EPILOGUE

Ben Cartwright stood in the open door of the ranch house and drew in a breath of air. He could smell spring in it. The front yard was a river of mud, there were still small patches of ice here and there, and the covering of pine needles was still brown, but spring was coming and long overdue! As he stretched and stepped onto the porch his eyes went to his youngest son, who was leaning against the corral fence. Little Joe was dressed in his gray pants and deep blue shirt – a color combination for the boy his mother had favored – with his head of tousled curls hanging down. For a moment he thought Joe was merely reflective or sad – he'd been subdued and somewhat morose for most of the winter – but then he realized he had a letter in his hand.

Someone must have made it to town to fetch the mail.

At that moment Hoss came out of the barn with a bundle of leather strapping in his hands. His middle boy greeted him as he arrived and then turned to launch a quick glance in Joseph's direction.

"He sure is in his own world today, Pa," Hoss said softly.

Ben indicated his younger son with a nod. "Who's the letter from?"

The big man shrugged. "Roy and a couple of deputies was heading out and they came by to drop off the mail that's been buildin' up the last few months. Joe got to him first."

The rancher looked again. Yes, there was a pile of letter and newspapers at Joseph's feet – in the mud.

Ben smiled as he stifled a sigh. If he sighed every time his youngest's behavior warranted it, he'd soon run out of air.

"I'll go rescue the rest of it before it drowns," he remarked tersely.

Hoss' lips twitched. "You do that, Pa. And while you're at it, find out who wrote that one little brother's so danged interested in."

He nodded as he began to walk, though he was fairly certain he knew who the letter was from. His suspicions were reinforced if not confirmed when he saw the letter had been penned on colored paper. Ben halted a yard or so away from his boy and studied him, noting his muscular frame and that face that had come from his mother – just as hers had come from the angels. He would make a fine man some day.

Ben glanced at the forgotten mail beside his son's boots.

Some day.

"Joseph," he said as he bent to retrieve the bundle of letters and papers.

It wasn't quite the leap that he did onto Cochise's back, but Little Joe jumped a good foot. His son looked at him, then at the bundle, and swallowed hard. Twice.

"Sorry, Pa," he apologized.

Ben had been thumbing through the missives. "I'll accept that, but I am not so sure about your older brother. Adam's copy of the Boston Herald is on the bottom." The rancher turned the bundle to look. "Was on the bottom."

Little Joe paled. "He's gonna kill me."

"Perhaps." Ben suppressed a grin as he nodded at the blue stationary in his son's hand. "Sarah?" he asked.

Joe blinked. "How'd you know?"

That his son would forget everything for a girl? It didn't take much.

"I assumed she would write to tell us she had arrived in Canada, if not before." They'd had a hard winter. The snow had come early as expected and fallen deep. They'd been isolated for months. "How is she?"

Joseph ran his free hand through his tousled curls, shoving them back as he shook his head. "Amazing."

"Amazing?" That was not the response he had expected.

"Sarah didn't go to Canada, Pa. She joined Mister Blevins organization and is working to free other slaves. She said she can pass for white, so she's invaluable to them." Little Joe paused. His face screwed up funny and then he looked at him, wearing the intense look he had when, as a child, he had been faced with a sum he couldn't work out.

"Is that what I do, Pa? 'Pass' as white?"

It shamed him to think it, but thank the Almighty it seemed none of the ranch hands or townspeople had been privy to Ab Latham's vitriol. It mattered not one whit to him that Marie had had a great-grandparent who was a person of color. Most likely many of those who would have shunned his son for being Marie's were of mixed heritage too, but simply didn't know it. The United States was indeed a melting pot with peoples of all races and colors mingling and mating.

Unfortunately, that would make no difference to those who would see his son as something 'less'.

"Son," he said, touching Joe's arm. "Come inside and we'll talk." At Little Joe's hesitation he added, "Adam won't be home until tomorrow at the earliest."

His boy's hearty 'Whew!' had him smiling again until they reached the fireside and sat down.

As Ben sat in his chair, his son took his usual – and oft-scolded – spot on the table before the hearth. He let it go this time.

"Joseph, what does it mean to you that your mother had a great-grandmother who was a person of color?"

The boy thought a moment. "It makes me kind of sad, Pa."

"Sad?"

"To think that people didn't see her for who she was. That they judged her for somethin' she had no control over." He paused. "Just like I would have."

"Why do you say that, Joseph? Haven't I taught you that all men are equal before the eyes of God?"

"Yes, sir. But, well, I guess, living out here... I mean, I never met no..." At his scowl Joe corrected his grammar. "I haven't met many 'persons of color'. I knew there were people who were enslaved because they were different, but I don't think I knew exactly what 'enslaved' meant. No, I didn't know." Little Joe hung his head and a single tear escaped his eye. "Mama would be so ashamed of me."

"Joe, look at me." When his son complied, he smiled. "Your mother would be very proud of you. Life is about learning from our mistakes. A wise man once called it 'profiting by dearly bought experience."

"A wise man?"

"President Washington, who made more than his own share of mistakes as a young man if you recall."

His son nodded. Joseph thought a moment and then he said, "You didn't answer me. Don't you want to?"

Ben frowned. "Didn't answer you about what?"

Little Joe nodded. "Do I just 'pass' as white? Am I...different from Adam and Hoss?"

The older man rose and went to sit beside his son on the table. As he spoke, he wrapped an arm around him. "Are you different from your brothers? Yes." As Joe's young form tensed, he added, "Each man and woman is a unique blend of their parents, and their parents before them. You three are even more unique as you had different mothers. Your mother..." Ben drew a breath. He could almost see Marie sitting on the settee, looking at him. "Your mother, Joseph, was a wonderful woman. She was spirited, intelligent, gifted, and loved. The Good Book says we are covered in our mother's wombs. That we are fearfully and wonderfully made for marvelous are the works of His hand. Our substance was not hid from him." His son was looking at him with those wide sincere and guileless eyes. He wanted an answer.

Sadly, there wasn't an easy one.

"If you lived in the South, perhaps even in the East where men are anchored to old beliefs, there might be those who would say you were a 'person of color', simply because of the blood that runs in your veins." When Joseph shifted nervously, he added, "But you don't live in the East or the South. You live in the West where everything is new. What a man was before, what blood runs in his veins – even what color his skin is – doesn't count for anything. It's what he makes of himself."

"But there would still be people, even in Virginia City who would... Well, who wouldn't want to be around me because of it. Right?"

"Yes. Some might prejudge you and shun you as they shunned your mother. Does that worry you?"

Little Joe was puzzling it out. Finally he said, "No. I'll just show them that they're wrong. That's what mama did, isn't it?"

He gripped his son's arm and shook it. "She sure did."

At that moment the front door opened and the wind blew in – along with Adam.

Three days early.

"Hey, Pa. The pass was blocked so I came back." His eldest hung his hat on the rack and turned to face them. His eyes lit when he saw the bundle of papers and mail. "Hey! I bet my copy of the Boston Herald is in there."

Ben felt Joe tense. In a second his son was on his feet and headed for the door.

"Hey, Joe. Where are you going?" his brother asked.

"I got chores to do!" the boy called over his shoulder as he made good his escape.

Adam winced as the front door slammed and asked, "What was that all about?"

Ben gave into the sigh.

"Just life returning to normal, son."