The next day marked a new chapter in their lives and it was with happier faces that they all met with Robert Steadman again. He was an amiable young man and his fiancée, who was soon introduced, seemed equally friendly, quickly adopting Leah and wanting to put her at ease.

"Leah, why don't you and I leave the men to do some sightseeing whilst we visit some of New York's finest stores. We can meet up with them later." Heath could see his tom-boy daughter was not so sure.

"Well, I d....don't know." Leah stumbled out her reply. Stores meant dresses, hats and other such fripperies, none of which came high up on Leah's list of fun things to do… Oh dear, she thought, the day was going to be torture.

Heath inwardly smiled seeing his daughter's struggle not to offend. She was far happier in overalls and helping him around the ranch and he was comfortable having her there - his little girl, but at fifteen she was growing up. It was his duty to let go a little and allow her to grow up into the beautiful woman she showed every promise of becoming. Where Meg and he had failed, Miss. Elizabeth Harmsworth might actually succeed.

"I think that would be a wonderful idea," he endorsed. Leah, shot him a look of utter betrayal. She was Leah Barkley, not some uppity New Yorker who had too much time on their hands and needed to shop and take tea just to fill their time. Heath could read her mind perfectly. Excusing them both, he took her away from the group for a minute and duly explained.

"Leah, think how rude it would be not to accept Miss. Harmsworth's kind offer. It's not every day you get to come to New York. I know this kind of thing isn't something you enjoy, but allow Miss. Harmsworth the pleasure of taking you around. She has obviously given it much thought and planning."

"But Father!"

"Leah," There was a way her father spoke which completely removed any further objections. He rarely asked anything from his children, but he was asking her now. Heath took out his wallet and gave her some money. She thanked him, still not happy to go, but she was not going to disappoint her father.

"Father? Are you feeling alright?" she asked concerned. She was old enough to remember some of her father's past illnesses and though he had been much improved in latter years he was not immune to still getting ill.

He smiled. "I'm fine Leah. Now, go enjoy yourself, if not for yourself then for me, yes?"

"Yes, Papa," She let the sulk leave her face before turning round to the rest of the party and presenting them with a wide smile that betrayed none of her previous concerns. Only Samuel was suspicious. He knew his sister too well.

Elizabeth Harmsworth bade her fiancé goodbye and was helped into a waiting cab, followed by Leah who blushed again when Robert Steadman helped her up into the carriage.

As the carriage moved away to join the heavy flow of traffic, Steadman turned to his guests and with great enthusiasm said, "Gentlemen, New York awaits!"

Samuel and his father, who shared very similar and understated mannerisms, exchanged a bemused look at the stranger's flamboyance, but quickly fell into step as Steadman started walking down the street, pointing out landmarks and places of interest along the way.

Steadman took the two Barkleys on a tour of the sights, but soon became aware that Heath was struggling. "Are you alright, sir?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. "I'm sorry, you should have said if the walk was proving too taxing." He hailed a passing cab and quickly got the two men inside. Heath didn't argue. He enjoyed seeing the sights with his son and their host, but for the past couple of blocks he had been struggling to catch his breath.

Steadman took the two Barkleys on a tour of the sights, but soon became aware that Heath was struggling. "Are you alright, sir?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. "I'm sorry; you should have said if the walk was proving too taxing." He hailed a passing cab and quickly got the two men inside. Heath did not argue. He enjoyed seeing the sights with his son and their host, but for the past couple of blocks he had been struggling to catch his breath.

Inside the cab, he wiped the perspiration from his brow and smiled reassuringly at a worried Samuel. "I'm fine Samuel, really."

"I suggest we get you back to your hotel, Mr. Barkley. I can call a physician that I know."

Heath waved off the idea. "That won't be necessary. A bit of rest is all I need."

"Pa, you'll get sick again. Let Mr. Steadman call the doctor, please." Samuel pleaded.

