Author’s note:

In chapter 1, I am indebted to Laura Ingalls Wilder for her account of the Indian in town in her book, The Long Winter. Though my account of a similar incident differs from hers, the idea remains hers.

In Chapter 5, the poetry selections are by Walt Whitman.  The first is from ‘Song of Myself,’ published in Leaves of Grass (first edition 1855).  The second is from The Pocket Book of Modern Verse, 1974 edition.
 

Chapter 1

Adam rode Sport hard as he left Hoss.  Ordinarily, he would have been easier on his horse, but he was distracted, angry,  and anxious to get home.  The  men's taunts rang in his ears as the wind whistled by him:  "Injun lover!  Coward!  Whyn'tcha go live with them, if you love 'em so much?"  The drunken fools!  His temper had almost gotten the better of him.  Hoss had stopped him from fighting just in time.  Good thing reason prevailed in his brother's cool head.

He and Hoss  had finished up their errands in Virginia City.   Then, they rode together in the wagon to the Ponderosa, where they parted.  Hoss went in the house with a heavy heart, while Adam continued recklessly home on Sport.  Sheriff Coffee's remark  regarding the Indian rankled in Adam's memory as he followed the familiar road to the house he shared with his wife of the past several years:  "He's not our problem, Adam!"  The lack of justice behind those words, Adam thought grimly, would return not only on Roy Coffee's head, but on the head of everyone in and around Virginia City, until they had been repaid many times over.

Adam's blood boiled as he thought of the indignities suffered, and those narrowly avoided, by the venerable old man who had visited the town.  The old Indian had entered Smythe's General Store close to the edge of town, and watched all of them.  Upon seeing an Indian,  Adam looked at him, then the men next to Adam turned to see what he was looking at.  Soon, everyone turned to stare at the old man.  Conversation ceased.  Everyone rose, unsure whether or not to draw weapons, speak, or remain silent.

During the next few minutes, not a word was spoken.  The Indian stood still and silent, turning his dark, expressionless eyes at each of them in turn.  His deep brown skin was etched with wrinkles.  The men in the store stared at him, from the band about his head to the embroidered symbols on his collar to the bead work on his belt, and down to the moccasins on his feet, but few of their stares were friendly.

"Big snow come,"  said the Indian.  "Big, big snow.  Come soon.  Come early."

No one spoke.  All the townsfolk were too shocked to reply.

"Big snow, big wind," the Indian continued.  He looked about the store at the gathered men.  "Many moons."  He held up four fingers, then three.   "Big,   big snow - many moons."

He pointed to himself proudly.  "Old!  I have seen!  I know!   You listen."  He walked out of the store as silently as he had entered, mounted his waiting pony, wrapped a blanket sewn of strips of rabbit skin about him, and rode off.

Adam understood him.  He explained to the other townspeople, as they stood gaping after the man, that they were about to have a long, hard winter, and it would last for seven months.  He had been in Nevada Territory since he was a young boy, but had never experienced winter snowstorms that persisted that long.   Virginia City, however,  was still a relatively young city, bustling and sometimes prosperous, but filled with new folks, many of whom were from the East and unfamiliar with western blizzards.

Adam was grateful for the information provided by the Indian.  He certainly didn't have to risk his life by coming to Virginia City to warn the white people, who had taken and ravaged his land, decimated the antelope and buffalo herds, and murdered his people, about an early winter that might starve and freeze them.  But Adam didn't expect that others in the town would feel the same way.

He wasn't disappointed.  An Indian in native clothing, traveling alone, was too difficult to ignore and too easy to hate after the Paiute War.  "You suppose the old savage knows what he's sayin'?"  The speaker 's elbows rested on the counter at the front of the store.  Next to him were his purchases of a can of kerosene, a slab of bacon, and a sack of cornmeal.  Several-day's growth of beard covered his jaw, which moved and bulged with the wad of tobacco he chewed.  He turned his head to the opposite wall and spat a stream of tobacco juice toward a spittoon.  He missed, and the dark brown stream splattered against the wall and ran in rivulets to the floor .

Adam tried to conceal his distaste for Jed Wilson.  The man was a habitual drunkard, and was responsible for much of the trouble currently brewing in Virginia City.  He spoke against the Indians, the Chinese, and the Negroes - anyone whose skin was not white - and stirred up many of the townspeople against them, their homes, their businesses, their customers, and those who defended them.   His cousin, Mike Wilson, had been one of the reasons for the problems at Wilson's Station last year, which had led to the Paiute War.  After Adam had been forced to kill Mike Wilson in self defense, Jed came to town and said he was "gonna git Adam Cartwright for killin' his cousin."  But he was neither gutsy nor sober enough to follow through on his threat.

"I should think so," Adam replied.  "There's no reason for him to endanger his life by coming to town and telling  us something that could save our lives."

"I don't think he means to save our lives," said a voice behind Adam.  "I think he means to scare us off, drive us away."  A chorus of voices rose in agreement.  Adam turned to see Ted  Williams, Wilson's friend and ever-present companion in trouble.  He swayed as he spoke, and the ladies near  him hastened to move away from his whiskey-laden breath.  He had seen the Indian ride into town as he left the saloon, and followed him into the General Store.

"Let's go after him!"

"Let's show those Paiutes and Bannocks that they're dealing with men, not greenhorns!"

"Let's get rid of these Indians once and for all!"

The men stampeded from the store, despite anything Adam did or said.  They were joined by others from the saloon and various houses and stores in town.  Adam dashed to the feed store, found Hoss out front wondering what the commotion was about, and told him the news.  As their horses were hitched to the wagon, they "borrowed" a couple of horses standing at the hitching rail by the feed store, and together they rode to the head of the mob.

The two ringleaders, Wilson and  Williams, who were liberally sharing a flask of whiskey, were leading the mob after the Indian.  As they caught sight of him in the distance, they yelled obscene names and insults to his ramrod-straight back.  Adam and Hoss  rode between them and the Indian and refused to let them pass.  Unwilling to get in a shooting match with two Cartwrights, and being cowards at heart,  as well as drunk, most of them  backed down.

It hadn't been as hard as Adam had feared to dissuade the rest of the crowd .  It was cold, especially outside of town, where there were no buildings to break the brisk wind blowing out of the mountains.  Hoss convinced them that they were no match for an Indian in the wild country, and Adam assured them that this Indian surely had not left his village unaccompanied.  There must be other Indians waiting for him in the hills.  Did they want an Indian attack on their city, and their womenfolk and children endangered?  Besides, Hoss chimed in, they weren't provisioned for winter.  They might have to travel further than they thought, and in this wind and cold, why, they'd soon freeze.

Hoss glanced at the clouds over the mountains, and said he wouldn't be surprised if it snowed soon.  Now, he didn't really think it would snow, or he wouldn't have come into town.  Nonetheless, Hoss made sure this mob of feeble-minded ne'er-do-wells knew that snowstorms in Nevada Territory were fearsome, sudden, and ferocious.  People had been known to freeze to death in a blizzard when they were less than six feet from shelter which they couldn't see.

"You're bluffing!"  someone from the crowd shouted.

Adam smiled sardonically, threw his leg over the saddle horn, and said, "You're welcome to find out, if you'd like."

Most of the remaining crowd had turned around and gone home then, with their enthusiasm considerably dimmed.  Only a few men had stayed to face Adam and Hoss.  "You Cartwrights make me sick," growled Williams.  "Always stickin' up for them Injuns, tellin' everybody what to do!"

The men baited Adam and Hoss with insults, but didn't get a reaction until Ned Tucker, who worked in the livery in town when he wasn't getting drunk in the saloon, said, "Who's with your pretty wife, Adam?  Huh?" He leaned to the side of his horse and spat on the ground.  "You didn't leave her alone with those children, did you?  Especially that pretty oldest girl who looks so much like her!"    He leaned his head back and laughed.  "Maybe we should pay a visit out there some day, boys!"

The other men laughed with him and started to agree that they had to be neighborly, but before the words were past their lips, Adam was on Ned, pulling him off of his horse and flattening him  with a punch.  The other men leaped off their horses to join in the fight, and Adam, despite his fury and their drunkenness, would soon have been overpowered.   Hoss  fired his gun over their heads.  When the men reached for their weapons, Hoss said, "Don't try it!"

Adam drew his gun and backed up his brother.  "Get back on your horses," said Adam, "and go back to town."

Slowly, the dwindling crowd moved to their horses.  "Bossy, ain't he?"  said Tucker.

"Yeah, he's a Cartwright.  Takes after his old man."

"Shut up!"  Adam nearly exploded.  He and Hoss hadn't yet finished their errands in town, and the thought of going back there, while leaving Jenny and the children without him one moment longer than necessary, agonized him.  "Get back in town!"  Adam hissed.  "And leave the men who haven't done you any harm alone!"

Muttering oaths and insults under their breaths, what was left of the mob turned their horses and went back to town.  Hoss and Adam watched them go with a heavy heart.

"Adam," said Hoss, "why do you reckon so many o' them folks hate the Injuns so?  Why, all one has to do is show his face, and ever'body's up in arms!  We ain't had no problem with the Injuns for about a year or so now."

"No," said Adam, "and most of the problems we have had in the past were our fault, not theirs."

As they started back to Virginia City, Hoss asked, "But these folks weren't here when we had those problems.  Most of 'em, anyway.  Lots of 'em are newcomers from the East."

"Yes, they are," Adam stonily agreed.  He stared straight ahead of him, his face expressionless.

"Still can't figure why they hate 'em so much," Hoss ventured to say, more to keep his brother talking to him than to get an answer.

"Because they're different."  Adam urged his horse to a trot and rode ahead of Hoss.

Hoss speeded up a little, but stayed behind his brother.  He worried when Adam was angry, and he had worried a lot about his brother lately.  Today's narrowly averted disaster was one of many injustices in Virginia City.  There had been talk of attacking the Indians and wiping them out, or driving them further into the inhospitable mountains.  Hired guns walked the street when they should be in jail.  The local politicians of the quickly growing town were in the pockets of the mine owners, who were thinly disguised criminals, and the townspeople were at their mercy as well.

Hoss knew Adam couldn't stand much more.  Whenever his older brother had been deeply troubled or angry, he had eventually spoken up. But not this time.   Now, he was becoming more and more silent.  Hoss feared that Adam was consumed by a boiling fury which was barely held in check by his icy restraint, and knew that an explosion couldn't be long in coming.

