Victoria Barkley stared out the kitchen window. She could not remember a colder December since arriving in California many years ago with her husband, Thomas Barkley. The wind suddenly gusted making the willow tree bend and sway which, in turn, made Victoria reach to pull her shawl tighter around her shoulders. No matter what the family did, this yearÆs wind storms seemed to keep their home uncomfortably cold.

"Mrs. Barkley." Silas's wife, Meg, touched her friend's shoulder.

Victoria jumped then, turned smiling as she realized Meg caught her lost in thought once again.

"Yes, Meg?"

Victoria's attempts at gaining quick control did not fool either woman and they melted into each others arms and a fit of laughter.

"One of these days, I'm not going to be able to bring you back from where you run off to, Mrs. Barkley."

"I know but I'm glad you insist on trying."

Victoria smiled and headed into the dining room where her family was gathering for dinner. She glided into her chair and watched the conversation bounce around from face to face. Everything seemed normal but, for Victoria, the entire scene seemed terribly wrong. She played along but her world, their table, and their home changed dramatically two summers before and, for Victoria, only one thing could ever make it right again.

Tom Barkley sat quietly watching his children but keeping his mind set on the woman at the other end of the table, his wife. Tom suffered a mild stroke the previous July, five months before this cold December. He recovered completely except for a severe case of what the doctors termed "expressive aphasia." This meant Victoria's husband could understand conversations but found it difficult to participate verbally. Tom found it easier to simply write his words on a chalk board he kept by his side at all times. When he tried to speak, strange sounds or the complete opposite words would come tumbling out. Nick worked out a system where his father tapped on the table once to signify "yes" and knocked twice to indicate "no." This worked well except in crowded situations where the conversation hurried by before Tom could knock or write to participate.

Dr. Markson had Victoria working with Tom and still hoped he would regain some verbal skills. Tom was strong and able in every other way and if he didn't need to speak folks would never guess Tom Barkley wasn't completely well. Victoria and Tom would sit together each evening while Tom read aloud from a sheet of words the doctors in San Francisco gave him to master. At times, Tom could say one, two, or three of the words correct but never in a sentence. Despite their frustrations, the couple worked on and tried to keep their hopes alive.

"Sure but what about next year? What will ol'Grant Woods do then?"

Nick's booming voice and the laughter his comment caused brought Victoria back to the present and her family gathered around the table.

"Now, Brother Nick, do I detect the sound of jealousy in your voice this fine afternoon?"

"Ah, com'on, Jarrod! ME JEALOUS OF GRANT?"

Audra couldn't hold back her laughter, adding "Gee, Nick, I think Jarrod may be on to something here."

Laughter roared around the table. Victoria smiled and did her best to pretend she was aware of the joke but she wasn't. As her children settled into more teasing, Victoria's eyes met Tom's and she smiled back towards his knowing nod. She might fool the rest of the family, Meg, Silas, or anyone else but Victoria would never fool her best friend, lover, and husband of all these years. Tom sensed her growing distress and acknowledged it silently between them.

After dinner, the children departed for their various afternoon activities. Tom held out his elbow and escorted Victoria to the warmth of the study's hearth. When he offered a brandy, much earlier in the day than normal, Victoria unhesitatingly took it. They sat watching the flames completely lost in thought.

"OH!"

Victoria jumped as Tom's warm hand caressed her checks and wiped the tears which were unconsciously careening down her face. Their eyes met briefly before Tom stooped down and tenderly kissed his wife. As he stood and walked back to his chair, Victoria sensed a deep sadness oozing from his being.

Tom sat down, turned his wet eyes back to his wife, and uttered one word, "Heath."

Victoria sat stunned. Tom hadn't said anything coherent in months, and yet, she was sure he clearly spoke their youngest son's name.

"Yes, Tom, I'm thinking about Heath today. Are you, Darling?"

"Heath."

Tom shook his head and let it drop. Victoria rushed over and knelt beside her truest companion. They held hands and gathered strength from each other, their shared feelings, and the warm fire. The moment passed and they returned to the task of practicing Tom's list of words but Victoria felt a renewed sense of hope. Tom could say Heath's name and did so with utmost clarity. That afternoon changed the mood in the Barkley home for the first time in five months. All who entered might notice the change but only Victoria and Tom knew the difference was based on the return of hope to their lives.

San Jose, December 1878

Heath Thomson drew his pay from the foreman and headed into town with the rest of the Lazy K's work crew. He loved the feeling which eased into his muscles after a day of hard work on Eric Kropp's ranch outside of San Jose. In fact, Heath liked working on any ranch where horses were plentiful and a honest day's labor appreciated. He rubbed his gloved hands together and followed at the end of the trail of cowboys headed into town to spend a well deserved Friday night relaxing at their crew's favorite bar.

The wind blew hard and the bitter cold made Heath long for his family's ranch back south, outside of Stockton. It should be warmer down there and he could almost smell Silas and Meg's cooking drifting across the foyer when he followed his father and Nick in from the barn. Mother and Audra would be all cleaned up waiting for them by a warm fire in the living room. He and Nick would dash up in a mock race to be first in the bathroom but Nick always went first whether Heath beat him up the stairs or not.

Another gust of wind brought Heath around from his daydream. The crew was quiet now as the men rested and held close to their horses for some warmth. He pulled his collar up hard around his neck and tried to move his thoughts from the Barkley family. After a week on the fence crew, Heath's weariness, once again, took over, he rested his eyes, trusted Charger to follow his barn mates, and relaxed into thoughts of warmth, love, and innocent happiness.

"I'M LEAVING AND YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME AROUND THESE PARTS AGAIN. WHAT KIND OF MAN ARE YOU, THOMAS BARKLEY? DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU WOULD GET AWAY WITH THIS? HOW COULD YOU LIE TO ME? ALL THESE YEARS, I THOUGHT ... WELL, IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT I THOUGHT BECAUSE I WAS, OBVIOUSLY, WRONG! SO VERY, VERY WRONG."

Heath jumped in the saddle as the words and scenes which tormented his nights for the 17 long months since July 1877, returned to the forefront of his mind. He was in the foyer of his family's home. His father, Tom Barkley, was standing in front of Heath blocking the front door while his mother tried vainly to hold on to the hand he continually snatched from her grasp.

"Heath, for God's sake, Son. YOU ARE A BARKLEY! Please, stay. We'll talk. We love you. I love you, Heath."

Eighteen turned out to be a very frustrating age for Heath. He always longed to be older, to be defined as a man. After finishing school, Heath joined his brother, Nick, and their father in working the ranch full-time. He loved every job that had anything to do with the ranch, especially horses. Jarrod, his oldest brother, recently finished law school and returned to Stockton to hang his shingle. So, it was just the three of them, Tom, Nick, and Heath to master the large and continually growing needs of the Barkley dynasty.

The summer after Heath's graduation turned out to be a disappointment. Tom and Nick had been working together for almost six years since Nick refused to finish school. They'd built up a silent way of communicating with one and other, a deep bond based on their love of the ranch. Heath was given more work, took over most of the paperwork, and began to spend time with Jarrod learning how to take care of the family's many business interests. Heath quickly realized he would never be fully accepted into Tom and Nick's special world. Thus, Heath was treated as a man by his family but still was under their complete control with very little choice as to what he did, or participated in, on the ranch.

July 1877, as the roles his father had chosen for him were being defined, Heath almost wished he had his schoolboy freedom back. His mother sensed his distress and encouraged him to give the entire situation time. After all, Nick and their father had been working together for years while Heath had only been available to assist them before and after school. It would take them all time to adjust.

Time turned out to be something they didn't have much to spare. Heath was home working on the books one blisteringly hot July afternoon. A carriage pulled up out front and a young woman approached the door. Normally, Silas would respond but he and Meg were enjoying a quiet afternoon decorating their church for a weekend wedding. Heath sat and watched the strangely familiar woman drive up, sit staring at the house, and then, finally getting down to approach the door. Heath didn't know why but he sensed he knew his woman before they even met.

"Good afternoon"

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. May I help you?"

"Yes, please."

The obviously unwell woman walked in, slowly. She pasted him on her way into the foyer in response to Heath's hand gesture and full swing open of the large door. She stood in front of a small straight back chair his mother kept near the door so the men could remove their muddy boots when needed.

"Please, Ma'am, be seated."

