Washboard Warrior. Chuckling, Scott adjusted his hat off the brow and glanced around the mission’s patio. Sister Rosa’s description of Kinsey was well-aimed. Although Soap Bubble Backchatter hit a more accurate mark when describing the young lady marching out of Father Andrew’s quarters.
The nun’s subtle comments regarding the anonymous donation to finance a new classroom further confirmed Scott’s earlier conclusion - not much got past Sister Rosa. And he agreed with the woman who’d suggested a shorter sentence for the reluctant laundress. Scott’s pride for his generous and compassionate little cousin outweighed the exasperation she inflicted.
And the frustration.
And the headaches.
And the few gray hairs.
Scott rolled his eyes. Johnny had it pegged from the beginning. I spoil her.
Johnny.
The buckboard showed the delivered supplies unloaded, but the driver had vanished. It didn’t take a Harvard professor to calculate the location of the younger Lancer. With his hands on hips, Scott swiveled his head to his left toward Boots.
I should be heading back to the ranch.
His head pivoted to his right in the direction of the mission’s outdoor oven.
I should tell Johnny I’m heading back to the ranch.
Indecision’s reign was short-lived.
Scott’s feet proceeded to the right. Curiosity insisted formal introductions were in order to meet his little brother’s latest interest - the lovely Leticia Lopez.
Just off from the mission’s kitchen, Guadalupe’s outdoor beehive-shaped adobe oven stood - ready to assist in fulfilling the daily bread demand. The wafting yeasty aroma not only suggested baking was well underway, but it also guided Scott’s nose to the assumed whereabouts of his brother. An abrupt hunger pain emitted a low growl. What was it about freshly baked bread that made a man’s belly sound like a grizzly bear waking from hibernation?
A nun raking coals in the smaller indoor adobe oven stopped to acknowledge Scott’s tip of the hat as he cut through her kitchen. Strides to the doorway led him to one of the mission’s covered walkways where a familiar figure leaned against a stucco column, a washboard tucked neatly under her arm.
Eyes squinted. What the hell? Exasperation quickly gained a few pounds to outweigh pride.
Approaching undetected, Scott firmly latched onto the back of the belt holding up the little spy’s britches and hauled her inside to the kitchen.
“Let go!” Kinsey’s free hand flailed at her kidnapper in a fruitless attempt to escape. “What do you think you’re doing!”
Scott released his indignant captive. Watching her spin around and take a defiant stance, he pointed to the washboard. “Is Westcott aware that someday he may discover suds in his coffee mug and potatoes in his long johns - all due to your confusion between a kitchen and a laundry room?”
A giggle from the Sister present brought an embarrassed blush to Kinsey’s cheeks. “I know the difference. Honestly, Scott! You’re enough to try the patience of a saint.”
“That would be Saint Monica, child.” The nun by the oven smiled and nodded while sharing her knowledge. “Monica of Hippo. The patron saint of finding patience. For years upon years she prayed daily for her wayward son’s reform and waited patiently for God to answer her prayers.”
Scott raised an eyebrow of query to the information. “And were those prayers finally answered?”
“Of course.” The Sister pointed to the heavens for emphasis. “God answers our prayers.”
“Good to know.” Scott’s gaze returned to his cousin. “Hopefully, the Lord will see fit to hurry along in answering mine.”
“Ah, my son.” The nun fetched a bucket to retrieve water from the well and left with an ultimate word of wisdom. “Patience.”
“Patience. Right.” Scott’s slow exhale judged the present situation with his cousin. “Well, young lady, my patience is all used up so let’s see if God can bless me with a miracle instead. Perhaps he can give you enough common sense to get that washboard to its proper place by the time I count to five. One.”
“Five?” Kinsey’s opposition wobbled. “You always count to ten. Now it’s five?”
“It is. That’s going to be the miracle.” Scott leaned down to be nose-to-nose with his skeptic. “I suggest you don’t be a Doubting Thomas. Two.”
“I simply wanted to observe Johnny -”
“Three.”
“To give him guidance -”
“Four.”
“Fine! I’m going!” Clutching the washboard, Kinsey left behind her own last word of wisdom. “Injustice.”
In an effort to casually insert himself into his brother’s rendezvous with Leticia, Scott shouted out from the esplanade. “Oh Johnny, there you are.” Scott shuddered at his greeting. A pathetic example, indeed. However, the contrived salute a deaf man would deem lame received acceptance.
Turning, Johnny’s wide grin punctuated his bread-filled cheeks, reflecting a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter. Waving with a half-eaten grainy loaf, the younger brother managed a doughy-muffled request. “Scuut! Come’ar. Mate Laticha.”
Several steps brought Scott to his brother while a few swallows returned Johnny’s speech to articulate. “Leticia, this is my brother, Scott.” A lop-sided grin signaled a little brother’s shuck was on the horizon. “He grew up back east so he talks a bit funny.”
Leticia’s mahogany eyes shimmered above her version of a teasing grin. “As funny as you, Johnny, with a mouthful of bread?”
Johnny tore off a healthy bite from the loaf in his hand and stuffed it in his mouth. “Yaaaas.”
Scott laughed at the exchange between his little brother and the girl who could easily be the younger version of Lancer’s Expert en Limonada. “Miss Lopez, it’s a pleasure to meet you. And I admire your fine sense of observation.”
“I have heard much about Johnny’s big brother.” Leticia’s warm smile was as comforting as the aromatic bread she baked.
“I only talked about your good points, Boston.” Johnny donned his own customary grin of a Cheshire Cat. “Gotta say, it didn’t take long.”
“Eh, Johnny.” The delicate hand which kneaded bread at sunrise now waggled at the younger brother. “It didn’t take you long because you were too busy eating.”
Scott’s chin dipped with his own all-knowing smile. Ah, Miss Lopez. Your mouth is saying one thing, but your eyes are telling me something different. It was obvious Johnny’s charm had taken hold.
“Half-pint doin’ her time elbow deep in a laundry tub. Sister Rosa knows that’s where the kid needs to stay put?”
“Yes, and yes.” Scott found Johnny’s referencing of Kinsey as if she was a twelve-year-old rather amusing. His little brother's choice of wording was definitely for Leticia’s benefit.
Johnny winked. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Right.” Scott turned his attention to the walkway’s shadows where spying eyes had previously hid. Chances are she’ll be keeping an eye on you first, little brother.
********
The creaking wagon wheels returning from the mission had come to a halt, but the occupants’ argument continued - slightly muted once it entered the hacienda.
Scott took the last sip of Maria’s lemonade and stared at his journal. Why continue writing just to be interrupted?
His bedroom door swung open without a knock as Johnny filled the doorway. Little had changed with privacy since the first days at Lancer.
“Boston, you need to have a serious discussion with that cousin of yours!”
Kinsey, arriving seconds later, elbowed her way into what little space Johnny provided. “Scott! Your brother is insufferable!”
Scott rose and greeted his guests with silence. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he slowly closed off the complaining company with a smile. Returning to his journal, a pencil resumed its duty.
Like my time on The Enchantress, Johnny and Kinsey have sailed through calm and tempestuous waters to safely arrive back to their home port - hopefully, stronger and wiser.
~ S.