Holly Night
The house was fearsomely clean and smelled of baking and beeswax. Seemed like Teresa and Maria hadn't stopped rushing from one chore to another for days.
Johnny, drenched, frozen and coated with mud after a long afternoon spent clearing a blocked creek, found no welcome in the brightly lit kitchen. The housekeeper wasn't there and Teresa shrieked when she saw him dripping on the scrubbed floor. She ordered him outside, and rapped his fingers sharply with her spatula when he tried to snitch a cookie from the cooling rack on his way out.
"Those are for Christmas," she said sternly, pushing him outside and slamming the door.
Johnny sighed, shivering in the raw December wind. Christmas seemed to be a lot more complicated than he ever dreamed. As a kid, he had watched wistfully while other people celebrated the holiday. He sure didn't have any idea then how much trouble it involved.
He turned as his brother drove the wagon into the yard and set the brake. One of Scott's brows shot up.
"Did you clear the creek or fall into the creek, brother?" he asked, his lips twitching.
"Both," Johnny admitted.
"So, why are you standing outside?" Scott jumped down from the wagon.
"T'resa said I would get the floor dirty." The former gunfighter's face wore a curiously forlorn look.
Scott knew Teresa was determined to make their first Christmas together a special one, but he had already wondered if she might be taking the preparations too seriously. Now, staring at his bedraggled brother, he was sure of it.
"Go on over to the bathhouse," he said briskly. "I'll get you some dry clothes."
Teresa frowned at Scott when he entered the kitchen. "Wipe your feet!" she said.
Scott wiped his boots on the mat. "Teresa, Johnny is outside."
"Yes, I know," she said, frosting a star-shaped cookie. "But I don't have time to chat with you right now. I need to finish decorating these cookies before supper so I can set up the nativity scene tonight. Did you remember to cut some fresh greens on the way home from town, like I asked you?"
Scott's eyes widened. Teresa usually fussed over Johnny like a mother hen. "Did you happen to notice that Johnny is soaked?"
"I certainly noticed that he's all muddy," she said crossly. "Did you remember the greens?"
"I did," Scott said. "I'll bring them in after I get our brother some dry clothes."
"Make sure he leaves his boots outside." Teresa frosted another cookie. "We spent most of the morning scrubbing the floors. And be careful that you don't drop any pine needles when you bring in the greens."
"This has gone too far," Scott announced an hour later, moving over to the sideboard in the great room. Johnny sat on the floor in front of the fire, as close as he could get to the warmth.
"What's gone too far, Boston?" he asked wearily.
"Christmas," Scott said. He handed his brother a glass and carried his own drink to a chair. "Teresa has lost all sense of proportion."
"She has? Is that serious?" Johnny asked.
"Is what serious?"
"Losing your prop, proportion. Will Doc be able to fix her up?"
"She's not sick, Johnny. She's focused exclusively on the ceremonial aspects of the observance and losing cognizance of the holiday's significance."
Johnny's eyes narrowed. "Try that again, in English, Boston."
"Teresa doesn't know what Christmas is all about," Scott said.
"Oh." Johnny looked into the fire. He wasn't too sure he knew what Christmas was all about either.
***
Supper was not a cheerful meal. Teresa put a platter of ham down on the table and immediately complained to Murdoch that the boys had failed to get the Christmas tree, as promised. Johnny kept his head down and his mouth shut, but Scott was stung.
"We were busy too," he pointed out icily. "I spent most of the day in town running errands for you. And Johnny had to clear out the creek by himself, since I didn't get back in time to help. Did you expect us to go out in the dark tonight to get the tree?"
Teresa pursed her lips. "There is a moon."
"Enough!" Murdoch growled. "No one is going out tonight. Boys, you'll get the tree tomorrow, after we move the last of the herd down to the winter pastures. It's likely to freeze tonight and I want to make sure we get those cattle settled."
Teresa pouted, but Murdoch wouldn't budge. They finished the meal in stony silence. Johnny glanced at his father and siblings from under his lashes, wondering if all families fought like this over Christmas. His foster sister, usually a sunshiny soul, looked tense and unhappy. Murdoch was glowering, and Scott's mouth was set in a straight line. Johnny sighed as Teresa got up to clear the table.
"Think I'll turn in early," he said as Murdoch and Scott moved into the great room.
"You all right?" Scott asked.
"I'm fine," Johnny said, heading up the stairs before Scott looked at him too closely.
He cracked a window open before he sat down on the side of his bed. He didn't like the cold but he also didn't like to be shut up inside. He thought longingly of Mexican sunshine and pushed the idea away. He couldn't go back, not after what happened with the rurales. Lancer was home now. And even with the miserable winter weather, it was more of a home than he ever had in his life.
Or, at least, it was until preparations for the holiday turned everything upside down.
Johnny and his mother never really celebrated Christmas. She always seemed to be sad in December, sad and angry too. He quickly learned to stay out of her way and not to ask too many questions in December. Maybe it was the same here.
He remembered one Christmas Eve when he was five or maybe six. They were living on the American side of the border. There had been no food in the house for a few days and his mama was in bed with a stranger when Johnny woke in the middle of the night. He scrambled out of his blankets quickly and fled outside, speeded by an angry threat from the man. Chances were his mama would have some money in the morning, but Johnny hated what she did to earn it. The small boy wandered down the dark street, his eyes scanning the shadows fearfully, and slipped into the livery stable. The horses were dozing in their stalls. Johnny climbed to the hayloft and wrapped his arms around his knees, listening to the night noises, until he fell asleep.
Voices woke him and he crawled cautiously to the edge of the loft, peeking over. A lantern spilled a circle of light on the main floor. A father and a mother with a little boy and a little girl, dressed in fine clothes, waited while the old liveryman hitched up a buggy. Johnny guessed the family was from one of the nearby rancheros, in town for the midnight Mass at the church. The little girl was fast asleep, her dark head pillowed on her father's shoulder. The boy, a little older than Johnny, was still wide-awake and chattering excitedly. His father told him to settle down, but he didn't sound angry. He smiled at his son and reached out to give him a hug. Johnny looked unbelievingly from the dark-haired, olive-skinned children and their mother to the tall, sandy-haired father. Hot tears suddenly filled his eyes and he wiped them away angrily. He hardly ever cried, not any more, but the tears continued to flow that night, long after the family left and he was alone in the dark stable again. His mama had told him his gringo father was ashamed of his half-Mexican son and kicked them off his ranch. Johnny thought all gringo ranchers felt like that, but now he knew that wasn't true. It was him. His father didn't want him.
Johnny pushed the memory away and flopped backward on the bed, yawning. He knew he should take off his boots and get under the covers, but didn't have the energy. His head throbbed, his throat was sore and he still felt cold. He hadn't felt right all day. He'd just rest for a few minutes. He yawned again.
