When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together, And count like misers, hour by hour,
October's bright blue weather.
The memorized stanza from a headmaster’s requirement, which supposedly proved Harlan Garrett's young grandson was well versed in literature, popped into Scott’s head… out of the blue, so to speak. Unfortunately, the rest of the poem eluded him - a major setback for the English department at the Phillips Academy for Boys.
The day’s perfectly cloudless, deep blue sky prompted inspiration for Scott’s literary recollection. With the exit of hazy, humid air that had chalked the heavens pale, cooler temperatures now ruled to create an intense blue hue. Winnie called it an October sky.
Ah, look up, ScottyGarrett. The color of yer eyes has inspired the Good Lord te-day and he’s blessed us with an October sky.
Like the poem’s misers, Bostonians coveted the few autumn days of bright blue weather. All too soon, a Nor’easter would race up the coast as a messenger for the dismal gray days of winter. Since coming to the San Joaquin Valley, Scott was no longer a miser. He gazed upwards and smiled. A good omen, indeed, that today was this year’s first of many October skies.
For the tour of Lancer, Cipriano’s fine knowledge of horses was called upon to select a proper ride for Seth. Scott spotted Westcott stepping out from the shadows of the barn, leading an acorn-brown stallion possessing the similar stature of Boots. As expected, an excellent choice had been made. Looping his horse’s reins around a fence rail, Seth turned to retrace his steps.
What Scott hadn’t expected was the reason for their guest’s return to the barn - Kinsey’s appearance from the same shadows with Boots and Buck in tow. Well now. An eyebrow raised. Scott’s assistance with readying the young lady’s horse, not to mention his own ride, wasn’t required.
A waggish grin then demanded equal recognition with the raised eyebrow. The attire his cousin chose was not the riding habit she had relentlessly insisted on for her equestrian lessons. It was his old hat, now graced with flecks of pink paint, that corralled her tresses. A frayed jacket, faded shirt, worn pants and scuffed boots completed her outfit. Seth was certainly seeing the two different sides of Kinsey Rose Furlong.
Scott donned his yellow leather gloves while proceeding forward to greet his riding companions. “Seth! Have you seen my cousin? She’s missing. Wait.” Reaching out, he reclaimed his hat from his cousin’s head. “The lost has been found. Good to see you, Freckles.”
The lass’s brown eyes morphed into saucers at the sound of her nickname while Westcott stood behind her and silently mouthed the word freckles. Scott pointed to the bridge of his nose, grinning.
Politely exchanging Boot’s reins for her hat, Kinsey plopped it back on her head, smiled, and mounted Buck. “I’m glad you could join us. Try to keep up, ScottyGarrett.”
The past was reevaluated by the potential business partner as Kinsey rode toward the open corral gate. “Guess being called Scooter wasn’t all that bad.”
“We best get moving.” Scott offered a friendly slap to his friend's shoulder. “She’s not kidding about keeping up.”
It was an impossible task to show all of Murdoch and his sons’ land to Seth Westcott. However, the areas visited inspired phrases spoken before by Scott and Kinsey when they first laid eyes on the fields and valleys - beautiful, breath-taking, God’s place on Earth. Questions were asked and answered regarding the past and present, but talk of the future still escaped any serious conversations.
Scott, not fate, chose Martin’s Lake as a rest break for their horses. It was here he had explained the final details of Fletcher Garrett’s will to Kinsey. It was also the backdrop when he painfully broke the news to her of Winnie’s passing. Today he deemed it appropriate the three of them looked to the future while at the lake under an October sky.
Kinsey’s reluctance to discuss with Seth her inheritance and the investment role it played was becoming increasingly obvious to Scott as she skirted around the topic. He’d hoped his little cousin would initiate the conversation. Her avoidance continued and the afternoon shadows grew noticeably longer. Pondering how to bridge the subject, he picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the lake.
“Only five skips?” Kinsey’s playful mockery set the tone. “How unfortunate.”
Scott scowled while placing his hands on hips. “Have a little respect for the person who taught you the fine art of skipping stones.”
“Why, Miss Furlong, you never skipped stones as a child?” Seth studied the ground in search of a potential candidate to skim the waters. “There should be a law against that kind of deprivation.” A selection was made and a side-arm throw executed an impressive launch. “Let the record show six skips.”
Competition had arrived at Martin’s Lake. Scott bent down and acquired a fine example of a skipper. With a well-practiced flick-of-the-wrist toss, the smooth, flat stone glided across the lake - touching the still waters a half a dozen times. “Six it is.”
“I can do seven.” Kinsey's declaration of superiority turned heads.
“Is that a fact. You can skip a stone seven times.” With good-natured suspicion reflected in his voice, Seth crossed his arms and stared upward at the autumn sky. “Haven’t you heard, little lady, honesty is the best policy?”
“You’re right.” Kinsey’s teasing manner evaporated. “You’re absolutely right. I haven’t been honest. And I should have been completely honest when I began to grow fond of you and you began to grow fond of me -”
Scott stopped looking for skippers.
