Home Again

By Ann

Of course all legal rights to the Cartwrights, the Ponderosa and the like are the property of their copyright holders and are merely borrowed in this story, which is not meant to infringe on the rights of those individuals, and is for entertainment purposes only. That said, the below story exists only in the fictional realm of The Ponderosa and Bonanza series. Any similarities to any real people are purely coincidental. This story’s been rattling in my head awhile, please enjoy!

Part I

My father set down the phone with a strange look on his face. He looked puzzled and sad. Given the past few months, this reaction hardly surprised me, but I could feel a spark in the air. Something out of the ordinary had happened. I watched him from the doorway to the kitchen for a while as he stared out the window in the den at the driveway, then I turned back to my sandwich and novel with a shrug.

I jumped when I felt his hand stroke the back of my hair. He sat down in the chair next to me. There were still three at the table. He looked at me for a few seconds before speaking. He did that now, looking and watching me as if I were something new and wondrous, maybe he just wanted to remember every moment. I understood that. We’d both been shaken to our foundations.

"I got a phone call earlier-" he started slowly. He was acting quite oddly.

"I noticed," I replied before he could get the next thought out.

"Well- stop interrupting-" he scolded half seriously, "it seems I’ve been left a piece of land, in Nevada, by this lake, an aunt died. A big piece of land."

"A big piece of land? How big?" Intrigued, I turned to look at him fully, instead of at the table.

"It’s apparently quite large, my aunt, I guess that would make her your great aunt," he always rambled a bit when he was confused or startled, "she inherited it years ago, the land, it’s a ranch actually, was first settled in the 1850s I believe, before the Civil War, but became pretty much abandoned after a few generations, when the eastern cities pulled everyone to their factories, and the gold rush ended. The Industrial Revolution-"

I couldn’t help it, I interrupted again, "Dad, I know all about the Industrial Revolution, you know at that preppy school you send me to, they occasionally do teach us something."

"Benjamin." I could hear that warning tone inflected in his voice again. I apologized matter-of-factly, he nodded and continued, "my aunt wanted to remind me of family obligations and history, and well, gave me the deeds in her will because apparently we are the only living directly descended Cartwrights. My mother was the great-great granddaughter of the original Cartwright who settled there, whose name, incidentally, was also Benjamin. And because we’re directly descended and my aunt married into the family, she thought we should own the land."

"Nevada’s a long way from here, Daddy."

"Three thousand miles, Ben, but there are these great big flying machines, that can get us there in five hours, maybe they haven’t taught you about those yet in your preppy school, but Orville Wright and his brother,"

"I remember. So, we’re going there? Why? Can’t you just sell the land from here?"

"I could, but I want to see the land, it’s a ranch actually, and the house was built by your great-great-great-great grandfather, and his sons, they cut the wood, they built the frames, built the-"

"I get it, Daddy." If he wanted to leave, fine, but I was no little kid, I could stay at home while he visited the shack and the woods or whatever, "I’ll be fine here while you’re gone, drop me a line when you get there, if the place even has cell phone coverage. Seriously though, flying all that way to see some broken down barn’s a little lame. There’s got to be some real estate agent who can take care of this over the phone."

"I’m going, and you’re going with me. You are not sitting here all spring break indoors reading books and playing video games, kid. We’re going to see this place and spend some time together, away from here, ok?" Why did he always end those kinds of speeches with "ok?" It didn’t matter whether I agreed and it hardly seemed to matter whether I was "ok" with.

I sighed. "Ok, Daddy." He smiled, reached out and ruffled my hair again, his eyes crinkled. He looked older to me now. He seemed to have aged ten years after the accident. He must have noticed me looking at him so carefully.

He paused, "so, it’s Daddy, now, huh? Not just Dad anymore?" I shrugged. He waited, his hand still on top of my head. I peered up at him, stumbling over my words.

"I guess, it’s just, well, I-I wish I’d said Mommy more." He smiled sadly as his hand slid down to cup my chin.

"I understand, Benny. It all makes you more aware of how precious people are." I nodded, stood and found myself in his arms. He held me close for a few moments. I squirmed out of habit, but I didn’t really mind. Straightening up, I picked up my book and started away. "What time do you want to go to the diner?" We hadn’t eaten any real food at home since mom was there to cook it. I think we both were afraid that if we started up the stove, we’d burn away her last ghost. He chuckled softly. "In an hour or so. Change your shirt."

Seventeen days later we were in the airport, waiting for the plane to board. I sat next to him as he read the paper, watching people as they went past, hurrying to their gates to sit for hours. People are funny that way. I sipped at the milkshake he’d bought me before we sat down. He did that kind of thing a lot now, buying me things before I even considered asking. The junk food was fairly new too, but he worried because the doctor told him I was getting to thin. He’d lost weight too, they said that it was normal for people who were grieving, but he still worried about me, a lot. His hair was almost solid gray now. Six months ago it was only gray by his ears. Six months ago, I thought, it felt like decades. Six months ago Mom had her fortieth birthday party, the whole family had been there, aunts, uncles, cousins I’d never met or seen before. All her friends had been there, I was allowed to stay up as the party reached the early hours of the next day before winding down. I’d seen those same faces at the funeral just a few months later. I blinked back tears. When was I going to stop missing her? I sighed. Dad reassured me that the plane would board soon enough, and asked if I wanted a section of the paper. He’s just so perceptive sometimes. I went back to people watching until they called our flight. I sat next to the window and managed to sleep resting my head on Dad’s shoulder for a few hours, yet another thing I wouldn’t have done six months ago. The plane touched down in Reno and then we rented a car to drive out to the family farm. The landscape wasn’t desert like I thought it would be; we were driving on a dirt road in the woods. After an endless amount of trees, I asked when we’d see the land we’d inherited, and I was shocked when he answered that we’d been driving on it for half an hour. All this was ours? We pulled up at last to the house. It was hardly the shack I had been calling it. The sheer size was staggering, it was easily three or four times the size of our house in Maine. He parked the car kind of on the lawn between a large old barn and the house. Dad looked at me over the hood of the car as we got out.

"Well, like the shack?" He teased. "Let’s go inside." The front door had a lock that looked out of place, but maybe they didn’t have locks in 1850. It opened up into a large center room, with an office sort of built into an alcove, a dining room at the far end, with what looked to be a kitchen next to it, in the center sat a fireplace and steps that led upstairs. The place smelled like a hundred years of must and mildew, and there were a few cobwebs. Over the desk hung a dusty old-style map of the ranch and the surrounding area. Dad stared at it.

"The property on the lake is a lot less, they’ve developed a lot of the area, and pieces of the property were sold. Other than that, it’s about right." Wow, I thought. These guys lived like kings of Nevada. Sounds of a car broke the spell, and footsteps on the porch preceded the knock on the door. A lawyerly looking guy with another man who wore a cowboy hat and looked about sixty entered and greeted Dad.

