SCION – BY HELEN M. COOPER
(COOP)
Prologue
Day 1: Friday 2nd December 1870
Scott Lancer pulled his collar up in a feeble attempt to ward off the frigid December wind that cut through his slicker like a knife, and chilled him to the bone. The furious gusts drove icy sheets of rain straight at him, quickly rendering numb the areas of skin exposed to the elements. It was the kind of day when all he wanted to do was curl up in the Great Room in front of a roaring fire with a steaming cup of coffee and a good book. But as third shareowner of the biggest ranch in the San Joaquin it was not a luxury that he could afford, especially with Murdoch absent this past week and a half. With their father due to be away for three weeks, joint responsibility for the running of Lancer fell to he and his younger brother, Johnny, who was currently out battling the elements in the south pasture with a team of men. They were being kept busy mending the fences that had been blown down by the fierce winds that had persisted for the past few days. The seemingly relentless stormy weather had created more work than usual for the men, and they would certainly have earned their Saturday night in town, which they looked forward to all week. But they wouldn't be having any fun at all if he didn't get to Morro Coyo to draw their wages from the bank. And so that was what found him now, riding against the bone chilling wind towards town instead of poring over ledgers as he had done for the past few days.
Despite his yearning for hot coffee, a warm fire and a good book, however, Scott had to admit to being grateful for the few hours' respite he would get away from the hacienda. The last few days had been 'testing' to say the least. Not because Murdoch was away, he and Johnny were more than capable of managing things in their father's absence. No, it was because of his father's ward, Teresa. He loved her dearly, he really did, but once Teresa got a bee in her bonnet about something, her over-exuberance could be extremely trying. And her latest pet project was his birthday. A little over two weeks away, she was busy making all sorts of plans for a big celebration, despite his protestations that he'd rather it remain as low key as possible. He had his reasons, which he was loath to explain to Teresa. Even if he were to find a way to verbalize to her how he felt about that particular date, he wasn't convinced that she would truly understand. She would simply just dismiss his concerns and go ahead with her plans anyway. The truth was, though, that since he was old enough to understand the circumstances of his birth, he had never truly 'celebrated' his birthday at all, and it had seemed even less appropriate to do so since he had arrived at Lancer eighteen months before.
He had gotten away with it the first year. The only person who would have known the significance of the day had been Murdoch himself. And as they had been experiencing weather similar to what was battering them now, and all the associated problems that created around a busy ranch, he had not really seen his father until early evening, when his new family had all sat down to dinner together. For which he had been immensely grateful.
Having managed to get through the meal without the subject being raised and, having managed, successfully, to avoid eye contact with his father for most of the repast, he had excused himself and retired early to his room, relieved that the day had passed without incident.
Buried in his copy of 'A Tale of Two Cities', he sat in the chair by his bedroom window as the wind howled outside, and he had almost missed the soft tap at the door. Looking up irritably, he had been somewhat surprised to see his father hovering sheepishly in the doorway.
"Murdoch," he had greeted, apprehensively.
"Scott." His father had looked every bit as uncomfortable as his elder son felt. Scott had been marginally disappointed that his father appeared to have let his birthday pass without making any kind of reference to it at all, but this was far outweighed by his relief that at least the day was over for another year. Yet there stood his father in front of him, seemingly wanting to say something but apparently having a hard time finding the words.
His own discomfort increased to see this bear of a man struggling so, and he wanted to break the deadlock as much for himself as his father. So Scott had risen, set his book aside, and made the first move.
"Sir, I was about to turn in…If its not important then perhaps it can wait until…."
"I'm sorry, Scott, I can see you're tired," Murdoch quickly apologized. "I just wanted to give you this…" He gestured to a small package that he had held hidden behind his back and had subsequently set down on the nightstand. "It's not much. Just something to mark the occasion. I didn't want you to think I had forgotten. Good night son."
Before Scott had had a chance to respond, Murdoch had quickly withdrawn. Scott stood for some time trying to come to terms with the significance of what had just happened as he stared at the small package sitting on the nightstand where his father had deposited it. It was the first birthday gift he had ever received from Murdoch Lancer. From what he had learned about his father since he arrived at the hacienda eighteen months before, he had come to accept that is was more than likely that he had sent him gifts for his birthday and Christmas, but even more likely that his grandfather, Harlan Garrett, had withheld them from him. Much as he respected his grandfather for raising him in the way that he had, wanting for nothing from a material perspective, what Scott had really wanted, really yearned for, and had never received, was the love and nurturing bond that a father has for a son. Even then, as he reached the milestone of his twenty-fifth birthday, part of him had still been that little boy, with that same yearning to experience a father's love. And right there and then, all those hopes had been tied up in that small package sitting on the nightstand.
