Ghosts

By Marion

Rating: PG

The Ponderosa and the Cartwrights are not mine (except for Annie and Charlie, of course) Thank you to Mr. Dortort for allowing me to play on the Ponderosa for a little while. This story is purely for entertainment and is not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone else involved with Bonanza and Ponderosa.

As always, thanks to Nancy for her invaluable help!

I leaned over the rail and stared at the ocean. A faint smudge on the horizon seemed to be land, and I overheard the mate saying we’d be in Boston in a few hours. I had lost count of how many days it had been since we had left New Orleans.

New Orleans - the city of my youth. When the Greenes and I left Texas, I had been looking forward to spending a few days in that beautiful city. Mrs. Greene had also intended to spend some time in New Orleans before boarding a steamship to St. Louis, but when we arrived one Thursday evening, we found that a steamship would be leaving the next morning. She decided it would be the best if she bought tickets for that ship. I accompanied them to the pier Friday morning, and as the ship headed up river, I felt a sadness wash over me. Tess Greene might not have been my first choice for companion, but she and her mother were well known to me. When they left, I felt I had lost my last connection to Utah Territory.

I had originally intended to spend some time in that city visiting the old places I had known so well, perhaps tracing some of my old friends, but as I turned away from the docks, I had been filled with an overwhelming melancholy. I would forever associate New Orleans with my family, and especially with my father’s third wife, Marie. She had been fun and vivacious, just as the city, but with her gone, I felt little joy in being in New Orleans.

Of course, I did visit Tante Jeanette and of course she was her usual overbearing self. I can say that because Ma and Pa are not here to admonish me. Tante Jeanette insisted that I stay with her, but I had already paid for a night’s lodging in the hotel, and I had already booked passage for Boston the next day. So she had to settle for inviting me to a dinner party that she already had planned. My greatest delight that evening was seeing Maurice Devereaux. He had left Eagle Station several years earlier with my aunt; Hoss and I had even speculated that they would marry, but I guess that was not meant to be. However, they had remained friends.

I spent the evening catching Frenchy up on the news of Eagle Station. He was happy to hear that Shelby and Daniel were doing well, and by the time I was done talking, he looked almost wistful.

"I miss them greatly, my friend." Frenchy poured himself another glass of wine. "I find it difficult to live in a city again."

I shouldn’t have been surprised. In Eagle Station, Frenchy was one of a few business owners, and a member of the city council. As such, he was important, or as important as any man might be there. In New Orleans, he was one of many business owners, and he had no family connections to make him important in society. I left the dinner party wondering if Frenchy would go back to Utah Territory, and I found myself wishing he would.

Now I was on the last stage of my journey, sailing into Boston Harbor. I fought back the queasy feeling that had been growing during the past day. I leaned over the rail hoping the slight cool spray kicked up by the bow of the ship might make me feel better. The flipping of my stomach had nothing to do with the tossing of the waves – indeed the water was calmer than it had been my entire voyage. No, my feelings of nausea had to do with the man waiting even now for the ship to dock. For I was to meet my grandfather for the first time, and doubts and fears had been growing since the ship had rounded the tip of Cape Cod.

I suppose if I were being as precise as Pa always accuses me of being, I wasn’t really meeting my grandfather for the first time. I had, after all, lived with the man for the first two years of my life. And we had exchanged letters ever since I was old enough to hold a pen. Still, I couldn’t help but worry that Grandfather wouldn’t like me when we were face to face.

I watched the men scurrying about, making ready to dock. Officers shouted, sailors threw ropes and finally the great ship bumped to a stop alongside a long pier. Great throngs of people were waiting alongside and I bit back a feeling of dismay. How was I going to find my grandfather in this mass of people? I gathered my bags and headed toward the gangplank.

My nerves grow more ragged as I waited for my turn to disembark. I scanned the people still waiting, but recognized no friendly face. But, I needn’t have worried. No sooner did I step on the dock then an elderly man burst forward from the crowds still thronging about the gangplank.

"Adam! Adam Cartwright!" I was so startled that I dropped my bags and before I could respond, the man wrapped me in a fierce embrace. I stood stiffly for a minute before wrapping my own arms around the old man.

"Grandfather." I could tell my voice was choked, and we stood oblivious to the stares of the crowd around us. Finally we broke apart and I was aware of Grandfather’s intense scrutiny.

"You are her image, lad." The man ducked his head a moment but not before I glimpsed the tears welling in his eyes. My own vision blurred, and I brushed at my eyes. I nodded quickly.

"So Pa tells me."

Grandfather smiled. "You have his height." He pointed to the bags. "Do you have others?"

I shook my head. "No, sir." Grandfather made to pick up the bags but I swooped down to grab them first. I followed him through the crowd to a waiting carriage.

I studied my grandfather as the man spoke to the driver. The drawing that Grandfather had sent years ago did not do him justice. Abel Stoddard was not a tall man, standing a half head shorter than me, but he was powerfully built, his broad shoulders and thick arms apparent through his jacket. I could easily picture him standing on deck, shouting orders and terrorizing cabin boys. Certainly Grandfather’s neatly trimmed gray beard and weather-beaten face fit the image of a man who had spent his life on the sea.

Grandfather climbed into the carriage beside me and the driver urged his horse on.

"I have no carriage of my own; the expense would be unnecessary. I prefer to walk whenever possible. Chandlery doesn’t give a man a chance for much exercise." He me looked over carefully. "You are obviously a man used to exercise."

I chuckled. "I guess that’s what you could call it. Pa just calls it work." I stretched my arms slightly. "Not that I’ve done much since I got on that ship."

"Don’t fancy the sailing life?" Grandfather raised an eyebrow but I shook my head.

"I was a passenger, I didn’t do any work. Pa would laugh if I said I had sailed."

Grandfather smirked. "If work makes a man a sailor, I can recall a few occasions when your father was no sailor. But I suppose I shouldn’t be giving you bad impressions about your own father now." He winked. "Those stories can wait until later."

He spent the next few minutes pointing out some of the sights of Boston, and I was thrilled to see so many places that I had read about in my history books. I looked forward to spending time wandering the streets of Boston. A part of me was excited to be in a city again, with all the opportunities that are not available in Eagle Station. I wondered if the bookstores and concerts would be as good as the ones I remembered from my youth in New Orleans.

Finally the carriage stopped by the gates of a cemetery. I looked at Grandfather and the man nodded. "I thought you would like to visit."

I understood immediately, jumped from the carriage and half-ran to a flower seller nearby. I looked at the bouquets for a moment, Pa’s instructions in the back of my mind, and grabbed the one I needed. I gave the woman a few coins and hurried back to Grandfather’s side. He looked at the flowers, an eyebrow raised slightly.

I held them out slightly. "These are from Pa."

He nodded as he rested his hand on my shoulder. "I’m not surprised that he remembered how she loved daisies." Grandfather gently led me to a gravesite and then stepped away, leaving me alone.

I stared at the stone for a moment without really seeing it. I sank to my knees and placed the daisies by the tombstone. "These are from Pa. He wanted you to know that he never forgot. But I guess you probably know that." I felt silly talking aloud so I leaned forward to trace the letters carved in the cold marble. "Elizabeth Stoddard Cartwright, Beloved Wife, Mother, Daughter." I stared at the date of her death – my birthday – and I sank back on my heels. My breath caught on a ragged moan, and then I couldn’t control the tears. My sobs grew, and I buried my face in my hands. I was vaguely aware of my grandfather kneeling beside me, and then I felt him gather me into his arms, the way Pa would have, had he been here. Finally I heard Grandfather’s soft voice murmuring, "It’s all right, lad, it’s all right to cry."

We sat there for several minutes while I brought my grief under control. I stood, and held out my hand to help my grandfather rise. I couldn’t bring myself to admit to the old man that this was the first time that I had ever cried over the death of my mother.

I thought about that on the ride home. I remembered crying when Inger and Marie died, and I knew that when I was younger, I had cried because I had no mother like other boys did, but I had never cried for this woman who had died bearing me. Perhaps she had never seemed real to me before, perhaps she had only been a person in Pa’s stories. The thought left me uncomfortable and I pushed it from my mind.

The carriage stopped before a small house, and Grandfather stepped down. "We’re home, lad." He took one of my bags, and I grabbed the other one before I, too, stepped down. I followed my grandfather up the three steps and through the plain wooden door. I looked around the entryway; a parlor was to the right, and the dining room to the left. A steep set of stairs led to what I presumed was the second floor.

Grandfather shrugged. "It’s not a mansion, but it suits me." He gestured to the stairs. "C’mon, I’ll show you to your room." I followed Grandfather up the stairs and down a short hallway. Grandfather hesitated outside an opened door.

"I’ve only the two bedrooms, Adam. You’ll be staying in your mother’s room, the room you were born in."

And the room my mother died in. The thought jumped to my mind unbidden and I glanced at the old man. I knew by the pained look on Grandfather’s face that he had had the same thought. I smiled cheerfully. "That will be fine, Grandfather."

Grandfather stepped through the doorway. "I never got rid of all her things. Foolish sentiment, I know." His voice was gruff as he waved toward the shelves. "Her books, and even some of her dolls. I don’t know, maybe I was hoping when you marry and have a little girl, she might like some of her grandmother’s toys." He picked up a doll from the shelf. "She picked this one when we were in London. Well, she saw it in a window and made a fuss. Your grandmother scolded Lizzie for whining, but I snuck back later to get it for her." The doll was dressed in an old-fashioned high waisted dress. "I was surprised the wax head never melted. Lizzie was so happy to get it, she clapped her hands in glee. She promised she’d behave, and she did for at least a day or so." Grandfather laughed slightly, and then looked sharply at e. "You did know she sailed with me, didn’t you?"

I nodded. "Uncle Ed told me, when he visited us in New Orleans."

"Ed? Not your father?"

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to sound critical of Pa. "After Uncle Ed left, Pa started telling a lot more stories about my mother."

Grandfather sighed as he put the doll back on the shelf. "Poor Ben. It was so hard for him. But at least he had you." The last bit was so quiet that I almost didn’t hear him. The old man sighed again, and turned to face me. "You’ll want to rest a bit before supper. Wasn’t sure if you were a sailor or not, didn’t know how your stomach would be, so it’s nothing fancy tonight, just chowdah and bread. No need to dress." He glanced at my bags. "You do have some dress clothes, don’t you?"

I blushed. "No, sir. I mean, I have a tie from home, but we don’t really have any need for anything fancier. Pa said you would make me get all new clothes anyway."

Grandfather’s laugh echoed around the room. "That one, he never forgets anything, does he? But I’ll wager he didn’t tell that story. Never mind, we’ll go to see my tailor in the morning. Good thing I made those interviews at Harvard for the end of the month."

