January – May 1830

Cincinnati

If the first month of the new year was any indication, 1830 promised to be fiercely boring.

Oh, there was still the upset regarding the Tariff. Some claimed it to be against the principles that made the country great. In addition, they railed that the states controlled the federal government, not the other way about. And if the federal government passed a law with which the states did not agree, they had the right to declare the law null and void. Others considered the contention of states’ rights a threat to the very union that had been so dearly gained.

On the whole, Ben enjoyed government and politics. He was usually ready to discuss either and relished playing devil’s advocate. But he was not comfortable with the subject of the Tariff. He could understand both sides of the issue and he also had an uneasy feeling about where the divisiveness might lead. If passions were not held in check, those who advocated states’ sovereignty could well bring harm to the union in the same way that unresolved conflict in a family could bring about its ruin. Ben was not the only one of this opinion. On several occasions he had sat quietly at the tavern and listened as men, Thaddeus among them, had warned of the danger. He had read that none other than Daniel Webster had voiced the same concerns and was adamantly in favor of a strong federal government.

Only the activities of that confounded Temperance Drive provided any sort of entertainment. Ben had cringed when he had become aware of the American Society for the Promotion of Temperance in Boston. Trained to be courteous, he had endured more than one lecture from a person who had felt charged to save Ben’s soul from the ruin of alcohol. At such times, Elizabeth had stood nearby with an eyebrow raised in an unspoken, "Well?" She had found great amusement in his discomfort. But by the time he had been nearer to twenty than nineteen, those who had been aware of such things had known that Ben Cartwright was a doomed man because of his inability to abstain from drink. They had continued to pray for Divine Grace to lead him to the right decision, however.

He supposed it was the same boredom that assailed him that had led temperance believers into a renewed fervor in Cincinnati.

He had never thought, though, that the Temperance Drive would lead John to his front door one day with a box of liquor bottles in his arms.

"What’s this?" Ben asked as he held the door open.

John pushed past him and deposited the box on the dining table after responding to Adam’s greeting of "Un-gle Zhon."

The boy did not get up from his comfortable spot on the mattress. He did not even remember to stand as Ben was attempting to teach him to do out of respect for elders. Adam was much too absorbed in a complicated game he had invented that involved his toy horse, ball, and boat.

John pulled himself up to his full height, which was several inches short of Ben’s, and held his chin high. "I have signed a pledge."

Ben’s eyes darted from his brother’s face to the box on the table. What did one have to do with the other? "A pledge," he repeated distractedly.

"It is what Mother would have wanted."

Mother would have wanted John to sign a pledge? "What is it, some new public building?" Ben rested his hands on his hips.

John assumed the long-suffering look he had often used in their youth. A look guaranteed to raise Ben’s bile. "A pledge, Ben. A temperance pledge."

John without drink? Ben leaned back and laughed loudly. When he had finished, John stood before him just as resolutely. "Is this some ruse?" Ben asked. "You have a wager with a friend, no doubt, to see if you can convince me of your reform."

John was the most self-righteous that Ben had ever seen him. And that was no small feat. "I do not wager anymore, either."

"Now I know this is a ruse." Ben picked up the box to return it to his brother. "Whoever wagered that I would not be the fool is the winner, John."

But John shoved the box back onto the tabletop. "Mother would want you to do the same."

"M-mother - " Ben sputtered. "We had different mothers if yours did not drink French wines, John." He walked to the cast-iron stove and lifted the teakettle. "Temperance." Ben pointed at his brother. "And don’t speak to me of Father, for he’s the one from whom I got my love of whisky."

"And Father’s parents?" John asked slyly, knowing how austere the people had been.

Ben poured the hot water into the teapot. "Sometimes I think Father’s parents were the reason he enjoyed whisky."

"You should not speak ill of the dead." John leaned his back against the wall.

"Me?!" Ben whirled, the kettle in his grasp. "You’re the one who used to call them - "

"That was before I was charged to lead men to the Truth."

Lead men to the Truth? What was it about that phrase that was so familiar to Ben? Granted, he had heard it in church repeatedly. But there was some other place, and some other voice. A woman’s voice.

Regina Harrow.

Ben lowered the kettle to the metal trivet on the table and slowly walked to his brother. He had known since they were boys that John did not appreciate sarcasm. He knew better than to use it now. But that didn’t stop him. "I sense Regina Harrow’s hand all over this. Have yours been all over her?"

John might have foresworn liquor and gambling but apparently he had not turned his back on fighting. His fist cracked into the side of Ben’s jaw and sent Ben sprawling to the floor in stunned surprise.

"You," John said through clenched teeth, "overstep yourself."

Ben pushed to a standing position. He pressed the back of his hand to his lip. It hurt like Hades but there was no blood. His impulse was to charge into John and show him what a real fighter could do. But there was Adam sitting on the mattress, frozen in place, his toy horse in one hand and his toy boat in the other. The only thing about the boy that moved was his wide eyes. Ben would use that brain that God had given him, and about which his father had constantly reminded him. He would leave the encounter here. Let the hit be. He had deserved it.

John watched him warily a moment and then strode through the front doorway, slamming the door behind him.

Ben closed and locked the door and then leaned back against it while his thumb was yet on the handle. Only after he wiped his hand over his face did he dare look at Adam.

"Noid," the child whispered.

"Yes, we were noisy," Ben answered. "I am sorry for frightening you."

Adam bit at his lower lip as Ben sat beside him.

"Uncle John and I behaved poorly." Ben lowered his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. John had helped Ben see a constellation he’d never seen before.

"Boom," Adam offered.

Ben looked from the sides of his eyes. "What?"

Adam fell backwards on the mattress, his arms extended. "Pa boom."

"Yes, Pa went boom." Ben lay down and closed his eyes. "Pa went very boom."

A little hand gently patted Ben’s cheek. "Seep."

Ben chuckled. "I must make supper, Adam. Then we’ll pull on the rope and then I will read to you and then there’s a song. And then we can sleep."

"Ead?"

"Um hum."

"Go."

Ben opened one eye. That was a new word. "What?"

Adam laid his toys aside and stood. "Go."

"Go?"

Adam nodded. "Ead. Go."

Ben sat up and tilted his head. "You want to go eat?"

Adam pointed in the direction of the Jacobs home. "Zov-ee."

That got a laugh. "I don’t think Sophie invited us to eat with them tonight, Adam. But we can go to Mrs. Hampton’s."

Adam clapped his hands. "Ead."

Ben put his finger to Adam’s stomach. "You want to go to Mrs. Hampton’s so you might have bread pudding."

Adam’s smile dimpled his cheeks. He hastened to the door. "Go."

"First allow Pa to wash his face, please. And you might consider wearing some boots."

The youngster looked down at his sock feet. "Uht."

Ben patted the top of Adam’s head. " ‘Uht’ indeed." His son’s giggle brought a quick, and somewhat painful, grin to Ben’s face.

Years of experience had taught Ben that John took a few days to lay aside any annoyance. Ben, like Father, was inclined toward monumental explosions of temper that died down as quickly as they had flamed. John, well, he was a different one entirely. He stayed as attached to his anger as a barnacle to a ship’s hull. And John shared his displeasure with anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby.

But surely even John would be in a better frame of mind after three days, Ben decided, and willing to accept Ben’s apology for speaking as he had. To that end, Ben waited near the front door of John’s mercantile at day’s end.

"May I come in?" Ben asked.

John motioned that Ben had permission and then set about closing the ledger book and putting it on the shelf under the counter.

Ben stood with his hands in his coat pockets. "I apologize."

"And well you should."

Perhaps he should have waited another day.

"Does that mean you accept my apology?" Ben queried, squinting one eye.

His brother straightened from his bent over position. "Have I ever not?"

Oh, this was not good. Ben didn’t care to press the conversation further. His eyes met John’s as he said, "Thank you." Then he turned and left the store.

John did not call out after him.

Well, Ben had done his part. He had expressed his regret for the insult. It was up to John to accept the apology in good faith. It might take a few more days, it might take a few more weeks. With John, who could tell.

Why in thunder hadn’t Ben kept his thoughts to himself? What John did was his own affair. Well, but, that was the problem, was it not? John and his affair.

Nothing to be gained by worrying over it now. What was done, was done. He would take John on John’s terms. Had he ever not?

Little had Ben known, when he had spoken with Abraham that first day at the livery, that he would be riding the man’s horse on average twice a week to exercise her. Not that he minded. Dolley was a fine blooded animal with an exceptionally smooth gait.

He had asked Abraham about the chestnut’s name and had laughed aloud when the man had told him that the mare was named for ex-President James Madison’s wife. Recalling how the woman had served iced cream to guests at the President’s House, Ben inquired as to whether the horse that bore her name had ever shown any tendency toward the dessert. Abraham had given him a quizzical look and then remarked that Ben had a decidedly different sense of humor.

Sometimes Ben cantered Dolley about town. Rather than being upset by the noises of a city of at least ten thousand souls, she seemed to find the stroll interesting. There was no doubt, though, that her favorite activity was galloping. And far be it from Ben to deny her that enjoyment.

One day as he’d been hunting, keeping his skills sharpened for the time when rifle and ball and a good eye would provide meat along the trail, Ben had found one particularly good area in which to exercise Dolley. It was a little known track several miles from the main northbound road. So on a cold February day when the sky was uncommonly clear and the air still, Ben gently quickened Dolley’s pace and by the time they had reached their destination, Dolley was ready to extend her legs and Ben was ready to allow her to do so.

Ben was hard pressed to comprehend what happened next. He recalled being low by the mare’s neck, reveling in the speed. He did not recall, however, being thrown from the saddle. But he must have been thrown, for when he came to his senses he was in the snow on the side of the track, sprawled on his stomach and aware of a throbbing in his left leg and hip.

Stars, let Dolley be uninjured! He had difficulty standing and was finally able to do so by first bracing his hand on his left leg and then pushing himself up with his good leg. There followed a moment of brilliant pain but it subsided to a burning sensation. Nothing he could not triumph over. If he was to judge by the trail of hoofprints in the snow that led to a split rail fence, Dolley was fine. Undoubtedly she would eventually find other horses and food on the farm that the fence surrounded.

Should he follow after Dolley and hope that the farmhouse was close at hand? The snow was not so deep as to be a hindrance. But the distance to a dwelling in that direction was unknown. Ben slowly turned and looked back toward the city. He was only too well aware of the distance to that sanctuary – not many miles with two good legs, more than enough miles with one good leg.

One thing was certain. If he continued to stand here, in little more than an hour’s time he would be enjoying a sunset over the nearby meadows. A sunset that would slowly turn dark behind that treeline that looked to be a woods. There would be a full moon tonight, but, due to the lack of clouds there would be little warmth.

The city it would be, and at a grievously slow pace. After the second yard or so of limping along, Ben found it more comfortable to keep his injured leg stiff and swing it to the side. After the sixth yard or so, he hobbled to the small trees at the side of the track and broke off a branch. He wrapped his scarf around one end of his newfound walking aid, put it under his left arm for support, and determined to close his mind to the journey ahead.

His left leg, must it always and forever be his left leg?

He’d hurt the blasted thing twice as a boy; once when he’d lost his footing in a stirrup as he’d swung out of a saddle, and a second time when he’d jumped from a ship’s loading ramp to the wharf below, despite his father’s warning to the contrary. The hurt in his leg had been nothing to match what his father had done to Ben’s bottom that evening at home.

And then there had been that collision off Palermo. If he were ever inclined to forget his good fortune all he needed do was look down at his left leg. The long, jagged scar from the front of his thigh to the side of his calf was a constant reminder of Providence’s blessings. The kind priests who had attended Ben and the other survivors had explained to him that the salt water had cleansed the deep wound and there had been no need to fear the loss of a limb.

He wouldn’t have been hurt that time if he hadn’t felt it his duty to help guide in a ship that had lost its officers and the better part of its crew to fever. Had he given a thought to the fact that he might also contract that illness by boarding the ship? Of course not. He’d been seventeen and such things do not enter the minds of youth. Instead, against Abel Stoddard’s better judgment, but not against his orders, crewmen from The Wanderer had rowed Ben out to the ill-fated ship.

Ben had studied the waters around the ship. There was no indication of another vessel besides The Wanderer. So Captain Stoddard had kept his ship back, enabling Ben and what little crew were on their feet to have ample clearance as they had headed for land. The Wanderer had meant to guard Ben’s ship’s stern as well.

That had been a night of full moon. The water had been a bit precarious, but nothing to worry a seasoned sailor. Ben and the crew had been managing well and they had been encouraged by the lights across the sea from the city when a shout had gone up. Where had that other ship come from, bearing straight at Ben’s starboard without warning? Why had someone not heard a sound, or seen a lantern light, or glimpsed a sail in the bright moonlight? It mattered not, for the accident had happened; its shock had hurled Ben from the deck into the sea.

After The Wanderer had made port, Captain Stoddard had appeared, nearly blocking all light as he had stood in the doorway to the room where Ben had lain on a blanket on the tile floor. The relief that had filled the old sailor’s face had faded, quickly replaced by an anger with which Ben was only too well acquainted. The Captain had stalked over to Ben and had proceeded to dress him down. Ben had pled that the collision had not been of his doing. The Captain had frowned at him and had said that had not been his concern. He had been furious because, had something untoward happened to Ben, there would have been the inconvenience of training a new sailor.

It had been the kindest thing the rugged man had said to Ben during his entire service on the The Wanderer.

Another time of bright moon, in January three years ago, Ben had hurt his leg. It had happened on an early morning during intensely cold weather. The small schooner Almira had put out of the Cape at Sandwich and stood toward the north during a warm spell. But the good weather had not lasted long. She’d turned, trying to make safe port. The cold had hit with a vengeance and a wind that had made it impossible for the schooner to put in at Plymouth.

By the time Ben had seen her the next morning, perilously close to the reef off Dennis, the Almira’s sails had been rent by the wind and ice, and the main beam had separated from the mast. Her crew, few men as it was, had been as much in danger of freezing to death on the icy deck as they had been from being shattered upon the rocks.

So it had been that a group of seaman had taken out a small boat, hoping to rescue the men on board Almira. The going had been rough and they had been driven back. But the boat had set out again, Ben being one of the new men on her, and they had drawn as close as they dared to the rocks and the frozen schooner. To their horror, and despite their warnings, two of the crew had quit moving and had soon frozen in place. Finally, in late afternoon, aided by high tide, sailors had climbed aboard and had rescued the remaining crewman. Ben had hurt his left leg yet again when he had slipped and fallen on the icy ship but he had said nothing, knowing that the man on Almira had suffered more greatly than Ben had. While Ben had waited in Sandwich for his leg to heal and for the weather to clear so he might return to Boston, he had heard that the sailor had lost his toes and possibly his fingers. But he had survived.

And Ben had known once again, beyond doubt, that he could put his thoughts aside in order to accomplish the seemingly impossible.

That was what he must do this time, too. Lay his thoughts aside. Returning to town was not impossible, just wretchedly painful.

When he started dragging his good foot, he knew it was time to rest. He eased himself down by extending his right arm and bending his right knee while he kept his left leg straight. It was a slow process, for he had no desire to slip and add to the damage. Finally seated on the dirt of the pathway, he leaned forward. Would it be more sensible to swing to the west and strive for the well-traveled road? He would need to cross the stream by stepping from one rock to the next. That wouldn’t work. He was doing well to walk on level ground. Besides the road curved almost as much as the stream in this area. The chance of finding aid with a traveler was greater along the road, yes, but so was the distance. Best to stay the course.

It would feel so good to sleep for just a few minutes. Then he would awake with more strength. He closed his eyes but quickly opened them when the memory of those two crewmen on Almira struck him. They had sat, as he was doing now. They had sat, witless from the cold and the nightlong battle. They had sat on the deck and been coated with ice while the rescuers, unable to reach the ship, had pleaded with them to get up and move about. They had been so tired. So very, very…

Ben jolted awake, his heart racing, and quickly glanced about. How long had he slept? A moment? An hour? A look to the lowering sun told him he had slept closer to the hour. This was not acceptable, absolutely not acceptable.

He struggled to stand, worried by how cold his feet felt, and how heavy. What an asinine thing to do, falling asleep like that. There would be no rescue. He must do this for himself.

At least he didn’t have to explain this one to Father. How many times had there been? Standing before his father, hands behind his back, looking into Joseph’s dark eyes - always looking into the eyes that judged him within a hair’s breadth - and explaining without excuses. Father never had tolerated excuses. Excuses had been as liable to provoke punishment as had been the infraction.

So much of Ben’s trouble had been during the winter, it seemed. He’d wandered off when he should have been studying, had lost track of time, and had returned home so cold that his teeth had chattered. On another occasion Ben had built an enormous construction after a particularly deep snow and then had had the thing collapse on him. He would have still been digging his way out this day if his father hadn’t found him. Oh, Father had found Ben all right and had made sure that at least his bottom had been warm for leaving the house when he had been told not to.

And don’t forget the time on the pond. Ben’s mother had called out, "Do not skate so close to the deep, Benjamin." So of course he had done just that. And of course the ice had cracked. And of course he had fallen into the water that had been so cold it had caused him to draw in an enormous breath. He’d been in no danger of drowning but he’d thought about going under when he’d seen his mother’s face, all splotched with fury. Father hadn’t been particularly amused when Ben had confessed that transgression, either.

There was that time he fell off the roof. Oh, that had been an exceptionally stupid thing to do. It had been dark. He had been bored. As his father had so often said, "Benjamin and boredom do not bode good things." He had pled fatigue and had been excused to his room to go to sleep. But he hadn’t. Instead he had raised his bedroom window and walked out onto the roof. There had been no harm in that activity. By the time he had been eight or so, he had been so good at running from one city roof to the other that he had been able to travel all the way to the Van Zandts’ house without ever touching the ground. There he had often sat at the very top of the roof, near the east chimney, and watched the ships as they had plied their way in and out of Boston Harbor.

Ben paused in his walk a moment. If Adam ever dared be so slow-witted as to climb about on rooftops, Ben would make the boy’s bottom as red as a ripe apple. Being at such a height was fraught with danger. One could slide and scrape the skin off a leg or side or arm. One could slide downward and then snag a piece of clothing on a loose shingle or, worse yet, on one of those fancy metal corner pieces at the edge of a roof. Or one could skid down a roof straight into a barrel designed to catch rainwater and not young lads. Or one could simply roll down the steep side of a saltbox roof and find oneself atop what had been a beautiful shrub or flower. Ben knew these things could happen. After all, they’d happened to him. Adam had best not ever attempt such an addle-brained activity.

No more pausing, Ben told himself. Time to move again. Must arrive in town before dark. Must keep moving.

Where had he been in this reminiscence? Ah, yes. The night he had fallen off the roof. Well, the night Mother and Father had known that he had fallen off the roof. There’d been many falls before that night and a few afterward as well. But none had been quite so spectacular. By the stars, if a fellow meant to do something he should do it better than anyone ever had. And no one Ben had known had ever made such a fine mess of things.

