Providence Station, Boston
It's past midnight as I sit at my makeshift desk waiting for the train. A few simple words typed on paper swayed my decision to leave Boston. It's time to go home.
S.
Leaning against the desk in his room, Scott held each telegram in a hand - Kinsey to the left - Johnny to the right.
HOME NAYING FILLY RESTLESS
His younger brother’s analogy of Kinsey to a young mare amusingly got the point across during Scott’s absence. Deciphering Johnny’s latest offering proved to be no different. NAYING. His cousin, when inspired, could deliver a cartload of sass. Lucy Stone, no doubt, provided the needed inspiration. OLD MAN UNHAPPY. Scott slowly exhaled. ‘Oh, I bet he is.’ Murdoch's tolerance with Kinsey continued to be admirable, but limited. Scott’s main concern settled on the word RESTLESS. He’d lost count of how many times he had reprimanded the girl for taking off on her own due to being restless and her assumption of knowing what was best. If she jumped the fence - Johnny’s previous well-phrased words - Scott knew exactly where she would gallop off to - Westcott Vineyards.
Scott reread the telegram in his left hand. SURROUNDED BY MULES. Well, decoding those three words produced three more - MURDOCH. JOHNNY. JELLY. Kinsey’s frustration radiated off the paper as she lacked a comrade’s ear to listen.
Even though Kinsey and Teresa connected, their personalities were too different. Both ladies were feisty and independent, but the paths they traveled led in dissimilar directions. He knew Teresa strived to support his cousin but, like his father, her patience went so far. He found no fault. Scott’s fondness for the young lady who had greeted him the first day he stepped off the stagecoach to answer his father’s call remained forever strong.
I MISS YOU. Again, three words which suggested three more - PLEASE COME HOME.
Emerson was retrieved from the bed and telegrams placed with the others. At the bottom of his travel bag, the first edition joined the book of Bradstreet’s poetry purchased for his little cousin.
Rummaging through the drawers of the writing desk yielded a few sheets of paper and a pencil. The telegraph office would be closed at this hour, but Scott knew he could depend on Martin to send his messages by morning.
Murdoch Lancer, Green River, California
LEAVING BOSTON ARRIVE IN STOCKTON BY 24TH S
Johnny Lancer, Green River, California
Grinning, Scott paused - allowing the right words to surface.
LOCK CORRAL GATE HOLD ON TO FILLY WRANGLER HEADING BACK TO STABLE S
He felt a more direct approach with headstrong Kinsey Rose would be best.
Kinsey Furlong, Green River, California
COMING HOME STAY PUT DO NOT MOVE S
He gathered his clothes to neatly fold them for repacking. With his back to the open bedroom door, Scott’s ears detected a visitor from the sound of creaking leather.
“Ah, you found the perfect shoes.” Scott turned, expecting to see Martin. Instead, a look of disapproval greeted him.
“You’re packing.”
Dismissing his grandfather, Scott resumed gathering his items. “I am.”
“To leave?”
“It’s why one packs.”
“You were to stay through the end of next week.”
“And now I’m not.” Scott closed his bag and secured its straps. “I’m needed back home.”
“Grandson, this too is your home.”
“No. Not after tonight.”
“I misspoke earlier. I apologize. Scotty, you can’t fault an old man -”
“Correct. I can’t fault an old man.” Scott picked up his valise and snagged his hat to place on his head. “But I have no problem faulting an angry, bitter man who is hellbent on having complete control while meting out his righteous revenge.” Looking about the room was only a brief stall for what needed to be said. “I dislike the man I become when I'm around you. Until that changes…”
Harlan spat out his words which lacked their usual sting. “This sounds like an ultimatum.”
“Yes, sir, I believe it does.” Scott sidestepped past his grandfather. “I'll see if Martin is available to take me to the train.”
******
Snow dusted Scott’s hat as he stood outside Providence Station. “Martin, I want to thank you for your assistance during my stay.”
His new ally gladly accepted the extended hearty handshake. “The pleasure was all mine, sir. I wish you would reconsider leaving. They say everything looks much better in the morning.”
“Well, considering the time, it is morning and everything is not looking better.” Scott glanced towards the station’s main entrance. “I best go study the departure schedule. If it wouldn't be too much trouble -”
“I'll keep you abreast of your grandfather's well-being.”
Scott held the horse’s bridle to keep the carriage steady as his friend climbed back up to grasp the reins. “Tell me, Martin, what has the good Lord blessed us with this day?”
A smile stretched across the man’s face like the sunrise on its way to the sleeping city. “I don’t know, sir, what has the good Lord blessed us with today?”
“Harlan Garrett’s wake up call.”
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