With Thaddeus’ nightly tutelage, and in spite of Adam’s protests about noise to the point of burying his head under a crewel-embroidered pillow on the parlor sofa one evening, Ben doggedly pursued his quest to play the fiddle. In late December, magic happened. Ben’s fingers moved along the neck of the fiddle without being driven by his concentrated effort.
Thaddeus knew what had happened. He set aside his own instrument and laughed. "There it is! Now it’s a simple matter of learning tunes."
"Simple, he says," Ben muttered.
"You have the ear for it." Thaddeus paused to light his pipe. "You whistle pure melody and in perfect time." He cast Ben a mockingly angry expression. "You seem to do so with especial volume when other men are less than awake first thing in the morning."
Adam tiptoed into the living area from the kitchen where he had been helping Sophie. "No noid," he said in wonder.
Ben pointed the fiddle bow at his son. "Any more out of you and - "
The floor, walls, and windows shuddered with a tremor that Ben felt through his boots. Thaddeus and he stood, open-mouthed, and looked toward heaven as if it might provide an answer as to what had caused the roar. Ben placed the fiddle and bow on his chair and lifted Adam before the boy’s embrace of his leg turned it numb.
"What was that?" Ben put voice to the unspoken question.
Sophie stepped into the room, a linen cloth in one hand, and looked toward the front door. "The powder works," she whispered.
"No," Thaddeus said knowingly, "a riverboat."
"A boat," Ben repeated. He raised his brows at Sophie, who nodded that she would watch Adam. Ben grabbed his coat and gloves and ran after Thaddeus into the cold night air.
Ben had learned at sea that the largest part of life was lived without notable incident. The days plying the waters had most often been filled with drudgery. Blood-chilling threat had arrived when least expected, testing every inch of his being. It had not mattered how cold or wet or weary or discouraged he had felt, there had been a job to do. And then the storm, the near collision, the threat of capsizing, or whatever else the challenge might have been had subsided to be brought back to life in fitful dreams or drink-filled gatherings with fellow sailors.
Racing alongside Thaddeus, Ben took note of how the flames from the river writhed upward and seemed to touch the stars. The night was no longer black. All around him, buildings and people appeared to leap about in the flickering orange and yellow light. The low roar rolling from the riverfront was bound with the shouts of men, the stamp and snort of alarmed animals, the slamming of doors, the squeaking of raised windows, and the pounding of running shoes on the sidewalks and down the center of thoroughfares usually hushed at this time of night. Above all the chaos, Ben heard the same words repeated: riverboat, landing, passengers, crew, and fire.
He wondered how many of these people knew what awaited them. Splintered deck boards, floating barrels and casks, twisted sheets of metal, and pieces of machinery were all he prayed they would find floating in the river’s treacherous currents. But as Ben slowed to a fast walk, weaving his way through the increasing number of onlookers, he could see that the riverboat deck was already collapsing at mid-ship and the pilothouse was at a dangerous angle.
A strong hand dug into Ben’s shoulder and tugged him toward the landing. Thaddeus put his mouth near Ben’s ear and shouted, "A boat! We need to save those in the river!"
Ben nodded as they set into a run that caused his legs to burn and his lungs to heave. He paused only to slap a man on the back and point toward red-hot coals smoldering alongside the wall of a warehouse containing tobacco. Thaddeus and he skidded to a stop along one of the wharfs, their arms at waist-height as they turned about looking for a boat in the orange-hued water. Ben thumped the back of his hand into Thaddeus’ chest and pointed to the next dock. A large rowboat was tied there, beyond a snag of debris from the explosion - floating broken furniture and two dead horses.
Ben’s and Thaddeus’ years of knowledge acquired from working on water – one on rivers, the other at sea – forged the two men into a team that required only nods of the head and motions with the hand to share thoughts and directives. They knew the dangers of currents, they had no illusions about what they would find floating in the cold water, but they could no more stand idly by than they could quit breathing. There would be survivors amid that rubble, survivors screaming for aid in the din created by the bellowing fire and the uproar from town.
The oars tore at the rippling water as Ben and Thaddeus put their backs into the job. They watched for wreckage that could damage their small boat even as someone in need of rescue floated with its aid.
The first body they found that was not dismembered was nevertheless beyond earthly aid. Thaddeus crouched near the middle of the boat and tugged the young woman out of the water. After he laid her in the bottom of the boat, he paused. Thaddeus’ lack of movement caught Ben’s notice. Despite the burned face, with its features melted on one side, Ben recognized Virginia.
It could not be. What business had she on a riverboat? And why be onboard this time of night when her home was so nearby? It was not Virginia. The light and the shadows were making fools of his eyes.
But Ben would have known that green dress anywhere. It had been sewn special for Virginia. There was not another like it. Not wanting to, but unable to stop himself, he touched her arm.
"Virginia?" He tapped at her hand. "Virginia?"
Thaddeus eased the girl so her face was toward the side of the boat and then sat and took to the oar.
They came near to not seeing the child stretched along what looked to be part of a beam. Ben feared they were too late for the boy, as well. But a murmur escaped the small lips as Ben lifted the child from the floating wood and gently laid him down in the boat. Thaddeus tugged off his coat and placed it, and its warmth, over the motionless form. It was back to the oars until Thaddeus pointed to starboard. A man waved frantically, clinging to a barrel with his other arm. A woman held onto his waist, her soaked skirts threatening to pull her under.
Thaddeus helped the woman first. He ripped at the waist of her dress, freeing her of the weighted skirts, and she came aboard gasping, tormented with tremors and heart-rending pleas to save her husband. As Thaddeus had done earlier, Ben removed his coat and wrapped it around the sobbing woman. He ordered her to sit still, then balanced himself and joined Thaddeus in bringing the man aboard.
"We can’t take on more weight," Thaddeus shouted as they settled the man by his wife. "We’ll go back and - " His interest shot past Ben’s shoulder.
