Rendezvous With Destiny

by Layla

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

“Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.” – Mark Twain

Part 1

“Are you all right, Mother?”

She didn’t turn to look at him. A slight nod of the head was her only reply. Jarrod backed away, sensing that it was not him she wished to be included in this moment, a moment too sad and heartfelt to share.

Victoria knelt by the grave. A lone tear trickled down her cheek and fell to the ground like a solitary raindrop. Why she felt drawn to be by his graveside she could not readily explain. Victoria stared at the etched tombstone with its paltry biographical facts – just his name and two dates.

Thomas Barkley. 1813 - 1870.

He was an imperfect man, her husband, and Victoria was more acutely aware of his failings than anyone. No one was ever closer to the strong-willed, taciturn rancher than she. They had shared so much life and love that Victoria would have sworn she knew Tom almost as well as she knew herself. She let doubts creep in and questioned his love for her for a brief time three years ago. Those questions had been answered. Tom’s letter to Leah Thomson confirmed that his love for her had been deep and abiding. She had never doubted his love again, but for the second time in her life, Victoria could feel the thread of whom she believed her husband to have been unraveling.

There were always those who were willing to question his honesty and integrity as their wealth grew. Tom had taken the envious whispers and accusations in stride. A man wearing a silk top hat makes himself a target for any jaybird that can throw a rock, he’d say. Even now, years after Tom’s death, the occasional opportunist would arise and attempt to smear his good name. She never feared investigation into Tom’s business dealings, as Victoria was certain of the outcome. After all, she had been by his side as their fortune was made. Victoria relished exposing his accusers as liars and charlatans.

Victoria readily admitted that her husband’s life was consumed with ranching, with profits and investments, and with advancing the family’s diverse business interests. Though it appeared Tom spent his days in pursuit of wealth, and the power that comes from wealth, she knew material riches were never his passion. They were merely by-products of his innate business savvy and his work ethic.

He had coveted one thing only. As long as she’d known him, Tom Barkley had wanted to be known as a man of honor – to be respected by friend and foe alike as a man who would do what was right at all times and in all places.

Honor. There was something in that single, short word that quickened her pulse. Victoria took a deep, shuddering breath. She squeezed her eyes shut and more tears slid silently down her cheeks as the morning’s events played out raw and vivid once again in her mind.

Today was Heath’s third morning back home since he had been rescued from his journey into violence. For four days and nights Victoria had been gripped with fear and worry. She had prayed for her son’s safe return as his brothers and the other men combed the Valley in search of him. The dread lay heavy on her heart, but it was the agony of not knowing his fate that threatened to hurl Victoria toward despair. How terrible it would have been if Heath had vanished without a trace and his family had never found him.

The gloom that hovered over the household vanished when Nick and Jarrod brought their younger brother home. Heath was tired, dirty, sore and a little thinner, but he was otherwise fine. Victoria had the answers to what happened and why, but more importantly she had her son safe at home. A lightness and gaiety once more permeated the house.

Silas was busy loading the table with ham, eggs, biscuits, honey and Lord knows what all - including a bowl of pale yellow grits.

Heath was the last to make it down for breakfast. “Good morning!” Heath said to the family as he walked over to the server and poured himself a cup of hot black coffee.

Victoria and Jarrod greeted him in kind. “Sit down, Boy!” Nick ordered with obvious affection. “Your grits are gonna get cold. This makes the third morning in a row I’ve had to look at that mush.”

“Thank you, Silas.” Heath took a seat next to Nick.

The servant beamed back at him. “You’re mighty welcome, Mr. Heath.”

“I want to see some steaks back on this breakfast table,” Nick bossed as he filled his plate, “if that still carries any weight around here!”

“Of course it does, Mr. Nick!” Silas bantered back. “The first thought that pops in my head every morning as soon as I wake up is… I wonder what Mr. Nick might be wanting for breakfast today.”

Victoria, Jarrod and Heath couldn’t suppress their chuckles as Silas headed back into the kitchen.

“Well, the answer’s not grits!” Nick declared loud enough for the houseman to hear and then dug into his breakfast.

“Always got to have the last word, don’t ya Big Brother?” Heath grinned.

“Get to eating those grits, Heath. We got work to do.”

The pleasant mood lasted the remainder of the meal until Heath mentioned his plans for the afternoon.

“With all the work we’ve got to do, you’re gonna run off to town?” Nick boomed and cast an incredulous look at his brother.

“I just wanted to drop by the tanner’s shop and buy a wallet. I feel kinda naked without mine.” Heath said, folding his napkin and laying it on the table.

“They stole your wallet, Heath, not your pants! I had every able-bodied man on this ranch gallivanting all over the countryside looking for you for four days.” Nick rose from his chair. “This is a working ranch and until the work gets caught up, buying a new wallet is gonna have to wait. We’ve still got to finish repairing the fence-line around the north pasture so we can move the herd up there.”

“You’re right, Nick.” Heath said quietly. “It can wait.”

Nick gave him an approving nod and headed for the door. “We’ll see you two at supper. Come on, Boy!”

“Hey, Nick!” Heath called as he rose to follow. “If we split up we might be able to get that fence finished by nightfall and then we could get started moving the herd first thing in the morning.”

“We’re not splitting up!” Nick spun around and glared at his brother. “We’re going to work that fence-line together!”

“But Nick…” Heath began. “You’re the one who said we could split up and make better time. We can have those cows moving by…”

“Heath!” Nick interrupted, waving his hand in exasperation. “What does time matter to a cow?”

A quizzical look spread over Heath’s face. His mouth opened but he was at a loss to come up with a reply. Nick, satisfied that he’d put an end to the matter, strode through the foyer and out the front door.

Heath stood in perplexed silence as the sound of Nick’s jingling spurs faded. “I didn’t mean…” he started and then shook his head. “Aww, never mind. See ya later!” Heath called back over his shoulder as he hurried to catch his brother.

Victoria gave Jarrod a knowing smile. “I don’t believe Nick intends to let Heath out of his sight for quite some time.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, Mother.” Jarrod’s voice took a more serious tone. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea until Hemet and his people are well out of the Valley. He’s being released from jail today. Fred can’t hold him for kidnapping since Heath decided not to press charges. Cyrus, on the other hand, will end up doing a fair amount of time in prison. Phil Archer is mulling over whether to go for a second-degree murder or a manslaughter charge since girl’s death was accidental.”

“Yes, it was an accident. He was trying to kill Heath!” Victoria said crisply with a flash of her gray eyes. “Do you think Hemet might still be a threat to Heath?”

“There’s no way to be one hundred percent sure, Mother, but no, I don’t believe so.” Jarrod replied.

“Nick thinks Heath should have pressed charges.”

Jarrod shrugged. “It was Heath’s decision. He just wants to put it all in the past and be left alone. And Nick does tend to be rather heavy-handed with his retribution where Heath is concerned.”

Victoria nodded. “I’ll never forget how he almost started a range war with Wally Miles when Evan wounded Heath – and they had been our close friends for many years. I can only imagine the blood that would have been shed if one of those people had shot Heath.”

A wry smile crossed Jarrod’s face. “Mother, you can rest assured Brother Hemet became well acquainted with Brother Nick that night! Nick took him aside and held a little prayer meeting. That’s why I’m so certain that once Hemet and his people leave the Valley, they won’t ever come back.”

“I hope you’re right, Jarrod.” Victoria said softly.

Jarrod took a sip of his coffee. “I dropped Heath’s chain off by the jewelry shop to have it repaired. I suppose I should have offered to pick up a wallet for him while I was in town. But that’s such a personal item for Heath, kind of like his boots or his saddle. Although he has always been very gracious when I’ve given him a gift, I realize our tastes are oftentimes quite dissimilar.”

Victoria laughed. “Do you mean like the little derringer pistol you bought him that first Christmas?”

“Exactly! I asked him several months later if he had ever fired it. He said ‘No, it’s still in the box. But if any midgets come around that need killing, I’ll be ready’.” Jarrod chuckled. “I realized my mistake. A derringer wasn’t the most utilitarian choice.”

“Well, I’d say you more then rectified your error on his birthday.” Victoria observed. “Heath was overwhelmed when you gave him the customized Colt revolver.”

“I still had some trepidation that he might consider it too fancy, but I knew he liked the gun for certain when it was in his holster the next morning. My brother Heath is a man with his own mind and his own tastes.”

“That he is!” Victoria agreed. “I remember seeing Heath’s wallet and what struck me is how much it reminded me of the kind Tom used to buy for himself – good quality leather, but otherwise plain.”

There was a moment’s silence as Victoria paused in reflection and then her countenance lit up with a smile. “Jarrod,” she said. “I assume Tom’s wallet is still locked away in the safe in the study.”

Jarrod looked at her curiously. “Why yes, Mother. It’s been there ever since…” his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. “I haven’t touched it since the night I put it there.”

“I want Heath to have Tom’s wallet.” The gray eyes held a full measure of resolve. “Other than his father’s boots, I haven’t found the right opportunity to offer him any more of Tom’s personal items. It may seem like I’m being sentimental, but this gives me the perfect chance to do that. I would really like Heath to have it. I don’t think Nick would mind.”

“Of course he wouldn’t, Mother!” Jarrod said warmly. “He would think it is a wonderful gesture, just as I do. Heath never knew Father, and all that died with Father was lost to Heath forever. I know I speak for Nick when I say your decision has our blessings.”

“Thank you, Son.” Victoria smiled at her eldest across the table.

