It’s not the lines on the palm that tell a true story - it be the wrinkles on the face.
Winnie’s frequently repeated saying came to mind as Scott observed Sister Rosa refilling their teacups. The creases resting at the outer corners of the nun’s mouth gave testimony to all the smiles and laughter in her life. Yet, the wrinkles established on her forehead were evidence of worry and fret. Like a caring parent, Sister Rosa’s story told of the love for her children and the worrisome responsibility of doing what was best for them. Unfortunately, the mission’s limited resources and finances shadowed her decisions. A romantic may disagree but love didn't pay the bills.
“Your deep care and concern for Kinsey are reflected in your eyes, young man.”
Scott’s wandering mind fell back to Earth with a thud. The sister’s unexpected statement caught him off guard. Apparently, she had her own mental microscope and he’d been unknowingly under its lens. “Proof that eyes really are the windows to the soul, I guess.” His casual response was given with a smile in hopes of ending her scrutiny.
Sipping the tea, Scott sensed his lame remark may have hung itself on the hook next to his hat. The room’s silence confirmed it. A glance over the rim of his raised teacup revealed the hostess quietly waiting for a more meaningful statement. Similar to his own strategy, Sister Rosa employed the work of patience in her conversations. He studied the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup to gather the right words. “As with Johnny, Kinsey is a part of my family I never knew existed until recently. She’s a Garrett… a connection… one of the few I have. So, yes. I care - more than she realizes, I think - and my concern for her well-being runs deep.”
“How interesting. Kinsey has expressed the same views about you. She has her concerns.”
“Concerns?” Scott’s eyebrows seesawed - one lowering to lift the other higher. “What possible concerns could she have relating to me?”
“Well, I would say at the top of her list are your choices when courting.”
For the love of God, Kinsey. Scott closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.
“She considers the MacGuire twins… hussies.”
Fortunately, tea wasn’t present to accompany the snorted laugh out of Scott's nose. It was a difficult call on which was more comical - his cousin coming up with the word hussies or Sister Rosa saying it.
Stalling, he examined the bottom of his cup, again. All the tea leaves in China can’t help me with this one. “I’ll certainly take time to… ponder... and reconsider my choices in… romance… considering it's at the top of her list.”
“Very good. Now, I fear I strayed a bit from your inquiry. Seth Westcott, wasn’t it?”
Scott couldn’t be certain, but the sly smile on Sister Rosa’s face suggested a bit of the devil lived inside the woman. “Let me think. Yes. Kinsey has mentioned the gentleman. I understand he’s a potential business partner.”
Seth Westcott. Potential business partner. Scott regretted the day he’d coined the phrase and connected it with Seth’s name as if the man was entering Buckingham Palace...
Your Majesty, may I introduce Duke of the Potential Business Partner - Sir Seth Westcott.
Or perhaps a Boston theatre review…
The Potential Business Partner was superbly portrayed by the distinguished Seth Westcott.
Definitely the ending to a dime store novel...
Townsfolk watched the mysterious man ride off into the sunset.
Who was he, grandpappy?
Well, grandson, he’s known in these here parts as...The Potential Business Partner.
Regret, indeed. Time to drop potential. “We’ll be investing in Seth’s family business, Westcott Vineyards.”
“A vineyard! I must tell you when Father Andrew heard of the latest Lancer venture, he was quite pleased.” Partnered with a hushed voice, it was Sister Rosa’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “For obvious reasons.”
A smile and a nod acknowledged the nun’s reference to the priest’s admiration for red wine. However, it was her words - latest Lancer venture - which stood out. Evidently, Kinsey was prepared to drop potential from Seth’s title but still honored Scott’s wishes to keep her inheritance out of discussions - even with Sister Rosa.
“Nuns don’t hatch from eggs.”
“Pardon me?” A man could break a sweat keeping up with the sister’s remarks.
“Most never think a nun has a family - that we must hatch and fly off. I had a brother, Everett, who was a few years older than me. When God took our father much too soon, Everett assumed the mantle of protectorate. Rosa, no tree climbing. You’ll break your neck. But then he built me a treehouse. Rosa, not that horse. It's too high-spirited. But then he taught me how to ride correctly. Later, it was Rosa, the boys aren’t asking you to play stickball because you're good at it.”
Scott waited a moment. “But then?”
“He showed me how to throw a punch.” The sly smile returned. “Everett breathed a sigh of relief when I answered God’s calling and joined the convent.” The nun set her teacup down, reflecting. “My brother was a wonderful man with excellent judgement and insight embedded in his personality. I often wonder why he spent so much time fussing - always second guessing himself?”
“He worried his little sister would get hurt. Instead, he simply needed to relax and follow his gut.”
Sister Rosa’s eyes raised to meet Scott’s. “Exactly.”
“We're no longer talking about your brother, are we?”
“Look at the time! Sister Angela tends to nod off while sitting in the garden and soon little hands are pulling tomato plants instead of weeds.” The nun stood to leave. “Kinsey should be finishing up. You’d be doing me a great favor if you took my place for her thoughtful afternoon conversation.”
“Your brother, Everett….” Scott rose, fearing he already knew the answer.
Silhouetted in the doorway, the sister turned. “Everett’s heart wasn't as strong as the compassion it generated. He passed last November. God is enjoying my brother’s wisdom now.”
