Surrey For The Trouble
A WHN For High Riders
Murdoch Lancer braced himself. He knew the question was coming. He'd read it on his younger son's face 20 minutes ago. He was stunned when he realized he recognized the gunfighter's expression.
It had once been a familiar look and a familiar question but he hadn't heard Johnny say the words for so many years, not since he was a toddler.
Murdoch smiled to himself, thinking of that black-haired little hellion. Johnny was never still, or so it seemed to his exhausted parents. He ran them ragged from morning to night as soon as he learned to walk. His parents snatched inquisitive fingers from the fire, pulled him away from the well and the horse corrals, and marveled at his innocent ability to charm everyone from wild barn cats to ornery cowhands.
Sunday mornings, when the family drove to the mission church at Morro Coyo, were nerve-wracking. Murdoch needed both hands to drive the buggy. That meant Johnny's mother had to keep a firm hold on their young son or risk him tumbling out whenever he saw something he wanted to explore - and Johnny always saw something he wanted to explore. His sapphire eyes sparkled with excitement and his smile nearly always melted Murdoch's exasperation.
He was such a happy child, Murdoch thought. Nothing like the stormy, cocky young man who had slouched into the great room nearly a month ago, or so he thought at first. The older Johnny didn't even have any memories of those two years his father had treasured for so long.
Johnny looked up and Murdoch felt his heart lurch again at the slightly plaintive expression on his face. He was going to say it.
"Are we almost there?"
Murdoch's head bowed. "It won't be long now," he said.
Something flickered in Johnny's eyes. Murdoch didn't see it but Scott shot his brother a curious look. "Are you all right? Do you need to stop?"
Murdoch looked then and pulled up on the reins. "Johnny?"
"I'm fine," Johnny said.
"We can stop for a few minutes."
"Not on my account," Johnny said, a flash of anger crossing his face.
Murdoch started the horses again and glanced at his sons over his shoulder. Maybe this outing wasn't such a good idea but he had been at his wit's end. Johnny was not a good patient. He still had a long way to go before he recovered from the bullet that almost killed him but he chafed openly at the doctor's restrictions.
That first week after the raid, when they nearly lost him, fever and drugs kept him unconscious most of the time. By the end of the second week, he was pushing himself to get out of bed, even though he was still as weak as a new kitten. Dr. Jenkins let him come downstairs this week, as far as the sofa in the great room, but Johnny wasn't satisfied with his progress. As soon as the doctor allowed him to walk, he wanted to ride. Murdoch had finally compromised by getting the surrey out Saturday morning and suggesting they take a drive. Teresa had packed them a lunch, although she declined to join them. She and Maria were enthusiastic about the prospect of cleaning house with none of the Lancer men in it.
***
Johnny sat next to his brother in the back seat. He knew his father was dividing his attention between the road and the two of them, mostly him.
The way the old man hovered made Johnny nervous. They all fussed over him, even Boston, and he wasn't used to it. He knew they meant well but the idea that anyone else would look out for him was unfamiliar and he didn't trust it. He'd learned his lesson about that a long time ago. He could take care of himself and he couldn't count on anyone else.
Besides, it was embarrassing to depend on anyone the way he'd depended on these strangers the last few weeks. Johnny flushed a little. He didn't clearly remember getting shot or most of the week that followed, beyond a blur of pain and urgent voices that refused to let him slip away.
Johnny was ready to slip away this time. He hurt too much and he was so tired. Something in those insistent voices held him, but he didn't know what it was.
He finally managed to force his eyes open but he was too damn helpless and he hated it. He didn't want his father to take care of him, or his newly acquired half-brother, and especially not his new foster sister.
But he couldn't do much about it. His arms and legs felt like lead, his head throbbed, and the pain in his back threatened to crush him whenever he moved. For days, he didn't do anything but sleep. He couldn't keep his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time, hold his own cup to take a sip of water, or even lift his head off the pillow.
One of them was always there whenever he woke that week. They talked to him, coaxed him to swallow medicine and broth, and didn't seem to mind all the time they were wasting.
Scott talked the most, telling him what was happening on the ranch. Teresa chattered a bit about nothing at all, as far as he could tell, but it was a cheerful sound and he found himself smiling at it. Murdoch tended to just sit and watch him, the worry clear on his face.
At first, Johnny wondered if the old man was so worried because he'd have to keep his end of the bargain now. As his head gradually cleared, he realized that didn't make much sense. If Murdoch didn't want to stick to the deal, it would have been easy enough for him to get rid of his younger son. Johnny hazily remembered a night when he was burning hot and his father sat by the bed, cooling his face with a wet cloth and talking to him. He couldn't remember what Murdoch said, just the comforting sound of that deep voice. It reminded him of something but he didn't know what. Just like a minute ago, when Murdoch said they didn't have much farther to go.