Heath walked away long enough to bring a glass of cool water to the pale figure. She glanced up and smiled before dropping her head to drink a few sips of the much needed liquid. It was only a few seconds but it was long enough. All his life, Heath could never figure out why he didn't look like anyone in his family. Oh sure, he had blonde hair and crisp blue eyes like his sister and the paternal side of his father's family but he didn't truly look like them. He didn't look anything like his mother, Victoria, or her family up in Denver, either. Heath even asked his parents about this odd situation a few times but they hurriedly reassured him of his resemblance to Tom's father and moved on.

Now, sitting right in front of him was a woman whose looks were unmistakably familiar. She had light hair and eyes but she also had prominent cheekbones, a square jaw, and a high forehead just like his. Somehow, without words, Heath began to sense what was happening to his world. He stumbled across the foyer and sat on the bench to wait for his visitor to recover.

"Thank you for the water, Sir. I've had a long trip and I fear I was less able than I had planned."

"Yes, Ma'am."

The woman finished the water and Heath stood to take her glass. He put the glass on the foyer table while she used her handkerchief to wipe her brow.

"Would you care to move into the living room, Ma'am. It is far more comfortable."

"Yes, thank you."

The woman stood and took Heath's arm when it was offered. For a long moment, they paused while their eyes locked. She was taller than Victoria but still seemed small as a bird on his well-muscled arm. Suddenly, the woman smiled, despite the fact tears began streaming down her face. Heath moved his arm around her waist and assisted her towards the couch as her knees began to collapse.

"I'm sorry, Young Man. I'm afraid I'm not feeling terribly well."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry you're not well. Perhaps I should call my mother in from out back."

"NO!"

The woman's distress combined with her grabbing Heath's hand and holding tight convinced him to leave his mother and Audra to their afternoon of repose in the garden gazebo. He settled into a chair by the couch and waited for his guest to once again regain her composure.

"I'm looking for Heath. I mean, I'm looking for Mr. Heath Barkley."

The woman glanced up and met his eye.

"I'm Heath, Ma'am."

"Yes, I know."

Stockton, December 1878

Tom Barkley might not be able to talk but there was nothing wrong with his mind. He worked on ranch paperwork for the majority of the afternoon. When Victoria excused herself for a rest before supper, Tom took the opportunity to spend some time away from the house. Despite the cold, he saddled up Hero and headed out for some exercise.

Riding up the crest behind the foreman's house, Tom stopped and turned to gaze back at the home he and his family built with sheer hard work, love, and determination. How could he have been so selfish? How could he have been so weak? He shook his head and let Hero wander while he, once again, reviewed his mind's torments.

Before long, Hero came to a stop by the white fence around the Barkley ranch's small cemetery. Two of the ranch's most trusted employees, Joe Cooper, Ed Neely plus, an unknown stranger Nick found dead on the road between the ranch and Stockton were buried up front, all in a row. Tom's eyes automatically dropped back to the cross over the single grave behind the others. Leah Thomson's unmarked grave seemed to call out to Tom Barkley. Hidden in the wind cutting through Tom's jacket, mind, and soul the man heard Leah demanding justice. She cried out "where is Heath, where is our son?"

Tom turned Hero into the wind and rode wildly across the horizon. Maybe he could find exhaustion before returning home for supper since Tom knew he wouldn't find any peace.

Victoria changed into a warmer dress for the evening before crossing into Audra's room. She helped Audra finish buttoning up her heavy evening dress then fussed over her lovely young daughter's hair. They joined hands and started down the hall to wait for the men by the living room fire. Audra noticed her mother's brief hesitation at Heath's bedroom door.

"I miss him too, Mother."

"Pardon?"

"I miss Heath. The entire town is finishing their preparations for Christmas and everyone is so excited but me. I feel awful since I know Christmas is Jesus' birthday but all I can think of is December 25th is Heath's birthday, too. If only we knew where he was. Why, I'd ride there and make him come home. This is his second Christmas, or birthday, away from home. That is too long to be angry with Father. Much, much too long."

Victoria threw her arms around Audra and gave her a heartfelt hug. There were no words so they held on to each other and descended the stairs.

San Jose, December 1878

Heath was tired and fighting off the same cough which had bothered him for more than a week each time he tried to relax at night to sleep. The cowboy group stabled their horses and headed for the bar but Heath turned the opposite direction and ignored his friends calls while proceeding away from the group. He didn't stop until he reached the lower end of San Jose and stepped into a small Catholic chapel run by a group of French nuns. The nuns left the chapel, which consisted of a collection of large temporary tents, open at all times.

There is nothing like the sound of six French nuns going about the business of preparing the chapel for increased holiday traffic in their poor Spanish. It was music to Heath's frozen ears. Luckily, the Barkley ranch always hired loads of Spanish speaking workers plus, Cisco and Heath spent hours together taking care of the horses. Heath was sure there wasn't another man on earth with more knowledge of horses than Cisco. Cisco's relationship also provided Heath with another benefit, he was fluent in Spanish and often preferred speaking Spanish over English.

The young man closed his eyes and listened to the various noises, voices, and murmurings of rosaries and prayers surrounding him. Heath clearly saw all their faces: mother, Audra, Jarrod, and Nick. Suddenly, his father's face loomed before the tired, confused, youth. For the first time in months, Tom Barkley's face was remembered as Heath typically knew it, kind, just, and full of pride in his young blonde son. At last, the anger and frustration of their last moments together were fading from Heath's mind.

"WHAT?"

Heath jumped up but caught himself as Mother Superior nodded for him to be seated while looking around to assure the other visitors all was well. She spoke horribly fragmented English so they agreed to converse in Spanish during Heath's frequent visits to enjoy the quiet of the chapel.

"What is troubling you this evening, My Son?"

"Good evening, Mother. I'm fine, thank you. I'm simply a bit weary. That's all."

Mother touched Heath's forehead and shook her own head.

"You aren't well. There's fever in your face."

Heath laughed and stood up, whispering "No, Mother, I rode in through all that wind. I've got wind burn."

"Very well, Boy. Follow me."

Heath dutifully followed the nun back to a corner of the large tent where she kept a desk.

"I showed your drawings to Father Borg when he passed through this week. He thought they were excellent plans and took them with him to present to his Holiness, Bishop O'Brien, in San Francisco. I had a hard time convincing him you were merely a cowhand and no more. We both sense you've had a high quality education, Heath."

Heath withstood many of Mother Superior's inquisitions, on previous Friday evenings, so he shifted his weight and prepared to maintain silent during her attempts to find out more about his past. She would ramble on but he wouldn't break. Since his arrival, Heath used the surname Thomson. There was no way anyone would trace Heath to the Stockton Barkleys, his former life, or the benefits of that life such as the outstanding education his parents provided their youngest son.

Smiling to himself, knowing he successfully withstood another round of Mother's questions, Heath scooted down into the hay for more warmth while Charger stood near enjoying the apple his master brought in the livery for him. The cold winter wind tore through the old building but Heath felt comfortable snuggled down in the hay of his horse's stall. After leaving the chapel, he first stopped back at the bar to check on the other cowhands but they were all busy and obviously wouldn't be setting out for the Lazy K for a few more hours. Heath quickly left the bar and headed for the sanctuary of the livery. He cherished quiet time and after enjoying the chapel the bar seemed far too loud and impersonal.

How did life get so complicated? There was a time when the week before Christmas was Heath's favorite of the entire year. Father and Nick were even in good moods while Audra and Mother worked filling the house with decorations. The entire ranch seemed to smell of pine plus, all the baking Silas and Meg did filled Heath's mind with joy. Through the entire week, Heath's family worked hard to make the Christmas celebrations special for him. They constantly talked about being sure his birthday didn't get lost in all the fuss which surrounded Christmas.

Heath never told another soul but he liked being a Christmas baby. He didn't like parties or any gathering in which the attention was centered on him. Being born on Christmas meant Heath's special day got mixed in with all the other celebrations and he was more than comfortable with things working out in this way. Besides, as long as Victoria and Tom Barkley were his parents, Heath never, ever, felt he missed out on a thing.

"I'm merely a friend from your past, Young Man. I've wanted to come visit for a long time but I didn't want to intrude on you or your family, Heath."

The extraordinarily beautiful woman smiled once more and a flood of memories surged through Heath's heart, mind, and soul. He knew the woman before him but how, why, or from what place the boy didn't know. Heath kneeled before the ill figure and took her hands in his. Their eyes once more locked before she turned her face and cleared her throat.

"I best be moving on, Heath. I've got many, many, miles to go before the end of my day."

