Historical Notes:   Took the following liberties with history:  1) The Max O’Rell quote about flirtation (spoken by Adam) was not published until 1884, but who’s to say it wasn’t in circulation before then?  2) Lily’s mangled Bible verse comes from a 1922 Moffatt translation, so she would have to have been ahead of her time to use exactly those words, but I highly doubt God minds. 3) I cheated on Glory of the Seas; she wasn’t launched till 1869. And, 4) if there was a park on Clay Street in 1863, it was not recorded. Also, technically, the architectural boom really hit San Francisco in the 1870s, but development started earlier than that, and of course Adam Cartwright would have been on the cutting edge of such matters.

Bonanza Note:This assumes that the Cartwrights are the ages assigned by David Dortort:  Ben was born in 1810 and Adam in 1830.

Musical Note:The definitive version of the 300-year-old Irish tune Planxty George Brabazon is on the CD “ Water from the Well,” by The Chieftains.

Disclaimer : Ben and Adam are not mine. Lily, Aubrey, Julia and their households are.
Copyright © 2002 as allowed
 
 

BEN CARTWRIGHT knew that something was wrong when he gazed at the approaching skyline of San Francisco and failed to note even the slightest detail. Only one view in the world surpassed it, and that was Lake Tahoe from the wooded hills of the Ponderosa. Today neither excited his interest.

He eased a finger under the collar of his shirt. “At least there’s a breeze,” he muttered to his son Adam. The temperature was soaring—a misleading quirk of coastal California, where the disappearance of the sun in a few hours would herald a sharp chill. Around them, beyond the dark waters of the bay, the hills were an arid golden brown, almost shimmering in the unseasonable heat of late September.

“Not long to go now,” Adam commented, shooting his father a worried glance. “I’ll see that our trunk’s ready to claim. Why don’t you go up on the second deck? We have time for a drink before we land.”

“No, I’ll wait for you here.” Ben turned away, surveying the broad foredeck of the sternwheeler Edmund P. Morris, late of Sacramento.  It was a maze of freight and hostlers, passengers and rivermen, all, it seemed, swirling in a kaleidoscope of color as they prepared for landing at Howison’s Wharf.

He watched with detachment, almost oblivious to all the action. A sort of weariness was creeping through him, and he didn’t mind letting Adam take care of their baggage. He could see his son gesturing to the handlers, tossing them coins and finally shouldering a way back through the passengers.

“That’s done,” Adam said, resting both hands on the rail. He threw back his head and closed his eyes to let the wind wash over his face. Capriciously, it toyed with his black hair, playing in the curls that had materialized in the damp heat. His olive skin glowed with a fine sheen of sweat, emphasizing the high planes of his cheeks and the supple cording of muscles in his neck.

He looks, Ben reflected, like a strong young panther, full of vitality, of leashed energy. Instinctively, he hid his own fatigue. None of his sons would understand—good heavens, he didn’t even understand what was causing a sudden and peculiar uncertainty within himself.

“You feeling all right, Pa?”

“Sure … why?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Adam stared out over the water at the panorama of San Francisco. “You’ve been a little—different—ever since Hoss and Eleanor announced their engagement.”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Ben said, but a small inner voice countered, Liar. “What exactly do you mean?”

Adam shrugged. “Maybe it’s my imagination.”

“Well … Hoss’ marriage  was a surprise—a nice surprise, but just the same …” One of your boys is getting married, the inner voice whispered. Everything is changing.  He shied away. “Maybe I was just thinking about what we have to get done. A full agenda in the city, and then when we get home, there’ll be the wedding. … A lot of important things going on, son.”

Adam nodded, this time meeting this father’s gaze, his clear hazel-brown eyes twinkling. “Well, at least we only have to take care of San Francisco. The wedding’s about as under control as Eleanor’s mother can make it.”

“Being the father of the groom does have its advantages,” Ben agreed with a crooked smile and lapsed into silence. It all felt so strange. Hoss the first one … Somehow, he’d just never doubted that Adam or Joe, both more at ease with the ladies, would be the first to take a wife. But that inner voice would not go away. It isn’t ‘who’ that’s got you all riled up.  It’s simply that one of your boys is starting a family of his own. It’s a milestone, a turning point. A big one.

He shifted uncomfortably and finally offered, “I was just thinking about our first trip to San Francisco. Remember?”

Surprise flickered on Adam’s face. His father was rarely nostalgic, and now his tone was alarmingly sentimental. “Us? Ah … the summer before I went east, so I guess—sixteen years ago.”

“M’m … Marie had just died.”

“And Sarah was still alive. Aubrey had just started Van Dine & Bondurant, and Jessica and Anthony were fifteen or sixteen.”

Ben nodded at the mention of the family they would be visiting in San Francisco.  He’d known Aubrey since his childhood—had been best man at his friend’s wedding to Sarah, back in Boston, before Adam had been born. But Sarah had been dead for years, and Jessica and Anthony now were grown and living in the east. Aubrey was happily married to Julia and had a new young family.

He smiled a little to himself as he remembered that first trip to San Francisco. He could see Adam clearly back then, a lean, serious boy burdened by the premature responsibilities of holding a ranch together while his father battled overwhelming grief. The trip had been a reward, an expression of appreciation for the boy’s hard work during a critical time. It all seemed so long ago.

For a second, Ben considered discussing his unease with Adam. There was very little he couldn’t say to his eldest son, and he valued Adam’s opinion over nearly everyone else’s in the world. But not this … how could he say that with his boys moving on in their lives, he suddenly felt as if his own had lost its meaning? Not only did it sound stupid—and it was—but it would make them feel awful. Not to mention that they would never look at him with the same respect and trust again. It would open the door to their pity, and that he couldn’t stand.
 
 

In less than an hour, the steamboat was secured to the big stanchions on San Francisco’s Howison’s Wharf and Adam had gone to claim the trunk that contained most of the clothing they would wear in the city.

Ben was searching the crowd on the dock when he felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around to find a stout older man in dark green livery. “Doyle! It’s good to see you!” he exclaimed.

The coachman tipped his hat. “And it’s always good to see you, too, sir. I’ve got the rig right over there. Don’t you worry, Peter’ll go with Mr. Adam to get yer luggage, and he’ll bring it in the cart.”

Ben followed Doyle’s gesture and located the Van Dine landau, a shiny black affair pulled by a pair of matched bays. He had no more than stowed their carpetbags when Adam appeared with a young man in the same formal livery, lugging a trunk which they loaded on a small gig that was ground-tied nearby. Then Doyle opened the door for his passengers and in moments, they heard him chirrup to the horses.

“This is nice,” Adam commented, running his hand over the soft leather seat. “I don't think I've ever seen a landau fitted out for just two horses.   Aubrey’s doing very well for himself.”

“He’s done well for us, too,” Ben observed. Since Aubrey Van Dine had become the Ponderosa’s commercial agent three years before, they’d seen their cattle, timber and mining operations burgeon. It was well worth the twice-yearly trips to San Francisco to meet with the buyers Van Dine & Bondurant found for the myriad of products the big ranch offered.

He gazed out the window at the steady stream of wagons and riders eddying around them as Doyle maneuvered the team out to California Street and past the busy Montgomery intersection. Then the horses leaned into their harness to negotiate a long, steep incline to the top of one of the area’s famous hills. Before long they’d be at the edge of town, where wealthy San Franciscans, Aubrey among them, were building stylish mansions.

The city was a far cry from the undistinguished collection of rough buildings and tents he and Adam had found all those years ago, Ben thought. Some of the streets were now cobblestone, and unvarnished plank facades were giving way to elaborate brick and stone architecture. It was becoming ever more beautiful, with its vistas of the surrounding sea.

“It was like this …” he said unexpectedly, surprising even himself.

“Like what, Pa?”

There was nothing to do but finish the thought. “Like this whenever we’d come into port from a long voyage.” His smiled in recollection. “Even to Boston, which was home and nothing new to us … We looked forward to the excitement of a city, so different from a ship at sea—or, I suppose now, from the Ponderosa.”

“Yes, Boston may have been everything that’s old and familiar,” Adam agreed. “But here, you’re always approaching something new. Who’s to know how San Francisco will turn out? It’s settling down in a lot of ways, but it’s still a little wild …” His voice softened as he contemplated the passing scene. “As if it’s been caught halfway between history and what’s to come.”

Through the open window, the wind ruffled Ben’s silver hair, blowing a lock down across his forehead. Adam was such a strange mix of poetry and reality, he reflected, more than a little impressed with his son’s mercurial intellect. His son—just as Hoss and Little Joe were his sons … individual, unique … and more important to him than anything else in the world.

More strongly than ever, he was reminded that something fundamental in his life was changing, and it seemed just beyond his understanding. Good God … I’m marrying a son off, not sending him to the south seas , he reminded himself with asperity. It made him angry to feel so inadequate in the face of what was really just a normal passage of life.

“It’s certainly a lot different than it was sixteen years ago,” he finally said to cover the silence, and fished in his waistcoat pocket for his watch. “We’re a little late. I hope that doesn’t inconvenience Julia.”

“I doubt it will. Probably upsetting the rest of the family more. What d’you want to bet that Madison’s in the window right now, counting the minutes till you arrive?”

“Well, we won’t keep him waiting much longer.”

The coach took a sharp right on Mason and crossed the crest of the hill before turning left on to Clay and pulling up before a flight of steps which rose to an elegant four-story home. Almost immediately, the door of the house opened and another liveried young man bolted out, followed by a thin, sandy-haired figure in the gray day uniform of a butler.

“Welcome, Mr. Cartwright!”

Ben’s eyes lit with pleasure and the tight muscles of his shoulders loosened just a fraction. “Samuel, how have you been?”

The butler snatched their carpetbags with the familiar tsk, tsk of a servant long accustomed to his guests. “You gentlemen know better than to carry your own grips!—Just fine, Mr. Cartwright, thank you for asking. I think you’ll find little changed here since your last visit.” He motioned to the footman to take care of the trunk. “You’re in your regular suites, of course. Mrs. Van Dine is with the children in the study. They’ve been expecting you.”

Ben nodded, suddenly sure that Julia Van Dine and her children would lighten his mood. He followed Samuel into the house and barely slowed in the large main entrance hall, hurrying up the stairs which led to the less public rooms on the next floor.