“Then that settles it, Lovely Lady.” Jarrod rose from his chair. “May I escort you to the study and retrieve your gift?” He teased her as they walked out of the dining room arm-in-arm, “My only request is that Nick and I be on hand for the official presentation.”

Jarrod removed his father’s wallet from the safe and ran his fingers over the smooth-grained brown leather. He took a deep breath. “I guess I should remove the contents first.” It was something Jarrod had not bothered to do the night of his father’s murder.

“Yes,” Victoria agreed. “Just put Tom’s personals back in the safe.”

“There’s just the cash he was carrying…” Jarrod put the money in the safe. “Let’s see, here’s a picture of a very beautiful lady, and here’s another one of three fine children. The daughter and eldest son are particularly striking, I might add. And there’s a few old business cards.” Jarrod handed the wallet over to his mother and began to peruse the cards. The words on the second one caused his heart to pound so hard he could hear it in his own ears.

Raymond W. Kincaid, Esq. Attorney-At-Law. Strawberry, California.

Jarrod looked over at his mother, who was busy admiring the handsome wallet. She had not noticed his obvious shock. “Oh yes,” she was saying, “I mustn’t forget Tom’s secret compartment. He kept the first dollar he ever made from our own business folded up inside there for good luck. I think I’ll put it in my jewelry box.”

Victoria pulled up the leather flap that lined the interior of the wallet where the paper money was carried. “Ah, here it is!” She found the old dollar in the hiding place folded down to a quarter of its full size. “And here’s another…” Victoria’s voice trailed off.

The picture fit into her palm. The handsome blond lad in the Union Army uniform looked to be about thirteen or fourteen years old. On the back, in the boy’s own handwriting, ‘Heath Thomson 1865’. But Victoria could barely make out the inscription through the tears that flooded her eyes the moment she recognized her son.

Victoria had always felt somehow closer to Tom by his graveside – like Tom was near, though out of sight. But like a wolf, always there, an unseen presence in the brush. She imagined that if she could hear the sound of his voice just once more that he could give her the reassurance she desperately needed. Then the shattered image in her mind would once again coalesce into a perfect whole.

“Oh Tom,” Victoria whispered her plea. “Please tell me you didn’t abandon your son.” She went completely still, her eyes closed, narrowing all awareness to a single faculty of sense, searching in the dark behind her eyes for some meaning, listening for the faintest whisper on the drifting breeze.

Finally, Victoria rose from where she knelt and turned to Jarrod. “We’re going to Strawberry.”

Part 2

“Southern women are Mack trucks disguised as powder puffs.” – Reynolds Price

1870

The sign said ‘Strawberry’ in weathered red paint. Under the name of the town, much smaller, was the legend ‘pop. 618’. Someone had X’d out the 8 and left the number 61. Somebody else had used a different color paint to add the words ‘last count’ beneath the legend. Tom Barkley leaned over his saddle and contemplated its meaning with sadness. The once booming mining town was in its death throes.

At the edge of town Tom slowed his horse, letting the big bay walk down the center of main-street. Strawberry was no longer teeming with life and excitement, but that was to be expected. The town’s lifeblood flowed straight from the veins of the old B & L goldmine. No, Lassiter Mining Company owned the mine now. Tom had sold his half stake nearly nineteen years ago. The once rich mine was drying up fast and Strawberry was drying up with it.

Tom spotted a sign advertising a livery stable, and he nudged the bay a little faster, checking the shops and businesses on both sides of the street. The place wasn’t completely dead. Scattered businesses remained open, including the saloon and the hotel. There was even a newspaper.

Tom dismounted in front of the stable. The sign said ‘Riley’s Livery’. It had belonged to a man named Morrison the last time he was here. Tom tugged on the reins and pulled his bay through the yawning doors. Inside were rows of unoccupied stalls strewn with dirty straw litter.

A wrinkled, little white-haired man dressed in overalls dropped his hayfork and stepped out of an empty stall. Tom nodded. The little man ignored him. He walked past Tom to the bay, patting his muscular neck, feeling the heat and dampness. His gnarled fingers slid over the shoulder and down the horse’s front leg. The old man shuffled around the bay once, observing the flanks for heavy breathing, glancing between the back legs for frothy, white lather.

When he had completed the circuit, the man said, “Nice horse, mister. Traveled not more than a half-day’s ride at a leisurely pace. You come here from Stockton?”

Tom smiled. “That’s right, mister.”

The old man finally introduced himself. “Duncan Riley,” he said, sticking out an arthritic hand.

“Tom Barkley.” Tom replied with a handshake.

Riley looked him hard in the face. The old man squinted as he leaned toward Tom. “You’ve been in here before,” he stated.

“I have, old-timer, but it’s been more than eighteen years ago. Henry Morrison owned the livery back then.”

“I bought the livery from Morrison about six years ago.” Riley said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I know I seen you before.”

“Have you ever been to Stockton?” Tom asked, handing Riley the reins.

“Nope, I can’t say that I have.”

“Perhaps our paths crossed somewhere else then, Mr. Riley. I’ll be back for my horse in less than an hour.” Tom started back out the wide livery doors.

“I can see you take good care of this horse, Mr. Barkley!” Riley’s eyes glided over the bay with approval. “Only right a man should take proper care of the animal he depends on. This big fella comes up lame and you walk home, don’t you…” It wasn’t a question, and Tom didn’t even try to answer. “And you don’t look like a man who has to do much walking.”

Tom’s left eyebrow lifted in curiosity as he waited for Riley to speak his mind. The little curmudgeon was a typical stableman – highly opinionated and very out-spoken. By the time they were as aged as this old-timer, more often than not they had acquired all the charm of a dead cow. But if you ever got the chance to hire one who really knew horses, you were way ahead of the game, no matter what his age or disposition. Tom answered Riley with an amused half-smile and a wave good-bye.

Riley’s eyes grew wide and his white head tilted as his gaze followed Tom into the street. “Wish I could remember where I seen you before, cause I surely have. I know that much,” the old man mumbled under his breath.

Tom spotted his destination on the ride into town – the building right across the street from the Strawberry Gazette. He examined the exterior of the law office. Paint was chipping off the window casings and the sign was fading. Tom turned the door handle and stepped inside. There was a receptionist’s desk covered by a fine layer of dust and an empty waiting room.

Tom cleared his throat. “Mr. Kincaid?” he called.

A door opened down the hallway beyond the reception room and a man stepped into view. “Mr. Barkley?”

“That’s right.”

The young lawyer hurried up to Tom and shook his hand. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Barkley. Ned thought you wouldn’t show. Come on back to my office.” The lawyer led the way. “Ned is already there.”

Tom followed Raymond Kincaid to his office. Ned Parker sat in one of the two chairs in front of Kincaid’s desk. Ned’s face was deeply creased, his hair was gray and going, but Tom would have known his old mine foreman anywhere.

“Ned,” he said warmly, offering a handshake. “It’s been a long time.”

Ned crossed his arms and gave Tom a cool stare. “Well if it ain’t Tom Barkley, Mr. Bull of the Woods himself. Never figured to see you back in Strawberry.”

There was some real sand in the old miner’s craw, Tom thought as he took the other seat. But if Kincaid’s letter was accurate, the man had a legitimate gripe.

Ray Kincaid broke the uneasy silence. “Mr. Barkley, as I told you in my letter, I am representing Ned and the others in a civil lawsuit against Lassiter Mining Company. A dispute has arisen over pension money that the miners believe they’re due.”

“Hell yes, we’re due!” Ned interjected.

“I know you are.” Tom said evenly.

“Why, because you say so?” Ned spat. “I’ll tell you why! We worked down in that hole day after day for twenty years. You could taste the dust down there cause it burned your throat like trying your first cigarette. After twenty years, if it’s not the lungs that go, it’s your back or hips or knees from the picking, the loading, the hauling, and the lifting. By the time that mountain gave up all its gold, the men who mined it were spent too!”

“Mr. Barkley, only you, Daniel Lassiter, and Ned – acting as representative for the miners – were present at the meeting where certain financial commitments were made to the men. Mr. Lassiter’s position is that those obligations applied only to the now defunct B & L Mining Company.”

“A lot of things changed around here after you sold out and skedaddled. Lassiter even started working young boys in the mine.” Ned looked directly at Tom to gage his reaction.

“Dan used child labor?” Tom was appalled.

“Sure enough. But you weren’t around to stop it, were you?” There was a mocking in Ned’s tone.

“Mr. Barkley, California law recognizes a clear verbal agreement between two parties as an ‘Oral Contract’. Your testimony would add credibility to our case that such a verbal commitment did in fact exist. The tricky part of winning this case will be convincing the judge that those obligations were transferred to Lassiter Mining. Dan Lassiter, of course, will deny it.”

Tom could see the sincerity in the young lawyer’s eyes. Perhaps Raymond Kincaid had not yet moved on to greener pastures like the other partners in the firm because he wanted to win a just settlement for these old miners. The thought of a certain twenty-six year old law school graduate who was just as idealistic and committed to justice brought a brief smile to Tom’s face.

Tom reached into the inside breast pocket of his coat. “Mr. Kincaid, I have something that I think you will find even more valuable than my testimony.” Tom handed the document to the lawyer.

Raymond Kincaid’s eyes widened and he glanced up at Tom. He began to skim through the three-page ‘Buy-Sell Agreement’ between Daniel Lassiter and Thomas Barkley. When he finished, Kincaid threw back his head and laughed.

