Regrets
A Christmas Story
Boston
He stared up at the portrait of his daughter, Catherine, now long gone some twenty-three years or so. He was amazed that his little girl would never be any more than that, a little girl.
Yet his little girl had grown up into an independent, intelligent, and very resourceful young woman. He had seldom denied her anything until that overly large Scottish immigrant had come into their lives.
Harlan Garrett moved to the liquor cart and lifted a crystal decanter, holding the heavy glass container he paused as he began to remove the topper, shaking his grey haired head once he pulled the top and poured a generous portion of the fine brandy into the glass.
Replacing top and decanter, he picked up the glass and returned to his easy chair by the fire.
Settling in he could feel the cold creep into his body, at seventy-two years of age he was still in good form, whereas many of his associates and 'friends' had either passed or sat confined to a sick bed, tended by family and a host of physicians.
Taking a small sip Harlan Garrett settled back in the upholstered chair, 'friends' he had had very few real true friends. In the business world, there were no true friends only associates.
In college, he could call on for any reason and they would come, but as the grind of business took him away from 'friends' and family even they fell to the wayside.
Taking another sip, he listened as the doorbell rang and the click of Jepson, the butler, made his way to answer. The door thrown open, a chorus of voices began one of the many Christmas Carols to herald in the joyous season.
Joyous season, Christmas a time of peace, love and family, with a frown Harlan lay his arm along the chair arm, his glass resting on the chair.
Joyous, yes, at one time he had enjoyed Christmas his mind clouding with past memories, he closed his eyes as he leaned his head back to rest on the cushioned chair back.
As the voices of the carolers faded and the heavy front door closed Jepson's booted feet on the hard wood floors chartered a course towards him.
"Master Garret I will be turning in now, anything I can get for you sir," Jepson's voice was, efficient.
Harlan smiled at the word conjured in his mind, 'efficient' yes the butler, major domo, long time employee and sometime confidant waiting silently for a reply, made Harlan Garrett smile, "no Jepson, thank you I'll just sit here for a while and finish my drink."
"Very well sir, I'll turn down the lamps and secure the doors," the butlers 'efficient' voiced halted, "if there's anything I could…"
Harlan took a sip from his glass to halt what his 'friend' could actually 'do for' him from pouring from his mouth, "no thank you that will be all."
"Yes, sir, goodnight then Master Garrett," with a shake of his white-haired head the faithful servant turned and slowly closed the door to his master's study.
Hands still on the handles of the door the man bowed his head; two years now since the man he knew as employer showed joy at the coming holiday season.
With a sigh, Jepson turned and began the last task of the day, turning down the lamps one by one, leaving only one fully lit to light the master's way up to bed.
Glancing at the portraits of the Garrett family as he trod the steps to the upper story of the mansion, he stopped at the rendering of the one person in the entire world that would bring life back into Harlan Garrett's heart.
Nodding once at the familiar face of the master's grandson, "ah Master Scott, I hope you are happy with your new family, but please forgive and old man and his desire to have you here with him. I know his visit two years past was disastrous, just remember he loves you, good night Master Scott."
Of Christmas's Past
Harlan Garrett sipped his glass of the best Bourbon a person could import, stared into the fire of the grand overly large fireplace, and pictured in his mind's eye the ghosts from his past.
"Grandfather," Harlan looked up, as his eyes settled on the fine Persian carpet spread before the fireplace hearth, he smiled.
There he sat, his little Scotty, dressed in fine tailored pants and shirts, his blond hair neatly cropped and the blue eyes, just like his mother's stared back.
"Where is Cali-for-nia," his five year old speech pronounced the name exactly. Harlan was so very glad and relieved his Scotty had not gone through that stage of mangled guttural sounds most small children made.
Perhaps it was because the child wanted to please his grandfather or it was that Harlan allowed the child to sit beside him at numerous meetings.
A polite child, waiting patiently to be recognized by his elders and quietly listened as his small blond head swiveled as each board member spoke.
Harlan was so very proud of Catherine's son, his legacy to the Garrett fortunes and his grandson.
