Sincere thanks to my inspirational beta, Con.
Broken
Chapter 13
Murdoch eyed his younger son hopefully, only to be met with a shake of the head. Throwing down his pencil the rancher rose to his feet, and strode purposefully from behind his desk towards the door Johnny had just entered in through. The younger man quickly blocked the exit with his much smaller frame and demanded:
"Where are you going?"
The patriarch stopped abruptly; staring down at the younger man he gestured towards Scott's bedroom and thundered.
"He's not left that room since he came home!"
Johnny cringed at his father's tone, his ears ringing with its unexpected volume. Still he could understand the older man's concern and replied quietly.
"I know. But if you go in there now shouting, the odds are he'll only shout back…twice as loud!"
His gaze moving from his son to the doorway, Murdoch breathed out a weary sigh and nodded "You're right."
Relieved that a confrontation had been avoided, Johnny stepped past his father and moved to the centre of the room. His relief was short lived when his father threw open the door and strode into the hallway uttering a measured "I won't shout!"
Cursing the older man's wrong-headedness, Johnny hurried after him.
Upon entering Scott's room, the patriarch found his elder son gazing absently out through his window. It was fast becoming a regular pastime for the younger man, and one that was beginning to greatly trouble his father.
"Scott."
The blond turned his head and greeted his father with a barely audible "Sir?"
"I was hoping you would join your brother and me for dinner tonight. We haven't sat down as a family since…"
"I've already told Johnny no! If you don't mind Murdoch, I'd prefer to eat in here." Scott's gaze once again settled on the distant hills, and the sun that was beginning its descent.
Murdoch wasn't going to be dismissed so easily, and marched further into the room.
"I do mind. You've been home over two weeks, and you've spent every minute of that time in here!"
"Is there a law against that?" His oldest son replied without turning from the window.
The patriarch swallowed his indignant reply, eyeing his equally indignant son determinedly "Of course there isn't, but it's not exactly conducive to your recovery."
"Are you expecting me to suddenly sprout new legs if I'm wheeled through there?" The elder Lancer son said derisively as he turned and pointed towards the door.
"Don't be ridiculous Scott. You know what I mean…"
Johnny watched quietly from the sidelines. The two older men had been sparring verbally like this for the past two days. Murdoch had a very valid point of course. But Scott was stubbornly holding his ground, and it worried Johnny that his brother seemed to be slowly losing interest in all that surrounded him. How quickly things had gone sour again!
Just a week ago, Scott had seemed filled with enthusiasm. With hindsight Johnny now realised his sibling had been a little too over eager to do more for himself. The phrase 'walk before you run' sprung to Johnny's mind, only then serving to sicken him with its connotations. Scott had been bitterly disappointed every time he failed in such attempts. It now seemed the repeated failures had had a detrimental effect on his enthusiasm, because during the last couple of days he had made no attempts to help himself. Scott had not even wanted to shave that morning, declaring to his exasperated father that he 'might just grow a beard.'
Of course, Johnny knew their father wasn't taking such despondency very well; that and the fact Scott refused to leave his room worrying the older man to the extreme. They hadn't been able to ask Sam for his thoughts either, as the doctor's time had been almost totally consumed with a chickenpox epidemic, which had quickly swept through the valley.
"I'm being practical." Scott's voice shook Johnny from his thoughts.
Murdoch harrumphed "You're hiding yourself away in here and I don't like it…"
"Well that's just too bad, not that you will have to dislike it for much longer, as I'll be out of here soon enough!"
"And that's another mistake!"
"What is? Returning to Boston?"
"Yes! I know you'll regret it Scott…"
"Believe what you want I don't care…"
"Alright that's enough!" Johnny stepped between the two men. He hated arguing with either man, but surprisingly found listening to them argue with each other, was even more upsetting. The room fell silent, but only long enough for Murdoch to gather his thoughts.
Avoiding the chastising glare he knew would be in his younger son's eyes, he stared at his elder son "I expect to see you at the dinner table at seven o'clock." Turning on his heels, he swiftly left the room leaving Scott no opportunity to reply.
Johnny turned his gaze on his brother "You gonna be there?"
"What do you think?" The blond spat.
"Good. I'll see you then!" Johnny replied, waving off the protestations his brother attempted to make. As he stepped through the doorway, he looked over his shoulder and added "It's Maria's night off and Murdoch's cooking."
