DISCLAIMER: I make no money from writing these stories (but I don't care, I'd do it anyway!) I have nothing to do with the studio where Lancer was recorded and, unfortunately, have no professional or personal relationship with any of the cast (or crew). I attempt to adhere to time and place as best I can but sometimes an author just needs to write what an author needs to write! That's why it's called fiction!
Sometimes I wish we could include a soundtrack with our stories, just to aid with inflection or volume of voice. With this story, it would certainly aid in assisting the reader see (or rather hear) the humor in the tale. I know you've all heard the song "Cielito lindo" even if you don't recognize it by name. You may know it best by the first few words of its refrain: "Ay, ay, ay, ay. . ." The entire refrain is: "Ay, ay, ay, ay, Canta y no llores, Porque cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones".
WARNING: Mild swearing (hell, damn . . .)
FRUIT OF THE VINE MAKES ME FEEL FINE!
Scott was just finishing getting dressed when there was a knock on his door. Calling out a welcome, Murdoch walked in softly closing the door behind him.
"So, you all ready for the big day?" Murdoch asked with a smile.
Scott returned a grin while tying his tie. "I think so. Johnny sure is excited. I wonder if he slept at all last night."
"I just came from his room. He's not quite ready yet. He said he's having a "bad hair day"!" Both men chuckled. "Son, I wanted to talk to you for just a minute."
"Sure Murdoch, what's up? " Scott rested one hand on the dresser and faced his father.
"I realize that today is very important to Johnny. He's never been a Godfather before. I'm not sure he fully understands what that entails."
"I'm not sure I understand those duties myself, at least from the Catholic perspective. I believe it differs from the Protestant responsibilities but I can to try to explain it to him Sir."
Murdoch shook his head. "No, no son. I would have a hard time of it myself and I've been a Godfather many times over. Actually, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." Murdoch paused, shoved the tips of his fingers into his back pockets and took a couple steps back and forth at the foot end of Scott's bed. "Have you ever been to a Mexican fiesta before?"
"No, not much opportunity back in Boston. It must be quite a party though. The men have been talking about it ever since Tomas was born."
"I've only been to a couple myself but, yes, their culture sure has a flair for celebrating weddings and christenings and other special occasions. That's really why I came to speak to you. While I want the two of you to have a good time, things can get a bit . . . carried away before one even realizes it and you know how your brother loves to eat and dance and . . .well . . . indulge shall we say."
Scott nodded slightly. "Shall we say drink?" Murdoch smiled in relief.
"Yes, I guess that's what I've been fumbling about to say . . . Scott, you're by far my more responsible son. Could you just keep an eye on him so he doesn't get too out of line."
"And you are using "too out of line" as a euphemism for "too inebriated", am I right?" Murdoch actually blushed slightly and nodded. "Don't worry Sir. I'll pay attention to him as best I can and bring him home safely. That's one reason I talked him into taking the wagon. If he does overindulge I don't want him to try and ride." The door burst open and Johnny bounded in. "Doesn't anybody knock around here?" Scott teased. Johnny formed one hand into a loose fist and knocked on the open door. "Very funny!"
"I'm too excited for formalities, brother. You ready? I think we should get there early so I can practice holding the baby and all. Don't want to drop the little fellow."
"No, that wouldn't be quite the thing to do as your first act as Godfather. I'll drive. You better calm down."
"Yah, yah, calm down. Let's go." Before Scott could answer Johnny was half way down the front stairs. Scott picked up his hat off the bed.
"Wish me luck Sir."
"Oh, that I do son. That I do." Scott hurried to catch up to his little brother to find him already seated in the wagon, his right foot tapping on the floorboard. "Kind of like reining in a wild bobcat!" Scott muttered under his breath. Swinging up into the seat, he adjusted his hat and laced the reins through his fingers. Something told him it would be a long ride to Spanish Wells.
"You remembered to bring the coins didn't you?" Johnny asked.
Scott dropped one hand and shook the pocket of his jacket which jingled in reply. "Right here. And by the way, why am I carrying them and not you?"
"In these pants?" Johnny looked down to survey his new suit. "There ain't no room for pockets, Boston. There's hardly room for me! You should have seen the contortions I had to go through just to get in the wagon!" It was a beautiful suit, custom made especially for the occasion. Pale gray in color and of the finest woven fabric Scott had ever seen. Its bolero jacket was adorned with white braid down both sides of the front, on the cuff of both sleeves, and in the center of the back a very unique design ran from the hem to the neck. The pants . . . well, Scott didn't think the pants could have been any tighter and still remain stitched together. His little brother wore a white shirt with rows of narrow ruffles down the front, around the neck and around the cuffs. He wore a string tie to match the suit and his best black boots shined to such a luster that the sun actually shone off them like a mirror. Laid carefully in the back of the wagon on a clean blanket was a wide brimmed white sombrero with pale gray chin strings and a matching gray band between the crown and the brim embroidered to match the suit.
"What about the gift?"
"Safe in my other pocket. Johnny, you need to relax."