California was a South Western piece of lawless, backwoods, barbaric land, and a place where his lovely, delicate Catherine, his only child, his baby defied him to first marry then travel with that oaf of a Scotsman where she died.
The very sound of that foreign land made him shutter, "It is just a place filled with barbaric customs and people, and no place need you be interested in Scotty."
The small face tilted up to his grandfather, "but I heard you and Mister Tillingham dis... digust..."
"Discuss, Scotty," Harlan corrected his grandson.
With a nod, "yes sir, California, just yesterday at the meeting. You were upset when Mister Tillingham handed you a letter. Was it bad news Grandfather?"
Harlan disliked out right lying to his Scotty, but California and the barbarian who lived there had no right to interfere with the raising of Catherine's son, "it will be alright Scotty. The missive was from someone your mother knew a long time ago."
Sitting up straight the child's blue eyes brightened with interest, "my mother knew someone in California? Do they know me? Please grandfather, tell me," the plea was genuine and hopeful.
Harlan sighed, and motioned for his grandson, "come here Scotty, I will tell you a little, you are still too young to understand."
Scott Garrett stood and came to stand beside his grandfather's chair, a small hand on the arm of the chair; eyes wide and lips pressed together the child waited.
Harlan was not sure what a nearly five-year-old child would understand about despair, fear, pain, and accusations.
How much should he tell the boy about an absent father too caught up in the building of an empire, in a land filled with barbarians and mud huts to care about the loss of his wife and abandonment of a son?
Harlan Garrett saw Murdoch Lancer, a barbaric farmer, and an absent father, not worthy of having been the husband to Catherine Garrett and a father to Scott Garrett.
How could he tactfully tell the child his last name was Lancer and not Garrett, how could he keep the longing of a child who had time and time again asked if he had a father. No, it was not yet time to expose Scotty to Murdoch Lancer.
"Your mother was a very kind and gentle person; she took under her wing an itinerant immigrant and helped him conform to society. This person left to go west, civilized society did not appeal to him, he was rough and uneducated," Harlan looked at the face of his angel, his Scotty.
"My mother was a good person," Scott asked with slate blue eyes hungering for information about the woman who gave him birth.
Harlan nodded, "yes a very good person."
Scott smiled, "I would still very much like to see California, and it sounds so big and…."
Harlan picked up Scott's tiny hand and shook it gently, "Scotty, you are not yet five and have a lot of years until you are able to undertake such a journey."
Scotty smiled, pink lips turned up, blue eyes dancing, and "one day I will be big enough to see California…."
The vision faded and Harlan Garrett sighed, the past, why could not Murdoch Lancer had stayed in the past, that day when the big oaf had invaded the Garrett mansion and demanded to see Scott.
To insure Scott's life in Boston, dire measures implemented, subterfuge, denials, and Harlan had not regretted any one ever made.
Watching the fire crackle and spark in the fireplace Harlan sighed. He should have just taken Scott to England after that day.
Holding that smile in front of Scotty as that barbarian bent low and held his grandsons delicate soft hands in big, calloused hard worked hands was nearly impossible, but he did it, for Scotty.
He would have sold his soul to the devil at that time to keep Murdoch Lancer away from Scott.
What Should Have Been
The silver-haired head nodded back to rest on the deep chair back, eyes closed Harlan was close to finding himself asleep in his chair, before a nice warming fire, with a start Harlan sat up, dozing like some old man, preposterous he sniffed as he noticed the glass of libation still in his hand.
Taking a sip Harlan Garrett settled back once more and stared into the flames as they licked at the logs, in his mind he could hear the chamber music and laughter of the season.
"Catherine, you look lovely daughter," the doting father smiled then nodded at the gentleman beside her, "William that was a good coup you delivered against Jackson," but it was the blond-haired young man that had his attention, " Scotty, you look very dashing."
The taller than his age young man nodded to his grandfather, at fourteen, Scott Garrett Winslow had been permitted to attend the Garrett Christmas party.
Versed as to what to do and not do by both his mother and father, Scott was not prepared for the splendor and abundance that money and social standing revealed to his young eyes.