***
Scott tapped on his brother's door when he went upstairs, but Johnny didn't answer and no light showed under the door. He turned away to his own room across the hall. He'd see Johnny in the morning, which began all too early at the ranch.
Johnny's door was still closed when Scott emerged from his room before sunrise. He opened it cautiously and looked in. Johnny sprawled across the top of the bed, still fully dressed. The room was cold and Scott crossed over to shut the window. The rain had changed to sleet during the night.
Scott's eyes narrowed as his brother rolled onto his side and started to cough. When Johnny finally caught his breath, Scott put a hand on his forehead.
"Not feeling so good, huh?" His voice was gentle.
Johnny shook his head without thinking, and froze. His eyes flew to his brother's.
"It's OK," Scott said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I wouldn't believe you if you did tell me you were fine. Let's get you into bed."
Scott reached to tug Johnny's boots off but his brother pulled away. "I can do it," he croaked.
"Go ahead then," Scott said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Johnny was sitting on the side of the bed when Scott returned, carrying a steaming mug.
"Get under the covers," he said. "Move, Johnny."
"Scott, I can't," Johnny protested and started to cough again. "We're going to move the herd today."
"We are still going to move the herd today," Scott said. "But you are not going to help." He set the mug on the dresser and pulled the blankets down. Johnny sighed and peeled down to his long johns before he swung his legs up reluctantly. Scott handed him the mug once he was settled.
"What is it?" Johnny looked at the drink dubiously.
"Cherry bark tea." Johnny made a face, and Scott laughed. "I added a spoonful of honey and a slug of Murdoch's whiskey."
Johnny took a cautious sip. The hot tea did soothe his throat, which felt like sandpaper.
"Why didn't you tell anyone yesterday that you didn't feel well?" Scott asked. "Or even the day before?"
Johnny glanced at him sideways. "It's just a cold. I can ride today."
"I'm sure you could, but there's no need for it," Scott said. "Drink that tea while it's still hot."
Johnny swallowed a little more tea. "You fuss too much," he said drowsily, sinking down against the pillows. Scott grabbed the tilting mug as his brother's eyes slid shut.
"Just how sick is he?" Murdoch asked at breakfast.
"He's coughing and running a fever," Scott said. "He looks miserable, but says he could ride."
"Doesn't he always?" Murdoch said, exasperated. He looked at Teresa. "You'll keep an eye on him?"
"Yes, but he better behave. I don't have time today to put up with any arguments from Johnny about staying in bed and doing what he's told."
"I'm sorry, honey, I know you already have a lot to do," Murdoch said. "I'll talk to him before I leave."
Scott looked at her unbelievingly. "He didn't get sick on purpose. Maybe he wouldn't be so sick if you hadn't chased him out of the kitchen into the cold yesterday."
"What?" Murdoch hadn't heard about that.
"Teresa was worried that Johnny would drip on her nice clean floor."
Teresa flushed and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I just want this to be a good Christmas for all of us," she said. "I want it to be perfect." She ran out of the room, sobbing.
Scott and Murdoch looked at each other uneasily.
"I guess I better talk to her too," Murdoch sighed.
***
They finished moving the last of the cattle early in the afternoon and headed back to the ranch, tired, cold and hungry. Freezing rain continued to fall and the herd had been balky.
"We forgot the tree," Scott said as they rode toward the arch.
Murdoch groaned inwardly, but pulled up his horse.
"I'll go," Scott offered. "Your back has to be bothering you, sir. You head back to the house."
Murdoch shook his head stubbornly. "I'll help. I'm the one who promised to get the tree today."
"I'll have to get an axe," Scott said.
"There's one in the line shack by the lake," Murdoch said. "That's the closest place to find the right kind of tree anyway."
The lake was nearly an hour's ride away. Scott figured they could just about make it there and back, dragging the tree behind one of the horses, in time for supper.
They rode in silence. Scott watched his father, who was sitting stiffly in the saddle. When they reached the line shack, Murdoch grimaced as he dismounted and put his hands on his back.
Scott fetched the axe and some burlap sacks to wrap the tree and they walked up a hill overlooking the lake. It had finally stopped raining but was still cold. The sky was dark and heavy. Murdoch led the way to a small grove of firs.
"Pretty spot," Scott said.
Murdoch nodded. "I haven't been here in years," he volunteered. "Paul took care of the tree. The last time I did this was with your brother."
"Really?"
"He was almost two." Something like a smile hovered on Murdoch's mouth. "He loved horses and wanted to ride with me, not sit in the wagon with Paul. And it was easier to keep an eye on him that way. It was practically impossible to drive a wagon and keep him out of trouble. That boy was a bundle of energy."
"That hasn't changed."
"No," Murdoch agreed. "I took Johnny and Paul followed in the wagon. Teresa wasn't born yet and Johnny's mother didn't want to come along that year."
Scott glanced at his father. He knew Maria Lancer left the ranch, taking her son with her, just before Christmas the year that Johnny turned two. It must have happened within days of their visit to the grove.
"Did Johnny behave while you and Paul cut down the tree?"
Murdoch snorted, but the smile spread. "He did not. He ran all over the place, lost his temper when I told him he couldn't bring a fox kit home, got a spanking, promised me afterward he'd be a good boy, and then fell into the lake."
Scott laughed and stopped in front of a tree. "What about this one, sir?"
Murdoch assessed it thoughtfully. "Too tall. What about that one over there?"
"It's too short, and not full enough," Scott protested immediately.
"You go ahead and choose, son."
Scott looked around and his eye fell on a third tree, not too tall, not too short, and well shaped. He walked around it and lifted his eyebrows at his father, who nodded. Scott swung the axe against the trunk, feeling it vibrate through the smooth wooden handle. "Did you spank Johnny again after he fell in the lake?"
"No," Murdoch admitted. "I should have, but it was bitterly cold and I just wanted to get him home as fast as I could. I wrapped him up in my jacket and he fell asleep on the way back to the house."
Scott could picture it in his mind as he swung the axe. He finally gave the fir a push and it toppled over. He looped his rope around it and fastened it to his saddle horn.
"Next year, maybe we can all come up here together to get the tree," he suggested, taking a flask from his saddlebags and offering it to his father.
Murdoch took a small sip and nodded, entranced by his own vision of two small boys tearing through the grove together. He banished it, not without a pang, and handed the flask to his son. He intended to live in the present and the future, not a long lost past. "Next year," he agreed.
Scott's thoughts drifted to Boston during the ride home. His grandfather always hosted an open house on Christmas Eve and dozens of people, mostly business acquaintances, visited the tall brick house, lavishly decorated for the season by the servants. Scott and his grandfather breakfasted together on Christmas morning at the long table in the dining room and attended church before Scott opened his gifts. He was usually the only child in a room full of adults at a formal Christmas Day dinner.