"Hello, there, son," he smiled widely, "welcome to the Ponderosa!" Quickly they began talking about facts and figures and original woodwork, I slipped out the front door, with Dad calling for me not to wander too far. I answered a quick ok, and walked out and around the house toward a small pond. The trees swayed in the spring breeze. I wondered how long we’d have to stay until the house was sold. I hoped not for too long, maybe we could head to the lake and get in some water skiing. I grinned at the thought. These days Dad would never allow such dangerous activity. I relieved myself against an old tree, and walked up a hill. In a clearing at the top I came upon gravestones. The names weren’t very familiar, Marie Cartwright, Erik "Hoss" Cartwright…almost all the names were Cartwright. They were overgrown with tall grasses and vines. I reflected a moment on what Dad had told me about our name on the plane. My grandmother had been born a Cartwright, and had changed her name when she got married. But Dad’s father had left them when he was little, and she changed their names back when she moved back in with her father. She was very proud woman, Dad said, and wanted the name Cartwright to continue, even though she was the only child of her father. These thoughts ran through my head as I noticed a larger gravestone set apart from the others. I brushed away a half century of weeds and dirt to read the name. When I saw it a chill raced down my spine, and my breath caught in my throat. Benjamin Cartwright. My name. I shook my head to stop my panic. I knew I’d been named after some ancestor. I just hadn’t realized who it was. From the dates on the grave I figured he’d been the guy who built the house and settled this place. I’ll admit I felt impressed. I wandered down the hill to an old fencepost. On the other side of the broken fence a herd of deer stood grazing peacefully. As I leaned against the post I found myself falling with it to the ground. I heard the deer loping away at the crash. Then the bright afternoon sun went dark.

Part II

"Hey, little fella, easy there, partner, he’s comin’ ‘round" a voice reached me and I startled at the bright sky. I tried to focus on the stranger’s face. He was a big guy, with light hair, and a friendly face. He fanned me with what looked like a cowboy hat. Around his neck was a bandana. I heard a horse whinny nearby. I struggled to sit up, but his large hand held me down. Another face leaned over mine. This one had dark hair and blue eyes. He looked at the blond guy, and back at me. I lay back, catching my breath slowly. My head hurt terribly. Where was I?

"Maybe this little fellow can stand up, Hoss. We need to get him home; looks like he’s hit his head pretty hard."

"All right, easy there, pardner, up, up!" They helped me to my feet, I swayed sideways and the big guy caught me. They eased me up into the saddle of the first horse, and the dark haired guy got up behind me. I’d never ridden a horse before, but I was in too much pain to be thrilled or terrified. My head felt like it had cracked open, but I couldn’t feel any blood. The jauntiness of the horse’s gait was pure torture. Where was I? I tried to remember again, but I couldn’t. After a short ride through hell, we arrived at a corral, and a big house. The guy behind me hopped off the horse and lifted me down. He set me unsteadily on my feet, then wrapped his arm around me and walked me inside. There was something familiar about this house. The sensation suddenly arrested me like a shiver and then was gone as soon as it came. Off the main room a large man sat behind a desk. He started up when we came in.

"Adam! What happened, Joseph, are you hurt? He stopped when he came round the chair Adam had set me into, oh, you aren’t Joe, Adam who is this??" He spoke loudly and quickly, with a booming voice that rang in my head.

"We don’t know who he is, Pa, he hit his head on the fence, looked like. Hoss found him. He couldn’t speak so we didn’t know where he came from. Hoss and I figured he’ll be better off after Hop Sing takes a look at his head." Hop what?

"Is he bleeding?" The large man held my face in his hand and tilted my head sideways, touching very softly until he found the bruise. I jolted at the pain when his fingers found it.

"Easy, now, easy son, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you." He asked Adam to bring a wet cloth, and another man came in. He was Asian, and spoke with an accent. He, like the large man took my head and prodded, then he fetched some herbs and made a paste as Adam returned, carrying the cloth which the big guy pressed against my head. The cool water felt good. The paste that they spread against my head felt even better. My eyes closed, but the older man woke me.

"You can’t go to sleep, it could be dangerous after hitting your head so hard. Can you speak, son? What’s your name? Why were you on the Ponderosa? Is your family nearby? They must be looking for you." He looked into my eyes; something in his face was familiar. And that word, Ponderosa, I could almost hear someone else say it, but who?

"Ben." I said weakly.

"Yes? How do you know my name?" He looked offended at the way I said it.

"My name," I took a deep breath, I was so confused, "my name is Ben, I-I can’t remember much else, I," he cut me off.

"It’s ok, son. Don’t try so hard, relax and it’ll come to you soon." His smile was reassuring, "that’s a fine name, it’s my name as well. Ben Cartwright" He held out his hand for me to shake even though we were still very close to one another." I shook his hand gently. The pain in my head was subsiding. Cartwright?? Why did that sound familiar too? The answer came on suddenly, that was my name! All of it! But that couldn’t be, I must be still confused. I decided to play it safe. I told him I couldn’t remember anything else. He nodded, and replied that I’d surely remember after I’d rested up. The Asian man, Hop what? Prescribed a nap for me, saying that I hadn’t been as hard a blow as they’d thought.

"Boy need rest." He said simply. The older man nodded and took off my boots. My cowboy boots. Why was I wearing cowboy boots? My head was beginning to throb again and I closed my eyes as the man lifted me and carried me into a bedroom and tucked me between the blankets. I was mostly asleep when he added that he would check on me soon and for me to stay put, we’d figure this all out. He smiled again, his eyes looked so familiar. I drifted off to sleep very quickly.

I awoke to the sensation of someone studying me. The older man sat by my bed reading in the light of a lone candle. He noticed me waking. I began to sit up, despite the throbbing dull ache in my head.

"Hey, now," he said gently, "awake at last. I wondered if we’d made a mistake, letting you sleep." He moved over to the side of the large bed. "It’s late, nine o’clock, but you slept through supper, are you hungry, son?" I realized I my stomach did desire food, and I answered a quiet yes. He left the room, and I looked around it, leaning up against the pillows. It was dark, lit only by the candle, and as I slowly eased my head to look around I could make out the shapes of the bed and a large trunk, and a dresser with a few small picture frames sitting atop it. This must be the older man’s room, I thought with a jolt, as he walked back in, flanked by a boy about my age who carried more of the paste they’d put on my head earlier. The man- Ben Cartwright, I remembered with that strange chill- carried a plate with some bread and a mug of milk that he set into my hands gently. I took a bite of a roll cautiously, it was very good, and a sip of milk that was a lot thicker than I remembered. Remembered…what could I remember? I tried to think about my name again, all I could remember was Ben…Ben what? The boy sat on the edge of the bed and looked at me curiously as he handed the small bowl to the man.

"This is my son, Joseph," he introduced, "looks like you two are about the same age. You look a bit alike too, at first I thought it was Little Joe in Adam’s arms." I looked at the kid again. He and I shared a similar build, and dark wavy hair. But he had green eyes and mine were blue. The kid grinned. I smiled back weakly.

"So where’re you from?"

"I’m not sure. I remember the ocean," I blurted out suddenly, as the memory came in waves, like the water, "I remember standing on the beach and smelling the salty air." And I was with someone, I thought, but who? I didn’t voice these thoughts; I felt panic and confusion creep over me like another blanket. It must have shown on my face, and the older man interrupted our conversation.

"Joseph, Ben’s having a hard time remembering. He hit his head pretty hard. I’m sure the answers will come back to him in time, but he needs to rest now. It’s past your bedtime anyway, run along, I’ll be in soon." The boy slid off the bed nodding.

"Yes, sir. Goodnight, Ben." I said goodnight, leaning back, drinking the last of the milk. He said sir to his father. Maybe I should be saying "sir" too. He took the plate and mug and set them on the table by the bedside. Then he cupped my chin and tilted my head, he examined it again, probing my hair with his fingers gently. It didn’t hurt this time.