“My condolences, Sister. It would’ve been a privilege to meet the man.”
A bob of the head and Sister Rosa headed to survey the damage to the tomato patch.
Retrieving his hat from the hook, Scott fiddled with the crease in the crown.
Courting hussies. Well, that redirection certainly stopped him dead in his tracks on the inquiry about Kinsey's feelings for Seth. Sister Rosa was nobody's fool.
He found his cousin at the water pump cleaning out the brushes used for the day’s artistic expressions. Blotches of turquoise, yellow, and red now adorned his white shirt. “Did any paint make it to the wall? Tell me, how many of my shirts have you slaughtered recently?”
“Three.”
“And let’s not forget pilfering my hat.”
“This hat’s old.”
“That hat is comfortably broken in.” Scott worked the pump handle to pour fresh water into the trough. He suspected it would take a good soaking to remove all the paint from Kinsey’s face and hands. “So, how many more of my shirts will be sacrificed for the cause?”
“Zero! We’re finished! The children did an extraordinary job!” Kinsey shook out the excess water from her cleaned brushes like a Philharmonic conductor - bestowing a brief rain shower on her audience of one. “They designed the mural themselves with very little guidance from me. I never imagined the creativity these children possess!” Grabbing the crude bar of lye soap she tackled the paint on her hands, grinning. “I'm so proud of them. My heart is simply bursting with pride!”
The scented soaps and bath salts of Melbourne were a long stretch away yet there was no complaining from the young lady. Kinsey was as happy as a clam - a chatty clam, no less. Putting his foot up on the side of the trough, Scott rested his arms on his knee. “So, when is this gala unveiling? I'm a busy man.” Finding hussies to court is time-consuming. “I hope I can attend. Would hate to miss it. One would think a fella related to the master artist could get a private showing. Not to mention, the reduction of my wardrobe should carry some weight.” One of his finer heavy sighs accented his dismal conclusion. “But, I guess not.”
“Your subtle comments possess sledgehammer-like characteristics.”
“They do.”
Drying her hands on the tails of his-now-her white shirt, Kinsey relented. “Fine. Follow me. Honestly Scott, you need to practice more patience.”
The mural took up one entire wall of the classroom. Native animals of California cavorted in bright colors as they hid behind trees, soared in the air and splashed in streams. Jack rabbits, foxes, crows, squirrels, trout, bears, bobcats… “Wait. Is that a kangaroo?”
“A special request from an admirer.”
Scott knew she had more than one admirer in her little entourage of artists. “Well, this certainly outshines any gala unveiling in Boston!” Kinsey joined him to sit on one of the classroom benches. “Freckles, you and the children should be proud. This is truly a great work of art.” As if in a museum, the cousins quietly sat back and admired the painting in front of them.
“Scott?”
“Hmmmm?”
“I've been thinking. I'd like to make a substantial donation to the mission. They need so much here. Can you make those arrangements without Sister Rosa finding out where the money came from? Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, of course.” Scott placed his arm around his cousin’s shoulders. “It's a wonderful idea. I'll start the paperwork tomorrow.” It was his turn to have a heart bursting with pride. “Kinsey?”
“Hmmmm?”
“I’ve been thinking. You should plan to have Seth visit the mission during his stay. He needs to see what great work you’ve done with the children.”
“Really? Just the two of us? No chaperone?”
“Well…” He worried his little sister would get hurt. Instead, he simply needed to relax and follow his gut. Scott’s words spoken to Sister Rosa came tumbling back. Now, I need to relax and follow my gut. “I don't see any reason why someone would need to tag along as a chaperone.
“Murdoch will have a conniption.”
A dimpled smirk blessed Scott’s face. Conniption. There’s a new way to describe the vein sticking out on my father's forehead. “I'll talk to Murdoch.”
“Johnny will cause a scene.”
“I'll handle Johnny.” Scott had to admit it. That one caused him some worry.
*******
The ride back was warm but so were their conversations. In Scott’s opinion, it had been a damn good day considering it's rocky start.
As they pulled into the courtyard, Teresa laid claim to the role of enthusiastic welcoming committee. The girl was ready to bust. “A package was delivered from Boston! From your grandfather. Wait until you see it!”
Scott frowned. Since leaving Boston after the holidays, his relationship with Harlan had been lukewarm at best. He’d been waiting for his grandfather to make a move - like he always did. Suspicion crawled up the back of Scott’s neck and traveled to his jaw. “Where is it?”
“Over here on the patio table. But it's not addressed to you, silly. It's for Kinsey.”
“Kinsey?” Suspicion headed north to his temples. Spying the long package wrapped in heavy brown paper, it was larger than what Scott expected. What in the hell was Harlan up to?
Jumping down from the wagon, Kinsey made a beeline for the mysterious package with Teresa close behind. Scott slowly climbed off the wagon and made his way over to stand behind the girls. String was cut and paper ripped to reveal a wooden box with lettering spelling out the word...
Croquet.
“It’s a croquet set!” Kinsey clapped her hands like a child on Christmas morning. “How extraordinary!”
Scott rolled his eyes. His grandfather had found a most unusual way to deliver the next jab - placing sizable wooden mallets in the hands of two females. Extraordinary indeed.