The door was partially open; nonetheless, Zack rapped softly on the panels before entering.

     “Told ya already, Michaela—I ain’t hungry and I don’t want nothin’, so just go away and leave me be!”

     The harsh and disembodied voice of his father issuing from inside the room nearly caused Zack to lose his nerve.  He actually backed away from the door, poised to flee, before abruptly becoming conscious of what he was doing.  Mr. Sully had warned him that with his father’s present state of mind, this wouldn’t be easy . . .  Ah, but he didn’t know the half of it.  He had no knowledge of the bitter words that Zack had leveled against his father in their last meeting—

     —or did he?  Would his pa have confided to Sully about what happened?  No, surely not.  Zack was well aware of the grudge Hank had borne Sully all these years, though he was at a loss to understand it.  But be that as it may, the resentment existed; and Zack thought there was as much chance of his father discussing his personal life with Sully, as there was of him flying to the moon.

     Still . . .  it had seemed strangely important to Mr. Sully to encourage him to view his father sympathetically.  To make him see how much Hank cared, and how much his father had missed him all these years while he’d been away at school.  How would Sully know that, unless . . .

     But his father had nearly died.  And even though he’d escaped with his life, he’d been seriously injured, and was facing a convalescence of weeks—perhaps even months.  That alone would be enough to cause a person to become depressed, wouldn’t it?  Even someone as tough as Hank.  His father’s melancholy didn’t have to be tied to what had happened between them . . .

     But even as the thought entered his mind, Zack knew he was lying to himself.  He remembered the look on his father’s face as he’d walked out on him.  And there was more.  Mr. Sully had mentioned something about his father’s dark mood even before their journey had begun and they’d had the accident.  He’d only made the comment in passing; however the subtle yet significant way he’d said it, made Zack wonder if Sully had actually known a lot more than he’d been telling.

     Did he know how Zack had rejected his father so completely?  And did he disapprove—or maybe even despise him for that?  But far more importantly, did his father hate him now?

    He took a deep breath, and pushed the door all the way open.  “It’s not Dr. Mike,” he said.

    Hank became visible to Zack, and he saw that his father was reclining in bed, his back bolstered by pillows and his lower body concealed beneath a blanket—with the exception of his injured leg, which rested outside the covers in a peculiar looking contraption that Mr. Sully had called a “fracture box”.  Sully had explained to him that with such a severe break, it was crucial that Hank’s leg remain immobilized for several weeks until the bone knit completely.

    Hank’s face had been turned away from the door, his eyes trained on the window; but at the sound of his son’s voice, Zack could sense his father stiffen.  After what felt like several excruciating seconds, Hank looked toward him.

    Her father’s eyes seemed coldly pale and devoid of expression.  “What’re you doin’ here?”

    Zack advanced slowly into the room, stopping a few feet shy of the bed.  “I heard about the accident—I wanted to make sure that you were all right.”

    “Michaela didn’t have no business sendin’ for ya.”

    “But you were badly hurt—of course they would tell me—“

    “I got a busted leg, that’s all—I ain’t dead.  So there was no call to drag ya back here.”

    “No one dragged me,” Zack objected.  “I wanted to come.  I’m your son—“

    His father spoke with bitter irony.  “As I recall, ya gave up that title last time I saw ya.  Too bad Michaela didn’t know that little detail when she told ya to come—it woulda saved you a trip.”

     “I deserve that, I know,” Zack admitted uncomfortably.  “But Pa—“

     “Look, if yer here ‘cause yer worried I’m gonna cut ya outta my will—don’t be.  I don’t got nobody else ta leave my money to.  You’ll get it all—my half of the Gold Nugget—if Preston ain’t stole it out from under me—plus every cent I got, once I’m dead.  And maybe, if yer lucky, ya won’t have ta wait that long.”

     A streak of anger laced with fear shot through Zack at his father’s words.  “Don’t talk like that.  And I never said I wanted your money—“

     “No, but it sure came in handy to pay fer yer schoolin’ all them years, didn’t it?  Ya didn’t mind closin’ yer eyes to how I made a livin’ long as I was supportin’ ya—ain’t that right?   But I guess now ya think my money’s too dirty for ya.  Too much of a reminder of where ya come from.  And ya can’t have that rich sweetheart of yers, or any of them high-falootin’ society folks findin’ out about that.  Not after you’ve gone ta so much trouble pretendin’ to be somethin’ yer not, and hidin’ the truth about me so’s I wouldn’t ruin yer chances.”