It had taken what seemed like an age, but was perhaps only a few minutes, before he had tentatively padded over to the other side of the room and reached for the precious offering from his father. It had been wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He could tell from the knot used that his father had taken the time to wrap it himself; it was the type of knot only a rancher would use. Somehow, that had made it all the more special, and he had been reluctant to undo his father's careful handiwork. But there was twenty-five years' worth of anticipation built up in that small package, and he needed to see what Murdoch had chosen for him to mark his first birthday spent with his new family.
Surprised at how much his hands were shaking, he fumbled with the knot, gradually releasing the string and pulled away the paper to reveal a dark leather billfold. As he turned it over, pressed into the soft leather in intricate gold letters were the initials SGL. His initials. Scott Garrett Lancer. He ran his fingers slowly over the gilt lettering and smiled. 'Scott' had been the name that both parents had agreed upon prior to his birth, homage to his father's homeland. 'Garrett' had been at his mother's insistence, considering her father, his grandfather, had no male heir to continue the family name. And then there was 'Lancer', his father's name. The one he had cursed for all those years, believing that Murdoch had abandoned him. That had certainly been how his grandfather had told it. But while he didn't know the whole story, he knew enough now to realize that Murdoch could never willingly have allowed Harlan Garrett to take him back to Boston. And during the past eighteen months he had gotten to know and respect the man whom he had become proud to think of as his father, even if he still had difficulty addressing him as such.
There were still a lot of bridges to mend between them, but progress had been made. This gift from his father told him more than words could ever have been adequately expressed by a man who, like himself, had difficulty verbalizing how he felt. But this one small gift had told Scott everything he needed to know right at that moment. It may have 'just been a billfold', but to Scott it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was clear a great deal of thought had gone into the gift, and it was not something that Murdoch could or would have just purchased across the counter in Green River. It most likely would have been ordered from one of the catalogues his father regularly perused, many weeks in advance. Not a man usually prone to displays of emotion, Scott had struggled to hold back the lump that had risen up in his throat. He was grateful that, for once, Johnny had chosen not to barrel in to his private chamber to bid him good night en route to his own room. He suspected that Murdoch had had a hand in that, too.
After almost a year at Lancer, however, and having celebrated her own birthday, and one for Johnny as well, Teresa had realized that Scott had been holding out on them and had scolded him for having had a birthday and not revealing when it was. She had browbeaten the date out of him and had insisted that his next one would be a raucous affair, with all the trappings. It would make up for the previous one having passed without acknowledgement.
That had been over six months before, and Scott had hoped that Teresa would have forgotten all about it by the time his birthday came round again. But he had reckoned without her marked determination to ensure that he had a day to remember.
As the angry clouds continued to unleash their fury as he journeyed on towards town, Scott thought back to the last dinner they had all shared together before Murdoch left on business. Teresa had prepared a list of supplies that she wanted Murdoch to bring back with him for the party, knowing that his travels would take him to San Francisco and Sacramento where such items could be far more easily obtained. Scott had tried to, once more, protest that he really didn't want a fuss. Murdoch's primary concern was the business that was taking him away, and Scott hardly thought purchasing streamers and bunting would be high on his list of priorities. But, once again, it had fallen on deaf ears as Teresa dismissed him, insisting that the list wasn't too long, and she was sure that Murdoch would have time to pick up the few things she had asked of him between his 'stuffy' meetings.
Scott had looked to Murdoch, exasperated, seeking support, wanting to see if his father felt as wary as he did over what Teresa was planning, but his father's expression had remained impassive. There was neither enthusiasm for the planned celebration nor any real objection from his him. Murdoch had caught Scott's eyes for a moment and, as far as Scott was concerned, couldn't have failed to have read the unspoken question in his elder son's gaze, 'you feel as uncomfortable about this as I do, don't you?' But Murdoch had quickly looked away again and returned his attention to Teresa, asserting that he would try to get the items she requested, but he wasn't making any promises. Then he had quickly changed the subject, quizzing Johnny about the work he had completed that day. That told Scott all he needed to know. That he was right in his assertion about not wanting to make a big deal of his birthday. It was never going to be a day that he would ever want to celebrate as others would. If only he could convince Teresa of that.