Notes: How could he do it? How could Bob Fraser leave his six-year-old son all alone in the wilderness so that he would have to learn how to start a camp fire? Hmm... Six years old? Must have been a tough year for little Ben. His mother died that year, too. Surely, Dad didn't abandon him in the wilderness subsequent to that extremely traumatic event? I had to examine these questions for my own peace of mind, and here's what I came up with.

Disclaimer: Alliance and 'dueSouth' horrified me with the little tidbit in 'North' about how Ben learned to make a camp fire. It's only fair that they let me borrow their characters and ideas to settle this in my mind.

Drama; Rated R (for language); small spoiler for 'North'

OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

By Mary

It was gonna get chilly that night. We could tell that before evening had even begun to fall. In fact, it looked to be the coldest night since Dad and I had been camped down by the river. It was early September and, although it wasn't an immediate threat, we knew the snow could come at any time.

I noticed my dad stuffing a few things into a backpack and collecting his bedroll. This confused me, as I was under the impression that we were gonna keep camp for at least a couple more days.

"What're ya doin', Dad?" I asked, tugging at his pant leg as he loaded the pack onto his shoulders.

"Just takin' a few things with me, Son. I'll leave the rest for you."

"Takin' 'em where?"

"Oh, just down the river a piece."

"Huh? What for?"

"Just for the night, Ben. Just the night." He continued to prepare himself, as if abandoning his six-year-old son in the middle of nowhere was an everyday occurrence.

"But, Dad..."

"Yes, Son?"

"You're not gonna leave me alone, are ya?" I was starting to panic, but I knew it wouldn't be a good idea to let Dad know that.

"I'll be back in the morning. You won't even know I'm gone."

"But why? Did I do somethin' wrong?"

"'Course not, Benton. I'm not punishing you."

"You're not?"

"No." Dad led me over to a big rock and sat me down. "Now, Son, you can't go on being a little boy forever. It's time you learned how to fend for yourself in this world." He'd been saying that ever since Mum died several weeks earlier, but I always figured he was talking about things like tidying up my room and fixing my own bath. This seemed a little extreme, even for my dad.

"I know Dad, but..."

"You'll need to get a good, strong fire going. It's gonna be a cold one."

"But, Dad..."

"And there's plenty a'food. And drink lots of that hot bark tea. That'll keep ya warm inside."

"But..." Oh, yeah, I was panicking all right!

"Now, Son, you see? All the comforts of home. It's not like I'm leaving you with nothing. Everything you need is right here. Once you get that fire goin', you'll be sittin' pretty."

"But you always make the fire, Dad."

"Exactly, Ben. That's precisely why we can't put this off any longer. I'm doing this for your own good, so I don't wanna hear any complaints. Understood?"

My heart was racing wildly with fear, and I didn't know how I'd ever be able to stop myself from running after Dad if he actually tried to leave me.

"I said, understood?" Dad repeated sternly.

"Uh huh," I whispered through trembling lips as I nodded my head. Tears had filled my eyes and were starting their descent across my face.

"No tears, Benton. They'll only douse the flames and you'll never get a good fire going."

I knew he was joking, trying to make me feel better, but I didn't find it funny in the least. How could he take my overwhelming terror so lightly? I was accustomed to spending nights in the wilderness because, as far back as I could remember, Dad had taken me camping. But to a six-year-old, especially one whose mum had only very recently and suddenly disappeared from his life, the prospect of being left by his father, alone in the wilderness at night, was terrifying. What if something bad happened? What if Dad never returned, just like Mum?

"You'd better get busy collecting your kindling before dark comes," Dad said as he stood. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of flint and a hunk of granite. He then took my hands and placed these objects in them, wrapping my fingers tightly around them. "I'm passing these on to you now, Son. Use them well and make me proud. Okay? Okay. Good. Well, I'll go now so you can get cracking."

I was crying quite openly, and when Dad turned and began to walk away from camp, I dropped the flint and granite to the ground and raced after him. When I caught up to him, I threw my arms around his legs so that he couldn't go any further.

"Benton! Let go of me and stop that crying this instant!" he ordered angrily.

"No, Dad. No! I'm not gonna let you leave me!" I held onto him for dear life as he struggled to escape my grip.

"You're gonna do exactly what I tell you to do, Mister! D'ya hear me?"

"No! I won't!"

"You want me to tan your hide?" Dad seldom actually took such action. Yes, well, he was rarely around to do so, that's true. But still, when he was, a warning usually did the trick.

"I don't care!" As I said, a warning usually did the trick. However, at that moment, I had greater concerns than the prospect of having my bottom bruised. I felt Dad stop his struggle and let out a sigh, but I continued my hold on him, sobbing uncontrollably.

"All right, Son. That's enough of that now. Would you prefer we just forget this whole thing and go home?"

I stopped crying and looked up at him. "Can we?"

"If you want..." I let go of him, and he immediately crouched before me and placed his hands firmly on my shoulders. "But I will be very disappointed in you if that's what you decide to do."

"But, Dad..."

"I never figured you for a coward, Benton. But, if you're too scared to spend one night alone, doing the same things we've been doing together for the past several nights, then I guess I'll just have to accept that fact and learn to live with a coward for a son."

I started to cry all over again.

"Now what're you blubbering about?" Dad exclaimed with irritation.

I couldn't speak. I was too overcome with grief. Dad lost all patience with me. He slung me over his shoulder, carried me to the tent, set me down inside, then went back outside, zipping the door closed after him. I sat there, stunned, wiping the tears from my eyes and face. I knew Dad was just outside the tent. I could hear him sighing and muttering to himself. "Dad?" I finally called out. He didn't answer, so I repeated, louder "Dad?"

"What?"

"Can I come out?"

"Depends."

"Please, Dad."

"Have you finished crying?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Uh huh."

"Then you may come out. But I'd better not see so much as a hint of a tear. Understand?"

"Okay." With slow deliberate movements, I unzipped the door flap and crawled out of the tent, making a concerted effort to bring my emotions under control. There would've been hell to pay if Dad suspected I hadn't done so. I stood next to my father and reached up to take his hand in mine. We stood silently, side by side, for several seconds.

"If I ever see you blubbering like that again, I'll give you something to really cry about!"

I didn't respond. I just looked up at him until he looked at me. "D'you promise to come back, Dad?"

Dad's eyes widened, and I think he finally understood what had been going through my mind and was causing such fear. He squeezed his hand around mine and promised "Scout's honor, Son. By the first light."

"'Kay, then, I won't be a'scared, Dad. You can leave me if you wanna."

"Sure?"

"Uh huh." The truth was I was still terrified, but at least now Dad understood why. "I won't be a crowd."

Dad laughed. "Coward, Son, not crowd."

"Oh."

"Now that's a son I can be proud of!"

"You're not dis'pointed in me anymore?"

