Cinnamon Rose

by Kathleen 

"So! Who are YOU asking to the big dance next Saturday, Hoss?"

"I dunno, Apollo. I guess with the spring round up just over, and Adam about to graduate from college, I ain’t had time to give it much thought," Hoss replied.

"How about Margie Owens? You’ve been sweet on HER since she’s . . . . " Grinning, Apollo raised both hands to eye level and lowered them slowly, tracing the hour glass outlines of a trim woman’s figure.

Hoss, his entire face and neck flaming beet red, quickly bowed his head, averting his eyes to his knees. He bit his lower lip in a desperate attempt to keep back the smile trying to burst forth. "She . . . she HAS turned into a right pretty little filly at that, hasn’t she?"

Hoss Cartwright and his best friend, Apollo Nikolas, sat together on the bench just outside the general store, waiting for the former’s father to finish up his business inside. At the age of fifteen, both boys, at nearly six and a half feet, towered head and shoulders above all their peers and their parents as well.

Apollo’s body, though still reed slender, already showed signs of a burgeoning Adonis figure with broad shoulders, tapering down to a narrow waist and flat stomach. Hoss, by contrast, had inherited the build of his Swedish maternal grandfather, with a massive, barrel chest and torso that fell in a straight line from his broad, beefy shoulders to a thick waist.

"Well?" Apollo pressed. "Are you gonna ASK her?"

"Ask WHO?"

Apollo sighed and rolled his eyes. "Margie!"

Hoss shook his head.

"Why NOT?" Apollo pressed.

"She wouldn’t want to go with me," Hoss murmured dejectedly.

"Why WOULDN’T she?"

Exhaling a short, exasperated curt sigh, Hoss raised his head and favored Apollo with an angry scowl. "Aw, come on, Apollo. Do I hafta spell it out for ya?"

"Spell WHAT out for me?"

"Margie Owens is one of the prettiest gals in Virginia City, if not THE prettiest," Hoss said disparagingly. "She can have her pick of any fella she wants."

"So?"

"So look at me, Apollo! You take a good long, hard look."

"I am!" A bewildered frown creased Apollo’s smooth, unlined brow. "So what?"

"Y’ know? For a smart fella, you can be real thick sometimes," Hoss retorted with a touch of annoyance. "I ain’t exactly what anyone’d call handsome. Why in the world would ANY gal . . . . especially a gal like Margie Owens, want to go to the dance with a big, ugly so ‘n so like ME?"

"Damn it, Hoss Cartwright, in the first place, you’re NOT ugly, and in the SECOND place, looks aren’t everything!" Apollo exploded, his hot Mediterranean temper getting the better of him. "The IMPORTANT thing is what a guy’s like in HERE!" He thumped on his own chest with his hand clasped in a tight fist, at the approximate location of his heart for emphasis. "In here, you’re one of the best . . . . . if not THE best!"

"Now you’re starting to sound like my pa," Hoss growled.

"Oh yeah? Maybe you oughtta listen to him, then."

"Apollo, I’m not asking Margie, and that’s THAT!"

"Hoss . . . . "

"Just drop it, Apollo, OK?"

A sigh, borne of pure and simple frustration, exploded from between Apollo’s lips. "I’d sure like to drop YOU," he retorted, "right on your head. Maybe THAT way, I could pound some sense into you."

"You guys gonna fight, Big Brother?"

Hoss looked up and saw his ten year old younger brother standing directly in front of him, gazing from him to Apollo and back, his hazel eyes shining with excitement. Joe’s two closest friends, Lotus O’Toole and Mitch Devlin, ages ten and nine almost ten respectively, flanked him on either side. Hoss shook his head. "No, Little Buddy, Apollo and I ain’t gonna fight."

The three children’s excitement and eager anticipation quickly gave way to intense disappointment.

"Aww, Hoss, why NOT?" Lotus demanded indignantly. She stood with feet placed shoulder width apart and arms folded across her chest glaring ferociously down at Apollo and Hoss.

" ‘Cause my pa’d kill me if he came out of the general store and found me out here beating up on Apollo, for no good reason," Hoss replied.

" . . . and my MA’ D kill ME!" Apollo added, in all sincerity.

"Let me pass, please . . . . " The frantic voice of a young woman rose above the usual cacophony of horses, wagons, and people. Its strident note of urgency caught and drew Hoss’ attention like pungent bait in a trap inevitably draws its intended prey. At the end of the walk, he spotted Danny MacLowry, one of his and Apollo’s peers, with a young woman he had never seen before.

As Hoss watched, the young woman moved to step around Danny.

"Hey!" Danny immediately sidestepped, planting himself right smack in the middle of her intended path. "Where ya going?"

"Please!"

"I’m ONLY trying to be FRIENDLY . . . . " Danny whined.

"I’m sorry . . . . " the girl cried out in anguish, "but I need to get back to my pa and stepmother. Please?"

Two more times, she tried to step past by her tormentor. Each time, Danny moved with her, blocking her path.

"Joe, you and your friends stay RIGHT here," Hoss said tersely. He bolted to his feet with amazing speed and agility, given a boy of his height and bulk. "Apollo, YOU keep an eye on ‘em." With that, he pulled himself up to the full height of his already impressive stature, and started walking briskly toward Danny MacLowry and the damsel in distress.

Apollo looked up into the trio of suddenly hopeful faces and smiled. "Looks like you kids are gonna get to see a fight after all," he quipped.

********** 

Hoss, his mouth and lower jaw set with grim, stubborn determination, strode briskly down the length of the wood board walk, his intense, baleful glare riveted to Danny MacLowry’s back. He quickened his pace, when Danny reached out and pulled the girl into his arms.

For her part, the girl neither screamed nor did she put up any kind of struggle. She stood, unmoving, staring up into Danny’s leering face through eyes round with horror. Mistaking her immobilizing terror for consent, Danny pulled her closer and kissed her, triggering a sudden, powerful surge of adrenalin. With palms flat against his chest, she pushed and kept pushing with all her might.

"Well, well, well! The cold corpse has suddenly turned into a raging tigress!" Danny whispered, as he tightened his grip.

Sobbing, the terrified girl’s entire body began to writhe convulsively within the constricting circle of his arms, in her desperate struggle to free herself.

The instant Hoss reached Danny and the girl, he grabbed the former by the shirt collar, and pulled, forcing him to release his hold on the girl. He immediately followed through with a swift, powerful right cross, that sent Danny flying out into the street.

Danny, his face nearly purple with rage, immediately scrambled to his feet, and with a primal bellow, lowered his head and charged Hoss like a bull. Hoss, acting on pure instinct, sidestepped, barely dodging the wiry, enraged juggernaut bearing down on him. Before Danny’s mind could even begin to register Hoss’ move, he plowed headlong into the wall, knocking himself senseless.

Hoss gently prodded Danny’s supine form with the toe of his boot, eliciting a faint moan. Satisfied that Danny was presently in no shape to continue the fight, he turned his attention to the frightened girl, huddled against the wall of the notions shop on his right. "Miss? Are you alright?"

********** 

"Joe?"

Meanwhile, the sound of his father’s voice drew young Joe Cartwright’s attention from the incident involving his older brother at the other end of the walk. "Yeah, Pa?"

"Where’s your brother?"

"There!" Joe pointed.

Ben’s eyes followed the direction of his youngest son’s extended arm and pointing finger. He stood rooted to the spot, watching as Hoss’ fist slammed hard enough against Danny MacLowry’s left cheek to literally send him flying from the sidewalk into the street. His initial shock quickly gave way to rising anger. "Joseph, you wait right here. No wondering off, you understand? I want you to stay put RIGHT HERE."

"Y-yes, Pa . . . . " Joe murmured, taken aback by his father’s angry tone of voice.

Ben paused. "I’m not mad at YOU, Joe," he said, addressing his youngest son in a kindlier tone. "But I want you to wait right here while I go fetch your brother, alright?"

"Yes, Pa, I will," the boy eagerly promised, feeling a measure of guilty relief that, this time, his father’s anger wasn’t directed at him. 

**********

 "Eric Hoss Cartwright, I trust you have a good explanation for this?!"

Hoss, very slowly and very reluctantly turned upon hearing his full name spoken, and found himself staring down into his father’s face, its muscles taut and mouth thinned to a straight line. The furious intensity in Pa’s dark brown eyes, seemed to bore straight into the very core of his being. Hoss quickly averted his eyes.

" . . . uh, Mister?" the damsel in distress hesitantly spoke up for the first time.

Ben glanced up sharply.

"Please, Mister . . . don’t be too hard on him," the girl stammered, her eyes round with apprehension. "It’s . . . well, it’s really all MY fault, actually . . . . "

"No, it ain’t, Pa," Hoss said in a quiet, firm tone, upon finding his voice. "Danny MacLowry was . . . . " He immediately bowed his head upon feeling once again the tell-tale tingling of blood rushing to his face. "H-he was bothering this gal, Pa."

Ben looked down at Danny MacLowry, who had begun to stir in earnest, then over at the still frightened girl, with her back pressed hard against the wall, clutching a small hand bag tight against her chest. "I . . . believe you, Hoss," he said finally, at length, as his anger began to dissipate. "We’ll discuss this further at home."

"Yes, Sir."

"Miss, do you live here in town?" Ben asked, as he turned his attention back to the girl.

"We . . . my pa, step-mother, and I, that is . . . just arrived on the stage day before yesterday," the girl replied. "For now, we’re staying at the Kirks’ boarding house."

