To Hold the Future

By Nancy

Rating: PG - language

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.

Author’s Notes: I used "Bonanza" tie-ins where possible but this is a "Ponderosa" story. If you are a strict adherent to the "Bonanza" canon - skip this. The author begs forgiveness for any historical or hysterical errors.

Special thanks to Kierin, Becky, Kathryn, Barb, and Slim

Late September 1829

Philadelphia

There had been a time when Ben Cartwright had eagerly awaited his son’s first word, hoping it would be "Papa."

Alas, it was not to be. In what Ben had since recognized as Adam’s unique approach to life, the boy’s first word had been boat. Or, as Adam chose to pronounce it, "boa."

The toddler had been using the word regularly for - well, long enough. Fortunately he had added a few more words to his repertoire. Unfortunately he was especially fond of his first word.

Even now he waved his hand toward the bustling port of Philadelphia and excitedly declared, "Boa!"

It wasn’t as if the child hadn’t seen boats all his life. It was impossible to be in Boston without seeing them, at least in the area of Boston where Adam had been born. Possibly the boy didn’t recall the boats in that harbor, considering he’d been only a few months old when they had left for Philadelphia. But there’d been boats in New York, where they’d stopped to see Ben’s father’s sisters. Then again, Adam had been rather young at the time.

Well by Jove, the boy knew about boats now.

"Boa! Boa!" Adam leaned forward in Ben’s arms in an attempt to reach the vessel that was lowering its sails far away. He kicked his slipper-clad feet against Ben’s side like a rider prodding a horse into action. "Dee?"

"Yes, Adam," Ben assured. "I see the boat."

The child clapped his slender hands and then looked up at Ben with the same rich, lapis-colored eyes as Elizabeth’s. "Boa!" he proclaimed again.

Ben watched the square-rigger taking in sail to make port. Her crew would not appreciate hearing their deep-water vessel called a boat. "Actually," he corrected his son’s observation, "it’s a ship."

Adam’s lower lip protruded for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Boa," he maintained.

"Ship," Ben insisted.

Adam tucked his chin and raised his eyebrows. "Tip?" came the uncertain response.

Ben gave one short nod. "I sailed on one very much like it."

Aunt Bridget, who had been standing silently and patiently nearby, steadied her bonnet against the stiffening breeze racing up from the river. "Benjamin, you can’t expect the child to understand what you are saying."

Why not? Adam understood simple requests, especially when Ben accompanied them with a crooked finger or an open hand - or a frown.

"Pa." Adam patted Ben’s cheek with the palm of his hand. He turned his head again toward the water and waved at the ship. "Boa."

Saints but the boy was stubborn. "Ship," Ben repeated.

Adam shook his head in disagreement. "Boa."

Ben tugged the boy’s cotton drawers down to cover his slender ankles. "Now, Adam. I know you can speak more clearly than that."

"Boa n-" Adam worked his full lips with great concentration. "Boa." He held his head straight in what Ben recognized as a perfect imitation of himself and announced, "No tip."

The boy was not only obstinate; he seemed to be developing his own opinions. "Ship," Ben said to elicit a reaction.

The breeze tossed Adam’s wavy dark hair into his eyes but he would not be distracted. He frowned and pursed his lips. "Boa-t."

Ben pulled back slightly, proud of his son’s correct pronunciation. "Very good, Adam." He glanced toward the incoming ship and graciously conceded the point, even though he knew he was correct. "I believe that is a boat."

The fourteen-month-old nodded his head. "Ad-am know."

He couldn’t even be a gracious receiver? Had to assert his superior knowledge? "Adam seems to think he knows everything."

"Wot?" came the predictable question. Adam looked Ben in the eyes, his small mouth slightly open as if it might help him absorb an answer.

"Everything," Ben said slowly.

Adam leaned his head to one side. "Wot?"

Oh saints. How to explain? "Everything?" This one was well nigh impossible until the boy was older. "I need to think about that."

Adam squirmed until he was seated on Ben’s forearm. "Pa?"

"Yes."

"Tink?

At least this was a bit less difficult. "Think." Ben tapped his index finger against the boy’s temple. "That’s what goes on in here."

Adam’s mouth formed an "o" and his eyes rolled back in an attempt to see inside his head. Not about to admit that he had no idea what Ben was talking about, he said, "Ad-am know."

Aunt Bridget looked amused. She always seemed to regard Ben with humor in her eyes; she had ever since he’d been a child. "So you believe you are capable of rearing him by yourself?"

Ben had done fine so far, hadn’t he? With Mrs. Callahan’s help, of course. The good woman had been nurse to Adam since his birth. She had traveled with them from Boston to New York and had spent months in Philadelphia while Ben had alternately worked in his mother’s brother’s bank and then in the ships’ chandlery. But when Mrs. Callahan had learned that the next part of their journey would include a boat ride down the Ohio River, well, that had been when she had decided that she missed her family in Boston.

What could be so difficult about taking a child west? Ben could pick up Adam and put the boy where he wanted. He could give Adam almost any reasonable food and Adam would eat it. And Ben’s son wasn’t hard to get to sleep - after he’d heard a sea chantey or two. The only thing Ben had been totally unsuccessful at was getting Adam to call him "Father" or "Papa." One "Pa" was good enough for Adam; Ben supposed it would have to be good enough for him, too.

"I do wish you would reconsider, Benjamin," Aunt Bridget said. "You could leave Adam with Hugh and me. We could send him to you when he is older."

She made the boy sound like a trunk of clothing. Leave him here. Send for him later. And what of the meantime? Ben had been forced to leave his wife behind in a cemetery in Boston. He had no plans to leave Philadelphia without their son.

Bridget sighed deeply. "I know that set of your mouth. You are determined to take this child to the frontier with you." Her voice softened and she took a slightly different tack. "What you want may not be what is best for the child, Benjamin."

He had thought of that.

"Should something untoward happen to you, what becomes of him?"

When Ben didn’t respond to Aunt Bridget’s questions, she gathered her long skirts and wisely changed the subject. "We should return home now. The evening meal will be ready soon." She walked to the private carriage and waited while a servant opened the door.

The day was entirely too pleasing to spend a few moments inside a carriage. "I believe we shall walk," Ben announced to his aunt.

She gave a short sigh of defeat and waved to the driver. Ben smiled when the carriage pulled away. What made Aunt Bridget think she could prevail upon any of his decisions? No one else had.

Realizing how quiet Adam had become, Ben looked down to find the small, lightly freckled face snuggled into his chest. He lifted the sleepy boy to his shoulder, held his son securely, and rubbed the small back with the palm of his hand.

"Pa?" a tiny voice asked.

"Yes."

"Dub."

Ben closed his eyes. What was it about a child that reached into the depths of a man? "Pa loves you, too, Adam."

The walk to Ben’s uncle’s home was a pleasant one. Philadelphia had grown since Ben’s childhood, when he had often visited his mother’s parents, and it had become more industrialized. But the heart of it had not changed. Though its years as the nation’s capital had brought extra commerce, Ben’s Uncle Hugh had not mourned when the legislators had moved to Washington. He had been glad to be freed of what he had termed the "undesirables" who had been attracted by such business.

Philadelphia’s tree-lined cobblestone streets boasted fine homes of brick trimmed with white stone, often featuring handsome gardens. While most of the merchants lived above their shops, men like Uncle Hugh had built new residences that were several stories tall and indicated foreign influence, particularly from the temples like those Ben had seen in Greece. In new and older homes a person could expect to find marble fireplace mantels, imported porcelains from China and England, and fine furniture of smooth wood and silk upholstery. Uncle Hugh had been one of the first homeowners to have a new heating system installed - something he referred to as all-room heat. Ben had to admit that the new approach eliminated most drafts during the winter. Now if they could just develop some way to assuage the warm, humid weather of summer.

Though some visitors found the straight layout of the city’s streets boring, Ben thought it contributed to an overall feeling of order. He would give Philadelphia her due; she was an interesting and vital city. Here he could avail himself of museums dedicated to art and natural history. He could attend lectures about discoveries out west and follow the proceedings of a new society that had been formed to encourage settlement in the Oregon territory. There were presentations at the Chestnut Street Theatre and magical evenings in the lovely Musical Fund Hall. Provided, of course, that he had the time, which he hadn’t had lately as he had made preparations for Adam’s and his forthcoming journey to Cincinnati.

Despite everything that the bustling city had to offer, sometimes late at night Ben longed for Boston. He had spent most of his growing years in Boston and that was where he had put to sea. Boston was, most importantly, where he had met and married Elizabeth.

The Charles flowed there. As did good food and wine. Ben doubted he would ever taste such fine seafood chowder again. Boston had history, too, so much so that one walked along scarcely noting where the victims of the Massacre were buried and not giving a thought to the speeches that had been delivered in Faneuil Hall and had led to the revolution. But Boston was so much more, and a love of her was impossible to explain to outsiders. People there were possessed of a drive and determination and eye on the future like none he had seen in the contented town of Philadelphia. Boston was stubborn and opinionated and not about to be told what to do. She chafed under any rule of law with which she did not wholeheartedly agree. Ben missed her hilly streets, houses crowded one against the next, long wharf reaching out to the sea, and cemeteries cheek-to-jowl with stone churches. A man didn’t ask for an opinion there unless he was prepared to hear a frank response. Ben appreciated Philadelphia’s gentility, but saints how he longed to hear a good forthright opinion now and then.