"I'm sorry to be forward, Ma'am, but you don't seem in good enough shape to be traveling anymore today."

"Oh!" Her laugh filled Heath's heart with a familiar joy and comfort.

"I'm fine. The heat of the day passed while we visited and I simply must move on."

"Heath?"

Victoria Barkley entered the living room on her quest to find her youngest son. Audra had already gone up the backstairs to rest in her room and Victoria was attempting to deliver a glass of cool lemonade to her hardworking blonde boy. When Heath and his guest turned in response to her call, Victoria dropped the glass of lemonade on the carpet.

"LEAH!"

"Good afternoon, Victoria," The woman stood up to greet her hostess. "It is lovely to see you, again. I was just explaining to Heath that it has been years since we had a chance to visit."

Victoria stood frozen for a second then, seemed to come back to life. She gazed down at Heath, who was still on the floor next to his guest, and tried to manage a weak smile.

"I didn't know you and Heath ..."

"Yes, well I wasn't feeling well when I first arrived. The heat, you know. I'm fine now and I'll be on my way."

The woman gazed down at the young man at her feet before offering him one last smile. Leah briefly let her callused fingers sail across Heath's forehead, through his hair, and down around his left ear. He closed his eyes feeling as if a ghost touched his being. Heath remembered this uniquely comforting touch and finally knew his boyhood dreams were not his imagination. Yes, Heath knew this woman.

"Please, Ma'am ..."

Leah raced across the room, swung open the door, and headed for her buggy. Victoria grabbed hold of Heath as he tried to chase after the familiar stranger.

"NO, HEATH! LET HER GO!"

"Why, Mother? Who is she?"

Heath's crisp eyes stabbed through Victoria to her very soul. She shook her head as if she could wake up from a bad dream but Heath continued to look to Victoria for an honest answer.

"Mother," Heath pulled from her grasp, "it's the strangest thing. I feel I know that woman plus, didn't you see, she's much too ill to be traveling any more today."

Victoria ran after Heath and wrapped her arm around his waist as they watched the wildly driven buggy disappear into the horizon leaving a wide dust cloud to float across the hot air.

"I know her, Mother. I know that woman."

Heath turned to Victoria. She gazed into his always honest eyes and nodded her head in agreement while tears streamed down her face.

"Go after her, Heath. Bring her back, Son."

An enormous smile broke out on Heath's face and he quickly planted a kiss on Victoria's cheek before racing to grab the nearest saddled horse. She watched him tear across the horizon on his quest to catch up to the buggy. Unable to fight her emotions any longer, Victoria sat down on the verandah and cried all the while knowing her wonderful world was shattered.

Heath jumped when Charger nudged him.

"What's the matter, Boy? Was I talking in my sleep again?"

The young man reached out to pet his loyal steed. The wind continued to howl outside and the other cowhand's horses remained tethered in their stalls so Heath sank further into the hay and let himself return to the warm glow of sleep.

"I'M LEAVING AND YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME AROUND THESE PARTS AGAIN. WHAT KIND OF MAN ARE YOU, THOMAS BARKLEY? DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU WOULD GET AWAY WITH THIS? HOW COULD YOU LIE TO ME? ALL THESE YEARS, I THOUGHT ... WELL, IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT I THOUGHT BECAUSE I WAS, OBVIOUSLY, WRONG! SO VERY, VERY WRONG."

Heath pushed Victoria's hand from his being, once more, and stepped close to his father.

"MOVE, OLD MAN, OR I'LL MOVE YOU!"

Tom Barkley reached to touch Heath while trying to control the wild teenager's fury. "You're angry, confused, and hurt, Son. I know you're upset but we have so much to talk about. So many, many, things to ..."

Tom never finished his plea. Heath wasn't as big as Nick but he was bigger than his father. The boy used his quickness to get an angle on Tom, and before the older man could recover, Heath's blow sent him spilling across the foyer's tile floor.

Heath jumped from his sleep. Even with his eyes wide open, his mind easily focused on the look of shock and pain on his parent's faces as he threw open the front door and mounted Charger. He tried to calm himself by rubbing his tightly clinched fists up and down on his thighs but the anger, pain, and confusion in his heart was making it hard to breath. Heath jumped up, grabbed the curry brush, and began to rub down his mount to prevent himself from returning to the cozy corner of hay.

Stockton, December 1878

Tom refused to recite any of his words that evening. The wind howled and there were times when he expected to hear part of the barn roof blow by but it didn't. Nick built up the fire before retiring for the night and the others followed. Tom sat alone by the study hearth with his thoughts and a large glass of brandy.

The teenage years had been hard for all three of his boys but, until recently, Tom hadn't understood many of Heath's trials. In a way, Heath was Tom's most difficult son. Jarrod was always interested in talking. Often, through their bantering about of political or legal ideas and issues, Tom could sense how his eldest son was fairing down deep inside where it counted the most. Nick, well, Nick never hesitated to tell his father, and anyone else for that matter, what he thought, wanted, needed, or demanded. The thought of Nick bellowing on and on brought a large smile to Tom's face.

Slowly, the distraught man let his thoughts begin to center on his youngest son, Heath. Heath was shy, intellectual, quiet and unbelievably even tempered. There were times when no one in the house would have minded if Heath hauled off and punched Nick right in the mouth but Heath rarely did. He preferred slowly, and efficiently, getting back at Nick in his own way and on his own timetable.

"Only the squeaky wheel gets oiled." Victoria would often remark.

How many times had Victoria tried to get Tom to spend time alone with Heath. The boy adored his father and obviously would jump through fire to get a few moments alone with him but Tom rarely allowed any situations where they were truly alone. Could he have been afraid of his own son? Afraid those piercing blue eyes would see through the shame, deceit, and lies? Tom closed his eyes and remembered that night so many, many, years before.

The Barkleys were leaving the following day for a new start on their undeveloped parcel of land outside a newly forming town called Stockton. Their home in Midas was sparsely furnished with most of their possessions having been sent ahead. The children's school artwork was the only decoration left out for the holiday season. Jarrod (10yrs), Nick (6yrs), and Victoria with her nearly seven months worth of swollen belly were all in bed long before. Suddenly, there was a faint knock on the back door.

"Leah?"

Tom hurried his former lover into the kitchen while assisting her with a small bag.

"What on earth?"

"Shhh, Thomas, you'll wake, David."

Tom nodded and held his small boy while Leah removed her coat and pulled a chair close to the still warm kitchen stove. She took their towheaded boy back in her arms and cooed him into a deeper sleep before speaking once more.

"I've been thinking about the offer you and Victoria made. You've both been wonderful to David, Rachel, Hannah, and myself. Why there hasn't been a month when you haven't sent the agreed upon amount or come to visit our boy."

Tom pulled a chair close and watched as Leah rhythmically stroked David's forehead, across his hair, and down around his left ear before moving her hand gently to start the process over and over. There was some Barkley in the boy but since the moment of his birth, two years ago this coming Christmas morning, David strongly favored his mother. David had been born premature and remained small for his age but time and Leah's loving care were helping the child catch up with his peers.

"Your Heath's death was a horrible tragedy and I don't blame you for wanting to take Victoria and the children away from Midas and all these bad memories. You've been longing to go work the land you bought down near Stockton for years."

The woman paused and held her sleeping child closer for a moment. Tom stood up and stirred the embers in the stove then, added a log hoping to re-warm the kitchen to keep his guests more comfortable.

"You'll be in Stockton by Christmas, David's second birthday. Is that correct, Tom?"

Tom nodded and sat back down. He reached over and caressed David's small arm.

"I want you to take David, Tom. You and Victoria are right. Your Heath's death created an opportunity for my boy here. Midas is a crazy mining town but it did allow you to make quite a fortune to give that ranch of yours a good start. People here come and go like crazy, the chances of anyone remembering your boy died when so many suffered in the epidemic ... Well, I doubt many from the mining crowd will ever spend much time down in a hard working ranching community like Stockton."

Tom smiled and nodded before wiping a tear from Leah's face. She quickly pulled away and took some deep breaths before continuing.

"David is only a few days away from his second birthday. He knows you, Victoria, and the boys so he won't feel abandoned or frightened. He won't miss me for long. Little kids adapt better than adults."

Leah turned and pushed David into Tom's arms.

