Written by Desert Sun - First Published December, 2002
Send Feedback to Desert Sun Printable Pages: 17 Rating: G
(Please note: the characters of the Lancer television series do not belong to me and were used without permission. This was written for fun, not profit. Feedback is greatly appreciated.)
Summary: This takes a look at the worlds of various members of the Lancer family on Christmas day in 1850.
Chapter 1 - Johnny's World
He stood wide-eyed rubbing thumbs and fingers together at his side. There, a mere one step away, hung the forbidden object. Did he dare move close enough to touch it?
"Oh!" The sound came out as he sucked in his breath. They were back again, the tiny slivers of light sparkling from the shiny metal star on the tree next to the fireplace. He had tried to catch one of the dazzling beams the day before but had failed. The only thing he had captured was a swift swat on the seat of his britches.
He remembered turning on the flood in hopes of making his mama feel sorry for him so he could have his way. The stream of big tears running out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks hadn't helped one bit. Mama had marched him over to the chair on the other side of the fireplace and told him to sit there until supper was ready.
Next, he had tried sucking in his breath with raspy gasps between each sob. No good. Recalling that crying louder hadn't worked either, he wondered if other mamas couldn't hear when they were cooking.
A dimple appeared in his pudgy cheeks. His efforts hadn't been without their reward; Papa had returned just then. The giant man had swooped down and grabbed him by the arms, tossed him into the air, caught him by the wrists with big hands, and then whirled him around and around.
A giggle gurgled in his throat. He remembered how Papa had hugged him close before tickling his ribs until new tears had rolled down his face and laughter had left him out of breath with his sides aching. The best part, he thought, was when his papa had carried him over to the source of his earlier misery and pointed at the tree ornaments. "Johnny, look at all of the nice things Mama put on the tree. We have bows made out of ribbon, and strings of popcorn and cranberries. See how the star sparkles in the sun. Isn't it pretty?" Papa had said. Then Papa had done the unthinkable by letting him reach out and touch it.
Johnny wrinkled his dark eyebrows together. The picture in his mind of what had happened next was not pleasant, at all. Mama had hollered at Papa. She had marched right up to the tall man, raised her hand, and waved a wooden spoon in his face.
Wincing at the cramping of his belly, Johnny bit his lower lip as memories flooded his mind. He didn't like it when Mama got angry like she had the day before. He'd been afraid she was going to whack his papa. He remembered looking out from behind the sofa where he had run after Papa had put him down before turning to face Mama. He had tried real hard not to watch, but the temptation to peek had been too much for him.
Johnny remembered how scared he'd been when his papa tried to retrieve the paddle, which was how he always thought of his mama's big wooden spoon. He'd felt it against his backside more than once. Of course, in reality, it had never hurt anything more than his feelings; Mama never hit him that hard or anyplace not protected by his thick diaper. With Papa, it was different. More than once, Johnny had heard the smart crack of the wood against his papa's arm, shoulder, or back. A couple of times, he had even seen his mama use the spoon smartly on his papa's behind. Papa never cried, though; he usually laughed. Johnny wondered if it was because Papa was big and big people didn't cry.
Johnny relaxed a little and the grin returned to his lips. Mama hadn't had a chance of winning. Once Papa had caught up with her darting arms and clamped his hand around the weapon; the big man had easily twisted the paddle right out of her grip and tossed it to one side before wrapping her up in his strong arms. She had yelled and kicked and squirmed, but it hadn't done any good. Papa had gone right on rubbing his scratchy whiskers, the result of his having been gone for two days, against Mama's cheeks and showering her with kisses. Finally she'd given in and had hugged and kissed Papa in return.
A frown puckered Johnny's brow, and his young mind tried to fathom the mystery of what had happened next. Papa had picked up Mama like she was a child, packed her off to their room, and shut door. There had been a lot of laughing before Mama and Papa had come out again. After that, Mama had been in one of her cheerful, giggly moods.
Johnny recalled how pleasant the rest of the evening had been. His mama had given him a multitude of hugs and kisses, and his papa had received an abundance of Mama's bright smiles. A soft sigh whistled through Johnny's nose. He wished Papa would make Mama happy like that all of the time.
A brighter flash of light gleaming from the silver ornament brought Johnny back to the present. He inched forward and swallowed hard. A quick glance around revealed that no one was there to see him, so he stretched a chubby arm upward. His hand wavered. Drawing in a deep breath, he gathered his nerve and then lightly brushed the tip of his finger against the edge of the thin star-shaped piece of metal.
Johnny's breath caught nosily when the star began to gently swing while the sun coming through an east window bounced off it. As the ray of light slowly moved before his eyes, his mouth spread into a wide grin. The dimples in his cheeks deepened, and his heart thumped faster in his chest. Totally fascinated by the beautiful display of reflected light, he was oblivious to everything else around him.
