it alright, Miss; is it to your liking?”

 

“I had forgotten how many books we had here, and the size of the house, although it is exactly the same as when I last saw it.  How strange that I had forgotten so much but yet it all looks so familiar.”

 

“It was your family home, Miss, ever since your grandfather had it built.”

 

Rachel Forster nodded and smiled, then slowly, dreamily, removed her hat and coat and draped them over the back of a chair.  There had always been family bustling about before, laughter, noise, the murmur of academic voices discussing this or that, the rustle of books and maps.  Now she was alone, and aware that Mrs. Prendergast was waiting to lead her into the kitchen, she turned and followed her to where her meal awaited.

 

Mrs. Prendergast had been retained by her family since as far back as she could remember and was still the caretaker to the old house in their absence.  Usually once a week she would come into the house and air it out, dust it a little, and check that everything was till in working order.  Now she prepared herself to be available for Miss Forster until the young woman chose to leave.

 

“How was your sister, Miss Forster?”

 

“Very well when I saw her last, thank you.”

 

“Still happily married to that foreign gentleman?”

 

“Yes.” Rachel frowned, that was rather a liberty she thought, it really was no business of Mrs. Prendergast whether or not Anna was married to the sheik. 

 

“And did you enjoy your time in Egypt, Miss Forster?”

 

“Sometimes.” she smiled and her eyes twinkled, after all, Mrs. Prendergast knew only too well how much she hated the mummies and the artefacts that littered this house from her father’s and grandfather’s explorations to that far-off country.

 

“Will you be going back?”  Mrs. Prendergast was ladling out the soup now, creamy chicken soup, and on the plate was a fresh crisp bread roll which Rachel broke into pieces with her fingers.

 

“I hope not.”  She smiled at Mrs. Prendergast, “I’m going on an excursion of my own, Mrs. P, and really quite looking forward to it.”

 

“In that case, Miss, perhaps you could let me know what clothes you would need packed away for this—excursion—as you call it.  Would you require your winter or summer clothes for the journey?"

 

“I think…” Rachel smiled a wide happy smile, “it should be my winter clothes, please, Mrs. Prendergast.”  And she dipped her spoon into the soup.

 

Chapter 125

 

The shadows were drawing in around the house as the day closed in upon itself, so Barbara lit the lamps and set them out on the tables around the room, then sat by the fire with Peter in her arms until he fell asleep. It was  quiet in the room apart from the clock ticking away the minutes and the fire crackling. When Peter was finally asleep she carried him up to his little cot in the room he shared with Lilith, then she set him down, kissed his brow and wrapped the covers over him.

 

She could see Lilith sitting opposite the stairs and for a moment stopped to observe her, a little girl who held herself so rigid, the tension ran down her back and showed in the clasp of her hands that she held in her lap. Every so often Lilith’s eyes would turn to the clock and then dart back to the door.

 

Barbara sighed, and came down the last steps.

 

“You should get to bed now, dear; it’s been a long day,” she said gently.

 

“Oh no, it’s been a lovely day, hasn’t it?” Lilith looked up at her and she smiled; her eyes shone, “It was a lovely day, Momma, really it was.”

 

“Yes, it was,” Barbara agreed and felt sad having to admit it but the fact was that time without Andrew in the house did bring peace with it, a lack of the tension that was already beginning to seep into their bones now, just being here waiting for his return.

 

“Daddy’s late home today, that means he’ll have been drinking.” Lilith whispered, and her eyes darted towards Barbara and for a moment their eyes held, then broke away at the sound of the wagon entering the yard and the plodding sound of the horse wearily drawing it along.

 

“Go to bed, darling, take the lamp with you and try to get to sleep.”

 

“But, Momma, what if—”

 

“No,” Barbara placed a finger on the little girl’s lips, and then shook her head, “No, don’t say anything about ‘what if’s.’ You mustn’t worry, Lilith, really you mustn’t.”

 

“But—”

 

They stopped, stiffened, fear trickled from one to the other, before Barbara shook her head and picked up the night lamp which she lit and then handed to Lilith,

 

“Go to bed; I’ll bring some warm milk later.”

 

She watched as Lilith mounted the stairs, the light glowing each step of the way like a bright little glow worm. Then as soon as she had disappeared and Barbara could hear the child’s footsteps above her head as she made her way to the bed, Barbara began to prepare Andrew’s supper. The table had to be set out just right, and the coffee pot had to be boiling for when he came into the house, so that when he stepped inside the first thing he would smell was the coffee and the food.

 

She glanced at the clock, more minutes ticking away; she added a log to the fire and stirred the stew and set out the bread on the table.

 

She heard his heavy tread on the doorstep and then the door was pushed open, groceries in his arms were dumped onto the top of the dresser and the door slammed shut as he kicked it with the back of his boot, pulled off his hat and looked at her.

 

She smiled and approached him, stood on tip toe to kiss his cheek, and then removed his coat from him. He pulled the chair out and sat down, while she brought over the coffee pot, poured out the coffee and set the pot on the table for him to refill it, then she went to the stove and began to ladle out the stew.

 

“I saw that High and Mighty Cartwright woman in town today.”

 

The words hovered between them and she could tell by the slight slur to his voice that he had been drinking. She tightened her grip on the ladle and continued to fill his plate before carrying it over to the table.

 

“She threatened me.”

 

“Threatened you?” she looked at him in amazement, “But why? How could she threaten you?”

 

“She did, that’s all.”

 

She looked at his hands, the way his fingers were clenching and unclenching nervously. He had big hands and once she thought they were so beautifully shaped, but now all she could see were heavy, thick fingers that clenched together would become a weapon used against her. She sighed, licked her lips.

 

“Forget her for the moment, Andrew; why not eat your supper?”

 

He didn’t look at her but took the fork and spoon and began to eat the food, mechanically, as though it was tasteless fodder. Barbara’s breathing quickened and she pulled out a chair and sat opposite him and waited for him to speak again.

 

She had sold her uncle’s house in Virginia City, and the money had paid off the debts and there had even been enough to put aside in a bank account for the future. It was something she had not wanted to do and had, in fact, resisted doing for some while but after the last incident she had relented and been glad of a quick sale. It had calmed his temper for some weeks now, the knowledge that the burden of debt had been removed from his shoulders and that he could now move forward.

 

He paused just as he had been about to place some food in his mouth, and looked at her. “How come so many in town know our business?”

 

“What business? No one knows about our business, Andrew.”

 

She wondered exactly what he could mean, surely no one would have mentioned about the beatings? John Martin and Paul, they were doctors, sworn to keep matters secret, and Hester, Ann and Mary Ann were her friends; they would surely be discreet. Her brain darted from one thought to another before she came up with the idea that it must be the money, their new found wealth and she placed a hand on his arm.

 

“The people in town would know about the house being sold, Andrew. They would know that was how the debts were paid up, it would be perfectly natural after all? Surely you can see—”

 

“I could see them all gawping at me while Mrs. High and Mighty lectured at me and told me not to touch you again. All of them…including Jacko…” he looked at her, his eyes narrowed and the mouth thinning, he leaned forwards so that their noses nearly touched, she could smell the beef stew on his breath mingled with something more acrid, she could see where the gravy from the stew had missed his mouth and beaded his upper lip. “If I thought for a moment that you had gone about telling folk our private business—”

 

“Mommy—”

 

They both turned and there was Lilith blinking like an owl as she looked over at them. She stood in her nightie, bare feet on the floor and her hair loose about her shoulders. She ran towards them,

 

“Hello, Daddy—” she smiled, her brightest smile, and reached up to kiss his cheek, and Barbara tensed, every bone in her body ached with the tension as she watched the child standing on tip toe to kiss her father’s cheek.

 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Andrew said, putting down the fork and spoon, and sweeping her up onto his lap. “Have you had a good day with Mommy and Peter?”

 

“Yes, Daddy, I did,” and she leaned her head onto his shoulder, while her face was turned towards her step mother and her eyes latched onto Barbara’s.

 

Andrew smiled, kissed the top of her head, the hard core of anger within him seemed to melt away. He ate the rest of the stew with Lilith on his lap, and smiled over at Barbara and told her she had cooked him the best meal he had tasted since the last meal she had cooked, and laughed. Of course, they both laughed along with him.

 

…………….

 

The horses had been led into the guards’ compartment to join with other horses whose owners were to be passengers on the train journey. Adam and Joe had taken their seats and had surrendered themselves to the boredom of a journey that would seem to be never ending. The landscape flashed by them; the weather got colder, and four days into the journey they were attacked by a gang of outlaws who had hopes of robbing them all.

 

It had meant an hour of gun fire where windows were smashed, women and children screamed, and the able-bodied men returned gunshot for gunshot. As soon as they thought they had outrun them the gunmen appeared again and so it had gone on until the gunmen had finally stopped, defeated and with the loss of three men.

 

The train halted at various small settlements; some of them were merely a huddle of shacks and shanties where the hospitality was sparse and uncomfortable, and at other places there were already buildings and hotels in place where they could enjoy a decent meal and comfortable bed.

 

A week after the outlaws had attacked the train they were attacked by a bunch of Indians. Joe blithely informed Adam that they were Kiowa, Adam said he didn’t really care what they were, what he cared about was his scalp and no Indian was going to get it without a fight.

 

Arrows and lances bounced off the fierce ‘Iron Horse,’ women and children screamed and once again the able-bodied men—thankfully more in number than previously—returned shot for shot. By the time the Kiowa decided to give up several of their number had been shot off their horses and several passengers on the train had been injured, one man expiring a few hours later which meant they had to stop and bury him.

 

They had to leave the train some days after this and ride towards the next town where they could get a bed and a meal before boarding another train. It seemed to Adam as though the world he had known was changing fast, too fast. As the train hurtled through the darkness of night with the screeching of brakes, and the constant clacketty-clack of the wheels on the tracks he recalled the time past when it was horse and wagon, or a pack mule. It made him feel fearful of the future, just as he resented the steam ships overtaking the beautiful clipper ships he loved, so he could feel the same longing for things to return to the way they had been before the railway existed.

 

“Adam, this is progress. Think how long it would take us to get home if it were not for these trains.” Joe laughed

 

“I know, and you’re right. In fact, considering my college training as an engineer I should be delighted.” And having admitted that fact he slumped back in his seat and scowled for another hour.

 

Days flashed by, days that Adam would treasure for the moments he shared with Joe. He told Joe about the letter from Grant about his ‘death’ and how it had affected him and Joe had placed a hand on his, said nothing because he couldn’t find the words to express how he felt, the fact that his big brother was so openly telling him his feelings made his heart ache.

 

One day it started to snow. Throughout the night it carried on snowing, and by noon the next day the passengers were having to get out and help dig the snow away from the tracks until it could get moving again. It took several hours and everyone was hot and perspiring when they returned to their seats. Adam shook his head in mock exasperation. “You know something, Joe, when I came out to meet up with you and your ‘friends,’ I never had a moment’s bother, so how come on this journey back we’ve encountered all manner of problems?”

 

Joe decided that the course of wisdom was silence.

 

 

Chapter 126

 

The children in the classroom began to fidget when the first snowflakes began to fall, and Mary Ann was mindful of the fact that if some didn’t leave for home right away there would be a great many problems as a result.  She glanced from window to the rows of upturned faces looking earnestly at her and then turned to the window again.

 

“I think those of you who have a way to go had better leave now,” she sighed, and watched as they began to pack away their books and scrape back chairs. “Quietly now.”

 

“Yes, Miss Hornby.”  “Sorry, Miss.”  “Thank you, Miss Hornby.”

 

Childish voices echoed over the room and then suddenly most of her students were gone; the opening and closing of the door had sent a wave of cold air streaming into the room and she shivered before looking once again at the window.  It was not a heavy snowfall; the flakes were lazily tumbling down and there was no breeze at all.  She looked at the other children, all of whom lived in the town or close by and would be able to walk home safely or be collected by one of their parents. 

 

“Miss Hornby?” Eliza Jackson raised her hand and smiled; she was thirteen years old with no enthusiasm for school work at all.  She could read and write and do simple arithmetic but beyond that her brain closed down and went walking.

 

“Yes, Eliza.”

 

“Is that right that you’re going to get married soon?”

 

The other children froze, looked up and stared intently at the teacher who seemed now unsure of how to answer.

 

“Is it, Miss?” another of the students asked in a gruff voice; that was Michael Simpson, his voice had recently ‘broken’ leaving him sounding rather like a bull frog.

 

“I hope so,” she replied. “I’ll let you know near the time.”

 

“It that right that you’re marrying Joseph Cartwright?” Eliza smiled. She might be slow at her lessons but she was certainly quick about picking up points about which to gossip.  Mary Ann had no doubt that Eliza spent far too much time listening in on her mother’s conversations with other ladies in town.

 

“Yes, that’s right.”  She glanced over at the window, more snow and slightly heavier.  “I think those of you who can get home should leave now.”

 

Another scrabbling of boots on the floor and desk tops opening and closing, Eliza stopped as she passed by Mary Ann and smiled, hugging her books to her chest.

 

“Miss Hornby, please, may I be a bridesmaid?  I’ve never been a bridesmaid ever in my life before?”

 

“I shall have to think about it, Eliza,” Mary Ann replied with her most prim voice and stern look, and turned towards the last three students who were usually collected by their mothers.

 

The door opened and closed again sending that rush of cold air into the room again.  She smiled at the three children aged 8, 10 and 11.

 

“I think it would be nice if we sat closer to the stove until your mothers come for you. Shall we read a story?”

 

Always glad to cut lessons short the three children nodded and brought their chairs closer to the fire. Alfred was allowed to pick out the book and she began to read from it.

 

The door opened again and the cold air gushed inside rustling the pages of the book so that all four of them turned to observe who it was that had entered the school room now and prepared themselves with thoughts of going home.

 

It was nobody’s mother, however, and it was Mary Ann who was the one to rush from her seat, so quickly in fact that it toppled over with a crash, as she ran down the aisle to fling herself into the arms of her beloved Joe.

 

“Oh, I didn’t expect you to be home so soon!” she exclaimed as her arms tightened around his neck and tears appeared in her eyes quiet unexpectedly. “I thought I would be waiting for days and days…Oh Joe, I’m so happy you’re home.”

 

“So am I, sweetheart, never happier.” and he took her into his arms and kissed her even though the three children were watching with open mouths and wide eyes.

 

Adam cleared his throat after some seconds had elapsed and was about to tap Joe on the shoulder just to remind him that someone else was in the room apart from him and Mary Ann when Joe stepped back and looked at Mary Ann with so much pleasure on his face that the young lady was blushing.

 

“You remember my brother—Adam?” he gestured towards the other man who stepped forward now as though on parade and shook her hand warmly.

 

“A pleasure to meet you again, Miss Hornby.”

 

“Oh thank you.” She blushed again, and looked at Joe. “I can’t believe you’re home.”

 

“Did you do what I said?  Did you get your dress sorted out?”

 

“I—I did but—”

 

“I want us to be married as soon as possible, Mary, before the snows get too bad.”

 

“It’s already snowing,” Adam muttered as he peered out of the window.

 

“The pass gets snowed in, I couldn’t bear to think of you being on one side while I was on the other—I’ve been away from you for too long already.” Joe whispered.

 

“There’s some ladies outside waiting to get in.” Adam’s deep voice announced.

 

“Oh Joe, I thought you were never going to get home, I was so frightened that something would happen.”

 

“”Goodbye Miss Hornby,” said a little girl squeezing past and managing to reach the door and disappear into her waiting mother’s arms where she whispered the news of the Cartwright brothers’ return home.

 

“Goodness, Mary, you can’t imagine how often I’ve longed to be here—” he drew her closer. “You haven’t changed a bit—” he ran a gentle hand down her cheek.

 

“’Bye Ma’am.” whispered a young lad, looking rather embarrassed and disgusted at the same time.

 

“Just one more to go—” Adam declared and smiled at the bespectacled Teddy Barnes who stood staring at them blinking like an owl.

 

“Joe, promise me you’ll never go away like that again?”

 

“I would never have gone this time if I hadn’t had your permission.” he whispered, “But, sweetheart, I promise—never again.”

 

“Never?” she whispered and leaned closer

 

“Never.” he replied determinedly and pulled her into his arms again.

 

“Never’s a long time.” Adam sighed and looked at Teddy. “What’s your name then, young man?”

 

“Edward Barnes, but my friends call me Teddy.”

 

“I’m Adam Cartwright—how do you do?”

 

“Very well thank you, Mr. Cartwright.”

 

They shook hands solemnly just as the door was pushed open and Mrs. Barnes appeared in all her glory, took one look at Mary Ann and Joseph locked in an embrace and shrieked.  Mary Ann blinked, stepped back and looked at Mrs. Barnes, blushed and lowered her eyes. “We’re getting married—” she said shyly.

 

“As soon as possible,” Joe added.

 

“Thank God,” said Mrs. Barnes.

 

Adam smiled. “Amen to that.”

 

………………

 

“PA.  PA!”

 

Hoss’ voice broke through Ben’s reverie and he hurriedly picked up his pen and tried to appear as though he hadn’t stopped writing.  When Hoss almost skidded to a halt by the desk he looked up innocently.

 

“Yes, Hoss, what’s the matter?  House on fire?”

 

“Shucks, no—” Hoss was almost dancing on the spot. “Adam and Joe—they’ve just ridden into the yard.”

 

“WHAT!!”

 

The pen was cast down, who cared about the black blob that sprawled over the ledger now?  He, Hoss and Hester made a dash for the door, got jammed in together, had to step back, and then Ben stepped out first onto the porch trying to appear calm, with Hoss and Hester coming up behind him.

 

Such pride, such emotion, such joy welled up into Ben’s heart that he wondered if the vessel within his breast could contain it all.  The two men dismounted, slung the reins over the rail and were practically running towards them. Oh yes, men that they were, but his sons after all, and dearly sorely missed sons at that—he opened his arms wide to embrace them both while he struggled to say anything coherently for the words were stuck in his throat, sharing room with the frog.

 

“Come on in, out of the cold,” Hester admonished and once they were in she closed the door. “Hop Sing, Hop Sing—” she cried but even as she turned her head to call out his name again, Hop Sing was already there having seen them from the kitchen and allowed the family just enough time to get the initial greetings over and done with before he made his appearance.

 

Adam turned towards his father and smiled; his dark eyes travelled over his father’s face and the smile softened—what changes could he see?  That his father was older, thinner of face and frame?  The hair was the same, silver white and luxuriant and the black eyes were as piercingly keen and shrewd as ever, the handshake had been as firm, the embrace as strong and warm.

 

“It’s good to see you again, Pa.” He put out his hand again and Ben seized it in both his, held it tight, while he nodded and the dark eyes went a little moist.

 

Ben thought he saw changes in his son as he looked at him now, there were more obvious white hairs at the wings of his black hair, deeper lines beneath the eyes, and the face was thinner, while he looked as though he had lost weight for the clothes he wore hung upon him too loosely.  But the smile was the same, the eyes the same honey amber colour and the dimples in his cheeks invited laughter.

 

“I’m so glad to see you home, son.”

 

Adam nodded, there was no need to say anything more and he stepped back towards Hoss and Hester in order for Joe to greet his father.

 

……………

 

Hannah observed the two new men in her life  seriously.  Her blue eyes followed their every move as they leaned down towards her in her crib, she looked from one to the other, yawned with the delicacy of a cat and sighed deeply.  She was obviously not overly impressed.  Her eyes closed and she decided that it was time better spent sleeping.

 

“She’s cute.” Joe declared, giving the crib another slight touch to send it rocking back and forth.  He recognised it as the one Adam had made him years ago when he had hoped to marry Laura.

 

Adam said nothing; he wasn’t sure what to say, but he regarded the baby thoughtfully before turning and smiling at Hoss.  Another change in their lives.  How was it that the future kept unrolling so swiftly onwards with so many changes.  He shook his head slowly as the thought occurred to him that the present was always with us, we just took it so much for granted until it became the past.

 

The snow had stopped falling and it had not settled at all, just melted away as it graced the land upon which it fell. Joe cleared his throat. “Pa—I was wondering if we could  have a party here Saturday.”

 

“I was going to suggest just the  same thing—” Ben laughed, a shout of a laugh, he was a happy and proud man and glad to let the whole world know it.

 

“Fact is, Pa, I was thinking of getting married on Saturday as well.”

 

“That ain’t so surprise,” Hoss guffawed and slapped his brother on the back. “Have you asked Mary Ann?”

 

“I have—” he smiled over at Hester who was looking dewy eyed and  pretty, “How about it, Hester?”

 

“I think it’ll be wonderful, Joe, just wonderful.” she replied, dabbing at her eyes, “Mary Ann has become a dear friend to us all here.”

 

“You don’t mind if we live here for a while, do you, Pa?” Joe grinned and perched himself on the arm of the settee so that he could lean towards his Pa in his big leather chair, and Ben shook his head.

 

“You don’t have to ask, Joe.  Where you thinking of going…later?”

 

“Adam’s designed a house for us, close to here but—well, it’ll be built on my own land.”

 

“Very good.” Ben nodded and glanced over at Hester and Hoss, “I didn‘t think these two would be staying quite so long but it seems they have decided to stay put.”

 

“Yes, we’re pretty happy to stay put, aren’t we, Hester?” and Hoss looked down at his wife and smiled, and she looked into his blue eyes and heard herself say that yes, of course they were. 

 

And it was quite true too.  Even as she went to help Hop Sing set out the table she found herself thinking back to the days when she was first married and living on the Ponderosa had seemed just so hard…but now, well, now it was home, hers and Hoss’ and Hannah’s.  She just couldn’t imagine being happier anywhere else.

 

“And what about you, Adam?”  Ben smiled as he looked at his eldest son, “What are your plans for the future?”

 

Adam pursed his lips and shrugged, wishing Ben had not asked such a direct question when he himself did not have the answer.  He smiled. “I haven’t got a wife,” he observed, and turned his attention to the fire, which needed more logs.

 

“There’s mail arrived for you both” Hoss said “Do you want it now or later?”

 

“After we’ve eaten,” Joe declared.

 

Adam nodded, pushed a log more firmly into place and then joined his family at the table.  He glanced over at Joe and smiled, receiving a grateful and warm smile back in return.

 

 

Chapter 127

 

The laughter at the table and the clatter of the cutlery soon woke little Hannah, and Hester excused herself and took the child upstairs in order to feed her.  Hoss looked a trifle bashful as his wife took the wailing infant up the stairs to their room, which made Adam smile a little and lean across the table to congratulate his brother on the little beauty that now graced the Ponderosa.

 

Then he turned to Ben. “How does it feel having a baby in the house again, Pa?” His eyes twinkled over the rim of the glass from which he was about to drink.

 

“Well, better than the last time” Ben replied emphatically to which Joe exclaimed “PA!” with great mock indignation and they laughed, “Only because when Hannah wakes in the night and cries I don’t have to be the one to get up and pace the floor with her, like I did with Joseph.”

 

“And you always said I was the model baby,” Joe grimaced and poured out more wine.

 

“You were; I’m just not saying for what…” Ben laughed.

 

“Could be you this time next year, Joe, pacing the floor at night and balancing a baby on your knee.” Adam said

 

“Well, maybe, I’d like to think so…it would be great to have a cousin for Hannah running around, huh?”  Joe laughed and as a result spilt the wine .

 

“See, getting nervous already.” Hoss pointed out as Joe grabbed a napkin to dry his hand.

 

“Has Mary Ann written out her guest list yet?” Adam asked thoughtfully as he looked through his glass into the deep ruby red of his claret.

 

“Yes, so she said.”  Joe smiled, “I left her to deal with all that.”

 

“She and Hester have had their heads together on it, don’t you fret none, Brother.” Hoss flipped another slice of pie onto his plate. “The only problem is—” he paused and looked at Adam.

 

“I wasn’t included?” Adam said, pretending to look pained and placing a hand to his heart as though to indicate that he was mortally wounded at the thought.

 

“Nah, it ain’t you, brother, it’s Barbara and Andrew Pearson.”

 

“What about them?” Adam asked immediately and his eyes flicked over to his father as he noted Ben’s smile disappear to be rapidly replaced with a more sombre expression.

 

“Well, it ain’t really easy to explain,” Hoss said, squirming a little in his chair. “Fact is that not so long ago Andrew lost his temper about something and gave Barbara a beating.”

 

“From what we can make out, it wasn’t the first time.” Ben sighed. “Seems he got into financial difficulties and the strain told on him.  Paul thinks he’ll be alright now that Barbara has sold the town house and ploughed the proceeds into the homestead, but I somehow have my doubts.”

 

Adam looked at them both and then glanced down at his plate which he now pushed away; he swallowed a little more wine though and lapsed into silence.

 

“I guess it really is a problem,” Joe said. “What does Hester think about it, the invitation I mean?”

 

“She thinks it would be kinder to invite them but not expect to see them at the wedding.” Hoss glanced at Adam. “Especially if you’re there, seems Andrew has took right against you for some reason or another.”

 

“Well, I can understand that,” Adam said in a quiet even tone of voice, he pursed his lips and looked a little uneasy but was prevented from saying anything more when Hester appeared, placed Hannah back into her crib and joined them at the table.

 

“I was telling ’em about Barbara and Andrew, Hester.”

 

“Oh, did you tell them about the other day when he stopped me in town?”  And when her husband shook his head Hester told them about the incident with Andrew.

 

“Perhaps he meant what he said, and was trying to reassure you that everything would be alright now.  People react differently to certain things and—” Joe began then caught sight of Hoss’ face, “Why?  What’s wrong?”

 

“He broke her ribs, Joe.  Put her to bed for some days and might well have killed her with the scissors if it hadn’t been for the little girl.  You should ask Mary Ann about that—” he scowled, the memory of Barbara that day rekindling the anger he had felt about what had happened to her.

 

They now left the table and made their way to the chairs near the fire. Hester left them for a while to return minutes later with a tray of coffee pot and cups which she set down on the table.  She smiled up at them.

 

“We’re all  intrigued about what you have got in the mail…” she glanced at Hoss who hurried to the bureau to bring out the various different sized and shaped envelopes.

 

“Yeah, especially this one.” and Hoss handed Adam the carefully wrapped cylinder so neatly addressed to him and post marked Naples.

 

“Very interesting …” Joe raised his eyebrows and grinned, “Come on, brother, open it up now.”

 

Hester poured out the coffee as Adam carefully and quite deliberately pulled away the paper, exposing the cylinder from which dropped a ring. He stared at it as it fell into the palm of his hand

 

“A ring?” Hester gasped

 

Ben reached out and picked it up to examine it more closely.

 

“It’s old, made from bone.”

 

“Do you know who it could be from?” Hester asked Adam who was looking at it with a thoughtful expression on his face

 

“I think I do,” he said and looked into the cylinder to withdraw from its confines the carefully rolled pictures of Rachel Forster that Laurence had sketched so many weeks previously.  The letter that she had written was unrolled and he read it, pursed his lips and frowned, before smoothing out the pictures which everyone peered at with intense interest.

 

“Whoever drew these pictures is a  skilled artist,” Ben observed now, “And obviously cared a lot for his subject.”

 

“Laurence—” Adam smiled. “Laurence drew them.”

 

They had heard of Laurence before during the telling of the adventures on the Kuril Islands, and also in the references to him in Adams more recent letters to them.

 

“So he is a bona fide artist after all…” Joe smiled.

 

“Oh yes, certainly he is.” Adam nodded and looked again at the pictures, “This is Rachel.  The ring belonged to her and it seems she found it during some digging around…she’s an archaeologist.”

 

“So this is Egyptian?” Hester looked at it carefully, holding it to the light of a lamp.

 

“No, I don’t think so.”

 

“She’s  pretty.” Ben said and glanced at Adam with an eyebrow crooked, “Anything you would like to tell us, Adam?”

 

He flashed a smiled at them and tucked the letter away into the inside pocket of his jacket. “No, not really.  She just wants to know who Adam Abdulkarim really was…”

 

“Oh” Hester clapped her hands and laughed, “Now so do I.  I think there is a story here, do tell us, Adam.”

 

“No, some other time,” Hoss cried, “There’s still this parcel to open yet.”

 

Adam opened the smaller package carefully and looked at the box with a slight frown, they waited patiently until he opened the lid and one and all exclaimed ‘Ooh’ quite involuntarily.  The medal shone against the blue velvet cushion upon which it rested.  He set it down on the table and smoothed out the letter that came with it.

 

In official terms he was informed that the medal was awarded to him for services rendered to the president of the United States, that ‘notwithstanding regard for his personal safety’ he had protected the life of the president and the safety of the khedive’s kingdom.  There was a lot more said that amounted to words only and Adam quickly folded it up and slipped it back into the envelope before looking down at the medal again.  He turned it over and saw his name and rank engraved, along with the date, upon the back.

 

“Congratulations, son.”

 

“Yeah—congratulations, Adam.”

 

Somehow it seemed as though a cloud had drifted into the homely atmosphere of the family and Adam snapped the lid of the box shut and placed it carefully upon the table.

 

…………….

 

He was looking at the pictures of Rachel when there came a tap on the door, and Ben peered inside, looked from the pictures to his son and raised his eyebrows.

 

“Come in, Pa.  There’s a lot to think about just now, isn’t there?”  He smiled but his eyes were dark and quite serious.

 

“I don’t know.  Is there?”

 

“This matter regarding Barbara…how serious is it really, in your opinion?”

 

“Well, Paul’s medical opinion is that things should settle down now, but in my non-professional opinion I’m not so sure.”  He perched himself on to the bed and looked at Adam thoughtfully. “I don’t think it would be wise for you to get involved, Adam.”