Dad winked at me then patted my shoulders a few times. I watched as he turned and walked away. I had to forcibly restrain the tears that were threatening to resurface. Even after Dad had disappeared from view, I kept watching for several minutes, praying silently that I had not seen the last of him.

Starting a fire from some granite and a flint is not a simple task -- at least not if you are unpracticed in doing so. And, if you are fortunate enough to get a fire going, maintaining it, which was all-too-necessary on that September night in the north, requires a level of dedication and skill that I feared was beyond my years.

Not that I didn't know how to make a fire. I did. I had watched and helped my dad build countless fires. So, yes, I knew how to do it. It's just that knowing how to do something and having mastered the skill to perform it successfully are two different things.

Still wiping the stray tear or two from my face, I combed the area, gathering more than sufficient timber to see me through the night, and then I went to work immediately on starting the fire. After about an hour of frustrating, unsuccessful attempts, which nearly brought me to the point of admitting defeat, I finally had a strong blaze going. I was so excited by my triumph that I actually started jumping up and down and shouting "Look! Look, Dad! I did it!" until I remembered that Dad wasn't there, and my joy instantly vanished.

It was only dusk, but I wanted to get that night over with as quickly as possible, so I skipped dinner and went straight to bed, even though it was nowhere near bedtime. I had no appetite anyway. I lay face up on my bedroll, feeling the warmth of the fire, and stared up at the trees and at the little snatches of sky that peeked out between them, and waited for the stars to appear. The sounds of the river and the forest became louder and louder and intruded upon my silent thoughts. My thoughts of Mum, who was gone forever, and of Dad, who would be back in the morning if my desperate prayers were granted.

Darkness had fallen and I hadn't even noticed. The noises of the wilderness reverberated through the air, and I felt so little, so alone. As if I were the only person left in the universe. As if I were the only one who didn't speak the language of the night. As if I'd never camped out. Never slept under the stars. Over the river and through the woods. Tears of loneliness and fear began to weep from my eyes, and I didn't bother to stop them or to wipe them away. No one was there to see them.

Or so I thought. But suddenly another image seemed to have appeared before my eyes. I wasn't sure how long it had been there, because my vision was blurred from the tears, but as I blinked a few times to clear my eyes, the image became more definite. It was a man.

"Dad?" I asked tentatively.

It didn't answer, so I blinked a few more times. No, it wasn't my father. I'd never seen this man before. The only light was from the fire, which was dwindling due to my neglect, so he was difficult to make out, but I was pretty certain he was one of the native villagers. I wasn't sure whether I should be scared of him, so I just lay there, waiting for him to make the first move.

"What is your struggle, young one?" he asked gently.

"Huh?" I asked, wiping my eyes and squinting to see him more clearly.

"Something troubles you."

"How'd you know that?"

"You are sad and tense. The night frightens you, perhaps?"

"No," I stated, as much for my own benefit as for his.

"The night is a friend to a lost one. It speaks to him, and if he listens, he will find his way home."

"I'm not lost."

"What has brought you here to this place?"

"My dad."

"You are looking for your father?"

"No. He went down the river."

"In a raft?" the man asked.

"No, he walked. He's comin' back tomorrow."

"Why did you not go with him, down the river?"

"I had to stay by myself and make the fire. I can't be a little boy forever."

The man smiled and crouched before the fire beside me. "The flames will die soon if you do not nurture them. Would you like me to...?"

"No, I better do it," I said as I crawled out of my sleeping bag and attended to the fire. "My dad'll get mad at me if I don't...what did you say this was called?"

"Nurturing."

"I never heard that word."

"It means to nourish, to sustain, to feed."

"Oh, like eating?"

"Yes. When you eat, you are nurturing your body so that it will not die. Just as you are nurturing this fire so that it will not die."

For a minute I wondered if my body was going to die because I had not eaten that night. But then I remembered that my mum had sent me to bed without dinner on occasion when I'd been naughty and I had survived the night. So I gambled I'd live through that night as well.

"Who are you, Mister?" I finally worked up the courage to ask.

"A hunter."

"Where's your gun?" I asked, noticing he wasn't carrying one.

"I am not here to kill tonight. I am here to nurture."

"Oh? Is your dad making you make a fire, too?" I doubted this could be the case since the man was clearly too old to have to do what his dad told him to do. In fact, he looked old enough to be a dad himself.

"No, I'm here to nurture myself."

I looked closely at the man. He carried nothing with him at all. "But what're you gonna eat? You don't have any food with ya. I could give you some of ours if you want."

"No, but thank you for your offer, young one. I don't seek food. I seek spiritual nourishment."

"What's that?"

"It is inner peace, peace of the soul. It is contentment and oneness with all that is around you. That is what I seek from this night."

"All by yourself? Aren't you afrai-- lonely?"

"How can I be lonely with all of this to keep me company?" He held out his arms as he said this, as if to indicate throngs of people around us.

"There's nobody here 'cept us."

"Everything that is, is here. We -- you and I -- the trees, the river, the birds, the fish, the wolves, the bear, the dirt, the stars, the air, these flames that you have brought to life, we are all one, we are everything. We are never alone."

I didn't totally understand this, but the way he said it made it seem so real, and I felt a momentary sense of well-being overtake me, which I equated with the spiritual peace of which he had spoken.

"Where're you goin' for your, um, nurt'ring?" I wondered aloud.

"I have no physical destination. Where I am is where I am going."

"Here? With me?" Despite his earlier assurance that we are never alone, I was quite pleased for his companionship.

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" He sounded willing.

"I like talking to you, Mister, and it was so...quiet before." I refused to admit to him that I was afraid to be left alone again.

"I enjoy talking to you, also, young one. But the night is for listening."

"Can't I listen to you and you can listen to me?"

"You must listen to yourself, as must I."

"I'm s'posed to talk to myself?"

"No, just listen."

"To what?"

The man paused before answering. "That fire is going strong now. Lie down and I will show you."

I hurried back into my sleeping bag and pulled it tightly around me to keep out the cold. I lifted my head to look at the man and saw him still sitting there, at my feet, staring into the fire.

"Lie back and close your eyes," he directed.

I laid my head back and stared into the sky.

"You must close your eyes."

"How come?"

"You won't hear if you are distracted by what you see."

I hesitated for a moment, then shut my eyes tightly.

"Relax your face. You don't have to force it."

I followed his instructions as he then had me progressively relax each part of my body, until finally I had rid myself of all tension and I almost felt like I was floating on air and he was holding me up with his soothing voice.

"Follow my voice, Ben, and it will show you how to..." he began.

"How'd you know my name, Mister?" I opened my eyes and sat up in surprise. I was sure I'd never met him, yet here he was, calling me by name.

"I listened to the night."

"The night told you who I was?"

"Yes. It told me you are Benton Fraser, son of Robert and Caroline Fraser."