When the swirling beam slowed to a stop, Johnny gave the ornament a firmer shove. It twirled in the space below the end of the branch it was suspended from, and the streak of light danced faster for a moment. He clapped his hands and stomped his feet as squeals of glee burst from him.
"Juanito! How many times must you be told, no?"
His excitement ground to a sudden halt at the sound of Mama's sharp voice. He poked his lower lip out and blinked to clear away the salty pools of moisture that had sprung into his eyes. A shudder ran through his shoulders; punishment was sure to follow. His mama sure knew how to spoil his fun.
"Come to Mamá, Jaunito."
Johnny stepped back from the outstretched arms. They looked inviting, but he wasn't sure he could trust them. Mama didn't like it when he touched things he wasn't supposed to. She had to have the paddle hidden someplace close at hand. He wasn't about to be fooled into letting her get a hold of him so that she could use the dreaded spoon on his bottom again.
His mama moved closer, and he darted sideways before dashing for the far side of the room. His short legs couldn't outrun his mama's, so he ducked under the table and stopped on the other side. He'd learned that keeping a piece of furniture between them made it difficult for Mama to catch him.
Johnny was so intent on avoiding his mama that he didn't hear the door behind him open and close. A shrill scream tore from him as an arm caught him around the middle and lifted him off the floor. He kicked his feet and pounded at the arm with his fists while continuing to yell at the top of his lungs until he heard a deep voice just inches from his ear say, "Johnny, settle down."
"Papa?" He craned his neck and looked up to meet the stern look in his father's eyes. Now he'd done it. Hadn't Papa warned him about running from Mama?
"Husband, take Juanito with you, por favor. If I turn my back for un momento, he goes to the tree. I scold and scold, but he does not stay away. I fear it will fall on him, yet I cannot watch him constantly while I am cooking."
From the plaintive tone of his mama's voice, Johnny was sure that he was in big trouble. He knew enough of her words to know what she was telling his papa. He looked at his father's big hand resting against his small chest and clinched his jaws together. If Papa did the punishing, that hand would be used on his bare-bottom rather than on the padded seat of his pants. He could already hear the loud "pop" and feel the sting. A tear found its way down the side of his face and dripped off his chin as he sniffed and hiccuped.
Johnny felt himself being lowered until his feet touched the tile floor. Firm fingers lifted his chin and forced him to look upward into the eyes of his father who was kneeling in front of him. Sniffling between each word, he pleaded, "Sawie Papa . . . Yonny sawie."
"I'm sure you are, Son, but Mama's the one you need to apologize to." The man's hands engulfed Johnny's shoulders and squeezed gently. Then they guided him around to face his mother and gave him a little push. "Now tell Mama you're sorry. Then we'll get your hat and coat, and you can go for a ride with me."
Johnny glanced back at his papa. Receiving the reassurance that he needed in the eyes of the tall man, he drew his small frame up proudly and marched over to his mama. "Mama, Yonny sawie. No do 'gin." His glistening blue eyes searched for the twinkle of forgiveness to appear in his mama's eyes.
His body relaxed when Mama pulled him close and gave him a tight squeeze. "Juanito , what must I do? You are so defiant; yet, I am not able to punish you as you deserve," she said, her words muffled in his hair.
When his mother held him out away from her, Johnny flashed her a dimpled grin that lit up his eyes. He didn't quite understand all that his mama had said, but it didn't matter. Mama was smiling.
A few minutes later, Johnny merrily tugged at his father's hand as they headed toward the door. Mama had forgiven him and Papa was taking him for a ride. Once again, all was right with his world.
Chapter 2 - Murdoch's World
Murdoch Lancer drew his horse to a halt on a hill overlooking a massive Spanish casa. Although its dingy-gray, stone exterior was crumbling in many places and reflected little of the mid-afternoon sun, he could envision the stone walls as they once had been--magnificent, gleaming white. Someday, they'll be like that again, he vowed.
For a few minutes, he gazed out over his dream. Near the road that led to the house a short distance away was a solidly built rock structure that had served as a jail when the estancia had been the center of Spanish civilization in the area. It was one of the few buildings that still remained of the original hacienda, which he had been told, included a store, housing for more than a hundred workers and their families, and a small mission that served as both chapel and school. A corral made of rocks piled one upon the other and mortared together was attached to one side of the stockade. Until recently, portions of the stone fence had been in bad need of repair, the gates broken or charred beyond use.
Murdoch's heart swelled with pride. The gleam of recently hung wooden gates and the new barn on the other side of the enclosure where reminders of his hard work. In time, there will be more, he thought. A stable for horses--palominos, the best in the country. I'll put it there next to the barn, and I'll fence that flat area on the other side into a big pasture. Once I get the ditch finished, I'll have all the water I need to turn this whole valley into one big green meadow. Then we'll see if people still laugh and say this land will grow nothing besides scrub-brush. First, though, I'll take O'Brien and go to Sonora right after the first of the year. I'll buy another herd of cattle, drive them up here, and sell them to the miners at a hefty profit. Then, I'll go get Scott.