    Zack felt a renewed flush of guilt.  “I know I said some very cruel things to you when you came to see me, and I regret—“

     Hank cut him off.  “Told ya—ya don’t gotta pretend yer sorry, or that ya care whether I live or die.  So ya may as well go back to yer fancy life in the city.”

     Zack bit his lip.  “I’m not pretending.  I came here because I do care, very much—and because there are some things I want to say to you.  Things I need to say.”  He swallowed, and added, “Please, Pa . . . will you hear me out?”  He stood tensely, awaiting a response.  Hank stared at him hard for several moments, as if taking his measure.

    “All right—say yer piece,” he answered finally.

      Zack fetched a chair from across the room and placed it close by his father’s bed.  He sat down, his restless hands folded together, and tried to think how to begin.

    “I suppose I should start by explaining that Dr. Mike didn’t send me a telegram about you.  Actually—it was Mr. Sully who told me.  He came to visit me at school, and brought me back here with him.”

    Hank sat up straighter, his eyes narrowed.  “He had no right.”

    “He’s been worried about you, Pa.  Everyone has.  Dr. Mike, Mr. Slicker and Mr. Bray . . .  Mr. Sully told me that you haven’t . . . been yourself.  That you don’t seem to care about getting well.  He said that Dr. Mike called it ‘melancholy’.  And he seemed to think that I was the only person who could make a difference in your recovery.”

    His father looked even more suspicious—and was that a trace of apprehension in his eyes . . . ?   “What’d he say to you?”

    Zack regarded his father in some confusion.  He realized that Hank was nursing a great deal of hurt over what had transpired between the two of them.  But that didn’t explain his father’s antipathy toward Sully.  Especially after the near-death experience both men had endured.  How could Hank continue to hold a grudge against the man who’d saved his life?

    “Pa, I don’t understand—why does it bother you so much that Sully came to see me?”

    “’Cause he was meddlin’—stickin’ his nose in where he’s got no business!”

    “But he saved your life—doesn’t that make it his business?  Besides, he felt obliged to tell me what had happened to you, and he was right to do so.”

    “Yeah, he’s always right, ain’t he?” Hank mumbled.  And even more softly Zack thought he heard, “And he always wins.”

    Tentatively he said, “I beg your pardon?”

    “Never mind,” Hank said brusquely.  He pinned his eyes on his son.  “You never answered my question.  What did he say to you?”

    Taken aback once again by his father’s intensity, Zack stammered, “He told me about the accident, as I said . . .  How the stagecoach went over the embankment and was set on fire, with the two of you trapped inside . . .  How you both only barely made it out alive—“

     “I understand he told ya ‘bout that,” Hank interrupted impatiently.  “But I wanna know what else he said.  There musta been somethin’.”

     “Well, yes.  He talked a little about the past.”

     The planes of his father’s face were hard and unyielding, and yet a tell-tale muscle ticked in his jaw.  “What about the past?”

     “Well . . . he said that it might seem surprising that a man as strong as you would be suffering from melancholy—but that he’d known you for a long time, since before I was born, and that you weren’t nearly as hard a man as you seemed on the surface.  He said that your love for me ran very deep, though it wasn’t always easy for you to show it.”

     Hank looked cynical.  “So now he’s readin’ minds.”

     “He was just trying to help me to understand you better,” Zack said earnestly.  “To help me see that no matter what mistakes you might have made over the years, that your feelings for me were always the most important thing in your life.”

     His father’s eyes were injured.  “Seems like I told ya the same thing, not so long ago.”

     Zack’s cheeks burned once again.  “Yes, you did.  But I guess that I just wasn’t willing to hear it then.”

     “But you were willin’ ta hear it from him.”   His father’s bitterness toward Sully seemed to roll off him in waves.  Why did Hank resent him so?  “Ya really look up to him, don’t ya?” his father added suddenly.

     Again Zack felt out of his element—unsure where the conversation was going or what was in his father’s mind.  “Well, he’s a good man . . .  And he saved your life, for which I’ll always be grateful . . .  So yes, I suppose I do, in a way—“

     “I ‘spose ya even wish he’d been yer pa, ‘stead ‘o me.”