"No," I corrected him sadly. "My mum's dead. I just have a dad now."

"Your mother will always be with you, if you allow her to be."

"My dad says..." I paused to compose myself. "My dad says she's gone forever. He says she can't ever come back."

"She is not here as you and I are here, but she is here, nevertheless, as long as you remember her. As long as you hear her."

My eyes started to water as I thought about Mum and wondered if she really was there with me at that moment. "I don't understand," I said, weeping. "How can I hear her if I can't even see her?"

"Remember what I told you? You must close your eyes."

"But..."

"If you only hear what you see, you are missing what is closest to you, what is always here." He touched both his hands to his chest and shut his eyes as he said this.

I was very confused. It sounded like he was talking about ghosts, and Mum and Dad had always told me, whenever I'd been certain a ghost was lurking in my closet or under my bed, that there was no such thing. This man was beginning to frighten me, so I had to fight it.

"But ghosts are only make-believe. I'm not scared of 'em. When I was little, I was, but I'm not anymore 'cause I know they're not real."

"Hmm," he said and looked at me. "Your tears have dried again. Good."

"Who are you, Mister?"

"Lie down and ask the wind."

"The wind?"

"Or the stars. Or the trees."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"Because you would not know me that way. You must find me."

"But you're right here..."

"Close your eyes and find me, young one."

It was a challenge. A game. And I loved games. So, I laid back down and shut my eyes and tried to relax my body as he had taught me earlier. "'Kay, Mister, I'm ready."

There was silence.

"Mister?" I called out, keeping my eyes closed.

More silence.

"Please, Mister, are you still there?" My voice trembled as I spoke. I was terrified that I would open my eyes and once again find myself alone. "Please say something." I could not stop the hot tears that were running down the sides of my face like a river. I opened my eyes and slowly raised my head to look around the camp. I had been abandoned again. Twice on the same night. By two different people.

A flood of emotions consumed me: fear, loneliness, anger, worthlessness. My body convulsed in sobs, so I turned face down on my bedroll, hid myself inside the sleeping bag and allowed my emotions their full vent. But I was feeling such pain that I didn't think it'd be possible to ever cry it all out.

It wasn't long before I had to come out for air. I rolled over and pulled the sleeping bag down below my face. The cold air stung my tear-drenched pores and, as I breathed in the fresh air, my sobs steadily diminished. I lay there silently, drying my face on the sleeve of my sweater, when I suddenly became aware of the sounds of the wilderness surrounding me and I remembered the words of my strange visitor. 'The night is a friend to a lost one. You must listen. Everything that is, is here. You are never alone. Close your eyes and find me.'

I closed my eyes and listened. I heard the water of the river rushing by and crashing over the rocks. I heard the wind whipping through the treetops. I heard an owl hooting and a distant wolf howling. I heard the flames of my fire crackling. I heard the steady, calm rhythm of my breathing and the beating of my heart. I heard the man's voice echoing in my memory. I heard my dad's voice. I heard my mum's voice. I heard my own voice. I heard these all distinctly, and I heard these all as one.

Thud!

Something had landed on the ground beside me and I was instantly awake. I opened my eyes and saw where I was and all the events of the previous night were remembered. It was morning. The fire I had nurtured through the night was now a pile of smoldering embers. But where was Dad? It was day, and he had promised to be back by first light.

I turned my head in the direction of the sound that had woken me. I saw a backpack. Dad's backpack. The one he had slung over his shoulders before he...

He's here! I thought excitedly to myself. He came back like he said he would! I continued to lie there, staring at the backpack, afraid that if I took my eyes off it, it would disappear. Could it be a hallucination or a dream? I worried silently. I blinked several times and squinted and the vision remained clear. I reached a hand out and squirmed my body along the ground until I touched the backpack. It was really there.

"Lookin' for something, Son?" I heard my dad ask and then felt him sit down next to me.

"No," I answered nonchalantly, without turning to face him. "I was, um, sleeping and a noise woke me up."

"Hmm."

I didn't say anything or make a move, even after becoming acutely aware that I was in dire need of a pee. I was enjoying lying there on the ground, feeling Dad's body touching mine as we shared my small bedroll.

"Sun's been up for hours, you know. You plan to sleep the whole day away?" Dad mockingly scolded me. "Boy, I leave you alone for a few short hours and you become a sloth! Kids today! What's a parent to do!"

I giggled at my father's exaggerated tone of irritation.

"Ah, you think it's funny, do you?" he continued the pretense.

"No, Dad," I answered with a broad smile on my face which I still had not turned toward him. "What's a sloth?"

"Oh, well, a sloth is a, um..." Dad paused and I could see him leaning over me and peering at my face. "A sloth is a lazy bugger of a son who lies around on his butt while his father, who hurried back to camp to have breakfast with his son, is sitting here starving!"

As he got to that last word, he brought his arm around me and began to mercilessly tickle me in the stomach. I rolled onto my back, contracting my body into a fetal position, and burst into a fit of giggles while at the same time crying "Stop! Stop! Dad, I'm gonna pee my pants!" and trying to pull his big, strong hand away with my two small hands. It was a useless struggle, but despite the facts that I could barely breathe as I writhed in hysteria and my fingers were losing color as they gripped my dad's arm in a desperate attempt to stop his playful torture of me, I couldn't have been happier.

Just when I didn't think I could take any more, Dad ceased tickling me and rested his hand on my stomach. I covered his hand with both of mine, not wanting us to let go of each other ever again, and we looked at one another and grinned. I wanted that moment to last forever.

"Hungry, Son?" Dad asked as he slapped me in the gut, catching me off guard and startling me more than hurting me. "Oops! Sorry, Ben," he apologized when he saw me clutch my stomach. Dad could get a bit carried away when we roughhoused, but he never intended or inflicted any real harm. He just got a real kick out of giving me a hard time. It was his way of showing affection without compromising his manliness, I guess. Also, I think he probably wanted me to learn how to fight back, which I had, over time. However, at that moment, I was in no position to retaliate, so I resolved silently to get him back later, when he least expected it. One of our little games.

Dad got up and fetched my Stetson, then came back over to me and offered his hand. "Rise and shine, Cadet! Duty calls!"

I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet and dropped the Stetson onto my head, pushing it down over my face. I stood at attention and answered, "Cadet Benton Fraser, reporting for duty, Sir."

Dad chuckled and lifted the hat off of my face and said, "Ah, so it is. So it is. Good man. All right, Fraser, why don't you run down to the river and collect the water for our tea while I scrounge us up some grub."

"Yes, Sir," I replied and enthusiastically went about my task -- after seeing to my increasingly insistent personal need, that is. As I returned with the water, I had an inspiration. I went running up to Dad, and when I got close enough, I pretended to trip on a stone and lose control of the kettle of water. As I stood there and watched the chilly, wet contents splash all over Dad while he sat fixing our breakfast, I couldn't contain a telling mischievous grin.