"Papa. Go."
Murdoch dropped his gaze from the world beyond him to the dark-haired child tugging at his sleeve. "Yes, Johnny. We'll go soon."
He smiled down on his small son sitting in front of him. Johnny's short legs straddled the fork of the saddle and the fingers of one chubby hand were entwined in the horse's mane. "For you, my boy," he whispered. "All of that is for you. You and your brother."
Johnny wiggled his legs as he always did when his father stopped to muse too long in one place. Usually Murdoch took the hint of his son's impatience and moved on. Not today. "Next year, Johnny, you'll have a big brother to play with . . . and help keep an eye on you. He'll be five next September, so he'll be a big help to your mama. He'd be here now if I could have managed to go after him. He's in Boston. Do you know where that is?"
In answer to his father's question, Johnny merely tipped his head back and grinned up at Murdoch. "Go, Papa?"
"In a minute, Son. First, let me tell you a story, all right?"
Johnny nodded his head vigorously. "Stowy."
Awaaaay . . . on the other side of the country . . . there's a place called Boston. There's a harbor there. That's where they tie up ships. Remember, Papa's ship in the house; the one you're not supposed to touch."
"Sip. No! Mama pank!" Johnny scolded, shaking his finger.
Murdoch chuckled. On more than one occasion, he had seen his wife, Maria, shake her finger at their son in much the same manner.
"Anyway," Murdoch continued with his narration. "Back there in Boston, you have a big brother. His name is Scott. Next year I'm going to go get him. How about that; would you like a brother to play with?"
Johnny squinted and wrinkled his eyebrows. "Scopp? Buvver? Pway?" He nodded, then rocked back and forth thumping his heels against the horse's shoulders. "Go Papa!"
"Johnny, you have a one track mind," Murdoch laughed. "No wonder your mama has such a time keeping up with you; you can't sit still for five minutes."
"Go!"
Murdoch gently nudged his mount into a walk and guided it down the hill. When they reached the level ground at the bottom, he urged the horse into a full gallop. As always, the faster pace brought squeals of delight from his son.
A little less than a mile from home, Murdoch slowed his mount to a walk so it would be cooled out by the time they reached the corral. He wasn't at all surprised that his son protested loudly, but he didn't give in, either. "We have to go slow, Johnny. If we put the horse away hot, he'll get sick," he reasoned. "You don't want Socks to be sick, do you?"
As expected, Johnny vigorously shook his head and quieted down. For the rest of the ride, he was content to lean back against his father's broad chest and follow the horse's rhythmic motion.
When Murdoch arrived at the barn, he dismounted and led his mount inside. After hoisting Johnny up to sit on a feed barrel, he stripped the saddle and blankets from the horse's back, and gave the animal a thorough rubdown and brushing.
His eyes sparkled with pleasure when he looked up and noticed that his son was watching his every move. He loved having Johnny with him and wished that he could spend more time with the boy; however, ranch work was hard and often dangerous. Having a child along just wasn't practical. Someday, he thought, we'll spend lots of time together, just the two of us.
In his mind, Murdoch saw an older Johnny. Together, they were rounding up cattle and burning the Lancer L on the hip of new calves, clearing brush from a gully, or driving steers to market. The scenes soon changed to include a third form with fair hair as he saw his older son, Scott, riding and working along side them. Next year, Son, he vowed to the child he'd never seen--a lump in his throat and moisture in his eyes. Come fall, I'll get you. I'll be there by your birthday, I promise. Next Christmas, we'll all be together.
For a while, Murdoch indulged himself with daydreams of two young boys; one was slightly built with blond hair and the other was shorter, stockier, and dark haired. He could see them playing tag in amongst the trees by the house, skipping stones on a pond, and sitting beside a stream while they fished away a lazy summer afternoon. Like most brothers, they teased each other unmercifully, scuffled, fought with each other and for each other, conspired, laughed, and cried together--inseparable.
"Papa. Dow!" Johnny's insistent voice interrupted his father's thoughts.
Murdoch shook his head and chuckled. His son had waited quietly for close to five minutes, which was about the limit of Johnny's patience. There would be no peace now.
While Johnny kicked his heels against the side of the barrel and every minute or so, voiced his need to be moving, Murdoch continued with the task at hand. His son would just have to learn that a man took care of his horse first and then attended to his own needs.
At last, the horse's coat was shining, and Murdoch swung Johnny up onto its back and led it out to the pasture that paralleled the house. Once the animal had been turned loose inside the rail fence, he hoisted his son to his own shoulders and headed toward the house.
"G'yup, Papa," Johnny called.
At the rocking of his son's body, Murdoch took off in a mock-gallop toward the house. He reached the stone wall along the edge of the courtyard, dodged around the end and nearly unseated the child. At the door, Murdoch made a few whirls then halted to stomp a foot and snort. The whole time, he could hear Johnny whooping and laughing in his ear.