Ben turned and saw the man, floating without aid only a few arms’ lengths away. After a quick look at the man and woman, Ben’s eyes met his friend’s. Without a word, closing his mind to what he was doing, Ben grasped the ankles of Virginia’s boots. Thaddeus took her by the shoulders and they rolled the dead girl overboard. Ben’s stomach lurched but he fought for control. Instead of thinking of himself, he offered a silent prayer for Virginia’s immortal soul and then joined Thaddeus in rowing toward the living.
By the time they turned back toward the shore, Ben thought the river’s currents some of the strongest he had struggled with. He was glad for the arms that reached from the wharf to take charge of the three people that Thaddeus and he had plucked from the river. His shoulders ached, his neck was stiff, and his legs seized and would not go full straight. There was no danger of chill, despite his lack of a coat, for he gave off a heat to rival that of the fire. He lowered his head, wiping the sweat from his face, and then raised his eyes to Thaddeus’.
"There may be others." Thaddeus watched him closely.
Ben nodded and straightened his back. People told him later, as someone thrust a mug of hot tea into his cramped hands and laid a heavy blanket over his numb shoulders, that Thaddeus and he had gone out nine times and brought back nearly thirty of those who had been aboard the boat, including three crew members. He didn’t know about that, but he knew what he saw as dawn’s light filtered across the riverfront. The charred remains of the riverboat listed against the landing. Perhaps a dozen other boats, both business and pleasure, were damaged. And debris washed in and out against the shoreline and probably for miles downstream, as well.
Ben limped toward the livery, knowing that Thaddeus would take care of himself. Somewhere along the way, he handed the pottery mug to a person standing at a corner. But he kept the blanket, holding it as tightly as a man grasping a lifeline.
Sophie opened the front door when Ben was yet thirty paces from the Jacobs’ home. Adam appeared around her skirts, clad only in his nightdress and slippers. Before Sophie could reach to stop the boy, he ran to Ben with his arms outstretched. How Ben found the strength to lift his son, he could not have said. Nor could he have explained why he sat then and there on the cold ground and rocked Adam in his arms.
Virginia’s body washed to shore while Ben slept dreamlessly on the bed in the Jacobs’ extra room. When he finally opened his eyes it was to find Adam sitting beside him, quietly playing with his cards. The boy smiled at Ben and held up a queen.
"Zo-vee," Adam said proudly, his blue eyes looking especially bright and cheerful.
Ben started to speak, hoping to convince the boy that he should say "Mrs. Jacobs" and not "Sophie," but found he couldn’t. He cleared his throat and tried again. Still nothing.
Adam patted his father’s chest. "No noid."
Only air escaped Ben’s mouth as he laughed. "No noid," he whispered.
The boy patted Ben’s chest again and then sat straight. "Hahr." He held up the card for Ben to see. "Diema." He looked up quizzically when Ben pulled himself toward the head of the bed with a body-shuddering moan. "Ead?" he queried but did not wait for an answer. Adam scurried off the bed and ran from the room. "Zo-vee!" he called. "Pa ead!"
Ben closed his eyes and considered the irony of Adam tending him. He started to chuckle but coughed violently instead.
"We took on too much smoke," Thaddeus said hoarsely as he entered the room. "And it would seem that we shouted overmuch, as well."
Ben eased his legs over the edge of the bed. They felt as heavy as anchors. How had he gotten into this nightshirt? How had he gotten into this bed?
"Word is that more than fifty were lost." Thaddeus sat in a wing chair near the door.
"Virginia," Ben whispered.
His friend nodded. "The burial is tomorrow." He leaned his head back. "No doubt there will be funerals for days to follow." He rested his hands in his lap. "Among them will be Judge Newton and Mrs. Treyhee."
Ben coughed as much from surprise as from the rawness in his throat. "What’s that about?" he whispered, aware that Thaddeus was distracting him, and thankful for it.
"Far be it from me to hazard a guess." The twinkle in the man’s eyes made a lie of his words.
The two friends were well aware they were thinking the same thing. A judge and the owner of a boarding house. Why was it that those who spoke so vehemently against the temptations of the flesh were most susceptible to them? Any other time, the revelation would have opened a stirring discussion between Thaddeus and Ben. But not now.
"What happened?" Ben whispered.
"The ship was building steam for a trip upriver. They’d had trouble on their way down and had pulled in for repairs at Maysville. The best the captain can judge, the repairs didn’t hold. Something about the metal not giving when it should or some such. The end is the same, Benjamin, no matter how it came about."
Ben lowered his head. Yes, the end was the same.
"We fear we have lost Randolph and his wife."
Ben had thought there could be no more bad news. He had been wrong. Randolph’s death meant there was one less voice in the city to champion the causes of literacy and music and independent thought. "Windthorst has won."
"Windthorst is dead, Benjamin. He was onboard." Thaddeus arched a brow. "Mrs. Windthorst was pulled from the water alive." A slow, wicked smile inched the edges of Thaddeus’ mouth upwards. "Tough as a tanned hide, that one is. Came though it all without a scrape."
Despite the dire content of Thaddeus’ previous news, Ben laughed at the last remark. But the speed with which Ben’s humor turned to grief frightened him. He did not know he was crying until the tears dripped to the front of his nightshirt. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and pulled in a shaky, shallow breath. "She was too young," Ben whispered of Virginia, knowing that his friend would understand.
"Yes, she was. What love of life she took with her."
Ben stood and noted one of his clean shirts and a pair of his trousers on the bedside chair. "Who brought these?" He wished to heaven that he could do more than whisper.
"That would be your pup. He took it upon himself to fetch them."
"Adam went to the house alone?"
"He waited until Sophie was setting the table for the noon meal and then strolled over to your place."
Strolled over to - Ben’s thoughts took a turn. "The noon meal?" Had he slept that long?
"So she tells me. I was asleep."
Ben paused in buttoning his trousers. "What time is it now?"
"Would you have the courtesy to look at me when you speak?" Thaddeus paused to cough. "That hissing of yours is not easily understood," Thaddeus scolded and then coughed again.
