The Westcott Winery

The next morning, Scott graciously declined the invitation to the West’s Sunday brunch. Last night's conversation with Kinsey had ended before questions could be answered. Getting an early start on their return trip to town would give them the needed time to talk.

“Wait, Mr. Lancer. You must take this for your travels. Now, there’s pieces of fruit, some biscuits, cheese -”

“Dear Lord above, Ellen. They’re traveling back to Stockton, not China.”

Ignoring her husband, Mrs. West handed Scott the covered basket. “And I included a few jars of the grape jelly Kinsey fell in love with. I jotted down the recipe for her.”

Lifting the basket’s cover to view the bounty their hostess had packed, a moment of melancholy surrounded Scott. “Ma’am, are you related to Winifred McLoughlin?” Seeing his question made little sense to Mrs. West, he offered more. “She would have done much the same. Your generosity is appreciated.”

While the stable hands readied their wagon, Scott ventured out by the courtyard in search of Kinsey. Spotting her speaking with Harriet under the arbor’s grapevines, he hung back not wanting to intrude. The morning sun filtering through the grape leaves highlighted the tranquil setting.

The rays also accentuated the little girl’s expression of disappointment as she held up the empty Mason jar. He couldn’t hear Kinsey’s response. However, watching his cousin’s animated gestures, Scott guessed Harriet was hearing what he had learned - fireflies shine brighter when free. A few minutes passed before West’s little niece nodded, smiled, and skipping past Scott, headed toward the hacienda. Seeing a bench now free in the arbor, Scott stooped so his tall frame would clear the vines and sat down across from Kinsey. “Crisis averted?”

“I was worried for a moment. Harriet can be hard to convince!”

“Oh. We’re talking about the fireflies.”

Kinsey cocked her head. “Ah.” A smile appeared. “I overindulged last night.”

“In your consumption of vino or stating your opinions?”

“Unfortunately, both. And I apologize.”

“You weren't the only one, Freckles. I was no better.” Remembering his cousin's gesture from the evening before, Scott held out his little finger. “Truce?”

Kinsey affirmed by hooking her pinky finger around Scott’s. “Truce. Crisis averted.”

“Very good. We’ll talk on our way back to Stockton. Now, let's express our gratitude and say our goodbyes before Mrs. West packs another picnic basket.”

Once settled on the wagon's seat, Kinsey smoothed out her skirt and adjusted her hat while waiting for Scott and George West to finish up their farewells.

“Please consider visiting Lancer in the near future. It’s only fair, sir, that I be given the opportunity to prove we possess God’s heaven on earth.”

George West raised an eyebrow. “Ah, a challenge! Excellent! There’s nothing I embrace more.” Extending his hand, West continued. “You strike me as a worthy opponent.”

Scott grasped West’s hand. “I never turn down a spirited competition.”

“Young man, life is a kind of chess, with struggle, competition, good and ill events.”

As he broke off their handshake, Scott’s smile faltered. He’d heard Franklin’s quote often while growing up. “An interesting choice of words. I agree.”

“I hope someday if we become competitors for more than just a pretty view, we find a way to remain friends. Be certain to reach out to Philip Westcott. It would be a wise decision, Scott.”

“I will consider it. Again, thank you for your hospitality.” Scott climbed up on the wagon to sit beside his cousin. Taking the reins he looked down at his host. “Tell me...George...are you acquainted with my grandfather?”

It might have been the perspective being seated in the wagon provided, or perhaps the angle of the autumn light on his host’s face - Scott was uncertain. West’s eyes grew darker and his pleasant smile now struck Scott as sly...no…cunning. For a moment, he thought of a fox. ‘My father would see a rattlesnake.’

George West cleared his throat. “I think we can all agree it's impossible to travel through Boston and not cross paths with Harlan Garrett.” The host's handlebar mustache indicated his familiar welcoming demeanor had returned. “Safe travels Mr. Lancer - Miss Furlong.”