“I guess we’re not cleaning up first,” Adam said dryly, handing the butler his hat.

Julia’s radiant smile, as she rose with a swirl of skirts to embrace them, confirmed their welcome. “Ben! Adam! It’s so good to see you!”

Ben’s arms closed around her. “Julia, my dear. You’re looking better than ever … and who are these fine folks? I don’t remember anyone in your family this big!”

At nine, Michaela Van Dine blushed furiously. “It’s just me, Uncle Ben. Michaela. You know me.”

He released her mother to Adam and accorded the same bear-hug treatment to the little girl. “Of course I do, Michaela! You’re such a beautiful young lady.”

Then he shook hands with Ted, the quiet, serious middle boy, and Madison, the impish youngest who reminded him so much of Joseph at the age of seven. All the children had their mother’s delicate features and enormous blue eyes—which was a good thing, Ben considered, for although he cared deeply for his friend Aubrey, there was no denying that the man’s strong point was his business acumen and not his appearance.

“Let me ring for tea,” Julia said when Adam had greeted the children. “Or would you prefer something stronger?”

“No, no—tea would be just fine, thank you,” Ben replied, and swiping ineffectually at his jacket, sat down in a leather chair. It was fortunate that Julia had not chosen the drawing room, he thought; the heavy brocades and silks wouldn’t have allowed their lounging around in suits that were dusty from travel. Life in San Francisco was a good deal different from the Ponderosa.

He couldn’t help smiling as he watched Michaela lead Adam to a window seat and show him her latest book. Another difference from home and the shared bachelorhood of his family—children and their activities. Michaela was gazing at Adam as if he had hung the moon, clearly in the throes of a young girl’s crush.

“Was it a difficult journey?” Julia asked.

“Not so hard. Just long, and we were delayed out of Sacramento.” He frowned. “Maybe I’m just getting old. That sort of thing doesn’t usually upset me.”

Julia laughed. “You, old!  Just imagine!”

Ben sat back and stretched out his legs, a certain peace stealing over him. He so loved watching the children; their casual, affectionate infighting reminded him of Hoss and Joe as children. Adam, being older, hadn’t enjoyed the luxury of a carefree childhood—none of them had, really, but when Marie had been alive, Hoss and Joe had been as silly and rambunctious as Ted and Maddie.

Yes, he decided, the children were just what the doctor ordered.
 
 

“Uncle Ben, Adam, come to the park with us!” exclaimed Ted and immediately the other two chimed in as well. They were trying hard not to interrupt, but their natural exuberance could not be contained any longer. The teapot was empty, the conversation settling into a comfortable lull.

Julia threw Ben a smile of apology. “Children, mind your manners! Ben and Adam have only just arrived! Give them a chance to breathe. We’ll all go to the park tomorrow.”

“But Lily’s there now,” Ted pointed out politely, pushing his spectacles farther back up his nose. “And we promised her yesterday that we would see her today.”

“Well, Lily will be there tomorrow, and you can apologize for making such a rash promise. Now—”

“Julia, actually, I’d be glad for a walk, if you’ll trust me with the children,” Ben interjected gently. “We’ve been traveling for three days now. I’d like nothing better than to stretch my legs.”

“You’re sure you want to take on this brood?” Julia looked doubtfully at her offspring, who tried to assume the appearance of angels.

“Of course.  You children will promise to do as I say, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Oh, yes, Uncle Ben—”

“You bet!”

Ben stifled a grin. If Madison got any more like Joseph had been at that age, he would think he’d gone back in time. “Well then, what do you say we clear out of here and give your mother a little time to herself?”

Julia squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Ben. Aubrey sent word from the office that he’s bringing two men home to supper tonight, I suppose to talk business with you. Cook and I are making some adjustments.”

“Don’t you worry a bit, Julia. We’ll have a fine time. Adam, are you coming?”

“Ah—no, Pa, thanks, I think I’ll pass. I have some work to do.” Adam captured Michaela’s hand. “You’ll promise to help make these two rapscallions mind my Pa, won’t you?”

“Yes, Adam, of course!”

“Uncle Ben, what’s a rapscallion?” Ted inquired.

“Pay no attention to Adam, Ted!” Ben shot his son a wry glance. “But for your information, a rapscallion is something he was when he was your age.”

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to wane in the new park down the street when they got there. The trees cast long, slanting shadows across the lawns, and in the tranquil silence, Michaela, Ted and Madison kept their voices down as they pointed out their favorite spots to Ben.

“See the fountain, Uncle Ben? Our neighbor, Mrs. Gillette, just built it.  Ted wants to sail his boat there, but Papa says he can’t.”

“I like that hill over there! Michaela and I rolled down it one day. Mama was awful mad because we got green streaks all over our clothes.”

“Where’s Lily? My favorite part of the park is Lily!”

Ben leaned down to his smallest charge. “And who is Lily, Madison? Why is she so special?”

But Madison couldn’t explain himself. Michaela helped. “She’s Lily Mercer. She lives up the street. Her husband died a few years ago.”

“And she’s a good friend?”

“Oh, yes. Lily’s …”  Michaela struggled and finally gave up, too. “She’s a good friend.”

“Uncle Ben—” Madison was tugging at Ben’s coat sleeve. “May I have a ride on your back?”

Ben smiled indulgently. There was a request he hadn’t heard in fifteen years. He bent down so that Madison could scramble up into position.

The little boy wrapped his arms around Ben’s neck. “I won’t make you gallop,” he said. “I know you’re tired from the boat and stuff.”

Ben smothered a grin and thanked him. Maddie wasn’t heavy, but he squirmed constantly in excitement.

“There’s Lily!” Madison suddenly cried. “C’mon, Uncle Ben, you have to meet Lily—”  He beat a tattoo with his heels into Ben’s stomach.

“Madison!” Ben’s voice was low, but brooked no argument. “Calm down.” The boy became still instantly.

With what dignity he could muster, Ben strode down the path toward the solitary figure approaching from the opposite direction. He wasn’t really in the mood to meet anyone above the age of ten, but it couldn’t be helped.

For her part, Lily Mercer didn’t seem to be paying any attention to him.  She was too busy greeting the children, laughing at something Ted was telling her. She was quite attractive, he noticed: Her yellow dress fit her well, accenting a figure that was both mature and alluring, and her dark auburn hair was swept back from her face to a bun at the nape of her neck. The stray locks which curled near her cheeks looked not unkempt, but intriguingly casual, tiny imperfections in otherwise flawless grooming.

When they were almost face to face, he bent down to let Madison slide to the ground, and rose to encounter a pair of blue eyes that both welcomed and challenged him as they looked him over with interest.

“Lily! Lily! You have to meet Uncle Ben!” Madison chattered shrilly, grabbing Mrs. Mercer’s hand and dancing around.

Michaela intervened—no doubt, Ben reflected, trying to heed Adam’s instructions. “Hush, Maddie! You have to do it properly! … Mrs. Mercer, I’d like to present our friend, Mr. Cartwright.”

Lily’s lips were quivering as she extended her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Cartwright. How nice to meet you.”

Stealing a little of her poise, Ben shook her hand. “And I you, Mrs. Mercer. These three have spoken of no one else since my arrival.”

Before he could say more, Ted challenged Madison to a race to the footbridge, and with an apologetic glance, Michaela declared that she’d better make sure it was a fair contest or they’d be fighting all the way home. Ben was left standing with Lily Mercer on the deserted path.

“Do you have time to stay with them for a little while?” he asked. “They’ll be disappointed if you have to go now.”

“Of course. A day isn’t complete without our little outing in the park.” He offered her his arm and they followed Michaela, Ted and Madison at a slower pace. “You came all the way from the Nevada territory?”

“The children really do talk! Yes, my son Adam and I are here for a few weeks.”

“Is he the one getting married? Maddie especially can’t wait for you to bring grandchildren to San Francisco with you.”

Ben roared with laughter. “Good heavens, that’ll be a few more years yet! No, it’s my middle boy, Hoss, who’ll be marrying when we return. So I don’t mind saying there may be a grandchild before too long, but it won’t be right away.”

Lily’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, Julia mentioned the wedding. She so much wants to attend, I wouldn’t be surprised if Aubrey arranges it.” She looked ahead to make sure the children were not getting into mischief. “I hear that he’ll make a wonderful father, and the general consensus is that you will spoil your grandchildren shamefully.”

Ben measured his strides to her shorter ones. “Hoss will be a good father. As for me as a grandfather”—he shrugged—“we’ll have to see about the spoiling. I’ve always believed in discipline. I love my boys, but I’ve never, not once, spoiled them.”

“Yes, but that’s what grandchildren are for—to spoil. I’ll bet your sons will be delighted to see that side of you.”

“If that happens, they’ll be amazed, I can assure you. … Do you have children?”

“No. No, I would love to have had children, but my late husband and I couldn’t.” She glanced up with a quick smile. “I’m not complaining, because you see, I have Michaela and Ted and Maddie. Their own grandmothers passed away before they were born, so I’ve taken it upon myself to stand in.”

“I’m sure you do a thorough job of spoiling them, but no one would mistake you for Julia’s or Aubrey’s mother!”

“How kind you are!”

“I only speak the truth.” He helped her up a set of steps in the path. “I wonder that we haven’t met before. I come to San Francisco twice a year.”

“During my husband’s illness, I rarely went out. In fact, the only times I did were to Julia and Aubrey’s for dinner, but those were very quiet affairs. It wouldn’t have done for me to be socializing when Howard was so sick.”

“How long has he …?”

“He’s been gone two years now. After he died, I traveled. I believe I was in Baltimore when you were here last winter.”

“Adam loves Baltimore.  He visited friends there while he was at college in Boston.”

“It’s such a beautiful city. In fact, it’s where I finally realized that it was time to come home and pick up my life again. What a delightful surprise it was to find that the children still remembered me!  We have such wonderful times together.”

They reached the footbridge where the boys’ race had ended, and all three children were peering into the clear currents of a small stream.

“Look, Uncle Ben,” Maddie exclaimed, reaching up to grab Ben’s hand and haul him over to the railing. “Look! There’re fish in the creek! What kind of fish are they? Can you tell?”

“Maddie, I have no idea. They look like trout, but they’re too small.”