Johnny sighed and shifted in the seat. The pain was starting to rise, reawakened by the motion over the road, but he didn't want to admit it. He was so tired of being cooped up in that house, closed in behind thick walls. What he really wanted was to ride, by himself, for miles in the sunshine and wind but there was little chance of that happening soon if his new family and that doctor had their way.
Besides, he admitted reluctantly, if he couldn't even manage to sit in a surrey for a few miles while someone else did all the work, it wasn't too likely that he could gallop his half-broken palomino.
***
Scott was beginning to learn to read Johnny, even when he carefully wiped his feelings off his face, as he had done a few minutes ago. The appearance of the gunfighter's mask told Scott something his brother was doing his best to hide.
Scott hoped Murdoch could see it too. Johnny needed a rest from the motion of the surrey and longer than just a few minutes. He probably needed a dose of laudanum too, not that he would take it willingly. There was a bottle tucked in the pocket of Scott's coat, but he had little hope of persuading his younger brother to swallow any of it. His mouth curved in a slow smile. There was more than one way to get Johnny to take a necessary dose of medicine. Scott wasn't above subterfuge for a good cause when direct approaches failed.
The boy was too damn stubborn. Scott's smile grew. His father and brother were actually a lot alike, from what he'd seen in the past few weeks. They were both pigheaded, fiercely independent, used to getting their own way, and too proud for their own good.
The two of them had already had a few battles of will, now that Johnny was finally getting stronger. Scott found himself stepping into the middle of their arguments, bemused when he realized he was trying to protect his new brother. A few weeks ago, he hadn't even known he had a brother and he still wasn't sure they would ever be friends.
Johnny certainly didn't expect his older brother to protect him, Scott thought. That boy didn't expect anyone to do anything for him, as far as he could tell.
Johnny had been startled this morning when Murdoch gave him the jacket he was wearing. They had cut his old jacket off him after Pardee shot him and Scott carried him to the house. It was ruined and Murdoch told the housekeeper to burn it.
Murdoch produced a new jacket as they were leaving the house and gruffly told Johnny to button it up so he didn't catch cold. Johnny looked confused, so confused that Scott was curious. He didn't understand a lot about his brother, and no one was answering his questions. Johnny hadn't had enough energy to talk at first and didn't seem inclined to talk now, not about himself. Murdoch had deflected most of Scott's questions and Teresa didn't know much.
Well, that was going to change, Scott resolved, and it was going to change soon. He would talk to his father tonight, once Johnny was in bed. It was past time for Murdoch to provide some explanations, about his brother and about other things.
The past might be over, Scott thought, but that was no reason to fail to understand it. By now, he'd had a chance to look over the well-thumbed books that lined the wall in the great room. How could a man who read so much history in books insist that there was no point in discussing his own family's history?
***
The surrey pulled off the road, a mile along, and came to a stop in a pine grove overlooking a lake.
"Pretty spot," Scott approved as Murdoch set the brake and jumped down. Johnny started to follow him and Scott put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Easy. Let us help you."
Johnny looked impatient but he accepted a hand from his brother. Once on the ground, he headed toward the lake and Scott followed him, after exchanging a look with Murdoch.
Teresa had packed their lunch in a basket, and insisted that they take some warm blankets too. Murdoch had already spread one of the blankets over the thick carpet of pine needles under the trees and was unpacking the basket when Scott and Johnny returned from the lake. He had lit a small fire to make a pot of coffee.
Scott poured the dark brew into tin cups and quickly tilted the laudanum bottle over one of them.
"Are there any trout in the lake?" he asked Murdoch as he handed his father and brother steaming cups. Johnny gave him a crooked smile but he accepted the drink and blew on it gently to cool it.
"A few," Murdoch said. "Do you like to fish?"
Johnny set his coffee down without drinking any, Scott noticed. His eyes narrowed. He didn't think Johnny could have seen him doctor it.
"Yes," he told his father. "I do like to fish. What about you, Johnny?"
Johnny just shrugged as Murdoch handed him a sandwich. The older man frowned at him. "Are you sure you're warm enough?"
"I'm fine."
Murdoch passed a sandwich to Scott and took one himself. "Then eat," he said.
Johnny took a half-hearted bite from his sandwich before he set it down too, next to his untouched coffee. He leaned back against a tree and his eyes slid shut.
Murdoch reached out after a few minutes, once he was sure Johnny was asleep, to gently push him down onto his side. The boy mumbled something but he didn't open his eyes. Murdoch covered him with another blanket, tucking it around his shoulders.
"He's pushing himself too hard," Scott said.
Murdoch nodded. "The doctor said the same thing."
"Why?" Scott said.
"Why did Sam say the same thing?"
"No, sir. Why does Johnny push himself so hard?"