Perhaps he was discontented because he had achieved manhood on board ships and around Boston’s harbor. That was the life he was used to. The men he had known there had sworn and cursed and indulged in no small number of fights when away from polite society. Now Ben was bound in the stifling confines and suits of a gentleman.

Thunder, he couldn’t wait to board that stage for Pittsburgh.

Ben was eager to leave the established seaports behind, but should he deny Adam the opportunities he had known as a child? It made no difference, he decided. The cities had changed. There was nothing new to claim as his own, nothing of substance to shape with his hands, and there was less and less open space, less room to grow. The future was in the west. Ben wanted to be a part of that future, to experience the wonders about which he had read and had heard, and he wanted to share the discoveries with his son. Adam’s childhood would be different from Ben’s. And it would be better. Together they would see what few men had witnessed. Together they would build a new home. Together they would forge a future.

"Benjamin?" Aunt Bridget’s amused voice queried from behind him. "Where are you going?"

Ben stopped in his tracks. He had walked three doors past his uncle’s home, where Aunt Bridget stood on the steps smiling at her nephew.

She didn’t have to say what she was thinking. Ben could read it on her face. How did he plan to find his way west when he couldn’t even negotiate well-marked city streets?

The next morning, Uncle Hugh informed Ben that he was needed more at the chandlery shop than at the bank. The requirement was to Ben’s liking because it involved physical activity. Here, near the busy port, was the company Ben preferred. He understood men of the sea, their humor and their fears. He also understood their keen eye for a profit.

Ben knew from the talk of other sailors which captains were most likely to bring home cargo to catch the eye of those who could afford it. During the past twenty years or more, partly as a result of embargoes and warfare, smart ship owners had given captains permission to visit whatever ports providence might direct them toward. Since those captains also received a share in the voyage’s profits, it had proven to be an agreeable arrangement.

Following his father-in-law’s skilled advice, and blessed with no small amount of his father’s business sense, Ben had owned shares in several clients’ ships since he had left the sea. The risks had been worth the handsome rewards. He had been tempted to buy shares in a ship when he had arrived in Philadelphia. But not planning to stay overlong, and knowing full well how a ship’s voyage could extend beyond a planned course of time, he had decided against tying up any funds he would need when he headed west.

His lack of monetary involvement did not mean he held no interest in reports, though. Ben knew, or knew of, many a sailor and captain, and he was always relieved to learn of their safe return.

He had been in the bowels of the chandlery warehouse all morning, overseeing the filling of orders and checking the stock, when he decided to go upstairs and see who might be in the shop. As Ben topped the stairs he heard somber, lowered voices. Such tones could mean only one thing - a ship was in trouble or lost.

". . . but what were they doin’ there?" one of Uncle Hugh’s employees asked of a tall, ruddy fellow who, judging by the gathering of men around him, was the one with the news.

"Ah," the man said around the stem of his pipe. "Van Diver’d put in down there. Ya know them owners’ve been doin’ no small amount of trade with South America."

Ben leaned against the doorframe. His friend Angus had sailed with Van Diver, on Dancer.

The man with the pipe heaved a deep sigh that bespoke long experience at sea. "They was down there by the Cape. Took to a mighty storm, it did. From what men could see, the second ship she hadn’t enough leeway. And then the next thing those on land knew, she’d gone square into Dancer. The looks of it was dreadful, hear tell. Riggin’ and timbers and such washed up ever’where."

Ben closed his eyes and waited. Angus. . .

"And the men?" The question was posed in a decidedly English accent.

Not a word was said. There was no need.

Unbidden sounds and visions came to Ben: the blood-freezing screech of wood to wood; the pop and rip of sails; the rolling of the deck; the relentless water that was under and above a man at the same time; the report louder than any rifle as a mast snapped; yells snatched by the wind; and then the last bit of solid deck giving way below and hurling bodies into the sea. That’s when the water sought to claim a man. She sucked him in, tossed him around, hurled him about until he was shattered, and forced her salty water down his throat, filling his lungs with anything but the life-saving air he groveled for, and cried for -

Ben ran his hand across his face. Angus and he had sailed together since the first time Ben had set foot on The Wanderer. They had served under Abel Stoddard and had grown to manhood under the excellent captain’s hawk-like attention. Surely Angus was not lost. Perhaps he’d not sailed with Dancer this time.

Perhaps Angus, too, stood on land somewhere while his ears were assailed with the same news.

Then again, perhaps Angus was gone.

"Well." A thin, seasoned man stretched the word - always an indication that either an opinion or hearsay was about to be shared. Sometimes it was hard to determine where one ended and the other began. "The thing about Van Diver is that he’s no business captaining a ship. None at all."

Ben knew he should remain an observer. He also knew that he wouldn’t. Strolling into the center of the shop, he crossed his arms at his chest, set his legs slightly apart, and asked what the man meant. "Say it plain," he requested. Could he help it if the words sounded like an order?

Face to face with the man, Ben recognized him as one who was at the pubs with such frequency that he had no time for sailing.

"I’d be thinking," the man with the pipe said, "that we all know what it is Richards is speakin’ of."

Ben stood firm. "Not I."

Another fellow, a ruddy-faced man of about Ben’s age but not near his size, looked around the gathering and laughed. "You’d be Cartwright, wouldn’t you?"

Ben said that he was.

His questioner nodded as if the name explained everything. Instead of addressing Ben, he turned toward Richards. "He sailed with Abel Stoddard."

Richards and the pipe smoker got his meaning. Ben didn’t. Again he asked for an explanation.

"You’re one of ‘em that was defending his cause. Saying the owners didn’t know what they were about when they took his ship. Saying the man was just as capable to command as he’d always been."

Richards decided to add his say to the conversation. "Every man knows Stoddard’s a problem with the drink."

A problem with drink was it? The revelation would be if he were a sailor who did not have a problem with drink, particularly rum.

"Not so."

Ben turned toward a man he knew well. Steves had been a factor for a tea exporter in Boston before roving to Philadelphia. Ben and he’d spent many an hour checking lading and commissions.

Steves cast Ben the most relaxed of looks and then addressed the men who formed a half-circle in front of them. "It is my experience that often the men who speak the loudest know the least."

If that wasn’t a challenge then Ben had never heard one. He dropped his hands to his side, wary of the gathering that now glared at Steves. Saints don’t let there be a brawl in here. Uncle Hugh would demand an accounting that would cost Ben some hide. Well, what Ben had been able to salvage after he’d been involved in that misunderstanding over at the wharf. He had been a reluctant participant in that affair, a concept that Uncle Hugh found impossible to appreciate.

"The truth of the matter," Steves said softly so he had all the men’s attention, "is that it was slavers."

Varying expressions of disbelief broke the silence.

Steves persisted. "The truth is that he refused to carry human cargo. As a result they took the ship from him. And then they spread the word about his incompetence. It’s generally the men who go saying the worst about others who themselves have the most to conceal."

"Cargo is cargo," Richards opined. "There’s no one what cares if it’s horses or pigs or slaves."

Ben saw the muscles in Steves’ back tense. "No small number of people care, sir. The practice is an abomination. And our avoidance of the same has provided us with a skilled and intelligent workman."

The man with the pipe smiled cunningly. "So if you consider the slaves such mindless cargo why be over-concerned about their import?"

They’d failed to understand Steves’ meaning entirely.

"The reason Philadelphia is as strong as she is," Ben said slowly, "is because a man is able to rise to his capability."

"A man, yes," Richards agreed. "But what’s this to do with slaves?"

"I suggest," Ben spoke yet more slowly, "that this is not the place for such a discussion. Shall we proceed to the outside?"

Anyone who doubted those words were a challenge was not drawing breath.

Richards stepped to the fore of the other men. "You didn’t answer m’question, Cartwright. What does speaking of men have to do with slaves?"

The taunt in the crafty eyes was more than Ben could abide. Well, it was more than Ben cared to abide. He grabbed the fellow by the front of his shirt, fairly lifted him off his feet, and half-dragged him out the door. Arrived at the walkway, Ben released Richards, giving the wretch a solid shove in the process.

The man staggered backwards, onto the street, and then came at Ben with all his might. Richards truly should have given up the pubs in favor of more shipboard time. He was appallingly outmatched, rendering the clash more a task than an amusement. Ben attempted to give Richards ample time to back away from the fists that landed on his face, in his middle, near his ear. Ben tried to be Christian about the thing. But Richards didn’t take advantage of the gifts. Best to resolve the situation sooner than later, considering that the constabulary could appear at any moment.

Ben bent his knees so he could stoop low and then swung one fist into the man’s side and the other under his chin. Richards dropped like a cut anchor.

"Where the deuce did you learn to hit like that?"

Oh, saints. It was Uncle Hugh. Ben turned slowly. "I kept the difference of opinion out of the chandlery," he said in his favor.

"And you’ve damned near denied that man his life!"

Well, thunder. Ben’s intentions had been good. By and large.

Uncle Hugh jerked his head toward the shop. Ben knew better than to stop until they entered the small office at the back. The small office that had the door that could withstand Uncle Hugh’s repeated slamming of it.

"You." He pointed straight at Ben. "You’d best be in command of that temper of yours."

