Coming Home

Ike looks up from the book he’s reading when he hears Cody's shout. Off in the distance he sees Katy approaching and knows it's The Kid returning from his run.

Lou emerges from the bunkhouse, her bedroll under her arm. As she walks across the porch toward where Noah is holding Lightening for her, Ike reaches out and stops her.

"I will, Ike. You keep all the boys out of trouble round here, okay," Lou returns.

The other riders watch lazily as Lou mounts Lightening and Kid smoothly passes the mochilla off to her. She races off in the opposite direction while Kid tiredly pulls Katy to a stop and dismounts.

"Dusty," Kid answers, slapping his clothes and causing billows of dust to rise in the air.

"You better not bring that dust into the bunkhouse er Rachel will kill ya," Cody warns as he leans against the porch post.

"Yeah, she just finished cleaning it and woe be it unto the one who first gets it dirty. She ain't even let us back in yet," Noah adds.

Ike looks around at his friends and smiles at their affectionate bantering. It has been a long time since he’s felt as welcome and wanted as he does with his express family. Most people would think it impossible that such a group of motley orphans could become a family, but that’s exactly what has happened. Ike knows that the bond they have is just as strong if not stronger than any bond of blood.

While Ike’s been lost in his thoughts, Kid has finally managed to get enough dirt off that he can climb the steps without causing a dust storm. "Hey, Ike," he says coming up to where Ike is sitting with his book. "There was a letter for you at the last station. I brought it with me."

Ike's eyebrows knit together in an expression of puzzlement. *For me?* he questions as he takes the letter from Kid.

Ike glances at the envelope. Sure enough, there is his name on the front in neat writing, and up in the left hand corner the letters L. F. B.

Ike just shrugs his shoulders in response. Buck moves to glance over Ike’s shoulder, just as confused as his friend.

Ike looks into his best friend's eyes and, though no words are spoken, he knows they are both thinking the same thing. The only people Ike knows are all sitting right here on the porch except for Teaspoon who is in town, Rachel in the house, and Lou who just left on her run.

Carefully, Ike tears open the envelope and removes a sheet of paper covered in the same neat writing. Ike unfolds the letter and begins to read.

As he reads, the other riders watch Ike closely. Because he’s lived so much of his life without the ability to speak, Ike has developed wonderful facial expressions. Usually the riders only have to look at Ike to know exactly what he’s trying to tell them. Now they watch his face for any clue as to what the letter is about, but what they see alarms them.

Ike's usual smile is quickly replaced by a tight frown and his face turns deadly pale. His hands are shaking as he clutches the paper and in his eyes are tears that threaten to spill out.

"What is it, Ike?" Buck asks, his voice full of concern for his best friend. The other riders move closer, wanting to know what has upset their friend so badly.

The look Ike gives them when he is done reading the letter is like none that they have ever received from him. It's the look of a person who has just had their whole world ripped out from under them; the look of a man drowning at sea.

"Ike what's wrong?" Jimmy asks again. Ike's reaction is beginning to scare them.

Suddenly, without answering, Ike shoves the letter back into the envelope and half runs, half stumbles off the porch. He rushes to one of the horses that are saddled and tied to the coral, waiting for the next rider who needs to change mounts, and grabs the reigns. Desperately, he swings himself up into the saddle and kicks the horse into a gallop away from the station.

"Ike! Wait! Where are you going? What’s wrong?" Buck yells at his back as he rides off. Getting no response, Buck tries to follow him, but Kid places a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Maybe you should leave him alone fer awhile. Whatever was in that letter upset him pretty bad."

"That's just it! Ike doesn't know any one to get a letter from, unless one of the nuns at the mission suddenly decided to keep in touch, but I doubt it. They were just glad to get rid of us."

"Leave him alone. He'll tell you when he's ready," Noah says coming up beside Kid and Buck.

Buck glances at the faces of the riders with him and isn't fooled a bit by their words.

"You're all just as worried about Ike as me, don't tell me you’re not," Buck says.

“You’re right, but there’s nothing we can do right now,” Jimmy admits. “Just give him some space.”

With a sigh, Buck relents. Silently, they all stand looking out over the plains in the direction their friend rode off, worrying.

Chapter 1

Blindly, Ike rides across the land, no real destination in mind. The tears that were threatening to fall on the porch are now running freely down his cheeks. He knows the others are worried about him, he heard Buck yelling after him to stop, but he just had to get away for a while. He has to figure out how to deal with this. It's like someone grabbed hold of the rug he was standing on and jerked it away and now they've left him tumbling in the air.

Ike feels the horse under him slow and realizes that he has been pushing the animal too hard. Not wanting to hurt her, he reigns the mare to a stop and dismounts. He’s on a small hill that looks out over the horizon and other than one stubby tree atop it, standing as if it were a sentinel, there is very little to break up the rolling grasslands. Feeling very much like that lonely tree, Ike sits down with his back against the trunk and, pulling his knees up to his chest, stares out over the plains. The sun is starting to set in spectacular splashes of red and gold but Ike’s too upset to notice.

He looks down at the paper he still clutches in his hand. Slowly, he removes the letter from the envelope and begins to read it again.

Ike stares at the letter in his hands, rereading the words again and again, until it’s too dark to see them. Then he just sits and gazes up at the stars, not sure how he feels about anything anymore. Part of him is, like the letter said, angry that he has gone so long without knowing any of this. He’s angry at this unknown grandfather of his, for turning his parents away, and even angry at this new grandmother for not stopping it. If they hadn't turned them away, Ike would still have his family! And yet, at the same time he thinks it, he knows he cannot blame them. What happened, happened; just like all the other bad things that have happened in Ike's short life.

Ike leans his head back against the tree and closes his eyes. Suddenly, he is transported back to another starry night just like this one, before his world was ripped apart.

"Mama," he had asked, sitting on the grass in the dark next to her. "Why do you like to look at the stars so much?"

His mother had looked deep into his eyes before answering, and Ike had seen a sadness he had never noticed before.

"Because I used to look at the stars with my papa, back when I was about your age. When I look at them now, it reminds me of him."

And so Ike had always assumed that when he watched his family die on that awful day, he had lost everyone. Now he doesn't know what to think.

A cold breeze causes Ike to open his eyes. He shivers slightly and realizes he left without even his coat. His body is stiff from sitting in this cramped position for so many hours. He knows it must be getting late and that the others are going to be worried about him, especially considering the way he was when he rode out. He smiles a little to himself and thinks that it’s amazing that Buck hasn't already come looking for him. Slowly, he gets to his feet and walks over to his horse, which thankfully has been grazing quietly all this time. Ike carefully places his letter inside his vest and mounts the horse, turning her back toward the station.

Ike is chilled from the cold night air by the time he reaches the way station. Save for a single lantern burning in the bunkhouse window, all is dark and still with the hush of night as he rides into the yard. Somehow that lantern helps to calm Ike's troubled heart, knowing it's lit for him. Rachel always leaves a light burning whenever one of her "boys" is out in the night, to help them find their way home. Tonight it's like a lighthouse to Ike, guiding him through his own personal storm.

He enters the barn and quickly takes care of his horse, gently rubbing her and making sure she’s comfortable.
"I was just about ta go get Buck an' let him ride out after ya like he's wanted to all evenin'."

Ike jumps at the unexpected voice, noticing for the first time, Teaspoon, sitting in the shadows, watching him.
"Sorry, didn't mean ta scare ya, son."

Moving closer so Teaspoon can see his hands in the dimness of the barn, Ike signs, *It's alright. I just didn't see you there.*

Teaspoon studies his mute rider in the faint light of the lantern, noting the tired face and red eyes.
"You alright, Ike?"

Teaspoon starts to ask Ike what upset him enough to make him ride out without a word, but stops. From the looks of him, Ike is too emotionally drained to talk about anything right now, and he is starting to shiver from the cold.
"Well, goodnight then," Teaspoon says, standing up. He gives Ike a fatherly squeeze on the shoulder as he walks by.

*Goodnight,* Ike signs at Teaspoon's back, relieved that he didn't ask what is wrong. Ike walks to the bunkhouse and enters as quietly as he can. Everyone appears to be asleep and he doesn't want to wake them. Although he knows they mean well, he can't handle all their questions right now. Ike soundlessly undresses and is ready to climb up into his bunk when he feels someone's stare. Lowering his head, he meets Buck's concerned eyes gazing at him from the bottom bunk.

Ike sighs. He knows Buck won't be satisfied until he has an answer, but Ike’s just not ready to talk yet.
*I'll tell you tomorrow. I want to sleep now.*

Buck looks at Ike for a long time, trying to gage his friend's emotional state from his face. Finally, Buck nods
"Alright. Get some sleep, okay."

Ike nods and climbs into his bed. He doesn't really expect to get much sleep, but the strain of the last few hours catches up to him. His tired body wins over his churning mind and before ten minutes have passed, Ike is fast asleep.

When Ike wakes the next morning, he’s alone in the bunkhouse. Grateful, Ike lays thinking. Although a night's rest has helped to restore his exhausted body, inside his emotions are still spinning like a top. Everything feels different. He is still Ike, still the same person he was when he woke up yesterday morning, but somehow it seems like the world around him has changed. He feels like he is a scared, seven year-old little boy again, helplessly caught up in forces beyond his control.

Sighing audibly, he climbs out of bed, reminding himself that he, of all people, should know how much your life can change in one day.

He dresses quickly, wondering where everyone is and why he was allowed to sleep for so long. It's unlike the others, especially Cody, to let anyone sleep in, particularly when there's chores to do. Again, Ike tucks yesterday's letter into his vest, thinking about what it says. 'I have a grandmother and she wants me to visit!' he marvels to himself. He still isn't sure what he is going to do, but there's one person he's hoping can help him with that. Finally, with hands swift from many years of practice, Ike covers his smooth scalp with his bandana. Last night may have been a bit chilly, but today is going to be a scorcher. The last thing Ike wants to deal with is a sunburnt head.
Opening the door, Ike steps out into the glaring heat of day. The sun is almost directly over head. 'I slept the day away!' he thinks in amazement.

"'Bout time you decided to git up, Ike!" Cody's voice calls to him from over by Rachel's house, drawing Ike's attention. Cody, Jimmy, Buck, and Kid are engaged in digging up the ground all around the front porch of the house. "Rachel said we had to let ya sleep, but seein' as how yer awake now, you can take my place. All this hard work ain't good for me."

"Hard work! Cody, you ain't done no work yet! You ain't done nothin' but drive us crazy with yer big mouth!" Jimmy growls, jamming his shovel into the ground to emphasis his words.

"Whadda you mean I ain't done no work? What do you call this pile a dirt right here, huh?" Cody defends himself.
"Pitiful," Buck mumbles under his breath, a sly smile on his face.

Ike shakes his head in mock despair. They really are hopeless, the whole lot of them. He walks the short distance between the bunkhouse and where they are digging up the lawn, still engrossed in their bickering when he comes up behind them. Ike thumps his chest to get their attention.

"Rachel decided that some flowerbeds would make the station look pretty," Jimmy says, his voice giving away his opinion of pony express stations that look pretty.

"Yeah, and we git to dig 'em," Kid sighs.
"That's right, boys. And I remind you that the rate at which you dig 'em is directly related to the rate at which I fix lunch." The riders look up to see Rachel standing on the porch, her hands resting firmly on her hips. "From the look a things, it's gonna be a long time 'till you eat."
"Aw, give me that shovel!" Cody grabs the tool from Buck and starts digging with renewed fervor.
"Mornin', Ike," Rachel greets him. "You want some breakfast?"
"Hey! How come you'll fix him food an' not us? He ain't even done nothin'," comes Cody's predictable complaint.
"Cause he ain't been asked to, an' you have, Cody," Rachel admonishes sternly. Turning back to Ike, she waits for his answer, "Ike?"
Ike shakes his head 'no.' His stomach is asking for food, but there’s someone he needs to talk to first.
*Where's Teaspoon?* he asks Rachel.
"I think he's in town at his office. You sure ya don't want some breakfast? You didn't eat dinner last night, either," Rachel asks, concerned.
*Later.*
Ike leaves the others to their digging and heads for the barn. Somehow during the night, he settled on the idea that Teaspoon will know how to help him, can tell him what to do. Now he hurries to saddle his horse and ride into town.
"Ike, why do you need to talk to Teaspoon?"
Buck’s voice stops Ike and he turns to face his friend who has followed him into the barn.

*I just do,* he says. Ike trusts Buck more than anyone in the world and hates keeping him in the dark, but he’s still too confused about how he feels to talk to him. Buck will only ask Ike what he’s going to do, and Ike doesn't yet have an answer for that.

"Ike! What was in that letter? Are ya in trouble?" Buck grabs Ike's arm to keep him from leaving. "Why won't you tell me!" He cries, frustrated with Ike's stubbornness. Buck knows Ike is hurting. He can see it when he looks into his friend's eyes, and yet Ike refuses to tell him why.

Ike slowly turns again and looks at Buck. He sees the worry written plainly across his face, the pleading in his eyes.
*Buck, I'm not in trouble. I'll be alright. I just need to talk to Teaspoon first. I promise I will tell you everything when I get back. Okay?*

Buck knows there’s no use in pushing Ike for more, but he still shakes his head slightly.

Teaspoon is in his usual position - chair tipped back, feet propped up, hat pulled down - when Ike enters the Marshal's office.

"Mornin' Ike," Teaspoon greets him. Ike smiles faintly, wondering how Teaspoon could tell it was him with his hat over his eyes like that.

Teaspoon rights his hat and sits up straight, studying Ike carefully. He looks better than he did last night, not quite as ready to fall to pieces, but Teaspoon still notices the haunted look in his eyes.

"Sit down," Teaspoon says, indicating a chair. "What's eatin' ya, son? The boys said ya got a letter yesterday that upset you somethin' fierce. You in some kind a trouble?"

Slowly, Ike removes the letter from his vest and hands it across the desk to Teaspoon, indicating for him to read it.
"Ya sure?"

Teaspoon takes the now slightly smudged paper and starts to read. When he is done, he glaces over at Ike. No wonder the boy looks like he's seen a ghost; he practically has. His whole world has been turned upside down by one sheet of paper.

Ike just shrugs his shoulders, not meeting Teaspoon's eyes. For a while they both sit in silence, until Teaspoon breaks it.

Ike looks up at Teaspoon, his face twisted in an anguished expression, tears once again threatening to fall. Finally, his hands start moving and it's like a dam has burst. Rapidly, all the emotions he’s been holding back flood out, almost too fast for Teaspoon to follow.

*I ain't sure what to do! It's like the world is spinning around me and I can't catch hold! I have all these emotions fighting inside of me, but I don't know which ones to feel! Part of me wants to jump with joy and part wants to run and hide. Teaspoon, how come I can be so angry, and sad, and sort of excited, all at the same time?*

Teaspoon watches the silent young man before him bare his soul, his expressive face and hands telling more of the tortured heart inside than words ever could. He appears so lost, so vulnerable. Silently, Teaspoon curses the world, curses the fact that life has dealt this gentle, kind spirit such a cruel hand. This boy deserves so much more than fate has seen fit to give him!

Ike is waiting for an answer as Teaspoon studies him. Eventually, Teaspoon speaks.

"Because yer normal, Ike. This here letter has just tore yer world an' yer heart apart. Yer angry that you never knew about this grandmother. Angry that you've spent most a yer life with people that didn't want ya, now knowin' that there was someone out there who did. You’re sad 'cause of all the people that you've lost, yer childhood that was stole from you. Ike, it's okay to feel like this. It's normal."

Teaspoon pauses before answering. Ike has already had too many things taken away from him. He doesn't want to see him get hurt again, but he also knows, even if Ike hasn't admitted it yet, that Ike will never really be content again until he follows this new path through to the finish.

"You've got some time off comin' and the others can cover for ya while yer gone."

"Ike, I ain't gonna tell ya how you should feel about all of this. Lord knows I'd be just as confused if it was me, but I am gonna ask ya to give yer grandmother a chance. I don't think you will be able to live content if you pass up this chance." Teaspoon catches Ike's eyes as he finishes speaking. Looking in them, he sees something more than just worry about his job and the long journey.

Ike looks down at his boots. He’s almost afraid to share his fear with Teaspoon. At last he turns to the Marshal, his hands shaking a little as he signs, *What if she don't want a grandson like me?*

"Not want one like you? Whadda you mean?" Teaspoon is puzzled by this turn in the conversation until he watches Ike slowly point to his mouth and then his head. Understanding hits Teaspoon like a bolt of lightening. He has grown so used to Ike's differences that he sometimes forgets Ike isn't speaking out loud when he signs, forgets that the red bandana covers a head devoid of hair. But the outside world never forgets, and Ike knows it.

Teaspoon wishes he could say some words that will take away this fear from Ike, but he can't. Instead he says the only thing left. "You will just hafta go show her that you are the best grandson anyone could want."

Ike finally manages a real smile, which he gives Teaspoon in return for his last comment. He stands up to leave, but Teaspoon stops him.

"Ike, before ya go, I wanna say somethin' else. Now I know what yer gonna think when I say this but, but I'm gonna say it anyways. I don't want ya goin' alone."

Ike looks sharply at Teaspoon, raising his hands to protest, but Teaspoon cuts him off.

"'Fore you git all riled up, hear me out. I know you can take care of yerself just fine, but there are a lot of people out there with nothin' better to do then cause problems for the rest of us. You should know that, Ike. It's a mighty long way from here to Philadelphia and if you was to git in trouble and need help there's no way we could git to ya in time. I want you to take one of the others with ya, just incase. 'Sides, it might be nice to have someone who can help you talk to yer grandmother when you meet her. I don't imagine she knows much Indian Sign."

Ike gives Teaspoon a glare which states clearly he doesn't like it, but he knows Teaspoon is right. Then he shrugs his shoulders and sighs knowing the old marshal has made up his mind, so it doesn't really matter what he thinks.

"Fine. And, Ike, try to be a little excited. You just got a grandmother! That's a pretty good thing."

Ike's customary grin splits his face, coming almost unbidden. *I know, Teaspoon. Thanks.*

Teaspoon smiles back at Ike as he leaves the office, marveling at the young man's resilience and quiet strength.

Chapter 3

There’s no one in sight when Ike rides back into the station yard. Either they finished their digin' or Rachel finished them, Ike thinks with a small smirk as he looks at the abandoned piles of dirt around the house steps.

Ike dismounts and leads his horse into the barn. Inside, Buck is sitting on the same crate Teaspoon had occupied the night before. Ike looks at him and slowly shakes his head, his lips forming a slight smile.

*Don't you people have anything better to do than sit around in the barn and wait for me?*

"It was either sit out here an' wait for you or sit in there an' listen to Jimmy 'n Cody go at it again. Which would you choose?" Buck says as he comes over to help Ike with his horse. He’s relieved that Ike seems to have recovered his ability to joke. He no longer looks so lost and confused. Tired and unsettled yes, but not completely undone. Whatever Teaspoon said to him must have helped.

Silently, the two friends unsaddle and tend to the horse, then stand side by side against the stall. Finally, Buck asks the question Ike has been waiting for.

"Ike, what was in that letter, an' don't try an' put me off again. Somethin's wrong, I can tell." As he says this Buck turns and faces Ike squarely, giving him a hard gaze.

Ike sighs. He looks for a long time at Buck. He knows he can tell Buck anything and he will listen, but this news is so unexpected that Ike doesn't know how to begin.

Buck watches the emotions play across Ike's face and his worry returns. He has never seen Ike like this before. He’s just about to repeat the question when Ike's hands hesitantly start to move.

*The letter was from..........* Ike pauses and glances away, unsure about signing the next word.

*It was from my............grandmother,* Ike finally finishes, and then he looks at Buck for his reaction.

Buck is stunned. Of all the news he imagined the letter contained, this thought has never crossed his mind! As far as he’s ever known, all of Ike's family are dead! How could he have a grandmother?

Silence once again descends as Buck tries to digest this new information. Now he understands why Ike has been so upset. He’s probably the only one who can understand. He’s the only one who was there to see the hurt in Ike's eyes when he was constantly rejected and ridiculed at the orphanage. The only one who always knew the deep longing to be loved that Ike never told anyone about. The one who saw the silent tears fall at night when Ike thought everyone was asleep, tears of grief for a family torn away. Now, here is a letter that comes out of the blue, announcing to Ike that all those lonely years and painful hours could have been avoided and presenting a long, lost grandmother for acceptance! No wonder Ike is bewildered.