He’d opened his bedroom window. Hadn’t put on a coat, or heavy boots, or even a knit cap. He’d climbed out the dormer window, had stood on the sill, and had hoisted himself to the peak of that small roofline that had jutted from the main roof. Then he’d lain flat against the main roof and had pulled himself up to the peak. So there he’d been, sitting at the very top of the house, right there beside the bedroom chimney. And if he’d had any brains at all he would have stayed there. No - if he’d had any brains at all he wouldn’t have been up there in the first place.

Ben had been sitting there at the top of the house, leaning sideways into the chimney, when he’d seen a flickering light off in the distance, past the streets, over toward the graveyard but before the sharp hill that led down to the point. Whatever could it have been? Ben had stood, had thought he had had a grip on the chimney. He hadn’t. The heel of his left boot had slipped. Always and forever it was the left leg.

So he’d slipped, a creature subject to the laws of gravity. He’d rolled to the peak over the dormer window. Had landed hard on his left leg. He’d had a mind to crawl forward, grasp the roof, step down to the sill, and limp through the open window and return to his room. But John had foiled that plan.

John, undiscovered youthful prankster that he had been, had closed the window to Ben’s room. Ben had held on to the roof above the dormer, had stretched his legs - including the hurt left one - until his boots had touched the window sill, had swung one leg forward to gain the inside of the window, and had heard the stomach-wrenching sound of shattering glass as his boot had met something that should not have been in its way. Just then his hands had released the dormer roof, though he had not directed them to do so.

So he’d flipped backward and rolled down until he’d gotten hung up on one of those abominable horizontal strips of wood that had been left in place by the workmen who’d been repairing the roof. His shirt, or maybe his trousers, had snagged. And instead of recognizing the gift he’d been handed, Ben had twisted to free the caught clothing. Oh, but that had been a grand mistake. In his twisting, he’d put his back to the porch roof that, of course came at right angle to the house roof. So he’d rolled to the side along the porch roof. At least he’d had the presence of mind to shout somewhere along the way, just in case Mother and Father hadn’t heard all the commotion up to that time. He’d rolled off the front of the porch roof and grabbed at a support post, but it had been in need of repair because Ben had driven a carriage across half the porch earlier that week. So the porch post had torn away from the porch ceiling. It had leaned one way and then the other while Ben had clung to it like a sailor to a mast. And then the porch post had decided in which direction it preferred to fall. To Ben’s horror it had quickly crashed sideways into the front parlor window.

Well, there’d been no denying it then – he’d been in trouble for sure. He’d put his feet on the sill of the parlor window and had let go of the post that had shattered the glass. Then he’d realized he hadn’t had good balance. Then he’d fallen backward into mother’s shrubbery, the shrubbery of which she’d been so proud before Ben had driven the carriage through it. He’d fallen onto the sharp, broken bits of the shrubbery that remained and then had bounced down to the winter flowers that mother had just replanted and then, because the house was on a slope, he’d rolled downhill, had hit that low rock edging before smashing to the walkway and then finishing himself off at the side of the street where the snow had been deepest.

He’d tried to convince Mother and Father that he’d gone out the back door and had walked around to the front of the house to admire how the first snow of the season looked in the moonlight and had merely slipped on the slick ground. But Father, ever intelligent about astronomical events, had pointed to the sky, to the moonless sky, and had asked Ben if he would care to restate his account of how he’d come to be battered, bruised, in tattered clothes, and lying in the snowbank. Ben had wondered if he should request a clergyman before his father killed him. And, as Ben’s father had escorted him up the stairs to his room, he had been sure he would never again breathe or eat or open his eyes.

Father had closed the bedroom door behind him, had taken a very long time to look Ben over from head to toe, and then had leaned back against the door. Ben’s knees had buckled under the scrutiny and the hurting of his left leg. He had opened his mouth to speak his last words when - of all things - Father had laughed. Father had put his head back, one hand at his hip pushing the side of his coat behind him, and had covered his face with the other hand. Father had laughed and laughed until Ben had wondered if the cold night air had affected the man. Finally Father had turned toward the door and had told Ben to lie down and had said he would ask Mother to tend to Ben’s injuries. Father had shaken his head as he had left the room. It had been the only time when he had earned a thrashing and not received one.

What was it about that word "thrashing"? Oh, yes. Father had always corrected Ben. He’d never cared for the word "thrashing" and had repeatedly told Ben that thrashing was when a boat forced its way against an oncoming tide or wind. Father had maintained that he had not thrashed Ben but that he had punished Ben.

Ben had been of the silent opinion that when Father had finished with punishing him he had felt that he had gone headlong against the wind.

Wind. How odd. The wind was picking up as Ben haltingly made his way toward the city. He’d not known many times when the wind picked up in the evening. Evening was more when wind tended to die down. Ben stopped suddenly and looked to the sky. Saints above, when had the sun gone down? When had it become evening?

Ben no longer felt cold. But the fatigue had not gone away. It would feel so very good to sit and rest, he thought. Most of him wanted to do just that, sit, maybe even lie down. What could be wrong with that? He wasn’t cold anymore. He was warm enough for at least a short sleep.

The small part of his brain that was still alert, that part that had something to do with survival, brought forth again the memory of those two men frozen fast on the deck of Almira. He must not be still, he must continue to move. Continue. To move.

But what was he to think about now? He had remembered everything that he could recall. So what to do to occupy his time? He could look at the stars. Those always brought comfort.

The stars? When in thunder had the stars come out?

They were pretty though. Sparkling white as they pierced the night air. Look at that cloud passing before them. No, wait, that was no cloud. It was Ben’s breath. Was it that cold? He didn’t feel it.

Move. Always move. Why were his boots so heavy? And what was that he was carrying on his back? What was weighing him down so? Move. Continue. Contin-

"Where in heaven have you been?!" Thaddeus roared after leaping from his horse and running to Ben. "I’ve looked everywhere for you. I have a good mind to haul you behind the stable and lay a whip into you that - you are injured!"

Ben blinked. "I am?"

"We must get you to the house."

There was no use in attempting to reason with the man that there was no house aboard ship. None that Ben had ever heard of. Besides, Thaddeus was too busy shouting at passers-by and commandeering a wagon for some strange reason. He fairly tossed Ben like a sack of flour into the wagon, mindless of Ben’s expression of extreme distress, and then drove at a speed that evidenced no regard for Ben’s comfort. How was Thaddeus doing that? How did a man drive a wagon across the sea?

Of course he wasn’t driving the wagon across water. Not even Thaddeus could do such a thing, Ben realized now. They were in town or near it. And they had drawn up by the livery, closer to Thaddeus’ home than Ben’s. Despite Ben’s protests that he could rest in his own house, Thaddeus directed Ben with enormous bodily strength toward the front door where Sophie stood waiting. And there was Adam. What was it about this that was so familiar? He must be dreaming. That was the answer. He was dreaming a dream he had dreamt before. Adam ran straight to his father. The boy’s small arms encircled Ben’s leg and gave a tight hug. Ben bit the inside of his cheek to cut off a wail of pain, and tasted blood. No, this was no dream.

Why must it always and forever be his left leg?

"Nothing’s broken," Doctor MacTavish announced after it felt like he’d turned Ben’s leg in at least one complete revolution.

"Nothing was." Ben gritted his teeth.

The doctor chose to ignore the remark. Instead, he turned to Thaddeus who had watched Ben’s agony from the safety of the opposite side of the bedroom. "He should not move around for several days," MacTavish said. "I’ll leave something that will ease the pain."

How nice of the man to cause even more pain and then offer to sell something to make it cease. Ben did not want anything the doctor could provide for his hurting, but he did want something liquid. Thaddeus met Ben’s eyes, knew what he was thinking, and smiled. He put his hand to the doctor’s back and they left the room with Thaddeus saying, "Thank you for…."

There was no trusting these physicians. Ben had no use for them at all, with the exception of Uncle Alexander. Now there was a man who knew the healing arts. Uncle Alexander was of the adamant opinion that if you were giving a person calomel you should proceed to poison them and get it over with. What he had to say about the renowned Dr. Rush and followers, and their treatments by bleeding, was not repeatable in mixed company.

Aunt Bess had been married to the man for several years by the time Ben had been born. And although the couple resided in New York to the very day, Uncle Alexander had had a profound effect on Ben’s life. He’d advocated two of the most hideous activities a young boy could imagine: bathing the body and brushing the teeth. It wasn’t enough that Ben’s mother had insisted on the two forms of torture, his father had mandated adherence as well. And no matter how abnormal such things might have been in the rest of society, by Jove the Cartwrights had brushed their teeth twice a day and had taken a bath three times a week. Ben had been embarrassed by the entire situation and had engaged in more than one fistfight over the matter.

And now things had come full circle. He would always recall, with no amount of sentimentality, when he’d finally managed to pry Adam’s mouth open and brush the boy’s cluster of little teeth to the accompaniment of spitting and sputtering and dramatic gagging. Adam still was known to spit and sputter every so often. But thank the heavens he’d abandoned the gagging.

And now something else had come full circle. Adam was tending Ben in a most efficient, mature, and bothersome manner. As soon as Thaddeus and Dr. MacTavish left the room, Adam ran in sock feet and climbed onto the bed. He crawled to Ben’s side, mindful of the injured leg, sat down near Ben’s chest, and patted Ben gently.

"Seep," he whispered.

"I’m not sleepy at the moment, thank you."

The smooth forehead wrinkled and Adam straightened his back. "Seep," he ordered.

"I beg your pardon?" Ben’s brow rose.

"Peas," Adam said with a firm nod of the head. "Seep peas."

"I will sleep when I am of a mind to, thank you."

Adam shook his head from one side to the other. If the boy had known to say "Tsk, tsk" he would have. Ben was obviously not being a good patient.

"You could," Ben suggested, "ask Thaddeus if Pa might have a drink."

The child’s eyes brightened at the thought of being given such an important task. "Tea?" he asked.

"Simply ask Thaddeus if Pa might have a drink. He’ll know what Pa wants," Ben assured.

"Do." Adam scooted backward off the bed and ran from the room yelling, "Tad-us!"

Ben closed his eyes. He really must break Adam of that habit. Even at home, Ben might be in the living area and Adam might be in the bedroom and there would be a shouted, "Pa!" Ben probably didn’t help matters by shouting back, "Yes!" But it was such a small house it scarcely made sense to go walking back and forth when it was easier to converse in raised voices.

Oh saints but his left leg hurt. Nothing broken, the doctor had said. Given his experience, Ben tended to agree. He’d never had a broken limb that had felt like this. So what was it that a person could do to a leg to make it hurt so? Ben wanted to know so he could be absolutely certain not to do anything like it in future.

"Do!" Adam exclaimed angrily from near the dining room.

And then there was Thaddeus’ deep voice saying, in no uncertain terms, that Adam could hand his father the glass once they were in the bedroom but Thaddeus would carry it until then. His tone brooked no dispute. Adam, who had worked with the man extensively, wisely chose not to argue the point. The child preceded the man into the room and after Adam had seated himself beside Ben, Thaddeus handed the small glass of darkish liquid to Adam, who then passed the drink to Ben with the greatest of care.

Ben sipped. The warmth spread down his throat and into his stomach, somehow heating his lungs in the process. This was the one, true, and only medicine. He closed his eyes in pure enjoyment.

"No." Adam tapped Ben’s shoulder. He shook his head when Ben looked at him. "No seep. Dink."

"I had no intention of sleeping," Ben said, wondering when his son had become such a taskmaster.

Adam grasped his ankles and leaned forward. "Dink?"

"Pa prefers to sip this slowly."

"Ad-am dink?"

"Absolutely not."

The boy squinted and turned his head to one side. "Peas?"

Ben lowered the glass. "What did Pa say, Adam?"

The blue eyes squinted more and the voice went from normal to near squeaky. "Peas?" When he received no reply he grew philosophical. "Do."

"Indeed you will do." Ben sipped his drink again, noting how Thaddeus chuckled as he left the room. Ben sipped again. He closed his eyes again. He’d had nothing to eat for hours and was ghastly tired. It shouldn’t take much more "medicine" to render him painless and ready for sleep.

Adam sucked in a huge, choking breath. Ben’s eyes went full open. The boy leaned forward, hugging his knees as he coughed, gasped, sneezed, coughed, and then stuck his tongue as far out of his mouth as it would go - with a familiar gagging sound. Ben lifted the small left hand, sniffed it, and was assured that Adam had sampled Ben’s drink. The boy’s dark brows arched as he looked at Ben; then Adam stuck out his tongue again, this time to swipe at it with the palm of his hand.

Ben truly should have swatted Adam’s bottom for disobedience. But he was rather sure the lesson had been learned. The youngster slid from the bed and went running for the kitchen, no doubt for something less potent to drink.

Despite Ben’s protests and threats and bad temper, Thaddeus, Sophie, and even Adam held to their contention that Ben was not to leave the bed.

Ben maintained he could at the least sit on a stool behind the counter at the livery and tally customer’s purchases, or place orders, or just about anything of that sort. He pled with Thaddeus that being bedbound was worse than death. Thaddeus finally informed Ben that did he not cease his complaining, Ben would find out just how bad death was.

Spurned by his good friend, Ben turned his efforts for release from confinement to Sophie. She’d always seemed to be a sweet-natured woman. Ben attempted for two days to wear her down so she would admit defeat and send him on his way to the livery. But apparently Sophie came from a line of people who never, under any circumstances, capitulated. She grew snappish on the morning of the second day and easily irritated by that evening. Sophie had even been audacious enough to remove every scrap of Ben’s clothing from the room. Thank the saints she hadn’t demanded his nightshirt as well. And then she had accused him of being the difficult person.

Ben tolerated such treatment from Sophie and Thaddeus, be it however unwarranted. But then there was Adam. The boy had apparently devised a work arrangement that allowed him to put in an appearance at the livery in the morning only. From the noon meal onward, Adam was at Ben’s side on the bed or playing nearby on the rug. Granted, Ben was not overly knowledgeable about children. However, he did not think it seemly for a father to take orders from a son who was not yet a yard tall and who was outweighed by a large sack of feed.

"Pa." Adam stood on the floor and peeked over the edge of the mattress. "Seep."

Ben closed the book he’d been trying to read for the past day. "I have had enough sleep for a dozen men."

Adam clambered up to Ben’s side and pointed to the pillow against which Ben was propped. "Seep."

"Do not test your good fortune." Ben repositioned himself.

"Wot?" Adam crawled near the pillow.

"Let’s be quiet, shall we?"

"Do." The boy stretched out on his stomach, his head near Ben’s shoulder. The right foot bounced up and down, up and down. "Pa?"

"Yes?"

"Dink?"

Ben sighed deeply. "No, thank you."

"Tor elko. Ead?"

"No, thank you."

"Tor elko. Ting?"

"No, thank- Sing?"

"Ting."

How to avoid this? "I’m too tired, son."

"Seep."

Ben rolled his eyes to the boy. Adam could not have reasoned that through. Not thirsty. Not hungry. Then sing. Too tired to sing. Then sleep. It had to have been by chance that the conversation had turned that way.

Adam thumped his sock-covered foot a few more times then pushed up from his stomach and climbed over Ben’s chest. Arrived at the opposite side of the obstacle, he sat up.

Now what?

The boy tugged Ben’s book onto his lap and opened it. Upside down. Ben started to call Adam’s attention to the fact. But there were no drawings or such in this novel. If it settled the boy and kept his mind off ordering Ben about, then all the better.

Adam’s eyes roved over the left side page. He put his back to the wall that ran alongside the length of the bed, stretched his legs straight in front of him, and spoke. "Ting seep ta tu. Boa-t tea ssssea wiv-uh. Teem. Tip." He raised his eyes and nodded at Ben. Then he lowered his voice. "Tippuh tock boos ban-kit."

Now this was interesting. Adam was not reciting the words in his usual singsong way, or even in the chant to which he sometimes returned. For the life of him, if Ben hadn’t known better, it sounded as if Adam were speaking in sentences.

A wide smile dimpled the boy’s cheeks. "Hord-es Ad-am Tad-us. Hur. App-ee." He deepened his voice and looked at Ben with an uncommonly serious expression. "Pa a-gwee."

"Adam, Pa is not - " Ben stopped abruptly when the scamp held up his hand the same way Ben did when he expected Adam to be quiet. This behavior was extraordinary.

"Seep." Adam kept his eyes on his father. "Seep."

Choking on a laugh, Ben folded his hands on his chest and closed his eyes.

"Ad-am son noid flu-uh." He paused and laughed at a joke Ben had missed.

This boy was certainly cut of a different cloth. Ben did his best not to shake the bed with his own swallowed laughter.

"Tippuh boos wo-gan aassuh pay hahr diema kwee Sov-ee."

Ben felt his son bend toward him.

"Seep," came the instruction.

"I am."

"No."

Ben pursed his lips. "Yes."

"Noid."

There was nothing for it but for Ben to put one arm across his eyes in hopes that Adam might think him asleep - and to be careful not to laugh.

Satisfied that he was being obeyed, Adam took up the story again. "Boom fi-uh twee."

Had Adam just turned a page in the book? It sounded like it.

"Wee. Cuss, cuss - " There was a lull in the plot. "Diz-cuss, diz-cuss. Zno. Wane. Wee. Wee buhk. Wee buhk Pa."

Ben started to raise his arm, wanting to see his son’s face. Had it been a random choice of words? Read book Pa. Or had it been a sentence? Ben might not know overmuch about children but he didn’t think such a thing was possible at this age. Was it?

Adam softened his voice to near a whisper. "Pipe uht boom. Dis twee boom. Pa Ad-am Tad-us Zov-ee lay-ee min cuss cuss diz-cuss. Zno, zno, zno, twee, zno, wane, twee, twee, twee. Hord-es. Wo-gan. Noid. Ting, ting, tink. Boom. Wane." His voice had grown softer and softer, the words farther apart. He closed the book. He moved slightly.

Ben remained still. He felt the boy’s lips at his temple.

"Dub." Adam barely breathed the word. He rested his head next to Ben’s side.

So this, then, was what it was like to fall asleep to a story. Ben lowered his arm, rested it on the other side of his son, closed his eyes, and slept.

Come the fourth day, Ben had received all the ministrations and comfort and care he could abide. Given that his caretakers didn’t protest when he dressed and walked about the house, they were of the same opinion - or something near it.

Thunder but he was glad he had secretly gotten out of that abominable bed each day and moved about. The doctor’s advice to remain still for several days ran counter to Ben’s experience. It was his opinion that the best thing to do was to move about at various intervals, to prevent the leg from seizing up and then being doubly difficult to maneuver later on. Not that it wasn’t difficult to move as it was. He could scarcely bend his left knee and could not lift his left foot beyond perhaps six inches or so. This was not good, not good at all. He had three months, perhaps four, before leaving for the West. A lame leg was not something he could allow.

Abraham stopped by the livery on Ben’s first day back at work. As Ben made ready to apologize, the older man shook his head and spoke first.

"Douglass kept Dolley at his farm for me. Couldn’t get in to town because of the ice until today. She’s in one of your stalls now." He motioned. "How’s the leg?"

"Better, thank you. Dolley is uninjured?"

Abraham took his cigar from his mouth. "Dolley has had a good time of it, from what Douglass says. Running about like a deer. He likes her so much he’s offering to buy her." There was a pause but Ben sensed that Abraham was about to say more. He tapped his cigar, causing the ashes to drift to the floor like specks of dust. "Douglass says that Dolley fancies herself a racehorse. Has she ever run with you?"