He slipped out of the room before I could ask him about Harvard. I unpacked my bags, stowing my few clothes in the dresser, or hanging them in the cupboard. I placed my books on the shelf next to my mother’s books and smiled. There were a few duplicate titles, and that pleased me. Lastly I pulled out her picture and set it on the table. It looked odd without the little music box beside it, but I had left that in Utah Territory. I had been afraid the box would break on the journey, so I had asked Pa to look after it. Finally I sat on the bed, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

I stirred and looked out the window. Judging by the sun, I had been asleep for over an hour. I was certain Grandfather wouldn’t be impressed by a guest who went to sleep the minute he arrived in Boston, so I leaped from my bed and splashed some lukewarm water onto my face. I ran my fingers through my hair but finally gave up the quick method, and rummaged through my bags to find my brush. I didn’t want my grandfather to think that Pa hadn’t raised his sons to have manners.

When I arrived downstairs, clean and neat, Grandfather was closing the front door. He smiled as he turned toward the stairs.

"A letter. From a young lady, no less." He handed an envelope to me. Puzzled, I turned it over and grinned when I recognized the handwriting.

"From Annie! What luck that it came today." I looked toward the dining room.

"Supper’s not ready yet, lad. We can sit in the parlor a bit and you can read your mail."

I hadn’t seen a room like Grandfather’s parlor since I had left New Orleans those many years ago. The sofa was covered in a patterned silk, and graceful tables with curved legs flanked either side. Two large armchairs were arranged in front of the fireplace; the fireplace itself was covered by a beautiful bamboo screen that I guessed was from the Orient. At least, I recognized the wood as being similar to the wood box that Hop Sing had brought with him from China. All around the room were scattered small treasures, no doubt gathered from many sea voyages. I stood by the fireplace, picked up a metal poker and without thinking reached up to touch the side of my head. Grandfather chuckled behind me.

"You remember that, do you lad?"

I turned, still holding the poker. "No, sir, at least I don’t think I do."

Grandfather settled into one of the armchairs. "When you were learning to walk, you used to like to play around there. Ben wouldn’t allow it, for fear you’d hurt yourself. One day, he stepped out of the room, and quick as a wink you must have run over and grabbed that poker. As near as we can figure, you whacked yourself in the head with it, for all we heard was your caterwauling. Ben was beside himself thinking you’d hurt yourself. Once he realized it was nothing serious, he gave you your first good scolding."

I could well imagine the scene for nothing was worse than having Pa go from worry to anger. But it was odd that I had been in this room, had had a life in this very house, but remembered not a moment of it. I gave the poker another glance, set it down and sank into the chair opposite my grandfather. When I lifted the letter to begin to read, I fancied I could smell the rose water Annie washed with. I could even imagine a whiff of my father’s pipe and the bay rum cologne he always favored.

My dear Adam,

I hope this letter finds you in the same good health that we enjoy here on the Ponderosa.

I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. A small part of me worried every day, just as I know a small part of Pa will worry every day that I am away.

Spring is well along now, and it has been a beautiful season. All my early flowers are in bloom and Hop Sing and I have planted the vegetable garden. The cold frame you built worked wonders, and the garden is farther along than it ever has been.

You are in our thoughts every day, and in our prayers every night. We are slowly getting used to the idea that you will not be home for supper, that you will not be helping with the chores, that you are not here to put Joe in his place. But I hope you understand that while we miss you terribly, not one of us begrudges you taking the opportunity to pursue your own dream.

I probably should not tell you this, and I think Uncle Ben would be very cross if he knew, so I beg you not to breathe a word, but he has had more difficulty adjusting to your absence than any of us. We went through several weeks of his bad temper. I know I don’t have to tell you what that was like. He seemed to think that he had no other grown children who could help do all the work of the ranch. But we finally made him see that we are no longer children. You should be proud of Hoss, for he was the one to finally confront your father, just as you would have done.

But finally Uncle Ben has recognized that Hoss, Joe and I are able to help shoulder the work. In fact, Joe and I are no longer in school. We are both graduates of the Eagle Station School. Mr. Taylor had a graduation ceremony, and I was chosen to give the graduation speech. I wish you could have been there. Your father almost popped a button on his vest, he was so proud. Now Joe is learning the horse side of the ranch business from Tomas. You may remember Tomas, he was Mrs. Greene’s foreman. Joe comes home every night exhausted and sore, and so proud that I’m surprised he hasn’t burst. I continue to help Hop Sing in the house, and I manage all the ranch books (with close supervision from Uncle Ben.)

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! Mr. Orowitz and Mr. Taylor are starting a literary society. I do wish they had started this when you were still here, even though I am sure you will find similar societies in Boston. I was hoping Uncle Ben would join, but he does not have the time right now, perhaps later. However, both Mrs. Orowitz and Mrs. Taylor have said I might stay with them when the society meets.

I must close this letter now, for Mitch is coming today, and we are going for a walk. Please remember to write and tell me everything, and give my love to Grandfather Stoddard.

Your loving cousin,

Annie

I sighed. So much had changed in the few months I had been gone. What would home be like in four years, when I was done with college? I sat quietly until Grandfather spoke.

"Is everything all right?" Judging by the frown he wore, he took my silence to mean there were problems at home.

"Yes, just thinking about the ranch, I guess." I looked back at the letter so I could read parts of it to Grandfather. He listened with great interest.

"Mitch – is that the young man calling on her?"

I nodded.

"Giving your father gray hairs, is she? Causing him fits?"

I smirked. "You could say that."

Grandfather nodded with satisfaction. "Good." With that, he stood and announced that supper was ready.

We ate in silence for several minutes. The chowder was very tasty and it reminded me of the time that Uncle Ed had taught Ma – Marie – to cook chowder many years ago in New Orleans. I started to tell that story, but stopped, unsure how Grandfather would react to a story about Pa’s third wife. Instead, I told the story of the Christmas Eve dinner that Annie had cooked last year. Grandfather looked pleased that Annie had thought to honor my mother by cooking chowder.

"Mind, it was May’s recipe," Grandfather said as he dipped his bread in the soup. "Your mother couldn’t cook until she met May." He chuckled. "That’s because your grandmother didn’t cook. When she sailed with me, we had a cook on board ship, and when we were on land she insisted on hiring a woman to do the cooking. My wife hated cooking and I never did learn why. But May insisted that all girls should cook, so she took Lizzie under her wing." Grandfather set his spoon down and pushed the bowl away. "May was a wonderful cook."

"So was…" I stopped, aware of Grandfather’s gaze upon me.

"Who, lad?" He tilted his head slightly. "You were going to say Marie, weren’t you?" He leaned forward when I nodded. "Adam, you can’t go the next few years without mentioning her. God knows I would love to have seen Elizabeth raise you but that was not in His plan. Your mother would have wanted your father to marry again. I told Ben that myself."

I swallowed hard. "Yes, sir." I wondered if I would ever be comfortable talking about my mother and I hurried to change the subject. "Do you think this chowder tastes better than Annie’s because the clams are fresh, not canned?"

Grandfather looked at me a minute, shook his head slightly and then nodded. "No doubt that’s the reason. Mrs. O’Malley, my cook, bought them off the docks this morning."

I shifted in my seat. "Grandfather, would you tell me the story of my father and the clothes?"

Grandfather smiled. "It’s not much of a story, really. What has your father told you of his parents?"

I shrugged. "Stories, mostly, of the mischief Pa and his brothers got into, and what my grandparents did." I thought a moment. "I know that Pa’s father managed a chandlery."

"Aye, that he did. Had a good head for business, Joseph did. Terrible sailor, though." Grandfather laughed quietly, as though at a private joke. "Your grandfather was a hard worker, but not especially lucky. He was never well off financially. Your father and his brothers had what they needed, nothing more.

"I on the other hand, did very well, as good captains will, if they are lucky." He gestured around the room, as though to point out his material wealth. "When your father started courting your mother, he was, of course, too young to escort her anywhere unchaperoned. One time, your grandmother and I invited them to join us at the Handel and Hayden Society concert. He refused." Grandfather’s lips twitched. "Not very politely, either. Elizabeth was furious, because she loved the concerts and wanted to share them with Ben. They had a terrific row over it – the first of many – but he was adamant. I finally cornered the lad and told him if he wanted to woo a girl, he needed to do as she wanted. I badgered him until he finally admitted that he had no clothes to wear to the concert." Grandfather stared past me. "Fool boy." He looked at me again. "I called him that, too. I said we’d go out and get him a proper suit of clothes. He refused, as he had no money. We argued for over an hour, indeed, it was one of the few times he dared argue with me whilst he was still under my command. Finally I got him to agree that I would deduct the suit from his wages when next we sailed."

I grinned at that. Pa didn’t like losing arguments. Even when he argued with Ma, I could tell he was put out when she bested him. That Pa remembered this more than twenty-five years later showed just how much he hated losing.

After supper, Grandfather and I sat in the parlor again and he listened as I told him about my journey from Eagle Station. Finally I excused myself to bed. I was surprised when Grandfather stood, gave me another fierce hug and told me how happy I had made him by coming east. I went to sleep that night, missing the Ponderosa, but already feeling at home.

The next couple of days were packed with activity. The day after my arrival Grandfather brought me to the tailor, where I was measured for several day suits and an evening suit. I tried to protest, but Grandfather silenced me with a stern look and a raised eyebrow. I quickly learned that Grandfather could be as intimidating as Pa and even more stubborn.

We attended church on Sunday, and I was hard-pressed to listen to the sermon, sitting as I was in Old North Church. I forgot all my manners as I took in the history that surrounded me. Only a rap on my knee brought my attention back to the minister, and I could feel Grandfather’s scowl on me.

I had a brief reprieve after the service, when my grandfather introduced me to his friends and neighbors. I was a little disconcerted by the number of people – women mostly – who remembered me as a baby. I was pleased to meet one lady, Mrs. Stockwell. Grandfather introduced her as my mother’s closest friends, and she promised to invite me to tea, so that she might tell me stories.

Grandfather and I walked under a darkening sky, and I hoped the rain would hold off until we reached his house. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, until my grandfather spoke.

"What did you think of the sermon, Adam?"

I murmured some vague praise, and hoped that he would be satisfied. I hoped in vain.

"Indeed? Which part did you find particularly illuminating?"

My face flushed. "I’m not sure, Grandfather." I realized the safety that I had when I went to church with Annie and Joe; the two of them usually bore the brunt of Pa’s lectures on paying attention.

Grandfather stopped and rested his hand on my arm. "Do you make a habit of not paying attention in church? And does your father tolerate it?"

I bit my lip to keep in my sharp retort. I was twenty-three, for goodness sake, not a small boy. But I was in the wrong, and I knew it. "I’m sorry, Grandfather. I was curious, sitting in that church. I felt surrounded by history."

He smiled slightly, apparently mollified. "If it’s a tour you want, I shall speak to the rector. But we do not spend so much time in the Lord’s house that you can allow yourself to wander from His Word."

I ducked my head to hide my shame. He was right, of course. "Yes, sir."

He slapped my shoulder. "C’mon, lad, scolding’s done. Let me show you the Common."

The rain held off, and we were able to spend several hours in the Boston Common and the new Boston Garden. I wished Annie were with us; she would have loved the formal gardens that had been built on the French style. I vowed to return with my sketchpad, so I could capture some of the beauty for her.

Monday morning, Grandfather took me to the chandlery. I halted as we approached the building, for the name "Stoddard and Cartwright" was emblazoned on the sign hanging by the door. Grandfather chuckled. "I never took your father’s name off. He still owns some shares in the business. He sold most back to me to finance your trip when he left, but I made sure he kept some. Don’t know why. Sentiment, I suppose."