Ike crouches down and with his finger traces the word “PHILADELPHIA” in the dirt of the barn floor.

Buck reads the name that Ike writes and for the second time in five minutes is completely shocked. Philadelphia! That's all the way across the county!

They are quiet again, each lost in their own thoughts. Several minutes pass before Ike touches Buck's shoulder to
regain his attention.

*Teaspoon doesn't want me to go alone. I want you to come with me. Will you?* Ike looks expectantly at Buck,
waiting for an answer, but Buck doesn't reply. Ike was sure that Buck would answer 'yes' immediately, he’s never
told Ike no before, but instead Buck's eyes darken and his countenance clouds over.

Now it's Ike's turn to be stunned. He never thought that Buck would refuse. If anything he thought that Buck would jump at the chance to be with him and make sure he is okay. This is totally against Buck's normal, sometimes over-protective, attitude. Ike's face arranges itself in a picture of confusion, still staring at him.

Buck glances back at Ike and sees the question written on Ike's face as clearly as if Ike has spoken it. Not able to stand his penetrating and hurt gaze, he turns away to again stare out the open barn door.

"Ike, I can't go with ya," he says without turning. "Look at me. I'm a dirty half-breed! I'm not civilized enough for a big city like that. Ike, you know that this trip is gonna be bad enough for you as it is. You don't need an Indian along causin' you more trouble. I ain't gonna do that to you. Ask Kid...... or Jimmy, but I can't go." Buck's voice has turned to hard steel as he is talking, betraying all the years of hurt he’s trying to hide.

Ike listens to Buck's reasons and starts shaking his head in protest. This is silly. Buck knows that Ike doesn't care about his mixed heritage. It has never mattered before, why should it now? Buck isn't looking at Ike, though, so his objections are going unnoticed. Ike slaps his chest, trying to get Buck's attention, and then grabs hold of Buck's arm when he gets no response.

*Look at me!* he signs in frustration, but Buck still stubbornly refuses to turn around.

Ike is angry now. He walks around Buck, planting himself directly in front of him, forcing Buck to see him.

*Don't ignore me when I'm talking to you! Just 'cause you don't have to listen to me doesn't give you the right to pretend I'm not speaking!*

"I'm sorry, Ike, but there's nothin' else to say about it. I ain't goin' with ya."

Now completely frustrated with Buck's unreasonable behavior, Ike glares at Buck in anger before throwing his hands up in disgust.

*And what if I don't want to ask Kid or Jimmy to come? I want you to come!* Ike gestures, his movements gaining momentum as he signs. Buck opens his mouth to speak, but Ike holds up a hand, cutting him off.

*Buck, for the last eight years we’ve done everything together. We’ve always been there to help each other out and face our problems together. This is the biggest and most confusing thing that has happened to me since my family was killed. The others are good friends, but they don't understand like you do. I don't want one of them with me. I want you with me, you, Buck. I don't care what anybody else thinks about you. We faced them all together before, we can do it again.*

Ike ceases his rapid signing but he continues to stare firmly at Buck. His whole body stance emanates determination, the same determination that has carried him through life and helped him go on from day to day.

Buck has grudgingly watched Ike's swift hands, and now he glances into his unyielding eyes. Eventually, he sighs and relaxes his tense position.

"Alright, Ike. You win. I'll go with ya, but don't say I didn't warn ya. You’re only askin' for a bunch more trouble with me along," Buck concedes.

Ike breaths a sigh of relief as he sees Buck relax. Then his trademark grin returns, and he looks at Buck with a twinkle in his eye.

"Okay, okay!" Buck says with a laugh, punching Ike lightly on the shoulder. "I said you win! Now let's go get some lunch 'fore Cody eats it all."

The warm glow of the lantern softly illuminates the dark bunkhouse. Ike sits at the table in the center of the glow, gazing at the paper in front of him. He is calmer now than he has been for the last two days. Two days. Has it really only been two days? His life seems to have changed so much in that short time. He’s still recovering from it all, but now that he has decided what to do, he feels much more at ease.

He smiles as he remembers the reactions of the other riders when Teaspoon and Buck explained everything to them during dinner. It's a rare day when you can manage to render Cody speechless. It didn't last for long, though, and soon Ike found himself the center of attention with questions flying at him from a thousand different directions. He tried to answer all of them but conversation has never been his strong point and many of the answers he didn't know himself. Rachel quickly realized he was getting flustered and came to his rescue, calling the rest of the boys off, but not before Ike's letter was passed carefully around and examined by all.

Now they are all asleep and Ike finally has time to sit down and write his reply. He can hardly believe that in two days Buck and he are going to start for Philadelphia! Who would have ever thought…?

Ike slowly reads through his letter one more time to make sure it says what he wants it to.

Dear Mrs. Brarring,
Thank you for your letter, although I will admit it has been a big shock. Thank you for the invitation to come to Philadelphia, too. Please tell Mrs. Lowe that I will be leaving at once to come and I will be bringing a friend with me. Thank you again.
Sincerely,
Ike McSwain

Ike knows it’s extremely short, but he can't think of anything else to say. It contains all the important information, anyhow. Ike looks at it one more time and then decides that it will have to do. He carefully folds it and leans it up on the table, ready to be mailed in the morning. He then blows out the light and climbs into bed, thinking about the new adventure he is about to embark on.

Chapter 4

With a loud roar the immense steam engine bares down on the crowded station, smoke streaming from it like an angry, black, fire-breathing dragon. People scurry out of the way, mothers pull children close, and a great feeling of expectancy fills the air.

Off to the side, two young men stand close together, drawing many curious and sometimes uneasy glances. One, a tall handsome youth with tan skin and long dark hair is obviously of Indian decent. He talks softly to his companion, a young man with expressive eyes and a warm smile, wearing a red kerchief on his head. The gestures the boy uses to answer bring more wary stares their direction.

"You sure ya wanna do this, Ike?" Buck asks his friend as they wait on the platform for the approaching locomotive. "We could always tell Teaspoon we missed the train."

*No I'm not sure, but we're going anyway,* Ike answers swiftly. He is well aware of the distrustful looks and critical attention he’s garnering whenever he "speaks" and he’s trying to keep his signs small enough that only Buck can really see them. *Besides, you know Teaspoon would just drag us back here again if we told him that.*

Buck sighs. He’s already feeling the scornful eyes boring into his back and he knows it’s only going to get worse. He also knows that the trip is going to be anything but kind for Ike as well and he wishes he could spare his friend that.

Brakes squealing in protest, the huge train finally screeches to a halt in front of the station platform. It's doors open, spilling forth it's occupants into the daylight, while more crowds gather round, impatiently waiting to board.

"Guess we better get in line then," Buck says to Ike. Ike nods in answer and reaches down to pick up Rachel's old satchel that contains their things. She insisted that they use it, even though between the two of them they still only managed to fill it halfway. Together, the two friends join the mass of people milling around and waiting to board the cars.

As they get closer and closer to the steps, the butterflies in Ike's stomach start turning somersaults, and he grips the handle of the satchel tighter. It's not the train itself that has him worried, although it is a little intimidating, but rather where it is taking him. Ike wonders anxiously what waits for him at the end of this journey.

All too soon, Buck and Ike arrive at the door to the train car and the man taking tickets. He gives Buck a very scornful look, as though he would rather turn him away, but after a moments hesitation he takes their tickets and lets them pass. Relieved, the two climb the steps and enter the train.

Inside, the car is already fairly crowded, so Buck and Ike move on to the next looking for an empty booth. Finally, Ike notices one in the corner that’s not yet occupied. He reaches out and taps Buck's shoulder with his free hand, indicating with his head toward the booth. Quickly, Buck moves forward and enters it, sitting hastily on one of the red velvet seats. Ike follows and, after placing the satchel on the rack above, sinks down into the seat across from him.

*At least these seats are more comfortable than the ones on the stage,* Ike says to Buck, trying to draw a smile from him. They have already had a long journey. Two days ride to Kansas City, then another day in a stage coach to St. Louis, where they had to wait another day to be able to board this train. Ike knows that Buck is tired and extremely self-conscious and he’s trying to make him feel better.

Buck looks at Ike and manages a hint of a smile as he says, "Yeah, they ain't that bad." Then he returns to staring out the window.

Ike can tell that Buck is about to shut up tight as a clam and leave him without a soul to talk to. He thumps his chest to get his attention again. *Hey, you're no the only one getting nasty stares. You could at least be civil to me! We're stuck on this train for two more days and it's gonna be an awful long ride if you won't talk to me,*

"Sorry, Ike," Buck replies, having the good grace to look a little chagrined. "I just ain't used to havin' so many people around. Guess it has me a little edgy."

They sit for awhile in companionable silence, watching as the rest of the passengers board the train. People of all shapes and descriptions file past them down the isle, many of them gazing with distrust at Ike and Buck before moving on.

Ike watches as a little boy of about nine comes running down the walkway. He stops right in front of Buck and Ike's booth and gives them a wide smile. Instinctively, Ike grins back and pats the seat next to him, inviting the boy to sit. He’s about to plop down next to Ike when a stern-looking woman comes and pulls him away.

"Not here, Jacob!" she scolds in a loud whisper and leads the boy away, throwing distasteful glances back over her shoulder at the two friends. Ike feels the color rise in his cheeks and turns away, more conscious than ever of his "differences." He knows Buck is equally embarrassed.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the train begins to move. No one has sat in the booth with Ike and Buck and in a way, Ike is grateful. Now he can sign to Buck without another person's scrutiny. The seats all around them have been filled, however, and for lack of something better to do, Ike carefully studies their occupants.

In the seats behind theirs, a group of men dressed in fancy suits sit, talking amongst themselves. Ike watches them for a minute but they aren't very interesting so he soon moves on.

The booth directly across from Ike has been filled by a young family: mother, father, and two children. The oldest, a boy of about eight, has sandy hair and light-blue, twinkly eyes, but it is the girl who captures Ike's attention. About six years-old, her head is covered in flaming red curls and her cheeks literally smothered in freckles. She lovingly carries a rag doll that looks as though it has seen better days. The girl and her brother laugh gleefully as their slim, auburn-haired mother and jolly-looking father point out all the wonders going past outside.

Ike's heart has a sharp pang of longing for his own parents and sister as he watches this family. He feels almost drawn to them and he continues to stare at them, so long in fact that the mother becomes aware of his intense gaze and turns to him. Ike blushes at having been caught staring and braces himself for the scornful reproach he is sure will now follow. Instead, the young mother, noticing the pain and sorrow in his eyes, gives him a kind smile before returning her attention to her children.

Ike's face is like an open book and after so many years together Buck can read him like a primer. Glancing at the young family, Buck is pretty sure what Ike was thinking about, but he decides not to press the subject right now. No need to keep dragging up Ike's tragic memories. There will be enough of that when they arrive at their destination.

"This train moves mighty fast, don't it?" Buck says to Ike, changing the subject.

Now that his attention has been pulled away from the family, Ike suddenly notices the stuffiness and sweltering heat of the train and he feels like he’s in an oven. He reaches up and removes his bandana, trying to get cooler. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead and starts using the bandana as a fan.

"It ain't that hot, Ike," Buck laughs, teasing his friend. Ike just gives him half a smile and continues fanning.

Buck turns back to the window to watch the scenery go past, sure that Ike is doing the same. Half an hour passes with no conversation before Buck realizes out of the corner of his eye that Ike has stopped fanning.

"See, I told you it ain't…," Buck's voice trails off as he sees his friend. Ike is slumped back in the seat with his eyes closed and his face is rapidly turning a rather nasty shade of green. "Ike, what's wrong?" Buck cries in alarm.

Ike doesn't know what's wrong. He was just staring out the window when the first spikes of a massive headache started shooting through his brain. Next, his stomach decided to betray him and he was hit by a vicious wave of nausea. Now he is just sitting desperately still, afraid to move even enough to answer Buck. If he so much as lifts his arms to sign he’s sure he will lose the battle he’s fighting to keep what he ate for lunch earlier down in his stomach where it belongs. He does manage to open his eyes and tries to use them to convey all this to Buck.

"Although that shade of green you’re sportin' now does look nice with the black smudges of soot on your head," Buck can't resist teasing.

Ike glares at Buck and then rolls his eyes, before closing them against the pounding headache.

Buck doesn't miss the flash of pain that momentarily crosses Ike's face and he puts his joking aside. "You better lay down for a little while an' maybe it'll go away," he suggests hopefully. He isn't quite sure what’s making Ike sick but he knows Ike well enough to know that he isn't faking it.

Moving very slowly, Ike maneuvers himself into a more horizontal position. Just that much motion is enough to stir up another ferocious wave of nausea and he clamps his mouth tightly shut and lies back, pale and sweaty.

All the rest of the day, Ike tries to rest on the seat, feeling miserable. Even his worst Express run was better than this! Occasionally, Buck will say something to him or ask a question, but Ike doesn't even try to answer. Instead, he watches the young family across from them, trying to distract himself.

For quite awhile the children remain fascinated with the motion of the train and the sights flashing past the windows. They pepper their parents with excited questions, one after the other. Despite the way he’s feeling, Ike can't help smiling at their inquisitiveness, remembering when he was like that, full of questions and innocent, childish curiosity. But that was a long time ago, Ike thinks with a sigh.

As the afternoon slowly wears on and approaches evening, Ike's mind wanders away from the family and back to the reason he’s making this trip. He closes his eyes as his thoughts drift. Even after a week to digest the news, his emotions are still reeling. So much of his life has been spent trying to forget that now he doesn't really know how to start remembering. But this letter has forced him to open the door to his past, and in so doing has allowed all his carefully hidden memories to come spilling back into his mind. With them come the doubts and fears that so many years of others' cruelty have built up in him. Since the headache and nausea are making it impossible for Ike to sleep, he has nothing to turn his mind away from the myriad of questions that are running through it, all of them brought on by the letter that’s still inside his vest. He can't stop wondering about his Grandmother, what she will be like. Will she accept him for who he is? Or will she look at him as some sort of freak like the rest of the world so often does. His heart is longing for the first to happen, to finally have someone who loves him, but past experience has taught him that it probably won't. He has been through too much and Ike is reluctant to open his heart, just to have it crushed again.

Ike doesn't know how long he has been lying there trying to ignore how sick he feels when he suddenly hears a sound that makes his eyes fly open. The hushed, mournful sounds of a harmonica are penetrating through the noise of the train. Ike glances almost frantically around with his eyes, needing to locate the music's source. His gaze lands once again on the small family across from Buck and him. The children have grown restless from the sticky heat and stale air, so their father has brought out his mouth organ to calm them. Now they lay curled in their mother's arms, listening contentedly to the music. Softly, the young mother joins her husband in the song, gently singing the words of love to her children.

Tears are streaming freely down Ike's pale cheeks as he listens to the sound he hasn't heard in twelve years. Once again he is pulled back to a time and place long, long ago.

Ike ignored his mother and continued chasing his little sister around the table that filled the center of the small adobe home. Essie was giggling hysterically, her cheeks rosy and her curls bouncing.

"Clark," his mother said over their heads, turning to Ike's father for help, '"What am I going to do with these two hooligans?" Ike could tell she was trying to be angry, but it wasn't working.

Suddenly, Ike felt the strong arm of his papa grasp him and swing him in the air. The his papa reached down and grabbed up Essie into the other arm, just as she rounded the corner.

"I think it's time fer some music," his papa said in his merry voice with just a trace of Irish brogue. Sitting down, he arranged one child on each knee and brought out his worn harmonica. Ike and Essie immediately settled back into their father's warm arms to listen, but they didn't remain still long. For half and hour, they both shouted out requests, singing along to the rousing hymns, or jumping up and dancing to the merry jigs. His mother sat in the rocking chair his papa had carved, mending one of Essie's frocks by the soft candle-light and humming along.

Then the music coming from Ike's papa's harmonica changed. The lilting sound of a song they knew so well filled the cozy home. This was the song Ike had heard since he was a baby. It had penetrated the pain-filled haze and comforted him during the awful, long days and nights that the Scarlet Fever had burned through his body. It was the one that always told him he was safe and loved. He snuggled back into his papa again and listened to him play. After a moment his papa stopped as was his ritual, and looked over at Ike’s mama.

"MaryAnne?" he questioned, just like always, and so she put down her mending and joined his papa in the song, pretending to be surprised he asked.

As he lay next to Essie in their bed that night, Ike had felt so safe and loved, he was sure nothing could ever go wrong, but it had. The very next day some wicked men rode into his life and stole not only his parents and sister, but his home, his voice, and his sense of self-worth.

Buck's anxious voice penetrates Ike's memories. He opens his eyes to see a very concerned Buck standing over him. Ike reaches up with an unsteady hand and quickly wipes away the tears he can feel on his face, but he doesn't answer his friend's question.

"I called you a couple a times but you didn't answer. I could tell you weren't asleep. What's wrong, Ike?"

Looking at his best friend, Ike wishes he could tell him, but he knows he could never find the signs to express what hearing that song again after all these years did, the emotions it stirred. Finally, he just shrugs.

Buck sits back down, but his heart is extremely heavy. He gazes at the weary, pale face of the one who has become his brother and he sighs. Despite Ike's hasty efforts, the tears have left clear channels through the dirt and soot smudged on his face. With everything that Ike has been through in life, Buck is worried that he doesn't have the emotional strength to survive this journey. He doesn't know what he will do if it causes Ike to withdraw even farther inside himself.

Ike lies there, trying to calm his surging emotions. He feels the letter in his vest, a burning reminder of why he’s on this train. Maybe coming out here wasn't such a good idea! he thinks, but even as the words form in his mind, another little voice inside him whispers, You have to do this. You need to know.

Tired of his own thoughts, Ike rolls over on his side to try and get some sleep, ignoring the wave of nausea it causes. Sleep takes a long time coming, however, and it is the early hours of the morning before Ike finally drifts off into an uneasy rest, the haunting melody from the mouth organ still playing in his mind.

* The song I used in this chapter is titled "All Through the Night." It is an old Welsh tune and was popular in the 1800's.

Chapter 5

Ike wakes the next morning feeling stiff, uneasy, and exhausted. The few hours of sleep he finally managed to get have done nothing to restore his energy. Most of the night he was plagued by memories and nightmares. He remembers dreaming that he was in a huge crowd of people, but his family was lost. He tried and tried to find them but he couldn't remember what they looked like, and he had no voice to call to them!

Shuddering slightly, Ike opens his eyes and rolls over. The pitiful amount of rest seems to have done some good, because the headache and nausea are gone. He just feels very weary and weak. Slowly, he sits up, trying to work out the kinks that sleeping on the too-short bench has given him.

"Well, you ain't quite so green this morning, so that's somethin' good," Buck says in an attempt to draw Ike into a conversation.

"You probably just needed to get used to the motion of this train," Buck tells him, glad to see that Ike made the effort to sign him an answer.

"Probably about nine." Buck desperately wants to ask Ike what made him so upset the night before, but he knows this isn’t the time. Right now, he needs to get Ike looking more like himself and less like a shadow. "Are you hungry, Ike? We can go find breakfast…"

Food doesn't sound remotely tempting at the moment, but Ike knows Buck’s just worried about him and trying to help. Besides, anything is better than just sitting there thinking.

*I'm not that hungry, but we can go look anyway,* Ike signs as he stands up. Together, the two friends exit the train car, Buck keeping a very watchful eye on Ike.

Ike and Buck spend the rest of the day talking quietly to each other and gazing out the windows. In the afternoon, the scenery outside begins to change drastically. No longer are they speeding past barren plains or small towns, but now they can see great forests spreading around them and mountains in the distance. The cities flashing by are ten times larger than any town either of them have ever seen. By evening, Ike is feeling more normal; the images stirred by the song retreating for awhile. He’s caught up in the excitement and wonder of all the new things to see, and for a time he pushes the reason for the trip to the back of his mind. Though he still looks tired, he enthusiastically points things out to Buck.

