Sacramento, California
Ebner Hotel
“None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.” - Kinsey’s mantra. My little cousin’s adventurous nature is aptly defined by her favorite author, Jane Austen. This morning, I wasn't surprised when these words entered our discussion. A discussion I struggled to keep from spiraling into an argument.
********
Scott refilled his coffee cup. “Freckles, I thought we were in agreement on your low profile role during this time in Sacramento.”
The nickname Scott always gave Kinsey with the teasing love of a big brother had little effect on lightening the mood. The young lady’s half-eaten breakfast chilled along with her demeanor.
Earlier, between a bite of egg and a piece of bacon, her intention to attend the last day of viticultural meetings was casually dropped into the conversation. It landed like a brick. Scott’s lack of enthusiasm in response to her statement froze the room’s temperature with the young lady’s silence.
Another approach by Scott dangled an irresistible carrot. “Let me take you shopping today. I need to brush up on my juggling skills so there’s no limit on the number of hat boxes.”
Seth rose and amicably excused himself. “I best be heading out to the Stanford's.” A wink was given. “You two might need more time to finish that coffee.” Sitting between a mule and a mountain goat must not be on the man’s agenda. Scott couldn’t blame him. Hell, Scott wouldn't blame Westcott if he insisted his two investors be committed to the Insane Asylum of California in Stockton.
The younger cousin refused to make eye contact. “The situation changed.” A continuous stirring of her coffee with a spoon became the main focus. Scott watched with certainty that the repetitive motion would discourage any iceberg formation in her cup.
“Agreed. The situation certainly did change. You got yourself in hot water with Murdoch and yet here you sit in Sacramento. A feat I’m still questioning.”
“I told you. Johnny -”
“I know what you told me. And, when we get back home, I look forward to a discussion with my brother. Unless…”
The spoon’s circular travel slowed. “Unless what?”
“Unless Johnny’s backside has been nailed to the barn door.” Scott sipped his coffee. “Which will be a shame. I was just starting to like the fella.”
The spoon came to a rest. “Honestly Scott, don’t be such a...a…”
“Well now, my list of attributes has finally come to an end.”
“Arse.” Eye contact suggested a slight thaw in the weather.
“I stand corrected.” With a smile, Scott quietly celebrated the small victory and pushed on. “I'm also taking a stand on the justification for my apprehension. Your acceptance with this group of men will not come easy.”
“None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives, Scott.”
“Agreed. But sometimes steering clear of rough waters is the intelligent route.” Yes, and what if I'd never sailed the Enchantress to Port Phillip? What kind of water would she be negotiating today? It was a fact. The opportunity for Kinsey to embrace a happy life on her terms would’ve never existed in Melbourne.
Scott noted the time and shifted in his chair. “All right, this is against my better judgment -“ Kinsey’s subtle smile demanded his attention. “No!” An index finger pointed out her tell. “You are not getting precisely what you want. This will be a compromise. It means accepting my decision which won’t quite match up with your expectations.”
“That’s not the definition of the word compromise.”
“Correct. It’s my definition of the word.” Scott raised his hand while glancing around the room for a waiter. “Maybe we should order another pot of coffee and discuss my definition of a flat out no.”
“Wait.” Kinsey reached out and lowered her cousin's waving signal for service. “I think a compromise is a lovely solution.”
“Very well. We’ll go to Stanford's residence and we’ll wait in their backyard garden for the meeting’s mid-morning recess. Finding Seth, we’ll approach the other owners for your introduction.” Scott emphasized his conviction. “I hope for calm waters. I'll accept a ripple. I won't permit waves. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Standing, he offered his hand for assistance as his cousin rose from her seat. “I must admit, young lady, I’m rather surprised at your rejection of a shopping expedition.”
“If a woman is to be taken seriously in a world dominated by male egos, she must learn to dismiss her childish frivolous activities.” A hat large enough to give the appearance of a little girl playing dress-up was retrieved and donned. “Besides, Seth graciously offered to take me shopping tomorrow before the evening gala.”
An eye roll commented. Correction. They’d need three rooms at the asylum.
*******
Scott knew the difference between a daisy and a dandelion. Thus was the extent of his flora expertise. Valiant efforts by Teresa and her green thumb to broaden his knowledge in botany had little success in holding his attention. Interesting names such as Sticky Phacelia, Silverpuffs, and Whispering Bells traveled in one ear and out the other while he repeated his polite response.
That’s pretty.
Now he was kicking himself in the arse. If he'd been more attentive, it would be easier to describe the Stanford gardens to Teresa. Unfortunately, Scott could only confirm there were no daisies or dandelions present.
“Extraordinary! Oh, Scott.” His cousin did a complete turn in the middle of the gravel path in order to take in the entire view. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Teresa.”
“Yes. She should be here.” Kinsey bent down to scrutinize the beauty of a flowering shrub. “Why didn’t I bring my sketchbook?”
“I have an artist in my garden.” Holding a wicker basket laden with fresh cut flowers, a woman emerged from behind the boxwood border.
“Ma’am.” Scott respectively removed his hat. “Our apologies if we’re intruding.”
“Nonsense! My flowers enjoy admiring visitors.” A hand extended to the visiting artist. “Jane Stanford.”
“Kinsey Rose Furlong.”
“Ah, finally. A rose has arrived to be among all these thorns.” Mrs. Stanford turned to address Scott. “Not that you are a thorn, sir. You’re more of a tall cedar, Mr. … Lancer. Please tell me I have that right.”
