Chapter Two
Scrape, snip…scrape, snip…
Johnny slowly opened one eye and then the other and listened to the sound.
Scrape, snip…scrape, snip…
He brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, trying to clear away the groggy cobwebs.
He was on the couch. A fire was burning in the hearth, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill he felt deep in his bones.
Tiny pinpoints of sunlight peeked through the heavy red drapes that were pulled across the huge window behind Murdoch's desk.
He remembered falling asleep, but that was last night. He even remembered feeling a little guilty that he had taken up the entire couch while forcing Scott to sit on the floor.
But it was definitely daytime now. They must have left him to sleep here.
Scrape, snip…scrape, snip…There was that sound again.
He levered himself up on one elbow and raised his head just far enough up to see over the back of the couch at Teresa sitting at the dining room table. She had rectangles of colored paper and a small bowl of white lumpy paste sitting next to her. He recognized the paste used to make piñatas when he was a boy.
He watched her, fascinated, as she carefully cut out designs from the colored paper. She inspected each one carefully, discarding the ones that were not to her liking.
He waited as long as he could then asked, "What ya doing, Querida?"
Teresa jumped, the scissors cutting a gouge in the paper she was so carefully snipping away at.
"Johnny! You nearly scared me to death."
"Sorry. What's all that?" He pushed himself to a sitting position, but decided to stay there. He was feeling even weaker than he did yesterday. He really did have to get out of this house and get some strength back in his muscles.
Teresa gathered her colored paper and bowl of white lumpy paste and arranged them in a basket and folded a cloth over the top. "I was…I was doing some mending."
"Looked like you were cutting paper to me. Is that for your new beau in Morro Coyo?"
"He's not in Morro Coyo," Teresa said hastily, then blushed.
"Green River, then." Johnny nodded. "That narrows it down a bit. A dark haired, light eyed man, younger than thirty but older than sixteen." Johnny rubbed his hand over his face. "Don't know who he is, but I'll figure it out."
Teresa looked at him, exasperated. "There's nothing to figure out, Johnny. I have no new beau."
"Then why won't you tell me who the letter's too?"
"Because, it's the principle of the thing. If I wanted you to know, I'd tell you."
Johnny thought about that, decided it made sense, then ignored it. He was having too much fun to stop now. Besides, it was the only thing he could do. By the way he felt, he wouldn't be going much further than the couch today.
"Would you like some lunch?" Teresa picked up the basket and disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned she had Maria on her heels.
"Juanito. You have missed breakfast already. You will eat lunch now, si?"
Johnny shook his head. "Not hungry, Maria. Sorry. Maybe later."
"But you will drink some water." Teresa insisted, her skirts swishing as she hurried for the pitcher of water on the table. "I want you to drink all of this, Johnny."
Johnny started to protest but Teresa would have none of it.
"You will drink that water, Johnny Lancer. If you don't, Sam will find a way to make you."
Johnny glowered back at her and took a few sips. He knew that it was not an idle threat. Sam would find a way. And it wouldn't be pleasant. And it did taste good going down, but it made him feel queasy.
"Scott should be back soon," Teresa said as she made sure Johnny was lying back comfortably on the pillows. "He said he had a few errands to take care of in town. Can't for the life of me figure out what they are though. I thought Jelly took care of everything yesterday. Oh well, I'll find out soon enough. Secrets don't last long around here."
"Only one I know keeping secrets here is you, Querida."
"I'm not keeping a secret, Johnny. I just don't want to tell you right now."
"How come?"
"Because."
"Because you don't think Scott and I will approve of your new beau?" Johnny shivered and drew the blanket up around his shoulders.
"I don't need yours or Scott's approval when it comes to my friends," Teresa bristled, "I'm perfectly capable of deciding who to like and dislike."
"It ain't a matter of like and dislike, Teresa. It's a matter of trust."
"I trusted you."
"And that was a big gamble, now wasn't it? It could have backfired on all of you."
"But it didn't."
"But it could have."