Heath reached out to pat his son's hand reassuringly. "Samuel, quiet, I'm fine. Let it be, please." Samuel, seeing his father's stubborn look, knew better than to argue with his father when he was in that kind of a mood. He'd seen his mother do so in the past to little effect and how instead each member of the family had conspired behind his back over the years to protect his father's health. Uncle Nick was especially good at that, though not particularly subtle. He could do with his Uncle Nick now to talk some sense into his father.

Heath reached out to pat his son's hand reassuringly. "Samuel, quiet, I'm fine. Let it be, please." Samuel, seeing his father's stubborn look, knew better than to argue with his father when he was in that kind of a mood. He had seen his mother do so in the past to little effect and had over the years witnessed, instead, each member of the family conspire behind his father’s back to protect their son and brother’s health. Uncle Nick was especially good at that, though not particularly subtle. He could do with his Uncle Nick now to talk some sense into his father.

"I'm fine now," Heath reassured them both after a few minutes. "Just got a little breathless there for a few minutes."

"You sure?" Steadman asked.

"I'm sure," Heath responded wrapping an arm around his son to add further reassurance. Samuel smiled back at his father but wasn't convinced. When he got back to the hotel he would telephone his mother and Uncle Nick. Dad wouldn't be pleased but that wouldn't have to matter. He'd let Uncle Nick deal with that.

"I'm sure," Heath responded wrapping an arm around his son to add further reassurance. Samuel smiled back at his father, but was not convinced. When he returned to the hotel, he would telephone his mother and Uncle Nick. Dad would not be pleased, but that would not have to matter. He'd let Uncle Nick deal with that.

"Well then," Steadman continued. "If you are sure, how about we get some lunch and then if you feel up to it I will take you to see another part of town? You'll find it an interesting contrast to what you have seen so far."

Both Barkleys had to admit they had been both impressed with what they had seen of the city, both on foot and during their ride in the cab. Steadman was proving an excellent and enthusiastic guide and was full of interesting facts about the history of the city and what was new.

"Tell me Steadman," Heath asked. "What is your profession?"

"I'm a journalist, Mr. Barkley. I write for the Times."

"The New York Times?" Samuel said eagerly.

"Yes," Steadman replied, amused by the boy's enthusiasm. "Are you interested, Samuel?"

"Oh yes, very."

Heath interrupted. "My son is very interested in books, Mr. Steadman. He seeks a career outside the interests of the family ranch." There was no sadness or resentment in his statement, only pride. "What kind of journalism do you specialize in?"

"Social affairs, Mr. Barkley. You see, New York, like most cities, is a city of contrasts. You've seen the wealth of the city on our tour this morning, but no more than a few blocks away, hidden out of sight for fear it might offend, is a world very different from this. The side that feeds the wealth, but doesn't get to reap its benefits. Do you know we have children working as young as five? A meagre living eked out of pitiful wages by families living in conditions which lead to disease and early deaths, their children malnourished almost from the time of birth."

Heath, a victim of poverty and child labor himself, shifted uncomfortably at the dark memories that returned. The conversation continued over lunch and Steadman found in Samuel an eager convert to his cause. It was not that the child was totally unaware. He was well aware that he belonged to a family that was both rich and privileged, but equally that they helped others less fortunate than themselves and gave of their money and their time. But the scale of poverty and social injustice Robert Steadman described was unlike anything he had experienced or heard of before so that when they finally came to see it on their afternoon tour, Samuel became silent and humbled by its effect. He had never seen such poverty and it shook him, staying with him. The smell so different to the fresh clean air he was used to breathing at home; the noise of the machinery pounding out every minute of the day and offering no relief; the grime and the filth a stark contrast to the wide open country that was his own backyard.

A terrified, young child ran across his path and dove into their waiting cab, its doors left open for their return. "Please," a frightened voice stuttered out, "Please don't give me away." Instinctively, Heath shut the door to the cab and stood in front of it to protect the child. Behind him, the little boy of five, his face buried under thick layers of grime, streaked with tears, tried to keep his cries silent, knowing if his pursuers heard him they would discover him.

