The Greatest Treasure

By Texas 2002

Rating: PG

Thank you to Mr. Dortort who created the Cartwrights and the Ponderosa and shared them. And thank you to Ms. Sullivan who gave them new life. This story is purely for entertainment and is not intended to infringe on their rights or the rights of anyone else involved in these marvelous shows.

1842

New Orleans

"When?"

"A few nights ago."

"On Canal Street?"

"That’s what Sedakis said." Franklin Perin shrugged and added, "One more thing to worry about."

Ben Cartwright put his hands on his hips and turned in the doorway of the boat supply shop to look at the busy New Orleans street. As if they needed one more thing to worry about. Now someone was breaking shop windows at night.

"I doubt they’ll try any vandalism here," Franklin said.

Ben looked over his shoulder at his partner. "Why?"

"Because I live upstairs." The slender man waved a hand toward the ceiling. "There aren’t many people above those new shops on Canal yet."

Well, there was that. "Any idea who did it?" Ben leaned his back against the doorframe and watched while Franklin pulled at a gold chain that led from a button on his brocade waistcoat to a small pocket on the left-hand side.

"Not that I’ve heard." Franklin kept his head down. He waited for the bell from St. Louis Cathedral and then nodded with approval that the church and his watch were in agreement as to the hour. "In addition, last night someone destroyed house windows in that new American district."

Ben wondered why the culprit wasn’t under arrest. Some of the thoroughfares were less active in the dark, granted. But surely even then someone couldn’t go unnoticed, or at least unheard, if he was shattering glass.

Franklin tucked the watch back into its pocket and promptly changed the subject. "I spoke with Jordan last night."

"Noah Jordan?" Ben asked. The man was a slave owner and a slave trader. Ben wanted nothing to do with him. Why would Franklin?

"I informed him about the trouble we’ve had keeping good workers." Franklin ran his hands along the sides of his blond hair, smoothing it behind his ears. "He has two men he can rent to us."

Ben felt Franklin’s eyes searching his face when he walked to the counter. The man seemed to be waiting for an answer even though after all these years in business together Franklin must have known what Ben’s response would be. "No." Ben’s voice was soft and deep.

Franklin slapped a calloused hand against the countertop. "This isn’t a time for the luxury of your convictions, Ben." He angrily pointed across the shop and toward the street. "If we don’t find strong, hard-working men- "

"I will not employ slaves." Ben said each word slowly and clearly.

"Bon matin, gentlemen!" a deep voice greeted as a burly man entered the shop. "Are the supplies ready for the Delta ?"

Franklin shot Ben a quick, exasperated look before they both turned smiles toward the riverboat captain.

"But you will not do this thing!" Marie exclaimed at the supper table that evening when Ben recounted Franklin’s suggestion. She tapped her fork against the rim of her porcelain dinner plate and Ben had no doubt that the spirited brunette was also tapping a foot under the table. Her Creole accent thickened, the way it always did when she was upset. "This practice of the slavery, it is- " She mentally cast about until she found just the right word. "It is abominable."

Four-year-old Joe leaned sideways, his hazel eyes wide. "Ewik?" he said to his older brother. "What kind of bull did Ma say?"

Ben looked down, sliding a hand over his mouth so Joe could not see his grin.

"Abominable," Adam said from across the table before Erik could reply. He looked from one brother to the other and then added with all the supremacy of a fourteen-year-old, "It means horrible."

Erik and Joe studied Adam, considering what he had told them. Then they looked at each other. "It sounded like a bomb to me," Erik confessed.

Joe frowned at Erik. "It’s not a bomb. It’s a bull. Adam doesn’t know."

Adam leaned back in his chair and threw his arms into the air. "It’s a word. Not a bomb and not a bull. Why did you ask if you don’t believe me?" he challenged.

Ben glanced at Marie. Their eldest son’s arrogance was causing her to tap that fork more quickly against that plate. Surely Adam didn’t need another talking to about his attitude and his temper.

Erik squinted and leaned across the table, his chin jutting. At ten he was as tall as Adam, and heavier, and he seemed to have tolerated all of Adam’s self-proclaimed superiority he could handle. "We didn’t ask you."

"You asked what it meant!" Adam leaned forward, arms on the table, and shifted around on the chair seat.

"Adam," Ben cautioned his son about the volume of his voice.

"We didn’t ask you," Erik pointed out. "We were just talkin’ and then you jumped in like you always do."

Ben frowned. Adam’s self-control had been scarcely alive lately. Now Erik was turning combative. These heated encounters between Adam and Erik reminded Ben too much of his own childhood arguments with his older brother. Disagreements that had most often led to swinging fists and bruised faces.

Adam took a deep breath, seemingly ready to yell, but he appeared to reconsider when Ben cleared his throat in warning.

Then Adam did what Ben had expected. He rolled his eyes. He’d been rolling his eyes a lot in recent weeks. And giving sighs of exasperation. And neglecting his chores. And not being at table for meals. And leaving the house at night without permission. And walking on the rooftops to heaven knew where and doing only heaven knew what. And now there the boy sat with his lips twisted to one side in aggravation that Ben had corrected him.

If that was the way Adam wanted it . . .

Ben pushed his chair away from the table and motioned toward the back door. "Adam, I need to speak to you, please." Ben folded his napkin and while he placed it on his chair he looked at his wife. "Excuse us, please." A glance to the side revealed that Adam had not moved. Ben’s eyes narrowed and he felt his jaw tense at the boy’s noncompliance. "Now."

Erik’s and Joe’s alarmed expressions did not escape Ben’s notice. They immediately became exceptionally interested in the food on their plates.

Adam stood from the table and kicked his chair back. "Excuse me." The words sounded more like an order than a request.

Ben waved a hand for his son to precede him. The moment they were outside, before they had time to step off the small porch, Ben grabbed Adam’s left arm and whirled him around. He held Adam fast and jabbed at the young man’s chest.

"You will behave the way you have been taught. You will be polite and you will be respectful." Ben tightened his grip on the boy’s arm and leaned down until his face was near Adam’s. "Do you understand me?"

Adam flinched and for the first time in weeks he answered without a trace of impudence. "Yes, sir."

After releasing the boy, Ben pointed toward the house. "You will go back to that table and you will apologize for being rude."

There was a quick nod, a lick of the lower lip, and a soft, "Yes, sir, Pa."

Ben remained on the porch, watching Adam’s back as the young man walked down the hallway toward the dining room. Ben needed to get his temper under control before he returned to the table. Erik and Joe had not misbehaved; there was no reason to spoil their meal. Or Marie’s.

Eyes roaming across the courtyard, Ben realized that Adam and he had started their day out here, a few hours after midnight. Ben had fallen asleep in his chair in the parlor and had been awakened by shuffling sounds in the boys’ room. Sounds that had indicated that once again - despite repeated warnings that had escalated to paddlings with a shutter slat - Adam had been sneaking into the house through the bedroom window.

Ben had confronted Adam when the boy had stepped over the windowsill, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing Erik’s and Joe’s sleep. He had guided his eldest son out the back door and down the steps to the moonlit courtyard. "What the deuce were you doing?"

Adam had stood with his legs apart and his arms folded across his chest. "I was walking," he’d said and then had grinned smugly.

"Walking."

"Yeah." Adam had cocked his head to one side and Ben had seen the insolence rise in his son’s eyes.

Ben should have smacked a shutter slat across the seat of Adam’s trousers right then. But he’d given the boy another chance. "Walking where?"

"Walking, Pa, just walking." Adam had sighed in exaggerated annoyance.

Ben had thought that if anyone had the right to be annoyed it was he. "On the rooftops?"

"Yeah."

The searing hand of anger had threatened to take hold of Ben. But he had known not to yield to temper - to do so would have meant that Adam could direct Ben instead of the other way around.

"After I forbid you from doing that?" Ben had demanded.

And that had been when Adam had rolled his eyes and said that he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone.

Which was why Ben had hauled Adam to the woodshed and slapped a shutter slat across the seat of Adam’s trousers. Enough times to bring tears from the boy’s eyes even though Adam hadn’t yelped. Enough times that the boy had walked very slowly back to his bedroom. Enough that Ben had noticed Adam shifting uncomfortably in his chair tonight at the supper table.

What was wrong with Adam? In the past, a stern lecture or discipline from Ben had quickly led to the preferred behavior. Not lately. It was apparent to Ben that stronger measures were needed. As he looked toward the woodshed he made a silent decision. He had talked and lectured and shouted and paddled all that he intended to. The next time Adam was disrespectful, disobedient, or lied Ben would take his belt off the wall and march the young man out to the woodshed. And then Ben would apply that belt to Adam’s bottom with hard enough strokes to ensure he never had to use it on his eldest son again.

Ben rubbed at the back of his neck and then raised his eyes to the stars. Why did Adam have to behave poorly now? Weren’t there ample problems to deal with at work?

Franklin and Ben had disagreed so much lately. Ben knew enough about business to understand that the majority of the arguments between Franklin and himself had been due to frustration. A man was always subject to the uncontrollable events of life and government but there had been more than a tolerable amount these past years.

Times had been unsettled since back in ’35. Although Ben’s postponed dreams had been of the far west, along the Pacific coast in Mexican territory, many other emigrants had been lured by the possibility of owning their own farm for little more than a dollar an acre on the United States frontier.

The inexpensive land had attracted investors. Men who had bought on credit. Men who had hoped to sell the land for more than they had paid for it. And when the government had demanded that the bank loans made on the land be repaid with gold or silver, anyone who had known anything about business had seen trouble ahead.

For years, optimistic because of a prosperous economy, people had bought on credit. The country had been importing more cargo than it had been sending overseas. And because of all those purchases from other countries, most of the gold and silver that people needed to pay for their land out west had been abroad.

There hadn’t been enough coinage to pay back the land loans. People had gone bankrupt. The bank notes had failed. And businesses had failed. And the banks had failed. And in a short time most of the country had gone back to bartering and trading - two loaves of bread for a haircut, one boot repair for three drinks at the saloon. People probably would have returned to trading in bushels of corn, the way they had years ago in Cincinnati, except that crop after crop had failed. Cotton, corn, sugar cane. Too many crops. Too many years in a row.

Now finances were recovering. But not with the same predictability as when they had failed. Real estate recovered a bit, then stagnated. Trade grew, then languished. And when one person was doing well and another wasn’t, despite all his hard work, it was difficult indeed not to be frustrated and discouraged.

Ironically, the major problem for the partnership of Perin and Cartwright was that business was good. Orders for supplies were up significantly. But Franklin and Ben needed money to purchase those supplies for resale to the riverboats. Several of the riverboat companies they had dealt with in the past had not recovered from their financial difficulties and still owed Franklin and Ben money. And when, miraculously, those companies did manage to pay their overdue accounts so Franklin and Ben could bring in supplies to fill the orders with the new companies, then came the difficulty of keeping dependable workers to deliver the goods to the boats and stock the warehouse. It was probably a wonder that the two men argued no more than they did.

Ben took a deep breath and forced himself to clear his thoughts. He’d never known worry to accomplish anything but to age a man and sour his stomach. There was little enough time to spend with his family as it was. He needed to take pleasure in the moments he did have. Concentrate on the blessings of life.

He opened the back door and while he walked down the hall toward the dining room he heard Joe and Erik chattering amiably about a new trick they had taught Thaddeus. The dog was supposedly Adam’s but was devoted to Erik and justifiably wary of Joe. That was yet another chore Adam had been neglecting, Ben realized as he sat at the table. Adam hadn’t been feeding Thaddeus. The dog hadn’t gone hungry, Erik and Marie had seen to that. But Adam knew better than to ignore caring for an animal. Adam knew better than to do a lot of things he had been doing lately.

"Pa?" Erik’s voice pushed gently into Ben’s thoughts.

Ben had the distinct feeling that Erik had spoken to him previously, especially judging by the puzzlement on the boy’s face. Ben smiled apologetically when he laid down his knife and fork. "Did you say something?"

"Tonight could you tell us a pirate story?" The sky blue eyes widened for emphasis. "A real pirate story."

Ben looked down and ran a hand over the tablecloth by his plate, pretending to smooth a wrinkle. "Do you mean that my other pirate stories have been lies?" he invited jokingly.

"Oh, no, sir," Erik assured, his fork frozen in mid-air, its load precariously close to falling overboard. "Them other stories are . . . well, they’re stories, is all."

"Joe and Ewik- " Joe pushed at Erik to sit back so he wouldn’t have to lean forward to see Ben.

When would the youngster stop referring to himself by his first name? Ben wondered.

"Joe and Ewik want weal piwates, Pa. Like Jean Lefoo."

Erik shook his head as only a long-suffering brother could. "Lafitte, Joe."

The youngster heaved a decidedly dramatic sigh. "We awe not talking about feet, Ewik. We awe talking about piwates. About Jean- "

"Lafitte," Marie said before the conversation could deteriorate further. "Jean Lafitte was a most famous pirate." She motioned to the boys’ plates. "You will finish the supper and then I will tell you of this man."

"Did ya know him?" Erik asked in wonder.

Marie lifted one shoulder. "You will not discover this until the supper is complete." She winked at Ben at the same time as their younger sons turned their full attention to finishing their meals.

Ben glanced at Adam. The boy was not eating. He had his head lowered and was seemingly unaware of anything but the fork he was drawing circles with on his plate.

"Adam," Erik said insistently. "Would ya hurry up and finish so Ma can tell us about the pirate?" When Adam didn’t respond, Erik tapped fingers on the tabletop to get his older brother’s attention. "Hey, Adam?"

Adam looked up quickly, almost startled.

Erik motioned with his fork. "Eat so Ma can tell us, would ya?"

It was clear to Ben that Adam had no idea what Erik was talking about but Adam nodded and concentrated on the crawfish pie. Only for a moment though. He stole an apprehensive look at Ben. Then the deep blue eyes watered. Adam blinked and quickly lifted his glass for a drink.

Ben took hope. Did those glances at his father mean that Adam was concerned, again, with his parents’ approval? Had that paddling this morning and that little talk on the porch a few moments ago finally turned Adam away from being disobedient and disrespectful? Maybe, just maybe-

"Pa?" Joe hissed a stage whisper as if no one else was present at the table.

Ben smiled at the bright eyes and freckled face. "Yes?"

"You west," he assured solemnly. "Ma will tell us about Jean Lefoo."

"Lafitte, Joe." Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. "His name is Lafitte."

"Was," Adam corrected out of habit. Again his blue eyes quickly shot to Ben.

"I believe Adam means that Jean Lafitte is dead," Ben explained.

"No he ain’t," Erik was quick to declare. "People are all the time seeing him at that pirates alley over there by the church."

Ben fought a grin. Depending on what they had to drink and how much they drank of it, people saw all manner of unusual things in New Orleans.

"Erik," Ben said. "Jean Lafitte died years ago."

"That’s what folks think, Pa." Erik leaned toward Ben and pointed his index finger, a sure sign of excitement. "But he’s still alive."

If Lafitte were still alive, Ben mused, he’d be what age? Sixty or so? A bit elderly for plundering.

"One cannot be alive and at the same time be a ghost. This is not done." Marie folded her hands in her lap, well aware of the interest she had garnered.

"Ghost?" Erik and Joe said, accompanied by the clatter of their forks dropping to the tabletop.

"Oui, a most magnificent ghost. But- " she airily waved her left hand- "I must attend to the table before I am able to tell you of this ghost."

"I’m finished!" Erik announced. He stood, grabbed his plate, and then remembered to say, "Excuse me, please."

Joe jumped to the floor from the pillows on his chair seat and reached way up to retrieve his plate. Marie intervened to avoid the looming disaster and handed the porcelain to the youngster.

"Thanks, Ma. Joe’ll help, too."

Ben leaned his elbows on the table, tented his fingers under his chin, and answered his sons while he looked at his wife. "Thank you, boys." So she planned to tell a ghost story, did she?

Erik slapped Adam’s back. "Ain’t you finished yet?"

Adam coughed, raised his napkin to his mouth, and coughed again.

"Chew," Joe instructed.

Now there was the pot calling - well, no, that wasn’t quite the right analogy.

Adam coughed again. "I know to chew my food, Joe."

Ben sipped the last of the wine in his glass. No temper, just the usual Cartwright brother banter. Good.

"Come on, Adam," Erik wheedled. "Don’t you wanna hear about pirate ghosts?"

Marie tilted her head slightly, her lips straight but her dark eyes alight while she awaited Adam’s answer.

"Sure," Adam said flatly.

"You could chop more wood for the kitchen." Ben walked around the table to pull out Marie’s chair. If Adam’s bottom was as sore as Ben imagined it was, he would not care for the idea of leaning over to chop wood.

Adam stood and picked up his mother’s plate. "I’d rather hear Ma’s story."

Ben nodded knowingly. "I thought you might."

The boys settled quickly in the parlor. Joe sat cross-legged on the settee, turned to face Marie. Erik sat at her feet on the rug, his elbows propped on his knees and his chin resting on the palms of his hands. Adam generally seemed to consider himself too adult for stories and was usually at the table reading, but tonight he eased into the rocking chair on the opposite side of the lamp table from Ben’s chair. He shifted around and slumped until only his upper hips touched the chair seat.

After lighting his pipe, Ben crossed his right ankle to his left knee and listened as Marie invented her tale.

"There was, you know this, the man Jean Lafitte." Marie, who usually sat straight, leaned from her waist toward Erik. "He was a most handsome man, Monsieur Lafitte. He was tall like your father."

How did Marie know that?

Her eyes roved to Adam. "But he was slender like your brother."

Adam smirked at Ben.

Marie lowered her voice. "He had hair the color of the midnight sky. And his eyes, they were bright when he was of good humor but they were full of the fire when he faced an enemy."

Joe’s mouth opened ever so slightly as he seemed to ready himself to be properly frightened.

"Was he good at swords, Ma?" Erik asked.

"But of course. His father was French," she said as if all Frenchmen were skilled swordsmen. "And he was a gentleman."

Oh she was going to lose these boys’ attention so fast if she-

"And he could cut a man’s throat from here to here"- she slid a finger from ear to ear- "and not have a drop of the blood on him."

Ben lowered his pipe. He could what?

Adam pulled forward slightly and then scooted from one hip to the other. "He could what?"

"He could slay a man in the afternoon." Marie stabbed an imaginary knife toward Erik and he jerked back. "And he would attend one of the soirees that evening, dancing most elegantly and the perfect gentleman."

The perfect gentleman hardly went around murdering people.

"And he was the great military hero, did you know this? The English they did not burn New Orleans because of Jean Lafitte."

He had scarcely defended the place single-handedly.

Marie settled back. "Of course, it is impossible for one man alone to do this thing, to win this battle."

That was better.

"His brother aided in this."

Ben raised a brow and considered his wife. She seemed to have read a different history than he had, one that hadn’t included Andrew Jackson and some American soldiers.

"Brother!" Erik exclaimed.

"Brother!" Joe followed up.

Why was it that Joe could pronounce the "r" in brother but not in any other word?

"Oui, for you see Jean was not the oldest. Pierre was the oldest. And it is said he was the more intelligent, aussi."

Ben heard Adam strangle a laugh. He looked at his eldest son from the sides of his eyes and grinned around the stem of his pipe. Adam gave in to a shy smile.

"Yeah, but Jean was brave," Erik stressed. He appeared to be identifying strongly with the younger of the two brothers.

Marie raised her hands. "Oh yes, they were all three the most brave of men."

Three?

"Three?" Adam asked.

"Oui. There were the brothers Pierre and Jean and Alexandre." Marie looked directly at Erik. "Pierre was the oldest. And then Alexandre, he was a big man, most strong. Pierre and Jean had the same difference in age like Adam and you. And Alexandre had two of the weapons always in the belt." Marie looked at each of the boys and nodded. "So, the Lafittes, they are the reason the men have this powder and the rifles to fight the battle to save New Orleans. And they are very brave. And Jean is the hero much admired."

Joe turned sideways. "Joe’s gonna be Jean," he said to Erik.

"I’m gonna be Alex . . . Alex . . ."

"Alexandre," Marie helped.

"I’m gonna be him."

Ben closed his eyes slowly. Joe and Erik playing pirates. Well, at least Marie was the one who would be home with them.

"What about the ghost?"

Had that been Adam asking about the ghost? Ben opened his eyes in time to see his wife’s bright smile reveal the deep dimple in her right cheek. "Ah, yes, the ghost."

The room was quiet as a crypt. Ben slowly reached to the lantern and lowered the flame.

"Jean Lafitte was a most liked man in New Orleans." Marie looked to the ceiling as if considering what she would say next. "And he was very much the business man. Very knowledgeable, like your father."

Three pair of eyes found Ben. Mari had to compare him to a pirate? Not a president or a statesman? A pirate?

"But he would steal," Marie added quickly.

Two voices yelped, "Pa?!"

The oldest son scolded, "You know how Pa feels about stealing."

Erik grinned. In the dim light his hair was the color of golden grain. "I know what you’d feel after something like that."

Adam’s chin jutted. "I don’t steal."

Erik retorted, "You took my- "

"The things Lafitte stole"- Marie raised her voice to gain the boys’ attention- "he and his men sold where you can walk now. They sold the spices and the cloths and many lovely things like the jewelry. All of this they sold beside the Cathedral, where there is the alley from the Rue de Royale to the Place D’Armes. And these things were most liked. But then, the tragedy. The people who rule and decide these things turn very mean to Lafitte and he leaves."

"Ya mean he didn’t get killed?" Erik sounded disappointed. "How’d he get to be a ghost?"

Marie wagged a finger. "But this is not the finish of the story."

It didn’t appear to be the end, either.

Sensing his mother was approaching the scary part of the tale, Joe scuttled to her lap and leaned sideways onto her chest. Marie patted his shoulders.

"The people treat Monsieur Lafitte badly. They even go to sell his ships. And though he does nothing different, they do not trust him. And this is why he leaves."

"He was sad." Joe clasped his hands and the edges of his mouth turned down.

"Oui, he is most unhappy when he leaves. And so, later, the people of New Orleans hear that Jean Lafitte he has died. And it is then- " Marie lowered her voice. "It is then that they see the man. Walking in the . . . the passageway."

"The alley," Adam offered.

"And there is the sound of his men."

"What sound?" Erik’s voice was almost a whisper.

"They call out to sell the items which they have on the tables. And they call, ‘Silk. Linen. For the lady.’ And they call out the cinnamon and the tin ware and many other things. But this is not what frightens the people. Non." She shook her head.

"What scares ‘em, Ma?" Erik scooted close enough to be snug against Marie’s skirt.

"It is the other sounds. There is, when the night is still, the sound of boots on the cobbles. The clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp. But there is no one there."

Well, thunder, the woman was a better storyteller than Ben had ever realized!

"There is the sound of the sword. Clink, clink. And the boots. Clomp, clomp. And then there is the sound sometimes of a duel. And if the night is very, very dark one can see the quick light that comes as the metals rake against each other. And when there is the cloud on the ground, the fog, if one is quiet one can hear this. The clomp, clomp. Clink, clink. And one can hear the breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Clomp. Clomp. Clink. Clink. And then the fog it moves." Marie held a hand up and rippled her fingers. "And the fog moves here and it moves there. And one hears the breaths and the boots and the swords. And the fog moves. And one feels the gentle air, the cool air, and this is Jean Lafitte walking the street to his shop."

She did not move. Neither did Erik or Joe. Ben tilted his head. Even Adam had stopped shifting around on his bottom. He was staring at Marie, as spellbound as he had been by Ben’s stories years before.