Harlan escorted his grandson around the rooms filled with rich influential people. The cream of society, pillars of an elite social elevation that few not born into could understand.
Harlan knew his daughter had never been happy in her marriage, and her husband was a snob and a pompous ass, but his hopes rested on Scotty, then as if on a wisp of smoke, the vision faded.
Harlan shifted uncomfortably in his chair and frowned at the fire as it danced its merry way through the meticulous destruction of the log.
The old man sighed, his daughter, Catherine, had forged her own way in this life, snubbing her delicate nose at the wealthy, boring society into which she had been born.
Finding and marrying a person not in her league and then leaving her privileged life for one of danger, travelling across this nation with only sugar dreams to sustain her.
Harlan ran a delicate, soft hand down his face, he was tired, and maybe he should find someone to head Garret Enterprises. His attempt to bring Scotty home had failed, as well as driving a wedge between grandfather and grandson.
He could hope Scotty would forgive an old man fighting to keep his legacy alive.
Legacy, was it that important a name, a social standing, monetary gain was there anything else?
Coming himself from wealth and social standing it was all he had known, the game, played well, reaped both more wealth and standing, was there more?
Of Christmas Present
Harlan Garrett was not a religious man, he attended church regularly as was required, and he supported the required welfare agencies in Boston, and he believed in God and the Devil, Heaven and Hell, but he did not remember ever praying to the Almighty in Heaven.
With a sigh and a frown, he never prayed when Catherine lay dying, Scotty cradled on her breast, and the last words she spoke were for her child and Murdoch Lancer.
He had promised her he would keep Scotty safe until Murdoch came for him, that he would see her gently laid to rest when her time came to tread the pathway to Heaven… he broke that promise, the last promise to his darling child.
Bowing his head Harlan let slip one tear, it rolled unimpeded down his cheek to drop onto his lap, not caring to wipe the wetness away more suppressed tears for everything he had lost began to fall.
The tears he shed were the tears from so long ago as he sat beside the bed of his dying daughter, unable to do so then; they fell as if a dam had burst in his heart.
Now through his own callous disregard for his daughters wish, Harlan Garrett had lost.
The things so important to him, social standing, wealth, all the things Catherine cared nothing for, and Scotty, though raised to fit perfectly into that higher tier, cared nothing for; had he been so blind to see all they wanted was for him to love them and accept them.
Looking up at the portrait of Catherine, "I am so sorry my princess, I did not see then what my dislike of your decision to marry Lancer and leave me alone would reap at this time in my life."
In a second of released rage, he threw the glass in his hand into the fireplace, "I ruined it all, I disgraced you when I turned my back as you took your first steps of independence. I hated a man who only had love in his heart for you and visions of a life away from Boston and I did not have the grace to wait until you were buried before I stole the son of my rival."
Harlan knew, at that moment, he would die alone and unloved. He would go to Hell for the hate in his heart for the pain he had given his only grandchild for the despicable acts he perpetrated for the cause of business; he was a doomed man with no hope.
A loud banging on the front door made the old man jerk his head up, the clock was just striking midnight. The servants had all gone to bed, who had the audacity to come calling at an ungodly hour.
Pushing himself up from the chair, Harlan pulled his handkerchief from his inside pocket and wiped his face, mumbling to himself, "Someone had better have a good reason for this disturbance."
Opening the study doors the banging at the front door continued, no servant in sight. Straightening his coat, he stood in front of the great door and was startled once more as the incessant banging continued; shoved aside as he opened the door.
"Now see here," Harlan began as he turned towards the intruder but his words froze as a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind.
"Whooee, it's cold outside Old Man," Harlan stared at the bundled form before him, he knew that voice, turning to address the person behind him he was stopped before he could open his mouth, "Johnny quiet down you'll wake the entire neighborhood."
The muffler and heavy coat, tossed aside revealed the late night disturber of peace and quiet, "John Lancer."
The sapphire eyes gleamed and the full grin greeted the startled older man, "Tha one an' only."
