Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

A week had passed and Johnny was prowling the house like a caged cougar. Despite his bravado, he had to admit that the cast was heavy and cumbersome, and his ribs were still hurting. Even with the sling, which he wore without complaint, each step bounced the cast against his side. Teresa, the angel of mercy that she was, had fashioned a harness from strips of sheet that secured the cast across his stomach so it did not move when he walked. For once it was worth being trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

This morning was worse than others. Scott had left before dawn to check the line shacks and the damage in the outer perimeters of the ranch. Cipriano and Jose rode with him. As he listened to them joking through his bedroom window, he would have given anything to be riding with them.

Instead he was stuck here. First he pestered Maria in the kitchen until she nearly took her stirring spoon to him, then he found Teresa weeding her vegetable garden. The hoe was enough of an incentive for him to leave her to here chores.

That left Murdoch. It wasn't a secret that his father was up in the attic again. It seemed he spent an inordinate amount of time up their lately. However no one had asked him why. Johnny's mood was primed for just such a question.

Climbing up the steep, narrow drop down stairs at the back of the kitchen, Johnny worked up a legitimate sweat by the time his head breached the attic floor and he saw his father hunched over an old trunk pushed up against the far wall.

Murdoch hadn't noticed his arrival, even though he made more noise than a herd of mustangs. Johnny watched him, feeling a moment of guilt that he was intruding on his father's privacy. But he couldn't look away. This was a different side of Murdoch, a tender, soft side of his father he had only had glimpses of when he was too hurt to respond. Was this the man his mother and Scott's mother had fallen in love with?

He found he was holding his breath as Murdoch's huge hands carefully lifted a delicate dress, fringed with fine lace and delicate pearls, once white but now tinged yellow by age. Instinctively Johnny knew that it was Catherine's wedding dress. What had his mother's wedding dress looked like? Surely nothing like this. But that was unfair, and he knew it. It was not Catherine's fault that she came from money and his mother hadn't. Knowing the man his father was, he knew that was how he felt too.

Not for the first time did Johnny wish that his father would open up to him and Scott. His boot heel suddenly slipped on the narrow step and he had to reach out with is good arm to keep from falling back down the stairs.

Murdoch jerked his head up, anger and concern flickered over his face.

"Sorry," Johnny said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I was just wondering who was up here."

Murdoch carefully laid the dress back into its resting place in the trunk and closed the lid.

"What are you doing up here?"

Johnny struggled to climb up the last few steps and sighed in relief when he was at last sitting on the attic floor, his feet dangling down the opening.

"I never heard anyone up here before." He lied. "Teresa mentioned there was a lot of old stuff up here, but I never thought to check it out."

Murdoch studied him for a long moment then sat down, resting his back against the wall and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"It's been years since I've been up here. I'd forgotten the memories."

"Was that Scott's mother's wedding dress?" He knew he was stepping on thin ice with the question, but there didn't seem to be any other question that needed asking.

Murdoch took a startled breath. He looked from the closed trunk and back to Johnny. Johnny held his breath again. His answer could mean so much.

"Yes," Murdoch said softly. A smile graced his face, a smile Johnny had never seen before. "She tried to tell me that a wedding dress wasn't that important. The important thing was marrying the man she loved. But I could see it in her eyes, a girl's childhood dream of walking down the isle in the perfect wedding dress. And it was. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen."

Johnny smiled sadly and Murdoch interrupted it all wrong.

"Son, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that your mother…."

Johnny shook his head. "I know. Catherine and my mama were as different as Scott and me." He chuckled. "It's like Scott in his plaid pants and me in my conchos"

Murdoch nodded. "Catherine was refined, but strong. I learned early in our relationship that I didn't stand a chance in winning an argument. No one knew her true spirit, not until she announced that she was traveling to California with her husband. At one time I thought all of Boston would take arms against me. But Catherine had made up her mind. She was everything a young man off a boat from Inverness could have ever dreamed of. There was a time when I couldn't start the day without wondering what life would have been like if I had not sent her away and she had not died in childbirth."

"You ever stop wondering?"

"After Catherine died, and Harlan Garret made it clear that I didn't stand a chance in hell of raising my son, I put everything I had left into making Lancer a ranch to be proud of. I might not have been equal to Harlan Garret in Boston, but by God, I would be someone worth reckoning in California."

"This was all just payback against Scott's grandfather?"