"Hoss, why don’t you see the young lady safely back to Mrs. Kirk’s place?" Ben suggested. "Your brother and I’ll pick you up there after Virgil and Walt finish loading our supplies on the buckboard." 

********** 

"Is . . . is your name really . . . Horse?" the girl asked, as they walked together toward C Street.

Hoss grinned and shook his head. "No, it’s HOSS . . . not horse. My pa once told me hoss is a mountain word meaning a big friendly fella."

"Hoss," she quietly, almost reverently, spoke his name. "Big, friendly fella! It suits you!"

"Thank you," he murmured shyly.

She was modestly attired in a simply tailored long brown skirt and a loose fitting long sleeved white blouse, buttoned all the way to the last button, just below her chin. Her regal bearing and slim, willowy build gave her the appearance of being very tall, when, in fact, the crown of her head barely reached the middle of Hoss’ chest.

Close up, Hoss thought her very pretty, with her clear, flawless complexion, her small, slightly upturned nose, and enormous brown eyes. However her long, blonde hair, pulled away from her face in a tight chignon, seemed to somehow clash with her rosy skin tones.

"My name’s Cindy, uh . . . Taylor," the girl said by way of introduction. "Actually, my full, real, and true name’s Cinnamon. Cinnamon Rose."

Hoss smiled. "That’s a real pretty name. How come you don’t have folks call ya Cinnamon, instead of Cindy?"

" ‘cause Pa gets real mad if I tell people what my real name is," she said sadly. "I only told YOU because you saved me from that other boy back there . . . . " She shuddered, " . . . and sometimes . . . well, sometimes, I just gotta tell somebody my full, real, and true name, or I feel like I’m gonna bust. You’ve gotta promise me you won’t tell anybody else, though. Pa says if too many folks find out my whole real name? There could be a lot of trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

Cindy frowned as she mulled the question over in her mind. "Tell you the truth, I don’t know," she replied with a shrug. "I don’t think Pa’s ever said . . . exactly."

"I won’t tell anyone else your whole name, Cindy, but I’m glad you told me. It IS a pretty name . . . a REAL pretty name."

She smiled, as her pale cheeks deepened to a rosy hue. "Thank you, Hoss."

The pair lapsed into a companionable silence as they crossed C Street, turning at the corner onto the street where Eloise Kirk’s boarding house, officially known as Kirk’s Hostelry, was located. Hoss and Cindy found themselves standing on the verandah, before the front door a scant few moments later.

"Thank you very much for coming to my rescue, Hoss," Cindy murmured gratefully. With a boldness that seemed at odds with her reserved, almost timid demeanor, she rose up on her toes and planted a kiss firmly on his cheek. "My hero!"

His cheeks flushed an even deeper red. "Aww, Cindy, I ain’t no hero, dadburn it! I would’ve done the same for ANYONE in trouble."

"You ARE a hero, Hoss," Cindy protested vigorously. "You ARE! I honest and truly don’t know WHAT I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there."

"Some one else would’ve stepped in," Hoss hastened to assure her.

"Maybe," she murmured doubtfully.

"Not everyone’s like Danny MacLowry, Cindy. After you and your family’s been here awhile, you’ll see that most of the folks in Virginia City are honest, decent, and law abiding people."

"What if Danny, or . . . someone ELSE bothers me, and NO one comes to help?"

"You just march yourself right on over to the sheriff’s office and let Sheriff Coffee know. He won’t stand for any of the kind of shenanigans that Danny MacLowry was trying to pull."

She nodded. "Hoss?"

"Yeah, Cindy?"

"Do you think it was MY fault?"

"What?" Hoss queried. A puzzled frown knotted his brow.

"What happened with Danny MacLowry."

"Now where’d you ever get an idea like that?"

"Some folks’d say so."

"Then some folks are dead wrong!" Hoss declared stoutly, with an emphatic nod of his head. "Cindy, DANNY’S the one that acted like . . . well, like the back end of a horse, not you. From what I could see, you did everything you could to get away from him."

Cindy quickly, furtively bowed her head, fixing her eyes on her hands clasped together in front of her.

Hoss knew by her excessively blinking eyes, and trembling lower lip that she was on the verge of tears. He immediately reached out, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You sure you’re alright, Cindy?"

She nodded vigorously. "I . . . I’m just glad y-you . . . . well, that you don’t think what Danny did was m-my fault." With that, she abruptly turned heel and fled into the house, leaving Hoss staring after her, shocked and completely dumbfounded.

********** 

"Hoss?"

No answer.

Hoss."

Still no answer.

"HOSS!" Little Joe finally shouted.

Hoss started violently, nearly tumbling into the supplies stacked in the back of the buckboard. "You just scared me outta ten years growth, Shortshanks," he growled, favoring his younger brother, who sat sandwiched between himself and their father, with a dark glare.

Joe glared back, with equal ferocity. "I called you and called you, but you wouldn’t answer."

Hoss sighed, his ire dissipating. "Sorry, Little Buddy. What were you gonna ask me?"

"I was gonna ask if you were taking that pretty lady to the dance coming up next Saturday," Joe replied, as the trio rode toward home on their loaded buckboard.

Hoss stared down at his younger brother for moment, a puzzled frown knotting his brow. At length, he shrugged. "I . . . dunno . . . . Why do you ask?"

"Apollo said you might. Take the pretty lady to the dance, that is."

Hoss scowled. "Dadburn it, that Apollo’s got a big mouth," he grumbled.

"Apollo MAY have a big mouth, but he’s got a good idea, Son," Ben hastened to point out. "This gal . . . . "

"Cindy, Pa," Hoss said quietly. "Her name’s Cindy."

"I know you and Cindy just met, but . . . do you like her? Is she someone you’d like to know better?" Ben probed carefully.

"Yeah, to BOTH questions, Pa," Hoss said immediately.

"Taking her to the dance would sure give you an opportunity for getting to know her better," Ben continued. "You could also give her a chance to meet other people her own age by introducing her to some of your friends."

"I didn’t even think of that," Hoss murmured thoughtfully.

Ben smiled. "Tell you what, Hoss. Monday morning, I’ll send YOU into town to do the banking, and pick up our mail. You can also take your brother here to school, and pick him up later." He paused. "Of course, while you’re in town . . . . "

Hoss heard his father’s unspoken message very loud and clear. "Thanks, Pa," he murmured gratefully, returning his father’s smile.

"Hoss?"

"Yeah, Little Joe?"

"You could also invite Cindy to that big party we’re having for Adam when he comes home from college next month," Joe added, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Y’ know , Shortshanks? For a little fella, you can sure come up with some real powerful good ideas," Hoss said approvingly. "I’ll invite Cindy to Adam’s Homecoming Party on Monday, when I ask her to go to the dance with me."

"Make sure Cindy’s parents know THEY’RE also invited to Adam’s homecoming party," Ben said.

"I will, Pa," Hoss eagerly promised. "I sure will!" 

********** 

The following Monday morning, Ben rose and dressed early, heartily grateful that Monday morning had finally come. The past two days seemed more like two YEARS, with his normally laid back, easy going son chomping at the metaphorical bit with a wholly uncharacteristic impatience he might expect from Little Joe.

"Mister Cartwright!"

Ben glanced up sharply, groaning inwardly, upon seeing Hop Sing, glaring down at him with arms folded tight across his chest. He sat behind the massive desk, that seemed to take up most of the space in the alcove designated his study, rereading Adam’s most recent letter.

"Breakfast ready!" Hop Sing snapped. "Third time I tell you!"

Ben placed the letter aside, then rose. "I’m coming . . . . "

"Where Hoss and Little Joe?"

"Hoss isn’t down yet?" Ben’s eyes widened in mild surprise. He knew that his youngest son had a strong tendency to dawdle in the morning, especially on any given MONDAY morning, but Hoss? Never! Especially when Hop Sing fixed apple fritters for breakfast.

"Hoss not down! Little Joe not down! YOU here, not at ta—"

"PA! PA!" Joe shouted from the top landing, effectively nipping Hop Sing’s intended tirade in the bud.

Ben glanced upward. "Thank you," he whispered gratefully.

"PA! HOP SING! GUESS WHAT?" Joe tore headlong down the stairs, fully dressed, his booted feet clattering against wood like an army of castanets.

"You’re a bundle of energy this morning," Ben remarked, as he intercepted his young, exuberant son at the bottom of the steps. "What’s up?"

"Hoss is taking a bath, Pa," the boy exclaimed, his eyes round with shock and astonishment, "and . . . it’s not even Saturday night!"

Hop Sing literally threw up his hands, then turned, and started back toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath in Chinese.

"Well, let’s you and I get ourselves to the table shall we?" Ben raised his voice slightly, while casting the occasional furtive glance at Hop Sing’s retreating back. "Hop Sing’s fixed up some apple fritters this morning . . . . "

Hoss appeared in the dining room much later, bathed, dressed in a pair of navy blue pants, a clean, pressed white shirt, a navy blue string tie, and boots, polished to a high gloss shine. Ben also noted the tell-tale sheen of hair cream, and a faint hint of his own Old Bay Rum after shave. " ‘Mornin’, Pa! ‘Morning, Little Joe! What’s for breakfast?" he asked, taking his usual place at the table.

An amused grin pulled at the corner of Ben’s mouth. "I think you mean what WAS for breakfast, actually . . . . "

"We had apple fritters!" Joe blurted out, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Since YOU weren’t here, Pa and I got to eat all we wanted." He punctuated his words with a resounding belch, drawing a warning glare from his father. "Excuse me," he murmured promptly.