I stared at the sign a moment more before turning to him. "Ah, Grandfather, Pa doesn’t own those shares anymore. He gave them to me for Christmas last year. He wrote to tell you."

"Did he now? The letter must have gotten lost, for I never saw it." Grandfather reached for the door. "Well, then, you’ll be wanting an accounting of your shares."

I tried to assure him that I did not, but he laughed me off as we entered the shop. My first impression was one of darkness, for the building had not many windows. As my eyes became accustomed to the lamps, I could see barrels along the walls and ropes and canvas hanging from the ceiling. The store reminded me of the one Pa kept in New Orleans, and when I told Grandfather that, he seemed inordinately pleased.

He called all the men to the front of the shop so that he could introduce me. I was more than a little embarrassed as he introduced me as his partner in the shop, but fortunately the men seemed unconcerned. I felt like a visiting potentate, the way he was showing me off as "the grandson I’ve been telling you about, the one going to Harvard." Most of them were polite, nothing more, but one man, shorter than me, grinned as he shook my hand enthusiastically. His unkempt beard bobbed as he nodded rapidly.

"Glory be, Adam Cartwright. I knew your father, and his brothers. Good men, all of them. We were boys together in Plymouth. You ask him, next time you write, does he remember Jimmy Richards."

The name rang a bell, and I thought for a minute. "I know your name. You broke your leg, when there were some beached whales, didn’t you?"

The man puffed up, as though a broken leg in boyhood was a badge of honor. "Your father told you that story? He does remember me then." He looked around at the other men. "Do you hear that? Ben remembers me." The man turned back to me, blue eyes bright with excitement, but before he could speak again, Grandfather nodded.

"All right, men, enough chatter. There’s work to be done." He put his arm around my shoulder and led me away. "That one hasn’t been right in his head since he spent three days adrift in the Atlantic when his whaleboat went down." Grandfather’s voice was low, so only I could hear him. "He works hard, but there’s not much he’s good for, except loading wagons." Grandfather smiled slightly. "Twas Ed asked me to give him a job, the last time Ed was in Boston."

I was astonished. "That must have been sixteen years ago."

"Aye. The sea’s a harsh mistress." He opened the door to a small office, and he pulled back the drapes. This room had larger windows than the store, and it commanded a view of Boston Harbor. Grandfather pulled down a book from the shelf and laid it on the desk. "You’ll be wanting that accounting now."

I tried protesting that I didn’t, but he laughed, and told me he was teasing me. He wanted to show me how well the business was doing. By the end of the afternoon, I realized his chandlery – and my chandlery, to hear him speak – was doing very well indeed. In fact, the value of the shares that Pa gave me were enough to pay most of my expenses except tuition for the three or four years that I would be at Harvard. I wondered if Pa had known how much his shares had been worth.

The next few days passed without incident. Grandfather showed me more of Boston, including Faneuil Hall. I couldn’t wait to write to John Taylor to tell him I had seen this august hall, sight of so many fiery speeches before, and after, the Revolution. I could almost picture James Otis standing on the stage, shouting, "Taxation without representation is tyranny." An upcoming lecture on the evils of slavery caught my eye, but Grandfather shook his head.

"We’ll be at the Cape before then. Pity, too, for I think you’d enjoy Fredrick Douglass."

I stared at him. "Are you an Abolitionist then, Grandfather?"

He pulled himself straight. "Of course I am." His eyebrows pulled close together and he glowered at me. "Don’t tell me you support that evil?"

"Absolutely not. Nor does Pa." I pictured Samuel in my mind, and I found myself telling Grandfather about how Pa was able to keep Samuel from the bounty hunter.

Grandfather nodded approvingly. "I knew living down south those years wouldn’t change Ben."

"Ma hated slavery as well." The words were out before I could stop myself, and I glanced over to see his expression. He was nodding still.

"I couldn’t see Ben marrying a woman who believed in that accursed institution. Mark my words, Adam, slavery will be the ruin of this country."

It was my turn to nod solemnly. "I think Pa agrees with you."

We spoke no more on the subject, and our conversation turned to our trip to Cape Cod, which Grandfather had booked for the next day.

"We’ll take a packet into Orleans. I’ve already sent word to Charlie warning of our arrival – I don’t think I need to tell you that he’s thrilled to see you. I think we’ll spend most of the month there, and then get you home in time for your Harvard interviews."

Grandfather shook me awake before dawn. I stretched, and my mind rebelled at the thought of getting up so early. Early, as though I hadn’t gotten up before the dawn most days of my life just a few weeks earlier.

The carriage was waiting outside the door as we ate a cold breakfast. The streets were mostly empty, but candlelight flickered in many of the windows as we passed silent homes. I turned to Grandfather.

"If I were on the Ponderosa, I would have been up for more than an hour already." I paused in my memory. "And Pa would be banging on Annie’s door."

Grandfather smiled. "She doesn’t like to wake early?" His grin grew wider as I shook my head. "Takes after her father, then." He leaned back against the cushioned seat. "Ben was always up early. So was John for that matter. But Ed, there was a lad who would sleep as late as he could. That is, until he’d been on The Wanderer for a few weeks. After a few early morning swats, he learned that I expected to be awakened by my cabin boy, not the other way around."

I loved to hear about my father and his brothers, but we arrived at the docks before I could ask for more. I took my bags and my grandfather’s and followed behind him. The ship’s captain was waiting for us on deck.

"Abel, welcome aboard." He looked at me. "You can stow that in my cabin, lad, on the bunk."

I hurried to do as he said, and as I went, I could hear my grandfather greet the captain as an old friend. That explained why Grandfather didn’t argue when I picked up his bag; no doubt he didn’t want his friend to think he had to carry his own luggage. I rolled my eyes as I entered the small cabin and threw the bags onto the bed. I knew Grandfather would be waiting impatiently to show me off yet again, and so I hurried back to his side.

"Josiah, this is my grandson, Adam Cartwright. Adam, this is Captain Josiah Sparrow, an old friend."

The captain held out his hand. "And a shipmate to your uncles when they left the Wanderer. Welcome aboard the Willet."

"Thank you, sir." I looked around briefly. "Do you sail from Boston to the Cape?"

"No, lad. We run from Maine to the Carolinas. I’m just giving the old man a ride to Wellfleet. I do it every summer." The captain placed his arm around my shoulders. "Let me show you around. We’ve a few minutes before we weigh anchor."

All around us, men were scurrying to set sail and get the ship ready to leave the harbor. I saw stevedores lugging large crates onboard, and the captain was quick to point out that these goods would be sold in Charleston. A shout caught his attention, and he excused himself. I went to stand by my grandfather, out of the way.

I watched the bustle of activity with a bit of longing. My emotion must have showed on my face, for Grandfather leaned close. "Fancy it, lad?"

"Sir?"

"Think you might enjoy sailing?" He studied me intently.

"I’ve come east to study, Grandfather, not to sail." Behind me a mate shouted orders to the crew, and for a second I could well imagine my father on deck.

"And if you give up your studies, I’ll have your hide. But you’ll have summers off. I’m sure Josiah would be glad to have you on board for a few months."

I considered my grandfather’s words as the ship left the harbor. Sailing was in my blood, and some part of me knew I had to try it at least once if I were to ever know peace. Grandfather spent the first hour walking about the ship, taking care to stay out of the men’s way, but I stood at the rail, thinking of all the sea stories my father and my uncles ever told me. I was still thinking of them when Grandfather joined me.

"What are you smiling about, lad?" Grandfather leaned on the rail along side me.

"I was thinking of a story Uncle Ed told, about him falling overboard and Pa jumping after him." I glanced from the corner of my eye to gauge Grandfather’s reaction.

"No doubt they moaned about losing some hide with that escapade. Lost some more when their father found out they’d behaved foolishly on board." He snorted. "Those two. If there was trouble to be found, Ben and Ed were in the middle of it. They cost me years off my life that day, to be sure. They were horsing around on the rail and before I could stop them, Ed went over. Your father didn’t hesitate, but tied a rope around himself and went over after his brother. Two sailors had to hold John back. All I could think was that I was going to have to tell Joseph that his two youngest boys were drowned. Those three boys were his life. He hated the idea of them going to sea. He knew all too well what could happen."

I turned to face Grandfather. "Why did you become a sailor?"

He was startled, but pointed to the bench. "Let’s sit. It’s a long story." We sat close together, and Grandfather set his arm around my shoulder. "My father died when I was a boy – eleven to be exact. I had three younger sisters." Grandfather looked at me sharply. "Ben never told you this?" He shrugged. "Maybe I never told him.

"At any rate, I knew my mother couldn’t feed all of us, and I wanted to be able to help her. So, I signed up to be on a whaler." He laughed shortly. "Little did I know what the trip would be like. We were gone two years, and when I came back, I owed my whole share to the ship’s stores."

"You got no wage?" I was incredulous.

"I got a wage, but I had to buy clothes and the like while we were gone. The cost was subtracted from my share of the profits and I was left with nothing. I had two years of doing some of the nastiest work a boy could do, and I had nothing to show for it."

"What’s whaling like?"

"Weeks of boredom followed by days of non-stop work. Men would be positioned high on the mast, scanning the horizon for whales. When one was spotted, the men would put off in whaleboats – they left me behind – and they’d chase the whale. If they killed one, they’d haul it back to the ship, and then the work would start. We had to strip the blubber and put it in the try pots to boil down to oil. It took three or four days and nights to do, depending on the size of the whale. I’ve heard it said that coming on a whale ship at night would be like a scene from hell – the flames were high into the air, and the smoke would billow. You could smell a whale ship for miles." He sighed, seemingly lost a moment in his memories.

"But that wasn’t the worst of the work. When we were done stripping the whale’s blanket, the men would cut off its head. I was the smallest person on board, so they would lower me into the head of the whale to scoop out the spermaceti oil. That was the finest whale oil to be had but there I was, stark naked, in the middle of it. I’d fill a bucket and they’d pull it out. When I was done, they’d haul me back up. One time, though, I remember them teasing that they’d cut the head loose before they pulled me up. They made to do that, and I was so scared I, well, never mind what I did. There were sharks waiting for one of us to slip, and I’d seen men killed by sharks. It’s not a fate I wanted for myself."

"Was that the only time you sailed on a whaling ship?"

"Ah yup. Decided I’d rather be on a merchant ship, so a friend of my father’s put in a word for me on the Hortense. I was hired on as cabin boy. As it turned out the first mate was John Cartwright, your father’s great-uncle. He took me under his wing, looked out for me. We sailed together for a year, until he quit the sea. By then he’d taken on the raising of his brother’s boy, as well as his own three sons." Grandfather stared for a moment. "Then I was able to return the favor when his boys started to sail, and his nephew, too."

I nodded, knowing he was talking about my paternal grandfather. "Did Pa’s father like sailing?"

Grandfather’s loud laugh startled both me and the gull that had landed on the rail looking for food. "Joseph hated sailing. He did it because he thought John expected it. To be honest, I think Joseph was terrified of sailing, for that was how his father died. That’s why he fought your Uncle John when the lad wanted to go to sea."