"Folks will believe he's your Heath. There was only a year between them, exactly twelve months. This Heath will still be small for a few years but your right, Tom, David will catch up, eventually. I have to believe, when he does catch up physically, it won't matter. He'll simply be a big boy for his age, not unlike your Nick is now. The family up in Denver and back in Philadelphia will be glad he's under your roof. They won't care how we did it. In fact, I'm sure your father will be glad to be rid of me after all the mess two years back. With a little luck ..."

Leah stopped and rooted though her pocket for a handkerchief. Tom sat stunned as he gazed into his arms trying to take in the gift the woman before him was giving.

"I don't want no more money. You and Victoria are never to contact me or anybody else in Strawberry. I'll work things out there since I've got nobody, 'cepting Rachel and Hannah. Being a mining town, folks won't notice one less bastard among the crowd. It's the only way to keep from hurting our boy. He can't know, ever."

"Leah?"

"NO," Leah was quickly losing control of her emotions, "I've prayed and prayed on this. I can't be selfish and keep him with me. He deserves so much more. From now on, David Thomson doesn't exist, this here is Heath Morgan Barkley. That's what I want, Tom, and you know I'm right."

She paused and once more caressed her sleeping baby's cheek. Tom moved to speak but Leah held a hand over his mouth and shook her head to keep him silent.

"I did love you, Tom Barkley, and this baby was no mistake. We both knew what we were doing and I wanted to bear a child of yours as much as I've ever wanted anything in my life. I knew you were married and I probably knew you and Victoria would work out your problems. I even knew we were going to hurt folks but I never, ever, knew I could love anyone or anything the way I love this child. I've got one last chance to do the right thing, the best thing for my David."

Leah stood up and straightened her shoulders. With a look Tom Barkley would never forget, Leah bent to kiss their son.

"Love him, Tom. You, Victoria, and the boys love him, That's all there need be. He's such a good boy, my David."

Leah pulled her coat back on and headed for the door.

"Leah!" Tom held David close and followed his mother across the room.

"The bag has only the things you and Victoria gave the boy in it. Nothing that could ever be traced to Strawberry."

Tom touched Leah's shoulder and she wheeled around revealing a tearstained face.

"Don't, Tom," Leah bent and kissed the small boy once more, whispering, "you're his father. Take him and don't ever let him be alone or frightened. David, I mean, this Heath's quieter than your boys and won't tell you when he's scared. You gotta remember to hold him tighter than the others, love him, Tom, that's all."

While Tom watched, his son's mother raced out the door and into the darkness. The Barkleys left for Stockton early the next morning. Six months later, on a business trip to Sacramento, Tom paid top dollar to a judge well known for his willingness to do favors for money. The judge straightened out all the necessary paperwork. David Adams Thomson was born and died while Heath Morgan Barkley lived on with his birthday moved to Christmas Day. Leah's baby had been a Christmas gift and Tom wanted to keep that truth in the official records.

The Barkleys quickly became a vital part of the burgeoning community along with their four children: Jarrod, Nick, Heath, and Audra. For years, their youngest son would wake up screaming into the darkness for the scent, touch, sound, and feel of a ghost he could not name. Victoria and Tom would wrap the small boy in their arms and hold him close through those nights. Eventually, the dreams went away and Heath stopped mentioning the strange void he often felt during long cold nights to his family.

Tom Barkley thought of that night so many years ago and felt a renewed respect for the sacrifice he witnessed. His mind quickly reviewed every tiny nuance of his blonde son's face. Had he done the right thing? Was he fair at all or had he selfishly taken the easy way out when it was offered? Could Heath have been happy knowing he was adopted, or more accurately, could Heath have accepted the fact he was born a bastard? There would be no answers until Tom had the opportunity to sit down and talk to his boy but, where was Heath?

"Tom?"

Victoria knelt beside her deeply disturbed husband.

"Come to bed, Darling. It is terribly late."

Tom nodded and reached to caress her check.

"Heath."

Victoria laid her head down on Tom's lap. She stayed with him until the wee hours of the morning when the fire died and cold permeated the study. Slowly, sadly, the Barkleys walked up to rest in each others arms while they struggled, once more, with past decisions and their present inability to locate the child they both adored.

San Jose, December 1878

"I mean it, Joey. Take good care of Charger and I'll give you another hundred dollars when I get back."

"That's a lot of money, Heath. How long will you be gone?"

"I don't rightly know but Mr Kropp said he'd hold my job until mid-January. I guess I'll be back before that."

The two young cowhands shook hands and Heath jumped on the back of the supply wagon heading back into town.

"Happy Christmas, Heath."

"Thanks, Joey, Happy Christmas to you, too."

The wagon moved slowly due to the high winds and sleet. Heath curled up under a tarp and let his mind slide. Good thing he had taken the early supply wagon since the trains may be off schedule due to the weather. He reached into his pocket for his gloves and felt his hand slide across the gift Mother Superior gave him in her chapel the evening before.

"Mother," Heath blushed and handed back the gift, "I'm not even Catholic."

"Well," the older woman put her hands on her hips, "there is always hope that you'll come to your senses and convert."

Heath quietly laughed and enjoyed the rare smile spreading across the Nun's face.

"Truthfully, Dear Boy," Mother took Heath's hand and pushed her gift inside, "I want you to have this rosary. My family gave it to me years ago when I left home to join the convent. You hold on tight to it until you solve whatever problems are troubling you. Then, only then, I'll take it back." The woman took the circle of hand carved beads and held them up to the candle light, "Besides, the rosary flows in a circle around the cross. It is my way of reminding you that life is a series of circles around your center, your soul. The Heath way down deep inside here." Mother reached over and touched the front of Heath's shirt.

Resting in the back of the wagon, Heath remembered the moment by touching his coat over the spot where Mother had touched him. On the trail home the night before, as he and Charger lead the drunken cowboys across the frozen countryside, he held the rosary tight inside his gloved hand and prayed as Mother Superior instructed him to do. He asked for guidance, to see what should be the next step in the chain of life for him. One image continuously flooded his mind, Thomas Barkley's face.

"I have to get home. I WANT to go home."

Heath had spoken these words out loud to the wind. No one heard or cared about his revelation. After almost a year and a half of anger, denial, loneliness and stubborn determination to fight, Heath admitted he missed his family and wanted to find his way home.

A fear gripped him while he fought off thoughts of his father's rejection upon Heath's return. Heath said, and did, horrible things before he stomped off. Heath would just be ready to change his mind when his fingers slid across the rosary. The boy knew there was nothing else for him to do. He would take the first morning train south.

Stockton, December 1878

"Mother, do you really think we should go? I've never seen a Christmas Eve in Stockton with worse weather."

"Nick, Meg and Silas have worked for months on this production so have most of my friends from our church. It would be awful if the town didn't support their efforts. I doubt many places can claim the amount of cooperation Stockton's churches have been able to work out. All the churches coming together for a night of Christmas music. It is something your father and I feel should be strongly supported by everyone, no matter their church affiliation or beliefs."

"Yes, Ma'am." Nick let out a sigh of resignation.

"But, Mother," Audra glanced out at the snow flurries storming by the dining room window, "Father isn't even going."

Victoria's glare was all the answer her daughter needed or wanted. Thomas Barkley barely tolerated Heath's absence the previous Christmas, and this year, he wasn't dealing with the situation well at all. She sent her children to the carriage and headed into the study to check on Tom.

"We're all wearing nine layers and I had Jarrod put extra blankets in the back. Harvey and the skeleton crew will be right over in the bunkhouse if you need them. Please, don't worry if we don't make it home this evening. Remember, Louise offered us rooms if the weather turns too bitter."

Through his wife's entire repetition of the information, she already reviewed with him five times, Tom nodded and attempted to feign attention. Louise and John offered their house months before and Tom Barkley wouldn't have been letting his family out in this horrendous weather if he hadn't already instructed Jarrod and Nick to put overnight bags in the carriage, along with food and extra blankets. Tom was a sporting man but not when it came to his family.

Tom stood up and folded his wife into a gentle hug. Without words, he conveyed his need to be home, alone for a few hours. He needed time to come to grips with his thoughts and prepare himself for an attempt to celebrate the holy day only hours away from descending on his beloved ranch.

"Okay, Tom, but I'm not going to stay away from home on Christmas Eve unless I feel it is necessary. I don't care what all those instructions you wrote out to the boys said."

Tom laughed and shook his head. There was no getting away with anything in this house. He walked with Victoria and watched from the verandah until the carriage disappeared into the dim afternoon light. The clouds were low and heavy with snow, Tom knew his family wouldn't be back until Christmas morning so, he prepared to settle in to the study for a long night of quiet contemplation with his Maker.