Scott stared after his brother. Did the younger man really think it mattered to him who was doing the damn cooking? Well it didn't! And he wouldn't be sitting at the table at seven either! How dare his father demand his presence! Why couldn't they both just leave him alone?
No, he hadn't left his room, but neither did he have any inclination to do so. Didn't they realise how difficult it was for him doing the least thing? Having people watch him struggle well, that just made it all the harder. At least in his room he had privacy, and he felt… what did he feel? Safe? Yes, he felt safe in here. Safe from pitying and curious eyes and people's cloying concern and overbearing good intentions! Yes, his father was right in that he was hiding in here, but quite honestly, he didn't give a damn what his father thought…no, that wasn't true. He respected his father and normally valued his opinion immensely. But in this instance, Murdoch had no idea what he was talking about! It wasn't his father who had to sit and vegetate while the world went on around him. No one could understand what that feeling was like until it happened to them.
He had been foolish to think he could ever be a part of that world again. He had tried so hard too, yet he was still as helpless as a baby. As he had so pointedly told his father just minutes ago, he would not have to put up with him for much longer, they would soon be well rid of the cripple.
His grandfather should have received the letter by now; at least he should have done if he was in Boston. His business took him all over the country, so it was possible he was still unaware of his grandson's accident. Scott could not help but wonder what the older man's reaction would be. What his first words to him might be. Maybe Grandfather would surprise him and show a so far, well-concealed side to him, a compassionate side. But then, that was not what he wanted let alone expected.
All he wanted was an alternative to what he had here. A place he could be without imposing on anyone's time or goodwill. There would be no one there to nag and push him, no one there to encourage him in useless pursuits. His father and brother were well meaning, of course they were, but they failed to grasp the fact he was and always would be a burden to them. They were putting their lives on hold just to help him in an impossible quest, and it was past time they realized that!
JMLJMLJMLJML
Murdoch bad temperedly yanked the lid off the large stew pot and sniffed its simmering contents. The aroma made the patriarch's mouth water, and he found himself reaching for a spoon to sample a little taste. His ill mood now on the wane, he nodded his approval, pleased at least with his culinary efforts. Easing his self onto a kitchen chair, he breathed out a despondent sigh, and began to berate himself for once again crossing swords with his elder son. It was all he seemed to do these days, and he hated it!
'I don't care' the words Scott had so coldly uttered just minutes ago seared across his mind, and how they ate at the patriarch. He was certain the young man didn't care much about anything right now, and was beginning to sink into a depression, something Sam had warned him about. Once again he had failed his boy by letting it happen. But how could he have avoided it? What more could he have done? He didn't know. He just didn't have an answer to that question.
Murdoch knew that he and Johnny had been very patient in trying to coax Scott out of his room. That having failed, he was now resorting to bullying tactics. After two days of it, he now realized what a fool he was to even think it might work with his elder son. The young man was as stubborn as his brother was, perhaps even more so! They were, he knew, both chips off the old block. That knowledge usually filled him with a warm sense of pride, but the stubborn trait was not helping Scott one iota. It was quite simply working against him. If only he would plough it into assuming his rightful position in life. There was no reason he couldn't, as the boy possessed fine qualities. There was nothing Scott couldn't do if he put his mind to it. Sadly, it seemed his oldest son was giving up on himself. Well damn it! Murdoch knew he and Johnny would not give up, and neither would they let him.
As his younger son stepped into the room, Murdoch held up his hand "I know what you're going to say…I shouldn't have gone in there!"
Johnny could not help but grin despite the circumstances. His father was squirming like a child waiting for a telling off. In an even tone he replied, "No, I ain't thinking that at all. I'm thinking you did right, because pussy footing around him ain't helping, but getting tough might just work…"
JMLJMLJMLJML
A little calmer now, Scott stared at the ornate timepiece, which graced his writing desk; its chinoiserie scenes capturing his attention as they had that long ago day in Boston. The blond let his mind wander back to that happier time. It had been late October; the sky leaden, the wind blowing incessantly, but the inclement weather had not marred the day. He had been escorting Julie around the city, as she had searched for a suitable gift for her father's birthday. Scott and his then fiancée had taken shelter from a particularly heavy deluge in a small but well stocked emporium. The blond had spotted the clock almost immediately. But Julie had not been as enamoured by its design as he, wrinkling up her pretty little nose to express her dislike of the object. He had been amused by her expression, and had laughed aloud, earning the couple some inquisitive looks from the more sedate customers.