"What time of day is it?" Ben turned to face his friend, pulling his shirt over his head as he did so. The cloth rasped across his unshaven cheeks.
"And don’t speak through your clothes," came Thaddeus’ order.
Ben put his hands on either side of his waist. "Do you know where we are in the day or not?"
"Supper will be ready soon."
"Supper!" Ben bent double with a racking cough.
Thaddeus stood slowly. He rubbed at his left elbow. "Sophie informed me that Adam and she had a refreshingly quiet day while you and I slept."
Ben tugged on his boots. "I am old," he announced with as much gravity as his whisper would allow.
"Old! You’re scarcely grown."
Ben shook his head. "Time was I could have hauled a duty such as that and then put in a full day’s work."
His friend squinted. "Do you understand that we were on that river for well nigh seven hours, Benjamin? Rowing and dragging people aboard and thrusting aside flotsam. And somewhere in there we were on that steamboat looking for those that might be trapped. And then we were back in the boat, rowing to a large section of the rail that some crewmen were holding fast to. Do you not think a man has earned a bit of weariness after such a night?"
Ben frowned. "All I remember is taking people back to shore when we’d pulled them from the water." He licked his lip. "And Virginia. I remember Virginia."
Thaddeus put his arm around Ben’s shoulders as they walked to the dining room. "Were I ever in need, I would want you nearby to aid me."
Ben coughed when Thaddeus slapped his back.
Then his friend held up a warning finger. "Don’t be scolding Adam for bringing your clothes. Nothing was harmed. He saw a job that needed doing and he did it."
Their eyes met.
"Virginia always had a smile, didn’t she?" Thaddeus said. "And was smarter than she had a right to be."
"But, she couldn’t sing," Ben added. The candles glowed inside their glass hurricane shades on the dining table. They were a soft, mellow fire so unlike the last flames Ben had seen. "If only we’d been able to save her, Thaddeus."
" ‘If only’ is no place to live," Ben’s friend cautioned. "The Maker used us best as we were able. We must not go about confusing ourselves with Him nor our powers with His." He motioned as Adam entered the room, studiously carrying a small bowl of vegetables. "That’s what you’re about for now."
Adam handed the bowl to Thaddeus and then smiled up at Ben, seeking approval of his accomplishment. "Dee?"
"Yes, Adam." Ben put his hand atop the boy’s head. "I see."
Ben was bewildered by the way the city returned to normal before the last burial had been completed. Impossible as it seemed, nightmare that it had been, the citizens took it in stride. Boiler explosions, whether they were on a boat or in a factory, were nothing new. Nor was the loss of life to the river. The only lingering indications of the tragedy were the charred, disabled boat, the locked door at Randolph’s newspaper office, the blacked-edged printed funeral invitations, and the fresh mounds of dirt where Ben could see the newest graves in the cemeteries as he walked about town.
Of the fifty-one people known lost, less than half that many bodies – or recognizable parts – had been located. What an odd turn for a family to be thankful to have a body to hold a funeral for in their home.
The service at the Windthorst estate outside town was attended by the largest gathering of people that Ben had witnessed since the night of the explosion. When Ben shared the observation with John as they walked up the stone pathway to what had to be one of Cincinnati’s more opulent houses, John leaned near and offered his opinion that the majority of mourning was for Virginia and not for Mr. Windthorst.
John motioned toward the line of mourners awaiting entry into the house. "You know what I think?"
"I don’t care to know what you think."
That didn’t stop John. It never had. "I think we could better remember Virginia than in this way."
Ben probably should have ignored John’s suggestion. But something about it intrigued Ben. Something about John’s suggestions had always intrigued Ben. And something about John’s suggestions had always gotten Ben into trouble - but never John. "What other way is there?" Ben tilted his head.
John slapped Ben on the same sore shoulder as Thaddeus had the day before. He led Ben to the side yard where their horses were tethered. He motioned to Ben to mount up. And they rode off without John saying another word.
"Where are we going?" Ben demanded, pulling alongside after they left the estate. "John? Where are we going?" Saints! He sounded like a six-year-old.
When they turned their horses to the main road, it was obvious they were returning to the city. But Ben received no answer from his brother until they reined in the horses outside the back door to John’s shop.
"What are you doing, John?"
"Unlocking the door."
"I can see that. Why are you unlocking the door?"
John swung the door open and sent Ben a grin. "So we can get inside."
"Jo-hn." Ben followed his brother into the backroom. He rolled his eyes when John held up a bottle of whisky. That was no way to remember the girl. "Virginia didn’t drink!" Ben slapped his hands against his legs and turned toward the door. "I’m riding back to pay my respects."
"I’m up to Sophie’s school to pay mine." John held the bottle in one hand and rattled a ring of keys in the other.
He sure knew how to get Ben’s attention. Whisky? Sophie’s school?
John pushed past his surprised brother and walked to the outside stairway at the back of the adjoining building. "Mind to pull my shop door closed tight," he called out from the top landing.
Ben took the stairs two at a time. John’s idea sounded much more interesting than a ride back to the Windthorst estate. "Does Sophie know of that key?"
John’s brow rose. "How unprincipled a man do you think me to be? Of course she knows I have the key. She has one to my shop as well." He shot Ben a look full of accusation. "Sophie trusts me as obviously you do not."
But Sophie hadn’t known John all her life as Ben had.
"Would you tell me what you are doing?" Ben gave up pretense. "What we are doing?" John held the door open and Ben stepped into the large room where Sophie taught voice and piano.
"Remember that family that Father knew?" John sat in one of the wooden chairs that were pulled into the middle of the room.
Oh for - "Father knew no small number of families," Ben reminded. Well, if John was sitting then so would he.
"Yes, but there was this one family that lived just back from the bay - "
John could take longer to get at the heart of something than Thaddeus. And Thaddeus was a master. Ben rubbed his hands over his eyes. "To the crux of the matter, please?"
