Many Mansions

Chapter 1

By Pharoah's Cat

Author's Note: Beyond what I wrote in the FF summary, this story weaves though the first season. It refers to incidents and comments in other episodes, but it exists outside specific episodes. Since the writers of the show are pretty inconsistent about the time line of John & Victoria's relationship, I didn't hold myself to any higher standard, except to say that it concludes before A Joyful Noise. Buck, Blue and Mano all make appearances but this is really John and Victoria's…and Annalee's story. And, as I said, only the last chapter rates a MA rating…which they don't even seem to feature anymore and I don't know how to rate individual chapters. Slow on the tech draw. And as ever, not my characters/no copyright infringement intended.

They were trapped. John Cannon and Victoria Montoya Cannon were trapped in a marriage that was part political necessity, part familial exchange and part military alliance. It was a marriage of no convenience at all since it followed hard on the heels of the death of the much beloved spouse of the reluctant groom. Such a union would have tested the most Machiavellian of European courts. But this wasn't 1500s Europe. This was the Arizona territory of the 1870s and the marriage was between a proud Mexican dynasty in the making and an American upstart with a dream so distant only he could see it.

Age, background, temperament, and simple lack of proximity would have never brought them together. And even if some mischievous god had arranged such a union, they would most likely, have settled into, at best, benign indifference. But though this was a marriage of political convenience, it was not a loveless marriage. For Victoria loved John almost from the first moment she met him, and John, though trying to thrash his way through grief and loss … and no little guilt … found himself irresistibly drawn to the beautiful young woman who had so suddenly appeared in his life. John and Victoria could not seem to move toward each other but neither did they stand a chance of being able to pull apart. And so they lived in the same house in a state of strained tension; sharing meals, heat, dust, Apache raids, bandit attacks; a bedroom but not a marriage bed.

Victoria tried. Oh, how she tried. She had known from her first dinner with this stiff yet gallant American that she loved him. She had fallen in love faster and harder than she would have ever thought possible. And she knew he was attracted to her as well. It would be impossible not to know. The air between them was as charged as the air after the most violent of desert thunderstorms. They way he looked at her at times made her flush with desire.

So she tried…she tried with kindness, with patience, with care for his brooding son, Blue, who could be sullen and resentful one moment and helplessly vulnerable at others. At times, she thought her new brother-in-law Buck was an ally. But he was too unpredictable, too given to bouts of drinking and carousing…much like her own brother Manolito… to depend on. So, she was alone, often feeling like a "visitor" at the High Chaparral. And nothing she did could break through to what Mano referred to as this 'granite block' of a man.

She knew the problem of course. The first Mrs. Cannon. She was dead and buried but she loomed over almost every aspect of her life with John. Sometimes she hated the late Annalee and sometimes she despaired of ever living up to her husband's memory of her and sometimes she prayed to her for help. But just when she thought some truce with a dead woman had been reached, some new flash point of misunderstanding would trip her up; chairs and wind chimes, table manners, and even something as simple as a list of supplies. For each half step forward, it seemed she and John always stumbled backwards.

And so she and John, Blue, Buck and Manolito, all moved through the house they shared as if on eggshells. Forced politeness. Awkward silences. The strain told on everyone. Buck, Mano and even Blue took increasing refuge in the bunkhouse. Leaving John and Victoria ever more isolated in their mutual misunderstanding.

This day, they were trying to talk, once again, about supplies; simple and unemotional enough. But somehow, as so often happened, the conversation had taken a decided turn in to the landscape of the fraught.

"Yes, you said last time I forgot to order Comino…so I put it on the list this time," John explained, with the kind of reasoned patience that infuriated her. But she strove to match his tone. "I know…but see here…you have ordered yellow corn meal…that is not right, we need the white." Before he could interrupt… and she knew he would…since he would not remotely understand the need for different corn meals, she continued, "And you ordered way too much…"

But now he did interrupt…"I just don't know what we need cornmeal and all these spices for anyway…the men do just fine on potatoes and beans…"

"Beans!" She sputtered in exasperation…"you seem to enjoy the tacos I make and so do the men! You must let me make the shopping list at least! If I am to run our household!"

"Its MY HOUSEHOLD. John growled. "And, Annalee never ordered…"

"Yes, yes, YOUR household," Victoria nearly screamed…"Yours and Annalee's. I know, I know…Mio Dios you remind me often enough!"

She turned from him and took several steps away. When she turned back to face him her eyes were filled with tears.

"I love you John Cannon but you fill my heart with pain. You stood in this room in front of my father and brother, and said you wanted me to stay, but you treat me as if you want me a million miles away. I think you would rather embrace a …a…a… rattlesnake as your wife. "

John's expression flickered instantaneously from frustration to astonishment.

In two long strides he was looming over her. Before she could react he pulled her to him in a kiss so long and searing it left them both gasping for breath when he finally stepped back. He stared down at her, eyes burning with intensity but said nothing. Finally, Victoria said, barely above a whisper, "You're hurting my arms." John dropped his hands from her as if they burned and said simply, "I'm sorry."

"Its alright," she said softly.