With a final shrug, the heavy coat fell to pool on the luxurious foyer, "Where's tha fireplace in this mausoleum, Dios I nearly froze my…"
"Johnny," with a sharp rebuff, "to the left the study will have a good fire going."
With a parting grin Johnny bent to pick up his outerwear, the click of his boots was all Harlan Garrett heard as grandfather and grandson stared at each other.
A soft, "Scotty," escaped his lips as Harlan swallowed back a sigh, "how… why. I."
Scott smiled down on the older man, "shall we."
Motioning to the retreating back of his brother Scott began to unwrap the muffler from around his neck, "we had best go attend my brother, if I remember the liquor cabinet it does not hold tequila."
Scott turned to close the front door and then placed a hand on the still confused man's arm, "Merry Christmas grandfather."
As Scott moved past Harlan could still not find his voice, "but... Scotty... ah Scott what..."
"Ah hell Scott there ain't no tequila," cringing at the loud voice coming from the study, Harlan hurried behind his grandson, "decorum young man."
The scene in front of him had Harlan pause at the doorway to his private study. Standing with his back to the now roaring fire, Johnny Lancer grinned at him as Scott, having neatly lay his coat over the sofa, stood pouring drinks, "grandfather," he queried as he held up an empty glass.
"Yes please, I believe I will have another," unable yet to reason why his grandson and his half-brother were now enjoying a round of drinks in his study in Boston at Christmas time had yet to settle into his confused mind.
Harlan Garrett was not one to be confused, he had always held the upper hand in any negotiation, he did not 'rattle' so to speak, and he was never 'surprised'.
"Scotty, Scott what…"
Johnny glanced up as in the study doorway a night shirted, heavily robed man stood with a small gun in his shaking hands, "Master Garrett?"
"Jepson, put that thing away, it's Scotty and his half… his brother," Harlan motioned with his hand, "perhaps you could..."
Johnny moved past Harlan and approached the still trembling older man, "hey compadre, let's you an' me go find a cook stove an' make up a pot o' coffee."
Scott smiled as Johnny deftly disarmed the butler and turned him around at the same time.
After a pregnant pause, "I suppose you are wondering how Johnny and I came to be here in Boston at Christmas."
Harlan nodded, "yes Scott I would very much like to hear this account."
Handing his grandfather a drink he motioned for the older man to sit, "it really wasn't my idea; you will have to thank Johnny for this impromptu visit."
Harlan sat and took a good sip of the brandy, taking the time to collect coherent thoughts, "your, brother?"
"Yes," Scott smiled as he went to take a seat on the sofa, "your last visit left things strained between you and me, as well as my father and myself."
Sitting forward, the half-filled glass being turned in his hands Scott smiled, "you never gave Johnny the respect he deserved. My 'little' brother is very adept at reading people and reacting accordingly sometimes to him getting hurt in some way, but barreling on anyway."
"I was aware at the time, I could not get around the boy, he is very protective of you," Harlan agreed with his grandson, at least he admitted that the gunfighter was very good at reading between the lines, "a formable opponent."
"And more dangerous than you will ever know, but very protective of what he sees belonging to him," Scott nodded in agreement. Slate blue eyes locked onto those of the older man, "as I can be if you or anyone dares to cause pain to my family ever again."
Harlan Garrett stared at his grandson, "this living out west has hardened you my boy."
"No grandfather, it has only made me who I was always supposed to have been," with a bowed head Scott continued, "I had great respect for you sir, growing up I looked up to you but for your lies, and burying of truths you robbed me of a life I should have had, in California."
"You did not come back to stay, did you Scotty," Harlan had had hope when his grandson stood right there beside him.
"Far from it grandfather, if it had not been for 'my' brother forcibly pushing me on a train, the last time I saw you would have definitely been the last time my boot heels would trod Boston streets and most definitely crossing that threshold out there," Scott sighed and smiled, "my brother is a force to reckon with."
"Then why have you come," the grandfather asked an edge in his voice that held antagonism.
Scott bristled at the change in his grandfather's inflection, "because my brother asked me to."