"Looks better, but you’ll still look like you have an egg on your head. You’re quite lucky, young man, that you weren’t hurt more seriously." I nodded as he continued. "I’m sleeping in the bunkroom with the boys. There’s Adam, and Hoss, and Little Joe, you’ll have plenty of time to meet them later. I brought one of Joe’s nightshirts for you to change into. He helped me to my feet, and slid my suspenders off. He took my pants down and off and eased the shirt over my head. I didn’t quite have time to be embarrassed by this stranger undressing me because the nightshirt was helped onto me as soon as the other clothes were off. Noticing my red ears and face he smiled gently.

"I’ve got three boys of my own, no need to be embarrassed, son." Oddly enough that helped. I smiled sheepishly, and drowsily I stifled a yawn as I tried again to look around the room. He eased me back into bed and rubbed some more salve onto my head. He lifted the blankets over me and tucked them around me. The feeling was so familiar, and so far away at the same time.

"Goodnight, sir." I whispered.

I awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking. Startled by the scent, I opened my eyes and sat up quickly. Too quickly, as the room began to slant and spin, I eased back down, taking a few breaths. The big guy with the blond hair knocked on the door as he entered. He looked at me a second, then spoke.

"Hey, there, lil’ feller, Hop Sing’s got breakfast just about ready, why don’t you come out and eat something. He held a robe in his hand. With a gentle smile that reminded me of his father he pulled back the covers, and helped me up. "Don’t worry about gettin' dressed yet, Pa says you should stay the house and rest. This here’s Joe’s robe, but he hardly ever wears it anyhow. I’m Erik but everybody calls me Hoss."

"Hi, Hoss, I’m Ben." I smiled as he helped me up. He walked me out of the room and to the table, where the older Ben and Joe sat with the older guy, Alex? Alan? Adam, that was it. They greeted me with good mornings all around, and I said the same. I sat down at the empty place next to Joe. My plate was filled along with everyone else’s. I waited until everyone was served, looking at the food with a little fear; I was supposed to eat all this? Joe leaned over towards me, noticing my face.

"Don’t worry none, anything you don’t eat Hoss will." He whispered conspiratorially. The statement encouraged a chuckle from Adam at the end of the table, and a stern look from his father. Hoss paid his attention only to his food. Joe grinned, "So, Pa, I’d better stay home today, to welcome and take care of Ben, here, he’s gonna need some lookin’ after, with his head hurt and all, and you’ve got ranch work and-" Joe was cut off by his father.

"Nice try, but you’ll be going to school as per usual, Joseph, and I expect you to behave yourself while you are there. Is that understood? I don’t want to have to talk to you about that anymore after what happened last week." Joe shifted uneasily in his chair. Adam snorted softly, glancing his way, I thought I saw him hide a smile. "Anyway, Ben will be resting for most of the day, and you’ll see him at home after school."

"Yes, sir, Pa. I guess I’ll be heading out now." He stood up, knocking his chair over, and spun around, nearly upsetting his milk glass, which his father caught in time. Joe grinned ruefully, righted his chair, and scampered to the front door. He grabbed his books and hat and tore open the door, after picking up a pail that sat in the kitchen area. It seemed a flurry of motion, stopped abruptly by the shutting of the door. It made me dizzy. I took a bite of eggs slowly, as I felt a set of keen eyes on me. I glanced up at Adam. He studied me.

"Have you remembered anything else yet?" He asked with an edge in his voice. I thought a moment, straining, but could not recall anything. I shook my head. He looked suspicious. "Nothing at all? Can you remember before you knocked over that post? Like what you were doing trespassing on our-" His father cut him off abruptly.

"Adam! Stop that now. The boy’s been hurt. He might have been lost before that, we don’t know. That’s enough questions." Adam looked suspicious still. He excused himself and went out the front door as quickly as his younger brother, but more purposefully, saying something about chores to be done. Hoss directed his attention back to his breakfast. The older man glanced at him and then asked me if I would like to sit on the porch for a while. I must have looked down at my attire because he smiled and told me that no strangers would be around. "Just family" he stated firmly.

"And don’t you worry ‘bout Adam none," Hoss told me, "he’s just protective." I nodded. The older Ben stood and helped me up and walked with me out the door, he settled me into a chair as Hoss joined us, eating a biscuit and carrying a blanket, which they tucked around me. I looked up at them gratefully.

"Thank you, you’ve been so nice to me." Hoss’s father knelt by the chair. He assured me I’d remember everything soon. I watched Hoss put his boots and hat on, and go into the barn. He and his father worked in there all morning as I sat in the shade of the porch. This yard here looked familiar too, and the porch. I must have dozed off in the warm light because I woke with a start to a horse galloping into the yard, and shouts.

"Joseph Francis! How many times have I told you not to race into here that way!" The man grabbed his youngest son as he swung out of the saddle. He looked angry; I shrunk into my blanket as he thundered. "You have torn around on that horse for the last time. You are not allowed to ride paint until further notice." Ride paint? How could someone ride on paint? Maybe the horse was called Paint. OK, that made more sense. It must be the horse’s name. He kind of looked like someone spilled black paint onto a white horse. Or white onto a black horse I considered. Joe did not react well to his father’s statement and his yelling stopped my thoughts.

"Oh yeah? Well, I guess I can’t go to school, then. With no horse." He looked triumphant.

"Oh, yes, you will go to school," his father countered, speaking rather quieter than before, "and you’ll ride Stitches." Joe stared at his father, his mouth open.

"Stitches?! Why that ole sack of bones can’t hardly even trot!"

"I think after a few weeks of riding her you’ll appreciate Paint, and be more careful," He answered.

"A few WEEKS?? But Pa, I won’t ride Paint hard no more, please, Pa! I’ll-" I never got to hear what he would have said, because his old man turned him to the barn and swatted his rear end hard, propelling him into the barn with a stern order to stop arguing or he’d lose Paint for a few years. Joe didn’t say anything back he just headed into the barn. I glimpsed him a few seconds later with a rake working inside. His father tied Paint’s reins to a rail that stood nearby and made his way over to where I sat. I looked at the horse hitched to the rail. Suddenly I was looking at a car pulled up beside it. I shook my head blinking, confused, and the image melted away. I realized I was sweating. When did it get so warm out here? The large man leaned toward me, his face full of concern.

"Are you all right, son? Head all right?" I nodded.

"I just thought I saw something, remembered something, but it went away." I must have looked pretty heartbroken, because he lifted me in his arms and carried me inside. He set me on the couch.

"I think you’ve had to much sun." My eyes had trouble adjusting to the light. He pushed aside a book on the table and sat down next to it, looking at me.

"How’s the head?"

"Fine, I think. It doesn’t throb so much anymore. Feels better here where it’s darker. He felt my forehead.

"I think you’d better take a bath. The tub is in the bunkroom. You rest here on the settee while Hop Sing and I fill it."

"Yes, sir." He walked around to the kitchen and spoke quietly with the cook. I heard the word fever and looked up, but I couldn’t hear very much more. They went into the "bunkroom" and I heard a door opening and shutting. Then Hop Sing came into the main room and heated a large pot of water over the fire. Then he took it in as Mr. Cartwright lifted me again. I protested that I could walk, but he wouldn’t listen. They undressed me and helped me into the tub. The water was warm, and sunlight streamed through the window. The large man bathed me gently, continuing to ignore my protests until I stopped making them, what had I got to be embarrassed about anyway, they were all guys, I thought. There were herbs in the water that made me feel relaxed and my head ached less. He lifted me out of the tub and I stood as he dried me and dressed me again in a clean nightshirt. Then he walked me to his bedroom, and tucked me into the covers. I feel asleep almost immediately.