A burly man came into the yard. "Where is he?"

"Don't know boss. He came running out into the yard, but the little bugger has disappeared."

The foreman was not impressed. "Well find him. And when you do, beat him and put him back to work. I'll have no child sleeping on my shift."

A carriage rolled up and a two well-dressed men alighted. "Manners," one of them shouted.

"Yes sir," the foreman responded, cursing the owner of the factory under his breath. "What the @#%$ does he want now."

"What's the trouble?"

"Nothing Mr. Freemont. Nothing that we can't handle. One of the boy's was caught sleeping on shift. He's run away, but we'll get him back."

"See that you do and that you teach him a lesson. How's production coming along today? I need that order complete by Thursday."

The foreman lied, knowing that to tell different would be worse. "Right on schedule Mr. Freemont. Don't worry Mr. Freemont we'll be able to meet that order with time to spare."

"Yes well, see that you do. Otherwise it won't be just the men I'll be laying off. Your job's on the line too, understood."

Manners nodded, silent cursing the owner again.

William Freemont turned and saw the party to his left, observing their exchange of words. He went over to inquire what they were doing there.

"Name's William Freemont, can I help you gentlemen?" He said, totally unaware that he meeting his son for the first time.

Both Barkleys were stunned at the mention of his name and it was left to Steadman to make the introductions.

"Steadman, Robert Steadman of the New York Times, Mr. Freemont. And these gentlemen here are Mr. Heath Barkley from Stockton, California and his son Samuel. They are visiting a few days and I am taking them on a tour of the city."

"A tour? Around my blasted yard." Freemont said contemptuously, dismissing Steadman and his guests the instant he heard Steadman was a newspaperman. "And why would my factory be worthy of your interest Mr. Steadman?"

Heath felt Samuel move behind him, attempting to hide himself behind his father. "It's okay Samuel," Heath reassured him.

Steadman too noticed the boy's distress, but his journalistic instincts assumed priority. "Well, Mr. Freemont. My paper is interested in exposing injustice, poverty and poor working conditions. We go where the story is."

"Meaning?"

"The story is here, Mr. Feemont."

"What the devil! You print anything about my factory and I'll sue, ya hear."

"Come now Mr. Feemont. Would you care to take the Barkleys and myself on a tour of this factory to prove me wrong."

"Get off my property, ya hear!" Freemont bellowed fiercely, simultaneously raising his cane to attack Freemont. Heath stepped forward to stop the downward blow, holding the cane firmly in his hand. "Is that what you beat children with too?"

Freemont looked into the greying blond's eyes. For some reason he felt frightened by the integrity shown there. Who was this stranger to challenge him so? "Unhand me, sir. I don't know who you are, nor do I want to. Steadman, I give you five minutes to get off my property before I call the police. And take your friends with you. Your editor will hear from my lawyer."

"Oh he'll like that," Steadman countered, a wide smile on his face, knowing he had accomplished what he had set out to do. "Good day Mr. Freemont. We're leaving," he continued, ushering the Barkleys into the cab, "no need to call out your dogs though I would just say, make sure you get a copy of tomorrow's edition. You may want to have your lawyer present when you do, but not for the reasons you yourself mentioned. More than likely you will be needing a defense counsel in the coming weeks."

"Why you?" Freemont's words were lost as the carriage sped away. Inside was a quivering, as yet unidentified, frightened young child and a badly shaken Samuel who unexpectedly had met his real father and had recoiled from what he saw.

Heath was torn between attending to the child and his son. Steadman stepped in, pulling the child to him whilst Heath consoled Samuel. "I'm sorry Samuel. I honestly didn't know. I'm sorry you had to meet him that way."

"I want to go home, father." was all Samuel could say.

"Are you sure, Samuel?"