Dad sprang to his feet with a shout of one of those words that I was forbidden to repeat and tried to shake off some of the water. As he did so, he glanced at me and did a double-take upon noticing my self-satisfied smirk. He frowned sternly at me and, for a moment, I wondered if I'd gone too far for my own good.

"Very amusing, Benton," he said, glaring at me, and, seconds later, the downward curve of his frown turned slowly upward.

"Sorry, Dad," I offered with forced innocence. "It slipped."

"Yes, so it did, Cadet Butterfingers."

I laughed aloud at that name while Dad retrieved the empty kettle. I subdued my mirth quickly, however, when I saw Dad coming toward me looking a bit annoyed. I didn't think I was in serious trouble, but I reckoned that could change if I tested Dad's patience any further.

"Well, now, I trust you'll be more careful this time," he ordered with raised eyebrows as he handed the kettle back to me.

"Yes, Sir."

"Off you go while I, er, dry off, eh," he said and sent me on my way with a firm but playful slap to my rear end.

My face beamed as I strolled back to the river. Revenge was sweet! Revenge not only for the tickling and the blow to my gut, but for abandoning me overnight, as well. Dad would learn that I could give at least as good as I got!

That evening I insisted on building the camp fire all by myself in the hope that Dad would share my pride in this accomplishment and perhaps even go so far as to give me a pat on the back or some such outward show of approval. When he failed to give me so much as a nod of acknowledgment, I was crushed.

"No, I'm not hungry," I pouted when Dad offered me a plate of fish.

"What? Not hungry? Nonsense! You usually down two or three this size. Go ahead, take it. We got plenty here."

"I don't wannit." I wouldn't look at him. I just stared into the fire with an obvious sulk, willing to go hungry for a second straight night in order to give my dad the punishment I felt he deserved.

Dad put the plate down by the fire and sat beside me, pushing his leg against mine to get my attention. "What's the matter, Ben?" he asked very seriously.

"Nothin'." I turned my head slightly away from him.

"Horse manure!" he exclaimed without anger. "That's a load of crap and you know it! You were starving a half-hour ago."

"I'm not anymore."

"Hmm. Why not? You sick?"

I shook my head and turned away from him even more. A good dose of the silent treatment will put him in his place, I decided.

"Good. Good. Can't afford to get sick out here. 'Course, you can't really afford to go hungry, either," he added, leaning forward a little to look at my face. But I kept my silence and still refused to look at him, so he reached out and picked up my plate. "But you're not hungry, you said, so that's another story and there you are. I'll just, um, eat yours as well so it doesn't go to waste."

Dad and I watched each other out of the corner of our eyes as he began to slowly eat my supper. Despite my pretense, I was starving, and the rumblings of my stomach kept giving me away. Not to mention imagining the taste of that fish was making me salivate. Dad pretended not to notice, of course, but I must've looked like a dog begging for table scraps the way I sat there with my mouth wide open, following with attentive eyes every bite of fish he took.

"Sure you don't want some, Son?" Dad asked, with his mouth full of food.

I caved. "Maybe I should eat a little."

"Ah, you mean so you don't get hungry later on?" he offered me an excuse.

"Uh huh," I nodded and finally looked him in the eye.

"Good thinking." Dad smiled as he replenished my plate with fish fresh from the fire and handed it to me. "There ya go. That oughta hold you till morning."

"Thanks, Dad," I mumbled reluctantly. I was mad at myself for giving in to hunger when I knew Dad needed to be taught a lesson. But after taking my first bite of the fish, I decided to put my anger away -- at least until I'd finished my meal.

"Tastes extra good cooked over a fire you made yourself, doesn't it?" Dad suddenly asked, almost causing me to choke on my food.

"I didn't think you noticed," I answered with a hint of sarcasm.

"Eh? Didn't notice? 'Course I noticed. Very tasty," he said, still stuffing his mouth.

"No, I mean..."

"But, then, it's not my fire. It's yours. Not my place to judge."

"How come?"

"How come what, Son?"

"How come you can't judge my fire?"

"You want me to judge your fire?"

I dropped my head. I found it difficult, although oddly necessary, to seek my father's approval. "I dunno. I thought you'd...say something 'bout it."

"So that's what you got stuck in your craw!" he said, finally understanding.

"Stuck in my what?" I asked with wide eyes as I looked up at him.

Dad laughed and slapped his hand on my thigh and rubbed it a couple times. "Nothing, Ben. Just an expression."

"Oh."

"It means that's why you've been dragging your chin and giving me this sulky attitude." His tone had a definite edge to it. I knew I was being reprimanded, even though Dad had a friendly smile on his face. My father had no tolerance for sulking. He said it never solved a problem, only made it worse. "Totally unacceptable behavior for a Cadet...or for a son of mine."

"I'm sorry, Sir." That was the frustrating thing about being a kid. I was the one who always ended up apologizing, even when the original plan had been to get Dad to do so!

"Hmm." We looked each other in the eye for several seconds and then Dad glanced at the fire and then back at me. "Listen, Son. Is that fire gonna be any more or any less of a fire if I say anything about it, eh?"

I hesitated, then replied, "I guess not, but..."

"No, no, no! The only butts around here are the ones we're sitting on. And one of them..." he interrupted himself to take my dinner plate from me. "Here, give me that for a second." He set the plate on the ground then looked at me with a grin and a devilish twinkle in his eye and continued. "And I believe one of these butts is in need of a good turn over a father's knee!" Before he'd even finished his sentence, he'd thrown me across his lap and was briskly paddling my posterior.

I played along, squealing and squirming as if he was hurting me and yelling, "No, Dad, not my butt yours!" as I reached behind him and attempted to pay him back, swat for swat. Before long, we had wrestled each other to the ground and, by the grace of God or maybe my dad's mercy I somehow managed to pin Dad until he cried 'uncle.' I relaxed my hold on him, still straddling his mid-section, and he reached a hand out and tweaked my nose. I was quickly lost in a fit of giggles as Dad continued to squeeze my nose and I was fascinated by the change in the sound of my voice.

"Ah, you're wearing me out, boy!" Dad sighed with an exhausted laugh when he finally let go of my nose. "Let's take a breather, eh?"

I nodded and nestled atop him, resting my head on his chest, and threw my arms around him in a tight embrace. I burrowed my happy face into his sweater and breathed deeply, as if to make us one so that he could never leave me again. I was in heaven when I felt his arms on my back in a reciprocal embrace. Although I'm sure Dad would've said he had to put his arms somewhere and that was the most convenient spot.

"That's a mighty fine camp fire you built, Benton," he said after catching his breath.

"Really?"

"Would I lie?"

"No." I shook my head definitively against his chest.

"And it was just as fine before I said it was. You know, you can't be counting on me to tell you when you've done good. In fact, you can't count on anyone for that but yourself. Do you understand that?"