 

“How do you mean, Pa?  Barbara’s a friend. She was, once, more than a friend and…”

 

“That’s just the point, son, Andrew can remember that fact every bit as much as you can.  It may be better to stay away from the Pearsons for a while.”

 

Adam clenched his fists, scowled slightly and shook his head. “I don’t know if I like the idea of that…”

 

“Why not?  It’s only common sense after all.  Or are you saying you still care about Barbara?”

 

Adam looked at his father and then shook his head.

 

“No, I don’t care about Barbara in the way you mean, but I do have a lot of respect and fondness for her.  If she needs help, then I should give it.”

 

“She does need help but you are the last person on earth to be seen giving it, Adam.”

 

Adam bit down on his bottom lip, bowed his head and then slowly nodded. “I understand what you’re saying, Pa, but—”

 

“I know, it’s hard.  I had the same problem once, remember?”  He placed a hand on Adam’s arm. “I’d have given anything to have helped Joyce get away from her husband and that madman who was bleeding them dry…but in the end I lost her anyway.  And you have only to recall to mind what happened to Delphine Marquette—”

 

“I know—” Adam’s voice rose a little, the memory of Ross Marquette was buried only under a thin layer in his mind, it took little for him to feel the pain and relive the moment when he had killed his friend.  “Yes, I know.  You’re right…” He smiled without warmth, a tight-lipped smile, and then he sighed.

 

“So—who is this lovely young lady?  Should I be anticipating another daughter in law?”

 

Adam raised his eyebrows at that and said nothing, he watched as his father picked up the pictures and studied them carefully. “She’s  pretty.” He cleared his throat, “Is she as young as she appears in these pictures?”

 

“She’s young,” Adam agreed with a nod.

 

“And—if you don’t mind my saying so, Adam—whoever drew these pictures must have cared about her  much…”  he picked one of the pictures up and held it closer to the light.  “Very much indeed.”

 

“Yes, Pa.”  Adam nodded. “I think you’re right.”

 

Chpter 130

 

The hardest thing was staying awake.  Lilith fought against sleep night after night and was always surprised when she woke up in the morning having fallen asleep anyway, despite her  best intentions.  Now she lay rigidly in her bed willing her eyes to stay open and her ears to hear and note when things were going wrong.  She could hear the low hum of voices from downstairs, a soft accompaniment to the wind sighing around the house.

 

Sometimes as she lay in bed there would be a small memory of something that had happened once before struggling to creep into her mind.  She imagined a door being pushed open so far and someone or something trying so hard to get it open so that it would appear and be clearly seen.  But whenever she tried to get the door opened a little bit more something would happen to close it again…usually it would be a happy memory, the way it felt when Daddy held her hand and she felt safe and loved, or when he would pick her up and swirl her around in the air, although that didn’t happen often now as he said she was ‘growing up to be a lady’.

 

Happy memories came so easily because Daddy had wanted her to be happy.  She could remember sitting on his knee shortly after Mother died and she had been crying, and Daddy had wiped her tears away and promised her that he would always make sure she was happy.

 

There had been picnics, and buggy rides and laughter.  Lots of laughter.  Then he had said that they were going to move away from ‘that place’ so that they could start a new life and be really happy.  That was how they met Barbara and she had become Mommy.

 

So many happy memories and so much joy in life and yet that door kept trying to open.  She knew that lately Mother had seemed closer and even if she were ‘in the sky’ she was wanting to be nearer than that, and it seemed to Lilith that the silken thread by which she had been attached to Mother was getting stronger, instead of it seeming to be so fragile that it would break entirely. It seemed much more firmly attached now.

 

She jumped, startled at realising she had nearly fallen asleep.  There was a sound, a chair…just being pushed back and footsteps on the stairs.  She relaxed. It was going to be alright tonight; everything was just fine.  Mommy was coming up the stairs so she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

 

Barbara gently stroked Lilith’s cheek with her fingers and then leaned forward to kiss her. “Sleep well, little Lilith,” she whispered and Lilith held her breath because the words had tickled in her ears.

 

She heard Barbara’s skirts rustle across the floor as she went to Peter’s bed and whispered the same words to her son, even though he couldn’t hear them.  There was a pause as though Barbara were standing still, looking at them, and then she was gone.

 

Lilith’s eyelids didn’t want to open.  It was going to be alright tonight, nothing would happen.  She relaxed and drifted slowly into sleep.

 

………………….

 

It was always a pleasure to get into his own bed in his own room.  Even the shadows on the ceiling and walls were familiar, and best of all, nothing moved.  There was no sound of waves crashing into the sides of the boat, no birds cawing overhead, nor the sound of so many feet thudding on the boards over his head.  ‘To sleep perchance to dream …’

 

He was almost asleep when the thought of Rachel came to his mind and he was instantly awake again.  He could see her face clearly in his memory, aided no doubt by the pictures so lovingly executed by Laurence.  A pretty girl, strong features, clear eyes…he rubbed his temple with his fingers and sat up, turned the flame in the lamp higher so that the room was warmed by the light from it.

 

A mix of emotions tumbled around inside him…confusion, most definitely.  Regret, to some extent.  He wished that things had been different when he had been in Egypt, that they had had time to get to know one another, to have spent that time growing in affection perhaps, or even coming to the realisation that they would never be anything other than friends.

 

Then there was Barbara and the situation there with her husband.  He fell back against the pillows and closed his eyes as unbidden memories of Ross and Delphine crept into his head…for some seconds nothing changed and yet, everything had changed. Everything. The memories gripped him as though he were living through that moment, and once again he  became  aware of the dull thud of pain in his shoulder and the sensation of warm blood trickling down his arm. At the furthest recesses of his mind he was conscious of sound…a bird cawing high in the bluest of skies, the far off snort of his horse as it waited for the return of its rider.

 

He could feel the weight of the limp body in his arms and remembered how he had closed the man’s eyes out of respect for the dead but also because it was a terrible acknowledgement of what had happened. The taking of a life. The light, that something that made flesh and blood and bone a living, sentient being, was gone. Snuffed out. A dead man’s eyes reminding a living man of his own mortality.

 

Now Adam placed a hand over his own eyes as though by doing so he could stop the memories but still they came as though on a relentless trek through his brain, and he saw himself as he had stood by the side of a tall, lanky young man and watched him place a ring on the finger of his bride.  There had been love and pride in those eyes then, but not how they were when Ross had lain dead in his friend’s arms, a thin lean body that had been vital, powerful, lithe, but now like any other dead carrion, limp, heavy, lifeless.

 

He remembered holding another body in his arms only hours earlier. A young woman, with tousled golden curls and blue eyes. He had closed those eyes too and held her close in his arms. Her body had been limp in his embrace as her last breath had brushed warm against his cheek.

 

He bowed his head and became aware once again of the misery in his heart and the tears on his face. Once again he raised his eyes heavenwards as though to beseech the Creator of life not to judge him too harshly for taking this particular life.  But he would judge himself.

 

Oh yes, forever and for an eternity. Adam Cartwright would never forget the day he killed Ross Marquette.

 

He jerked awake, the nightmare was gone, fled away in the instant his eyes had opened and the light shone into them.  A new day.  Morning.  He felt his mouth dry and looked at the lamp to see that the funnel was blackened from the smoke from the wick and his head felt heavy, aching…he rubbed his face and heard the familiar thud on the door, Hoss was awake and reminding him that it was time to eat, just like in the old days, in the familiar old days.

 

The pictures of Rachel had been placed on the desk in the corner of his room and he looked at them again thoughtfully while wondering once more about the meaning behind her letter. 

 

Beside the pictures was the box contained the medal that Grant had sent him. He picked it up and looked at it as it gleamed in the morning light. For a moment his mind returned to Egypt and he remembered the heat of the desert, the camels, and the long journey there.   The memory was so strong that the smell of Doestov’s cigarettes filled his nostrils.

 

“You coming down?” Joe peered into the room and grinned over at him, a bright happy young man with his future before him and the happiest day of his life only days away.

 

“Be there in a minute.”  He snapped the box shut and put it into the drawer where another medal had been placed and Barbara’s ring.  He would always think of it as her ring, and shook his head as though that was another memory to discard.

 

……………

 

The report about the return of “Commodore Adam Cartwright” appeared in the Enterprise that morning.  Somewhere many miles away a secretary had busily written up a report about the commodore’s long journey to Egypt and his receiving his second medal from a grateful president.  The eulogy was written in such fulsome language that it was difficult to think of the Adam Cartwright the people of Virginia City knew with the man represented there in print. Widow Hawkins even commented that it was doubtful if Adam would even recognise himself.

 

Andrew Pearson overheard the comment and out of curiosity went to purchase the newspaper.  He read the report through and then re-read it before carefully folding the paper neatly away in his saddlebags.  The announcement of the forthcoming marriage of Mary Ann Hornby to Joseph Cartwright of the Ponderosa completely slipped his notice.

 

For the next few hours he had time enough to brood over the report as he went about his errands, he avoided the Bucket of Blood saloon and rode past the Sazarac his mind too full of thoughts and memories to bother indulging in any attempt to blot them out with drink. 

 

He paused a moment outside the school house and watched as the schoolteacher came out during recess.  It was cold, the ground was frozen with ice, and she wore a shawl over her coat that covered her hair.  For a moment he watched as the children ran around, sliding on the ice and sometimes falling over onto the hard-packed ground.  His hand went to the handle of his gun and he slowly withdrew it from its holster. 

 

“Hi ya Mr. Pearson,”

 

A bright chirpy voice and he looked down to see Tommy Barnes looking up at him, he slipped the gun back, grateful for the long coat he wore having covered it from Tommy’s view.  He nodded and the boy grinned, all big ears and freckles, and practically smothered in a closely knitted muffler.

 

“When’s Lilith coming back to school, Mr. Pearson?”

 

Lilith?  He blinked and shook his head, Lilith at school?  No, of course not, she wanted to stay home and Barbara said she could teach her better than anyone else, after all, she had been school mistress here for a while.  He shivered. “I don’t know.  Soon probably.”

 

“That’s good.  See ya, Mr. Pearson.”

 

Mary Ann turned at the sound of Tommy’s voice and saw the horseman watching her.  Her eyes met his and even though it was so cold, what she saw in his eyes made her feel as though she were burning all over.

 

Chapter 128

 

Hannah Cartwright gazed solemnly up at her uncle; true it was rather a cross-eyed regard, but her uncle didn’t seem to mind as he laughed down at her and tickled her chin.

 

“I don’t know how you managed it, Hoss,” Adam declared as he carefully held the infant in the crook of his arm, “It’s quite obvious that your daughter has inherited all her mother’s beauty.”

 

“She has my toes,” Hoss replied quickly and leaned over Adam’s shoulder to peer down at his daughter. “She’s so dad blamed cute, ain’t she?”

 

“She sure is,” Adam said softly and gently held one little hand in his, marvelling at how her tiny fingers instantly curled around his, “You’ve been well blessed,” he said in such a quiet voice that Hester got a lump in her throat and turned to look more intently at her sewing.

 

Joe regarded them with a smile as he rose from the table, pushed the chair away and stretched.

 

“Well, I’m going into town, I have to go and make some arrangements with Mary Ann.”

 

“I’ll ride in with you,” Adam said immediately. “I want to see some people there.”

 

“Adam?”  Ben looked over at him instantly and crooked a dark eyebrow, making his son smile back at him. “Don’t forget what I said about the Pearsons.”

 

“I haven’t forgotten, Pa.” He felt like laughing out loud that he, a man who commanded a full ship’s complement of men, would take orders from Ben Cartwright as though he were still a small child.  He shook his head. “If I do happen to forget, Pa, what will you do?  Take me to the barn for a tanning?”

 

“You’re not too big to get one, lad.” Ben laughed and walked over to take his granddaughter from her Uncle, “Come on, sweetheart, come and talk to your Grand-dad, you probably will talk more sense than your uncle anyway.”

 

They grinned at one another, happy, contented, and confident that within those walls nothing could ever come to harm them.  Hop Sing shuffled into the room to clear away the table and smiled over at the tableau set out before him…strange how life spins everything around so that the present can resemble the past so closely.

 

Having buckled on their gun belts, pulled on winter coats and grabbed at their hats the two brothers hurried out of the house.  Both of them glanced instinctively up at the sky and sighed. It was cold, cold enough for snow.

 

“I hope it holds off for a while yet.” Joe muttered and shivered.

 

“It will,”  Adam replied as he pulled open the stable door and entered the building to walk past the horses stabled there. He paused at Sport’s stall, and then glanced over at the stall where Cochise would have been enjoying his hay bag and oats. “You must miss Cochise,” he said  as he began to saddle up Sport who had welcomed him with as much warmth as any loyal beast could, he ran his hand down the sweep of Sport’s neck before turning. “Are you alright, Joe?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks; it just hit me fresh that he wasn’t there.”  Joe sighed and began to saddle another horse. “I’ve been riding Sport since it happened.”

 

“That’s good, I’m glad you did.”  Adam paused, “Do you—” he pointed to Sport, inviting his brother to use the horse should he so wish but Joe replied immediately that no, he would use Mistral, a horse of which he had grown fond since Cochise’s death.

 

“It’s strange being back,” Joe suddenly announced just as he slipped the bridle and bit onto his horse, “So much happened before I left, what with Ingrid and all that business. And now coming back to this situation with the Pearsons.  I would never have thought that Andrew Pearson would harm a fly, let alone the woman he loved.”

 

His brother said nothing, preferring to keep his thoughts to himself.

 

……………

 

It was strange riding into Virginia City on that particular morning.  People called out greetings to them, wanted to shake their hands and congratulate them both, Adam on his ‘honour’ in being awarded another medal and Joe for his upcoming wedding.  They parted at the school house where Joe dismounted and made his way to see Mary Ann, it was recess time and the children were trooping out of the schoolroom to get some fresh air and play. 

 

Mary Ann was wiping chalk from the board when he entered and for a moment he paused to watch her.  Her slim body, neat and compact, moved elegantly as she cleared off the writing, her chestnut hair was fastened neatly behind her and trailing down her back from an ivory clasp while wispy curls framed her face.  When she turned and saw him she jumped as though surprised, and then relaxed, hurrying into his arms and holding him tightly.

 

“Oh Joe, for a moment I thought you were him.”

 

“Him?  Do you mean you have another man in your life already?” he said as he held her close and searched for her lips, which upon finding, he kissed.

 

“Andrew Pearson was here this morning, he looked at me so strangely, Joe, he really frightened me.” 

 

Joe’s face dropped into more serious lines as he looked into her eyes and could see how anxious she really was, he wasn’t even sure what to say, so drew her back into his arms.

 

“I’m sorry, Mary Ann, it won’t happen again.”

 

“You can’t promise that, Joe, you’re not here and—” she looked over his shoulder at the door, and then into his face, “I think he wanted to kill me.”

 

“No, why should he want to do that?  Perhaps you’re just a little nervous because of Saturday.”

 

He kissed her brow, her nose and then her lips, stroked her cheek and then led her to a chair whereupon he pulled another close to it and sat beside her.

 

“He’s been acting odd from what we’ve been told.”

 

“Yes, horribly so.  He really hurt Barbara and Lilith—well, she won’t come to school now.  I am sure she’s staying home because—oh I don’t know, perhaps you’re right, perhaps I’m imagining things.”

 

“No, go on, tell me what you were going to say about Lilith?” he held her hand in his and looked at her gently.

 

She looked into his eyes and saw the patient concern on his face. “I think Lilith is worried that something bad could happen to Barbara.  It’s almost as though she—”

 

“Go on?”

 

“Well, no one knows how Andrew became a widower, do they?” she whispered as though ashamed to have even made the suggestion and she felt his fingers tighten around hers and wondered if he thought she were being judgemental.

 

“Has Lilith said anything to you to make you think that perhaps something happened—I mean—that Andrew may have harmed her mother?”

 

“No, it’s just the way she is now, so protective.  So—so intense.”

 

Joe could say nothing to that, he could only kiss her fingertips and then, as time was ticking away far too quickly, bring the conversation around to the arrangements for the wedding.

 

…………….

 

Paul Martin, M.D., shook Adam’s hand vigorously.

 

“Your father must be  proud of you, Adam,” he said several times, “I know most of us here in town are, those of us who have known you since as far back as they can recall.” He turned as the door opened and John stepped into the surgery. “John, let me introduce you to Adam Cartwright, Ben’s eldest son.”

 

“Ah, the commodore?” John smiled, his eyes twinkled and he shook hands warmly. “Good to meet you at last, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

“I’ve been hearing quite a bit about you too, all good things I assure you.” Adam grinned, the dimples in his cheeks were deepened by the sincerity of what he said. “I actually came here to discuss something with you, Paul.”

 

“Oh, not ill are you?”

 

“Never better—” Adam smiled again, the dimples flashed and the eyes sparkled; he glanced over at John. “Actually you could probably help me here.”

 

“Fire away,” John replied and pulled out a chair so that he could sit down and relax. It had been a hectic morning and he was glad of the chance to just sit and talk.

 

“Paul, do you remember when Ross Marquette—” he inhaled deeply as though needing some air in his lungs—“when Ross became ill.  You talked to me about a dark gate, and how the medical profession didn’t know much about the mind, and how it functions, how it can at times change a man from being kind and generous to being mean and cruel.”

 

“I remember; may I ask where this conversation is leading?” Paul asked in a serious tone of voice as he also took a seat and observed the other man with anxious eyes.

 

“I wanted to know if there had been any advances medically with regards to that kind of thing.”

 

“And if so?”  Paul raised an eyebrow, “Is this a hypothetical case, Adam, or are you enquiring on behalf of someone you know?”

 

Adam glanced hurriedly over at John who had his head bowed and appeared to be listening intently.

 

“Well, I admit I don’t know the person  well, but it seems to me that he’s suffering  much the same way Ross did.  Do you remember how it all started with him?  He lost a lot of money and was in debt, and then something happened—here—” Adam touched his head, “You couldn’t explain what it was except that perhaps one day medical progress would be able to help people caught up in situations like that and …”

 

“It hasn’t progressed that far yet,” John said sincerely, “There are drugs that can be administered to calm people if they have become completely deranged, but there’s still a lot to learn about the human brain, and when people like Andrew—I mean—” he paused, shrugged, “I’m sorry, but there’s little point in beating around the bush here. You do mean Andrew Pearson, don’t you?”

 

“Yes.” Adam passed a hand over his face, then allowed it to drop to his side as he stared at the far wall.  “Pa told me about what has been happening there, between Andrew and Barbara.  It was so like what happened to the Marquettes and—”

 

“And?” John prompted.

 

“Well, Ross was a close friend of mine, as was his wife.”  Again Adam paused a moment and stared at the far wall as though he could see there the faces of the two people being discussed. “He killed her, and I—I killed him.”

 

“There’s no reason to think that that could happen again, Adam.” Paul said gently, “As far as we know Andrew is just a bad tempered man who lost his temper with his wife; unfortunately there are too many men like that and as far as the law goes—well, there’s no redress in law for the woman.” He frowned, shrugged. “I’d just like to mention here that there are some women who beat their husbands, rare, but it happens.”

 

“So—”  Adam raised a hand towards them as though in appeal. “Neither of you feel that Andrew Pearson is—well—anything like Ross Marquette?  He isn’t going through that dark gate?”

 

“I don’t think so, Adam.” Paul said.

 

“It could be,” John added significantly, “that they were a mismatched couple who are now realising that they should never have married and as a result the frustration of their life makes them angry, with the inevitable result that one or the other of them strikes out and hurts the other.”

 

Adam looked at John intently for a second or two, frowned, and shook his head, then he sighed and picked up his hat, slowly placing it on his head again. “Well, I don’t know, but that’s a pretty miserable life you’ve just described there, John.”

 

“It happens…” came the quiet reply.

 

Adam barely nodded an acknowledgement to that but bade them both good day and left the building.  As he closed the door behind him he shook his head, somehow he felt unsatisfied with the answers he had been given, and once again he was reminded of the fact that he felt exactly that same way years before in the case of his friend, Ross Marquette.

 

Chapter 129

 

“Is he always that intense?”

 

John Martin perched himself on a corner of the old desk that housed so many files and folders and secrets about the inhabitants of Virginia City, and watched through the window as Adam Cartwright finally walked away from their premises towards his horse. Paul glanced up and turned to look, in time to see Adam mount the horse and turn its head towards the south part of town. He sighed.

 

“No, not always; only about the things that matter to him.” He smiled over at John, “Is he what you expected?”

 

“Uh, mmm, no,” John smiled. “Caught me by surprise really. He wasn’t what I expected; probably a bit larger than life. No, I mean, he was more than I expected.”

 

“Well, he’s like all the Cartwright men, stubborn, loyal, brave. He’s a good friend to have around though.”

 

“Even when he ends up shooting you?”

 

“Oh, well, that situation with Ross Marquette wasn’t exactly straightforward. I know Adam shot him in self defence but I think he knew that if Ross was arrested and jailed for the murder of his wife, no matter what state his mind was in, then Ross would have been lost mentally forever.”

 

“A compassionate act then?”

 

“I’m not going to say that—it’s only my opinion after all.” Paul shrugged. “As far as Adam’s concerned Ross shot him, he fired his gun instinctively in defence and Ross was killed.”

 

“Would you say you trust his instincts?”

 

“Yes.” Paul nodded although he was already leafing through some of his case files, and his mind was wandering onto other things.

 

“Well, I think I had better go and pay Mrs. Pearson a visit.” John said  as he reached for his medical bag, “I think Adam Cartwright’s instincts are reliable enough for me to do that at least.”

 

“Well, be careful, don’t make any rash judgements.” Paul peered over the rim of his spectacles at his nephew who nodded as he grabbed for his hat on the way out.

 

……………….

 

Adam had already arranged with Joe that they would return home separately, after all Joe had more things to do concerning the wedding and needed that time to be with Mary Ann, and whereas at one time he would have been prepared to go to the saloon for a drink and wait the time out, his natural instinct for privacy urged him to avoid doing so following the amount of attention just riding through town had brought to him.

 

Roy Coffee jumped from his chair when he saw Adam, a huge grin on his face and his hand outstretched to shake the younger man’s hand, “Folks around here think you’re a hero, Adam.”

 

“Well, that’s not strictly true,” Adam replied, pulling out a chair and carefully folding himself nto it, “I’m just a man doing his job, Roy, just as you’re doing yours.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Roy scratched the back of his neck, “I ain’t likely to get a medal from the president for doing my work that’s for sure.”

 

“You should; you deserve one,” Adam replied and then looked around the old familiar office before smiling at Roy, “Anyone in the cells today?”

 

“Only old Webster, drunk as a skunk.”

 

“Uh,” Adam nodded and teetered back on the chair so that it was balanced on just the two back legs, “Roy, you been to see the Pearson’s lately?”

 

“Pearsons? You mean Andrew and Barbara?” Roy shook his head, “No. Why? Should I?”

 

Instead of answering the sheriff Adam returned to the previous subject. With a smile, he said casually, “What did old Webster do today then, apart from being drunk?” He folded his hands in his lap and rocked back and forth, just as he used to, and the familiarity of the action made Roy smile. He pushed a mug of coffee over the desk towards his visitor and nodded,

 

“He broke Jock McCarthy’s nose during a brawl as well as his cheek bone, and bit a lump out of Fergus Jackson’s shoulder.”

 

“What’s that then? Assault?”

 

“Uh-huh.” Roy nodded and gulped down some coffee.

 

“What’s the punishment for that nowadays?”

 

“Wal, Webster was drunk so were the other two, no one’s coherent enough to make a statement. He’ll cool down in here and if the other two bring charges then there’ll be a fine, after all the three share a claim together and don’t go anywhere without the other two with them.”

 

“So, if a man beats up another, it is still assault?”

 

“Adam, you know dang well it is.” Roy frowned, “Are you trying to play those word games with me agin to git me involved with this Pearson business?”

 

“Well, why haven’t you?”

 

“Because Mrs. Pearson wouldn’t make a statement or press charges when I questioned her about it.” Roy’s voice had risen several decibels and his moustache stuck out like a toothbrush, all bristles, “Look, I did what I could at the time. There ain’t nothing I can do, Adam, no matter how I personally feel about the matter. Fact is, it makes my blood boil to know a man’s hitting his wife but the women don’t make it any easier on themselves by trying to pretend it never happened.”

 

Adam nodded, drank some coffee, and watched the old sheriff drink some more of his. “When are you retiring from this business, Roy?”

 

“I ain’t—not today anyhow.”

 

“I just wondered—”

 

“Think I’m too old, do you? Jest because I didn’t haul Pearson in here for a spell?”

 

“No, fact is, I’m worried about what’ll happen when you do retire, Roy. You’re about the best lawman I know…”

 

“Oh, wal then, in that case it’s different,” Roy nodded; the blue eyes twinkled and he looked pleased. “Jest how many lawmen round these parts do you know, anyhow?”

 

“Enough,” Adam chuckled and finished his coffee before unwinding himself from the chair. He smiled at Roy, “Thanks for the coffee, Roy. You coming to the wedding?”

 

“Wild horses wouldn’t stop me,” Roy replied with a nod of the head. “Fancy Little Joe getting married? I can still see him running around town creating havoc as a little boy. He sure was a lad for finding trouble.”

 

“Still is—” Adam slipped his hat on and nodded a farewell to his old friend before making his way outside again.

 

The wind was keener so he pulled up the collar of his faded yellow coat and thrust his hands into his pockets, then with his head down he made his way to his horse. Having mounted Sport he turned the horse round and as usual Sport had to do his little sidestep routine before complying with his master’s request, but the steel wrist was enough to remind the animal that Adam wasn’t a man who allowed an animal to control him. Within a short time they were galloping out of town.

 

………….

 

Barbara watched as Lilith and Peter settled into their afternoon nap. Peter was still  small and needed it after an energetic morning’s activity, but Lilith had recently taken to falling asleep over the table while doing her school work so Barbara had decided she also should have a nap. Both of them knew that Andrew was seldom home at that hour as work on the range kept him away from the house. Most willingly the little girl succumbed to sleep knowing it made staying awake during the night that much easier.

 

While the children slept Barbara prepared the meal, carefully peeling vegetables and dicing up the meat. She was about to sprinkle in the herbs when there came a light but persistent knock on the door. Her heart did a double somersault as she stood at the table and waited a moment to see if there would be another knock.

 

The second knock came, and taking a deep breath she hurried to the door. Visitors were rare and usually welcome, but Barbara had reached the stage where she viewed most visitors as dangerous intruders into her life, the potential for danger to herself and to her children as those visitors could so well see or hear something relative to the relationship she and her husband shared.

 

“Dr. Martin!” Her exclamation of surprise was genuine; the last person she had expected to see was the doctor, who smiled at her.

 

“I wanted to come by and see how you were, Barbara, after all, it has been a while since your—er—accident.” He looked at her then, looked deep into her eyes, saw a well of misery that was instantly covered over by a blank stare. They both knew it was no accident, they both knew the other knew they were pretending, but somehow it just seemed safer that way.

 

“I’m  well, thank you, Dr. Martin.” she put a hand on the door as though to pull it shut, but he remained standing there, not quite with his foot in the door but obviously determined not to be dismissed that lightly. “I don’t understand why you came after so long, Doctor. There’s really nothing wrong with me.”

 

“I thought I’d come and check on Peter as well.”

 

“Peter’s asleep.”

 

“That’s a pity, and there would be no point in my trying to do anything with him when he woke up?”

 

“No, none at all, he’s only a baby and wouldn’t understand why you were here.”

 

“Have you thought anymore about going to San Francisco about getting a consultant to see to him? I could arrange it, you know.”

 

“You would need to speak to my husband about that,” she said and glanced anxiously over his shoulder as though Andrew were about to appear at any moment.

 

“I see. I had hoped that I would be able to talk to you more—well—more honestly, Mrs. Pearson, after what Adam said I—”

 

“Adam?” her eyes opened, the blank look was gone and interest kindled, “Adam who?”

 

“Adam Cartwright. He came into town to speak to me about some friends of his…and about you.”

 

She blushed slightly and placed a hand to her brow, pushed back a curl of hair and then cleared her throat with a soft cough. “I—I didn’t know he was back home.”

 

“It was in the newspaper—along with the announcement of Joe’s marriage.”

 

“Joe? Getting married? That’s wonderful.” She closed the door behind her, pulling her shawl tighter around her, “How was Adam? Is he well?”

 

“I believe so, M’am, I hadn’t met him before today so have no way of comparison, but my uncle seemed happy enough to let him leave the surgery without any examination or prescriptions.” He smiled then, his face falling into handsome lines of good humour and she smiled back, her eyes shining with what he thought could have been tears.

 

“Thank you for coming by, Doctor, I have to go in now to see to the children.” she said in a soft voice and before he could say another word she had slipped back indoors and closed the door firmly behind her.

 

He stood there a matter of minutes before accepting the fact that the interview was over, and without a word returned to his buggy.

 

…………

 

The horseman paused a moment at the fork in the road, if he turned to the left he would eventually ride onto the Pearsons’ property, if he continued onwards he would find himself on Ponderosa land.

 

He hesitated a moment only before continuing onwards, putting Sport into a faster gallop so that he could enjoy the freedom of this ride which, despite the cold wind burning his face, was something he had dreamt of for a  long time.

 

Only minutes after he had disappeared from view Dr. Martins buggy made its appearance and took the turning towards town. He flicked the reins to make the horses go faster as he was cold and hungry; he was also disappointed in the way his conversation with Barbara had gone, leaving him undecided and concerned.

