Author's Notes

This scene takes place after the death of Waylon Smithers Sr., and after the flashback events in "Winter of My Heart."

In this scene, Alex Orfield, Waylon Jr.'s uncle, and executor of Waylon Sr.'s will goes to visit C. M. Burns. When Waylon Jr. was a small boy, he lived with his aunt Charlotte and uncle Alex for a few years until he moved back in with his mother, Roberta. This scene gives Alex a bit of screen time, and introduces the reader to more of Smithers' family.

It was eventually cut because, let's face it, who wants to read a ton of flashbacks?

~ Muse

THEN

It was summer, barely, but already unseasonably hot. Burns sat on the covered veranda at his manor, slowly sipping an iced tea, and watching the bees lazily drone from flower to flower. His houseman, Johan, a lean man of decidedly Germanic features, stood at his shoulder, fanning him gently with a large palm-fan.

Burns wore loose shorts and a cotton button-up shirt.

Johan was dressed, as always, in his full black suit. If he were uncomfortably warm, he didn't show it.

Burns found Sundays to be a frustrating day. It was a day when the great wheels of industry were forced to a halt by some archaic notion of rest, faith, and family. Burns tried to relax and enjoy the halcyon gardenscape around him. He swirled his glass, listening to the ice cubes clink, and took another sip of tea.

Johan paused in his fanning.

Burns looked up, and saw the man's gaze had locked onto one of the house servants standing at the back door. Burns had given his staff very explicit instructions: he didn't want to see them, or hear them. Johan was the only one he wished any contact with unless it was utterly unavoidable.

The house servant wrung a dishrag in his hands nervously. Burns gave a nod to Johan. Johan snapped his fingers, and made a come here gesture with his hand.

The servant scurried over, and whispered something to Johan.

Burns didn't catch what was said.

Johan gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement. "Herr Burns," he said quietly, resuming his fanning, "there is a gentleman at the front gate, an Alex Orfield. He requests an audience with you."

Alex Orfield. Burns knew that name. It had been years since he'd heard it spoken. He nodded slowly. "I'll entertain his visit."

Johan gave the servant a nod. "Lose the rag, and bring him in."

The young man scurried off.

Minutes passed slowly.

Burns mused over the name. Alexander Orfield. He and his wife Charlotte had been raising Smithers' son with their own children while the boy's mother was 'recovering' from the so-called nervous condition she'd had shortly after the boy's birth. Burns had never spoken to Alex; knew the man only through reputation. He'd met Alex's wife Charlotte once about ten years ago. She seemed… civil.

The young servant returned, escorting the aforementioned Alex.

Burns turned his chair to face Alex, but didn't stand.

"Mister Orfield," he began in measured tones. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

Alex extended a hand. "Mister Burns."

They shook hands.

"Alas, no pleasure, but business," Alex said seriously. "I've been appointed the executor for the estate of your former business partner, Waylon Smithers. As you know, he went missing on March fifteenth those long years ago."

Burns, poker-faced, nodded. He gestured to an empty chair.

Alex sat down and started ruffling through some papers he brought. "As executor, I wanted to make you aware of what's going on. Before he left, it appears he made a will. Of course we were unable to execute it until such time passed that Wally, eh Waylon, is to be considered legally dead." He paused.

Burns said nothing, but made a please, go on, gesture with his hand.

"The long and short of the matter is, Mister Burns, Waylon appointed you as his son's godfather. Everything's all here in the will." He patted the envelope.

Burns raised his eyebrows.

"Naturally, I was as surprised as everyone else," Alex continued, "but it's clear Waylon was quite emphatic about this. He'd even filed the necessary paperwork with the probates court." Alex interlaced his fingers, and rested his chin on his hands. "Given the unknown nature of Waylon's fate, everything had to be examined in great detail for evidence of foul play or coercion." Alex fell silent, waiting.

Burns met Alex's unblinking gaze levelly. He found himself liking this man, for some odd reason. Perhaps it was the purely businesslike way the man carried himself. Burns stroked his chin. "Let me guess, Mister Orfield, given the things you've heard about me around our humble town, you wanted to be sure that I had not in some way orchestrated the disappearance of my dear business partner solely for the purpose of stealing his child?"

Alex gave a single bow of his head. "Exactly."

Burns tented his fingers, ever so slightly amused by how similar it was to the position Alex had taken. "I see. And what did such an investigation uncover, if I may ask?"

Alex didn't move. "Mister Burns, if I'd found evidence against you, please believe me when I say I'd never be sitting across from you discussing any of this. I'd have made sure there was no way you'd ever see Waylon Jr."

Burns stiffened slightly, and hoped it didn't show.