Scott grinned. “Would you be referring to my name or my character?”
“Both!” Jane offered her hand. “Question. How on earth did you escape the confines of Leland’s study to be breathing fresh air with this young lady?”
“My cousin, Miss Furlong, arrived in Sacramento yesterday.” Unsure how to proceed with Kinsey’s involvement in the Westcott Winery, Scott chose a safe route to begin. “I mentioned the beauty of your gardens and… well… here we are.”
“Welcome to Sacramento, my dear.” The Stanford matriarch scrutinized The Tall Cedar. “Mr. Lancer, are you familiar with billiards? Four-ball carom to be exact.”
Scott slowly nodded. “I’ve played once or twice. I'm not very good at it.”
A sly smile took residence on Jane Stanford's face. “I highly doubt that.” Her attention returned to Kinsey. “It appears I not only have an artist in my garden but also a hustler. My sister, Anna, is visiting this month and has become obsessed with the game. Come! It’s more interesting with partners. We’ll all play.”
With a turn, the hostess led her hesitant, confused guests down a path towards the mansion.
“Scott.” Kinsey’s voice muffled behind her hand. “I don’t know how to play billiards.”
Important insight was given. “Rule number one: a cue stick is not a croquet mallet.”
*******
Weeks before the Pinkerton man approached Scott on that life-changing evening, the Union Club of Boston acquired a pocketless billiards table and soon carambole became the popular pastime of the club’s members. It was Harlan Garrett who introduced his grandson to the recreation of sticks and balls.
The object of the game was simple - score points by caroming one's own billiard ball off both the opponent's cue ball and the object ball on a single shot with a cue stick. Like chess, Scott enjoyed the challenge of seeing a play ahead. However, with billiards it wasn’t the moves on a board but the angles on the table. Harlan’s grandson quickly mastered a cushion rail shot with dead-on accuracy.
Scott found the Stanford's billiard table similar to the Union Club’s - carved wood accented the sides and legs of the table with green-dyed baize covering its bed. And, as predicted, the Stanford’s month-long house guest was in the room practicing her technique.
“Anna! Meet our playing partners for today, Mr. Lancer and Miss Furlong.” Once proper introductions took place, teams were decided - The Tall Cedar and The Baby Sister versus The Gardener and The Rose. After a few awkward shots, Kinsey’s confidence grew and the game commenced.
“I understand you're a cattle rancher, Mr. Lancer.” Jane Stanford quizzed Scott as he studied the table to determine his shot.
“I am.” Seeing the angle needed, The Tall Cedar lowered his body toward the table and slid the cue stick between his thumb and index finger - concentrating on his billiard ball.
“Bostonian turned cattle rancher.” The Gardener paused for the exact moment her opponent executed his play before vocalizing an additional thought. “Interesting transition, wouldn’t you say?”
His second of distraction caused Scott’s angle to be slightly off. The shot found its target but it wasn’t with his usual accuracy. He glanced over his shoulder at his smiling hostess. Oh, there’s a hustler in the room alright - and she’s done a little exploratory research of her own. “I can’t say the transition has been seamless but I’m enjoying the challenge.”
The game continued with polite small talk until Scott’s turn at the table when The Gardener's focus settled on The Tall Cedar and his play. “A Bostonian cattle rancher investing in a vineyard. One has to think -” Pause. “Rather unusual.”
Scott’s shot went wide and missed connecting with the opposing team’s ball. He shook his head and smiled. Was the timing of Mrs. Stanford’s questions her strategy to win the game or was playing the game her strategy to ask timely questions? Making eye contact with Kinsey, he watched her grin and dip her chin. I agree, little one. It’s the latter. And none of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.
Jane Stanford circled the table, leaned in and lined up her shot. Standing off to the side Scott decided what better time for enlightenment. “Westcott Winery will be expanding. I can say with great confidence that within a year it will be surpassing -” Pause. “El Pinal.”
The hostess cue stick wobbled sending her ball on an erratic path in the wrong direction. A gasp from The Baby Sister indicated it was a rare occurrence.
And so the game continued with billiard balls careening about the table as questions were posed and statements given.
“I hear the future for California vineyards, Mr. Lancer, lies in ...Rail transport.”
“Rail transport is only successful, Mrs. Stanford, with availability of a …Product.”
“I understand grape harvesting can be somewhat ...Complicated.”
“Experience has taught me, ma’am, life in general can be somewhat ...Complicated.”
“And the balance between supply and demand can be ...Costly.”
“I can’t deny it. Expansion is a ...Gamble.”
“Quite a gamble, Mr. Lancer, with only one ...Investor.”
“One investor? I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mrs. Stanford. Actually, Westcott Winery has ...Two.”
“Oh? Have I met him?”
Scott rested the cue stick on his hand in preparation for his next move. “”Yes, she’s your partner.”
“Well, now.” It was Jane Stanford’s turn to raise an eyebrow and address Kinsey. “We do have a rose among the thorns. Tell me, Mr. Lancer, what are your views regarding ...Women’s Rights.”
“I’m a firm believer that a woman's place should definitely be filled with -” The Tall Cedar took his shot and the winning point of the game. “Opportunities.” Scott returned his stick to its holder. “That’s the game.”
A warm smile spread across his hostess face as she admired her two guests. “I must disagree. The game has just started. Shall we pour some lemonade and you both can tell me about the future of Westcott Winery.”
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