Buck’s also amazed at what they are seeing out the windows, but more importantly, he is extremely grateful to see some of Ike's old spark back. He knows it might not last for long, considering where they are headed, but he’s just glad to see Ike smiling again. He decides to enjoy the moment with Ike now; he can worry about what will happen in Philadelphia later.

When Ike and Buck finally step off the train late the next afternoon they are dirty, hungry, and both physically and emotionally exhausted. Ike keeps insisting he’s fine, but Buck knows this journey has nearly drained him emotionally dry. He may be hiding it for now behind his curiosity, but Buck is sure it will soon resurface and that worries him. Buck’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he isn't really paying attention to where he is until he feels the familiar swat on his arm.

Ike doesn't say anything, his hands being occupied with the satchel and his letter. Instead, he lets his eyes speak for him, looking first at Buck and then turning them slowly around to gaze at the station, utter amazement written clearly across his face.

For the first time, Buck really looks at his surroundings. He is struck speechless by the sight, and he has to fight the temptation to let his mouth hang open.

The train station at Philadelphia is unlike anything these two friends have ever seen. Besides the train they just exited, there are three other locomotives full of passengers. The station itself is as big as the whole town of Sweetwater, and that's just the beginning. As far as they can see on either side, they are met by row upon row of buildings, some stretching up at least ten stories into the sky. And the people; there are people everywhere! Short, tall, fat, thin, young, and old. The roar of the crowd and sounds of the city are almost deafening, and only half of the words they catch are even in English.

As they stand there in awe, the masses are pushing and jostling from all sides, and they quickly start to feel like they are being smothered. Ike clutches the satchel and his letter desperately, afraid they might get ripped from his hands.

"Come on, Ike. Let's go over there." Buck points to an alley leading off from the station that’s nearly empty. Then, grabbing Ike by the sleeve, he tries to clear a path for the two through the teaming crowd.

It takes the friends forever to maneuver their way through the hoards, but for once people are too busy with their own lives to bother with any rude remarks. Finally, they lean back against the wall, savoring the peace and quiet of the alley.

Ike nods, panting slightly. If he was feeling overwhelmed on the train, he is now verging on panic. He was not prepared for the vastness of this city, or the hundreds of people. The massive crowd reminds him of his nightmare and the feeling of despair starts to return. Looking at this huge metropolis, he starts to wonder how Buck and he are ever going to find the right place! They are in a city of thousands, and yet, because of their differences, they are totally alone. Ike closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to try and quell the dread rising in him, determined not to let Buck see it.

He glances over at Buck and nods, then inclines his head in Buck's direction, returning the question with his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay, too," Buck says. He shakes himself slightly to get rid of the claustrophobic feeling of the train station, and turns back to Ike. Buck notices that he is still clutching both the carpetbag and his letter tightly, making it impossible for him to sign.

Ike turns the items over without protest. He needs to be able to communicate with Buck right now, using more than just his eyes.

"So, you wanna go find some dinner or do you wanna start lookin' for the house right away?"

Now that they are actually in Philadelphia, Ike’s almost terrified of actually meeting this woman who has sent for him. It's all he can do to fight the temptation to turn and run back to the train, but at the same time he knows if he stalls any longer he will never get the courage to start.

*I think we should start looking now,* he tells Buck, trying to keep his hands from shaking. *It'll be dark soon and we don't have anywhere to stay. We can eat later.* Ike seriously doubts that he could keep food down anyway.

"Okay. Were do we start then?" Buck asks, wishing for the hundredth time he could just take Ike home and forget about this crazy trip.

The two friends spread the directions out between them, but even after studying them for twenty minutes, they still aren't sure where to go.

"It should be illegal for a city to be this big," Buck mutters under his breath after another failed attempt to make sense of the written instructions.

"I mean we're not gonna understand these directions any more after another hour of staring at them than we do right now. The only way we're ever gonna get there is to just jump in head first and start lookin'," Buck explains.

*You're right,* Ike signs, then lets his eyes roam the unending army of buildings. *But where do we start?*

*A lot of thought went into that decision, didn't it?* Ike teases him, causing Buck to smile.

Ike's light-hearted manner vanishes as quickly as his brief smile and he shakes his head 'no.'

Three hours latter, Buck and Ike are tired, discouraged, and no closer to finding the right street than when they started. Ike appears ready to collapse at any moment, his face gaunt and drawn, his expressive hands still. Buck's shoulders droop and he too is silent. Their wanderings have brought them to a large, open-air market place, swarming with people, all talking loudly and haggling over prices. From all sides they are assaulted by smells and colors and noises that just about send their senses into overload.

Under normal circumstances, Ike would find this bizarre marketplace fascinating, but right now he’s too tired to care. His stomach is in his throat, his nerves are a wreak, and all he really wants to do is find a dark corner and hide. Looking around the street in a daze, Ike sees a wooden bench against the side of a building. Without even bothering to get Buck's attention, he wearily walks over and wilts on it. It's a credit to Buck's tracking abilities that he’s immediately aware of Ike's absence and detours to join him on the bench.

Buck leans back against the building and closes his eyes, just as tired as his friend. "I don't know! We’ve been lookin' for three hours and we ain't even found the right street!" Buck doesn't open his eyes again until he feels Ike's insistent nudge, asking for attention.

Buck is surprised to hear himself say the words out-loud and watches in dismay as Ike's face crumbles into a look of deep hurt.

Buck's words hit Ike like a slap in the face and he quickly raises his already trembling hands. *That's not what I meant, Buck!* If he wasn't so tired, he’d be mad. As it is, this just adds to his exhaustion.

"I'm sorry, Ike. I know you didn't." Buck mentally kicks himself for his foolish words and tries to save the situation. "At least no hotels that would take a very grumpy half-breed, anyway."

Ike gives him a ghost of a smile, letting Buck know he’s forgiven. *I think we need to find something to eat. We should have enough money for that,* he signs, returning to their predicament.

Ike's smile turns into a real one and he pokes his friend in the ribs. *Don't think you'll find many bushes around here!*

"Aw, shut up," Buck grumbles as he squirms a little on the bench, causing Ike to start his silent laughter. Normally, Buck would have smacked him, but now he is just happy to see Ike teasing him.

*Okay, how about I go get us some food while you go answer nature's call?* Ike gestures as he stands up slowly, wishing silently that they had never begun this journey.

"Alright," Buck agrees and stands as well. "Are you sure you don't wanna wait for me, though?" He can't hide the concern for his best friend that sneaks into his voice. 'This grandmother of his had better be worth what this trip is doin' to Ike,' Buck thinks to himself.

Weary as he is, Ike manages to muster enough indignation to give Buck a tired glare. *Yes, Buck. I'll be alright.* He reaches out to take the bag and letter from Buck with a gesture for him to go.

Ike just waves him away, trying not to let his shoulders sag from exhaustion until Buck’s out of sight. Once he’s lost in the crowd, however, all the overwhelming emotions Ike’s been trying to hide come rushing back. He sinks again to the bench, leaning his head against the wall and letting his eyes shut. He just needs to take a few seconds and clear his head is all. Give himself a chance to regain his composure without Buck watching him like a mother hen. He won't sit long...

Ike's eyes snap open as someone shakes him roughly by the shirt. He looks wildly around before he remembers where he is. His eyes focus on the dingy, un-kept old man who reeks of tobacco and gin attached to his shirt.

"This here's my bench, boy. Ya can find yer own place ta spend the night, cuz I ain't sharin'!"

Night! The word echoes like an alarm through Ike's mind and he jumps to his feet, frantic. How long has he been asleep? Surely it can't have been more than a few minutes! His eyes scan the market, looking for clues. To his dismay, the only people left are the merchants packing their remaining wares to return home. In utter panic he locates the sun to gage the time, only to find it's almost setting. He must have been asleep for over an hour!

But where's Buck? He should have been back a long time ago. Ike knows there’s no way on earth Buck would just leave him and go wander without telling him, especially considering he almost didn't leave Ike alone in the first place. Overpowering worry washes over Ike and sucks his breath away; something is terribly wrong. Immediately, Ike's frenzied mind conjurers up images of a dozen different things that could have happened to Buck, each more awful than the last. He has to go find him, but as he gazes desperately around the almost deserted street, he doesn’t have a clue where to start. This city is so big; and Ike doesn't even have the power to call for his friend, let alone ask for help.

Finally, Ike shakes off the numbness that has enveloped his limbs, and he breaks into a run in the direction Buck went earlier. Soon, the open market thins into a cobblestone street and Ike forces himself to slow so he can focus all his attention on looking for Buck. This street leads into another and that to yet another. It’s rapidly getting dark and there is a chill in the air. People are still in the streets, but now they are of the variety that makes Ike wish his gun was strapped at his hip and not packed in the bag Buck took. He glances warily at all the strangers as he combs through the streets looking for his friend.

Turning a corner, Ike catches a glimpse of ebony hair up ahead and his stomach leaps with hope. Wishing with all his heart he could scream out Buck's name, he dashes off, dodging people in his hast to catch the owner of the hair. Suddenly, a man steps out of a building right into Ike's path and before he can stop, Ike barrels into him and they crash to the ground. Somehow, Ike ends up on the bottom, pinned to the ground by the larger man's weight. He frantically tries to shove him off, desperate to catch up and see if the unknown person is Buck.

"Hey!" the stranger grunts as he picks himself back up, "What do you think you’re doing?"

As soon as the man's weight is gone, Ike rolls over and leaps back to his feet. He never considers stopping to try to apologize or explain, but before he can sprint off again he is grabbed roughly around the arm by the man he knocked down.

"I am not accustomed to getting run over without an explanation. Now you owe me an apology, boy!"

Annoyed, Ike struggles to break free of the man's hold. He doesn't have time for this, and he knows the man would never understand his apology anyway. Doubling his effort, Ike almost gets away, but the stranger's bad temper increases, and he grabs onto Ike's other arm as well.

"Hey, I am talking to you! Now I suggest you apologize while you still can!" There is a dangerous glint in the man’s eyes now.

The man drops his hold on Ike, who looks up to see that they are flanked by two policemen, dressed in their crisp blue uniforms.

"I was just going about my own business, when this boy appears and barrels me over. Now he's got the cheek to refuse to apologize!"

As the policeman on the right scans Ike, taking in his dirty, soot-stained appearance, his eyes narrow. "Do what he says, boy. Apologize."

Ike's heart is thumping more madly every second he is delayed, wondering how he will ever find Buck, but there are two many against him to continue ignoring them.

"What was that?" the other policeman asks harshly. "Show some respect for your elders and give the man an apology. Come on, open your mouth!"

At the policeman’s words, something inside of Ike snaps and he can no longer contain his frustration and anger. This day has just been too long and too overwhelming, and all of that emotion spills out.

*I can't talk, and you jerks made me lose my friend again! I'm trying to say I'm sorry! It’s not my fault you’re too stupid to understand it. Now just let me go!* Ike's signs are rapid and jerky, lacking all of his usually grace, and the more frantic he gets, the wilder they become. He is beyond the point of trying to make the men understand his gestures.

"I think maybe he's crazy, Fred," the policeman on the right says in amazement to his partner. "Probably on the run from somewhere."

"We better bring him in, Paul," Fred says, and before Ike knows what’s happening, the man he ran into is holding him in a vice-like grip and one of the policemen is locking metal cuffs around his hands.

The sound of the handcuffs clicking shut rouses a part of him so deep he didn't even know it was there. In an adrenaline burst of pure instinct, Ike wrenches free and plows through the surrounding men. He is across the street and turning into another before they even have time to react.

Ike runs blindly through the streets, ducking into alleys, dodging people, and listening for the shouts of his pursuers. He finally loses them in the sea of buildings and people, but still Ike keeps running. He can't seem to stop! The cold stone walls of this city are closing in on him and he has to get away, far away!

Ten minutes later, Ike's weary body simply refuses to give anymore, and he collapses in a dark alley against a brick wall, barely managing to keep his feet under him. He leans there panting and shaking, at his breaking point, unable to hold it back any longer. Every awful memory he has, every name he's ever been called, every cruel laugh or physical blow, and every crushed hope comes rushing forward in his mind. All this, coupled with his total fatigue and the emotional strain caused by his journey, culminates inside of him and great silent sobs racks his body. Raising his bound hands, he slams them against the wall, his face twisted in anguish. Again and again, he pounds the building, unconscious of the rough brick grinding and scrapping into his flesh, or of the blood flowing from the wounds.

Finally, he’s too tired to even raise his arms, and he sinks into a heap in a door-well, tears streaming as his body convulses in mute sobs. Physically unable to hold off sleep any longer, he’s pulled away to a place of nightmares. Ghastly images swirl in a mist around him; images of people pointing and laughing, and an old woman he wasn’t to love turning away in disgust, all wrapped in the fiendishly beautiful melody of a harmonica.

Chapter 6

Author's note: The grammatical errors in the use of the word “thee” are intentional. I am simply trying to accurately depict the way a Quaker from this time period would speak. My knowledge of this religion is somewhat limited, however, so I apologize for anything that is incorrect.

A small pool of watery light lies on the cobblestones of the deserted street. Distant sounds are magnified and echo off the hard stone buildings and streets, adding to the eerie, empty feeling. A thin mist of fog creeps down the road, leaving a cold chill in its wake.

Across from the weak glow, Buck leans dejectedly against an empty building, almost invisible in the shadows. The loneliness of the street is nothing compared to the ache he's feeling in his heart. It's almost mid-night now and he's too tired and discouraged to even feel panic anymore. He's been searching for Ike for hours and he's beginning to lose hope. For all he knows, Ike could be lying hurt or even dead anywhere in this monstrous city.

A heavy sigh escapes from Buck's lips as he reflects on the events of earlier. He'd been trying to make his way back across the crowded market place to Ike when he'd been intercepted by a young boy. Breathless, the boy spit out that he'd been sent to find the Indian friend of a man who'd been injured and was being taken to the hospital. Without even thinking and in a panic, Buck had rushed off with the lad, and he's been kicking himself mentally ever since! He arrived at the hospital only to find that he was the wrong "Indian friend,” and the man that was hurt wasn't Ike. Knowing Ike's already weak mental state and that he would be nearly desperate, Buck hurried back to the market, but Ike was gone! Now, after hours of frantic searching, Buck is hopelessly lost and no closer to finding his best friend. Everyone he's asked for help has seen nothing other than the color of his skin; why should they be bothered to help a "savage?”

'But at least you have the power to ask,' he reminds himself silently, thinking of what Ike must be facing, especially considering that Ike doesn't even have the directions to the house.

The sound of a dog barking somewhere in the distance rings sharply in the street and draws Buck from his thoughts. Weary to the bone, he sinks to his haunches beside the satchel and runs a hand through his obsidian locks, totally at a loss for what to do. He wishes with every fiber of his soul that they'd never started this trip, that Ike had never received that letter. If they were back home, Buck could use his tracking abilities and find Ike in no time, but here, in this world of brick and steel, his skills are useless. He has never in his life felt so completely helpless.

Buck is ready to succumb to the situation when he hears the staccato tap of footsteps approaching and his instincts to always be on guard kick in. Warily, he opens his eyes and prepares for more trouble.

Watching carefully, Buck sees an older gentleman walking down the street, dressed well but simply in a plain gray suit and leaning slightly on a wooden cane. Buck remains absolutely still, only his eyes moving to follow the man's progress, but the intensity of his gaze attracts the gentleman's attention, anyway. He turns and noticing the forlorn figure of the young Indian hunched in the shadows, he crosses the street and comes to Buck.

Buck rises as he approaches, every instinct he has putting him on edge, ready to fight or flee should the need arise.

"Does thee need help, young friend?" the man addresses Buck in a gentle tone, and Buck stares at him in shock! He was expecting harshness, cruelty, or at least snide remarks; anything but kindness.

"It’s late for thee to be out in the city. Thee looks lost and alone; can I help thee?"

"Why would you wanna help an Indian?" Buck asks distrustfully, his voice reflecting all the pent-up hurt he feels.

Buck's tired brain isn't equipped to deal with this type of logic or the unexpected sympathy. Not only is this man's attitude strange, but the way he's speaking is confusing. Buck's puzzlement shows on his face and the man laughs gently.

"We of the faith of the Friends don’t base our associations on the color of a person's skin or his heritage," he explains as he extends his hand in greeting. "My name’s Elijah Smith and I will assist thee if thee needs it."

Buck hesitates to accept. His mind is screaming that this is a trick; this man can't really mean that he wants to help a half-breed. But he's also out of options. He needs to find Ike and there’s no way he can do it on his own; this might be the only chance he has. Finally, Buck nods his head as he returns the handshake.

"Buck Cross," he introduces himself guardedly, "And I really could use your help to find my friend. I've been looking for him all night but I ain't got a clue where I am, let alone how to find him," Buck finishes heavily.

"Well now, Mr. Cross does thee have his address? I'm sure we can find him if thee tell me it," Elijah asks softly. He can sense the young man's uneasiness and is trying to dispel it.

"No, you don't understand," Buck shakes his head impatiently. "He doesn’t live here. We came here together on the train to meet someone, but we got separated and I'm sure he's as lost as I am. He also can't talk, so even if he tries to ask for help, no one will understand him!" As he speaks, Buck’s heart again starts to race with worry for his best friend.

Elijah hears the hint of panic in the boy's voice and sees the concern in his eyes and he’s deeply touched. "He must mean a lot to thee, this friend," he says quietly.

"Then we'd best make haste in finding him," Elijah responds, clasping Buck firmly on the shoulder. "Now where did thee last see him?"

It’s the cold that wakes him; a damp, numbing cold brought by the creeping fog. It penetrates his dirty clothes to his very bones and the hard stones he’s lying on provide no counter-warmth. Slowly, Ike opens his eyes to the darkness and forces himself to sit upright, grimacing as his stiff muscles protest. His clothes are clammy and cling to his weary form, and every part of his body aches, especially his heart. His hands and arms sting fiercely, and for the first time he's aware of the damage he caused them earlier.

'Not that it really matters,' he thinks bitterly as he glances at the iron rings still bound around his wrists, chained so close that his hands are practically immobile and signing is next to impossible.

Hopelessness washes over him again, more chilling than the bitting air. What little options he had before have been effectively wiped out, one more consequence of being a freak. He can't even look for Buck anymore since that would require wandering about this strange city in chains.

Sighing in utter despair, Ike sinks back down on the pavement and closes his eyes, drawing his knees up to his chest in a vain attempt to find some warmth. Freezing to death in this filthy alley is a better choice in his mind than spending the rest of his days shut up in an asylum for the insane.

Buck shakes his head 'no' and starts down another inky black street. In a few short hours the city will begin to wake, a new day will start, and Buck still hasn't found his best friend!

"Buck," Elijah says more firmly and places a hand on the boy's arm to stop him. "What good will it be to Ike if thee makes thyself ill? Come to my house and rest for a while, then we’ll continue searching."

"I can't. You don't understand," Buck mutters as he runs his hand through his hair in frustration. Earlier, Elijah had asked Buck if Ike was injured, and Buck told him no, but it wasn't true. Buck knows Ike’s wounded, he has been since the day he watched his family die. It’s just that until this letter came, Ike's talent for hiding his pain had obscured just how deep the hurt still was from everyone around him, including Buck. In the last two weeks, Buck has watched his normally strong, cheerful friend crumble before his very eyes. How can he explain to this man who’s helping him that he's not as worried about losing Ike to the city as he’s scared of losing Ike to himself? In a city - a place - if you keep looking long enough, eventually you'll find what you seek. But when a person gets lost inside himself, how do you get him back? Ike locked himself inward once before and lost his power of speech, what's to stop him from doing it again? And what would he lose this time? Buck doesn't want to find out!

Elijah Smith stands watching the face of the young Indian before him, skillfully reading the emotions playing across his proud but tired features. This is a friendship unlike most he's ever seen, the bond of a brother for a brother like that of David and Jonathan of old. Who is he to get in it's way?

Together, they carefully search the next two streets, Buck checking every nook and cranny and softly calling Ike's name. Leaving the last street, Buck sees an alley to his left and quickly glances down it. It appears deserted and Buck’s turning away when a slight patch of red grabs his eye. His breath catches in his throat and he takes off running down the narrow way. As he gets closer, it's as if all the fears that have been taunting him during this night have come true: there is Ike lying in a stiff heap on the ground, not moving!