The mirth and excitement expressed in his son's high-pitched giggles were infectious, and Murdoch joined in with a deep-throated laugh. It was Christmas and he'd never been happier. He'd spent a lovely afternoon with his pride-and-joy; the ranch had made a tidy profit for the first time; and come next fall, he'd have his older son with him.
Murdoch grasped his son's wrist. In one smooth motion, he swung Johnny up and over his head then enfolded his arms around the small body and squeezed. With a full heart, he reached out to open the door. His dream ranch was taking shape; he had a beautiful wife; and in his arms was a child that he loved more than life itself. All was right with his world--almost. Next Christmas, he thought. Scott will be here. Then I'll have my whole family together.
Chapter 3 - Maria's World
Maria Lancer swept a stray strand of long black hair back from her face then stirred the pot of venison stew steaming on the stove. Satisfied that it was ready to eat, she put the pan of Scottish shortbread into the oven. Tamales, rollenos , rice, and churros would have been more to her liking; however, she had promised her husband a Christmas dinner in keeping with the traditions of his homeland since the evening before had been observed according to her customs.
Just before dark on Christmas Eve, the Lancers had headed for Morro Coyo to join in the celebration of the Holy Night. There had been singing and dancing until midnight when the birth of the Christ child had been announced by the flaring lights and crackling of fireworks. Afterward, they had returned home for a hearty Mexican meal before sleeping for a few hours.
Normally, the rest of Christmas Day would have held no significance for Maria. However, she believed her son should learn of the heritage he had received from his father, so she had worked hard throughout the afternoon to prepare a traditional Scottish meal.
While the biscuit-like cake was baking, Maria neatly arranged four plates along with utensils on the small dining table. Next, she went to the fireplace on the far side of the large room and added another log to the fire. When it was blazing away, once again adding warmth to the room, she returned to the kitchen.
A peek at the shortbread revealed that it was done, so Maria took it out of the oven and set it on the cutting board to cool. She stirred the stew and then poked a fork into the potatoes on the bottom rack of the oven. Finding that they were soft, she put them into a bowl and covered them with a folded dishtowel to keep them warm.
Satisfied that the meal was ready, Maria went back into the sparsely furnished main room of the house. She saw a couple of her son's toys lying on the floor, picked them up, and put them in the box by the fireplace. Just then, she heard Johnny's squeals mingled with his father's hearty laughter. A few seconds later, the door opened and Murdoch entered carrying their son.
"Mama. Go fass," Johnny announced excitedly as his father lowered him to the floor.
"I was careful," Murdoch assured her before she had a chance to scold him for taking chances. "Hmm. Smells good. I'm starved."
"You are always hungry, Husband," she said while removing their fidgeting son's hat and coat. "Juanito, hold still, por favor." When Johnny's hands were free of the sleeves, she focused on Murdoch once more. "The food, it is ready. When Señior O'Brien is here, we will eat."
As if on cue, there was a loud rapping. "That must be him, now," Murdoch said before turning to open the door and motioning for his guest to enter. "Paul, come in."
"Hope I'm not late. That hammer-headed gelding busted the corral fence last night. Makes twice this week. Took me all morning to catch the horses and get 'em locked up again." O'Brien shrugged out of his thin coat and handed it to Maria. "Sure be glad when I can afford to built something new. I'm not so sure being a landowner is such a great thing after all."
"We get that herd back from Sonora, you'll have some extra money," Murdoch stated confidently, and then motioned for his friend to follow him to the other side of the room. "Let's go sit by the fire. You look like you could use some warming up. Care for a drink?"
"Thanks. It is a bit chilly out. Beginning to look like it could snow come evening; I'm thinkin' I'd better get started home before dark," Paul said as he took the glass from Murdoch's hand.
Maria decided to put the food on the table while the men continued to talk of the cattle-buying trip. She didn't want to hear their plans and feel the clutch of fear in her heart that the thought of Murdoch being gone for two months always brought. So much could happen.
She tried to tell herself that he had to go. There was a fortune to be made from buying cheap cattle in Mexico, driving them north to the California gold fields, and selling them for several times the amount that had been paid for them. However, the knowledge that the money would go a long ways toward building the ranch that she knew her husband dreamed of one day passing on to his children did not relieve her anxieties.
A couple hours after his arrival in the Lancer home, Paul O'Brien stood by the door and slipped on his coat. Smiling at Maria, he said, "Delicious meal, Señora. I hope this man of yours knows how lucky he is to have such a good cook."
Maria's cheeks glowed warmly at the words of praise coming from her husband's friend and one time foreman. The meal had indeed been a success; even Murdoch had said the stew was the best he had ever tasted. Of course, she had no intention of telling him it was the added spices that made the difference; she was hoping she could get away with adding even more chili peppers in the future.
