Conversation is a game of circles. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
********
The slight rapping echoed from a deep hole. Scott struggled with connecting the noise to its location.
A mineshaft? Perhaps a well.
The insistent knocking returned. It had crawled out of the rabbit hole -
Curiouser and curiouser
- and was now muffled by thick, sluggish fog rolling in from the Boston Harbor -
No, that’s wrong. Not Boston. It’s San Francisco. It’s the pier.
“Scott?”
Kinsey? Kinsey’s on the Enchantress?
“Scott.”
Lifting his head, Scott’s cloudy disorientation gradually cleared as his half-mast eyes focused on the back-lit silhouette standing in his bedroom doorway.
“Were you sleeping?”
Was I? Clumsily snatching his pocket watch from the nightstand, Scott held it inches from his nose to eyeball the time. Hell, yes, I was sleeping. It’s two in the morning. Elbows propped up a directive given to the shadowy figure. “Light the lamp. I want my aim to be true when I hit you with a pillow.”
A struck match flared and touched the lamp’s wick which filled the room with a warm glow, highlighting the young lady’s smile. Rising to a sitting position, Scott leaned against the bed’s headboard as his hand settled on a feather-stuffed weapon.
“Honestly, Scott.” Hands went to hips - assuming the stance Scott himself often displayed.
An eyebrow raised in time with the lifted pillow.
“I wanted you to be the first to know.”
Scott felt a grin tickle the outer edges of his eyes. When retiring for the evening, he’d spotted the open trapdoor to the tower room. “If you and Westcott granted a bat flying-rights in the hacienda, I’m not taking the blame.”
“Oh, there’s a bat flying around in someone’s belfry.” Kinsey cocked her head. “I believe I’m looking at him.”
The tickling grin tugged at Scott’s lips as he fluffed up the encased goose down. A moment was taken to calculate distance before a one-handed toss landed the pillow against the footboard of the bed to serve as a backrest. “Sit.”
Gathering up a skirt and petticoats, the late night visitor bounced to her offered mattress seat and sat cross-legged. The remaining threads of etiquette and modesty between the cousins had dissolved during their stay in Omaha.
“So,” Scott crossed his arms. “What’s so important that it can’t wait until sunrise?”
“Tonight Seth asked me to marry him.” Kinsey tucked a stray curl behind her ear while her smile widened. “He’s a good man, Scott, and I love him.”
“He’s a very good man… and extremely brave.”
“Your feeble attempt at humor is not lost on me, sir.” The pillow now took on the duties of a rotten tomato thrown at an unsuccessful burlesque jester.
A quick hand caught the feathered response in flight. “I’m happy for you, little one.” An eyebrow cocked with concern. “You did say yes to Seth’s proposal, didn’t you?”
Quizzical disbelief shocked a satisfied smile into oblivion. “I was to say yes?”
“Now who's taking a futile stab at humor?” The tomato made a return trip.
“We’re good for each other.” Hugging arms transformed the pillow back to its intended state of comfort. “We want to be married at the vineyard - after the renovations are completed and the harvest is in.” Kinsey bit her lower lip. “Will Murdoch be disappointed we didn’t choose Lancer?”
“Maybe at first. Suggest an engagement celebration. Barbecuing good Lancer beef on a blazing fire pit will satisfy Zeus.”
Kinsey’s hands abandoned the pillow to pick at the lace hem of her petticoat. “There’s something else I wish to discuss with you.”
“Oh?” With sleep still denied, Scott mentally chose which oak tree would be providing shade for his forty winks between afternoon chores.
“Seth and I will be traveling to Boston.”
His cousin’s hands deserted the lace for a fidgeted jig of explaining gestures.
“We won’t be leaving tomorrow, of course. That would be silly. Wait. Silly isn’t the right word.”
A slight dip of the brow squeezed out a suggestion. “Try impetuous.”
“Impetuous.” The jig livened to a two-step, guided by a tune of nervous laughter. “Yes. A better choice.” Hands gliding with a waltz introduced a hesitant pause. “I thought waiting three weeks to travel east would be adequate.”
“Adequate?” Scott’s brain signaled choppy waters ahead.
Kinsey’s imaginary dance card folded and settled in her lap. “Adequate time for your grandfather to receive a letter informing him you’ll be joining us.”
Batten down the hatches. An index finger pointed to the chair across the room. “Fetch me my pants, please.”
“Scott, it’s not necessary -”
“Kinsey, I’m about to stand up so, trust me, it’s necessary.”
“I know what you’re thinking -”
“Even with your fine grasp of inappropriate language, I highly doubt it. Now, hand me my pants.”
A sigh carried the young lady off the bed and to the requested article of clothing. “I’d hoped to avoid a middle-of-the-night, long-suffering discussion with you.” Pants sailed to their owner.
“Then you should have waited until daybreak. Turn around.” Not all modesty had been left behind in Omaha.
With his cousin’s back as an audience, Scott threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“I’m requesting an intelligent conversation which doesn’t rely on quotes from Emerson or Franklin.”
Scott stood and donned pants were buttoned. “Granted.”
“Are you decent?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Kinsey’s eye-rolled about-face signaled the start of the debate. “Scott, it’s only makes sense for your future -”
“A proper young lady should refrain from planning a man’s future when not asked to do so. S. G. Lancer.”