“Maybe they’re like me—they just aren’t big yet.”

“That could well be. In that case, you’ll want to keep an eye on them and see that they grow up properly.”

“I will,” the boy promised, and crouched down to examine the fish more closely. Ben and Lily exchanged an amused glance.

Ted leaned far out over the bridge’s handrail. “Maddie, how will you know which one is which?”

Maddie scrunched up his face in concentration.

“I think,” Ben interposed, “that the point is to watch out for all of them.”

“Like Papa and Mama watch out for us,” the little boy said. “And Lily. She watches out for us, too.”

From the corner of his eye, Ben saw Lily flush with appreciation. There was a certain serenity about her that was very feminine, he thought, watching her tell Madison thank you for his generous words. She knelt to re-tie the bow on Michaela’s sash, which had come loose in the girl’s headlong rush to the bridge.

“Perhaps, Mickey, you might not be quite such an enthusiastic runner next time,” she cautioned lightly as she looped the pale blue cotton and tightened its knot.

“Oh, Lily, is it so important? Do I always have to look perfect?  I think it’s not fair.  The boys can do anything they like! They don’t have to worry about what they look like!”

“Well, darling, it doesn’t mean you have to give up all your fun. Perhaps just temper your actions a little. It’s important that a lady always looks like a lady.” Lily glanced up to find Ben’s eyes on her. “Wouldn’t you say that’s true, Mr. Cartwright?”

“I’d say that’s very good advice, Michaela. I’m afraid we men do like our ladies to look like the very special and captivating creatures they are.”

“Adam, too?”

“Yes, Adam, too. I think if you use your mother and Mrs. Mercer as examples, you’ll have no trouble at all when you grow up.”

“And now, I think we should start back,” Lily said. “Your mama will be wondering where you are. And besides, it’s getting chilly. The sun’s going down.”

“I’ll race you to the gates!” Ted exclaimed, and bolted down the path. Maddie leapt forward like a deer and Michaela spun quickly, then caught Lily’s glance, and with a sigh, trotted off sedately. Lily smothered a laugh, but her eyes met Ben’s eloquently.

He again offered her his arm, and when her fingers slipped over his sleeve, he covered them with his other hand. “I’d like it very much if you’d call me ‘Ben,’” he said.

“If you’ll call me ‘Lily.’”

“Consider it a deal, then. After all, as surrogate family, we really should be on a first-name basis.”
 
 

LILY closed the door behind her and listened thoughtfully as Ben Cartwright and the Van Dine children crossed the wide porch and descended the steps to the street. She smiled faintly; he’d been very courtly, when in his rich, deep voice he’d insisted that they walk her home.

“Mrs. Mercer!” a voice behind her said. “You have only an hour before your guests are due! What were you thinking, ma’am? You’ll have to hurry!”

Lily patted the plump, grey-haired woman who looked at her anxiously. “Yes, Hannah, I know. I guess I wasn’t thinking. But don’t worry, I won’t be long.”

She was a little bemused with herself.  With dinner guests—fortunately, old friends—coming that evening, she’d had no business remaining late in the park. But Michaela, Ted and Madison had spoken of nothing but Ben Cartwright for days, and she’d promised them she would meet him. It was no good telling herself that she could easily have postponed it until tomorrow.

In her room, her maid unhooked the long line of buttons down the back of her dress and Lily quickly stepped free of it. Not for the first time did she wish that she could forgo her corset, as she daringly had when she was younger. But old habits died hard, and while she was not overweight, she recognized that after a certain age, a woman’s figure just wasn’t as firm. She waited patiently while the maid untied the lacings of the uncomfortable garment.

In the room used for bathing, her housekeeper, Hannah Trask, was dispensing bath salts into the brimming copper tub, and Lily lowered herself gratefully into the water. “Now, give me a few minutes, Hannah, and don’t worry. I’ll be out and dressed in plenty of time.”

“Mrs. Mercer, I just don’t understand it. You’re never late for anything!”

“And I won’t be tonight—now go on, just give me time to catch my breath.”

She wasn’t sure herself why she’d remained in the park, why she hadn’t at least, having met Ben Cartwright, excused herself.  With a sigh, she gave up the questioning. She’d been having a good time, obviously. Ben was a nice man.

She really hadn’t known what to expect of him, although she’d heard about him from Aubrey and Julia forever. Perhaps she’d avoided meeting him in the past because she suspected they might be entertaining some idea that she and Ben could be attracted to each other. She hadn’t been ready for any sort of romantic liaison then, and probably wasn’t now, but at least now she felt confident enough of herself to welcome new experiences … and Ben Cartwright had proved to be a good new experience.

It was his eyes, she decided. At first, he’d appeared just what she’d imagined: tall and handsome in a rough-hewn sort of way—distinguished, with that silver hair. His suit fit him so well that she had trouble picturing him in whatever garb ranchers typically wore, but there had definitely been a dimension about him which could not be confined to the city. One knew right away that he was as adept physically as he was mentally.

He’d been unfailingly courteous to her, almost old-fashioned … but she’d seen that before on countless men. On occasion when he spoke to one of the boys, she had heard the ring of authority which she was sure had characterized his relationships with his sons. And then, at other times, his dark brown eyes had positively melted when he looked at the children. That fascinated her.

She ran a sponge over her arms, down her legs. Nothing would come of it, of course, but she was glad she’d worn the yellow silk dress today, and glad that she had always worked at keeping her figure, even when there seemed no real reason. Now that Howard was gone, she was not looking for another husband. But on the odd occasion when a man like Ben Cartwright looked at her, she was relieved that she didn’t have to apologize about herself.

Then she was reminded of the time and with a great splashing of water, she rose and wrapped herself in a towel. She had guests coming soon, and old friends or not, she had to be in the drawing room to greet them.
 
 

A few houses away, Ben reflected that the walk in the park had been the real turning point in what had been a rather unpleasant day. The heat of the afternoon, the stress of travel, the unquiet thoughts had all faded away.

First, there had been the park’s clean, sharp scent of the sea, a welcome change from the stagecoach, the train and the crowded steamboat. And the coastal pines had reminded him of the towering forests of the Ponderosa—smaller, perhaps, but the same striking green.

Then there had been the agreeable stroll with the children and Lily Mercer. On the long walk to the park gate, she’d been an interesting conversationalist, well informed but inquisitive, thoughtful and open-minded. Altogether, she was a charming woman, remarkably free of vanity as far as he could tell. And it didn’t hurt that she was lovely to look at. He could see why Michaela, Ted and Madison liked her.

Finally, there had been his return to the house. Samuel had unpacked his luggage, laid out his evening clothes, and set up a huge brass tub of steaming water in a closet just off his suite. When he had emerged from his bath, scrubbed clean and refreshed, he’d found a crystal decanter of Aubrey’s premium Kentucky bourbon on the table next to the room’s most comfortable chair. A fire crackled in the big hearth, and the hands of the ornate clock on the mantel told him that he had half an hour before he was expected downstairs. A man could hardly ask for more.

He poured a small glass of whiskey and sipped appreciatively, barely able to suppress an audible “Ahhhhh.”  Then he carried it to the dresser and peered into the looking glass he’d used to shave before his bath. Samuel had laid out his silver-backed brushes, and he ran one through his hair.

All these thoughts about himself lately, who he was and how he wanted to live at this point in his life … He examined himself in the shaving mirror and saw a rather craggy face, tanned by the sun and the wind, surrounded by a longish mane of silver-grey hair. Did he look particularly old? Like a kindly grandfather? He was only fifty-three, for heaven’s sake. And while he looked forward to grandchildren, he realized suddenly that he didn’t want to be considered exactly a grandfather. At least his eyes, a clear, resonant brown, looked alert … straight-forward, no nonsense. He certainly did not have the rheumy gaze of a man past his best years.

That was just his face, however. He turned slightly to catch his full reflection in the free-standing glass by the wardrobe. What he saw again was reassuring: a tall man with a barrel chest; strong, muscular arms and legs; a waist perhaps no longer boyishly thin, but certainly not soft or fat. Life at the ranch, hard as it could be, had left him very fit for his years. He flushed with embarrassment.  Since when had he been concerned with how he looked, other than to be as clean and tidy as his mother had taught him?

It was not until he’d stepped into the dark trousers of his suit and donned a white linen shirt that he realized his uncharacteristic attention to his appearance was because of Lily Mercer. He’d suddenly wanted to see himself as she—or, he amended, any woman—would see him.

Impatiently, he crammed the shirttails into his pants. Was he turning into some kind of schoolboy or something? He met women often without wondering what they thought of how he looked. How one looked was the province of the ladies. For men, it was who one was … what he’d done.

The circuitous thoughts were interrupted by a light tap at the door. “Come in!” he called, glad for the distraction.

Aubrey Van Dine entered, dressed for dinner, his sparse reddish-grey hair slicked back  with pomade. “Ben!” he exclaimed jovially. “I’m sorry not to have been here when you and Adam arrived!”

“Aubrey, don’t mention it. Julia tells me we’re having guests at dinner—I assume that would be Foley and Birdsall, which tells me that you were working on our behalf.”

“You’d be right. I think you’ll find that this contract will be easy to conclude.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Ben waved at a chair next to the fire. “Would you like a glass of your own bourbon? It’s good to have a few moments alone before they get here.”

Aubrey nodded. “It’s good to have a few minutes where we won’t talk business. … How’ve you been, old friend?”

Ben handed him the drink. “I can’t complain—can’t complain at all. The winter was easier than usual … cattle prices are up, and these timber contracts are looking good.” He grinned. “Now, tell me about yourself.”

Aubrey, a portly man whose city lifestyle was apparent in his soft hands and spreading middle, smiled. “I can’t complain, either. I bless m’fortune every day that I found Julia; she’s a saint. I hear you took the children t’the park—you were the most special thing in their day, y’know. Ted absolutely worships you, and I swear, Michaela’ll be beggin’ you t’make one o’ your sons wait for her.”

“Which one?” Ben inquired with a laugh. On occasion, all of his boys had traveled to San Francisco and they knew the Van Dines.

“Well, before today I’d’ve said any one, long as he was your son. But Julia tells me it’s goin’ to have t’be Adam. I think Michaela’s a bit smitten.”