"And it is said," Marie whispered, "that those who step into this gentle air, this cool air, those who step there before Jean Lafitte, they fall and they die. And there is the blood on their shirt but there is not the wound."

All three boys were silent and motionless.

Ben couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. He slapped his palms together with a crack that bounced back from the far wall only a second before three screams. Marie’s shriek was higher pitched than Joe’s – but not by much.

Erik spun on the carpet and glowered at Ben. "Pa!"

Marie patted a hand against her throat. "Mon Dieu, Benjamin! What were you thinking?"

Only Adam turned to Ben with raised brows and pursed lips. "He was thinking how funny it would be to scare the livers out of you." And then, while Ben watched in wonder, Adam eased from the chair and crouched over Erik. "But since it didn’t work," he said in a tone of voice intended to shoot fears to a new zenith, "Lafitte will have to sneak into the bedroom tonight and cut your livers out with his sword."

Erik was suitably panic-stricken but Joe was ready for battle. He was off the settee in a blaze of bravado. "LaFoo’s not getting Joe’s livew." He glared up at Adam.

Adam’s lips turned up in a wicked grin. "LaFoo won’t get your liver, but Lafitte will."

"Stop it, Adam." Erik stood and met Adam’s gaze. "You’re scaring him."

"Joe’s not scawed," came the quick denial.

Maybe not. But Erik was.

Ben saw the humor in Marie’s eyes but the rest of her face looked serious. "You must be quiet or I cannot tell you more about the ghost of Jean Lafitte."

Erik’s blue eyes widened. "I’m sleepy, Ma."

Joe stepped up beside Erik and crossed his arms at his chest. "Joe, too. Joe’s weal sleepy."

Joe had never in all his four years volunteered to go to bed.

Marie feigned surprise. "Is this so? And you, Adam?"

Yes. What about the rational eldest son?

Adam shrugged. "I think I’ll go to bed and read for a while."

Ha! She’d gotten to him, too.

Marie patted her hands in her lap. "Ah. Well, if you are sure of this."

"Yes, ma’am, we’re sure." Erik nudged Joe toward their bedroom.

But Joe stepped free of Erik and walked quickly to Ben. Resting his hands on Ben’s knees, Joe looked up beseechingly. "Will you tell Joe a quiet stowy? A pwetty stowy?"

Ben patted the top of the youngster’s head. "Into bed and I’ll be there in a few minutes."

Reassured, Joe ran toward the bedroom, followed by a relieved-looking Erik.

Adam snickered and shook his head. "They’re so easy to scare." He bent and kissed Marie’s cheek.

"Night, Ma!" Erik and Joe yelled from their bedroom.

Adam held his arms wide and stretched. "I can tell them a story if you want, Pa."

Ben had a good idea that Adam’s story would be even more frightening than Marie’s had been. In which case Erik and Joe would be awake all night instead of half of it. "It’s kind of you to offer," Ben said. "But no."

The boy grinned and left the room.

"You know he sold slaves," Ben said of Lafitte.

"Oui." Marie’s eyes saddened. "And this is why his soul will never be at peace."

The following morning, Ben admittedly ambled away from his usual route on his way to the shop and paused on a corner of Bourbon Street to consider the building that had served as Lafitte’s blacksmith shop.

The one-story structure was brick and stucco and had been built before the War of Independence. A single shuttered window and three tall doorways faced Bourbon Street. On the steeply pitched roof, two dormer windows stood guard on either side of a slender central chimney. No doubt there’d been need of guards of a different sort inside the building during Lafitte’s era. Oh, there’d been a smithy in the front of the shop, to be sure. But according to what Ben’s father had told him, the place had been more profitable in the trade of smuggled goods.

When Father had taken a seven-year-old Ben to New Orleans, he’d said that Jean Lafitte preferred to be called a privateer. Father had cautioned Ben not to use the word "pirate" and then had directed Ben to be silent unless Father indicated otherwise. Not that Ben had understood the difference between a privateer and a pirate when he’d been young. Truth told, his only strong memory of the time he’d journeyed to New Orleans with Father was how soft and buttery the bread had been. Croissants. He had said that word repeatedly on the trip back to Boston and had tried in vain to explain their superiority to Mother.

Wouldn’t Ben’s sons be disgusted to learn that Ben had met Lafitte and had not been impressed? Embarrassed to hear that their father had been more interested in the horses on the street and near the blacksmith shop than he had been in the war hero, prosperous merchant, and privateer?

Privateer. Ben snickered to himself while he crossed the street, bound again for the shop. Father had been a privateer, too, during the war that had started a few years after Ben’s birth. With the blessings of the United States of America, Joseph Cartwright and others had caused first consternation and then outright havoc in British shipping. The privateers had been an exceedingly motivated lot. And a man would have had a difficult time determining if a share in the plunder or a desire to demonstrate patriotism had been behind the privateers’ zeal.

Ben supposed that in the strictest sense of the word Lafitte had, in fact, been a privateer. He’d never fired on an American vessel, although one of his men had and then had promptly paid with his life. But where a privateer only engaged the enemy during time of war, Lafitte had seemed to consider everyone worthy of his attention. Or perhaps he had believed everyone except Americans to be his enemy. Most men could justify their actions given long enough.

Ben rallied from his musings and noted that the streets and walkways were even more busy than usual. Why would that be? It was not a feast day that Ben knew of. Not Market Day. Certainly not a day that Americans celebrated – not that American holidays mattered much here. Louisiana might be a star on the flag now, but in spirit New Orleans was as much its own world as ever. Even when times had been lean it had continued to grow.

During those bad financial times, Ben had hoped for more business. Well, that wish had been granted. He’d forgotten to ask for reliable workers, though.

Stopping when he turned the corner to the shop, Ben slid appreciative eyes over the carriage parked alongside the curb near the front door. The highly polished walnut-brown coach could have belonged to any number of families. But not the handsome dappled gray horses. Mrs. de Ville owned those beauties. What was she doing here?

Inside the shop’s front room, Ben found Franklin and a stranger sitting at the table in the corner. The shutters were thrown back so the sunlight provided ample light to review the sheets of paper on the tabletop between the two men.

Franklin quickly stood and motioned toward Ben at the same time as the stranger pushed back his chair. "Mr. Stewart, may I introduce my partner, Benjamin Cartwright. Ben, this is Mr. Sean Stewart."

Ben paused beside the table and noted that Sean Stewart looked to be near his age. He wore a perfectly tailored wool suit and boots as shiny as the carriage outside.

Ben liked Stewart’s grip when they shook hands. Firm and solid but not crushing. No need to prove anything. He also knew to look a man in the eye.

"Mr. Stewart," Franklin said as they sat and scooted their chairs toward the table, "is from Natchez." He gave Ben a quizzical look while he delivered his next sentence. "Mrs. de Ville recommended our firm to him based on the fact that you have never been late paying the rent for your house."

That warranted a deep laugh from Ben. Not every man rented a home from a woman who had looked after his sons for nearly a year. Not every man rented a home from a woman who had helped teach his sons reading and arithmetic until the public school system had opened. And not every man had sons who considered the woman he rented his home from their grandmother. The least he could do in return was pay the rent on time.

When Ben had finished laughing, not bothering to share his thoughts, Stewart looked over the rim of his teacup. "In addition to my aunt’s counsel, you come highly recommended by the captain of the Magnolia."

"Harrowgate is a capable man," Ben said with a nod. So Sean Stewart was Mrs. de Ville’s nephew.

"Yes, he said the same of you," Stewart replied as he set the imported cup in its matching saucer. Franklin had obviously been impressed enough by this man to have his sister, Marguerite, bring down the best china. Ben soon found out why.

"I am the new owner of the Magnolia as well as the Acadian and the Swift." Stewart’s dark eyes seemed to assess Ben while he delivered the news with the same tone of voice he might use to comment on the weather.

Ben was familiar with the names - they were three of the most profitable steamboats on the river. Stewart was obviously sucessful if he had enough capital to purchase them. Ben smiled knowingly. He would stake his share in the partnership that while he was considering how lucrative business with Stewart could be, Franklin was interested in the prestige such a venture might generate.

His reflections seemed to be borne out by the way Franklin sat perfectly straight in his chair, his attention focused on Stewart like a cat watching its prey. Franklin seemed to think he had the advantage in the situation, but Ben knew the type of man who sat across the table from him. He had met Stewart’s kind at sea. He had invested in ships out of Boston with men like Stewart. And he had dealt with them in business in Philadelphia. Stewart had never turned his back on a calculated risk.

As if he’d read Ben’s thoughts, Stewart leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms at his chest. "I won the boats at poker." He cast a quick glance Franklin’s way and then looked to Ben for a reaction.

"That must have been an interesting game," Ben said admiringly.

Stewart maintained an unreadable expression. "Are you familiar with the Under the Hill area of Natchez?"

Ben was acquainted with the area although it had been years since he’d been there. The notorious riverboat landing neighborhood had a way to satiate every sin a man could imagine. "I’m aware of the place, yes."

"I only intended to have some drinks and play a few hands." Stewart’s lips twitched ever so slightly upward. "And I came away with three boats." He leaned across the round table toward Ben as if they were old friends. "Astonishing thing is, I bluffed."

Ben’s surprise at the man’s admission filled his face an instant before his hilarity filled the air. Stewart had won three boats by convincing their owner that his handful of bad cards couldn’t be beaten? And the other player had folded? Ben would have loved to have seen that other man’s face when he had realized he’d been duped.

Ben slid a hand over his eyes to clear them of tears.

Stewart rested an arm along the curve of the chairback. "Bluffed, plain and simple."

Ben shook his head and observed dryly, "I’m not sure we should engage in business with you, Stewart."

Franklin opened his mouth, probably to protest Ben’s appraisal.

But before Ben’s partner could speak, Stewart tilted his head back. "I have a suspicion, Cartwright, that we’re two of a kind." He shifted in his chair and then pulled off his coat. "What I want to speak to you gentlemen about is supplying my three boats at this end of the river."

When they’d finished the orders and the billing information and the delivery schedules, and negotiated a down payment, Stewart invited Franklin and Ben to join him for a late breakfast. Even considering the profitable deal they’d just concluded, Ben knew they shouldn’t close the shop. He also knew how delighted Franklin would be to be seen in Stewart’s company so he politely declined Stewart’s invitation by agreeing to visit the man the next time he was in Natchez. When it became apparent after a few hours that Franklin was not hurrying through his repast with Stewart, Ben ran to the square for a lunch that he could eat while he manned the business.

He was sitting at the corner table, the stack of orders and contracts nearby, when he nearly choked on a bite of his lunch. Another elegant carriage had stopped in front of the shop. And this one belonged to Marie’s sister, Jeanette.

Even as she walked toward him, Ben wondered how long her visit would last. He took a deep breath, bolstered his manners, and hoped she wouldn't invite him and his family to a supper at her home. Jeanette was - well, challenging was a good word for it. She’d married into an affluent family and had cultivated a daunting hauteur. Ben didn't mind spending time with her as long as it was administered in small doses. Visiting her house for an entire evening stretched the limits of his tolerance - though he tried hard not to show it. If he expected the boys to be courteous and respectful, he had to set the example.

He had been told that Marie and her sister had resembled each other enough when they’d been younger that they had been mistaken for twins. And while Ben could see some similarities, like the dark hair and eyes and the high cheekbones and slender builds, he never would have been unable to discern his spirited, often impetuous wife from the more controlled and decorous Jeanette. Marie’s sister continually chided her for mingling with the "common people" in the city. Which was why Ben was so surprised to see her under these circumstances. He’d had no idea she ever patronized the area. She had servants to take care of the mundane chores of life.

He stood quickly, banging his knee on a table leg. "What a delight to see you, Jeanette." He pulled out a chair for her. "Join me?"

His cheeks warmed. Join him in what? An abominable sandwich and a black brew the vendor at the market called tea?

Jeanette gave him a wane smile and then raised her head so she could survey the shop’s interior. "You are not busy?" she asked with precise enunciation.

"Not at the moment." Ben prayed that she would get to the reason for her call.

"Ah." Jeanette leaned her head to one side causing the deep blue feathers on her hat to waft in the opposite direction. She was always attired in the latest fashion from France. This low-cut dress seemed to involve an extraordinary amount of blue silk, flat soutache braid trim, and satin ribbon. "I will not interrupt your . . . meal much longer. I cannot stay, I have a guest." She motioned a gloved hand toward the carriage that awaited her near the curb. "I wish only to speak to you a moment."

She smiled with a craftiness that caught Ben by surprise. "Marie and you are so watchful of your sons that I am surprised you allow them to go as far as Rue Dumaine."

Ben met her eyes. He and Marie did not let the boys go to Rue Dumaine alone - and he suspected Jeanette knew it.

"I saw them there," Jeanette continued. "As I rode to my morning engagement." She ran a hand along the side of her skirt, breaking eye contact with Ben.

She didn’t have to say it - Ben was fairly sure he knew what she was thinking. Jeanette had expressed her opinion since Joseph’s birth nearly five years ago. A nurse would most assuredly be aware of the boys’ activities.

To her credit, there was sincerity in her tone when she added, "I am worried for their safety, Benjamin."

If they had ventured over by Dumaine she had good cause to be anxious about their wellbeing. Any son of his who traveled beyond the long-established boundaries without a good reason would not be sitting comfortably after Ben found out about it. Disobedience was not acceptable. New Orleans was a place of many wonders, but also of many dangers. Until this recent trouble with Adam, he'd thought he'd made that clear to the boys.

He started to assure Jeanette that Adam, Erik and Joe must have asked Marie’s permission to go that far by themselves. But the likelihood of Marie granting their request was - no, there had to be some other explanation. Perhaps Marie had been in one of the stores and the boys had been waiting outside.

Ben thanked Jeanette for her concern and then escorted her from the shop to the carriage. He would have assisted her up the steps to the inside but a liveryman shot Ben a look that left no doubt about whose duty that was. Far be it from Ben to argue over territorial rights.

"My regards to Louis." Ben stepped back, away from the curb. "And thank you for the information, Jeanette."

"Mais, oui." She smiled just like Marie did and then ducked her head as she stepped into the carriage.

Ben waved and, as soon as was polite, returned to the shop. Why would the boys be over by Dumaine? He glanced down at the remains of his meal. And why would he want to subject his stomach to more of that? Ben deposited the sandwich where it belonged and gulped down the last of his tea just as Franklin entered the shop.

"Wasn’t that Marie’s sister?" The man almost stumbled over the threshold he was so busy looking behind him.

Ben smiled at his partner’s surprise. "Yes."

"What was she doing here?" Franklin took off his hat and paused halfway to the counter.

"Visiting." Ben took pleasure in providing Franklin with only an answer and nothing more.

"Visiting here?" Franklin’s eyes widened with disbelief.

"Yes."

"I’ve never seen her in this- " Franklin bit off the words when a man with leathered skin and foul-smelling tobacco in his pipe entered the shop.

"Need some supplies," the man announced.

Ben halfway wished the man had arrived a few minutes earlier. It would have provided rather fascinating entertainment. Jeanette had probably never been taught how to socialize with river men.

That evening, Ben whistled while he walked home. The contracts and prices Franklin and he had worked out with Stewart had benefited all concerned - and held the promise of being a durable relationship. He must remember to thank Mrs. de Ville for referring her nephew to the firm of Perin and Cartwright. Perhaps he could take her a box of-

Ben cut his whistling short when he approached the courtyard gate and heard his sons’ shouts.

"That’s them!" Joe yelled. Ben could well imagine the child tucking his chin and using every ounce of his breath to achieve such a low voice. What was that about?

"Man the cannon!" Erik shouted.

Ben closed his eyes in resignation. Oh, no. What could they have commandeered for that particular weapon? Marie had undoubtedly had an interesting time of it since Erik had returned home from school. He probably should-

Ben stopped with his hand on the wrought-iron gate when Adam’s voice boomed, "We’re in luck, men! There’s a fine one there in the offing! We’ll bear down and take the wind out of her sails!" Deepening his voice like that, Adam sounded like Abel Stoddard. Not that The Wanderer had ever been in battle or taken the wind out of another ship’s sails. Well, not that any of her crew had cared to talk about.

What had Adam been reading, Ben wondered, that he knew all these terms?

There followed the most remarkable assortment of sounds that Ben had heard in years. Clanging of spoons against pans, shouts, the slamming of wood against wood, Thaddeus’ excited barking, blustery orders from Adam, yelps from Joe, "boom" after "boom" from Erik, something that sounded like metal scraping across the courtyard bricks, an ear-ringing crash that Ben wasn’t sure he wanted to know about, and then Marie’s scream.

Ben threw the gate open and ran along the side of the house. But when he rounded the back corner he skidded to a halt.

Adam was holding a wooden spoon to Marie’s neck while she stood on the wrought-iron bench, her hands folded in prayer. "Please, Dear Captain, you will spare my life?"

Ben chuckled at the biting wit in Adam’s choice of weapon. He knew for certain that Marie had smacked that spoon against Adam’s bottom on more than one occasion. Hands on his hips, Ben watched spellbound as Erik, armed with a soup ladle, and Joe, suitably outfitted with a metal plate for a shield and a toy wooden boat for a dagger, advanced on their captive. When had pirates taken to carrying armor?

"We’ll cut hew thwoat," Joe said menacingly. He’d obviously been studying drama with his oldest brother.

"Oh!" Marie raised her arms toward the sky. "Non, surely Monsieur Lafitte would not harm a lady."

Ben leaned his shoulder against the house. They ought to take this little performance to the square and earn some money.

"Of course not." Adam bowed deeply. "The Lafittes honor women, madam. We have come to rescue you from those nefarious vagabonds who snatched you from the safety of your castle."

With a deep frown, Ben tried to get his facts straight. The boys were the Lafittes and they had borne down on a ship and obviously had taken her and there had been a lady on board who had been abducted from her castle? Was that the rights of it?

"But what about the treasure?" Erik whined.

Ben sighed deeply. Of course there was treasure. He stiffened when a startling thought occurred to him. Surely the boys wouldn’t start digging in the flowerbeds the way Adam and Erik had years ago. He’d had to replant the entire area near the side of the house after that little escapade. With Adam’s and Erik’s assistance. Which had made the job approximately three times as long as necessary.

"Quel dommage." Marie shook her head and tsk tsked.

"I got a feeling there ain’t no treasure." Erik squinted at his mother.

Marie held her head high in an imitation of a duchess. Ben smiled. No, wait a minute. She wasn’t pretending to be a duchess - she was mimicking Jeanette.

"This that men call the treasure," Marie said grandly, "c’est moi."

"What?" Adam exclaimed, lowering his wooden spoon – uh – sword.

"She said it’s her," Erik translated. He’d been proficient at understanding French for years.

"I know what she said," Adam protested. He turned away and then turned back to face Marie. "Ma, that’s not going to work. There has to be some kind of plunder."

Ben raised a hand to stifle his chuckles. It would seem that Marie did not know a true pirate story always involved raiding and plunder.

Marie gave her head a quick, emphatic shake. "There must not be this plunder. I am enough of the prize."

"Aw, Ma . . ." Erik rolled his eyes in disgust.

Joe placed his shield - uh, metal dish - on the bench. "Giwls do not know how to be piwates," he announced.

"Ah!" Marie raised her brows. "Then I relinquish."

Ben blinked in surprise. Relinquish what? Her hands were empty.

"What do you mean relinquish?" Adam’s brow furrowed.

"You know of what I mean. I relinquish. I do not involve myself anymore."

Erik bounced the ladle in his hand. "Ya mean you quit?"

"Exactement."

"Good!" Joe snatched his shield. "We’ll go find tweasuwe."

As the three boys tromped into the house, Ben realized how clever Marie had been. He strolled toward her and smiled. "That’s one way to get out of it."

Her dark eyes widened. "You are home in the daylight."

Ben put his arms around her waist and tugged her toward him. "I thought I might help you cook supper."

He knew perfectly well that the last thing Marie wanted was for Ben to touch food before anyone ate it.

She leaned back against his arms. "What bribery do you seek to not do this thing?"

Now he had her. "For the moment, a kiss."

"We have you now, Napoleon!" Adam’s voice from behind Ben was accompanied by a jab to Ben’s shoulder. "Release Lady Cartwright at once."

Marie’s lips tightened but a laugh squeaked its way out of her all the same. "Perhaps we shall discuss this bribery later?"

"We got you now." Joe squinted as he stepped around Ben and raised his dagger.

"And now you’re gonna show us where you buried the treasure." Erik looked more menacing than Ben would have thought capable, considering the boy was brandishing a soup ladle.

"Where is it?" Adam jabbed Ben in the back of his shoulder again.

Ben narrowed his eyes. If that boy jabbed him one more time. . . . He used his old sailing voice in mock anger. "You over-judge my patience, Lafitte."

"Look out, Adam!" Erik squealed.

But the warning came too late. By the time the words were airborne, Ben held Adam’s sword - wooden spoon - in his hand. And Adam had staggered back against the door with his blue eyes larger than Joe’s shield. Well, almost.

"And now- " Ben assumed the frightening voice he used for particularly dreadful stories- "prepare to die, Jean Lafitte."

Adam shook his head so strongly that his hair tossed. "I’m Pierre." He pointed at his youngest brother. "He’s Jean."

Ben crouched and turned slowly, his swordpoint held toward Joe - uh - Jean. "I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, matey."

Joe screamed and quickly hid behind Erik, who promptly raised his soup ladle. "Lay on!" he challenged.

"Lay on?" Ben straightened and looked back at Adam. "Where did he get ‘lay on’?"

Adam shrugged. "Macbeth, I imagine."

"What do you mean Macbeth?"

"You know." Adam crossed his arms. "There’s the swordfight between MacDuff and Macbeth and –"

Ben did not believe this. "You’re reading Shakespeare?" he asked Adam. But before the boy could answer, Ben gaped and turned to face Erik. "And you’re listening to it?"

"Sure." Erik’s grin was about as wide as it could go without involving his ears. "There’s all kinds of killing and swordfights and poisons and witches."

Adam sat on the porch’s top step. "I guess that puts an end to the pirates." He pointed to Marie. "Lady Cartwright wants to escape to the castle to make supper."

"Good, I’m ravenous," Ben remarked. Thinking of how hungry he was reminded him of how bad his lunch had been, which sparked the memory of Jeanette’s visit.

"Did you boys go to Rue Dumaine today?" he asked while he handed the wooden spoon to Erik.

Marie, who had turned toward the kitchen, seemed to take interest in Ben’s question. She put her hands on her hips and frowned.

"Why?" Adam peered up at him.

Ben felt his right brow rise.

Adam shook his head and shaded his eyes from the setting sun. "Why did you ask?"

Ben held up an index finger indicating he would return to Adam’s question and then turned his attention to Erik and Joe. "Did you two go to Rue Dumaine?"

They exchanged looks and then shook their heads. "No," Joe answered simply.

Interesting, Ben thought. Joe was using the same approach with him that he had used earlier that day on Franklin - only answering the question and volunteering no information. That boy might require closer attention in the future.

Adam stood and Ben answered his question before Adam could repeat it. "Your Aunt Jeanette thought she saw you near Dumaine Street."

Erik shrugged and offered an explanation. "Musta been boys who looked like us, Pa."

Ben decided that was a plausible explanation. Jeanette hadn’t said how far away she had been from the boys. And Ben suspected she’d only glimpsed them from the moving carriage. Ben would give them the benefit of a doubt. This time. But a reminder about expected conduct never hurt. "Do you understand you will always ask permission to go beyond the boundaries your mother and I have set?"