"Scott do you know what being asked to be a Godfather in our culture entails?" Not waiting for an answer Johnny continued. "The couple is very careful in their choice of padrinos – Godparents. From the moment of baptism, the parents and Godparents are called compadres. It is a lifelong bond. His Godmother and I will actually attend classes required by the church so we can bring up little Tomas in the teachings of the bible. If something should happen to his parents, God forbid," Johnny paused to cross himself, kissing his thumb nail, "the two of us would be responsible for the child for the rest of our lives. Once you are asked to be the Godparent refusing the offer is extremely insulting to the parents."
"So who is the Godmother?"
"She is Rosita's twin sister Isabella."
"Twin? Rosita is a very beautiful woman. You're a lucky man!"
Johnny gave his brother an incredulous look. "Must you?"
"Must I what?"
"Scott, this is an extremely reverent occasion. We are presenting this child to God. I know you're not Catholic so I'll forgive your ignorance but come on. This is no time to have women on your mind. After all, there IS a time and place!"
Scott mumbled an apology. "So tell me what's all involved. What are the coins for?"
"The Godfather tosses the coins – the "bolo" – into the crowd after coming out of the church. It is a symbol of the baby's future prosperity. Because the child is a boy, the Godfather – that's me - buys the patron saint medallion, the wine, and makes a sizeable donation to the church in Tomas' name. The Godmother buys the baptismal outfit and the candle inscribed with the baby's name."
"What does the candle represent?"
"Enlightened in the life of Christ. It will be burned on each anniversary of the christening to remind Tomas of when that light came into his life."
"Murdoch said something about a fiesta?"
"A fiesta? A fiesta? That's a mild way to put it! It's the party to end all parties. Such a celebration is only held twice in a man's life and three times in a woman's: baptism, marriage, and – in the case of the young lady – quinceterra, her fifteenth birthday – the day she is considered a woman."
"So you said wine. What else?"
"There will be a huge meal; everyone attending will bring something. The parents furnish the meat – usually a hog roasted over a spit. White flowers will be on all the tables and a bower of them will hang above the door of the church with a ribbon upon which the infant's name will be painted in gold. It is tradition to have a mariachi band and everyone will dance. A big cake – made by the grandmothers - will be in the center of the head table and piñata's filled with candy and little toys will be hung for the children to break. Once the wine is gone the party is over. I'm glad Pa made me an advance of my pay – like for the next two years – or I'd look awfully foolish."
"I would have lent you the money Johnny."
"I know but it just works better this way. Pa will just deduct a percent of my wages every week. You can't miss what you don't have!"
They were just outside of Spanish Wells and they could already hear the cheers and singing of the attendees. Johnny said that everyone for miles around would be there. Pulling around the bend, the boys weren't disappointed. Scott looked for a place to park the wagon. As they rode through the square, women tossed white flower petals at them and by the time they reached the other side of the plaza the wagon and team looked like they had been dusted with snow.
Scott jumped down and came around to the passenger side. Johnny was having a little trouble getting out due to his style of trousers. Scott stood back a couple steps, arms folded across his chest and a big grin plastered across his lips. After several failed attempts, Johnny closed his eyes and sighed.
"Help me." He muttered.
Scott cupped his ear with one hand. "What was that? I didn't quite hear you."
Johnny's eyes narrowed. He glanced around then spoke just a tiny bit louder. "I said help me."
Scott took a couple steps forward, reached up and put his hands around his brother's waist. Lifting him down much like he did when assisting Teresa, he sat Johnny down then laughed. "I want to make a bet."
Johnny was trying to smooth out the slight bunching of his pants. He couldn't bend over far enough to tug the hem and so was using both hands – one on either side of his thigh – to shimmy the fabric back into place. "What kind of a bet?" Johnny switched his hands to his other leg.
"I will bet you half of my pay check that you will split your pants before the day is over."
"Oh very funny. Ha, ha. You're just jealous of my svelte figure and the fact that I can even wear this style of trousers." Johnny had managed to smooth out the fabric of both legs and was now squirming about to adjust 'other things'.
"Well, is it a bet or not?"
"Half your check? It would sure make a dent in the debt I owe Murdoch. You're on. If I make it back to the ranch tonight without splitting my pants I get the money right?"
Scott nodded, pressing his lips tightly together to quell his mirth. Scott turned and started walking toward the church. He didn't get very far.
"Hey Scott," Johnny called. Scott turned. "Can you get me my hat?" Scott walked back to the wagon and bent over its side, handing Johnny the sombrero. "Thanks. Hey, did you notice the design on the back of my jacket?" Johnny turned around watching his brother over his shoulder.
"Very nice, very nice indeed. Come on."
"See what it says?"
"Says?" Scott leaned back to study the design. "I don't think it says anything."
"You got to look at it sorta sideways." Scott bent at the waist to his right but obviously couldn't see what Johnny had intended him to.
"Geez Boston. Come on. Start at the hem and work your way up."
"Oh, now I see it. Tomas. Very clever. You're idea?"
Johnny grinned. "Of course!" He strode past Scott. "Come on. Don't want to be late."
The ceremony went well. Johnny's face utterly shone with pride as he held the two-week old baby for the priest. And Tomas? He gurgled and cooed, never crying out once. Somehow he must have deduced this was his big day too.