"Sorry we didn’t save you any, Son," Ben apologized.

"Just as well, Pa," Hoss replied. "I ain’t hungry anyway."

Little Joe stared up at his older, biggest brother, through eyes round with shocked astonishment. His jaw dropped, bringing his chin down close to his chest. For a moment, Ben half feared that the boy was going to faint right there on the spot. "Looks like Hoss has got it REAL bad," he murmured softly.

"What did you say, Pa?" Joe demanded, regaining his sensibilities once again.

"I said you’d better get upstairs and get your school books together, Young Man," Ben said very quickly. "You know what Miss Gibson said was going to happen if you were late to school one more time." 

********** 

After leaving his younger brother off at school, ten minutes before the bell, much to the shocked amazement of the school teacher, Miss Gibson, Hoss picked up the mail at the post office and got his father’s banking business taken care of straight away. The time was a few minutes past eleven, according to the wall clock in Mister Owens’ office. Hoss turned and began to walk toward the street, on which Kirk’s Hostelry was located.

"HOSS!"

He paused, and turned.

"HOSS! IS THAT YOU?"

It was Cindy. Smiling, Hoss stopped to wait as she ran to catch up.

"I was hoping I’d bump into you again sometime soon," she declared, falling in step alongside him.

"I was just heading over to Mrs. Kirk’s to see YOU," Hoss said.

Cindy smiled back. "Were you, Hoss? Really?"

"Yep! Next Saturday night, there’s gonna be a big dance at the community center, and I was wondering . . . . " Two spots of bright scarlet appeared on his cheeks. "I was wondering if . . . well, if you, uhh . . . might like to come with me?"

Cindy’s shy, hesitant smile faded into surprise, akin to awe. "You r-really want to take me to a dance, Hoss? Honest ‘n truly?"

"I sure do, Cindy, more ‘n just about anything," Hoss replied with heartfelt sincerity.

"Oh, Hoss, yes! I’d love to go with you!" The smile that suddenly burst forth lit up her entire face with the dazzling brilliance of a summer sun hanging high over head in a brilliant, cloudless blue sky.

For a moment, Hoss stood, unable to move, his eyes riveted to her face, dumbstruck with awe and wonder.

"H-Hoss?" Cindy’s smile faded into a look of anxious concern. "Hoss, are you alright?"

"Cinnamon Rose Taylor," he whispered softly, the minute he found his voice, "you are just about the prettiest gal I’ve EVER seen." 

********** 

"PA! MAMA CAROLYN! GUESS WHAT?" Cindy burst into the room she shared with her father and stepmother, smiling, her eyes shining with happy excitement.

Drew Taylor and his wife, Carolyn exchanged glances of surprise mixed with bewilderment.

"You remember that boy I told you about?" Cindy blissfully rambled on. "I ran into him just now and guess what?"

"What is it, Dear?" Carolyn queried gently, all the while doing her best to ignore the apprehension and dread slowly creeping into her husband’s eyes.

"He said there was going to be a dance next Saturday night, and . . . he wants ME to go with him! May I, Pa?" Cindy turned, toward her father, anxiously clasping her hands to her chest, her eyes guardedly hopeful. "May I please?"

"No!" Drew flatly declined permission.

Cindy’s face fell.

The crushing disappointment in his daughter’s face pierced Drew Taylor’s heart like a knife. "I’m sorry, Princess . . . . "

"Pa, you PROMISED!" she wailed, utterly dismayed.

"I wish I COULD say yes, honestly, I DO! But, I can’t! It’s . . . it’s plain and simply OUT of the question."

"Why?" Cindy sobbed. "Please . . . tell me why!"

"Cindy . . . ." Drew begged.

"Drew, I’d like to know why myself," Carolyn said quietly, as she drew her weeping stepdaughter into the comforting circle of her arms.

"Carolyn, you KNOW why!" Drew snapped, angrily venting his anxiety and pain toward his wife.

"Drew, you DID promise," Carolyn said quietly. "You promised Cindy and me both that we could stay here awhile, maybe even settle here. We could be part of a community again, even make friends."

"It’s too risky!"

"There’s a whole country between us and them. You said so yourself right before we left Saint Joe."

"I know, but . . . . " Drew sighed and shook his head morosely. "No!" He looked over at his wife, his intense, blue eyes meeting her warm brown ones. "We can’t!"

"Drew, we’ve been moving around so much, I think it’s starting to affect your mind." There was an anxious, pleading note in her voice. "There’s hundreds, thousands of miles between here and Boston. The three of us are strangers here. Why, I’ll bet anything that no one in Virginia City knows anything about . . . what happened."

"I wish I had your confidence," Drew murmured in a dull melancholy tone.

"P-Pa, please! Please let me g-go to the dance?" Cindy sobbed. "I really would like t-to . . . to know Hoss better."

"Drew?"

He turned and looked over at his wife,

"I . . . when I went to the General Store on Saturday, I asked some of the ladies there about Hoss Cartwright. From what they said, he sounds like a real sweet young man."

Drew’s eyes moved from Carolyn’s face to Cindy’s, then back again to Carolyn with the dull, hopeless look of a trapped, wild animal. "Even if I were to say yes, Cindy’s got nothing decent to wear, and . . . with what little I make cleaning up at the hotel and over at the Silver Dollar Saloon . . . that’s just enough to pay our lodging here and buy our food. A new dress . . . . " He shrugged helplessly.

Carolyn smiled. "There’s the money I got squared away under the mattress."

"M-Mama Carolyn . . . I can’t take your money," Cindy protested.

"You’re not taking it, Young Lady, I’m giving it to you," Carolyn said in a gentle, yet firm tone.

"What about all that talk about how important it is to have your own house on land you can call your own?" Drew asked, a bare hint of a smile now tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"It IS important, but Cindy’s happiness is important, too," Carolyn said. She looked lovingly down into the face of the stepdaughter still cradled in her arms. "I think we got enough to buy some real nice material and a pattern."

"Alright," Drew sighed with great reluctance and a heavy heart. "I can’t fight the two of you. Cindy can go to the dance with Hoss Cartwright."

Cindy gently slipped from Carolyn’s embrace, and ran across the room toward her father. "Thank you, Pa!" she squealed, as she threw her arms around her father’s neck with joyous abandon. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Drew hugged his daughter close, delighted to see once again the unbridled happiness that had been absent for far too long. He hoped and prayed fervently that he would have no cause for regret. 

********** 

"She said yes, Pa!" Hoss murmured with a complacent smile. He sat in his customary place at the table, with head resting solidly on his hands, and elbows flanking either side of a plate heaped with his supper, largely untouched. The unfocused, dream like quality in his son’s intense, sky blue eyes told Ben that Hoss was many, many miles away, reliving over and over again, his meeting with Cindy Taylor.

"Hoss’ gotta girlfriend, Hoss’ gotta girlfriend," Joe began to chant softly, all the while grinning from ear to ear.

"Joseph Francis, THAT will be quite enough," Ben admonished his youngest son quietly, yet very firmly. The slight frown deepening the creases already present in his brow, conveyed a silent and succinct message that he meant business.

"Yes, Sir," Joe murmured, immediately picking up on the message.

********** 

"Hoss not eat?!" A few clipped, terse Chinese syllables followed, as Hop Sing set himself to the task of clearing away the remains of their supper. "Hop Sing not believe if Hop Sing not see with own eyes! Say one thing! Mister Hoss in love, his papa save big bucks buying groceries."

Ben, safely ensconced behind his desk, in the alcove designated the study, smiled and shook his head. "Must be more to this gal than I thought," he murmured to himself, as he reached for the mail.

"Pa?" It was Little Joe. "What did you think there WAS to Hoss’ new gal?"

"Have you finished your homework yet?" Ben asked immediately, without missing a beat.

"Well, uhhh . . . no!" he sighed reluctantly. Leave it to Pa to remember homework just when an interesting subject came up.

"Then, I’d suggest you march yourself right upstairs and get to it, Young Man," Ben exhorted in a gentle, yet firm tone. "Bedtime’s in one hour."

"Yes, Sir."

Ben watched and waited until his youngest son reached the top of the stairs and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway above. As he turned his attention to the stack of unopened mail Hoss had brought home from the post office, he noted the Boston post mark on the top envelope. His first thought was Adam, as he picked up a letter opener, and carefully sliced open the envelope. Had something happened to delay his homecoming, or worse, did he change his mind and decide to stay in Boston? Ben slid the letter out of the envelope, opened it and smiled. It wasn’t from Adam. It was from Jedediah and Esther Alcott, old friends Ben had known when he, himself, lived in Boston many years ago.

"Dear Ben,

"Short and to the point, Old Friend. Esther and I will be arriving in Virginia City on Wednesday, July 15, at two o’clock in the afternoon. We have good reason to believe our missing granddaughter is there, or in the surrounding environs. I hope you and I might make time and place to get together, visit a while, perhaps at the best restaurant in Virginia City??

Though we have corresponded with regularity over the years, we have not laid eyes on each other since your oldest boy was born. Esther and I both look forward to seeing you.

Sincerely,

Jedediah Alcott."