Outside Stockton, December 1878

Heath's attempt to travel to Stockton had been hampered by overloaded trains, engines ill fitted for the unusually cold, windy conditions, and his own declining health. He took an entire afternoon and night off in a small train whistle town. The young man paid for a hot bath, decent food, and a comfortable bed but it wasn't enough. Heath was headed home for the most important talk of his life with a cough that made his chest feel it would burst, the worst headache he could remember, and an unstable personal temperature gage. One moment he was freezing, and the next, he couldn't get outside the car fast enough to gulp in cold air. It was terribly unusual for Heath not to feel well, unlike Nick, Jarrod, mother, and Audra. They seemed to catch every illness which passed close to Stockton but not Heath or his father. They simply didn't get sick so, Heath assumed what was happening to him was simply a cold and kept fighting to find his way home.

Suddenly, the train lurched to another unplanned stop. The weary passengers moaned as one while craning their necks to see out into the pitch black evening for answers. Before long, the conductor came through to announce the train in front of them was stuck in a large snow bank which had been blown across the tracks outside of Stockton. It could be hours before they moved any closer to their final destination.

As the crowd quieted from their anger and frustration upon hearing the conductor's news, the car quickly began to feel like an icebox. People moved forward toward the small Franklin stove but even sitting shoulder to shoulder was not going to prevent this from being a long, cold, wait.

Heath sat alone and tried to settle his thoughts along with his cough. As he gazed out the train window, the young man began to get his bearings. The train wasn't far from Stockton but it was stopped on the northwestern side of town. It couldn't be more than one-half mile on foot and Heath would cross into Barkley land. Another two miles from the Darby's Creek boundary, Heath would be home. If he walked, there was a chance he'd make it long before the train even edged its way further towards town. Once he arrived in town, Heath would have to find an open livery and rent a horse before he could double back this way and finally make it home. No, walking from here would be much closer than waiting until the train made its way in to Stockton.

Heath had only one small bag. He marked it and gave it to the conductor with instructions for it to be left at the Stockton station. He pulled every layer of clothing out of the bag before he handed it over with a large tip. Heath ignored the conductor's warnings, put on all the layers he could fit under his coat, and drifted out the back door. Heath felt good for the first time in the past few days, he was outside, away from the noisy passenger car, and most importantly, Heath was on the final leg of his journey home.

Victoria hoped her distress hadn't been too conspicuous. She slipped out the back door of church then, slowly made her way to Louise and John Jennings' house where the family was planning on having Christmas Eve supper and staying to ride out the wicked weather. They already stabled the horses and carriage with no plans to even attempt a ride back to the ranch until Christmas morning. Although it was only late in the afternoon, the skies were dark as midnight with heavy low hanging clouds making the sky seem close enough to reach out a gloved hand and touch.

The low clouds acted like a blanket. They slowed the cruel winds and caused the temperatures to rise but the snow was falling at a tremendous pace making transportation of any kind nearly impossible. Stockton never got this cold and never, ever, had snow accumulations like this in all the years Victoria lived here. The town, the ranchers, the railroad, the merchants, no one was equipped to deal with this unusual turn in the weather.

She took some deep breaths while letting herself begin to enjoy the beauty of the snow. Victoria let a few flakes land on her glove then, stepped near a sidewalk lantern to appreciate the unique patterns they contained. What her children would have given when they were youngsters to have a white Christmas in Stockton. A tear found its way down Victoria's cheek and she brushed it away with her now snow covered glove. Gazing to the heavens, she closed her eyes praying for some peace of mind and the ability to celebrate the birth of her Lord, despite the fact her heart was once again breaking.

Back at the church, Victoria had been terribly proud to see the crowd. Interfaith and multi-church organized performances were something very new in Stockton. A segment of the population had refused to participate and a few threats of violence, especially against members of Silas and Meg's church, were leveled but this afternoon all was going well and the true spirit of the season seemed to permeate the large barn being used for the event. Everyone was in a festive mood and many traveled far to show their support. Friends and neighbors were walking around offering greetings plus, arrangements were being made for one and all to stay somewhere comfortable in town for the night since it was obvious travel that evening would be perilous.

Victoria turned the corner with her thoughts once more on the songs of joy being presented back at the church. All centered on a small boy's birth on Christmas day. Despite her many attempts to control her emotions, Victoria failed miserably. She found it impossible to concentrate on the Christmas story, her faith, or the true meaning of the songs being presented by the various choirs. Instead, her mind continuously rolled around words such us "Unto us, a child is born. Unto us, a son is given."

Unable to enjoy the concert, and not wanting to spoil it for those around her, Victoria left for her walk. She refused Jarrod's escort and sent him back into the audience. It was only a few blocks to the Jennings' house and Victoria Barkley needed some time alone.

Tom Barkley fixed a plate of fruit, cheese, and a large hunk of Silas' homemade Christmas bread. It was getting very late but, he wasn't tired and poured himself another brandy before building up the fire. While nibbling at his cold supper, Tom continued to gather peace, strength, and renewed faith from the Bible he was reading and the prayers he kept repeating.

Christmas was a time of renewal and Tom felt strangely new. He often begged for forgiveness in his prayers but, this evening, for the first time, he also opened his heart, mind, and soul to the love and comfort God's words promised. Tom wasn't sure but, perhaps, the difference was the fact he took time to sit and review each and every step taken in relation to his youngest son's life. Unbelievably, this was an action Tom never allowed himself to find comfort with in the past, despite his tendency to be analytical and use lists in most areas of his daily life.

With the exception of the horrid weakness Tom had shown when a much younger man in having a torrid affair while stuck working far from his family, Tom didn't think he would change a thing. Most importantly, the grateful earthly father hit his knees earlier in the evening and thanked his Heavenly Father for Heath's birth so many Christmases before. Finally, Tom faced the fear of Heath, or anyone, finding out the truth which he now accepted paralyzed him in many ways over the years. Lies are horrible things and lies between Heath and Tom kept them apart and prevented Tom from fulfilling his promises to his God, his wife, his family, and to Leah Thomson. Knowing this, accepting this, had been hard but now, Tom Barkley was ready to move on.

Can a blonde haired, blue eyed, tall, skinny cowboy from Stockton be that hard to find? Perhaps the Barkley's youngest boy was using his unusual first name, even if he had dropped his family's surname, and a cowboy named Heath was surely unique. Plus, Heath loved horses. Tom had never, ever, seen another human with the touch Heath possessed with the large beasts. Without a doubt, his youngest boy was making a living somewhere around horses.

Tom wasn't sure where his boy was but he was done waiting Heath out. No more lies and no more letting fear keep him from telling Heath how dear he was to his father. Tom's boy was wanted, needed, and adored beyond measure. It was time for his father to bring Heath home.

Being quiet, never demanding his father's reassurances, the boy made it too easy on Tom. First thing after New Year's, when businesses opened back up, Tom was headed for San Francisco and he would pay whatever it took to have the Pinkerton Agency find his son. Tomorrow was Heath's 20th birthday, or in actuality his 21st birthday, and Tom couldn't make him come home but he was more than willing to admit Heath had out- stubborned him. Next time his eyes were graced with the sight of Leah's boy, Tom Barkley would follow Heath's mother's command and hold him, hold him tight, and love him.

Heath was a half mile past Darby's Creek when he first began to doubt his decision to leave the safety of the train. Snow in Stockton was unusual but this much snow was unheard of. Perhaps this was a once in a lifetime weather event. Heath sure wished he was warm in front of the study hearth while enjoying the weather through the window with the rest of his family. The only good thing about so much snow was the white stuff actually kept Heath warmer than he had been enduring the bitter winds up north. In fact, the low clouds seemed to blanket the earth with an eerie air of calm reassurance.

Heath often took note of the rosary tightly stuffed into his gloved right palm. Each boyhood camping sight, each fence maintained by he and his brother, or each frozen peach tree reminded the youth of his need to complete the circle and find his way home. The Barkley family would be finishing the tree while Silas and Meg filled the air with smells of food to be served in the morning before they left to stay with her relatives and friends. After church in the morning, the Barkleys would tear into their presents and spend the day together without having to complete more than the minimal chores outside the house.