"When they lost a member of the family, they had heaping tables of food, and drinks that never stopped, and they shared memories and before it was done they were laughing and back to the living." He opened the whisky bottle. "I’ve no food and there is a bottom to the drink - but I’ll wager we can speak of Virginia until it is her life we remember and not her death." He took a swallow of the whisky and handed the rudimentary decanter to his younger brother.
After a tentative sip, Ben held the bottle half an arm’s length away and admired the label. "This is one that’ll have a man cheerful quick enough. Obviously not local."
"It’s traveled almost as much as you have."
Then it had a few miles on it. Ben returned the whisky to John.
"She was a little girl when I first met her." John took another sip of the alcohol. "Her parents and two brothers perished when their house took fire. The Windthorts were her closest kin." He leaned his head back and laughed. "Virginia rode her horse through town as if she was fleeing Hades. She ran everywhere and wasn’t above shouting at you across the street rather than take the time to cross and speak in a normal way. And she learned to play cards when she was twelve."
That was about the age when Ben had learned. "How do you know that?"
"Sophie and I taught her."
John’s confession caused Ben to widen his eyes. "You what?"
"Saints, Ben, first time Sophie worked with Virginia it was plain that the girl would never sing. They started playing cards to pass the time that Mrs. Windthorst had set aside for Virginia’s cultural improvement. Harmless games to begin with. But then they both tired of that so they invited me up for the hour and I taught them gambling." John pulled another chair in front of him and propped his boots on the seat. "It happened, though, that Sophie was playing me the fool. I came to that opinion after she beat me four in a row."
Ben had never heard of anyone getting the better of John that many hands at the same sitting.
"Does - " Ben squinted his eyes. "Does Thaddeus know that Sophie gambles?"
John indulged in a laugh that nearly shook his chair. "Who do you think taught her?"
Ben had a vision of the activity in the Jacobs’ dining room at that very moment: Sophie and Thaddeus sitting at the table teaching Adam more about cards than the colors and shapes.
"She’s a fine woman," John said of Thaddeus’ wife. "Not the type to set one face to the world and another to the mirror."
What did that mean? Ben asked John as much. His brother put the bottle on the floor between them.
"You know of what I speak, Benjamin."
He did? "I’m afraid I don’t." Ben picked up the bottle and took a swallow. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips. Thunder but that was good whisky.
John waved toward the empty room. "There are the ones who worry overmuch about what others think. They spend their days slaves to opinion." He paused for a drink. "And there are those who appear to give a care for their reputation but don’t, in truth. They are the women who have one face for the world and the other for the mirror."
Ben slumped down and crossed his ankles. "I fail to see where Sophie is either."
"Sophie is what she seems. She is not one way for the parson and another way for her husband. Well- " His eyes met Ben’s and they leaned back in laughter.
After they’d regained self-control, Ben waved away John’s offer of the whisky.
"You stop early," John observed.
Ben clasped his hands over his waist. He was feeling just right. "I thought I would bring Adam to the farm tomorrow for greenery to put around our fireplace." Ben paused as the thought came to him. "It is acceptable to celebrate here?"
John laughed at his brother’s alarmed expression. "There is no heavy hand regarding Christmas as there was in Boston. Few businesses are open. Some celebrants even revel to the point of debauchery." He looked to the side. "But there are enough who observe the day with a church service, a feast, perhaps receive guests, perhaps attend a party."
Ben’s thoughts drifted back in time. "Remember how every year Mother and Father had the same discussion? Father saying the greenery was pagan, intended to keep away witches and ghosts. Mother saying it was a sign of the new life and salvation that the Lord had brought into the world."
"And every year Mother listened to Father and then we went off and cut the greenery and hung it all about the house." John gave Ben a knowing look. "If Father had been as opposed to the celebration as he said he was, there would not have been any such thing, I assure you." He drank again from the bottle
Ben raised his eyes to the ceiling. Must be a rain leak where that dark stain was. He needed to draw Sophie’s attention to it before the ceiling crashed down on a student. "Thaddeus has cut a small evergreen tree and put it in the parlor. And then he dangled small glass decorations all about it." Ben’s voice reflected how puzzled he was by Thaddeus’ behavior.
"Grandfather used to speak of his parents doing something akin to that in Ireland," John answered easily. "As to here, it’s those from Germany bringing their traditions." John frowned. "For the life of me I cannot recall what it was Mother’s father would say for ‘Merry’ Christmas in that old tongue. Can you?"
Ben had always loved words. Of course he remembered. "Nollaig Shona Duit," he recited.
"How is it that you recollect such a thing?" John exclaimed.
Ben shrugged. "I sailed with many an Irishman." His grin was as bright as the light in his eyes when he added, "There was not a non-celebrant among them."
John sealed the top of the bottle. "I’d best make for home if I’m to be there before dark."
And before he couldn’t stay upright in a saddle.
The brothers stood.
John held up the bottle in a dry salute. "To Virginia, as fine a girl as ever blessed the world."
"But she couldn’t sing," Ben added as he studied the room where he’d last seen Virginia alive.
"No." John chuckled. "She couldn’t sing."
The next morning at breakfast, Adam paused with his cup near his mouth. "Wot?"
Ben passed a plate of eggs and ham to the boy, wondering how much of this would be swallowed and how much would be on the table and floor. "I said, we are taking the buggy to Uncle John’s farm to cut greenery." He held up his hand to fend off the inevitable question. "Greenery is the leaves that grow on trees."
Ah, now Adam seemed to understand. "Twee." He opted not to try for "greenery" and instead turned his attention to his drink.
How much about Christmas could Ben explain to the boy? "You recall the story that I’ve been reading you these past few nights? The one about Jesus?"
"Ba-bee." Adam burped and grinned at his accomplishment, then pretended to be sorry. Sometimes he was a very good actor, sometimes he was miserable. This was one of the latter.
Ben sat and placed a napkin in his lap. "In a few days it will be his birthday."