 

He was halfway back into town when he met Joe riding fast on Mistral, the two men acknowledged one another with a tip of the hat and a grin, John yelled out, “Welcome home!” and Joe yelled back, “I’m getting married Saturday, don’t forget to come!” so that John had leaned out of the buggy and yelled “What?” to Joe’s retreating back. He shook his head and with a smile and a lighter mood, urged the horses homewards.

 

At the fork in the road Joe turned left and galloped along the track towards the Pearsons’ property. He could see the smoke trailing up from the chimney, and with his eyes scanning the land for sight of Andrew he rode on towards the house.

 

For the second time that day Barbara opened the door to someone knocking and this time welcomed her visitor with a smile,

 

“I would invite you in, Joe, but the children are sleeping and Andrew will be home soon.” she tried to put a light note into the words but her hand remained on the door handle and she looked ready to bolt inside at any second.

 

“That’s alright, Barbara, I just came to see you and tell you that I’m getting married on Saturday.”

 

She nodded, blinked and her eyes flicked from left to right nervously, as though she didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, then she looked down at her shoes

 

“I’m happy for you, Joe. Mary Ann is a lovely girl.”

 

“Barbara, I know that I’ve been rather cold towards you for a while, but—”

 

“I’m sorry, Joe, I have to go.” and she retreated into the house, slamming the door shut.

 

He was about to knock again when he heard the sound of wagon wheels and turning he saw Andrew Pearson pulling his team up in the yard. The other man glared at Joe as he clambered down,

 

“What do you want here, Joe?” his voice was not hostile, but there was not the familiar warmth of neighbours, friends, as there had been previously.

 

Joe walked towards the other man and regarded him thoughtfully. He preferred to be some distance from the house, so he glanced over his shoulder before turning to Andrew. Looking at him without a smile on his face, he quite bluntly said: “If you ever frighten Mary Ann again, I’m going to come and see that you don’t frighten anyone anymore. Do you understand what I’m saying, Andrew?”

 

“I didn’t frighten her,” Andrew shrugged. “She’s a woman; she’s making it up.”

 

“She happens to be my woman, and she doesn’t make things up. Just take this as a warning, Andrew: do it again, or so much as touch her, and you won’t be capable of raising your hand to any woman ever again.”

 

Andrew stared at him so hard that if Joe hadn’t been so angry he might well have backed down; as it was his nerves started to twitch and he was more than relieved when Pearson nodded, then shrugged again, “I stopped by the school this morning out of habit, I guess. I used to do that when Barbara taught there…I think your lady friend was mistaking my reason for being there but I understand your concerns, Joe; after all, it’s your right to want to defend her even if she is wrong.”

 

Joe merely narrowed his eyes and thinned his lips, before turning and stalking over to his horse, mounting up and galloping away. He was more than aware of Andrew Pearson’s eyes boring into his back.

 

 

Chapter 130

 

Barbara was surprised to find that her hands were shaking when she returned to her tasks. Lilith was waking up and was stretching and yawning like a little kitten from her bed.  She blinked and smiled at Barbara who just mouthed “Daddy’s home,” few enough words, but enough to make the child transform once again into the rigid tense little body she had become over the months.

 

Peter was waking up and held out his arms to his mother, who picked him up and carried him on her hip as she set out the table for the meal.  The door opened and Andrew entered the house, wiped his feet and removed his hat. A bundle under his arm caught their attention as did the smile on his face, and although it should have put them at ease it only made them more nervous.

 

“Well, that was good of Joe to call in,” he said in a relaxed easy tone of voice, that of the Andrew she had fallen in love with. He came and kissed her cheek, tweaked Lilith’s chin and put down the bundle he had been carrying in order to take Peter from her.

 

Peter put out his arms and was instantly engulfed by his father’s. Andrew smiled over the top of Peter’s head at Barbara “What did Joe have to say to you, Barbara?  Was he here long?”  There was no hint of anything wrong in his voice, she was used to sensing out the nuances that betrayed the mood he was in, but this time he sounded jovial, happy and relaxed.

 

“Just to say that he was getting married.” She paused. “On Saturday.”

 

“Oh, have we been invited?” he swung Peter in the air, nearly knocking into Lilith, for the room wasn’t spacious; with the big table in the way it was, in fact, rather cramped.

 

“He didn’t say, he went on to apologise for being so unfriendly recently.  I daresay if we are invited we will get to know in good time.”  She smiled, relaxed now, and prepared to forgive him anything.

 

“I went into town earlier this morning before starting off for work.  Rode in on Jack, thought a good gallop would do him good, he’s getting fat doing nothing all day.” He smiled and sat down, Peter on his knee and the bundle once again in his hand. He looked at Lilith. “Get the scissors, sweetheart, and cut the string.  That girl in the mercantile tied the knot too tight.”

 

Lilith glanced over at Barbara, who was busy now carving the bread and had her back to her; she went to the sewing box and found the scissors and snipped through the string, then quickly slipped the scissors into her apron pocket. 

 

“Look what I’ve got here—” Andrew laughed and they turned to look at him, and then at the bundle on the table. “This is for Peter…” he held up a soft rag dog with button eyes and a neatly sewn red nose; it even had some whiskers, and the child’s delight at being given the toy just melted Barbara’s heart, she caught Andrew’s eyes and smiled at him, glad to get a warm loving look in return. “And this is for the best little girl in the world,” he now declared producing from the packet a doll, which he placed gently in Lilith’s arms, a doll with golden hair, blue eyes and the prettiest dress, neat little shoes on her feet.

 

Barbara’s heart did a quick lurch, where did he get the money from except from the savings they had in the bank, savings that had been put aside for the seed and grain, and tools for the coming spring, money essential for bills and debts, because she knew that sooner or later, Andrew would be in debt again.  She turned away to collect food from the cupboard and to try and keep the smile on her face, and when she turned again Lilith was kissing her father on the cheek with a look of sheer joy on her face.

 

‘She’s been won over,’ Barbara thought, “He’s charmed her onto his side with the doll.’ and for an instant she felt resentment, and rejection.

 

“And for the sweetest prettiest wife—” Andrew looked at her with pride and love, the same Andrew who had looked at her that way when they were married and Adam Cartwright was many, many miles away, “I love you, sweetheart.” and he gave her a silk ribbon, the blue of a summers sky, and a book, Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare.  “I know how you wanted the book, had to wait a while for it to come all the way from back east.”

 

“It’s lovely, thank you,” she whispered and caressed the front page with her fingers, and then looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

 

He stood up then, pushing the chair back and coming close to her, Peter in the crook of one arm while he put the other arm around her, drew her close and kissed her tenderly, gently.

 

“I do love you, Barbara,” he whispered.

 

“I love you too, darling.” She smiled up at him, but in her mind added ‘when you’re like this, when you’re Andrew, not that other…’

 

“Are you cold? You just shivered?”

 

“No, I’m—I’m just so happy—” she looked at Lilith and then had to turn away as she saw the little girl holding her doll as tenderly as a nursing mother.

 

…………..

 

“You’re both  quiet,” Ben Cartwright poured some more wine into the glasses and looked anxiously at his eldest and youngest sons, “Something happen in town that I should know about?”

 

“No, Pa, nothing.” Joe said  quickly

 

Adam didn’t answer but looked thoughtfully at Joe before he caught Ben’s eyes, he smiled, nodded as though to affirm that he, also, had not come across anything in town and the brown eyes of his father lost their cautious look to be replaced with, perhaps, relief.

 

“I met the new doctor, Paul’s nephew.” Adam said as he carved into his steak, “He appears to be a  modern young man.”

 

“He’s  good, been a lot of help to his uncle,” Ben agreed.

 

“He’s turned out to be a good friend,” Hoss mumbled and then filled his mouth again, and began to chomp on the meat, glanced over at Hester and winked.

 

“Yes, we thought at first he was here for other reasons than helping his uncle,” Hester laughed and told Adam the story of Ingrid, Milton and John which, for some reason, had Joe blushing and getting fidgety.

 

“I forgot, little brother here got a mite friendlier with Ingrid than he had intended, didn’t you, Joe?”  Hoss grinned, unconsciously adding to Joe’s discomfort.

 

“It was before Mary Ann came to town,” Joe growled and his brow furrowed into a deep scowl. “Anyway, it didn’t take me long to realise her little game.”  He racked his brains to think of a diversion and then announced how he had called in to see Barbara earlier.

 

The silence that descended was profound to say the least, and Ben darted a sharp look first at Adam and then at Joe.

 

“Why’d you do that?” Hoss demanded.

 

“I—I wanted to invite her to the wedding, and apologise—”

 

“Apologise, what for?”

 

“Because I was never really  friendly to her after she married Andrew. I thought—” he looked keenly at Adam, who was making some effort at eating his food without being party to the conversation. “I thought she had been disloyal to Adam by going off with Andrew and—” he shrugged, “I wanted to let her know that I was in the wrong.”

 

“How was she?” Hester asked after a moment of silence had lapsed.

 

“Scared stiff, and when Andrew arrived she darted indoors as fast as she could, didn’t want him to see me talking to her I suppose.”

 

Adam glanced up and over at Ben before his eyes darted over to look at Joe.  He wondered if this version of the visit was really true because the way Joe looked, that pulse at the temple, the tautness of his jaw, indicated there was more to the story that he had related.  He remained silent however, waiting for Ben to speak first but Ben chose to continue with his meal after saying that he thought Joe was taking a risk going there.

 

“I don’t think we Cartwrights are high in Andrew’s favour just now,” he said by way of conclusion.

 

……………

 

The light tapping on the door interrupted Joe’s thoughts but he opened it anyway and shrugged when he saw Adam leaning against the door frame. “What do you want?” he asked rather ungraciously as he returned to his disrobing for the night.

 

“I just wanted to know why you really went to the Pearsons’ today, that’s all.”

 

“I told you already, or weren’t you listening.” Joe snapped.

 

“Hey, what’s got into you, Joe?”  Adam grabbed his arm and pulled him round to face him, “Something happened in town, didn’t it?  Or was it something that was said at Barbara’s?”

 

Joe’s nostrils whitened as he snorted back his indignation and pulled his arm free, then he shrugged. “Well, to be honest, something did happen.  Mary Ann told me that Pearson had gone by the school and threatened her.  So—” he raised his chin and stared hard at Adam—“so I went to tell Pearson to leave her alone.”

 

“Did he deny it?”

 

“No, he said he went by there out of force of habit, said she had imagined things. Her being a mere woman!”  Joe growled out the words and pulled on his nightshirt. “Now, leave me alone, Adam, I’ve a lot on my mind and I need to get some sleep.”

 

His brother gave him a long scrutinising look before awarding him a curt nod, and leaving him to get on with his ablutions. He closed the door and stood for a moment in silent contemplation, before making his way to his own room.

 

…………….

 

Andrew Pearson held his wife in his arms and stroked her hair gently.  They sat side by side on the settee watching the last of the flames die out in the fire.  Such moments as this were so infrequent now that Barbara relished the opportunities that came her way to be loved and to love in return.  He had even allowed her to read some passages from the book, and smiled at her, and nodded at certain phrases when she had raised her head to look over at him,

 

“So did you have any other visitors today, my love?” he whispered softly, his head resting upon hers and his fingers toying with her hair.

 

“Only Dr. Martin.” she replied sleepily.

 

“Oh, which one?”

 

“John.”

 

There was a lull in the conversation, but his hand continued playing her hair just as gently, there was no change in his breathing or the tone of his voice when he asked her, eventually, why he had come.

 

She chose her words carefully  by saying he had come to see how Peter was, and to find out whether or not they wanted him to arrange with a consultant to see the child in San Francisco.

 

“So?  So what did you say to that?”

 

“I said he would have to discuss it with you.”

 

“Good girl.” he kissed the top of her head, “Didn’t say anything else at all?”

 

“No.”

 

Silence again. She was feeling decidedly sleepy and moved to get up, saying she thought she would like to get to bed, she was so tired.  He said nothing but when she moved away his fingers tightened on her hair and pulled her back.

 

“Didn’t they tell you that your friend was back in town?” he said softly. “You know, the one you nearly married but didn’t because you chose me instead.”

 

“Adam?”

 

“Yes, that’s the one…Commodore Adam Cartwright, who has recently been awarded yet another medal for bravery beyond the call of duty…or so it said in the paper.”

 

She winced as the grip on her tightened and before she could say a word his hand was around her throat. “Perhaps you wish you had married your seaman after all, perhaps you wish you had never set eyes on me. Isn’t that right?” 

 

She couldn’t scream, his fingers were tightening around her throat and she struggled to pull them free, her nails raked along the flesh of his arms and his fingers only tightened.

 

Upstairs Lilith slept soundly, the doll cradled in her arms, her sleep undisturbed by the sounds in the room below her, undisturbed by dreams.   It was only when Peter started to cry and wail that she slowly opened her eyes to the darkness and the silence.

 

 

Chapter 131

 

The early morning beckoned bright and slightly milder than it had been for some days. Even before the sun was up the Cartwrights would be at the table eating and preparing for the chores of the day, and Adam found nothing had changed in this routine. He ate his meal with them and assured Hester that Hannah’s howling during the night did not disturb him as it was nothing compared to the roar of the sea and howling gales he often endured for days and nights on end.

 

“What do you intend to do today, Adam?” Ben enquired of his eldest son.

 

“I want to ride, just ride...” a touch of wistfulness in the words and they understood, looked at one another and said nothing. “What about you, Joe?”

 

“I’m going into town, hope you don’t mind, Pa? I realise I haven’t been much help since I got back but there’s so much to do and I want to order various items for the house.”

 

“You know where you’re going to put it, Joe?” Hoss looked at Joe with admiration in his big blue eyes, almost as though he could see Joe building the house all by himself within twenty-four hours, and he smiled.

 

“Yep, know exactly the right spot.” Joe grinned and his hazel eyes sparked green. He looked over at Adam, “Why not ride on by later on and tell me what you think?”

 

Adam nodded and smiled then stood up, dropping his napkin on the table beside the now empty plate. “If you’ll excuse me then—” he glanced over at Ben, who was watching him warily. “I’ll see you later.”

 

As soon as the door was closed behind him Ben released the pent-up breath he had held back, trying to remind himself that some idiot philosopher had once said that children were a 16 year project. He had disagreed with that when he had first read it, and he still did. As far as he was concerned, a Cartwright was a lifetime project, a continuing work in progress. He glanced over at Hoss and Hester and sighed again. Well, he thought, they’ll find out for themselves, that’s for sure.

 

………….

 

Adam loved the smell of the stables just as much as his brothers did. There were memories hidden and lurking in the smells and the warmth and the work involved in caring for the horses. Here they had curried and groomed, mucked out stalls and polished tack side by side since as far back as he could remember. He took the brush now and began to bring it down over Sport’s sleek coat, talking to his old friend about nothing in particular and finally breaking out in song:

 

“Early one morning just as the day was dawning…”

 

He paused when someone whistling the tune entered the stable. He turned, saw Joe and smiled. “Everything alright with you, Joe?”

 

“Yes, everything’s fine.” Joe grinned back at Adam and approached Mistral’s stall; he paused as he passed Adam and watched his brother brushing Sport for a moment so that when Adam glanced up and saw him there he grinned, “I wanted to say sorry for yesterday, Adam. I was irritated and took it out on you—I’m sorry.”

 

“Apology accepted.” Adam put the brush down and now raised Sport’s leg in order to check his hoof. He checked each one, cleaning them and making sure that the shoes were in order and the ‘frog’ was clean, “Anything bothering you that I could help you with?”

 

“Just myself. I was angry at myself.”

 

“Oh well, that doesn’t happen  often then, does it?” Adam’s grin brought familiar dimples to his cheeks and his eyes twinkled. He moved now to put the blanket over Sport’s back. “What had you done to upset yourself this time?”

 

“It was how I felt with Andrew Pearson. I wanted to—well—I really wanted to give him a beating.”

 

“Oh.” Adam shrugged and hauled the saddle over, settling it into place on Sport’s broad back. “Why didn’t you?”

 

“Because I wasn’t sure whether I would have been able to have stopped short of murder.”

 

“Because you think he threatened Mary Ann?” Adam looked over the top of the saddle at his brother, standing quite still and his face thoughtful, concerned.

 

“Not just because of Mary Ann. No.” Joe handed the bridle and bit to his brother and nodded at Adam’s thanks, “It was the way he referred to her as a woman, as though being a woman meant that she was—somehow nothing. It made me think of what Hoss said about him beating Barbara and I just had this fear that he would keep on hurting Barbara, and any other woman he knew. I felt angry but at the same time I knew I had to get away from him before I let fly with my fists.”

 

Adam nodded “You did the right thing in leaving when you did, Joe.”

 

“Anyway, I shouldn’t have taken my temper out on you—” he grinned and began to brush Mistral, the first rule of the Ponderosa being that a man takes care of his horse and he knew that he had to work on Mistral regularly if he wanted the same relationship with her as he had possessed with Cochise.

 

“See you later…” Adam tipped his hat to his brother as he trotted out of the stable, and Joe smiled, watched him until he rode out of sight.

 

It was strange how time played tricks with one’s mind. For a moment as he watched the man in the yellow coat ride out of the yard it was as though he were 17 again, and his big brother was riding out on some manly adventure in which he could only wish to have been a part.

 

Adam rode at a steady jog. He was whistling Early One Morning softly even though his mind was turning over the conversation he had just had with his younger brother. He half remembered his promise to his father not to be involved and rode away from the Pearson boundaries. He had no claim to Barbara, anymore than she had to him. He stopped whistling and looked up at the sky; it was blue, a shimmering beautiful blue. A bird swooped across the sun, swift, there one moment and gone the next. Just like life, he thought, and turned his horse around.

 

……………..

 

Lilith had managed to bring water in from the well without spilling too much onto the floor. She had to leave the bucket as it was too heavy to lift up onto the table. She dipped a rag into it and then carefully washed around Peter’s face where breakfast was still encrusted, and then she washed his fingers.

 

After that she picked him up and put him where he could play with his toys, and of course he grabbed for the rag dog that Andrew had bought only the previous evening. She stood and watched him for a short while and then poured some water into a glass and carried it to the bedroom and put it on the table beside the bed. Barbara turned her head towards her, smiled and closed her eyes.

 

“Mommy, mommy…”

 

“Shssh, it’s alright, I’m alright.” Barbara whispered, “Don’t worry, darling.”

 

Lilith said nothing, she simply pulled up a chair by the bed and sat down, held Barbara’s hand in her own and stared at the poor bruised face.

 

“I didn’t hear you,” she whispered

 

“Don’t speak, Lilith, hush now.”

 

“But you should have called me, I would have come.”

 

“Quiet now, quiet…”

 

“Oh Mommy…” she looked at Barbara’s hand, bruised and bloodied from where she had fought to protect herself, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

 

“Lilith, don’t speak now, my head hurts so much.”

 

Lilith gave a slight hiccough as she saw the tear trickle from the corner of Barbara’s eye, she dabbed it away with the corner of her pinafore, but then another came and another and Barbara was biting her lips hard together so that she wouldn’t break out into the sobs that she wanted to cry out as a release to the pain and the hurt and the shock.

 

Downstairs in his silent world Peter became bored, he began to cry and whimper and the sounds trickled upstairs, Barbara took Lilith’s hand and squeezed it gently

 

“Go and see to Peter. Give him a cookie…” she whispered.

 

“But what about you…”

 

“I’m not going anywhere, dear, but if he starts screaming I don’t think I could bear it today.” Barbara replied with her eyes still closed tightly shut.

 

Lilith turned away and at the door turned to look at Barbara before hurrying to the stairs; it was then that they heard the sound of an approaching horse.

 

“Oh no—” Barbara whispered “Oh no, please don’t let it be him back already.”

 

Lilith gave a half sob, clutched at the scissors in her pocket and stood on the landing, waiting. Downstairs Peter continued to cry, silence from outside told that the horseman had reached his destination, was no doubt dismounting and approaching the house, and when there came a knock on the door Lilith jumped, startled by the sound, and on the bed Barbara’s heart pounded against her ribs and she held her breath as though the sound of her breathing would be heard even above the child’s crying.

 

Adam knocked again. He glanced around from left to right and noticed no one in the outbuildings. He heard the sound of a baby crying and remembered that Barbara had a little boy; he remembered also that Hoss had told him the infant was deaf. He frowned, pursed his lips and took off his hat which he turned round and round between his fingers. Just once more, he told himself, and if no one answered then he would ride away and forget about the anxiety he felt right now.

 

The door opened slowly; it creaked a little. Lilith Pearson looked up at him and blinked as the sun caught in her eyes. “Who are you? What do you want?”

 

Adam looked down at her, wondered for a moment who she could be and then realised that this was Andrew’s daughter, he smiled and bent his knees to bring himself to her level.  “I’m a friend of your mother. Adam Cartwright.”

 

She stared at him. Her eyes went round. This was the man her father spoke about with a bad sounding voice and sometimes with  bad words as well. She lowered her gaze to look at his boots.

 

“Mommy isn’t able to see you.”

 

“Oh, why not?”

 

His voice was  gentle, kindly and deep. She raised her eyes and looked at him, saw the dark brown eyes and the smile on his lips. She shook her head and repeated what she had already said, and he pouted a little, frowned and looked disappointed.

 

“Is your Ma alright? Not hurt, is she?”

 

He looked at her intently, noticed the way the eyes widened as though in shock, the lips had parted and she had gasped, he could almost read her mind the thought was so obviously written over her face: “How did you know that?”

 

“Where is she?”

 

“Upstairs …” she whispered and when he swept into the house she slammed the door shut and pressed her back against it as though she alone could prevent anyone else from entering.

 

Barbara was drifting into unconsciousness when he stepped into the room, she heard his gasp and thought it was Andrew, she raised a hand and cried ‘No, No, No…’ with sobs and when Adam took her hand in his, so gently, and whispered her name, she had to force her eyes open to see who it was and then, recognising him, she blurted out his name and then drowned out the sound of it with heart-rending sobs.

 

“Barbara...What happened? What happened to you?”

 

Softly spoken words but they calmed her enough for her to realise the danger he was in now. She pushed him away and then, with his arm around her shoulders, fell back into the pillows, she grasped his hand. “Go, Adam, go away.”

 

“I can’t leave you like this! For heaven’s sake, you can’t expect me to leave you like this, Barbara!”

 

“You must, Adam, please, you must.”

 

“Did he—Andrew—did he do this?”

 

She closed her eyes.

 

“I just want to sleep, Adam. Please leave us alone.”

 

“Just answer me, Barbara, did your husband do this to you?”

 

She paused as though she were thinking of what to say next; the girl, Lilith was standing by the bedside staring at him, big eyes in a white face. Barbara ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Blood had dried in the corners of her mouth, and Adam dipped a handkerchief into the water and gently wiped her lips clean.

 

“I won’t leave you until you answer my question,” he whispered as he looked at her poor bloodied and bruised face.

 

“I fell down the stairs,” she whispered. “The heel of my shoe caught in my dress…I just fell…that’s all.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Barbara.” his voice was more urgent now, louder and she opened her eyes and stared up at him, saw the dark eyes, the fierce scowl of his brow.

 

“I’m not lying.” She looked over at Lilith who was standing rigidly by the side of the bed. “Lilith, show Mr. Cartwright out.” She turned back and looked at him again, “Don’t come back, Adam.”

 

He said nothing, but his fingers touched her throat, gently touched the red marks of angry fingers that had clutched around her neck the previous evening. His eyes met hers before she closed her eye lids and turned her face towards the window.

 

Lilith led the way downstairs and opened the door. Adam stepped outside and turned as though to speak to her but she was already shutting the door upon him, shutting him out of their lives.

 

…………….

 

Ann Canady opened the door to his frantic knocking and smiled a greeting which vanished almost as soon as it had begun,

 

“What on earth’s happened?” she cried as he stepped inside, pulling his hat from his head and looking around the room for Candy, “What’s happened? Hester..?”

 

“Hester’s alright.” he assured her, “Is Candy here?”

 

“No, he’s away on the south pasture, fencing before the snows come.”

 

He nodded, trying to take in the facts and then looked at her. “I’ve just been to the Pearsons’; Barbara’s hurt.”

 

“Hurt? How badly?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m going to ride into town for the doctor, but—” he bit down on his lip, frowned, “It’s a big favour, Ann, but could you go there and make sure she’s alright until the doctor gets there? I’m worried because Pearson may come back and if he sees you there—”

 

“I’m not afraid of him,” she replied. “Just go now, Adam, it will take me less time to get there than it will for you to get into town. I’ll do what I can for her.”

 

“She said she fell down the stairs.”

 

Ann’s face registered her disgust, she had no doubts whatsoever as to how Barbara had come by her injuries. She placed a hand on Adam’s arm,

 

“Just go and get the doctor.” She pushed him gently away and then hurried into the room to get Rosie and herself ready for the journey.

 

……………

 

Rosie and Peter crowed at each other, gurgled and dribbled and shared the toys and the cookies while Lilith watched over them. Her mind was distracted and e so often her eyes turned towards the stairs, and she jumped every time a sound came from outside. If her father returned and found Ann here what would he do? Would he beat Ann as well?

 

Lilith felt hot and cold all over. She was shivering, and she went to the fire and placed more logs on it. Now she was too hot and wished that she could take the logs off again. The children were playing happily together and she returned to her stool, her hands in her lap and her eyes staring at the far wall.

 

Once before she had sat like this with the edge of the stool cutting into the back of her legs, and her fingers fidgeting together as though they couldn’t keep still. She could remember the pain in her head then, it had thudded and thudded just as the pain in her head was thudding now. If only she could be sick, perhaps if she were sick in a bowl she would feel better, after all, she had been sick that last time.

 

She remembered she was wearing black shoes and she saw them when she looked down peeking from under the hem of her dress. Her dress was torn and there had been blood on it and there had been someone screaming her name. She remembered her skirt had been pink with rosebuds sewn on it and Mother had sewn them on. Mother had screamed her name. She had screamed and said “Lilith—run—” but now she couldn’t remember if she did run or if she had stayed and watched.

 

If she had been awake then this would never have happened.

 

……………..

 

Ann had cried, tears had trickling down her face at the sight of the woman on the bed. She had warmed up water and washed Barbara’s face and then her body. Very gently because the touch of anything against her flesh had made Barbara gasp with pain. She had cried for her friend as she had put a clean fresh nightdress on her and then  carefully folded a sheet over her. Then she had sat beside the bed and held Barbara’s hand until the sound of the buggy arriving, announcing the arrival of the doctor, forced her to let go and hurry down to let Paul Martin into the house.

 

The doctors had decided that considering the nature of Barbara’s injuries and the possible cause it would be safer if Paul attended on her. They had both decided that it would be better for Adam to return home and leave the matter in their hands. Adam had not refused their request but had mounted Sport and galloped out of town.

 

Paul now stood on the threshold of the bedroom and looked over at the woman on the bed, he turned to Ann and sighed, and together they went to the bedside. Barbara, now drifting in and out of consciousness, opened her eyes and saw Paul. She smiled.

 

“I’m sorry, Doctor, I fell—”

 

“Yes, of course.” he nodded and glanced over at Ann who said nothing at all.

 

Downstairs Lilith stared at her brother and little Rosie. She wished she were still little like them, just a baby with no memories to trouble her days nor hinder her sleep at night.

 

Chapter 132

 

Ben listened patiently as Adam told him of what had happened, he had opened his mouth to remonstrate with his son when Adam told him about going to the Pearsons’ but Adam talked over him and continued on with such determination that Ben was sensible enough to know that his son really needed to speak out about what had happened. He bowed his head and nodded at various intervals, seeing in his mind’s eye the scene as Adam painted it for him, conjuring up the injuries and the misery and feeling increasingly frustrated and distressed as the story continued.“And she claimed this was because she fell downstairs?” he asked eventually

 

“That’s what she said,” Adam replied before beginning to pace the floor. “How does she expect us to believe her? If she fell down the stairs then how did she manage to get back up them to get to her bed? Why were there those marks on her throat? I know what injuries a fist makes on a person’s face, does she think we’re all complete fools?”

 

Ben stood up and walked over to the fireplace then turned to step to Adam’s side and place a hand on his shoulder, anything to stop that constant pacing back and forth. “I think she wanted to protect her husband.”

 

“WHAT? You mean a sensible, intelligent woman will allow herself to be beaten near to death and then say nothing in order to protect him? He doesn’t need protecting; he needs to be—shot.”

 

“I understand how you’re feeling, Adam; after all you once had deep feelings for Barbara” he paused and glanced at Adam thoughtfully, “You don’t still love her, by any chance?”

 

“No.” Adam sat down and stared at the fire; he rubbed his chin with his fingers and then began to tap his mouth with them before glancing over at Ben. “I don’t understand how women can do that. How can they defend a man who treats them that way?”

 

“She may love him, Adam, love him so much that she’s prepared to accept that treatment rather than lose him. She may even be logical enough to realise that as a woman she can’t lay claim to her financial assets, in fact, has little legal representation. If that is the case then she no doubt feels that for the sake of the children she should stay where she is, so long as Andrew is prepared to care for them.”

 

Adam said nothing to that; he continued to stare at the fire with his face set in so inscrutable a manner that Ben felt it better to leave him to his thoughts until he felt ready to say anymore. With a sigh he returned to his desk.

 

He had no sooner sat down than the door opened and Hoss entered with a genial grin on his face closely followed by Hester who was carrying little Hannah.

 

“Guess it’s getting colder by the minute. Could have snow by the weekend,” Hoss declared and produced some envelopes from his pocket. “Mail…for anyone who wants it.”