When I woke it was like breathing fresh air for the first time. My head felt clear and light. I could hear the unmistakable sounds of dinner being eaten. I flopped back the covers, stood and dressed in the robe I wore earlier. Opening the door, their jovial voices hushed.

"Ben! You look better, come have supper, Pa said you haven’t eaten since breakfast, but we didn’t want to wake you." Joe announced in one breath. I smiled as I made my way to the empty place. Hop Sing had a plate and silverware set down almost before I sat down. Mr. Cartwright filled my plate with food. I began to eat ravenously. I felt like I couldn’t fill my stomach up fast enough. Hop Sing was a great cook.

"Slow down, son!" Mr. Cartwright chuckled, "I guess he’s found his appetite after all!" I slowed to a medium pace. I sat back slowly, feeling more alert than I had in a long while.

"You look better," Adam remarked quietly.

"Yes, sir." I answered, "I woke up a hundred percent better. I guess that bath did do some good after all." I grinned sheepishly at his father, who smiled back in that familiar way. Had we met before? He looked so familiar at times, but I just couldn’t place it.

"Remember anything?" Adam’s voice had steel beneath its surface. I shook my head.

"I’m sorry," it came out so low it was almost a whisper. I felt the fresh air leaving my lungs. "I can’t remember anything, still, I can’t remember my family, my mother or father, or brothers or sisters or anything." Tears began to well up in my eyes, "I’m sorry," I repeated. I stood up to leave, but Adam pressed his hand on my shoulder.

"No," he spoke softly, the steel gone, "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pressured you. We’re glad to have you." He squeezed my shoulder lightly. I nodded. Mr. Cartwright cleared his throat. We looked over at him as he angled his head toward Hoss. Joe giggled a high-pitched note. Hoss had fallen asleep on his plate, his cheek pillowed by a soft roll.

"I think that’s the first time he hasn’t cleared his plate," Joe whispered. The two men roared their laughter, and Hoss awoke with a start, and, finding himself in the middle of a meal, looked down at his plate, picked up the roll and took a bite. This set me into a fit of laughter myself, and everyone else as well.

"What? Had a rough day." Hoss muttered as he chewed. Crumbs littered his hair. Our laughter rang from the walls. After it abated, we moved to the fireside. Adam sat next to me on the settee, stretching for legs out under the table. Hoss stretched himself out next to the fire. Joe tucked himself onto his father’s lap as the older man sat in an armchair. He reached for the book and found his place.

"Now," he started, "where were we?" His voice sounded deep and warm. Joe leaned back against his father’s chest as his father rested his cheek on his son’s hair.

"He just got back, Pa! Athena made him young again so tell- telly-make-us"

"Telémachus," Adam corrected.

"Right, so his son would know him." Joe continued. Telémachus? I’d heard that name before somewhere. Mr. Cartwright began to read.

"His son, astonished, turned his eye’s aside in fear, as if he’s seen a god. And when he spoke, his words were winged:…" A distant longing filled me as I listened to the words and watched this father and son together. Where was my father? I didn’t think for too long, as sleep again absorbed me.

The next morning I awoke early, dressed in my pants and shirt. I fumbled a bit with the suspenders and braces on the trousers. They seemed unfamiliar, as if I hadn’t put them on before. I shook my head at this strange thought. I opened the door and walked into the main room. In the early morning light the room faded for a moment, becoming old and dusty looking. I concentrated on this thought, but like the others, it faded fast. The feeling returned as I walked toward the large desk. A map hung over the desk, as I scrutinized it I could almost hear someone talking about it. His voice toned in my head too softly and blurred, as if I were hearing it underwater. I tried to concentrate again, to hear more clearly. "property on the lake … developed a lot of…" I heard him! Pieces floated around and I stepped closer to the map, what did the voice say? I felt a large hand rest on my shoulder.

"That’s a map of the Ponderosa, our ranch. Have you seen it before?" Mr. Cartwright asked softly.

"I thought- it looked- it looked so familiar, I could hear someone talking about it. But the map was dusty, everything was…different." I sighed. The memories, if that’s what they were, washed away. He looked up at the map and then down at me. He leaned down so we were eye level.

"It’ll come, little one. Let’s sit down. Those lazy boys of mine aren’t up yet. You look better." He remarked as he poured himself a mug of coffee. He picked up a second mug, poured in a little coffee and filled the rest of it with milk. This he handed to me. "This will help wake you," he smiled, tilted his head, and continued, "you know, I thought you looked like Joe, but I was wrong. You’re the spitting image of Adam at your age, strange." He shook his head. I looked down at my milk-coffee. I didn’t know what to say. Luckily the tornado that was Little Joe entered the room, tearing out of the bunkroom at top speed. He raced to the other side of his pa as an irate looking Adam stormed into the room.

"Where is it?" he demanded, holding his pants up with one hand. "JOSEPH, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BELT??" he yelled. Joe peered out from behind his father.

"Why would I have anything to do with your belt, Adam?" he asked innocently. Adam closed the gap in distance between them. He tried to reach around his father with the hand that wasn’t holding up his pants. Their father pushed the two apart, holding Joe by his collar and Adam with a hand pressed flat against his chest.

"Now, now, boys what’s going on this time?"

"Pa, that-that boy of yours has done something with my old belt. It’s gone, and it was here last time I wore it, and my new one’s buckle broke yesterday and I haven’t had time to fix it. I want that belt back, Joseph Francis!" Adam was not calming down, and he was having trouble keeping his pants up, only adding to my amusement and his own chagrin.

"Joseph, have you any idea where your brother’s belt is?" Mr. Cartwright looked at Joe with a stern look. "If you do, and you want to avoid an encounter with my belt, you’d best answer honestly." Joe looked up at his father, glanced at Adam, and then dropped his gaze at the floor.

"Well," he began, "well, you see," he stalled.

"Joseph." His father said sternly, his voice deep and quiet.

"It was kind of an accident, see, I was chopping wood last week, like I’m supposed to," he paused, as if to let this bit of obedience sink in, "and then the ax broke, the head just fell clean off. So I pushed it back onto the handle and secured it with a bit of rope, but that didn’t work for long, and then, well, I remembered that Adam had that ole belt just sittin’ in his drawer. So I kinda borrowed it…I didn’t want to not do my chores, Pa!" He finished strong, I thought, but his father still looked suspicious.

"Why did the ax head fall off? What were you doing with it?"

"Well, at school we were learning about gee-geology? And the teacher said that if you break open rocks, sometimes there’s crystals, ‘n minrals inside? And so I was kinda usin’ that ax to break my rocks open. I didn’t use the sharp side, Pa." Mr. Cartwright looked at his boy and shook his head.

"But you did, without asking, use your brother’s property to *fix* something you had broken doing something you shouldn’t have done anyway. Young man, we have talked about the proper use of tools, and respect for other people’s property. Many times." Joe looked like a man about to get the death sentence. "Adam, you may use one of my old belts from my top drawer. If they aren’t small enough, poke an extra hole." Adam glared at Joe briefly and then shuffled into his father’s room. Mr. Cartwright looked down at his son. "Joseph, go wait for me in the barn." Joe nodded gravely, and walked to the door. Hoss sat down across from me at the table and caught my eye. He shrugged as his father walked into his room to calm Adam down.