"Oh…you are impossible, Johnny Lancer," Teresa huffed, her hands on her hips. "Absolutely impossible. And if I did have a new beau, you would be the last person I'd introduce him to. You probably wouldn't trust him if he was the son of the President of the United States."
Teresa spun on her heel and marched out of the room indignantly.
Johnny smiled and slipped back down on the couch. She was getting mad now. Soon she would slip. Maybe Scott found out something from Bonita Mendez. In any case…he would know soon.
Johnny waited a little while then heard the back door close. It was washday and Teresa and Maria would be busy all day. That gave him the perfect chance to do some snooping. That basket that Teresa whisked away might just be in the kitchen, in plain sight if he was lucky.
On legs that were feeling more and more shaky, he made his way to the kitchen, listening for the sounds of anyone approaching either door.
He knew he didn't belong on his feet. His legs were wobbly, his stomach protested and his chest felt tight. But he wasn't one for staying in one place too long. He always had to be moving, to be doing something. It came from years of being on his own, trying to ward off the loneliness.
He made it to the kitchen and to his disappointment, it was already straightened up, nothing out of place. No basket. No letters. But it was just possible that Teresa had hid it in one of the cupboards. His surrogate sister might be a little sore at him for doing this, but he was only looking out for her best interests, and he HATED secrets.
He was half way through the second cupboard when he heard the door open behind him and whirled to see who it was. He lost his balance and fell against the counter, sliding to the ground with a resounding plop. Damn…that was the second time he'd landed on his butt. He could see that he was quickly losing any semblance of dignity.
"Not very graceful." Scott grinned, standing over him and offering him a hand up. "Can I help you find something?"
Johnny slapped the hand away then found he couldn't get his legs under him enough to stand up and grudgingly accepted Scott's help.
"What were you up to?" Scott asked, leading Johnny back to the couch. He noticed Johnny was hanging onto him weakly. If it had been any longer to the couch he would have had to carry him.
"Teresa hid her love letter somewhere in there," Johnny panted as Scott lowered him onto the couch. "I was trying to find it."
"Johnny, you heard Sam. He told you to stay here on the couch, with maybe a few minutes in the chair. He wasn't saying that just to hear himself talk. You have to take this seriously."
"We don't know who this guy is. She could get herself hurt. I don't wanna…"
"And you getting sicker isn't going to hurt her?" Scott waited for his words to sink in.
Johnny nodded, a deep frown crossing his face for a moment.
"What's wrong?" Scott demanded.
"Nothing."
"Don't give me that, Johnny. What's wrong?"
"I kinda feel funny, that's all."
"Funny how?"
"Like I'm talking to you from a long way away. Everything kinda feels like it's drifting around."
Scott leaned forward and felt Johnny's forehead. His skin felt cold and clammy.
"You did too much," he admonished. "Sam told you to stay put for a reason."
Johnny lowered his head. "I'm just doing the best I can, Scott. I ain't good at being sick. Especially when there ain't no reason for me not to be getting better. I'm getting mad and…" he looked up at Scott and Scott caught his breath, for in those deep blue eyes he saw something he seldom saw in Johnny Lancer's eyes…fear.
"I know." Scott took Johnny's right hand in his, saddened at how weak it felt. This was Johnny's gun hand, strong and limber, honed by hours of practice to draw and fire faster than the human eye could see. He doubted Johnny could even lift the gun at the moment. "But you're not alone. We'll be here with you every step. You just have to be patient."
Johnny pulled his hand free, embarrassed and angry at the same time. Embarrassed to be sick, angry that he was so weak.
"Can we forget me for a minute? What did you find out about Teresa?"
Scott sighed heavily and sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch and pulled off his gloves. "If you promise to stay on the couch until Sam gets here."
Johnny nodded.
"I talked to Bonita Mendez. I couldn't very well just come right out and ask her if Teresa has a new boyfriend, but I hinted around enough. Bonita said she didn't know of anyone."
"It's gotta be someone. She just ain't acting like Teresa."
"Bonita did say she picked up a package from the stage depot last week. Seemed real happy to get it."
"A package? What kind of package?"