“It’s all in here, Ned! It’s all here!” The young lawyer was jubilant. “B & L Mining opened an escrow account at the San Francisco Bank earmarked for your pensions. Per the terms of this ‘Buy-Sell Agreement’, Lassiter Mining assumes the pension obligation and a percentage of the mine’s profits were to be deposited into the account annually.” Kincaid turned to Tom. “Thank you, Mr. Barkley. Dan Lassiter never even hinted that this agreement or the escrow account existed.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Kincaid.” Tom said. “It’s only right that the miners should get what’s coming to them.”

Ned Parker brushed trembling fingers through his gray hair. “Lassiter never would have told us,” he said softly. “He’d have stole our money if he could’ve gotten away with it.”

Tom rose. “It’s a long ride back to Stockton so I’ll be on my way. Mr. Kincaid, don’t hesitate to wire me if I can be of further assistance. Ned, take care and give the men my best.”

Tom paused on the boardwalk outside the lawyer’s office. He let his eyes wander in the direction of a small frame house out near the far end of town. It was there Tom regained consciousness almost nineteen years earlier, after being nearly beaten to death and robbed. He awoke in the care of a young woman. If physical appearance guaranteed nursing skill, he was in the best of hands - her face and body could make dumb men talk and blind men see.

It had been impossible not to think of Leah Thomson as Tom rode back to Strawberry. Memories flooded his mind – fond memories of being tucked into that soft goose-down mattress and served soup and muffins; of listening, warm and drowsy, as she rocked and talked at the foot of the bed in her soft, honeyed drawl. He remembered the joy of being nursed and pampered by a woman like this and the desire that came to burn between them until it could no longer be denied.

Tom was lost in his thoughts as Ned Parker closed the office door behind him. Tom startled when Ned cleared his throat. “I’m glad you hadn’t rode off yet.” Ned began. “Gives me a chance to thank you proper and tell you I was wrong about what I’d been thinking, Mr. Barkley.”

“That’s alright Ned, I understand. I suppose I should have checked back to make sure Dan fulfilled our agreement. It appears you weren’t the only man who never figured to see me back in Strawberry.” Tom’s blue eyes were solemn. “I’m sorry if you men suffered because of that, Ned. I own stakes in over a dozen mining operations and this has taught me that if a man doesn’t look after his own obligations, no one else will. It is something that I intend to have my son Jarrod follow up on. But you can understand how a man might not know all that’s gone on in his absence.”

“Yeah, Mr. Barkley, I can see how a man might not know.”

“I better be getting along.” Tom stole one more glance in the direction of the little house.

“She still lives there, Mr. Barkley.”

“Who?” Tom asked, incredulous. It was if the old miner had read his mind.

“Leah Thomson.” Ned replied. “She never did marry… And she’s still a mighty fine-looking woman too!”

Tom Barkley stood at the gate of the picket fence, staring at the small white house. Leah’s place was neat and well cared for. It still looked much as it had so many years before, just like Tom remembered.

Another image from long ago kept crowding in on him. It was just after sunrise and a shaft of sunlight peeked between the curtains and fell across the bed where they had shared a night of passion. Leah slipped quietly from the bed. Standing there naked, her light brown hair hanging long and silky down her back, she turned to look at him. Her body was perfect: soft, yet strong, and the curves were right where they should be. Tom could still see her now, her lovely face picking up a radiant glow from the rays of the morning sun. Leah looked like a beautiful, golden statue. That moment became frozen in time for him. It was how Tom always remembered her. It was how he saw her still. Leah was made to be loved and cherished by the right man. She was meant for that.

What mystified Tom was that she would still be here. He was well aware of Leah Thomson even before he woke up in her bed. Other skills and attributes might be appreciated and duly noted, but her beauty was obvious to all. She could have had her pick of any of the eligible men in Strawberry. Many wanted her - it was just left up to Leah to do the choosing. He always imagined her as the wife of some lucky man, and mother to a brood of children.

The mid-day sun beat down on him. The clouds were high overhead, almost as distant as those long ago memories. Tom sighed. He was stalling and he knew it. A small curl of smoke suddenly puffed through the chimney. It was almost twelve-thirty now. Leah was probably making lunch and maybe a fresh pot of coffee. She always made great coffee.

Tom stood on the front porch and rapped the door with his knuckles. He waited, shifting his boots, unable to get comfortable. Tom looked down at his feet as if to reprimand them. Just then the door swung open.

“Rachel, since when do you ever knock…” Leah was taken aback at the sight of the well-dressed stranger. He was looking down and the brim of his black hat hid the upper part of his face. A salt and pepper beard covered the rest. “Sorry, mister. I thought you were…” The man raised his eyes to meet hers. “Tom?” she asked, breathless.

“Hello, Leah.” Tom took off his hat.

“It’s been a long time, Tom.” She could hear her heart beating in her chest, a pounding, distant drum.

“You look wonderful, Leah.” Tom meant it. Ned Parker was right - she was still a mighty fine-looking woman. At thirty-six, her face was still girlish, with big brown eyes, the fine nose you could draw with a compass, a small chin and a rosebud mouth. Her teeth were straight and white and her long brown hair arranged in an upsweep except for scattered stray tendrils. A well-worn cotton dress snuggled a soft, hourglass figure.

“Thank you, Tom.” She was a bit flustered. “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Please come in.”

The front room was simple and tidy. Tom looked around the room and noted Leah had only one of everything: one sofa, one coffee table, one rocking chair, one lamp, one picture hanging on the wall. Everything was in its place. It was if she wanted to keep her life uncluttered and quiet.

“Sit down, please.” Leah motioned to the sofa. It was draped in a hand-sewn quilt-like cover to hide the worn upholstery. She sat at the other end. “I hope everything is well with you and your family!”

Tom looked at Leah’s face. Her innocent expression was just like an angel’s. She really wanted to know that all was well. “Yes.” Tom smiled. “Victoria and the children are fine! We even have a twelve year-old daughter in addition to our two sons. Her coming along ten years after Nick was a bit of a shock though.”

“Babies do have a way of coming along when you least expect them.” Leah’s right hand went to her cheek and nervously fussed with a wayward strand of hair.

“But Audra has been a joy, a real blessing, just like my two boys.” Tom added proudly.

Leah’s hand fell to her lap. “Why’d you come back to Strawberry after all these years, Tom?”

“To see to some old business commitments.” Tom replied. “Dan Lassiter is trying to cheat the miners out of their pensions. Fortunately, I had the disability and pension obligations well documented when I sold him my shares.”

Leah nodded. “Dan Lassiter always was a snake. I’m glad you could help the miners, Tom. A lot of those men would be left destitute without their pension.” She looked back toward the kitchen. “You want some coffee?”

“Do you still put egg shells in it?”

“Yes, I do!” Leah laughed.

“Then I’ll have a cup, if it’s no trouble.”

“You were trouble from the minute I found you in that alley, Tom Barkley.” Leah said in a silky drawl. “A cup of coffee is nothing at all. I’ll even make you a ham sandwich. I was just about to fix myself one.”

Leah left him there for the much needed solitude of her kitchen. She put one hand on her heart and the other over her mouth. He was back. Tom Barkley was really here. Time had changed Tom, it was true. The years of ease and prosperity had added a fair amount of weight to his frame. At thirty-nine, he had been trim and clean-shaven, with handsome features and a defined jaw-line. The extra pounds had softened and rounded his face. The eyes were the same clear ocean-blue. There were little crinkles around them now, but with the graying hair and beard, they gave him a look of knowing and experience. It really didn’t matter to her how well he wore his fifty-seven years. It was the essence of the man that she had fallen in love with. And seeing him again, Leah could not deny she loved him still. She had fallen hopelessly in love with him all those years ago, and he was far too compelling to have ever been replaced in her heart. He was still the man of her dreams – that dashing black-haired man in his prime who made love to her and gave her his baby.

Leah loaded the lunch tray and took a deep breath. Tom was here on business. He’d take care of that and then he’d go back home to his wife and family – back where he belonged. It would take some kind of performance, but she’d make it through this one brief visit.

Leah emerged from the kitchen and sat the tray on the coffee table. She served Tom a sandwich on a small plate and a mug of hot coffee that smelled like heaven.

“Still take it black?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, ever the product of his proper upbringing. “And it’s just as delicious as I remembered.” Tom added after taking a sip.

“My ham sandwiches aren’t too shabby, either.” Leah laughed and sat down to her own lunch. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself the past eighteen years, Tom.”

Tom arched his eyebrow as he chewed a bite of sandwich. “Our local paper has carried lots of stories about you through the years.” Leah explained. “I always knew you were destined for great things, Tom.”

“Thank you, Leah.” Tom said. “Luck had a lot to do with it. Mining’s a hit or miss proposition. When I sold my stake in the mine here, rather than put all my eggs in one basket, I decided to invest in several different claims.” Tom shrugged. “Every one of them came up pay dirt! Things really took off for us then. We had money to expand our ranch and buy top quality livestock.”

“And I bet you’ve got a big, beautiful house, too!” Leah grinned.

“It’s big alright.” Tom smiled. “And it’s beautiful because I left all the decorating to my wife.”

There was a wistful flicker of Leah’s gaze across the sparse room and then she lowered her eyes. Tom caught the look.

“Leah, I just don’t understand what you’re still doing in Strawberry. I always imagined you leaving here and finding yourself a good husband. Or marrying someone here… You had half the men in Strawberry tied up in knots!”