It seemed to Ben that Uncle Hugh was the one in bad humor. He attempted to explain his actions by starting with, "He spoke badly of Abel. And then he had the audacity to - "

Uncle Hugh raised his arms heavenward. "Audacity! He had audacity! Benjamin, do you not think that perhaps your behavior was impudent?"

Ben jabbed in the general direction of the front of the shop. "He - "

"I care not a whit about him, Benjamin!" Uncle Hugh’s shout caused Ben’s ears to ring. "You were brawling in the street!"

Pulling himself straight, Ben declared that it was impossible for one man to brawl on his own.

"You were doing a damned fine job of it," Uncle Hugh asserted. "From the moment you pushed him out the door he had not a chance against you."

From the moment Ben had pushed Richards out the door? Double thunder. "You saw - everything?" Ben swallowed hard.

Uncle Hugh’s eyes narrowed. "I saw enough."

Ben’s shoulders sagged.

"You." Uncle Hugh pointed straight at Ben again. "Gain control of that temper before it leads you to ruin."

But none of it had been of Ben’s making. Not a farthing of it. Why could Uncle Hugh not understand that?

Ben waited until he was reasonably sure that Uncle Hugh had left the shop. Then he slammed his fist on the desk.

As Ben dressed for supper that evening, he considered that he might have been hasty in believing that Uncle Hugh would not comment on Ben’s behavior after he was an adult. Uncle Hugh had always seemed to take a keen interest in Ben’s conduct.

Although Ben’s mother’s parents had been loving and attentive, his visits with them had offered no reprieve from acceptable manners. Not with Uncle Hugh about. Not when word of Ben’s disobedience or disrespect had reached his uncle’s ears. Father’s temper had been formidable. Uncle Hugh’s was legendary, and apparently a family trait. Ben’s mother had not often expressed her displeasure but when she had directed her anger at Ben the boy had been enormously grateful she had been by nature a tolerant woman.

There had been so many times when events had not been Ben’s fault. And Father or Uncle Hugh had stood there before him, had bellowed like a sea captain, and had admonished him for his temper? Saints but that had been difficult to tolerate. It remained so to this day.

Ben had only just arrived in Philadelphia and it had been no more than his second day working at the ships’ chandlery when that poor man had come in drunken and had caused disharmony. Ben had been patient and tolerant and had endeavored to direct the poor man to the sidewalk. He had suggested a place in the alley where the poor man might sleep until he was more in command of his faculties. But what the deuce was Ben to do when the inebriated fellow had come at him with a rounder of a punch? Just stand there and be ill-treated? Of course not. Ben had dispatched the drunk with only two blows. Unfortunately those two blows had sent the fellow careening into a stack of goods being held for delivery. Had it been Ben’s fault that the preponderance of the goods had been fragile?

Uncle Hugh had thought as much. And Uncle Hugh had reprimanded Ben until Ben had shouted back, "I obviously disappoint you! I will leave!"

"You will do no such thing," Uncle Hugh had warned. "You are assuredly mistaken if you believe I will allow you to turn your back and walk away. You will accept your error and you will resolve not to indulge in such poor judgment again."

Ben knew better than to argue with the man, even if Uncle Hugh could no longer cause Ben’s bottom to ache for a large amount of a day. So he had resolved to heed his uncle’s advice and not indulge in such poor judgment again.

But then there’d been that quarrel at the dock. A minor thing compared to some in which Ben had found himself caught up. A mere difference of opinion, nothing more. A person would have thought that Ben had broken a commandment given the way Uncle Hugh had taken him to task.

There wasn’t any commandment about not fighting, was there? Ben couldn’t recall one. There was a commandment about not killing. But where was the harm in a little bout now and again? If the participants inflicted no serious damage in the goings-on then why should it be anyone else’s concern?

Perhaps Ben should not address that particular topic with Uncle Hugh. Living would be more tranquil if Ben kept his opinion to himself on the subject.

What Ben needed to do now was go downstairs for supper. Aunt Bridget enjoyed entertaining and most of the time Ben found the guests to be, like his aunt, interesting, intelligent, and articulate. But the exceptions existed. And occasionally it seemed to Ben that Aunt Bridget invited those exasperating people just to annoy him. She probably thought it would aid maturity. Aunt Bridget was a firm believer in promoting good character, particularly when it came to Ben.

Who, he wondered, would be the visitors this evening?

Ben frowned into the mirror atop the chest in his bedroom while he pulled on his evening coat. Why brush through hair that did as it pleased? He abandoned the effort when he saw little improvement. It might be interesting to grow a beard and moustache again the way he had at sea. Why, as a lad, he had been so eager to shave was beyond him now. It was a boring, daily chore.

He sat on his heels to speak to Adam. The boy was turning a ball around and around in his small hands as if he would soon discern a way to determine its circumference.

"Adam." Ben tapped his son on the shoulder.

The blue eyes reluctantly tore away from the ball and rose to meet Ben’s.

"Pa is going downstairs now to eat."

"Ead."

"You will be in the bed and asleep when I return to this room."

Adam turned his attention to the more interesting object in his hands.

"Adam."

"Pa," came the distracted answer.

"You are to go to sleep."

The dark hair bounced as Adam nodded.

Ben tapped the end of Adam’s index finger with his own. "Love," he said softly.

The boy had such an endearing, timid smile at times. "Dub."

Ben stood and then nodded to the nurse when she entered the room. "If he gives you a moment’s problem - "

Serena shook her head. "He won’t, sir. Adam’s a fine one."

"All the same - "

"Sir," she said. "Begging your pardon, but we say these same words every evening and they do grow tiresome."

Ben leaned his head back and laughed at the small, blonde-haired woman. "Putting me in my place?"

Her green eyes rounded. "Oh - no, sir, surely I - "

He held up his hand to stop her. "Serena, I assure you that your honesty is most refreshing."

She lowered her head, but not before Ben caught the faintest hint of pink in her cheeks.

When he turned toward the half-open bedroom door, Ben was greeted by Ethan’s knuckles suspended in mid-air.

"Have I offended you?" Ben asked lightly.

The servant grinned. "A moment’s difference and I would assuredly have rapped your nose, sir." He leaned slightly so he could see Serena standing near the foot of the bed.

Ah, Ben knew what that look was about. He’d wager good money there was more than a working relationship between the two of them. He shifted on his feet to gain Ethan’s attention. The young man stepped aside and then followed Ben down the stairs.

"Who are the guests tonight, Ethan?" Ben asked. Please, heaven, let it be anyone but Lydia Chalmers. She was so exceptionally talented at being trite.

His prayer was not to be answered in the affirmative. "Middleton, sir," Ethan replied. He seemed to enjoy adding, " And Chalmers."

Ben paused with one boot on the bottom step and one on the landing. He looked over his shoulder. Perhaps there was still hope. "With their wives?"

Ethan tried to refrain from smiling but his lips twitched. "Sir, you know how it delights Mrs. Chalmers to sit next to you."

There was no way to avoid the inevitable now that he was in plain view of the parlor. Ben took a deep breath and tugged at the bottom of his vest. "Pray for me, Ethan."

"I started before I met you at your door, sir."

The mere presence of Lydia Chalmers caused Ben to grind his teeth until his jaw felt it would shatter. She was nice-looking with her dark hair and fair skin, and she dressed impeccably. Her manners were above reproach. But she had garnered Ben’s eternal dislike when she had tried to match him up with young women. At first he had believed she had done so out of innocence. But with time, and repeated reminders from Ben about his lack of interest, her objective had become clear. Though she had presented other ladies to Ben, it was her own daughter she hoped Ben would marry. To her credit, Mary Chalmers was a nice enough girl. But she, like her mother, had clouds for brains.

As long as Lydia Chalmers said nothing, especially about her daughter, Ben could tolerate her well enough. But let the woman open her mouth and his stomach soured. Never had he heard anyone say so little of consequence.

"And when will you leave for the wilderness?" she inquired before they delved into the spinach and seafood soup.

Ben forced a polite smile for his aunt and uncle’s sake. They would have to socialize with the woman after Ben was away. "Four days."

"So soon?" She dabbed a linen napkin against her lips. "We shall miss your bright company, Benjamin."

He could not, in good conscience, return the compliment. "Thank you. I shall miss Philadelphia, as well."

"How long will it take to complete the journey to Wheeling?" Thomas Middleton asked. For as long as Ben could remember, the balding man had owned one of Philadelphia’s best-known shipbuilding businesses. His bulging middle was a sign of his lack of manual labor.

"Adam and I will take the stagecoach to Pittsburgh," Ben answered.

Middleton’s gray eyebrows rose. "I would think you would travel to Wheeling."

Well, Middleton thought wrong. Civil, Ben. Be civil. "Pittsburgh takes forty miles off the overland trip. Reports are that the river is high enough. I would only go to Wheeling if the water were low or if I planned to cross by wagon." Ben dipped his spoon into his soup. Perhaps his move would direct conversation to some other topic. Perhaps the nearing completion of the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal.

"Pittsburgh," George Chalmers said, lifting a crystal wine glass, "would have more amenities. That will be particularly important while you travel with your – limitations." He watched Ben with piercing dark eyes.

Apparently Ben’s indication that he did not care to be the center of conversation had been too subtle. What did the man mean about limitations? Ben asked as much.

"The child of course," Lydia Chalmers answered for her husband.

Ben’s lips straightened. Adam was far from a limitation. Instead of saying what he thought, he remained silent.

