By the time Nigel slid the last silver coin of Murdoch’s twenty dollars across Henry’s polished bar, Scott had changed his mind. Twenty dollars was a right fair price for the broken-down wagon sitting back at the ranch. A lesser amount would have denied generous Mr. McCutcheon the privilege of gifting several beers to the Lancer boys.
Those free beers provided Scott a nice tranquil outlook on life for the unhurried cadence of a ride home while the setting sun at his back said farewell to the crescent moon peeking above the hilltops ahead. Judging by Johnny’s relaxed, slouchy posture moving in rhythm with Barranca’s gait, it appeared his little brother felt the same.
“Gonna nail Half-pint’s backside to the barn door tomorrow?” Johnny’s matter-of-fact query reflected that of a man questioning the potential need to rearrange his daily schedule to attend an important event.
“No. I don’t believe I will. Our father sees fit to put plenty of nail holes in the barn door. A hammer isn’t always necessary to prove a point.” Scott held up his hand to deflect his brother’s often-voiced opinion. “I know. Don’t say it.”
“Say what? You spoil her?” Johnny tugged on the brim of his hat with ink-stained hands. “Never entered my mind.”
“Good.”
“Though now you mention it…” The revelation ended with a snorted guffaw.
“Dammit. Look.” An index finger waggled. “Somehow a lesson will be taught to our dear Miss Providence.” Scott failed to squelch his own abrupt laugh. “Although, I must give her credit for the choice in a pen name.”
“How so?”
“Providence. It means divine care and guidance.”
“Well, that explains it. A few years back, I met this gal in a two-mule border town. That God-sent angel cared enough to guide me all through the night and I gotta admit, brother -” Johnny swept his arm out in front of him. “It was divine.”
“Let me guess - her name was Providence.”
“It is now.”
Scott grinned as he shifted his weight in the saddle. “I think I’ll relent on my previous decision and permit Freckles to offer my little brother much-needed romance advice.”
As the sky darkened, a comfortable lull in conversation allowed a brain itch to tickle Scott. Nautical twilight. It was a sailor’s term for when the sun dipped below the horizon and stars gradually appeared to aid in a ship's navigation. Thoughts strayed from the dusty road to calm waters and the Enchantress. I’d like to sail again.
“Curious to know what romance advice Val’s askin’?” Johnny”s question docked the itch back on dry land.
“I am.” A stern sideways glance clarified the situation. “But not curious enough to open an envelope and invade a man’s privacy.”
“Widow Patterson. Val’s sweet on the Widow Patterson.”
“Val’s sweet on Widow Patterson’s apple pie. I’m guessing he requires advice on how to woo the woman to bake more often.”
Johnny’s belly laughs floated above the pockets of mist forming in lower fields. “Labyrinth of Love turns out to be a Cabinet in the Kitchen. Wouldn’t that stick a burr in the kid’s bustle!”
Scott blinked and brought Boots to a halt.
Epiphany.
He associated the word with sudden scientific breakthroughs, striking religious revelations or enlightening philosophical discoveries - thus, never expecting to experience one of his own.
Until now.
Scott Garret Lancer, you’ve just had an epiphany.
********
Ten-year-old ScottyGarrett first witnessed Three-card Monte the day Shay McLoughlin arrived in Boston to seek his fortune. Winnie, who discovered her nephew standing on the back stoop, donned an expression most people saved for spoiled meat… or, in Scott’s case, stewed eels. Her greeting was even less appealing.
“Shay McLoughlin, ye cheatin’ lil’ gobshite. What reason do ye have to be dirtying up me step with yer blasphemous ways?”
With Winnie in striking distance from behind, a wooden spoon encouraged Shay to remove himself from the stoop while a swift closing of the door denied Scott access to further hospitable exchanges between the two relatives.
“Bloody beggarly spawn of me brother’s.” A muttering Winnie reentered the Beacon Hill brownstone - her face the shade of a boiled lobster. “I be gittin’ me coin purse, ScottyGarrett. Ye mind and keep to yerself here in the kitchen.” The left open doorway framed their uninvited guest seated at the yard’s small wooden table, shuffling a few playing cards. A young boy’s inquisitiveness demanded a closer look.
The closer look showed McLoughlin’s hands moving quickly back and forth as he rearranged only three cards facedown on the table. Where were the rest? No wonder Winnie had to fetch her coin purse. Mr. Shaun Ovmebrothers needed to buy a new deck.