That got a hearty laugh. “Half? Oh well, I’m gonna take that as a compliment anyway!”

Leah had an infectious laugh. And she was one of those breezily unpretentious people who was forever finding something or other humorous. Tom laughed with her and twenty years seemed to melt off his face.

“Seriously, Leah, I just meant you could have had so much more in life.”

Leah stiffened. “Who are you to judge what quality of life I have? You can’t look through my eyes or feel what I feel! My life may be simple, but it is rewarding. I tend my garden, work my jobs, cherish my good friends, and enjoy my moments of solitude. You haven’t known anything of my life in over eighteen years, Tom. Don’t you be telling me what I am or what you think I ought to be!”

She was a product of the Old South, which demanded of its women both strength and femininity, coupled with a die-hard spirit of independence. But having spent those weeks with Leah, Tom was not convinced she had no interest whatsoever in traditional domesticity.

“I’m not passing any judgment.” Tom declared. “You just seemed so suited for marriage and motherhood. And it’s not too late. You’re still young and attractive, Leah. Living alone in a dying mining town can’t offer you much security.”

“Remember me telling you about marrying Charlie Sawyer?” Leah looked him in the eye. “I was just past sixteen years old. Oh, he promised he was gonna take care of me in fine fashion! Two weeks later, I was a widow. I grieved for that man even though there was talk around town – talk that Charlie was a two-bit swindler and that I was just a victim of his latest scam. I didn’t want to believe it! But all I know for sure is that his body was never found and what little money I had saved disappeared the same time as Charlie did.” Leah shook her head. “I decided to change my name back to Thomson. I married once for security, Tom, and maybe all I got instead was a cheap hustle.”

“Then he was a fool!” Tom stated hotly.

“And so was I.” Leah said after a moment. “I was going to be a dutiful wife and Charlie would give me security and protection. It seemed like a fair exchange. Then two years later I learned the real meaning of love. It is a gift and to deny true love blights the soul. I could never marry or lay with a man for any other reason.” Leah stated it with such clarity that Tom knew it to be true.

Tom looked away. Leah knew then that he sensed what she had not directly stated. The two lapsed into silence, neither one very comfortable right there in the moment. Leah bit into her sandwich. If she chewed, then he wouldn’t expect her to talk. A few minutes passed and she saw that he was finished as well. Leah stood and began to clear the low table.

“Another cup of coffee before you go?” she offered.

“Thank you, Leah. That would be nice.” Tom looked up with a nod and handed her his mug.

She disappeared into the kitchen and Tom rose from his seat. He walked over to the fireplace and draped his arm on the mantle. Tom stared into the depths of the empty, blackened hearth and heaved out a sigh.

Life is a mystery to be lived, and perhaps love is its most profound enigma. Tom had found an answer he could barely comprehend. Leah was still here alone because she had loved no other. She had spent the intervening years pining for her first love – a love that could never be. He wished he could hold Leah responsible for much of what had happened, but he couldn’t. Tom castigated himself for the affair. Leah was so very young. He was twenty-one years her senior and he had a wife and family at home – a wife that he dearly loved. Leah did not try to win his heart and steal him away. She was just so in love, she gave him her heart anyway. And Tom had grown to love her too, in his own way.

It was his deep affection and attraction for Leah that drove Tom away from Strawberry. He thought back to the day he’d sold his shares in the mine to his partner.

Dan Lassiter sat in stunned silence for a few moments. “Of course I’ll buy your stake, Tom! But are you sure this is what you want to do? We’ve had ore samples assay at over ninety-five percent pure gold! A mine this rich could produce another twenty years. Opportunities like this don’t come along every day.”

“I realize that, Dan.” Tom said. “But I’m certain I want to sell my half interest. I’ll use the profit to stake another claim.”

“Yeah, but there’s nothing like a sure thing, Tom. There’s no guarantee you won’t end up owning a worthless hole next time.” Dan shook his head in disbelief. “This is all because of that Thomson girl, isn’t it?”

Tom ignored the question. “Dan, do you want to buy my stake or don’t you?”

“Sure, Tom. I’ll buy you out and you can go on back to Stockton and play the devoted family man.” Lassiter grinned. “It doesn’t really matter to me why you’re selling. I’ll make a fortune off this mine. But that girl may end up being the most expensive piece of tail you ever had!”

In an instant, Tom nearly snatched Lassiter clean across the desk by the front of his shirt collar. “Don’t ever speak to me like that about her again!” Tom’s voice was low and threatening.

“Easy, Tom… I’m… sorry.” Lassiter stammered. He straightened his tie and shirt front when Tom released his hold. “I didn’t realize you had strong feelings for the girl. That would be reason enough right there for a lot of men to hold on to a business interest here in Strawberry.”

“I’m not ‘a lot of men’, Dan. No matter how this looks, I still love my wife very much. And I have too much regard for Leah to keep her up as a mistress. She’s a wonderful woman.”

Tom’s mind snapped back to the present. Yes, Leah was a wonderful young woman, and when they’d met she still had her best years ahead of her. After he left her, Tom had hoped Leah would soon forget about him and find someone without strings or guilt. He wanted her to have all that life had to offer. Now, Leah was a woman alone in the world and he felt to blame. Tom slammed his fist down on the top of the mantle. The impact caused a little wooden picture frame sitting on the mantle to topple over on its face. Tom glanced up at the small photograph as he started to prop the frame upright again. The boy’s face in the picture caught his eye.

Tom sucked in a sharp breath. He walked over to the window to better study the small picture. It seemed like the floor beneath him vibrated with every step, rattling his bones and threatening to take Tom to his knees. The stronger light did nothing to calm him. It only served to remove all doubt. Tom had indeed seen the familiar face somewhere – he’d seen it reflected in his own mirror when he was a boy.

Tom thought again how Leah seemed to have only one of everything. All those years ago, she’d had only one winter coat. One pair of good shoes. One pretty hat. Yes, she had one of everything. She even had one child. His child.

“I’d left the coffeepot off the stove. I had to reheat it for you…” Leah sat the steaming mug on the coffee table.

Tom turned from the window to face her. His cheeks were glistening, but Leah didn’t realize it was from tears until he reached up with his left hand to wipe them away. Her pleasant smile faded and concern flooded her warm brown eyes.

“Tom? Are you alright?”

Tom wondered if he would be able to speak past the knot in his throat. Silently, he raised his right arm to eye level, turning the small picture frame to face in her direction.

“Why… why didn’t you tell me, Leah?” he finally said in a voice both tight and stricken.

Leah backed away a step, but said nothing. Tom noticed her hands were trembling. They stood there in silence, the anguish in her brimming eyes matching his own. She still hadn’t said anything.

“Answer me, dammit!” Tom choked out.

Part 3

Leah could hardly bring herself to look at Tom. She turned away from him and covered her face with her hands. He saw her narrow shoulders begin to shake with sobs. In an instant, Tom regretted the harshness of his tone. The woman standing before him now seemed small and impossibly vulnerable.

He moved to her side. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have spoken to you in that way.” Tom touched her arm with a tentative hand. “Sit down, Leah. Please,” he said in a soothing voice.

She sat down on the old sofa and Tom took a seat by her. He offered her his handkerchief. Leah took it and dabbed her eyes, aware that Tom was watching her now, waiting for her to compose herself. Waiting for all the answers she must now surely give.

“His name is Heath,” she said in a voice that was barely audible. Once the secret Leah had been carrying all those years was finally revealed, it was like a weight was lifted off her.

“Heath…” Tom spoke his son’s name for the first time. “Is the boy around?” he asked hopefully.

“No, Tom. He’s down in New Mexico.” Leah caught the look of disappointment.

“Would you tell me about my son, Leah? Would you tell me all about Heath?”

Leah got a faraway, mystical twinkle in her eye. Then she spoke in that silky drawl. “I was at a mining camp up on the Stanislaus River when Heath was born. Rachel Caulfield’s brother Caleb was up there panning for gold and I went along with her to check on him. She was against my going, but the baby wasn’t due for another three weeks and I figured I’d be alright. We’d been having heavy rains and I wasn’t about to let her travel alone. We hadn’t been there any time when my labor pains started. Heath was born that night in Caleb’s tent in the middle of another downpour.”

“Oh, Leah. I’m so sorry!” Tom was shamed by the meager circumstances of her delivery.

Leah stared at him in confusion. “Sorry about what, Tom? Sorry about the rain? Those rains made it seem like the whole world was bursting with new life. After the winter of cold shoulders and icy stares that greeted me daily, my son arrived with the most glorious spring I can ever recall! Sorry about me having the baby? Don’t be. Some folks around Strawberry said my being with child was a penance for my wicked ways. If so, it’s been a remarkable penance. I’ve had my share of trials, Tom, but Heath has always been my joy!”

“I’m sorry that you were alone, Leah.” Tom wrung his hands helplessly. “It couldn’t have been easy. I didn’t mean to abandon you. If I’d suspected your condition I would have taken care of you and the boy.”

“No, it wasn’t easy, and there were some hard times, I won’t lie. Sometimes it seemed like we were gasping for our very breath.” Leah shook her head. “But we survived! We didn’t starve and the roof didn’t fall in. I got a job as a waitress at the cafe. Heath picked up whatever work he could to help out. He’d work part-time at the livery. He washed the miner’s clothes in the river every week and I would do their mending.”