"Ike! Ike!" Buck cries as he drops the satchel he's been lugging all night and falls to his knees next to his friend.

Ike hears Buck calling him, but he doesn't move. His body is too sluggish from the cold to respond quickly and he's convinced this is just another trick of his mind. Not until he feels Buck's hand on his shoulder does he dare believe this is real, it truly is Buck. With a great effort, he rolls over and tries to sit up.

"Ike, are you okay?" Buck asks, overjoyed to see his friend moving. For a moment he'd looked dead, and Buck's heart had almost stopped until Ike stirred at his touch. Buck sees Ike struggling to sit up and quickly helps him, gently pushing him to lean back against the wall for support. Once again he repeats his question.

Out of habit, Ike raises his hands to respond before remembering the iron cuffs binding his wrists. Quickly, he drops them again, but not quick enough. A shocked expression crosses Buck's face and he reaches out and grabs Ike's hands before he can hide them. Ike winces as Buck's strong hands close over the raw, tender flesh of his own, and Buck doesn't miss the flash of pain.

"Who did this?" he demands angrily as he starts to examine the cuts and scrapes, seeing for the first time the blood soaked into Ike's sleeves and shirt.

For a moment, Ike just stares at him in frustration, not knowing how he can respond. Finally, an idea comes and he carefully pulls his hands away from Buck. Leaning to the side, he uses one finger to slowly write in the dirt of the alley floor:

Buck reads the cryptic message and his eyes flash with rage. He knows only too well what it's like to be misjudged.

Ike looks away, not meeting Buck's eyes, and Buck feels a sinking in his gut. "Oh, Ike," he sighs softly.

"Does thee have a coat or blanket in thy bag? Thy friend is getting dangerously cold."

The voice breaks the silence, making both Buck and Ike jump. Buck has forgotten about Elijah and in his preoccupation with Ike's hands he's failed to notice Ike's violent shivering. Cursing himself, Buck hastily pulls Ike's worn coat out of the carpetbag and tries to drape it around his shoulders, but Ike draws back in fear, his eyes full of distrust as he stares at Elijah.

"Don't worry, Ike," Buck assures him, "He won't hurt you or make you go back to the police. He's been helping me look for you."

Still wary, Ike allows Buck to wrap his coat around him, and Buck helps him to his feet. His legs almost collapse beneath him because he’s so stiff and numb from the cold night, and he leans heavily on Buck.

Elijah eyes the pair of friends, both so exhausted, and knows it's time to take charge. Ike needs to get warm, they both need to eat and sleep, and they aren't going to get any of that here in this dark alley. It will be dawn soon as well and they need to get Ike out of the streets.

"Now, thee are both going to come to my house and have some food and rest," he says firmly, not expecting any protests, but Ike quickly shakes his head.

"Thee is near frozen!" Elijah protests to the young man, but still Ike adamantly shakes his head. There’s only one place he's going right now and that's the place he started out to find in the beginning. Buck sighs one of the deep sighs that have lately become so frequent and explains for his friend.

"We were actually looking for a certain place before we got lost. I think Ike wants to go find it now."

"What place is that," Elijah asks in defeat. Buck reaches into his pocket and hands him the crumpled directions. He studies the note for a minute before glancing up at the boys.

Elijah would like to ask a million more questions, but Ike is growing weaker and weaker with each passing moment and Buck isn't entirely stable himself. Reaching down, he picks up the satchel for Buck, surprised at how light it is, and gestures for the boys to walk with him.

Fifteen minutes later, Buck and Ike are finally standing on the front porch of a stately, stone house. This home is just one of several impressive dwellings lining the wide, well-lit street; a far cry from the dingy alleys they have just left.

"This is the Brarring home," Elijah tells them. "Is thee sure thee wants to go here now?”

Leaning almost entirely on Buck with his eyes closed, Ike raises his head enough to give a weak nod.

Elijah glances at the two boys and again he's deeply touched. There they stand, one barely able to support the other, both weary beyond description. They are both society's outcasts; one because of his heritage, one because of a disability. Both scorned where ever they go, and yet neither one is willing to leave the other.

"'And the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.'"

The words are uttered softly, escaping Elijah before he realizes it. Ike makes no sign of having heard, but Buck looks up, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"Forgive a sentimental old man for spouting scripture," Elijah says. "Farewell, and may God bless thee both." Having said this, he reluctantly walks away, leaving the two friends on the steps.

When his footsteps have faded, Buck turns to Ike. He has never seen him more pale and worn. He's shivering almost uncontrollably and there are still the wounds on his hands to tend to, not to mention the fact that they are chained in metal cuffs.

Ike just gives him a pleading look, and it's all Buck needs. That look says more than a thousand words could. Silently, Buck reaches up and pulls the chain attached to the doorbell, listening to it chime through the still house.

Chapter 7

Ike's stomach is in his throat as he stands there waiting to hear someone stirring in the house. He's really not even sure why he's coming anymore. It's like he's been swallowed up in a huge, waking nightmare and he's just going on because some annoying little voice in his head says he needs to. He's certain he's about to be rejected again, for the thousandth time in his life, and he's shutting himself up inside to brace for it. As best he can, he grasps the edges of his worn coat and pulls it closed to hide his manacled hands against his chest. As he does, he wishes he'd had Buck get his hat out of the bag. The first thing anyone's going to notice is his bandana clad head, and it's only going to get worse from there.

"Everyone must still be asleep," Buck says when there's no response from inside. He gets no acknowledgment from Ike either, and he sighs. His friend is withdrawing inside his shell of silence again, just as Buck feared. With a heavy heart Buck reaches up and pulls the doorbell once more.

Millie MacPherson pads clumsily down the long front hall, unruly brown hair escaping in all directions from her braids and only one eye open. With her shawl on wrong side out and the candle from her room held in an unsteady hand, the thirteen-year-old girl is only half awake, if that. The sound of the doorbell chiming again, rouses her a bit more and she quickens the pace of her bare feet.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'," she mumbles grumpily. "Crikey, who in their right mind comes callin' at five in the mornin'?"

As she unbolts the solid oak door and swings it open, she remembers her responsibility in the household and stands up straighter, opening the other eye as she speaks.

"We're here to see Mrs. Lowe, if we can," a man's voice says from in front of her, drawing Millie's attention. She looks up only to find a...a......pirate in a red kerchief and his savage barbarian standing on her very own front porch! Her eyes grow large as saucers and her jaw drops to the ground. Before the two young men know what's happening, she lets out an ear-piercing scream loud enough to wake the dead. Dropping the candle on the porch where it goes out with a hiss and leaving the door wide open, she turns and flees back down the hall.

Buck and Ike share a glance of total astonishment before Buck mutters under his breath, "Well, that was a new one."

Shocked out of his silence, Ike nods in agreement. He's been accused of being a lot of things before, but never a pirate! All the preparation in the world wouldn't have readied him for a reception like this. Having no recourse for communication but his eyes, he shoots Buck his best 'well, what do we do now?' look.

"That won't be necessary," a woman's voice states firmly, grabbing both boys' attention. Their eyes widen as they find themselves staring down the business end of a shotgun. Buck holds out a hand to try and defuse the rapidly deteriorating situation. Ike, however, goes into mental hiding again, his defenses snapping back into place.

Before Buck can stammer out a response, the man holding the gun pulls back the hammer, cocking it and taking better aim at the two boys. In response, the elderly woman behind him lays a hand on his arm.

"Thomas," she admonishes in a stately voice. Even in her wrapper and night cap she has the bearing of a lady of importance. The old man protecting her glares at the two friends, but releases the hammer.

"Now," the woman continues, "I think you had better explain what an Indian is doing on my front steps at five in the morning, scaring my poor girl to death."

Trying not to let the hurt from the stinging remark show, Buck answers tiredly. "Ma'am, we've been lookin' for your house since yesterday afternoon. My name's Buck Cross and this is Ike McSwain. I believe you asked him to come, Mrs. Lowe?"

"I'm not Mrs. Lowe. Margaret Lowe is my best friend, and she happens to be upstairs trying to sleep. My name is Lorraine Brarring. How do I know you are telling the truth, when you arrive on my porch like thieves in the night?"

Ike watches Buck fumble to introduce them, but he doesn't even try and help. It feels as though he's completely removed from what's happening, like he's observing through a window. He knows Buck hates doing this, always carrying the weight for both of them; he really should at least nod to give his support, but he doesn't. Something inside of him has died on this trip: his faith in humanity or maybe his faith in himself, he doesn't really know and right now he's too exhausted to care. Violent shivers are still running through him, his hands are stinging fiercely, and for some reason the world insists on spinning around him. He's vaguely aware that the woman at the door is questioning Buck's honesty and Buck’s showing her the wrinkled letter as proof, but it's almost like the images are coming at him through the dense fog. Unable to stop himself, he sways on his feet and staggers against Buck as his vision clouds for a moment.

When Ike sags against him suddenly, Buck stops talking abruptly and reaches out to grab his friend, alarm spreading through him as Ike struggles to stay conscious.

"Ike? Are you okay?" Buck whispers in alarm, trying to get his friend to meet his eyes. From the doorway, Lorraine's stance softens slightly as she observes the boys, and her natural compassion surfaces.

"What's wrong with him?" she inquires of the young Indian in a gentler voice, even though she still has Thomas to keep his gun up. She's heard one too many stories of women tricked by wandering thieves who played on their compassion.

Buck looks from his drooping friend to the woman in the door and feels a spark of anger. Here they are, cold, hungry, and Ike practically dead on his feet, and yet because of their dirty appearance and the color of his skin they're kept standing at the door.

"Look, Ma'am, we've been walking for hours in the cold and he's nearly frozen. He ain't had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday, and he was sick before that. I know you don't believe me, but we're hardly in a position to do you any harm," Buck adds, motioning toward the distrustful butler and his gun. "Can't we at least discuss this inside where Ike can sit down?"

Lorraine Brarring studies the two young men before her intently. Maybe it's that, despite the fact she can see Buck's every bit as hungry and tired as his friend, he's thinking only of Ike; or maybe it's something about the way he meets her eyes; whatever it is, she knows in that moment that she trusts him.

"Thomas," she turns to the man still at her side, "would you please go wake Ellen and tell her we will be needing a simple meal as soon as possible?"

Thomas doesn't budge. He's been in Mrs. Brarring's service for over thirty years now, and he's not about to let her invite in trash from the streets. Not while he, Thomas Nelson, is there to stop her. "Ma'am, I don't think this is a good idea, inviting an Indian and a beggar in just because they have a letter. What if they.."

His words are cut off as she interrupts. "Thank you for your concern, Thomas, but I'm sure I'll be fine. Now please do as I requested."

Mumbling under his breath, Thomas lowers the gun and backs out of the doorway, glowering at Ike and Buck as he leaves. As soon as he's out of sight, she gestures for the boys to step inside. Buck gives her a grateful look and helps an unsteady Ike into the house.

The warmth of the hallway is a stark contrast to the night's chill and washes over Ike like a blanket, slightly clearing the numbing cold from his brain. He shakes his head and tries to stand up on his own, but his body refuses to respond. He's been pushed beyond the limits and this time it's matter over mind that wins. Defeated he leans back against Buck, mutely cursing his helplessness.

"Just leave your bag here in the hall. Thomas will take it to a room for you. If you'll follow me to the kitchen we'll see about warming you up and getting you something to eat."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Buck says wearily. Barely able to stay on his own feet, he somehow manages to support his shaking friend and get them both through the winding hallways, finally emerging in a lamp-lit kitchen where an elderly cook is bustling about a massive iron cook-stove. Buck spots a straight-backed, wooden chair standing at the square table and steers Ike over to it. The exhausted rider sinks down and closes his eyes. He can barely keep his mind focused on what's happening around him, and all he really wants is to be allowed to drift into blissful oblivion.

Seeing Ike slumped in the chair, Lorraine gives in to her grandmotherly side and ducks out of the room, returning seconds later with several thick woolen blankets.

"Now young man," she comes to Ike's side, "let's get you out of this old coat and into one of these warm blankets. I'm sure you'll feel better then."

Suddenly, Ike's mind snaps back to attention. She wants him to take off his coat! If she does that, she'll see his hands! He's too tired to realize that it's going to happen anyway, if he ever wants to get out of the cuffs. The only thought running through his brain is that he has to keep her from finding the chains no matter what. He panics. Violently shaking his head no, he tries to maneuver out of her reach, almost falling out of the chair in the process. A look of absolute terror is plastered on his face, and he pulls the edges of his coat tighter to his chest, his eyes wide and wild. Shocked, Lorraine backs away, unprepared for the outburst.

Buck knows what Ike's thinking, how worried and ashamed he must feel, but at the same time he's also amazed at the sudden change in his mood. It's rare for Ike to react this wildly over anything. Used to watching from the outside and never able to directly interact, life has made him an observer and a thinker. Buck's aware of just how low this trip has left Ike's reserves of strength to have him blindly panicking like this.

Ike just continues to grip his coat and stare at her as he backs further away in the chair. If he had the strength he would stand up and run out, but his legs won't move. In frustration, Lorraine turns to Buck.

"Would you like to explain what's going on here, since he refuses to say anything?"

Buck sighs. No matter how many times he does this for Ike, it never gets easier. He feels that in some odd, unexplainable way, he's betraying his friend when he tells the world Ike can't speak. Until they know, people just look at Ike in puzzlement because of his silence; but after they know, it usually turns to hostility and torment. Buck is always left feeling that somehow he helped cause it with his words. Still, it has to happen.

"Ma'am, you see, we ain't exactly told..." Buck starts but trails off as Ike shoots him a glare of betrayal and disbelief.

"Ike, she's gonna find out sooner or later," he tries to reason firmly. "Besides, your hands need to be cleaned and you gotta eat."

As the confrontation unfolds, all motion in the kitchen has ceased. Ellen stands with a frying pan forgotten in her fist, Millie peers bug-eye from between the rails of the staircase, and Lorraine's arms are folded across her chest; everyone’s gaze is on Buck and Ike.

Ike looks at Buck, his eyes pleading for him to stay silent, longing to not have to go through this again.

"What am I going to find out? If one of you two doesn't start explaining, I'll reconsider my offer of hospitality!"

Lorraine's words fall on the two boys like a judge's sentence. Finally, Ike pulls his eyes away from Buck and the light in them dies. Buck's heart aches for his best friend as he begins to explain. Warily, he watches Lorraine as he speaks, and knowing how important this is to Ike, he sometimes stumbles over the words. Never a big talker and just a worn out as Ike, it's a struggle to tell her of Ike's muteness, how they got lost, and how Ike ended up in trouble. The whole time Buck speaks, Ike's head hangs down and his eyes remain closed, the perfect picture of despair.

Lorraine never expected a revelation like this and she looks with compassion on the forlorn young man before her, but her questions still aren't answered.

"I'm not exactly sure what trouble he got into, Ma'am. Ike hasn’t really been able to tell me much since it happened. We got separated from each other... I guess Ike was tryin' to find me and something happened and...well…the police came. They couldn't understand his signs so they decided he was crazy and tried to take him and lock him up. I guess he ran away from them....." He trails off, unable to finish – unable to stand the sight of Ike's tormented face.

"Mr. Cross, I'm waiting,” Lorraine urges when he remains quiet for too long. “If it makes you feel any better, I believe you are who you say you are, but you have yet to explain to me why he's acting like it will kill him to take off his coat. And if you can understand this sign language you claim he uses, why can't you better explain what happened? Didn't he tell you?" She wants to help the two weary young men, but she can't until she knows what the problem is.

Finally, Ike raises his head. There are tears glistening in his eyes like shards of broken glass, a reflection of the millions of pieces his heart has shattered into. Buck doesn't have to finish explaining because Ike slowly releases the edges of his coat and extends his hands. The light in the room glints off the handcuffs and fully exposes the scrapes and bruises for the first time. He looks away from them, his face burning in shame; not because of the cuffs themselves, but because of what they have come to represent in his mind – that he will always be "different." Despite what Buck, Teaspoon, and the others tell him, he will always be a freak, someone to fear, despise, and shut away.

"That's why he hasn't been able to tell me anything," Buck breaks the awful silence to state sadly. "He can barely even move his hands."

Seeing the naked emotions playing across Ike's face, Lorraine just stands there, not prepared to deal with the raw anguish. She is totally at a loss for what to do. Her proper up-bringing is screaming at her that now is the time to call the police and let them finish what they started, but her heart already trusts these bedraggled strangers. The pain on the boy's face is evidence enough that he's not some hardened criminal fleeing justice.

Lorraine's hesitation alarms Buck, and his mind starts jumping to conclusions. Rising from his chair, he moves protectively over to Ike.

"Look, I’m not lettin' you turn him back over to the police. I know he ain't done nothin' wrong."

His words spur Lorraine into motion and she once again takes charge. Unable to cope with the depths of silent pain emanating from Ike, she focuses her attention on Buck and the problems she can fix. Walking over to him, she takes his shoulders and steers him back to his chair.

"Now, Mr. Cross, I never said I was going to take him back to the police. I said I believed you, this doesn't change that. The only place I'm sending either of you is to bed, after we get you some hot food of course." This said, she turns to her staff who still frozen in the kitchen staring at Ike and Buck. "Ellen, is that soup ready yet?"

"Almost, Ma'am," she replies, taking the unspoken hint and withdrawing back to her stove.

"Millie, quit sitting there gaping like a codfish. Haven't I taught you any manners?"

"But Mrs. Brarring! I told ya he was a pirate! I bet he's got his gold stashed in that bag, and they're here ta hide from..."

"Millie! That will be quite enough. Now get yourself dressed and go help Thomas prepare the rooms for our guests. I'll have no more of such talk, understand?"

As another violent shiver wracks Ike's miserable form, Lorraine is reminded of her original plan. Without even asking, she firmly removes the coat from around his shoulders and replaces it with one of her blankets. Then she passes the other one to Buck.

Buck takes the blanket without protest. He's too worried about Ike to waste time arguing over little things. He wishes Ike would reach out even slightly, at least try and communicate; anything but just sit there in the lost and miserable state he's in now. Buck's not even sure his friend realizes what's going on around him.

"Ike?" he leans closer, speaking softly. "Ike, she ain't gonna send you back, you know. You’re safe now." He waits for a moment but when Ike still doesn't meet his eyes, he sighs in frustration. "Ike, I know you’re tired and hungry and can't sign, but you could at least look at me. You gotta stop acting like this! Come on, everything will look better after we get some sleep."

Ike hears Buck's words and has the sudden insane desire to laugh in his face. His tired brain has been accosted with too many new images over the last few days, and too many painful old ones have broken free of the carefully constructed locks in his mind to haunt him. And where has it gotten him? Starving and shivering in chains in some unfamiliar kitchen where his best friend has the nerve to tell him things will seem better after they sleep! It doesn't matter that Buck's right, Ike's lost his ability to look past the bad and see the good. He's finally been hurt one too many times. With eyes still clouded with exhaustion, he looks up at Buck and finds he wants to yell at his friend, let out all his frustration. But he can't "yell" at anyone. The metal cuffs around his wrists have his hands trapped and with them, his voice. Why should he even try? Buck's eyes plead with his to reach out, but he simply looks away, sinking further inside himself where it's safer.

For a moment, Buck feels hope when Ike glances at him. He even thinks he sees a flicker of emotion, annoyance, even anger pass through his friend's eyes, but then it’s gone, smothered, and Ike looks away. Alarm spreading inside like he's never felt before, Buck doesn't know what to do. It's as though everything that he feared could happen is, right before his eyes. He's losing Ike to that far away place inside himself, and if he doesn't do something soon, will he ever get him back?

Lorraine moves a chair around so she's facing Ike and Buck and sits down, laying several items on the table alongside a pan full of hot water. She's vaguely aware of the silent battle going on before her, but chooses to ignore it and instead attempts to start a conversation.

"Well now, Mr. McSwain, or may I call you Ike?" She waits for an answer but receives none. Finally, tired of the awkward stillness stretching on, she makes her own decision and continues. "Well, Ike, while we wait for the soup to finish, let's have a look at these hands of yours." Aware now that she's not going to get any response, she simply reaches out and pulls his hands toward her, deciding that all communication will have to be done through Buck.