Samuel nodded, words lost. He had found his father and found him to be an unfeeling bully, a man who profited from other people's misery. His young head found it all too much and inwardly he cried, trying to make sense of it all.

Heath reached out to comfort him and Samuel allowed him to. Watching, Steadman tightened his hold on the child he was holding, contemplating that it had been a hard lesson for Samuel, but one he had to learn. Their pathetic excuse for a father would never know the two sons he had met that day, and neither would Samuel discover that in Steadman he had an older brother. It was better that way.

Three days later......

Heath, not for the first time, handed over the responsibility for his health and his family to the safe hands of his brother Nick. They were the same strong hands that held him now as he recovered from a third successive bout of coughing and wheezing that left his sick and ailing body trembling in their wake. Nick could see Heath was bone tired, but schooled a smile born of experience to lend him encouragement and support. Heath's sunken eyes locked on to his older brother's communicating a silent fear within him that this was going to be the last illness he would have to fight. He had fought so many illnesses; too many to remember. He tried to remember, struggling at first, before recalling that Nick had seen him through each one of them. And Nick was here now, wasn't he? Anchoring him to the earth and the family that loved him. He knew Nick was lending him his strength and though very tired Heath desperately reached out to grab hold of the lifeline as he floundered and buffeted against the waves of infection sweeping his body. Feeling his brother's desperately weak hand reach out to him, Nick wrapped it protectively in his own and squeezed his own life into it, understanding his fear. He held him closer and willed him to fight. It had been this way for over twenty years and Nick had not lost a battle yet. Nor, was he about to.

With his brother's face nestled next to his own, Nick tried to quell the panic that consumed Heath. Heath was gasping for air and panicking in the process. Calmly, Nick let Heath feel his own steady breathing and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. After several moments, Heath learned the lesson and his own chest took up the rhythm making his breathing less tortured and allowing the panic to recede away. Hearing his brother's steady breaths, Nick inwardly sighed and moved his lips close to his brother's right ear. "Think you can manage a little water?" he whispered gently as he continued to hold him. Heath nodded against his brother's face, the dampness of his hair at the sides moistening Nick's now stubbled cheek. The younger of the two men had never felt so weary in all his life, but for the moment he could breathe and he was never more grateful that his brother was there helping him. He had no idea what day or time it was, or how Nick had got there, or even if Meg was with him. He hoped she was. He just knew his brother's strong arms were rocking him and that having found him, Nick would be the one to take away his pain.

In fact, Nick had traveled across country to be with the little brother of whom he was protective; some would say overly protective. Nick, who once might have argued the point fiercely, would now agree. He had long given up apologizing for it; it was simply a part of his character where Heath was concerned. The protectiveness had its origins years ago when Evan Miles had shot and nearly killed Heath. It had been Nick's wake up call as to how strongly he felt about his brother whom until then he had kept at arm's length. The role grew when Heath had become sick during the summer of ‘seventy nine’. It was the start of a period that Heath's fragile health became the family's focus. They thought they had won - it had been years since his last attack. Nick couldn't help but think it was the stress of recent weeks which had brought Heath low once again.

Cradling his brother's head, the blond hair of youth giving way to graying middle age, Nick carefully raised the rim of the glass to his brother's dry and cracked lips, encouraging him to take small sips of the cool water. Inevitably, Heath took in too much and was soon spluttering the contents back up. Undaunted, Nick tried again. When Heath proved too tired even to swallow the water, he gently massaged Heath's throat to help the liquid go down. Soon afterwards Heath fell asleep and Nick laid him back on the pillow, covering him with a sheet before tidying things up in preparation for the next bout in the long night ahead.

It had been three days since his arrival in New York. Samuel had telephoned him on that new fangled contraption that two summers earlier he had installed in the house he shared with Jenny. Nick, always the innovator had introduced it to the family, but for some reason could never get the hang of using it. On rare occasions when he answered it, he would bellow down the mouthpiece to make sure his voice carried. When the caller did not do the same, he would shout at them to speak up, betraying a slight deafness in his right ear, which of course he steadfastly denied.

