Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

“The stage? Young man, why would you think I’d consider riding in a bone-rattling death trap, stopping for any dust-covered vagrant alongside the road to climb aboard and land in my lap?” 

“My apologies.” A memory coaxed Scott into an amused smirk that couldn’t wait to introduce Roberta Westcott to Johnny. “Your son suggested the mode of transportation.”

“I can assure you this ridiculous recommendation came from Seth’s facetious nature which he inherited from his grandfather.” With a wave of a female hand, annoyance dismissed the waiter’s offered dessert menus. “Your hash-slinger has done enough damage for tonight.” The Stagecoach Skeptic stood, bringing her dinner companions to their feet in proper etiquette. “Harlan, I pray rail tickets can be secured for our departure tomorrow.”

“Of course, Roberta. I’ll see to it.”

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Sleep well, Mrs. Westcott.” With his words swept aside by the woman’s huffy exodus, Scott’s attention drifted to the steward. “You’re Samuel, correct?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me relieve you of those dessert selections, Samuel. Unlike the lady, my grandfather and I wish to continue torturing our taste buds.” A wink emphasized the jest.

“Very good, Mr. Lancer. A few minutes then to look over the list.”

Reseated, Scott waited for the table’s centerpiece of awkward reticence to take hold. Sweet dish possibilities provided a culinary countdown to the elder’s threshold with unspoken opinions.

Charlotte Russe.

Lemon Tart.

Victoria Sponge Cake.

Mincemeat Pie.

Rice Pudding.

Nougat Almond Ca-

“Go on. Spit it out, my boy and clear the air.”

“A lemon tart.”

“Well now, grant it, Roberta can be a bit rude and abrupt, but Scotteeeeee, calling her a -”

“No. Wait.” Scott’s finger tapped the selections. “Rice pudding.”

Harlan’s glare drew a straight line at his lips. “Your drollery is not appreciated.”

“Neither will be my honesty. Sir, the woman is insufferable. Period. So, until Kinsey’s wedding day I plan to steer clear of the dear Mrs. Westcott; starting now.” Dessert had lost its appeal and the listing was abandoned. “Only purchase two tickets for Stockton.”

“Two?” 

“Two.” Scott held up fingers to visually verify the count. “I’m extending my stay in Sacramento and won’t be joining you and your sour travel companion.” 

The attentive steward’s return eagerly waited for confectionery choices. “Have the gentlemen made a decision?” 

“It appears one of us has.” Another disapproving glance shot across the table as Harlan surrendered his menu. “Samuel, I believe we’ll skip dessert and go straight to the brandies.” The Garrett patriarch’s supper napkin, having served its purpose, journeyed from lap to tabletop as a thrown-down gauntlet. “Care to elaborate on your change of plans?”

Scott’s tossed linen followed suit.“No, not really.”

“My apologies. I made my request sound as if you had options for providing your grandfather with a reasonable explanation other than your sudden distaste for lemon tarts.”

“Let’s say I’d like to spend a few days soaking up the culture here in Sacramento.”

“Poppycock. Only a few hours are required to complete the task of soaking up Sacramento’s culture.” 

“Only a few hours?” A smile wrestled with the good judgment blocking it from sight. An innuendo served as a compromise. “I believe your thoughts on culture and how long it may be avidly soaked up varies slightly from mine.”

Amber warmth arrived in crystal snifters. “Will there be anything else, gentlemen?”

“Yes. My grandson requires a serving of decorum.”

“Don’t we all, sir, now and again. I’ll speak with our chef.” The humorous quest inspired a quick exit.

Harlan's wildered mien remained aimed at a swinging kitchen door of escape. “I’d say our steward wishes to join you on the vaudeville circuit.”

Crossing arms, Scott sat back and allowed his grandfather’s perplexity at a waiter's unexpected wit to release the previously stifled grin. A mental note was made to give Samuel a substantial tip at evening’s end for his comedic entertainment.

“Perhaps I misspoke earlier when calculating the need for hours versus days. So, tell me, does this extended Sacramento stay include your recently found palette for lobster canapés?” Harlan’s query with its deadpan delivery did little to disguise his knowledge of the answer.