"I'm going to clean and bandage his hands," she informs Buck as she starts to unbutton Ike's sleeves and roll them up. "I'm sorry I don't have the equipment to remove the manacles right now, but I'll send Thomas out and by the time you wake we'll be ready to try."

Though he hates the idea of his friend being left in chains for that long, Buck nods okay. There's nothing else he can do. If he had a way to get the cuffs off he would have done it hours ago.

Continuing her work, Lorraine wets a rag in the warm water and raises Ike's bound hands to clean the dried blood and dirt from the cuts. Finally getting a good look at them, she stops for a moment and slowly shakes her head at the sight.

The outside edges of Ike’s palms are covered in harsh scrapes and colored with dried blood that runs from his little fingers down to his wrists, stopping abruptly where the cuffs circle. Around the metal bindings a red rash has appeared on the skin, the result of an evening and night's worth of them rubbing against his wrists. The knuckles of each hand are raw, bruised, and starting to swell. Lorraine sighs as she studies the bruises and cuts. Although none of them are serious, they're covered in dirt and grime, and several appear to be slightly infected. And serious or not, they look very painful.

Buck is also seeing the injuries for the first time, and he knows they're the result of a frustration and grief too big to hold inside anymore, but there's no way on earth he's going to tell Lorraine that. "I don't know," he finally says, which is half true. He doesn't know how Ike's hands ended up looking like ground beef, and he's not sure he wants to.

Lorraine glances at the lowered face of the boy before her and wonders exactly what secrets the handcuffs are forcing him to keep locked away, and if he'd even tell them if he were free to do so. Then chiding herself for thinking too much when there's a job at hand, she picks up the damp cloth and starts to clean the injuries.

The sting of the rag touching his tender flesh jerks Ike out of his exhausted, self-imposed stupor. He grimaces instinctively. Encouraged to see him reacting even a little, Lorraine addresses him directly again.

"I'm sorry, Ike, but this won't take long, and then I'll wrap them up nicely and they'll heal in no time. I'm afraid it will be a bit awkward until we can get the handcuffs off, but at least they'll be clean," she tells him as she works swiftly. For the first time since they've arrived at the house, he gives in and wearily nods his thanks. "Don't worry, we'll get these handcuffs off as soon as we can, and then you'll be ready to meet Margaret," Lorraine adds seeing his dejected face as she finishes tucking in the last bandage. His hands are now wrapped from knuckles to wrists in clean cloths, leaving only the tips of his fingers exposed. It's not an ideal arrangement, but all things considered it doesn't really make that much difference.

At the mention of his grandmother's name, Ike's mind travels back to the whole reason he undertook the journey that landed him here in this kitchen in his present circumstances: the letter. He's supposed to be meeting his grandmother…his mother's mother…his family. But where is she? Why hasn't he seen her yet? Why hasn't she come down demanding to know who they are and turning him away for being a freak? For just a moment he allows the shell he's erected around himself to slip, giving into the need to know. With hands made clumsy by metal cuffs and white bandages, he reaches out and touches Buck's arm.

Embarrassed and self-conscious with others in the room, Ike tries desperately to form a few words. *Grandmother, where?* he attempts to sign with one hand, but his other hand must follow right along, masking every movement. Feeling more like he's on display than communicating, Ike drops his hands quickly, thinking he must look like an ungraceful clown.

A surge of hope rushing through him as Ike's hands start moving, Buck watches him intently. The signs are almost unintelligible, like listening to someone talk with their mouth full, but Buck and Ike aren't as close as brothers for nothing. Even without words, Buck can understand his friend. They have a link between their souls and, though neither of them can explain how it works, they know it's there. Buck doesn't need the uncoordinated signs to know what Ike's asking. He turns to Lorraine.

"Ike wants to know where his grandmother is, why she's not here," Buck explains.

"Oh, she's here," Lorraine hastens to reassure the young man. "She's just resting upstairs. Her health hasn't been very good lately and she doesn't often come out of her room anymore." Seeing the worried expression that crosses Ike's face, Lorraine quickly continues. "Don't worry, she's been waiting excitedly for you."

Ike can't help a slight, silent scoff at the last part. She's been waiting anxiously for a long, lost grandson, but she doesn't know she's getting one that's a dummy and a freak. In his heart, Ike desperately wants to be loved by someone he can claim as his own, but he's also just as certain after the events of this journey that it will never happen. He's sure she will take one look at him and slam the door in his face, just liked everyone else.

The sudden voice drags Ike out of his thoughts and back to the real world around him.

"Thank you, Ellen," Lorraine says as the cook places two steaming bowls on the table, sending out a tempting aroma of chicken. "Now we'll get some food in you and start warming you up on the inside as well," she addresses the two boys and pushes the bowls forward, one in front of each.

"Thanks, Ma'am," Buck tells her, realizing how hungry he is as the smell tugs at his stomach. Ike's attempt to sign has left him overjoyed. Maybe his friend is coming back, back from that place deep inside himself. He brings a spoonful of the wonderful liquid to his lips and smiles as it slides down his parched throat. Perhaps it's because it's the only thing he's eaten in two days, but it tastes like heaven. He turns to Ike with a smile that quickly freezes on his lips.

Ike hasn't moved. The bowl of hot soup sits before him, teasing his senses and mocking the pangs of hunger shooting through him. Buck starts at the depth of pain mirrored in Ike's green eyes and realizes Ike's still far from okay. Even meals have been turned into an exercise in torture for him. How do you eat soup when you can't move your hands? Silently, Buck asks the fates just how much humiliation his friend needs to endure?

Seeing the anguish on Ike's face and the untouched meal, Lorraine has a sudden desire to kick herself hard. What on earth possessed her to fix him soup? He's obviously already feeling helpless and ashamed, and now she provides him with a meal he'll have to be fed in order to eat. But it's there now and he needs the food; he's almost dizzy with hunger. There's nothing Lorraine can do about her poor choice of menus, but she can lesson the young man's discomfort.

"I'm going to leave you two to eat your dinner, or breakfast I should say. I want to make sure Thomas and Millie have the rooms prepared for you. When you've finished, just leave the dishes and come upstairs to bed. Ellen will get them later. I'll see you after you get some sleep," she says as she walks toward the stairs. Maybe she should stay and finish playing the part of hostess, but she wants to allow Ike the shred of dignity he has left.

As soon as her footsteps echo above their heads, Buck turns to Ike. "Ike, I know this ain't the best, but you gotta eat! You’re gonna make yourself sick if you don't!"

Ike gives his friend an incredulous look, asking how he's supposed to manage that.

Ike still hesitates, but finally hunger compels him to do as Buck suggests. And the soup does taste good. It spreads a warmth throughout his body, at last starting to push back some of the chill from the alley. As it warms him, his eyelids begin to drag down as if pulled by unseen weights.

Buck notices Ike drooping before his soup is even half gone. "Come on, Ike. Let's go to bed," Buck says, the thought of a soft bed calling to him as well. He stands and then helps a physically and emotionally weary Ike to his feet, half supporting him, half carrying him up the stairs to the warm beds that are waiting.

Chapter 8

Ike is sitting on the edge of the bed struggling to pull on his boots when Buck enters his room.

"Good mornin', Ike. Or I guess it's good evenin' since we've slept most of the day," Buck calls in an annoyingly cheerful voice. Ike glares at him before throwing down his boot in frustration. He's filthy. Since he’s had no way to change, his clothes and face are still streaked with soot from the train and dirt from the streets. Stiff from trying to sleep with his hands bound, he's sore and grumpy, what little rest he managed to get having been plagued by nightmares. In his mind it's anything but a "good" evening, and it bugs him to see Buck so rested and cheerful.

"Aw come on, Ike. We're here, we made it. Things are bound to get better now!" Buck says.

Ike stares at his friend in disbelief, almost betrayal. How can he say that? He's not the one whose hands are still locked in chains, or who still looks like a beggar off the streets! He's not the one who's scared to death about being rejected by his grandmother! And most of all, he can speak, move his hands, dress himself, feed himself! Ike's been reduced to a helpless invalid and Buck doesn't seem to care!

Anger flares in Ike at Buck's words, and he rises to his feet. Violently, he extends his arms toward Buck, straining the bandaged hands roughly in the cuffs, his eyes screaming at Buck to look.

"I know you still have 'em on, Ike," Buck replies, getting a little upset as well at his friend's irrational behavior. "We'll get them off today, I promise. But you gotta stop pullin' inside like this, Ike! You gotta reach out more. I'm worried about you, and Mrs. Brarring's gonna start wonderin' if you’re alright."

Ike's green eyes flash dangerously. 'Look at me!' he wants to scream, 'I'm not alright! I'm a freak! Otherwise I wouldn't be in this mess! And who are you to tell me to reach out, Mr. Moody-Because-I'm-a-Half-breed? I can't talk with these things on!' But, as usual, he can't shout anything. In agitation, he just jerks his hands one more time in front of Buck's face before dropping them in defeat and turning away. Sinking back down on the bed, the rage seeps out as fast as it came, leaving a cold, twisting mass of fear in the pit of his stomach. He lets his head hang wearily and doesn't look up until Buck sits down next to him and touches his arm.

"Ike, what is it? Why are you actin' this way? We've been through worse things than this before and you were always fine. What happened to you out there last night?" Buck asks softly, not able to keep the worry from his voice.

Ike meets his best friend's eyes and finally a latch releases inside his soul. Suddenly, he wants to talk to his friend again. He no longer feels the urge to pull himself farther and farther inside, but at the same time, even if he weren't still trapped in chains, he's not sure he could adequately explain the emotions running rampant in his heart. Trying to organize his scattered thoughts, he realizes it's not the handcuffs that have upset him so much, nor even really the idiots who put them on him. They are just the straw that finally broke the camel's back; the final culmination of a frustration and un-acknowledged loneliness that's been building for years. He's been alone for so long, even with Buck there, and he's been rejected so many times, he isn't sure he can bear it again. The cuffs gave him an excuse to pull inside, hide from the world and the real problem. As long as he stayed in the supposed safety of his own mind he didn't have to face the sneers and taunts. But even his own mind has betrayed him now with his once hidden memories running loose, so it makes no sense to keep locking himself inside with them to slowly go mad.

All these thoughts jumble inside Ike's brain for several minutes, but when they whirl to a stop like leaves abandoned by the wind, he's still left without an answer for Buck. Finally, he settles on one phrase, something he hasn't admitted to anyone in years. In broken, clumsy gestures that only Buck would even stand a chance at understanding, Ike signs, *I'm scared.*

Not prepared for this revelation, Buck is momentarily caught off guard. "Scared? Of what?"

Again Ike struggles against the cuffs and bandages to make his friend understand.

Seeing these words, Buck realizes how much Ike needs to be accepted by this new grandmother; how deep his limitations still affect him. With the flash of insight also comes a pang as he realizes there are parts of Ike's soul that even he's never seen, parts like this deep longing that Ike has managed to hide so well for so long. Swallowing the slight ache that rises in his throat at the understanding, he puts on a smile for Ike's benefit.

"Ike, I'm sure she's gonna love you, just the way you are! Mrs. Brarring accepted you, even with those cuffs on, why would your grandmother be any different?"

"Ike, I know you've been rejected and hurt by a lot of people, but the woman is your own flesh and blood! She's asked you to come halfway across the county to see her, she ain't gonna turn ya away."

For the first time in days, Ike allows a glimmer of hope to penetrate his brooding soul, and he finds himself relaxing slightly.

"Come on, put your boots on and let's go get some food and get these handcuffs off of you! I'm tired of watchin' you butcher the signs," Buck says, clapping Ike on the back with a smile. Ike nods and reaches for the abandoned boots, getting them on much easier now he's no longer so high-strung.

"Besides," Buck adds as he takes in Ike's disheveled appearance with a sly smirk, "if you don't have a bath soon, I'm gonna start hiring you out as a chimney sweep since you already look the part."

Finally, Ike rewards Buck with a real grin and together the two friends leave the room.

"Ike, if you ever get in a mess like that again, I swear I'm just gonna have Jimmy shoot you an' save us all a lot of trouble," Buck says, not completely teasing. It took him more than two hours to get the detestable cuffs off. He'd at first wanted to just shoot them off, but realizing how closely Ike's hands were chained, he was afraid he'd hurt his friend. He was also worried an unexplained gun shot sounding through a wealthy Philadelphia neighborhood would bring back the very problem that got Ike stuck in handcuffs in the first place: the police. So instead, for over an hour Buck tried valiantly to pick the rusted lock, and each minute he grew more desperate as he watched Ike sink farther back into his isolation. After an hour and a half, Ike adamantly insisted that a few more bruises were nothing compared to keeping the chains on any longer, so Buck resorted to a hammer and chisel. Forty-five minutes later, Ike was finally free and Buck breathed a sigh of relief as deep as his friend.

Ike merely grins in reply to Buck's joking since his hands are occupied at the moment. At Lorraine's insistence, he allowed her to rub a salve on the nasty, red rash circling his swollen wrists. Now she's carefully re-bandaging the bruised and scraped hands and the raw wrists, taking care to wrap the clean cloths in a way to give his hands and fingers the most mobility. Ike appreciates her thoughtfulness, but most of all he's just glad to finally be free of the chains. He feels so much better now, after a warm bath and wearing fresh clothes for the first time in three days. He's not completely himself yet, the thought of the woman waiting upstairs for him still weighing heavily on his mind, but he at least looks like a human again instead of a chained circus exhibit.

"There you are, Ike," Lorraine tells the young man before her as she ties the last bandage on his wrist. "They'll probably be sore for a while, but I'm sure they'll heal quickly now the handcuffs are gone." She studies his face for a moment before releasing his hands, amazed at the difference a bath, sleep, and most of all freedom have made. The boy's eyes posses a gentleness and haunted longing she hadn't noticed before, hidden behind his despair as they were, but now she sees his sweet spirit showing through, even if it is still somewhat guarded. Finally, she smiles at him and with a maternal pat to his hands, releases them and begins to gather up her things.

Ike rubs his swollen wrists gingerly and then wriggles his fingers beneath the bandages, testing the stiff and bruised knuckles and his mobility, reveling in his ability to move and stretch his arms any direction he chooses. Then with a grin almost reminiscent of the old, ever-happy Ike, he turns to Lorraine and signs, *Thank you.*

The gesture is unfamiliar but the expression on his face is not, and Lorraine returns the smile. "You are very welcome, Ike." Then, pulling Buck into the conversation as well, she continues speaking, "Now, did the two of you get enough to eat? I'll have Ellen fix something else if you're still hungry," she asks, remembering Ike again struggling to eat dinner while Thomas rounded up the tools to take the cuffs off.

It's true that Ike didn't manage to eat much of the food Lorraine presented to them several hours earlier, but the manacles still on his hands were only part of the reason. Ever since the letter arrived almost two weeks ago he hasn't had an appetite, the twisting worry and anticipation in his stomach leaving no room for food.

*I'm not really that hungry,* he gestures, savoring the joy of having his "voice" back.

Buck watches his friend's hands with a smile, relief washing through him like a spring run-off to see his friend "speaking" again, and he turns to Mrs. Brarring with a much lighter heart to answer for both of them.

"Ike says he's not hungry, and I'm not really either. Thanks for the offer though," Buck tells her, and then adds uncomfortably. "And thanks for takin' care of Ike's hands and for believing us and not turning him back over to the police."

Lorraine acknowledges Buck's gratitude with a refined nod of the head and then turns back to Ike. He meets her eyes, knowing what's coming next, and Lorraine is struck with the contrast she can read. He suddenly looks so young, only a boy really, and yet his eyes are age-old, reflecting pain far beyond his years.

"Well, Ike, if you are ready, I think there's someone upstairs who would like to meet you."

Ike nods and rises to his feet, but his stomach stays in the chair. The moment is here, and he's almost overwhelmed with feelings. Excitement, fear, hesitation, curiosity, pain: all these emotions and more whirl around inside his aching heart, making him stumble as he starts to follow their hostess. Buck quickly reaches out and steadies him, concern plastered across his face once more.

Ike answers with a quick nod and sighs with relief when Buck accepts the gesture.

Lorraine's high-heeled boots make a rhythmic staccato on the hard-wood floors, perfectly even, never out of place, just like the polished woman wearing them. Buck and Ike follow the stately lady with her silver hair piled high on her head, but they aren't looking at her. Their eyes dart here and there, full of wonder and amazement as they become aware of their grand surroundings for the first time. Ike swears they have walked at least five minutes before they even come to the stairs leading to the next floor, a completely different set than the ones that led to his and Buck's rooms. Everything around them is rich and dark, rooms lined with polished walnut paneling, crystal candle holders hanging from the ceilings, lush carpets covering the floors. He takes a moment to glance down at his own rough, home-spun trousers and plain, white shirt and feels woefully out of place. As this new worry settles in his gut along side all the others, they enter a long hall and Lorraine stops at a room with the door closed.

Ike swallows hard and closes his eyes, his breath momentarily sucked away by memories and desperate hopes. Somehow it seems as if everything in the last ten years has been leading him to this point, this door, and yet he never knew it. On the other side sits his new life, a new future, but what kind will it be? Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes, just in time to see Buck reaching for the door, ready to go in and interpret for his best friend. Quickly, Ike places a hand on Buck's arm, stopping him.

Ike just shakes his head no. Sometime, in the last two weeks of turning this moment over and over in his mind, going over every possible outcome, he learned one thing for certain. Buck is his brother, has stood by him through thick and thin, would give his life for him if it was needed, but some things even brothers can't share. This is one of those times. This is about Ike's past, a past before Buck came into his life and something only he can resolve; this Ike must do alone.

"Ike, are you sure?" Buck asks, the worry and disapproval thick in his voice as Ike's meaning sinks in. "How're you gonna talk to her?"

Ike doesn't know and so he just shrugs his shoulders, but it doesn't change his mind. This is one of those moments in a person's life that alters it forever, one way or another. It's not a moment to be shared and most definitely not a moment for words to come second hand. Either his heart will speak directly to hers or not at all.

Buck looks hard at his friend, not liking this turn of events, but he gives in with a nod. He may not fully understand why Ike wants this, but he does recognize the stubborn set of his friend's jaw and knows that arguing is useless. Once Ike gets an idea planted this deep in his soul, only lightening or the Lord himself can change his mind.

*Thanks,* Ike signs and then, attempting to shove the delinquent memories back down in his heart, he takes the doorknob in his bandaged hand, but before he turns it he hesitates and stops. Turning back to Buck, he reaches up and pulls the ever-present red bandana from his head and holds it out to him, revealing his hairless scalp. Then he squares his shoulders and opens the door, disappearing into the darkened room.

As Buck accepts the red cloth, the reason for Ike's actions hits him full force, like a hammer striking the nail on the head, knocking out his breath.

"What was that all about?" Lorraine asks, the role of the bandana the boy wears clear to her for the first time, but perplexed by what he did just now.

At her words, Buck suddenly remembers the woman next to him, but his thoughts remain on his best friend. Ike's actions scream their meaning through his mind, finally turning on the light. Ike's not going to hide anymore. Either this grandmother accepts him how he is, right from the start, or she doesn't. He's laying his heart on the line, exposing the tender flesh while knowing full well it may be smashed, but he's tired of pretending.

Not taking his eyes off the closed door, Buck finds his voice to answer Mrs. Brarring, the words so soft they're almost inaudible, "He's laying all his cards on the table."

Lorraine isn't quite sure she understands, but doesn't press the young Indian further. Pointing to a chair in the hall, she invites him to sit while he waits for Ike and then excuses herself to go finish her evening duties.

But Buck doesn't sit. He remains standing in his place, fingering the bandana in his hands and praying to every god he knows of that what he said to Ike that afternoon will be true. For Ike's sake, he knows, it better be.

Chapter 9

Shadows dance around the dusky room, making Ike pause as he enters and wait for his eyes to adjust. The dim twilight is filtered through the lace curtains of an open window, the only source of light. It's almost as though his other senses come alive as he waits there, like a blind man's picking up the slack for broken eyes, and they tell him all sorts of things. He can feel the late summer breeze caressing his checks as it circles from the window and about the room, carrying the muffled sounds of a city preparing for rest, close but distant at the same time. Around him the air feels hot…or maybe it's just because his heart is racing. The room smells funny, too, like an old person, full of stale memories, musty years, faded dreams, and…and…something else… It tickles his mind, wriggling and squirming, it's fingers pulling at his memories, groping for the right one.