"But Uncle John eventually won."

"Aye, he did. Joseph was smart enough to realize that if he held on too tightly, he would lose his sons."

We sat in silence for the rest of the trip. I didn’t know much about my father’s father, and I relished hearing stories about him, for those stories explained my own father to me a little more.

We arrived in Wellfleet in the late afternoon, and we were met at the ferry by twelve-year-old Hiram Nickerson. Hi, as he preferred to be known, lived with his mother and younger brother at the Three Sisters. Grandfather explained that the boys’ father was whaling, and their mother took care of my cousin Charlie in return for a place to live.

Hi was a chatty boy, and he took great pleasure in talking at great lengths about nothing. In many ways, he reminded me of my brother Joe at the same age. Hi did let it slip that Charlie was very excited by our impending arrival, and that the old man had told everyone who would listen that his cousin’s grandson would be attending Harvard in the fall. I blushed, and said a silent prayer that I would indeed be accepted to the school when I sat for examinations in a few weeks’ time.

None of Pa’s stories had prepared me for meeting Charlie Cartwright. Charlie was a tall man, with deep blue eyes and wild, gray hair. His face was craggy, permanently brown from his years at sea. But, it was the man’s smile, and the tilt of his eyebrows that most startled me. For, when I looked at my cousin, I knew I was seeing my father thirty years hence.

"Adam, lad! I am delighted to see you again!" Charlie grabbed my hand and pumped it hard. Certainly age had taken nothing from the man’s strength. Charlie stared hard at me and then looked to Grandfather. "He truly is her image."

Grandfather nodded, his smile clearly showing his pride in his only grandchild. I smiled, too, for I could see the pleasure it gave my grandfather.

Charlie slapped me on the back. "C’mon, lad, I’ll show you around the place."

The ‘place’ proved to be two small houses – one for the Nickersons and one for Charlie. Charlie stopped his tour long enough to introduce me to Rebekah Nickerson, a pleasant woman that I guessed to be in her 30s.

"I’m glad to meet you at last, Adam." Mrs. Nickerson smiled as she took my hand. "I’ve heard much of you and your family – your father and his brothers, mostly, although Charlie is quick to share his letters from the west with myself and the boys." She sighed slightly. "They’re quite taken with the notion of moving west, my two pups are." She turned and beckoned a young boy toward her. "This is Jebediah, but we call him Jeb. He’s nine."

Jeb stared up at me with adoring eyes and I had to keep myself from laughing as I held out my hand.

"How do you do, Jeb?"

"You really from the west, Mr. Cartwright?"

I winked as his mother chided him. "Call me Adam, all right Jeb? And yes, I lived in Utah territory with my father, brother and cousins."

"Golly! Have ya seen real Indians?" His earnestness reminded me of Joe and I felt a little homesick.

"I have. Lots of tribes, but we lived near the Washoe and the Paiutes." I leaned close. "Tell you what, I’m going to be here for a few weeks. I bet I can think of lots of stories to tell you."

"Golly, would ya, Adam?" As I nodded, the boy ran off shouting for his brother.

Mrs. Nickerson turned to me and smiled. "Thank you, Adam. That was very kind of you."

I blushed. "I’m not so sure kindness had anything to do with it, ma’am. I find myself missing my youngest brother, and your sons are a lot like him."

"I understand, Adam." She wiped her hands on her apron. "And I hope you’ll call me Rebekah. Now, I’ve got to finish cooking or we’ll have no supper tonight!"

Charlie also excused himself, as he needed to check the oil in the lighthouses. I offered to come with him, to help, but he laughed and said there would be time enough for that later. I watched him head toward the Three Sisters. Part of me couldn’t believe that I was here, after all the stories I had heard over the years. I turned, and headed toward the sound of waves.

I stopped as I approached a cliff. The ocean was a hundred feet below me, and sand stretched in front of it as far as the eye could see. A ladder was built along the side of the cliff, but I was too tired to climb down. The beach would have to wait for another day.

I sat down and rested against a fallen tree, the pounding surf drowning out all other sounds. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. The heavy scent of salt filled my nose and mouth, and I sighed. A memory flitted across my thoughts, of a large man with a long beard. And the taste of molasses. I smiled. I imagined a molasses cookie so real that I could almost taste it.

The sound of a twig snapping startled me, and I turned. Charlie was standing there, looking down at me. He nodded before settling onto the log.

"Can’t sit next to you on the ground, I’d never get up again." The man leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Enjoying the sight, are you?"

I nodded. "The smell reminds me of something, but I don’t know what."

"Ocean does that to a man. Gets into his heart and soul. Calls him home, it does."

Pa had warned me that his cousin was prone to philosophy and Charlie did not disappoint. I chuckled. "Nothing quite so grand as that, I’m afraid." I looked at Charlie. "I keep picturing a man with a beard. And, I keep thinking I’d like a cookie." I admitted this last bit sheepishly, but Charlie nodded.

"Molasses, no doubt. And the man with the beard, it’d be long, like you’d picture Moses having?" Charlie smiled. "That would be my father. And Mother made the best molasses cookies. Thin and crisp, but chewy, too. I’ve not tasted anything quite so good in almost twenty years."

I was incredulous. "I can’t possibly be remembering your parents." But the old man shook his head.

"Mother told me that you loved her cookies, that last summer you and Ben were on the Cape. And, you wouldn’t leave Father’s beard alone when he held you, which he did every time he could. Seeing you made them proud, Adam, I hope you know that. They were so happy to know that a bit of Joe was carried on."

Charlie slapped his thighs before standing. "Well, I came to tell you that Rebekah has supper ready." He helped me stand and we headed back to the house.

Supper was a boisterous meal. I sat between Hi and Jeb, and I was glad to see that neither boy was shy around me. Their mother kept a close eye on their manners, and I was reminded of Ma’s long reach when Rebekah leaned over to rap Hi’s knuckles when the boy belched.

The boys took care of the dishes while Rebekah banked the fire in the dining room. "Good night, Charlie, Captain. Good night, Adam, I hope you enjoy your stay."

Grandfather and Charlie headed toward the parlor. Charlie turned to me and smiled.

"I told Abel I’d beat him in cribbage tonight. Play a hand, lad?" Charlie pointed toward the third chair by the fire. Normally I would jump at the chance to play cribbage – Ma had taught me the game many years before – but tonight I shook my head.

"No, thank you. I think I’d better write to Pa, before he comes looking for me."

Charlie grinned. "Can’t say I’d mind that. I’d love to see that boy again."

I chuckled as I headed to my small room behind the parlor. Charlie was probably the only man alive who thought of Pa as a boy. I closed the door behind me and lit the lamp on the small desk. I pulled out a sheaf of paper, dipped my pen and began…

August 11, 1853

Three Sisters

Eastham, Massachusetts

Dear Pa,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Be assured that it leaves me in excellent health and good spirits.

As you know from my previous letter, I arrived in Boston a little more than a week ago. I apologize for the brevity of that letter, but Grandfather has not allowed me much leisure time.

Grandfather greeted me at the pier, and all my previous worries that he would not like me disappeared within minutes. Indeed, within minutes we were speaking as though we had not lived apart these many years.

Our first stop, even before going to his house, was to visit my mother. I brought her daisies as you asked, and I told her they were from you. I will not try to describe the overwhelming emotion I felt as I knelt by her side and traced her name. Suffice to say, I was moved, and I vowed to visit as often as I can.

We went to his house then, and he showed me to my room – Mother’s room, and then yours together. Everywhere I look there are reminders of her, her books, her toys, and I feel closer to her than I have ever felt before.

This past week after my arrival has been very busy. Grandfather has been wonderful. I have met many family friends and have seen many of the sights of Boston. All these old friends – too numerous to list – have asked that I send you their regards. Suffice to say, you are greatly missed, and all of Boston wishes you well.

Grandfather arranged interviews for me at Harvard, which I will have when we return from the Cape. I also visited his tailor, as you said I would, and when we return to Boston, I suspect I will look as though I stepped from one of Annie’s Godey’s journals.

Grandfather and I arrived at the Three Sisters today. Charlie assures me that we have met before, but I must take his word, as I have no recollection of the event.

I am pleased to tell you that Charlie is in excellent health for a man of his age. He manages the light himself. However, he does not live alone. He has taken in a woman whose husband is on a whaling voyage. Rebekah Nickerson keeps house for Charlie, and makes sure he is well fed. Her two sons, Hi (twelve) and Jeb (nine) do many of the small chores around the house. This arrangement is new, but I believe it will be a good one. Grandfather seems relieved by it. I suspect that when Rebekah’s husband returns that he will take over the keeping of the light. But do not fear for Charlie; Rebekah and her sons seem very fond of him. Indeed, even with my brief time here, I see that they treat him as a part of their family.

I’m not sure what we’ll be doing while we are here on Cape Cod. I hope to spend as much time visiting with Charlie and Grandfather before my studies begin. Please assure Annie, Joe and Hoss that I will write down all stories about you that I hear from Grandfather and Charlie.

I shall write soon. Until then, I remain your most loving and obedient son,

Adam

I spent the next two days with Hi and Jeb, as they listened to every story I told about the Indians I had met. I started to help Charlie with the lighthouses, and I was amazed at how much work went into keeping the lights going. Once again I was mindful of my father’s stories.

A few nights after my arrival in North Eastham, Charlie approached me, a small box in his hands. "Adam, lad?" He held the box out to me. "Your father left these here, when he was last visiting. I think they were your mother’s. I would have given them to Abel, but to be honest, I forgot about them. I came across them in the attic a few months ago."

I hurried to take the box from him. "What is it?"

The old man shrugged. "I think they’re her journals and a few trinkets. I never opened the books to find out. But the box has her name."

I looked at the cover. Elizabeth Stoddard was scrawled in a childish hand.

"You’ll want to look at them alone. Abel’s asleep, and I must tend the light. Sit by the fire a while."

He shuffled out the door, and I settled in the chair by the fire. I stared at the box a minute before I lifted the cover.

The box was full; three leather-bound books took up most of the space, but there were some bits of ribbon and lace, a pin, a string of pearls and some kind of dried flower. I ignored those, though, and pulled out the books. Carefully setting the box on the table next to me, I opened the first book, stared at the childish writing proclaiming that the book was the personal property of Miss Elizabeth A. Stoddard, age 9. I took a deep breath and began to read.

June 1, 1818

Today I am nine and Mother has given me this book. She says I am to write in it everyday. She will ask if I have written, but she will not read it. She says a woman's journal is a private thing.

Papa is not here but he has left presents. A pearl necklace from the Orient and a book on the Corps of Discovery for Mother and me to read together. I would rather see him than have all the pearls in the world.

Mother says I should write in my journal what I would like for my future. I think I should very much like to live in the places that the Corps visited. Papa and I have talked about them and Mother and I have read about them and I think it would be very exciting to live where only the wild red men live.

Mother does not laugh when I say I would like to see far off places. She says it is good for a girl to dream. Mother says I should write in my journal about Boston, so that someday if I do live far away, I will be able to remember Boston. I think that is silly, how could I forget Boston, but of course, I do not say so to Mother.