Adam and Hoss loaded the sacks of feed for the stock at the Ponderosa  and Adam's place in the wagon, picked up more supplies needed by Hop Sing, Ben, and Jenny at the General Store, and purchased fabric and some notions that Jenny had asked Adam to get for her.  As they left town, Wilson, Williams,  and Tucker followed at a safe distance, shouting vile names and jeeringly chanting, "Indian lover!  Indian lover!"   Their shouts followed them out of town, and once Hoss had to grab Adam's arm to prevent his brother from storming back.  Adam finally resumed his icy calm, and they rode in silence until they reached the Ponderosa, where Adam retrieved Sport from the stable and  they parted.

"So long, Adam," Hoss called.  "I'll be by with your part of these supplies tomorrow or the day after."  He received no response, but did not  expect one.  Hoss was glum and silent.  He turned the  the wagon full of supplies over to one of the hired hands,  instructed him on what to unload, and walked slowly into the house.  He dragged his feet over the threshold, sighed a deep, heavy sigh, and closed the door quietly behind him.

His father was at his desk in his study, and called out, "Adam?  Hoss?  Is that you?"

"Yeah, Pa, it's me," Hoss replied quietly.

Ben emerged from his study and looked at his middle son with concern. It wasn't like Hoss to enter the house so quietly.  He had thought it sounded like Adam coming in, but had not expected him to return with his brother.  "What's wrong, son?"  Ben asked.

Slowly and painfully, Hoss recounted the events of their journey into town.  "And the worst part of all, Pa, is that Sheriff Coffee came to us when we were back in town, and after he thanked us for helping, said that no matter what happened with the Indian, he wasn't our responsibility.  Pa, how d'ya reckon he figures that?"

Ben was silent for a minute.  "He has his hands full with the disorder and lawlessness in Virginia City already," he finally responded.  "Guess Roy has decided to focus on the white folks in town, and hopes the Indian problem will take care of itself.  He needs help.  One man, with a few deputies, can't take care of all those problems he's facing."

"Pa, there's something else, too,"  Hoss said.  He hadn't yet told his father what the men had said about Jenny, Adam's wife.  "Those characters Wilson, Williams, and Tucker, they talked about Jenny.  They asked if Adam had left her alone, and said they'd have to pay a visit out there.  That was Tucker, who said that.  Adam flattened him.  But he mentioned Karen, too.  Pa - I don't know if Jenny and the kids are safe out there."

Ben looked at Hoss.  "Are you suggesting I tell Adam he's not capable of protecting his wife and children?"

"No, Pa, of course not," protested Hoss.  But there are the four children, and Jenny being in the family way and all....and only Adam and a couple hands to protect them....Pa, maybe I oughta go out there."
 

Chapter 2
 

Ben looked out the window, pondering how to get his eldest son to accept an offer of extra protection for his wife and children.  Adam had been testy lately;  downright angry most of the time.  Jenny wasn't always feeling well, as she was expecting in four month's time, and had two young sons, Adam, Jr. and Benjamin, to care for.  The older two children, Karen and Rose, were a help with the boys, but the girls were still children themselves, and couldn't give Jenny as much help as she needed.

Even though Jenny had been blinded shortly before she had married Adam, she managed her household well.  She had learned her way around the house and yard, with Adam's help.  Her niece Karen, who had come to live with them at the tender age of four after they were married, knew, even at that  time, that she had to help her aunt, and be her "eyes".   At first, Adam had  hired women to help his wife, but Jenny was not happy with them.  The ones she liked could never stay very long, and many of the others were cross with her children and despised Jenny because of her blindness.  One of them told her that she had no business marrying and having children that she couldn't  care for.

Finally, Jenny had one of the hired hands help her when she needed it.  Karen and Rose learned at an early age to keep the floor clear of obstacles and to help with their little brothers.  Adam was often gone, working their ranch or helping on the Ponderosa, and she didn't want to trouble him with household needs.  Even though he loved her very much and had taken great care in building the house to accommodate her, she didn't want her blindness to be a burden to him.

Jenny felt weary and heavy with the child who was due in four months.  Though she was delighted at the thought of another child, she wondered how she would manage another little one.  Young Adam and Benjamin, at ages five and three, were both inquisitive children whose exploratory instincts Jenny and Adam were constantly having to curtail.  Karen and Rose were accustomed to watching out for and playing with  their little brothers, and Adam had fashioned a gate  across the doorway of one room of the house and had fenced off a section of their yard for them to play in, but the boys were constantly finding ways to "escape"  their confinement.

Jenny worried that the girls  were growing up too fast.  She remembered assuming responsibility for her niece when she was 16.  Though many frontier women were married at that age, she had been living with her parents in the East, and had become "mother" to Karen only when her parents, distraught and incapacitated after several deaths in their family and the disgrace of her sister, were incapable of caring for Karen.  She didn't want Karen and Rose to go through the adult responsibility she had endured at their young age, but it seemed she had no choice.  The boys knew perfectly well that she could not see, and even though they were generally well-behaved , there was enough child, and more than enough boy in them,  to take advantage of their mother's blindness.  Karen and Rose had their hands full in keeping them entertained and staying one step ahead of their antics.

Jenny sat down in a chair close to the stove and began to peel potatoes.  She listened to the sounds in the next room to be certain that she heard four voices - two girls, and two boys.  Yes, all  her children were accounted for.

She fought back the urge to cry.  Adam couldn't come home and see her crying, and he was due home at any minute.  He had been so angry and moody for the past several months.  At first, she thought she must be imagining it as a result of her being in the family way, but now she didn't think so.  She used to accompany Adam on trips into Virginia City, while they left the children at the Ponderosa, much to the delight of Grandfather Ben, Uncles Joe and Hoss, and Hop Sing.

But now, Adam refused to let her come with him, and she knew it wasn't just because she was with child.  She wasn't sure why.  She had enjoyed those trips into town.   It was an excursion away from home and the responsibilities there.  Adam wouldn't explain why she couldn't come with him.  She suspected something was wrong, but she didn't know what.  The easy camaraderie and love that they'd had in the early part of their marriage was gone.  Now, their relationship was strained and tumultuous.

Jenny wondered what had happened, and when.   Adam loved her and the children;  of that, there was no doubt.  He anticipated nearly every problem she may have at home, and provided for it.  He made certain that everything she needed for caring for herself and the household was where it belonged, so she could find it, and they both impressed upon the children the importance of putting things away.    He regularly went into town for supplies, and he and the girls put them where she expected to find them.  Because of his thoughtfulness, and Karen and Rose's help, she could manage her household as well as she did.

But Adam wouldn't talk to her anymore.  He used to share his doubts, fears, hopes, and dreams with her.  Now, he was silent, and moody.  Though Jenny couldn't see his face, she knew that something was very wrong, and her husband was deeply troubled.

When she had finished peeling the potatoes, she drew water into a pan from the hand pump Adam had installed from the well to the house, and sliced the potatoes in it.  She placed the pan on the stove, and laid her hand gingerly on top of the stove to feel how hot it was.

"Karen!"  she called her niece.  She heard Karen shut the gate to the other room, and cross the kitchen.  "See if we need wood in the stove, please.  It doesn't feel hot enough."

Karen's long hair was pulled back and fastened at the nape of her neck.  Her blue and white plaid dress rustled as she walked sedately across the kitchen.  She looked so much like her aunt that she could have easily been mistaken as her much younger sister.  She carefully opened the door on the front of the stove.  "Yes, it needs more wood."   She moved to the side of the stove.  "And the wood box is low."  Her speech and manner belied her nine years and indicated a maturity beyond them.

"Tell Adam and Rose to help you fill the wood box," said Jenny.  "Benjamin can stay with me."  Karen returned to the other children, and Jenny heard Adam and Rose scurry across the kitchen and drag the wood box out the door.  Whooping and screaming resounded as they threw wood and wood chips in the box.

Jenny shook her head.  In the house, she did not permit yelling or running.  The children learned to play fairly quietly inside, but once outside, any chore was done with much more fanfare than was necessary.  She heard Benjamin run to the door to join in the excitement.  "Benjamin!" she called.  "Stay in here.  They'll be inside in a few minutes."   His pattering footsteps stopped just inside the door.

Suddenly, the screams and shouts approached the doorway, and Karen's voice vainly attempted to shout "Stop!  Wait!  Stop running!" above the din.  There was a thump, thunk, crash, thumpety-thump-thunkthunk, and Benjamin began crying.  Jenny tried to hurry to him and tripped over wood scattered across the floor.

"What's going on?"  they heard Adam thunder from the doorway.

The three older children looked up at their father, who towered over them like a storm cloud.  Their silence as they sprawled amidst the wood and wood chips attested to their guilt.  Benjamin's screams continued unabated.  Jenny carefully rose and tried to slide her feet through the debris to Benjamin.  Adam stepped over the wood box that was lying on its side in the doorway and picked up his youngest son.  A purple bruise was forming around a cut just below his eye.  He walked around the other children, lifted Jenny about the waist with one arm, and put her in the  chair she had just left.

"I said, what's going on?" Adam demanded.  "Karen?  Any explanation?"

Karen was silent and tried not to cry.  She knew that anything she said would be turned against her, and there was no explanation she could give that would satisfy him.

"I expect you to help your aunt!  Not contribute to misbehavior and chaos!"

"Karen," Jenny spoke up, "you and Rose go to the smokehouse, please, and get me some sausage."  She heard their quiet steps as they gratefully hurried out the door.  "Adam, son," she continued, "clean up the mess, please."  Adam slowly rose to his feet and complied, not daring to complain that he hadn't made the mess by himself, so he should at least have help cleaning it up.

Jenny reached up and touched her husband.  "Is he hurt?"

Adam sat Benjamin in her lap.  "He has a cut below the eye and a bruise there, too," he said tersely.  Jenny heard him draw water in a bowl.  He returned to her side and gently cleaned Benjamin's wound with a cloth and soap.  Benjamin, quieted for a moment in his parents' arms, screamed anew.  Adam managed to clean him up and stop the bleeding.  Then he took him from Jenny.

Karen and Rose returned with a sausage as young Adam finished cleaning up the floor.  "Put wood in the stove," Jenny instructed her son.  She turned to her daughters.  "Are you hurt?"  There was no response.