Joe’s hair bounced slightly as he nodded his head. "Yes, Pa."

Ben raised his eyes from the littlest Cartwright son to the tallest, but not the oldest. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Erik assured, his eyes earnest.

"And do you understand, Adam?"

The boy raised his arms. "I didn’t go anywhere, Pa. I was here doin- " Adam sighed in resignation. "Yes, Pa, I understand."

"Erik!" Marie called from the kitchen. "I have need of the metal plate. And the ladle, s’il te plait."

"Yes, Ma!"

Ben winced when Erik shouted his answer. The youngster quickly gathered the utensils and ran to the kitchen. Ben hoped it was just his imagination that Erik seemed relieved for the chance to end the conversation.

During the following two days, Ben worked from sunup to sundown as he ordered supplies, checked that received items were unpacked at the warehouse, directed deliveries to the wharves, made sure the boats’ crews had received the required items in the requested quantities, and still had to make time to record transactions in the ledgers. But he was much more inclined toward the physical work, no matter how dirty, than the tedium of staying inside the shop all day. Franklin didn’t seem disposed toward the labor but being indoors for hours at a time didn’t bother him at all. Made for a good partnership as far as Ben was concerned.

All the work meant Ben arrived home long after the boys had gone to sleep. He wondered if they yearned for the custom of sharing the evening meal and then reading or telling stories as much as he did.

Two nights after the courtyard pirate performance, the memory of which even now made Ben smile, he walked home lamenting how much he missed his family. He had not walked the city streets at such a late hour - or perhaps after midnight it became an early hour - for years. Undoubtedly the sporting houses and the gambling parlors and the alehouses were as active as they were other times of the day, perhaps busier. But as he left the lights of the Vieux Carre behind, as the night sounds diminished to a barking dog, a creaking gate, throaty frogs and gossiping crickets, the unfathomable sky and the brilliant stars welcomed him. What an uncommonly clear night.

Time was when Adam and Erik and he had spread quilts in the courtyard and had woven stories around the stars. They had stretched out on their backs and, with one eye closed, had help up a thumb to block the moon. And then they had closed that eye, had opened the other, and the moon had seemed to jump.

Erik had squealed in laughter and giggled with delight no matter how often they practiced the trick. Adam had pursed his lips and spent minutes studying his thumb, the moon, opening and closing his eyes, and eventually had turned his head toward Ben and asked how it worked. "You’ll figure it out," Ben always said. Then one night Adam had done just that. He had chuckled with discovery, eager to tell Erik how it worked. But Erik had sat up straight and declared that it was magic and he didn’t want Adam to tell him "nothings." The chubby little boy had promptly slapped his hands over his ears.

Ben thought of the night of Marie’s pirate story. Erik had been enthralled while he had sat at Marie’s feet, while Adam had tried to stay outside her spell. Leave it to Marie to pull Adam’s methodical mind into her tale and to help him, for those moments, believe in the enchantment that Erik embraced.

Then there was Joseph. Ben smiled to himself as his boot heels clicked on the sidewalk while he ambled home. Would that the boy had just a gram of Adam’s prudence. He believed so completely in fables and legends and imaginary creatures that only a person with nothing left to accomplish in this world would attempt to steer Joe toward reality.

Ben paused at the side of the house, surprised by the soft lantern light that seeped through the thin spaces between the dining room window shutters. After he closed the courtyard gate behind him, he instinctively reached down to Thaddeus to quiet the dog’s happy whimpers.

"Who’s still awake, boy?" Ben whispered. He walked as carefully as possible across the brick that paved the court and then put his left hand to the back door at the same time that he opened it with his right. The door was tending to swing open easily these days and had hit more than one of them on the nose. Slowly, cautiously, wincing slightly at that squeaky hinge that Adam was supposed to tend Ben closed the door behind him. Inside the hall there was no sound. Ben walked on the balls of his feet, intent on the wine in the dining room and then his comfortable chair in the parlor. Using a skill he’d learned as a boy, he crossed the wooden floor without making a sound.

Nervous laughter brought him up short in the doorway that opened to the front rooms. That and the quick, short "sssh" that he immediately recognized as Adam’s.

Ben straightened his lips and put on his best poker face then took the final stride from the passageway. There to his left, in front of the empty fireplace in the faintly lighted parlor, was a quilt stretched across the floor. A rather lumpy quilt. Two lumps roughly the same length, a much shorter one between them. More muffled giggles. Another "sssh" that was extra emphatic this time.

Ben grinned at his mischievous sons. All the fatigue vanished from his body like a snowflake falling on rushing water. This should be fun.

He turned his back and walked indifferently toward the wine decanter atop the mahogany console where the lantern burned low. He pulled the crystal stopper from the decanter and slowly poured a glass of white wine. He gently replaced the decanter on the metal tray. And then he slid his eyes to the side, wondering what the amazingly quiet youngsters were doing.

His answer came a second later when two barefoot boys, clad only in nightshirts, threw back the quilt and scrambled to their feet issuing shrieks that would have frightened the demons in Hades. Ben turned with his eyes wide and his mouth gaping in feigned surprise.

Joe ran to him and tugged at Ben’s trouser leg. "Did we scawe you, Pa? Did we?"

"Absolutely," Ben assured and fought not to smile at the boys’ untidy hair. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"

The "pwactically" five-year-old, as he referred to himself of late, raised his arms high and declared, "Scawing Pa" as if Ben had asked the most inane question ever posed.

"What’d ya think, Pa?" Erik joined Joe.

"I thought . . ." Ben paused to swallow a drink of wine. An idea streaked into his brain. "I thought you were pirates."

Joe clapped his little hands and twirled around. Erik leaned back and crowed. Adam sat on the floor in the parlor, the quilt draped across his shoulders, his grin rounding his cheeks.

Ben jabbed a finger in his oldest son’s direction and laughed. "You put them up to this."

Adam held his arms out in an unconvincing display of innocence.

"Boys," Ben hissed in warning to Erik and Joe. "You’ll wake your mother." If she hadn’t died with her heart in her throat when all the upheaval had occurred.

This time he was genuinely surprised when Marie appeared from nowhere in the doorway he had just walked through. Her smile told him that she had known about the boys’ plan since shortly after its beginning.

Marie held her head high, once again looking like a haughty duchess in a common day dress. Or Jeanette. "We do this to retain the happiness of the family." Before Ben could ask any questions about what Marie meant, she continued, "I know you do not eat since morning."

How she knew that was beyond Ben. She was right, of course, but there was no need to tell her that.

"And when you do not eat you are most fatigued. And when you are most fatigued, Benjamin- " She rolled her dark eyes. "Mon Dieu, you are most disagreeable. And so," she said with a quick shrug of one shoulder, "we decide, the boys and I, that when their father comes home he will need the meal." At that, the woman stepped clear of the doorway. "Maintenant, boys, you will go to the kitchen and bring your father the supper."

Adam stood from his cave under the quilt and followed his brothers down the hallway, leaving the quilt on the parlor floor.

All Ben wanted was some wine, cheese, bread, and sleep. "Marie, I- " His protest died when she placed two fingers on his lips. She watched behind him as he heard the boys run toward the courtyard kitchen.

"It is good that you are home."

He could read the worry in her eyes when she considered his face.

Ben placed the wineglass on the tabletop. He started to hug her then, remembering his grimy shirt, he held her at arm’s length. "I should- "

She pushed against his arms with an unexpected strength and then pulled a side chair from the dining table. "Sit," she commanded.

When he started to obey her decree, Marie clucked, "Non, non, not such a way. You must sit with a side against the chair."

He assumed she meant for him to sit with his left side resting against the chairback. Given that she did not correct his posture, he must have surmised correctly. A moment later her warm, gentle hands rubbed his back.

"Ummm." He leaned his head forward and closed his eyes. "I could let you do that forever."

Her voice danced with amusement and wit. "Only this?"

Ben laughed deeply. "Are you trying to take my mind off work?"

"Are you thinking of those papers and those books in which you write and those men to whom you speak?" Her breath was warm against his ear when she whispered the words.

"Not particularly," he admitted. How could such small, delicate hands knead the stiffness from his neck and shoulders?

"So," she invited as she stroked the back of his neck, "you think of what?"

"Dough."

Her hands stopped. "Dough?"

"Um hum." Ben was glad she couldn’t see him grinning. "I was thinking how lucky the bread dough is when you work it with those hands." He flinched when she slapped below his right shoulder blade but then sighed while she pushed the heels of her hands into the muscle.

"Dough." She said the word mockingly. "This strong superb man who sits before me"- she leaned again to speak softly into his ear- "and who shares my bed"- she straightened- "he would rather to be the bread dough."

Ben shook with laughter. "No . . . no that’s not what I said." He’d been thinking how lucky the bread dough was to-

Marie stepped before him and slid a hand under his chin. "Must I shame myself and ask for the kiss?"

He rested a hand behind her neck and pulled her toward him. As their lips met, he smelled the faint scent of roses. As his lips went over hers, he heard a groan of disapproval from behind her.

"Aw, Ma . . ." Erik lamented from the passageway as if Marie had spoiled everything. "Do ya have to kiss ‘im before he eats?"

Ben’s lips shook against Marie’s while they fought laughter. They separated, although Ben kept a hand at his wife’s waist.

Erik held a bowl that was in jeopardy of overflowing with gumbo. Adam clutched the flatware and a drinking glass. It was Joe, carrying a basket containing a croissant and a slice of pie, who observed, "Pa, you’we duhwty."

If Ben had had any thought that Marie and he might talk quietly while he ate, the blunder was quickly made clear when the boys dragged chairs out from the table and sat down, Joe to his right, Erik at the head of the table to his left, and Adam opposite Ben.

Thankfully, Adam remembered his manners and quickly stood to seat Marie across from Erik. Now that was Ben’s son – the innate attentiveness, the mild amusement at his younger brothers, the esteem that he had no idea shimmered in his eyes when he regarded Marie, and that brief, modest smile that ran counter to his self-confidence.

The youngster ducked his head a moment and then looked up through dark bangs that covered his forehead and nearly touched his eyelashes.

Ben pointed his fork. "You need a haircut."

Adam’s lips lifted at one corner. "Not as much as you need a bath."

That was Adam Cartwright.

Ben liked to think of himself as an optimistic man, able to see hope in the future and to face challenges. But if life dealt him just one more challenge today, what little vestige of cheerfulness that remained in his bones was liable to disappear without a trace. Despite the fact that it was early afternoon, Ben walked with strong, purposeful strides as he returned home. Where he’d forgotten the ledger books.

The day had started off wrong. It had been one of those mornings when Ben had kept repeating to himself not to surrender to life’s annoyances. Concentrate on the blessings. And so Ben had offered thanks for those blessings. Repeatedly.

Ben had reminded himself not to be annoyed when the razor had suddenly and mysteriously been dull and had scraped his cheek like a rasp. He had been grateful that he hadn’t cut his throat with the thing. Not that it had been sharp enough to slice warm butter, much less a man’s gullet.

He had remembered to be thankful for his clothing and had not succumbed to a good bout of bad language when a button on his shirt had fallen off and had rolled on the floor and had disappeared somewhere in the bedroom. He had appreciated a roof over his head and the bedside table and the bed and anything else the confounded button could have been hiding under.

He had been thankful for healthy sons despite the fact that Adam and Erik had allowed the woodpile to diminish to such a point that Ben had found Marie chopping fuel for the kitchen stove. Thankful that Joe had only left a throbbing bruise instead of breaking one of Ben’s legs when he’d accidentally rammed Ben with the side of a stick he’d been using as a sword. Thankful for the cold meat and the day-old bread that Ben had assured Marie had made a fine breakfast. Thankful for the bright sunshine even though it made the damp air insufferable when he had walked to the warehouse. Thankful that they’d had very few supplies for the thieves to steal from the delivery wagon that Wimberly had neglected to lock inside the warehouse. Again.

And don’t forget the blessings so far this afternoon, Ben told himself while he continued his walk home from town. He should be grateful that the police had been reasonably certain they knew who had appropriated the wagon even though they had also been reasonably certain that the stolen items had already been sold and would not be found. And he should be grateful for the windows they’d been able to open at the shop so no breeze could ease the stifling, still air inside as they had appreciatively secured a deal with yet another boat company. There was the stroke of luck, too, that Ben had finally - after almost a quarter hour of rummaging though the office - remembered that he had forgotten the ledger books at home.

As he stepped to the sidewalk in front of the house he sent up a quick offering of thanksgiving that the rider of the horse that had nearly collided with him in the street just now had been paying more attention to the people and vehicles than Ben had.

He would open the gate, walk with quiet purpose to the dining room, and hope to all that was holy that the ledgers were where he had left them late last night.

His good intentions were thwarted when, as he stepped into the hallway, Ben heard angry voices rising in the parlor.

"You do not go where your father and I say you may not."

Ben tilted his head. That was Marie. And she was not pleased with someone. He had no doubt that from time to time his wife managed problems with the boys and said nothing to him about them. His mother had regularly scolded John and Ben without mentioning their offenses to their father. But it was Ben’s firm belief that Adam, Erik, and Joe should obey Marie immediately and respectfully. She should never be required to punish them.

Ben leaned against the doorframe to watch and listen. Marie stood in front of the empty fireplace, holding a kitchen towel in her right hand. Erik and Joe, who had been playing hard, judging from their disheveled and dirty clothes, faced her. Ben idly wondered where Adam was. Adam would have suggested that Ben was eavesdropping. Adam would have been correct.

Ben listened a moment longer and realized that Marie was upset because Erik and Joe had gone beyond their set boundaries despite Marie’s and Ben’s warning not to. They would do well to acknowledge their disobedience - politely.

Erik didn’t seem to share Ben’s thoughts about courtesy. "Adam does it all the time, Ma!" he shouted.

Ben fought the impulse to make his presence known. If he did so now it would deny Marie the opportunity to reinforce a lesson about respect and obedience.

"Yeah," Joe confirmed after a nod at Erik. "Adam was sneaking at night."

And that, Ben thought, was one of the many reasons he did not allow a son to disregard the family rules. The moment Ben tolerated poor behavior from one boy, the other two often thought they could get away with it too. The trouble here, as Ben saw it, was that Erik and Joe didn’t realize that their older brother had not gotten away with sneaking out. The problem also was that Adam hadn’t learned from his punishments until just lately. Well, hopefully he had learned.

Erik’s voice was bursting with impertinence when he said, "If Adam can go around where he wants then so can we and you can’t stop us."

Ben pushed away from the doorframe, displeased by the continuing disrespect. Erik knew better than to speak to his mother like that. He took a step but used immense control and forced himself to stop. He would give the boys a chance to correct their attitudes toward their mother. He would allow Marie to handle this.

"We will discuss this no more." Marie’s voice indicated she was very close to releasing her formidable temper. "You do not go about without permission."

"It ain’t fair!" Erik shouted. "We wouldn’t’ve gone there if you hadn’t told us where it was."

Ben felt heat slither up his neck as his jaw tightened. Enough disrespect. He needed to take care of this. He advanced into the parlor as Joe added, "Yeah" to Erik’s contention.

He couldn’t determine who was more surprised by his entrance. Marie raised her chin and her face lost all expression. Joe watched him with wary eyes as he stood beside Marie. Erik took a large step backward. "Are you saying," Ben asked grimly, "that it is your mother’s fault that you disobeyed her?" He held up a warning finger when Erik opened his mouth. "Think about it."

"Mon Dieu! " Marie slapped the cotton towel against her skirt while she glared at Erik. "That I told you of the blacksmith shop it has not anything to do with anything!" She tossed her head so that tendrils fell loose from her pinned-up hair. Marie waved a hand. "These problems from you, Erik, and you, Joseph, they will stop. Maintenant."

Ben considered the boys. They were listening to Marie but they were looking at him uncomfortably from the sides of their eyes. He’d seen glances like that before. There seemed to be more to this than what he had overheard. "What kind of problems?" he asked Marie as he narrowed his eyes at Erik and Joe.

Marie gave a quick jerk of her right hand, causing the towel to flutter like a footloose sail. "They do as you heard. The fast talk."

Back talk. Disrespect.

"The intelligent mouth."

Smart mouth. Disrespect.

"They raise the voice. They do not speak kindly." She took a few steps and then turned around. Her mouth was set in a severe line and her dark eyes were bright with anger. Ben had heard people talk about sparks in someone’s eyes but he’d never witnessed the phenomenon until the first time he’d seen Marie irate. He was reasonably certain that Erik and Joe didn’t much care to see it now.

Marie leaned toward the boys. "Then there is the lying and the going where I say you cannot go. The first time, Jeanette sees you. You say she has seen someone else. It is possible so your father does nothing. Then I go to the market and as I walk home I see you." Marie’s voice sizzled with anger.

Erik made a sick sound. Joe was busy looking from Marie to Ben to Marie. Ben clenched his jaw and slid it to the left. So the boys had lied to him; the other day Jeanette had seen them where they shouldn’t have been. Had Adam lied as well?

Marie looked at Ben. Her Creole accent was thick and her words were fast. "I saw Erik and Joseph at this blacksmith shop of Lafitte’s. And when I spoke of it to them just now they told me it was not them, that I had seen other boys." Marie’s shoulders shook while she stared angrily at Erik and Joe. "Do you think that I do not know my sons when I see them?"

When would they learn? Adam had always been a miserable liar; why he even tried was beyond Ben’s understanding. Erik had never been much better, although he’d developed a unique way of confusing the conversation and thus delaying having to tell the truth. Joe . . . well, Joe’s imagination tended to run unbridled at times. They’d all, at one time or another, been inclined toward whoppers that had included giants and boy-eating creatures and ghosts that had moved things like hammers and that had thrown clothes on the floor. But for Erik and Joe to stand before their mother and deny the truth and at the same time be disrespectful - that was inexcusable.

Hands on his hips, Ben regarded his sons and mentally added up their offenses. Disrespect. Disobedience. Deceit. Erik and Joe were well aware that any of the three was grounds for physical punishment. To commit all three at the same time . . . the boys knew better than that.

"Marie," Ben requested, "would you excuse us, please?"

She gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement. While Ben waited until he no longer heard the whispering brush of her skirt against the wooden floor, he looked first at Erik and then at Joe. It was about time he got some straight answers from these two. "Well?

Neither boy answered for several ticks of the mantle clock. They didn’t appear to be breathing.

Finally, Erik took a deep breath and confessed. "We were over there by that Dumaine Street the other day." He turned his head slightly to one side and warily looked from the tops of his eyes. "We didn’t figure you’d find out."

"And Adam?"

Erik tilted his head. "Adam?"

"Was he with you?"

The blue eyes squinted. "No, Pa."

Good. So Adam had learned his lesson about obedience. Ben crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What else, Joseph?"

The freckle-faced youngster answered without hesitation. "Ewik and Joe went whewe we’we not supposed to." He looked down.

Ben wanted to be clear about this. "How many times did you go where you did not have permission to be?"

Joe looked down at his left hand as he ticked off a tally on his fingers and then held up the correct number. "Thwee."

"Three!" he yelled. Ben blinked at one son and then the other. What had those two been thinking? Wandering in the Quarter without permission. Willfully disobeying their parents. His astonishment was bested only by his infuriation.

The little boy bit at his lower lip. "Yes, Pa."

Ben mentally counted to forty, striving to control his temper, while he clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the window that overlooked the busy street. He wouldn’t be taking the ledgers back to the shop anytime soon. Fatherly duty came first, and he was sure he knew how this discussion would end. He turned back to his sons. From the looks on their faces, they had a pretty good idea how this discussion would end too. Time to review their transgressions. They had acknowledged that they had disobeyed. Now for the balance of their misconduct. "What else?"

Erik coughed and cleared his throat. "We lied to you. And then we lied to Ma."

Ben vowed to himself that these boys would not be sitting comfortably at the supper table tonight. He didn’t abide disrespect or disobedience but absolutely nothing his sons did upset him more than deceit. A man wasn’t worth anything if he didn’t honor the truth. Ben slowly walked back to stand in front of them.

Joe looked askance and eased his hands behind his back. "And Ewik and Joe sassed Ma."

"You will apologize to your mother," Ben reminded.

"Yes, Pa."

"Yes, sir, Pa."

Ben remained silent. Let the knowledge of what they had done sink in. Disobedience. Deceit. Disrespect. Consequences.

The boys’ faces were filled with worry and they shifted uneasily on their feet. Erik spoke softly. "Are you - are you gonna spank us, Pa?"

Ben turned his eyes to Erik. "You will wait for me in the kitchen." Then he held out a hand. "Joseph, you will come with me to your room."

"No." Joe crossed his arms and raised his chin.

Erik paused in the doorway and sucked in a surprised breath.

Ben pulled up short, his hand still outstretched, and stared in disbelief. "You will not tell me- "

"No!" Joe lowered his arms and shouted.

That was more than enough. Ben lifted his littlest son but was not ready for what happened next. Joe not only slapped at Ben’s arms, he kicked one of Ben’s ribs with a force that caused Ben to gasp.

"No! Joe doesn’t want a spanking!"

Probably not, but he had earned one. Ben struggled to get a good grasp of the youngster. Adam and Erik had never behaved this way before a spanking. What the deuce did Joseph think he was doing?

Another open hand smacked against Ben’s chest.

"No!" Joe yelled. "Let go!"

Erik turned and ran down the hallway to the courtyard, letting the door slam behind him.

Battling his temper, Ben stashed Joseph under one arm and propped the boy against his hip. He carried the child like a sack, with Joseph’s arms and legs flailing wildly at the same time as he screamed that Ben couldn’t spank him and to let him down or he would bite.

When they were in the boys’ room, Ben sat on Joseph’s bed and stood his belligerent son in front of him only to have the boy immediately drop to the floor on his back. "No! You can’t! You can’t spank Joe and you can’t do nothing!" He kicked the bottoms of his boots directly at Ben’s shins.

Doing his best to avoid a boot in the face, Ben slid a hand under the boy’s trouser waistband and restored him to a standing position. He would not lose his temper. Absolutely not. He would give Joseph one more opportunity to approach punishment correctly.

"Joseph, do you under- "

"No!" Joseph shouted so loudly that Ben’s ears buzzed.

Ben landed a crackling slap to Joseph’s bottom.

With the boy behaving like this, Ben would have to unbutton Joseph’s trousers. There was another hard smack to Ben’s shoulder accompanied by a "You’we mean. You’we mean, mean, mean!" and then the trousers fell around the boy’s ankles.

Ben picked up Joseph by the waist and the youngster resumed his attack. He managed to slap Ben’s thighs when the man laid him across them, bottom side up.

The child gouged a knee into Ben’s leg, yelled "No!" at what had to be the maximum capacity of his lungs, and twisted around so much like a wildcat that Ben was tempted to lift him by the scruff of the neck.

Instead, Ben splayed his left hand against the boy’s back to hold him down and delivered a smart spank to the bare bottom. Joseph continued to twist and lunge and kick and scream. Ben pulled in another deep breath and prayed fervently for fortitude. He spanked the little bottom until Joe’s shouts went from hot-tempered to repentant.

Joseph’s sobs could be heard all through the house as Ben walked to the hallway that separated the boys’ room from Marie’s and his. He stood firm against the urge to walk back up the steps and tell Joseph to be quiet. The boy should be crying after that spanking.

Ben willed himself to swallow. Meting out punishment was one of the duties of being a father, an occasional inevitability designed to steer sons back to the right course and teach them that their actions had consequences. Or, as his own father had said when he had disciplined Ben, following a directive from the Lord to help produce righteous men. Ben knew it was his responsibility to cultivate his sons’ moral growth as much as their physical growth. All the same, that awareness had yet to keep his stomach from souring when he had to administer physical punishment.

