Cat and Sprite: Chad WHN

Word Count 3,624

Written for the Lancer Writer ‘55^th Anniversary Episode Tag Celebration’

Episode tag: Chad and Dream Of Falcons

A Call and Response Story.

Call: “What’s In A Name” by Cat
Response: “What Do You Know?” by Sprite
Call: “Nothing to see here” by Sprite
Response: “After words” a Chad tie-in to Dream of Falcons by Cat

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What’s In A Name? by Cat 
WHN to Chad

Chad was sitting on a hay bale in the barn trying to write something when Scott walked his horse in and passed the reins on to one of the hands.

“Anything I can help with?” Scott asked, settling himself down in the shade and taking off his gloves. 

“Just writin’ a letter.  I can write but I can’t seem to find the words.”

“Who’s the intended recipient?”

“Writin’ to the congregation back home.  Back where I used to live,” Chad amended quickly.  “I owe them some explanation.  And the Deacons.  They were generous in their givin’ to me and my sis – my aunt Callie.  Mebbe if they’d known why we needed that money, mebbe they wouldn’t have been so charitable.  I’m reckonin’ to send them my wages until it’s all settled.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Scott offered, not sure he should be part of the decision Chad seemed to be making. 

“Scott.”  Chad looked across at his new-found relation.  “Do you think Johnny would mind if I …”

“Johnny would mind if you what?”  Johnny said.  He was muddied to the knees, sweaty and evidently tired out, and trailing an even sorrier-looking horse. 

“What happened?” Scott asked, settling back for a long tale of woe.

“Hole,” said Johnny.  That was going to be it after all.  “Jelly!  Leg here needs doctoring!”

The old man came grumbling out of his room.  “Your leg still plaguin’ you, Johnny?  You know I don’t have any more of that potion I was using on you.  What you been doing anyways to get all muddied up like that?”

“Not me.  The horse.”  Johnny seemed in no mood to explain anything, which led to more long-winded complaining from Jelly.  Johnny began to take off the saddle but Jelly even managed to find fault with him for doing that until Johnny snapped something not very complimentary back at him, then stumped out of the barn.

“Well there’s no need for that kind of language!  I was just tryin’ to be helpful.”

“Perhaps leave it a couple of hours before you ask what Johnny might mind,” Scott said grinning.  “I don’t think he’s of a mind to not mind whatever it is you want him not to mind about.” 

Chad smiled back, slowly.  “It can wait.  I think I should find myself quieter place to write this.” 

Scott nodded.  “If you need me, I’ll be – no, I think I’ll be in the great room.  I want to ask Murdoch something and I saw him headed in there not long ago.”

“All right.  I’ll finish my chores in a while.  If I’m goin’ to be here I’m goin’ to pull my weight.”

Scott nodded and left his – Cousin?  Second cousin?  Third cousin four times removed?  He followed in his brother’s tracks even though he didn’t feel like coming too close to the dynamite that was his brother every once in a long while.

---

In the great room, Murdoch was sitting at his desk with some old documents and a large book, possibly a Bible, spread out in front of him.

“Ah!  Scott!” he said, as if he’d not seen Scott for days. 

“Sir?” Scott responded, drifting across to the desk.  He very much didn’t want to be dragged into complex paperwork again. 

“Look at this!  I don’t want to question Chad’s aunt, or speak ill of the dead – but I can’t find any reference to …”

And for the next hour, father and son trawled through ancient papers, trying to solve the mystery of Lancer and Lancre. 

“I’ll write to Angus, see what he can find – but I have a suspicion that …”

“I think you may be right.  Who’s going to tell him?  And what about Johnny?”

“What about me?”  The jingle of spurs announced Johnny, who seemed to have a knack of hearing his name just as people didn’t want him to hear it.

So Scott and Murdoch took it in turns to explain their theory, while waiting for the dynamite to go off.  But apparently the dynamite was feeling too damp and exhausted to bother to explode, and ended up on the sofa with his arm over his eyes.  At least he’d brushed some of the mud off his pants and taken his mud-caked boots off, though he’d had to go outside and come back in to do that.

“And I suppose I get to tell him?” Johnny said eventually. 