     Zack was genuinely startled.  “Why would I wish such a thing?”

     Momentarily it appeared as if his father was going to answer, but then something seemed to change his mind.  The seconds spun out awkwardly.

    Zack hastened to fill the silence.  “Mr. Sully is very kind, and I’m sure that Brian is lucky to have him for a father, but I really don’t know him very well.  I wasn’t in town long enough to have the chance, before I left for school.  Besides, you’re my pa.  You always have been and you always will be.”

     Now Hank spoke.  “So you’ve changed yer mind ‘bout that again?”

     Shame forced Zack to look away, but after a moment he girded himself and met his father’s eyes.  “No, I didn’t change my mind,” he said quietly.  “I never stopped thinking of you as my pa, even when I tried to deny it to you and everyone else.”

     Hank gazed back at him.  Unconsciously his fingers clutched a fold of the blanket, bunching it in his fist.  “What’re ya sayin’?”

     “I’m saying I was wrong,” Zack admitted.  “I was wrong to push you away, and wrong to lie to everyone the way that I did.”

     Zack thought he saw a flicker of hope in his father’s eyes, but almost immediately it died away, eclipsed by suspicion.

     “That’s quite a turn-around.  You’ll have ta fergive me if I have a hard time believin’ it.”

     “I know I’ve given you every reason to doubt me, but I’m telling you the truth,” Zack insisted.  “I was wrong, and I see that now.”

     “I ‘spose Sully gets the credit fer that too,” Hank said.  His expression remained unrelenting.  But Zack could also sense hurt lurking behind his father’s eyes, and he felt compelled to make it go away if he could.

     “No,” he said promptly, and now it was his father’s turn to look uncertain.  “I was grateful that he came to talk to me . . . but it was you who forced me to face the truth.  Well—you and Amelia, I guess,” he added more softly, his tone suddenly vulnerable.

     “Whadda ya mean?” Hank asked after a pause, his voice not quite steady.

    Zack swallowed.  This was the hardest and most painful part to admit, but he had promised himself while on the train that he was going to be entirely honest.

    “You said that if Amelia truly loved me, that where I came from or what my father did wouldn’t matter,” he stated.  “You said I should tell her the truth.”

    With uncharacteristic tact his father remained silent, but he observed his son keenly.

    “I was so sure you were wrong,” Zack continued, feeling a lump rising in his throat, but determined to continue.  “I hated you for even suggesting that I should test her love.  But after I walked out on you, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said.  That I was . . . murdering my true self, because I was afraid of being rejected.  And finally . . . I had to admit to myself that I was afraid of being honest with Amelia.  That I was afraid of losing her.  In spite of everything I’d said to you, deep down inside I wasn’t sure of anything.  Not her—or myself.  And I realized I couldn’t rest until I knew the truth.”

    “So ya told her,” Hank said quietly.

     Zack’s brown eyes met his father’s blue ones.  “Yes.  And I can tell from the look on your face that you’ve guessed what happened.”  He managed a crooked smile, but it quickly vanished.  “The distaste . . . the revulsion in her eyes when she looked at me, told me all I needed to know without her saying a word.”

    Like sunlight and shadow, compassion and anger chased one another across Hank’s face.  But this time, Zack knew that the anger wasn’t directed at him.  “I’m sorry ya got hurt,” his father said.

    Zack chewed on his lower lip again.  “That’s kind of you to say, after the way I acted—the way I ignored your warnings.  But you were right, on every score.  She wasn’t the woman I thought she was.  I believed that what we had was so real—so true.  But it all turned out to be a lie.  I don’t know how I could have been so blind.  So foolish . . .”

    “Ain’t no shame in believin’ in folks—or expectin’ the best from ‘em,” Hank told him kindly.  “It’s just that . . . most times, they let ya down.”

    “But not every time?” Zack said anxiously, clinging to the slim hope that it wouldn’t always be this way.

    The ghost of a smile touched his father’s eyes.  “No, not every time.”

    “But I let you down,” Zack added in a low voice.

    “No—ya didn’t,” Hank said firmly.  “I felt that way fer a while, but I was wrong.  Ya just proved to me how wrong I was.”

    “But how can you say that after I was so hateful to you?” Zack asked, guilt mingling with his relief.