"Bur-day." Adam put down the cup. He fingered several small pieces of ham.
"And because the baby’s birthday is near, we will cut greenery from the trees."
"Twees," Adam said with his cheeks stuffed full of ham. He looked like a blue-eyed chipmunk.
"And then we’ll hang the greenery" - Ben motioned to the fireplace with his fork - "over there. We’ll put a candle in the window. And I’ll play a song or two for you on the fiddle."
Adam’s blue eyes squinted. "Ting."
That was unfair. Ben was much improved on the fiddle. They would compromise. "I’ll sing one song and play the other."
His son considered the proposition. "Do." He announced his agreement. "Pa?"
"Yes?" Ben was actually enjoying breakfast for a change. The eggs tasted much better since he had started seasoning them the way Sophie had taught him.
Adam chewed his mouthful of ham and eggs. "Ba-bee." He said the word several times, trying it out.
Ben smiled to himself. "Is Adam a baby?"
The boy’s shocked look gave way to indignation. "Min!"
"Adam’s a man?"
Ben’s question was answered with a resolute nod.
"So I suppose since Adam is not a baby, not even a child, then Adam doesn’t want a gift for Christmas?" Ben eyed the boy over his uplifted fork.
The youngster gave Ben a look that indicated maybe he had been too hasty in his decision. "Gif?"
"Um." Ben feigned disinterest. He ate a few more bites of breakfast and then raised his teacup. "Like a ball or a book."
"Buhk," Adam said reverently. "Bawl?" That word brought an impish look to his face. "Wope."
"I think we have enough rope for a while." Ben had had no idea that Adam would take to the competition of a nightly rope pull with as much enthusiasm as he had. For the time being, Ben allowed the boy to win. But one day they would be better matched and Adam would have to triumph on his own.
"Pa."
"Eat, please."
Adam slapped a handful of eggs into his mouth, shoved them into his cheek to mingle with some ham, and said, "Buhk."
"Chew, please. Yes, I think Adam is old enough to have his own book."
"Do." Adam agreed so vigorously that he momentarily choked.
All right. That was enough. Ben pointed in the boy’s direction. "Chew your food and quit stowing it in your cheeks."
There was a huge gulp, accompanied by big eyes, and then a quick reach for the mug.
It took everything in Ben not to laugh. "You’re as bad as your mother." Elizabeth had usually finished her meal before Ben had finished salting his. "Do you know what your mother would do?"
Adam shook his head.
"She would do this." Ben lifted his fork, put the food in his mouth, and then chewed with exaggerated swiftness, like a squirrel munching an acorn.
His son laughed and clapped his hands, then looked down at them in disgust. "Tick-ee."
"Of course they’re sticky. You have egg all over them."
Adam picked up a piece of ham, shoved it into his mouth, chewed at record speed, and swallowed. "Muh-ver."
Ben’s neck muscles tightened. "What?"
"Muh-ver." He stuffed another piece of ham into his mouth. He chewed it at an astonishing pace, swallowed, and said, "Muh-ver."
The child was saying "Mother." Why did it hurt Ben’s heart to hear the word? He took several sips of tea before he could quell the tightness in his throat. How much of this did Adam comprehend?
"You know that you are Adam." Ben tapped the boy’s chest. Then he tapped his own chest. "Pa is Benjamin, although you do not call Pa that."
Adam listened thoughtfully to the information.
"Your mother was Elizabeth."
"Wot?" Adam requested; his eyes locked on Ben’s.
"E-liz-a-beth."
The boy’s lips moved. Then he very carefully said, "Wiz-uh-buff."
Ben swallowed hard. Her name from their son’s lips.
"Ting?"
Ben breathed deeply, oddly glad for the change of subject. "I can’t sing now, I’m eating."
Adam gently patted the table the way Ben did when he wanted Adam’s attention.
Seeing the boy imitating him brought a smile to Ben’s face. "Yes?"
"Ting?"
It was not the usual request, Ben realized. It was a question. Wondering at how his son thought, he ventured, "Are you asking if your mother liked to sing?"
Delighted that he had been understood, Adam once again clapped his hands. And once again frowned at them. "Tick-ee."
The boy could make Ben smile so quickly. "We’ve already discussed why your hands are sticky, Adam." Besides, he wanted to eat while the eggs were still warm. "Yes, your mother liked to sing. And she liked to dance to songs played on the fiddle."
That brought a firm shake of the head. Adam had a definite opinion when it came to that musical instrument "Noid."
Ben tucked his chin. "I no longer make noise, young sir. I make the fiddle sing." He watched his son from the corners of his eyes, anxious to hear Adam’s opinion.
"Noid." Adam looked up with smiling, egg-spattered lips.
Leaning on his elbow, Ben put his face near Adam’s. "I do not make noise."
Adam giggled. "Noid."
"You are asking for trouble," Ben teased. His son quickly left the table and then ran to the living area.
Ben leaned back, resting his elbow on the chair arm. "I’m not going to chase you."
Adam squealed and ran to the opposite side of the mattress.
"Mind the fire," Ben warned.
Adam turned to be sure he was not too close and then assured, "Do."
Ben scooted back his chair. "Don’t make me come get you, Adam Cartwright."
The boy yelled and ran to the bedroom.
Ben slowly stalked him. "Methinks thou hast made an error in judgment, sailor. There be no mattress to hide under."
The realization had come to Adam just about the time the words had come from Ben. He hurriedly looked around and, not finding a hiding place, resorted to his old trick. He went down on hands and knees and crawled as fast as he could between Ben’s spread legs. Or tried to.
"You’re mine now!" Ben lifted the laughing, wiggling boy and held Adam above his head. "What shall I do with you now?"
Adam flung his arms wide. "Boom!"
"Boom it is." Ben carried the boy to the living area and then bent over the mattress. He swung Adam back once, twice, and then let him fall to the bedding.
"Boom!" Adam shouted.
Ben crawled onto the mattress. "I’ll teach you to run from Pa."
