Stave Three
The wind came up, gusting from a northerly direction that drove the chill right into your bones. But as soon as he latched onto Grandfather's sleeve, the horizon changed from powdery grey to bright blue. The sky was the only thing of that color. The Union encampment had disappeared, along with all soldierly trappings. He was once more just Scott Lancer wrapped in tones of brown.
He watched as Cipriano loaded a full basket into the back of a Lancer wagon to accompany the several already there. Someone had put a bit of thought into it because pine garlands were tacked on either side of the wagon box. Ace and Paco stamped in their traces, making the bells around their withers jingle.
"Oh, not Tuesday," Scott groaned.
"Yes, Tuesday. Let's take a look, shall we?" With the white bow safely ensconced back into his pocket, Grandfather's eyebrows had quirked together in what Scott could only describe as a look of anticipation. "Perhaps not your finest hour?"
Perhaps. That was all he was going to concede. Maybe if he remembered all of Tuesday he would feel better.
It started out innocently enough. He and Johnny had been tasked to take the baskets filled with bottles of wine vinted from good Lancer grapes along with boxes of cookies, cake, and candies to their neighbors. In the spirit of Christmas, as Murdoch had goaded with a smile before they left the courtyard. It turned out to be spirits of a different kind altogether. Ho, ho, ho, indeed.
~o~O~o~
The first stop on the list was the Conway ranch. As soon as they jingled their way into the courtyard, Aggie was at the door, all smiles. And in an apron. He stole a quick look at Johnny and saw the surprise on his face that mirrored his own. He'd only known her in a riding habit and boots.
Maybe she sensed their surprise because she tossed her braid back over her shoulder and slapped the flour off her front, missing a patch near her left side.
"You just missed Buck; he's headed into town. What brings you two all this way?" She eyed the wagon with something akin to mirth. "And in such a gussied-up wagon, too. I could hear you coming down the road."
Scott resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The citizens of Green River miles away probably heard them. He tipped his head. "Murdoch sends his finest."
Johnny jumped down from his seat and wrangled a basket from the back. "And he sent this basket, too."
She was still laughing when she ushered them inside to the kitchen.
Scott sniffed appreciatively. "What is that? Ginger? Cinnamon?"
Aggie walked over to the pot simmering on the stove top. "Johnny, set that basket down on the table and I'll pour you both a cup of my famous glögg."
She tipped the ladle in and poured out generous portions of the red liquid. He felt the first sip roll all the way down to the pit of his stomach. It was orangey, sugary, and all the spices he smelled before wrapped in delicious brandy. He sipped some more.
"This glögg sure isn't shy on the liquor."
Leave it to Johnny to get straight to the point.
"It was my mor's recipe, handed to her from her mother. She said it was made to keep a person warm and toasty, in both heart and belly."
They volleyed pleasantries until a second cup was drained. He looked at the dregs of spices floating at the bottom and idly wondered if they could be used to tell the future, like some charlatans did with tea leaves. The more he looked the more he knew it was time to leave before he ingested any more of the delectable drink, or Ace and Paco would have to find their own way to the next ranch.
She saw them off with a Merry Christmas and a beribboned basket of her own, filled with more glögg (to be reheated gently, per the note) and a tin of cookies.
Thirty minutes later, they rapped at the door of the Aguilar place. It was opened at once by a tall, powerfully built man in late middle-age. His eyes lit up when he spied the basket, like a coal of fire when a draught of air blows upon it.
Scott felt a warm glow suffuse through him and not for the first time did he think he should have eaten something before spreading Lancer holiday cheer throughout the valley. He hefted up the basket. "Señor Aguilar, Murdoch sent this for you. We wish you a Merry Christmas." He hoped that would be the extent of it because they had several stops to make.
But Mr. Aguilar had another idea.
Mescal, from a black jug reverently pulled from the cupboard shelf. Apparently aged to just the right vintage. The first tentative sip banged and rocked around in the vicinity of his toes. The third and fourth settled in quite comfortably. He wasn't sure what happened after the rest. Johnny just grinned at him over his own glass.