"Speak up!"  demanded Adam.  "She can't hear you shake your head!"

Jenny sighed inwardly and rose from the chair.  "Girls, come here."  She ran her hands over their faces and down their arms.  "Are you cut or scraped anywhere?  Talk to me, please."

A muffled whimper escaped from Rose.  "I'm all right," said Karen, "but Rose's hand is bleeding."

"Help her get cleaned up," said Jenny.  "Get some fresh water," she added.

While Karen assisted Rose, Jenny moved among the table, the sink, and the stove to fix supper.  She moved confidently, and anyone who didn't know she was blind would have had to look carefully to have noticed that her eyes did not focus directly on what was about her and that she used her hands to help determine where she was.   Finally, the family sat down to a silent meal.
 

Chapter 3
 

Later that night, as Jenny and Adam got ready for bed, Jenny ventured to ask, "What happened in town today?"

Adam was silent for a moment.  "Nothing unusual."  He clamped his mouth shut, and Jenny could tell that the subject was closed, as far as Adam was concerned.  She heard a splash as he poured water in the washbowl.

Jenny sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her long, light brown hair.  She wistfully remembered when Adam used to brush it for her. "You were upset when you came home.  What happened in town, Adam?  Please tell me!"

"Of course I was upset!"  Jenny was afraid that Adam's raised voice would wake the children.  "You were on the floor, Benjamin was hurt and nearly had his eye put out, and the older children were running wild!  We're  lucky nothing worse happened while I was away!"

"Adam."  Jenny's voice was quiet.  "They are children, not angels.  They stumbled as they came in the door.  Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"  Adam repeated.  "Nothing more?  I could hear them as I approached the house!  They were yelling at the top of their lungs!  Or didn't you notice?"

"Of course I noticed.  And Karen was trying to get Adam and Rose to settle down and slow down.  I heard her telling them not to run."

"A lot of good it did.  A lot of help she is!"

"She is a help!"  Jenny raised her voice.  "Without her, I'd be nearly lost, while you're gone.  She watches the younger ones, plays with them, reminds them to pick up after themselves, and helps me with endless small chores that would take forever if I had to do them by myself.  They are children, Adam!  And they will act as children!"

Adam pulled his boots off and dropped them on the floor.  "Of course they will, if you don't expect anything more of them."  He splashed water on his face and washed his hands.

"Adam," Jenny said sharply, as she put the brush down on her nightstand, "just what is bothering you?"

She heard Adam getting undressed before climbing into bed.  "I just told you."  He pulled the blankets over him.

"No, that's not it," protested Jenny.  "Adam!  You used to talk to me!  Please!  Talk to me now!  What is wrong?  It isn't just the children, and what happened this afternoon!  What is wrong?"  Jenny tried not to cry, but couldn't stop her tears.   Angry at herself for her weakness, she turned away and groped for  a handkerchief on her nightstand.

As she wiped her eyes and attempted to stifle her sobs, Adam stared at the ceiling.  The events of the day:  the Indian in town, the men who went after him, his and Hoss's narrow escape from the hands of the mob, and not least the veiled threat of Wilson and his cronies against his wife and niece, swirled about in his mind.  What could he do?  How could he protect his family?  They were in danger, not only from the likes of Tucker in Virginia City, but also from any disgruntled Indians who came their way.  Should anyone show up with intent to harm his family, there was no help very close.  And he no longer lived on a ranch with four strong men.  He had a wife and four children to think about.

He had a  fleeting thought of Young Wolf, his childhood Paiute friend, son of Chief Winnemucca.  He remembered hunting with him, riding trails and through trackless wilderness, laughing, sharing stories of their families.  His childhood had seemed so full of responsibility.  Caring for his younger brothers and helping his pa seemed to take all his time.  How he had longed for the freedom of an adult!  Little had he known that he'd had freedom as a boy, and never realized it until now.  Now - when it was too late.

Adam heard Jenny's tears, but felt powerless to console her.  He finally put his arms about her and drew her close to him, but knew he was offering her empty comfort.  In the world they lived in, there was no hope, and scant security.  The white men in Virginia City knew little of the Indians, and did not care to learn about them.  Adam knew that they would turn on him and his family just as surely as they would turn on the Indians.  Any attempt of his to convey respect for the original inhabitants of the land that now supported them was met with contempt and ignorance by most of the men and women in town.

Adam ached inside as he recalled the Paiute War.  A drunken cavalcade had set out to join the U.S. Army to murder the Indians, when all they had done was react to the kidnaping and violation of members of their tribe.  He himself had been taken captive by the Paiute, and nearly killed by  Young Wolf.  He knew that most whites, if given the choice of drunken, debauched white men committing crimes against Indians that would be hanging offenses if done against fellow members of their race, or Indians reacting against grievous wrongs done to them, would side with the white men.   Nor would they see why white men should be punished for any deeds of theirs against the Indians.

The injustice of it all agonized him.  He couldn't endure it; couldn't see one more injustice against his fellow man occur.  Nor could he tolerate any more indifference.  ( He's not our problem, Adam!  )  People had  to care.  They must be able to see that the Indians had been unfairly treated; that they must get back some of their lands, and be allowed to live in peace upon them.  Part of the Ponderosa and part of his own lands were included in what he and his father were willing to see given back to the tribe about them.  But even that was only part of what the Indians used to live on, before the white man came.

And the politicians!  The mayor and other elected officials, as well as the circuit judge that came to Virginia City, were simply tools of the  mine owners and gambling houses.  Everyone was in their pockets - the big men and the little.  Honest men and women, whether or not they were white, scarcely stood a fair chance in that town.  Their businesses were often taken over or destroyed, and bribery and corruption were the norm in the courtroom and in lawmaking.

Jenny  managed to stop crying in her husband's arms.  Though she was grateful for his touch, she knew his mind was far away, and that he was deeply troubled and very angry.  They finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

The next morning,  as they were finishing  breakfast, they heard a buggy drive up to the house.  Young Adam jumped up from the table, followed closely by Rose, and ran to the door.  "It's Grandma and Grandpa!"  he exclaimed.  He ran outside.  Rose followed him.  Jenny went to the door.  She heard Adam and Karen following her.

"Hello!"  Thomas, her father, called.  "How are you?"  The children were chattering excitedly to their grandparents, telling them about their adventures in the woods, and even embellishing their latest accident, when they tripped and dumped the wood pile all over the kitchen floor.  Their grandparents took them by the hand, saying, "Is that right?  You don't say!  Why, I don't believe it!" as their grandchildren wove their tales.   They lifted Benjamin in their arms and fussed over his bruised and cut eye, and sympathized with him as he told them in a tremulous voice how Rose and Adam had run into him with the wood box when they tripped over the threshold.

"You go back and finish your breakfast," said Catherine to her youngest grandson, when Benjamin had finished telling her how he had hurt his eye, "and we'll wait out here a few minutes."

"Nonsense," declared Jenny.  "Come inside and sit down.  We were almost finished."

"It's a nice day," said her mother.  "Not so cold today.  I think we'd like to stay outside for a few more minutes before we come in."

"We've been sitting all the way here," added Thomas.  "We have a few bundles to get together before we come in the house."

"Do you mean presents?" asked seven year-old Rose.  Her hazel eyes danced with excitement, and her dark hair, so like her father's, fell in her face as always, no matter how many times Jenny or Karen braided it or tied it back.

Adam gathered the children and herded them through the doorway.  "Once you've finished eating, you can visit with Grandma and Grandpa, and see any 'bundles' they've brought with them."  Jenny waited until she  heard  them all  go in, then started to follow.

"Hello, Jenny."

Jenny turned sharply toward the familiar voice.  No...it couldn't be.  She shivered as though a chill wind had struck her.   "Who..." She couldn't continue.   "You - you sound like -"  She walked toward the voice, then stopped, no longer certain of where she was going.  "Linda?" she finally whispered.  "Is it you?"

There was no response.  "Who are you?"  Jenny asked.  "Where are you?"

Suddenly, Jenny heard the noise of skirts rustling beside her.  As she turned toward the sound, a pair of arms hugged her tightly.  "Yes, it's me, Jenny.  It's me."  The voice was choking, and Jenny could feel the tears and hear the sobs of the woman hugging her.  "Linda?" she asked again, as she slowly put her arms about the lady.  "Is it really you?"

"Yes," said the voice between sobs.  "It's me.  I'm back."

In the doorway, Karen turned, watched, listened, and wondered.  Who was this woman who looked so much like her Aunt Jenny?  Why was her grandma crying?

Adam looked at the woman who was with his wife for a moment before interrupting Karen's speculations.  Though he had never met her, he recognized her name and saw the close resemblance she bore to Jenny, and grimly hoped this would not cause more problems for his family.  He saw Karen watching the pair intently, and abruptly called her to the table.  "Finish your breakfast," he said brusquely.  Though she was no longer hungry, Karen was afraid not to comply.

Karen's musings were interrupted as Jenny and Linda entered  the house arm in arm.  As her eyes threatened to overflow, Jenny said, "Adam, children:  This is my sister, Linda.  Linda, my husband, Adam.  The children: Karen, Rose, Adam, and Benjamin."

Adam stood , as did the three older children, and greeted their guest.  "Ma'am," said Adam.  "It's a pleasure to finally meet you.  Children, say 'hello' to your Aunt Linda."  The children, though bewildered at the sudden appearance of this aunt, nodded politely and said, "Pleased to meet you, Aunt Linda."

Linda looked at each of the children.  She marveled at how the boy Adam resembled his father.  Rose did, too, she noticed.  Benjamin was fairer with wispy light brown hair, resembling his mother.   Linda's eyes met Karen's and faltered.  Jenny felt her sister stiffen, and heard her breath catch in her throat.  She put her arm tightly about her, and Adam looked sharply at her.

At that moment, Catherine bustled through the door, followed by Thomas, who was carrying a load of boxes.  "Now, you just all sit down and let me worry about the dishes," said Catherine.  "Grandpa has some presents for everyone, so go in the parlor with  him!  I'll be in shortly."

Young Adam and Rose leaped from their seats and dashed to their grandpa's side.  "Grandpa!  Can we have our presents first?"  Benjamin turned his chair over as he followed his sister and brother.  "Mine now!  Please!  Hurry!  Please!"