Murdoch and Scott practically fell over each other to agree with Johnny’s supposition. 

“But not until you get a reply from Angus, right?”

“That’s right, son.  We have to be sure about this.  Now, how about a drink before dinner?” 

“Sounds good to me, sir,” Scott said, going to the new bottle of whisky he’d been eyeing.

The only response from Johnny was a gentle snore.

---

After much thought, Johnny decided to prepare the ground for the news that might be coming down the turnpike for Chad. 

He went on the hunt for a man who had turned out to be more interested in watching the world than in doing any chores.  It was wearing on Johnny’s nerves – well, it was wearing on Jelly’s nerves and Jelly was never one to keep his complaining to himself.

He found Chad staring at the water in a water trough.  He might have been detailed off to check if it was leaking. 

“Looking at something interesting?”  Johnny asked, joining Chad and trying to see what it was that had Chad so fascinated.

“I found this book,” Chad said, indicating an open page in a large book.  He reached into the water and moved his fingers, sending ripples across its surface.  “Man called Da Vinci.  He drew the way water moves and it got me thinkin’.”

“It would,” Johnny said, picking up the leather-bound volume and looking at the drawings.  He read the accompanying paragraph and agreed with the writer.  The pictures did indeed combine beauty and science in equal measure.  He’d tell Scott later if he remembered.

“So – how are you liking ranch life then?”

Chad sighed.  “You tryin’ to say I need to get on with repairin’ this trough?” 

“No, no.  Stopping to look and think is important.  Did you have time for that back in Cumberland County?”

Chad went very quiet.  He continued to dabble his fingers in the trough for a minute before speaking again.

“I finished the letter I was writing to the Congregation of my church.”

“Yeah?  We can send it tomorrow when we go into town.”  Johnny wondered what Chad had said about the events that had led to another grave on Lancer property. 

“You want to read it?” Chad offered, catching Johnny off guard.

“Sure, if you want me to.”

Chad reached into the back pocket of his jeans and fetched out a rather crumpled piece of paper.

Dear friends,

I hope you are all well and harvest is good this year. 

I am sorry I have not sent news for several months now but we travelled a long way and I am now in California. 

Some of the old folks and Deacon McTavish will know that what I am about to tell you is true.  Callie has gone beyond the veil and is now with her family in Heaven.  Before she left us, she told me that she is my aunt, not my sister, and that I am part Buford and part Lancre.  I do not know if I am more one than the other but with her dying breaths she told the story which means the end of the feudin.

Too many people died in that feud.  I know now it was wrong and I am sorry for the hurt our families have caused to all the hill folks.  I am even sorrier to say she died at my hand.  It was a pure accident but it was my shot that killt her.  We had an inquest and they said none of the blame was on me but I feel it all the same.  But out of that evil I reckon there’s good, as I have found a place to stay where I can be useful, although I miss you all and the hills of home.

I shall send money as I make it to pay back your generosity.  We could never have made it here without it. 

My thoughts and prayers
Chad Buford Lancre.

“I guess that covers it,” Johnny said, handing back the note. 

“I thought mebbe I wouldn’t say where I was.  I guess I don’t have to say why.” 

“Past has a way of catching up sometimes.  I was Johnny Madrid.  I don’t keep that secret but sometimes, you know?  Sometimes it’s useful to be Madrid, sometimes it’s better to be Lancer.”

“I can see that.  I can.  I don’t know if I’m a Lancre or a Buford, with a Ma who’s one and a Pa who’s the other.  Only the old folks back home could untie that knot.”

“Home, Chad?” 

Chad looked back down into the water.  “I guess I’d better get this chore done.  Post the letter tomorrow, you say?”

Johnny stood, spotting Jelly on the way over and needing to be somewhere, anywhere else.  Jelly was a good friend but that didn’t mean he had to listen to him in that mood. 

“Sure.  I guess you have some thinking to do but maybe not just right now,” Johnny said, taking several backward paces.

“Chad!  Johnny!  Stop your lallygaggin’ right now and get back to work, the pair of you!  You may be the boss’s son, Johnny Lancer, but …” 

Johnny walked away, saying, “I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” as he went. 