No fuss, no mess and little joy, he thought. It all went off like clockwork, like the rest of life in Harlan Garrett's well-ordered household. This was the first time in his life he ever had any hand in choosing a Christmas tree. He blew gently on his skinned knuckles, smiling, and looked over at his father.
The circumstances weren't ideal. He wished Johnny was with them, and Teresa too. But he had enjoyed the time in the grove with his father, picking out their Christmas tree and listening to Murdoch's memories. And he looked forward, as eagerly as a child, to decorating it with the whole family.
***
Teresa was surprised and a little shamed when she finished making the beds and heard Johnny coughing down the hall. He gave her a groggy smile when she went in to check on him, and drifted back to sleep. She made a mental note to steep more tea and make up a mustard plaster.
But she soon became immersed in her plan to make a plum pudding like the one Scott told them about from Christmases in Boston. She forgot all about her other foster brother as she peered at the cookery book she had borrowed. This was their first Christmas together as a family, and everything had to be just right.
She looked again doubtfully at "Mrs. Goodfellow's Cookery." She had chopped the beef suet, grated lemons and nutmeg, measured out raisins, washed the currants, and beaten seven eggs. She added spices and salt, the lemon peel, fruit and breadcrumbs to the eggs, exactly as instructed, and poked at the mixture with Maria's wooden spoon. She wished the housekeeper hadn't been called away suddenly to help a pregnant niece. This didn't look anything like pudding.
The recipe called next for two glasses of brandy and two glasses of wine. Murdoch had brandy in the cabinet in the great room and she poured it in. The book didn't say what size of glass, so she used a large tumbler. There was still some wine that Scott and Murdoch had opened at dinner the night before. She measured that into the glass and added it too. The pudding was even more of a gloppy mess now, and the sharp smell of the alcohol rolled off it. The recipe didn't say if she should try to stir it all together.
Teresa wished she had paid more attention when the housekeeper gave her cooking lessons. Her father insisted, even though she would rather ride her pony or even do barn chores. Anything outdoors was better than being stuck inside, learning to sew and cook and keep house. Paul O'Brien taught her to ride and took her fishing, but wouldn't budge when it came to her other lessons, the things most little girls learned from their mothers.
She eventually became competent with a needle and other household tasks, but not in the kitchen. She hated to cook. Her biscuits were heavy, her soups were watery or too thick, and her cakes frequently fell. Maria, worried the girl would never find a good husband, scolded her to pay more attention but didn't tell anyone else. If Teresa stuck to a few simple dishes, or the housekeeper was there to supervise, she could get by.
Unfortunately, Maria wasn't there to tell her what to do. The housekeeper had taken the last trays of cookies out of the oven, untied her apron and ridden away in a wagon with her nephew by marriage, misgivings written all over her face. Despite her absence, Teresa was determined that Scott was still going to have his plum pudding. But she was sorry she hadn't asked him more questions about what a plum pudding looked like.
"Put this into a floured bag; have ready a pot of boiling water, and boil four hours," she read aloud from the recipe. She poked again at the mess in the large mixing bowl and wrinkled her nose. A floured bag? It must be a mistake. Maybe the author meant a flour bag. At least the flour would soak up some of the puddle of alcohol and eggs. She struggled to carry in one of the big sacks from the pantry. She was going to need the largest pot in the kitchen.
It was mid-afternoon, and she had removed the pudding bag from the pot, with great difficulty, before she remembered Johnny again. She hurried upstairs with some tea, but he was fast asleep, wheezing heavily.
She'd like to see him cook a plum pudding, she thought resentfully, sinking into the chair and pushing away a wisp of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. She was hot, tired, and fed up.
Tears blurred her vision. Nobody understood how much work she did, or appreciated her efforts. And nobody understood how much she missed her father at this time of year. She bowed her head and let her tears spill.
***
Teresa was asleep too, in the chair next to Johnny's bed, when Scott came in. The light was fading quickly and the room was dim. He lit the lamp, and checked first on his brother, who opened heavy eyes at his touch.
Johnny took a thirsty gulp of water when Scott offered him some, and closed his eyes again. His fever was higher and the congestion sounded even worse than it had that morning. A tepid mug of tea, still full, stood on the table next to Teresa. Scott shook his head. Johnny must have refused it. His little brother could be too stubborn for his own good when he was sick, but he wasn't going to get away with it this time.
The girl rubbed her eyes, blinking, when Scott woke her. "What time is it?"
"Almost time for supper."
Teresa leaped to her feet, alarmed. Supper! She hadn't done anything at all about supper.
"Take it easy. Did Johnny act up?" Scott asked. "You look worn out."
"No. No, he was good." Teresa gave the youngest Lancer a slightly guilty look. "I need to do some things in the kitchen."
She flew down the stairs and closed the kitchen door behind her. She needed to get the mess from the pudding cleared away and put together something for the evening meal. And she should really get some hot tea upstairs, and into Johnny this time. His cough sounded awful, and she hadn't done anything for him all day. She decided to take care of that first.
Murdoch took a long, hot bath to try to soak the stiffness out of his back. He looked into Johnny's room after he dressed. Scott was there, still wearing his range clothes.
"Go get cleaned up, son. I'll sit with him awhile." Murdoch sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed the dark bangs out of Johnny's eyes. He frowned at the heat in the boy's skin.
"Murdoch?" Teresa looked into the open door. She was carrying a steaming mug.
"Hello, sweetheart. Did he give you much trouble today?"
"None at all." Teresa handed Murdoch the mug, not meeting his eyes. "Would you try to get him to drink this? I still have a few things to do before supper."
"Of course."
The blue eyes were dazed when Murdoch woke his son.
"Sorry," Johnny whispered hoarsely. "I'll be down in a minute."
"No. You stay right there." Murdoch put a big hand on his son's shoulder.
"But we have to move the herd."
"It's all done and you're not going anywhere, young man."
Johnny stared at him. "Murdoch? Am I sick or something?"
"I'm afraid so, John." Murdoch sat him up. "Drink this."
Johnny took a cautious sip. "Don't mean to be any trouble."
"It's no trouble." Murdoch settled in the chair, watching his son drink the tea. Johnny held the mug with both hands, as if it were too heavy, but Murdoch knew he'd reject any offer of help. This son hated to be dependent on anyone, for anything.
"Any trouble with the herd?" Johnny asked.
"No. We can take it easy now for a few weeks, and enjoy the holidays." Johnny's face changed, just a little, and Murdoch looked at him sharply. "Is something wrong?"
Johnny shook his head and put the mug down as he started to cough. He closed his eyes when he finally caught his breath. Dark circles underlined them. Murdoch wondered how they could have missed the signs that Johnny was ailing.
He leaned back in the chair and his thoughts wandered back to that December when Johnny was two, and he'd missed other signs of trouble.