"You will be traveling the river?" Lydia Chalmers inquired. "Why not the road?"

They would not be questioning his plans if he were as old as they were. But then if he were their age, and as comfortably established, maybe he would not feel the pull toward the adventure of the frontier.

"Land does seem more safe, especially with a child," Victoria Middleton observed.

"I assure you," Lydia Chalmers said, "I would not risk the welfare of my children on one of those riverboats."

Ben reached for his glass of wine and considered asking the butler, Lewis, to hand him a bottle of rum so he could get knee crawling drunk.

Uncle Hugh spoke, probably because he could sense Ben’s growing vexation. "Benjamin grew up at sea. I doubt anything along the Ohio would intimidate him." He made a smooth turn in the conversation. "I certainly would not counsel him to wait for the completion of the Baltimore and Ohio."

Thomas Middleton nodded in agreement. "They’ll do well to complete the first terminus for that railroad a year from now." He smiled at the china soup bowl and then admitted, "However, I never thought they would complete that canal to Erie."

The diners laughed at Middleton’s confession and Ben prayed that the attention would permanently shift to more interesting concerns than his planned expedition. He noted with delight that Aunt Bridget gave a slight nod to Lewis indicating they were ready for the chicken, ham, and vegetables. The sooner they completed the meal, the sooner he could excuse himself.

He was enjoying George Chalmers’ report regarding the latest meeting of the Pennsylvania Society for the Promotion of Internal Improvements, when Lydia Chalmers managed to somehow direct the talk to plans for a party that would be held after Ben was long gone. She seemed to think he would find the details interesting. He nodded and murmured, "Indeed?" at well-placed intervals.

"What do you think, Thomas?" Uncle Hugh interjected when Ben felt himself in jeopardy of dying and unceremoniously sliding under the table. "Is the future in canals or railroads?"

"I would hope canals." Middleton cast a relieved look at his wife that caused Ben to wonder if he, too, found Lydia Chalmers tiring.

Chalmers, who was among the businessmen campaigning for more railroads, smiled cunningly. "And what would be your answer if you were not so heavily invested in shipping?"

Middleton paused in slicing the ham on his gold-rimmed plate. "I should put my money into railroads."

"Why do you say railroads?" Uncle Hugh asked.

"Because rivers do not always provide the most direct route in the frontier."

"And the advantage to a railroad," Chalmers added, "is speed. Speed is what all successful business is based upon." He nodded at Ben. "The improvements in merchant ships are an example."

Ben straightened in his chair. "Men should not place more import on speed than safety - or quality," he argued. "I care not how quickly a pair of boots are manufactured but I most certainly expect them to wear well."

Chalmers considered Ben’s observation but then countered, "And if there were boots ready to wear in the shop how long would you wait for the better boots?"

Uncle Hugh chuckled. "My nephew was taught from an early age to appreciate good workmanship."

At Chalmers’ look of inquiry, Middleton explained. "Benjamin’s father, Joseph, instilled in his sons an appreciation for excellence."

So had their mother, Ben thought.

Chalmers looked from Middleton to Ben and back to Middleton. "Joseph Cartwright of Boston?" He leaned back in his chair and declared, "Now there was a man who understood commerce." Chalmers laughed when he made what he thought was another connection. "That explains the interest in river travel."

Hardly. Ben’s brother John loathed any passage on water. He had journeyed to Cincinnati by wagon.

"What clothing does one require on the frontier?" Lydia Chalmers chirped.

Ben blinked. She’d done it. Hauled the conversation right out from under the men’s boots. Be courteous. "The usual."

"But surely one does not travel in such handsome attire as you don this evening."

Clothing? Now they were discussing clothing? After a quick prayer for patience, Ben answered, "It is what one would take on any such excursion. A good coat, sturdy boots, a dependable hat, something to turn the rain."

"And what of Adam?" She obviously wasn’t ready to relinquish the discussion.

Ben looked over the fork he had raised toward his mouth, manners forgotten. "I beg your pardon?"

Lydia Chalmers gave her head the slightest of tilts. "How does one make preparations for the child?"

This was one of the thickest fogs Ben had ever encountered. "I do not understand you, madam."

"I would think the preparations should be daunting. You must provide for yourself and consider all possible contingencies. Added to that is the burden of a child and all that is inherent in that endeavor."

All right. That was enough. Ben lowered his fork to his plate. "Mrs. Chalmers," he said and heard his uncle clear his throat in warning. He took a deep breath. "Mrs. Chalmers, I have spent years in chandleries." He proceeded before his uncle could save the woman from experiencing Ben’s displeasure. "I am certain a woman of your station would have no cause to frequent a chandlery so I understand your lack of knowledge." Ben turned slightly and propped his arm across the top rail of his chair. "A chandlery provides everything a ship requires for its voyage, including provisions from the butcher, the ironmonger, and the cooper. We must consider every - contingency - and lay in enough supplies so neither man nor ship wants."

"In addition," Uncle Hugh expertly interrupted, "we provide items such as mast hoops and anchor chain and clothing. I believe my nephew’s point is that having served in such a capacity for several years, he feels capable of planning his upcoming expedition." He faced Middleton. "Preparing for such is not unlike calculating the required materials to build a ship, I wager."

Ben slowly turned in his chair to face the table. He lifted his fork. Lydia Chalmers, intimidated by Ben’s outburst, said nothing else to him until her husband and she took their leave. The moment Ethan closed the front door behind the guests, Ben turned to his aunt and uncle to make amends for his poor manners - before Uncle Hugh could strip even more of his hide.

His aunt put her hand to her mouth and turned her head. His uncle smiled at him. "I assure you I have not enjoyed such few moments in quite some time. Good evening, Benjamin."

Well saints and sinners! If Ben had known he could get away with silencing Lydia Chalmers the way he had, he would have done it months earlier.

Upstairs, Ben stood at the bedroom doorway to allow his eyes to adjust from the bright light of the public rooms to the soft light cast by the single oil lamp on the table near the window. The nurse quickly looked up from her needlework and followed Ben’s eyes to the bed where Adam slept on his stomach, sprawled as if he had fallen from the ceiling.

"Thank you, Serena." Ben stepped aside and the woman smiled shyly when she passed him.

"Good night, sir."

Ben heaved a deep breath and closed the door behind him. He would never be comfortable around household staff. The idea of one person being subservient to another was anti-democratic. He loosened his shirt collar, unfastened his single-breasted vest, and walked toward his sleeping son.

The side of Adam’s face that was not resting against the bed linens wrinkled slightly and a blue eye peeked open.

"You should have been asleep hours ago," Ben scolded.

"Do," Adam declared.

Obviously the child "do" not.

Ben sat on his heels so he could see Adam’s face. "You are not asleep now."

The boy pushed up on his elbows in a pose like a baby seal. His hair was a crumpled mass of dark waves and curls. "Noid."

"I did not make noise. I was very quiet."

Adam pointed at his father’s footwear. "Boos."

"Then my boots apologize from the bottoms of their soles for disturbing you."

The boy’s forehead filled with wrinkles and he attempted to extend the conversation. "Wot?"

It was Ben’s turn to point - to the bed. "Head down."

"Pa."

"Head down, Adam," Ben said sternly. He stood and eased his arms from his vest, then tugged his shirttail free of his trousers.

His son quickly rested his head when Ben looked his way. "Pa," he said into the bed linens.

"Yes."

"Boa-t."

"You want to see the boats again tomorrow?" They had been viewing the harbor almost every evening after Ben returned home from work. The routine was turning tiresome.

Adam rose on his elbows but when he saw his father’s raised eyebrow at his disobedience, he quickly laid down. "Peas?"

"All right. We’ll see the boats tomorrow." He touched Adam’s cheek. "And we’ll swim."

"Wim."

"Um hum."

Adam closed his eyes.

"You’re pretending," Ben said in a deep voice.

"Seep," the little voice argued. When had the boy learned to be so exceedingly stubborn?

Ben sat in the wing chair by the window and slumped until he was comfortable. He wasn’t ready for bed yet. He rarely closed his eyes before midnight and was always awake by dawn.

He smiled at the child lying on the bed. Truth told, Adam was probably born obstinate. Not long after Ben and Adam had arrived in Philadelphia, Aunt Bridget had transformed one of the upstairs rooms into a nursery for the boy; she had gone so far as to hire a nurse to stay with him. Aunt Bridget had expected the child to spend his nights in the nursery under the watchful eye of Serena. But Adam Cartwright had had different ideas and, after a week filled with hourly defeats, Aunt Bridget had conceded that life might be more orderly if Adam were allowed to share sleeping quarters with his father. Her concession had been accompanied by dire warnings to Ben that Adam required a heavier hand than Ben was willing to administer.

His aunt’s open expression of her opinions about Ben’s fathering of Adam was perplexing. When had men abdicated the important decisions regarding a child’s upbringing? Ben’s father’s directions had been law in the Cartwright household, although Ben’s mother had developed creative ways to influence her sons. Nevertheless, even Catherine Cartwright - who had been known for her bold speech - would never have questioned her husband about such an important matter.

Aunt Bridget was an intelligent woman. Why, then, did she believe that childhood was a dreadful thing to be endured and gotten through as quickly as possible? Hadn’t she read Locke’s essays about teaching a child with love and respect? Surely she had read Rousseau, so why not at least consider the writer’s contention that children should be appreciated for who they were? Wasn’t there enough sadness in life without drumming happiness from the young?