" ‘We have good reason to believe our missing granddaughter is there, or in the surrounding environs.’ " Ben silently turned the salient point of his old friend’s correspondence over in his mind, marveling and shaking his head. "How long has it been? Seven years . . . maybe eight . . . . "

 Jedediah, Jed to family and close friends, and Esther had only one child, a daughter, named Donna Lorinda. Donna married a college professor, who taught American History at Harvard University, no less. Though he was somewhat older than Donna, something on the order of ten, maybe fifteen years, if Ben’s memory was correct, Jed and Esther were very happy about the match.

Jed had befriended the man who was to someday become his son-in-law, when he first arrived in Cambridge to begin his studies as a freshman at Harvard. Their interest in history, particularly American History, had drawn them together. Jed had been particularly interested in the young man’s view of history through the eyes and minds of the people who had lived it. Knowledge of dates, places, and events, though important, assumed a lesser priority.

Jed and his young friend spent many an evening discussing, debating, and ultimately sharing knowledge. Ben smiled, remembering Jed’s accounts of the many times the two of them had literally talked the night away.

"You would think the pair of us would go through the next day, exhausted, sleep walking as dead men after having been up the entire night, but such is not the case. Speaking for myself, I feel curiously refreshed . . . . "

Their interest and passionate love of history brought these two men together. Other common interests in art, literature, archaeology, and a good golf game, strengthened and cemented the bonds of friendship. Friendship deepened to family as yet another common bond made itself known and felt—Jed’s and the young man’s deep, abiding love for one Donna Lorinda Alcott.

Donna and the young man, by then a full tenured professor at Harvard, were married. The birth of a daughter, one year later, almost to the day, was the crowning joy of what should have been many years happiness to come, not only for Donna and her husband, but for Jed and Esther as well. Donna, whose health was oft described as delicate in Jed’s letters, had almost died bringing her daughter into the world. She survived, but the rigors of pregnancy, giving birth, and subsequent "child bed fever," had extracted great tolls on her health. For the remaining three years of her life, she was a virtual invalid.

Her husband cared for her, "with a love and devotion far and above what can be considered the call of duty, taking wholly to heart the vows promised on their wedding day, particularly the one about abiding even ‘in sickness and in health,’ " in the words of an awestruck father-in-law. After Donna’s tragic, though not unexpected death, Jed and Esther cared diligently for their young granddaughter and son-in-law, consumed with grief. The young man gradually worked through his grief, and had begun to take an interest in life again, especially the young daughter, who bore so much resemblance to her mother.

"Dear Ben,

I constantly marvel at how a mere friendship, borne of insignificant commonalities, has deepened into the love of family, especially since the passing of our beloved daughter, Donna Lorinda. Our granddaughter, so very like her mother in appearance and temperament is a delight and comfort to us all . . . . "

Jed had penned those very words in the last letter written before those strong bonds of love and family were ripped to pieces.

Jed and Esther’s son-in-law remarried . . . .

" . . . . a coarse, ill-mannered woman, far below our station and place in life," Jed had angrily written, "wholly unworthy of assuming the place left vacant by the passing away of our beloved Donna Lorinda."

Remembering those words penned by Jedediah Alcott, brought the words of his former father-in-law, Captain Abel Stoddard, back to mind, words spoken when he and Adam, then an infant, left Boston for good. "Keep a warm place for her in your heart, but don’t carry her around. She wouldn’t want that . . . . " Those words rang very hallow, in the wake of the terse, angry reply from Captain Stoddard to the letter Ben had written him several years later, informing him of his marriage to Inger. Captain Stoddard refused to have anything at all to do with the Cartwright family, until Marie had taken it upon herself to contact him, on Adam’s behalf, shortly after he turned thirteen.

Jed, however, had taken matters much further than even Abel Stoddard would have dreamed. Seven years ago, he had petitioned the court for custody of his granddaughter, citing her father and stepmother as unfit parents. The judge granted his petition. His son-in-law had apparently seen the handwriting on the wall as to the verdict. The night before Jed and Esther were granted custody of the child, she, her father, and stepmother disappeared. Jed had been diligently searching for the girl ever since.

********** 

"Aww, dadburn it!"

"What’s the matter, Hoss?"

"Pa, my hands are shaking so bad . . . . I’m making a big mess of this tie."

"Allow me, Son," Ben kindly offered, trying his best not to smile.

"Thanks, Pa. I sure do appreciate it."

As Ben worked, he recalled with a knowing, wistful smile how, for this big, gentle son standing before him, the days remaining until the big Saturday Night Dance had passed with a dreadful, agonizing slowness that sorely taxed even his great abundance of patience. Three nights ago, when he had looked in on Hoss before retiring to his own room and bed . . . .

 "Hoss?"

"Yeah, Pa?"

Ben smiled. "Can’t sleep?"

"Pa, I haven’t gotten much sleep at night ever since . . . .since I asked Cindy to go with me to that dance."

His eyes strayed over to his son’s night stand, widening in mild surprise upon seeing all the scrap paper piled there, some of it spilling onto the floor. They were covered on both sides with cross hatches, four thrusts drawn with a pencil, with a fifth line crossing over at a diagonal. "Hoss, what’s all this?"

"Aww, dadburn it, Pa! Counting the days ‘til the dance was ‘way too slow, so I started counting the HOURS. Today, I started counting down MINUTES . . . . "

 "Hoss?" The sound of Joe’s voice drew Ben back to present time and place. His youngest son stood framed in the open door to the bathroom upstairs, watching his and Hoss’ preparations for the dance ahead with a mild interest.

"What is it, Shortshanks?" Hoss replied, as he turned back toward the mirror and started to comb his hair.

"What are ya so nervous for?"

"It’s the first time he’s taken Cindy anywhere, Son," Ben answered the question, as he, also, turned toward the mirror and began to tie his own string tie. "Hoss just wants to make a nice impression, that’s all."

"I thought Hoss ALREADY made a nice impression on Cindy, Pa . . . the day he pounded that mean ol’ Danny MacLowry’s face in the dirt," Joe said with relish.

"This is different," Ben said. "You’ll understand a little better when you’re old enough to start taking girls to dances yourself."

"YUCK!" Joe declared emphatically, making a face. "NEVER! Girls stink, except for Lotus O’Toole, her ma, and her grandma." He looked up at Hoss, watching as his big brother squeezed a drop of hair cream into his massive palm. "Your girl, Cindy’s OK . . . I guess," the youngest Cartwright son added as an afterthought.

"I’m glad you approve of Cindy, Shortshanks," Hoss declared with a smile, as he smoothed in the hair cream.

"That’s ‘cause she’s YOUR girl, and . . . she really makes you happy, doesn’t she, Hoss." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

"Yeah, she does," Hoss replied immediately.

"Happier than that ol’ Margie Owens?"

Hoss suddenly, much to his astonishment, realized that he hadn’t even thought of Margie Owens from the first moment he had met Cindy. "Yeah, Shortshanks. Cindy makes me a lot happier than Margie Owens ever did. Y’ wanna know something else?"

"What’s that, Big Brother?"

"I think Cindy’s a whole heck of a lot prettier."

"I think she is, too," Joe agreed solemnly.

"Well," Ben declared, looking down at his youngest son in complete amazement. "That’s quite a compliment coming from YOU, Young Man . . . "

 As father and son stepped out the front door, they found the buggy hitched to that new pair of magnificent browns, Ben had acquired at an auction in Carson City a couple of months ago. Dunny Waggoner was also saddled and ready to ride.

Hoss climbed up into the buggy and picked up the reins. "Pa?"

"Yes, Son?"

"Thanks for letting me take the buggy tonight," Hoss said gratefully.

Ben climbed up onto Dunny Waggoner, then turned and smiled down at Hoss, ensconced in the buggy, with reins in hand. "When a young man escorts a beautiful gal someplace nice for the first time, I think he should do it up in as fine a style as he possibly can."

"Thanks, Pa."

"This Cindy MUST be quite a gal to have made you forget Margie Owens so completely," Ben mused, as his thoughts wandered back to his own first meeting with the girl. He admired Cindy for the way she had stepped right in and took up for Hoss, that day they all first met, despite being scared to death, not only as aftermath to that rude incident initiated by the MacLowry boy, but in the face of his own anger as well. Apart from that, however, the girl was plain, and wholly forgettable. So she had initially seemed to HIM.

"Cindy IS real special, Pa," Hoss said quietly, his lips turning upward in a mysterious Mona Lisa type smile, "and when I’m with her? I kinda feel special myself."

"Well, you’d best skedaddle, Young Man. You don’t want to be late picking Cindy up."

"See you at the dance, Pa." 

********** 

Within no time at all, Hoss found himself standing on the veranda of Kirk’s Hostelry, knocking on the front door. Eloise Kirk’s daughter, Rita Mae answered, gowned, coiffed, and bejeweled for the dance herself. She was a few years older, closer to Adam’s age, and nearly tall enough to look Hoss straight in the eye without high heels. "Good evening, Hoss! My don’t you look handsome."

"I’m here to pick up Cindy Taylor, and take her to the dance," Hoss said, as the color in his cheeks deepened to a rose pink.

"Come on in." Rita Mae gently took him by the hand and drew him inside. "If you’ll have a seat in the drawing room, I’ll let the Taylors know you’re here."

A few moments later, Cindy entered the room, smiling, wearing a deep, rose pink dress that complimented her natural ruddy complexion. Its tailored bodice with cinched waist and rounded neckline, tastefully accentuated her trim waist and rounded bosom. The full skirt with ruffled trim allowed for free and easy movement. White lace trimmed the edges of her short, slightly puffed sleeves, neckline, and place where ruffle joined skirt. A pair of pain white gloves, fastened at the wrist with a single, rounded pearlescent button, and a single strand pearl necklace, that once belonged to her mother, the mother who had given her life, completed her outfit.

