En route to Sacramento
Western Pacific Railroad
Tomorrow brings my first order of business as a partner and investor in the Westcott Vineyards of San Joaquin.
Scott retrieved his pocket watch and glanced at the time.
Another hour until our arrival in Sacramento followed by a hot meal at the Ebner Hotel which will hopefully restore my weary mind.
With the opened journal on his lap and pen in hand, Scott rolled his head - setting off the sound of small firecrackers in his neck. Glancing at paperwork scattered beside him his eyes strayed to the matching piles which rested next to Seth in the facing seat. The leaned-back head and closed eyes of his travel companion suggested his brain also requested a reprieve.
Statistics, calculations, finances and general information of Westcott's day-to-day operations have been jammed into my muddled noggin in preparation for the Sacramento meeting.
“She’s tenacious.” Seth’s opened eyes, along with his statement, indicated that his brief rest was over.
“My cousin. Tenacious.” An arched eyebrow accentuated Scott’s magnified eye roll. “There’s an understatement.” Staring out the window at the passing sunset lit landscape, he reflected on the last forty-eight hours. Tenacious doesn’t begin to cover it.
********
“Scott!”
Kinsey’s voice bounced through an open window, marched across the courtyard and ambushed the two men. Providing a quiet setting for Seth to convey his ideas and concerns before the Sacramento meeting was becoming a challenge. As Scott glanced up from the papers laid out on a small table, his index finger rose to his lips to signal the possibility of avoiding discovery.
Evasion was not to be as his cousin rounded the corner. A good guess on the upcoming discussion topic produced the customary heavy sigh. Scott stretched out his legs, laced his fingers behind his neck and reclined in his chair.
“The little lady appears a tad bit upset.” Smiling, Seth unfolded a map outlining the borders of Westcott land.
“Scott, you need to talk to your father!”
“I do, Freckles. Every day.” A boyish grin widened while female eyes narrowed. The game was afoot.
“Your flippant answer is not appreciated, sir. I wish to discuss a serious matter. Your father is denying me a life-changing opportunity.”
“Life-changing opportunity?”
“I can’t go to Sacramento! He said I’m to stay put.”
“Traveling to Sacramento is life-changing?”
A disapproving cluck of Kinsey’s tongue indicated the question’s degree of stupidity. “Honestly, Scott. That goes without saying.”
“Well, past history has taught me my father, no doubt, has something in mind which he feels is perhaps… life-changing. Any idea what that might be?”
A moment of hesitation allowed verbal creativity to take hold. “It’s a… research exploration.”
“A research exploration. I see.” Scott had to admit - fencing with his cousin was rarely dull. “Sounds important. What are you researching?”
“I don’t see where that’s relevant.”
Scott held out his hands in a gesture of sincerity. “If I’m speaking to Murdoch on your behalf, I should have all the facts.”
Assuming the posture of an intrigued spectator, Seth rested his elbows on the table and leaned in.
“Briefly scanning the… literature… which your father suggested I read…” Kinsey’s eyes gazed upwards searching for the correct words written on a passing cloud. “I would say the subjects involved… religion and superstitions - which are fascinating topics, but -”
“Religion and superstitions?” Scott marginally maintained his confused demeanor.
“Rather unusual research for Murdoch to request. Would there be a particular superstition mentioned in these readings? A broken mirror - spilled salt - walking under a ladder…” Anticipation for knowledge grew in the still afternoon air.
Seeking an escape when none was available, Kinsey returned her gaze to the heavens above as if praying for assistance. A reluctant answer painfully surfaced. “A four leaf clover.”
“Ah. Clooooverrr.” Sitting erect with a gradual swivel of his head, Scott’s attention drifted in the direction of the Lancer promenade. “Clover similar to what was growing in the large, well-maintained, grassy area in the middle of yonder grazing field?”
“Scott! That unreasonable man is insisting I write a one thousand word… dissertation on field clover!”
“Kinsey Rose.” Seth Westcott's calm, matter-of-fact inflection demanded an audience. “I think you’re confusing research with a consequence.”
“A consequence.” The little cousin folded her hands in front of her. “Wouldn’t that point of view, sir, hinge on one’s perspective?”
“We can swing that squeaky gate hinge back and forth all you want.” Westcott cocked his head. “It’s not going to change your situation.”
Scott corralled the upturned corners of his mouth by focusing on the papers in front of him. “Will your partner in crime be participating in research exploration?”
“Yes. She too will stay put and miss Green River’s Harvest Dance.”
Put on your winter coat, Westcott. It’s going to be chilly during dinner tonight. From the seat of the chair beside him, Scott removed his hat to become a pointer. “Kinsey, sit down.”
What did his father call it? Muleness. A term Murdoch used more than once when referring to Scott's attributes. Observing his cousin’s current position as she ignored the request and continued to take the high ground by standing, it appeared muleness ran in the family. “All right.” The hat returned to the chair. “It’s a known fact - Murdoch Lancer calls the tune and counts the blades of grass. I’m betting Phillip Westcott does the same.”
“That’s a sound bet.” Seth’s sidelong grin suggested he spoke from experience. “Although grandfather counts grapes - not grass.”