“Come ‘ere lad.” Shay’s wide friendly smile drew in his audience of one. “Let me show ye The Old Switcheroo.” The nephew flipped his three cards over to reveal the eight of clubs, the Queen of Hearts and the two of spades. Tapping his finger on the Queen, McLoughlin winked. “Keep yer eye on the lady.” Returning the cards facedown, Shay’s hands skillfully rearranged the cards several times. “Back and forth. To and fro. Over and under. Where did she go?”
Scott’s eyes darted about - trying to keep up. When the three cards finally came to rest, the game’s all-important question was asked.
“Where did the little lady land, me boy?”
Certain of the answer, Scott flipped over the card on the left. Disappointment gathered his brow when he spied the two of spades.
“Ah, lad. Don’t look so glum. She be a tricky little minx. Try again.” Shay recited his rhythmic verse of the Queen’s travel as his hands moved her about under Scott’s watchful eye. “Back and forth. To and fro. Over and under. Where did she go?”
Scott’s confident finger tapped the card in the middle only to find the eight of clubs. “Bollocks.”
“Now where did ye pick up a word like that?” McLoughlin’s chortle introduced a wink given when a secret was shared between friends. “Me aunt slips out more ‘n one o’ those colorful words, don’t she?”
The hidden Lady continued her mysterious path across the tabletop - eluding a tapping finger each time. Back and forth. To and fro. Over and under. Where did she go? Joining in reciting Shay’s rhyme with each of the Queen’s journeys replaced Scott’s frustration with laughter.
The wooden spoon appeared out of nowhere - smacking the table as if the Good Lord himself had a grip on the handle. “Does the dirt need cleanin’ outta yer ears, ScottyGarrett, so ye can hear better and do as yer told?” Winnie’s glaring evil eye suggested ears would be washed regardless of the amount of dirt they contained.
“No, ma’am. My ears are fine.” Scott sighed at the three cards. “But I think I need Grandfather’s spectacles to find the lady.”
“It’s not yer eyes, Scotty. Show ‘em, ye shiftless shyster.”
Winnie’s nephew leaned across the table, sported his amicable grin and pulled the Queen of Hearts from his jacket’s inside pocket. “Let me give ye a wee piece of advice, lad, ta guide ye through what the world has ta offer.” Shay’s voice lowered. “Things aren’t always as they seem so don’t let The Old Switcheroo ever take ye in from a shiftless shyster like me.”
Several years later, while trying to catch up on news he’d missed during his service to the Union, Scott spotted a mention of Shay McLoughlin in the Boston Herald. McLoughlin and a man named Patrick J. Maguire were gaining popularity in the voting wards of Irish neighborhoods. The article roused a slight smile. Politics. The shiftless shyster had finally found his calling.
********
Crossed arms resting on the table supported Johnny’s head as he eyeballed the neatly tied-up envelopes inches from his nose. “Mind explaining to me, Boston, why I’m not in bed sleepin’?” A crystal tumbler with two fingers of the good stuff joined the stack of envelopes. A boyish grin welcomed the amber addition. “You have my attention.”
“Nectar of the Scottish gods.” Another tumbler filled. “The exact inspiration needed to create our own version of The Old Switcheroo.”
“The old switcheroo?”
“Patience, brother and observe.” Scott picked up the small bundle of correspondence. “I think we can both agree my cousin digs her heels in deep when told no.”
“Agreed.”
“And the only way Kinsey will ever give up this crazy notion of being a romance advisor is if it’s her decision.”
“Agreed.”
“Using the skills and finesse of a successful confidence man, we replace these lonely heart letters” - Scott tossed the tied bunch of envelopes aside and picked up pieces of blank paper - "With new romance questions. Questions that will light up our little women’s rights activist like a stick of dynamite and blow Miss Providence off the pages of the Green River Gazette. Lesson taught. Problem solved.” Acquiring an accent to match his Shay McLoughlin smile, Scott raised his glass and drew in his audience of one. “So, tell me, lad… here’s te The Old Switcheroo?”
Johnny’s glass joined his brother’s - followed by a sip of commitment. “To The Old Switcheroo.”
Giving a satisfied nod, Scott retrieved a pencil. Back and forth. To and fro. Over and under. Where did she go?