His wife didn't make an appearance when they rode back from the fir grove. He'd handed the child over to the housekeeper, and she had given Johnny a bath and tucked him into bed by the time Murdoch returned from the barn. He peeked into his son's room, a smile tugging at his mouth. Johnny looked like an angel, long lashes hiding those big blue eyes. Murdoch bent to kiss him goodnight and Johnny gave his father a drowsy hug. "Love you," he murmured, his eyes still buttoned shut.
"I love you too," Murdoch whispered, pulling up the covers and tucking him in securely. He had no idea the little boy would be a man before he would sleep safely again in his own room. In the morning, Johnny and his mother were gone.
He wasn't going to make another mistake now. Murdoch made up his mind and went downstairs, heading across the yard to the barn.
He was just returning to the house when Scott came downstairs.
"Did you send someone for the doctor?"
Murdoch nodded. "I don't think it's serious enough that we need to drag Sam all the way out here tonight, but I don't want to waste time looking for him in the morning."
"I'm surprised Teresa didn't send for him earlier." Scott poured drinks for both of them, and gave the brandy bottle a puzzled glance. He thought it was nearly full the night before.
"She's young, and she's so caught up in getting ready for Christmas."
Christmas wasn't going to be very festive if Johnny was fighting pneumonia, Scott thought, but didn't voice the idea aloud.
***
The doctor didn't wait until morning. Teresa had already retired to her room, and the two oldest Lancers were dozing over books in the great room when someone thumped impatiently on the front door. Sam Jenkins stalked in when Scott opened it.
"Sam, I said you didn't need to come out tonight," Murdoch sputtered.
"I'll be the judge of that." The irascible doctor, all too familiar with the location of Johnny's room, headed for the stairs without ceremony.
Sam spent nearly an hour upstairs. Murdoch and Scott were waiting when he came down again.
Scott handed the doctor a glass and a plate of sandwiches. Teresa had produced overdone steaks, boiled potatoes and mushy peas for supper. Scott ignored the leftovers, and sliced meat for the sandwiches from a cold roast he found in the pantry. They looked good, and he snagged one for himself.
"Well?" Murdoch asked.
Sam took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it before he answered. "He has a severe cold and bronchitis. He needs to rest, stay warm, and drink plenty of fluids."
"Is that all?"
Sam nodded. "He'll be miserable for another day or two, but he should be fine, as long as it doesn't turn into pneumonia. He seems to be a little dehydrated, so be sure you push the fluids. Tea, broth, plain water - whatever you can get into him. He probably won't feel much like eating, and that's all right for now, but make him drink whether he wants to or not. If he behaves, he should be back on his feet in time for Christmas."
Murdoch was shamefaced. "I'm sorry you came all the way here for a cold. I was worried that maybe it was already pneumonia."
"It's not far from it." Sam took another sandwich. "I don't mind, Murdoch. I'm glad it's not any worse. And I gave him a good talking-to about taking better care of himself. He should have taken more fluids today. That's why he's so feverish."
"Thanks, Sam. You'll stay the night, of course?"
Sam nodded. The two older men settled down to play a game of chess, not noticing the thoughtful look on Scott's face.
Teresa had told them, separately and again at supper, that Johnny hadn't given her any arguments at all during the day. So, why was Sam saying that he was dehydrated? It didn't make sense to Scott. Teresa was a good nurse. She certainly knew enough to give fluids to a man with a fever.
Scott finished his sandwich, still thinking, and carried the empty plates into the kitchen. It never seemed quite the same place when Maria was away, but he didn't know exactly what the difference was.
He pushed open the pantry door. Maria and Teresa had already done some cooking for the holiday, before Maria's hasty departure. Colorful preserves and a big jar of mincemeat filled the shelves, and they had made fruitcake, as well as gingerbread men and sugar cookies to use for decorating the tree and to give as gifts. Maria had also mixed up large crocks of fiery and mild salsas.
Scott surveyed the shelves, and noticed one of the cupboard doors was ajar. He reached to shut it. It wouldn't latch and he took a closer look to see what was blocking it. He found a damp, heavy sack sitting in a basin. He prodded it curiously, his eyebrows rising at the alcoholic fumes. He looked inside, but had no idea what the large, gluey mass was. Perhaps this was another Mexican dish, or maybe some traditional Scottish dish for Murdoch. It didn't look terribly appetizing.
He shook his head. Whatever it was, he was fairly sure it was something Teresa shouldn't have tackled on her own. The Lancer men didn't let on, of course, but they were all aware of her shortcomings in the kitchen. Teresa did most other things well, and she was a sweet girl - at least, she was when she wasn't obsessed by holiday preparations - but she was no cook.
Scott shoved the sack back and latched the cupboard. If Teresa was so preoccupied that she would neglect Johnny's health while she tried to prepare some dish, this had definitely gone too far. He knew she meant well, but he was exasperated. Johnny was sicker now than he had been when they left him to her care. First thing in the morning, he and Miss Teresa O'Brien were going to have a serious discussion.
***
Teresa was fishing eggshells out of a mixing bowl when Scott came downstairs the next day. Sam and Murdoch were already at the table, drinking coffee. Teresa could make a decent pot of coffee, at least by ranch standards. Scott had been shocked the first time he tasted the strong, bitter brew his father and brother preferred, but it had grown on him gradually over the months.
"How is Johnny this morning?" he asked after he took his first sip.
"His temperature is down a little," Sam answered. "He's heavily congested and I think he'll sleep most of the day, but wake him every few hours and make him drink something."
Scott cast an eye at Teresa. She was standing at the big cooking range, her back to them, but her neck turned red.
"Don't you stand for any of that boy's nonsense today, Teresa," Sam said.
"I won't." She didn't turn. "The eggs are nearly done."
Teresa forgot to take the biscuits out of the oven in time and scorched the tops. The scrambled eggs were rubbery by the time she dealt with the biscuits and finally turned the eggs out onto the serving platter. The leftover steak from the previous night's supper made another appearance on the table. They left rather a lot of it, Scott remembered, sawing on it with his knife. Warming it up again hadn't done anything to improve it.
"A fine breakfast," Murdoch lied valiantly, putting down his fork and declining another blackened biscuit with a wave of his hand. "I couldn't eat another bite, sweetheart. How long did Maria think she'd be gone?"
Teresa began to collect the plates from the table. "She didn't know. The baby isn't due for a few more days, and her niece needs to stay off her feet."
Murdoch turned to Sam. "Do you know Maria's niece, Pilar Cortez?"
Sam nodded. "They didn't call me in, but perhaps I should stop by just to make sure everything's all right. She lives outside Morro Coyo, doesn't she? I have some other calls to make there today. I'll tell Maria that you're thinking of her."
"We certainly are," Scott murmured under his breath. Sam winked at him and stood up.
Murdoch walked the doctor out. Scott poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down again. Teresa was washing the dishes.
