A Thing Fathers Do
By Cadillac Red
In the early days, Murdoch feels a compulsion to act in ways he and his sons can't fully explain.
Murdoch Lancer stepped lightly, as lightly as a man his size could, as he walked up the stairs on his way to bed. In years past, he would not have given a moment's thought to the heaviness of his tread but tonight was different. It had been different for almost three weeks now. For behind closed doors on either side of the hallway slept his sons. It still seemed like a dream, or a miracle, having both of his boys sleeping under his roof.
The past weeks had been hard in many ways. His youngest had been shot but was now recovered. And Johnny had arrived with a chip on his shoulder and wariness about the father he did not remember and the brother he had not known he had. When Maria ran away and took their child, Murdoch had thought he could not survive the loss of yet another son. For two years he had put Johnny to bed nearly every and woke to his smiles every morning. And then the child was gone, his cheeky grin, his infectious laughter gone from the hacienda, and Murdoch's life, for nearly twenty years.
Murdoch's eldest son was another unknown. Born away from Lancer, Scott's grandfather had taken him to Boston for his safety but then Harland never agreed to return the boy to his father. Murdoch had finally traveled to Boston and briefly met Scott once when the boy was five years old. The young man who arrived at Lancer had no memory of that meeting, had not even been told the man to whom he was introduced was his father. Yet Murdoch had held that memory in a corner of his heart ever since, remembering how nearly impossible it had been to simply shake the child's hand when what he really wanted was to pick him up and hug him and never let him go.
The big Scot made his way to bed, relieved and thrilled to finally have his boys home, safe, sleeping soundly in the home he had made for them. They were grown men now but—but they were also his boys, his children. And the urge he'd felt every night since they arrived could not be beaten back tonight. He went to his bedroom and took off his boots and then returned to the hallway. Stopping in front of Johnny's door, he held his breath and slowly turned the doorknob. He meant only to look in, to assure himself the boy was sleeping peacefully.
The shutters had been haphazardly closed and moonlight slatted through, leaving the room dimly lit. Johnny's boots were on the floor in the middle of the room, one turned on its side and his shirt and pants were hanging half off the chair near the window. Something compelled Murdoch to put things right. He moved silently into the room, picked up the boots and placed them together under the chair, then folded the shirt and pants and left them on the seat.
Johnny was asleep on his stomach, arms and legs akimbo, the blanket half off the bed. Shaking his head, and stepping carefully, Murdoch went to the bedside and gently pulled it up over his sleeping son. He had done it more times than he could count when this son was a babe. And had despaired he would ever be able to do it again. The big man smiled and soundlessly left the room.
He stared at Scott's door for a moment, and then again gave in to the urge to check on his eldest boy. For the first time since Scott had been born. At this moment nothing could have held him back. He quietly turned the doorknob and looked in.
Unlike Johnny, Scott was neat and orderly. No clothes or boots were strewn about. In fact nothing was of place, and the only light in the room spilled in from the hall lantern behind Murdoch.
Scott was asleep, his breaths deep and even. Yet Murdoch moved on socked feet to the bedside, to drink in the sight of his son's face in sleep. Long days of ranch work in the California sun had given Scott a light tan and his hair was sun-streaked and grown out from when he arrived. One lock of golden hair hung over his forehead and even though he did not want to wake Scott, Murdoch found himself reaching out to gently brush the hair back off his face. Scott started briefly and the big man held his breath but his son sank right back into sleep. Counting his luck as well as his blessings, Murdoch backed out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him, and went to bed with a sense of peace he could not remember feeling in decades.
Scott Lancer lay on his back, thinking about what had just happened when he heard his bedroom door open again. This time his brother Johnny walked in.
"Nobody here knocks, do they?" Scott said on a sigh.
"The old man come in here too?"
"I guess that means you also had a nocturnal visit."
"Nah, he didn't knock when he visited me either," the younger man said as he plopped himself at the foot of Scott's bed.
Scott bit back a laugh. "I meant—never mind. Did he wake you?"
"Yeah, as soon as the door opened. Lucky for him I'm not that much on edge. I coulda shot him. He just came in, picked up my clothes from the floor and straightened the bed covers. I pretended I was sleeping. And then he left."
Scott nodded. "Pretty much the same for me. Except the part about picking up clothes from the floor."
"Pfft. It don't take a genius to guess you don't leave stuff lying around, Boston. Neatness is probably your middle name."
"Actually it's Garrett."
Johnny glared at him briefly, then gave up when it had no effect on his brothers. He reached over and took one of Scott's bed pillows. Slipping it behind him, he slouched back against the footboard. "So what the heck was he doing?"
Scott grimaced. "In case you missed it, I just met him for the first time three weeks ago. I have no idea why he does anything."
"Well use that fancy education o' yours and take a guess. "
"I don't know but—maybe it's just a thing fathers do."
Johnny frowned. "What's that mean?"
Scott looked to the side for a moment, wondering how much to share with Johnny. Then he decided this was his brother, the brother he'd wanted all his life. The one he hoped to have in his life from now on. He believed one should start as one means to go on so… what the heck.
"When I was young, I sometimes spent school holidays with my friend Edward's family. My grandfather traveled on business a lot and it was better than staying home with just the servants. A lot better."
"Edward's father would stop at each bedroom on his way to bed every night. He'd just adjust covers and pick up stuff, like you said Murdoch did." Scott remembered how he would sometimes kiss a forehead or brush hair off someone's face just like Murdoch had done tonight but he kept that part to himself.
"It woke me up every night because I wasn't used to it. I asked Edward once why his father did that and he didn't even know it happened. I guess because his father had done it every night of his life. But his mother overheard me ask and she said that it's just a thing fathers do."
"Hmm," Johnny breathed.
"I could be wrong," Scott said, and immediately realized he was talking to a brother who was now fast asleep. At the foot of his bed, taking up half the mattress. He sighed and got out of bed. He grabbed the quilt that was folded on the back of the chair and spread it out over his sleeping younger brother. He thought briefly about going to sleep in Johnny's room but decided against it. Getting back in on what was now his side of the bed, he turned on his side and closed his eyes. "Maybe this is a thing brothers do," he said quietly as a yawn overtook him, and he slipped back into a peaceful sleep.
THE END