Chapter 19
Something was different. He lay very quietly, eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly. He listened…The sound of a crackling fire, the steady tick of a clock. Something was missing; something that had been a part of his life for what seemed like forever.
Johnny snapped his eyes open. Gone was the thundering sound of waves pounding the cliffs of the little island. The wind that had whipped at the lighthouse, screaming like a wild witch woman, was silent. Sunlight spilled into the room through the thick windows. The front door stood open, the cool air fighting with the warmth of the fire behind him.
The storm was over. Johnny struggled to sit up, his arm still strapped to his chest, making it difficult to swing his legs over the edge of the cot. But nothing would stop him. At last he had a chance to get off this island, to find Sam and maybe even Scott if his brother had come in on the train. Finally he could find answers to questions that had been haunting him at every turn.
He pushed himself off the cot, making for the open door. The last thing he remembered yesterday was the cold feeling of the window pane at the top of the tower against his cheek, then Thomas and Edward helping him down the stairs. He didn't remember making the final steps only the hot mug of tea pushed into his hands and the comforting liquid warming his insides. They had slipped him something in the tea. He could tell by the lingering headache and dry mouth. But he couldn't fault them for it. He wouldn't have rested without it.
The clear blue sky hurt his eyes as he looked beyond the rocky landscape of Little Brewster Island. The water was calm, the sun sparkling off the gentle waves. He looked around for Thomas or Edward. They weren't in the lighthouse. He looked toward the hoist and his stomach dropped. The dory was no longer lashed to the boom. He ran toward the cliff, his heart beating. The chain that had lowered the boat to the water dangled three feet above the gentle waves lapping at the rocky cliff. The boat was gone. Had they left him here? Johnny couldn't believe that. He trusted Thomas.
Disbelief turned to anger. They had promised him. Once the weather cleared - they had
promised. Damn it! He knew better than to trust anyone. It always ended in disappointment. He was better off as he was, as he had lived his life. Trust no one, and no one could hurt you. Johnny Madrid learned the lesson well. Why couldn't Johnny Lancer learn it too?
He rushed toward the house, past the lighthouse, wondering why the Lady saw fit to let this happen. He slipped and tripped over the uneven, rocky terrain, damning the bindings that strapped his arm to his side, keeping him off balance. The cold air bit at his face. He was angry. He'd been lied to - again. His anger grew with each step. His hand dropped to his hip and he cursed. He needed his gun. He needed to be in control again.
Johnny reached the door and swung it open. Thomas stood by the stove, turning around, startled by Johnny's entrance.
"Where's the boat!" Johnny demanded. "Where's Edward?"
Thomas quickly pulled a pot off the hottest part of the stove. "Johnny. I was about to head over to the Lady and wake you." If Johnny's entrance startled the man, he didn't show it. "Come in. Edward left at first light."
Johnny stepped into the house, slamming the door behind him. "Why? You know I have to get back there."
"We talked about it last night and decided it was the best way to proceed. We have no idea what's happening there. You could still be a wanted man. If you are, every Tom Dick and Harry would want you for the reward."
"Don't you think that I deserved to have a say in what you decided?"
Thomas pulled a clean mug from a shelf over the stove and poured steaming coffee into it then advanced slowly toward Johnny. "We knew you would be mad, and with good cause, but, Johnny, you are in no shape to be running around the docks. We hoped once you had time to think about it, that you would understand."
Johnny took the mug and sipped the coffee. It tasted good, dampening his anger. "That was a lot to assume," he said, his voice still cold. "Dangerous too. You don't know me."
"No, I don't. But I know Scott. And I know that a man who would go to the lengths you have to help his brother has to have a lot of good in him."
Johnny shook his head. "I got your friend Heddy killed."
"She may have been the target all along. She just knew too much. Edward…"
"You two just don't understand. If Edward asks the wrong person the wrong question… Whoever is behind all this won't stop at one woman's death to get what they want."
"I know. And that is exactly why Edward went ahead first. He can keep out of sight and still ask all the right questions. Better to be armed with a little knowledge than go in defenseless. Look," Thomas turned back toward the stove cracking some eggs into a hot frying pan. "There's no use arguing about it now. Edward won't be back until this afternoon. You might as well relax. Have some breakfast. After you eat you can check out the island. The air may be a bit chilly out there, but after a storm like we had it is the most refreshing air you'll ever smell."