Heath was tiring and knew he had to do more to keep himself awake and moving. His breathing was hampered by his incessant cough so singing or reciting was out of the question. He stopped and ate a few bites of snow in the peach orchard Tom Barkley planted. Tom Barkley, the rancher, was the envy of all who visited his lands. Tom Barkley, the father, was Heath's fallen idol and truly a stranger to the boy. While away, Heath tried to put a finger on why he felt so distant from his father but all he could think of was his father's tendency to keep Heath further away than the other children. Tom's tendency to maintain a distance from his youngest son was something Heath never consciously realized until he walked away from the ranch.

For a moment, his mind reviewed that awful afternoon the summer before last. The ill woman visitor hadn't slowed her wildly driven buggy before the Stockton road turnoff thus, tipping the entire rig. The horse ran away unhurt, the carriage had a broken wheel, her few belongings decorated the dusty hillside, and she lay in the dirt, a broken woman.

When Heath arrived, Nick and their father were already with the stranger. The work crew had begun to clean up the scene, Hal raced by on his way back for a buckboard, and Jimmy was flying down the road on his way to get the doctor in Stockton. Heath felt more fear than he ever remembered tearing through his heart. Suddenly, he came around to where he could see his father more clearly. Their visitor was in his father's arms. They were holding fast to each other and speaking with their faces close together.

"I'm sorry, Tom."

Leah's voice was weak and her breathing labored. Nick tried to keep Heath away from the scene and sent the rest of the work crew back to the day's errands. With a steely stare, he never dared give his much stronger older brother before, Heath silently moved Nick from his path and knelt down by his father.

"I've always been so weak, when I knew it was my time, I had to see my David, your Heath. I didn't want to meet my Maker without touching him once more. So weak. Selfish, I know."

Leah's frail body was covered in perspiration as she struggled for each breath. Her face's pallor, blue hands, and dusky lips left no doubt in anyone's mind, the woman before them was dying.

"Quiet now, Leah." Tom cooed and held her closer, adding, "you rest and we'll get you back to the house. You'll be fine."

Heath reached in and took the woman's hands in his which made his father shift back to give the younger man room. He bent very near the struggling figure and kissed her cheek. For a moment, Leah's eyes truly focused and her pain seemed under control. She shifted her head on Tom's shoulder letting her eyes lock on Heath's. They only had a brief moment but it was long enough for Heath to know the answer to his question. No longer full of fear, Heath smiled at his mother, moved even closer, and let his hand tenderly brush through her tousled hair.

"Please fight, Mama. We have so much to talk about. I'm so glad you came to find me."

Leah brightened further when Heath talked to her but then she seemed to rise up in reaction to some deep, severe, and final pain. Her mouth was wide open, caught between a struggle for one last breath and her desire to cry out from the pain. There was no more breath, nor more words, from the woman as she relaxed back into her former lover's arms and died.

"God be with you, Leah. May you find peace."

Tom held her for a moment then turned his eyes towards the young man crumpled beside him. Without words, he lifted Leah's body towards his son and gave her to Heath. Heath held her tight for a long moment and seemed to be in a state of disbelief. His face showed no emotion but he was breathing heavy and fast. When the buckboard arrived, Tom helped Heath put Leah's body in the back. They stood together and watched the wagon leave for town.

"Is there anyone else?"

"Pardon, Son?"

Tom automatically moved to put his hand on Heath's shoulder but the boy pulled away.

"Does she have any folks, any family? Should we notify anyone?"

"No." Tom took his hat from Nick. He stood wondering what to say or do to comfort Heath. "She didn't have anyone, no family."

"Except for a bastard son! "

Heath walked quickly away from Nick and his father. Leah's belongings were sitting in a pile. Heath bent to look through a large book which had been carefully sewn from scrapes of material. When he flipped through the pages, as Nick and Tom worked around him to clean up the rest of the accident scene, Heath couldn't believe what he saw. There were a few pictures of a very young Leah with various other strangers. One picture, of Leah with a small towheaded boy approximately one-year- of-age, grabbed Heath's attention along with hair samples, ribbons, booties, and other keepsakes stuck in the pages. Finally, there were a series of pictures familiar to Heath. They were the yearly pictures his parents had taken of the Barkley children carefully placed in Leah's book along with notes in Tom's hand.

Heath slammed the book shut. Unable to feel or think, due to the blind rage racing through his entire being, Heath stomped across the open ground, mounted Charger, and galloped away. Tom started to follow but Nick held him back.

"NO!"

"Let go of me, Nick. I need to talk to Heath."

"NO, YOU DON'T!" Nick's anger stunned Tom into paying attention to his middle son. Nick added, "THIS HAS BEEN A SHOCK FOR HEATH. I CAN'T IMAGINE A MORE HORRIBLE WAY FOR HIM TO FIND OUT WHAT THE FAMILY HAS BEEN HIDING FROM HIM ALL THESE YEARS!"

Nick caught himself yelling at his father and stopped to take a few deep breaths but he held tight to Tom's arm.

"Please, Father, give him a few minutes. Heath's a thinker. He needs some space right now."

Tom nodded his agreement. They returned to cleaning up the mess but eventually called the work crew over to finish. Nick knew his little brother well but neither he or their father could control their concern any longer. The two worried men headed back towards the house. Jarrod's carriage came speeding down the road from town after the Sheriff told him there had been an accident at the ranch. Nick slowed up to ride in with him, and let Jarrod know what happened, but Tom rode ahead in an attempt to find Heath.

Tom Barkley tethered his mount next to Charger at the front door. Walking through the foyer, he could hear Audra weeping in the living room but headed straight up the stairs to Heath's room. Victoria was talking quietly as she stood at the end of Heath's bed watching him pack. The young man's face was bright red and he was seething rage from his entire being but not one word had he spoken to the woman Heath thought was his mother up until this horrid day.

Victoria looked up as Tom crossed the room and joined her. They put their arms around each other and each held on to Heath's bed frame for support. It was as if they were watching their worse nightmare come true, right before their eyes.

"Heath," Tom attempted to get the boy's attention, "please, Son, don't ..."

Heath couldn't hold in his anger any longer, "DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME YOUR SON, AGAIN. YOU MIGHT HAVE FOOLED ME, FOOLED A LOT OF PEOPLE, FOR ALMOST TWENTY YEARS BUT YOUR HAND HAS BEEN CALLED."

"Heath," Victoria attempted to intervene, "you have every right to be hurt and angry but don't do anything today."

Heath looked up at Victoria and took some forced deep breaths. For a moment, his mind settled as he tried to think of something, anything, to say. Heath made eye contact with Victoria and shook his head before grabbing up his things. He quickly headed down the hall, obviously, the boy was headed out of the house perhaps, out of the Barkley's lives. Tom let go of Victoria and made a dash to beat the younger man to the door while Victoria tried in vain to grab hold of Heath's hand.

Angry words were barked, Tom made an attempt to calm Heath, and before anyone knew what was happening, Tom was sprawled across the foyer floor. Charger was long gone from their view when Nick and Jarrod pulled up. Seeing their parent's faces, one bloodied and one heart-broken, neither older son needed further explanation. Jarrod stayed but Nick rode away at a full gallop since Coco smelled his master's fear. They rode hard but Charger's rider wasn't in the mood to be followed, caught, or stopped so, Nick returned home late that night without his younger brother.

The next few days were filled with many fights, shouting matches, and family discussions. The Barkley's rehashed every decision but one thing remained clear to all, Heath was a Barkley and he was deeply loved by his family. Jarrod was assigned the task of contacting area sheriffs, ranchers, and authorities throughout California in an effort to find Heath. Despite Jarrod's best effort, Heath Barkley was over eighteen, had broken no laws, and didn't want to be found so, he wasn't. The Barkleys moved on but a sadness entered their lives and only one person held the key to their happiness.

Tom was sure the thump he heard by the front door was more than the wind. The weather had worsened by the hour. Presently, the snow was coming down so thick he hadn't been able to see the bunkhouse lights as he peered out towards the strange sounds around the front door. Grabbing a rifle from its case, Tom Barkley placed a lantern on the foyer table and opened the front door.

What tumbled in had evidently been leaning or sitting against the door. It was a snow covered man but Tom had no idea who or why the poor thing had been outside his door. He assumed it was one of the ranch hands. Unlucky fellow had probably been sent over to check on Tom, lost his grip on the guide ropes strung between the bunkhouse and the main house, and became lost in the storm.