"I don't know. Bonita didn't go into detail. But it must of have been small enough to put in her carry-all bag, because I didn't see her with it. I was the one who took her into town, remember? You were busy coming down with the Chicken Pox."
"Very funny."
Scott grinned. "I thought it was."
"Now how are we gonna find out what was in that package?"
"Other than coming straight out and asking her, I don't know," Scott admitted.
"There's gotta be a way. We could ask Maria. She is always looking out for her chica. She would know, and if she didn't, she'd find out. Believe me."
"Oh, I believe you little brother. There are times when I'm grateful that I don't understand Spanish all that much."
Johnny grinned, a little lopsided, but it made Scott laugh. "You try to get some rest. I'll do a little snooping on my own."
Johnny nodded, satisfied for the moment, and closed his eyes.
Scott found the two women working over the washtubs. Neither woman said a word; both were lost in their worries for Johnny.
They both looked up as he approached. "Scott, how is he?" Teresa asked. "He wouldn't eat a thing this morning."
"I know. I spoke to Sam in town. He's coming out later today. He's done some research, says he might have some answers. Meanwhile, we have to keep him off his feet. That means he can't be left alone. I already found him in the kitchen."
"Juanito was hungry?" Maria asked anxiously.
"No, just bored."
"Si. He is not happy with manos ociosas…idle hands."
"There's not much he can do, Maria," Teresa said. "He can't even read. Sensitivity to light is one of the symptoms of Chicken Pox."
Scott nodded. "But there's more going on here. Teresa, would you see if you can get him to drink a little more. He seems to listen to you more than anyone else."
"That will be the day." Teresa laughed. "Johnny Lancer listening to anyone. But I'll try."
Scott watched his sister disappear through the kitchen door then leaned over Maria's shoulder and asked, "Who is Teresa's new beau?"
"Senor, Scott?"
"Teresa is not acting herself and Johnny says she has been writing a love letter the past two days. Do you know anything about it?"
"Even if I did, that would not be mine to share."
"We are not trying to be nosy, Maria. We just want to protect Teresa. She is so young."
"Si. But not ingenuo…naïve. Your hermano put you up to this, no?"
"Not really…Maybe," Scott hedged. "I'm just concerned because he is."
"It is good that you protect la niña so. But I have no knowledge of any man in Teresa's life."
"And what about the package she picked up in town?"
"That is personal. But I can tell you that there is nothing to worry about. She sent for something in the catalog from New York City."
"What?"
Maria shrugged. "She has not seen fit to tell me, Senor Scott. And I have not been rude enough to ask."
Rebuffed, Scott headed back to the house. If he knew anything in this world, it was that once a woman made up her mind not to discuss a subject, neither hell nor high water would drag it out of her. But he also knew that when Johnny sank his teeth into something it was like a bulldog clamping down on a bone. Nothing would shake him free. If Johnny were not ill he could see himself sitting back and watching both their antics.
"But," he sighed to himself as he stepped into the room, "little brother did need his help this time." Little brother…the phrase made him smile. Johnny was anything but a little brother. In age he was a few years younger, but in the experience of living he was far older than his years. The boy had grown to manhood on his own. Had never had the comfort and care of a family in sickness or happiness. He had missed so much. And now, when he was sick, and frightened, because he no longer had control of his life, he was reverting back to the boy who never had a chance to be.
Well, he would see that that boy was well taken care of. There was plenty of time for the grown Johnny Lancer to face the highs and lows of life. But for now…Johnny Lancer the child needed love and understanding.
Scott found Johnny struggling to stand up from the sofa.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?" Scott roared.
"I need to get outside." Johnny panted. "I can't breathe in here no more. I gotta get outside, Scott. Please."
Scott saw the eyes of a trapped animal and knew that, for whatever reason, Johnny needed to be outside.
He grabbed the blanket and pillow and pulled Johnny up, waiting for him to steady himself, then slowly led him out the French doors onto Teresa's flower garden.
"This is as far as we go," Scott said, carefully lowering Johnny onto the bench.
Johnny nodded. "This is fine," he said. Scott noticed a tightness to his voice and the slightly labored breathing. He arranged the pillow against the arm of the bench and settled Johnny into a half sitting position.