"Are you sure you have time today to look after Johnny?" Scott asked.
Her back stiffened defensively. "Of course I do."
"You didn't yesterday, did you?"
Teresa's shoulders sagged. "I forgot," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Scott. I was busy with something and I forgot about him."
"What could possibly be so important that you'd forget?"
"I said I was sorry!" Teresa faced him. Tears sparkled in her eyes. "You don't understand."
"Explain it to me, Teresa." Scott was angry too. "Tell me exactly how you ever got it into your head that a clean floor, or arranging greens, or cooking, is more important than my brother."
"I don't think that," she protested. "You know I don't."
"No? You've certainly been giving that impression."
"I didn't mean it that way." Teresa's eyes fell, and she started to wring the dishcloth in her hands. "I just want us all to have a good Christmas."
"Just being together will make it a good Christmas."
She shook her head. "It won't be anything like what you're used to in Boston."
"I should hope not." Scott smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, at the idea. "I don't imagine it will be anywhere near as dull."
"Dull? What do you mean, dull? You've told us about the grand parties, the food, and the decorations..." Teresa's voice broke off. "It's so much fancier than anything we do here, and I don't want you to be disappointed."
"I told you about the holiday observances in Boston because you asked. It is not what Christmas is about. At least, I hope not."
"What do you mean?"
"Family, Teresa," Scott said quietly. "That's what Christmas is about."
***
Two mornings later, Scott could see that Johnny was much better. He still had an ugly cough, and Murdoch ordered him gruffly to stay in the house and work on the books if he absolutely had to have something to do, but they could all see the sparkle was back in those blue eyes.
Scott knew his younger brother well enough by now to know that sparkle meant Johnny would try to sneak out to the barn to see his palomino, at minimum. That might be all right, but he had no confidence Johnny would stop at a brief visit to the barn, especially after Murdoch's long lecture over breakfast.
Scott sighed inwardly. The two of them were like the electrical forces he had read about, curiously alike and flying apart in a show of sparks when they came together. Murdoch had only to say no for Johnny to say yes. Well, this time, his father wasn't going to propel his brother into doing something foolish, not if Scott had anything to say about it. He held his tongue, but resolved to head Johnny off when he bolted. Teresa had done her part, and now it was his turn.
Teresa was subdued at breakfast that morning. She made flapjacks, surprisingly good flapjacks, and served them with ham from the smokehouse. A brief smile crossed her face when Scott complimented her on the meal, but she dropped her head again.
She had tended to Johnny faithfully after that first day, running up and down the stairs with tea and broth and staying to make sure he drank every drop. She also put a mustard plaster on his chest, ignoring all of his complaints.
Johnny wished she would just leave him in peace, but the treatment worked, and he felt ready to get dressed and go back to work.
His father didn't agree, and said so at length, until Johnny was ready to take his horse for a gallop just to show Murdoch that he was wrong.
After breakfast, Murdoch and Scott headed outside to talk to the ranch segundo while Teresa went upstairs to air out the rooms. Johnny sat at the desk and opened the ledger, but was soon bored. He grabbed his jacket from the peg and went down the back hall, one ear cocked to make sure Teresa didn't choose this minute to come down the stairs.
His older brother opened the door and stepped inside as he reached for the handle. "Going somewhere?" Scott enquired.
Johnny stopped in his tracks. "I'm fine." He tried a smile, the one that usually got him whatever he wanted. "I'm just going to see Barranca."
Scott crossed his arms, standing squarely in the doorway, but his voice was calm, nothing like Murdoch's. "Do you really think that's such a good idea, brother?"
Johnny knew the expression on Scott's face, the one he usually couldn't wheedle his way around, but he tried anyway. "It's warm in the barn, Scott. I just need a breath of fresh air. I've been cooped up for three whole days."
Scott shook his head. "Tomorrow, maybe."
Johnny started to get mad. "I'm not a kid," he objected.
"You're certainly old enough to know better," Scott said calmly. "Do you want to catch pneumonia and ruin Christmas for all of us?"
"I'm not going to catch pneumonia just going to the barn and back!"
"Johnny." That was all Scott said. His tone was mild, but his blue gray eyes were worried. Johnny still didn't really understand why Scott worried about him, but he didn't resent it like he did when Murdoch fussed and grumbled at him - or just barked out orders. For one thing, Scott didn't act like Johnny was too stupid to make his own decisions. His brother always seemed confident Johnny would make the right choice, even when they argued at length about what it was.
"All right," he said reluctantly. "I'll stay inside, but just for today."
Some of the worry left Scott's eyes. "Good."
Johnny scuffed the toe of his boot on the floor. "I may go loco with nothing to do," he warned his brother darkly.
"Teresa could probably use some help."
Johnny's irrepressible smile flashed. "You really that tired of Teresa's cooking, Boston?"
Scott shuddered. Johnny's cooking tended to feature chile peppers in a quantity and strength that made his eyes water. Johnny rarely burned anything, but the result was likely to burn Scott's already abused digestion. "I was not suggesting that you cook, brother. But she did say something about getting the tree ornaments down from the attic so we can decorate it tonight. We didn't want to do it without you."
"I wouldn't mind."
"I would. This will be the first time I've ever trimmed a Christmas tree, and I want the whole family to be there."
Johnny's eyes widened. It was a first for him too, although he hadn't wanted to admit it. But Scott had Christmas trees in Boston. Teresa made him describe the big tree in his grandfather's house, and all the fancy decorations on it, more than once. He gave his brother a puzzled look, wondering if Scott was pulling his leg. "You told T'resa you always had a tree in Boston."
"We did. But I was never allowed to touch it. The servants always decorated the tree." Scott's face turned wistful. "I used to sneak out of bed to watch from the landing on the stairs. They always seemed to have a good time, but Grandfather would have been angry if I joined them. I wasn't supposed to be too familiar with the servants."
"What did he do while they decorated the tree?"
"Usually, he went out for the evening, to his club," Scott said. "He spent most evenings there, unless he was entertaining."
"Didn't he have supper with you?"
Scott looked surprised. "No, I had my meals upstairs in the nursery, by myself. Children don't eat with the adults in Boston, except on special occasions. At Christmas dinner, I remember I had to be so careful not to spill or break anything that I hardly dared to eat for years."
Johnny frequently didn't get any dinner, or very little of it, but his mother always shared whatever she had with him, and her smiles and hugs filled up some of the empty places when he was young. She sure hadn't shut him away from her life, not from any of it. If anything, she shared too much. But it didn't sound like Scott's grandfather shared much of anything with him. It sounded like an awful lonely way to grow up, even in a big house with all of the comforts.
"I better get to work," Scott said. "Try to behave yourself today, just for once, OK?"
Johnny nodded, still lost in thought.