An arm was placed possessively around her shoulders, and Maria looked up into the loving eyes of her husband. "I certainly am lucky," Murdoch stated proudly.
"Much as I hate to eat and run, I'd best be getting on home. Looks like it's started snowing in the mountains, already." O'Brien buttoned his coat, settled his hat in place, and said to Maria, "Thanks for the shirt. It's real nice." Just before he opened the door to leave, he placed a gloved hand on Johnny's head and ruffled the child's hair. "You be a good boy, Amigo, okay?"
After Paul had gone, Maria cleaned off the table while Murdoch took Johnny and went out to put the horses in the barn. By the time they returned, she had the table cleared and the dishes done up.
"Maria, come and sit by the fire with me," Murdoch said invitingly as he picked up a large Bible that lay on a small table by the sofa. "When I was growing up, it was a family tradition for the man of the house to read the Christmas story."
After settling Johnny between them, Murdoch opened the Bible to the first chapter of the book of Matthew and began to read in a deep tone that was pleasing to Maria's ears. "Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise: When as his mother Mary was espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child of the Holy Ghost. Then Joseph her husband, being a just man, and not willing to make her a publick example, was minded to put her away privily . But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost. And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name JESUS: for he shall save his people from their sins."
Maria leaned her head against her husband's shoulder while he turned the pages to Luke, chapter two. Contentedly, she listened to the voice she never tired of hearing. "...And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea , unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn."
The narrative was interrupted when Johnny squirmed and made an attempt to get down. "Sit still, Son," Murdoch admonished sternly before going on. "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour , which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."
Maria briefly let her mind wander back to the previous year when she had placed her own dear son in the crude wooden box in the manger scene that had been set up where the tree now stood. She wondered if Mary could have loved the baby Jesus any more than she, Maria, loved her Juanito.
"...The shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger," read Murdoch. Maria, however, only heard bits and pieces while she pictured her own son sleeping peacefully on the bed of straw.
"...And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them," Murdoch concluded then turned back to Matthew. Finding the second chapter, he went on with his reading while his wife continued with her musings. "Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him. ...When they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh..."
While Murdoch sat in silence as though contemplating on the meaning of the story he'd just read, Maria thought of how it would have been to be the mother of God's son. The moment was peaceful but short-lived; too soon, Johnny's insistent "dow" broke the silence.
Rather than spoil the sense of harmony that had enveloped them, Maria let Johnny scoot of the sofa. When he made a beeline for the tree, she quickly distracted him with, "Papa has a present for you, Juanito."
Murdoch, to Maria's relief, caught the hint and collected the package that had been placed on the floor behind the tree. He gave the present a little shake and said. "Johnny, look at the big box. Shall we see what's in it?"
At the light rattling sound, Johnny crowded close. With help from his father, he tore away the brown paper. When the thin slatted-lid was lifted, he peeked inside and sucked in his breath. "Oooh! Hosey; go fass!"
Maria watched Murdoch remove the wooden rocking horse from the box and set it on the floor while Johnny stood by, wide eyed and open mouthed, completely in awe of his first horse. El caballo es maravilloso, she thought, appreciating the smooth frame. The detailed head sporting a bridle with reins along with the mane and tail that were made of real horsehair gave the toy an almost life-like appearance. The child-size saddle strapped to the horse's body proved to be just the right finishing touch. By some stroke of luck, Murdoch had found the small saddle tucked away in a corner of the loft in the old dilapidated barn before the structure had been torn down to make room for the new building.
Johnny, once mounted, laughed with delight when his father set the horse in motion. He kicked his feet, shook the reins, and hollered, "G'yup! Go fass!"
"He's going to run the legs off of every horse on the ranch, someday," Murdoch chuckled as he smiled down on the excited child.
"Sí. He is the son of his papá, no?" Maria remarked with a hint of sarcasm. More than once, her husband had challenged her to a race when they had gone riding. If Johnny loved the thrill of a fast horse, he had come by it honestly.
Murdoch laughed heartily. "He is at that."
After the couple had watched their son enjoy his Christmas gift for a few minutes longer, Maria went to the tree and retrieved a soft package wrapped in newspaper and tied with a bright red ribbon. She handed it to her husband then stood back to watch him open it.
The warm smile that was flashed in her direction told her that he was pleased with the embroidered shirt. Although the white cloth had cost little, she had spent many hours adding the colorful details that decorated the garment's front. "You like it, no?" she queried, hesitantly.
"I like it, yes." Murdoch drew her close and kissed her tenderly while she wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Papa!" Johnny's insistent voice intruded. "Go!"
"Maybe the horse wasn't such a good idea," Murdoch said with a laugh before pushing down on toy's wooden nose.
Maria stood by and observed the emotions play across her husband's face as he watched their son trying to keep the momentum of the rocking horse going. At first, Murdoch looked so pleased, but slowly his countenance changed to one of thoughtful contemplation.