Hoss rose to his feet slowly, knees trembling, thoroughly entranced by the lovely vision that had just entered the room.

Cindy’s smile faded into a look of concern as she quickly crossed the room to his side. "H-Hoss? Are you alright?"

A smile, shaky and uncertain, yet filled with absolute delight, slowly spread across his lips. "Cinnamon Rose Taylor," he murmured, taking care to lower his voice. "Have I ever told you that . . . . well . . . . " He quickly averted his face as the color of his cheeks deepened from rose pink to scarlet. "Have I ever told you that you’ve got to be the prettiest gal I’ve ever seen?"

"Yes," she said tenderly, with a warm smile. "The day you asked me to this dance." She gently took him by the hand and led him toward the sitting room door. "Hoss?"

"Yeah, Cindy?"

"Have I ever told YOU that . . . . except maybe for my pa, you’re the first man in my whole life who, somehow, makes me feel beautiful?"

Gazing down into her smiling face, and eyes glowing with the inner radiance of the warm, loving, and gracious spirit that animated them with life and light, Hoss longed so much to gently take her into his arms and kiss her. "No," he silently chided himself, "not now. It wouldn’t be right." He swallowed, then offered her his arm. "W-we’d best get going," he said aloud, his voice unsteady. "Our folks are probably at the dance by now, wondering wh-what happened to the two of US."

Cindy nodded and gently took his arm. Hoss cast a quick, sidelong glance at her face, as they turned to leave the sitting room at Kirk’s hostelry. For a brief, fleeting instant, he thought he saw disappointment. 

********** 

Athena Nikolas, Apollo’s twin sister, watched with interest as Hoss Cartwright entered the community center, grinning from-ear-to-ear like that Cheshire Cat in Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, escorting a girl she had not, as yet anyway, had occasion to meet. She was a very pretty girl, with "curls and swells in all the exact right places," as her twin brother would say. That deep pink dress, with its simple, straight forward tailored lines, and subtle ornamentation suited her perfectly. Best of all however, was the way she looked at Hoss, as if he were just about the only person in the world who mattered.

"Who’s the frump?"

Athena turned and found herself staring into the disdainful blue eyes of Margie Owens. "What frump?"

"That girl with Hoss Cartwright," Margie replied, wrinkling her nose in disdain. "I mean, really! ANYONE can see that dress is home made!"

"Whoever made that girl’s dress sure did a fine job of it," Athena murmured appreciatively. "Every bit as good as that new French woman who just opened up in town."

"But, it’s so PLAIN!"

"Margie Dear, some people have a natural beauty all their own, and don’t need to draw peoples’ attention by way of a fancy-schmancy kind of dress," Athena said, staring pointedly at Margie’s gown with its shimmering, glittering material, overlaid by fringe and lace.

Margie responded with a murderous glare, then turned heel and flounced off with Athena’s soft, derisive laughter echoing in her ears.

"Athena?"

She turned. It was Hoss Cartwright with his mystery girl.

"Athena, I’d like you to meet Cindy Taylor," Hoss graciously made the introductions. "She and her family just moved to Virginia City about a week ago. Cindy, this is Athena Nikolas. She’s Apollo’s sister."

"Cindy, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance," Athena offered her hand and a sincere smile this time. Anyone who could give Hoss Cartwright the kind of happiness she saw glowing in his face and in those bright, sky blue eyes, was top notch in HER book. Knocking the like of Miss Margie Owens clear off that high and lofty pedestal, mostly of her own making, only added to Athena Nikolas’ positive first impression.

"I’m very glad to meet you, too," Cindy accepted Athena’s extended hand and returned her smile. 

********** 

"Mister and Mrs. Taylor?"

Drew and Carolyn Taylor both turned their heads in unison and found themselves looking up into the warm, smiling face of a big man, with hair graying to silver. The former unconsciously stepped forward, interposing himself between the big, smiling stranger and his wife. "Wh-what can we do for you, Mister?"

"Cartwright," Ben said, his smile broadening. He politely extended his hand. "Ben Cartwright. I’m Hoss’ father."

"I’m very pleased to meet you, Mister Cartwright," Carolyn smiled. She stepped around her husband and took Ben’s hand. "Hoss is a wonderful young man and . . . " she gestured discreetly toward the dance floor, where Cartwright son and Taylor daughter danced together, completely oblivious to all but each other. " . . . you can see Cindy thinks the absolute world of him."

Ben returned Carolyn Taylor’s warm smile. "Your daughter, Cindy’s quite a gal," he said quietly, with heartfelt sincerity. "Not only does HOSS think the world of her, but my youngest boy’s pretty taken with her, too . . . quite an accomplishment taking into account that Joe’s still at the age where girls stink."

Carolyn laughed out loud. "That is indeed quite an accomplishment," she agreed. "Are Hoss and Joe your only children?"

"I have an older boy, Adam," Ben replied, warming immediately to Carolyn Taylor’s quiet warmth and charm. "He’s been away attending college for the past four years."

"You must miss him terribly."

"I do," Ben admitted. "But, if my time calculations are correct, he should be finishing up with his finals, and getting ready to graduate . . . with high honors."

"High honors? That’s wonderful, Mister Cartwright. You must be very proud of him."

"You must indeed," Drew Taylor spoke up for the first time, since Ben had introduced himself. "To graduate with high honors is no small accomplishment. May I inquire as to where your oldest son has been attending college."

"Harvard University," Ben replied, "Cambridge, Massachusetts."

Drew Taylor’s face turned white as a sheet. His body, so rigid and still, and eyes round with alarm, reminded Ben of a deer mesmerized and rendered immobile by the light of a roaring campfire or brightly burning torch.

Carolyn Taylor, herself also stunned by the revelation of Adam Cartwright’s soon to be alma mater, was the first to find her voice. "H-Harvard." She smiled, but with none of her previous warmth. "That makes your son’s scholastic accomplishments all the m-more . . . impressive."

"Thank you, Mrs. Taylor," Ben said, somewhat taken aback by their sudden reserve. "Adam will be coming home next month . . . for good." He smiled. "I’m planning a welcome home party . . . nothing real big or fancy, just a cookout with friends and neighbors. I’d like to invite both of you, and your daughter."

"Thank you, Mister Cartwright," Carolyn murmured in as stead a voice as she could muster. "Drew and I would love to come, and Cindy . . . . " She nodded again to the dance floor, toward his son and their daughter. " . . . I think Cindy will be delighted to come, also."

"Ben?"

The Cartwright clan patriarch turned and saw Roy Coffee heading in his direction. "Mister and Mrs. Taylor, if you would excuse me?"

"Certainly, Mister Cartwright," Carolyn murmured a tad too quickly. "Good talking with you."

The minute Ben Cartwright turned to leave, Drew Taylor seized his wife by the elbow and steered her off to a secluded alcove. "Carolyn, are you out of your mind?" he demanded, sotto voce, the minute he was certain they were alone.

"Drew . . . . "

"You heard him. His oldest son had been attending Harvard for the past four years."

"Drew, please, get hold of yourself."

"We are NOT attending that party Mister Cartwright’s having for his son’s homecoming," Drew declared, his voice shaking. "We are going to go home immediately, and pack our things. We’re leaving Virginia City first thing in the morning."

"Drew, stop it!" Carolyn begged. "Just stop it right now!"

"We have to move on, Carolyn, don’t you see? This Adam Cartwright almost certainly knows. Chances are Mister Cartwright does, too."

"So WHAT if they do?"

Drew stared down into his wife’s face, looking at her as he might someone who had suddenly, inexplicably gone completely insane.

"OK, people talk. In the four years, Mister Cartwright’s son has been living in Boston and attending Harvard University, he, more than likely HAS heard something," Carolyn reluctantly agreed. "But it would have been old gossip by the time he arrived there four years ago. A chain of events that happened to faceless strangers."

"What if Adam, or one of his college buddies, knows them?"

"I don’t think that’s likely."

"It’s STILL possible."

"Drew, anything’s possible, but taking into account the fact that both Boston and Harvard University are very big places, the probability of Adam Cartwright knowing them directly or indirectly is pretty much nil."

"We can’t take that chance, Carolyn."

"Drew, I’m tired of running, and poor Cindy . . . . " She cast a meaningful glance over toward the dance floor, where the music had just ended. There, Hoss and Cindy applauded the music, gazing contentedly into each other’s eyes. "I don’t want to take that away from her."

Drew followed his wife’s line of vision, then abruptly turned away, heart sick. "I don’t either, Carolyn. Ever since she first met Hoss . . . well, she hasn’t been happy like that for a very long time." He sighed. "What are we going to do?"

"We’re both going to stay put right here, and put down some roots," Carolyn said firmly. "I’ve talked with a lot of the ladies in passing, met some of their husbands and children. Most of ‘em seem to be decent, friendly people. I also have a real strong feeling that they don’t much care what your past has been. They care a lot more about what you are and what your decide to make of yourself NOW. We’ll do fine here, Drew."

"Alright," he agreed reluctantly.

"Is . . . everything alright?"

Carolyn turned and found herself once more looking up into the face of Ben Cartwright. "Yes . . . and no," she said quietly. "It seems my husband’s not feeling very well."

"I hope it’s nothing serious," Ben said anxiously.