Much as he would have liked to delay his walk to the kitchen, Ben knew he must turn his attention to Erik. The boy had had enough time to think about what he had done. Delaying Erik’s discipline any longer would be unjust.

Ben walked slowly to his belt. He’d hung it on a nail in the bedroom wall when Adam and Erik and he had moved here half a dozen years ago. He probably hadn’t taken it off the wall as many times. One of those times had been when Adam had purchased a voodoo doll, intent on causing Marie to be ill so she couldn’t supervise his questionable activities. Before Ben had discovered his eldest son’s misdeeds that time, Adam had been disobedient by going where he should not have been and without permission; he’d lied about his actions; and he’d been disrespectful of his mother. The eleven-year-old had known the outcome for any one of those actions. He could not have doubted what his punishment would be for violating all three of the rules from the moment Ben had taken his belt off the wall.

The last time Ben had had to physically correct Erik’s behavior, he had spanked the boy and had soon regretted it. Not because he had punished Erik, no the punishment had been earned. But because he had used his hand. Erik’s bottom had undoubtedly throbbed but Ben’s hand had hurt so badly he had had difficulty writing for two days. That encounter had brought to Ben’s attention what he’d casually noticed before - Erik at nine had been very near to Adam’s height at thirteen, and Erik was definitely heavier. Now, a year later, Erik was taller than Adam. Much larger than Adam had been at eight when Ben had taken a belt to Adam’s bottom for forgetting to reload a rifle and consequently endangering Ben’s, Erik’s, and Adam’s lives. Ben was obliged to punish Erik as he had Adam for the voodoo occurrence; both infractions had involved disrespect, disobedience, and deceit. He slowly raised his belt off the nail in the wall and then braced himself for what he had to do.

When Ben closed the kitchen door behind him, Erik turned from looking out the window. The boy’s blue eyes were bloodshot and his usually rosy cheeks were splotched with dark crimson. Those reddened eyes immediately noted the belt clasped in Ben’s right hand and Erik seemed to wither.

"Pa- " Erik’s breath was shallow. He raised his left palm toward Ben as he appealed. "I won’t do none of it anymore."

Ben prayed to all the saints that Erik’s words would prove to be true. He slowly stepped forward until he was no more than two arm’s length from his son. "You have a huge responsibility, do you understand that?"

"Sir?"

"I have always required Adam to set a good example for Joe and you. Whatever his actions, he has to consider how they might affect you. That includes not knowingly putting a brother’s welfare at risk." Ben tilted his head, trying to see Erik’s face. "Do you understand what I mean by that?"

Finally Erik looked up timidly. "It means not doing something that you know could get your brother hurt," he summarized hoarsely.

Ben cupped Erik’s right cheek in his left hand and spoke softly. "I know you wouldn’t hurt Joe, son. But when you disobeyed your mother and me . . . when you took him to a part of the city where you are not allowed because it’s dangerous . . . you both could have been harmed."

One of Erik’s warm tears trickled across Ben’s thumb.

"But we weren’t, Pa." Erik sniffled.

"And your mother and I are grateful for that." Ben gently moved his hand away from the boy’s face. "But we expect you to be a good example for Joe in the same way we expect Adam to be a good example for you. And you are not setting a good example when you risk his welfare. You are not setting a good example when you disobey. Nor are you setting a good example when you lie or when you are disrespectful."

Ben kept his voice soft, resolved that Erik would realize that Ben was not approaching him with anger but with concern. "Joe looks up to you, Erik. And he will imitate your behavior regardless of whether it is correct or not."

A flicker of understanding spread from Erik’s eyes to his mouth. There was no belligerence, none of the insolence Ben had seen recently in Adam. What he did see was remorse.

"Now tell me which rules you broke, please."

It took Erik a while, and he had to pause to cough, but finally he stated that he'd taken Joe to the pirates' place even though he hadn't had permission, he'd lied about going there, and he'd sassed Ma. To Ben's surprise, he even owned up to having recently gone to the graveyard, which was also off limits.

Ben glanced toward the kitchen worktable that Erik was standing beside. The boy had no idea how hard this was for Ben to do - or how necessary. "You understand why you’re being punished?"

"Pa," Erik wailed and wiped at his face. "Please don’t?"

Though he rarely repeated himself, Ben gave Erik another chance. "Do you understand why you’re being punished?"

Erik managed to sob, "Yes, sir."

Ben nodded toward the worktable. "Turn around, Erik. Take down your trousers."

The somber mood in the house as Ben struggled to concentrate on the ledgers was as stifling as the humid air outside. Not only was he not interested in the figures in front of him, he was distracted by the fact that Adam was still not home to do his chores and Marie had no idea where he was. Would Ben never get all his sons back in line?

Ben held fast to the rule that punishment did not excuse the boys from their regular responsibilities. When a reasonable amount of time had passed since Ben had punished Erik and Joe, he leaned in the doorway to the boys’ bedroom and suggested that they complete their chores.

Erik very slowly and wordlessly stepped down the ladder from his bunk above Adam’s bed.

"Joe’s bottom’s hot." The youngster sniffled as he lay on his stomach on his bed and rubbed the seat of his trousers.

Ben imagined Joe’s bottom was hot after the spanking. But the youngster would be given no sympathy for receiving something he had deserved. He also would not be excused from the evening meal. "Both of you will be at the table for supper."

Ben’s order caused Erik to close his bloodshot eyes as he answered, "Yes, sir, Pa."

Now to reinforce today’s lesson. "And you will ask permission to go beyond where your mother and I have said you may, you will obey, and you will be respectful. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Pa," Joe murmured as he slid off his bed.

"Yes, sir." Erik rested a sympathetic hand on Joe’s shoulder.

Ben watched the boys as they walked past him and toward the back door. Then he approached the dining table and the insufferable ledgers. All his adult life he’d been writing in ledgers and journals and logs. At sea, in the chandlery in Boston, at his uncle’s shop and bank in Philadelphia, when he had worked for Thaddeus in Cincinnati, several of those years in Illinois and Missouri, and now here in New Orleans. Why was he always and forever involved in an occupation that required entries and orders and billing and journals? When, exactly, had he acquired this acute dislike for math? And where the deuce was Adam?

Sniffling announced Joe’s presence as he entered the front rooms holding replacements for the nearly spent candles on the dining table. Ben started to order the boy to stop his crying but found, much to his surprise, that he couldn’t. It wasn’t Joe who influenced Ben’s decision. It was the boy who walked up behind Joe - Erik’s squinted eyes and the way he hunched his shoulders gave the distinct impression that he was frightened of Ben.

The man’s stomach went from sour to frozen. Here were times past repeating themselves. Ben remembered being on his guard around his father after first feeling his father’s razor strop. He recalled how apprehensive Adam had been around Ben after the voodoo incident. Now here was Erik. His blue eyes were swollen and wounded-looking, his shoulders stooped, his movements deliberate, his whole manner one of dejection. His son’s misery pierced Ben’s heart and then anger sliced into his veins. Why in thunder was there so much trouble with the boys lately? Why did Joseph have the misguided thought that yelling and slapping and kicking were acceptable behavior in this household? Why had Erik persisted in his poor behavior and ignored his parents’ warnings until Ben had had to take a belt to him? He had half a mind to lecture the two of them. Remind them that he was not the reason for their unhappiness – their choices were.

Ben grabbed the ledger books and then stormed from the house, shouting over his shoulder for the boys to tell their mother he would be home in time for supper. And, Ben fumed to himself, if he could be home in time for supper - with all of his responsibilities - then most certainly a fourteen-old-boy should have no problem. Where was Adam anyhow?

Disobedience. That’s what Father had called it when John or Ben had been remiss in their duties. Ben had learned early on to keep his chore slate clean if he didn’t want to experience the consequences of his actions – or inactions. Oh, he’d been into all sorts of mischief and the saints knew he’d been no stranger to an occasional bout of trouble but he’d known better than to neglect his chores.

To avoid colliding with other people on foot, Ben slowed his pace as he neared the Cathedral. His thoughts slowed as well.

The market area was characteristically noisy with conversations, the clatter of boot heels and horses’ hooves, sawing and hammering as new buildings took shape and old ones were repaired or shored up, the shouts of vendors who offered food and trinkets, and the ever-present rumbling moan of steamboat stacks.

Ben stood with his back to the Cathedral and gazed toward the levee. The broad, usually murky Mississippi River was on the other side of those embankments, he knew, and water always soothed him. Even if he couldn’t see it, just knowing it was there was enough.

Water seemed to lure at least two of his sons, as well. Adam and Erik had probably spent many hours near the river as they’d watched the boats unload their cargoes of produce and people and pull away again heavy with sugar, tobacco, and cotton. The boys knew better than to go near the wharves and riverside warehouses unaccompanied but more than once Ben had seen them darting back toward the square and the Cathedral from the northeast levee. He probably should have taken them to task but they’d grown accustomed to roving the streets and they’d never been in trouble with the law because of their curiosity.

Then again, perhaps Ben should have been unyielding with them about their explorations. Perhaps if he’d kept a closer eye on the boys then Erik and Joseph wouldn’t have felt safe enough to meander about outside their boundaries. Apparently Adam worried so little about being hurt that he roamed the thoroughfares without permission at night.

Although he didn’t want his sons disobeying him, Ben understood the lure of discovery that a big city offered a boy. He’d grown up in Boston and Philadelphia and he’d visited New York several times. He’d explored streets outside of his established boundaries, too. And aside from some cuts and bruises, and often a sore bottom when his transgressions had been discovered, no harm had come to him.

The past half dozen years in New Orleans had unquestionably been good for Adam and Erik. The boys were surrounded by, and had friends from, a number of different backgrounds. They were acquainted with people who spoke German, Italian, and Greek. Their mother was Creole. Ben’s sons did not stare at Haitian women because of the color of their skin. They enjoyed plays, magic shows, and circuses. Ben was a subscriber of a library as much for Adam’s enjoyment as for Marie’s and his. His sons had everything Ben wanted for them. But maybe there was something else that Adam and Erik and Joe needed.

Absolutely nothing the boys had been introduced to in the city elicited the same bright-eyed anticipation as when Marie and Ben told them each summer that the family was leaving for the country. Nothing else brought out full-throated shouts of jubilation like when they jumped off the wagon and ran toward the small cottage that Ben rented from Daphne de Ville’s brother. Marie and Ben hoped to escape the fever that killed so many people; the boys seemed to consider the weeks away from the city one extended, festive celebration.

In the country the boys begged to be allowed to sleep outside, they ate enough for twice their number, the color in their skin deepened as their hair lightened, and discipline problems were few and far between. They still had chores at the cottage property and they were, as always, prone to pranks and mischief. But above all that, there was in each of the boys a heightened expansive and easy-going nature.

Perhaps they should live in the country. Where the boys would have more room-

But Ben had to use part of his savings to live in the country for those few weeks each summer. How could he support a family there? A small farm hadn’t a chance against the enormous plantations and he would never own another human in order to compete in any endeavor.

The robust splashes of a riverboat paddlewheel churning the river jerked Ben’s attention back toward the levees. The Mercury was headed upriver for Natchez. From there she would either journey in the direction of the Ohio and the Northeast or she would work her way up the Mississippi to the Missouri and the West. Ben had stood in the breeze countless times and almost without fail it whispered to him. West, it sighed as it ruffled his hair. West, it murmured as it rippled his shirt. West.

Rough laughter from two passing workmen jolted Ben from his reverie. Instead of dreaming of the country out west, he’d best put himself in motion toward the east. He propped the ledger books against one hip and trotted toward the shop.

Ben still had one of the ledgers in hand about an hour laster as he leaned against the shop counter discussing the morning’s wagon theft with Franklin.

The shop door opened. Michael Sedakis, a policeman Ben had known since his second day in New Orleans, stood with a hand at the back of Adam’s neck. Adam was as taut as a soldier at attention. There could be only one reason for Sedakis’ escort - Adam was in trouble.

"Caught him stealing bread in the market square," Sedakis announced with official detachment.

Ben went still, gripping the ledger in mid-air above the countertop. Without warning, disappointment and disgust combined in his blood to forge white-hot anger. Stealing? Adam had been caught stealing? Was there to be no end to the trouble from his sons?

"He was with some other boys, Ben." Now Sedakis’ voice was that of a concerned friend. "Some of them set up a distraction. That’s when your boy took a try at snatching a loaf of bread." Sedakis lowered his hand from the back of Adam’s neck. "And we’re certain now who broke the windows in the shops and houses."

The only part of his body that Ben could move was his eyes. After they slid to Adam’s white face, and witnessed both guilt and dread there, Ben knew before Sedakis told him that Adam had been party to the vandalism.

Sedakis said the words anyhow. "It was Solomon Millne and Jeremiah Carnell . . . the Adolphus boy . . . and two others that sound to be Henri Bienville and your Adam."

If it had been any other man sharing the information with Ben, he might have had reason for doubt. But Sedakis had a well-merited reputation for never reaching a conclusion without ample proof. And even if the man had had no evidence at all, the accuracy of his words was confirmed in Adam’s tense body and wide eyes. Had the accusation been unfounded, the boy would have said, "Pa, that’s not true." Instead he stood mute.

Ben’s anger flashed, melting the icy shock that had frozen him in place. He slammed the book to the countertop, the impact shattering the air like a rifle shot. As if there hadn’t been enough wrongdoing on Adam’s part lately, now the boy was stealing! To say nothing of his part in the vandalism.

Never in Adam’s fourteen years had Ben felt such overwhelming disappointment in his son’s behavior. After curtly telling Franklin that he was leaving for the day, Ben nodded his thank you to Sedakis and put his hand firmly against Adam’s back to direct the boy outside. Ben was only dimly aware of the horses and carriages and wagons and men’s shouts to one another and the distant hollow echo of the riverboat stacks as they released steam. He stormed toward home, mentally challenging Adam not to stay abreast of him. And as he walked, his thoughts raced.

Stealing! A behavior not tolerated in the family and forbidden in the Bible. And more deceit from one of his sons. And willful destruction of someone else’s property. Ben stopped so a wagon could pass on the street and then, after a quick look around to confirm his whereabouts, he gripped Adam’s left arm and crossed to the corner. He remembered the vow he’d made on the porch almost a week ago and knew what he had to do when they arrived home. Adam’s punishment must be stern and it must be something the boy would be a long time forgetting. By the time they entered the house through the front door Ben had banked enough of his anger to take the belt off the nail on the wall for the second time that afternoon with composed deliberation. As he did so, he felt Adam’s arm go limp. Then he directed Adam to the woodshed in the far back corner of the property.

Following a violent storm that had destroyed the old three-sided woodshed years ago, Ben, Adam, and Erik had put together a new outbuilding large enough to hold not only the firewood but also tools and a small worktable. The structure, of necessity, had space between the boards so air could flow and keep the wood from rotting in the ever-present dampness. As Ben shut the woodshed door behind him, sunlight sliced through those slits and cast brilliant angled stripes across Adam.

Ben stood with his feet apart as he readied himself for what lay ahead - what must be done. "Would you like to tell me what you were thinking?" he ordered irately.

"Yes, sir, Pa." Adam’s voice did not sound near as affirmative as his answer.

"Well?" Ben waved his left hand in an indication that Adam had best get on with his explanation before Ben lost an already precarious hold on his temper.

"We were- " Adam looked down briefly and then rephrased his first word. "Jeremiah, Solomon, Gus, Henri and I were at the market."

"I know that, Adam." Ben kept the belt in his right hand as he crossed his arms at his chest. "And might I remind you that you were at the market when you should have been home doing chores?" Ben checked his temptation to dress down the boy as if he were an insubordinate sailor.

Adam continued his story. "Jeremiah said he bet none of us could steal a loaf of bread."

How utterly asinine to do anything on a dare. Ben saw how the boy’s dark blue eyes showed indecision. If he was waiting for Ben to speak he would have to wait a while longer, until Ben trusted himself to talk in a normal manner. Ben nodded for Adam to continue.

"We planned a way to distract people in the market and we decided that I should be the one to steal the bread. And so they did what we’d planned. And I took the bread. And the policeman caught me." Adam delivered the sentences with the same dreary tone as if he’d been reciting a hated school lesson. His eyes, in contrast, were alert and nervous.

Ben rubbed his face with his left hand. To Adam, stealing the bread had been something to do to impress his friends. But starving people had died in Europe for the same reason. It was only by the grace of the merchant and Sedakis that Adam wasn’t in jail. And then there was the fact that he’d broken a Commandment. What in heaven’s name hadn’t Adam done lately?

Adam shifted from foot to foot. "When you caught me the other night?" He raised his left shoulder and tilted his head toward it. "When I was climbing in the window?"

Ben prepared himself to hear what Adam had not told him before. What Adam had kept from him for days. What Ben still wouldn’t know if Sedakis hadn’t told him. His neck muscles tensed. Adam would do well to tell him everything. And quickly.

The boy spoke so softly Ben had to lean closer to hear him. "That was the night we broke the windows in the houses by St. Charles Street." Adam waited. "We broke the shop windows before that," he added with a tremor in his voice.

"You broke the shop windows," Ben said tightly.

"Yes, sir."

"You had to break the shutters to do that, didn’t you?" Ben leaned his head back and looked at Adam from the bottoms of his eyes. He watched for any sign of insolence or deception from his son.

Adam glanced around him as if he might be seeking a path of escape. "Yes, Pa."

"Look at me!" Ben ordered harshly.

The boy’s face blanched as he obeyed.

In case Adam had any doubts, Ben told him they were a long way from finished. Then he asked, "How do you intend to right what you’ve done?"

"I’ll . . . I’ll pay for it . . . the bread."

"Pay for it," Ben repeated. It was good that Adam earned money by exercising horses because he would need no small amount of funds to repay these debts. And he would repay these debts. Ben looked directly into his son’s eyes. "Tomorrow you will apologize to the people whose homes you damaged and you will make arrangements to pay for the repairs. You will apologize to the shop owners whose windows you broke and if they request it you will work for them after school until you have repaid them for the damage." Ben pointed an index finger at his son to underscore his next statement. "And if you ever climb on that roof again I will have your hide. Do I make myself clear?"

Adam straightened. "Yes, sir."

The knotted muscles in Ben’s neck were causing his head to hurt. He looked from the tops of his eyes when Adam said, "I need to tell you something else, Pa."

"Something else!" Ben didn’t realize he’d shouted the words until he saw Adam cringe.

"Yes, sir."

The last of Ben’s patience flowed away like a low tide. "Well?"

Adam shifted again, brought his hands to his sides, and then quickly put them behind him. He was stalling, looking for the right words.

One son had already tried to avoid punishment today. Ben was not about to accept it from his fourteen-year-old. "Get on with it," Ben growled. He took a step nearer to Adam, who moved back. "Now."

"After I met Jeremiah and Solomon"- the words flew from Adam’s lips- "I started smoking. Cigars."

Stealing. Slipping out at night. Destroying property. And now he’d admitted to smoking? Adam must have some thought to the kind of tanning all of this was setting in motion. Ben narrowed his eyes as he realized that was exactly what was happening here. Adam thought he knew how bad this punishment would be - and he intended to have it cover every infraction he could recall. The boy had no idea what he would be feeling in a few minutes. No idea at all.

Adam licked his lower lip. "They had bourbon, too, but I didn’t drink any." He made the mistake of closing his eyes for a moment. The tears started. He sniffled and then finally relented and brought a hand from behind his back to swipe at his nose.

Ben pulled in a deep breath. Then another. "Do you still smoke cigars?" he asked evenly.

Adam shook his head and wiped at the tears on his cheeks. "No, Pa. I know you don’t allow it."

Any other time those tears would have made Ben’s throat tighten. But not today. Those tears were long overdue. And they were only the beginning. "Are you still sneaking out at night?"

The boy looked up at him in wide-eyed shock and answered with a yelp. "No, Pa."

Ben was as determined as Adam to get everything into the open. To resolve this once and for all. "What other ways have you disobeyed?"

Adam sobbed, caught himself, and then spoke hoarsely. "I haven’t, Pa. Not since . . . not since you paddled me. I tried to steal the bread. Nothing else."

"Nothing else!" Ben waved a hand toward the heavens. "Thunder, Adam! You broke the law!"

"Pa- "

"You stole the bread."

The boy threw his arms in the air. "Pa, I’m sorry! I’m- "

Adam’s irritation gave vent to Ben’s. "And did you ever stop to think why you shouldn’t do those things?!"

The right answer, Adam. It had better be the right answer.

The boy was breathing through his mouth now, all pretense of controlling his tears forgotten as they dripped from his chin. "I shouldn’t have . . . done them because . . . they aren’t respecting . . . what belongs to others."

Ben mentally picked up the hammer to drive the spike. "In other words, you were disrespectful."

Adam took an involuntary step backward, his mouth slightly open. His sorrowful eyes slid again to the belt in Ben’s right hand.

Ben pressed ahead. "And what were you when you didn’t do your chores today?" His voice strained. He cleared his throat in an effort to relieve it.

"I . . . I disobeyed you." An alarmed awareness settled on Adam’s pale face.

"And when you kept all of this from me? What was that?"

There was nothing from Adam’s lips; he was taking short breaths through his mouth.

"What is it when you lead people to believe something other than the truth, Adam?" Ben demanded sternly.

At long last, Adam said, "Deceit."

Although Ben was certain he already knew the answer, he asked, "Do you understand why you are being punished?"

The boy’s voice lowered as he seemed to gather all his might to handle the inevitable. "Yes, Pa."

Ben turned his son by the shoulder and told him to take down his trousers. Adam obeyed and then dutifully leaned over the worktable. Ben prayed for the strength to do what had to be done with each hard but controlled slap of the belt to Adam’s bottom – he prayed even more fervently with each wail it set off. After he had given Adam more swipes than he had ever given one of his sons, Ben lowered his arm to his side. Then he sent an unspoken plea to the Almighty that he’d never have to use a belt on Adam again.

Resting a strong hand on Adam’s shoulder, Ben meant to turn him so they could end this as they had other punishments - with reassuring words. But Adam pulled away, sobs shaking his slender body. Ben cleared his throat and softened his voice as much as possible. "Adam . . ."

The boy kept his back to Ben and lowered his head to his arms on the top of the worktable.

There was nothing for it, Ben told himself. Adam needed time alone. They would talk this through later. He opened the woodshed door and stepped outside only to be astonished by the brilliance of the late afternoon sun. Adam’s sobs weakened to whimpers.

Ben crossed the courtyard, grateful he didn’t encounter any of the family as he opened the backdoor even though he wondered where they were and what they had heard. In his bedroom, he paused to study his hands as he hung the belt on the nail in the wall. He’d been told once that he had an artist’s hands but he’d never asked what that meant. He used them to play his fiddle and he used them to grip thick ropes. He used them to pick up delicate flatware and he used them to heft wooden crates.

His hands had enfolded his infant sons, had grasped little arms as those sons had learned to walk, had guided spoons to mouths that had opened like a newborn bird’s, had rested over young hands as they had learned new skills, and had patted backs and cupped chins and tapped noses. Thank the saints that his hands were more often the bearers of love than the instruments of correction.

Not for the first time he reminded himself how inexorably bound love and discipline were. Given those two things and patience, his sons would mature into righteous men.