“I thought I saw something along those lines. Well, the way Adam seems to shy away from settling down, he may just be there waiting for her when she grows up! You’re going to have your hands full in a few years. She’s becoming quite a beauty.”

“I know. I just hope I’m strong enough t’handle it. An’ I hope they minded their manners in the park. If they didn’t, you must tell us. I won’t have my children behavin’ like urchins.”

Ben smiled as he listened to his friend’s speech. A native Bostonian, Aubrey had lived briefly in England before coming west, and ever since had reflected a slight Oxbridge accent over his New England brogue. The result was unique. “They were perfectly fine, Aubrey. You needn’t worry. They introduced me to a very nice friend of theirs.”

“Ah, I’ll wager that was Lily Mercer. They’re quite devoted to ’er.” Aubrey savored the bourbon before continuing, “Her husband Howard was a good friend for many years, and Lily was indispensable t’Julia when we were married. In fact, I’d say she’s prob’ly m’wife’s best friend. She’s older’n Julia, o’ course, and was able to offer a good deal o’ wise counsel. But she’s never been dull and staid, you know, that sorta thing, so they’ve always gotten on—sometimes, I must admit, like school chums. Quite amazin’.”

“Did I ever meet her husband? I don’t remember.”

“Don’t think so. He was ill for a long time. Very difficult for Lily. If y’like, we might invite ’er for dinner while you’re here. I’m sure she’d enjoy it.”

“That would be nice. She … she’s lovely … ” Like the children, Ben suddenly found himself at a loss to describe Lily Mercer.

Aubrey’s lips twitched humorously. “Ah, the famous Mercer spell. Can’t describe ’er, can ya?”

Ben flushed. “No, I suppose not. What’s that all about?”

“Damned if I know. It’s just funny—happens t’all of us. Ya try t’describe Lily Mercer, and the words don’t come. Ya think o’ one phrase, and it’s true, but it doesn’ cover it all. So you think o’ another, and that doesn’ do it either.”  He shrugged. “And now, I think, we’d better head downstairs. Adam’s already down, talkin’ t’Julia, and Foley and Birdsall will be here anytime.”
 
 

By the time Darius Foley and Jim Birdsall left, replete with food and a generous allowance of wine and spirits, the hands of the clock were advancing toward midnight. Ben yawned. He felt sure that their timber contract would be completed on the morrow, and his highest priority was quickly developing into a good night’s sleep. He left Adam and Aubrey to a final brandy.

The fire in his bedroom was burning low when he changed into a nightshirt and tossed his dressing gown over the chair by the mantel. Samuel had seen to it that the big mahogany bed had extra feather pillows, and he piled them up with great anticipation before turning down the oil lamp.

He didn’t know how long it had been when he heard a faint tapping at the door. A few minutes? Half an hour? At first he was disoriented, so he must have been asleep. There it was again … a light knock. He threw back the covers and retrieved his robe from the chair, hastily belting it around himself before he swung open the door.

His eyes huge, Maddie looked up him. The little boy was clad only in a blue plaid nightshirt, his feet bare. “I couldn’t sleep, Uncle Ben,” he whispered.

“Maddie!” Ben stepped back. “Come in here. Are you cold? Where are your shoes?”

Maddie darted into the room and scrambled up on the bed, tucking his feet under the covers. “Not cold, ’cept my feet. You won’t tell Mama I’m here, will you?”

Closing the door, Ben frowned slightly and followed the boy into the room. His voice remained kind. “Madison, I’m not going to deceive your mother. Why don’t you want her to know?”

“’Cause she’d skin me. You’re a guest.”

“I’m a friend, too.”

“Yeah, but she wouldn’t want me botherin’ ya.”

Ben sat down on the side of the bed. “You’re not bothering me, son. I’m happy to see you … but why can’t you sleep?”

Madison hesitated and then blurted, “I have bad dreams.”

“I see.”

“An’ I just had one. It was pretty scary, Uncle Ben.”

Ben leaned over to twist the stem on the lamp, bringing the light up in the room. He could see now that Madison, although he tried to appear calm, was trembling. Probably still fearful from the dream, he thought. He slid a little closer and opened his arms. “Come here.”

The boy needed no further urging. He hurled his body across the short space between them, wrapping his arms around Ben’s waist and burying his face in the soft quilted velvet of the dressing gown. Ben clasped him tightly, absorbing the child’s faint shudders and stroking his back. Without thinking, he dropped a kiss on Maddie’s tousled hair.

“You know, it’s no crime to be frightened,” he said softly.

“I’m s’posed to be brave.”

“Oh, Maddie …” Ben smiled crookedly. “No one’s brave all the time. And besides, it’s something you practice as you get older. You get better at it as you go along. What do you dream about that’s so bad?”

But Maddie only buried his head farther into Ben’s gown.

“Madison.” Ben kept his voice low, but he gently disengaged Maddie’s arms, and made the child sit up and look at him. “Now tell me. What was your dream about?”

Great tears rose in Maddie’s eyes, and he hiccuped nervously. “I’m all alone. Our house isn’t here. And I can’t find Mama and Papa.”

Ben had to resist folding Maddie back into his arms; everything in him wanted to cradle the child and comfort him. But he forced himself simply to stroke Maddie’s cheek and hold his wide eyes in a reassuring gaze. “Madison, of course that would upset you,” he said. “It’s all right that you feel like you do.”

“It is?” Madison snuffled dramatically, and Ben reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. How many times, he thought, had he done just the same thing for Joe, Hoss and Adam when they were young? Helped them dry their tears, while trying to teach them the dignity and control they’d need as grown men.

“You do. Your parents and Michaela and Ted are the dearest people in your life. If you were to lose them, you’d be very unhappy, so of course it would frighten you. But it’s just a dream, and it didn’t happen. You have to remember that.”

Madison nodded, his eyes still swimming in tears, but his jaw clamped against quivering.

“In fact, I’d venture to say that if your papa or your mama had that same dream, they’d be frightened, too.”

“Not papa.”

“Even your papa,” Ben nodded. “If I dreamed that about Adam and Hoss and Joe, I’d be very scared.”

“You would?”

“Of course.” Ben combed Maddie’s curly hair with his fingers. “And as you get older, you’ll learn how to help yourself get over that fear.” He smiled. “But in the meantime, you try not to think too much about it. Is this the first time you’ve had that dream?”

Maddie shook his head. “No. I had it last week, too. And once before that.”

Ben sighed. He wished mightily that he could simply banish the child’s nightmare and spare him its devastating effects. “Son, I want you to promise me something, and that’s that you’ll tell your mother about this.”

“I don’t want her to be disappointed in me, Uncle Ben.”

This time, Ben did pull Madison to him and squeezed him tightly. The little boy snuggled into him, lapping up the physical comfort. “Maddie …” Ben cleared his throat. “I guarantee your mother won’t be disappointed in you. She’ll help you deal with it.”

“How can she, Uncle Ben?”

“By talking to you. If you didn’t love your family so much, this dream wouldn’t scare you so. You see, it’s really a good thing that you love your parents and your brother and sister. If you let them tell you that they’re not going away, that you won’t just wake up one morning without them, I don’t think you’ll dream it again.”

“Really?”

“Really … although it may take a little while.”

“I can wait. I can be strong, if I think it’ll go away.”

“That’s my boy!” Ben clasped Maddie to him again, and then sat back. “Now, I think it’s about time we got you back in bed. Your mother’s not going to be pleased if you can’t wake up in the morning.”

Maddie giggled. “Don’t worry, I’ll get up. I promise.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll hold you to that. So … why don’t I walk you back to your room?”

“You mean it? You’ll tuck me in?”

“I mean it. You just have to show me the way … and give me a minute to find my boots.”

The grandfather clock in the main foyer was chiming 12:30 when Ben, having seen Maddie safely curled up in bed, descended the stairs from the third floor. He had just regained his own room when he heard a polite voice from the hall. “I thought you were going to bed.” It was Adam.

He turned in the open door. “I did. Maddie had a nightmare.”

Adam’s voice rose in surprise. “And he came to you?”

Ben stepped back into his suite’s small foyer and held the door open. “If we’re going to have a conversation, perhaps it’s best not to include the whole house,” he said, and waited until Adam had come in. “Yes. He was afraid his parents would be ashamed of him.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Well, parents or not, I can’t fault his judgment in who to come to.”

Ben’s eyebrows rose.

“You forget, I’ve had experience in that department,” Adam said dryly. “I’m sure he thought you could take care of anything that goes ‘bump in the night.’”

Ben’s lips quivered with appreciation, but he couldn’t stop a concerned frown. “This was a little more than that. He’d dreamed that he awakened all alone and his family had disappeared.”

Adam whistled under his breath. “Not your normal run-of-the-mill nightmare. Poor kid.”

“Yes.” Ben sighed, and his voice was reflective. “It certainly brought back memories.”

“About us, you mean?”

“M’m-h’m. You all went through that sort of thing, but it was a very understandable thing. You’d all lost a mother—in your case and Hoss’, more than one mother.”

“We were lucky. We had our father.”

“And your father was very grateful for you,” Ben said with more strength, shaking off his introspective mood. “Maybe I’m overreacting. I’d just like to save Aubrey any heartache, if possible. And Madison, too.”

“Pa, look, I can’t think of a better person for Maddie to come to with his problem. Take my word for it, you did him some good.”

“I hope you’re right.” Ben caught his son’s eye. “But speaking of the children, I’ve been meaning to mention—you did notice, didn’t you, that Michaela has a crush on you?”

Adam nodded without vanity. “It looks like it. Don’t worry, Pa, I’ll be careful.”

“I thought as much. I knew I could trust you to be sensitive, son.” He untied the sash of his robe. “And now, don’t you think it’s about time we got some sleep?”
 
 

Aubrey Van Dine was right; the first timber contract fell into place with ease. The second, with a construction firm, was very promising, but showed signs of taking longer. By the time Ben awakened on Friday, he was feeling satisfied with their progress, but restless from the unaccustomed office life.  He was glad Aubrey had said they didn’t need to be at Van Dine & Bondurant until later in the morning, and that Adam had taken the opportunity to view one of the city’s new building sites. He lingered over his coffee with a copy of the Alta Californian.