"No, just a mild stomach upset, but all the same, I’d best get him home," Carolyn said. "Would you mind doing us a big favor, Mister Cartwright?"

"I’d be glad to."

"Please let Cindy know that we’ve left, but tell her also that we both want her to stay and enjoy herself."

"Hoss and I will certainly see that Cindy returns home safely," Ben promised. "However, I have a buggy outside. I’d be more than happy to drive you home."

"I don’t want to put you out, Mister Cartwright."

"No trouble at all, Mrs. Taylor. Why don’t you both meet me out front? I’ll let Hoss and Cindy know were leaving."  

********** 

Ben diligently searched the dance floor, but could find neither hide nor hair of his son or the Taylors’ daughter.

"Mister Cartwright, have you lost something?" It was Athena Nikolas.

Ben turned and favored her with a rueful smile. "I was looking for Cindy Taylor and Hoss," he replied. "Cindy’s father’s feeling a little under the weather, so I’m taking him and her mother home."

She had spotted them a few moments before, quietly slipping out the back door. "If you’d like, Mister Cartwright, I’d be very happy to give them the message," Athena immediately offered.

"Thank you, Athena," Ben said with an amused grin, "and I hope Cindy wore a shawl, or some kind of wrap to the dance. It can still get pretty chilly outside after dark."

Athena stared at Ben Cartwright’s retreating back, open mouthed with shock, wondering how in the ever lovin’ world did he possibly know. 

********** 

Hoss gazed into her warm, dark brown eyes, reflecting back the silvery light of the near full moon, and glowing with her own inner light. The next thing he knew, their lips were touching, in a gentle whisper of a kiss. Hoss pulled back abruptly, eyes round with horror, both hands trembling. "C-Cindy, I . . . I’m s-sorry . . . . "

"Oh, Hoss, I’m not," she said softly, her hand caressing his cheek. She lowered her head, as two bright spots of red, discernable even in the subdued light of the moon, appeared on her cheeks. "I . . . I was hoping you would . . . even before we left Kirk’s."

"Y-you were?" Hoss stammered, staring down at her in wonder. "Cindy?"

"Y-yes, Hoss?"

"Cindy, can I . . . may I . . . would you be mad at me if I . . . if I kissed you again?" Hoss, much to his chagrin, felt the sudden rush of blood to his own face.

"I-I’d be mad at you if . . . if you DIDN’T kiss me again . . . . "

Hoss, his heart pounding, gently gathered her in his arms and kissed her. He was astonished and pleased when her arms, loosely encircling his waist, tightened and she began to kiss him back.

"Hoss . . . is this how two people feel when . . . when they love each other?"

"I don’t rightly know, Cindy," Hoss murmured gazing down in wonder at the girl still clasped in his arms. "I only know one thing. I don’t want to be without you."

"I don’t want to ever be without you, either, Hoss," she half sobbed, as she buried her face against his broad shoulder.

"Well, well, well! Ain’t THIS cozy!"

Hoss and Cindy both turned their heads in unison and found Danny MacLowry standing in front of them, arms folded across his chest, leering balefully at both of them. Cindy, her eyes round with fear, tightened her arms around Hoss’ waist and pressed closer.

"What’re you doin’ here, Danny?" Hoss demanded. An angry, indignant scowl creased his forehead.

"I was gonna ask the purty lady to dance," Danny replied, his voice generously laced with angry sarcasm. "But, when I turned to ask her? No purty lady!"

Drawing a measure of strength and courage from Hoss’ close proximity, Cindy pulled herself up to full height and cast a dark, withering glare of her own toward their antagonist. "For YOUR information, I don’t want to dance with YOU. Not now, not ever! In fact, if I never, ever see you again, that’ll be too soon."

Danny laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, I get it! You think you’re something almighty special just ‘cause one of the great and powerful Cartwrights stopped to notice ya," he sneered, directing his words toward Cindy. "Well, ya AIN’T!"

"Come on, Cindy, let’s us g’won back inside." Hoss, keeping one arm protectively around Cindy’s shoulders, moved to step around Danny.

Danny immediately side stepped, placing himself directly in front of Hoss and Cindy once again. "That’s rude . . . leaving before I’ve had a chance to finish what I have to say."

"Stand aside, Danny," Hoss growled.

"Not ‘til I’ve finished saying what I have to say."

"Cindy and I don’t wanna hear what you hafta say. Now stand aside!"

"Why don’t you let the lady speak for herself?"

"Alright, I WILL speak for myself!" Cindy said, her voice shaking with anger and fear. "I DON’T want to hear anything you have to say. I also don’t want to see you, dance with you, or have anything to do with you at all! Ever! Is THAT clear enough?"

"How do you know whether or not you wanna have anything to do with me?" Danny spat, his face contorting with a potent fury born out of wounded pride. "Ol’ Hoss ain’t exactly let you spend any time with other guys!"

"Danny, that’s enough! Now you stand aside right now, and let Cindy ‘n me get by."

Danny laughed again, its sound harsh and grating. "The only reason you think an ugly cuss like Hoss is so much better than a guy like me is because I ain’t got all that Cartwright money! OK, fine! Fine and dandy! You just remember one thing, Gal! After ol’ Hoss here’s loved ya and left ya, don’t you dare come crawling back to me! ‘Cause Danny MacLowry don’t want none of Hoss Cartwright’s used up leftovers."

Hoss immediately moved Cindy behind him, then followed through with a powerful right cross that connected solidly with Danny’s jaw. The MacLowry boy reeled back dizzily a couple of steps, before recovering a measure of his equilibrium. Before Hoss realized what was happened, Danny lowered his head and charged, slamming hard into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Hoss, his mouth open, gasping for breath, wavered, then fell over backwards. With a yowl of triumph, Danny leapt on his fallen opponent, raining down hard blows on his chest and face.

Cindy screamed.

Angelina Thundercloud Woman, full blooded Shoshone wife of Houston O’Brien, friend and neighbor of the Cartwrights, appeared at Cindy’s elbow with her daughter, Crystal.

"P-Please, Ma’am . . . y-you’ve got to help Hoss . . . h-he’s . . . he’s killing him!" Cindy turned to Angelina, with tears pouring down her cheeks like a swift running waterfall.

"Crystal, you run on inside and fetch Sheriff Coffee," Angelina ordered, her face darkening in the spirit and manner of her namesake.

Crystal nodded, then set off, beating a straight path back to the community center.

Angelina, meanwhile, strode resolutely over toward Danny and Hoss, her back poker straight, and jaw set with grim, stubborn determination. She seized Danny MacLowry by the back of his shirt collar and pulled him away from Hoss with almost ridiculous ease. Then, in the same fluid movement, she threw the startled boy down onto the ground.

Danny MacLowry gazed up into the dark, angry face of Angelina Thundercloud Woman, stunned. Initial shock quickly gave way to rage. "Damn Squaw Woman!" he spat.

Angelina leaned over, and, grabbing him by the lapels, hauled him unceremoniously to his feet, bringing his face within less than an inch of her own. "I am NO squaw woman!" she literally spat in his face. "I am daughter of chief and granddaughter of many, many chiefs." With that, she immediately followed through with a swift, hard punch that sent Danny MacLowry toppling to the ground a second time.

Cindy, meanwhile, with heart in mouth, ran to Hoss, half-falling, half-collapsing beside him. "H-Hoss?"

"I . . . I’m alright, Cindy," he murmured.

Cindy immediately got behind him and helped him from a prone to sitting position. "Oh, Hoss . . . " She began to gently dab the bleeding places on his face with the edge of her light shawl, " . . . y-you’re hurt."

"I reckon I AM banged up a little," Hoss said ruefully, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "But, I’ll be fine. How about you, Cindy? You alright?"

"I . . . I will be," she sobbed, throwing her arms around Hoss’ neck. "Now that I know YOU’RE going to b-be alright."

"What the Sam Hill is going on down here?" A familiar sonorous voice, tight with anger, fell upon Hoss’ ears.

Angelina Thundercloud Woman O’Brien turned to face Ben Cartwright, as he walked briskly toward then, his own face a veritable thundercloud. Sheriff Roy Coffee and her daughter, Crystal, followed at his heels. Clem Foster, newly appointed deputy, and Gerald Malone, carrying a white lace wrap that belonged to the lady he had escorted to the dance, brought up the rear.

"Ben, when Crystal and I came upon them, that ruffian . . . " Angelina directed a dark, menacing glare in Danny’s general direction, " . . . had poor Hoss on the ground and was beating the stuffing out of him."

"He started it!" Danny said, thrusting his arm with pointed finger toward Hoss.

"He’s lying!" Cindy shot back, her entire body trembling with the pent up fury growing within. "HE started it! Hoss and I stepped out for a breath of fresh air when he . . . he came up to us, started heckling us . . . we tried to go around him, but he wouldn’t let us pass!"

"Mister Cartwright . . . Sheriff Coffee . . . Hoss’ lady friend’s telling the truth," Gerald said. "I went to the buggy to get Lucille’s wrap, and saw the whole thing. I was coming to help, but Mrs. O’Brien here beat me to the punch."

"Sh-Sheriff Coffee?" Hoss ventured hesitantly, speaking for the first time.

"What is it, Hoss?"

"This ain’t the first time Danny’s bothered Cindy," Hoss said. "First time happened about a week ago right outside the notions shop." He took Cindy’s trembling hand in his and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "He did the same thing to her then that he did t’ US now."