I will write about Boston another time. I am tired and I wish to read about the Corps. Perhaps tomorrow I will receive a letter from Papa.

June 2, 1818

No letter from Papa, but Mother has exciting news. She says we are to spend the next two months in North Eastham, visiting her aunt. I have never met my Great-Aunt, but Mother says I will like her. I am not so sure. She is old, I think she is more than 50. We will go next week.

June 3, 1818

Mother says I should write in my journal what I do all day. Today is Wednesday. My Wednesday is very much like my Tuesday. Every day is very much the same, except of course for Sunday, which is different.

I do not attend school. I did go to the Dame School down the street but Mother did not like the Widow Thomas who taught the school. Mother has very strong opinions about what a girl should know and they do not include being a servant to her husband, or so Mother says. I am not sure what Mother meant by that, but she says that is what the Widow Thomas teaches. I am glad to not go to school with the Widow. She is an old witch.

Instead I must attend school with Mother. In the morning I must learn mathematics, geography, history and literature. In the afternoon, I must learn sewing, embroidery, and the many things a lady must know. Most girls do not learn the mathematics and other subjects, but learn only to run a man's household. Mother believes that a woman must be a fit companion for a man's mind as well as his body. Mother often says things that I do not understand.

I have a tutor who comes twice a week to teach me French and Latin. Mother also learns with me. That is fun, because sometimes Mother makes mistakes and we laugh together.

On Thursdays my music teacher comes to teach me the pianoforte. Papa bought the pianoforte in England. He says Mozart himself played on this very instrument when he was a boy, but I sometimes think Papa makes up stories to make me laugh. I practice every day because Papa wishes it.

I must also do chores every day. I hate chores. Mother says it will build a strong character and that someday I will be grateful. I am not grateful. I told Mother that I will have servants do the work. I did not mean to be disrespectful but Mother did not see it that way and she made me clean all the fireplaces and the lamps. If Papa had been here, he would have laughed and told Mother that I meant no disrespect. Mother would have scolded him for spoiling me.

I paused. For twenty-three years my mother had been a story to me, told by my father or my uncles, or my grandfather. Now I was holding a piece of her. Desperate to learn more, I flipped a few pages ahead. There would be time to read every page later.

June 14, 1818

Is it a lie to allow another to take the blame for your misdeed? I think Mother would say it is.

Today was Sunday and we went to church but my bad day began before that. I did not wish to wear the dress Mother had pressed for me and I grew cross that she would not press the one I wanted to wear. It is the Lord's day, she said. It is not a day for vanity, she said. But is it vanity to wish to look one's best for the Lord? I said as much to Mother and she threatened me with her hairbrush if I were disrespectful again. I only asked a question.

The minister was long-winded, as usual, and I struggled to keep my eyes on him. Mother would know if I was not paying attention and I had no desire to know if she would make good her threat.

Then after church, Mother and Auntie stopped to talk to a fierce looking man. They introduced him as Mr. John Cartwright, and he had with him his wife and three boys, his great nephews. Auntie invited the Cartwrights to lunch and Mother and Mr. Cartwright spent the time talking of dearest Papa. I guess Mr. Cartwright sailed with Papa for a short time, and on the way home from church, Mother told me that Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright introduced her to Papa.

The boys were nice. Well, the younger two were. The eldest, John, did not seem pleased to play with a girl and he was rude. I think he embarrassed the middle brother, Ben, for Ben often corrected John. The youngest brother, Eddie, is my age; his brothers are each two and four years older.

I took them to my beach and we waded in the water. We saw hundreds of those tiny crabs that frighten auntie and I thought of a wicked plan. We gathered a bucket full of the crabs, taking care to dry them, and we put them in Auntie's flour bin. I thought it would be funny to see her reaction when the flour crawled.

Her reaction was not funny, nor was Mr. Cartwright's. The Cartwrights were just about to leave when Auntie started to scream. Mr. Cartwright called the boys to him and his anger was terrifying. I was afraid Mother would learn that I had been the one to think of the plan and I knew I would be unable to lie if asked.

Mr. Cartwright questioned each of the boys and when he asked Ben, Ben lied and said the idea had been his. He is my Lancelot. Mr. Cartwright was wroth (my new word for today) and he hurried those boys from the room and to the carriage.

I feel guilty for not speaking. I think Mother knew, for she sent me to my room without supper for helping the boys. But I didn't want anyone to think Ben was a liar. He was only trying to help me.

I think I have made three new friends, or I have if they will speak to me again.

I remembered Pa telling us that story, a few years ago. How funny to read it from my mother’s point of view. I flipped ahead past many more pages.

August 12, 1822

Today is Papa's last day at home. The Wanderer sets sail on tomorrow's tide, taking my father and my friends away from me.

Papa, Mother and I spent the morning together. We walked to the Common to have a picnic and then we walked home. In the afternoon, Papa had to see that all was made ready on The Wanderer. I asked to go, he said no. I begged to go and Mother said no. I stayed home.

Mother and I made a special supper for our last evening together and Mother even let me set out the best dishes and silver. Then we played games all evening until Mother said it was time for bed. Papa came to my room after I was in my bed and we talked about the places to which he would be sailing. This time he heads to the Orient and I think he will be gone for more than a year. That means a summer without my friends on Cape Cod, except for Eddie, who is still too young to sail with Papa.

I kept a secret from Papa, one which, had he known, would have made him quite cross. I have agreed to sneak out my window and meet Ben. We are going to the Burial Ground to watch the stars.

Now Mother and Papa are going to bed early. It is time for me to sneak out.

August 13, 1822

My night of adventure was wonderful and awful at the same time. First, the wonderful part.

I crept from my window and Ben was waiting for me. He was nervous about being caught but I told him to not be silly. I said I was going whether or not he was, and he followed me. When we got to the Burial Ground we watched the stars for a short time and then the wonderful thing happened. Ben kissed me. Not on the cheek, but on the lips. He held me close and he kissed me. I thought I would faint when his lips touched mine. I felt something go through me to the tips of my toes and I think Ben felt it too. I wrapped my arms around him and he held me close.

Then the awful part started. Ben was pulled from my arms and before I knew what had happened, Papa was thrashing Ben with a belt! I begged him to stop, but he did not listen. Then he told Ben that they had an early tide the next morning and that he would feed Ben to the sharks if Ben were late. I tried to explain politely that we weren't doing anything wrong and Papa threatened to use his belt on me! Papa has never even spanked me. He grabbed me by the arm and fairly dragged me out of the Burial Ground. I begged him to let me say good-bye to Ben and when he said no, I shouted he was unfair. Then he turned me and gave me a smack with his belt. He told me if I were not quiet, he would use it again when we got home. I decided to remain quiet.

When we got home, the house was all lit and Mother was waiting in the parlor. Her face was grim and I had no doubt but that she was equally angry with me. She said nothing but reached out to take my arm. Papa looked at her and said that no, he would deal with me, that there were some things in which a father must have his say. Mother nodded and then he dragged me to my room.

First he told me that he liked Benjamin but that he most certainly did not like deceit and disobedience. I told him he was unfair to Ben, that Ben didn't make me sneak out. He said that Ben knew what awaited him if he were caught.

I continued to tell him that he was not fair, that Ben didn't deserve to be punished. Then I said if anyone deserved to be punished, it was I for it had been my idea. Papa said he agreed completely and I soon regretted my words.

Then he stood and told me the tide would change all too soon and that he must get some sleep. He said we would talk before he left in the morning.

I cried myself to sleep, only to be awakened early in the morning. Papa seemed very nervous, as though he didn't know how I would act. I threw my arms around him and begged his forgiveness, which he said he gladly gave. I had a good cry in his arms and then he had to leave. Because of the early hour, Mother and I may not go to the dock. I had so hoped to see Ben one last time.

As Papa was heading from my door, I asked would he please say good-bye to Ben for me. He tried to look stern, but I could see a little smile. He said that he had a good many things to say to Master Cartwright, but that he would relay my message when he was done.

I am writing this while Mother naps. She says that she and I will speak when she wakes. I wonder how Ben is faring.

August 13, again

Mother and I had a long discussion. She said that I am old enough to understand that proper young ladies do not sneak out of the house at night to be with young men. That, she said, is the act of hoydens and hussies and she had not raised her daughter to be either of those. I did not think it a good time to mention that hoydens and hussies are one and the same.

I told her I thought Papa was unfair with his treatment of Ben. She looked at me in surprise and said that surely I did not think that was the first time Ben had felt my father's wrath? She said I might be sure that Papa does not permit disobedience aboard his ship. I had not thought of it like that and now I understand why Ben was so hesitant to accompany me. And yet he did. He must truly like me, and yet I would not see him for more than a year.

I set the book down, remembering the time Pa had told me that story. It was shortly after Annie had snuck out with Mitch at a dance in town. I think his recollections saved Annie from a severe punishment. Sighing, I picked up another book and opened it to the middle. A woman’s handwriting stared out at me this time.

July 1, 1828

I am well and truly Mrs. Benjamin Cartwright now. Twice, in fact, though I am immodest in saying so.

I paused in my reading, thinking this was more than I wanted to know about my parents. And yet, I felt compelled to read more.

Our wedding was small; dear Papa wanted to lavish great attention on us, yet we wished only to be surrounded by our family.

John was there, and of course, Patience. Not more than newlyweds themselves, yet soon to be parents. But, I must not gossip on my wedding night.

Dear, beloved Eddie was there, too. How he managed to be home just in time, I do not know, but Ben was moved to tears to see his brothers together again. We wondered would it be the last time, but I pray not.

Mr. Cartwright – no, I must call him Uncle John, he said so himself, Uncle John was there, with Aunt May. He has recovered mostly from the illness that struck him right after Ben's parents' death. I laugh to remember how he scared me as a child, now he is as dear as my own uncle might be.

And of course, my dearest Papa escorted me in the church. How proud he was, holding me on his arm. He made a great fuss over what he called my beauty, although he was just being kind, and he told me over and over again that Mother would have been proud. That is the only pall over what was a perfect day, that Mother and Ben's parents were not with us. But, perhaps it is as Ben always says, that they are ever with us.

I do not know what made Papa more proud, to see me wed, or to see me wed to 'one of his boys' as he has always called the Cartwright brothers. Although he would never admit it to them, he has loved those brothers as the sons he never had. And they would never admit it, but they have loved him as a second father. My men are so stubborn.

Our wedding luncheon was simple, and we spent the afternoon laughing and remembering the times gone past. Then our guests left and Ben and I were left alone. Papa was staying with Uncle John for a few days, so that Ben and I might have time to ourselves.

The door had no sooner shut than Ben turned to me and kissed me, as he had never kissed me before. Then he swept me into his arms and carried me to our bed, where he…

I slammed the book closed. Now I knew I didn't want to read any more. Curiosity soon overcame me, however and I returned to the journal. I flipped ahead a few pages and frowned. I skipped ahead a few more pages and then a few more pages. Suddenly I started to laugh. There was no question but that I was conceived with great love, and I had to admit that the thought gave me great comfort.