The older man looked down and didn't answer for a moment.
"My brother is surprised when someone goes to the trouble of pouring him a glass of water," Scott said. "Why is that, sir?"
Murdoch's face reddened. "Johnny's been on his own for a long time," he finally said. "I guess he's just not used to anyone taking care of him."
"How long?"
"Since he was 10."
"What?" Scott stared at his father, horrified. "You can't be serious?"
"I wish it weren't true."
"How could he possibly make it on his own when he was only 10 years old?" Scott said.
"The hard way," Murdoch said softly.
***
Johnny slept for more than an hour in the pine grove, while Murdoch and Scott talked quietly.
Murdoch wouldn't tell Scott much about Johnny. His mother died in Mexico when he was 10, the older man said, offering no details. Johnny spent a few months in an orphanage and then ran away.
"I think Johnny should be the one to decide what he wants to tell you," Murdoch said. "I don't know the full story anyway. The Pinkertons didn't find much about what he did after he ran away, until he was 14."
"What happened when he was 14?"
"That's when Johnny Madrid started hiring out his gun."
"He's been a gunfighter for five years?"
Murdoch nodded.
"He must be pretty good," Scott said slowly. "I don't imagine most gunfighters live too long."
"They don't." Murdoch's eyes were bleak. "And yes, your brother is good. He has quite a reputation. There are even a few of those dime novels."
"Do you think he can walk away from it?"
"It's not going to be easy. I don't even know if he wants to walk away from it."
"Do you want him to stay, sir?"
"I want Johnny Lancer to stay," Murdoch said immediately. "I always did want him. This is where he belongs, where both of you should have been all along."
"What about Johnny Madrid?"
There was a long silence. "I honestly don't know, son."
Johnny couldn't blame his father for that. He'd been awake for the last five minutes but hadn't moved, not when he heard Scott say something about him being a gunfighter for five years.
Johnny didn't know where he stood with his father and brother. Most people didn't want gunfighters to stay on once their trouble went away. They might not dare say so to your face but it was usually clear enough.
Murdoch and Scott puzzled him. He knew, even before he heard them talking, that both of them had issues with what he did. And they didn't know the half of it, Johnny thought sadly.
They still both said they wanted him to stay on the ranch but Johnny wasn't sure they meant it or if they understood what it would mean. He couldn't make up his mind. Part of him wanted to stay and grab this chance at a home and a new life and part of him wanted to bolt right back to the border. He wasn't sure there was any turning back from choices he'd made a long time ago. And he sure didn't want his choices to hurt anyone else.
***
"Johnny?" Scott said suddenly. "You're awake, aren't you?"
Johnny rolled over, sitting up. "Yeah," he said, his face deadpan.
"How long have you been awake?" Murdoch asked.
Johnny shrugged, trying to hide a wince. His back still nagged at him. "Not long."
"Did you hear what I just said?" Murdoch demanded.
"Uh huh." Johnny gave his father a faint grin. "I don't know what I want either, Old Man."
"I know what I want, John. I want the same thing I've always wanted. My son."
"I'm not that little kid you remember. Nothing like him."
"You're still my son."
Johnny dropped his head, his thick hair hiding his eyes. Murdoch frowned.
"Johnny," he started, but Johnny shook his head wearily
"Not now, OK? I guess I'm still kinda tired. Can we go back?"
"You haven't eaten anything," Murdoch said, his face concerned. "You have to eat a lot more than you have been."
"Later," Johnny said.
Scott produced the bottle of laudanum from his jacket. "We'll go back after you swallow some of this, little brother," he said firmly. "And don't tell me it doesn't hurt much."
Johnny sighed but he swallowed a small dose of the hated medicine and let them help him climb into the surrey. The laudanum did take the edge off and he promptly fell asleep again, leaning against Scott's shoulder.
"Is he all right?" Murdoch asked.
"I think so," Scott said.
"I guess this wasn't such a great idea," Murdoch said.
"I don't know," Scott said slowly. "We do all know each other a little better."
Johnny opened his eyes as Murdoch stopped the surrey outside the hacienda. He rubbed them and ran his fingers through his mussed hair. His face had picked up some color, Scott noticed. In fact, he looked better than he had since he took the bullet. It had been days since Johnny slept so long or so peacefully, now that he thought about it. Maybe the fresh air had been a good idea after all.
"Don't say it, Murdoch," Johnny begged drowsily when his father looked at him. The older man's face was still full of guilt.
"Say what?" Murdoch asked.
Johnny gave both of them a look of pure mischief. Murdoch recognized that look too and his heart leapt.
"That you're surrey," Johnny said with a wicked grin.
Scott swatted his brother with his hat, grinning too.
"Hey," Johnny protested.
"Boys!" Murdoch said.
THE END
Whistle, January 2005