The boys were as quiet and uncomfortable at the supper table that night as they often were in church. Instead of fretting about the stack of pillows he always sat on to reach the tabletop, Joseph seemed relieved by their soft cushioning. Adam sat with one leg under him, as he had since the time Ben had given him the advice years earlier. Erik, who seemed to have forgotten the counsel, shifted about so much that his chair soon creaked in objection. The boys’ words consisted mainly of "please" and "thank you" and "ma’am" and "sir." There was none of the normal chatter and teasing and challenging. No laughter or snorts or strangled coughs. Not one of them wanted dessert. The moment they were excused, Adam and Erik withdrew to their room. Joe walked alongside Marie toward the kitchen, a wad of her skirt clutched in his left hand. Alone at the table, Ben leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands from the top of his face downward. He was weary to the bone. But this was not fatigue born of grueling labor. This was exhaustion born of overworked emotions.

He stood slowly and walked to his chair in the parlor. He did not want his pipe. He did not want a brandy. What he wanted - no, what he needed - was quiet and time to think.

His need for quiet would not be met; he knew that. Wandering in through the open windows were the crunching sounds of carriage wheels as they turned the corner. And the thump of horses’ hooves on the dirt street. Muffled talk as men walked by. Melodious voices as women passed. The music from a violin wafted Ben’s way and he idly wondered if someone was playing for a roomful of guests or to fill a lonely hour.

He was aware of the noises but it was another sound that he heard most clearly: Adam’s and Erik’s subdued sniffles from their bedroom. As upset as he was with the boys, their crying tore at his heart. He was more accustomed to easing away the tears that childhood wrought or talking through a youthful calamity until he was finally blessed with a faint but reassured smile from his son. No matter how warranted they were, Ben loathed his sons’ tears.

Ben leaned sideways in his chair and reached to the round table for the pipe he hadn’t wanted moments before. He tamped down the tobacco and then lit a sliver of wood from the oil lamp. As he eased back in the chair he crossed his right ankle to his left knee, rocked his chair, and smoked his pipe.

One way to avoid those tears would be to forego all punishment and Ben loved his sons far too much for that. Disrespect led to prejudice and bigotry and disregard for the law. Disobedience could bring about trouble with the law as well and the mistaken belief that they were not responsible for the results of their actions - to say nothing of creating danger to their own lives. And then there was lying. People didn’t trust a liar. And a man had very little when he didn’t have his word. And all of it - disrespect, disobedience, lying - it all inevitably led to self-loathing. Ben wanted hope and honor and faith for his sons. If it took some tears to achieve that goal, so be it.

He had been tough on the boys today. He knew that from the way they didn’t meet his eyes, walked far around him, had trouble answering him in anything but a restrained, nervous voice, bit at their lips, moved with care, and shifted on their feet. He knew from his own childhood punishments that the boys’ bottoms would ache for a while, especially Adam’s and Erik’s, a distressing reminder of what had happened this day. But he’d been fair. He always gave the boys a reasonable chance to mend their ways. And punishment was rarely delayed and never belabored, and it always fit the wrongdoing. He hadn’t been nearly as harsh with them as life would be if they didn’t learn these lessons now.

But had they learned the lessons?

Ben expected occasional misbehavior from the boys, but why where they all getting into trouble at the same time? And why had all of this trouble come about in the first place? Usually there was time enough to head off worrisome behavior. How often had he watched one of his babies reach for something fragile or hurtful and quickly turned their attention to a safer, more interesting object? How often had he startled when one of his sons had decided to take on something he wasn’t strong enough for or knowledgeable enough about - and then gently suggested a way to avoid harm? How often had he only had to raise an eyebrow or clear his throat to obtain a sincere "excuse me" or "I’m sorry" from one of the boys? Why hadn’t he seen this trouble coming?

Well, he thought as he blew a circle of smoke, if he expected his sons not to lie then he’d best not lie to himself. Truth was that he hadn’t seen the trouble coming because he hadn’t been with the boys enough to take note of the warning signs. They’d eaten more suppers without him these past few weeks than they had probably had without him in all the years before. And even when he’d been home his thoughts had been about the shop and money and record keeping. He hadn’t seen trouble brewing because he hadn’t been watching the pot.

Ben straightened from his slouch and pulled up a footstool. He might not be in command of a lot of other things in his life right now but he could control one thing - he could spend time with his family the way he used to. It would seem they needed his attention as much as he needed their love. And a family’s love was the greatest blessing God could bestow.

Something annoying brushed against Ben’s cheek. With his eyes closed, he flicked at whatever it was. It touched his face again. He muttered and rolled over only to have something unyielding push into his side. What on earth was in the bed?

He opened his right eye only as much as necessary to see what it was and then he moaned. It wasn’t so much what was in the bed as what wasn’t in the bed - him. He’d fallen asleep in his chair. Marie must have put his pipe on the tray on the table. And she’d turned out the oil lamp. And she’d tucked a sheet over him, the corner of which was tickling his cheek.

When Ben braced a hand on each chair arm and started to straighten, every muscle and joint in his body told him that he had slept in a rocking chair with the damp night breeze blowing on him. Ben lifted the sheet and pushed himself from the chair with his left arm, leaning heavily to that side. Thank heavens Marie had taken off his boots for him or his feet, which were the only things that weren’t hurting, would have been in on the protest. Was this the same body that had awakened refreshed after having slept in a rope hammock while a ship had tossed about? Was this the same body that had slept on a blanket on the ground and had been able to move about without a complaint the next morning? Ben comforted himself with the knowledge that this was the same body that had turned quickly enough to catch Pierre Lafitte off-guard at sword point in the courtyard the other day. Well, quickly enough to surprise Adam by holding a wooden spoon on him.

Adam. No doubt Adam would be sore this morning, too. Please let Adam have learned his lesson yesterday, Ben prayed. There’d been so many talks and lectures and paddlings these past few weeks. None of which had succeeded in steering the boy back to the right course. And then yesterday had brought the worst trouble of all. Ben needed to talk to Adam. He dropped the sheet on the chair and put his hands to his back.

Yes, he needed to talk to Adam but Ben decided he would wait until later in the day. Adam needed time to consider his poor behavior. Adam needed time to understand that Ben’s trust was earned, not freely given. Adam needed time to be worthy of Ben’s confidence again, to do as Ben had instructed and apologize to the owners of the windows he’d broken. But Adam also needed to hear that Ben loved him.

Ben slowly leaned to the right, then forward, and then to the left. And what of Erik? He, too, had been in a lot of trouble recently. But he’d been full of remorse when Ben had stepped into the kitchen. He had been anxious at the sight of Ben’s belt. And he’d been brokenhearted after the tanning. When he’d been a little boy, Erik’s day had been ruined if Ben had frowned at him. Even now a stern look was generally all that was required to get Erik’s attention, and Ben hoped that would continue. Ben needed to talk to Erik this morning. Reassure him. Remind him of the rules.

And Joseph. Ben leaned forward and let his arms hang loose. Joseph and he needed to have a hug and then they needed to have a talk about the proper way to accept punishment. Ben treasured the boy’s high spirits and almost unrelenting energy. But tantrums like the one in which Joseph had indulged yesterday would not be tolerated.

Only when Ben stood straight did he become aware of someone watching him from the doorway.

"Good morning," he said to the little dark-haired youngster he’d just been thinking about.

Joe, clad in a crumpled nightshirt, leaned against the doorframe, standing with one bare foot atop the other.

Ben bent his knees and then sat on his heels. He smiled as he held out his arms in invitation. Joe ran to Ben, giggling all the way. He couldn’t have been out of bed for long because he was still warm despite the morning’s unusual chill. Ben rested one hand behind Joe’s back while he brushed the wayward curls off Joe’s forehead with the other.

"You and I need to talk, Joseph." Ben put his hands at Joe’s waist.

"Don’t touch Joe’s bottom," came the hasty warning as Ben lifted the boy.

"I hadn’t planned to." Ben braced one arm behind Joe’s knees. The thought of sitting down didn’t interest Ben and he doubted it appealed to Joe either.

"Whewe awe Pa and Joe going?" There was no worry in the voice, only curiosity, as Ben walked down the hallway.

"I thought we might see what kind of morning it is." Ben opened the back door only to have Joe hold out a hand as if he could catch a sunbeam.

"It’s bwight," came the youngster’s opinion. He leaned his side into Ben’s chest. "And cold."

Ben closed the door behind them. This pocket-sized New Orleans native had no idea what cold was. And the only snow he knew about was in books or paintings. "This isn’t cold."

Joe straightened but kept an arm over Ben’s shoulder. "Is too!"

"Son, when I was your age I walked through snow this deep on me." Ben pointed to Joe’s chest. "It was very cold but I slid down hills and built things out of snow and had snowball fights."

The boy nodded. "Adam says snowball fights awe mowe fun than thwowing shells."

Ben startled before realizing that his son was not talking about oyster or clam shells but about the shrimp shells that Adam, Erik, and Joe were so fond of flicking at one another – outside, at Marie’s insistence. He had no idea Adam could remember snowballs; the boy had been so young the last time he’d seen snow.

"Ohhh," Ben assured in a deep voice, "snowball fights are a lot more fun than throwing shells." He hefted the boy and tilted his head back slightly. "You’re getting big, Joseph."

The youngster bent his left arm and pointed to his muscles. "Joe’s weal stwong."

"I can see that. I don’t suppose you’re much of a baby anymore."

"Baby!" Joe’s expression of affront whacked Ben back in time to when another dark-haired little boy had been offended by the very suggestion that he was a baby and had asserted, "Min!"

"Let’s talk about not being a baby, shall we?" Ben suggested. He picked one of the glowing orange trumpet vine flowers and tickled Joe’s chin with it. The boy immediately snatched the blossom and put it atop his nose.

"Guess what," Joe ordered.

Ben turned his head to one side and then the other in a show of deep thought. What had an orange, pointed nose? "I’m not sure."

"Howse," Joe declared and tossed the bloom into the air.

"Horses don’t have orange noses."

Joe’s eyes widened. "Some of ‘em do."

Ben laughed so deeply that Joe shook in his arms. "I have never seen an orange-nosed horse."

"Well . . ." Joe said the word slowly. Ben recognized that his son was imitating him. Each of the boys did that from time to time; and each of them looked at him from the tops of their eyes and grinned as they did so, much to Ben’s amusement. "Just because you don’t see one that doesn’t mean they awen’t thewe."

Ben bit at the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Joe’s philosophical turn. "Where did you hear that?"

"Ewik says it."

Ben nodded and slowly crossed the courtyard. Anything was possible in Erik’s magical world. "Oh he does?"

"Um hum."

Ben slid his tongue from one cheek to the other. He had told himself he wasn’t going to let this happen again - letting one of the boys distract him from what he’d set out to discuss. "What we need to talk about," he said with new resolve, "is what happened when I spanked you yesterday."

"It huwt," Joe declared.

"It was meant to," Ben affirmed.

Joe reached behind him and felt the seat of his nightshirt. "It’s not hot now."

Ben took a deep breath to stifle a chuckle and returned the conversation, yet again, to what he wanted to discuss. "Yesterday when I told you to go with me to your room, what should you have done?"

"Wun," was Joe’s simple answer.

"No, you should not have run," Ben said firmly. "And you should not have told me no either."

Ben felt Joe’s head against his chest again. "Ewik says Joe shouldn’t say no.’"

"He did? When?"

"When we wewe all in bed. He said not to say no to you like that. And Ewik said to not evew fight with Pa."

Ben’s surprise was followed closely by pleasure that Erik had taken to heart the talk about setting a good example. "And did Erik say anything else?"

"Um hum."

After a short wait, during which Ben reminded himself that Joseph was getting very good at simple answers, Ben asked what else Erik had said.

Joe’s answer was soft and Ben could have sworn he heard embarrassment. "Spanking things."

Ben turned so the sun was on his back but the move put the light directly in Joe’s eyes. The only place in the shade was the wrought-iron bench. Ah, well, back to sitting. "What kind of spanking things?"

Joe shifted in Ben’s hold. "Don’t sit down, Pa."

"I’ll sit on the bench and you can sit on my legs."

"Joe’ll stand."

Ben lowered the boy toward his lap. "Put one leg under you."

Joe’s forehead wrinkled but he did as instructed.

"Now sit. See how your bottom doesn’t touch anything?"

The boy looked down. "It does a little." When Ben cleared his throat, Joe dropped the attempt for sympathy. "It’s all wight."

"I know it is." Ben was anxious to hear about this brotherly talk. "What kind of spanking things did Erik talk about?"

To Ben’s amusement, Joe held up his right hand and pointed to his fingers with his left hand as he had the day before. "Not to say no. And say siw. A lot. And be bwave."

"Be brave." Ben wondered what Erik had meant by that.

Joe nodded and brushed at his bangs. "Ewik said don’t twy to not get spanked ‘cause it won’t wowk. Adam says to just get spanked and ovew with it."

It would seem that Erik and Adam were offering their brother some sensible counsel - at least on this matter. "And is that what you did yesterday?"

The boy shook his head.

"What you should have done yesterday was what I asked. You should have gone to your room with me. And we would have talked about what you did - "

"We alweady talked, Pa." The pointing index finger was aimed in Ben’s direction.

Ben straightened his back and leveled a stern look at his youngest son. "You will do well to pay close attention, Joseph."

The boy lowered his hand to his lap.

"The next time I tell you to go somewhere with me for a spanking, you will do as I say. And after we have talked, you will take down your trousers. I will spank you. You will accept your punishment. Do you understand?"

Joe stopped biting his lip. "Yes, Pa."

Ben leaned against the bench back and stretched his arms along the top rail. "And do you understand why?"

"Because you said to."

"And do you understand why you should obey?"

Joe’s chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "Because you said to."

"Because the Lord said to, Joseph."

The boy looked up so quickly that Ben wondered if he had expected to see the Lord sitting there beside them.

Ben rested a hand on the back of Joe’s shoulders. "The Lord has His rules, too." He’d told Joe this before and he would undoubtedly tell him this many times in the future just as he had told Adam and Erik. "Some of the rules for your mother and me are that we should take care of you and be sure that you know the right way to live so you’ll be a good man when you grow up. We should be fair and understanding. And the rules for you include that you should obey and respect and tell the truth. When your mother and you and I do those things, and when we love one another, then we are worshipping the Lord just as much as when we go to church."

Joe was thoughtful a moment and then his eyes brightened. "If Joe is good Joe doesn’t have to go to chuwch!" he exclaimed.

"No . . . no, that’s not what I meant, Joseph." Ben wondered how a boy could turn a man’s words on him so quickly. "Even when we do as we should we still go to church." But Ben had to admit it had been a good try.

There was another of those deep, shoulder-lowering sighs from Joe. "All wight."

"So the next time we need to have a spanking, you understand how you will behave?" Ben prompted.

Joe’s face was as solemn as a mortician’s. "Joe’s not getting mowe spankings. Not evew."

Given Joe’s tendency to take action before thinking, Ben seriously questioned that prediction. But he nodded seriously and answered, "I’m very glad to hear that, Joseph."

His son patted Ben’s knee. "Joe, too."

Ben lifted the boy and put him on his feet. "Now I need to speak to your brother," he said as he stood.

Joe curled his toes and smiled down at the moss that grew between the bricks that paved the courtyard. "Which one?"

"Erik."

"Ewik’s not thewe." Joe waited for Ben to face him. "He alweady went to school. He went with Adam."

Ben looked up at the sun to be sure he hadn’t overslept. "Why did they leave so early?"

Joe shrugged and then pointed toward the kitchen. "Ma knows."

Ben patted the boy’s head. "Why don’t you get dressed and then we’ll have breakfast?"

His answer was a shouted, "All wight" as Joe ran toward the house.

The aroma of baking bread and sizzling ham met Ben at the kitchen door. He paused to watch Marie lean toward the oven and pull out a pan of golden croissants.

"I can’t believe Erik left before those were ready," Ben observed.

Marie startled and almost dropped the pan. "Why do you sneak about, Benjamin?" she scolded when she had placed the pan on the worktable and caught her breath.

Ben walked to her, denying that he had done any such thing.

She pointed to his sock feet. "That is not good for the stockings, you know this. You will tear them on this brick and then it will be the job for me to make them whole."

Marie could fuss all she wanted. Ben had no intention of allowing her to foil his plans. He pulled her to him and indulged in the first kiss of the day.

The woman didn’t fuss about that. Instead she delivered a kiss of her own. Afterward, as she put a hand to his unshaven cheek, her eyes locked with Ben’s. "How is it with you this morning?" she asked softly.

What she meant, Ben knew, was that she was worried. "I’m fine," he answered.

"No, you are never fine when you must punish one of the boys." She shook her head. "To punish all three in one day . . . no, you are not fine, Benjamin."

The day must have been hard on her, too, even though she would never admit it to him. "You aren’t fine either when I have to punish one of the boys." He kissed her again and then propped his chin on top of her head. "Thank you for putting that sheet on me last night."

"I could not bear to wake you. I feared you would not return to the sleep." Her words vibrated against his chest.

A new thought occurred to Ben. "Did you?"

She tilted her head back. "Did I?"

"Did you sleep?"

Marie eased from his embrace. She busied herself by turning the ham slices that were sizzling in a pan on the oven top. "You are hungry?"

Ben recognized her attempt to evade his question. He leaned a hip against the worktable and crossed his arms at his chest. "You didn’t sleep, did you?" he asked gently.

She shrugged exactly the way Joe had only moments ago in the courtyard. "I sleep when all of my family sleeps." Marie reached for a plate and then began placing the ham slices on it. "It is most difficult to sleep when one’s child cries."

Ben rubbed at his face. "I heard Adam and Erik, too."

"Oh, but they were asleep quickly." Marie put her hands under her apron and used the fabric to help her hold the pan as she scooted it off the burner. "I think perhaps the boys’ bottoms do not hurt as much as their parents’ hearts."

An easy smile lifted the corners of Ben’s lips. "I think perhaps the boys would argue with their mother about that."

She traced an imaginary line across his chin. "I love you, Benjamin."

"I love you, Marie."

Joe’s aggravated voice barged into the kitchen. "These do not wowk. They do not wowk." He tottered to his parents.

Ben leaned back and studied the youngster. "You seem to have your trousers on backwards, Joseph." For a bright boy, Joe sure had trouble getting dressed.

The boy looked down at his legs. "They’we wight."

Marie’s mouth tightened as she fought a laugh. She quickly turned from Ben toward the oven and slapped a hand over her mouth. Her move did no good; Ben could hear her muffled giggles.

Ben rallied a goodly amount of composure and sat on his heels. "Come here, son, let me help."

Joe waddled to Ben, holding his trousers up at the sides. "They do not wowk, Pa."

"Yes, well, that’s because- "

"Pa!" Joe yelped as Ben lowered the trousers. "Ma is wight thewe!"

Ben spared a glance at Marie’s shaking back. "She won’t look."

Joe considered Ben’s assurance and then stepped out of the trousers. His shirttail nearly touched his ankles.

"You’re still wearing your nightshirt," Ben said with a frown.

"It’s all wight."

"It is not all right."

Joe leaned forward. "Paul does it," he said of his current best friend. "Paul weaws the same shiwt fow days and days."

Ben turned the little trousers around. "Perhaps Paul doesn’t have another shirt." He tapped Joe’s nose. "Your nightshirt is meant to be just that, young man. Worn at night." He held the trousers toward the boy. "One leg and then the other."

Joe stuck out his lower lip. "Joe knows how to weaw twousews."

That was why he was always putting them on backwards, no doubt. "I apologize," Ben said as the boy stepped into the trousers. Joe immediately took them from Ben’s hands and pulled them up. "Do you need help with the buttons?" Ben asked with a smile.

His son leaned forward until their noses almost touched. "No," he said firmly.

"Can you thank me for helping you?" Ben hinted.

Joe looked down and began the arduous task of pushing the buttons through the buttonholes. "Yes."

"Joseph- "

The bright eyes danced with mischief. "Thank you," he said in exaggerated obedience.

Ben jabbed an index finger at the boy’s chest and said in the same overstated tone, "You are welcome."

Joe’s laugh went up and down the musical scale and then he threw his arms wide to hug Ben’s neck. Ben stood, holding the boy, and then discovered that Joe had only managed one button on the flap of the trousers. They’d left the trousers behind.

Joe threw his hands over his eyes. "Don’t look, Ma!"

Marie put her arms in front of her waist and leaned forward with a high-pitched giggle that matched Joe’s.

"Those awe twouble. Just twouble." Joe peeked through his fingers. "Joe’s gonna weaw a nightshiwt all the time. No twousews."

Ben put the boy on his feet. "That’s too bad," he said solemnly as he shook out the clothing.

Joe tilted his head. "Why?"

"Step in," Ben instructed as he held the trousers in front of Joe’s feet. "Because I thought you might go on an errand with me."

Joe showed an amazing alacrity at not only pulling up the trousers but buttoning them, too. "Joe’s weady."

By then Marie had enough control over herself to say, "First you eat."

Ben eyed the steaming croissants and returned to the first thought he’d had when he’d entered the kitchen. "I can’t believe Erik left without having croissants."

"He did not," Marie said breezily. "This is the second group."

"Erik!" Ben waved from the shop doorway toward the open-air market a block away to catch his son’s attention that afternoon.

The boy turned, his movements wary. He glanced both ways and then crossed the street. "Ma sent me to get some things," he rushed to explain when he stood in front of Ben.

Ben’s eyes flitted to the food-filled basket that Erik carried. "Looks like you picked some fine oranges there."

Erik nodded and then bit at the side of his lower lip, waiting for Ben to speak.

Ben leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and nodded to an acquaintance that passed by. Then he returned his attention to his son. "I have a business proposition for you." When Erik’s forehead wrinkled, Ben rephrased his sentence. "I have an offer I hope you’ll agree to. Interested?"

After a flicker of surprise, the blue eyes brightened. "Yes, sir, Pa."

Ben put his arm around Erik’s wide shoulders and directed him into the shop. "Franklin and I need extra help. We’re having trouble finding strong, honest, dependable men." He waited to allow the attributes to settle into Erik’s thoughts. "I realized today that I already know someone like that."

Erik looked up anxiously. He seemed to be following Ben’s line of thought but also looked worried that he might be misunderstanding. "Who’s that, Pa?"

"Well." Ben stretched the word and eased Erik to one side as Franklin walked toward the back office. "You’re strong and dependable and honest. But I wasn’t sure if you would be interested in working for us for a few days."

"Ya mean and miss school?" Erik asked hopefully.

Joe wanted to avoid church. Erik hoped to steer clear of school. What, Ben wondered idly, did Adam wish to circumvent in life? "No, I won’t need you until after school. I’d like your help then."

Erik shifted uncomfortably and looked down at the basket. "Even though I got in trouble yesterday, Pa?"

Ben smiled at the opportunity Erik had given him. "Your punishment is over, Erik. So, how about tomorrow? And the day after that?" Ben was fairly sure he knew why Erik didn’t answer immediately. The boy was probably trying to guess how sore his behind would be in twenty-four hours. "Of course, if you’d rather wait another day- "

"I’ll start soon as you say, Pa," Erik assured. He glanced to the side. "I’ll be real good help soon as my bottom feels better."

Ben clapped the boy on the back. "Why don’t you think about it and we can talk about it tonight after supper?"

The joy that spilled over Erik’s face and relaxed his stance trickled into Ben’s heart and warmed it. "Sure, Pa, that sounds fine."

As Ben walked out the door with his son, Erik narrowed his eyes and seemed to confirm a decision. "I’m gonna buy a real pretty sword."