The next morning, Hi and Jeb begged for the chance to take me for a walk along the beach. We had gone every morning since my arrival, but their eager faces and their insistence told me that this morning was somehow different.

I was right. We had no sooner put the lighthouses behind us than a group of boys swarmed around. My companions puffed up the way boys will when they have something – or someone – to show off.

"Fellas." Hi gave a curt nod. "This is our friend, Adam. Adam, this is Nehemiah, and his brother Simeon, and this is Eleazar and Barnabas." Hi pointed to each in turn.

I shook hands with each boy, and marveled at how boys were alike all over the country. These boys had obviously been lured here in hopes of meeting the man from the untamed west. Their faces, eager with anticipation, harkened me back to a small stall in New Orleans, and my uncle telling a story about his narrow escape from headhunters. I could see in their faces the same thrill I saw in my youngest brother’s face, when he and his friends listened to Big Dan’s stories about his adventures in the mountains. I was on display, and I vowed to do my best for my new companions.

Nehemiah – I’m not sure where his parents found that name – was the first to speak to me. "You really seen Indians?"

"Yup." I leaned against the rock, trying to figure out the best story to tell, but before I could begin, Jeb stepped to my side.

"Adam’s family lives close to two tribes, the Washoe and the Paiutes."

I ducked my head to hide my smile.

"Ain’t ya afraid they’ll murder you all in your sleep?"

I raised a disdainful eyebrow toward Eleazar. I’m not sure what that boy had been reading, but before I could speak, Hi piped up. "No, the Washoe are a peaceful tribe. So are the Paiutes, for the most part."

Good glory. Not only had Jeb and Hi listened to my stories, apparently they had memorized them as well. I would be hard-pressed to think of one that they hadn’t already heard.

Then I thought of the chairs. And the Lake Monster. Memories of my uncle’s story about headhunters sprang to mind, and I smiled as I leaned toward the boys.

"Our ranch, the Ponderosa, borders a huge lake. It’s so big, you can’t see the other shore." I kept my voice low so the boys had to stay quiet to hear me, but that didn’t stop them from turning as one, wide-eyed, to stare at the ocean. "No, not that big, but big enough. And the Washoe have summered for many years – centuries even – by its shores, living on the fish they catch.

"The lake is very deep – no one knows how deep. The Washoe say that there are monsters that live in the lake. They have a sacred rock, and they say that water babies live under the rock. One look at a water baby will blind a man."

Eleazar pshawed, but I only raised an eyebrow at him. "I’ve heard others scoff at the legend…" I allowed my voice to trail off. Eleazar shifted nervously. I struggled to not smile. Really, these boys were even more gullible than Joe.

"But nothing the Washoe told me compares to the tale of the giant monster that’s said to live at the bottom of the lake, only rising to the top to prey on its favorite food…Indian boys."

Even Eleazar stared at me, wide-eyed. "One day, my brothers went to the lake to trade with the Washoe. My father had made a deal with their chief to trade chairs for fish, and he and I had worked with my brothers to make the chairs. Pa and I had to go to town while my brothers went to the Washoe, so you can imagine our surprise when my brothers rode into town at a breakneck speed." Glory, Pa had been angry even after they blurted out the reason for their speed, and I know he had singed Hoss’s ears later that night for driving so recklessly.

"When we finally calmed them down enough to understand them, they told us of sighting the lake monster. It was huge, they said, fifteen feet from fin to tail. Word spread throughout the town and people flocked to the lake to see the beast." Now I was on rocky ground because I knew the true story would be a disappointment to the boys. I hesitated slightly before continuing.

"One day, my brothers and I were at the lake with the crowd of on-lookers. Joe and Hoss – my younger brothers – were close to the edge of the lake when the monster surfaced. I was afraid the monster, having not had a chance to snatch Indian boys, who had learned to avoid him, would decide a boy of any sort would be a satisfying meal. I pulled my youngest brother behind me, dove into the lake and wrestled that monster."

I wasn’t sure the boys were breathing as they listened to me, and I had to bite my cheek to keep from grinning. "I grabbed it from behind, trying to wrap my arms around its mighty middle, but to no avail, so I held fast to its fin. The monster dove deeper into the lake before he rushed toward the surface, me hanging on for dear life. He broke the surface of the water, and I could hear a great roar from the crowd. He leapt from the water and twisted so that I would fall from his back. I managed to get my knife out and I stabbed the monster, but not before his teeth grabbed me. I stabbed him about the head and finally he released me. He disappeared into the depths and I never saw him again."

I leaned back to see the boys’ reaction and I was not disappointed. Not one spoke, not one moved a muscle until finally Eleazar frowned. "Go on, you’re making that up."

I reached into my shirt and pulled out a shark’s tooth on a chain. It had been in my mother’s box of trinkets. "This is the tooth my father pulled from my leg, once I got to shore." I didn’t let them look to closely, lest one of them recognize it for what it truly was.

The spell was broken by a shout from down the beach. Nehemiah jumped up and waved to a man walking toward us. "That’s my brother, Jabez." Nehemiah looked to the sky. "Uh-oh, Sim, I think we’re late."

"Dang." Simeon stood and brushed the sand from his legs. "We’re gonna get it if we are." He looked at me. "We’re supposed to watch our sister, Mercy, so Ma can go to her ladies’ thing."

The man reached us, and glared at his brothers. I judged him to be my age or a little younger, and not quite as tall. "You’re lucky I came looking for you two. You gotta get home before Ma is ready to leave." The two boys ran off and the man turned to me and held out his hand. "You must be Charlie’s cousin. I’m Jabez Brackett."

"Adam Cartwright. I’m sorry if I got your brothers into trouble, I was just telling them a story about the Indians in Utah Territory."

He laughed at that. "No doubt I’ll hear it tonight at supper. Don’t worry about them, they’ll be home on time." He looked toward his brothers, running down the beach. "I’d like to hear some of your stories, too. But I’ve got to get back to the store before my father notices I’m gone too long. I wanted to save my brothers’ hide for them."

I laughed, having done the same thing too many times for my own brothers. "Another time, then."

No sooner had Jabez turned to go than Eleazar and Barnabas realized that they, too, had chores. I was left alone with Hi and Jeb. They both grinned at me.

"Golly, Adam, that was a good story." Apparently I had been shown off to their satisfaction, and I knew they’d have bragging rights amongst their friends when school started in a few weeks.

"We don’t have any chores ‘til after lunch. Let’s go swimming!" Hi had his shirt halfway off before Jeb stopped him.

"Charlie said he’d have our tails if we went swimmin’ again without an adult."

Hi’s shoulder’s slumped, but he brightened as he pointed to me. "He’s an adult."

Jeb stared at me. "I don’t think he is." I opened my mouth to take issue but before I could, the two boys had started ‘is, too’, ‘is not.’ I let that go on for a minute before I interrupted.

"I am an adult, thank you, and I would like to go swimming." I didn’t really, but I couldn’t let them think I wasn’t old enough to make my own decisions. We quickly stripped to our drawers and then spent the next hour playing in the waves. The water was freezing, even in the middle of August, and it took me a while to get used to it. I wasn’t prepared for the strength of the waves, and the boys howled in laughter every time I was knocked down. We didn’t stop until I heard a shout and saw Grandfather and Charlie standing just outside the tidemark. Both boys scrambled to the shore and pointed at me.

"He said he was an adult." Jeb sounded accusatory, and I was about to defend myself when I saw Charlie wink at me. My cousin rubbed his chin and nodded slowly.

"He did, did he?" Charlie looked me up and down. "Well, I guess I’d have to agree with him." He handed the boys their clothes. "You’re not in trouble, lads, but I’m glad to see you remembered what I said. C’mon, it’s lunchtime."

Grandfather handed me my trousers as I came out of the water. "Adam, I’ve come to tell you that I need to go back to Boston for a few days, to attend to business, but I’d like you to stay here on the Cape. You, ah, seem to be enjoying yourself."

I grinned as I brushed the sand off my arms and hands. "I’ve never been in water like that. Even the lake back home was warmer than this." I buttoned my shirt and tried to get my hair to lie flat, no easy feat considering it was caked with salt and sand. I would have to stick my head under the pump when we got back to the Three Sisters.

Hi and Jeb ran ahead. I walked more slowly; my legs felt rubbery and walking in the loose sand was tough going. Grandfather and Charlie walked beside me and spoke of the sailing news from Boston. I didn’t know any of the people of whom they spoke, and I found myself looking forward to spending a few days with Charlie. I had grown to enjoy the old man’s company, and the work at the lighthouse, although I knew I would weary of that eventually.

I spent the next day asking Charlie about the workings of the lights. He was able to tell me some things, but not enough to satisfy my curiosity. Finally, after yet another question that he couldn’t answer, Charlie threw up his hands. "Like your mother, you are! When she was younger, she was terrified of my father, but she would occasionally summon the courage to ask him questions. He was pleased as punch to tell her, because none of the boys would ask him how the light worked – undoubtedly they were too afraid he’d give them hands on experience!" Charlie paused in his speech to fill one of the lamps with whale oil. "But she’d follow him up the steps and sit while he worked, all the while asking him how much oil to use, and how did the light work, and how did it move." He set the cask of oil down and wiped his hands. "You know, she used to visit him and Mother even when the boys weren’t here."

One afternoon found Charlie and I walking some distance from the light. My cousin was taking pleasure in showing me the places that he, his brothers and my grandfather played in their youth, and I was delighted when he pointed out Doane Rock.

"That’s where Pa built the tiger trap!" I hurried to the massive granite boulder that towered over me. The rock was almost vertical on one side, but the other had a steep slope that appeared climbable. Behind me I heard Charlie groan.

"Those three – they dug the tiger trap and I got the lecture." I turned and grinned at Charlie, and he winked back at me. "Of course, they spent a goodly time digging after that incident, so I can’t say they got off scot-free, but my father had something to say about telling tales when the boys were around."

Pa had said similar things to Hoss and to me. He claimed that our stories of our youth inspired Joe to try foolish stunts. Myself, I wasn’t sure that Joe actually needed inspiration. I studied the rock carefully a minute, and then scrambled to the top. "Glory, Charlie, this rock is high!"

He laughed. "I haven’t been up there in many years. I’m afraid my old bones won’t let me. But Joe, Tom, Will and I would race up. Joe was always the first one to the top."

I slid down on my backside, taking care to not rip my trousers. "You’d never catch my brother Joe on the top of the rock. He hates heights." I reached the bottom, dusted my seat and leaned back against it, staring at the trees and sky. "Charlie, what happened to your brothers? Where are they now? Pa’s never said."

My cousin was silent, and I regretted my question, for the look that crossed his face reminded me of the sorrowful look Pa had when he received the letter about Uncle Ed’s death. I stood straight. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked."

But Charlie waved his hand at me. "No, lad, they’re your family, too. You’ve the right to know." He rested next to me. "To answer your question, I don’t know.

"Don’t know?" I was incredulous.

"No, Adam. I don’t know what happened to my own brothers. I don’t know to this day if they’re alive or dead."

My blood ran cold. Based on everything Pa has told me about his father and his father’s cousins, and everything Charlie has said to me since I arrived, I knew that my grandfather and his cousins were very close; indeed, they were as close as I was to my brothers and my cousin.

