San Joaquin Valley
Lancer Ranch
Val's news of Mannheim and Yarra steaming toward their fate in Melbourne while accompanied by a sounder of swine has gifted our family a long exhale of relief. Additionally, we’ve received no further word concerning the death of Kinsey’s attacker which suggests an investigation had never been initiated by his family, thus allowing my father’s past decision regarding my cousin’s predator not to be spoken of again. The time has come when Kinsey may finally relax and anticipate her future role as Mrs. Seth Westcott. Any lingering threats reaching across the ocean are now put to rest.
Sitting at the courtyard table that often insisted on a spontaneous checker game, Scott paused with penning his thoughts and studied what he had written. Lingering threats put to rest. Well, not necessarily. The possibility of Kinsey’s parents stepping out of the quiet shadows and reasserting themselves into their daughter’s life continued to be a nagging brain itch.
“Yoo-hoo! Scoooott!”
Lifting his sight toward the female greeting, Scott spied not one but two young ladies clambering out of a buggy.
Ah, the McGuire twins. Bugeler! Sound the Fall Back!
Since the ladies were identical in every way, for the life of him Scott could not tell them apart until he stood close enough to read the name-engraved locket displayed admirably above each girl’s bosom. So, uncertain if it was Madeline or Maura who had twittered the salutation, a simple smile and wave safely responded from the checker table.
“We brought Johnny’s healing nourishment!” Madeline-perhaps-Maura held up a picnic basket. “Today it’s my collard greens soup.”
“And a slice of my lemon potato pie.” Maura-conceivably-Madeline trumped. “The same recipe that won me a third place ribbon at the annual Green River Harvest Jubilee.”
If memory served Scott correctly, there had only been three acceptable entries on that glorious autumn day of baking tourney. The fourth fell victim to a questionable amount of rum being used in Audrey Burke’s competing fruit cake in hopes of enticing a Presbyterian judge and his taste buds - a controversial disqualification which still wagged tongues in the Methodist church pews on a pious Sunday morning. “Johnny’s inside. I believe he’s expecting you.” A younger brother’s expectations had little to do with the older brother’s desire to dodge the McGuires. All’s fair in love and war.
Maura-possibly-Madeline dipped her chin with a sly smile. “I hope you plan on saving us at least one dance at your cousin’s wedding, Scott Lancer.”
“And a midnight swim for old time’s sake?” Madeline-maybe-Maura teasingly queried.
“Ladies.” Scott placed a palm on his chest. “Permit fate to be our guide. In the meantime, don’t let your collards get cold.”
As the girls invaded the hacienda with Madeline-feasibly-Maura’s battle cry of Yoo-hooo Johnny, a pencil returned to its duty.
Like in most small towns, tantalizing tales spread quickly. The kidnapping at the abandoned Kapinski cabin was no exception, therefore making it the main topic in the ever-present game of Whisper Down the Lane held at The Green River Dress Shop. Johnny’s injuries at the hands of Merritt Yarra soon fell on the ears of Madeline and Maura McGuire, my brother’s choice of escorts to the nuptials of Miss Kinsey Rose Furlong. Fearing the severity of their dance partner’s well-being could deny them attendance to the much talked about Westcott wedding, the girls readily undertook the role of Florence Nightingale while embracing the wisdom of John Adams: The shortest road to men’s hearts is down their throats. Collard greens soup and 3rd place lemon potato pie - today I’m guessing my brother’s heart would be happier with a slice of Audrey Burke’s fruit cake.
Peripheral vision caught the motion of a hurriedly seated tempest at the checker table. Sensing the arrival’s desire to be acknowledged, Scott’s eyes stubbornly remained fixated on his pencil that halted silently in its journey along the next reflective word. An impatient tsk’d tongue and huffed breath from the growing thunderstorm confirmed not only her exasperation of being ignored but an overwhelming need to express an appraisal.
Scott’s verbal white flag of surrender waved. “Go on. Say it.”
“Hussies.” Satisfied, the gale rose and blew out to sea. Calm waters resumed.