Ben felt his face warm. "A time or two." He glanced over at Adam, who was helping Thaddeus move a container filled with leather strips. If he expected his son to be truthful he must set an example. "More than a time or two."

"And what do you think of her?"

"Sir?" Ben frowned at the man. Abraham was a much better judge of horses than was Ben.

"Racing, Ben. Is she good?"

Saints, was everyone in this city addicted to gambling of one sort or another? There were days when more than a dozen people stopped by to admire Mercury and comment on his prospects for winning the spring race. "She has a bit of speed, yes. And stamina."

Abraham tilted his head back and blew more cigar smoke. Ben watched as it snaked its way upward. "If she’s quick with someone of your size in the saddle - " Abraham left the remainder of his thought unspoken. He turned slightly and grinned at Thaddeus’ back. "I don’t believe I shall sell Dolley to Douglass just yet. When that leg of yours is mended, I’ll pay you extra to ride her three times a week."

He was giving Ben more responsibility with Dolley? Ben had expected the man to peel his hide. Slowly. With a dull knife.

"Well?" Abraham prompted. "What’s your answer?"

Ben offered a stunned "yes" and then winced at the strength in the man’s grip as they shook hands.

Still reeling from the unexpected direction of his conversation with Abraham, Ben limped to the barn to check whether they needed to buy more feed and was turned about by two hands that seized his upper arms. Ben thought, just in time, to raise his foot so there would be no further injury to his leg.

"Saints! Are you all right?" John exclaimed, his dark eyes wide as they slid from Ben’s face to Ben’s boots. "I only heard today. Haven’t been able to get off the farm because of the ice. I have a walking stick or two in the store. I can make you the loan of one. What provisions can I bring you? Word is that you walked all the way from the Douglass farm. That has to be - do you need to sit?"

"John." Ben used the reassuring voice he employed when Adam was frightened. "I thank you for your concern but I am - "

His brother’s arm shot to the side, waving madly at nothing that Ben could see. "Do you realize that you could have frozen to death?"

"I’m well aware of that, I assure you."

John’s hands clasped the upper part of Ben’s arms again. "You lost no fingers, no toes?"

"I lost a horse," Ben quipped.

"You laugh when you have scared me half witless?" John demanded.

"You seem to be more than half witless."

The dark eyes flashed but then John slowly smiled. "I’m not the one who’s so witless that I lost a horse and had to walk home in the storm. Truly, Ben, does one not have to try to lose a horse?" He shook his head slowly and finally admitted, "I am relieved to find you well."

"I am relieved to be well."

John shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "I shall take Adam and you to Mrs. Hampton’s this evening for supper. Meet me at the shop." With that he turned around and walked way. Almost. He looked over his shoulder when he had gained the middle of the large, open doorway, started to say something, and then decided not to. Instead he walked toward the city street.

Well, Ben thought, I suppose this means that John has at long last accepted my apology.

March was an unmerciful tease. One day there was a clear sky, a hint of a warm breeze, and the promise of spring. A few days later there was a dreary cloud cover, a chilly wind, and the grim reminder that winter might not be finished with Cincinnati just yet. What was it about getting older that gave Ben such a low tolerance for cold weather? He’d grown up through winters filled with snow and freezing temperatures and the occasional gale for good measure. Such things hadn’t bothered him much then. And it hadn’t taken nearly so long to heal when he was young, either. The left leg was better but he still had to be mindful not to put all his weight on it or twist it suddenly. His condition needed to improve before it was time to take to the trail. He needed to heal as quickly as he once had. This growing old was horrible.

Thaddeus, with all the wisdom of age, had told Ben that he would mend faster if he would ease up a bit. Don’t push yourself so much, he’d said. You endured no small amount of battering out there in the cold. If you don’t take care of that leg now then you’ll be wishing you had when you’re my age and walking about with a cane.

That last warning had been enough to cause Ben to be more understanding of his leg’s condition. He’d slowed down his usual pace, lessened the length of his stride, and forced himself to take steps more slowly. There’d been small improvement.

When Ben had shared his observations during supper at Thaddeus’ house one evening, Sophie had accused him of being too impatient for his own wellbeing. Ben had taken exception to that accusation and had pointed out that he was by nature a very long-suffering man. Thaddeus had choked on his wine. Sophie had stared at Ben as if he’d fallen from the stars. And Ben had been baffled by their refusals to explain their reactions.

But then something happened to take Ben’s mind off his own problems. One evening after work, John came to the house with Will riding on his hip and a large bag in his hand.

"I need you to take care of Will," John announced.

Ben stepped back to allow his brother into the house and then closed the front door. He had rarely seen John so agitated and so worried.

"Mrs. Overly has something that has extended to Patience and now the two boys," John continued as he put Will on his feet.

Ben sincerely hoped the woman wasn’t spreading her sour temperament to the others. Truth told, Patience had enough of her own.

"I don’t want Will to fall victim to it."

"Will?" Ben asked dumbly.

John placed the bag on a chair seat. "He’s healthy, Ben, but there’s no one to take care of him. I’ve all I can do to tend to the others."

"Would you please explain what you are talking about?" Ben asked.

His brother waved impatiently. "They’re ill."

That wasn’t good. One person not feeling well was one thing. A houseful was quite another. "With what?"

John ran a hand through his hair. "I’ve no idea. That’s why I’m leaving Will with you." He leaned forward and rested his hands on his son’s shoulders. "You do as your uncle says, Will." That done, he nodded to Ben, opened the door, closed the door, and was gone.

Will blinked up at Ben. Adam, who had been standing by the table, blinked at Ben. What was Ben to do? The only action that came to mind was to help Will take off his coat.

Ben sat on his heels and put a hand to the boy’s cheek. "Have you eaten?"

"No," came the worried voice.

"Ead," Adam said.

"Yes, son, we all need to eat," Ben answered distractedly. How could John just put the boy down and leave like that? Granted, Ben was Will’s uncle but all the same couldn’t John have been gentler about parting from his son? Couldn’t he have offered some explanation? Some assurance?

Ben stood and walked to the shelf for another bowl. "We’re having stew tonight," he said to Will. "Good fortune is with you. Sophie cooked it." Ben motioned to the chairs. "Up to the table, boys." They clamored to obey as he ladled the warm dinner into bowls. He placed three bowls and three spoons, even though he knew Adam would try to use his hand to eat the stew.

As soon as Ben sat, Will bowed his head. When Ben leaned forward, asking what was wrong, the boy looked from the tops of his eyes. "Blessing," he said.

Adam looked down at his bowl as if he wondered what part of the stew "blessing" was.

Well, this was embarrassing. Ben had let that particular tradition slide to the wayside. He caught Adam’s eye. "We’re going to pray," he prompted. Adam knew what that meant. He was a regular attendee at church. He folded his hands and, after a curious glance at his cousin, bowed his head.

Ben kept the blessing very short and simple. When he’d finished, Will said "Amen" and Adam followed immediately with "Min."

Will picked up his spoon, scooped it into the stew, blew on the spoon’s contents, and smiled after he had tasted it. "Good."

"Yes, Sophie’s a good cook," Ben agreed. He reached for his spoon, dipped it into the stew, and offered it to Adam.

The boy frowned and shook his head as he watched Will feed himself.

"Adam," Ben coaxed.

"No." Adam put his hand over Ben’s and pushed it aside. He stood in his chair, bent across Ben’s bowl, and snatched the other spoon. He looked quite proud of himself as he sat.

Ben leaned back in his chair, the spoonful of stew still in his hand. What the deuce was going on here? Adam knew better than to misbehave at the table. If he hammered that spoon into the food the way he once had he was in for a fiery swat to his bottom.

No, Adam didn’t splash the spoon about in the stew. He watched Will’s movements and slowly imitated them.

Fascinating.

Adam’s hand was wrapped around the handle of the spoon and he was coming at his mouth straight on. He spilled a bit of the stew in his bowl. And on the table. And down the front of his dress. But some of the stew, enough to chew, found its way into the boy’s mouth.

Will reached for the roll beside his bowl. Adam directed his attention to the bread near his left hand.

Long ago, in Italy, Ben and Angus had stood on a street corner and had watched in fascination as one mime had made a move and then another had repeated the same motion. They had started slowly and then had increased their speed until they had looked like frenzied men swatting at bees.

Will’s and Adam’s behavior provided just as much enjoyment although, thank the saints, they were going about eating at a leisurely pace.

"Good," Will said to Adam.

Adam nodded, letting his full spoon dip in the process and spilling stew into the bowl. "Ead."

Will raised his dark eyes to Ben. "I like stew."

Half a moment later, Adam looked to his father. "Wike."

Ben slid his hand over his mouth to hide his smile and then assumed a serious air. "Yes, the stew is very good."

Adam wasn’t fooled in the least. He knew his father hadn’t even tasted the food yet. He pointed to Ben’s bowl. "Ead."

"Please," Ben prompted.

"Ta tu," Adam instantly responded. Then he seemed to consider what he had said. As he did so, the spoon tipped even more. "Tor elko," he corrected. Then his forehead wrinkled in a mighty frown. After a bit more rumination his face lit up. "Peas!" he exclaimed.

Ben shook with laughter and before he thought he replied, "Thank you."

Adam straightened and raised his hand; the broth on the spoon dripped down his arm. "Tor elko."

Will shook his head. "No. You’re welcome."

This would be interesting. Adam leaned toward his cousin. "Wot?"

"You’re welcome."

Adam nodded. "Tor elko," he said.

"You’re welcome," Will repeated.

Obviously he was as determined to teach Adam as a much younger John had been to teach a usually headstrong Ben. Ben wondered how this would progress.

Adam looked down and purposely lowered his spoon into the stew.

Ben tensed. He knew what that move would have meant had this discussion been between John and him when they’d been children. Ben would have dipped that spoon into the stew and thrown it straight at his brother. And Ben never missed what he aimed at. He would have flung the stew knowing full well that Father would spank Ben’s bottom the entire time they walked up the stairs to the bedroom.

Adam stirred his spoon around inside his bowl. He leaned forward and stirred some more. Then he lowered his head until it looked as if he planned to eat the stew through his nose. He stirred and stirred and then laughed in delight.

What was that about? Ben picked up his spoon, stirred around the bowl, and smiled. Adam had discovered a way to create a maelstrom. Well, it probably wasn’t known as a maelstrom when it was a swirl of stew in a shallow bowl. All right then, a whirlpool.

The boys’ roles reversed. Will studied Adam’s actions. Then Will looked down, bent low over his bowl, and stirred with all his might. The cousins’ laughter and giggles grew in volume as the whirlpools grew in strength. Ben did finally manage to get them to eat. But the table looked like the sky had rained stew.

That evening there were a few differences in Ben’s and Adam’s customs. After the boys put on their nightshirts, Ben played the fiddle as he usually did. Adam pranced around and almost-skipped to the tune until Will showed him how to nearly-dance. Then Adam dug the short rope out of the basket near the bookcase. This time Ben did not play. He swayed back and forth in the rocking chair as the cousins sat on the rug and engaged in a grunt and giggle competition. When they grew bored with that commotion, Adam stretched out on the rug.

"Wee," he requested as he rolled from side to side.

Will made himself comfortable beside Adam. "What’s wee?"

"Wee!" Adam shouted as if he thought Will was deaf.

"He means read." Ben lifted the book from the table near his chair. "This book is titled ‘The Spy.’" Ben spoke to Will, one man to another. "Have you read it, by chance?"

His nephew shook his head.

"Not enough time, um?" Ben opened the book. He gave Will a very brief idea of what the book was about and where Adam and Ben were in the story. "Any questions?"

"No." Will was so serious that Ben found it hard not to laugh.

"All right then. Shall we read?"

Ben became so engrossed in the story, for the spy had escaped and was helping another man escape to return to the British, that he failed to notice that both boys were sound asleep until he glanced up. He gave them a study. They seemed to be comfortable enough.

Would the spy’s escape work? After all, the spy was already tempting fate. But then, he was accustomed to that. Surely nothing bad would befall him. Ben knew the man couldn’t die during this adventure because he’d looked ahead at the story’s ending and that was where the spy died, unless that was a ruse. So then, what would happen here? The boys looked fine, just fine. A few more pages, that was all. And then he would put them to bed.

An hour later Ben closed the book because his eyes were tired. He rubbed at his eyes, stood, stretched, and then wondered if Will might be shy about sleeping with Ben and Adam. There was nothing else to be done so Ben rested Adam in his usual place on the bed against the wall. Then he gently laid Will beside his cousin. There wouldn’t be much room for turning but they could make do. Ben leaned over the mattress and pressed his lips to first one forehead and then the other. What marvels children were - trusting, able to create fun out of anything, and possibly the most peaceful sleepers the Maker had ever placed on Earth. Adam turned his head and shifted his arms and in the process slapped Will across the cheek. Will stirred a bit, rolled to one side and kicked Adam in the leg. Well, perhaps they were not such peaceful sleepers after all. Ben eased to the mattress and wondered what new bruises he might find on himself come morning.

The next day Adam took Will by the hand and led him, with great purpose, to the livery. He then proceeded to give Will a tour of the shop in a childish way that the boys understood but which left Ben and Thaddeus in a wake of confusion. After working hard for two hours, Adam decided Will and he needed to rest in the "berth" for a while. Their respite required playing with the ball, horse, toy boat, and giggling at appropriate intervals. After the noon meal, because the day was fair, Ben allowed the two to play in the Jacobs’ backyard. They returned to the shop sometime later a bit dirtier than they had left and a great deal more tired. With a flair for drama that defied description, the boys dragged themselves to the berth, stretched out on the blanket, and fell asleep.

"I believe you will need to hold Adam’s wages for the day," Ben observed dryly as he finished listing Thomas’ purchases in the ledger book.

"He’s earned a few days of fun." Thaddeus raised an eyebrow. "You, however, owe me several from when you recovered from that walk."

Ben’s "walk" had become the stuff of local legend and had transformed him into a hero. He wasn’t quite as invincible as Mike Fink but he was very near. If the story went on long enough he would undoubtedly have a statue dedicated to him in front of one of the public buildings. That was how easily most people were impressed.

As he drove the wagon down to the landing to pick up freight for the livery later that day, Ben entertained himself by imagining his statue and which building it should grace with its presence. Should it be a figure of a man with his face into the wind as the sea waves thundered about him? No, hardly made sense in a city like this. Ah, then, how about Ben as a riverboat captain, legs spread and fists at his waist as he faced the treacherous currents? Or perhaps one of those poses for posterity, standing with chin uplifted and a copy of the Constitution or some such unfurled at his boots. Even better would be a statue of him playing the fiddle. Yes, that was it, playing the fiddle for all the world to see. Well, at least Cincinnati.

Ben was mulling over the amusing prospect of immortality in stone or metal when a cluster of people near the riverboat landing caught his attention. He slowed the wagon and after a quick glance to assure that the way was clear of obstructions he leaned slightly to get a better view. There, gathered in a straight line abreast of one another, were the city’s leading citizens in well-made clothing and new-looking hats. Their boots, what Ben could see of them, were so shiny they reflected the afternoon sunlight. Obviously something important was afoot.

Pulling the horses to a stop was pure instinct. Ben had no idea he’d done it until he realized the wagon wasn’t moving. And there, coming down the wooden walkway that bridged the gap between the riverboat and the landing, was an impeccably dressed man escorting a stylish lady. Ben frowned, trying to see the man more clearly without being too obvious about his curiosity.

Saints above! It was Judge Weld! Ben had heard someone was due in town to replace the late Judge Newton. But what was Judge Weld doing all the way out here? The last time Ben had seen the man had been at that inn a couple of days east of Pittsburgh.

And who was that lady? She was not the woman that Ben had last observed holding the judge’s arm and riding away in the carriage toward their home. No, this was a different woman entirely. Much younger from the looks of her. Then again, she could be a daughter. A niece. A sister.

One of the townsmen stepped forward and shook hands with the judge as all the men removed their hats in deference to the lady’s presence. Ben got down from the wagon on the pretense of checking a harness but leaned against the horse instead and turned his ear toward the conversation. The mayor welcomed Judge Nathaniel Weld and delivered the usual pleasantries about how honored the city was by the judge’s presence.

Then there were the measured tones and the deep voice of Judge Weld. "Gentlemen," he said, "may I introduce my lovely wife, Esther?"

Esther? Ben couldn’t recall the name of the woman Judge Weld had traveled with before but it hadn’t been Esther, of that he was certain. And she certainly hadn’t been as shapely as this lady, or as graceful.

The town representatives tripped over their tongues as they all attempted to respond at once to something that Mrs. Weld had said. Her demure attitude looked to be well practiced but Ben sensed the same undercurrents of wiliness in the new Mrs. Weld as he had in Regina Harrow. They were both predators waiting to catch a person unawares. The wise man would be ever vigilant in Mrs. Weld’s company, particularly when the judge was nearby.

Ben had seen this woman’s type before, proper in society but inclined toward inappropriate relationships with men. Could she accept the expensive gifts and the undiluted attention from her lovers while keeping her husband oblivious to her activities? If Ben recalled correctly, Mrs. Birchman had said the judge’s first wife had carried on with a lawyer and the couple had paid with their lives for their reckless deeds.

The Mrs. Weld he was looking at now, though, had a skilled air about her. Ben caught his breath when he realized why her manner seemed so familiar. She hadn’t aged much. Her hair color was different and her clothes were more tasteful. But by Jove he would walk on water if Esther Weld was not Sophie Kendricks, the well-known proprietress of the equally well-known house of pleasure located a diplomatic distance from the heart of Boston. And Ben would bet good money that the judge did not know about his wife’s past.

Ben’s surprise quickly gave way to a roar of laughter that turned the heads of half the city leaders his way. It was too late to pretend not to have seen them so he slid his attention ever so slightly toward the boat. Seeing his line of attention, the assemblage turned toward the riverboat. There was a brief instant of muttering, probably wondering what Ben had seen that was so amusing, and then the conversation with the judge resumed as they walked toward two waiting carriages. Thank the saints that the judge hadn’t looked Ben’s way; he was a man who probably remembered faces well.

Mrs. Weld was the only one who kept her interest directed Ben’s way. She squinted slightly under the brim of her bonnet, trying to discern his features as Ben had struggled only moments before to see who her husband was. There was no chance of her recognizing Ben - even if he’d been inclined to support her business, her charge had been too dear. But she had been a familiar sight as she had walked and had ridden through Boston, as regal and finely clothed as a monarch. She seemed to decide that she was not acquainted with Ben and she turned her head and smiled at her husband who was engaged in conversation with the mayor.

Ben grinned to himself and climbed back to the wagon seat. First Judge Newton and Mrs. Treyhee. Now Judge Weld and Sophie Kendricks. It would seem that sometimes what appeared to be a change wasn’t.

Ben had stopped by the market for fish and was returning to the wagon, when someone grabbed at his left arm from behind.

"Why do you walk so confoundedly fast?" John demanded when Ben faced him.

Ben glanced down. He’d been purposely walking slower since he’d hurt his leg. What was John talking about?

John didn’t wait for an answer; he probably didn’t expect one. "They have the grippe," he announced.