Samuel had asked for his uncle and his mother to come to New York; his father was sick. It took a few moments for Nick to register the news. Establishing there was a doctor in attendance, Nick caught the first train out and made the first of many connections across the breadth of the country; country he had not visited since his days in the war. It was not just his war, but Heath's and that of many others too. Samuel had asked for his mother to come, wanting to speak to his mother. Nick hid the truth from him, not telling the boy his mother, herself, lay ill. He would tell Samuel in person and not have the boy worry any more than he had to right now. He took a moment to reflect on the lies one told to protect family and loved ones. He wondered why lately Heath and his family just had no luck.

Resting his eyes for a moment, he contemplated the scene that had met him on his arrival at the hotel. Somewhere along the line, it would seem Heath had acquired another one for his brood, a boy called Matty, or something. What was it about his brother and children? He didn't have enough all ready that he had to go pick up any waif and stray that happened along. Leah and Samuel were now looking after the boy whilst Nick took care of their father. At some point Nick knew he would have to tackle what they were going to do with the boy. Poor kid, he thought. The child looked down right terrified when they were briefly introduced, but seemed to settle under Leah and Samuel's protective care. Nick did not fail to notice the small hand that seemed to slip its way into Samuel's own. Did Samuel realize that as Nick was to Heath, Samuel had become Matty's protector? And just who was this Steadman guy who seemed to visit everyday? What was his role in all this? Questions, questions, Nick mused. When his brow furrowed for a moment he knew it was a signal to let the questions go by, unanswered for another day. There was enough work for him to do in getting his brother well. When his brother was well, he would sort out everything else.

Nick stepped outside on to the sidewalk and took his first breath of fresh air since he had arrived at the hotel. He expanded his lungs in appreciation and though it might not have been the fine air he was used to at home, it felt good to be alive and breathing it. He had stayed with Heath throughout the five days of his illness, refusing to leave him save to quickly bathe and don a fresh set of clothes. Against the advice of the doctor he elected only to sleep when Heath did, and then only with one eye on his younger brother. When the doctor protested, rebuking Nick for not getting some proper sleep, Nick turned around to the young doctor, his junior by about fifteen years, and pointed at his brother lying unawares in the bed, "That there's my brother, Doc. and I ain't sleeping until he's out of this crisis. Never have done before and never will. It's my way and you’d better get used to it." Being a wise man and rather fond of his head, the doctor took note and mentioned it no more.

At one point the crisis had become so bad that the doctor thought to have Heath removed to the hospital where he could provide better facilities for his care, but the force of Nick Barkley made him think again. He doubted if the hospital staff and equipment could match his patient care. There was a measure to this man that he had not encountered before and it was an education to see. Frankly, it was as though the older brother's will was keeping the younger one alive. The doctor tried to understand it further. It was as if Heath Barkley would not dare die in his brother's presence for fear of being found wanting and giving up on life. It was a powerful incentive.

Nick for his part could not fault the doctor's all round care. He was young and enthusiastic, qualities Nick admired. In his book you had to have passion in order to succeed. His passion was the ranch and his family, the doctor's was making people well, and though in the quiet moments, when Heath was not struggling, they conversed long into the night about how medicine was moving into the twentieth century, Nick, very much a man of the nineteenth century, did not really mind. It showed the boy had passion and that was what was keeping his brother alive. It squared the circle for him.

The crisis did come and it was ugly. Illness can be like that, not romantic, not pretty. Nick reckoned it was the worst he had ever seen Heath get, and he never wanted to see him suffer like it again. For the first time in his life, he really thought his brother would die. The realization hit him hard. Teasing his brother out of fear, he made Heath promise not to go before him, not to rush ahead. They would both make the journey in good time one day, but as far as Nick was concerned, he would be the one setting out first, just not anytime soon. "Got that Heath?" he breathed out. Heath nodded, but had not a clue what he was agreeing to. He was lost in a world of his own. Not quite lost though because unbeknownst to him Nick was anchoring him in the heavy storm.