"Don’t worry about that none, Ben, those two are always fussin’ Joe can’t seem to keep out of Adam’s things or out of trouble very long." Mr. Cartwright strode out of the bedroom and out the front door. Adam, wearing a belt that almost wrapped around him twice, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down with us. We sat quietly, sipping out of our mugs until the front door opened. Joe and his father entered, Joe made a beeline for the washbasin, before coming to the table. Hop Sing carried in breakfast, and Joe slid onto his chair. His face was still red and his eyes were puffy. His father looked tired. We ate breakfast quietly, the talk centered around chores that needed to be done. After breakfast Joe asked if he could show me around the ranch. His father said yes, but only after chores and we had to stay close to the house. I followed Joe’s lead and we asked to be excused. Outside he led me around as he did his chores. I watched as he fed the chickens, held the wheelbarrow as cleaned out Paint’s stall after putting the horse in the corral, and we helped Hop Sing clear out weeds in the garden. After all that we walked to the small pond. We threw a few stones along the surface, and then walked up the hill to see the cattle. On the top of the hill there was a gravestone. Joe looked at it for a long second.

"That’s where my ma is." He admitted quietly, I nodded. We turned and stood looking down at the valley, where we could see his brothers rounding up the straying cattle and pushing them back into the herd. They chased around on their horses whooping. I sat on the hill digging my heels in and leaning back in the sunlight. Joe stretched out on his stomach.

"So you still can’t ‘member much?"

"Can’t seem to," I answered, "sometimes there’s these glimpses, like all of the sudden I see something that isn’t there, like a memory, but then its gone." I sighed. "I wish I knew where my ma and pa are. I keep thinking, maybe something terrible happened, and that’s why I can’t remember."

"Nah, I’m sure they’re just fine, they’ll probably come lookin’ for ya any day." Joe grinned. "Want to see somethin’ great?"

"Sure."

"Come on," He waved his arm as he scrambled up. We walked a bit and came upon some caves. He stood on top of a large boulder and looked back. "Pa knows about this place, so it’s not gonna get us in any trouble." We ducked inside the cave. I explored it a bit, feeling the walls and looking around.

"Are you sure we are allowed to be here? This isn’t really around the house."

"I agree." Said a voice just outside the mouth of the cave. We turned and saw Mr. Cartwright standing by the entrance. By symbol or stature he seemed to block all the light. Joe bit his lower lip.

"Pa, um, well, you see, Pa-" His eyes got wider as he began to think up the story. Oh, man, Joe, you’re just going to dig us in deeper. I took a deep breath and spoke up, cutting off Joe’s explanation.

"Sir, it’s my fault. We were walking and I asked Joe to go a little farther. He told me about the cave and I wanted to see it, I didn’t mean to get into trouble. Please, sir, we didn’t mean to disobey you." Joe looked at me in surprise, then at his father, gauging, I guess, whether this sincere strategy would be more effective than his earlier plan. Mr. Cartwright looked at me a long moment, then at his son.

"Is that about what you were going to tell me, Joseph?"

"Uh, yes, Pa, yes sir." Joe must have decided it was better to stand together than to tell separate stories.

"Well, then, the two of you will spend your afternoon indoors, Joseph, you will help Hop Sing with the week’s baking, and Benjamin, you will be in bed, resting. We both sighed, following him outside. He walked back to the house with us, Joe on his right side and I on his left. On the way they pointed things out to me. The place where the fish would jump onto your hook, which trees were Ponderosa Pines, which were Spruce, and Fir. We reached the house too quickly and sat down for lunch. Hoss and Adam were eating with the ranch hands. Hop Sing, Mr. Cartwright and I ate quietly, while Joe chattered on about seemingly random topics. After the meal Mr. Cartwright sent me to bed and Joe to the kitchen, warning both of us not to try his patience with any further misbehavior. I lay on the bed for what seemed like hours before I finally fell asleep.

"Wake up, Ben, wake up, it’s suppertime!" I jerked upright at his prodding on my shoulder.

"Ok, ok, Joe I’m up, I’m up." I followed him to the table. It seemed to me that all I ever did was eat and sleep around here. I managed to pick at my supper, but I wasn’t very hungry.

"Ben," Mr. Cartwright said sternly, "you need to eat if you’re going to get better." My face flushed at his correction.

"Yes, sir." I ducked my head and choked down a few more bites. I guess I ate enough to satisfy the man, apparently, because he and Adam finished their discussion, and dinner and moved to the fireside. Again, Joe climbed up onto his father’s knee and settled against him. He picked up the book, and began to read again. We listened as Ulysses and his son triumphed against the evil suitors and then the old man sent Joe and I to bed. Again I went to sleep, I thought, to wake up to another meal, and another day of not knowing who I was or where I’m from, or wear my parents are or anything. I lay there for what seemed like hours, just trying, trying to remember anything, feelings of dread and fear creeping over me. I began to cry, and curled up into a ball sobbing. I didn’t hear the door open but I felt a hand rubbing my back. I settle down a bit and looked around. Adam sat on the side of the bed. He looked at me sadly.

"I was outside, I-I heard you crying. I wanted to make sure you were ok." His voice was quiet. I stared at him, my face wet with tears.

"No," I answered, "I’m not ok, I don’t know who I am." I began to sob again, burying my face in my hands.

"Sh, now, sh, you’ll remember, I know you will." His words were so kind and gentle. I looked up at him, surprised. He pulled me closer and hugged me. "I’m sorry," I shouldn’t have bothered you like I did." He looked upset.

"It’s not your fault, you were just worried about your family. I didn’t, I mean I don’t think I did anything to hurt them. I wouldn’t!" I straightened up to look at him, "I would never hurt your family, not after all the kindness you’ve shown me." Tears welled up in my eyes again. "I wouldn’t hurt your family," I repeated quietly. Adam hugged me again.

"I know, I know and I’m so sorry." I leaned back in his arms. He smiled and let me lay down, and he covered me with the blankets. He rested his hand on my head. I gasped with surprise. Someone else had made this same gesture. Someone whose face I could almost see. But then it was gone. Adam moved his hand away suddenly; he looked as though he’d been hit.

"Oh, did I hurt you? Your head,"

"No, no, I thought I remembered something but it’s gone."

"Ah, that’s ok, you just get some rest now, it’ll all come back to you soon." He smiled reassuringly and left. I heard the door close in the darkness, just before I fell asleep.

Morning light streamed through the window. It fell onto my eyes until I gave up resting. Instead I got up and dressed, thinking that I would take another look at that map before everyone woke up. I closed the bedroom door quietly, and strode toward the desk. But the map held no answers or directions for me this morning. With a sigh of resignation I sat on the settee. Maybe Mr. Cartwright would adopt me and I could stay here forever. But instead of hope I felt despair at the thought. I was missing someone, but who? My gaze fell upon the book we’d been reading at night. It lay on the table. I picked it up and read the spine. The Odyssey by Homer. Homer. My mind flashed images into my head faster than I could recognize them. Reading this book sitting at the table in the kitchen. Nibbling on a sandwich, Dad talking about being left a piece of land, it all came back in a whirl. Suddenly I knew, I remembered the airport and the drive and the old man saying "welcome to the Ponderosa." The hill and the gravestones and the deer! Oh, it was all flooding my mind like released from a dam! And Daddy! I could see him! And Mom! At her party and- the memory hit the bottom of my stomach like a stone. Mom. And the car crash. Tears welled up in my eyes as I remembered she was gone. But how was any of this possible? Was I dreaming? My head had hurt a lot to be dreaming. And this was a very vivid dream. How?

