“What is it, Scott?” Furrows deepened on Murdoch’s forehead.
Breaking from his father’s inquiring eyes, Scott's sight settled on the poetry book occupying his left hand.
It was a struggle to gain Murdoch’s undivided attention. However, this time it had simply landed in Scott’s lap with a snifter of scotch. Always prepared for an impromptu conversation with his father, a lengthy mental list of topics and questions resided in the back pocket of Scott’s mind. Recently added - a matter which demanded a delicate, difficult dialog. So, here he sat - his brain stalled at the discussion crossroads. Was Kinsey’s personal past his to share? Before he could decide which direction to travel, the decision was made for him.
“There’s one poem your mother favored over the others.”
“Sir?” His father’s voice brought Scott back to the present.
“If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.” The patriarch cast his gaze toward the Great Room’s ceiling as if expecting to see the words he needed to continue. “Damn. Can’t remember the rest. Now, your mother -” Murdoch’s gesture with the snifter resembled a toast about to be given. “She could recite Bradstreet’s poem verbatim. Beautiful.”
“Tell me.” Scott took a sip - the scotch’s warmth unwinding the tense muscles in his neck and arms. “What was it like? Her voice. Describe it.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Try.”
Murdoch sat back in his chair as he slowly released his breath.
“Your heavy sigh carries substantial weight.” Scott’s mischievous grin played well with his father’s earlier written statement.
An eyebrow lifted with an all-knowing smile. “That was a long exhale, son, not a heavy sigh.”
A raised snifter and a quick nod acknowledged the difference. “My apologies, sir.” The grin remained.
Scott had a few photographs of his mother which, along with gathered stories over the years, served as his memories. But, by God, he would give his right arm to hear her say his name just once. Patience. Scott relied on his ability to be patient as he watched his father mull over his son’s request.
“A violin.”
A violin? Scott blinked. He didn’t expect his father’s description to be a flowery poetic recollection such as her voice twinkled like the stars or danced on a soft breeze….but a violin? “Sir, a further explanation would be helpful.”
Murdoch shifted in his chair. “Your mother’s voice had a soothing quality. Like a bow drawn across the strings on a violin, her words glided from one thought to the next. Listening to your mother tell a story or recite a poem had a melodic calming effect.” A sip of scotch was taken. “Until she got riled up. That tranquil cadence she possessed starting building - one sentence upon another - until a person was swept up in her passion during a discussion. The simplest notes - her words - mesmerized. She was unstoppable...and was seldom asked to do so.”
Murdoch had provided a perfect description. Scott closed his eyes with one thought. Pachelbel's Canon. In the silence, he heard his mother’s voice speak his name.
The spell broke with another unexpected comment. “Women’s Suffrage. You can be damn sure your mother would’ve been involved - insisting the gatherings be held here.”
“With your permission?” Scott hid his teasing smirk behind another sip.
“Let’s just say the Cattlemen’s Association would've graciously moved its meeting to the barn.” Another long exhale launched a different discussion direction. “I see a bit of Catherine in Kinsey. Do you know, in your absence, that little girl stuck out her chin and defiantly told me I wasn't the boss of her?”
“Kinsey mentioned it when we met in Omaha. And that you begged to differ.”
“You’re damn right I begged to differ! Omaha. The young lady doesn't think! She’s reckless.”
“No. Not reckless.” Scott set the Bradstreet book aside, leaned forward, rested his elbows on thighs and cradled the snifter with both hands. His decision was made. “Fearless. Fearless brought on by the notion that she’s already survived the absolute worst experience which could ever happen to her.”
It was Murdoch's turn to pause after hearing an unforeseen comment. “Son, a further explanation would be helpful.”
“So would another pouring of scotch.” Scott was relieved to see his father return to his chair after refreshing their drinks. Taking residence behind his desk would create a barrier between them. Considering the several barriers possibly embedded in their upcoming conversation, Scott didn't need one more.
Murdoch offered often repeated advice. “The beginning works well as a starting point.”
“Yes, sir. It does.” Scott briefly observed the amber liquid in his glass, took a generous tasting and began. “Shortly before your letter arrived in Melbourne, Kinsey was forced into a situation. A situation no woman should be subjected to regardless of her background. I’m aware some men wouldn’t agree with my last statement but it's what I strongly believe.”