Smiling or frowning Scott had always found the brunette disarmingly beautiful; but as much as he loved her, his heart had told him she wasn't the one. Yes, they could have been happy, but for how long? Thankfully, they had both realized that they were not suited for longevity, not that it made parting any easier! Seeing her again earlier this year he had felt a stirring of the old emotions. Holding her in his arms, the familiar warmth had seeped through him, his pulse racing, the yearning in his loins hard to suppress.
Of course, they had never been truly intimate. They had shared passionate clinches yes, gone a little too far at times, but never as far as either one would have liked. But women of Julie's upbringing didn't lie with a man until married. Believing a 'wedded before bedded' socialite was what all men of honour wanted waiting for them at the alter.
There had never been any shortage of willing women though, and he had bedded quite a few in his time, the respectable, and the not so respectable of course! He had a healthy libido, and saw nothing wrong in fulfilling his desires, as long as he kept it discrete. What of those desires now? That thought jolted Scott back to reality. He was no longer capable of the sex act…he could not make love, he couldn't please a woman! What woman would want him now?
Why on earth had he let himself dwell on this matter again? Hadn't he promised himself he wouldn't, because all it did was darken his mood and threaten to drag him down further into the bottomless mire, he seemed to now be sinking in. But then it wasn't just about sex or the lack of it, or rather his inability to perform. It went so much deeper than that, didn't it?
He had wanted to share his future with a woman who he loved, with all his heart. Someone who would cherish him equally. Someone who out of love would bear him children. He had so wanted a family of his own one-day, sons, daughters...now there was no hope of such blessings, and all he could do was mourn what he would never have.
Sam and Dr Barns had broached this delicate subject with him. They had not been able to offer him any reassurance about that bodily function. Quite simply they had not known for sure whether he was still capable of copulating or not. But Scott had been left feeling the consensus was that he was most probably impotent.
Focusing again on the hands of the clock, Scott watched the minute hand creep steadily around its face, edging ever closer to what would inevitably be another set-to with his father. His absence in the great room would of course, no matter his age, be seen as outright disobedience, so to an affront, and he did not want to offend his father. They had little time left together as it was without making it unpleasant too. Would it really be such an ordeal to spend an hour or so in there? After all, Maria would not be there to fuss over him, which made him feel as if he were a sick child, and it was very rare for anyone else to call as darkness fell upon the earth.
The elder Lancer son knew he should make the effort. Still it all seemed quite daunting. He had several doors to open and manoeuvre the chair through; and the damned thing was so cumbersome, designed to be pushed rather than self propelled. He wasn't sure he could get there under his own steam; but Scott knew there was only one way to find out!
JMLJMLJMLJML
Murdoch had set the table and was now giving it the once over, making sure he'd forgotten nothing essential. Unlike the women folk, he kept the tableware to a minimum, an old habit borne out of a great dislike of clearing away such items and worse still, having to wash them up! Satisfied they were ready to dine, he eyed the large timepiece that stood by the French windows. It was almost seven; the grandfather clock about to announce the hour, but there was no sign of his elder son. Johnny though was hovering by the fireside, seemingly intent on keeping the log fire blazing. The patriarch knew the boy was really trying to keep his restlessness in check, finding any thing he could to keep his mind occupied by something other than what really wanted to be running through his thoughts: Would his brother make an appearance tonight or not?
As the familiar chimes rang out, Murdoch strode towards the kitchen where he wrapped a tea towel around the handle of the stew pot, and carefully lifted it off the stove. As he entered back into the great room, a noise from the hallway made his heart beat a little faster and he stared expectantly towards the door. The handle turned and then the door swung open, accompanied by a grunt of effort.
A set of wary blue eyes met his and Murdoch gestured to what he was holding.
"Beef stew, just like your grandmother used to make."
His elder son raised an inquisitive eyebrow which made Murdoch realize he'd not shared that snippet of information with his boy before; he would put that right tonight as they tucked into the hearty meal. Glancing in Johnny's direction he moved to the table, determined neither one of them would help Scott unless he was in desperate need of assistance. It wasn't going to be easy. Their earlier discussion in the kitchen on getting tough to hopefully push Scott in the right direction had seemed right at the time. But like so many things in life it was easier said than done. Especially if you had just turned from watching your own son struggling so much just to move his self through a door.
By the time Scott had reached the table, he was breathless and beads of perspiration were forming on his brow. As he'd expected the doors had proven to be the greatest obstacles, keeping them open while he wheeled himself through the just wide enough space, taking supreme effort not to mention concentration. He'd cursed aloud as the door from the hallway to the great room stubbornly refused to cooperate. He'd half expected his father or brother to offer to help, to come to him. But no, both seemed oblivious to his difficulties, instead seating themselves at the table, Johnny handing his father his empty bowl impatiently.