"Well, good morning!" A voice jolted me out of my thoughts. Mr. Cartwright. Mr. Benjamin Cartwright, like me, but my great-great-great-great grandfather. Here. Alive. Talking to me. Expecting an answer.

"I remember," I whispered. It just didn’t make any sense.

"What? You do? Well, what is your name?" But I couldn’t tell him, he’d think I was crazy. Maybe I was crazy, I thought.

"Ben, Ben," I thought quick, "Wheeler." Mommy’s maiden name. "My, my father got separated from me. We were," think, think, it’s the 1800’s, what was happening then? Oh why hadn’t I paid any attention at that preppy school? "we were on a wagon train. We got separated, and I was off hunting, but I-I lost my rifle and I wandered onto your land. I don’t know where my father is!" At least I ended with the truth. I hoped he couldn’t see right through me. I was not a very good liar.

"What about your mother?" He asked in the same gentle tone.

"She- she died, sir. She was killed in a-a wagon crash. The other driver was drunk." I hoped the truth would work here. Of course it was a car, not a wagon, but what could I say. "We decided to leave after that, we were in Portland, on the Atlantic coast."

"Ah, a fellow New England man! I myself am from Boston, originally." Ok, he seemed to have bought the whole story. I swallowed hard, trying to keep the guilt at bay. This man had been nothing but extremely kind to me, and I lied through my teeth at him. Memories of him tucking me in, and bathing me, helping me dress when I couldn’t flooded in. No, no, I can’t tell him I’m from the future, he’ll think I’m insane. Maybe I am insane. I tried hard to stop thinking and concentrate on whatever he was saying. I nodded.

"Yes, sir, and that’s how I learned to swim, at four years old!" I smiled politely. I had no idea what happened in the story he just told. Just then Adam, Hoss and Joe came in all together. Their father announced to them my memory and my name. Adam squeezed my shoulder.

"See? I knew you’d remember." He said faithfully, without any edge to his voice. I looked up at him guiltily. He’d been so compassionate as well. Maybe this was all a dream. I stuck with what I had told to Mr. Cartwright ( great-great-great-great Grandpa?!) and relayed what I’d "remembered" to Hoss and Joe’s questions. Joe wanted to hear about the ocean, which I talked about easily, only needing to change a few details. After breakfast I helped him with his chores again and then his father released us to go exploring, telling us sternly to stay out of trouble and to be back at noon. We didn’t have a watch between us, but Joe seemed not to worry as we raced off. We spent the morning fishing and play fighting and exploring the caves. The sun had crested the trees when Joe said we’d better head back. He told me he could tell time by the sun. That made sense. After lunch there were more chores, this time in the barn. As we raked fresh hay into the stalls Joe talked about a favorite subject, finding buried treasure.

"You mean like a time capsule?" I asked.

"What’s a time capsule?"

"It’s like a box, and you put things in it that like, represent you, or the year or the time, and then you bury it, see, and then later on, somebody digs it up and they find out about you, and when you lived. We did that at school, everyone in my class put something into a box, and buried it on the playground and we’re going to dig it up in twenty years."

"Wow," Joe said, "That’s a good idea, let’s make a time capsule!" We asked Hop Sing for a spare box, and he gave us a small wooden cigar box. Joe’s father and brothers had ridden off to check on the cattle again. Joe looked at his things in his room as I stared out the window. He took out a few marbles, and then put most of them back.

"Well, I might need those. Hey, how about we put in one of my soldiers. Here, this one has a bent sword, and we’ll put in my school report on ole George Washington, and we can put in these pieces of fool’s gold I dug up by the cave. Pa says they’re not worth nuthin’ because they’re just pirate." Pirate? I didn’t ask. I looked down.

"I don’t have anything to put in." Joe thought a minute.

"You’ve got nothin’ in your pockets?"

"Nope, they’re empty."

"Huh. Can you make anything? Adam carves pieces of wood sometimes, into animals." An idea struck me.

"I can make a whistle! My dad showed me how! His grandpa showed him."

"A whistle? How?" I borrowed his pocket knife and he showed me where they kept small pieces of scrap wood for whittling or for small projects. In no time I whittled Joe and me a pair of whistles, carefully carving my initials into their bottoms. Well almost my initials, I remembered at the last second to carve "BW" and not "BC." He blew on his whistle, and it shrilled loudly. From the porch we heard his father’s voice shout out. The bunkroom door opened with a jolt.

"Just what was that sound?" Mr. Cartwright looked a bit angry.

"Hey, Pa, Ben made a whistle!" He handed the small whistle to his father who turned it over in his large hand, then placed it to his lips and blew. It’s shrill note pierced the air a second time.

"Joe!" We heard Adam and Hoss’s voices yell from the other room, "stop doing that!"

"It was Pa!" Joe defended. His father’s eyes danced with mischief.

"What have you got there?" He indicated the box with the soldier, the school report and the fool’s gold inside it as he sat on the lower bunk facing us.

"It’s a time capsule, Pa! Me and Ben are gonna bury it, and then later on somebody’ll dig it up and know all about us!" Joe answered excitedly.

"Yeah, I’m sure someone will be very excited to dig up that school report you got a C minus on!" Adam and Hoss stood in the doorway giggling. Joe looked up, insulted, and started to speak.

"It’s ok, Adam, you know our little brother here’ll dig it up in two weeks anyway!" Hoss added.

"You think he’ll make it two weeks? I bet it’ll be more like two days!" Adam replied. Joe’s face turned red with indignation.

"Boys, boys, that’s enough. Joseph, I think it’s a good idea. I’ll even add something." He disappeared through the door between Joe’s giggling brothers, returning a few moments later with a letter in his hand.

"This is a copy of the original deed to the ranch. I’ve still got the original of course, but we’ll add this and this," he said, showing a small twisted nail puzzle. "Maybe," he added, "we could get your brothers here to add a few of their treasures." Hoss grinned, and reaching into his top drawer pulled out a broken horseshoe.

"This is from Chubb, it’s the first shoe he ever broke." Adam smiled, and picked up a few small items from his trunk.

"These are a few little animals I carved last night, after you all had gone to sleep. This is an old token from New Orleans that I found on the sidewalk. And this," he held up a small piece of wood. "This is from the first piece of timber we cut to build this house." Joe’s grin couldn’t have spread any wider, but suddenly he frowned.

"But these all won’t fit in our box!" His father ruffled his hair, and left the room, returning with a larger box. He packed all the treasures in, and then thought a moment. This time we trailed him out of the room and to the fireplace, where he was melting something in a small pot.

"You’re gonna make candles to put in, Pa?" inquired a confused Joe.

"No," he answered, "just wait and see." So we all gathered around as the wax melted and Mr. Cartwright dipped the closed box in, coating it all over twice.

"This will keep out any moisture from the ground," he explained to us. Then we settled upon where to bury the box as it dried. Joe wanted to bury it by the pond, but his brothers said it was too wet there. Hoss suggested by the hitching rail, but that was too often worn down his father said, and the pressure might break the box, and the rail might be moved someday, making it hard to find where we buried the box. Adam thought a moment and decided the best place would be somewhere near a landmark, so that we’d know where to dig it up.

"I have an idea," I said quietly. Four pairs of eyes were on me. "Why not bury it by the old oak behind the house? It’ll be there forever, and its not too close to the lake or under a lot of stress from above." So, we buried our treasure next to the old oak, and then the big boys finished their evening chores, while Joe and I washed up for dinner. Hop Sing had returned from town and cooked stew with fresh rolls, and afterward we sat around the fire again, listening to the story.