Alex continued. "That boy is like my son. He grew up with my children, ate at my table, under my roof. If I thought there was anything less than straightforward about your godparent role, believe me I'd find a way to keep you from my nephew."

"Now," Alex added, "I don't claim to know anything about you, though I have my suspicions. I'm not going to fight against your rights to see Waylon Jr, but I am going to leave that solely to the discretion of his mother." Alex unfolded his hands. "I understand there is some enmity between you two. I don't care what it is. I'm not going to take sides. That's not my job." He paused and looked at the envelope in his hands. "My job is to make sure Waylon's wishes are carried out and look out for my family. Whatever happens beyond that," he held up his hands, "I'm not getting involved with."

He slid the envelope across the table.

"Here is your copy of the will."

Burns took the envelope, but didn't open it.

"Thank you, Mister Orfield," he said, formally. He took a sip of his tea. "Is there anything else I need to be aware of?"

Alex looked like he was debating something in his head. He reached a conclusion. "Yes. There is a memorial service for Wally this coming Tuesday. It'll be held at the First Church of Springfield, with a graveside service that afternoon."

Burns raised his head, mildly nervous. "Graveside?"

Alex shrugged. "Body or no body, there needs to be a place for the family. It was Roberta's wishes. A place for grieving, and remembrance."

Burns nodded. It was a sentiment he could understand, though the idea that Roberta would want such a thing never entered into his head.

Alex stood. "The memorial at the church is a closed service, family only. But the one at the cemetery is open." He paused as if considering his words. "I thought you'd want to know," Alex concluded thoughtfully.

Burns rose and extended a hand. "I appreciate you informing me of this, Mister Orfield."

Alex grasped Burns' hand in a purely professional handshake. "It's a requirement of the role, nothing more. Good day, Mister Burns." He tipped his hat, and left, ushered out by one of the household staff.

Burns sat down and ran a hand through his thin hair. The ice had almost completely melted in his tea, diluting it down to a pale amber. He took a sip, found the taste lacking. He held the glass to Johan. "Exchange this; bring me my planner and pen."

Johan gave a slight bow at the waist, took the glass, and disappeared.

Alone, Burns allowed himself the luxury of emotion. He took a deep breath, and opened the envelope. Smithers' will was not new to him, but he had no idea the family had been pushing to have Smithers declared legally dead. He supposed it had been enough time. Roberta had remarried, he knew that much. Some muscle-head ex-military type, Burns believed, though he wasn't completely sure. He couldn't even remember the man's name. It didn't matter to him.

He read, and reread the passage about young Waylon Jr. He wanted, desperately, to see the child. The boy would be, what, about ten years old now? The last time he'd had occasion to speak to Waylon Jr. was easily two years ago when Johan caught the child sneaking about the grounds.

How surprised he'd been when Johan interrupted his evening solitude to announce a "young Master Smithers" was there to see him.

The boy had looked scared, but otherwise unharmed. That was good. Burns had initially worried he might've been roughed up by the hounds. It was standard procedure to let them loose on the grounds at night. He was glad Johan had found the lad first.

Young Waylon Jr seemed well enough, but a bit jumpy, especially around Johan. Burns knew something of the child's stepfather: a man who believed boys needed to be tough and aggressive. Burns found that quite unacceptable. Oh, he was all for control, but his method was a subtle, cultivated dominance. The boy's stepfather had all the subtleness of a baseball bat, and was probably about as sharp. Burns scoffed.

Waylon Jr. was a sensitive child, gentle and Burns could tell the lad was intrigued by artistic beauty. The way the child's eyes had been drawn to the paintings in the great hall shown that ever so clearly.

Once he knew he wasn't going to be in trouble, young Waylon Jr. started gazing at the various pieces of artwork around him. Burns could tell it wasn't the ostentatious displays of wealth that captivated the lad; no. The child appreciated oil paintings on the walls for the imagery and technique.

Burns felt his chest tighten. The boy's genius would wilt under a brute like his stepfather.

Burns would've happily let the child stay longer, but he knew the boy's mother would bring the wrath of heaven herself is she found her son at Burns Manor. It wasn't worth trying to fight with her. There were some battles he knew he couldn't win.

Burns hadn't taken much time to speak with the boy. Just enough to make sure the lad was okay, and let him have a drink of milk, before reluctantly instructing Johan to load the child and his bicycle into the car and bring them home.

Burns turned the letter Alex had given him over in his hands, thinking. Perhaps it was time to settle things with Roberta.

Johan returned with a fresh glass of iced tea, as well as the requested day planner and a fountain pen. Burns wrote down the date of the memorial for Tuesday. Would he go? He wasn't sure, but somehow he felt it would be right. Perhaps it would give him a chance to speak to Roberta Smithers civilly.