The five year-old little boy crouched down next to his mother, his eyes glowing with childish excitement and his chubby fingers playing in the dirt.

"I'm weeding the flowers, Ike, to make the house look pretty," his mother had answered him, pausing to gaze lovingly at her son and laugh at his inquisitiveness.

"Oh, I'll help!" Ike cried fervently and grabbed a large handful of plant, ready to yank it out with all his might, but his mother stopped him. Skillfully moving his curious hands away from the precious plants and back to the less dangerous pile of dirt, she smiled at him. "Thanks honey, but why don't you just sit here and talk to me. That will help me a lot."

"Okay," he'd replied, to young to recognize the distraction technique and happy with the chance to have his mother to himself. Soon he was babbling steadily about anything that came to his mind: trees, birds, horses, why he had to take baths... Enjoying each other's company, mother and son worked their way around the small house, pulling weeds and asking questions. Suddenly, a skinny purple flower caught Ike's eye.

"But it ain't that pretty," Ike protested, staring with puzzlement at the straggly plant with blossoms so tiny it looked more like a weed.

"Isn't very pretty, Ike," his mother had corrected gently and then continued, "and it's pretty to me."

His mother sighed and for a moment, she didn't answer. Then in a low voice she had finally replied, gazing off into the distance as she spoke.

Too young to understand the emotions and meaning hidden behind her words, Ike had simply asked to smell them too, wondering how a smell could remind you of a person. It isn't until right now as he stands in the doorway of his grandmother's room that he understands what his mother was speaking of that day. The scent teasing at his memories is the same as the fragrance of his mother's wispy purple flowers, and just smelling it is enough to send the protective walls in his mind crashing down and a wave of memories flooding out, crystal clear for the first time in ten years. The immediacy of the images sucks his breath away and he sways on his feet, glad for his hand still on the doorknob steadying him.

The crackly voice draws Ike's attention back toward the open window, and for the first time he notices the rocking chair moving gently back and forth and the shawl wrapped figure sitting in it, silhouetted against the evening light. But the name Isaac isn't what he's expecting and he's about to shake his head no when something comes to mind. Isaac is his name, at least he remembers reading it on the page of his recently recovered family Bible, but never in his life does he recall ever being called that. Still, if that's the name he was given at birth, he'd better answer yes. Almost hesitantly, he nods.

"Come in then, child, no need to lurk in doorways. Come over here where I can get a good look at you."

The voice is kind and wrinkled with age, but firm, like a favorite blanket that's fraying on the edges but still strong in the middle. Swallowing quickly, Ike steps closer to the woman in the chair, still unable to clearly see her because of the light at her back. He can't rightly explain why he's so terrified. After all, she's only an old woman in a lace shawl, but she's also the last tangible and living link to a family he had thought were long gone. If she rejects him it will be like watching them die all over again.

A gnarled hand reaches out to him, the paper-thin skin almost transparent in the dim light. It trembles slightly as it beckons him nearer.

"Come closer still. My eyes aren't what they used to be, and I want to see my grandson properly."

Ike takes another hesitant step forward, his heart pounding, knowing any moment she will realize he's different.

"Give me your hands and sit here on this stool next to me.” She indicates a stool at the foot of the aged rocker.

For one instant, Ike seriously considers bolting for the door and the safety of the hallway and Buck, but he forces the thought aside. Closing his eyes for a moment, he sends a silent plea heavenward, just in case anyone's listening, and then reaches out and places his bandaged hands in his Grandmother's frail ones and steps forward into the light. Sinking down onto the stool, Ike is aware of the elderly woman's surprise at the white bandages and the light glinting off his bald head, but he's also distracted by his first clear view of her as well. The solid oak chair dwarfs the petite figure sitting in it, and Ike's sure she can't be more than five feet tall. He also senses immediately that her height is not an issue. Five feet or ten feet, she is a woman of strong character; a lady of breeding and importance, and though her body might be old and frail now, her mind is still quick and alert and her temperament just as intact. The thought flashes through Ike's mind that he may have just found the source of his stubborn streak. She wears a dress of stiff, grey taffeta, complete with lace cuffs and collar, and her silver hair is plaited and wound about her head and crowned with a lacey day cap. And her face…her face is wrinkled, aged and weary, but kind. Ike would have continued to stare at her, almost searching for a memory of her that he knows he couldn't have, but she speaks again, her trembling hands gently caressing his cloth covered ones as she gazes with confusion at his head.

"Goodness child, what happened to you? What happened to your hands, and your hair?"

The moment that Ike has been dreading for two weeks has finally arrived, the moment his grandmother realizes her grandson is a freak and a dummy. Trying in vain to buy some time, he simple lowers his eyes and shrugs.

"Isaac," his grandmother presses on, determined. "A person's hair does not just disappear, and I know a bandage when I see one. Now I'm your grandmother, tell me what happened! Are you injured, in pain?"

Pain is a very good word to describe what Ike's feeling as his grandmother questions him – deep, gut-wrenching anguish at the explanation she's demanding and his inability to give it. For the first time he wishes he hadn't been so hasty in his decision to come in alone, but that's what he chose and somehow he must make this woman, his only living kin, understand him. Then he will brace for the hail storm of hate he's sure will follow.

With a resigned sigh, Ike returns his gaze to meet his grandmother's and gently but firmly withdraws his hands from her grasp. Then he begins the ritual that's been part of his life since he was seven, trying to use hands and eyes to communicate in a world fashioned around spoken words. Lifting one hand, Ike covers his mouth and shakes his head, trying to show her he can't speak.

Again Ike shakes his head no, pointing at his mouth. Slowly, understanding lights up her features.

"You can't tell me because you've lost your voice?" his grandmother guesses and Ike nods. "But when did this happen?"

Frustrated, he shakes his head as he realizes bitterly that she still thinks the loss of his voice is temporary, brought on by illness or over-use. Readying himself for the disgust he knows will come as soon as she understands he is truly mute, he motions to indicate a long time ago.

"Ten years ago?" she asks, shocked, and Ike nods, not raising his eyes from the floor.

"Oh, child! But how did this happen? And what of your hair and these bandages?" She stops, seeing the haunted look and obvious frustration on Ike's face, remembering he has no way to answer her questions anyway. Reaching forward, she draws his hands into her lap once more and presses them against her own. "Never mind all that. There will be time enough for questions and answers from both of us later. The important thing right now is that you are here. I've waited so long for this."

Ike looks up in surprise. These are not the words of hate and disgust he'd been waiting to hear! These are words of acceptance and, after everything he's done to prepare himself for rejection, he doesn't know what to do! His expressive face twists into a look of confusion and the woman sitting across from him reads the emotion in surprise.

"You didn't think I would spend three years looking for you, ask you to come so far, and then turn you away simply because you cannot speak did you?" she wonders, and Ike's face clearly says that's exactly what he expected. In shock she also understands that it wouldn't have been the first time.

For a full minute, Margaret Lowe stares deeply at her grandson, really seeing him for the first time, and her heart begins to break. She sees eyes that are age-old and sad, ears that have learned to live with the insults they can never really shut out, lips that hold captive a soul more effectively than all the chains in the world could, but more than anything, to her he appears as a lost little boy, hurting and broken inside. He's seen more sorrow and suffering than anyone should have to in this life, but especially a boy of his age. She finds herself longing to draw him onto her lap like a tiny child, hold him tight, and make it all go away. She can't help wondering if she could have spared him all this pain had she been in his life earlier, but it's too late for that. All they can do is go forward from here and try to make up for lost time.

"Isaac," she sighs, sounding very old, "I turned my back once before. I was stubborn, hurt, and unwilling to see the good in someone who was "different" from me, and I lost my daughter because of it. It's only by the grace of God that I've found you. I'm a stubborn, pig-headed old woman and don't you let anyone tell you otherwise, but I know enough not to make the same mistake twice. You are my grandchild, Isaac, and I love you. Not speaking doesn't change that!"

A glimmer of hope shoots through Ike, and he unconsciously allows his trade-marked grin to slip back on his face, lighting up his eyes. His grandmother loves him! She doesn't care that he's bald and can't talk! She wants him to stay anyway!

Suddenly, she takes her trembling hand and brings it up to his cheek, softly caressing the side of his face. Ike sits very still, almost holding his breath, not even remembering the last time he was touched like that.

"You have her eyes you know. Her beautiful green eyes. I can see her soul staring back at me when I look at you." This said, she can no longer resist the urge to hold her grandson, and she gently draws him forward until his head is resting in her lap. The scent of her lavender perfume fills Ike's senses again and memories of long ago flood over him, memories of being held this way by another woman smelling of lavender and he closes his eyes. Then his grandmother begins to softly sing in her time-worn voice.

"While the moon her watch is keeping,
All through the night;
While the weary world is sleeping,
All through the night;
O'er thy spirit gently stealing,
Visions of delight revealing,
Breaths a pure and holy feeling,
All through the night."

The room is now completely dark but neither one moves to light a lamp or candle. Ike is glad of the darkness as it masks the tears sliding silently down his cheeks to become lost in the stiff folds of his grandmother's dress. With the last phrase of the familiar song floating in the air and her soft fingers on his head, Ike knows he has finally found a place he belongs.

Chapter 10

The bright light of early morning streams into the hall as Ike steps through the doorway of his bedroom and quietly pulls the door shut behind him. He's wearing his customary smile again, and his step is lighter than it has been in days. With fears and worries put to rest by last night's meeting, he was able to sleep peacefully, the nightmares finally gone. Now he can hardly wait to visit his grandmother for breakfast as she requested, but first there's something he needs to do. Carefully slipping his notepad and pencil into his vest pocket, he looks up and down the hall, not even sure where to begin. Only half joking, he toys with the idea of finding a ball of string and tying one end to the latch of his room, just in case he gets lost in this mammoth house.

‘I could take a wrong turn and it would be weeks before they found me! I could starve to death!’ he thinks, and then with a smirk another thought flashes past. ‘I’m starting to sound like Cody...’

Grinning at himself, he finally just shrugs his shoulders and starts down the hall to his right, figuring he'll find who he seeks eventually. Half an hour, three linen closets, six bedrooms, two parlors, a water closet, a kitchen, two pantries, and one laundry room later Ike finally comes upon a cheery sitting room where the woman he's been looking for sits writing a letter.

"Good morning, Ike," Lorraine calls as she glances up at his knock. “Come in and sit down. I was just finishing some business."

Ike enters the richly furnished room and awkwardly sits on the offered sofa, feeling dreadfully out of place among the finery.

"And how are those hands and wrists of yours today?" Lorraine asks, moving over to sit next to him. She's dressed in an elegant frock of dark blue and, despite her grey hair, looks every bit the refined lady.

Ike holds up his hands still swathed in the white cloths for her to see and shrugs his shoulders. In truth, they're still quite tender and stiff and his wrists slightly swollen, but as long as he can move them and sign he's not going to waste time thinking about them.

Reluctantly, he nods. He'd been hoping to avoid being fussed over again by Lorraine, but it's not worth trying to argue about.

"So, what did you want, Ike? I'm assuming you weren't looking for me just to pass the time. Is there something you need?"

Before he loses his nerve, Ike reaches into his vest and pulls out the pad of paper and his pencil. Not wanting to play the normal guessing game approach to communication, he hands Lorraine the pad with his note already written.

"Ah," Lorraine smiles at the young man sitting nervously before her, looking like a bashful schoolboy. Such a change from the distant, shattered lad of only yesterday morning. "So you want to know more about Margaret?" she continues after a moment.

Eagerly, Ike nods. Maybe by knowing more about his grandmother's past and personality he can better figure out his own, and maybe it can help fill the void he didn't even know there was in his life until that letter came.

Lorraine returns the paper to Ike, and a faraway looks steals across her eyes, as though she sees the past parading before her.

"Margaret and I grew up together, here in Philadelphia. I was an only child and she was the youngest of four brothers, so we became like sisters. She was two years older than me, but it never seemed to matter. Both coming from important families, we enjoyed the privileges of society to the fullest, constantly going to socials, parties, and balls. As a girl, Margaret was vibrant and outgoing, always the life of the party. And stubborn too! She'd get her mind set and there was no changing it!"

Ike grins at her last words, knowing he was right. That's at least one character trait he shares with his grandmother. Almost as though she can read his thoughts, Lorraine smiles back. "Yes, I do believe you resemble her in that area. Of course your mother and your grandfather were just as obstinate, so there really wasn't any way you could escape it."

Soaking up Lorraine's information like a dry sponge, a million questions tumble through Ike's mind, and he wishes with all his heart he could just blurt them out, but he can't and writing just isn't fast enough, not like a real conversation. Grabbing his pencil, he selects carefully and writes only one down.

Before he'd been so wrapped up in worrying about his grandmother, the woman he was going to meet, he hadn't given more that a passing thought to his grandfather. Now he suddenly finds himself curious to know more about this man he was named after. His mother obviously must have loved him, even after what happened, otherwise she wouldn't have named her firstborn son for him.

Lorraine sighs before speaking again. "Isaac Lowe was a proud, stubborn man, and some people used to say he had no heart. He knew exactly what he wanted in life – riches – and went after them with a vengeance. He was a sea captain by twenty-five and made his fortune trading around the world by the time he was thirty. Your grandmother and I met him at a party one night. He was boasting of his prowess at riddles, claiming no one had ever bested him. Margaret never could resist a good challenge and so, with fire in her eyes, she took him on. It was quite the sight, the giant bearded captain and the tiny dark-haired girl of only eighteen locked in a battle of wits. Your grandmother won the match, and somehow she also won his heart, the one people swore he didn't have. Against the advice of her family, and yes, even me, she married him when he asked. He was thirteen years her senior but they loved each other, so what could we say? He quit sailing and instead founded a woolen mill and doubled his fortune in just two years."

Ike listens in amazement to this tale. A gloomy, mysterious sea captain…a bright-eyed young girl…fortune and riches; it all sounds like something from one of Cody's adventure stories! He can hardly believe that he's listening to his own family history! He's spent most of his life believing he was just another orphan and a misfit. His parents were just poor farmers descended from generations of other poor farmers and though he's always been proud of his name and his family, he never imagined there was anything remarkable about them! But the more he learns the more in awe he is. Finding his pencil once more, he scribbles a question that's been gnawing at his mind.

"Oh yes, Ike, he loved her. He loved her fiercely and she him. Their arguments could set the whole neighborhood trembling in terror but they only seemed to strengthen your grandparents' love for each other. She was the only person I've ever met who could stand up to him, and I believe he adored her for it in his own gruff way. So yes, he loved her, and she knew it, he just couldn't show it in the way the rest of the world thought he should."

Lorraine pauses to once again gaze at the boy before her. Seeing his eyes bright with eagerness, she's struck with a thought. Her whole life she's been surrounded by people, family and friends, and she can name them all, right down to the second wife of her great-aunt Nellie's brother-in-law. But for most of his life, the young man sitting next to her has had no one; a life lived mostly alone, and judging from what she's seen herself, undoubtedly it hasn't been an easy one. The deep longing to understand more, to belong, shines out from his face, and Lorraine marvels at the fact that she knows more about his own story than he does. Her heart goes out to him and she smiles affectionately as she continues.

"They were married for eight years before your mother was born. It was a terrible labor and we nearly lost both mother and child several times. Isaac paced the halls like a ghost, not saying a word. I'd never seen him silent for that long. It was as though he was seeing his life for the first time. When the doctor informed us they would both live, he broke down and cried like a child. From that day on he was a changed man, every bit as stubborn, but ever mindful of how blessed he truly was. He became the kind of doting father and husband everyone dreams about, and your mother was his pride and joy. Margaret and MaryAnne were very close as well, always laughing and singing, but your mother practically worshiped her father. She went everywhere with him, and he spoiled her tremendously."

Ike absentmindedly fingers the almost worn-out letter still in his vest pocket as he listens. He can pretty much piece together the rest of their, no his, story from the paragraphs he's practically memorized, but he wants to hear it again, in person. He needs to know how he could have been forgotten and overlooked for ten long years.

"Clark McSwain was not the polished, refined, and wealthy suitor Margaret and Isaac had always pictured for their daughter. The orphaned son of immigrant parents, he had hardly a penny to his name. True, he was honest, respectful, hard-working, and MaryAnne adored him, but it wasn't enough. Your grandfather said he hadn't worked his way up the latter of success for his family to have his daughter throw it all away and marry a pauper. Margaret didn't mind his lack of money as much as she did his heritage. Your father was Irish and she was brought up believing the Irish were troublemakers, swindlers, and fools. I don't think she ever saw Clark that way, but she just couldn't put so many years of hating aside so quickly. There was a terrible row one night and come morning, MaryAnne was gone, eloped with your father and off to start her own life. Your grandparents were devastated and Isaac reacted by reverting to his former, unapproachable self. He swore MaryAnne was never welcome in his home again, and he forbid Margaret to contact her. It was the only time she ever lost a battle with him. Your mother tried to keep in touch, Ike, to seek forgiveness. She wrote me several times, knowing I would get word to them. She sent a wedding picture and I got letters when you and your sister were born."

"I gave the letters to your grandmother and she read them over and over. She often talked about the two of you, wondering what you were like, where you were, what you were doing. She forgave your parents the moment she realized what she had done, and in truth, I think Isaac did as well, he was just too prideful and hurt to change and Margaret felt she must be loyal to her husband. And then the letters stopped coming. She always assumed it was because she never wrote back."

Ike's eyes fill with pain at what those words imply, and Lorraine feels such sorrow for this boy. She reaches out and gathers his hands into her own.

"Oh, Ike, if they had known the real reason, neither your grandmother or your grandfather would have left you out there all alone!

Hearing this, Ike quickly looks away, his eyes filling with unshed tears he's trying not to let fall. He only looks back with Lorraine speaks again.

"Isaac," she says, using his given name for the first time, "your grandmother loves you. You can't change the past, but there is still the future..."

For several moments silences hangs in the room as Ike ponders what she's just said, then he pulls his hands away and writes another note.

Realizing he needs the story to be completed, Lorraine continues. "Three years ago, Isaac's mill burned down and your grandfather collapsed trying to save it. He died just two days later and Margaret was devastated. She'd lost her husband and most of her wealth in one blow. My own husband had died only one year earlier and I was lonely, so I invited Margaret to come live with me, thinking we could comfort each other. We did, but it wasn't enough for your grandmother. She was suddenly consumed with the idea of finding her daughter and family again. She wanted to make amends and she didn't want to be alone. The few letters your mother had sent me gave us a place to start and Margaret spent most of what remained of her money on the tireless search. Even after all that, it was only by Providence that we ever found you."

She finishes and Ike sits for a long time, pondering over the last hour's conversation. He has so much to think about! In only sixty minutes he's gone from the freak orphan with barely a past to a person with a rich and vivid history. It's almost more than he can take in all at once, but there is just one more question he has to ask.

Again she sighs before answering. "I'm not going to lie to you, Ike. The last few years have been hard on Margaret. Her health declined rapidly after Isaac passed on and though she recovered, she never really got her strength back. Her rheumatism troubles her greatly and lately her hands have trembled too much for her to do many things she used to enjoy, including writing. But just knowing you were coming has given her back more of her old spark and vigor than anything the doctor has prescribed." She smiles warmly with her last words and Ike returns it, though his heart feels a sliver of fear knowing the grandmother he has just found is so fragile, but he shoves the thought aside. Once again, he writes the words he can't say out loud and gives the paper to the woman next to him, a woman who has just give him more than she probably realizes.

With a catch in her own throat, she gazes at him and shakes her head. "No, thank you, Ike. Thank you for coming and making my best friend smile again." Then trying to change the subject before their emotions run away she adds, "Speaking of which, hadn't you better hurry along? Margaret will be waiting for you, and she hates it if her eggs get cold."

With a grin and a nod, Ike gathers his paper and pencil and returns them to his pocket, then hurries to the door, but he pauses one last time and turns around. Solemnly, he looks at Lorraine and using his own language this time he signs, *Thank you so much,* before racing off to find Buck.

