Chapter 4

… Is His Castle

The Garrett Mansion, Boston

Caroline leaned out of the carriage to say good-bye.

"We won't come in. I'm afraid Uncle Harlan is a bit angry with me. He made me promise not to wire you about his heart condition, but I just had to."

Scott took the hand she daintily offered and squeezed it.

"I'm glad you did."

"Actually, I think he is, too. He bellowed at me frightfully when I told him yesterday, but then he sent Hodges scurrying around to set up a family dinner for tomorrow night," she smiled at the memory.

"Then we'll see you tomorrow," Scott said, releasing her hand.

Caroline gave Johnny an unreadable glance. "Oh, my dear, we wouldn't miss it for the world!" she said with mischievous sincerity.

Scott understood her too well. As he watched the carriage roll down the gravel drive, he wished his grandfather hadn't arranged a family dinner. It was nothing to inflict on his brother, but there was no help for it now.

"So this is where you grew up," Johnny said. He studied the stately house with interest.

"This is it," Scott confirmed, as he mounted the steps and rang the doorbell.

"It's tall," Johnny commented, craning his neck to see to the roof of the three-story-plus-attic dwelling. He was stalling and his brother knew it.

"Yes. It is," Scott said with patient amusement. "And it's more comfortable inside," he hinted. "Are you coming?"

"You know, Harlan doesn't know I'm coming. When he sees me, he's liable to have another heart attack," Johnny said half-seriously.

"Don't worry, brother. We'll break the awful news to him gently," Scott replied, deadpan.

Grinning, Johnny bounded up the stairs, just as the door swung open. The tall, thin, elderly butler didn't see Scott standing to one side. He addressed himself to Johnny.

"May I help you, sir?"

"You could start by letting us in, Hodges," Scott said.

"Mr. Scott! We weren't expecting you for hours! Oh, come in, please!"

A hand on his brother's shoulder to prevent him from bolting, Scott guided Johnny across the threshold. Johnny was nervous, but he was also fascinated by the sparkling candelabra in the entry way and the broad staircase that curved upward gracefully.

With the door safely shut, Scott dropped his valise and wrung the old man's trembling hands. The butler's eyes were shining.

"It's good to see you again, Hodges," Scott said warmly.

"Sir!" There was a volume of emotion in the one word. "Your grandfather will be so glad to see you. He's been a lonely man since he visited you in California."

"Speaking of which…" Scott caught Johnny's shoulder and pulled him forward. "Hodges, I'd like you to meet my brother, Johnny Lancer. Johnny, this is Hodges. He and his wife Sarah helped raise me — and my mother. They've been with the family so long, they are family."

"Any family of Scott's is family of mine," Johnny said, reaching to grip Hodges' hand. It was an action the butler didn't expect, but he gripped the hand firmly to not offend the Westerner's customs.

"Mr. Lancer! I'm pleased to meet you, sir. Mr. Scott talks about you so much in his letters. But we weren't expecting you, sir. I'll make sure Dulcie has the … East Room ready for you."

Hodges cocked his head at Scott for approval.

"I suppose my room is still in the same place," Scott teased.

"Oh, yes sir!" the old Englishman smiled. "You'll find everything just the way you left it. Not a thing's been touched."

"Then I agree. The East Room will be best."

Hodges touched a bell in the entryway, a discreet but emphatic summons which brought the rest of the staff on the run. A dark-eyed Irish minx with a face that looked plain until her smile set the room alight, Dulcie caromed down the stairs and nearly plowed into her downstairs counterpart. downstairs maid, Estelle, dodged with practiced ease and brushed her spectacular auburn hair back from her admittedly horsy face. Both young women brightened when they saw Scott. They offered somewhat breathless greetings that chimed with pleasure.

"Well, Dulcie girl," Scott greeted her. "How's your friend the milkman, hmm?"

The staff members laughed.

"Heavens, Mr. Scott," Estelle put in. "Why that was three years ago, that was. She must have had a hundred beaus since then. It's the fishmonger now, isn't it, love?" she teased her friend.

"Ah, no. That was all of Tuesday," Dulcie responded with great seriousness. "It's Fred the grocer who's taking me to the dance Saturday."

"And how about you, Estelle. Ever persuade that Henry of yours to pop the question?"

By way of answering, Estelle displayed the engagement ring on her hand. "We've set the date for September," she said shyly.

"He's a lucky man," Scott said sincerely. He gave the girl a peck on the cheek which had her blushing as red as her hair.

"Where's Mrs. Hodges gotten to?" Hodges wondered aloud, to help cover Estelle's embarrassment. He called for his wife.

She scurried out of the kitchen on plump legs, ineffectually wiping floury hands on an equally floury apron. Streaks of flour made her salt-and-pepper hair even grayer than usual. Another smudge of flour powdered her nose.