“Ben, I have a quick errand to run,” Julia said as she passed through the dining room. “I should be back in a few minutes.”  She was almost out into the hall before she turned back and said hesitantly, “And—and I wanted to thank you for helping Madison the other night. He told me about it this morning.”

He looked up from his paper in surprise. “Julia, you don’t have to thank me. I couldn’t have done any less … but I’m glad he told you about it. I asked him to.”

“I feel so awful for him—a nightmare like that had to be terrifying.” For a moment, she seemed to debate something within herself, and then coming back into the room, she added, “I don’t want to embarrass you, Ben, but … I’m so glad you were here for him—you’re really amazing. I can see how your boys turned out as they did. To have had you to depend on all these years must have been a godsend.”

“Oh, heavens, Julia. I’m not—”

“Yes, you are, Ben. I’m not entirely sure what you said to Madison, but I know that it wasn’t just the words. It was how you were with him … he was so comforted.”

“Sometimes it’s easier when you’re not so close to the situation.”

“Perhaps. But some of it is just how you are, Ben, and I’m very grateful.” She leaned down to kiss him quickly on the cheek, then gathering up her purse and bonnet, she started for the door. “I thought I’d invite Lily Mercer to dinner tomorrow night. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course. We’ll look forward to it.”

Ben refolded the paper and tried to focus on an article about the city’s effort to expand its dock space, but he found it hard to concentrate. His mind wandered aimlessly. At last, he rang for Samuel. “I think I’ll take a quick turn around the park,” he told the butler. “I’ll have to leave for Mr. Van Dine’s office when I return—say, around eleven. Would Doyle or one of the boys be available?”

“Of course, sir. Doyle’s with Mrs. Van Dine, but I’ll have Peter bring the brougham around. Have a good walk.”

Ben breathed deeply as he descended the steps to the street. There was not a cloud in sight, and the peninsula, stretching away before him, appeared piercingly clean and fresh. Lengthening his stride, he found the gate and pathway the children had shown him. The only other people out seemed to be maids with children, and he tipped his hat respectfully to the few which passed his way. For the most part, they sat on benches in little glades, chatting to each other and watching toddlers play in the grass. It’s so, so different from the Ponderosa, he thought.

At the little footbridge, he stopped long enough to check on Maddie’s fish—it would be fun to report to the little boy that he’d made sure they were all accounted for—and then he walked on, his hands in his pockets. No, at home he’d have been in the saddle for hours now, and the only fish of interest would be the ones Hop Sing was preparing for dinner, if anyone had had a chance to throw out a line.

He felt better the farther he walked, the more he pressed himself to use his muscles. He’d have to make sure his daily regimen included at least a brisk walk … but at the moment there were other obligations, and he reluctantly turned back and headed toward the gate. Perhaps, if they finished their business by late afternoon, he could get in an evening stroll. Or better yet, borrow one of Aubrey’s horses and ride down to the bay.

He was just starting up the steps of the Van Dine house when its front door opened and Julia emerged with Lily Mercer. “It was good that we ran into you,” Julia was saying. “We’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”

Lily made a suitable reply and turned to come down the stairs. “Ben, hello! How nice to see you.”

“And you, too, Lily.” Behind him, he heard his carriage draw up. “Ah … are you going anywhere that I might drop you?”

“If you’re going near Broadway and DuPont, I must pick up a parcel at The Emporium.”

“Of course. Please be my guest.” It was nowhere near Aubrey’s office at California and Montgomery, but he decided suddenly that he didn’t care if he was late, and handed her into the brougham, pleasantly aware of its size. With room for only two passengers, his shoulder rubbed against hers.

“You know, Maddie has checked on his fish each day since you told him to watch over them,” she said after they’d started out.

“I checked on them this morning, too,” he admitted sheepishly.

She laughed. “You’re a child at heart, Ben Cartwright! It’s an attractive quality.”

“Well, either that or a conservationist, I suppose.”

“Perhaps that goes with living in the Sierras,” she replied. “I hear it’s such a beautiful place. Surely you all want to keep it that way.”

He regarded her with surprise. Not many people on the frontier gave preserving nature much thought—and certainly not many city-dwelling women. “I wish more people felt as you do. So far, there’s enough of everything for everyone. But if we don’t take care of it, that could easily not be true in a generation or two.”

“It’s like that here, too. San Francisco is growing so fast, and there’s only so much land here. I just hope we don’t ruin it. And I especially hope that we don’t put up a whole lot of ugly structures.”

“Adam’s out looking at your new architecture now. He says there’re some fine draftsmen at work.”

She nodded. “I think there’s a real possibility, if we don’t go wrong, that we might become as beautiful as Paris.”

“I haven’t been to Paris since I was a young man, but Adam was there many years ago and he's been studying the development there ever since.  I believe he said it's headed by a man named Haussman.”

She waved to someone on the street. “And why does Adam seem to do all the traveling in your family? I could have sworn you’d be the type to see the world.”

“Oh, I was—and I did, as much of it as I could pack into my years at sea. Everything from the Mediterranean to much of Europe. But now …” His voice trailed off and his gaze became distant for a moment before he caught himself and continued, “Now, the Ponderosa is home. I don’t mind travel and I still enjoy a big city, but there’s no place like the shore of Lake Tahoe.” He caught her gaze and added, “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you from? Certainly you didn’t start out here on the west coast.”

“No, I was born in Savannah, Georgia. My mother had family in New York, and I was visiting there when I met Howard. He was in the merchant marine at the time, and we came west aboard ship.”

“That’s very interesting. I wouldn’t have taken you for a seaman’s wife.”

“Probably because I wasn’t for very long. Howard was as much a merchant as a seaman; he was quite unusual—he allowed me to go everywhere with him. His last command brought him here, and he quit the sea to go into business.”

“Do you still have the company?”

“No. It was The Emporium; he sold it several years ago after we’d become established, and we planned to travel again.” She smiled fleetingly. “You know sailors. They’re never quite content in just one place. But then he became ill.”

“I can well understand a love of the sea. There was nothing like that first day out on a voyage to a far-off land … and nothing like the first whiff of the shore on a homeward journey.”

“Aubrey did say that you sailed from the port of Boston.”

He was perplexed at her humorous tone. “Yes, but what does that mean?”

“Oh, there’s a certain look about New Englanders,” she returned playfully. “Very upright and serious.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Oh, no!  Heavens, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to offend you!  I could add, ‘very honorable, honest and respectable’ as well.  It’s quite a good thing!”

“Unless you carry it too far and bore all your friends,” he rejoined dryly.

“Somehow, I don’t think you do that.”

He realized then that she was teasing him and offered a rueful grin. “You know, Lily, I think I’ve been away from city life a little too long. I can hardly keep up with you.”

“You’re doing just fine, Ben. Don’t change a thing. Now, here is my stop. Thank you so much for the ride.”

He stepped out in front of an imposing three-storied building and reached up to help her down. When his hands closed around her waist, their eyes met for a moment as he swung her to the ground. All he could think of was how warm and inviting her expression was, as if laughter would be on her next breath.

“Well,” he said abruptly and stepped back. He tipped his hat. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
 
 

As she pushed open the big double doors to The Emporium, Lily was assailed with a rush of familiarity. She’d come here every day except Sunday for the better part of fifteen years. How could it not be like coming home? A dignified man with a walrus moustache welcomed her—Jennings, men’s haberdashery; a tiny woman with snow white hair smiled up from the display of candies and sweets—Mildred Haskell; a thin young man with a closely-clipped beard nodded from tools and implements—Gerald Dacos. Even though she’d been in only the week before, she greeted them all, one by one, with a nod, a smile and a personal word. It took her five minutes to reach the jewelry counter at the back of the store, where Harriet Peakin was waiting for her with a small package.

“The child is going to love it, ma’am,” the clerk said.

Lily opened the jewelry box to examine a tiny cross on a woven chain, both in gold so highly polished that they gleamed in the light of the lamp overhead. “Very nice,” she murmured. “I’m sure Michaela will like it.”

“And she’s ten, ma’am?”

“Ten, a week from today.”

“Is she a niece, ma’am?” Harriet inquired, and Lily masked a smile. The clerk had only good intentions, but she was the biggest gossip in the store. Or perhaps the world.

“No, just a friend,” she answered.

“Oh, I wondered. Actually, I was wonderin’ if she might be related to the lovely gentleman I saw as left you off today.” Lily glanced up in surprise and Harriet colored slightly. “Well, seein’ as how I had had to go out, I was comin’ in as you were. He was ever so handsome.”

“Miss Peakin, you’ll not be bothering the customers with personal questions,” commanded a sharp voice from over Lily’s shoulder. She spun around to see a tall, slender woman with pince nez glasses perched on her nose. “Even if it is just our Mrs. Mercer. And now you’ve delivered her merchandise, I’m sure you have something else to do.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Harriet squeaked. “Ever so sorry, Mrs. Mercer!” She skittered to the counter on the other side of the alcove.

Lily smothered her laughter. “Thanks so much, Joyce.” She picked up Michaela’s gift, and with a wave to Harriet, linked her arm with Joyce Burkett’s and started for the front door. “She is the biggest busybody!”

“Of course, she wasn’t the only one who saw you with the handsome stranger,” the Assistant Head Clerk said in an amused voice. “Everyone’s green with curiosity, Lily.”

Lily laughed. “He’s just a friend, dear. He’s from the Nevada territory, so I’m afraid you won’t be seeing him again.”

Joyce squeezed her arm. “Oh, Lily, I confess—I was hoping he was a new beau of yours! But the Nevada territory … no, I’m afraid that won’t do.”

“Sorry I can’t accommodate you, but what’s wrong with Nevada?”

“Why, it’s too far away, of course! The Emporium wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t come by every week or two to keep us on our toes. Lily, you and Howard may have sold it, but you know, in our hearts, it will always be yours.”

Lily’s eyes misted. “Joyce, what a kind thing to say! I think of you all as family.”

Joyce nodded. “We think of you that way, too.” She smiled sweetly. “That’s why we were all hoping that you’d found a new man … someone to make you happy, Lily. You deserve it.”
 
 

“Wire for you, Mr. Cartwright.” The thin, reedy voice issued from the door to Aubrey’s office.

Ben glanced up to see the young man who was his friend’s secretary. “For me?”

His brow furrowed, then relaxed when he scanned down to the sender’s signature: Joseph Cartwright.  But Joe had never been known for staying in touch; he caught Adam’s eye across the room.