A shiver of apprehension ran through Maria. She had seen that same look on Murdoch's face a few weeks earlier in Green River when they had met a flaxen-haired young woman leading a young boy with blond hair out of the general store. At the time, his expression had been so intense that she had wondered if he was wishing that the woman and child were his.
Suddenly Maria's mind was overcome with troubling questions. Was it possible that her husband was beginning to regret his marriage to her, a Mexican girl with little education? That day in town, could he have been looking to the future and thinking that he would be better off with an American wife? Even now, was he considering the possibility that being married to a woman from another culture and having half-breed children might hinder his ambitions? Just last week, hadn't she found, tucked under papers in his desk drawer, a picture of a woman of similar appearance? Who was the beautiful woman with light colored hair and why hadn't her husband ever mentioned her before, Maria wondered.
When Murdoch turned his face toward her, Maria saw only love and admiration in his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. With a soft sigh, he handed it to her. "It isn't much," he said apologetically as she took the plain little jewelry box from his fingers. "I wish I could have gotten more for you. Next year--"
She shushed him by gently tapping two fingers against his lips. "To me it shall be like a sack full of gold," she assured him. Then, with trembling hands, she opened the box and carefully removed an ornate "L" that was surrounded by a circle of gold wire. Holding the symbol of the Lancer brand by its long shiny chain, she whispered, "Es hermoso. Always, I will treasure it."
With eyes shimmering from tears that threatened to spill over and run down her cheeks, she admired the necklace. In her mind, it represented a promise of the future--a sign that she belonged to him. Once again, her fears were stilled and all was right with her world. She was with the man she loved; they had a fine son; and next summer, unless she was mistaken, there would be another addition to their family.
Chapter 4 - Scott's World
A sharp rap on the front entry door brought the blond four-year old boy to his feet--toy soldiers scattering in all directions. "He'th here!" he lisped excitedly as he dashed for the foyer.
"Scotty!" The gray-haired man, sitting in a wingback chair by the hearth, stood as he called sharply to his grandson. When the child twirled around to look at him, the man said, "You know better than to run in the house. Come in here at once, and pick up your toys. Wilson will see to the door."
"But Granfather," the child pleaded, "Ith him. I know it ith."
Harlan Garrett moved to the boy's side. "Scotty, what are you talking about? I am expecting no one to arrive at this hour."
"My father," the child stated confidently. "He'th thuppothed to come, today. I athed Godta bring him."
Apprehension clutched at the man's heart; surely, Murdoch Lancer would not arrive unannounced at such an inopportune time. Your father is not here," Harlan stated sharply in hopes of squelching further discussion of the man he felt had stolen his daughter from him. "Now, gather up your gifts. You should have been in bed more than an hour ago."
"But-"
"Now, Scotty."
Tears quickly sprang into the child's steel-blue eyes and trickled down his cheeks as he slowly walked back into the parlor; however, Harlan was watching the butler approach and failed to notice.
"A package, Sir, for Master Scotty." A stiff-backed man held out a large box wrapped in plain brown paper.
Harlan turned and closed the double doors leading into the parlor. Once again facing the butler, he demanded, "From him?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Put it in the attic. Tomorrow, you can take it to the orphanage."
"But, Sir—"
"Are you questioning my judgement?" Garrett snapped.
"No, Sir. I shall take it at once." Wilson spun around sharply on his heels and strode to the large curved stairway that led to the upper levels of the Garrett mansion.
There was a slight click behind Garrett and a quiet, "I picked 'em all up, Granfather."
Harlan gave a start at the sound of his grandson's voice so close behind him. Hoping Scotty had heard nothing, he turned and smiled down on the child. "Good. Now come along; we'll call for Miss Benson and have her put you to bed."
As Scotty glanced around the foyer while Harlan rang for the nanny, his shoulders slumped."It wathen't him?" Scotty asked dejectedly, pain filling his eyes as he looked at Harlan. "Why, didn't he come, Grandfather? Where ith he? Doethn't he want ta thee me?"
"Forget about him, Scotty; he's of no consequence. The man's irresponsible. Didn't I tell you that you couldn't count on him to be here?" Harlan forced himself to keep a sympathetic tone to his voice. It would not do to allow his bitterness for Murdoch Lancer to be known to the child.
"Yeth, Thir," Scotty sniffed.
Garrett's conscience protested the manner in which he was deceiving his grandson, but the man hardened his heart. If Murdoch Lancer hadn't filled Catherine's head full of wild dreams of getting rich in California, she would never have gone with him to that God forsaken land. He stole her from me; it's his fault she's dead. Well, he won't take my grandson. I'll do whatever is necessary to prevent it.
Before Harlan could indulge in his thoughts further, a dour faced woman in her mid-fifties appeared. "Shall I put Master Scotty to bed now, Sir?" the woman asked as she reached out for the child's hand.