My cousin’s frequently shared two-syllable sentiment of the McGuire sisters stems from my brief, yet adventurous interaction with the young ladies some time ago. However, with his selection to fill a dance card, Johnny now carries full responsibility for Kinsey’s continued judgment of the twins. At first, I found the vision of my brother bookended by the lovely McGuires as an innocent invite on his part and a rather humorous solution to his hesitant acceptance of ‘Half-pint’ getting hitched to the ‘Grape Crusher.’ In retrospect -
As if on cue, the younger Lancer emerged across the way with Maura-plausibly-Madeline latched to one arm and Madeline-potentially-Maura locked on the other. Gentlemanly assistance reseated the young ladies in their buggy followed by the girls’ sensuous smiles and seductive waves that sent them down the lane. Spying Johnny’s turn and approach to the table, the journal author’s hand discreetly closed the cover on his latest written subject matter.
Backside plopped.
Legs splayed.
Shoulders slouched.
An eyebrow raised at his little brother’s customary landing of angst that demanded a few good-natured barbs disguised as charitable gestures for the convalescing. “Checkers?”
“Think I’ll pass.”
“Right.” A throat cleared. “Soup?”
Johnny’s deadpan stare at the offer caused some confusion which required clarification.
“Is that a pass?”
Silence.
Arms crossed while a grin struggled to be seen, not just heard. “I guess that’s a pass.”
“The damn soup looks like she’d dipped it outta the swamp side of Martin’s Lake.” Fingers ran through dark hair. “God Almighty!”
Hearing the Lancer patriarch’s phrase of frustration tumble out of his younger brother’s mouth forced a snort through Scott’s nose which morphed into a contagious belly laugh that galloped across the checker table, triggering the same from the McGuires’ dance partner.
“Devil be damned. They got me talkin’ like the ol’ man.” A nod in the direction toward the Green River Nightingales' departure. “Aw, they mean well enough, but all their female fussin’…” Johnny’s gaze and grin, along with his thoughts, drifted off toward the pasture where a milk cow’s lowing attempted to finish the sentence.
“Passing on female fussing, little brother?”
“Nah.” Knuckles double-tapped the wooden table and brought back a smile and a wink. “Only the fussin’ cooked up in the McGuire’s kitchen.”
Scott shot a squint over his brother’s shoulder. “Speaking of fussing” - An index finger pointed out a whiskered figure on a direct path to the checker table - “I do believe there’s one currently headed our way.”
Johnny rubbed his chin and studied the determined strides of the hired hand. “Jelly looks like a fella in search of the lost corn cob to his outhouse.”
A pondered approval was given. “Emerson could not have described it more eloquently.”
The possible corn cob quest remained a mystery with the little man’s simple greeting upon arrival. “Scott.”
Proper upbringing replied. “Jelly.”
“Jelly.” A little brother emulated.
Acknowledgment ensued. “Johnny.”
“Scott.” Perpetual politeness flashed a mischievous smirk across the table.
“Johnny.” With protocol completed, clapped hands rubbed together in anticipation of what the future held. “Well, now that we have formal introductions out of the way, what can we do for you, Jellifer? Hungry? The McGuire sisters delivered Johnny more of their outstanding culinary delights. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing.”
“Oh well now, I might see my way clear on dishin’ out a spoonful or two for a friend.” Johnny’s drawled hospitality hinted at a hidden practical joke.
“I appreciate the offer. Maybe later.” Hands dug deep into worn pants pockets as a bristle brush chin lifted so eyes, shielded by a cap’s brim, could view a passing cloud.
“Geeesh, Jelly.” Johnny crossed his arms and leaned back. “Quit lookin’ like yer posin’ for the statue in a town square. What’s on your mind?”
“Wouldn’t want to be a bother to you boys.”
“You’re never a bother, Jelly.” An eye roll punctuated Scott’s sentence. It couldn’t be helped.
“All right. I’d like t’know what you think ‘bout somethin’.”
“WhoaHO! Brother, did I hear correctly?” Johnny grabbed his earlobe and wiggled it to dislodge any potatoes growing in the dirt. “He’s asking for our o-PIN-yun.”
“That does appear to be the case, brother.”
“Ha-ha. Oh never-ya-mind.” A hand waved off the mockers. “It weren’t important.”