“Ned Parker told me today that Dan Lassiter worked young boys in the mine. He threw it up in my face like a taunt. Heath worked in the mine, didn’t he?” Tom tried to keep his voice even and controlled, but there was no mistaking the accusatory tone.

Leah exhaled a quiet sigh. “Yes, Tom, he did,” she admitted.

“And this!” Tom tapped the glass over the photograph of the far too young soldier with his finger. “You let him join the Army rather than ask for my help? What were you thinking? Doesn’t it take a degree of conceit and selfishness to have hidden Heath from me?”

It was a challenge and something welled up inside her. “Nothing was hidden!” Leah snapped. “If I had moved away with Heath you could make that charge. We were here all along. You knew we could have conceived a child together. That was reason enough for you to have come back. Those miners weren’t the only obligation you left in Strawberry! And how could you ever think that I allowed Heath to join the Army? He was all I had! Heath ran away and signed up without my knowing.” There was a deep hurt and sadness in her eyes.

“Sorry.” Tom found himself apologizing again. “I had no right to say that either.”

“You can’t make me feel any worse than I already do.” Leah said quietly. “You’re entitled to your anger, Tom. Heath is your son.”

Tom stared down at the photograph. Yes, Heath was his son. Why didn’t Leah tell him? What was she afraid of? All these years had passed and every day was an opportunity to have contacted him. She could have unburdened herself! He didn’t have to miss the first eighteen years of his son’s life. What a gift the truth would have been!

“I just don’t understand why you never told me, Leah.”

“I’m not sure I understand myself, Tom.” Leah replied. “My decision never brought me any peace of mind. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t wonder if I did the right thing. In the beginning, I thought you might come back and check on me. All kinds of thoughts went through my mind. Did you even want to know if there was a baby? Or did I mean so little to you that you could forget me so quickly and forever?”

“I never forgot you, Leah.” Tom said honestly.

“All I know is you never came back. After a year had passed, I was resigned to raising my son alone. I brought the same energy and determination to rearing Heath as you did to building your empire.”

“I could have helped you out financially, Leah.”

“I didn’t want your money, Tom. You measure what you could have given Heath in terms of material comforts. I measure by how much of your time you could have given him.”

“I would have come to visit him as often as I could.” Tom realized in that instant that he would have wanted more than mere visitations. “And he’d have been welcome at the ranch as well. Oh, Victoria would have been hurt and disappointed by my failing, but all of her anger would have been directed at me. She’s knows better than anyone that I’m not a perfect man. Yet, we’ve always found a way to weather any storm. She is a loving, fair-minded, honorable woman. It’s not in Victoria to ever mistreat an innocent child. She would have treated Heath like a son. We both would have wanted our children to get to know their brother.”

In the haze of unknowns Leah had pondered all those years ago were the implications of Tom knowingly rejecting Heath. She wouldn’t have put the child through that. What mother would? But here was a scenario that distressed her for a different reason. What if the boy chose to live with his father rather than her? It was a real possibility not because Tom was wealthy, but because the Barkleys were rich in what mattered – rich in family.

Tom could sense she was warring within herself. “I wouldn’t have taken the child from you, Leah.”

Her eyes flashed at the very notion. “No, you wouldn’t have!” Leah snapped instinctively.

The softness of her southern style was deceptive. Tom had seen the same quality in his wife. Victoria was the epitome of refinement, but when it came to her children, she turned into a lioness with well-defined territory and the claws to protect it.

“No, you wouldn’t have taken Heath,” Leah continued. “But how could I have refused him if he wanted to leave me? With you, he would have had what every little boy wants – the constant presence of a father. He would have had the companionship of his brothers and a mother figure as well. All I had to offer was my love.”

“You don’t think that would have been enough?”

Leah shook her head and stared off into the room. “It wasn’t just the thought of his choosing to live with you at the ranch. I couldn’t bear the thought of Heath ever being ashamed of me. He would eventually understand that he was the product of an adulterous affair. Victoria would be left holding all the high cards. I would be the scandalous other woman who had caused that fine lady an untold amount of hurt and shame.” Leah had finally given voice to her deepest fear - the fear of rejection by her own flesh and blood.

“Leah, you make it all sound so sordid and it wasn’t like that! Neither one of us was out looking for an affair.”

“Yeah, but some people would rather think the worst and they never let you live it down. The preacher always included me in his annual anti-fornication sermon, which here in Strawberry came just before the Fourth of July celebration.” Her voice took on the cadence of an old-time Southern evangelist. “When the warm night air and the music, dancing and kegs of beer can fling a craving for the flesh on the saved and unsaved alike!”

Tom could tell by the little curl at the corner of her mouth that Leah had probably gotten a good laugh from the yearly reference. But it also served to remind Tom that he had left her open for the whole town to disparage her reputation.

“You had your choice of the eligible men here in Strawberry before I met you, Leah. I suppose our affair and your having the baby changed all that.”

“This was a mining town, Tom, not a Puritan settlement. Sure, some folks were judgmental.” Leah shrugged. “I came through it bloodied but unbowed, and that alone made me more interesting to some of those men than ever before. Even your old partner Dan Lassiter came sniffing around here with an offer to keep me up. He said the baby was proof I wasn’t averse to getting laid. I didn’t take him up on his proposition, of course.”

Tom flinched. Dan had his own wife and family back home. The man’s patent dishonesty and condescending demeanor were perfect examples of why Tom never liked him. Leah saw Tom’s expression change from surprise to anger.

“It’s okay, Tom. What anyone in this town thought of me didn’t change my life one way or another. I was never more honored than by those who chose to be my friends.” Leah’s face was serene. “Enough about me! You asked me to tell you about Heath. Maybe I should let your son tell you himself.”

She rose and walked into her bedroom as Tom stared after her in confusion. In a few moments, Leah was back and she handed him a letter. Leah took a deep breath. “It’s the first letter Heath wrote to me after he ran away and joined the Union Army.”

Tom unfolded the letter and saw the boy’s neat cursive script. His eyes began to mist and he felt like his chest would burst with pride as he read the long letter. Even at this tender age, his son’s world was a world defined by honor. Becoming a soldier fulfilled his youthful idealism like no other vocation could. The boy clung to deeply held beliefs and values. Heath thought in terms of valor, loyalty, sacrifice, of proving himself in battle, defending the Republic and of righting a great moral wrong.

He refolded the letter and handed it back to Leah. “What will he think of me?” Tom wondered out loud.

“When Heath was a little boy, he often asked about his father. I always talked like you were the greatest man alive! I wanted my son to believe that I had something most women only dream of - real and true love for a wonderful man and I was graced with his baby.” Leah paused and her eyes darkened. “The war changed Heath, Tom. That innocence was lost. He came home so angry and so ready to hate. He said he never wanted me to speak of his father again. You were one of the people he believed he had the right to hate.”

Tom picked up the little picture frame. He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat as he stared at his son’s face. Tom felt it all slipping away. Every error in judgment, every mistake, every lost opportunity, came back to him as one continuous stream of ineptitude. How do you explain to an eighteen-year-old boy why you never took a half-day’s ride to check on his mother? How could he make Heath understand his regret and how much it hurt to know how badly he had played this one hand he’d been dealt?

“Do you think I have any chance with him?”

“Yes, I do.” Leah reached over and stroked Tom’s forearm. “Just remember that underneath all the anger and hostility is the same boy who wrote this letter. Heath is the genuine article, Tom. He is good and he is kind and he is brave. He has your soul, Tom! I know you can win him over.”

“Where in New Mexico is he?”

“Lincoln County.” Leah said. “He’s working for a fellow by the name of Chisum.”

“The Bosque Grande… I know John Chisum.” Tom became pensive. “There’s been a lot of trouble down there.”

“Yeah,” Leah agreed. “A range war and Heath was right in the middle of it. He was shot in the back with a shotgun load of nail heads and carpet tacks. Heath wouldn’t let Mr. Chisum wire me until he was back on his feet, but I understand it was touch and go for a while.”

“Oh, my Lord!” Tom breathed. He had almost lost his son without ever knowing him.

“That’s a phrase I’m well familiar with.” Leah’s drawl couldn’t have been more matter-of-fact. “That boy has me on a first name basis with God, Jesus, and all the angels! I asked the Lord to assign Heath two guardian angels full-time. One for the day shift and another to take the night shift.”

“I’m going down to New Mexico to see Heath.” Tom said with conviction as he rose from his seat. “I have to tell him I’m his father, Leah. I have to.” He said it slowly and deliberately, emphasizing the ‘I’. “I’m going to try to bring him back to the ranch with me.”

Leah smiled weakly. Perhaps she would be the next to feel the brunt of her son’s anger for all that she’d kept from him. “Do what you must, Tom.” Leah said.

“I better start for home. I’ve got a long ride.” Tom said, handing the photograph to Leah. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything that you need?”

“Nothing, Tom.” Leah shook her head. “I’m just fine.”

Tom started for the door, then, stopped when he heard Leah call his name. He turned back a half step.

“Here,” she said taking the backing off the picture frame and removing the small photograph. “I want you to have this.”

“Thank you, Leah. I’ll treasure it.” Tom’s blue eyes were sincere as he put the little picture in the breast pocket of his coat. “Goodbye.” Tom opened the door to head home once more.

“Wait!” Leah stopped him. He stood in the doorway, his features haloed by the wash of bright sun spilling in around him. “There is something you can do for me, Tom,” she said. “Be careful!”