***
Teresa welcomed the offer of help, and the two of them climbed up to the attic. It ran the length of the house. First, they had to find the right boxes in all the clutter piled up in the room.
Johnny paused to peer into a dusty dollhouse. "This must be yours."
"Yes. Daddy made it for me for Christmas when I was five." She touched it, and smiled. "I cried."
"Cried? How come?"
"I really wanted a pony, like the one Cipriano gave his son," she confessed.
He laughed. "Pablo, right?"
She was surprised. "Do you remember him?"
Johnny shook his head. He had tried, but couldn't remember anything from his first two years on the ranch. "Maria told me Cip and Elena had a son my age. And that he died when he was twelve, in Mexico."
Teresa nodded. "They went there to visit family one winter. But there was typhoid in the village, and no doctor. When we got word he was sick, Murdoch and Sam went to see if they could help, but it was too late."
"Isn't much a doctor can do, or anybody else," Johnny observed. "Seen it lots of times."
Teresa glanced at him. Johnny had grown up on the border, in places filled with poverty and disease. They could so easily have lost him forever too, and never even known it. "Pablo was named after Daddy," she said softly, after a pause. "I used to pretend he was my big brother. He didn't mind, though, when I tagged after him. He was always good to me."
Johnny grinned. "I might not have been."
She hit him lightly. "You would too, Johnny Lancer."
He was curious about the Christmases at Lancer that he'd missed. "So, Pablo got a new pony and you got a dollhouse when you were five? And you were mad?"
She nodded. "I was awful," she admitted. "Daddy should have spanked me."
"But he didn't?"
"No, of course not."
Johnny shot a quick, disbelieving look at her, and reached out with one finger to touch the dollhouse again. "What did Murdoch say?"
"He gave me a hug and whispered that maybe I'd get my own pony when I was seven, like Pablo," she said. "Or even sooner, if I was a very good girl."
"Did you?"
She nodded, her face mischievous. "For my next birthday, when I was six." She spotted the boxes she was looking for and advanced across the attic. "Here they are."
There were a lot more boxes than Johnny expected. After he carried them down two flights of stairs from the attic to the great room, Teresa asked hesitantly if he would help string garlands of popcorn for the tree.
The idea took him aback, but he went along for lack of anything else to do. He jabbed himself a few times with the needle before he got the hang of it, and Teresa giggled at what he said before he remembered she understood Spanish.
They ate sandwiches for lunch and the two of them concocted a big pot of chili for supper. After years of fending for himself, Johnny wasn't a bad cook and Teresa restrained him from making the chili too fiery. She mixed cornbread to go with it, and set it aside to put in the oven later.
The house smelled wonderful when Murdoch and Scott came in, late in the afternoon. Teresa had spiked some oranges with cloves, setting them in a bowl on the sideboard. The aroma mingled with fresh pine greens, the chili and the cornbread. Teresa was setting the table.
"Maria isn't home, is she?" Scott asked, peeling his gloves off.
"No," Teresa turned pink. "Johnny helped me with supper. It's nothing fancy, just chili and cornbread."
"Well, it smells good." Murdoch sniffed appreciatively. "Where is Johnny?"
Teresa put a finger to her lips and pointed to the sofa. Johnny flatly refused to go upstairs for a nap, as she suggested, but he had dozed off while she knitted.
"Is he all right?" Murdoch asked.
"He's fine." Teresa looked relaxed and happier than she had in days. "We had a good day."
"I'm glad to hear it, sweetheart." Murdoch smiled at her and moved over to his favorite chair, settling in with a sigh.
Scott poured a drink. "Would you care for some sherry, Teresa?"
"No, thank you."
He handed his father a glass of whiskey, and then poured two more. He carried them over to the sofa and stood there, amazed that Johnny was still asleep. They had come a long way in a few months. When Johnny first arrived, he never relaxed enough to fall asleep in the great room, and he woke in a heartbeat if someone walked into his room. In fact, he usually woke, aimed and cocked his Colt quicker than Scott believed possible until he found himself staring down the gun barrel a few times.
Johnny wasn't even wearing a gun now, something else he had trouble with at first. Hands full, Scott nudged his brother lightly with his knee. The blue eyes opened at once.
"Drink?" Scott asked, a half-smile on his face.
Johnny sat up and took one of the glasses. Scott sat next to him.
"OK?" Scott asked softly. Johnny nodded.
Murdoch was watching the two of them.
"Is something wrong, sir?" Scott asked.
"Nothing at all." Murdoch took a sip of his whiskey. "We have a Christmas tree to decorate after supper, I believe."
***
Scott stretched up to place the star on the top of the tree and stepped back, a wide grin on his face.
Johnny was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his eyes enormous. Scott's smile got even bigger at the awed expression on his brother's face. Johnny's eyes were like stars as he stared at what was most likely his first Christmas tree.
It was a handsome tree, Scott thought. They wound Johnny and Teresa's popcorn garlands around it, and decked it with delicate blown glass balls Catherine Lancer had carried with her all the way from Boston, gaily painted clay animals and nativity figures from Mexico, Maria Lancer's contribution, and tin stars and angels that belonged to Teresa. Teresa had also contributed a few homemade ornaments over the years: three clothespin magi; a pinecone angel on a faded pink ribbon; and a one-eyed felt St. Nicholas. They filled in the gaps with glazed brown gingerbread men, who hung from bright ribbons, and striped candy sticks.
Scott sighed with happiness. Decorating the tree with his brother and sister had been every bit as much fun as he anticipated. Even Murdoch had joined in.
It was late now, and they should be getting to bed, but they all lingered in the room, reluctant to end the evening. They were still talking when the clock struck midnight. Scott looked over at his brother as the last chime faded away, and his eyes gleamed.
"Happy birthday, little brother."
Johnny had filched a peppermint stick from the tree, and it was in his mouth. His eyes widened, surprised.
Murdoch smiled. "That's right," he said. "Feliz cumpleanos, mi hijo."
Johnny took the candy stick out of his mouth. "Thanks." He wasn't as cocksure as usual. Scott thought his brother probably hadn't celebrated his birthday any more than he celebrated Christmas. He knew Johnny wasn't even sure when his birthday was, or how old he was, until he returned to the ranch.
Teresa crossed the room to give Johnny a quick hug. "Happy birthday. I'm going to say good night now. I'll see you at breakfast, and I'll do my best not to burn it on your birthday."
"Night, hermosa." The two other men also wished her a good night and she disappeared up the stairs. Silence fell in the room.
Johnny was sucking on his peppermint stick again and Murdoch looked like he was miles away. Scott rose to tip a little more brandy into their glasses. "What time was Johnny born, sir?"
Murdoch looked up. "Just ten minutes after midnight, actually," he said. "I was down here, waiting, and it wasn't long after the clock struck the hour when I heard him start to wail. Maria brought him to me and went back upstairs to see to his mother. Johnny and I were sitting together in this chair, getting acquainted, when Sam Jenkins finally arrived."