The boy yelped and rolled to his stomach, intent on escape.
"It’s no use putting up a fight," Ben said in his scary voice. He grabbed the boy by the lower leg. "I have ya now."
They rolled on the mattress, with Adam putting up a valiant fight filled with yelps and giggles and squeals. When they finally grew tired and stretched out on their backs beside each other, Ben with his legs dangling off the bedding, Adam said, "Ead."
"Thanks to you, the eggs are cold now," Ben accused.
Adam sat up and slapped at Ben’s arm. "Pa."
Ben pushed at the boy’s chest. "It’s Adam’s fault."
Now it was both hands that playfully slapped Ben’s arm. "Pa."
And the push to Adam’s chest was a bit stronger. "Adam."
The youngster laughed and fell on top of Ben. "Pa."
Ben lifted his son high. "You are growing entirely too intelligent, Adam."
Adam frowned. "Wot?"
"Intelligent." Ben lowered Adam to sit astride his chest. "You think."
Adam poked at Ben’s forehead with an exceedingly sticky finger. "Tink."
"And I think," the father said with raised brows, "that if we do not eat our meal we will never make our way to Uncle John’s to cut that greenery." He laughed when Adam stood on the mattress and then grabbed at Ben’s hand with both of his in a childish attempt to pull him off the mattress.
Ben frowned and tugged his hand free. "You’re sticky."
Adam turned on his heels and ran to the table. "Ead!" he ordered.
"Please."
"Peas." Adam grabbed a handful of eggs.
Ah, well. No helping it now. Ben reminded himself that he needed to keep a wet cloth at the table to clean sticky, dirty fingers.
Ben motioned to Adam’s dish. "Slow down or you’ll choke again."
"Peas."
After sliding his tongue from one cheek to the other, Ben said, "Please."
Adam leaned against Ben’s side as the man drove the carriage toward John’s farm. "Fi-uh. Tiggle. Tink. Buhk. Seep. Cuss, cuss, cuss."
"Dis-cuss." Ben came out of his reverie to correct.
"Diz-cuss."
"Thank you." He tried to block out his son’s latest recital, but failed.
"Tor elko. Ead. Seep. Boom! Wane. Hord-es. Zno. Twee." Adam pointed to the bare limbs laden with sparkling snow. "Twee, twee, twee, twee, twee - "
Oh, no you don’t. The stars only knew how many trees there were between here and John’s place. "Yes, there are a great number of trees." Ben moved his legs as the cold seeped through his trousers.
Adam turned to another subject. "Pipe. Hahr. Kwee. Zov-ee. Tad-us. Un-gle Zhon. Wogan. Hord-es. Noid, noid, noid. Peas. Tock. Boos. Wiv-uh. Boa-t."
The sunshine sent strong shadows slicing across the roadway from the treeline. The bright snow hurt Ben’s eyes, making him all the more relieved that they were nearing their destination. "You’re very articulate."
"Wot?" Adam sat on his knees.
The boy knew better than that. "Put your behind on that seat, please."
Adam twisted his lips to one side but he obeyed. "Coah," he complained.
"Pull that blanket across you if you’re cold."
Adam fussed with the woolen blanket until he had it exactly as he wanted. "Wahm." He slid his palms over the soft surface and then proudly displayed one hand. "No tick-ee."
Ben laughed, causing his breath to fog. "No, your hands are not sticky."
Adam was sitting so far back on the seat that his legs stuck out straight. He had his mitten-covered hands clasped in his lap as his eyes took in the passing scene. The position reminded Ben of the way the boy sat in church. Of course, in church Adam was always busy looking through Ben’s Bible and playing with the satin ribbons that marked Ben’s favorite readings.
"Pa?"
"Um."
"Buhk."
They’d returned to that, had they? "I think Adam will receive a book for a gift, yes."
"Ba-bee."
"Yes, on the baby’s birthday. And when the baby grew into a man, he became a carpenter like Mr. Myers."
"Miz-uhr Myz." Adam liked Mr. Myers because the man was always providing him with wood scraps for play. "Miz-uhr Myz boa-t."
"Yes, he works on some very large boats at times. He also made that storage chest in the bedroom. The chest where Adam keeps his socks and dresses and sweater." When he was reminded to.
"Tippuhs. Dwess. Tocks." Adam began another list.
Ben winced and then came up with a brilliant idea. "Adam."
"Pa."
"Climb up here in Pa’s lap. I want to show you how to drive the wagon."
Adam didn’t seem to understand much other than the words ‘wagon’ and ‘lap’ so he hesitantly crawled toward Ben. His uncertainty turned to delight when Ben showed him how to put his hands behind his father’s and hold on to as much rein as possible.
"You’ll need to know how to do this when we go west," Ben said. He knew from experience that for Adam time was a vague notion and best understood by such words as ‘sun’ and ‘sleep.’ But there could be no harm in talking about their planned trip. Even if it was months away, more months than Ben cared to think about.
The boy was still grasping the loose ends of the reins when they drove the carriage up to the house. Would it be too much to hope that Patience was away visiting a neighbor?
"And who’s this?" John walked toward them from the barn, Will at his side.
Ben’s son leaned forward. "Ad-am!" he yelled, and then quickly looked back at Ben. Thaddeus had taught Adam that he must never raise his voice around a horse.
"No more of that, please," Ben corrected. He patted the boy gently on the bottom and handed him over to John’s outstretched arms. He smiled at his nephew. "William."
Will said a soft, "Uncle Ben."
Ben stepped from the carriage and noted the boy’s unbuttoned coat. "It’s not a good idea to go walking about half dressed, you know."
Will’s dark eyes looked down to watch Ben’s gloved hands slide the buttons through the holes.
He was such a quiet boy. "Have you had a good run today?"
"No." Will had the same impish look on his face that Ben so often saw on Adam’s.
"I’d better not catch you." Ben slapped his hands together and Will took off as quickly as a racehorse. After a look to John, Ben ran across the new snow, following in Will’s small tracks. Behind him, Adam walked beside John as they led the horse to the barn.