"Who?"

John motioned in a wide sweep that could well have included the entire city. "Patience and the lot of them."

Oh, that wasn’t good. Ben asked how John was feeling and John easily dismissed the inquiry with the statement that he was not inclined toward illness.

"Who is tending Patience and the boys?" Ben stepped nearer the wagon to allow a carriage to pass by.

"I’ve hired a girl from town. I can’t be away from the shop anymore."

"Will is at the livery with Adam. I’ll go get him so you can - "

John shook his head. "No, I don’t have - " He seemed to reassess what he had been about to say and decide not to say anything.

Ben knew anyhow and his heart ached for his nephew. John had been about to say that he didn’t have time for Will.

As if he realized he ought to, John quickly asked about his son. Was he causing Ben any trouble? Was he still in good health? Were he and Will still getting along?

After a series of short, quick assurances that all was fine, Ben gave John an apologetic smile. "I need to return to work, John. Stay in good health."

John smiled with what Ben could only interpret as immense relief as they shook hands. "You, too, Ben." When they were several strides apart, John called toward Ben’s back. "Tell Will I send greetings, would you?"

Ben waved a hand to show that he’d heard the message. Tell the boy his father had sent greetings? Ben thought not. He would tell Will that his father had sent his love. This was one time when it wouldn’t bother Ben at all to tell a lie.

It would be logical to assume that having two boys about the house would provide twice the activity. Would that such were the situation. Ben was confounded at how two little boys could create enough disorder to keep one grown man busy. How had Mother ever accomplished anything aside from tending John and Ben? One boy required enough attention as it was. Two boys left Ben with little time to do more than clean up after them. It would be impossible to rear three sons, absolutely impossible.

He supposed the fatigue of work and taking care of the boys was the reason he slept later than usual that Sunday morning. But he took no time in coming full awake when he realized that the childish giggles he heard coming from the improvised kitchen were full to the brim with mischief.

Ben pulled on his trousers but not his socks or boots and ran a hand through his hair as he walked to the doorway between the kitchen and bedroom. He was lucky to have the doorframe to lean against because what he saw came close to buckling his knees.

His eyes scarcely knew where to look first. The flour that covered the table and eating area floor and formed an interesting pattern on one wall? The two eggs that were cracked open and oozing onto a chair seat? The tipped mug that dripped milk from the tabletop to the floor, each drop splashing into the flour and forming, no doubt, a nice thick paste? Or should he direct his attention to the two dark-haired boys, one kneeling on a chair seat and the other sitting cross-legged on the tabletop, as they both stirred the contents of the same bowl and splattered unrecognizable blobs on the fronts of their nightshirts. Adam had so much flour on his face that he looked like a woman over inclined toward powder. Even his dark eyelashes were dusted with the fine snow. Will’s face was unsullied but his hair stuck together in large hanks from more of that nice thick paste that Ben had first seen on the floor.

"What’s the meaning of this?" Ben roared.

Adam and Will looked up in surprise. Adam knew enough to give the impression of being contrite. Will simply appeared curious.

"Adam?" Ben prompted as he rested his hands on his hips.

The boy shifted and went from a sitting position on the tabletop to a kneeling one. "Ead," he explained. He waved his arms in the air, still clutching the spoon in one hand so that it’s contents smacked into the front of Ben’s shirt.

Adam’s blue eyes rounded. "Uht."

Ben spread his arms wide. "Look at this - this - calamity!"

Will frowned. "What?"

Adam didn’t seem to understand the word either but he comprehended enough of Ben’s emotion to be insulted. "Ead," he asserted.

"Eat!" Ben slapped his hands against his thighs. "Thunder, Adam, what is possibly left to eat? You’ve festooned the entire house with that mixture."

This time it was Adam who frowned. "Wot?"

Without giving a thought to whether he was being reasonable, Ben pointed straight at his son. "I want this chaos taken care of - now."

Adam’s eyes flickered with what Ben knew to be recognition of one word, "now." But as to the rest of the sentence, that was another matter.

The cousins looked at each other. They then turned to Ben, their faces full of unasked questions.

"Clean," Ben said slowly. "I want you to clean."

Adam gave a quick nod. He scampered to a chair and then slid to the floor and promptly ran to one of the water buckets next to the kitchen wall. Before Ben could utter a sound Will was beside Adam. In the blink of an eye the splashing water made mighty waves that broke over the side of the bucket.

Saints and sinners! Ben leaned forward, again pointing at Adam. "Do not move until I return."

Adam rolled his eyes to Will who responded, "Yes, Uncle Ben."

Ben flung open the front door and strode barefoot across the cold soil to the livery. He had meant to heat water on the coals that George used to soften metal. But it was Sunday and of course George wasn’t in the livery and the coals were cold. Back to the house. Fill every pot with water. Start the fires. Heat the pots in the fireplace and on top of the Franklin stove. In the meantime, pull the boys away from the bucket. Strip their clothes. Have them sit on the wooden settee and wrap a blanket around them. Turn about and moan at the mess in the eating area.

By all rights, he should have had the boys clean up the disaster but it was more important to get them washed before the flour hardened any more. And the saints only knew what a mess they could make of trying to help. Ben had cleaned the tabletop and swept the floor before the water was warm. He spread an oiled canvas on the floor in the living area, pulled the small tub in front of the fireplace, and poured in the cold water. Then the warm water. Tested it. Poured in more cool water. Tested it. And then pointed to it.

"In here, young men."

That suited the cousins just fine. They clambered over the sides and plopped on their bottoms in the water. It took only a moment for them to laugh and kick water at each other.

Ben returned to the eating area and grimaced at the egg that had trickled onto the chair seat. He recalled one time when he’d been in the kitchen at Uncle Hugh’s house and Jenny had dropped an egg to have it shatter on the brick floor. Ben had watched in fascination as she’d sprinkled salt over the mess and then after a short wait had wiped the egg up with a cloth. He tried her method and it worked. Wonderful!

"No!"

Adam’s shout caused Ben to pause as he shaved and listen more closely to what just a moment before had been two boys happily playing under the dining table.

With his razor held in mid-air, Ben turned. "Adam?"

His answer was the distinct sharp slap of skin against skin and Adam once again declaring, "No!"

Will shouted then and the slaps were one right after the other.

By the time Ben had put his razor on the shelf and bent to see under the table, Adam was swinging his hands and slapping Will’s shoulders and head, and Will’s arms were up in an attempt to stop the blows.

"Adam?" Ben grabbed the boy and stood holding him. "What is - "

The boy kicked and twisted and yelled so much that Ben wasn’t sure Adam knew Ben had a hold of him, much less was speaking to him.

"Ad-am! Quiet."

Adam apparently enjoyed slapping because he smacked a palm against the shaven side of Ben’s face. "No!"

All right. That was enough. Ben turned the boy, held Adam tight against his body with his left arm, and delivered a slap of his own to Adam’s bottom. When Ben turned Adam back to face him, the boy’s eyes sparked like flints struck together even though they welled with tears. He seemed to have every intention of smacking Ben again.

They needed to discuss what had happened and they would not be able to do that until -

Adam raised his hand. Ben pointed at him. "You will behave, Adam, or I will spank you again."

The youngster lowered his hand and looked down. Ben put him on his feet, ready to grab him if he looked like he planned to resume the fight. Even though Adam glared under the table at Will, he stayed where Ben had put him.

Sitting down with two grown men who had resorted to fisticuffs and receiving anything like an explanation for their conduct was difficult. To have two youngsters, both of who spoke a limited amount of words, defend their actions was near impossible. Ben couldn’t even understand what had started the fight. Finally he sent Will to sit in the living room and Adam to sit on the bed, hoping some time apart would restore harmony.

Ben finished shaving. And he straightened the kitchen. Then he decided it was time to see if the boys were ready to get along. Will was happily occupied with Adam’s wooden horse and ball so Ben stepped into the bedroom. The moment he entered the doorway he could see Adam sprawled face down on the mattress, his toy boat clutched in one hand, and obviously sound asleep. Well, perhaps rest was what Adam needed, Ben thought. Perhaps he’d awakened before he should have this morning and that had led to the display of temper. After Adam had breakfast he would undoubtedly be back to his normal happy humor.

But it wasn’t to be. Adam was hushed and kept his eyes on his food. Will was even less talkative than usual. The day was the warmest one since winter even though the soil was still damp from the last rain. Ben put a sweater on each of the boys and with Adam holding Ben’s right hand and Will holding Ben’s left hand they set out for a walk. Will asked about one thing after the other. Adam silently looked around. The only time he displayed interest in anything was when they stopped to watch two horses pull a brand new coach down the road toward a street lined with well-kept houses. He was studiously silent the remainder of the day. Not sulking, Ben couldn’t abide that kind of behavior, but it was for the world as if Adam was at one end of a footbridge and Ben was in the middle but Adam did not know how to walk toward Ben.

"Adam?" Ben said that evening when the boys stood from the rug after Ben had read to them. "Would you sit here in Pa’s chair, please, while I help Will into bed?"

Adam didn’t seem to understand much of Ben’s request but he saw Ben motion to the chair so he walked to it and crawled onto the seat. When he turned around to sit he spread his hands over the chair arms and leaned forward in an attempt to rock the chair. Ben gave the top rail the slightest of nudges and Adam nodded to himself, apparently believing he had accomplished the task without aid.

Ben carried Will to the bedroom. There was no swinging Will back and forth to fall with a "boom" onto the mattress as there was with Adam. This boy much preferred to gently lie down and have Ben tuck the blanket around him.

Sitting on the mattress and leaning his hands on either side of the little boy, Ben softly said, "Thank you for walking in town with me today. I enjoyed it." He kissed the boy’s forehead. "I love you."

Will’s smile was huge, as it was each time Ben told him goodnight.

"Now," Ben patted the side of Will’s left leg. "You go to sleep. I’ll bring Adam in soon."

Will yawned so wide that Ben feared it would unhinge the boy’s jaw.

When Ben returned to the living area, Adam was lying on his stomach underneath the rocking chair, kicking one foot rhythmically as he pushed both hands on the back of one of the rockers. He looked up to the underside of the seat and then down to the rocker.

Ben sat on the floor beside the chair, his left leg stretched straight and his right knee bent. He leaned on his right elbow. "Very good," he praised.

Adam cast him an inquisitive glance.

Ben nudged the back tip of the rocker. "When you push here, it goes up through here" - he slid his hand along the leg and up to the seat - "and then where you sit goes back and forth."

Adam crawled from under the chair and sat cross-legged with his back to Ben’s waist.

"Here." Ben took one little hand in his. He pushed on the back of the rocker, guided Adam’s hand up the leg, and patted the chair seat.

The boy warmed Ben’s heart when he swiveled and offered a shy smile. He returned his attention to the chair and pushed with both hands and an accompanying grunt to indicate hard work.

"Adam is smart," Ben said.

The youngster looked over his shoulder. "Wot?"

Ben tapped Adam’s forehead. "Adam thinks."

A slender little index finger rapped at the side of Ben’s head. "Tink."

"Do you remember," Ben ventured, "how men who do together are partners?"

Adam nodded. "Pahd-nuh."

Knowing whether Adam understood or was just repeating a word was growing more difficult for Ben. Sometimes the simplest of words confused the boy while a concept that Ben would have thought far beyond Adam’s grasp seemed to be effortless for the child.

"Adam and Pa are partners because Adam and Pa do together."

Adam nodded again.

Ben smiled. "Adam is a good partner."

"Pahd-nuh."

"Um hum."

Adam scooted around enough to put his hands to Ben’s chest and push.

Ben laughed. "And what is this?"

Adam pushed all the harder so Ben lay down only to have the boy climb on top of him. Adam didn’t straddle Ben as he so often did when he pretended to ride a horse. Instead he stretched out on his stomach and rested his head near Ben’s shoulder.

"Seep," he whispered.

"Then we need to go to the bed," Ben pointed out.

Adam shook his head. "No."

Well, this was interesting. "Not the bed?"

"No."

"You want to sleep here on the floor?" They’d never done that before.

Adam raised his head and propped his chin on Ben’s shoulder. "Seep."

Ben squinted. "Adam, Pa is not very comfortable like this." When he saw Adam’s lower lip quiver, Ben offered a solution. "Let me get a pillow and we’ll sleep on the rug."

That seemed a suitable compromise. As soon as Ben had made himself as relaxed as a man can with a pillow under his head and his back flat against a rug, he held out his arms to Adam.

The boy very carefully climbed on top of Ben, stretched out on his stomach again, and this time rested the side of his head near to Ben’s heart. Adam went very still, then pushed up on his hands and looked down. "Pa?"

"Um?"

Adam’s voice took on a tone of secrecy. "Boom," he whispered.

Ben laughed. "What?"

Adam tapped Ben’s chest. "Boom."

"Oh, yes, well that’s - " Now this was going to be difficult to explain. Keep it simple, Ben. He pointed to the center of his chest. "This is Pa’s heart." He lifted one of Adam’s hands and rested it on Adam’s chest. "And this is Adam’s heart. Feel that?"

The blue eyes were enormous with wonder. "Boom," he murmured.

Ben rolled his head against the pillow in a vain attempt for comfort. Why was he doing this? He really ought to insist that Adam and he go to the bed. Saints but he would regret this in the morning when he ached all over.

"Pa?"

"Head down, Adam."

Adam obeyed. "Pa?" he said into Ben’s chest.

"Sleep."

The right foot that always kicked as Adam drifted to sleep thumped against Ben’s left leg. How could a little boy’s foot be so hard?

"Stop that, please. It hurts."

The foot went still.

"Pa?"

"Sleep, Adam."

Ben fought a laugh as he felt the boy give a resigned sigh.

Adam shifted his head so that his right ear was against Ben’s chest. Then, in a whisper as soft as a breeze, Adam said, "Boom. Boom. Boom."

Ben rolled his eyes. Please don’t let Adam count heartbeats.

"Boom," went the soft voice. "Boom."

"All right," Ben conceded. "You may kick your foot, but take care, please?"

"No," Adam answered. "Huhr." Then he breathed the word, "Boom."

Ben prayed that Adam would fall asleep quickly. A man could only listen to so many booms. And he could only lie atop a rug for so long. As soon as Adam’s breathing indicated he was sound asleep, Ben carefully stood and carried his son to bed.

Before the end of the second week, John arrived to take Will back to the farm. When Ben inquired as to everyone’s health, John gave him a distracted look.

"They’re all fine," he said with an edge to his voice as he lifted Will into a carriage. "You don’t think I’d take Will home if they weren’t, do you?"

No, Ben assured, he hadn’t thought that at all.

He couldn’t help but think, though, that it seemed John had considered the illnesses more an inconvenience for him than a threat to them.

With only Adam to look after, Ben decided it was time to prepare the wagon for the trail. Thaddeus offered his opinion that the wagon needed to be drawn by two horses instead of one. That way, Thaddeus reasoned, if anything happened to one horse then Ben and Adam could ride the other to get help. And what, Ben asked, would they do if something happened to both horses at the same time. Thaddeus gave Ben a wilting look but he offered no answer.

Ben tested the left leg a bit more each day but he still wasn’t back to his usual stride. And when he swung into the saddle to take Dolley out for her exercise every other day Ben could feel that the left leg wasn’t at full strength. It was better than it had been, though, there was that to be thankful for.

Many an evening Ben sat at the dining table with Adam in his lap and discussed the maps with his son. He would slide his index finger along the different lines that indicated trails and Adam would then slide his finger along the same line. They discussed at great length, as partners do, what provisions and supplies they might need. Adam stressed that they must take horses and a wagon. And boots and books and a ball and his boat and blankets. It seemed to Ben that the boy had gotten stuck in the "b" section of the alphabet, but he kept his opinion to himself.

"We will both have jobs to do when we’re on the trail," Ben explained one night as they lay beside each other in bed and watched the shadows cast on the ceiling by the bedside lantern. Ben had not failed to notice that Adam was on his back with his hands clasped behind his head in perfect imitation of Ben. "Adam will feed the horses."

"Hord-es!"

"And Adam will help Pa drive the wagon."

"Wo-gan."

"And Adam will help Pa cook."

"Go ead."

"We won’t be able to go to Mrs. Hampton’s."

Adam pulled his hands from behind his head and dramatically slapped them over his eyes. The boy had been doing all sorts of unusual things since Will’s visit but this was the most amusing to date.

Ben chose to ignore the implied low opinion Adam had of his cooking.

"We will sleep in the wagon."

"Wo-gan." Adam still hadn’t uncovered his eyes.

"And when the weather is warmer we will sleep outside."

One hand lifted so one blue eye could peek at Ben.

"We will sleep on the grass," Ben explained. "And I will teach you more about the stars."

Ben and Adam had sneaked from their room in Uncle Hugh’s house many nights so they could sit on the back porch and enjoy the dots of brilliant light in the dark sky.

"Stahz." Adam covered his eyes again.

"When you know the stars you can determine where you are and you can decide what time of night it is. There are all manner of stories in the stars."

"Wee?" Adam inquired.

"No, these aren’t stories that people read. These are stories that people say. Like when Pa tells you a story before you go to sleep."

From the side of his eye, Ben saw Adam spread his fingers and look up at the shadows on the ceiling. He slowly closed his fingers and then fanned them open again.

Ben raised an arm and pointed up. "I see something there in those shadows. In the dark thing that is moving about." He squinted his eyes. "I see a boat."

"Bo-at?"

"Um." Ben traced the outline with his finger. "Right there."

"Bo-at?" Adam sounded doubtful.

Ben sat up and then stood with his feet far apart on the mattress the way he used to stand on deck. Careful not to block the shadows, he raised his hand and moved his finger along the outline. "See? Here’s the bow and you follow it to the hull and then back here - "

The thud as the ropes at the foot of the bed frame gave way under the mattress caused Adam to slap his hands over his ears. "Noid!"

Ben tumbled backward onto the head of the mattress, watching it list to port and then slide to the floor.

"We seem to have sustained a blow to the stern," Ben observed as he sat up.

Adam very slowly began to slide downslope. Ben grabbed the boy by the back of his nightshirt and hauled Adam into his lap.

"Tomorrow," Ben said slowly, "I will show you how to repair rigging."

"Wot?" Adam wrapped his arms around Ben’s neck and looked over his shoulder as if the angle were a precipitous cliff face.

"Rigging." Ben stood on the floor, holding the boy. "Rope."

"Wope."

"But for the moment I think we shall put the mattress in front of the fireplace. Shall we move some furniture?"

"Wot?"

"We’ll move the chairs so we have room for the mattress."

"Seep?"

"Yes, then we’ll sleep."

Just as Ben stepped through the doorway into the eating area, Adam pointed over his shoulder, toward the bedroom ceiling. "Bo-at!"

Ben was not surprised when Adam wanted to help oil the wagon canvas and caulk the bed so it was watertight. That was when the blessed Mr. Myers, the carpenter, presented Adam with a special hammer. It had a short handle and a wide head that was covered with layers of leather. Adam found nothing more enjoyable, when he wasn’t working in the shop, than sitting in the wagon bed and holding the hammer handle with both hands as he pounded on the scraps of wood that Mr. Myers had given him. Ben thanked the man profusely for cushioning the hammerhead.