 

Adam merely glanced at the letters as they plopped onto the table, then he resumed his blank stare into the fire.

 

“Is anything wrong?” Hester asked and promptly placed the baby into Adam’s arms, forcing him out of his reverie.

 

Hannah and Adam regarded one another thoughtfully, neither one of them having wanted to be involved with the other at that point. Hannah had been blissfully happy in her mother’s arms, swaddled up by a blanket and constantly comforted by the familiar smell of her mother’s body while Adam had been so deep in thoughts of how to help Barbara that having Hannah dropped into his lap took him by surprise. A gummy yawn from Hannah was enough to confirm that she had accepted this severe looking man as one whom she could trust, and elicited a smile from him, so that in a matter of minutes he was gently bouncing her upon his knee.

 

He could hear Ben explaining to them about Barbara and decided that he didn’t really want to discuss it any further; he had no claims on her, nor she on him, and if she preferred to pretend that her husband was her lord and protector then so be it. But even as he thought that, he felt despondency well up within him.

 

“Should I go and see if she is alright?” Hester asked hesitantly and looked over at Adam who chose that moment to lean forwards to whisper some endearment into Hannah’s shell-like ear.

 

“I don’t think so, dear; Paul will be there by now, and Ann,” Ben said.

 

“Very well then, I’ll get some lunch ready. Hop Sing was in town when we got there, he’s staying with his cousins today. There’s some special anniversary day that the ancestors want him to attend.” And she blithely strolled off to the kitchen trailing her coat, scarf and hat behind her.

 

Hoss came and sat on the arm of the settee and looked thoughtfully at his brother,

 

“You don’t still love her, do you?”

 

“Who? Barbara? No, not at all. I stopped loving her a long time ago, Hoss, which is why I stepped back and let her carry on with Andrew.” He didn’t look at his brother, his eyes being on his niece whose smallness seemed to intrigue him.

 

Hoss said nothing to that; he merely looked down at the letters on the table by his side and picked them up again. He flicked through them and produced two which he held out to Adam saying “These are for you.” And then he strolled back to the study area where he handed the other letters to his father.

 

………………

 

Paul Martin washed his hands thoroughly right to the elbow. He washed them slowly, deliberately, as he thought over the condition of the young woman now lying in a laudanum-induced sleep in the bed close by. He heard the sound of a horse and wagon but it made no impact upon him as he was too deep in thought, it was only when Ann tugged at his sleeve and nodded towards the door that he turned to see Andrew Pearson staring at him, then Ann and finally at his wife.

 

“What in heaven’s name has happened here?” he cried, his voice loud, but not angry, not indignant as they had expected, merely a voice filled with shock, with the agony of a husband who had entered not a haven but a nightmare. “Barbara—what’s happened to Barbara—”

 

“You mean to say you don’t know?” Paul asked calmly as he turned towards the other man, wiping his hands and arms dry now on the towel.

 

The two men stared at one another, Andrew the taller and stronger stepped back as though shocked by Paul’s words, then turned again to look at the woman in the bed.

 

“What happened? Please—let me see her—” and he stepped forward to approach the bed.

 

“Don’t you dare—” Ann cried and promptly blocked his way. “I won't have you coming any closer.”

 

“What? But—I don’t understand—” Andrew put a hand out to thrust Ann to one side but she stepped back, and Paul called his name which forced him to turn to confront the older man,

 

“Can you tell me what happened, Dr. Martin?”

 

Paul looked at Andrew, looked deep into his eyes and saw nothing but tears and misery; he looked at Ann who was standing like some stalwart protector by the bedside,

 

“Don’t you know?” Paul said gently, and when Andrew slowly shook his head from side to side Paul sighed. He put the towel down and glanced over at Ann. “It’s alright, Ann; let him see his wife.”

 

Andrew hurried to the bedside and fell on his knees upon the floor, taking hold of Barbara’s hand and clasping it tightly within his own, he looked at her, tears dripped from his eyes; he kissed her and murmured her name.

 

“What happened, sweetheart; oh my darling Barbara, what happened?” he whispered.

 

“Andrew,” Paul’s voice was that of a tired man; he pulled on his jacket as he spoke. “Andrew, are you sure you don’t know what happened to your wife?”

 

“She was alright when I left her. I had to ride out early; there’s been some flooding up at the north end of my fields that needed attention. I don’t have men to work for me, Dr. Martin, and it was work that couldn’t be left unattended.” He bowed his head and stared at Barbara’s face as though engraving it onto his memory. “It was dark when I left. The children were still asleep.”

 

Paul glanced quickly at Andrew’s clothes and knew that as far as going to somewhere wet and muddy his clothes certainly provided enough evidence to the truth of that statement at least.

 

“Will she be alright?” Andrew whispered, “She won’t die, will she?”

 

Ann now looked over at Paul, and seeing the defeated look on his face she turned away, and excused herself. They heard the sound of her steps on the stairs as she descended to the lower rooms.

 

“Well, Dr. Martin, tell me the worst.”

 

Paul sighed, wondering where to begin.

 

“There’s no easy way of saying this, Andrew, but she lost the baby she was carrying. You did know she was pregnant, didn’t you?”

 

Andrew bowed his head, tears dripped from his eyes onto the sleeve of Barbara’s nightdress; of course he knew she was pregnant. It was the one thing that had saved her life the previous night when she had blurted out about the baby she was carrying.

 

“She told me last night, she was so happy … of course, she said she wasn’t really sure, she hadn’t had it confirmed but she thought for sure she was…”

 

“It was in the  early stages,” Paul admitted, “And—” he cleared his throat, “You didn’t know about it?”

 

“Last night—I told you—she told me last night.” It was true, the truest word he had spoken since he had arrived, he bowed his head and began to sob and Paul winced as he wished that he could call the man a liar to his face.

 

“She has multiple fractures to the body, a concussion, a broken arm. It will take time for these to heal, Mr. Pearson. I’m proposing that a nurse comes out here to care for her. After all, you have your work to do.” If his voice was colder than usual Andrew didn’t appear to notice as he continued to weep; he pulled out a handkerchief to blow his nose and finally wiped his eyes.

 

“I’d appreciate that,” he replied after leaning over to kiss Barbara’s brow, “but what about the children?”

 

“I’ve already discussed that with Mrs. Canady, she’ll take them back with her until you and Barbara can cope with them here again.”

 

The slight tension in Andrew’s shoulders went unnoticed, he nodded and whispered a “thank you” rather hoarsely, and rose to his feet. It seemed to Paul as though the man filled the room, but he busied himself with putting away his medical equipment and heard the man leave.

 

Barbara slept on, oblivious to the false tears, and to the kindness of the doctor and her friend who had both worked to save her life. Paul stood by the bed and looked down at her; he looked particularly at the marks at her throat and wondered how Andrew would explain them away if challenged. But then who was to say it was Andrew? Perhaps they were wrong to so judge him after all he looked so sincere in his shock and distress just now, and what proof did they have that he abused his wife? Confused, worried and quite distressed, Paul left the bedroom and joined the others downstairs.

 

Ann, with Lilith’s help, was busy packing some bags containing the children’s clothes. She didn’t speak; nor did Lilith. When everything was done Ann collected some coats from the hooks on the door and began to dress Peter in his while Lilith pulled hers on.

 

“Bring some toys with you,” Ann said to Lilith who quickly scampered away to collect up some bits for Peter to play with.

 

“What about your new doll?” Andrew said having watched all this in silence and he looked at Ann with a gentle smile on his face. “I bought them new toys yesterday, it was a special occasion. I got Lilith a new doll, didn’t I, love?”

 

Lilith nodded but said nothing; she didn’t look at her father but carefully wound a scarf around her little brother’s neck to keep him warm. She was big enough to be able to pick him up and carry him out while Ann dealt with Rosie and the bags.

 

“Aren’t you going to give your Daddy a kiss goodbye?” Andrew asked with a note of disappointment in his voice but she just looked over at him with a blank expression on her face and left the house.

 

“She’s no doubt shocked by what happened to Barbara,” Paul resplied as he put a bottle on a table, “Give this to Barbara when she wakes up, just a few drops in water.”

 

“When will the nurse arrive?”

 

“She’ll be here soon, no doubt already on her way.”

 

“I see—” Andrew twisted his lips into a smile. “Seems you got it all arranged then.”

 

“Couldn’t afford to lose time, Mr. Pearson.” Paul snapped the bag shut, and then picked up his hat, “There will be two nurses on duty, one will relieve the other. I would have preferred Barbara to be in the hospital in town but I dare not move her just now.”

 

“I understand.” Andrew nodded and Paul wondered if he really did understand and walked to the door, “Tell me, Dr. Martin, how did you get to know about Barbara? Who was the good Samaritan?”

 

“Adam Cartwright,” Paul said as he stepped out from the house, “He happened to ride by and found her.”

 

Whatever feelings stirred within Andrew’s stomach and breast, he exercised enough self control to smile

 

“Will you thank him for me.” he said through clenched teeth and then stepped back into the house and closed the door.

 

Paul scowled, walked quickly to the buggy and was about to clamber in when another buggy arrived and Mrs. O’Leary hailed him as she got down.

 

“Mrs. Pearson is it?” she asked and looked over at the house. “Very well, Dr. Martin. No need to concern yourself, we’ll take good care of her.”

 

Paul nodded. He didn’t ask who the “we” were, assuming that in the way of all nursing professionals the plural noun was perfectly fitting for their calling.

 

He turned the buggy away from the house and made his way back to town, wondering and pondering all the way as to whether or not Andrew Pearson really had attacked his wife. By the time he got to the surgery he was still undecided; the only conclusion he had arrived at was the age old adage that time would tell, hopefully, in this instance, the sooner the better.

 

Chapter 133

 

The sheriff’s office always, or so it seemed to Paul Martin, smelled of coffee and damp clothes and male sweat. He wondered, as he closed the door behind him, whether all male dominated offices smelled like this and then remembered he and John shared an office and that he hadn’t come here to think or discuss the abilities of the sensory gland at various locations.

 

Roy was engrossed in thumbing through a book; it wasn’t particularly interesting so he was more than pleased to acknowledge Paul and offer him some coffee which the doctor accepted even if it meant he had to stay in the office and endure its smells longer than he would have liked.

 

“So? What’s bothering you?” Roy asked as he resumed his seat and pushed his spectacles further up his forehead to where he once had a hair line.

 

“The Pearsons.”

 

Roy scowled, sighed and the spectacles slipped back onto the bridge of his nose. “Andrew and Barbara Pearson?”

 

“The same.”

 

“So tell me for why?”

 

So Paul told him about the injuries, about the marks on Barbara’s throat, on how he was puzzled by the little girl’s obvious dislike of her father whom she had always apparently adored. He openly admitted that he was confused because when he saw Barbara and examined her it was obvious that the injuries were not caused by a fall down the stairs, they were blows to the body from a fist, perhaps even from being kicked.

 

“And you suspect Andrew Pearson of doing this?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“But you didn’t ask him about it?”

 

“Of course I did, Roy. I asked him and he acted as if he knew nothing about it, started weeping and crying all over her and, to be honest, he put on a good show.”

 

“But it was just a show?” Roy raised his eyebrows “In your opinion?”

 

“Yes, in my opinion.”

 

Roy leaned back against his chair and shook his head. “Ain’t nothing I can do, Paul. My hands are tied by the law.”

 

“The law, Roy, is for the protection of the people, vulnerable people. Barbara Pearson is a vulnerable person who needs help, even if she doesn’t ask for it.”

 

Both men clenched their fists, tightened their lips and took deep breaths. “Don’t you think I don’t know that already? I went there last time, remember? She denied that Andrew had anything to do with harming her. She took him back without any fuss or nothing. I can’t just go in there and arrest him.”

 

Paul stood up, picked up his hat and slapped it back onto his head. “You are an ignorant old fool.”

 

“And you ain’t thinking straight.”

 

The doctor drew in a deep breath and seemed to grow an extra two inches in height as indignation swelled within him,

 

“If anything happens to that young woman, Roy—”

 

“I can’t go around there doing house calls; that’s your job.”

 

“I’ve already got a 24 hour watch on her, I do use the brains God gave me, you know. I’m relying on my nurses to notice things and report back and—”

 

“You put women there? Are you crazy?”

 

“Who else could I put there to care for Barbara? Your deputy?”

 

They glared at one another, it was a standoff and both knew it. Roy shook his head. “Who did you send in to nurse her?”

 

“Mrs. O’Leary.” Paul snapped back.

 

“Really?” Roy’s eyes widened, he nodded and grinned. “I almost feel sorry for Andrew.”

 

Paul shrugged as he calmed down a little, he watched as Roy began to write little notes down on paper, then said with a smile in his voice, “I’ll keep you informed, Roy.”

 

“You do that, Paul. We’ll nail this brute one way or another,” came the hearty response from the sheriff who then licked the stub of his pencil and attended to more writing.

 

……………

 

Unaware of the events that had taken place at the Pearsons’ home, Mary Ann and Joe sat together having lunch at the International House’s restaurant. They were discussing with great enthusiasm not the wedding which was only a few days away, but the building of their home. The drawing of the building, sketched out by Adam during the long train journey home, had been enhanced with an extra window, a wider porch, another door and as soon as they had rhapsodised about the changes something else came to mind, so the porch became smaller, the window disappeared and another room was added.

 

By the time dessert had arrived the house had changed to such a degree that it was barely recognisable, and they sat holding hands and planning their days together.

 

“It won’t be long now, Mary Ann; Saturday is only a few days away now.”

 

“I can’t wait for it to come, Joe. I only hope it doesn’t snow before then and I can’t get out of town.”

 

“In that case I’ll tunnel my way into town. One way or another, sweetheart, I’m going to marry you on Saturday.” He kissed her fingers and looked into her eyes and hoped she could see his passion and love for her.

 

“Joe, I love you more than anything in the world,” She whispered and leaned forward to kiss him.

 

Widow Hawkins who happened to be passing by at the time saw the young couple through the window and shook her head. What was the world coming to? In her young days couples didn’t act like that, no, certainly not indeed.

 

“I have to get back to school,” Mary Ann said softly. “And I have a dress fitting after school closes.”

 

“Don’t forget, Hoss will bring the wagon round for all your personal things to take back to the Ponderosa tomorrow.”

 

She laughed “You won’t need a whole wagon for my things, Joe, I haven’t got much.”

 

He stood up to let her pass him and together they walked hand in hand out of the hotel, then she slipped her arm through his and together they walked to the school where the children were waiting, recess was ended, lessons were to recommence.

 

………………..

 

Nurse O’Leary kept the medicine in her pocket and measured out the dose herself, carefully administering it to her patient at the necessary time. Once or twice Barbara had opened her eyes to find the  face of the older woman gazing down at her with a smile and a kindly eye, then Barbara’s eyes had searched for someone else and not finding whoever it was she closed her eyes again and fell asleep.

 

Andrew sat in a chair by his wife’s side and held her hand, or read her pieces from the new book he had bought for her. He looked wistful and sad, he sighed and lamented that he hadn’t been home when the accident happened, groaned aloud at the terrible injustice that saw his beloved so badly hurt.

 

Nurse O’Leary kept the little fire in the bedroom burning so that the room felt pleasantly warm and she went down to prepare something for Andrew and herself to eat, all the while listening intently to anything that could happen upstairs.

 

She was a wiry, thin woman, well into her fifties with greying wispy hair and not many teeth, most of which she admitted had been knocked out by her husband. She had acted as midwife to those in labour, and those who had died she prepared for burial. She had known the highs as well as the lows of life, and she had a sharp eye for anyone who was putting on a performance. Andrew Pearson, she decided within five minutes of being with him, was putting on a first-class performance.

 

When she returned to the bedroom with some soup and bread which she handed to Andrew she wasn’t surprised when he said he couldn’t possibly eat it. He was far too distressed. Nor was she surprised when Barbara opened her eyes, saw Andrew and smiled, reached out a hand to touch his face as though grateful to see him so caringly sitting by her side.

 

…………………

 

Adam opened one of the letters. It had an embossed coat of arms on the back and looked important as Hoss said. He smiled over at his father, who was standing in front of the fire and therefore blocking off the heat from everyone else. Hannah was being fed upstairs in a warm bedroom and Hoss was reading a catalogue about cattle feed.

 

“Who’s it from?” Hoss asked, proving that he must have had one eye on the catalogue and the other fixed on Adam to see what letter he read first.

 

“The prime minister of Great Britain.”

 

Hoss gaped wide, his eyes popped.

 

“You ain’t kidding?”

 

“Nope,” Adam passed the letter to his brother and then smiled at Ben, who had realised that the odd smell was in fact his pants beginning to smoulder from the heat of the fire. “It’s to thank me for my work in Egypt. Seems I did them a great service.”

 

“Must seem like quite some time away now, Adam.”

 

“Yes, in a way it does.”

 

“How about opening the other letter now?”

 

He ripped it open and extracted the letter. After glancing through it he passed it to his father who grimaced, and sighed before returning it.

 

“Ah well, all good things come to an end.” Ben sighed.

 

“Why? What’s it say?” Hoss asked and took the letter from his brother, read it and sighed before handing it back. “Just another month with us then.”

 

“It could have been worse. Had Grant wanted me back in Washington I would have had to leave—well—I’d not have been here now.”

 

“Six months sure went quick.”

 

“Well, five months to be exact.” Adam smiled and stood up, and looked at Hester as she came downstairs with a bawling Hannah in her arms,

 

“I can’t get this child to sleep,” she cried in despair, “I don’t know if she doesn’t like my singing or if she’s trying to sing a duet!”

 

“Here, let me have her.” Adam smiled, “I need to make the most of being with my little niece as I have only a few weeks leave left.”

 

Hannah obliged her mother by burping loudly as she was placed in her uncle’s arms; Hester swiftly removed traces of stale milk before any landed on Adam’s shirt and then smiled gratefully before sinking into an armchair.

 

Adam walked to the piano with Hannah in his arms and after lifting the lid, played a few keys. Hannah howled. “Plink, plink, plink,” went the keys and she squalled, her fists tightened and her face went red as tears slipped from her eyes.

 

Adam hummed, held her close and walked from the piano to the window where the fading sunlight made the mountains appear golden; he began to sing,  softly.

 

 

 

“Beautiful dreamer,

Wake unto me

Starlight and dewdrops

Are waiting for thee...”

 

Hannah stopped her wailing. She blinked, stared at her uncle and blinked again.

 

“Sounds of the rude world

Heard in the day

Led by the moonlight

Have all passed away

 

Beautiful dreamer,

Queen of my song

List’ while I woo thee

With soft melody...”

 

Hannah yawned, her fingers unclenched and her eyes grew heavy.

 

“Gone are the cares of

Life’s busy throng

Beautiful dreamer

Awake unto me

Beautiful dreamer,

Awake unto me.”

 

Hannah succumbed, little snorts slipped through her lips along with some bubbles, in her armchair Hester was also asleep.

 

Hoss took the sleeping child from his brother with a smile and wink, and then Adam turned towards the door and took down his yellow coat.

 

“Where are you going?” Ben asked.

 

“I thought I’d go and see how Barbara was getting on.”

 

“Then I’ll come with you,” Ben said softly and with a stern look at his son to stop any argument, he took down his own coat and shrugged himself into it.

 

Halfway across the yard Adam explained to his father that he wasn’t intending to go to the Pearsons’ home, only to Ann and Candy’s,

 

“If anyone will know what is happening, Ann will…and if…”

 

“And if?” Ben raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, we’ll see.” Adam smiled and mounted his waiting horse.

 

As he waited for Ben to saddle his horse and mount up, Adam thought over the letters he had received. The prime minister had merely acknowledged and thanked him for what he had done, which was fair enough; some would say it was a feather in his cap, but to Adam, it was a matter of courtesy accorded from one gentleman to another. He also wondered if Laurence Willoughby had been to report back all that had happened, and whether or not the result of their adventure had advanced Britain’s fortunes in that mysterious land of the East.

 

Grant’s letter “requesting” his prompt attendance in San Francisco in a month’s time when he, Grant, would be in the city, irritated Adam more than he had expected. He saw black clouds looming overhead for his future and thoughtfully glanced back at the house. So much had changed, and so much was still to change…he couldn’t turn back the clock no matter how much he would wish to do so.

 

Chapter 134

 

Ann looked at the two men gratefully, her face losing its rigid self control so that it crumpled and she fell into Ben’s arms, grateful for his arm around her. 

 

Adam stood nearby feeling anxious and wondering if this was the prelude to some bad news concerning Barbara.  He glanced around the room and found himself being observed by a pale-faced little girl with large eyes.  He smiled tentatively. “Lilith?”

 

She nodded and with that same blank look still on her face, came to his side and took his hand in hers.  Then she stood there beside him as though it were her right to do so. They waited until Ann had control of herself again and stepped back from Ben while she dabbed at her face. “I’m sorry.” she sniffed “Come in.  Ben, take your coat off, please, and Adam, do take your coat off and put it over there. I’ll make us some coffee.”

 

“Are you alright now?” Ben asked. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, I’m quite sure, Ben.  I’m sorry it’s just that—that I was so worried and frightened.” She looked at Lilith, who was watching her without expression as she waited for Adam to remove his coat, as soon as he had done so she stepped  back to his side and reached up for his hand.

 

“How is Barbara?” Adam immediately asked and felt the little girl’s fingers squeeze his just a little, more like a tremble than an actual pressure upon his own hand.

 

“She’s alive, or was when I left the house.  Andrew came back—” she looked at Lilith whose chest had heaved up and subsided, “He and Paul were talking for a while upstairs.”

 

“Just talking?” Adam demanded

 

“Yes.  He wanted to be with Barbara but I stopped him, but then I had to let him—he was begging to be with her, to hold her and reassure himself that she was alright.  For a moment I really believed that he cared—” she stopped herself, glanced at Lilith and then at the two men before turning away to deal with the coffee.

 

Ben followed her while Adam looked down at Lilith and smiled, tried to coax an answering smile from her but just received that shut-off blank look from the peaky little face with the big dark shadowed eyes.

 

“Ben, I’m so worried about Lilith,” Ann whispered as she prepared the coffee and set out the mugs. “She hasn’t spoken a word since we left the house, just stands there as though waiting for something to happen.”

 

“Yes, that’s a good way of expressing it, that’s the impression I got when I saw her, although she seems to have taken to Adam.”

 

Ann glanced over at the man and the little girl who were not speaking at all, just staring out of the window, hand in hand.

 

“I—I know this may seem  strange, but to be honest, it is strange—”

 

“Go on, what is?”

 

Her hands trembled a little as she poured out the coffee, and again she glanced over to the man and child.

 

“I found some scissors in Lilith’s pocket.”

 

“What?” Ben frowned, wondering what was the significance of a pair of scissors, and then Ann pushed them over to him, and he realised they were quite hefty. He shook his head. “Why would she have them in her pocket?”

 

“I asked her and she didn’t answer me.  She wasn’t happy about my taking them from her.”  She cleared her throat. “Barbara was pregnant, she lost the baby…”

 

Ben’s generous mouth closed into a grim line, his eyes widened, then closed down as he looked away from her to stare into the cup of coffee, then he darted a look over at Adam.

 

“Don’t tell Adam,” he said in a low voice as she picked up the cup to take over to the other man, and she nodded while her eyes misted over with tears.

 

Lilith released Adam’s hand and walked away as he took the coffee and entered in a discussion of events with Ann, their voices carried low and murmuring as she walked to the other end of the room and stood in front of Ben.

 

“Rosie and Peter are asleep.”

 

The statement caught Ben by surprise, he was sipping the coffee and thinking over what Ann had mentioned when the clear child’s voice spoke and he turned to find himself looking down at her.  He smiled. “That’s good, children grow as they sleep, you know.”

 

“Yes, I know that.”  She nodded seriously.

 

“Lilith…” He paused, wanting to ask her about the scissors, about how she survived living in a home so ruptured by discord…had she been hurt at all…and so many other things, but the words all stuck in the back of his throat with the knowledge that she hardly knew him, and it would take someone with more skills at talking to a child than he possessed.

 

Perhaps he underestimated himself, after all he had been a father with children who confided their secrets to him, but this strange waif-like little creature…he sighed and shook his head, looked down at her and smiled.

 

“You’re alright here for now, aren’t you?”

 

“I should go home.  Mommy will want me there; she’ll be worried.”

 

“I think she just needs to rest and get better.”

 

“I know, but I should be there too.” 

 

Ann came back and joined them, she leaned down to pick Lilith up but the child pushed her away and ran over to where Adam still stood, staring out of the window.  They smiled at one another, already friends.

 

“Can I go and see your horse?”

 

“You’ll need to put on a coat and make sure you’re warm.”

 

“I will.” she nodded and hurried away to get her outer clothing

 

“Lilith,” Ann called, “Where are you going?”

 

“I’m going to see Adam’s horse,” she replied with a lighter tone of voice.

 

“I think someone should go with you—” Ann cried immediately, concern for the child uppermost in her mind, fear of what could happen blanking out the innocent pleasure the child might have been seeking.

 

“It’s alright, I’ll go with her.” Adam pulled his coat on, nodded over at Ben and Ann and walked out of the house, buttoning up his coat and pulling up the collar.  They watched as he slipped on his hat and stood beside the little girl.

 

“How strange that she likes Adam so much, she’s hardly ever met him before,” she observed to Ben, who nodded.

 

“Children can be  discerning at times, Ann, perhaps she knows that Barbara meant a lot to Adam and there was a close friendship there once.”

 

Ann shivered; she wrapped her fingers around the warm mug and looked at Ben anxiously. “Andrew Pearson frightens me, Ben.  I thought a little while back that he didn’t, but after what happened, the way he looked at me, the way he acted…he frightens me  much.”

 

“Do you want me to arrange with Candy to have some time off work to be here with you until things settle down a little?”

 

She didn’t reply to that, only sighed and looked out of the window.

 

“It looks like they’re going for a ride.”  She nodded over to the view of Adam lifting Lilith into the saddle and then mounting up behind her, and then Sport sprinting forward to trot away from the house.

 

“I doubt if they’ll be  long.”  Ben strolled over to the chairs by the window and sat down. “Now tell me what Paul said about Barbara’s injuries, and about Andrew?”

 

So she told him, concluding with the fact that when they were leaving the house Lilith refused to kiss her father goodbye, and that she didn’t take the doll he had just brought home for her. “It was unlike Lilith, she always has been  open in her displays of affection for him, but not then, and she’s been—well—as you’ve seen her—ever since.”

 

They both glanced immediately out of the window to where the horse and its riders were disappearing from view.

 

……………..

 

She had said how much she liked the horse and stroked its nose, and he had lifted her up and she had stroked its ears.

 

“I wish I could sit in the saddle and ride him.”

 

“Then you will,” Adam smiled, his eyes twinkling and he lifted her up into the saddle and helped put her little feet between the straps that fed into the stirrups, “How about a ride?”

 

“Oh yes, yes, that would be perfect.” she smiled, the first smile he had seen on her face for some time, and then she gasped “Can we go and see Mommy?”

 

Adam glanced over his shoulder at the house, then grinned, so what if he played hookey, it did no harm, and would give him a chance to see for himself what was going on.  At least he and the child could reassure themselves that Barbara was alive, and would possibly remain so.

 

She leaned her head against his chest and curled her fingers into Sport’s mane.  A slip of thing, so light that Adam barely was conscious of her presence as they galloped away from the Canadys’ towards her home.  Her hair slipped from its ribbon which fell unheeded to the ground and curls were drifting against his yellow coat as they rode onwards.  Once she turned her head up to smile at him and he looked down and smiled at her as though both of them understood the other, that this conspiracy to escape Ann’s house was part of a great plan.  She snuggled in closer so that the warmth of his body kept her from feeling too cold.

 

The Pearsons’ homestead came into view and they saw Andrew’s horse and wagon still standing where he had left it.  Two buggies with the horses having nosebags affixed and he recognised one as the doctors but wasn’t sure of the other.

 

“I’ll get down first,” he said and slipped from the saddle, then he turned and lifted her down onto the ground.

 

They tapped lightly on the door and pushed it open to find John Martin coming down the stairs, his face bearing the hallmarks of concern, but he smiled warmly when he saw them both.

 

“Hello, Lilith, have you come to see how your mother is?”

 

She nodded and went to run upstairs but John stopped her, and when she struggled to free her arm he lifted her up into his arms. “Mommy isn’t too well just now, poppet, she’s sleeping.”

 

“But I want to see her—I want to see her myself,” she squealed and pushed against his chest.

 

“Daddy’s there too,” John said and darted a look over at Adam as though warning him to steer clear and not let the man know he was in the house, a message Adam understood only too well.

 

“I don’t care, I have to see Mommy.” 

 

“Let her go, John.  Let her—” Adam said and with a sigh John released her and watched as she scampered up the stairs.

 

They heard Andrew’s exclamation of delight at seeing the child, heard Nurse O’Leary admonish the child not to lean all over the patient, and they heard Lilith’s cry of “Mommy, Mommy.”

 

“She’s a strange child,” Adam said slowly. He pursed his lips and frowned. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she knows more about what has been going on than anyone else realises.”

 

“I fear so.” John agreed and walked to the fire where he placed some logs on the dying embers, “I’m staying here overnight so that Nurse O’Leary can return home to rest.  Hopefully Barbara will be over the worst by the morning, and we can hope for signs of a recovery.”

 

“Isn’t she recovering now?” Adam’s brow furrowed, the brown eyes flicked golden amber sparks as though anger and anxiety fought against the other.