"The doctor wasn't here when Johnny was born?" Scott was surprised.
Murdoch shook his head. "Your brother was early, for once in his life." His smile took the sting out of the words. "We weren't expecting him until a few weeks after Christmas, and Sam was miles away, out on another call, when Johnny's mother went into labor. He came as quick as he could, but Johnny didn't have the sense to wait for him."
"That hasn't changed much, " Scott teased. Johnny made a face at him.
"He was so small," Murdoch said, apparently lost in his memories. "It was lucky Maria was here to help, and knew what to do."
"I wish she were here tonight," Scott said, and saw Johnny's head nod. "She's part of the family too."
"She'll come home as soon as she can," Murdoch said. "And now, I think Teresa's right and it's time all of us went to bed."
***
Johnny overslept the next morning. He was curled up under the quilt, nothing visible but the top of his head, when Scott looked into his room.
Scott bounced the mattress, and his brother curled up even tighter. He yanked the covers off, and Johnny came up and swung at him. Scott dodged the blow, and tackled him.
"Get off," Johnny finally said, his voice muffled.
"Not until you give in."
Johnny struggled, but Scott had him pinned. "All right," he said. "But you just wait, Boston."
Scott released him and Johnny sat up, knuckling his eyes. His hair stuck up straight. Scott's mouth twitched. Sometimes, it was easy to see why Murdoch treated Johnny like a child. Except for the stubble on his jaw, he looked like one just now.
"Better get washed and dressed, little brother. Today's a big day."
A blue eye glared at him through long fingers. "What's so special about it?"
Scott paused. "You'll see. Come on. If you're not downstairs within ten minutes, I'm coming back up."
Johnny clattered down the back stairs and skidded to a complete stop. "Maria!" His smile lit up his face. "I didn't know you were home."
The housekeeper advanced on him, giving him a fierce hug, and pushed him back to look into his face, scolding in Spanish.
"It's nothing," he protested. "Just a cold. I'm fine now."
She rolled her eyes and dragged him to the table. "Sit!" she said.
Sam Jenkins was at the table with Murdoch and Scott. Johnny gave them a small smile and swallowed some coffee. "Morning. Did you bring Maria home, Doc?"
Sam nodded. "Her niece had a baby girl yesterday morning, and they're both doing fine. Maria seemed to think that she was more needed here, to keep a certain young man in line, and I agreed with her."
Johnny took another mouthful of coffee. Maria set a heaping plate in front of him, to match the ones in front of the other three men, and he thanked her. "Where's T'resa?" he asked after a few hungry bites.
"Right here," a voice said from the doorway. Teresa entered the room, carrying a fragrant balsam wreath. She laughed at the obvious dismay on her brothers' faces. "Don't worry, I'm done decorating the house. This is for Sam to take back to town."
"I'll put it in the buggy," Scott offered, rising and taking it out of her hands.
Teresa slipped into her place at the table. "Sam, are you sure you can't come to dinner tonight, and help us celebrate Johnny's birthday?"
"I'm afraid not," he said regretfully. "But that reminds me, I do have something for you, John." He fished in his pocket and withdrew a small parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper. "Happy birthday."
Johnny put down his fork and eyed the package uncertainly.
"Go ahead and open it," Teresa urged as Scott returned.
Johnny unfastened the string, and opened the package slowly. Sam's gift was an old-fashioned sleigh bell, a polished silver bell threaded on a soft rawhide string.
"I brought it with me from home, years ago," Sam said. "I knew there wasn't much snow here, and I wouldn't be using a sleigh to make my rounds, like my father did in the winter, but I always liked the sound of the bells. You liked this bell too, when you were a little boy. You used to make a beeline for it whenever your father brought you to visit my house. Now that you're home again, I'd like you to have it."
Johnny shook it gently and the bell jingled as merrily as his spurs. A delighted smile appeared on his face. "Thanks, Sam," he said. "But are you sure?"
Sam nodded, rewarded by that smile. "It's been packed away, waiting for you, for a long time."
Johnny jingled the bell again, and laughed. Sam and Murdoch shot startled looks at each other. Murdoch bowed his head, blinking. He too remembered his toddler playing with the sleigh bell, and the infectious sound of his giggles.
Sam drained his coffee. "I should be going," he said gruffly. "Maria, breakfast was delicious, as usual, and I thank you. Johnny, I can see that you're better, and I'll let you finish your food in peace without examining you this time, but I don't want you risking another chill. I won't tell you to stay in the house, but take it easy for a few days and dress warmly."
"Sure, Doc. Thanks again."
Sam ruffled Johnny's hair fondly, with an ease Murdoch secretly envied. "You're very welcome. I'll see all of you on Christmas Day - and hope none of you need my services before then."
***
With Maria home, the Lancers thought Teresa would relax, but something seemed to be troubling the girl. Johnny finally asked her when he came home for lunch the day after his birthday.
He had spent the morning riding a fence line with his father, but Murdoch sent him back to the house late in the morning when rain threatened. Johnny grouched about it, but he was cold, despite the warm jacket and gloves they had given him for his birthday, and glad to be inside and eating Maria's hot soup. Rain spattered against the French doors.
"Scott's going to get soaked driving back from town," Johnny observed.
"That's nice," Teresa said absently, crumbling her bread.
Johnny's eyes narrowed. "I think I'll ride out to meet him," he said experimentally.
"Good idea."
"Teresa, what's the matter?" Johnny demanded.
She looked up then, coloring. "What? Nothing."
"Tell me, honey. Maybe I can help."
She looked at him sadly. "No, no, you can't. Even Maria can't. I hoped she might, but she can't."
Johnny took another spoonful of soup, thinking furiously. If Teresa had confided in Maria, it must be some kind of female trouble. He leaped to a conclusion. "Teresa, Frank Carter didn't get out of line with you at that last dance, did he?"
"What? Of course not," Teresa said indignantly. "He's a nice boy, and we're just friends."
In Johnny's experience, every man had just about the same thing on his mind when he took a pretty girl to a dance, and it wasn't friendship. But Teresa's voice had a ring of truth to it, even if he happened to know the banker's son wasn't so nice when it came to his dealings with the girls at the local saloon.
He scowled, trying to think of what could possibly be bothering Teresa if it wasn't a boy and wasn't something Maria could help her with.
The thunderous expression on her foster brother's face worried Teresa. "John-ny. You stay away from Frank Carter. Promise me."
"Only if you tell me what's wrong," he countered immediately. "C'mon. Tell me."
She thought about it. "You won't laugh?" she finally ventured.
"Nope. Promise," Johnny said recklessly.
Teresa heaved out a deep sigh. "You're going to think it's silly. It's the plum pudding."
"The what?" Johnny was bewildered.