Karen followed more slowly, smiling indulgently at the antics of her younger siblings.  "Come sit down," she said as she took the boys by the hand.  "Grandpa can't give us any presents if you're jumping all over him."  The younger children reluctantly followed her to the parlor.  At the doorway, Benjamin yanked his hand out of hers, tore across the floor, and leaped on the horsehair sofa, where he bounced and promptly slid onto the floor.  He cackled, jumped up again and slid back to the floor.

"Benjamin Joseph!" exclaimed Jenny.  "You know better!  Don't make me send you to the corner!"  Benjamin looked at his mother.  Somehow, she knew what he was doing, even though her eyes didn't look at him the way his father's did.  He looked at his grandparents with big eyes,  then at his father, whose brows were drawn down and mouth was unsmiling, and decided he'd better stop.  He scrunched back on the sofa and sat as quietly as he could, with his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
 

Chapter 4
 

A half hour or so later, the parlor was littered with boxes, toys, and articles of clothing.  Karen looked proudly at her new set of baking pans while she carefully cradled a beautiful doll in her arms.  Long, glossy black braids fell down the front of the doll's red silk dress, which was embroidered with silver and gold flowers.

Linda watched and smiled, remembering her delight when she had received that doll as a child.  She had treasured it and taken great care not to play roughly with it.  The doll was one of the few mementos of her childhood that she had taken with her when she left her family and moved to Silver City nine years earlier.  She cleaned its dress and made it look as good as new before giving it as a gift.  She wanted to rekindle the relationships within her family that she had missed so much.

Benjamin knocked the baking pans to the floor and banged them together.  Then he took his new wooden blocks and crashed them into the pans.  Karen hurriedly gave her doll to her mother and snatched her pans away.  When Benjamin howled in protest, his brother nudged him on the arm.

"Benjamin," Adam said.  Benjamin, his face red and eyes wide with indignation, turned toward his brother.  "Those pans are girls' toys.  Don't play with those."  Benjamin stared at Adam, then looked for the pans, which Karen had already taken from the room and put out of his reach.  A whimper escaped his lips.  His grandfather could not suppress a chuckle.

"Benjamin," said his grandmother, "come show me your blocks and your new mittens.  I'd like to see them."  Somewhat mollified, Benjamin grabbed his treasures and charged to his grandma's lap.

Rose proudly held her new rag doll up for everyone to see, while Adam carefully pocketed his toy soldiers to protect them  from his brother and examined his storybooks.  He was pleased to find that he knew most of the words in them.

Suddenly, a tall figure blocked the doorway.  Hoss stood there, with Ben on one side of him and Greg, one of the Ponderosa's hired hands, on the other.  "Hoss!"  exclaimed Adam.  "What are you doing here?  Pa, Greg!  Hello!  Come in!  Sit down!"

"Hello, Adam!" said Hoss.  "Howdy, Mr., Mrs. Barnhart!  And Jenny!  We came over to help unload them supplies we done picked up in town the other day.  We didn't know you were havin'  a party!"

Everyone squeezed together on the sofa and chairs, and the three men each managed to find a place to sit.  "We knocked and called," explained Ben, "but no one answered."

"Too noisy in here, I guess," said Jenny. "Pa, Greg, Hoss,this is my sister Linda."  She place her hand on Linda's arm.  Jenny heard and felt the three men stand  up.

Ben nodded his head toward Linda.  "Ma'am," he said, "it's a pleasure to meet you."  He privately thought that she looked enough like Jenny to be a twin sister, but knew from a previous conversation with Jenny years ago that she was not.

She certainly was a pretty woman.  Her white lawn dress with sprigs of green flowers fit tightly at the waist and cascaded to the floor.  The tight sleeves set off her small hands and long, elegant fingers.  Her dark brown hair was pulled gently back from her face in a Victorian knot, with some hair escaping  in soft ringlets to her shoulders.

Ben waited for his son and hired hand to speak to the lady, but there was only silence in the room.  Finally, Ben looked at Hoss and Greg, and saw them staring open-mouthed.  The silence grew more awkward as the seconds passed.  "Well, Hoss, Greg," Ben finally spoke up.  "Aren't you going to greet the lady?"

"Uh - yeah, Pa," Hoss stuttered.  "It's - it's a real pleasure, Ma'am; uh - I mean - I'm really, really pleased to meet you."  He flushed with aggravation at his nervousness, and swore silently at his tendency to get tongue-tied in the presence of beautiful women.

Greg bowed his head.  "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Ma'am."  He spoke carefully, as though unaccustomed to the words.  He and Hoss remained on their feet, staring at Linda.  Ben in turn stared at them, then turned to Adam with a questioning glance.  Adam winked at his father, then bent his head to hide a smile.  Catherine leaned to the floor to pick up a block that Benjamin had dropped and lingered longer than she needed to retrieve it.

Finally, Adam said, "Boys, Pa, I think you can all sit down now."

"Uh, yeah.  Yeah, Adam.  All right."  Hoss sat down heavily on his chair, which creaked and groaned under the sudden weight.  Adam and Jenny both hid their smiles.

Ben looked about the room for a chance to change the subject.  "Where is Jared?" he asked, referring to Jenny's nephew.  "Did he come with you, Thomas?"

"No, Jared is working in town for Mr. Smythe in the General Store," said Thomas.  "He'll be living there this winter, helping out after school."

"He's 14, isn't he?" asked Ben.

"Yes, he is," said Catherine.  "If he stays in town during the winter, he can continue his schooling.  We thought that was important."

"He can earn some money, too," added Thomas.

"Was he in town yesterday, when that Indian came into the general store?" asked Hoss.  "You didn't mention him, Adam."

"What Indian?" asked Jenny.  Silence followed her question.

"An Indian came into the store while you were there?" Jenny turned her face toward Adam.  There hadn't been many Indians in Virginia City since the Paiute War.

When Adam didn't answer, Hoss said, "Yeah, this big old Indian came in and told ever'one that there was gonna be a long, hard winter.  Everybody got all riled up about it, and went off, half-cocked and half-drunk after him.  Adam came and got me - I was at the feed store -"

"And we stopped them from doing anything," interrupted Adam.  "Now, can we talk about something else?  Anything else?"

Jenny reached for Adam's arm in the silence that followed, trying to gauge by touch what she could not see:  his mood.  She felt his hard muscles, more tense than usual, through his shirt sleeve for an instant before he removed her hand from his arm.

Ben watched his eldest son with concern.  Anxious to restore harmony, he waved his hand at the presents and packaging strewn about and jokingly asked, "What's the occasion?  Early Christmas?"

"Actually, yes," confessed Thomas.  "We're planning a visit to the East, to see some friends and take care of some family matters.  We realize we may not be able to come back before the snow is too heavy to travel, so we're planning on wintering there.  A new couple from town has expressed interest in staying at our home while we're gone.  They'll take care of the stock and look after the place until spring, when we come back."

This was news to everyone.  "I didn't know you were planning on leaving," said Adam.  "When did you decide to do this?"

Thomas didn't answer for a moment.  "Jenny's Uncle Don is very ill," he replied.  "We need to go back to see him."

Jenny felt her mouth go dry as ashes.   Her favorite uncle, sick, and she couldn't leave her family to go see him.  That's why her sister was going with them.  Jenny wondered if Linda would return with her parents in the spring.  She started to rise from  the couch.  "I should put some tea or coffee on.  And we have some cookies, and an apple pie and cherry pie.  Anyone care for some?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" exclaimed Hoss and Greg almost together.  "That sounds right good!"

Adam propelled her up from the sofa,  led her through the debris  on the floor, took Benjamin from his grandmother's lap, and let Catherine guide Jenny through the rest of the parlor and into the kitchen.  As Jenny brought out the cookies and pies, her mother got plates, forks, and glasses from the cupboards.

"When did you decide to leave?" Jenny asked.

Her mother began to set the table.  "We received a letter from your aunt two weeks ago.  She told us that your Uncle Don is very ill, and isn't expected to live much longer.  We knew that if we wanted to see him, we had to leave before winter sets in, and then we might not get back until spring.  So we began making the arrangements right away."

Jenny's heart felt like lead as she contemplated the thought of her parents being in Ohio for the entire winter.  She had never been very far away from them before, even after her marriage.  Her mother had helped her a great deal after the birth of young Adam.  Jenny didn't know what she would do without her nearby.  "When do you leave?"

Catherine avoided looking at her as she answered.  "Next week Thursday."

Rose ran into the kitchen.  "Papa said to come see if you needed help, and if we can eat, 'cause Uncle Hoss is real hungry!"

Laughter from the parlor echoed Rose's words.  Jenny swallowed her dismay, and called out, "Yes, it's ready, Hoss!  You can come eat!  But only if you promise to share with the rest of us."  More laughter resounded as everyone trooped into the kitchen.  The light, running footsteps of the youngsters pattered amidst the solid, measured thumping of the men's boots and the swish of the ladies' skirts.  Jenny felt a tightness constrict her throat as she knew this may be the last time in a long while that her entire family - what was left of it - would be together.

After they finished eating, they left the dishes and went outside.  The children played with their grandparents and Uncle Hoss while the other adults talked.  Though the wind was brisk and chilly, the sun was bright and warm.

Linda led Jenny to the pasture fence.  "You have a beautiful home," she said.  "A lot has happened in your life since I left."

"Yes, it has," agreed Jenny.  "But then, you've been gone for several years."  An awkward silence moved between them.  "I wanted to write to you," Jenny hastily said, "but Mother and Father would never give me your address."   Linda's address and existence were merely two of many secrets harbored by her family for many years.

"Well, tell me what has happened since I left," said Linda, anxious to change the subject.  "It has been so long since I have been able to talk with you that I don't know where to begin!"

Jenny wasn't sure where to start.   "After you left us, we moved a couple more times.  We also took in an orphaned baby.   He was two years younger than Karen.  He died shortly after we arrived here."  Jenny hurriedly pushed the sadness of that memory deep within  her.  "I suppose Mother and Father told you how I was blinded in the accident.  Other than that, since we moved here, our lives have settled down a bit.  I married Adam, and Mother and Father decided that Karen should come live with us."  She paused.  "Karen is such a great help with the younger children.  She is a remarkable child.  She does you great credit, you know."

"No, Jenny," said Linda quietly.  "She does you credit.  You're the one who raised her, who taught her about me.  Mother and Father have told me how you took care of her and kept the household going when they couldn't.  You deserve the credit for Karen, not me."