Adam and Ben were busy with the wagon when Thaddeus walked into the livery barn with a man who looked to be Thaddeus’ age. That was about all the two had in common. The man was a full six inches taller than Ben and his skin looked as tough as the leather clothing he wore. He had such a full beard and moustache that Ben had trouble seeing the man’s mouth. Adam dropped his hammer and raced to hide behind Ben’s legs as Thaddeus introduced the stranger.

"Benjamin Cartwright, this is James Kendricks."

Ben’s surprise at hearing Sophie Kendricks’ last name - Mrs. Weld’s previous name - must have shown on his face because the man frowned. "I see you’ve met my brother," he surmised.

"No," Ben assured. "I – uh – no. I knew a woman named Kendricks in Boston."

James scratched his thick brown hair. "Never been there." He extended his bear paw of a hand and shook Ben’s.

Ben grabbed a nail that was rolling from the wagon bench. "What can I do for you, Mr. - Kendricks?"

"I think it’s what I can do for you," he answered as his brown eyes measured Ben.

All right. "What can you do for me?"

James jerked his chin toward Thaddeus. "I hear that you’re heading west to the Missouri."

"Yes."

James put one of his gloved hands in a front pocket of his long coat. "My brother and I came back from there last year. Have you any maps?"

Ben smiled. "A few."

"Then you’re familiar with the land." James nodded his approval. He picked up an awl that Ben had been using on the wagon canvas and then sat on his heels. "I’ve been this route and I can vouch for it." With that he began to draw lines in the soft, dry soil near a stall.

Ben shot Thaddeus a quick, curious look and then sat on his heels across from Kendricks.

Kendricks drew a circle. "Here’s Cincinnati." He drew a wavy line. "And this is the Ohio."

Ben nodded that he understood.

This time Kendricks sketched an "x" in the dirt. "Louisville. You can follow the river or you can drop this way and come up on it from the southeast. Your best way then is across here to Vincennes. You’re in Indiana then and there’s settled territory around."

Ben recognized the route from his maps. So far, Kendricks had indicated the route Ben had intended to follow. But now - "And from there?" he asked.

"You’re going to the Missouri." Kendricks seemed to mull over a thought. He began drawing lines again. "There’s a way here, from Vincennes to the Mississippi. Then you could go upriver to St. Louis. Or you can strike off here but don’t do that unless you have some others with you. It’s not settled and with all this talk of moving the Indians it’s best to be prepared."

Kendricks was quiet as he considered his map in the dirt. "Best thing to do is to ask in Vincennes. If something’s amiss on either route, they’ll know." He motioned to the wagon. "The stronger that is, the better."

Ben stood as Kendricks did. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Kendricks."

The big man shook Ben’s hand. "Thaddeus can tell you where to find me if any questions come to mind."

As Ben watched Kendricks walk away, he asked Thaddeus, "Where did you meet him?"

"You can come out now, Adam," Thaddeus said. Then he answered Ben’s query. "We’re cousins through our mothers." Thaddeus tickled Adam’s stomach until the boy crumpled around the man’s hand, giggling in delight.

Ben looked out the livery door, toward town. "He’s a good man?"

Thaddeus’ voice sobered and he stroked the side of Adam’s head. "I wouldn’t introduce him to you if he wasn’t, Ben."

Sundays at John’s farm became more pleasant as winter thawed into late March and the attendance at the dinner table dwindled. Patience answered the call to help the less fortunate on Sundays. Then John, being the thoughtful and progressive-thinking employer that he was, decided that Mrs. Overly deserved the same day of rest as the Lord had taken. Which meant that only John, Ben, Will, and Adam shared Sunday dinners served by the ever-quiet cook Lillian. If she thought anything of the boisterous talk and laughter in the dining room she kept her views to herself.

The only problem with Sunday dinner was that John was holding fast to his temperance pledge, which was fine with Ben. He admired tenacity. But why did John’s belief have to include his guests? Would just the sight of a filled wineglass be so intolerable? Surely it could not be as insufferable to watch someone else enjoy a vintage as it was for someone else to dine without wine’s benefits. But Ben did not press the issue knowing full well that to do so would anger John and require another apology from Ben.

After a particularly fine meal of roasted chicken for which Ben praised the taciturn Lillian, and because the day was clear with only a slight breeze, John, Ben, and their sons went out for a stroll. Ben and John walked leisurely on the path toward the woods but Adam and Will had no intention of staying alongside. They cavorted ahead of the men, chasing, laughing, and tumbling on the cool ground.

"I see that your leg is better." John gave Ben a pointed look.

Ben shortened his stride and slowed his pace. "Much better, thank you."

John pulled up his jacket collar. "What’s your opinion of the new owner of Randolph’s newspaper?"

"New owner?" Ben was aware that one of the editors at Windthorst’s printing office was directing the day-to-day operations of that paper under the watchful eye of Mrs. Windthorst. But the last he’d known, the building where Randolph had produced his paper had been for sale. "What’s his name?"

Ben’s question brought a look of surprise from his brother. "You haven’t heard? It’s Joshua."

Ben stopped so abruptly that John was two steps ahead before he pulled up.

Joshua? Ben had met the man only a few times when Joshua had delivered shipments to the livery. He was nice enough, with a ready smile and a kind word for one and all. But the owner of one of the warehouses employed him. Surely Joshua didn’t have the funds required to publish a newspaper. Ben was shaking his head, trying to make sense of the news, when Adam let loose a deafening shriek.

Halfway to the treeline, Ben realized what had happened.

John kept two kinds of chickens on the farm. The first group was confined within a well-constructed coop. But every so often one escaped when someone opened the door to collect the eggs from the nests. The fugitive chickens roosted in the trees and were amazingly self-sufficient. The birds were also zealous in defending their stronghold.

Adam and Will had trespassed into the chickens’ territory and they were paying dearly for their transgression. The chickens were everywhere, squawking, flapping their wings as they made awkward attempts at landing, jumping onto the boys’ shoulders and backs, pecking, and beating the air with their wings. Ben arrived at the scene before John did. He waved his arms, shouted in a voice he had used at sea, and frightened the chickens away.

Will had curled into a ball and as he stood he seemed none the worse for the skirmish.

Adam had not fared as well. He lay on his back, kicking and screaming, with his hands over his face. Ben sat on his heels and started to say something soothing to quiet the boy when he saw blood trickling between the fingers of Adam’s left hand.

Instead of calming Adam, Ben caused even louder wails when he jerked Adam’s hand free of his face. Thank the saints it wasn’t the child’s eye. The cut was above the eyebrow and could be easily tended. Ben lifted Adam and leaned the boy against his shoulder. "You’re fine," he said as he patted the small back.

"No!" Adam stopped sobbing long enough to screech. "No!"

Ben adopted his most comforting tone of voice. "Pa knows you are hurt, Adam. But it’s nothing we can’t make right again. Let’s go to the house and take care of it, shall we?"

"No!" Adam wailed and twisted in Ben’s arms.

"Adam, Pa knows you were frightened. But I’ll keep you safe. Rest your head."

There were more sobs but at least there wasn’t a shouted "No!"

"Is he all right?" John, who was carrying a bewildered Will, walked sideways to Ben as he tried to catch a glimpse of Adam’s face.

Ben nodded an answer and continued to offer calming words to the accompaniment of pats on Adam’s back. It didn’t seem to matter overmuch what he said, as long as he said it quietly and lovingly. The frightened crying gave way to sobs that eased into sniffles that led to hiccups. Ben kissed the back of Adam’s head and thanked John for holding open the back door to the house.

As with most experiences in Adam’s life, tending the wound met with more success when Ben permitted Adam to examine whatever Ben had in his hand. Then Ben explained the reason for his proposed action after which he was allowed to proceed. As Adam sat on the kitchen table, his legs dangling off the edge, he was so involved in Ben’s attention that he never whimpered as Ben cleaned the cut. He did however pull back once and declare "no" as he pushed Ben’s hand away from his forehead.

Ben took a deep breath for patience. "Adam?"

The red-rimmed blue eyes squinted. "Pa?"

Ben put his hands on either side of the boy’s waist. "When Pa was a sailor on the big ships - on the boats - he was hurt many times. So were other men."

"Min," Adam repeated.

"And we helped each other to not hurt."

"Huhr."

"That is what Pa is doing now, son. He is helping Adam to not hurt." Ben gently touched near the cut. "You are better already."

Adam looked skeptical.

Ben lifted the boy. "Shall I show you?" He carried Adam into the dining room and stood in front of a mirror that hung above the sideboard. "See?" He pointed to Adam’s reflection. The cut above Adam’s eye was pink and slightly raised but it was now clean and no longer bleeding.

Adam jabbed a finger at the mirror. "Huhr."

"Yes, but not badly." Would that it was the worst injury Adam might ever suffer. Ben put the boy on his feet as a new idea took hold. He unbuttoned one of his shirtsleeves and rolled it up slightly. Then he sat on his heels and pointed to the scar on his forearm. "You know this?"

Adam rested a small finger against the familiar mark.

"That is where Pa hurt himself. And see? It is all right. It doesn’t hurt."

Adam raised his eyes to meet Ben’s.

Ben held up his hand and touched his forefinger to his thumb. "But Adam’s mark will be very, very little."

"Widdle," the boy repeated.

Ben pitched his voice higher. "Little."

Adam laughed and mimicked. "Widdle."

After a gentle nudge to Adam’s stomach, Ben declared in his normal voice, "And it won’t hurt."

The boy giggled and held up his hand, his index finger and thumb closed in a pinch. "Widdle."

Ben lifted Adam and allowed himself one more study of the wound.

"Widdle," Adam said again and then laughed. "Widdle. Widdle, widdle, widdle."

Oh, thunder, Adam had a new word to try out and the drive home took every bit of an hour.

"Whose horse are you putting your money on?"

The question was posed by almost everyone Ben met as the day for the horse races drew near. The festival of which the races were part that several of the ladies’ groups and merchants had been planning for weeks seemed to be only a secondary consideration on the part of most citizens.

If anyone doubted the redeeming value of racing they need only look around at the people who had gathered along the length of one of the town’s straightest roads - gambling appeared to be the great leveler of society. Granted it was generally a gentleman with money who owned a horse but standing not far away might be a merchant or a boatman or a farmer or even a man who worked at Thaddeus Jacobs’ livery.

"Ah," Thomas Exeter said as he stepped up beside Ben on the sidewalk. "You’ll be putting your money on that horse of Thaddeus’, that Mercury."

Well -

It wasn’t that Ben didn’t trust Thaddeus’ judgment when it came to horses. The man seemed to have an understanding of them like none Ben had ever seen. And Ben and Adam had ridden out to the country with Thaddeus to watch the young man named Philips race Mercury where no one else could observe.

The thing was, though, that Thaddeus hadn’t been the only one training and racing a horse out of the eyeshot of curious onlookers. A month earlier, Ben had ridden Dolley out to the north road as he always had. But Abraham had been waiting to meet Ben. And waiting with Abraham had been a slender youth of about fourteen named Quincy. Given that the boy didn’t like the name, and who could blame him, he was known as "Quin."

That day when Ben had leaned against a tree trunk and watched Quin race Dolley across an open field he had understood that Abraham had been planning this surprise for a long time. So they continued the ruse - and every time that Ben rode Dolley out after that, he met Quin so the boy could train her. Dolley was fleet of hoof when Ben rode her but she looked as fast as a streaking star when the lighter weight Quin was in the saddle.

Ben had seen Dolley reach full speed and he had seen Mercury in a dead run. There was no doubt in his mind that Dolley would win. Still, though, he felt badly about not placing a wager on Mercury. So Ben put a small amount on Mercury. And then he put down a sizable amount on Dolley. There would be time enough to explain himself to his best friend following the race, hopefully after Ben had bought Thaddeus a few drinks.

"Do you think Mercury will lead by a length?" Thomas looked at the clear sky and reset his hat.

"I’ve no idea." Ben winced. Yes, he did. He knew that Dolley would lead. First gambling, now lying. How disappointed Aunt Bridget would be.

Thomas leaned from the waist to look up the street to the race’s starting point. "Six horses."

"Um." Ben smiled at Adam, who was awestruck by the horses.

"Is that bay there Abraham’s horse? What’s her name?"

Ben shifted. "Dolley."

"She looks good, doesn’t she?"

"Yes, she does." Ben ran his finger under his shirt collar, wondering why it felt tight so suddenly.

"But I wager that Mercury is faster," Thomas continued. "The bay’s legs are too short."

But they are exceedingly fast, Ben thought. Thomas and he tipped their hats to two women who stepped from a carriage. Ben took in a sharp breath as he recognized Sophie Kendricks - Weld.

She seemed to hear his reaction as well as see the surprise on his face. As she had that day at the landing, she narrowed her eyes under the brim of her bonnet. The woman studied his every feature and then, apparently relieved, she gave a faint nod and walked past him toward a group of ladies who were discussing something to do with a book study group.

Thomas looked at Ben from the sides of his eyes. "Do you know the judge’s wife?"

Ben avoided a lie by replying, "She is a breathtaking woman."

"Indeed she is. I am surprised that he allows her to go about unescorted, though. There are certain elements of society to which she does not need to be exposed."

Ben’s brows rose at Thomas’ last word. He glanced the older man’s way but could not detect a twitch of the lips or any other indication of dry wit.

"There you are!" John exclaimed as he slapped Ben on the shoulder. He stepped to the opposite side of Ben from Thomas and gave Thomas a nod of greeting. Then he returned his attention to Ben. "Thought I would be too late. You’ve put your money on Mercury no doubt."

Well -

Ben was saved from having to think up an ambiguous response because at that very moment the race began. Dolley started out with the other five horses but that was the last time she was part of the group. She shot ahead of them. All that the other contestants saw from that point on was Dolley’s dark tail flying like a flag in high wind. She thundered past Thomas, Ben, Adam, and John, and they, like everyone else along the sidewalk, turned to watch her run. To Ben’s astonishment, Adam never once put his hands over his ears and said there was noise. Instead he sat in the crook of Ben’s arm and clapped happily, looking around at the women who were screaming or cheering and wrinkling his forehead at the men who were craning their necks or moaning or slapping their hats against their legs.

"Did you see that?" Sophie yelled as she approached Ben. "Isn’t she magnificent!"

She? Sophie had said "she."

The woman’s usually pale skin was high with color. Her eyes were as bright as candles. "Oh, dear," she said and quickly looked down to compose herself. When she raised her head, her face was a study in empathy. "I am so sorry that Mercury did not win," she said as Thaddeus joined his friends.

Mercury’s owner shrugged and with his voice sodden with philosophy said, "There’s always another race."

"Yes," Sophie agreed. "I am proud of Mercury all the same, Thaddeus. He made a good showing for himself. After all he came in - " Her eyes widened and she looked to Ben for help.

He shrugged ever so slightly and slid his eyes to John.

John licked his lip and tilted his head. "The crowd was so out of control we couldn’t see how Mercury finished."

Ben nodded. That was true enough.

"Third." Thomas ruefully finished Sophie’s sentence. "I suppose it’s better than sixth."

John smiled and motioned toward the festival area. "Shall we all walk to the dinner?"

Ben glanced around and then flashed his brother what he hoped was a convincing smile. "I have something I need to do first. Adam and I will join you there."

Thaddeus rubbed at the back of his neck. "I forgot to check something at the livery. I’ll join you at the festival as well."

John raised his elbow toward Sophie. "It would be my pleasure to escort you," he said courteously.

Thomas raised an elbow. "As it would be mine, I assure you."

It was the first time Ben had seen Sophie flustered. Her eyes darted from nothing to nothing else. "Oh, dear." She put her gloved hand to her cheek. "I must attend to something at the music school. Please do not wait on my account. I will be there shortly."

John and Thomas shrugged at each other and then John waved a hand, signaling that Thomas should go first as they crossed the crowded street.

Ben watched Thaddeus walk toward the livery and waited until Sophie had gone around the corner toward her music school. Then, as quickly as he could manage with Adam in his arms, he got himself to the building where Samuel had set up a temporary "shop." He wanted to collect his winnings and be gone.

Apparently most people had bet on a horse other than Dolley because when Ben saw Samuel dividing the greater part of the winnings into five stacks it dawned on him just how much money he had made. And how quickly. When it was Ben’s turn at the head of the line, Samuel, who had insisted on Mexican silver, dropped a large amount of coins into a drawstring canvas bag and held it toward Ben. "Next time I’ll know to wager as you do," he muttered.

Ben gave the man an apologetic smile and winnings in hand he turned on his boot heels and nearly knocked over Sophie. He dropped his hand to his side and tried to cup it around the coin bag.

"I thought we were meeting at the supper," Ben said quickly.

Sophie took a sudden breath and patted the back of her hair. "I thought I might find Thaddeus here."

True, Thaddeus would need to settle his bets. "I don’t see him."

"Here you are, Mrs. Jacobs."

Ben turned in time to see Samuel gently place another sack of substantial winnings in Sophie’s outstretched palm.

"You put your money on Dolley!" Ben exclaimed. What other explanation could there be for the amount of winnings she held?

"So did you." Sophie smiled and, saints help him, she winked. "Come along."

They started for the door only to nearly collide with Mr. Douglass and Abraham. After Sophie and Ben had offered their congratulations to Abraham, they each took a step toward the door. And there was Thaddeus.

Ben quickly put his hand behind his back.

Sophie was more skilled in her deception. She pretended to wipe at her nose with a handkerchief while she dropped the money into her purse. "We thought we might join you here," she said hurriedly.

Thaddeus’ forehead wrinkled. "I understood we were to meet at the supper."

"Yes, well . . ." Sophie gave an eloquent shrug of her slender shoulders, "I did not need as much time as I had thought I might."

"Nor did I," Ben piped in.

Thaddeus glanced around nervously. "Let’s be along then."

Ben had just begun to wonder why Thaddeus seemed so ill at ease when Abraham approached them, with a grinning Douglass behind him, and slapped Thaddeus on the arm. "Samuel said to give you this." He held up another bulging sack and dropped it onto Thaddeus’ hand. "I haven’t seen the day yet when I could get the better of you." Abraham’s laughter followed Douglass and him out the doorway.

Never had Ben seen Thaddeus so distressed. "I never thought Dolley would win. I placed the money as a show of friendship."

Ben studied the sack that Thaddeus held. He’d had no idea that Thaddeus and Abraham were such good friends.

What was it about a child that he couldn’t seem to remember what you had told him a moment earlier but he would hold you to something you had said months ago? Whenever people made the remark that children were incapable of keeping memories, Ben was certain they had not been around any youngsters overmuch.

It had to have been before Christmas when Ben and Will had walked across the meadow behind the house at John’s farm. As they had approached the trees, Will had pointed out a nest high on a bare limb. In his own way, which was a bit difficult to understand, Will reminded Ben of that day after a Sunday dinner at John’s farm. And then he reminded Ben that they were supposed to see what type of bird was using the nest.

So it was that on a warm spring afternoon Will took Ben by the hand and tugged him across the back meadow.

"See the nest?" he asked long before such a thing was humanly possible.

Ben lifted Will.

"There." Will narrowed his dark eyes against the sunlight and pointed to an elm tree that was considering budding out.

