Sweet Sorrow Departures

"The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again." ~ Charles Dickens

Train stations.

Scott had certainly stood in a few train stations during his twenty-plus years walking on God’s green earth.

Boston’s Providence Station.

Virginia’s Byrd Street Station.

Abilene’s Union Pacific Depot.

Omaha’s Union Passenger Railway. 

Sacramento’s Central Pacific Station.

And, of course, Stockton’s ever expanding rail station where he’d stood on several occasions, including today. 

In the past as he stood in these train stations, Scott had taken on the passenger role of either a departure or an arrival. 

Departing  student - Arriving scholar.

Departing rookie - Arriving veteran. 

Departing grandson - 

Arriving son.

However, at this moment he was neither coming nor going. Instead, he would be the one left behind on the station’s platform waving farewell. And surprisingly, this role was proving to be more difficult to fill than he had anticipated. 

Why, you ask? 

“Phillip Westcott did offer us the use of that fine buggy of his. I could still turn down the Stanfords’ hospitality to join them in their private car.”

Scott’s chin dipped a smile while placing his hand on top of the delicate one nestled in the crook of his arm before acknowledging the lovely reason for the aforementioned why. “The Temptress returns.” 

“I know. I know.” Emily’s palm raised in acceptance of revisiting last evening’s conversation. "We’ve discussed this.”

“And?”

“A kitchen doesn’t run on its own.”

“And?”

“Neither does a ranch.”

“And?”

“It would only delay our inevitable goodbye by a day.” 

“And?”

“You’ll be returning to Sacramento in one month’s time.”

“And?”

“Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

“However?”

"The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.”

“So?”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Enjoy Leland Stanford’s private car.” Skepticism stepped up. “Tell me, sir. If the table was turned, would you eagerly commit abandonment on this train station platform?”

“To travel seated on overstuffed velvet upholstery while sipping expensive champagne? In a heartbeat.”

“Cad.” 

“Indeed.” The rapscallion’s free hand tucked under the accuser’s chin guided her lips to his, stealing a - 

“Mr. Lancer!” 

Scott’s intended kiss morphed into a sigh that ended in a chuckle due to Emily’s cross-eyed response to a denied canoodle.

“I wanted to say goodbye, son, before boarding the train.” Thrusting his hand forward as if hoping to get in a quick bout of arm wrestling, Leland Stanford delivered a hearty handshake.

“Husband, I believe that’s exactly what these two young people were trying to do before you interrupted.”

“Oh! Yes… well. I’ll keep it brief.”

Jane Standford’s silence emitting from pursed lips spoke loudly on a statesman’s ability to be brief when speaking.

“During generous servings of wedding cake, your father and I managed a productive conversation yesterday. I understand you’ll be the ongoing point man and representative for the Cattlemen's Association regarding needed railway expansion south.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope monthly travel to Sacramento won’t be too much of a burden.” Stanford’s campy wink suggested he already knew the answer. 

“Leland. It’s time to embark.”

“On the contrary, my dear woman, the first call has yet to be announc- ”

“All abooooaaard!” The conductor’s proclamation followed by his train’s harmonious whistle blast echoed down the length of the station’s wooden platform, painting a satisfied smile on the female Stanford’s face.

“Tell me, Scott.” Leaning in, a query slid from the side of the governor’s mouth. “Have you ever experienced first hand a woman’s intuition?”

“Yes, sir. On several occasions I’ve witnessed this phenomenon.”

“And how did you handle it?”

“With silent acceptance dusted in awe.” 

“Ha! Yes! Mark my words, Jane.” Stanford’s finger wagged the air. “This young man will make a fine politician one day.”

“Leland, our Tall Cedar is the gent who will convince close-minded men the women’s suffrage movement will not destroy the nation.” 

“I believe, Mrs. Stanford, the voice you seek for that crusade belongs to Kinsey Rose Fur- ” Scott's paused smile corrected an old habit. “Westcott.”

“Mr. Lancer, may I point out this would have been a superb moment for you to implement your silent acceptance dusted in awe. Perhaps we’ll try again during a game of billiards next month.” Gathering Emily’s hand with hers, Jane executed her own version of a cocked brow. “The train doesn’t leave until my husband says it's to leave, allowing a couple in love to take their time saying their goodbyes.”