"It was. At first. Then I took a trip to Mexico and ended up in a town called Matamoros."

"Where you met my Mama."

Murdoch snorted. "You didn't just meet Maria. She was like no one I had ever met before. I fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her. We talked night after night at the cantina. I told her about Catherine and Scott. I told her that I wanted to build a great ranchero where I could bring Scott home and raise him along side our child. She seemed swept up in the moment. We were in love; in love with a dream. Two years later reality was more than she could handle and she left with you."

Johnny hung his head. "I wish I'd known."

"I wish you had too. Johnny, I searched for you, for so long. When I knew riding from one border town to the next was not getting me anywhere, I returned here and hired the Pinkertons. It took them years to find you."

Johnny nodded. "I can't say I'm not glad you hired them. I was about two minutes away from saying hi to the devil. He'd been saving a place for me for a long time."

Murdoch jerked his head up. "Don't ever say that. Don't every say that again. What happened to you should never have happened. You should have lived a safe life here."

Johnny shifted, trying to find a more comfortable place to sit. His arm was hurting, his ribs were aching, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. Never had he seen his father's defenses down so much. Never had he seen the pain exposed so openly. This was the Murdoch he had caught snatches of when he was sick, when he could not respond or contradict his father's words.

"I killed the man who killed my mama," Johnny said coldly. "It was a rightful kill. After that…"

Somehow Murdoch was beside him, his powerful arms pulling him into an embrace that he both wanted to break and desperately needed.

"You were thrown into a life no child should have to endure," Murdoch ground out. "You did what you needed to survive. There is not a man alive who could stand before you and condemn you for what you did unless they walked in your shoes. I made the mistake of thinking I knew who…what you were, when you first came here. Never have I been more wrong."

Johnny was at a lose for words.

"I was so willing, so eager to condemn you when Scott…"

Johnny froze. "When Scott…"

Murdoch was suddenly alert, realizing that he had said too much. But Johnny would not back down.

"When Scott…?" he repeated.

"It is between your brother and me." Murdoch seemed to suddenly realize that Johnny had climbed up the narrow stairs with his cast. "And you know better than climbing up here with that cast. When will you ever listen to orders?"

"When you stop hiding the truth," Johnny said.

Johnny waited for Murdoch's triad, but it never came. Instead his father seemed to collapse into himself. He crawled back to the trunk, as if Catherine's presence could save him from whatever demon haunted him.

It would have been so easy just to leave Murdoch here with his memories and nightmares. But Johnny had faced his own demons before and he knew how powerful they were. He was not ready to let Murdoch face them alone.

"What is it, Murdoch?" he demanded. "What's making you treat Scott the way you have the last few weeks? He's my brother. I have the right to know."

Murdoch looked up at him with a face so haunted it took his breath away. "Are you so sure he's your brother?"

The question stunned Johnny. "What kind of question is that?"

"Nothing. Just go back downstairs. I'll be down in awhile."

"I asked you a question, Old Man."

"Don't be insolent with me, Boy."

Johnny's temper flared. "You've got this whole family wondering what's got into you. I've never seen Scott more eager to get away from here. Whatever it is, you better figure out how to make it right. I'm used to being on your wrong side, but Scott isn't and it's got him tied up in knots.

Murdoch looked down at his hands clamped almost white in his lap. He'd never known his father not to be in control. Slowly Murdoch climbed to his knees and opened the trunk, sifting through it until he found what he wanted. A blue knitted baby's cap. "When Catherine found out she was pregnant, she began knitting six baby hats. Three pink and three blue. She said she wanted to be prepared. Then the raids started and I sent her away…And you know the rest.

"I saw Scott for the first time on his fifth birthday in Boston. He was a shy, quiet little boy, and I would have recognized him in a crowd of a hundred five year old boys. He looked so much like Catherine.

"I didn't meet him again until I saw him downstairs in the great room, standing beside an arrogant and angry young Johnny Madrid. You demanded so much attention. I accepted Scott into my life without question, because he was safe and you were anything but."

Johnny shifted uncomfortably. It was not his cast, or his ribs that pained him, but the look of anguish on Murdoch's face.

"What are you trying to say, Murdoch?"

Murdoch pointed toward Johnny's right hand. "That little scar you have on your thumb, you got that when you tried to hog tie a rooster like you saw the vaqueros hog tying the calves. The old rooster took exception and Sam had to sew it closed with three stitches. There are so may other small things that prove beyond doubt that you were my boy."