“I told Joe he was to report in,” his oldest son said mildly, “on pain of having to dance with Sue Ann Lyon at Hoss’ reception if he didn’t.”

Aubrey guffawed. Shaking his head, Ben ripped open the flimsy envelope.

Everything good STOP Expect SF delivery North Fork timber Fri 6th STOP Got inquiry re beef from McKenna & Co. STOP  See P E Larkin re terms  STOP Widow Hensley sends best  STOP Joe

Ben groaned. The Widow Hensley, h’m? If she was sniffing around again, he just might have to extend their trip.

“Trouble at home, Ben?” Aubrey asked.

“No, it’s all under control.” He tossed the telegram on Aubrey’s desk for his friend’s perusal.

“Ah … fine on the timber delivery. Consolidated will be happy about that … an’ McKenna! Capital! Paul Larkin’s a good man, good t’do business with. What’s this? The Widow Hensley?”

Adam snorted with laughter.

“What you heard,” Ben said testily, “was my reaction to the Widow Hensley. Joseph is teasing me, but it’s not a very good joke. Belinda Hensley’s set her sights on a new husband—any new husband. I’m unfortunately one of the ‘eligibles.’”

Aubrey leaned back in his chair and eyed Adam conspiratorially. “Um … I take it you’re not in’erested? The fair widow’s not t’your taste?”

“No,” Ben said shortly.

Aubrey traced a design on a scrap of paper and suddenly turned serious. “Y’know, Ben, none o’ m’business, but Hoss gettin’ married here, Adam and Joe can’t be far b’hind—all due respect, Adam. Why don’t y’give some thought t’marryin’ again?”

“Aubrey, I’ve thought about it over the years. I just never met the right woman. Besides, the women I meet—”

“What’re they like? What sort o’ women do y’see?”

“‘See’? I don’t ‘see’ anyone at the moment—haven’t for a few years now.” Ben glanced somewhat hesitantly at Adam. Although both were grown men who enjoyed feminine companionship, they had rarely discussed their relationships with women.

But Adam appeared not to notice the unusual nature of the conversation. “What Pa’s trying to say, Aubrey,” he interjected smoothly, “is that they seem to fall into two categories. Some of them mother the devil out of him, as if he’s some poor idiot who needs to be taken care of. The Widow Hensley is one of those—if she moved in at the Ponderosa, we’d all be as big as Hoss on her apple pie alone. Others are so deferential they act like glorified servants, most likely because of what the Ponderosa represents—money, power, standing, whatever matters to them.” He shrugged. “We all get that to some extent; Pa gets it the most.”

Ben fiddled absently with a pencil, grateful for Adam’s blunt description of the situation. “I married for love, Aubrey,” he added. “If I were to marry again, I wouldn’t do it any differently.”

Aubrey nodded sympathetically. “I un’erstand. I couldn’t live with females like that, either. But Ben, I’m livin’ proof … there’re women out there like the ones you’ve loved. Julia’s one o’ ’em.”

“You’re a lucky man, Aubrey, and if I met a woman like Julia, I’d consider going to the altar, too. I don’t mean young enough to have children again; I’m not interested in that. But the marriage you have. I don’t think there’re many men that wouldn’t want something like it.”

Aubrey rose and began to stuff a satchel with papers from their meetings that afternoon. “Well, m’friend, at least you don’t have t’do anythin’ you don’t want t’do. But if you’d like a little female company while you’re here, we have a number o’ friends you might enjoy. You too, Adam. Give it some thought.”

“I will,” Ben agreed. He said nothing more, but his thoughts turned to the coming Saturday evening. Undoubtedly, one of the women Aubrey and Julia might suggest for companionship would be Lily Mercer.  So he didn’t have to ask or think about what he wanted, if in fact he wanted anything at all.
 
 

Ben fumbled with his tie. By virtue of its falling on Saturday night, the dinner with Lily Mercer was more formal than usual, and he had chosen his charcoal frock coat with pearl grey trousers and a silver satin vest. But the tie—a black silk he was seeking to coax into a new fashion called the windsor knot, was a problem. And Adam, whom he might have asked for help, had been late back from an afternoon’s architectural expedition and was just now soaking in his bath. At last he gave up and looped it into his normal, relaxed style, then skipping his private bourbon, he joined Aubrey and Julia in the drawing room. Moments later, Samuel announced Mrs. Mercer.

In the general commotion of her arrival, Ben was able to observe Lily Mercer again. The butler was just taking her deep violet cloak; her dress was a matching shade, cut low in the current fashion, and flaring gently from the waist. She wore a choker of four strands of pearls, dangling a single diamond on the pale skin above her neckline, and diamond and pearl earrings which caught the light of the fire and sparkled against her simple hairstyle. A thin gold chain encircled her hips and draped over her skirt, a style, he realized dimly, last seen in the Elizabethan era, but so beguiling.

She seemed oblivious to her physical charms—she was, as usual, just Lily. They talked of the latest news from Washington, of Nevada’s proposed statehood, of the rapid growth of San Francisco. Adam still had not appeared a little later when Aubrey and Julia withdrew to say good night to the children, and Ben relished the time alone with her, but he wasn’t sure how he should handle it.

“It’s very good to see you,” he said. “I know this will sound strange, but I’m beginning to feel like I know you. It’s silly—we’ve spoken only a few times—but I can’t help it.”

“Perhaps it’s the children, because I feel the same way about you. I suppose they’ve said so much that I felt I knew you even before we met.”

“Yes, that could certainly be …”  Suddenly he couldn’t think of anything to add that wouldn’t lead to subjects that weren’t safe. Everything that came to mind, a confused jumble of such remarks as you look amazing , or the firelight brings out the color of your hair, was fraught with risk.

She rescued him. “You always speak of Adam … what about your other two sons? What are they doing while you’re gone?”

“They’re working at the ranch. Perhaps Adam just fits more easily into the topics we’ve been discussing. You’ll meet him this evening. I’m sorry to say that he’s late—I’m afraid he forgot his manners in the pursuit of architecture.”

She laughed. “A noble excuse—and one, I must admit, I’ve never heard before. Is he the one most like you?”

“No. No, I wouldn’t say any one of them is the most like me. They’re more like their mothers. Hoss’s mother was very straightforward and practical, but very kind, and that’s Hoss. Little Joe’s mother was quite tempestuous—and her son is much like her. Joe keeps us all entertained. It’ll always be a toss-up as to whether he acts first or thinks first.”

“And Adam?”

“Adam’s the thinker of the group. He’s always been interested in books, in education, travel … but he’s not bookish, in any sense of the word.”

“Are you?” she inquired.

“Me? Heavens, no! I enjoy reading, of course, but not as Adam does. It’s been quite a while since I’ve had time to indulge that.”

“Perhaps now there will be some time. If Hoss is starting his own family, and Adam and Joe are at an age where they—h’m—have lives of their own, what’s to stop you from pursuing your own interests?”

“Why, nothing … I suppose.” He contemplated the prospect of quiet evenings of study and found it rather attractive. “Of course, as out-of-date as I am, I’m not sure where I’d begin. Any suggestions?”

“Of course!” she laughed. “I could suggest all of my favorites, but I think it would be better if you selected your own.”

“And what are your favorites?”

“Probably none you don’t already know. Among the poets, Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her husband. In prose, oh, the Frenchman, Balzac—he’s exceptional. But I must admit that my real favorites are from another time. I love Voltaire, although I don’t always agree with him, and John Milton.”

“My first wife, Elizabeth, loved Milton.” He smiled. “No American literature? No Uncle Tom’s Cabin ?”

“Of course, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Everyone should read it—but that’s more for civic duty, rather than enjoyment.”

“Civic duty?”

“To better understand that dreadful war we’re fighting. How could anyone enjoy a book about man’s cruelty to his fellow man?” She made an effort to soften her tone, which had sharpened at the mention of the war. “But we can’t avoid subjects just because they’re unpleasant. So yes, read it … but I was thinking of books which might bring you pleasure.”

“You feel strongly about slavery?”

“Yes, I do. Didn’t we fight a war with England for the right to be free? Why should ‘we’ not apply to everyone?”

“You’re passionate about this.”

“Is that a crime?”

“No, of course not. But it’s unusual for a woman.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged helplessly. “I just don’t know very many women who are interested in politics.”

“But it’s not politics, Ben. It’s basic human rights.”
 
 

Adam cursed under his breath. He should have known he hadn’t time this afternoon to really inspect the new Barnhardt mansion in the Mission district. He’d gotten a late start after working with Aubrey in the morning, and of course, this would be the day that he’d chance to meet the home’s architect, a bright young man named McPherson who’d graduated, as he had, with an engineering degree from Harvard. And then when he’d started back, already late, most of the omnibuses going his way had been full.

The net result was that he was late returning for dinner, arriving only minutes ahead of their guest. He knew his father wouldn’t be pleased. Thank God for Samuel, who’d not only had a bath ready and waiting, but also had laid out his evening clothes.

Adam submerged in the big brass tub, trying to let the hot water clear his head as well as clean away the grime of the street. A cloud of soap bubbles rose around him and for a moment he forgot how much he needed to hurry as the heat eased into his tired muscles. He barely heard the soft knock at the door, rousing only when Samuel entered, discreetly bearing a small glass of whiskey.

“You have at least twenty minutes, sir,” the butler said with a wink. “Mr. and Mrs. Van Dine are about ready to put the children to bed, and if I may say so, I’m sure your father is capable of entertaining Mrs. Mercer. You looked as if you might need this.”

“Samuel, you are a treasure.”

He lay back and let the bourbon and the steaming water do their work. Then with a quick shave, a slap of bay rum and some resolute brushing to rid his hair of the effects of the bath, he had only to throw on clothes. Samuel’s taste, as usual, was irreproachable: He’d selected the navy suit and waistcoat, a white shirt and black tie. Except that tonight, of all nights, he couldn’t get the tie knotted in any acceptable bow.

Damn. He was suddenly very aware of the ticking of the clock. If Lily Mercer was on time, she’d arrived a full twenty minutes ago. He ground his teeth and tried to calm down; rushing was only making it worse. The loose bow he’d fashioned reminded him of something Joe might have turned out at the age of eight. Perhaps he could catch Julia by herself and ask for help … With another muttered curse, he jerked open the door and strode into the corridor without looking.