"Will sailed on a ship attacked by the British during the last war. As near as we could tell, he was impressed into the British navy. But we never heard from him again." Charlie sighed as he ducked his head. "Ma convinced herself that he was alive, and living in England and that he had been writing, but the letters were lost. We didn’t dare contradict her. Joe tried to find out – he had some connections with English merchants after the war, but he had no luck. Father never talked about it."

Charlie stared past me into the trees. "After Father died, Tom sailed on a merchant ship bound for the Orient. He never came back. I had a letter from him, said he had been in Tahiti, and that the ship was sailing to China. I never heard from him again. I heard a rumor that the ship had sunk, but I was never able to find anyone who knew for sure." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I suppose I’ve become like Ma, and I’ve convinced myself that he’s got a native wife on some island, and he’s raised a passel of kids. He always talked about how much he loved the South Seas. Of course, he’d be nigh on seventy four or five by now."

I may find my own brothers aggravating. I may want to throttle them, or spend time away from them. But to not know where they were, to not know they were safe, that was unthinkable. I turned to face Charlie. "I’m sorry."

The man wiped at his eyes briefly. "I know you are, lad. From what your father’s letters say, you and your own brothers are as thick as thieves. But that’s the way it is with Cartwrights. Family is important to us." He shook himself. "We’d best head back. Rebekah will be making supper."

After supper, Rebekah and her sons hurried off to finish their chores. I offered to help, but she brushed off my request. I wasn’t used to not helping, and I confess, I felt a little uncomfortable. But it was just Charlie and I, and we settled in front of the cold fireplace. The day had been so warm that he had not lit the fire.

"Charlie, what was my grandfather like?" I blurted out the question before I knew what I was saying.

My cousin shook himself from his thoughts. "Joe, you mean?"

I nodded.

"He was a fine man, Adam. He and I were of an age, you know, almost twins Ma always said. And in many ways, I was closer to him than to my own brothers." He looked at me, head tilted in a familiar pose, and I was struck again by the family resemblance. "What’s your father told you of him?"

I took a minute to remember before I answered. "Mostly stories about Pa’s boyhood, about the mischief he and his brothers would get into, and what my grandfather said or did."

"Aye, they did that a lot, Joe’s boys did." He smiled fondly before he looked at me. "Joe’s boys – how old is your father, anyway?"

"Forty-five."

"Not a boy anymore, I’ll warrant."

I grinned. "You’d be surprised, Charlie, you’d be surprised."

He laughed. "I’m glad to hear that. Forty-five, where do the years go? Seems like just yesterday, Joe and Kit got married."

That was a story I’d never heard, and I leaned forward. "How did my grandparents meet?"

Charlie stood to pick up his pipe from the mantle. He tamped in the tobacco, lit it and settled back in his seat. "Joe and I went to sea when we were sixteen, but Joe was miserable. He never wanted to go sail, but I was going, so he came along." Charlie laughed shortly. "As though I was going to town, not on a small boat for almost a year.

"Abel was first mate on board when we sailed, and he looked out for us. Joe took a lot of abuse from the other men on board, for it was obvious that he was unhappy. He was frightened, too, although he never let on about that. You know that his father drowned when Joe was seven. I don’t think my cousin ever got over that, not really."

Charlie drew deeply on his pipe before puffing out a perfect smoke ring. "When we got back, Abel went to my father and told him that Joe wasn’t cut out to be a sailor, that his heart wasn’t in it. I don’t know what Ben has told you about my father, but he had a ferocious temper." I nodded and Charlie continued. "Father and Joe went for a walk – it was the only way to have any privacy when we lived at the gristmill – and they hadn’t gone a hundred yards when I heard Father roar ‘because I expected it, you fool boy?’ They continued to walk and did not come back for an hour. When they finally returned, Father announced that Joe would be going to Plymouth, to work in a chandlery.

"After supper, I went chasing after Joe, to find out why Father was sending him away. Joe laughed at me. ‘Uncle John isn’t sending me away. I told him I wanted to work in a chandlery, and he has a friend who manages one.’ I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘You want to work in a chandlery?’ But he always loved numbers and although being a shop keeper had struck me as being the dullest of all professions, I knew it was something he would be good at."

Charlie set his pipe on the table. "And so, although it broke our hearts, Joe and I went our separate ways. We had been inseparable, he and I. He was always very serious as a lad, and Ma always said that he needed me to make him laugh. Of course, Father’s response was always that I needed Joe to keep me out of trouble." Charlie looked at me in concern. "Don’t get me wrong, Adam, your grandfather knew how to get into mischief, but he was prone to great fits of quiet. I think his father’s death affected him in a way I could not understand."

I thought I could, but I said nothing. Charlie continued his story. "Abel switched to a merchant ship making runs from Europe to New England, and I went with him. We were gone four months on our first voyage and when I came back, it was to a great surprise.

"I hadn’t been at the Cape for more than two days when Joe showed up, with of all things, a girl. Katherine Flowers was a beautiful woman, all of seventeen, and Joe was over the moon about her, I could tell. She was a tiny woman, didn’t even come to his shoulder. She had long dark hair, done in a braid, and the tiniest nose, and deep blue eyes, like the sky on a summer’s day. She insisted we all call her Kit. Ma took to her instantly, and as the two of them were chatting over a cup of tea, Joe once again went for a walk with my father. When they came back, we toasted to the engagement of my cousin and this girl that I had just met. Turns out she was the daughter of the man who managed the chandlery. Joe had fallen in love with her the minute he saw her – and she, him.

"I tell you, Adam, that love didn’t diminish over the years they were wed. I never heard a cross word between them, and even during the hard times, and there were plenty of those, their love would have been obvious to a blind man. They both adored their sons, although Joe proved to be a stricter father than I would have imagined. But, I think his sons could see the boy in him, just as you’ve seen it in Ben."

Charlie wiped at his eyes. "Do you know what Joe’s dearest wish was, Adam?" I shook my head. "He loved school and learning, and he wanted desperately to send one of his sons to college. But, the only who had a mind to stay in school was Eddie – John and Ben always wanted to be outside – and even if he had lived, Joe wouldn’t have been able to afford college. He was never a wealthy man." Charlie nodded at me. "You don’t know it, lad, but you’ve granted two grandfathers’ wishes with this journey."

I spent little time thinking of college the next several of days. I felt like I was on vacation – spending my mornings doing a few chores, then swimming with Hi and Jeb and their friends. In the afternoon I’d help Charlie around the lighthouses, or Rebekah in her garden, but those didn’t seem like work. I don’t think I had had such carefree days since my youth, when my family would leave New Orleans during the fever season, and my brothers and I would play at whatever country house my father had rented that year.

In the evenings, Charlie and I would sit in front of the fireplace and he would reminisce about his childhood, or tell stories about my father’s youth. He told me how his father helped build the Three Sisters, and how he came to be the first lighthouse keeper. He told stories about his sailing days, wild stories that made me yearn for the South Pacific.

When my grandfather returned, he joined us in the evenings and told me more stories, about my mother, and my father, and even some about me as a toddler. I spent the hours before bedtime writing the stories down for Hoss and Joe and Annie.

The only change to my routine after Grandfather’s return was I spent my afternoons studying, rather than helping Charlie or Rebekah. Grandfather had brought a letter from Harvard, advising me when I would need to sit for my entrance exams. The date, which had seemed so far in the future just a few weeks ago, loomed over my head and I began to get nervous.

One afternoon, I took a break from my studies to go for a walk on the beach. Grandfather reminded me to be home for supper, but otherwise waved me off, glad, I think, to see me relax a bit.

I hadn’t gone too far when I met up with Jabez Brackett. He quickly introduced me to his two companions, Ebenezer Hall and Roland Hallett. Both men were fisherman; thickly built, with arms as big as my brother, Hoss’s. They invited me to the local tavern, and I readily agreed.

As we sat down to have a beer, a small voice in me mentioned Grandfather, that he might be worried. I quickly convinced myself that one beer would not make me late for supper.

Many people in the tavern were interested in hearing my tales of the west, and some of them insisted on buying me beer as their way of saying thanks. By the third beer, I had completely forgotten about supper, and by the fifth beer, I had forgotten about my grandfather.

I don’t know how long I was drinking, but the festivities came to an end when someone took issue with one of my tales. Before I knew it, I was in the middle of a fierce brawl that ended abruptly when I was jerked to my feet. I twisted around to see the largest man I had ever seen holding me by the collar. He looked to be Pa’s age.

"Who are you, lad?" The man gave me a little shake, and I frowned. That was a good question.

"Oh. I’m Adam." I thought hard. "Adam Cartwright. Who’re you?"

"The constable. You any relation to Charlie Cartwright?" The man tightened his grip on my arm as my knees buckled.

I thought a moment. "He’s my grandfather’s cousin, on my father’s side. That makes him my first…"

The man shook me again. "You staying at the Three Sisters?"

"Yup. With my grandfather. But not the one that’s Charlie’s cousin." For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why this man was so interested in my family tree.

"Lad, do yourself a favor and stop talking." The constable half carried and half dragged me to a waiting buggy.

By the time we reached the Three Sisters, I felt slightly more sober and decidedly more ill. My head was throbbing and my stomach roiled and I could only take comfort in knowing that I didn’t have to face my father in this condition.

That sense of relief quickly vanished as the constable stopped the buggy in front of the cottage, and the door flew open. There, in the streaming lantern light, stood my grandfather, his expression more fierce than I had ever seen on Pa’s face.

"Abel." The constable nodded toward Grandfather." Do you know this lad?"

Grandfather stepped forward and gripped my arm as I climbed from the buggy. He was a lot stronger than he looked, and I winced.

"Aye, he’s my grandson. Where was he?"

The constable laughed. "This is Ben’s boy? That explains a lot." He smirked at Grandfather’s sound of disgust. "This one was in the tavern taking after the old man. Not too much damage, though. Abijah will let him know the cost tomorrow. I’m sure young Mr. Cartwright will pay it."

Grandfather’s grip tightened, and I squirmed slightly. "He’ll pay it." Even in my stupor, I knew that Grandfather’s voice boded no good for me.

The constable nodded and urged his horse on. Grandfather and I stood silent for a moment before Grandfather dragged me into the house, slamming the door behind us. We stepped in front of the fireplace. Charlie was sitting in one of the side chairs; he shook his head at me.

I glanced longingly at the other chair, but I knew better than to sit. Fleetingly, I thought of Pa’s comment that Grandfather’s lectures were louder if the troublemaker had been drinking. I shook my head slightly to clear some of the fog. The lecture couldn’t be worse than one of Pa’s.

I was quickly disabused of that notion. Grandfather stood, feet apart, his hands balled on his hips. I quickly stood as straight as I could, my hands resting behind me. I had learned this stance at a very young age.

"Where the devil have you been, boy?" Grandfather’s voice was so loud that I cringed. "And what in blazes have you been doing?" Grandfather sneered slightly. "Other than drinking."

I swallowed hard. Any euphoria from the alcohol was gone. "I, uh, I went for a walk."