The subject of homes and names had been broached.  He was glad he didn’t have to do any more thinking about that.  Johnny Madrid Lancer was his name.  Or John Lancer.  Well, whatever it was, Lancer was his home and he thanked his lucky stars for that.  

Whether it would continue to be Chad’s home, he was not so sure.

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What Do You Know? By Sprite
WHN to Chad

Dear Angus

The weather here is warm and balmy. Everyone is healthy and hope you are the same. It has, however, been a strange few days. It started as business as usual. Scott had gone to Sacramento to finalize a shipping deal with the Army at the same time as John headed north to sell some horses. On his way back he stumbled into some trouble and came across a brother and sister with an interesting story.

Let me see if I can summarize what I learned from the brother ~Chad.

Twenty years ago or so, a feud started, probably with a stolen pig. Who stole the pig is lost to the mists of time, but first a pig, then a cow knocked a fence down. There were property line disputes, court cases where both sides were on juries for and against each other, and then accidents that were or were not accidents until it erupted into violence leaving both sides nearly wiped out. The Bufords vs The Lancre’s. It all ended here, with an accidental shooting of the sister by the brother. But the feud is now over and I’m having Chad stay with us following the inquest and letting him mourn his loss and get his feet under him.

This is where I need your help, brother. Callie Buford said she believed that Lancer was a changed spelling of the name Lancre or Lancree, perhaps.

While I know that there are other branches of the family than our little Scottish clan, I cannot imagine where or why anyone would change the spelling. I’ve searched my family bible, as scant as it is, and the few letters from father and the uncles and while they might mention an errant Englishman or a wild Welshman, they have never once mentioned a name spelled differently.

I know you have the big bible with all the records in it as well as that sea chest in your office you call the Box of the Ancients. Can you look to see if anything you have in those old letters or diaries shows us possibly coming to America and settling in the Kentucky area? But most of all, did anyone change the spelling of the name.

Enough of this strange tale. I await your answer soonest.

Your brother,

Always,
Murdoch

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Nothing To See Here by Sprite

Murdoch ~

It’s dreich and I have locked myself in my office, added a wee bit of coal to the fire and thought it was the perfect time to put word to paper.

As you suggested, I searched the Box of Ancients, appropriately named I might add, and with Douglas and Rory we have sat and read the letters. In short, the answer is no, no one in the family ever went to the Americas until you lost your mind and boarded a boat. 

I decided to write a few letters to friends both here and in England and they asked around to their associates, and again, no. Lancer has been the name probably since the lance was first carved from a wooden pole.

I’m not sure if you remember Anne’s cousin Louise, but she married a Frenchman named Bouchard. After writing to him, he said the name is probably French. There was a famous de Lancre involved with the witch hunts in the 1600s.

All in all, I can’t see that his young man is of any relation to our family.

I wanted to let you know that Rory has met a nice young lass named Aileen. I’m not yet convinced she is the one he will marry, but he has been stepping out with her more than another other girl this season.

Cameron is doing fine in the warehouse. He seems to like working with pulp and paper.

Douglas is looking at the purchase of a house on Beverly Road. We have been discussing it. The size is good but there was more than a little damage after the ’68 flood. It will need new flooring. I’m looking to do new floors on the home myself next year, so we may get a better deal to buy for both in bulk. I’ll be putting a new roof on as well, so perhaps his will need it also, but his would be thatch. I will think on it and let you know what we decide in my next letter.

All the best to you and yours,

Always,
Angus

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After Word by Cat
WHN Dream of Falcons

I dunno.  I saw a lot of my first days in Chad’s first days.  When Murdoch asked my opinion, I remembered what I was feeling when I was being asked too quick to be someone else – to leave Johnny Madrid and become Murdoch’s son.  Yeah, he’s learning, I said. That was my opinion. Might be better if you eased up on him a little bit.  I said that too but my father, he finds a reason not to ease up and I guess he knows best.  He did all right with me in the end. 

And then Murdoch just went right ahead and put his trust in supporting that town.  Seemed like that was more important than anything to him. I had to walk away from that before I said something to kill his enthusiasm for the project.  Town-saving, that’s what Murdoch thought he was doing.