Now it was 2 O'clock in the afternoon. The crisis had been over for some four hours. Heath was resting, no longer fitfully, but peacefully and with increasing signs of recovery. Nick did not know how to thank the doctor who had remained with his patient throughout. They had cared for him alone, not letting Leah and Samuel see the illness at its worst. Both children had been anxious and desperate to see their father, but Nick knew it was for the best that they did not. And selfishly, he did not have the time to worry about them right then. "Have to fix that", he mused, as he took a few steps along the sidewalk, lighting up a cigarette along the way. His throat was dry and he coughed. "Must let the family know," he continued. "And Meg? God, how was Meg doing...? Did she lose the baby? And the boy? What where they going to do with the kid? Time had stood still the last few days; it was time to get back to living. Thank God, Heath would be too.

"How is he?" Jarrod asked, standing by the unmade bed and watching Heath slowly get dressed. He was tempted to help, but knew Heath would not thank him. There was a stage of Heath's recovery when it was safer to keep one's own counsel and step back.

"Why don't you ask me?" Heath interrupted, annoyed that the conversation was about him, but not including him.

"Cuz, just how would you know?" Nick joked, only half seriously. Heath truly had no idea of how ill he had been over the last week or so, and Nick was not about to tell him the extent of it until he was further along in his recovery.

"I've had enough, I'm going to the bathroom and before you say anything no, I don't need any help." His progress to the door and down the hallway suggested that he did, but neither brother was about to incur his wrath by offering it.

As Nick closed the door which Heath had left open, Jarrod turned around and asked the question again. "Well, how is he?"

"It was bad Jarrod, the worst I'd seen it. I thought I… we were going to lose him. But he's on the mend, thank God. Doc just thinks it might take a bit of time before he is back on his feet. He feels guilty."

"Guilty? Why?"

"Samuel thinks he was the cause of his father becoming ill. You know causing his father stress an all. Heath won't hear of it. He doesn't want any more guilt or sadness laid at Samuel's door."

"Easier said than done though. The boy is bound to feel the way he does. How did he take the circumstances of meeting his real father?"

"Well, how do you think," Nick said sarcastically. He was tired and he had a million and one things to get done before the trip home. He was glad Jarrod was there to help but he could do without the questions right now.

"Sorry Nick… I know it's been hard. I would have come sooner, but with the trouble with Meg, well it was difficult to leave the family alone."

Nick was immediately apologetic. "You sure she's okay... and the baby?"

"Yes, she didn't lose it, but she was desperately ill for a time. Howard has ordered complete bed rest. Does Heath know what happened?"

Nick shook his head. "He's been sleeping almost night and day. The illness really took it out of him. He doesn't even know about the baby, least ways about Meg being ill."

"Let me tell him," Jarrod offered. "It will be easier with the more positive news. You were right to keep it from him whilst he was ill."

"God, I'm weary," Nick sighed, the events and lack of sleep catching up on him.

"Get some sleep, I'll look after things now." Jarrod offered. Nick stretched and nodded. "Thanks, I will. Listen, that trip down the hallway will zap all his energy. He'll probably sleep a few hours. He won't like it, but he won't have any choice. By the time he's half way through arguing, he'll be out for the count."

"Don't worry. I know he gets tetchy. When he falls asleep I'll look in on the kids and make arrangements for us all to travel home."

Nick yawned. "Watch out for Samuel. I haven't been able to talk to him about everything that's gone on. He's still fragile, Jarrod."

"I know, Nick. I'll talk to him... get him to open up."

"Oh and watch out for Matty?"

"Matty? Who's Matty?"

"Long story… Samuel will fill you in. Expect we'll be taking him home with us, too. Keeps telling me Heath is going to be his new father."