In the dim light of the oil lamps, Adam was aware only of a flash of color somewhere beneath him before he realized that he’d nearly run Michaela down. With a strangled cry, the little girl leaped sideways and slammed against the wall.

“Michaela—I’m sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” He reached out to steady her. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

She nodded and then shook her head, her dark eyes wide.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m fine,” she finally murmured. “I’m sorry. I got in your way.”

Adam forgot about his obligations downstairs, and knelt down to her level. “No, you didn’t. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry; I should have looked.”

She found her voice. “It’s all right, Adam.” Her eyes dropped to his mangled tie. “Your—um—your bow—”

He smiled. “I know. For some reason, I can’t seem to get it tied.”

“Would you like me to help?”

He didn’t expect that she would have much experience in tying men’s ties, but anything he said along those lines would surely hurt her feelings. And anyhow, she could hardly do any worse than he had. “Sure. I’d appreciate it.”

“Then sit on this chair.” She led him to an armchair against the wall of the wide hall, and when he’d sat down, stood between his knees and deftly removed the tie from around his neck. She smoothed out some of the wrinkles he’d created, and then turned up the collar of his shirt. Measuring carefully with her eyes, she positioned the tie, flipped one streamer over the other, and in a matter of seconds had managed a perfect, symmetrical bow.

Arching one eyebrow dramatically, his eyes amused, Adam rose, and taking her hand, led her into his room. Sure enough, he thought as he inspected himself in the mirror, she’d done a faultless job.

“I owe you,” he said.

She shrugged. “It’s not hard. I have younger brothers.”

“So do I. And I’ve tied their ties for them, but I always have to stand behind them and tie them as if I were doing my own.”

“I can’t imagine what they look like,” she said timidly.

Adam burst into laughter before he could stop himself—and immediately realized it was the wrong reaction. Michaela stood rooted for one horrific moment, her eyes wide and a stain of red flushing her cheeks. Then she spun and bolted for the door.

“Michaela! Wait!” It was all he could do to stifle his mirth and take the two long strides necessary to catch her arm. “Don’t you dare think I’m laughing at you!” he said, pinning her with his gaze, but making no effort to subdue the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m laughing at what you said , because it’s funny.”

A little smile of response dawned tentatively on her face. “Is that true?”

“Sure it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the rug. “Well, actually, that’s just as bad. I’m sorry—I’m awful—I just say things, and they turn out to be funny, and it’s a mistake.”

“Why is it a mistake?”

“Girls aren’t supposed to be funny.”

Adam stopped to digest this nugget of information. “Who told you that?”

“Papa.”

He let go of her arm, but gently shepherded her to the chair, where he sat down and pulled her up against his knee. “Mickey, are you sure that’s what he meant? What did he say, exactly?”

His voice, matter-of-fact and without condescension, had an effect. He could feel her relaxing. “I think that’s what he meant. He said that boys wouldn’t like a flighty girl who giggled and laughed too much. And he said I wasn’t to put myself forward or draw attention to myself by making silly comments.”

Adam sighed. “Well, I don’t think that means you can’t be funny. You wouldn’t want to give up laughing, would you?”

“No. But I know better than to make a joke. I really do.”

Adam suddenly realized he’d never seen such enormous cobalt eyes in his life, and they were regarding him with so much trust that he breathed a silent prayer he wouldn’t misguide his little friend. “I think what your father meant—and maybe he wasn’t quite clear about it—was that you simply have to know when to be funny and when not to be. It’s not that men won’t appreciate your sense of humor. It’s just that maybe you should know your audience before you entertain them.”

“Oh. Do I know you well enough?”

“Yes, you do. I enjoy your humor. I thought you were teasing me and I liked it.”

“That’s good. I mean, I wouldn’t have minded teasing you.”

“Well, feel free anytime—but I reserve the right to tease you back.”

“Oh, you can. I can take it, if I know you don’t mean to hurt my feelings.”

“I would never hurt your feelings … at least, not intentionally. If you ever think I do, you ask me about it. All right?”

“Yes.”

“And Mickey … Your father is right about one thing. When you get older, if you’re always giggling and laughing, people who don’t know you might not take you seriously. But I think your father was talking about when you get older.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You have to remember something else, too. Look at me now, sweetheart. I want to make sure you understand this.” He waited until she was staring into his eyes, her own clear and dark and serious. “In the end, Mickey, you don’t let anyone tell you how you can be, or who you are. You have a lot of years to find out who you really are, and only you can decide that. As your father says, temper your actions for society … look around, watch other people, learn what works best for you. But don’t ever—ever—be anything less than true to yourself. And only you will be in a position to know who that really is. Understand?”

She nodded. “Yes, Adam.”

“Good. … And now, I’d better get downstairs or my pa’ll have my hide.”

She giggled. “Did Uncle Ben ever tan you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes.”

She led the way to the door. “Well, I don’t guess he’d do that now.”

“No, I think not. But he’ll be a little put out with me for being so late to dinner.”

“You’d better hurry. I’m sorry I delayed you.”

He ruffled her hair. “You didn’t, and I wouldn’t have missed our talk. Besides, I could hardly have appeared downstairs with my tie looking the way it did.” He suddenly remembered what Samuel had said earlier. “I thought you were supposed to be going to bed.”

“Maddie goes first and then Ted. I can go later because I’m ten—well, almost. I will be next Friday. But when we have company, we all go up together. Mama and Papa are reading them stories.”

“And where were you going when I nearly ran you over?”

“I was going to sneak downstairs. I left my book in the morning room. When you all go into dinner, I want to get it.”

“Would you like me to get it for you? It might be a while longer before we sit down to eat.”

“Would you mind?”

“Not at all. I owe you at least that much. What’s the name of the book?”

“Northanger Abbey .”

Adam’s eyebrows rose. “Jane Austen?”

She nodded. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. Just … ah, don’t be offended, but isn’t that—”

“You mean, am I old enough to read it?”

“Well … yes.”

“I don’t know. I don’t really like it much—I liked Sense and Sensibility better, and Pride and Prejudice better than that.”

“Do you … ah … does it make sense to you?”

She scrunched up her face, but he could tell she wasn’t upset. She was just considering his question. “I’m not sure. I think maybe some of it I don’t quite understand, but not much. And I like Jane Austen very well. I’ll read her again when I get a little older and see if I think the stories mean something different from what I think now.”

“You know, Jane Austen wrote for adults.”

“I know. But I read books written for girls, Adam, and they were just so boring. I thought it couldn’t hurt if I tried something different. And I asked Mama. I didn’t go behind her back.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you would have.” What an enchanting child she was, he thought. But in spite of her worries about her humor, she was too serious—too old—for her age. He sighed. “I can certainly see how little girls’ books would have bored you.”

By unspoken consent, they fell silent at the landing above the first floor. Michaela accompanied Adam halfway down the flight of stairs, then sat down by the railing to wait for him. He descended the rest of the way, grateful for the thick carpeting which muffled his footfalls. In the foyer, he could hear his father and Lily Mercer talking, and he took care to tread softly as he doubled back behind the stairs to the morning room.

Sure enough, on a table next to the settee was a small, leatherbound volume of Jane Austen, marked with a crimson ribbon. He picked it up, his fingers automatically stroking the soft calfskin, and thumbed through it. A small, affectionate smile played on his lips. He’d have to think of something she’d enjoy reading and get it for her. But in the meantime …

He returned to the foyer and sprinted up the stairs. Michaela had not moved.

“Here you are. Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Adam.” She turned to go upstairs, and then turned back and said solemnly, “I appreciate your getting it for me. And I liked talking to you.”

“That makes two of us,” he said, his voice warm. Under his gaze, she blossomed suddenly into a smile. “Sleep tight.”
 
 

Ben was deep in conversation with Lily when Adam strode through the big archway separating the drawing room from the entrance hall. Even rushed and self-conscious about being late, he didn’t miss the singular way his father focused on the attractive woman with the red-brown hair. So this was Lily Mercer … his eyes skipped quickly from Lily to his father, then back to Lily, and he schooled his face to reflect only polite interest.

“… not politics, Ben. It’s basic human rights,” Lily was saying.

Ben was just about to respond when he noticed Adam. “Son—it’s about time!” But there was no hint of remonstration in his voice as he rose to welcome Adam. “We were beginning to give you up for lost. Lily, I’d like you to meet my son, Adam. Adam, Lily Mercer.”

For a moment, all Adam could think was, ridiculously, this must be my night for blue eyes. Lily Mercer’s were fully as beautiful as Michaela Van Dine’s, but darker and more luminous.

“I’m delighted, Adam. Your father speaks so highly of you,” she said, the hint of a laugh in her warm contralto voice.

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Mercer,” he returned. “I’ve heard a great deal about you as well. I’m sorry for being so late.”

“Don’t be,” Lily answered. “Aubrey and Julia are putting the children to sleep, and your father and I were just discussing—ah, his reading material and the state of the union.”

Adam’s eyebrows rose as he accepted another whiskey from Samuel. “I hope the human rights comment I overheard related to the state of the union and not my father’s reading material.”

“Absolutely! I’m rather dogmatic about human rights … and I’m not sure Ben knows what to make of that.”

“Now, Lily, that’s not fair!” Ben objected. “I was just surprised to find that you were so concerned with politics.”

“I simply believe that slavery is an abomination.”

Adam nodded in agreement, but added, “You realize that the War of the Rebellion is about much more than slavery.”

“Yes, of course. There are many other considerations—but none outweigh the fundamental wrong of slavery.”

“Are you following the news of the war?”

“Yes, but not in detail. I haven’t a head for battle strategy.” She regarded him shrewdly. “May I surmise from your calling it the Rebellion that you sympathize with Mr. Lincoln?”

“Of course. Both on principle and on my birth north of the Mason Dixon line.”

“I worry for our country.”

Adam sighed. “So do I—but I think the situation is getting better. With our victories at Gettysburg in the north and Vicksburg in the south, it’s only a matter of time before the Confederacy will have to surrender.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Ben listened as his son and Lily Mercer commiserated on the lack of a gifted general to guide the Union forces as Robert E. Lee was inspiring the Confederate troops; Adam was advocating promotion of the victor at Shiloh and Vicksburg, a hard-driving commander named Grant. Then they speculated on what the addition of Nevada as a free state would mean to the outcome of the conflict.