    “Ya had yer head turned by a pretty face,” his father replied.  “No sin in that.  Ain’t the first time it’s happened to a man, and it surely won’t be the last.”

    “Are you saying . . . that it's happened to you?” Zack ventured.

    “Hell, yeah.  It’s prob’ly happened to every man, least once.  It’s a hard fact o’ life, but no matter how bad ya might want somethin’, there are some things ya just can’t have.  And maybe, sometimes, it’s fer the best,” he added more softly.

    “I suppose that’s especially true in my case,” Zack conceded.  “But still, Pa—I had no right to blame you because I didn’t believe in myself.”

    “You were hurtin’,” Hank said quietly.  “Ya needed ta lash out—I understand that.  I been there, plenty o’ times.  And the truth is, ya had a right ta be angry. Ya had a hard life in the beginnin’—growin’ up in a saloon, bein’ shunted off ta Ruby’s after losin’ yer ma—“  His voice shook slightly, and then he cleared his throat and resumed, “That was my fault.  But worst of all, you were stuck with a pa who didn’t even have the guts to admit it, till he was forced to.  Can’t hardly blame ya fer lyin’ ‘bout me, when the tables was turned.  Kinda like the chickens comin’ home ta roost.”

    “It was still wrong,” Zack maintained.  “And I’m sorry.”

    “I am too.  ‘Bout a lotta things.  More’n you’ll ever know,” his father told him.  “But it’s like I told ya last time—ya turned out good, despite what I done.  Ya took after yer ma, that way.  There ain’t nothin’ o’ me in ya—and I’m grateful fer that.”

    “But that’s not true!” Zack exclaimed, startling him.  “I am like you, in many ways.”

    His father looked uncomfortable.  “Ya don’t gotta say that just to be kind.”

    “I’m not,” Zack insisted.  “I do take after you—my mother said so.”

    “Whadda ya mean?”  His father’s tension had returned.  Zack could sense it, as if the air had become charged between them.

    “Well . . .  I was young, but I can still remember doing or saying something in a certain way, and hearing my mother laugh.  ‘You’re so like your pa!’ she would tell me—and then she’d give me a hug.”

    “She’d say that?” Hank asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

    “Often.  But that’s not all.  I look like you, too.”

    Now Hank did shake his head.  “Nah.  Ya got yer ma’s dark eyes, and her hair—“

    “The color is the same, yes—but Ma always said that my eyes, and the shape of my face, were like yours.  The girls in the saloon said it too.  And I’m tall, just like you.  Even Mr. Sully remarked on the resemblance, when we were on our way back to Colorado Springs.”  Once again his father held the blanket in a deathgrip, his knuckles almost white.  For some reason, all of this was vitally important to him.  Carefully Zack continued, “Mr. Sully said that now that I was grown up, the resemblance was unmistakable.  He said that he remembered my mother very well, and that I clearly inherited the best of both of you.”  Zack broke off, struck by the stunned expression on his father’s face.  “You’ve never noticed?” he added.

    Hank stared at him, his eyes initially stark with disbelief, and then darkening with an emotion Zack couldn't identify.  Suddenly he looked away, but not before Zack glimpsed the sparkle of a tear on his cheek.  His father appeared to be having difficulty composing himself.  Finally, however, he turned back to his son and said, “I guess . . . maybe I didn’t.  Every time I looked at you, all I could see was yer ma.  But maybe . . .”  Once more his voice dropped to a whisper.  “Maybe it’s true, after all . . .”

    Zack had the odd feeling that his father wasn’t speaking to him.  “Pa . . .?”

    Hank shook his head, as if suddenly returning to the present after a sojourn to a place—or a time—far removed from the here and now.  “Ferget it.  It don’t matter.  Not anymore.”

    “But—“

    “So did Sully have anythin’ else ta say durin’ this talk of yers?” his father smoothly changed the subject.

    Zack opened his mouth to speak but then hesitated, thinking back to Mr. Sully’s response when he had brought up the subject of his mother.  Sully had cautioned that it might be best if they kept this part of their conversation just between themselves . . .