*Hurry up, Buck. You're slower than a dead horse this morning!* Ike signs as he turns around and climbs the stairs backwards so Buck can see his hands.

"Well, if people wouldn't put so many useless sets of stairs in their houses I wouldn't be so slow," Buck grumbles in mock indignation.

Grinning, Ike doesn't miss a beat. *If you weren't so fat and out of shape the stairs wouldn't be a problem!* he teases, and then just as he signs the last word he reaches backwards with his foot to find the next stair and misses it completely, landing in a startled heap on his backside and bumping down several steps. Seeing the total shock displayed on his friend's face, Buck bursts out in uncontrollable laughter as Ike gingerly picks himself back up, glaring reproachfully. This only makes Buck laugh harder.

"See what happens when you say nasty things, Ike? You make the 'spirits' angry," Buck retorts through chuckles and Ike can't help grinning back. After all, it was pretty funny. Then he turns around to finish climbing the steps in a safer fashion.

As Buck falls in line behind Ike, his thoughts really do turn to toward the Spirits, thanking them for the return of his happy, cheerful friend because just last night he'd thought for sure he'd lost him. After Ike went into his grandmother's room, he'd waited for what felt like ages, every possible scenario playing through his mind. With him in the hall, Ike was left with barely any means of communication and Buck was worried sick, especially as time stretched on with not a sound that he could make out escaping from the room. He was just about to throw Ike's wishes to the wind and enter the room anyway when the door opened and his friend emerged. Seeing the tear streaks on his cheeks, Buck's heart sank, but then he noticed the smile behind the tears and his friend's hands told him everything was okay.

The sound of Ike thumping his chest brings his attention back to the present and he watches the white wrapped hands flash again.

*Because I want you to meet her!* Ike's face is eager as he gazes at his friend and he beckons him quickly down the hall.

"Alright, I'm comin'," Buck says and hurries up to Ike, although he's reluctant to meet this mysterious woman who's letter has caused his best friend so much emotional turmoil.

When they stop outside the same closed door as the night before, Ike looks quickly at Buck, his eyes asking if he's ready.

The voice floats out, a voice that Ike realizes with delight is now familiar and welcome, and he grins broadly at Buck before turning the knob and pushing the door open.

His grandmother sits in the same rocker as last night, but today a small table has been pulled up to it and places set for two, with another chair opposite her. The bright morning rays fill the room and give warmth as they accent the cheery quilt draped over the plump bed and illuminate the pictures on the walls.

"Good morning," she calls, smiling at her grandson as he steps through the doorway, but the smile falters slightly as another unknown and rather rough looking youth enters behind him. 'An Indian!' she thinks with a start.

"Who is this, Isaac?" she asks, more harshly than she means and Buck stiffens behind his friend, but Ike doesn't notice.

*This is Buck Cross, my best friend,* Ike signs, forgetting for a moment in his excitement at introducing his two family members to each other that his grandmother can't understand his gestures.

"Gracious, what in heaven's name are you doing, child?" Margaret asks, alarmed by Ike's rapid hand movements, and Ike's face falls as he remembers his signs are useless here. Swallowing his own discomfort and ill-ease, Buck steps forward to aid his friend. "Ike just said that my name's Buck Cross and that I'm his best friend. He was introducing me using Indian Sign Language."

Smiling his thanks to Buck, Ike motions again, knowing Buck will interpret for him. *I'm sorry, I should have told you I was bringing him, too, but I just wanted you to meet him. He came with me on the trip.*

After Buck repeats Ike's words out loud, Margaret studies the two boys for a long time. Ike wears a red bandana this morning, covering his hairless scalp, and he stands there apprehensively, waiting for her approval of his friend. Beside him, Buck is tall and proud, his features strong and his long black hair and tan skin a stark contrast to Ike's pale face and bald head. As different as night and day these two friends, but somehow Margaret senses they are bonded together. She can't have Ike in her life without getting Buck, too. But an Indian? Sitting down to breakfast at her table! This is definitely a new experience!

Then suddenly, she stops her thoughts, mentally scolding herself. 'You really are an old fool, Margaret Lowe! Didn't you learn your lesson well enough twenty years ago? This time you'd better do things right!' With all the grace of a lady, she picks up a small silver bell sitting next to her plate and gives a quick ring. Moments later, a maid appears.

"Yes, ma'am," the girl replies and Ike smiles widely to show his thanks. Soon the three are seated and the maid begins serving the food.

"I'm sorry if I appeared rude, Mr. Cross. I was just startled to see you. I was unaware that Isaac brought a friend with him," she apologizes, attempting to start a conversation.

Arching his eyebrows, Buck glances curiously at Ike when she calls him Isaac again, but Ike merely shrugs. He didn't have any way to tell his grandmother last night that people call him Ike, and if she wants to call him Isaac, it doesn't bother him. Understanding what the simple shrug means, Buck turns back to Margaret. "It's fine," he says, but he's still rather wary of this wealthy grandmother. It's been his experience that people can say anything if they want to get your trust. Still, for Ike's sake, he'll try his hardest to believe her. He owes his friend that much and more. Mustering more congeniality than he feels, he continues, "And just call me Buck."

"Alright then Buck, may I inquire how the two of you met?" she asks, truly interested, and for the next while Buck tells their story as they eat, Ike content to let Buck speak for him. Wisely avoiding the deaths of Ike's family and the loss of his voice, Buck does explain about Ike's hair in answer to her questions, as well as come up with some excuse for the bandages on his hands, but Ike really isn't paying that much attention. He's perfectly happy just sitting in the room with his grandmother and his best friend, more happy than he remembers being for a very long time. The rest of the meal passes quickly, Ike unintentionally getting lost in his own thoughts. Since Buck would only have to repeat his words anyway, he leaves the conversation up to him, only nodding occasionally, and soon he's barely listening. The story Buck's retelling is painfully familiar, with no surprises. He prefers to let his thoughts drift to the exciting new story he just heard for the first time this morning, a story he is still awed to belong to. His mind wanders back across the years to picture events of long ago, at the same time a small part of him slightly gloats at the idea of telling Cody, Jimmy and the others all of this. It's not until Buck lays a hand on his arm causing him to jump, that Ike realizes his friend has been calling his name.

"Hello? Ike?" Buck calls loudly, and Ike grins sheepishly. "We've been trying to ask if you need some more eggs," Buck continues bluntly, even his voice showing how uncomfortable he is having to be the middle man in this conversation.

Slightly embarrassed by his obvious daydreaming, Ike shakes his head quickly toward the maid standing at his elbow with the dish.

"Well, now that you are back among the living, child, I think it's time to discuss something," his grandmother states. Innocent words, but for Buck, he's sure he hears the echo of drastic change ringing from them, the kind of change that throws your whole world off course. Ike also senses a shift in the light-hearted meeting and leans forward, his eyes questioning but wary.

"The last few years haven't been kind to me, Isaac. There were days when I despaired of ever seeing my grandson before I was cold in my grave, but the Lord has been amazingly generous. He has brought you here to me and let me live to see it." Margaret pauses for a moment, almost struggling with the words, then continues, "I loved my daughter very much, more than words can say, and it tore a part of my life away when she left. I made a mistake in letting her go that day, but I want to right it now. I want to ask you to stay here and live with me, Isaac. I want to have you in my life."

A sharp intake of breath escapes from Ike as his grandmother's words leave him stunned. He'd never even thought of her asking him to stay! Ask him about his parents’ death, ask him about his voice, even ask him to forgive her for the past, but never this! At a loss for what to do or say or even think, Ike glances desperately at Buck for help, only to find his friend starring at Margaret with a mixture of hurt, betrayal, and deep anger.

"I know this is sudden, and I know it would be a big change, but I'm getting old. I won't live forever, and I want to spend my last years with family. There is so much I want to tell you, places I want to show you, child! I want to give you the sort of life and privileges you should have had all along." Sensing the growing panic and confusion in her grandson and the hostility in his friend, she hastens to add, "And I don't expect you to give up your other life completely! Any of your friends are welcome to come and visit at any time, and to stay as long as they want."

The sudden scratch of wood on wood signals that it was the wrong thing to say. Without even a word, the normally coolheaded Buck shoves his chair away from the table and storms out of the room, not even noticing the expression of great turmoil and pain plastered across Ike's own face. Ike doesn't try to stop him. He knows the young Indian well enough to know when to leave him alone, but Buck also takes his "voice" with him when he goes.

The bewildered and lost look Ike turns on her after the door shuts goes straight to Margaret's heart, but she can't help how she feels. Quietly she continues. "You don't have to decide tonight, but please, Isaac, think about it. I'm your grandmother. I want the chance to give you all the love you have deserved over the years but never had! Philadelphia life may not be as wild and exciting as the Pony Express but I think you'd come to like it."

With a heavy heart, Ike nods, but thinking isn't exactly the word. More like intense soul searching. Giving a gesture he hopes his grandmother will recognize as a thank you for the meal, Ike stands to leave.

Ike nods slowly, but doesn't meet her eyes, and then slips silently from the room, his emotions churning like a vast stormy sea again.

Chapter 11

"Your mother was so mad I wouldn't let her keep the snake that she packed her bag and moved out into the maple tree, declaring she wouldn't come in until I changed my mind. I never thought she would stay there for longer than an hour or so before she tired of it, but my stubborn six-year-old daughter stayed in that tree all night, with the snake, too! And that's how Eugene the snake joined our household. I figured if she was that determined it wouldn't harm me to let her have a pet, even if it was a garter snake."

Shaking with silent laughter at the though of his mother in a tree, a broad grin spreads across Ike's face, and he pulls his chair closer to the bed. For the last hour he's been living in his grandmother's memories, at times laughing with her, at times mourning with her. He half believes he can almost see the people from these stories lingering in the shadows of the room – feathery and distant – but there if he looks hard enough. The warm lamplight and his grandmother's crinkly voice sooth him into a peace he hasn't felt for a long time, opening up the doors in his own mind he's been afraid to venture past for so long.

Margaret Lowe studies her grandson, watching the myriad of emotions play across his face, dance through his eyes, and hover just out of reach. How she wishes she could know the thoughts passing through this boy's mind. She may have finally found him, but in so many ways he's still a mystery to her, and it's her deepest wish to find a way to get close to him. He's all she has left.

"Isaac, child, you've never yet called me 'Grandmother'," she says quietly, placing her gnarled hand lovingly on his arm. "Why not?"

Ike looks up slightly confused and starts to indicate again that he's mute, but his grandmother interrupts.

"I know you cannot say it, but I assume there is a... oh, what did your friend call it... yes, a 'sign' for it, is there not?"

Ike's face lights up like a firecracker as understanding comes. She wants him to teach her to sign! She wants to be able to talk to him!

"I'm not saying I'll be very good at it, mind you. Crabby old things like me have a hard time learning anything new, but I'm willing to give it a try if you are," she quickly continues, and Ike can't help smiling. Then her voice drops and she adds gently, "I want to know you, Isaac. I want to know what you are thinking inside that head of yours." Then, almost as if she's embarrassed by the sudden change in herself, she assumes her crusty appearance again. "Besides, how do I know you aren't saying nasty things about your poor, old granny right before my eyes?"

Eyes bright with emotion despite the grin on his face, Ike raises his bandaged hands and slowly moves them through the sign, a feeling coursing in him like he's never felt before as he completes the simple word.

"Oh, I've waited so long for that!" Margaret breathes, reaching out and pulling his hands into hers, tears glistening in her eyes unashamedly this time. For a while, they both sit there, lost in the moment. Finally, she stirs and reaches for something on the night stand that's hidden in the shadows.

"You will have to teach me more later, but there's something I want to show you now."

The lamp-light warms the rich wood of the chest in her hands and dances off the tiny carved figures parading across the top. Reverently, she raises the lid, and once again the scent of lavender engulfs Ike's senses.

"This was your mother's. My Isaac gave it to her when she turned twelve to keep all her little treasures in. I've kept it by my bed ever since she left, the only way I could have my daughter near. I want you to have it now, child. She would have wanted that."

Hesitantly, Ike takes the box from her, emotions threatening to choke him. All these years he's had only a few solitary mementos of the family that was ripped from him, and now here he is, holding a bit of his mother's life story. Hands trembling, he pulls the first item from the box, and his breath freezes in his chest. For the first time in ten years he's staring into the eyes of his parents. Tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks, he gently caresses the surface of the faded daguerreotype with his fingers, forgetting for a moment even the woman sitting with him. Ten years can dull even the brightest of memories, and the once firm image of his parents had started to slip from his mind like sand through a sieve, until he was sure he'd lost it forever. But there they are! There's the twinkle in his papa's eyes, his mother's beautiful dark hair, his papa's strong hands and his mama's gentle ones. How he wishes he could slide into the picture with them, hear their voices again, feel their arms around him once more!

"MaryAnne sent that to Lorraine in one of her letters. It's their wedding picture. I suppose she wanted to show they had a proper marriage, but I was too hard-hearted to listen until it was too late."

With trembling hands, Ike reluctantly tears his eyes away from the faces in the picture and gently places it back in the chest. Looking through the rest of the treasures in the box is something he needs to do when he's alone, not being watched, even if it is by his grandmother. Closing the lid, he sets the box on his lap.

Guessing at what he said, Margaret replies, "Don't thank me. You deserve to have it, after all these years."

Suddenly, the emotions rushing at him become too much for him to control. The memories he has, the memories he could have had, the loneliness that's been a part of his life for so long, an annoying spark of anger at his grandmother for leaving him alone and now for messing everything up… But most of all he's being swallowed up in overwhelming confusion. Tucking the precious chest under his arm, he abruptly stands up.

*I need to go,* Ike signs, his face begging her to understand both his words and the meaning behind them, but she just continues to stare at him perplexed. Finally, she sighs wearily.

"I don't understand what you just said, Isaac, but I can tell you want to leave. Before you go, there's something I need to tell you, however. I know you haven't made your decision yet, but I've taken the liberty of arraigning a 'welcome home' party with Lorraine's help. If you are going to stay here with me, you need to see what your life would be like." Then with a twinkle in her eye she adds, "Besides, I want to show my friends how handsome my grandson is."

Ike attempts a smile, knowing his grandmother is simply trying to be cheerful, but his heart isn't in it. All he wants to do right now is escape to the privacy of his own room and his own thoughts.

"Will you......and your friend.... grant me the pleasure of attending my party?"

Without even comprehending what he's agreeing too, Ike nods hastily. Anything to get out of the room. Then, before he has to struggle through anymore one-sided conversations, he rushes through the door.

One pair of legs disappears a little farther under the big four-poster bed leaving only the muffled grunts to tell there's actually a head and body attached to them somewhere in the dusty depths.

Despite the intense emotions he's feeling from the conversation with his grandmother, Ike can't help but pause in the doorway as he enters and silently watch the scene unfolding before him in his very own room. A quick smile spreads across his face as he listens to the muffled dialogue and sees the two dusty young bodies emerge from under his bed.

"Hurry up, Andrew. Open it, open it! I jist know he's gotta have his treasure in here somewhere!"

"Sure is awful light fer a bag with pirates' treasure in it... Ya sure about this, Millie?"

It's all Ike can do to keep from bursting at the sight of the two guilty snoops, mouths hanging open and eyes wide in surprise.

"Look Mister Pirate, we didn't mean nothing, really! An' we never even touched any a’ yer treasure, did we, Andrew?" Once Millie finds her voice, the words rush out like water cresting a dam. Next to her, the sandy-haired boy named Andrew shakes his head, but he seems more preoccupied with studying Ike than worried that his life is in danger like Millie.

"I tell ya, he is a pirate! Look at his kerchief. It's red like a pirate's, ain't it? An' see he's still got the bandages from the handcuffs! I bet he's even got a sword stashed in that bag, too!"

The two teenagers seem to have all but forgotten Ike, and he watches their little feud with enjoyment as they vehemently discuss the supposed evidence of his exploits as a marauding pirate. Finally, Andrew decides that the only way to solve this dilemma is a direct course of action.

With his trademark grin spread from cheek to cheek, the rider shakes his head 'no.'

"SEE! TOLD YA! An' now we're gonna get in trouble fer snoopin' through his stuff an' it's all yer fault! Mrs. Brarring will find out, an' she'll tell Mrs. Wilson, an' Mrs. Wilson already said if I gets in anymore trouble she'd boot me..." Andrew's voice is loud but laced with fear and, as Millie bursts into tears, Ike suddenly realizes how serious this little incident could turn in the lives of these two young people. Quickly, his grin disappears as he steps forward shaking his head, trying to reassure them that it's okay. He doesn't really care that they were in his room, and he surely doesn't want to get them fired. They are only being kids, playing tricks, looking for adventures, but he doesn't know how to tell them this or get them calmed down. It's not like he can just talk to them, and it doesn't help that Millie keeps backing away and Andrew moves protectively in front of her as Ike steps toward them.

"Look, we're real sorry we came in and messed with yer stuff," Andrew starts, "but me 'n Millie, we need these jobs!"

Normally the best of the riders at dealing with children, Ike is this time at a loss for what to do. Besides, children are in one category and worked-up thirteen-year-olds with overactive imaginations are in another. His own emotions have also been stretched to the breaking point today, so he finally does the only thing he can think of.

*Don't worry, I'm not gonna tell on you. It's okay, really,* he signs slowly. He knows the kids won't understand him, but he's hoping they will at least recognize the gestures as friendly and let him come closer.

"Huh?" Andrew raises an eyebrow after staring at Ike for several seconds. Millie abruptly stops crying. "What's that? Some kinda secret code er something?"

Ike thinks for a moment and an idea pops into his tired brain. Grinning again, Ike nods yes and moves over to the bed. He carefully places his mother's chest on the dresser before sitting down, indicating for the two to join him.

"So ya really are a pirate then if that's a secret code, ain't ya?" Millie persists in a whisper as she and Andrew hesitantly approach Ike, and he moans in exasperation. This isn't working the way it's supposed to. Shaking his head vigorously 'no', Ike goes for plan "B" and pulls the pad of paper and pencil from his vest pocket. Though still guarded, Andrew and Millie are intrigued and move closer, one sitting on each side of him, watching as he writes.

When he's finished, he holds the note out so the two "detectives" can see it better. They study it intently, brows furrowed in concentration. Finally, Andrew turns to Ike with a serious expression plastered over his freckles.

Groaning, Ike drops his head into his hands as his final plan self-destructs. They can't read! They can't read, and he can't talk and thus they are getting nowhere. What a day...

"It's real nice, though," Millie quickly adds seeing his reaction, before continuing quietly. "Does it say we're in trouble?"

Ah! A yes or no question! This he can answer. Looking directly at the young servant, Ike shakes his head 'no.'

"How do we know ya ain't just pullin' our legs?" the ever skeptical Andrew asks.

With the most solemn countenance he can muster, Ike draws his finger across his heart and makes a motion like locking his lips and throwing away the key.

Before Ike can change his mind, the pair rushes from the room, but they set Ike smiling again when Millie's voice floats back down the hall in a loud whisper, "I still think he's a pirate!"

Remembering frogs in beds, vinegar in the Holy Water, buried treasure in the cellar, and other similar "expeditions of adventure" in his own past with Buck, Ike allows himself a moment of laughter. He's amazed the nuns didn't just shoot them! Then, with a wry smile, he comes back to the present and his surroundings. Maybe it would have been better if the nuns had just shot him, then he wouldn't be here, facing the hardest decision of his life and remembering things he wants to forget.

His room is now almost completely dark, the dusk of twilight gone and the sounds of night creeping through his open window. Out of habit, Ike stands and lights the candle on the wall, casting the room in a light full of shadows and voids, somehow lacking the usual warming glow. Turning around, his eyes fall on the discarded satchel, and he picks it up, placing it on the bed.

Millie's words flash across his memory, and he realizes they are true in a sense. Hands that seem to have a mind of their own reach inside and return with his box, the only thing that's really his – his treasure. He hasn't opened it since that fateful day when he met Ben Rawlings, but he doesn't need to, the contents are seared on his heart: a watch, a locket, some letters, the wanted poster, and a smooth, shiny rock; the only remnants of a family, until now.

Carefully, Ike moves his mother's chest from the dresser and places it next to his own. It's larger, more elaborate and expensive, but somehow they belong together; two pieces of the past, two tangible memorials to lives that are gone.