Scott had been right. The Godmother was just as beautiful as her twin sister. For a moment he imagined she and Johnny as presenting their own child for God's blessing. It was a nice picture. And Johnny had been right, the service was held with great reverence and solemnity. Scott was impressed.
The minute the church service ended, however, and the attendees had filed out of the small adobe structure, the fiesta immediately burst into full swing. The coins were tossed and all the many children scurried around to collect them. The band started playing a lively tune and the parents and grandparents began to dance soon to be joined by other relatives. Somehow during all this hubbub little Tomas fell asleep. A cradle had been set up near the head table in the shade of a tremendous maple tree and Scott watched as Johnny tenderly laid the infant in it and drew up a light blanket to cover him.
The Godmother immediately grabbed Johnny's hand and swung him into a lively dance. Johnny loved to dance, especially to this style of music, and he yipped and hooted and swung his arms around. Scott was not only glad to see his little brother enjoying himself so, but he knew if Johnny kept up this wild escapade those pants would rip for sure.
Scott meandered over to the more sedate side of the festivities. He had always been a little shy about making an exhibition of himself – especially in front of strangers. When the band began to play a more subdued tune, the grandmothers approached him and asked him to dance. He was flattered and took turns moving them around the crowded area. They patted his cheek and gave it a quick kiss at the end of the dance. The band broke into the Mexican hat dance and Scott didn't even have to look – but did anyway – to know that Johnny would be the lead. Sure enough. His little brother's boots twisted and twirled and stamped about while Johnny clapped his hands above his head. 'Yup,' Scott thought. 'My pay has never been safer. I just hope to witness the embarrassing 'event'.'
While the children and the younger folks were content to keep on dancing, the more mature members of the group had been visiting the buffet tables and finding shady places to sit and eat. Scott wondered over to the tables himself. The food smelled fabulous and looked equally so. He recognized some of the dishes as Teresa had been attempting to duplicate Johnny's favorites from time to time. Picking up a plate and fork, he progressed down the line taking small spoonsful especially of those foods unfamiliar to him. At the end of the table stood a heavily mustached man in a bright yellow embroidered shirt. As each guest passed, he ladled some liquid into a glass and handed it to them. Scott took a whiff of his. It smelled like a mixture of wine and fruit. He liked wine and he loved fruit so he took a sip. It was magnificent and he made a mental note to ask Johnny if he knew how it was made.
The tables were already pretty full but one of older ladies waved him over and crowded together just enough to make room for him to sit at the far end. Talking in rapid and excited Spanish, occasionally pointing or smiling in his direction, he didn't understand most of their conversation but managed to make out the words "handsome", "single", and "rich". Scott felt the blood rising in his cheeks and dropped his gaze to concentrated on his meal. For the most part the food was excellent but a few of the dishes took him by surprise with their extreme spiciness. In fact his eyes began to water and he finished his wine much more quickly than he had planned. Excusing himself, he carried his dishes over to another table reserved for that function. He was tempted to go back for another glass of wine but resisted the temptation for Murdoch's sake. After all he had a made a promise to control his younger brother.
Scott walked past the man in the yellow shirt and saw that the wine was disappearing quickly. He held up his hand and shook his head slightly when offered a second glass. "No, gracias." The man smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Stepping around to the side of the table, Scott spied a large bowl of sliced fruit. Still hungry he asked the man if he could have some fruit. The man gave him a puzzled look than shrugged his shoulders again before indicating with his hand that Scott should help himself.
Scott gobbled down a few cherries and a chunk or two of pineapple. The fruit had a unique flavor but one that was quite enticing. No one else seemed interested in this dish and he had not seen fruit on anyone's plate. Looking around he spied a shady spot on the other side of the church steps and, picking up the bowl, carried it over with him. He positioned himself comfortably on the thick grass, sitting cross legged and putting the bowl on his lap. Scott had always loved fresh fruit – especially oranges – and dove into the bowl with gusto. Telling himself he was being a glutton, he tried to stop – or at least slow down – but found it impossible. The slices of oranges and lemons were divine and the cherries never better. Soon the bowl was nearly empty. He wondered if there was more somewhere but felt so comfortable and contented he didn't want to disturb himself to go and look.
Dusk was beginning to fall and many of the guests had already either left or were readying themselves to do so. The musicians were packing up their instruments and the buffet tables had been wiped down and folded. Johnny was still prancing around, humming, and nibbling on the leftover cake. He hadn't seen his brother in some time and so thought he better start looking for him.
Johnny asked a few folks but they all shook their heads. They had seen no such man as Johnny described. He wondered if maybe Scott was waiting in the wagon and started toward that end of town. Passing the church he thought he heard something. Rounding the steps he found Scott, head leaning back against the textured brick, arms hanging limply with his hands resting inside a big bowl. He was snoring quietly.
Johnny toed his brother's thigh with the tip of his boot. "Hey Boston, wake up." Scott stopped snoring but didn't move so Johnny reached down and shook his shoulder. "Scott," he said loudly. "Wake up. Time to go home." Scott didn't reply but simply fell to his opposite side until his head rested in the grass. "Oh, wonderful." Johnny muttered. He had only seen his brother drunk – at least THIS drunk – once before and the incident was not a pleasure to recall.
