San Joaquin Valley, California
“Time to go.”
Murdoch turned from the window in the Great Room to observe his youngest son who, at this moment, was presenting a fine visual example of a contradiction.
Johnny’s thumb was hooked in his belt, which allowed the one hand to rest a few inches above the gun slung low on his hip. The other hand held hastily picked flowers. Murdoch assumed “hastily” due to the few stems that still possessed their roots and small clumps of dirt.
“Does Teresa know you’ve been in her flower garden?”
The slight shift in his son’s stance was all the answer the father needed.
“Well, Johnny, I’m certain the lucky recipient will appreciate the dangerous risk you took to pick that bouquet.”
Accepting his father’s teasing, Johnny decided to play along. “They sure are pretty. Hope Scott likes them.”
Murdoch appreciated his son’s quick wit when it was delivered with a smile. “You know, a young lady may wonder why a gentleman needs to be sporting a gun when presenting her with pretty flowers. I’ll fetch the buckboard and meet you by the gate.” Scott wasn’t the only family member trying to gauge the seriousness of a certain relationship.
As the train’s passengers slowly disembarked in Stockton, Murdoch scanned the crowd doing his best to ignore the anxious thought playing in his head; What if he decided to stay in Boston?
A few yards behind, leaning against the buckboard, Johnny was dealing with a similar situation; ‘What if she stayed in Boston?’
The patriarch let out a sigh of relief as he spotted his oldest stepping down to the station’s platform. Johnny spied Scott waving in their direction and then turn to assist the next passenger stepping off. Exhaling, the younger brother realized he had been holding his breath.
Murdoch’s stride quickly closed the distance to deliver a hearty handshake and a pat on the shoulder. “Scott! Good to have you home.”
“Good to be home, Sir.”
Scott watched Johnny maneuver through the crowd to carry out a very different welcome for Kinsey. With a questioning expression, the older son mouthed the word “flowers?” Scott discovered Murdoch had also mastered the art of a good eye roll.
Being a big brother, sometimes situations were just too hard to resist. “Johnny! Flowers!” Placing his hand on his heart, the ribbing continued, “You shouldn’t have. I’m touched.”
Kinsey beamed. “Aren’t they extraordinary? You are so thoughtful, Johnny.”
Scott’s face fell. “The flowers are for her?”
Johnny slung his arm around Scott’s neck. “I missed you, brother…and the north pasture fence line missed you…and the spring calves waiting for branding missed you…and the fallen tree in the creek missed you…”
Pulling Johnny’s hat down over his eyes, Scott acknowledged his little brother’s jesting. “Ah, it’s good to be missed.”
As travel bags were loaded in the back of the buckboard, Scott spoke quietly to his father. “So tell me, when did Johnny decide not to wear his gun to town?”
Murdoch pondered for a moment. “About two hours ago.”
With Murdoch driving and Johnny riding alongside, Kinsey entertained with stories of Boston while Scott, closing his eyes, sat back and listened. The cousins’ agreement was not to mention their thoughts on the vineyard until he had an opportunity to speak with his father first. Having the warm sun on his face and the now familiar cadence of Kinsey’s chatter filling the air, Scott’s weary mind started drifting off. The tone of Murdoch’s voice brought it back to the present.
“Winifred? McLoughlin? She still rules the roost at the Garrett house?”
Frowning, Scott found the gruff manner in which his father’s questions were spoken rather concerning. Kinsey, on the other hand, missed the cue and continued her glowing praises regarding Winnie.
“Freckles, tell them about the Old North Church.”
“Oh yes! We got tossed out on our ears.”
It was Johnny’s turn to frown. “Why?”
“Scott and I were praying too loud.”
It was no surprise that Teresa’s homecoming celebration comprised of decorations, good food, stories and laughter. The only item missing, she lamented, was the table’s centerpiece. It appeared a wild beast had made its way into the garden and dug up her flowers. Johnny was the first to offer his condolences.
Scott was grateful when Murdoch consented to a later conversation regarding Fletcher’s will, Harlan Garrett, Boston, lawyers, and a dozen other matters which affected the current situation with Kinsey’s future. Both men agreed a good night’s sleep would give them a better perspective.
Taking in the evening air assisted in shaking off the last of the edginess Scott always experienced after days of travel. About to go inside to retire, he noticed the porch swing near the garden was quietly occupied. Drawing near, Johnny’s hushed voice greeted him.
“Good to see you, brother. I thought I might be spending the night here. Don’t need to worry about Teresa’s garden beast showing up. Half-pint’s snoring scared that varmint into hiding.”
Scott smiled as he observed Kinsey curled up beside his younger brother; sound asleep. Grabbing a low stool his cousin used for weeding, he sat down. “So, she finally ran out of words. A rare occurrence, indeed.”
“Those dark circles under her eyes would make a raccoon jealous. Can’t say you looked any better getting off the train.”
“Last couple weeks have been trying. Guess it took its toll without us realizing it.”
“Well, stay put so everything can get back to the way it was.” Scott let the silence hang a bit longer than to Johnny’s liking. “Your lack of words, Boston, is making quite a racket right now.”
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