May 22, 1870

Today was a truly magnificent day. The temperature was perfect, the sun shone in a pristine sky, Teresa’s herbs and flowers perfumed the air and our choir of local birds would have put Handel to shame. If days like this are the norm here, no wonder my mother chose to live in California.  My grandfather would shudder to hear it but this kind of weather makes the thought of a cold, wet, Boston spring exceedingly unattractive.

Not only is the weather here perfect, but there has been good news from my brother’s sick room. Sam Jenkins, our local doctor, reports that with time and rest Johnny should recover completely. He is improving day-by-day, but while his physical progress is impressive, it is not proceeding nearly fast enough to suit his desires. My brother, it seems, is a most impatient patient. It has been just three days since his fever broke and he woke from almost a week of dreams and delirium.  That is certainly not enough time to regain his strength or stamina. Nonetheless, ever since he became aware he has been pushing. Pushing himself to do more than he is able. Pushing us to allow him to do it. But most disturbing of all is the feeling that he is pushing all of us away, holding us at arm’s length and refusing to allow us any closer than absolutely necessary. It almost seems that he is wary of accepting our help or maybe that he is afraid to admit that he needs it. But then, I’m sure he’d be the first to tell me that he’s not afraid of anything.

I must say that I have never met anyone quite like him. And at times I find him simply infuriating.  He is so fiercely independent. One of the first things he asked for when he woke was his gun. The boy lay in his bed, in his father’s house, surrounded by family and friends, hardly strong enough to hold up his head yet seemingly unable to relax without a gun in his hand.

I told him that he needn’t worry, that he didn’t need his gun because we would look out for him. Rather than reassuring him, that statement seemed to make him more agitated.

I finally gave in and brought it to him. He inspected it, and then to my amazement, pushed it under his pillow and breathed a sigh of relief. Within five minutes he had drifted off to sleep again. Now he sleeps with his gun close to hand, either tucked up under his pillow or hanging in its holster on his bedpost. I only hope that Murdoch doesn’t notice. I also sincerely hope that Teresa keeps her promise to knock before entering his room.

Aside from the conversation about the gun, we have not talked much. Or rather, I should say that while we have talked I find that my brother has not really said much. He has a habit of watchfulness about him, as if weighing every word and gesture for a hidden meaning or advantage. I have found his incertitude to be disturbing and strangely, disappointing.  Thus far, nothing I have tried has even come close to breaking through his barriers.

In any case, because the day was so perfect, and in a desperate attempt to improve my brother’s disposition, after lunch we helped him down to the patio. He was settled in a comfortable chair with pillows to cushion his back, a stool for his feet, and a soft throw to spread over his legs. The hope was that a change of scenery would mellow his growing impatience with his forced inactivity.

It worked up to a point. As soon as we got him into the chair, he fell asleep and he remained that way for several hours. I think even Johnny was surprised by how much a simple trip down the stairs and through the great room took out of him. Perhaps it will serve as an object lesson for him the next time that he demands to be allowed out of his bed. Then again, perhaps not.

I brought a book to read while I sat with him and had just turned another page when I became aware of a change. Looking at Johnny, I frowned. He was still slumped in the chair but where there had been relaxed slumber before, now there was a sort of guarded tension.   

“Johnny?” I asked.

He drew in a quick breath. “Scott,” he said, identifying my voice. He opened his eyes and squinted against the light. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About two and a half hours.”

He looked up sharply at that. “Damn.” He reached up to rub his eyes.

I grinned at him. “We finally let you out of your bed and what do you do? You sleep the afternoon away.”

He scowled at me and then turned to survey the yard. “Sure beats being stuck up in that room for another day.”

He was about to say something else when Teresa came out of the house, her eyes on a piece of cloth, held in her hand.

She walked over to Johnny and, looking up, she ran her hand through his hair. He ducked his head and frowned at her. “Hey, cut it out. What are you doing?”

She colored a little. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said as she rubbed her fingers together. She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, a puzzled look on her face. “Johnny, you don’t use any sort of hair pomade do you?”

He looked at her blankly. “No, why?”

“Oh, nothing.” She frowned. “It’s just that this is the second time.”

Johnny glanced over at me and I shrugged.

 He looked back at the girl. “Teresa, what are you talkin’ about?”

“Well, I changed your bedding today.”

Johnny sighed. “And….?”

“I just can’t figure it out. I mean you don’t use hair pomade, and your hair feels nice and clean so I don’t know what’s causing it.”

“Teresa,” he said leaning forward, with a growl in his voice. “Causing what?”

She gave him a disgusted look. “What? Why these horrible greasy stains on your pillowcase, that’s what.” She waved the offending cloth at him. When she got only a wide-eyed stare as a reply she shook her head and turned to wander back toward the house, muttering under her breath all the way inside.

Johnny sat very quietly for a moment, looking down at his hands. Finally he tilted his head and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. Our gazes locked together for a long beat until one corner of my grumpy little brother’s mouth turned up. Then, without another word being spoken, we began to laugh.

Johnny winced and I moved to see if he was all right but he waved me off and continued to chuckle, just more gently.

Our shared mirth didn’t last long, but it was a small triumph. In that flash of humor, something immeasurable had eased and lightened between us, at least for a little while.

Yes, today was an exceedingly fine day.