A shiver runs up Ike's spine and a solemn stillness settles in the room, almost a reverent change. It's like the whole world has stopped, frozen in time, except for Ike. Feeling as though he's about to enter a holy place, Ike eases the bandanna off his head and lays it gently to the side before sitting and pulling his mother's chest into his lap. Not completely sure he has the strength for what he needs to do, Ike slowly opens the lid and his parents again stare back at him. This time he lets the tears flow freely and looks as long as he wants.

It's not fair! Anytime life gives him something good, somehow the gods contrive to take it away, and it's not fair!

Buck's thoughts pound his mind like the beat of war drums, echoing the building anger in his soul even as his feet creep silently through the empty halls of the mansion. All day he pointedly ignored Ike, refusing even to talk to him. Finally, Ike gave up and went to meet his grandmother like he promised, and Buck stalked off to bed. Now, hours later and unable to sleep, he can't remain still with his raging thoughts, so he's roaming the passageways for lack of anywhere else to go.

One dark room after another greets him while the fire burning in his heart goes from smoldering to consuming blaze, and the walls seem to get closer and closer, smothering all thoughts. How he longs to see the sky again, feel the wind, taste the air! How is he supposed to think with all this plaster and these boards between him and the night? Finally, Buck feels a cool breath of fresh air and spies the twinkle of stars through an open door at the end of the hall. Like a drowning man reaching for the surface, Buck rushes through it and finds himself on one of the many balconies that surround the grand house. Closing his eyes, he leans against the railing, drinking it in.

Buck jumps in surprise, his hand automatically starting for the knife that isn't there, before he regains control. So involved in his own thoughts, Buck, the great tracker, had failed to even notice the withered figure leaning heavily on a cane in the shadows of the porch. Seeing her, his anger flares up again with a vengeance, and he turns away, only grunting in response.

Margaret doesn't miss the open hostility written on the boy's face, but she puts it aside and continues.

"I often come here at night. It's so hard to think shut up in the same four walls most of the day, and it's not so far from my room that I can't make it on my own. Has a nice view doesn't it?"

"I know I didn't make a very good first impression, but I've wanted to talk to you all day."

She wants to talk to me, does she? Buck seethes, and the thought crosses his mind to just walk out on her again, but something keeps him in his place. She is, after all, Ike's grandmother. Ever-so-slightly, he shifts in her direction, showing he's listening, but nothing is forgiven yet.

"You're angry with me, I know that, but I honestly didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't even know you were coming when I made plans to ask Isaac to stay with me. I've waited so long for this, Buck."

Suddenly, Buck can't contain his anger any longer. "You've waited so long for this? And how long has Ike waited?" he snaps, jerking around to face her, and Margaret is taken back by his outburst.

"Didn't know, or didn't want to know?" Buck slings at her. "You don't really know anything about Ike! Do you know that he was teased, ridiculed, and shunned at the mission? Do you know that he used to cry at night after he thought me and the others were asleep? Do you know that he's loyal to his friends and has risked his life for them? Do you know that he's kind and gentle and good with kids? Have you ever seen the hurt in his eyes when idiots insult him in town? Do you even recognize when he asks you how you're doing, or know that his favorite color is green? No, you don't! Because while all these things have been happening in his life for the last ten years, you've been sitting here with your money and your important friends! And now you think you can just waltz into Ike's life and everything will be okay! Well, it's not!"

Buck's voice has been growing in intensity as all his pent up feelings rush out, but suddenly it drops off like a cliff, and his next comment is so soft Margaret almost misses it completely. "Do you have any idea what this trip has done to him?"

For several long moments, Margaret stands in silence. Somehow, this young Indian has done something that the great and powerful have tried to accomplish for years, render Margaret Lowe speechless. Unable to choke out a response to Buck's accusations, she finally just answers with a question of her own.

A small spark of guilt shoots through Buck's smoldering soul, stopping him from uttering the heated retort on the tip of his tongue. Even though everything he just said is true, and he knows it needed to be said, she's also right. Try as he might to justify it, he's not acting purely out of concern for Ike. Pursing his lips in a stubborn attempt to ignore his own selfishness, Buck doesn't say anything, and a heavy silence falls between them. After a long time, Margaret finally breaks it.

She waits so long for an answer she assumes she isn't getting one and is about to go back inside when Buck speaks.

The words are simple and straightforward, and Buck turns to look Margaret right in the eye as he utters them. The question was such a change of course it took him by surprise. He almost decided not to tell her, but part of him wants her to know, so she can see just how much his best friend has gone through.

"He hid in the shed and watched a gang of thieves shoot them all, one at a time. It was two days before anyone came to find him, and by then he couldn't say a word. He hasn't spoken since."

Tears well up in Margaret's eyes and cascade down her aged cheeks, unnoticed in the darkness. Tears for a terrified little boy huddled in a shed, tears for all he has lost, and aching tears of guilt for not being there to hold that lost, little boy.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispers. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for him, and that he had to go through such atrocities." Then in a stronger voice she looks at Buck and adds, "But I am here now, and I want to make it up to him. He's all I have left, Buck."

Buck gazes at her, studying her with eyes as black and deep as the inky night sky, emotions still churning inside him. Eventually, he lowers his head and steps to the open door. Just before he's about to disappear through it, he glances at her one last time.

It could be minutes, or hours, or even weeks later. Ike has lost track of all passage of time as he gazes longingly into the faces of his parents, not remembering the past nor acknowledging the present or the future, just existing with them in a place away from the rules of time and space. Finally though, he can pretend no longer, and he reluctantly places it aside and reaches for the next object in the chest, only to find another picture. This time a little girl with freckles and laughing eyes and a little boy with unruly brown hair and torn pants look back at him, and memories come rushing into his mind. Sunday clothes and a trip to town in the middle of the week...a game of Rounders...ripping his pants and his mother scolding...sitting still so long his teeth hurt...a bright flashing light...Essie crying... It all comes so fast and fuzzy around the edges, for a moment it's there, and then it's gone, like water slipping between the rocks in a stream. Glimpses of a happy time so long ago that he probably won't ever remember it for sure. Hoping for more clues, Ike turns the faded picture over and finds a message in small, neat letters.

Reverently, he lays the image with the other and moves on. Bit by bit as he pulls objects from the chest, the pieces of a young girl's life emerge. Christmas cards, valentines, dance cards, and gloves… A lock of hair, a baby tooth, ribbons and combs… A sampler, it's perfect stitches asking, Who can find a virtuous woman? A few rocks, dried leaves, and a scaly snake skin, (Eugene the snake, Ike thinks with a teary grin.) Layer after layer, the events of his mother's life are revealed as he gently combs through her treasure box. Finally, he pulls the last two objects from it: a worn blue book, and a wooden rose.

The rose is breath-taking, every detail so expertly carved it's hard to believe it's not real. Ike studies it with fascination for so long he almost forgets the other object, until it accidentally falls to the floor, opening to a page near the beginning. Neat handwriting covers the page, carefully penned like an assignment for school. Intrigued, Ike sets the rose aside and picks up the book.

Ike looks up in amazement. This is his mother's journal! These words were written by his mother herself, when she was only twelve years old! Delighted with his incredible find, Ike scoots across the bed and props himself up against the ornate headboard. For a moment, he even forgets the all-consuming pain and empty hole in his heart the other objects remind him of. He turns a few pages, his eyes devouring the words, passages leaping out to him.

Totally lost in days past, Ike doesn't notice the hours slip by, the candle burning ever lower, or the night's chill in the room. The few sounds coming through his window eventually die as even the city's nightlife fades into the shadows that hide it, leaving the eerie stillness of the wee morning hours behind, only to be broken by the occasional sound of a page turning as the young man reads on.

April 17, 1842

Dear Mother and Father,

I'm writing this last entry to you in hopes that you will find this book and read it. If you do that, you will see that I haven't just known Clark for a few months, and I'm not rushing to a hasty decision. Mother, Father, I love you both very much, but I love Clark, too! Yes, I will always be your little girl, but I am no longer a child. I am a woman and thus I must make my own choices for what is best for me. By the time you get this, I will be gone. I never meant to go behind your backs or deceive you in anyway, but you have stopped listening to me. You are only thinking of what is best for you and the family name, and I've come to realize in the last few months that I cannot live that way, so I am leaving. Clark and I will be married in the first town that we can make arrangements in, and then we are going to the West to start our own life. I do not think we will ever come back for I won't come to a place where I am not welcome. If you can both find it in your hearts to invite me back, I will come. If not, know that I am happy, well, and being taken care of. Clark loves me. He will not let harm come to me, and I am not afraid to work by his side. Thank you for everything, for my wonderful childhood and youth, and for your love. I do not regret the things I said last night, but know this, I will always love you!

Your Loving Daughter,
MaryAnne

The last page turns over softly and the room is entirely still as Ike slowly pulls himself from the spell cast by this small blue book. The grey light of early morning is creeping into his room, and with a start he realizes he has read all night. Not wanting to chase away the pleasant, peaceful feeling that has settled over him, he remains as his is for awhile more. His mother's words have soothed him like a healing salve over old wounds, and Ike notices the constant ache that's been present in his heart for the last ten years is gone. The sadness is still there, but the haunting pain has been washed out.

Eyes shining with unshed tears, Ike gazes at the objects spread on the bed around him, those of his mother and also his own. Such an odd conglomeration, junk to most anyone else, but more precious than jewels to him. It's as though spirits and images of the past hover about him and fill the room, letting him catch glimpses as they wisp by.

...run faster, Ike, faster! Make it touch the sky! .... there ye are, me little leprechauns ..... aren't you going to give your mother a hug today? ..... Mama! Mama! Ike put a frog in my bed! ..... what song shall I play for yer bonnie Mama tonight? ..... Ike McSwain! How many times have I told you not to draw on the floor? ..... "sleep my love and peace attend thee" ..... here, Ike, hold my shiny rock, I'm not so sick as you, it'll help you feel better ..... see those stars up there, they're watching over you. No matter what happens or where you go, they'll always be there ..... remember, Ike, no matter what, as long as you remember, you can be home in your heart .....

Finally, Ike is able to break past the horrible memories that have haunted him for so long to find the warm and tender ones below. As he remembers their words, he feels hope of someday finding peace with his past. With a sad smile, he stands to stretch the kinks from his limbs, but as he moves, his eyes fall on a familiar black hat that's been left in the room and one word springs to his mind: Buck. Knowing what he needs to do next, he grabs his bandanna and heads for the door. Before he can finish making peace with the family of his past, he must first confront the family he has now, and he knows without thinking where to look: the roof.

Wearily, Buck leans against the railing of the Widow's Walk, watching the early morning dawn on the great city. The fires have died down in his heart, but he's left with a great churning mass of hurt and confusion.

“What do you want, Ike?” he finally speaks without turning around to the friend who's been watching him from the doorway for the last ten minutes.

Ike simply walks over to join him at the rail. Just like he knew exactly where to find his friend without asking, Buck knew he was there long before he made any attempt to make his presence known. Silently, he takes his place and several minutes pass before he answers the question.

*We need to talk.*

Heavy silence again, then, “You want to talk to me? Me and not your grandmother?” Buck can't help scoffing and Ike shoots him a glare.

*That's not fair, Buck, and you know it.*

Buck sighs and turns away, staring out across the rooftops and trees. He only looks back when Ike nudges him for the third time.

*We're never gonna get anywhere if you ignore me,* Ike signs pointedly. He's getting a little annoyed but tries to hold it in check. Something is bothering his friend a great deal and he knows Buck well enough to understand that he'll never get it out of him if he pushes. In that way, they are both so alike – neither will open up until they're good and ready, no matter how hard you coax, beg, or prod. Besides, Buck's not the only one with a lot on his mind. Life long scars just don't go away with one night of confrontation and healing.

After a deep breath, Buck asks the question he's been dreading.

“Are you gonna stay?”

This time it's Ike's turn to sigh and look away. He knew he'd have to answer this for Buck, but he doesn't really have an answer, not one that's going to make his friend feel any better. Finally, he raises his hands in the universal sign for “I don't know.”
This is not the reassuring “no” Buck was hoping to get, and he instantly feels betrayed and used. Anger flares again and he turns accusingly on his friend.

“You don't know? You mean you're actually considering it?”

With a serious express, Ike nods “yes.” Buck may not like it, but it's the truth and he needs to know.

“How can you do that?”

The conversation isn't going the way Ike expected. He anticipated Buck trying to talk him out of staying, but he never thought he'd be asked why he's thinking of staying and Buck's words leave him puzzled. Isn't it apparent why he's considering it? The look of confusion written on his face and masking his eyes is a genuine one as he waits for Buck to explain.

Annoyed at Ike for missing the obvious, Buck forcefully spells it out. “How can you even think of turning your back on Teaspoon, Rachel, and the riders? How can you be so flippant to give up your life in Sweetwater, your family, for some grandmother you've only just met? We've been more of a family to you than she ever has! And you're gonna just throw us out the window for her and all her money? I thought we meant more to each other than that, Ike!”

*Buck, I'm not just throwing you away, but I can't just ignore this chance.*

“But do you honestly want to stay here with this woman? You barely know her! How're you gonna to talk to her? How're you gonna stand living here?” He emphasizes his last comment with a gesture at the massive city surrounding them.

*I don't know, but she's my family, Buck.*

“I'm your family! We've been each other's family for five years! What about me?” Buck finally blurts out what's been hurting him the most since Margaret asked Ike to stay.

*Can't I have more than one family?* Ike throws back. *Losing my first family was terrible for me! Why should I have to do it twice?*

“But stay here? Ike, you're all I have!”

This last remark pricks a sore spot, something that's festered for a long time but been hidden out of respect and love for a friend. Now though, Ike drags it up in an attempt to defend himself.

*That's not true, Buck. What about Red Bear?*

Buck's next comment stops in his throat before he can utter it.

*You can't say I'm your only family! You have your real brother out there, your whole tribe!*

The sudden anger expressed by Ike's fluid hands shocks Buck. “What does that have to do with anything? My brother accepts me, but my people don't!”

*Yes, but he was always there! You could have gone to him if you wanted. You had someone who shared the same memories as you. I'm the one who was really alone!* Ike gestures violently.

“So you're thinking of staying because you're jealous of me and Red Bear?” Buck asks incredulously and Ike sighs in exasperation.

*No,* he shakes his head, letting the anger seep out of him as quickly as it came. There's no use in comparing who does and who doesn't have what. He should be happy Buck has a brother, even if that brother did give him a less than warm welcome. Ike thinks carefully, trying to pick the signs that can best help his friend understand what's in his heart.

*Buck, when I got captured by the Kiowa and you came to get me, Red Bear wanted you to stay, didn't he?*

“Yes, at first,” Buck answers after a moment, not sure he likes where this is going, “but then he told me I needed to return with you guys. He said that I belonged with my white family for now.”

*But part of you wanted to stay, didn't it?* He waits for an answer, but Buck remains silent. Finally, Ike continues. *You had passed all the tests, you had a chance to be accepted by your people again, but you left. Why?*

“Because Red Bear said my heart was still with you and the other riders, and he was right. My heart said I belonged in Sweetwater.”

Finally, Buck says exactly what Ike's been trying to get to all along. *Buck, my heart hasn't told me where I belong yet. I don't know if I'm supposed to stay or go back to Sweetwater, but I do know I don't want to close any doors.*

Buck watches Ike's hands with sadness. Ike's comparison of this situation to Red Bear and him has effectively put out the burning rage, but that doesn't mean he likes it. The thought that he might be returning to the station without the brother and friend he's always relied on makes his heart ache, and he turns to Ike with his question again, this time out of a genuine need to know.

“But Ike, why do you have to stay?”

Seconds tick past before Ike even moves, and when he does, it's not to form words. Instead, he reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a small card that he hands to Buck. Glancing down at it, Buck finds himself staring into the eyes of two bright, happy children. A strange, electric jolt passes through him as he realizes he's looking at a very young Ike with his sister Essie; a very young Ike with hair. Such a happy, innocent, normal boy, Buck thinks, and in only a few years... Before he gets any farther, his thoughts are interrupted by the motion of Ike's hands.

Without looking at Buck, Ike suddenly begins to sign, words flowing out of him in a rapid manner that's very unusual for the quiet boy. *I'm starting to remember things, Buck. Things I thought I never could again. Good things and bad things, but they don't hurt as much anymore. It scared me when I realized I couldn't remember what my mother looked like, how my father's voice sounded, the name of Essie's doll – but there was no one who could remind me. When I was first at the mission, I used to dream some long-lost relative would come and claim me. I didn't care if they were horrible, I just wanted someone to belong to. Even after you came, it sometimes hurt to know you still had a brother out there, even if you weren't with him. But now, I do have someone I belong to, someone who can help me remember!* Ike stops and gazes directly into his friend's eyes, begging him to understand as he gestures one last thing, *My heart's not ready to let go again yet, Buck.*

As he watches Ike's expressive hands and face, a wave of guilt washes over Buck. He started this journey full of concern for his best friend and what he was going through, but somewhere along the way, all the concern turned to self-pity and hurt. He let the green monster of jealousy into his heart so much that it blinded him to anything other than what he wanted. At the very time when Ike's needed him the most, he's been too busy sulking like a child to even notice. His heart may still break at Ike's decision, but it's Ike's decision to make and a true brother would stand behind his friend no matter what.

Standing there lost in thought, Buck also realizes with a start just how much those mute lips keep hidden from the world, even from him. He's always prided himself on knowing what Ike meant without needing words, fancying he could almost read his mind. Now he sees the many, many layers in Ike's soul – layers of hurt, longing, grief, and doubt so deep inside that he didn't even know they were there. Ever the master of disguises, Ike somehow managed to hide it all with a gentle nature and a quick sense of humor, but they were still there, building, growing, and waiting to come to a head. With intense sorrow, Buck glances at the white wrapped hands now hanging motionless at his friend's side while Ike waits for an answer. Without thinking, he reaches out and takes hold of one of them, looking up into his friend's eyes.

“Ike, what really happened that night? What really happened to your hands?” he asks quietly.

Ike's eyes narrow in puzzlement at this strange turn in the conversation, and then he pulls his hand back and turns away. He doesn't want to talk about that night. It was a dark moment of utter despair, something he wants to just forget, but Buck persists. “Ike, you did this to yourself, didn't you?”

Seconds, minutes, maybe even days pass away while they stand there against the railing. Ike remembers the hopelessness, the rage, the feelings of inferiority and invisibility that coursed through him that night and how he couldn't stand it any longer. He remembers the intense frustration he wanted to shout out, but couldn't, the stinging pain of the bricks grating his skin, and yet he couldn't stop. All that rage and pain had to get out somehow, no matter how much it hurt. A chill courses through him from the memories and he shudders but finally, he nods his head.

With a sigh, Buck looks back out over the town as he answers. “I'm sorry, Ike. I'm sorry I was too busy hearing what I wanted to hear all these years to really understand what you were feeling inside. I'm sorry I let you down.”

Just at that moment, the sun rises fully over the Eastern horizon, setting the whole city aglow. The warm rays tickle the two friends' faces and for the first time all morning Ike's face splits in a real smile. He points to the sun and signs with a laugh, *That's really scary timing, you know. Must be a warning that pretty soon we're gonna start sounding like some sappy chapter in one of Cody's books!*

Buck recognizes the comment as Ike's way of saying he's forgiven and it's time to let things go back to normal. Enough with the heart to heart discussions; they've cleared the air between them, no need to drown in the emotions. True, Buck still doesn't have the answer he was after, but he'll just have to wait.

“Yeah, we were getting pretty deep there, weren't we?” he says with a laugh of his own.

Relieved, Ike grins. *Come on. All this talking has made me hungry. Let's go raid the kitchen.*

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

*Oh, by the way, I told my grandmother you would be delighted to attend the fancy dinner party she has planned for Friday. Hope you don't mind. Mrs. Brarring's taking us shopping this afternoon,* Ike signs and quickly starts for the stairs, his mischievous glint back in his eyes.

“What?” Buck stutters to his friend's hastily retreating back. “Why you little...! Ike, you're gonna pay for that one! Ike . . . Ike! Wait up!”

Introduction