Part Two: WHN Blood Rock
Murdoch sat in his chair, staring into the spent ashes of the morning's fire, a forgotten glass of scotch dangled from his fingers. Scott left this afternoon to bring Ben to the Taft's and Johnny? Well, Johnny rode off a short time later. All seemed fine when he gave a boost to Ben, dropping him onto the horse behind Scott. A broad smile hid what no doubt churned beneath. Johnny was good at that, hiding behind a smile, something he no doubt learned a long time ago. But when he asked about the pocket knife the smile faded, especially at the mention of the cost paid for that little token.
"Murdoch?" Teresa spoke as she eased into the arm chair across from her guardian. She placed a sewing basket at her feet and spread a few work shirts across her lap.
"Yes." He acknowledged without looking up.
"I was wondering - have you talked to Johnny since the funeral?" She plucked a spool of thread from the basket and held it against the tan shirt, satisfied, she pulled off a length.
Coming to life, Murdoch moved, splashing his hand with the forgotten scotch. "Johnny? Talk? No." He shook his head. With a push he rose from his chair and set the glass on the mantle. "Things have been a little busy, what with Ben and all." Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket he wiped his hand before returning to his chair.
"What about on your trip home yesterday?" She paused, carefully threading a needle. "Not then either?"
Unsettled by this line of questioning Murdoch leaned forward. "No," he replied warily. "He kept his distance, trailed behind. Why? Is there something I need to know?"
"Yes, well, it was the night you and Scott left to get Ben." She searched the shirt for the rip and began to stitch. "He stayed in that night, we played checkers. He even let me win." She blushed at the pleasant memory.
"Seeing her cheeks color, Murdoch sighed, his eyes narrowed, ready for the worst. "What did he do? I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with him."
"Murdoch!" She dropped the mending into her lap and glared. "He was a perfect gentleman!"
Teresa scrunched her face in disapproval. "As I was saying, it was nice, he was… he was, different. We talked and laughed." A smile erased the frown on her face, but it quickly returned. "At least it was nice until I mentioned Ben. And in the snap of a finger Johnny got quiet. He left the room, stepping out onto the veranda."
Picking the shirt up from her lap Teresa returned to her mending. "I wasn't sure what to do so I waited. I waited for a while, then I followed.
It was dark and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust but I saw him, crouched down, back pressed against the wall, his head resting on his knees." She bit the tail of thread and appraised her work, her attention now on the man across from her. "I called his name. When he lifted his head, I'm not sure, in the moonlight it was hard to tell, but he may have been crying."
"Crying?" Murdoch shook his head, "I don't think so, Honey. If I know anything about my son it is that he does not cry."
Ignoring the unkind comment she continued. "I sat in the chair beside him, not saying a word. After a long time he spoke, hushed, almost a whisper." Teresa's eyes glistened, tears collecting on her lashes. "He said that he never went to her funeral, didn't even know if she had one. When I asked, who, he put his head down and said - Mama."
The tears that rested on her lashes flowed freely now, moistening her cheek. "But that wasn't the worst, Murdoch. The worst was when he said he was only ten. Only he had no one, Murdoch, he was alone. "
With a heavy sigh Murdoch fell back into his chair. He closed his eyes trying to imagine a ten year old boy, his ten year old boy, alone.
"You didn't know, Murdoch? You didn't know Johnny was only ten. Just like Ben?"
"No, Teresa, I didn't. There is so little I know of my boy, so - very - little."
"Don't you think you should try?" Her eyes were red now and she wiped her face with the back of her hand.
"I've tried, Teresa," Murdoch said, as he crossed the short distance between them and handed her his handkerchief. "It just comes out sounding wrong - angry. I don't mean to but… he doesn't make it easy." Murdoch put a heavy hand on Teresa's back and glanced at the clock. "It's late, you should be in bed. I'll wait up for Scott."
As soon as Scott arrived home, Murdoch readied himself for sleep. But as he lay in bed sleep was elusive. He twisted and turned until his back ached. Admitting defeat, he climbed out of bed, wrapping the quilt around him, and nestled into the large armchair by the window. The sliver of a moon cast little light leaving the ranch dark and uninspiring.
His conversation with Teresa left him feeling trampled. How could he possibly hope to get his son back when he'd been lost for so many years? All those years alone can harden any man, he should know, but a boy. Was he too far gone? No, to admit that would mean he'd lost hope and he wasn't about to allow that to happen, not again.
It's just that things weren't going anywhere close to how he'd hoped. In the three months since they signed the contract there were weeks where Johnny would settle into a routine, but as soon as things started to feel comfortable, he'd get restless, take off, usually only for a night or two and sometimes he'd still join the crew during the day. But come night he'd vanish again. Last time, though, he was gone longer, nearly a week. When he came back he had Wes in tow.