A new painting that Aunt Bridget had purchased hung on the wall across the room. Ben studied the scene of a fully rigged ship racing toward the viewer and landfall. A storm of catastrophic dimensions built above the water to the vessel’s port side. Menacing, white-capped waves slammed into the coastline but oddly enough none of them broke across the ship’s deck. A sailor’s life would be simple indeed if all storms on open water were forbidden to engulf a ship, or snap a mast, or tear lines from sails, or sweep men overboard. Such an arrangement might make ocean voyages rather enjoyable.

But what then would crews have to brag about? The speed with which they sailed from one port to another, yes. How quickly they worked the ropes and the sails, yes. How much they’d earned or bartered for when they’d sold the items they had knit at sea, of course. None of those topics, though, could guarantee an audience and free ale at a pub as surely as a rollicking good storm story.

Angus was far and away the best storm storyteller Ben had ever heard. The red-haired young man was capable of taking a brief little shower and transforming it into a gale of historic proportions. When he wove a tale about the crush of icy water and the screams of wind and men he might be met with guffaws and aspersions but sailors listened.

Fortunately, Ben had not spent all his days fighting storms in cold waters. Normally, The Wanderer had put in at warm ports such as Palermo and Madrid. There had been the long voyage, too - his last excursion before he had married Elizabeth. They had put in at Amsterdam and when he had gone ashore Ben had bought a music box for Elizabeth. Then the ship had called at Gibraltar and on the Malabar Coast. After a journey to China they had returned with their cargo-hold full of tea, porcelains, and silk. Elizabeth had treasured the music box more than any gift Ben had ever given her.

Ben had learned all manner of things at sea and in port, and had had some adventures he would probably never live down. Certainly he would never tell Adam about several of them. Life had been seasoned with unexpected discoveries, too, like when islanders in the Pacific had taught Ben a different way to swim. It was an over-arm technique, shunned by conservative swimmers, which Ben planned to teach Adam when the boy was older. For now he was content with the knowledge that his son was not afraid of a fall into the water. Adam could float, he could paddle like a dog, and he had learned not to swallow anymore pond than necessary. Ben’s son showed promise of being a good, strong swimmer.

Adam muttered a sleep sound, smacked his lips, and then settled into slumbering silence again.

How could Ben ever have considered leaving his infant son with Elizabeth’s father and heading back to sea after Elizabeth’s death? Surely God’s hand had been at work when the very day that Ben had thought of fleeing the heart-breaking memories and the baby, Adam’s eyes had followed Ben when he had walked past the cradle. Not long after that, those same eyes had showed obvious recognition of Ben’s face and voice. And then the day had come when there had been a smile and the eyes had sparkled; Elizabeth’s smile, Elizabeth’s sparkling eyes.

Ben had studied the child who had waved his arms and kicked his legs. Yes, Adam had Elizabeth’s smile and Elizabeth’s eyes but Ben had also recognized tiny fingers that promised to be long and slender like his. There was something about the boy’s chin that was also familiar. Ben had lifted the child from the cradle that day, had held him close, and had been humbled by the knowledge that Adam was Elizabeth and Ben in one flesh.

When Adam had turned a year old, Ben had recognized something else Adam had inherited from him: temper. Although, in all truth, Elizabeth had not been an easy woman to be around when she had been riled.

Elizabeth. Independent, determined, well read, impatient. Eyes bluer than any deep sea. Auburn hair that had caught sunlight and turned it into a thousand sparkling reds and blondes and light browns. A voice that had been throaty and at the same time remarkably soft. When she had laughed she had tossed her head back, put her hands at her waist, and not cared a whit whether her behavior had been ladylike. Saints but she had been a tease. As stubborn as her sea captain father. She had loved to sing and had delighted to hear any musical instrument, especially the guitar. When there had been the sound of fiddles and pipes Elizabeth had danced like no other woman Ben had ever seen. She had filled every day with boundless enthusiasm - she had loved Ben with the same abandon and delight.

His soul ached with the certain knowledge that he would miss his wife every day for the rest of his life.

"Wim?" was the first word Adam said the next morning.

"What about the boats?" Ben asked. Adam raised his arms so Ben could slide the day dress over the boy’s head.

"Wim," came the emphatic reply while the cotton skirt slid past the child’s lips.

"We need to wait until later in the day, when it’s warmer," Ben said. He held up the little pair of drawers.

Adam shook his head.

All right, then, Ben wouldn’t insist that Adam cover his legs until later. He leaned back from his perch on the edge of the chair seat and motioned toward the trunk at the foot of the bed. "Bring your socks and slippers, please."

The boy pivoted on his heels and ran to obey. He tiptoed, leaned across the wooden top, and snatched the requested items. With a grin full of mischief, he faced Ben and hid them behind his back.

Ben fought a smile. He knew how to win this one. "No slippers, no downstairs," he said firmly.

Adam’s shoulders slumped.

"If you wish to leave the bedroom, you wear socks and slippers." And drawers, but they would discuss that later.

After a moment of consideration, Adam sucked in his cheeks and slowly eased his arms from behind him. He studied one slipper and then the other. "Pa?"

Now what was the youngster thinking? "Yes?"

"Boos." He looked up hopefully.

"You may wear your boots when we travel."

"Hord-es?"

"Yes, there will be horses." Ben crooked his finger and the boy dutifully plodded to him, extending his arms so Ben could take possession of the much-hated socks and slippers. Ben patted his lap.

Adam braced his hands against Ben’s leg then lifted his foot and wedged it between the chair cushion and frame. He pushed with his other leg and grabbed at Ben’s thigh. After a teetering moment over Ben’s leg, Adam pushed up with his arms and slowly turned to sit across Ben’s knees. The child smiled with accomplishment, which was the entire reason that Ben had not lifted him. Adam rested his hands beside him, straightened his right knee, and watched critically while Ben slid the sock over his foot and stretched it above his ankle. "Tippuh," he instructed.

Ben paused in reaching for the second sock. For the past week, the boy had insisted on wearing both socks before a slipper could be introduced. "You don’t want to put on the other sock first?"

"Tippuh," Adam repeated.

Ben gave him the small shoe and then put a hand behind Adam’s back as the youngster bent his knee and twisted around until he managed to stick his toes into the slipper. Ben dangled the second sock over his son’s head.

"Tock," Adam identified the object.

"Can Adam put on the sock?"

The little hands closed around the prize. Adam turned it one way and then the other. He laid the sock over the top of his foot and considered the situation.

"Need help?"

"Peas."

Ben leaned over the boy and opened the sock. "Put your hands here, beside mine," he instructed.

Adam bent forward. "Dis?"

"That’s fine. Now let’s put the sock over your toes." He couldn’t see his son’s face but he was sure it was a study in concentration. "Good. Now let’s pull it up just like this." He patted the bottom of his son’s foot. "Adam Cartwright can put on his socks."

An exclaimed, "Tock!" was accompanied by a round of joyous clapping. Then the boy immediately bent forward and tugged off the sock.

There had been a time when Ben would have scolded Adam for the behavior but now he expected it. He rested his back against the chair and settled in for several minutes of quiet while Adam attempted to put on the sock again.

When the child finally had the very top of the sock hanging precariously from the tips of his toes, he clapped his hands again.

"Very good. May I do just one thing?" Ben pulled the sock up and smoothed it. "Now, put on your slipper," he instructed.

"Peas," Adam corrected.

The scamp. "Please."

Adam leaned to push the slipper over his foot. "Pa."

"Yes, Adam."

"Wim?"

"First we eat. Then we have a few errands. Then we swim." Adam was a little more able to understand a series of events than he had been a few weeks ago, but only a little.

"Ead."

"Yes."

"Wim."

Ben grinned and lifted Adam at the waist. "Let’s take this one thing at a time, shall we?"

"Wot?"

"What is what?" Ben stood, holding his son in the crook of his elbow.

"Teeg?"

"Ah – thing. I need to think about that."

To Ben’s surprise, Adam jabbed a small index finger at Ben’s forehead. "Tink."

The boy remembered what Ben had done yesterday! Saints above, he would need to be even more mindful of what he said and did around his son.

The day was uncommonly warm and clear, encouraging even more people to mill about in anticipation of the parade and livestock show planned for early afternoon. Such a celebration seemed to require one to wear clothing that would garner notice. The array of bonnets alone was astonishing. Ben was so stunned by the pink feathers that sprouted from one woman’s particularly gaudy headpiece that he nearly collided with a man who did not look sociable to begin with. How could the parade be as spectacular as this carnival of noise and color and movement? Ben weaved in and out of the crowds, visiting with merchants, purchasing the last of necessities for the trip and arranging for their delivery. After accomplishing the reason for his outing to the city center, Ben decided to enjoy the stroll along the walkway toward Uncle Hugh’s house.

Not a stroll exactly. Adam didn’t have the required attention for anything like a steady pace. His hand clasped Ben’s left index finger, a requirement whenever they walked away from the house. He tugged at his father about twice a minute.

Ben leaned to the side as Adam squatted to examine a weed.

"Flur," he said.

Sometimes the boy sounded like he was speaking French. "Flow-er," Ben pronounced.

Adam extended his fingers and gently tapped the weed. "Flu-uh." He stood straight and smiled. Then his attention shot toward the sky. "Burr!"