Three more ranches and each had their own way of saying "thank-you". If he had known that every stop would require a libation of some sort, he would have apportioned them out. As it was, he shook his head to get some of the fuzziness out of his eyes. Was it his imagination or was the brown blur—that Ace and Paco had become—jogging too far ahead of the wagon? He nudged Johnny with his elbow.
"You have that bored expression. And that means everything but being bored."
"You think so?"
Scott nodded. "I don't think, I know."
"You been studying up on me?"
"No, it just presents itself at certain times, like now. What's really going on, Johnny? And don't tell me it's all the liquor we've ingested since leaving home."
His brother shifted out of his slouch. Took off his hat and ran his fingers though his hair. This must be something big.
Johnny lifted a shoulder and shrugged. "Caroline Hutchins…"
He hadn't had occasion to meet her, but apparently his brother did, and he was smitten. "Is she the one who just returned from school back east? Our next stop, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, our next stop."
Scott shook out the reins. "You like her."
Johnny rubbed his head like he was trying to keep his brain firmly in place. Finally, he nodded.
"So what's wrong? Ask her to the Christmas Eve Social."
Johnny's answer was lost in the bells and the fact that they had reached their destination. How they had made it without him driving was a miracle. A Christmas miracle, he sniggered.
~o~O~o
Scott was settled for the time being. His fever was still high, but they had managed to get some willow bark tea down his throat. Murdoch leaned forward and tapped the back of his hand against Johnny's knee.
"Sit and tell me more."
The old leather chair let out a whooshing noise when Johnny fell into it. "I asked him to count the cattle in the western pasture."
"Am I missing something here? I told you that chore could wait until after Christmas."
"Yeah, I know. But I wanted to get it done. Anyway, Scott went out for me." Johnny rested his head against the back of the chair. "I stayed at the dance to court a girl."
~o~O~o
It was a handsome house, made pretty with a red bow and sprigs of greenery around the doorframe. A well-kept garden, now winter-barren brown, graced the entire left side of the house, another sign of a female hand. No one was home, or at least in the house. As they waited, the whole expanse of porch seemed to undulate under his boots. Disconcerting to say the least.
Johnny slapped his shoulder, with more force than Scott thought necessary because he was paying attention, wasn't he?
"I'll check in the barn," Johnny mumbled.
"What?"
Pouring himself off the porch, Johnny hitched a thumb westward. "Barn."
He watched Johnny wobble around the water trough like it was a hungry bear. It sat in mud though, so maybe he didn't want to get his boots muddy.
The only decent thing to do was to follow. Not nearly as proficient as his brother with his hands full, he slipped and slid through the mud, halting only when his knees encountered the hard wooden slat of the trough, barely hanging on to the basket with the tips of his fingers. Well. Perhaps this was far enough. Wouldn't want to lose any good Lancer vino.
He heard a sound but couldn't tell what direction it came from and looked to the house expectantly. Perhaps Mr. Hutchins was home after all.
The disembodied voice came from behind him this time.
"Scott!"
He and his basket whipped around, only to collide with some sort of colorful mass. The basket flung out of his hands and the mass dropped into the mud, its arms and legs flailing to get purchase on the sodden earth.
Scott didn't understand. And then, suddenly, did.
Miss Caroline Hutchins lay sprawled in the mud and muck amidst cookies and a broken bottle of wine. A fingerling of auburn hair over her left eye. The other glared up at him.
He gave a weak smile and pointed a finger at Johnny. "Miss Hutchins? Ah, my brother would like to ask you something."
Grandfather wiped his tears. "Oh, my boy. I haven't laughed like that in a long while." His chains jangled and the accounting books danced when his shoulders shook. "That poor girl." The old man composed himself. "You tried so very hard that day, stepping in to help Johnny."