The person making and entrance into the markedly cooler room and bringing an exuberance lacking between the two men clapped his hands together making both men jump, "Whooee, Ol' Jepson an' me found us somethin' ta take tha edge off that beast tryin' ta clawin' its way outta my belly."
Ignoring the animosity evident in the room, "Yep we found somethin' called Wellton beef or somethin', but I found some bread an' tomatoes an', ah hell I made sandwiches and brewed a pot of coffee."
Hands on hips Johnny looked between his brother and the old coot and nodded to the butler to place the tray on the desktop, "thanks Jep, you an' your missus have a Merry Christmas, glad ta have met ya."
Holding out a hand Johnny waited, the surprised butler smiled and grasps the outstretched hand, "no thank you sir," with a smile and a lowered voice, "you are not the dangerous killer purported to be."
Johnny grinned, "Well there are some men, not around anymore that would dispute that. But, I am also very protective of those I care about, comprede?"
Jepson nodded as his hand fell away, "if you mean 'do I understand' then yes Sir Master Johnny I most certainly do, good night," turning towards his employers grandson, "Master Scott, so good to see you once more."
"And I too Jepson," Scott nodded to the long time major domo.
"Will there be anything else Master Garrett," Jepson waited for his employers response.
"No, no that will be all, thank you Jepson," the older man waved a hand in dismissal.
Johnny gave the butler a wink, "if you need anything Jep, you just let me know."
Harlan cleared his throat as Scott suppressed a chuckle. Johnny escorted the butler from the room and closed the study doors, turning he glanced between the two men in the room, "well, I'm hungry."
Making his way over to the desk, Johnny winked at his brother and glared at the old coot. Sandwich in hand the younger man sat in the chair by the fire, "well ya got things right," he muffled around a bite of bread and beef.
Scott grinned and Harlan gave his grandson's brother a glare, "don't talk with a full mouth."
Johnny smiled as he swallowed, "ah yeah, lo siento, didn't have much use for social graces down on tha border," taking another big bite, "this sure is good."
Harlan grimaced and turned away from the uncouth barbarian, "just what are we supposed to 'get right' Scotty."
Scott glanced to his brother contently chewing his food then back to his grandfather, "Johnny told me something that made me think, I was very angry with you grandfather, I didn't think I could ever forgive you let alone step foot back in this house."
Harlan nodded waiting for this particle of wisdom from an uneducated, border town killer, "and what was this tid-bit of knowledge imparted to you?"
Scott grinned, "That we can choose our friends, but family is a 'done deal'. I do not want to hate you grandfather life is too short for hate. Johnny also told me that. It is because of your deceit and lies I cannot come back here to be manipulated by you again."
Scott glanced at his brother, "my little brother offered me a solution to the pain I held in my heart."
Turning once more to his grandfather, "he was willing to come to Boston and put a bullet through you and end my misery or for me to accompany him and end this over bearing hold on me."
"Your gunfighter brother would risk hanging to murder me," Harlan had turned pale as he looked at Scott.
Johnny stood and wiped a hand down his pants leg as he replaced the empty plate on the desktop, "not murder as I see it, more a mercy killin'," Johnny moved to stand beside his brother.
"Puttin' you out of your misery of losin' ta Lancer an' Scott outta missing what he had with you. Kinda like outta sight outta mind," Johnny grinned as the older man paled.
Scott put a hand on Johnny's arm and with a raised eyebrow admonished his little brother, "grandfather, I may never forgive you for your heinous way of trying to keep me by your side, but I don't want to hate you for the life you gave me."
Harlan found his grandson's eyes and held them with his own, "but I did all this for you."
Scott shook his head, "no sir, you did this for you. Your wants outweighed the needs of a small child. Since your visit I have been hurting inside, it altered my ability to work the ranch and interact with my family, Johnny saw that and…"
Johnny placed himself between the two men, "I ain't gonna let no one hurt my brother, even 'family', so this is your last chance Ol' Man ta make things right with my brother, or make your peace with God or tha Devil." With a final glare at the older man, "your choice," Johnny's voice was low and his fingertips touched the butt of the lethal gun slung low on his thigh.