Presently Aubrey and Julia returned, and it was not long before Samuel appeared in the doorway to announce dinner. Ben took Julia’s arm to escort her into the dining room. Conservation … politics … poetry … man’s relationship to man … he had always felt that he’d remained intellectually active, but now he turned a more critical eye on himself. It had been interesting to watch Adam and Lily converse; not that he couldn’t have expressed his son’s thoughts himself, but he realized with a start that in his day, one hadn’t considered politics a very lively discussion to hold with a woman. In his day ? The very phrase was awkward. And look at what he might miss, if he didn’t indulge in exploring a woman’s thoughts and interests … That is, he realized, if the woman was Lily Mercer and wasn’t shy about discussing those things.

“Ben?”

Four faces obviously awaited his reply. Aubrey’s lips curved upward in a smile. “I was just asking how you liked the wine. It’s from a new vintner about a hundred miles from here.”

Hastily Ben reached for the crystal goblet that Samuel had filled and took a sip. “It’s excellent,” he replied as the butler deposited a first course of a sherried consommé in front of him.

“I thought so, too. Adam? Ladies?”

“It’s lovely, Aubrey,” Lily said, and turned to Ben. “Have you ever considered growing grapes on the Ponderosa?”

“Yes.” He nodded at his son. “As a matter of fact, some of the vintners were in New York recently.  Adam talked to them about it, but the climate isn’t quite right.” He chuckled. “We all enjoyed a great deal of tasting before we decided it wasn’t feasible.”

“When was this, Adam?” Lily inquired.

“The last time was this past winter.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed with thought. “Last winter? I was too, and I shan’t believe this, if we came so close to each other and didn’t meet!”

Adam nodded and a sudden recognition dawned in his eyes. “Wait a minute … Lily Mercer? And were you in New York in January?”

She nodded.

“Lily Mercer …” His voice took on an aura of wonder. “Or as she was known at one point, The Magnificent Mercer!”

“Adam!” Lily blushed furiously. “What can you possibly mean?”

Seeing his father’s face darken, Adam hastened on, “No, no, no—it was nothing disrespectful. Actually, had you remained in New York, I think you’d have had the city at your feet.”

“Maybe you’d better explain,” Ben advised.

Adam didn’t take his eyes off Lily, his expression warmly conspiratorial. “Well, it seems there was a rather arrogant Bostonian named Tom Thackeray.   He was rich as a sultan, or so he told anyone who would listen.   At any rate, he was very convinced that all he had to do was dangle a marriage proposal in front of Mrs. Mercer and she’d be his absolutely, and he made that very well known."

“And was one of those listeners you?” Ben asked with dangerous calm.

“No, Pa, I didn’t arrive until all this was over. If I’d gotten there earlier, perhaps I’d have had the honor of meeting Mrs. Mercer. But at any rate, Thackeray publically announced his marriage to ‘the lucky female,’ I believe he called her, at a party at the  Palais Auersperg. What he’d failed to learn, however, was that Mrs. Mercer had booked passage on a ship to San Francisco the next morning and several of her friends were aware of it. Before long, the betting was—shall we say—brisk on whether or not he would be successful. Now, you might correct me, Mrs. Mercer, but the story I heard was that he knelt down on one knee to inform you of your good fortune, and you disabused him of the idea with the comment that you were too busy to think about it at the moment.” Adam smiled at his audience. “You know the type of self-important blowhard Thackeray was—to be dismissed so easily was a severe blow to his ego, which of course entertained the social elite for days.”

Lily’s cheeks were pink. “I had no idea. I just told him ‘no,’ because I mean, any fool could see that we wouldn’t suit. I would never have embarrassed him so—” She stopped to consider the incident and then burst into laughter. “Oh, yes, I would! Adam, thank you!  I really had no idea all that had gone on—I’m afraid I just don’t pay much attention to what people are saying. But truth be told, if ever someone deserved it, it was Tommy Thackeray.”

Adam nodded. “I suppose he figured all women were fortune hunters.”

“All the money in New England couldn’t have made him acceptable!” she retorted, and then her tone softened. “Adam, I wish I’d stayed around long enough to have met you.”

“Mrs. Mercer—”

“‘Lily.’ Lily, if you want to be my friend. ‘Mrs. Mercer’ if you want the same callous treatment I gave to Tommy Thackeray.”

“Lily it is, then.”

The dinner passed enjoyably. After the consommé came a delectable salmon with an imported Mersault of good vintage; then a grilled filet of beef with airy-light potatoes and a robust burgundy; a small and tasty arrangement of lettuce with olive oil and an herbed vinegar; and finally, a selection of cheeses made by Italian ladies in North Beach. Everyone groaned when tiny fruit tarts finished the meal with a dry, sharp French champagne.

“Good heavens,” Ben said as he folded his napkin. “I’d be willing to bet that party in New York was no finer than this!”

“We happen to know Lily’s preferences very well,” Julia explained.

Lily giggled. “No one has ever accused me of a ladylike appetite!”

“I hate it when women nibble about like birds,” Aubrey muttered. “What’s the point?”

“If we all ate like Lily, we’d not be able to fit into our clothes,” Julia sniffed. “Why do you think we walk endless rounds in the park? And speaking of that, Lily, shall we walk as far as my study and leave the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars?”
 
 

It was nearly midnight when Ben escorted Lily home. He’d wondered if Adam might volunteer for the task—he and Lily had gotten on so well—but his son had simply expressed his pleasure at meeting her and bid her a good night. Lily had seemed unruffled at his withdrawal, and pleased to be alone again with Ben.

“I see now why you speak so highly of Adam,” she confided as they closed the door behind them. “He’s a lovely man—and so like you.”

“I’m very proud of him. And he seemed quite taken with you.”

“I enjoy him very much. I hope we can become better friends while you’re here. I shall have to go through my list of young lady friends—it’s a crime that he should devote his whole visit to work and to architecture! Although,” she added as an afterthought, “it’s going to be difficult to find just the right girl. They seem to come either beautiful and utterly vacant, or very intelligent and horse-faced. I rather think Adam would like a combination.”

Her reflective tone caused him to chuckle. “I’m sure Adam would appreciate your care in making the right selection.”

“You’re teasing me, and I only mean well!”

The breeze off the bay, which had turned cold and unpredictable, suddenly tore violently at their clothing. At the street, Ben stopped Lily and caught the errant sides of her cloak, closing them over her in front and fastening each heavily-braided frog. Then, against the wind, he lifted the violet hood and arranged it over her soft dark hair.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes gleaming up at him like jewels. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they started up the incline to the next block. “Isn’t it a beautiful night?”

“Beautiful?”

“Yes—beautiful! Wild and clear and clean and beautiful! I love nights like this. You can taste the sea.”

In the moonlight, he could see the radiant look on her face. “You can, at that. It is a fine night, but not one I’d expect a woman to enjoy.”

“What, you think only a seaman on an open deck could love a night like this?  Why, Ben Cartwright! Why not a woman?”

“I don’t know.” He couldn’t help an ironic laugh. “Lily, I must say, you turn my thinking upside down. There’s no reason a woman can’t enjoy anything she chooses. I’ve just never known one who liked a wild, windy night—or politics, either. I guess you can say I’ve never known anyone like you .”

Her eyebrows arched. “What a wonderful thing to say! And you needn’t tell me that you didn’t mean that exactly as a compliment! I choose to take it as such, and if you have any sense, you’ll let me.”

He laughed, this time in pure amusement. “However I meant it, I certainly believe it—and the more I get to know you, the more I know how true it is.”

Just then a strong blast of wind nearly unbalanced her, and he clasped his arm around her to steady her, bracing her as they continued up the hill. In moments, they were standing in the portico of her home and she was inviting him in.

He shook his head regretfully. “It’s after midnight. I’d better not. I suspect Aubrey’s waiting up for me; he and Adam looked like they were headed for one last business discussion.”

She nodded. “Thank you for walking me home. I was beginning to think I was a human sail—I might have blown right out to sea.”

“My pleasure.”

“And thank Julia and Aubrey again for me. I truly enjoyed the evening.”

“I will.” The wind whistled imperiously and the wrought iron lantern over the porch swayed gently, casting shadows in the amber glow. Gazing down into her face, with its open, unguarded smile, Ben realized suddenly that he very much wanted to get to know her better. “Perhaps we can do it again before I have to go home.”

“I’d like that.” Then she slipped through the heavy, glass-paneled door and was gone.
 
 

Aubrey had gone up to bed by the time Ben returned to the house, but Adam was sitting by the fire in the drawing room, immersed in a book from the Van Dine library.

“Nice woman,” Adam said, marking his place.

“Very nice.” Ben poured a small cognac from a decanter on a table by the settee.
Adam studied him for a moment, but he pretended not to notice. “Nice enough to excuse your lateness.”

“I had a feeling you’d get around to that before the night was out,” his son returned wryly. “I’m sorry, Pa. I forgot the time, couldn’t find an omnibus, and then got involved with Michaela. I’m glad Mrs. Mercer—Lily—has a forgiving nature.”

“She has a better one than I do.” But Ben’s severe tone was belied by a reluctant twinkle in his eye. “No harm done. But what’s this about Michaela?”

“I nearly ran her down in the hall; I was hurrying to get down here and not watching where I was going. We talked for a few minutes, that’s all.” He shrugged and offered a faint, helpless smile.  “She’s really a remarkable little girl, Pa.”

“In what sense?”

Adam shrugged again and stared into the fire. “I can’t describe it. In some ways, she’s like a little adult—and in others, a very endearing child. I have a feeling that … I can’t put my finger on it … but she seems a little insecure somehow.”

“Some of it may just be that she’s nearing that awkward age. She’s no longer a little girl, but she’s not yet a young woman.”

Adam nodded, his gaze still averted as he considered Michaela. “Maybe so.”

“You don’t believe that?”

“I don’t disbelieve it. I just don’t think that’s everything.”

Ben debated over his next words, and then said hesitantly, “Well, maybe I shouldn’t say this, but Aubrey …”

When he didn’t continue, Adam prompted him. “Aubrey what, Pa?”