Johnny wanted to squat down and try gently slapping Scott's cheek but he couldn't because his pants were too tight. He finally decided to do the only thing he could do – go get the wagon and try to wrestle his older brother into the back of it. On the way over to where the horses stood patiently still hitched to the rig, Johnny spied a couple younger men still loitering around and so asked for their help. Between the three of them, they straightened out the blanket in the wagon bed and hauled Scott up to lay upon it. The movement raised Scott just enough that he began singing. Scott only knew one song, and then only the refrain of that song, and he always sang it when he was feeling no pain.
"Ay, ay, ay, ay. . ." That's the only part he ever sang but – to make up for not knowing the verses – he would just sing it over and over and over, his voice getting louder with each chorus. Johnny had been subjected to Scott's rendition before. Struggling to get into the driver's seat with his binding trousers, he pulled his hat down firmly hoping to cover at least part of his ears. It was going to be a long ride back to the ranch.
Scott sang the entire way. When telling him right out to shut up didn't work, Johnny began singing the song too – as loud as he possibly could – except Johnny knew all the words having heard it over and over when he was a child in Mexico. He quickly discovered that when he sang those words that Scott didn't know it would silence his brother until he felt the chorus should be repeated again. Even the horses reacted to Scott's off-key rendition which forced Johnny to tighten the reins and slow them down a bit just to be safe.
Finally, just at the point where Johnny had been ready to pull the wagon off the side of the road, leave his brother there until morning, unhitch the team and walk the rest of the way to the ranch the Lancer arch came into view. Knowing he would need his father's help to get Scott into the house he pulled the wagon up and halted the team right next to the hitching post.
Murdoch had been enjoying the enveloping quiet. Teresa have gone to her room as soon as the supper dishes were washed and put away saying something about cutting out new curtains for the kitchen. A low fire burned in the hearth, he had made himself comfortable in his favorite chair with a tumbler of scotch at his elbow and a book he had been wanting to finish in his lap. Smoke curled its way to the ceiling and Murdoch's feet rested on the ottoman. What more could a man want.
Just shy of ten o'clock, he presumed the boys would be home at any time. He silently hoped that Scott had fulfilled his promise to keep an eye on Johnny. Murdoch knew all too well that if Johnny had overindulged, it would take him days of sleep to recover and even then he would be surly for at least a few more.
Murdoch cocked his ear, he thought he heard the wagon approaching. Well, no need to disturb himself. He had five pages left in the book, two sips left of the scotch, and at least another fifteen minutes of tobacco. That's when he heard it.
"Ay, ay, ay, ay . . ."
"Damn it!" He groused. "I knew this was going to happen and here I had so much faith in my oldest son." Murdoch slammed the book closed and tossed it with a loud thump slap on the rug. He put out his pipe and threw back the remainder of his scotch. "Can't a man – just once in his life – enjoy his domain without something like this disrupting his peace?" Murdoch was scowling by the time he got to the front door. Pulling it open he had readied himself to give Scott a piece of his mind right then and there until he stopped short. Johnny was driving. Well then, who was . . .
Murdoch strode to the side of the wagon and looked into the bed. Scott lay on his back singing at the top of his lungs. He had begun waving his arms in the air as if conducting an invisible orchestra. Raising one hand, Murdoch swiped his face. He couldn't believe his eyes. He had only seen Scott this drunk once before and his son – suffering unbearably the next morning – swore he would never allow himself to reach this state again.
"What the hell?" He muttered, catching Johnny's gaze.
Johnny leaned forward to rest his weight on his forearms on his side of the wagon and looked across his brother to Murdoch. "Help me get him in the house, will ya? It was a damn long ride home. Those are the only words of the song Scott knows and he just keeps starting over and over and . . ."
Scott had stopped crooning at the mention of his name, the silliest grin either had ever seen spreading across his flushed face. He turned his head to see who Johnny was talking to. "O.o.h h. Mur. . .Mur. . . (hiccup) pa! When did youuuu get to the p. ?" (hiccup). "It's a really, really, really great party but there's h. any fwuit left. You .should have c. earlier." Scott righted his head, tilted it slightly back and began singing once again. "Ay, ay, ay, ay. . ."
Johnny dropped his head onto one arm. "If he sings that song one more time I'm tempted to throw him in the barn for the night . . . but I wouldn't do that to the horses. Help me pa, please?" Johnny lifted his face to look with pleading eyes directly into those of his father. Each taking a leg, they pulled Scott toward the end of the wagon until his hips were about even with the gate. They then dropped his legs and grabbed his arms to sit him upright. Scott sang the entire time. On the count of three, they hoisted him up between them and ducked under his outstretched arms so that he had one arm draped over each man's shoulders. Johnny and Murdoch encircled his waist with their free arms and turned toward the house.