"Yes. And I would do it again." But perhaps with less mud, he amended. And much less alcohol.
"Remember this, Scotty. No good deed goes unpunished."
"What do you mean by that?"
Grandfather put a finger to his lips. "Shhhh. Just look."
She stood at the hitching rail outside the mercantile, one hand lifted to shade her eyes. Her figure was long and slim, and the sun brought out red lights in her hair.
Eduardo, Mr. Baldemerro's nephew, was sweeping the walk, and he flashed a white smile at her.
She lit up. It wasn't a polite smile from a well-bred, schooled Miss—it was a full grin. Her eyes crinkled in the corners and it was sunshine.
No wonder Johnny was in trouble.
Her eyes caught his, the first man to come out of the bank. Between the time Scott stepped off from the boardwalk and the time he reached the store, each had gone over the other and registered the same result: dismay. For totally different reasons, he assumed.
He took off his hat. "How are you?"
"I'm doing well, Mr. Lancer. It took me some time to get the mud out of my dress and yet here I am." She scanned up and down the street. "I don't see any puddles around today, though—will I be safe?"
He felt heat suffuse his face. "Miss Hutchins," he tipped a sketchy bow, "as I don't have another basket to ram into you, I can assure you of that very thing."
Johnny came out of the granary, carrying a bag of winter seed over one shoulder.
Caroline glanced at him, took him in, and looked away. "It seems your brother is doing all the heavy lifting today. Should I stay out of his way, too? Are all the Lancers accident-prone?"
"No, not generally. Only when we've had too much Christmas cheer. It had been an exceptionally long day and you were the last house on our list."
"Lucky me." She met his eyes, unguarded, and he saw they were mossy green.
Unfortunately, he couldn't remember if he had apologized or not. What he did remember was the look of utter look of horror on his brother's face.
When Johnny had gone back into the granary he said, "My brother is a good man."
"Is he?"
"It's funny, but he has never had a problem speaking what's on mind. Until now."
"Shy?"
Scott barked out a laugh. "No, that's not it. He knows what he wants."
"Why does he wear that pink shirt?"
"According to Johnny, it's not pink. Perhaps something a little north of that." Scott went on. "It's part of his heritage. His mother was Mexican."
"Oh."
"Does that make a difference to you?" He wanted to know now before he made a mistake, he didn't want Johnny hurt. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.
She looked at the granary door. "I don't mind."
Johnny came out and flipped the last bag of grain onto the bed of the wagon. He straightened when he saw who Scott was with and managed a small wave.
"Hear him out, Miss Hutchins. Don't let my foolishness the other day cloud your judgment."
Odd, but he was almost sure he saw a flash of disappointment cross her face.
~o~O~o~
"Ah. Love can be blind, Scotty. Especially for those tied up in its arms."
"Why, Grandfather, that's almost lyrical."
"Are you surprised that I was in love once? Your grandmother was…well, she was quite the woman." He twisted around. "But let's take a look at you, shall we?"
Scott raised his hands to ward off any Grandfatherisms. It didn't work as the old man plowed ahead.
"You're quite aware that Caroline is no love match for Johnny, eh?"
"I know nothing of the sort."
"But you do have a tender heart towards her."
"Grandfather, I just met her and in a most awkward way, even by western standards."
"Exactly, my boy. Just like I met your Grandmother. And much to my chagrin, how your father met my daughter. She bowled him over in the street." He sniffed. "It must be some aberration of the Garret line."
"How did my mother manage to topple Murdoch Lancer?"
"Oh, he had the height, but no heft back then. Skinny as an eel. Probably from ingesting all that fine Scottish cuisine." He rolled his eyes. "It wasn't so difficult. Strong woman, your mother. On a mission as they say. When Catherine took a notion in her head—very much like your grandmother—nothing could stop her. Not even Murdoch Lancer. From all accounts he just happened to be in her way when she came out of the repair shop. Then…out of the way, as it were. I blame my timepiece for their eventual unfortunate meeting." He pulled out the silver watch and chain he always kept in his side vest pocket and contemplated it for a minute. "She dropped it during the melee, he picked it up and brought it to the house. And there they were."