 

“It’s hard to say, I can’t really comment until the morning.  She would have died for sure had you not come for us, Adam.  There would have been no hope for her at all.”

 

“And Andrew?”

 

John shook his head, bit his lip and frowned,

 

“Uncle Paul was convinced that he had—” he paused and looked up the stairs in case his voice carried his words to the room above, he plucked at Adam’s sleeve and they retreated further to the extreme part of the kitchen. “My uncle was convinced and is convinced that these injuries were the result of a  severe beating .. An attempt to strangle her even.  He was sure it was Pearson but when Pearson arrived here and began to break down and fall apart with distress and all that emotional claptrap, he wasn’t so sure.”

 

“Who does he think did this then?”

 

“Pearson’s acting the distressed husband  well, Adam.  O’Leary’s a good nurse and also a  keen observer of couples in this kind of situation, having suffered enough herself.  I’ll know more in the morning.”

 

“You can’t wait until morning; what if—”

 

“No, he won’t be able to do a thing, I’ll be here all night.  Apart from which he’ll be sleeping pretty soundly himself.” John winked and nodded, which left Adam quiet for a moment as he contemplated the insinuation he was left with by the good doctor.

 

He was about to return to the doorway and wait for Lilith when there came heavy footsteps on the stairs and before he could slip out of the door Andrew Pearson came down with Lilith on his arm.  He looked at the two men and lowered Lilith to the floor,

 

As he approached Adam he extended his hand. “Thank you for coming by, Adam, you saved my wife’s life.  I can’t thank you enough.  I’ll always be in your debt.” And he shook Adam’s hand warmly, “Lilith’s quite happy to go back now that she’s seen Barbara.”

 

Adam looked a trifle startled, but recollected himself; he smiled down at Lilith who smiled back at him and opened her arms wide to be picked up,

 

“Seems you’ve made another conquest, Commodore.” Andrew smiled and just for an instant, a fraction of an instant, Adam saw something in his eyes that wiped away the pretension behind the previous words and the handshake, so he nodded, smiled and tipped his hat to the man and carried Lilith from the house.

 

“Was Mommy alright when you saw her, Lilith?” he asked as they walked down the drive to where Sport waited patiently.

 

“Yes, she was sleeping but there was no blood there anymore.”  Lilith sighed, “She’s safe now, she’s safe.”

 

“Yes, the doctor’s staying tonight to make sure she will be,” Adam swung her into the saddle and looked up, saw the sad look on Lilith’s face and frowned, “She will be alright, Lilith.”

 

“I told her where I had put them, but I don’t know if she heard me.  Do you think she’ll know?”

 

“Know what?”

 

“That I put the scissors under her pillow.”

 

Their eyes met…he was puzzled and confused; she was uncertain and not understanding that he didn’t see the importance of what she was saying.

 

“She has to have the scissors…”

 

“Lilith…?”

 

“She does though, then he can’t hurt her again.”

 

“Who?” he asked, “Who hurt her?”

 

The blank look descended over her face and she sat there waiting for him to mount behind her.  He looked at her closely, her face was calm, almost serene, and involuntarily he looked back at the house and wondered what on earth were the secrets this little girl knew but would not tell them.

 

………………

 

Ann was pacing the floor by the time they arrived back, Adam led Lilith into the house and closed the door behind them and Lilith scampered away with a smile and her eyes twinkling.

 

“How is Barbara?  I presume that’s where you went?” Ben growled.

 

“Improving.  John Martin’s there.”

 

Both Ann and Ben seemed to relax at the thought of John being there, but Ann still looked worried. “Adam, did Lilith have any scissors with her when you left here?”

 

“She talked about scissors, said she had left some under Barbara’s pillow.”

 

Ann released a deep breath, then looked over at Ben and nodded. “That’s where they’ve gone then, she took them back from the table and left them with Barbara.”

 

“Yes, she’s left them for Barbara in case ‘he’ attacks her again,” Adam said. He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced over at the little girl now sitting at the table drawing pictures on a piece of paper. “She knows too much, that little girl …”

 

……………..

 

Snow was banked up steeply on either side of the train and although the men busied themselves with digging it out more snow was falling and filling in what had already been shifted.  Rachel Forster sat in her carriage and shivered.  It seemed she had been shivering nonstop for days now, and even her furs did little to prevent the cold from seeping into her bones.

 

The little stove at the end of the compartment belched out heat which seemed to freeze within six inches of it.  She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.  In Egypt the heat sapped the strength from a person, but here it was the snow, the cold, the wind.

 

“Coffee, Miss Forster?”

 

“Is it hot?”

 

“As hot as it could be, Miss.”

 

She took a cup and drank it and wished that it had been hotter, and sweeter.  She thanked him and returned the cup, and then wished that she hadn’t drank the coffee after all. Nature called and that meant a long walk down the corridor, then outside onto the railed section that linked onto the next carriage where the lavatory was positioned.  She closed her eyes, oh how interminably long this journey was, and how miserably cold.

 

The guard came bustling down just as she was about to stand up and walk down the aisle, he stopped her with an upraised hand,

 

“Miss Forster, we’re going to have to return to the town.  I’m afraid it’s impossible to proceed in this weather.” he was an officious little man but pleasant enough as he smiled, “At least there’s a warm, modern hotel there; it won’t take long for you to thaw out.”

 

She nodded and waited for him to go through the door to the next compartment to deliver the self same message to the person in there.  She continued her walk to the lavatory, the cold and the snow were bitter and the next carriage was as cold as her own.  She noticed only six people in it, all huddled in thick coats and beaver hats, and ladies with muffs to keep their hands warm.   She knew that they all knew why she was there and on the way back blushed a little at the way they avoided looking at her as though a visit to the lavatory was something unnatural. 

 

She reached her seat and sat down; outside the snow was falling faster than ever and she knew that if they didn’t back up and reverse soon the way back would be as difficult to make as to travel forwards.  She imagined herself freezing to death, their bodies found the following spring, and news reaching the commodore sometime in the future when he returned from some far off country so that he would say “Rachel?  Rachel who did you say?”

 

She breathed against the glass and it misted immediately.  She drew her name in small letters in the mist and then watched it fade away.  What did it matter after all?  Already her memory of him was going, the way he looked, and the way he spoke.  All she could remember was the black of his Bedouin robes, the cloth across his face and the brown eyes that had looked at her.  It wasn’t enough, logic told her, it wasn’t enough to go on with, and if she did love him, even that wasn’t strong enough, not now.

 

The train was shunting backwards at last; the noise of its engine filled her ears and she closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears to muffle the sound.  Soon it was chugging away, chugging, chugging, chugging…clacketty-clack clacketty-clack…Abdul-karim Abdul-karim Abdul-karim clacketty-clack and then she was asleep, fast asleep and someone walked by and wrapped a warm blanket around her so that the cold wouldn’t wake her up before they reached the town.

 

 

Chapter 135

 

The wind blew cold against their faces as they rode home together but Adam knew that his father would be burning like a furnace inside and wondered when he would give in to the impulse to get it all out of his system. With a set expression on his face Adam forced himself to remain silent and just wait for the opportunity Ben would seize to give his son a scolding. Ben, churned over by the events of the past day or so, angered by the frustration he felt at the whole thing and the anger he felt at Adam for riding off with the child, churned the whole thing over and over in his mind until he couldn’t suppress the need to talk any longer.

 

“What on earth possessed you to take that child to the Pearsons’? Don’t you realise you put yourself into a  dangerous situation? What if Pearson had attacked you?”

 

Adam flexed his shoulders and swallowed back the desire to spit out words that would provoke his father to more rage. Time and time again the “fatherly admonitions” Ben had handed out to his adult sons had grated on Adam’s nerves and sense of self worth and now, considering his age and status in life, he didn’t know whether to laugh or to blow up in anger himself. But, he had expected it, so he couldn’t claim to be disappointed. He looked at his father as he slowed the horse a little, the reins loose between his hands,

 

“Pa, there wasn’t any risk involved. Pearson loves his daughter; he wouldn’t have harmed her. Lilith needed to see her mother.”

 

“He may love his daughter but he certainly has no love for you. You should never have gone off like that and put yourself into such danger.”

 

“Well, perhaps that’s what I wanted, perhaps I wanted him to lose his temper and go crazy at me. It would have ended a lot of problems—”

 

“Now what are you saying?” Ben cried, his dark eyes widening and he shook his head. “You mean you would have liked a fight with him?”

 

“I’d have liked nothing better than for him to have given me a chance to—” he clamped his mouth tight, no point in saying it, it hadn’t happened, but he had thought it, had decided on the way there that if Andrew had gone for his gun he would have been ready and more than willing to have used his own. “Anyway, it didn’t happen.”

 

“And what is this business about the scissors? Where does all that fit into this?” Ben was cooling down now, he had said what he had wanted to say and was now casting around for other things to discuss. He glanced at Adam. “Did you know that Lilith had some scissors in her pocket?”

 

“No, I don’t know what that has to do with anything. She’s a child, and she knows too much, she’s seen too much, and somehow or other those scissors play a part significant to her. What it is I don’t know, perhaps even she doesn’t know.”

 

…………………………..

 

Ann looked at the drawing Lilith had made her and smiled, she stroked the little girls head and told her it was a lovely drawing.

 

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked after a while for the picture was of a field full of flowers, two children, obviously Peter and Lilith and a woman, who must have been Barbara, played in the field, Barbara had flowers in her hair.

 

“I don’t know,” Lilith said  as she put aside her pencils and she shrugged, “He’s gone.”

 

“Gone where?”

 

Lilith frowned and shrugged again, she took her picture and pointed to the various characters,

 

“There’s Mommy, and that’s Peter and that girl is me. We’re playing together in the field”

 

“Don’t you want Daddy in the picture?”

 

“Not really,” Lilith replied with chilling honesty. “I suppose I could put him in the sky with Mother.” She frowned and shook her head. “No, Mother wouldn’t like that.”

 

She ran off, the picture in her hand which she showed to Peter, but Peter wasn’t interested, he wanted to play with his rag dog and Rosie had hold of it. In the ensueing tug of war Rosie fell over and bumped her head and Ann was distracted in having to pay attention to her daughter.

 

……………..

 

The hours were ticking by and along with them the days; Saturday was hurrying towards them. It seemed to Joe that nothing was happening, no preparations were being made; he was beginning to feel the first twinges of panic.

 

“Hop Sing—there’s so much to do, and I haven’t seen a single chicken leg being roasted yet. You sure you know what’s happening on Saturday?”

 

“I know, I know. You talk too much, flap flap all time flap. You do your business and leave Hop Sing to his…” The frown on his friend’s face was warning enough. Joe hurried out of the kitchen and into the big room where Hester was nursing Hannah; she looked over at him and smiled.

 

“Are you alright, Joe?”

 

“Only getting married on Saturday, aren’t I?”

 

“Aren’t you sure?” she laughed

 

“Sure I’m sure, but I ain’t so sure that anyone else is as sure.” Joe scowled.

 

“Oh don’t worry, Joe, a lot of times things can only be done at the  last minute. It’ll be a lovely day.” She stroked back a curl from Hannah’s brow and looked at her daughter adoringly. “It’ll be alright. Hoss is going to collect all Mary Ann’s things tomorrow, isn’t he?”

 

“If he remembers.” Joe huffed.

 

“As if he’s likely to forget.” Hester got out of her chair and put Hannah over her shoulder—she already knew from experience that the baby didn’t settle well with Joe, so there was little point in handing her to him—and she smiled, “It’ll be good to have Mary Ann here while you have the house built.”

 

“Yeah,” Joe brushed back his hair that had flopped down over his brow, “Somehow it just doesn’t seem true, or do I mean, real? I mean, I can’t imagine actually being married. I’ve almost been married before, you know.”

 

“Yes, I know, Hoss has recounted the number of events several times over.” She kept on stroking and patting Hannah’s back until an explosion of noise indicated that any trapped wind was now floating free. “There now, good girl, let’s put you down for a sleep, shall we?”

 

“Do all babies do that?” Joe frowned

 

“I’m afraid so, Joseph. Even you did once.”

 

Joe grimaced and decided to leave the room for his own; there were things to do and he wasn’t at all sure where to start doing them.

 

………………

 

Mary Ann gazed at her reflection in the mirror as the hem of the dress was carefully pinned around. Could this really be her  own wedding dress? Was it really going to happen? She sighed. “Somehow it doesn’t seem real.”

 

“Oh, if I could have a dollar for every bride I’ve heard say that…” the seamstress laughed with her lips firmly shut on the pins still in her mouth. Over the years she had perfected the art of speaking while hardly moving her mouth; it was a wonder to behold and held many small children in thrall.

 

The light caught the beads and bangles sewn onto the bodice; she swirled a little and the hem swayed around her ankles. Imagine it, she and Joe dancing…his arm around her waist, a little closer than usual, their eyes meeting.

 

“Do you think he’ll like it?” she whispered.

 

“He’ll love it,” the seamstress replied. “Believe me, it’s the woman in the dress, not the dress on the woman that he’ll be more interested in.” She stood up and seemed to shed pins everywhere, she took several out of her mouth and smiled, a real smile that showed her teeth, “You’re going to look beautiful, my dear.”

 

Mary Ann looked into the mirror again, a shiver ran down her back, and she blinked back the mist of tears as she thought of her parents, and of Frank her brother…how proud they would have been to have seen her being wed to Joseph Cartwright. How proud and how happy.

 

………………..

 

Rachel Forster stood outside the telegraph depot and wondered about sending a cablegram to the Ponderosa. She clasped her hands together, rubbed them because her fingers were really cold now, snow fell upon the hood of her coat. What could she say? “Dear Adam, I am on my way, please wait.” No, too familiar and anyway, how could she ask him to wait when she didn’t even know when the train was going to leave this place let alone arrive in San Francisco. “Mr. Cartwright—” there were three, no, four Mr. Cartwrights there, so that could be confusing.

 

“Adam, I am on my way, would you please wait.” that sounded quite good. She stepped towards the office but then stopped, her hand on the door knob, “Please wait for what? It seemed as though a package was being delivered. Perhaps she should say “Adam, I love you…” she stopped herself. Love...love you. Adam, I love you and am on my way.

 

Stupid. Silly. Feckless. Oh no, why was she here in this terrible wilderness of a place? She had never seen so many wild and strange people in her life. There had been plenty of different types in Egypt but then it was a country full of foreigners, but here, in her own country, so much poverty, and such strange attitudes and manners.

 

She put her hand on the door knob again, and then paused,  well, what was she going to say? “Adam Cartwright. Commodore. I have travelled from Egypt and wish to meet with you. As soon as possible.”

 

She stepped back again and more snow fell covering her hood and settling upon her shoulders. She realised that the little toes on both feet were going numb. She could hardly feel her fingers. The man in the telegraph depot had turned the card to “Closed.”

 

It didn’t matter; she would try again the next day. Perhaps the words would come more easily then. Did she really want to send one anyway? Did she really love him? Did she really even know what love was?

 

The hotel was large and newly built. Based on the premise that there would be big business with the trains passing through the owners had made it a grand affair. It was in fact quite luxurious, if you could afford it. She went to her room and stepped inside. The fire was burning in the grate and it was snug and warm; she removed her coat and shook off the snow.

 

Looking out of the window she could see people hurrying about, trying to escape the wind and the snow. She looked at the clock and realised that soon she would have to locate the restaurant for something to eat. She was about to remove her boots when there was a knock on the door,

 

“Who is it?”

 

“Room service, Miss.”

 

“Oh, but I didn’t order anything.”

 

“The management thought you would like your meal in your room, Miss.”

 

She opened the door and the waiter pushed a laden trolley into the room, smiled and stepped back into the hall.

 

“Is there anything else, Miss?”

 

“No, except—do you know when the next train leaves?”

 

He nearly laughed, a good natured man as he was, but then he shook his head,

 

“There’s another storm coming over, could be days yet.”

 

“Days?”

 

“Yes, Miss.” he smiled again, and then paused, “Oh, I forgot,” and he fumbled in a pocket and withdrew a little note, neatly folded, “For you, Miss.”

 

Rachel took the billet doux and opened it. “May I join you for dinner this evening?”

 

She looked at the waiter and frowned,

 

“Who gave you this?”

 

He shrugged and fumbled in another pocket and produced another note, which she opened.

 

“My room doesn’t possess a fire. I shall bring my own bottle of champagne.”

 

“How strange.” She frowned and glanced up and down the corridor. “Who is it who gave you these notes?”

 

“I—er—I have one more, Miss.” And he smiled, obviously enjoying every moment of her embarrassment. “Here it is.”

 

“It would be lovely to talk to you face to face instead of looking at the back of your head all the time.”

 

“I don’t understand…” she whispered and again looked up and down the corridor.

 

“Is there any reply, Miss?” the waiter asked politely.

 

“I don’t know. Did the person leave a name?”

 

“He didn’t, Miss…”

 

“Then I can hardly expect to invite a complete stranger into my room, can I?” she said anxiously and then jumped when a gentle, familiar voice said, “Not quite a complete stranger, Miss Forster…”

 

Chapter 136

 

The door of the hotel suite opposite had opened during Rachel’s exchange with the waiter and the young man standing there waited until her eyes had turned to him. He saw how her eyes widened, and the colour faded from her face only to rush back again.

 

“Laurence!” she exclaimed and covered her face with her hands before throwing her arms wide and running over to him. “Oh Laurence.”

 

Her embrace caught him unawares and he stepped back a little to take the full force of her weight, then gently placed his arms around her, she looked up at him and laughed, a nervous laugh to be sure but one that was warm and intoxicatingly good to hear for a young man who was in some doubt as to his reception.

 

“I can’t believe you’re here. Why are you here? How did you get here? “

 

“The meal is getting cold, shall we go into your room and eat some of it?” he smiled and she laughed, grabbed at his hand and led him into her room.

 

Once inside the excitement of seeing one another slid away, they stood apart, looked at one another. Then she smiled shyly,

 

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

 

“Are you sorry that you have?”

 

“Oh no, no, not at all.”

 

“I couldn’t wait any longer without letting you know I was here, Rachel. It’s been a long journey and—”

 

“How long?” she whispered

 

“Since Naples.” he said, “I waited there until your boat arrived and boarded it. I’ve been—well—in a manner of speaking, I’ve been with you every inch of the journey.”

 

He didn’t tell her that he had made sure she had got the best cabin, that her meals were of excellent quality, that the day she lost her bracelet he had the ship’s crew turn the place over to find it again. He made no mention of the fact that when she reached her home he booked into a hotel close by and waited every day for a sight of her, and as soon as she had booked the train he had made his own booking. The little things like a blanket placed over her when she slept to make sure she was not cold, the fires being constantly fed with wood, coffee and tea available whenever she needed it…countless inconsequential things that he had done without her even realising he was anywhere on the same continent.

 

“Why, Laurence ? Why did you do it?”

 

“Because I love you. I realised when I left—a” he bowed his head and frowned. “I realised when I left Egypt that I loved you more than anything in the world and that I had made no effort to win you. I thought, hoped, that you would realise and then I—” he stopped and looked at her, “Posting your pictures and letters to Adam was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but it was that which made me think that I would go with you, even if you didn’t know I existed I could make sure that you got there safely. And, if it didn’t turn out as you had hoped, then I would step forward and take you back home, or back to wherever you wished to go.”

 

She stepped forward one pace and clasped her hands together, frowned slightly, and bowed her head,

 

“You make me feel  ashamed, Laurence. I didn’t think that anyone could or would care about me enough to do that kind of thing.”

 

“That kind of thing?” he echoed her words and raised his eyebrows, “You were prepared to do it for someone you hardly know, a man who is the best person in the world so far as I am concerned, but of whom you know so little. Yet I had spent weeks with you, I was your companion all those weeks, Rachel, sketching you, painting your portrait, and sharing your time. If you could make this journey for a man that is more a romantic whim on your part then why could not I, when I love you with all my  being.”

 

There was silence for a whil , a hiatus that hung over them, he sighed and shook his head disconsolately. “Rachel, I couldn’t just step back and let you travel all that way to lay your heart before Captain Cartwright without first placing mine within your hands. Take it. It’s yours to do with as you wish.”

 

“Oh Laurence—” she sighed and looked into the earnest blue eyes of the young Englishman, she saw the scar across his brow where Funsani had cut the flesh and she knew of other scars that his body bore as a result of what had taken place all those weeks ago in Egypt. She had nursed him and cared for him, and been so entrenched in thoughts of romance that the real solid gold of love had nearly slipped through her fingers.

 

“I don’t know how long we will be here before you can continue your journey,” Laurence said, taking her silence to mean her rejection of his love, “but I hope that I can come and spend time with you, make you see how I love you, let you know that I won’t surrender, not even to Adam, if there is any chance of winning your hand in marriage.”

 

“Does that mean if I say no to your offer that you will leave me to make the last stage of this journey on my own?”

 

He inhaled sharply, then shrugged, “If so be it.” he replied.

 

……………………

 

Joseph hardly slept that night thinking of all the details needed to ensure the wedding went without a hitch. He ticked off various lists in his mind…the names of the guests, yes, all ticked off. What they were eating…who knew? Well, he didn’t, but Hop Sing and Hester seemed confident that all was well there so that was ticked off. Drink? Leave that to Pa, no problem. Flowers? Where could he get flowers? He pondered over it and then remembered that Hester and Ann were dealing with that along with the decorations.

 

He went over the lists several more times and found his eyes slowly closing…guests? Yep. Drink? Yep. Yawn. He folded his arms behind his head and stared into the shadows above him and thought that  soon,  soon indeed, he would be sharing this bed with the one person in all the world that mattered to him. His heart raced at the thought of her. He thought over another list now of all the women he had loved and lost in the past, lovely women and some  silly women, but all of them he had had affection for in some way or another. Compared to them only his little Cheyenne love and Mary Ann mattered. He could even release Little Moon now without feeling any pang of guilt because he knew she would understand; after all she had loved another before he had ridden into her life.

 

Thoughts of Little Moon reminded him of the little box in his bureau and he rose out of bed and carried the lamp across to pull the drawer open, get the box out and open it yet again. The ear rings were still perfect, gleaming in the soft light of the lamp, he touched the flowers, those that he had been given by her when they had last met together, and as he touched them they fell into dry particles that resembled dust. He stared at them for a moment, then nodded as though in some way there was a blessing in the event, and he could get on with his life and be happy.

 

He heard the soft wail of a baby crying and smiled as he put the little box away again. He listened for the sound of either Hoss or Hester getting out of bed (amazingly creaky, that bed) and picking the infant up, the sound of humming and floor boards creaking as they passed back and forth. Well, Joe thought with a smile, that could be us next year.

 

……………..

 

Mary Ann had fallen asleep thinking of Joe. She had wept a little as thoughts of Frank kept slipping into her mind, and she wondered where they would have been had they never asked Joe and Hoss for help in guiding them to Calico. She thought of what life would be like in the future as Mrs. Joseph Cartwright. For a while she would carry on teaching at school until a suitable replacement was found and while their house was being built. Joe had agreed that would be quite a sensible arrangement, although he had voiced his opinion that he had hoped it would not be for  long.

 

It was a shame that there were no relatives on her side to attend the wedding, but Mrs. Hawkins had offered to come as well as a few others she had befriended. As she fell asleep she reminded herself that in the morning Hoss would be coming to collect her things, her  few things, and would be taking her to Ann’s house, while her belongings were to be deposited and stored at the Ponderosa. She had smiled a little at the thought of what Hoss would say when he trundled up with the wagon and saw what little was going to be put into it.

 

……………..

 

Roy Coffee sat back in his chair, polishing his spectacles and wondering if an answer to his cablegram would arrive by the morning. It wasn’t anything too important, just an enquiry into the death of the first Mrs. Andrew Pearson. Somehow he had to build a case up against the young man that would convince even Barbara that she had to leave him and charge him with assault.

 

He tugged at his moustache, and sighed deeply at the memory of the conversations he had held with Paul, John and Adam. They had made him sound as though he were the most uncaring person in the world because he hadn’t gone marching in to arrest Pearson as soon as it had been suspected that he could be—and here Roy sighed again at those two words—that he could be beating his wife.

 

Hadn’t he argued with them till words ran out that there was nothing he could do? If Barbara didn’t bring charges and stick with them…he shrugged, even then that didn’t alter things, a woman’s word meant nothing and too many judges were of the opinion that woman was just one step above an article of furniture. Perhaps if some of their flinty hearts had beat to the sound of passion and love there would be some changes in the law. But not yet and that was the sticking point.

 

However, and he nodded to himself with a satisfied smile, however, if the reply came back as he hoped then it wouldn’t matter what Barbara did or did not do because he would be able to march into that house and arrest Andrew for murder.

 

He rose to his feet and walked to the window. It was night and the lights of the town shone like rows of little glow worms. Music came from the saloons and honky tonks, dogs barked at the moon, there was the sound of horses trotting down the main street, and he lowered his head in contemplation of the past and then he realised he had a dread for the future, for the time ahead when he was no longer sheriff.

 

So many changes loomed ahead; perhaps  soon another sheriff would be looking out of these selfsame windows and seeing those mechanical vehicles they were talking about in all the newspapers, they would be chugging down the street and making an infernal racket. He’d seen one in San Francisco, or the model of one, never wanted to set eyes on another, no, sir.

 

He glanced over at the clock and nodded to himself, time for his night rounds. He loosened his gun in its holster and reached for the rifle. Thursday was not too bad a night; it was the Fridays and Saturdays that caused most trouble. He smiled to himself as he pulled open the door. This coming Saturday he was taking off, a holiday because he would be going to Joseph Cartwright’s wedding. Well, who would have thought it?

 

………………….

 

In the bed that Ann had made up for her Lilith tried to sleep. Once or twice she had actually fallen asleep but then woken again crying softly into her pillow and realising that she was actually crying she tried to stop because she knew Ann would come bustling in and cuddling her and asking her what was the matter..

 

Bad things had happened,  bad things. She was bad and evil and a horrible little girl because she hadn’t understood, but then—she put her thumb in her mouth—but then she was only a  little girl when it had all started all that time ago.

 

But what was it that had all started? What was the  bad thing that haunted her, like some dark shadow looming over the corners of her mind waiting to jump out like some big jack-in-the-box.

 

She began to rock herself back and forth in the bed, sucking her thumb and keeping her eyes closed…Once upon a time there was a little girl called Lilith, and she had a mother and a father who were beautiful. Her mother always wore lovely clothes and she always smelled like flowers. She had long golden hair that was in curls, and she had blue eyes. She would hold Lilith, whom she loved, and she must have because she told her so every day, and she would sing to her, tell her stories, draw her pictures, and sew little dollies with cute pretty dresses.

 

This little girl had a daddy who was handsome and he worked a lot outside.

 

Lilith frowned, the dark shadow was coming again and she didn’t want it to leap out, not now. She sucked her thumb harder. There had to be another story, there had to be story where everyone was happy and Lilith was loved and safe, always.

Chapter 137

 

 

The house was  quiet when Barbara opened her eyes. She listened for the sound of Peter’s crying or Lilith moving about, but when no sound came she closed her eyes wearily and tried to slip back into sleep. Before she could do so, however, someone approached the bed and an arm slipped behind her shoulders to raise her up  gently. Alarmed now, she opened her eyes again and found herself looking into John Martin's face. He smiled at her and the pale eyes gentled with concern so that she realised that she must have been hurt although she felt no pain. She tried to smile but her mouth wasn’t working and that concerned her. John nodded

 

“Don’t worry, Barbara, you’ve been given a strong sedative to help your body without you feeling too much pain.”

 

“I don’t feel—anything—cotton wool—” she mumbled, disjoined odd words that made no sense and she felt angry with herself, a teacher, not being able to construct a simple sentence.

 

“Yes, that’s alright, it’s perfectly natural. You will feel like that for a while yet.”

 

Her eyes stared into his, looking for clues as to what had happened, answers to questions her brain hadn’t really formed yet but needed, and one of her hands grasped his and squeezed it tightly. He nodded again. “Lilith and Peter are at Ann’s. She and Candy are looking after them for a while. Nurse O’Leary is making you something to eat; if you can manage to eat some that will be good. You need some nourishment now.”

 

Her eyes begged a question, and he frowned slightly. “No, I’m afraid you’ve lost the baby.”

 

She thought about that for a moment, closing her eyes, holding fast his hand in her own.

 

“How?” she whispered

 

“Can’t you remember what happened?”

 

She opened her eyes to look at him, frowned and struggled to remember anything. Her brain was just telling her to go to sleep, it didn’t want to worry about anything else, it was tired, tired.

 

“No. Forget.”

 

“Well, that’s perfectly natural as well.” he murmured soothingly, “Just don’t worry about it for now. You’ll likely remember if you have to.”

 

He turned at the sound by the door and nodded over to Mrs. O’Leary, who came into the room with a bowl of something on a tray. He pulled his hand free of her grasp and made room for the nurse

 

“Nurse O’Leary will be here for the next few hours. I or my uncle will call by soon.”

 

“Don’t go…” she reached out towards him and then closed her eyes and let her arm drop to the bed, of course he had to go, he was the doctor, others needed him.

 

He left the room having said goodbye and made his way downstairs, looked over at the man who was now waking up from a deep sleep and waited to see how Andrew Pearson was feeling this morning. Andrew rubbed his face and his scalp, he felt itchy all over and cold. He looked at the fire and then realised John was nearby, watching him.

 

“How is she?”

 

“She’s going to be alright. Mrs. O’Leary is seeing to her now. She’s going to need a lot of rest, Andrew. She’s  unwell.”