Leah moved near him. “I read in the newspaper about how you’ve been standing with those farmers against the Coastal and Western Railroad. It sounds like there’s trouble brewing, Tom. Big trouble…”

He touched his fingertips to her lips. Whether to silence her or just to feel them once more, Tom wasn’t quite sure. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. You take care of yourself Leah, you hear?”

Tom walked down an empty boardwalk on his way back to the livery. He glanced over as someone on the opposite boardwalk slammed a door closed. Tom stopped in his tracks. He was just across the way from the building that served as county courthouse and town hall. Tom angled across the quiet street. He was already running late, and he knew it. But there was one more piece of unfinished business left in Strawberry that Tom had to put right. It had been waiting eighteen years.

Duncan Riley was sweeping the wide runway between the rows of stalls with a broom that had more handle than straws. “Stuck around longer than you thought you would, didn’t you, Mr. Barkley?” Riley said without missing a stroke.

“I had more business to attend to than I realized, Mr. Riley.” Tom said. “I’m ready for my horse now.”

“Give me five minutes.” The old man replied, propping the sorry excuse for a broom against a stall. “Weren’t no need for him to stand here cinched up tight waiting for you.” Riley was as good as his word. Five minutes later the big bay was tacked up and ready to ride. Riley tugged the bay along in his wake and Tom followed them out of the barn. “I still say you favor somebody I seen once!”

Tom couldn’t resist a half-smile realizing he was still under Riley’s scrutiny. He pulled the picture out of his breast pocket and showed it to the old man. “Maybe you’re thinking of my son, Heath.”

Duncan Riley snapped his ancient fingers as the photograph jogged his memory loose. “That’s it! That’s where I’ve seen your face. On Leah Thomson’s boy!”

“Did he ever work for you?”

“Nope. He run off and joined the Army about the time I decided to buy the livery from Henry Morrison. I would have kept him on, though. Henry said Heath was the most natural thing working a horse he had ever come across. Is the boy working your stock?”

“No.” Tom stated. “But if I have my way he soon will be!”

Riley was regarding him curiously, but Tom wasn’t about to let the old man draw him into some kind of confessional autobiography. He pulled out his wallet and handed the white-haired stableman a greenback. “Keep the change.” Tom said.

“That’s mighty generous.” The old-timer smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Barkley.”

Tom pondered the wallet for a moment and then opened it wider so that he could pull up the leather flap that ran down its middle. He pulled the small picture from his pocket once more and put Heath’s photograph underneath the flap along with his lucky dollar. Tom didn’t want to risk losing his son’s picture on the long ride home.

Tom climbed into the saddle and glanced down at Riley, who looked rather serious. “I figure you’re running late, Mr. Barkley, but don’t forget what I told you about taking care of this horse. You don’t want to end up walking home.”

Tom smiled. “I won’t push him past his limit, Mr. Riley!” he assured the old-timer. Tom extended his fingers and touched the brim of his hat in a casual salute. Then, squeezing his mount with his knees, Tom coaxed the big bay into a slow canter.

Tom left the main road once he was on Barkley range and headed toward a long, winding path up the hillside. When he reached the narrow bridge, he slowed his horse to a walk for the trip across the river. The water’s surface rippled underneath a setting sun, filling the channel with a sheet of undulating silver. Once he was across the river, Tom kicked the bay and the horse quickened its pace into an easy canter.

Tom looked up at the sky. Huge smears of reddish-pink, purple and orange hues stretched from horizon to horizon. Tom loved sunset more than any other time of day and this was a spectacular one. He lowered his gaze, remembering just how late he was going to be getting home. Tom hadn’t told anyone where he was going today and Nick was probably about ready to send out a search party to look for him.

Home was getting closer and all Tom could think about was what would happen when he got there. He had to tell Victoria and his children the truth. Tom was about to peel off the vestiges of his past life like wet clothes. It wouldn’t be easy, but it had to be done. Even the most shameful mistakes can be rectified, healed and forgiven once they are admitted to and dealt with.

Then Tom would go to Heath. He’d given the boy his name. Tom would convince his son that he wanted Heath in his life. Heath would be able to place himself in this world. He would finally know where he belonged.

His family’s life was about to change in a radical way, but Tom would find a way to make it right. He wasn’t sad. Tom had gained a son and with the love of a new father’s heart, he felt himself becoming lighter in spirit.

The tired bay slowed and Tom kicked the animal in the ribs again. The horse leapt forward. The sound of the first distant crack was almost swept away by the wind rushing past and the echo of pounding hooves. Tom turned his head unsure he had heard anything at all. As he drew nearer the grove, something slammed into one of the oak trunks and sent a chip of bark flying. Then, there was a second distant clap.

Only then did Tom put it all together. Someone was shooting at him! Judging from the arrival of the bullet and the delay of the rifle’s report, it was long-range shooting. He hadn’t worn his Colt, but even if he had, a revolver would have been useless. Tom had his Winchester in the saddle boot, but he still needed to make it to the cover of the trees.

Part 4

“Remember that your character is your destiny.” – Mufasa

Victoria and Jarrod rode in silence. The horse had settled into a steady gait with Jarrod barely tugging on the reins as he navigated the buggy down the narrow road. The sun filled the clear blue sky with its golden fire, warming the landscape. The road cut through meadows and across rolling hills covered with lush grass and studded with trees. Indian paintbrush and columbine dotted the meadows with colorful blossoms and their fragrance swirled in the air around them.

Jarrod spent the ride in quiet contemplation. As he thought back on his formative years, Jarrod realized what an important role his father had played in his life. Perhaps his earliest lasting impression occurred when he was only four years old. Jarrod was still recovering from a bout of pneumonia that nearly took his life. He was bored with confinement in the house and on a childish impulse had decided to sneak out to the barn and visit the animals. His limited stamina seemed to leave him all at once. Jarrod collapsed out by the corral and quickly grew so cold he couldn’t stand it. Suddenly Father was there. Tom scooped Jarrod up, put his son inside his coat, and wrapped it snugly around the both of them. Jarrod felt so secure in his father’s arms – so safe, warm, protected and loved. And really, that’s how Father made him feel all his life.

Tom was aware from their early years that his two sons were destined to walk very different paths. Yet, he taught and encouraged them both in response to their own desires. The boys’ lessons were worked like a carefully wrought chess game – each move leading them toward their individual objective.

After graduation from Law School, his parents had gifted him with a new set of Law reference books. He had never forgotten the note he found tucked inside jotted in his father’s handwriting.

“Dear Jarrod, This is the proudest day of my life. God blessed you with an amazing intellect, Son. Fulfill your life’s calling and the purpose for which you were born. Love, Father.”

Those words had been Jarrod’s goal ever since. And with all the wisdom and strength he could summon, each day in the courtroom Jarrod did his very best.

More important than encouragement, Father taught them by example. Taught them to treat others with the honesty and respect due their human worth. Taught them to be quick to lend a hand to friends and neighbors. Taught them to stride in where other men feared to tread and fight for justice and truth. He taught his sons how to live, and ultimately, he taught them how to die. In Jarrod and Nick’s eyes, that had elevated Tom Barkley from ordinary to heroic.

It had been painful to learn his father had been unfaithful to his mother all those years ago. But today’s revelation had hurt even more. The evidence pointed to the fact that Father had indeed known about Heath, but had taken little or no interest in his youngest son. Jarrod found the discovery profoundly painful. Foremost, his heart went out to his brother. Secondly, he was forced to call into question who his father really was and what he stood for.

Staring off into the distance, Jarrod wondered why they were traveling to Strawberry. He knew the answer – Mother felt compelled to go – but it didn’t quite persuade him. Jarrod doubted there were any answers to be found in the dead mining town. He was inclined to think this trip would be a waste of time and effort. But Jarrod understood his mother’s pain and disappointment and he was willing to go along for her sake. And on the trip back, they could discuss what to do next. Jarrod knew the best course. Mother should give the wallet to Heath as planned and neither one of them would ever reveal the secret that it held.

Victoria was immersed in her own thoughts of Tom. Through his energy and resource, Tom Barkley had amassed for his family a heritage of wealth and power. The demands of building and running such a diverse empire for many men would have meant little time for their children. Too often, rich and powerful men are virtual strangers to their offspring.

But Tom was a wonderful father. His most precious investment was the time and interest he put into his children. Beyond being a good provider, Tom realized almost nothing was more important to the family’s welfare than for the man of the house to be a good father.

Tom was a real, flesh and blood, down-to-earth individual. He was passionate and compassionate, but also free-spirited with a flair for good-natured rebellion. Tom was not afraid to share his struggles and troubles openly… not to burden his children, but to let them see how he worked through hard times and faced adversity. He taught them how to think, to look beyond the immediate and draw upon the knowledge they had within. Tom showed them the reality of a life lived honorably, and succeeded in instilling his own values in his children.

Could the man she knew as a wonderful father have abandoned one of his children to a life of poverty and hardship? Would he have shirked his responsibility for financial support when they had so much to share? Or even worse, was Tom content to let his son grow up with no paternal love or guidance and absolutely no father-image?

Memories of that first trip to Strawberry flooded back. Victoria had undertaken the journey in an attempt to find answers to her heart’s deepest questions about Tom and Leah. It was an exploration, and, like all explorations, and all journeys, Victoria began it without any certainty of where it would lead. She only knew that she felt compelled to make the journey – just as she felt right now. At his graveside, it felt as if Tom was near and he willed her on the way. Victoria still had the feeling he was close by, following in the manner that a wolf would trail them. Circling wide, covering ten miles for every one of theirs.