Jenny nearly choked on the tears she attempted to hold back.  "She's your daughter," she said quietly.  "Not mine.  You deserve at least some credit."  She tightly grasped her sister's hand.

Linda watched Karen as she sat her new doll carefully on a tree stump and placed  tiny china plates, cups and saucers before it.  She talked quietly as she played, seemingly oblivious to the other three children running and shouting about her.

After playing with the children for a while, Hoss finally left them with their grandparents  and went to Adam, who was standing by Greg and absentmindedly watching the domestic scene before him.  "You know, Adam," said Hoss, "this here weather can't last long.  Not if what that Indian says is true."

For a moment, Adam's gaze shifted to the distant mountains. The trees were changing color, standing in stark contrast to the evergreen Ponderosa Pines.  He wondered just how soon a large snowfall would come.  Large white cumulus clouds raced over the mountains and foothills, and an eagle was riding the currents high above them.    Hoss wondered if his brother had heard him.  "You're right about that," Adam finally replied.

"Why don't we go unload them supplies?"  Hoss suggested, and the three men walked to the wagon that had been left near the barn.

"I'll put the horses up," said Greg.  As he unhitched the horses from the wagon, he asked Adam, "Where's your help today?"

Adam heaved a sack of oats over his shoulder.  "In the south pasture, repairing the fence."  He disappeared into the barn, followed by Hoss with a feed sack on his shoulders.

Once the feed and tack for the stock had been unloaded, the two brothers carried the bags of spices, notions, and other supplies into the house.  As Adam put them away  where Jenny could find them, Hoss looked about the kitchen.  "Hey, Adam, how about another cup of coffee?"

"Sure," said Adam.  "Help yourself.  It's keeping warm on the stove."

Hoss found his cup on the table, rinsed it at the sink, and poured himself a cup of coffee.  He sat at the table, picked up the empty cherry pie pan, looked at it regretfully, and began picking crumbs out of it.  Adam raised an eyebrow.  "Little brother, if you're still hungry, we do have more food in the house."

"No, Adam, I'm just cleaning up the crumbs."  He looked up suddenly at his older brother. "Unless you happen to have another one of these cherry pies?"

"No, Hoss.  No.  Sorry.  You'll have to settle for crumbs."  He sat at the table next to Hoss.  "Perhaps you'd like to go out to pasture and graze on the nice, tall grass?  It's going to seed.  The cattle are fond of it.  Maybe you should try it."

Hoss banged the pie pan down on the table and grabbed for his brother.  Adam jumped out of his chair,  turning it over behind him, and ran to the other side of the kitchen.  Hoss glared at him across the table.  "Dadburnit, Adam, that warn't funny!"

Adam shrugged and grinned halfheartedly.  "Sorry, Hoss.  Just trying to think of a way to keep you from eating us out of house and home today."

Hoss glared at him for a moment longer, then sat down and began working on the pie pan again.  "This is the best cherry pie I ever tasted."  When Adam sat down across from him, Hoss ventured to ask, "Was Jared in the store when you were there the other day?"

Adam frowned slightly.  "No.  Not that I saw.  He may have been in the back."

"Why didn't you tell Jenny about that Indian and what he said?"  Hoss asked.

Adam's face darkened, and his teasing, light-hearted mood was gone beyond recall.  "I didn't want to worry her, of course," he snapped.

"Adam, Jenny ain't afraid of the Injuns.  Not like those folks in town, anyhow.  She needs to know 'bout this early winter.  She'd have some ideas of what to do, for the household supplies, cooking needs and such, and things the children might need."

"I can take care of my family, Hoss!"  Adam rebuffed his brother.  "I won't worry her!"  Adam knew if he thought about what had happened in town the other day, he might kill someone, just as he had felt like killing Ned Tucker when the man had mentioned his wife, and as he had wished he could  shoot Williams and Wilson so the world could be that much cleaner.

These feelings frightened him, and he fought constantly to keep them in check.  Using his fists and gun had always been a last resort for him, but more and more often he found himself fighting  a red-hot rage at the world  that left him nearly blind with fury and bloodthirsty for battle.  He bottled his rage and suppressed his fury beneath an icy calm, seasoned with humor and occasionally peppered with sarcasm.  Adam was terrified of what he might do should he see more of the townspeople's "justice", or dwell on the incidents of his day in town with Hoss.

Hoss swallowed the last gleanings from the pan and tried again.  "Adam, you might want to just mention to her that you think it's gonna be a long, hard winter.  See if there's anything else from town she might need.  Or any help she might need with getting things ready for it, like extra sewing, or canning - things like that."

Adam's face was set like flint and his eyes rock hard.  Hoss saw Adam's face and sipped his coffee.  He knew better than to push his brother any further, and he knew that there was more to Adam's  resistance to his suggestion than simply resentment of intrusion into family matters.  If only his brother would talk to him!

Hoss rose from the table and went to the stove.  "You want some coffee, Adam?"  He poured himself another cup.

"Sure."  The sarcastic tone made Hoss wince.  "Help me prepare for battle."

Hoss sighed as he searched the cupboards for a clean cup and saucer.  Failing to find one, he returned to the table and picked up the cup in front of Adam.  "That's not mine!" Adam snapped.

"Well, which one is yours, then?"

Adam pointed to the end of the table.  He didn't take his eyes off of Hoss.

Fetching the cup, Hoss rinsed it and took it to the stove.  He took his time, trying to gather his thoughts and hoping his brother would cool off, though he knew that was unlikely.  He returned to the table and set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him before taking his seat across the table.  "Adam."  He paused as he took a drink.  "Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?"

Adam perfunctorily took a drink, nearly slammed the  cup into the saucer, and glared at Hoss.  "How can you ask that?  How can you?!  After the other day?  You heard what those men - that scum Tucker, and Wilson, and Williams - said!  I hardly dare leave my wife alone any more!  If they should take it in their heads to ride out here - and they could -"

He paused, remembering how he had heard the children screaming and yelling as he approached the house on his return from town two days ago.  He had been afraid that Indians (or worse) were attacking his family.  Hoss, though sorely tempted to speak up, kept quiet, knowing that more was coming.

"Of course, it's more likely that the Indians would be here first," Adam continued.  "They're getting more restless, angrier, hungrier, every month.  We've hunted their antelope, the buffalo are gone, and we've taken all the good lands for ourselves.  They can't grow or hunt much up in those rocky lands where they've been pushed.  And Pyramid Lake - "  He shook his head in disgust as he thought of the reported mismanagement of that Indian reservation.  No wonder the Indians left it, only to be pushed aside and despised  yet again  by the white men who took their lands and considered them little better than animals.  He thought once more of his long-ago friendship with Young Wolf.  In that kitchen filled with mute reminders of his family and responsibilities, it seemed a thousand years ago and on the other side of the world.

Hoss watched his brother with growing concern.  There was more here than worry about his family.  "Yeah.  It's a real shame about Pyramid Lake.  There's talk of takin' the railroad through Pyramid Lake Reservation, too, once it gets that far.  Don't know what'll happen to the Injuns then.  Reckon they'll have to move again."

Adam slammed his fist on the table, and the dishes jumped.  "That's just it!" he yelled.  "No one cares, no one gives a damn about anything or anyone - except themselves!  Even the sheriff!  You heard him - he said that Indian in town wasn't anybody's problem!  Well, it has to be somebody's problem!  Someone has to care!  People have to see that they can't do this to other people - there will be a price to pay!  Somewhere, sometime, in our life, or later, people will have to pay for what we've done here!  Damn it, Hoss!  We can't get so caught up in what we're doing and where we're going, that we forget what's been here, and don't even see what IS here!  People have to realize, they have to care!"

Adam stopped his tirade suddenly and looked in Hoss's eyes, where he saw only concern and worry.  In total frustration, he swept a few dishes in front of him onto the floor and beat his fists on the table, knocking a few more dishes to the floor.  Then he collapsed in the chair and buried his head in his hands.

Hoss rose and slowly began picking up the broken dishes.  "Adam," he said heavily, "you can't change the world, you know.  Now, in town the other day, you and I  kept one man from gettin' killed.   We may even have stopped another war - for now.  No tellin' about that.  But at least we kept one man alive.  That may be about all we can do."  He retrieved a box from the floor of the parlor to put the broken crockery  in, and took it outside to the garbage pit.

Adam sat silently.  One person at a time.  Yes, that was all he could do.  He recalled the Paiute War, and the unnecessary bloodshed that had occurred there on both sides, including the death of his friend Young Wolf, despite his family's attempt to stop it.  Then he thought about the Indian in the store and the town's reaction, and the threats to his family.  He had never felt so helpless in his life.  One at a time wasn't enough.  Nothing was enough.

When Hoss returned to the house, he went to his brother's side.  "Say, Adam:  Greg and Pa and me, we didn't come out here just to bring over them supplies.  Greg and I'd like to stay for a while, to help you finish gettin' your place ready for the winter - especially if it's comin' on early.  We got everything pretty well fixed at the Ponderosa, and Pa agreed that if you'd like a couple extra pairs of hands for a spell, you can have ours.  No need for you to pay us - we're still on Pa's payroll."  He paused.  "Unless you want to, of course,"  he hastened to add.  "And I promise to try not to eat you into the poorhouse, though Jenny's a mighty fine cook.  Don't know as I wanna eat grass, though, no matter how much the stock may favor it."

Adam laughed despite himself.  He knew there was much left unspoken in his brother's offer.  "Maybe Jenny could find a way to season the greenery for you.  She is a good cook, and if it's food, I'm sure you'd like it."  He stood and thought for a moment.  "How long you planning on staying on?"

"As long as you need us,"  Hoss replied.  "We'll sleep with the other hands - no need to get any rooms in the house ready for us."  Adam started to protest, but Hoss interrupted him.    "You're gonna have company for a little while, anyway.  No need to put us up in the house, too."

Adam looked at Hoss blankly.  "Company?"

"Well -" Hoss hesitated.  "Ain't Miss Linda staying here?  That's what I thought I heard your in laws saying.  She's staying here until they go east.  Least they were talking about that."

That was news to Adam, and his face registered his displeasure.  His sister in-law, here?  He was pleased that his wife was finally reunited with her sister, but ... what did Linda want?  Just to visit with her sister and daughter?  Or did she want her daughter back?   As far as Adam was concerned, she gave up that right when she left the child at birth.  Jenny had raised Karen, and the girl was like a daughter to Adam.  He had no intention of letting someone come within his family circle and take Karen away.