 

“You just said she was alright…”

 

“I said she was going to be alright. Until early this morning I wasn’t so sure about that, but she pulled through and is conscious now. Unfortunately she doesn’t remember anything about the attack upon her.”

 

“Attack? What attack? I thought she said she had fallen down the stairs.”

 

“Oh, is that what it was?” John replied coldly, he stared at Andrew and then with a sigh pulled on his coat and hat, and picked up his bag. “I’ll be coming back later today.”

 

Andrew nodded and said nothing, he heard the door close and started to make his way up the stairs to the bedroom. O’Leary turned and scowled at him,

 

“What are you wanting now?” she snapped mid way to spoon feeding her patient some porridge

 

“I want my breakfast.” he demanded, “And something for my head. I have a headache.”

 

Barbara turned her face towards her husband and Andrew blanched a little as he saw the result of his handiwork, but she didn’t speak, she only contented herself with having seen him and then looked back to O’Leary for some more to eat.

 

He went lumbering downstairs, scratching his chest and armpits and scalp. It felt like so many ants crawling over his body. If he had had the sense he was born with, he might have realised it was the result of having a strong dose of laudanum slipped into his supper the previous evening, as it was he assumed no one could ever be as devious as himself. He ladled out some porridge and ate it standing up, while he thought over all that had happened, and planned what to do next.

 

When Mrs. O’Leary came down the stairs he turned to her and demanded to know where the children were

 

“You know perfectly well where they are; they’re at Ann Canady’s place.”

 

“Why wasn’t I told? They should be here, with their father and mother.”

 

“Their mother isn’t well enough to have the worry of children in the house, or had you not noticed.”

 

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m their father, they should be here. Why did you let them take them away?”

 

“I didn’t let them take them anywhere…they can’t come here for a while yet.”

 

He grabbed at his coat and slammed his hat upon his head. “We’ll see about that—” he shouted and slammed his way out of the house.

 

…………….

 

Mary Ann had closed school the previous day so there had been no need to worry about school hours to be kept. Instead she enjoyed a leisurely morning bundling up her possessions for Hoss to collect. She was happy. Her heart was bursting with so many happy emotions that there were times when she simply wanted to sit down and cry. Such happiness couldn’t be contained in just one small body.

 

She sang as she packed away her books, precious treasures, some that she had been given as gifts when a child. She flicked through them all finding within their pages not just the wonderful words from such gifted authors such as Dickens, Austen, Dumas, Shakespeare, but also the little reminders that she had slipped between their pages…pressed flowers, a little sketch of something special to her that particular moment of the day, a hand written note from one of her family members mentioning something like “I love you” or even “Don’t forget to put the cat out tonight.”

 

Memories, such wonderful memories. She had to fight her inclination to spend too much time with her books, but these were eventually bundled up into a box. Clothes, well, there were few of those but they were bundled into her trunk, and she remembered that Joe had given her some money to go and buy the things she would need as a young bride. She had asked Hester about what to get...so naïve and innocent she was…and her future sister had provided her with a whole list of things. Goodness, it would take the whole afternoon to buy it all.

 

She put away the  last item, an old umbrella that had belonged to her father and had served her quite well over the years. She remembered how Frank had exclaimed in despair “Not that old thing, sis” all that time ago when she had lovingly placed it among the things to bring out West.

 

Well, that was that done, all finished. Once Hoss had been and collected it all she would meet Hester and they would shop before returning to the Ponderosa. She looked around the room. It had served her well, but she would be glad to close the door and would not regret leaving it.

 

Tomorrow…yes, tomorrow…would be her wedding day. And all the happiest of words written in oh so many books and diaries and novels about wedding days would all come true tomorrow.

 

……………

 

Adam had stood on the porch and waved his brother and sister-in-law farewell. He was smiling as they trundled out of the yard, Hoss in the wagon expecting a whole pile of things to be loaded into the back of it, and Hester in the buggy with an excited look on her face peculiar to women who knew they were going to enjoy a long session shopping with someone else’s money. Just about the nearest to heaven a woman could get, except that she wasn’t buying things for herself; well, perhaps she would get a few things, who knew?

 

“Well, Pa, happy?” he smiled as he heard his father’s heavy tread on the boards and glanced at the older man with an affection, for of all men living Ben Cartwright had been Adam’s hero since the day of his  first memory.

 

“Very,” Ben replied and placed his hand upon his son’s shoulder, this son whose restlessness had brought him pain and pride, sorrow and joy. “Two sons married.”

 

“Almost married, Pa. Don’t count your daughters before they’re totally committed.” He grinned, eyes twinkling.

 

“Well, took ’em long enough.” Ben gruffly mumbled, “Hester’s a daughter any man would be proud of, I can’t believe how well and how happy she and Hoss are together, and Joe with Mary Ann…” he looked slyly over at Adam who was biting down on his bottom lip and he smiled, yes, he thought, you’re anticipating my next comment, well, darn it, I won’t bother. And he chuckled to himself.

 

From within came the sound of Hannah crying and both men looked at one another with raised eyebrows,

 

“Well, Pa, as you’re the man with the experience of child rearing, I’ll leave you to your charge.” Adam laughed and slapped his father good-naturedly on the arm

 

“And what do you intend to do with yourself today, son?”

 

“Oh, I’m going to go for a ride, make the most of it while I can.”

 

Ben said nothing although his mouth twisted a little with words that he would have liked to have uttered. Time was slipping away again, this leave Adam had been given had been taken up with chasing after Joe and now,  soon, his son would be leaving home again. He sighed and followed Adam into the house where the younger man grabbed at his coat and hat, buckled on his gun belt and then after a brief smile at grandfather and grandchild quickly stepped outside and closed the door on Hannah’s howls.

 

It didn’t take long to saddle Sport and within a short time he was riding out of the yard and into the pasture. Galloping at full stretch into open land, carefully avoiding the junction leading to the Pearsons’, he just enjoyed the freedom around him and the control he had of the horse, the power and strength which was always a delight on days such as this.

 

…………..

 

Lilith was showing Peter and Rosie how to play pat-a-cake; they were upstairs in the big room that Ann had turned into a bedroom for all three children. Peter, with his lack of hearing, was staring hard at his sister’s face nodding to the words that he knew she was forming from the way her lips parted and moved. Rosie, still too young to be really interested in learning, clapped her hands all the time and giggled.

 

Ann was baking; there was a lot to do for the wedding preparations were now underway and she had been given instructions by Hop Sing on what refreshments she was expected to provide. When the banging on the door came she was carefully measuring out sugar and flour into a large bowl.

 

She knew by instinct that the person on the other side of the door was Andrew Pearson, why, she would never be able to explain but that was what she had felt and as she walked to the door she was determined to show him that she wasn’t afraid of him. She pulled the door wide open as he was about to bring down his fist upon it once again.

 

“Well? What do you want?”

 

“I want my children.”

 

“You can’t have them back home, Andrew, until the Doctor says Barbara is well enough.”

 

“She is well enough. Let me pass, woman.” And he pushed her to one side and walked into the room. “Lilith, Lilith…it’s me, Dad. Get Peter and get yourself down here, right now.”

 

Upstairs Lilith froze, Peter watching her, froze as well. They sat there, cross-legged opposite one another, barely breathing while Rosie continued to clap hands and giggle. Then even she stopped to sit there  and stare at her two companions.

 

“LILITH!”

 

“Andrew, please go.” Ann wasn’t afraid; she stood there in her white apron covering her dark dress, with smudges of flour on her face and her hands on her hips, and when he didn’t turn to leave but strode towards the stairs she grabbed his arm and pulled. “HOW DARE YOU!”

 

He spun round on her, grabbed her arm and spun her away from himself with such force that she staggered back against the table, sending several eggs to roll and smash onto the floor.

 

“Don’t you dare to touch me, you—you hoyden. Who do you think you are, Miss High and Mighty? Think you’re better than us, do you? Think you know everything about us, do you? Well, let me tell you, you know nothing, do you understand, NOTHING!”

 

“I know enough about you to be sickened at the sight of you, you—you—you bully.” she rubbed her wrist, “Now, I’m telling you, Andrew, just leave this house right now and I’ll forget this incident. Trust me, the children are safe, and happy; they’ll come home when Barbara can handle having them. Believe me, Andrew, if you don’t leave now, you’ll be  sorry.”

 

Neither of them saw Lilith creep down the stairs and stand close to the door as they shouted at one another, faces barely inches apart. Ann could smell the stale sickly stench of milk and porridge oats on his breath, and he could smell the woman’s smell of her, the sweet smell of her perfume mingling with the sweetness of raisins and sultanas and sugar. He grabbed at her hair, his fingers twisted into her curls; Lilith screamed, and Ann brought her hand hard across his face.

 

Her defiance caught him by surprise for he had assumed her to be like many women, frail and fragile, likely to be crushed by the force of a well built man such as himself. He reached out to grab her with one hand while the other hand rubbed at his face, stinging from the force of her blow.  She was too fast for him and as his hand grabbed at her sleeve, ripping it from her, she threw the contents of her mixing bowl into his face.

 

Lilith had the door open and was running, screaming, running, sobbing away from the house.

 

Andrew shook away the flour and sugar, although enough clung to him still to make him look like some ghastly figure from a nightmare and Ann didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the sight. She dashed across the room, grabbed the rifle from the stand and raised it to her shoulder.

 

Andrew stopped in mid-stride; he shook his head and laughed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

 

“I would.”

 

“Give the gun to me…”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just turn around and leave the house, Andrew. I mean it, leave the house or I’ll shoot you.”

 

“Are you mad?”

 

“Are you?” She moved the rifle a little more into her shoulder, looking through the sights. “I’m not Barbara, Andrew. I’m not prepared to let you bully and beat me to a pulp. Just turn around now and leave this house.”

 

“I don’t bully Barbara. I wouldn’t hurt her…”

 

“Really? I don’t believe you—one more time, Andrew, one more step and I shoot. Turn around and leave us alone.”

 

He stood there for a moment and then turned, picked up his hat and strode over to the door, then he paused and looked over at her.

 

“You’ll regret this.”

 

“I’m counting…one."

 

“You’ll be sorry.”

 

“Two—”

 

The door closed and she stood there long enough for him to have mounted the horse; she listened, heard it gallop away and then put the rifle back. After a moment of just standing  still because for some reason her legs wouldn’t move, Ann fell into the nearest chair, and began to cry.

 

……………..

 

A flash of green and white dashed across his line of vision and Adam drew the horse to a halt. No animal living was that colour, that he knew for sure.

 

He walked the horse in the direction of the sight, his eyes carefully scanning the ground, the rocks and the shrubs as he passed them. There it was again and now it had a shape, one he recognised. A little girl with a green dress and white pinny huddled against a rock with her hands clasped and her eyes firmly shut.

 

He dismounted slowly and walked as softly as he could towards her. She was shivering but he knew somehow it wasn’t just from the cold. He leaned down, whispered her name  gently, and she looked up at him her eyes widened in tear-filled terror.

 

“It’s alright, Lilith. You remember me, don’t you?” He took off his coat. “Here, wrap this around you.”

 

She didn’t move, like a small fawn too terrified to move she still huddled against the rock so that he had to stoop, put the coat around her and lift her into his arms. She looked at him then, looked deep into his brown eyes; perhaps she saw herself reflected back, a little weeping face full of misery, or perhaps she saw the tender compassion, the sadness, in his eyes but whatever it was, she gave a little moan and settled her head into his shoulder.

 

“It’s alright, my dear, you’re safe now. You’re safe with me…” he whispered as he carried her towards his horse but she clung to him so tightly that it wasn’t possible to separate himself from her to get her onto the saddle, so he looked about him, saw a huddle of rocks and walked towards them. Very carefully and with her still in his arms, he sat down on the ground and just held her,  close.

 

She couldn’t move. She was too afraid to move now. She clutched at his shirt with her fingers heedless of the cold that the poor man was enduring as he sat on the cold ground with the freezing rocks at his back. She wanted to keep this feeling of safety until the fear ebbed away, like that black shadow in her dreams, except that now she knew what that black shadow was, knew exactly WHO it was…and she shivered again, and huddled in even closer so that Adam’s heart beat echoed into her ear and seemed to pulsate throughout her body.

 

“Tell me about it, sweet heart,” he whispered, “Tell me all about it.”

 

And for a moment she thought that perhaps she shouldn’t, and then she knew that she just had to, she just had to talk about it.

 

Chapter 138

 

It was slowly growing colder although the sun was now moving towards noon. Adam sat  still as the child clung so tightly to him and sobbed against his shirt, the yellow coat keeping her covered from the chill air while her body helped warm him.

 

“The man—” she paused and held her breath as though waiting, listening, and she turned her face into his chest and lowered her voice almost to a whisper so that Adam had to lean over her to catch the words “The man was hurting Ann.”

 

“Ann?” the name blurted out spontaneously, and she gave a sob as though his action had frightened her, or perhaps the anger in his voice at the thought of someone hurting her had been the cause of her reaction, so he forced himself to stay still, gulped back question after question that he desperately wished he had the answers to, and waited.

 

“He was shouting at her and she was shouting at him. I ran away.”

 

Adam nodded, and frowned wondering if that was all that the child was going to tell him, when he had felt, in fact, been certain, that there was more than a recent event worrying her. He sighed, straightening one leg which was now numb and anticipating pins and needles later.

 

“I was  little—even littler than I am now—” she whispered, “and Mommy was sewing. The man came in. He shouted like he shouted at Ann just now. He shouted and she cried. My mommy cried.”

 

“Barbara—do you mean Barbara?”

 

“No, no, my own Mommy,” she said and looked up to see his face gazing down at her, the brown eyes concerned, anxious. “My Mommy before Mommy Barbara.”

 

“Did he hit her again?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Were you  frightened?” Stupid question Adam Cartwright, he admonished himself, the poor child was still frightened now, listen and learn, man, listen and learn.

 

“He hit her and made blood come out. I was too small and I cried. Then he would pick me up and hold me tight and say Mommy had been bad, she had not been a good girl like me. But I didn’t know how Mommy had been bad. My Mommy was—” she heaved in a big breath as though the word she wanted was so important it had to be the biggest, best word in all the world to describe her. “She was beautiful. Daddy loved my Mommy and they would sing together and be funny, and sometimes they would make me laugh.”

 

A bird started singing, breaking into the silence of that moment when she had paused, as though it wanted to share the occasion and have its say, and for some reason they both stopped to listen it was such a pure sweet melody on that cold bleak day.

 

He stretched out his other leg now and bent the knee of the first, as anticipated, pins and needles niggled up and down his leg. He wondered if she had run out of words now, the shivering had stopped but when he leaned forward as though about to rise up, she cringed tightly against him. She had started and the memories were running through her mind so fast she had to tell him it all before they slipped away

 

“When I went to bed I would hear The Man hitting her and she would be crying, she would say ‘No, No, please, please stop…’” she mimicked the sound of a woman, high pitched, the sob in her voice, Adam was the one who shivered now. “It made me cry. My Mommy sometimes had bruises on her face and arms. Sometimes she couldn’t get out of bed to make our meals and my Daddy said she was naughty. ‘Naughty Mommy.’”

 

She started crying again, a low keening sound that he had only heard when a child reached the point of total distress. He had heard it in the Indian villages where a child sat huddled over the body of its dead mother; he remembered the child at Kuril in the devastated village there keening for its loved ones, and others, so many others, but not this bonny child, not here, not now…and he stroked her back and whispered, ‘It’s alright, sweet heart, cry it out, there now, cry it out.”

 

“One day The Man came in and he was  angry. My Mommy was sewing and he was going to hit her. She picked up the scissors and said ‘If you touch me I’ll kill you.’” Her face went blank and Adam could see from her eyes that she was reliving that moment in her mind, the eyes darted back and forth and the breathing became fast, shallow, “My Mommy screamed and screamed and I ran and hid away. I hid behind the table. She screamed and screamed. Then there was a thud and the table moved and my Mommy was on the floor. The Man was angry; the scissors were in his arm, and there was blood on him. There was blood all over my Mommy.” She drew in a deep shudder of a breath and began that wail of a cry again.

 

“What happened next? Can you remember?”

 

“My Daddy came and took me upstairs and said Mommy was asleep. Naughty Mommy.”

 

Silence and not even a bird sang now. Clouds were gathering and Adam wondered if it would rain, when should he move, was this the end of the story or did Lilith have more to say. He opened his mouth to say something when she began to speak,

 

“Daddy met Barbara and everything was happy again. Then Peter came and that was a happy time. I was glad Daddy had found Barbara. She was like my own mommy again. But then The Man came back. I kept the scissors like Mommy had and I put them under the pillow for Mommy Barbara because if the Man comes again she can stop him.” She looked into Adam’s face. “She can, can’t she? She can use the scissors and stop The Man.”

 

“I guess she could…” After a moment he cleared his throat. “Lilith, did you see what happened to your mother; I mean, did she wake up?”

 

“No, she went in a hole in the ground. Daddy was crying and put the dirt over her and we put flowers there. Daddy said it was a grave and Mommy would go into the sky and look after us.”

 

Adam raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, bit down on his lips, and closed his eyes. She moved and put her arms around his neck, held him tight but she was breathing normally now, there was some colour in her cheeks and the tears had stopped flowing. He cleared his throat, one more question and then they would go and see if Ann was alright. He licked his lips,

 

“Lilith, this Man you speak about…does he have a name?”

 

“Yes,” she said with a nod of her head. “His name is Andrew.”

 

………………….

 

Ann came to the door with a cry of delight at seeing Lilith safe and sound, while Adam and the child were more than happy to see her, even with red rimmed eyes and a rather blotchy face. Adam passed Lilith into her arms, and then looked at her intently,

 

“Ann, are you alright?”

 

“Yes, Adam, I was a bit shocked afterwards but then Candy came home and I told him about what had happened. He’s gone to find Andrew now.”

 

“Really?” Adam looked at her and then glanced at the door, “When did he leave?”

 

“About ten minutes ago.”

 

Adam nodded, the calm manner in which Ann had spoken belied her actual feelings which were still in turmoil. She hugged Lilith to her and thanked Adam for bringing her home safely at which Lilith turned to him and put her hand out to touch Adam’s face,

 

“Are you going to get The Man?”

 

“Yes, Lilith, I am.”

 

“And will you—will you stop him ?”

 

“Yes, I’ll stop him.”

 

She nodded, and as he walked to the door she ran after him and pulled on his hand.

 

“You will stop him, promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

She looked at him intently and nodded again before allowing him to continue out of the house. She was standing at the door watching as he mounted Sport and rode away.

 

……………….

 

It seemed to Andrew Pearson that no matter where he went that day things persisted in going wrong. He galloped towards home but then saw the top of the doctor’s buggy appearing on the rim of the hill so turned the horse round. Whether it was Paul or John he was in no mood to face them with their accusing eyes and self-righteous way of speaking.

 

He backtracked a little and cut across onto Ponderosa land in order to reach an area about which he knew where he could camp out for the day and keep out of everyone’s way. Even the old nurse they had employed was nothing short of an old witch bent on causing him trouble.

 

Candy was following Pearson’s tracks carefully but was spared some of the work when he saw a glimpse of the rider cutting across towards Miller’s Creek. He turned his horse and urged it on to a faster gallop with the intention of catching Pearson before the man could lose himself in the boulders and rocks.

 

Instinct warned Andrew that he was being followed, and he turned in the saddle to see who was coming after him, but the rider was barely visible. The fact that he was in sight of him made Andrew panic slightly at the realisation that the rider was actually that close. He knew he had to put speed on to outdistance him and get to the rocks where he could hide himself, perhaps even take a pot shot at him.

 

Candy was gaining on him; there was no doubting that the better quality horse had the most stamina. Andrew’s horse, flagging visibly, did its utmost to obey the commands of its rider but its breathing was becoming increasingly laboured, sweat was foaming around its withers and chest and spittle was drooling from its mouth.

 

“Dang your hide, faster,” Andrew yelled but the horse was faltering, beginning to stagger and its rider had no choice but to draw it to halt and dismount.

 

The rocks ahead would shelter him, and pulling the rifle free he ran towards them. Just another inch or so and he could hide among them. But he didn’t have the chance as Candy, urging his horse to stretch out just that much more, was upon him and with one leap from the saddle caught Pearson, pulling them both down onto the ground with the force of his weight. Both were winded but got to their feet; Candy grabbed Pearson’s shirt and shook him.

 

“You dared to hurt my wife…” he hissed.

 

“For heaven’s sake, man, she took a rifle to me; all I wanted was my children.”

 

“You entered my house and you hurt my wife,” Candy yelled and shook him again.

 

“I told you, Candy,” Andrew pulled himself free, threw his hands wide in appeal. “I asked her to let me have my kids, and she refused. She barred my way and I pushed her aside, that’s all I did, I swear.”

 

“Her clothes were torn, there was a mess everywhere …” he scowled and his face registered his disgust so clearly that Andrew wondered if there was actually going to be any way to escape a fight; he glanced from one side of Candy to the other to see where he could run free.

 

“I’m sorry, what more can I say? I’m sorry, Candy.”

 

“If you’re that sorry, why did you run?”

 

Andrew’s mouth worked but he couldn’t find the right words; he was still trying to find them when Candy hit him, square in the mouth. The taste of blood amazed Andrew, he put a hand to his lip and stared at the blood on his fingers, then looked at Candy in bewilderment. “Why’d you do that?”

 

“Because you’re a coward, Pearson. You’ve ruined Barbara’s life the way you treat her, and you come into MY house, and start frightening MY wife. Well, it’s time for you to get a taste of your own medicine.”

 

His fist struck Andrew again, but this time his opponent retaliated and hit back, so that within minutes both men were rolling on the ground striking at whatever part of the body they could find.

 

Adam rode upon them when the fight was well under way, and after yelling to them to stop, he dismounted and ran towards them. Grabbing Candy by the shoulders, he hauled him away from Andrew and pushed him towards his horse. When Candy moved forward as though to launch himself into another chance of a fight, Adam stepped between them, one hand raised to stop him coming any further.

 

Andrew wasn’t slow to take advantage of the situation; he drew his pistol, took aim and fired. As Candy fell to the ground and Adam ran towards him, Pearson made a dash for a horse and leapt upon Candy’s animal, yanked at the reins and sent the horse racing away with him leaning low in an effort to put as much distance between them as possible.

 

“I’m alright, don’t let him get away…” Candy gasped, bent double and his right hand grasping his other arm where blood leaked between his fingers.

 

“I’ll come back for you…” Adam yelled as he sprinted to his horse and remounted Sport so fast that he didn’t even have his feet in the stirrups when they went into a run after the retreating horseman.

 

Andrew fired his gun several times at the pursuing rider, and was rounding a sharp curve too fast when the horse’s feet slipped. It struggled and fell; Andrew had time only to free his legs from the stirrups before he also came down and lay breathless and winded while the horse struggled to right itself.

 

Andrew saw the horseman coming ever closer; he pulled the rifle from its sheath and stepped back. He was breathing heavily, his head was feeling as though it would float away any second and his legs felt weak at the knees. He recognised Adam Cartwright and a sense of satisfaction gave him the power to stand upright and raise the rifle to his shoulder.

 

“That’s it now, just you and me, Adam Cartwright.” He smiled as he pulled the trigger and the recoil of the shot hit against his shoulder. “Just you and me,” he said with exultation in his voice.

 

Adam felt the burning pain of the bullet sear across his upper leg, but he had his own gun raised now and aimed, fired, and then he fired again, and again. It wasn’t the pain of his injury that created the desire to obliterate his opponent but the memory of the child crying in his arms earlier, the sobs, the promise and even as he fell from his horse to crash onto the ground, he saw Andrew clutching at his chest, splashes of red splattering against his clothes, a look of shock upon his face and his mouth open as though he were saying ”OH!” in surprise at the turn of events.

 

For a moment Andrew teetered on the edge of the trail; he saw Adam rise to his feet and haul himself up by holding onto the stirrup of his saddle, then the saddle itself. His glazing eyes watched as Adam managed to scramble back onto his horse, lean forward for the reins and just as he was wondering what Adam Cartwright was going to do next, everything went black. Very black.

 

The curve in the road was dangerous for two reasons. The first was that it was a sharp bend, and many a good horseman taking it too fast was unseated. The second reason was that the road fell away to a sheer drop. It was because of those reasons that the road was  seldom used. Andrew was already dead when his body fell several hundred feet downwards into the river below.

 

Chapter 139

 

Ben Cartwright carefully brushed his hair with the silver-backed brushes that he had brought all the way from New Orleans when he married Marie. He liked the feel of them in his hands, and he was proud of the fact that he still had a thick head of hair upon which to use them.

 

Now he leaned towards the mirror to look at the reflection, nodded to himself and frowned. Well, old man, he said to himself, what does it feel like having another son married off? He smiled, and began to knot his tie, pulled in his stomach a little in order to button up the silver brocade vest with the fancy silver-worked buttons. He slowly released his breath and the vest moved out to accommodate his girth.

 

Proud of yourself, huh? He cleared his throat and nodded, yes, proud of his sons, all three of them. He frowned now and shook his head; seemed no matter how old they got, they still found trouble. What a ridiculous state of affairs it was yesterday, everyone running around like headless chickens when Adam came home wounded and telling them that Andrew was dead and Candy had been shot as well.

 

Pshaw, the day before a Cartwright wedding and all hell broke loose! Still, what could one say except that the world was a better place without a man like Andrew Pearson polluting it. Who would have thought a man like Andrew would turn out like he had?

 

He pulled down his jacket and dusted off the shoulders. Roy had been consulted of course, and had said that as soon as the body washed up they would be notified. Ben shook his head, it would be typical of Dusty to come in during the wedding vows to tell them all that the body had been located. Typical! Still, there would be no charges against Adam or Candy. Hopefully it might be kept out of the news tabloids for now. It wouldn’t be good for Barbara to find out yet.

 

He shrugged himself into his jacket and shook his head as he pondered over the ability of clothes to shrink during the time between uses. He’d last worn this jacket at Hoss’ marriage to Hester. He smoothed the lapels with one hand and left the jacket unbuttoned.

 

How odd to think that Barbara could have been a Mrs. Cartwright as well, his first daughter-in-law. Now she was the Widow Pearson. Such a shame how it all turned out.

 

He sighed and walked to the window to look down at the guests arriving; Dan Dequille, Editor of the Territorial Enterprise was arriving with the Belknaps, Virginia and Charles. Ben shook his head; DeQuille would be sure to start asking questions; he probably could smell the cordite and blood and would have the story in the paper by the evening.

 

He put his hand on the door handle and stopped a moment as he thought of his boy, his youngest son, who was getting married this day. He felt his heart turn over and beat so fast that he was practically breathless as memories and longings exploded in his head...if only Marie.... No, no point in dwelling on that, long gone now, and he squared his shoulders and prepared to go down and greet his son’s guests.

 

……….

 

“Stand still, Hoss, just a moment.”

 

“Dang it, Hester, why’d we have to wear these here things anyway?”

 

“Because it’s considered smart.”

 

“Why’d we have to be smart?”

 

“Because today is your little brother’s wedding day…stand still, or I’ll slap you.”

 

“You will, huh? Say, Hester, anyone tell you that you’re a real fiesty little gal when you git angry.” he chuckled and made a grab for her, pulling her closer to him, and she laughed and wriggled free.

 

“Leave me alone or you’ll muss my dress.”

 

“You look lovely. Promise me you’ll let me muss up your dress later, huh?”

 

“Hoss Cartwright! And you a married man as well…why, sir, I’m disgusted.”

 

“So you should be…” they kissed, arms wrapped around one another and then parted and smiled fondly, sighed, and then returned to the business of fixing Hoss’ tie.

 

“Guests are arriving already.” Hester said anxiously, checking that her husband’s tie was just perfect. “Promise you won’t tug at it until after the wedding?”

 

“It feels a mite snug.” Hoss tried to run a finger around his collar and grimaced. “It feels like I’m gonna choke.”

 

“Nonsense.” She hurried to the mirror to check her dress, twitched the sleeves and wondered if perhaps her corsage was really showing at its best upon her shoulder. She stepped back and frowned, “I so hope today goes alright now, and nothing happens after all that drama yesterday.”

 

“Nothing can go wrong,” Hoss said firmly. “We Cartwrights take a long time getting round to getting hitched, but once the date is fixed, nothing goes wrong.” He grinned and was about to plant his hands upon her shoulders when she stepped back and told him not to come a step nearer because she was beginning to feel nervous.

 

“There ain’t no reason for you to get nervous, sweetheart.” He smiled at her and looked her up and down with admiration. “You look so lovely.”

 

“Do I, Hoss? I feel a bit of an old lady, to be honest.”

 

“Wal, you ain’t that by any means.” He laughed and “I still can’t believe I’m married to such a lovely woman.”

 

“Do you think Joe’s alright? Aren’t you going to go in and check on him?”

 

“Sure, I’ll do that right now. Do I look alright?”

 

“Put your jacket on.”

 

“Aw shucks, I forgot…”

 

She watched him leave the room with a smile and once again looked at herself in the mirror. She wore her copper hair piled in curls above her head with several loose ringlets trailing over one shoulder. Ann had spent so long working to get it just right; beneath her cream coloured sprigged print dress she wore her corset, pulled as tight as she could bear it, then the flannel petticoat, a plain petticoat, and then the  fancy lace-trimmed slip that she had bought only the previous day with Mary Ann. She smiled at the thought of the lovely undergarments Mary Ann had purchased, and sighed before bringing her thoughts back to the present.