Sitting still was no longer an option - Scott needed to move. Rising, his feet took him nowhere in particular but not far from his father. “The Furlong’s aspirations for their daughter were based solely on status and finances. She was their showpiece who became bait on a hook for high society security. Kinsey attended the events, the parties, the grand openings -” Scott delivered a sideways glance to his father. “The lifestyle can be addicting.” Taking a sip from his glass, he continued. “This one...man...not only showed interest in Kinsey but met the Furlong’s criteria to court their daughter.” Scott ticked off the list with his fingers. “Mature. Affluent. Established in the proper social circles. From an influential family. Eleanor Furlong was ecstatic with the prospect of rising in the ranks through her daughter’s marriage and encouraged Kinsey to be with him. Unfortunately, the suitor need not possess decent morals -”
“Scott, the gentleman -”
“This was no gentleman, sir! The bastard forced himself on Kinsey -”
“He raped her.”
Rape. There it was. Scott had been dancing around the word for weeks - refusing to say it. Now hearing his father’s abrupt use of the term made what happened to Kinsey...what? More detestable? Less acceptable? The act couldn’t get more detestable or less acceptable. No. Saying the word made it...permanent. “Yes...he raped her.”
Returning to his seat, Scott finished his scotch. “The man’s well-connected family and finances maintained his good name. The incident was swept under the rug. A few weeks later your letter arrived. I believe you’re aware of the rest.”
Hunched over, swirling in the snifter what was left of his scotch, his father remained silent - his expression difficult to decipher. Finally raising his head, Murdoch’s first question was one Scott anticipated. “How long have you known about this?”
“Her troubled sleep was the first clue. She wouldn't talk about her nightmares. I couldn’t put my finger on what triggered them…” Scott tried to remember when he suspected something was terribly wrong - the suspicion had been so gradual. “We locked horns returning from the Westcott vineyards. That’s the day she told me. I would have shared this sooner but -”
Murdoch held up his hand. “Understood. This conversation will remain between us. It will be Kinsey’s decision to tell me if she wishes.” With one gulp, his father’s scotch disappeared. “The man’s name.”
“Sir?”
“What’s the man’s name?”
Scott sat back in his chair, puzzled by his father’s inquiry. “I don't know. Kinsey never mentioned his name.” Before he could question why it was necessary to have a name, two arguing voices headed their way. The higher pitched one blew into the room first while the second voice, belonging to his younger brother, leaned against the doorway.
“This is completely unacceptable.” With her hands on hips, Kinsey planted herself in front of Scott. “You need to speak with your father.”
Scott leaned past his cousin to view Murdoch still sitting in his chair - confirming the man hadn’t disappeared. “Freckles -”
“Johnny’s my escort to the mission each week!”
“Whoa.” Scott held up his hands. “This discussion has ended. Want it to continue? About-face.”
Murdoch cleared his throat.
Kinsey’s determined persona softened as her hands left the hips to fold together at the waist. A polite turn on her heels followed. “Sir -"
“My decision stands.” Murdoch raised his eyebrows. “Now the discussion has ended.”
“I see.” Kinsey nodded. “Yes, of course. I look forward to Johnny sharing his vast expertise on all things in the universe during our weekly travels to and from the mission.”
“Best get yourself off to bed, half-pint.” From the doorway, the fountain of knowledge spoke. “There’s a chicken coop waitin’ for a woman’s touch startin’ at dawn.”
“Good night, gentlemen.” Turning with a smile and exiting, Kinsey reserved a more direct valediction for her weekly escort. “Shut-up John!”
“You can take that sass and pack it away, Kinsey Rose.” The continued arguing faded and ceased with a distant slam of a bedroom door.
Scott eyes drifted from the Great Room doorway to his father rising with a grunt and a slow exhale. “Heavy sigh, sir?”
“Heavy sigh, son.” Murdoch approached his desk to retrieve one cigar, not two, from a carved wooden box - a signal Scott recognized. The man needed time alone in the evening air to think.
It took Scott a moment to find the passage once he returned to his room.
If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee. If ever wife was happy in a man, Compare with me, ye women, if you can. I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold Or all the riches that the East doth hold. My love is such that Rivers cannot quench, Nor ought but love from thee give recompense
Thy love is such I can no way repay. The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray. Then while we live, in love let's so persevere
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
Well past midnight, Scott still detected the earthy leather aroma of his father’s cigar wafting through the open bedroom window.
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