Tears trickled down his cheekbones. “Jesus, Scott, you’re right!” Johnny swiped a pink shirt sleeve under his crinkled eyes before another wave of uncontrollable laughter hit. “It is the old man… wrapped in a bed sheet.”
“It’s called a toga.” Scott held the weighty opened book in one hand while the other pressed against his rib cage to ease a muscle spasm caused by suppressed guffaws.
“Call it what you want, brother. All I know is Maria gives me hell if I don’t get mine tucked in at the corners.” Johnny leaned in for a closer scrutiny of the illustration. “Looks to me like this fella needs to get his coverin’ tucked in or there’ll be a tallywag sportin’ a sunburn.”
The statement of concern ignited an attack Scott’s hand could no longer contain. Words wheezed out between bouts of snorted laughs. “Considering the number of children... this fella spawned… sunburn wasn’t an issue.”
Deemed too good not to share with his brother, Scott had relayed Kinsey’s insightful reference regarding The Tune Caller of Mt. Olympus. Retelling her comparison of Zeus to Murdoch led the boys on a scavenger hunt in the Great Room’s library for confirmation. It didn’t take long to spot The Myths of Greece and Rome. The dusty relic sat on the top shelf beside several other leather-bound strays the Lancer patriarch rarely opened. Pages turned. Eyes scanned. Drawings found. Laughter ensued.
Scott held the book out at arm’s length for dramatic admiration. “I must admit, the resemblance to our father is uncanny.”
Johnny snagged the humorous treasure from his brother’s hand and a slow drawl read the picture’s caption. “Zeus. God of the sky, thunder, lightnin’, law, order and justice. Why… I think ol’ Zeus ruled over our supper table last night.”
“Wait. Let me see that.” Scott reclaimed the book and pointed to the lightning bolt in the Greek god’s hand. “If memory serves me correctly, little brother, he shot one of these out of his eyes at your backside.”
Thunder rumbled down from Mt. Olympus. “Maybe if it had been my foot the lock to the gate would now be mended.”
The gunshot snap of a quickly closed book brushed Scott’s hair from his brow with a puffed breeze. “Sir.”
Looking down at the object he held, Greek mythology took on the likeness of penny candy and Scott was caught in the jar up to his elbow. This required implementation of a redirection strategy used by older siblings throughout the ages: Sacrifice the little brother. “Here, Johnny. This should satisfy your curiosity.”
As Scott’s candy jar landed in his brother’s hand it morphed into a rattlesnake. “Whoa. Let me beg to differ here. I recollect readin’ up on these toga-toters was your killin’ the cat of curiosity.”
Retrieving the snake being shoved into his midsection, Scott raised an eyebrow. “Toga-toters?”
“All right. Bedsheet vaqueros. How’s that?”
“I like it.” Joking stepped up and regained its influence on the conversation.
Lancer’s Zeus resumed the journey to his desk - relieving his oldest son of the snake in a candy jar along the way. A recitation of the title indicated the curious cat lived on. “The Myths of Greece and Rome. A selection I would not have picked for either of my sons. I’d like to hear the reasoning for their stretched effort in reaching the top shelf.”
Scott cleared his throat. “Well…”
“Son, keep the answer short. Your brother has a gate lock to mend.”
“Right. Well, you see… Kinsey -”
Murdoch held up his hand. “I now realize I’ve given you an impossible task in keeping the answer short, however, try your best.”
Scott allowed a slight smile at his father’s insightful evaluation of the situation and the person involved. “Yes, sir, I’ll certainly try.” A deep breath and the tale commenced. “The other night when Kinsey and I were on the rooftop observing the stars -”
“Tell me you didn’t leave that trapdoor open again, Boston. I hate those flyin’ little varmints.”
“John, don’t interrupt your brother.” Murdoch glanced at the clock displaying the noon hour. “I’d like to finish up this discussion by nightfall.”
Scott found it increasingly hard to keep his smile slight. “The subject of constellations and mythology came up and…” Weight shifted and arms crossed. “Kinsey referred to Zeus as The Tune Caller of Mt. Olympus.” A nod gestured to the book on his father’s desk. “We decided to satisfy our curiosity with a little research.”
“The man could be your brother, Murdoch.” Johnny’s eyes squinted at the patriarch. “Maybe a great-uncle.”
The tune caller slowly opened the cover of the book to view its index.
“Page 52.” Scott shrugged at his father’s eyes casting upwards. “You requested we finish the discussion before nightfall. I thought it best to move things along.”
Thumbing to the correct page produced the glorious illustration of the mighty Zeus sitting on his throne while gazing down at the peons groveling at his feet. A twinkle captured the corner of Murdoch’s eye. “Hmmmmm. The Tune Caller of Mt. Olympus. Perhaps after an insurmountable number of gray hairs and headaches, I have finally lassoed that little girl’s attention.”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “What that little girl would like to lasso is your attention regarding Seth Westcott.”