Johnny reluctantly took a seat at the table. How had Thomas talked him down so easily? Only Scott could calm him down when he was this mad. Where was the yelling fit, the stomping around like a mad bull? Murdoch would have had him hogtied to a chair by now. Funny, it was easier to fight the raging Murdoch than the easygoing, understanding Thomas.
Murdoch took the time to stretch his legs before boarding the next train on his long journey to Boston. He'd had nothing but time to think and reflect. All those years he had waited for his boys to return, and in the blink of an eye he had managed to drive his eldest boy out of his life. He wondered if he had lost Johnny too. Would he return to Lancer even if Scott didn't? He and his youngest son had made headway. But was it enough?
He found a window seat in a relatively empty car. To Murdoch's relief no one sat beside him or in the facing seat. Stretching his long legs out to rest on the opposite seat he pulled his hat down and glanced out the window at the last passengers hurriedly straggling onto the station platform as the whistle blew and a cloud of steam escaped the underbelly of the train.
Someone caught his eye, and just as the steam obscured his vision, Murdoch thought he saw a familiar blond head in the crowd of well-wishers. He heard hurried steps on the iron stairs outside the car door and waited, not daring to believe what he knew with absolute certainty - that his son was about to walk back into his life.
Murdoch held his breath as the door opened and Scott stepped in. He knew from experience that the interior was too dark to see after the glaring sun from outside. It took Scott a moment to look around to find a seat. His eyes drifted up and down the coach aisle and came to rest on Murdoch.
Murdoch didn't know what to say. Scott just stood there, grabbing onto the back of a seat as the train jerked and began to pull away from the station. He hefted the traveling bag in his hand a couple of times as if trying to make a decision, then turned on his heels and walked out the door to the next car.
"Scott," Murdoch called softly as the door closed behind his son. He deserved nothing less. And he knew it. The telegram Val had brought out, what seemed like years ago now, burned in his shirt pocket, as if seeing Scott again had ignited the paper. He had been such a fool. He didn't have enough fingers and toes or arms and legs to count the mistakes he had made throughout his life. Most of them had to do with his foolish pride. But none were as egregious as the mistakes he'd made with his boys. He had almost lost Johnny several times since his youngest son came home, and now he might have lost Scott forever.
Murdoch stood up slowly, feeling older than Methuselah. He took a breath and blew it out slowly. Pride be damned. He was going to talk to Scott. Even if his boy rejected him, he still had to say the words that stuck in his throat like glue.
Johnny lounged on the sofa. He had paced the house like a caged animal. Gone outside and walked the island at least three times. Spent some time with the Lady. As crazy as it sounded, it was easy to talk to her. He'd made his way up to the top of the tower again. It was still a strain on his healing body, but nothing like yesterday. With the sky clear he could see for miles. He looked for the dory traveling back from the docks but the only thing he saw were birds swooping down to snatch fish out of the sea, their squawking so different from the quiet pastures of Lancer.
Thomas had served lunch and now Johnny felt his heavy eyelids begin to close. He didn't fight it. After all, if he was in Mexico it would be siesta time. He let his mind wander. What was Murdoch doing right now? He felt sorry for his father. The old man had been pushed into a corner with no way out. Whatever he did someone was going to be hurt. Johnny prayed that the second telegram that Sam sent would get to his father before he said or did anything that was impossible to take back. Johnny knew what it felt like to be on the bad side of Murdoch Lancer. And when he was, Scott was always there to cushion the blow. But Scott was alone now. His brother had seldom seen life from that side. "Dios!" he muttered. Would life ever return to normal?
Scott couldn't believe it. What did Murdoch think? A, "I'm sorry, Son," and all would be forgiven? It wasn't that easy. Where was he when the stage left Green River? Where was he when the train left Sacramento? Murdoch had plenty of time to stop him before the train pulled out of the station. Was it that he was too proud to admit he was wrong, or too scared to face him? Scott squeezed the bridge of his nose trying to ward off a burgeoning headache. He couldn't get that scene out of his mind. The words that had been spoken could never be taken back. Murdoch's silence as he had left the house. His gut had been wrenched out of him like never before. Was it just Murdoch's betrayal, or his grandfather's death? The two combined were too much for him to absorb right now. He needed time. He needed to get his grandfather's personal and business affairs in order. He needed to see to the house and the servants. They all deserved good positions and he would hold the house open until they found other jobs. At times, the servants were more like family to him then his grandfather. If nothing else, Scott was determined to make it right for them. But his obligations had nothing to do with his father's failure to make an appearance.