The road branched off toward Strawberry and the terrain grew rougher. The road was growing up from disuse. The trek had lasted several hours, but by noon they reached their destination. The town was bleaker than Victoria remembered. On either side of the street were abandoned, disemboweled buildings. The old livery had a collapsed doorframe and only tumbleweeds occupied the corral. The tattered, old ‘Welcome To Strawberry’ sign still fluttered in the wind.

Jarrod reined the horse in and brought the buggy to a stop. “Where to first, Mother?”

“Hannah’s…” Victoria said. “I want to check on Hannah. She lives in the little green house out on the edge of town.”

As Jarrod helped her down from the buggy, Victoria saw Hannah peeking out of her window. “What you be doing back here?” Hannah exclaimed as she swung open the door. “You suppose to leave this place and never come back!”

Victoria and Jarrod walked through the tiny yard up to her front door. Jarrod removed his hat. The elderly Black woman’s eyes grew large as if she were seeing a ghost. “Mr. Tom?” she breathed.

“No, Hannah!” Victoria said quickly. “This is my son, Jarrod.”

“He’s got Mr. Tom’s eyes.” Hannah observed. “Just like my Heath.” She looked past them. “Heath come here with you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Victoria said. “Heath is back home at our ranch and he’s doing just fine.”

“Then what you be back in Strawberry for, Miz Barkley?”

“I have another question for you, Hannah.” Victoria began to loosen the drawstrings on her purse.

Hannah frowned. “I done tole you I got no more answers to your questions, Miz Barkley!”

“Do you ever remember seeing this picture?” Victoria showed her the small photograph.

Hannah gasped. “That be the picture Heath sent Miss Leah from the war. It always set on her mantle. It got gone from her house when she was so sick and like to died.”

“Got gone?” Victoria was perplexed. “Do you mean it disappeared from her home? I found this picture among my husband’s belongings, Hannah. Did my husband visit Leah while she was ill?”

“I tole you Mr. Tom give Miss Leah his baby then he go away and never come back!” Hannah shook her head. “He never come back here, Miz Barkley.”

“Perhaps she mailed the photograph to Father.” Jarrod reasoned.

“That picture left from the house when Miss Leah was down sick in the bed. I remember thinking Miss Leah’s token stole that picture away as a sign her time was near at hand.”

“By her ‘token’, you mean some sort of spirit that is an omen of sickness or death?” Victoria had heard many stories from Silas about tokens and other superstitions common among the slaves when he was a boy.

“They be real, Miz Barkley!” The old woman was growing nervous. “You best put that picture back with your husband’s things if that’s where it was meant to be.” Hannah backed away and began to close her door. “I cain’t tell you nothing else.”

“Hannah, wait…” Victoria began as the door shut in her face.

Jarrod saw his mother’s posture slump and he placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Mother,” he sighed. “We may be able to find someone who remembers Raymond Kincaid.”

Jarrod and Victoria took inventory of the dusty saloon as they stepped through the batwing doors. There were no patrons. A bald, roly-poly bartender wearing a dirty apron appeared out of a back room.

“You folks lost?” he called out cheerily as he looked over the well-dressed pair.

“Not if this is Strawberry.” Jarrod replied.

“It used to be Strawberry.” The barkeeper shrugged. “You can call it anything you want to now. How about a beer? I was just about to have one myself.”

“No, thank you.” Jarrod said. “We came here hoping to get some information.”

The bartender stepped behind the bar, drew a beer, and sliced the foamy hood off it with a wooden blade. “What kind of information you folks looking for?”

Jarrod pulled the business card from his pocket and laid it on the bar. “Do you remember a lawyer who practiced here by the name of Raymond Kincaid?”

“Kincaid… Kincaid… Can’t say as I do.” The man took a sip of warm beer. “Those lawyer types didn’t frequent the saloon. They all left here years ago.”

Jarrod flipped the card over. There was a name written on the back in his father’s handwriting. “Do you remember a man named Ned Parker?”

“Ned Parker?” The fat man laughed. “Ned used to be a real regular around here! Liked his whiskey unwatered and his women unwashed. Ned’s been gone for years, too. He left with the rest of the miners when their pension money came through.”

“Do you have any idea where either of these men moved to?” Victoria asked.

“No ma’am.” The bartender took another swig of beer. “The old Law office was located right down the block. I doubt you’ll find anything in there though.”

Jarrod looked down at the splintered remains of the Law office sign that littered the boardwalk. The faded sign had fractured along its grain, but there was no mistaking what had caused the splitting. Jarrod’s practiced eye picked out the neat, round edges of the bullet holes.

Victoria tried the locked door and then leaned in close to peer through the window. The old office was completely gutted – no furniture or filing cabinets remained. “I’m afraid the bartender was right, Jarrod. They didn’t leave anything behind. I’m beginning to think this is all futile.” Victoria sighed. “We might as well go.”

“Just a minute, Mother.” Jarrod scanned the buildings along the main street. The town looked similar to a hundred others he had seen, but Jarrod remembered that in its hey-day, Strawberry had served as the county seat. A two-story building caught his eye. “Come on, Mother!” Jarrod took her arm and they hurried across the street.

The door to the former Calaveras County Courthouse creaked open on rusty hinges. Crates and boxes, some empty and some filled, sat scattered about on the floor. A man stood up from where he was kneeling behind a long, wooden counter. He had a stack of papers in his arms.

“Can I help you?” There was a quizzical furrow in the man’s brow.

“I hope so.” Jarrod replied. “We’re trying to locate a lawyer named Raymond Kincaid.”

“Ray Kincaid was the last lawyer who ever practiced in Strawberry, Mister.” The man laid the papers on the countertop and scratched his chin. “He left almost nine years ago.”

“Do you know where he went? Can you remember him saying which firm he planned to join? Did he ever mention a particular city?” Jarrod fired off the questions.

The man behind the counter could only stand there shaking his head. “No, sir. I only remember Mr. Kincaid saying he was headed back east. I know that doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“What about the other name, Jarrod?” Victoria broke in.

“Would you have any idea where we might locate Ned Parker?”

“Sorry. I can’t help you there either, Mister.” The man said apologetically.

“It’s alright. I’m sorry we disturbed you.” Jarrod’s voice couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Thanks for your time.” He took his mother’s arm and they turned to leave.

The man’s voice froze them. “Funny you should ask about Ray Kincaid and Ned Parker. Mr. Kincaid was Ned Parker’s lawyer. They were involved in the last case ever settled in this courthouse!”

Part 5

The man’s words stopped them in their tracks. Victoria and Jarrod turned to face him. “What type of case?” Jarrod’s blue eyes bored into the stranger.

“Only the biggest lawsuit ever filed around these parts!” the man exclaimed. “Ned was listed as plaintiff, but it was actually a class-action suit on behalf of all the miners against Lassiter Mining Company. Dan Lassiter wasn’t going to pay out the men’s pensions. He claimed the commitment only applied to B & L Mining which had been dissolved many years before.”

Victoria and Jarrod glanced at each other as the man continued. “Dan Lassiter probably would have won the case, too. But then Mr. Kincaid presented Judge Richardson with Tom Barkley’s copy of the Buy-Sell Agreement between the two partners. All the promises made to the men were right there in black and white. Old Dan didn’t have a leg to stand on!”

“I don’t remember Tom ever mentioning a lawsuit.” Victoria looked confused. “Did my husband testify at the trial?”

“There wasn’t any need for a trial once the existence of the ‘buy-out’ contract came to light. The judge issued a Summary Judgment in favor of the miners.” The full impact of Victoria’s question finally sank in. His mouth gaped open slightly for a moment and then the man asked, “Tom Barkley was your husband?”

“Yes, he was!” Victoria said. “Excuse me for not introducing ourselves. I’m Victoria Barkley and this is my son, Jarrod.”

“I’m Claude Wilson, the Clerk of Court, Court Reporter, Register of Deeds, Notary Public, Recorder of Documents and Tax Appraiser.” Wilson ticked the list off on his fingers and then shrugged. “Or at least I used to be. The town finally lost its charter.” He waved toward the boxes. “I’m packing up everything – birth, death and marriage certificates, deeds, civil and criminal records, wills and estate proceedings – everything will be stored somewhere in the State archives in Sacramento. Probably in a dark corner in some old warehouse, never to be seen again.” There was a touch of sadness in Wilson’s voice as he spoke of the body of documents that represented his life’s work. “I could pull the records of ‘Parker vs. Lassiter Mining Company’ if that’s what you folks are looking for.”

“No. Thank you just the same, Mr. Wilson, but that won’t be necessary.” Jarrod replied.

Wilson nervously fingered the stack of papers sitting on the counter. He looked closely at Victoria. “Is there anything else I could help you with? Something else you might be searching for…”

The man’s eyes seemed to be pleading with her to ask for something and yet Victoria could sense his reluctance. “What might you be able to help us with?” she asked.

“I… I don’t know if it’s my place to say, Ma’am.” Wilson lowered his eyes.

Claude Wilson knew something. There was a certainty in the depths of Victoria’s soul. Whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, she was willing to know the whole truth. “Mr. Wilson, if you have anything that relates to my husband – however personal it may be – I want to see it.”

“Are you sure, Mrs. Barkley?”

“Quite sure, Mr. Wilson.” The stern tone and the level gaze left no doubt.

“Alright then, Mrs. Barkley,” he said. “I did assist your husband with some matters of a… personal nature. Give me a few minutes to try and locate them.”