Johnny moved past the two men, "I'm gonna go see if there's any dessert in that big ol' fancy kitchen. Better get 'er done, by tha time I get back."
Scott and Harlan watched the retreating back of Johnny Madrid Lancer and both men sighed.
"Grandfather," Scott started, "You may not believe that I love you and I wish it could be different, but I am not a child, I have grown up, thanks to you, and I have made my decision in life, to be a Lancer and to live my life in California."
Harlan nodded, "I was hurt when your mother ran off with Murdoch Lancer, he was not good enough for her or I deemed him so. I have had time to think and I would have ruined Catherine's independence and joy in life if I had bent her to my will. Then when she died nearly in my arms I was cold and hard," sitting down in his chair Harlan bowed his head.
"When my Catherine died holding you to her breast and made me promise to keep you safe until your father arrived, I felt nothing when she passed."
"To me she had been a willful child and she had been punished for her disobedience. I was given a second chance with you and Murdoch Lancer would never have you. Like a thief in the night I stole you from him, you belonged to me and Boston," Harlan looked up at his grandson, he was prepared for the hate and disgust that would surely be on Scotty's face, but found no incrimination, only sadness.
"You were very wrong grandfather, I would like to think you were distraught and not in your right mind but you were cold and calculating, you hated a man who loved your daughter and wanted his family with him, and you destroyed that," Scott felt saddened.
Harlan leaned over his knees in a contradictory pose, one of defeat and loss, "I have had time to think, I know I have lost you and nothing I could now do will change that. However, that block of ice I held in my chest, called a heart, melted when I realized wealth and social standing was nothing if I had no one to share it with. I can only say I am sorry Scott."
Scott looked at the man, defeated, trampled, and demolished; he was not the unbending business magnate Boston knew, he was just an old man beat down by bad choices and unresolved lies.
"Johnny showed me how bitterness can lead to hate, he also showed me how love can lead to forgiveness. I am glad you had an epiphany, I am sad you found it too late for us," Scott moved over to the chair his grandfather sat in and kneeled in front of the older man.
"Grandfather, I wanted you to know I still hold, what we had, in my heart. Forgiveness, I just… not right now," with a laugh Scott patted the older man's arm, "my little brother sees this Christmas as the time for 'mendin' fences 'and I must concur, Merry Christmas Grandfather."
Before Harlan could comment the brash young Johnny Lancer rushed into the room, ignoring decorum and social graces, "hey Boston, it's snowin' again. Ain't gonna be getting' back to tha hotel tonight," looking at both men, Johnny grinned, "good, glad ya got that outta your systems."
Standing, hands on slim hips in the center of the room, "guess I could bed down right here in front of tha fire, that seat pillow will do fine, an' that big ol' coat ya made me buy."
Harlan stood and smoothed his suit coat, "I believe I can manage better accommodations young man."
Johnny smiled and Harlan saw for the first time what Scott was telling him about this young man, this half-grandson, "how do you know we came to an understanding?"
Putting a finger to the side of his nose then pointing, "years of experience "Ol' Man."
Scott chuckled and Harlan sighed, Johnny threw up his arms, "well we'd best get ta bed or that there fat man in a red suit ya been tellin' me about won't be bringin' us no presents."
Scott motioned to the doors, "upstairs first door on the right."
As the force that was Johnny Lancer, exited the room a quiet descended on the two men left, "thank you grandfather, I do hope we can work this out."
"No more than I Scott. Now go see to your brother I'll bank the fire here and be right up."
"Yes sir."
Harlan watched his grandson leave the room, turning to bank the fire he spied the portrait of his darling Catherine, she seemed softer somehow, her lips pulled into an impish smile, why had he never seen this before, "thank you, somehow I know you had a hand in this."
Banking the fire and turning down the lamps Harlan Garrett looked up at a sound outside his window, throwing back the sash, he was sure he had seen something out of the corner of his eye. The glow from the new fallen snow reflected a shadow now gone.
Turning he thought he heard a muffled, "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night."
The End
Solista
2015