Ben looked in the direction that Will indicated and then smiled. "Have you seen anyone visit the nest?"

Will nodded vigorously.

Ben laughed at the boy’s excited expression. "Well, are you going to tell me what it was?"

"A bird."

"Not a squirrel?"

"No."

Ben pretended to frown. "Not a deer?"

Will giggled. "No."

Ben turned his head slightly as if he were skeptical. "Not a gorse?"

The boy pulled back. "What?"

"Don’t you remember? I showed you where a gorse made tracks in the woods one day. It has three legs and is half goose and half horse. A gorse, Will." Ben nodded and considered the nest solemnly. "I believe it is a gorse nest."

Another giggle. "No."

"Fine then, it’s a Will nest." That statement unleashed more giggles that made it almost impossible for Ben not to smile.

Ben put his left hand to his hip and challenged, "All right then. If it’s not a gorse nest and it’s not a Will nest then what is it?"

Will’s eyes twinkled with the reflection of the sky. "Uncle Ben nest."

Ben opened his mouth wide and made his eyes as round as he could. "An Uncle Ben nest!"

The boy nodded and put his hands over his mouth as he laughed.

Ben pointed his left hand and declared, "Surely you don’t think Uncle Ben climbs up that tree and sleeps there at night."

Will waved his arms up and down. "Uncle Ben flies."

Ben peered up at the nest. There had been times when he had wished he could fly. "A long time ago, I was on a ship. Do you know what a ship is?"

"Sea."

"Um. And ships that are on the sea are very big." Ben made his voice deep to accent how large the ships were. "And the ships have sails. Have you seen those?"

Will twisted slightly in Ben’s arm. "On the wall."

A ship with sails on the wall? "You mean that painting in the parlor? The one of the big ship on the blue water?" Ben patted Will’s right leg with the palm of his hand. "You’re a smart young man, Will Cartwright."

The boy leaned the side of his head against Ben’s chest.

"Well, then, those tall poles on the ship are called the masts. And those masts are as tall as that tree. Some are taller. And when Uncle Ben was a sailor on one of those ships he climbed very close to the top of one of those masts. And it was even taller than where that nest is. And I used to climb trees at my uncle’s farm. But I was much older than you are now," Ben cautioned.

"Go up," Will said.

"Yes, Uncle Ben went way up."

"No," Will corrected. He pointed again to the tree. "Go up."

Ben laughed so hard he shook the boy. "I don’t think so. Why would I go up there when I can fly?"

Will twisted his lips to one side.

"Can you fly?" Ben asked the boy.

"No," Will said sadly.

"Yes, you can."

Will laughed and kicked at Ben the same way that Adam was prone to do.

Ben grabbed the boy around the waist and held him high. "Flap your wings, Will."

The boy blinked quickly but moved his arms up and down.

"Don’t stop flapping or you’ll fall," Ben cautioned. He glanced over his shoulder toward the meadow. Then he turned and ran across the field, holding Will over his head. Ben ran until he felt tenderness in his left leg. Best not to test the leg anymore. He gently lowered Will to his feet.

The boy’s face was flushed. "Will flies."

"Indeed he does." Ben ran his hand through the boy’s dark hair, smoothing it away from his forehead.

"Pa!" Adam ran from the back of the house, eager to join the fun.

"Oh no!" Ben made a panicked face. "Here’s Adam. Run!" He clapped his hands loudly.

Will rushed toward the corral after a quick look back.

Ben cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at his son. "Can Adam catch Will?"

Adam’s little chin jutted with determination and he scampered past Ben with his arms going in circles beside him. "Will!" he yelled.

"No!" Will responded after laughing. He hurried behind a tree and then peeked around it.

The littlest Cartwright stopped and clapped his hands with delight. Then he took up his pursuit again. Each time that Will found a new hiding place, Adam paused to clap.

John joined Ben as he stood in the middle of the meadow and motioned toward the playing boys. "Adam will never catch him at that rate."

"He doesn’t want to." Ben watched Will hide behind a wagon.

"What do you mean he doesn’t want to?" John asked in his ever-practical way. "Adam’s chasing Will, isn’t he?"

"But the fun is in the chase, not in the catching."

John crossed his arms at his chest. "What’s the point of the game if you don’t intend to win?"

Ben spared a look at his brother’s profile. "There’s the pleasure of the rivalry."

"You have the most peculiar ideas, Ben. Wining or losing is what a contest is about."

"There can be a tie," Ben pointed out.

"Only in a horse race." John smiled slowly and glanced up at Ben.

"What?" Ben laughed at his brother’s amused expression.

John studied Ben’s face and then shrugged. "Nothing."

"What?" Ben persisted, his voice filled with humor.

"I understand that you bet on both Mercury and Dolley - but a handsome amount more on Dolley."

Ben lowered his head and looked from the tops of his eyes. "Where did you hear that?"

John took his own time answering. He watched the boys as they ran and laughed and Adam clapped. He looked up to the clear sky. He looked down at his boots.

Meanwhile, Ben gave one impatient sigh after another. "Jo-hn."

The older brother chuckled. "Samuel told me."

"Why did he do that?" Ben asked in surprise.

John smirked and gave Ben a knowing look. "I doubt Samuel thought he was telling me anything I didn’t already know."

Ben frowned. "Why’s that?"

"Because he said the next time there was a horse race he intended to bet like a Cartwright."

As the days passed, the air was often warm enough after dark for Ben to leave the house windows open. One of those nights, when he sat reading after he’d put Adam to bed, the unmistakable odor of burning hay slid under the raised window. Ben threw down his book and was halfway across the room when there was a furious thundering of hand against door.

"Ben!" Sophie shouted. "Ben! Hurry! It’s the livery!"

He swung open the front door, spared a look toward the smoke rising from inside the barn, and braced his hands on the small woman’s shoulders. "Adam."

"Yes, yes. Go!" Sophie pushed him.

Ben knew better than to attempt to open the barn from the outside even though he could hear the horses’ squeals of alarm. There would be no breaking through that inside bar that locked the doors.

Realizing he had forgotten the key to the livery, he ran at full force, put his shoulder into the effort, and knocked the shop door enough askew to gain entry. Then it was a matter of racing to the other door and into the barn. Ben raised the cross brace on the front barn doors and gave one a heave, relieved to find other arms pulling at it the moment he did so.

"The horses!" he yelled to men who had joined him. One man reached for a lead but Ben shook his head. "No time!" Ben slapped him on the back and pointed to the far stall of the stable. Then he grabbed another rescuer by the arm and sent him toward the next stall. Assured that the others would follow suit, Ben turned his attention to the near stall where the fire was most threatening. The horse that was thrashing about, wide-eyed, was Mercury.

There was no way for Ben to breach the ever-growing flames. He grabbed a saddle blanket and began to pound at the fire between Mercury and safety. Suddenly a splash of cold water hissed onto the fire and soaked the legs of Ben’s trousers. He looked to the side and Thaddeus shoved the bucket into Ben’s stomach with one hand as he grabbed the blanket with the other. The fire raged anew.

"Here!" Ben threw the bucket to someone who had just entered the smoky barn. Crackling started. Wood. Somewhere there was wood on fire. Which way was the wind blowing? Ben looked to the smoke. It was blowing from the front of the barn to the back. Saints willing, this would not spread into town.

Ben grabbed a runner by the shoulders and shouted as he pointed to the open back doors. "Get the horses out through there!"

The man sprinted away.

Water! They needed water! He struggled to think clearly. Where could he find water? Of course. There was always water in the tub beside the smithy. That was where George tempered the metal. Ben grabbed another saddle blanket. The accursed thing was wool and it didn’t soak up as much water as Ben had hoped but it was better than nothing. As the next man came near, Ben smacked the blanket into his arms and pointed toward Thaddeus.

Several empty feed buckets were stacked near the common door between the barn and the shop. Ben retrieved them in short order, dipped one after the other into the tub and passed them to men he never looked at. When he started coughing he raised his forearm to his mouth. The smoke was thicker, the popping of burning wood was louder, and above it all was the turmoil of frightened horses and shouting men.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees and coughing as a shout of "The corral!" was relayed through the barn. He wiped at his eyes and sat on his heels to see under the smoke. Three men were raking hay away from the flames. The stalls looked empty - all but the last one where Thaddeus and two helpers looked to be near to rescuing Mercury. As Ben stood, his left leg hurting from the knee up, he turned toward the rear doors and could see embers raining down on the men who were determined to save the horses in the back corral. Fire licked its way along the lower wall near the front doors and then it rushed toward Mercury’s stall.

"Thaddeus!" Ben screamed and ran toward his friend. The front wallboards groaned, the fire took in fresh air, and the heat surged. In an instant, the flames were twisting across the ceiling. The boards of the front wall swayed. The smoke thickened.

Ben wiped at his eyes, trying to see. Had Thaddeus gotten clear? "Thaddeus!"

Two men staggered past him, each dragging a blanket. Ben tore the blankets from their hands and ran toward where he had last seen Thaddeus. He slammed into someone’s back, whipped the blankets behind him, and they fell to the dirt as the burning boards shattered on top of them and Ben’s leg shot a blazing pain to his hip.

He heard water splash against his back as he’d often heard waves break against a ship. He felt the boards eased off him. Then there were hands rolling him over and voices all talking at once.

Ben sat up, leaned over, and coughed. And coughed. Saints it was just like after the riverboat explosion when Thaddeus and he had -

"Thaddeus!" He yelled despite the rasp in his throat. He rolled to his side and crawled toward the men who were lifting Thaddeus off his stomach. Ben grabbed at his friend’s right arm and shook it violently.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Thaddeus shouted. And then coughed. As he staggered to his feet, the men released him. He held out a smoke-blackened hand and pulled Ben up. "You nearly flattened me!" he accused.

Ben slapped his palm against Thaddeus’ shoulder. "I saved your miserable life!" He turned on his heels and pushed his hands against the smoke like a swimmer parting the water. There was no large shape in the stall. "Mercury’s safe?"

"Yes!" Thaddeus’ arm shot up so he could point toward the back. "In the name of all that’s holy let’s get out of here!"

More boards fell and sparks flew from them to start fresh fires in the stalls. Thaddeus put a hand to Ben’s neck and directed him toward the back doors. None of the wagons had been pulled to safety. They were burning, sides falling off, axletrees crashing to the ground - all of the effort Thaddeus and Ben and Adam had put into Ben’s wagon was being consumed by flames.

"Pa?"

How he heard the worried little voice over the creaking and crashing of burning lumber Ben would never know. But he swiveled and as a gust of fresh air parted the smoke, Ben saw Adam in his nightshirt, standing just outside the front doors.

Never pausing to think, Ben ran toward his son as the doorframe leaned crazily to one side. "Adam! Go back!" He waved his hand.

But the boy ran toward Ben. He tripped on his nightshirt, tumbled, and rolled toward the burning hay near the first stall.

Thaddeus reached Adam first. He beat out the smoldering hem of Adam’s shirt as he lifted the boy. "Get out!" he bellowed at Ben and ran to the safety of the back doors.

Ben started to obey and then he heard Sophie screaming as she ran toward the front doors of the stable, "Adam! Adam!"

It was pure instinct to race toward her. It was pure instinct to put an arm around her waist and lift her in his arms. And it was pure instinct to dive through the doorway an instant before the crackling wood collapsed in a crash of cinders.

For the briefest moment Ben could tell he was airborne the way he had been when as a child he had run and had jumped off tall rocks. But this time he did not land on his feet and keep running. His injured leg buckled and he pitched forward, dropping Sophie on her back before he fell beside her and rolled.

Terror clawing at his heart, he pushed to his knees and crawled to the motionless woman. "Sophie?" He slid his arm behind her shoulders, lifting her slightly, as a crowd formed around them. She was so still. Was she breathing? Ben started to put his hand on her chest to see if it was rising and falling but was uncomfortable with the familiarity of such a touch.

"Sophie?" Ben lifted her shoulders all the more. Dear Heaven, let her be alive. Ben leaned near her face and shouted over the clamor of voices and fire and frightened animals, "Sophie!"

"Let us take her to the house," Samuel offered.

Ben pulled her all the closer and shook his head. He rocked and then, no longer caring what others might think of his action, he rested his hand on her chest. Closing his eyes, he waited. There it was. A faint movement. And another. Oh sweet saints, please let Sophie be all right.

She took a short, jagged breath, and Ben sat straight as he lifted his hand.

Her dark eyes fluttered open. "Adam - "

"He’s fine," Ben assured. "He’s with Thaddeus."

"He . . . he was there . . . in the house . . . and then . . ."

Ben nodded. "He can be very fast. Don’t talk."

She closed her eyes. "You?"

He shook her roughly as panic shot through his body. "Sophie?"

"Yes?"

"Stay awake."

When she opened her eyes, they were full of questions. "Are you . . . all right?"

"It’s you who is hurt," he insisted.

Sophie smiled with fondness. "Dear Ben . . .I am . . . not injured."

Ben shot a look from her face to her toes and back to her face. Elizabeth had lost all feeling before -

He stood and, holding her close, intended to take her to her bedroom. No, that would be too intimate. Instead he laid Sophie on the upholstered sofa in the Jacobs’ living room and then stepped back so Abraham’s wife might tend to her.

But Sophie’s thoughts were with the others’ welfare. "Was . . . anyone hurt?"

"I don’t know." Ben ran his hand through his hair. He would feel much better when Thaddeus was here to reassure Sophie.

"And the horses?" she persisted in speaking, which Ben was glad for.

"All safe," he answered.

Sophie nodded. Then she began to tremble.

Ben pushed aside Abraham’s wife as she started to clean Sophie’s face with a damp rag. He grasped Sophie’s shoulders. "What is wrong?"

"I am . . . cold, nothing . . . more."

Elizabeth had said the same thing.

"Sophie!" Ben shouted.

She opened her eyes in surprise. "What . . . ever . . . is wrong?"

"Do not sleep."

Her voice was filled with bewilderment as she said, "Of course not . . . Ben."

"Sophie?" Thaddeus’ worried voice came from near the front door. Then his tone changed to apprehension. "Ben?"

Ben looked up at Thaddeus, who still had Adam in his arms. "She is cold."

Thaddeus nodded slowly. "She has no wrap." He put Adam down and reached to hold Sophie’s hand. "What has happened?"

Sophie motioned toward Ben. "He . . . threw me . . . out of the . . . barn . . . and knocked . . . the breath . . . out of me."

Ben had been rubbing at his face but he stopped with his hands near his mouth and shot a bewildered look at Thaddeus. "I what?"

Thomas made his way through the cluster of people in the room.

Where the deuce had that crowd come from, Ben wondered.

"He came leaping through that smoke like a horse over a fence." Thomas sighed. "He just didn’t land right."

"Pa?" Adam patted Ben’s right arm.

Ben wrapped the boy in a tight hug. There was time enough later to talk to the child about running away from Sophie. Adam was here, warm in his arms. Sophie was there, smiling as she held Thaddeus’ hand. She was cold from the night. Tired because of the late hour. Nothing more. She would be fine. Ben kissed the top of Adam’s head and excused himself to take the boy home.

Long after Adam had fallen asleep, Ben sat beside him on the mattress and kept his hand on the little back. Adam hadn’t wanted a story to help him back to sleep after they’d changed his nightshirt. What he had wanted was for Ben to hold him and rock him, something Ben had needed just as much as his son.

He’d rocked with his right leg, worried about how badly he might have hurt the left leg again. The barn was in shambles. And the stables. And the wagon. But Thaddeus and Adam and the others who had helped fight the fire were fine. Sophie would be after a rest. Knocked the wind out of her, was that all? Great gods, he had been so frightened for her.

Every time Ben closed his eyes he saw Adam tripping on the hem of his nightshirt, tumbling toward the burning hay and wood in the livery. Falling was such a problem. If the boy bent or squatted there was that infernal dress or nightshirt edge causing him trouble. There ought to be some way to shorten Adam’s clothing so it wasn’t as much of a peril. He heard so often of children tripping near laundry fires and dying of the burns or stumbling in a barn and being trampled by animals.

Ben tugged the boy’s nightshirt down to cover Adam’s legs. How could such little limbs provide a boy with so much speed? Then again Dolley had short legs and she’d led the field.

He stood from the mattress. As he hung his trousers on the wall peg, he looked where Adam had dropped his drawers on the floor.

Ben’s eyes went from the trousers to the drawers to the trousers. He leaned to one side and picked up the drawers, dangling them before his eyes. Granted, the things were undergarments. But if a person were to make something like these in a durable fabric, let the hem hang free instead of being gathered at the ankles - well, wouldn’t they serve like a small pair of trousers? And then couldn’t a person cut those child dresses shorter, say to the length of a man’s shirt or a little longer? The dress could still be worn on the outside. And the fabric belt could be about Adam’s waist so that the dress was tied like those illustrations Ben had seen of the French trappers

Saints what would Aunt Bridget say about such a thing! A boy wearing trousers at Adam’s young age? Not even knee breeches, but trousers. Well, it wasn’t her son who’d rolled toward the flames tonight.

Ben snatched Adam’s dress off a wall peg and grasped it and the drawers in one hand. He picked up the lantern from the candle table and quietly walked to the dining table. Scissors, a sewing needle, thread, and time. Ben had them all. He even had extra fabric from when the tailor had made his newest trousers. He took his razor from the shelf, sat down, and began to carefully undo the seams of the drawers.

"See?" Ben declared proudly when he held the little trousers in front of Adam.

Adam wrinkled his nose and turned his head to one side.

Ben had thought Adam would be pleased with the new clothing. He sat on his heels but the left leg ached so he stood and raised his eyebrows. "They’re just like Pa’s," he cajoled.

That got Adam’s attention. He gave Ben a speculative look from the sides of his eyes.

Ben draped the trousers across the back of a dining chair and held up the shortened dress. "And this is just like Pa’s shirt."

Adam tilted his head. He seemed to be considering. "Wot?" he asked.

"It’s like Pa’s shirt."

"Zirt?"

Ah, he was warming to the idea.

Ben made his voice serious and man-to-man. "I think that Adam is too much of a man to go about dressed like a baby."

"Ba-bee!" Adam exclaimed with such indignation that had he known to do it he would have thrust his hands on his hips. "Ad-am min!" He gave his head a good, firm nod for emphasis and then he crossed his arms in the best of Thaddeus Jacobs imitations.

"So shouldn’t Adam wear trousers and a shirt like Pa?" Ben used a hefty amount of charm in hopes of persuasion.

"Do," Adam agreed.

Ben slid the shortened dress over Adam’s head. The boy looked down and seemed to find the new top acceptable. He put one foot into a trousers leg and then the other into the opposite leg. Ben raised them to Adam’s waist. And the boy twitched.

"Something wrong?" Ben inquired. His left knee ached so he stood and looked down at the youngster.

Adam curved his fingers and scratched at his calves. Then he held up the shirt hem with one hand and scratched at his thigh.

"Ah," Ben said with recognition. "They itch."

His son blinked up at him. "Itz?"

"Um hum." He fluttered his fingers on Adam’s leg. "When you do that it’s because something itches."

"Itz," Adam repeated. Then he seemed to have decided he’d had all the itching he cared for. He pushed at the waist of the trousers to lower them.