“Wine is proof from God that grapes and tunes should not be carried in a bucket. Benjamin Franklin.” Kinsey’s smug expression not only showed confidence her point had been clearly made but dared to be corrected.
“Poor decisions on a promenade ruin life-changing travel plans. S. G. Lancer.” Before his cousin could offer another misquote, Scott continued. “The three of us agreed, young lady, your attendance at these meetings -”
“Yes. I know. Low profile. Not attending.” Her words, like thunderclaps, implied a gathering storm. “And we agreed I would be kept abreast of negotiations at the end of each day -”
“And you will. However, now it won't be while sitting in a Sacramento dining room sipping champagne. I promise - telegrams summarizing the day’s conversations will be sent to you each night and you’ll have a detailed debriefing when we return home.” Scott snagged his hat and tossed it aside before returning to the inspection of the documents in front of him. “Now, please sit down and help me with all of this. Westcott talks too fast. I can't keep up but I get the distinct impression you can.” Floating a good-natured tease helped test the waters.
With a smile, Seth scrutinized the closed-mouth little lady. “Silence is often misinterpreted but never misquoted… S. P. Westcott.”
The third business partner sat down.
His cousin's storm dissipated but, as predicted, the evening meal possessed a heavy frost. Teresa’s short, polite yes-no answers left little guesswork regarding her current feelings toward the irrational Lancer patriarch and his unpunished croquet-playing sons. Adding to the icy air was Kinsey’s cold shoulder - deeming the unreasonable man invisible and his offspring barely tolerable. If Murdoch Lancer felt the drop in the room’s temperature he never showed it. If Seth Westcott noticed the extra female attention bestowed upon him he humbly enjoyed it.
Retiring for the night, Scott noticed light filtering into the hallway from under Kinsey’s bedroom door. Their stay in Omaha taught him her preference for a soft glow to sleep by but what he viewed on the hall floor was far too bright. His cousin was still awake.
“Kinsey?” Rustling answered Scott’s soft knock on the door. “Can I come in?” The slight delayed response stirred suspicion.
“Yes. Of course.”
Opening the door presented the picture of morning dew innocence as his cousin in her evening robe, hands folded, sat on the edge of her bed. Scott’s eyes drifted to the bedroom window where he half expected to spy Westcott's ass disappearing into the darkness.
“You, sir, shouldn't assume your past indiscretions are those of Mr. Westcott’s.”
Scott crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway. “When did you set aside your tarot cards for mind reading?”
“When you kept insisting on being the Over-Zealous Protector of the Universe.”
With downcast eyes, Scott nodded. Touché, little one. It had been a while since he’d heard that title. “Kinsey, I understand your disappointment over Sacramento and feeling left behind. But I can't fix your situation - not this time.”
“Nor should you. A person cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.”
Lincoln. Scott smiled. She finally got one right. “Best get some sleep. Seth is looking forward to seeing your mural at the mission tomorrow.” Turning to leave, something peeking out from under the bed caught his eye. Squinting, Scott angled his head to the side. Recognition replaced puzzlement with each of his strides across the bedroom floor.
Kinsey rose to intervene. The barrier’s feet momentarily left the ground as Scott picked up his cousin and moved her to one side. Reaching down, his hand grasped a handle, pulled, and plopped the object on the bed.
Her travel bag.
Undoing its clasp allowed trapped clothes to escape. Correction. Her fully packed travel bag.
“I have a very reasonable explanation for why a woman should always be prepared for a spontaneous journey.”
“Good.” Scott slowly nodded and stared at the bag. “I can't wait to hear it.”
“Well…” The wringing of his cousin’s hands suggested the explanation would be anything but reasonable. “There’s the possibility of a hasty departure due to unforeseen circumstances which could be detrimental to one’s lifestyle.”
“I wasn't aware Queen Victoria’s troops had landed to reclaim the colonies.”
Placing his hands on hips, Scott continued to stare at the bag. “Listen very carefully you stubborn little mule. If I see you’re in Sacramento - if I hear you’re in Sacramento - if I dream you’re in Sacramento - we will have a discussion which will be considered detrimental to one’s lifestyle.”
********
Seth reached for a few stray papers which had slipped to the floor. “The little lady isn’t afraid to state her case. She’d make a damn good lawyer - maybe follow in the footsteps of that Iowa woman...Mansfold?”
“Mansfield. Arabella Mansfield - one of my cousin’s women's rights heroines. Agreed. Kinsey would command a courtroom. However -” Scott’s brow arched. “A legal assistant would be needed for research exploration on accurate quoting.”
Seth’s laugh echoed down the passenger car’s aisle. “Tenacious.”
“Like a dog with a bone. Johnny’s words - not mine.” Scott closed his journal and returned it to his leather bag.
“Your brother is an interesting fella.”
“My brother. Interesting. Again - an understatement.” Scott delivered a skeptical grin. Over time, he'd heard a variety of colorful words describing Johnny. Until now, interesting had not been one of them.
Seth rested his ankle on a knee. “Mind if I ask you a few questions about the man?”