“You are the most insufferable mule I’ve ever met.”
Recrossed arms assisted in Scott delivering a skeptical eye. “I thought Murdoch was the most insufferable mule you’ve ever met.”
“He’s also gruff. You somehow have managed to avoid that charming attribute.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Scott’s pointed finger once again recognized the room’s chair. “Take a seat while I work on my lack of gruffness.” Running his hand through his hair removed the final cobwebs of interrupted repose. “All right, let’s back up slightly on this middle-of-the-night, long-suffering discussion.”
“Fine. Where would you like to start?”
At the point where I was still sleeping. A slow exhale judged the recommendation impossible. “Why don’t you tell me the reason you and Seth are traveling to Boston?”
“Reasons.” Kinsey smiled. “There’s more than one.”
“Correction noted.” A strong pot of coffee became a moral imperative.
“Seth’s mother resides in Boston. I think you’ll agree a proper young lady should meet her future mother-in-law.”
Ah, Roberta Westcott. The woman who never embraced the San Joaquin Valley and scurried back to her Boston roots after her husband’s death - their only child refusing to follow. Introduction to her son’s Aussie-accented, wild pup, future bride, who firmly believed in women’s rights, tarot cards and pink chicken coops, should make an interesting homecoming, indeed. The vision robbed Scott of an appropriate response so he simply nodded along with the conclusion Seth was braver than first given credit for.
“And I’m certain you’d agree, while in Boston, introducing my fiancé to Uncle Harlan would be proper protocol.”
Scott cringed at his cousin’s reference to Uncle Harlan, a name the elder Garrett insisted she call him. It had become quite a juggling act to protect Kinsey from his grandfather’s manipulative ways while maintaining an open communication with the man. Scott had failed miserably to maintain the balance during his last visit to the Beacon Hill brownstone after the holidays. Not only had he dropped the balls, they’d gone bouncing into darkened silence. Again, a nod took the place of a reply.
“You’re being rather agreeable.” A squint of suspicion traveled across the room.
Scott leaned forward to counter suspicion with a prediction. “Enjoy the journey. I sense it coming to an end momentarily when hearing the reason-with-a-S.”
“Stubborn silence.”
Scott dodged Kinsey’s familiar verbal one-two punch with a pinch to the bridge of his nose.
“Too much time has passed with this stubborn silence between you and your grandfather. The man could be hobbling around on crutches for all you know.”
On the contrary, he did know. Martin, the Garrett’s valet, had kept his promise to inform Scott of his grandfather's well-being. The last letter indicated Harlen didn’t need a crutch or any other assistance when traveling to the Union Club each day.
Attorney Furlong continued to present her case. “The longer you two try to wait each other out only digs the ravine deeper between here and Boston. I don’t want that and neither do you. And I’m quite certain neither does Uncle Harlan.”
“Kinsey -”
A finger jabbed the air. “I’m not finished, sir.”
Scott’s eyebrows raised at the young lady’s stern order. Lord help any future little Westcotts if they foolishly cross their mother.
“During your wordless reflection regarding your grandfather, have you forgotten why he finally backed down on contesting Fletcher Garrett’s will?”
No, I haven’t. Kinsey had presented an ultimatum by hiring her own lawyer to seize control of her finances, but then dangled a carrot of involvement in the vineyard venture. She topped it off by hinting of the possibility of Johnny Madrid marrying into the family to put genuine fear into Harlan’s heart. Her one-two punch set the old man on his ass. Scott had never been prouder of his little cousin.
“We’ve been busy getting our investments in order, Freckles. The renovations. The transportation.” A paused afterthought. “The competition.”
“How does Uncle Harlan know that? Every day I expect a Pinkerton man with a summons to drag us back into court. We’re running on borrowed time, Scott. It’s why you need to write to your grandfather. It’s why you need to come to Boston with us.”
“I have responsibilities here at the ranch.”
“Do they include an impromptu journey to Sacramento? Perhaps for a little exploratory research on lobster canapés at the Arcade Hotel? We can certainly delay our Boston date of departure by a day or two.”
Scott dipped his chin as a grin surfaced. “Have you ever thought of becoming a lawyer?”
“No. I’d rather be a grape crusher.”
********
An uncorked bottle of champagne celebrating Seth’s rooftop proposal replaced the pot of strong coffee at breakfast. Scott had to admit, a glass of bubbly paired nicely with eggs and smoked ham as family members offered congratulatory toasts - Johnny’s being the most poetic.
Here’s to the couple
Grape Crusher and Half-pint,
May the bed springs keep a bouncin’
All through their wedding night. !
However, it was Murdoch who had the final tease as Seth prepared for his return trip to the vineyard. Spying an unfamiliar blanket behind the seat of his buckboard, Westcott lifted the covering to reveal a long, polished wooden box with red lettering.
CROQUET
The Lancer patriarch smiled. “Consider it an early wedding gift. Don’t let the little girl mow down too much of your vineyard for a grassy promenade.”
Seth tipped his hat with a wink. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
********
Scott dipped his pen into the inkwell but only stared at the blank piece of stationary. The best place to start is at the beginning. Unfortunately, a circle has no beginning or end.
Pen touched paper.
Grandfather,
I trust this letter finds you well.