"I guess so."

"A man knows in his heart when he's done something to be proud of. He doesn't need others telling him so."

"Okay, Dad."

"Good man."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Does that mean nobody else can tell me when I do something bad, either?"

"Oh, not a chance in hell of that, I'm afraid, Son."

"Damn!" Yes, that was one of the forbidden words, but we were having a guy moment, so I decided to test the limits.

Dad chuckled at first, then tried to hide it by clearing his throat. "Er, listen here, Mister. You use language like that around your grandmother and she'll wash out that foul mouth of yours with soap right after she blisters your bottom!" He didn't say this in a threatening manner, but more as a warning. He obviously was speaking from experience.

"I know, Dad. I won't. I was just kidding."

"I know you were, Ben. I know. Just want you to know that kind of thing won't fly at Grandma's house. Not even as a joke, eh?"

I nodded and paused while trying to decide whether I should ask the question that was on the tip of my tongue. "Dad?" I finally did venture.

"What is it?" He almost sounded as if he knew what I was going to ask.

I closed my eyes and held him tighter. "I wish I could stay with you instead."

"I know you do," he sighed.

"I'd be good. I'd do everything you told me to and I wouldn't ever..."

"Ben, Ben, Ben," he cut me off, impatiently. "We've already discussed this, haven't we? It has nothing to do with whether you'd be a good boy. Now, I know you're not happy about this and neither am I, Son, believe me but this is the way it has to be, so there's no sense in fretting about what you wish could happen instead." Dad gently caressed my back and shoulders while he spoke these words, softly but firmly, into my ear. "So I don't wanna hear another word from you about it!"

I didn't respond because I had started to cry and I feared that Dad would hear it in my voice and would become extremely angry.

"Do you hear me, Benton?"

"Uh huh," I whispered.

"Good. Now, would you do me a favor, please?"

"What, Dad?"

"Dry those tears."

I didn't move at first, as I debated whether to deny the existence of any tears, but I knew my father was no dummy and lying to him might have angered him even more. "Yes, Sir," I mumbled and began to wipe my face with Dad's sweater.

"Oh, that's nice, Son. Very nice," he jokingly complained. "That's twice today that you've soaked me!"

"Sorry, Dad," I smiled innocently at him.

"Forget about it. Forget it." Dad winked at me and then his eyes lit up as if he'd just figured out the meaning of life. "Guess I'll just have to find a way to exact my revenge. Hmm, let me see..."

We looked at each other with wide grins, and my heart raced as I anxiously waited for Dad to spring his revenge on me. I realized what he was going to do before he even moved, so I started to plead, "No, Dad, don't! Please, don't!" and a split second later his fingers were tormenting my most ticklish spots and I was in hysterics as we rolled around on the ground.

I was looking forward to bedtime that night because I was eager to practice listening as the stranger from that previous night had taught me. Without waiting to be told, I snuggled into my sleeping bag and closed my eyes. But all I heard was my father's voice.

"It's gonna be even colder tonight, Ben. Don't you wanna sleep in the tent?"

"Uh-uh. G'night, Dad." I couldn't believe that after missing him so much the night before I was now trying to shut him up.

"G'night, Son. Pleasant dreams."

Miraculously, he did shut up, so I relaxed and began to listen. I heard Dad get up from his seat by the fire and walk past me. The sound of the tent flap being unzipped and then, moments later, zipped back up, echoed clearly across our camp. Suddenly I felt extra weight being placed on me, so I opened my eyes and found Dad spreading a blanket over me. "An extra layer won't hurt," he said and then tweaked my nose and winked before resuming his position by the camp fire. I watched him as he silently sipped his tea and then picked up a notebook and began writing.

"Whatcha writin', Dad?"

"Words, words, words," was all he answered. I figured he didn't want to tell me, so I didn't press it.

"Dad?" I said moments later.

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever listen to the night?"

"Uh huh, sure, sure I do," he answered without pausing from his writing.

"Whaddaya hear?"

"Eh?"

"When you listen, whaddaya hear in the night?"

Dad set down his notebook and pen and stared pensively into the fire.

"Am I 'sturbing you, Dad? 'Cause..."

"No, Ben, no, no. It's just, uh...that's, uh...What do I hear, you wanna know?"

I nodded and sat up, leaning on one elbow, waiting intently for his answer.

"Well, er, let's see. Nature, I suppose, mostly. You know, the wind, the wildlife, the rush of the river, the sway of the lake, the crunch of the ice and snow underfoot..."

"How 'bout voices? D'ya hear any voices?"

"Voices? Sure, sure. Depends who's around."

"No, I mean when no one's there d'ya hear voices?"

"Ah, I see. Well, now that's a whole 'nother story, that is. Would these be, er...made up voices," he glanced at me quickly, then turned back to the fire, "...or, um, voices of actual real live people?"

"Real people...I think." As Mum was dead, I wasn't certain she would fit into that category.

"I take it you do hear these voices, then, Son?"

"I think I did. Last night. I heard you and...um...and I even heard myself." I chickened out of telling him I'd heard Mum's voice.

"Just me and you?"

"Um, yeah, no, some other ones, too, maybe. A man came and talked to me."

"A man or a voice?"

"A man. A hunter, but he wasn't hunting. He was...um...oh, shucks, I can't 'member the word." Dad gave me a very quizzical look. "It's like eating, but without food."

"You've lost me, Son. Who was this man?"

"I dunno, Dad. But he knew my name and he knew yours and Mum's, too. He was gonna tell me how to listen to the night, but when I closed my eyes he left."

"I see."

"I'm not makin' it up, Dad. He was really here."

"I know, Ben. I saw him."

"You did?"

"Uh huh. I was camped just beyond that ridge. I saw you and the man talking."

"You were that close?"

"Well, use your head, Benton. Don't you know your grandmother'd skin me alive if she thought I'd left you alone out here?"

"But you did."

"No, no, you just thought I did. There's a big difference."

I should have been pleased to hear this, but I chose to get angry instead. All that anxiety he'd put me through, and he was just beyond the ridge the whole time! Watching me. Oh dear! I suddenly realized he must have seen me crying, sobbing my eyes out, and I wondered why he hadn't called me on the carpet for it.

"You should really show more trust in me not to put you in harm's way, Son. I am your father, after all, you know."

I didn't reply. I'd be damned if I was gonna give him the satisfaction of apologizing yet again when he was the one who should be apologizing to me! No, it was pay back time.

"I heard Mum's voice last night," I stated smugly.

"What?" he asked, turning to look at me. He appeared more surprised than angry, so I decided I had to work on him a bit more.

"I heard Mum's voice. I thought I forgot it forever, but the man told me I could hear her if I listened. I told him you said Mum's not ever comin' back, but he said she's always here if I 'member her. Do you 'member her, Dad? Do you hear Mum?"