Ben held up an index finger. "I have an idea." When he returned he turned a dining chair to face Adam and sat. He waved a pair of the cotton drawers. "Here’s what we’ll do." Ben tugged the new trousers down and Adam obligingly stepped out of them. "Put on the drawers."

Adam stepped back, still holding up the hem of his new shirt. "Min!" he declared.

"Yes, I understand. But you can wear these and then we’ll put the trousers over them." At least until Ben found a better solution. "Shall we try that?"

The boy didn’t seem to care for the idea but he decided to give it a try. Fortunately Ben had made the trousers a bit large so Adam could grow into them. With the drawers under them, they fit. Almost. But at least they weren’t too tight.

"There," Ben said and held his arms wide. "Adam looks just like Pa." He decided they’d wait for the next day to talk about belting the shirt at Adam’s waist.

Adam looked down his front and shook his head. "No."

"You don’t look like Pa?"

The youngster pointed to his bare feet. "Tocks."

"Ah, yes, you’re right."

"Boos," Adam added solemnly.

Ben rubbed at his chin. "Yes, we mustn’t forget those. Go fetch them and then you may wear your new clothes to work."

Work. Ben straightened in the chair. The livery store was there. But the barn and the stables were gone. And the wagons and carriages. And the feed and the equipment. How would Thaddeus rebuild?

The moment that Thaddeus opened the front door to his house Adam walked past him calling, "Zov-ee! Zov-ee!"

"What is that costume he’s wearing?" Thaddeus sounded puzzled.

Ben lifted his chin. "It’s not a costume. It’s his new shirt and trousers." Even he heard the defensiveness in his tone.

"It’s what?" Thaddeus frowned down at Adam as the boy peeked around the parlor sofa, apparently looking for Sophie.

Of all the people Ben had thought he might need to explain his clothing creation to, Thaddeus had not been one. After all, Thaddeus had thought Adam’s haircut a grand idea.

"My goodness," Sophie said as she entered the room from the kitchen. "What a handsome young man you are." She held out her arms and Adam ran to her.

"No ba-bee!" he announced as she lifted him.

Sophie put her hand to the side of Adam’s face. It seemed to Ben that she was the same as always, as if last night’s destruction had never happened. "Of course you aren’t a baby," Sophie said as she settled Adam astride her hip. "Since you are a man and you are so strong, would you help me in the kitchen?"

Adam agreed by clapping his hands.

Sophie raised an eyebrow at Ben and he nodded that her plans were fine with him. Having Adam occupied would give Ben a chance to propose his idea to Thaddeus without interruption.

Ben limped slightly as he followed his friend out the front door and across the yard. The flowers that Sophie and Adam had planted near the house were beginning to bloom. The sky was clear and there was a slight southerly breeze. The day would have been perfect except for the smell of smoke that floated like a low fog from what remained of the stables and barn. Ben cleared his throat as they neared the shop. "Thaddeus, we need to talk."

Thaddeus stopped and faced Ben, seemingly surprised at Ben’s businesslike tone of voice. He started to lean against the front corral but then appeared to remember that the fence was no longer there.

Ben put his hands on his hips and announced, "We need to be partners."

"We what?" Thaddeus frowned as if he had misunderstood.

Ben squared his shoulders. "I want to be partners in the livery."

"Partners!"

"I had a business in Boston."

Thaddeus shook his head as if Ben’s statement were insignificant. "I don’t need a partner."

"Of course you do!" Ben waved an arm toward the charcoal ruins. "You can’t replace that by yourself."

Thaddeus licked his bottom lip. "Why can’t I?"

"The losses," Ben answered. "You can’t carry those and have the money to buy lumber and tools and wagons and carriages."

"You forgot feed and saddles. And reins. And brushes and- "

Ben looked to the side to refrain from saying something he would regret.

"I appreciate your concern, Ben, and I thank you for the offer but I plan to rebuild without a partner."

"How?" Ben narrowed his eyes in challenge.

"Is that any of your concern?"

"Of course it is." Why wouldn’t it be? Adam and he had worked at the livery for half a year.

"You’ll be leaving soon," Thaddeus pointed out.

Ben looked down. "Not without a wagon," he muttered.

"I want to talk to you about that." Thaddeus put his arm around Ben’s shoulders. "Let’s have a drink, shall we?"

Ben knew good and well that Thaddeus was trying to distract him. "We will discuss this partnership now," he ordered.

The command did not go over well with Thaddeus. He dropped his arm from around Ben’s shoulders and frowned as Joseph Cartwright often had.

"Please?" Ben added. Saints, he sounded like Adam!

Thaddeus crossed his arms at his chest. "I told you, I’ve no need of a partner. That is the end of it."

Why did the man have so much trouble accepting help? Ben crossed his arms at his chest. "No, that is not the end of it."

They stared at each other until finally Thaddeus lowered his arms. "Come with me." Thaddeus turned away from the shop and toward town.

"Where?" Ben asked.

Thaddeus took an exceedingly deep breath. "Just once could you humor me, Ben, and not ask questions?"

What did Thaddeus mean by that? Ben had learned to obey orders young in life and - "Thaddeus!" Ben limped to catch up to the man. "Where are we going?"

"Not far," Thaddeus assured. "I see that you’ve hurt your leg again. It’s a wonder that you didn’t hurt your shoulder when you broke down the shop door."

"I forgot my key," Ben muttered. "There was nothing else to do."

Thaddeus said something so softly that Ben couldn’t understand the words. But he heard the next ones.

"You might have tried the doorknob first. I was already in the place."

Ben was not about to let Thaddeus make such a claim. "No, you were not. I ran through the shop and you were - "

"Opening the barn’s back doors." Thaddeus raised his brows. "Or didn’t you notice they were open?"

"Of course I - noticed." How in thunder had Ben allowed Thaddeus to change the subject?

They walked without saying a word, mainly because every few steps one person after the next offered Thaddeus sympathy for his losses. Thaddeus was as polite as always but when they turned a corner, he rubbed at his face. "I know they mean well but I’d just as soon they not squander their concern."

"It was a great loss," Ben protested.

Thaddeus spread his arms and without preamble said, "This is mine."

They were standing on the sidewalk in front of the row of buildings that contained half a dozen businesses including John’s shop and Sophie’s music school.

"You own the music school?" Ben made the most logical assumption.

Thaddeus’ voice deepened. "I own from that corner to this one."

Ben laughed but when he spared a glance at Thaddeus, his laughter died away. "You can’t be serious."

His friend tapped Ben on the shoulder and pointed farther down the street. "Then I own to the third corner."

"How - " But Ben did not have time to complete the question because Thaddeus put his hands to Ben’s shoulders and turned him to face the busy street.

"And that building where the lawyers are." Thaddeus raised a hand and pointed. "And that building." He indicated Randolph’s newspaper office.

"You bought it after his death?" Ben asked.

Thaddeus closed his eyes and shook his head as if he were dealing with a slow-witted child. "I owned it before that."

"I suppose you own the Performance Hall, too," Ben scoffed. Truly, what sort of fool did Thaddeus think Ben was?

"The city owns it," Thaddeus said. "But I was the largest subscriber." He misunderstood Ben’s frown and explained, "I donated the largest portion of the money to the building fund."

Ben decided that Thaddeus had taken the joke as far as it would go. He leaned toward his friend and challenged, "If you’ve so much money then why don’t you live there" - he motioned toward one of the wealthier residential areas - "instead of near the livery?"

Thaddeus pulled back in revulsion. "Would you want to live among all those people? It’s all I can do to reside as near the city as I do."

Ben took in a sharp breath. Thaddeus was serious. Ben turned to survey all that Thaddeus owned. "How did you accomplish all this?"

Thaddeus put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, a silent signal that he was ready to walk. "When you go west, Ben, buy land. Buy land and work it as Heaven intended. And guard it."

The last sentence carried great weight. Ben remained quiet, knowing Thaddeus would explain in time.

The time came more quickly than Ben had thought it would. "There was some land." Thaddeus looked down at his boots as he and Ben slowly walked back to the livery. "It was a beautiful piece of land that I saw every time I went downriver. And when I had the opportunity, I claimed that land. Thought I might even make a farm owner of myself." He shook his head and his voice lowered. "When the steamboats came along, men took to cutting the trees near the river to sell as wood for fuel for the boats’ boilers." He stopped walking and faced Ben, an anger on his face like Ben had never seen. "I went downriver to Natchez. When I returned they’d cut every tree on my land." He looked past Ben’s shoulder. "I never did find the offenders but I thought I might be able to plant new trees." Thaddeus’ eyes locked onto Ben’s. "That autumn we had rains that sent the rivers and steams and creeks higher than anyone could recall happening before. My land was stripped, Ben. The good soil went into the river. It wouldn’t grow trees, it wouldn’t grow crops - " Thaddeus thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. "I earned money. Real estate wasn’t as dear as it is now in this city. So I purchased buildings." He smiled slowly. "And now I’ve no need of money, Ben. No need of a partner."

Ben was no longer concerned about that. "What about your land?"

Thaddeus’ smile grew larger. "The steamboats companies needed to land there so they could take on more wood." His eyes sparkled. "They paid dearly for it."

Sweet justice! Ben laughed and looked to the sky.

"Ben," Thaddeus said softly, "you’re meant to be out west, not here." And before Ben could respond, though he wasn’t sure what he might have said, Thaddeus pointed at Ben’s chest. "Which brings me back to what I was saying before. The wagon is lost but there’s enough time to head you west. There’s a boat - "

"No." Ben shook his head. He knew that he would eventually settle the horrors of that night when the riverboat had exploded into fire and screams and dismembered bodies. But he had not done so yet.

Thaddeus held his hand up, palm toward Ben. "Hear me out."

"Adam and I are not boarding a boat, Thaddeus."

"You might if you’ll let me finish," Thaddeus said calmly. "I’ve never known you to close your mind before."

Oh, Thaddeus was good, Ben thought. He was very, very good. Appeal to a man’s sense of himself and you’ll triumph every time. "I’m listening."

After he’d listened, Ben had to admit that Thaddeus’ idea had merit. He didn’t have to admit it to Thaddeus, though.

Thaddeus had not meant one of the large steamboats. "I have a friend," he’d said. It seemed to Ben that Thaddeus had more friends than the ocean had waves. "And this friend has a keelboat. He carries freight."

Ben had tried to hide his skepticism about a keelboat as a mode of travel but it must not have worked.

"The Corps of Discovery used boats like his." Thaddeus held up an index finger. "He’s improved on the design, of course."

One would hope so, Ben thought, considering that The Corps’ trip had happened a quarter of a century ago.

"Lee’s known for getting cargo safely to port," Thaddeus assured that night as they ate the supper that Sophie and Adam had prepared. "I’ll have men building a new barn and stables and corral so I’ll be closing the livery until that work’s completed. What we do is we work on a new wagon for you and you’ll be on your way in a week’s time. Ten days at the most. You can take the wagon and horses on Lee’s boat down to Louisville and then be on the road to Vincennes." Thaddeus leaned back in his chair, obviously proud of his plan.

Ben tilted his head, aware that both Sophie and Adam were watching him. Aside from "wagon" and "boat" and a few other words, Adam couldn’t have understood much of the conversation. But his blue eyes were as intent on Ben as were Sophie’s brown ones.

Rubbing at his chin, Ben shrugged a shoulder. "It sounds as if it might work," he said slowly.

Thaddeus waved one hand in the air. "Of course it will work!" He wiped the sides of his mouth with his napkin. "First thing we have to do is buy you a new wagon." Thaddeus stood, kissed Sophie’s cheek, praised her cooking - and Adam’s - and then looked back at Ben as he walked to the door.

"Come along, Ben, time’s the master here."

Ben thanked Sophie for the meal and gave her an apologetic smile.

"Go on," she said as she stood. "It’s best to humor him when he’s like this."

Her words might have sounded like resignation but Ben saw the affection in her eyes. Ben hoped that Thaddeus knew what a fortunate man he was.

As the days warmed, life was full to bursting with pale green new leaves and bright flowers, the renewed clamor and activity at the boat landings, and an astonishing number of wagons and animals and travelers who rested in or near Cincinnati before continuing their journey west.

Every morning, Adam and Ben woke up early and walked the few steps to work. They’d parked the new wagon under a large tree beside the house. The shelter of overhanging branches served to keep the wagon, and the workers, dry during light rain showers. The three men, Thaddeus, Ben, and Adam, worked on the wagon each day until noon. Then they enjoyed Sophie’s marvelous cooking either on the back porch of the Jacobs home or in the comfort of the dining room if they weren’t overly dirty. After a brief break for Thaddeus and Ben to enjoy their pipes and for Adam to romp like a spring colt in the backyard, the three workmen returned to the wagon and worked until dark.

In the evening, Ben and Adam followed their routine of eating, singing, rope pulling, storytelling, and then the predictable minutes of Adam trying to carry on a conversation instead of going to sleep.

Only when the boy was settled could Ben devote himself to reviewing his checklist of supplies and provisions, memorizing the travel route so he would know the way even if the maps were lost, reading the latest news from the frontier in what was now Joshua’s paper, and writing letters to the family back east.

One evening he set about doing something else. Ben hadn’t whittled since he’d left the sea but he hadn’t forgotten how to do it. Not really. With Adam asleep, he studied the wooden horse that Mr. Myers had given the boy for Christmas and used it as a guide. A gorse, as everyone knew, had a goose’s head, a horse’s body, and three legs. Ben narrowed his eyes. Now what would make more sense? Three goose legs or three horse legs? Given the bulk of the horse’s body - well, why did it have to be only one type of leg? Why couldn’t the two front legs be a horse’s and the rear leg be a goose’s? Best think this through. Distribution of weight and such. Needs to be quick so it can escape from predators. Needs to be able to jump. No, a gorse has wings. So it needn’t worry about jumping. Fine then, a goose leg in front and two horse’s legs in the rear. Hmmm. A horse’s tail or a goose’s tail feathers? A gorse would look absurd with a horse’s tail. Obviously it was in need of a goose’s tail feathers. Ben stayed awake later than he should have but by early morning he had carved the finest looking gorse a lad could ever own. He was careful to put Adam’s toy horse back on the dining table exactly the way Adam had left it. Then Ben stowed Will’s gorse in his knapsack. What a delight it would be to see the look of surprise on his nephew’s face. But the delight would be tempered with sadness. When Ben gave the gorse to Will he would be telling the child goodbye.

Construction of the new barn and stables was cause for curiosity among Thaddeus’ friends but the outfitting of Ben’s wagon brought about all manner of comments. Although not as many remarks as Adam’s new attire.

The day after seeing Adam’s new clothing, Abraham presented the child with a felt hat that had a domed crown and a flat brim. He said that no self-respecting man went about bareheaded. Adam put on the hat and, with a hand on either side of the head covering, peeked from under the wide brim. He offered a shy smile and "ta tu." Abraham shook hands with Ben, told him "God be with you," and as he walked toward town, turned and waved to Adam.

Mr. Myers studied the wagon and as he scratched his head he asked where Adam would sit. Ben motioned to the bench seat and said he had planned for Adam to sit beside him. Mr. Myers shook his head, went to town for his tools, and returned to fashion a special seat for Adam: a small box was nailed to the wagon seat complete with its own arms and tall back. Mr. Myers sat Adam on the box, explained to the boy that this was his very special place on the wagon seat, and made note of how far Adam’s legs dangled over the edge. In less than an hour he had made a horizontal rail and had attached it to the seat so Adam could prop his boots and rest his legs. As Mr. Myers gathered his tools by the early evening light, he widened his eyes.

"I nearly forgot," he said. After dramatically rummaging around in the canvas bag that contained his tools as Adam watched, Mr. Myers lifted out a beautifully built toy wagon that happened to be the perfect size for Adam’s toy horse to pull with the aid of a few small leather strips.

Adam immediately sat on the ground, so enthralled that Ben had to remind him to thank Mr. Myers. Adam obeyed with a noticeably hasty "ta tu" and turned the wagon upside down to study the small axles.

Mr. Myers held out his hand to Ben. "May you find only happiness ahead of you, Benjamin." He smiled broadly and then motioned to the boy. "Take good care of him."

Ben was watching Mr. Myers ride away on his horse when Joshua ran toward Thaddeus and Ben. He was running so quickly that he had to hold on to his hat. Ben braced himself for bad news.

"Ben." Joshua slid to a halt. "I’m glad you haven’t left. I would ask something of you, please."

Ben came near to saying he would do anything if there was no bad news involved but he had learned a long time ago to be cautious with pledges. "If I am able."

The smiling young man held out a leather pouch with a tab that threaded through two slits on the top to hold it closed. "Paper," Joshua explained. "Would you write letters that I might publish? Your journey will be of great interest to my readers." He gave Thaddeus a quick glance. "To our readers."

Ben turned the leather pouch one way and then another. "The letters may not be overlong, Joshua. Adam and I will be busy."

The newspaperman’s face brightened. "You’ll do it, then?"

How easy it was to accommodate some people’s wishes. "I will do my best." Ben shook hands with the man and, when Joshua had taken his leave, looked at Thaddeus. "He’s proven to be a good editor, hasn’t he?"

Thaddeus blew out a deep breath. "He didn’t always work for the warehouse, you know."

Ben tilted his head and waited.

"He worked with a printer in Baltimore when he was a lad. Joshua came here when this was frontier. He started a paper. Windthorst arrived and drove him out. But he kept the dream. Went upriver to Marietta for a while. Came back here to work for Randolph but the two of them didn’t work well together. So he took work at the warehouse. He was a logical choice to run the paper after Randolph’s death."

Ben shook his head at the wonder of it all. Who would have thought that the quiet man who worked at the warehouse and made freight deliveries had lived in Baltimore and -

"Things are not always as they seem," Thaddeus said as he lapsed into philosophy. "Truth told, things are seldom as they seem." He pulled himself from his thoughts with a loud clap of his hands and declared, "Tomorrow we finish the hoops, stretch the canvas, and then the wagon is ready." He bent slightly and gained Adam’s attention. "Let us celebrate by eating at Mrs. Hampton’s tonight."

Adam’s hat fell over his eyes as he scrambled to his feet. He pushed it back with the hand that was not clasping his toy wagon. "No," he answered firmly. "Sov-ee."

Thaddeus leaned near the boy’s face. "I thought Sophie might go with us."

Adam’s eyes flickered as he considered what Thaddeus had said. "Sov-ee go?"

"Yes." Thaddeus held out his right hand. "Shall we clean ourselves and then escort her to supper?"

Adam held up one of his hands and grasped two of Thaddeus’ fingers. "Ead?"

"Yes, we’ll go eat. With Sophie."

The little hat came close to falling off when Adam nodded.

Thaddeus pushed the hat crown down as they walked toward the house and told Adam how he wished that he had such a fine hat.

Ben leaned against the side of the wagon and crossed his arms. From the back, Thaddeus and Adam looked much as they had on that day months earlier when Thaddeus had led Adam toward the corral for a ride on Octavia. That day seemed long ago - and yet just yesterday.

Adam turned to look back and called, "Pa!"

Ben heard Thaddeus’ deep laugh and hastened to join them.

