Fourth Rite
Note: This is not a brand new story. It was posted on one of the Lancer lists a year ago in July 2004, but overlooked when I started posting stories to a web site a few months later. I found it sitting on the hard drive earlier this year, and made a few minor revisions, but figured I'd wait for the holiday to post it again. Happy Fourth of July.
***
Teresa brought up the subject after supper. Murdoch and Scott were both reading and Johnny was dozing on the rug by the fire. She put down her mending.
"We were talking, this morning, at the church sewing circle."
"Isn't that what you always do at the sewing circle?" Johnny said and Teresa kicked him lightly.
"We were talking about the Fourth of July," she said firmly. "And how the town ought to celebrate it."
Scott looked up from his book. "How does the town celebrate it?"
"Horse races, usually," Murdoch growled. "Followed by a drunken brawl."
"Aren't the saloons closed?"
"They are," Murdoch said grimly. "But the saloon keepers set up barrels of beer for the races."
"Well, this year, we're going to have a picnic," Teresa said.
"A picnic?" Murdoch's brows rose.
"Yes," Teresa said. "And speakers. Little Billy Cole is going to recite the Declaration of Independence."
"Sounds nice," Scott said absently.
"I'm glad you think so." Teresa picked up her mending again. "You're the main speaker."
Scott choked on the brandy he was sipping. "What?"
"I hope you don't mind."
"Teresa, I do mind," Scott said. "I definitely mind. You didn't say I would?"
"Well, yes. Everybody figured that, with all your education and serving in the war, you'd have something interesting to say. And I'm sure you will."
Johnny's eyes danced. "Yeah, Boston. I'm sure you will. Too bad you'll have to miss seeing Barranca and me win the race."
"And so will you," Murdoch said. "I think this is a good idea, Teresa, and we'll all go to the picnic as a family."
"We will?" Johnny's face was dismayed. He had big plans for that horse race.
Murdoch eyed his younger son sternly. "John, that's final. There's been trouble in town every year on the Fourth, and it's getting out of hand. Lancer needs to set an example. A picnic and speakers is a good idea, and I'm going to talk to the cattlemen's association to see if the rest of the ranchers will support it too."
Johnny looked rebellious, but Scott shot him a warning look.
"What else did the sewing circle have in mind for the day's festivities?" he asked.
"Just the speakers and a picnic. You don't think it's enough?"
"More than enough," Johnny said under his breath.
Two days before the holiday, Scott still didn't have a clue what to say on the Fourth. His brother was no help at all.
"Maybe you could discuss a man's freedom to do a little horse racing on his day off," he suggested flippantly, stretching out on Scott's bed.
Scott, seated at his desk, glared at his younger brother. "Johnny, be serious."
"I am serious," Johnny said mournfully. "I bet a month's pay that Barranca would beat Drew Compton's pinto in that race."
"Is Drew still going to race?" Scott asked.
"Sure," Johnny said. "His old man don't care about picnics."
"But Molly Harper does, and I thought she and Drew were practically engaged," Scott said.
"They broke up," Johnny said.
"Over the race?" Scott asked.
"Some."
"Maybe you should invite her to the picnic," Scott suggested.
"Are you crazy? Her aunt would have a fit."
"So would Drew, I bet. Maybe he'd decide to go to the picnic himself. Clear out now, Johnny. I need to write this speech."
Johnny didn't move. To Scott's horror, he looked thoughtful. "You really think Drew might pull out of the race if I ask Molly to the picnic?"
"Johnny, out," Scott said firmly, picking up his pen. "Unless, by any chance, you'd like to write and deliver this speech?"
Johnny grinned at him. "Nope. Thanks, Boston."
Scott stared at his blank sheet of paper when Johnny left. He had a horrible feeling that he'd just started something that he'd regret. He wasn't sure he'd live to regret it, but he was sure he'd regret it.
He was still sure on the morning of the Fourth. Molly was waiting for them at the parsonage, and so was her Aunt Jerusha, dressed in black, with a forbidding look on her face.