Scott swayed, tripped over his own feet, began to sink down on buckling knees a couple times and kept right on singing. He kept looking back and forth between his brother and his father. "The twos of yous are really n. guys, yous know that?" (Hiccup) "Do I know yous?" Johnny and Murdoch glanced at each other and ignored Scott's question. "Where (hiccup) are we g. ? To another p. ? I like p. . (hiccup)"
"No son, no more parties tonight. You're home now. Your brother and I are going to put you to bed."
Scott bent his head back and, if not for the tightening of the men's arms, would have tipped right over backwards. "I l. h. ?"
"Yes, you live here." Johnny sighed.
"Oh, (hiccup) this is a really really really nice housssse. Big t. ! (hiccup) I used to l. in a big houssse like this. . .well, not 'xactly like thissss. . ." Leaning very close to Murdoch's ear he whispered the following description. "It was b. . It was in Massa. . .Massa. . . (hiccup) Bostwon. Have youuuuu ever been to Bostwon?"
Murdoch resisted the impulse to turn his head away and opted for holding his breath. His eldest son's breath reminded him of the bottling works of the Barkley winery. "Yes, once." Murdoch coughed slightly and continued. "Scott, I want you to listen to me. It's very late. . ." Scott tilted his head back again to look up at the sky. It was only through quick support that the two men kept him from falling flat on his backside. "It's very, very, very, d. . (hiccup) I don't l. the dark. You can't s. anything in the d. ." (hiccup)
"Well we're going in the house now and there are all kinds of lights in there." Scott smiled a rather lopsided, sloppy smile and hiccupped again. "Now son, you must try to be very quiet. Teresa is sleeping and we don't want to wake her, now do we?" Scott dropped his chin to his chest and hiccupped again. His hair fell over his eyes as he shook his head.
"Shhhh. . ." he finally instructed, weaving slightly. He looked over at Johnny. "Shhhh. . ." he repeated. Johnny freed one hand to swipe the little droplets of spittle from his face. They advanced the few steps to the front door which Murdoch had left slightly ajar when he had come out to investigate. He now gently kicked it open wider with his foot. Scott looked around the foyer is astonishment as though seeing it for the first time.
"Oh this is p. . Really, really, really p. !" Turning his head to look past Murdoch's chest he continued (hiccup) "W. 's in there?" He tried to take a step towards the great room but was halted by the tightening grip on his other arm. Johnny pulled him back to center him.
"Son, just how much did you have to drink tonight?"
Scott's eyes squinted while he thought about his father's question. Finally he held up his index finger very close to Murdoch's face. "I only h. one little itty-bitty glass of w. ." Murdoch looked over his eldest son's shoulder to Johnny who just shrugged. He hadn't spent a lot of time with Scott at the fiesta and couldn't confirm or deny his brother's claim. Seeing the doubt in his father's eyes he repeated, moving his finger closer to Murdoch's face. "Jus' one l. itty-bitty glass, I s. . (hiccup)"
"Scott you couldn't have gotten this drunk on one small glass of wine. Why, we have wine with supper almost every night. Your body would be used to it."
"I t. yoooou," Scott's voice reverberating in a defiant tone. "One l. itty-bitty, teensy-weensy glass." He used his extended index finger to poke Murdoch in the chest. "But. . ." (hiccup) I ate a lot of fwuit. Best fwuit I ever t. . I just ate and ate and (hiccup) ate." With both men's attention focused on Scott they didn't see Teresa tiptoeing down the stairs.
"Well hel. . . hel. . .hi there (hiccup) p. ladeee. Who are yooooou? Do you l. here t. ? You l. fa . . .fa. . .familiar. Are yoooou my wi. . .wi. . .wife? I sure hope s. !" (hiccup)
Teresa looked taken aback and drew her robe tighter together with one hand. "Is he alright?" Before either Murdoch or Johnny had a chance to answer, Scott took it upon himself.
"Oh I'm f. ." He smiled that lopsided grin again. "I'll be a lot f. (hiccup) once we ge. . .ge. . .get in bed though." He tried unsuccessfully to wink.
Teresa gasped. "Murdoch. . ." She began.
Murdoch put both hands on Scott's shoulders and swung him around in an attempt to catch his full attention. Johnny leaned against the wall, took off his hat and handed to Teresa.
"Scott, pay attention." Murdoch commanded in a firm voice. "Teresa is NOT your wife. She is . . ." Murdoch hesitated. He knew Scott would never comprehend the true explanation – not in his state - and thus decided to keep things simple. "Teresa is your sister." Murdoch glanced up at the young woman hoping she would understand. "She keeps house for us. Dusts and sweeps and does the laundry and cooking. . ."
(Hiccup) "Oh, my mis. . .mis. . .mistake." Scott slurred. "I g. I can't get in b. with her then." Scott hung his head again, slowly shaking his head from side to side.
"No Scott. You have your own bed to sleep in and that's just where we are going to take you."
"Okeydokey," Scott said (hiccup). "Isss it a nice b. ? Are yoooou going to t. me in and b. me something to d. ?" He looked into his father's face with watery eyes.
"Your brother and I are going to get you all settled for the night, and yes, I will tuck you in but I think you've already had enough to drink."
"Oh good. (hiccup) I don't th. . .think I c. manage all that by my. . .my . . .myself."