"No!" He almost shouted, shaking his head. "It most certainly is NOT all right. My God, Victoria, the last thing I would want on this earth is to hurt you."

He half turned and took a few steps away from her and when he turned back, this time it was his face that was filled with despair.

"Don't you understand? I have wanted you since the first moment that you walked into your father's dining room on Mano's arm."

"Then…?" She started to say, but he spoke over her.

"And my wife of over 20 years, the mother of my son, the woman I loved…I STILL love…had not been dead for a month. I feel like I have completely betrayed Annalee."

John took a deep breath. "You didn't know Annalee, but we had more than Blue together. We had a life together. We had years of shared dreams and hardships. She…she… put me back together again after the war. I came home broken by all the bloodshed, all the terror and waste and she put me back together. And I never had the chance to mourn her... to mourn my wife. The way she deserved; the way I needed. Need. I have betrayed everything we had together."

"No…"

"I can't do this…I want you…I need the alliance with your father… but I can't do this. It feels like I am being torn to pieces. "

John grabbed his hat and strapped on his gun as he headed for the door.

"Where are you going? It will be dark soon." Victoria's voice edged into panic. "You always say no one should go out after dark alone."

He didn't look back as he bolted out the door.

Outside, the light was just beginning to fade as John headed for the corral to saddle his horse.

"Hey Big John! Where ya goin'? Buck called from the bunkhouse doorway.

When John didn't respond, Buck strolled over, finishing a chicken leg as he walked.

As he drew closer, Buck took note of his brother's stoney expression.

Carefully, Buck asked again, "Where ya going?"

"For a ride."

"Now? Gettin' kinda dark, ain't it?"

John finished cinching the saddle girth and started to mount.

"John …" Buck said gently, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder.

John whirled on him as if he had been stabbed. He stared at Buck, but said nothing; simply turned back to mount.

Buck stepped back. Long years of fraternal conflicts had finely tuned his ability to read his brother's mood; the twitching jaw muscle and, even more, the ominous silence. A loud John Cannon, growling and yelling was formidable; an angry but quiet John could be downright dangerous.

"Well," said Buck, "be careful."

John kicked his horse into full stride and galloped out of the compound.

Buck turned and saw Victoria standing in the ranch house doorway, her face a mask of hopelessness as she watched her husband ride away. With a sigh he headed back to the bunkhouse.

John tore off into the desert with no real idea of where he was going. Finally, he drew his horse down to a sedate walk and simply let the animal choose the path.

Buck had warned him, he recalled...standing by Annalee's grave…John had tried to explain that he needed more time. And Buck had said, "well, alright, but I just hope you don't need more time than you got." But how much time was that? And how much time to mourn someone loved and lived with for over 20 years? Was there some sort of magic number of weeks or months…or years…he didn't know about?

And yet, Buck was right in a way…no matter what the right amount of time might be…John felt it running out. It was not fair to anyone to go on this way. Not to Annalee's memory, not to the ranch, certainly not to Victoria, not even himself. Dammit! Why couldn't it just be a purely political alliance? Why couldn't Victoria be just a woman who he could simply be polite to, as he went about his life while she went about hers?

Instead he found himself married to a woman who astonished him every day with her beauty, intelligence and passion. He told her he had accepted the fact that Annalee was gone. He even shared a bed with her, but could not reach for her; Annalee was always between them. In a way, it seemed a fitting punishment for his betrayal.

And whose fault was that? he demanded of himself. Not Annalee's, not Victoria's…no, it was all on him. For that matter, when it came right down to it, so was Annalee's death. What possible right did he have to drag her out into the middle of a war zone? To put her in harm's way, and young Blue into a life where he had seen more violence and bloodshed in a few months than most men see in a lifetime. What right had he and his damned dream to do that?

"Señor Cannon?" John was so deep in his own thoughts that he had nearly ridden right into Pedro.

"Pedro? What are you doing here?" John looked around, wondering just where 'here' was, exactly.

"Me, Boss?" Pedro was equally puzzled. "I am riding night herd. Sam and Joe and the others are camped just past that arroyo."

John looked up and noted the sky had darkened into an indigo blue crossed with streaks of gold and purple, and that a decent sized herd of his own cattle were milling about and settling into the familiar routine of night.

"Night herd, huh?"

"Si."

"Well, you go tell Sam that I relieved you and after that you can go back to the ranch."

"But, boss…" Pedro began. One look from John stopped him. "Si Señor."

A few minutes later, as John circled the herd to get a good minds' eye lay of the land before darkness, Sam rode over.

"I just wanted to make sure Pedro didn't dream it." Sam explained. "And that you were really here."

"Well, you've seen." Said John shortly.

"Yup. Night Mr. Cannon."

Left alone, John tried to let his mind simply drift. The slow rhythm of his horse, the huffs and shuffles of the cattle gradually worked to ease the tension. Eventually, he felt he could at least breath again.

After the sun had fully set and the desert chill was setting in, he dismounted to get his jacket from behind his saddle. Shrugging into it he glanced up where an uncountable number of stars were just blinking on. And at that moment a memory descend on him with such clarity it almost knocked him to his knees.