Johnny raised his hand to look at the thin white scar in the middle of his thumb. He'd collected so many scars that he couldn't remember where he got half of them. This one was just always there.

"I don't have that with Scott. I never held him in my arms and rocked him until he cried himself to sleep. I never rode him around the ranch on my horse, so proud I nearly burst at the seams. I never paddled his behind for not obeying the rules. A ranch can be a dangerous place, and for a toddler who was into everything you were an accident waiting to happen."

"And you didn't have that with Scott. That's not his fault."

Murdoch inhaled deeply. "No it's not. But Johnny, don't you understand. I know who you are…I don't know who Scott is."

An uncomfortable silence suddenly descended over the attic. All the life seemed to drain out of Murdoch. Johnny saw his shoulders sag as if the weight of the world were on them.

"Exactly what do you mean?" Johnny finally asked, his voice sounding hollow in the stillness.

Murdoch cleared his throat. His voice was but a shadow of what it should have been. "Arthur Bell came to the house the morning you had your accident. He had a letter from the Pinkertons…"

Johnny waited. He held no love for the Pinkertons. They put plenty of facts together, but never bothered to fill in the story. If they were accusing Scott of something…"

"The man you met on the stage to Morro Coyo, the man I call son…they think he is not really Scott Lancer, he is an imposter."

A Burma bull kicking Johnny in the chest could not have taken his breath away as suddenly as Murdoch's statement. His mind could not process it. He stared at Murdoch dumbfounded.

"You mean you think that Scott is not your son? Not my brother?"

"I don't know," Murdoch said helplessly. "God have mercy on my soul. I don't know."

Johnny stood up awkwardly on the stairs, swaying at the sudden movement. "I need some air."

"Johnny, wait. Please." Murdoch climbed to his feet and approached Johnny cautiously, as if he would retreat like a wounded animal. "Talk to me, help me. I don't want to believe it. I love Scott. But there are so many things that don't make sense."

"Like what?" Johnny demanded.

"No letters from Harlan Garrett, no pictures with his grandfather. He knows facts, places, even people, but he could have learned all those things from the Pinkerton file."

"Nothing you say will make me believe that Scott isn't my brother. I trust him with my life."

The letter the Pinkertons sent…it says they have proof that a man fitting Scott Garret Lancer's description boarded the Cimbria, a merchant ship headed for England, a week before they delivered my invitation…summons… to you and your brother to come here to Lancer.

"That doesn't mean it was Scott."

"They have several witnesses that knew Scott and swear it was him. They sent an agent to check the ship's passenger manifest for that trip. Scott's name was on it."

"How do you know it was Scott who signed it?"

"How do I know it wasn't?"

"You could find out. If this Scott, who ever he is is in England then find him. Make him prove who he is."

"It's not that easy, Johnny. He may not be in England anymore. The Pinkertons found that he had plans to travel to France."

"France?"

"It's another country in Europe. A man could disappear there, even if he didn't intend to."

"If he's Harlan Garrett's grandson, then he'd know where he is."

Murdoch nodded. "The Pinkerton's have sent agents to question him. But he is always too busy," Murdoch growled.

"He won't be too busy for me."

"What?" Murdoch reached out to grab Johnny's right arm, but Johnny whipped it away.

"I'm going to Boston. If you want proof that Scott is your son and my brother you'll have it."

"Johnny, that's insane. You can't travel all the way to Boston. Your arm…"

"I can't do anything here for another month, you won't miss me. Murdoch, I haven't had anyone but this family to give a damn about me, and the one who cared the most from the very start was Scott. I'm not giving up on him because of some stupid Pinkerton report."

"Johnny, please."

"Don't tell Scott where I've gone. He doesn't need to know that you don't trust him."

"I'll go with you." Murdoch said urgently.

"No, Old Man, you would only get in the way. Someone fed the Pinkerton's a heap of lies, I plan to find out who and why."

"But you've never been to Boston."

"There always has to be a first time."

"I don't know, Johnny."

"I do. I'm going to make this right," he promised.

Murdoch gently eased Johnny around so he could climb down the ladder then followed him, closing the attic door behind him. If it was only that easy to close the questions in Murdoch's mind. Johnny had no questions. It would take more than the Pinkertons to make him doubt Scott. He had waited a lifetime to have a brother, and he had hit the mother lode with Scott.