"Scott's plum pudding." Teresa's voice was mournful. "I tried to make him one, just like they have in Boston, and I followed the recipe exactly, but I don't think it came out right."
Johnny had no idea what a plum pudding was, or why his brother would want one. "Does this have something to do with Christmas?"
"It's a special dessert," Teresa said. "You light it at the table, and then serve it when the fire burns down."
Johnny gave her a blank look. He already thought many of their Christmas customs were peculiar, but this was downright loco. "You burn the pudding at the table?"
"The pudding doesn't burn," she said, a bit uncertainly.
"T'resa, Maria's out in the kitchen making three kinds of pie," Johnny pointed out. "Don't think Scott's going to miss burnt pudding."
"He always has plum pudding at Christmas dinner. He said so. It's traditional."
"So, you made him one?"
"I tried." Teresa crumbled another piece of bread. "But it just doesn't look right."
"Do you know what it's supposed to look like?"
"No."
"Then maybe it's OK."
"I don't think so."
Johnny finished his soup, and decided he could sacrifice another helping for his sister's peace of mind. He swallowed the rest of his milk and wiped his mouth against his sleeve. "Show me."
***
Murdoch let out a contented sigh, and took a sip of wine. The remains of the meal stood on the table. Maria had served a traditional Christmas dinner of prime rib, along with some Mexican dishes. She joined them at the table, as did Cipriano and his wife, Elena, and Sam Jenkins. It was a longstanding tradition at the ranch.
His eyes moved down the long, candlelit table, exulting at the presence of his two sons, together for the first time on Christmas Day.
This was Scott's first Christmas at Lancer. Johnny, just four days old, had slept peacefully through his first Christmas dinner at the ranch. On his second Christmas, overly stimulated by the day's events, he didn't make it all the way through the meal and Murdoch had carried him out of the room in the throes of a temper tantrum. Today, he sat quietly at the table opposite his older brother. Murdoch didn't know what kind of persuasion was involved, but Scott had somehow convinced Johnny to get a haircut in town and to wear a crisp white shirt and string tie.
Scott wore a tailored suit and every blond hair was in place. Murdoch had wondered if Scott would miss Christmas in the city, but an undercurrent of excitement was visible on his face, just like Johnny's. The two of them had been up at dawn, willingly for once. Murdoch had loved watching them dive into their stockings and open their gifts.
Teresa sat next to Scott, wearing a new dress instead of jeans. She was growing up, Murdoch thought, wishing that her father was at the table too and could see his little girl.
As he watched his children, Teresa exchanged a look with Johnny, who nodded faintly and gave her a grin Murdoch didn't trust for a moment. Teresa rose to clear away the dishes, and Johnny got up to help, to his father's surprise. Scott started to rise too, but Johnny waved a hand. "We got it, Boston," he said before disappearing into the kitchen.
After an interval, Teresa opened the door and Johnny carried a platter, festively decorated with greens, into the room and set it on the table in front of Scott.
The Bostonian stared at the misshapen object, one sandy brow rising quizzically. Murdoch didn't know what it was either. He gave his younger son a stern look. Johnny's eyes danced with suppressed mischief.
The first time Johnny saw Teresa's plum pudding, he promptly offered to shoot it and put it out of its misery. His foster sister didn't think that was funny. Her face fell, and the former gunfighter was terrified she was going to cry.
"Aw, T'resa," he said. "It's OK."
She drew in her breath sharply. "No," she said. "No, it's not."
Johnny agreed, but had the sense not to say so. He had rarely seen anything less appetizing, not even when he was forced to scrounge through the garbage in border towns for something to eat.
"Maybe you should frost it," he suggested. Frosting had been a surprise to him, a brand new experience and a pleasant one. Johnny had little previous experience with dessert. In recent years, he'd rarely been so desperately hungry as he was as a child, but the sweets that crossed the table at Lancer were still a novelty. He was more than content to eat his fill of meat and potatoes, and push most of the vegetables to the side of his plate. Cake was an unexpected luxury in his life.
Teresa frowned. "The recipe didn't say anything about frosting it."
She settled, in the end, for icing it, but it still wasn't very appealing.
Murdoch and Scott gazed at the platter, baffled, when Johnny carried it in. Scott recognized the thing he'd found in the pantry, but still had no idea what it was.
He only got a notion when Teresa doused it with brandy, and his brother lit a match, bending over the dish.
"Johnny, no!" both Lancers said simultaneously. The plum pudding went up in an alcoholic whoosh, the flames reaching for the ceiling. Elena and Maria both screamed. Cipriano dragged Johnny backward while Murdoch lunged for Teresa. Scott emptied a water pitcher over the platter and the flames died. Smoke rose from the charred center of the pudding.
Johnny had singed his eyebrows and soot smudged his face, but he was laughing. Teresa wasn't hurt, but she looked mortified. Her lower lip trembled and she edged toward the door. Scott smiled at her.
"Thank you, Teresa," he said.
Her face flamed. "Don't," she whispered, looking at her feet. "This is all my fault. I knew it wasn't a proper plum pudding, not like you'd have in Boston."
Scott's smile grew. "Teresa, that was the best plum pudding I've ever had in my life. And this is the best Christmas I've ever had."
She peeked at him doubtfully. "It can't be. You had everything anyone could wish for in Boston."
"No," Scott said quietly. "Not everything."
"I don't understand."
Scott looked across the room at his brother. Maria was holding Johnny by one ear and scolding while she daubed gently at his face with a damp cloth. Sam had gone to get his medical bag, Cipriano had carried the pudding outside, and Elena was airing the smoke from the room. Murdoch hovered at Maria's elbow, growling whenever Johnny attempted to escape the housekeeper's ministrations.
"Are you sure about that?" Scott asked.
Teresa thought about it, her eyes on Johnny too as Sam returned. The doctor applied some salve and an equally stinging lecture about playing with fire. Johnny finally escaped, and dropped into his chair while Maria cut generous wedges of pie, and Elena poured coffee. The people she loved most were all in this room, all together. The only one missing was her father, and she would have given anything at all if he could be with them.
"Maybe I do," Teresa said slowly to Scott.
Scott pulled out a chair for her. "I wouldn't trade all the plum puddings in Boston for the opportunity to spend Christmas with my brother and sister and father."
She nodded. "Merry Christmas, Scott," she said softly.
"Merry Christmas, little sister."
Across the table, Johnny looked up from his pie, and his eyes caught Scott's. A familiar, unabashed grin crossed his face, and he gestured at Scott's untouched pie. "If you don't want that, Boston, I'll help you out."
Scott neatly sliced the point off his pie and tasted it. The apples were warm and dusted with cinnamon. "That won't be necessary, brother. I think you've already helped enough today."
Johnny's grin got bigger. "Isn't that what Christmas is all about?"
THE END
Whistle, December 2005