Maybe I was being blind, or feeling too good that day, but Buck being there at the hacienda, not looking too happy, just kinda took me off guard.  And Chad, standing up for that Muller guy, I just didn’t get it.  But there he stood, after I had a word with him, and he just spoke up for what he believed.  I thought it was kinda funny, then.  Shared a joke with my father.  Know different now.  And I know the answer to my question, when I asked Chad why he wanted to be mixed up in it.  I know now.

Next time, most of the joke seemed to have been worn off the subject.  I was there to support Chad but – hell, my heart wasn’t in it, and I just couldn’t see the sense in what he was asking.  A flying machine!  I know what it is to dream – but flying? Don’t people have enough troubles already without going up in the sky to find more? 

Then I fought for his good name – for my good name, too.  I fought them all until I nearly fought Jelly too, and got a busted lip and sore hands and a sore back, all for nothing.  Chad was doing more damage with his fool ideas than I could do in five hard minutes with those idiot town perezosos, those lazy, good for nothin’ lunkheads, and me, wasting my breath and busting my gut for him… 

And I was still fighting mad with him, sitting at the table with Teresa asking what happened, and me with no patience for anything and shouting at Maria for the meal when I knew she’d bring it when was it was ready.  I know, if Chad hadn’t been hiding in the kitchen I’d have gone right on fighting, and shouting, until Murdoch woulda had to stop me.  But I guess Murdoch was worth hearing, talking about being a fool being part of growing up, and maybe taking on those guys was the fool thing I did when Chad was doing his growing up.  But like the old man said after he’d told that story of his – maybe sometimes it’s worth it.  And I could name a time or three, or a dozen, when I’ve not been quite as wise as I might have been.  So in the end, my anger was gone and I felt kinda proud to praise Murdoch like that.  He knows more about people, does my father, than just about anyone I know.

And maybe I learned a little something about myself that I can live with, that I’m a practical man, and the world needs practical men, but I can laugh about that and know that that ain’t the only approach to life.  Inventing may be crazy but the world needs dreamers too, and it made me glad to see how pleased Chad was to be runnin’ back to his dream.  Do I ever dream?  Sure.  Just not about flying.  And I didn’t know right then, laughing with Chad, what I know now.

I don’t know what it was that made me push that machine off.  Was that the practical man in me?  The one that put out the fire and then – well, I was right.  It had to be done.  Dreaming it would fly wasn’t enough, and I just knew that.  And I hated that I was right, couldn’t hardly bear to move, or look at Chad, felt like I was just … just sorry it had to be done.  And out there, on that end of that hopeful ramp, I just had to make it plain.  Flew like a brick.  I guess it was true but I didn’t give me any satisfaction saying it.

It was worth doing.  But the cost of it?  Maybe that was just too high. 

---

And now here’s Murdoch, giving me the letter from his brother Angus.  It’s real plain, too.  Chad isn’t a Lancer, and that’s proved beyond a doubt. 

I had to tell him that.  Hardest thing I’ve had to tell anyone for a while, but he took the news better than I thought he would.  Seems he’s lost heart a bit since that flying machine didn’t fly.  Felt bad when he found out what I’d done, like it was his fault.  I told him, don’t waste time feeling guilty about that.  I can take responsibility for my own decisions and my own fights.  So we shook hands. 

“I reckon I’ll go home,” he said, kinda quiet.  “I have a yearning to be back there in the place I was born, and with the people I know.  You’ve all been more than kind but I don’t believe I’ll ever feel quite to home here.”

I didn’t try to dissuade him – don’t think it would have done any good anyway.  His aunt said he was a stubborn man, and she wasn’t wrong.  Wrong about his name but not about his nature, that’s for sure.

Took only a few days to get things organised.  Murdoch bought him a train ticket, Jelly promised to look after the mule, Scott wrapped up that Leonardo Da Vinci book for him, and I took him to the station. 

Waved him off on the train too.  Didn’t make promises about visiting, nothing foolish like that, and I went back to the ranch feeling a wrong had been put right. 

Maybe we’ll get a letter from him sometime.  Maybe even now he’s met up with someone else wanting to invent something, or he’s doing that himself.  Who knows what humans are going to come up with next, and what that’ll do to our lives.  Me, I’m a practical man, and I just like to watch birds fly free. 

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