Ben had learned the first time he had lifted Will that the boy did not care to be held high. So when Ben caught his nephew, he hugged him close and sat the youngster astride his hip. He had also learned early on that Will liked to be held rather than to walk alongside. "And what new thing do you have to show me today?" he asked as they crossed the meadow behind the house.
Will pointed toward a line of bare trees.
Ben nodded his head. "That way?"
"Yes."
"What fine thing will we find there?"
"A nest."
Ben pretended great surprise. "What type of nest?"
Will frowned at him. "What?"
"There are bird nests and squirrel nests and Will nests."
The boy laughed and shook his head. "No."
"No Will nests? Well, that’s a shame." Ben raised his eyes to where Will pointed. Secured in the "Y" of a branch was a bird’s nest woven of twigs and what were now dried leaves. "I wonder what bird built it." He tilted his head. "A robin? A sparrow? A hawk?"
Will offered no answer. Did he lack for imagination or was he never encouraged to use it?
"What we shall do," Ben decided, "is watch at the first of spring and see who calls it home. Does that sound a good idea to you?"
"Yes." Will’s voice was soft. "Uncle Ben, see?"
This time he indicated the fence, where several inches of snow lay on the top rail.
"Do you like snow?"
"Yes." Will’s voice filled with enthusiasm.
Ben bent his knees as he held the boy. He gathered a handful of the white stuff and made a fist. When he opened it, the snow had packed in his palm. "This is good snow," he announced.
"Good snow?"
"Um hum. We can fashion things of this snow. Allow me to put you down."
Will immediately squatted beside Ben, his hands on his knees.
It took a good amount of gathering but finally Ben had a small snowball shaped. He held it out to his nephew, who marveled at the creation.
Will touched the packed snow with the lightest of finger taps.
"Now watch this." Ben stood and hurled the snowball at the fence. It hit its mark - Ben always hit what he aimed for - and splattered everywhere.
Will looked up at him as awestruck as if he’d performed magic. "I want to."
"Of course." Ben sat on his heels behind the standing boy and guided the small hands into shaping the snow. A bit of the white stuck to Will’s mittens, but not enough to fuss over. When the youngster had the snowball firmly in hand, Ben showed him how to swing his arm back and then throw the snowball toward the side of one of the outbuildings. The thing flew everywhere after it hit its target and Will laughed and danced around.
If this had been Adam playing in the snow, Ben could have made a soft snowball and tossed it at his son. But Will was not inclined toward romping. And that was fine. Will was as different from Adam as John was from Ben. So instead of rough play, Ben lifted the boy again and walked toward the treeline.
They slid their hands along the tree trunks. They discussed how tall some trees were and what animals had left the different tracks in the snow. Will gave Ben a reproving look when Ben tried to convince him that a three-legged gorse – which everyone knew was half goose and half horse – had been by just moments before. But the boy smiled and leaned his head on Ben’s shoulder as they took to admiring the quiet beauty of the morning.
"I think we should turn toward the house," Ben advised. "I would appreciate it if you would show Adam and me where we might find some trees or shrubs that are still green. Would you do that, please?"
Will gave Ben a smile exactly like Joseph Cartwright’s.
Adam did his almost-skip as Ben, Will, and he slowed near a cluster of trees. "Dis?" He pointed to a bare-limbed bush.
"There," Will quickly answered and pointed to an evergreen.
Ben smiled at the cousins as they stood side by side, their heads tilted back so they could study the tree. Will was taller than Adam and more sturdily built. He could also run faster and not come near so close to tripping – a talent that Adam greatly admired. Will had that innate knowledge of plants that came from growing up away from the city. Interestingly enough, though, he was not the least inclined toward horses. Will seemed, at times, wary of the animals and that completely baffled Adam, judging from the questions in his eyes.
"Who is strong enough to carry what I cut?" Ben invited. The boys’ arms shot into the air. Ben stepped under the lowest limbs. The moment the knife blade severed the slender, supple branch the air filled with the tangy scent that Ben remembered from childhood Christmases. "Cargo coming down!" He dropped the cutting, heard a scurrying at his feet, and grinned. "Here’s another. And another." That was when the giggles started. "One more." More giggles, more sounds of scrambling. "Here’s a large one." It wasn’t of course but Ben couldn’t resist the warning that led to the boys’ laughter.
Harvesting done, he looked down. The rascals were holding the greenery on top of their heads.
"I wonder what happened to Will and Adam?" he asked the air. "They were here a short while ago but now all I see are these two bushes."
"Here!" Will shouted and dropped the disguise. Adam immediately copied the older boy’s action. Then he wrinkled his nose and rubbed at it.
"Lift those goods, sailors," Ben motioned to the greenery. "We need to deliver them to the carriage." He watched in delight as the boys somehow managed to do as he’d said. Then they walked with all the ceremony of a royal procession across the snowy fields.
John’s brows rose when the assemblage entered the barn. He gave Ben a wink and then suggested that the cousins drop their impressive burdens behind the carriage. They did. But John’s next words caused a problem. "Ben and I can tend it from here," he explained.
Adam turned to Ben with flashing eyes. "Ad-am," he insisted.
"You may help but you may not do it yourself." Ben opened the wooden box he had lashed in place at the back of the buggy. He held out his hand toward his son. "Would you like to hand some of that greenery to me, please?"
The blue eyes brimmed with tears. "No."
What was this? Ben frowned.
His son sniffled and stepped forward. "Peas?"
Ben sighed. He should take the boy aside and remind him of the need for obedience. But this request came from the heart. The blue eyes were already wet and the little lips threatened to tremble. Ben stroked his thumb across a tear that had found its way down his son’s cheek. "You may do but you will follow orders."
Adam gave Ben’s trousers leg a quick hug - and a wipe of the nose - and then bent to pick up the first of the fir clippings. Ben lifted the smiling boy and told him exactly how to lay the greenery on the bottom of the box. Adam studiously did as he was directed, then was eager to be on his feet so he could gather another armload.