"I had heard you were near to leaving," John said as he stepped out of his carriage in front of Ben’s house the next day. He put Will on his feet and then slid his eyes over Ben’s completed wagon.

Ben wiped his hands on a rag. "I planned to ride out to the farm this afternoon."

John waved a dismissive hand. "I would wager you have enough to do without spending hours traveling there and back." He smiled and nodded toward the wagon. "Do you plan to show me this marvel of conveyance I’ve been hearing about?"

The boys raced ahead of the men and, with the aid of a crate behind the wagon bed, clamored over the tailgate and into the giant cave created by the canvas cover. Ben could hear their laughter as John and he walked.

John inspected the wagon from bow to stern. He checked the wheels and questioned Ben until he was certain that Ben knew how to repair or replace a wheel when the need arose. He asked if the canvas was well oiled and if Ben planned to carry extra material in case it was needed. Did Ben have an awl? An axe? Some chain? Axle grease? A block for the wheels? How did he plan to carry water? Food? Firewood? Did he know to take twice as much rope as he thought he would need? And a mold to make bullets?

Ben had been through this line of questioning at least a half a dozen times with John during the previous month. Not only was John convinced he had superior knowledge because he was the oldest, he had come overland from Boston to Cincinnati and he had the benefit of experience on the trail. Experience he was bound to share with Ben whether Ben wanted to hear it or not. So, Ben was immensely relieved when the wagon passed inspection.

"You’ll leave tomorrow then?" John stood with his hands on his hips.

"Late afternoon." Ben grabbed at Adam as the boy ran past and shook his head that Adam should not scamper. They’d already talked about the need to take care around the wagon. Ben had a suspicion it would be an oft-repeated discussion before they reached journey’s end. "I’ll write," he said as he returned his attention to John.

"I would appreciate that, Ben. I’ll write, too."

Ben nodded.

John lowered his hands and gave one nod toward town. "I’ve sold the store."

Ben leaned forward, surprised by the news. "What will you do?"

"I think the farm will do better for my daily attention. I’m tired of the drive into town every day, tired of keeping the figures, and thinking ahead to what stock we’ll need." John shrugged. "Most of all, I’m tired of the press of people. The place has grown these past few years."

"Why don’t you come west?" Ben propped his right boot on the wagon tongue. "Claim some new land. Start over."

John laughed and shook his head. "I’m too old for starting anew, Ben."

Ben extended one arm so he was pointing west. "Think of it, John. Think of what you haven’t seen."

His brother looked down. "I hope for your sake that someday you will put your feet on the ground and cease this dreaming."

What did John mean? Stop aspiring to better things? Why would a man ever do that?

John motioned toward his carriage. "I’ve brought something for Adam."

Ben was relieved for the change in topic. "And I have a surprise for Will." When Ben turned toward the house he found Will at his side and realized that he did not know Adam’s whereabouts. "Adam?" he called anxiously.

Two little hands appeared at the top of the wagon bed behind the seat and then a dark-haired, smiling boy popped up. "Pa?"

"Don’t go wandering about, do you understand?"

Adam nodded.

Ben lifted Will. "I found a gorse," he whispered.

Will’s dark eyes grew huge.

"Don’t worry. They’re not as big as I had thought they were," Ben assured. "Truth told, they are small enough for a boy to hold." He pushed the front door open and walked to the bedroom and the peg on which his knapsack hung. "I discovered it the other night and have been keeping it safe for you." With that he took one hand from the knapsack and held out the carved animal.

"A gorse!" Will grabbed the toy as quickly as Adam had accepted the wagon from Mr. Myers. Will laughed and waved the animal around. "A gorse!"

"What I think," Ben said with his voice deep so his words would sound more serious, "is that those tracks we saw in the snow that day - remember those?"

"Yes," Will said after a giggle.

Ben leaned close and raised his eyebrows. "I think what you have on your farm is a giant gorse, the largest one known to man."

Will gulped.

"Now the thing is," Ben confided, "a gorse is a very quiet animal. And he is always kind. So if you should come upon this giant gorse of yours, don’t shoot him - "

"No," Will vowed solemnly.

He tapped the toy that Will held. "And take good care of this gorse. He is especially for you from Uncle Ben."

Will smiled. "Uncle Ben gorse."

"Indeed it is." Ben rested his chin on top of the boy’s head. "Do you know that Uncle Ben and Adam are going away?"

"In the wagon."

"Um hum. And I hope that when Uncle Ben and Adam have their new house you will come see us."

Will nodded.

Ben put the boy on his feet. "Go on outside. I’ll be there in a moment."

The boy didn’t have to be told twice. He ran from the room and through the front doorway yelling, "Adam! Look!"

Ben leaned his back against the bedroom wall and slowly slid his hand across his face. Thank Heaven that children did not understand leave-taking the way their elders did. To part with them was difficult enough as it was.

When he had gained control again, Ben stepped outside to see that his brother had given Adam six small wooden blocks tied up in what looked like a fishing net. Will and Adam sat on the ground by the wagon, discussing their toys in a language that only they understood.

John smiled down at the boys, his face indicating the same mystification at their communication. "Do you think they’re really talking?" he asked when Ben stood beside him.

Ben shrugged. "Did we ever do anything like that, do you think?"

"If we did we were too young to remember."

Ben nodded.

"Well." John held out his hand, his eyes studying Ben’s face. "Take care, Ben. I’ll look forward to your letters."

Ben shook John’s hand and met his eyes. "And I yours."

John beckoned to his son. "Come along, Will. Enjoy your journey, Adam."

Adam looked up from the blocks and blinked. "Do," he said although Ben would have wagered the boy had only heard his name and nothing more. He made note that, in the future, he might do well to ask Adam to repeat what he had been told.

Ben lifted Will to John’s outstretched arms and forced a smile. "Goodbye, Will."

Will held up the toy gorse and waved it as John picked up the reins. And then the boy smiled at Ben - and it was Joseph Cartwright’s smile.

Adam sat in the middle of the cornhusk mattress, atop the repaired rope bed, and watched with grave attention as Ben packed their belongings that night.

The youngster sat as he often did these days with his knees turned out and his hands at his ankles. "Pa?"

Ben gave the boy a sideways look as he closed a bag. "Yes?"

"Buhk."

"Yes, Pa has remembered to pack your books."

"Bankit."

"All but the one we will use tonight."

"Ball."

Ben pointed. "It is there beside you."

Adam glanced to where Ben indicated. "Uht."

"Um." Ben turned and placed the bag on top of a box that held their cookware, buckets, and fireplace utensils.

"Boos," Adam added to the verbal list.

"You will be wearing your boots."

"Pa boos," the boy explained.

"Yes, Pa will be wearing his boots."

Adam narrowed his eyes. "Ead?"

"We have plenty of provisions and Sophie will give us food to eat for the first few days."

The scamp nodded his head as if he approved. He rocked back and forth while he continued to hold his ankles. "Wope."

"Yes, we have rope." Ben tried to think of what else the boy might add to his inventory. "And we have horses and the rifle and the pistols and tools."

"No tocks."

Ben paused in walking toward the kitchen. "What?"

Adam shook his head and raised his chin. "No tocks," he declared.

Ben rested the palms of his hands against the foot of the bed. "We need socks so we can wear our boots."

"No." If possible, Adam leaned forward even more at the waist. He tugged and tugged until his boot slipped from his hands and flew off his foot. "Dee?" He lifted his right leg at the ankle to proudly display a bare foot.

Ben crouched and stepped around the end of the bed, wiggling his fingers as he neared Adam. "Where are your socks, Adam Cartwright?"

The boy yelped and tried to jump up. But the difference of one foot in a boot and one foot without a boot caused him to stagger backward.

Ben made his voice into the scary one that so delighted Adam. "Where are your socks, little boy?"

Adam pulled himself straight, although he leaned slightly to one side. "Min!" he declared.

"Where are your socks, young man?" Ben amended.

This time Adam laughed. He crawled to the foot of the bed, thought about climbing over, looked back at Ben, and suddenly sat down. "Pa?"

Well this had never happened before during a game of chase. Ben lowered his hands. "Yes?"

Adam looked at Ben from the tops of his eyes as he tugged off his remaining boot. When the thing went into the air, missing Ben by a hairsbreadth, Adam erupted in bubbling laughter. Then, fast as a young rabbit, he descended barefoot over the end of the bed and darted toward the front rooms.

Ben stepped into the kitchen area. "Mind that fire, Adam."

The boy looked behind him and then twisted his lips. "No fire."

Ben slowed his steps. The word had not been "fi-uh" but "fire." He tilted his head. "What did you say?"

Adam waved a hand behind him. "No fire."

The single word had not been by chance. Ben wondered what other words might change in the days ahead. He sat in the rocking chair and held out his arms toward the boy. "Let’s talk."

Adam walked to him, engaging in what Ben was recognizing as a happy walk of slightly kicking up his toes.

Ben lifted his son into his lap. "Tomorrow, after we have dinner - "

"Din-nuh."

"- we will take the wagon - "

"Wo-gan."

"- and the horses."

"Hord-es."

Ben was growing accustomed to this repetition that tended to slow down their discussions. He smiled and closed his eyes as Adam rested the side of his head against Ben’s chest. "We will put everything on a boat."

"Bo-at."

"And then the boat will take us down the river."

"Wiv-uh."

"And then we will take the horses - "

"Hord-es."

"- and the wagon - "

"Wog-an."

"And we will go."

Adam suddenly sat up and raised his face to Ben. "Noid!" he declared.

Ben tucked his chin. "What?"

"Noid." Adam scooted from Ben’s lap and ran to the case that contained Ben’s fiddle. "Noid."

"I don’t understand, son." Ben watched in wonder as Adam walked around to the smaller end of the wooden case and tugged at it. "What are you doing?" he asked in amusement.

"Noid," Adam answered as he tried to walk backward and pull the fiddle case.

"Yes, I know we’re discussing the fiddle. But why are you - " Ben paused to wince as the boy fell on his bottom. "Why were you moving it?"

Adam gave a huge sigh and raised both hands like a preacher praising heaven. "Noid. Go."

Noise go? Now what could that mean?

The boy stood and padded barefoot to Ben. He rested his hands on Ben’s knees. "Noid."

Ben nodded.

"Gooo," Adam said with exaggerated pronunciation, as if Ben did not speak English.

"Yes."

"Wogan." The blue eyes watched Ben’s face expectantly.

"Noise go wagon?" Ben asked.

Adam clapped his hands with joy.

Noise go wagon? Noise go - Ben laughed and leaned back in the rocking chair. "Yes, we will be sure to put the fiddle in the wagon."

The boy lowered his shoulders, apparently glad that discussion was finished. He held out his arms and Ben lifted Adam to settle, once again, in his lap.

Adam yawned. "Pa?"

"Um?"

"Dub."

Ben patted the side of Adam’s left leg. "Pa loves Adam, too."

"Pa?"

Ben shook as he laughed. Here they went, extending the conversation to avoid sleep. "Yes, Adam?"

"Boa-t?"

"Yes, we will be on a boat." Ben rocked the chair slowly.

"Wiv-uh?" Adam ventured. Ben could feel the boy sliding a finger in circles on his shirtfront.

"Um hum."

"Wim?"

"Not in this river, no. Perhaps in some other rivers. Adam?"

"Pa?"

"Close your eyes."

"Do."

"Let’s be quiet."

"Pa?"

"Ad-am."

A deep sigh. Then a very cautious, "Ting?"

"Not tonight. Tonight Pa wants to hold Adam and rock in the chair and be quiet."

"Do."

"Thank you."

Adam giggled. "Tor elko."

There was no sleep for Ben that night. He had not expected any. Instead he lay on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling, while Adam slumbered beside him.

Adam and he would finally be back on the trail tomorrow, headed west, striving toward the future. There was, as there always had been before a journey, anticipation spilling from Ben’s thoughts into ever inch of his body. But there was also something he had only felt once before – hesitancy.

The time before, his reluctance had told him beyond a doubt that he had loved Elizabeth to the exclusion of everything else, even the sea. That last voyage, the one before he had returned home to marry Elizabeth, had been his longest journey at sea in both distance and time. And it had been the longest because every day he had longed to see Elizabeth’s face, to hear her laughter, to feel her hand in his, and to hold her so near that he could smell the rosewater scent in her hair.

Perhaps this desire to delay the trip a bit longer was telling him something also. Perhaps the land around Cincinnati was where Adam and he should settle. They could buy property, have a farm, and raise cattle and horses. They would be near enough to the city for Adam to attend school. They could enjoy concerts and theater productions and town festivals. They could journey downriver to see Natchez and New Orleans. When Adam was older, and the farm established, Ben and he could even book passage from New Orleans and sail around to the east coast or across the ocean and Ben could show Adam some of the marvelous towns he had visited.

Ben closed his eyes. No, none of those reason explained what he was feeling. It was something else. Ben knew there was little chance that he and Adam would ever return; even less chance that John and Will or Sophie and Thaddeus would make their way west. He would never again see them or his family back east.

Fulfilling his dreams had always come dearly. But Ben had managed to face the challenges head on. He knew no other way.

Ben opened his eyes and rolled his head to the side so he could see the window and wait for dawn’s light.

"It’s all done!" Thaddeus slapped his hand on the wagon’s tailgate after Ben and he had locked it in place. "All but the journey," he added after a short laugh. Then he frowned and fixed Ben with a stern look. "I don’t have to remind you to write."

Ben shook his head and chuckled. He held up an index finger. "But you have to write, too. I need to be informed of your growing empire."

Thaddeus rested his arm across Ben’s shoulders as they walked toward the front of the wagon. "And you must keep me informed of yours."

Ben leaned back. "I doubt I will have an empire, Thaddeus."

"We’ll see." Thaddeus motioned to where Sophie and Adam stood near the team of horses. "Your pup will be a fine man," he said fondly. "Stubborn and determined, for sure, but there’s boundless love in his heart. Look at the way he’s chattering with Sophie, would you? As excited as I’ve ever seen him."

"It’s the horses," Ben observed. "And the wagon." He smiled. "And the boat."

Sophie looked up and became aware of the two men. She said something to Adam and he nodded before running to Thaddeus.

"Tad-us?"

The man sat on his heels. "Yes, Adam?"

"Boat."

"I know." Thaddeus lifted the boy. "And I must say that you have been the best employee I’ve ever had."

"Wot?" Adam turned his head to one side and looked from the sides of his eyes.

"You’re a good worker. A man."

"Ad-am min!" And then the boy clapped his hands happily.

Thaddeus stepped past Ben to help Adam into his special wagon seat. As he did so, Sophie approached Ben and held out a small packet wrapped in oilcloth.

"Paper."

Ben nodded and accepted the gift. "For letters."

Her voice was full of cheer even though her eyes were damp. "And not one short note every few weeks, you understand."

"I’ll write you of every new word Adam learns. And every new skill." He was surprised when she reached up and touched her fingertips to his chin.

"I shall miss you, Ben," she whispered hoarsely.

Ben’s throat went hot. His lungs seemed to suddenly be too small. "And I will miss you, Sophie."

"Do one more thing for me?"

He smiled. "If I can."

"Bend down here so I might kiss your cheek."

Oh saints give him strength. Ben leaned toward her and felt the gentle touch of her lips on his face. Before he could stand straight she had put her hand to her mouth and turned away.

"Good bless you," she called over her shoulder and then walked quickly with long strides to the house.

Ben’s lips tightened. He willed himself to take deep breaths, knowing if he gave in to the short, gasping ones that he would cry until he was ill.

"It’s a grand day for a trip." Thaddeus turned his eyes from the sky to settle them on Ben. He held out his right hand. "It’s been an honor to know you, Benjamin Cartwright."

Ben clasped the hand. "And an adventure to know you," he quipped.

They fell silent, eyes locked, and then of one accord each man put his free arm around the other’s shoulders and pulled him close. Ben felt the jerky breaths threaten all the more. He forced himself to swallow.

Thaddeus looked down as Ben climbed onto the wagon and then raised his head as Ben lifted the reins. "You look more like you belong up there than you ever looked like you belonged on the streets of Cincinnati." He waved an arm. "Go on or you’ll be late."

Adam leaned from his seat to see around Ben. "Boa-t!" he exclaimed and then clapped his hands.

Ben forced a smile and then lifted a hand in farewell. Thaddeus did the same.

Thank the heavens that Thaddeus did not walk beside the wagon. When Ben turned the corner to the busy thoroughfare that led to the river landing he looked to his left. Thaddeus waved as Ben did. Then Ben turned his attention to the traffic and the people who were crossing the street. He willed himself to breathe deeply, looked into the afternoon sun until he felt his eyes dry, straightened his left leg, and eased the death grip he had on the reins.

He remembered all those months ago when Adam and he had stepped off the riverboat and onto the landing. They had walked up this same street, taking in all the sights that were so new then and so familiar now. Behind them was John’s store and Sophie’s music school. They passed the churches, Mrs. Hampton’s Boarding House, the land office, and the courthouse. To their right was the market where merchants were selling spring’s first crops, fresh fish, pigs, and chickens.

And then they were at the landing area with all the shouting, and the blast of a riverboat’s steam pipes, and the rattle of chains and traces, and the thud as cargo was dropped into freight wagons. Ben spared a glance at Adam, expecting to hear the boy say, "Noid." But the bright eyes were darting from boat to men to passengers to draft horses to wagons to the river to the warehouses to the coaches. He had arrived with long hair and wearing a dress. He was leaving wearing a brown felt hat over short hair, a shirt tied outside tan trousers, and a scuffed pair of boots.

How difficult it was for Ben to stop the horses here, near the keelboat, and know that when he stepped onto that deck he was leaving behind so many blessings.

Perhaps that was as it should be. Perhaps if the goodbyes came too easily then Ben would be leaving for the wrong reasons.

He turned his attention to what Adam was studying: rowboats, sailboats, flatboats, a riverboat, freight wagons, horseback riders, carriages, and wrapped bundles of cargo that were chest high on a man stacked along the edges of the landing. And then there were the people. Weather-hardened river men, muscled warehouse workers, men dressed in suits studying maps or bills of lading, women selling bread and fruit, other women stepping into or out of carriages, young men waving newspapers, and wide-eyed children clutching a parent’s hand as they walked alongside.

But it was the westbound people on the flatboats, standing near horses and wagons that held Ben’s interest. Men dressed in yoked, big-sleeved shirts with their trousers tucked into their high boots. Women in muted colors of brown and gray who wore large bonnets to shield their faces from the sun. And then there were the children. They weren’t gazing back at where they had been. They weren’t even paying attention to the activities at the landing. The children were looking ahead of them at the wide river.

That old familiar eagerness crept into Ben. He had climbed Boston roofs so he could watch the harbor and see that odd curve of the horizon far off at sea. He had climbed trees at the farm outside Philadelphia so he could study the country around him and those hills that seemed to fade into the sky. He had climbed masts so he could spy ports as the ship had neared land.

And Adam had loved to be held high in Ben’s arms and watch the boats on the river in Philadelphia.

The future was down the broad curving Ohio River, beyond creeks, over grassy plains, past mountains - out west.

Ben slapped his palms against his thighs and smiled down at Adam. "Ready partner?"

The boy gave a firm nod and his blue eyes twinkled. "Do."

* * * The End * * *