"I'll go up and turn back the bed." Teresa offered turning and scurrying back upstairs. After she was out of earshot Scott put his lips right up his father's ear.
"Yoooou are p. right (hiccup) about noooo more to d. . I wouldn't want to. . .want to. . . want to wet the b. ." Scott covered his lips with the fingertips of one hand and snickered.
Murdoch turned Scott toward the steps and put his arm back around his son's waist. Three abreast would not fit on the stairs. "Come on. One step at a time." He positioned Scott on the wall side of the stairway and moved in tightly to his side. "Johnny why don't you follow your brother just in case." Johnny reluctantly fell into step. By this time his head was throbbing, his feet arched, and his overly tight trousers were cutting off the circulation to what he considered the most important parts of his body. But one thing, he chuckled, he hadn't split them! That bet money was going to be a mighty fine addition to his own pay. He only hoped his inebriated brother remembered their agreement.
Scott had begun singing again as Murdoch steered him down the long hallway toward his bedroom. "Shut up!" Johnny finally shouted. "Stop singing that damn song! I can't take it anymore!" Murdoch's forehead was furrowed when he looked over his shoulder at his youngest son. Although Scott immediately silenced, much to his father's relief as well, Johnny's outburst had been totally inappropriate considering the circumstances. "Well every body's awake anyway!" Johnny groused.
Teresa had turned back the linens and stood at the foot end of Scott's bed. She watched him carefully and Murdoch noted the concern shadowing her face. When Scott saw her, he stopped abruptly and took a step in her direction. A panicked expression rose in the young woman's eyes and she took a step backward only to find herself up against the wall.
"I'm sor. ..sor. . ."
"Sorry?" She whispered. Scott's voice held such sincerity a lump formed in her throat.
"Ya, that." (hiccup) "Mur. . .Mur. . .pa 'splained everrrrything."
"Well, I forgive you. You're not yourself right now." Scott's brows knit together and he glanced around the room.
"Well if I'm not m. . .m. . .myself, who the h. am I?" (hiccup)
"Scott!" Murdoch scolded. "Language." He could see his son had no idea what he was talking about. Teresa smiled slightly and shook her head. She knew he would have never cussed in front of her had he been sober. "I think we've all had enough for tonight. Come, let's get you in bed."
Scott held up one finger toward his father indicating he should wait just a minute. Turning his attention back toward Teresa, he said, "Mur. . .Mur. . .pa here said yoooou do the cooking. Do yoooou do the c. ?" Teresa nodded not sure where this conversation was going. Scott reached into both pockets on the front of his jacket and pulled out a fistful of cut fruit from each. He held them out toward Teresa until she cupped her hands at which time he dropped the fruit into them. "This is the best fwuit I've ever h. . (hiccup) Can yooou make it?" Scott suddenly swayed so much that Johnny had to jump forward and grad his arm.
Teresa looked down at the pieces in her hands. "I don't know. I'd have to have the recipe. . ."
Scott turned his face toward his brother. "She needs a rec. . .rec. . ."
"Recipe." Johnny clarified.
"Yah that. Can yoooou be a g. man and get. . .and get. . .and get her the rec. . .rec. . ."
Johnny sighed, both from exhaustion and exasperation,. "Tomorrow." Scott grinned and nodded his head.
"Toooomorrow." He repeated. Murdoch cocked his head toward the hallway indicating that Teresa should leave the room so that the men could get Scott undressed and into bed. Teresa walked to the door holding the now-dripping fruit in her hands. With one last perplexed glance over her shoulder, she made her way to the bathroom where she dropped the fruit into the wastebasket and washed her hands. Going back to her own room and closing the door behind herself she hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. Finally she reached down and turned the key in the lock.. It was the first time she had ever locked her bedroom door and while she knew in her heart that Scott would never intentionally do anything to hurt her, Scott was not exactly in his right mind. 'Better safe than sorry' she thought.
Both Murdoch and Johnny were sweating by the time they got Scott undressed. Scott never slept without wearing a nightshirt but when Murdoch opened the drawer to retrieve one his youngest son sighed. "Pa, it's gonna take another ten minutes to get him into that. It won't hurt him to sleep naked for one night. I sleep that way every night." Murdoch reflected on the few times he had entered Johnny's bedroom to check on him for one reason or another only to find his son sprawled on his stomach and naked as a jay bird.
Murdoch steered Scott's shoulders while Johnny picked up his brother's legs. They decided to roll him onto his stomach. If he happened to throw-up, they didn't want him to choke. Murdoch tucked the sheet up around Scott's shoulders and the quilt up as far as his waist. Johnny took the bowl from underneath the porcelain pitcher and placed it on the floor near his brother's head.
"Nighty night," Scott muttered into the pillow, immediately falling asleep
"You better get yourself to bed too, son. It's been a long day. I meant to tell you this morning just how very proud I am of you for taking on the responsibility of being Tomas' Godfather. Don't ever be afraid to come to me and ask for help should you need it. As you know I'm no expert since the both of you did your growing up away from Lancer but I'll do what I can. I love you both very much. I'll check on Scott every little while. Don't worry. He'll be fine – that is until he wakes up." Murdoch tossed Scott's jacket on the back of the chair and a lone cherry rolled out onto the floor.