"Miss Taylor ain’t the first gal he’s harassed either," Roy said, favoring Danny MacLowry with a baleful glare. "With YOU running around loose, it seems the streets of Virginia City ain’t safe no more for decent young ladies, and I for one am sick and tired of it. Ben . . . . "

"Yes, Roy?"

"I honest and truly hope to heaven you wanna swear out a complaint, so I can put this . . . this lowlife behind bars where he belongs," Roy said tersely.

Danny’s eyes went round with genuine terror. "No! Y-You . . . . you CAN’T put me in jail! My pa . . . . he’ll KILL me."

"Maybe you shouldda thought of THAT before you tried to force your attentions on Miss Taylor here," Roy countered, his mouth stretched to a thin, angry line. "Ben?"

"You BET I’m going to swear out that complaint," Ben replied, his voice tight with fury, barely controlled. "Mister and Mrs. Taylor, the young lady’s parents may want to swear out a complaint as well. I fully intend advising them to do so."

"In THAT case, Danny MacLowry, you’re under arrest," the sheriff informed the hapless youth with relish. "The charges are harassment, assault and battery."

********** 

"What is it THIS time, Sheriff?" Rob MacLowry demanded, as he strode briskly into the sheriff’s office, the Monday morning following the dance. The scowl on his face was darker than the black clouds, heralding the approach of a violent thunderstorm. "Did that Cartwright kid use my boy as a punching bag again, and scrape his soft knuckles?"

"No," Roy replied sardonically. "Seems THIS time your boy used Hoss Cartwright as a punching bag."

A hard, mirthless smile spread across his lips. "Well good for Danny! About time someone started putting those high, almighty Cartwrights in their place!"

"Ben Cartwright’s worked very hard to earn the respect of folks hereabouts," Roy said sternly, "and I can’t ever rightly recall a time when the parents of the young ladies living in and around Virginia City ever talked about locking up their daughters because the Cartwright boys’re coming to town."

"You referring to that Taylor bitch?" Rob growled, bristling.

"From what I’VE seen of her, Miss Taylor seems a perfectly fine young lady to me."

"Fine young lady indeed!" Rob snorted derisively. "She led my boy on, y’ know! Bold as brass, she stood right out there on that sidewalk last week and led him right on. She did the same thing at the dance!"

"Well, according to Hoss, the incident at the dance was the SECOND time your boy’s harassed Miss Taylor, and tried to force his attentions on her," Roy Coffee hastened to point out.

"Agggh! Who does Hoss Cartwright think he is anyway? Just ‘cause HE’S one of them high and mighty Cartwrights . . . he probably thinks he OWNS that gal. He’s got no call to be so selfish and take up ALL her time. He oughtta sit back and let OTHER guys spend some time with her."

"Mister MacLowry, did it ever occur to you that maybe Miss Taylor WANTS to spend all her time with Hoss?"

Rob MacLowry laughed out loud at the very notion. "Come ON, Sheriff! That gal’s a real looker! Why in the world would she WANT to spend time with the likes of Hoss Cartwright . . . especially when she’s got a real man like Danny fawning after her?"

"I can give ya a hundred reasons why Miss Taylor, or any other gal for that matter would choose Hoss Cartwright over your boy in a heartbeat," Roy Coffee stoutly took up for Hoss. "Looks ain’t everything!"

"Maybe not, but they sure count for an awful lot!"

"Not near as much as you think, Mister MacLowry. As I said before, what happened at the dance makes TWICE now, your boy’s tried to force his attentions on Miss Taylor."

"He was ONLY trying o’ be FRIENDLY," Rob vehemently protested.

"That AIN’T the way Miss Taylor saw it!"

"Ahh! Miss Taylor misunderstood and overreacted!"

"From the accounts given by OTHER witnesses . . . . "

"OTHER witnesses?! WHAT other witnesses? Hoss Cartwright and his good buddy, Apollo Nikolas?"

" . . . and you can add Mister Malone to that list, Mister McLowry," the sheriff said in a wry tone. "He went out to his buggy to fetch a wrap his gal had left on the seat when the two of ‘em went in. He saw the whole thing. So did Mrs. O’Brien and her daughter."

"Damn’ squaw bitch and her half-breed whelp?! Hah! Who in the ever lovin’ world’s gonna take the word of the like of THEM over a couple of decent, honest, and true Americans like my boy and me?"

"Me, for one, Mister MacLowry, and Judge Faraday for another."

"Aggh! Friends of the Cartwrights! Judge, sheriff, and witnesses! The lot of ya will say anything Ben Cartwright tells ya to!" Rob snorted derisively.

"In the FIRST place, Ben Cartwright AIN’T that kind of man," Roy Coffee stoutly defended his old friend. "He’d never ask his friends to lie for him. In the SECOND place, I got testimony from at least a dozen MORE witnesses who saw what happened outside the notions shop. There’s quite a few among ‘em who AIN’T friendly with the Cartwrights, and a couple who don’t even know the Cartwrights from Adam’s house cat!"

While his father and the sheriff argued, Danny McLowry, seated against the wall running perpendicular to the sheriff’s desk turned and stared at the wanted posters tacked to the bulletin board above his head to his right. He quietly rose and walked over for a better look.

"Wanted . . . Andrew Ford Sandringham," Danny softly read aloud the wanted poster that caught his eye first. "Boston Police Department . . . for kidnapping child. Known aliases . . . Andy Smith, Andy Ford . . . . " He silently studied the picture, copied from an old daguerreotype. The man staring back from the wanted poster was clean shaven, with dark eyes, and dark wavy hair cut short with sideburns. He had a cleft chin and wide jaw line.

Danny’s eyes dropped down to the picture of the girl Andrew Sandringham had allegedly kidnapped. She looked to be around the same age as his younger sister, Mary, who had turned eight her last birthday. Like Mary, this girl’s hair was also woven into a pair of braids that reached down to about the middle of her chest. He peered at the girl’s face, noting the wide jaw line, her small, down turned mouth and thin lips, the pixy-ish, upturned nose, and the eyes. Something about those eyes . . . .

"I’ve seen her before . . . . " Danny murmured aloud. He frowned, trying hard to recall.

" . . . alright, Sheriff, how much is the boy’s fine?"

"Assault and battery, disturbing the peace, harassing Miss Taylor . . . . all that comes to five dollars even."

Rob MacLowry angrily slapped a five dollar bill down onto the sheriff’s desk.

"Your boy’s free to go," Roy said, as he picked up the single bill and placed it in the strong box, sitting in the middle of his desk. "You be sure to tell your boy to stay away from Miss Taylor, ‘cause if he don’t . . . . OR, if I hear tell of him harassing any OTHER young lady, he’s gonna be keeping me company right here for a whole month of Sundays."

Danny waited until his father turned his attention back to the sheriff, then deftly removed Andrew Sandringham’s wanted poster from the bulletin board. He turned his face back to the wall, and folded the poster down to a thick two inch square.

"DANNY!" Rob MacLowry’s angry voice cracked sharply like a whip, startling the boy.

Danny quickly stuffed the purloined poster into his pants pocket. "Y-yes, Pa?"

"Come on!" 

********** 

"Hop Sing, dinner was just wonderful," Carolyn Taylor complimented the chef with a broad grin. "You’re a real genius in the kitchen . . . an absolute genius!"

"Hop Sing thank Mrs. Taylor very, very, VERY much," the Cartwrights’ chief cook and bottle washer accepted the compliment as his due, grinning broadly from ear-to-ear.

"This apple pie’s especially good," Drew added. "Hop Sing, is there any way I can persuade you to share your apple pie recipe with my wife?"

"Very sorry, apple pie recipe family secret." Though Hop Sing adamantly shook his head, the smile in his face remained fixed very firmly in place. "Come all the way from China."

"Shall we take coffee in the great room, over next to the fireplace?" Ben invited.

"Sounds like a wonderful idea to me," Drew agreed.

"Hard to belief the Taylors have only been in Virginia City a month," Ben mused silently, as the six of them rose from their places at the Cartwrights’ dining room table. The strong bonds of friendship and easy camaraderie between the Cartwright and Taylor families seemed more the stuff of a long, enduring friendship of many years, rather than an acquaintance that had begun a mere four weeks ago.

Hoss and Cindy had slipped into the patterns of a young courting couple, and as such, were virtually inseparable. If he wasn’t visiting the Taylors at Kirks’ Hostelry in town, she was here. Ben, himself, was captivated by her warmth and charm. In odd moments of silence and solitude, he found himself thinking of Cindy Taylor in terms of prospective daughter-in-law, much to his own amazement. Little Joe followed Cindy around the house like a loved starved puppy dog. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say young Joseph Francis has a king-sized crush on Cindy himself," Ben mused silently.

"Pa?"

The sound of Hoss’ voice scattered Ben’s thoughts, and sent them stampeding back into the deep recesses of his brain, like frightened cattle, to be pondered later. "Yes, Son?"

"Would you . . . and you, too, Mister ‘n Mrs. Taylor . . . would it be alright if Cindy and me took a short stroll outside to kinda let our food settle?" Hoss asked.

"It’s alright with Carolyn and me, if it’s alright with YOU, Ben," Drew said quietly.

"You kids go ahead," Ben also gave his permission, "but, don’t go far."

"Cindy?"

"Yes, Mama Carolyn?"

"It’s probably gotten pretty chilly outside, it not out right cold," Carolyn said, ever so slightly anxious. "You’d better take your wrap with you."