Tom dragged the man inside and hurriedly shut the door. He left the still form on the floor and ran for supplies. He built the study fire to a full crescendo, prepared the supplies for use, and returned to the foyer's still figure. He used a broom to brush the mounds of snow and ice away. He bent close and pulled off three or four stiff outer layers of clothing. The man's right glove refused to be removed since it was being held in a tightly held clinched fist. The left glove did came off and Tom felt joy engulf his heart when he found the fingers to be pliable and the figure seemed in no pain when Tom rubbed the hand between his own.

"Dear, dear, dear." Tom mumbled as his worry for the man before him continued to rise.

Tom used both his arms to lift the man up and rest him against one of the foyer's boot benches. With full effort, he removed the man's still frozen boots and quickly tore off the three layers of socks. The limp figure came to life when Tom took a foot into his hands and began to rub hard while trying to assess how much damage had been done. A low moan echoed across the foyer. Tom Barkley sat frozen on the floor in front of a guest his dull lantern's light had not revealed.

"HEATH!"

Tom sprang to his feet and pulled his boy into his arms. Heath tried to move, talk, or do anything but he felt frozen, physically and mentally. With renewed strength, Tom Barkley held Heath close and dragged him to the study's hearth. After sitting Heath in the high backed chair he had moved close to the fire, Tom cut off the rest of Heath's damp clothing, gently removed his thawing right glove, then wrapped the thick blankets he placed in the chair before going back to the foyer tightly around his son's still motionless body.

Tom knelt on the floor and pulled the bucket of water he placed to warm on the hearth close. He checked to be sure the water was only room temperature and not any hotter, satisfied, he tried to warn his son about the pain to come.

"Hurt, Heath. HURT!"

Tom put Heath's feet down into the water and planned to try to rub life back into them.

"NO!"

Heath jerked to life when the nerves in his feet became aware they were thawing. He tried to raise his feet up but felt a sudden relapse of weakness and slumped into the chair. Feeling confused and in pain, the boy let out a few feeble moans before lying back somehow knowing his caregiver was doing what had to be done to prevent frostbite from winning the battle for procession of his toes perhaps, an entire foot.

Tom fought back his emotions and fears as he worked on Heath's feet. As he switched positions from foot to foot, Heath's moans practically made his father's heart stop beating. Frustration was building quickly within Tom. He made attempts to say something to comfort Heath but only garbled noises or the wrong words flew from his mouth. Heath wasn't coherent enough to listen, and yet, his father wanted him to hear gentle, loving, and reassuring words.

When Tom felt Heath's feet were ready, he lifted them from the tub and wrapped them in blankets per-warmed on the hearth. He moved the water bucket aside and knelt in front of his son. Using his hands, Tom Barkley rubbed Heath's hands, arms, shoulders, and thighs through the layers of blankets. He began to worry since Heath had been inside the warm house for more than a half hour and the boy wasn't any more alert and showed no signs of shivering. Shivering would indicate his body was working in conjunction with Tom and the fire to re-warm Heath to a safe temperature.

"HEATH!" Tom yelled right in his boy's face after leaning over and lighting another lamp so they could see each other. "HEATH!"

With the struggle showing on his face, Heath made an attempt to open his eyes. He saw his father and wanted to say so many, many, things but the effort seemed too hard and Heath let himself fall back.

"HEATH!"

Tom Barkley began to shake his boy, hard. Heath had to wake up and stay awake until his body temperature rose. Tom put his hands tight on each side of Heath's face, drew in a deep breath, and with ultimate effort and concentration tried to speak.

"UP! HEATH, UP!"

Heath tried to stir himself, not because of what his father was saying, but because of the way in which he was saying it. The young man sensed something was terribly wrong with his father but what he couldn't tell. It was a struggle and as he became more aware of his surrounding, Heath began to shiver uncontrollably. He was shaking so hard his teeth began to rattle together and his jaw hurt when he tried to gain any control over his mouth.

"Cold, Paps."

Tom smiled and nodded as he kept his lower torso close to Heath's legs and continued to use his arms and hands to warm Heath's upper torso. Tom was in a heavy sweat from his efforts and their close proximity to the fire. Heath gazed at the fire wondering what was wrong with him since such an enormous fire had to be putting out a lot of heat but he was still so terribly cold.

Finally, Tom stepped away when the shivers began to lessen. He returned immediately with a large glass of brandy and helped Heath gulp down a few warming mouthfuls. While Heath's mind immediately began to float from the warm brandy, Tom prepared a bed by the fire. He opened up the blankets around Heath's feet and smiled broadly to see nice pink, almost red, appendages.

Tom moved up and unwrapped the exhausted boy from his cocoon. Heath roused when the cool air began to surround him but seeing his father gently moving closer to ease him out of the chair, Heath relaxed into his father's arms. Tom guided Heath out of the chair and down onto the thick bedroll. He immediately drew up the blankets and tucked them in all around his boy. Heath's groggy eyes took in the man before him and his emotions began to take over.

"I'm sorry, Father. I'm so sorry for so many things. I wasn't sure you would want me to come home after I hit you and said those wretched things. I wouldn't blame you if ..."

Tom Barkley placed a gentle hand over his boy's mouth. When Heath quieted, he leaned in close and tried to speak but stopped knowing his own emotions would prevent anything coherent from tumbling out of his lips. This was an important moment for them both and Tom wanted Heath to know he was loved, deeply loved. Remaining silent, Tom took his hand and gently brushed his fingers across the boy's forehead, through his hair, and down into a circle around Heath's left ear. Heath closed his eyes as tears began to slide down each side of his face and bounced off onto the pillows. Tom repeated the motion.

"Father, forgive me, please. I'm so sorry for what I have done and ..."

Heath was trying to sit up but Tom used his free hand to gently push his boy back into the sea of blankets surrounding him. He shook his head when Heath's eyes met his and the boy didn't have the strength, or will, to fight further. Heath rested back into the heavenly warmth of the fire and his father's love and let himself drift away. Tom sat close long after his boy was sleeping and continued the caresses Leah used so often to comfort their son.

When the house was picked up a bit, Tom began to relax enough to rest. He built up the fire before getting comfortable in the chair which remained next to Heath. He pulled a blanket around himself, closed his eyes, and said another prayer of gratitude. Tom decided Heath was safe enough for him to rest for a few hours and began to drift off. He stared down at the mound of blankets with Heath's face barely peeking out from the top. The boy looked warm, well, and comfortable. Heath had been coughing, a nasty cough, but for now he was breathing easy.

"Love, Heath. Love, Heath."

Tom whispered the words into the air and surprised himself with the ease in which he used them. A colossal smile covered Tom Barkley's face as he fell into a deep sleep.

Victoria Barkley was waiting on her saddled horse when first light appeared. Jarrod and Nick practically had to keep her tied down all night. She knew they were correct, the weather was too bad for them to fight their way back to the ranch the night before, but in her mother's heart, Victoria couldn't wait to go out and find her youngest son.

Meg's brother was a porter at the Stockton train station. He rushed to the Jennings' house when Heath's bag arrived the evening before and the conductor shared the story of Heath leaving the train to walk home. Nick had been forced to fight with Jarrod, Audra, and Victoria but then, his siblings came to their senses about the weather and joined forces with him to keep their mother safe.

Luckily, Christmas morning turned out to be a crisp sunny day. The Barkley search party headed out of Stockton on horseback with plenty of extra supplies and three extra horses. The trail was far less hazardous than the night before with little wind and the sun quickly freeing up large pockets formerly covered in ice. They had all night to come up with a plan and, after much discussion, decided to work their way to the ranch, first, gather up all the hands, spread out the search party, and work their way back towards the spot where Heath left the train near Darby's Creek. With little wind there was even hope his tracks would be easily visualized.

"FATHER!"

Audra was the first to greet their surprised father as she raced in through the foyer. Tom was on his way back into the study with a large tray of hot coffee and food. The group gathered quickly around him taking no immediate notice of the mounds of blankets scattered on the floor and chairs. Everyone was talking at once and the volume truly became overwhelming when Nick joined the group, having been delayed by his trip to the bunkhouse to talk with the men.

Heath stood at the top of the stairs and listened to the commotion in the study. He was fresh from a hot bath, shave, and change into some wonderfully warm clothing. For a moment, Heath let his fingers touch the rosary quietly tucked into his vest pocket as he thought back to the quiet morning he and Tom Barkley spent in the study. Tom writing away on his board and Heath quietly relating all his experiences since leaving the ranch. Suddenly, he heard Nick's voice above the others.

"WHAT DOES THAT SAY, FATHER? HEATH'S IN THE TUB!"