Victoria and Jarrod stood there waiting to the sound of boxes being shoved around and the opening and closing of filing cabinets. It seemed to take forever. Finally, Claude Wilson stepped from behind a partition.

“I found them.” The slim, bespectacled man announced as he returned to his place behind the counter. Wilson hesitated, still looking a bit awkward.

“Then we’d like to see what you found, Mr. Wilson.” Victoria held out a gloved hand.

“First, there’s this…” Claude handed over the birth certificate and then stared uncomfortably at his feet.

Victoria held the document in trembling hands. “It’s Heath’s!” she breathed.

Jarrod was reading intently over her shoulder, scrutinizing every entry. In the space to be filled with the name of the ‘Father’, someone had drawn a single line through the word ‘Unknown’ and had written in ‘Thomas Barkley’.

“It’s Father’s handwriting.” Jarrod stated, even though he realized his mother knew the distinct script as well as he did.

“That’s right.” Claude Wilson looked up. “Mr. Barkley insisted on filling in his name himself. Since the birth certificate was being altered from the original, I needed a signed statement from the father.”

Wilson handed over the other document. “Mr. Barkley wrote it out himself. Couldn’t have done much better with a bona fide lawyer helping him out. He put in there he acknowledges paternity of the child formerly known as Heath Thomson. He gave the boy his name along with all the rights and privileges accorded his natural children.” Wilson paused. “Well, you can read it all there for yourself. And that’s my signature down below Mr. Barkley’s. It was duly witnessed and notarized by me this day…”

Victoria gasped. “Jarrod! Look at the date!”

Jarrod swallowed hard. He and Victoria looked at each other. His mother’s eyes were brimming with tears.

“When I read in the newspaper that Mr. Barkley had been killed, I realized I might have been the last person on this earth to talk with him.” Claude Wilson said solemnly.

Moist gray eyes focused on him. “Mr. Wilson,” Victoria said. “I’d like to know what my husband told you.”

There was a slight pause and then Claude gestured toward the paperwork Victoria held. “Your husband never knew about Heath until that day, Mrs. Barkley. The only reason he came back here after all those years was to help out the miners. He stopped in to check on Leah – and, well, she told me this part – he saw the picture of Heath and knew the boy belonged to him.” Claude smiled. “I remember that little picture. Mr. Barkley pulled it out and showed it to me. He was real proud, just like any brand new father! Mr. Barkley said Heath’s birth certificate had been incorrect for eighteen years and he wasn’t heading home without making it right. He told me he was going down to New Mexico to try and convince Heath to come back home with him. That’s the same thing he told Leah…”

“You discussed what Tom had done with Leah?”

Claude nodded. “Eventually. I didn’t know her very well beforehand. But we grew to be good friends.”

“Then I don’t understand why she didn’t tell Heath about his father right away, or contact the family.” Victoria shook her head in perplexity.

Not a muscle moved in Claude’s face, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I knew Leah from her working as a waitress at the café. Everybody loved her kindness, her good cheer and her boundless energy. I was eating there when the boy from the Gazette brought in a stack of papers to sell. Tom Barkley’s murder was the front-page story. Everybody was talking about it. When Leah heard the news, she dropped the tray she was carrying, then she grabbed a newspaper and ran out of the café.”

Claude took a deep breath. “I suppose I was the only customer who knew for sure what upset her so. I stopped by to check on her that evening on my way home from work. Leah wasn’t there. Rachel was worried sick about her. I told Rachel everything would be alright – Leah probably just needed a little time to herself and then she’d turn up.”

“Leah never came home that night.” Claude continued. “Rachel didn’t find her until early the next morning. She was curled up under a cypress tree down near the river, clutching her Bible and that newspaper. The night had been unseasonably cool. Leah ended up catching a bronchitis that the doc said turned into pneumonia. She was pretty sick for a good while and it seemed like after that, Leah was prone to catch any illness that came around. Hannah kept babbling on about something or other that had caused Miss Leah’s blood to turn.”

“I visited with Leah after she recovered from that first bout of pneumonia. I asked if she’d told Heath. Leah said she couldn’t do it right then, Mrs. Barkley. She said she knew how you must have been grieving… how the children must be grieving. Leah thought if you knew about Heath it would cause all of you more pain. She just couldn’t add to your sorrow!”

“I’d ask her from time to time when she was going to get around to telling Heath. She said she’d do it when the people who loved Tom don’t hurt so much anymore. I asked her when she thought that might be.” Wilson shook his head. “Leah just said ‘I’ll let you know, Claude, I’ll let you know’.”

“How I wished that she would have! I figured when she did tell Heath it would mean Leah was finally over Tom Barkley for good.” The sadness flooded his eyes. “I reckon I had fallen in love with her myself.”

“I wish Leah would have told him too, Mr. Wilson.” Victoria said. “I would have known my son six years earlier.”

“Then Heath is living with you?” Claude ventured.

“Yes, he is!” Victoria smiled. “I love Heath very much. We all do.”

“Mr. Barkley knew you well, Ma’am.” Claude gave her a warm smile and an approving nod. “Before he left, I asked him if this was gonna cause trouble at home. Mr. Barkley said he knew you would be disappointed and angry, but that you had a capacity for love and forgiveness like no one he’d ever known. He was counting on that, Mrs. Barkley. He said he couldn’t imagine life without you because he loved you so much! So I asked, then why do it? Why take the risk? Mr. Barkley just smiled and said ‘Because it is right!’ and then he walked out the door.”

There was one final stop in Strawberry Victoria had to make. Jarrod helped his mother from the carriage and they walked through the small cemetery searching for the marker. Leah Thomson’s grave wasn’t difficult to find.

“You didn’t add to my sorrow, Leah, you added to my joy!” Victoria whispered. She said a silent prayer for a precious life that had been lived in self-sacrifice.

Victoria and Jarrod studied the headstone. Leah was just forty-two years old when she died, which suddenly seemed awfully young to them both. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen when she’d given birth to Heath.

“She was so young…” Jarrod finally remarked. “And her time with Father very brief… Yet, she never stopped loving him.”

“You can’t measure a relationship with a stopwatch. A heart can be stolen in a whirlwind, Jarrod. It could happen to you someday…” his mother said. “Leah dared to love completely and it became the defining moment of her life.”

“And the son that resulted from that love became the center of her life.” Jarrod had to admire a woman who could raise a man like Heath. “A good mother is a priceless thing. Heath was very lucky.”

“Leah did a remarkable job raising him alone. She taught Heath to be honest and hardworking. She brought out his good heart and sense of humor by example. He learned to revere gentleness because nothing is as strong as gentleness and nothing so gentle as real strength.” Victoria smiled. “All that Heath is, he owes to his mother. And that is so very much!”

It was a fine, soft day, the sky very blue, and she felt at peace. Victoria knelt by the grave. She stared at the etched tombstone with its paltry biographical facts – just his name and two dates.

Thomas Barkley. 1813 – 1870.

She always felt somehow closer to Tom by his graveside – like Tom was near, though out of sight. Victoria touched the carved lettering ever so gently. He was an imperfect man, her husband, but he was the most honorable man she had ever known. A contented smile graced her lips. There were no more questions left to tarnish his image or cloud his memory. All that was left was the news Victoria had to share.

“I’ve given Heath your wallet, Tom. And thanks to you I was able to give him so much more! Your son fought his way into our family with a passion that was so like you, but there was also an anger that ran just as deep. It was so difficult to reconcile the husband and father we knew with the man Heath resented for abandoning him. We found ourselves on opposite sides of a chasm filled with heartache and guilt trying to reach across to each other. We struggled, each in our own way, to deal with your memory, searching for common meaning, common understanding and perhaps, a common redemption.” Victoria spoke just letting the words flow. She paused for a moment.

“On my first journey to Strawberry, I found the answers I needed to put my mind at peace about the genuineness of our union. Heath found a measure of peace as well in the fact that you didn’t know about him. It allowed him to let go of his anger and resentment. But I sensed that somewhere deep inside there was a sadness that you never knew about him… and there was the unanswered question of what you would have done if you had known. I believed I knew, because I knew you, Tom. But how could Heath ever be sure?”

“He knows now, Tom. We all know. I shared with Heath all that you told Claude Wilson and everything Claude remembered of his conversations with Leah. I was able to tell him that you claimed him, what you wanted for him, and what your plans were!”

“Jarrod has taken the birth certificate and is in the process of making Heath’s name just as legal as any. It will no longer be his simply through my kindness or by my permission. Heath is a Barkley because you acknowledged your paternity and gave him your name. Jarrod will follow your wishes and make Heath a legal joint-heir with the other children.”

“This journey began with the notion I wanted Heath to have his father’s wallet. But you gave him the greatest gift, Tom! A gift that healed the heart of a wounded son and freed him from his isolation, giving him completely to his family, and giving his family - and that includes you - back to him. Heath knows you did all that you could to embrace him. He now knows for himself that you were a great man. As for me, I’m not surprised that you were preparing to welcome Heath into our family…” Victoria smiled tenderly. “Because it is right!”

Tom’s own words reached across the years and blessed her once again.

Was it just her imagination, or had she heard the phrase echoed by his voice on the soft breeze? She closed her eyes in grateful prayer. Victoria had fulfilled the final desire of her husband’s heart, and all she could do was finally put him to rest.

“Yes, Tom! It has been right, so very right!”

Like a wolf, he circles once, slowly, an invisible presence among the trees. Then, he is gone.

THE END