Harlan's eyebrows rose so high they threatened to get lost in his hairline. "Scotty, can look me in the eye and say that you have no feelings for this lovely young lady?"
He looked into Harlan's watery blue eyes and…looked away.
"Ah, just so. But you've already gone and done your good deed by pushing her and Johnny together."
"I wouldn't put it that way."
Harlan slid the watch back into his pocket. "Perhaps, just perhaps, with some effort things will work out. They usually do in my estimation."
~o~O~o~
The makeshift orchestra slid guilt chairs across the temporary dance floor, as women dropped off various pastries and punches to the tables lining the side. Pine wreaths and garlands festooned the rest of the walls.
His eyes drifted about the increasing crowd until they landed on Caroline Hutchins.
Her fingers found a piece of loose hair by her ear and she pushed it into the blue ribbon that held the rest in place at the back of her head. One of the more mystifying female attributes, that intricate hairstyle.
Her eyes met his across the dance floor and the grin spread across her face.
He grinned back.
The door creaked open on its spring and Johnny walked in, followed by the Cipriano family. Or he thought it was Johnny. His brother wore an ironed white shirt with a string tie no less, and shined boots. Several female heads turned in appreciation. Caroline looked at Johnny with straight, measuring eyes.
As they walked towards each other, the fiddlers finally commenced to fiddle.
Scott stayed by the table, holding back from the punch. The thought of anything containing liquor sent a queasy feeling to his stomach but he took a cinnamon-laden cookie. Besides, he promised Johnny he'd do his chores this afternoon. Better to count cattle with a clear head, after all.
Something pulled on his pants leg. It was Jaime, the youngest of Cipriano's children, and he'd lost his parents. Scott bent down to pick him up and offered him the cookie. The boy turned it around in his hands and nibbled on the edge, spilling sugar and bits all over the front of Scott's shirt. He cackled when Scott kept time to the music, bumping him up and down on one hip.
Jaime took his arm and dragged his sleeve under his dribbling nose. Then sneezed, twice. Moistened crumbs violently followed the ones already on Scott's shirt.
"Jaime! What are you doing?"
Aha. Rescued. He handed the boy to Mrs. Cipriano.
"There's no harm. In fact, we were enjoying a cookie together."
It was time to go anyway. He looked about and found Johnny and Caroline. For a man who didn't like his fun organized, his brother was doing a damn fine job of escorting Miss Hutchins around the dance floor.
He let out a sigh.
The song was ending, and he'd stop by and wish the Widow Hargis a Merry Christmas on his way out.
~o~o~
Johnny had gone to get two cups of holiday punch. Through the window, Caroline watched Scott walk out of the dancehall, to his horse at the hitching post. Perhaps it was the straightforward way he held himself, but he looked like a man on a mission. Just as he was about to mount, he turned and looked around. He obviously felt someone looking at him. But he didn't turn towards the window. She sighed.
~o~O~o~
"The dance didn't go like I thought it would. I should've gone out there and done the counting myself. If I knew Scott was sick, I would have."
"I know, Johnny, but this isn't any fault of yours."
"It's hard to get used to, Murdoch."
"What is?"
"Having a brother." He leaned forward and tapped on the mattress. "But I'm grateful for it."
Murdoch smiled. "Who was the lady you met at the dance?"
"Caroline Hutchins."
"She's a fine girl. I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"It's alright. Funny thing is, about the only thing Caroline and I have in common is Scott."
Murdoch turned back to the bed. It was unnatural seeing his son lay so still and unmoving. But as he looked, a shadow passed over his son's face. Perhaps a trick of the lantern light. He stood to get a better look.
"Murdoch, what is it?" Johnny was by his side.
Scott let out a groan and started to thrash from side to side. A single word pierced the air.
"No!"
tbc