Seeing the little man’s flustered embarrassment surfacing, Scott grinned and left him off the hook. “Jelly, accept our deepest apologies and our undivided attention. What can we help you with?”
“Well…” Suspicious eyes judged the offer before shifting toward an outbuilding. “Can’t really tell ya. Guess I havta show ya.”
Intrigue raised brotherly brows. Standing, Scott’s arm swept out. “By all means, sir, lead the way”
The shed had become a haven for the mishmash of items unable to fulfill their original purpose, however dodged the final verdict of junk. Stepping from bright sunshine into the building’s dimmer light, Scott’s eyes gradually adapted to guide his feet around frayed ropes, cracked pots and broken tools until halting alongside his brother and Hoskins at a large, blanketed object rectangular in shape that prodded one’s imagination to surmise what lay hidden beneath.
Jelly’s hesitant unveiling of the puzzling semblance leaned Johnny forward with a cocked head. “Is that what I think it is?”
A delivered slap to the inquisitor's shoulder replied. “Indeed it is, little brother.” Scott’s face spread out a smile like butter on warm bread. “And, if I’m not mistaken, a very thoughtful wedding gift.”
Besides minor architectural differences, Jelly’s eccentric creation duplicated the ranch’s porch swing that had become Kinsey’s quiet retreat. An old wooden headboard from a discarded bed served as the swing’s back while its seat at one time provided privacy to a room. Completing the swinging sanctuary: makeshift armrests of table legs and a sawed-off banister.
Performing a closer inspection, Scott admired the little man’s handiwork. “Jelly, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“Well, I’d spotted that little gal more ‘n once sittin’ on the swing under the oak tree. Thought she might like one of her own ta take along.” Hoskins rubbed his chin stubble as second-guessing took hold. “It ain’t much.”
“Hold up, Jelly. This a fine gift that will be quite the surprise Kinsey will cherish! You best be prepared for a few of her tears.”
“Well, it’s a fact Miss Sassymouth and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye -”
“Didn’t always?” Johnny’s abrupt laughter interrupted rare nostalgia. “You and Half-pint never agreed on one damn thing!”
“Just sayin’ it’s gonna be too quiet ‘round here after she’s gone.” Blustering camouflaging his mawkishness pushed Jelly out the door with a final thought thrown over his shoulder. “Guess I forgot about yer yammerin’ chimin’ in when it ain’t necessary thank you very much.”
*********
A fine gift that will be quite the surprise Kinsey will cherish. You best be prepared for a few of her tears.
Scott’s earlier prediction continued to ring true as he held a small brown paper-wrapped item in his hand. With the afternoon sun gradually turning the Lancer landscape an amber hue, he approached his cousin who had settled in on the ranch’s porch swing rocking under the great oak. One of the last conversations with his dear friend, Winifred Mae McLoughlin, replayed in Scott’s mind with each step.
********
“Come in,” answered Scott’s knock on the hacienda’s guest room door. He found Winnie sitting on the bed, signaling he should sit beside her. Accepting the invitation, Scott noticed a book she held.
“Emerson’s Essays. A gift from yer mother to me and now it be yers.”
Scott knew if he tried to speak his voice would betray him so he simply nodded as he ran his hand over the leather cover.
“Now, this is for the lass.” Winnie placed a fine lace collar in Scott’s hand. “Wore it on me wedding day. Edwin and I were not blessed with children of our own.”
“Winnie… ”
“Quiet lad and let me finish. Yer to keep it ‘cause I don't be needin’ tears from that little girl. I'm dependin’ on ye to know the right time to give it to her.”
“Yes. I'll know.”
A weathered hand reached up and rested on the side of the young man’s face. “Yer going to be just fine, Scotty. We can't avoid it. There will always be that last goodbye between friends.”
*********
“ScottyGarrett, tell me… ” Kinsey tilted her head at the swing’s new passenger. “What has the Good Lord blessed us with on this day?”
Hearing Winnie’s familiar question which had been asked a thousand times during his life while living in the Beacon Hill brownstone, Scott presented the paper-wrapped item to his little cousin. “Kinsey Rose, today the Good Lord has blessed us with a smile from heaven.”
Yes, Winifred. I will know.