Dad stared at me blankly. There was no anger on his face. There was nothing. Well, there was something. There was emptiness. When I saw that face, I saw what I was feeling inside, what I wanted to be able to discuss with my dad. But now I didn't have to. I could see that he was feeling the same.

"Go to sleep, Benton," Dad said calmly and then turned away.

I didn't move. I just kept watching my dad, who was sitting motionless, staring into the dying fire.

"Do as you're told, Son," he ordered weakly.

"Dad?" I said tentatively. He didn't answer, but neither did he yell at me angrily for disobeying him, so I risked asking my question. "Dad, are you mad at me?"

Yes, that had been my goal, to anger him as he had angered me. But seeing him like this, almost lifeless, frightened me. He'd been like this before, when he returned home after Mum's death, but I'd thought he'd gotten past it and would be all right. Now, I wasn't so sure. And I feared it was all my fault.

Dad still didn't answer, so I climbed out of my sleeping bag and crept cautiously over to his side. I placed my hand on his thigh, hoping the physical contact would stir him, but it didn't. I couldn't stop my face from wrinkling in grief or the tears from rolling down my cheeks. "Please, Dad," I cried, "say something. Please!"

I buried my sobbing face against Dad's shoulder and hugged him. I made a silent promise to myself and to God that if my dad would be all right I would never again deliberately try to upset him. Over the following years I felt a twinge of guilt every once in a while when I remembered that promise, because it wasn't one I honored; but I always forgave myself. After all, it had been the desperate promise of a little boy. Besides, most of the time Dad deserved any trouble I gave him and, much to my chagrin, he usually saw to my comeuppance as well.

"No, Ben," I suddenly heard Dad whisper.

"Huh?" I looked to see him still staring into the fire.

"I'm not mad at you."

"You're not?" I said this through trembling lips, as I was frightened and unable to stop crying.

Dad looked at me and I could see the life starting to come back into him. He placed his hand over mine as it lay on his thigh, then shook his head. I smiled at him and he smiled back and, without a word of admonishment, he reached up and wiped the tears from my face.

"Go to sleep now, okay?" he said wearily.

"Okay, Dad." I was so relieved to have him back that I couldn't resist hugging him tightly. I breathed a sigh of relief as he hugged me back, and I was stunned when I felt his lips tenderly touch my ear. That is the one and only time I remember Dad ever kissing me. I knew he was pretty much back to normal, though, when he followed up the kiss with a smack to my behind.

"Off you go, now."

I hurried back into bed and pulled the blankets snugly over me. Although I was tempted to close my eyes and listen for a while, I felt compelled to keep my eyes on Dad. There was no question that he was more himself, but an air of melancholy still hung about him that made my heart uneasy.

I shut my eyes tight as Dad glanced back at me, and when I reopened them, he was busy stoking the fire. I pretended to be asleep as he spread his bedroll beside me and laid down with a purgative sigh that sounded as if he were trying to rid himself of the weight of the world. I wriggled myself closer to him and leaned my head against his shoulder.

"Hear anything yet, Son?" he asked sincerely.

"Just all the noise you been makin'," I joked.

"Oh, you're a cheeky son of a ..."

"Son of a...what, Dad?"

"Never mind."

"Don't worry, Dad. I won't tell Grandma what you almost said."

"Well, thanks, Ben. I appreciate that. Guess I owe you one, eh?"

"Guess so."

"Get to sleep, wise guy."

I giggled and turned onto my side, facing Dad. He turned toward me and drew me close to nestle against him as he wrapped his body around me like a cocoon. Merely as protection against the cold, I'm sure, but it felt good anyway.

I sat in the car pouting as Dad walked toward my grandparents' house. I knew I'd have to follow him eventually, but my body wouldn't move. It's not that I didn't like Grandma and Grandpa. I did. I loved them, and I knew they loved me. I'd spent a lot of time with them in the past when Mum and Dad were both away from home, and I even had my own bedroom at their house. But this was different. This was for good, and I was having a hard time coming to terms with that fact.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dad walk back to the car and come around to the passenger-side door. I was well aware that he was going to be very angry with me if I refused to get out of the car, but I had serious doubts that I'd be able to do so. So I steeled myself for the confrontation.

Dad opened my door and stood sternly outside it. "Let's go, Benton. Now!"

"I can't." I stared at my lap as I spoke. I couldn't bring myself to look at Dad.

"If I have to drag you into the house, we will go straight to your room and you will be very sorry. Am I clear?"

I nodded. "Please don't be mad at me, Dad. I can't help it."

"I won't be mad at you if you come with me now. But if you persist in disobeying me, I will be angry. It's your choice." Dad gave me a few seconds to think about it, then asked, "What's it gonna be, Son?"

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"I'll come with you." Well, the spirit was willing, but the body remained frozen in its seat. My dad was actually quite patient with me, considering that despite my verbal agreement to go with him, I hadn't yet done so.

"All right, Ben. I'm going up to the house now. You have five minutes to join me. If you don't, well, I think you know what you can expect."

I watched Dad go into the house and sincerely hoped that I'd be following him shortly. Aside from the threat of punishment, I was loathe to anger my father, especially if it would be our last interaction before he left to return to his Mountie duties. I took a deep breath and wiped away a stray tear that had appeared on my cheek, then grabbed my Stetson and my backpack and made my way determinedly to the house.

"There he is!" my grandmother exclaimed as I entered the house.

I looked at Dad, who favored me with a smile of approval, and I knew I'd made the right choice. I was not a happy camper, however, and I made no effort to remove the pout from my face.

"A gentleman offers a greeting when he enters someone's house," Dad told me with raised eyebrows.

Still fighting my contrary mood, I was tempted to reply impertinently, but I thought better of it. "Huh?" I simply asked.

"Say hello to your grandmother."

Well, this time I couldn't resist. "Hello to your grandmother," I repeated his words back to him defiantly.

It was immediately apparent that I had pushed Dad beyond his breaking point. "Mother, will you excuse us for a minute, please," he said as he glowered at me and came and snatched me by the collar and began to drag me out of the room.

"No, Dad, wait!" I pleaded as I resisted him.

"Wait for what?" Dad yelled at the top of his lungs as he stood and looked at me with his hands on his hips. He then lit into me good. "I've had it, Ben! I am NOT going to accept this behavior from you any longer! You're acting like a spoiled brat! I have a job to do. You know that. You know it keeps me away from home and, believe it or not, Son, I am sorry about that. But there's nothing I can do about it. You're damn lucky to have grandparents who love you so much that they want to give you a normal home. Otherwise...well, you don't have a damn thing to complain about, Mister. Not a damn thing!"

I could feel my ears reddening with the heat of my father's rebuke. I was too stunned to cry, which was fortunate because crying would have provoked an even severer chastisement. So I just stood there, deeply regretting my fresh mouth.