Scott hated the feeling that his life was out of his control. Someone else was holding the reins. Someone had duped the Pinkertons into thinking that he was an imposter. Someone had hired the two thugs to get rid of him in Omaha. The thought that it could be Masters, a man he had known most of his life and respected, seemed impossible. Yet the description was right. But Masters was just a puppet. This was a well thought out plan, the far reaching magnitude of it frightening. The only person Scott could think of with that kind of power and money was his grandfather. Yet he was dead. Wasn't he?
The sound of the wheels clattering along the tracks grew louder as the door opened and Murdoch slipped into the car. Scott had hoped his father would give him time. He had walked through two cars to get to this one, hopefully giving Murdoch the hint that he wanted to be left alone, at least until he was ready to confront the situation. But it appeared Murdoch didn't see it that way.
Scott watched as Murdoch held onto the back of the seats, the train swaying as it headed into a series of serpentine turns. He wondered if the half dozen or so other passengers in the car could feel the tension between father and son.
"Scott." Murdoch's voice was low and throaty.
Scott turned back to stare out the window. "I thought you would get the idea that I wasn't in the mood to talk right now."
"I did. But I have to talk. Do you mind if I sit?"
Scott shrugged. "Your ticket allows you to sit anywhere you like." He heard the facing seat groan as Murdoch sat down and the thought came to mind that his father's back must be killing him by now. He pushed the thought aside. He wasn't ready to worry about Murdoch in any way. Not yet. Not while he was still so angry and hurt.
"I'm surprised I found you," Murdoch said. "I thought you were a day ahead of me."
Scott didn't take his eyes off the view outside. He had been so excited, so apprehensive the last time he saw this view. He had been filled with hope that his father would accept him after so many years. Whether he decided to stay in California or move on, he knew he would not be going back to Boston. That life was behind him. And now, here he was, heading back.
"I was," Scott answered succinctly. "But I was delayed."
"Son…"
Scott whipped his head around to stare at Murdoch. "I'm not your son, remember? I'm an imposter."
Scott could barely hear his father's voice over the clatter of the train, but the words were filled with sorrow and regret. "I was wrong."
"What brought you to that epiphany?"
Murdoch looked down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap. "The moment I accused you I knew I was wrong. I just couldn't find the words to tell you how wrong I was."
"And now you expect everything to be like it was?"
"No. I know that some words can never be taken back. But I hope that someday we could move on."
"I'm moving on. Back to Boston. After I get my grandfather's affairs in line I don't know where I will go from there. But it won't be back to Lancer."
"Please, Scott, I know you're angry."
"Angry! You think I'm angry?" Scott didn't care now that others could hear him. He'd had enough. "Angry doesn't come close to how I feel! From the first moment in the great room you made it clear that you called the tune. And you never stopped. No matter who it hurt. The great Murdoch Lancer had to be in charge. I thought, no I hoped, that you would change. That after time you would ease up. But you didn't. Oh there were times when you let me think I was making a contribution to the ranch. But it was still your tune we played."
"I know I was wrong then. And I knew it. I thought we had made progress. Things were moving smoothly. I thought we were on our way to being a real family."
"And then another little chink in your smoothly running world sent you on the rampage again."
"A little chink?" Murdoch asked incredulously. "You think what I went through these past weeks was a little chink? My, God, I had confirmed reports from the Pinkertons that Scott Lancer had sailed to Europe two weeks before he received my note to come to Lancer. I had no proof other than your word that you were Scott Lancer."
"That should have been enough."
"You think so? Add the fact that I had no idea what you really looked like. I only remember a five- year -old boy dressed in his Sunday best on his birthday in Boston. I had never picked up a letter from your grandfather, you always seemed to be in town to pick up the mail when it came. You had no letters to show me because you had gotten angry and burned them. I wrote letters, sent telegrams to Boston and got no answers. Then I get the telegram from Johnny and Sam. Your grandfather had been dead for two months. Two months. What was I supposed to think! I promised Johnny I wouldn't say anything to you until I knew proof positive that you were an imposter. What more proof could I have needed?"