"Here pa, let me get that. I think your bad back has had enough torture for tonight." Johnny stepped forward and, with one foot ahead of the other for balance, reached forward in a quick movement to retrieve the fruit. As he did so he heard a loud "rip" and a cold draft on his bare bottom. "Oh, great! He'll never believe me now." Murdoch drew his brows together. "I'll explain it all in the morning." They both stood just a moment to look down upon their loved one. Scott lay with his head turned toward the outside edge of the bed. Murdoch had smoothed his son's hair back out of his eyes. He looked so peaceful and – for the first time that night – he was silent. A blessing in itself.
Johnny purposely got up at the break of dawn. Dressing quickly, he picked up the gray trousers and hurried down the back stairs. Just as he had hoped Teresa was already in the kitchen measuring out the coffee.
"Hey Teresa," he whispered. "I need you to do me a humongous favor." Johnny was asking for favors all the time but he had never used the expression "humongous" before. She wondered just what she was in for. Holding up the trousers, he turned them around and stuck his hand through the rip. Teresa tried not to laugh. "Can you mend these for me? Right now, I mean? Before Scott wakes up? You see we had a bet . . ."
Teresa held up one hand, open palm toward Johnny. "Say no more. Give me those." She grabbed the pants out of Johnny's hand and made for the great room where she kept her sewing basket.
In the meantime Johnny gathered up the items he needed to make his brother a very special breakfast. He got down the large tray Teresa used for serving meals in bed and placed a clean plate, napkin, fork, glass and bowl upon it. Taking two pans off the rack, he put some slices of bacon in one and filled the other one about halfway full of water. While waiting for the meat to fry and the water to boil, he filled the bowl and glass. Johnny was having the time of his life. He lived for the moments when he could get one over on his big brother. He finished his cooking, transferred the food to the plate, shook the folds out of a clean napkin to cover it and picked up the tray. Heading for the front stairs he paused just long enough to ask Teresa how it was going.
"I'm almost done. What did you make him for breakfast?" Johnny motioned her over with a flip of his head. She lifted the napkin and gasped. "Johnny!" She scolded quietly. "You're mean!" Johnny just smiled brightly.
On the plate was four slices of bacon, barely fried, the fatty portion glisteningly transparent; the grease practically dripping off the edges of the dish. Next to the bacon were two poached eggs, well undercooked. The whites were still slightly slimy and Johnny had purposely broken the barely cooked yolks which ran into the bacon grease. Teresa's brows knit together spying the glass. She knew they didn't have any juice that color and when she asked Johnny just what it was he told her it was the strongest wine he could find.
"Wine. For breakfast?" Johnny winked. Teresa was almost afraid to lift the small silver dome covering the bowl. What she found in it confirmed her earlier assessment. Johnny was indeed being especially cruel for it contained cutup pieces and slices of all kinds of fruit.
"Bring those pants upstairs and toss them on my bed when you finish, will ya?"
Teresa nodded and went back to her sewing. She felt sorry for Scott even though – in a small, torturous way he deserved it for getting so plastered.
Johnny burst into Scott's room calling out as loudly and cheerfully as he could. "Good morning dear brother. It's a glorious day! What are you doing still in bed?"
Scott moaned and pulled the pillow over his head. Johnny put the tray down, crossed to the window and threw the drapes open wide. He then purposely snapped up the window shade. Knowing Scott's window squeaked, he began to lift it open ever so slowly to prolong the irritating squeal.
Scott threw the pillow on the floor. "I know what you're doing now stop it!" Scott had raised his voice as he spoke and now regretted it, lifting both hands to press their palms over his throbbing forehead.
"What I'm doing? What am I doing? I got up especially early so that I could personally prepare my wonderful older brother his breakfast. All your favorites too."
"You. . .expect. . .me. . .to. . .eat?" Scott almost heaved just speaking the words.
"Boston, I've been in your condition more times than I'll ever admit and I've found the best cure is to eat something. Settles your stomach, helps with the headache . . . you'll feel like a new man right quick." Johnny struggled to suppress his mirth watching Scott wince at every word. "Come on, roll over." Johnny tugged his brother's arm until Scott lay on his back. He noted the whitish-gray tone of his brother's fair skin and the red puffiness around his eyes. Oh he was in bad shape alright. Johnny felt a sudden pang of guilty glee.
Pulling Scott up by his hands, Johnny braced his brother against his chest while arranging the remaining pillows behind Scott's back to get him into a sitting position. Clapping his hands with a loud, reverberating crack he stood back a step and put his hands on his hips. "Now, don't you feel better already?"
Scott struggled to focus, weaving slightly side to side. "Go away," he hissed, pulling the sheet up over his head. To his horror, Scott suddenly realized that he was naked. 'Oh God', he thought, 'can this day get any worse?'