"Does Heath know?" Jarrod said, somewhat amused by the statement.

"Not yet. Matty kind of adopted him. Since your here big brother, I'll let you break that piece of news to Heath. I'm off to bed. Don't wake me for a week?"

Jarrod smiled and thought about booking himself a room. This was going to take a few days to sort out, the return to Stockton wouldn't be immediate.

It was the crying that woke him. He blinked his eyes open, trying to ascertain where the sound was coming from. His eyes scanned the semi-darkened room and settled on a small, lone figure sitting on the window sill, legs pulled up tightly into his body, arms hugging himself in comfort, a small hand breaking free just occasionally to brush away a pool of tears from the cheeks of his face.

Heath came to quickly with the sight, the instincts of fatherhood making him alert to the need of the child. His body was less cooperative, but eventually he padded over to the child and placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. Instantly, the child sought his arms and buried his head in the man's chest, his sobs muffled by the closeness with which he held on.

His legs threatening to give out from under him, Heath backed up with the child in his arms to a vacant chair and pulled him onto his knee. "Shush now... What's causing these tears?" The child's sobs continued as he clung on. Heath thought back to the child running for safety and seeking sanctuary in the cab. Beyond that, he had no memory, having taken ill on the way back to the hotel, his body unable to ignore any longer the symptoms of previous days. He saw himself in the child. A child unable to be a child; a child forced to work just to survive. Not anymore, he thought, making a silent vow. Did the boy have parents? Who had been taking care of the child? Had his brothers let his parents know? He rocked the child gently as he would do his own son and soon cries gave way to sleep.

Meg spread her hands over her belly; the wonderment of impending motherhood not dulled after all these years. The pregnancy had taken her completely by surprise. At forty-four, she had begun to think that little two-year-old James would be their last. Now there was going to be another one, arriving just before Christmas. How could she not have known? She wanted Heath, needed him, why didn't he return?

"She's fine Heath." Jarrod broke the news of Meg.

"You should have told me," came back the rebuke. Nick was exasperated. "It wouldn't have mattered. God, Heath, you were completely out of it. Don't you realize you were just this far from death?" he indicated leaning in close to his brother's face to indicate the small distance between his forefinger and thumb.

Heath stared at the two digits. It was true. He did not remember any of it, but he knew he had been close to death. He could feel it, the illness having left him more weakened than any previous attack. He knew he should not be fighting with his brothers, he could see Nick was still tired and getting as short-tempered as he was. He should be more grateful. He was. He was just worried for his family and needed more than anything to be home with Meg.

"Believe me, Heath," Jarrod reassured again, sitting down opposite him. "Meg and the baby are just fine." Then trying to get Heath to think forward to the new baby and not of what might have transpired, he congratulated Heath on the prospects of becoming a father again.

Heath was not so easily distracted. "You're sure?" he asked again.

"I'm sure," Jarrod reconfirmed, understanding his brother's need for reassurance. "Now as to the boy. I've investigated his background. It doesn't make pleasant reading. He's been working as a sweeper in the mill since he was orphaned. His job was to clean all the dust and cotton from under the looms. Only, guess what?" Heath looked up, disturbed but not surprised by the news. Child labor was pervasive and a long way from being stamped out. "The looms would be active whilst he cleaned underneath. It's a wonder he wasn't crushed to death."

All three Barkleys contemplated the sad life of the little boy, only Heath's experience coming close to what the child had suffered. Each brother, sobering by the harshness and unfairness of it all, thought back to their own children and the love and privilege that surrounded them. It only determined Heath's resolve. "So I'm okay to take him back to Stockton?" Heath asked.

"For adoption?"

"I need to speak to Meg, but I won't see him return to that life." Already the child had snuck into Heath's heart.

"Frankly, Heath. There are no authorities to consult. Matty is just one of thousands in the city. His disappearance from the factory hasn't even been reported."

"I want him to come home with us," Heath stated.