"Whatever do you want, Mr. Hodges? How can I fix that berry pie for Mr. Scott if you keep calling me out of the kitchen?"

"And I suppose there's pot roast and yams and chowder to go with that pie," Scott said fondly. "All my favorites?"

Mrs. Hodges head snapped up and she froze between one step and the next. Scott went to her and leaned down to plant a kiss on her floury forehead.

"You've come early!" she wailed. "I didn't want you to catch me looking like this."

"I think it's only appropriate for the most beautiful woman in the world to powder her nose with flour and perfume herself with apples and cinnamon. Anything else simply wouldn't be home," Scott said.

He looked fondly into the tearful eyes of the woman who had been the stable influence in his life through a succession of nurses and governesses. She had made his cookies and wiped his tears. There was no way she could look bad to Scott, and she knew it.

Mrs. Hodges gave him a quick hug around the neck.

"It's so good to have you home."

"It's good to be here …" Scott caught Johnny's eye. "… for awhile."

Scott introduced his brother to the women who responded with pleased surprise and quick interest. Dulcie assured Hodges that all the rooms were made up and ready, including Scott's room and the East Room next to it.

Scott realized the household staff was missing a member. He looked around and said, "Where's Justin? Out running an errand?"

From the stricken looks on all the faces, even Johnny knew something was wrong.

"Sir." Hodges had to swallow before he could continue. "Justin was killed in a street accident a week ago, the day after Miss Caroline sent for you."

Scott's expressions of sympathy were sincere. Michaelson had been a fussy young man; but he'd worked as hard as he fussed and had always been willing to help in ways that weren't properly his job.

Scott asked what happened.

"We don't understand it," Hodges said. "It was raining and the constables say he slipped and fell under the wheels of a beer wagon. But we don't know why he was in the city. No one even knew he was gone until the constable came to tell us he was dead."

"It was the worst day of my life," Dulcie said with no sign of exaggeration. "Everything was so confused. Everyone was so upset. Mr. Garrett had been taken ill the night before with the whole family here and the house was in an uproar. No one knew where anyone was. We were all so tired, being up most of the night. We were just starting to feel better, knowing Mr. Garrett was improving, when the constable came."

There were tears in her eyes at the memory.

Hodges straightened up and put a snap in his voice to bring everyone back to a semblance of normality.

"Well, the poor boy's gone and no one to mourn him but ourselves. But he'd be rightly angry with us for doing our mourning here in the front hall. It's scarcely proper!" he said, with a fair imitation of Michaelson's most scandalized tones.

The members and Scott chuckled. The maids sniffed back tears and started to return to their tasks.

Scott picked up his valise to go upstairs when a new voice cut into the babble of conversation.

"What's all the noise here? You're disturbing my patient," a man said jovially.

The fair-haired Lancer looked surprised when he surveyed the man descending the stairs. The man was in his early 30s, a couple of years older than Scott. He had blond hair set off by the black top hat he wore. His green frock coat gave him an elegant appearance only slightly marred by the battered black doctor's bag he carried.

"Well! Hello, Ben. Are you treating grandfather? Why didn't Caroline tell me?"

"I suppose she thought it was obvious, Scott," the doctor said, extending his hand in greeting. "I mean, who else? Your grandfather has always been healthy as a horse. He didn't have a personal physician; so when he was taken ill, Caroline sent for me."

The servants eased out of the room, leaving family business to family. With apologies, Hodges and Dulcie edged past the doctor to go upstairs, Dulcie to double-check the bedrooms, Hodges to tell his employer about the Lancers' arrival.

"And what exactly is wrong with Scott's grandfather?" Johnny asked, leaning casually against the bannister.

The doctor raised his eyebrows in a question. Scott obliged by introducing his brother to Dr. Benjamin Fraser.

Fraser appraised the Westerner with a swift glance, then dismissed him. Johnny caught Scott's gaze and threw his eyes heavenward. Scott too was tired of this cavalier treatment.

"My brother asked you a question," he said without any special emphasis. But his eyes snapped.

Fraser seemed unperturbed.

"Of course. I'm afraid there's not much I can do for your grandfather, Scott," he said seriously. "His heart has been weakened by age. He has some good spells. The medicine helps a little. But I'm afraid he's only got two, maybe three months to live."

Scott's gray eyes went dark with pain at this confirmation of his worst fears. The wall behind him was welcome support.

"I'm sorry, old man. Truly." Fraser touched Scott's arm sympathetically. "I have to leave." He checked his pocket watch. "I'm already late for another appointment. If there's anything you need, you know where to reach me."

He hesitated for a moment, waiting for a reply; but Scott hardly knew he was still there. It was Johnny who thanked the doctor and ushered him out the door.