"Yes, Ma’am." Cindy immediately went to the pegs next to the door to remove the light shawl, hand crocheted many years ago by her late mother.

"Pa?"

"Yes, Joe?"

"Can I go with Hoss and Cindy?"

"I think YOUR time would be best spent upstairs in your room studying, Young Man," Ben said in a very firm tone, that brooked no argument. "I understand you have a big history test coming up on Friday."

Joe’s face fell. "Who told you that, Pa?"

"I ran into Miss Gibson last Saturday at the General Store," Ben replied. "She also told me you’re on the verge of failing history."

"Boy! Bad enough Miss Gibson has to be such a slave driver," Joe groused. "NOW she’s turned into a tattletale."

"Miss Gibson was absolutely right to tell me," Ben said sternly. "You have a couple of hours before bed time. I’d strongly suggest you get yourself right upstairs and start hitting those books."

"Aawww, Pa, it’s no use."

"Joseph . . . . " Ben’s tone held a definite threatening not.

"It’s TRUE, Pa! I’ll NEVER remember all those dates and places, not ever, not in a million years!"

"Joe?"

"Yes, Mister Taylor?" The youngest of the Cartwright brothers turned toward Drew expectantly, grateful for any reprieve of having to go upstairs to his room and begin studying, no matter how slight.

"What are you studying in history class?"

"The War of 1812," Joe sighed dejectedly.

"Ah yes. America’s SECOND war of independence," Drew said quietly.

"It IS?"

"Yes, it is," Drew replied with a smile. "Ben?"

"Yes, Drew?"

"May I share something with Joe? I promise, I won’t detain him very long."

"Alright."

"Joe, this is a poem written by a lawyer named Francis Scott Key, after he witnessed the British bombardment of Fort McHenry, in Baltimore," Drew said as he reached into the right hand pocket of his pants and drew out his wallet. From his wallet, he extracted a sheet of paper that had been folded and unfolded many times. "Mister Key originally titled his poem "The Defense of Fort McHenry."

He unfolded it with great care, and began to read:

" ‘Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there. O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?’ "

Ben listened closely as Drew Taylor read aloud the words to the poem in a clear voice. The rise and fall of his voice, the way he almost caressed the words as he read told the Cartwright family patriarch that this poem was a much loved one for the man who read it aloud. "I . . . think I know those words," Ben said quietly, when Drew paused at the end of the first verse. "But, I think I remember them as a song."

Drew looked over at him and smiled warmly. "You are absolutely right, Ben. These words WERE set to music, a popular tune at the time, and published in 1815 as ‘The Star Spangled Banner.’ " He, then, returned his attention to Joe Cartwright. "Francis Scott Key went to Baltimore in the company of a friend, a man by the name of Colonel John Stuart to meet with a couple of British officers, Major General Robert Ross and Rear Admiral Sir George Cockburn to request the release of a friend of theirs, a man by the name of Doctor William Beanes, who had been arrested by a detachment of British troops for imprisoning two of their own. Mister Key and Colonel Stuart were themselves taken into custody, and told they would be detained until the fighting was over."

"Why?" Joe asked.

"During the course of their negotiations for the release of Doctor Beanes, both those gentlemen might have picked up information useful to the Americans, particularly with regard to the imminent Battle of Baltimore," Drew replied. "To put it simply, Mister Key and Colonel Stuart very likely knew too much. So they watched the attack on Fort McHenry under British guard from eight miles away. Going back to the words of that first verse of the poem, Joe, what’s the first thing you notice?"

"Would you please read it again, Mister Taylor?"

Drew willingly complied.

"Sounds like he . . . Francis . . . ?!"

"Francis Scott Key," Drew prompted with a smile.

"Sounds like he’s asking a lot of questions."

Drew nodded, his smile broadened. "The attack against Fort McHenry lasted about twenty-five hours, which meant it went on into the night. The Battle of Baltimore and attack on Fort McHenry were all part of a three part invasion plan. Had the British been victorious in Baltimore, it might very well have been the beginning of the end."

"The end of WHAT, Mister Taylor?"

"The end of our nation."

"Y-you mean . . . the end of America?" Joe’s eyes were the size of dinner plates as he posed his question, barely above the decibel level of an awed whisper.

Drew nodded. "Everyone knew that, I think, British and American alike," he continued. "After darkness fell, Francis Scott Key and John Stuart had no way of knowing how the battle was going. They could hear the British warships firing, as well as the cannons at Fort McHenry firing back. Though out the night, by the occasional light of ‘the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,’ they saw the American flag . . . the American Star Spangled Banner . . . still flying from the fort."

"That meant the Americans still had control of Fort McHenry?" Joe asked, thoroughly entranced.

"Yes," Drew replied, the passionate intensity in his own eyes and face matching the growing keen interest in Joe Cartwright’s. "Had the British been victorious, they would have taken down the American stars and strips and hoisted their own Union Jack."

"So all night long they didn’t know?" Joe asked. "Francis Scott Key and Colonel . . . is it Stuart?"

"Stuart it is."

"What happened?" Joe pressed.

"Francis Scott Key’s very question throughout the first verse," Drew replied. "It’s dawn . . . what happened? Does ANYONE know whether or not the American flag still waves over Fort McHenry? We saw it in the light from the fire exchanged, but with the sun not yet up and all the smoke from the fighting, we can’t see. He continues to ask the question through part of the second verse." Drew raised the sheet in hand and began once again to read:

" ‘On the shore dimly seen thro' the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream:’ is the star-spangled banner: O, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!’ "

"It was the American flag still flying above Fort McHenry when the smoke cleared, wasn’t it." Joe said, stating fact rather than posing a question.

Drew smiled and nodded again. "Yes, it was."

"Wow!" Joe exclaimed. "When did Fort McHenry get attacked?"

"September 13, 1814."

"1814?!" Joe looked over at Drew Taylor as if the man had suddenly sprouted a pair of purple antlers. "Why is it called the War of 1812?!"

"Congress declared war in 1812, on June 18^th to be exact. Mister Madison’s war, they called it."

"Why?"

"Tell you what, Joe. If it’s alright with your father AND my wife, perhaps you might fetch down your history book and we could return to the dining room table and discuss the War of 1812 further."

"May I, Pa? May I PLEASE? PRETTY please?" Joe fervently begged, his eyes round and soulful as a young puppy begging scraps from the dinner table.

"It’s alright with me, IF Mrs. Taylor says yes," Ben replied, delighted, yet thoroughly astonished to see his youngest son taking such a keen, if sudden, interest in American History.

Joe turned toward Carolyn Taylor, favoring her with the same smile that had already proven irresistible to women of all ages and would in years to come leave a long trail of broken hearts in its wake. "Can we, Mrs. Taylor?"

"You certainly may," Carolyn replied, captivated more by the eager gleam she saw reflected in her husband’s eyes.

Joe let out a wild whoop at the top of his lungs. "Thank you, Pa! Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. I’ll be right back ‘soon as I get my history book." With that the boy bolted up the steps, taking them two and three at a time.

********** 

"Thank you so much for a wonderful evening, Ben," Carolyn Taylor said with a warm smile, when she, her husband, and stepdaughter, took their leave shortly after the grandfather clock downstairs had struck the half hour of ten-thirty.

"I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Carolyn," Ben replied, returning her smile. "I’m sorry Joe monopolized so much of Drew’s time."

"Oh, please . . . DON’T be sorry," Carolyn said immediately. "Drew has always had a very keen interest in history, particularly the history of our country. It’s . . . well, it’s been a very, very long time since he’s had an opportunity to share his interest with so appreciative an audience."

"The fact that Drew’s audience WAS so appreciative is in and of itself quite amazing," Ben said, still not quite knowing what to make of things. "To say that Joe has little interest and even less patience when it comes to his school work, especially history, is understating the case." He paused briefly. "Carolyn . . . . "

"Yes, Ben?"

"Mrs. Georgianna Wilkens . . . she’s president of the Virginia City Literary Society as well as an old, very dear friend of mine," Ben said quietly. "She’s also been the head librarian at the Virginia City Lending Library for the better part of the last decade or so. When I saw her in town the other day, she told me that she’s looking for someone to work as an assistant while she trains him, with the idea of stepping into the position of head librarian when she steps down next spring. I immediately thought of Drew. He’s always impressed me as being very intelligent . . . like someone who knows his way around books. And seeing him with Joe tonight . . . . "

"That sounds like a wonderful opportunity," Carolyn said gratefully.

"I have a feeling that the pay’s a lot better than what he’s making at the Silver Dollar Saloon and the International Hotel," Ben added hopefully.

"I can’t answer for him of course, but I WILL speak to him about that opening in the library, Ben," Carolyn eagerly promised. "Thank you so much for thinking of him."

"Carolyn." It was Drew. "Hoss and Cindy have finished saying good night," he continued with a smile and a playful wink of the eye. "We’d best be moving along. It’s getting very late."

"Indeed it is," Carolyn agreed. "Good night, Ben."

"Good night, Carolyn." Ben turned and waved to Drew and Cindy, already waiting next to the buggy.

"Good night, Ben," Drew called back, smiling. "Thank you for inviting us over this evening."

********** 

"Class, please pass ALL of your assigned homework to the front of the room," Hazel Gibson ordered in a brisk, no nonsense tone of voice. "Estelle?"

Estelle Perkins, aged sixteen going on seventeen, immediately rose. "Yes, Ma’am?"

"I wo