Oh no he wasn’t. Ben fought down his panic by pointing out that Erik wouldn’t earn enough money to buy a sword.

"Well, then," Erik announced, "I’ll get a pistol."

No, he wouldn’t earn enough money for that either.

Erik tilted his head. "You think maybe I’ll have enough money to buy one of those three-pointed hats?"

A three-pointed hat? Oh! A tricorn. "I’m sure we can arrange for that."

"A pirate hat!" Erik yelped in glee.

His mouth pulling up on one side, Ben suggested, "You probably ought to take that food home, son."

"All right, Pa." Erik started to skip and then seemed to realize he was a grown person with a job. Then again, maybe he was a little too uncomfortable for skipping. Instead he took very judicious steps down the sidewalk.

Considering how firm he was with the boys about not lying, Ben’s conscience prickled. Erik wouldn’t be earning enough money to buy a hat. Then again, Ben hadn’t said that Erik would be. All he had said was that they could arrange for the purchase of one. And Ben could do that . . . so he hadn’t told his son a lie. Ben raised his eyes to the heavens and accepted that if his sons developed the same ability to rationalize their behavior as he had then he deserved the retribution.

That evening, after the boys helped Marie clear the table, and after Ben and Erik talked about work, and while Marie was reading aloud to Erik and Joe about a soldier during the War for Independence, Ben walked to the boys’ bedroom to speak to Adam. He paused in the doorway and noted that the lantern on the small table between the lower bunk beds was turned up. Adam lay on his stomach on his bed, his pillow rolled under his neck, as he read from a book. Thaddeus was curled at Adam’s bare feet. It was a familiar scene – and a reassuring one. Now if the boy would just stay away from Jeremiah and Solomon.

Ben rapped a knuckle on the doorframe and Adam reluctantly moved his eyes from the printed page. When he saw Ben he immediately rolled to his side and was standing before Ben had crossed the room. Thaddeus just as quickly moved to the warm spot that Adam had left behind on the bed.

"What are you reading?" Ben asked with interest as he motioned toward the book.

Adam glanced down at where his thumb was between the pages, marking his place. "Two Years Before the Mast, Pa."

Ben nodded his approval. He’d just finished reading the account of Dana’s years at sea himself. "It’s a good book. Have you gotten to the part about how they cure the cowhides in California yet?" he asked easily.

"Yes, Pa." Adam seemed to think a moment as he looked toward one side. "There’s a lot about . . . California." Ben sensed that the boy wanted to say more but instead he fell silent and raised his wary eyes, again, to Ben’s face.

Ben had expected hesitation. Adam never recovered from reprimands or punishment as quickly as Joseph. And a reassuring smile never made his world right again as it did for Erik. Adam was always quiet and introverted for a while after Ben had had to correct him. Ben could see that there would be no pulling light conversation from Adam tonight.

"While Erik is working for Franklin and me, I would like for you to take over most of his afternoon chores. I’ll assign some of the lighter ones to Joseph but he’ll probably need your guidance." Ben paused and tilted his head. Even during the worst of times, Ben had been able to discern Adam’s feelings just by looking at his son. But there was no reading Adam’s expression this evening. "I’ll write down the extra chores so there won’t be any misunderstandings."

Adam inclined his head ever so slightly. "Yes, Pa."

Ben lowered his arms to his sides. Despite the fact that Adam did not seem to want to extend the talk, there was more to discuss. More to be settled. "What did you do today?"

"I . . . uh," Adam stammered and then stopped.

Ben hadn’t heard his son falter like that in years. It was always a sign of deep-seated apprehension.

The boy cleared his throat. "I spoke to the people that I needed to . . . uh . . . speak to about the things that I did."

Good. He’d followed orders. Ben wondered how the shop and property owners had reacted. "And what did they say?"

Adam tilted his head again as he considered his words. "Quite a lot."

Ben waited. Even for Adam, who loathed reliving unpleasant experiences by discussing them, this amount of reticence was unusual. "Have you squared things with them?"

"Yes, Pa." Adam shifted on his feet.

The boy was taking simple answers to an extreme. Ben crossed his arms at his chest and raised his eyebrows. "And?" he asked sternly.

Adam’s eyes welled with tears. "I need to work for one of them for a few days. To repay him for the damage."

Only one? Ben found that difficult to believe. "And the others?"

Adam’s mouth went straight. He drew in a deep breath. "They wanted to know why I was the only one who apologized to them."

Ben didn’t doubt Adam’s words but he did find it difficult to believe that none of the other boys’ parents had held them accountable and insisted that their sons make an apology. Perhaps Adam had only been the first to do so.

He turned his attention back to his own son and debated on what course to follow. Ordinarily Ben would ask Adam how he planned to accomplish the tasks before him and, if necessary, gently guide the boy to the answers. But perhaps he shouldn’t do that this time. It had been good for Adam to stand alone as he had faced the people whose property he had damaged. It might be equally beneficial for Adam to solve the problems he had created. The end result could be a powerful strengthening of the lesson Ben hoped Adam had learned about consequences.

Ben couldn’t think of anything else he needed to discuss with Adam so he nodded. "Good night."

Expression appeared on Adam’s face then, but it was relief and not the affection that usually ended their day. "Good night, Pa."

Ben watched the boy a moment longer, wondering if Adam was ready for a hug or a pat on the shoulder. He usually tried to embrace the boys as soon after a punishment as they were willing to accept the warmth.

But Adam was so taut that he looked like the tap of a finger might splinter him.

Well, Ben thought, the tanning had been the worst Adam had ever received. It would take time for Adam to return to his usual behavior. Ben would respect that. After an awkward silence, he turned and slowly left the room.

The first afternoon on the job, Erik stepped back from the warehouse shelves and shook his head. "Pa?"

Ben looked up from the crate he was opening by wedging the prying tool between the lid and the side. "Yes?"

The boy kept his back to Ben and put his hands at his waist. "I’ve been thinking."

There was no steady speed to Erik when it came to speaking. He was either at full sail or needing constant short breezes to keep him from being dead in the water. At the moment he seemed to need encouragement to set sail so Ben replied, "Yes?"

Erik tilted his head. "This doesn’t make sense."

Ben decided he’d wait for a good strong gust to put Erik in motion. To that end, he started to shrug off the youngster’s comment and suggest he get back to work, but something in Erik’s manner stopped him. Erik seemed to be in a place of his own and at the same time holding the door open for Ben. After putting down the lever, Ben dusted his hands and walked to stand beside his son. "What doesn’t make sense?" he asked cautiously.

The boy waved his right hand toward the shelves of inventory. "The way this is."

Ben was lost. "The way this is?"

"Well, see, the thing is . . ." Erik stepped forward. "Seems like most of what we need is back there and we’re hardly using these things up here. Don’t it make sense to have those things we use most up here?"

Erik had been working for an hour and a half and he already had suggestions – helpful suggestions, at that – on efficiency? Ben eyed the boy askance. "That’s a good idea, son."

Erik grinned as he faced Ben. "I’ll do it."

And he did. By the end of the afternoon, Erik had the items that were most in demand closest to the front and placed in alphabetical order. When Ben suggested it was time to leave, Erik shook his head.

"Not yet, Pa."

Ben chuckled and took the opportunity to lean against the wall. As he did so, his son’s profile reminded him of someone else he’d watched stocking shelves. She had wiped the back of her hand at the delicate blonde hair that never had stayed pinned back. Had moved her lips as she had whispered her thoughts to herself. She had been so absorbed in her work that Ben would have sworn she hadn’t known he was watching. And then Inger had turned, smiled at him, and said, "I never thought to marry a lazy man." And the words had risen and fallen, a voice as pure and tender as the timbre of a harp.

"Pa? Pa?" Erik’s voice eased Ben back to the present. The boy slapped his hands against the sides of his trousers. "I figure I’m ready now." He turned to look over his shoulder at the room. "Something wrong, Pa?"

Ben shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "No." He studied the neatly stacked shelves, all the items lined up like soldiers on parade. "Your mother used to do the same thing."

"She did?" Erik shot a quick, proud look at his work. Ben wondered if there would be more questions about Inger - although he could think of very little that he hadn’t told Erik about his mother. His answer came when Erik announced, "I’m hungry."

After a sharp laugh of surprise, Ben slapped Erik on the shoulder. "You’ve done a fine day’s work, son."

Again there was the cheek-rounding grin and the blue eyes full of accomplishment. "Thank you, Pa."

After they’d stepped to the sidewalk, Ben closed the warehouse door and locked it. "You’re welcome." Ben dropped the key into his jacket pocket. At last Ben could ask the question that had been nagging at him. "Why were Joe and you on Dumaine?"

Erik’s smile vanished as he stiffened and slowed his pace. "You mean when Aunt Jeanette saw us?"

Ben continued to walk, nodding.

Erik ran to catch up and then walked sideways to Ben. "We went up there to see Lafitte’s place." He turned to face where he was going and fell into step.

By "Lafitte’s place" Ben assumed that Erik meant the blacksmith shop. The pirate haunt. He should have known. "And did you?" he asked curiously.

His son kicked at a small rock and then quickly apologized to a man ahead of them when the thing ricocheted off the back of the man’s boot. "I think so."

He wasn’t sure if they’d seen the blacksmith shop? "You think so."

"Well, Ma said it was over there on Bourbon and we thought we remembered what she said but we sure didn’t see anything that looked right to us."

Ben smiled with an idea and stepped near the wall of a building. Erik followed his example. "If we walk quickly I can show you where Lafitte’s shop is." When Erik’s face filled with surprise, Ben held up a cautioning finger and added firmly, "With the understanding that you will not take Joe there without permission."

Erik’s face went glum. "I ain’t never doing anything without asking again."

Those words coming from an active, curious ten-year-old were a bit hard for Ben to believe. "I have your word that you will not take Joseph there without permission?" he prompted impatiently.

"Yes, Pa," Erik said, his tone serious.

Ben gave Erik a slap on the back and pointed to the right. "Turn here. The blacksmith shop is at the corner of St. Phillip and Bourbon." Ben’s spirits rose, as they always did when he engaged in a bit of mischief with one of his sons. "You were a block away when you were on Dumaine."

Erik hurried to match Ben’s strides. "Well, I’ll be," he said in wonder. "We almost found it."

Ben laughed and then grabbed Erik’s elbow. "If we run we can stop by the German bakery and take home some strudel."

He didn’t have to put any wind in Erik’s sail after saying that.

Ben could hear Erik and Joe whispering in their bedroom long after they should have been asleep. Following another supper conversation in which he had taken only minimal interest, Adam had gone to bed more than an hour ago. He’d appeared so tired at the table that it had taken a great measure of Ben’s self-discipline not to express his empathy. After all, Adam’s fatigue was a natural outcome of his misdeeds.

Marie looked up from her reading and lifted her brows as Erik and Joe’s voices grew louder. "There is the school tomorrow for Erik." She repositioned herself on the settee but kept her dark eyes on Ben. Her statement, Ben knew, was a thinly veiled implication that he should put a stop to the murmur of the boys’ tête-à-tête.

To that end, he walked in his stocking feet up the steps to their room only to find Erik and Joe sitting on the floor and looking worriedly in his direction.

"It’s late," he pointed out in a deep whisper. A quick glance at Adam’s bed confirmed the boy was sprawled on his stomach and sound asleep. Thaddeus looked up from the foot of Adam’s bed, thumped his tail, and then promptly closed his eyes again.

"Did you weally, Pa?" Joe asked softly.

Erik sat straight and pointed to his younger brother. "He don’t believe you showed me the pirate’s place."

"He doesn’t believe you," Ben corrected and immediately winced. Why did he always leave himself open for-

"I know he don’t, Pa. But he’ll believe you." Erik gave a firm nod of his head.

Ben sat on his heels in front of the twosome and directed all his attention to Joe. "I did take Erik to see Lafitte’s blacksmith shop. And I will take you by there on Market Day provided you continue to behave as you’ve been taught."

"All wight!" Joe cheered and when Ben held a finger to his lips Joe quickly looked at Adam and whispered, "All wight."

How on earth did Adam sleep with his brothers making all this noise? Motioning to Joe’s bed, Ben suggested he might want to get to sleep soon, and obey, if he expected to see Lafitte’s shop.

Erik understood that the message was for both of them. And it was no suggestion. He walked to the ladder that led to his bunk above Adam’s.

Joe stood more slowly. Ben lifted the boy and sat him on the edge of the bed. He pointed to the pillow for Joe to lie down.

The youngster had no more stretched out than he asked, "Will you tell Joe a quiet stowy?"

Ben grinned at the boy’s attempt to stay awake a bit longer. "I already told you one."

"Joe needs another."

Ben tapped the freckled nose. "Joe needs to go to sleep." He leaned down to kiss Joe’s forehead and then walked to stand beside Erik’s bunk. To his stunned surprise, Erik extended his right hand instead of holding out his arms for a hug.

"Night, Pa." When Ben hesitated to shake hands, Erik explained. "It don’t seem right for workers to be hugging goodnight."

Well, no, probably not. Ben licked his lower lip and put on his best businessman face. "Goodnight, son." He shook Erik’s hand, stowing his tongue in his cheek to keep from laughing.

Ben had just stepped out of the room when he heard Erik whisper, "See? Told ya Pa took me to see that pirate place."

"Let’s go thewe tomowwow," came the younger brother’s eager response.

And what would Erik say to that? Ben wondered.

"I gotta work so I can get a pirate hat. Now go to sleep," Erik ordered, sounding extraordinarily like Adam did at times.

Ben sure wished Erik had answered Joe’s idea in a different way. Wished he’d said something about-

"Besides," Erik added, "I gave Pa my word. And a man’s word is real important."

Ben smiled. How rewarding fatherhood could be when a son understood a valuable lesson.

Ben woke up earlier than Marie on Monday, but by the time he had shaved and dressed she was already in the kitchen cooking breakfast. With the smell of bacon sizzling in the cast-iron pan, and knowing that the ingredients she had on the worktable indicated they would have griddle cakes, too, he smiled and walked up behind Marie in the kitchen. He slid his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. "Smells good," he whispered.

She turned and peered up at him and her dark eyes sparked. Ben promptly brought his hands to his sides because her hands were balled into fists that seemed affixed to her hips; her heavy breathing had nothing to do with his kiss. "I will speak to you and you will listen. You understand this?"

Oh, yes, Ben understood. She was angry. He had no idea what she was irate about. Especially this early in the morning. He wasn’t long in hearing the answer.

"Sit." She pointed imperiously toward the stool near the worktable.

Ben was feeling a bit weak-kneed anyhow. Sitting sounded good. He complied.

Marie stalked to him. "You - who are truly the most wonderful father - are now truly the most miserable father."

Ben tensed. Marie seldom spoke to him this way. What did she mean the most miserable father? He’d been very happy until she’d aimed her anger his way.

"This punishment of the boys," she said as she waved toward nothing in particular.

Punishment? That had been last week. Granted, she loathed his use of a belt on the boys. She had expressed her opinions to him. He had explained his reasons to her. They had settled that dispute a long time ago, or so he’d thought.

"It lasts too much."

Sometimes she could confuse him for a moment or two. But he was beyond confused this time; he was baffled. And judging by the way she slapped her hands at her skirt and spun away from him, Marie was growing angrier. He cleared his throat and cautiously ventured into the discussion. "Marie, the boys are fine."

"Fine!" Marie shouted the word so loudly that Ben leaned backward. She whirled again, this time toward him. Her skirts swirled to one side and then the other. "No, Benjamin, he is not this fine as you say."

"He?"

"You see?" As she crossed her arms in front of her chest everything about her bespoke righteousness. "No, you do not see," she corrected. "And this not seeing it is the problem. And this problem it must be attended to and this must be done soon."

Ben propped his right elbow on the tabletop and rested the side of his head against his fist. She was right. He did not see. He was tiring of her exasperation. And he hadn’t had any coffee or tea yet. "Who is not fine?" he asked bluntly.

"Who does not smile?" Marie questioned. "Who has not anything to say at the table? Who goes to the room to read and does not share the time with us after the meal?"

So that was it. Ben sat straight. "Marie, you know as well as I do that Adam needs time. He always has."

"Always has!" Her shout neared being a shriek as she threw her hands in the air. "This is not about a son who is as he always has been. This is about a son who is not as he was. He is overcome. He is the defeated."

"Defeated!" Ben roared and then turned away to pace toward the window that looked out on the courtyard. "Thunder and perdition, Marie! The boy is thinking about what happened and setting things right again." Ben gritted his teeth, resolved to calm down. "That’s all."

"Non, it is not all," Marie said. "Do you not see that he grieves?"

Her words caused Ben to turn in thunderstruck surprise. "Grieves for what?"

"For you," she murmured. "He is as lost as the unloved child, Benjamin. This is not like you this . . . this keeping the love from him."

Ben had never withheld love from his sons and he resented the accusation. He told Marie as much and her anger flashed like gunpowder in a pan.

"You withhold it from him!" she accused. "He watches you always with the seeking eyes and you turn only the unloving ones to him."

"I do nothing of the sort!" Ben slammed his hand against the tabletop and the mixing bowl and spoon shook.

Marie’s eyes narrowed and her voice went dangerously calm. "He is hurt by you. You are hurt by him. But it is you who must make this better, Benjamin. And it must happen maintenant." Marie took careful steps toward the stove.

Ben frowned at her back. He paced to the fireplace, then to the stove, then to the worktable. And then he sat down in the rocking chair and rubbed his hands across his face.

Maybe Marie was right. The uneasiness between Adam and Ben had lasted longer than usual. But why? Yes, Ben had broken one of the family’s steadfast rules after the boys’ punishments; they never went to bed of an evening with misunderstandings or anger between them. Ben had allowed matters to go unresolved overnight with Erik and Joe. But he had corrected that error as soon as possible the next day. Resolution with Adam had not been so easily reached.

Ben had, as always, told Adam that his punishment was over. Adam had paid for his poor behavior and the slate had been wiped clean. But Adam hadn’t fully paid, had he? This time, as never before, Adam had stepped so far beyond the line of willful wrongdoing that he had also tread on Ben’s trust.

Ben and Adam could not go around this issue of trust, for nothing would be solved by that action. Nor could they climb over it and pretend it didn’t exist. The only thing they could do was work together to ease it out of the way.

Then again, wasn’t that what Adam had been doing? Rising before dawn to complete his chores, exercising the horse, attending school, completing both his and Erik’s chores while overseeing Joe’s chores, obeying without delay, being courteous and respectful, and applying himself at school so diligently that he’d been promoted another grade level - weren’t all of those things Adam’s way of showing Ben he could be trusted again?

With anxiety tightening his heart, Ben realized there was no "maybe" to it. Marie was right. Ben and Adam needed to talk. Ben rocked in the chair, aware that Marie had nothing more to say to him and glad for it. He stared at the low-burning fireplace until dawn’s light crept across the brick floor and pooled over the toes of his boots. Determined to speak to Adam even if he still wasn’t sure what he intended to say, Ben waited for the boy to come to the kitchen for breakfast.

Joe bounded in barefoot and flapping around in his nightshirt. He chattered incessantly, pausing only to sneak a strip of bacon when Marie’s back was turned.

Erik wandered in, sleepy eyed but hungry enough to snatch a biscuit as soon as Marie emptied them from the hot pan to a basket. He tossed the biscuit from one hand to the other in an attempt to cool it and then impatiently bit into the hot bread.

Finally Ben asked where Adam was and Erik shrugged.

"He’s gone."

"Gone?" Marie asked in surprise.

"Yes, ma’am." Erik took a bite from his biscuit and then spoke around his mouthful of food. "Said he needed to get over to the stables."

At that news Marie caught Ben’s eye and raised her dark brows - effectively putting Ben on notice to resolve things between Adam and himself. Today.

Walking toward the warehouse later that morning, Ben decided he would leave work early enough to speak to Adam before supper. Lost in his thoughts, Ben almost didn’t notice the slim, dark-haired boy leaning his back against a wrought-iron fence as he gazed at one of the large homes a block to Ben’s right.

It would seem the Lord was helping things along.

Now was Ben’s opportunity to tell Adam that he would like to have a talk later. Ben waited for a chance for passage between the horses, wagons, and carriages and then he sprinted across the street. The fleet-of-foot accomplished more of a day than the cautious in New Orleans.

"Adam?" he called when he stepped to the walkway.

The boy seemed to jolt and then turned, his eyes quickly eliminating people in the area until they found Ben. There was a flash of the shy smile Ben associated with his eldest son. But the blue eyes grew anxious as Ben approached.

"Why aren’t you on your way to school?" Ben asked evenly.

Adam looked disappointed, though Ben was at a loss as to why. "It’s not a school day, Pa."

It wasn’t? Ben frowned as a horseman rode by at too fast a speed for the busy street.

Apparently misreading the cause of his father’s disapproval, Adam said, "I’m telling the truth. You can ask Ma."

As a covey of nuns approached behind Adam, Ben took the boy by the arm and urged him to step aside. What were the good sisters doing this far from the convent? Was no one staying inside today?

Even if there was no school, Adam had his morning responsibilities at the stables where he worked for Mr. Alexander. And those stables were nowhere near Bourbon Street.

Adam seemed to read Ben’s thoughts. He raised his head and answered the unspoken question. "I already exercised Temptation this morning," he said flatly.

Ben wished that the horse Adam rode for Monsieur Alexander had some other name. Anytime Adam said he’d taken care of Temptation or exercised Temptation or fed Temptation - well, how were a man’s thoughts to keep from wandering?

Adam’s slender hands flexed as he looked to the side. Ben had noticed that his son had developed the habit of clinching and opening his fists when he was ill at ease.

After a moment of thought Adam pulled back his shoulders and met Ben’s gaze with unreadable blue eyes. "I need to take care of my chores now. Excuse me?"

There was no time like the present, Ben decided, to show Adam that he had noted the boy’s efforts to be trustworthy. And there was no reason he had to wait for evening to have that talk. Ben rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder and jerked his chin in the direction of the Cathedral and the Place d’Armes. "Meet me for lunch?" He waited, hoping for some clue as to Adam’s thoughts.

Adam looked to be calm to his core but an emotional war showed on the face that had been impassive moments before. He lowered his head slightly and, with relief, Ben recognized an expression Adam had had since childhood. That expectant look from the tops of the eyes had always gone together with one of two questions, either "Really?" or "Please?" But neither word followed the movement this time. Instead there was that shy smile and then a soft, "What time, Pa?"

Thank the saints. Here was a flicker of the boy Ben knew. His tense shoulders and neck relaxed. "I’ll see you at noon in front of the Cathedral."

Adam nodded and then quickly said, "Yes, Pa." He licked his lip. "I need to get those chores done first, though."

Ben motioned in the direction of the house. "I’ll see you later then."

After another, "Yes, Pa" and a quick wave, Adam turned on his boot heels and raced down the crowded sidewalk.

The encouragement Ben felt as he watched Adam run toward home - the fact that Adam was striving to regain Ben’s confidence - was fleeting. When he stopped in front of the warehouse, the entry door was locked. Wimberly should have already opened the place. They needed to complete the order for the riverboat Swift which was leaving in the forenoon tomorrow. Ben patted the pockets of his coat, inside and out, until he located the key. Grumbling heated words he’d learned at sea, he opened the lock and swung the door open.

When the shaft of sunlight from the doorway pierced the dark interior, Ben’s first reaction to the chaos he witnessed was that the shelves and bins had been ransacked. But after he’d unbolted the outside window shutters the additional light revealed the disarray for what it was - carelessness. How could the place have fallen into this unacceptable condition in two days? And where in thunder was Wimberly?