“- at least I think you’re fond of me. That's not important. I mean it is important just not important at this moment.” Kinsey’s hands began to take flight. “You see it was Thomas Jefferson who once said being truthful is the first chapter in the book of wisdom so when there is an elephant in the room, one needs to introduce him.”
Scott regarded Seth’s quizzical expression. Best get use to the misquotes, Westcott.
“Don’t you see?” Kinsey pointed to herself. “I'm the elephant. Well, not actually me. My inheritance from my grandfather - that I never asked for let's make it perfectly clear - my inheritance is an elephant I should have introduced you to.”
An elephant. Scott’s eyes squinted in hopes of bringing the current conversation into focus.
“I'm your principal investor. Me. Scott is the trustee of the estate and handles my finances which I’d like to point out makes him an investor which exonerates me as a liar even though he feels that’s a reach. But I led you to believe that Scott was the main investor because… well… Seth… I'm a woman.”
I think he’s got that one figured out, Freckles.
“And I was afraid that being a woman with finances would change everything. And maybe it will but really it shouldn't and I hope it doesn't because I want everyone to drink Westcott wine at the Parker House Hotel in Boston. So… there.”
Somewhere near the water's edge, a bullfrog offered a brief summary of the situation.
“So what are you saying, Kinsey Rose?” Seth’s disappointment appeared genuine. “You can't skip a stone seven times?”
Adjusting his hat to shade his eyes, Scott sucked in his lower lip to stifle a snort brought on by Westcott’s response. Below the brim of his hat, he watched his cousin’s attention briefly remain on Seth before turning it to the stones at her feet. Bending down, one was chosen, held and then thrown like a veteran.
Seven skips were counted.
San Joaquin Valley, California
Lancer Ranch
I once read Cornelius Vanderbilt at age 16 borrowed 100 dollars from his mother to buy a sailing vessel - the first step toward building his empire in railroads and shipping. It was said Mr. Vanderbilt didn't favor a wood-paneled room filled with lawyers. Instead, some of the best deals he made were with an honest handshake while standing on a pier. I'd like to think this man knew how to skip a stone.
We know lawyers and paperwork are unavoidable necessities with being a stakeholder. However, today, honest handshakes and stone skimming confirmed our commitment to making Westcott Winery the best damn vineyard in the San Joaquin Valley.
Seth spoke of his admiration for his grandmother and her passionate determination to build their family business alongside her husband. A business-minded woman wasn’t readily accepted back then. Ella Kehoe Westcott was an adventurous lady, indeed. I see the same determination reflected in the eyes of my adventurous little cousin. It’s evident Ella’s grandson sees it too.
This evening Murdoch suggested I travel to Sacramento and attend the vineyard association meeting.
His father had quietly requested a private word after their evening meal. Scott’s mental list of possible topics was lengthy.
“You should consider joining Seth in Sacramento.” His father sat down behind his desk.
The unexpected statement robbed Scott of an immediate response. Sacramento had never been considered to be a subject for discussion.
Murdoch turned a page of the ledger in front of him. “I can't say I completely agree with this vineyard venture you’re persisting on pursuing. However, considering the degree of muleness that runs in the Garrett lineage, I know you won't be swayed in your decision. Can I assume I've come to the correct conclusion?”
“Yes sir. Your conclusion is accurate.”
“As Kinsey’s trustee you need to be informed in order to make proper decisions on her behalf. Talk to Seth and see if he’s in agreement. I'm guessing he’ll appreciate the support of a business partner. And let’s be clear… Sacramento will not be in your cousin's future travel plans. That little girl is staying put.”
Seeing a slip of paper marking a section in the Farmer’s Almanac lying on his father's desk, Scott picked up the publication and turned to the page. “The Growing Season of Field Clover - Planting, Germination, and Maturity.” His eyes traveled from the title to his father quietly working on the ranch’s ledger.
Returning the almanac to its place, Scott selected the book next to it - squinting at the front cover. "A Book of Saints and Wonders by Lady Augusta Gregory.”
Closing the ledger, Murdoch replaced it in the upper right-hand drawer. “Two little girls in this household are about to become experts on the amount of effort it takes to produce a mature grazing field of clover. They will also research the legend of the four-leaf clover, St. Patrick and its ties to Christianity. With this knowledge they will write a 1,000 word essay that will include an additional 200 word epilogue reflecting on how said four-leaf clover did not bring them good luck. Penmanship will be a factor. Collaboration is not an option.”
“This should keep Kinsey out of trouble in my absence.”
“That’s my plan, son."
I look forward to Sacramento, the challenges ahead and writing the next chapter of this new adventure.
~ S.
The final page had been filled. Scott closed the book’s cover, rose, and placed it next to his first journal resting on the bookcase. So much had happened… changed… in his life. Scott snagged a brand new journal from the shelf and tossed it in his open suitcase.