"Robert, it's not necessary to swear at him," Grandma interrupted his tirade. I hadn't even noticed the words so much as the tone of his voice.

Dad ignored her and continued. "How many times do I have to explain this to you, Benton? Huh? How many fucking times?"

I did notice that, and it scared me. Dad never used that word -- at least not when I was around. And certainly never to my face. I didn't know what to do. Does he really want me to answer that? I wondered.

"Robert, I'm not going to listen to you use such language to the child!"

"Fine," he said resignedly. "Let's go to your room, Ben. March!"

I felt I had to say something to try to lessen his ire. "I was just joking, Dad," I offered feebly. I didn't necessarily expect him to believe that, but I hoped he would take it as a sign of my repentance.

"It wasn't funny."

"No, Sir." I bowed my head. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"Yes, well, I'm afraid it's too late for sorrys. I've given you several chances to get in line, but you chose to defy me. Maybe a good reminder as to who's the boss around here will be enough to make you think twice before defying me again."

"I know you're the boss, Dad. You don't hafta 'mind me." I knew it would take a miracle to save my hide and I was clinging to that hope.

"If that were true, you would've obeyed me the first time I told you to go to your room and we wouldn't be arguing about whether you need a reminder, would we?"

He had me there. There was nothing I could say.

"Go to your room, Benton. Now!"

With that directive, I lost all hope for a reprieve. I hung my head and started to walk very slowly to my room. As I passed Grandma, she reached out and corralled me.

"Wait just a minute, honey," she told me and then turned to my dad. "Bob, why don't you go on ahead to his bedroom. I'd like to have a word with him first."

"I can handle this, Mother."

"I know you can. And you will. I just want a quick word and then I'll send him right in to you."

Dad sighed and relented. "I don't want him coddled, Mother!"

"Of course not."

After Dad disappeared into my bedroom, Grandma tapped me on the shoulder and I looked up to see her give me a glare of disapproval.

"Are you gonna coddle me, Grandma?" I asked anxiously, not realizing what I was asking.

"No, I'm not." When she saw the look of relief on my face, she asked, "Do you know what it means to coddle?" I answered with a quick shake of my head, and she enlightened me. "It means to baby someone, to let him have his own way."

"Oh." My guess hadn't even been close. Now I was wishing for all the coddling I could get.

"You're not a baby, are you?" she asked as she combed her fingers through my hair.

"Uh-uh."

"Good. I didn't think so." She paused briefly, then continued. "Why did you want to upset your father?"

"I didn't."

"Why did you want to upset your father?" she repeated.

I assumed she hadn't heard me, so I repeated, "I didn't."

When she asked for a third time, "Why did you want to upset your father?" I became very confused. It was as if we were stuck repeating this one moment in time and couldn't get past it.

"I didn't, Grandma!" I insisted.

"You willfully disobeyed him and sassed him when he told you to do something. Didn't you expect him to get angry?"

"I guess..."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I dunno."

"I want an honest answer, honey."

"But, I dunno why."

"I believe you do. Think about it."

"I was sad."

"So you wanted your father to be sad, too? Is that it?"

I felt ashamed to hear that out loud. It hadn't seemed so bad when it was just something I had done on instinct. I didn't have to answer Grandma; my silence was answer enough.

"It's not nice to kick a man when he's down," she told me.

"I didn't kick anyone."

"It's an expression, dear. Your father is very sad, and when you behave the way you did, you make him even sadder."

"But he's making me sadder, too," I whined in my defense.

"Come here, honey," Grandma said as she wrapped her arms around me and held me tight. "I know you're sad, sweetheart. We all know that. We're all sad that you lost your mum."

I didn't want to let go of my grandmother's embrace. With my eyes closed, I could almost believe she was Mum. "Dad doesn't care if I'm sad."

Grandma pulled away, keeping a firm grip on my shoulders. "Don't you ever say anything like that again!" she scolded with insistence. "Do you hear me?"

"But it's true, Grandma."

"No, it most certainly is not! What would ever give you such an idea? Of course your father cares whether you are sad."

"No, he doesn't!" I asserted too boldly. "He's gonna spank me."

"He's going to spank you because you were naughty, and I'm liable to spank you, myself, young man, if you don't show some respect."

I hung my head and fought the cry that I could feel threatening to overtake me. I felt like I didn't have a friend in the world. Grandma must have been able to sense my sorrow, because she suddenly took my hands and squeezed them gently in hers, while giving me a reassuring smile.

"Your father doesn't want to hurt you. He's doing what he feels is best for you, Ben. That's what parents do because they love their children. He's brought you here to live with me and your grandpa because he wants you to have the best life he can give you. Now you need to do what is best for him."

"What's that?"

"You need to let him go back to his work."

"He is."

"Without complaints or pouting from you. I know it's not easy, honey, but you have to try. Your father will never be himself again if he doesn't go back to being a Mountie."

"What if he never comes back anymore?"

"Does he know you're worried about that?" she asked, rubbing my shoulders.

"I dunno," I shrugged.

"Go talk to your father."

"He won't let me. He's mad."

"He's probably calmed down a bit by now. Go on."

I looked toward my room, then back at Grandma. "Can you come with me, Grandma?"

She shook her head and smiled. "You're not a baby. I'll be right here. I'll always be right here, okay?"

I nodded and smiled faintly. I knew what she was saying, but I also knew she wasn't going to be much help to me out there while I was in my room catching hell from Dad.

I stood outside my bedroom and saw Dad lying on my bed with his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful that I didn't want to disturb him and see all that anger return. I tiptoed over to the bed and stood with my hands crossed behind my back, waiting for something to happen.

Dad's eyes shot open with a start and fell on me, causing my heartbeat to quicken. He didn't say anything right away. He let out a little groan of recognition, closed his eyes again, and rubbed his forehead in apparent anxiety.

"I'm here, Dad," I announced bravely.

"Yes, Ben." He sounded irritated, as if I were the last person he wanted to see at that moment. I was confused, as I thought he'd been waiting for me, so I decided perhaps an apology would help.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I kicked you when you were already sad."

"Kicked me?"

"It's a s'pression, Grandma says. She says it wasn't nice for me to do that."

"No, I suppose not." He continued to lie there, motionless, with closed eyes.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you goin' to sleep?"

"No."

"Dad?"

"What?"

"You can go back to your job and I won't c'plain or anything 'cause I'm not a baby even if you don't come back forever." I rushed to get that all said, then waited for his response.

He looked at me silently, then turned away and closed his eyes. "Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, Son."

That was the last thing I expected to hear. I wondered if maybe it was one of those apologies before the fact. "Sorry 'cause you're gonna spank me?"

"No." He peeked at me, then closed his eyes again. "No, sorry for, uh...losing my temper with you."

"It's okay, Dad. Grandma s'plained it to me." After waiting for so long to hear an apology from my dad, I couldn't believe how uncomfortable it made me feel when it finally happened.