Ben knew without looking that the object was a seagull. He could hear its distinctive, piercing cry. "That is a gull."

"Burr."

Ben gave a woman and man trying to pass along the paved sidewalk an apologetic nod and put his hand to his son’s back. "We need to move, Adam. We’re blocking the walkway."

"Do."

Ben glanced away to hide his smile. "Do" was becoming Adam’s word for agreement. Ben was not surprised in the least when he felt the familiar tug at his hand. "Yes?"

"Dee?" Adam requested and held up his arms.

Bending down to lift the boy, Ben asked what it was that Adam wanted to see.

He waved toward a shop window.

The bookshop, of course. Adam was fascinated by books despite the fact that he had found himself in trouble more than once because of manhandling them. The quickest way to settle the boy was to read to him. Aunt Bridget had been chagrined the first time she had found Ben sitting in the parlor reading to Adam from a book about navigating the Ohio River. But Ben knew how to make his point. Later that week he had read a sonnet aloud, pausing when Adam had interrupted to repeat sounds he had liked. Aunt Bridget had been surprised but had told Ben she remained of the opinion that children should be read stories that would lead to superior character and lofty morals.

"Pa." Adam’s voice held irritation. He never took kindly to being ignored.

"Yes."

"Buhk."

"Yes, there are books and pamphlets and flyers. Look, there’s a set of playing cards."

Why not? Ben carried his son into the shop and emerged a few minutes later with Adam holding a small, wrapped parcel. The boy offered no opposition at all to returning to the house and smiled when Ben placed his finger to his lips and made an elaborate show of sneaking upstairs to their bedroom.

After Ben had closed the door, he put Adam on his feet and told Adam that he could open the package. His son immediately sat on the Chinese rug but first things came first. He pulled off his slippers and then his socks. Only when the important job was finished did he lean forward and grasp the bundle.

"Go ahead," Ben instructed. He sat in the wing chair and watched Adam rip into the thin paper. "Slowly," he cautioned.

Adam nodded. "Do." His little fingers picked the last of the paper away. "Dis?"

"Those are cards."

"Cahs." Adam eyed the top of the stack. "Dis?"

"That is a heart."

"Hahr. Dis?"

"Spade."

"Pay. Dis?"

"Ace of clubs."

"Ass."

Ben choked. He had no desire for that word to come up in conversation with his aunt and uncle. "Say it slowly. Aaasssuuhh."

"Aassuh."

"Much better." The boy had no idea how much better.

"Dis?"

"Diamond."

"Diema."

Ben relaxed, thinking the lesson was complete. Now Adam would finger the cards, turn them over, and probably scatter them all over the rug.

"Dis?"

The question opened Ben’s eyes. "What?"

Adam padded barefoot to Ben’s knees, holding the card with the unprinted side toward his father. "Dis."

Ben gently turned the card. "Oh," he said in recognition. "That is a queen."

"Kwee." He frowned at the multicolored card and then almost rammed it up Ben’s nose. "Wee."

"You don’t read cards, son." It was a lie, of course. Ben was very good at reading cards and other players’ minds but he thought those skills a bit beyond Adam’s capabilities.

Adam plodded back to the pile of cards and plunked down on the rug. "No?"

"No read," Ben agreed. He lifted a ledger book from the chair-side table and studied it as he had each day, logging income and expenses, repeatedly calculating how far his money would take his son and himself. If they had no unexpected expenses, they would arrive in Cincinnati with enough funds to keep them comfortable until Ben could find work.

And then?

When Ben had left Boston determined to start a new life in the West, he had thought Cincinnati was the answer to his quest. Then he had arrived in Philadelphia - a city where knowledge was prized and quickly shared. Here he had learned more about the Corps of Discovery and other men who had journeyed into mountains and across deserts. What interested him most were the accounts of the western coast. Apparently there were places in Spanish territory where one could live by the sea and yet never feel winter close it’s grip. Perhaps the weather there was like the Pacific Islands and the growing season would be long. He would still travel to Cincinnati to see his brother John and to work. But come next spring, Adam and he would buy a wagon and head west to the Missouri and beyond.

A quick glance at the clock on the lowboy opposite the bed told Ben he had been daydreaming for a quarter of an hour.

An equally quick look revealed Adam happily at play. He had managed to bend a few cards and stuff them in the slippers. Ben laughed when he noticed other cards nestled halfway under the bed linens, obviously taking naps. For a reason Ben couldn’t comprehend, Adam had one card stuck under a short sleeve of his dress. Must caution him about that particular action; it could get a man into no small amount of difficulty during a card game.

The child became aware of his father’s attention and looked up with a quick grin, then returned to his work. Leave it to Adam to be mesmerized by a pack of cards. Ben would need to be certain to carry them in his pocket during the journey. They would be good for quick distraction from poor behavior.

"Shall we eat?" Ben stood and stretched. "Then we’ll look at the boats."

Adam ran for the door.

"Socks and slippers."

The boy frowned, returned to the cards, and kicked at them, almost toppling himself.

Adam knew better. One more chance. "Socks and slippers, please."

Tears erupted from the blue eyes. Adam sat down and indulged in broken-hearted sobs.

Ben knew what this behavior meant. The only time Adam became weepy-eyed was when he had been severely scolded or when he was tired. "Why don’t we sit down," Ben suggested. He returned to the chair, holding Adam close to his chest.

"No - tocks." Adam yawned, displaying all eight teeth.

"We are not discussing socks, Adam. We are being quiet." Ben rubbed the boy’s back and was rewarded with a sleeping armful in less than five minutes.

While Adam’s heart beat next to his, Ben solved the eat-and-swim dilemma. They would pack a lunch and ride the horse to the pond. Adam would be more than willing to put on his socks and slippers for the chance to pet the horse. That problem resolved, he scooted down in the chair and shared a short nap with his son.

Adam could not don his footwear quickly enough when Ben told him about the horse. He fairly paced around the kitchen while Jenny, the cook, prepared a light lunch for father and son. She wrapped the food in a cloth and handed it to Adam. Despite Ben’s order to the contrary, the boy ran to the stable. All that saved Adam from a physical expression of paternal displeasure was the fact that he managed to look suitably contrite when Ben caught up to him.

"Any more disobedience and we will return to the house," Ben warned.

Adam pulled his lower lip in. He nodded and made a point of sitting exceedingly still while Ben readied the horse. There was no need to disturb Alex, the groom, to do a job Ben was capable of handling himself. He double-checked the saddle, placed the food inside one saddlebag and stuffed Adam’s and his extra clothing in the other saddlebag.

Now they were ready. Ben clapped his hands in invitation and laughed when Adam ran to him. Having had a great deal of practice, Ben had become proficient at balancing Adam while he swung into the saddle. He kept one arm around the boy and signaled the horse to walk.

Adam had never shown a fear of animals even when Ben would have preferred at least a little timidity. Adam’s bravery was Ben’s fault. From the time his son could move his hand, Ben had held him and allowed him to pat everything from a rescued bird to the withers of a gentle draft horse. Instead of crying from fear when he had touched a newly caught fish and it had flipped around in front of him, Adam had laughed. The only animals he did not care for were lobsters and crabs. Around them he buried his face in Ben’s shoulder.

The boy pulled forward in Ben’s grasp and patted the horse’s neck. "Hord-es."

Ah, a chance to buttress a lesson. "He’s a very good horse because he does as he’s told," Ben hinted and waited for Adam’s response.

"Hord-es - Pa?" he asked, twisting to look up at his father.

"Yes, horses have fathers and horses have mothers."

Adam turned his back and sat straight. "No tocks."

Ben shook with laughter. "No, horses don’t wear socks." Actually, a horse could have a marking known as a sock. No, best not to pursue the subject.

If they had been on foot, Adam would have been quick to point out anything he knew and would have been even quicker to ask about what he didn’t know. But on horseback he was quiet and observant, so much so that more than once during previous rides Ben had mistakenly believed Adam to be asleep.

No word came from the child until Ben directed the horse to a narrow dirt path. Adam clapped his hands as he recognized the surroundings and the trail that led to the pond. "Wim."

"And after we swim we must eat," Ben reminded.

The canopy of trees parted to reveal a large, blue pond fringed with the wheat-colored grass and the last of the wildflowers that heralded autumn’s approach. How many times Ben and his elder brother John had been here in their boyhoods, Ben more than John because John had usually wandered off. Their grandfather had told them that the pond was spring fed. A cold swim too early in the season had convinced Ben that his grandfather had been correct. This year, though, the pond had been warmer than usual. Ben had read several books about water sources but had found no satisfactory explanation for the phenomena.

While Ben settled the horse, Adam sat in the grass, tugged off his slippers and socks, spent minutes maneuvering out of his drawers, and then bounded to his feet. He ran to Ben and made a great effort at being patient while Ben removed his own footwear, his coat, tie, vest, and shirt. The moment Adam sensed that Ben was ready to swim, Adam held up his arms.

Ben walked into the shallows and then reached down for a handful of water to toss on Adam. The boy squealed with delight and kicked to be set down.

"Not yet." Ben waited until the water level was between his knees and waist. "Hold my hands."

"Do," Adam assured, nodding vigorously. He was always cooperative when they were at the pond. He giggled and pulled up his feet when Ben quickly lowered him into the clear water, his cotton underdress becoming translucent as it absorbed the liquid. Then Adam waved his arms, eager to splash in earnest.