Johnny's eyes were worried when he went back to Scott. He'd seen his brother look less beaten after coming out on the losing end of a barroom brawl.

"Scott." He gripped his brother's arm tightly until Scott raised his head to look at him. "Scott, doctors have been wrong before. This Fraser is pretty young. Maybe he's made a mistake."

"I've known Ben Fraser all my life," Scott said bleakly. "He isn't one to take a stand unless he's sure."

"Now, come on," Johnny encouraged, trying a different tack. "You can't let Harlan see you like this. It'll only make him feel worse. If it's his time, then you can't do anything about it. You can make his last months happy by being here with him; but not if you look as low as a snake's belly."

Scott gave him a very small smile. He put his hand on Johnny's shoulder for a long moment; then used that grip to push himself upright. His feet dragged wearily, but his chin was up, when he mounted the stairs.

Scott was putting the last of his things into a bureau drawer when Johnny came through the connecting door from the East Room.

"That's a nice room," he commented, as he began an exploration of the room that had been Scott's since his childhood. "It's handy," he added, poking through some knickknacks collected on a shelf.

"Most guests don't care for it," Scott said as Johnny bounced on the bed, testing it. "They say the sun shines in and wakes them up too early in the morning; but I knew you wouldn't mind."

"Isn't that when you're supposed to get up?"

Johnny swiveled his legs across the bed and went to check out the gallery of picture on the far wall.

"That's why I knew you wouldn't mind," Scott said. "And, as you said, the connecting door makes it handy."

"Uh huh," Johnny agreed absently. He studied the two, hand-colored engravings of birds by some fella named Audubon, which occupied places of honor on the wall. They were surrounded by a gathering of formally posed photographs. In one, Johnny recognized Scott's mother from a photograph Murdoch had. In another, a younger Harlan posed with a boy who had to be Scott.

"Find anything you like?" Scott asked, amused by Johnny's habit of investigation.

Like a cat, the former gunfighter couldn't settle down until he'd poked his nose into every corner.

"Which one is you?" he asked, peering at a blurred group photo of seven young men in front of an ivy-covered building.

Scott leaned over his brother's shoulder and pointed.

Johnny nodded recognition and turned to another photo.

"How about this one?"

A knock at the door interrupted Scott's answer.

Hodges entered at Scott's invitation.

"Mr. Garrett would like to see you both now, if you're ready, sirs."

"Both of us?" Johnny was caught off balance by the request.

"Yes sir. Mr. Garrett always welcomes visitors to his home. It's an unfailing rule of his."

"I don't know, Scott," Johnny appealed to his brother.

Scott chuckled.

"Come on, brother," he said, pushing Johnny out the door ahead of him. "You came three thousand miles with me. Are you going to shy at the last few feet?"

Johnny acquiesced, but let Scott precede him into Harlan's room.

"Scotty!" The old man's eyes lit up when he saw his grandson.

"Grandfather."

In one move, Scott was seated beside the bed, clasping Harlan's trembling hands.

For a long time they just looked at each other, too choked up to speak. Scott fought to keep the shock he felt from showing on his face; but Harlan could see the tears in Scott's eyes and knew the reason for them.

"There will be no weeping in my home, boy," he said gruffly. "I told that wretched girl not to send for you. If you're going to soak my bed sheets with tears, then I'll send you back to California on the next train."

Scott wiped his eyes, sat up straight and attempted a smile.

"Then I'd better be good, hadn't I, grandfather?"

"You always were, Scotty," Harlan said very softly.

Any lingering doubts Johnny might have had about the veracity of Harlan's illness had been laid to rest. The man who had locked horns with the Lancers on their home range had been fit, with a springiness in his step that belied his white hair. The man in the bed was shrunken, his face thin and wasted. He looked 20 years older than when Johnny had met him a year ago.

But the eyes he turned on Johnny were as shrewd as ever.

"So, Johnny. Did you come along to keep my grandson out of trouble — or to find out if the old fox was faking?"

"Grandfather!"

Johnny snorted. He straddled a chair and made himself comfortable with his chin resting on its back.

"Actually, I came so Scott wouldn't have to be alone when he buried you; but you don't look ready for burying, yet," he said pleasantly.

"Johnny!"

Scott was shocked. Harlan burst out laughing, until a coughing fit stopped him.

"Couldn't you two act like adults?" Scott asked in exasperation, as he helped Harlan sip from a glass of water.

"Now Scotty. Your brother and I have an understanding. I disapprove of him and he distrusts me. It's perfectly simple."

"Sure, Scott. Nothing to worry about," Johnny agreed.

They both looked at him so innocently, Scott smiled in spite of himself. He sat down, shaking his head.