As they passed the last of El Pinal’s rows of soldiers still standing at attention, Kinsey retrieved Ellen West’s jelly recipe from the basket to scrutinize as Scott steered the wagon back to Stockton.

“Do we have a large copper kettle?”

“That would be a ‘Maria Question,’ Kinsey.”

“What about sugar? Would we have two pounds of sugar?”

“That would be a ‘Teresa Question.’”

“Is good brandy available?”

“And that is a ‘Murdoch Question.’ Does the young lady have any ‘Scott Questions?’” His sideways glance found Kinsey deliberately returning the recipe to the basket while rearranging its items. ‘Quit stalling, little one.’

“Well...do you think the Westcott vineyard is a good investment?”

“Can’t answer that one just yet. We need to learn more about Westcott and his winery.”

“Agreed! We’ll ride out there tomorrow!”

Shaking his head, Scott adjusted his hat. “Johnny’s right. You are like a dog with a bone.”

Puzzled, Kinsey raised an eyebrow. “He called me a dog?”

“Loose translation, Freckles - you won’t let go of an idea until you get your own way. However, this time you need to let go because we are not visiting the Westcott’s tomorrow - we are returning home.”

“A dog with a bone. The nerve. And completely inaccurate no matter how it’s translated.”

Scott grinned. ‘Better having you mad at Johnny’s remark than at me telling you no.’

“The statement regarding chess - what was Mr. West referring to?”

It was Scott’s turn to be puzzled. He was certain the discussion topic would now be Johnny. However, it turned to a phrase he had heard often but not recently - until today. “‘Life is a kind of chess, with struggle, competition, good and ill events.’ It’s a quote from Ben Franklin - and one my grandfather uses often. Considering he views daily events as a chess game and we’re all pawns, the statement is quite appropriate for him.” Scott noticed the worried look on his cousin’s face. “It’s a popular quote among businessmen.” Seeing her expression remain, he offered a lukewarm explanation he didn’t believe but hoped his cousin would. “It's simply a coincidence West used it in our conversation.”

Speculating whether it was just a coincidence or if George West knew his grandfather was a waste of energy - it wouldn't change the situation. Scott was certain underneath the smiling handlebar mustache lived a shrewd business competitor like his grandfather and that knowledge Scott deemed priceless. ‘West. Where did he fit into all of this?’

“I've been thinking, Kinsey, we’ll have an hour or so free before the evening meal and that promised bottle of champagne to celebrate. Let’s visit Stockton’s Land Office. Like I said - we need to learn more about the Westcott vineyards and the land office will be a good place to start.”

He was correct - Stockton’s Land Office provided the foundation of knowledge they could build their research on. Scott showed Kinsey how to read the maps and compare them to the census reports. They discovered Westcott’s land was not only north of El Pinal but actually bordered it. Passing the entrance to West’s, another hour or so would bring a traveler to the Westcott Winery. Philip Westcott's acreage was comparable to El Pinal. However, it appeared only half of the land had been developed. Scott guessed the loss of his wife and son along with lack of finances had slowed down Westcott's dream of leaving a legacy. A few of the puzzle pieces were coming together - including where the Garrett inheritance may fit in.

Their evening meal was relaxed and filled with conversations retelling their stay with George and Ellen West. As they drank the celebratory champagne, Scott glanced over at the table which, two nights ago, seated ‘The Champagne Man,’ Patrick Culhane. The table was empty and Scott dismissed the encounter as one of those moments which should be appreciated without being explained. Upon saying goodnight, the cousins designated a time to meet in the hotel lobby to begin their journey home.

*******

“Kinsey?”

When a knock the next morning on her room’s door brought no response, Scott hurried to the lobby expecting to find his cousin waiting. Kinsey was not to be found.

“Mr. Lancer? Sir?” The front desk clerk motioned for Scott’s attention. “Miss Furlong indicated you may be searching for her. She left about an hour ago.”

Scott felt the muscles in his jaw tense. “What?”

“She asked I relay the message -" The clerk read from a note in order to not misspeak. "She would be out for a morning ride up north.”