 

A light tap on the door and Ann peeped into the room. Seeing Hester alone, she quickly entered. She looked so pretty in her soft pink dress with its wide skirt, her black hair elegantly curled and crimped, leaving her pale stem of a neck gracefully bare. No one would have thought she had endured so many traumas the previous day. She slipped her hand into her cousin’s,

 

“It’s going to be a lovely wedding,” she said softly

 

“Oh I hope so.”

 

“How is Candy?”

 

“He’s alright. Dr. Martin has rebound his arm and said the wound was clean; he’ll be alright, Hester, don’t worry.”

 

“What a thing to happen though.” Hester groaned and leaned forward to pinch her cheeks to make them look like a natural blush

 

“Better that than worry all day as to whether or not he’d burst in and create a scene. It’s Barbara I feel for now.”

 

“But she doesn’t know, does she?”

 

“No,” Ann shook her head, “No, John and Paul both think in her state she should be left in ignorance for as long as possible. The children—” her brow furrowed slightly, “Lilith seems so calm, and—and somehow different. It’s as though a burden has been lifted off her shoulders and she’s given herself permission to be a child again. She didn’t look at all fazed when Adam and Candy arrived back yesterday so bloodied and such. She just went up to Adam and said something, I’m not sure what, something about a man...Adam just said how it was all over now, and she kissed him, and then went to play with Peter and Rosie.”

 

“Ann, I dread to think about what that child has witnessed in her life. I was even thinking—” she stopped herself and shook her head. “No, let’s not talk about it anymore. This is a wedding day. Let’s just think happy thoughts for a lovely couple.”

 

……………….

 

Joe turned as Hoss came into the room; he smiled sheepishly and shrugged just as he would have done when he was a child caught doing something wrong.

 

“Come to make sure I haven’t run away?”

 

“Something like that.” Hoss grinned, the blue eyes twinkled, perhaps more than usual, perhaps because there was some moisture welling up within them. He pulled himself up straight. “How’d you feel?”

 

“Same as you felt when you were getting married.” Joe turned to the mirror and looked at his reflection; his smile slipped a little. Life was going to change...this would be the last time he would look into the mirror as a single man. He took a deep breath. “We could have been arranging a funeral today.”

 

“For Pete’s sake, why say that?”

 

“Because it’s true.” He bit his lip and shook his head; a dark curl crossed his brow and he brushed it aside impatiently with one hand while he tugged at his tie with the other. “Does this suit look alright on me?”

 

“Joe, you look just about as handsome as a man could be. I’d marry you myself if I weren’t your brother.”

 

They laughed together, and then became serious as they stood side by side.

 

“We’ve shared a lot together, haven’t we?” Joe murmured, “I am grateful, Hoss, for all the things you did for me when I was a kid.”

 

“Dang, Joe, you’ll always be a kid to me.”

 

They hugged each other and then parted to turn to face the door as Adam stepped into the room. He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt with a frilled flounced front, a pearl tie pin in the centre of his grey silk cravat with a silk embroidered vest. He was leaning upon a walking stick, the only evidence of his injury from the previous day. He nodded, smiled.

 

“Well, Joe?”

 

“A bit nervous.”

 

“Afraid the bride won’t arrive, huh?”

 

They laughed softly together, Joe hugged Adam, whispered his thanks to him for being the best ever older brother before Adam pushed him away and told him they were running out of time. The sound of voices from below stairs was getting louder, the clock struck the hour and Joe nodded and glanced at them both with a smile.

 

“Like a lamb to the slaughter” Hoss quipped.

 

Adam said nothing, he felt an enormous pride in his brothers, both of them, but sharing this day with them made everything seem so right, he cleared his throat.

 

“Well, we had better go down,” he said.

 

The three of them left the room and walked together to the stairs, then Joe took the lead and smiled at the applause from the assembled throng of friends and neighbours. It was a small gathering, not because of a lack of friends but because of the suddenness of the occasion, and Joe smiled, knowing that had Mary Ann had her way it would have been even smaller than it was now.

 

Ben caught Adam’s eye and smiled, nodded and returned to his conversation with the mayor. Sheriff Coffee sidled over to Adam, who was limping heavily even though leaning upon the cane,

 

“No news about—you know,” he whispered

 

“Good; long may it last,” Adam whispered back and continued on to take his side by his brothers.

 

John Martin hurried to Adam’s side and leaned towards him. “Remember, no dancing.”

 

“As if I could—”

 

“And if you need anything, I’ve something in my bag.”

 

Adam rolled his eyes heavenwards and shook his head. “Haven’t you got a baby to deliver?” he hissed.

 

John merely laughed and took his place among the audience. Time ticked on and everyone took their places in the chairs set out for them. Widow Hawkins had been escorted to the occasion by Dr. John Martin and dimpled a smile at him as she took her seat. It was now his turn to roll his eyes heavenwards!

 

The main door opened and the bride stepped into the house, paused a moment to look around the room at everyone assembled there and then smiled at Paul Martin, who had brought her from Ann’s home in the mayor’s brougham. She placed her arm through his and began to walk towards her future husband.

 

The three Cartwright brothers turned, each one, to observe her as she approached. In the background music played softly: piano, flute and violin. Joe watched as she drew nearer and felt his mouth go dry, his tongue seemed too large for his mouth and he could barely breathe. This woman whom he loved so much, so  much, was soon to be his wife. From nowhere the words of the first man on earth when he saw his wife flashed into his mind: “Bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh.”

 

If Mary Ann had been nervous beforehand she was perfectly calm now. Seeing Joe there, so handsome, his face beaming with the joy of seeing her, nothing could have been more perfect.

 

She stood there by his side and he lifted the veil from her face and looked into those grey eyes; she smiled and Joe’s world was complete. He was still staring at her when the pastor began to speak. Adam nudged him and he turned in time to make the first of his wedding vows.

 

Clementine Hawkins sobbed all the way through, dabbing her eyes and losing one of her false eyelashes in the handkerchief that she passed over to John so that she spent the rest of the occasion looking rather lopsided, although she never realised that until she got home. John thought he’d collected something rather monstrous in his handkerchief and threw it away without ever finding out what it actually was…

 

…….

 

Adam felt a little hand creep into his a little later and looked down to see Lilith beaming up at him. Ann had bought a new dress for the child and proudly she showed it off to Adam, and then pointed her toes to show off her new shoes. He told her she looked beautiful and she hugged him before running off to play.

 

“Well, Pa, two out of three isn’t so bad, is it?”

 

Ben shook his head and continued to pour champagne into his son’s glass,

 

“I suppose I’ll have to make do at the moment.”

 

DeQuille suddenly appeared at their side

 

“I thought we’d see you in full uniform, Commodore, with your medals.”

 

“You thought wrong, Will,” Adam replied with a taut smile. “This is Joe and Mary Ann’s day, I don’t want you to be jotting down rubbish about me that would detract from them.”

 

“I wouldn’t call anything you did ‘rubbish’, Commodore.”

 

Adam pursed his lips and then smiled slowly,

 

“On the Ponderosa, Will, I’m known as Adam Cartwright, just that, Adam Cartwright.”

 

DeQuille nodded, took a glass of wine and smiling raised his glass before strolling off to mingle with the other guests.

 

“Are you happy?” Joe whispered in his bride’s ear.

 

“I’m so happy that it scares me…but I want the feeling to last forever.”

 

“Good, so do I.”

 

He leaned in closer, drew her nearer, told her how beautiful she looked, and dropped a kiss upon her neck. It didn’t matter if anyone saw him, not now, after all, he was a married man and she was Mrs. Joseph Cartwright.

 

Chapter 140

 

It began to snow the following morning. Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Cartwright had the honeymoon suite in the International Hotel in town and it was the silence, so different from when on the Ponderosa, that awoke Joe. For a moment he remained  still as he thought over the past few hours.

 

The room was in shadow, wrapped up in varying shades of grey, and the chill of a winter’s day was creeping from every corner. He anticipated a light knock on the door  soon and one of the hotel staff tip toeing in so that the fire could be made up to warm the room.

 

He turned his head and looked down at Mary Ann, still asleep, her elegant hair arrangement from the previous day totally ruined and in so many ways better. He remembered taking out the myriads of pins and watching as her hair tumbled in curls and ringlets upon her bare shoulders and how her eyes had shone like two stars in her little face. He sighed and drew closer to her, taking a strand of hair and curling it around his finger.

 

From the moment she had walked towards him on Paul’s arm he had existed in some kind of dream. How hard it was to accept that this was now reality. This woman, his wife, would be by his side until “death would them part.” He leaned forwards, closer, and then just a little closer, and he kissed her lips. He kissed her  gently.

 

She sighed, a long sigh of contentment, drowsy still, half awake. She slowly opened her eyes and looked at him, closed them again and smiled, stretched her arms and body like a little cat before bringing her arms back down around him. “Good morning, Joe.”

 

“Good morning, Mary.”

 

They gazed into each other’s eyes as though enjoying the fact that there was neither embarrassment nor shyness between them. Their wedding night had opened yet another door and been found…wonderful.

 

“It’s cold.” she whispered.

 

“Hush” he sighed and kissed her again.

 

Snow drifted against the windows and a miserly sun struggled to shine through the clouds. They didn’t notice….

 

………………………

 

Adam watched as snowflakes drifted past the window. He grimaced and shook his head. “How bad do you think this could get, Pa?”

 

“Oh, only a light shower, son.” Ben poured out more coffee, yawned and looked at Hoss. “Are you alright, Hoss?”

 

“Sure, Pa.” his son nodded and speared more ham onto his fork, “Hester’s sleeping in; Hannah was awake a lot last night.”

 

Ben nodded, then looked over at Adam who was staring out at the window,

 

“What’s on your mind, son?”

 

“I was thinking I should go and see Barbara.” Adam looked at the food on his plate and then cut into some ham, paused and looked at his father. “I should be the one to tell her, about what happened.”

 

“Don’t you think you should leave it to Paul—or John?”

 

“They weren’t there.”

 

Adam said the words matter-of-factly, but the implication was made and Ben had to accept he was right.

 

“I wish you didn’t feel you had to go. I think Barbara won’t appreciate it or welcome it.”

 

“It isn’t just Barbara I’m thinking about…” Adam replied curtly, and Hoss nodded.

 

“You thinking of that little gal and her brother?”

 

“S’right, and some kind of justice for Lilith’s real mother.”

 

“Lilith could have been mistaken. Children don’t always get their facts right, Adam. The whole thing could be confused in her mind, muddled from other situations…” Ben said cautiously.

 

“Look.” Adam put down his napkin. “I can remember now exactly what happened the day when Inger died. A long time has passed since then but I can remember it as clearly as when it happened. A year after it happened, ten years after it happened, and the facts stayed in my mind just as it was, and just as it is now. Lilith isn’t a child who creates fancies; she knows what she saw, and it’s haunted her ever since.”

 

Ben dredged in a long breath and glanced over at Hoss, raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “There won’t be any evidence to prove it. Even if there were, what justice can you give her now, poor woman, she’s been dead some years after all.”

 

“I know that too,” Adam said, and rose to his feet, pushing himself away from the table and taking the cane for support as his leg was paining him more than ever; its weakness annoyed him and made him tetchy. “The only justice she can be given is to be remembered, and for her death to be acknowledged. Barbara needs to know about it.”

 

“Wal, I’d be careful if I were you…” Hoss muttered, “Somehow I don’t think Barbara will thank you for the news that you jest killed her husband to spare her a few beatings.”

 

“Thank you, Hoss, for that invaluable advice,” Adam snapped and made his way to the door where he took down his gunbelt, and slowly buckled it on.

 

Ben and Hoss exchanged glances; neither spoke. Hoss shrugged and continued with his meal, and decided that a chat about the wedding would no doubt lighten the atmosphere. The door closing, the absence of the yellow coat and black hat indicated that Adam had gone, and Ben decided to say nothing it was left to Hoss to comment on the fact that old Granite Head was back, and as grumpy as ever.

 

“Kinda makes ya feel he never left, don’t it?” he grinned with a chuckle in his voice.

 

………………..

 

The snow was falling in brief showers, light and soft, melting within minutes of touching the still warmer earth. It settled against Adam’s coat and in his hat before just as quickly disappearing to leave damp patches where it had landed. By the time he reached the Pearsons’ homestead he was as wet as though having ridden through a shower of rain.

 

The doctor’s buggy was stationed outside and he sat in the saddle for a moment or two just looking and thinking about the things that had happened to both Barbara and him since they had parted several years ago. Eventually he dismounted, leaned against Sport for a moment while he retrieved the cane and then walked to the house.

 

Mrs. O’Leary opened the door to him, gave him a smile and nod of recognition before closing the door behind him and ushering him by the fire.

 

“Doctor’s with her now, she’s a lot better than she was, mind you.” she spoke in a gush of words, and Adam nodded as he removed his hat. “Take off your coat; best sit down, take the weight off your feet.” He did all those things and gratefully settled in front of the fire.

 

“How is she? I mean, is she well enough for visitors, to talk?”

 

“Oh my goodness, I should think so, been talking to her all night mostly.”

 

“Does she know about her husband?”

 

“Haven’t said a word except to tell her about mine, and about other women too stupid to realise that they ain’t a man’s doormat to have his feet wiped on them, or kicked into them either come to that…told her no man should strike a woman. That ain’t love.”

 

“Did she agree with you?” Adam found himself holding a cup of tea even without having realised she was pouring one for him; she sat down opposite him, pushing her sleeves up above her elbows as though to indicate she meant business,

 

“Not sure; she thinks he loves her, thinks she’s worthless, swallowed the whole load of lies he fed her over the years. I remember her as a good, clever, intelligent teacher and now she thinks she’s stupid, ignorant and not worthy of being loved. You could prove her wrong of course…engaged to her once, weren’t you?”

 

Her dark piercing eyes cut into his, and Adam nodded, smiled and decided to drink his tea rather than make an answer. He was grateful to hear footsteps on the stairs and to see Paul enter the room. He put the cup down and stood up, leaning on the stick to support him.

 

“How is she?”

 

“Far stronger than I thought she would be,” Paul replied, smiling. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Leary. I hear you have been giving Barbara a lecture on how husbands should behave towards their wives.”

 

“I told her what’s in the good book…Ephesians 5, Paul the Apostle tells husbands ‘so ought men to love their wives as their own bodies, He that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it.’” Her face shone with evangelical zeal, and for a brief moment there was a glimpse of the pretty young woman she once must have been, then the light faded and she nodded grimly. “She seemed to take that on board…if you follow my meaning.”

 

“Is it alright for me to see her? Can I tell her about what happened with Andrew?” Adam asked when it was obvious Mrs. O’Leary had no further declaration to utter.

 

“I’ve not said anything about Andrew to her, Adam. It seemed inappropriate for me to do so, but she will be able to take the news now. Better now than later and find out by accident or malice.”

 

Adam mounted the stairs slowly, aware that his leg was weaker on the narrow steep stairs than he had anticipated. He knocked and when she answered he stepped into the room,

 

“Hello, Adam, I’m afraid I don’t look a  pretty sight.” she sighed, and stretched out her hand towards him.

 

He said nothing, it hurt to see the bruises and cuts on her face, her arm in a sling, the dark bruise that could be glimpsed above the neckline of her bed jacket. He sat down in a chair by the bed and held her hand.

 

“What happened to your leg?”

 

“I—er—I—” he bit down on his bottom lip, and realised he couldn’t find the words he needed to tell her, or rather, he didn’t know how to start. He cleared his throat. “Barbara, how are you feeling in yourself?”

 

“Oh Adam, what a strange thing for you to ask…I mean, why don’t you just say what you came here to tell me.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’ve hurt your leg, you’re sitting there looking embarrassed and as awkward as a schoolboy who forgot to learn his lesson and is trying to find an excuse that will pull the wool over teacher’s eyes, and—” her lips trembled—“Andrew isn’t here.”

 

“Are you expecting him to come back?”

 

“No. I don‘t think he’s coming back.”

 

They looked at one another, his eyes searched her face, saw the tears in her eyes, felt the pressure of her hand upon his, and he nodded slowly in affirmation. She licked her lips, swollen, bruised though they were.

 

“Tell me what happened? Don’t leave out any details, Adam, tell me everything.”

 

So he told her everything, holding her hand and pausing now and again for her to have a weep, or sob, to protest and cry in defence of him, but eventually she sat with bowed head and listened, and said nothing, the tears dried up and her breathing became relatively normal.

 

“And Lilith knew that her mother had died—so horribly?”

 

“Yes, she knew but buried it under the hope that her father loved you enough for it never to happen again. Like all children she lived with the fear that if she told a ‘grown-up’ they would never believe her anyway. Would you have believed her, Barbara?”

 

“No,” she replied honestly. “Even though I have taught so many children, and some who have lived in such circumstances, I would not have accepted it from her. I would have thought she was lying, perhaps jealous for some reason.”

 

They were silent for a while, holding hands, not looking at one another, she spoke first.

 

“I wanted to hate you for doing what you have done, Adam. I wanted to hit you and hate you and—wish you were dead instead. But how can I wish that on you when all you did was to protect Lilith and us, and—and yourself.” she sighed and pulled her hand free from him, “I wanted to accuse you of anything, even about Ross Marquette—”

 

“This wasn’t like Ross’ death, Barbara,” he said, although he had felt the shock of her words. “You have to remember, Ross actually did kill his wife. Delphine died in my arms…”

 

“I remember what you told me then, Adam. I do understand.”

 

They were silent a while longer, he got up from the chair with the aid of the cane and looked down at her, he bade her goodbye and when she did not reply he said nothing, but as quietly as he could, he left the room.

 

She listened to him descend the stairs, her eyes closed and so weary of body and spirit that all she wanted to do was sleep. Tears slipped from her eyes, she cried for Andrew, for lost love, she cried from the heartbreak of knowing he would never return and tell her he loved her, all the fear of him was gone, only her love for him remained and so she wept until she fell into sleep.

 

 

Chapter 141

 

The sound of running footsteps towards the door stopped Joe from planting a kiss on his wife’s lips, and she smiled and hugged the package of groceries that was in her arms. Light snow fell and powdered their heads before the door opened and Lilith was standing there with a wide smile on her face.

 

“I saw it was you…” she exclaimed as she stepped back to let them enter the house. “Mommy’s not in bed anymore—look—” and she pointed to the side of the room where the fire burned and Barbara sat.

 

Such a contrast in appearances that wasn’t missed by either Joe or Mary Ann.  They carried the packages into the kitchen area and placed them on the table before approaching Barbara, with Lilith skipping about them like a spring lamb.  They pulled off mittens and unwrapped their scarves and smiled at the bright welcoming smile they received from Barbara, and laughed as Lilith gathered up the damp things and carried them over near the stove to warm up.

 

“We brought some groceries from town.” Mary Ann said shyly, “You don’t mind, do you?  Only we didn’t think you would be getting into town for a little while.”

 

“No, not for a while yet.” Barbara stretched out her hand and grabbed at theirs, smiled and then settled back into the cushions, “Mrs. O’Leary has been really  good and so helpful, and I’m so grateful for everyone’s help.”

 

‘Goodness, she’s going to cry,’ Joe thought and felt embarrassed, he looked at Lilith and smiled. “How’s things with you, Lilith?  Did you like the wedding?”

 

“Oh yes, it was lovely.  I told Mommy all about it, didn’t I?” she glanced over at Barbara with a wide smile, quite luminous eyes, and then gazed up at Joe. “I thought the bride looked SO beautiful.”

 

“I thought she did too; in fact, I think she still does,” Joe laughed.

 

Lilith nodded and looked shyly at Mary Ann, then skipped away happily to play with her little brother. Joe followed her with his eyes and then smiled over at Barbara. “She’s—well—she’s different.”

 

“Yes, she’s like the Lilith I first knew, it’s as though she has had a heavy burden lifted from her shoulders, and—oh dear me, I feel so ashamed that I never noticed that she was suffering so much.  I should have noticed—”  and tears did come to her eyes, which she swept quickly away with her fingers, “Joe, Mary Ann, thank you for coming today.  I’m so happy for you both, I really am.  May God bless you both, I so hope you have a happy marriage.”

 

“We intend to.” Joe replied smiling at Mary Ann, who dimpled back at him.

 

“Sheriff Coffee and a Sheriff Lowry from—” she paused and shook her head, rubbed at her temple, “I can’t remember where from, but it was where Andrew came from before he moved here…oh yes, a small place close to Placerville.  He and his wife, Jessica, had a homestead there.” She stopped and they noticed that her lips were trembling. Joe glanced away, expecting more tears, and he wasn’t wrong.

 

“Shall I make us a cup of tea or coffee?” Mary Ann asked politely and hurried away to get everything prepared.

 

Lilith hurried to her feet in order to help, bringing over the cups and placing them on the table, and smiling prettily at Mary Ann who praised her for her help.  “Now that she doesn’t have to watch over Barbara every hour of the day she's a different child,” Mary Ann thought to herself as she prepared the tea.

 

“What did Roy and Lester have to say, Barbara?  Was it about Andrew?”

 

Barbara heaved in a deep breath and nodded.  The bruises on her face were going greenish yellow now, and some of the cuts were deep; Joe knew from experience that she was going to have some scars for the rest of her life, and one of her eyelids would have a permanent droop, but apart from that she was still a  attractive woman.  She looked at Joe and shrugged carefully, it obviously still hurt her too much to move naturally yet.

 

“I suppose you must think it serves me right for what I did, Joe. I had the chance to be married to a Cartwright and ended up marrying Andrew and—well—looking like this.”

 

“Life is full of difference paths, Barbara.” Joe said, surprised at himself for even saying it. He frowned, “I mean, sometimes we have a mind to be walking down one path and face a crossroads, we don’t know what lies ahead on either one of them, do we?”

 

“No, and I like the analogy, but the fact is that I was a fool.” She frowned. “But I loved him, Joe—I still love him, the Andrew I married.”

 

Mary Ann returned with the tray laden with tea things which she set down close to Barbara and Lilith carried along a plate laden with cake and cookies, things that Mary Ann had purchased in town that morning. There was a glass of milk for Lilith and she thanked them prettily and carried it to the other end of the room, knowing that adults liked to talk about things that were, to her, no longer of interest.

 

“Sheriff Lowry decided to come in person rather than send a cable.  It was about Jessica and Andrew.  Roy cabled him some while ago and asked for information about them, so he started investigating.” She paused and concentrated on the word, and then shook her head, “A strange word, isn’t it?  Investigating.  Looking for facts and details that would put together a man’s life.  Well, he found out enough to worry him, and went to the old homestead, or rather, to where they had lived.  They located Jessica’s grave and it was found to be  shallow.”

 

“They…er… ?” Joe stammered and looked at Mary Ann who had to put the cake she was about to eat back on the plate.

 

“Yes, they did.  He said they buried her in a good coffin afterwards and I’m paying for a decent headstone so that there would be a proper place for Lilith to visit, should she ever wish to.”  Barbara’s hand started to shake and the tea slopped a little; she took a deep breath. “It was obvious that her skull had been fractured, old breaks on her limbs.  It all tied in with the gossip and was enough evidence to prove that Andrew had succeeded in killing off one wife, at least.”

 

“You mean, there were others?” Mary Ann exclaimed nearly choking on the bit of cake that she had finally managed to bite into.

 

“A girl he courted before marrying Jessica told Sheriff Lowry how he beat her and her father took a gun to him, warned him not to go near the place again.”

 

“I am sorry, Barbara,” Mary Ann put a gentle hand on the other woman’s arm but Barbara shook her head.

 

“Oh, I’m alright.  Now that I can see such a difference in Lilith, and I’m getting my strength back…”. she paused before going on.  “Andrew’s body hasn’t been found yet.  What Sheriff Lowry told me, well, it’s helped me a lot.  Andrew was a bully, nothing less than that, but he would have killed me eventually.”

 

“Do you have plans for the future?” Joe asked.

 

“Yes, I do.  I’m selling this place and buying somewhere in town.  When I’m well enough I’ll get work, if anyone will have me.”

 

“There will be a vacancy for schoolteacher soon,” Mary Ann said quickly, “I’m staying on there until our own house is built and when we move into that, well, I guess I’ll just be too busy to keep going into town all that way every day.”

 

Barbara smiled and admitted how it had been tiring when she had done it for a while, she looked then at Joe. “Andrew could have killed Adam, and Candy.”

 

“He had a good try at it.” Joe admitted.

 

“I’m so sorry—” she whispered and this time didn’t cry, just smiled rather sadly at them both.

 

…………………..

 

On the way to the Ponderosa Joe drove to the site where their future home would be built.  The foundation had already been laid, and several men were working despite the showery snows. One man walked over to greet them both, and he shook their hands. “Adam suggested we do as much as we could before the snows got too bad.  Hopefully we’ll have the roof on before the weather gets worse, and then it won’t be long before the inside is finished.”

 

Joe stepped down from the buggy and then helped his wife down. Together, hand in hand, they walked over to the site and Jethro led them over the base of the building, saying things like “This is where the kitchen is” and “We’ll put the stairs hereabouts.”

 

“Can we have a window here?” Mary Ann asked as she stood at one end of the big room with the view ahead of the lake and the trees sweeping away to the horizon, “It will be like the big room on the Ponderosa then.”

 

“This is still the Ponderosa,” Joe laughed, putting his arm around her waist and she tilted her head so that it rested upon his shoulder.

 

“I know; I want our home to be as like the one you were raised in as possible, Joe. I love it so much, and I know you do too.”

 

Joe said nothing, but he knew exactly what she meant and was happy looking down at the view, which was a much better one than the Ponderosa ranch house actually had, as they were nearer to the lake.  He sighed, looked down at her and kissed the top of her head.

 

The future looked bright.  It was there, waiting for them….

 

…………………

 

Laurence Willoughby reached out a hand across the table to take hold of Rachel’s; they smiled at one another.

 

“So you’ve decided then?  Perfectly sure?”

 

“Yes, Perfectly sure.” She smiled and squeezed his fingers.

 

“No turning back?”

 

“No turning back.”

 

“You may feel differently when you see him, you know?”

 

“I won’t feel differently, Laurie.  How could I feel differently? I love you.  I mean that, I really do love you.”

 

He smiled and nodded, kissed her finger tips and released her hand.  The waiter placed the dishes they had ordered on the table and returned later with more wine, a handsome couple he thought, and so in love.

 

It seemed to Laurence that he had loved Rachel for most of his life, and yet he still wondered, still doubted, her love for him which seemed so new, so recent.  She had told him the day after they had met again how she hadn’t realised she had loved him because her infatuation for the commodore had been such a romantic feeling, such an “oh so wonderful” rhapsody of feeling that the deeper emotion of love that came from being with someone so comfortable and lovely as himself, seemed to have passed her by.

 

“But,” he had said to her, “That means that you don’t love me.”

 

“But it means exactly the opposite, Laurie, I do love you.  I know I do.”

 

“How can you know you love me, when you were prepared to sail half way around the world for Adam.”

 

She had sighed then, impatiently, and shaken her head at his stubborn refusal to believe her love for him. “I can’t explain the rationale,” she had said. “Infatuation makes a person do strange things, but it only proved to me that it wasn’t love, and when you came to me that day at the hotel, it was like Lancelot riding through the mists to Guinevere.”

 

So now they sat together, their plans made, and their passage booked on the stagecoach for San Francisco.  Who knew, Laurence thought, what would be proven, then for though he loved her, were she still to discover that she loved Adam Cartwright, he would have to leave her and return to England without a wife.

 

 

………………….

 

Hester had made up Joe’s bedroom to accommodate his bride and prepared it so attractively that Mary Ann was  moved at seeing it with her things in a neat and orderly place, while Joe felt a little bit shy at introducing her to his bedroom in his father’s home.  He felt his neck around the collar going a trifle warm as the two of them stood on the threshold of the room, with all the feminine dainty things laid out there.

 

 

“Welcome home,” Adam said with a grin and a wink, and Hoss slapped Joe on the back so heartily that it had rocked him on his heels.

 

“So—” Mary Ann breathed, “So here we are.”

 

“Yeah, here we are indeed.”

 

He laughed, a whoop of a laugh then, and he caught her up in his arms and swirled her around and around until they both fell, dizzy, on the bed.  They bounced a little and laughed again.

 

There was a rap on the door. “Hey, Joe, you in there?”

 

“Yeah, I’m in here.” Joe mumbled.

 

“Then hurry up, there’s work to do.  Pa wants those water holes dug out before the snows get too bad.”  And with a guffaw Hoss trundled happily along the landing, his laughter strangely echoed by his daughter’s wailing.

 

Chapter 142

 

The mood around the table was a mixture of sobriety and hilarity. Joe brought his good humour to the table, and along with it came laughter. It was only when he and Mary Ann were telling them about their visit to Barbara that the mood changed and became rather more serious.

 

“She sure has gone through a lot,” Hoss muttered, and looked over at Hester as though reassuring himself that she would never have to suffer so much.

 

“I’m afraid that she won’t be able to teach again, not in this town anyway,” Ben said as he chased a piece of steak around his plate with a fork. “She’s a married woman with two children now.”

 

“Not only that, but Peter needs special treatment.” Hester sighed. “Poor little boy, he’s so clever as well.”

 

“He is,” Mary Ann agreed. “He’s bright and intelligent, I’d hate to see him being treated like some—” she paused and blushed a little as they all turned their attention to her, to listen to her opinion, “Well, sometimes people give deaf children a really hard time, they’re often treated as though they lack intelligence.”

 

“Ignorance and stupidity,” Ben snorted, “Comes a time in a man’s life when we all get a bit hard of hearing but we’d certainly give anyone short shrift if they tried treating us as if we were stupid!”