“Hmmm… a couple in love.” Watching the Stanfords board the governor’s private car, Emily’s finger lightly tapped the side of her jawbone in reflection “Was that Mrs. Stanford sharing her intuition?”

“No.” Scott encircled the pondering head chef’s waist with one arm, drawing her near. “That was Mrs. Stanford stating a fact.” 

Another blast from the train’s whistle failed to interrupt a farewell kiss.

*********

“Guess the Little Minnow cut line and swam upstream.”

Scott squinted down the tracks watching the last trails of locomotive smoke rise and dissipate. “Are you referring to Miss Browning’s departure to Sacramento or your customary fishing lament at Martin’s Lake?”

A little brother’s swiped hand across his spreading grin waved a white flag of surrender to a big brother’s well-played retort. 

Focus turned from tracks to town. “Where are the McGuire sisters?”

“About to bounce their bustles back to Green River.” Johnny’s over-the-shoulder thumb jab initiated the gents’ strides towards Stockton’s stagecoach office. “Care to join me in seein’ them off?”

“Hold up.” Dusty boots halted. “Aren’t you the girls’ escort?”

“Found a replacement.” Johnny’s arm swept wide for a dramatic presentation. 

Behold yonder, ladies and gentlemen. The Replacement: currently assisting McGuire Number 2 with boarding. “Will?”

“LANCER!!” Jenkins' amicable smile and wave sharply contrasted his delivery of the brothers’ surname. “A word, if I may.”

A word? Scott highly doubted the approaching mayor of Green River had only a word. However, if one was to guess, that word would surely be -

“Goddammit.” Jenkin’s clenched teeth and spewing profanity mimicked a hissing snake caught in a sprung bear trap blaming Johnny for its misfortune. “God-dammit.”

Evidently, Will’s a word was worth repeating. Smile. Scott’s status as a good guesser remained secure.

“Look, Lancer, when I said I’d be happy to take the McGuire twins off your hands for a few hours I didn’t mean all the way back to Green River.”

“Didn’t think ya’d mind, Will. See, Scott here needs help drivin’ Half-pint’s steamer trunk transportation back to the ranch. Gotta say, we appreciate your kind offerin’ to accompany the girls safely home.” Johnny’s innocent-boy sincerity hung on by a cat’s whisker.

“How many men does it take to drive an empty wagon?”

Will’s question, sounding like a two-bit joke begging for a witty punchline, guided Scott’s hand in adjusting his hat low, shadowing growing amusement. Need for a different scenario deemed crucial. “If you were under the impression these were to be a few evening hours. I can understand the confusion.” Arms crossed. “Although that intriguing situation may eventually require an explanation for Mr. McGuire.”

“Shut up!” Jenkins redirected his irritation. “I also got a bone to pick with you, smart aleck.”

“Whoa. Smart aleck?” Johnny’s somber shake of the head did little to disguise the guffaw drawling in his voice. “Sounds like fightin’ words to me, brother.”

“Uncalled for, that is a fact.” Frown. “Confusion’s sliding over to take a seat on this side of the conversation, Will.”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. That half-assed howdy of an introduction you gave me to the Stanfords.”

“I beg to differ. Didn’t I mention how you were a man outstanding in your field with a far-sighted vision?”

“Your exact words were Mayor Jenkins is a man out standing in a field with farsighted vision.”

“Woo-hoo!“ Maura-maybe-Madeline McGuire’s smiling face, framed by a stage coach window, beckoned to the three men. “It’s time go… ”

As her sister’s sing-songing proclamation ricocheted off Stockton storefronts, Madeline-possibly-Maura clarified the intended departee. “Mayor Willieeee.” 

Scott’s snorted guffaw pulled the trigger on Johnny’s sputtered chuckle. It couldn’t be helped.

“Laugh it up, gentleman.” Jenkins patted his coat pocket  “I know I certainly will be while reading your literary debut to the ladies. It should pass our time together quite nicely.”

With a brother’s hand landing on his shoulder, Johnny’s one step forward to follow a blackmailing mayor to the waiting McGuires stalled.  

“Jenkins won’t read it to the girls.”

“How can you be so damn sure?”

“Telling them would be the same as printing the story in the Green River Gazette and he’s not bored yet with stringing us along.” Scott observed the stagecoach take on its additional passenger. “However, I am.”

Time to kick over the rotten barrel of apples.