While the vessel was being manoeuvred into her berth, watched by a huge crowd ashore, Matt wondered if his father would casually ask him, "Did you happen to bump into a Martha Bridger?"
Matt had been away for two years and 344 days, according to his mother. If he had any misgivings about his parents being less that enthusiastic about seeing their son again he was mistaken.
His father had tears in his eyes and his mother was almost hysterical. Patricia was glad to have him back again, home in time for his birthday and for Christmas. She'd always known that ultimately Matt would drift out of her life, but never had she anticipated that he would be wrenched away so dramatically as he had been went leaving for America in disgrace. At that time she'd suffered the emotional loss that any mother or any other family member for that matter suffers when a family member dies, or is drafted to go to war. But the reassuring letters from Milly cheered her up no end that Matt was doing well in Wyoming.
Matt had noted little change in his mother, she was still slim, but her hair was greying slightly. It pleased him to find that her nature remained spirited and her smile was just as sweet as he had remembered it. The softness that he had always displayed towards his mother, especially when alone with her, quickly re-established itself.
One evening soon after his return, Matt thought he couldn't remember his mother ever looking so happy. Patricia didn't move to touch him; she'd been caught staring at him and she smiled beautifully and said, "I'm grateful to have you back again Matt."
The reunion with his father had been different.
On the wharf they had bear-hugged each other, rather over vigorously in fact, and their handshake was an unconscious test of strength. Neither yielded, though a shadow of pain flicked across his father's face before Patricia had called, "Stand aside Collier, it's time for a mother and son reunion."
As those excited greetings petered out, Matt took a close look at his father, confirming his initial impressions. Fearless Curtis had lost considerable muscle bulk, his limp had become more pronounced and his complexion had dulled. He had aged, considerably in the time they had been apart.
At the first opportunity Matt said to Patricia, "Mum is dad okay? He just doesn't... well he doesn't quite look like I remembered him." He'd struggled with his words, trying to avoid alarming his mother.
"He's accelerating into older age. He's played hard throughout his life and now he's paying the price for those excesses. Be warned, Matt. You behave exactly like your father, so much so that it's frightening. Everyone says you look more like me than him, but I see beyond those surface similarities. You image your father Matt. Try to avoid imaging his darker side my dear one."
Shaken by those words, Matt thought it was the most profound thing his mother had ever said to him. Perhaps now she spoke to him as an adult. So she knew his father's reputation was not all based on gossip and exaggerations; he wondered if she knew about the fading beauty Martha.
One evening, when Patricia had gone out to a fund-raising concert Matt did the dishes. Never in his life had he seen his father do anything domestic, apart from carving the meat. At least he didn't mirror his image to that selfish extent. He went to the front porch, where in the late-summer twilight his father had already poured two glasses of whisky and had his glass in his hand and held out the other. Matt though that this was the opportunity for which he had been waiting. He proceeded slowly.
"Dad we have talked about Wyoming and people we both know. Tell me, how did Ponto get that particular name? I often thought about it but never got to asking him, possibly in case I rattled skeletons."
His father shook with a belly laugh. "No, nothing would cause Ponto any grief. But I do know how he got his name, and am surprised that you didn't enquire. You would have found that you both had something similar in naming. On my second trip over there I found he was actually named Peter Rivers, though all the time I knew him, and I had met several of his very old friends, I never heard him called anything but Ponto. Then one day I picked up a letter from the mailbox and almost put it back for re-sorting, as it was addressed to Mr Peter Rivers. Milly was with me and that's when I learned his real name."
His father sighed, "Ah, those days. Milly told me that Ponto was part Indian, his paternal grandfather had actually been born and brought up on a reservation. Ponto had told her that when his grandfather became ill, he arrived at his son's family home on a small rundown block of land. He came on a pony with quarter horse breeding and even further back, Shetland pony origins apparently. His excited grandson, going by the name of Peter, loved horses and his grandfather's undernourished, small-boned mount particularly appealed to the youngster.
"The old man, asked his grandson, who was only four at the time, if he liked the pinto. The boy said 'Pinto? Me Ponto'. From there it was just like you calling yourself Matt. Grandfather Rivers began calling the boy Ponto as a joke, and the name stuck."
By now Collier had poured himself another whisky. Matt could tell his mood was melancholy. He took the plunge, making an oblique probe.
"Dad, you visited Milly twice, but what she said, but she told me that she saw very little of you. She said something like, "You had met your perfect companion within days of your first visit. Who was that?"
Collier Fearless Curtis looked closely at his son. But his son gave nothing away, innocently studying the rim of his empty whisky glass. "Milly been shooting off her mouth has she?" he snapped.
Matt was fearless. Looking his father straight in the eye he said, "No. Actually it was Martha herself. I think she's still in love with you, or at least the memory of you dad."
Collier looked at his son startled. "Bloody hell, don't you ever say that to anyone, it would kill your mother if she heard that. I suspect that she knows that I had a bit of a fling when I was over there, but nothing more than that." He then growled, "And I want it kept that way. Right?"
"Fair enough, dad. But I would like to hear more. I reckon she's the most beautiful woman of her age that I have ever seen. And dad you want to see her daughter!"
Collier straightened, "She has a daughter?"
Laughing Matt punched him affectionately on the upper arm, causing Collier to wince. "She's not one of yours. She has the look of her parents and as you know Lukas is also blond."
"You didn't write about any of this in your letters?"
"No, and why would I be writing about a certain blonde woman?"
"I suspected that Milly might have hinted something in her letters to mum over the years. I wouldn't put it past her stirring the pot a bit."
"Dad tell me about meeting Martha."
Collier sighed, and talked on for nearly two hours, pausing only to ask Matt to fetch another bottle of whisky. Matt returned with it quickly, eager to hear more. His father described their first meeting, at a dance at the time of the annual Rendezvous Parade, a cowboy-oriented get-together and carnival. His eyes fell on only one girl amongst the large number of them in the dancehall. She a striking blonde, dressed mainly in white, and was surrounded by a group of males of various ages. Collier pushed though the ring and boldly asked her to dance with him.