I went to bed that night in the bunkroom with Joe, as I had graciously demanded that Mr. Cartwright take his room back. (He had agreed rather easily, I don’t think he liked sleeping with Hoss’s snores, Adam’s candle-light reading or Joe’s tossing and turning much.) Mr. Cartwright tucked us both in, and we stayed up talking and laughing until he returned with a threat to separate us again, after which Joe promptly fell asleep. I worried myself awake though, how was I going to get back home? Was I crazy? Was this all a dream? Eventually my own exhaustion caught up with me, and sleep enveloped me once more.

The next morning I was woken up with Joe and his brothers by their pa. We dressed and sat down to breakfast. I realized that Joe wasn’t going to school anymore, and he told me that they had a week’s holiday from school while the schoolteacher was visiting her aunt in Sacramento. I grinned. Joe was on spring break too! I thought. After breakfast his father had a long list of chores for both of us, as the Ponderosa started spring-cleaning. We were separated and set to beating rugs and scrubbing windows while Mr. Cartwright and Hoss aired out the mattresses and cleaned the barn. I liked being able to help, and I wondered if this is what it would be like if I stayed here forever. A chill ran down my spine at the thought, but I couldn’t seem to figure out any way around it. For our morning of hard work, Joe’s pa let us fish for the rest of the afternoon. We caught enough to bring back to Hop Sing for dinner and then we went exploring by the cave and the lake. We wrestled and raced. Then I spotted a pair of tall pines with perfectly spaced climbing branches.

"Hey, Joe, I bet I could win a race up those!" I announced, pointing. Joe looked worried.

"I don’t know. Pa doesn’t let us climb trees. He says its dangerous and its bad for the trees."

"Aww, come on," I countered, "he’s not going to find out! We’ll be up and down before you know it. What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll lose?" I knew he wouldn’t back down to that challenge. We started up the trees, and I won quickly. "HA!" I shouted triumphantly, looking over at Joe. But Joe wasn’t looking back at me; he was looking down and hugging the tree, seemingly frozen. I reached the ground at record speed and then looked up to see him twenty feet up. He had frozen with terror.

"Joe? Are you all right? Come on back down!" I yelled.

"I can’t," he replied, "I can’t move!"

"I’ll go get your pa!" I started back toward the house.

"NO!" he shouted, "We’re not allowed to climb trees. If he finds out, he’ll have my hide! I don’t wanna get in trouble, Ben!" I couldn’t think of another way. His father had a ladder by the barn. He could get Joe down. I couldn’t imagine he’d be that mad.

"Joe, you probably won’t get in that much trouble! You can’t stay up there forever!" But Joe wouldn’t listen to me. So I started up the tree after him, figuring I could help him down. As I got up closer he eased down a bit. We both put our weight on the same branch at the same time though, and it snapped, stranding us fifteen feet from the ground. We straddled the tree trunk from both sides. What were we going to do? Luckily that’s when we both heard the horses. Looking down I saw Hoss and Adam staring back up at us. They dismounted and Adam started up the tree. When he got to the broken branch he reached up and grabbed the waistband of Joe’s trousers. He held onto Joe as he slid him down to where Adam was standing, then held onto him as they eased back down the tree. Then Adam repeated this heroic act, returning me safely to the ground. But when I got there, it seemed safer to be up the tree. A very angry parent faced us.

"Joseph! You KNOW you are not allowed to climb trees!" He turned to me. I shivered, wishing he still faced Joe. "Benjamin! Did Joseph tell you that rule?" I couldn’t lie. I was too scared.

"Yes, sir," I answered, my voice barely audible.

"Well, then? Would you like to enlighten me on why you two *chose* (and he really emphasized the word ‘chose’) to disobey my rules?" I couldn’t think of anything. I looked at Joe who glanced back.

"It was my fault, sir," I heard my voice say, "I convinced Joe that you wouldn’t find out."

"So, if I didn’t find out it isn’t disobedience?" I had no idea how he wanted that question answered. Joe answered for us.

"I guess we didn’t think it through, Pa, sir." His voice wavered, as if he were close to crying. His father took a deep breath and pointed toward the house.

"Go, now," was all he said.

We walked back up the hill, flanked by Joe’s brothers. His father walked off in the opposite direction. I hoped he was going off to cool down and not looking for a cliff to toss us off. Joe and I sat on the settee to wait for his father’s return. I looked at Adam, who shook his head at me sorrowfully.

"Thank you for helping us get down." He nodded, and went out onto the porch. As he went out the door, his father entered. Joe stood up and I copied his movements. The big man stood in front of us. He told Joe to go to the bunkroom and me to go into his bedroom. We did as we were told, silently. I sat down on the bed, and waited. After a short time, maybe twenty minutes, the door opened. I stood up again, not sure what to do. He sat down in the chair by the bed.

"Come here." His voice was quiet but not really angry. He looked into my eyes. "You are not my son, but while you are staying in my house, you will follow my rules. Joseph told you that tree climbing was not allowed, did he not?"

"He did, sir."

"And yet, you broke that rule anyway."

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, I will offer you a choice, because you are not, as I said earlier, my son. You may leave now and attempt to work things out on your own, or you may stay here, and be welcome," he added, "but you will live by my rules and my punishments." I felt my heart pounding in my throat. If I left where would I go? No. I had to stay here. This was the only place where I even had the possibility of getting back home. I would have to take the punishment. Besides, if it hadn’t been for me Joe never would have broken that rule.

"I-I’ll take the punishment, sir." I said, willing my voice not to tremble. He nodded.

"Well, then, Joseph has had a spanking, and so will you." Before I could react I felt myself being pulled over his knee. His large hand, that had seemed so gentle before, felt brick hard as it swatted at the seat of my pants. It hurt! Tears fell from my eyes as I heard myself whimper and then yelp as he set fire to my back end. Just as I began to wonder whether he would ever stop, he did. Setting me back on my feet he looked into my eyes.

"You will obey my rules." His voice was deep and quiet.

"Yes, sir." I rubbed my burning bottom with both hands. He took out his handkerchief and told me to wipe my face, which I did. Then he rested his hands on my shoulders and looked at me. That’s when I noticed that his eyes looked just like Daddy’s. More tears began to fall and he pulled me into his arms. His now tender hand rubbed circles on my back and shoulders. I hugged him tightly.

"Sir?" I whispered, "what if my father never comes? What if something happened to him? What will happen to me?" He leaned me back and looked at me, square in the eye.

"Well, you seem to fit in here just fine, so I guess we’ll have to keep you." He ruffled my hair.

"I’m sorry I got Joe into trouble," I began.

"It’s all right," he assured, "it’s all over with now, and besides, Joe doesn’t need anyone to get him into trouble, he manages on his own just fine." He hugged me tightly again and walked me out of the room. Joe stood by the washbasin scrubbing his face. I joined him. He offered me a brotherly smile. I tentatively smiled back. Hoss and Adam appeared with Hop Sing, and set the table. On my chair, and Joe’s sat a pillow. I looked at Mr. Cartwright gratefully as I tenderly sat down. He winked. I sighed relieved that all was forgiven. Sitting was not comfortable, but we made it through the meal, and afterwards we both stretched out on our stomachs on the floor, and listened to the end of The Odyssey. Then Joe’s father tucked us into bed.