Hoss saw the look on Adam's face, and said, "Adam, she hasn't seen Jenny in - how many years?  And -"

"That was her choice," said Adam.  His brows were drawing down over his eyes.  "Why return now? She could have come back before."

"Adam, you don't know that," said Hoss.  "We don't know what's happened, or what's going on."

"No, we don't," said Adam.  "That's what worries me."
 

Chapter 5
 

That evening, Jenny and Linda sat before a fire in the sitting room.  The children, exhausted after playing and visiting with family most of the day, had gone to sleep almost as soon as they climbed in bed.  The grandparents had long ago left for home.  Adam was now in the barn finishing up the chores.  Jenny was snapping beans, and Linda was attempting to  knit and read  Jenny a passage from a book of poetry:

    A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses,
    Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears,
    Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground,
    Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.

"That seems so fitting to your life here!"

"What is that?" Jenny asked softly.

"It's from 'Song of Myself', by Walt Whitman," Linda responded.  Father bought me a whole book of his poems on one of his trips back East, after you had moved here."

"There are so few books written in braille," said Jenny.  "Adam, and Mother and Father, have bought me some.  But they can be expensive.  I always loved to read.  But for years, I had so little time for reading, and now I can't."  She was silent for a moment, savoring the quiet evening, her sister's melodic voice as she read to her, and the snap, snap of the beans.  She had forgotten how long it had been since she'd had a peaceful evening.

"Adam used to read to me in the evenings," Jenny continued.  "Even when he was tired.  We both looked forward to it.  But lately..." she sighed and didn't finish.

"I guess he's tired and under a lot of pressure," said Linda gently.  "And I don't think he's very happy about my staying here."

"You're my sister; he knows you're welcome," replied Jenny.  "Besides, you won't be here very long.  You're leaving next week."  She paused.  "I wish I could go with you.  I'd like to see Ohio and our relatives again.  But of course, I can't go."  She bit her lip as she set the beans on the table next to her, wondering if she should ask the question burning in her mind.  "Are you planning on visiting Paul's and Pat's graves?"

"I don't know." Linda's voice became suddenly tight.  "I try not to think of our brothers.  Every time I do, I cry.  I see them, or something reminding me of them, every place I go, every day.  I don't think I can bear visiting their graves."

Jenny nodded sadly.  She had wished many times since they'd left Ohio that she could visit her brothers' graves, and envied her sister the opportunity to do so.  She moved carefully across the room and sat next to her sister.  "Could you read me some more from that book?"

Linda wiped her tears.  "Yes, but - can you keep a secret?"  She whispered, "It's a good thing Mother and Father didn't know some of what is written by this man!"

"Really?"  Jenny was astonished.  "Well...just skip those parts.  If you hear Adam coming, that is!"

So engrossed were they for the next half hour in Linda's reading that they didn't hear the men enter the house.

    I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon
        all oppression and shame,
    I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men at anguish with
        themselves, remorseful after deeds done....
    I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny, I see martyrs
        and prisoners,
    I observe a famine at sea, I observe the sailors casting lots who
        shall be kill'd to preserve the lives of the rest,
    I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons
        upon laborers, the poor, and upon Negroes, and the like;
    All these - all the meanness and agony without end I sitting
        look out upon,
    See, hear, and am silent.

"Walt Whitman.  'I Sit and Look Out'."  Jenny and Linda jumped and turned at Adam's voice.  He crossed the room in long, slow strides.

"That's right," Linda said brightly.

"May I see it?" Adam held out his hand, and Linda handed him the volume.

"It was a gift from my parents a few years ago," she explained.

Adam looked through the book, turning the pages carefully.  "I have some of these poems in a book upstairs.  This is a big collection."  He stopped to peruse one page.  His lips turned up in a slight, knowing smile, he cocked an eyebrow, and asked Linda in a very different tone, "You say your parents bought you this?"

"Yes, they did," replied Linda, as she hastily took the volume from Adam's hands.

Jenny recognized that tone of Adam's voice.  He used it with the children at times when they were misbehaving.  She unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile and suppress a laugh, which escaped as a disgraceful snort.  She waited for Adam to speak, but when he didn't, she finally gave up and laughed out loud.  Leave it to her college-educated husband to know the poem her sister was reading, appreciate it and the book, yet know the poet's work well enough to disapprove of some of the contents being read to his wife.  She felt as though she and her sister were children again, attempting to sneak cookies before dinner or smuggle candy into the house, and were being interrogated by their father.

"Say, Ma'am," said Greg from across the room.  Jenny jumped anew when she heard his voice.  "If there's somethin' funny going on, can me and Hoss get in on it?  We heard you recite that poem, too, Ma'am, but we didn't hear nothin' funny."

Jenny hoped Greg was joking, because she laughed harder than ever.  She heard Linda start to laugh, too, and that made her laugh even more.

Greg and Hoss, puzzled and suspicious, looked at each other.   "I think maybe we ought to have a look at that book," declared Hoss.

"NO!" shrieked the women in unison.  Linda clutched the book, Jenny clutched Linda, and they both doubled over in renewed laughter.

Adam crossed his arms and attempted to glare sternly at the women, but couldn't hide a slight smile.

Hoss and Greg looked from the sisters to Adam.  "Is there something wrong with that book, Mr. Adam?" asked Greg.

"Yeah, Adam, what's in that book?  Must be awful funny," said Hoss suspiciously.

Adam's smile was growing slightly.  He didn't take his eyes off of his wife.  "It depends on what you call 'wrong', Greg.  It's nothing really - well -" he searched for a word - "bad."

Greg and Hoss looked confused.  "Nothing really bad," they repeated together.

"No," Adam assured them.  "If it was, I'd take the book away from them." He turned, and with a devilish twinkle in his eyes, started to leave the room.

"Adam," Jenny gasped. She had been trying to stop laughing long enough to ask her husband a question.  She heard him stop at the other end of the room.  "Why haven't you read me any of his poems before?"

Momentary silence from Adam was accompanied by stifled hysterical laughter from Linda.  Jenny wished she could see his face.  "Because you haven't asked."  His voice was stern, but Jenny could hear a faint teasing note in the words.

"I'm asking now.  Please?"

Adam's boots slowly thumped across the floor until he stopped in front of Jenny.  "Upstairs.  Later."  The sofa shook from Linda's continued laughter.  Jenny reached before her to touch his arm, and he took her hand in his and squeezed it gently.

"Maybe you better read that book to all of us, Adam, so we can see what's going on."  Hoss's suggestion even made Adam laugh.

"Speaking of upstairs, didn't you men come in to take Linda's bags up to the guest room?" Adam asked.

Greg hurried forward, followed closely by Hoss.  "Just show me where your bags are, and I'll take them up," said Greg.

"I know where the room is," said Hoss, following Greg closely.  "I'll go."

"You'll both go," said Jenny.  "Linda, show them your bags, will you?"

True to his word, Adam read Jenny a few brief passages from his Walt Whitman book of poems that night.  Jenny lay next to him, loving his closeness and the beautiful sound of his voice as he recited the poetry.  His voice used to be sonorous, melodious, and relaxing to her most of the time, but lately, he nearly always sounded impatient, stressed, or angry.  She hadn't heard  him this relaxed in a long time.

Long before she was tired of listening to him, he closed the book and laid it on the nightstand.  Then he turned toward her.  "What other poems did Linda read to you besides 'I Sit and Look Out'?" he asked.

Jenny felt a nervous dread settle upon her. "Oh, there was something about a horse."  She did her best to be vague.

"Something about a horse," Adam repeated in a slightly mocking voice.

"She said it was from 'Song of Myself'," Jenny continued.   "And there were a few other poems - or actually just selections from them.  I don't think she read all of them...."  Her voice trailed off.

Adam turned her on her back so he was looking directly into her face.  He brushed her hair away from her eyes and said, "What were the names of some of the other poems?"

"I don't remember," Jenny replied evasively.

"What were they about?"

"Umm...well...there were a lot of poems, or selections, that she read.  I don't remember..."  She squirmed to get away, but he held her fast.

"Sounds like you paid real close attention."  The mild sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.

"Adam!  Don't!"  Jenny pleaded.

"Don't what?!  I'm not doing anything except looking at you!"

"I know!  I can feel it!  Stop!"

"Why?  Feel guilty about something?"  He turned her head slightly and blew in her ear.  She squealed and struggled, and screamed when he did it again.  "Some of those poems, my dear, are not fit for ladies' ears."  He nibbled on her ear for emphasis.  "So, why did you listen to them?"

"Well..."  Jenny squirmed.  "He's honest and down-to-earth, more than other poets I've read."  She thought for a moment, trying to put words to her impressions.  "His verse is written in a different style than what I've read before, but he says what he means, and writes about the real world.  What I heard tonight was better than the sugary verse I've heard and read before.  Linda skipped most of the passages that had - something objectionable.  Most of it didn't have anything bad."

Adam nuzzled her ear again, and laughed when she giggled.  "Most of it, hmmm?  Well, let me purify those ears!"

A few minutes later, as Jenny caught her breath and  Adam held her close, he asked, "What did Linda have to say to you today?"

"She didn't have a whole lot to say about the years she's been away.  She worked for and went to church with Mother and Father's friends who ran the boarding house in Silver City, and more or less kept to herself other than that.  She always was a loner, and very independent.  When those friends moved away, she didn't want or see the need to go with them, but she couldn't stay there alone."

"No, it's not safe there for a woman alone," said Adam.  "She's going East with your parents, then?"

"Yes."  Jenny's voice was sad.  "At least I get to see her for a short time."

Adam thought of asking her of Linda's intentions regarding Karen, but thought better of it.  "Does Karen know who she is?" he asked instead.

Jenny shifted uncomfortably.  "I told her about her parents - some - last year, but I'm not sure how much of it she understood or remembers.  I'm afraid to tell her too much about her father."  She was silent for a moment.  "Do you think we should tell her?"

"It depends on what happens," Adam replied.

"I'm not even certain that Karen wanted to understand," said Jenny.  "Less said, the better, perhaps.  But now, Linda's here.  I'm not sure that she wants Karen to know about her.  I'm surprised she's willing to see her, much less stay here with us.  She's trying to put the past behind her.  Hopefully, she can, and we can be a family again."

