EPILOGUE

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Ben Cartwright opened his eyes and laid for a moment watching the dust dance in a sunbeam that lit one of the embroidered flowers which graced the candlewick spread covering his bed. There was something almost magical about the way a thing so common could be transformed into something extraordinary. It was a lazy sort of dance and he felt his lids drooping as he followed it.

That was until something wriggled – and then wiggled – under the covers near his feet before heading for him like a mole on patrol for grubs.

His mole, however, had a mound of golden curls and the face of an angel.

Little Joe put a finger to his lips and made a 'shushing' sound.

"Shh, Papa," he said. "It's a secret."

Ben blinked. "What's a secret?"

The tiny boy reared up and looked at the door. Then he plunged back under the covers and once again took up his position between the pillows and linens stacked at the end of the bed.

"Joseph?"

"Shh," was all he got.

It turned out his tiny son had the hearing of a mole as well.

"Mon cher! You are awake!" his wife said as she and her voluminous skirts swept into the room.

Of course, he was awake. It was morning.

He wondered why Marie sounded surprised.

Ben glanced at the window and realized from the sun's angle that it must be nearly noon. He caught hold of the spread and tossed it back.

"I need to get to work."

"You will do no such thing!" his wife ordered as she took the covering from his fingers and pressed it back into place. "Mon Dieu! Men! Doctor Martin has ordered three days rest and rest you will if I have to sit on you!"

The proposition was an interesting one, but Ben suddenly realized he wouldn't have the energy to take…advantage of his wife's position. He felt weak.

Ill, in fact.

"Marie, I…." He met her troubled gaze. "Have I been sick?"

Her stern look melted into tears. "Mon cher," she said again, more gently this time, "oui. You have been very sick."

He frowned at her. Had he? He didn't remember.

And then he did.

Ben sucked in a breath. "Adam?" he asked with trepidation.

"I'm fine, Pa." his teenage son replied as he entered the room carrying a tray. When Marie gave the boy a 'look', he shrugged. "You try telling Hop Sing to stop cooking."

"Is there soup?" she asked.

The boy nodded. "Broth with chicken – along with a chicken sandwich, whipped potatoes, and two helpings of vegetables. "

His wife turned back to look at him. "Beloved?"

It wasn't until that moment that Ben realized his stomach had a hollow feel to it, like he hadn't eaten for days. "How long?" he asked. "How long have I been sick?" The rancher's gaze went to his eldest. Adam looked peeked. He had lost weight. Still, the boy was on his feet.

The last time he'd seen him he'd been anything but.

"It's been three days, Pa," Adam said as he put the tray down on the bedside table – and then picked the sandwich up and took a bite out of it.

He vaguely remembered being in the boy's room when his mother came home – along with Roy Coffee.

"I'm not in jail," Ben remarked.

Marie laughed as she touched his face. "Non. Nor am I. Though the sheriff assures me a cell will be waiting for the both of us the next time we choose to break the law."

"Roy?" he asked.

"Had a lot of explaining to do," Adam laughed.

It was all a lot to take in and he was tired. Still, there were things he needed to know. "Where is Hoss?"

"Dusty took him out to watch the calving this morning. He's lying down now," his son answered as he folded his lanky form into a chair. "Little Joe's taking a nap with him."

Ben's gaze flicked to the bottom of the bed. It was amazing that the child could hold so still.

He'd had no idea Joseph had it in him.

"I see. Dusty is well too?"

"The influenza has run its course, at least in the area of Gold Hill," Adam replied. "Doc Martin said there are a few cases in the outlying areas, but he thinks it's just about over."

Ben nodded. He looked at his wife. "How many?"

She knew what he was asking. Marie shook her head.

Too many then.

Her fingers curled around and pressed his own. "God was watching over us, mon cher. We are all alive. Let us not think of what could have been. Let us count our blessings."

Marie was thinner too – and appeared older. He supposed he looked older too.

One did not pass through the valley of the shadow of death without paying a price.

Their eyes met and the knowledge of that truth passed between them. Both of them remained silent as Adam chomped away on the chicken sandwich and Little Joe's rampant curls tickled his bare toes.

His wife was the first to stir. She reached for the tray. "I will feed you some soup."

He put his hand on her arm. "Later."

"Are you….?"

"Just tired," he said. "I promise I will eat…later."

Adam rose to his feet. "I'll take the plate down with me. Hop Sing will see the sandwich is gone and it will make his day."

"How is his father?" Ben asked.

"Back to himself," his son laughed. "Hop Ling came out to pick up the laundry and let loose with a string of Cantonese when he saw how much of it there was." Adam put a hand to his ear. "I imagine if you listen closely enough, you can still hear him complaining."

He wanted to laugh. He really did.

But he didn't have the energy.

"Adam, we are wearing your father out," Marie said as she shifted off of the bed. "Come, let us go and let him sleep."

The boy was staring out the window. In a somewhat sing-song voice, he said, "Innocent sleep. Sleep that soothes away all our worries. Sleep that puts each day to rest."

Marie took the quote from Macbeth up, beginning where the boy had left off. "Sleep that relieves the weary laborer and heals hurt minds. Sleep, the main course in life's feast, and the most nourishing."

Adam turned and grinned at her. They shared that, a love of poetry and of words.

"Yeah, let's go," he replied, "before we 'murder' Pa's sleep."

Marie still had hold of his hand. She stared at him for several heartbeats and then bent and planted a kiss on his lips. 'I love you,' she mouthed before she turned and exited the room on the arm of his son.

Ben laid there, contemplating all he had just heard – until the mole started wriggling again. A second later Little Joe's head popped out and he drew in several breaths.

"Are you okay?" Ben asked, hiding his smile.

Little Joe nodded solemnly and then glanced at the door again. "Is Mama gone?"

He nodded too.

The smile that broke on the child's face was more brilliant – and a thousand times more welcome – than that sun beam.

"I'm all better, Papa." The smile dimmed. "Are you?"

"Yes, Little Joe, I'm all better."

"Can we go play then?"

Ah, the resiliency of youth.

"Not quite yet. You heard you mother, didn't you? I have to take a nap."

Little Joe's eyes widened at the mention of his wonderful, marvelous and very scary mama. "I'm s'posed to be taking a nap too," he whispered.

"Oh." Ben whispered as well. "Maybe we could take one together?"

The boy considered it. "I…don't…know, Papa. Will Mama spank me if she finds me in your bed instead of Hossy's?"

"I don't think so, but to be sure…" Ben shifted slightly and indicated the empty space beside him. "…you lay down and I'll pull the sheet up over you. Mama won't even know you're here."

Again, there was thought, and then – slowly – a grin way too wicked for a four-year-old spread over his young son's face.

A moment later Little Joe was snuggled up against his side. The boy lay there for a moment, and then turned over and flung his arm across his chest.

"I love you, Papa," Joseph said softly.

He returned the gesture, pulling the little boy into an embrace even as a tear trailed down his cheek. "I love you too, son," he said.

Ben laid there for some time, listening to his tiny son's even breathing, remembering that only a few days before he had feared the child would never draw another breath, and then he turned his eyes upward.

"Thanks," he said, and then joined his son in sleep.

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END