In some ways Wes helped, but in others he made things worse. Having a friend around gave Johnny one more reason to cut off from the family. Trips to town became a nightly occurrence, some nights they wouldn't come home till morning. Murdoch was finding it difficult to explain to Teresa why Johnny would ride in for breakfast, though she probably knew full well. In defense of Wes, he did put an end to the roaming, until tonight. Tonight Johnny was alone.
Murdoch shifted in his chair, trying to find that one comfortable spot, the one where he could usually fall asleep, but there would be no sleep tonight.
With a creak, his door opened. In the darkness he could make out Scott's tall frame as he looked to the bed.
"I'm over here." Murdoch kept his voice low so as not to startle his son.
"Figured you wouldn't be sleeping. Johnny's out?" Scott asked as he sat on the edge of Murdoch's bed.
Lowering his head Murdoch steepled his fingers, then sighed. "Yes, he left shortly after you did, alone."
"So, that means… He hasn't done that since Wes joined us. What do you think did it this time? He seemed fine when I left, though he looked like he hadn't slept."
Murdoch looked toward his son but could only make out the movement of his silhouette. Right now he wasn't moving. Only his voice found its way through the darkness. "I think this thing with Ben has him upset. Seems he's been talking to Teresa and well, the funeral brought up some bad memories."
"And you, Murdoch? What bad memories had you so deep in thought when we made our way back here yesterday?"
"It may surprise you, but, I was thinking of Morgan Price. Seems kind of odd, now, but, I felt I owed the man."
The bed creaked before Scott spoke, the only indication the words unsettled him slightly. "What could you possibly owe a man like Price?"
"If it weren't for him Johnny may still be lost to me, to us. For years I was convinced Johnny was dead. There was no trail, no indication either he or his mother were still alive. In fact, I'd completely given up hope, in my mind Johnny was long ago dead and buried."
"That must have been difficult, but I guess eventually you'd have no choice. You have to move on, I suppose."
"Morgan Price gave me back that hope. He came to Lancer six years ago in an attempt to see his own son. When I caught him he told me a story of a man, a boy actually. Said a couple of his men met up with him on a trail near Nogales. Just a kid, with a lot of hate for a man named Lancer. Said this kid rode with them a spell, this Mexican with blue eyes."
Murdoch's eyes strained in the darkness, wishing he could see Scott's face. "Price knew the Lancer history and he figured it might be Johnny, if not, I imagine, he figured it would at least buy my silence. It did. I allowed him to see his boy, though Ben didn't know who he was then I made sure he got away. What I would have given for the same privilege. A son for a son."
For many minutes silence filled the darkness between the two men. Murdoch's next words floated through the night's inky blackness, soft and foreboding. "But watching him get gunned down, hit hard. I wondered if he had family, besides his son. If they even cared. If they'd ever know."
The strong man's voice cracked slightly, so faint it may have gone unheard in the harsh light of day, but in the night's silence it was easy to hear. "I felt as though I was seeing Johnny's life play out before me." He paused drawing a fractured breath. "And I didn't like the ending."
The springs on the bed groaned as the shadow stood. "Doesn't he understand what this does to us? Teresa cries, I get irritable and you, you don't sleep."
"I'm not sure he does understand, Scott. He's been on his own so very long I'm not sure he'll ever understand. But I understand something, Scott. I understand that Johnny has to make up his mind, who he is and where he belongs. This cannot continue."
Murdoch sat before the fire, alone. The past month, since the funeral, had been a disaster. But tonight, tonight was the worst, by far.
It was Teresa's birthday, her first birthday since Paul's death. It needed to be special, a birthday to remember, filled with love and family. Murdoch ordered a new bonnet for his ward, not really sure what was the proper gift for a young woman. He had little experience in this area, but, it had a bit more detail than her previous one and he felt it a practical gift.
It was Scott who was more familiar with the tastes of a young lady. He had the perfect gift. As she opened his carefully wrapped package, tears welled in her eyes. Lifting the delicate hair combs from the box, she looked so grown up. Tiny pearls decorated the scrollwork at the top of each carved comb and Teresa rushed to the mirror, slipping them into her thick hair. Spinning on her toes, her face brightened with a smile. She rushed to Scott and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "They're beautiful. Where ever did you find them?"
"There was a particular shop in Boston I used to frequent and I wrote them. I'm pleased you like them. Happy birthday, Teresa." Scott hugged the young woman then with his hands on her shoulders he stepped back, keeping her at arm's length he admired her new gift and her bright smile. But, while the smile lingered on her lips it was no longer reflected in her eyes. "What's wrong? Don't you like your gifts?"