    “Don’t get me wrong, Zack.  I’d never tell you to lie to your pa, or keep anythin’ from him.  But there are certain subjects . . . certain memories—that can be real painful.  Like the memories your pa has of your ma.  So when you speak to Hank, it might be—easier—if you didn’t mention that we talked about Clarice.  It ain’t a sin not to speak the whole truth, if you’re doin’ it outta kindness, or love—or to protect somebody you care about from bein’ hurt.”

    “You really think that it would hurt my father that much to speak of my mother?”

    Sully shrugged slightly.  “It might.  He loved her a lot, and he took it hard after she died.  In some ways, I don’t think he ever got over it.”

    Zack wasn’t convinced.  “But did he love her—really?  He claims he did, but then why wouldn’t he marry her?  He says he wasn’t the ‘marrying kind’—but that’s just an excuse.”  He stared at Sully stubbornly.

    “It ain’t my place to speak for your pa, Zack,” Sully said calmly, apparently unfazed by the young man’s hostility.  “Whatever went on with him and your ma was between them.”

    “But you were there—you knew them.  There must be something you can tell me about their relationship.”

    “All I can do is tell you what I could see from the outside, lookin’ in.”  Sully could sense Zack’s apprehension, but the boy’s eyes were determined.

    “Please, Mr. Sully—I’d like to hear anything that you know.”

    “Well, you certainly got the right to ask,” Sully acknowledged.  He settled back in his seat.  “All right.  When I first met your ma and pa, there were—problems—between me and the lady I was courtin’.  We weren’t together.”

    “Are you talking of your first wife?” Zack said hesitantly.

    “Yeah.  We cared for each other, but her pa didn’t approve of me, so I figured we didn’t have a future together.  I was alone, and feelin’ pretty hopeless about everythin’, so I wandered into the saloon one night.  I’d seen your pa around, and knew who he was, but it was the first time I’d seen and met Clarice.  She was pretty, and sweet, and right from the start she showed me kindness and friendship.  It wasn’t long before I began thinkin’  that with a little encouragement, I could have feelin’s for her.  But Clarice never let things get that far.  ‘Cause she let me know right away that there was only one man for her, and that was your pa.  I didn’t like it much at first, but I couldn’t deny the facts.  And later, I learned to see that it was right.  Clarice and me were much better as friends.  She chose Hank, and Abagail and me found our way back to each other.

    “But your parents loved each other, Zack.  Make no mistake about that.  As to marriage, all I can tell you is that however they chose to live, whatever choices they had to make—they made them together.  Both your ma and your pa were special people—they didn’t fit into some kinda mold of what some folks say is the proper way to live.  And I guess they decided that they didn’t need a piece of paper to prove they were committed to each other.”

    “So he really loved her?” Zack asked quietly.

    “He really did.  I’m sure he still does—just like a part of me will always love Abagail, even though I’ve found happiness with Dr. Mike.”
 

    Zack spoke even lower.  “I guess . . . I’ve misjudged him."

    Sully regarded Zack kindly.  “We’ve all been guilty of that, at one time or another,” he said.  “I’ve misjudged your pa, too.  And it wasn’t all that long ago that I realized it.  But Zack—“  He reached out and placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder.  “If there’s anythin’ you want to say to your pa . . . any—regrets—that you might have . . . it’s never too late to make amends.”

    Zack’s face was strained and uncertain. “Do you really believe that?  As you said before, my father’s not an easy man.”

    Sully smiled slightly.  “Your pa’s hard-boiled, like an egg.  But when you peel away the shell, he’s soft inside.
And he loves you, Zack.  Remember that.”

    Zack spoke with difficulty.  “Enough . . . to forgive me if I were to hurt him?”  He swallowed down a lump in his throat.  “Even—betray him?”

    Sully looked into his eyes.  “Even then.  Love can forgive anythin’, Zack.  Anythin’.  Trust me on this—I know . . .”

    His father’s question continued to hang in the air.  Zack assumed a thoughtful expression, as if he were trying to recall Sully’s words.  “No,” he answered finally.  “Mr. Sully didn’t say anything else of consequence.”

    Abruptly he rose from his chair.  “I saw a checkerboard on the window seat in the other room,” he announced.  “How about a game?”

    His father’s face broke into a familiar grin—a welcome sight after so long.  “I always beat ya at checkers when you were a kid.”

    Zack grinned back.  “Well, I’ve had a chance to practice a bit since then. I wager I could give you a run for your money.”

    “Set ‘em up,” said his pa.