Harlan took his hands again. "That 's better, boy. It's good to see you again. Even better to see you smiling. Now, what are you going to do during your visit?"

"I came to spend time with you."

"Nonsense. You can't spend your entire visit sitting by an old man's bed. Let's make some plans. Maybe Johnny would enjoy seeing one of those New York games. I understand there's one scheduled for tomorrow afternoon."

Scott looked at Johnny who just looked bewildered.

"No, I don't think so, grandfather. Johnny doesn't like his fun 'organized'," Scott said.

Harlan pondered for a moment.

"Well, of course, there will be several dances tomorrow night, since it's Saturday; but I was hoping to arrange a family gathering."

"That's already arranged. Caroline told us," Scott said.

"Do I get a voice in this discussion?" Johnny asked.

"Is there something in particular you'd like to do?" Harlan asked in some surprise, knowing Johnny had no knowledge of the city.

Johnny looked embarrassed.

"I'd like to see some more of Boston," he began.

"The historic sites? Faneuil Hall? The North Church? The harbor where they dumped the tea?" Harlan was frankly incredulous.

"No." Johnny looked across the room, hunting for words that eluded him. Finally he turned to his brother.

"I want to see your Boston, Scott. I want to see that Harvard school and the places you liked to go, and …"

The words escaped him again, so he could only shrug and give a pleading look.

Scott was touched, but was careful not to let it show, because he knew he would only embarrass Johnny further.

It's just three years, Scott thought. We know all the important things about each other, but hardly any of the little things.

"Then I guess that's what we'll do tomorrow, grandfather. I'll take Johnny and show him the haunts of my youth and introduce him to all my 'low' friends."

Scott grinned at the old argument, which was now a shared joke.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll enjoy that," Harlan said sarcastically.

As soon as he could politely manage it, Johnny left Scott and his grandfather to talk alone. The younger Lancer set off to explore the big house.

When it was time for Harlan's prescribed afternoon nap, Scott went looking for his brother, wondering what his cat's curiosity had gotten him into.

Knowing Johnny, the first place Scott tried was the kitchen. There he found his brother, drinking milk, eating Mrs. Hodges cookies and debating with Hodges, while Mrs. Hodges listened from her breadboard.

Unnoticed, Scott paused in the doorway to eavesdrop on the conversation. He could tell by the set of his brother's shoulders and the tilt of his head that Johnny was bent on mischief.

"No, Mr. Lancer. It isn't 'Mr. Hodges,' just 'Hodges'," the butler explained carefully.

Johnny thought about it, "No, that doesn't seem right. Not if you're going to keep on with that Mr. Lancer stuff," he replied. "I'm still not real used to the Lancer name, you know. I look around for Murdoch every time you say it."

"I'm sorry if it makes you feel uncomfortable, sir; but as I am employed by your brother's family, nothing else would be proper," Hodges said firmly.

Johnny considered the problem some more, taking long, thoughtful sips from the glass of milk.

"There are a lot of people who work for us on the ranch," he said finally. "And none of them call me, 'Mr. Lancer'."

"I understand things are more … informal out West, sir," Hodges said politely.

"It just doesn't seem right, Mr. Hodges. It seems to me that if you're 'just a servant' like you say, then you're supposed to do what I want. So suppose I demanded that you call me 'Johnny'?"

The younger Lancer looked at the butler with polite curiosity.

Hodges had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. He transformed his stare into a glare at his wife who hadn't been able to stifle a giggle. At the door, Scott almost choked trying to remain silent.

Before Hodges could recover, Johnny continued, "After all, you don't call Scott, 'Mr. Lancer'."

Hodges' voice sounded hoarse when he replied. Scott could tell he was fighting to maintain his butler's composure.

"Mr. Scott does allow me that liberty, since I've known him from his childhood. I suppose I could bring myself to call you 'Mr. John,' if you insisted, sir."

"If that's the best you can do, Mr. Hodges, then I guess it'll have to do," Johnny said, deadpan.

"Just 'Hodges,' sir, please," the butler practically begged.

"All right, Hodges," Johnny said, not trying to hide his grin any longer. "If you can compromise, so can I."

"Thank you, Mr. John," the butler said with profound relief.

When he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his red face, his wife and Scott couldn't restrain their laughter. Hodges tried to glare them silent, but lost the struggle with his own sense of humor and permitted himself a wry chuckle.

So what do you think of my brother the horse trader?" Scott asked as he slapped Johnny on the shoulder.

"I'd say he was much more satisfactory than Chester Lee, Mr. Scott."

Scott gaped at the answer, then began to laugh harder. Both the Hodges smiled.

"Some other time, Johnny," Scott answered the question in Johnny's eyes. "Are there any more of those cookies, Mrs. Hodges?"

To be continued