"Johnny knew all along?" The thought stung. Above all else, that hurt the most. How long had he known? Was he part of the subterfuge? Acting confused when he had to be wondering he was living with a stranger. And Teresa. What did she know? Anger seized him. He had been played for a fool by everyone.
"I told him the night before he left. You were still up at the line shack. He wouldn't believe it. He insisted on going to Boston to prove the Pinkertons wrong. I couldn't stop him. The only thing I could do was convince him to let Sam go along with him."
"Is that why you're here? To help Johnny?"
Murdoch looked at him, stunned. "No! I was hoping to catch up with you in Boston. Val didn't get Sam's telegram to me until after you left on the stage. I'm sorry, Son. For so many things. I should have listened to my heart…not the Pinkertons."
Scott felt his world continue to crumble around him. His anger was his last bastion and he hid behind it. Murdoch's explanation and apology were too little too late.
"Scott." Murdoch leaned in closer, his hand hesitantly resting atop Scott's knee. "You have every right to be angry and hurt. And I know you can never completely forgive me. I will never be able to forgive myself. But there is someone out there trying to drive us apart. We need to work together right now. Son…"
Scott shifted his knee and Murdoch's hand slipped off. "I still need time to think."
Murdoch nodded. "I understand. I'll go back to my car. When you want to talk come see me. Just remember." Murdoch leaned in close to Scott. "I love you, Son. I always have, even if I was too stupid and too afraid to admit it."
Scott closed his eyes, trying to keep his composure. He waited until he heard the louder clatter of wheels as the door was opened and then closed. He fought back the lump in his throat. Why did his life have to be so complicated?
Johnny stood at the window watching for Edward.
"He'll be along soon," Thomas called from one of the back bedrooms. "Here," he said, bringing out a book. "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. It just came out. I think you'll like it."
Johnny took the book. "Scott was reading that a couple of months ago. His grandfather sent it to him. Garrett sent him a lot of books." Johnny looked up. "All this has to be hard on him."
"I expect so. But he should be here soon."
Johnny looked back out the window. "Where the hell is Edward? I thought he was supposed to be here early this afternoon."
"He was. Something must have…Speak of the devil." Thomas pointed out the window at Edward as he trudged up the slope toward the house.
Opening the door, Edward blew in like the wind outside. "I have news!" he shouted.
Johnny waited.
"First of all, you don't need to worry about your friend Sam Jenkins anymore. He is safe at Garrett's mansion."
"Garrett's place?" Johnny couldn't believe it.
"Yeah. He and old man Garrett's head servant are getting along like they knew each other for years. He knows you're here too. Got word to him on the sly that you were banged up a bit, but safe. When I told him about the cast he wasn't too happy. He was giving Weatherly a list of supplies to make a new one when you get there."
"Sounds like Sam."
"The authorities aren't looking for you anymore. They have someone else targeted for the murder. The wrong man, I'm sure, but at least they won't toss you in jail if they see you."
"Any news about Scott?"
Edward shook his head. "But Sam is sure he's on his way. He's got your bags from the hotel. Said you'd be wanting what's inside." Edward handed Johnny a small satchel.
Johnny looked inside to find his extra gun with a box of ammo. The feel of the gun in his hand gave him a sense of relief he hadn't felt since he stepped off the train.
Thomas looked at the gun then disappeared in his bedroom and reappeared with Johnny's jury-rigged holster. "We found this under your sling."
The thought of Sam's plaster cast on his arm suddenly sounded more appealing. He could once again carry his gun with him at all times. It had been too long. He quickly checked the revolver to see that five bullets sat in their chambers and slipped it beneath his belt.
"Sam is expecting you at first light tomorrow. We'll leave here about four and get to the docks before sunrise. I have a man with a horse waiting for you. Sorry, a buggy will look too conspicuous that early in the morning. He'll take you to Garrett's house. One more thing." Edward threw a sack to Thomas. "I hope you can cook these cowboy style."
Thomas drew out a package and opened it to find three huge beef steaks.
"I thought we could send Johnny here off with a full stomach."
With his gun shoved beneath his belt, news that Sam was safe and the prospect of getting off the island in the morning, Johnny had not felt so unburdened in days. Looking back at Edward as he made himself comfortable he asked, "If the authorities aren't looking for me anymore, who are they looking for.?"
Edward looked back. "They think that gunfighter from California, Johnny Madrid, did it."