Once again I woke in the bunkroom. I had hoped, just before I went to sleep that this was all a dream, and I would wake in my bed at home. But that did not happen. I began to resign myself to the fact that I’d be here for the long term. At least, if they adopted me, my name could be changed back to Cartwright.

Breakfast that morning was a somber affair. Joe’s usual chatter was subdued. Adam and his father talked about the cattle and prices and ranch business. Afterward, Adam took me down to help mend some broken parts of the fence and Hoss and Joe rode into town for some supplies with their father. I guess he’d decided Joe and I could get into less trouble if we were kept apart and supervised. Adam showed me how to hold the planks while he hammered in the nails. We worked for hours in the hot sun, stopping every once in a while to rest and drink water. He asked repeatedly if I felt ok, but I felt fine and told him so. My headache was long gone and even my backside wasn’t sore anymore. We reached the last plank that had fallen and we nailed it into place and headed up the hill. Halfway up the hill I realized I had forgotten my hat. I told Adam I’d meet him back at the house and I sprinted down the hill toward the last fencepost, while held the hat on top. I was running too fast when I hit the patch of mud and I slide straight into the fence. My head slammed into the post and everything went dark. Again.

Part III

The bright afternoon sun was blinding as I opened my eyes. A dark figure leaned over my face, blocking the light.

"Hey there, little fella, you all right?" Another figure leaned in.

"Ben? Benny? Can you hear me?" It was Dad. I struggled to stand up. They helped me ease up and Dad looked me over, he felt along my head and my neck. "You must’ve hit your head pretty hard, he said. You got knocked out cold." I nodded. My head felt like it was about to explode. They walked me up over the hill and toward the big house. We went through the door and into the dusty main room. Dad poured some water from a bottle onto his handkerchief and pressed it against my skull. I began to feel like this had all happened before. It had! I realized, but not with Dad, with Adam and Hoss and Mr. Cartwright!

"Benny, you ok?" Dad asked.

"Where’s everyone else?" I felt so confused. How did I get back? Where were Joe and Adam and everybody? The room was no longer clean and shined. Cobwebs occupied the corners and dust blanketed the room.

"I think you’d better lay down. Is it ok for him to sleep?" Dad asked the other man.

"He looks like he doesn’t have a concussion," added the other man after shining a light in my eyes.

Dad picked up a sleeping bag and opened a door into a large bedroom. Then he picked me up and carried me in, laying me on top of the bed, into the sleeping bag. I drifted off pretty quickly. I awoke in Mr. Cartwright’s bedroom again. I listened for the sounds of supper being eaten, but I couldn’t hear them. Then I noticed the sleeping bag I lie in. Dad sat in the chair beside the bed. His head was tipped back and he snored softly. I stood up to assure myself it was really him. He woke with a start and grinned at me.

"I guess we both dozed off, hey, partner?" I threw myself into his arms at once.

"Dad, I’m so glad it’s you, I was so scared, I missed you so much!" He laughed and hugged me back.

"Missed me? Well you were not even gone an hour! But I’ll say, it’s good to see you too, pal." He ruffled my hair and then kissed it. I smiled into his shoulder. An hour? It must have all been a dream! But, it felt so real, I wondered. Dad and I enjoyed a lovely dinner of cold sandwiches we made with what we’d brought with us, and then we looked around the house together. An upstairs had been added with more bedrooms. No, I thought, it was all a dream. I walked from room to room with Dad, exploring. We walked around the yard and cautiously into the barn, and then we settled on the porch and watched the sunset. I couldn’t believe it had all been a dream. Joe and Adam and Hoss and the original Ben Cartwright. I still felt like I knew them. I could almost see them settled around the fireside reading, or at the breakfast table. I wondered about all of this as I drifted off to sleep again for the night. The next morning I awoke to Dad talking on the phone. Cereal boxes and milk had been taken out of our cooler and placed on the table. I poured myself some and watched Dad talk on the phone.

"Well, what price do you think you can get for it? It’s a large piece of land, and the house should have some historical value. Yes, yes, I understand. Thank you." He hung up the phone, and looked around. "Well, we should be able to get a good price for it." He remarked, sitting across from me.

"A good price for what?" I inquired.

"The house, and the land, of course." His brow furrowed, "did you hit your head that hard?"

"No, no, I’m ok, you mean you’re going to sell the house? But it’s been in our family forever! Our great-great grandfathers built it!" Looking around I could see Joe racing through the door, Adam stretching out by the fire. Their father reading aloud with Joe on his lap. The pride in his voice as we looked at the map together. Dad couldn’t just sell this place. We were Cartwrights; we belonged here. Dad was giving me a funny look.

"This from Mister ‘can’t we sell the land from over the phone’? What’s gotten into you?" I couldn’t explain what I’d dreamt. He’d tell me it was only a dream, but I don’t know if I could have dreamed the love that built this house.

"What if we lived here?" I posed. He looked at me as if I’d sprouted an extra head.

"But we live in Portland." He responded. "Our lives are there."

"What lives? A school I hate? The diner? You’re a writer, you can write here! And there’s got to be a school here somewhere I can go to. What’s in Portland, Dad?" He looked down at his hands.

"Memories."

"Mom’s gone, Daddy." He looked up at me and then around the room.

"You really want to do this? It’d be a lot of work to fix this place up, and we’d have to add indoor plumbing, and-" I walked around the table and hugged him, sliding onto his lap and peering up at him. He held me close.

"I really do."

He spent the rest of the day making phone calls while I looked around the house and the yard. I leaned against an old oak tree in the back of the house and looked out on our land. The Ponderosa, I thought to myself. I rested my head against the tree trunk. An idea sprang to my head. The time capsule! I wonder if it’s still there, and then I remembered, it had all been a dream. I’d only been knocked out an hour at most. But the idea stayed. I spied a rusting shovel leaning against the house. Why not try?

I dug and dug down into the spot where I thought we buried the box. I dug deeper and deeper but I found nothing. Dad came around the house to find me digging.

"What on earth are you doing!" he exclaimed.

"I thought I’d dig for buried treasure." I grinned, remembering Joe’s look. Dad gave me that extra head look again and leaned down to pull me out. He couldn’t because I was standing in a pretty big hole, deeper than me. He sighed.

"Dig yourself some footholds on the side. And then you’re filling up this hole." I did as I was told, digging first at eye level and then working my way down. On the last strike I hit something with the shovel. Quickly I dropped the shovel and dug around the object with my hands. It was a box! It couldn’t be! But it had a waxy surface. I dug around some more. Dad watched from above as I pulled out the box. I tossed it up to him and climbed out using my footholds. He broke the seal of the wax and opened the box. I could not believe what was inside.

"A copy of the original deed to the ranch!" Dad shouted. He was amazed, "and, lets see, a little toy soldier with a bent sword, some twisted nails, a marble, some pyrite-"

"Pyrite?" I questioned.

"Yeah, fool’s gold. ‘The First President, by Joseph F. Cartwright’ hm, c minus." he answered. I started laughing. Pyrite, not pirate! I sat on the ground giggling as I watched Dad lift out Adam’s token from New Orleans, and his carved animals, and Hoss’s horse’s broken shoe. Then Dad stopped and looked in closer at the last object he pulled out. "Well I’ll be damned. See? I told you that the men in our family had been carving these things for centuries!" He tossed a small carved whistle at me. I caught it in shock. It’s couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be. But I looked at the bottom. Carved into the wood were the letters "BW."