Over the last few days Murdoch had mischievously played cat and mouse with the Aussie cousin. Desperate to know if the elder Lancer would approve of Seth’s intentions, Kinsey tried on several occasions to initiate a conversation, only to be outmaneuvered with lame excuses and dismissals.
“Half-pint’s wearin’ the skin off her knuckles from all the hand-wringin’.”
With the enthusiasm of a Boston barrister, Scott pointed out newly stated evidence. “Look, it’s so bad you’ve got Johnny feeling sorry for her.”
“Westcott arrives next week.” Murdoch sat back in his chair and pondered. “I’ll make time for the lass between now and then.” It appeared Kinsey’s hand-wringing would continue. “Now, John, why don’t you feel sorry for that gate and fix its lock.”
Shooting his father a grin, Johnny grabbed his hat and headed for the doorway to be nearly swept up by a prairie dust devil blowing in.
“Sir. I demand a few minutes of your time.”
An abrupt about-face brought the younger Lancer back to Mt. Olympus - the broken lock a distant memory.
“I will no longer be put off by your urgency to aim a hot iron at a cow’s derrière or… or…” Kinsey’s pouted lip huffed a crazed curl from her eyes. “Or your need to take a measuring stick to yonder hill and calculate clover.”
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh, there’s going to be a measuring stick taken - not to yonder hill but to a derrière that doesn’t belong to a cow.
“You have an eloquent way of relating mundane ranch chores, young lady.” The devilish glint remained in Murdoch’s eyes. “Tell me, how would you describe pulling weeds in the garden under a hot afternoon sun? ”
“A never-ending task involving the sweat from a desperate girl’s brow mixed with tears of despair.”
Placing a guiding hand on the room’s colorful orator, the older cousin offered sound advice. “Freckles, I don’t think this is a good time -”
“I disagree, son. Now is a fine time.” Murdoch delivered a fatherly tone of concern. “I’ve been too focused on branding irons and measuring sticks. Tell me, Kinsey Rose, what is it you wish to discuss?”
Johnny flopped down on the settee with legs sprawled. A hand to the crown lowered his hat to shadow his eyes but not the gleeful grin anticipating the soon-to-be entertainment.
Scott sighed at his brother’s casual spectator demeanor. Well, when in Rome. A comfortable overstuffed chair volunteered as a satisfactory vantage point for the show.
Kinsey folded her hands neatly in front of her. “Even though I feel this should be a private discussion, I understand beggars can’t be choosing to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Hearing the slaughter of yet another quote, Scott bent forward to rest elbows on thighs and stared at his boots to avoid eye contact with his brother. The briefest look would prove lethal.
“So, I will continue to speak under these less than stellar conditions. I believe Seth wrote you a letter.”
Murdoch noted the various papers on his desk with a frown. “Scott, can you recall if I received a correspondence from Seth Westcott?”
Scott blessed his boots with a dimpled smirk. Evidently his father’s Greek tragedy required audience participation. “You mentioned something about a letter of his.”
“Wait.” The patriarch’s hand fished into a pile of papers and hooked an envelope. “Here it is.” Unfolding the note, eyes slowly surveyed the contents to its finale. “Best regards, Seth Westcott.” A refolded note returned to its envelope but dodged the desk’s stack of papers. Instead, it conveniently covered the book illustration of Zeus. “Yes. I received a letter from Mr. Westcott.”
Silence.
“Sir?” Kinsey blinked at the lack of words from Mt. Olympus. “I wish to talk to you about Seth’s letter!” Snatching the envelope up, her crusade continued. “And I won’t leave this room until a question is answered to my -” Eyes drifted to the open book. “Sat-is-faction.”
Murdoch’s hands laced across his midsection. “Little girl, have you ever heard of Aite, the goddess of mischief and folly? A real handful, she was. Gave her father, Zeus, a few gray hairs and headaches. Finally, one of his thunderbolts put an end to her mischievous ways.”
The realization of having two tune callers at the desk doused Kinsey’s fiery speech with a bucket of cold water. A hand delicately returned Seth’s letter to bookmark page 52. “I’ve taken up too much of your time, sir.”
Donning a knowing smile, Murdoch winked. “I look forward to welcoming Seth Westcott into our home.”
A soft smile acknowledged the wink. “I believe I’ll tend to the garden.” Passing the settee, muffled snickering was detected. “Shut up, Johnny.”
The Tune Caller of Mt. Lancer patted the illustration of his counterpart. “Boys, let’s see if we can find Zeus a spot on the shelf next to Emerson.”