The hacienda was finally quiet with the patronís sons safely asleep in their own beds. The master of the house, lost in thought, absently rubbed my smooth wooden surface while he savored a fine single malt scotch.
I have shared many memories with the patron, good and bad.
I remember the gentle lady from Boston and how happy they had been with the news of an heir. Then the time of danger and the fear for the lady and unborn child. Followed by the overwhelming sadness when the lady died and the child was stolen from the father. I had silently witnessed the fatherís pain at being unable to bring his son home.
When the lady from Mexico arrived the house was again filled with love and laughter. For two years the small boy, I remember his shiny black hair and vivid blue eyes, filled the Patronís heart. He dared to hope he could bring the older son home and raise his boys together. Alas it was not to be, the lady and the son left and again the house was filled with despair. The older son was lost to him and the younger son was missing.
For so many years the house was a shell, as empty as the man. He continued working to build his ranch, always hoping that someday his sons would be home. The reports told the man about the older son but the younger, there was nothing. Finally the report arrived with news the younger boy was alive in Mexico and the older son was coming from Boston.
I witnessed the awkward meeting of three strangers, the ups and the downs getting to know each other, and the arguments between the patron and his wild son. I also saw the three men try to blend into a family and they are to an extent, succeeding. It will take time, so many years were lost.
Yet, I know someday the sons will sit in the fatherís chair, they will have heirs and Lancer will survive.
Yes, I know it will happen...and I will be a part of it.