Ben jerked off his coat and flung it across the back of a ladder back chair. There was nothing for it but to clean up the clutter. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, Ben swore that the warehouse foreman would rue the day he’d shirked his responsibilities. Within the hour, his annoyance with Wimberly was compounded by the fact that none of the warehousemen reported for work.

Not that the latter surprised Ben. Sometimes he wondered if there were a dozen men in the state inclined to work for a living. It seemed all they did was earn enough money to carry into a gambling den, where they won a sufficient amount to spend on the women in the sporting houses. And those were the ambitious men. The others swapped wages for liquor and a boarding house room for an alley doorway.

With a speed and strength fed by wrath, Ben restored the shelves to proper order. And while he did so, he fretted that the supplies for the Swift had not arrived. Ben leaned his back against the wall. Could they fill those orders and the others Stewart had placed with what he was looking at? Where was that shipment of materials?

One thing was certain: standing still never accomplished anything. He returned to the front room to fetch the sheets of outstanding orders and then forced himself to tally the truth.

The absolute last thing Ben wanted to do when he heard the bells strike noon was to leave the warehouse. He was making headway, substituting more expensive items for what they didn’t have in stock in the interest of fulfilling purchase orders. And he still needed to find day workers or a freighter to deliver the merchandise to the wharves. He had no time to meet Adam for lunch.

Must every decision these days be one of choosing between work and family? It hadn’t always been that way. But if he didn’t turn his energies toward the job he wouldn’t be able to provide for his family. And a man who couldn’t take care of his loved ones wasn’t worth the air he breathed.

Adam was old enough to understand that sometimes there were duties that had to be attended to and if Ben worked through lunch perhaps he’d be able to talk with Adam this evening. Not happy with the choice, but knowing it was the only logical one, Ben turned his attention back to the paper in his hand.

By late afternoon, Ben had the supplies ready for delivery. He was hungry, tired, and grimy and as he drew closer and closer to the shop his irritability deepened at the unreliability of the men they had hired. The last thing he needed to see when he opened the door was the slave trader Noah Jordan leaning on the counter as he offered Franklin a cigar.

Franklin took a step back from behind the counter and his eyes swept Ben from head to toe. "Where have you been?"

Ben held his arms up from his sides, just in case his partner hadn’t noticed the sweaty shirt and the dusty trousers. "Where does it look like I’ve been, Franklin?" He pointed with his right hand, back toward the warehouse. "I’ve been tending what we have been paying three men to take care of. Three men, I might add, who did not darken the doorway today." He looked around quickly. "And where in thunder is Wimberly?"

Jordan raised a silvery brow at Ben’s shouting but Franklin didn’t change his placid expression. Instead he answered calmly, "He quit."

Wimberly couldn’t do that. Ben meant to have the pleasure of dismissing the incompetent fool. "He what?!" Ben took long, angry strides from the front door to the counter. Jordan wisely stepped aside so Ben could stand face to face with Franklin. "What do you mean he quit?"

Franklin’s lips tensed and he seemed to speak through gritted teeth. "He didn’t have any men to help him. I told him we would provide them. But you- " Franklin’s dark eyes narrowed. "You had your scruples and we didn’t hire the only people available."

The only people available? In a city the size of New Orleans? Scarcely. "Surely in all of this city there is someone, besides a slave, to do the job."

"Doubtful," Jordan said sarcastically as if Ben had invited him into the discussion. He didn’t flinch when Ben angrily whirled to face him and instead he continued to share his thoughts. "You’ve lived here long enough to know how life is, Cartwright. Men live to celebrate - they merely work when there’s no alternative. Slaves are your only answer. Holds expenses down."

If it hadn’t been against the law, Ben would have crashed a fist into the man’s prideful jaw. But Ben didn’t want to squander the money it would take to pay the fine. Not on Jordan.

"I’m going to the wharves." Ben all but spit the words at Franklin. He stormed outside and was halfway across the Place d’Armes before he noticed that the sun was setting. With a quick sidestep, he put a hand in front of one of the messenger boys and calmed himself before speaking.

"Peter?" Ben even managed a smile for the barefoot youngster.

"Yes, sir?" Peter grinned in anticipation of being given an errand.

Ben rummaged through his jacket pocket for a coin. "Would you please tell Mrs. Cartwright that I’ll be late this evening? Not to wait supper on me."

Peter eyed the money in his palm and his grin grew larger. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, Peter." Ben watched the boy run toward the Cathedral and then turn the corner onto Chartres. He darted almost as rapidly as Adam could. In the blink of an eye he was gone.

Adam. Oh, thunder. Ben rubbed his forehead. He should have sent word with Paul, an apology. No, that was no way to explain why he hadn’t met his son for lunch. He would do that this evening when he got home.

Heaving a weary sigh, Ben crossed the street toward the river. He needed two strong men but would settle for one. It was imperative to get those supplies down here to the levee. The Swift could not leave port without them. And Ben would not disappoint Sean Stewart.

It was well after midnight before Ben took the paperwork to the shop. He wouldn’t have noticed the letter addressed to him if it hadn’t fluttered off the countertop as he opened the front door. Ben stuffed the signed loading receipts into a cubbyhole at the back of the counter and then held the letter toward the soft glow of the streetlight filtering through the front window.

He knew the handwriting immediately - the letter was from John Sutter. Though they hadn’t seen each other in years, they’d managed to write a letter or two a year. John was determined to settle in California and have Ben settle nearby. He extolled the climate and the abundance of food and the excellent grazing for animals, based on the word of others.

It was a sign of Ben’s exhaustion that he stuffed the dispatch into his jacket pocket instead of opening it immediately. There would be time enough to read; right now he just wanted to be home.

Considering the lateness of the hour, Ben was tempted to go straight to bed without supper when he entered the courtyard behind the house. But Marie would have set aside something for him in the warming oven. Not to eat what she had so thoughtfully set aside would be unkind.

He quietly opened the kitchen door and, after igniting a sliver of kindling from the banked coals in the fireplace, he lit a lantern. Just as he had thought, there in the warming oven was a metal plate filled with chicken, potatoes, asparagus, and carrots. Which would mean that Adam had eaten the first three offerings at supper - and Joe had declined on the asparagus. Apparently no one had refused bread for there was none to be had in the basket on the worktable.

Ben tossed his jacket to a stool and then one end of Sutter’s letter, visible from the inside pocket, caught his eye. He stabbed at a piece of wilted asparagus and while he chewed, he opened the folded paper and smoothed it out in front of his plate.

Ben had never known John not to be enthusiastic and outgoing. His correspondence tended to be the same. In his previous letter, Ben’s friend had recounted his impressions of the Sandwich Islands and had told Ben about his trip to California. At the time that John had written this most recent letter he had spoken with the governor and had received permission to settle on a river in a valley to the west of the mountains. He had purchased an old Russian fur post and now had cattle, horses, and - of all things - a small boat.

His crops, though, weren’t doing as well as he had hoped. Rain had been scarce and in some areas of California there was severe drought.

At this point John suspended his report long enough to inquire about Ben’s family and how business was in New Orleans. He mentioned that he was setting up several enterprises of his own but didn’t elaborate.

Ben stopped in slicing a piece of chicken and frowned at the next sentence that John had written, now difficult to read because of a fold in the paper. He set down his knife and fork and then held the lamp up and over the letter. It was no use. Only John would know what that sentence had said. Ben’s eyes were on the lettering as he put the lantern back on the tabletop but his right hand froze in mid-air.

John was employing a man named Bidwell to watch over the trading post - he called it a fort - that he had acquired. But that wasn’t the news that quickened Ben’s heartbeat. What caused his throat to tighten, and what made him will himself to breathe, was the next sentence. Bidwell and a man named Bartelson had led a party overland to California from the east.

The food on his plate now forgotten, Ben picked up the letter and held the lantern closer. He did not want to misunderstand. He reread every word in the sentence, whispering as he did so.

Bidwell and Bartelson had traveled overland and had crossed the mountains. They had been forced to leave their wagons near Mary’s River and had had a difficult time crossing those formidable mountains. But they were in California.

Ben glanced at the date of the letter. John had written it toward the end of last year.

Although the Bidwell party had arrived successfully, John still counseled against attempting the journey over the mountains.

"It would seem to me," he wrote, "that you have two considerations, Ben. As always, you could take to sea from New Orleans and come around the southern way. Otherwise, I should do this: given Bartelson and Bidwell’s achievement, time will be little enough before a better trail is established. To that end, were I you, I would journey north along the river. When that overland way to this fine land is made, it will undoubtedly be from St. Louis or from a departure point even farther west and you will be in excellent position. There is no question you should go in party and could you be piloted by one of the trapper men familiar with the area that would be best. Whatever your decision, please advise and indicate where I might direct future correspondence."

The trail to Oregon Country was established enough that a party had been able to swing south and west to California. They hadn’t made it with wagons. But they had made it.

Ben didn’t realize that he was standing until he saw his reflection in the window. A man with a lantern in one hand, a letter in the other, and once again the fire of a dream in his eyes.

The sound of bootsteps crossing the courtyard woke Ben and he blinked at the early morning light streaming in the kitchen window. There was no time to stretch his back this morning as Ben heard the muffled noises in the courtyard, including Thaddeus’ happy whimper. Only one son would be awake at this hour and that was the son Ben needed to apologize to for yesterday. When he finally located Adam as the boy was opening the gate to leave, Ben called out and Adam turned to face him.

"Adam?" he asked worriedly.

The boy stood in the dawn’s pale pink light regarding Ben with indifference.

"Son?" Ben stepped toward Adam and then checked himself, realizing his son did not wish to be closer. "I apologize for not meeting you for lunch yesterday, Adam."

Adam shook his head apathetically. "It’s all right, Pa. Excuse me, I need to go to the stables."

Ben grasped Adam’s right arm with his left hand and cringed when the boy’s muscles tightened. "It’s not all right," Ben said. "I had to take care of business at the warehouse but I didn’t send word to you. That was wrong of me."

Adam shrugged and eased his arm from Ben’s grasp. "I knew there was something more important, Pa." He took in a jerking breath. "I need to go to the stables before school, please?"

Ben nodded his permission and then looked toward the flowerbeds along the courtyard wall. No matter what, Adam and he must talk this evening.

While one son brought uncertainty into Ben’s life, another came bearing answers. After school on Tuesday, Erik solved Ben’s problem of not having reliable workmen. And he did so in less than an hour.

"Hey, Pa!" Erik greeted as he returned to the warehouse from an errand at the levee. He rocked back and forth in his boots. "Guess what."

Ben’s day had been hectic and demanding but he knew that he could give the boy a moment of undivided attention now or be harassed for the next half hour. "Yes?" He laid aside Franklin’s handwritten orders for the Acadian. Please don’t stretch this out, Erik.

"I got somebody you need to meet." Erik leaned forward, his eyes rounded, and he lowered his voice. "They’re real nice, Pa."

Well that had been succinct, even if Ben didn’t understand what Erik was talking about. He ran a hand through his hair and then rubbed at the back of his aching neck. "Who is real nice, son?"

"Mr. Daverre and Mr. Prudhomme." Erik tugged at Ben’s shirtsleeve to indicate that Ben should follow him to the front. "Come on, Pa."

What had Erik done? Found two more customers? Was there a point at which a business could be over-blessed? Perhaps the boy could escort the men to the shop. And Franklin. "Erik, I’m busy- "

The boy nodded vigorously. "That’s what I’m telling ya, Pa. They can help."

The only thing that would help right now was to get back to work. But there wouldn’t be any of that until Ben humored Erik. He closed his eyes, blew out a deep breath, and nodded. "Fine."

The two men waiting for Ben in the small front office of the warehouse were tall, muscled, and steady-eyed. "How do you do." Ben extended a hand toward the stranger nearest him. "Ben Cartwright."

"Mr. Cartwright." The man inclined his head slightly. "Jacques Prudhomme." His handshake was strong.

Ben held his hand toward the slightly smaller man. "Ben Cartwright."

"Jean Daverre, Mr. Cartwright." He met Ben’s eyes and seemed to be as busy judging Ben’s measure as Ben was considering theirs.

Both men wore work clothes and shoes. He’d felt calluses on their hands and they looked the type to be familiar with wharves and warehouses. But somehow, even though he couldn’t explain the feeling, something didn’t seem right.

Ben crossed his arms at his chest and decided to listen to what the men had to say. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

Daverre raised his black eyebrows. "Your son told us you need workers."

"Well, I need men," Ben answered slowly as he slid his eyes from one man to the other. "It’s for the warehouse and the wharves."

Prudhomme nodded. "Your son told us."

Which brought up the question of why Erik had been speaking to the men in the first place. He should have run the errand and returned as quickly as possible. Not wasted time conversing with strangers.

Erik could stay quiet no longer. "You know what, Pa? They’ve worked on riverboats. And they’ve been all the way up to Cinsu – Cinsin –"

Daverre’s lips twitched. "Cincinnati."

Erik leaned almost into Ben’s face. "And that’s a long way, Pa."

"Yes, Erik, I know where Cincinnati is." These two men could certainly be the answer to some prayers. All the same, he wished he knew more about them. "How long will you be in New Orleans?"

Daverre answered without hesitation, indicating he was either telling the truth or experienced at lying. "We plan to live here, Mr. Cartwright."

Settle here? Did that mean Ben might possibly be looking at two men who would be steady workers? Reliable? "Have you found lodging?" he inquired.

Prudhomme’s dark eyes glanced at Erik before he answered. "The - accommodations - near the levee are of a somewhat transitory nature, Mr. Cartwright."

In addition to exhibiting a greater vocabulary than the typical dock worker, the man had used understatement at its finest. The area near the wharves was replete with bars and sporting activities and boarding houses where Ben wouldn’t have let Thaddeus sleep. "You might check with Madame Bellevoir," he suggested and gave them the address of the modest hotel. And then, liking the forthrightness and the courtesy of the two men, he asked, "When could you start?"

Daverre smiled slowly. "That will depend on how much you pay, Mr. Cartwright."

How could he have forgotten a detail like that? Ben wondered. He’d been thinking too much of his needs and not enough of theirs.

"He pays real good." Erik’s assurance reminded Ben of the boy’s presence. "I’m gonna buy me a pirate’s hat on Market Day with my money."

Prudhomme’s eyelids closed slightly. "Pirates are not gentlemen as I judge you to be."

Not only were they frank and polite, they had good humor.

"Jean Lafitte was a gentleman." Erik held his head high and seemed to consider himself the equal of any man in the room. "My ma told me that and she don’t lie."

"Doesn’t," Ben corrected. "Your mother doesn’t lie."

"See?" Erik pointed to Ben as he looked at the two men. "And Pa’s known ‘er a long time."

Prudhomme turned to one side and Ben respected the man’s strength in containing his amusement. Daverre quickly looked down and his shoulders shook.

"And anyhow- " Erik cleared his throat and lowered his voice- "how do you know pirates aren’t gentlemen?"

Daverre looked up as quickly as he had looked down and Ben sensed that Erik had inadvertently stumbled onto something.

Prudhomme cleared his throat and then answered with care. "We have had occasion to meet several men of that particular type."

"Pirates?" Erik was beside himself with excitement. "You know pirates?"

Then again, maybe Ben shouldn’t be so eager to let these two into the warehouse. Maybe they knew a little too much about thievery.

"We have three other friends," Daverre said. "They can come by in the morning for you to speak to."

Three more? What was this? A band of robbers?

Ben opened his mouth to tell the men he wouldn’t be needing them just as Michael Sedakis stepped into the open doorway. To Ben’s wonderment, Erik smiled at the policeman as he pulled off his hat. If Ben hadn’t known better, he would have thought Erik knew Sedakis.

"So has he hired you?" Sedakis asked Daverre.

Hired them? Why did Sedakis think that Ben would hire men who’d had "occasion" to meet pirates? He meant to ask just that question but Sedakis put a hand to his shoulder and guided him back into the warehouse.

Ben pointed toward the front room. "Do you know what those men have done?" he demanded.

"Yes," Sedakis said calmly.

He knew? Why wasn’t he arresting them then? "Well if you know they’ve had ‘occasion’ to meet pirates, what makes you think that I would hire them?" Ben attempted to keep his voice at a normal level.

"Ah, Ben," Sedakis said drolly. "They were employed for years catching thieves who worked the wharves upriver and in Mexico." He held his hat in one hefty hand and dusted it with the other. "That’s why I asked Erik to bring them here. I knew you’d be an honorable employer for them."

Prudhomme and Daverre had what? And how did Erik know Sedakis? Ben wanted to ask his questions but he nearly fell forward when Sedakis landed a strong slap between Ben’s shoulder blades. "It’ll all be fine, Ben. Don’t worry."

Not a chance of that. Ben wouldn’t be worrying until he could get his breath back.

"They said they’ll work for you, Pa," Erik announced smugly as he entered the warehouse. "And they said they’d see you tomorrow morning because they have to find a place to sleep."

Ben coughed to clear his lungs and leaned a hand against the doorframe. Erik had gone to the wharves on a simple errand and had come back with prospective employees who had worked for years in the apprehension of thieves? And he was on friendly terms with Sedakis?

"How- " Ben straightened and took a deep breath. "How do you know Erik?" he asked the policeman.

Sedakis smiled and put a hand on Erik’s right shoulder. The boy looked down and scuffed his boot heel on the brick floor. "Erik helped me catch a runaway horse down at the Place d’Armes a few days ago. Couldn’t have done it without him."

Catch a horse! Erik had put himself in danger like that? Ben rubbed his hands over his eyes and offered a prayer of thanks that the boy hadn’t been hurt. "You stopped a runaway horse?"

"It wasn’t much." Erik answered, his embarrassment evident in his voice. "All I did was hold out some candy and call him." Erik shrugged when Ben looked through spread fingers. "He was just scared."

A runaway horse had been pounding toward a ten-year-old boy holding out candy - and the horse had been scared? Saints above, how many guardian angels had quit their jobs after that adventure?

"So we have the workers," Ben told Franklin as they sat in the shop after Erik had gone home for the day. He raised a brow as he added, "Which means we won’t be leasing slaves."

Franklin turned his teacup around on its saucer. "We’ve been fortunate lately. Business is much better." He looked up at Ben. "Perhaps we can afford someone to help here at the shop, as well? Give us both time to attend to personal matters again."

Ben propped his right elbow on the chair arm and grinned. They’d known each other too long for Ben not to understand what Franklin was really proposing. "You mean perhaps we could get away from each other and then we wouldn’t argue as much?"

Franklin smiled. "That, too." He leaned against the back of his chair and his eyes drifted toward the window. "I thought I might accept Stewart’s invitation and go to Natchez for a visit."

Nodding, Ben agreed that the change of scenery might be good for Franklin. He kept to himself the opinion that the opportunity to be seen with Stewart in Natchez society wouldn’t bother Franklin either. And when he was honest with himself, Ben silently admitted he had other reasons for encouraging his friend. Ben needed to advise Franklin about his decision to sell his half of the partnership and start west again. The news might settle more easily after Franklin had enjoyed a respite.

Ben’s thoughts jumped to his eldest son. Wouldn’t Adam be elated when Ben told him they were heading to California? The boy would be-

Ben’s mind cleared like a cloudy sky swept by a swift north wind. Suddenly he understood. Adam’s words this morning had told Ben what the problem was between them.

"I knew there was something more important," the boy had said. That was the reason for Adam’s reserve and aloofness and that was the source of the distance between them - Adam no longer felt important to Ben. Adam no longer felt loved.

Ben stood quickly. He had to get home. He had to talk to Adam. Now. He spared a moment to tell Franklin he was leaving for the day and then stepped to the sidewalk, pulling on his coat as he went. How could Adam believe that he wasn’t important? How could he believe that Ben didn’t love him? And why hadn’t Ben understood until now?

He couldn’t recall what route he had taken home but he had a feeling he had walked it with great speed when he forced himself to slow as he stepped to the sidewalk in front of the house. It would not do to rush in on Adam. He needed to approach the boy with the same calm and reassurance that he would use with a frightened colt. Marie had told him years ago that Adam was like a beautiful young horse. "You must be tres careful of his spirit," she had warned. Ben had heard her words, too, but he hadn’t truly understood them until now.

Ben was almost to the gate when Marie screamed.

"Marie?" he shouted toward the courtyard. Where was she? What was happening?

Marie’s voice pieced the air with a horrified wail. But she was not calling back to Ben. "Adam!"

Ben whirled as Marie’s voice echoed off the courtyard walls. Adam? Saints in heaven, what was happening? Where was Marie? Where was Adam? "Marie! Adam!"

The courtyard gate slammed back against the wall and Erik and Joe ran toward Ben.

"Where is she?" Ben yelled as he looked around.

Erik pointed across the street, toward Mrs. de Ville’s house. Joe whimpered as he looked solemnly at Ben. Why were the boys’ eyes red and swollen?

"Stay here!" Ben ordered and ran into the street oblivious to carriages and horses and wagons.

"Marie?" Ben ran around the side of Mrs. de Ville’s house, brushing against the azalea bushes. "Marie!" He sprinted through the open iron gate and into the pristine back gardens.

As he had learned to do at sea, Ben took in the scene in a matter of seconds. Two workmen were hovering near Marie, an almost finished masonry base for a new statue sat nearby, Marie’s face was ashen and her eyes as wide as Ben had ever seen them. Marie staggered as she held Adam limp in her arms. A third workman bent to help her, preparing to lift Adam. From the back porch Daphne de Ville gasped, "Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu!"

Thank the heavens Marie was safe. But what had happened to Adam? Ben had his left arm under the boy’s back and his right arm under the slack knees in an instant. Home, get Adam home, was the only rational thought he could manage. "What happened?" he shouted over his shoulder at Marie as he ran, heedlessly yet again, across the street toward the house.

"Erik!" Ben ordered." Hold that gate open!"

Ben looked down at Adam’s ghastly white face. "What happened?" he roared again as Marie ran to his side.

"It is as if- " Marie sounded like she was far behind Ben. "It is as if he fainted."

Fainted? Adam? What the deuce had happened? "Joseph! Open the door!" Ben jerked his head toward the back of the house. When the youngster stared at Adam limp in Ben’s arms, his mouth open and his eyes huge, Ben shouted, "Now!!"

Joe scrambled to obey and by the time Ben took the steps, all at once, Joe was crying. "What’s wong with Adam?"

There was no time to answer that now. No time for anything but Adam. Ben glanced at his eldest son again. Dear heaven he was white as bleached canvas. His mouth was open and raspy sounds were coming from it. Not good deep breaths. Oh dear Lord. His bed, Ben decided, get him to his bed. He would be safe there.

Ben sat on the edge of Adam’s bunk and threw the boy face down across his lap almost in one move. Adam jerked, gasped, and gagged. From somewhere in his terrified mind Ben recalled that a person who was faint needed to keep his head down. He slid the boy off one of his thighs and let Adam hang across his right knee.

"Wet a napkin, anything!" Ben yelled to no one in particular. He rubbed hard between Adam’s shoulder blades. Breathe, son, breathe, he willed silently. Still the boy rasped - too near the sound Ben had heard come from dying men.

Safe. Keep Adam safe. Rub Adam’s back. Ben had done it so many times when Adam had been little. Patting his back, rubbing his back, telling him stories. And the toddler’s little right foot had bounced up and down, up and down, in a perfect rhythm as Adam had slowly lulled himself to sleep.