After answering affirmatively, Garrett placed a hand lightly on Scotty's shoulder and squeezed gently. He then dismissed his grandson with a brief "goodnight" and went to the library, which was next to the parlor.
Harlan sat down in the soft leather chair behind his desk and retrieved a small bundle of envelopes from the locked drawer on one side and riffled through them. He supposed he should burn them, yet he couldn't bring himself to do so. Reading them always brought him a sense of satisfaction that the tables had been turned. He may have lost his dear daughter, Catherine, to Murdoch Lancer, but he would never allow the man to take her son.
The bitter man smiled. The arrival of the package from California had brought relief from his fears. He could relax now. Murdoch would not be coming to Boston for Scotty just yet. For the time being, his world was secure.
Young Scott Lancer trudged up the stairs and followed his governess, Miss Benson, into his room. The excitement of Christmas was gone. It no longer mattered that his Grandfather had a tree that touched the ceiling or that it was adorned with numerous strings of cranberries and popped corn along with bows of various sizes made from either red satin ribbon or white lace. Forgotten were the packages wrapped in white paper and tied with colorful ribbons and the fun he'd had opening them; what he'd desired most had not put in an appearance.
With a heavy heart, the child changed into his nightshirt and crawled between clean, crisp sheets. "G'night, Mith Benthon," he said in a quiet, formal tone.
"Good night, Master Scotty," she replied stiffly.
When the door was shut and he was alone, Scotty slipped from under the covers and knelt beside his bed. He folded his hands together, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. "God bleth Granfather and Wilthon and Em'ly, and Jack and Jimmy Martin; and could you make Mith Binthon happy tho thee'll thmile thumtime?" He drew in his breath and let it out noisily through his nose then continued. "God, could ya make my father more 'thponthible, so he'll come ta thee me. Ya brung Jimmy's father home for Chrithmuth. Why didn't ya bring me mine? Wath I bad? I tried real hard ta do what I wath told ta do. Would ya bring my father in the mornin' if I promith to try harder ta be good. Thankth for lithning, God. Amen.
Scotty crawled back into bed and pulled the quilt up to his chin. He didn't understand God at all. His friend, Jimmy, was always getting into trouble, yet God had heard Jimmy's request. To Scotty's young mind, God was not fair at all.
Before closing his eyes once again, Scotty looked around the tidy room, dimly lit from the moon shining through the partly open curtains. Three new pairs of pants and four shirts had been hung in the closet, several pairs of socks had been put away in his dresser, and his toy soldiers were lined up on the middle shelf of the bookcase near the door. He had a warm quilt that smelled fresh and clean, and his tummy was full of ham, potatoes, scrumptious pastries, and other good things to eat; yet, all was not right with his world. With tears sliding down his cheeks and dampening the pillow under his head, he quietly cried himself to sleep.
Epilogue
God in Heaven looked down on the world that he had created. He saw a stonewalled house on a ranch in California, and his heart ached for the small family sitting happily in the dim light of the flickering firelight. Soon their world would be torn apart, never to be entirely put back together again.
It has to be, God thought. When I made man, I gave him the freedom to choose his destiny. I must abide by the rules that I have set forth since the beginning of time. Only when the Evil One interferes can I step in. One day, when the fullness of time has come, I will set my world right. Then there will be no more pain and suffering.
As he continued across the North American continent, God took time to listen to those who called upon him for a myriad of different reasons. Some requests were selfish in nature and he closed his ear to them. The rest were considered and answered, each on its own merit: to some, yes; to others, no; and to the rest, wait.
Coming to Boston on the far-eastern coast of the United States, the Heavenly Father, once again, heard a young boy crying for his father. He longed to give the child what he prayed for, but the will of man stood in the way. "Someday, my son, you will have your father. In the course of time, your prayer will be answered," he whispered. "Keep your faith in me, don't give up, and I will give you far more than you are asking."
Nineteen years later:
A little after dawn on Christmas morning, without knocking, a dark-haired young man opened the door of the room across the hall from his own. He sauntered in and leaned against the doorjamb as he had often done in the more than six months since his arrival at his father's ranch.
"Come right in, Brother," the blond man, lying beneath the quilt on the bed, quipped.
"Aren't ya gettin' up?" the dark one said in a soft drawl as he took a step forward. "I thought you couldn't wait for Christmas to get here so you could see what I gotcha."
"Little brother, are you really that much in a hurry for me to open the gift you have for me, or are you just anxious to find out what is in the package I put under the tree for you?" The man on the bed spoke with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Ain't interested in the least what ya got me, Boston. I just hate ta see ya wait any longer than ya hafta to open yer present . . . that's all." The younger of the two let the words lazily roll of his tongue as he leaned back against the wall near the door.
"Is that a fact?" Scott rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head. In a muffled voice, he said, "In that case, Johnny, I'm going back to sleep for a while longer. You kept me up way too late last night."
"Me!" Scott heard his brother snort in disgust. "You're the one that took nearly an hour to make one move. I never took more'n a couple minutes ta make up my mind about what to do next."