"Blast you! That was seven hours ago!" Grandfather stepped toward me and it was all I could do to keep from flinching. I tried to maintain a respectful look.

"I didn’t realize it was that late, sir. I met a couple of friends and they asked me to join them at the tavern. I didn’t know I needed permission to go for a drink." The sarcastic tone was out before I could stop it, and one look at my grandfather’s face proved I would regret it.

"You’ll not take that tone with me, boy-o, or I’ll have you over a barrel before you know what happened.

My temper flared. "You wouldn’t dare." Behind Grandfather, Charlie winced.

Grandfather stepped even closer to me until we were standing toe to toe. "You’re too old, is that it? Think twenty-three is too grown for a thrashing, do you? Not on my watch, boy-o, and you’d do well to remember that."

Grandfather began to pace. "I don’t begrudge a man his portion. And you are old enough to go for a drink, but I will not tolerate irresponsibility."

I decided a new tactic was in order if I hoped to get to my bed before dawn. "I’m sorry that the constable had to bring me home, Grandfather."

He whirled on me. "Don’t you interrupt me when I’m speaking! Do you think this is the first time a constable has brought a drunken Cartwright to me? Don’t flatter yourself!"

I glanced at Charlie when I heard my cousin snicker. I took heart when he winked at me. I’d have to ask him about that later.

Grandfather continued for several minutes, with me occasionally interjecting a "yes, sir." Finally he stood in front of me again. "Go to bed. I’m tired of looking at you."

I awoke the next morning, felling more wretched than I ever had before. I groaned as I hauled myself from bed. If only Hop Sing and his herbs were not a continent away.

To my great relief, Grandfather was not to be seen when I emerged from my room. Charlie greeted me with a smile and a mug of some foul concoction.

"I know it’s vile, but you’ll be able to face the rest of the day."

Vile was not the word for it, but after I choked down the entire drink, I could feel my head began to clear. Charlie smiled when I handed the mug back to him.

"That was Tom’s recipe, I think. Maybe Will’s." He shrugged. "At any rate, you’ll want some breakfast. C’mon, Rebekah has something on the stove for you."

‘Something’ proved to be oatmeal, which was all I could stomach. I finished it before I looked at Charlie. "Where’s Grandfather."

My cousin rolled his eyes. "At the tavern, paying your bill." He chuckled malevolently at my grimace. "There’s still a reckoning there, lad. You’ve got some hide left for him to take." He laughed. "You’ll survive. I did, and my brothers, and your father and his brothers."

I pushed away the bowl, no longer hungry. I couldn’t believe that grandfather was making such a fuss over a few beers, and I said as much to Charlie.

"I’m not angry about the beers, boy."

I scrambled to my feet as Grandfather closed the door behind him. He threw a paper on the table.

"That’s the cost from your brawl last night. I’m sure you’ve been thinking of ways to repay me."

I glanced down at the paper and sighed. I didn’t have that much money left. One glance at him and I could see that he knew that.

"Walk with me, Adam."

I followed him from the house and toward the cliff overlooking the ocean. He said nothing for several minutes until he stopped beside a cluster of brambling roses. He turned to face me, and his face was as unreadable as my father’s.

"Adam, you’re twenty-three years old. Do you think I really care about you getting drunk? Do you think I’ve never gotten into a tavern brawl, or that I haven’t paid your father’s way out of trouble?"

He rested his fists on his hips. "I am angry, young man, because you told me you were going for a walk on the cliff, and you did not return for supper. You did not return for bed. You did not return for seven hours, when the constable brought you home." He poked his finger on my chest. "Your father kept you safe traveling cross country for twenty-three years, and all I could think was that I had lost you within three weeks of your arrival. When you are here, you are my responsibility and I assure you, I do not shirk responsibility."

I blushed, for he was implying that I had shirked my responsibilities last night, and I knew he was right. But he continued before I could speak.

"Losing a child is an almost unbearable pain, Adam. I know that as well as any man. I would spare your father that pain, if I can." His voice was sad, and filled with a longing that tore at me.

I stared at my feet. I hadn’t felt this miserable and ashamed since the day my father dragged me home from the sporting house in New Orleans and had lectured me for throwing away all he had tried to teach me. Grandfather reached out and lifted my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes.

"Lad, you’ve an awesome responsibility. You are, for Benjamin and me, all that we have of Elizabeth. If we lose you, we’ve lost her forever." He caressed my cheek. "I know you didn’t ask for that responsibility, but a man accepts the responsibilities thrust upon him, not just those he asks for."

I nodded, unable to speak. He held my gaze a moment before he dropped his hand to his side. "I’ve got to go see someone for a few hours. You think on what I’ve said, and we’ll talk more when I return." His voice took on a hardened edge. "And I’ll expect to hear how you plan to work to repay me for the damages."

"Yes, sir." I watched my grandfather walk back toward the Three Sisters, his shoulders slumped, before I turned toward the ocean.

I don’t know how long I stood there, lost in the crashing waves, but I finally shook myself from my stupor and headed back to the house. I was glad to find that Charlie was not around, and I hurried to my small room. I picked up my mother’s last journal and settled onto the edge of the bed. I needed to learn more about my mother, whose place I had obviously filled in my grandfather’s heart. Right then, I felt like a poor substitute.

August 15, 1828

I feel as huge as those sea cows that Papa used to talk about, and yet I am almost three months from my confinement. Boston was unbearably hot. It is a blessing to be here at the Three Sisters, for the ocean breeze has kept me cool, and I am able to wade – or should I say waddle – through the surf. Would that Adam could be born here, on Cape Cod, for this is where his parents’ love was born. But Papa says the seas are too unpredictable in November, and he cannot spare Benjamin for months at a time.

Ben came back today from Boston, bearing news of the city, and of the heat. He is glad to have me here, where I can be comfortable. He assures me that he misses me but that he knows he must put my health and comfort before his own needs.

He teases me when I call this babe Adam; he wants to know how I know I carry our son. But I know my babe is a boy, just as I know I will love him with all my being. How could I not love that which is borne of the great love I have for my husband?

Ben was lying by my side this afternoon as I was trying to nap. Adam, as always, wished my attention, and he made his presence known even to his father, who stared as Adam turned. As I was wearing only my chemise, Adam’s movement were apparent, and Ben was astonished as he rested his hand over my womb.

Poor Ben; I think he has finally understood that he is to be a father in a few months time. He seemed quite agitated and when I pressed him, he answered that he was not sure he would be a good father. I chided him, and reminded him what fine examples he had in his own father, and in Uncle John. Finally he smiled, and allowed that if John could be a father, he could be a father. I held my tongue but in my thoughts I knew there would be no comparison between Ben and his oldest brother. I love John dearly, but I think he has a wanderlust that a shrew like Patience will never tame.

And now I must away to my bed and rest. I know I will dream of my handsome son, Adam, and of the life my men and I will have.

A knock startled me from my reading, and I wiped my tears before answering. My grandfather came into the room, looked at me and closed the door behind him. He crossed the room and, settling into the chair beside my bed, glanced at the book in my hand.

"Charlie told me he had given you her journals." Grandfather’s voice was strained.

I dragged my sleeve across my eyes before I looked at him. "She loved me."

"Oh, Adam, did you ever doubt that?" He rested his hand behind my neck to pull me close. "From the moment she knew she was carrying you, she talked only about her Adam. She was so very, very proud of you. She knew you would grow up to a fine man."

I bit my lower lip. "I haven’t deserved her pride these past two days, have I?"

Grandfather’s lips curled slightly. "Lad, if there is one thing your mother understood, it was that men are not perfect. Certainly neither her father nor her husband were. But she would have continued to love you, and yes, be proud of you, just as I have always loved you and always been proud of you."

His words rolled over me and I felt immense relief. I rested my head on his shoulder a minute before I looked up. "I’m sorry, Grandfather, for worrying you."

"I know you are, and I accept your apology. We’ll say no more about it."

I grinned. "Does that mean you’ve forgotten about the damages?"

My joke broke the somber mood and he, too, grinned. "Boy, you are your father’s son!" He stood, and helped me to my feet. "C’mon, it’s lunchtime."

No amount of cajoling would convince him to tell me why I was my father’s son because of a tavern brawl. It wasn’t, he said, a fit story for Hi and Jeb’s ears. But he did promise to tell me another day.

I spent my afternoon studying, and by the time I emerged from my room at suppertime, a thick fog had rolled in. After we finished eating, Grandfather announced that he and I would be returning to Boston in a few days’ time. The boys’ apparent dismay was outdone only by the look of sadness in Charlie’s eyes, and I hastened to assure them all that I would return to the Cape as often as I could. When supper was done, I excused myself from the table, knowing that my offer to help clean would again be politely turned down. I needed to be outside for a little while.

I stepped out the door, mindful of Charlie’s admonition to not go far from the front steps. ‘In this fog, you can lose your way, and next thing you know, you’re falling down the cliff.’ One glance around proved the wisdom of my cousin’s words. The fog was thick, and it was still rolling in.

I settled on the large boulder to the left of the door. I stretched my legs out and leaned back slightly, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. The air was a little colder than I expected, and the moisture settled around me like a cloak. I could hear the sound of the surf pounding against the shore, but it sounded far away, almost like it was down a long tunnel. High above me I could see the lights of the Three Sisters, first one light, then the next and then the next, each flashing in quick succession. I fancied I could hear the distant clanging of a ship’s bell, and I said a quick prayer for the sailors who might be caught in the dense mist.

A light streamed to my right, and I looked to see Charlie step out. The old man sat on the stoop and lit his pipe. The smell of the lucifer brought back a surge of memories of another pipe and another porch, and I smiled.

"Light keeper earns his pay on a night like this." Charlie drew on his pipe and blew a puff of smoke that quickly disappeared into the fog. "Hated the fog when I was sailing. Terrifying to be sitting on the ocean when you can’t see past the rail. Man can imagine all sorts of monsters lurking, waiting to devour ship and crew."

I nodded. "Pa used to say the same thing." I always had to resist the urge to chuckle when Charlie spoke. The man had a thick accent, even more pronounced than the other New Englanders I had met, and I wondered idly if I would speak that way had Pa and I remained in Boston.

"But now," Charlie continued, "I love to sit out here in the fog. Instead of monsters, I see ghosts. Not frightening ones, mind you. I see the ones who have gone before me – my father and mother, my brothers, Joe, even Eddie and your mother. I fancy I can hear them talking to me, telling me that they’re waiting when it’s my time to go." He glanced over to me. "That might scare a young fellow like yourself, but when you get to be an old man like me, the ghosts are all you have. They wrap themselves about you like a blanket and keep you warm and safe."

I stared at Charlie a minute before looking back at the fog. I could see the ghosts, too – I had seen them since I first stepped onto the pier in Boston. They surrounded me - my mother, and her mother, and my Grandfather Cartwright, and Uncle John and Aunt May. Even my father and my uncles were there, turning from small boys to young men. I reached into the mist, trying to grasp it. But Charlie was wrong; the ghosts didn’t frighten me. They surrounded me, and kept me safe. My hand fell to my side. I would be forever grateful to Grandfather and to Charlie for showing me the ghosts.