The other Barkleys continued to torture Tom with mile a minute questions but Nick tore out of the study and didn't look up as he took the steps two at a time.

"HEATH! HEATH!"

The brother's came face to face at the top of the stairs. Heath had never seen a look like this on his brother's face before and had never known Nick Barkley to be speechless. Heath wasn't sure what to do or say.

Nick wrapped his younger brother into a bear hug, whispering, "Thanks be to the Almighty. I've missed you, Little Brother. Oh, how I've missed you."

Overcome with emotions, Heath didn't speak. Instead, he held on with all his might. Nick practically carried Heath down the stairs into the arms of their family. The noise level was deafening as Heath was group hugged, kissed, and various comments were passed among the group. Finally, Heath came face to face with Victoria. The group continued around them but, when their eyes locked, the rest of the world seemed strangely distant. Heath stepped forward and they fell into a long needed embrace.

"I'm sorry I worried you, Mother. Merry Christmas."

Victoria buried her face in Heath's shoulder and held on with all of her strength. Finally, she gathered herself and pulled back enough to look into her blonde boy's eyes.

"Happy birthday, Heath. Welcome home."

They stepped into another embrace. After breakfast, Heath fell into an exhausted sleep, thanks to Victoria's cough remedy, on the study couch. The entire family tiptoed around the room, even Nick, as no one wanted to leave Heath out of their sight.

A few cowhands volunteered to ride into town so no more search parties would go out, to prevent Silas and Meg from fighting the rough conditions in an effort to rush home, and to get medicine from the doctor for what Victoria convinced Heath and the others was a deep chest cold. When Heath woke up, the Barkleys celebrated Christmas with each family member giving a gift from their pile to Heath. Later, when Heath excused himself for the night, he found a box on his bed with a brief note from Tom on top.

"Welcome home, Son. Happy birthday."

Heath opened the box and found the book of mementos from Leah. In addition, he found information on his brother and a long letter of explanation written by Victoria and Tom. He closed the box and placed it on the shelf in his closet. There would be another time for discussing these things.

Yes, Heath's name was originally David Adams Thomson. Yes, he had a baby half-brother who died named Heath Morgan Barkley. Yes, Heath months ago faced the fact he was a bastard, a fact his family tried to keep from him. Yes, he hadn't truly known his birth mother, Leah Thomson but somewhere deep inside Heath knew she loved him.

He and his parents had a lot of talking to do but Thomas Barkley was his father and welcomed Heath home with question-less open arms. Victoria Barkley may not have been his biological parent but Heath knew she was his mother. He was loved and loved each and every member of his adopted family.

Heath felt strangely light on his feet with unbridled gratitude taking over his heart, mind, and emotions. Yes, this had been a day of joy but Heath's trip coupled with his illness and many, many emotions left him feeling worn, exhausted really. In fact, these factors, coupled with the pneumonia Victoria tried to hide from the family until the doctor made it out from Stockton, would leave Heath exhausted for many weeks to come.

The young man crossed the floor, blew out the lamp, and started to crawl into his own wonderfully soft and warm bed. Heath stopped and dropped to his knees. He prayed as he never before prayed in his entire life while rejoicing in the true knowledge of the meaning of Christmas.

He laid his hand on the rosary he dug out of his ruined right glove and was planning on keeping on his night stand. Renewal, forgiveness, and love surged through his entire form as he smiled, knowing he completed one of his life's circles. Finally, Heath crawled under the covers and stayed there until Meg and Silas burst into his room, early the next afternoon, upon their arrival back at the ranch.

"Do you need more paint brought up when I come back, Father?"

Heath listened for his answer and nodded when he heard one bang.

"Yes, Sir."

He went behind the construction sight and began to help unloading the latest wagon load of hand carved pews. Heath gave the workers a few instructions and signed the receipt after completing an inventory.

"Good morning, Boy."

Heath smiled and bowed a greeting to Mother Superior as she approached.

"All ready to greet all the uppity-ups this afternoon, Mother?"

The woman of utmost dignity let the glow of her love for the young man before her shine from her face, eyes, and being. She stepped closer and pushed her gift into Heath's hand.

"What's this?"

Heath unfolded the small leather envelope and dumped the contents into his hand.

"Oh, Mother," Heath gently stroked the wonderfully familiar wooden beads, "I can't accept this. Remember, our deal?"

The woman reached across the void between them and closed Heath's hand around her gift. She nodded when their eyes met and offered no further words.

"Thank you, Mother."

"I will miss seeing you and your father working out here everyday."

Heath nodded and looked up towards the bell tower where Tom Barkley was adding a final coat of white paint.

"It is I who should be thanking you, Mother. I can't help but think you must have fought long and hard for my blueprints to be accepted for your chapel. These past five months working here with my father, well, it has been the best time in my entire life."

Mother nodded and offered no words. Heath gave the rosary one more gentle stroke, returned it to the case Mother provided, and then tucked it safely into his vest pocket.

"Are you still set on going back to Stockton with your family? Your drawings show great talent."

Heath let loose a gentle laugh, answering, "Yes, I'm a cowboy, Mother. I'll keep working on my drawings. After all, Stockton is a growing town and there is lots of building going on but my father, brother, and I are going to expand the equestrian portion of our family's business. They are going to keep working the cattle and farm sections of the ranch but I'm going to be responsible for our horse business."

"I'm pleased for you, Boy."

"Thank you, Mother."

"HEATH! PAINT!"

Heath nodded up to his father, excused himself from Mother Superior, and picked up a new can of paint. He started for the chapel and then, wheeled around towards his penguin imitating friend. Without a word, he walked back and placed a gentle kiss on Mother's cheek.

"My goodness, Heath Barkley."

Heath didn't wait for her lecture, instead he headed quickly back towards his father. Letting his mind briefly imagine the welcome waiting for them in Stockton at the end of the week, he grinned from ear to ear.

"Wait until Mother hears how many more words you can say!"

Tom looked up, surprised at what was on Heath's mind since they had quite a bit more detail work to finish before this afternoon's dedication ceremonies.

"Work, Heath. WORK!"

"Gosh," Heath handed over the paint and headed back to his list of things to get done, "I guess you're talking IS a good thing, Paps."

Tom smiled hearing the nickname only his blonde boy, occasionally, used. He glanced down at the wonderfully rich wood cross Heath earlier placed above the alter. These months of hard work erased any remaining distance between Tom and Leah's baby, Victoria and Tom's son. Leah had been correct that December so very long before, Heath was a special boy, all he ever needed from Tom Barkley was love.

Tom put down his paint brush and walked down to the front of the church where Heath was finishing the last of the woodwork. Heath glanced up and stood but was taken by surprise when Tom pulled him into a tight embrace. There was no struggle, Heath simply held on.

"Love, Heath. Love, Heath."

"I love you too, Father. I'm the luckiest son in the world."

"Oh, Tom!" Victoria sat in the chair with their newest grandson laid across her lap so the couple could take in the entirety of the magnificent gift.

"Big boy!" Tom exclaimed.

Heath smiled with pride and stood next to his father. Tom wrapped an arm around his son's waist.

"Mary's mother said she is doing fine. I can't wait to hug her when she wakes up."

The threesome took a few quiet moments to enjoy the presence of the newest Barkley.

"Mary and I decided on a name but we wanted to check with you two first."

Tom and Victoria gave Heath their attention.

"We'd like to call him, David Edward Barkley. David for my brother, Leah, and all of us plus, Edward for Mary's favorite grandfather."

"That's a wonderful name, Heath. Thank you."

Victoria's eyes conveyed her many, many, thoughts, feelings, and emotions regarding the name David and its significance in the Barkley family. Tom patted Heath's back before kneeling by Victoria and his new grandson. Touching David's check with his finger, Tom gently brushed across the baby's forehead, through his whisper of white hair, and down around his left ear. The baby turned toward his grandfather's hand and his face shown with satisfaction.

"David. Beloved. Good name." Tom's words were clear, proud, and full of love.

Heath reached down and let his hand rest on Tom's shoulder. David did mean beloved and this baby certainly was and always would be.

"For unto us a child is born ..." --- Isaiah 9:6

A CHRISTMAS POEM

A little child, A shining star. A stable rude, The door ajar. Yet in that place, So crude, forlorn, The hope of all The world was born. --- Anonymous

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Please forgive typos and any Barkley errors.

COPYRIGHT L.E.CONNELL December, 1999. Revised May, 2001.