Ben gripped the boy’s waist. "On your stomach."

Adam turned and paddled his arms.

"I’m releasing you."

Water was something else Adam had never feared - which was why Ben had been determined to teach him how to swim. The boy delighted in the shore, the rain, puddles, and basins of water. When bored he had been known to tip over a mug and pat his hands in the spreading liquid.

As his son made mighty ripples in the water, Ben walked sideways with his hands inches under Adam’s stomach. How good it had been this summer to share one of his favorite places with the boy. Ben’s father had never made the time to visit in Philadelphia; he’d always been needed in Boston. That was where Father had been, busy in Boston, when Ben and John had accompanied their mother and Aunt Ruth to visit relatives in New York. That was where Father had been, busy in Boston, when Mother and Aunt Ruth had died of cholera. John and Ben had journeyed here, to Philadelphia, to be with their grandparents the remainder of that summer. And this pond was where Ben had passed hours sitting in the shade of a tree, watching the animals lean to the water for a drink, listening to the bird songs, feeling the wind slide across his skin, and grieving in solitude for Mother.

Adam gulped down a bit of water as his paddling slowed so Ben gently lifted him and tapped the boy’s nose. "Now it is my turn." He held Adam aloft and eased onto his back to float. "Now remember, be still." He sat the boy astride his chest.

Adam patted Ben’s right shoulder. "Hord-es."

"Yes, you are sitting just the way Pa rides a horse." Ben slid his arms through the cool water and squinted when the sunlight struck his eyes.

Ever the mimic, Adam squinted, wrinkling his nose in the process.

"Your mother used to do the same thing. She would close her eyes like this, and then she would wrinkle her nose like this." His demonstration brought giggles from Adam, and that characteristic clapping of the palms together while the fingers splayed and curved slightly back.

"You know when she did it?" Ben smiled as he pictured Elizabeth’s mischief-filled face. "She wrinkled her nose when she smelled fish. Which meant she wrinkled her nose a good amount of the time in Boston. And she wrinkled her nose when she laughed. But most of all - " Ben paused to wiggle his nose in imitation of a rabbit. "She wrinkled her nose when she - achooo!" He pretended to sneeze.

"Schoo!" Adam imitated.

"Achooooo!!" Ben sneezed all the louder.

Adam’s answering mock sneeze was so strong that he had to brace his hands against Ben’s chest. Then he commanded, "Ting."

"Sing?" Ben twisted his lips. "Adam, your father’s voice is not considered melodious by those of authority."

"Ting." Adam kicked slightly to nudge his father into action.

Ben pulled in a deep breath and obeyed his son’s order.

There was a sailor, a false young man,

He lived down by the sea.

Six pretty maidens he drowneded to death,

By a lonely willow tree.

When he went off with Sally Brown,

They walked down by the sea.

An evil thought came into his mind,

To hurl her into the sea.

‘But first take off yer golden gown,

Take off yer gown,’ said he.

‘For though I’m going to murder you,

I’ll not spoil yer finery.’

‘But turn yer face ya false young man,

Ah, turn yer face,’ said she.

‘For it is not right that a nice young sailor,

A naked lady should see.’

So then he turned his back on her,

He turned his face to the sea,

And with a push and a mighty shove,

She hurled him into the sea.

‘Lie there, lie there, ya false young man,

Lie there, lie there,’ said she.

‘Six pretty maidens ya drowneded to death,

Now go keep them company.’

Adam laughed as if he had understood the humor of the drinking song.

Ben rolled slightly and dipped a shoulder below the water. This was Adam’s favorite part of swimming. "Adam, lad! The ship she’s taken ta rollin’!"

His announcement, made in a deep voice, brought delighted giggles filled with anticipation.

"Oh, no! Here it comes, lad! Here comes the big wave!" Ben scooped water with his right hand and threw it over the boy at the same time that he lowered his left shoulder.

Adam pitched off Ben’s chest and landed in the water, immediately paddling. Little did he know he was being taught, which was just as well considering he knew every thing.

"Make for shore!" Best aim the boy in the correct direction, it was a large pond and Adam was a small fish.

"Swim, lad, swim!" The moment Ben could, he stood in the water and walked beside the boy. "I fear there’s something behind ya, lad!" Ben tickled Adam’s leg and the boy yelped with laughter.

"Faster, sailor, faster!" When Adam was close to the bank of the pond, Ben grabbed him and swung him high. "The wave’s got ya, boy! There’s nothin’ fer it but ta eat now."

"Ead." Adam rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the water dripping from his wet hair.

Ben redirected the soaked locks. "I wonder what Jenny packed for us." No sooner had he put Adam on his feet than the youngster ran to the saddlebags that were propped against the nearest tree.

It was understood that Adam must fumble about with the buckle before Ben should sit down beside him. To that end, Ben walked slowly and watched the little hands trying so diligently to accomplish what, for now, was a most difficult undertaking.

At long last, Adam raised his eyes. "Pa," he requested.

Ben unfastened the bag and reached inside for the fabric-covered bundle, which he promptly handed to Adam. The boy never did manage to untie the knot but he pulled out one tucked-in corner of cloth and achieved the same results. That done he looked up at Ben, wondering what to do next.

Offered a carrot, Adam, clamped his mouth shut and turned his head to one side. Ah well, it had been worth a try. The only time Adam had accepted a carrot had been when he was teething. Even then he didn’t eat the thing. Instead, he gnawed at it until the budding tooth didn’t bother him as much.

"Here’s something more to your liking." Ben used a spoon to mash an assortment of well-cooked vegetables and then offered it to his son. Adam pushed the spoon away and took a long look at its contents as if Ben might offer him something unacceptable. Assured that all was well, he opened his mouth like a little bird. When the food hit his tongue, his eyes grew large with appreciation and, in his eagerness to have more, he reached his left hand into the cup of vegetables.

"Wait, please." Ben mashed the remaining vegetables, stirred them, and placed the cup between his son’s legs. Adam shoved his right hand into the mixture and smacked some into his mouth - and about an equal amount onto his cheeks. It seemed that he wasn’t so much concerned with the taste of something as he was with how it felt.

After a leisurely meal, and another trip to the pond for a face and hand washing, Ben walked Adam back to their campsite. He spread a small blanket for Adam, changed them both into dry clothes, and the boy obediently laid down on his stomach and fell asleep. Ben eased down to the grass. How fortunate to be freshly washed, have a stomach that was full, and the sun on one’s bare feet. The only thing that could make life better would be a good smoke but the pipes were at the house.

His eyelids grew heavy. He blinked. Must stay awake. The breeze was warm and the bird songs were soft. He was losing the fight. Ben reached for his tie and then worked it under the belt on Adam’s dress. After several attempts, he managed to thread one end of the tie through a buttonhole on his vest and knot it to the other tie end. Then he moved closer to the sleeping tyke and fell asleep assured that Adam couldn’t wander. Luckily the boy didn’t know how to untie a knot - yet.

They had scarcely returned to the house when Adam asked, "Boa-t?"

Ben nodded toward the garden of neatly clipped hedges. "Stay there while I take care of this." As he unsaddled the horse, he spared a look at Adam. The boy sat in the very middle of the walkway, playing with the gravel. He fingered one piece, eyed it, and then lifted it toward his mouth.

"Young man," Ben warned. Adam and he had discussed what was and was not acceptable for consumption many times before.

The imp quickly swung his hands behind his back, hiding the pebble. His eyes were large and so alive with mischief that Ben had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing.

"Not in your mouth," Ben reminded.

Adam nodded.

"Thank you."

"Peas."

Ben paused in carrying the saddle to its stand. "When someone says ‘thank you- ’"

"Ta tu," Adam mimicked.

"- the response is ‘you’re welcome.’" They had discussed this before, too.

"Wot?" the boy called.

"You’re welcome," Ben repeated slowly. He balanced the saddle on its stand and returned to the horse.

"Tor – tor elko."

Interesting. Usually Adam only repeated the last word. "Very good," Ben praised, wiping down the horse.

"Ad-am know." It was obvious they would have to work on the "thank you" concept a bit more. The boy walked to the stable. He reached out and very carefully patted the horse’s leg. "Pa."

"Yes, Adam."

"Boa-t."

"We will see the boats," Ben assured. "But first Pa must tend to the horse."

Reassured that his plans had not been forgotten, Adam clapped his hands. "Boa-t." He ran back to the garden path, plopped down so hard that Ben flinched, and then dug his fingers into the gravel. "Pa."

Pa. Pa. Pa. Ben wondered if a word could be worn threadbare. "Yes, Adam."

"Ad-am son."

Had he said "son"?

"I’m sorry. What did you say?"

Adam giggled and waited for Ben to look at him. "Ad-am son," he repeated proudly.

Why would such simple words cause Ben’s throat to tighten? "Yes. Adam is Pa’s son."

The boy cocked his head. "Ad-am know."

Oh, Lord. Ben rubbed at his forehead. Wasn’t this a bit more complicated an idea than a child Adam’s age should be able to understand?

"Pa." Adam’s voice was full of scolding.

Ben turned to him in surprise, the grooming brush forgotten in his hand.

A slender little finger pointed to the horse. "Do."