 

“Are you admitting something to us here, Pa?” Adam grinned and winked over at Hoss, who smirked a little and raised his eyebrows.

 

“No, I’m not,” Ben bristled. “My hearing’s as good now as it was when I was a young man.”

 

“We can always buy you one of those horn things folk stick in their ears to help ’em hear proper,” Hoss guffawed.

 

“That’s enough from you, young man.” Ben scowled good naturedly at his son, and smiled, then turned to Mary Ann. “Barbara will need some help in finding work. It’s a shame but that’s the law.”

 

“She needs to sell that homestead of hers first.” Adam observed thoughtfully.

 

“Can’t see her doing that so easily, folk don’t want to buy this time of year.” Hoss frowned and cleared his throat as though he had thought of something then changed his mind, he concentrated on his meal.

 

“I was thinking…” Adam began.

 

“I thought you would be.” Ben sighed.

 

“Seriously, Pa.” Adam gave his father a stern glare. “If I recall rightly wasn’t there some concern when Andrew bought the land that he could negate on the water rights we have on the stream running through that land?”

 

“Yes, true enough, thankfully he was alright about it, although considering the way things were going with him I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d have caused us some trouble about it sooner than later.”

 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Adam nodded, “The land sits right on our boundaries, so why not buy it ourselves?”

 

“Mmm, you mean, to help Barbara and ourselves, huh?” Hoss grinned.

 

“No harm in that, is there?” And Adam gave his brother a blank look that made Hoss resume eating without making any further comment. “She could sell to someone else who ends up open cast mining in the area.”

 

“Why would they do that?” Joe asked

 

“Why not? There’s silver on our land. The lode doesn’t stop just because we draw a line above ground and apportion it to various people. You know there are still those in town who wouldn’t mind getting their hands on land close to the Ponderosa and open cast mining on it. Apart from which whoever gets the land takes over the water rights, they could shut that water off as soon as they move on.”

 

“That would cause us a lot of problems if they did.” Ben agreed “I don’t mind admitting the fact that when Pearson bought the land I was a mite worried.”

 

Adam scratched the back of his neck and shrugged slightly. He glanced at Joe, who was making eyes at Mary Ann; Hoss was eating his meal with his eye on the last remaining steak; Hester was regarding the bunch of flowers in the centre of the table as though they had committed some mortal sin just by being there. He sighed, and pushed his plate away, then excused himself from the table.

 

“Hey, there’s some pie to come yet, brother.” Hoss cried

 

“You can have mine,” Adam replied and with a slight smile left the room.

 

He collected his coat on the way out, for the night air was cold; a heavy frost was expected and when he looked up at the sky it was studded with so many stars that he had to just stay put where he was to look at them. Then, hands in his pockets, he trudged his way to the stables.

 

The warmth, the familiar smells, the way the horses turned towards him, all combined to ease his mind a little. He struck a match and lit several of the lamps that were suspended on the beams of the stalls, and then went to Sport where he picked up one of the brushes. He hadn’t been there more than a few moments when the door opened, the draught caused the flames to flicker momentarily, and he paused to see who was coming in.

 

“Are you alright, son?” Ben had on his winter coat, pulled taut over his shoulders, and he leaned against the top bar of Sport’s stall to watch as Adam continued to bring the brush down over the horse’s chestnut coat.

 

“Sure, Pa.” He grinned up at his father. “I’m fine.”

 

“Why’d you leave the table so soon if you’re fine?”

 

“Because—” Adam pouted a little, raised his eyebrows, shrugged. “I don’t know.”

 

“That’s no kind of answer. You know that, too. So what’s wrong?”

 

Adam brought the brush down several more times and then set it aside. He raised one of Sports legs and checked that the ‘frog’ was clean, repeating the process with each hoof before looking back at his father, who was still waiting for an answer. “I guess I suddenly remembered that I won’t be here much longer. I was making suggestions about things that—” he stopped, he ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth and shrugged again, “Well, about things that don’t really concern me at present.” he paused, “Well, they DO concern me, but—well—you know what I mean.”

 

“Isn’t often you’re at a loss for words, son.” Ben smiled, and placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder, “I know what you mean, but the fact is that you have a valid point in what you were saying, Adam. It was a sensible practical suggestion.” He looked down at the ground and shifted a small pile of dust with his foot. “You worried about going back to see Grant?”

 

“No, not at all.”

 

“You don’t think he’ll demote you or get rid of you?”

 

“No.” Adam raised his eyebrows, “I don’t care if he does. It’ll save me the trouble of resigning.”

 

“Is that what you want to do?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“Then why don’t you?”

 

“Because as soon as I start thinking that I will something happens and I don’t.” He frowned, “I guess that doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

 

“I understand what you mean; you don’t have to explain it further.” Ben rubbed his brow, and sighed, “I don’t want to pretend that we don’t miss you here, Adam, because we do, but you have to do what you feel is right for you.” he cleared his throat, “Every man has that right.”

 

“Sure, I know that.”

 

“And don’t ever feel that you don’t have a valid say in what happens here, Adam. After all, the Ponderosa is yours by rights.” He smiled grimly, and stared into Adam’s face but his son laughed and shook his head,

 

“No, it isn’t, Pa. If I recall rightly you bought it back for all the cash you had in your pocket at the time.”

 

They laughed together, the first acknowledgment either had made of the transaction made some years back. Ben nodded. “Well, personally, I don’t want to miss out on any of Hop Sing’s fruit pie…are you going to come in?”

 

“Sure, later.”

 

Ben said nothing to that, he nodded in his customary manner and left his son to continue grooming his horse.

 

……………..

 

It was some days later when Candy Canady asked to speak to Ben. Adam was the only one still in the house at the time and rose to leave but Candy insisted that it wasn’t that important or personal. Perched on the arm of the big settee Adam folded his arms across his chest and listened to what Candy had to say.

 

“Ben, Adam…I’m glad actually that you’re both here as it concerns both of you.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, it’s dang difficult to spit it out now I’m here.”

 

Ben looked over at Adam who merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged. They waited until Candy had found enough spit to say what he wanted.

 

“Both of you were more than generous when Ann and I were married. Ben, you gifted us some land and Adam, you provided us with a home.”

 

“Go on—” Ben prompted as Candy ran dry again.

 

“Fact is, Ann and I—well—we thought we would go and buy the land Barbara has for sale. She—” he tugged at his earlobe and his feet fidgeted—“She needs the money as there’s a house in town she wants to buy, and Peter needs hospital treatment. We’ve enough money saved, thanks to your generosity, to buy the Pearson property, the stock as well.”

 

“Well, that’s mighty interesting, Candy, but you know that house and land were given to you as gifts in perpetuity, you do know what that means, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, Ben, it means that we live there for as long as it suits you.”

 

There was an awkward silence, Candy went red and nearly dropped his hat, Adam’s lips twitched in amused interest and his dark eyes looked at Ben as though to say “Answer that.”

 

“Or you.” Ben added

 

“I know. Well, we decided that we would like to own our own land, have our own place. It was generous of you, Ben,  generous. But no man should take so much for so long; it isn’t fair.”

 

“It’s alright, Candy.” Ben rose to his feet and pushed back the chair, he stretched out his hand to shake that of his young friend. “Have you made an offer to Barbara yet?”

 

“No, we’ve talked about it, but not made a definite offer, I wanted to talk to you first.”

 

“Fair enough. You know, don’t you, that there’s a small matter of water rights we shall need to discuss with you?” Ben smiled, and Candy nodded,

 

“Sure, Ben, I’ll get it sorted out with my lawyer.”

 

The three of them shook hands on the arrangement, and then with a grin stretching his lips Candy left the house, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

“Well now, an empty house on the Ponderosa.” Ben said with an air of finality.

 

Adam said nothing. He had a fleeting image of Laura Dayton’s face floating before his eyes and had to cough to clear his throat.

 

……………………………

 

 

It was two days later when Ben and Adam dismounted outside Barbara’s home. The door was immediately opened by Lilith, who greeted them both with wide smiles

 

Barbara was sitting at the table with papers strewn out, or rolled up covering every inch of it. She smiled up at them both. The bruises were fading fast and she looked much like the Barbara of old, surrounded as she was with papers. She wore a becoming black dress relieved with a white lace collar around the neck.

 

“I’m so glad you both came today,” she declared with a smile. “I’ve had an offer from Candy and Ann for the property and land. I wanted to make sure that it was alright with you to accept it, Ben”

 

“Of course it’s alright to accept it, dear. You don’t have to ask me.”

 

“Adam?” she looked at him, her dark eyes searching his face thoughtfully and he smiled and shook his head,

 

“Nothing to do with me, Barbara. If it’s a fair offer then accept it. You need to be in town before the weather gets worse.”

 

“Yes, that’s my intention.” she nodded and was about to speak when there came a quick knock on the door which was immediately pushed open even before Lilith could reach it.

 

“Ah, Barbara, I …” John Martin paused, glanced at Adam and Ben and smiled. “I wondered if it was you. How are you both? Don’t you think that Barbara is looking well?”

 

Both men agreed that Barbara was looking  well, and as that seemed to be the more important question of the two they merely contented themselves with that answer and a smile. John flipped his hat onto a chair,

 

“I came to tell Barbara that there is an appointment made for a consultant to see Peter. It’ll be a bit of a wait, but at least it’s been made.” He ruffled Peter’s hair and smiled at Lilith, who beamed up at him.

 

Adam nodded, glancing from Barbara to John and then to his father. He quirked an eyebrow. “Well, we only came in to see how Barbara was so shall leave her in good hands.” he said.

 

Ben nodded. “Goodbye, Barbara.”

 

She smiled at him, large eyes dewy and bright, her cheeks rouged by the blush upon them. “Goodbye, Adam. Ben. Thank you both for calling in.”

 

Lilith ran out with them, the breeze blew her skirts about her legs but she stood on a rock and raised her arms up to be lifted by Adam as he left the house, he picked her up and swung her into the crook of his arm.

 

“Happy, Lilith?”

 

“Yes, and The Man isn’t here anymore.”

 

Adam nodded, smiling, and she put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly before he set her back down again. “Goodbye Lilith.”

 

“G’bye,”

 

She stood in the cold breeze waving her hand to them as they galloped away from the Pearsons’, a little figure in a pink dress and white pinny.

 

Adam wondered if he would ever see her again.

 

 

Chapter 143

 

So much happened so quickly during those last weeks of Adam’s leave. Winter decided to take itself on holiday and a gentle fall weather took its place. Barbara and the children left the homestead with a wagon piled high with their belongings and necessities and were promptly ensconced into their new home. To Lilith’s delight she was once again able to go to school and what was even better, she was able to run home with the other children when classes ended.

 

Mary Ann returned to teaching with one of the ranch hands taking her into town in the buggy or Hop Sing taking her in the wagon. At times Joe would take the buggy or wagon and deposit his little wife at the school and for some reason they always arrived just a little later than usual on those particular occasions. Hoss, Joe and Adam set to work in helping the Canadys move into their new home. Some white wash here and there, a piece added onto this bit or that bit, and by the time Candy carried his wife over the threshold the Pearsons’ little house had been transformed into a home that made Ann breathe a sigh of contentment.

 

“I’m surprised, Ann,” Hester said on the morning of the move and as she was helping her cousin fix up the bed, “Why on earth did you want to come here? It’s a much smaller house, and it doesn’t have such a commanding view as the other one.”

 

“I know, and you’re quite right, Hester.” Ann passed a hand over the white bedding to smooth out any crinkles. “But I never felt that it was OUR house. It always felt as though it was on loan to us. I loved the view but this is pleasant enough, and Barbara started a sweet little garden here which I didn’t get to do at the other house.”

 

“I suppose the thing I am really puzzled by is why come here? I mean … it was HIS house after all.”

 

“I never think of him as having been here,” Ann replied, “Barbara and the children, but not him. Oddly enough it was after he came into the other house, that day—” she paused and shook her head, “Well, then Candy and Adam came back, wounded and bloody, and it seemed as though Andrew Pearson had wrecked the joy in the house. We were happy there, Hester, it’s a lovely house.” She smiled and walked to the little window and pushed it open a little wider. “It smells so lovely here, doesn’t it?”

 

The fresh breeze fluttered the curtains, and Hester walked to her cousin’s side and slipped her arm around her waist. They looked out of the window over the hills and the pastureland that was now the Canadys’, the stream coiled its way through the slopes shining here and there as the sunlight caught and was reflected upon the water.

 

“Just perfect to raise a family.” Ann sighed.

 

“Oh—Ann?”

 

Her cousin blushed a little and nodded. “We’re hoping for a boy this time.” Ann smiled. “I want a little boy with Candy’s blue eyes and black hair. It’ll be a perfect home for our children, Hester.”

 

Hester smiled and said nothing. She knew that if she were living there every creak on the stair would have her jumping and expecting Andrew Pearson to be leaping towards her with a meat cleaver.

 

Hester had a  dramatic imagination.

 

…………….

 

Adam stood in the centre of the big room in the house Ann and Candy had vacated. He still had his cane, and he leaned upon it now as he thought over the time spent in building this edifice to family life. Pursing his lips a little he turned to look at the view from the window and then approached it, leaned upon the cill and pondered on the changes that had taken place during these brief weeks he had spent back home.

 

He heard a sound behind him and turned, smiled at the newcomer and nodded over to the view through the window.

 

“I thought Laura would love to look out at that view. When I built this place I didn’t imagine standing here years later like this.”

 

“What does ‘like this’ really mean, Adam?”

 

Hoss approached and looked out of the window and then glanced at his brother’s pensive features. Sometimes it was hard to “read” Adam; he could shut himself off from them just as though going into a separate room and closing the door. Adam looked down briefly at the floor and then raised his head to observe his brother, a slight frown on his brow, his lips pursed.

 

“Well, an empty house, you and Joe married, another house being built on Ponderosa land.”

 

“It’s what families do, Adam. They marry, fly the nest, make nests of their own.”

 

“Hmm.” Adam nodded although his eyes still had a faraway look. “I guess you’re right.”

 

“Shucks, of course I’m right.” Hoss’ generous mouth slipped into an easy smile and his blue eyes crinkled. “You built a good house here, enough like the Ponderosa ranch house, but with some few changes here and there.”

 

He began to walk about, pacing the floor and looking up at the ceiling and at the walls and nodding to himself. Adam watched him with some curiosity.

 

“You thinking of buying the place, Hoss?” he laughed eventually.

 

“Nope, but I like empty rooms.” Hoss replied, and he sighed, “Anyhow, Hester and me, we’ll be staying where we are, Pa needs the company. I don’t think he’d feel so good growing old all by hisself.”

 

“Another unavoidable fact of life.” Adam grumbled and tapped his foot with the cane somewhat irritably.

 

“No one wants to grow old. Thankfully it does kinda just creep up on a person, it would be pretty miserable if it happened in great leaps, y’know.” Hoss furrowed his brow and grimaced, “Imagine going to bed aged 25 and waking up aged 50!”

 

“Pa keeps well though, doesn’t he?” Adam asked now with some anxiety.

 

“Shucks, don’t you see any changes in him when you come back?”

 

“Some, but then unfortunately he can see some in me too.” His mouth twisted into a rueful grin, and Hoss smiled and draped an arm over his brother’s shoulders.

 

“Yeah, well, fact is, Pa isn’t as spry as he once was. He lost a tooth some months back, and shucks, you would’ve thought the Ponderosa had burned down the way he carried on about that…ain’t as if anyone would notice either. And—have you noticed how he tries to pretend he can read just fine when he’s really holding the book at arm’s length?”

 

“I’d noticed.” Adam sighed again, then tugged at his ear lobe. “You’re not making me feel any better about leaving.”

 

“Guess it’s because I don‘t want you to leave, brother.” And Hoss hugged Adam in one of his spontaneous bear hugs that always made his brother cringe and wonder if he was going to survive without any bones breaking.

 

He didn’t’ reply, and Hoss released him and shrugged, “Cat got your tongue, Adam?”

 

“Nope, it’s just that I ain’t got nothing to say.”

 

“Wal, you know what I think, don’t’cha? I think your place is here, back home where you belong.”

 

Adam smiled slowly, he rubbed his brow with one hand and then shook his head. “It isn’t as easy as that, Hoss.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” his brother sighed, shrugged again, “I know, you don’t have to spell it out.”

 

“Good.”

 

Adam nodded as though glad they had reached some agreement. He took another look around the house and then abruptly, turned and walked out of the room. Without pausing, Hoss followed him into the weak sunshine where, side by side, they walked to the horses.

 

Adam didn’t speak any more; he had no words to express how he felt to this brother who understood him better than anyone alive, even more so than Pa. He tipped his hat low over his eyes as though to shade them from the sun, and riding beside him, Hoss did exactly the same, and for exactly the same reason.

 

………………..

 

Rachel leaned back into the slipper bath and sighed with contentment. At last, warmth to seep into her bones. Sweet smells of perfumed oils to remove the sickly stench of body odours and dirty clothing. How impossible that stagecoach journey had been, just so impossible!

 

The cold had crept into their bones despite the straw laid down on the floor of the coach to keep their feet warm, and the hot bricks only kept hot long enough to thaw the bones so that it wasn’t long before one was as cold as before, perhaps even colder.

 

But here they were at last in the best hotel in San Francisco. Laurence had booked rooms for them both, and ordered baths. They had parted on the landing with a kiss. She had told him he smelt like an old camel and he told her that she “ponged like a wet poodle.” They had smiled at one another fondly, kissed again and hurried into their rooms for a bath.

 

She loved him. She lifted one leg and watched as the soap bubbles slid down the wet skin, and she thought of Laurence. She wondered if he thought she was shallow, leaving Egypt, chasing after Adam Cartwright so shamelessly, and then at the first sight of Laurence saying that she loved him. She ducked under the water to come back up spitting and spluttering, then reached out for the shaved soap in lavender water and poured the sweet smelling stuff onto her hair.

 

She vaguely recalled the conversation she had with her sister in the rose garden back in Cairo, and how she had dismissed the suggestion that she loved Laurence. Had she really said “Only as a brother?” “My goodness.” She smiled slowly. “If Anna saw the way we kissed she would be quite horrified.”

 

And that was how she had known she didn’t love Adam Cartwright, although the memory of that kiss they had shared would never be forgotten. She knew that she could never kiss Adam in the same way as she kissed Laurence. Adam was—most definitely—a man she would never dare to kiss but would stand at a distance and observe, with awe. She shook her head. Ridiculous. No man wants to be admired as though they were the statue of David that Michelangelo had sculpted all those years back.

 

She ducked under the water and shook her head, massaged it thoroughly, and then just relaxed. When they reached England she and Laurence would be married. Laurence had already cabled his family to prepare them for the event. She wondered what their reaction would be upon having a girl from Illinois marrying into the family. But it didn’t matter, not now. She just wanted to relax, feel warm, and then see Laurence again.

 

………………….

 

Ben and Joe noticed the men gathered below the rim rock, one of whom happened to be their sheriff, Roy Coffee. As they drew nearer to the group they realised that they were in fact observing, at some distance, something that lay recumbent upon the ground at their feet.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Hanratty were standing further away, both looked as though they were in shock, and from the state of Mrs. Hanratty’s bonnet it was obvious that she had, at some point, keeled over and caused it to become “squished.”

 

Roy turned at the sound of the approaching horses and swept off his hat. The sun gleamed upon his balding scalp and glinted upon the glass in his spectacles. He raised a hand as though to halt them which had been their intention anyway. Ben looked over to the Hanrattys, both of whom were now making their unsteady progress towards their buggy.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Hanratty made an unpleasant discovery earlier.” Roy jerked his thumb over at the remains seeping water and worms into the dry ground of the river bank. “On their way to town they came across Andrew Pearson’s body.”

 

“Andrew Pearson? Are you sure?” Ben exclaimed and glanced over Roy’s shoulder to see for himself, he grimaced, “Not a pleasant sight.”

 

“No indeed. Thankfully for them Dave Osgood from the Double F ranch was riding along and came into town to notify me. The Hanrattys stayed here although to be honest they would have been better off in town, Mrs. Hanratty wasn’t in a  good state when we got here.”

 

He turned now as though automatically expecting them to follow him. The sound of the Hanrattys’ buggy wheels scrunching against the ground and departing drifted over to them and finally receded as they disappeared down the road to town. Dusty had succeeded in covering the body with a tarpaulin.

 

“Well?” he looked at Joe and Ben as he raised the corner of a tarpaulin to expose Andrew’s body, “That’s Andrew Pearson alright, I’d say.” He nodded to Dusty to flip the covering back. “Shot three times. Two in the chest and one in the neck.” he straightened his back and squared his shoulders, “Good thing I got a statement from Adam and Candy else I’d be riding over to see them two.”

 

“It was self-defence.” Joe said promptly.

 

“Sure, son, I know that, as I said I’m glad they both gave me a statement already. Seems to me—” Roy gazed up at the sky and for some reason both Ben and Joe did likewise—“he got a few broken bones when he tumbled over that cliff. Doubt if he would’ve survived the fall even if he hadn’t been shot. Well, guess someone should go tell Barbara Pearson that we found her husband.” He sighed, his moustache bristled and he looked sharply at Ben.

 

“You want me to do that ?” Ben asked and when Roy nodded, he sighed and looked at Joe, “Very well. Do you want me to send a wagon to pick up the body?”

 

“Undertaker’s already on the way. Tell Mrs. Pearson we don’t expect her to come and identify the body. We’ll leave it to the undertaker to pretty it up a little if she wants to see him later.”

 

……………….

 

News of the discovery was already known in town thanks to the garrulous Mrs. Hanratty who had to get the attention onto herself as soon as Widow Hawkins had observed the damage to her bonnet. When Ben and Joe dismounted outside Barbara’s house it was Clemmie Hawkins who approached Ben at the gate and asked if he felt it would be better for a woman to be present when they told her “about you know…” wink wink.

 

“Is nothing sacred,” Ben murmured and Clemmie leaned forward with a frown on her  face.

 

“Wot wuz that, luv?”

 

A few onlookers were already gathering at the gate and Joe raised his eyebrows and looked at Ben who after shaking his head approached the door and knocked on it.

 

Barbara opened with a swiftness that indicated her awareness of some attention on her home; she glanced at the small gathering crowd, frowned at Clemmie and then stepped aside for them to enter. Clemmie squeezed in by crowding up against Ben as they went inside.

 

Barbara sat down, her arm was still in a sling, she still wore black with the white lace collar fastened by a cameo at her throat. Her face was ashen, making the bruises, although faint, more obvious. Clemmie’s tender heart welled up; tears came to her eyes. “Oh my poor dear, you have gone through it, haven’t you?” and her pudgy hands grabbed Barbara’s.

 

Ben rolled his eyes and stepped forwards. “Barbara, I think you know why we’re here, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, Ben. It’s about Andrew, they’ve found him, haven’t they?”

 

Ben told her briefly what she would have wanted to know, leaving out the things that she did not, better for her to find out later perhaps or not at all. Joe stood respectfully at his father’s side, hat in hand. Barbara offered up a weak smile.

 

“Thank you for coming to let me know.” She smiled at Clemmie. “Would you be so kind as to make some tea, Mrs. Hawkins, and perhaps, Ben and Joe, you’d like to have a drink with us?”

 

It was an offer both men would have preferred to refuse, the look of delight on Clemmie’s face alone made Ben want to turn and run, but Barbara’s earnest eyes on their faces forced them to stay. They placed their hats on the floor beside the chairs upon which they now sat.

 

Ten minutes later, balancing saucers on their knees and plates with cookies on them, Joe and Ben longed even more to escape. Barbara was being stoical, brave in the face of the news, but tears were there hovering, and when there came the knock on the door both men jumped, cups rattled on the saucers which were quickly deposited onto a table.

 

They both stood up as John and Paul Martin entered the house; Ben nudged Joe, who nodded, and both carefully picked up their hats, excused themselves, shook hands with everyone and left the house, knowing that the widow was in  good hands.

 

“Phew, Pa, that wasn’t my idea of how to spend the morning,” Joe muttered as he swung himself into Mistral’s saddle.

 

“Nor mine.” Ben replied with a shudder at the memory of Clemmie’s fluttering eyelashes. “Whenever I see Clementine Hawkins I get a real sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.”

 

Rather than receive any pity at this statement, Ben’s youngest son seemed to find it most amusing and promptly burst out laughing, receiving as a result scandalised glances from those gathered to know more about “the news” regarding Widow Pearson’s sad loss.

 

Chapter 144

 

The time to leave his family came around far too soon and the inevitable farewells were there to be said, the embraces, the handshakes. The older one became the more aware one was of one’s own mortality and questions come unbidden into the mind pertaining to whether or not they would see one another again. When still young, farewells were just a prelude to saying “’hello” again, hopefully,  soon.

 

It was cold the day he rode from the Ponderosa, and he chose to ride alone. It would have been good, for sure, to have had Pa ride with him, to close off the last hours with the man he admired so much, but for once both men shied away from such intimacy. The weather determined the decision for Hoss and Hester who had Hannah to fuss over, and she already sneezing and discovering that noses were truly embarrassing things at times. Joe and Mary Ann had already gone to town for her to resume class, and Joe was going to be there to say his own farewells.

 

As he rode away from his home, pausing to look back for that final wave of the hand at the family gathered on the porch, Adam couldn’t help but wonder what changes he would find the next time he returned. He pondered on the way life had already changed and how, despite the changes, things that mattered had remained the same. The bond between himself and his father were stronger than ever, and those between his brothers and himself had and could never change.

 

Now he had two sisters and a niece. They did constitute a large change in all their lives and he smiled at the thought that one day Joe himself would be balancing an infant on his knee. He turned his horse round and decided to take one last look at the house he had designed for his little brother; after all, he had plenty of time.

 

Harry Edwards saw him coming and clambered down from the ladder, he wiped his hands as he approached the rider on the chestnut horse and smiled, offered his hand which was warmly shaken.

 

“How’s it coming along, Harry? Have you enough men on the job?”

 

“Yes, and some good men they are too, wasted on mining, but superb builders. This house will be weather tight before the snows come, believe me.” He stepped back to give Adam a clear view .“What do you think?”

 

A mother showing off her first infant could not have had more pride in his voice, and Adam smiled, nodded

 

“She looks good, Harry.”

 

“You coming on in to take a look around? The little lady wanted a bigger window to face the views but apart from that they seem mighty pleased with it.”

 

“Well, a bigger window may appear attractive but I was more concerned with the stress levels on the glass, after all the wind comes sheer off the mountains across this valley. I’d hate for it to buckle and shatter during some storm or other.” Adam frowned, leaned upon the saddle horn and as he looked the property over, he smiled again. “I can’t stop, Harry, have to go. Give my best wishes to your family.”

 

“Keep in touch, Adam.”

 

Harry tipped the edge of his cap and then returned to his work. As he mounted his ladder he looked over his shoulder at the rider on the chestnut horse and wondered about the sights the man would be seeing during his next voyage. He reached the roof trusses and gave a cheer, taken up immediately by the other men, and the sound of it trickled down to the rider who did not turn back but raised his hand high in salute.

 

…………

 

“Take care of Sport for me, Joe.” Adam handed the reins over to his brother, and then passed his luggage, a valise and carpet bag, to the stagecoach driver who placed them in the trunk.

 

“Sure I will,” Joe nodded and threaded the reins around his fingers nervously. Goodbyes were never great even though he knew that Adam would be embarking on more adventures in lands that he never even knew existed and that he would have more stories to beguile away the evenings upon his return home.

 

“Look after that wife of yours.”

 

“As if I wouldn’t,” he grinned. “She’s not  good at goodbyes, Adam, but she sends her best and…”

 

“Adam! Adam!”

 

They both turned to see a red faced young woman racing down the sidewalk in the most inelegant manner with a little girl closely following behind her. Mary Ann held onto her hat and said a hasty apology to Mrs. Smythe as she narrowly avoided knocking her into the road. By the time they reached the stagecoach both she and Lilith were puffing like a pair of worn out bellows.

 

“Oh my, I thought for sure we would be too late. Lilith wanted to say goodbye—and so did I.” She smiled shyly, her cheeks red and her eyes bright—Joe thought she looked beautiful— and then she laughed and looked down at Lilith. “Here we are then, Lilith, just in time to say goodbye.”

 

Lilith looked at Adam with bright eyes, she blinked and a tear dripped onto her cheek, then she bowed her head and ran to him, clinging to his legs tightly,

 

“Don’t go, Adam, can’t you stay?”

 

“I’m afraid not, Lilith.” he leaned down and picked her up and gave her a hug, then wiped away the tear with a finger, looked into her little face. What suffering this child had undergone throughout her life, and now the way was open to her to enjoy everything the future promised. “But I will be back. When I get back I want to know all about what you’ve been doing, and what you want to do. Do you understand? Work hard and enjoy your life, Lilith.”

 

“But you’re going away…” she moaned, and he had to tug her arms free as they tightened around his neck. “Please stay.”

 

He passed her onto Joe, and then kissed Mary Ann on the cheek, shook Joe’s hand and then hugged him close. They didn’t need to speak; their hearts spoke the words for them.

 

The driver was yelling at them to board so he stepped into the vehicle and hugged himself into a corner. There were two other passengers but he didn’t take any notice of them as he looked through the window and raised a hand to the couple and the little girl standing on the sidewalk.

 

It was cold, their breath plumed into the bitter air and Hank the driver tossed in a blanket to cover over their legs. Hands rose in farewell and he smiled, it could just as well have been in greeting.

 

The End

 

28/3/11