"Oh? Well, I sure hope she did a better job explaining than I did. I, um, shouldn't have said...what I said...the way I said it. I'm, er, ashamed."

I was stunned speechless. Dad was obviously very upset with himself and, for once, I wanted to make him feel better. Apparently, Grandma's lecture did make an impression on me.

"Is Grandma gonna wash your mouth out with soap?" I smiled when I heard Dad chuckle at this.

"Oh, you know it, Son. You know it!" He turned his face to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe...if you had a word with her, you know, tell her how sorry I am...maybe she'd go easy on me."

"Oh, but Dad, you're not a baby, you know. She can't coddle you," I answered, grinning ear-to-ear.

Dad grabbed me and lifted me until I straddled him on the bed, then began to tickle me mercilessly as he ranted in jest. "Coddle? Oh, you just wait! I'll show you coddling, you little wise acre! What's this world comin' to when a man can't count on his own son to save his hide?"

I was squealing from the exquisite torture and loving every minute of it, when suddenly there was a loud knock at the open door. Dad and I both turned our heads to see Grandma standing in the doorway.

"Uh-oh, busted!" Dad said as he attempted to hide himself behind me.

Grandma smiled and winked at me as she approached the bed. "Robert Fraser! What on God's earth is going on in here?" she mockingly demanded with hands on hips.

I laughed as Dad peeked out from behind me and explained, "Just reminding the boy who's boss, Mother. We have to maintain discipline, you know."

"Uh huh," she answered sarcastically. "Well, if you're finished, I'd like the two of you to join me in the kitchen for lunch."

"Ah, lunch! Splendid idea! All this disciplining makes me hungry."

That night I lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. It was too quiet. Dad was gone, and it was anybody's guess when I'd see him again. I had managed to contain my emotions as we said good-bye and, at Grandma's urging, he'd allowed me a quick hug. Now, as I tried to sleep, that scene kept replaying in my mind and, try as I may, I couldn't replace it with happier thoughts.

If there was some noise to listen to, I thought to myself, then perhaps I'd be able to sleep. So, I jumped out of bed, collected my bedroll and sleeping bag, and snuck my way to the front door. Unfortunately, Grandma and Grandpa were in the living room and discovered me as I turned the latch on the door.

"Benton! Where do you think you're going at this time of night?" Grandma called to me sharply.

I turned to face her and explained. "I'm gonna sleep outside, Grandma."

"No, you are not going to sleep outside, dear. You have a perfectly good bed in your room."

"It's too quiet in there. I wanna listen to the night noises. It's okay, Grandma. It'll be just like when me and Dad go camping." I tried once again to open the door, but again my grandmother stopped me.

"Ben, I said no and I meant it. You are not going to sleep outside."

"Why not?" I whined, still holding onto the door knob.

"Because I said so. Now get in here."

"That's not a reason," I shot back indignantly. "Dad would let me if he was here!" Yes, I was cursed with a quick mouth as a child. And, regrettably, it was not a fault that was easily cured. I did learn to control it most of the time, but, to this day, it gets me into trouble from time to time.

"Benton! Come over here this instant!" Grandpa ordered in a stern, low voice which he had never used with me before. I was taken aback by his commanding tone, and I found it impossible to disobey. As I approached him, he took the bedding from my arms and set it down, then grabbed both of my hands and pulled me to stand between his knees as he sat forward in his chair. "That is not how a young Fraser speaks to his elders!"

"I know, Grandpa, but..." I started to say.

"Uh-uh-uh," he cut me off. "No arguments. That's the law around here, Son, and your grandmother and I will not abide disregard for our law. If you find it necessary to question something we tell you, you will do so respectfully. Have you got that, or am I gonna have to take a switch to your behind?"

"I got it, Grandpa," I gulped in answer. Darn! It's not gonna be a holiday living with Grandma and Grandpa! Not that I had expected it to be all fun and games, but I had hoped they might favor me with a little special treatment for a while, at least. I felt as though I had aged and gained significant independence since Mum had died, but with Grandma and Grandpa bossing me around, I was back to being a little kid with parents. And I have to admit, it felt good.

"That's my little man! Now, go and apologize to your grandmother, buddy," he ordered as he turned me around and nudged me in her direction.

I stood before Grandma, wringing my hands nervously and looking at the floor. "I'm sorry, Grandma. I won't be sassy anymore."

"All right, Ben." She lifted my chin so I had to look at her. "We'll chalk this one up to a long, hard day, eh? Start over with a fresh slate, hmm?"

"Okay," I replied, still anxious.

"Good." Grandma sensed my anxiety and crouched to hug me. I felt a pang of heartache when she kissed my ear in the same way Dad had when we were camping. "Now, go on back to bed, sweetie. You should've been asleep a long time ago."

I was going to try to explain why I couldn't sleep, but I decided unquestioning obedience was probably wiser at the moment. So, I nodded and started back toward my bedroom.

"Um, honey," Grandma called after me. "Would you like to sit with me for a few minutes first?" After I nodded, she patted the sofa cushion beside her, and I ran over and hopped up next to her. "Lie down," she said, and she guided my head onto her lap and covered me with a throw blanket. "Close your eyes, dear."

I did, and as I lay there being caressed by Grandma, I felt loved and safe and forgot momentarily about the loss I had suffered. Or, rather, the losses. I remembered the night in the wilderness when the strange man had come to teach me how to appreciate my aloneness and my oneness with everything around me. But this night, it was the sounds of Grandma's breathing and of her soft humming, along with the rustling of paper when she or Grandpa turned a page in the books they were reading, which lulled me to sleep.

I awoke while Grandma was tucking me into bed. As she was on her way out the door, I opened my eyes and asked, "Where d'ya think Dad is sleeping tonight, Grandma?"

"Under the same stars as you, honey," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

Her answer gave me an idea, and I sprang out of bed and ran over to the window. Grandma sighed and followed me to the window, and I felt her hands on my shoulders as she tried to lead me back to bed. I resisted her and pointed to the sky. "Those stars up there?"

"Yes, those stars up there. Into bed now scoot!" she ordered gently with a tug on my ear.

Still ignoring her instructions, I reached up to try to open the window, but it was too high for me. "Can you open the window for me, Grandma?"

"It's freezing out there, Ben."

"Just a little bit, Grandma, please? I wanna listen to the night."

Grandma sighed again and cracked open the window. I leaned toward it, closed my eyes and listened, and, as I heard the familiar sounds, a smile crossed my face.

"Now," Grandma slapped my behind to demand my attention, "...if you are not in bed with your eyes closed by the time I count to five..."

She didn't get any further with her threat before I was nestled under my blankets. She kissed my cheek affectionately and said, "Good night, honey," but it wasn't Grandma's voice I heard. It was Mum's. And Dad's. And I was asleep before she'd even made it out of the room.

THE END

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