He and Annalee were "walking out," not yet engaged. And one warm Virginia evening they strolled in the sweet smelling meadow behind her father's home. The stars were out in force that night too. And Annalee was laughing…laughing at him and his helpless attempt to tell one constellation from another. Her father was a teacher and he had taught his smart and lovely daughter the names of many of the constellations and the stars they held. But, despite her best and frequent efforts, John had been unable to master more than the Big and Little Dippers and the North Star.

"No, no," she said between small bursts of laughter, "that is Cassiopeia! Scorpio is over THERE." She pointed, still laughing, to a patch of sky that to John looked precisely like every other patch of sky. "Now look, there is Cygnus the swan and Aquila the eagle. They face each other this time of year. See?"

"No," said John, rather morosely. Which caused Annalee to laugh again.

"Honestly, John Cannon, for a man who spends as much time outdoors as you do, it just amazes me that you haven't learned more about the stars. They are important for finding your way… as well as beautiful", she pointed out, gazing up at him so earnestly and with such guileless loveliness his heart melted. Again.

"Well," he said, in some desperation, "Why should I bother to learn when I have you to show me?"

She smiled and stood on her tiptoes. "Yes, John, you have me to show you," she whispered and brushed her lips past his on the way to leave a gentle kiss on his cheek.

The memory of that night, those stars, those lips soft against his, his young heart thudding against his chest so hard he thought it might well burst right through, finally broke him.

He flung his arms around his horse's neck for support and wept into its mane. Tears rushing out of him so hard he thought they would never stop. And for a long time they didn't stop, while his horse stood patiently enduring this unusual burden.

But finally, as with all tears, there was an end. John wiped his face on his sleeve and took a deep, shaky breath.

He got back on his horse and began a slow circuit around the herd. After a while he let his horse do the familiar work and spent as much time gazing at the stars as he did at his surroundings.

He still didn't know the names of any of the stars but now he gave them his own names. That one over there - his wedding night. And the one twinkling at him just above the horizon - the night Blue was born. One there for one of the few angry fights that he and Annalee had ever had. What had it been about, he wondered?

Over there, that small group - the morning Annalee managed to tip an entire sack of flour over herself; her indignation as he and Blue laughed and the way she smiled when she joined in the laughter. A star for the look on her face when he rode off to war and another one for the look when he returned. On and on, memories large and small, floating up and each he tagged to a star. He dismounted to give his horse and himself a rest, leaned back against a desert boulder and counted more stars and memories. Letting them all wash over him. He remounted and kept remembering.

When the sun just tipped the horizon, he had long since lost track of the stars, but he didn't much care and he knew he had more memories and stars to count. He could hear the cattle moving and the sounds of the ranch hands making their way from the campsite to get the herd moving to fresh grass.

"Boss?" It was Joe. "Sam sent me to relieve you."

John just nodded and turned his horse toward last night's campsite. He passed Sam on the way and told him he would ride night herd again tonight and would catch up with the herd.

"You gonna camp out here alone?"

"Yes. I'll catch up with you at Thunderhead tonight. Leave some grub where you were."

Sam took a breath as if he was about to say something, but the look on his boss's unshaved face stopped him again, and he just nodded and rode back to leave a few supplies..

After Sam left, John did get an hour or so of restless sleep and managed to swallow a few spoonfuls of cold beans but mostly he sat in the shade and stared into the desert. For some reason he could not seem to conjure up memories with the clarity that had come to him in the night so he just let him mind wander; into the past, the present, the future and when he could manage it, absolutely nothing at all.

That night, he caught up with the herd and when the stars came out, as he and his horse took up their circuit, he took up his survey of the stars and his life with Annalee. Some of the memories hit him like a mule kick to the gut; how he and Annalee had mourned two daughters who died before they had much chance at living. And then there were times that he heard himself laughing out loud at some long forgotten moment of happiness. The poignancy of all that he had and all that he had lost nearly overwhelmed him at times.

Finally, sometime just before dawn, he found that he had fallen asleep in the saddle and almost slid off. He shook himself awake but knew that tired men make mistakes and mistakes in this part of the country often proved deadly.

So when Buck showed up, jaw set in determination to haul him back to Chaparral by the heels if necessary, before his brother could say anything, John growled, "About time." And turned his horse for home leaving his exasperated brother in his dust.

When he got back to the ranch, he strode through the house and headed directly for the bedroom. Victoria moved to intercept him. She had been frantic with worry ever since he left, even after she learned he was with the herd, and had just persuaded Buck to try and talk him back this morning.

But he barely slowed as he made his way upstairs. Still, when he passed her, he touched her arm gently, and something like tenderness was in his expression as he told her he was just going to sleep for a while.

"A while" tuned out to be nearly 10 straight hours. And when he arose ranch life went back to what had become their uncomfortable normal. Except; perhaps the overall level of tension had eased just a notch, like a saddle girth loosened at the end of a long ride. John's courtesy toward his wife was tinged with something like real warmth and everyone in the household seemed able to breathe just a little easier.