"I thought you would. I've made arrangements for him to do so," Jarrod replied anticipating that this was what his brother would want to do.

Heath nodded gratefully. "Now what about Samuel?"

Heath knocked at the door and popped his head round the corner. "Mind if I come in?"

Samuel shrugged.

Heath smiled understandingly. "We'll be leaving tomorrow. Will you be ready to leave?"

"Guess so. I'll be glad to get home and see mother and the family."

"Me too." Heath sighed.

"Mother's okay, isn't she?"

"Yes, she's fine now. We'll just have to make sure she rests when we get home."

"Same applies to you, too, Pa. You should have said you weren't feeling well. You got a responsibility to let us know."

Heath arched an eyebrow at the rebuke, knowing he deserved it.

"You know, you did a good job of looking after Matty and Leah whilst I was sick. That was some responsibility, that and calling the doctor and your Uncle Nick."

"He's a good kid. He weren't no trouble." Samuel shrugged, outwardly indifferent, but brimming with pride at the praise from his father. "Mr. Steadman helped. He called the doctor and stayed with us until Uncle Nick got here."

Heath read his son's behavior easily and eased himself down on the bed to put an arm around him, pulling him in close. "He's not the only one and what you did made me very proud. You're growing up, Samuel. You've gone through a lot lately and it must have been quite scary for you and Leah."

"You were sick... I mean real sick, Pa. I thought you were going to…to...die" The words were spoken with raw emotion, the memory still fresh.

Heath squeezed his son's arm. "But I didn't. I'm still here and not planning on going any where."

Samuel searched his father's eyes, "You promise," he sniffled. Tears always seemed so near the surface these days.

"I promise."

Father and son held each other for a few moments, then Heath broached the sensitive subject of Freemont.

"Samuel, about your real father." He felt Samuel tense. "I didn't know, I'm sorry you had to find out that way." He felt Samuel clench his shirtfront and hold on to him tightly. He was humbled by the moment and his son's need to be close to him after all that happened. "I've got you son," he soothed, his voice deep and resonant. "And I'm never going to let you go. You're my son Samuel and don't let any man tell you different." Much as Matty had done in the early hours, Samuel clung on to his father, knowing that after weeks of drifting and uncertainty he was finally home and would not be searching anymore.

Six months later, Nick Barkley stood surrounded by two of his own children, one of Jarrod's and Samuel and Matty, the younger of whom was enjoying a piggyback ride from his older brother. "What ya doing, Pa?" his youngest, Camille, spoke up, looking pretty in her Sunday best. All the Barkley's were smartly dressed, having just come out of church. There were so many of them they occupied the first four pews every Sunday and were quite a sight when all gathered together. Nick continued tending to the shingle on the outskirts of town. The rest of the family were still at the church receiving congratulations. A tug on his pant leg, reminded him of Camille's question. Placing the shingle back on the post, he picked up his four year old so she could see. "What does it say?" she said staring at the wooden board. "It says Population 820, plus 3." "Three?" she queried, not quite understanding. "Three," her father confirmed with a broad smile. "One for little George, one for little Anna and one for Matty." Matty Barkley beamed as his Uncle Nick ruffled his hair. "Now how about we go home and see your little brother and sister, Matty?"

"Yes please," Matty responded eagerly, his small head sporting an oversized cowboy hat, his body filled out with good food and his pale skin, gently sun kissed by the good life out west.

Back in New York, newly married Robert Steadman opened the morning mail and read it quietly. He had become quite a celebrated journalist following his newspaper's exposure of Freemont a few months back. He placed the letter down in front of Elizabeth, "What does it say?" she asked lovingly.

"It's an invite." he answered rather mysteriously.

"An invite?"

He leaned over and kissed her sweetly, "How do you fancy visiting the Barkleys in Stockton, this summer?"

Elizabeth smiled, reflecting on how Robert would get a chance to meet his brother and sister once again. Maybe this time he would tell them who he was. The future was full of hope.