Johnny picked up the tray and sat it across his brother's lap. He pulled the sheet down to find Scott with his fingers pressed over his eyes. "Come on Boston. At least take a look at what I made you. I could have used a couple extra hours of sleep myself but it was more important to me to sacrifice my own needs to care for those of my dear, sweet older brother. I'll be very hurt if you don't at least try to eat a little." Johnny used his most hurtful voice. He willed himself to fill his eyes with tears while he chuckled inside the entire time.
Scott took a deep breath and dropped his hands to either side of the tray. He met his brother's pleading puppy dog eyes with a blank expression. Johnny reached down and whipped off the napkin covering the food, purposely waved it in front of Scott's nose so the aroma of the meal would engulf him. Scott swallowed hard. He was desperately struggling not to heave his guts out. He was not about to give Johnny the satisfaction. Taking some slow, deep breaths, he finally allowed himself to survey the contents of the tray.
By this time both the runny egg yolks and the bacon grease had begun to congeal. Thinking it might help to relief his cottony dry mouth, he took a sip of what he thought was grape juice. Scott held the napkin over his lips just in time to prevent the spray of wine from covering the entire area. He looked up under heavy lids to find a wide smile on his little brother's face. If he would have been able to move he would have grabbed Johnny around the throat and finished him off right then and there.
Johnny reached forward and took the cloche off the bowl to reveal the array of fruit beneath it. Scott stared at the mixture for a long time before suddenly growling.
"Take the tray away. Far away. And right this instant." Johnny felt a twang of guilt. Perhaps he had pushed the issue just a little too far but wait – there was more.
Johnny removed the tray and set it on the hallway floor. Peeking through his slightly-ajar bedroom door he saw Teresa had finished her mending and the trousers now hung over the footboard of Johnny's bed. He snatched them up quickly and held them behind his back in both hands. By the time he walked back into his brother's bedroom, Scott had slid down completely under the sheet and had pulled the quilt up to his chin. He opened one eye just a sliver.
"I thought I told you to get out of my sight." He muttered.
"Ah, no. You told me to get the food out of your sight and I did."
"Well, if I hadn't told you before I'm telling you now. Out."
"I'll be more than happy to leave you alone just as soon as you pay off our bet."
Scott's forehead creased. "What bet?" Johnny pulled the gray pants out from behind his back and danced them back and forth before his brother's eyes.
"This bet . . . and don't even try to tell me you don't remember." He could see his brother struggling to recall so he decided to help him out. "You bet me half your week's pay if I could make it back to the ranch without ripping them," Johnny paused, tossed the trousers over the chair in the corner, and put his hands on his hips. Looking smug, he extended one arm, hand palm up. "Pay up, Boston. I DID get back to Lancer without bustin' through them so you owe me." Even though he was technically telling the truth he did feel just a wee bit guilty.
Scott didn't have the energy to argue, he would just have to take his little brother's word. Reaching over to open the drawer of his nightstand he took out a wad of folded bills. "Half my pay?"
"Half your pay." Johnny gloated, grinning.
"If I give you all my pay will you leave me alone?" Scott slurred.
"You betcha." Scott pressed the money into his brother's extended hand. Johnny immediately unfolded the bills and began to count them.
"You promised. You have every dime of my wages for the past week, now out." Scott withdrew one arm from beneath the quilt and pointed toward the door. Johnny turned and started to walk away but suddenly halted. Spinning around on his heel, he crossed back to his brother's bedside.
"I can't do it. I just can't do it."
"You promised!" Scott shouted, immediately sorry that he had done so – not because he had barked at Johnny but because he felt as though his head had just split in two.
"Oh, I'm leaving." Johnny drawled. "But I just can't take ALL your pay." Peeling off a dollar note he tossed it back into the drawer. "I'm nothing if not a fair man." Turning again, he walked with almost painfully slow steps to the bedroom door singing at the top of his lungs as he did so.
"Ay, ay, ay, ay . . ." Johnny had purposely left Scott's door open to ensure his serenade would be heard down the entire length of the hall and until he reached the bottom of the front staircase. He held almost twenty dollars in his hand. Folding it in half again, he kissed the top note before stuffing the money in his front shirt pocket. "Ay, ay, ay, ay," he whispered with a little twist on the melody. "Ay, ay, ay, ay . . ."
I was astounded to fine dozens and dozens of recipes for Sangria! I chose the following one because of the amount and variety of fruit it contains. (Yes, I know they didn't have lemon/lime soda (i.e. Sprite or 7Up) back then but this is fiction – remember?)
1 large orange thinly sliced
1 lemon thinly sliced
1 lime thinly sliced
1 medium-sized firm apple, pared, cored, thinly sliced
1 cup pitted cherries
1 cup fresh pineapple chunks
¾ cup brandy OR 1 ½ cups rum
½ cup finely granulated white sugar
1 750ml bottle dry red wine
12 oz lemon/lime soda
1 cup orange juice
Gently stir brandy or rum, wine, orange juice and sugar in large bowl. Add fruit, stir gently just to mix and separate. Let mixture set in the refrigerator for several hours or overnight. Remove fruit. Use sliced lemons or oranges as garnish, serve remaining fruit separately if desired or discard. Stir in soda just before serving. Six servings
Distortions
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Tomas
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