Something cold and wet slapped into one of Ben’s hands. He put an arm under Adam’s chest, lifted, and held the soaked cloth to Adam’s throat. Where had he learned that? The memory was indistinct. Once someone had held a cold rag against Ben’s throat after they’d pulled him from the sea, after he’d heaved his stomach into painful spasms, and the wet cloth against his throat had helped to stop the gagging and the retching and the-

Marie’s soft hands touched Ben’s right one. "I do not know if these are still strong for they are old." With that she pulled a slender crystal stopper from an oval porcelain bottle no larger around than a candle. She waved it under Adam’s face and the boy jerked again, wheezed, gagged, and then his hands shoved against Ben’s thigh as he pushed himself up.

Adam’s struggle seemed to take everything out of him. He gasped again and went limp.

Ben knew one way to get the boy to take a good deep breath. He slapped his hand across the seat of Adam’s trousers as hard as he dared. The boy came up like a whale from the depths. Ben put his left arm in front of Adam’s chest and sat him up. "Lean against my arm," he ordered.

There was nothing else in Ben’s world but watching the boy’s back for any sign that he was taking the deep breaths that he should. And listening, oh Lord, listening and praying for the rasp to go away. Adam’s back moved with short, gasping breaths. Ben put his hand over the middle of Adam’s chest. The young heart was thundering like a racing horse’s hoofs. Ben braced the boy as he leaned forward against Ben’s left arm.

"Breathe, Adam. You’ll be fine. Breathe, son. Steady." Ben continued to talk but had no idea what he was saying. He listened. The rasp was gone. But the breaths were still shallow. Too uneven. And Adam’s heart was pounding against his chest as if it wanted to escape.

"Slow, Adam. Slow." Ben leaned until his forehead touched his son’s back. "Slow. Slow."

Marie’s voice echoed as if she were at the end of a long, winding cave. ". . . Thaddeus." She sat at Ben’s left side, rubbing Adam’s hands and staring at his face.

Ben raised his head to look at her, all the time murmuring, "Slow, Adam. Steady. Easy. Steady, Adam."

Why were Marie’s eyes red? Had she been crying? What were those wet spots all over the front of her apron?

A shallow breath from Adam. Another one. Steady, Adam.

"I should not have allowed him to." Marie’s hands kneaded Adam’s. "I told him of Thaddeus dying . . . and I thought he was better, he stopped the crying . . . and then he saw where Daphne’s men made the tomb for Thaddeus and . . ."

Her voice faded. Once again all Ben could hear was Adam’s breathing.

Steady, Adam. You’ll be fine. Pa won’t let anything happen to you. That’s good. Breathe evenly. Good.

"He’ll be all right, Joe." Erik’s soothing voice drifted into Ben’s thoughts. "He’ll be all right." From the tone in Erik’s voice, Ben wasn’t sure if Erik was trying to reassure Joseph or himself. Ben looked around the room until he located Erik and Joe standing at the foot of Joe’s bed. Joe had his arms around Erik’s legs and Erik had his right arm around Joe’s shoulders. "He’ll be all right. Pa’s got him." They were both crying, too.

Thaddeus was dead, was that what Marie had said? So that was the reason for the red eyes and the tears. Adam was breathing slowly, evenly. Thank you Lord in heaven. Thank you.

Marie’s hand rested against the back of their son’s head and then smoothed down the hair that was damp with sweat. Adam was so fortunate to have her for his mother. She ceaselessly cared for him. She understood and encouraged his interests in art and music and theater. She did not tolerate his temper. She delighted in presenting him with new poetry books. She expected good manners. She still played checkers with him even though he won so often that no one else would.

What was she saying to Adam? It was almost the same thing Erik had said. "You will be all fine, Adam. You will be fine." She was forcing herself not to sound worried, Ben could hear it in her strained voice. He could see it in her trembling hand. How had he ever found such a wonderful woman? Ben leaned forward and kissed her wrist. Then he leaned his cheek against it. He was surprised to realize that the deep sigh had come from him and not from Adam.

Adam. Ben sat up and returned to rubbing Adam’s back and shoulders. Adam’s slender build disguised solid muscle. Ben slid his hand down one of Adam’s arms, feeling the heat through the shirtsleeve and also the strength there. Adam’s heart was slowing, easing its way back to normal. Adam coughed and turned his head toward Ben. He was pale but there was the faintest pink color in his cheeks.

What was that moving to Ben’s right? Why was Marie kneeling on the floor near Adam’s legs? She was kneeding the backs of his calves gently. "You will be all right," she said again with the softness of a cooing dove.

He kept Adam there - sitting across his lap, leaning against Ben’s left arm with his eyes closed - as he rubbed slow, easy circles on the boy’s back.

Much better. Shallow breaths. But controlled nevertheless.

He was such a slender boy. More Elizabeth’s build than Ben’s. He had her eyes. Her laughter, though deeper voiced. And the smart mouth and bad temper Ben recognized as his own.

Breathe, son. Slowly.

Adam could be cuttingly sarcastic. Calmly reasoning one moment and carelessly impulsive the next. Vulnerable. Ben had known that about Adam since before the boy could walk. Adam was crushed when he sensed he’d fallen short of the mark.

A warm soft hand touched Ben’s cheek. He raised his eyes in that direction and Marie spoke. "We will leave you alone now, Benjamin. Adam requires the quiet and the rest." She kissed his forehead and then lowered her hands, gathering Erik and Joe with a quiet grace and soft words.

"Boys," Ben called. They turned toward him immediately. Worry was etched deeply into their young faces. They, too, needed reassurance. Ben forced a smile and hoped it was convincing. "He’ll be fine. He just needs to rest."

At first they didn’t seem sure whether to believe or not. Then Adam drew a deep breath - an unsteady one, but a deep one. Ben continued to slide his hand against the boy’s back but his eyes were on his younger sons. They scrutinized Adam a moment longer and then looked at each other and smiled. Not their usual big, dimple-causing smiles. But smiles nonetheless. Erik and Joe turned toward the doorway, looked over their shoulders at their brother, and then trailed behind Marie.

They were good boys. So was Adam.

Adam. All these weeks of insolence and disobedience and deceit - the memories drifted through Ben’s mind as he watched his son. The jutting chin, the mocking eyes, the challenging stance. So unlike Adam. Where had it come from? Ben hadn’t been that way at fourteen. Had he?

But, then, when he’d been fourteen he’d been at sea. Convinced that he had known everything and astounded by older men’s ignorance. Cocksure of himself, that’s what Captain Stoddard had called Ben.

Fourteen.

Could Adam truly be fourteen? Had it been almost that long since they had left Boston bound for the west, full of dreams and endless enthusiasm? Could it be ten years since those hopes had died in the land between the forks of the Platte River? Ten years since they had left Inger’s body in an unmarked grave and turned back east?

Ben had promised Adam that they would live out west on the frontier. And here they were in a city as much like any in Europe as Ben had ever visited. Ben had intended to stay only until he could save for ocean passage to Yerba Buena. But there’d been the trial back in Natchez, and then he’d met Marie, and then there’d been Joseph’s early birth. And business had been bad, so bad. And then . . .

"Pa?" Adam’s voice had rarely sounded so good to Ben even if it was weak, almost sleepy.

"Um?" Ben leaned close to his son’s face.

"I’m sorry."

Ben frowned at the dark hair curling behind Adam’s left ear. What did Adam mean he was sorry?

"I . . . I know- " Adam stopped so abruptly that Ben startled, afraid the boy had fainted again. But Adam turned his head so he was looking away from Ben and toward Joe’s bed.

What was Adam trying to tell him? "Son?" Ben asked so softly he wondered if Adam could hear him.

Adam sighed. Deeply. A good, strong sigh. "Thaddeus died, Pa."

"I’m so sorry, Adam." Ben rested his hand against the back of Adam’s neck.

"He . . . he died while he was sleeping. And . . . and he’s gone, Pa." Adam’s voice broke with the burden of emotion.

"Yes, he is. We were blessed to have him, weren’t we?"

But Adam’s thoughts were somewhere else. He continued as if he hadn’t heard Ben’s remark; he probably hadn’t. "Deiter’s gone."

Deiter? The boy had been Adam’s friend when they’d first moved to New Orleans. He’d died from the fever years ago, before Ben had married Marie. But come to think of it, just after Dieter’s death had been the only other time that Adam had fainted like he had today. He’d quit breathing and-

"And . . . and if I’d just talked to . . . to Martin I never would have done that."

Martin? Martin Colby? Adam’s friend had left for Virginia. How could Adam have talked to him? And what wouldn’t Adam have done?

Adam’s body trembled and then he sobbed. "And you never would have . . . used your belt. And I’m not ever . . . I’m not ever doing anything to get . . . to get that belt again."

Apparently Ben needed to stress again why he had used his belt. "Adam, I punished you because you were disrespectful of people’s property and- "

"Not then!" Adam’s words would have been a shout but his crying made them hoarse and cracked. And the next thing Ben knew, Adam was back to Thaddeus. "And Thaddeus died and you were busy and Erik is all right and . . . and Joe is fine . . . and . . . you don’t want to be here and . . ."

"I what?" Ben interrupted incredulously.

Adam’s sobbing swelled into full-scale crying.

"I’m not angry, son." Ben lowered his voice and called upon all his fatherly instincts. Be soothing; don’t cause Adam to shy away. "I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you."

"I’m . . .I’m sorry, Pa." Adam sobbed and then rushed his words. "I disobeyed you and I lied to you and I was disrespectful to you and everybody else and I tried to make it right and . . . and it can’t be right. It can’t."

What on earth did Adam mean it couldn’t be made right? He’d worked hard all week to accomplish just that. Ben put his thoughts into words only to have Adam jerk away from his arm with a strength Ben wouldn’t have believed the boy could have after what they’d just been through.

Adam stood with his back to Ben and raised his arms. "Not that, Pa. It’s not that." His wail was like a wounded animal’s.

Ben didn’t realize he was on his feet until he was looking down at his son, his patience stretched thin as much by fatigue as by Adam’s unfathomable behavior. "Adam, what in the name of Zeus are you talking about?"

"All of it, Pa." Adam turned to face Ben. His blue eyes peered from behind dripping, dark lashes. His tears hadn’t stopped and his voice was growing huskier. "It’s all ruined and it’s all my fault and I can’t make it right." He called on some inner reserve and squared his shoulders. "It’ll never be right," he said with dull finality.

The emotional gears meshed with a shudder. Ben’s realization that Adam didn’t feel he was loved locked tight with Adam’s belief that nothing would ever be right between them again. Ben ran his hand through his hair and looked toward the open window - toward the warmth of sunlight and the welcoming blue sky. The trumpet vine was ablaze with orange blooms. Such a hardy vine and such delicate flowers.

How could Ben explain this to Adam, guide him back to the truth?

"I want to lay down." Adam stepped toward his bed but Ben raised his right arm against the boy’s chest.

"Not yet," he said deeply and slowly.

"Please, Pa?" Adam’s eyes pled his case. "I want to go to sleep."

"In time." Ben closed his eyes. Prayed for the right words. And then looked square at Adam’s face. "We’ve had a rough few weeks, Adam."

The boy looked down.

He doesn’t want to discuss but we have to, Ben decided. He lowered his arm. "Any idea why?"

Adam continued to look at the floor, his hands at his sides - not clenched. Ben sensed that even though the boy didn’t think he wanted to talk about this, he did. "A few, yes."

Ben crossed his arms at this chest. Did Adam plan to lay all the culpability at his companions’ feet or would he heft it to his own shoulders? He spoke in the same firm but soft voice. "Would Jeremiah and Solomon have anything to do with it?"

"You’re always telling us that a person can’t make us do something we don’t want to do," Adam answered dutifully.

Ben nodded. That had been the correct answer. Now for Adam’s observation, which Ben was certain his son would share in a moment.

Not surprisingly, Adam raised his head and met Ben’s gaze. "But they can give you ideas you never would have had."

"Possibly," Ben replied evenly. He looked at Adam from the bottoms of his eyes, hoping the boy would continue to face this problem directly. "Would you agree that your behavior these past few weeks has not been exemplary?"

Adam didn’t hesitate. "Yes, Pa."

Good. Showing the steadfastness that Ben knew the boy possessed in enormous measure. "And would you agree that I was not pleased with your behavior?"

Not a flicker of doubt in the eyes. Adam’s hands were still relaxed and his voice was sturdy. "Yes, Pa."

Now they were getting very close to the reason for the space between them "And do you believe that you have paid the consequences of your bad behavior?"

Adam’s answer was again unwavering. "Yes, Pa."

And had the lesson been learned? Adam must not suspect any worry on Ben’s part. He must sense complete, fixed resolve. Everyone needed to know what his or her boundaries were. "And do you intend to steer clear of that type of behavior in the future?" Ben prodded.

Adam licked his lips and looked toward the window. Then he raised his chin and returned his attention to Ben. "Yes, Pa."

Now for the unfortunate misunderstanding that had caused them both so much heartache this week. "Do you understand that despite my anger and my disappointment I never for one moment did not love you?"

Hesitation. Adam looked at the floor again.

"What I expect from you is obedience and respect and truth." Ben watched Adam’s hands. And his shoulders. The boy wasn’t balking. He was listening, albeit with caution.

Now to stress with the boy once again why Ben set those goals and expected them to be met. "And what I want for you is that you will be a kind, honest, forgiving, and law-abiding man. I expect those things from you and I want those things for you because I love you, Adam."

There was a slight shuffle and then Adam looked from the tops of his eyes and his seeking expression told Ben everything. Doubt had fed Adam’s fears. Doubt because he had sought a reason for Ben’s absence. And instead of expressing those doubts, he had held them inside.

Not for the first time, Ben said, "Don’t hold so much in, Adam. It’s not good for either one of us."

Adam seemed to recognize the words and understand their truth. His eyes were unwavering. "I love you, Pa." And there was no flicker of doubt that the sentiment would be returned.

Saints in heaven how wonderful those words were to hear! Ben breathed with relief. "I love you, son."

Adam nodded and started toward the bed, but stopped - this time with a question in his eyes - when Ben once again extended his right arm to block the boy’s way.

There was something else that Adam needed. Ben needed it just as much. Ben turned on his boot heels and extended his left arm in open invitation. Adam’s brilliant smile rivaled the sunlight that poured over his shoulders.

Ben held the boy close. It was good to have Adam in his embrace and so good to feel the boy’s arms wrapped around his chest. Thank you Lord for giving me the right words, Ben prayed. And thank you for blessing me with this son.

Later, as he sat beside Adam’s bed and watched the boy sleep peacefully, Ben marveled at how strong love’s bonds were - and how frighteningly fragile.

"I don’t think so," Adam said to his brothers as Erik, Joe, and he sat on the back porch steps, looking up at the stars.

Across the courtyard, Ben stretched his left arm along the back of the iron bench and then rested his hand on Marie’s shoulder. Life was fine when a man could sit with his wife on a pleasant night under a cloudless sky while his sons disagreed nearby.

Marie leaned against his left side and patted his chest. "It is a most charming night to sit beside the man I love," she whispered.

Ben closed his eyes and wondered how many frogs and crickets there were within a one-block residential area. He turned his mind to amphibians and insects in an effort to distract himself from how much he wanted to take Marie in his arms and cover her with kisses. But he wouldn’t. Not now. Those kinds of kisses always led to-

"Perhaps you think it is a most charming night to sit beside the woman you love?" Marie teased. She looked up at him. "Perhaps?"

"Perhaps," he replied huskily. Of its own volition his arm pulled her closer to him.

"Aw, c’mon Adam," Erik pleaded. "Why not?"

Ben slouched down a bit and closed his eyes. What were the boys talking about now?

"Because I don’t want to, that’s why." Adam sounded definite about things. Erik would do well to drop the subject. Whatever it was.

"I’ll get you a pirate’s hat, too," Erik coaxed

Ben’s eyes flew open at the cunning in Erik’s tone. Just how much money did the boy think he had earned? First he’d wanted a pirate - tricorn - hat for himself. Ben had said they could arrange that. And then Erik had told Ben how awful he’d feel if he had one and Joe didn’t. So could Erik buy one for Joe, too? Touched by the boy’s generosity, Ben had said he thought they could arrange for that, too. And now here he was trying to use the promise of a pirate’s hat to get Adam to do something. Well, at least Ben could rest easy. Adam was far too old to want a tricorn hat.

"What color?" Adam asked.

Oh, no. What color? He was serious?

"So," Marie observed in a whisper, "you purchase three of these hats for our sons. You pay Erik quite well, oui?

All right. Ben would by a tricorn hat for each of his sons. But Erik had better not start promising one to each of his friends.

"I’m thinking they only come in black from what Ma said," Erik answered uncertainly.

"Wonder if they have a feather?" Adam mused.

A feather! Ben straightened. Saints and sinners, would the boys ever tire of pirates?

Adam cleared his throat and told Joe to quit wiggling around in his lap. "I’m Pierre again."

"Me, too," Erik said. "I mean I’m Alex . . . Alex . . ."

"Alexandwe," Joe said and added a long-suffering sigh.

Marie turned to bury her face in Ben’s side and she shook with her muffled laughter.

"We get ouw hats on Mawket Day," Joe announced proudly.

"And maybe Pa’ll let us show Adam where the pirate shop is," Erik said proudly.

"I know where Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop is, Erik." Adam sounded offended by any suggestion otherwise.

"Yeah, but you ain’t seen it," Erik shot back.

"Sure I have," Adam bragged.

Ben shook his head. Why did Adam’s announcement not surprise him?

"I’ve seen it lots of times. The first time I went by there was with Henri a couple of years ago."

Marie pushed from Ben’s side and looked up at him. "It would seem we do not know all things about this son," she observed with humor.

"I’m trying to decide whether or not that’s a good thing," Ben replied. Father hadn’t known the half of what Ben had gotten into. Saints be praised.

Erik was obviously concerned by Adam’s confession of seeing Lafitte’s shop. "Does Pa know?"

"Hum?" Adam sounded scarcely interested.

Then the boys almost spoke faster than Ben could think, starting with Erik.

"Does Pa know you went and saw the pirate place?"

"No."

"You gonna tell him?"

"Would you?"

"No."

"Well, then."

After a lull in the conversation, Ben assumed that topic had been covered.

Marie scooted closer to Ben and patted the hand he had resting on her shoulder. "It is good that you are home again and not at the work so late." She looked down. "I miss you deeply when you work so."

Ben smiled slowly. He knew she was acting and she knew that he knew. "Would a kiss help?" he asked in his most solicitous tone.

She batted her eyelashes. "Perhaps."

Ben was reasonably sure the kiss helped Marie’s feelings and he was very sure it had stirred the ones he was trying to control until after the boys were asleep.

"I don’t think so," Adam said from the steps.

Why was the boy repeating himself?

"The thing is," Erik argued, "that star there has got to be it because that one ain’t."

Well, there was logic in its purest form. Ben chuckled and Marie giggled into her hand.

"That," Adam said emphatically, "is Sirius."

And "that" probably was if Ben knew anything about Adam’s skills at reading the stars.

"Joe says it is, too," came the youngster’s voice.

Hmmm. Why was Joe agreeing with Adam? What was he up to now? Then again, did Ben really want to know?

Ben had more pressing matters to be anxious about. Adam had spent the better part of two weeks in grief for Thaddeus. Instead of being morose and withdrawn like before, he had been intensely introspective. And then, just about the time Ben had resolved to speak to Adam about getting on with life, there had been a complete change in Adam’s attitude.

Adam had gone to bed pensive one night. And the next morning he’d been cheerful and bursting with energy. Wrestling with Erik, teasing Joe, eagerly running from errand to errand.

Then Ben had hired Adam to help after school with the business ledgers. That way, Ben had reasoned, he could keep a close eye on the boy and discern what had changed Adam’s outlook so quickly.

After several days of scrutiny, the only explanation that Ben could come up with - which was about as far-fetched as explanations could go - was that Adam knew about the plans to head west. But how could that be? Ben hadn’t told him. John Sutter’s letter was in Marie’s writing desk. And Ben had asked Franklin not to say anything about Ben’s plans to sell his half of the partnership.

Then, earlier today, a new consideration had stunned Ben to his boot soles. With a few exceptions, Ben had always been able to determine what Adam was thinking. Was Adam now able to read Ben’s thoughts? The possibility of such a skill being at a son’s command was staggering.

"I still say it ain’t right," Erik continued the Great Celestial Debate.

Ben leaned forward slightly and in the low light of the courtyard lamp he could see Erik with his elbows on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands.

"Hey." Erik’s voice brightened. "Ain’t Sirius the one Pa said some folks call the Dog Star?"

Of course Erik would remember anything that had to do with animals.

"Yeah." Adam stretched the word cautiously.

Ben tensed. What would talk about dogs do to Adam’s composure?

"Why?" Adam’s voice held no hurt, but a hefty amount of bemusement.

"Well, ya see . . ." Erik paused.

There was nothing but the sound of the crickets and the frogs and a horse’s hoofs and the creak of someone’s gate and a cat hissing and something metal rattling in the breeze and the faraway grumble of riverboat stacks releasing steam and the even farther away roar of alligators. But other than that, there was no sound at all.

Why hadn’t Erik said anything? Ben looked toward his sons again.

Oh no. Erik was waiting for wind in his sails.

"Well what?" Adam demanded impatiently.

There, that gust ought to help.

"I’m thinking if it’s the Dog Star then it oughta be called Thaddeus," Erik said. "Because he was the best dog ever."

"Yeah!" Joe shouted.

"Sssh!" Adam hissed.

"Yeah," Joe repeated in a loud whisper.

As a new possible explanation for Adam’s sudden change in outlook occurred to Ben, he leaned back and stared at the kitchen wall. The boys weren’t speaking loudly; they were discussing the stars in hushed voices. The same kind of hushed voices that Ben and Marie used when they were talking in bed. If Ben could hear the boys across the ten feet or so between the back steps and the courtyard bench, then the boys could more than likely hear Marie and Ben from one bedroom to the other.

But Marie and Ben always went to bed after the boys were sound asleep. Of course there was no way to know if one of the boys woke up until he made some sort of noise.

Was that how Adam seemed to know that Marie and Ben were planning to take the family west? Had Adam heard Marie and Ben talking a few nights ago? When Marie had said that she thought Adam would have fewer problems breathing if they left the damp New Orleans air and went west the way Ben had always wanted? That night he’d said something about selling his half of the partnership too. Adam’s behavior had altered significantly the next day.

So that was it. Adam had been eavesdropping again. Well, thank heavens the boy couldn’t read Ben’s mind. That skill would be problematical at the least. Then again, if Adam had been eavesdropping on Marie and Ben-

"From now on that star is Thaddeus," Erik decreed, ripping Ben from his musings. Judging from the determination in Erik’s voice, he would brook no argument.

"Thaddeus," Adam said softly. "I like that."

Ben relaxed at those words from his eldest son. Adam had passed that test of equanimity. The boy would be just fine.

All the boys would be just fine.

Erik and Joe were as spirited as usual . . . Erik was behaving . . . Joe was Joe. Ben needed to resolve the details of the upcoming trip soon because he was finding it more and more difficult not to share the news with his sons. Although apparently there was no need to tell Adam.

And come morning Ben would have a talk with Adam about eavesdropping. Not mentioning any particular instances, of course.

Marie kissed Ben’s neck. "So now our sons they take it upon themselves to give the stars the new names?" she asked in amusement. She waved a hand toward the courtyard. "Tonight they change the stars, tomorrow they change the world."

Ben smiled with the thought. He had no doubt they would change the world out west. After all, they were Cartwrights.

+++ The end +++