Adam desperately hoped she was right.

The next morning after breakfast, Jenny set to work canning beans.  Linda helped her, arranging canning jars, lids, and bowls of beans so she could easily reach them.  Then she sat down and began stringing onions.  Rose was sorting potatoes and young Adam was sorting apples, carefully placing the good ones in one bin, and the bad ones in another.

Hoss and Greg lingered in the kitchen.  They had stumbled over one another to retrieve the canning jars from the top shelf of the pantry when Linda had asked where they were.  Jenny had held her breath as she heard them scramble to the pantry, and cringed as they set the boxes heavily on the table, hoping they wouldn't trip over each other's feet and break the jars.  Rose put her dirty hands over her mouth to hide her giggles.

"Anything else I can do for you, Ma'am?" Greg asked.

"Let me get you more twine for them onions," said Hoss.  When he returned, Greg was helping Linda sort the onions by size.  Young Adam snickered as he tossed a bad apple away.

Adam followed Hoss in the door with Karen and Benjamin.  Karen had her apron full of herbs picked in the meadow near the creek.  She had spent the morning resisting Benjamin's efforts to supplement her herb gathering with grass and wildflowers that her younger brother fancied, and keeping him from eating the flowers, while Adam cut down a couple of small dead trees near the creek.

Benjamin pattered across the kitchen to his mother and grabbed her skirts.  "Hi, Mama," he said shyly, and peeked around her skirts at Greg and Linda.

"Benjamin, be careful," Jenny cautioned wearily as she pushed a damp strand of hair off of her face.  "This is hot.  You mustn't hang on me."  Frowning, she turned her face down toward him and sniffed slightly.  "You smell - different.  What have you been doing?"

"I ate the flowers," explained the boy.  "Just like the bunny rabbits!"

Jenny shook her head.  "Benjamin," she chided, "you can get sick doing that.  You must promise me you won't do it again."

"The bunny rabbits don't get sick," protested the little boy.

"Bunnies can eat things that we can't," explained Jenny.  "Don't do that again!  Heavens, Karen, Adam!  He mustn't do that!"

"I tried to stop him," protested Karen.  "Every time I looked at him, he was trying to eat flowers.  And I was supposed to be gathering herbs."

Adam had been watching Hoss and Greg hover over Linda since he entered the house.  "Gentlemen," he finally said.  A slight smile played about his lips.  "I request your services outdoors, please.  Hoss, the wood box needs filling - you can help me with that before we go to the north pasture and drive the cattle down.  Greg, you need to go to the south pasture and help the others finish up that fence repair.  There's still one whole section that hasn't been started yet."  He started out the door.  "Don't make me wait."

Jenny turned suddenly from the stove as he left.  "Hoss," she said, anxious to talk to him before any more time passed, "what did that Indian say in town earlier this week?"

Hoss looked at her, reluctant to speak about it if Adam hadn't already told her.  "Well, he said something about there being a real hard winter coming up.  About how we'd have seven months of blizzards, I think Adam said.  He heard him, not me.  Didn't he tell you about it?"  Hoss had thought Adam might tell her after their talk yesterday.

"No.  He didn't." Jenny turned back to the stove.  "Was Jared in the store when the Indian came in?"

"No, Adam said he didn't see him.  He might have been in the back.  Or at school."

Jenny carefully removed the rack of jars and set them aside.  "Do you think Jared is safe in town?" Jenny turned toward Hoss, her face troubled.

Hoss wondered what to say.  He wanted to assure his sister in-law that her nephew was perfectly safe, but he realized she would know if he lied to her, even if it was a white lie.  He swallowed hard, and finally said, "I reckon that he's about as safe with the Smythe family as anywhere in that town.  There's some rough folks in Virginia City, Jenny, and Roger Smythe has his older sons still livin' with him.  Yes, I figure he's safe there.  Your folks made a good choice for him when they arranged for him to stay there.  Course, he's a widower, so there's no woman's touch in the home, but Roger's a fair hand at cookin' and such."

Jenny turned her attention to the beans again.  "Adam won't take me into town any more."

"Virginia City's a mighty rough place now, Mrs. Cartwright," said Greg.  "Especially for a lady in - well - your condition, Ma'am."

"He took me before, with the other children," commented Jenny.

"You'd find the city mighty changed, Ma'am," said Greg.

"Yes, there's some real rough ones hangin' about on every corner," said Hoss.  "Not safe for a lady."

Jenny thought that some ladies must live there, or go there, but thought it best not to argue.  "I don't want to keep you," she apologized.  "Guess you'd best get outside."

"Anything else we can do for you ladies?" asked Greg.  He and Hoss both looked at Linda.

"No, thank you," Linda replied.  "Don't let us keep you.  We'll be fine."  The two men left the house reluctantly.

As Adam waited for his brother and Greg, he thought perhaps it was good that Linda had come, after all.  She was assisting with preparations for winter, and could help with the children.  Greg and Hoss could help him outside, and he didn't deny that he felt much better with the two extra men on the place.  He couldn't tell his wife of the possible danger they faced, of course.  He simply had to make certain that they didn't inadvertently put themselves in a dangerous position.  At one time, Adam wouldn't have hesitated to allow Karen to pick herbs by the creek by herself.  But that wasn't possible now.  So when he heard Jenny send Karen there,  he went along on the pretext of chopping wood, taking Benjamin to get him out of his wife's hair and away from the boiling water and canning jars.

He looked impatiently toward the door several times as he filled the wood box with the wood he'd chopped by the creek.  Finally, the two men emerged from the house.  He smiled.  "Nice to see you could finally get away.  Now that I have the wood box nearly full, why don't you finish splitting the wood, Hoss, and take the wood box into the house?"

"Sure, Adam," said Hoss, and began splitting more wood and tossing it into the wood box.

"On second thought," said Adam, turning back to his brother, "DON'T take it into the house.  I'LL do that.  If you do it, I may never see you again."

He turned to Greg.  "Ride out to the south pasture - past that creek over there - and help the men with the fence repair.  There's one whole section that still needs to be done.  They should have all the supplies there, but it won't hurt to stop by the shed and get some wire cutters and nails."  Greg left for the stable to get his horse.  Adam took the wood box into the house, barely listening to the laughter and talk of the two women and the giggling chatter of his children, and he and Hoss left for the north pasture.

"You know, Hoss," said Adam, "if you'd rather go back to the kitchen and can vegetables and preserve fruit, and sort potatoes and apples, I'm sure we can arrange that.  I could handle the cattle.  Why, I'm sure the women could even find some sewing for you to do."

Adam forgot to remain at a safe distance from his brother as he needled him, and was rewarded with a slap to his back that nearly knocked him off of his horse and spooked the animal.  Sport ran ahead, prancing wildly,  causing Adam to nearly fall off again.  He laughed, and once he regained control of his horse, cantered him all the way to the north pasture, with Chubb following closely behind.
 

Chapter 6

Once Hoss and Greg were outside, Linda threw her hands in the air.  "Men!" she exclaimed.  "I don't understand!"

Jenny smiled.  "What's not to understand?"

"They both like you, Aunt Linda," said Karen matter-of-factly.

"Yeah!" said Adam.  "Blech!"  Rose giggled, and Benjamin laughed loudly at his brother's funny face.

"Children," said Jenny, "are you finished with your chores here?"

"Almost," said Rose and Adam almost in unison.

"I'm almost finished, too," said Karen.  She was tying bunches of herbs together to hang from the rafters to dry.

A few moments later, when they were finished, Jenny instructed the three older children to push the vegetable bins against the wall.  "And be careful," she said sternly. "If you bruise them, they will spoil, and then the whole bin will be ruined."  Once that was accomplished without mishap, she had them put the bins of bruised or partly spoiled ones by the door.  One of the hands could take them to the stable and sort through them later and decide what was fit to feed to the stock.  Then she sent them off to play.  "Stay near the house," she instructed them.  "And come back in time to eat!"

The house was finally quiet.  "The men's attention to you makes you uncomfortable, I gather," Jenny said to her sister.

"I can't understand why they're interested in me," said Linda.  I'm older than you!"

Jenny was puzzled.  "I gather you don't look like it!  And what does that have to do with it, anyway?"

"I'm tired of men who only look!  "

"Linda," said Jenny quietly, "both Hoss and Greg are very decent, honorable men, who would defend you to the death if need be, and not just because you're my sister.  They're not just looking.  They're good men.  And they can tell a good woman when they see one, though Hoss has been known to have some lapses in  judgment in that area.  This isn't one of them, though."  She finished with a jar of beans, and began another.  "Did you become acquainted with any men in Silver City?" she asked.  "I thought you might get married there."

Linda laughed bitterly.  "Oh, yes, the family I stayed with when I first moved there - Mother and Father's friends who ran the boarding house - made sure I met young men.  But what was the use?  Once the men found out about me, and you know they would have, I wouldn't have stood a chance.  I took care not to get involved, and not to tell anyone anything.   When Father's friends left, I had to come back here.  The town was too rough for me to stay alone."

"Are you going to stay  here, in this area, or remain in the East?" Jenny asked.

"I'll probably come back here," Linda said.  "I'd like to be close to family for a change."

Jenny worked in silence for a while.  "Linda," she ventured to say, "you had one bad experience with Charles.  There's no need to assume every man is the way he is, or even that all others would condemn you for one - mistake."

"Yes!" hissed Linda.  "The mistake!  Except the mistake has a name:  Karen!  And no one will ever forgive me that one mistake!"

"No one is holding it against you," said Jenny as gently as she could.

"What would Adam say, if he were to find out?" asked Linda.

"Linda, he already knows.  He found out before we were married." She paused a moment to let her words sink in.  "There was a hired hand on the Ponderosa who recognized me after we settled in here, and knew about you.  Turned out he was the one who murdered our brother Pat.  Didn't Mother and Father tell you he was caught and sent back East for trial?  He was found guilty and hung."

As her sister said nothing, Jenny continued.  "So people found out, even here, so far west.  Of course, people believe what they wish, and many people have wished to believe over the years that I am Karen's mother.  So I know what you are afraid of, because I have experienced it.  We passed Karen off as Jared's sister - Paul's daughter, and said her parents were dead.  Didn't Mother and Father tell you this?  They wouldn't let me write you."