"I always like this place," Johnny said.
"It reminds me of the flower gardens in Boston in the summer." Scott sat down on the edge of the bench, absently lifting a magazine off the seat and putting it in his lap. "They would die each winter, too cold. Back in the spring. We're lucky here. We have it all year."
"We never had a flower garden when I was a kid. There was never enough water. Just enough to drink and grow a few vegetables. Baths and washing clothes was done down by the stream when it was running. When it went dry each summer the men would head up into the high country and bring water back in barrels strapped to their mulas…mules. But the water was expensive, so we only bought a little." Johnny smelled the fragrant roses filling the air and smiled. "Mama would have liked these flowers. She liked pretty things." Johnny's voice trailed off…
Scott remained silent. If she liked pretty things how could she have let her son live in such poverty? What made her sacrifice her son's happiness? He looked back at Johnny when he heard a deep cough. Sam had said to watch for coughing or labored breath. It appeared that Johnny was developing both.
He noticed the magazine on his lap and absently looked at the cover. One of Teresa's catalogs from back east. Everything other than the essentials of day to day living had to be ordered through catalogs like these. He never realized growing up in Boston with never a care about food or money how lucky he was.
He started leafing through it. He could see why Teresa would spend hours looking through these magazines…then he came to a page that had been folded in half. He opened it up and read the heading. Give that someone special in your life something to remember you forever.'
"Johnny, look at this." He shook Johnny's knee gently.
Johnny looked at him groggily. "What?"
"I think we've found what Teresa has been working on. Listen to this: Give that someone special in you life something to remember you forever. Send them a Valentines' Greeting. Be the first in your town to start a new tradition. Join those in England and France who have celebrated February 14th for years. Learn the history of Valentine's Day as you create a keepsake for only the most treasured in your life. In a short three months you will have all the supplies you need to make that one of a kind gift. Send one dollar to…"
"Valentine's Day?" Johnny voice sounded labored. "Never heard of it."
"I have. But it never crossed my mind that Teresa…"
"Teresa is making one of those Valentine things for her new beau?"
"That's what it looks like. Now all we have to do is…..Johnny?" Scott let the magazine slide off his lap…he looked at Johnny's startled look, his hand weakly clawing at his chest.
"…I…can't…breathe…" he whispered.
"What's going one here?" Sam was beside him now, pushing him out of the way. "What's he doing outside?"
"He said he couldn't breathe inside. He…"
Sam quickly placed his stethoscope in his ears and listened to Johnny's chest.
"He can't breathe because his lungs are congested. When will any of you learn to say no to this boy? Take him to his room. Teresa, I want a steam pot brought to his room and have Maria make up a mustard plaster. Murdoch, I need all the lamps you have, set them around his bed."
Sam's alarm startled Scott and he wrapped Johnny in the blanket and carried him into the house.
Scott and Murdoch watched silently as Sam carefully studied the pox marks on Johnny's skin with a magnifying glass.
"Help me turn him over."
"No…" Johnny protested, even though his breaths were coming in short pants.
"Just for a minute, Johnny. Try to relax."
Teresa rushed in with Jelly on her heels carrying a steaming bucket of water.
"There," Sam announced. "There it is." He probed gently around a pox mark that looked a little larger and redder than the rest just above his knee. "Let's turn him over. That's it."
They settled Johnny against a mound of pillows and covered him with a blanket. "You'll need to keep a hot compress on that area," he ordered.
"What is it, Sam? What is making Johnny so sick?" Teresa asked.
"I sent a few wires out to New York and Philadelphia. They confirmed what I had suspected. Sometimes one of the pustules will become infected. I don't know how, but the infection gets into the bloodstream and in most cases causes acute pneumonia. The low-grade fever, the weakness…his body was trying to fight the infection but it didn't have a chance. This type of pneumonia is very aggressive, very hard to treat."
"Sam…?" Murdoch couldn't take his eyes off Johnny.
"I don't know, Murdoch. I really don't know."
Teresa reached down to her pocket and she felt the card sitting in her pocket.
"He has to be all right," she whispered. "He has to be."