Wedding Guests - The Stanfords

“A good deal of our politics is physiological.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Not that you’re a thorn, sir. You’re more of a tall cedar, Mr. … Lancer. Please tell me I have that right.” ~ J. Stanford

“I’m uncertain if Leland Stanford is a business-minded politician or a political-driven entrepreneur.” ~ S.G.L.

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“Ah, Mr. Lancer.” Offering her hand in a proper protocol greeting, the corners of Jane Stanford’s lips upturned slightly from playful’s tugging influence. “Let me guess. Our Tall Cedar stands alone in the Westcott vineyard searching for his lovely Red Rose.” 

A red rose: the quintessential symbol of deep desire dating back to Ancient Greece. With Emily Browning by her side, Jane’s reference sparked Scott’s arched brow while accepting the older woman’s salutation with a gentle grasp and polite release. “The Tall Cedar is eternally grateful to our Yellow Rose for her assistance in his quest.”

“Well, it appears a Boston cattle rancher has been studying the language of flowers. How delightful!” 

“This man needs to study more than just flowers to keep up with the two women now gracing him with their presence.”

“I believe, Mrs. Stanford - ” Emily moved to slip a hand in the crook of Scott’s arm coaxing a sportive smile on her escort’s face. “Our Boston cattle rancher has also taken a course in oratorical wheedling.”

“That would be called politics, my dear.” 

The Tall Cedar’s smile gave way to laughter. Jane’s dry delivery expressing opinions on ambitious men strutting about in the bureaucratic bailiwick had changed little since the day Scott first encountered her during Sacramento’s viticulture meeting. “I trust the governor could join us today.”

“Oh yes. Leland promised not to talk business… a promise which lasted only five minutes upon spotting your father.” 

Leland Stanford and his expanding power in the region over the years had dominated newspaper headlines with the wearing of the man’s many hats. Politician. Industrialist. Philanthropist. Stanford’s recently acquired title, President of the Central Pacific and Southern Pacific railroads, had piqued the Cattlemen Association’s interest due to their wish for southern railroad expansion.

And who would be point man for the possibilities of improving livestock transportation? Murdoch Lancer’s oldest offspring who found himself sitting in the governor’s mansion because of his investment in Westcott Vineyards; an investment the Lancer patriarch had considered foolish when his eldest son first voiced his intentions. 

It was a fact, the irony of cattle prices benefitting from Scott’s grape-crushing grubstaking continued to give him great satisfaction. “I’m certain, Mrs. Stanford, my father is at this moment equally guilty of discussing the future of beef and rails.” 

Jane’s attention walked down the aisles of cultivated vines providing the backdrop for today’s espousal. “Breathtaking sight! I’m curious, sir, did the sweet Kinsey first fall in love with this beautiful land or the land’s handsome proprietor?”

“A very good question. If the land was indeed first, I’d say its status was short-lived.”

“Well, Mr. Lancer, since we find ourselves in such inspiring surroundings perhaps we can carve out a moment to converse regarding my intended gift to the soon-to-be-wedded couple.” 

Emily’s hand tightened its hold with a quick squeeze. Casting his eyes downward, Scott spied a soft smile suggesting not only was the young woman privy to gift knowledge but also in cahoots with the gift giver. 

“Ah! Scott Lancer! These charming women have excellent taste on who they wish to associate with. Good to see you again, son.” Arriving to join his wife, Leland Stanford possessed the two fundamental elements of most politicians: a hearty salutation and a firm handshake just shy of arm wrestling. “Think we can find time today to enjoy a cigar? We don’t have Jane’s flower garden to stroll through like before, but I think this vineyard is a fine substitute!”

“Leland, honestly. Being the best man, I’m certain Mr. Lancer has a rather busy agenda.”

“There’s always time for a good smoke.” Stanford delivered a nod for confirmation. “Am I right, Scott?”

Grin. “Sir, I feel strongly both ways.”