Scott’s eye roll, on the other hand, made no effort to be discreet. “As I’ve pointed out on numerous occasions - my little cousin talks too much.”

“Thank God Kinsey does or my old soul’s ignorance regarding culture and time would be an unbearable burden for my grandson to bear, let alone explain to a lovely lavender-scented lady.  Emily Browning, is it not?”

Now who’s the comedian? “The jury is still deliberating on the degree of your old soul's ignorance, however, your old soul’s memory is accurate and the charming lady and I are simply good friends sharing compatible interests.” 

“Love is friendship that has caught fire.”

Surprise gave pause and a cocked brow. “Quoting Emerson, sir? I was under the impression his progressive writing never sat comfortably on your study’s bookshelves.”

“I’m quoting your mother quoting the man.” Cradled in his hands, Harlan studied the brandy-filled snifter as if it could provide a peek into the past like a crystal ball. “She’d hoped the words would help me understand her need - her desire - to be with your father.” Any vision the drink may have offered was broken with a sip. “Unfortunately, it had little effect on my dismay.”

“Her hopes that Emerson could influence your acceptance of the marriage… why tell me now?”

“Because if Catherine was sitting here it’s what she’d be telling you. Love can be friendship that has caught fire. I believe she’d forgive my paraphrasing.” Reflection saddened the elder gentleman’s eyes. “It’s the singular forgiveness from my daughter I merit.” 

“The only sin that we never forgive in each other is a difference in opinion.” Scott smiled. “No paraphrasing necessary.” His mother's presence continued in guiding the conversation. “Miss Browning will be joining me on the trip back to Westcott vineyards. I’m looking forward to her meeting my grandfather. You should have much to talk about. She leans towards the writings of Melville.” 

“Ho!” Laughter finally pulled up a chair as the patriarch leaned in. “I like this girl already! She obviously has better taste in poets than my grandson!” Sip. “I plan to buy out Roberta Westcott.”

Even if the waiter had walked in and dumped a bucket of ice water on Scott’s head it still wouldn’t surpass the shock Harlan Garrett’s statement had just delivered to the brain. “What.” The severe degree of befuddlement couldn’t muster the one-word response into a question. 

“I think all are in agreement any business ties need to be severed with the woman.”

“All would agree but the woman. Sir, you can’t be serious.”

“Phillip has been trying for years to acquire his daughter-in-law’s holdings. Until now, it’s been financially impossible for him.”

“Until now.” Scott scrutinized the level of libation in his glass and estimated it needed to be doubled. 

“A substantial lump of money never fails to prove that everyone has their price, Scotty. I’m confident I can find Roberta’s.”

“And let’s say you do. What’s to prevent Mrs. Westcott from returning to the waterhole thirsting for more?”

“My lawyers.”

Well, Scott couldn’t argue that one. He’d done battle with his grandfather’s attorneys when finalizing Fletcher Garrett’s will and Kinsey’s inheritance. The men representing Grandfather were admirable adversaries. If instructed, they would gobble up Roberta Westcott, spit her out and leave the lady penniless. “It appears you and Phillip have done more than reminisce over boyhood tales.”

“Our fleeting memories allow only so many  stories from the past before desiring new ones that await in the future.” 

“Are Seth and Kinsey aware of this future of yours?”

“And spoil the surprise? No. I hope to have the transaction completed by the time they return home from abroad. Call it a belated wedding gift, if you will.” 

“I’m not sure I do -” Slinging an arm over the back of his chair, Scott stretched out legs that desperately needed to walk away. “At least not until Roberta’s purchased vineyard shares in your pocket are actually gifted.” 

Harlan’s hands splayed out in front of him, keeping pace with his spreading smile. “Scotty, I needn’t explain to you the curse of paperwork and the forbearance required to maneuver through it. Fletcher’s will is a fine example. It took time before you and I resolved the details of Kinsey’s inheritance. I see this venture being no different. Patience, my lad. That’s the key.”

“And during this drudgery of paperwork patience you, sir, will remain an influential shareholder in Westcott Winery.” 

“An influential shareholder with only everyone’s best interests at heart.”

Right. The last of the warm brandy traveled down Scott’s throat as Aesop summoned up the obvious: out of the frying pan and into the fire.