"That's why you lost, Brother. You have no patience," Scott mumbled.
"That so?" Indignation clearly rang in Johnny's voice. "And I suppose you got the patience of Job?"
"Mmm, hmm." Scott came close to chuckling at his brother's choice of words, but he managed to hold it in.
"Well . . . Mister I Can Wait . . . it's a good thing ya have all that patience, 'cause you're gunna be needin' it."
"Oh?" Scott grunted.
"I think I'll take me a little ride before breakfast," declared Johnny. "And don't go gettin' no ideas of openin' yer present before I get back."
"What's to keep me from it?" queried Scott, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"I'm hidin' it before I go." There was a scuffle of feet, then just before the door slammed, Scott heard, "If yer real nice to me when I get back, I might even remember where I put it . . . in a week or two."
"Johnny, wait!" Scott called, throwing the blankets back and rolling out of the side of the bed that was away from the door. As his feet thumped the floor and he stood up, he grabbed for the pants that lay neatly folded over the back of a nearby chair.
"Hey, Boston. Ya sure can move fast when ya want to," Johnny drawled softly.
Scott, right foot poised over the appropriate leg of the pants, hopped around to face his grinning younger brother. "I suppose you think you're pretty smart?" he grouched.
"That's me. Purdy and smart."
With the pants half on, Scott reached down with one hand, snatched up a boot, and tossed it at his brother. Just then the door swung open and batted the flying missile to one side. "Scott, are you up, yet?"
"Teresa! When are you going to learn to knock before you enter a man's room?" Scott snapped indignantly as he dropped down to sit on the floor where he could be out of sight while he finished getting into his trousers.
"I didn't see anything but your long-johns," she replied with a muffled snicker. Forcing a straight face, she added, "If you hadn't been lazing in bed, you'd have already been downstairs . . . and I wouldn't have caught you with--"
"I'll be right down," Scott interrupted, his cheeks a bit red. "Now will you leave while I finish getting dressed."
"A bit of a bear this morning, isn't he?" she smiled at Johnny.
"Didn't get his beauty sleep last night," Johnny grinned in return. "He's always a bit touchy when he's up too late."
Scott glared at the pair by the door. "Do you—"
"Isn't Scott up, yet?" A deep impatient voice from behind Teresa cut Scott off in mid-sentence.
"Come right in, Murdoch . . . join the party," Scott said to the tall man who was looking over the girl's shoulder.
Murdoch's mouth twitched and he cleared his throat. "Don't you think we should take pity on him and leave; otherwise, he'll be in a grumpy mood the rest of day."
"Guess so," Johnny said, giving his brother a devilish grin. "But if he don't show his face in ten minutes, I'm comin' up here and drag him down them stairs . . . pants or no pants."
"Come right ahead if you think you're big enough," Scott shot back as Johnny turned to follow their father and Teresa down the hallway. Little Brother, one of these days you're going to push me too far, thought Scott tugging his pants the rest of the way on.
A few minutes latter, Scott descended the stairs to the main level of the Lancer mansion. When he arrived at the doorway to the large living room, he stopped to observe his family gathered near the fireplace.
First Scott rested his eyes on the tall gray-haired man--his father. Less than a year ago, he would not have believed that the day would ever come that they would be together. He had grown up thinking that he meant nothing to the other man. But I was wrong. Despite his abruptness that first day, I knew he cared. Not because of what Teresa said on the way out from town, but by the way he looked at me when he said I had my mother's eyes.
A gentle smile parted the young man's lips when he shifted his gaze to the girl standing next to his father. Teresa. He almost chuckled as he slowly shook his head. On his very first morning at Lancer, she had barged into his room without knocking and had managed to lodge herself in his heart. She had treated him like a brother from the beginning and had expected him to think of her as a sister, and he had been powerless to do otherwise. She's what held us together those first couple of months. Always looking on the bright side and making us see things from the other's point of view. I can't imagine life without her.
Lastly, Scott focused his attention on the dark-haired young man, whom he hadn't even known existed until that fateful day they had arrived in Morro Coyo on the same stage. He still remembered the shock of learning that he had a brother. Johnny Madrid, hired gunman, my brother. A year ago, I would have been appalled at the thought; today I'm proud to call him brother even if he is a nuisance at times.
Scott briefly indulged himself with
memories of the past. He thought of his
first meeting with his brother and then with their father later that same day;
his first sight of the ranch; the fight with his brother the following day; and
the past few months of getting to know Johnny and Murdoch and of finding
himself part of a family.
"Hey, Boston, I'm comin ' up after ya," called Johnny, putting an end to Scott's musings.
"No need to shout, Brother. I'm right here." Scott stepped through the doorway and made his way across the room to join his family. For the first time in his life, he was truly happy. He had the father that he had always wanted, and a brother and a sister that he had never dreamed off. At last, all was right with his world.