"Will?" Ben held out his arms. "Would you like to load the box as well?" Amazing how quickly a boy could move when he was invited to do something that he wanted to do anyhow.
When the greenery was stowed and the box tied closed, Ben dusted his gloves and then rolled his eyes as two little ones immediately mirrored his action.
John, who was leaning against the side of the carriage, chuckled. "The burden of fatherhood," he said to his younger brother.
"Do they ever cease watching?" Ben wondered aloud.
"Did we ever cease watching Father?" John countered.
Ben bent down and picked up his son. He held him a little more tightly and a bit longer than normal. Adam didn’t seem to mind. And before Ben put the boy into the carriage, Adam placed his lips to Ben’s ear and whispered, "Dub."
Ben should get up from the settee, blow out the candle in the window, and go to sleep. He knew that. His body told him that. Instead he watched the flutter of the flame and the way the cold window fogged around the warmth. At the back of his mind he was aware of the fragrance of the cut greens Adam and he had tucked along the fireplace mantle several days ago and the lingering smell of the soup they had eaten for dinner.
There had been no need for more than soup after the festive meal they had shared at Sophie and Thaddeus’ home following the church service. The house had been full and nearly overflowing with Regina and Henry Harrow, the Harrows’ cook Eve and the groom Robert, several of Sophie’s students, enough of Thaddeus’ friends that Ben couldn’t remember many of the names, John, Patience, Will, James and Rebecca Myers, Adam, and Ben.
If there had been any strain among Regina, Patience, and John then Ben had not observed it. Though he had seen looks pass between John and Regina several times. Wonder if Patience had noticed.
The feast, for there was nothing else to call it, had been followed by music, laughter, and enough nog and grog to deplete many a bottle of wine, whisky, and rum.
The most important part of the day for Adam and Will had been when they had received gifts. Ben had been pleased that he had not needed to remind either boy to say, "Thank you."
After the celebration, Adam had insisted on carrying his presents home all by himself, his arms around the book from Sophie and Thaddeus, the carved wooden horse from James, and a ball from John and Patience. He had sat in the middle of the mattress, picking up one new possession after the other, while Ben had cooked the soup. But it had been the book, as Ben had known it would be, that had finally held the boy’s undivided attention. While Adam had looked through the book from front to back, back to front, and upside-down, Ben had played a Christmas song on the fiddle and then had sung another. Adam had taken his hands off his ears when Ben had stopped playing the fiddle and he had clapped his hands when Ben had sung. He had clapped his hands all the more when Ben had given him a small book of drawings of animals - including a horse.
Adam had scarcely been able to keep his eyes open by suppertime and had been so tired that he had allowed Ben to feed him. Then Adam had done something he had never done before - he had stretched out on the mattress without being told to do so. No request for a story followed by a song. No rope pull. No attempt at a discussion. No foot kicking up and down in steady rhythm. No tossing the head back and forth. Adam had not even pulled his toy boat near. He had simply closed his eyes, smacked his lips, and fallen asleep.
Ben had nearly fainted.
So where would Adam and he be this time next year? How would they celebrate and with whom? Would there be new customs, new foods, and new music? Ben had never spent Christmas in the warmer climes like there would be in California and he wondered idly how it would seem to not go about wearing a coat in December. Now there was a thought: did they need fireplaces in California? Well, for cooking yes, of course. But not for warmth. That would be unusual.
Ben shifted about, seeking comfort and yet knowing it had nothing to do with his restlessness. He wished he could drift to sleep as easily as his son. But rest had been difficult these past few nights. Adam’s simple words the other morning - "muh-ver" and "Wiz-uh-buff" - nearly caused Ben’s heart to seize each time he thought of them.
The man put his hands over his eyes and released a low moan. Grief did not sear his soul like a hot knife anymore but he ached so badly sometimes he thought he would cry out.
Adam would never know Elizabeth. She was a word, a name, and she would be nothing more if Ben did not continue to weave her into Adam’s life. It had been beyond Ben’s power to save Adam’s mother - but Ben’s reminiscences of the woman he had loved would be one of the most precious gifts he could ever offer their son.
There was another reason he found it so difficult to sleep. This night was Christmas. Two years ago, after a day filled with celebration, Elizabeth had lain beside Ben in the bed. She had rested her head on his shoulder, placed her hand on his chest, and said, "I have yet another gift for you."
Ben had arched a brow and leaned forward slightly to look at her face. Elizabeth had laughed at his suggestive expression.
"That is what has led to my gift," she had said. And before he had been able to speak, she had added. "I am with child."
He could well remember the fear that had jolted him. "A child?" He had sat up, bent his knees, and stared across the room. "A child?"
Elizabeth had laughed and rolled her head from one side to the other. "I have finally found something which frightens Benjamin Cartwright."
"I am not afraid," he had denied.
She had pushed at his arm. "You are scared witless. He is only a child, Ben. A babe you will be able to hold in your hands."
"He?" Ben had frowned.
"Adam."
"Adam? You are saying this child is a boy?"
Her eyes had laughed at him. "Yes."
"But - but you cannot possibly know."
Elizabeth had propped herself on her elbow and had rested her head in her hand. "I know he is a boy as surely as I know I am with child."
"You are certain of this?"
She had come as close to smirking at him as she ever had. "Come summer you will be a father." Elizabeth had waved her hand airily. "A frightened father, but a father nonetheless."
"I am not frightened," he had maintained.
Elizabeth’s face had filled with mischief. "Of course you are." She had wagged a finger at him. "I know you, Ben Cartwright."
Ben had laughed and had leaned over her. "Then you know I want a kiss."
Two years ago this night. So much could happen in two years.
He stood from the chair, bent to kiss Adam on the cheek, and then blew out the candle. When Ben finally drifted to sleep, he was blessed by dreams filled with Elizabeth’s smiles.