As his father set a steaming bowl of stew before him, Scott thanked him and realized that he had missed the shared mealtimes, and particularly the conversation that went on around the table. Helping himself to a chunk of bread, he found himself smiling. Johnny had obviously been given the task of cutting the loaf; the abnormally thick slices had on making their first appearance been christened 'doorsteps' by their amused father. Still they went well with the less spicy dishes his father served up, especially the meat and vegetable laden dish they were partaking of now.
The conversation was a little awkward at first, especially on his part, but once Murdoch had warmed up the atmosphere with an anecdote about their grandmother's cooking Scott began to relax a little. But talk inevitably turned to the sad events in the valley, and Murdoch informed the blond Lancer of his and Johnny's intention to attend the funeral the next day of the local schoolteacher, Maisy Clark, a charming and much loved member of the community who had tragically succumbed to the ravaging complications of chickenpox. The burial would take place in the small town where Maisy had been born; it was a two hour ride from Green River, so it meant being away from the ranch from noon until early evening,
"Jelly's going to be on hand should you need…"
"Should I need what?" Scott interrupted scowling at his father.
"Should you need anything at all." Murdoch ignored his son's reproachful glare, calmly pouring himself some more coffee.
"I won't." Came a defiant reply.
It was more or less what Murdoch had expected and so ignoring the comment he continued, "Jelly will need to acquaint himself with some aspects of your care, so I've asked him to call in later…"
"Damn it Murdoch! I don't want him here…"
"It is not a matter of wanting. It is a case of needing him Son, and you will need him, as neither Johnny nor I will be here." The patriarch's brown eyes held the blond's rebellious gaze, until the fight drained out of the blue eyes, and the young man finally looked down and away.
An uncomfortable silence settled around the table and Johnny decided it was time for his father to mention something else that they had discussed earlier. The brunet looked meaningfully over at his father's desk, hoping the older man would take the hint.
The patriarch flashed a look of understanding at his younger son then turned his gaze on Scott "Would you work on the books while we're gone? I'm so far behind with them now I…"
"That being my fault how can I refuse!"
"Don't put words in my mouth Scott!" Murdoch replied, quietly adding a firm "It's no one's fault, its just one of those things."
Johnny listened silently, impressed with his father's handling of his brother. The older man was infamously quick to react at times, but so great was his determination to get his son back on track with his recovery, he was somehow managing to swallow any irritation aimed in his direction.
A firm knock on the front door had Murdoch staring over at the clock face; it was a little late for visitors.
"Are you expecting someone?" Scott demanded, a wave of panic surging up inside.
"No." Murdoch replied, suddenly aware of his elder son's unease
Johnny rose from his chair and made for the door.
"No don't!" Scott called weakly after his brother as he fumbled with his chair; trying desperately to turn it around, only for it collide with the table leg in his haste.
"Scott? What is it?" Murdoch asked getting quickly to his feet.
"I need to…please…get me out of here Father, please..."
Johnny had gone on to open the door unaware of his brother's panic. It was only when he led the caller, a relatively new ranch hand, into the great room that he saw his sibling and realised he'd inadvertently added to his brother's agony. All colour had drained from Scott's face, who now stared unblinking down at his hands, which were clenched tightly in his lap.
Murdoch had moved from the table and was now standing beside his elder son. He'd been torn between rushing him from the room, as Scott had begged him to do; or make his son face what he seemed to so fear, by greeting the visitor with his head held high. He'd had no time to do either, and his elder boy now sat shoulders slumped avoiding eye contact with everyone around him. It broke the older man's heart to see him like that. His strong, confident son suddenly reduced to a self-conscious, shadow of his former self!
The hand was young, still in his teens and Murdoch saw that the boy's eyes were instantly drawn to the figure in the wheeled chair. The Lancer patriarch found himself wondering if it was his son's troubled demeanour that had captured the young ranch hand's attention, rather than his injury-induced circumstance. He feared what sort of an impression that could leave on the young man, and Murdoch had to stop himself from crying out that his son had been left physically disabled, not mentally impaired as it might unfortunately appear.
Instead he asked calmly "What is it Tom?" all the time chastising himself for not realizing just how very low Scott's self esteem was and just how or even if he and Johnny could build it up again?
TBC
Molly