Johnny helped Molly up into the Lancer surrey, next to Teresa, leaving Scott to deal with her aunt. Johnny was riding Barranca and Murdoch was driving.
"I wish you'd worn your uniform, Scott," Teresa said when they'd started up again.
"I didn't bring it with me from Boston."
Aunt Jerusha frowned at Johnny, who was wearing a faded pink shirt and his leather concho pants. His hat had fallen onto his back, anchored by a leather string, and his dark hair was tousled. He hadn't bothered with a tie.
"Mr. Scott Lancer looks quite the gentleman," she pronounced.
Scott immediately wished that he'd worn a pink shirt too, instead of a starched white shirt and tie. Johnny grinned at him, his eyes full of mischief. Molly looked over at Johnny, and her eyes gleamed too.
"Oh, no," Scott said to himself.
Johnny and Molly disappeared soon after they left the surrey in the livery. Aunt Jerusha was furious. So was Drew Compton.
"Where's your brother, Lancer?" he demanded.
"Johnny?" Scott looked distractedly through the pages of his speech. They seemed to be out of order, and he shuffled them, looking for a missing page. "I don't know. Ask Murdoch or Teresa."
"I'm asking you, Lancer," Drew snarled. "Not your old man or your little sister."
"Scott!" Aunt Jerusha said. "Where is my niece?"
"That's what I was asking," Drew said. "Good morning, Miz Jerusha."
"Good morning, Andrew," she said, looking at the young cowboy with something like approval. Drew wore a dark suit, white shirt and a string tie, and he'd slicked back his red hair.
"I thought you were riding in the race," Scott said.
Drew looked at him coldly. "Of course not. Damn it, do you suppose that's where Johnny disappeared to?"
"It could be," Scott admitted.
"He wouldn't take the minister's daughter to the race?" Aunt Jerusha said, horrified.
"He better not have," Drew said, spinning on his heel.
"Wait a minute," Scott said, starting to follow him.
"Scott!" Teresa called. "Hurry up. Everyone's waiting for you, so they can start the program."
Scott sighed. Up on the platform, his father and the rest of the cattlemen's association were sweating a little in the sun, and resisting the temptation to tug at their neckties. Billy Cole had already tugged his askew.
"Hurry!" Teresa said.
"Teresa, Drew and Aunt Jerusha are both looking for Johnny and Molly," he hissed.
She was unconcerned. "He can handle them. And they won't find him anyway. Go on, Scott. Hurry up."
Scott looked out at a sea of expectant faces. He focused suddenly on a dark head and blond head, bent close together, at the edge of the crowd. He looked down again at his papers.
"Hell," he said under his breath, and crumpled his prepared speech into a ball.
"A few months ago, my father asked me to come west," he said, after Billy had recited and his turn came. "I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I certainly didn't expect to be standing up in front of you on the Fourth of July, trying to make a speech. Anything is possible in America."
He spoke for 10 minutes. He was already looking for his brother, who had disappeared, along with most of the male members of the audience, before the applause stopped.
"Good job, son," Murdoch said. "I'm proud of you."
"Thank you, sir," Scott said. Johnny and Molly weren't anywhere in sight. He almost hoped Johnny had taken her to the races, because there was going to be hell and Aunt Jerusha to pay if they weren't somewhere in plain view.
"Scott!" Teresa said, waving, when the program finally drew to an end and he could escape from the platform. "Over here."
"Have you seen Johnny?" he asked.
She giggled. "He won the race. Beat Drew by a nose."
"They both sneaked out to race?" Scott said. "What about Molly?"
"She fired the starting gun."
Scott sat down while Teresa started to fill plates with fried chicken and coleslaw, pickles and biscuits. "And what about Aunt Jerusha?"
Teresa giggled again. "She's still preaching at the beer barrel, I think."
"Is that where Johnny is?"
"Nope," Johnny said, dropping down next to him. "Teresa, I'm starved."
"You're always starved," she said, handing him a plate. "Is Molly with Drew?"
"Yep," Johnny said cheerfully, digging in. "They're engaged again."
"Anything is possible in America," Scott said, picking up a piece of chicken.
Whistle, July 2004