Was he ordering his father about? Ben leaned back in laughter. "Are you telling Pa what to do, Adam Cartwright?"

"Peas." Adam grinned.

Ben leaned his side against the horse. How far might this conversation go? "And why do you want Pa to take care of the horse?"

Adam frowned. "Boa-t."

"You want Pa to finish with the horse so we can see the boats?"

The boy ran to him and then tugged at his trouser leg. "Boa-t."

Ben sat on his heels in front of Adam and tapped the boy’s fistful of gravel. "Return that gravel to where it should be and we’ll look at the boats."

Adam threw the gravel toward the path. He still wasn’t using his wrist but that toss from the shoulder had been a strong one. Ben rested his arms on his knees. "Adam?"

The boy faced him.

"Next time would you walk over and drop it gently, please?"

"Do," Adam assured.

After he had returned the horse to its stall, Ben lifted the boy. "You behaved very well while Pa tended the horse. Thank you."

Adam gave Ben an uncommonly solemn look. His mouth opened slightly, hesitantly. "Tor - elko."

"You’re welcome?" Ben gaped at his son a moment. "Adam, you are growing much too smart."

His approval brought light to his son’s eyes. "Ad-am know."

Ben patted the boy’s left leg. "Scamp."

That statement brought immediate correction. "Ad-am."

"’Scamp’ is a nickname." Ben walked around the side of the house and toward the street.

"Wot?"

"Nickname."

Adam pursed his lips. He did not care for the word so he rested his chin on Ben’s shoulder. "Tor elko," he said. "Tor elko." Ben lost count of the number of times Adam repeated the new phrase but he had never been so glad to stop at Adam’s favorite spot and hear the boy exclaim, "Boa-t!"

Ben walked alone in the midst of the trees, his thoughts far from the hunting in which he was supposedly engaged. This was the land that had belonged to Mother’s parents and which Uncle Hugh had inherited when Ben had been young. Ben’s uncle kept it for sentimental reasons, though he would have denied such and claimed the land was an investment.

Ben supposed he, too, had inherited sentimentality about certain places. He had spent some of the most peaceful moments of his life in these meadows, along this creek, over there in the pond, and near here under the trees. The hills had been just tall enough to provide a sense of accomplishment when he had stood atop them. They had also been the one place where he could look around and find John.

Sentimentality was not quite what he was feeling this day. But what word to put to it? Understanding, perhaps, for while Ben hoped he might return someday to walk this ground once more, in all likelihood he would not. He’d never been one for returning, that had been the appeal of going to sea. New skies, new waters, new ports, new faces, new food, new smells, and amazing new sights.

He was fond of Aunt Bridget and Uncle Hugh, yes, just as he was fond of Uncle Samuel and his family. But given the ancestral tendencies to strike out for the promise of new opportunities, his relatives did not attempt to hold him back.

Why was he tromping about with this rifle in his hand, pretending at hunting? For the same reason as always. For the walk. For the opportunity to reflect without interruption. Father had scolded him more than once for venturing into the woods alone. But hadn’t Father been the one who Ben had so often seen doing the same?

One time, Ben could not have been more than twelve, he had watched his father take a rifle from the cabinet in the room where the men settled with brandy, cigars, and pipes after supper. He had waited until Father had been away from the house before he had saddled his own horse and had ridden enough behind not to be discovered. He had tied his horse away from Father’s horse. And then he had pursued the man with the greatest of secrecy. For what reason? Who knew? Probably because he had been able. Twelve-year-olds required no particular motive for their actions.

Ben had followed his father into the woods. And when he had finally found the man, there Father had been, sitting with his back against a tree trunk, his rifle at his side, and his eyes closed. That was when Ben had sensed his intrusion into Father’s privacy. That was when he had turned around and quietly left. And that was when he had realized that Father, too, often went hunting not for food for the body but for sustenance of the soul.

Studying this familiar area, Ben accepted the fact that the land would belong to someone else in the future. They would know nothing of his memories. They would most likely not be interested in who had lived here before them. But he could cause them to wonder about one thing.

He bent down and pulled a small strip of metal from its sheath inside his boot. Angus and he had fashioned one for each of them and had adapted it to every use from cutting rope to picking locks. Ben wound his way from the woods and into the late afternoon sunlight. Between the meadow and the trees was a line of substantial rocks that looked to have been tossed about by giant hands. He climbed to the largest of them, leaned his rifle beside him, and smiled as he carved into the rock: Bnjmn Cartwright- 1829.

Saints, he was weary to the bone. Ben had thought all the plans had been made, all the provisions bought, and all contingencies covered. But the nearer the day of leaving Philadelphia, the more he discovered he had overlooked. Surely the journey itself could not be as tiring as the preparations. He slumped into the wing chair in his bedroom and rubbed his hands over his face.

"Pa." The word was accompanied by a little hand patting Ben’s knee.

Ben opened one eye and regarded his son. Adam’s tongue peeked from the side of his mouth. His entire demeanor was one of a timidity he rarely showed around Ben.

Even his voice was unduly soft and uncertain when he offered a letter to Ben. "Wee."

"Thank you." Ben took the letter in hand and straightened in the chair.

A hesitant smile parted Adam’s lips and then he turned on the balls of his bare feet and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Ben inquired.

Adam faced him but pointed across the hallway, toward the nursery.

"Why?"

The boy put his hands behind his back. "A-gwee."

Ben shook his head. "No, Adam, Pa is not angry."

A dark brow rose in doubt.

"Pa is tired."

Adam nodded with all the wisdom of a physician. "Seep."

His son’s simple solution caused Ben to laugh. He laid the letter atop the ledger book on the chair-side table and leaned forward, extending his arms. "Come here, son."

The words were no more away from Ben’s lips than Adam clapped his hands in expectation of a game.

Ben lowered his head and said in what Adam knew to be a teasing voice, "Don’t make me come get you, Adam Cartwright."

The youngster squealed and ran to the opposite side of the bed. Unable to endure the suspense, he tiptoed to the chest and peeked over it.

"Don’t make me come get you," Ben repeated in a low growl.

This time the squeal was higher pitched and longer. Adam again ran to the side of the bed. He buried his face in the side of the mattress. Apparently his theory was that if he could not see his father then obviously his father could not see him.

Ben stood from the chair and stomped toward Adam. "Here I come," he said in his scariest voice.

Adam screamed and tried to climb the side of the bed. He laughed, squealed, laughed, and then dropped to his hands and knees and tried to crawl past Ben.

"There’s no escaping Pa." Ben bent and quickly lifted the boy by his ankles. Adam’s dress skirt fell across his face and he waved his arms while Ben carried him upside down.

The boy laughed and squirmed and then shouted, "Boom!" when Ben tossed him onto the bed. The feather mattress caved in around him. Ah, the housekeeper would not be happy with the two of them.

Adam once again scurried to his hands and knees and tried to reach the opposite side of the bed. Ben grabbed the boy’s ankles. "Now I’ve got ya!" He pulled his son toward him, put a big hand to either side of the boy’s waist, and lifted him. "Now what should Pa do?" He smiled.

"Dub," Adam declared, swiping the palm of his hand across his face in an attempt to brush his hair from his eyes.

Ben held the boy close. "Dub? What is that?" he teased.

Adam leaned close and pressed puckered lips against Ben’s cheek.

Ben leaned his head back and studied Adam from the bottoms of his eyes. "Like this?" He put his lips to Adam’s neck and blew. Adam folded in that direction. "Does that tickle?" Ben teased.

Adam paused from his mirth to answer, "No."

"I’m glad for that." Ben shifted Adam to ride his hip and returned to the chair.

"Wee?" Adam settled in Ben’s lap and reached for the letter.

Ben put his hand atop the paper. "It is for Pa, not Adam."

Adam scooted up Ben’s lap and leaned the side of his head against his father’s chest. "Wee?"

"Yes, I will read it to you." Ben carefully unfolded the letter after noting it came from his Uncle Samuel in Boston. He read aloud to an enthralled little audience:

When Ben stopped reading, Adam wiggled to get down. He ran to a corner of the room and returned with the deck of cards, or at least a few of them. Ben folded the letter and placed it on top of the ledger then helped Adam into his lap.

The boy used both hands to hold up a card. "Pay."

Ben blinked in surprise. It was, indeed, a spade.

Adam nodded smugly and lifted another card. "Diema."

"Diamond. Very good."

"Ad-am know," came the sure reply. They truly did need to work on, "Thank you." The boy held up another card. "Aassuh."

Thank the stars he had pronounced the "a" sound correctly.

A few of the cards threatened to slide from Adam’s lap. Ben quickly scooted them back.

Adam tapped his finger on the card. "Hahr."

Ben propped his elbow on the chair arm, and cupped his chin in his hand. He waited to see what Adam would call the next card, with its king boasting a bright yellow crown.

"Pa!" the boy exclaimed.

"Pa!" Ben laughed. "I wish."

Adam twisted to make eye contact. "Wot?"

"Wish." Before his son could ask, Ben held up his hand. "I have to think about it." He knew what Adam would do then. When his son tapped his finger on Ben’s head, Ben tapped Adam’s temple.

"Tink," the child said proudly.

"And I believe you’re doing more of it every day," Ben observed.

Adam frowned. "Day?"

Ben motioned toward the window. "When the sun comes up."

The boy sat straight, slightly affronted. "Ad-am son."

Click here for Part 2