"They didn't tell me anything," Linda said dully, "because I didn't want to know anything.  I wanted the past to die; not to think about my daughter, her father, our brothers, anything that happened back East."

"You can't escape it," Jenny told her as kindly as she could.  "It will always catch up to you.  As it caught up to us here - many times.  You might as well face it."

She leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs.  "This little one is starting to kick me," she complained as she rubbed her stomach.  She stood and rubbed her back.  "I need to get dinner together.  The men will be here soon."

Linda helped her clear the table. "At least we finished the beans."

"Amen," said Jenny.  "Preserves this afternoon."

As Jenny added vegetables to the stew she had begun preparing earlier, she gave Linda instructions on how to make sourdough biscuits.  "I never cooked while I was away," said Linda.  "I ate in the boardinghouse or a restaurant."

"You always did refuse to learn to cook," laughed Jenny.  But you learned to sew beautifully."

After lunch, Jenny put Benjamin down for a nap.  Then she and Linda began making fruit preserves.  The girls helped them while Adam went outside with his father.

"You know, I remember Mother doing this when I was little," said Linda.  "I thought it was fun to help then, but as I got older, it became work.  I decided I would rather sew.  When Mother asked me what I would do when I married, I told her I didn't want to marry, and if I did, I'd marry a man who knew how to cook.  Or hire a cook."

"All fun becomes work, I guess.  Unless we make it fun," said Jenny.  She began humming "Ye banks and braes of Bonny Doon."

"I remember that!" Linda interrupted excitedly.  "Father always used to sing it in the morning!"

"He sure did," said Jenny, surprised at the outburst.  "He always sang it in the bathtub, too, if you remember."  The women laughed together.  "The neighbors knew when he was taking a bath," continued Jenny.  "They called his singing the 'Scotch Serenade.'"

"'Scuse me, ladies," said Greg's voice behind them.  "I have the chickens Mr. Adam said you wanted."

"Oh, bless you, Greg!  Put them on the cutting board," said Jenny.  The children pounced on the birds to pluck them and save the feathers.  Rose and Karen were each making feather comforters for their dolls, and young Adam wanted some only because his sisters did.

"Anything else I can do for you, Ma'am?"

"Well...in the pantry, a few shelves up, is a big pan."  She described it to him and told him where he could find it.  When he brought it to her, she asked him to put some water in it set it on the stove, which he did willingly.

"Who caught the chickens, Greg?" Jenny asked.

"Oh, I did, Ma'am.  I used to do it all the time for my ma, 'fore she passed on.  Got to be a fair hand at cookin', too, once I was on my own without nobody."  He put his hat back on.  "I'll be going back out to the south pasture if you aren't needin' anything else.  Mr. Adam told me this morning to come back for a spell and make sure you were all right."

Jenny thanked him graciously and assured him they were all right.  "He's such a nice man."

"Both he and Hoss seem like the 'salt of the earth' types," said Linda.  "Sturdy, steady, and reliable."

"They're both all of that and more," Jenny assured her.

"They're not married, are they?" Linda asked suspiciously.

Jenny nearly dropped a jar of preserves in shock.  "No!" she exclaimed.  "Neither of them is married!"

"I was just asking,"  Linda laughed.  "No need to get excited. You'd be amazed how many married men make eyes at single - or married - women."

Jenny shook her head.  "There's enough women about that I'm surprised they're not married.  Haven't found the right woman yet, I suppose.  They deserve someone special, too."

As the days passed, Jenny heard  numerous flocks of birds hastily migrating.  She and her sister were outside one afternoon to remove the washing from the line when a noisy flock of geese, and then another, flew over.  As Jenny removed the clothespins, Linda dropped the garment into a basket to be ironed later by Karen and Rose.  "I think all of these birds are trying to leave at once," Jenny said.  "Even Adam has never seen them leave all together like this.  It's too soon in the season for them to be in such a hurry."

"Well, at least they didn't speckle the laundry this time," commented Linda.  "I'd hate to have to wash it again."

Jenny laughed.  "Yes, that is a big relief.  The girls always hate that, because then they get to wash it again.  One time they let it go, and it was Adam's good shirt that was christened!  Boy, did they hear about that!"   They had a good laugh, and the men working in the yard raised their eyebrows and looked at each other .

Linda lifted the basket of laundry while Jenny carried the tin can of clothespins and kept her hand on her sister's arm as they went into the house.  Jenny lowered her voice as they approached the door.  "I overheard Hoss telling Adam that he thought we might have an early frost, and a blizzard as early as late September or early October."

Linda didn't turn around.  "Mother and Father will have been in Ohio by then, well away from these western blizzards.  But while it is cooler - too chilly for my fancy this time of year - I don't believe it's that cold.  Sounds like that Indian in town has Hoss scared."

Jenny sighed inwardly in frustration.  "Linda, Hoss knows about the outdoors.  He knows everything, from what weather we'll have to how to track a man or an animal.  He's the best man around here to ask about outdoor survival, tracking, or the weather.  The Indians know, too.  How do you think they've survived all these hundreds of years here?"

They entered the house and began preparing supper.  "I hate to say it, little sister, but I'd just as soon rely on the spirit of the coyote than listen to one old Indian."

"It's because he's old that he knows these things," reproved Jenny.  "We don't give the Indians the respect they deserve.  They were here before us.  And it's the spirit of the wolf you would want to rely on.  He's the good spirit.  Coyote is wicked and silly.  He wouldn't be of much help."

Jenny went into the pantry, felt along the bottom shelf, and retrieved a roasting pan.  She brought it into the kitchen and began preparing  roast beef, while Linda stirred up the fire.  Jenny sent Karen and Rose down cellar for some of the fresh beans that were left, as well as potatoes and carrots.  As she put the meat in the oven and told the girls to prepare the vegetables to cook, she said jokingly, "While we're talking of spirits, perhaps we should give thanks to the spirit of the Ponderosa steer who gave us this roast.  The Indians do that, too, you know."

Linda rolled her eyes, shook her head, sighed, and muttered under her breath (or so she thought), "I'm sorry I said anything!"  Jenny smiled mildly.  "I was just joking, sister!"  She wondered at the old rivalry between them  that could flare up so easily.

Once the table was set and dinner was ready to be served, they waited for the men to return to the house and wash up.  Finally, Jenny sent Karen out to see what was keeping them so long.  All the men were watching yet more flocks of birds hurry south, and looking at the northwest sky, which had heavy clouds building up.

"Storm tonight and tomorrow," Hoss said, and Greg and the others nodded and grunted their assent.

"Hopefully rain," said Adam.  "Though it is getting chilly out here.  An early snow is nothing new, but not that heavy a snow."  He noticed Karen standing next to Hoss.  "What's up?"

"Aunt Jenny says supper's ready."

While Karen was outside, Benjamin and Rose had gone to the doorway to wait for the men to come in so they could eat.  Jenny moved close to Linda, who was keeping warm by the stove.  "I didn't want to tell you when the children could hear," she whispered, "but I also heard Adam tell Hoss that several settlers here in the valley have experienced theft of cattle, horses,  meat from smokehouses, and other food, either from the fields before it was harvested, or from where it's stored away - whether in the barn, a shed, or even on the porch of a house.  In a couple of cases, a family's dog was shot - with an arrow."  Linda breathed in sharply, immediately drawing the attention of the two young ones at the door.

"Shhh," Jenny cautioned, jerking her head in the direction of the two restless children whose clothes she could hear rustling about in the doorway.

"Have they been here?" Linda breathed.

Jenny shook her head.  "Not that I know of.  But we don't have a dog right now.  They take time and training, Adam says.  And if the Indians shoot them anyway....But the settlers are angry.  They're talking about going after the Indians."

"Good!" said Linda.

"No, no!" Jenny exclaimed in distress.  "That's not good!  See, they -"

"Here come the men and little Adam," announced Karen.  Adam put a restraining arm on his son to prevent him from hitting the bearer of those tidings.  The men cleaned their boots off, washed up, and everyone sat down to supper.

The rain began during the night.  By morning, the wind was driving  icy pellets against the windows.  As Adam carefully negotiated the slippery yard on his way to the barn and chores,  rain and ice was whipped into his eyes.  In the warmth of the barn, he stood for a moment before lighting a lantern in the semi-darkness and waited for his eyes to stop stinging.

He mulled over the events of the past few days that he hadn't had time or inclination to think about yet.  His mother and father in-law had left yesterday on the stage, five days earlier than originally planned, on their trip East.  This had been a sudden decision on their part,   and when Linda was informed of it, she had expressed her wish to stay with Adam and Jenny this winter.  She really didn't want to go back to Ohio, as there were too many bad memories there.  So she would be staying with them this winter, in order to get reacquainted with her sister and to get to know the family.

Adam didn't understand his reluctance to have Linda here.  She had helped with canning, preserving, sewing (something Jenny couldn't do any longer), and assisted with the children, who had grown to love her in a very short time.  This freed him and the other men to concentrate exclusively on  the outdoor tasks necessary for winter preparation.  Linda's assistance during the coming months could be invaluable, especially with the new baby coming.  It already HAD been invaluable.  Besides, his wife was glad to see her.  She was happier with her sister here.  So why was he in such a foul temper about it?

As Adam fed the stock, he realized that he had counted on a short visit, and thus discounted the prospect of his brother's involvement with her.  But now, with Hoss and Greg here all winter, and Linda here as well.... Hoss and Greg were both smitten with her, there was no doubt about it.  Linda had been cautious around the men at first, though she hadn't snubbed them, but lately she was beginning to warm up to their attentions.  Adam sighed.  It looked like it was going to be a long winter in more ways than one.

The rain mixed with ice changed to ice and snow by mid-morning, and the winds continued to howl, blowing the snow about until the ground was scoured bare in places.  The temperature continued to drop.  By evening chore time, the snow and ice were whirling so fast and thick that Adam could barely feel his way along the clothesline, and from one haystack to another to find his way to the barn.  He chided himself for not tying a rope from the house to the barn that morning so he could find his way more easily.  He was glad to reach the warm and dry barn, and even happier to get back to the house.  Jenny had a bowl of bean soup warmed and a cup of coffee ready for him when he returned.

"Early winter this year," Jenny commented as placed the food before Adam.

"No doubt about it," Adam agreed.  He was still shivering from his trip outdoors.

"Are you sure this isn't just an isolated early storm?" Linda asked.  "It's awfully early for winter to beg