“Ho-Ho! What did I tell you, dear. With diplomacy of that high caliber, this lad has a bright future in politics!” 

“Oh, I think Mr. Lancer’s future is quite bright. He doesn’t need political pea soup fogging up his view.”

“Well, better than your eel stew, Jane!” Under a disapproving stare from his wife, Stanford appreciated his joke with a belly laugh.

“Governor Stanford. I fear your thick stew may be turning into quick sand. May I show you around the vineyard?” Emily’s subtle wink removed any possible seriousness to a developing dilemma.

“My God, I’ve made a monumental miscalculation. This lass should be the one pursuing politics. Thank you, Miss Browning, for saving my marriage. Lead the way!”

“Well, now.” Jane Stanford donned a finespun smile which spoke volumes. “It appears we’ve found that slice of time for the conversation I mentioned earlier.”

“Why do I sense Arcades’s head chef was holding your imaginary carving knife?”

“I see not much gets past you, sir.”

“Only when it’s best to look the other way, ma’am.”

“A rare occurrence for you, I’m sure.” Jane’s emphasis suggested she could not say the same for others. “Now, for our discussion. I recall first meeting your little cousin. We were sharing a pitcher of my tart lemonade.”

Scott smiled. Tart lemonade that Kinsey immediately compared to her mother’s disposition. Luckily, Jane Stanford appreciated honesty.

“When I asked her why she chose a vineyard as an investment, her reasoning impressed me. She stated she’d listened to gentlemen speak of the importance in building a legacy and the satisfaction necessary hard work provided when accomplishing such a feat. She wished to experience this satisfaction of avoiding death’s finality through future generations remembering.” Jane paused to consider her words. “I may have paraphrased a bit there.” 

“I believe, Mrs. Stanford, your memory holds true.” Scott, also, had been impressed with his cousin’s explanation on her investing. Sitting in Jane Stanford’s parlor that day, he’d seen the first signs of the spoiled little girl from Melbourne beginning to fade away. 

“It’s admirable Kinsey Rose can articulate her expectations so clearly.” The rolling vineyard landscape once again lassoed the older woman’s consideration. “I’m gifting Westcott Vineyards an exclusive contract for unlimited gratuitous rail transportation eastward. Being an investor yourself, I thought you should know.” 

“Mrs. Stanford… ” Scott paused to allow his mind to digest the extraordinary commitment and formulate an appropriate response, which currently proved fleeting. “Your generosity has me tongue-tied.” 

“Good! Any time I can stop a man from talking is a feather in my cap. So, Tall Cedar, let’s help the young lady build her legacy, shall we?”

“Yes, ma’am. However - and my apologies if I overstep, but I need to ask - does Governor Stanford’s name also appear on the gift card?”

“A perfectly legitimate inquiry. Of course it does. I mean… Leland is the president of the Pacific rails.” 

“A president with an astute and influential advisor.” 

“Governor Stanford knows a good thing when he sees it.”

“I concur, Mrs. Stanford.”

“Ah. Oratorical Weedling. I believe we’ve come full circle in our conversing.” Jane’s hint of amusement dissipated into a more somber tone. “Our billiards game at the mansion - do you remember?”

“I do.” 

“It was obvious to me that Scott Lancer embraces an opponent’s challenging competition. I hope that is still the case when a Bull Thistle gets word of my wedding gift.”

Bull Thistle.

Scott didn’t need to study flowers or their language to understand Jane Stanford’s referencing.

The bull thistle and its purple flower provided a nectar source for insects and food for birds, giving the illusion as a harmless plant. However, ranchers considered it a noxious weed that invaded land, displaced native vegetation and reduced pasture quality by destroying clover and hay. Eradicating the damn plant involved hand-pulling and digging up roots. A job Scott discovered as a never-ending competition between man and nature, but a necessary challenge for Lancer land to survive and prosper. 

Yes, Jane Stanford’s comment was not lost on Scott. He knew exactly who the woman was referring to.

Bull Thistle.

George West.