"Oh, I love them but the one gift, the gift I wished for with all my heart isn't here. Why isn't he here? Why doesn't he come home?" Tears cascaded down her cheeks and her valiant effort to keep that smile collapsed as she fell into Scott's arms, sobbing.
The memory of those tears filled Murdoch with sorrow, once again. Rising, he crossed the room and refilled his glass. It didn't matter what bottle he grabbed, he just needed a drink. His heart breaking for Teresa.
Of course there were no words for her, not then and not now. No words to mend her heart. Johnny was fully aware of the birthday plans, they'd been the topic of secreted conversations for weeks, but here it was well past midnight, the day gone, and no Johnny.
Of course Murdoch hadn't expected him, not after their last discussion six days ago.
He was supposed to check the bridge over at Clark's Ravine, then return with a report of its condition. A simple request. The bridge's condition would determine which way to send the herd. When he didn't return Murdoch assumed it was fine and figured Johnny was just being his cavalier self and continued on to parts unknown. Murdoch sent two hundred head of cattle and six vaqueros over that bridge. The only good to come out of the mess was no men were injured, but the bridge gave out sending twelve of the heard crashing down the fifteen feet onto the rocks below. Those not killed outright by the fall needed to be shot.
Johnny returned to Lancer the next day, fully aware of the costly outcome of his decisions. "What were you thinking Johnny? Or were you thinking at all?"
"Ya, I was thinkin', Old Man. Were you?" His voice was hard but never out of control. "I'd almost missed it but one of the support beams was cracked. Not bad, but I knew with too much weight the bridge would let go. So I went straight to town but they were waiting on their delivery from the mill. It made no sense coming back here so I hung around. Only thing is the delivery didn't arrive till this morning. Never figured you'd send out the herd without an all clear. Thought you had more sense than that, Old Man."
"You had a job to do with very clear instructions. You were told to come back with a report. You didn't. You didn't do what you were told and that is not acceptable. When are you going to learn you're not a lone-wolf any more, Johnny? Every decision you make has far reaching consequences. There are more people to consider than just you. Can you do that? Can you follow the rules? Do what you're told?"
"Damn it, I'm trying. I just thought…"
"Seems to me you need to try harder, John! If you can't then maybe we need to realize this isn't for you. I was a fool to think I could change the likes of you into a rancher, a damn fool!" The crack of silence that followed those words was deafening. But there they were, out there, hanging in the air. Murdoch instantly wished he could reach out and grab them, make them disappear. But that was not possible.
Johnny said nothing, at least not in words but the look in his eyes said so much. He spun on his heels and stormed out the door. That was six days ago, not a word, not a sign. Just wishes, on Teresa's part, that for her birthday she'd get the best gift of all. Well, she cried herself to sleep. Murdoch had gotten his wish - a birthday to remember – unfortunately it was nothing like he had planned.
He looked at the grandfather clock. It was 3:00 AM, another sleepless night. The sound of a horse brought Murdoch from his dark thoughts. He was long past hoping, but stepped out onto the veranda and saw Johnny lead Barranca into the barn. Murdoch joined him.
"What made you decide to come back?" Murdoch spoke, he stood in the doorway watching Johnny light the lantern.
"Don't know. Guess I thought I'd be expected." He shook out the match.
"This has to be it Johnny, the line has to be drawn . You realize that don't you?"
"Ya, suppose so." Johnny spoke softly. He looked briefly at the muslin pouch in his hand, tied with a satin ribbon. With a sigh he stuffed it back in his saddle bag then unbuckled the girth.
Murdoch stepped closer. "Why Johnny? Can you at least tell me why?"
"Why, what?" He pulled the saddle from Barranca's back and draped it over the stall. Leaning on it he looked at his father. "Why do I keep messin' up? Why is it so damn hard to feel at home here? Why is it darn near impossible to change? I don't know Murdoch, why don't you tell me. You seem to have all the answers."
Murdoch moved closer. "Johnny… I don't have any answers, only more questions. How much patience can I have? How many more times can I watch Teresa's heart break and your brother, Johnny, he hates this as much as I do. What do I tell them? How do I make this stop?"
"Ya can't, Old Man, it's just the way I am. Been on my own too long." He dropped his head, busying himself with the saddle. "If I let my guard down I may as well be standing before you and everyone else naked." He slowly lifted his eyes. "That's how it feels. But, I try. I do."
"Johnny, every time you go I live through losing you all over again. And each time I close my eyes I see Price lying dead in the street and when I turn him over it's you. Every night you're gone you die in my dreams, but I wake not knowing. You've got one more chance Johnny, one more. Make it work, toe the line, be a part of this family or…"
"Or what, Old Man? You'll only have one son?"
Murdoch left the barn. He couldn't bring himself to answer that question.